Now list to me awhile,And I’ll sing you a ditty,It will cause you for to smile,If not, it is a pity.It’s of a crim con case,And it has caused sport,Which lately did take place,At Westminster Divorce Court.So all classes high and low,Make out this case I well can’t,But it is a funny go,Of rummy Lady ——.Now this gay Lady ——Cannot be right, or hardly,She said she loved other men,Much better than her Charley.Some say it was her dodge,And nothing but hanky panky,While others say all fudge,She is trying to act cranky.But whether she is so or not,This Lady —— so clever,A propensity has got,She has, so help me never!She is so fond of sport,She has a mighty knack then,Of proving every sort,Lords, Prince’s too, and Captains.When the case was in the Court,It caused a deal of bother,Some said her head was hot,She could not tell one from t’other.The Doctor he looked grand,And said censure she did not merit,For the poor dear LadyWas subject to hysterics.Now Lady ——, the dear,As we may understand her,Could play the German flute,The organ and piano.But she oft made a mistake,As some letters to us tell will,She was in a weakly state,Since she has had the measles.Charley said to her one day,As some queer doubts there may be,Do tell me dear, I pray,How about the baby?Then Charley dear, said she,I really have forgot dear,Whether it belongs to me,Or whether to the doctor.This lady’s appetiteIt really is enormous,But whether wrong or right,The papers will inform us;She is fond of veal and ham,To feed she is a glutton,She got tired of Charley’s lamb,And longed for royal mutton.Now husbands mind I pray,The lesson you have got here,If your wives should go astray,Be sure you call the doctor.Though I mean not to offend,I’ve proved the fact, and said it,That like poor Lady ——,They might be troubled with hysterics.
Now list to me awhile,And I’ll sing you a ditty,It will cause you for to smile,If not, it is a pity.It’s of a crim con case,And it has caused sport,Which lately did take place,At Westminster Divorce Court.So all classes high and low,Make out this case I well can’t,But it is a funny go,Of rummy Lady ——.Now this gay Lady ——Cannot be right, or hardly,She said she loved other men,Much better than her Charley.Some say it was her dodge,And nothing but hanky panky,While others say all fudge,She is trying to act cranky.But whether she is so or not,This Lady —— so clever,A propensity has got,She has, so help me never!She is so fond of sport,She has a mighty knack then,Of proving every sort,Lords, Prince’s too, and Captains.When the case was in the Court,It caused a deal of bother,Some said her head was hot,She could not tell one from t’other.The Doctor he looked grand,And said censure she did not merit,For the poor dear LadyWas subject to hysterics.Now Lady ——, the dear,As we may understand her,Could play the German flute,The organ and piano.But she oft made a mistake,As some letters to us tell will,She was in a weakly state,Since she has had the measles.Charley said to her one day,As some queer doubts there may be,Do tell me dear, I pray,How about the baby?Then Charley dear, said she,I really have forgot dear,Whether it belongs to me,Or whether to the doctor.This lady’s appetiteIt really is enormous,But whether wrong or right,The papers will inform us;She is fond of veal and ham,To feed she is a glutton,She got tired of Charley’s lamb,And longed for royal mutton.Now husbands mind I pray,The lesson you have got here,If your wives should go astray,Be sure you call the doctor.Though I mean not to offend,I’ve proved the fact, and said it,That like poor Lady ——,They might be troubled with hysterics.
Now list to me awhile,And I’ll sing you a ditty,It will cause you for to smile,If not, it is a pity.It’s of a crim con case,And it has caused sport,Which lately did take place,At Westminster Divorce Court.
Now list to me awhile,
And I’ll sing you a ditty,
It will cause you for to smile,
If not, it is a pity.
It’s of a crim con case,
And it has caused sport,
Which lately did take place,
At Westminster Divorce Court.
So all classes high and low,Make out this case I well can’t,But it is a funny go,Of rummy Lady ——.
So all classes high and low,
Make out this case I well can’t,
But it is a funny go,
Of rummy Lady ——.
Now this gay Lady ——Cannot be right, or hardly,She said she loved other men,Much better than her Charley.Some say it was her dodge,And nothing but hanky panky,While others say all fudge,She is trying to act cranky.
Now this gay Lady ——
Cannot be right, or hardly,
She said she loved other men,
Much better than her Charley.
Some say it was her dodge,
And nothing but hanky panky,
While others say all fudge,
She is trying to act cranky.
But whether she is so or not,This Lady —— so clever,A propensity has got,She has, so help me never!She is so fond of sport,She has a mighty knack then,Of proving every sort,Lords, Prince’s too, and Captains.
But whether she is so or not,
This Lady —— so clever,
A propensity has got,
She has, so help me never!
She is so fond of sport,
She has a mighty knack then,
Of proving every sort,
Lords, Prince’s too, and Captains.
When the case was in the Court,It caused a deal of bother,Some said her head was hot,She could not tell one from t’other.The Doctor he looked grand,And said censure she did not merit,For the poor dear LadyWas subject to hysterics.
When the case was in the Court,
It caused a deal of bother,
Some said her head was hot,
She could not tell one from t’other.
The Doctor he looked grand,
And said censure she did not merit,
For the poor dear Lady
Was subject to hysterics.
Now Lady ——, the dear,As we may understand her,Could play the German flute,The organ and piano.But she oft made a mistake,As some letters to us tell will,She was in a weakly state,Since she has had the measles.
Now Lady ——, the dear,
As we may understand her,
Could play the German flute,
The organ and piano.
But she oft made a mistake,
As some letters to us tell will,
She was in a weakly state,
Since she has had the measles.
Charley said to her one day,As some queer doubts there may be,Do tell me dear, I pray,How about the baby?Then Charley dear, said she,I really have forgot dear,Whether it belongs to me,Or whether to the doctor.
Charley said to her one day,
As some queer doubts there may be,
Do tell me dear, I pray,
How about the baby?
Then Charley dear, said she,
I really have forgot dear,
Whether it belongs to me,
Or whether to the doctor.
This lady’s appetiteIt really is enormous,But whether wrong or right,The papers will inform us;She is fond of veal and ham,To feed she is a glutton,She got tired of Charley’s lamb,And longed for royal mutton.
This lady’s appetite
It really is enormous,
But whether wrong or right,
The papers will inform us;
She is fond of veal and ham,
To feed she is a glutton,
She got tired of Charley’s lamb,
And longed for royal mutton.
Now husbands mind I pray,The lesson you have got here,If your wives should go astray,Be sure you call the doctor.Though I mean not to offend,I’ve proved the fact, and said it,That like poor Lady ——,They might be troubled with hysterics.
Now husbands mind I pray,
The lesson you have got here,
If your wives should go astray,
Be sure you call the doctor.
Though I mean not to offend,
I’ve proved the fact, and said it,
That like poor Lady ——,
They might be troubled with hysterics.
Disley, Printer, 57, High street, St. Giles.
Lads and lasses, blithe and gay,From town and country far away,The young and old will come, they say,To see the grand review, sirThere is Polly Pluck and Ginger Blue,For fun they are always right on,Such shaking hands and how-do-you-doWith the volunteers from London.Such sights before has never been,Drinking healths in wine and gin,And the pretty girls a winking thenAt the volunteers of England.There is special trains from every part,Old and young with joyful hearts,With coaches, gigs, and donkey carts,Will drive to the review, sir.The pretty girls will dress so fine,With their frizzly hair all down behind,With a hat and feathers cut a shineWhen at the grand review, sir.The Cockney lads are fond of fun,When on the downs are strolling,And down the hill in the afternoonThe lasses will be rolling.Blow the trumpet, beat the drum,Away with melancholy,Shoulder arms and fire the guns,Let every one be jolly.One young lady of sixty-two,With high-heeled boots and buckles, too,And with a crutch she had to goTo see the grand review, sir,She on the hill was pushed aboutBy some great ugly fellow,Her crutch soon broke and she fell down,And she lost her umbrella.There’ll be Ikey Bill from Petticoat LaneHis sherbet will be selling,And gipsies come from far and nearYour fortune to be telling.The gents that on the stools will stand,And in your faces smiling,Hear’s three half-crowns and a purse, my lads,And the lot is but a shilling.All sorts of games will be that day,To please both old and young, sir;If the volunteers should want a rest,The girls will hold his gun, sir.For good-tempered girls there will be there,No better in England found, sir,For if you ask them there to sit,They’re sure to tumble down, sir.The flags so gay the bands will play,And thousands will be mingling,And welcome with a loud huzzaThe volunteers of England.May Queen Victoria happy be,And all the royal family,The Prince of Wales, cheer three times threeAnd the Princess Alexandra.Now merry Punch with voice so strong,He is all for fun and chaffing,If you listen to his songYou’ll burst your sides with laughing.
Lads and lasses, blithe and gay,From town and country far away,The young and old will come, they say,To see the grand review, sirThere is Polly Pluck and Ginger Blue,For fun they are always right on,Such shaking hands and how-do-you-doWith the volunteers from London.Such sights before has never been,Drinking healths in wine and gin,And the pretty girls a winking thenAt the volunteers of England.There is special trains from every part,Old and young with joyful hearts,With coaches, gigs, and donkey carts,Will drive to the review, sir.The pretty girls will dress so fine,With their frizzly hair all down behind,With a hat and feathers cut a shineWhen at the grand review, sir.The Cockney lads are fond of fun,When on the downs are strolling,And down the hill in the afternoonThe lasses will be rolling.Blow the trumpet, beat the drum,Away with melancholy,Shoulder arms and fire the guns,Let every one be jolly.One young lady of sixty-two,With high-heeled boots and buckles, too,And with a crutch she had to goTo see the grand review, sir,She on the hill was pushed aboutBy some great ugly fellow,Her crutch soon broke and she fell down,And she lost her umbrella.There’ll be Ikey Bill from Petticoat LaneHis sherbet will be selling,And gipsies come from far and nearYour fortune to be telling.The gents that on the stools will stand,And in your faces smiling,Hear’s three half-crowns and a purse, my lads,And the lot is but a shilling.All sorts of games will be that day,To please both old and young, sir;If the volunteers should want a rest,The girls will hold his gun, sir.For good-tempered girls there will be there,No better in England found, sir,For if you ask them there to sit,They’re sure to tumble down, sir.The flags so gay the bands will play,And thousands will be mingling,And welcome with a loud huzzaThe volunteers of England.May Queen Victoria happy be,And all the royal family,The Prince of Wales, cheer three times threeAnd the Princess Alexandra.Now merry Punch with voice so strong,He is all for fun and chaffing,If you listen to his songYou’ll burst your sides with laughing.
Lads and lasses, blithe and gay,From town and country far away,The young and old will come, they say,To see the grand review, sirThere is Polly Pluck and Ginger Blue,For fun they are always right on,Such shaking hands and how-do-you-doWith the volunteers from London.
Lads and lasses, blithe and gay,
From town and country far away,
The young and old will come, they say,
To see the grand review, sir
There is Polly Pluck and Ginger Blue,
For fun they are always right on,
Such shaking hands and how-do-you-do
With the volunteers from London.
Such sights before has never been,Drinking healths in wine and gin,And the pretty girls a winking thenAt the volunteers of England.
Such sights before has never been,
Drinking healths in wine and gin,
And the pretty girls a winking then
At the volunteers of England.
There is special trains from every part,Old and young with joyful hearts,With coaches, gigs, and donkey carts,Will drive to the review, sir.The pretty girls will dress so fine,With their frizzly hair all down behind,With a hat and feathers cut a shineWhen at the grand review, sir.
There is special trains from every part,
Old and young with joyful hearts,
With coaches, gigs, and donkey carts,
Will drive to the review, sir.
The pretty girls will dress so fine,
With their frizzly hair all down behind,
With a hat and feathers cut a shine
When at the grand review, sir.
The Cockney lads are fond of fun,When on the downs are strolling,And down the hill in the afternoonThe lasses will be rolling.Blow the trumpet, beat the drum,Away with melancholy,Shoulder arms and fire the guns,Let every one be jolly.
The Cockney lads are fond of fun,
When on the downs are strolling,
And down the hill in the afternoon
The lasses will be rolling.
Blow the trumpet, beat the drum,
Away with melancholy,
Shoulder arms and fire the guns,
Let every one be jolly.
One young lady of sixty-two,With high-heeled boots and buckles, too,And with a crutch she had to goTo see the grand review, sir,She on the hill was pushed aboutBy some great ugly fellow,Her crutch soon broke and she fell down,And she lost her umbrella.
One young lady of sixty-two,
With high-heeled boots and buckles, too,
And with a crutch she had to go
To see the grand review, sir,
She on the hill was pushed about
By some great ugly fellow,
Her crutch soon broke and she fell down,
And she lost her umbrella.
There’ll be Ikey Bill from Petticoat LaneHis sherbet will be selling,And gipsies come from far and nearYour fortune to be telling.The gents that on the stools will stand,And in your faces smiling,Hear’s three half-crowns and a purse, my lads,And the lot is but a shilling.
There’ll be Ikey Bill from Petticoat Lane
His sherbet will be selling,
And gipsies come from far and near
Your fortune to be telling.
The gents that on the stools will stand,
And in your faces smiling,
Hear’s three half-crowns and a purse, my lads,
And the lot is but a shilling.
All sorts of games will be that day,To please both old and young, sir;If the volunteers should want a rest,The girls will hold his gun, sir.For good-tempered girls there will be there,No better in England found, sir,For if you ask them there to sit,They’re sure to tumble down, sir.
All sorts of games will be that day,
To please both old and young, sir;
If the volunteers should want a rest,
The girls will hold his gun, sir.
For good-tempered girls there will be there,
No better in England found, sir,
For if you ask them there to sit,
They’re sure to tumble down, sir.
The flags so gay the bands will play,And thousands will be mingling,And welcome with a loud huzzaThe volunteers of England.May Queen Victoria happy be,And all the royal family,The Prince of Wales, cheer three times threeAnd the Princess Alexandra.Now merry Punch with voice so strong,He is all for fun and chaffing,If you listen to his songYou’ll burst your sides with laughing.
The flags so gay the bands will play,
And thousands will be mingling,
And welcome with a loud huzza
The volunteers of England.
May Queen Victoria happy be,
And all the royal family,
The Prince of Wales, cheer three times three
And the Princess Alexandra.
Now merry Punch with voice so strong,
He is all for fun and chaffing,
If you listen to his song
You’ll burst your sides with laughing.
Come all you hearty roving blades, and listen to my song,A verse or two I will unfold, and will not keep you long,It is of a frolicsome parson, as you shall quickly hear,That dwelt in the town of Ledbury, in the county of Herefordshire.The parson being a rakish blade, and fond of sporting games,He fell in love with the pretty cook, as I have heard the same;The parlour-maid found out the same, and in the fruit room looked,And there she saw the parson sporting with the cook.It was in nine months after she brought him forth a child,Within the rectory it was born, it drove him nearly wild:It proved to be a male child, at least they tell us so,Then this damsel from the rectory was quickly forced to go.Then the secret to unfold, it was her full intent,During the time of service into the church she went,Holding the child up in her arms, and on the parson gazed,Saying, lovely babe, that is your dad, which filled him with amaze.The congregation they all stared, the parson seemed confused,And many a lad and lass no doubt, within them felt amused;Such a scene as this was never known within this church before,Let us hope that it will be the last, and the like shall be no more.’Twas then a court was called in town, for to invest the case.There the parson, cook, and parlour-maid they met face to face,And many more in court appeared, to hear the sport and fun,This damsel swore the parson was the father of her son.Your reverence; you are found to blame the Justices declared,Although some honest country lad you thought for to ensnare;So with all your doctrine and your skill unto him they did say,A half-a-crown each week to the child you’ve got to pay.His reverence felt dissatisfied with such a glorious treat,To a higher court he did proceed, and there was quickly beat,So this damsel she’s victorious, the truth I now declare,And his reverence is suspended for the period of five years.Come all you blooming servant maids a warning take by this,When in service with the parsons don’t be treated to a kiss;Or it may cause much jealousy, as you may all well know,Then you from service must be gone your sorrows for to rue.Now to conclude and make an end and finish up my song,All you young men that’s deep in love, be sure don’t stay too long;Join hand in hand in wedlock’s band without the least delay,Before the fairest of all girls is by parsons led astray.
Come all you hearty roving blades, and listen to my song,A verse or two I will unfold, and will not keep you long,It is of a frolicsome parson, as you shall quickly hear,That dwelt in the town of Ledbury, in the county of Herefordshire.The parson being a rakish blade, and fond of sporting games,He fell in love with the pretty cook, as I have heard the same;The parlour-maid found out the same, and in the fruit room looked,And there she saw the parson sporting with the cook.It was in nine months after she brought him forth a child,Within the rectory it was born, it drove him nearly wild:It proved to be a male child, at least they tell us so,Then this damsel from the rectory was quickly forced to go.Then the secret to unfold, it was her full intent,During the time of service into the church she went,Holding the child up in her arms, and on the parson gazed,Saying, lovely babe, that is your dad, which filled him with amaze.The congregation they all stared, the parson seemed confused,And many a lad and lass no doubt, within them felt amused;Such a scene as this was never known within this church before,Let us hope that it will be the last, and the like shall be no more.’Twas then a court was called in town, for to invest the case.There the parson, cook, and parlour-maid they met face to face,And many more in court appeared, to hear the sport and fun,This damsel swore the parson was the father of her son.Your reverence; you are found to blame the Justices declared,Although some honest country lad you thought for to ensnare;So with all your doctrine and your skill unto him they did say,A half-a-crown each week to the child you’ve got to pay.His reverence felt dissatisfied with such a glorious treat,To a higher court he did proceed, and there was quickly beat,So this damsel she’s victorious, the truth I now declare,And his reverence is suspended for the period of five years.Come all you blooming servant maids a warning take by this,When in service with the parsons don’t be treated to a kiss;Or it may cause much jealousy, as you may all well know,Then you from service must be gone your sorrows for to rue.Now to conclude and make an end and finish up my song,All you young men that’s deep in love, be sure don’t stay too long;Join hand in hand in wedlock’s band without the least delay,Before the fairest of all girls is by parsons led astray.
Come all you hearty roving blades, and listen to my song,A verse or two I will unfold, and will not keep you long,It is of a frolicsome parson, as you shall quickly hear,That dwelt in the town of Ledbury, in the county of Herefordshire.
Come all you hearty roving blades, and listen to my song,
A verse or two I will unfold, and will not keep you long,
It is of a frolicsome parson, as you shall quickly hear,
That dwelt in the town of Ledbury, in the county of Herefordshire.
The parson being a rakish blade, and fond of sporting games,He fell in love with the pretty cook, as I have heard the same;The parlour-maid found out the same, and in the fruit room looked,And there she saw the parson sporting with the cook.
The parson being a rakish blade, and fond of sporting games,
He fell in love with the pretty cook, as I have heard the same;
The parlour-maid found out the same, and in the fruit room looked,
And there she saw the parson sporting with the cook.
It was in nine months after she brought him forth a child,Within the rectory it was born, it drove him nearly wild:It proved to be a male child, at least they tell us so,Then this damsel from the rectory was quickly forced to go.
It was in nine months after she brought him forth a child,
Within the rectory it was born, it drove him nearly wild:
It proved to be a male child, at least they tell us so,
Then this damsel from the rectory was quickly forced to go.
Then the secret to unfold, it was her full intent,During the time of service into the church she went,Holding the child up in her arms, and on the parson gazed,Saying, lovely babe, that is your dad, which filled him with amaze.
Then the secret to unfold, it was her full intent,
During the time of service into the church she went,
Holding the child up in her arms, and on the parson gazed,
Saying, lovely babe, that is your dad, which filled him with amaze.
The congregation they all stared, the parson seemed confused,And many a lad and lass no doubt, within them felt amused;Such a scene as this was never known within this church before,Let us hope that it will be the last, and the like shall be no more.
The congregation they all stared, the parson seemed confused,
And many a lad and lass no doubt, within them felt amused;
Such a scene as this was never known within this church before,
Let us hope that it will be the last, and the like shall be no more.
’Twas then a court was called in town, for to invest the case.There the parson, cook, and parlour-maid they met face to face,And many more in court appeared, to hear the sport and fun,This damsel swore the parson was the father of her son.
’Twas then a court was called in town, for to invest the case.
There the parson, cook, and parlour-maid they met face to face,
And many more in court appeared, to hear the sport and fun,
This damsel swore the parson was the father of her son.
Your reverence; you are found to blame the Justices declared,Although some honest country lad you thought for to ensnare;So with all your doctrine and your skill unto him they did say,A half-a-crown each week to the child you’ve got to pay.
Your reverence; you are found to blame the Justices declared,
Although some honest country lad you thought for to ensnare;
So with all your doctrine and your skill unto him they did say,
A half-a-crown each week to the child you’ve got to pay.
His reverence felt dissatisfied with such a glorious treat,To a higher court he did proceed, and there was quickly beat,So this damsel she’s victorious, the truth I now declare,And his reverence is suspended for the period of five years.
His reverence felt dissatisfied with such a glorious treat,
To a higher court he did proceed, and there was quickly beat,
So this damsel she’s victorious, the truth I now declare,
And his reverence is suspended for the period of five years.
Come all you blooming servant maids a warning take by this,When in service with the parsons don’t be treated to a kiss;Or it may cause much jealousy, as you may all well know,Then you from service must be gone your sorrows for to rue.
Come all you blooming servant maids a warning take by this,
When in service with the parsons don’t be treated to a kiss;
Or it may cause much jealousy, as you may all well know,
Then you from service must be gone your sorrows for to rue.
Now to conclude and make an end and finish up my song,All you young men that’s deep in love, be sure don’t stay too long;Join hand in hand in wedlock’s band without the least delay,Before the fairest of all girls is by parsons led astray.
Now to conclude and make an end and finish up my song,
All you young men that’s deep in love, be sure don’t stay too long;
Join hand in hand in wedlock’s band without the least delay,
Before the fairest of all girls is by parsons led astray.
We have had female sailors not a few,And Mary Walker the female barman, too,But I never heard such a sport, did you,As these swells tog’d out as ladies.They are well known round Regent Square.And Paddington I do declare,Round Bruton street, and Berkeley Square,Round Tulse Hill, and the lord knows where.At my opinion I pray don’t gig,I’ll speak my mind so please the pigs,If they are nothing else, they might be prigsThis pair of he-she ladies.At Wakefield street, near Regent Square,There lived this rummy he-she pair,And such a stock of togs was there,To suit those he-she ladies.There was bonnets & shawls, & pork pie hatsChignons and paints, and Jenny Lind caps,False calves and drawers, to come out slap,To tog them out, it is a fact.This pair of ducks could caper and prance,At the Casino they could dance,Ogle the swells, and parle vou France,Could this pair of he-she ladiesThey’d sip their wine and take their ice,And so complete was their disguise,They would suck old nick in and no flys,Would these beautiful he-she ladies.One day a cute detective chap,Who of their game had smelt a rat,Declared he would get on the track,Of these two he-she ladies.So he bolted up to Regent Square,And soon espied this worthy pair,They hailed a cab, who took his fare,Says the police, I am after you my dear.They bolted off at such a rate, sir,And in they went to the Strand Theatre,But the game was up, so help my tater,Of this pair of he-she ladies.You would not suppose that they were men,With their large Chignons and Grecian bend,With dresses of silk, and flaxen hair,And such a duck was Stella dear.When they were seated in the stalls,With their low neck’d dresses a flowing shawlThey were admired by one and all,This pair of he-she ladies.The gents at them would take a peep,And say they are duchesses at least,Lor! what a fascinating pair,Especially she with the curly hair.The detective, Chamberlain by name.Upon these two sham ladies came,And said what is your little game,My beautiful he-she ladies.Oh, was it not a cruel sell,That night they must remember well,When they had to pig in Bow Street cell,What a change for them he-she ladies.When first before the magistrate,Oh, what a crowd did them await,It was a lark and no mistake,To look at them he-she ladies.Lor! how the people did go on,With, I say I’ll have your fine chignon,Another cried out, Stella dear,Pull off those togs, and breeches wear.Now I think behind there is a tale,Which will make this bright pair to bewail,For on skilly and whack they might regale,Those beautiful he-she ladies.
We have had female sailors not a few,And Mary Walker the female barman, too,But I never heard such a sport, did you,As these swells tog’d out as ladies.They are well known round Regent Square.And Paddington I do declare,Round Bruton street, and Berkeley Square,Round Tulse Hill, and the lord knows where.At my opinion I pray don’t gig,I’ll speak my mind so please the pigs,If they are nothing else, they might be prigsThis pair of he-she ladies.At Wakefield street, near Regent Square,There lived this rummy he-she pair,And such a stock of togs was there,To suit those he-she ladies.There was bonnets & shawls, & pork pie hatsChignons and paints, and Jenny Lind caps,False calves and drawers, to come out slap,To tog them out, it is a fact.This pair of ducks could caper and prance,At the Casino they could dance,Ogle the swells, and parle vou France,Could this pair of he-she ladiesThey’d sip their wine and take their ice,And so complete was their disguise,They would suck old nick in and no flys,Would these beautiful he-she ladies.One day a cute detective chap,Who of their game had smelt a rat,Declared he would get on the track,Of these two he-she ladies.So he bolted up to Regent Square,And soon espied this worthy pair,They hailed a cab, who took his fare,Says the police, I am after you my dear.They bolted off at such a rate, sir,And in they went to the Strand Theatre,But the game was up, so help my tater,Of this pair of he-she ladies.You would not suppose that they were men,With their large Chignons and Grecian bend,With dresses of silk, and flaxen hair,And such a duck was Stella dear.When they were seated in the stalls,With their low neck’d dresses a flowing shawlThey were admired by one and all,This pair of he-she ladies.The gents at them would take a peep,And say they are duchesses at least,Lor! what a fascinating pair,Especially she with the curly hair.The detective, Chamberlain by name.Upon these two sham ladies came,And said what is your little game,My beautiful he-she ladies.Oh, was it not a cruel sell,That night they must remember well,When they had to pig in Bow Street cell,What a change for them he-she ladies.When first before the magistrate,Oh, what a crowd did them await,It was a lark and no mistake,To look at them he-she ladies.Lor! how the people did go on,With, I say I’ll have your fine chignon,Another cried out, Stella dear,Pull off those togs, and breeches wear.Now I think behind there is a tale,Which will make this bright pair to bewail,For on skilly and whack they might regale,Those beautiful he-she ladies.
We have had female sailors not a few,And Mary Walker the female barman, too,But I never heard such a sport, did you,As these swells tog’d out as ladies.They are well known round Regent Square.And Paddington I do declare,Round Bruton street, and Berkeley Square,Round Tulse Hill, and the lord knows where.
We have had female sailors not a few,
And Mary Walker the female barman, too,
But I never heard such a sport, did you,
As these swells tog’d out as ladies.
They are well known round Regent Square.
And Paddington I do declare,
Round Bruton street, and Berkeley Square,
Round Tulse Hill, and the lord knows where.
At my opinion I pray don’t gig,I’ll speak my mind so please the pigs,If they are nothing else, they might be prigsThis pair of he-she ladies.
At my opinion I pray don’t gig,
I’ll speak my mind so please the pigs,
If they are nothing else, they might be prigs
This pair of he-she ladies.
At Wakefield street, near Regent Square,There lived this rummy he-she pair,And such a stock of togs was there,To suit those he-she ladies.There was bonnets & shawls, & pork pie hatsChignons and paints, and Jenny Lind caps,False calves and drawers, to come out slap,To tog them out, it is a fact.
At Wakefield street, near Regent Square,
There lived this rummy he-she pair,
And such a stock of togs was there,
To suit those he-she ladies.
There was bonnets & shawls, & pork pie hats
Chignons and paints, and Jenny Lind caps,
False calves and drawers, to come out slap,
To tog them out, it is a fact.
This pair of ducks could caper and prance,At the Casino they could dance,Ogle the swells, and parle vou France,Could this pair of he-she ladiesThey’d sip their wine and take their ice,And so complete was their disguise,They would suck old nick in and no flys,Would these beautiful he-she ladies.
This pair of ducks could caper and prance,
At the Casino they could dance,
Ogle the swells, and parle vou France,
Could this pair of he-she ladies
They’d sip their wine and take their ice,
And so complete was their disguise,
They would suck old nick in and no flys,
Would these beautiful he-she ladies.
One day a cute detective chap,Who of their game had smelt a rat,Declared he would get on the track,Of these two he-she ladies.So he bolted up to Regent Square,And soon espied this worthy pair,They hailed a cab, who took his fare,Says the police, I am after you my dear.
One day a cute detective chap,
Who of their game had smelt a rat,
Declared he would get on the track,
Of these two he-she ladies.
So he bolted up to Regent Square,
And soon espied this worthy pair,
They hailed a cab, who took his fare,
Says the police, I am after you my dear.
They bolted off at such a rate, sir,And in they went to the Strand Theatre,But the game was up, so help my tater,Of this pair of he-she ladies.You would not suppose that they were men,With their large Chignons and Grecian bend,With dresses of silk, and flaxen hair,And such a duck was Stella dear.
They bolted off at such a rate, sir,
And in they went to the Strand Theatre,
But the game was up, so help my tater,
Of this pair of he-she ladies.
You would not suppose that they were men,
With their large Chignons and Grecian bend,
With dresses of silk, and flaxen hair,
And such a duck was Stella dear.
When they were seated in the stalls,With their low neck’d dresses a flowing shawlThey were admired by one and all,This pair of he-she ladies.The gents at them would take a peep,And say they are duchesses at least,Lor! what a fascinating pair,Especially she with the curly hair.
When they were seated in the stalls,
With their low neck’d dresses a flowing shawl
They were admired by one and all,
This pair of he-she ladies.
The gents at them would take a peep,
And say they are duchesses at least,
Lor! what a fascinating pair,
Especially she with the curly hair.
The detective, Chamberlain by name.Upon these two sham ladies came,And said what is your little game,My beautiful he-she ladies.Oh, was it not a cruel sell,That night they must remember well,When they had to pig in Bow Street cell,What a change for them he-she ladies.
The detective, Chamberlain by name.
Upon these two sham ladies came,
And said what is your little game,
My beautiful he-she ladies.
Oh, was it not a cruel sell,
That night they must remember well,
When they had to pig in Bow Street cell,
What a change for them he-she ladies.
When first before the magistrate,Oh, what a crowd did them await,It was a lark and no mistake,To look at them he-she ladies.Lor! how the people did go on,With, I say I’ll have your fine chignon,Another cried out, Stella dear,Pull off those togs, and breeches wear.
When first before the magistrate,
Oh, what a crowd did them await,
It was a lark and no mistake,
To look at them he-she ladies.
Lor! how the people did go on,
With, I say I’ll have your fine chignon,
Another cried out, Stella dear,
Pull off those togs, and breeches wear.
Now I think behind there is a tale,Which will make this bright pair to bewail,For on skilly and whack they might regale,Those beautiful he-she ladies.
Now I think behind there is a tale,
Which will make this bright pair to bewail,
For on skilly and whack they might regale,
Those beautiful he-she ladies.
H. Disley, Printer, 57, High Street, St. Giles.
“The gallows does well: but how does it do well? It does well to those that do ill.”
THE EXECUTION.
THE EXECUTION.
“There’s nothing beats a stunning good murder after all.”—Experience of a Running Patterer.
Of accounts of Public Executions, Dying Speeches, and Confessions we have those before us, stretching from the Execution of Sir John Oldcastle in 1417, to the Trial and Execution of F. Hinson, who suffered the extreme penalty of the law, at the Old Bailey, Monday, December 13th, 1869, for the wilful murder of Maria Death, to which is attached the all-important and necessary “Copy of Verses,” and by way of supplement, we add averbatimcopy of the Full, True and Particular Account of the Execution of J. Rutterford, at Bury St. Edmunds, for the murder of J. Hight, with copy of “Death-verses.” But the convict was NOT hanged after all. As the gaol surgeon having reported that Rutterford had a malformation which might cause an unusual degree of suffering on death being inflicted by strangulation, whereupon the Secretary of State for the Home Department ordered a special examination to be made by some medical men of the immediate neighbourhood, and on whose report the sentence of death previously recorded was commuted to transportation for life!
All the modern examples ofThe “Gallows” Literature of the Streetscome not only from different printers and publishers, but from distant towns,—London, Birmingham, Lincoln, and Preston, but they have all the same stamp. And the whole of the last dying speeches and confessions, trials, sentences from what ever part of the country they come, run in the same form of quaint and circumstantial detail, appeals to heaven, to young men, to young women, to christians in general, and moral reflections. The narrative, embracing trial, biography, &c., is usually prepared by the printer, being a condensation from the accounts in the newspapers. It is then necessary to add the “copy of verses.” Many of these are clearly by the same hand, probably one of the five or six well-known authors, who also chaunt their own verses in the streets. And with regard to this matter—“Time being the essence of the contract,”—it must also be noted that many of the most popular “Death-verses” being composed on the spur of the moment for the purpose of being sung while all the town is ringing with the event, all niceties of rhyme, metre, and orthography have to be utterly disregarded. “I gets,” says one of the fraternity, “I gets a shilling a copy for the verseswritten by the wretched culpritthe night previous to his execution.” “And I,” says another, “did the helegy on Rush. I didn’t write it to horder; I knew that they would want a copy of verses from the wretched culprit. And when the publisher read it; ‘that’s the thing for the streets,’ he says. But I only got a shilling for it.” “It’s the same poet as does ’em all,” says a third authority, “and the same tip:no more nor a bob for nothing.” This was paltry pay under any circumstances, but still more so when we find that in the case of the chief modern murders these “Execution Ballads” commanded a most enormous sale, thus:
So that the printers and publishers of “Gallows” Literature in general, and “The Seven Dials Press” in particular, must have reaped a golden harvest for many a long day, even when sold to the street-folks at the low rate of 3d. perlongdozen. Mr. W. S. Fortey, the successor of the late celebrated Jemmy Catnach, stated to us during a recent conversation with him on the sale number of modern dying speeches. “Well,Inever inmytime printed so many asIdid of the Five Pirates of the Flowery Land, andIsold them at the rate of 3,000 copies per hour, and did altogether 90,000,—that was my share. What the others did of course I can’t say. I know I got a new machine out of the job!—which we now call the “Pirates,” or sometimes “The Flowery Land.”[1]Mr. Fortey furthermore informed us that his share of the “Execution Papers” of recent popular murders was as follows:—Müller, 84,000; Constant Kent, 15,000; Jeffery, 10,000; Forward, 5,000. Mr. Fortey’s trade announcement runs thus:—“The Catnach Press.” (Established 1813.) William S. Fortey, (late A. Ryle), successor to the late J. Catnach, Printer, Publisher, and Wholesale Stationer, 2 and 3, Monmouth Court, Seven Dials, London, W.C. The cheapest and greatest variety in the trade of large coloured penny books; halfpenny coloured books; farthing books; penny and halfpenny panoramas; school books; penny and halfpenny song books; memorandum books; poetry cards; lotteries; ballads (4,000 sorts) and hymns; valentines; scripture sheets; Christmas pieces; Twelfth-night characters; carols; book and sheet almanacks; envelopes, note paper, &c., &c. W. S. Fortey begs to inform his friends and the public generally, that after 19 years’ service, he has succeeded to the business of his late employers (A. Ryle and Co.), and intends carrying on the same, trusting that his long experience will be a recommendation, and that no exertion shall be wanting on his part to merit a continuance of those favours that have been so liberally bestowed on that establishment during the last 46 years.
As far as can be ascertained, the sale of Broad-sheets in the Mannings and Rush’s case far exceed that of any now before us. Even that of Müller did not amount to more than two hundred and eighty thousand copies—though no modern murder ever surpassed it in atrocity, or in the profound interest which it excited throughout England. And this difference is no doubt to be explained by the fact that since Mannings and Rush’s day the daily penny newspapers have almost forestalled the “Dying Speeches and confessions”—with or without the “copy of verses”—by giving a full account of the different enormities in all their minute and hideous details. The force of public opinion, too, thus exerted through the Press, has been brought to bear on the question of crime, and much of the morbid sympathy which found expression in the case of such a monster as Rush, had died away in 1864, when detectives tracked Müller across the Atlantic, and brought him back to be hanged by an English hangman, in the presence of an English mob. To every one of the murderers, Constance Kent at Road hill house, Jeffery, Forward, at Ramsgate, and the Pirates of the “Flowery Land,”—one and all alike,—stern justice is meted out with inflexible severity. The wretched girl who at Salisbury confessed her crime to the judge, makes no excuse for her guilt, but tells only of the intolerable remorse that would give her no rest—
“My infant brother so haunted me,I not one moment could happy be;And if for the murder they do me try,I declare I’m guilty, and deserve to die.”
“My infant brother so haunted me,I not one moment could happy be;And if for the murder they do me try,I declare I’m guilty, and deserve to die.”
“My infant brother so haunted me,I not one moment could happy be;And if for the murder they do me try,I declare I’m guilty, and deserve to die.”
“My infant brother so haunted me,
I not one moment could happy be;
And if for the murder they do me try,
I declare I’m guilty, and deserve to die.”
“Scoundrels,” “malefactors,” “villains,” are the gentlest names for this Newgate gallery, and the gallows in every case is promised, with a sort of grim satisfaction that augurs strongly for a deep popular belief in the justice of those solemn words, “Whoso sheddeth man’s blood, by man shall his blood be shed.”
With the recent Act of Parliament abolishing the execution of criminals in sight of the public. Halfpenny and penny newspapers, and the capriciousness of Home Secretaries, the Dying Speech trade has in its turn received its death-blow. Still old memories and customs yet cling to the “Affectionate Copy of Verses.”—“The (cooked) Love Letters” and “Confessions”—made only by the Street-Patterer, and are found sufficiently remunerative to author, printer, publisher, and vendor—But forThis Day Only!
The following is the style of “gag” and “patter” of a man formerly well-known in the “Dials” as “Tragedy Bill”—“Now, my friends, here you have, just printed and published, a full, true, and pertickler account of the life, trial, character, confession, behaviour, condemnation, and hexecution of that unfortunate malefactor, Richard Wilbyforce, who was hexecuted on Monday last, for the small charge of one ha’penny, and for the most horrible, dreadful, and wicked murder of Samuel—I means Sarah Spriggens, a lady’s maid, young, tender, and handsome. You have here every pertickler, of that which he did, and that which he didn’t. It’s the most foul and horrible murder that ever graced the annals of British history(?) Here, my customers, you may read his hexecution on the fatal scaffold. You may also read how he met his victim in a dark and lonesome wood, and what he did to her—for the small charge of a ha’penny; and, further, you read how he brought her to London,—after that comes the murder, which is worth all the money. And you read how the ghost appeared to him and then to her parents. Then comes the capture of thewillain; also the trial, sentence, and hexecution, showing how the ghost was in the act of pulling his leg on one side, and the ‘old gentleman’ a pulling on the other, waiting for his victim (my good friends excuse my tears!) But as Shakspeare says, ‘Murder most foul and unnatural,’ but you’ll find this more foul and unnatural than that or the t’other—for the small charge of a ha’penny! Yes, my customers, to which is added a copy of serene and beautiful werses, pious and immoral, as wot he wrote with his own blood and skewer the night after—I mean the night before his hexecution, addressed to young men and women of all sexes—I beg pardon, but, I mean classes (my friends its nothing to laugh at), for I can tell you the werses is made three of the hard-heartedest things cry as never was—to wit, that is to say namely—a overseer, a broker, and a policeman. Yes, my friends, I sold twenty thousand copies of them this here morning, and could of sold twenty thousand more than that if I could of but kept from crying—only a ha’penny!—but I’ll read the werses.
Come all you blessed Christians dear,That’s a-tender, kind, and free,While I a story do relateOf a dreadful tragedy,Which happened in London town,As you shall all be told;But when you hear the horrid deed’Twill make your blood run cold.—For the small charge of a ha’penny!’Twas in the merry month of May,When my true love I did meet;She look’d all like an angel bright,So beautiful and sweet.I told her I loved her much,And she could not say nay;’Twas then I strung her tender heart,And led her all astray.—Only a ha’penny!I brought her up to London town,To make her my dear wife;But an evil spirit tempted me,And so I took her life!I left the town all in the night,When her ghost in burning fire,Saying, “Richard,” I am still with you,Whenever you retire.—Only a ha’penny!And justice follow’d every step,Though often I did cry;And the cruel Judge and JuryCondemned me for to die.And in a cell as cold as death,I always was afraid,For Sarah she was with me,Although I killed her dead.—For the small charge of a ha’penny!My tender-hearted Christians,Be warned by what I say,And never prove unkind or falseTo any sweet la’-dy.Though some there, who wickednessOft leads ’em to go astray;So pray attend to what you hear.And a warning take I pray.
Come all you blessed Christians dear,That’s a-tender, kind, and free,While I a story do relateOf a dreadful tragedy,Which happened in London town,As you shall all be told;But when you hear the horrid deed’Twill make your blood run cold.—For the small charge of a ha’penny!’Twas in the merry month of May,When my true love I did meet;She look’d all like an angel bright,So beautiful and sweet.I told her I loved her much,And she could not say nay;’Twas then I strung her tender heart,And led her all astray.—Only a ha’penny!I brought her up to London town,To make her my dear wife;But an evil spirit tempted me,And so I took her life!I left the town all in the night,When her ghost in burning fire,Saying, “Richard,” I am still with you,Whenever you retire.—Only a ha’penny!And justice follow’d every step,Though often I did cry;And the cruel Judge and JuryCondemned me for to die.And in a cell as cold as death,I always was afraid,For Sarah she was with me,Although I killed her dead.—For the small charge of a ha’penny!My tender-hearted Christians,Be warned by what I say,And never prove unkind or falseTo any sweet la’-dy.Though some there, who wickednessOft leads ’em to go astray;So pray attend to what you hear.And a warning take I pray.
Come all you blessed Christians dear,That’s a-tender, kind, and free,While I a story do relateOf a dreadful tragedy,Which happened in London town,As you shall all be told;But when you hear the horrid deed’Twill make your blood run cold.—For the small charge of a ha’penny!
Come all you blessed Christians dear,
That’s a-tender, kind, and free,
While I a story do relate
Of a dreadful tragedy,
Which happened in London town,
As you shall all be told;
But when you hear the horrid deed
’Twill make your blood run cold.—
For the small charge of a ha’penny!
’Twas in the merry month of May,When my true love I did meet;She look’d all like an angel bright,So beautiful and sweet.I told her I loved her much,And she could not say nay;’Twas then I strung her tender heart,And led her all astray.—Only a ha’penny!
’Twas in the merry month of May,
When my true love I did meet;
She look’d all like an angel bright,
So beautiful and sweet.
I told her I loved her much,
And she could not say nay;
’Twas then I strung her tender heart,
And led her all astray.—
Only a ha’penny!
I brought her up to London town,To make her my dear wife;But an evil spirit tempted me,And so I took her life!I left the town all in the night,When her ghost in burning fire,Saying, “Richard,” I am still with you,Whenever you retire.—Only a ha’penny!
I brought her up to London town,
To make her my dear wife;
But an evil spirit tempted me,
And so I took her life!
I left the town all in the night,
When her ghost in burning fire,
Saying, “Richard,” I am still with you,
Whenever you retire.—
Only a ha’penny!
And justice follow’d every step,Though often I did cry;And the cruel Judge and JuryCondemned me for to die.And in a cell as cold as death,I always was afraid,For Sarah she was with me,Although I killed her dead.—For the small charge of a ha’penny!
And justice follow’d every step,
Though often I did cry;
And the cruel Judge and Jury
Condemned me for to die.
And in a cell as cold as death,
I always was afraid,
For Sarah she was with me,
Although I killed her dead.—
For the small charge of a ha’penny!
My tender-hearted Christians,Be warned by what I say,And never prove unkind or falseTo any sweet la’-dy.Though some there, who wickednessOft leads ’em to go astray;So pray attend to what you hear.And a warning take I pray.
My tender-hearted Christians,
Be warned by what I say,
And never prove unkind or false
To any sweet la’-dy.
Though some there, who wickedness
Oft leads ’em to go astray;
So pray attend to what you hear.
And a warning take I pray.
[1]“The Pope, God bless him! he’s been the best friend I’ve had since Rush. Then Cardinal Wiseman. They shod me, sir.” “Who’sthey!” “Why the Pope and Cardinal Wiseman. I call my clothes after them I earn money by to buy them with. My shoes I call Pope Pius; my trowsers” and braces, Calcraft; my waistcoat and shirt, Jael Denny; and my coat, Love Letters. A man must show a sense of gratitude in the best way he can.—Experience of a Running Patterer.—Mayhew’s London Labour and the London Poor.
[1]“The Pope, God bless him! he’s been the best friend I’ve had since Rush. Then Cardinal Wiseman. They shod me, sir.” “Who’sthey!” “Why the Pope and Cardinal Wiseman. I call my clothes after them I earn money by to buy them with. My shoes I call Pope Pius; my trowsers” and braces, Calcraft; my waistcoat and shirt, Jael Denny; and my coat, Love Letters. A man must show a sense of gratitude in the best way he can.—Experience of a Running Patterer.—Mayhew’s London Labour and the London Poor.
AT THENEW GALLOWS,ATST. GILES’S IN THE FIELDS,ONTHE 19th OF DECEMBER, 1417.THE 19th OF DECEMBER, 1417.
Who was Hang’d as a Traytor, and Burnt as a Heretick.
At the beginning of the reign of Henry V., about the year 1413, the anger of the clergy was excited against theLollards, and they fabricated a report of a pretended conspiracy among them, headed by Sir John Oldcastle, or, as he was called by courtesy, Lord Cobham, in his wife’s right.
Lord Cobham has the honour of being the first author and the first martyr among the nobility of England. He was a man of considerable natural abilities, proficient in literature, of a ready wit, and skilled in the affairs of the cabinet or in the field. In his love for philosophy, he had perused the writings of Wickliffe, and in so doing unconsciously absorbed the leaven of evangelical and spiritual religion. When persuaded of the truth of those doctrines he enrolled himself as a disciple, and did all in his power for their spread, both by his gifts and personal efforts. He transcribed the works of Wickliffe; he supported various preachers, and became the acknowledged leader of the rising reformation. The hostility of the church was, of course, an inevitable result.
Sir John being convicted of heresy, the Archbishop waited upon the King, and gave him an account of the proceedings against him, and moved his Majesty that the execution might be respited for 50 days, which was readily granted by the King, as well as the Archbishops, being desirous to preserve Sir John Oldcastle.
Sir John before the fifty days expired, made his escape out of the Tower, and endeavoured to secure himself by making an insurrection. To this purpose he wrote letters to his friends, to engage their Party, and make them ready for the Field, to surprise the King, and overturn the Government.
The King being apprised of the danger, on the 6th of January, 1414, removed from Eltham to his palace at Westminster, but without any appearance of alarm. The Rebels were just upon the execution of their design, being drawn together by Sir John Acton, Knight, John Brown, Esq., and John Beverly, a priest, in Ficket-field, on the backside of St. Giles’s; hither they came in the dead of night, expecting to join their General, Sir John Oldcastle.
The King came into the field before Day, where several of the Rebels, mistaking their party, fell in with the King’s forces; and it being demanded whither they were going, they answered, to my Lord Cobham. The King, to prevent their getting together, had ordered the City Gates to be shut and guarded, without which precaution ’tis thought the Londoners would have reinforced their party to a very formidable body, but being disappointed of this succour they soon dispersed, and several of them were killed or taken prisoners. And the King set a thousand Marks upon Sir John Oldcastle’s head, with a promise of great Privileges to any town that should deliver him up. An Indictment of High Treason was found against Sir John in the King’s Bench, for conspiring the Death of the King, the Subversion of the Established Religion and Government, and Levying War, whereupon he was outlawed.
Sir John Oldcastle was near being surprised in the neighbourhood of St. Alban’s, at a farmhouse belonging to the Abbot of that town,anno1417; for the Abbot being informed Sir John lay concealed at one of his Tenants, sent some of his servants, in the night, to beset the house, and though they missed of Sir John, they seized some of the principal men of his party. They found also several religious Books, adorned with paintings, which theLollardsesteeming superstitious, cut off the Heads of the Figures, and also erased the Names of the Saints out of the litanies; they also found scandalous Papers in Dishonour of the blessed Virgin. These Books were sent over to the King into Normandy, and by him returned to the Archbishop.
Upon the occasion theLollardswere loudly disclaimed against at St. Paul’s Cross, and a tragical Representation made of the Matter, and not long after Sir John Oldcastle was taken in Powis Lands in Wales. He stood upon his Defence, fought those that came to apprehend him, and refused to surrender his Person till he was wounded and disabled.
Sir John Oldcastle having been outlawed upon an Indictment for High Treason, for that he with divers others calledLollards, to the number of Twenty Thousand, had assembled themselves atSt. Giles’s in the Fields, levyed War, and conspired the Death of the King and the Subversion of the Religion and Government established, and standing also excommunicated for Heresy, he was brought before the Parliament on the 18th of December, 1417, and it being demanded what he had to say why Execution should not be awarded against him according to Law, he ran out into a Discourse foreign to the matter, concerning the Mercy of God, &c., whereupon the Chief Justice required him to answer directly, if he had anything to object against the Legality of the Process; he replyed,he could not own them for his judges, as long as his Sovereign LordKing Richardwas living in Scotland. Upon this Answer a Rule was made for his Execution,viz., That he should be carried back to the Tower, and from thence drawn through London to the New Gallows at St. Giles’s in the Fields, and there be hanged, and burnt hanging, which Sentence was executed with Rigour. He was hanged as a Traytor, and burnt as a Heretick.
On the 20th of September, 1586, a Gallows being set up on purpose in St. Giles’s Fields, where they us’d to meet, these seven were drawn thither to their Execution.
John Ballard, the Priest, the principal Conspirator, confess’d, that he was guilty of those things for which he was condemned, but protested they were never enterprised by him upon any hope of preferment, but only, as he said, for the advancement of true Religion. He craved pardon and forgiveness of all persons, to whom his doings had been any scandal, and so made an end; making his prayers to himself in Latin, not asking her Majesty forgiveness, otherwise than if he had offended.
Anthony Babington, Esq., also confessed, That he was come to die, as he had deserved; howbeit that he (as Ballard before) protested that he was not led into those actions upon hope of preferment, or for any temporal respect; nor had ever attempted them. For his wife, he said, she had good friends, to whose consideration he would leave her: And thus he finished, asking Her Majesty forgiveness, and making his prayers in Latin.
John Savage, Gent., confessed his guilt, and said (as the other two before) that he did attempt it, for that in conscience he thought it a deed meritorious, and a common good to the weal publick, and for no private preferment.
Robert Barnwell, Gent, confessed that he was made acquainted with their Drifts, but denied that ever he consented, or could be in conscience persuaded that it was a deed lawful. I crave forgiveness; if the sacrifice of my body might establish her Majesty in the true religion, I would most willingly offer it up. Then he prayed to himself in Latin.
Chidiock Titchbone, Esq., began to speak as followeth,viz., Countrymen and my dear Friends, you expect I should speak something; I am a bad Orator, and my text is worse: It were in vain to enter into the discourse of the whole matter for which I am brought hither, for that it hath been revealed heretofore, and is well known to the most of this company; let me be a warning to all young gentlemen, especiallygenerosis adolescentulis. I had a friend, and a dear friend, of whom I made no small account, whose friendship hath brought me to this; he told me the whole matter, I cannot deny, as they had laid it down to be done; but I always thought it impious, and denied to be a dealer in it; but the regard of my friend caused me to be a man in whom the old proverb was verified; I was silent, and so consented. Before this thing chanced, we lived together in most flourishing estate; of whom went report in the Strand, Fleet street, and elsewhere about London, but of Babington and Titchbone? No threshold was of force to brave our entry. Thus we lived, and wanted nothing we could wish for; and God knows, what less in my head than matters of State? Now give me leave to declare the miseries I sustained after I was acquainted with the action, wherein I may justly compare my estate to that of Adam’s, who could not abstain one thing forbidden, to enjoy all other things the world could afford; the terror of conscience awaited me. After I consider’d the dangers whereinto I was fallen, I went to Sir John Peters, in Essex, and appointed my horses should meet me at London, intending to go down into the country. I came to London, and there heard that all was bewrayed; whereupon, like Adam, we fled into the woods to hide ourselves, and there were apprehended. My dear countrymen, my sorrows may be your joy, yet mix your smiles with tears, and pity my case. This done, he prayed first in Latin, and then in English, asking Her Majesty, and all the world, heartily, forgiveness, and that he hoped, stedfastly, now at this his last hour, his faith would not fail.
Charles Tilney said, I am a Catholick, and believe in Jesus Christ, and by his Passion I hope to be saved; and I confess I can do nothing without him, which opinion all Catholicks firmly hold. He prayed in Latin for himself, and after he prayed for Queen Elizabeth, that she might live long; and warned all young gentlemen, of what degree or calling soever, to take warning by him.
Edward Abington said, I come hither to die, holding all points firmly that the Catholick Church doth; and for the matters whereof I am condemned, I confess all, saving the death of Her Majesty, to the which I never consented. He feared, as he said, great bloodshed in England before it were long.
Ballard was first executed. He was cut down and bowell’d with great cruelty while he was alive. Babington beheld Ballard’s execution without being in the least daunted; whilst the rest turned away their faces, and fell to prayers upon their knees. Babington being taken down from the gallows alive too, and ready to be cut up, he cried aloud several times in Latin.Parce mihi Domine Jesu, spare or forgive me O Lord Jesus! Savage broke the rope, and fell down from the gallows, and was presently seized on by the Executioner, his privities cut off, and his bowels taken out while he was alive. Barnwell, Titchborne, Tilney, and Abington were executed with equal cruelty.
Thomas Salisbury, Esq., since it hath pleased God to appoint this place for my end, I thank his infinite goodness for the same; I confess that I have deserved death, and that I have offended her Majesty, whom to forgive me I heartily beseech, with all others whom I have any way offended; I desire all true Catholicks to pray for me, and I desire them, as I beseech God they may, to endure with patience whatsoever shall be laid upon them, and never to enter into any action of violence for remedy. Thus done, he cried in English and Latin, Father, forgive me.
Henry Donn, Yeoman, said, Do the people expect I should say anything? I was acquainted, I confess, with their practices, but I never did intend to be a dealer in them: Babington oftentimes requested me to be one, and said, for that he loved me well, he would bestow me in one of the best actions; which should have been the delivery of the Queen of Scots, to which I could not for a long time agree; at length, by many urgent persuasions he won me, so as I told him I would do my best: And being asked, as he was ascending the ladder, whether he thought it lawful to kill her Majesty: He answered, No, no. No soul was more sorrowful than his, nor none more sinful; and prayed for her Majesty, wishing she might live in all happiness, and after this life, be eternized in everlasting bliss; and so he prayed in Latin and English.
Edward Jones said, I come hither to die, but how rightfully God knows; for thus stands my case: At Trinity Term last, Mr Salisbury made me acquainted with their purposes; and for that he knew me to be well horsed, he thought me as fit as any to attempt the delivery of the Queen of Scots, and requested me to be one; which I utterly denied, altogether misliking their practices, and persuading him, by what means I might, from it; and told him, this was the haughty and ambitious mind of Anthony Babington, which would be the destruction of himself and friends, whose company I wished him to refrain; and for that I would have him out of his company; I have divers times lent him money, and pawned my chain and jewels to buy him necessaries to go into the country, and so concluded with his prayers, first in Latin, and then in English, that the people might better understand what he prayed.
John Charnock and John Travers having their minds wholly fixt on prayer, recommended themselves to God and the Saints. Gage extolled the Queen’s great grace and bounty to his father, and detested his own perfidious ingratitude towards his Princess. And Jerome Bellamy, with confusion and deep silence, suffered last.
The Queen being informed of the severity used in the executions the day before, and detesting such cruelty, gave express orders that these should be used more favourably; and accordingly they were permitted to hang till they were quite dead before they were cut down and bowell’d.
The Conspirators were most of them gentlemen of good families, whom nothing but the specious pretence of religion could probably have prevailed upon to turn affairs.
The history of the plot in which Ballard, Babbington, Tichbourne, and others, were engaged in 1586, is well known. The subsequent ballad, by the celebrated Thomas Deloney, (his initials T.D. being at the conclusion of it) was no doubt printed immediately after the execution of the “fourteen most wicked traitors,” on the 20th and 21st September. At the top of the broadside are woodcuts of fourteen heads, but they are not likenesses, but merely engravings which the printer happened to have in his possession, and which had been already used for Hill’s work on Physiognomy, and perhaps for other publications requiring illustrations.——[1]
A proper new Ballad, breefely declaring the Death and Execution of 14 most wicked Traitors, who suffered death in Lincolnes Inne Fielde, neere London: the 20 and 21 of September, 1586.
TO THE TUNE OF “WEEP, WEEP.”