ALICE HAWTHORN.[248]

The cheerless day is closing fast,The angry night-wind howls around,And hurried by the sweeping blast,Cold sleet and snow drive o'er the ground.Nought pleasing can the scene impart,Far as the weary eye can scan;But colder far the widow's heart,—The widow of the murdered man.The scene is o'er—the grave has closedAbove the form she loved the best;The heart where all her trust reposedWas driven to untimely rest.Amid her children weeping round,She stands an image of despair,Clasping her arms her infant round,—Yet from her eye there falls no tear;Hers is a keener, deeper woe,A more intense and heavy grief,Than those whence tears in torrents flow,And give the burdened heart relief."Well may ye weep," at length she cried,"Poor orphans to a father's care,By villain's shot your father died,And left us hopeless, friendless here."Why on my heart such sudden fearCame icy cold I cannot tell;When loud the shot pealed on mine ear,I thought by it my husband fell."He was I fear too rashly brave!His heart was bold tho' warm and kind,But now it moulders in the grave,And we are helpless left behind."In health and hope he left his home,And promised early to return,For him I spread my choicest store,And brighter made the fire to burn."For him, alas! I looked in vain,The night closed in dark, drear, and wild,I sigh'd and wept, then looked again,Then looked upon my sleeping child."And oh! that night of dreadful grief,Of fear, uncertainty, and sorrow,What could I think? where seek relief?I hoped—yet feared the coming morrow."I thought that night would ne'er be done,Each minute seemed a dreary day;My heart before was ne'er cast down,As then it drooped at his delay."Each sound I heard I thought him come,And eager looked—but looked in vain;That dreary night he was from home,And there he never came again."The morning told the fatal truth,My hapless heart presaged my lot,The loved companion of my youth,Was murdered by a villain's shot."Oh! murderous man, what hast thou done?Reflect upon thy awful crime!What peace of mind to thee can come,Oh wretch repent while thou hast time!"Oh! I could curse thee in my grief!Thou murderer of my peace and joy;But I will not—'twere small relief,Tho' justice should thy life destroy."'Twould not recall to life againThe man I loved in early youth:Ah me! ah me! now all in vainHis kindness, my confiding truth."In thy dark cell alone to pineFrom every consolation free;I'd rather bear my lot than thine,I'd rather be myself than thee!"Will not before thy startled eyeThy murdered victim ever seem?Canst thou in slumber think to lie,And not behold him in thy dream?"For me, alas! what shall I do?My children soon must cry for bread,And he, the husband, father true,Who was our all, is murdered."Deep in his grave, oh! I could rest,There would my cares and sorrows cease;With him I should—I should be blest!O with him I should be at peace!"Come death relieve me of my woe!Come bid my sleepless eyelids close!O gladly to his grave I'd go,And share with him his cold repose!"Why dost thou smile? my darling child!Thy heavy loss thou dost not know!Thy mother's grief is frantic, wild,For oh thy father moulders low!"No more will he with kindly care,Caress thee fondly in his arms;His loving kiss thou canst not share,Nor lisp to him thy vain alarms."Forgive me, God! I wished to die,When thou my babe so sweetly smiled;—For thee to live in hope I'll try,My comfort left, my darling child!"As conscious of its parent's woe,The artless innocent upsprung,Its arms around her neck to throw,While to her lips its kisses clung.Then love dissolved the mother's grief,What mother can desert her child?A flood of tears now brought relief,And hope again (though faintly) smiled.ALICE HAWTHORN.[248]COME all ye gay sportsmen who join in the sport,And oft to the race-course with pleasure resort,Come listen to me while of Alice I sing,Who bids fair to rival the famous Bees Wing.Chorus.To swift Alice Hawthorn, then fill up the glass,And give her a bumper,—the first in the race.Her sire was famous, Muley Moloch his name,Her dame was Rebecca, a mare of great fame,The pride of the turf, and the crack of the day,They carried the cups and the prizes away.She beat them at Richmond in the year forty-two,Also at Northallerton swiftly she flew,As if she was going on the wings of the wind,And leaving the jockies to whip up behind.At Richmond in forty-three, all of them tried,To beat Alice Hawthorn, but vainly they vied,'Twas glorious to see how the favourite did run,And the Victoria Plate like a gallant she won.At Liverpool races she beat every horse,And at York too she triumphed, the pride of the course,And when Alice Hawthorn to Doncaster came,The cup was her prize, and they all gave her fame.The Ascot Heath sporters prepared her a prize,And she won it most nobly, and pleased all their eyes,She won at Newcastle, and to crown all up,She gallantly carried away Goodwood cup.The year forty-four is the height of her fame,Her trainer, Bob Hesseltine, joys in her name,Her master has reaped a good harvest this year,And swift Alice Hawthorn to Salvin[249]is dear.At York the Queen's Hundred she then bore away,And proved herself fairly the crack of the day,The Yorkers stood gaping and praising the mare,And Alice! brave Alice! rung loud in the air.At Lewes she won the Queen's Plate in grand style,And her rider gazed on the old mare with a smile,Then Doncaster crown'd her the queen of the course,By winning three prizes and never a loss.And now to conclude, you'll allow me to say,At Richmond she carried the gold cup away,So here's to Sim. Templeman, drink to the man,And beat him on Alice ye jocks if ye can.TOMMY THUMB.I'ZE a poor country lad, as you see by my dress,That I'ze Yorkshire, mayhap, you may pratty well guess;My name's Zekiel Homespun, you all know me now,It is not the first time I have here made my bow.Tol lol de roll, &c.To London I com'd, upon bus'ness, d'ye see,But contriv'd to make pleasure and bus'ness agree;For when I gets back wi' our chaps on the green,They'll be sure to be asking me what I ha' seen.Now having in town but a short time to stay,Thinks I, while the sunshines, I'd better make hay;So I ask'd what the play were? they told me, by gum,'Twas a very fine tragedy, call'd Tommy Thumb.In Yorkshire I'd oft heard our knowing ones say,That a very good moral was learn'd from a play,And that tragedy boasted of language so fine,So I thought that, as how, it might help me wi' mine.Well, the curtain drew up, and the first to appear,Were two gentlemen drest, to be sure, mortal queer;Says one, "To the king, this petition I'll show,"Then the other to him answered, "Do, Doodle, do."In the next scene were the king and the queen on their throne,To whom the petition was presently shown;But king Arthur from Doodle indignantly shrunk,"For," says he, "'tis our pleasure this day to get drunk."So thinks I to myself, an' that's what you're about,There's no business for me, sure, to see the play out;To my own native parts I will quickly go down,I can learn to get drunk there as well as in town.So I'ze ta'en me a place at George and Blue Boar,Where the coach will set off in the morning at four,And as I must be up long afore it is light,I hope you'll not keep me here too late to night.THE FUNNY WEDDING.Which took place in Bradford on the First of December, 1851.JUST give attention, old and young,And listen for awhile,I'll sing to you a funny song,Will sure to make you smile,It is about a circumstanceWell known to all around,I mean the funny weddingThat took place in Bradford town.Chorus.Such a funny sight in Bradford town,Was never seen before.It was from Whipsey that the peopleOn that morning came,The aged couple there did live,You perhaps may know their name;This couple long had wanted toEnjoy each other's bed,So on that happy day they wentTo Bradford to get wed.Such a funny wedding.They often told their tales of love,At length, good lack-a-day,Old Johnny said to Betty,"Love, this is our wedding day."Such mirth and fun in Bradford town,The people did never see,For John is sixty-five years old,And Betty seventy-three.Such a funny wedding.Invitations were sent round to theirNeighbours and their friends,And earnestly requested themTheir wedding to attend;So on the first day of December,They collected in their forces,Some mounted upon donkeys' backs,And others upon horses.Such a funny wedding.To see this funny weddingThousands gathered round,For in a grand processionThey march'd into the town;Some with soot mustachios,Others with their faces black,And another with a monkeyStuft with straw upon his back.Such a funny wedding.There was some had got red jackets on,And others had got blue,With rummy caps and three-cock'd hats,They seem'd a jovial crew,And as they came along the street,The people they did start,And laugh to see old John andBetty riding in a cart.Such a funny wedding.At last they came up to the church,And the cart did stand,While John and Betty both got out,As you shall understand;He led her to the altarAnd plac'd her by his side,They took the oath, and Johnny thenClaim'd Betty for his bride.Such a funny wedding.When the marriage it was over,Devoid of care or pain,The procession got in readinessFor to return again.With John and Betty in the cartThey made a grand display,And as they homeward did returnThe fifes and drums did play.Such a funny wedding.Now John and Betty have got wed,Let's hope they will agree,In unity and harmonyAlways happy be,And in nine months' time,May they have a daughter or a sonMark'd with this grand procession,And December on its bum.And such a funny wedding mayThey live to see again.THE FLYING DUTCHMAN.[250]YOU sportsmen all both great and small, one moment now attend,And listen with attention to these verses I have penn'd,'Tis of the Flying Dutchman I mean to sing my lay,And tell you all the prizes too that he has borne away.To the Flying Dutchman drink success who has so nobly run,He's beat the famous Voltigeur and show'd them how 'twas done.The first place was Newmarket the Flying Dutchman run,Where the July stake and a sweepstake of 400l.he won;And then he went to Liverpool, believe me what I say,A sweepstake of 1200l.the Dutchman bore away.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.At Doncaster in 1848, the truth I do unfold,He carried off the champion stakes, likewise the two year old;And then in 1849 he went to Epsom town,And won the Derby stake 6,320l.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.Then in July, at Liverpool, no horse would with him run,He walked over twice and there 850l.he won;From there he went to Doncaster, and through the pelting rain,With Charley Marlow on his back the Ledger did obtain.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.The foal stakes then at Doncaster, which was 400l.more,No horse would run against him so the Dutchman he walked o'er;Then at Newmarket he was match'd, but the Dutchman, I believe,A forfeit of 500l.from Honeycomb received.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.Then for the Belivor stake the famous Flying Dutchman ran,He took the prize; then at Ascot Heath the Emperor's cup he won;And at Goodwood too he won the prize, then to Doncaster came up,He there was beat by Voltigeur running for the cup.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.Upon the thirteenth day of May in 1851,The Flying Dutchman and Voltigeur upon York[251]race course did run,'Twas for a thousand sovereigns, believe me what I say,Which the Flying Dutchman has won and borne the prize away.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.No other horse was ever known to do what he has done,For more than twenty thousand pounds in prizes he has won;With Marlow mounted on his back, believe me what I say,He never run a race but one, but he took the prize away.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.So to conclude and make an end, and finish up my song,Unto the brave lord Eglinton, Flying Dutchman does belong,So fill your glass and let it pass, and give a loud huzza,For the Flying Dutchman stands unrivalled at the present day.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.THE YORKSHIREMAN IN LONDON.[252]WHEN first in London I arriv'dOn a visit, on a visit;When first in London I arriv'd'Midst heavy rain and thunder,I 'spied a bonny lass in green,The bonniest lass I'd ever seen,I'd oft heard tell of a beauteous queen,Dash me, thinks I, I've found her.I look'd at her, she look'd at me,So bewitching, so bewitching;I look'd at her, she look'd at me,I look'd so very simple.Her cheeks were like the blooming rose,Which on the hedge neglected blows,Her eyes were black as any sloes,And near her mouth a dimple.I stood stock still, she did the same,Gazing on her, gazing on her;I stood stock still, she did the same,Thinks I, I've made a blunder;Just then her cheeks turn'd deadly pale,Says I, "My love, what d'ye ail?"Then she told me a dismal taleThat she was scar'd with thunder."Madam," says I, and made my bow,Scraping to her, scraping to her;"Madam," says I, and made my bow,"I'd quite forgotten t' weather;But if you will permission giveI'll see you home, where-e'er you live;"So she pop'd her arm right thro' my sleeve,And off we set tegether.A bonny wild goose chase we had,In an out sir, in an out sir;A bonny wild goose chase we had,The bollar stones so gall'd me;At last she brought me to a doorWhere twenty lasses, hey, or more,Came out to have a better gloreAt bumkin as they call'd me."Walk in," said she, "kind sir," to me,Quite politely, quite politely;"Walk in," said she, "kind sir," to me."Poor chap," say they, "he's undone.""Walk in," says she. "No, no," says I,"For I've got other fish to fry,I've seen you home, so now good bye,I'm Yorkshire, tho' in London."My pockets soon I rummish'd over,Cautious ever, cautious ever;My pockets soon I rummish'd over,Found there a diamond ring, sir;For I had this precaution took,In each to stick a small fish hook;So in grapling for my pocket book,The barb had strip'd her finger.Three weeks I've been in London town,Living idle, living idle;Three weeks I've been in London town,It's time to go to work, sir;For I've sold the ring, and here's the brass,I have not play'd the silly ass;It will do to toast a London lass,When I get back to Yorkshire.THE GREAT EXHIBITION; OR, PRINCE ALBERT'S CURIOSITY SHOP.Anentirely new comic song, written and sung by Mr. Burford, at the Theatre, Whitby, on the occasion of the Foresters' bespeak, and since received every evening with great applause.I am a native of fair Dublin city,To Whitby I've come for a spree;I've been up to London to visitThe Great Crystal Palace, d'ye see:For there's wonders one top of the other,In that wonderful place to be seen,Faith the brains of a saint it would bother,To know what the government mean.You may talk of your fancy bazaars,If you're passing Hyde Park only stop;Faith it's there that you'll stare with surprise,At Prince Albert's Curiosity Shop.For the first day the charge is a guinea,For those that have guineas to pay,But I dont think I'll be such a ninnyAs throw my good money away;On the next day the charge is five shillings,But the queen wont be there I'll be bound,For altho' she's got plenty of moneyShe'll not like to part with hercrown.You may talk, &c.I'll sing you of some of the wonders,I hear has been sent from this town:Of life boats I'm sure there is plenty,And not one of which will go down.There's Smales, Swallow, Baker, and Slater,Have studied upon their own scale,But the one that should weather all storms,Is that which was made by a Gale.You may talk, &c.There's a genius to make weather merry—Merryweather's the genius I mean;Foul and fair be his studies together,Ere long his success will be seen.At Staithes' they say there's a man too,Has made a rat trap goes on springs;And another a new reefing jacket,Provided with cast metal wings.You may talk, &c.No doubt but you've heard of St Hilda,That wonderful Saint long ago,She cut all the heads off the serpents,With her wonderful sword at a blow.The petrified sword has been found too,To the Great Exhibition it's gone,For no doubt there'll be plenty of serpentsFrom all parts to visit the town.You may talk, &c.I've got some fresh news for your seamenTo keep up your hearts my good lads,For there's vessels to sail out of Whitby,In which you'll be sure of your brads.I've been watching the vessels that's passing,That justice to seamen allows,And so you'll be sure of your wagesFor they've got £4 10s.on their bows.You may talk, &c.May every success attend Whitby,May the star of prosperity shineOn your labours to prove your industry,May it gain for your town a good name;May misfortune's clouds never lowerOn either your commerce or trade;May your seamen gain all they desire,And stick to the terms they have made.You may talk, &c.THE LORD OF SALTAIRE.By Abraham Holroyd.[253]Thissong was composed to commemorate an event which created much sensation in Yorkshire, and indeed throughout all England, in September, 1853; this was the inauguration and opening of a palacededicated to industry near Shipley in Airedale. These works were built for the manufacture of alpaca and mohair fabrics, and named Saltaire from Salt—the name of the owner, Titus Salt, esq., M.P. for Bradford—and Aire, the name of the river on which they were erected. The buildings cover an area of eleven and half acres, will contain 1,200 looms capable of producing 30,000 yards of cloth, or mixed goods, per day, or nearly 18 miles of cloth, and employing about 5,000 people.The town of Saltaire is built upon the best principles, including every convenience necessary for promoting the health and comfort of the population. Not only will it be a model town as regards its spacious squares and streets, grounds for recreation, schools, and church, (which has lately been opened, and cost 11,000l., and is perhaps the most beautiful in its interior of any church in Yorkshire,) its baths and washhouses, and all that philanthropy can suggest, or art supply, to further improvement.Roll on, gentle Aire, in thy beauty,Renowned in story and song,The subject of many a ditty,From Nicholson's[254]musical tongue:But a greater than he hath arisen,Who has link'd thy name with his own,He will render thee famous for ages,And thou wilt to millions be known.Then let us all join in the chorus,And sing of the qualities rare,Of one who by nature is noble,—And hail him the lord of Saltaire!He's rear'd up a palace to Labour,Will equal the Cæsars of old,The church and the school and the cottage,And lavish'd his thousands of gold:Where the workman may live and be happy,Enjoying the fruit of his hand;In contentment, in comfort, and plenty,Secure as a peer of the land.Then let us all join, &c.From Peru he's brought the alpaca—From Asia's plains the mohair—With skill has wrought both into beauty,Priz'd much by the wealthy and fair:He has velvets, and camlets, and lustres,With them there is none can compare;Then off, off with your hats and your bonnets,Hurrah for the lord of Saltaire.Hip, hip, and all join, &c.A REMARKABLE CIRCUMSTANCE CONNECTED WITH BRETTON HALL.[255]AT Bretton Hall, near Wakefield, known so well,Sir William Wentworth Blackett once did dwell;That mansion was his own; there, with his bride,In pomp and splendour, he did once reside.Yet, in the midst of all that he possest,A rambling mind disturb'd sir William's breast;His lady and his home he left behind;Says he, "The end of this wide world I'll find;The earth's extensive, but, you may depend on't,Before e'er I return, I'll find the end on't."So he embark'd on board a ship, we find,And, sailing, left her ladyship behind,Who oft in sorrow did his absence mourn,And sighing said, "Oh, that he would return!For, be his voyage rough or smooth at sea,It is a cruel bitter blast to me."Sir William, he rolls on through winds and waves;Undaunted, he all kinds of weather braves;Nor his strange project e'er relinquish'd he,Till one-and-twenty years he'd been at sea;Then, p'rhaps, he thought, "Good lack! the world is round;The end is nowhere—so it can't be found;And, as I'm weary of this wild-goose chase,At home again, e'er long I'll show my face."Then off he set, but little was aware,What would transpire on his arrival there:For while sir William rov'd as here express'd,Another "Sir," his lady thus address'd:—"Sir William's gone, (ne'er to return again)Past this world's end, which long he sought in vain,There's not a doubt he's found the end of life;But don't be troubled; you shall be my wife."She listen'd, till at length she gave consent,And straightway to church then this couple went.Sir William does about this wedding hear,As he unto his journey's end draws near;And thus he does within his mind reflect:—"This sly usurper I shall now detect:Soon shall he know, though much against his will,At Bretton hall I have dominion still;Those woods and fertile fields my own I call,With this magnificent, this splendid hall:And now I come to claim them as my own,Though, by my dress, not from a beggar known;My clothes are turn'd to rags, and, by the weather,My skin is tann'd till it resembles leather;So now I'll act the beggar bold and rude,And at this wedding boldly I'll intrude,And, though admittance I may be denied,I'll rob the merry bridegroom of his bride."Then at his own hall door one rap he gave,Resolv'd the inmates' charity to crave.So he presented his request, 'tis said,And they presented him—a crust of bread!The bread he took, and then, to their surprise,He ask'd the servants for some beer likewise."No, no," said they, "beer we shall give you none;You saucy drunken vagabond, begone!"At length (with much ado) some beer he got,And quickly he return'd the empty pot;And straightway then into the hall went he,And said, he wish'd her ladyship to see."You can by no means see her," answer'd they,"She's newly married! 'tis her wedding-day!""Married!" the feigned beggarman replied,"Then I'll not go till I have seen the bride."Then tow'rds the dining-room his course he bent,The servants quick pursued with one consent,And seized him, with intent to turn him out."Come back, you villain; what are you about?""About my bus'ness, to be sure," quoth he,"The room I'll enter, and the bride I'll see.""We'll see you out of doors," the servants said;And now of course, a clam'rous din they made,Just then, the bride, on hearing such a clatter,Open'd the door, to see what was the matter.This noble beggar thus obtain'd a sightOf her who erstwhile was his heart's delight,He viewed her in her nuptial garments dress'd,And did of her a glass of wine request,Which she denied—who little did supposeThe ragged stranger was her wealthy spouse;Then straight into the dining-room he went,And down he sat among the guests content.Says he, "You'll grant me my request I know;A glass of wine I'll have before I go."The bride at length, complied with his request,Thus thinking to despatch the ragged guest,But when he did this glass of wine obtain,He drank and fill'd, and drank and fill'd again.The guests astonish'd and disgusted, view'd,Whilst he proceeded to be far more rude;Around the bride's fair neck he threw his arm,And gave a kiss, which did her much alarm,On him she frown'd, and threaten'd him with law,Says he, "Your threats I value not a straw:My conduct to reprove is all in vain,For what I've done I mean to do again.Madam, your bridegroom's in an awkward case;This night I do intend to take his place."And while upon her countenance he pores,The guests agree to kick him out of doors."The deuce is in the beggarman," they cried;"He means to either beg or steal the bride.""No, no," says he, "I claim her as my own."He smil'd and then he did himself make known,Saying, "William Wentworth Blackett is my name;For my long absence I'm much to blame;But safe and sound I have return'd at last,So let's forgive each other all that's past."The bride did her first bridegroom recognise;With joy transported, to his arms she flies;And, whilst they tenderly each other kiss,The disappointed bridegroom they dismiss;Who inwardly did his hard case lament,Hung down his head, and out of door he went."I'm robb'd of this fair jewel, now," thinks he;"How cruel is this tender spouse to me!"Awhile he scratched his head, then heaved a sigh,Then eyed the hall again, and wip'd his eye.Sir William freely did forgive his wife;They liv'd together till the end of life.My honest story I must now conclude,Which may by some be as a fiction view'd;But, sirs, the boots in which sir William went,Are kept in memory of that event;The very hat he wore preserv'd has been,At Bretton hall—where they may yet be seen.THE BUTCHER TURNED DEVIL.[256]COME neighbours draw near and listen awhile,I will sing you a song it will cause you to smile,It's concerning Old Nick, he's the father of evil,He has long been well known by the name of the devil.In the village of Empsall, near to Wakefield town,To an old woman through the chimney he came down,If you'd been there to see him, you would have thought it funny,But he frightened the old woman, for he wanted all her money.Says he, "Woman take warning, for now I tell you plain,To-morrow night at twelve o'clock I'll visit you again,One hundred bright sovereigns for me you must prepare,Or else with me then you must go, to a place you may guess where."Then up thro' the chimney he vanished from her sight,And she went to the Wakefield bank as soon as it was light,"You must pay me one hundred pounds," to the bankers she did say."You ought to give us notice, you can't have it to-day."O then she wept most bitterly and told them her tale,How the devil he would fetch her, or her money without fail,Says the banker, "I will help you, though I beg you will be still,And I'll apprehend the devil and send him to the tread-mill."At Empsall a great thundering noise was heard again that night;The devil down the chimney came with his long horns and a light,Two men that were in readiness seized him in a trice,And they held the devil just as fast, as if he'd been in a vice.Next day great crowds of people went to see the devil there,But they say he changed his shape, and so it did appear,For when he found the old woman safe, so that he could not touch her,He lost his horns and tail, and turned out to be a butcher!The devil often has been blamed when innocent, 'tis true,But now he is caught in the fact, they will give him his due,And since he bears such a bad name, there's no doubt but they willKeep him prisoner, as long as he lives, at Wakefield tread-mill.SONG.WHEN I was a wee little totterin bairn,An' had nobbut just gitten short frocks;When to gang I at first was beginnin to lairn,On my brow I gat monie hard knocks:For se waik, an' se silly, an' helpless was I,I was always a tumblin down then,While me mother wald twattle me gently, an' cry,"Honey, Jenny, tak' care o' thysen."But when I grew bigger, an' gat to be strang,'At I cannily ran all aboutBy mysen, whor I lik'd, then I always mud gang,Without bein' tell'd about ought.When however I com to be sixteen year auld,An' rattled an' ramp'd amang men.My mother wud call o' me in, an' wald scauld,An' cry—"Huzzy! tak' care o' thysen."I've a sweetheart comes now upo' Setterday neeghts,An' he swears 'at he'll mak' me his wife,My mam grows se stingy, she scaulds and she flytes,An' twitters me out o' my life.But she may leuk sour, an' cansait hersen wise,An' preach again likin young men;Sen I'se grown a woman, her clack I'll despise,An' I'se—marry!—tak' care o' mysen.COLONEL THOMPSON'S VOLUNTEERS.[257]

The cheerless day is closing fast,The angry night-wind howls around,And hurried by the sweeping blast,Cold sleet and snow drive o'er the ground.

The cheerless day is closing fast,

The angry night-wind howls around,

And hurried by the sweeping blast,

Cold sleet and snow drive o'er the ground.

Nought pleasing can the scene impart,Far as the weary eye can scan;But colder far the widow's heart,—The widow of the murdered man.The scene is o'er—the grave has closedAbove the form she loved the best;The heart where all her trust reposedWas driven to untimely rest.Amid her children weeping round,She stands an image of despair,Clasping her arms her infant round,—Yet from her eye there falls no tear;Hers is a keener, deeper woe,A more intense and heavy grief,Than those whence tears in torrents flow,And give the burdened heart relief."Well may ye weep," at length she cried,"Poor orphans to a father's care,By villain's shot your father died,And left us hopeless, friendless here."Why on my heart such sudden fearCame icy cold I cannot tell;When loud the shot pealed on mine ear,I thought by it my husband fell."He was I fear too rashly brave!His heart was bold tho' warm and kind,But now it moulders in the grave,And we are helpless left behind."In health and hope he left his home,And promised early to return,For him I spread my choicest store,And brighter made the fire to burn."For him, alas! I looked in vain,The night closed in dark, drear, and wild,I sigh'd and wept, then looked again,Then looked upon my sleeping child."And oh! that night of dreadful grief,Of fear, uncertainty, and sorrow,What could I think? where seek relief?I hoped—yet feared the coming morrow."I thought that night would ne'er be done,Each minute seemed a dreary day;My heart before was ne'er cast down,As then it drooped at his delay."Each sound I heard I thought him come,And eager looked—but looked in vain;That dreary night he was from home,And there he never came again."The morning told the fatal truth,My hapless heart presaged my lot,The loved companion of my youth,Was murdered by a villain's shot."Oh! murderous man, what hast thou done?Reflect upon thy awful crime!What peace of mind to thee can come,Oh wretch repent while thou hast time!"Oh! I could curse thee in my grief!Thou murderer of my peace and joy;But I will not—'twere small relief,Tho' justice should thy life destroy."'Twould not recall to life againThe man I loved in early youth:Ah me! ah me! now all in vainHis kindness, my confiding truth."In thy dark cell alone to pineFrom every consolation free;I'd rather bear my lot than thine,I'd rather be myself than thee!"Will not before thy startled eyeThy murdered victim ever seem?Canst thou in slumber think to lie,And not behold him in thy dream?"For me, alas! what shall I do?My children soon must cry for bread,And he, the husband, father true,Who was our all, is murdered."Deep in his grave, oh! I could rest,There would my cares and sorrows cease;With him I should—I should be blest!O with him I should be at peace!"Come death relieve me of my woe!Come bid my sleepless eyelids close!O gladly to his grave I'd go,And share with him his cold repose!"Why dost thou smile? my darling child!Thy heavy loss thou dost not know!Thy mother's grief is frantic, wild,For oh thy father moulders low!"No more will he with kindly care,Caress thee fondly in his arms;His loving kiss thou canst not share,Nor lisp to him thy vain alarms."Forgive me, God! I wished to die,When thou my babe so sweetly smiled;—For thee to live in hope I'll try,My comfort left, my darling child!"As conscious of its parent's woe,The artless innocent upsprung,Its arms around her neck to throw,While to her lips its kisses clung.Then love dissolved the mother's grief,What mother can desert her child?A flood of tears now brought relief,And hope again (though faintly) smiled.

Nought pleasing can the scene impart,Far as the weary eye can scan;But colder far the widow's heart,—The widow of the murdered man.

Nought pleasing can the scene impart,

Far as the weary eye can scan;

But colder far the widow's heart,—

The widow of the murdered man.

The scene is o'er—the grave has closedAbove the form she loved the best;The heart where all her trust reposedWas driven to untimely rest.

The scene is o'er—the grave has closed

Above the form she loved the best;

The heart where all her trust reposed

Was driven to untimely rest.

Amid her children weeping round,She stands an image of despair,Clasping her arms her infant round,—Yet from her eye there falls no tear;

Amid her children weeping round,

She stands an image of despair,

Clasping her arms her infant round,—

Yet from her eye there falls no tear;

Hers is a keener, deeper woe,A more intense and heavy grief,Than those whence tears in torrents flow,And give the burdened heart relief.

Hers is a keener, deeper woe,

A more intense and heavy grief,

Than those whence tears in torrents flow,

And give the burdened heart relief.

"Well may ye weep," at length she cried,"Poor orphans to a father's care,By villain's shot your father died,And left us hopeless, friendless here.

"Well may ye weep," at length she cried,

"Poor orphans to a father's care,

By villain's shot your father died,

And left us hopeless, friendless here.

"Why on my heart such sudden fearCame icy cold I cannot tell;When loud the shot pealed on mine ear,I thought by it my husband fell.

"Why on my heart such sudden fear

Came icy cold I cannot tell;

When loud the shot pealed on mine ear,

I thought by it my husband fell.

"He was I fear too rashly brave!His heart was bold tho' warm and kind,But now it moulders in the grave,And we are helpless left behind.

"He was I fear too rashly brave!

His heart was bold tho' warm and kind,

But now it moulders in the grave,

And we are helpless left behind.

"In health and hope he left his home,And promised early to return,For him I spread my choicest store,And brighter made the fire to burn.

"In health and hope he left his home,

And promised early to return,

For him I spread my choicest store,

And brighter made the fire to burn.

"For him, alas! I looked in vain,The night closed in dark, drear, and wild,I sigh'd and wept, then looked again,Then looked upon my sleeping child.

"For him, alas! I looked in vain,

The night closed in dark, drear, and wild,

I sigh'd and wept, then looked again,

Then looked upon my sleeping child.

"And oh! that night of dreadful grief,Of fear, uncertainty, and sorrow,What could I think? where seek relief?I hoped—yet feared the coming morrow.

"And oh! that night of dreadful grief,

Of fear, uncertainty, and sorrow,

What could I think? where seek relief?

I hoped—yet feared the coming morrow.

"I thought that night would ne'er be done,Each minute seemed a dreary day;My heart before was ne'er cast down,As then it drooped at his delay.

"I thought that night would ne'er be done,

Each minute seemed a dreary day;

My heart before was ne'er cast down,

As then it drooped at his delay.

"Each sound I heard I thought him come,And eager looked—but looked in vain;That dreary night he was from home,And there he never came again.

"Each sound I heard I thought him come,

And eager looked—but looked in vain;

That dreary night he was from home,

And there he never came again.

"The morning told the fatal truth,My hapless heart presaged my lot,The loved companion of my youth,Was murdered by a villain's shot.

"The morning told the fatal truth,

My hapless heart presaged my lot,

The loved companion of my youth,

Was murdered by a villain's shot.

"Oh! murderous man, what hast thou done?Reflect upon thy awful crime!What peace of mind to thee can come,Oh wretch repent while thou hast time!

"Oh! murderous man, what hast thou done?

Reflect upon thy awful crime!

What peace of mind to thee can come,

Oh wretch repent while thou hast time!

"Oh! I could curse thee in my grief!Thou murderer of my peace and joy;But I will not—'twere small relief,Tho' justice should thy life destroy.

"Oh! I could curse thee in my grief!

Thou murderer of my peace and joy;

But I will not—'twere small relief,

Tho' justice should thy life destroy.

"'Twould not recall to life againThe man I loved in early youth:Ah me! ah me! now all in vainHis kindness, my confiding truth.

"'Twould not recall to life again

The man I loved in early youth:

Ah me! ah me! now all in vain

His kindness, my confiding truth.

"In thy dark cell alone to pineFrom every consolation free;I'd rather bear my lot than thine,I'd rather be myself than thee!

"In thy dark cell alone to pine

From every consolation free;

I'd rather bear my lot than thine,

I'd rather be myself than thee!

"Will not before thy startled eyeThy murdered victim ever seem?Canst thou in slumber think to lie,And not behold him in thy dream?

"Will not before thy startled eye

Thy murdered victim ever seem?

Canst thou in slumber think to lie,

And not behold him in thy dream?

"For me, alas! what shall I do?My children soon must cry for bread,And he, the husband, father true,Who was our all, is murdered.

"For me, alas! what shall I do?

My children soon must cry for bread,

And he, the husband, father true,

Who was our all, is murdered.

"Deep in his grave, oh! I could rest,There would my cares and sorrows cease;With him I should—I should be blest!O with him I should be at peace!

"Deep in his grave, oh! I could rest,

There would my cares and sorrows cease;

With him I should—I should be blest!

O with him I should be at peace!

"Come death relieve me of my woe!Come bid my sleepless eyelids close!O gladly to his grave I'd go,And share with him his cold repose!

"Come death relieve me of my woe!

Come bid my sleepless eyelids close!

O gladly to his grave I'd go,

And share with him his cold repose!

"Why dost thou smile? my darling child!Thy heavy loss thou dost not know!Thy mother's grief is frantic, wild,For oh thy father moulders low!

"Why dost thou smile? my darling child!

Thy heavy loss thou dost not know!

Thy mother's grief is frantic, wild,

For oh thy father moulders low!

"No more will he with kindly care,Caress thee fondly in his arms;His loving kiss thou canst not share,Nor lisp to him thy vain alarms.

"No more will he with kindly care,

Caress thee fondly in his arms;

His loving kiss thou canst not share,

Nor lisp to him thy vain alarms.

"Forgive me, God! I wished to die,When thou my babe so sweetly smiled;—For thee to live in hope I'll try,My comfort left, my darling child!"

"Forgive me, God! I wished to die,

When thou my babe so sweetly smiled;—

For thee to live in hope I'll try,

My comfort left, my darling child!"

As conscious of its parent's woe,The artless innocent upsprung,Its arms around her neck to throw,While to her lips its kisses clung.

As conscious of its parent's woe,

The artless innocent upsprung,

Its arms around her neck to throw,

While to her lips its kisses clung.

Then love dissolved the mother's grief,What mother can desert her child?A flood of tears now brought relief,And hope again (though faintly) smiled.

Then love dissolved the mother's grief,

What mother can desert her child?

A flood of tears now brought relief,

And hope again (though faintly) smiled.

COME all ye gay sportsmen who join in the sport,And oft to the race-course with pleasure resort,Come listen to me while of Alice I sing,Who bids fair to rival the famous Bees Wing.Chorus.To swift Alice Hawthorn, then fill up the glass,And give her a bumper,—the first in the race.Her sire was famous, Muley Moloch his name,Her dame was Rebecca, a mare of great fame,The pride of the turf, and the crack of the day,They carried the cups and the prizes away.She beat them at Richmond in the year forty-two,Also at Northallerton swiftly she flew,As if she was going on the wings of the wind,And leaving the jockies to whip up behind.At Richmond in forty-three, all of them tried,To beat Alice Hawthorn, but vainly they vied,'Twas glorious to see how the favourite did run,And the Victoria Plate like a gallant she won.At Liverpool races she beat every horse,And at York too she triumphed, the pride of the course,And when Alice Hawthorn to Doncaster came,The cup was her prize, and they all gave her fame.The Ascot Heath sporters prepared her a prize,And she won it most nobly, and pleased all their eyes,She won at Newcastle, and to crown all up,She gallantly carried away Goodwood cup.The year forty-four is the height of her fame,Her trainer, Bob Hesseltine, joys in her name,Her master has reaped a good harvest this year,And swift Alice Hawthorn to Salvin[249]is dear.At York the Queen's Hundred she then bore away,And proved herself fairly the crack of the day,The Yorkers stood gaping and praising the mare,And Alice! brave Alice! rung loud in the air.At Lewes she won the Queen's Plate in grand style,And her rider gazed on the old mare with a smile,Then Doncaster crown'd her the queen of the course,By winning three prizes and never a loss.And now to conclude, you'll allow me to say,At Richmond she carried the gold cup away,So here's to Sim. Templeman, drink to the man,And beat him on Alice ye jocks if ye can.

COME all ye gay sportsmen who join in the sport,And oft to the race-course with pleasure resort,Come listen to me while of Alice I sing,Who bids fair to rival the famous Bees Wing.

COME all ye gay sportsmen who join in the sport,

And oft to the race-course with pleasure resort,

Come listen to me while of Alice I sing,

Who bids fair to rival the famous Bees Wing.

Chorus.

To swift Alice Hawthorn, then fill up the glass,And give her a bumper,—the first in the race.

To swift Alice Hawthorn, then fill up the glass,

And give her a bumper,—the first in the race.

Her sire was famous, Muley Moloch his name,Her dame was Rebecca, a mare of great fame,The pride of the turf, and the crack of the day,They carried the cups and the prizes away.

Her sire was famous, Muley Moloch his name,

Her dame was Rebecca, a mare of great fame,

The pride of the turf, and the crack of the day,

They carried the cups and the prizes away.

She beat them at Richmond in the year forty-two,Also at Northallerton swiftly she flew,As if she was going on the wings of the wind,And leaving the jockies to whip up behind.

She beat them at Richmond in the year forty-two,

Also at Northallerton swiftly she flew,

As if she was going on the wings of the wind,

And leaving the jockies to whip up behind.

At Richmond in forty-three, all of them tried,To beat Alice Hawthorn, but vainly they vied,'Twas glorious to see how the favourite did run,And the Victoria Plate like a gallant she won.

At Richmond in forty-three, all of them tried,

To beat Alice Hawthorn, but vainly they vied,

'Twas glorious to see how the favourite did run,

And the Victoria Plate like a gallant she won.

At Liverpool races she beat every horse,And at York too she triumphed, the pride of the course,And when Alice Hawthorn to Doncaster came,The cup was her prize, and they all gave her fame.

At Liverpool races she beat every horse,

And at York too she triumphed, the pride of the course,

And when Alice Hawthorn to Doncaster came,

The cup was her prize, and they all gave her fame.

The Ascot Heath sporters prepared her a prize,And she won it most nobly, and pleased all their eyes,She won at Newcastle, and to crown all up,She gallantly carried away Goodwood cup.

The Ascot Heath sporters prepared her a prize,

And she won it most nobly, and pleased all their eyes,

She won at Newcastle, and to crown all up,

She gallantly carried away Goodwood cup.

The year forty-four is the height of her fame,Her trainer, Bob Hesseltine, joys in her name,Her master has reaped a good harvest this year,And swift Alice Hawthorn to Salvin[249]is dear.

The year forty-four is the height of her fame,

Her trainer, Bob Hesseltine, joys in her name,

Her master has reaped a good harvest this year,

And swift Alice Hawthorn to Salvin[249]is dear.

At York the Queen's Hundred she then bore away,And proved herself fairly the crack of the day,The Yorkers stood gaping and praising the mare,And Alice! brave Alice! rung loud in the air.

At York the Queen's Hundred she then bore away,

And proved herself fairly the crack of the day,

The Yorkers stood gaping and praising the mare,

And Alice! brave Alice! rung loud in the air.

At Lewes she won the Queen's Plate in grand style,And her rider gazed on the old mare with a smile,Then Doncaster crown'd her the queen of the course,By winning three prizes and never a loss.

At Lewes she won the Queen's Plate in grand style,

And her rider gazed on the old mare with a smile,

Then Doncaster crown'd her the queen of the course,

By winning three prizes and never a loss.

And now to conclude, you'll allow me to say,At Richmond she carried the gold cup away,So here's to Sim. Templeman, drink to the man,And beat him on Alice ye jocks if ye can.

And now to conclude, you'll allow me to say,

At Richmond she carried the gold cup away,

So here's to Sim. Templeman, drink to the man,

And beat him on Alice ye jocks if ye can.

I'ZE a poor country lad, as you see by my dress,That I'ze Yorkshire, mayhap, you may pratty well guess;My name's Zekiel Homespun, you all know me now,It is not the first time I have here made my bow.Tol lol de roll, &c.To London I com'd, upon bus'ness, d'ye see,But contriv'd to make pleasure and bus'ness agree;For when I gets back wi' our chaps on the green,They'll be sure to be asking me what I ha' seen.Now having in town but a short time to stay,Thinks I, while the sunshines, I'd better make hay;So I ask'd what the play were? they told me, by gum,'Twas a very fine tragedy, call'd Tommy Thumb.In Yorkshire I'd oft heard our knowing ones say,That a very good moral was learn'd from a play,And that tragedy boasted of language so fine,So I thought that, as how, it might help me wi' mine.Well, the curtain drew up, and the first to appear,Were two gentlemen drest, to be sure, mortal queer;Says one, "To the king, this petition I'll show,"Then the other to him answered, "Do, Doodle, do."In the next scene were the king and the queen on their throne,To whom the petition was presently shown;But king Arthur from Doodle indignantly shrunk,"For," says he, "'tis our pleasure this day to get drunk."So thinks I to myself, an' that's what you're about,There's no business for me, sure, to see the play out;To my own native parts I will quickly go down,I can learn to get drunk there as well as in town.So I'ze ta'en me a place at George and Blue Boar,Where the coach will set off in the morning at four,And as I must be up long afore it is light,I hope you'll not keep me here too late to night.

I'ZE a poor country lad, as you see by my dress,

That I'ze Yorkshire, mayhap, you may pratty well guess;

My name's Zekiel Homespun, you all know me now,

It is not the first time I have here made my bow.

Tol lol de roll, &c.

To London I com'd, upon bus'ness, d'ye see,But contriv'd to make pleasure and bus'ness agree;For when I gets back wi' our chaps on the green,They'll be sure to be asking me what I ha' seen.

To London I com'd, upon bus'ness, d'ye see,

But contriv'd to make pleasure and bus'ness agree;

For when I gets back wi' our chaps on the green,

They'll be sure to be asking me what I ha' seen.

Now having in town but a short time to stay,Thinks I, while the sunshines, I'd better make hay;So I ask'd what the play were? they told me, by gum,'Twas a very fine tragedy, call'd Tommy Thumb.

Now having in town but a short time to stay,

Thinks I, while the sunshines, I'd better make hay;

So I ask'd what the play were? they told me, by gum,

'Twas a very fine tragedy, call'd Tommy Thumb.

In Yorkshire I'd oft heard our knowing ones say,That a very good moral was learn'd from a play,And that tragedy boasted of language so fine,So I thought that, as how, it might help me wi' mine.

In Yorkshire I'd oft heard our knowing ones say,

That a very good moral was learn'd from a play,

And that tragedy boasted of language so fine,

So I thought that, as how, it might help me wi' mine.

Well, the curtain drew up, and the first to appear,Were two gentlemen drest, to be sure, mortal queer;Says one, "To the king, this petition I'll show,"Then the other to him answered, "Do, Doodle, do."

Well, the curtain drew up, and the first to appear,

Were two gentlemen drest, to be sure, mortal queer;

Says one, "To the king, this petition I'll show,"

Then the other to him answered, "Do, Doodle, do."

In the next scene were the king and the queen on their throne,To whom the petition was presently shown;But king Arthur from Doodle indignantly shrunk,"For," says he, "'tis our pleasure this day to get drunk."

In the next scene were the king and the queen on their throne,

To whom the petition was presently shown;

But king Arthur from Doodle indignantly shrunk,

"For," says he, "'tis our pleasure this day to get drunk."

So thinks I to myself, an' that's what you're about,There's no business for me, sure, to see the play out;To my own native parts I will quickly go down,I can learn to get drunk there as well as in town.

So thinks I to myself, an' that's what you're about,

There's no business for me, sure, to see the play out;

To my own native parts I will quickly go down,

I can learn to get drunk there as well as in town.

So I'ze ta'en me a place at George and Blue Boar,Where the coach will set off in the morning at four,And as I must be up long afore it is light,I hope you'll not keep me here too late to night.

So I'ze ta'en me a place at George and Blue Boar,

Where the coach will set off in the morning at four,

And as I must be up long afore it is light,

I hope you'll not keep me here too late to night.

Which took place in Bradford on the First of December, 1851.

JUST give attention, old and young,And listen for awhile,I'll sing to you a funny song,Will sure to make you smile,It is about a circumstanceWell known to all around,I mean the funny weddingThat took place in Bradford town.Chorus.Such a funny sight in Bradford town,Was never seen before.It was from Whipsey that the peopleOn that morning came,The aged couple there did live,You perhaps may know their name;This couple long had wanted toEnjoy each other's bed,So on that happy day they wentTo Bradford to get wed.Such a funny wedding.They often told their tales of love,At length, good lack-a-day,Old Johnny said to Betty,"Love, this is our wedding day."Such mirth and fun in Bradford town,The people did never see,For John is sixty-five years old,And Betty seventy-three.Such a funny wedding.Invitations were sent round to theirNeighbours and their friends,And earnestly requested themTheir wedding to attend;So on the first day of December,They collected in their forces,Some mounted upon donkeys' backs,And others upon horses.Such a funny wedding.To see this funny weddingThousands gathered round,For in a grand processionThey march'd into the town;Some with soot mustachios,Others with their faces black,And another with a monkeyStuft with straw upon his back.Such a funny wedding.There was some had got red jackets on,And others had got blue,With rummy caps and three-cock'd hats,They seem'd a jovial crew,And as they came along the street,The people they did start,And laugh to see old John andBetty riding in a cart.Such a funny wedding.At last they came up to the church,And the cart did stand,While John and Betty both got out,As you shall understand;He led her to the altarAnd plac'd her by his side,They took the oath, and Johnny thenClaim'd Betty for his bride.Such a funny wedding.When the marriage it was over,Devoid of care or pain,The procession got in readinessFor to return again.With John and Betty in the cartThey made a grand display,And as they homeward did returnThe fifes and drums did play.Such a funny wedding.Now John and Betty have got wed,Let's hope they will agree,In unity and harmonyAlways happy be,And in nine months' time,May they have a daughter or a sonMark'd with this grand procession,And December on its bum.And such a funny wedding mayThey live to see again.

JUST give attention, old and young,

And listen for awhile,

I'll sing to you a funny song,

Will sure to make you smile,

It is about a circumstance

Well known to all around,

I mean the funny wedding

That took place in Bradford town.

Chorus.

Such a funny sight in Bradford town,Was never seen before.

Such a funny sight in Bradford town,

Was never seen before.

It was from Whipsey that the peopleOn that morning came,The aged couple there did live,You perhaps may know their name;This couple long had wanted toEnjoy each other's bed,So on that happy day they wentTo Bradford to get wed.Such a funny wedding.

It was from Whipsey that the people

On that morning came,

The aged couple there did live,

You perhaps may know their name;

This couple long had wanted to

Enjoy each other's bed,

So on that happy day they went

To Bradford to get wed.

Such a funny wedding.

They often told their tales of love,At length, good lack-a-day,Old Johnny said to Betty,"Love, this is our wedding day."Such mirth and fun in Bradford town,The people did never see,For John is sixty-five years old,And Betty seventy-three.Such a funny wedding.

They often told their tales of love,

At length, good lack-a-day,

Old Johnny said to Betty,

"Love, this is our wedding day."

Such mirth and fun in Bradford town,

The people did never see,

For John is sixty-five years old,

And Betty seventy-three.

Such a funny wedding.

Invitations were sent round to theirNeighbours and their friends,And earnestly requested themTheir wedding to attend;So on the first day of December,They collected in their forces,Some mounted upon donkeys' backs,And others upon horses.Such a funny wedding.

Invitations were sent round to their

Neighbours and their friends,

And earnestly requested them

Their wedding to attend;

So on the first day of December,

They collected in their forces,

Some mounted upon donkeys' backs,

And others upon horses.

Such a funny wedding.

To see this funny weddingThousands gathered round,For in a grand processionThey march'd into the town;Some with soot mustachios,Others with their faces black,And another with a monkeyStuft with straw upon his back.Such a funny wedding.

To see this funny wedding

Thousands gathered round,

For in a grand procession

They march'd into the town;

Some with soot mustachios,

Others with their faces black,

And another with a monkey

Stuft with straw upon his back.

Such a funny wedding.

There was some had got red jackets on,And others had got blue,With rummy caps and three-cock'd hats,They seem'd a jovial crew,And as they came along the street,The people they did start,And laugh to see old John andBetty riding in a cart.Such a funny wedding.

There was some had got red jackets on,

And others had got blue,

With rummy caps and three-cock'd hats,

They seem'd a jovial crew,

And as they came along the street,

The people they did start,

And laugh to see old John and

Betty riding in a cart.

Such a funny wedding.

At last they came up to the church,And the cart did stand,While John and Betty both got out,As you shall understand;He led her to the altarAnd plac'd her by his side,They took the oath, and Johnny thenClaim'd Betty for his bride.Such a funny wedding.

At last they came up to the church,

And the cart did stand,

While John and Betty both got out,

As you shall understand;

He led her to the altar

And plac'd her by his side,

They took the oath, and Johnny then

Claim'd Betty for his bride.

Such a funny wedding.

When the marriage it was over,Devoid of care or pain,The procession got in readinessFor to return again.With John and Betty in the cartThey made a grand display,And as they homeward did returnThe fifes and drums did play.Such a funny wedding.

When the marriage it was over,

Devoid of care or pain,

The procession got in readiness

For to return again.

With John and Betty in the cart

They made a grand display,

And as they homeward did return

The fifes and drums did play.

Such a funny wedding.

Now John and Betty have got wed,Let's hope they will agree,In unity and harmonyAlways happy be,And in nine months' time,May they have a daughter or a sonMark'd with this grand procession,And December on its bum.

Now John and Betty have got wed,

Let's hope they will agree,

In unity and harmony

Always happy be,

And in nine months' time,

May they have a daughter or a son

Mark'd with this grand procession,

And December on its bum.

And such a funny wedding mayThey live to see again.

And such a funny wedding may

They live to see again.

YOU sportsmen all both great and small, one moment now attend,And listen with attention to these verses I have penn'd,'Tis of the Flying Dutchman I mean to sing my lay,And tell you all the prizes too that he has borne away.To the Flying Dutchman drink success who has so nobly run,He's beat the famous Voltigeur and show'd them how 'twas done.The first place was Newmarket the Flying Dutchman run,Where the July stake and a sweepstake of 400l.he won;And then he went to Liverpool, believe me what I say,A sweepstake of 1200l.the Dutchman bore away.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.At Doncaster in 1848, the truth I do unfold,He carried off the champion stakes, likewise the two year old;And then in 1849 he went to Epsom town,And won the Derby stake 6,320l.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.Then in July, at Liverpool, no horse would with him run,He walked over twice and there 850l.he won;From there he went to Doncaster, and through the pelting rain,With Charley Marlow on his back the Ledger did obtain.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.The foal stakes then at Doncaster, which was 400l.more,No horse would run against him so the Dutchman he walked o'er;Then at Newmarket he was match'd, but the Dutchman, I believe,A forfeit of 500l.from Honeycomb received.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.Then for the Belivor stake the famous Flying Dutchman ran,He took the prize; then at Ascot Heath the Emperor's cup he won;And at Goodwood too he won the prize, then to Doncaster came up,He there was beat by Voltigeur running for the cup.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.Upon the thirteenth day of May in 1851,The Flying Dutchman and Voltigeur upon York[251]race course did run,'Twas for a thousand sovereigns, believe me what I say,Which the Flying Dutchman has won and borne the prize away.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.No other horse was ever known to do what he has done,For more than twenty thousand pounds in prizes he has won;With Marlow mounted on his back, believe me what I say,He never run a race but one, but he took the prize away.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.So to conclude and make an end, and finish up my song,Unto the brave lord Eglinton, Flying Dutchman does belong,So fill your glass and let it pass, and give a loud huzza,For the Flying Dutchman stands unrivalled at the present day.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

YOU sportsmen all both great and small, one moment now attend,

And listen with attention to these verses I have penn'd,

'Tis of the Flying Dutchman I mean to sing my lay,

And tell you all the prizes too that he has borne away.

To the Flying Dutchman drink success who has so nobly run,

He's beat the famous Voltigeur and show'd them how 'twas done.

The first place was Newmarket the Flying Dutchman run,Where the July stake and a sweepstake of 400l.he won;And then he went to Liverpool, believe me what I say,A sweepstake of 1200l.the Dutchman bore away.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

The first place was Newmarket the Flying Dutchman run,

Where the July stake and a sweepstake of 400l.he won;

And then he went to Liverpool, believe me what I say,

A sweepstake of 1200l.the Dutchman bore away.

To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

At Doncaster in 1848, the truth I do unfold,He carried off the champion stakes, likewise the two year old;And then in 1849 he went to Epsom town,And won the Derby stake 6,320l.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

At Doncaster in 1848, the truth I do unfold,

He carried off the champion stakes, likewise the two year old;

And then in 1849 he went to Epsom town,

And won the Derby stake 6,320l.

To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

Then in July, at Liverpool, no horse would with him run,He walked over twice and there 850l.he won;From there he went to Doncaster, and through the pelting rain,With Charley Marlow on his back the Ledger did obtain.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

Then in July, at Liverpool, no horse would with him run,

He walked over twice and there 850l.he won;

From there he went to Doncaster, and through the pelting rain,

With Charley Marlow on his back the Ledger did obtain.

To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

The foal stakes then at Doncaster, which was 400l.more,No horse would run against him so the Dutchman he walked o'er;Then at Newmarket he was match'd, but the Dutchman, I believe,A forfeit of 500l.from Honeycomb received.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

The foal stakes then at Doncaster, which was 400l.more,

No horse would run against him so the Dutchman he walked o'er;

Then at Newmarket he was match'd, but the Dutchman, I believe,

A forfeit of 500l.from Honeycomb received.

To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

Then for the Belivor stake the famous Flying Dutchman ran,He took the prize; then at Ascot Heath the Emperor's cup he won;And at Goodwood too he won the prize, then to Doncaster came up,He there was beat by Voltigeur running for the cup.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

Then for the Belivor stake the famous Flying Dutchman ran,

He took the prize; then at Ascot Heath the Emperor's cup he won;

And at Goodwood too he won the prize, then to Doncaster came up,

He there was beat by Voltigeur running for the cup.

To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

Upon the thirteenth day of May in 1851,The Flying Dutchman and Voltigeur upon York[251]race course did run,'Twas for a thousand sovereigns, believe me what I say,Which the Flying Dutchman has won and borne the prize away.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

Upon the thirteenth day of May in 1851,

The Flying Dutchman and Voltigeur upon York[251]race course did run,

'Twas for a thousand sovereigns, believe me what I say,

Which the Flying Dutchman has won and borne the prize away.

To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

No other horse was ever known to do what he has done,For more than twenty thousand pounds in prizes he has won;With Marlow mounted on his back, believe me what I say,He never run a race but one, but he took the prize away.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

No other horse was ever known to do what he has done,

For more than twenty thousand pounds in prizes he has won;

With Marlow mounted on his back, believe me what I say,

He never run a race but one, but he took the prize away.

To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

So to conclude and make an end, and finish up my song,Unto the brave lord Eglinton, Flying Dutchman does belong,So fill your glass and let it pass, and give a loud huzza,For the Flying Dutchman stands unrivalled at the present day.To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

So to conclude and make an end, and finish up my song,

Unto the brave lord Eglinton, Flying Dutchman does belong,

So fill your glass and let it pass, and give a loud huzza,

For the Flying Dutchman stands unrivalled at the present day.

To the Flying Dutchman, &c.

WHEN first in London I arriv'dOn a visit, on a visit;When first in London I arriv'd'Midst heavy rain and thunder,I 'spied a bonny lass in green,The bonniest lass I'd ever seen,I'd oft heard tell of a beauteous queen,Dash me, thinks I, I've found her.I look'd at her, she look'd at me,So bewitching, so bewitching;I look'd at her, she look'd at me,I look'd so very simple.Her cheeks were like the blooming rose,Which on the hedge neglected blows,Her eyes were black as any sloes,And near her mouth a dimple.I stood stock still, she did the same,Gazing on her, gazing on her;I stood stock still, she did the same,Thinks I, I've made a blunder;Just then her cheeks turn'd deadly pale,Says I, "My love, what d'ye ail?"Then she told me a dismal taleThat she was scar'd with thunder."Madam," says I, and made my bow,Scraping to her, scraping to her;"Madam," says I, and made my bow,"I'd quite forgotten t' weather;But if you will permission giveI'll see you home, where-e'er you live;"So she pop'd her arm right thro' my sleeve,And off we set tegether.A bonny wild goose chase we had,In an out sir, in an out sir;A bonny wild goose chase we had,The bollar stones so gall'd me;At last she brought me to a doorWhere twenty lasses, hey, or more,Came out to have a better gloreAt bumkin as they call'd me."Walk in," said she, "kind sir," to me,Quite politely, quite politely;"Walk in," said she, "kind sir," to me."Poor chap," say they, "he's undone.""Walk in," says she. "No, no," says I,"For I've got other fish to fry,I've seen you home, so now good bye,I'm Yorkshire, tho' in London."My pockets soon I rummish'd over,Cautious ever, cautious ever;My pockets soon I rummish'd over,Found there a diamond ring, sir;For I had this precaution took,In each to stick a small fish hook;So in grapling for my pocket book,The barb had strip'd her finger.Three weeks I've been in London town,Living idle, living idle;Three weeks I've been in London town,It's time to go to work, sir;For I've sold the ring, and here's the brass,I have not play'd the silly ass;It will do to toast a London lass,When I get back to Yorkshire.

WHEN first in London I arriv'd

On a visit, on a visit;

When first in London I arriv'd

'Midst heavy rain and thunder,

I 'spied a bonny lass in green,

The bonniest lass I'd ever seen,

I'd oft heard tell of a beauteous queen,

Dash me, thinks I, I've found her.

I look'd at her, she look'd at me,So bewitching, so bewitching;I look'd at her, she look'd at me,I look'd so very simple.Her cheeks were like the blooming rose,Which on the hedge neglected blows,Her eyes were black as any sloes,And near her mouth a dimple.

I look'd at her, she look'd at me,

So bewitching, so bewitching;

I look'd at her, she look'd at me,

I look'd so very simple.

Her cheeks were like the blooming rose,

Which on the hedge neglected blows,

Her eyes were black as any sloes,

And near her mouth a dimple.

I stood stock still, she did the same,Gazing on her, gazing on her;I stood stock still, she did the same,Thinks I, I've made a blunder;Just then her cheeks turn'd deadly pale,Says I, "My love, what d'ye ail?"Then she told me a dismal taleThat she was scar'd with thunder.

I stood stock still, she did the same,

Gazing on her, gazing on her;

I stood stock still, she did the same,

Thinks I, I've made a blunder;

Just then her cheeks turn'd deadly pale,

Says I, "My love, what d'ye ail?"

Then she told me a dismal tale

That she was scar'd with thunder.

"Madam," says I, and made my bow,Scraping to her, scraping to her;"Madam," says I, and made my bow,"I'd quite forgotten t' weather;But if you will permission giveI'll see you home, where-e'er you live;"So she pop'd her arm right thro' my sleeve,And off we set tegether.

"Madam," says I, and made my bow,

Scraping to her, scraping to her;

"Madam," says I, and made my bow,

"I'd quite forgotten t' weather;

But if you will permission give

I'll see you home, where-e'er you live;"

So she pop'd her arm right thro' my sleeve,

And off we set tegether.

A bonny wild goose chase we had,In an out sir, in an out sir;A bonny wild goose chase we had,The bollar stones so gall'd me;At last she brought me to a doorWhere twenty lasses, hey, or more,Came out to have a better gloreAt bumkin as they call'd me.

A bonny wild goose chase we had,

In an out sir, in an out sir;

A bonny wild goose chase we had,

The bollar stones so gall'd me;

At last she brought me to a door

Where twenty lasses, hey, or more,

Came out to have a better glore

At bumkin as they call'd me.

"Walk in," said she, "kind sir," to me,Quite politely, quite politely;"Walk in," said she, "kind sir," to me."Poor chap," say they, "he's undone.""Walk in," says she. "No, no," says I,"For I've got other fish to fry,I've seen you home, so now good bye,I'm Yorkshire, tho' in London."

"Walk in," said she, "kind sir," to me,

Quite politely, quite politely;

"Walk in," said she, "kind sir," to me.

"Poor chap," say they, "he's undone."

"Walk in," says she. "No, no," says I,

"For I've got other fish to fry,

I've seen you home, so now good bye,

I'm Yorkshire, tho' in London."

My pockets soon I rummish'd over,Cautious ever, cautious ever;My pockets soon I rummish'd over,Found there a diamond ring, sir;For I had this precaution took,In each to stick a small fish hook;So in grapling for my pocket book,The barb had strip'd her finger.

My pockets soon I rummish'd over,

Cautious ever, cautious ever;

My pockets soon I rummish'd over,

Found there a diamond ring, sir;

For I had this precaution took,

In each to stick a small fish hook;

So in grapling for my pocket book,

The barb had strip'd her finger.

Three weeks I've been in London town,Living idle, living idle;Three weeks I've been in London town,It's time to go to work, sir;For I've sold the ring, and here's the brass,I have not play'd the silly ass;It will do to toast a London lass,When I get back to Yorkshire.

Three weeks I've been in London town,

Living idle, living idle;

Three weeks I've been in London town,

It's time to go to work, sir;

For I've sold the ring, and here's the brass,

I have not play'd the silly ass;

It will do to toast a London lass,

When I get back to Yorkshire.

Anentirely new comic song, written and sung by Mr. Burford, at the Theatre, Whitby, on the occasion of the Foresters' bespeak, and since received every evening with great applause.

I am a native of fair Dublin city,To Whitby I've come for a spree;I've been up to London to visitThe Great Crystal Palace, d'ye see:For there's wonders one top of the other,In that wonderful place to be seen,Faith the brains of a saint it would bother,To know what the government mean.You may talk of your fancy bazaars,If you're passing Hyde Park only stop;Faith it's there that you'll stare with surprise,At Prince Albert's Curiosity Shop.For the first day the charge is a guinea,For those that have guineas to pay,But I dont think I'll be such a ninnyAs throw my good money away;On the next day the charge is five shillings,But the queen wont be there I'll be bound,For altho' she's got plenty of moneyShe'll not like to part with hercrown.You may talk, &c.I'll sing you of some of the wonders,I hear has been sent from this town:Of life boats I'm sure there is plenty,And not one of which will go down.There's Smales, Swallow, Baker, and Slater,Have studied upon their own scale,But the one that should weather all storms,Is that which was made by a Gale.You may talk, &c.There's a genius to make weather merry—Merryweather's the genius I mean;Foul and fair be his studies together,Ere long his success will be seen.At Staithes' they say there's a man too,Has made a rat trap goes on springs;And another a new reefing jacket,Provided with cast metal wings.You may talk, &c.No doubt but you've heard of St Hilda,That wonderful Saint long ago,She cut all the heads off the serpents,With her wonderful sword at a blow.The petrified sword has been found too,To the Great Exhibition it's gone,For no doubt there'll be plenty of serpentsFrom all parts to visit the town.You may talk, &c.I've got some fresh news for your seamenTo keep up your hearts my good lads,For there's vessels to sail out of Whitby,In which you'll be sure of your brads.I've been watching the vessels that's passing,That justice to seamen allows,And so you'll be sure of your wagesFor they've got £4 10s.on their bows.You may talk, &c.May every success attend Whitby,May the star of prosperity shineOn your labours to prove your industry,May it gain for your town a good name;May misfortune's clouds never lowerOn either your commerce or trade;May your seamen gain all they desire,And stick to the terms they have made.You may talk, &c.

I am a native of fair Dublin city,

To Whitby I've come for a spree;

I've been up to London to visit

The Great Crystal Palace, d'ye see:

For there's wonders one top of the other,

In that wonderful place to be seen,

Faith the brains of a saint it would bother,

To know what the government mean.

You may talk of your fancy bazaars,If you're passing Hyde Park only stop;Faith it's there that you'll stare with surprise,At Prince Albert's Curiosity Shop.

You may talk of your fancy bazaars,

If you're passing Hyde Park only stop;

Faith it's there that you'll stare with surprise,

At Prince Albert's Curiosity Shop.

For the first day the charge is a guinea,For those that have guineas to pay,But I dont think I'll be such a ninnyAs throw my good money away;On the next day the charge is five shillings,But the queen wont be there I'll be bound,For altho' she's got plenty of moneyShe'll not like to part with hercrown.You may talk, &c.

For the first day the charge is a guinea,

For those that have guineas to pay,

But I dont think I'll be such a ninny

As throw my good money away;

On the next day the charge is five shillings,

But the queen wont be there I'll be bound,

For altho' she's got plenty of money

She'll not like to part with hercrown.

You may talk, &c.

I'll sing you of some of the wonders,I hear has been sent from this town:Of life boats I'm sure there is plenty,And not one of which will go down.There's Smales, Swallow, Baker, and Slater,Have studied upon their own scale,But the one that should weather all storms,Is that which was made by a Gale.You may talk, &c.

I'll sing you of some of the wonders,

I hear has been sent from this town:

Of life boats I'm sure there is plenty,

And not one of which will go down.

There's Smales, Swallow, Baker, and Slater,

Have studied upon their own scale,

But the one that should weather all storms,

Is that which was made by a Gale.

You may talk, &c.

There's a genius to make weather merry—Merryweather's the genius I mean;Foul and fair be his studies together,Ere long his success will be seen.At Staithes' they say there's a man too,Has made a rat trap goes on springs;And another a new reefing jacket,Provided with cast metal wings.You may talk, &c.

There's a genius to make weather merry—

Merryweather's the genius I mean;

Foul and fair be his studies together,

Ere long his success will be seen.

At Staithes' they say there's a man too,

Has made a rat trap goes on springs;

And another a new reefing jacket,

Provided with cast metal wings.

You may talk, &c.

No doubt but you've heard of St Hilda,That wonderful Saint long ago,She cut all the heads off the serpents,With her wonderful sword at a blow.The petrified sword has been found too,To the Great Exhibition it's gone,For no doubt there'll be plenty of serpentsFrom all parts to visit the town.You may talk, &c.

No doubt but you've heard of St Hilda,

That wonderful Saint long ago,

She cut all the heads off the serpents,

With her wonderful sword at a blow.

The petrified sword has been found too,

To the Great Exhibition it's gone,

For no doubt there'll be plenty of serpents

From all parts to visit the town.

You may talk, &c.

I've got some fresh news for your seamenTo keep up your hearts my good lads,For there's vessels to sail out of Whitby,In which you'll be sure of your brads.I've been watching the vessels that's passing,That justice to seamen allows,And so you'll be sure of your wagesFor they've got £4 10s.on their bows.You may talk, &c.

I've got some fresh news for your seamen

To keep up your hearts my good lads,

For there's vessels to sail out of Whitby,

In which you'll be sure of your brads.

I've been watching the vessels that's passing,

That justice to seamen allows,

And so you'll be sure of your wages

For they've got £4 10s.on their bows.

You may talk, &c.

May every success attend Whitby,May the star of prosperity shineOn your labours to prove your industry,May it gain for your town a good name;May misfortune's clouds never lowerOn either your commerce or trade;May your seamen gain all they desire,And stick to the terms they have made.You may talk, &c.

May every success attend Whitby,

May the star of prosperity shine

On your labours to prove your industry,

May it gain for your town a good name;

May misfortune's clouds never lower

On either your commerce or trade;

May your seamen gain all they desire,

And stick to the terms they have made.

You may talk, &c.

By Abraham Holroyd.[253]

Thissong was composed to commemorate an event which created much sensation in Yorkshire, and indeed throughout all England, in September, 1853; this was the inauguration and opening of a palacededicated to industry near Shipley in Airedale. These works were built for the manufacture of alpaca and mohair fabrics, and named Saltaire from Salt—the name of the owner, Titus Salt, esq., M.P. for Bradford—and Aire, the name of the river on which they were erected. The buildings cover an area of eleven and half acres, will contain 1,200 looms capable of producing 30,000 yards of cloth, or mixed goods, per day, or nearly 18 miles of cloth, and employing about 5,000 people.

The town of Saltaire is built upon the best principles, including every convenience necessary for promoting the health and comfort of the population. Not only will it be a model town as regards its spacious squares and streets, grounds for recreation, schools, and church, (which has lately been opened, and cost 11,000l., and is perhaps the most beautiful in its interior of any church in Yorkshire,) its baths and washhouses, and all that philanthropy can suggest, or art supply, to further improvement.

Roll on, gentle Aire, in thy beauty,Renowned in story and song,The subject of many a ditty,From Nicholson's[254]musical tongue:But a greater than he hath arisen,Who has link'd thy name with his own,He will render thee famous for ages,And thou wilt to millions be known.Then let us all join in the chorus,And sing of the qualities rare,Of one who by nature is noble,—And hail him the lord of Saltaire!He's rear'd up a palace to Labour,Will equal the Cæsars of old,The church and the school and the cottage,And lavish'd his thousands of gold:Where the workman may live and be happy,Enjoying the fruit of his hand;In contentment, in comfort, and plenty,Secure as a peer of the land.Then let us all join, &c.From Peru he's brought the alpaca—From Asia's plains the mohair—With skill has wrought both into beauty,Priz'd much by the wealthy and fair:He has velvets, and camlets, and lustres,With them there is none can compare;Then off, off with your hats and your bonnets,Hurrah for the lord of Saltaire.Hip, hip, and all join, &c.

Roll on, gentle Aire, in thy beauty,

Renowned in story and song,

The subject of many a ditty,

From Nicholson's[254]musical tongue:

But a greater than he hath arisen,

Who has link'd thy name with his own,

He will render thee famous for ages,

And thou wilt to millions be known.

Then let us all join in the chorus,And sing of the qualities rare,Of one who by nature is noble,—And hail him the lord of Saltaire!

Then let us all join in the chorus,

And sing of the qualities rare,

Of one who by nature is noble,—

And hail him the lord of Saltaire!

He's rear'd up a palace to Labour,Will equal the Cæsars of old,The church and the school and the cottage,And lavish'd his thousands of gold:Where the workman may live and be happy,Enjoying the fruit of his hand;In contentment, in comfort, and plenty,Secure as a peer of the land.Then let us all join, &c.

He's rear'd up a palace to Labour,

Will equal the Cæsars of old,

The church and the school and the cottage,

And lavish'd his thousands of gold:

Where the workman may live and be happy,

Enjoying the fruit of his hand;

In contentment, in comfort, and plenty,

Secure as a peer of the land.

Then let us all join, &c.

From Peru he's brought the alpaca—From Asia's plains the mohair—With skill has wrought both into beauty,Priz'd much by the wealthy and fair:He has velvets, and camlets, and lustres,With them there is none can compare;Then off, off with your hats and your bonnets,Hurrah for the lord of Saltaire.Hip, hip, and all join, &c.

From Peru he's brought the alpaca—

From Asia's plains the mohair—

With skill has wrought both into beauty,

Priz'd much by the wealthy and fair:

He has velvets, and camlets, and lustres,

With them there is none can compare;

Then off, off with your hats and your bonnets,

Hurrah for the lord of Saltaire.

Hip, hip, and all join, &c.

AT Bretton Hall, near Wakefield, known so well,Sir William Wentworth Blackett once did dwell;That mansion was his own; there, with his bride,In pomp and splendour, he did once reside.Yet, in the midst of all that he possest,A rambling mind disturb'd sir William's breast;His lady and his home he left behind;Says he, "The end of this wide world I'll find;The earth's extensive, but, you may depend on't,Before e'er I return, I'll find the end on't."So he embark'd on board a ship, we find,And, sailing, left her ladyship behind,Who oft in sorrow did his absence mourn,And sighing said, "Oh, that he would return!For, be his voyage rough or smooth at sea,It is a cruel bitter blast to me."Sir William, he rolls on through winds and waves;Undaunted, he all kinds of weather braves;Nor his strange project e'er relinquish'd he,Till one-and-twenty years he'd been at sea;Then, p'rhaps, he thought, "Good lack! the world is round;The end is nowhere—so it can't be found;And, as I'm weary of this wild-goose chase,At home again, e'er long I'll show my face."Then off he set, but little was aware,What would transpire on his arrival there:For while sir William rov'd as here express'd,Another "Sir," his lady thus address'd:—"Sir William's gone, (ne'er to return again)Past this world's end, which long he sought in vain,There's not a doubt he's found the end of life;But don't be troubled; you shall be my wife."She listen'd, till at length she gave consent,And straightway to church then this couple went.Sir William does about this wedding hear,As he unto his journey's end draws near;And thus he does within his mind reflect:—"This sly usurper I shall now detect:Soon shall he know, though much against his will,At Bretton hall I have dominion still;Those woods and fertile fields my own I call,With this magnificent, this splendid hall:And now I come to claim them as my own,Though, by my dress, not from a beggar known;My clothes are turn'd to rags, and, by the weather,My skin is tann'd till it resembles leather;So now I'll act the beggar bold and rude,And at this wedding boldly I'll intrude,And, though admittance I may be denied,I'll rob the merry bridegroom of his bride."Then at his own hall door one rap he gave,Resolv'd the inmates' charity to crave.So he presented his request, 'tis said,And they presented him—a crust of bread!The bread he took, and then, to their surprise,He ask'd the servants for some beer likewise."No, no," said they, "beer we shall give you none;You saucy drunken vagabond, begone!"At length (with much ado) some beer he got,And quickly he return'd the empty pot;And straightway then into the hall went he,And said, he wish'd her ladyship to see."You can by no means see her," answer'd they,"She's newly married! 'tis her wedding-day!""Married!" the feigned beggarman replied,"Then I'll not go till I have seen the bride."Then tow'rds the dining-room his course he bent,The servants quick pursued with one consent,And seized him, with intent to turn him out."Come back, you villain; what are you about?""About my bus'ness, to be sure," quoth he,"The room I'll enter, and the bride I'll see.""We'll see you out of doors," the servants said;And now of course, a clam'rous din they made,Just then, the bride, on hearing such a clatter,Open'd the door, to see what was the matter.This noble beggar thus obtain'd a sightOf her who erstwhile was his heart's delight,He viewed her in her nuptial garments dress'd,And did of her a glass of wine request,Which she denied—who little did supposeThe ragged stranger was her wealthy spouse;Then straight into the dining-room he went,And down he sat among the guests content.Says he, "You'll grant me my request I know;A glass of wine I'll have before I go."The bride at length, complied with his request,Thus thinking to despatch the ragged guest,But when he did this glass of wine obtain,He drank and fill'd, and drank and fill'd again.The guests astonish'd and disgusted, view'd,Whilst he proceeded to be far more rude;Around the bride's fair neck he threw his arm,And gave a kiss, which did her much alarm,On him she frown'd, and threaten'd him with law,Says he, "Your threats I value not a straw:My conduct to reprove is all in vain,For what I've done I mean to do again.Madam, your bridegroom's in an awkward case;This night I do intend to take his place."And while upon her countenance he pores,The guests agree to kick him out of doors."The deuce is in the beggarman," they cried;"He means to either beg or steal the bride.""No, no," says he, "I claim her as my own."He smil'd and then he did himself make known,Saying, "William Wentworth Blackett is my name;For my long absence I'm much to blame;But safe and sound I have return'd at last,So let's forgive each other all that's past."The bride did her first bridegroom recognise;With joy transported, to his arms she flies;And, whilst they tenderly each other kiss,The disappointed bridegroom they dismiss;Who inwardly did his hard case lament,Hung down his head, and out of door he went."I'm robb'd of this fair jewel, now," thinks he;"How cruel is this tender spouse to me!"Awhile he scratched his head, then heaved a sigh,Then eyed the hall again, and wip'd his eye.Sir William freely did forgive his wife;They liv'd together till the end of life.My honest story I must now conclude,Which may by some be as a fiction view'd;But, sirs, the boots in which sir William went,Are kept in memory of that event;The very hat he wore preserv'd has been,At Bretton hall—where they may yet be seen.

AT Bretton Hall, near Wakefield, known so well,

Sir William Wentworth Blackett once did dwell;

That mansion was his own; there, with his bride,

In pomp and splendour, he did once reside.

Yet, in the midst of all that he possest,

A rambling mind disturb'd sir William's breast;

His lady and his home he left behind;

Says he, "The end of this wide world I'll find;

The earth's extensive, but, you may depend on't,

Before e'er I return, I'll find the end on't."

So he embark'd on board a ship, we find,

And, sailing, left her ladyship behind,

Who oft in sorrow did his absence mourn,

And sighing said, "Oh, that he would return!

For, be his voyage rough or smooth at sea,

It is a cruel bitter blast to me."

Sir William, he rolls on through winds and waves;

Undaunted, he all kinds of weather braves;

Nor his strange project e'er relinquish'd he,

Till one-and-twenty years he'd been at sea;

Then, p'rhaps, he thought, "Good lack! the world is round;

The end is nowhere—so it can't be found;

And, as I'm weary of this wild-goose chase,

At home again, e'er long I'll show my face."

Then off he set, but little was aware,

What would transpire on his arrival there:

For while sir William rov'd as here express'd,

Another "Sir," his lady thus address'd:—

"Sir William's gone, (ne'er to return again)

Past this world's end, which long he sought in vain,

There's not a doubt he's found the end of life;

But don't be troubled; you shall be my wife."

She listen'd, till at length she gave consent,

And straightway to church then this couple went.

Sir William does about this wedding hear,

As he unto his journey's end draws near;

And thus he does within his mind reflect:—

"This sly usurper I shall now detect:

Soon shall he know, though much against his will,

At Bretton hall I have dominion still;

Those woods and fertile fields my own I call,

With this magnificent, this splendid hall:

And now I come to claim them as my own,

Though, by my dress, not from a beggar known;

My clothes are turn'd to rags, and, by the weather,

My skin is tann'd till it resembles leather;

So now I'll act the beggar bold and rude,

And at this wedding boldly I'll intrude,

And, though admittance I may be denied,

I'll rob the merry bridegroom of his bride."

Then at his own hall door one rap he gave,

Resolv'd the inmates' charity to crave.

So he presented his request, 'tis said,

And they presented him—a crust of bread!

The bread he took, and then, to their surprise,

He ask'd the servants for some beer likewise.

"No, no," said they, "beer we shall give you none;

You saucy drunken vagabond, begone!"

At length (with much ado) some beer he got,

And quickly he return'd the empty pot;

And straightway then into the hall went he,

And said, he wish'd her ladyship to see.

"You can by no means see her," answer'd they,

"She's newly married! 'tis her wedding-day!"

"Married!" the feigned beggarman replied,

"Then I'll not go till I have seen the bride."

Then tow'rds the dining-room his course he bent,

The servants quick pursued with one consent,

And seized him, with intent to turn him out.

"Come back, you villain; what are you about?"

"About my bus'ness, to be sure," quoth he,

"The room I'll enter, and the bride I'll see."

"We'll see you out of doors," the servants said;

And now of course, a clam'rous din they made,

Just then, the bride, on hearing such a clatter,

Open'd the door, to see what was the matter.

This noble beggar thus obtain'd a sight

Of her who erstwhile was his heart's delight,

He viewed her in her nuptial garments dress'd,

And did of her a glass of wine request,

Which she denied—who little did suppose

The ragged stranger was her wealthy spouse;

Then straight into the dining-room he went,

And down he sat among the guests content.

Says he, "You'll grant me my request I know;

A glass of wine I'll have before I go."

The bride at length, complied with his request,

Thus thinking to despatch the ragged guest,

But when he did this glass of wine obtain,

He drank and fill'd, and drank and fill'd again.

The guests astonish'd and disgusted, view'd,

Whilst he proceeded to be far more rude;

Around the bride's fair neck he threw his arm,

And gave a kiss, which did her much alarm,

On him she frown'd, and threaten'd him with law,

Says he, "Your threats I value not a straw:

My conduct to reprove is all in vain,

For what I've done I mean to do again.

Madam, your bridegroom's in an awkward case;

This night I do intend to take his place."

And while upon her countenance he pores,

The guests agree to kick him out of doors.

"The deuce is in the beggarman," they cried;

"He means to either beg or steal the bride."

"No, no," says he, "I claim her as my own."

He smil'd and then he did himself make known,

Saying, "William Wentworth Blackett is my name;

For my long absence I'm much to blame;

But safe and sound I have return'd at last,

So let's forgive each other all that's past."

The bride did her first bridegroom recognise;

With joy transported, to his arms she flies;

And, whilst they tenderly each other kiss,

The disappointed bridegroom they dismiss;

Who inwardly did his hard case lament,

Hung down his head, and out of door he went.

"I'm robb'd of this fair jewel, now," thinks he;

"How cruel is this tender spouse to me!"

Awhile he scratched his head, then heaved a sigh,

Then eyed the hall again, and wip'd his eye.

Sir William freely did forgive his wife;

They liv'd together till the end of life.

My honest story I must now conclude,

Which may by some be as a fiction view'd;

But, sirs, the boots in which sir William went,

Are kept in memory of that event;

The very hat he wore preserv'd has been,

At Bretton hall—where they may yet be seen.

COME neighbours draw near and listen awhile,I will sing you a song it will cause you to smile,It's concerning Old Nick, he's the father of evil,He has long been well known by the name of the devil.In the village of Empsall, near to Wakefield town,To an old woman through the chimney he came down,If you'd been there to see him, you would have thought it funny,But he frightened the old woman, for he wanted all her money.Says he, "Woman take warning, for now I tell you plain,To-morrow night at twelve o'clock I'll visit you again,One hundred bright sovereigns for me you must prepare,Or else with me then you must go, to a place you may guess where."Then up thro' the chimney he vanished from her sight,And she went to the Wakefield bank as soon as it was light,"You must pay me one hundred pounds," to the bankers she did say."You ought to give us notice, you can't have it to-day."O then she wept most bitterly and told them her tale,How the devil he would fetch her, or her money without fail,Says the banker, "I will help you, though I beg you will be still,And I'll apprehend the devil and send him to the tread-mill."At Empsall a great thundering noise was heard again that night;The devil down the chimney came with his long horns and a light,Two men that were in readiness seized him in a trice,And they held the devil just as fast, as if he'd been in a vice.Next day great crowds of people went to see the devil there,But they say he changed his shape, and so it did appear,For when he found the old woman safe, so that he could not touch her,He lost his horns and tail, and turned out to be a butcher!The devil often has been blamed when innocent, 'tis true,But now he is caught in the fact, they will give him his due,And since he bears such a bad name, there's no doubt but they willKeep him prisoner, as long as he lives, at Wakefield tread-mill.

COME neighbours draw near and listen awhile,I will sing you a song it will cause you to smile,It's concerning Old Nick, he's the father of evil,He has long been well known by the name of the devil.

COME neighbours draw near and listen awhile,

I will sing you a song it will cause you to smile,

It's concerning Old Nick, he's the father of evil,

He has long been well known by the name of the devil.

In the village of Empsall, near to Wakefield town,To an old woman through the chimney he came down,If you'd been there to see him, you would have thought it funny,But he frightened the old woman, for he wanted all her money.

In the village of Empsall, near to Wakefield town,

To an old woman through the chimney he came down,

If you'd been there to see him, you would have thought it funny,

But he frightened the old woman, for he wanted all her money.

Says he, "Woman take warning, for now I tell you plain,To-morrow night at twelve o'clock I'll visit you again,One hundred bright sovereigns for me you must prepare,Or else with me then you must go, to a place you may guess where."

Says he, "Woman take warning, for now I tell you plain,

To-morrow night at twelve o'clock I'll visit you again,

One hundred bright sovereigns for me you must prepare,

Or else with me then you must go, to a place you may guess where."

Then up thro' the chimney he vanished from her sight,And she went to the Wakefield bank as soon as it was light,"You must pay me one hundred pounds," to the bankers she did say."You ought to give us notice, you can't have it to-day."

Then up thro' the chimney he vanished from her sight,

And she went to the Wakefield bank as soon as it was light,

"You must pay me one hundred pounds," to the bankers she did say.

"You ought to give us notice, you can't have it to-day."

O then she wept most bitterly and told them her tale,How the devil he would fetch her, or her money without fail,Says the banker, "I will help you, though I beg you will be still,And I'll apprehend the devil and send him to the tread-mill."

O then she wept most bitterly and told them her tale,

How the devil he would fetch her, or her money without fail,

Says the banker, "I will help you, though I beg you will be still,

And I'll apprehend the devil and send him to the tread-mill."

At Empsall a great thundering noise was heard again that night;The devil down the chimney came with his long horns and a light,Two men that were in readiness seized him in a trice,And they held the devil just as fast, as if he'd been in a vice.

At Empsall a great thundering noise was heard again that night;

The devil down the chimney came with his long horns and a light,

Two men that were in readiness seized him in a trice,

And they held the devil just as fast, as if he'd been in a vice.

Next day great crowds of people went to see the devil there,But they say he changed his shape, and so it did appear,For when he found the old woman safe, so that he could not touch her,He lost his horns and tail, and turned out to be a butcher!

Next day great crowds of people went to see the devil there,

But they say he changed his shape, and so it did appear,

For when he found the old woman safe, so that he could not touch her,

He lost his horns and tail, and turned out to be a butcher!

The devil often has been blamed when innocent, 'tis true,But now he is caught in the fact, they will give him his due,And since he bears such a bad name, there's no doubt but they willKeep him prisoner, as long as he lives, at Wakefield tread-mill.

The devil often has been blamed when innocent, 'tis true,

But now he is caught in the fact, they will give him his due,

And since he bears such a bad name, there's no doubt but they will

Keep him prisoner, as long as he lives, at Wakefield tread-mill.

WHEN I was a wee little totterin bairn,An' had nobbut just gitten short frocks;When to gang I at first was beginnin to lairn,On my brow I gat monie hard knocks:For se waik, an' se silly, an' helpless was I,I was always a tumblin down then,While me mother wald twattle me gently, an' cry,"Honey, Jenny, tak' care o' thysen."But when I grew bigger, an' gat to be strang,'At I cannily ran all aboutBy mysen, whor I lik'd, then I always mud gang,Without bein' tell'd about ought.When however I com to be sixteen year auld,An' rattled an' ramp'd amang men.My mother wud call o' me in, an' wald scauld,An' cry—"Huzzy! tak' care o' thysen."I've a sweetheart comes now upo' Setterday neeghts,An' he swears 'at he'll mak' me his wife,My mam grows se stingy, she scaulds and she flytes,An' twitters me out o' my life.But she may leuk sour, an' cansait hersen wise,An' preach again likin young men;Sen I'se grown a woman, her clack I'll despise,An' I'se—marry!—tak' care o' mysen.

WHEN I was a wee little totterin bairn,

An' had nobbut just gitten short frocks;

When to gang I at first was beginnin to lairn,

On my brow I gat monie hard knocks:

For se waik, an' se silly, an' helpless was I,

I was always a tumblin down then,

While me mother wald twattle me gently, an' cry,

"Honey, Jenny, tak' care o' thysen."

But when I grew bigger, an' gat to be strang,'At I cannily ran all aboutBy mysen, whor I lik'd, then I always mud gang,Without bein' tell'd about ought.When however I com to be sixteen year auld,An' rattled an' ramp'd amang men.My mother wud call o' me in, an' wald scauld,An' cry—"Huzzy! tak' care o' thysen."

But when I grew bigger, an' gat to be strang,

'At I cannily ran all about

By mysen, whor I lik'd, then I always mud gang,

Without bein' tell'd about ought.

When however I com to be sixteen year auld,

An' rattled an' ramp'd amang men.

My mother wud call o' me in, an' wald scauld,

An' cry—"Huzzy! tak' care o' thysen."

I've a sweetheart comes now upo' Setterday neeghts,An' he swears 'at he'll mak' me his wife,My mam grows se stingy, she scaulds and she flytes,An' twitters me out o' my life.But she may leuk sour, an' cansait hersen wise,An' preach again likin young men;Sen I'se grown a woman, her clack I'll despise,An' I'se—marry!—tak' care o' mysen.

I've a sweetheart comes now upo' Setterday neeghts,

An' he swears 'at he'll mak' me his wife,

My mam grows se stingy, she scaulds and she flytes,

An' twitters me out o' my life.

But she may leuk sour, an' cansait hersen wise,

An' preach again likin young men;

Sen I'se grown a woman, her clack I'll despise,

An' I'se—marry!—tak' care o' mysen.

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