(TRADITIONAL.)
[Thisinteresting traditional ballad was first published by Mr. Thomas Lyle in hisAncient Ballads and Songs, London, 1827. ‘We have not as yet,’ says Mr. Lyle, ‘been able to trace out the historical incident upon which this ballad appears to have been founded; yet those curious in such matters may consult, if they list,Proceedings and Debates in the House of Commons, for 1621 and 1662, where they will find that some stormy debating in these several years had been agitated in parliament regarding the corn laws, which bear pretty close upon the leading features of the ballad.’ Does not the ballad, however, belong to a much earlier period? The description of the combat, the presence of heralds, the wearing of armour, &c., justify the conjecture. For De la Ware, ought we not to read De la Mare? and is not Sir Thomas De la Mare the hero? the De la Mare who in the reign of Edward III.,A.D.1377, was Speaker of the House of Commons.All historians are agreed in representing him as a person using ‘great freedom of speach,’ and which, indeed, he carried to such an extent as to endanger his personal liberty. As bearing somewhat upon the subject of the ballad, it may he observed that De la Mare was a great advocate of popular rights, and particularly protested against the inhabitants of England being subject to ‘purveyance,’ asserting that ‘if the royal revenue was faithfully administered, there could be no necessity for laying burdens on the people.’ In the subsequent reign of Richard II, De In Mare was a prominent character, and though history is silent on the subject, it is not improbable that such a man might, even in the royal presence, have defended the rights of the poor, and spoken in extenuation of the agrarian insurrectionary movements which were then so prevalent and so alarming. On the hypothesis of De la Mare being the hero, there are other incidents in the tale which cannot be reconciled with history, such as the title given to De la Mare, who certainly was never ennobled; nor can we ascertain that he was ever mixed up in any duel; nor does it appear clear who can be meant by the ‘Welsh Lord, the brave Duke of Devonshire,’ that dukedom not having been created till 1694 and no nobleman having derived any title whatever from Devonshire previously to 1618, when Baron Cavendish, of Hardwick, was created the firstEarlof Devonshire. We may therefore presume that for ‘Devonshire’ ought to be inserted the name of some other county or place. Strict historical accuracy is, however, hardly to be expected in any ballad, particularly in one which, like the present, has evidently been corrupted in floating down the stream of time. There is only one quarrel recorded at the supposed period of our tale as having taken place betwixt two noblemen, and which resulted in a hostile meeting, viz., that wherein the belligerent parties were the Duke of Hereford (who might by a ‘ballad-monger’ be deemed aWelshlord) 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’sHistory of England, chap. XVII.A.D.1398. Lyle acknowledges that he has taken some liberties with the oral version, but does not state what they were, beyond that they consisted merely in ‘smoothing down.’ Would that he had left it ‘in therough!’ The last verse has every appearance of beingapocryphal; 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.]
Inthe Parliament House, a great rout has been there,Betwixt our good King and the Lord Delaware:Says Lord Delaware to his Majesty full soon,‘Will it please you, my liege, to grant me a boon?’
‘What’s your boon,’ says the King, ‘now let me understand?’‘It’s, give me all the poor men we’ve starving in this land;And without delay, I’ll hie me to Lincolnshire,To sow hemp-seed and flax-seed, and hang them all there.
‘For with hempen cord it’s better to stop each poor man’s breath,Than with famine you should see your subjects starve to death.’Up starts a Dutch Lord, who to Delaware did say,‘Thou deserves to be stabbed!’ then he turned himself away;
‘Thou deserves to be stabbed, and the dogs have thine ears,For insulting our King in this Parliament of peers.’Up sprang a Welsh Lord, the brave Duke of Devonshire,‘In young Delaware’s defence, I’ll fight this Dutch Lord, my sire;
‘For he is in the right, and I’ll make it so appear:Him I dare to single combat, for insulting Delaware.’A stage was soon erected, and to combat they went,For to kill, or to be killed, it was either’s full intent.
But the very first flourish, when the heralds gave command,The sword of brave Devonshire bent backward on his hand;In suspense he paused awhile, scanned his foe before he strake,Then against the King’s armour, his bent sword he brake.
Then he sprang from the stage, to a soldier in the ring,Saying, ‘Lend your sword, that to an end this tragedy we bring:Though he’s fighting me in armour, while I am fighting bare,Even more than this I’d venture for young Lord Delaware.’
Leaping back on the stage, sword to buckler now resounds,Till he left the Dutch Lord a bleeding in his wounds:This seeing, cries the King to his guards without delay,‘Call Devonshire down,—take the dead man away!’
‘No,’ says brave Devonshire, ‘I’ve fought him as a man,Since he’s dead, I will keep the trophies I have won;For he fought me in your armour, while I fought him bare,And the same you must win back, my liege, if ever you them wear.’
God bless the Church of England, may it prosper on each hand,And also every poor man now starving in this land;And while I pray success may crown our King upon his throne,I’ll wish that every poor man may long enjoy his own.
[Thisis a ludicrously corrupt abridgment of the ballad ofLord Beichan, a copy of which will be found inserted amongst theEarly Ballads, An. Ed. p. 144. The following grotesque version was published several years ago by Tilt, London, and also, according to the title-page, by Mustapha Syried, Constantinople! under the title ofThe loving Ballad of Lord Bateman. It is, however, the only ancient form in which the ballad has existed in print, and is one of the publications mentioned in Thackeray’s Catalogue, seeante, 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 Batemanhe was a noble lord,A noble lord of high degree;He shipped himself on board a ship,Some foreign country he would go see.
He sailèd east, and he sailèd west,Until he came to proud Turkèy;Where he was taken, and put to prison,Until his life was almost weary.
And in this prison there grew a tree,It grew so stout, and grew so strong;Where he was chainèd by the middle,Until his life was almost gone.
This Turk he had one only daughter,The fairest creature my eyes did see;She stole the keys of her father’s prison,And swore Lord Bateman she would set free.
‘Have you got houses? have you got lands?Or does Northumberland belong to thee?What would you give to the fair young ladyThat out of prison would set you free?’
‘I have got houses, I have got lands,And half Northumberland belongs to meI’ll give it all to the fair young ladyThat out of prison would set me free.’
O! then she took him to her father’s hall,And gave to him the best of wine;And every health she drank unto him,‘I wish, Lord Bateman, that you were mine!
‘Now in seven years I’ll make a vow,And seven years I’ll keep it strong,If you’ll wed with no other woman,I will wed with no other man.’
O! then she took him to her father’s harbour,And gave to him a ship of fame;‘Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman,I’m afraid I ne’er shall see you again.’
Now seven long years are gone and past,And fourteen days, well known to thee;She packed up all her gay clothing,And swore Lord Bateman she would go see.
But when she came to Lord Bateman’s castle,So boldly she rang the bell;‘Who’s there? who’s there?’ cried the proud portèr,‘Who’s there? unto me come tell.’
‘O! is this Lord Bateman’s castle?Or is his Lordship here within?’‘O, yes! O, yes!’ cried the young portèr,‘He’s just now taken his new bride in.’
‘O! tell him to send me a slice of bread,And a bottle of the best wine;And not forgetting the fair young ladyWho did release him when close confine.’
Away, away went this proud young porter,Away, away, and away went he,Until he came to Lord Bateman’s chamber,Down on his bended knees fell he.
‘What news, what news, my proud young porter?What news hast thou brought unto me?’‘There is the fairest of all young creaturesThat ever my two eyes did see!
‘She has got rings on every finger,And round one of them she has got three,And as much gay clothing round her middleAs would buy all Northumberlea.
‘She bids you send her a slice of bread,And a bottle of the best wine;And not forgetting the fair young ladyWho did release you when close confine.’
Lord Bateman he then in a passion flew,And broke his sword in splinters three;Saying, ‘I will give all my father’s richesIf Sophia has crossed the sea.’
Then up spoke the young bride’s mother,Who never was heard to speak so free,‘You’ll not forget my only daughter,If Sophia has crossed the sea.’
‘I own I made a bride of your daughter,She’s neither the better nor worse for me;She came to me with her horse and saddle,She may go back in her coach and three.’
Lord Bateman prepared another marriage,And sang, with heart so full of glee,I’ll range no more in foreign countries,Now since Sophia has crossed the sea.’
OR, THE SQUIRE OF TAMWORTH.
[Thisis a very popular ballad, and sung in every part of England. It is traditionally reported to be founded on an incident which occurred in the reign of Elizabeth. It has been published in the broadside form from the commencement of the eighteenth century, but is no doubt much older. It does not appear to have been previously inserted in any collection.]
Awealthyyoung squire of Tamworth, we hear,He courted a nobleman’s daughter so fair;And for to marry her it was his intent,All friends and relations gave their consent.
The time was appointed for the wedding-day,A young farmer chosen to give her away;As soon as the farmer the young lady did spy,He inflamèd her heart; ‘O, my heart!’ she did cry.
She turned from the squire, but nothing she said,Instead of being married she took to her bed;The thought of the farmer soon run in her mind,A way for to have him she quickly did find.
Coat, waistcoat, and breeches she then did put on,And a hunting she went with her dog and her gun;She hunted all round where the farmer did dwell,Because in her heart she did love him full well:
She oftentimes fired, but nothing she killed,At length the young farmer came into the field;And to discourse with him it was her intent,With her dog and her gun to meet him she went.
‘I thought you had been at the wedding,’ she cried,‘To wait on the squire, and give him his bride.’‘No, sir,’ said the farmer, ‘if the truth I may tell,I’ll not give her away, for I love her too well’
‘Suppose that the lady should grant you her love,You know that the squire your rival will prove.’‘Why, then,’ says the farmer, ‘I’ll take sword in hand,By honour I’ll gain her when she shall command.’
It pleasèd the lady to find him so bold;She gave him a glove that was flowered with gold,And told him she found it when coming along,As she was a hunting with her dog and gun.
The lady went home with a heart full of love,And gave out a notice that she’d lost a glove;And said, ‘Who has found it, and brings it to me,Whoever he is, he my husband shall be.’
The farmer was pleased when he heard of the news,With heart full of joy to the lady he goes:‘Dear, honoured lady, I’ve picked up your glove,And hope you’ll be pleased to grant me your love.’
‘It’s already granted, I will be your bride;I love the sweet breath of a farmer,’ she cried.‘I’ll be mistress of my dairy, and milking my cow,While my jolly brisk farmer is whistling at plough.’
And when she was married she told of her fun,How she went a hunting with her dog and gun:‘And now I’ve got him so fast in my snare,I’ll enjoy him for ever, I vow and declare!’
(TRADITIONAL.)
[Thisballad ofKing James I. and the Tinklerwas 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 theReliques, or in any other popular collection. It is to be found only in a few broadsides and chap-books of modern date. The present version is a traditional one, taken down, as here given, from the recital of the late Francis King.[72b]It is much superior to thecommon broadside edition with which it has been collated, and from which the thirteenth and fifteenth verses were obtained. The ballad is very popular on the Border, and in the dales of Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Craven. The late Robert Anderson, the Cumbrian bard, represents Deavie, in his song of theClay Daubin, as singingThe King and the Tinkler.]
Andnow, to be brief, let’s pass over the rest,Who seldom or never were given to jest,And come to King Jamie, the first of our throne,A pleasanter monarch sure never was known.
As he was a hunting the swift fallow-deer,He dropped all his nobles; and when he got clear,In hope of some pastime away he did ride,Till he came to an alehouse, hard by a wood-side.
And there with a tinkler he happened to meet,And him in kind sort he so freely did greet:‘Pray thee, good fellow, what hast in thy jug,Which under thy arm thou dost lovingly hug?’
‘By the mass!’ quoth the tinkler, ‘it’s nappy brown ale,And for to drink to thee, friend, I will not fail;For although thy jacket looks gallant and fine,I think that my twopence as good is as thine.’
‘By my soul! honest fellow, the truth thou hast spoke,’And straight he sat down with the tinkler to joke;They drank to the King, and they pledged to each other;Who’d seen ’em had thought they were brother and brother.
As they were a-drinking the King pleased to say,‘What news, honest fellow? come tell me, I pray?’‘There’s nothing of news, beyond that I hearThe King’s on the border a-chasing the deer.
‘And truly I wish I so happy may beWhilst he is a hunting the King I might see;For although I’ve travelled the land many waysI never have yet seen a King in my days.’
The King, with a hearty brisk laughter, replied,‘I tell thee, good fellow, if thou canst but ride,Thou shalt get up behind me, and I will thee bringTo the presence of Jamie, thy sovereign King.’
‘But he’ll be surrounded with nobles so gay,And how shall we tell him from them, sir, I pray?’‘Thou’lt easily ken him when once thou art there;The King will be covered, his nobles all bare.’
He got up behind him and likewise his sack,His budget of leather, and tools at his back;They rode till they came to the merry greenwood,His nobles came round him, bareheaded they stood.
The tinkler then seeing so many appear,He slily did whisper the King in his ear:Saying, ‘They’re all clothed so gloriously gay,But which amongst them is the King, sir, I pray?’
The King did with hearty good laughter, reply,‘By my soul! my good fellow, it’s thou or it’s I!The rest are bareheaded, uncovered all round.’—With his bag and his budget he fell to the ground,
Like one that was frightened quite out of his wits,Then on his knees he instantly gets,Beseeching for mercy; the King to him said,‘Thou art a good fellow, so be not afraid.
‘Come, tell thy name?’ ‘I am John of the Dale,A mender of kettles, a lover of ale.’‘Rise up, Sir John, I will honour thee here,—I make thee a knight of three thousand a year!’
This was a good thing for the tinkler indeed;Then unto the court he was sent for with speed,Where great store of pleasure and pastime was seen,In the royal presence of King and of Queen.
Sir John of the Dale he has land, he has fee,At the court of the king who so happy as he?Yet still in his hall hangs the tinkler’s old sack,And the budget of tools which he bore at his back.
[Thisold and very humorous ballad has long been a favourite on both sides of the Border, but had never appeared in print till about 1845, when a Northumbrian gentleman printed a few copies for private circulation, from one of which the following is taken. In the present impression some trifling typographical mistakes are corrected, and the phraseology has been rendered uniform throughout.Keach i’ the Creelmeans the catch in the basket.]
Afairyoung May went up the street,Some white fish for to buy;And a bonny clerk’s fa’n i’ luve wi’ her,And he’s followed her by and by, by,And he’s followed her by and by.
‘O! where live ye my bonny lass,I pray thee tell to me;For gin the nicht were ever sae mirk,I wad come and visit thee, thee;I wad come and visit thee.’
‘O! my father he aye locks the door,My mither keeps the key;And gin ye were ever sic a wily wicht,Ye canna win in to me, me;Ye canna win in to me.’
But the clerk he had ae true brother,And a wily wicht was he;And he has made a lang ladder,Was thirty steps and three, three;Was thirty steps and three.
He has made a cleek but and a creel—A creel but and a pin;And he’s away to the chimley-top,And he’s letten the bonny clerk in, in;And he’s letten the bonny clerk in.
The auld wife, being not asleep,Tho’ late, late was the hour;I’ll lay my life,’ quo’ the silly auld wife,‘There’s a man i’ our dochter’s bower, bower;There’s a man i’ our dochter’s bower.’
The auld man he gat owre the bed,To see if the thing was true;But she’s ta’en the bonny clerk in her arms,And covered him owre wi’ blue, blue;And covered him owre wi’ blue.
‘O! where are ye gaun now, father?’ she says,‘And where are ye gaun sae late?Ye’ve disturbed me in my evening prayers,And O! but they were sweit, sweit;And O! but they were sweit.’
‘O! ill betide ye, silly auld wife,And an ill death may ye dee;She has the muckle buik in her arms,And she’s prayin’ for you and me, me;And she’s prayin’ for you and me.’
The auld wife being not asleep,Then something mair was said;‘I’ll lay my life,’ quo’ the silly auld wife,‘There’s a man by our dochter’s bed, bed;There’s a man by our dochter’s bed.’
The auld wife she gat owre the bed,To see if the thing was true;But what the wrack took the auld wife’s fit?For into the creel she flew, flew;For into the creel she flew.
The man that was at the chimley-top,Finding the creel was fu’,He wrappit the rape round his left shouther,And fast to him he drew, drew:And fast to him he drew.
‘O, help! O, help! O, hinny, noo, help!O, help! O, hinny, do!Forhimthat ye aye wished me at,He’s carryin’ me off just noo, noo;He’s carryin’ me off just noo.’
‘O! if the foul thief’s gotten ye,I wish he may keep his haud;For a’ the lee lang winter nicht,Ye’ll never lie in your bed, bed;Ye’ll never lie in your bed.’
He’s towed her up, he’s towed her down,He’s towed her through an’ through;‘O, Gude! assist,’ quo’ the silly auld wife,‘For I’m just departin’ noo, noo;For I’m just departin’ noo.’
He’s towed her up, he’s towed her down,He’s gien her a richt down fa’,Till every rib i’ the auld wife’s side,Played nick nack on the wa’, wa’;Played nick nack on the wa’.
O! the blue, the bonny, bonny blue,And I wish the blue may do weel;And every auld wife that’s sae jealous o’ her dochter,May she get a good keach i’ the creel, creel;May she get a good keach i’ the creel!
[Thisold West-country ballad was one of the broadsides printed at the Aldermary press. We have not met with any older impression,though we have been assured that there are black-letter copies. In Scott’sMinstrelsy of the Scottish Borderis a ballad called theBroomfield 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.]
Anobleyoung squire that lived in the West,He courted a young lady gay;And as he was merry he put forth a jest,A wager with her he would lay.
‘A wager with me,’ the young lady replied,‘I pray about what must it be?If I like the humour you shan’t be denied,I love to be merry and free.’
Quoth he, ‘I will lay you a hundred pounds,A hundred pounds, aye, and ten,That a maid if you go to the merry Broomfield,That a maid you return not again.’
‘I’ll lay you that wager,’ the lady she said,Then the money she flung down amain;‘To the merry Broomfield I’ll go a pure maid,The same I’ll return home again.’
He covered her bet in the midst of the hall,With a hundred and ten jolly pounds;And then to his servant he straightway did call,For to bring forth his hawk and his hounds.
A ready obedience the servant did yield,And all was made ready o’er night;Next morning he went to the merry Broomfield,To meet with his love and delight.
Now when he came there, having waited a while,Among the green broom down he lies;The lady came to him, and could not but smile,For sleep then had closèd his eyes.
Upon his right hand a gold ring she secured,Drawn from her own fingers so fair;That when he awakèd he might be assuredHis lady and love had been there.
She left him a posie of pleasant perfume,Then stepped from the place where he lay,Then hid herself close in the besom of broom,To hear what her true love did say.
He wakened and found the gold ring on his hand,Then sorrow of heart he was in;‘My love has been here, I do well understand,And this wager I now shall not win.
‘Oh! where was you, my goodly goshawk,The which I have purchased so dear,Why did you not waken me out of my sleep,When the lady, my love, was here?’
‘O! with my bells did I ring, master,And eke with my feet did I run;And still did I cry, pray awake! master,She’s here now, and soon will be gone.’
‘O! where was you, my gallant greyhound,Whose collar is flourished with gold;Why hadst thou not wakened me out of my sleep,When thou didst my lady behold?’
‘Dear master, I barked with my mouth when she came,And likewise my collar I shook;And told you that here was the beautiful dame,But no notice of me then you took.’
‘O! where wast thou, my servingman,Whom I have clothèd so fine?If you had waked me when she was here,The wager then had been mine.’
In the night you should have slept, master,And kept awake in the day;Had you not been sleeping when hither she came,Then a maid she had not gone away.’
Then home he returned when the wager was lost,With sorrow of heart, I may say;The lady she laughed to find her love crost,—This was upon midsummer-day.
‘O, squire! I laid in the bushes concealed,And heard you, when you did complain;And thus I have been to the merry Broomfield,And a maid returned back again.
‘Be cheerful! be cheerful! and do not repine,For now ’tis as clear as the sun,The money, the money, the money is mine,The wager I fairly have won.’
[TheWest-country ballad ofSir John Barleycornis very ancient, and being the only version that has ever been sung at English merry-makings and country feasts, can certainly set up a better claim to antiquity than any of the three ballads on the same subject to be found in Evans’sOld Ballads; viz.,John Barleycorn,The Little Barleycorn, andMas Mault. Our west-country version bears the greatest resemblance toThe Little Barleycorn, but it is very dissimilar to any of the three. Burns altered the old ditty, but on referring to his version it will be seen that his corrections and additions want the simplicity of the original, and certainly cannot be considered improvements. The common ballad does not appear to have been inserted in any of our popular collections.Sir John Barleycornis very appropriately sung to the tune ofStingo. SeePopular Music, p. 305.]
Therecame three men out of the West,Their victory to try;And they have taken a solemn oath,Poor Barleycorn should die.
They took a plough and ploughed him in,And harrowed clods on his head;And then they took a solemn oath,Poor Barleycorn was dead.
There he lay sleeping in the ground,Till rain from the sky did fall:Then Barleycorn sprung up his head,And so amazed them all.
There he remained till Midsummer,And looked both pale and wan;Then Barleycorn he got a beard,And so became a man.
Then they sent men with scythes so sharp,To cut him off at knee;And then poor little Barleycorn,They served him barbarously.
Then they sent men with pitchforks strongTo pierce him through the heart;And like a dreadful tragedy,They bound him to a cart.
And then they brought him to a barn,A prisoner to endure;And so they fetched him out again,And laid him on the floor.
Then they set men with holly clubs,To beat the flesh from his bones;But the miller he served him worse than that,For he ground him betwixt two stones.
O! Barleycorn is the choicest grainThat 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 drinkTill he neither can go nor stand.
[ThisNorthumbrian ballad is of great antiquity, and bears considerable resemblance toThe Baffled Knight;or,Lady’s Policy, inserted in Percy’sReliques. 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 hisPopular Music, has an example in a song as old as 1698:—
‘Here’s a health to jolly Bacchus,I-ho! I-ho! I-ho!’
and in another well-known old catch the same form appears:—
‘A pye sat on a pear-tree,I-ho, I-ho, I-ho.’
‘Io!’ or, as we find it given in these lyrics, ‘I-ho!’ was an ancient form of acclamation or triumph on joyful occasions and anniversaries. It is common, with slight variations, to different languages. In the Gothic, for example, Iola signifies to make merry. It has been supposed by some etymologists that the word ‘yule’ is a corruption of ‘Io!’]
Therewas a shepherd’s son,He kept sheep on yonder hill;He laid his pipe and his crook aside,And there he slept his fill.
And blow the winds, I-ho!Sing, blow the winds, I-ho!Clear away the morning dew,And blow the winds, I-ho!
He lookèd east, and he lookèd west,He took another look,And there he spied a lady gay,Was dipping in a brook.
She said, ‘Sir, don’t touch my mantle,Come, let my clothes alone;I will give you as much monèyAs you can carry home.’
‘I will not touch your mantle,I’ll let your clothes alone;I’ll take you out of the water clear,My dear, to be my own.’
He did not touch her mantle,He let her clothes alone;But he took her from the clear water,And all to be his own.
He set her on a milk-white steed,Himself upon another;And there they rode along the road,Like sister, and like brother.
And as they rode along the road,He spied some cocks of hay;‘Yonder,’ he says, ‘is a lovely placeFor men and maids to play!’
And when they came to her father’s gate,She pullèd at a ring;And ready was the proud portèrFor to let the lady in.
And when the gates were open,This lady jumpèd in;She says, ‘You are a fool without,And I’m a maid within.
‘Good morrow to you, modest boy,I thank you for your care;If you had been what you should have been,I would not have left you there.
‘There is a horse in my father’s stable,He stands beyond the thorn;He shakes his head above the trough,But dares not prie the corn.
‘There is a bird in my father’s flock,A double comb he wears;He flaps his wings, and crows full loud,But a capon’s crest he bears.
‘There is a flower in my father’s garden,They call it marygold;The fool that will not when he may,He shall not when he wold.’
Said the shepherd’s son, as he doft his shoon,‘My feet they shall run bare,And if ever I meet another maid,I rede that maid beware.’
OR, THE SEAMAN OF DOVER.
[Wehave met with two copies of this genuine English ballad; the older one is without printer’s name, but from the appearance of the type and the paper, it must have been published about the middle of the last century. It is certainly not one of the original impressions, for the other copy, though of recent date, has evidently been taken from some still older and better edition. In the modern broadside the ballad is in four parts, whereas, in our older one, there is no such expressed division, but a word at the commencement of each part is printed in capital letters.]
PART I.
Aseamanof Dover, whose excellent parts,For wisdom and learning, had conquered the heartsOf many young damsels, of beauty so bright,Of him this new ditty in brief I shall write;
And show of his turnings, and windings of fate,His passions and sorrows, so many and great:And how he was blessèd with true love at last,When all the rough storms of his troubles were past.
Now, to be brief, I shall tell you the truth:A beautiful lady, whose name it was Ruth,A squire’s young daughter, near Sandwich, in Kent,Proves all his heart’s treasure, his joy and content.
Unknown to their parents in private they meet,Where many love lessons they’d often repeat,With kisses, and many embraces likewise,She granted him love, and thus gainèd the prize.
She said, ‘I consent to be thy sweet bride,Whatever becomes of my fortune,’ she cried.‘The frowns of my father I never will fear,But freely will go through the world with my dear.’
A jewel he gave her, in token of love,And vowed, by the sacred powers above,To wed the next morning; but they were betrayed,And all by the means of a treacherous maid.
She told her parents that they were agreed:With that they fell into a passion with speed,And said, ere a seaman their daughter should have,They rather would follow her corpse to the grave.
The lady was straight to her chamber confined,Here long she continued in sorrow of mind,And so did her love, for the loss of his dear,—No sorrow was ever so sharp and severe.
When long he had mourned for his love and delight,Close under the window he came in the night,And sung forth this ditty:—‘My dearest, farewell!Behold, in this nation no longer I dwell.
‘I am going from hence to the kingdom of Spain,Because I am willing that you should obtainYour freedom once more; for my heart it will breakIf longer thou liest confined for my sake.’
The words which he uttered, they caused her to weep;Yet, nevertheless, she was forcèd to keepDeep silence that minute, that minute for fearHer honourèd father and mother should hear.
PART II.
Soon after, bold Henry he entered on board,The heavens a prosperous gale did afford,And brought him with speed to the kingdom of Spain,There he with a merchant some time did remain;
Who, finding that he was both faithful and just,Preferred him to places of honour and trust;He made him as great as his heart could request,Yet, wanting his Ruth, he with grief was oppressed.
So great was his grief it could not be concealed,Both honour and riches no pleasure could yield;In private he often would weep and lament,For Ruth, the fair, beautiful lady of Kent.
Now, while he lamented the loss of his dear,A lady of Spain did before him appear,Bedecked with rich jewels both costly and gay,Who earnestly sought for his favour that day.
Said she, ‘Gentle swain, I am wounded with love,And you are the person I honour aboveThe greatest of nobles that ever was born;—Then pity my tears, and my sorrowful mourn!’
‘I pity thy sorrowful tears,’ he replied,‘And wish I were worthy to make thee my bride;But, lady, thy grandeur is greater than mine,Therefore, I am fearful my heart to resign.’
‘O! never be doubtful of what will ensue,No manner of danger will happen to you;At my own disposal I am, I declare,Receive me with love, or destroy me with care.’
‘Dear madam, don’t fix your affection on me,You are fit for some lord of a noble degree,That is able to keep up your honour and fame;I am but a poor sailor, from England who came.
‘A man of mean fortune, whose substance is small,I have not wherewith to maintain you withal,Sweet lady, according to honour and state;Now this is the truth, which I freely relate.’
The lady she lovingly squeezèd his hand,And said with a smile, ‘Ever blessed be the landThat bred such a noble, brave seaman as thee;I value no honours, thou’rt welcome to me;
‘My parents are dead, I have jewels untold,Besides in possession a million of gold;And thou shalt be lord of whatever I have,Grant me but thy love, which I earnestly crave.’
Then, turning aside, to himself he replied,‘I am courted with riches and beauty beside;This love I may have, but my Ruth is denied.’Wherefore he consented to make her his bride.
The lady she clothèd him costly and great;His noble deportment, both proper and straight,So charmèd the innocent eye of his dove,And added a second new flame to her love.
Then married they were without longer delay;Now here we will leave them both glorious and gay,To speak of fair Ruth, who in sorrow was leftAt home with her parents, of comfort bereft.
PART III.
When under the window with an aching heart,He told his fair Ruth he so soon must depart,Her parents they heard, and well pleasèd they were,But Ruth was afflicted with sorrow and care.
Now, after her lover had quitted the shore,They kept her confined a fall twelvemonth or more,And then they were pleasèd to set her at large,With laying upon her a wonderful charge:
To fly from a seaman as she would from death;She promised she would, with a faltering breath;Yet, nevertheless, the truth you shall hear,She found out a way for to follow her dear.
Then, taking her gold and her silver alsò,In seaman’s apparel away she did go,And found out a master, with whom she agreed,To carry her over the ocean with speed.
Now, when she arrived at the kingdom of Spain,From city to city she travelled amain,Enquiring about everywhere for her love,Who now had been gone seven years and above.
In Cadiz, as she walked along in the street,Her love and his lady she happened to meet,But in such a garb as she never had seen,—She looked like an angel, or beautiful queen.
With sorrowful tears she turned her aside:‘My jewel is gone, I shall ne’er be his bride;But, nevertheless, though my hopes are in vain,I’ll never return to old England again.
‘But here, in this place, I will now be confined;It will be a comfort and joy to my mind,To see him sometimes, though he thinks not of me,Since he has a lady of noble degree.’
Now, while in the city fair Ruth did reside,Of a sudden this beautiful lady she died,And, though he was in the possession of all,Yet tears from his eyes in abundance did fall.
As he was expressing his piteous moan,Fair Ruth came unto him, and made herself known;He started to see her, but seemèd not coy,Said he, ‘Now my sorrows are mingled with joy!’
The time of the mourning he kept it in Spain,And then he came back to old England again,With thousands, and thousands, which he did possess;Then glorious and gay was sweet Ruth in her dress.
PART IV.
When over the seas to fair Sandwich he came,With Ruth, and a number of persons of fame,Then all did appear most splendid and gay,As if it had been a great festival day.
Now, when that they took up their lodgings, behold!He stripped off his coat of embroiderèd gold,And presently borrows a mariner’s suit,That he with her parents might have some dispute,
Before they were sensible he was so great;And when he came in and knocked at the gate,He soon saw her father, and mother likewise,Expressing their sorrow with tears in their eyes,
To them, with obeisance, he modestly said,‘Pray where is my jewel, that innocent maid,Whose sweet lovely beauty doth thousands excel?I fear, by your weeping, that all is not well!’
‘No, no! she is gone, she is utterly lost;We have not heard of her a twelvemonth at most!Which makes us distracted with sorrow and care,And drowns us in tears at the point of despair.’
‘I’m grievèd to hear these sad tidings,’ he cried.‘Alas! honest young man,’ her father replied,‘I heartily wish she’d been wedded to you,For then we this sorrow had never gone through.’
Sweet Henry he made them this answer again;‘I am newly come home from the kingdom of Spain,From whence I have brought me a beautiful bride,And am to be married to-morrow,’ he cried;
‘And if you will go to my wedding,’ said he,‘Both you and your lady right welcome shall be.’They promised they would, and accordingly came,Not thinking to meet with such persons of fame.
All decked with their jewels of rubies and pearls,As equal companions of lords and of earls,Fair Ruth, with her love, was as gay as the rest,So they in their marriage were happily blessed.
Now, as they returned from the church to an inn,The father and mother of Ruth did beginTheir daughter to know, by a mole they behold,Although she was clothed in a garment of gold.
With transports of joy they flew to the bride,‘O! where hast thou been, sweetest daughter?’ they cried,‘Thy tedious absence has grievèd us sore,As fearing, alas! we should see thee no more.’
‘Dear parents,’ said she, ‘many hazards I run,To fetch home my love, and your dutiful son;Receive him with joy, for ’tis very well known,He seeks not your wealth, he’s enough of his own.’
Her father replied, and he merrily smiled,‘He’s brought home enough, as he’s brought home my child;A thousand times welcome you are, I declare,Whose presence disperses both sorrow and care.’
Full seven long days in feasting they spent;The bells in the steeple they merrily went,And many fair pounds were bestowed on the poor,—The like of this wedding was never before!
IN FOUR PARTS.
To the tune ofThe Royal Forester.
[Whenwe first met with this very pleasing English ballad, we deemed the story to be wholly fictitious, but ‘strange’ as the ‘relation’ may appear, the incidents narrated are ‘true’ or at least founded on fact. The scene of the ballad is Whitley Park, near Reading, in Berkshire, and not, as some suppose, Calcot House, which was not built till 1759. Whitley is mentioned as ‘the Abbot’s Park, being at the entrance of Redding town.’ At the Dissolution the estate passed to the crown, and the mansion seems, from time to time, to have been used as a royal ‘palace’ till the reign of Elizabeth, by whom it was granted, along with the estate, to Sir Francis Knollys; it was afterwards, by purchase, the property of the Kendricks, an ancient race, descended from the Saxon kings. William Kendrick, of Whitley, armr. was created a baronet in 1679, and died in 1685, leaving issue one son, Sir William Kendrick, of Whitley, Bart., who married Miss Mary House, of Reading, and died in 1699, without issue male, leaving an only daughter. It was this rich heiress, who possessed ‘store of wealth and beauty bright,’ that is the heroine of the ballad. She married Benjamin Child, Esq., a young and handsome, but very poor attorney of Reading, and the marriage is traditionally reported to have been brought about exactly as related in the ballad. We have not been able to ascertain the exact date of the marriage, which was celebrated in St. Mary’sChurch, Reading, the bride wearing a thick veil; but the ceremony must have taken place some time about 1705. In 1714, Mr. Child was high sheriff of Berkshire. As he was an humble and obscure personage previously to his espousing the heiress of Whitley, and, in fact, owed all his wealth and influence to his marriage, it cannot be supposed thatimmediatelyafter his union he would be elevated to so important and dignified a post as the high-shrievalty of the very aristocratical county of Berks. We may, therefore, consider nine or ten years to have elapsed betwixt his marriage and his holding the office of high sheriff, which he filled when he was about thirty-two years of age. The author of the ballad is unknown: supposing him to have composed it shortly after the events which he records, we cannot be far wrong in fixing its date about 1706. The earliest broadside we have seen contains a rudely executed, but by no means bad likeness of Queen Anne, the reigning monarch at that period.]
PART I.
SHOWING CUPID’S CONQUEST OVER A COY LADY OF FIVE THOUSAND A YEAR.
Bachelorsof 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 pleasureIs in faithful love, you’ll find,Gracèd with a noble mind.
Such a noble dispositionHad this lady, with submission,Of whom I this sonnet write,Store of wealth, and beauty bright.
She had left, by a good grannum,Full five thousand pounds per annum,Which she held without control;Thus she did in riches roll.
Though she had vast store of riches,Which some persons much bewitches,Yet she bore a virtuous mind,Not the least to pride inclined.
Many noble persons courtedThis young lady, ’tis reported;But their labour proved in vain,They could not her favour gain.
Though she made a strong resistance,Yet by Cupid’s true assistance,She was conquered after all;How it was declare I shall.
Being at a noble wedding,Near the famous town of Redding,[92]A young gentleman she saw,Who belongèd to the law.
As she viewed his sweet behaviour,Every courteous carriage gave herNew addition to her grief;Forced she was to seek relief.
Privately she then enquiredAbout him, so much admired;Both his name, and where he dwelt,—Such was the hot flame she felt.
Then, at night, this youthful ladyCalled her coach, which being ready,Homewards straight she did return;But her heart with flames did burn.
PART II.
SHOWING THE LADY’S LETTER OF A CHALLENGE TO FIGHT HIM UPON HIS REFUSING TO WED HER IN A MASK, WITHOUT KNOWING WHO SHE WAS.
Night and morning, for a season,In her closet would she reasonWith herself, and often said,‘Why has love my heart betrayed?
‘I, that have so many slighted,Am at length so well requited;For my griefs are not a few!Now I find what love can do.
‘He that has my heart in keeping,Though I for his sake be weeping,Little knows what grief I feel;But I’ll try it out with steel.
‘For I will a challenge send him,And appoint where I’ll attend him,In a grove, without delay,By the dawning of the day.
‘He shall not the least discoverThat I am a virgin lover,By the challenge which I send;But for justice I contend.
‘He has causèd sad distraction,And I come for satisfaction,Which if he denies to give,One of us shall cease to live.’
Having thus her mind revealed,She her letter closed and sealed;Which, when it came to his hand,The young man was at a stand.
In her letter she conjured himFor to meet, and well assured him,Recompence he must afford,Or dispute it with the sword.
Having read this strange relation,He was in a consternation;But, advising with his friend,He persuades him to attend.
‘Be of courage, and make ready,Faint heart never won fair lady;In regard it must be so,I along with you must go.’
PART III.
SHOWING HOW THEY MET BY APPOINTMENT IN A GROVE, WHERE SHE OBLIGED HIM TO FIGHT OR WED HER.
Early on a summer’s morning,When bright Phoebus was adorningEvery 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 talkingWith a friend that he had brought;So she asked him whom he sought.
‘I am challenged by a gallant,Who resolves to try my talent;Who he is I cannot say,But I hope to show him play.’
‘It is I that did invite you,You shall wed me, or I’ll fight you,Underneath those spreading trees;Therefore, choose you which you please.
‘You shall find I do not vapour,I have brought my trusty rapier;Therefore, take your choice,’ said she,‘Either fight or marry me.’
Said he, ‘Madam, pray what mean you?In my life I’ve never seen you;Pray unmask, your visage show,Then I’ll tell you aye or no.’
‘I will not my face uncoverTill the marriage ties are over;Therefore, choose you which you will,Wed me, sir, or try your skill.
‘Step within that pleasant bower,With your friend one single hour;Strive your thoughts to reconcile,And I’ll wander here the while.’
While this beauteous lady waited,The young bachelors debatedWhat was best for to be done:Quoth his friend, ‘The hazard run.
‘If my judgment can be trusted,Wed her first, you can’t be worsted;If she’s rich, you’ll rise to fame,If she’s poor, why! you’re the same.’
He consented to be married;All three in a coach were carriedTo a church without delay,Where he weds the lady gay.
Though sweet pretty Cupids hoveredRound her eyes, her face was coveredWith a mask,—he took her thus,Just for better or for worse.
With a courteous kind behaviour,She presents his friend a favour,And withal dismissed him straight,That he might no longer wait.
PART IV.
SHOWING HOW THEY RODE TOGETHER IN HER GILDED COACH TO HER NOBLE SEAT, OR CASTLE, ETC.
As the gilded coach stood ready,The young lawyer and his ladyRode together, till they cameTo her house of state and fame;
Which appearèd like a castle,Where you might behold a parcelOf 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 waitedHer return;—at length he fretted,And began to grieve at last,For he had not broke his fast.
Still he sat like one amazed,Round a spacious room he gazed,Which was richly beautified;But, alas! he lost his bride.
There was peeping, laughing, sneering,All within the lawyer’s hearing;But his bride he could not see;‘Would I were at home!’ thought he.
While his heart was melancholy,Said the steward, brisk and jolly,‘Tell me, friend, how came you here?You’ve some bad design, I fear.’
He replied, ‘Dear loving master,You shall meet with no disasterThrough my means, in any case,—Madam brought me to this place.’
Then the steward did retire,Saying, that he would enquireWhether it was true or no:Ne’er was lover hampered so.
Now the lady who had filled himWith those fears, full well beheld himFrom a window, as she dressed,Pleasèd at the merry jest.
When she had herself attiredIn rich robes, to be admired,She appearèd in his sight,Like a moving angel bright.
‘Sir! my servants have related,How some hours you have waitedIn my parlour,—tell me whoIn my house you ever knew?’
‘Madam! if I have offended,It is more than I intended;A young lady brought me here:’—‘That is true,’ said she, ‘my dear.
‘I can be no longer cruelTo 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?
Giving an account of a nobleman, who, taking notice of a poor man’s industrious care and pains for the maintaining of his charge of seven small children, met him upon a day, and discoursing with him, invited him, and his wife and his children, home to his house, and bestowed upon them a farm of thirty acres of land, to be continued to him and his heirs for ever.
To the tune ofThe Two English Travellers.
[Thisstill 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.]
Anoblemanlived in a village of late,Hard by a poor thrasher, whose charge it was great;For he had seven children, and most of them small,And nought but his labour to support them withal.
He never was given to idle and lurk,For this nobleman saw him go daily to work,With his flail and his bag, and his bottle of beer,As cheerful as those that have hundreds a year.
Thus careful, and constant, each morning he went,Unto his daily labour with joy and content;So jocular and jolly he’d whistle and sing,As blithe and as brisk as the birds in the spring.
One morning, this nobleman taking a walk,He met this poor man, and he freely did talk;He asked him [at first] many questions at large,And then began talking concerning his charge.
‘Thou hast many children, I very well know,Thy labour is hard, and thy wages are low,And yet thou art cheerful; I pray tell me true,How can you maintain them as well as you do?’
‘I carefully carry home what I do earn,My daily expenses by this I do learn;And find it is possible, though we be poor,To still keep the ravenous wolf from the door.
‘I reap and I mow, and I harrow and sow,Sometimes a hedging and ditching I go;No work comes amiss, for I thrash, and I plough,Thus my bread I do earn by the sweat of my brow.
‘My wife she is willing to pull in a yoke,We live like two lambs, nor each other provoke;We both of us strive, like the labouring ant,And do our endeavours to keep us from want.
‘And when I come home from my labour at night,To my wife and my children, in whom I delight;To see them come round me with prattling noise,—Now these are the riches a poor man enjoys.
‘Though I am as weary as weary may be,The youngest I commonly dance on my knee;I find that content is a moderate feast,I never repine at my lot in the least.’
Now the nobleman hearing what he did say,Was pleased, and invited him home the next day;His wife and his children he charged him to bring;In token of favour he gave him a ring.
He thankèd his honour, and taking his leave,He went to his wife, who would hardly believeBut 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 bestowA farm-house, with thirty good acres of land;And gave them the writings then, with his own hand.
‘Because thou art careful, and good to thy wife,I’ll make thy days happy the rest of thy life;It shall be for ever, for thee and thy heirs,Because I beheld thy industrious cares.’
No tongue then is able in full to expressThe 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.