ANCIENT POEMS 2t 3 >S*2-V BALLADS AND SONGS PEASANTRY OF ENGLAND TAKEN DOWN FROM ORAL RECITATION AND TRANSCRIBED FROM PRIVATE MANUSCRIPTS RARE BROADSIDES AND SCARCE PUBLICATIONS 4 EDITED BY ROBERT BELL LONDON JOHN W. PARKER AND SON WEST STRAND 1857 ^ & w {& LONDON : SAVILL AND EDWARDS, FEINTEES, CHANDOS STEEET. CONTENTS. PAGE INTRODUCTION 7 THE PLAIN-DEALING MAN 11 THE VANITIES OF LIFE 15 THE LIFE AND AGE OF MAN 20 THE YOUNG MAN'S WISH 22 THE MIDNIGHT MESSENGER 24 A DIALOGUE BETWIXT AN EXCISEMAN AND DEATH .... 20 THE MESSENGER OF MORTALITY 32 ENGLAND'S ALARM 36 SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED . 39 THE MASONIC HYMN 42 GOD SPEED THE PLOW, AND BLESS THE CORN-MOW .... 44 A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE HUSBANDMAN AND THE SERVINGMAN 46 THE CATHOLICK 49 gallabs. THE THREE KNIGHTS 50 THE BLIND BEGGAR OF BEDNALL GREEN 51 THE BOLD PEDLAR AND ROBIN HOOD 59 THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT 61 LORD DELAWARE 64 LORD BATEMAN ... * 68 THE GOLDEN GLOVE ; OR, THE SQUIRE OF TAMWORTH ... 70 IV CONTENTS. PAGB KING JA3IES I. AND THE TINKLER 72 THE REACH t THE CREEL 75 THE MERRY BROOMFIELD ; OR, THE WEST COUNTRY WAGER . 77 SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN SO BLOW THE WINDS, I-HO ! 82 THE BEAUTIFUL LADY OF KENT ; OR, THE SEAMAN OF DOVER 84 THE BERKSHIRE LADY'S GARLAND 90 THE NOBLEMAN'S GENEROUS KINDNESS 98 THE DRUNKARD'S LEGACY 100 THE BOWES TRAGEDY 106 THE CRAFTY LOVER; OR, THE LAWYER OUTWITTED . . . . 110 THE DEATH OF QUEEN JANE 113 THE WANDERING YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN ; OR, CATSKIN . . . 115 THE BRAVE EARL BRAND AND THE KING OF ENGLAND'S DAUGHTER 122 THE JOVIAL HUNTER OF BROMSGROVE ; OR, THE OLD MAN AND HIS THREE SONS 124 LADY ALICE • 127 THE FELON SEWE OF ROKEBY AND THE FREERES OF RICHMOND 127 ARTHUR O'BRADLEY'S WEDDING 138 THE PAINFUL PLOUGH 143 THE USEFUL PLOW; OR, THE PLOWMAN'S PRAISE 145 THE FARMER'S SON 146 THE FARMER'S BOY 148 RICHARD OF TAUNTON DEAN; OR, DUMBLE DUM DEARY . . 149 WOOING SONG OF A YEOMAN OF KENT'S SONNE 153 THE CLOWN'S COURTSHIP 155 HARRY'S COURTSHIP 155 HARVEST-HOME SONG 156 HARVEST-HOME 157 THE MOW . 158 THE BARLEY-MOW SONG 159 CONTENTS. V PAGE THE BARLEY-MOW SONG (SUFFOLK VERSION) 1 1> 2 THE CRAVEN CHURN-SUPPER SONG 3 62 THE RURAL DANCE ABOUT THE MAY-POLE 16*4 THE HITCHIN MAY-DAY SONG . . . , 166 THE HELSTONE FURRY-DAY SONG 167 CORNISH MIDSUMMER BONFIRE SONG 169 SUFFOLK HARVEST-HOME SONG 170 THE HAYMAKER'S SONG 171 THE SWORD-DANCER'S SONG 172 THE SWORD-DANCER'S SONG AND INTERLUDE 175 THE MASKERS' SONG 180 GLOUCESTERSHIRE WASSAILERS' SONG 183 THE MUMMERS' SONG 184 FRAGMENT OF THE HAGMENA SONG 1 S6 THE GREENSIDE WAKES SONG 137 THE SWEARING-IN SONG OR RHYME AT HIGHGATE 188 FAIRLOP FAIR SONG 191 AS TOM WAS A- WALKING 193 THE MILLER AND HIS SONS 194 JACK AND TOM ... 195 JOAN'S ALE WAS NEW 197 GEORGE RIDLER'S OVEN 199 THE CARRION CROW 202 THE LEATHERN BOTTEL 203 THE FARMER'S OLD WIFE (A SUFFOLK WHISTLING SONG) . . 201 OLD WITCHET AND HIS WIFE 206 THE JOLLY WAGGONER 208 THE YORKSHIRE HORSE-DEALER 209 THE KING AND THE COUNTRYMAN 210 JONE O' GREENFIELD'S RAMBLE 212 THORNEHAGH-MOOR WOODS 214 THE LINCOLNSHIRE POACHER 216 SOMERSETSHIRE HUNTING-SONG 217 THE TROTTING HORSE 218 THE SEEDS OF LOVE 220 VI CONTENTS. PAGE THE GARDEN-GATE 221 THE NEW-MOWN HAY 223 THE PRAISE OF A DAIRY 224 THE MILK-MAID'S LIFE 226 THE MILKING-PAIIi 228 THE SUMMER'S MORNING 229 OLD ADAM 231 TOBACCO 232 THE SPANISH LADIES 234 HARRY THE TAILOR 235 SIR ARTHUR AND CHARMING MOLLEE 236 THERE WAS AN OLD MAN CAME OVER THE LEA 237 WHY SHOULD WE QUARREL FOR RICHES 238 THE MERRY FELLOWS 239 THE OLD MAN'S SONG 210 ROBIN HOOD'S HIEL 241 BEGONE DULE CARE 243 FULL MERRILY SINGS THE CUCKOO 244 JOCKEY TO THE FAIR 245 LONG PRESTON PEG" 247 THE SWEET NIGHTINGALE 247 THE OLD MAN AND HIS THREE SONS 250 A BEGGING WE WILL GO ... 251 INTRODUCTION. Is 1846, the Percy Society issued to its members a volume en- titled Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, edited by Mr. James Henry Dixon. The sources drawn upon by Mr. Dixon are intimated in the following extract from his preface : — He who, in travelling through the rural districts of England, has made the road-side inn his resting-place, who has visited the lowly dwellings of the villagers and yeomanry, and been present at their feasts and festivals, must have observed that there are certain old poems, ballads, and songs, which are favourites with the masses, and have been said and sung from generation to generation. This traditional, and, for the most part, unprinted literature, — cherished in remote villages, resisting everywhere the invasion of modern namby-pamby verse and jaunty melody, and possessing, in an historical point of view, especial value as a faithful record of the feelings, usages, and modes of life of the rural population, — had been almost wholly passed over amongst the antiquarian revi- vals which constitute one of the distinguishing features of the pre- sent age. While attention was successfully drawn to other forms of our early poetry, this peasant minstrelsy was scarcely touched, and might be considered unexplored ground. There was great difficulty in collecting materials which lay scattered so widely, and which could be procured in their genuine simplicity only from the people amongst whom they originated, and with whom they are as 'familiar as household words/ It was even still more difficult to find an editor who combined genial literary taste with the local knowledge of character, customs, and dialect, indispen- sable to the collation of such reliques ; and thus, although their national interest was universally recognised, they were silently permitted to fall into comparative oblivion. To supply this manifest desideratum, Mr. Dixon compiled his volume for the Percy Society ; and its pages, embracing only a selection from the rich stores he had gathered, abundantly exemplified that gentle- man's remarkable qualifications for the labour he had undertaken. After stating in his preface that contributions from various quar- ters had accumulated so largely on his hands as to compel him to 8 INTRODUCTION. omit many pieces he was desirous of preserving, he thus describes generally the contents of the work :-— In what we have retained will be found every variety, 1 From grave to gay, from lively to severe,' from the moral poem and the religious dialogue, — * The scrolls that teach us to live and to die,' — to the legendary, the historical, or the domestic ballad ; from the strains that enliven the harvest-home and festival, to the love-ditties which the country lass warbles, or the comic song with which the rustic sets the village hostel in a roar. In our collection are several pieces exceedingly scarce, and hitherto to be met with only in broad- sides and chap-books of the utmost rarity; in addition to which we have given several others never before in print, and obtained by the editor and his friends, either from the oral recitation of the peasantry, or from manuscripts in the possession of private individuals. The novelty of the matter, and the copious resources disclosed by the editor, acquired for the volume a popularity extending far beyond the limited circle to which it was addressed; and al- though the edition was necessarily restricted to the members of the Percy Society, the book was quoted not only by English writers, but by some of the most distinguished archaeologists on the continent. It had always been my intention to form a collection of local songs, illustrative of popular festivals, customs, manners, and dialects. As the merit of having anticipated, and, in a great measure, accomplished this project belongs exclusively to Mr. Dixon, so to that gentleman I have now the pleasure of tendering my acknowledgments for the means of enriching the Annotated Edition of the English Poets with a volume which, in some respects, is the most curious and interesting of the series. Subsequently to the publication of his collection by the Percy Society, Mr. Dixon had amassed additional materials of great value ; and, conscious that the work admitted of considerable im- provement, both in the way of omission and augmentation, he resolved upon the preparation of a new edition. His reasons for rejecting certain portions of the former volume are stated in the following extract from a communication with which he has obliged me, and which may be considered as his own introduction to the ensuing pages. The editor had passed his earliest years in a romantic mountain- district in the North of England, where old customs and manners, and old songs and ballads still linger. Under the influence of these asso- ciations, he imbibed a passionate love for peasant rhymes ; having little notion at that time that the simple minstrelsy which afforded INTRODUCTION. * him so much delight could yield hardly less pleasure to those who cul- tivated more artificial modes of poetry, and who knew little of the life of the peasantry. His collection was not issued without diffi- dence ; but the result dissipated all apprehension as to the estimate in which these essentially popular productions are held. The reception of the book, indeed, far exceeded its merits ; for he is bound in candour to say that it was neither so complete nor so judiciously selected as it might have been. Like almost all books issued by societies, it was got up in haste, and hurried through the press. It contained some things which were out of place in such a work, but which were inserted upon solicitations that could not have been very easily refused ; and even where the matter was unexceptionable, it sometimes happened that it was printed from comparatively modern broadsides, for want of time to consult earlier editions. In the interval which has since elapsed, all these defects and short-comings have been remedied. Several pieces, which had no legitimate claims to the places they occupied, have been removed ; others have been collated with more ancient copies than the editor had had access to previously ; and the whole work has been considerably enlarged. In its present form it is strictly what its title- page implies— a collection of poems, ballads, and songs preserved by tradition, and in actual circulation, amongst the peasantry. Bex, Canton de Vaud, Switzerland. The present volume differs in many important particulars from the former, of the deficiencies of which Mr. Dixon makes so frank an avowal. It has not only undergone a careful revision, but has received additions to an extent which renders it almost a new work. Many of these accessions are taken from extremely rare originals, and others are here printed for the first time, including amongst the latter the ballad of 'Earl Brand, a traditional lyric of great antiquity, long familiar to the dales of the North of England; and the Death of Queen Jane, a relic of more than ordinary interest. Xearly forty songs, noted down from recita- tion, or gathered from sources not generally accessible, have been added to the former collection, illustrative, for the most part, of historical events, country pastimes, and local customs. Not the least suggestive feature in this department are the political songs it contains, which have long outlived the occasions that gave them birth, and which still retain their popularity, although their allusions are no longer understood. Amongst this class of songs may be specially indicated Jack and Tom, Joan's Ale was New, George Midler's Oven, and Tlie Carrion Crow. The songs of a strictly rural character, having reference to the occupations and intercourse of the people, possess an interest which cannot be adequately measured by their poetical pretensions. The very defects of art with which they are chargeable, constitute their highest claim to consideration as authentic specimens of country 10 INTRODUCTION. lore. The songs in praise of the dairy, or the plough; or in celebration of the harvest -home, or the chnrn-supper; or descrip- tive of the pleasures of the milk-maid, or the courtship in the farm-house; or those that give us glimpses of the ways of life of the waggoner, the poacher, the horse-dealer, and the boon com- panion of the road-side hostelrie, are no less curious for their idiomatic and primitive forms of expression, than for their pic- tures of rustic modes and manners. Of special interest, too, are the songs which relate to festival and customs; such as the Sivord Dancer's Song and Interlude, the Swearing-in Song, or Rhyme, at Highgate, the Cornish Midsummer Bonfire Song, and the Fairlop Fair Song. In the arrangement of so multifarious an anthology, gathered from nearly all parts of the kingdom, the observance of chrono- logical order, for obvious reasons, has not been attempted; but pieces which possess any kind of affinity to each other have been kept together as nearly as other considerations would permit. The value of this volume consists in the genuineness of its con- tents, and the healthiness of its tone. While fashionable life was masquerading in imaginary Arcadias, and deluging theatres and concert rooms with shams, the English peasant remained true to the realities of his own experience, and produced and sang songs which faithfully reflected the actual life around him. Whatever these songs describe is true to that life. There are no fictitious raptures in them. Love here never dresses its emotions in arti- ficial images, nor disguises itself in the mask of a Strephon or a Daphne. It is in this particular aspect that the poetry of the country possesses a permanent and moral interest. KB. ANCIENT POEMS, BALLADS, SONGS OF THE PEASANTRY. fttttf. A THE PLAIN-DEALING MAN. [The oldest copy of the Plain-Dealing Man with which we have been able to meet is in black letter, printed by T. Yere at the sign c Of the Angel without Newgate/ Yere was hying in 1609.] CROTCHET comes into my mind Concerning a proverb of old, Plain dealing's a jewel most rare, And more precious than silver or gold : And therefore with patience give ear, And listen to what here is penned, These verses were written on purpose The honest man's cause to defend. For this I will make it appear, And prove by experience I can, ^Tis the excellen'st thing in the world ( To be a plain-dealing man. Yet some are so impudent grown, They'll domineer, vapour, and swagger, And say that the plain-dealing man Was born to die a beggar : 12 POEMS. But men that are honestly given Do such evil actions detest, And every one that is well-minded Will say that plain dealing is best. For this I will make it appear, And prove by experience I can, 'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world To be a plain-dealing man. For my part I am a poor man, And sometimes scarce muster a shilling, Yet to live upright in the world, Heaven knows I am wondrous willing. Although that my clothes be threadbare, And my calling be simple and poor, Yet will I endeavour myself To keep off the wolf from the door. For this I will make it appear, And prove by experience I can, 'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world To be a plain-dealing man. And now, to be brief in discourse, In plain terms I'll tell you my mind; My qualities you shall all know, And to what my humour's inclined : I hate all dissembling base knaves And pickthanks whoever they be, And for painted -faced drabs, and such like, They shall never get penny of me. For this I will make it appear, And prove by experience I can, 'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world To be a plain-dealing man. Nor can I abide any tongues That will prattle and prate against reason, About that which doth not concern them; Which thing is no better than treason. THE PLAIN-DEALING MAN. 13 Wherefore I'd wish all that do hear me Not to meddle with matters of state, Lest they be in question called for it, And repent them when it is too late. For this I will make it appear, And prove by experience I can, 'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world To be a plain-dealing man. O fie npon spiteful neighbours, Whose malicious humours are bent, And do practise and strive every day To wrong the poor innocent. By means of such persons as they, There hath many a good mother's son Been utterly brought to decay, Their wives and their children undone. For this I will make it appear, And prove by experience I can, 'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world To be a plain-dealing man. fie upon forsworn knaves, That do no conscience make To swear and forswear themselves At every third word they do speak : So they may get profit and gain, They care not what lies they do tell ; Such cursed dissemblers as they Are worse than the devils of hell. For this I will make it appear, And prove by experience I can, 'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world To be a plain-dealing man. O fie upon greedy bribe takers, 'Tis pity they ever drew breath, For they, like to base caterpillars, Devour up the fruits of the earth. 14 POEMS. They're apt to take money with both hands, On one side and also the other, And care not what men they undo, Though it be their own father or brother. Therefore I will make it appear, And show very good reasons I can, 'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world To be a plain-dealing man. O fie upon cheaters and thieves, That liveth by fraud and deceit ; The gallows do for such blades groan, And the hangmen do for their clothes wait. Though poverty be a disgrace, And want is a pitiful grief, 'Tis better to go like a beggar Than to ride in a cart like a thief. For this I will make it appear, And prove by experience I can, 'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world To be a plain-dealing man. And now let all honest men judge, If such men as I have here named For their wicked and impudent dealings, Deserveth not much to be blamed. And now here, before I conclude, One item to the world I will give, Which may direct some the right way, And teach them the better to live. For now I have made it appear, And many men witness it can, 'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world To be a plain-dealing man. i. I' th' first place I'd wish you beware What company you come in, For those that are wicked themselves May quickly tempt others to sin. THE VANITIES OF LIFE. 15 2. If youths be indued with wealth, And have plenty of silver and gold, I'd wish them keep something in store, To comfort them when they are old. 3. I have known many young prodigals, Which have wasted their money so fast, That they have been driven in want, And were forced to beg at the last. 4. I'd wish all men bear a good conscience, And in all their actions be just; For he's a false varlet indeed That will not be true to his trust. And now to conclude my new song, And draw to a perfect conclusion, I have told you what is in my mind, And what is my [firm] resolution. For this I have made it appear, And prove by experience I can, 'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world Co be a plain -dealing man. Lie THE VANITIES OE LIEE. "The following verses were copied by John Clare, the North- amptonshire peasant, from a MS. on the fly-leaves of an old book in the possession of a poor man, entitled The World's best Wealth; a Collection of choice Councils in Verse and Prose, 'Printed for A. Bettesivorth, at the Red Lion in Pater- noster-row, 1720. They were written in a 'crabbed, quaint hand, and difficult to decipher/ Clare remitted the poem (along with the original MS.) to Montgomery, the author of The World before the Flood, &c. &c, by whom it was pub- lished in the Sheffield Iris* Montgomery's criticism is as fol- lows : — ' Long as the poem appears to the eye, it will abundantly repay the trouble of perusal, being full of condensed and admi- rable thought, as well as diversified with exuberant imagery, and embellished with peculiar felicity of language : the moral points in the closing couplets of the stanzas are often powerfully enforced/ Most readers will agree in the justice of these re- 16 POEMS. marks. The poem was, probably, as Clare supposes, written about the commencement of the 18th century; and the unknown author appears to have been deeply imbued with the spirit of the popular devotional writers of the preceding century, as Herbert, Quarles, &c, but seems to have modelled his smoother and more elegant versification after that of the poetic school of his own times.] * Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.' — Solomon. TT7~HAT are life's joys and gains ? * * What pleasures crowd its ways, That man should take such pains To seek them all his days ? Sift this untoward strife On which thy mind is bent, See if this chaff of life Is worth the trouble spent. Is pride thy heart's desire ? Is power thy climbing aim ? Is love thy folly's fire ? Is wealth thy restless game ? Pride, power, love, wealth and all, Time's touchstone shall destroy, And, like base coin, prove all Vain substitutes for joy. Dost think that pride exalts Thyself in other's eyes, And hides thy folly's faults, Which reason will despise? Dost strut, and turn, and stride, Like walking weathercocks? The shadow by thy side Becomes thy ape, and mocks. Dost think that power's disguise Can make thee mighty seem? It may in folly's eyes, But not in worth's esteem : THE VANITIES OF LIFE. 17 When all that thou canst ask, And all that she can give, Is but a paltry mask Which tyrants wear and live. Go, let thy fancies range And ramble where they may; Yiew power in every change, And what is the display 1 ? — The country magistrate, The lowest shade in power, To rulers of the state, The meteors of an hour : — Yiew all, and mark the end Of every proud extreme, Where flattery turns a friend, And counterfeits esteem; Where worth is aped in show, That doth her name purloin, Like toys of golden glow That's sold for copper coin. Ambition's haughty nod, With fancies may deceive, Nay, tell thee thou'rt a god, — And wilt thou such believe 1 Go, bid the seas be dry, Go, hold earth like a ball, Or throw her fancies by, For God can do it all. Dost thou possess the dower Of laws to spare or kill ? Call it not heav'nly power When but a tyrant's will; Know what a God will do, And know thyself a fool, Nor tyrant-like pursue Where He alone should rule. ANCIENT POEMS, ETC. 18 POEMS. Dost think, when wealth is won, Thy heart has its desire 1 ? Hold ice up to the sun, And wax before the fire; Nor triumph o'er the reign Which they so soon resign; In this world weigh the gain, Insurance safe is thine. Dost think life's peace secure In houses and in land 1 Go, read the fairy lure To twist a cord of sand ; Lodge stones upon the sky, Hold water in a sieve, Nor give such tales the lie, And still thine own believe. Whoso with riches deals, And thinks peace bought and sold, Will find them slippery eels, That slide the firmest hold : Though sweet as sleep with health, Thy lulling luck may be, Pride may o'erstride thy wealth, And check prosperity. Dost think that beauty's power, Life's sweetest pleasure gives? Go, pluck the summer flower, And see how long it lives : Behold, the rays glide on, Along the summer plain, Ere thou canst say, they're gone, — And measure beauty's reign. Look on the brightest eye, Nor "!:each it to be proud, But view the clearest sky And thou shalt find a cloud; THE VANITIES OF LIFE. 19 Nor call each face ye meet An angel's, 'cause it's fair, But look beneath your feet, And think of what ye are. Who thinks that love doth live In beauty's tempting show, Shall find his hopes ungive, And melt in reason's thaw; Who thinks that pleasure lies In every fairy bower, Shall oft, to his surprise, Find poison in the flower. Dost lawless pleasures grasp ? Judge not thou deal'st in joy; Its flowers but hide the asp, Thy revels to destroy : Who trusts a harlot's smile, And by her wiles is led, Plays with a sword the while, Hung dropping o'er his head. [Dost doubt my warning song? Then doubt the sun gives light, Doubt truth to teach thee wrong, And wrong alone as right; And live as lives the knave, Intrigue's deceiving guest, Be tyrant, or be slave, As suits thy ends the best. (Or pause amid thy toils, For visions won and lost, And count the fancied spoils, If e'er they quit the cost ; And if they still possess Thy mind, as worthy things, Pick straws with Bedlam Bess, And call them diamond rings. 2— a 20 POEMS. Thy folly's past advice, Thy heart's already won, Thy fall's above all price, So go, and be undone ; For all who thus prefer The seeming great for small, Shall make wine vinegar, And sweetest honey gall. Wouldst heed the truths I sing, To profit wherewithal, Clip folly's wanton wing, And keep her within call : I've little else to give, What thou canst easy try, The lesson how to live, Is but to learn to die. C THE LIFE AND AGE OF MAN. [From one of Thackeray's Catalogues, preserved in the British Museum, it appears that The Life and Age of Man was one of the productions printed by him at the ■ Angel in Duck Lane, London/ Thackeray's imprint is found attached to broadsides published between 1672 and 1688, and he probably commenced printing soon after the accession of Charles II. The present reprint, the correctness of which is very questionable, is taken from a modern broadside, the editor not having been fortunate enough to meet with any earlier edition. This old poem is said to have been a great favourite with the father of Kobert Burns.] IN prime of years, when I was young, I took delight in youthful ways, Not knowing then what did belong Unto the pleasures of those days. At seven years old I was a child, And subject then to be beguiled. THE LIFE AND AGE OF MAN. 21 At two times seven I went to learn What discipline is taught at school : When good from ill I could discern, I thought myself no more a fool : My parents were contriving than, How I might live when I were man. At three times seven I waxed wild, When manhood led me to be bold; I thought myself no more a child, My own conceit it so me told : Then did I venture far and near, To buy delight at price full dear. At four times seven I take a wife, And leave off all my wanton ways, Thinking thereby perhaps to thrive, And save myself from sad disgrace. So farewell my companions all, For other business doth me call. At five times seven I must hard strive, What I could gain by mighty skill; But still against the stream I drive, And bowl up stones against the hill; The more I laboured might and main, The more I strove against the stream. At six times seven all covetise Began to harbour in my breast ; My mind still then contriving was How I might gain this worldly wealth ; To purchase lands and live on them, So make my children mighty men. At seven times seven all worldly thought Began to harbour in my brain ; Then did I drink a heavy draught Of water of experience plain; 99 POEMS. There none so ready was as I, To purchase bargains, sell, or buy. At eight times seven I waxed old, And took myself unto my rest, Neighbours then sought my counsel bold, And I was held in great request; But age did so abate my strength, That I was forced to yield at length. At nine times seven take my leave Of former vain delights must I ; It then full sorely did me grieve — I fetched many a heavy sigh; To rise up early, and sit up late, My former life, I loathe and hate. At ten times seven my glass is run, And I poor silly man must die ; I looked up, and saw the sun Had overcome the crystal sky. So now I must this world forsake, Another man my place must take. /Now you may see, as in a glass, ^ The whole estate of mortal men; How they from seven to seven do pass, Until they are threescore and ten ; And when their glass is fully run, They must leave off as they begun. THE YOUNG MAN'S WISH. [Feom an old copy, without printer's name ; probably one from the Aldermary Church-yard press. Poems in triplets were very popular during the reign of Charles L, and are frequently to be met with during the Interregnum, and the reign of Charles II.] TF I could but attain my wish, -*- I'd have each day one wholesome dish, Of plain meat, or fowl, or fish. THE YOUNG MAK's WISH. 23 A glass of port, with good old beer, In winter time a fire burnt clear, Tobacco, pipes, an easy chair. In some clean town a snug retreat, A little garden 'fore my gate, With thousand pounds a year estate. After my house expense was clear, Whatever I could have to spare, The neighbouring poor should freely share. To keep content and peace through life, I'd have a prudent cleanly wife, Stranger to noise, and eke to strife. Then I, when blest with such estate, With such a house, and such a mate, Would envy not the worldly great. Let them for noisy honours try, Let them seek worldly praise, while I Unnoticed would live and die. But since dame Fortune's not thought fit To place me in affluence, yet ill be content with what I get. /He's happiest far w^hose humble mind, Is unto Providence resigned, And thinketh fortune always kind. Then I will strive to bound my wish, And take, instead of fowl and fish, Whate'er is thrown into my dish. Instead of wealth and fortune great, Garden and house and loving mate, I'll rest content in servile state. /I'll from each folly strive to fly, Each virtue to attain I'll try, And live as I would wish to die. 24 POEMS. THE MIDNIGHT MESSENGER; OR, A SUDDEN CALL FROM AN EARTHLY GLORY TO THE COLD GRAVE. In a Dialogue between Death and a Rich Man ; who, in the midst of all his Wealth, received the tidings of his Last Day, to his unspeakable and sorrowful Lamentation. To the tune of Aim not too high* &c. [The following poem, and the two that immediately follow, belong to a class of publications which have always been peculiar favou- rites with the peasantry, in whose cottages they may be frequently seen, neatly framed and glazed, and suspended from the white- washed walls. They belong to the school of Quarles, and can be traced to the time when that writer was in the height of his popularity. These religious dialogues are numerous, but the majority of them are very namby-pamby productions, and un- worthy of a reprint. The modern editions preserve the old form of the broadside of the seventeenth century, and are adorned with rude woodcuts, probably copies of ruder originals — * ' wooden cuts Strange, and uncouth ; dire faces, figures dire, Sharp-kneed, sharp-elbowed, and lean-ankled too, With long and ghostly shanks, forms which once seen, Can never be forgotten !' — Wordsworth's Excursion.] DEATH. I nnHOTJ wealthy man of large possessions here, J- Amounting to some thousand pounds a year, Extorted by oppression from the poor, The time is come that thou shalt be no more; Thy house therefore in order set with speed, And call to mind how you your life do lead. Let true repentance be thy chiefest care, And for another world now, now prepare. For notwithstanding all your heaps of gold, Your lands and lofty buildings manifold, , Take notice you must die this very day; And therefore kiss your bags and come away. * This is the same tune as Fortune my foe. — See Popular Music of the Olden Time, p. 162,. THE MIDNIGHT MESSENGER. 25 RICH MAN. [He started straight and turned his head aside, Where seeing pale-faced Death, aloud he cried], Lean famished slave ! why do you threaten so, Whence come you, pray, and whither must I go? DEATH. /icome from ranging round the universe, Through courts and kingdoms far and near I pass, Where rich and poor, distressed, bond and free, Fall soon or late a sacrifice to me. From crowned kings to captives bound in chains My power reaches, sir; the longest reigns That ever were, I put a period to; And now I'm come in fine to conquer you. RICH MAN. I can't nor won't believe that you, pale Death, Were sent this day to stop my vital breath, By reason I in perfect health remain, Free from diseases, sorrow, grief, and pain ; No heavy heart, nor fainting fits have I, And do you say that I am drawing nigh The latter minute'? sure it cannot be; Depart, therefore, you are not sent for me ! DEATH. Yes, yes, I am, for did you never know, The tender grass and pleasant flowers that grow Perhaps one minute, are the next cut down ? And so is man, though famed with high renown. Have you not heard the doleful passing bell Ring out for those that were alive and well The other day, in health and pleasure too, And had as little thoughts of death as you ? For let me tell you, when my warrant's sealed, The sweetest beauty that the earth doth yield At my approach shall turn as pale as lead ; 'Tis I that lay them on their dying bed. ft 26 POEMS. I kill with dropsy, phthisic, stone, and gout; But when my raging fevers fly about, I strike the man, perhaps, but over-night, Who hardly lives to see the morning light; I'm sent each hour, like to a nimble page, To infant, hoary heads, and middle age; Time after time I sweep the world quite through ; Then it's in vain to think I'll favour you. KICH MAN. Proud Death, you see what awful sway I bear, For when I frown none of my servants dare Approach my presence, but in corners hide Until I am appeased and pacified. Nay, men of greater rank I keep in awe Nor did I ever fear the force of law, But ever did my enemies subdue, And must I after all submit to you? DEATH. /'Tis very true, for why thy daring soul, Which never could endure the least control, I'll thrust thee from this earthly tenement, And thou shalt to another world be sent. RICH MAN. What ! must I die and leave a vast estate, Which, with my gold, I purchased but of late ? Besides what I had many years ago ? — What ! must my wealth and I be parted so? If you your darts and arrows must let fly, Go search the jails, where mourning debtors lie; Release them from their sorrow, grief, and woe, For I am rich and therefore loth to go. DEATH. / I'll search no jails, but the right mark I'll hit; And though you ai e unwilling to submit, Yet die you must, no other friend can do, — Prepare yourself to go, I'm come for you. THE MIDNIGHT MESSENGER. 27 If you had all the world and ten times more, Yet die you must, — there's millions gone before; The greatest kings on earth yield and obey, And at my feet their crowns and sceptres lay : If crowned heads and right renowned peers Die in the prime and blossoms of their years, Can you suppose to gain a longer space 1 ? No! I will send you to another place. RICH MAN. Oh ! stay thy hand and be not so severe, I have a hopeful son and daughter dear, All that I beg is but to let me live That I may them in lawful marriage give : They being young when I am laid in the grave, I fear they will be wronged of what they have : Although of me you will no pity take, Yet spare me for my little infants' sake. DEATH. / If such a vain excuse as this might do, It would be long ere mortals would go through The shades of death ; for every man would find Something to say that he might stay behind. Yet, if ten thousand arguments they'd use, The destiny of dying to excuse, They'll find it is in vain with me to strive, For why, I part the dearest friends alive; Poor parents die, and leave their children small With nothing to support them here withal, But the kind hand of gracious Providence, Who is their father, friend, and sole defence. Though I have held you long in disrepute, Yet after all here with a sharp salute I'll put a period to your days and years, Causing your eyes to flow with dying tears. RICH MAN. [Then with a groan he made this sad complaint] : My heart is dying, and my spirits faint ; 28 POEMS. To my close chamber let me be conveyed ; Farewell, false world, for thou hast me betrayed. Would I had never wronged the fatherless, Nor mourning widows when in sad distress ; Would I had ne'er been guilty of that sin, Would I had never known what gold had been ; For by the same my heart was drawn away To search for gold : but now this very day, I find it is but like a slender reed, Which fails me most when most I stand in need ; For, woe is me ! the time is come at last, Now I am on a bed of sorrow cast, Where in lamenting tears I weeping lie, Because my sins make me afraid to die : Oh ! Death, be pleased to spare me yet awhile, That I to God myself may reconcile, For true repentance some small time allow; I never feared a future state till now ! My bags of gold and land I'd freely give, For to obtain the favour here to live, Until I have a sure foundation laid. Let me not die before my peace be made ! DEATH. Thou hast not many minutes here to stay, Lift up your heart to God without delay, Implore his pardon now for what is past, Who knows but He may save your soul at last 1 RICH MAN. I'll water now with tears my dying bed, Before the Lord my sad complaint I'll spread, And if He will vouchsafe to pardon me, To die and leave this world I could be free. False world ! false world, farewell ! farewell ! adieu ! I find, I find, thero is no trust in you ! For when upon a dying bed we lie, Your gilded baits are nought but misery. A DIALOGUE. 29 My youthful son and loving daughter dear, Take earning by your dying father here ; Let not the world deceive you at this rate, For fear a sad repentance conies too late. Sweet babes, I little thought the other day, I should so suddenly be snatched away By Death, and leave you weeping here behind; But life's a most uncertain thing, I find. When in the grave my bead is lain full low, Pray let not folly prove your overthrow; Serve ye the Lord, obey his holy will, That he may have a blessing for you still. [Having saluted them, he turned aside, These were the very words before he died] : A painful life I ready am to leave, "Wherefore, in mercy, Lord, my soul receive. A DIALOGUE BETWIXT AN EXCISEMAN AND DEATH. [Teak's ceibed from a copy in the British Museum, printed in London by J. C [larke]., 1659. The idea of Death being employed to execute a writ, recalls an epitaph which we re- member to have seen in a village church-yard at the foot of the Wrekin, in Shropshire, commencing thus : — 1 The King of Heaven a warrant got, And sealed it without delay,. And he did give the same to Death, For him to serve straightway,' &c] UPON a time when Titan's steeds were driven To drench themselves beneath the western heaven j And sable Morpheus had his curtains spread. And silent night had laid the world to bed ; 'Mongst other night-birds which did seek for prey, A blunt exciseman, which abhorred the day, Was rambling forth to seek himself a booty 'Mongst merchant's goods which had not paid the duty ; But walking all alone, Death chanced to meet him, And in this manner did begin to greet him. 30 POEMS. DEATH. Stand, who comes here? what means this knave to peep And skulk abroad, when honest men should sleep? Speak, what's thy name? and quickly tell me this, Whither thou goest, and what thy business is? EXCISEMAN. Whate'er my business is, thou foul-mouthed scold, I'd have you know I scorn to be controlled By any man that lives ; much less by thou, Who blurtest out thou know'st not what, nor how • I go about my lawful business; and I'll make you smart for bidding of me stand. DEATH. Imperious coxcomb ! is your stomach vexed ? Pray slack your rage, and hearken what comes next : I have a writ to take you up ; therefore, To chafe your blood, I bid you stand, once more. EXCISEMAN. A writ to take me up ! excuse me, sir, You do mistake, I am an officer In public service, for my private wealth; My business is, if any seek by stealth To undermine the state, I do discover Their falsehood ; therefore hold your hand, — give over. DEATH. /Nay, fair and soft ! 'tis not so quickly done / As you conceive it is : I am not gone A jot the sooner for your hasty chat, Nor bragging language ; for I tell you flat 'Tis more than so, though fortune seem to thwart us, Such easy terms I don't intend shall part us. With this impartial arm I'll make you feel My fingers first, and with this shaft of steel I'll peck thy bones! as thou alive wert hated, So dead, to. dogs thou shaltbe segregated. A DIALOGUE. 31 EXCISEMAN. I 'd laugh at that ; I would thou didst but dare To lay thy fingers on me; I'd not spare To hack thy carcass till my sword was broken, I 'd make thee eat the words which thou hast spoken ; All men should warning take by thy transgression, How they molested men of my profession. My service to the state is so well known, That should I but complain, they'd quickly own My public grievances ; and give me right To cut your ears, before to-morrow night. DEATH. [Well said, indeed! but bootless all, for I Am well acquainted with thy villany; I know thy office, and thy trade is such, Thy service little, and thy gains are much : Thy brags are many; but 'tis vain to swagger, And think to fight me with thy gilded dagger: As I abhor thy person, place, and threat, So now I'll bring thee to the judgment-seat. EXCISEMAN. The judgment-seat ! T must confess that word Doth cut my heart, like any sharpened sword : What ! come t' account ! methinks the dreadful sound Of every word doth make a mortal wound, Which sticks not only in my outward skin, But penetrates my very soul within. 'Twas least of all my thoughts that ever Death Would once attempt to stop excisemen's breath. But since 'tis so, that now I do perceive You are in earnest, then I must relieve Myself another way: come, we'll be friends; If I have wronged thee, I'll make th' amends. Let's join together; I'll pass my word this night Shall yield us grub, before the morning light. Or otherwise (to mitigate my sorrow), Stay here, I'll bring you gold enough to-morrow. 32 POEMS. DEATH. (To-morrow's gold I will not have; and thou Shalt have no gold upon to-morrow : now My final writ shall to th' execution have thee, All earthly treasure cannot help or save thee. EXCISEMAN. Then woe is me ! ah ! how was I befooled ! I thought that gold (which answereth all things) could Have stood my friend at any time to bail me ! But grief grows great, and now my trust doth fail me. Oh ! that my conscience were but clear within, Which now is racked with my former sin; With horror I behold my secret stealing, My bribes, oppression, and my graceless dealing; My office-sins, which I had clean forgotten, Will gnaw my soul when all my bones are rotten : I must confess it, very grief doth force me, Dead or alive, both God and man doth curse me. Let all Excisemen hereby warning take, To shun their practice for their conscience sake. THE MESSENGER OF MORTALITY; OR LIFE AND DEATH CONTRASTED IN A DIALOGUE BETWIXT DEATH AND A EADY. [One of Charles Lamb's most beautiful and plaintive poems was suggested by this old dialogue. The tune is given in ChappelFs Popular Music, p. 167. In Carey's Musical Century, 1738, it is called the l Old tune of Death and the Lady. 9 The four con- cluding lines of the present copy of Death and the Lady are found inscribed on tomb-stones in village church-yards in every part of England. They are not contained, however, in the broadside with which our reprint has been carefully collated.] DEATH. /T7AIR lady, lay your costly robes aside, / Jl No longer may you glory in your pride ; Take leave of all your carnal vain delight, I'm come to summon you away this night ! THE MESSENGER OF MORTALITY. 33 LADY. What bold attempt is this? pray let me know From whence you come, and whither I must go? Must I, who am a lady, stoop or bow To such a pale-faced visage? Who art thou? DEATH. ft)o you not know me ? well ! I tell thee, then, It's I that conquer all the sons of men! No pitch of honour from my dart is free ; My name is Death ! have you not heard of me ? LADY. Yes ! I have heard of thee time after time, But being in the glory of my prime, I did not think you would have called so soon. Why must my morning sun go down at noon ? DEATH. /Talk not of noon ! you may as well be mute ; This is no time at all for to dispute : Your riches, garments, gold, and jewels brave, Houses and lands must all new owners have; Though thy vain heart to riches was inclined, Yet thou must die and leave them all behind. LADY. My heart is cold ; I tremble at the news ; There's bags of gold, if thou wilt me excuse, And seize on them, and finish thou the strife Of those that are aweary of their life. Are there not many bound in prison strong, In bitter grief of soul have languished long, Who could but find the grave a place of rest, From all the grief in which they are oppressed ? Besides, there's many with a hoary head, And palsy joints, by which their joys are fled ; ' ,AJSCIEHT POEMS, ETC. 3 34 POEMS. Release thou them whose sorrows are so great, But spare my life to have a longer date. DEATH. ( Though some by age be full of grief and pain, Yet their appointed time they must remain : I come to none before their warrant's sealed, And when it is, they must submit and yield. I take no bribe, believe me, this is true ; Prepare yourself to go ; I'm come for you. LADY. Death, be not so severe, let me obtain A. little longer time to live and reign! Fain would I stay if thou my life will spare; I have a daughter beautiful and fair, I'd live to see her wed whom I adore : Grant me but this and I will ask no more. DEATH. ( This is a slender frivolous excuse; I have you fast, and will not let you loose; Leave her to Providence, for you must go Along with me, whether you will or no ; I, Death, command the King to leave his crown, And at my feet he lays his sceptre down ! Then if to kings I don't this favour give, But cut them off, can you expect to live Beyond the limits of your time and space ? No ! I must send you to another place. LADY. You learned doctors, now express your skill, And let not Death of me obtain his will; Prepare your cordials, let me comfort find, My gold shall fly like chaff before the wind. DEATH. 'Forbear to call, their skill will never do, They are but mortals here as well as you : THE MESSENGER OF MORTALITY. 35 I give tlie fatal wound, my dart is sure, And far beyond the doctor's skill to cure. How freely can you let your riches fly To purchase life, rather than yield to die ! But while you flourish here with all your store, You will not give one penny to the poor; Though in God's name their suit to you they make, You would not spare one penny for His sake ! The Lord beheld wherein you did amiss, And calls you hence to give account for this ! LADY. /Oh! heavy news ! must I no longer stay? L How shall I stand in the great judgment-day? [Down from her eyes the crystal tears did flow : She said], None knows what I do undergo: Upon my bed of sorrow here I lie; My carnal life makes me afraid to die. My sins, alas! are many, gross, and foul, Oh, righteous Lord ! have mercy on my soul ! And though I do deserve thy righteous frown, Yet pardon, Lord, and pour a blessing down. [Then with a dying sigh her heart did break, And did the pleasures of this world forsake]. Thus may we see the high and mighty fall, For cruel Death shows no respect at all To any one of high or low degree, Great men submit to Death as well as we. Though they are gay, their life is but a span — A lump of clay — so vile a creature's man. Then happy those whom Christ has made his care, Who die in the Lord, and ever blessed are. The grave's the market-place where all men meet, Both rich and poor, as well as small and great. If life were merchandise that gold could buy, The rich would live ; the poor alone would die. 36 POEMS. ENGLAND'S ALARM; OR THE PIOUS CHRISTIAN'S SPEEDY CALL TO REPENTANCE For the many aggravating sins too much practised in our present mournful times : as Pride, Drunkenness, Blasphemous Swearing, together with the Profanation of the Sabbath ; concluding with the sin of wantonness and disobedience ; that upon our hearty sorrow and forsaking the same the Lord may save us for his mercy's sake. [From the cluster of ' ornaments ' alluded to in the ninth verse of the following poem, we are inclined to fix the date about 1653. The present reprint is from an old broadside, without printer's name or date, in possession of Mr. J. R. Smith.] ( "Y^OTJ sober-minded christians now draw near, J- Labour to learn these pious lessons here; For by the same you will be taught to know What is the cause of all our grief and woe. We have a God who sits enthroned above; He sends us many tokens of his love : Yet we, like disobedient children, still Deny to yield submission to His will. The just command which He upon us lays, We must confess we have ten thousand ways Transgressed ; for see how men their sins pursue, As if they did not fear what God could do. Behold the wretched sinner void of shame, He values not how he blasphemes the name Of that good God who gave him life and breath, And who can strike him with the darts of death ! The very little children which we meet, Amongst the sports and pastimes in the street, We very often hear them curse and swear, Before they've learned a word of any prayer. 'Tis much to be lamented, for I fear The same they learn from what they daily hear ; Be careful then, and don't instruct them so, For fear you prove their dismal overthrow. England's alarm. 37 Both young and old, that dreadful sin forbear; The tongue of man was never made to swear, But to adore and praise the blessed name, By whom alone our dear salvation came. Pride is another reigning sin likewise; Let us behold in what a strange disguise Young damsels do appear, both rich and poor; The like was ne'er in any age before. What artificial ornaments they wear, Black patches, paint, and locks of powdered hair ; Likewise in lofty hoops they are arrayed, As if they would correct what God had made. Yet let 'em know, for all those youthful charms, They must lie down in death's cold frozen arms ! Oh think on this, and raise your thoughts above. The sin of pride, which you so dearly love. Likewise, the wilful sinners that transgress The righteous laws of God by drunkenness, They do abuse the creatures which were sent Purely for man's refreshing nourishment. Many diseases doth that sin attend, But what is worst of all, the fatal end : Let not the pleasures of a quaffing bowl Destroy and stupify thy active soul. Perhaps the jovial drunkard over night, May seem to reap the pleasures of delight, While for his wine he doth in plenty call ; But oh ! the sting of conscience, after all, Is like a gnawing worm upon the mind. Then if you would the peace of conscience find, A sober conversation learn with speed, For that's the sweetest life that man can lead. Be careful that thou art not drawn away, By foolishness, to break the Sabbath-day; Be constant at the pious house of prayer, That thou mayst learn the christian duties there. 38 POEMS. / For tell me, wherefore should we carp and care For what we eat and drink, and what we wear ; And the meanwhile our fainting souls exclude From that refreshing sweet celestial food ] Yet so it is, we, by experience, find Many young wanton gallants seldom mind The church of God,. but scornfully deride That sacred word by which they must be tried. A tavern, or an alehouse, they adore, And will not come within the church before They're brought to lodge under a silent tomb, And then who knows how dismal is their doom ! Though for awhile, perhaps, they flourish here, And seem to scorn the very thoughts of fear, Yet when they're summoned to resign their breath, They can't outbrave the bitter stroke of death ! Consider this, young gallants, whilst you may, Swift- winged time and tide for none will stay; And therefore let it be your christian care, To serve the Lord, and for your death prepare. /There is another crying sin likewise : ' Behold young gallants cast their wanton eyes On painted harlots, which they often meet At every creek and corner of the street, By whom they are like dismal captives led To their destruction; grace and fear is fled, Till at the length they find themselves betrayed, And for that sin most sad examples made. Then, then, perhaps, in bitter tears they'll cry, With wringing hands, against their company, Which did betray them to that dismal state ! Consider this before it is too late. Likewise, sons and daughters, far and near, Honour your loving friends, and parents dear; Let not your disobedience grieve them so, Nor cause their aged eyes with tears to flow. SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED. 39 What a heart-breaking sorrow it must be, To dear indulgent parents, when they see Their stubborn children wilfully run on Against the wholesome laws of God and man ! Oh ! let these things a deep impression make Upon your hearts, with speed your sins forsake ; For, true it is, the Lord will never bless Those children that do wilfully transgress. Now, to conclude, both young and old I pray, Reform your sinful lives this very day, That fiod in mercy may his love extend, And brin^ the nation's troubles to an end. SMOKING SPIRITUALIZED. [The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently suffi- cient grounds, to the Rev. Ralph Erskine, or, as he designated himself, ' Ralph Erskine, V.D.M/ The peasantry through the north of England always call it ' Erskine's song/ and not only is his name given as the author in numerous chap-books, but in his own volume of Gospel Sonnets, from an early copy of which our version is transcribed. The discovery, however, by Mr. Collier, of the Eirst Part in a MS. temp. Jac. I., with the initials G. W. affixed to it, has disposed of Erskine's claim to the honour of the entire authorship. G. TV. is supposed to be George "Withers; but this is purely conjectural; and it is not at all im- probable that G. W. really stands for W. G., as it was a common practice amongst anonymous writers to reverse their initials. The history, then, of the poem, seems to be this : that the First Part, as it is now printed, originally constituted the whole pro- duction, being complete in itself; that the Second Part was afterwards added by the Rev. Ralph Erskine ; and that both parts came subsequently to be ascribed to him, as his was the only name published in connexion with the song. The Rev. Ralph Erskine was born at Monilaws, Northumberland, on the 15th March, 1685. He was one of the thirty-three children of Ralph Erskine of Shieldfield, a family of repute descended from the ancient house of Marr. He was educated at the college in Edinburgh, obtained his licence to preach in June, 1 709, and was ordained, on an unanimous invitation, over the church at Dun- 40 POEMS. fermlirte in August, 171 1. He was twice married: in 1714^0 Margaret Dewar, daughter of the Laird of Lassodie, by whom he had five sons and five daughters, all of whom died in the prime of life; and in 1732 to Margaret, daughter of Mr. Simson of Edinburgh, by whom he had four sons, one of whom, with his wife, survived him. He died in November, 1752. Erskine was the author of a great number of Sermons ; a Paraphrase on the Canticles ; Scripture Songs; a Treatise on Mental Images ; and Gospel Sonnets. Smoking Spiritualized is, at the present day, a standard pub- lication with modern ballad-printers, but their copies are exceed- ingly corrupt. Many versions and paraphrases of the song exist. Several are referred to in Notes and Queries, and/- amongst them, a broadside of the date of 1670, and another dated 1672 (both printed before Erskine was born), presenting different readings of the First Part, or original poem. In both these the burthen, or refrain, differs from that of our copy by the employ- ment of the expression 'drink tobacco/ instead of 'smoke to- bacco/ The former was the ancient term for drawing in the smoke, swallowing it, and emitting it through the nostrils. A correspondent of Notes and Queries says, that the natives of India to this day use the phrase ' hooka peue/ to drink the hooka.] PART I. THIS Indian weed, now withered quite, Though green at noon, cut down at night, Shows thy decay; All flesh is hay: Thus think, and smoke tobacco. The pipe so lily-like and weak, Does thus thy mortal state bespeak; Thou art e'en such, — Gone with a touch : Thus think, and smoke tobacco. And when the smoke ascends on high, Then thou behold'st the vanity Of worldly stuff, Gone with a puff: Thus think, and smoke tobacco. SMOKIXG SPIRITUALIZED. 41 And when the pipe grows foul within, Think on thy soul defiled with sin; For then the fire It does require : Thus think, and smoke tobacco. And seest the 'ashes cast away, Then to thyself thou may est say, That to the dust Return thou must. Thus think, and smoke tobacco. PART II. Was this small plant for thee cut down? So w^as the plant of great renown, Which Mercy sends For nobler ends. Thus think, and smoke tobacco. Doth juice mediciDal proceed From such a naughty foreign weed? Then what's the power Of Jesse's flower ] Thus think, and smoke tobacco. The promise, like the pipe, inlays, And by the mouth of faith conveys, What virtue flows From Sharon's rose. Thus think, and smoke tobacco. In vain the unlighted pipe you blow, Your pains in outward means are so, Till heavenly fire Your heart inspire. Thus think, and smoke tobacco. The smoke, like burning incense, towers, So should a praying heart of yours, With ardent cries, Surmount the skies. Thus think, and smoke tobacco. 42 POEMS. THE MASONIC HYMN. [This is a very ancient production, though given from a modern copy ; it has always been popular amongst the poor ' brethren of the mystic tie/ The late Henry O'Brien, A.B., quotes the seventh verse in his essay On the Round Towers of Ireland. He generally had a common copy of the hymn in his pocket, and on meeting with any of his antiquarian friends who were not Masons, was in the habit of thrusting it into their hands, and telling them that if they understood the mystic allusions it con- tained, they would be in possession of a key which would unlock the pyramids of Egypt ! The tune to the hymn is peculiar to it, and is of a plaintive and solemn character.] /^OME all you freemasons that dwell around the globe, ^ That wear the badge of innocence, I mean the royal robe, Which Noah he did wear when in the ark he stood, When the world was destroyed by a deluging flood. Noah he was virtuous in the sight of the Lord, He loved a freemason that kept the secret word ; For he built the ark, and he planted the first vine, Now his soul in heaven like an angel doth shine. Once I was blind, and could not see the light, Then up to Jerusalem I took my flight, I was led by the evangelist through a wilderness of care, You may see by the sign and the badge that I wear. On the 13th rose the ark, let us join hand in hand, For the Lord spake to Moses by water and by land, Unto the pleasant river where by Eden it did rin, And Eve tempted Adam by the serpent of sin. When I think of Moses it makes me to blush, All on mount Horeb where I saw the burning bush; My shoes I'll throw off, and my staff I'll cast away, And I'll wander like a pilgrim unto my dying day. When I think of Aaron it makes me to weep, [feet ; Likewise of the Virgin Mary who lay at our Saviour's THE MASONIC HYMN. 43 'Twas in the garden of Gethsemane where he had the bloody sweat-; Repent, my clearest brethren, before it is too late. I thought I saw twelve dazzling lights, which put me in surprise, And gazing all around me I heard a dismal noise ; The serpent passed by me which fell unto the ground, With great joy and comfort the secret word I found. Some say it is lost, but surely it is found, And so is our Saviour, it is known to all around ; Search all the Scriptures over, and there it will be shown; The tree that will bear no fruit must be cut down. Abraham was a man well beloved by the Lord, He was true to be found in great Jehovah's word, He stretched forth his hand, and took a knife to slay his son, An angel appearing said, The Lord's will be done ! O, Abraham ! 0, Abraham ! lay no hand upon the lad, He sent him unto thee to make thy heart glad; Thy seed shall increase like stars in the sky, And thy soul into heaven like Gabriel shall fly. O, never, 0, never will I hear an orphan cry, Xor yet a gentle virgin until the day I die ; You wandering Jews that travel the wide world round, May knock at the door where truth is to be found. Often against the Turks and Infidels we fight, To let the wandering world know we're in the right, For in heaven there's a lodge, and St. Peter keeps the door, And none can enter in but those that are pure. St. Peter he opened, and so we entered in, Into the holy seat secure, which is all free from sin ; St. Peter he opened, and so we entered there, And the glory of the temple no man can compare. 44 POEMS. GOD SPEED THE PLOW, AND BLESS THE COKN-MOW. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE HUSBANDMAN AND SERVINGMAN. The tune is, I am the Duke of Norfolk. [This ancient dialogue, though in a somewhat altered form (see the ensuing poem), has long "been used at country merry-makings. It is transcribed from a black-letter copy in the third volume of the Roxburgh collection, apparently one of the imprints of Peter Brooksby, which would make the composition at least as old as the close of the fifteenth century. There are several dialogues of a similar character.] ARGUMENT. The servingman the plowman would invite To leave his calling and to take delight ; But he to that by no means will agree, Lest he thereby should come to beggary. He makes it plain appear a country life Doth far excel : and so they end the strife. MY noble friends give ear, if mirth you love to hear, I'll tell you as fast as I can, A story very true, then mark what doth ensue, Concerning of a husbandman. A servingman did meet a husbandman in the street, And thus unto him began : SERVINGMAN. I pray you tell to me of what calling you be, Or if you be a servingman 1 HUSBANDMAN. Quoth he, my brother dear, the coast I mean to clear, And the truth you shall understand : I do no one disdain, but this I tell you plain, I am an honest husbandman. SERVINGMAN. If a husbandman you be, then come along with me, I'll help you as soon as I can Unto a gallant place, where in a little space, You shall be a servingman. GOD SPEED THE PLOW. 45 HUSBANDMAN. Sir, for your diligence I give you many thanks, These things I receive at your hand ; I pray you to me show, whereby that I might know, What pleasures hath a servingman? SERVINGMAN. A servingman hath pleasure, which passeth time and When the hawk on his fist doth stand ; [measure, His hood, and his verrils brave, and other things, we Which yield joy to a servingman. [have, HUSBANDMAN. My pleasure's more than that to see my oxen fat, And to prosper well under my hand; [team, And therefore I do mean, with my horse, and with my To keep myself a husbandman. SERVINGMAN. O 'tis a gallant thing in the prime time of the spring, To hear the huntsman now and than His bugle for to blow, and the hounds run all a row : This is pleasure for a servingman ! To hear the beagle cry, and to see the falcon fly, And the hare trip over the plain, [rebound : And the huntsmen and the hound make hill and dale This is pleasure for a servingman ! HUSBANDMAN. / 'Tis pleasure, too, you know, to see the corn to grow, And to grow so well on the land; [mowing, The plowing and the sowing, the reaping and the Yield pleasure to the husbandman. SERVINGMAN. At our table you may eat all sorts of dainty meat, Pig, cony, goose, capon, and swan; And with lords and ladies fine, you may drink beer, ale, and wine ! This is pleasure for a servingman. 46 POEMS. HUSBANDMAN. | While you eat goose and capon, I'll feed on beef and And piece of hard cheese now and than; [bacon, We pudding have, and souse, always ready in the Which contents the honest husbandman. [house, SERVINGMAN. At the court you may have your garments fine and And cloak with gold lace laid upon, [brave, A shirt as white as milk, and wrought with finest silk : That's pleasure for a servingman ! HUSBANDMAN. Such proud and costly gear is not for us to wear; Amongst the briers and brambles many a one, A good strong russet coat, and at your need a groat, Will suffice the husbandman. A proverb here I tell, which likes my humour well, And remember it well I can, If a courtier be too bold, he'll want when he is old. Then farewell the servingman. SERVINGMAN. It needs must be confest that your calling is the best, No longer discourse with you I can ; But henceforth I will pray, by night and by day, Heaven bless the honest husbandman. A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE HUSBANDMAN AND THE SEKVINGMAN. [This traditional version of the preceding ancient dialogue has long been popular at country festivals. At a harvest-home feast at Selborne, in Hampshire, in 1836, we heard it recited by two countrymen, who ga~:e it with considerable humour, and dramatic effect. It was delivered in a sort of chant, or reci- tative. Davies Gilbert published a very similar copy in hisr A DIALOGUE. 47 Ancient Christmas Carols. In the modern printed editions, which are almost identical with ours, the term 'servantinan' has been substituted for the more ancient designation.] SERVINGMAN. WELL met, my brother friend, all at this highway So simple all alone, as you can, [end, I pray you tell to me, what may your calling be, Are you not a servingman'? HUSBANDMAN. No, no, my brother dear, what makes you to inquire Of any such a thing at my hand ? Indeed I shall not feign, but I will tell you plain, I am a downright husbandman. SERVINGMAN. If a husbandman you be, then go along with me, And quickly you shall see out of hand, How in a little space I will help you to a place, Where you may be a servingman. HUSBANDMAN. Kind sir ! I 'turn you thanks for your intelligence, These things I receive at your hand ; [know But something pray now show, that first I may plainly The pleasures of a servingman. SERVINGMAN. Why a servingman has pleasure beyond all sort of measure, With his hawk on his fist, as he does stand; For the game that he does kill, and the meat that does Are pleasures for the servingman. [him fill, HUSBANDMAN. And my pleasure's more than that, to see my oxen fat, And a good stock of hay by them stand; My plowing and my sowing, my reaping and my mowing, Are pleasures for the husbandman. 48 POEMS. SERVINGMAN. Why it is a gallant thing to ride out with a king, With a lord, duke, or any such man; [in a row, To hear the horns to blow, and see the hounds all That is pleasure for the servingman. HUSBANDMAN. But my pleasure's more I know, to see my corn to grow, So thriving all over my land; [team, And, therefore, I do mean, with my plowing with my To keep myself a husbandman. SERVINGMAN. Why the diet that we eat is the choicest of all meat, Such as pig, goose, capon, and swan ; Our pastry is so fine, we drink sugar in our wine, That is living for the servingman. HUSBANDMAN. Talk not of goose nor capon, give me good beef or And good bread and cheese, now at hand ; [bacon, With pudding, brawn, and souse, all in a farmer's That is living for the husbandman. [house, SERVINGMAN. Why the clothing that we wear is delicate and rare, With our coat, lace, buckles, and band; [are silk, Our shirts are white as milk, and our stockings they That is clothing for a servingman. HUSBANDMAN. But I value not a hair your delicate fine wear, Such as gold is laced upon ; Give me a good grey coat, and in my purse a groat, That is clothing for the husbandman. SERVINGMAN. Kind sir ! it would be bad if none could be had Those tables for to wait upon ; [shire, There is no lord, duke, nor squire, nor member for the Can do without a servingman. THE CATHOLICK. 49 HUSBANDMAN. But, Jack ! it would be worse if there was none of us To follow the plowing of the land ; [the shire, There is neither king, lord, nor squire, nor member for Can do without the husbandman. SERVINGMAX. Kind sir ! I must confess 't, and I humbly protest I will give you the uppermost hand; [gainful, Although your labour's painful, and mine it is so very I wish I were a husbandman. HUSBANDMAN. So come now, let us all, both great as well as small, Pray for the grain of our land j And let us, whatsoever, do all our best endeavour, For to maintain the good husbandman. THE CATHOLICK. [The following ingenious production has been copied literally from a broadside posted against the 'parlour* wall of a country inn in Gloucestershire. The verses are susceptible of two inter- pretations, being Catholic if read in the columns, but Protestant if read across.] I HOLD as faith What England's church alows What Rome's church saith My conscience disavows Where the King's head That church can have no shame The flocks misled That holds the Pope supreame. Where the altars drest There's service scarce divine The peoples blest With table, bread, and wine. He's but an asse Who the communion flies Who shuns the masse Is catholicJc and wise. London : printed for George Eversden, at the signe of tbe Maidenhead, in St. Powle's Church-yard, 1655. Cum frwilegio. ANCIENT POEMS, ETC. 50 isllsfe THE THREE KNIGHTS. (TRADITIONAL.) \The Three Knights was first printed by the late Davies Gilbert, F.R.S., in the appendix to his work on Christmas Carols. Mr. Gilbert thought that some verses were wanting after the eighth stanza; but we entertain a different opinion. A conjectural emen- dation made in the ninth verse, viz., the substitution of far for for, seems to render the ballad perfect. The ballad is still popular amongst the peasantry in the West of England. The tune is given by Gilbert. The refrain, in the second and fourth lines, printed with the first verse, should be repeated in recitation in every verse.] THERE did three Knights come from the west, With the high and the lily oh ! And these three Knights courted one ladye, As the rose was so sweetly blown. The first Knight came was all in white. And asked of her if she'd be his delight. The next Knight came was all in green, And asked of her if she'd be his queen. The third Knight came was all in red, And asked of her if she would wed. ' Then have you asked of my father dear? Likewise of her who did me bear 1 1 And have you asked of my brother John? And also of my sister Anne V ' Yes, I've asked of your father dear, Likewise of her who did you bear. ' And I've asked of your sister Anne, But I've not asked of your brother John.' Ear on the road as they rode along, There did they meet with her brother John. I THE BLIND BEGGAR OF BEDXALL GREEX. 51 She stooped low to kiss him sweet, He to her heart did a dagger meet.* ' Ride on, ride on,' cried the servingman, 'Methinks your bride she looks wondrous wan.' 1 1 wish I were on yonder stile, For there I would sit and bleed awhile. < I wish I were on yonder hill, There I'd alight and make my will.' 'What would you give to your father dearf ' The gallant steed which doth me bear.' ' What would you give to your mother dear V ' My wedding shift which I do wear. 1 But she must wash it very clean, For my heart's blood sticks in every seam.' e What would you give to your sister Anne? 1 My gay gold ring, and my feathered fan.' 'What would you give to your brother John? ' A rope, and a gallows to hang him on.' ( What would you give to your brother John's wife V 1 A widow's weeds, and a quiet life.' THE BLIND BEGGAE OF BEDNALL GREEN. SHOTTING HOW HIS DAUGHTER WAS MARRIED TO A KNIGHT, AM) HAD THREE THOUSAND POUND TO HER PORTION. [Percy's copy of The Beggar's Daughter of Beclnall Green is known to be very incorrect: besides many alterations and improve- ments which it received at the hands of the Bishop, it contains no less than eight stanzas written by Robert Dodsley, the author of The 'Economy of Human Life. So far as poetry is concerned, there cannot be a question that the version in the Beliques is far superior to the original, which is still a popular favourite, and a correct copy of which is now given, as it appears in all the * This word seems to be used here in the sense of the French verb mettre, to put, to place, 4— * 52 BALLADS. common broadside editions that have been printed from 1672 to the present time. Although the original copies have all perished, the ballad has been very satisfactorily proved by Percy to have been written in the reign of Elizabeth. The present reprint is from a modern copy, carefully collated with one in the Bagford Collection, entitled, * The rarest ballad that ever was seen, Of the Blind Beggar's Daughter of Bednal Green.' The imprint to it is, ( Printed by and for W. Onley; and are to be sold by C. Bates, at the sign of the Sun and Bible, in Pye Corner/ The very antiquated orthography adopted in some editions does not rest on any authority. For two tunes to The Blind Beggar, see Popular Music.'] PART I. THIS song's of a beggar who long lost his sight, And had a fair daughter, most pleasant and bright, And many a gallant brave suitor had she, And none was so comely as pretty Bessee. And though she was of complexion most fair, And seeing she was but a beggar his heir, Of ancient housekeepers despised was she, Whose sons came as suitors to pretty Bessee. Wherefore in great sorrow fair Bessee did say : 'Good father and mother, let me now go away, To seek out my fortune, whatever it be.' This suit then was granted to pretty Bessee. This Bessee, that was of a beauty most bright, They clad in grey russet ; and late in the night Prom father and mother alone parted she, Who sighed and sobbed for pretty Bessee. She went till she came to Stratford-at-Bow, Then she knew not whither or which way to go, With tears she lamented her sad destiny; So sad and so heavy was pretty Bessee. She kept on her jouvney until it was day, And went unto Rumford, along the highway ; And at the King's Arms entertained was she, So fair and well favoured was pretty Bessee. THE BLIND BEGGAR OF BEDXALL GREEN. 53 She had not been there one month at an end, But master and mistress and all was her friend : And every brave gallant that once did her see, Was straightway in love with pretty Bessee. Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold, And in their songs daily her love they extolled : Her beauty was blazed in every degree, So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee. The young men of Rumford in her had their joy, She showed herself courteous, but never too coy, And at their commandment still she would be, So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee. Four suitors at once unto her did go, They craved her favour, but still she said no ; I would not have gentlemen marry with me ! Yet ever they honoured pretty Bessee. 2sTow one of them was a gallant young knight, And he came unto her disguised in the night; The second, a gentleman of high degree, Who wooed and sued for pretty Bessee. A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small, Was then the third suitor, and proper withal; Her master's own son the fourth man must be, Who swore he would die for pretty Bessee. ( If that thou wilt marry with me,' quoth the knight, ' I'll make thee a lady with joy and delight; My heart is enthralled in thy fair beauty, Then grant me thy favour, my pretty Bessee.' The gentleman said, ' Come marry with me, In silks and in velvet my Bessee shall be ; My heart lies distracted, oh I hear me,' quoth he, ' And grant me thy love, my dear pretty Bessee.' ' Let me be thy husband,' the merchant did say, 1 Thou shalt live in London moat gallant and gay; My ships shall bring home rich jewels for thee, And I will for ever love pretty Bessee.' 54 BALLADS. Then Bessee she sighed and thus she did say : ' My father and mother I mean to obey; First get their good will, and be faithful to me, And you shall enjoy your dear pretty Bessee.' To every one of them that answer she made, Therefore unto her they joyfully said: ' This thing to fulfil we all now agree, But where dwells thy father, my pretty Bessee?' I31y father,' quoth she, ' is soon to be seen : The silly blind beggar of Bednall Green, That daily sits begging for charity, He is the kind father of pretty Bessee. c His marks and his token are knowen full well, He always is led by a dog and a bell ; A poor silly old man, God knoweth, is he, Yet he's the true father of pretty Bessee.' 'Nay, nay,' quoth the merchant, 'thou art not for me.' ' She,' quoth the innholder, ' my wife shall not be.' 'I loathe,' said the gentleman, 'a beggar's degree, Therefore, now farewell, my pretty Bessee.' 'Why then,' quoth the knight, 'hap better or worse, I weigh not true love by the weight of the purse, And beauty is beauty in every degree, Then welcome to me, my dear pretty Bessee. 'With thee to thy father forthwith I will go.' ' Nay, forbear,' quoth his kinsman, 'it must not be so : A poor beggar's daughter a lady shan't be ; Then take thy adieu of thy pretty Bessee.' As soon then as it was break of the day, The knight had from Bumford stole Bessee away; The young men of Bumford, so sick as may be, Bode after to fetch again pretty Bessee. As swift as the wind to ride they were seen, Until they came nea** unto Bednall Green, And as the knight lighted most courteously, They fought against him for pretty Bessee. THE BLIND BEGGAR OF BEDNALL GREEN. 55 But rescue came presently over the plain, Or else the knight there for his love had been slain ; The fray being ended, they straightway did see His kinsman come railing at pretty Bessee. Then bespoke the blind beggar, 'Although I be poor. Rail not against my child at my own door, Though she be not decked in velvet and pearl, Yet I will drop angels with thee for my girl ; 1 And then if my gold should better her birth, And equal the gold you lay on the earth, Then neither rail you, nor grudge you to see The blind beggar's daughter a lady to be. 1 But first, I will hear, and have it well known, The gold that you drop it shall be all your own." With that they replied, ' Contented we be !' 1 Then here's,' quoth the beggar, c for pretty Bessee !' With that an angel he dropped on the ground, And dropped, in angels, full three thousand pound; Amd oftentimes it proved most plain, For the gentleman's one, the beggar dropped twain ; So that the whole place wherein they did sit, With gold was covered every whit. The gentleman having dropped all his store, Said, ( Beggar! your hand hold, for I have no more.' ' Thou hast fulfilled thy promise aright, Then marry my girl,' quoth he to the knight; 'And then,' quoth he, 'I will throw you down, An hundred pound more to buy her a gown.' The gentlemen all, who his treasure had seen, Admired the beggar of Bednall Green ; Ajid those that had been her suitors before, Their tender flesh for anger they tore. / Thus was the fair Bessee matched to a knight, ' And made a lady in other's despite. A fairer lady there never was seen Than the blind beggar's daughter of Bednall Green. 56 BALLADS. But of her sumptuous marriage and feast, And what fine lords and ladies there prest, The second part shall set forth to your sight, With marvellous pleasure and wished-for delight. Of a blind beggars daughter so bright, That late was betrothed to a young knight, All the whole discourse therefore you may see ; But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee. PART II. It was in a gallant palace most brave, Adorned with all the cost they could have, This wedding it was kept most sumptuously, And all for the love of pretty Bessee. And all kind of dainties and delicates sweet, "Was brought to their banquet, as it was thought meet, Partridge, and plover, and venison most free, Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee. The wedding through England was spread by report, So that a great number thereto did resort, Of nobles and gentles of every degree, And all for the fame of pretty Bessee. To church then away went this gallant young knight, His bride followed after, an angel most bright, With troops of ladies, the like was ne'er seen, As went with sweet Bessee of Bednall Green. This wedding being solemnized then, With music performed by skilfullest men, The nobles and gentlemen down at the side, Each one beholding the beautiful bride. But after the sumptuous dinner was done, To talk and to reason a number begun, And of the blind beggar's daughter most bright; And what with his daughter he gave to the knight. Then spoke the nobles, c Much marvel have we This jolly blind beggar we cannot yet see !' THE BLIND BEGGAR OF BEDNALL GREEN. 57 1 My lords/ quoth the bride, ' my father so base Is loth with his presence these states to disgrace.' ' The praise of a woman in question to bring, Before her own face is a nattering thing; But we think thy father's baseness/ quoth they, ' Might by thy beauty be clean put away.' They no sooner this pleasant word spoke, But in comes the beggar in a silken cloak, A velvet cap and a feather had he, And now a musician, forsooth, he would be. And being led in from catching of harm, He had a dainty lute under his arm, Said, ( Please you to hear any music of me, A song I will sing you of pretty Bessee.' With that his lute he twanged straightway, And thereon began most sweetly to play, And after a lesson was played two or three, He strained out this song most delicately : — /^A beggar's daughter did dwell on a green, 1 Who for her beauty may well be a queen, A blithe bonny lass, and dainty was she, And many one called her pretty Bessee. 6 Her father he had no goods nor no lands, But begged for a penny all day with his hands, And yet for her marriage gave thousands three, Yet still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee. ' And here if any one do her disdain, Her father is ready with might and with main To prove she is come of noble degree, Therefore let none flout at my pretty Bessee.' With that the lords and the company round With a hearty laughter were ready to swound; At last said the lords, ' Full well we may see, The bride and the bridegroom's beholden to thee.' - With that the fair bride all blushing did rise, With crystal water all in her bright eyes, 58 BALLADS. Pardon my father, brave nobles/ quoth she, 1 That through blind affection thus doats upon me.' ' If this be thy father,' the nobles did say, 'Well may he be proud of this happy day, Yet by his countenance well may we see, His birth with his fortune could never agree; And therefore, blind beggar, we pray thee bewray, And look to us then the truth thou dost say, Thy birth and thy parentage what it may be, E'en for the love thou bearest pretty Bessee.' ( Then give me leave, ye gentles each one, A song more to sing and then I '11 begone, And if that I do not win good report, Then do not give me one groat for my sport : — f' When first our king his fame did advance, And sought his title in delicate France, In many places great perils passed he ; But then was not born my pretty Bessee. ( And at those wars went over to fight, Many a brave duke, a lord, and a knight, And with them young Monford of courage so free ; But then was not born my pretty Bessee. 6 And there did young Monford with a blow on the face Lose both his eyes in a very short space ; His life had been gone away with his sight, Had not a young woman gone forth in the night. ' Among the said men, her fancy did move, To search and to seek for her own true love, Who seeing young Monford there gasping to die, She saved his life through her charity. 1 And then all our victuals in beggar's attire, At the hands of good people we then did require ; At last into England, as now it is seen, We came, and remained in Bednall Green. ' And thus we have lived in Fortune's despite, Though poor, yet contented with humble delight, THE BOLD PEDLAR AND ROBIN HOOD. 59 And in my old years, a comfort to me, God sent me a daughter called pretty Bessee. And thus, ye nobles, my song I do end, Hoping by the same no man to offend ; Full forty long winters thus I have been, A silly blind beggar of Bednall Green.' Now when the company every one, Did hear the strange tale he told in his song, They were amazed, as well they might be, Both at the blind beggar and pretty Bessee. With that the fair bride they all did embrace, Saying, c You are come of an honourable race, Thy father likewise is of high degree, And thou art right worthy a lady to be.' Thus was the feast ended with joy and delight, A happy bridegroom was made the young knight, Who lived in great joy and felicity, With his fair lady dear pretty Bessee. /T ( A THE BOLD PEDLAR AND ROBIN HOOD. [This ballad is of considerable antiquity, and no doubt much older than some of those inserted in the common Garlands. It appears to have escaped the notice of Ritson, Percy, and other collectors of Robin Hood ballads. The tune is given in Popular Music. An aged woman in Bermondsey, Surrey, from whose oral recita- tion the present version was taken down, said that she had often heard her grandmother sing it, and that it was never in print ; but we have since met with several common stall copies. The subject is the same as that of the old ballad called Rohin Hood newly revived; or, the Meeting and Fighting with his Cousin Scarlett.'] fPHERE chanced to be a pedlar bold, -*- A pedlar bold he chanced to be ; He rolled his pack all on his back, And he came tripping o'er the lee. Down, a down, a down, a down, Down, a down, a down. 60 BALLADS. By chance he met two troublesome blades, Two troublesome blades they chanced to be; The one of them was bold Robin Hood, And the other was Little John, so free. ' Oh ! pedlar, pedlar, what is in thy pack, Come speedilie and tell to meV i I've several suits of the gay green silks, And silken bowstrings two or three.' ' If you have several suits of the gay green silk, And silken bowstrings two or three, Then it's by my body,' cries bittle John, ' One half your pack shall belong to. me.' 6 Oh ! nay, oh ! nay,' says the pedlar bold, ' Oh ! nay, oh ! nay, that never can be, For there's never a man from fair Nottingham Can take one half my pack from me.' Then the pedlar he pulled off his pack, And put it a little below his knee, Saying, ' If you do move me one perch from this, My pack and all shall gang with thee.' Then Little John he drew his sword; The pedlar by his pack did stand ; They fought until they both did sweat, Till he cried, ' Pedlar, pray hold your hand !' Then Robin Hood he was standing by, And he did laugh most heartilie, Saying, ' I could find a man of a smaller scale, Could thrash the pedlar, and also thee.' c Go, you try, master,' says Little John, 'Go, you try, master, most speedilie, Or by my body,' says Little John, ' I am sure this night you will not know me.' Then Robin Hood he drew his sword, And the pedlar by his pack did stand, They fought till the blood in streams did flow, Till he cried, ' Pedlar, pray hold your hand ! THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT. 61 1 Pedlar, pedlar! what is thy name? Come speedilie and tell to me. ' ' My name ! my name, I ne'er will tell, Till both your names you have told to me.' t The one of us is bold Robin Hood, And the other Little John, so free.' I Now,' says the pedlar, ' it lays to my good will, Whether my name I chuse to tell to thee. I I am Gamble Gold* of the gay green woods, And travelled far beyond the sea; For killing a man in my father's land, From my country I was forced to flee.' ' If you are Gamble Gold of the gay green woods, And travelled far beyond the sea, You are my mother's own sister's son; What nearer cousins then can we be V / They sheathed their swords with friendly words, So merrily they did agree ; They went to a tavern and there they dined, And bottles cracked most merrilie. THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT. [This is the common English stall copy of a ballad of which there are a variety of versions, for an account of which, and of the presumed origin of the story, the reader is referred to the notes on the Water o' Wearie's Well, in the Scottish Traditional Ver- sions of Ancient Ballads, published by the Percy Society. By the term i outlandish' is signified an inhabitant of that portion of the border which was formerly known by the name of 'the Debateable Land/ a district which, though claimed by both Eng- land and Scotland, could not be said to belong to either country. The people on each side of the border applied the term ' out- landish* to the Debateable residents. The tune to The Out- landish Knight has never been printed; it is peculiar to the ballad, and, from its popularity, is well known.] * The stall copies read ' Gamble hold.' 62 BALLADS. A N Outlandish knight came from the North lands, ^ And he came a wooing to me; He told me he'd take me unto the North lands, And there he would marry me. ' Come, fetch me some of your father's gold, And some of your mother's fee; And two of the best nags out of the stable, Where they stand thirty and three.' She fetched him some of her father's gold, And some of the mother's fee; And two of the best nags out of the stable, Where they stood thirty and three. She mounted her on her milk-white steed, He on the dapple grey; They rode till they came unto the sea side, Three hours before it was day. < Light off, light off thy milk-white steed, And deliver it unto me; Six pretty maids have I drowned here, And thou the seventh shall be. 6 Pull off, pull off thy silken gown, And deliver it unto me, Methinks it looks too rich and too gay To rot in the salt sea. ' Pull off, pull off thy silken stays, And deliver them unto me ; Methinks they are too fine and gay To rot in the salt sea. ' Pull off, pull off thy Holland smock, And deliver it unto me ; Methinks it looks too rich and gay, To rot in the salt sea.' THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT. 63 r If I must pull off my Holland smock, Pray turn thy back unto me, For it is not fitting that such a ruffian A naked woman should see.' He turned his back towards her, And viewed the leaves so green; She catched him round the middle so small, And tumbled him into the stream. / He dropped high, and he dropped low, Until he came to the side, — ' Catch hold of my hand, my pretty maiden, And I will make you my bride.' ■ Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted man, Lie there instead of me; Six pretty maids have you drowned here, And the seventh has drowned thee.' She mounted on her milk-white steed, And led the dapple grey, She rode till she came to her own father's hall, Three hours before it was day. The parrot being in the window so high, Hearing the lady, did say, ' I'm afraid that some ruffian has led you astray, That you have tarried so long away.' 1 Don't prittle nor prattle, my pretty parrot, Nor tell no tales of me ; Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold, Although it is made of a tree.' The king being in the chamber so high, And hearing the parrot, did say, f What ails you, what ails you, my pretty parrot, That you prattle so long before day V 64 BALLADS. r It's no laughing matter,' the parrot did gay, ' But so loudly I call unto thee ; For the cats have got into the window so high, And I'm afraid they will have me.' f Well turned, well turned, my pretty parrot, Well turned, well turned for me ; Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold, And the door of the best ivory.'* LOED DELAWARE. (TRADITIONAL.) [This interesting traditional ballad was first published by Mr. Thomas Lyle in his Ancient Ballads and Songs, London, 1827. * We have not as yet/ says Mr. Lyle, ' been able to trace out the historical incident upon which this ballad appears to have been founded ; yet those curious in such matters may consult, if they list, Proceedings and Debates in the House of Commons, for 1 62 1 and 1662, where they will find that some stormy debating in these several years had been agitated in parliament regarding the corn laws, which bear pretty close upon the leading features of the ballad/ Does not the ballad, however, belong to a much earlier period? The description of the combat, the presence of heralds, the wearing of armour, &c, justify the conjecture. For De la Ware, ought we not to read De la Mare ? and is not Sir Thomas De la Mare the hero ? the De la Mare who in the reign of Edward III., a.d. 1377, was Speaker of the House of Com- * In the Roxburgh Collection is a copy of this ballad, in which the catastrophe is brought about in a different manner. When the young lady finds that she is to be drowned, she very leisurely makes a par- ticular examination of the place of her intended destruction, and raises an objection to some nettles which are growing on the banks of the stream ; these she requires to be removed, in the following poetical stanza : — * Go fetch the sickle, to crop the nettle, . That grows so near the brim ; For fear it should tangle my golden locks, Or freckle ray milk-white skin.' A request so elegantly made is gallantly complied with by the treacherous knight, who, while engaged in ' cropping' the nettles, is pushed into the stream. LORD DELAWARE. 65 mons. All historians are agreed in representing him as a person using ' great freedom of speach/ and which, indeed, he carried to such an extent as to endanger his personal liberty. As hearing somewhat upon the subject of the ballad, it may be observed that De la Mare was a great advocate of popular rights, and particu- larly protested against the inhabitants of England being subject to ' purveyance/ asserting that ' if the royal revenue was faith- fully administered, there could be no necessity for laying burdens on the people/ In the subsequent reign of Richard II., De la Mare was a prominent character, and though history is silent on the subject, it is not improbable that such a man might, even in the royal presence, have defended the rights of the poor, and spoken in extenuation of the agrarian insurrectionary movements which were then so prevalent and so alarming. On the hypo- thesis of De la Mare being the hero, there are other incidents in the tale which cannot be reconciled with history, such as the title given to De la Mare, who certainly was never ennobled; nor can we ascertain that he was ever mixed up in any duel ; nor does it appear clear who can be meant by the ' Welsh Lord, the brave Duke of Devonshire/ that dukedom not having been created till 1604. and no nobleman having derived any title whatever from Devon- shire previously to 161 8, when Baron Cavendish, of Hard wick, was created the first JEarl of Devonshire. We may therefore presume that for ' Devonshire' ought to be inserted the name of some other county or place. Strict historical accuracy is, how- ever, hardly to be expected in any ballad, particularly in one which, like the present, has evidently been corrupted in floating down the stream of time. There is only one quarrel recorded at the supposed period of our tale as having taken place betwixt two noblemen, and which resulted in a hostile meeting, viz., that wherein the belligerent parties were the Duke of Hereford (who might by a ' ballad-monger' be deemed a Welsh lord) and the Duke of Norfolk. This was in the reign of Richard II. No fight, however, took place, owing to the interference of the king. Our minstrel author may have had rather confused historical ideas, and so mixed up certain passages in De la Mare's history with this squabble ; and we are strongly inclined to suspect that such is the case, and that it will be found the real clue to the story. Vide Hume's History of England, chap. xvu. a.d. 1398. Lyle acknowledges that he has taken some liberties with the oral version, but does not state what they were, beyond that they consisted merely in ' smoothing down.' Would that he had left it • in the rough /' The last verse has every appearance of being ANCIENT POEMS, ETC. 5 60 BALLADS. apocryphal; it looks like one of those benedictory verses with which minstrels were, and still are, in the habit of concluding their songs. Lyle says the tune * is pleasing, and peculiar to the ballad/ A homely version, presenting only trivial variations from that of Mr. Lyle, is still printed and sung.] IN the Parliament House, a great rout has been there, Betwixt our good King and the Lord Delaware : Says Lord Delaware to his Majesty full soon, 6 Will it please you, my liege, to grant me a boon?' f What's your boon,' says the King, ' now let me under- stand V 1 It's, give me all the poor men we've starving in this land ; And without delay, I'll hie me to Lincolnshire, To sow hemp-seed and flax-seed, and hang them all there. 'For with hempen cord it's better to stop each poor man's breath, Than with famine you should see your subjects starve to death.' Up starts a Dutch Lord, who to Delaware did say, ( Thou deserves to be stabbed !' then he turned himself away; ( Thou deserves to be stabbed, and the dogs have thine ears, For insulting our King in this Parliament of peers.' Up sprang a Welsh Lord, the brave Duke of Devon- shire, 'In young Delaware's defence, I'll fight this Dutch Lord, my sire; ' For he is in the right, and I'll make it so appear : Him I dare to single oombat, for insulting Delaware.' A stage was soon erected, and to combat they went, For to kill, or to be killed, it was either's full intent. LOKD DELAWARE. 67 But the very first flourish, when the heralds gave command, The sword of brave Devonshire bent backward on his hand; In suspense he paused awhile, scanned his foe before he strake, Then against the King's armour, his bent sword he brake. Then he sprang from the stage, to a soldier in the ring, Saying, ' Lend your sword, that to an end this tragedy we bring : Though he's fighting me in armour, while I am fighting bare, Even more than this I'd venture for young Lord Delaware.' Leaping back on the stage, sword to buckler now re- sounds, Till he left the Dutch Lord a bleeding in his wounds : This seeing, cries the King to his guards without delay, ' Call Devonshire down, — take the dead man away!' 'No,' says brave Devonshire, 'I've fought him as a man, Since he's dead, I will keep the trophies I have won ; For he fought me in your armour, while I fought him bare, And the same you must win back, my liege, if ever you them wear.' God bless the Church of England, may it prosper on each hand, And also every poor man now starving in this land ; And while I pray success may crown our King upon his throne, I'll wish that every poor man may long enjoy his own. 5— 2, 68 BALLADS. LORD BATEMAN. [This is a ludicrously corrupt abridgment of the ballad of Lord Beiclian, a copy of which will be found inserted amongst the Marly Ballads, An. Ed. p. 144. The following grotesque version was published several years ago by Tilt, London, and also, accord- ing to the title-page, by Mustapha Syried, Constantinople ! under the title of The loving Ballad of Lord Bateman. It is, how- ever, the only ancient form in which the ballad has existed in print, and is one of the publications mentioned in Thackeray's Catalogue, see ante, p. 20. The air printed in Tilt's edition is the one to which the ballad is sung in the South of England, but it is totally different to the Northern tune, which has never been published.] LORD BATEMAN he was a noble lord, A noble lord of high degree; He shipped himself on board a ship, Some foreign country he would go see. He sailed east, and he sailed west, Until he came to proud Turkey; Where he was taken, and put to prison, Until his life was almost weary. And in this prison there grew a tree, It grew so stout, and grew so strong; Where he was chained by the middle, Until his life was almost gone. This Turk he had one only daughter, The fairest creature my eyes did see; She stole the keys of her father's prison, And swore Lord Bateman she would set free. 'Have you got houses? have you got lands? Or does Northumberland belong to thee? What would you give to the fair young lady That out of prison would set you free?' ' I have got houses, I have got lands, And half Northumberland belongs to me I'll give it all to the fair young lady That out of prison would set me free.' r LORD BATEMAX. 69 ' ! then slie took him to her fathers hall, And gave to him the best of wine; And every health she drank nnto him, ' I wish, Lord Bateman, that you were mine ! 1 Now in seven years I'll make a vow, And seven years I'll keep it strong, If you'll wed with no other woman, I will wed with no other man.' O ! then she took him to her father's harbour, And gave to him a ship of fame; 'Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman, I'm afraid I ne'er shall see you again.' Now seven long years are gone and past, And fourteen days, well known to thee; She packed up all her gay clothing, And swore Lord Bateman she would go see. But when she came to Lord Bateman's castle, So boldly she rang the bell; 1 Who 's there 1 who 's there V cried the proud porter, ' Who's there ? unto me come tell.' /O ! is this Lord Bateman's castle ? Or is his Lordship here within? 1 0, yes ! O, yes !' cried the young porter, ' He's just now taken his new bride in.' ' O ! tell him to send me a slice of bread, And a bottle of the best wine ; And not forgetting the fair young lady Who did release him when close confine.' Away, away went this proud young porter, Away, away, and away went he, Until he came to Lord Bateman's chamber, Down on his bended knees fell he. 1 What news, what news, my proud young porter ? What news hast thou brought unto meV 1 There is the fairest of all young creatures That ever my two eyes did see ! 70 BALLADS. 1 She has got rings on every finger, And round one of them she has got three, And as much gay clothing round her middle As would buy all Northumberlea. 1 She bids you send her a slice of bread, And a bottle of the best wine; And not forgetting the fair young lady Who did release you when close confine.' Lord Bateman he then in a passion flew, And broke his sword in splinters three ; Saying, ' I will give all my fathers riches If Sophia has crossed the sea.' Then up spoke the young bride's mother, Who never was heard to speak so free, ' You'll not forget my only daughter, If Sophia has crossed the sea.' ' I own I made a bride of your daughter, She's neither the better nor worse for me; She came to me with her horse and saddle, She may go back in her coach and three.' / Lord Bateman prepared another marriage, And sang, with heart so full of glee, v ' I'll range no more in foreign countries, Now since Sophia has crossed the sea.' THE GOLDEN GLOYE ; OR, THE SQUIRE OF TAM WORTH. [This is a very popular ballad, and sung in every part of England. It is traditionally reported to be founded on an incident which occurred in the reign of Elizabeth. It has been published in the broadside form from the commencement of the eighteenth cen- tury, but is no doubt much older. It does not appear to have been previously inserted in any collection.] THE GOLDEN GLOVE. 71 A "WEALTH Y young squire of Tamworth, we hear, He courted a nobleman's daughter so fair ; And for to many her it was his intent, All friends and relations gave their consent. The time was appointed for the wedding-day, A young farmer chosen to give her away ; As soon as the farmer the young lady did spy, He inflamed her heart ; ' O, my heart !' she did cry. She turned from the squire, but nothing she said, Instead of being married she took to her bed ; The thought of the farmer soon run in her mind, A way for to have him she quickly did find. /Coat, waistcoat, and breeches she then did put on, And a hunting she went with her dog and her gun; She hunted all round where the farmer did dwell, Because in her heart she did love him full well : She oftentimes fired, but nothing she killed, At length the young farmer came into the field ; And to discourse with him it was her intent, With her dog and her gun to meet him she went. /< I thought you had been at the wedding,' she cried, f To wait on the squire, and give him his bride.' c No, sir,' said the farmer, ' if the truth I may tell, I'll not give her away, for I love her too well.' 1 Suppose that the lady should grant you her love, You know that the squire your rival will prove.' 'Why, then,' says the farmer, ' I'll take sword in hand, By honour I'll gain her when she shall command.' It pleased the lady to find him so bold; She gave him a glove that was flowered with gold, And told him she found it when coming along, As she was a hunting with her dog and gun. / The lady went home with a heart full of love, ! And gave out a notice that she'd lost a glove; And said, ' Who has found it, and brings it to me, Whoever he is, he my husband shall be.' 72 BALLADS. The farmer was pleased when he heard of the news, With heart full of joy to the lady he goes : 1 Dear, honoured lady, I've picked up your glove, And hope you'll be pleased to grant me your love.' fit's already granted, I will be your bride; I love the sweet breath of a farmer,' she cried. 1 I'll be mistress of my dairy, and milking my cow, While my jolly brisk farmer is whistling at plough.' /And when she was married she told of her fun, How she went a hunting with her dog and gun : i And now I've got him so fast in my snare, I'll enjoy him for ever, I vow and declare !' KING JAMES I. AND THE TINKLER.* (TRADITIONAL.) [The ballad of King James I. and the TinMer was probably written either in, or shortly after, the reign of the monarch who is the hero. The incident recorded is said to be a fact, though the locality is doubtful. By some the scene is laid at Norwood, in Surrey ; by others in some part of the English border. The ballad is alluded to by Percy, but is not inserted either in the Reliques, or in any other popular collection. It is to be found only in a few broadsides and chap-books of modern date. The present version is a traditional one, taken down, as here given, from the recital of the late Francis King.f It is much superior to the * A tinkler is still so called in the north of England, t This poor minstrel was born at the village of Rylstone,in Craven, the scene of Wordsworth's White Doe of Ryktone. King was always called ■ the Skipton Minstrel ;' and he merited that name, for he was not a mere player of jigs and country dances, but a singer of heroic ballads, carrying his hearers back to the days of chivalry and royal adventure, when the King of England called up Cheshire and Lanca- shire to fight the King of France, and monarchs sought the greenwood tree, and hob-a-nobbed with tinkers, knighting these johns of the Dale as a matter of poetical justice and high sovereign prerogative. Francis King was a character. His physiognomy was striking and peculiar ; and, although there was nothing of the rogue in its expression, for an Jionester fellow never breatned, he might have sat for Wordsworth's * Peter Bell.' He combined in a rare degree the qualities of the mime and the minstrel, and his old jokes, and older ballads and songs, always ensured him a hearty welcome. He was lame, in consequence of one KING JAMES I. AND THE TINKLER. 73 common broadside edition with which it has been collated, and from which the thirteenth and fifteenth verses were obtained. The ballad is very popular on the Border, and in the dales of Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Craven. The late Robert An- derson, the Cumbrian bard, represents Deavie, in his song of the Clay Daubin, as singing The King and the Tinkler ^\ A~ND now, to be brief, let's pass over the rest, Who seldom or never were given to jest, And come to King Jamie, the first of our throne, A pleasanter monarch sure never was known. As he was a hunting the swift fallow-deer, He dropped all his nobles ; and when he got clear, In hope of some pastime away he did ride, Till he came to an alehouse, hard by a wood- side. /And there with a tinkler he happened to meet, f And him in kind sort he so freely did greet : 1 Pray thee, good fellow, what hast in thy jug, Which under thy arm thou dost lovingly hug 1 ' 'By the mass !' quoth the tinkler, 'it's nappy brown ale, And for to drink to thee, friend, I will not fail ; For although thy jacket looks gallant and line, I think that my twopence. as good is as thine.' ' By my soul ! honest fellow, the truth thou hast spoke,' And straight he sat down with the tinkler to joke; They drank to the King, and they pledged to each other ; Who'd seen'em had thought they were brother and brother. leg being shorter than the other, and his limping gait used to give occasion to the remark that ' few Kings had had more ups and downs in the world.' He met his death by drowning on the night of Decem- ber 1 3, i8-H- He had been at a 'merry-making' at Gargrave, in Craven, and it is supposed that, owing to the darkness of the night, he mistook the road, and walked into the river. As a musician his talents were creditable; and his name will long survive in the village records. The minstrel's grave is in the quiet churchyard of Gargrave. Further particulars of Francis King may be seen in Dixon's Stoi~ies of the Craven Dales, published by Tasker and Son, of Skipton. 74 BALLADS. As they were a-drinking the King pleased to say, ' What news, honest fellow? come tell me, I pray?' 6 There's nothing of news, beyond that I hear The King's on the border a-chasing the deer. 1 And truly I wish I so happy may be Whilst he is a hunting the King I might see; For although I've travelled the land many ways I never have yet seen a King in my days.' The King, with a hearty brisk laughter, replied, s I tell thee, good fellow, if thou canst but ride, Thou shalt get up behind me, and I will thee bring To the presence of Jamie, thy sovereign King.' /But he'll be surrounded with nobles so gay, And how shall we tell him from them, sir, I pray?' c Thou'lt easily ken him when once thou art there ; The King will be covered, his nobles all bare.' He got up behind him and likewise his sack, His budget of leather, and tools at his back ; They rode till they came to the merry greenwood, His nobles came round him, bareheaded they stood. The tinkler then seeing so many appear, He slily did whisper the King in his ear : Saying, c They're all clothed so gloriously gay, But which amongst them is the King, sir, I pray?' The King did with hearty good laughter, reply, c By my soul ! my good fellow, it's thou or it's I ! The rest are bareheaded, uncovered all round.' — With his bag and his budget he fell to the ground, Like one that was frightened quite out of his wits, Then on his knees he instantly gets, Beseeching for mercy; the King to him said, ' Thou art a good fellow, so be not afraid. f ' Come, tell thy name V 6 1 am John of the Dale, A mender of kettles, a lover of ale.' ' Rise up, Sir John, I will honour thee here, — I make thee a knight of three thousand a year !' THE KEACH i' THE CREEL. 75 This was a good thing for the tinkler indeed; Then unto the court he was sent for with speed, Where great store of pleasure and pastime was seen, In the royal presence of King and of Queen. / Sir John of the Dale he has land, he has fee, At the court of the king who so happy as he ? Yet still in his hall hangs the tinkler's old sack, And the budget of tools which he bore at his back. THE KEACH I' THE CKEEL. [This old and very humorous ballad has long been a favourite on both sides of the Border, but had never appeared in print till about 1845, w hen a Northumbrian gentleman printed a few copies for private circulation, from one of which the following is taken. In the present impression some trifling typographical mistakes are corrected, and the phraseology has been rendered uniform through- out. Keach i' the Creel means the catch in the basket.] / A FAIR young May went up the street, -£*• Some white fish for to buy; And a bonny clerk's fa'n i' luve wi' her, And he's followed her by and by, by, And he's followed her by and by. 6 ! where live ye my bonny lass, I pray thee tell to me; For gin the nicht were ever sae mirk, I wad come and visit thee, thee; I wad come and visit thee.' 1 ! my father he aye locks the door, My niither keeps the key; And gin ye were ever sic a wily wicht, Ye canna win in to me, me; Ye canna win in to me.' But the clerk he had ae true brother, And a wily wicht was he; And he has made a lang ladder, Was thirty steps and three, three; Was thirty steps and three. 76 BALLADS. He has made a cleek but and a creel — A creel but and a pin; And he's away to the chiniley-top, And he's letten the bonny clerk in, in ; And he's letten the bonny clerk in. The auld wife, being not asleep, Tho' late, late was the hour; I'll lay my life,' quo' the silly auld wife, ' There's a man i' our dochter's bower, bower ; There's a man i' our dochter's bower.' /ti The auld man he gat owre the bed, To see if the thing was true ; But she 's ta'en the bonny clerk in her arms, And covered him owre wi' blue, blue; And covered him owre wi' blue. ' ! where are ye gaun now, father ¥ she says, 6 And where are ye gaun sae late ? Ye've disturbed me in my evening prayers, And O ! but they were sweit, sweit ; And O ! but they were sweit.' 1 ! ill betide ye, silly auld wife, And an ill death may ye dee ; She has the muckle buik in her arms, And she's prayin' for you and me, me; And she's prayin' for you and me.' /The auld wife being not asleep, Then something mair was said; 6 I'll lay my life,' quo' the silly auld wife, ' There's a man by our dochter's bed, bed ; There's a man by our dochter's bed.' The auld wife she gat owre the bed, To see if the thing was true ; But what the wrack took the auld wife's fit ? For into the creel she flew, flew; For into the creel she flew. THE MERRY BROOMFIELD. 77 The man that was at the chimley-top, Finding the creel was fu', He wrappit the rape round his left shouther, And fast to him he drew, drew : And fast to him he drew. 1 0, help ! O, help ! O, hinny, noo, help ! O, help ! O, hinny, do ! For him that ye aye wished me at, He's carryin' me off just noo, noo; He's carryin' me off just noo.' ' ! if the foul thief 's gotten ye, I wish he may keep his haud; For a' the lee lang winter nicht, Ye '11 never lie in your bed, bed ; Ye '11 never lie in your bed.' He's towed her up, he's towed her down, He's towed her through an' through ; 1 0, Gude ! assist,' quo' the silly auld wife, 'For I'm just departin' noo, noo; For I'm just departin' noo.' /He's towed her up, he's towed her down, / He's gien her a richt down fa', Till every rib i' the auld wife's side, Played nick nack on the wa', wa'; Played nick nack on the wa'. O ! the blue, the bonny, bonny blue, And I wish the blue may do weel; And every auld wife that's sae jealous o' her dochter, May she get a good keach i' the creel, creel; May she get a good keach i' the creel ! THE MERRY BROOMFIELD; OR, THE WEST COUNTRY WAGER. [This old West-country ballad was one of the broadsides printed at the Aldermary press. We have not met with any older im- 78 BALLADS. pression, though we have been assured that there are black-letter copies. In Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border is a ballad called the Broomfield Hill ; it is a mere fragment, but is evidently taken from the present ballad, and can be considered only as one of the many modern antiques to be found in that work.] A NOBLE young squire that lived in the West, He courted a young lady gay; And as he was merry he put forth a jest, A wager with her he would lay. ' A wager with me/ the young lady replied, i I pray about what must it be 1 ? If I like the humour you shan't be denied, I love to be merry and free.' Quoth he, 1 1 will lay you a hundred pounds, A hundred pounds, aye, and ten, That a maid if you go to the merry Broomfield, That a maid you return not again.' ' I'll lay you that wager,' the lady she said, Then the money she flung down amain; ' To the merry Broomfield I'll go a pure maid, The same I'll return home again.' He covered her bet in the midst of the hall, With a hundred and ten jolly pounds; And then to his servant he straightway did call, For to bring forth his hawk and his hounds. A ready obedience the servant did yield, And all was made ready o'er night ; Next morning he went to the merry Broomfield, To meet with his love and delight. Now when he came there, having waited a while, Among the green broom down he lies ; The lady came to him, and could not but smile, For sleep then had closed his eyes. Upon his right hand a gold ring she secured, Drawn from her own fingers so fair; That when he awaked he might be assured His lady and love had been there. THE MERRY BROOMFIELD. 79 She left him a posie of pleasant perfume, Then stepped from the place where he lay, Then hid herself close in the besom of broom, . To hear what her true love did say. He wakened and found the gold ring on his hand, Then sorrow of heart he was in; ' My love has been here, I do well understand, And this wager I now shall not win. ' Oh ! where was you, my goodly goshawk, The which I have purchased so dear, Why did you not waken me out of my sleep, When the lady, my love, was here?' ' ! with my bells did I ring, master, And eke with my feet did I run; And still did I cry, pray awake ! master, She's here now, and soon will be gone.' /O ! where was you, my gallant greyhound, Whose collar is nourished with gold ; Why hadst thou riot wakened me out of my sleep, When thou didst my lady behold?' 1 Dear master, I barked with my mouth when she came, And likewise my collar I shook; And told you that here was the beautiful dame, But no notice of me then you took.' f ! where wast thou, my servingman, Whom I have clothed so fine? If you had waked me when she was here, The wager then had been mine.' 1 In the night you should have slept, master, And kept awake in the day; Had you not been sleeping when hither she came, Then a maid she had not gone away.' Then home he returned when the wager was lost, With sorrow of heart, I may say; The lady she laughed to find her love crost, — This was upon midsummer-day. 80 BALLADS. '0, squire! I laid in the bushes concealed, And heard you, when you did complain; And thus I have been to the merry Broomfield, And a maid returned back again. /* Be cheerful ! be cheerful ! and do not repine, For now 'tis as clear as the sun, The money, the money, the money is mine, The wager I fairly have won.' SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN. [The West-country ballad of Sir John Barleycorn is very ancient, and being the only version that has ever been sung at English merry-makings and country feasts, can certainly set up a better claim to antiquity than any of the three ballads on the same sub- ject to be found in Evans's Old Ballads; viz., John Barleycorn, The Little Barleycorn, and Mas Mault. Our west-country ver- sion bears the greatest resemblance to The IAttle Barleycorn, but it is very dissimilar to any of the three. Burns altered the old ditty, but on referring to his version it will be seen that his cor- rections and additions want the simplicity of the original, and certainly cannot be considered improvements. The common ballad does not appear to have been inserted in any of our popular collections. Sir John Barleycorn is very appropriately sung to the tune of Stingo. See Popular Music, p. 305.] THERE came three men out of the West, Their victory to try ; And they have taken a solemn oath, Poor Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and ploughed him in, And harrowed clods on his head; And then they took a solemn oath, Poor Barleycorn was dead. There he lay sleeping in the ground, Till rain from the sky did fall : Then Barleycorn sprung up his head, And so amazed them all. SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN. 81 There he remained till Midsummer, And looked both pale and wan; Then Barleycorn he got a beard, And so became a man. Then they sent men with scythes so sharp, To cut him off at knee; And then poor little Earleycorn, They served him barbarously. Then they sent men with pitchforks strong To pierce him through the heart; And like a dreadful tragedy, They bound him to a cart. And then they brought him to a barn, A prisoner to endure; And so they fetched him out again, And laid him on the floor. Then they set men with holly clubs, To beat the flesh from his bones ; But the miller he served him worse than that, For he ground him betwixt two stones. ! Barleycorn is the choicest grain That ever was sown on land ; It will do more than any grain, By the turning of your hand. It will make a boy into a man, And a man into an ass ; It will change your gold into silver, And your silver into brass. It will make the huntsman hunt the fox, That never wound his horn; It will bring the tinker to the stocks, , That people may him scorn. / It will put sack into a glass, And claret in the can; And it will cause a man to drink Till he neither can go nor stand. ANCIENT POEMS, ETC. 6 82 BALLADS. BLOW THE WINDS, I-HO! [This Northumbrian ballad is of great antiquity, and bears considerable resemblance to The Baffled Knight; or, Lady's Policy, inserted in Percy's Beliques. It is not in any popular collection. In the broadside from which it is here printed, the title and chorus are given, Blow the Winds, I-O, a form common to many ballads and songs, but only to those of great antiquity. Chappell, in h\s,Poptdar Music, has an example in a song as old as 1698 : — * Here's a health to jolly Bacchus, I-ho ! I-ho ! I-ho !' and in another well-known old catch the same form appears : — 1 A pye sat on a pear-tree, I-ho, I-ho, I-ho.' 'Io !' or, as we find it given in these lyrics, f I-ho V was an ancient form of acclamation or triumph on joyful occasions and anniversa- ries. It is common, with slight variations, to different languages. In the Gothic, for example, Iola signifies to make merry. It has been supposed by some etymologists that the word i yule' is a corruption of ' Io ! '] THEKE was a shepherd's sonp He kept sheep on yonder hill; He laid his pipe and his crook aside, And there he slept his fill. And blow the winds, I-ho ! Sing, blow the winds, I-ho ! Clear away the morning dew, And blow the winds, I-ho ! He looked east, and he looked west, He took another look, And there he spied a lady gay, Was dipping in a brook. She said, ' Sir, don't touch my mantle, Come, let my clothes alone; I will give you as much money As you can carry home.' 1 I will not touch your mantle, I'll let your clothes alone; I'll take you out of the water clear, My dear, to be my own.' BLOW THE WINDS, I-HO. 83 He did not touch her mantle, He let her clothes alone; But he took her from the clear water, And all to be his own. He set her on a milk-white steed, Himself upon another; And there they rode along the road, Like sister, and like brother. And as they rode along the road, He spied some cocks of hay; 1 Yonder,' he says, l is a lovely place For men and maids to play !' And when they came to her father's gate, She pulled at a ring ; And ready was the proud porter For to let the lady in. And when the gates were open, This lady jumped in; She says, f You are a fool without, And I'm a maid within. ' Good morrow to you, modest boy, I thank you for your care ; If you had been what you should have been, I would not have left you there. 1 There is a horse in my father's stable, He stands beyond the thorn; He shakes his head above the trough, But dares not prie the corn. ' There is a bird in my father's flock, A double comb he wears; He flaps his wings, and crows full loud, But a capon's crest he bears, f There is a flower in my father's garden, They call it marygold ; The fool that will not when he may, He shall not when he wold.' 6—* 84 BALLADS. Said the shepherd's son, as he doft his shoon, i My feet they shall run bare, And if ever I meet another maid, I rede that maid beware.' THE BEAUTIFUL LADY OF KENT; OR, THE SEAMAN OF DOVER. [We have met with two copies of this genuine English ballad ; the older one is without printer's name, but from the appearance of the type and the paper, it must have been published about the middle of the last century. It is certainly not one of the original impressions, for the other copy, though of recent date, has evidently been taken from some still older and better edition. In the modern broadside the ballad is in four parts, whereas, in our older one, there is no such expressed division, but a word at the commencement of each part is printed in capital letters.] PAET I. A SEAMAN of Dover, whose excellent parts, For wisdom and learning, had conquered the hearts Of many young damsels, of beauty so bright, Of him this new ditty in brief I shall write; And show of his turnings, and windings of fate, His passions and sorrows, so many and great : And how he was blessed with true love at last, When all the rough storms of his troubles were past. Now, to be brief, I shall tell you the truth : A beautiful lady, whose name it was Ruth, A squire's young daughter, near Sandwich, in Kent) Proves all his heart's treasure, his joy and content. Unknown to their parents in private they meet, Where many love lessons they'd often repeat, With kisses, and many embraces likewise, She granted him love, and thus gained the prize. /s THE BEAUTIFUL LADY OF KENT. * 85 She said, % I consent to be thy sweet bride, Whatever becomes of my fortune,' she cried. I The frowns of my father I never will fear, But freely will go through the world with my dear.' A jewel he gave her, in token of love, And vowed, by the sacred powers above, To wed the next morning; but they were betrayed, And all by the means of a treacherous maid. She told her parents that they were agreed: With that they fell into a passion with speed, And said, ere a seaman their daughter should have, They rather would follow her corpse to the grave. The lady was straight to her chamber confined, Here long she continued in sorrow of mind, And so did her love, for the loss of his dear, — No sorrow was ever so sharp and severe. When long he had mourned for his love and delight, Close under the window he came in the night, And sung forth this ditty : — ' My dearest, farewell ! Behold, in this nation no longer I dwell. I I am going from hence to the kingdom of Spain, Because I am willing that you should obtain Your freedom once more ; for my heart it will break If longer thou liest confined for my sake.' The words which he uttered, they caused her to weep; Tet, nevertheless, she was forced to keep Deep silence that minute, that minute for fear Her honoured father and mother should hear. PART II. Soon after, bold Henry he entered on board, The heavens a prosperous gale did afford, And brought him with speed to the kingdom of Spain, There he with a merchant some time did remain ; Who, finding that he was both faithful and just, Preferred him to places of honour and trust; 86 . BALLADS. He made him as great as his heart could request, Yet, wanting his Ruth, he with grief was oppressed. So great was his grief it could not be concealed, Both honour and riches no pleasure could yield; In private he often would weep and lament, For Ruth, the fair, beautiful lady of Kent. 'Now, while he lamented the loss of his dear, A lady of Spain did before him appear, Bedecked with rich jewels both costly and gay, Who earnestly sought for his favour that day. Said she, ' Gentle swain, I am wounded with love, And you are the person I honour above The greatest of nobles that ever was born ; — Then pity my tears, and my sorrowful mourn !' ' I pity thy sorrowful tears,' he replied, 6 And wish I were worthy to make thee my bride; But, lady, thy grandeur is greater than mine, Therefore, I am fearful my heart to resign.' 6 O ! never be doubtful of what will ensue, ~No manner of danger will happen to you; At my own disposal I am, I declare, Receive me with love, or destroy me with care.' ' Dear madam, don't fix your affection on me, You are fit for some lord of a noble degree, That is able to keep up your honour and fame ; I am but a poor sailor, from England who came. 6 A man of mean fortune, whose substance is small, I have not wherewith to maintain you withal, Sweet lady, according to honour and state ; Now this is the truth, which I freely relate.' f The lady she lovingly squeezed his hand, And said with a smile, ' Ever blessed be the land That bred such a noble, brave seaman as thee; I value no honours, thou'rt welcome to me; THE BEAUTIFUL LADY OF KENT. 87 t My parents are dead, I have jewels untold, Besides in possession a million of gold ; And thou shalt be lord of whatever I have, Grant me but thy love, which I earnestly crave.' Then, turning aside, to himself he replied, 1 [ am courted with riches and beauty beside ; This love I may have, but my Ruth is denied.' Wherefore he consented to make her his bride. The lady she clothed him costly and great ; His noble deportment, both proper and straight, So charmed the innocent eye of his dove, And added a second new flame to her love. Then married they were without longer delay; Now here we will leave them both glorious and gay, To speak of fair Ruth, who in sorrow was left At home with her parents, of comfort bereft. PART III. When under the window with an aching heart, He told his fair Ruth he so soon must depart, Her parents they heard, and well pleased they were, But Ruth was afflicted with sorrow and care. Now, after her lover had quitted the shore, They kept her confined a full twelvemonth or more, And then they were pleased to set her at large, With laying upon her a wonderful charge : To fly from a seaman as she would from death; She promised she would, with a faltering breath; Yet, nevertheless, the truth you shall hear, She found out a way for to follow her dear. Then, taking her gold and her silver also, In seaman's apparel away she did go, And found out a master, with whom she agreed, To carry her over the ocean with speed. Now, when she arrived at the kingdom of Spain, From city to city she travelled amain, 88 BALLADS. Enquiring about everywhere for her love, Who now had been gone seven years and above. In Cadiz, as she walked along in the street, Her love and his lady she happened to meet, But in such a garb as she never had seen, — She looked like an angel, or beautiful queen. With sorrowful tears she turned her aside : c My jewel is gone, I shall ne'er be his bride; But, nevertheless, though my hopes are in vain, I'll never return to old England again. ' But here, in this place, I will now be confined ; It will be a comfort and joy to my mind, To see him sometimes, though he thinks not of me, Since he has a lady of noble degree.' Now, while in the city fair Ruth did reside, Of a sudden this beautiful lady she died, And, though he was in the possession of all, Yet tears from his eyes in abundance did fall. As he was expressing his piteous moan, Fair Ruth came unto him, and made herself known ; He started to see her, but seemed not coy, Said he, 'Now my sorrows are mingled with joy !' The time of the mourning he kept it in Spain, And then he came back to old England again, With thousands, and thousands, which he did possess; Then glorious and gay was sweet Ruth in her dress. PART IV. \ When over the seas to fair Sandwich he came, With Ruth, and a number of persons of fame, Then all did appear most splendid and gay, As if it had been a great festival day. Now, when that they took up their lodgings, behold ! He stripped off his coat of embroidered gold, And presently borrows a mariner's suit, That he with her parents might have some dispute, THE BEAUTIFUL LADY OF KENT. 89 Before they were sensible lie was so great; And when he came in and knocked at the gate, He soon saw her father, and mother likewise, Expressing their sorrow with tears in their eyes. To them, with obeisance, he modestly said, j ' Pray where is my jewel, that innocent maid, v Whose sweet lovely beauty doth thousands excel? I fear, by your weeping, that all is not well I' 1 No, no ! she is gone, she is utterly lost ; We have not heard of her a twelvemonth at most ! Which makes us distracted with sorrow and care, And drowns us in tears at the point of despair.' ' I'm grieved to hear these sad tidings,' he cried. 1 Alas ! honest young man,' her father replied, 6 I heartily wish she'd been wedded to you, For then we this sorrow had never gone through.' r Sweet Henry he made them this answer again; ' I am newly come home from the kingdom of Spain, From whence I have brought me a beautiful bride, And am to be married to-morrow,' he cried ; ' And if you will go to my wedding,' said he, t Both you and your lady right welcome shall be.' They promised they would, and accordingly came, Not thinking to meet with such persons of fame. All decked with their jewels of rubies and pearls, As equal companions of lords and of earls, Fair Buth, with her love, was as gay as the rest, So they in their marriage were happily blessed. Now, as they returned from the church to an inn, The father and mother of Buth did begin Their daughter to know, by a mole they behold, Although she was clothed in a garment of gold. / With transports of joy they flew to the bride, ' ! where hast thou been, sweetest daughter V they cried, 'Thy tedious absence has grieved us sore, As fearing, alas ! we should see thee no more.' 90 BALLADS. ' Dear parents,' said she, ' many hazards I run, To fetch home my love, and your dutiful son; Receive him with joy, for 'tis very well known, He seeks not your wealth, he's enough of his own.' Her father replied, and he merrily smiled, [child; ' He's brought home enough, as he's brought home my A thousand times welcome you are, I declare, Whose presence disperses both sorrow and care.' Full seven long days in feasting they spent; The bells in the steeple they merrily went, And many fair pounds were bestowed on the poor, — The like of this wedding was never before ! THE BERKSHIRE LADY S GARLAND. IN FOUR PARTS. To the tune of The Royal Forester. [When we first met with this very pleasing English ballad, we deemed the story to be wholly fictitious, but ' strange ' as the ' relation s may appear, the incidents narrated are ' true' or at least founded on fact. The scene of the ballad is Whitley Park, near Reading, in Berkshire, and not, as some suppose, Calcot House, which was not built till 1759. Whitley is mentioned by Leland as e the Abbot's Park, being at the entrance of Redding town.' At the Dissolution the estate passed to the crown, and the man- sion seems, from time to time, to have been used as a royal 6 palace' till the reign of Elizabeth, by whom it was granted, along with the estate, to Sir Francis Knollys ; it was afterwards, by purchase, the property of the Kendricks, an ancient race, descended from the Saxon kings. William Kendrick, of Whitley, armr. was created a baronet in 1679, and died in 1685, leaving issue one son, Sir William Kendrick, of Whitley, Rart., who married Miss Mary House, of Reading, and died in 1 699, without issue male, leaving an only daughter. It was this rich heiress, who possessed ' store of wealth and beauty bright,' that is the heroine of the ballad. She married Benjamin Child, Esq., a young and handsome, but very poor attorney of Reading, and the marriage is traditionally reported to have been brought about exactly as related in the ballad. We have not been able to ascertain the exact date of the marriage, which was celebrated in St. Mary's THE BERKSHIRE LADY'S GARLAND. 91 Church, Reading, the bride wearing a thick veil ; but the ceremony must have taken place some time about 1705. In 17 14, Mr. Child was high sheriff of Berkshire. As he was an humble and obscure personage previously to his espousing the heiress of Whit- ley, and, in fact, owed all his wealth and influence to his marriage, it cannot be supposed that immediately after his union he would be elevated to so important and dignified a post as the high- shrievalty of the very aristocratical county of Berks. We may, therefore, consider nine or ten years to have elapsed betwixt his marriage and his holding the office of high sheriff, which he filled when he was about thirty-two years of age. The author of the ballad is unknown : supposing him to have composed it shortly after the events which he records, we cannot be far wrong in fixing its date about 1 706. The earliest broadside we have seen con- tains a rudely executed, but by no means bad likeness of Queen Anne, the reigning mouarch at that period.] PART I. SHOWING CUPID'S CONQUEST OVER A COY IADY OF FIVE THOUSAND A TEAR. BACHELORS of every station, Mark this strange and true relation, Which in brief to you I bring, — Never was a stranger thing ! You shall find it worth the hearing; Loyal love is most endearing, When it takes the deepest root, Yielding charms and gold to boot. (Some will wed for love of treasure; /But the sweetest joy and pleasure I Is in faithful love, you'll find, Graced with a noble mind. Such a noble disposition Had this lady, with submission, Of whom I this sonnet write, Store of wealth, and beauty bright. She had left, by a good grannum, Eull five thousand pounds per annum, Which she held without control; Thus she did in riches roll. 92 BALLADS. Though she had vast store of riches, Which some persons much bewitches, Yet she bore a virtuous mind, \ Not the least to pride inclined. Many noble persons courted This young lady, 'tis reported ; But their labour proved in vain, They could not her favour gain. Though she made a strong resistance, Yet by Cupid's true assistance, She was conquered after all; How it was declare I shall. Being at a noble wedding, Near the famous town of Redding,* A young gentleman she saw, Who belonged to the law. As she viewed his sweet behaviour, Every courteous carriage gave her New addition to her grief; Forced she was to seek relief. Privately she then enquired About him, so much admired; Both his name, and where he dwelt, — Such was the hot flame she felt. Then, at night, this youthful lady Called her coach, which being ready, Homewards straight she did return ; But her heart with flames did burn. PART II. SHOWING THE LADY'S LETTER OF A CHALLENGE TO EIGHT HIM UPON HIS REFUSING TO WED HER IN A MASK, WITHOUT KNOWING WHO SHE WAS. Night and morning, for a season, In her closet would she reason * This is the ancient way of spelling the name of Reading. In Percy's version of Barbara Allen, that ballad commences ■ In Scarlet town,' which, in the common stall copies, is rendered ■ In Redding town. ' The former is apparently a pun upon the old orthography — .Redding. THE BERKSHIRE LADY'S GARLAND. 93 With herself, and often said, 1 Why has love my heart betrayed? / ' I, that have so many slighted, Am at length so well requited; For my griefs are not a few ! Now I find what love can do. 1 He that has my heart in keeping, Though I for his sake be weeping, Little knows what grief I feel ; But I'll try it out with steel. ' For I will a challenge send him, And appoint where I'll attend him, In a grove, without delay, By the dawning of the day. ' He shall not the least discover That I am a virgin lover, By the challenge which I send; But for justice I contend. ' He has caused sad distraction, And I come for satisfaction, Which if he denies to give, One of us shall cease to live.' Having thus her mind revealed, She her letter closed and sealed; Which, when it came to his hand, The young man was at a stand. In her letter she conjured him For to meet, and well assured him, Becompence he must afford, Or dispute it with the sword. Having read this strange relation, He was in a consternation; But, advising with his friend, He persuades him to attend. 94 BALLADS. 1 Be of courage, and make ready, Faint heart never won fair lady; In regard it must be so, I along with you must go.' PART III. SHOWING HOW THEY MET BY APPOINTMENT IN A GROVE, WIIEHE SHE OBLIGED HIM TO EIGHT OR WED HER. Early on a summer's morning, When bright Phoebus was adorning Every bower with his beams, The fair lady came, it seems. At the bottom of a mountain, Near a pleasant crystal fountain, There she left her gilded coach, While the grove she did approach. Covered with her mask, and walking, There she met her lover talking With a friend that he had brought ; So she asked him whom he sought. f^\ am challenged by a gallant, / Who resolves to try my talent; Who he is I cannot say, But I hope to show him play.' 1 It is I that did invite you, You shall wed me, or I'll fight you, Underneath those spreading trees; Therefore, choose you which you please. ' You shall find -I do not vapour, I have brought my trusty rapier ; Therefore, take your choice,' said she, c Either fight or marry me.' Said he, ' Madam, pray what mean you? In my life I've never seen you; Pray unmask, your visage show, Then I'll tell you aye or no.' THE BERKSHIRE LADY'S GARLAND. 95 1 I will not niy face uncover Till the marriage ties are over; Therefore, choose you which you will, Wed me, sir, or try your skill. 1 Step within that pleasant bower, With your friend one single hour; Strive your thoughts to reconcile. And I'll wander here the while.' While this beauteous lady waited, The young bachelors debated What was best for to be done : Quoth his friend, ' The hazard run. 1 If my judgment can be trusted, Wed her first, you can't be worsted; If she's rich, you'll rise to fame, If she's poor, why ! you're the same.' , He consented to be married; All three in a coach were carried To a church without delay, Where he weds the lady gay. Though sweet pretty Cupids hovered Hound her eyes, her face was covered With a mask, — he took her thus, Just for better or for worse. With a courteous kind behaviour, She presents his friend a favour, And withal dismissed him straight, That he might no longer wait. PART IV. SHOWING HOW THEY RODE TOGETHER IN HER GILDED COACH TO HER NOBEE SEAT, OR CASTEE, ETC. /^ls the gilded coach stood ready, I The young lawyer and his lady Rode together, till they came To her house of state and fame ; 96 BALLADS. Which appeared like a castle, Where you might behold a parcel Of young cedars, tall and straight, Just before her palace gate. Hand in hand they walked together, To a hall, or parlour, rather, Which was beautiful and fair, — All alone she left him there. Two long hours there he waited Her return ; — at length he fretted, And began to grieve at last, For he had not broke his fast. Still he sat like one amazed, Round a spacious room he gazed, Which was richly beautified; But, alas ! he lost his bride. / There was peeping, laughing, sneering, All within the lawyer's hearing; But his bride he could not see ; ' Would I were at home !' thought he. While his heart was melancholy, Said the steward, brisk and jolly, c Tell me, friend, how came you here ? You've some bad design, I fear.' He replied, ' Dear loving master, You shall meet with no disaster Through my means, in any case, — Madam brought me to this place.' Then the steward did retire, Saying, that he would enquire Whether it was true or no : Ne'er was lover hampered so. THE BERKSHIRE LADY'S GARLAND. [)7 Now the lady who had filled him With those fears, full well beheld him From a window, as she dressed, Pleased at the merry jest. When she had herself attired In rich robes, to be admired, She appeared in his sight, Like a moving angel bright. ' Sir ! my servants have related, How some hours you ha,ve waited In my parlour, — tell me who In my house you ever knewf 6 Madam ! if I have offended, It is more than I intended; A young lady brought me here :' — ' That is true,' said she, f my dear. ' I can be no longer cruel To my joy, and only jewel; Thou art mine, and I am thine, Hand and heart I do resign! ' Once I was a wounded lover, Now these fears are fairly over; By receiving what I gave, Thou art lord of what I have/' Beauty, honour, love, and treasure, A rich golden stream of pleasure, With his lady he enjoys; Thanks to Cupid's kind decoys. Now he's clothed in rich attire, Not inferior to a squire; Beauty, honour, riches' store, What can man desire more? AKCIEST POEMS, ETC. BALLADS. 98 THE NOBLEMAN S GENEROUS KINDNESS. Giving an account of a nobleman, who, taking notice of a poor man's industrious care and pains for the maintaining of his charge of seven small children, met him upon a day, and discoursing with him, invited him, and his wife and his children, home to his house, and bestowed upon them a farm of thirty acres of land, to be con- tinued to him and his heirs for ever. To the tune of The Two English Travellers, [This still popular ballad is entitled in the modern copies, The 'Nobleman and Thrasher; or, the Generous Gift. There is a copy preserved in the Roxburgh Collection, with which our version has been collated. It is taken from a broadside printed by Robert Marchbank, in the Custom-house Entry, Newcastle.] f'~\ NOBLEMAN lived in a village of late, [great; -£*- Hard by a poor thrasher, whose charge it was For he had seven children, and most of them small, And nought but his labour to support them withal. He never was given to idle and lurk, For this nobleman saw him go daily to work, With his flail and his bag, and his bottle of beer, As cheerful as those that have hundreds a year. Thus careful, and constant, each morning he went, Unto his daily labour with joy and content; So jocular and jolly he'd whistle and sing, As blithe and as brisk as the birds in the spring. One morning, this nobleman taking a walk, He met this poor man, and he freely did talk; He asked him [at first] many questions at large, And then began talking concerning his charge. f c Tfhou hast many children, I very well know, Thy labour is hard, and thy wages are low, And yet thou art cheerful ; I pray tell me true, How can you maintain them as well as you do?' i ' I carefully carry home what I do earn, My daily expenses by this I do learn; And find it is possible, though we be poor, To still keep the ravenous wolf from the door. THE NOBLEMAN'S GENEROUS KINDNESS. 99 c I reap and I mow, and I harrow and sow, Sometimes a hedging and ditching I go ; No work comes amiss, for I thrash, and I plough, Thus my bread I do earn by the sweat of my brow. ' My wife she is willing to pull in a yoke, We live like two lambs, nor each other provoke ; We both of us strive, like the labouring ant, And do our endeavours to keep us from want. 1 And when I come home from my labour at night, To my wife and my children, in whom I delight ; To see them come round me with prattling noise, — Now these are the riches a poor man enjoys. ^-i-Though I am as weary as weary may be, The youngest I commonly dance on my knee; I find that content is a moderate feast, I never repine at my lot in the least.' ' Now the nobleman hearing what he did say, Was pleased, and invited him home the next day ; His wife and his children he charged him to bring; In token of favour he gave him a ring. He thanked his honour, and taking his leave, He went to his wife, who would hardly believe But this same story himself he might raise ; Yet seeing the ring she was [lost] in amaze. ; . Betimes in the morning the good wife she arose, And made them all fine, in the best of their clothes ; The good man with his good wife, and children small, They all went to dine at the nobleman's hall. But when they came there, as truth does report, All things were prepared in a plentiful sort; And they at the nobleman's table did dine, With all kinds of dainties, and plenty of wine. The feast being over, he soon let them know, That he then intended on them to bestow A farm-house, with thirty good acres of land; And gave them the writings then, with his own hand. 100 BALLADS. s~>i Because thou art careful, and good to thy wife, I'll make thy days happy the rast of thy life; It shall be for ever, for thee and thy heirs, Because I beheld thy industrious cares. ' ]STo tongue then is able in full to express The depth of their joy, and true thankfulness; With many a curtsey, and bow to the ground, — Such noblemen there are but few to be found. THE DRUNKARDS LEGACY. IN THREE PARTS. First, giving an account of a gentleman's having a wild son, and who, foreseeing he would come to poverty, had a cottage built with one door to it, always kept fast ; and how, on his dying bed, he charged him not to open it till he was poor and slighted, which the young man promised he would perform. Secondly, of the young man's pawning his estate to a vintner, who, when poor, kicked him out of doors ; when thinking it time to see his legacy, he broke open the cottage door, where instead of money he found a gibbet and halter, which he put round his neck, and jumping off the stool, the gibbet broke, and a thousand pounds came down upon his head, which lay hid in the ceiling. Thirdly, of his redeeming his estate, and fooling the vintner out of two hundred pounds ; who, for being jeered by his neigh- bours, cut his own throat. And lastly, of the young man's reformation. Very proper to be read by all who are given to drunkenness. [Percy, in the introductory remarks to the ballad of The Heir of Linne, says, 'the original of this ballad {The Heir of IAnne\ is found in the editor's folio MS.; the breaches arid defects of which rendered the insertion of supplemental stanzas necessary. These it is hoped the reader will pardon, as, indeed, the comple- tion of the story was suggested by a modern ballad on a similar subject/ The ballad thus alluded to by Percy is The Drunkard's Legacy, which, it may be remarked, although styled by him a modern ballad, is only so comparatively speaking; for it must have been written long anterior to Percy's time, and, by his own admis- sion, must be older than the latter portion of the Heir of Linne. Our copy is taken from an old chap-book, without date or printer's name, and which is decorated with three rudely executed wood-cuts.] ~\/ r OU"N'G people all, I pray draw near, -L And listen to my ditty here ; Which subject shows that drunkenness Brings many mortals to distress! THE DRUNKARD'S LEGACY. 101 As, for example, now I can Tell you of one, a gentleman, Who had a very good estate, His earthly travails they were great. ! We understand he had one son Who a lewd wicked race did run; / He daily spent his father's store, [ When moneyless, he came for more. The father oftentimes with tears, Would this alarm sound in his ears; ( Sou ! thou dost all my comfort blast, And thou wilt come to want at last.' The son these words did little mind, To cards and dice he was inclined ; Feeding his drunken appetite In taverns, which was his delight. The father, ere it was too late, He had a project in his pate, Before his aged days were run^ To make provision for his son. Near to his house, we understandj He had a waste plat of land, Which did but little profit yield, On which he did a cottage build. The Wise Man's Project was its name; There were few windows in the same; Only one door, substantial thing, Shut by a lock, went by a spring. Soon after he had played this trick, It was his lot for to fall sick; As on his bed he did lament, Then for his drunken son he sent. ! He shortly came to his bedside ; Seeing his son, he thus replied: ' I have sent for you to make my will, Which you must faithfully fulfil 102 BALLADS. 1 In such a cottage is one door, Ne'er open it, do thou be sure, Until thou art so poor, that all Do then despise you, great and small. < For, to my grief, I do perceive, When I am dead, this life you live Will soon melt all thou hast away; Do not forget these words, I pray. 1 When thou hast made thy friends thy foes, Pawned all thy lands, and sold thy clothes; Break ope the door, and there depend To find something thy griefs to end.' This being spoke, the son did say, ' Your dying words I will obey.' Soon after this his father dear Did die, and buried was, we hear. PART II. /Now, pray observe the second part, And you shall hear his sottish heart ; He did the tavern so frequent, Till he three hundred pounds had spent. This being done, we understand He pawned the deeds of all his land Unto a tavern-keeper, who, When poor, did him no favour show. For, to fulfil his father s will, He did command this cottage still : At length great sorrow was his share, Quite moneyless, with garments bare. Being not able for to work, He in the tavern there did lurk ; From box to box, among rich men, Who oftentimes reviled him then. To see him sneak so up and down, The vintner on him he did frown; THE DRUNKARD'S LEGACY. 103 And one night kicked him out of door, Charging him to come there no more. He in a stall did lie all night, In this most sad and wretched plight; Then thought it was high time to see His father's promised legacy. Next morning, then, oppressed with woe, This young man got an iron crow; And, as in tears he did lament, Unto this little cottage went. When he the door had open got, This poor, distressed, drunken sot, Who did for store of money hope, /^He saw a gibbet and a rope. Under this rope was placed a stool, Which made him look just like a fool; Crying, 'Alas! what shall I do? Destruction now appears in view ! 'As my father foresaw this thing, What sottishness to me would bring; As moneyless, and free of grace, His legacy I will embrace.' So then, oppressed with discontent, Upon the stool he sighing went; And then, his precious life to check, Did place the rope about his neck. / Crying, ' Thou, God, who sitt'st on high, : And on my sorrow casts an eye; Thou knowest that I've not done well, — Preserve my precious soul from hell. 1 'Tis true the slighting of thy grace, Has brought me to this wretched case; And as through folly I'm undone, I'll now eclipse my morning sun.' When he with sighs these words had spoke, Jumped off, and down the gibbet broke ; 104 BALLADS. In falling, as it plain appears, Dropped down about this young man's ears, ^ In shining gold, a thousand pound ! Which made the blood his ears surround : Though in, amaze, he cried, ' I'm sure This golden salve the sore will cure! ' Blessed be my father, then/ he cried, 1 Who did this, part for me so hide; And while 1 do alive remain, /^l never will get drunk again/ PAKT III. Now, By the third part you will hear, This young man, as it doth appear, With care he then secured his chink, And to the vintner's w r ent to drink. When the proud vintner did him see, He frowned on him immediately, And said, ( Begone ! or else with speed, /Til kick thee out of doors, indeed/ Smiling, the young man he did say, ' Thou cruel knave ! tell me, I pray, As I have here consumed my store, How durst thee kick me out of door,? 1 To me thou, hast been, too severe; The deeds of eightscore pounds a-year, I pawned them for three hundred pounds, That I spent here; — what makes such frowns?' The vintner said unto him, ' Sirrah ! Bring me one hundred pounds to-morrow By nine o'clock, — rtake them again ; So get you out of doors till then.' He answered^ ( If this chink I bring, I fear thou wilt do- no such thing.' He said, ' I'll give under my handy, A note, that I to this will stand.' THE DRUNKARD'S LEGACY. 105 Having the note, away he goes, And straightway went to one of those That made him drink when moneyless, And did the truth to him confess. They both went to this heap of gold, And in a bag he fairly told A thousand pounds, in yellow-boys, And to the tavern went their ways. This bag they on the table set, Making the vintner for to fret; He said, c Young man! this will not do, For I was. but in jest with you.' So then bespoke the young man's friend : ' Yintner ! thou mayest sure depend, In law this note it will you cast, And he must have hia land at last.' This made the vintner to comply, — He fetched the deeds immediately; He had one hundred pounds, and then The young man got his deeds again. At length the vintner 'gan to think How he was fooled out of his chink; Said, ' When 'tis found how I came off, My neighbours will' me game and scoff.' So to prevent their noise and clatter The vintner he, to mead the matter, In two days after, it doth appear, Did cut his throat from ear to ear. Thus he untimely left the world, That to this young man proved a churl. Now he who followed drunkenness, Lives sober, and doth lands possess. Instead of wasting of his store, As formerly, resolves no more To act the same, but does indeed Relieve all those that are in need. 106 BALLADS. f Let all young men now, for my sake, Take care how they such havoc make; For drunkenness, you plain may see, Had like his ruin for to be. THE BOWES TRAGEDY. Being a true relation of the Lives and Characters of Roger Wright- son and Martha Railton, of the Town of Bowes, in the County of York, who died for love of each other, in March, 17 if. Tune of Queen Dido. {The Bowes Tragedy is the original of Mallet's Edwin and Emma. In these verses are preserved the village record of the incident which suggested that poem. When Mallet published his ballad he subjoined an attestation of the facts, which may be found in Evans' Old Ballads, vol. ii. p. 237. Edit. 1784. Mallet alludes to the statement in the parish registry of Bowes, that * they both died of love, and were buried in the same grave/ &c. The following is an exact copy of the entry, as transcribed by Mr. Denham, 17th April, 1847. ^ ne wor( ls which we have printed in brackets are found interlined in another and a later hand by some person who had inspected the register : — ■ Rodger Wrightson, Jun., and Martha Railton, both of Bowes, Buried in one grave : He Z>ied in a .Fever, and upon tolling his passing Bell, she cry'd out My heart is broke, and in a .Few hours expird, purely [or supposed] thro' Love, March 15, i7if> aged about zo years each.' Mr. Denham says: — 1 The Bowes Tragedy was, I understand, written immediately after the death of the lovers, by the then master of Bowes Grammar School. His name I never heard. My father, who died a few years ago (aged nearly 80), knew a younger sister of Martha Rail ton's, who used to sing it to strangers passing through Bowes. She was a poor woman, advanced in years, and it brought her in many a piece of money.'] LET Carthage Queen be now no more The subject of our mournful song; Nor such old tales which, heretofore, Did so amuse the teeming throng; Since the sad story which I'll tell, All other tragedies excel. THE BOWES TRAGEDY. 107 Remote in Yorkshire, near to Bowes, Of late did Roger Wrightson dwell; He courted Martha Railton, whose Repute for virtue did excel ; Yet Roger's friends would not agree, That he to her should married be. Their love continued one whole year, Full sore against their parents' will ; And when he found them so severe, His loyal heart began to chill : And last Shrove Tuesday, took his bed, With grief and woe encompassed. Thus he continued twelve days' space, In anguish and in grief of mind ; And no sweet peace in any case, This ardent lover's heart could find ; But languished in a train of grief, Which pierced his heart beyond relief. Now anxious Martha sore distressed, A private message did him send, Lamenting that she could not rest, Till she had seen her loving friend : His answer was, ' Nay, nay, my dear, Our folks will angry be I fear.' Full fraught with grief, she took no rest, But spent her time in pain and fear, Till a few days before his death She sent an orange to her dear ; But 's cruel mother in disdain, Did send the orange back again. Three days before her lover died, Poor Martha with a bleeding heart, To see her dying lover hied, In hopes to ease him of his smart ; Where she's conducted to the bed, In which this faithful young man laid. 108 BALLADS. Where she with doleful cries beheld, Her fainting lover in despair ; At which her heart with sorrow filled, Small was the comfort she had there; Though's mother showed her great respect, His sister did her much reject. She stayed two hours with her dear, In hopes for to declare her mind; But Hannah Wrightson* stood so near, No time to do it she could find: So that being almost dead with grief, Away she went without relief. Tears from her eyes did flow amain, And she full oft would sighing say, 1 My constant love, alas ! is slain, And to pale death become a prey : Oh, Hannah, Hannah, thou art base; Thy pride will turn to foul disgrace !' She spent her time in. godly prayers, And quiet rest did. from her fly ; She to her friends full oft declares, She could not live if he did die : Thus she continued till the bell, Began to sound his fatal knell. And when she heard the dismal sound, Her godly book she cast away, With bitter cries would pierce the ground, Her fainting heart 'gan to. decay; She to her pensive mother said, ' I cannot live now he is dead.' Then after three short minutes' space, As she in sorrow groaning lay, A gentlemant did her embrace, And mildly unto her did say, * The sister of Roger, t This gentleman was Mr. Thomas Petty. THE BOWES TRAGEDY. 109 c Dear melting soul be not so sad, But let your passion be allayed.' Her answer was, ' My heart is burst, My span of life is near an end ; My love from me by death is forced, My grief no soul can comprehend.' Then her poor heart it waxed faint, When she had ended her complaint. For three hours' space, as in a trance, This broken-hearted creature lay 3 Her mother wailing her mischance, To pacify her did essay : But all in vain, for strength being past, She seemingly did breathe her last. Her mother, thinking she was dead, Began to shriek and cry amain; And heavy lamentations made, "Which called her spirit back again; To be an object of hard fate, And give to grief a longer date. Distorted with convulsions, she, In dreadful manner gasping lay, Of twelve long hours no moment free, Her bitter groans did her dismay : Then her poor heart being sadly broke, Submitted to the fatal stroke. When things were to this issue brought, Both in one grave were to be laid: But flinty-hearted Hannah thought, By stubborn means for to persuade, Their friends and neighbours from the same, For which she surely was to blame. And being asked the reason why, Such base objections she did make, She answered thus scornfully, In words not fit for Billingsgate : 110 BALLADS. 1 She might have taken fairer on — Or else be hanged :' Oh heart of stone ! What hell-born fury had possessed, Thy vile inhuman spirit thus? What swelling rage was in thy breast, That could occasion this disgust, And make thee show such spleen and rage, Which life can't cure nor death assuage ? Sure some of Satan's minor imps, Ordained were to be thy guide; To act the part of sordid pimps, And hll thy heart with haughty pride; But take this caveat once for all, Such devilish pride must have a fall. But when to church the corpse was brought, And both of them met at the gate ; What mournful tears by friends were shed, When that alas it was too late, — When they in silent grave were laid, Instead of pleasing marriage-bed. You parents all both far and near, By this sad story warning take; Nor to your children be severe, When they their choice in love do make ; Let not the love of cursed gold, True lovers from their love withhold. THE CRAFTY LOVER; OR, THE LAWYER OUTWITTED. Tune of i" love thee more and more. [This excellent old ballad is transcribed from a copy printed in Aldercnary church-yard. It still continues to be published in the old broadside form.] [Fa rich counsellor I write, Who had one only daughter, ! / THE CRAFTY LOVER. Ill Who was of youthful beauty bright; Now mark what follows after.* Her uncle left her, I declare, A sumptuous large possession; Her father he was to take care Of her at his discretion. She had ten thousand pounds a-year, And gold and silver ready, And courted was by many a peer, Yet none could gain this lady. At length a squire's youngest son In private came a- wooing, And when he had her favour won, He feared his utter ruin. The youthful lady straightway cried, ' I must confess I love thee, Though lords and knights I have denied, Yet none I prize above thee : Thou art a jewel in my eye, But here,' said she, ' the care is, — I fear you will be doomed to die For stealing of an heiress.' The young man he replied to her Like a true politician j 6 Thy father is a counsellor, I'll tell him my condition. Ten guineas they shall be his fee, He'll think it is some stranger ; Thus for the gold he'll counsel me, And keep me safe from danger.' * We here, and in a subsequent verse, find 'daughter' made to rhyme with * after ;' but we must not therefore conclude that the rhyme is of cockney origin. In many parts of England, the word • daughter' is pronounced ■ dafter' by the peasantry, who, upon the same principle, pronounce ' slaughter' as if it were spelt ■ slafter.' 112 BALLADS. Unto her father he did go, The very next day after; But did not let the lawyer know The lady was his daughter. Now when the lawyer saw the gold That he should be the gainer, A pleasant trick to him he told With safety to obtain her. ' Let her provide a horse,' he cried, ' And take you up behind her; Then with you to some parson ride Before her parents find her : That she steals you, you may complain, And so avoid their fury. Now this is law I will maintain Before or judge or jury. ' Now take my writing and my seal, Which I cannot deny thee, And if you any trouble feel, In court I will stand by thee.' 'I give you thanks,' the young man cried, 6 By you I am befriended, And to your house I'll bring my bride After the work is ended.' Next morning, ere the day did break, This news to her he carried ; She did her father's counsel take, And they were fairly married. And now they felt but ill at ease, And, doubts and fears expressing, They home returned, and on their knees They asked their father's blessing. But when he had beheld them both, He seemed like one distracted, And vowed to be revenged on oath For what they now had acted. THE DEATH OF QUEEN JANE. I 1 3 With that bespoke his new-made son — ' There can be no deceiving, That this is law which we have done Here is your hand and sealiug !' The counsellor did then reply, Was ever man so fitted ; c My hand and seal I can't deny, By you I am outwitted. 'Ten thousand pounds a-year in store ' She was left by my brother, And when I die there will be more, For child I have no other. ( She might have had a lord or knight, From royal loins descended; But, since thou art her heart's delight, I will not be offended ; 'If I the gordian knot should part, 'Twere cruel out of measure; Enjoy thy love, with all my heart, In plenty, peace, and pleasure.' THE DEATH OF QUEEN JANE. (TRADITIONAL.) [We have seen an old printed copy of this ballad, which was written probably about the date of the event it records, 1537. Onr version was taken down from the singing of a young gipsy girl, to whom it had descended orally through two generations. She could not recollect the whole of it. In Miss Strickland's Lives of the Queens of England, we find the following passage: ' An English ballad is extant, which, dwelling on the elaborate " mourning of Queen Jane's ladies, informs the world, in a line of pure bathos, In black were her ladies, and black were their faces.' Miss Strickland does not appear to have seen the ballad to which she refers ; and as we are not aware of the existence of any other ballad on the subject, we presume that her line of 'pure bathos' is merely a corruption of one of the ensuing verses.] ANCIENT POEMS, ETC. 8 114 BALLADS. QUEEN JANE was in travail For six weeks or more, Till the women grew tired, And fain would give o'er. 1 O women ! O women ! Good wives if ye be, Go, send for King Henrie* And bring him to me.' King Henrie was sent for, He came with all speed, In a gownd of green velvet From heel to the head. 6 King Henrie ! King Henrie! If kind Henrie you be, Send for a surgeon, And bring him to me.' The surgeon was sent for, He came with all speed, In a gownd of black velvet From heel to the head. He gave her rich caudle, But the death-sleep slept she. Then her right side was opened, And the babe was set free. The babe it was christened, And put out and nursed, While the royal Queen Jane She lay cold in the dust. So black was the mourning, And white were the wands, Yellow, yellow the torches, They bore in their hands. THE WANDERING YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN. 115 The bells they were muffled, And mournful did play, While the royal Queen Jane She lay cold in the clay. Six knights and six lords Bore her corpse through the grounds ; Six dukes followed after, In black mourning gownds. The flower of Old England Was laid in cold clay, Whilst the royal King Henrie Came weeping away. THE WANDERING YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN; OR, CATSKIN. [The following version of this ancient English ballad has been collated with three copies. In some editions it is called Cat skin's Garland ; or, the Wandering Young Gentlewoman. The story has a close similarity to that of Cinderella, and is supposed to be of oriental origin. Several versions of it are current in Scandi- navia, Germany, Italy, Poland, and Wales. For some account of it see Pictonal Boole of Ballads, ii. 153, edited by Mr. J. S. Moore.] PART I. YOU fathers and mothers, and children also, Draw near unto me, and soon you shall know The sense of my ditty, and I dare to say, The like's not been heard of this many a day. The subject which to you I am to relate, It is of a young squire of vast estate; The first dear infant his wife did him bear, It was a young daughter of beauty most rare. / He said to his wife, ' Had this child been a boy, 'Twould have pleased me better, and increased my joy, If the next be the same sort, I declare, Of what I'm possessed it shall have no share.' 116 BALLADS. In twelve months' time after, this woman, we hear, Had another daughter of beauty most clear; And when that he knew it was but a female, Into a bitter passion he presently fell, Saying, ( Since this is of the same sort as the first, In my habitation she shall not be nursed ; Pray let her be sent into the countrie, For where I am, truly, this child shall not be.' With tears his dear wife unto him did say, 6 Husband, be contented, I'll send her away.' Then to the countrie with speed her did send, For to be brought up by one was her friend. Although that her father he hated her so, He a good education on her did bestow; And with a gold locket, and robes of the best, This slighted young damsel was commonly dressed. And when unto stature this damsel was grown, And found from her father she had no love shown, She cried, ' Before I will lay under his frown, I'm resolved to travel the country around.' PART II. But now mark, good people, the cream of the jest, In what sort of manner this creature was dressed; With cat-skins she made her a robe, I declare, The which for her covering she daily did wear. Her own rich attire, and jewels beside, Then up in a bundle by her they were tied, And to seek her fortune she wandered away ; And when she had travelled a cold winter's day, In the evening-tide she came to a town, Where at a knight's door she sat herself down, For to rest herself, who was tired sore ; — This noble knight's lady then came to the door. This fair creature seeing in such sort of dress, The lady unto her these words did express : THE WANDERING YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN. 117 1 Whence earnest thou, girl, and what wouldst thou have 1 She said, ' A night's rest in your stable I crave.' The lady said to her, ( I'll grant thy desire, Come into the kitchen, and stand by the fire.' Then she thanked the lady, and went in with haste; And there she was gazed .on from highest to least. And, being well warmed, her hunger was great, They gave her a plate of good food for to eat, And then to an outhouse this creature was led, Where with fresh straw she soon made her a bed. And when in the morning the daylight she saw, Her riches and jewels she hid in the straw; And, being very cold, she then did retire Into the kitchen, and stood by the fire. The cook said, l My lady hath jDromised that thee Shall be as a scullion to wait upon me ; What say'st thou girl, art thou willing to bide?' ■ With all my heart truly,' to him she replied. To work at her needle she could very well, And for raising of paste few could her excel ; She being so handy, the cook's heart did win, And then she was called by the name of Catskin. PART III. The lady a son had both comely and tall, Who oftentimes used to be at a ball A mile out of town ; and one evening-tide, To dance at this ball away he did ride. Catskin said to his mother, ' Pray, madam, let me Go after your son now, this ball for to see.' With that in a passion this lady she grew, And struck her with the ladle, and broke it in two. On being thus served she quick got away, And in her rich garments herself did array; And then to this ball she with speed did retire, Where she danced so bravely that all did admire. 118 BALLADS. . The sport being done, the young squire did say, ' Young lady, where do you live? tell me, I pray.' Her answer was to him, 'Sir, that T will tell, — At the sign of the broken ladle I dwell.' She being very nimble, got home first, 'tis said, And in her catskin robes she soon was arrayed; And into the kitchen again she did go, But where she had been they did none of them know. Next night this young squire, to give him content, To dance at this ball again forth he went. She said, 'Pray let me go this ball for to view.' Then she struck with the skimmer, and broke it in two. Then out of the doors she ran full of heaviness, And in her rich garments herself soon did dress; And to this ball ran away with all speed, Where to see her dancing all wondered indeed. The ball being ended, the young squire said, ' Where is it you live V She again answered, ' Sir, because you ask me, account I will give, At the sign of the broken skimmer 1 live.' Being dark when she left him, she homeward did hie, And in her catskin robes she was dressed presently, And into the kitchen amongst them she went, But where she had been they were all innocent. When the squire came home, and found Catskin there, He was in amaze and began for to swear ; c For two nights at the ball has been a lady, The sweetest of beauties that ever I did see. 1 She was the best dancer in all the whole place. And very much like our Catskin in the face ; Had she not been dressed in that costly degree, I should have swore it was Catskin's body. Next night to the ball he did go once more, And she asked his mother to go as before, Who, having a basin of water in hand, She threw it at Catskin, as I understand. THE WANDERING YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN. 119 Shaking her wet ears, out of doors she did run, And dressed herself when this thing she had done. To the ball once more she then went her ways; To see her fine dancing they all gave her praise. And having concluded, the young squire said he, ' From whence might you come, pray_, lad}^, tell me V Her answer was, ' Sir, you shall soon know the same, From the sign of the basin of water I came.' Then homeward she hurried, as fast as x?ould be ; This young squire then was resolved to see Whereto she belonged, and, following Catskin, Into an old straw house he saw her creep in. He said, ' brave Catskin, I find it is thee, Who these three nights together has so charmed me ; Thou rt the sweetest of creatures my eyes e'er beheld, With joy and content my heart now is filled. 1 Thou art our cook's scullion, but as I have life, Grant me but thy love, and I'll make thee my wife, And thou shalt have maids for to be at thy call.' 1 Sir, that cannot be, I've no £>ortion at all.' ' Thy beauty's a portion, my joy and my dear, I prize it far better than thousands a year, And to have my friends' consent I have got a trick, I'll go to my bed, and feign myself sick. ' There no one shall tend me but thee I profess ; So one day or another in thy richest dress, Thou shalt be clad, and if my parents come nigh, I'll tell them 'tis for thee that sick I do lie.' PART IV. Thus having consulted, this couple parted. Next day this young squire he took to his bed ; And when his dear parents this thing both perceived, For fear of his death they were right sorely grieved. To tend him they send for a nurse speedily, He said, ' None but Catskin my nurse now shall be.' 120 BALLADS. His parents said, ( No, son.' He said, ' But she shall, Or else I'll have none for to nurse me at all.' His parents both wondered to hear him say thus, That no one but Catskin must be his nurse; So then his dear parents their son to content, Up into his chamber poor Catskin they sent. Sweet cordials and other rich things were prepared, 'Which between this young couple were equally shared; And when all alone they in each other's arms, Enjoyed one another in love's pleasant charms. And at length on a time poor Catskin, 'tis said, In her rich attire again was arrayed, And when that his mother to the chamber drew near, Then much like a goddess did Catskin appear ; Which caused her to stare, and thus for to say, c What young lady is this, come tell me, I pray?' He said, ' It is Catskin for whom sick I lie, And except I do have her with speed I shall die.' His mother then hastened to call up the knight, Who ran up to see this amazing great sight ; He said, ' Is this Catskin we held in such scorn] I ne'er saw a finer dame since I was born.' The old knight he said to her, ' I prithee tell me, From whence thou didst come and of what family ? ' Then who were her parents she gave them to know, And what was the cause of her wandering so. The young squire he cried, ' If you will save my life, Pray grant this young creature she may be my wife.' His father replied, ' Thy life for to save, If you have agreed, my consent you may have.' Next day, with great triumph and joy as we hear, There were many coaches came far and near; Then much like a goddess dressed in rich array, Catskin was married to the squire that day. For several days this wedding did last, Where was many a topping and gallant repast, THE WANDERING YOUNG GENTLEWOMAN. 121 And for joy the bells rung out all over the town, And bottles of canary rolled merrily round. "When Catskin was married, her fame for to raise, Who saw her modest carriage they all gave her praise; Thus her charming beauty the squire did win; And who lives so great now as he and Catskin. PART V. Now in the fifth part I'll endeavour to show, How things with her parents and sister did go; Her mother and sister of life are bereft, And now all alone the old squire is left. Who hearing his daughter was married so brave, He said, ' In my noddle a fancy I have ; Dressed like a poor man now a journey I'll make, And see if she on me some pity will take.' Then dressed like a beggar he went to her gate, Where stood his daughter, who looked very great; He cried, \ Noble lady, a poor man I be, And am now forced to crave charity.' AYith a blush she asked him from whence that he came; / And with that he told her, and likewise his name. She cried ' I'm your daughter, whom you slighted so, Yet, nevertheless, to you kindness I'll show. * Through mercy the Lord hath provided for me ; Pray, father, couue in and sit down then,' said she. Then the best provisions the house could afford, For to make him welcome was set on the board. She said, ' You are welcome, feed hearty, I pray, And, if you are willing, with me you shall stay, So long as you live.' Then he made this reply : ' I only am come now thy love for to try. ( Through mercy, my dear child, I'm rich and not poor, I I have gold and silver enough now in store; And for this love which at thy hands I have foujnd, For thy portion I'll give thee ten thousand pound.' 122 BALLADS. So in a few days after, as f understand, This man he went home, and sold off all his land, And ten thousand pounds to his daughter did give, And now altogether in love they do live. THE BRAVE EARL BRAND AND THE KING OF ENGLAND'S DAUGHTER. (TRADITIONAL.) [This ballad, which resembles the Danish ballad of Ribolt, was taken down from the recitation of an old fiddler in Northumber- land : in one verse there is an hiatus, owing to the failure of the reciter's memory. The refrain should be repeated in every verse.] ODID you ever hear of the brave Earl Brand, Hey lillie, ho lillie lallie ; He's courted the king's daughter o' fair England, I' the brave nights so early ! She was scarcely fifteen years that tide, When sae boldly she came to his bed-side. 6 0, Earl Brand, how fain wad I see A pack of hounds let loose on the lea.' ' 0, lady fair, I have no steed but one, But thou shalt ride and I will run.' ' O, Earl Brand, but my father has two, And thou shalt have the best of tho'.' Now they have ridden o'er moss and moor, And they have met neither rich nor poor ; Till at last they met with old Carl Hood, He's aye for ill, and never for good. ' Now Earl Brand, an ye love me, Slay this old Carl and gar him dee.' ' 0, lady fair, but that would be sair, To slay an auld Carl that wears grey hair. ' My own lady fair I'll not do that, I'll pay him his fee ' ' O, where have ye ridden this lee lang day, And where have ye stown this fair lady awayf THE BRAVE EARL BRAND. 123 ' I have not ridden this lee lang day, Nor yet have I stown this lady away ; ' For she is, I trow, my sick sister, Whom I have been bringing fra' Winchester.' 1 If she's been sick, and nigh to dead, What makes her wear the ribbon so red? I If she's been sick, and like to die, What makes her wear the gold sae high]' When came the Carl to the lady's yett, He rudely, rudely rapped thereat. ' Now where is the lady of this hall?' ' She's out with her maids a playing at the ball.' ' Ha, ha, ha ! ye are all mist a' en, Ye may count your maidens owre again. I I met her far beyond the lea With the young Earl Brand his leman to be.' Her father of his best men armed fifteen, And they're ridden after them bidene. The lady looked owre her left shoulder then, Says, 'O Earl Brand we are both of us ta'en.' 6 If they come on me one by one, You may stand by till the fights be done ; ( But if they come on me one and all, You may stand by and see me fall.' They came upon him one by one, Till fourteen battles he has won ; And fourteen men he has them slain, Each after each upon the plain. But the fifteenth man behind stole round, And dealt him a deep and a deadly wound. Though he was wounded to the deid, He set his lady on her steed. They rode till they came to the river Doune, And there they lighted to wash his wound. 124 BALLADS. 1 O, Earl Brand, I see your heart's blood F 1 It's nothing but the glent and my scarlet hood.' They rode till they came to his mother's yett, So faint and feebly he rapped thereat. ' 0, my son's slain, he is falling to swoon, And it's all for the sake of an English loon.' ' O, say not so, my dearest mother, But marry her to my youngest brother — 6 To a maiden true he'll give his hand, Hey lillie, ho lillie lallie. To the king's daughter o' fair England, To a prize that was won by a slain brother's brand, I ? the brave nights so early !' THE JOVIAL HUNTER OE BROMS GROVE ; OR, THE OLD MAN AND HIS THREE SONS. (TRADITIONAL.) [The following ballad has long been popular in Worcestershire and some of the adjoining counties. It was printed for the first time by Mr. Allies of Worcester, under the title of The Jovial Hunter of Bromsgrove ; but amongst the peasantry of that county, and the adjoining county of Warwick, it has always been called The Old Man and his Three Sons — the name given to a fragment of the ballad still used as a nursery song in the north of England, the chorus of which slightly varies from that of the ballad. See post, p. 250. The title of The Old Man and his Three Sons is derived from the usage of calling a ballad after the first line — a practice that has descended to the present day. In Shakspeare's comedy of As You Like It there appears to be an allusion to this ballad. Le Beau says, — There comes an old man and his three sons, to which Celia replies, I could match this beginning with an old tale. — i. 2. Whether The Jovial Hunter belongs to either Worcestershire or Warwickshire is rather questionable. The probability is that it is a north country ballad connected with the family of Bolton, of Bolton, in Wensley dale. A tomb, said to be that of Sir Ryalas Bolton, the Jovial Hunter, is shown in Bromsgrove church, Worcestershire; THE JOVIAL HUNTER OF BROMS GROVE. 125 but there is no evidence beyond tradition to connect it with the name or deeds of any ' Bolton ;' indeed it is well known that the tomb belongs to a family of another name. In the following version are preserved some of the peculiarities of the Worcester- shire dialect.] OLD Sir Robert Bolton had three sons, Wind well thy horn, good hunter; And one of them was Sir Ryalas, For he was a jovial hunter. He ranged all round down by the wood side, Wind well thy horn, good hunter, Till in a tree-top a gay lady he spied, For he was a jovial hunter. i Oh, what dost thee mean, fair lady,' said he, Wind well thy horn, good hunter ; [gored, < The wild boar's killed my lord, and has thirty men And thou beest a jovial hunter.' ' Oh, what shall I do this wild boar for to see V Wind well thy horn, good hunter; 6 Oh, thee blow a blast and he'll come unto thee, As thou beest a jovial hunter.' Then he blowed a blast, full north, east, west, and Wind well thy horn, good hunter ; [south, And the wild boar then heard him full in his den, As he was a jovial hunter. Then he made the best of his speed unto him, Wind well thy horn, good hunter ; [gore],* [Swift flew the boar, with his tusks smeared with To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter. Then the wild boar, being so stout and so strong, Wind well thy horn, good hunter; Thrashed down the trees as he ramped him along, To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter. 1 Oh, what dost thee want of mef wild boar, said he,t Wind well thy horn, good hunter ; * Added to complete the sense. \ That is, ' said he, the wild boar. 1 126 BALLADS. ' Oh, I think in my heart I can do enough for thee, For I am the jovial hunter.' Then they fought four hours in a long summer day, Wind well thy horn, good hunter ; Till the wild boar fain would have got him away From Sir By alas, the jovial hunter. Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword with might, Wind well thy horn, good hunter ; And he fairly cut the boar's head off quite, For he was, a j o vial hunter. Then out of the wood the wild woman flew, Wind well thy horn, good hunter ; c Oh, my pretty spotted pig thou hast slew, For thou beest a jovial hunter. * There are three things, I demand them of thee,' Wind well thy horn, good hunter ; 6 It's thy horn, and thy hound, and thy gay lady, As thou beest a jovial hunter.' 1 If these three things thou dost ask of me,' Wind well thy horn, good hunter ; ' It's just as my sword and thy neck can agree, For I am a jovial hunter.' Then into his long locks the wild woman flew, Wind well thy horn, good hunter; Till she thought in her heart to tear him through, Though he was a jovial hunter. Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword again, Wind well thy horn, good hunter, And he fairly split her head into twain, For he was a jovial hunter. In Bromsgrove church, the knight he doth lie, Wind well thy horn, good hunter; And the wild boar's head is pictured thereby, Sir Byalas, the jovial hunter. 127 LADY ALICE. [This old ballad is regularly published by the stall printers. The termination resembles that of Lord Lovel and other ballads. See 'Early Ballads, Ann. Ed. p. 134. An imperfect traditional copy was printed in Notes and Queries.'] T ADY ALICE was sitting in her bower window, ■H At midnight mending her quoif ; And there she saw as fine a corpse As ever she saw in her life. ' What bear ye, what bear ye, ye six men tall 1 What bear ye on your shoulders V 1 We bear the corpse of Giles Collins, An old and true lover of yours.' ' 0, lay him down gently, ye six men tall, All on the grass so green, And to-morrow when the sun goes down, Lady Alice a corpse shall be seen. c And bury me in Saint Mary's Church, All for my love so true ; And make me a garland of marjoram, And of lemon thyme, and rue.' Giles Collins was buried all in the east, Lady Alice all in the west ; And the roses that grew on Giles Collins's grave, They reached Lady Alice's breast. I The priest of the parish he chanced to pass, And he severed those roses in twain. Sure never were seen such true lovers before, Nor e'er will there be again. THE FELON SEWE OF ROKEBY AND THE FREERES OF RICHMOND. [This very curious ballad, or, more properly, metrical romance, was originally published by the late Doctor Whitaker in his History of Craven, from an ancient MS., which was supposed to be unique. Whitaker's version was transferred to Evans's Old 128 BALLADS. Ballads, the editor of which work introduced some judicious conjectural emendations. In reference to this republication, Dr. Whitaker inserted the following note in the second edition of his History : — This tale, saith my MS., was known of old to a few families only, and by them held so precious, that it was never intrusted to the memory of the son till the father was on his death-bed. But times are altered, for since the first edition of this work, a certain bookseller [the late Mr. Evans] has printed it verbatim, with little acknowledg- ment to the first editor. He might have recollected that The Felon Sewe had been already reclaimed property vested. However, as he is an ingenious and deserving man, this hint shall suffice. — History of Craven, second edition, London, 181a. When Sir Walter Scott published his poem of Rokeby, Doctor Whitaker discovered that The Felon Sewe was not of such 'exceeding rarity' as he had been led to suppose; for he was then made acquainted with the fact that another MS. of the ' unique ' ballad was preserved in the archives of the Rokeby family. This version was published by Scott, who considered it superior to that printed by Whitaker ; and it must undoubtedly be admitted to be more complete, and, in general, more correct. It has also the advantage of being authenticated by the traditions of an ancient family; while of Dr. Whitaker's version we know nothing more than that it was ' printed from a MS. in his pos- session/ The readings of the Rokeby MS., however, are not always to be preferred; and in order to produce as full and accu- rate a version as the materials would yield, the following text has been founded upon a careful collation of both MSS. A few alte- rations have been adopted, but only when the necessity for them appeared to be self-evident; and the orthography has been rendered tolerably uniform, for there is no good reason why we should have ' sewe/ ' scho/ and ' sike/ in some places, and the more modern forms of ' sow/ ' she/ and ' such/ in others. If the MSS. were correctly transcribed, which we have no ground for doubting, they must both be referred to a much later period than the era when the author flourished. Tbe language of the poem is that of Craven, in Yorkshire; and, although the composition is acknowledged on all hands to be one of the reign of Henry VII., the provincialisms of that most interesting mountain district have been so little affected by the spread of education, that the Felon Sewe is at the present day perfectly comprehensible to any Craven peasant, and to such a reader neither note nor glossary is necessary. Dr. Whitaker' s explanations are, therefore, few and . brief, for he was thoroughly acquainted with the language and the district. Scott, on the contrary, who knew nothing of the THE FELON SEWE OF KOKEBY. 129 dialect, and confounded its pure Saxon with Lis Lowland Scotch, gives numerous notes, which only display his want of the requisite local knowledge, and are, consequently, calculated to mislead. The Felon Sewe belongs to the same class of compositions as the Hunting of the Hare, reprinted by Weber, and the Tour- nament of Tottenham, in Percy's Reliques. Scott says that 'the comic romance was a sort of parody upon the usual subjects of minstrel poetry/ This idea may be extended, for the old comic romances were in many instances not merely ' sorts of parodies/ but real parodies on compositions which were popular in their day, although they have not descended to us. We certainly remember to have met with an old chivalric romance, in which the leading incidents were similar to those of the Felon Sewe. It may be observed, also, in reference to this poem, that the design is twofold, the ridicule being equally aimed at the minstrels and the clergy. The author was in all probability a follower of Wickliffe. There are many sly satirical allusions to the Romish faith and practices, in which no orthodox Catholic would have ventured to indulge. Ralph Rokeby, who gave the sow to the Franciscan Friars of Richmond, is believed to have been the Ralph who lived in the reign of Henry VII. Tradition represents the Baron as having been ' a fellow of infinite jest/ and the very man to bestow so valuable a gift on the convent ! The Mistress Rokeby of the ballad was, according to the pedigree of the family, a daughter and heiress of Danby, of Yafforth. Friar Theobald cannot be traced, and therefore we may suppose that the monk had some other name; the minstrel author, albeit a Wickliffite, not thinking it quite prudent, perhaps, to introduce a priest in propria persona. The story is told with spirit, and the verse is graceful and flowing.] FITTE THE FIRSTE. ~\7"E men that will of aunters wynne, -*- That late within this lande hath bin, Of on I will yow telle ; And of a sewe that was sea Strang, Alas ! that ever scho lived sea lang, For fell folk did scho wele.* * Scott has strangely misunderstood this line, which he interprets — 1 3Iany people did she 7dU. > 1 Fell' is to knock down, and the meaning is that she could 4 well* knock down, or ' fell' people. ANCIENT POEMS, ETC. 9 130 BALLADS. Scho was mare than other three, The grizeliest beast that ere mote bee, Her hede was greate and grave; Scho was bred in Rokebye woode, Ther war few that thither yoode,* But cam belive awaye. Her walke was endlang Greta syde. Was no barne that colde her byde, That was fra heven or helle ;t Ne never man that had that myght, That ever durst com in her syght, Her force it was sea felle. Raphe J of Rokebye, with full gode wyll, The freers of Richmonde gav her tyll, Full wele to gar thayine fare; Freer Myddeltone by name, Hee was sent to fetch her hame, Yt rewed him syne full sare. Wyth hym tooke hee wyght men two, Peter of Dale was on of tho, Tother was Bryan of Beare ;§ Thatte wele durst strike wyth swerde and knife, And fyght full manlie for theyr lyfe, What tyme as musters were.|| These three men wended at theyr wyll, This wickede sewe gwhyl they cam tyll, * Went. t The meaning appears to be that no « wiseman' or wizard, no matter from whence his magic was derived, durst face her. Craven has always been famed for its wizards, or wisemen, and several of such impostors may be found there at the present day. X Scott's MS. reads Ralph, but Raphe is the ancient form. § Scott reads ' brim as beare,' which he interprets ' fierce as a bear.' Whitaker's rendering is correct. Beare is a small hamlet on the Bay of Morecambe, no great distance, as the crow flies, from the locale of the poem. There is also a Bear-park in the county of Durham, of which place Bryan might je an inhabitant. Utrum horum, &c. || That is, they were good soldiers when the musters were — when the regiments were called up. THE FELON SEWE OF ROKEBY. 131 Liggand under a tree ; Rugg'd and rustic was her here, Scho rase up wyth a felon fere,* To fyght agen the three. Grizely was scho for to meete, Scho rave the earthe up wyth her feete, The barke cam fra' the tree : When Freer Myddeltone her saugh, Wete yow wele hee list not laugh, Full earnestful luik'd hee. These men of auncestorsf were so wight, They bound them bauldly for to fyght, And strake at her full sare ; Until a kilne they garred her flee, Wolde God sende thayme the victorye, They wolde aske hym na maire. The sewe was in the kilne hoile doone, And they wer on the bawke aboone, For hurting of theyr feete ; They wer sea sautedj wyth this sewe, That 'mang thayme was a stalwarth stewe, The kilne began to reeke ! Durst noe man nighe her wyth his hande, But put a rape downe wyth a wande, And heltered her ful meete \ They hauled her furth agen her wyll, Qunyl they cam until a hille, A little fra the streete.§ And ther scho made thayme sike a fray, As, had they lived until Domesday, * Fierce look, t Descended from an ancient race famed for fighting. % Assaulted. They were, although out of danger, terrified by the attacks of the sow, and their fear was shared by the kiln, which began to smoke ! § Watling- street, the Roman way from Catterick to Bowes. 9—* 132 BALLADS. They colde yt nere forgette : Scho brayded upon every syde, And ranne on thayme gapyng ful wyde, For nathing wolde scho lette. Scho gaf sike hard braydes at the bande That Peter of Dale had in his hande, Hee myght not holde hys feete ; Scho chased thayme sea to and fro, The wight men never wer sea woe, Ther mesure was not mete. Scho bound her boldly to abide, To Peter of Dale scho cam aside, Wyth mony a hideous yelle; Scho gaped sea wide and cryed sea hee, The freer sayd, C I conjure thee, Thou art a fiend of helle ! ' Thou art corned hider for sum trayne, I conjure thee to go agayne, Wher thou was wont to dwell.' He sained hym wyth crosse and creede, Tooke furth a booke, began to reade, In S te Johan hys gospell. The sewe scho wolde not Latyne heare, But rudely rushed at the freer, That blynked all his blee;* And when scho wolde have takken holde, The freer leapt as I. H. S. wolde, t And bealed hym wyth a tree. Scho was brim as anie beare, For all their meete to laboure there, * Lost his colour, t Scott, not understanding this expression, has inserted ■ Jesus' for the initials * I. H. S.,' and so has given a profane interpretation to the passage. By a figure of speech the friar, is called an I. H. S., from those letters being conspicuously wrought on his robes, just as we might call a livery-servant by his master's motto, because it was stamped on his buttons. THE FELON SEWE OF ROKEBY. 133 To thayme yt was noe boote; On tree and bushe that by her stode, Scho venged her as scho wer woode, And rave thayme up by roote. Hee sayd, ' Alas that I wer freer, I shal bee hugged asunder here, Hard is my destinie ! Wiste my brederen, in this houre, That I was set in sike a stoure, They wolde pray for mee !' This wicked beaste thatte wrought the woe, Tooke that rape from the other two, And than they nedd all three; They fledd away by Watling streete, They had no succour but their feete, Yt was the maire pittye. The fielde it was both loste and wonne, The sewe wente hame, and thatte ful soone, To Morton-on-the-Greene. When Raphe of Rokeby saw the rape, He wist that there had bin debate, Whereat the sewe had beene. He bade thayme stand out of her waye, For scho had had a sudden fraye, — ' I saw never sewe sea keene. Some new thingis shall wee heare, Of her and Myddeltone the freer, Some battel hath ther beene.' But all that served him for nought, — Had they not better succour sought,* They wer served therfore loe. Then Mistress Rokebye came anon, And for her brought scho meete ful soone, The sewe cam her untoe. * The meaning here is obscure. The verse is not in Whitaker. 134 BALLADS. Scho gav her meete upon the flower; [Scho made a bed beneath a bower, With moss and broom besprent; The sewe was gentle as mote be, Ne rage ne ire flashed fra her e'e, Scho seemed wele content.] FITTE THE SECONDE. When Freer Myddeltone com home, Hys breders war ful faine ilchone, And thanked God for hys lyfe ; He told thayme all unto the ende, How hee had foughten wyth a fiende, And lived thro' mickle stryfe. 1 Wee gav her battel half a daye, And was faine to flee awaye For saving of oure lyfe ; And Peter Dale wolde never blin, But ran as faste as he colde rinn, Till he cam till hys wyfe.' The Warden sayde, ' I am ful woe That yow sholde bee torment soe, But wee had wyth yow beene ! Had wee bene ther, yowr breders alle, Wee wolde hav garred the warlo* falle, That wrought yow all thys teene.' Freer Myddeltone, he sayde soon, ' Naye, In faythe ye wolde hav ren awaye, When moste misstirre had bin ; Ye all can speke safte wordes at home, The fiend wolde ding yow doone ilk on, An yt bee als I wene, Hee luik'd sea grizely al that nyght.' The Warden sayde, ' Yon man wol fyght * Warlock or wizard. THE FELON SEWE OF ROKEBY. 135 If ye saye ought but gode, Yon guest* hath grieved hym sea sore ; Holde your tongues, and speake ne more, Hee luiks als hee wer woode.' The Warden wagedt on the morne, Two boldest men that ever wer borne, I weyne, or ere shall bee : Tone was Gilbert Griffin sonne, Ful mickle worship hadde hee wonne, Both by land and sea. Tother a bastard sonne of Spaine, Mony a Sarazin hadde hee slaine ; Hys dint hadde garred thayme dye. Theis men the battel undertoke Agen the sewe, as saythe the boke, And sealed securitye, That they shold boldly bide and fyghte, And scomfit her in maine and myghte, Or therfor sholde they dye. The Warden sealed toe thayme againe, And sayde, ' If ye in fielde be slaine, This condition make I : 1 Wee shall for yow praye, syng, and reade, Until Domesdaye wyth heartye speede, With al our progenie.' Then the lettres wer wele made, The bondes wer bounde wyth seales brade, As deeds of arms sholde bee. Theise men-at-arms thatte wer sea wight, And wyth theire armour burnished bryght, They went the sewe toe see. Scho made at thayme sike a roare, That for her they fear it sore, And almaiste bounde to flee. * It is probable that by guest is meant an allusion to the spectre dog of Yorkshire (the Barguest), to which the sow is compared, t Hired. 136 BALLADS. Sclio cam runnyng thayme agayne, And saw the bastarde sonne of Spaine, Hee brayded owt hys brande ; Ful spiteouslie at ber bee strake, Yet for the fence that he colde make, Scho strake it fro hys hande, And rave asander half hys sheelde, And bare hym backwerde in the fielde, Hee mought not her gainstande. Scho wolde hav riven hys privich geare, But Gilbert wyth hys swerde of warre, Hee strake at her ful Strang. In her shouther hee held the swerde ; Than was Gilbert sore afearde, When the blade brak in twang. And whan in hande hee had her ta'en, Scho toke hym by the shouther bane, And held her hold ful faste ; Scho strave sea stifflie in thatte stoure, Scho byt thro' ale hys rich armoure, Till bloud cam owt at laste. Than Gilbert grieved was sea sare, That hee rave off the hyde of haire; The flesh cam fra the bane, And wyth force hee held her ther, And wanne her worthilie in warre, And band her hym alane ; And lifte her on a horse sea hee, Into two panyers made of a tree, And toe Richmond anon. When they sawe the felon come, They sange merrily e Te Deum 1 The freers evrich one. They thankyd God and Saynte Frauncis, That they had wonne the beaste of pris, THE FELON SEWE OF KOKEBY. 137 And nere a man was sleyne : There never didde man more manlye, The Knyght Marone, or Sir Guye, Nor Louis of Lothraine. If yow wyl any more of thys, I'the fryarie at Richmond 45 ' written yt is, In parchment gude and fyne, How Freer Myddeltone sea hende, Att Greta Bridge conjured a fiende, In lykeness of a swyne. Yt is wel knowen toe manie a man, That Freer Theobald was warden than, And thys fel in hys tyme. And Chryst thayine bles both ferre and nere, Al that for solas this doe here, And hym that made the ryme. Raphe of Rokeby wid ful gode wyl, The freers of Richmond gav her tyll, This sewe toe mende ther fare; Freer Myddeltone by name, He wold bring the felon hame, That rewed hym sine ful sare. * The. monastery of Gray Friars at Richmond. — See Leland, Bin., yoI. iii. p. 109. 138 Jiangs. ARTHUR O'BRADLEY'S WEDDING. [In the ballad called Robin Hood, his Birth, Breeding, Valour and Marriage, occurs the following line : — And some singing Arthur-a- Bradley. Antiquaries are by no means agreed as to what is the song of Arthur-a- Bradley, there alluded to, for it so happens that there are no less than three different songs about this same Arthur-a- Bradley. Ritson gives one of them in his Robin Hood, com- mencing thus : — See you not Pierce the piper. He took it from a black-letter copy in a private collection, com- pared with, and very much corrected by, a copy contained in An Antidote against Melancholy, made up in pills compounded of witty Ballads, jovial Songs, and merry Catches, 1661, Ritson quotes another, and apparently much more modern song on the same subject, and to the same tune, beginning, — All in the merry month of May. It is a miserable composition, as may be seen by referring to a copy preserved in the third volume of the Roxburgh Ballads. There is another song, the one given by us, which appears to be as ancient as any of those of which Arthur O'Bradley is the hero, and from its subject being a wedding, as also from its being the only Arthur O'Bradley song that we have been enabled to trace in broadside and chap-books of the last century, we are in- duced to believe that it may be the song mentioned in the old ballad, which is supposed to have been written in the reign of Charles I. An obscure music publisher, who about thirty years ago resided in the Metropolis, brought out an edition of Arthur & Bradley's Wedding, with the prefix ' Written by Mr. Taylor/ This Mr. Taylor was, however, only a low comedian of the day, and the ascribed authorship was a mere trick on the publisher's part to increase the sale of the song. We are not able to give any account of the hero, but from his being alluded to by so ARTHUR o'bRADLEY's WEDDING. 139 many of our old writers, he was, perhaps, not altogether a fictitious personage. Ben Jonson names him in one of his plays, and he is also mentioned in Dekker's Honest Whore. Of one of the tunes mentioned in the song, viz., Hence, Melancholy! we can give no account ; the other, Mad Moll, may be found in Play- ford's Dancing -Master, 1698: it is the same tune as the one known by the names of Yellow Stockings and the Virgin Queen, the latter title seeming to connect it with Queen Elizabeth, as the name of Mad Moll does with the history of Mary, who was sub- ject to mental aberration. The words of Mad Moll are not known to exist, but probably consisted of some fulsome panegyric on the virgin queen, at the expense of her unpopular sister. From the mention of Hence, Melancholy, and Mad Moll, it is presumed that they were both popular favourites when Arthur 0' Bradley's Wedding was written. A good deal of vulgar grossness has been at different times introduced into this song, which seems in this respect to be as elastic as the French chanson, Cadet RouselU, which is always being altered, and of which there are no two copies alike. The tune of Arthur O'Bradley is given by Mr. Chappell in his Popular Music."] /^OME, neighbours, and listen awhile, ^ If ever you wished to smile, Or hear a true story of old, Attend to what I now unfold ! 'Tis of a lad whose fame did resound Through every village and town around, For fun, for frolic, and for whim, None ever was to equal him, And his name was Arthur 0' Bradley ! O ! rare Arthur O'Bradlev ! wonderful Arthur Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, ! [O'Bradley ! Now, Arthur being stout and bold, And near upon thirty years old, He needs a wooing would go, To get him a helpmate, you know. So, gaining young Dolly's consent, Next to be married they went; And to make himself noble appear, He mounted the old padded mare; 140 SONGS. He chose lier because she was blood, And the prime of his old daddy's stud. She was wind-galled, spavined, and blind, And had lost a near leg behind ; She was cropped, and docked, and fired, And seldom, if ever, was tired, She had such an abundance of bone ; So he called her his high-bred roan, A credit to Arthur O'Bradley ! O ! rare Arthur O'Bradley ! wonderful Arthur Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, ! [O'Bradley ! Then he packed up his drudgery hose, And put on his holiday clothes ; / His coat was of scarlet so fine, / Full trimmed with buttons behind; Two sleeves it had it is true, One yellow, the other was blue, And the cuffs and the capes were of green, And the longest that ever were seen ; His hat, though greasy and tore, Cocked up with a feather before, And under his chin it was tied, With a strip from an old cow's hide; His breeches three times had been turned, And two holes through the left side were burned ; Two boots he had, but not kin, One leather, the other was tin; And for stirrups he had two patten rings, Tied fast to the girth with two strings ; Yet he wanted a good saddle cloth, Which long had been eat by the moth. 'Twas a sad misfortune, you'll say, But still he looked gallant and gay, And his name it was Arthur O'Bradley ! O ! rare Arthur O'Bradley ! wonderful Arthur Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, ! [O'Bradley ! ARTHUR O'BRADLEY'S WEDDING. 141 Thus accoutred, away he did ride, While Dolly she walked by his side; Till coming up to the church door, In the midst of five thousand or more, Then from the old mare he did alight, Which put the clerk in a fright; And the parson so fumbled and shook, That presently down dropped his book. Then Arthur began for to sing, And made the whole church to ring ; Crying, ' Dolly, my dear, come hither, And let us be tacked together ; For the honour of Arthur O'Bradley I' O ! rare Arthur O'Bradley ! wonderful Arthur Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, ! [O'Bradley ! / Then the vicar discharged his duty, / Yv^ithout either reward or fee, Declaring no money he'd have ; And poor Arthur he'd none to give : So, to make him a little amends, He invited him home with his friends, To have a sweet kiss at the bride, And eat a good dinner beside. ' The dishes, though few, were good, And the sweetest of animal food : First, a roast guinea-pig and a bantam, A sheep's head stewed in a lanthorn,* Two calves' feet, and a bull's trotter, The fore and hind leg of an otter, With craw-fish, cockles, and crabs, Lump-fish, limpets, and dabs, Hed herrings and sprats, by dozens, To feast all their uncles and cousins ; * This appears to have been a cant saying in the reign of Charles II. It occurs in several of the novels, jest-books, and satires of the time, and was probably as unmeaning as such vulgarisms are in general. 142 SONGS. Who seemed well pleased with their treat, And heartily they did all eat, For the honour of Arthur O'Bradley ! O ! rare Arthur O'Bradley ! wonderful Arthur Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, ! [O'Bradley ! Now, the guests being well satisfied, The fragments were laid on one side, When Arthur, to make their hearts merry, Brought ale, and parkin,* and perry; When Timothy Twig stept in, With his pipe, and a pipkin of gin. A lad that was pleasant and jolly, And scorned to meet melancholy; He would chant and pipe so well, No youth could him excel. Not Pan the god of the swains, Could ever produce such strains; But Arthur, being first in the throng, He swore he would sing the first song, And one that was pleasant and jolly : And that should be ' Hence, Melancholy !' ' Now give me a dance,' quoth Doll, c Come, Jeffery, play up Mad Moll, 'Tis time to be merry and frisky, — But first I must have some more whiskey.' i Oh ! you're right,' says Arthur, Q my love ! My daffy-down-dilly ! my dove ! My everything ! my wife ! I ne'er was so pleased in my life, Since my name it was Arthur O'Bradley !' O ! rare Arthur O'Bradley ! wonderful Arthur Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, ! [O'Bradley ! f"T?hen the piper he screwed up his bags, And the girls began shaking their rags ; * A cake composed of oatmeal, caraway-seeds, and treacle. ■ Ale and parkin' is a common morning meal in the north of England. THE PAINFUL PLOUGH. 143 First up jumped old Mother Crewe, Two stockings, and never a shoe. Her nose was crooked and long, Which she could easily reach with her tongue ; And a hump on her back she did not lack, But you should take no notice of that ; And her mouth stood all awry, And she never was heard to lie, For she had been dumb from her birth; So she nodded consent to the mirth, For honour of Arthur O'Bradley. O ! rare Arthur O'Bradley ! wonderful Arthur Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, O ! [O'Bradley! Then the parson led off at the top, Some danced, while others did hop; While some ran foul of the wall, And others down backwards did fall. There was lead up and down, figure in, Four hands across, then back again. So in dancing they spent the whole night, Till bright Phoebus appeared in their sight ; When each had a kiss of the bride, And hopped home to his own fire-side : Well pleased was Arthur O'Bradley ! O ! rare Arthur O'Bradley ! wonderful Arthur Sweet Arthur O'Bradley, O ! [O'Bradley! THE PAINFUL PLOUGH. [This is one of our oldest agricultural ditties, and maintains its popularity to the present hour. It is called for at merry-makings and feasts in every part of the country. The tune is in the minor key, and of a pleasing character.] 4 /^OME, all you jolly ploughmen, of courage stout and ^ bold, That labour all the winter in stormy winds, and cold; 144 SONGS. To clothe the fields with plenty, your farm-yards to re- new, [plough !' To crown them with contentment, behold the painful i Hold ! ploughman,' said the gardener, ' don't count your trade with ours, Walk through the garden, and view the early flowers ; Also the curious border and pleasant walks go view, — There's none such peace and plenty performed by the plough !' ' Hold ! gardener,' said the ploughman, 'my calling don't Each man for his living upon his trade relies ; [despise, Were it not for the ploughman, both rich and poor would rue, For we are all dependent upon the painful plough. 1 Adam in the garden was sent to keep it right, But the length of time he stayed there, T believe it was one night; Yet of his own labour, I call it not his due, Soon he lost his garden, and went to hold the plough. c For Adam was a ploughman when ploughing first begun, The next that did succeed him was Cain, the eldest son ; Some of the generation this calling now pursue; That bread may not be wanting, remains the painful plough. ' Samson was the strongest man, and Solomon was wise, Alexander for to conquer 'twas all his daily prise ; King David was valiant, and many thousands slew, Yet none of these brave heroes could live without the plough ! ' Behold the wealthy merchant, that trades in foreign seas, [at ease; And brings home gold and treasure for those who live Yfith fine silks and spices, and fruits also, too, They are brought from the Indies by virtue of the plough. THE USEFUL PLOW. 145 I For they must have bread, biscuit, rice pudding, flour and peas, To feed the jolly sailors as they sail o'er the seas ; And the man that brings them will own to what is true, He cannot sail the ocean without the painful plough ! I I hope there's none offended at me for singing this, For it is not intended for anything amiss; If you consider rightly, you'll find what I say is true, For all that you can mention depends upon the plough.' THE USEFUL PLOW; OR, THE PLOWMAN'S PRAISE. [The common editions of this popular song inform us that it is taken 'from an Old Ballad/ alluding probably to the dialogue given at page 44. This song is quoted by Farquhar.] A^ 1 COUNTRY life is sweet! In moderate cold and heat, To walk in the air, how pleasant and fair! In every field of wheat, The fairest of flowers adorning the bowers, And every meadow's brow • To that I say, no courtier may Compare with they who clothe in grey, And follow the useful plow. They rise with the morning lark, And labour till almost dark; Then folding their sheep, they hasten to sleep ; "While every pleasant park [ing, Next morning is ringing with birds that are sing- On each green, tender bough. With what content, and merriment, Their days are spent, whose minds are bent To follow the useful plow. ANCIENT POEMS, ETC. 10 146 songs. 6 The gallant that dresses fine, And drinks his bottles of wine, Were he to be tried, his feathers of pride, Which deck and adorn his back, Are tailors' and mercers', and other men dressers, For which they do dun them now. But Ralph and Will no compters fill For tailor's bill, or garments still, But follow the useful plow. Their hundreds, without remorse, Some spend to keep dogs and horse, Who never would give, as long as they live, Not two-pence to help the poor; Their wives are neglected, and harlots respected; This grieves the nation now; But 'tis not so with us that go Where pleasures flow, to reap and mow, And follow the useful plow. THE FARMER'S SON. ["This song, familiar to the dwellers in the dales of Yorkshire, was published in 1729, in the Vocal Miscellany ; a collection of about four hundred celebrated songs. As the Miscellany was merely an anthology of songs already well known, the date of this song must have been some time anterior to 1729. It was republished in the British Musical Miscellany, or the Delightful Grove, 1796, and in a few other old song books. It was evidently founded on an old black-letter dialogue preserved in the Roxburgh collection, called A Mad Kinde of Wooing ; or, a Dialogue betiveen Will the Simple and Nan the Subtill, with their loving argument. To the tune of the New Dance at the Red Bull Playhouse. Printed by the assignees of Thomas Symcock.] 'OWEET Nelly! my heart's delight ! ^ Be loving, and do not slight The proffer I make, for modesty's sake : — I honour your beauty bright. the farmer's SOX. 147 For love, I profess, I can do no less, Thou hast my favour won : And since I see your modesty, I pray agree, and fancy me, Though I'm but a farmer's son. 1 No ! I am a lady gay, 'Tis very well known I may Have men of renown, in country or town; So ! Roger, without delay, Court Bridget or Sue, Kate, Nancy, or Prue, Their loves will soon be won; But don't you dare to speak me fair, As if I were at my last prayer, To marry a farmer's son.' 1 My father has riches' store, Two hundred a year, and more ; Beside sheep and cows, carts, harrows, and ploughs ; His age is above threescore. And when he does die, then merrily I Shall have what he has won; Both land and kine, all shall be thine, If thou'lt incline, and wilt be mine, And marry a farmer's son.' /^A fig for your cattle and corn! Your proffered love I scorn ! 'Tis known very well, my name is Nell, And you're but a bumpkin born.' ' Well ! since it is so, away I will go, — And I hope no harm is done; Farewell, adieu ! — I hope to woo As good as you, — and win her, too, Though I'm but a farmer's son.' - 'JBe not in such haste,' quoth she, ' Perhaps we may still agree; For, man, I protest I was but in jest! Come, prythee sit down by me; 10—* 148 SONGS. For thou art the man that verily can Win me, if e'er I'm won : Both straight and tall, genteel withal ; Therefore, I shall be at your call, To marry a farmer's so a.' 1 Dear lady ! believe me now I solemnly swear and vow, No lords in their lives take pleasure in wives, Like fellows that drive the plough : For whatever they gain with labour and pain, They don't with 't to harlots run, As courtiers do. I never knew A London beau that could outdo A country farmer's son.' THE FAKMERS BOY. [Me. Deketam of Piersebridge, who communicates the following, says — ' there is no question that the Farmer's Boy is a very ancient song ; it is highly popular amongst the north country lads and lasses/ The date of the composition may probably be referred to the commencement of the last century, when there prevailed amongst the ballad-mongers a great rage for Farmers' Sons, Plough Boys, Milk Maids, Farmers 3 Boys, &c. &c. The song is popular all over the country, and there are numerous printed copies, ancient and modern.] THE sun had set behind yon hills, Across yon dreary moor, Weary and lame, a boy there came Up to a farmer's door : ' Can you tell me if any there be That will give me employ, To plow and sow, and reap and mow, And be a farmer's boy? 1 My father is dead, and mother is left With five children, great and small; And what is worse for mother still, I'm the oldest of them all. RICHARD OF TAUNTON DEAN. 149 Though little, I'll work as hard as a Turk, If youll give me employ, To plow and sow, and reap and mow, And be a farmer's boy. ' And if that you won't me employ, One favour I've to ask, — Will you shelter me, till break of day, From this cold winter's blast? At break of day, I'll trudge away Elsewhere to seek employ, To plow and sow, and reap and mow, And be a farmer's boy.' 1 Come, try the lad,' the mistress said, 6 Let him no further seek.' 'O, do, dear father!' the daughter cried, While tears ran down her cheek : 'He'd work if he could, so 'tis hard to want food, And wander for employ; Don't turn him away, but let him stay, And be a farmer's boy.' And when the lad became a man, The good old farmer died, And left the lad the farm he had, And his daughter for his bride. The lad that was, the farm now has, Oft smiles, and thinks with joy Of the lucky day he came that way, To be a farmers boy. RICHARD OF TAUNTON DEAN; OR, DUMBEE DUM DEARY. [This song is very popular with the country people in every part of England, but more particularly with the inhabitants of the counties of Somerset, Devon, and Cornwall.* The chorus is * The popularity of this West-country song has extended even to Ireland, as appears from two Irish versions, supplied by the late 150 SOXGS. peculiar to country songs of the West of England. There are many different versions. The following one, communicated by Mr. Sandys, was taken down from the singing of an old blind fiddler, 'who/ says Mr. Sandys, 'used to accompany it on his in- strument in an original and humorous manner; a representative of the old minstrels V The air is in Popular Jlusic. In Halli- welTs Nursery Rhymes of England there is a version of this song, called Richard of Dalton Dale.] 3Ir. T. Crofton Croker. One of them is entitled Last New- Year's Day, and is printed by Haly, Hanover-street, Cork. It follows the English song almost verbatim, with the exception of the first and second verses, which we subjoin : — ' Last Xew- Year's day, as I heard say, Dick mounted on his dapple gray ; He mounted high and he mounted low, Until he came to sweet Raplwe ! Sing fal de dol de ree, Eol de dol, righ fol dee. ' My buckskin does I did put on, My spladdery clogs, to save my brogues! And in my pocket a lump of bread, And round my hat a ribbon red.' The other version is entitled Dicky of Ballyman, and a note informs us that ' Dicky of Ballyman's sirname was Byrne !' As our readers may like to hear how the Somersetshire bumpkin behaved after he had located himself in the town of Ballyman, and taken the sirname of Byrne, we give the whole of his amatory adventures in the sister- island. We discover from t\\em,inter alia, that he had found the ' best of friends ' in his ' Uncle,' — that he had made a grand discovery in natural history, viz., that a rabbit is a fowl! — that he had taken the temperance pledge, which, however, his Mistress Ann had certainly not done ; and, moreover, that he had become an enthusiast in potatoes ! DICKY OF BALLYMAN. * On Xew- Year's day, as I heard say, Dicky he saddled his dapple gray ; He put on his Sunday clothes, His scarlet vest, and his new made hose. Diddle dum di, diddle dum do, Diddle dum di, diddle dum do. 'He rode till he came to Wilson Hall, There he rapped, and loud did call ; Mistress Ann came down straightway, And asked him what he had to say ? * ' Don't you know me, Mistress Ann ? I am Dicky of Ballyman ; KICHARD OF TAUNTON DEAN. 151 LAST New- Year's day, as T Ve lieercl say/' 5 " Young Richard he mounted his dapple grey, And he trotted along to Taunton Dean, To court the parson's daughter, Jean. Dumble duni deary, dumble dum deary, Durable dum deary, dumble dum dee. An honest lad, though I am poor,- I never was in love before. * ' I have an uncle, the best of friends, Sometimes to me a fat rabbit he sends ; And many other dainty fowl, To please my life, my joy, my soul. * ' Sometimes I reap, sometimes I mow, And to the market I do go, To sell my father's corn and hay, — I earn my sixpence every day !' * ' Oh, Dicky ! you go beneath your mark, — You only wander in the dark ; Sixpence a day will never do, I must have silks, and satins, too ! 4 * Besides, Dicky, I must have tea For my breakfast, every day ; And after dinner a bottle of wine, — For without it I cannot dine.' * * If on fine clothes our money is spent, Pray how shall my lord be paid his rent ? He'll expect it when 'tis due, — Believe me, what I say is true. * * As for tea, good stirabout Will do far better, I make no doubt; And spring water, when you dine, Is far wholesomer than wine. 4 ' Potatoes, too, are very nice food, — I don't know any half so good : You may have them boiled or roast, Whichever way you like them most.' * This gave the company much delight, And made them all to laugh outright j So Dicky had no more to say, But saddled his dapple and rode away. Diddle dum di, &c.' * We have heard a Yorkshire yeoman sing a version, which com- menced with this line : — * It was at the time of a high holiday.' 152 SONGS. With buckskin breeches, shoes and hose, And Dicky put on his Sunday clothes ; Likewise a hat upon his head, All bedaubed with ribbons red. Young Richard he rode without dread or fear, Till he came to the house where lived his sweet dear, When he knocked, and shouted, and bellowed, ' Hallo ! Be the folks at home? say aye or no.' A trusty servant let him in, That he his courtship might begin ; Young Richard he walked along the great hall, And loudly for mistress Jean did call. Miss Jean she came without delay, To hear what Dicky had got to say ; i 1 s'pose you knaw me, mistress Jean, I'm honest Richard of Taunton Dean. 1 I'm an honest fellow, although I be poor, And I never was in love afore; My mother she bid me come here for to woo, And I can fancy none but you.' ' Suppose that I would be your bride, Pray how would you for me provide? For I can neither sew nor spin ; — Pray what will your day's work bring in V ' Why, I can plough, and I can zow, And zometimes to the market go With Gaffer Johnson's straw or hay, And yarn my ninepence every day !' i Ninepence a- day will never do, For I must have silks and satins too ! Ninepence a day won't buy us meat !' < Adzooks !' says Dick, 4'vea zack of wheat; * Besides, I have a house hard by, "lis all my awn, when mammy do die; WOOING SONG OF A YEOMAN OF KENT'S SONNE. 153 If thee and I were married now, Ods ! I'd feed thee as fat as my feyther's old zow.' Dick's compliments did so delight, They made the family laugh outright ; Young Richard took huff, and no more would say, He kicked up old Dobbin, and trotted away, Singing, dumble dum deary, &c. WOOING SONG OE A YEOMAN OF KENT S SONNE. [The following song is the original of a well-known and popular Scottish song : — * I hae laid a herring in saut ; Lass, 'gin ye lo'e me, tell me now ! I ha'e brewed a forpit o' maut, An' I canna come ilka day to woo.' There are modern copies of our Kentish Wooing Song, but the present version is taken from Melismata, Musical phansies fitting the court, citie, and countree. To 3, 4, and 5 voyces. London, printed by William Stansby, for Thomas Adams, 161 1. The tune will be found in Popular Music, 1., go. The words are in the Kentish dialect.] TCH have bouse and land in Kent, -*- And if you'll love me, love me now; Two-pence half- penny is my rent, — Ich cannot come every day to woo. Chorus. Two-pence half-penny is his reut, And he cannot come every day to woo. Ich am my vather's eldest zonne, My mouther eke doth love me well! "For Ich can bravely clout my shoone, And Ich full well can ring a bell. Cho. For he can bravely clout his shoone, And he full well can ring a bell.* * Bell-ringing was formerly a great amusement of the English, and the allusions to it are of frequent occurrence. Numerous payments to bell-ringers are generally to be found in Churchwarden's accounts of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. — Chappell. 154 SONGS. My vather he gave me a hogge, My mouther she gave me a zow; Ich have a god-vather dwells there by, And he on me bestowed a plow. Cho. He has a god-vather dwells there by, And he on him bestowed a plow. One time Ich gave thee a paper of pins, Anoder time a taudry lace ; And if thou wilt not grant me love, In truth Ich die bevore thy vace. Cho. And if thou wilt not grant his love, In truth he'll die bevore thy vace. Ich have been twice our Whitson Lord, Ich have had ladies many vare; And eke thou hast my heart in hold, And in my minde zeemes passing rare. Cho. And eke thou hast his heart in hold, And in his minde zeemes passing rare. Ich will put on my best white sloppe, And Ich will weare my yellow hose ; And on my head a good gray hat, And in't Ich sticke a lovely rose. Cho, And on his head a good grey hat, And in't he'll stick a lovely rose. Wherefore cease off, make no delay, And if you'll love me, love me now ; Or els Ich zeeke zome oder where, — For Ich cannot come every day to woo. Cho. Or else he'll zeeke zome oder where, For he cannot come every day to woo.' * The subject and burthen of this song are identical with those of the song which immediately follows, called in some copies The Clown's Courtship, sung to the King at Windsor, and in others, / cannot come every day to woo. The E"entish ditty cannot be traced to so remote a 4ate as the Clown's Courtship ; but it probably belongs to the same period. harry's courtship. 155 THE CLOWN'S COURTSHIP. [This song, on the same subject as the preceding, is as old as the reign of Henry VIII., the first verse, says Mr. Chappell, being found elaborately set to music in a manuscript of that date. The air is given in Popular Music, I., 87.] aUOTH Jolm to Joan, wilt thou have me? I prythee now, wilt? and I'ze marry with thee, My cow, my calf, my house, my rents, And all my lands and tenements : Oh, say, my Joan, will not that do? I cannot come every day to woo. I've corn and hay in the barn hard by, And three fat hogs pent up in the sty : I have a mare, and she is coal black, I ride on her tail to save my back. Then say, &c. I have a cheese upon the shelf, And I cannot eat it all myself; I've three good marks that lie in a rag, In the nook of the chimney, instead of a bag. Then say, &c. To marry I would have thy consent, But faith I never could compliment ; I can say nought but ' hoy, gee ho, J Words that belong to the cart and the plow. Then say, &c. HARRY'S COURTSHIP. [This old ditty, in its incidents, bears a resemblance to Du,mble~ dum-dea/ry, see ante, p. 149. It used to be a popular song in the Yorkshire dales. We have been obliged to supply an hiatus in the second verse, and to make an alteration in the last, where we have converted the ( red-nosed parson' of the original into a squire.] HARRY courted modest Mary, Mary was always brisk and airy ; 156 SONGS. Harry was country neat as could be, But his words were rough, and his duds were muddy> Harry when he first bespoke her, [Kept a dandling the kitchen poker ;] Mary spoke her words like Venus, But said, ' There's something I fear between us. ' Have you got cups of China mettle, Canister, cream-jug, tongs, or kettle V c Odzooks, I've bowls, and siles, and dishes, Enow to supply any prudent wishes. 1 I've got none o' your cups of Chaney, Canister, cream-jug, I've not any; I've a three-footed pot and a good brass kettle, Pray what do you want with your Chaney mettle? ' A shippen full of rye for to fother, A house full of goods, one mack or another; I'll thrash in the lathe while you sit spinning, O, Molly, I think that's a good beginning.' 6 I'll not sit at my wheel a-spinning, Or rise in the morn to wash your linen ; I'll lie in bed till the clock strikes eleven — • Oh, grant me patience gracious Heaven ! i Why then thou must marry some red-nosed squire, [Who'll buy thee a settle to sit by the fire,] For I'll to Margery in the valley, She is my girl, so farewell Malley.' HARVEST-HOME SONG. [Our copy of this song is taken from one in the Roxburgh Col- lection, where it is called, The Country Farmer's vain glory ; in a new song of Harvest Home, sung to a new tune much in request. Licensed according to order. The tune is published in Popular Music. A copy of this song, with the music, may he found in D'Urfey's Pills to purge Melancholy. It varies from ours HARVEST-HOME. 157 D'Urfey is so loose and inaccurate in his texts, that any other version is more likely to be correct. The broadside from which the following is copied was ' Printed for P. Brooksby, J. Dencon [Deacon], J. Blai[r], and J. Back/] OUR oats they are bowed, and our barley's reaped, Our hay is mowed, and our hovels heaped; Harvest home ! harvest home ! We'll merrily roar out our harvest home ! Harvest home ! harvest home ! We'll merrily roar out our harvest home ! We'll merrily roar out our harvest home ! We cheated the parson, we'll cheat him again; For why should the vicar have one in ten? One in ten ! one in ten ! For why should the vicar have one in ten? For why should the vicar have one in ten? For staying while dinner is cold and hot, And pudding and dumpling's burnt to pot ; Burnt to pot ! burnt to pot ! Till pudding and dumpling's burnt to pot, Burnt to pot ! burnt to pot ! We'll drink off the liquor while we can stand, And hey for the honour of old England ! Old England ! old England ! And hey for the honour of old England ! Old England ! old England ! HARVEST-HOME. [Feom an old copy without printer's name or date.] pOME, Roger and Nell, ^ Come, Simpkin and Bell, Each lad with his lass hither come; With singing and dancing, And pleasure advancing, To celebrate harvest-home ! 158 soxgs. Chorus. 'Tis Ceres bids play, And keep holiday, To celebrate harvest-home! Harvest-home ! Harvest-home ! To celebrate harvest-home ! Our labour is o'er, Our barns, in full store, Now swell with rich gifts of the land ; Let each man then take, For the prong and the rake, His can and his lass in his hand. For Ceres. &c. / No courtier can be So happy as we, In innocence, pastime, and mirth ; While thus we carouse, With our sweetheart or spouse, And rejoice o'er the fruits of the earth. For Ceres, &c. THE MOW. A HARVEST HOME SONG. Tune, Where the bee sucks. [This favourite song, copied from a chap-book called The WliisU ling Ploughman, published at the commencement of the present century, is written in imitation of Ariel's song, in the Tempest. It is probably taken from some defunct ballad-opera.] NOW our work's done, thus we feast, After labour comes our rest ; Joy shall reign in every breast, And right welcome is each guest : After harvest merrily, Merrily, merrily, will we sing now, After the harvest that heaps up the mow. THE BARLEY-MOW SOXG. 159 Now the plowman lie shall plow, And shall whistle as he go, Whether it be fair or blow, For another barley mow, O'er the furrow merrily : Merrily, merrily, will we sing now, After the harvest, the fruit of the plow. Toil and plenty, toil and ease, Still the husbandman he sees ; Whether when the winter freeze, Or in summers gentle breeze; Still he labours merrily, Merrily, merrily, after the plow, He looks to the harvest, that gives us the mow. THE BARLEY-MOW SONG. [This song is sung at country meetings in Devon and Cornwall, particularly on completing the carrying of the barley, when the rick, or mow of barley, is finished. On putting up the last sheaf, which is called the craw (or crow) sheaf, the man who has it cries out ' I have it, I have it, I have it ;' another demands, 'What have'ee, what have 'ee, what have 'ee?' and the answer is, ( A craw! a craw! a craw! 5 upon which there is some cheering, &c, and a supper after- wards. The effect of the Barley -mow Song cannot be given in words ; it should he heard, to be appreciated properly, — particularly with the West-country dialect.] HERE'S a health to the barley-mow, my brave boys, Here's a health to the barley-mow ! We'll drink it out of the jolly brown bowl, Here's a health to the barley-mow ! Cho. Here's a health to the barley-mow, my brave Here's a health to the barley-mow ! [hoys, We'll drink it out of the nipperkin, boys, Here's a health to the barley-mow ! The nipperkin and the j oily brown bowl, Clio. Here's a health, e ! Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came * Three cabbage-nets, according to some versions. 208 SONGS. ! I went into the chamber, and there for to see, And there I saw three men in bed, by one, by two, and by three ; [quoth she ; O ! I called to my loving wife, and c Anon, kind sir !' ' ! what do these three men here, without the leave of me V ' Why, you old fool ! blind fool ! can't you very well see, They are three milking-maids my mother sent to me V 6 Ods bobs ! well done ! milking-maids with beards on ! The like was never known !' [home ! Old Wichet a cuckold went out, and a cuckold he came THE JOLLY WAGGONER. [This country song can be traced back a century at least, but is, no doubt, much older. It is very popular in the West of England. The words are spirited and characteristic. We may, perhaps, refer the song to the days of transition, when the waggon dis- placed the paekhorse.] WHEN first I went a-waggoning, a- waggoning did go, [woe.* I filled my parents' hearts full of sorrow, grief, and And many are the hardships that I have since gone through. And sing wo, my lads, sing wo ! Drive on my lads, I-ho !t And who wouldn't lead the life of a jolly waggoner ? It is a cold and stormy night, and I'm wet to the skin, I will bear it with contentment till I get unto the inn. And then I'll get a drinking with the landlord and his And sing, &c. [kin. * This is a common phrase in old English songs and ballads. See T7ie Summer's Morning, post, p. 229. t See ante, p. 8a. THE YORKSHIRE HORSE-DEALER. 209 Isov? summer it is coming, — what pleasure we shall see ; The small birds are a-singing on every green tree, The blackbirds and the thrushes are a-whistling merrilie. And sing,