Chapter IV: Introduction: ix (3)

The other version of this ballad, to which I have referred, is preserved in the Harleian MSS. It differs considerably from the one here printed, as will be at once apparent from the following opening passage:--

God that is moste of myghte,
And born was of a mayden free,
Save and kepe our comlye queene,
And also the poore comynalitie;
For wheras Kynge Richard, I understande,
Had not reigned yeares three,
But the beste Duke in all this lande
He caused to be headit at Salysburye;
That tyme the Standleyes without dowte
Were dred over England ferre and nee,
Next Kynge Richard that was soe stowte
Of any lorde in England free.
There was a ladye faire on moulde,
The name of hir was litill Bessie;
She was yonge, she was not oulde,
Bot of the yeares of one and twentye;
She colde wryte and she coulde reede,
Well she coulde wyrke by propesye;
She sojorned in the cetye of London
That tyme with the Earle of Derbye.
Upon a tyme, as I you tell,
There was noe moe bot the Earle and she,
She made complaynte one Richard the Kynge,
That was hir uncle of blode soe nee.

There are many other ballads having reference to the Stanleys, Earls of Derby; but this will be sufficient as a present example.

_Devonshire's Noble Duel_

_WITH LORD DANBY IN THE YEAR 1687._

Of this curious ballad, which is also known by the name of "The Long Armed Duke," there are several versions. The one here given is printed from a broad-sheet, and is, perhaps, the most complete of any of the versions which has come under my notice. The circumstance which gave rise to the ballad has not as yet been satisfactorily explained. It has been suggested that its origin was the quarrel in which the Earl of Devonshire, Lord Delamere, and Colonel Colepepper were engaged. It is traditionally said that the arms of the "Long Armed Duke" were so long that he could garter his stockings below the knee without stooping down or being seated!

Good people give attention to a story you shall hear,
Between the King and my Lord Delamere
A quarrel arose in the Parliament House,
Concerning the Taxes to be put in force.
With my fal de ral de ra.

I wonder, I wonder, that James our good King,
So many hard Taxes upon the poor should bring;
So many hard Taxes, as I have heard them say
Makes many a good farmer to break and run away.

Such a rout has been in the Parliament, as I hear,
Betwixt a Dutch lord and my Lord Delamere.
He said to the King, as he sat on the throne,
"If it please you, my Liege, to grant me a boon."

"Oh, what is thy boon? Come let me understand."
"'Tis to give me all the poor you have in the land;
I'll take them down to Cheshire, and there I will sow
Both hemp seed and flax seed, and hang them in a row.

It's better, my Liege, they should die a shorter death,
Than for your Majesty to starve them on earth."
With that up starts a Dutch Lord, as we hear,
And he says, "Thou proud Jack," to my Lord Delamere,

"Thou ought to be stabbed," and he turned him about,
"For affronting the King in the Parliament House."
Then up got a brave Duke, the Duke of Devonshire,
Who said, "I will fight for my Lord Delamere:--

He is under age, as I'll make it appear;
So I'll stand in defence of my Lord Delamere."
A stage then was built, and to battle they went,
To kill or be killed it was their intent.

The very first blow, as we understand,
Devonshire's rapier went back to his hand;
Then he muséd awhile, but not a word spoke
When against the King's armour his rapier he broke.

Oh, then he stept backward, and backward stept he,
And then stept forward my Lord Willoughby;
He gave him a rapier, and thus he did say,
"Play low, Devonshire, there's treachery, I see."

He knelt on his knee, and he gave him the wound;
With that the Dutch Lord fell dead on the ground.
The King call'd his soldiers, and thus he did say,
"Call Devonshire down, take the dead man away."

He answered, "My Liege, I've killed him like a man,
And it is my intent to see what clothing he's got on.
O treachery! O treachery! as I well may say,
It was your intent, O King, to take my life away.

He fought in _your_ armour, while I fought him bare,
And thou, King, shalt win it before thou dost it wear;
I neither do curse King, Parliament, or Throne,
But I wish every honest man may enjoy his own.

The rich men do flourish with silver and gold,
While poor men are starving with hunger and cold;
And if they hold on as they have begun,
They'll make little England pay dear for a King."

Another version, which I have in MS., has, besides many minor variations, these additional verses:--

Oh the Duchess of Devonshire was standing hard by,
Upon her dear husband she cast her lovely eye;
"Oh, fie upon treachery--there's been treachery, I say,--
It was your full intent to have ta'en my Duke's life away."

Then away to the Parliament these votes all went again,
And there they acted like just and honest men.
I neither curse my King, nor kingdom, crown or throne,
But I wish every honest man to enjoy but what is his own.

One of the versions of this ballad gives the name of Lord Delaware--

"In the Parliament House a great rout has been there,
Betwixt our good King and the Lord Delaware."

And it also gives the locality for sowing "hemp seed and flax seed" to "Lincolnshire." This same version speaks of the Duke of Devonshire as--

"Up sprung a Welch Lord, the brave Duke of Devonshire."

There can be no doubt, however, that Lord Delamere is the peer intended to be commemorated, and that Cheshire is the county to which he is made to refer, and to which indeed he belonged.

_The Unconsionable Batchelors of Darby:_

_Or the Young Lasses Pawn'd by their Sweet-hearts, for a large Reckning, at Nottingham Goose-Fair, where poor Susan was forced to pay the Shot._

To the tune of _To thee, to thee, &c._

This curious ballad I reprint from a black-letter broad-sheet in the Roxburghe Collection in the British Museum, where it is adorned with three curious wood-cuts. Nottingham Goose Fair, it may be well to remark, is still the most popular fair in the Midland Counties, and is annually attended by many of the "Lasses of Darby," who "with young men" go "to Goose-fair for recreation," by special trains and otherwise. The distance of Nottingham from Derby by turnpike road, along which the lasses and young men of the ballad must have travelled, is fifteen miles. Goose-fair formerly lasted for twenty-one days.

You lovers of mirth attend a while
a merry new Ditty here I write
I know it will make you laugh and smile
for every line affords delight:
The Lasses of Darby with young Men
they went to Goose-fair for recreation
But how these Sparks did serve them then
is truly worth your observation:
Truly, truly, worth your observation,
therefore I pray observe this Ditty
The Maids did complain they came there in vain
and was not, was not that a pity.

So soon as they came into the Fair
the Batchellers made them conjues low
And bid them a thousand welcomes there
this done, to a tipling-school they go:
How pleasant was honest Kate and Sue?
believing they should be richly treated,
But Neighbours and Friends as I am true
no Lasses ever was so cheated:
Cheated, cheated, very farely cheated
they were left alone to make their moan
And was not, was not that a pity.

The innocent Lasses fair and gay
concluded the Men was kind and free
Because they pass'd the time away
a plenty of cakes and ale they see;
For sider and mead they then did call
and whatever else the House afforded
But Susan was forc'd to pay for all
out of the money she had hoarded
Hoarded, hoarded, money she had hoarded
it made her sing a doleful Ditty
And so did the rest with grief opprest
and was not, was not that a pity.

Young Katy she seemed something coy
because she would make them eager grow,
As knowing thereby she might enjoy
what beautiful Damsels long to know.
On compliments they did not stand
nor did they admire their charming features
For they had another game in hand
which was to pawn those pretty Creatures;
Creatures, creatures, loving loving creatures
which was so charming fair and pretty
The Men sneak'd away and nothing did pay
and was not, was not that a pity?

Though 'f out of the door they enterd first
and left them tipling there behind
Those innocent Maids did not mistrust
that Batchelors could be so unkind;
Quoth Susan, I know their gone to buy
the fairings which we do require
And they will return, I know, for why
they do our youthful charms admire,
Therefore, therefore stay a little longer
and I will sing a pleasant Ditty
But when they found they were catch'd in the pound
they sigh'd and weep'd the more's the pity.

Now finding the Men returned no more
and that the good People would not trust
They presently call'd to know the score
it chanc'd to be fifteen shillings just:
Poor Kate had but five pence in her purse
but Sue had a crown besides a guinney;
And since the case had happen'd thus
poor Soul she paid it e'ry penny;
Penny, penny, e'ry, e'ry penny
tho' with a sad and doleful Ditty
Said she for this I had not a kiss
and was not, was not that a pity?

Printed for J. Bessel, in West-Smithfield.

_The Humours of Hayfield Fair._

This ballad, copied from a broad-sheet, has been printed in Hutchinson's "Tour through the High Peak of Derbyshire," 1809. It will be seen to be a version--whether the original one or not remains to be seen--of the favourite ballad usually called "Come Lasses and Lads," of which the earliest known copy appears to have been printed in 1672, under the title of "The Rural Dance about the May-pole," and which has again been printed in "Pills to purge Melancholy," in "Tixhall poetry," and also, with the music, in Chappel's "Popular Music of the Olden Time," as well as in several other works. It ought to be stated that the ballad I here reprint--"The Humours of Hayfield Fair,"--although I speak of it as a version of the "Rural Dance about the May-pole," is, with the exception of here and there a verse, or part of a verse, totally distinct from it. It will, of course, be seen to go to the same tune. Hayfield is a village near Chapel-en-le-Frith, in the High Peak of Derbyshire,--in the midst of a district as wild in its superstitions as in its ballad poetry, and in its traditions as in its scenery. It has two fairs in the year, which were formerly much frequented by the "Lads and Lasses" of the district, whether they had "leave of their dads" or not.

Come, lasses and lads, take leave of your dads,
And away to the fair let's hie;
For every lad has gotten his lass,
And a fiddler standing by;
For Jenny has gotten her Jack,
And Nancy has gotten her Joe,
With Dolly and Tommy, good lack,
How they jig it to and fro!
Ritum, raddledum, raddledum; ritum raddledum ri;
Ritum, raddledum, raddledum; ritum raddledum ri.

My heart 'gain ribs ga' thumps,
When I went to th' wake or fair,
Wi' a pair of new sol'd pumps,
To dance when I got there;
I'd ride grey nag I swore,
And were mounted like a king,
Cousin Dickey walked on a'fore,
Driving a pig tied wi' a string.
Ritum raddledum, &c.

Pally Sampson too was there,
Wi' "Neighbour how do you do?"
There were all the world at the fair,
And drunk 'till they were fou';
'Twas neither heigh! nor gee!
For soon as I sold my cow,
The fiddler shog'd his knee,
And I danced my pumps clean through.
Ritum raddledum, &c.

"You're out," says Dick--"I'm not," says Nick,
"The fiddler plays it false;"
And so says Hugh, and so says Sue,
And so says nimble Alice;
The fiddler did agree,
To right us in a crack,
Dance face to face, says he,
And then dance back to back.
Ritum raddledum, &c.

Thus after an hour they tript to a bower
To play for ale and cakes,
And kisses too--until they were due,
The maidens held the stakes;
The women then began
To quarrel with the men,
And bad them _take their kisses back_,
And gi' 'em their _own again_.
Ritum raddledum, &c.

Thus they sat, until it were late,
And they tir'd the fiddler quite,
Wi' singing and playing, without any paying,
From morning until it were night:
They told the fiddler then
They'd pay him for his play,
And each gave two-pence,
_(Speaking)_ (Ey, they gave him two pence a piece)
And then they hopp'd away.
Ritum raddledum, &c.

Come Dolly, says I, now homeward hie,
And I'll go wi' thee a mile;
She twinkled her eyes wi' a sigh
As I handed her over the style;
Then I cuddled, and kissed her face,
Were I much to blame?
Had you been in my place,
_(Speaking)_ (I don't mean you in the smock frock dancing a hornpipe--
I mean that sly looking fellow smoking his pipe in the corner,)
I vow you'd ha' done the same.
Ritum raddledum, &c.

_ON THE_

_Strange and Wonderful Sight_

_That was seen in the Air on the 6th of March_, 1716.

This ballad occurs in "The Garland of Merriment: containing Three New Songs. 1st. A Game at Cards for a Kingdom, or Mar routed. 2d. A Comical Scotch Dialogue between a Highlander and his Wife about the last Battle. 3d. A Copy of Verses on the Death of my Lord Derwentwater. 4th. On the Wonderful Sight that was seen in the Air on the 6th of March last. Nottingham: Printed by William Ayscough in Bridlesmith Gate." I am not aware that it has ever been reprinted, except by myself in "The Reliquary" for April 1866. The appearances were probably those of the Aurora borealis. On the title-page of this curious chap-book, which was printed in 1716-7, is a wood-cut of four persons playing cards at a table.

The sixth of March, kind neighbours this is true,
A wonder in the Sky came to my View;
I pray believe it, for I tell no Lye,
There's many more did see it as well as I.

I was on a Travel, and was very late,
To speak the truth just about Day-light' gate;
My Heart did tremble being all alone,
To see such Wonders--the like was never known.

The first of all so dark it was to me,
That much ado my Way I had to see;
I turn'd me round to see some Lights appear,
And then I saw those Wonders in the air.

These Lights to me like great long spears did show,
Sharp at one end, kind neighbours this is true;
I was so troubled, I could not count them o'er,
But I suppose there was above a score.

Then I saw like Blood it did appear,
And that was very throng among those spears;
I thought the Sky would have opened in my View,
I was so daunted I knew not what to do.

The next I saw two Clouds meet fierce together
As if they would have fought one another;
And darkened all these Spears excepting one,
They gave a Clash and quickly they were gone.

The very last Day in the same month I am told
Many People did strange Sights behold;
At _Hartington_, the truth I will not spare,
That Night they saw Great Wonders in the Air.

This _Hartington_ it is in _Darbyshire_,
And credible persons living there,
They have declared what Wonders they did view
The very last night in _March_ its certain true.

About Eleven a'Clock late in that Night,
A very dark Cloud which did them sore afright;
Great smoke there came, it was perfect to their view,
They cried out, O Lord, what must we do?

They saw Great Lights which did amaze them sore,
The like was never seen in any _Age_ before,
They went into their Houses for to Pray,
We must Repent whilst it is call'd to Day.

_The Drunken Butcher of Tideswell._

Tideswell is one of the largest and most important villages in the High Peak of Derbyshire, and has been more than once, as will be seen in the present volume, celebrated in song and ballad. It is situated about seven miles from Buxton, and the same from Bakewell, in a highly romantic and wildly picturesque neighbourhood. Its church is a fine building, containing many interesting monuments, among which are those to the Foljambes, Meverells, &c., and one to Bishop Pursglove. The following ballad is the production of William Bennett, the author of "The King of the Peak," "The Cavalier," etc. Of this ballad Mr. Bennett thus spoke in the "Reliquary," in which it appeared:--"The ballad (the subject of which is as well known in the Peak as that Kinder Scout is the highest hill, and Tideswell Church the most stately and beautiful church in it) will perhaps appear a little modernised to some, who have only heard the tale from the mouths of unsober topers, accustomed to use ancient provincial and obsolete words, which not only render the sense less distinguishable, but also mar the flow of the rhythm. I confess, therefore, to having taken some liberties with the grammar, the orthography, and the metre; but in all other respects I have strictly adhered to the original; and my honesty in this respect will be recognized and admitted by many persons to whom these minstrel relics are precious.

"The legend is still so strong in the Peak, that numbers of the inhabitants do not concur in the sensible interpretation put upon the _appearance_ by the Butcher's wife, but pertinaciously believe that the drunken man was beset by an evil spirit, which either ran by his horse's side, or rolled on the ground before him, faster than his horse could gallop, from Peak Forest to the sacred inclosure of Tideswell churchyard, where it disappeared; and many a bold fellow, on a moonlight night, looks anxiously around as he crosses Tideswell Moor, and gives his nag an additional touch of the spur, as he hears the bell of Tideswell Church swinging midnight to the winds, and remembers the tale of the 'Drunken Butcher of Tideswell.'"

Oh, list to me, ye yeomen all,
Who live in dale or down!
My song is of a butcher tall,
Who lived in Tiddeswall town.
In bluff King Harry's merry days,
He slew both sheep and kine;
And drank his fill of nut brown ale,
In lack of good red wine.

Beside the Church this Butcher lived,
Close to its gray old walls;
And envied not, when trade was good,
The Baron in his halls.
No carking cares disturbed his rest,
When off to bed he slunk;
And oft he snored for ten good hours,
Because he got so drunk.

One only sorrow quelled his heart,
As well it might quell mine--
The fear of sprites and grisly ghosts,
Which dance in the moonshine;
Or wander in the cold Churchyard,
Among the dismal tombs;
Where hemlock blossoms in the day,
By night the nightshade blooms.

It chanced upon a summer's day,
When heather-bells were blowing,
Bold Robin crossed o'er Tiddeswall Moor,
And heard the heath-cock crowing:
Well mounted on a forest nag,
He freely rode and fast;
Nor drew a rein, till Sparrow Pit,[4]
And Paislow Moss[5] were past.

Then slowly down the hill he came,
To the Chappelle en le firth,[6]
Where, at the Rose of Lancaster,
He found his friend the Smith:
The Parson, and the Pardoner too,
There took their morning draught;
And when they spied a Brother near,
They all came out and laughed.

"Now draw thy rein, thou jolly Butcher;
How far hast thou to ride?"
"To Waylee-Bridge,[7] to Simon the Tanner,
To sell this good cow-hide."
"Thou shall not go one foot ayont,
'Till thou light and sup with me;
And when thou'st emptied my measure of liquor,
I'll have a measure wi' thee."

"Oh no, oh no, thou drouthy Smith!
I cannot tarry to-day:
The Wife, she gave me a charge to keep;
And I durst not say her nay."
"What likes o' that," said the Parson then,
"If thou'st sworn, thou'st ne'er to rue:
Thou may'st keep thy pledge, and drink thy stoup,
As an honest man e'en may do."

"Oh no, oh no, thou jolly Parson!
I cannot tarry, I say;
I was drunk last night, and if I tarry,
I'se be drunk again to-day."
"What likes, what likes," cried the Pardoner then,
"Why tellest thou that to me?
Thou may'st e'en get thee drunk this blessed night;
And well shrived for both thou shalt be."

Then down got the Butcher from his horse,
I wot full fain was he;
And he drank 'till the summer sun was set,
In that jolly company:
He drank 'till the summer sun went down,
And the stars began to shine;
And his greasy noddle was dazed and addle,
With the nut brown ale and wine.

Then up arose those four mad fellows,
And joining hand in hand,
They danced around the hostel floor,
And sung, tho' they scarce could stand,
"We've aye been drunk on yester night,
And drunk the night before;
And sae we're drunk again to-night,
If we never get drunk any more."

Bold Robin the Butcher was horsed and away;
And a drunken wight was he;
For sometimes his blood-red eyes saw double;
And then he could scantly see.
The forest trees seemed to featly dance,
As he rode so swift along;
And the forest trees, to his wildered sense,
Resang the jovial song.

Then up he sped over Paislow Moss,
And down by the Chamber Knowle:[8]
And there he was scared into mortal fear
By the hooting of a barn owl:
And on he rode, by the Forest Wall,
Where the deer browsed silently;
And up the Slack, 'till, on Tiddeswall Moor,
His horse stood fair and free.

Just then the moon, from behind the rack,
Burst out into open view;
And on the sward and purple heath
Broad light and shadow threw;
And there the Butcher, whose heart beat quick,
With fear of Gramarye,
Fast by his side, as he did ride,
A foul phantom did espy.

Uprose the fell of his head, uprose
The hood which his head did shroud;
And all his teeth did chatter and girn,
And he cried both long and loud;
And his horse's flank with his spur he struck,
As he never had struck before;
And away he galloped, with might and main,
Across the barren moor.

But ever as fast as the Butcher rode,
The Ghost did grimly glide:
Now down on the earth before his horse,
Then fast his rein beside:
O'er stock and rock, and stone and pit,
O'er hill and dale and down,
'Till Robin the Butcher gained his door-stone,
In Tiddeswall's good old town.

"Oh, what thee ails, thou drunken Butcher?"
Said his Wife, as he sank down;
"And what thee ails, thou drunken Butcher?"
Cried one-half of the Town.
"I have seen a Ghost, it hath raced my horse,
For three good miles and more;
And it vanished within the Churchyard wall,
As I sank down at the door."

"Beshrew thy heart, for a drunken beast!"
Cried his Wife, as she held him there;
"Beshrew thy heart, for a drunken beast,
And a coward, with heart of hare.
No Ghost hath raced thy horse to-night,
Nor evened his wit with thine:
The Ghost was thy shadow, thou drunken wretch!
I would the Ghost were mine."

FOOTNOTES:

[4] Sparrow Pit is a small hamlet about two miles from Chapel-en-le-Frith, situated at the "four lane ends," where the Buxton and Castleton and the Chapel-en-le-Frith and Tideswell roads intersect each other.

[5] Paislow Moss, about half way between Sparrow Pit and Sandy Way Head.

[6] Chapel-en-le-Frith is a considerable and important market town, about six miles from Buxton.

[7] Whaley Bridge, near Chapel-en-le-Frith.

[8] Chamber Knoll is about half a mile from Peak-Forest.

_A New Ballad of Robin Hood:_

_Shewing his Birth, Breeding, Valour and Marriage, at Titbury Bull-running: Calculated for the Meridian of Staffordshire but may serve for Derbyshire or Kent._

There are no series of ballads in our language so extensive or so popular as those relating to the noble outlaw, Robin Hood, and his "merry doings" in Sherwood Forest and its neighbourhood. Some of these relate immediately to Derbyshire; and many others might, from their allusions and the persons named in them, be claimed by that county. Some of his exploits are related to have been performed in Derbyshire; numerous places in that county are named after him; some of the relatives of his family resided within its confines; and last, though not least, his faithful friend and follower, _Little John_, is said not only to have been one of the sons of its soil, but to have died and been buried in the place of his birth.

That Robin Hood was a real and veritable personage seems to have been satisfactorily settled by the late Rev. Joseph Hunter, who discovered among the state papers some records wherein, besides the name being correctly given as "Robyn Hood," showed that that personage was in the King's service, and that he left it to travel;--doubtless into his favourite haunts in Yorkshire, Nottinghamshire, and Derbyshire. Among the entries relating to Robin Hood, Mr. Hunter gleaned several which tallied curiously and conclusively with the circumstances of his early life as given in the "Lytell Geste of Robyn Hode," printed about the year 1489, by Wynken de Worde.[9]

The ballad which I here give, showing "his birth, breeding, valour, and marriage at Titbury Bull-running," I give from a curious old broad-sheet in my own collection. It is printed broad-way on the paper, and has a rude wood-cut of Robin Hood with his buckler and quarter staff, and Clorinda,--another name for Maid Marian,--with a tall hat, or like the Welsh fashion, and a bow in her hand, the entrance to the church in the back-ground. It bears the imprint, "Northampton: Printed by R. Raikes and W. Dicey." A black-letter copy is in the Roxburgh Collection in the British Museum, and it has also been reprinted by Evans and by Gutch. The ballad is "supposed to be related by the fiddler who played at their wedding."

Kind Gentlemen will you be patient a while,
Ay, and then you shall hear anon,
A very good Ballad of bold _Robin Hood_,
and of his Man, brave little _John_.

In _Locksly_ Town,[10] in merry _Nottinghamshire_,
in merry sweet _Locksly_ Town;
There bold _Robin Hood_, he was born and was bred,
bold _Robin_ of famous Renown.

The Father of _Robin_ a Forester was,
and he shot in a lusty long Bow,
Two North Country Miles and a Inch at a shot,
as the _Pinder of Wakefield_[11] does know.

For he brought _Adam Bell_,[12] and _Clim of the Glugh_,[13]
and _William a Clowdel-le_;[14]
To shoot with our Forester, for forty Marks,
and the Forester beat them all three.

His Mother was Niece to a _Coventry_ Knight,
which _Warwickshire_ Men call Sir _Guy_;[15]
For he slew the Blew Bore that hangs up at the Gate,
or mine Host of the Bull tells a lie.

Her Brother was _Gamwell_[16] of great _Gamwell-Hall_,
and a noble House-keeper was he,
Ay, as ever broke Bread in sweet _Nottinghamshire_,
and a Squire of famous Degree.

The Mother of _Robin_ said to her Husband,
my Honey, my Love and my Dear;
Let _Robin_ and I, ride this Morning to _Gamwel_,
to take of my Brother's good Cheer.

And he said, I grant thee boon, gentle _Joan_,
take one of my Horses I pray:
The Sun is a rising, and therefore make Haste,
for to morrow is Christmas Day.

Then _Robin Hood's_ Father's grey Gelding was brought
and sadled and bridled was he,
God-wot, a blew Bonnet, his new Suit of Cloaths,
and a Cloak that did reach to his Knee.

She got on her Holy-day Girdle and Gown,
they were of a light _Lincoln_ Green,
The Cloath was home spun, but for Colour and make
it might a beseem'd our Queen.

And then _Robin_ got on his Basket-hilt Sword,
and a Dagger on his tother side:
And said, my dear Mother, let's haste to be gone,
we have forty long Miles to ride.

When _Robin_ had mounted his Gelding so grey,
his Father without any Trouble,
Got her up behind him, and bid her not fear,
for his Gelding had oft carried double.

And when she was settled, they rode to their Neighbours,
and drank and shook Hands with them all:
And then _Robin_ galop'd and never gave o're,
till they lighted at _Gamwel-Hall_.

And now you may think the right worshipful Squire,
was joyful his Sister to see;
For he kist her and kist her, and swore a great Oath,
thou art welcome, kind Sister, to me.

The morrow when Mass had been said in the Chappel
six Tables were cover'd in the Hall;
And in comes the 'Squire and makes a short Speech,
it was, Neighbours you are welcome all.

But not a Man here, shall tast my _March_ Beer,
till Christmas Carrol be sung;
Then all clapt their Hands, & they shouted & sung,
till the Hall and the Parlour did ring.

Now Mustard, Braun, roast-Beef and Plumb-Pies,
were set upon every Table:
And noble _George Gamwel_ said, eat and be merry,
and drink so as long as you're able.

When Dinner was ended his Chaplain said Grace,
and be merry my Friends, said the 'Squire,
It rains and it blows, but call for more Ale,
and lay some more Wood on the Fire.

And now call ye little _John_ hither to me,
for little _John_ is a fine Lad,
At Gambols and Juggling, and twenty such Tricks,
as shall make you both merry and glad.

When little _John_ came, to Gambols they went,
both Gentlemen, Yeomen and Cloun;
And what do you think? Why as true as I live,
bold _Robin Hood_ put them all down.

And now you may think the right worshipful Squire,
was joyful this Sight for to see,
For he said Cousin _Robin_, thou'st go no more home,
but tarry and dwell with me.

Thou shalt have my Land when I die, and till then
thou shalt be the Staff of my Age:
Then grant me my boon, dear Uncle, said _Robin_,
that little _John_ may by my Page.

And he said kind Cousin I grant thee thy boon,
with all my heart to let it be,
Then come hither little _John_, said _Robin Hood_,
come hither my Page, unto me.

Go fetch me my Bow, my longest long Bow,
and broad Arrows one two or three;
For when it is fair Weather, we'll into _Sherwood_,
some merry Pastime to see.

When _Robin Hood_ came into merry _Sherwood_,
he winded his bugle so clear;
And twice five and twenty good Yeomen and bold,
before _Robin Hood_ did appear.

Where are your Companions all? (said _Robin Hood_)
for still I want forty and three.
Then said a bold Yeoman, Lo yonder they stand,
all under a green Wood Tree.

As that Word was spoke, _Clorinda_[17] came by,
the Queen of the Shepherds was she:
And her Gown was of Velvet, as green as the Grass,
and her Buskin did reach to her Knee.

Her Gate it was graceful, her Body was strait
and her Countenance free from Pride:
A Bow in her Hand, and Quiver and Arrows,
hung dangling by her sweet Side.

Her Eye-brows were black, ay, and so was her Hair,
and her Chin was as smooth as Glass;
Her Visage spoke Wisdom and Modesty too,
sets with _Robin Hood_ such a Lass.

Said _Robin Hood_, Lady fair, whether away,
oh whither fair Lady away?
And she made him Answer, to kill a fat Buck,
for to-morrow is _Titbury_[18] Day.

Said _Robin Hood_, Lady fair wander with me,
a little to yonder green Bower,
There sit down to rest you, and you shall be sure,
of a brace or a lease in an Hour.

And as we were going towards the green Bower,
two hundred good Bucks we espy'd:
She chose out the fattest that was in the Herd,
and she shot him through side and side.

By the Faith of my Body, said bold _Robin Hood_,
I never saw Woman like thee,
And com'st thou from East, ay, or com'st thou from West
thou needst not beg Venison of me.

However along to the Bower you shall go,
and taste of a Forester's Meat;
And when we came thither, we found as good cheer,
as any man needs for to eat.

For there was hot Venison, and Warden pies cold,
Cream coloured with Honey-Combs plenty,
And the Sarvitors they were besides little _John_,
good yeomen at least four and twenty.

_Clorinda_ said, Tell me your Name gentle Sir?
and he said, 'Tis bold _Robin Hood_;
'Squire _Gamwel's_ my Uncle, but all my delight,
is to dwell in the merry _Sherwood_:

For 'tis a fine Life, and 'tis void of all Strife,
so 'tis Sir, _Clorinda_ reply'd;
But oh, said bold _Robin_, how sweet would it be,
if _Clorinda_ would be my Bride?

She blush'd at the Motion, yet after a Pause,
said, yes Sir, and with all my Heart,
Then let us send for a Priest, said _Robin Hood_,
and marry before we do part.

But she said, it may not be so gentle Sir,
for I must be at _Titbury_ Feast:
And if _Robin Hood_ will go thither with me,
I'll make him the most welcome Guest.

Said _Robin Hood_, reach me that Buck, little _John_,
for I'll go along with my Dear;
And bid my Yeomen kill six brace of Bucks,
go meet me to-morrow just here.

Before we had ridden five _Staffordshire_ miles,
eight Yoemen that were too bold,
Bid _Robin Hood_ stand, and deliver his Buck,
a truer tale never was told.

I will not faith, said bold _Robin_; come _John_,
stand to me and we'll beat 'em all;
Then both drew their Swords, and cut 'em and slash'd 'em,
that five of them did fall.

The three that remain'd call'd to _Robin_ for quarter,
and pitiful _John_ beg'd their Lives;
When _John's_ boon was granted, he gave them good Counsel
and so sent them home to their Wives.

This Battle was fought near _Titbury_ Town,
when the Bagpipes bated the Bull:
I am King of the Fields, and swear 'tis a Truth,
and I call him that doubts it a Gull.

For I saw him Fighting and Fidling the while,
and _Clorinda_ sung, Hey derry down:
The Bumpkins are beaten put up thy Sword _Bob_,
and let's dance into the Town.

Before we came to it, we heard a strange shouting,
and all that were in it look'd madly,
For some were a Bull-back, some Dancing a Morris,
and some singing _Arthur a Bradly_.[19]

And there we see _Thomas_ our Justices Clark,
and _Mary_ to whom he was kind:
For _Tom_ rod before her, and call'd _Mary_ Madam,
and kist her full sweetly behind.

And so may your Worship's but we went to Dinner,
with _Thomas_, and _Mary_, and _Nan_;
They all drank a Health to _Clorinda_, and told her,
bold _Robin Hood_ was a fine Man.

When Dinner was ended, Sir _Roger_ the Parson
of _Dubbridge_[20] was sent for in haste:
He brought his Mass-Book, & he bid them take hands,
and he join'd them in Marriage full fast.

And then as bold _Robin Hood_, and his sweet Bride,
went Hand in Hand to the green Bower,
The Birds sung with Pleasure in merry _Sherwood_,
and 'twas a most joyful hour.

And when _Robin_ came in the sight of the Bower,
where are my Yeomen? said he,
And little _John_ answered, Lo yonder they stand,
all under the green Wood Tree.

Then a Garland they brought her by two & by two
and placed them at the Bride's Bed:
The Musick struck up, and we fell to dance,
till the Bride and the Groom were in Bed.

And what they did there, must be Counsel to me,
because they lay long the next Day:
And I had haste home, but I got a good Piece
of the Bride-Cake and so came away.

Now out alas, I had forgot to tell ye,
that marry'd they were with a Ring:
And so will _Nan Knight_, or be buried a Maiden,
and now let us pray for the King.

That he may get Children, and they may get more,
to govern and do us some good,
And then I'll make Ballads in _Robin Hood's_ Bower,
and sing 'em in merry _Sherwood_.

FOOTNOTES:

[9] For an account of this discovery see "The Reliquary," vol. I., page 129 et seq, where, in a paper entitled "The Ballad Hero, Robin Hood," an excellent resumè of his life is given by Mr. Gutch.

[10] "Locksley in Nottinghamshire." It seems pretty certain that the real birthplace of Robin Hood, although often attributed to Nottinghamshire, was at Loxley Chase, in Yorkshire, not far from Sheffield, and near the borders of Derbyshire.

[11] The _Pinder of Wakefield_, in Yorkshire, is often alluded to in Robin Hood ballads--

"In Wakefield there lives a _jolly pinder_, In Wakefield all on a green."

The Pinder was, of course, an impounder of stray cattle.

[12] _Adam Bell_ was a northern outlaw, so celebrated for archery and other matters as to become proverbial, and

"To shoot as well
As Adam Bell"

became a common expression. He was also the subject of various ballads, and is thus alluded to by D'Avenant in 1673:--

"With loynes in canvass bow-case tyde,
Where arrowes stick with mickle pride;
Like ghosts of _Adam Bell_ and _Clymme_,
Sol sets for fear theyl shoot at hym."

[13] _Clim of the Clough_ was another famous archer, and is also alluded to in the extract given above. "Clough" signifies a ravine, or narrow glen, or close wooded dale.

[14] _William of Cloudeslee_ was also a noted archer.

[15] Guy, Earl of Warwick.

[16] Gamwell of Gamwell Hall. The family of Gamwell to which this lady belonged, was, I believe, of Cheshire, not of Nottinghamshire.

[17] Clorinda is, I presume, the same personage as the one so often alluded to as "Maid Marion."

[18] "Titbury day:" the day on which the "Minstrels' Court," with its "Bull-running," and other wild amusements, was held. The Minstrels Court at Tutbury, to which all minstrels living in the counties of Stafford and Derby did service, was presided over by a "King of the Minstrels," who was selected yearly by the four stewards, two of whom were chosen from the minstrels of Derbyshire, and the other two from those of Staffordshire. The court was held before the Stewards of the honour of Tutbury, on the morrow after the Assumption. A deed of "John of Gaunt, King of Castile and Leon, Duke of Lancaster," dated in the fourth of Richard II., confers certain powers on the "King of the Minstrels in our honour of Tutbury," and speaks of service and homage which even then had been performed by the Minstrels "from ancient times." By a later instrument it was ordered "that no person shall use or exercise the art and science of music within the said counties, as a common musician or minstrel, for benefit and gains, except he have served and been brought up in the same art and science by the space of seven years, and be allowed and admitted so to do at the said court by the jury thereof," under certain fines; that he shall not teach or instruct any one for a less time than seven years; and that he shall, under pain of forfeit, appear yearly at the "Minstrels' Court." On the day of holding the court,--"Tutbury Day," as it is called in the ballad,--all the minstrels within the honour came to the Bailiff of the Manor and proceeded in procession to the parish church, the "King" walking between the Bailiff of the Manor and the Steward of the Minstrel's Court, and attended by his own four stewards, bearing white wands. From church they proceeded in the same order to the Castle hall, where the "King" took his seat, with the Bailiff and steward on either side. The court was then opened by proclamation ordering that every minstrel dwelling within the honour of Tutbury, either in the counties of Derby, Stafford, Nottingham, Warwick, or Lancaster, should draw near and give his attendance, and that all pleas would be heard, and fines and amercements made. The musicians having been called over by court roll, two juries were empanelled and charged. The jurors then proceeded to the selection of officers for the ensuing year. The jurors having left the court for the purpose, the King and Stewards partook of a banquet, while the musicians played their best on their respective instruments. On the return of the Jurors they presented the new King whom they had chosen from the four Stewards, upon which the old King, rising, delivered to him his wand of office, and drank a cup of wine to his health and prosperity. In like manner the old Stewards saluted, and resigned their offices to their successors. This ended, the court rose, and adjourned to a general banquet, in another part of the castle. The sports of the day then commenced by a wild and infuriated bull being turned loose for the minstrels to catch. The bull was thus prepared: his horns were sawed off close to the head; his tail cut off to the stump; his ears cropped; his body rubbed all over with grease; and his nostrils, to madden him still further, blown full of pepper. While these preparations were being made, the Steward made proclamation that all manner of persons should give way to the bull, no person coming nearer to it than forty feet, except the minstrels, but that all should attend to their own safety, every one at his peril. The bull being then turned out, was to be caught by some one of the minstrels, and no one else, between that hour and sunset on the same day, within the county of Stafford. If he escaped, he remained the property of the person who gave it (formerly the Prior of Tutbury); but if any of the minstrels could lay hold of him so as to cut off a portion of his hair and bring it to the Market Cross, he was caught and taken to the Bailiff, by whom he was fastened with a rope, &c., and then brought to the bull-ring in the High Street, where he was baited by dogs. After this, the minstrels could either sell him or divide him amongst themselves. This custom appears to have prevailed from 1377 to 1778, when it was very properly discontinued. The day was one of feasting, revelry, and great excitement, for the whole district.

[19] "Arthur a Bradly." This curious ballad, I have reason to believe, is a purely Derbyshire one, the locality being Bradley near Ashborne, within only a few miles of Tutbury. Of this ballad I shall probably have more to say in another part of the present volume.

[20] "Dubberidge." This is Doveridge, a village in Derbyshire, about seven miles from Tutbury.

_Robin Hood and Little John._

Little John, the friend and sturdy companion of Robin Hood, was made almost as popular in ballads as his noble master. He is said to have been a man of immense size, and of almost unequalled prowess and strength. His name of _Little_ John was, it appears, given to him ironically, because of his extraordinary stature. He is believed to have been born at Hathersage, in the Peak of Derbyshire; a place not many miles distant from Loxley Chase, where Robin Hood first drew breath. The place of his birth is, however, claimed by other localities. The ballad I here give is interesting, as detailing his first meeting and encounter with Robin Hood, which ended in the defeat of the outlaw, and in their becoming sworn friends for life.

It will be seen that in the ballad Little John is said to have been seven feet in height. This, curiously enough, accords with the tradition current in Hathersage, where his bones were exhumed some years ago, and where his grave is still shown.

When Robin Hood was about twenty years old,
He happened to meet Little John,
A jolly brisk blade, right fit for the trade,
For he was a lusty young man.

Tho' he was call'd little, his limbs they were large,
And his stature was seven foot high:
Where ever he came, they quak'd at his name,
For soon he would make them to fly.

How they came acquainted I'll tell you in brief,
If you would but listen awhile;
For this very jest, among all the rest,
I think, may cause you to smile.

For Robin Hood said to his jolly bowmen,
Pray tarry you here in this grove,
And see that you all observe well my call,
While thorough the forest I rove.

We have had no sport these fourteen long days,
Therefore now abroad will I go;
Now should I be beat, and cannot retreat,
My horn I will presently blow.

Then did he shake hands with his merry men all,
And bid them at present good-bye;
Then as near a brook his journey he took,
A stranger he chanc'd to espy.

They happen'd to meet on a long narrow bridge,
And neither of them would give way;
Quoth bold Robin Hood, and sturdily stood,
I'll shew you right Nottingham play.

With that from his quiver an arrow he drew,
A broad arrow with a goose wing;
The stranger replied, I'll liquor thy hide,
If thou offer to touch the string.

Quoth bold Robin Hood, thou dost prate like an ass,
For, were I to bend but my bow,
I could send a dart quite through thy proud heart,
Before thou could'st strike me one blow.

Thou talk'st like a coward, the stranger replied,
Well arm'd with a long bow you stand,
To shoot at my breast, while I, I protest,
Have nought but a staff in my hand.

The name of a coward, quoth Robin, I scorn,
Therefore my long bow I'll lay by;
And now, for thy sake, a staff will I take,
The truth of thy manhood to try.

Then Robin Hood stept to a thicket of trees,
And chose him a staff of ground oak;
Now this being done, away he did run
To the stranger, and merrily spoke:

Lo! see my staff is lusty and tough:
Now, here on the bridge we will play;
Whoever falls in, the other shall win
The battle, and so we'll away.

With all my whole heart, the stranger replied,
I scorn in the least to give out.
This said, they fell to't without more dispute,
And their staffs they did flourish about.

At first Robin gave the stranger a bang,
So hard that he made his bones ring:
The stranger he said, this must be repaid,
I'll give you as good as you bring.

So long as I'm able to handle a staff,
To die in your debt, friend, I scorn:
Then to it each goes, and follow'd their blows,
As if they had been threshing of corn.

The stranger gave Robin a crack on the crown,
Which caused the blood to appear;
Then Robin enrag'd more fiercely engag'd,
And follow'd his blows more severe.

So thick and so fast did he lay it on him,
With a passionate fury and ire;
At every stroke he made him to smoke,
As if he had been all on fire.

O then in a fury the stranger he grew,
And gave him a damnable look;
And with a blow, which laid him full low,
And tumbled him into the brook.

I prithee, good fellow, O where art thou now?
The stranger, in laughter, he cried:
Quoth bold Robin Hood, Good faith, in the flood,
And floating along with the tide:

I needs must acknowledge thou art a brave soul,
With thee I'll no longer contend;
For needs must I say thou hast got the day,
Our battle shall be at an end.

Then unto the bank he did presently wade,
And pull'd him out by a thorn;
Which done, at the last he blew a loud blast
Straightway on his fine bugle horn:

The echo of which thro' the vallies did fly,
At which his stout bowmen appear'd,
All cloathed in green, most gay to be seen;
So up to their master they steer'd.

O what is the matter? quoth Will. Stutely,
Good master, you are wet to the skin:
No matter, quoth he, the lad which you see,
In fighting hath tumbled me in.

He shall not go scot-free, the others replied;
So straight they were seizing him there,
To duck him likewise: but Robin Hood cries,
He is a stout fellow, forbear.

There's no one shall wrong thee, friend, be not afraid;
These bowmen upon me do wait:
There's threescore and nine; if thou will be mine,
Thou shalt have my livery straight,

And other accoutrements fit for a man:
Speak up, jolly blade, never fear;
I'll teach you also the use of the bow,
To shoot at the fat fallow deer.

O here is my hand, the stranger replied,
I'll serve you with all my whole heart:
My name is John Little, a man of good mettle;
Ne'er doubt me, for I'll play my part.

His name shall be alter'd, quoth Will. Stutely,
And I will his godfather be;
Prepare then a feast, and none of the least,
For we will be merry, quoth he.

They presently fetch'd him a brace of fat does,
With humming strong liquor likewise:
They lov'd what was good; so in the green wood
This pretty sweet babe they baptiz'd.

He was, I must tell you, but seven feet high,
And may be an ell in the waist;
A sweet pretty lad; much feasting they had,
Bold Robin the christening grac'd,

With all his bowmen, which stood in a ring,
And were of the Nottingham breed.
Brave Stutely came then with seven yeomen,
And did in this manner proceed:

This infant was called John Little, quoth he,
Which name shall be changed anon:
The words we'll transpose; so wherever he goes,
His name shall be call'd Little John.

They all with a shout made the elements ring,
So soon as the office was o'er;
To feasting they went, with true merriment,
And tippled strong liquor gillore.

Then Robin he took the pretty sweet babe,
And cloath'd him from top to the toe
In garments of green most gay to be seen,
And gave him a curious long bow.

Thou shalt be an archer as well as the best,
And range in the green wood with us,
Where we'll not want gold nor silver, behold,
While bishops have ought in their purse.

We live here like squires or lords of renown,
Without e'er a foot of free land;
We feast on good cheer, with wine, ale, and beer,
And every thing at our command.

Then music and dancing did finish the day:
At length, when the sun waxed low,
Then all the whole train their grove did refrain,
And unto their caves they did go.

And so ever after, as long as they liv'd,
Although he was proper and tall,
Yet nevertheless, the truth to express,
Still Little John they did him call.

_Little John's End._