In high renown with prince and peereNow liv'd sir Valentine:His high renown with prince and peereMade envious hearts repine.It chanc'd the king upon a day5Prepar'd a sumptuous feast:And there came lords, and dainty dames,And many a noble guest.Amid their cups, that freely flow'd,Their revelry, and mirth;10A youthful knight tax'd ValentineOf base and doubtful birth.The foul reproach, so grossly urg'd,His generous heart did wound:And strait he vow'd he ne'er would rest15Till he his parents found.Then bidding king and peers adieu,Early one summer's day,With faithful Ursine by his side,From court he took his way.20O'er hill and valley, moss and moor,For many a day they pass;At length upon a moated lake,[430]They found a bridge of brass.Beyond it rose a castle fair25Y-built of marble stone:The battlements were gilt with gold,And glittred in the sun.Beneath the bridge, with strange device,A hundred bells were hung;30That man, nor beast, might pass thereon,But strait their larum rung.This quickly found the youthful pair,Who boldly crossing o'er,The jangling sound bedeaft their ears,35And rung from shore to shore.Quick at the sound the castle gatesUnlock'd and opened wide,And strait a gyant huge and grimStalk'd forth with stately pride.40Now yield you, caytiffs, to my will;He cried with hideous roar;Or else the wolves shall eat your flesh,And ravens drink your gore.Vain boaster, said the youthful knight,45I scorn thy threats and thee:I trust to force thy brazen gates,And set thy captives free.Then putting spurs unto his steed,He aim'd a dreadful thrust:50The spear against the gyant glanc'd,And caus'd the blood to burst.Mad and outrageous with the pain,He whirl'd his mace of steel:The very wind of such a blow55Had made the champion reel.It haply mist; and now the knightHis glittering sword display'd,And riding round with whirlwind speedOft made him feel the blade.60As when a large and monstrous oakUnceasing axes hew:So fast around the gyant's limbsThe blows quick-darting flew.As when the boughs with hideous fall65Some hapless woodman crush:With such a force the enormous foeDid on the champion rush.A fearful blow, alas! there came,Both horse and knight it took.70And laid them senseless in the dust;So fatal was the stroke.Then smiling forth a hideous grin,The gyant strides in haste,And, stooping, aims a second stroke:75"Now caytiff breathe thy last!"But ere it fell, two thundering blowsUpon his scull descend:From Ursine's knotty club they came,Who ran to save his friend.80Down sunk the gyant gaping wide,And rolling his grim eyes:The hairy youth repeats his blows:He gasps, he groans, he dies.Quickly sir Valentine reviv'd85With Ursine's timely care:And now to search the castle wallsThe venturous youths repair.The blood and bones of murder'd knightsThey found where'er they came:90At length within a lonely cellThey saw a mournful dame.Her gentle eyes were dim'd with tears;Her cheeks were pale with woe:And long sir Valentine besought95Her doleful tale to know."Alas! young knight," she weeping said,"Condole my wretched fate:A childless mother here you see;A wife without a mate.100"These twenty winters here forlornI've drawn my hated breath;Sole witness of a monster's crimes,And wishing aye for death."Know, I am sister of a king;105And in my early yearsWas married to a mighty prince,The fairest of his peers."With him I sweetly liv'd in loveA twelvemonth and a day:110When, lo! a foul and treacherous priestY-wrought our loves' decay."His seeming goodness wan him pow'r;He had his master's ear:And long to me and all the world115He did a saint appear."One day, when we were all alone,He proffer'd odious love:The wretch with horrour I repuls'd,And from my presence drove.120"He feign'd remorse, and piteous beg'dHis crime I'd not reveal:Which, for his seeming penitence,I promis'd to conceal."With treason, villainy, and wrong125My goodness he repay'd:With jealous doubts he fill'd my lord,And me to woe betray'd."He hid a slave within my bed,Then rais'd a bitter cry.130My lord, possest with rage, condemn'dMe, all unheard, to dye."But 'cause I then was great with child,At length my life he spar'd;But bade me instant quit the realme,135One trusty knight my guard."Forth on my journey I depart,Opprest with grief and woe;And tow'rds my brother's distant court,With breaking heart, I goe.140"Long time thro' sundry foreign landsWe slowly pace along:At length within a forest wildI fell in labour strong:"And while the knight for succour sought,145And left me there forlorn,My childbed pains so fast increastTwo lovely boys were born."The eldest fair, and smooth, as snowThat tips the mountain hoar:150The younger's little body roughWith hairs was cover'd o'er."But here afresh begin my woes:While tender care I tookTo shield my eldest from the cold,155And wrap him in my cloak;"A prowling bear burst from the wood,And seiz'd my younger son:Affection lent my weakness wings,And after them I run.160"But all forewearied, weak and spent,I quickly swoon'd away;And there beneath the greenwood shadeLong time I lifeless lay."At length the knight brought me relief,165And rais'd me from the ground:But neither of my pretty babesCould ever more be found."And, while in search we wander'd far,We met that gyant grim;170Who ruthless slew my trusty knight,And bare me off with him."But charm'd by heav'n, or else my griefs,He offer'd me no wrong;Save that within these lonely walls175I've been immur'd so long."Now, surely, said the youthful knight,You are lady Bellisance,Wife to the Grecian emperor:Your brother's king of France.180For in your royal brother's courtMyself my breeding had;Where oft the story of your woesHath made my bosom sad.If so, know your accuser's dead,185And dying own'd his crime;And long your lord hath sought you outThro' every foreign clime.And when no tidings he could learnOf his much-wronged wife,190He vow'd thenceforth within his courtTo lead a hermit's life.Now heaven is kind! the lady said;And dropt a joyful tear:Shall I once more behold my lord?195That lord I love so dear?But, madam, said sir Valentine,And knelt upon his knee;Know you the cloak that wrapt your babe,If you the same should see?200And pulling forth the cloth of gold,In which himself was found;The lady gave a sudden shriek,And fainted on the ground.But by his pious care reviv'd,205His tale she heard anon;And soon by other tokens found,He was indeed her son.But who's this hairy youth? she said;He much resembles thee:210The bear devour'd my younger son,Or sure that son were he.Madam, this youth with bears was bred,And rear'd within their den.But recollect ye any mark215To know you son agen?Upon his little side, quoth she,Was stampt a bloody rose.Here, lady, see the crimson markUpon his body grows!220Then clasping both her new-found sonsShe bath'd their cheeks with tears;And soon towards hèr brother's courtHer joyful course she steers.What pen can paint king Pepin's joy,225His sister thus restor'd!And soon a messenger was sentTo cheer her drooping lord:Who came in haste with all his peers,To fetch her home to Greece;230Where many happy years they reign'dIn perfect love and peace.To them sir Ursine did succeed,And long the scepter bare.Sir Valentine he stay'd in France,235And was his uncle's heir.
In high renown with prince and peereNow liv'd sir Valentine:His high renown with prince and peereMade envious hearts repine.
It chanc'd the king upon a day5Prepar'd a sumptuous feast:And there came lords, and dainty dames,And many a noble guest.
Amid their cups, that freely flow'd,Their revelry, and mirth;10A youthful knight tax'd ValentineOf base and doubtful birth.
The foul reproach, so grossly urg'd,His generous heart did wound:And strait he vow'd he ne'er would rest15Till he his parents found.
Then bidding king and peers adieu,Early one summer's day,With faithful Ursine by his side,From court he took his way.20
O'er hill and valley, moss and moor,For many a day they pass;At length upon a moated lake,[430]They found a bridge of brass.
Beyond it rose a castle fair25Y-built of marble stone:The battlements were gilt with gold,And glittred in the sun.
Beneath the bridge, with strange device,A hundred bells were hung;30That man, nor beast, might pass thereon,But strait their larum rung.
This quickly found the youthful pair,Who boldly crossing o'er,The jangling sound bedeaft their ears,35And rung from shore to shore.
Quick at the sound the castle gatesUnlock'd and opened wide,And strait a gyant huge and grimStalk'd forth with stately pride.40
Now yield you, caytiffs, to my will;He cried with hideous roar;Or else the wolves shall eat your flesh,And ravens drink your gore.
Vain boaster, said the youthful knight,45I scorn thy threats and thee:I trust to force thy brazen gates,And set thy captives free.
Then putting spurs unto his steed,He aim'd a dreadful thrust:50The spear against the gyant glanc'd,And caus'd the blood to burst.
Mad and outrageous with the pain,He whirl'd his mace of steel:The very wind of such a blow55Had made the champion reel.
It haply mist; and now the knightHis glittering sword display'd,And riding round with whirlwind speedOft made him feel the blade.60
As when a large and monstrous oakUnceasing axes hew:So fast around the gyant's limbsThe blows quick-darting flew.
As when the boughs with hideous fall65Some hapless woodman crush:With such a force the enormous foeDid on the champion rush.
A fearful blow, alas! there came,Both horse and knight it took.70And laid them senseless in the dust;So fatal was the stroke.
Then smiling forth a hideous grin,The gyant strides in haste,And, stooping, aims a second stroke:75"Now caytiff breathe thy last!"
But ere it fell, two thundering blowsUpon his scull descend:From Ursine's knotty club they came,Who ran to save his friend.80
Down sunk the gyant gaping wide,And rolling his grim eyes:The hairy youth repeats his blows:He gasps, he groans, he dies.
Quickly sir Valentine reviv'd85With Ursine's timely care:And now to search the castle wallsThe venturous youths repair.
The blood and bones of murder'd knightsThey found where'er they came:90At length within a lonely cellThey saw a mournful dame.
Her gentle eyes were dim'd with tears;Her cheeks were pale with woe:And long sir Valentine besought95Her doleful tale to know.
"Alas! young knight," she weeping said,"Condole my wretched fate:A childless mother here you see;A wife without a mate.100
"These twenty winters here forlornI've drawn my hated breath;Sole witness of a monster's crimes,And wishing aye for death.
"Know, I am sister of a king;105And in my early yearsWas married to a mighty prince,The fairest of his peers.
"With him I sweetly liv'd in loveA twelvemonth and a day:110When, lo! a foul and treacherous priestY-wrought our loves' decay.
"His seeming goodness wan him pow'r;He had his master's ear:And long to me and all the world115He did a saint appear.
"One day, when we were all alone,He proffer'd odious love:The wretch with horrour I repuls'd,And from my presence drove.120
"He feign'd remorse, and piteous beg'dHis crime I'd not reveal:Which, for his seeming penitence,I promis'd to conceal.
"With treason, villainy, and wrong125My goodness he repay'd:With jealous doubts he fill'd my lord,And me to woe betray'd.
"He hid a slave within my bed,Then rais'd a bitter cry.130My lord, possest with rage, condemn'dMe, all unheard, to dye.
"But 'cause I then was great with child,At length my life he spar'd;But bade me instant quit the realme,135One trusty knight my guard.
"Forth on my journey I depart,Opprest with grief and woe;And tow'rds my brother's distant court,With breaking heart, I goe.140
"Long time thro' sundry foreign landsWe slowly pace along:At length within a forest wildI fell in labour strong:
"And while the knight for succour sought,145And left me there forlorn,My childbed pains so fast increastTwo lovely boys were born.
"The eldest fair, and smooth, as snowThat tips the mountain hoar:150The younger's little body roughWith hairs was cover'd o'er.
"But here afresh begin my woes:While tender care I tookTo shield my eldest from the cold,155And wrap him in my cloak;
"A prowling bear burst from the wood,And seiz'd my younger son:Affection lent my weakness wings,And after them I run.160
"But all forewearied, weak and spent,I quickly swoon'd away;And there beneath the greenwood shadeLong time I lifeless lay.
"At length the knight brought me relief,165And rais'd me from the ground:But neither of my pretty babesCould ever more be found.
"And, while in search we wander'd far,We met that gyant grim;170Who ruthless slew my trusty knight,And bare me off with him.
"But charm'd by heav'n, or else my griefs,He offer'd me no wrong;Save that within these lonely walls175I've been immur'd so long."
Now, surely, said the youthful knight,You are lady Bellisance,Wife to the Grecian emperor:Your brother's king of France.180
For in your royal brother's courtMyself my breeding had;Where oft the story of your woesHath made my bosom sad.
If so, know your accuser's dead,185And dying own'd his crime;And long your lord hath sought you outThro' every foreign clime.
And when no tidings he could learnOf his much-wronged wife,190He vow'd thenceforth within his courtTo lead a hermit's life.
Now heaven is kind! the lady said;And dropt a joyful tear:Shall I once more behold my lord?195That lord I love so dear?
But, madam, said sir Valentine,And knelt upon his knee;Know you the cloak that wrapt your babe,If you the same should see?200
And pulling forth the cloth of gold,In which himself was found;The lady gave a sudden shriek,And fainted on the ground.
But by his pious care reviv'd,205His tale she heard anon;And soon by other tokens found,He was indeed her son.
But who's this hairy youth? she said;He much resembles thee:210The bear devour'd my younger son,Or sure that son were he.
Madam, this youth with bears was bred,And rear'd within their den.But recollect ye any mark215To know you son agen?
Upon his little side, quoth she,Was stampt a bloody rose.Here, lady, see the crimson markUpon his body grows!220
Then clasping both her new-found sonsShe bath'd their cheeks with tears;And soon towards hèr brother's courtHer joyful course she steers.
What pen can paint king Pepin's joy,225His sister thus restor'd!And soon a messenger was sentTo cheer her drooping lord:
Who came in haste with all his peers,To fetch her home to Greece;230Where many happy years they reign'dIn perfect love and peace.
To them sir Ursine did succeed,And long the scepter bare.Sir Valentine he stay'd in France,235And was his uncle's heir.
⁂
FOOTNOTES:[430]Ver. 23.i.e.a lake that served for a moat to a castle.
[430]Ver. 23.i.e.a lake that served for a moat to a castle.
[430]Ver. 23.i.e.a lake that served for a moat to a castle.
Thishumourous song (as a former Editor[431]has well observed) is to old metrical romances and ballads of chivalry, whatDon Quixoteis to prose narratives of that kind:—a lively satire on their extravagant fictions. But altho' the satire is thus general, the subject of this ballad is local and peculiar: so that many of the finest strokes of humour are lost for want of our knowing the minute circumstances to which they allude. Many of them can hardly now be recovered, altho' we have been fortunate enough to learn the general subject to which the satire referred, and shall detail the information, with which we have been favoured, at the end of this introduction.
In handling his subject, the Author has brought in most of the common incidents which occur in romance. The description of the dragon[432]—his outrages—the people flying to the knight for succour—his care in chusing his armour—his being drest for fight by a young damsel—and most of the circumstances of the battle and victory (allowing for the burlesque turn given to them) are what occur in every book of chivalry, whether in prose or verse.
If any one piece, more than other, is more particularly levelled at, it seems to be the old rhiming legend of sir Bevis. There aDragonis attacked from aWellin a manner not very remote from this of the ballad:—
There was a well, so have I wynne,And Bevis stumbled ryght therein.* * * * *Than was he glad without fayle,And rested a whyle for his avayle;And dranke of that water his fyll;And then he lepte out, with good wyll,And with Morglay his brandeHe assayled the dragon, I understande:On the dragon he smote so faste,Where that he hit the scales braste:The dragon then faynted sore,And cast a galon and moreOut of his mouthe of venim strong,And on syr Bevis he it flong:It was venymous y-wis.
There was a well, so have I wynne,And Bevis stumbled ryght therein.* * * * *Than was he glad without fayle,And rested a whyle for his avayle;And dranke of that water his fyll;And then he lepte out, with good wyll,And with Morglay his brandeHe assayled the dragon, I understande:On the dragon he smote so faste,Where that he hit the scales braste:The dragon then faynted sore,And cast a galon and moreOut of his mouthe of venim strong,And on syr Bevis he it flong:It was venymous y-wis.
This seems to be meant by the Dragon of Wantley's stink, ver. 110. As the politick knight's creeping out, and attacking the dragon, &c. seems evidently to allude to the following:
Bevis blessed himselfe and forth yode,And lepte out with haste full good;And Bevis unto the dragon gone is;And the dragon also to Bevis.Longe, and harde was that fyghtBetwene the dragon, and that knyght:But ever whan syr Bevis was hurt sore,He went to the well, and washed him thore;He was as hole as any man,Ever freshe as whan he began.The dragon sawe it might not avayleBesyde the well to hold batayle;He thought he would, wyth some wyle,Out of that place Bevis begyle;He woulde have flowen then awaye,But Bevis lepte after with good Morglaye,And hyt him under the wynge,As he was in his flyenge, &c.
Bevis blessed himselfe and forth yode,And lepte out with haste full good;And Bevis unto the dragon gone is;And the dragon also to Bevis.Longe, and harde was that fyghtBetwene the dragon, and that knyght:But ever whan syr Bevis was hurt sore,He went to the well, and washed him thore;He was as hole as any man,Ever freshe as whan he began.The dragon sawe it might not avayleBesyde the well to hold batayle;He thought he would, wyth some wyle,Out of that place Bevis begyle;He woulde have flowen then awaye,But Bevis lepte after with good Morglaye,And hyt him under the wynge,As he was in his flyenge, &c.
Sign. M. jv. L. j. &c.
After all, perhaps the writer of this ballad was acquainted with the above incidents only thro' the medium of Spenser, who has assumed most of them in hisFaery Queen. At least some particulars in the description of the Dragon, &c. seem evidently borrowed from the latter. See book i. canto 11, where the Dragon's "two wynges like sayls—huge long tayl—with stings—his cruel rending clawes—and yron teeth—his breath of smothering smoke and sulphur"—and the duration of the fight for upwards of two days, bear a great resemblance to passages in the following ballad; though it must be confessed that these particulars are common to all old writers of romance.
Altho' this ballad must have been written early in the last century, we have met with none but such as were comparatively modern copies. It is here printed from one in Roman letter, in the Pepys collection, collated with such others as could be procured.
A description of the supposed scene of this ballad, which was communicated to the Editor in 1767, is here given in the words of the relater:—
"In Yorkshire, 6 miles from Rotherham, is a village, calledWortley, the seat of the lateWortley Montague, Esq. About a mile from this village is a lodge, namedWarncliff Lodge, but vulgarly calledWantley: here lies the scene of the song. I was there about forty years ago: and it being a woody rocky place, my friend made me clamber over rocks and stones, not telling me to what end, till I came to a sort of a cave; then asked my opinion of the place, and pointing to one end, says, Here lay the dragon killed byMoorofMoor-hall: here lay his head; here lay his tail; and the stones we came over on the hill, are those he could not crack; and yon white house you see half a mile off, isMoor-hall. I had dined at the lodge, and knew the man's name wasMatthew, who was a keeper to Mr. Wortley, and, as he endeavoured to persuade me, was the same Matthew mentioned in the song: In the house is the picture of the Dragon and Moor of Moor-hall, and near it a well, which, says he, is the well described in the ballad."
Since the former editions of this humorous old song were printed, the followingKey to the Satirehath been communicated byGodfreyBosville, Esq. of Thorp, near Malton, in Yorkshire; who, in the most obliging manner, gave full permission to adjoin it to the poem.
WarncliffeLodge, andWarncliffeWood (vulgarly pronouncedWantley), are in the parish of Penniston, in Yorkshire. The rectory of Penniston was part of the dissolved monastery of St. Stephen's, Westminster; and was granted to the Duke of Norfolk's family: who therewith endowed an hospital, which he built at Sheffield, for women. The trustees let the impropriation of the great Tythes of Penniston to the Wortley family, who got a great deal by it, and wanted to get still more; for Mr. Nicholas Wortley attempted to take the tythes in kind, but Mr. Francis Bosville opposed him, and there was a decree in favour of the Modus in 37th Eliz. The vicarage of Penniston did not go along with the rectory, but with the copyhold rents, and was part of a large purchase made by Ralph Bosville, Esq. from Q. Elizabeth, in the 2d year of her reign: and that part he sold in 12th Eliz. to his elder brother Godfrey, the father of Francis; who left it, with the rest of his estate, to his wife, for her life, and then to Ralph,3d son of his uncle Ralph. The widow married Lyonel Rowlestone, lived eighteen years, and survived Ralph.
This premised, the ballad apparently relates to the law-suit carried on concerning this claim of tythes made by the Wortley family. "Houses and churches, were to him geese and turkeys:" which are tytheable things, the dragon chose to live on. Sir Francis Wortley, the son of Nicholas, attempted again to take the tythes in kind: but the parishioners subscribed an agreement to defend their Modus. And at the head of the agreement was Lyonel Rowlestone, who is supposed to be one of "the Stones, dear Jack, which the Dragon could not crack." The agreement is still preserved in a large sheet of parchment, dated 1st of James I., and is full of names and seals, which might be meant by the coat of armour, "with spikes all about, both within and without."MoreofMore-hallwas either the attorney, or counsellor, who conducted the suit. He is not distinctly remembered, but More-hall is still extant at the very bottom of Wantley [Warncliff] Wood, and lies so low, that it might be said to be in a well: as the dragon's den [Warncliff Lodge] was at the top of the wood, "with Matthew's house hard by it." The keepers belonging to the Wortley family were named, for many generations, Matthew Northall: the last of them left this lodge, within memory, to be keeper to the Duke of Norfolk. The present owner of More-hall still attends Mr. Bosville's Manor-Court at Oxspring, and pays a rose a year. "More of More-hall, with nothing at all, slew the Dragon of Wantley." He gave him, instead of tythes, so small a Modus, that it was in effect nothing at all, and was slaying him with a vengeance. "The poor children three," &c. cannot surely mean the three sisters of Francis Bosville, who would have been coheiresses, had he made no will? The late Mr. Bosville had a contest with the descendants of two of them, the late Sir Geo. Saville's father, and Mr. Copley, about the presentation to Penniston, they supposing Francis had not the power to give this part of the estate from the heirs at law; but it was decided against them. The dragon (Sir Francis Wortley) succeeded better with his cousin Wordesworth, the freehold lord of the manor (for it is the copyhold manor that belongs to Mr. Bosville) having persuaded him not to join the refractory parishioners, under a promise that he would let him his tythes cheap: and now the estates of Wortley and Wordesworth are the only lands that pay tythes in the parish.
N.B. "Two days and a night," mentioned in ver. 125, as the duration of the combat, was probably that of the trial at law.
[In Gough's edition of Camden'sBritanniawe learn that "Sir Thomas Wortley, who was knight of the body to Edward IV.,Richard III., Henry VII. and VIII., built a lodge in his chace of Warncliffe, and had a house and park there, disparked in the Civil War."Mr. Gilfillan has the following note in his edition of theReliques, "A legend current in the Wortley family states the dragon to have been a formidable drinker, drunk dead by the chieftain of the opposite moors. Ellis thinks it was a wolf or some other fierce animal hunted down by More of More-hall." A writer in theNotes andQueries(3rd S. ix. 29), who signs himself "Fitzhopkins," expresses his disbelief in the above explanation communicated to Percy by Godfrey Bosville.]
[In Gough's edition of Camden'sBritanniawe learn that "Sir Thomas Wortley, who was knight of the body to Edward IV.,Richard III., Henry VII. and VIII., built a lodge in his chace of Warncliffe, and had a house and park there, disparked in the Civil War."
Mr. Gilfillan has the following note in his edition of theReliques, "A legend current in the Wortley family states the dragon to have been a formidable drinker, drunk dead by the chieftain of the opposite moors. Ellis thinks it was a wolf or some other fierce animal hunted down by More of More-hall." A writer in theNotes andQueries(3rd S. ix. 29), who signs himself "Fitzhopkins," expresses his disbelief in the above explanation communicated to Percy by Godfrey Bosville.]
Old stories tell how HerculesA dragon slew at Lerna,With seven heads, and fourteen eyes,To see and well discern-a:But he had a club, this dragon to drub,5Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye:But More of More-Hall, with nothing at all,He slew the dragon of Wantley.This dragon had two furious wings,Each one upon each shoulder;10With a sting in his tayl as long as a flayl,Which made him bolder and bolder.He had long claws, and in his jawsFour and forty teeth of iron;With a hide as tough, as any buff,15Which did him round environ.Have you not heard how the Trojan horseHeld seventy men in his belly?This dragon was not quite so big,But very near, I'll tell ye.20Devoured he poor children three,That could not with him grapple;And at one sup he eat them up,As one would eat an apple.All sorts of cattle this dragon did eat.25Some say he ate up trees,And that the forests sure he wouldDevour up by degrees:For houses and churches were to him geese and turkies;[433]He ate all, and left none behind,30But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack,Which on the hills you will find.In Yorkshire, near fair Rotherham,[434]The place I know it well;Some two or three miles, or thereabouts,35I vow I cannot tell.But there is a hedge, just on the hill edge,And Matthew's house hard by it;O there and then was this dragon's den,You could not chuse but spy it.40Some say, this dragon was a witch;Some say, he was a devil,For from his nose a smoke arose,And with it burning snivel;Which he cast off, when he did cough,45In a well that he did stand by;Which made it look, just like a brookRunning with burning brandy.Hard by a furious knight there dwelt,Of whom all towns did ring;50For he could wrestle, play at quarter-staff, kick, cuff, and huff,Call son of a whore, do any kind of thing:By the tail and the main, with his hands twainHe swung a horse till he was dead;And that which is stranger, he for very anger55Eat him all up but his head.These children, as I am told, being eat;Men, women, girls and boys,Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging,And made a hideous noise:60O save us all, More of More-Hall,Thou peerless knight of these woods;Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on,We'll give thee all our goods.Tut, tut, quoth he, no goods I want;65But I want, I want, in sooth,A fair maid of sixteen, that's brisk, and keen,With smiles about the mouth;Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow,With blushes her cheeks adorning;70To anoynt me o'er night, ere I go to fight,And to dress me in the morning.This being done, he did engageTo hew the dragon down;But first he went, new armour to75Bespeak at Sheffield town;With spikes all about, not within but without,Of steel so sharp and strong;Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'erSome five or six inches long.80Had you but seen him in this dress,How fierce he look'd and how big,You would have thought him for to beSome Egyptian porcupig:He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all,85Each cow, each horse, and each hog:For fear they did flee, for they took him to beSome strange outlandish hedge-hog.To see this fight, all people thenGot up on trees and houses,90On churches some, and chimneys too;But these put on their trowses,Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose,To make him strong and mighty,He drank by the tale, six pots of ale,95And a quart of aqua-vitæ.It is not strength that always wins,For wit doth strength excell;Which made our cunning championCreep down into a well;100Where he did think, this dragon would drink,And so he did in truth;And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cry'd, boh!And hit him in the mouth.O, quoth the dragon, pox take thee, come out,105Thou disturb'st me in my drink:And then he turn'd, and s... at him;Good lack how he did stink!Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul,Thy dung smells not like balsam;110Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore,Sure thy diet is unwholesome.Our politick knight, on the other side,Crept out upon the brink,And gave the dragon such a douse,115He knew not what to think:By cock, quoth he, say you so: do you see?And then at him he let flyWith hand and with foot, and so they went to't;And the word it was, Hey boys, hey!120Your words, quoth the dragon, I don't understand:Then to it they fell at all,Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may,Compare great things with small.Two days and a night, with this dragon did fight125Our champion on the ground;Tho' their strength it was great, their skill it was neat,They never had one wound.At length the hard earth began to quake,The dragon gave him a knock,130Which made him to reel, and straitway he thought,To lift him as high as a rock,And thence let him fall. But More of More-Hall,Like a valiant son of Mars,As he came like a lout, so he turn'd him about,135And hit him a kick on the a...Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh,And turn'd six times together,Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearingOut of his throat of leather;140More of More-Hall! O thou rascàl!Would I had seen thee never;With the thing at thy foot, thou hast prick'd my a...gut,And I'm quite undone for ever.Murder, murder, the dragon cry'd,145Alack, alack, for grief;Had you but mist that place, you couldHave done me no mischief.Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked,And down he laid and cry'd;150First on one knee, then on back tumbled he,So groan'd, kickt, s..., and dy'd.
Old stories tell how HerculesA dragon slew at Lerna,With seven heads, and fourteen eyes,To see and well discern-a:But he had a club, this dragon to drub,5Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye:But More of More-Hall, with nothing at all,He slew the dragon of Wantley.
This dragon had two furious wings,Each one upon each shoulder;10With a sting in his tayl as long as a flayl,Which made him bolder and bolder.He had long claws, and in his jawsFour and forty teeth of iron;With a hide as tough, as any buff,15Which did him round environ.
Have you not heard how the Trojan horseHeld seventy men in his belly?This dragon was not quite so big,But very near, I'll tell ye.20Devoured he poor children three,That could not with him grapple;And at one sup he eat them up,As one would eat an apple.
All sorts of cattle this dragon did eat.25Some say he ate up trees,And that the forests sure he wouldDevour up by degrees:For houses and churches were to him geese and turkies;[433]He ate all, and left none behind,30But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack,Which on the hills you will find.
In Yorkshire, near fair Rotherham,[434]The place I know it well;Some two or three miles, or thereabouts,35I vow I cannot tell.But there is a hedge, just on the hill edge,And Matthew's house hard by it;O there and then was this dragon's den,You could not chuse but spy it.40
Some say, this dragon was a witch;Some say, he was a devil,For from his nose a smoke arose,And with it burning snivel;Which he cast off, when he did cough,45In a well that he did stand by;Which made it look, just like a brookRunning with burning brandy.
Hard by a furious knight there dwelt,Of whom all towns did ring;50For he could wrestle, play at quarter-staff, kick, cuff, and huff,Call son of a whore, do any kind of thing:By the tail and the main, with his hands twainHe swung a horse till he was dead;And that which is stranger, he for very anger55Eat him all up but his head.
These children, as I am told, being eat;Men, women, girls and boys,Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging,And made a hideous noise:60O save us all, More of More-Hall,Thou peerless knight of these woods;Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on,We'll give thee all our goods.
Tut, tut, quoth he, no goods I want;65But I want, I want, in sooth,A fair maid of sixteen, that's brisk, and keen,With smiles about the mouth;Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow,With blushes her cheeks adorning;70To anoynt me o'er night, ere I go to fight,And to dress me in the morning.
This being done, he did engageTo hew the dragon down;But first he went, new armour to75Bespeak at Sheffield town;With spikes all about, not within but without,Of steel so sharp and strong;Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'erSome five or six inches long.80
Had you but seen him in this dress,How fierce he look'd and how big,You would have thought him for to beSome Egyptian porcupig:
He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all,85Each cow, each horse, and each hog:For fear they did flee, for they took him to beSome strange outlandish hedge-hog.
To see this fight, all people thenGot up on trees and houses,90On churches some, and chimneys too;But these put on their trowses,Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose,To make him strong and mighty,He drank by the tale, six pots of ale,95And a quart of aqua-vitæ.
It is not strength that always wins,For wit doth strength excell;Which made our cunning championCreep down into a well;100Where he did think, this dragon would drink,And so he did in truth;And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cry'd, boh!And hit him in the mouth.
O, quoth the dragon, pox take thee, come out,105Thou disturb'st me in my drink:And then he turn'd, and s... at him;Good lack how he did stink!Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul,Thy dung smells not like balsam;110Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore,Sure thy diet is unwholesome.
Our politick knight, on the other side,Crept out upon the brink,And gave the dragon such a douse,115He knew not what to think:By cock, quoth he, say you so: do you see?And then at him he let fly
With hand and with foot, and so they went to't;And the word it was, Hey boys, hey!120
Your words, quoth the dragon, I don't understand:Then to it they fell at all,Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may,Compare great things with small.Two days and a night, with this dragon did fight125Our champion on the ground;Tho' their strength it was great, their skill it was neat,They never had one wound.
At length the hard earth began to quake,The dragon gave him a knock,130Which made him to reel, and straitway he thought,To lift him as high as a rock,And thence let him fall. But More of More-Hall,Like a valiant son of Mars,As he came like a lout, so he turn'd him about,135And hit him a kick on the a...
Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh,And turn'd six times together,Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearingOut of his throat of leather;140More of More-Hall! O thou rascàl!Would I had seen thee never;With the thing at thy foot, thou hast prick'd my a...gut,And I'm quite undone for ever.
Murder, murder, the dragon cry'd,145Alack, alack, for grief;Had you but mist that place, you couldHave done me no mischief.
Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked,And down he laid and cry'd;150First on one knee, then on back tumbled he,So groan'd, kickt, s..., and dy'd.
FOOTNOTES:[431]Collection of Historical Ballads in 3 vol. 1727.[432]See above, pp.108, 216.[433]Ver. 29. were to him gorse and birches.Other Copies.[434][Wharncliffe is about six miles from Rotherham.]
[431]Collection of Historical Ballads in 3 vol. 1727.
[431]Collection of Historical Ballads in 3 vol. 1727.
[432]See above, pp.108, 216.
[432]See above, pp.108, 216.
[433]Ver. 29. were to him gorse and birches.Other Copies.
[433]Ver. 29. were to him gorse and birches.Other Copies.
[434][Wharncliffe is about six miles from Rotherham.]
[434][Wharncliffe is about six miles from Rotherham.]
The First Part.
Asthe former song is in ridicule of the extravagant incidents in old ballads and metrical romances; so this is a burlesque of their style; particularly of the rambling transitions and wild accumulations of unconnected parts, so frequent in many of them.
This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, "imprinted at London, 1612." It is more ancient than many of the preceding; but we place it here for the sake of connecting it with theSecond Part.
[Saint George that, O! did break the dragon's heartis one of the ballads offered for sale by Nightingale, the ballad-singer in Ben Jonson's comedy ofBartholomew Fair(act ii. sc. 1), and according to Fielding's Tom Jones,St. George, he was for England, was one of Squire Western's favourite tunes.
This ballad is printed in several collections, and Mr. Chappell notices a modernization subscribed S. S. and "printed for W. Gilbertson in Giltspur Street," about 1659, which commences—
"What need we brag or boast at allOf Arthur and his knights."]
"What need we brag or boast at allOf Arthur and his knights."]
Why doe you boast of Arthur and his knightes,Knowing 'well' how many men have endured fightes?For besides king Arthur, and Lancelot du lake,Or sir Tristram de Lionel, that fought for ladies sake;Read in old histories, and there you shall seeHow St. George, St. George the dragon made to flee.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.Mark our father Abraham, when first he resckued LotOnely with his household, what conquest there he got:David was elected a prophet and a king,He slew the great Goliah, with a stone within a sling:Yet these were not knightes of the table round;Nor St. George, St. George, who the dragon did confound.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.Jephthah and Gideon did lead their men to fight,They conquered the Amorites, and put them all to flight:Hercules his labours 'were' on the plaines of Basse;And Sampson slew a thousand with the jawbone of an asse,And eke he threw a temple downe, and did a mighty spoyle:But St. George, St. George he did the dragon foyle.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.The warres of ancient monarchs it were too long to tell,And likewise of the Romans, how farre they did excell;Hannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did fighte:Orlando Furioso he was a worthy knighte:Remus and Romulus, were they that Rome did builde:But St. George, St. George the dragon made to yielde.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish king,The order of the red scarffes and bandrolles in did bring:[435]He had a troope of mighty knightes, when first he did begin,Which sought adventures farre and neare, that conquest they might win:The ranks of the Pagans he often put to flight:But St. George, St. George did with the dragon fight.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.Many 'knights' have fought with proud Tamberlaine.Cutlax the Dane, great warres he did maintaine:Rowland of Beame, and good 'sir' OlivereIn the forest of Acon slew both woolfe and beare:Besides that noble Hollander, 'sir' Goward with the bill:But St. George, St. George the dragon's blood did spill.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.Valentine and Orson were of king Pepin's blood:Alfride and Henry they were brave knightes and good:The four sons of Aymon, that follow'd Charlemaine:Sir Hughon of Burdeaux, and Godfrey of Bullaine:These were all French knightes that lived in that age:But St. George, St. George the dragon did assuage.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.Bevis conquered Ascapart, and after slew the boare,And then he crost beyond the seas to combat with the moore:Sir Isenbras, and Eglamore they were knightes most bold;And good Sir John Mandeville of travel much hath told:There were many English knights that Pagans did convert:But St. George, St. George pluckt out the dragon's heart.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.The noble earl of Warwick, that was call'd sir Guy,The infidels and pagans stoutlie did defie;He slew the giant Brandimore, and after was the deathOf that most ghastly dun cowe, the divell of Dunsmore heath;Besides his noble deeds all done beyond the seas:But St George, St. George the dragon did appease.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.Richard Cœur-de-lion erst king of this land,He the lion gored with his naked hand:[436]The false duke of Austria nothing did he feare;But his son he killed with a boxe on the eare;Besides his famous actes done in the holy lande:But St. George, St. George the dragon did withstande.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.Henry the fifth he conquered all France,And quartered their arms, his honour to advance:He their cities razed, and threw their castles downe,And his head he honoured with a double crowne:He thumped the French-men, and after home he came:But St. George, St. George he did the dragon tame.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.St. David of Wales the Welsh-men much advance:St. Jaques of Spaine, that never yet broke lance:St. Patricke of Ireland, which was St. Georges boy,Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then stole him away:For which knavish act, as slaves they doe remaine:But St. George, St. George the dragon he hath slaine.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Why doe you boast of Arthur and his knightes,Knowing 'well' how many men have endured fightes?For besides king Arthur, and Lancelot du lake,Or sir Tristram de Lionel, that fought for ladies sake;Read in old histories, and there you shall seeHow St. George, St. George the dragon made to flee.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Mark our father Abraham, when first he resckued LotOnely with his household, what conquest there he got:David was elected a prophet and a king,He slew the great Goliah, with a stone within a sling:Yet these were not knightes of the table round;Nor St. George, St. George, who the dragon did confound.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Jephthah and Gideon did lead their men to fight,They conquered the Amorites, and put them all to flight:Hercules his labours 'were' on the plaines of Basse;And Sampson slew a thousand with the jawbone of an asse,And eke he threw a temple downe, and did a mighty spoyle:But St. George, St. George he did the dragon foyle.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.
The warres of ancient monarchs it were too long to tell,And likewise of the Romans, how farre they did excell;Hannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did fighte:Orlando Furioso he was a worthy knighte:Remus and Romulus, were they that Rome did builde:But St. George, St. George the dragon made to yielde.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.
The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish king,The order of the red scarffes and bandrolles in did bring:[435]He had a troope of mighty knightes, when first he did begin,Which sought adventures farre and neare, that conquest they might win:The ranks of the Pagans he often put to flight:But St. George, St. George did with the dragon fight.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Many 'knights' have fought with proud Tamberlaine.Cutlax the Dane, great warres he did maintaine:Rowland of Beame, and good 'sir' OlivereIn the forest of Acon slew both woolfe and beare:Besides that noble Hollander, 'sir' Goward with the bill:But St. George, St. George the dragon's blood did spill.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Valentine and Orson were of king Pepin's blood:Alfride and Henry they were brave knightes and good:The four sons of Aymon, that follow'd Charlemaine:Sir Hughon of Burdeaux, and Godfrey of Bullaine:These were all French knightes that lived in that age:But St. George, St. George the dragon did assuage.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Bevis conquered Ascapart, and after slew the boare,And then he crost beyond the seas to combat with the moore:Sir Isenbras, and Eglamore they were knightes most bold;And good Sir John Mandeville of travel much hath told:There were many English knights that Pagans did convert:But St. George, St. George pluckt out the dragon's heart.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.
The noble earl of Warwick, that was call'd sir Guy,The infidels and pagans stoutlie did defie;He slew the giant Brandimore, and after was the deathOf that most ghastly dun cowe, the divell of Dunsmore heath;Besides his noble deeds all done beyond the seas:But St George, St. George the dragon did appease.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Richard Cœur-de-lion erst king of this land,He the lion gored with his naked hand:[436]The false duke of Austria nothing did he feare;But his son he killed with a boxe on the eare;Besides his famous actes done in the holy lande:But St. George, St. George the dragon did withstande.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.
Henry the fifth he conquered all France,And quartered their arms, his honour to advance:He their cities razed, and threw their castles downe,And his head he honoured with a double crowne:He thumped the French-men, and after home he came:But St. George, St. George he did the dragon tame.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.
St. David of Wales the Welsh-men much advance:St. Jaques of Spaine, that never yet broke lance:St. Patricke of Ireland, which was St. Georges boy,Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then stole him away:For which knavish act, as slaves they doe remaine:But St. George, St. George the dragon he hath slaine.St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;Sing,Honi soit qui mal y pense.