THE SISTERS OF BEVERLEY.[136]

YORKE for my monie:Of all the citties that ever I see,For mery pastime and companie,Except the cittie of London.As I came through the north countree,The fashions of the world to see,I sought for my mery companie,To go to the cittie of London:And when to the cittie of Yorke I came,I found good companie in the same,As well disposed to every game,As if it had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.And in that cittie what saw I then?Knightes, squires, and gentlemen,A shooting went for matches tenAs if it had been at London.And they shot for twentie poundes a bowe,Besides great cheere they did bestowe,I never sawe a gallanter showe,Except I had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.These matches you shall understande,The earle of Essex took in hande,Against the good earle of Cumberlande,As if it had been at London.And agreede these matches all shall beFor pastime and good company,At the cittie of Yorke full merilyAs if it had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.In Yorke there dwells an alderman, whichDelights in shooting very much,I never heard of any suchIn all the cittie of London.His name is Maltbie,[134]mery and wise,At any pastime you can devise,But in shooting all his pleasure lyes,The like was never in London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.This Maltbie for the cittie sake,To shoot (himself) did undertake,At any good match the earls would make,As well as they do at London.And he brought to the fields with him,One Specke, an archer, proper and trim,And Smith, that shoote about the pin,As if it had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.Then came from Cumberlande archers three,Best bowmen in the north countree,I will tell you their names what they beWell known to the cittie of London.Walmsley many a man dothe knowe,And Bolton how he draweth his bowe,And Ratcliffe's shooting long agoe,Well knowne to the cittie of London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.And the noble earle of Essex cameTo the fielde himselfe to see the same,Which shal be had for ever in fame,As soone as I come at London.For he showed himself so diligent there,To make a marke and keepe it faire:It is worthie memorie to declareThrough all the cittie of London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.And then was shooting out of crye,And skantling at a handfull nie,And yet the winde was very hie,As it is sometimes at London.They clapt the cloutes so on the ragges,There was such betting and such bragges,And galloping up and down with nagges,As if it had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.And never an archer gave regardeTo halfe a bowe and halfe a yarde,I never see matches goe more hardeAbout the cittie of London.For fairer play was never plaide,For fairer layes was never laideAnd a week together they kept this trade,As if it had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.The maior of Yorke,[135]with his companie,Were all in the fields, I warrant ye,To see good rule kept orderly,As if it had been at London.Which was a dutifull sight to see,The maior and alderman there to bee,For setting forth of archerie,As well as they do at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.And there was neither fault nor fray,Nor any disorder any way,But every man did pitch and pay,As if it had been at London.As soon as every match was done,Every man was paid that won,And merily up and downe dide ronne,As if it had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.And never a man that went abroade,But thought his monie well bestowde,And monie laide in heap and loade,As if it had been at London.And gentlemen there so franke and free,As a mint at Yorke again should bee;Like shooting did I never see,Except I had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.At Yorke were ambassadours three,Of Russia—lordes of high degree,This shooting they desirde to see,As if it had been at London.And one desirde to draw a bowe,The force and strength thereof to knowe,And for his delight he drew it soAs seldom seen in London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.And they did marvaile very much,There could be any archer such,To shoote so farre the cloute to tutch,Which is no news to London.And they might well consider than,An English shaft will kill a man,As hath been proved, where and whan,And chronicled since in London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.The earle of Cumberlande's archers wonTwo matches cleare, ere all was done,And I made haste a pace to ronne,To carrie these news to London.And Walmsley did the upshot win,With both his shafts so near the pin,You could scant have put three fingers in,As if it had been in London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.I passe not for my monie it cost,Though some I spent and some I lost,I wanted neither sod nor roast,As if it had been in London.For there was plentie of every thing,Redd and fallowe deere, for a king,I never saw so mery shooting,Since first I came from London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.God save the cittie of Yorke, therefore,That hath such noble friends in store,And such good aldermen send them more,And the like good luck at London.For it is not little joye to see,When lords and aldermen so agree,With such according cummunaltie,God send us the like in London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.God save the good earle of Cumberlande,His praise in golden lines shall stande,That maintains archerie through the land,As well as they do at London.Whose noble minde so courteouslyAcquaintes himself with the communaltie,To the glory of his nobilitie,I will carie the praise to London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.And tell the good earle of Essex thus,As he is now young and prosperus,To use such properties vertuous,Deserves great praise in London.For it is no little joy to see,When noble youths so gracious bee,To give their good willes to their countrie,As well as they do at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.Farewell good cittie of Yorke to thee,Tell alderman Maltbie this from mee,In print shall this good shooting bee,As soone as I come at London.And many a song will I bestow,On all the musitians that I know,To sing the praises where they goe,Of the cittie of Yorke, in London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.God save our queen, and keep our peace,That our good shooting may increase,And praying to God let us not cease,As well at Yorke as at London.That all our countree round aboutMay have archers good to hit the cloute,Which England cannot be without,No more than Yorke or London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.God graunt that (once) her majestieWould come, her cittie of Yorke to see,For the comfort great of that countree,As well as she doth at London.Nothing shall be thought too deare,To see her highness' person there,With such obedient loue and feare,As ever she had in London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

YORKE for my monie:Of all the citties that ever I see,For mery pastime and companie,Except the cittie of London.

YORKE for my monie:

Of all the citties that ever I see,

For mery pastime and companie,

Except the cittie of London.

As I came through the north countree,The fashions of the world to see,I sought for my mery companie,To go to the cittie of London:And when to the cittie of Yorke I came,I found good companie in the same,As well disposed to every game,As if it had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

As I came through the north countree,

The fashions of the world to see,

I sought for my mery companie,

To go to the cittie of London:

And when to the cittie of Yorke I came,

I found good companie in the same,

As well disposed to every game,

As if it had been at London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And in that cittie what saw I then?Knightes, squires, and gentlemen,A shooting went for matches tenAs if it had been at London.And they shot for twentie poundes a bowe,Besides great cheere they did bestowe,I never sawe a gallanter showe,Except I had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And in that cittie what saw I then?

Knightes, squires, and gentlemen,

A shooting went for matches ten

As if it had been at London.

And they shot for twentie poundes a bowe,

Besides great cheere they did bestowe,

I never sawe a gallanter showe,

Except I had been at London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

These matches you shall understande,The earle of Essex took in hande,Against the good earle of Cumberlande,As if it had been at London.And agreede these matches all shall beFor pastime and good company,At the cittie of Yorke full merilyAs if it had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

These matches you shall understande,

The earle of Essex took in hande,

Against the good earle of Cumberlande,

As if it had been at London.

And agreede these matches all shall be

For pastime and good company,

At the cittie of Yorke full merily

As if it had been at London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

In Yorke there dwells an alderman, whichDelights in shooting very much,I never heard of any suchIn all the cittie of London.His name is Maltbie,[134]mery and wise,At any pastime you can devise,But in shooting all his pleasure lyes,The like was never in London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

In Yorke there dwells an alderman, which

Delights in shooting very much,

I never heard of any such

In all the cittie of London.

His name is Maltbie,[134]mery and wise,

At any pastime you can devise,

But in shooting all his pleasure lyes,

The like was never in London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

This Maltbie for the cittie sake,To shoot (himself) did undertake,At any good match the earls would make,As well as they do at London.And he brought to the fields with him,One Specke, an archer, proper and trim,And Smith, that shoote about the pin,As if it had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

This Maltbie for the cittie sake,

To shoot (himself) did undertake,

At any good match the earls would make,

As well as they do at London.

And he brought to the fields with him,

One Specke, an archer, proper and trim,

And Smith, that shoote about the pin,

As if it had been at London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

Then came from Cumberlande archers three,Best bowmen in the north countree,I will tell you their names what they beWell known to the cittie of London.Walmsley many a man dothe knowe,And Bolton how he draweth his bowe,And Ratcliffe's shooting long agoe,Well knowne to the cittie of London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

Then came from Cumberlande archers three,

Best bowmen in the north countree,

I will tell you their names what they be

Well known to the cittie of London.

Walmsley many a man dothe knowe,

And Bolton how he draweth his bowe,

And Ratcliffe's shooting long agoe,

Well knowne to the cittie of London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And the noble earle of Essex cameTo the fielde himselfe to see the same,Which shal be had for ever in fame,As soone as I come at London.For he showed himself so diligent there,To make a marke and keepe it faire:It is worthie memorie to declareThrough all the cittie of London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And the noble earle of Essex came

To the fielde himselfe to see the same,

Which shal be had for ever in fame,

As soone as I come at London.

For he showed himself so diligent there,

To make a marke and keepe it faire:

It is worthie memorie to declare

Through all the cittie of London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And then was shooting out of crye,And skantling at a handfull nie,And yet the winde was very hie,As it is sometimes at London.They clapt the cloutes so on the ragges,There was such betting and such bragges,And galloping up and down with nagges,As if it had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And then was shooting out of crye,

And skantling at a handfull nie,

And yet the winde was very hie,

As it is sometimes at London.

They clapt the cloutes so on the ragges,

There was such betting and such bragges,

And galloping up and down with nagges,

As if it had been at London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And never an archer gave regardeTo halfe a bowe and halfe a yarde,I never see matches goe more hardeAbout the cittie of London.For fairer play was never plaide,For fairer layes was never laideAnd a week together they kept this trade,As if it had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And never an archer gave regarde

To halfe a bowe and halfe a yarde,

I never see matches goe more harde

About the cittie of London.

For fairer play was never plaide,

For fairer layes was never laide

And a week together they kept this trade,

As if it had been at London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

The maior of Yorke,[135]with his companie,Were all in the fields, I warrant ye,To see good rule kept orderly,As if it had been at London.Which was a dutifull sight to see,The maior and alderman there to bee,For setting forth of archerie,As well as they do at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

The maior of Yorke,[135]with his companie,

Were all in the fields, I warrant ye,

To see good rule kept orderly,

As if it had been at London.

Which was a dutifull sight to see,

The maior and alderman there to bee,

For setting forth of archerie,

As well as they do at London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And there was neither fault nor fray,Nor any disorder any way,But every man did pitch and pay,As if it had been at London.As soon as every match was done,Every man was paid that won,And merily up and downe dide ronne,As if it had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And there was neither fault nor fray,

Nor any disorder any way,

But every man did pitch and pay,

As if it had been at London.

As soon as every match was done,

Every man was paid that won,

And merily up and downe dide ronne,

As if it had been at London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And never a man that went abroade,But thought his monie well bestowde,And monie laide in heap and loade,As if it had been at London.And gentlemen there so franke and free,As a mint at Yorke again should bee;Like shooting did I never see,Except I had been at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And never a man that went abroade,

But thought his monie well bestowde,

And monie laide in heap and loade,

As if it had been at London.

And gentlemen there so franke and free,

As a mint at Yorke again should bee;

Like shooting did I never see,

Except I had been at London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

At Yorke were ambassadours three,Of Russia—lordes of high degree,This shooting they desirde to see,As if it had been at London.And one desirde to draw a bowe,The force and strength thereof to knowe,And for his delight he drew it soAs seldom seen in London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

At Yorke were ambassadours three,

Of Russia—lordes of high degree,

This shooting they desirde to see,

As if it had been at London.

And one desirde to draw a bowe,

The force and strength thereof to knowe,

And for his delight he drew it so

As seldom seen in London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And they did marvaile very much,There could be any archer such,To shoote so farre the cloute to tutch,Which is no news to London.And they might well consider than,An English shaft will kill a man,As hath been proved, where and whan,And chronicled since in London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And they did marvaile very much,

There could be any archer such,

To shoote so farre the cloute to tutch,

Which is no news to London.

And they might well consider than,

An English shaft will kill a man,

As hath been proved, where and whan,

And chronicled since in London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

The earle of Cumberlande's archers wonTwo matches cleare, ere all was done,And I made haste a pace to ronne,To carrie these news to London.And Walmsley did the upshot win,With both his shafts so near the pin,You could scant have put three fingers in,As if it had been in London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

The earle of Cumberlande's archers won

Two matches cleare, ere all was done,

And I made haste a pace to ronne,

To carrie these news to London.

And Walmsley did the upshot win,

With both his shafts so near the pin,

You could scant have put three fingers in,

As if it had been in London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

I passe not for my monie it cost,Though some I spent and some I lost,I wanted neither sod nor roast,As if it had been in London.For there was plentie of every thing,Redd and fallowe deere, for a king,I never saw so mery shooting,Since first I came from London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

I passe not for my monie it cost,

Though some I spent and some I lost,

I wanted neither sod nor roast,

As if it had been in London.

For there was plentie of every thing,

Redd and fallowe deere, for a king,

I never saw so mery shooting,

Since first I came from London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

God save the cittie of Yorke, therefore,That hath such noble friends in store,And such good aldermen send them more,And the like good luck at London.For it is not little joye to see,When lords and aldermen so agree,With such according cummunaltie,God send us the like in London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

God save the cittie of Yorke, therefore,

That hath such noble friends in store,

And such good aldermen send them more,

And the like good luck at London.

For it is not little joye to see,

When lords and aldermen so agree,

With such according cummunaltie,

God send us the like in London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

God save the good earle of Cumberlande,His praise in golden lines shall stande,That maintains archerie through the land,As well as they do at London.Whose noble minde so courteouslyAcquaintes himself with the communaltie,To the glory of his nobilitie,I will carie the praise to London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

God save the good earle of Cumberlande,

His praise in golden lines shall stande,

That maintains archerie through the land,

As well as they do at London.

Whose noble minde so courteously

Acquaintes himself with the communaltie,

To the glory of his nobilitie,

I will carie the praise to London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And tell the good earle of Essex thus,As he is now young and prosperus,To use such properties vertuous,Deserves great praise in London.For it is no little joy to see,When noble youths so gracious bee,To give their good willes to their countrie,As well as they do at London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And tell the good earle of Essex thus,

As he is now young and prosperus,

To use such properties vertuous,

Deserves great praise in London.

For it is no little joy to see,

When noble youths so gracious bee,

To give their good willes to their countrie,

As well as they do at London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

Farewell good cittie of Yorke to thee,Tell alderman Maltbie this from mee,In print shall this good shooting bee,As soone as I come at London.And many a song will I bestow,On all the musitians that I know,To sing the praises where they goe,Of the cittie of Yorke, in London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

Farewell good cittie of Yorke to thee,

Tell alderman Maltbie this from mee,

In print shall this good shooting bee,

As soone as I come at London.

And many a song will I bestow,

On all the musitians that I know,

To sing the praises where they goe,

Of the cittie of Yorke, in London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

God save our queen, and keep our peace,That our good shooting may increase,And praying to God let us not cease,As well at Yorke as at London.That all our countree round aboutMay have archers good to hit the cloute,Which England cannot be without,No more than Yorke or London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

God save our queen, and keep our peace,

That our good shooting may increase,

And praying to God let us not cease,

As well at Yorke as at London.

That all our countree round about

May have archers good to hit the cloute,

Which England cannot be without,

No more than Yorke or London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

God graunt that (once) her majestieWould come, her cittie of Yorke to see,For the comfort great of that countree,As well as she doth at London.Nothing shall be thought too deare,To see her highness' person there,With such obedient loue and feare,As ever she had in London.Yorke, Yorke, &c.

God graunt that (once) her majestie

Would come, her cittie of Yorke to see,

For the comfort great of that countree,

As well as she doth at London.

Nothing shall be thought too deare,

To see her highness' person there,

With such obedient loue and feare,

As ever she had in London.

Yorke, Yorke, &c.

THE tapers are blazing, the mass is sung,In the chapel of Beverley,And merrily too the bells have rung;'Tis the eve of our Lord's nativity;And the holy maids are kneeling round,While the moon shines bright on the hallow'd ground.Yes, the sky is clear, and the stars are bright,And the air is hush'd and mild;Befitting well the holy night,When o'er Judah's mountains wild,The mystic star blazed bright and free,And sweet rang the heavenly minstrelsy.The nuns have risen through the cloister dim,Each seeks her lonely cell;To pray alone till the joyful hymnOn the midnight breeze shall swell;And all are gone save two sisters fairWho stand in the moonlight silent there.Now hand in hand, through the shadowy aisle,Like airy things they've past,With noiseless step, and with gentle smile,And meek eyes heavenward cast;Like things too pure upon earth to stay,They have fled like a vision of light away.And again the merry bells have rung,So sweet through the starry sky;For the midnight mass hath this night been sung,And the chalice is lifted high,And the nuns are kneeling in holiest pray'r,Yes, all, save these meek-eyed sisters fair.Then up rose the abbess, she sought around,But in vain, for these gentle maids;They were ever the first at the mass bell's sound,Have they fled these holy shades?Or can they be numbered among the dead?Oh! whither can these fair maids be fled?The snows have melted, the fields are green,The cuckoo singeth aloud,The flowers are budding, the sunny sheenBeams bright through the parted cloud,And maidens are gathering the sweet breath'd May,But these gentle sisters, oh, where are they?And summer is come in rosy pride,'Tis the eve of the blessed Saint John,And the holy nuns after vespertide,All forth from the chapel are gone;While to taste the cool of the evening hourThe abbess hath sought the topmost tower."Gramercy, sweet ladye! and can it be,The long lost sisters fairOn the threshold lie calm, and silently,As in holiest slumber there!Yet sleep they not, but entranced they lie,With lifted hands and heavenward eye."O long lost maidens, arise! arise!Say when did ye hither stray."They have turn'd to the abbess with their meek blue eyes,"Not an hour hath passed awayBut glorious visions our eyes have seen;Oh sure in the kingdom of heaven we've been!"There is joy in the convent of Beverley,Now these saintly maidens are found,And to hear their story right wonderingly,The nuns have gathered around—The long lost maidens, to whom was given,To live so long the life of heaven.And again the chapel bell is rung,And all to the altar repair,And sweetly the midnight lauds are sung,By the sainted sisters there;While their heaven-taught voices softly riseLike an incense cloud to the silent skies.The maidens have risen, with noiseless treadThey glide o'er the marble floor;They seek the abbess with bended head,—"Thy blessing we would implore,Dear mother! for ere the coming dayShall burst into light, we must hence away."The abbess hath lifted her gentle hands,And the words of peace hath said,O vade in pacem, aghast she stands,Have their innocent spirits fled?Yes, side by side lie these maidens fair,Like two wreaths of snow in the moonlight there.List! List! the sweet peal of the convent bells,They are rung by no earthly hand,And hark how the far off melody swellsOf the joyful angel band,Who hover around surpassingly bright,And the chapel is bathed in rosy light.'Tis o'er! side by side in the chapel fair,Are the sainted maidens laid;With their snowy brow, and their glossy hair,They look not like the dead;Fifty summers have come and passed away,But their loveliness knoweth no decay!And many a chaplet of flowers is hung,And many a bead told there,And many a hymn of praise is sung,And many a low breathed pray'r;And many a pilgrim bends the knee,At the shrine of the sisters of Beverley.

THE tapers are blazing, the mass is sung,

In the chapel of Beverley,

And merrily too the bells have rung;

'Tis the eve of our Lord's nativity;

And the holy maids are kneeling round,

While the moon shines bright on the hallow'd ground.

Yes, the sky is clear, and the stars are bright,And the air is hush'd and mild;Befitting well the holy night,When o'er Judah's mountains wild,The mystic star blazed bright and free,And sweet rang the heavenly minstrelsy.

Yes, the sky is clear, and the stars are bright,

And the air is hush'd and mild;

Befitting well the holy night,

When o'er Judah's mountains wild,

The mystic star blazed bright and free,

And sweet rang the heavenly minstrelsy.

The nuns have risen through the cloister dim,Each seeks her lonely cell;To pray alone till the joyful hymnOn the midnight breeze shall swell;And all are gone save two sisters fairWho stand in the moonlight silent there.

The nuns have risen through the cloister dim,

Each seeks her lonely cell;

To pray alone till the joyful hymn

On the midnight breeze shall swell;

And all are gone save two sisters fair

Who stand in the moonlight silent there.

Now hand in hand, through the shadowy aisle,Like airy things they've past,With noiseless step, and with gentle smile,And meek eyes heavenward cast;Like things too pure upon earth to stay,They have fled like a vision of light away.

Now hand in hand, through the shadowy aisle,

Like airy things they've past,

With noiseless step, and with gentle smile,

And meek eyes heavenward cast;

Like things too pure upon earth to stay,

They have fled like a vision of light away.

And again the merry bells have rung,So sweet through the starry sky;For the midnight mass hath this night been sung,And the chalice is lifted high,And the nuns are kneeling in holiest pray'r,Yes, all, save these meek-eyed sisters fair.

And again the merry bells have rung,

So sweet through the starry sky;

For the midnight mass hath this night been sung,

And the chalice is lifted high,

And the nuns are kneeling in holiest pray'r,

Yes, all, save these meek-eyed sisters fair.

Then up rose the abbess, she sought around,But in vain, for these gentle maids;They were ever the first at the mass bell's sound,Have they fled these holy shades?Or can they be numbered among the dead?Oh! whither can these fair maids be fled?

Then up rose the abbess, she sought around,

But in vain, for these gentle maids;

They were ever the first at the mass bell's sound,

Have they fled these holy shades?

Or can they be numbered among the dead?

Oh! whither can these fair maids be fled?

The snows have melted, the fields are green,The cuckoo singeth aloud,The flowers are budding, the sunny sheenBeams bright through the parted cloud,And maidens are gathering the sweet breath'd May,But these gentle sisters, oh, where are they?

The snows have melted, the fields are green,

The cuckoo singeth aloud,

The flowers are budding, the sunny sheen

Beams bright through the parted cloud,

And maidens are gathering the sweet breath'd May,

But these gentle sisters, oh, where are they?

And summer is come in rosy pride,'Tis the eve of the blessed Saint John,And the holy nuns after vespertide,All forth from the chapel are gone;While to taste the cool of the evening hourThe abbess hath sought the topmost tower.

And summer is come in rosy pride,

'Tis the eve of the blessed Saint John,

And the holy nuns after vespertide,

All forth from the chapel are gone;

While to taste the cool of the evening hour

The abbess hath sought the topmost tower.

"Gramercy, sweet ladye! and can it be,The long lost sisters fairOn the threshold lie calm, and silently,As in holiest slumber there!Yet sleep they not, but entranced they lie,With lifted hands and heavenward eye.

"Gramercy, sweet ladye! and can it be,

The long lost sisters fair

On the threshold lie calm, and silently,

As in holiest slumber there!

Yet sleep they not, but entranced they lie,

With lifted hands and heavenward eye.

"O long lost maidens, arise! arise!Say when did ye hither stray."They have turn'd to the abbess with their meek blue eyes,"Not an hour hath passed awayBut glorious visions our eyes have seen;Oh sure in the kingdom of heaven we've been!"

"O long lost maidens, arise! arise!

Say when did ye hither stray."

They have turn'd to the abbess with their meek blue eyes,

"Not an hour hath passed away

But glorious visions our eyes have seen;

Oh sure in the kingdom of heaven we've been!"

There is joy in the convent of Beverley,Now these saintly maidens are found,And to hear their story right wonderingly,The nuns have gathered around—The long lost maidens, to whom was given,To live so long the life of heaven.

There is joy in the convent of Beverley,

Now these saintly maidens are found,

And to hear their story right wonderingly,

The nuns have gathered around—

The long lost maidens, to whom was given,

To live so long the life of heaven.

And again the chapel bell is rung,And all to the altar repair,And sweetly the midnight lauds are sung,By the sainted sisters there;While their heaven-taught voices softly riseLike an incense cloud to the silent skies.

And again the chapel bell is rung,

And all to the altar repair,

And sweetly the midnight lauds are sung,

By the sainted sisters there;

While their heaven-taught voices softly rise

Like an incense cloud to the silent skies.

The maidens have risen, with noiseless treadThey glide o'er the marble floor;They seek the abbess with bended head,—"Thy blessing we would implore,Dear mother! for ere the coming dayShall burst into light, we must hence away."

The maidens have risen, with noiseless tread

They glide o'er the marble floor;

They seek the abbess with bended head,—

"Thy blessing we would implore,

Dear mother! for ere the coming day

Shall burst into light, we must hence away."

The abbess hath lifted her gentle hands,And the words of peace hath said,O vade in pacem, aghast she stands,Have their innocent spirits fled?Yes, side by side lie these maidens fair,Like two wreaths of snow in the moonlight there.

The abbess hath lifted her gentle hands,

And the words of peace hath said,

O vade in pacem, aghast she stands,

Have their innocent spirits fled?

Yes, side by side lie these maidens fair,

Like two wreaths of snow in the moonlight there.

List! List! the sweet peal of the convent bells,They are rung by no earthly hand,And hark how the far off melody swellsOf the joyful angel band,Who hover around surpassingly bright,And the chapel is bathed in rosy light.

List! List! the sweet peal of the convent bells,

They are rung by no earthly hand,

And hark how the far off melody swells

Of the joyful angel band,

Who hover around surpassingly bright,

And the chapel is bathed in rosy light.

'Tis o'er! side by side in the chapel fair,Are the sainted maidens laid;With their snowy brow, and their glossy hair,They look not like the dead;Fifty summers have come and passed away,But their loveliness knoweth no decay!

'Tis o'er! side by side in the chapel fair,

Are the sainted maidens laid;

With their snowy brow, and their glossy hair,

They look not like the dead;

Fifty summers have come and passed away,

But their loveliness knoweth no decay!

And many a chaplet of flowers is hung,And many a bead told there,And many a hymn of praise is sung,And many a low breathed pray'r;And many a pilgrim bends the knee,At the shrine of the sisters of Beverley.

And many a chaplet of flowers is hung,

And many a bead told there,

And many a hymn of praise is sung,

And many a low breathed pray'r;

And many a pilgrim bends the knee,

At the shrine of the sisters of Beverley.

Traditiontells us that near the Dropping Well, at Knaresborough, this famous Yorkshire Sybil was born, about the year 1487; she married Tobias Shipton, a carpenter of Shipton, near York; and from this match derived the name of Mother Shipton. Many tales of her skill in futurity are still related in the county; the whole of which, including a series of succeeding events, are stated to have been delivered to the abbot of Beverley, as in the following:—

"A maiden queen full many a year,Shall England's warlike sceptre bear."

"A maiden queen full many a year,

Shall England's warlike sceptre bear."

Spoken of queen Elizabeth, that was beloved by her subjects, and dreaded by her enemies, above forty years.

"The western monarch's wooden horses,Shall be destroy'd by Drake's forces."

"The western monarch's wooden horses,

Shall be destroy'd by Drake's forces."

The king of Spain's mighty armada, in 1588, was destroyed by the English fleet.

"Triumphant death rides London thro',And men on tops of houses go."

"Triumphant death rides London thro',

And men on tops of houses go."

The first line points to the great sickness in London, in 1665; the second to the dreadful fire in the following year.

This famous prophetess died in the fifty-ninth year of her age, fulfilling her own prediction, even to the day and hour. On her tomb was placed this epitaph:—

Here lies she who seldom ly'd,Whose skill so often has been try'd.Her Prophecies shall still survive,And ever keep her name alive.

Here lies she who seldom ly'd,

Whose skill so often has been try'd.

Her Prophecies shall still survive,

And ever keep her name alive.

I.Of all the pretty pantomimesThat have been seen or sung in rhimes,Since famous Johnny Rich's times,There's none like Mother Shipton.She pleases folks of every class,She makes her swans and ducklings pass;She shows her hog, she shows her ass,[137]Oh, charming Mother Shipton!II.Near to the famous dropping wellShe first drew breath, as records tell,And had good beer and ale to sell,As ever tongue was tipt on;Her dropping well itself is seen,Quaint gobblins hobble round their queen,And little fairies tread the green,Call'd forth by Mother Shipton.III.Oh, London is a charming place!Yet grumble not ye critick race,Tho' mansion house is seen to graceThe streets in Mother Shipton!You think a blunder you descry:Yet you might see with half an eye'Tis Mother Shipton's prophecy—Oh, charming Mother Shipton!IV.Come, jolly tars and sailors staunch,Oh, come with us and see the launch!'Twill feast your eyes, and fill your paunch,As done by Mother Shipton.The shores give way the hulk that prop—Huzza! the ship is launch'd—and pop!'Tis turn'd into a baker's shop—Oh, charming Mother Shipton!V.Then after several wonders past,To Yorkshire all return at last,And in a coal pit they are cast—Oh, won'ous Mother Shipton!Yet she redeems them every soul:And here's the moral of the whole—'Tis Mother Shipton brings the cole:Oh, charming Mother Shipton!

Of all the pretty pantomimesThat have been seen or sung in rhimes,Since famous Johnny Rich's times,There's none like Mother Shipton.She pleases folks of every class,She makes her swans and ducklings pass;She shows her hog, she shows her ass,[137]Oh, charming Mother Shipton!

Of all the pretty pantomimes

That have been seen or sung in rhimes,

Since famous Johnny Rich's times,

There's none like Mother Shipton.

She pleases folks of every class,

She makes her swans and ducklings pass;

She shows her hog, she shows her ass,[137]

Oh, charming Mother Shipton!

II.

Near to the famous dropping wellShe first drew breath, as records tell,And had good beer and ale to sell,As ever tongue was tipt on;Her dropping well itself is seen,Quaint gobblins hobble round their queen,And little fairies tread the green,Call'd forth by Mother Shipton.

Near to the famous dropping well

She first drew breath, as records tell,

And had good beer and ale to sell,

As ever tongue was tipt on;

Her dropping well itself is seen,

Quaint gobblins hobble round their queen,

And little fairies tread the green,

Call'd forth by Mother Shipton.

III.

Oh, London is a charming place!Yet grumble not ye critick race,Tho' mansion house is seen to graceThe streets in Mother Shipton!You think a blunder you descry:Yet you might see with half an eye'Tis Mother Shipton's prophecy—Oh, charming Mother Shipton!

Oh, London is a charming place!

Yet grumble not ye critick race,

Tho' mansion house is seen to grace

The streets in Mother Shipton!

You think a blunder you descry:

Yet you might see with half an eye

'Tis Mother Shipton's prophecy—

Oh, charming Mother Shipton!

IV.

Come, jolly tars and sailors staunch,Oh, come with us and see the launch!'Twill feast your eyes, and fill your paunch,As done by Mother Shipton.The shores give way the hulk that prop—Huzza! the ship is launch'd—and pop!'Tis turn'd into a baker's shop—Oh, charming Mother Shipton!

Come, jolly tars and sailors staunch,

Oh, come with us and see the launch!

'Twill feast your eyes, and fill your paunch,

As done by Mother Shipton.

The shores give way the hulk that prop—

Huzza! the ship is launch'd—and pop!

'Tis turn'd into a baker's shop—

Oh, charming Mother Shipton!

Then after several wonders past,To Yorkshire all return at last,And in a coal pit they are cast—Oh, won'ous Mother Shipton!Yet she redeems them every soul:And here's the moral of the whole—'Tis Mother Shipton brings the cole:Oh, charming Mother Shipton!

Then after several wonders past,

To Yorkshire all return at last,

And in a coal pit they are cast—

Oh, won'ous Mother Shipton!

Yet she redeems them every soul:

And here's the moral of the whole—

'Tis Mother Shipton brings the cole:

Oh, charming Mother Shipton!

William Nevisonwas born in Yorkshire, though the place is uncertain; some say at Nevison hall, in Upsall, near Thirsk, others, at Pontefract and Wortley. He was notorious during the reign of Charles II., and wasnamed by the "merry monarch"Swift Nick. After committing a robbery in London, about sunrise, he rode his mare to York in the course of the day, and appeared upon the Bowling-green of that city before sunset. From this latter circumstance, when brought to trial for the offence, he established analibito the satisfaction of the jury, though he was in reality guilty. But, though he escaped this time, he was afterwards apprehended in a public-house at Sandal-three-Houses, near Wakefield, for another offence, convicted and hanged at York, May 4th, 1685. "Thus it was related," says lord Macaulay in his "History of England," "of William Nevison, the great robber of the north of Yorkshire, that he levied a quarterly tribute on all the northern drovers, and in return not only spared them himself, but protected them against all other thieves; that he demanded purses in the most courteous manner; that he gave largely to the poor what he had taken from the rich; that his life was once spared by the royal clemency, but that he again tempted his fate, and at length died, in 1685, on the gallows at York."

Did you ever hear tell of that hero,Bold Nevison that was his name?He rode about like a bold hero,And with that he gained great fame.He maintained himself like a gentleman,Besides he was good to the poor;He rode about like a bold hero,And he gain'd himself favour therefore.Oh the Twenty-first day of last month,Proved an unfortunate day;Captain Milton was riding to London,And by mischance he rode out of his way.He call'd at a house by the road-side,It was the sign of the Magpie,Where Nevison he sat a drinking,And the captain soon did he espy.Then a constable very soon was sent for,And a constable very soon came;With three or four more in attendance,With pistols charged in the king's name.They demanded the name of this hero,"My name it is Johnson," said he,When the captain laid hold of his shoulder,Saying, "Nevison thou goeth with me."Oh! then in this very same speech,They hastened him fast away;To a place call'd Swinnington bridge,A place where he used to stay.They call'd for a quart of good liquor,It was the sign of the Black Horse,Where there was all sorts of attendance,But for Nevison it was the worst.He call'd for a pen, ink, and paper,And these were the words that he said,"I will write for some boots, shoes, and stockings,For of them I have very great need."'Tis now before my lord judge,Oh! guilty or not do you plead;He smiled into the judge and jury,And these were the words that he said,"I've now robb'd a gentleman of two pence,I've neither done murder nor kill'd,But guilty I've been all my life time,So gentlemen do as you will."Its when that I rode on the highwayI've always had money in great store;And whatever I took from the richI freely gave it to the poor."But my peace I have made with my Maker,And with you I'm quite ready to go;So here's adieu! to this world and its vanities,For I'm ready to suffer the law."

Did you ever hear tell of that hero,Bold Nevison that was his name?He rode about like a bold hero,And with that he gained great fame.

Did you ever hear tell of that hero,

Bold Nevison that was his name?

He rode about like a bold hero,

And with that he gained great fame.

He maintained himself like a gentleman,Besides he was good to the poor;He rode about like a bold hero,And he gain'd himself favour therefore.

He maintained himself like a gentleman,

Besides he was good to the poor;

He rode about like a bold hero,

And he gain'd himself favour therefore.

Oh the Twenty-first day of last month,Proved an unfortunate day;Captain Milton was riding to London,And by mischance he rode out of his way.

Oh the Twenty-first day of last month,

Proved an unfortunate day;

Captain Milton was riding to London,

And by mischance he rode out of his way.

He call'd at a house by the road-side,It was the sign of the Magpie,Where Nevison he sat a drinking,And the captain soon did he espy.

He call'd at a house by the road-side,

It was the sign of the Magpie,

Where Nevison he sat a drinking,

And the captain soon did he espy.

Then a constable very soon was sent for,And a constable very soon came;With three or four more in attendance,With pistols charged in the king's name.

Then a constable very soon was sent for,

And a constable very soon came;

With three or four more in attendance,

With pistols charged in the king's name.

They demanded the name of this hero,"My name it is Johnson," said he,When the captain laid hold of his shoulder,Saying, "Nevison thou goeth with me."

They demanded the name of this hero,

"My name it is Johnson," said he,

When the captain laid hold of his shoulder,

Saying, "Nevison thou goeth with me."

Oh! then in this very same speech,They hastened him fast away;To a place call'd Swinnington bridge,A place where he used to stay.

Oh! then in this very same speech,

They hastened him fast away;

To a place call'd Swinnington bridge,

A place where he used to stay.

They call'd for a quart of good liquor,It was the sign of the Black Horse,Where there was all sorts of attendance,But for Nevison it was the worst.

They call'd for a quart of good liquor,

It was the sign of the Black Horse,

Where there was all sorts of attendance,

But for Nevison it was the worst.

He call'd for a pen, ink, and paper,And these were the words that he said,"I will write for some boots, shoes, and stockings,For of them I have very great need."

He call'd for a pen, ink, and paper,

And these were the words that he said,

"I will write for some boots, shoes, and stockings,

For of them I have very great need."

'Tis now before my lord judge,Oh! guilty or not do you plead;He smiled into the judge and jury,And these were the words that he said,

'Tis now before my lord judge,

Oh! guilty or not do you plead;

He smiled into the judge and jury,

And these were the words that he said,

"I've now robb'd a gentleman of two pence,I've neither done murder nor kill'd,But guilty I've been all my life time,So gentlemen do as you will.

"I've now robb'd a gentleman of two pence,

I've neither done murder nor kill'd,

But guilty I've been all my life time,

So gentlemen do as you will.

"Its when that I rode on the highwayI've always had money in great store;And whatever I took from the richI freely gave it to the poor.

"Its when that I rode on the highway

I've always had money in great store;

And whatever I took from the rich

I freely gave it to the poor.

"But my peace I have made with my Maker,And with you I'm quite ready to go;So here's adieu! to this world and its vanities,For I'm ready to suffer the law."

"But my peace I have made with my Maker,

And with you I'm quite ready to go;

So here's adieu! to this world and its vanities,

For I'm ready to suffer the law."

Roseberry, or Rosebury Topping, originally, it is said, called "Ottenberg," is a conical hill, situated at the north-west angle of the Eastern moorlands known as the Cleveland hills, near the village of Newton, about one mile to the east of the road from Guisbro' to Stokesley. It is about 1488 feet above the level of the sea, and, by its detatched position and superior elevation, it commands in all directions a prospect at once extensive and interesting, and serves as a land-mark to navigators.

Upon the top of the hill issues, from a large rock, a fountain of very clear water, to which the following very ancient tradition is connected. When king Oswald of Northumberland's son, Oswald, was born, the wise men and magicians were sent for to court, to predict and foretell the life and fortune of the newborn prince; they all agreed that he would when half a year old be drowned. The indulgent maternal queen would havecarried him to Chiviot, a remarkable hill in their own county, but for the troubles then subsisting in the north; she, therefore, for his better security, brought him to a lofty hill in peaceful Cleveland, called Roseberry, and caused a cell or cave to be made near the top thereof, in order to prevent his foretold unhappy death. But, alas! in vain; for the fates, who spare nobody, dissolved the rugged rocks into a flowing stream, and, by drowning the son, put a period to all the mother's cares, though not her sorrows; for ordering him to be interred in Tivotdale (Osmotherley) church, she mourned with such inconsolable grief that she soon followed him, and was, according to her fervent desire, laid by her tenderly-beloved, darling child. The heads of the mother and son, cut in stone, may be seen at the east end of the church; and from a saying of the people, "Os by his mother lay," Tivotdale got the name of Osmotherley.

Ah! why do the walls of the castle to-day,No longer resound with the strains of delight?And why does the harp of the minstrel so gay,Now rest in the gloom and the stillness of night?But late as I travers'd these vallies long,How high 'mid the air stream'd the banners of joy!While the birth of prince Oswin, the boast of the song,Gave mirth to each heart, as it beam'd in each eye.What stranger art thou, who, in Cleveland so fair,Of the fate of prince Oswin canst yet be untold?How an old hoary sage had foreshown the young heirBy water should die when but half a year old!His mother, all eager her offspring to save,To Ottenberg high, with the morn did repair,Still hoping to rescue her son from the grave,For well did she know that no water was there.But how powerless and vain is a mortal's design,Opposed to that will which can never recede;Who shall pull down the bright orb of heaven divine,And raise up a meteor his rays to exceed?Fatigued, and by ceaseless exertion opprest,At length they arrive near the brow of the hill,In whose shades on the moss they resign them to rest,Now fearless of fate as unconscious of ill.Not long in soft slumbers the fond mother lay,Ere arous'd by a dream which dire horrors betide,But, O God, who can paint her wild grief and dismay,When she saw her lov'd baby lie drown'd by her side!On the proud steep of Ottenberg still may be found,That spring which arose his sad doom to complete;And oft on its verge sit the villagers round,In wonder recording the fiat of fate.For this do the walls of the castle to-day,No longer resound with the strains of delight;And for this does the harp of the bard once so gay,Now rest in the gloom of the stillness of night.[139]

Ah! why do the walls of the castle to-day,No longer resound with the strains of delight?And why does the harp of the minstrel so gay,Now rest in the gloom and the stillness of night?

Ah! why do the walls of the castle to-day,

No longer resound with the strains of delight?

And why does the harp of the minstrel so gay,

Now rest in the gloom and the stillness of night?

But late as I travers'd these vallies long,How high 'mid the air stream'd the banners of joy!While the birth of prince Oswin, the boast of the song,Gave mirth to each heart, as it beam'd in each eye.

But late as I travers'd these vallies long,

How high 'mid the air stream'd the banners of joy!

While the birth of prince Oswin, the boast of the song,

Gave mirth to each heart, as it beam'd in each eye.

What stranger art thou, who, in Cleveland so fair,Of the fate of prince Oswin canst yet be untold?How an old hoary sage had foreshown the young heirBy water should die when but half a year old!

What stranger art thou, who, in Cleveland so fair,

Of the fate of prince Oswin canst yet be untold?

How an old hoary sage had foreshown the young heir

By water should die when but half a year old!

His mother, all eager her offspring to save,To Ottenberg high, with the morn did repair,Still hoping to rescue her son from the grave,For well did she know that no water was there.

His mother, all eager her offspring to save,

To Ottenberg high, with the morn did repair,

Still hoping to rescue her son from the grave,

For well did she know that no water was there.

But how powerless and vain is a mortal's design,Opposed to that will which can never recede;Who shall pull down the bright orb of heaven divine,And raise up a meteor his rays to exceed?

But how powerless and vain is a mortal's design,

Opposed to that will which can never recede;

Who shall pull down the bright orb of heaven divine,

And raise up a meteor his rays to exceed?

Fatigued, and by ceaseless exertion opprest,At length they arrive near the brow of the hill,In whose shades on the moss they resign them to rest,Now fearless of fate as unconscious of ill.

Fatigued, and by ceaseless exertion opprest,

At length they arrive near the brow of the hill,

In whose shades on the moss they resign them to rest,

Now fearless of fate as unconscious of ill.

Not long in soft slumbers the fond mother lay,Ere arous'd by a dream which dire horrors betide,But, O God, who can paint her wild grief and dismay,When she saw her lov'd baby lie drown'd by her side!

Not long in soft slumbers the fond mother lay,

Ere arous'd by a dream which dire horrors betide,

But, O God, who can paint her wild grief and dismay,

When she saw her lov'd baby lie drown'd by her side!

On the proud steep of Ottenberg still may be found,That spring which arose his sad doom to complete;And oft on its verge sit the villagers round,In wonder recording the fiat of fate.

On the proud steep of Ottenberg still may be found,

That spring which arose his sad doom to complete;

And oft on its verge sit the villagers round,

In wonder recording the fiat of fate.

For this do the walls of the castle to-day,No longer resound with the strains of delight;And for this does the harp of the bard once so gay,Now rest in the gloom of the stillness of night.[139]

For this do the walls of the castle to-day,

No longer resound with the strains of delight;

And for this does the harp of the bard once so gay,

Now rest in the gloom of the stillness of night.[139]

Giving1, an account of squire Brown, of York, who had one only son; and how his lady fell sick, and on her death-bed begged of him not to marry for the sake of her child.

2. How he soon married a rich widow, who was very cruel to his son; and how his uncle died, and left him an estate of two hundred pounds a year.

3. How his step-mother sent him away for the sake of his money, by taking a ring from his father and putting it in the boy's pocket; for which his father sent him to sea, and the ship was taken by the Spaniards, and he made a slave of.

4. How the ghost of his mother came to this cruel wretch, and told his father of the ring; and how afterwards his father fell into despair, and hanged himself; and his son came home again, went to law with his step-mother, got five hundred pounds from her, which broke her heart.

I.You most indulging parents, lend an ear,And you a dismal tragedy shall hear;A story strange, but certain true, indeed,Enough to make a stony heart to bleed.In York, that famous city of renown,There lived a gentleman, one squire Brown,Whose wealth and riches was exceeding great,But yet he had no heir to his estate.He had a virtuous, kind, and loving wife,With whom he liv'd a very happy life;The want of children was their only grief,But to their relief,—She was with child, and with a son we hear;Great was the joy when she delivered were;Much feasting, which for many days did last,Both rich and poor did of their bounty taste.It pleased God the child did live and thrive,Until it came to be the age of five;At five years old its sorrows first begun,And so continued many years to run.The greatest pleasure that we here can boast,Soon fades away, and very short at most;When death approaches, who can shun the dart?He has command, and strikes us to the heart.Th' squire's lady was took very ill,The doctors used in vain their best of skill;All wou'd not do, the fatal stroke death gave,And now no mortal here her life can save.Her husband then she call'd for out of hand,Her weeping friends around her bed do stand;Her husband came, she said to him, "My dear,The time is short I have to tarry here."Be careful of my darling child, your son,See that in virtuous paths he strives to run;That I in Heaven may see him once again,And there in endless joys with him remain."For my child's sake, O marry not, my dear,For if you do I shall not rest, I fear;Let no step-mother my dear child abuse,Whom I so tenderly have used."My jointure, which is fifty pounds a year,I leave it to my child I love so dear;Be you a tender father to my son;Think on my words when I am dead and gone."He said, "My dear, your words I'll keep in mind,I to my child will be a father kind,To wrong my child, I wrong myself you know,I love my child too well to serve him so."Then for her child she straight did call,While the tears down her cheeks did fall,And kissing of him with lips like clay,The child did to its dying mother say:"Mammy, what makes you kiss me so and cry?I hope you'll be better by-and-bye.""I hope I shall, my dear," to him she cry'd,Then turn'd herself and instantly she dy'd.II.His wife scarce two months in the grave was laid,Ere he forgot the promises he made,Which makes this proverb true we find,That out of sight, is quickly out of mind.For to a rich and wealthy widow old,He went a courting days and nights, we're told:No rest or quiet would he let her have,Till her consent to wed with him she gave.She told him, ere with him she would engage,She had a daughter fair ten years of age;And therefore, for her only daughter's sake,She was resolved a widow's will to make.He gave his consent the will to make,And in great joy and triumph they were wed;But during of the time these things were done,He quite forgot his former wife and son.His new wife she was very cross and proud,And this poor child must never be allow'dWith them to dine, but at her chair must stand,Just like a footboy to obey command.Her daughter, she must at the table sit,And pick and cut the best of meat;Besides a waiting maid, too, miss must have,While the poor boy is made a drudge to slave.Altho' he was neglected, so we find,Yet fortune unto him did prove so kind;His own dear mother's brother died, we hear,And left this boy two hundred pounds a year.His father was the interest for to have,That he might keep this boy both fine and brave;But if he died before to age he came,His father then was to enjoy the same.His step-mother found things were order'd so,She was resolv'd to work his overthrow:Said she when he is put aside and gone,What's left him will quickly be my own.III.She with the devil then did straight think,And to her husband gave a sleepy drink,And as in the garden he sleeping lay,These treacherous words to the boy did say:"Go watch your father as he sleeping lies,And if you see him wake and go to rise,Come in and tell me, make all haste you can."And so she did this harmless boy trapan.The child, with watching long, did fall asleep;Then softly to his father she did creep,From off his finger she a ring did take.On purpose of this boy a thief to make.For as this harmless child there sleeping lay,She in his pocket did the ring convey;Then with great joy unto the house did come,And said, I hope his business I have done.The boy soon after wak'd and rubb'd his eyes,But seeing his father going for to rise,To tell his mother he did straightway run;Meanwhile his father into doors did come.And missing of his ring, to her did say,"My dear, why did you take my ring, I pray?"She said, "I took it not, upon my life;You may believe me as I am your wife."But if you'd know what's of the ring become,I'd have you to examine well your son;As in the garden you did sweetly dose,I saw him fumbling then about your cloathes."He went to search his son, the ring he found,Then hand and foot this harmless child he bound,And lashed him till the blood did run,While she, hard-hearted wretch, look'd on.She said, "Send this wicked rogue to sea,Least that he should disgrace our family;I'll get a master for him soon," she cry'd,"For he no longer shall with me abide."He gave consent, and she a master got,And he was sent away, hard was his lot,Where we will leave him for to sail the main,And turn unto this cruel wretch again.IV.But God, who sees our actions here below,He would not let this wretch unpunish'd go;For this boy's mother to them did appearOne night, as they in bed together were.The apparition told them of the ring,And how she serv'd the boy in everything;Then sadly shook the bed wherein they lay,And instantly it vanish'd quite away.The squire he was very much surpriz'd,And finding that his wife had told him liesTo make him send this harmless boy away,He fell to grief and sad despair, they say.To add unto his grief, we understand,A letter from him came to hand;He at Jamaica was, the letter told,And to a captain there was basely sold.And as they sailing were upon the main,They by a Spanish privateer was ta'en;The ship condemn'd and all made slaves,This is my wretched case, dear sir, he says.His father, hearing this, he swoon'd away,And calling of his wife both night and day,Saying, "Cursed wretch, what have you done,To make a father thus abuse his son?"From home, in grief, he rambled one day,And to a lawyer went without delay;His will he made, and left his son his store,Then went and hang'd himself before his door.The lawyer finding what he had done,Did straightway send a letter to his son,For him to return home with all speed,And money sent to ransom him, indeed.The letter by good fortune he receiv'd,His ransom paid, and quickly was reliev'd;He got a ship and home with speed he came;None but the lawyer yet knew of the same.He soon came home, to the great surprizeOf his base mother, who, with flattering lies,Would fain excuse herself, but all in vain;To law with her he went, and did obtain—The cause, and five hundred pounds beside,Because by her he basely was deny'd,Which vex'd her sore, and almost broke her heart,To think she with her ill-got gain must part.Her darling daughter being left alone,Despised by all, but pitied by none,She sold off what she had, and went away,And never has been heard of since that day.To step-mothers let this a warning be,Never to use poor children cruelly;For Heav'n will help the widow in distress,And be a Father to the fatherless.Let parents all beg of the Lord to see,Their children brought up to maturity,'Till for themselves they're able to provide;Lord send that they may be their careful guide!

You most indulging parents, lend an ear,And you a dismal tragedy shall hear;A story strange, but certain true, indeed,Enough to make a stony heart to bleed.

You most indulging parents, lend an ear,

And you a dismal tragedy shall hear;

A story strange, but certain true, indeed,

Enough to make a stony heart to bleed.

In York, that famous city of renown,There lived a gentleman, one squire Brown,Whose wealth and riches was exceeding great,But yet he had no heir to his estate.

In York, that famous city of renown,

There lived a gentleman, one squire Brown,

Whose wealth and riches was exceeding great,

But yet he had no heir to his estate.

He had a virtuous, kind, and loving wife,With whom he liv'd a very happy life;The want of children was their only grief,But to their relief,—

He had a virtuous, kind, and loving wife,

With whom he liv'd a very happy life;

The want of children was their only grief,

But to their relief,—

She was with child, and with a son we hear;Great was the joy when she delivered were;Much feasting, which for many days did last,Both rich and poor did of their bounty taste.

She was with child, and with a son we hear;

Great was the joy when she delivered were;

Much feasting, which for many days did last,

Both rich and poor did of their bounty taste.

It pleased God the child did live and thrive,Until it came to be the age of five;At five years old its sorrows first begun,And so continued many years to run.

It pleased God the child did live and thrive,

Until it came to be the age of five;

At five years old its sorrows first begun,

And so continued many years to run.

The greatest pleasure that we here can boast,Soon fades away, and very short at most;When death approaches, who can shun the dart?He has command, and strikes us to the heart.

The greatest pleasure that we here can boast,

Soon fades away, and very short at most;

When death approaches, who can shun the dart?

He has command, and strikes us to the heart.

Th' squire's lady was took very ill,The doctors used in vain their best of skill;All wou'd not do, the fatal stroke death gave,And now no mortal here her life can save.

Th' squire's lady was took very ill,

The doctors used in vain their best of skill;

All wou'd not do, the fatal stroke death gave,

And now no mortal here her life can save.

Her husband then she call'd for out of hand,Her weeping friends around her bed do stand;Her husband came, she said to him, "My dear,The time is short I have to tarry here.

Her husband then she call'd for out of hand,

Her weeping friends around her bed do stand;

Her husband came, she said to him, "My dear,

The time is short I have to tarry here.

"Be careful of my darling child, your son,See that in virtuous paths he strives to run;That I in Heaven may see him once again,And there in endless joys with him remain.

"Be careful of my darling child, your son,

See that in virtuous paths he strives to run;

That I in Heaven may see him once again,

And there in endless joys with him remain.

"For my child's sake, O marry not, my dear,For if you do I shall not rest, I fear;Let no step-mother my dear child abuse,Whom I so tenderly have used.

"For my child's sake, O marry not, my dear,

For if you do I shall not rest, I fear;

Let no step-mother my dear child abuse,

Whom I so tenderly have used.

"My jointure, which is fifty pounds a year,I leave it to my child I love so dear;Be you a tender father to my son;Think on my words when I am dead and gone."

"My jointure, which is fifty pounds a year,

I leave it to my child I love so dear;

Be you a tender father to my son;

Think on my words when I am dead and gone."

He said, "My dear, your words I'll keep in mind,I to my child will be a father kind,To wrong my child, I wrong myself you know,I love my child too well to serve him so."

He said, "My dear, your words I'll keep in mind,

I to my child will be a father kind,

To wrong my child, I wrong myself you know,

I love my child too well to serve him so."

Then for her child she straight did call,While the tears down her cheeks did fall,And kissing of him with lips like clay,The child did to its dying mother say:

Then for her child she straight did call,

While the tears down her cheeks did fall,

And kissing of him with lips like clay,

The child did to its dying mother say:

"Mammy, what makes you kiss me so and cry?I hope you'll be better by-and-bye.""I hope I shall, my dear," to him she cry'd,Then turn'd herself and instantly she dy'd.

"Mammy, what makes you kiss me so and cry?

I hope you'll be better by-and-bye."

"I hope I shall, my dear," to him she cry'd,

Then turn'd herself and instantly she dy'd.

II.

His wife scarce two months in the grave was laid,Ere he forgot the promises he made,Which makes this proverb true we find,That out of sight, is quickly out of mind.

His wife scarce two months in the grave was laid,

Ere he forgot the promises he made,

Which makes this proverb true we find,

That out of sight, is quickly out of mind.

For to a rich and wealthy widow old,He went a courting days and nights, we're told:No rest or quiet would he let her have,Till her consent to wed with him she gave.

For to a rich and wealthy widow old,

He went a courting days and nights, we're told:

No rest or quiet would he let her have,

Till her consent to wed with him she gave.

She told him, ere with him she would engage,She had a daughter fair ten years of age;And therefore, for her only daughter's sake,She was resolved a widow's will to make.

She told him, ere with him she would engage,

She had a daughter fair ten years of age;

And therefore, for her only daughter's sake,

She was resolved a widow's will to make.

He gave his consent the will to make,And in great joy and triumph they were wed;But during of the time these things were done,He quite forgot his former wife and son.

He gave his consent the will to make,

And in great joy and triumph they were wed;

But during of the time these things were done,

He quite forgot his former wife and son.

His new wife she was very cross and proud,And this poor child must never be allow'dWith them to dine, but at her chair must stand,Just like a footboy to obey command.

His new wife she was very cross and proud,

And this poor child must never be allow'd

With them to dine, but at her chair must stand,

Just like a footboy to obey command.

Her daughter, she must at the table sit,And pick and cut the best of meat;Besides a waiting maid, too, miss must have,While the poor boy is made a drudge to slave.

Her daughter, she must at the table sit,

And pick and cut the best of meat;

Besides a waiting maid, too, miss must have,

While the poor boy is made a drudge to slave.

Altho' he was neglected, so we find,Yet fortune unto him did prove so kind;His own dear mother's brother died, we hear,And left this boy two hundred pounds a year.

Altho' he was neglected, so we find,

Yet fortune unto him did prove so kind;

His own dear mother's brother died, we hear,

And left this boy two hundred pounds a year.

His father was the interest for to have,That he might keep this boy both fine and brave;But if he died before to age he came,His father then was to enjoy the same.

His father was the interest for to have,

That he might keep this boy both fine and brave;

But if he died before to age he came,

His father then was to enjoy the same.

His step-mother found things were order'd so,She was resolv'd to work his overthrow:Said she when he is put aside and gone,What's left him will quickly be my own.

His step-mother found things were order'd so,

She was resolv'd to work his overthrow:

Said she when he is put aside and gone,

What's left him will quickly be my own.

III.

She with the devil then did straight think,And to her husband gave a sleepy drink,And as in the garden he sleeping lay,These treacherous words to the boy did say:

She with the devil then did straight think,

And to her husband gave a sleepy drink,

And as in the garden he sleeping lay,

These treacherous words to the boy did say:

"Go watch your father as he sleeping lies,And if you see him wake and go to rise,Come in and tell me, make all haste you can."And so she did this harmless boy trapan.

"Go watch your father as he sleeping lies,

And if you see him wake and go to rise,

Come in and tell me, make all haste you can."

And so she did this harmless boy trapan.

The child, with watching long, did fall asleep;Then softly to his father she did creep,From off his finger she a ring did take.On purpose of this boy a thief to make.

The child, with watching long, did fall asleep;

Then softly to his father she did creep,

From off his finger she a ring did take.

On purpose of this boy a thief to make.

For as this harmless child there sleeping lay,She in his pocket did the ring convey;Then with great joy unto the house did come,And said, I hope his business I have done.

For as this harmless child there sleeping lay,

She in his pocket did the ring convey;

Then with great joy unto the house did come,

And said, I hope his business I have done.

The boy soon after wak'd and rubb'd his eyes,But seeing his father going for to rise,To tell his mother he did straightway run;Meanwhile his father into doors did come.

The boy soon after wak'd and rubb'd his eyes,

But seeing his father going for to rise,

To tell his mother he did straightway run;

Meanwhile his father into doors did come.

And missing of his ring, to her did say,"My dear, why did you take my ring, I pray?"She said, "I took it not, upon my life;You may believe me as I am your wife.

And missing of his ring, to her did say,

"My dear, why did you take my ring, I pray?"

She said, "I took it not, upon my life;

You may believe me as I am your wife.

"But if you'd know what's of the ring become,I'd have you to examine well your son;As in the garden you did sweetly dose,I saw him fumbling then about your cloathes."

"But if you'd know what's of the ring become,

I'd have you to examine well your son;

As in the garden you did sweetly dose,

I saw him fumbling then about your cloathes."

He went to search his son, the ring he found,Then hand and foot this harmless child he bound,And lashed him till the blood did run,While she, hard-hearted wretch, look'd on.

He went to search his son, the ring he found,

Then hand and foot this harmless child he bound,

And lashed him till the blood did run,

While she, hard-hearted wretch, look'd on.

She said, "Send this wicked rogue to sea,Least that he should disgrace our family;I'll get a master for him soon," she cry'd,"For he no longer shall with me abide."

She said, "Send this wicked rogue to sea,

Least that he should disgrace our family;

I'll get a master for him soon," she cry'd,

"For he no longer shall with me abide."

He gave consent, and she a master got,And he was sent away, hard was his lot,Where we will leave him for to sail the main,And turn unto this cruel wretch again.

He gave consent, and she a master got,

And he was sent away, hard was his lot,

Where we will leave him for to sail the main,

And turn unto this cruel wretch again.

IV.

But God, who sees our actions here below,He would not let this wretch unpunish'd go;For this boy's mother to them did appearOne night, as they in bed together were.

But God, who sees our actions here below,

He would not let this wretch unpunish'd go;

For this boy's mother to them did appear

One night, as they in bed together were.

The apparition told them of the ring,And how she serv'd the boy in everything;Then sadly shook the bed wherein they lay,And instantly it vanish'd quite away.

The apparition told them of the ring,

And how she serv'd the boy in everything;

Then sadly shook the bed wherein they lay,

And instantly it vanish'd quite away.

The squire he was very much surpriz'd,And finding that his wife had told him liesTo make him send this harmless boy away,He fell to grief and sad despair, they say.

The squire he was very much surpriz'd,

And finding that his wife had told him lies

To make him send this harmless boy away,

He fell to grief and sad despair, they say.

To add unto his grief, we understand,A letter from him came to hand;He at Jamaica was, the letter told,And to a captain there was basely sold.

To add unto his grief, we understand,

A letter from him came to hand;

He at Jamaica was, the letter told,

And to a captain there was basely sold.

And as they sailing were upon the main,They by a Spanish privateer was ta'en;The ship condemn'd and all made slaves,This is my wretched case, dear sir, he says.

And as they sailing were upon the main,

They by a Spanish privateer was ta'en;

The ship condemn'd and all made slaves,

This is my wretched case, dear sir, he says.

His father, hearing this, he swoon'd away,And calling of his wife both night and day,Saying, "Cursed wretch, what have you done,To make a father thus abuse his son?"

His father, hearing this, he swoon'd away,

And calling of his wife both night and day,

Saying, "Cursed wretch, what have you done,

To make a father thus abuse his son?"

From home, in grief, he rambled one day,And to a lawyer went without delay;His will he made, and left his son his store,Then went and hang'd himself before his door.

From home, in grief, he rambled one day,

And to a lawyer went without delay;

His will he made, and left his son his store,

Then went and hang'd himself before his door.

The lawyer finding what he had done,Did straightway send a letter to his son,For him to return home with all speed,And money sent to ransom him, indeed.

The lawyer finding what he had done,

Did straightway send a letter to his son,

For him to return home with all speed,

And money sent to ransom him, indeed.

The letter by good fortune he receiv'd,His ransom paid, and quickly was reliev'd;He got a ship and home with speed he came;None but the lawyer yet knew of the same.

The letter by good fortune he receiv'd,

His ransom paid, and quickly was reliev'd;

He got a ship and home with speed he came;

None but the lawyer yet knew of the same.

He soon came home, to the great surprizeOf his base mother, who, with flattering lies,Would fain excuse herself, but all in vain;To law with her he went, and did obtain—

He soon came home, to the great surprize

Of his base mother, who, with flattering lies,

Would fain excuse herself, but all in vain;

To law with her he went, and did obtain—

The cause, and five hundred pounds beside,Because by her he basely was deny'd,Which vex'd her sore, and almost broke her heart,To think she with her ill-got gain must part.

The cause, and five hundred pounds beside,

Because by her he basely was deny'd,

Which vex'd her sore, and almost broke her heart,

To think she with her ill-got gain must part.

Her darling daughter being left alone,Despised by all, but pitied by none,She sold off what she had, and went away,And never has been heard of since that day.

Her darling daughter being left alone,

Despised by all, but pitied by none,

She sold off what she had, and went away,

And never has been heard of since that day.

To step-mothers let this a warning be,Never to use poor children cruelly;For Heav'n will help the widow in distress,And be a Father to the fatherless.

To step-mothers let this a warning be,

Never to use poor children cruelly;

For Heav'n will help the widow in distress,

And be a Father to the fatherless.

Let parents all beg of the Lord to see,Their children brought up to maturity,'Till for themselves they're able to provide;Lord send that they may be their careful guide!

Let parents all beg of the Lord to see,

Their children brought up to maturity,

'Till for themselves they're able to provide;

Lord send that they may be their careful guide!

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