Hark! hark! brother Sportsmen, what a melodious sound,
 How the valleys doth echo with the merry-mouthed hound;
 There's none in this world with Squire Frith can compare,
 When chasing bold Reynard, or hunting the Hare.
Bright Phœbus peeps over yon Eastern hills,
 And darted his rays through the meadows and fields;
 On the eighth of December, that memorable morn,
 We chased bold Reynard with hound and with horn.
Then over young Cumrocks like lightning he flew,
 What a melodious chorus when Reynard's in view;
 There's nothing like hunting we mortals do know,
 Then follow, boys, follow, tally-ho! tally-ho!
With a staunch and fleet pack, most sagacious and true,
 What a melodious chorus when Reynard's in view;
 The hills and the valleys do echo around,
 With the shouts of the hunter, and cries of the hound.
Squire Frith being mounted upon a swift steed,
 Black Jack, there's but few that can match him for speed;
 The Squire and his Huntsman no horse-flesh will spare,
 When chasing bold Reynard, or hunting the Hare.
There's Grinder, and Saddler, two dogs of great fame,
 Hark to Primrose, and Bonny Lass, and Conqueror by name;
 There's Killman, and Bowman, Ringwood, and Dido,
 With Lily, and Lady, and Rolly, also.
O'er Macclesfield Forest old Reynard did fly,
 By Tragnell, and Runcorn, and unto Langly;
 By Shalcross, and Greswark, and unto Swithinly,
 At his brush close did follow the hounds in full cry.
By Shalcross and Greswark we came back again,
 It was speed that prolonged his life it was plain;
 Full forty long miles that old creature did return,
 And he holed in Clown Hills, near to Congleton.
Of geese, ducks, and hens, great havoc he's made,
 And innocent lambs, he has worried the said;
 There's no barn-door fowls old Reynard did spare,
 Take care, all ye farmers, of your poultry, take care.
Here's a health to all Hunters, wherever they be,
 To all honest sportsmen of every degree;
 With a full flowing bowl, we'll drink a health all,
 To that great and true Sportsman, Squire Frith, of Bank Hall.

Derbyshire Men.

There is an old saying connected with Derbyshire, which is not very complimentary to the sons of its soil:—

"Derbyshire born and Derbyshire bred,
 Strong in the arm, but weak in the head."

This saying forms the text of the following excellent lines, written by Mr. Walter Kirkland, which first appeared in print in "The Reliquary" for October, 1864.

"I' Darbyshire who're born an' bred,
 Are strong i' th' arm, bu' weak i' th' head:"
 So th' lying Proverb says.
 Strength o' th' arm, who doubts shall feel:
 Strength o' th' head, its power can seal
 The lips that scoff, always.
The rich vein'd Mine, the Mountain hoar,
 We sink, an' blast, an' pierce, 'an bore
 By th' might o' Darby brawn.
 An' Darby brain con think an' plon,
 As well as that o' ony mon;
 An' clearly as the morn.
"Strong i' th' arm, an' strong i' th' head,"
 The fou' fause Proverb should ha' said,
 If th' truth she meant to tell.
 Bu' th' union, so wise an' rare
 O brawn an' brain, she didna care
 To see or speak of well.
The jealous jade, nor Darby born,
 Where praise wor due, pour'd forth bu' scorn,
 An' lying words let fau.
 Bu' far above the Proverb stands
 The Truth, that God's Almighty hands
 Ha' welded strength an' mind i' one;
 An' pour'd it down i' plenty on
 Born Darbyshire men au.

An Elegy
Upon the Death of all the greatest Gentry in Darley-Dalle, who loved Hunting and Hawking, and several other Games. The Poet's view, well known to you, to be too true, and so adieu, by me LEO. W. 1672.

The following extremely curious poem, containing many interesting allusions to families long since departed, was written in 1672, by Leonard Wheatcroft, some time clerk of the parish, poet, tailor, and schoolmaster, at Ashover, in Derbyshire. He was a man of talent, and wrote many things which are worth collecting together. It is here printed from the original MS. The last verse was evidently added after the accession of George the First.

The title of the ballad is particularly quaint, and characteristic of the man and of the county of which he was a native. In the dialect of the district the rhymes would be perfect, and would read thus:—

The Poet's view
 Well known to yew,
 To be too trew,
 And so adieu
 By me Leo Double Yew,
 Sixteen seventy tew.
1.
As I on Oaker-hill[59] one day did stand,
 Viewing the world which I could not command,
 I turn'd my face tou'rd Berchore[60] partly west,
 To view where Greaveses us'd to have their nest;
 But out, alas! I found they were all gone,
 Not one was left to rest against a stone.
2.
Then looking forward, the coast being very cleare,
 At Rowther,[61] there I found one Adam Eayre;
 But now he's gone, left house and land behind him,
 So to be short I know not where to find him;
 But if any counceller can make it out,
 He'st have his land and I will go without.
3.
I'll up to Hassap[62] to hear them sing a mass,
 There I shall know who made the old man pass;
 Death made it wrong, I send him to purgatory,
 Where he must stay till he be fit for glory;
 But if there be such a place 'twixt this and heaven,
 I fear he cannot pass, 'tis so uneven.
4.
Then did I to my panting muses say,
 Haste and begone, you shall no longer stay
 (within this place);
 Haste and begone, upon Calton top your banners,
 And call at Haddon, where lived ould John Manners,
 O use him kindly I strictly you command,
 For he was kind to th' poore of Ingland.
5.
But now he's gone, like others hence away,
 Then for another Earle like him ever pray,
 That will be kind both unto Rich and Poore,
 Then God Almighty will increase his store,
 And bless him here upon this earthly throne,
 And at the last call him one of his owne.
6.
Walking by the River, Stanton[63] I did spye,
 But neither Calton[64] nor a Bage[65] saw I:
 They are all gone and none left but old Boards,
 Alas! alas! what doth this world affordes.
 There's severall more that are slipt out o' th' way,
 But not one word of them I here will say.
7.
Then calling back my muses, mee thought I
 Spyed Little Stancliffe[66] standing pleasantly,
 But not one Steare[67] i' th' stall shall yet be seene;
 Well fed win springs and deck'd with Lorrells green,
 But one old Backer Bourning of the owne,
 Till Steare retourne, there' no one knows how sowne.
8.
Then on the hills I came to Darley Hall,
 To hear that music in those Ashes tall.
 Listening awhile, I not being pleased well,
 Thought I where is my pretty Cullen-bell,[68]
 Whose name and fame made all this vale once sound,
 But now that honour's buried under ground.
9.
Besides your Parsons of Divinity
 As Pain, and Pot, Edwards, and Mosley,
 All four divines and men of noble birth,
 All dead and gone and buried in the earth;
 How can I chuse but must lament to see
 My friends all gone who did make much of me.
10.
Tho' all in haste one place I have past by,
 That's Cowley Hall, where oft I heard the cry
 Of great-mouthed doggs who did not feare to kill
 What was their master's pleasure, word, and will;
 His name was Sinner, who ever did him know,
 He's dead and gone now many years ago.
11.
Then turning round, all gone, thus did I thinke,
 Where shall I make my friend or muses drinke;
 Then looking down below I did espy
 A pretty hall which stood me very ney,
 Where lived the Father, Son, and Wives of either,
 Both in my time, all-tho' not both together.
12.
A Knight the Father, and a Squire the Son,
 One heir is left, if dead that name is done;
 This heir being young, with Ladies durst not play,
 So he in sorrow quickly went away,
 Leaving no heir o' th' name, no, not one,
 So farewell Milwards[69] now of Snitterton.
13.
Then rushing forward down by Darwen side,
 My muses presently through Matlock hied,
 And finding there the good ould pastur gone,
 I hide to Riber[70] there to make my mone;
 But out, alas! my sorrows to increase,
 That name is gone now buried under hears.
14.
Wolley, Wolley, Woolley, farewell to thee,
 A noble Esquire, thou was both kind and free
 To all that come, I say, both rich and poore,
 There's few went empty that came to his doore.
 Walker's fair Hous is almost wore away,
 With several more now going to decay.
15.
To speak of Dedick[71] what shall I do there,
 Babbington's[72] Treason hateful doth appear;
 Their house is down, and they are gone to nought,
 So will all those which ere rebellion sought.
 Then pray to God for peace and unity,
 That King and nobles all may well agree.
16.
Then I to Ogston,[73] there to break my fast,
 They all in mourning stood at me agast,
 To think my friend and lover was departed,
 And so I left them almost broken hearted;
 What shall I doe thought I to hide my head,
 Seeing so many gallants now are dead.
17.
Then up by Amber I did quickly hey,
 None of my ancient friends I could espey,
 In Asher[74] parish I could find not one,
 Old Crich,[75] and Dakin,[76] and ould Hobskinson,[77]
 They are departed and gone hence away,
 As er self, I have not long to stay.
18.
I will retourne unto my hill againe,
 And cause my muses to sing out a straine,
 And that in mourning too she shall be drest,
 To sing new anthems of the very best.
 And thus you see in a few dayes how they
 Are all gone hence and tourned to dirt and clay.
19.
Farewell you Huntsmen that did hunt the hare,
 Farewell you Hounds that tired both horse and mare,
 Farewell you gallant Falkners every one,
 The chief of all did live at Snitterton.
 So to conclude both greate and small,
 Those that are left the Lord preserve them all.
By me Leonard Wheatcroft.
20.
The conclusion.

This verse is written in a blacker ink, and at a much later time.

If any one of this same truth do doubt,
 From Oker Hill Ide have them walk about
 From house to house to prove the truth of this,
 And then they'll say there's nothing in't amiss.
 I have no more to say but this my charge,
 Let all that's heare say pray God bless King George.
 Finis.

Cocktail Reel.

The "Merriment" recounted in this singular ballad, which I am not aware has ever before been printed, is said to have taken place at Dronfield, in Derbyshire, and I have heard the sixth line sung as

"From Chesterfield, Beighton, and Masber."

It is, however, uncertain whether this is correct, or whether it may not more probably have taken place at Rotherham, which is near both Kimberworth, Brightside, and Masber (Masborough). The copy I here give is from a MS. of more than half a century old.

Soon as old Ball was got better,
 A merriment there was appointed,
 Creditor as well as debtor,
 Both met to be better acquainted.
 Number of lads there were present
 From Kimberworth, Brightside, and Masper,
 Each with a countenance pleasant,
 His true love did cuddle and clasp her.
 Stephen turn'd out with his fiddle,
 Each lad took his lass by the middle,
 Went reeling about like a riddle,
 As if they had been enchanted.
 Care, the forerunner of sorrow,
 Was kick'd out of door till to-morrow,
 Not one in his spirit was narrow;
 Then, boh! cry'd Tyger, undaunted.
2.
Tyger connected with Jemmy,
 Conducted Ball out of the stable,
 Join'd in the yard by old Sammy,
 Who alefied came from the table.
 Ball being well prim'd with ginger,
 Was fit to jump over the fences,
 Neighbour as well as each stranger
 All thought they were out of their senses.
 Sammy, who hates to be idle,
 Seized Ball fast by the Bridle,
 Then gave him a kick made him sidle,
 So went far round as they wanted,
 Right hand and left they did clever,
 Made Jem to squint harder than ever,
 He promis'd his partner som liver;
 Then, boh! cried Tyger, undaunted.
3.
Out jump'd the calf, elevated;
 The cow broke her sole and ran after;
 Shout upon shout it created,
 And filled the spectators with laughter.
 Tideswell the cow was so nam'd,
 Because at that fair they had bought her,
 She ran at Tyger untam'd,
 To fork him as nature had taught her.
 Tyger at that was displeas'd,
 Which caus'd a fresh dust to be rais'd;
 Her nose in a instant he seiz'd,
 At which old Samuel ranted.
 Tideswell took off like be madded,
 O'er mother and daughter she gadded,
 Huzzas in abundance were added,
 Then, boh! cried Tyger, undaunted.
4.
Stephen, though blind as a beetle,
 Laughed hard at old Hannah's disaster,
 He lost no time with his fiddle,
 His elbow went quicker and faster:
 Ball cut such a new fashion'd caper,
 Which really by-standers amazed,
 All his four feet were at tapers,
 The pavement it perfectly blazed;
 Samuel nor no one that join'd him
 Durst venture their carcase behind him,
 Tho' age in a manner did blind him.
 No colt could win him 'twas granted,
 Tideswell caught Tyger and tost him
 Quite out of the ring till she lost him,
 Though many a bruise it did cost him;
 Still, boh! cried Tyger, undaunted.
5.
Oceans to drink being call'd for,
 Hot cuddle-me-buff was the liquor,
 Wife of my own Jemmy called for,
 Old Hannah, cried Stephen, play quicker.
 Off they went after each other,
 As if they had quicksilver in them,
 Join'd by first one, then another,
 You never see nothing could win them
 Setting down sides, and then up again,
 Crossing in couples, to sup again,
 Sam'el, inspir'd with his cup, again
 Of his activity vaunted.
 Ball being prim'd with the best of them,
 Pranced and kick'd with the rest of them,
 Seeing he made a mere jest of them;
 Boh! cried Tyger, undaunted.
6.
Tyger ran under Ball's belly,
 All danger, like Rodney, kept scorning,
 Some thought he was rather silly,
 As Ball was new frosted that morning.
 Sam'el got hurt in the scuffle,
 As Ball his fore feet was advancing,
 That seem'd his temper to ruffle,
 And quite put an end to their dancing.
 So they dismiss'd in civility,
 Talking of Ball's great agility,
 Tideswell and Tyger's fidelity,
 Which kind nature implanted.
 How the four brutes in particular
 Danc'd with their tails perpendicular,
 Straight forwards, sideways, and circular;
 Boh! cries Tyger, undaunted.

LINES OCCASIONED BY
A Yorkshire Pye,[78]
Sent as a Present from Sir William St. Quintin, to His Grace the Duke of Devonshire, at Bath, on Christmas-Day, 1762. Written by Mr. Derrick.

This curious effusion of Samuel Derrick's, who was Master of the Ceremonies at Bath at the time, I here reprint from a slip broad-sheet of the period in my own collection. The peer to whom this famous Yorkshire pie was sent, was William, fourth Duke of Devonshire, who died in 1764. Sir William St. Quintin, Bart., of Harpham, in the county of York, who died in 1771, was Member of Parliament for Thirsk, and High Sheriff in 1733. He married Rebecca, daughter of Sir John Thompson, Lord Mayor of London, and by her was father of the last baronet of the name of St. Quintin.

Were but my Muse inspir'd by Fludyer's[79] Taste,
 Or with Quin's Skill and lively Poignance grac'd;
 Th' Apician Muse, who bade Lucullus treat,
 And taught the gay Mark Anthony to eat;
 I'd venture then St. Quintin to commend,
 Whose faithful Memory ne'er forgets his Friend;
 Of placid Temper, and of gen'rous Blood,
 Whose only Vanity is doing Good;
 Whose open Looks imply an honest Heart,
 Courtly in Manners, yet unspoil'd by Art;
 The Emblem of whose liberal Soul I see
 In yonder pile of Hospitality;
 An Edifice for Cavendish to view,
 All English Fabric, and that Fabric true.
 Such plenteous Sights were known in Times of old,
 When Christmas by th' expiring Year was told;
 Long e'er our hardy Sires, un-nerv'd by Sloth,
 Had dwindled down into a Pigmy Growth.
 Within this Pile Varieties unite,
 To please at once the Taste, the Smell, the Sight.
 Robb'd of his vivid Green, and glossy Dyes,
 His golden Plumage, and his Scarlet Eyes,
 Here rests the Attic Pheasant,[80]—never more,
 Narcissus like, his Image to adore;
 Here lies the Turkey,[81] who with redd'ning Pride
 Once all the Farmer's feather'd Brood defy'd;
 True Emblem of Bæotia, whence he came,
 A noisy Blockhead, emulous of Fame.
 The wheeling Plover, and the timid Hare,
 Here mix;—the generous Ox bestows a Share—
 His Tongue—at jovial Tables always found;
 And Indian Spice enriches the Compound;
 The rare Compound! where various Parts conspire
 To form one Mass, which all who taste admire.
 Thus out of Chaos did the World first rise,
 And from Confusion sprung th' illumin'd Skies.
 Life's Pleasures on Variety depend,
 Her various Views make Hope so much our Friend.
 Thus while the Bard by Avon's winding Stream
 Unfolded to the Naiadès his Theme,
 While from the humid Rocks, and cavern'd Hills,
 He mark'd them, guiding the salubrious Rills
 To Bladud's Baths, where rosey Health presides,
 Shedding her Influence o'er the steaming Tides;
 Wondering he saw Britannia's Genius nigh,
 Aiding the Nymphs, and blessing their Supply.
 If near my Springs, she cry'd, you chance to view
 My Son, to Honour and to Virtue true;
 My fav'rite Devonshire, of antient Line,
 Where Loyalty and Truth united shine,
 The faithful Guardian of his Country's Fate,
 The Friend of Freedom and the British State,
 Exert the Panacea of your Art,
 Hygeia fair, your sovereign Powers impart;
 Unlock the sacred Treasures of your Store,
 And give the Patriot to my Arms once more;
 Esteem'd in Public, as in Private lov'd,
 And ev'n by Foes unwillingly approv'd.

The Agricultural Meeting.

Tune—"The King of the Cannibal Islands."

This excellent song was written on occasion of the meeting of the Royal Agricultural Society of England at Derby, in the year 1843, under the Presidency of the Earl of Hardwicke, and was a general favourite.

Come gather round and form a throng,
 And trust me I'll not keep you long,
 I'll entertain you with a Song
 On the Agricultural Meeting!
 A subject I have good and pat,
 To make you smile, I'll answer that;
 They say that laughing makes one fat,
 And if you don't laugh I'll eat my hat!
 I'll not give pain by any jokes,—
 Tho' of the Derby 'tis, good folks,
 About it there's not any "hoax,"
 The Agricultural Meeting!
 Away with sorrow, care, and strife,
 All the world will, and his wife,
 Muster there, upon my life,
 At the Agricultural Meeting.
The wish'd-for time is very nigh,
 And all to do their best will try,
 On the Eleventh of July,
 At the Agricultural Meeting!
 Come forward, lads, your best make haste,
 You that plough, and you that rake;—
 Let 'em see that you're awake,
 For you've a chance a prize to take!
 Forward bring the ox and sheaf,
 Show Foreigners unto their grief,
 The meaning of real corn and beef,
 At the Agricultural Meeting!
 Away with sorrow, &c.
The thing will just be as it should,
 For there'll be there, 'tis understood,
 The rich, the titled, and the good,
 At the Agricultural Meeting!
 Of those who in the good cause stand,
 And help with purse, and heart, and hand,
 Are Spencer, Hardwick, Colvile,[82] and
 The Duke of Richmond—what a band!
 Joy will beam in heart and face,
 To know that surely 'tis the case,
 That their gay presence here will grace
 The Agricultural Meeting?
 Away with sorrow, &c.
'Twill be a glorious holiday—
 All the week for fun and play—
 No one then at home will stay
 From the Agricultural Meeting!
 Every one some sport will catch—
 For there will be of fun a batch:—
 Tuesday they'll come to the scratch,
 And try the famous Ploughing Match!
 Of Implements there will be a show,—
 Of things that reap, and things that mow,
 Things to dig, and things that sow,
 At the Agricultural Meeting!
 Away with sorrow &c.
When this is o'er, at close of day,
 Again for fun they'll start away—
 Gents, and Ladies, such display—
 At the Agricultural Meeting!
 They'll to the Grand Hotel repair,
 For John Bell Crompton, who's the Mayor,
 Will give a dinner of rare fare,
 And all the Council will be there!
 Then after this, they'll dancing go,
 And trip it gaily to and fro,
 Upon "the light fantastic toe,"
 At the Agricultural Meeting!
 Away with sorrow, &c.
On Wednesday there's another spree—
 The Implements again we'll see,
 And prove what's done in Husbandry,
 At the Agricultural Meeting!
 Come Dick and Thomas, Ralph and Giles,
 In your best clothes, and your smiles,
 Over hedges, ditches, stiles—
 Across the country—many miles!
 Then on that night it will fall—
 The Council are invited all
 To dinner at the County-Hall,
 From the Agricultural Meeting!
 Away with sorrow, &c.
On Thursday there'll be more than this—
 And such enjoyment who would miss?
 On that day there'll be double bliss
 At the Agricultural Meeting!
 Won't there be a fine to do?
 Pigs and sheep, and oxen, too;—
 Four-legged calves—and, 'tween I and you,
 A few, no doubt, that walk on two!
 Lots of cattle will be there,
 Derby horses, I declare,
 As well as our good Derby Mayor,
 At the Agricultural Meeting!
 Away with sorrow, &c.
On Thursday there's another feed—
 When they've shown their live-stock breed;
 For after work they'll something need,
 At the Agricultural Meeting!
 The Grand Pavilion, deck'd out fine,
 Will be—and there'll two thousand dine:—
 And they'll astonish, I opine,
 Above a bit—the food and wine!
 And even then the sport ne'er stops,
 For they'll for dancing leave their drops,
 And take to capers and to hops,
 At the Agricultural Meeting!
 Away with sorrow, care, and strife,
 All the world will, and his wife,
 Muster there, upon my life,
 At the Agricultural Meeting!

THE
Complainte of Anthonie Babington.

The following deeply interesting "complaynt" was written by Richard Williams, and dedicated, in MS., to King James the First. It remained unpublished until 1862, when it was communicated to "The Reliquary" by Mr. W. Durrant Cooper, F.S.A. Anthony Babington was born in 1561, and on the death of his father, succeeded to the family estates at Dethick, in Derbyshire, which had been acquired by the Babingtons through marriage with the heiress of Dethick. He was executed, along with thirteen others, under circumstances of peculiar barbarity, on the 20th of September, 1586, for a conspiracy to liberate the truly unfortunate and much to be commiserated Mary Queen of Scots. His petition to Queen Elizabeth is simple and touching in the extreme, and the heart must indeed have been callous to good and womanly feeling that could withstand it and spurn its prayer. It is as follows:—[83]

"Most gratious Souvarigne yf either bitter teares a pensisve contrite harte ore any dutyfull sighte of the wretched Synner might work any pitty in your royall brest, I would wringe out of my drayned eyes as much bloode as in bemoaninge my drery tragedye shold, lamentably bewayll my faulte, and somewhat (no dought) move you to compassion, but synnce there is no proportione betwixte the qualitye of my crimes and any human commiseration, Showe sweet Queene some mirakle on a wretch that lyethe prostrate in yr prison, most grivously bewaylinge his offence and imploringe such comforte at your anoynted hande as my poore wives misfortunes doth begge, my childe innocence doth crave, my gyltless family doth wishe, and my heynous trecherye dothe leaste deserve, So shall your divine mersy make your glorye shyne as far above all princes, as my most horrible practices are more detestable amongst your beste subiectes, whom lovinglye and happielye to governe.

"I humbly beseche the mercye Master himself to grante for his sweete Sonnes sake, Jesus Christe."

End of petition, signed by Anthony Babington

The following is the "Complaynte of Anthonie Babington by Richard Williams:"—

To the kinges most excellent maiestie with all other kinglie titles and dignities whatsoever to whome your poore humble subject Richard Williams wishethe healthe long life and many happy yeares to reigne over us to the glory of God and your Maiesties comforte.

My dreade and royall sovereigne,

This Anthonie Babington was borne at a mansion house of his father called Dethicke in the Countie of Darbye in the parishe of Critche; whose father was a man of good accompte and lived well and orderlie in his contrie, kept a good house, and releived the poore. But he was inclined to papistrie as the times then required; who had a brother that was doctor of divinitie in queene Maryes dayes, of whome some mention is made in this storye. This Anthonye, the son, was a yonge man, well featured, and of good proportion in all the lyneamentes of his bodie, of a most pregnante fyne witt and great capacitie, had a watchinge head, ande a moste proude aspiringe mynde; and by nature a papist, whereinn hee was borne and brought upp; where if he had bene trayned otherwise hee might have proved a good member of the common wealthe, where nowe be became a reproche and scandall to the same.

In whose course of life many accidents hapned even from his birthe to his deathe as appeares in this his complainte wherein I have followed the methode of a booke intituled, the "Mirrour of Magistrates" wherein everye man semes to complayne of his owne misfortunes, humbly beseeching your royall maiestie to pardon all defectes as well in my writinge as in the baseness of the verses. In the one I have done as well as my learninge did serve me, for the other as well as my olde eyes woulde permitt me, which I beseech your royall Maiestie to censure with clemencye, and I will trulye praise to the almightie for the long continuance of your healthe and happie Estate bothe to Godes glorye and your Maiesties comforte.

Your poore distressed subjecte
Richard Williams.

The Complainte of Anthonie Babington, sometyme of Lyncolns Inne Esquier, who with others weare executed for highe treason in the feildes nere Lyncolns Inne the xixth of September Ao 1586.[84]

A DREAME OR INDUCTION.
ANTHONIE BABINGTON HIS COMPLAYNT.