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.