Books: Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England

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As swift as the wind to ride they were seen,
Until they came near unto Bednall Green,
And as the knight lighted most courteously,
They fought against him for pretty Bessee.

But rescue came presently over the plain,
Or else the knight there for his love had been slain;
The fray being ended, they straightway did see
His kinsman come railing at pretty Bessee.

Then bespoke the blind beggar, 'Although I be poor,
Rail not against my child at my own door,
Though she be not decked in velvet and pearl,
Yet I will drop angels with thee for my girl;

'And then if my gold should better her birth,
And equal the gold you lay on the earth,
Then neither rail you, nor grudge you to see
The blind beggar's daughter a lady to be.

'But first, I will hear, and have it well known,
The gold that you drop it shall be all your own.'
With that they replied, 'Contented we be!'
'Then here's,' quoth the beggar, 'for pretty Bessee!'

With that an angel he dropped on the ground,
And dropped, in angels, full three thousand pound;
And oftentimes it proved most plain,
For the gentleman's one, the beggar dropped twain;

So that the whole place wherein they did sit,
With gold was covered every whit.
The gentleman having dropped all his store,
Said, 'Beggar! your hand hold, for I have no more.'

'Thou hast fulfilled thy promise aright,
Then marry my girl,' quoth he to the knight;
'And then,' quoth he, 'I will throw you down,
An hundred pound more to buy her a gown.'

The gentlemen all, who his treasure had seen,
Admired the beggar of Bednall Green;
And those that had been her suitors before,
Their tender flesh for anger they tore.

Thus was the fair Bessee matched to a knight,
And made a lady in other's despite.
A fairer lady there never was seen
Than the blind beggar's daughter of Bednall Green.

But of her sumptuous marriage and feast,
And what fine lords and ladies there prest,
The second part shall set forth to your sight,
With marvellous pleasure and wished-for delight.

Of a blind beggar's daughter so bright,
That late was betrothed to a young knight,
All the whole discourse therefore you may see;
But now comes the wedding of pretty Bessee.

PART II.

It was in a gallant palace most brave,
Adorned with all the cost they could have,
This wedding it was kept most sumptuously,
And all for the love of pretty Bessee.

And all kind of dainties and delicates sweet,
Was brought to their banquet, as it was thought meet,
Partridge, and plover, and venison most free,
Against the brave wedding of pretty Bessee.

The wedding through England was spread by report,
So that a great number thereto did resort
Of nobles and gentles of every degree,
And all for the fame of pretty Bessee.

To church then away went this gallant young knight,
His bride followed after, an angel most bright,
With troops of ladies, the like was ne'er seen,
As went with sweet Bessee of Bednall Green.

This wedding being solemnized then,
With music performed by skilfullest men,
The nobles and gentlemen down at the side,
Each one beholding the beautiful bride.

But after the sumptuous dinner was done,
To talk and to reason a number begun,
And of the blind beggar's daughter most bright;
And what with his daughter he gave to the knight.

Then spoke the nobles, 'Much marvel have we
This jolly blind beggar we cannot yet see!'
'My lords,' quoth the bride, 'my father so base
Is loth with his presence these states to disgrace.'

'The praise of a woman in question to bring,
Before her own face is a flattering thing;
But we think thy father's baseness,' quoth they,
'Might by thy beauty be clean put away.'

They no sooner this pleasant word spoke,
But in comes the beggar in a silken cloak,
A velvet cap and a feather had he,
And now a musician, forsooth, he would be.

And being led in from catching of harm,
He had a dainty lute under his arm,
Said, 'Please you to hear any music of me,
A song I will sing you of pretty Bessee.'

With that his lute he twanged straightway,
And thereon began most sweetly to play,
And after a lesson was played two or three,
He strained out this song most delicately:-

'A beggar's daughter did dwell on a green,
Who for her beauty may well be a queen,
A blithe bonny lass, and dainty was she,
And many one called her pretty Bessee.

'Her father he had no goods nor no lands,
But begged for a penny all day with his hands,
And yet for her marriage gave thousands three,
Yet still he hath somewhat for pretty Bessee.

'And here if any one do her disdain,
Her father is ready with might and with main
To prove she is come of noble degree,
Therefore let none flout at my pretty Bessee.'

With that the lords and the company round
With a hearty laughter were ready to swound;
At last said the lords, 'Full well we may see,
The bride and the bridegroom's beholden to thee.'

With that the fair bride all blushing did rise,
With crystal water all in her bright eyes,
'Pardon my father, brave nobles,' quoth she,
'That through blind affection thus doats upon me.'

'If this be thy father,' the nobles did say,
'Well may he be proud of this happy day,
Yet by his countenance well may we see,
His birth with his fortune could never agree;

And therefore, blind beggar, we pray thee bewray,
And look to us then the truth thou dost say,
Thy birth and thy parentage what it may be,
E'en for the love thou bearest pretty Bessee.'

'Then give me leave, ye gentles each one,
A song more to sing and then I'll begone,
And if that I do not win good report,
Then do not give me one groat for my sport:-

'When first our king his fame did advance,
And sought his title in delicate France,
In many places great perils passed he;
But then was not born my pretty Bessee.

'And at those wars went over to fight,
Many a brave duke, a lord, and a knight,
And with them young Monford of courage so free;
But then was not born my pretty Bessee.

'And there did young Monford with a blow on the face
Lose both his eyes in a very short space;
His life had been gone away with his sight,
Had not a young woman gone forth in the night.

'Among the said men, her fancy did move,
To search and to seek for her own true love,
Who seeing young Monford there gasping to die,
She saved his life through her charity.

'And then all our victuals in beggar's attire,
At the hands of good people we then did require;
At last into England, as now it is seen,
We came, and remained in Bednall Green.

'And thus we have lived in Fortune's despite,
Though poor, yet contented with humble delight,
And in my old years, a comfort to me,
God sent me a daughter called pretty Bessee.

And thus, ye nobles, my song I do end,
Hoping by the same no man to offend;
Full forty long winters thus I have been,
A silly blind beggar of Bednall Green.'

Now when the company every one,
Did hear the strange tale he told in his song,
They were amazed, as well they might be,
Both at the blind beggar and pretty Bessee.

With that the fair bride they all did embrace,
Saying, 'You are come of an honourable race,
Thy father likewise is of high degree,
And thou art right worthy a lady to be.'

Thus was the feast ended with joy and delight,
A happy bridegroom was made the young knight,
Who lived in great joy and felicity,
With his fair lady dear pretty Bessee.

Ballad: THE BOLD PEDLAR AND ROBIN HOOD.

[This ballad is of considerable antiquity, and no doubt much older
than some of those inserted in the common Garlands. It appears to
have escaped the notice of Ritson, Percy, and other collectors of
Robin Hood ballads. The tune is given in Popular Music. An aged
woman in Bermondsey, Surrey, from whose oral recitation the present
version was taken down, said that she had often heard her
grandmother sing it, and that it was never in print; but we have
since met with several common stall copies. The subject is the
same as that of the old ballad called Robin Hood newly revived; or,
the Meeting and Fighting with his Cousin Scarlett.]

There chanced to be a pedlar bold,
A pedlar bold he chanced to be;
He rolled his pack all on his back,
And he came tripping o'er the lee.
Down, a down, a down, a down,
Down, a down, a down.

By chance he met two troublesome blades,
Two troublesome blades they chanced to be;
The one of them was bold Robin Hood,
And the other was Little John, so free.

'Oh! pedlar, pedlar, what is in thy pack,
Come speedilie and tell to me?'
'I've several suits of the gay green silks,
And silken bowstrings two or three.'

'If you have several suits of the gay green silk,
And silken bowstrings two or three,
Then it's by my body,' cries BITTLE John,
'One half your pack shall belong to me.'

Oh! nay, oh! nay,' says the pedlar bold,
'Oh! nay, oh! nay, that never can be,
For there's never a man from fair Nottingham
Can take one half my pack from me.'

Then the pedlar he pulled off his pack,
And put it a little below his knee,
Saying, 'If you do move me one perch from this,
My pack and all shall gang with thee.'

Then Little John he drew his sword;
The pedlar by his pack did stand;
They fought until they both did sweat,
Till he cried, 'Pedlar, pray hold your hand!'

Then Robin Hood he was standing by,
And he did laugh most heartilie,
Saying, 'I could find a man of a smaller scale,
Could thrash the pedlar, and also thee.'

'Go, you try, master,' says Little John,
'Go, you try, master, most speedilie,
Or by my body,' says Little John,
'I am sure this night you will not know me.'

Then Robin Hood he drew his sword,
And the pedlar by his pack did stand,
They fought till the blood in streams did flow,
Till he cried, 'Pedlar, pray hold your hand!'

'Pedlar, pedlar! what is thy name?
Come speedilie and tell to me.'
'My name! my name, I ne'er will tell,
Till both your names you have told to me.'

'The one of us is bold Robin Hood,
And the other Little John, so free.'
'Now,' says the pedlar, 'it lays to my good will,
Whether my name I chuse to tell to thee.

'I am Gamble Gold {3} of the gay green woods,
And travelled far beyond the sea;
For killing a man in my father's land,
From my country I was forced to flee.'

'If you are Gamble Gold of the gay green woods,
And travelled far beyond the sea,
You are my mother's own sister's son;
What nearer cousins then can we be?'

They sheathed their swords with friendly words,
So merrily they did agree;
They went to a tavern and there they dined,
And bottles cracked most merrilie.

Ballad: THE OUTLANDISH KNIGHT.

[This is the common English stall copy of a ballad of which there
are a variety of versions, for an account of which, and of the
presumed origin of the story, the reader is referred to the notes
on the Water o' Wearie's Well, in the Scottish Traditional Versions
of Ancient Ballads, published by the Percy Society. By the term
'outlandish' is signified an inhabitant of that portion of the
border which was formerly known by the name of 'the Debateable
Land,' a district which, though claimed by both England and
Scotland, could not be said to belong to either country. The
people on each side of the border applied the term 'outlandish' to
the Debateable residents. The tune to The Outlandish Knight has
never been printed; it is peculiar to the ballad, and, from its
popularity, is well known.]

An Outlandish knight came from the North lands,
And he came a wooing to me;
He told me he'd take me unto the North lands,
And there he would marry me.

'Come, fetch me some of your father's gold,
And some of your mother's fee;
And two of the best nags out of the stable,
Where they stand thirty and three.'

She fetched him some of her father's gold,
And some of the mother's fee;
And two of the best nags out of the stable,
Where they stood thirty and three.

She mounted her on her milk-white steed,
He on the dapple grey;
They rode till they came unto the sea side,
Three hours before it was day.

'Light off, light off thy milk-white steed,
And deliver it unto me;
Six pretty maids have I drowned here,
And thou the seventh shall be.

'Pull off, pull off thy silken gown,
And deliver it unto me,
Methinks it looks too rich and too gay
To rot in the salt sea.

'Pull off, pull of thy silken stays,
And deliver them unto me;
Methinks they are too fine and gay
To rot in the salt sea.

'Pull off, pull off thy Holland smock,
And deliver it unto me;
Methinks it looks too rich and gay,
To rot in the salt sea.'

'If I must pull off my Holland smock,
Pray turn thy back unto me,
For it is not fitting that such a ruffian
A naked woman should see.'

He turned his back towards her,
And viewed the leaves so green;
She catched him round the middle so small,
And tumbled him into the stream.

He dropped high, and he dropped low,
Until he came to the side, -
'Catch hold of my hand, my pretty maiden,
And I will make you my bride.'

'Lie there, lie there, you false-hearted man,
Lie there instead of me;
Six pretty maids have you drowned here,
And the seventh has drowned thee.'

She mounted on her milk-white steed,
And led the dapple grey,
She rode till she came to her own father's hall,
Three hours before it was day.

The parrot being in the window so high,
Hearing the lady, did say,
'I'm afraid that some ruffian has led you astray,
That you have tarried so long away.'

'Don't prittle nor prattle, my pretty parrot,
Nor tell no tales of me;
Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold,
Although it is made of a tree.'

The king being in the chamber so high,
And hearing the parrot, did say,
'What ails you, what ails you, my pretty parrot,
That you prattle so long before day?'

'It's no laughing matter,' the parrot did say,
'But so loudly I call unto thee;
For the cats have got into the window so high,
And I'm afraid they will have me.'

'Well turned, well turned, my pretty parrot,
Well turned, well turned for me;
Thy cage shall be made of the glittering gold,
And the door of the best ivory.' {4}

Ballad: LORD DELAWARE. (TRADITIONAL.)

[This interesting traditional ballad was first published by Mr.
Thomas Lyle in his Ancient Ballads and Songs, London, 1827. 'We
have not as yet,' says Mr. Lyle, 'been able to trace out the
historical incident upon which this ballad appears to have been
founded; yet those curious in such matters may consult, if they
list, Proceedings and Debates in the House of Commons, for 1621 and
1662, where they will find that some stormy debating in these
several years had been agitated in parliament regarding the corn
laws, which bear pretty close upon the leading features of the
ballad.' Does not the ballad, however, belong to a much earlier
period? The description of the combat, the presence of heralds,
the wearing of armour, &c., justify the conjecture. For De la
Ware, ought we not to read De la Mare? and is not Sir Thomas De la
Mare the hero? the De la Mare who in the reign of Edward III., A.D.
1377, was Speaker of the House of Commons. All historians are
agreed in representing him as a person using 'great freedom of
speach,' and which, indeed, he carried to such an extent as to
endanger his personal liberty. As bearing somewhat upon the
subject of the ballad, it may he observed that De la Mare was a
great advocate of popular rights, and particularly protested
against the inhabitants of England being subject to 'purveyance,'
asserting that 'if the royal revenue was faithfully administered,
there could be no necessity for laying burdens on the people.' In
the subsequent reign of Richard II, De In Mare was a prominent
character, and though history is silent on the subject, it is not
improbable that such a man might, even in the royal presence, have
defended the rights of the poor, and spoken in extenuation of the
agrarian insurrectionary movements which were then so prevalent and
so alarming. On the hypothesis of De la Mare being the hero, there
are other incidents in the tale which cannot be reconciled with
history, such as the title given to De la Mare, who certainly was
never ennobled; nor can we ascertain that he was ever mixed up in
any duel; nor does it appear clear who can be meant by the 'Welsh
Lord, the brave Duke of Devonshire,' that dukedom not having been
created till 1694 and no nobleman having derived any title whatever
from Devonshire previously to 1618, when Baron Cavendish, of
Hardwick, was created the first EARL of Devonshire. We may
therefore presume that for 'Devonshire' ought to be inserted the
name of some other county or place. Strict historical accuracy is,
however, hardly to be expected in any ballad, particularly in one
which, like the present, has evidently been corrupted in floating
down the stream of time. There is only one quarrel recorded at the
supposed period of our tale as having taken place betwixt two
noblemen, and which resulted in a hostile meeting, viz., that
wherein the belligerent parties were the Duke of Hereford (who
might by a 'ballad-monger' be deemed a WELSH lord) and the Duke of
Norfolk. This was in the reign of Richard II. No fight, however,
took place, owing to the interference of the king. Our minstrel
author may have had rather confused historical ideas, and so mixed
up certain passages in De la Mare's history with this squabble; and
we are strongly inclined to suspect that such is the case, and that
it will be found the real clue to the story. Vide Hume's History
of England, chap. XVII. A.D. 1398. Lyle acknowledges that he has
taken some liberties with the oral version, but does not state what
they were, beyond that they consisted merely in 'smoothing down.'
Would that he had left it 'in the ROUGH!' The last verse has every
appearance of being apocryphal; it looks like one of those
benedictory verses with which minstrels were, and still are, in the
habit of concluding their songs. Lyle says the tune 'is pleasing,
and peculiar to the ballad.' A homely version, presenting only
trivial variations from that of Mr. Lyle, is still printed and
sung.]

In the Parliament House, a great rout has been there,
Betwixt our good King and the Lord Delaware:
Says Lord Delaware to his Majesty full soon,
'Will it please you, my liege, to grant me a boon?'

'What's your boon,' says the King, 'now let me understand?'
'It's, give me all the poor men we've starving in this land;
And without delay, I'll hie me to Lincolnshire,
To sow hemp-seed and flax-seed, and hang them all there.

'For with hempen cord it's better to stop each poor man's breath,
Than with famine you should see your subjects starve to death.'
Up starts a Dutch Lord, who to Delaware did say,
'Thou deserves to be stabbed!' then he turned himself away;

'Thou deserves to be stabbed, and the dogs have thine ears,
For insulting our King in this Parliament of peers.'
Up sprang a Welsh Lord, the brave Duke of Devonshire,
'In young Delaware's defence, I'll fight this Dutch Lord, my sire;

'For he is in the right, and I'll make it so appear:
Him I dare to single combat, for insulting Delaware.'
A stage was soon erected, and to combat they went,
For to kill, or to be killed, it was either's full intent.

But the very first flourish, when the heralds gave command,
The sword of brave Devonshire bent backward on his hand;
In suspense he paused awhile, scanned his foe before he strake,
Then against the King's armour, his bent sword he brake.

Then he sprang from the stage, to a soldier in the ring,
Saying, 'Lend your sword, that to an end this tragedy we bring:
Though he's fighting me in armour, while I am fighting bare,
Even more than this I'd venture for young Lord Delaware.'

Leaping back on the stage, sword to buckler now resounds,
Till he left the Dutch Lord a bleeding in his wounds:
This seeing, cries the King to his guards without delay,
'Call Devonshire down,--take the dead man away!'

'No,' says brave Devonshire, 'I've fought him as a man,
Since he's dead, I will keep the trophies I have won;
For he fought me in your armour, while I fought him bare,
And the same you must win back, my liege, if ever you them wear.'

God bless the Church of England, may it prosper on each hand,
And also every poor man now starving in this land;
And while I pray success may crown our King upon his throne,
I'll wish that every poor man may long enjoy his own.

Ballad: LORD BATEMAN.

[This is a ludicrously corrupt abridgment of the ballad of Lord
Beichan, a copy of which will be found inserted amongst the Early
Ballads, An. Ed. p. 144. The following grotesque version was
published several years ago by Tilt, London, and also, according to
the title-page, by Mustapha Syried, Constantinople! under the title
of The loving Ballad of Lord Bateman. It is, however, the only
ancient form in which the ballad has existed in print, and is one
of the publications mentioned in Thackeray's Catalogue, see ante,
p. 20. The air printed in Tilt's edition is the one to which the
ballad is sung in the South of England, but it is totally different
to the Northern tune, which has never been published.]

Lord Bateman he was a noble lord,
A noble lord of high degree;
He shipped himself on board a ship,
Some foreign country he would go see.

He sailed east, and he sailed west,
Until he came to proud Turkey;
Where he was taken, and put to prison,
Until his life was almost weary.

And in this prison there grew a tree,
It grew so stout, and grew so strong;
Where he was chained by the middle,
Until his life was almost gone.

This Turk he had one only daughter,
The fairest creature my eyes did see;
She stole the keys of her father's prison,
And swore Lord Bateman she would set free.

'Have you got houses? have you got lands?
Or does Northumberland belong to thee?
What would you give to the fair young lady
That out of prison would set you free?'

'I have got houses, I have got lands,
And half Northumberland belongs to me
I'll give it all to the fair young lady
That out of prison would set me free.'

O! then she took him to her father's hall,
And gave to him the best of wine;
And every health she drank unto him,
'I wish, Lord Bateman, that you were mine!

'Now in seven years I'll make a vow,
And seven years I'll keep it strong,
If you'll wed with no other woman,
I will wed with no other man.'

O! then she took him to her father's harbour,
And gave to him a ship of fame;
'Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman,
I'm afraid I ne'er shall see you again.'

Now seven long years are gone and past,
And fourteen days, well known to thee;
She packed up all her gay clothing,
And swore Lord Bateman she would go see.

But when she came to Lord Bateman's castle,
So boldly she rang the bell;
'Who's there? who's there?' cried the proud porter,
'Who's there? unto me come tell.'

'O! is this Lord Bateman's castle?
Or is his Lordship here within?'
'O, yes! O, yes!' cried the young porter,
'He's just now taken his new bride in.'

'O! tell him to send me a slice of bread,
And a bottle of the best wine;
And not forgetting the fair young lady
Who did release him when close confine.'

Away, away went this proud young porter,
Away, away, and away went he,
Until he came to Lord Bateman's chamber,
Down on his bended knees fell he.

'What news, what news, my proud young porter?
What news hast thou brought unto me?'
'There is the fairest of all young creatures
That ever my two eyes did see!

'She has got rings on every finger,
And round one of them she has got three,
And as much gay clothing round her middle
As would buy all Northumberlea.

'She bids you send her a slice of bread,
And a bottle of the best wine;
And not forgetting the fair young lady
Who did release you when close confine.'

Lord Bateman he then in a passion flew,
And broke his sword in splinters three;
Saying, 'I will give all my father's riches
If Sophia has crossed the sea.'

Then up spoke the young bride's mother,
Who never was heard to speak so free,
'You'll not forget my only daughter,
If Sophia has crossed the sea.'

'I own I made a bride of your daughter,
She's neither the better nor worse for me;
She came to me with her horse and saddle,
She may go back in her coach and three.'

Lord Bateman prepared another marriage,
And sang, with heart so full of glee,
I'll range no more in foreign countries,
Now since Sophia has crossed the sea.'

Ballad: THE GOLDEN GLOVE; OR, THE SQUIRE OF TAMWORTH.

[This is a very popular ballad, and sung in every part of England.
It is traditionally reported to be founded on an incident which
occurred in the reign of Elizabeth. It has been published in the
broadside form from the commencement of the eighteenth century, but
is no doubt much older. It does not appear to have been previously
inserted in any collection.]

A wealthy young squire of Tamworth, we hear,
He courted a nobleman's daughter so fair;
And for to marry her it was his intent,
All friends and relations gave their consent.

The time was appointed for the wedding-day,
A young farmer chosen to give her away;
As soon as the farmer the young lady did spy,
He inflamed her heart; 'O, my heart!' she did cry.

She turned from the squire, but nothing she said,
Instead of being married she took to her bed;
The thought of the farmer soon run in her mind,
A way for to have him she quickly did find.

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