Books: Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England

R >> Robert Bell >> Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of England

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As he was expressing his piteous moan,
Fair Ruth came unto him, and made herself known;
He started to see her, but seemed not coy,
Said he, 'Now my sorrows are mingled with joy!'

The time of the mourning he kept it in Spain,
And then he came back to old England again,
With thousands, and thousands, which he did possess;
Then glorious and gay was sweet Ruth in her dress.

PART IV.

When over the seas to fair Sandwich he came,
With Ruth, and a number of persons of fame,
Then all did appear most splendid and gay,
As if it had been a great festival day.

Now, when that they took up their lodgings, behold!
He stripped off his coat of embroidered gold,
And presently borrows a mariner's suit,
That he with her parents might have some dispute,

Before they were sensible he was so great;
And when he came in and knocked at the gate,
He soon saw her father, and mother likewise,
Expressing their sorrow with tears in their eyes,

To them, with obeisance, he modestly said,
'Pray where is my jewel, that innocent maid,
Whose sweet lovely beauty doth thousands excel?
I fear, by your weeping, that all is not well!'

'No, no! she is gone, she is utterly lost;
We have not heard of her a twelvemonth at most!
Which makes us distracted with sorrow and care,
And drowns us in tears at the point of despair.'

'I'm grieved to hear these sad tidings,' he cried.
'Alas! honest young man,' her father replied,
'I heartily wish she'd been wedded to you,
For then we this sorrow had never gone through.'

Sweet Henry he made them this answer again;
'I am newly come home from the kingdom of Spain,
From whence I have brought me a beautiful bride,
And am to be married to-morrow,' he cried;

'And if you will go to my wedding,' said he,
'Both you and your lady right welcome shall be.'
They promised they would, and accordingly came,
Not thinking to meet with such persons of fame.

All decked with their jewels of rubies and pearls,
As equal companions of lords and of earls,
Fair Ruth, with her love, was as gay as the rest,
So they in their marriage were happily blessed.

Now, as they returned from the church to an inn,
The father and mother of Ruth did begin
Their daughter to know, by a mole they behold,
Although she was clothed in a garment of gold.

With transports of joy they flew to the bride,
'O! where hast thou been, sweetest daughter?' they cried,
'Thy tedious absence has grieved us sore,
As fearing, alas! we should see thee no more.'

'Dear parents,' said she, 'many hazards I run,
To fetch home my love, and your dutiful son;
Receive him with joy, for 'tis very well known,
He seeks not your wealth, he's enough of his own.'

Her father replied, and he merrily smiled,
'He's brought home enough, as he's brought home my child;
A thousand times welcome you are, I declare,
Whose presence disperses both sorrow and care.'

Full seven long days in feasting they spent;
The bells in the steeple they merrily went,
And many fair pounds were bestowed on the poor, -
The like of this wedding was never before!

Ballad: THE BERKSHIRE LADY'S GARLAND.
IN FOUR PARTS.
To the tune of The Royal Forester.

[When we first met with this very pleasing English ballad, we
deemed the story to be wholly fictitious, but 'strange' as the
'relation' may appear, the incidents narrated are 'true' or at
least founded on fact. The scene of the ballad is Whitley Park,
near Reading, in Berkshire, and not, as some suppose, Calcot House,
which was not built till 1759. Whitley is mentioned as 'the
Abbot's Park, being at the entrance of Redding town.' At the
Dissolution the estate passed to the crown, and the mansion seems,
from time to time, to have been used as a royal 'palace' till the
reign of Elizabeth, by whom it was granted, along with the estate,
to Sir Francis Knollys; it was afterwards, by purchase, the
property of the Kendricks, an ancient race, descended from the
Saxon kings. William Kendrick, of Whitley, armr. was created a
baronet in 1679, and died in 1685, leaving issue one son, Sir
William Kendrick, of Whitley, Bart., who married Miss Mary House,
of Reading, and died in 1699, without issue male, leaving an only
daughter. It was this rich heiress, who possessed 'store of wealth
and beauty bright,' that is the heroine of the ballad. She married
Benjamin Child, Esq., a young and handsome, but very poor attorney
of Reading, and the marriage is traditionally reported to have been
brought about exactly as related in the ballad. We have not been
able to ascertain the exact date of the marriage, which was
celebrated in St. Mary's Church, Reading, the bride wearing a thick
veil; but the ceremony must have taken place some time about 1705.
In 1714, Mr. Child was high sheriff of Berkshire. As he was an
humble and obscure personage previously to his espousing the
heiress of Whitley, and, in fact, owed all his wealth and influence
to his marriage, it cannot be supposed that IMMEDIATELY after his
union he would be elevated to so important and dignified a post as
the high-shrievalty of the very aristocratical county of Berks. We
may, therefore, consider nine or ten years to have elapsed betwixt
his marriage and his holding the office of high sheriff, which he
filled when he was about thirty-two years of age. The author of
the ballad is unknown: supposing him to have composed it shortly
after the events which he records, we cannot be far wrong in fixing
its date about 1706. The earliest broadside we have seen contains
a rudely executed, but by no means bad likeness of Queen Anne, the
reigning monarch at that period.]

PART I.

SHOWING CUPID'S CONQUEST OVER A COY LADY OF FIVE THOUSAND A YEAR.

Bachelors of every station,
Mark this strange and true relation,
Which in brief to you I bring, -
Never was a stranger thing!

You shall find it worth the hearing;
Loyal love is most endearing,
When it takes the deepest root,
Yielding charms and gold to boot.

Some will wed for love of treasure;
But the sweetest joy and pleasure
Is in faithful love, you'll find,
Graced with a noble mind.

Such a noble disposition
Had this lady, with submission,
Of whom I this sonnet write,
Store of wealth, and beauty bright.

She had left, by a good grannum,
Full five thousand pounds per annum,
Which she held without control;
Thus she did in riches roll.

Though she had vast store of riches,
Which some persons much bewitches,
Yet she bore a virtuous mind,
Not the least to pride inclined.

Many noble persons courted
This young lady, 'tis reported;
But their labour proved in vain,
They could not her favour gain.

Though she made a strong resistance,
Yet by Cupid's true assistance,
She was conquered after all;
How it was declare I shall.

Being at a noble wedding,
Near the famous town of Redding, {7}
A young gentleman she saw,
Who belonged to the law.

As she viewed his sweet behaviour,
Every courteous carriage gave her
New addition to her grief;
Forced she was to seek relief.

Privately she then enquired
About him, so much admired;
Both his name, and where he dwelt, -
Such was the hot flame she felt.

Then, at night, this youthful lady
Called her coach, which being ready,
Homewards straight she did return;
But her heart with flames did burn.

PART II.

SHOWING THE LADY'S LETTER OF A CHALLENGE TO FIGHT HIM UPON HIS
REFUSING TO WED HER IN A MASK, WITHOUT KNOWING WHO SHE WAS.

Night and morning, for a season,
In her closet would she reason
With herself, and often said,
'Why has love my heart betrayed?

'I, that have so many slighted,
Am at length so well requited;
For my griefs are not a few!
Now I find what love can do.

'He that has my heart in keeping,
Though I for his sake be weeping,
Little knows what grief I feel;
But I'll try it out with steel.

'For I will a challenge send him,
And appoint where I'll attend him,
In a grove, without delay,
By the dawning of the day.

'He shall not the least discover
That I am a virgin lover,
By the challenge which I send;
But for justice I contend.

'He has caused sad distraction,
And I come for satisfaction,
Which if he denies to give,
One of us shall cease to live.'

Having thus her mind revealed,
She her letter closed and sealed;
Which, when it came to his hand,
The young man was at a stand.

In her letter she conjured him
For to meet, and well assured him,
Recompence he must afford,
Or dispute it with the sword.

Having read this strange relation,
He was in a consternation;
But, advising with his friend,
He persuades him to attend.

'Be of courage, and make ready,
Faint heart never won fair lady;
In regard it must be so,
I along with you must go.'

PART III.

SHOWING HOW THEY MET BY APPOINTMENT IN A GROVE, WHERE SHE OBLIGED
HIM TO FIGHT OR WED HER.

Early on a summer's morning,
When bright Phoebus was adorning
Every bower with his beams,
The fair lady came, it seems.

At the bottom of a mountain,
Near a pleasant crystal fountain,
There she left her gilded coach,
While the grove she did approach.

Covered with her mask, and walking,
There she met her lover talking
With a friend that he had brought;
So she asked him whom he sought.

'I am challenged by a gallant,
Who resolves to try my talent;
Who he is I cannot say,
But I hope to show him play.'

'It is I that did invite you,
You shall wed me, or I'll fight you,
Underneath those spreading trees;
Therefore, choose you which you please.

'You shall find I do not vapour,
I have brought my trusty rapier;
Therefore, take your choice,' said she,
'Either fight or marry me.'

Said he, 'Madam, pray what mean you?
In my life I've never seen you;
Pray unmask, your visage show,
Then I'll tell you aye or no.'

'I will not my face uncover
Till the marriage ties are over;
Therefore, choose you which you will,
Wed me, sir, or try your skill.

'Step within that pleasant bower,
With your friend one single hour;
Strive your thoughts to reconcile,
And I'll wander here the while.'

While this beauteous lady waited,
The young bachelors debated
What was best for to be done:
Quoth his friend, 'The hazard run.

'If my judgment can be trusted,
Wed her first, you can't be worsted;
If she's rich, you'll rise to fame,
If she's poor, why! you're the same.'

He consented to be married;
All three in a coach were carried
To a church without delay,
Where he weds the lady gay.

Though sweet pretty Cupids hovered
Round her eyes, her face was covered
With a mask,--he took her thus,
Just for better or for worse.

With a courteous kind behaviour,
She presents his friend a favour,
And withal dismissed him straight,
That he might no longer wait.

PART IV.

SHOWING HOW THEY RODE TOGETHER IN HER GILDED COACH TO HER NOBLE
SEAT, OR CASTLE, ETC.

As the gilded coach stood ready,
The young lawyer and his lady
Rode together, till they came
To her house of state and fame;

Which appeared like a castle,
Where you might behold a parcel
Of young cedars, tall and straight,
Just before her palace gate.

Hand in hand they walked together,
To a hall, or parlour, rather,
Which was beautiful and fair, -
All alone she left him there.

Two long hours there he waited
Her return;--at length he fretted,
And began to grieve at last,
For he had not broke his fast.

Still he sat like one amazed,
Round a spacious room he gazed,
Which was richly beautified;
But, alas! he lost his bride.

There was peeping, laughing, sneering,
All within the lawyer's hearing;
But his bride he could not see;
'Would I were at home!' thought he.

While his heart was melancholy,
Said the steward, brisk and jolly,
'Tell me, friend, how came you here?
You've some bad design, I fear.'

He replied, 'Dear loving master,
You shall meet with no disaster
Through my means, in any case, -
Madam brought me to this place.'

Then the steward did retire,
Saying, that he would enquire
Whether it was true or no:
Ne'er was lover hampered so.

Now the lady who had filled him
With those fears, full well beheld him
From a window, as she dressed,
Pleased at the merry jest.

When she had herself attired
In rich robes, to be admired,
She appeared in his sight,
Like a moving angel bright.

'Sir! my servants have related,
How some hours you have waited
In my parlour,--tell me who
In my house you ever knew?'

'Madam! if I have offended,
It is more than I intended;
A young lady brought me here:' -
'That is true,' said she, 'my dear.

'I can be no longer cruel
To my joy, and only jewel;
Thou art mine, and I am thine,
Hand and heart I do resign!

'Once I was a wounded lover,
Now these fears are fairly over;
By receiving what I gave,
Thou art lord of what I have.'

Beauty, honour, love, and treasure,
A rich golden stream of pleasure,
With his lady he enjoys;
Thanks to Cupid's kind decoys.

Now he's clothed in rich attire,
Not inferior to a squire;
Beauty, honour, riches' store,
What can man desire more?

Ballad: THE NOBLEMAN'S GENEROUS KINDNESS.

Giving an account of a nobleman, who, taking notice of a poor man's
industrious care and pains for the maintaining of his charge of
seven small children, met him upon a day, and discoursing with him,
invited him, and his wife and his children, home to his house, and
bestowed upon them a farm of thirty acres of land, to be continued
to him and his heirs for ever.

To the tune of The Two English Travellers.

[This still popular ballad is entitled in the modern copies, The
Nobleman and Thrasher; or, the Generous Gift. There is a copy
preserved in the Roxburgh Collection, with which our version has
been collated. It is taken from a broadside printed by Robert
Marchbank, in the Custom-house Entry, Newcastle.]

A nobleman lived in a village of late,
Hard by a poor thrasher, whose charge it was great;
For he had seven children, and most of them small,
And nought but his labour to support them withal.

He never was given to idle and lurk,
For this nobleman saw him go daily to work,
With his flail and his bag, and his bottle of beer,
As cheerful as those that have hundreds a year.

Thus careful, and constant, each morning he went,
Unto his daily labour with joy and content;
So jocular and jolly he'd whistle and sing,
As blithe and as brisk as the birds in the spring.

One morning, this nobleman taking a walk,
He met this poor man, and he freely did talk;
He asked him [at first] many questions at large,
And then began talking concerning his charge.

'Thou hast many children, I very well know,
Thy labour is hard, and thy wages are low,
And yet thou art cheerful; I pray tell me true,
How can you maintain them as well as you do?'

'I carefully carry home what I do earn,
My daily expenses by this I do learn;
And find it is possible, though we be poor,
To still keep the ravenous wolf from the door.

'I reap and I mow, and I harrow and sow,
Sometimes a hedging and ditching I go;
No work comes amiss, for I thrash, and I plough,
Thus my bread I do earn by the sweat of my brow.

'My wife she is willing to pull in a yoke,
We live like two lambs, nor each other provoke;
We both of us strive, like the labouring ant,
And do our endeavours to keep us from want.

'And when I come home from my labour at night,
To my wife and my children, in whom I delight;
To see them come round me with prattling noise, -
Now these are the riches a poor man enjoys.

'Though I am as weary as weary may be,
The youngest I commonly dance on my knee;
I find that content is a moderate feast,
I never repine at my lot in the least.'

Now the nobleman hearing what he did say,
Was pleased, and invited him home the next day;
His wife and his children he charged him to bring;
In token of favour he gave him a ring.

He thanked his honour, and taking his leave,
He went to his wife, who would hardly believe
But this same story himself he might raise;
Yet seeing the ring she was [lost] in amaze.

Betimes in the morning the good wife she arose,
And made them all fine, in the best of their clothes;
The good man with his good wife, and children small,
They all went to dine at the nobleman's hall.

But when they came there, as truth does report,
All things were prepared in a plentiful sort;
And they at the nobleman's table did dine,
With all kinds of dainties, and plenty of wine.

The feast being over, he soon let them know,
That he then intended on them to bestow
A farm-house, with thirty good acres of land;
And gave them the writings then, with his own hand.

'Because thou art careful, and good to thy wife,
I'll make thy days happy the rest of thy life;
It shall be for ever, for thee and thy heirs,
Because I beheld thy industrious cares.'

No tongue then is able in full to express
The depth of their joy, and true thankfulness;
With many a curtsey, and bow to the ground, -
Such noblemen there are but few to be found.

Ballad: THE DRUNKARD'S LEGACY. IN THREE PARTS.

First, giving an account of a gentlemen a having a wild son, and
who, foreseeing he would come to poverty, had a cottage built with
one door to it, always kept fast; and how, on his dying bed, he
charged him not to open it till he was poor and slighted, which the
young man promised he would perform. Secondly, of the young man's
pawning his estate to a vintner, who, when poor, kicked him out of
doors; when thinking it time to see his legacy, he broke open the
cottage door, where instead of money he found a gibbet and halter,
which he put round his neck, and jumping off the stool, the gibbet
broke, and a thousand pounds came down upon his head, which lay hid
in the ceiling. Thirdly, of his redeeming his estate, and fooling
the vintner out of two hundred pounds; who, for being jeered by his
neighbours, cut his own throat. And lastly, of the young man's
reformation. Very proper to be read by all who are given to
drunkenness.

[Percy, in the introductory remarks to the ballad of The Heir of
Linne, says, 'the original of this ballad [The Heir of Linne] is
found in the editor's folio MS.; the breaches and defects of which
rendered the insertion of supplemental stanzas necessary. These it
is hoped the reader will pardon, as, indeed, the completion of the
story was suggested by a modern ballad on a similar subject.' The
ballad thus alluded to by Percy is The Drunkard's Legacy, which, it
may be remarked, although styled by him a MODERN ballad, is only so
comparatively speaking; for it must have been written long anterior
to Percy's time, and, by his own admission, must be older than the
latter portion of the Heir of Linne. Our copy is taken from an old
chap-book, without date or printer's name, and which is decorated
with three rudely executed wood-cuts.]

Young people all, I pray draw near,
And listen to my ditty here;
Which subject shows that drunkenness
Brings many mortals to distress!

As, for example, now I can
Tell you of one, a gentleman,
Who had a very good estate,
His earthly travails they were great.

We understand he had one son
Who a lewd wicked race did run;
He daily spent his father's store,
When moneyless, he came for more.

The father oftentimes with tears,
Would this alarm sound in his ears;
'Son! thou dost all my comfort blast,
And thou wilt come to want at last.'

The son these words did little mind,
To cards and dice he was inclined;
Feeding his drunken appetite
In taverns, which was his delight.

The father, ere it was too late,
He had a project in his pate,
Before his aged days were run,
To make provision for his son.

Near to his house, we understand,
He had a waste plat of land,
Which did but little profit yield,
On which he did a cottage build.

The Wise Man's Project was its name;
There were few windows in the same;
Only one door, substantial thing,
Shut by a lock, went by a spring.

Soon after he had played this trick,
It was his lot for to fall sick;
As on his bed he did lament,
Then for his drunken son he sent.

He shortly came to his bedside;
Seeing his son, he thus replied:
'I have sent for you to make my will,
Which you must faithfully fulfil.

'In such a cottage is one door,
Ne'er open it, do thou be sure,
Until thou art so poor, that all
Do then despise you, great and small.

'For, to my grief, I do perceive,
When I am dead, this life you live
Will soon melt all thou hast away;
Do not forget these words, I pray.

'When thou hast made thy friends thy foes,
Pawned all thy lands, and sold thy clothes;
Break ope the door, and there depend
To find something thy griefs to end.'

This being spoke, the son did say,
'Your dying words I will obey.'
Soon after this his father dear
Did die, and buried was, we hear.

PART II.

Now, pray observe the second part,
And you shall hear his sottish heart;
He did the tavern so frequent,
Till he three hundred pounds had spent.

This being done, we understand
He pawned the deeds of all his land
Unto a tavern-keeper, who,
When poor, did him no favour show.

For, to fulfil his father's will,
He did command this cottage still:
At length great sorrow was his share,
Quite moneyless, with garments bare.

Being not able for to work,
He in the tavern there did lurk;
From box to box, among rich men,
Who oftentimes reviled him then.

To see him sneak so up and down,
The vintner on him he did frown;
And one night kicked him out of door,
Charging him to come there no more.

He in a stall did lie all night,
In this most sad and wretched plight;
Then thought it was high time to see
His father's promised legacy.

Next morning, then, oppressed with woe,
This young man got an iron crow;
And, as in tears he did lament,
Unto this little cottage went.

When he the door had open got,
This poor, distressed, drunken sot,
Who did for store of money hope,
He saw a gibbet and a rope.

Under this rope was placed a stool,
Which made him look just like a fool;
Crying, 'Alas! what shall I do?
Destruction now appears in view!

'As my father foresaw this thing,
What sottishness to me would bring;
As moneyless, and free of grace,
His legacy I will embrace.'

So then, oppressed with discontent,
Upon the stool he sighing went;
And then, his precious life to check,
Did place the rope about his neck.

Crying, 'Thou, God, who sitt'st on high,
And on my sorrow casts an eye;
Thou knowest that I've not done well, -
Preserve my precious soul from hell.

''Tis true the slighting of thy grace,
Has brought me to this wretched case;
And as through folly I'm undone,
I'll now eclipse my morning sun.'

When he with sighs these words had spoke,
Jumped off, and down the gibbet broke;
In falling, as it plain appears,
Dropped down about this young man's ears,

In shining gold, a thousand pound!
Which made the blood his ears surround:
Though in amaze, he cried, 'I'm sure
This golden salve the sore will cure!

'Blessed be my father, then,' he cried,
'Who did this part for me so hide;
And while I do alive remain,
I never will get drunk again.'

PART III.

Now, by the third part you will hear,
This young man, as it doth appear,
With care he then secured his chink,
And to the vintner's went to drink.

When the proud vintner did him see,
He frowned on him immediately,
And said, 'Begone! or else with speed,
I'll kick thee out of doors, indeed.'

Smiling, the young man he did say,
'Thou cruel knave! tell me, I pray,
As I have here consumed my store,
How durst thee kick me out of door?

'To me thou hast been too severe;
The deeds of eightscore pounds a-year,
I pawned them for three hundred pounds,
That I spent here;--what makes such frowns?'

The vintner said unto him, 'Sirrah!
Bring me one hundred pounds to-morrow
By nine o'clock,--take them again;
So get you out of doors till then.'

He answered, 'If this chink I bring,
I fear thou wilt do no such thing.
He said, 'I'll give under my hand,
A note, that I to this will stand.'

Having the note, away he goes,
And straightway went to one of those
That made him drink when moneyless,
And did the truth to him confess.

They both went to this heap of gold,
And in a bag he fairly told
A thousand pounds, ill yellow-boys,
And to the tavern went their ways.

This bag they on the table set,
Making the vintner for to fret;
He said, 'Young man! this will not do,
For I was but in jest with you.'

So then bespoke the young man's friend:
'Vintner! thou mayest sure depend,
In law this note it will you cast,
And he must have his land at last.'

This made the vintner to comply, -
He fetched the deeds immediately;
He had one hundred pounds, and then
The young man got his deeds again.

At length the vintner 'gan to think
How he was fooled out of his chink;
Said, 'When 'tis found how I came off,
My neighbours will me game and scoff.'

So to prevent their noise and clatter
The vintner he, to mend the matter,
In two days after, it doth appear,
Did cut his throat from ear to ear.

Thus he untimely left the world,
That to this young man proved a churl.
Now he who followed drunkenness,
Lives sober, and doth lands possess.

Instead of wasting of his store,
As formerly, resolves no more
To act the same, but does indeed
Relieve all those that are in need.

Let all young men now, for my sake,
Take care how they such havoc make;
For drunkenness, you plain may see,
Had like his ruin for to be.

Ballad: THE BOWES TRAGEDY.

Being a true relation of the Lives and Characters of ROGER
WRIGHTSON and MARTHA RAILTON, of the Town of Bowes, in the County
of York, who died for love of each other, in March, 1714/5

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