E-text prepared by Judith Wirawan, Jonathan Ingram,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)

Transcriber's Note:

For each music piece, a link titled [Listen] is provided to a midi file. Lyrics are set-out below the image.

Singing Sam of Derbyshire

THE
BALLADS & SONGS
OF
DERBYSHIRE.
With Illustrative Notes, and Examples of the Original Music, etc.
EDITED BY
LLEWELLYNN JEWITT, F.S.A., &c., &c.

LONDON: BEMROSE AND LOTHIAN, 21, PATERNOSTER ROW.

DERBY: BEMROSE AND SONS, IRONGATE.

MDCCCLXVII.

to
His Grace the Duke of Devonshire, k.g.,
Lord-Lieutenant and Custos-Rotulorum
of the county
whose ballads are here for the first time collected,
this Volume is,
as a mark of personal esteem,
and as a tribute to the true nobility of his character
and to
his high intellectual attainments,
most gratefully dedicated by
The Editor.

Introduction.

It is certainly somewhat curious that, in a county so confessedly rich in ballads and in popular songs as Derbyshire is, no attempt should hitherto have been made to collect together and give to the world even a small selection of these valuable and interesting remains. Such, however, is the fact, and the ballads, the traditions, and the lyrics of the county have remained to the present day uncollected, and, it is to be feared, uncared for, by those to whom the task of collection in days gone by would have been tolerably easy. It has therefore remained for me, with my present volume, to initiate a series of works which shall embrace these and kindred subjects, and vindicate for Derbyshire its place in the literary history of the kingdom.

In my present volume I have given a selection of upwards of fifty ballads and songs, many of them extremely curious, and all highly interesting, which are purely Derbyshire, and relate entirely to that county, to events which have happened within its bounds, or to Derbyshire families. These I have collected together from every available source, and several amongst them have never before been reprinted from the old broad-sheets and garlands in which they are contained; while others, taken down from the lips of "old inhabitants," or from the original MSS., are for the first-time put into type. Knowing that in ballads it is next to, if not quite, impossible to accomplish a successful chronological arrangement, and feeling that, if accomplished, such an arrangement is open to grave objections, I have purposely avoided the attempt, and have contented myself with varying, as much as possible, the contents of my volume, and with giving to each ballad an introductory notice touching on the event commemorated, on the writer of the piece, or on the source from whence the ballad has been obtained. Having done this, the necessity for a long introduction here is obviated, and it only remains for me to announce my intention of following up my present volume with another similar one, as a "Second Series" of Derbyshire Ballads and Songs, and with others on the Poets and Poetry of Derbyshire; on the Political and Criminal songs of the county; and on its Folk-Lore and Traditions, etc. It is hoped that the present volume will find sufficient favour with the public to act as an encouragement to the early issue of the succeeding volumes, which will contain a vast amount of interesting and valuable information on points about which at present but little is known.

It will be seen that in the introductory notices to the ballads in the following pages I have acknowledged my obligations to various kind friends for the assistance they have rendered. I have now only in general terms to again tender them my thanks, and, in so doing, to ask them, and all who can in any way assist me in my labours, to continue their kind help to my future volumes, and so enable me to do justice to the rich and beautiful county which it has been my life-long study to illustrate.

As a frontispiece to my present volume, I give a fac-simile of an old portrait of a Derbyshire ballad-singer of the last century, "Singing Sam of Derbyshire" as he was called, which I copy from the curious plate etched by W. Williams in 1760, which appeared in the "Topographer" thirty years after that time. The man was a singular character—a wandering minstrel who got his living by singing ballads in the Peak villages, and accompanying himself on his rude single-stringed instrument. Doubtless "The Beggar's Ramble" and "The Beggar's Wells," and other similar rhymes, were the production of "Singing Sam" or his compeers, and recounted his own peregrinations through the country. His instrument was as quaint and curious as himself. It consisted of a straight staff nearly as tall as himself, with a single string tied fast around it at each end. This he tightened with a fully inflated cow's bladder, which assisted very materially the tone of the rude instrument. His bow was a rough stick of hazel or briar, with a single string; and with this, with the lower end of his staff resting on the ground, and the upper grasped by his right hand, which he passed up and down to tighten or slacken the string as he played, he scraped away, and produced sounds which, though not so musical as those of Paganini and his single string, would no doubt harmonize with Sam's rude ballad, and ruder voice. This portrait I believe has never been reproduced until now.

On the title-page I give a small vignette showing a ballad singer of an earlier date, from a sketch by Inigo Jones, made two hundred and thirty years ago, which belongs to His Grace the Duke of Devonshire. Unlike "Singing Sam of Derbyshire," who sang his ballads from memory, and probably composed many of them as he went on, so as to suit the localities and the tastes and habits of his hearers, the man here shown sings from a printed broad-sheet, of which he carries an armful with him to dispose of to such as cared to purchase them. He is literally a "running stationer," "such as use to sing ballads and cry malignant pamphlets in the streets," and indulged their hearers in town and country with "fond bookes, ballads, rhimes, and other lewd treatises in the English tongue."

In my next volume I shall give a portrait of "Hale the Piper," another Derbyshire "worthy," and shall then take occasion to speak of the origin of Hornpipes in the locality which gave him birth.

Derby, February, 1867.

Contents.

DERBYSHIRE BALLADS.

King Henry V.,
His Conquest of France, in Revenge for the Affront offered by the French King, in sending him (instead of the Tribute) a Ton of Tennis-balls.

This is one of the most curious and popular of the series of Derbyshire ballads, and one which, in its early broad-sheet form, is of great rarity. The broad-sheet from which it is here reprinted, is "Printed and Sold in Aldermary Church Yard, Bow Lane, London." It is printed broad-way of the sheet, with two short columns of three verses each beneath the engraving, and one whole column of eight verses at the side. The engraving represents a fortification, with central tower, with the Union Jack flying; the sea in front, with a ship and some small boats; and two tall soldiers in mid-ground, evidently "on guard." Versions of this ballad have been printed by Mr. Dixon, in the volume on Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, edited by him for the Percy Society, and in other collections. Printed copies are to be found in the Roxburghe Collection in the British Museum, and in the Halliwell Collection in the Chetham Library, Manchester. The one here given is from the original broad-sheet in my own collection.

The ballad will be at once seen to refer to the battle of Agincourt, which was a prolific source of inspiration to the ballad and song writers of the time, and of later years. Tradition bears out the noble feature of the ballad—that of no married man or widow's son being either recruited or pressed into the service of the Sovereign over this expedition. A tradition still obtains in the Peak, among the "hills that are so free," that when Henry V. was recruiting Derbyshire and the adjoining counties, he declared that he would take no married man, and that no widow's son should be of his company, for no woman's curse should go with him in his righteous expedition.

The ballad is still not unfrequently sung in snatches by the miners and other hardy sons of the Peak, the verse being usually rendered:—

"No married man, nor no widow's son,
Will I ever ask to go with me;
For I will take no widow's curse
From the Derby hills that are so free."

It is said that on one occasion, when George III. was reviewing a brigade of Guards in Hyde Park, he was particularly struck with the fine stalwart and manly bearing of one of the regiments,[1] and calling out to the nearest man in the ranks, asked, "Well, my fine fellow, where are you from, eh?" "Derbyshire, please your Majesty," was the reply. "Eh, Derbyshire eh! From Derby hills so free," rejoined the King, showing that he must have been acquainted with the ballad we now print.

The tune to which this Ballad was sung I here give. I am not aware that it has ever before been printed. I remember hearing it frequently sung when I was a boy, and the spirit with which it was sung is still fresh in my memory. It is as follows:—

[[Listen]]

Another traditional version of the tune to which the ballad was sung, and which, like the one just given, is common to it and to "Robin Hood and the Pedlar," which begins—

"I'll tell you of a pedlar bold,
A pedlar bold he chanced to be,
On he roll'd his pack upon his back,
As he came tripping o'er the lea."

has been kindly supplied to me by my friend Mr. William Chappell, F.S.A., the gifted author of that admirable work, "Popular Music of the Olden Time." It is as follows:—

[[Listen]]

As our king lay musing on his bed,
He bethought himself upon a time,
Of a tribute that was due from France,
Had not been paid for so long a time.
Fal, lal, &c.

He called for his lovely page,
His lovely page then called he;
Saying, "You must go to the King of France,
To the King of France, sir, ride speedily."
Fal, lal, &c.

O then away went this lovely page,
This lovely page then away went he;
Lo he came to the King of France,
And then he fell down on his bended knee.
Fal, lal, &c.

"My master greets you, worthy Sir,
Ten ton of gold that is due to he,
That you will send him his tribute home,
Or in French land you soon will him see."
Fal, lal, &c.

"Your master's young, and of tender years,
Not fit to come into my degree;
And I will send him three Tennis-Balls,
That with them he may learn to play."
Fal, lal, &c.

O then returned this lovely page,
This lovely page then returned he,
And when he came to our gracious King,
Low he fell down on his bended knee.
Fal, lal, &c.

"What news? What news? my trusty page,
What is the news you have brought to me?"
"I have brought such news from the King of France,
That he and you will ne'er agree.
Fal, lal, &c.

"He says, you're young, and of tender years,
Not fit to come into his degree;
And he will send you three Tennis-Balls,
That with them you may learn to play."
Fal, lal, &c.

"Recruit me Cheshire and Lancashire,
And Derby Hills that are so free;
No marry'd man, or widow's son,
For no widow's curse shall go with me."
Fal, lal, &c.

They recruited Cheshire and Lancashire,
And Derby Hills that are so free;
No marry'd man, nor no widow's son,
Yet there was a jovial bold company.
Fal, lal, &c.

O then we march'd into the French land,
With drums and trumpets so merrily;
And then bespoke the King of France,
"Lo! yonder comes proud King Henry."
Fal, lal, &c.

The first shot that the Frenchmen gave,
They kill'd our Englishmen so free;
We kill'd ten thousand of the French,
And the rest of them they run away.
Fal, lal, &c.

And then we marched to Paris gates,
With drums and trumpets so merrily,
O then bespoke the King of France,
"The Lord have mercy on my men and me!
Fal, lal, &c.

"O I will send him his tribute home,
Ten ton of gold that is due to he,
And the finest flower that is in all France,
To the Rose of England I will give free."
Fal, lal, &c.

A Ballad of Darbyshire.
BY SIR ASTON COKAIN.

Sir Aston Cokain, the most illustrious member of the famous family of Cokain, of Ashborne, was the son of Thomas Cokain, of Ashborne and of Pooley, by his wife Ann, daughter of Sir John Stanhope,[2] of Elvaston, by Derby. He was born at Elvaston, in 1608, was educated at Cambridge, and received the honour of knighthood in 1641. He was one of the most eminent poets of the day, and was the intimate friend of Donne, Suckling, Randolph, Drayton, Massinger, Habbington, Sandys, May, Jonson, and other wits of the age. He was cousin to Charles Cotton, to whom he addressed many of his writings. Sir Aston married Mary, daughter of Sir Gilbert Kniveton, of Mercaston, near Derby. In 1671 he, with his son, Thomas Cokain, sold his estates in the neighbourhood of Ashborne to Sir William Boothby; and he also sold his estate of Pooley. In 1683 Sir Aston Cokain died at Derby, and was buried at Polesworth. His son Thomas, who married Mary, co-heiress of Carey Sherry, was the last male heir of the family, and died without issue.

In 1658 Sir Aston Cokain published his volume, Small Poems of Divers Sorts, a volume of 508 pages, which is now of great rarity. Some few copies have a portrait—a laureated bust—of Cokain, with the verse—

"Come, Reader, draw thy purse, and be a guest
To our Parnassus; 'Tis the Muses feast.
The entertainment needs must be divine—
Appollo's th' Host where Cockains heads ye Sign."

This portrait is of excessive rarity. Curiously enough, the copper-plate was used as the portrait of Ovid in North's translation of Plutarch's Lives, and it has also more than once been re-engraved. The volume contains also two dramatic pieces, "The Obstinate Lady, a Comedy written by Aston Cokain," which was first published in 1657, and "Trappolin suppos'd a Prince, an Italian Trage-Comedy." Cokain also wrote the "Tragedy of Ovid," and other things, and several editions of his works, under different titles, were issued.

1.

Dear Polyhymnie, be
Auspicious unto me,
That I may spread abroad
Our Shire's worth in an ode,
Merrily chanting.
They that our Hills do blame,
Have no cause for the same;
Seeing the Muses lye
Upon Parnassus high,
Where no joy's wanting.

2.

Upon Olympus Hill
Hebe Heaven's cup doth fill:
And Iove of Candy Isle
Doth the Gods reconcile,
When they do wrangle.
In France at Agincourt
(Where we fought in such sort)
Behind an hill we did
Make our Archers lye hid,
Foes to entangle.

3.

The long commanding Rome,
And old Byzantium,
Lisbon in Portugal,
Are situated all
Upon Hills strongly:
All therefore that protest
Hilly ground's not the best,
Are of their wits bereav'd,
And all of them deceiv'd,
And censure wrongly.

4.

The Peer of England known
Darby's Earldom to own,
Is honoured by the style
Of King of Mona's Isle
Hereditary.
Why hath Orantus found
A Channel under ground
Where t'lye hid, but for shame
When it hears Darwin's[3] name,
Which Fame doth carry?

5.

Why do the Nymphs (believe)
Of Nile, it down Rocks drive;
Unless it be for fear
Trent's glory should go near
To overgo them?
The Spaw Luick Land hath,
And Sommerset the Bath:
Buxtons (dear County) be
As famous unto thee
As they unto them.

6.

For King Mausolus Tomb,
Lango's known by each Groom;
And the Campanian Lake
Doth very famous make
Italies confines;
The walls of burned stone
Eternise Babylon:
And the large Devil's vault
Doth Darbyshire exalt,
Wherein no sun shines.

7.

The Pike to Tennariff
An high repute doth give;
And the Coloss of brass,
Where under ships did pass,
Made Rhodes aspire.
Tunbridge makes Kent renown'd
And Epsome Surryes Ground:
Pools-hole, and St. Anne's Well
Makes Darbyshire excell
Many a shire.

8.

Here on an Hill's side steep
Is Elden hole, so deep,
That no man living knowes
How far it hollow goes;
Worthy the knowing.
Here also is a Well
Whose Waters do excell
All waters thereabout;
Both being in and out
Ebbing and flowing.

9.

Here's Lead, whereof is made
Bullets for to invade
Them whose pride doth prevail
So far, as to assail
Our Brittish borders.
Our Lead so much may do,
That it may win Peru;
And (if we chance to meet
A Spanish silver Fleet)
Commit great murthers.

10.

Diana's Fane to us
Extolleth Ephesus:
The Sand-hil, and deaf stone,
Do Darbyshire renown,
Worth Admiration.
Windsor Berks doth commend,
And Essex Audley-end;
We of our Chatsworth boast,
A glory to our coast,
And the whole Nation.

11.

Spain doth vaunt of its sack,
And France of Claret crack;
Of Rhenish Germany;
And of thy Ale speak free,
My gallant County.
Now I have made an end,
I wish you to commend
Either the author's wit,
Or me for singing it,
Out of your bounty.

THE MOST PLEASANT
Song of Lady Bessy,
The Eldest Daughter of King Edward the Fourth, and how she married King Henry the Seventh, of the House of Lancaster.

This fine old ballad concerning the Princess Elizabeth of York, wife of Henry VII. of Lancaster, relates to the Earl of Derby, the Earl of Shrewsbury, and others connected with Derbyshire. It is supposed to have been written by Humphrey Brereton. There are two versions of this curious ballad. The version here given is from a MS. copy of the time of Charles II., belonging to the late Mr. Bateman. It was edited by Mr. Halliwell for the Percy Society.

For Jesus sake be merry and glad,
Be blythe of blood, of bone, and blee,
And of your words be sober and sad,
And a little while listen to me:
I shall tell you how Lady Bessy made her moan,
And down she kneeled upon her knee
Before the Earle of Darby her self alone,
These were her words fair and free:—
Who was your beginner, who was your ground,
Good father Stanley, will you tell me?
Who married you to the Margaret Richmond,
A Dutchess of a high degree?
And your son the Lord George Strange
By that good lady you had him by.
And Harden lands under your hands,
And Moules dale also under your fee,
Your brother Sir William Stanley by parliament,
The Holt Castle who gave him truely?
Who gave him Brome-field, that I now ment?
Who gave him Chirk-land to his fee?
Who made Him High Chamberlain of Cheshire?
Of that country farr and near
They were all wholly at his desire,
When he did call they did appear;
And also the Forrest of Delameer,
To hunt therin both day and night
As often as his pleasure were,
And to send for baron and knight;
Who made the knight and lord of all?
Good father Stanley, remember thee!
It was my father, that king royall,
He set you in that room so high.
Remember Richmond banished full bare,
And lyeth in Brittain behind the sea,
You may recover him of his care,
If your heart and mind to him will gree:
Let him come home and claim his right,
And let us cry him King Henry!
And if you will maintain him with might,
In Brittain he needeth not long to tarry.
Go away, Bessy, the Lord said then,
I tell thee now for certainty,
That fair words make oft fooles full faine,
When they be but found vain glory.
Oh! father Stanley, to you I call,
For the love of God remember thee,
Since my father King Edward, that king royall,
At Westminster on his death bed lee;
He called to him my unckle Richard,
So he did Robert of Brackenbury,
And James Terrill he was the third;
He sent them to Ludlow in the west countrey,
To fetch the Duke of York, and the Duke of Clarence,
These two lords born of a high degree.
The Duke of York should have been prince,
And king after my father free,
But a balle-full game was them among,
When they doomed these two lords to dye:
They had neither justice nor right, but had great wrong,
Alack! it was the more pitty!
Neither were they burried in St. Maries,
In church or churchyard or holy place;
Alas! they had dolefull destinies,
Hard was their chance, worse was their disgrace!
Therefore, help good father Stanley, while you have space,
For the love of God and mild Mary,
Or else in time to come you shall, alas!
Remember the words of Lady Bessy!
Good Lady Bessy, be content,
For tho' your words be never so sweet,
If King Richard knew, you must be shent,
And perchance cast into prison deep;
Then had you cause to waill and weep,
And wring your hands with heavy chear;
Therefore, good lady, I you beseek
To move me no more in this mattér.
Oh! good father Stanley, listen now and hear;
Heare is no more but you and I:
King Edward that was my father dear,
On whose estate God had mercy,
In Westminster as he did stand,
On a certain day in a study,
A book of reason he had in his hand,
And so sore his study he did apply,
That his tender tears fell on the ground,
All men might see that stood him by:
There were both earls and lords of land,
But none of them durst speak but I.
I came before my father the king,
And kneeled down upon my knee;
I desired him lowly of his blessing,
And full soon he gave it unto me:
And in his arms he could me thring,
And set me in a window so high;
He spake to me full sore weeping,—
These were the words he said to me:
Daughter, as thou wilt have my blessing,
Do as I shall councell thee,
And to my words give good listening,
For one day they may pleasure thee:
Here is a book of Reason, keep it well,
As you will have the love of me;
Neither to any creature do it tell,
Nor let no liveing lord it see,
Except it be the Lord Stanley,
The which I love full heartiley:
All the matter to him show you may,
For he and his thy help must be;
As soon as the truth to him is shown
Unto your words he will agree;
For their shall never son of my body be gotten
That shall be crowned after me,
But you shall be queen and wear the crown,
So doth expresse the prophecye!
He gave me tax and toland,
And also diamonds to my degree,
To get me a prince when it pleaseth Christ,
The world is not as it will be:
Therefore, good father Stanley, grant my request
For the love of God I desire thee;
All is at your commandment down in the west,
Both knight and squire and the commentie;
You may choose then where you like best,
I have enough both of gold and fee;
I want nothing but the strength of men,
And good captains two or three.
Go away, Bessy, the lord said then,
To this will I never agree,
For women oft time cannot faine,
These words they be but vain glory!
For and I should treason begin
Against King Richard his royalty,
In every street within London
The Eagle's foot should be pulled down,
And as yet in his great favour I am,
But then shoud I loose my great renowne!
I shoud be called traitor thro' the same
Full soon in every markett towne!
That were great shame to me and my name,
I had rather spend ten thousand pounde.
O father Stanley, to you I mak my moane,
For the love of God remember thee;
It is not three days past and gone,
Since my unckle Richard sent after me
A batchelor and a bold baron,
A Doctor of Divinitye,
And bad that I should to his chamber gone,
His love and his leman that I should bee;
And the queen that was his wedded feere,
He would her poyson and putt away;
So would he his son and his heir,
Christ knoweth he is a proper boy!
Yet I had rather burn in a tunne
On the Tower Hill that is so high,
Or that I would to his chamber come,
His love and his leman will I not be!
I had rather be drawn with wild horses five,
Through every street of that citty,
Or that good woman should lose her life,
Good father, for the love of mee.
I am his brother's daughter dear;
He is my uncle, it is no nay;
Or ever I would be his wedded feere,
With sharp swords I will me slay;
At his bidding if I were then,
And follow'd also his cruel intent,
I were well worthy to suffer pain,
And in a fire for to be brent.
Therefore, good father Stanley, some pity take
On the Earl Richmond and me,
And the rather for my father's sake,
Which gave thee the Ile of Man so free;
He crowned thee with a crown of lead,
He holpe the first to that degree;
He set thee the crown upon thy head,
And made thee the lord of that countrey;
That time you promised my father dear,
To be to him both true and just,
And now you stand in a disweare,
Oh! Jesu Christ, who may men trust?
O good lady, I say againe
Your fair words shall never move my mind;
King Richard is my lord and sov'raign,
To him I will never be unkind.
I will serve him truly till I die,
I will him take as I him find;
For he hath given to mine and me,
His bounteous gifts do me so bind.
Yet good father Stanley, remember thee,
As I have said so shall it prove,
If he of his gift be soe free,
It is for fear and not for love;
For if he may to his purpose come,
You shall not live these years three,
For these words to me he did once move
In Sandall Castle underneath a tree:
He said there shall no branch of the eagle fly
Within England, neither far nor nigh;
Nor none of the Talbots to run him by,
Nor none of their lineage to the ninth degree;
But he would them either hang or head,
And that he swear full grievously.
Therefore help, gentle lord with all speed;
For when you would fain it will not be.
Your brother dwellith in Holt Castle,
A noble knight forsooth is he;
All the Welsh-men love him well,
He may make a great company.
Sir John Savage is your sister's son.
He is well beloved within his shire,
A great company with him will come,
He will be ready at your desire.
Gilbert Talbott is a captain pure,
He will come with main and might;
To you he will be fast and sure,
Against my uncle king and knight.
Let us raise an host with him to fight,
Soon to the ground we shall him ding,
For God will stand ever with the right,
For he hath no right to be king!
Go away, Bessy, the Lord can say;
Of these words, Bessy, now lett be;
I know king Richard woud not me betray,
For all the gold in Christantye.
I am his subject, sworn to be true:
If I should seek treason to begin,
I and all mine full sore should rue,
For we were as like to lose as winne.
Beside that, it were a deadly sin
To refuse my king, and him betray:
The child is yet unborne that might moan in time,
And think upon that woefull day.
Wherefore, good lady, I do you pray,
Keep all things close at your hart root;
So now farr past it is of the day,
To move me more it is no boot.
Then from her head she cast her attire,
Her colour changed as pale as lead,
Her faxe that shoan as the gold wire
She tair it of besides her head,
And in a swoon down can she swye,
She spake not of a certain space!
The Lord had never so great pitty
As when he saw her in that case,
And in his arms he can her embrace;
He was full sorry then for her sake.
The tears fell from her eyes apace,
But at the last these words she spake,
She said, to Christ my soul I betake,
For my body in Tem'ms drow'nd shall be!
For I know my sorrow will never slake,
And my bones upon the sands shall lye!
The fishes shall feed upon me their fill;
This is a dolefulle destinye!
And you may remedy this and you will,
Therefore the bone of my death I give to thee!
And ever she wept as she were woode,
The Earle on her had so great pitty,
That her tender heart turned his mood.
He said, stand up now, Lady Bessye,
As you think best I will agree
Now I see the matter you do not faine,
I have thought in this matter as much as yee:
But it is hard to trust women,
For many a man is brought into great woe,
Through telling to women his privity:
I trust you will not serve me so
For all the gold in Christantie.
No, father, he is my mortall foe,
On him fain wrooken woud I bee!
He hath put away my brethren two,
And I know he would do so by me;
But my trust is in the Trinity,
Through your help we shall bale to him bring,
And such a day on him to see
That he and his full sore shall rue!
O Lady Bessye, the Lord can say,
Betwixt us both forecast we must
How we shall letters to Richmond convey,
No man to write I dare well trust;
For if he list to be unjust
And us betray to King Richard,
Then you and I are both lost;
Therefore of the scribe I am afraid.
You shall not need none such to call,
Good father Stanley, hearken to me
What my father, King Edward, that king royal,
Did for my sister, my Lady Wells, and me:
He sent for a scrivener to lusty London,
He was the best in that citty;
He taught us both to write and read full soon,
If it please you, full soon you shall see:
Lauded be God, I had such speed,
That I can write as well as he,
And also indite and full well read,
And that (Lord) soon shall you see,
Both English and alsoe French,
And also Spanish, if you had need.
The earle said, You are a proper wench,
Almighty Jesus be your speed,
And give us grace to proceed out,
That we may letters soon convey
In secrett wise and out of doubt
To Richmond, that lyeth beyond the sea.
We must depart, lady, the earle said then;
Wherefore keep this matter secretly,
And this same night, betwixt nine and ten,
In your chamber I think to be.
Look that you make all things ready,
Your maids shall not our councell hear,
For I will bring no man with me
But Humphrey Brereton, my true esquire.
He took his leave of that lady fair,
And to her chamber she went full tight,
And for all things she did prepare,
Both pen and ink, and paper white.
The lord unto his study went,
Forecasting with all his might
To bring to pass all his intent;
He took no rest till it was night.
And when the stars shone fair and bright,
He him disguised in strange mannere,
He went unknown of any wyght,
No more with him but his esquire.
And when he came her chamber near,
Full privily there can he stand,
To cause the lady to appeare
He made a signe with his right hand;
And when the lady there him wist,
She was as glad as she might be.
Char-coals in chimneys there were cast,
Candles on sticks standing full high;
She opened the wickett and let him in,
And said, welcome, lord and knight soe free!
A rich chair was set for him,
And another for that fair lady.
They ate the spice and drank the wine,
He had all things at his intent;
They rested them as for a time,
And to their study then they went.
Then that lady so fair and free,
With rudd as red as rose in May,
She kneeled down upon her knee,
And to the lord thus can she say:
Good father Stanley, I you pray,
Now here is no more but you and I;
Let me know what you will say,
For pen and paper I have ready.
He saith, commend me to my son George Strange,
In Latham Castle there he doth lye,
When I parted with him his heart did change,
From Latham to Manchester he road me by.
Upon Salford Bridge I turned my horse againe,
My son George by the hand I hent;
I held so hard forsooth certaine,
That his formast finger out of the joint went:
I hurt him sore, he did complain,
These words to him then I did say:
Son, on my blessing, turne home againe,
This shall be a token another day.
Bid him come like a merchant of Farnfield,
Of Coopland, or of Kendall, wheather that it be,
And seven with him, and no more else,
For to bear him company.
Bid him lay away watch and ward,
And take no heed to mynstrel's glee;
Bid him sit at the lower end of the board,
When he is amongst his meany,
His back to the door, his face to the wall,
That comers and goers shall not him see;
Bid him lodge in no common hall,
But keep him unknowne right secretly.
Commend me to my brother Sir William so dear,
In the Holt Castle there dwelleth hee;
Since the last time that we together were,
In the forest of Delameere both fair and free,
And seven harts upon one hearde,
Were brought to the buck sett to him and me;
But a forester came to me with a whoore bearde,
And said, good sir, awhile rest ye,
I have found you a hart in Darnall Park,
Such a one I never saw with my eye.
I did him crave, he said I shoud him have;
He was brought to the broad heath truely;
At him I let my grayhound then slipp,
And followed after while I might dree.
He left me lyeing in an ould moss pit,
A loud laughter then laughed hee;
He said, Rise up, and draw out your cousin;
The deer is dead, come you and see.
Bid him come as a marchant of Carnarvon,
Or else of Bew-morris whether it be;
And in his company seven Welshmen,
And come to London and speak to me;
I have a great mind to speak with him,
I think it long since I him see.
Commend me to Sir John Savage, that knight,
Lady, he is my sister's sone,
Since upon a friday at night
Before my bedside he kneeled downe:
He desired me as I was uncle dear,
Many a time full tenderly,
That I would lowly King Richard require
If I might get him any fee.
I came before my soveraigne Lord,
And kneeled down upon my knee,
So soon to me he did accord,
I thanked him full courteously,
A gatt him an hundred pounds in Kent
To him and his heirs perpetually,
Also a manor of a duchy rent,
Two hundred pounds he may spend thereby,
And high sheriff of Worcestershire,
And also the park of Tewksbury.
He hath it all at his desire,
Therewith dayley he may make merry.
Bid him come as a merchant man
Of West Chester, that fair city,
And seven yeomen to wait him on,
Bid him come to London and speak with me.
Commend me to good Gilbert Talbott,
A gentle esquire forsooth is he;
Once on a Fryday, full well I woot
King Richard called him traitour high:
But Gilbert to his fawchon prest,
A bold esquire forsooth is he;
Their durst no sarjant him arreast,
He is called so perlous of his body.
In the Tower Street I meet him then
Going to Westminster to take sanctuarie;
I light beside my horse I was upon,
The purse from my belt I gave him truely;
I bad him ride down into the North-West,
Perchance a knight in England I might him see:
Wherefore pray him at my request
To come to London to speak with me.
Then said the royall Lord so just,
Now you have written, and sealed have I,
There is no messenger that we may trust,
To bring these writeings into the West Countrey.
Because our matter it is so high,
Least any man wou'd us descry.
Humphrey Brereton, then said Bessye,
Hath been true to my father and me;
He shall take the writeings in hand,
And bring them into the West Countrey:
I trust him best of all this land
On this message to go for me.
Go to thy bed, Father, and sleep full soon,
And I shall wake for you and me,
By tomorrow at the riseing of the sune,
Humphrey Brereton shall be with thee.
She brings the Lord to his bed so trimly dight
All that night where he should lye,
And Bessy waked all that night,
There came no sleep within her eye:
In the morning when the day can spring,
Up riseth young Bessye,
And maketh hast in her dressing;
To Humphrey Brereton gone is she:
But when she came to Humphrey's bower bright,
With a small voice called she,
Humphrey answered that lady bright,
Saith, Who calleth on me so early?
I am King Edward's daughter right,
The Countesse clear, young Bessy,
In all hast with mean and might
Thou must come speak with the Earle of Darby.
Humphrey cast upon him a gowne,
And a pair of slippers upon his feet;
Alas! said Humphrey, I may not ride,
My horse is tired as you may see;
Since I came from London city,
Neither night nor day, I tell you plain,
There came no sleep within my eye;
On my business I thought certaine.
Lay thee down, Humphrey, he said, and sleep,
I will give space of hours three:
A fresh horse I thee beehyte,
Shall bring thee through the West Countrey.
Humphrey slept not hours two,
But on his journey well thought hee;
A fresh horse was brought him tooe,
To bring him through the West Countrey.
Then Humphrey Brereton with mickle might,
Hard at Latham knocketh hee;
Who is it, said the porter, this time of the night,
That so hastily calleth on mee?
The porter then in that state,
That time of the night riseth hee,
And forthwith opened me the gate,
And received both my horse and me.
Then said Humphrey Brereton, truely
With the Lord Strange speak would I faine,
From his father the Earle of Darby.
Then was I welcome that time certaine;
A torch burned that same tide,
And other lights that he might see;
And brought him to the bedd side
Where as the Lord Strange lie.
The lord mused in that tide,
Said, Humphrey Brereton, what mak'st thou here?
How fareth my father, that noble lord,
In all England that hath no peer?
Humphrey took him a letter in hand,
And said, Behold, my lord, and you may see.
When the Lord Strange looked the letter upon,
The tears trickled downe from his eye:
He said, we must come under a cloud,
We must never trusted bee;
We may sigh and make a great moane,
This world is not as it will bee.
Have here, Humphrey, pounds three,
Better rewarded may thou bee;
Commend me to my father dear,
His daily blessing he would give me;
He said also in that tide,
Tell him all thus from me;
If I be able to go or ride,
This appointment keep will I.
When Humphrey received the gold, I say,
Straight to Manchester rideth hee.
The sun was light up of the day,
He was aware of the Warden and Edward Stanley;
The one brother said to the other,
As they together their matins did say:
Behold, he said, my own dear brother,
Yonder comes Humphrey Brereton, it is no nay,
My father's servant at command,
Some hasty tydeings bringeth hee.
He took them either a letter in hand,
And bad them behold, read and see:
They turn'd their backs shortly tho',
And read those letters readily.
Up they leap and laughed too,
And also they made game end glee,—
Fair fare our father, that noble lord,
To stirr and rise now beginneth hee;
Buckingham's blood shall be wroken,
That was beheaded in Salsbury;
Fare fall that countesse, the king's daughter,
That fair lady, young Bessye,
We trust in Jesus in time hereafter,
To bring thy love over the sea.
Have here, Humphrey, of either of us shillings ten,
Better rewarded may thou bee.
He took the gold of the two gentlemen,
To sir John Savage then rideth hee;
He took him then a letter in hand,
And bad him behold, read and see:
When sir John Savage looked the letter upon,
All blackned the knight's blee;
Woman's wisdom is wondrous to hear, loe,
My uncle is turned by young Bessye:
Whether it turn to waile or woe,
At my uncle's bidding will I bee.
To Sheffield Castle at that same tide,
In all the hast that might bee,
Humphrey took his horse and forth could ride
To Gilbert Talbot fair and free.
He took him a letter in his hand,
Behold, said Humphrey, read and see;
When he the letter looked upon,
A loud laughter laughed hee,—
Fare fall that Lord in his renowne there,
To stirr and rise beginneth hee:
Fair fall Bessie that countesse clear,
That such councell cou'd give truely;
Commend me to my nephew nigh of blood,
The young Earle of Shrewsbury,
Bid him neither dread for death nor good;
In the Tower of London if he bee,
I shall make London gates to tremble and quake,
But my nephew borrowed shall bee.
Commend me to the countess that fair make,
King Edward's daughter, young Bessy:
Tell her I trust in Jesu that hath no pear,
To bring her love over the sea.
Commend me to that lord to me so dear,
That lately was made the Earle of Darby;
And every hair of my head
For a man counted might bee,
With that lord without any dread,
With him will I live and dye.
Have here, Humphrey, pounds three,
Better rewarded may thou bee:
Look to London gates thou ride quickly,
In all the hast that may bee;
Commend me to that countesse young Bessy,
She was King Edward's daughter dear,
Such a one she is, I say truely,
In all this land she hath no peer.
He took his leave at that time,
Strait to London rideth he,
In all the hast that he could wind,
His journey greatly he did apply.
But when he came to London, as I weene,
It was but a little before the evening,
There was he warr, walking in a garden,
Both the earle, and Richard the king.
When the earle did Humphrey see,
When he came before the king,
He gave him a privy twink then with his eye,
Then down falls Humphrey on his knees kneeling;
Welcome, Humphrey, says the lord,
I have missed thee weeks three.
I have been in the west, my lord,
There born and bred was I,
For to sport and play me certaine,
Among my friends far and nigh.
Tell me, Humphrey, said the earle then,
How fareth all that same countrey?
Of all the countreys I dare well say,
They be the flower of chivalry;
For they will bycker with their bowes,
They will fight and never fly.
Tell me, Humphrey, I thee pray,
How fareth King Richard his commenty?
When King Richard heard him say so,
In his heart he was right merry;
He with his cap that was so dear,
He thanked that lord most courteously:
And said, father Stanley, thou art to me near,
You are the chief of our poor commenty;
Half England shall be thine,
It shall be equall between thee and me;
I am thine and thou art mine,
So two fellows will we bee.
I swear by Mary, that mild maiden,
I know no more such under the skye;
When I am king and wear the crown, then
I will be chief of the poor commenty:
Task nor mize I will make none,
In no countrey farr nor nigh;
If their goods I shoud take and pluck them downe,
For me they woud fight full faintly:
There is no riches to me so rich,
As is the love of our poor commenty.
When they had ended all their speeches,
They take their leave full heartiley;
And to his bower King Richard is gone.
The earle and Humphrey Brereton
To Bessy's bower anon were gone;
When Bessy Humphrey did see anon,
She took him in her arms and kissed him times three.
Welcome, she said, Humphrey Brereton;
How hast thou spedd in the West Countrey
I pray thee tell me quickly and anon.
Into a parlour they went from thence,
There were no more but he and shee:
Humphrey, said Bessy, tell me e're we go hence
Some tideings out of the West Countrey;
If I shall send for yonder prince
To come over the sea, for the love of me,
And if King Richard shoud him convince,
Alas! it were great ruthe to see,
Or murthered among the Stanley's blood to be,
Indeed that were great pitty;
That sight on that prince I woud not see,
For all the gold in Christantie!
Tell me, Humphrey, I thee pray,
How hast thou spedd in the West Countrey?
What answer of them thou had now say,
And what reward they gave to thee.
By the third day of May it shall be seen,
In London all that they will bee;
Thou shalt in England be a queen,
Or else doubtless that they will dye.
Thus they proceed forth the winter then,
Their councell they kept close all three,
The earle he wrought by prophecy certaine,
In London he would not abide or bee,
But in the subburbs without the city
An ould inn chosen hath hee.
A drew an Eagle foot on the door truely,
That the western men might know where he did lye.
Humphrey stood on a high tower then,
He looked into the West Countrey;
Sir William Stanley and seven in green,
He was aware of the Eagle drawne;
He drew himselfe so wonderous nigh,
And bad his men go into the towne,
And drink the wine and make merry;
Into the same inn he went full prest,
Whereas the earle his brother lay.
Humphrey full soon into the west
Looks over a long lee;
He was aware of the Lord Strange and seven in green,
Come rideing into the city.
When he was aware of the Eagle drawn,
He drew himself so wonderously nigh,
He bad his men go into the towne certain,
And drink the wine and make merry;
And he himselfe drew then,
Where as his father in the inne lay.
Humphrey looked in the west, I say,
Sixteen in green then did he see;
He was aware of the Warden and Edward Stanley,
Come rideing both in one company.
When they were aware of the Eagle drawne,
The gentlemen they drew it nee;
And bad their men go into the towne,
And drink the wine and make merry.
And did go themselves into the same inn full prest,
Where the earle their father lay.
Yet Humphrey beholdeth into the west,
And looketh towards the north countrey;
He was aware of Sir John Savage and Sir Gilbert Talbot,
Came rideing both in one company.
When they were aware of the Eagle drawn,
Themselves drew it full nigh,
And bad their men go into the towne,
To drink the wine and make merry.
They did go themselves into the same inn,
Where as the earle and Bessy lye.
When all the lords together were,
Amongst them all Bessy was full buissy;
With goodly words Bessy then said there,
Fair lords, what will you do for me?
Will you relieve yonder prince,
That is exiled beyond the sea?
I woud not have King Richard him to convince,
For all the gold in Christentye.
The Earle of Darby came forth then,
These words he said to young Bessye,—
Ten thousand pounds will I send,
Bessy, for the love of thee,
And twenty thousand Eagle feet,
The Queen of England for to make thee;
Then Bessy most lowly the earle did greet,
And thankt his honor most heartiley.
Sir William Stanley came forth then,
These words he said to fair Bessy:
Remember, Bessy, another time,
Who doth the most, Bessy, for thee;
Ten thousand coats, that shall be red certaine,
In an hours warning ready shall bee;
In England thou shall be our queen,
Or doubtlesse I will dye.
Sir John Savage came forth then,
These words he said to young Bessye,—
A thousand marks for thy sake certaine,
Will I send thy love beyond the sea.
Sir Gilbert Talbott came forth then,
These were the words he said to Bessy:
Ten thousand marks for thy sake certaine,
I will send to beyond the sea.
The Lord Strange came forth then,
These were the words he said to Bessy:
A little money and few men,
Will bring thy love over the sea;
Let us keep our gold at home, said he,
For to wage our company;
For if we should send it over the sea,
We shoud put our gold in jeopartie.
Edward Stanley came forth then,
These were the words he said to Bessye:
Remember, Bessye, another time,
Who that now doth the best for thee,
For there is no power that I have,
Nor no gold for to give thee;
I will be under my father's banner, if God me save,
There either to live or dye.
Bessye came forth before the lords all,
And downe she falleth upon her knee;
Nineteen thousand pound of gold, I shall
Send my love behind the sea,
A love letter, and a gold ring,
From my heart root rite will I.
Who shall be the messenger the same to bring,
Both the gold and the writeing over the sea?
Humphrey Brereton, said Bessy,
I know him trusty and true certaine,
Therefore the writeing and the gold truely
By him shall be carried to Little Brittaine.
Alas, said Humphry, I dare not take in hand,
To carry the gold over the sea;
These galley shipps they be so strange,
They will me night so wonderously;
They will me robb, they will me drowne,
They will take the gold from me.
Hold thy peace, Humphrey, said Bessye then,
Thou shalt it carry without jepordye;
Thou shalt not have any caskett nor any male,
Nor budgett, nor cloak sack, shall go with thee;
Three mules that be stiff and strong withall,
Sore loaded with gold shall they bee,
With saddle-side skirted I do tell thee
Wherein the gold sowe will I:
If any man faine whose is the shipp truely
That saileth forth upon the sea,
Say it is the Lord Lislay,
In England and France well beloved is he.
Then came forth the Earle of Darby,
These words he said to young Bessy:
He said, Bessye, thou art to blame
To appoint any shipp upon the sea;
I have a good shipp of my owne,
Shall carry Humphrey with the mules three;
An eagle shall be drawne upon the mast top,
That the Italians may it see;
There is no freak in all France
The eagle that dare come nee
If any one ask whose ship it is, then
Say it is the Earles of Darby.
Humphrey took the three mules then,
Into the west wind wou'd hee,
Without all doubt at Liverpoole
He took shipping upon the sea:
With a swift wind and a liart,
He so saild upon the sea,
To Beggrames Abbey in Little Brittain,
Where as the English Prince lie;
The Porter was a Cheshire man,
Well he knew Humphrey when he him see;
Humphrey knockt at the gate truely,
Where as the porter stood it by,
And welcomed me full heartiley,
And received then my mules three;
I shall thee give in this breed
To thy reward pounds three;
I will none of thy gold, the porter said,
Nor Humphrey none of the fee,
I will open thee the gates certaine
To receive thee and the mules three;
For a Cheshire man born am I certain,
From the Malpas but miles three.
The porter opened the gates that time,
And received him and the mules three.
The wine that was in the hall that time
He gave to Humphrey Brereton truely.
Alas! said Humphrey, how shoud I doe,
I am strayed in a strange countrey,
The Prince of England I do not know,
Before I never did him see.
I shall thee tell, said the porter then,
The Prince of England know shall ye,
Low where he siteth at the butts certaine,
With other lords two or three;
He weareth a gown of velvet black
And it is cutted above the knee,
With a long visage and pale and black—
Thereby know that prince may ye;
A wart he hath, the porter said,
A little alsoe above the chinn,
His face is white, his wart is redd,
No more than the head of a small pinn;
You may know the prince certaine,
As soon as you look upon him truely.—
He received the wine of the porter, then
With him he took the mules three.
When Humphrey came before that prince
He falleth downe upon his knee,
He delivereth the letters which Bessy sent,
And so did he the mules three,
A rich ring with a stone,
Thereof the prince glad was hee;
He took the ring of Humphrey then,
And kissed the ring times three.
Humphrey kneeled still as any stone,
As sure as I do tell to thee;
Humphrey of the prince answer gott none,
Therefore in heart was he heavy;
Humphrey stood up then full of skill,
And then to the prince said he:
Why standest thou so still at thy will,
And no answer dost give to me?
I am come from the Stanleys' blood so dear,
King of England for to make thee,
A fairer lady then thou shalt have to thy fair,
There is not one in all christantye;
She is a countesse, a king's daughter, Humphrey said,
The name of her it is Bessye,
She can write, and she can read,
Well can she work by prophecy;
I may be called a lewd messenger,
For answer of thee I can gett none,
I may sail home with heavy cheare,
What shall I say when I come home?
The prince he took the Lord Lee,
And the Earle of Oxford was him nee,
The Lord Ferris wou'd not him beguile truely,
To councell they are gone all three;
When they had their councell taken,
To Humphrey then turned he:
Answer, Humphrey, I can give none truely
Within the space of weeks three;
The mules into a stable were taken anon,
The saddle skirts unopened were,
Therein he found gold great plenty
For to wage a company.
He caused the abbot to make him chear:
In my stead now let him be,
If I be king and wear the crown
Well acquited Abbott shalt thou be.
Early in the morning they made them knowne,
As soon as the light they cou'd see;
With him he taketh his lords three,
And straight to Paris he took his way.
An herriott of arms they made ready,
Of men and money they cou'd him pray,
And shipps to bring him over the sea,
The Stanleys' blood for me hath sent,
The King of England for to make me,
And I thank them for their intent,
For if ever in England I wear the crowne,
Well accquited the King of France shall be:
Then answered the King of France anon,
Men nor money he getteth none of me,
Nor no shipps to bring him over the sea;
In England if he wear the crowne,
Then will he claim them for his own truely:
With this answer departed the prince anon,
And so departed the same tide,
And the English lords three
To Beggrames Abbey soon coud the ride,
There as Humphrey Brereton then lee;
Have Humphrey a thousand mark here,
Better rewarded may thou be;
Commend me to Bessy that Countesse clear,
Before her never did I see:
I trust in God she shall be my feer,
For her I will travell over the sea;
Commend me to my father Stanley, to me so dear,
My owne mother married hath he,
Bring him here a love letter full right
And another to young Bessye,
Tell her, I trust in Jesus full of might
That my queen that she shall bee;
Commend me to Sir William Stanley,
That noble knight in the west countrey,
Tell him that about Michaelmas certaine
In England I do hope to be;
At Millford haven I will come inn
With all the power that make may I,
The first town I will come inn
Shall be the towne of Shrewsbury;
Pray Sir William Stanley, that noble knight,
That night that he will look on me:
Commend me to Sir Gilbert Talbot, that royall knight,
He much in the north countrey,
And Sir John Savage, that man of might,—
Pray them all to look on me,
For I trust in Jesus Christ so full of might,
In England for to abide and bee.
I will none of thy gold, sir prince, said Humphrey then,
Nor none sure will I have of thy fee,
Therefore keep thy gold thee within,
For to wage thy company;
If every hair were a man,
With thee, sir prince, will I be:
Thus Humphrey Brereton his leave hath tane,
And sailed forth upon the sea,
Straight to London he rideth then,
There as the earle and Bessy lay;
And bad them behold, read and see.
The earle took leave of Richard the king,
And into the west wind wou'd he;
He left Bessye in Leicester then
And bad her lye in pryvitye,
For if King Richard knew thee here anon,
In a fire burned thou must be.
Straight to Latham the earle is gone,
There as the Lord Strange then lee;
He sent the Lord Strange to London,
To keep King Richard company.
Sir William Stanley made anone
Ten thousand coats readily,
Which were as redd as any blood,
Thereon the hart's head was set full high,
Which after were tryed both trusty and good
As any cou'd be in Christantye.
Sir Gilbert Talbot ten thousand doggs
In one hour's warning for to be,
And Sir John Savage fifteen white hoods,
Which wou'd fight and never flee;
Edward Stanley had three hundred men,
There were no better in Christantye;
Sir Rees ap Thomas, a knight of Wales certain,
Eight thousand spears brought he.
Sir William Stanley sat in the Holt Castle,
And looked over his head so high;
Which way standeth the wind, can any tell?
I pray you, my men, look and see.
The wind it standeth south east,
So said a knight that stood him by.
This night yonder prince, truely
Into England entereth hee.
He called a gentleman that stood him nigh,
His name was Rowland of Warburton,
He bad him go to Shrewsbury that night,
And bid yonder prince come inn:
But when Rowland came to Shrewsbury,
The portculles was let downe;
They called him Henry Tydder, in scorn truely,
And said, in England he shou'd wear no crowne;
Rowland bethought him of a wyle then,
And tied a writeing to a stone,
And threw the writeing over the wall certain,
And bad the bailiffs to look it upon:
They opened the gates on every side,
And met the prince with procession;
And wou'd not in Shrewsbury there abide,
But straight he drest him to Stafford towne.
King Richard heard then of his comeing,
He called his lords of great renowne;
The Lord Pearcy he came to the king
And upon his knees he falleth downe,
I have thirty thousand fighting men
For to keep the crown with thee.
The Duke of Northfolk came to the king anone,
And downe he falleth upon his knee;
The Earle of Surrey, that was his heir,
Were both in one company;
We have either twenty thousand men here,
For to keep the crown with thee.
The Lord Latimer, and the Lord Lovell,
And the Earle of Kent he stood him by,
The Lord Ross, and the Lord Scrope, I you tell,
They were all in one company;
The Bishopp of Durham, he was not away,
Sir William Bonner he stood him by,
The good Sir William of Harrington, as I say,
Said, he wou'd fight and never fly.
King Richard made a messenger,
And sent him into the west countrey,
And bid the Earle of Darby make him bowne,
And bring twenty thousand men unto me,
Or else the Lord Strange his head I will him send,
And doubtless his son shall dye;
For hitherto his father I took for my friend,
And now he hath deceived me.
Another herald appeared then
To Sir William Stanley that doughty knight,
Bid him bring to me ten thousand men,
Or else to death he shall be dight.
Then answered that doughty knight,
And spake to the herald without letting;
Say, upon Bosseworth Field I meen to fight,
Uppon Monday early in the morning;
Such a breakfast I him behight,
As never did knight to any king.
The messenger home can him gett,
To tell King Richard this tydeing.
Fast together his hands then cou'd he ding,
And said, the Lord Strange shou'd surely dye;
And putt him into the Tower of London,
For at liberty he shou'd not bee.
Lett us leave Richard and his lords full of pride,
And talk we more of the Stanleys' blood,
That brought Richmond over the sea with wind and tyde,
From Litle Brittain into England over the flood.
Now is Earle Richmond into Stafford come,
And Sir William Stanley to Litle Stoone;
The prince had rather then all the gold in Christantye,
To have Sir William Stanley to look upon;
A messenger was made ready anone,
That night to go to Litle Stoon;
Sir William Stanley he rideth to Stafford towne,
With a solemn company ready bowne.
When the knight to Stafford was comin,
That Earle Richmond might him see,
He took him in his arms then,
And there he kissed him times three;
The welfare of thy body doth comfort me more
Then all the gold in Christantye.
Then answered that royall knight there,
And to the prince these words spake he,—
Remember, man, both night and day,
Who doth now the most for thee;
In England thou shalt wear a crown, I say,
Or else doubtless I will dye;
A fairer lady then thou shalt have for thy feer,
Was there never in Christanty;
She is a countesse, a king's daughter,
And there to both wise and witty;
I must this night to Stone, my soveraigne,
For to comfort my company.
The prince he took him by the hand,
And said, farewell, Sir William, fair and free.
Now is word come to Sir William Stanley there,
Early in the Monday, in the morning,
That the Earle of Darby, his brother dear,
Had given battle to Richard the king.
That wou'd I not, said Sir William anone,
For all the gold in Christantye,
That the battle shou'd be done;
Straight to Lichfield cou'd he ride,
In all the hast that might bee,
And when he came to Lichfield that tyde,
All they cryed King Henry:
Straight to Bolesworth can they go
In all the hast that might be,
But when he came Bolesworth Field unto,
There met a royall company;
The Earle of Darby thither was come,
And twenty thousand stood him by;
Sir John Savage, his sister's son,
He was his nephew of his blood so nigh,
He had fifteen hundred fighting men,
That wou'd fight and never flye;
Sir William Stanley, that royall knight, then
Ten thousand red coats had he,
They wou'd bicker with their bows there,
They wou'd fight and never flye;
The Red Rosse, and the Blew Boar,
They were both a solemn company;
Sir Rees ap Thomas he was thereby,
With ten thousand spears of mighty tree;
The Earle of Richmond went to the Earle of Darby,
And downe he falleth upon his knee,
Said, father Stanley, full of might,
The vaward I pray you give to me,
For I am come to claime my right,
And faine revenged wou'd I bee.
Stand up, he said, my son, quickly,
Thou hast thy mother's blessing truely,
The vaward, son, I will give to thee,
So that thou wilt be ordered by me:
Sir William Stanley, my brother dear,
In the battle he shall be;
Sir John Savage, he hath no peer,
He shall be a wing then to thee;
Sir Rees ap Thomas shall break the array,
For he will fight and never flee;
I myselfe will hove on the hill, I say,
The fair battle I will see.
King Richard he hoveth upon the mountaine;
He was aware of the banner of the bould Stanley,
And saith, Fetch hither the Lord Strange certain,
For he shall dye this same day;
To the death, Lord, thee ready make,
For I tell thee certainly
That thou shalt dye for thy uncle's sake,
Wild William of Stanley.
If I shall dye, said the Lord Strange then,
As God forbid it shou'd so bee,
Alas! for my lady that is at home,
It should be long or she see me,
But we shall meet at doomsday,
When the great doom shall be.
He called for a gent in good fay,
Of Lancashire, both fair and free,
The name of him it was Lathum;
A ring of gould he took from his finger,
And threw it to the gent then,
And bad him bring it to Lancashire,
To his lady that was at home;
At her table she may sit right,
Or she see her lord it may be long,
I have no foot to fligh nor fight,
I must be murdered with the king:
If fortune my uncle Sir William Stanley loose the field,
As God forbid it shou'd so bee,
Pray her to take my eldest son and child,
And exile him over behind the sea;
He may come in another time
By feild or fleet, by tower or towne,
Wreak so he may his father's death in fyne,
Upon Richard of England that weareth the crown.
A knight to King Richard then did appeare,
The good Sir William of Harrington.
Let that Lord have his life, my dear
Sir king, I pray you grant me this boone,
We shall have upon this field anon,
The father, the son, and the uncle all three;
Then shall you deem, lord, with your own mouth then,
What shall be the death of them all three.
Then a block was cast upon the ground,
Thereon the lord's head was laid,
A slave over his head can stand,
And thus that time to him thus said:
In faith there is no other booty tho',
But need that thou must be dead.
Harrington in hart was full woe,
When he saw that the lord must needs be dead.
He said, our ray breaketh on ev'ry side,
We put our feyld in jepordie.
He took up the lord that tyde,
King Richard after did him never see.
Then they blew up their bewgles of brass,
That made many a wife to cry alas!
And many a wive's child fatherlesse;
They shott of guns then very fast,
Over their heads they could them throw:
Arrows flew them between,
As thick as any hayle or snowe,
As then that time might plaine be seene;
Then Rees ap Thomas with the black raven,
Shortly he brake their array;
Then with thirty thousand fighting men
The Lord Pearcy went his way;
The Duke of Northefolke wou'd have fledd with a good will,
With twenty thousand of his company,
They went up to a wind millne uppon a hill,
That stood soe fayre and wonderousse hye;
There he met Sir John Savage, a royall knight,
And with him a worthy company;
To the death was he then dight,
And his sonne prisoner taken was he;
Then the Lord Alroes began for to flee,
And so did many other moe;
When King Richard that sight did see,
In his heart hee was never soe woe:
I pray you, my merry men, be not away,
For upon this field will I like a man dye,
For I had rather dye this day,
Then with the Standley prisoner to be.
A knight to King Richard can say there,
Good Sir William of Harrington;
He said, sir king, it hathe no peer,
Upon this feyld to death to be done,
For there may no man these dints abide;
Low, your horse is ready at your hand:
Sett the crown upon my head that tyde,
Give me my battle axe in my hand;
I make a vow to myld Mary that is so bright,
I will dye the king of merry England.
Besides his head they hewed the crown down right,
That after he was not able to stand;
They dinge him downe as they were woode,
They beat his bassnet to his heade,
Until the braynes came out with the bloode;
They never left him till he was dead.
Then carryed they him to Leicester,
And pulled his head under his feet.
Bessye mett him with a merry cheare,
And with these words she did him greete;
How like you the killing of my brethren dear?
Welcome, gentle uncle, home!
Great solace ytt was to see and hear,
When the battell yt was all done;
I tell you, masters, without lett,
When the Red Rosse soe fair of hew,
And young Bessye together mett,
It was great joy I say to you.
A bishopp then marryed with a ringe
The two bloods of great renowne.
Bessy said, now may we singe,
Wee two bloods are made all one.
The Earle of Darby hee was there,
And Sir William Stanley, that noble knight,
Upon their heads he set the crown so fair,
That was made of gould so bright.
And there he came under a cloud,
That some time in England looked full high;
But then the hart he lost his head,
That after no man cou'd him see.
But Jesus, that is both bright and shine,
And born was of mylde Mary,
Save and keepe our noble kinge,
And also the poore commentie. Amen.

The other version of this ballad, to which I have referred, is preserved in the Harleian MSS. It differs considerably from the one here printed, as will be at once apparent from the following opening passage:—

God that is moste of myghte,
And born was of a mayden free,
Save and kepe our comlye queene,
And also the poore comynalitie;
For wheras Kynge Richard, I understande,
Had not reigned yeares three,
But the beste Duke in all this lande
He caused to be headit at Salysburye;
That tyme the Standleyes without dowte
Were dred over England ferre and nee,
Next Kynge Richard that was soe stowte
Of any lorde in England free.
There was a ladye faire on moulde,
The name of hir was litill Bessie;
She was yonge, she was not oulde,
Bot of the yeares of one and twentye;
She colde wryte and she coulde reede,
Well she coulde wyrke by propesye;
She sojorned in the cetye of London
That tyme with the Earle of Derbye.
Upon a tyme, as I you tell,
There was noe moe bot the Earle and she,
She made complaynte one Richard the Kynge,
That was hir uncle of blode soe nee.

There are many other ballads having reference to the Stanleys, Earls of Derby; but this will be sufficient as a present example.

Devonshire's Noble Duel
WITH LORD DANBY IN THE YEAR 1687.

Of this curious ballad, which is also known by the name of "The Long Armed Duke," there are several versions. The one here given is printed from a broad-sheet, and is, perhaps, the most complete of any of the versions which has come under my notice. The circumstance which gave rise to the ballad has not as yet been satisfactorily explained. It has been suggested that its origin was the quarrel in which the Earl of Devonshire, Lord Delamere, and Colonel Colepepper were engaged. It is traditionally said that the arms of the "Long Armed Duke" were so long that he could garter his stockings below the knee without stooping down or being seated!

Good people give attention to a story you shall hear,
Between the King and my Lord Delamere
A quarrel arose in the Parliament House,
Concerning the Taxes to be put in force.
With my fal de ral de ra.

I wonder, I wonder, that James our good King,
So many hard Taxes upon the poor should bring;
So many hard Taxes, as I have heard them say
Makes many a good farmer to break and run away.

Such a rout has been in the Parliament, as I hear,
Betwixt a Dutch lord and my Lord Delamere.
He said to the King, as he sat on the throne,
"If it please you, my Liege, to grant me a boon."

"Oh, what is thy boon? Come let me understand."
"'Tis to give me all the poor you have in the land;
I'll take them down to Cheshire, and there I will sow
Both hemp seed and flax seed, and hang them in a row.

It's better, my Liege, they should die a shorter death,
Than for your Majesty to starve them on earth."
With that up starts a Dutch Lord, as we hear,
And he says, "Thou proud Jack," to my Lord Delamere,

"Thou ought to be stabbed," and he turned him about,
"For affronting the King in the Parliament House."
Then up got a brave Duke, the Duke of Devonshire,
Who said, "I will fight for my Lord Delamere:—

He is under age, as I'll make it appear;
So I'll stand in defence of my Lord Delamere."
A stage then was built, and to battle they went,
To kill or be killed it was their intent.

The very first blow, as we understand,
Devonshire's rapier went back to his hand;
Then he muséd awhile, but not a word spoke
When against the King's armour his rapier he broke.

Oh, then he stept backward, and backward stept he,
And then stept forward my Lord Willoughby;
He gave him a rapier, and thus he did say,
"Play low, Devonshire, there's treachery, I see."

He knelt on his knee, and he gave him the wound;
With that the Dutch Lord fell dead on the ground.
The King call'd his soldiers, and thus he did say,
"Call Devonshire down, take the dead man away."

He answered, "My Liege, I've killed him like a man,
And it is my intent to see what clothing he's got on.
O treachery! O treachery! as I well may say,
It was your intent, O King, to take my life away.

He fought in your armour, while I fought him bare,
And thou, King, shalt win it before thou dost it wear;
I neither do curse King, Parliament, or Throne,
But I wish every honest man may enjoy his own.

The rich men do flourish with silver and gold,
While poor men are starving with hunger and cold;
And if they hold on as they have begun,
They'll make little England pay dear for a King."

Another version, which I have in MS., has, besides many minor variations, these additional verses:—

Oh the Duchess of Devonshire was standing hard by,
Upon her dear husband she cast her lovely eye;
"Oh, fie upon treachery—there's been treachery, I say,—
It was your full intent to have ta'en my Duke's life away."

Then away to the Parliament these votes all went again,
And there they acted like just and honest men.
I neither curse my King, nor kingdom, crown or throne,
But I wish every honest man to enjoy but what is his own.

One of the versions of this ballad gives the name of Lord Delaware—

"In the Parliament House a great rout has been there,
Betwixt our good King and the Lord Delaware."

And it also gives the locality for sowing "hemp seed and flax seed" to "Lincolnshire." This same version speaks of the Duke of Devonshire as—

"Up sprung a Welch Lord, the brave Duke of Devonshire."

There can be no doubt, however, that Lord Delamere is the peer intended to be commemorated, and that Cheshire is the county to which he is made to refer, and to which indeed he belonged.

The Unconsionable Batchelors of Darby:
Or the Young Lasses Pawn'd by their Sweet-hearts, for a large Reckning, at Nottingham Goose-Fair, where poor Susan was forced to pay the Shot.

To the tune of To thee, to thee, &c.

This curious ballad I reprint from a black-letter broad-sheet in the Roxburghe Collection in the British Museum, where it is adorned with three curious wood-cuts. Nottingham Goose Fair, it may be well to remark, is still the most popular fair in the Midland Counties, and is annually attended by many of the "Lasses of Darby," who "with young men" go "to Goose-fair for recreation," by special trains and otherwise. The distance of Nottingham from Derby by turnpike road, along which the lasses and young men of the ballad must have travelled, is fifteen miles. Goose-fair formerly lasted for twenty-one days.

You lovers of mirth attend a while
a merry new Ditty here I write
I know it will make you laugh and smile
for every line affords delight:
The Lasses of Darby with young Men
they went to Goose-fair for recreation
But how these Sparks did serve them then
is truly worth your observation:
Truly, truly, worth your observation,
therefore I pray observe this Ditty
The Maids did complain they came there in vain
and was not, was not that a pity.

So soon as they came into the Fair
the Batchellers made them conjues low
And bid them a thousand welcomes there
this done, to a tipling-school they go:
How pleasant was honest Kate and Sue?
believing they should be richly treated,
But Neighbours and Friends as I am true
no Lasses ever was so cheated:
Cheated, cheated, very farely cheated
they were left alone to make their moan
And was not, was not that a pity.

The innocent Lasses fair and gay
concluded the Men was kind and free
Because they pass'd the time away
a plenty of cakes and ale they see;
For sider and mead they then did call
and whatever else the House afforded
But Susan was forc'd to pay for all
out of the money she had hoarded
Hoarded, hoarded, money she had hoarded
it made her sing a doleful Ditty
And so did the rest with grief opprest
and was not, was not that a pity.

Young Katy she seemed something coy
because she would make them eager grow,
As knowing thereby she might enjoy
what beautiful Damsels long to know.
On compliments they did not stand
nor did they admire their charming features
For they had another game in hand
which was to pawn those pretty Creatures;
Creatures, creatures, loving loving creatures
which was so charming fair and pretty
The Men sneak'd away and nothing did pay
and was not, was not that a pity?

Though 'f out of the door they enterd first
and left them tipling there behind
Those innocent Maids did not mistrust
that Batchelors could be so unkind;
Quoth Susan, I know their gone to buy
the fairings which we do require
And they will return, I know, for why
they do our youthful charms admire,
Therefore, therefore stay a little longer
and I will sing a pleasant Ditty
But when they found they were catch'd in the pound
they sigh'd and weep'd the more's the pity.

Now finding the Men returned no more
and that the good People would not trust
They presently call'd to know the score
it chanc'd to be fifteen shillings just:
Poor Kate had but five pence in her purse
but Sue had a crown besides a guinney;
And since the case had happen'd thus
poor Soul she paid it e'ry penny;
Penny, penny, e'ry, e'ry penny
tho' with a sad and doleful Ditty
Said she for this I had not a kiss
and was not, was not that a pity?

Printed for J. Bessel, in West-Smithfield.

The Humours of Hayfield Fair.

This ballad, copied from a broad-sheet, has been printed in Hutchinson's "Tour through the High Peak of Derbyshire," 1809. It will be seen to be a version—whether the original one or not remains to be seen—of the favourite ballad usually called "Come Lasses and Lads," of which the earliest known copy appears to have been printed in 1672, under the title of "The Rural Dance about the May-pole," and which has again been printed in "Pills to purge Melancholy," in "Tixhall poetry," and also, with the music, in Chappel's "Popular Music of the Olden Time," as well as in several other works. It ought to be stated that the ballad I here reprint—"The Humours of Hayfield Fair,"—although I speak of it as a version of the "Rural Dance about the May-pole," is, with the exception of here and there a verse, or part of a verse, totally distinct from it. It will, of course, be seen to go to the same tune. Hayfield is a village near Chapel-en-le-Frith, in the High Peak of Derbyshire,—in the midst of a district as wild in its superstitions as in its ballad poetry, and in its traditions as in its scenery. It has two fairs in the year, which were formerly much frequented by the "Lads and Lasses" of the district, whether they had "leave of their dads" or not.

Come, lasses and lads, take leave of your dads,
And away to the fair let's hie;
For every lad has gotten his lass,
And a fiddler standing by;
For Jenny has gotten her Jack,
And Nancy has gotten her Joe,
With Dolly and Tommy, good lack,
How they jig it to and fro!
Ritum, raddledum, raddledum; ritum raddledum ri;
Ritum, raddledum, raddledum; ritum raddledum ri.

My heart 'gain ribs ga' thumps,
When I went to th' wake or fair,
Wi' a pair of new sol'd pumps,
To dance when I got there;
I'd ride grey nag I swore,
And were mounted like a king,
Cousin Dickey walked on a'fore,
Driving a pig tied wi' a string.
Ritum raddledum, &c.

Pally Sampson too was there,
Wi' "Neighbour how do you do?"
There were all the world at the fair,
And drunk 'till they were fou';
'Twas neither heigh! nor gee!
For soon as I sold my cow,
The fiddler shog'd his knee,
And I danced my pumps clean through.
Ritum raddledum, &c.

"You're out," says Dick—"I'm not," says Nick,
"The fiddler plays it false;"
And so says Hugh, and so says Sue,
And so says nimble Alice;
The fiddler did agree,
To right us in a crack,
Dance face to face, says he,
And then dance back to back.
Ritum raddledum, &c.

Thus after an hour they tript to a bower
To play for ale and cakes,
And kisses too—until they were due,
The maidens held the stakes;
The women then began
To quarrel with the men,
And bad them take their kisses back,
And gi' 'em their own again.
Ritum raddledum, &c.

Thus they sat, until it were late,
And they tir'd the fiddler quite,
Wi' singing and playing, without any paying,
From morning until it were night:
They told the fiddler then
They'd pay him for his play,
And each gave two-pence,
(Speaking) (Ey, they gave him two pence a piece)
And then they hopp'd away.
Ritum raddledum, &c.

Come Dolly, says I, now homeward hie,
And I'll go wi' thee a mile;
She twinkled her eyes wi' a sigh
As I handed her over the style;
Then I cuddled, and kissed her face,
Were I much to blame?
Had you been in my place,
(Speaking) (I don't mean you in the smock frock dancing a
hornpipe—I mean that sly looking fellow smoking his
pipe in the corner,)
I vow you'd ha' done the same.
Ritum raddledum, &c.

ON THE
Strange and Wonderful Sight
That was seen in the Air on the 6th of March, 1716.

This ballad occurs in "The Garland of Merriment: containing Three New Songs. 1st. A Game at Cards for a Kingdom, or Mar routed. 2d. A Comical Scotch Dialogue between a Highlander and his Wife about the last Battle. 3d. A Copy of Verses on the Death of my Lord Derwentwater. 4th. On the Wonderful Sight that was seen in the Air on the 6th of March last. Nottingham: Printed by William Ayscough in Bridlesmith Gate." I am not aware that it has ever been reprinted, except by myself in "The Reliquary" for April 1866. The appearances were probably those of the Aurora borealis. On the title-page of this curious chap-book, which was printed in 1716-7, is a wood-cut of four persons playing cards at a table.

The sixth of March, kind neighbours this is true,
A wonder in the Sky came to my View;
I pray believe it, for I tell no Lye,
There's many more did see it as well as I.

I was on a Travel, and was very late,
To speak the truth just about Day-light' gate;
My Heart did tremble being all alone,
To see such Wonders—the like was never known.

The first of all so dark it was to me,
That much ado my Way I had to see;
I turn'd me round to see some Lights appear,
And then I saw those Wonders in the air.

These Lights to me like great long spears did show,
Sharp at one end, kind neighbours this is true;
I was so troubled, I could not count them o'er,
But I suppose there was above a score.

Then I saw like Blood it did appear,
And that was very throng among those spears;
I thought the Sky would have opened in my View,
I was so daunted I knew not what to do.

The next I saw two Clouds meet fierce together
As if they would have fought one another;
And darkened all these Spears excepting one,
They gave a Clash and quickly they were gone.

The very last Day in the same month I am told
Many People did strange Sights behold;
At Hartington, the truth I will not spare,
That Night they saw Great Wonders in the Air.

This Hartington it is in Darbyshire,
And credible persons living there,
They have declared what Wonders they did view
The very last night in March its certain true.

About Eleven a'Clock late in that Night,
A very dark Cloud which did them sore afright;
Great smoke there came, it was perfect to their view,
They cried out, O Lord, what must we do?

They saw Great Lights which did amaze them sore,
The like was never seen in any Age before,
They went into their Houses for to Pray,
We must Repent whilst it is call'd to Day.

The Drunken Butcher of Tideswell.

Tideswell is one of the largest and most important villages in the High Peak of Derbyshire, and has been more than once, as will be seen in the present volume, celebrated in song and ballad. It is situated about seven miles from Buxton, and the same from Bakewell, in a highly romantic and wildly picturesque neighbourhood. Its church is a fine building, containing many interesting monuments, among which are those to the Foljambes, Meverells, &c., and one to Bishop Pursglove. The following ballad is the production of William Bennett, the author of "The King of the Peak," "The Cavalier," etc. Of this ballad Mr. Bennett thus spoke in the "Reliquary," in which it appeared:—"The ballad (the subject of which is as well known in the Peak as that Kinder Scout is the highest hill, and Tideswell Church the most stately and beautiful church in it) will perhaps appear a little modernised to some, who have only heard the tale from the mouths of unsober topers, accustomed to use ancient provincial and obsolete words, which not only render the sense less distinguishable, but also mar the flow of the rhythm. I confess, therefore, to having taken some liberties with the grammar, the orthography, and the metre; but in all other respects I have strictly adhered to the original; and my honesty in this respect will be recognized and admitted by many persons to whom these minstrel relics are precious.

"The legend is still so strong in the Peak, that numbers of the inhabitants do not concur in the sensible interpretation put upon the appearance by the Butcher's wife, but pertinaciously believe that the drunken man was beset by an evil spirit, which either ran by his horse's side, or rolled on the ground before him, faster than his horse could gallop, from Peak Forest to the sacred inclosure of Tideswell churchyard, where it disappeared; and many a bold fellow, on a moonlight night, looks anxiously around as he crosses Tideswell Moor, and gives his nag an additional touch of the spur, as he hears the bell of Tideswell Church swinging midnight to the winds, and remembers the tale of the 'Drunken Butcher of Tideswell.'"

Oh, list to me, ye yeomen all,
Who live in dale or down!
My song is of a butcher tall,
Who lived in Tiddeswall town.
In bluff King Harry's merry days,
He slew both sheep and kine;
And drank his fill of nut brown ale,
In lack of good red wine.

Beside the Church this Butcher lived,
Close to its gray old walls;
And envied not, when trade was good,
The Baron in his halls.
No carking cares disturbed his rest,
When off to bed he slunk;
And oft he snored for ten good hours,
Because he got so drunk.

One only sorrow quelled his heart,
As well it might quell mine—
The fear of sprites and grisly ghosts,
Which dance in the moonshine;
Or wander in the cold Churchyard,
Among the dismal tombs;
Where hemlock blossoms in the day,
By night the nightshade blooms.

It chanced upon a summer's day,
When heather-bells were blowing,
Bold Robin crossed o'er Tiddeswall Moor,
And heard the heath-cock crowing:
Well mounted on a forest nag,
He freely rode and fast;
Nor drew a rein, till Sparrow Pit,[4]
And Paislow Moss[5] were past.

Then slowly down the hill he came,
To the Chappelle en le firth,[6]
Where, at the Rose of Lancaster,
He found his friend the Smith:
The Parson, and the Pardoner too,
There took their morning draught;
And when they spied a Brother near,
They all came out and laughed.

"Now draw thy rein, thou jolly Butcher;
How far hast thou to ride?"
"To Waylee-Bridge,[7] to Simon the Tanner,
To sell this good cow-hide."
"Thou shall not go one foot ayont,
'Till thou light and sup with me;
And when thou'st emptied my measure of liquor,
I'll have a measure wi' thee."

"Oh no, oh no, thou drouthy Smith!
I cannot tarry to-day:
The Wife, she gave me a charge to keep;
And I durst not say her nay."
"What likes o' that," said the Parson then,
"If thou'st sworn, thou'st ne'er to rue:
Thou may'st keep thy pledge, and drink thy stoup,
As an honest man e'en may do."

"Oh no, oh no, thou jolly Parson!
I cannot tarry, I say;
I was drunk last night, and if I tarry,
I'se be drunk again to-day."
"What likes, what likes," cried the Pardoner then,
"Why tellest thou that to me?
Thou may'st e'en get thee drunk this blessed night;
And well shrived for both thou shalt be."

Then down got the Butcher from his horse,
I wot full fain was he;
And he drank 'till the summer sun was set,
In that jolly company:
He drank 'till the summer sun went down,
And the stars began to shine;
And his greasy noddle was dazed and addle,
With the nut brown ale and wine.

Then up arose those four mad fellows,
And joining hand in hand,
They danced around the hostel floor,
And sung, tho' they scarce could stand,
"We've aye been drunk on yester night,
And drunk the night before;
And sae we're drunk again to-night,
If we never get drunk any more."

Bold Robin the Butcher was horsed and away;
And a drunken wight was he;
For sometimes his blood-red eyes saw double;
And then he could scantly see.
The forest trees seemed to featly dance,
As he rode so swift along;
And the forest trees, to his wildered sense,
Resang the jovial song.

Then up he sped over Paislow Moss,
And down by the Chamber Knowle:[8]
And there he was scared into mortal fear
By the hooting of a barn owl:
And on he rode, by the Forest Wall,
Where the deer browsed silently;
And up the Slack, 'till, on Tiddeswall Moor,
His horse stood fair and free.

Just then the moon, from behind the rack,
Burst out into open view;
And on the sward and purple heath
Broad light and shadow threw;
And there the Butcher, whose heart beat quick,
With fear of Gramarye,
Fast by his side, as he did ride,
A foul phantom did espy.

Uprose the fell of his head, uprose
The hood which his head did shroud;
And all his teeth did chatter and girn,
And he cried both long and loud;
And his horse's flank with his spur he struck,
As he never had struck before;
And away he galloped, with might and main,
Across the barren moor.

But ever as fast as the Butcher rode,
The Ghost did grimly glide:
Now down on the earth before his horse,
Then fast his rein beside:
O'er stock and rock, and stone and pit,
O'er hill and dale and down,
'Till Robin the Butcher gained his door-stone,
In Tiddeswall's good old town.

"Oh, what thee ails, thou drunken Butcher?"
Said his Wife, as he sank down;
"And what thee ails, thou drunken Butcher?"
Cried one-half of the Town.
"I have seen a Ghost, it hath raced my horse,
For three good miles and more;
And it vanished within the Churchyard wall,
As I sank down at the door."

"Beshrew thy heart, for a drunken beast!"
Cried his Wife, as she held him there;
"Beshrew thy heart, for a drunken beast,
And a coward, with heart of hare.
No Ghost hath raced thy horse to-night,
Nor evened his wit with thine:
The Ghost was thy shadow, thou drunken wretch!
I would the Ghost were mine."

A New Ballad of Robin Hood:
Shewing his Birth, Breeding, Valour and Marriage, at Titbury Bull-running: Calculated for the Meridian of Staffordshire but may serve for Derbyshire or Kent.

There are no series of ballads in our language so extensive or so popular as those relating to the noble outlaw, Robin Hood, and his "merry doings" in Sherwood Forest and its neighbourhood. Some of these relate immediately to Derbyshire; and many others might, from their allusions and the persons named in them, be claimed by that county. Some of his exploits are related to have been performed in Derbyshire; numerous places in that county are named after him; some of the relatives of his family resided within its confines; and last, though not least, his faithful friend and follower, Little John, is said not only to have been one of the sons of its soil, but to have died and been buried in the place of his birth.

That Robin Hood was a real and veritable personage seems to have been satisfactorily settled by the late Rev. Joseph Hunter, who discovered among the state papers some records wherein, besides the name being correctly given as "Robyn Hood," showed that that personage was in the King's service, and that he left it to travel;—doubtless into his favourite haunts in Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire, and Derbyshire. Among the entries relating to Robin Hood, Mr. Hunter gleaned several which tallied curiously and conclusively with the circumstances of his early life as given in the "Lytell Geste of Robyn Hode," printed about the year 1489, by Wynken de Worde.[9]

The ballad which I here give, showing "his birth, breeding, valour, and marriage at Titbury Bull-running," I give from a curious old broad-sheet in my own collection. It is printed broad-way on the paper, and has a rude wood-cut of Robin Hood with his buckler and quarter staff, and Clorinda,—another name for Maid Marian,—with a tall hat, or like the Welsh fashion, and a bow in her hand, the entrance to the church in the back-ground. It bears the imprint, "Northampton: Printed by R. Raikes and W. Dicey." A black-letter copy is in the Roxburgh Collection in the British Museum, and it has also been reprinted by Evans and by Gutch. The ballad is "supposed to be related by the fiddler who played at their wedding."

Kind Gentlemen will you be patient a while,
Ay, and then you shall hear anon,
A very good Ballad of bold Robin Hood,
and of his Man, brave little John.

In Locksly Town,[10] in merry Nottinghamshire,
in merry sweet Locksly Town;
There bold Robin Hood, he was born and was bred,
bold Robin of famous Renown.

The Father of Robin a Forester was,
and he shot in a lusty long Bow,
Two North Country Miles and a Inch at a shot,
as the Pinder of Wakefield[11] does know.

For he brought Adam Bell,[12] and Clim of the Glugh,[13]
and William a Clowdel-le;[14]
To shoot with our Forester, for forty Marks,
and the Forester beat them all three.

His Mother was Niece to a Coventry Knight,
which Warwickshire Men call Sir Guy;[15]
For he slew the Blew Bore that hangs up at the Gate,
or mine Host of the Bull tells a lie.

Her Brother was Gamwell[16] of great Gamwell-Hall,
and a noble House-keeper was he,
Ay, as ever broke Bread in sweet Nottinghamshire,
and a Squire of famous Degree.

The Mother of Robin said to her Husband,
my Honey, my Love and my Dear;
Let Robin and I, ride this Morning to Gamwel,
to take of my Brother's good Cheer.

And he said, I grant thee boon, gentle Joan,
take one of my Horses I pray:
The Sun is a rising, and therefore make Haste,
for to morrow is Christmas Day.

Then Robin Hood's Father's grey Gelding was brought
and sadled and bridled was he,
God-wot, a blew Bonnet, his new Suit of Cloaths,
and a Cloak that did reach to his Knee.

She got on her Holy-day Girdle and Gown,
they were of a light Lincoln Green,
The Cloath was home spun, but for Colour and make
it might a beseem'd our Queen.

And then Robin got on his Basket-hilt Sword,
and a Dagger on his tother side:
And said, my dear Mother, let's haste to be gone,
we have forty long Miles to ride.

When Robin had mounted his Gelding so grey,
his Father without any Trouble,
Got her up behind him, and bid her not fear,
for his Gelding had oft carried double.

And when she was settled, they rode to their Neighbours,
and drank and shook Hands with them all:
And then Robin galop'd and never gave o're,
till they lighted at Gamwel-Hall.

And now you may think the right worshipful Squire,
was joyful his Sister to see;
For he kist her and kist her, and swore a great Oath,
thou art welcome, kind Sister, to me.

The morrow when Mass had been said in the Chappel
six Tables were cover'd in the Hall;
And in comes the 'Squire and makes a short Speech,
it was, Neighbours you are welcome all.

But not a Man here, shall tast my March Beer,
till Christmas Carrol be sung;
Then all clapt their Hands, & they shouted & sung,
till the Hall and the Parlour did ring.

Now Mustard, Braun, roast-Beef and Plumb-Pies,
were set upon every Table:
And noble George Gamwel said, eat and be merry,
and drink so as long as you're able.

When Dinner was ended his Chaplain said Grace,
and be merry my Friends, said the 'Squire,
It rains and it blows, but call for more Ale,
and lay some more Wood on the Fire.

And now call ye little John hither to me,
for little John is a fine Lad,
At Gambols and Juggling, and twenty such Tricks,
as shall make you both merry and glad.

When little John came, to Gambols they went,
both Gentlemen, Yeomen and Cloun;
And what do you think? Why as true as I live,
bold Robin Hood put them all down.

And now you may think the right worshipful Squire,
was joyful this Sight for to see,
For he said Cousin Robin, thou'st go no more home,
but tarry and dwell with me.

Thou shalt have my Land when I die, and till then
thou shalt be the Staff of my Age:
Then grant me my boon, dear Uncle, said Robin,
that little John may by my Page.

And he said kind Cousin I grant thee thy boon,
with all my heart to let it be,
Then come hither little John, said Robin Hood,
come hither my Page, unto me.

Go fetch me my Bow, my longest long Bow,
and broad Arrows one two or three;
For when it is fair Weather, we'll into Sherwood,
some merry Pastime to see.

When Robin Hood came into merry Sherwood,
he winded his bugle so clear;
And twice five and twenty good Yeomen and bold,
before Robin Hood did appear.

Where are your Companions all? (said Robin Hood)
for still I want forty and three.
Then said a bold Yeoman, Lo yonder they stand,
all under a green Wood Tree.

As that Word was spoke, Clorinda[17] came by,
the Queen of the Shepherds was she:
And her Gown was of Velvet, as green as the Grass,
and her Buskin did reach to her Knee.

Her Gate it was graceful, her Body was strait
and her Countenance free from Pride:
A Bow in her Hand, and Quiver and Arrows,
hung dangling by her sweet Side.

Her Eye-brows were black, ay, and so was her Hair,
and her Chin was as smooth as Glass;
Her Visage spoke Wisdom and Modesty too,
sets with Robin Hood such a Lass.

Said Robin Hood, Lady fair, whether away,
oh whither fair Lady away?
And she made him Answer, to kill a fat Buck,
for to-morrow is Titbury[18] Day.

Said Robin Hood, Lady fair wander with me,
a little to yonder green Bower,
There sit down to rest you, and you shall be sure,
of a brace or a lease in an Hour.

And as we were going towards the green Bower,
two hundred good Bucks we espy'd:
She chose out the fattest that was in the Herd,
and she shot him through side and side.

By the Faith of my Body, said bold Robin Hood,
I never saw Woman like thee,
And com'st thou from East, ay, or com'st thou from West
thou needst not beg Venison of me.

However along to the Bower you shall go,
and taste of a Forester's Meat;
And when we came thither, we found as good cheer,
as any man needs for to eat.

For there was hot Venison, and Warden pies cold,
Cream coloured with Honey-Combs plenty,
And the Sarvitors they were besides little John,
good yeomen at least four and twenty.

Clorinda said, Tell me your Name gentle Sir?
and he said, 'Tis bold Robin Hood;
'Squire Gamwel's my Uncle, but all my delight,
is to dwell in the merry Sherwood:

For 'tis a fine Life, and 'tis void of all Strife,
so 'tis Sir, Clorinda reply'd;
But oh, said bold Robin, how sweet would it be,
if Clorinda would be my Bride?

She blush'd at the Motion, yet after a Pause,
said, yes Sir, and with all my Heart,
Then let us send for a Priest, said Robin Hood,
and marry before we do part.

But she said, it may not be so gentle Sir,
for I must be at Titbury Feast:
And if Robin Hood will go thither with me,
I'll make him the most welcome Guest.

Said Robin Hood, reach me that Buck, little John,
for I'll go along with my Dear;
And bid my Yeomen kill six brace of Bucks,
go meet me to-morrow just here.

Before we had ridden five Staffordshire miles,
eight Yoemen that were too bold,
Bid Robin Hood stand, and deliver his Buck,
a truer tale never was told.

I will not faith, said bold Robin; come John,
stand to me and we'll beat 'em all;
Then both drew their Swords, and cut 'em and slash'd 'em,
that five of them did fall.

The three that remain'd call'd to Robin for quarter,
and pitiful John beg'd their Lives;
When John's boon was granted, he gave them good Counsel
and so sent them home to their Wives.

This Battle was fought near Titbury Town,
when the Bagpipes bated the Bull:
I am King of the Fields, and swear 'tis a Truth,
and I call him that doubts it a Gull.

For I saw him Fighting and Fidling the while,
and Clorinda sung, Hey derry down:
The Bumpkins are beaten put up thy Sword Bob,
and let's dance into the Town.

Before we came to it, we heard a strange shouting,
and all that were in it look'd madly,
For some were a Bull-back, some Dancing a Morris,
and some singing Arthur a Bradly.[19]

And there we see Thomas our Justices Clark,
and Mary to whom he was kind:
For Tom rod before her, and call'd Mary Madam,
and kist her full sweetly behind.

And so may your Worship's but we went to Dinner,
with Thomas, and Mary, and Nan;
They all drank a Health to Clorinda, and told her,
bold Robin Hood was a fine Man.

When Dinner was ended, Sir Roger the Parson
of Dubbridge[20] was sent for in haste:
He brought his Mass-Book, & he bid them take hands,
and he join'd them in Marriage full fast.

And then as bold Robin Hood, and his sweet Bride,
went Hand in Hand to the green Bower,
The Birds sung with Pleasure in merry Sherwood,
and 'twas a most joyful hour.

And when Robin came in the sight of the Bower,
where are my Yeomen? said he,
And little John answered, Lo yonder they stand,
all under the green Wood Tree.

Then a Garland they brought her by two & by two
and placed them at the Bride's Bed:
The Musick struck up, and we fell to dance,
till the Bride and the Groom were in Bed.

And what they did there, must be Counsel to me,
because they lay long the next Day:
And I had haste home, but I got a good Piece
of the Bride-Cake and so came away.

Now out alas, I had forgot to tell ye,
that marry'd they were with a Ring:
And so will Nan Knight, or be buried a Maiden,
and now let us pray for the King.

That he may get Children, and they may get more,
to govern and do us some good,
And then I'll make Ballads in Robin Hood's Bower,
and sing 'em in merry Sherwood.

Robin Hood and Little John.

Little John, the friend and sturdy companion of Robin Hood, was made almost as popular in ballads as his noble master. He is said to have been a man of immense size, and of almost unequalled prowess and strength. His name of Little John was, it appears, given to him ironically, because of his extraordinary stature. He is believed to have been born at Hathersage, in the Peak of Derbyshire; a place not many miles distant from Loxley Chase, where Robin Hood first drew breath. The place of his birth is, however, claimed by other localities. The ballad I here give is interesting, as detailing his first meeting and encounter with Robin Hood, which ended in the defeat of the outlaw, and in their becoming sworn friends for life.

It will be seen that in the ballad Little John is said to have been seven feet in height. This, curiously enough, accords with the tradition current in Hathersage, where his bones were exhumed some years ago, and where his grave is still shown.

When Robin Hood was about twenty years old,
He happened to meet Little John,
A jolly brisk blade, right fit for the trade,
For he was a lusty young man.

Tho' he was call'd little, his limbs they were large,
And his stature was seven foot high:
Where ever he came, they quak'd at his name,
For soon he would make them to fly.

How they came acquainted I'll tell you in brief,
If you would but listen awhile;
For this very jest, among all the rest,
I think, may cause you to smile.

For Robin Hood said to his jolly bowmen,
Pray tarry you here in this grove,
And see that you all observe well my call,
While thorough the forest I rove.

We have had no sport these fourteen long days,
Therefore now abroad will I go;
Now should I be beat, and cannot retreat,
My horn I will presently blow.

Then did he shake hands with his merry men all,
And bid them at present good-bye;
Then as near a brook his journey he took,
A stranger he chanc'd to espy.

They happen'd to meet on a long narrow bridge,
And neither of them would give way;
Quoth bold Robin Hood, and sturdily stood,
I'll shew you right Nottingham play.

With that from his quiver an arrow he drew,
A broad arrow with a goose wing;
The stranger replied, I'll liquor thy hide,
If thou offer to touch the string.

Quoth bold Robin Hood, thou dost prate like an ass,
For, were I to bend but my bow,
I could send a dart quite through thy proud heart,
Before thou could'st strike me one blow.

Thou talk'st like a coward, the stranger replied,
Well arm'd with a long bow you stand,
To shoot at my breast, while I, I protest,
Have nought but a staff in my hand.

The name of a coward, quoth Robin, I scorn,
Therefore my long bow I'll lay by;
And now, for thy sake, a staff will I take,
The truth of thy manhood to try.

Then Robin Hood stept to a thicket of trees,
And chose him a staff of ground oak;
Now this being done, away he did run
To the stranger, and merrily spoke:

Lo! see my staff is lusty and tough:
Now, here on the bridge we will play;
Whoever falls in, the other shall win
The battle, and so we'll away.

With all my whole heart, the stranger replied,
I scorn in the least to give out.
This said, they fell to't without more dispute,
And their staffs they did flourish about.

At first Robin gave the stranger a bang,
So hard that he made his bones ring:
The stranger he said, this must be repaid,
I'll give you as good as you bring.

So long as I'm able to handle a staff,
To die in your debt, friend, I scorn:
Then to it each goes, and follow'd their blows,
As if they had been threshing of corn.

The stranger gave Robin a crack on the crown,
Which caused the blood to appear;
Then Robin enrag'd more fiercely engag'd,
And follow'd his blows more severe.

So thick and so fast did he lay it on him,
With a passionate fury and ire;
At every stroke he made him to smoke,
As if he had been all on fire.

O then in a fury the stranger he grew,
And gave him a damnable look;
And with a blow, which laid him full low,
And tumbled him into the brook.

I prithee, good fellow, O where art thou now?
The stranger, in laughter, he cried:
Quoth bold Robin Hood, Good faith, in the flood,
And floating along with the tide:

I needs must acknowledge thou art a brave soul,
With thee I'll no longer contend;
For needs must I say thou hast got the day,
Our battle shall be at an end.

Then unto the bank he did presently wade,
And pull'd him out by a thorn;
Which done, at the last he blew a loud blast
Straightway on his fine bugle horn:

The echo of which thro' the vallies did fly,
At which his stout bowmen appear'd,
All cloathed in green, most gay to be seen;
So up to their master they steer'd.

O what is the matter? quoth Will. Stutely,
Good master, you are wet to the skin:
No matter, quoth he, the lad which you see,
In fighting hath tumbled me in.

He shall not go scot-free, the others replied;
So straight they were seizing him there,
To duck him likewise: but Robin Hood cries,
He is a stout fellow, forbear.

There's no one shall wrong thee, friend, be not afraid;
These bowmen upon me do wait:
There's threescore and nine; if thou will be mine,
Thou shalt have my livery straight,

And other accoutrements fit for a man:
Speak up, jolly blade, never fear;
I'll teach you also the use of the bow,
To shoot at the fat fallow deer.

O here is my hand, the stranger replied,
I'll serve you with all my whole heart:
My name is John Little, a man of good mettle;
Ne'er doubt me, for I'll play my part.

His name shall be alter'd, quoth Will. Stutely,
And I will his godfather be;
Prepare then a feast, and none of the least,
For we will be merry, quoth he.

They presently fetch'd him a brace of fat does,
With humming strong liquor likewise:
They lov'd what was good; so in the green wood
This pretty sweet babe they baptiz'd.

He was, I must tell you, but seven feet high,
And may be an ell in the waist;
A sweet pretty lad; much feasting they had,
Bold Robin the christening grac'd,

With all his bowmen, which stood in a ring,
And were of the Nottingham breed.
Brave Stutely came then with seven yeomen,
And did in this manner proceed:

This infant was called John Little, quoth he,
Which name shall be changed anon:
The words we'll transpose; so wherever he goes,
His name shall be call'd Little John.

They all with a shout made the elements ring,
So soon as the office was o'er;
To feasting they went, with true merriment,
And tippled strong liquor gillore.

Then Robin he took the pretty sweet babe,
And cloath'd him from top to the toe
In garments of green most gay to be seen,
And gave him a curious long bow.

Thou shalt be an archer as well as the best,
And range in the green wood with us,
Where we'll not want gold nor silver, behold,
While bishops have ought in their purse.

We live here like squires or lords of renown,
Without e'er a foot of free land;
We feast on good cheer, with wine, ale, and beer,
And every thing at our command.

Then music and dancing did finish the day:
At length, when the sun waxed low,
Then all the whole train their grove did refrain,
And unto their caves they did go.

And so ever after, as long as they liv'd,
Although he was proper and tall,
Yet nevertheless, the truth to express,
Still Little John they did him call.

Little John's End.

The current tradition in Derbyshire concerning Little John is that he was born at Hathersage, in that county; that he was a man of immense stature, and of wonderful strength and prowess; that he was withal of mild and gentle temperament, of affectionate disposition, and faithful in his attachments; that after the death of Robin Hood at Kirklees, which he took deeply to heart, he was so dispirited that he sank under the loss, and having by great exertion succeeded in reaching the place of his birth, (Hathersage,) he was welcomed by his friends and old associates, who begged him to tarry with them for the rest of his life; that he had just strength enough left to point out the place in the churchyard where he wished to be buried, and to give them instructions for his burial; that he told them in three days he should die, and desired that his bow and cap should be hung up in the church; that on the third day he died, in a small cottage still standing, where, it is said, his length was so great when dead and "laid out," that his feet came outside the door; that he was buried where he had directed, his cap and bow being hung in the chancel of the church; that the people drave his last arrow into the ground near his grave, and that it took root and grew up into a tree. It is asserted that until within the last sixty or seventy years, his cap—a green cloth one—still hung high in the chancel, but was then taken away by some people from Yorkshire, who also despoiled his grave, and took away the thigh bones, which were found to be of immense length. The grave, which is marked by two small upright stones, one at the head and the other at the foot, measures about ten feet in length. In 1728 it was opened, and bones of an enormous size found in it. Some years ago it was again opened, and a thigh bone measuring thirty-two inches taken away from it.

In reference to this tradition it will no doubt be interesting to give the accompanying fac-simile of the writing of Elias Ashmole, copied from his MSS. at Oxford, (who was born in 1617,) and who there says—

"Little John lyes buried in Hatherseech Church yard within 3 miles fro Castleton in High Peake with one Stone set up at his head and another at his Feete, but a large distance betweene them. They say a part of his bow hangs up in the said Church Neere Grindleford Bridge are Robin Hoods 2 Pricks."

The following ballad, founded on a part of this tradition, was written by Mr. William Haines, and appeared in "The Reliquary," vol. II., page 11. Several other ballads relating to Little John might well be given in this volume, but the two I have selected—his first acquaintance with Robin Hood, and his death and burial—will be sufficient to show their character. The others must be deferred for a future work.

When Robin Hood, by guile betrayed,
In Kirklees' cloister died,
Silent his merry men dispersed,
And never more allied.

Some passed unknown, or pardon got,
And peaceful callings sought,
Beyond the seas while others fled,
And 'gainst the Paynim fought.

And Little John, as lonely through
Their vacant haunts he strode,
Repented sadness in his soul
Had e'er of old abode.

As there beneath an oak his limbs
Repose long failing found,
A shape thrice warned him in a dream,
To shun St. Michael's ground.

Affrighted, from the sward he starts—
Deep shone the guardian night!
The moon the woods bowed motionless
With plenitude of light.

St. Michael's road, presaging nought,
Leal John yestreen had ta'en;
But now another way he chose,
Lest there he should be slain.

Northward, compelling soon his steps,
Across the Tweed he hied;
Thence sea and land to traverse far,
A long and cheerless tide.