Chapter XIII: Part THE SECOND (1)

In high renown with prince and peere
Now liv'd sir Valentine:
His high renown with prince and peere
Made envious hearts repine.

It chanc'd the king upon a day 5
Prepar'd a sumptuous feast:
And there came lords, and dainty dames,
And many a noble guest.

Amid their cups, that freely flow'd,
Their revelry, and mirth; 10
A youthful knight tax'd Valentine
Of base and doubtful birth.

The foul reproach, so grossly urg'd,
His generous heart did wound:
And strait he vow'd he ne'er would rest 15
Till he his parents found.

Then bidding king and peers adieu,
Early one summer's day,
With faithful Ursine by his side,
From court he took his way. 20

O'er hill and valley, moss and moor,
For many a day they pass;
At length upon a moated lake,[430]
They found a bridge of brass.

Beyond it rose a castle fair 25
Y-built of marble stone:
The battlements were gilt with gold,
And glittred in the sun.

Beneath the bridge, with strange device,
A hundred bells were hung; 30
That man, nor beast, might pass thereon,
But strait their larum rung.

This quickly found the youthful pair,
Who boldly crossing o'er,
The jangling sound bedeaft their ears, 35
And rung from shore to shore.

Quick at the sound the castle gates
Unlock'd and opened wide,
And strait a gyant huge and grim
Stalk'd forth with stately pride. 40

Now yield you, caytiffs, to my will;
He cried with hideous roar;
Or else the wolves shall eat your flesh,
And ravens drink your gore.

Vain boaster, said the youthful knight, 45
I scorn thy threats and thee:
I trust to force thy brazen gates,
And set thy captives free.

Then putting spurs unto his steed,
He aim'd a dreadful thrust: 50
The spear against the gyant glanc'd,
And caus'd the blood to burst.

Mad and outrageous with the pain,
He whirl'd his mace of steel:
The very wind of such a blow 55
Had made the champion reel.

It haply mist; and now the knight
His glittering sword display'd,
And riding round with whirlwind speed
Oft made him feel the blade. 60

As when a large and monstrous oak
Unceasing axes hew:
So fast around the gyant's limbs
The blows quick-darting flew.

As when the boughs with hideous fall 65
Some hapless woodman crush:
With such a force the enormous foe
Did on the champion rush.

A fearful blow, alas! there came,
Both horse and knight it took. 70
And laid them senseless in the dust;
So fatal was the stroke.

Then smiling forth a hideous grin,
The gyant strides in haste,
And, stooping, aims a second stroke: 75
"Now caytiff breathe thy last!"

But ere it fell, two thundering blows
Upon his scull descend:
From Ursine's knotty club they came,
Who ran to save his friend. 80

Down sunk the gyant gaping wide,
And rolling his grim eyes:
The hairy youth repeats his blows:
He gasps, he groans, he dies.

Quickly sir Valentine reviv'd 85
With Ursine's timely care:
And now to search the castle walls
The venturous youths repair.

The blood and bones of murder'd knights
They found where'er they came: 90
At length within a lonely cell
They saw a mournful dame.

Her gentle eyes were dim'd with tears;
Her cheeks were pale with woe:
And long sir Valentine besought 95
Her doleful tale to know.

"Alas! young knight," she weeping said,
"Condole my wretched fate:
A childless mother here you see;
A wife without a mate. 100

"These twenty winters here forlorn
I've drawn my hated breath;
Sole witness of a monster's crimes,
And wishing aye for death.

"Know, I am sister of a king; 105
And in my early years
Was married to a mighty prince,
The fairest of his peers.

"With him I sweetly liv'd in love
A twelvemonth and a day: 110
When, lo! a foul and treacherous priest
Y-wrought our loves' decay.

"His seeming goodness wan him pow'r;
He had his master's ear:
And long to me and all the world 115
He did a saint appear.

"One day, when we were all alone,
He proffer'd odious love:
The wretch with horrour I repuls'd,
And from my presence drove. 120

"He feign'd remorse, and piteous beg'd
His crime I'd not reveal:
Which, for his seeming penitence,
I promis'd to conceal.

"With treason, villainy, and wrong 125
My goodness he repay'd:
With jealous doubts he fill'd my lord,
And me to woe betray'd.

"He hid a slave within my bed,
Then rais'd a bitter cry. 130
My lord, possest with rage, condemn'd
Me, all unheard, to dye.

"But 'cause I then was great with child,
At length my life he spar'd;
But bade me instant quit the realme, 135
One trusty knight my guard.

"Forth on my journey I depart,
Opprest with grief and woe;
And tow'rds my brother's distant court,
With breaking heart, I goe. 140

"Long time thro' sundry foreign lands
We slowly pace along:
At length within a forest wild
I fell in labour strong:

"And while the knight for succour sought, 145
And left me there forlorn,
My childbed pains so fast increast
Two lovely boys were born.

"The eldest fair, and smooth, as snow
That tips the mountain hoar: 150
The younger's little body rough
With hairs was cover'd o'er.

"But here afresh begin my woes:
While tender care I took
To shield my eldest from the cold, 155
And wrap him in my cloak;

"A prowling bear burst from the wood,
And seiz'd my younger son:
Affection lent my weakness wings,
And after them I run. 160

"But all forewearied, weak and spent,
I quickly swoon'd away;
And there beneath the greenwood shade
Long time I lifeless lay.

"At length the knight brought me relief, 165
And rais'd me from the ground:
But neither of my pretty babes
Could ever more be found.

"And, while in search we wander'd far,
We met that gyant grim; 170
Who ruthless slew my trusty knight,
And bare me off with him.

"But charm'd by heav'n, or else my griefs,
He offer'd me no wrong;
Save that within these lonely walls 175
I've been immur'd so long."

Now, surely, said the youthful knight,
You are lady Bellisance,
Wife to the Grecian emperor:
Your brother's king of France. 180

For in your royal brother's court
Myself my breeding had;
Where oft the story of your woes
Hath made my bosom sad.

If so, know your accuser's dead, 185
And dying own'd his crime;
And long your lord hath sought you out
Thro' every foreign clime.

And when no tidings he could learn
Of his much-wronged wife, 190
He vow'd thenceforth within his court
To lead a hermit's life.

Now heaven is kind! the lady said;
And dropt a joyful tear:
Shall I once more behold my lord? 195
That lord I love so dear?

But, madam, said sir Valentine,
And knelt upon his knee;
Know you the cloak that wrapt your babe,
If you the same should see? 200

And pulling forth the cloth of gold,
In which himself was found;
The lady gave a sudden shriek,
And fainted on the ground.

But by his pious care reviv'd, 205
His tale she heard anon;
And soon by other tokens found,
He was indeed her son.

But who's this hairy youth? she said;
He much resembles thee: 210
The bear devour'd my younger son,
Or sure that son were he.

Madam, this youth with bears was bred,
And rear'd within their den.
But recollect ye any mark 215
To know you son agen?

Upon his little side, quoth she,
Was stampt a bloody rose.
Here, lady, see the crimson mark
Upon his body grows! 220

Then clasping both her new-found sons
She bath'd their cheeks with tears;
And soon towards hèr brother's court
Her joyful course she steers.

What pen can paint king Pepin's joy, 225
His sister thus restor'd!
And soon a messenger was sent
To cheer her drooping lord:

Who came in haste with all his peers,
To fetch her home to Greece; 230
Where many happy years they reign'd
In perfect love and peace.

To them sir Ursine did succeed,
And long the scepter bare.
Sir Valentine he stay'd in France, 235
And was his uncle's heir.

[***]

FOOTNOTES:

[430] Ver. 23. _i.e._ a lake that served for a moat to a castle.

XIII.

THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY.

This humourous song (as a former Editor[431] has well observed) is to old metrical romances and ballads of chivalry, what _Don Quixote_ is to prose narratives of that kind:--a lively satire on their extravagant fictions. But altho' the satire is thus general, the subject of this ballad is local and peculiar: so that many of the finest strokes of humour are lost for want of our knowing the minute circumstances to which they allude. Many of them can hardly now be recovered, altho' we have been fortunate enough to learn the general subject to which the satire referred, and shall detail the information, with which we have been favoured, at the end of this introduction.

In handling his subject, the Author has brought in most of the common incidents which occur in romance. The description of the dragon[432]--his outrages--the people flying to the knight for succour--his care in chusing his armour--his being drest for fight by a young damsel--and most of the circumstances of the battle and victory (allowing for the burlesque turn given to them) are what occur in every book of chivalry, whether in prose or verse.

If any one piece, more than other, is more particularly levelled at, it seems to be the old rhiming legend of sir Bevis. There a _Dragon_ is attacked from a _Well_ in a manner not very remote from this of the ballad:--

There was a well, so have I wynne,
And Bevis stumbled ryght therein.
* * * * *
Than was he glad without fayle,
And rested a whyle for his avayle;
And dranke of that water his fyll;
And then he lepte out, with good wyll,
And with Morglay his brande
He assayled the dragon, I understande:
On the dragon he smote so faste,
Where that he hit the scales braste:
The dragon then faynted sore,
And cast a galon and more
Out of his mouthe of venim strong,
And on syr Bevis he it flong:
It was venymous y-wis.

This seems to be meant by the Dragon of Wantley's stink, ver. 110. As the politick knight's creeping out, and attacking the dragon, &c. seems evidently to allude to the following:

Bevis blessed himselfe and forth yode,
And lepte out with haste full good;
And Bevis unto the dragon gone is;
And the dragon also to Bevis.
Longe, and harde was that fyght
Betwene the dragon, and that knyght:
But ever whan syr Bevis was hurt sore,
He went to the well, and washed him thore;
He was as hole as any man,
Ever freshe as whan he began.
The dragon sawe it might not avayle
Besyde the well to hold batayle;
He thought he would, wyth some wyle,
Out of that place Bevis begyle;
He woulde have flowen then awaye,
But Bevis lepte after with good Morglaye,
And hyt him under the wynge,
As he was in his flyenge, &c.

Sign. M. jv. L. j. &c.

After all, perhaps the writer of this ballad was acquainted with the above incidents only thro' the medium of Spenser, who has assumed most of them in his _Faery Queen_. At least some particulars in the description of the Dragon, &c. seem evidently borrowed from the latter. See book i. canto 11, where the Dragon's "two wynges like sayls--huge long tayl--with stings--his cruel rending clawes--and yron teeth--his breath of smothering smoke and sulphur"--and the duration of the fight for upwards of two days, bear a great resemblance to passages in the following ballad; though it must be confessed that these particulars are common to all old writers of romance.

Altho' this ballad must have been written early in the last century, we have met with none but such as were comparatively modern copies. It is here printed from one in Roman letter, in the Pepys collection, collated with such others as could be procured.

A description of the supposed scene of this ballad, which was communicated to the Editor in 1767, is here given in the words of the relater:--

"In Yorkshire, 6 miles from Rotherham, is a village, called _Wortley_, the seat of the late _Wortley Montague_, Esq. About a mile from this village is a lodge, named _Warncliff Lodge_, but vulgarly called _Wantley_: here lies the scene of the song. I was there about forty years ago: and it being a woody rocky place, my friend made me clamber over rocks and stones, not telling me to what end, till I came to a sort of a cave; then asked my opinion of the place, and pointing to one end, says, Here lay the dragon killed by _Moor_ of _Moor-hall_: here lay his head; here lay his tail; and the stones we came over on the hill, are those he could not crack; and yon white house you see half a mile off, is _Moor-hall_. I had dined at the lodge, and knew the man's name was _Matthew_, who was a keeper to Mr. Wortley, and, as he endeavoured to persuade me, was the same Matthew mentioned in the song: In the house is the picture of the Dragon and Moor of Moor-hall, and near it a well, which, says he, is the well described in the ballad."

Since the former editions of this humorous old song were printed, the following _Key to the Satire_ hath been communicated by _Godfrey_ _Bosville_, Esq. of Thorp, near Malton, in Yorkshire; who, in the most obliging manner, gave full permission to adjoin it to the poem.

_Warncliffe_ Lodge, and _Warncliffe_ Wood (vulgarly pronounced _Wantley_), are in the parish of Penniston, in Yorkshire. The rectory of Penniston was part of the dissolved monastery of St. Stephen's, Westminster; and was granted to the Duke of Norfolk's family: who therewith endowed an hospital, which he built at Sheffield, for women. The trustees let the impropriation of the great Tythes of Penniston to the Wortley family, who got a great deal by it, and wanted to get still more; for Mr. Nicholas Wortley attempted to take the tythes in kind, but Mr. Francis Bosville opposed him, and there was a decree in favour of the Modus in 37th Eliz. The vicarage of Penniston did not go along with the rectory, but with the copyhold rents, and was part of a large purchase made by Ralph Bosville, Esq. from Q. Elizabeth, in the 2d year of her reign: and that part he sold in 12th Eliz. to his elder brother Godfrey, the father of Francis; who left it, with the rest of his estate, to his wife, for her life, and then to Ralph, 3d son of his uncle Ralph. The widow married Lyonel Rowlestone, lived eighteen years, and survived Ralph.

This premised, the ballad apparently relates to the law-suit carried on concerning this claim of tythes made by the Wortley family. "Houses and churches, were to him geese and turkeys:" which are tytheable things, the dragon chose to live on. Sir Francis Wortley, the son of Nicholas, attempted again to take the tythes in kind: but the parishioners subscribed an agreement to defend their Modus. And at the head of the agreement was Lyonel Rowlestone, who is supposed to be one of "the Stones, dear Jack, which the Dragon could not crack." The agreement is still preserved in a large sheet of parchment, dated 1st of James I., and is full of names and seals, which might be meant by the coat of armour, "with spikes all about, both within and without." _More_ of _More-hall_ was either the attorney, or counsellor, who conducted the suit. He is not distinctly remembered, but More-hall is still extant at the very bottom of Wantley [Warncliff] Wood, and lies so low, that it might be said to be in a well: as the dragon's den [Warncliff Lodge] was at the top of the wood, "with Matthew's house hard by it." The keepers belonging to the Wortley family were named, for many generations, Matthew Northall: the last of them left this lodge, within memory, to be keeper to the Duke of Norfolk. The present owner of More-hall still attends Mr. Bosville's Manor-Court at Oxspring, and pays a rose a year. "More of More-hall, with nothing at all, slew the Dragon of Wantley." He gave him, instead of tythes, so small a Modus, that it was in effect nothing at all, and was slaying him with a vengeance. "The poor children three," &c. cannot surely mean the three sisters of Francis Bosville, who would have been coheiresses, had he made no will? The late Mr. Bosville had a contest with the descendants of two of them, the late Sir Geo. Saville's father, and Mr. Copley, about the presentation to Penniston, they supposing Francis had not the power to give this part of the estate from the heirs at law; but it was decided against them. The dragon (Sir Francis Wortley) succeeded better with his cousin Wordesworth, the freehold lord of the manor (for it is the copyhold manor that belongs to Mr. Bosville) having persuaded him not to join the refractory parishioners, under a promise that he would let him his tythes cheap: and now the estates of Wortley and Wordesworth are the only lands that pay tythes in the parish.

* * * * *

N.B. "Two days and a night," mentioned in ver. 125, as the duration of the combat, was probably that of the trial at law.

* * * * *

[In Gough's edition of Camden's _Britannia_ we learn that "Sir
Thomas Wortley, who was knight of the body to Edward IV.,
Richard III., Henry VII. and VIII., built a lodge in his chace of
Warncliffe, and had a house and park there, disparked in the Civil
War."

Mr. Gilfillan has the following note in his edition of the
_Reliques_, "A legend current in the Wortley family states the
dragon to have been a formidable drinker, drunk dead by the
chieftain of the opposite moors. Ellis thinks it was a wolf or some
other fierce animal hunted down by More of More-hall." A writer
in the _Notes and Queries_ (3rd S. ix. 29), who signs himself
"Fitzhopkins," expresses his disbelief in the above explanation
communicated to Percy by Godfrey Bosville.]

* * * * *

Old stories tell how Hercules
A dragon slew at Lerna,
With seven heads, and fourteen eyes,
To see and well discern-a:
But he had a club, this dragon to drub, 5
Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye:
But More of More-Hall, with nothing at all,
He slew the dragon of Wantley.

This dragon had two furious wings,
Each one upon each shoulder; 10
With a sting in his tayl as long as a flayl,
Which made him bolder and bolder.
He had long claws, and in his jaws
Four and forty teeth of iron;
With a hide as tough, as any buff, 15
Which did him round environ.

Have you not heard how the Trojan horse
Held seventy men in his belly?
This dragon was not quite so big,
But very near, I'll tell ye. 20
Devoured he poor children three,
That could not with him grapple;
And at one sup he eat them up,
As one would eat an apple.

All sorts of cattle this dragon did eat. 25
Some say he ate up trees,
And that the forests sure he would
Devour up by degrees:
For houses and churches were to him geese and turkies;[433]
He ate all, and left none behind, 30
But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack,
Which on the hills you will find.

In Yorkshire, near fair Rotherham,[434]
The place I know it well;
Some two or three miles, or thereabouts, 35
I vow I cannot tell.
But there is a hedge, just on the hill edge,
And Matthew's house hard by it;
O there and then was this dragon's den,
You could not chuse but spy it. 40

Some say, this dragon was a witch;
Some say, he was a devil,
For from his nose a smoke arose,
And with it burning snivel;
Which he cast off, when he did cough, 45
In a well that he did stand by;
Which made it look, just like a brook
Running with burning brandy.

Hard by a furious knight there dwelt,
Of whom all towns did ring; 50
For he could wrestle, play at quarter-staff, kick, cuff, and huff,
Call son of a whore, do any kind of thing:
By the tail and the main, with his hands twain
He swung a horse till he was dead;
And that which is stranger, he for very anger 55
Eat him all up but his head.

These children, as I am told, being eat;
Men, women, girls and boys,
Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging,
And made a hideous noise: 60
O save us all, More of More-Hall,
Thou peerless knight of these woods;
Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on,
We'll give thee all our goods.

Tut, tut, quoth he, no goods I want; 65
But I want, I want, in sooth,
A fair maid of sixteen, that's brisk, and keen,
With smiles about the mouth;
Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow,
With blushes her cheeks adorning; 70
To anoynt me o'er night, ere I go to fight,
And to dress me in the morning.

This being done, he did engage
To hew the dragon down;
But first he went, new armour to 75
Bespeak at Sheffield town;
With spikes all about, not within but without,
Of steel so sharp and strong;
Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er
Some five or six inches long. 80

Had you but seen him in this dress,
How fierce he look'd and how big,
You would have thought him for to be
Some Egyptian porcupig:

He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all, 85
Each cow, each horse, and each hog:
For fear they did flee, for they took him to be
Some strange outlandish hedge-hog.

To see this fight, all people then
Got up on trees and houses, 90
On churches some, and chimneys too;
But these put on their trowses,
Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose,
To make him strong and mighty,
He drank by the tale, six pots of ale, 95
And a quart of aqua-vitæ.

It is not strength that always wins,
For wit doth strength excell;
Which made our cunning champion
Creep down into a well; 100
Where he did think, this dragon would drink,
And so he did in truth;
And as he stoop'd low, he rose up and cry'd, boh!
And hit him in the mouth.

O, quoth the dragon, pox take thee, come out, 105
Thou disturb'st me in my drink:
And then he turn'd, and s... at him;
Good lack how he did stink!
Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul,
Thy dung smells not like balsam; 110
Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore,
Sure thy diet is unwholesome.

Our politick knight, on the other side,
Crept out upon the brink,
And gave the dragon such a douse, 115
He knew not what to think:
By cock, quoth he, say you so: do you see?
And then at him he let fly

With hand and with foot, and so they went to't;
And the word it was, Hey boys, hey! 120

Your words, quoth the dragon, I don't understand:
Then to it they fell at all,
Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may,
Compare great things with small.
Two days and a night, with this dragon did fight 125
Our champion on the ground;
Tho' their strength it was great, their skill it was neat,
They never had one wound.

At length the hard earth began to quake,
The dragon gave him a knock, 130
Which made him to reel, and straitway he thought,
To lift him as high as a rock,
And thence let him fall. But More of More-Hall,
Like a valiant son of Mars,
As he came like a lout, so he turn'd him about, 135
And hit him a kick on the a...

Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh,
And turn'd six times together,
Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing
Out of his throat of leather; 140
More of More-Hall! O thou rascàl!
Would I had seen thee never;
With the thing at thy foot, thou hast prick'd my a...gut,
And I'm quite undone for ever.

Murder, murder, the dragon cry'd, 145
Alack, alack, for grief;
Had you but mist that place, you could
Have done me no mischief.

Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked,
And down he laid and cry'd; 150
First on one knee, then on back tumbled he,
So groan'd, kickt, s..., and dy'd.

FOOTNOTES:

[431] Collection of Historical Ballads in 3 vol. 1727.

[432] See above, pp. 108, 216.

[433] Ver. 29. were to him gorse and birches. _Other Copies._

[434] [Wharncliffe is about six miles from Rotherham.]

XIV.

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.

THE FIRST PART.

As the former song is in ridicule of the extravagant incidents in old ballads and metrical romances; so this is a burlesque of their style; particularly of the rambling transitions and wild accumulations of unconnected parts, so frequent in many of them.

This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, "imprinted at London, 1612." It is more ancient than many of the preceding; but we place it here for the sake of connecting it with the _Second Part_.

* * * * *

[_Saint George that, O! did break the dragon's heart_ is one of the ballads offered for sale by Nightingale, the ballad-singer in Ben Jonson's comedy of _Bartholomew Fair_ (act ii. sc. 1), and according to Fielding's Tom Jones, _St. George, he was for England_, was one of Squire Western's favourite tunes.

This ballad is printed in several collections, and Mr. Chappell notices a modernization subscribed S. S. and "printed for W. Gilbertson in Giltspur Street," about 1659, which commences--

"What need we brag or boast at all
Of Arthur and his knights."]

* * * * *

Why doe you boast of Arthur and his knightes,
Knowing 'well' how many men have endured fightes?
For besides king Arthur, and Lancelot du lake,
Or sir Tristram de Lionel, that fought for ladies sake;
Read in old histories, and there you shall see
How St. George, St. George the dragon made to flee.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

Mark our father Abraham, when first he resckued Lot
Onely with his household, what conquest there he got:
David was elected a prophet and a king,
He slew the great Goliah, with a stone within a sling:
Yet these were not knightes of the table round;
Nor St. George, St. George, who the dragon did confound.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

Jephthah and Gideon did lead their men to fight,
They conquered the Amorites, and put them all to flight:
Hercules his labours 'were' on the plaines of Basse;
And Sampson slew a thousand with the jawbone of an asse,
And eke he threw a temple downe, and did a mighty spoyle:
But St. George, St. George he did the dragon foyle.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

The warres of ancient monarchs it were too long to tell,
And likewise of the Romans, how farre they did excell;
Hannyball and Scipio in many a fielde did fighte:
Orlando Furioso he was a worthy knighte:
Remus and Romulus, were they that Rome did builde:
But St. George, St. George the dragon made to yielde.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

The noble Alphonso, that was the Spanish king,
The order of the red scarffes and bandrolles in did bring:[435]
He had a troope of mighty knightes, when first he did begin,
Which sought adventures farre and neare, that conquest they might
win:
The ranks of the Pagans he often put to flight:
But St. George, St. George did with the dragon fight.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

Many 'knights' have fought with proud Tamberlaine.
Cutlax the Dane, great warres he did maintaine:
Rowland of Beame, and good 'sir' Olivere
In the forest of Acon slew both woolfe and beare:
Besides that noble Hollander, 'sir' Goward with the bill:
But St. George, St. George the dragon's blood did spill.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

Valentine and Orson were of king Pepin's blood:
Alfride and Henry they were brave knightes and good:
The four sons of Aymon, that follow'd Charlemaine:
Sir Hughon of Burdeaux, and Godfrey of Bullaine:
These were all French knightes that lived in that age:
But St. George, St. George the dragon did assuage.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

Bevis conquered Ascapart, and after slew the boare,
And then he crost beyond the seas to combat with the moore:
Sir Isenbras, and Eglamore they were knightes most bold;
And good Sir John Mandeville of travel much hath told:
There were many English knights that Pagans did convert:
But St. George, St. George pluckt out the dragon's heart.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

The noble earl of Warwick, that was call'd sir Guy,
The infidels and pagans stoutlie did defie;
He slew the giant Brandimore, and after was the death
Of that most ghastly dun cowe, the divell of Dunsmore heath;
Besides his noble deeds all done beyond the seas:
But St George, St. George the dragon did appease.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

Richard C[oe]ur-de-lion erst king of this land,
He the lion gored with his naked hand:[436]
The false duke of Austria nothing did he feare;
But his son he killed with a boxe on the eare;
Besides his famous actes done in the holy lande:
But St. George, St. George the dragon did withstande.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

Henry the fifth he conquered all France,
And quartered their arms, his honour to advance:
He their cities razed, and threw their castles downe,
And his head he honoured with a double crowne:
He thumped the French-men, and after home he came:
But St. George, St. George he did the dragon tame.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

St. David of Wales the Welsh-men much advance:
St. Jaques of Spaine, that never yet broke lance:
St. Patricke of Ireland, which was St. Georges boy,
Seven yeares he kept his horse, and then stole him away:
For which knavish act, as slaves they doe remaine:
But St. George, St. George the dragon he hath slaine.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

FOOTNOTES:

[435] This probably alludes to "An Ancient Order of Knighthood, called the Order of the Band, instituted by Don Alphonsus, king of Spain, ... to wear a red riband of three fingers breadth," &c. See Ames _Typog._ p. 327.

[436] Alluding to the fabulous exploits attributed to this king in the old romances. See the dissertation affixed to this volume.

XV.

ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND.

THE SECOND PART.

Was written by JOHN GRUBB, M.A. of Christ Church, Oxford. The occasion of its being composed is said to have been as follows. A set of gentlemen of the university had formed themselves into a club, all the members of which were to be of the name of _George_: Their anniversary feast was to be held on _St. George's_ day. Our author solicited strongly to be admitted; but his name being unfortunately _John_, this disqualification was dispensed with only upon this condition, that he would compose a song in honour of their Patron Saint, and would every year produce one or more new stanzas, to be sung on their annual festival. This gave birth to the following humorous performance, the several stanzas of which were the produce of many successive anniversaries.[437]

This diverting poem was long handed about in manuscript, at length a friend of _Grubb's_ undertook to get it printed, who, not keeping pace with the impatience of his friends, was addressed in the following whimsical macaronic lines, which, in such a collection as this, may not improperly accompany the poem itself.

* * * * *

_Expostulatiuncula_, sive _Querimoniuncula_ ad _Antonium_ [_Atherton_] ob Poema _Johannis Grubb_, Viri #tou pany# ingeniosissimi in lucem nondum editi.

_Toni!_ Tune sines divina poemata Grubbi
Intomb'd in secret thus still to remain any longer,
#Tounoma sou# shall last, #Ô Grubbe diamperes aei#,
Grubbe tuum nomen vivet dum nobilis ale-a
Efficit heroas, dignamque heroe puellam.
Est genus heroum, quos nobilis efficit alea-a
Qui pro niperkin clamant, quaternque liquoris
Quem vocitant Homines Brandy, Superi Cherry-brandy,
Sæpe illi longcut, vel small-cut flare Tobacco
Sunt soliti pipos. Ast si generosior herba
(Per varios casus, per tot discrimina rerum)
Mundungus desit, tum non funcare recusant
Brown-paper tostâ, vel quod fit arundine bed-mat.
Hic labor, hoc opus est heroum ascendere sedes!
Ast ego quo rapiar! quo me feret entheus ardor
Grubbe, tui memorem? Divinum expande poema.
Quæ mora? quæ ratio est, quin Grubbi protinus anser
Virgilii, Flaccique simul canat inter olores?

At length the importunity of his friends prevailed, and Mr. Grubb's song was published at Oxford, under the following title:

_The British Heroes._
A New Poem in honour of St. George,
By Mr. _John Grubb_,
School-master of Christ-Church,
_Oxon._ 1688.

Favete linguis: carmina non prius
Audita, musarum sucerdos
Canto.--

HOR.

Sold by Henry Clements. Oxon.

* * * * *

The story of king Arthur old
Is very memorable,
The number of his valiant knights,
And roundness of his table:
The knights around his table in 5
A circle sate d'ye see:
And altogether made up one
Large hoop of chivalry.
He had a sword, both broad and sharp,
Y-clepd Caliburn, 10
Would cut a flint more easily,
Than pen-knife cuts a corn;
As case-knife does a capon carve,
So would it carve a rock,
And split a man at single slash, 15
From noddle down to nock.
As Roman Augur's steel of yore
Dissected Tarquin's riddle,
So this would cut both conjurer
And whetstone thro' the middle. 20
He was the cream of Brecknock,
And flower of all the Welsh:
But George he did the dragon fell,
And gave him a plaguy squelsh.[438]
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; 25
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

Pendragon, like his father Jove,
Was fed with milk of goat;
And like him made a noble shield
Of she-goat's shaggy coat: 30
On top of burnisht helmet he
Did wear a crest of leeks;
And onions' heads, whose dreadful nod
Drew tears down hostile cheeks.
Itch, and Welsh blood did make him hot, 35
And very prone to ire;
H' was ting'd with brimstone, like a match,
And would as soon take fire.
As brimstone he took inwardly
When scurf gave him occasion, 40
His postern puff of wind was a
Sulphureous exhalation.
The Briton never tergivers'd,
But was for adverse drubbing,
And never turn'd his back to aught, 45
But to a post for scrubbing.
His sword would serve for battle, or
For dinner, if you please;
When it had slain a Cheshire man,
'Twould toast a Cheshire cheese. 50
He wounded, and, in their own blood
Did anabaptize Pagans:
But George he made the dragon an
Example to all dragons.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; 55
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

Brave Warwick Guy, at dinner time,
Challeng'd a gyant savage;
And streight came out the unweildy lout
Brim-full of wrath and cabbage: 60
He had a phiz of latitude,
And was full thick i' th' middle;
The chekes of puffed trumpeter,
And paunch of squire Beadle.[439]
But the knight fell'd him, like an oak, 65
And did upon his back tread;
The valiant knight his weazon cut,
And Atropos his packthread.
Besides he fought with a dun cow,
As say the poets witty, 70
A dreadful dun, and horned too,
Like dun of Oxford city:
The fervent dog-days made her mad,
By causing heat of weather,
Syrius and Procyon baited her, 75
As bull-dogs did her father:
Grafiers, nor butchers this fell beast,
E'er of her frolick hindered;
John Dosset[440] she'd knock down as flat,
As John knocks down her kindred: 80
Her heels would lay ye all along,
And kick into a swoon;
Frewin's[441] cow-heels keep up your corpse,
But hers would beat you down.
She vanquisht many a sturdy wight, 85
And proud was of the honour;
Was pufft by mauling butchers so,
As if themselves had blown her.
At once she kickt, and pusht at Guy,
But all that would not fright him; 90
Who wav'd his winyard o'er sir-loyn,
As if he'd gone to knight him.
He let her blood, frenzy to cure,
And eke he did her gall rip;
His trenchant blade, like cook's long spit, 95
Ran thro' the monster's bald-rib:
He rear'd up the vast crooked rib,
Instead of arch triumphal:
But George hit th' dragon such a pelt,
As made him on his bum fall. 100
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

Tamerlain, with Tartarian bow,
The Turkish squadrons slew;
And fetch'd the pagan crescent down, 105
With half-moon made of yew:
His trusty bow proud Turks did gall,
With showers of arrows thick,
And bow-strings, without strangling, sent
Grand Viziers to old Nick: 110
Much turbants, and much Pagan pates
He made to humble in dust;
And heads of Saracens he fixt
On spear, as on a sign-post:
He coop'd in cage Bajazet the prop 115
Of Mahomet's religion,
As if't been the whispering bird,
That prompted him; the pigeon.
In Turkey leather scabbard, he
Did sheathe his blade so trenchant: 120
But George he swinged the dragon's tail,
And cut off every inch on't.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

The amazon Thalestris was 125
Both beautiful, and bold;
She sear'd her breasts with iron hot,
And bang'd her foes with cold.
Her hand was like the tool, wherewith
Jove keeps proud mortals under: 130
It shone just like his lightning,
And batter'd like his thunder.
Her eye darts lightning, that would blast
The proudest he that swagger'd,
And melt the rapier of his soul, 135
In its corporeal scabbard.
Her beauty, and her drum to foes
Did cause amazement double;
As timorous larks amazed are
With light, and with a low-bell: 140

With beauty, and that lapland-charm,[442]
Poor men she did bewitch all;
Still a blind whining lover had,
As Pallas had her scrich-owl.
She kept the chastness of a nun 145
In armour, as in cloyster:
But George undid the dragon just
As you'd undo an oister.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_. 150

Stout Hercules, was offspring of
Great Jove, and fair Alcmene:
One part of him celestial was,
One part of him terrene.
To scale the hero's cradle walls 155
Two fiery snakes combin'd,
And, curling into swaddling cloaths,
About the infant twin'd:
But he put out these dragons' fires,
And did their hissing stop; 160
As red-hot iron with hissing noise
Is quencht in blacksmith's shop.
He cleans'd a stable, and rubb'd down
The horses of new-comers;
And out of horse-dung he rais'd fame, 165
As Tom Wrench[443] does cucumbers.
He made a river help him through;
Alpheus was under-groom;
The stream, disgust at office mean,
Ran murmuring thro' the room: 170
This liquid ostler to prevent
Being tired with that long work,
His father Neptune's trident took,
Instead of three-tooth'd dung-fork.
This Hercules, as soldier, and 175
As spinster, could take pains;
His club would sometimes spin ye flax,
And sometimes knock out brains:
H' was forc'd to spin his miss a shift
By Juno's wrath and hér-spite; 180
Fair Omphale whipt him to his wheel,
As cook whips barking turn-spit.
From man, or churn he well knew how
To get him lasting fame:
He'd pound a giant, till the blood, 185
And milk till butter came.
Often he fought with huge battoon,
And oftentimes he boxed;
Tapt a fresh monster once a month,
As Hervey[444] doth fresh hogshead. 190
He gave Anteus such a hug,
As wrestlers give in Cornwall:
But George he did the dragon kill,
As dead as any door-nail.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France; 195
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

The Gemini, sprung from an egg,
Were put into a cradle:
Their brains with knocks and bottled ale,
Were often-times full addle: 200
And, scarcely hatch'd, these sons of him,
That hurls the bolt trisulcate,
With helmet-shell on tender head,
Did tustle with red-ey'd pole-cat.
Castor a horseman, Pollux tho' 205
A boxer was, I wist:
The one was fam'd for iron heel;
Th' other for leaden fist.
Pollux to shew he was god,
When he was in a passion 210
With fist made noses fall down flat
By way of adoration:

This fist, as sure as French disease,
Demolish'd noses' ridges:
He like a certain lord[445] was famd' 215
For breaking down of bridges.
Castor the flame of fiery steed,
With well-spur'd boots took down;
As men, with leathern buckets, quench
A fire in country town. 220
His famous horse, that liv'd on oats,
Is sung on oaten quill;
By bards' immortal provender
The nag surviveth still.
This shelly brood on none but knaves 225
Employ'd their brisk artillery:
And flew as naturally at rogues,
As eggs at thief in pillory.[446]
Much sweat they spent in furious fight,
Much blood they did effund: 230
Their whites they vented thro' the pores;
Their yolks thro' gaping wound:
Then both were cleans'd from blood and dust
To make a heavenly sign;
The lads were, like their armour, scowr'd, 235
And then hung up to shine;
Such were the heavenly double-Dicks,
The sons of Jove and Tyndar:
But George he cut the dragon up,
As he had bin duck or windar.[447] 240
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

Gorgon a twisted adder wore
For knot upon her shoulder:
She kemb'd her hissing periwig, 245
And curling snakes did powder.
These snakes they made stiff changelings
Of all the folks they hist on;
They turned barbars into hones,
And masons into free-stone: 250
Sworded magnetic Amazon
Her shield to load-stone changes;
Then amorous sword by magic belt
Clung fast unto her haunches.
This shield long village did protect, 255
And kept the army from-town,
And chang'd the bullies into rocks,
That came t' invade Long-Compton.[448]
She post-diluvian stores unmans,
And Pyrrha's work unravels; 260
And stares Deucalion's hardy boys
Into their primitive pebbles.
Red noses she to rubies turns,
And noddles into bricks:
But George made dragon laxative; 265
And gave him a bloody flix.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

By boar-spear Meleager got,
An everlasting name, 270
And out of haunch of basted swine,
He hew'd eternal fame.
This beast each hero's trouzers ript,
And rudely shew'd his bare-breech,
Prickt but the wem, and out there came 275
Heroic guts and garbadge.
Legs were secur'd by iron boots
No more, than peas by peascods:
Brass helmets, with inclosed sculls,
Wou'd crackle in's mouth like chestnuts. 280
His tawny hairs erected were
By rage, that was resistless;
And wrath, instead of cobler's wax,
Did stiffen his rising bristles.
His tusk lay'd dogs so dead asleep, 285
Nor horn, nor whip cou'd wake 'um:
It made them vent both their last blood,
And their last album-grecum.
But the knight gor'd him with his spear,
To make of him a tame one, 290
And arrows thick, instead of cloves,
He stuck in monster's gammon.
For monumental pillar, that
His victory might be known,
He rais'd up, in cylindric form, 295
A collar of the brawn.

He sent his shade to shades below,
In Stygian mud to wallow:
And eke the stout St. George eftsoon,
He made the dragon follow. 300
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

Achilles of old Chiron learnt
The great horse for to ride;
H' was taught by th' Centaur's rational part, 305
The hinnible to bestride.
Bright silver feet, and shining face
Had that stout hero's mother;
As rapier's silver'd at one end,
And wounds you at the other. 310
Her feet were bright, his feet were swift,
As hawk pursuing sparrow:
Her's had the metal, his the speed
Of Braburn's[449] silver arrow.
Thetis to double pedagogue 315
Commits her dearest boy;
Who bred him from a slender twig
To be the scourge of Troy:
But ere he lash't the Trojans, h' was
In Stygian waters steept; 320
As birch is soaked first in piss,
When boys are to be whipt.
With skin exceeding hard, he rose
From lake, so black and muddy,
As lobsters from the ocean rise, 325
With shell about their body:
And, as from lobster's broken claw,
Pick out the fish you might:
So might you from one unshell'd heel
Dig pieces of the knight. 330
His myrmidons robb'd Priam's barns
And hen-roosts, says the song;
Carried away both corn and eggs,
Like ants from whence they sprung.
Himself tore Hector's pantaloons, 335
And sent him down bare-breech'd
To pedant Radamanthus, in
A posture to be switch'd.
But George he made the dragon look,
As if he had been bewitch'd. 340
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

Full fatal to the Romans was
The Carthaginian Hanni-
bal; him I mean, who gave them such 345
A devilish thump at Cannæ:
Moors thick, as goats on Penmenmure,
Stood on the Alpes's front:
Their one-eyed guide,[450] like blinking mole,
Bor'd thro' the hindring mount: 350
Who, baffled by the massy rock,
Took vinegar for relief;
Like plowmen, when they hew their way
Thro' stubborn rump of beef.
As dancing louts from humid toes 355
Cast atoms of ill favour
To blinking Hyatt,[451] when on vile crowd
He merriment does endeavour,
And saws from suffering timber out
Some wretched tune to quiver: 360
So Romans slunk and squeak'd at sight
Of Affrican carnivor.
The tawny surface of his phiz
Did serve instead of vizzard:
But George he made the dragon have 365
A grumbling in his gizzard.
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

The valour of Domitian,
It must not be forgotten; 370
Who from the jaws of worm-blowing flies,
Protected veal and mutton.
A squadron of flies errant,
Against the foe appears;
With regiments of buzzing knights, 375
And swarms of volunteers:
The warlike wasp encourag'd 'em,
With animating hum;
And the loud brazen hornet next,
He was their kettle-drum: 380
The Spanish don Cantharido
Did him most sorely pester,
And rais'd on skin of vent'rous knight
Full many a plaguy blister.
A bee whipt thro' his button hole, 385
As thro' key hole a witch,
And stabb'd him with her little tuck
Drawn out of scabbard breech:
But the undaunted knight lifts up
An arm both big and brawny, 390
And slasht her so, that here lay head,
And there lay bag and honey:

Then 'mongst the rout he flew as swift,
As weapon made by Cyclops,
And bravely quell'd seditious buz, 395
By dint of massy fly-flops.
Surviving flies do curses breathe,
And maggots too at Cæsar:
But George he shav'd the dragon's beard,
And Askelon[452] was his razor. 400
St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France;
Sing, _Honi soit qui mal y pense_.

_John Grubb_, the facetious writer of the foregoing song, makes a distinguished figure among the Oxford wits so humorously enumerated in the following distich:

Alma novem genuit célebres Rhedycina poetas
Bub, Stubb, Grubb, Crabb, Trap, Young, Carey, Tickel, Evans.

These were Bub Dodington (the late lord Melcombe), Dr. Stubbes, our poet _Grubb_, Mr. Crabb, Dr. Trapp the poetry-professor, Dr. Edw. Young, the author of Night-Thoughts, Walter Carey, Thomas Tickel, Esq., and Dr. Evans the epigrammatist.

As for our poet _Grubb_, all that we can learn further of him is contained in a few extracts from the University Register, and from his epitaph. It appears from the former that he was matriculated in 1667, being the son of John Grubb, "_de Acton Burnel in comitatu Salop. pauperis_." He took his degree of Bachelor of Arts, June 28, 1671: and became Master of Arts, June 28, 1675. He was appointed Head Master of the Grammar School at Christ Church: and afterwards chosen into the same employment at Gloucester, where he died in 1697, as appears from his monument in the church of St. Mary de Crypt in Gloucester, which is inscribed with the following epitaph:--

H. S. E.
_Johannes Grubb, A. M._
Natus apud Acton Burnel in agro Salopiensi
Anno Dom. 1645.
Cujus variam in linguis notitiam,
et felicem erudiendis pueris industriam,
gratâ adhuc memoriâ testatur Oxonium:
Ibi enim Ædi Christi initiatus,
artes excoluit;
Pueros ad easdem mox excolendas
accuratè formavit:
Huc demum
unanimi omnium consensu accitus,
eandem suscepit provinciam,
quam feliciter adeo absolvit,
ut nihil optandum sit
nisi ut diutius nobis interfuisset:
Fuit enim
propter festivam ingenij suavitatem,
simplicem morum candorem, et
præcipuam erga cognatos benevolentiam,
omnibus desideratissimus.
Obiit 2do die Aprilis, Anno Dni. 1697.
Ætatis suæ 51.

FOOTNOTES:

[437] To this circumstance it is owing that the editor has never met with two copies, in which the stanzas are arranged alike, he has therefore thrown them into what appeared the most natural order. The verses are properly long Alexandrines, but the narrowness of the page made it necessary to subdivide them: they are here printed with many improvements.

[438] [blow.]

[439] Men of bulk answerable to their places, as is well known at Oxford.

[440] A butcher that then served the college.

[441] A cook, who on fast nights was famous for selling cow-heel and tripe.

[442] The drum.

[443] Who kept Paradise gardens at Oxford.

[444] A noted drawer at the Mermaid tavern in Oxford.

[445] Lord Lovelace broke down the bridges about Oxford, at the beginning of the Revolution. See on this subject a Ballad in Smith's Poems, p. 102. London, 1713.

[446] It has been suggested by an ingenious correspondent that this was a popular subject at that time:--

Not carted bawd, or Dan de Foe,
In wooden ruff ere bluster'd so.

Smith's Poems, p. 117

[447] [perhaps a contraction of windhover, a kind of hawk.]

[448] See the account of Rolricht Stones, in Dr. Plott's _Hist. of_ _Oxfordshire_.

[449] Braburn, a gentleman commoner of Lincoln college, gave a silver arrow to be shot for by the archers of the university of Oxford.

[450] Hannibal had but one eye.

[451] A one-eyed fellow, who pretended to make fiddles, as well as play on them; well known at that time in Oxford.

[452] The name of St. George's sword.

XVI.

MARGARET'S GHOST.

This ballad, which appeared in some of the public newspapers in or before the year 1724, came from the pen of David Mallet, Esq. who in the edition of his poems, 3 vols. 1759, informs us that the plan was suggested by the four verses quoted above in page 124, which he supposed to be the beginning of some ballad now lost.

"These lines, says he, naked of ornament and simple, as they are, struck my fancy; and bringing fresh into my mind an unhappy adventure much talked of formerly, gave birth to the following poem, which was written many years ago."

The two introductory lines (and one or two others elsewhere) had originally more of the ballad simplicity, viz.

"When all was wrapt in dark midnight,
And all were fast asleep," &c.

In a late publication, intitled, _The Friends_, &c. Lond. 1773, 2 vols. 12mo. (in the first volume, p. 71) is inserted a copy of the foregoing ballad, with very great variations, which the editor of that work contends was the original; and that Mallet adopted it for his own and altered it, as here given.--But the superior beauty and simplicity of the present copy, gives it so much more the air of an original, that it will rather be believed that some transcriber altered it from Mallet's, and adapted the lines to his own taste; than which nothing is more common in popular songs and ballads.

* * * * *