THE COLLIER SWELL.

I usedto be a vulgar clown, with cash and money short in,Till my old uncle died in Town, and left me all his fortune,A collier I was by trade, but I’ve chang’d as you may tell, sir,And since a richer purse I’ve got, I’ll be a regular Swell, sir.

But I’m so plagued with vulgar folks, since I’ve got cash to sport in,Why can’t a collier cut a swell, when he’s been left a fortune?I used to go with low bred chaps, and talk to every put low,Get drunk in Tom and Jerry shops, and go a purring foot bo;But now, with all the swells in town, I sport my bobs and tanners,And I am going to London town, to learn some genteel manners.And when I’ve been to London town, I mean to go to France, Sir,To practice two or three times a week, to learn to hop and dance, Sir,Besides, I’ve got a quizzing glass, to see things far and near o,Which caused me the other day, to fall reet o’er a barrow.O my family are a vulgar set, tho’ they’ve got clothes in fashion,They put them on all inside out, which puts me in a passion,The lads when’er we go to church, tho’ they have lots of riches,They all go in their clogs, smock frocks, and leather breeches.My wife she is the worst of all, when we give genteel dinners,She uses neither knife nor fork, but pops in all her fingers,And when they hand the wine about, she tells the gents it stinks, Sir,Gets full her mouth, and squirts it out, and calls for treacle drink, Sir.If I give a dinner to my lord, and bid her make a good ’un,Perhaps she will make some pea soup, or else a great black pudding:And when the tea it is brought in, the tray she always flings, Sir,Stirs up the sugar with her fist, and then she licks her fingers.My lord once ask’d us out to dine, and there we had a rum start,Instead of her new carriage fine, she would ride in a dung cart,And when he sent a horse for her, and wanted her to ride, Sir,But what do you think of the ignorant jade, she would get astride, Sir.

But I’m so plagued with vulgar folks, since I’ve got cash to sport in,Why can’t a collier cut a swell, when he’s been left a fortune?

I used to go with low bred chaps, and talk to every put low,Get drunk in Tom and Jerry shops, and go a purring foot bo;But now, with all the swells in town, I sport my bobs and tanners,And I am going to London town, to learn some genteel manners.

And when I’ve been to London town, I mean to go to France, Sir,To practice two or three times a week, to learn to hop and dance, Sir,Besides, I’ve got a quizzing glass, to see things far and near o,Which caused me the other day, to fall reet o’er a barrow.

O my family are a vulgar set, tho’ they’ve got clothes in fashion,They put them on all inside out, which puts me in a passion,The lads when’er we go to church, tho’ they have lots of riches,They all go in their clogs, smock frocks, and leather breeches.

My wife she is the worst of all, when we give genteel dinners,She uses neither knife nor fork, but pops in all her fingers,And when they hand the wine about, she tells the gents it stinks, Sir,Gets full her mouth, and squirts it out, and calls for treacle drink, Sir.

If I give a dinner to my lord, and bid her make a good ’un,Perhaps she will make some pea soup, or else a great black pudding:And when the tea it is brought in, the tray she always flings, Sir,Stirs up the sugar with her fist, and then she licks her fingers.

My lord once ask’d us out to dine, and there we had a rum start,Instead of her new carriage fine, she would ride in a dung cart,And when he sent a horse for her, and wanted her to ride, Sir,But what do you think of the ignorant jade, she would get astride, Sir.

Itis of a rich merchant near London we hear,Had a comely young daughter most beauteous and fair,Twenty thousand bright guineas was her portion in gold,Till she fell in love with a young sailor bold.O! when that the merchant these tidings did hear,Upon the young sailor, he vengeance did swear;He says, your true love shall no more plough the sea,For before to-morrow morning his butcher I’ll be.O, when that she heard her own father say so,Her mind was o’erwhelmed with sorrow and woe;She thought to herself, If I could see my dear,I quickly would warn him of the danger that’s near.In a suit of bold sailors apparel complete,She dressed herself from the head to the feet,With pumps on her feet, and a cane in her hand,She met her dear William as he walked through the Strand.She says, My dear William, O, instantly flee,For my father doth swear that your butcher he’ll be,So straight unto Dover, I’d have you repair,And in forty-eight hours, I’ll meet you there.As he kiss’d her fair cheek, the tear stood in each eye,She says I will save you, or else I will die.Then straightway she gave him a handful of gold,And she marched up the street like a sailor so bold.She, meeting her father, as she walked up the Strand,He mistook her for William, saying, You are the man,A Sword from his side then he instantly drew,And her beautiful body he pierc’d it quite through.When he found what he’d done, he sunk down in despair,He wringed his hands, and he tore off his hair,Crying, wretched monster, Oh! what have I done?I have killed the flower of fair London town.Then up from the ground he did instantly start,And leaned on his sword, till he pierced his heart;Forgive me, he cried, as he drew his last breath,Then he closed his eyes in the cold arms of death.Now when that young William the tidings did hear,He died broken hearted by grief and despair,Thus father, and daughter, and a young sailor bold,Met an untimely death for the sake of curs’d gold.

Itis of a rich merchant near London we hear,Had a comely young daughter most beauteous and fair,Twenty thousand bright guineas was her portion in gold,Till she fell in love with a young sailor bold.

O! when that the merchant these tidings did hear,Upon the young sailor, he vengeance did swear;He says, your true love shall no more plough the sea,For before to-morrow morning his butcher I’ll be.

O, when that she heard her own father say so,Her mind was o’erwhelmed with sorrow and woe;She thought to herself, If I could see my dear,I quickly would warn him of the danger that’s near.

In a suit of bold sailors apparel complete,She dressed herself from the head to the feet,With pumps on her feet, and a cane in her hand,She met her dear William as he walked through the Strand.

She says, My dear William, O, instantly flee,For my father doth swear that your butcher he’ll be,So straight unto Dover, I’d have you repair,And in forty-eight hours, I’ll meet you there.

As he kiss’d her fair cheek, the tear stood in each eye,She says I will save you, or else I will die.Then straightway she gave him a handful of gold,And she marched up the street like a sailor so bold.

She, meeting her father, as she walked up the Strand,He mistook her for William, saying, You are the man,A Sword from his side then he instantly drew,And her beautiful body he pierc’d it quite through.

When he found what he’d done, he sunk down in despair,He wringed his hands, and he tore off his hair,Crying, wretched monster, Oh! what have I done?I have killed the flower of fair London town.

Then up from the ground he did instantly start,And leaned on his sword, till he pierced his heart;Forgive me, he cried, as he drew his last breath,Then he closed his eyes in the cold arms of death.

Now when that young William the tidings did hear,He died broken hearted by grief and despair,Thus father, and daughter, and a young sailor bold,Met an untimely death for the sake of curs’d gold.

AsI rov’d out one evening down by a river side,I heard a lovely maid complain, the tears fell from her eyes,It is a cold and stormy night, these words she did say,My love is on the raging sea, bound for America.My love, he was a sailor bold, his age was scarce sixteen,He was as nice a young man, as ever you did see,My father he has riches great, and Riley he was poor,Because I loved this sailor, they could not him endure.Riley was my love’s name,—he liv’d down by the sea,My mother took me by the hand, and these words she did say,If you be fond of Riley, let him leave this country,Your father says he’ll take his life, or shun his company.Oh! mother dear, don’t be severe, where shall I find my love,My very heart lies in his breast, as constant as a Dove.Oh, daughter dear, I’m not severe, there is one thousand pound,Send Riley to America, to purchase there some ground.When she got the money, to Riley she did run,This very night, to take your life, my father charged his gun,Here is one thousand pounds in gold, my mother sent to you,Sail off unto America, and there I’ll follow you.When Riley got the money, next day he sail’d away,When he got his foot on board, these words she did say,Here is a token of my love, and we’ll break it in two,You’ll have my heart, and half my ring, until I find out you.It was in twelve months after, she was walking by the sea,When Riley he came back again, and took his love away,The ship was wrecked, all hands were lost, her father grieved full sore,Found her in Riley’s arms, and they were drown’d upon the shore.They found a letter in her breast, and it was wrote in blood,Saying, Cruel was my father that thought to shoot my love;So let this be a warning to all you fair maidens gay,Never to send the man they love upon the raging sea.

My love, he was a sailor bold, his age was scarce sixteen,He was as nice a young man, as ever you did see,My father he has riches great, and Riley he was poor,Because I loved this sailor, they could not him endure.

Riley was my love’s name,—he liv’d down by the sea,My mother took me by the hand, and these words she did say,If you be fond of Riley, let him leave this country,Your father says he’ll take his life, or shun his company.

Oh! mother dear, don’t be severe, where shall I find my love,My very heart lies in his breast, as constant as a Dove.Oh, daughter dear, I’m not severe, there is one thousand pound,Send Riley to America, to purchase there some ground.

When she got the money, to Riley she did run,This very night, to take your life, my father charged his gun,Here is one thousand pounds in gold, my mother sent to you,Sail off unto America, and there I’ll follow you.

When Riley got the money, next day he sail’d away,When he got his foot on board, these words she did say,Here is a token of my love, and we’ll break it in two,You’ll have my heart, and half my ring, until I find out you.

It was in twelve months after, she was walking by the sea,When Riley he came back again, and took his love away,The ship was wrecked, all hands were lost, her father grieved full sore,Found her in Riley’s arms, and they were drown’d upon the shore.

They found a letter in her breast, and it was wrote in blood,Saying, Cruel was my father that thought to shoot my love;So let this be a warning to all you fair maidens gay,Never to send the man they love upon the raging sea.

YoungWilliam for honour and fame went to sea,And many a battle and storm weathered he,But, the wars being over, he homeward returned,For love of his Mary in his bosom did burn.Faithful and true was the youth.With a heart light and buoyant to Mary did haste,With joy she wept, and her William embraced,Of his parents he asked, and she mournfully sighed,That home, once your joy, is, now, wretched, she cried,Your parents are bowed down in grief.Scarce one short month of your absence was spent,When the Landlord’s vile agent seized on them for rent,Sold their cow, all they had, for a twelve months’ arrears,Nor heeded their anguish, but laughed at their tears,No succour, alas! could I bring.Oh, Mary, cried William, while his tears fast did flow,This night to my parents, disguised I will go,In the morning what rapture through their bosoms will run,When they find that the stranger is William, their son,For they know not from sea, I’ve returned.He went as a stranger, admittance did crave,As a stranger, a welcome from them he received,How chang’d was his father, once healthy and neat,His mother thro’ want, could scarce move from her seat.And want seem’d to dwell in each face.Some gold from his purse on his father he prest,Took his leave for the night and retired to rest,Alas! from his pillow he never rose more,Before morning sun beamed, he was dead in his gore.He died by the hand of his sire.Ah! see, in the morning, poor Mary she came,And asks for her lover, her William, by name,Our William’s not here both the parents replied,Oh yes! smiled Mary, he came here disguised.As a stranger, he’s dwelling with you.Oh God! cried the father, then what have I done?Thro’ gold, cursed gold, I have murdered my son,Then with the same weapon himself did destroy,Saying, thus I avenge thee, Oh, William, my boy!Oh, Mercy! he cried and expired.The mother soon died, and was laid in the tomb,And Mary, a maniac wildly did roam,All did her pity, though none could her save,She was found dead and cold on her true lover’s grave,On the grave of her lover so true.

With a heart light and buoyant to Mary did haste,With joy she wept, and her William embraced,Of his parents he asked, and she mournfully sighed,That home, once your joy, is, now, wretched, she cried,Your parents are bowed down in grief.

Scarce one short month of your absence was spent,When the Landlord’s vile agent seized on them for rent,Sold their cow, all they had, for a twelve months’ arrears,Nor heeded their anguish, but laughed at their tears,No succour, alas! could I bring.

Oh, Mary, cried William, while his tears fast did flow,This night to my parents, disguised I will go,In the morning what rapture through their bosoms will run,When they find that the stranger is William, their son,For they know not from sea, I’ve returned.

He went as a stranger, admittance did crave,As a stranger, a welcome from them he received,How chang’d was his father, once healthy and neat,His mother thro’ want, could scarce move from her seat.And want seem’d to dwell in each face.

Some gold from his purse on his father he prest,Took his leave for the night and retired to rest,Alas! from his pillow he never rose more,Before morning sun beamed, he was dead in his gore.He died by the hand of his sire.

Ah! see, in the morning, poor Mary she came,And asks for her lover, her William, by name,Our William’s not here both the parents replied,Oh yes! smiled Mary, he came here disguised.As a stranger, he’s dwelling with you.

Oh God! cried the father, then what have I done?Thro’ gold, cursed gold, I have murdered my son,Then with the same weapon himself did destroy,Saying, thus I avenge thee, Oh, William, my boy!Oh, Mercy! he cried and expired.

The mother soon died, and was laid in the tomb,And Mary, a maniac wildly did roam,All did her pity, though none could her save,She was found dead and cold on her true lover’s grave,On the grave of her lover so true.

I’ma broken hearted Gardener, and don’t know what to do,My love she is inconstant, and a fickle jade, too,One smile from her lips will never be forgot,It refreshes, like a shower from a watering pot.

Oh, Oh! she’s a fickle wild rose,A damask, a cabbage, a young China Rose.She’s my myrtle, my geranium,My Sun flower, my sweet marjorum,My honey suckle, my tulip, my violet,My holy hock, my dahlia, my mignonette.We grew up together like two apple trees,And clung to each other like double sweet peas,Now they’re going to trim her, and plant her in a pot,And I’m left to wither, neglected and forgot.She’s my snowdrop, my ranunculus,My hyacinth, my gilliflower, my polyanthus,My heart’s ease, my pink, water lily,My buttercup, my daisy, my daffydown dilly.I’m like a scarlet runner that has lost its stick,Or a cherry that’s left for the dickey to pick,Like a waterpot, I weep, like a paviour I sigh,Like a mushroom I’ll wither, like a cucumber, die.I’m like a humble bee that doesn’t know where to settle,And she’s a dandelion, and a stinging nettle,My heart’s like a beet root choked with chickweed,And my head’s like a pumpkin running to seed.I’m a great mind to make myself a felo-de-se,And finish all my woes on the branch of a tree:But I won’t, for I know at my kicking, you’d roar,And honour my death with a double encore.

Oh, Oh! she’s a fickle wild rose,A damask, a cabbage, a young China Rose.

She’s my myrtle, my geranium,My Sun flower, my sweet marjorum,My honey suckle, my tulip, my violet,My holy hock, my dahlia, my mignonette.

We grew up together like two apple trees,And clung to each other like double sweet peas,Now they’re going to trim her, and plant her in a pot,And I’m left to wither, neglected and forgot.

She’s my snowdrop, my ranunculus,My hyacinth, my gilliflower, my polyanthus,My heart’s ease, my pink, water lily,My buttercup, my daisy, my daffydown dilly.

I’m like a scarlet runner that has lost its stick,Or a cherry that’s left for the dickey to pick,Like a waterpot, I weep, like a paviour I sigh,Like a mushroom I’ll wither, like a cucumber, die.

I’m like a humble bee that doesn’t know where to settle,And she’s a dandelion, and a stinging nettle,My heart’s like a beet root choked with chickweed,And my head’s like a pumpkin running to seed.

I’m a great mind to make myself a felo-de-se,And finish all my woes on the branch of a tree:But I won’t, for I know at my kicking, you’d roar,And honour my death with a double encore.

Ofall the days throughout the year,There was never one, I say,That could come up in former times,At all to Boxing Day.But in the windows now you’ll see,How shocking, I declare,Notice! recollect, no Christmas BoxesWill be given here.

In former times, how folks would spree,So lively, brisk and gay,Such jolly games there used to beUpon a Boxing Day.Some folks are mean, as may be seen,Who plenty have in store,And strive outright, with all their might,To trample on the poor.It was not so in former times,For every class together,Stroll to the Play, on Boxing Day,Like Birds of every feather.The beadles out a boxing went,So did old women too,The dustman out a boxing went,A whistling—Dust O!Some would dance, and some would sing,And some a noise would keep,And some would in the watch house go,To get a lodging cheap.In grandfather’s and grandmother’s days,Folks through the streets were led,There were no police with rolling pins,To break the people’s heads;They did not Polka dresses wear,Or bustles on their rumps,And shop boys did not smoke cigars,Made out of Cabbage Stumps.Now up and down old London Town,In windows every where,There are bills that say, No Christmas boxesWill be given here.They may put their Christmas boxes up,Said Bet to her old man,And then she boxed him round the room,And broke the frying pan.Now all old ancient customs willBe quickly done away,Here’s a happy new Year, and may you liveTill another Boxing day:But may Old Nick a visit payTo them both far and near,Who in their windows put,No Christmas Boxes given here.

In former times, how folks would spree,So lively, brisk and gay,Such jolly games there used to beUpon a Boxing Day.

Some folks are mean, as may be seen,Who plenty have in store,And strive outright, with all their might,To trample on the poor.It was not so in former times,For every class together,Stroll to the Play, on Boxing Day,Like Birds of every feather.

The beadles out a boxing went,So did old women too,The dustman out a boxing went,A whistling—Dust O!Some would dance, and some would sing,And some a noise would keep,And some would in the watch house go,To get a lodging cheap.

In grandfather’s and grandmother’s days,Folks through the streets were led,There were no police with rolling pins,To break the people’s heads;They did not Polka dresses wear,Or bustles on their rumps,And shop boys did not smoke cigars,Made out of Cabbage Stumps.

Now up and down old London Town,In windows every where,There are bills that say, No Christmas boxesWill be given here.They may put their Christmas boxes up,Said Bet to her old man,And then she boxed him round the room,And broke the frying pan.

Now all old ancient customs willBe quickly done away,Here’s a happy new Year, and may you liveTill another Boxing day:But may Old Nick a visit payTo them both far and near,Who in their windows put,No Christmas Boxes given here.

Theillustration to this ballad has evidently done duty for a portion (most probably Macheath’s song of “How happy could I be with either”) of the “Beggar’s Opera,” first played at Lincoln’s Inn Fields Theatre, 1728. TheCommode, or cap, of the ladies is that of the reign of Queen Anne; but it is probable that highwaymen’s female friends did not dress in the height of the fashion.

Tothe tourist of London, who’s curious in fact,I’ll point out some things in the principal tracts.Two places there are, where the poor and the rich,Live so like each other, there’s no telling which.One parish, St. James’s,par excellencecall’d,The West end of town and the fashionable world;The other St. Giles’s, if true rumour speaks,Is inhabited solely by Emigrant Greeks.

So don’t be astonished at what I shall say,St. James and St. Giles I have seen in my day,In the former they live on the National Debt,In the latter they live on what they can get.In St. James’s there is but one Palace, I swear,In St. Giles’s Gin Palaces everywhere,At the Court of St. James’s they hang out the flags,Up a Court at St. Giles’s they hang out the rags.The Swells at St. James’s go shooting at noon,In St. Giles’s the people go shooting the moon.[72]In St James’s Hotel, boots are welted by nobs,In St. Giles’s the welting is done by the snobs.In St. James’s the nobs to the Opera go,Because they can’t bear anything that is low,In St. Giles’s that being too slap-up, ’tis agreed,To go to the stall of “the Garden” instead.In St. James’s there’s military pensioners dwell,In St. Giles’s there’s lots of Old Soldiers[73]as well;In St. James’s they pay, when a regiment they choose,In St. Giles’s, for nothing, they get “in the Blues.”In St. James’s they keep up their spirits with wine,In St. Giles’s they’re drunk on “blue ruin”[74]by nine,In St. James’s they banquet on Silver, in state,In St. Giles’s the same, with a twopenny plate.In St. James’s the Officers mess at their Club.In St. Giles’s they often have messes for grub;In St. James’s they feed on the highest of game,In St. Giles’s they live on foulairjust the same.A Lord in St. James’s his betting book keeps,In the Derby, St. Giles’s has plenty of sweeps;In St. James’s they gamble at hazard for crowns,And they play in St. Giles’s at skittles for browns.In St. James’s the authors, when the Muses inspire,Dash off with a touch of D’Israeli’s fire;In St. Giles’s original ballads by Bunn,Are done by the poet of Moses and Son.In St. James’s Pall Mall is considered polite,In St. Giles’s pell mell in the gutter they fight,In St. James’s Conservative principles run,In St. Giles’s, the principle’s nuffink to none.In St. James’s fraternity goeth ahead,In St. Giles’s they fraternize ten in a bed;In St. James’s the families march out of town,In St. Giles’s Bill Simmons to Brixton goes down.In St. James’s in calling the morning is spent,In St. Giles’s, the landlord calls for his rent,In St. James’s the Queen holds a drawing-room gay.In St. Giles’s Mr. Smith holds a garret all day.In St. James’s the togs are got out very bright,In St. Giles’s they’re got out every Saturday night,In St. James’s they sleep on down pillows and snore,In St. Giles’s the same, but it’s down on the floor.Now, comparisons mostly are odious I’ve heard,And such being the case, I think it absurdTo say any more on the subject just now,For fear of offending the high or the low.But next time I travel those parts of the town,Some further particulars, Sir, shall go down.Of the Sweets of St. James’s with bitters mixed in,In St. Giles’s the bitters are mixed up with gin.

So don’t be astonished at what I shall say,St. James and St. Giles I have seen in my day,In the former they live on the National Debt,In the latter they live on what they can get.

In St. James’s there is but one Palace, I swear,In St. Giles’s Gin Palaces everywhere,At the Court of St. James’s they hang out the flags,Up a Court at St. Giles’s they hang out the rags.The Swells at St. James’s go shooting at noon,In St. Giles’s the people go shooting the moon.[72]In St James’s Hotel, boots are welted by nobs,In St. Giles’s the welting is done by the snobs.

In St. James’s the nobs to the Opera go,Because they can’t bear anything that is low,In St. Giles’s that being too slap-up, ’tis agreed,To go to the stall of “the Garden” instead.In St. James’s there’s military pensioners dwell,In St. Giles’s there’s lots of Old Soldiers[73]as well;In St. James’s they pay, when a regiment they choose,In St. Giles’s, for nothing, they get “in the Blues.”

In St. James’s they keep up their spirits with wine,In St. Giles’s they’re drunk on “blue ruin”[74]by nine,In St. James’s they banquet on Silver, in state,In St. Giles’s the same, with a twopenny plate.In St. James’s the Officers mess at their Club.In St. Giles’s they often have messes for grub;In St. James’s they feed on the highest of game,In St. Giles’s they live on foulairjust the same.

A Lord in St. James’s his betting book keeps,In the Derby, St. Giles’s has plenty of sweeps;In St. James’s they gamble at hazard for crowns,And they play in St. Giles’s at skittles for browns.In St. James’s the authors, when the Muses inspire,Dash off with a touch of D’Israeli’s fire;In St. Giles’s original ballads by Bunn,Are done by the poet of Moses and Son.

In St. James’s Pall Mall is considered polite,In St. Giles’s pell mell in the gutter they fight,In St. James’s Conservative principles run,In St. Giles’s, the principle’s nuffink to none.In St. James’s fraternity goeth ahead,In St. Giles’s they fraternize ten in a bed;In St. James’s the families march out of town,In St. Giles’s Bill Simmons to Brixton goes down.

In St. James’s in calling the morning is spent,In St. Giles’s, the landlord calls for his rent,In St. James’s the Queen holds a drawing-room gay.In St. Giles’s Mr. Smith holds a garret all day.In St. James’s the togs are got out very bright,In St. Giles’s they’re got out every Saturday night,In St. James’s they sleep on down pillows and snore,In St. Giles’s the same, but it’s down on the floor.

Now, comparisons mostly are odious I’ve heard,And such being the case, I think it absurdTo say any more on the subject just now,For fear of offending the high or the low.But next time I travel those parts of the town,Some further particulars, Sir, shall go down.Of the Sweets of St. James’s with bitters mixed in,In St. Giles’s the bitters are mixed up with gin.

Itwas Ips, Gips, and Johnson, as I’ve heard many say,They had five hundred guineas, all on a market day:As they rode over Northumberland, as hard as they could ride,Oh, hark, Oh, hark, says Johnson, I hear a woman cry.Then Johnson, being a valiant man, a man of courage bold,He ranged the woods all over, till this woman he did behold,How came you here? says Johnson, how came you here I pray,I am come here to relieve you, if you will not me betray.There have been ten swaggering blades, have hand and foot me bound,And stripped me stark naked, with my hair pinn’d on the ground;Then Johnson, being a valiant man, a man of courage bold,He took his coat from off his back, to keep her from the cold.As they rode over Northumberland, as hard as they could ride,She put her fingers in her ears, and dismally she cried,Then up start ten swaggering blades, with weapons in their hand,And, riding up to Johnson, they bid him for to stand.It’s I’ll not stand, said Ipson, then no indeed, not I,Nor, I’ll not stand, said Gipson, I’d sooner live than die.Then I will stand, said Johnson, I’ll stand the while I can,I never yet was daunted, nor afraid of any man.Then Johnson drew his glittering sword, with all his might and main,So well he laid upon them, that eight of them were slain:As he was fighting the other two, this woman he did not mind,She took the knife all from his side, and ripped him up behind.Now I must fall, says Johnson, I must fall unto the ground,For relieving this wicked woman, she gave me my death wound;Oh base woman, Oh base woman, whatever hast thou done,Thou hast killed the finest butcher that ever the sun shone on.This happened on a Market Day, as people were riding by,To see this dreadful murder, they gave the hue and cry,It’s now this woman’s taken, and bound in irons strong,For killing the finest butcher that ever the sun shone on.

Then Johnson, being a valiant man, a man of courage bold,He ranged the woods all over, till this woman he did behold,How came you here? says Johnson, how came you here I pray,I am come here to relieve you, if you will not me betray.

There have been ten swaggering blades, have hand and foot me bound,And stripped me stark naked, with my hair pinn’d on the ground;Then Johnson, being a valiant man, a man of courage bold,He took his coat from off his back, to keep her from the cold.

As they rode over Northumberland, as hard as they could ride,She put her fingers in her ears, and dismally she cried,Then up start ten swaggering blades, with weapons in their hand,And, riding up to Johnson, they bid him for to stand.

It’s I’ll not stand, said Ipson, then no indeed, not I,Nor, I’ll not stand, said Gipson, I’d sooner live than die.Then I will stand, said Johnson, I’ll stand the while I can,I never yet was daunted, nor afraid of any man.

Then Johnson drew his glittering sword, with all his might and main,So well he laid upon them, that eight of them were slain:As he was fighting the other two, this woman he did not mind,She took the knife all from his side, and ripped him up behind.

Now I must fall, says Johnson, I must fall unto the ground,For relieving this wicked woman, she gave me my death wound;Oh base woman, Oh base woman, whatever hast thou done,Thou hast killed the finest butcher that ever the sun shone on.

This happened on a Market Day, as people were riding by,To see this dreadful murder, they gave the hue and cry,It’s now this woman’s taken, and bound in irons strong,For killing the finest butcher that ever the sun shone on.

THE END.PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.

WORKS BY JOHN ASHTON.Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each.A HISTORY OF THE CHAP-BOOKS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. With nearly 400 Illustrations, engraved in facsimile of the originals.SOCIAL LIFE IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE. From Original Sources. With nearly 100 Illustrations.HUMOUR, WIT, AND SATIRE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. With nearly 100 Illustrations.ENGLISH CARICATURE AND SATIRE ON NAPOLEON THE FIRST. With 115 Illustrations.MODERN STREET BALLADS. With 56 Illustrations.LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY.

WORKS BY JOHN ASHTON.

Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each.

A HISTORY OF THE CHAP-BOOKS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. With nearly 400 Illustrations, engraved in facsimile of the originals.SOCIAL LIFE IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE. From Original Sources. With nearly 100 Illustrations.HUMOUR, WIT, AND SATIRE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. With nearly 100 Illustrations.ENGLISH CARICATURE AND SATIRE ON NAPOLEON THE FIRST. With 115 Illustrations.MODERN STREET BALLADS. With 56 Illustrations.

A HISTORY OF THE CHAP-BOOKS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. With nearly 400 Illustrations, engraved in facsimile of the originals.

SOCIAL LIFE IN THE REIGN OF QUEEN ANNE. From Original Sources. With nearly 100 Illustrations.

HUMOUR, WIT, AND SATIRE OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. With nearly 100 Illustrations.

ENGLISH CARICATURE AND SATIRE ON NAPOLEON THE FIRST. With 115 Illustrations.

MODERN STREET BALLADS. With 56 Illustrations.

LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY.

FOOTNOTES:[1]One of whose colophons I use as a tailpiece.[2]As applied to tailors, “cabbage” means the remnants of cloth stolen in making up garments. The goose is the large iron used for pressing the seams, etc.[3]Written in 1815.[4]Referring to the famous O.P. (Old Prices) riots.[5]Sir Robert Peel started the present income tax, which became law, June 22, 1842, at sevenpence in the pound.[6]Her Majesty pays Income Tax on her private property, like any of her subjects.[7]Cant name for gin.[8]It falls to the lot of the drummers in the army to flog, whenever corporal punishment is decreed.[9]By this is probably meant the Act 1 & 2 Will. IV. cap. 22.[10]A parody on Jetty Treffz’ famous song, “Trab, Trab, Trab,” at Jullien’s Promenade Concerts in 1850. This parody is exceedingly humorous, being the story of how an exceedingly fat man hired a cab and drove all over London.[11]Unconsumed carbon, the deposit of very gaseous coal, which wraps round the bars, until it finally parts and is blown away. Its sign was, in my young days, that a stranger would visit the house ere the day was over.[12]This is a cant term for a quartern of gin served in three glasses, which, between them, exactly hold the quantity.[13]This word seems simply to be used in order to make up a rhyme. Of course, there are wattles of turkeys and wattles (hurdles), but neither are applicable.[14]The Reverend Theobald Mathew, the famous advocate and apostle of Temperance, was born at Thomastown, Co. Tipperary, Ireland, October 10, 1790. He was ordained in 1814, and was appointed to a chapel in Cork. Here he interested himself much in the condition of the poor, and in 1838, his attention having been called by a Quaker to the evils of drunkenness, he began his famous total abstinence campaign, enrolling in the course of five months one hundred and fifty thousand converts. On one visit to Galway he administered the pledge to one hundred thousand persons in one day. His influence over the working classes, especially of the Irish, was enormous, and the amount of good he did is incalculable. He did not confine his exertions in the cause of temperance to Ireland, but visited England and America. He died December 8, 1856.[15]Credit.[16]There is a line short in the original.[17]Hence the names of “Bobby” and “Peeler” as applied to the Police.[18]These four lines form the chorus.[19]dance somewhat similar to a Redowa, and in vogue about the time when the Polka was the rage.[20]See “Jullien’s Grand Polka.”[21]This verse is used as chorus.[22]There is a somewhat similar story in Dr. Andrew Boorde’s “Wise Man of Gotham,” printed in Henry the Eighth’s time, but thedénouementis not so pleasant, as the lady dismissed her lover with some very strong language.[23]A parody on the very popularlied, “Trab, Trab, Trab,” sung by Fraulien Jetty Treffz at Jullien’s Promenade Concerts, 1850, etc.[24]This song is old, for it was introduced by Bannister in “Peeping Tom,” and it was set to music by Dr. Arnold.[25]Richard Martin exerted himself especially in the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.[26]This notice still survives in some parts of the suburbs; and the barber’s pole, striped with its bandages, indicative of bleeding, is fast becoming obsolete.[27]A form of marriage practised among the gipsies.[28]This song was in vogue, as far as I can learn, about 1854 or 1855.[29]Elegy.[30]ThePenny Magazinewas first published on March 31, 1832, and its success was such, that the Chap books vanished as if by magic, and a new and purer popular literature sprung up.[31]This was the supposed site of a bloody battle between the ancient Britons and the Romans.[32]This was a small mountain of refuse, dust, and ashes, which, although unsightly, was as profitable as were the heaps of Mr. Boffin in Charles Dickens’s “Our Mutual Friend.” This mound, so it is said, once had a curious clearance. It was bought, in its entirety, and sent over to Russia, to help make bricks to rebuild Moscow; and the ground on which it stood was sold to a company for £15,000.[33]Breeze is the technical term for the sifted ashes mixed with the clay to make inferior bricks, which are “clamp” burnt,i.e.in large stacks.[34]In George IV.’s reign a statue was erected to him at Battle Bridge, and the neighbourhood renamed King’s Cross. It surmounted aCamera obscura, and this was atop of a building, which in its turn, was alternately a police station and a public-house. It was a miserable affair, only made of brick and cement, and, after cumbering the ground for a few years, it was pulled down.[35]Gully was a prize-fighter—was made one of the Royal pages at the coronation of George IV., took to the turf and kept racehorses, and was M.P. for Pontefract.[36]A false shirt-front.[37]Leaving a house, or apartments, without paying rent.[38]A Workhouse, so called because of the loss of personal liberty when once in “the House.” The House of Correction, Coldbath Fields, now done away with, was called “the Bastille,” and to its dying day was known to the criminal classes as “the Steel.”[39]A strike is four pecks or one bushel,strike measure, which would make wheat eight guineas per quarter.[40]The writer of this makes no mention of the advantages the labourer had in those days, low rent, meal, skim milk, etc., and constant work, wet or fine. Money then had more purchasing power, and eight shillings was worth at least fifteen of the present currency. Now, thanks to Mr. Joseph Arch and other agitators, the agricultural labourer has, presumably, higher wages, but he has higher rent to pay, his privileges are curtailed or annulled, and he has lost the sympathy of his employer. Paid by the hour, he is discharged as soon as it comes on to rain hard, instead of, as in the old days, being paid for a whole day, even if he only worked part of it.[41]Story.[42]October 20, 1827.[43]This is supposed to refer to some frolic of William IV.’s when he was Duke of Clarence, and properly belongs to last century.[44]This story is supposed to be told of William IV.[45]The date of this ballad is evidently 1837, soon after the Queen’s accession.[46]This, in all probability, was the Peace of 1814.[47]There is a well-authenticated instance (seeTimes, November 4, 1799) of a Miss Talbot, who followed her lover as a seaman, and, afterwards quarrelling with him, she enlisted in the army; but her love of the sea was unconquerable, and she joined the Navy, being present on board Earl St. Vincent’s ship on February 14, and again was under fire at Camperdown.[48]I have heard this verse sung thus:Now the losing of the Prentice boysIt grieved the Captain sore,But the losing of the great big whale,It grieved him very much more.[49]Her Majesty’s accession to the throne took place on June 20, 1837.[50]The Queen was married on February 10, 1840.[51]Jupiter appeared to Danaë as a shower of gold.[52]This event took place November 9, 1841.[53]1849.[54]Scotland, September, 1844; Ireland, August, 1849.[55]August 18, 1855.[56]Prince Albert was at one time very unpopular in England. His advising the Queen, and consequent intimate and personal knowledge of all that was going on during the Russian war, coupled with the fact that he was a foreigner, led the unthinking to believe that he was secretly helping Russia—a report of which he seems to have been well aware (videSir T. Martin’s “Life of the Prince Consort,” vol. iii. p. 219, March, 1855). I recollect very well the rumour that he had been imprisoned in the Tower, and a comic paper had an engraving of two cabmen meeting, and one saying to the other, “Have yer ’eard the noose? Vhy, Prince Halbert along with two other Commander-in-Chiefs have been sent to the Tower; which Lewis Napoleon diwulged ’em a sending of five pound notes to the Emperor of Rooshia, and so he blowed the gaff” (told of them).[57]1815.[58]He died from the effects of a fall from his horse.[59]Died September 14, 1852; lay in state at Chelsea Hospital from November 10 to 17; buried at St. Paul’s, November 18.[60]When this ballad was written, the Lords might vote by proxy, and a minister, or his opponent, might, and did, produce enough (either to gain or lose a measure) of votes from Peers who were too lazy to attend.[61]The counties of York and Lancaster were very early in the field in espousing the cause of the Anti-Corn-Law League.[62]The “National Anti-Corn-Law League Free Trade Bazaar,” held at Covent Garden Theatre, May 8, 9, 10, 12, 1845.[63]Repeat as chorus last two lines of each verse.[64]A song relating to the celebration (in London) of the Peace of 1815.[65]This song was sung by W. H. Williams, in his entertainment of “Wine and Walnuts,” and by C. Taylor at Vauxhall.[66]Gold was discovered in Australia in 1851.[67]A hog is cant for a shilling.[68]A quartern “tin” loaf.[69]Executed June 14, 1856.[70]A high-class gambling house in St. James’s Street.[71]A dandy of the first water in the time of the Regency. His vanity was superlative. He essayed to play Romeo, creating nothing but roars of laughter in the house. In the scene where Romeo dies, the audience applauded him ironically; but he took it in earnest, and, getting up, bowed, anddied again, first of all carefully dusting the stage.[72]Cant term for leaving lodgings without paying.[73]Red herrings.[74]Gin.

FOOTNOTES:

[1]One of whose colophons I use as a tailpiece.

[2]As applied to tailors, “cabbage” means the remnants of cloth stolen in making up garments. The goose is the large iron used for pressing the seams, etc.

[3]Written in 1815.

[4]Referring to the famous O.P. (Old Prices) riots.

[5]Sir Robert Peel started the present income tax, which became law, June 22, 1842, at sevenpence in the pound.

[6]Her Majesty pays Income Tax on her private property, like any of her subjects.

[7]Cant name for gin.

[8]It falls to the lot of the drummers in the army to flog, whenever corporal punishment is decreed.

[9]By this is probably meant the Act 1 & 2 Will. IV. cap. 22.

[10]A parody on Jetty Treffz’ famous song, “Trab, Trab, Trab,” at Jullien’s Promenade Concerts in 1850. This parody is exceedingly humorous, being the story of how an exceedingly fat man hired a cab and drove all over London.

[11]Unconsumed carbon, the deposit of very gaseous coal, which wraps round the bars, until it finally parts and is blown away. Its sign was, in my young days, that a stranger would visit the house ere the day was over.

[12]This is a cant term for a quartern of gin served in three glasses, which, between them, exactly hold the quantity.

[13]This word seems simply to be used in order to make up a rhyme. Of course, there are wattles of turkeys and wattles (hurdles), but neither are applicable.

[14]The Reverend Theobald Mathew, the famous advocate and apostle of Temperance, was born at Thomastown, Co. Tipperary, Ireland, October 10, 1790. He was ordained in 1814, and was appointed to a chapel in Cork. Here he interested himself much in the condition of the poor, and in 1838, his attention having been called by a Quaker to the evils of drunkenness, he began his famous total abstinence campaign, enrolling in the course of five months one hundred and fifty thousand converts. On one visit to Galway he administered the pledge to one hundred thousand persons in one day. His influence over the working classes, especially of the Irish, was enormous, and the amount of good he did is incalculable. He did not confine his exertions in the cause of temperance to Ireland, but visited England and America. He died December 8, 1856.

[15]Credit.

[16]There is a line short in the original.

[17]Hence the names of “Bobby” and “Peeler” as applied to the Police.

[18]These four lines form the chorus.

[19]dance somewhat similar to a Redowa, and in vogue about the time when the Polka was the rage.

[20]See “Jullien’s Grand Polka.”

[21]This verse is used as chorus.

[22]There is a somewhat similar story in Dr. Andrew Boorde’s “Wise Man of Gotham,” printed in Henry the Eighth’s time, but thedénouementis not so pleasant, as the lady dismissed her lover with some very strong language.

[23]A parody on the very popularlied, “Trab, Trab, Trab,” sung by Fraulien Jetty Treffz at Jullien’s Promenade Concerts, 1850, etc.

[24]This song is old, for it was introduced by Bannister in “Peeping Tom,” and it was set to music by Dr. Arnold.

[25]Richard Martin exerted himself especially in the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

[26]This notice still survives in some parts of the suburbs; and the barber’s pole, striped with its bandages, indicative of bleeding, is fast becoming obsolete.

[27]A form of marriage practised among the gipsies.

[28]This song was in vogue, as far as I can learn, about 1854 or 1855.

[29]Elegy.

[30]ThePenny Magazinewas first published on March 31, 1832, and its success was such, that the Chap books vanished as if by magic, and a new and purer popular literature sprung up.

[31]This was the supposed site of a bloody battle between the ancient Britons and the Romans.

[32]This was a small mountain of refuse, dust, and ashes, which, although unsightly, was as profitable as were the heaps of Mr. Boffin in Charles Dickens’s “Our Mutual Friend.” This mound, so it is said, once had a curious clearance. It was bought, in its entirety, and sent over to Russia, to help make bricks to rebuild Moscow; and the ground on which it stood was sold to a company for £15,000.

[33]Breeze is the technical term for the sifted ashes mixed with the clay to make inferior bricks, which are “clamp” burnt,i.e.in large stacks.

[34]In George IV.’s reign a statue was erected to him at Battle Bridge, and the neighbourhood renamed King’s Cross. It surmounted aCamera obscura, and this was atop of a building, which in its turn, was alternately a police station and a public-house. It was a miserable affair, only made of brick and cement, and, after cumbering the ground for a few years, it was pulled down.

[35]Gully was a prize-fighter—was made one of the Royal pages at the coronation of George IV., took to the turf and kept racehorses, and was M.P. for Pontefract.

[36]A false shirt-front.

[37]Leaving a house, or apartments, without paying rent.

[38]A Workhouse, so called because of the loss of personal liberty when once in “the House.” The House of Correction, Coldbath Fields, now done away with, was called “the Bastille,” and to its dying day was known to the criminal classes as “the Steel.”

[39]A strike is four pecks or one bushel,strike measure, which would make wheat eight guineas per quarter.

[40]The writer of this makes no mention of the advantages the labourer had in those days, low rent, meal, skim milk, etc., and constant work, wet or fine. Money then had more purchasing power, and eight shillings was worth at least fifteen of the present currency. Now, thanks to Mr. Joseph Arch and other agitators, the agricultural labourer has, presumably, higher wages, but he has higher rent to pay, his privileges are curtailed or annulled, and he has lost the sympathy of his employer. Paid by the hour, he is discharged as soon as it comes on to rain hard, instead of, as in the old days, being paid for a whole day, even if he only worked part of it.

[41]Story.

[42]October 20, 1827.

[43]This is supposed to refer to some frolic of William IV.’s when he was Duke of Clarence, and properly belongs to last century.

[44]This story is supposed to be told of William IV.

[45]The date of this ballad is evidently 1837, soon after the Queen’s accession.

[46]This, in all probability, was the Peace of 1814.

[47]There is a well-authenticated instance (seeTimes, November 4, 1799) of a Miss Talbot, who followed her lover as a seaman, and, afterwards quarrelling with him, she enlisted in the army; but her love of the sea was unconquerable, and she joined the Navy, being present on board Earl St. Vincent’s ship on February 14, and again was under fire at Camperdown.

[48]I have heard this verse sung thus:Now the losing of the Prentice boysIt grieved the Captain sore,But the losing of the great big whale,It grieved him very much more.

[48]I have heard this verse sung thus:

Now the losing of the Prentice boysIt grieved the Captain sore,But the losing of the great big whale,It grieved him very much more.

[49]Her Majesty’s accession to the throne took place on June 20, 1837.

[50]The Queen was married on February 10, 1840.

[51]Jupiter appeared to Danaë as a shower of gold.

[52]This event took place November 9, 1841.

[53]1849.

[54]Scotland, September, 1844; Ireland, August, 1849.

[55]August 18, 1855.

[56]Prince Albert was at one time very unpopular in England. His advising the Queen, and consequent intimate and personal knowledge of all that was going on during the Russian war, coupled with the fact that he was a foreigner, led the unthinking to believe that he was secretly helping Russia—a report of which he seems to have been well aware (videSir T. Martin’s “Life of the Prince Consort,” vol. iii. p. 219, March, 1855). I recollect very well the rumour that he had been imprisoned in the Tower, and a comic paper had an engraving of two cabmen meeting, and one saying to the other, “Have yer ’eard the noose? Vhy, Prince Halbert along with two other Commander-in-Chiefs have been sent to the Tower; which Lewis Napoleon diwulged ’em a sending of five pound notes to the Emperor of Rooshia, and so he blowed the gaff” (told of them).

[57]1815.

[58]He died from the effects of a fall from his horse.

[59]Died September 14, 1852; lay in state at Chelsea Hospital from November 10 to 17; buried at St. Paul’s, November 18.

[60]When this ballad was written, the Lords might vote by proxy, and a minister, or his opponent, might, and did, produce enough (either to gain or lose a measure) of votes from Peers who were too lazy to attend.

[61]The counties of York and Lancaster were very early in the field in espousing the cause of the Anti-Corn-Law League.

[62]The “National Anti-Corn-Law League Free Trade Bazaar,” held at Covent Garden Theatre, May 8, 9, 10, 12, 1845.

[63]Repeat as chorus last two lines of each verse.

[64]A song relating to the celebration (in London) of the Peace of 1815.

[65]This song was sung by W. H. Williams, in his entertainment of “Wine and Walnuts,” and by C. Taylor at Vauxhall.

[66]Gold was discovered in Australia in 1851.

[67]A hog is cant for a shilling.

[68]A quartern “tin” loaf.

[69]Executed June 14, 1856.

[70]A high-class gambling house in St. James’s Street.

[71]A dandy of the first water in the time of the Regency. His vanity was superlative. He essayed to play Romeo, creating nothing but roars of laughter in the house. In the scene where Romeo dies, the audience applauded him ironically; but he took it in earnest, and, getting up, bowed, anddied again, first of all carefully dusting the stage.

[72]Cant term for leaving lodgings without paying.

[73]Red herrings.

[74]Gin.

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