Chapter VI: Introduction: ix (5)

This interesting ballad, which has been more than once printed, recounts the events of a famous day's "sport,"--a run with the hounds,--at Trusley, in Derbyshire; Trusley Hall being one of the seats of the Coke family for many generations. The ballad was written by Tom Handford, a blacksmith at Trusley, who also acted in the capacity of "Whipper-in" to "Squire Coke," who was the last William Coke of Trusley, and who died in 1716. A portrait of Tom Handford was painted by order of Squire Coke, and hung up in the servants' hall at Trusley, with this inscription, written by Mr. Coke--

"This is Tom Handford--Don't you know it?
He was both Smith and Poet!"

A version of this ballad, preserved in MS. by the late D'Ewes Coke, Esq., was furnished to me by that gentleman. It differs in many essential points from the one I now print, both in the names as well as in the construction of the stanzas. The different versions of this and other ballads have doubtless arisen from their having been written down from memory; and the different singers would also, probably, take some little license in altering the words to suit their own particular tastes. I prefer giving the _printed_ version, which is evidently the original one. My copy, which I here give, was "Printed by W. O. in Leadenhall Street," and is of an almost contemporaneous period with the song itself. It is printed broadway on the sheet, in four columns, and has at the head of the first two columns a rude engraving of two huntsmen galloping past a tree, and following a stag and a couple of hounds. It is headed "_Princely Diversion: or The Jovial Hunting-Match_."

Trusley is a village and parish nearly seven miles from Derby, and about midway between Radbourne and Longford, a seat of the Coke family.

One _Valentine's_ Day in the Morning
Bright Phoebus began to appear
Sir _William Cook_ winded his horn
And was going a Hunting the Hare
Says _Handford_[55] uncouple your Beagles
And let them go Questing along
For lose her or win her, I must go to Dinner
Or else they will think me long.

Says _Handford_, I pray now forbear, Sir
And talk not of Dinner so soon
For I've not been a Hunting this Year
And how can you give over by Noon.
Black _Sloven_ shall warm your Bay _Robin_
And make him go smoaking along
Bonny _Dick_ shall not Gallop so quick
If we light of a Hare that is Strong.

Well, _Handford_, then said the good Squire
I mean for to show you a Trick
I value no Hedges nor Ditches,
But I'll let you know Bonny _Dick_;
Then hye for the _Clossam Bowfield_
We shall get her Ten Thousand to One
There's _Wonder_, lays hard _Thunder_
Away, o're away, she is gone.

The Morning was pleasant all o're
So bright and so clear was the Air
We made all the Woods for to Roar
With the Noise of our sweet Harmony.
It was for the space of Three Hours
We held all our Horses to speed
Black _Slovin_ held hard to Bay _Robin_
But yet could not do the Deed.

It was about Nine in the Morning
We sounded our first Passing Bell
Sir _William_, pray put up your Horn
For another fresh Hare will do well.
Well, _Handford_, then said the good Squire
What think you of my Bonny _Dick_
Do's think thou can make him to retire
Or not for to Gallop so quick?

Faith, Master, I needs must Confess
That I fear I was boasting too soon
But I for another fresh Hare
And you _Dick_ shall have Din'd by Noon.
Well _Handford_, have at your black _Sloven_
I'll make him in Purple to Ride
And if he does offer to Tire
I'll certainly Liquor thy Hide.

You'd serve him right well, says _Jack Wilson_[56]
For he has been taunting at me
I never was beat in the Field
So for a fresh Hare let us see,
For here is some Closses of Corn
See well to your Place e'ry one,
Then Master, pray pull out your Horn
For away, o're away she is gone.

Young _Blew-Bell_, she cry'd it before
And she cry'd it all over the Lane
And after her twelve Couple more
Thus they Rattled it o're the Plain,
Bonny _Dick_ play'd with his Bridle
And went at a desperate Rate
Come _Handford_, Pox take you, your Idle,
Must I open you the Gate.

O, Your humble Servant good Master
But I will not Die in your debt,
You shall find Black _Sloven_ go faster
For now he begins for to Sweat.
There's _Wonder_, and _Thunder_, and _Dido_
And _Merry Lass_ sweetly runs on,
There's _Younger_, Old _Ranter_, and _Rain-Bow_
But _Beauty_, she leads the Van.

She headed them Stoutly and Bravely
Just up into _Sutton's_[57] Cross Field
Black _Sloven_ began to go heavy
And made a fair Offer to yield.
_Jack Wilson_ came swinging before
So well did Bay _Robin_ maintain
And after him Bonny _Dick_ scour'd,
Black _Sloven_ was Spur'd in Vain.

But he had the Luck and good Chance
For to go now and then by the String,
She led us a dilicate Dance
But as we came the last Ring
A fresh Hare, Duce take her, we Started,
We ne'er was so vexed before,
And e're we could make em forsake her
We run her two Miles or more.

And then we left Sir _William Cook_
For to ponder upon the Old Hare
Who presently leap'd o're a Brook
And a desperate leap I declare.
He had not got past half a Mile
But this cunning Old Gypsie he spy'd
Was making back to her old File
Then away, o're away, he cry'd,

Away, o're away, my brave Boys,
And he merrily Winded his Horn
Our Beagles all toss'd up their Heads
And they soon made a speedy return,
And drawing just up to a Point
Where this cunning Old Gypsie had gone,
You never saw better Dogs Hunt
For Life underneath the Sun.

Now there was _Tantive_ and _Ranter_,
They sounded her last Passing Bell,
And _Wilson_ made Moan unto _Handford_
A Cup of Old Hock will do well
And _Handford_ cry'd Master, ride faster
For now I begin to Cool
With Sweat, all my Cloaths are as wet
As if I had been in some Pool.

Where not these two dainty fine Pusses
They held us from Seven till One,
We scour'd thro Hedges and Bushes
So Merrily they run on.
And as for the Praise of these Hounds
And Horses that Gallops so free,
My Pen would not bring to Bounds
If Time would allow it to be.

Now Gallants, I bid you Farewel
For I fear I your Patience have try'd,
And hie for a Glass of good Ale
That Poetry may be admir'd.
And heres a good Health to the Sportsman
That Hunts with the Horn and Hound,
I hope you'll all pledge for the future
And so let this Health go round.[58]

FOOTNOTES:

[55] Handford acted as Whipper-in.

[56] Jack Wilson. The Coke version of the ballad says "Wheeldon," and Mr. Coke adds a note, "Wheeldon the huntsman." I am inclined, however, to think "Jack Wilson" is the correct name.

[57] Sutton-on-the-Hill, the adjoining village to Trusley.

[58] In the Trusley version this verse occurs:--

"Then coming home by the Ash Holt,
Close under the Royal oak tree,
There _Blood_* and old _Willet_+ were fall'n
Asleep as it happen'd to be.
Come _Handford_ and give them a Larum,
My lips are grown sore with the horn,
And round about they did be-stare 'em
Like Babies that were newly born."

* Blood, one of the beaters.

+ Willett, the Squire's gardener, on foot and tired.

_Squire Frith's Hunting Song._

Another good old Derbyshire hunting song is the following, which relates to a celebrated run with the hounds of "Squire Frith, of Bank Hall," near Chapel-en-le-Frith, in the High Peak. Mr. Samuel Frith was a keen sportsman, and for more than fifty years was one of the most daring and best hunters in the district--one of the roughest and most awkward that could be found anywhere. With regard to the run celebrated in this song, it appears that one December morning, some eighty or ninety years ago, in a keen frost, Mr. Frith turned out his own pack of harriers at Castle Naze Rocks, on the moors near his residence. To the surprise of the Squire, instead of a hare putting off, a fine fox broke covert, and made away to the Moors. The dogs got away after him, and Mr. Frith and his huntsman, Jack Owen, followed over some of the most tremendous ground even of Derbyshire. The fox made off across the moors, skirting Axe-edge,--the highest mountain in the Peak,--to Macclesfield forest; thence by Langley and Gracely woods to Swithingley. From thence he went by Housley and Gawsworth, and at length, after a run of more than forty miles, was killed at Clouds Hill, near Congleton, Mr. Frith and his huntsman being up at the time. Mr. Frith rode a favourite black cob of his called "Black Jack," one of the best fencers in the county,--a quality of essential importance in that district of stone walls and rocks. Bank Hall is about two and a half miles from Chapel-en-le-Frith.

Hark! hark! brother Sportsmen, what a melodious sound,
How the valleys doth echo with the merry-mouthed hound;
There's none in this world with Squire Frith can compare,
When chasing bold Reynard, or hunting the Hare.

Bright Phoebus peeps over yon Eastern hills,
And darted his rays through the meadows and fields;
On the eighth of December, that memorable morn,
We chased bold Reynard with hound and with horn.

Then over young Cumrocks like lightning he flew,
What a melodious chorus when Reynard's in view;
There's nothing like hunting we mortals do know,
Then follow, boys, follow, tally-ho! tally-ho!

With a staunch and fleet pack, most sagacious and true,
What a melodious chorus when Reynard's in view;
The hills and the valleys do echo around,
With the shouts of the hunter, and cries of the hound.

Squire Frith being mounted upon a swift steed,
Black Jack, there's but few that can match him for speed;
The Squire and his Huntsman no horse-flesh will spare,
When chasing bold Reynard, or hunting the Hare.

There's Grinder, and Saddler, two dogs of great fame,
Hark to Primrose, and Bonny Lass, and Conqueror by name;
There's Killman, and Bowman, Ringwood, and Dido,
With Lily, and Lady, and Rolly, also.

O'er Macclesfield Forest old Reynard did fly,
By Tragnell, and Runcorn, and unto Langly;
By Shalcross, and Greswark, and unto Swithinly,
At his brush close did follow the hounds in full cry.

By Shalcross and Greswark we came back again,
It was speed that prolonged his life it was plain;
Full forty long miles that old creature did return,
And he holed in Clown Hills, near to Congleton.

Of geese, ducks, and hens, great havoc he's made,
And innocent lambs, he has worried the said;
There's no barn-door fowls old Reynard did spare,
Take care, all ye farmers, of your poultry, take care.

Here's a health to all Hunters, wherever they be,
To all honest sportsmen of every degree;
With a full flowing bowl, we'll drink a health all,
To that great and true Sportsman, Squire Frith, of Bank Hall.

_Derbyshire Men._

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

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

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

"I' Darbyshire who're born an' bred,
Are strong i' th' arm, bu' weak i' th' head:"
So th' lying Proverb says.
Strength o' th' arm, who doubts shall feel:
Strength o' th' head, its power can seal
The lips that scoff, always.

The rich vein'd Mine, the Mountain hoar,
We sink, an' blast, an' pierce, 'an bore
By th' might o' Darby brawn.
An' Darby brain con think an' plon,
As well as that o' ony mon;
An' clearly as the morn.

"Strong i' th' arm, an' strong i' th' head,"
The fou' fause Proverb should ha' said,
If th' truth she meant to tell.
Bu' th' union, so wise an' rare
O _brawn_ an' _brain_, she didna care
To see or speak of well.

The jealous jade, nor Darby born,
Where praise wor due, pour'd forth bu' scorn,
An' lying words let fau.
Bu' far above the Proverb stands
The Truth, that God's Almighty hands
Ha' welded strength an' mind i' one;
An' pour'd it down i' plenty on
Born Darbyshire men au.

_An Elegy_

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

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

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

The Poet's view
Well known to yew,
To be too trew,
And so adieu
By me Leo Double Yew,
Sixteen seventy tew.

1.

As I on Oaker-hill[59] one day did stand,
Viewing the world which I could not command,
I turn'd my face tou'rd Berchore[60] partly west,
To view where Greaveses us'd to have their nest;
But out, alas! I found they were all gone,
Not one was left to rest against a stone.

2.

Then looking forward, the coast being very cleare,
At Rowther,[61] there I found one Adam Eayre;
But now he's gone, left house and land behind him,
So to be short I know not where to find him;
But if any counceller can make it out,
He'st have his land and I will go without.

3.

I'll up to Hassap[62] to hear them sing a mass,
There I shall know who made the old man pass;
Death made it wrong, I send him to purgatory,
Where he must stay till he be fit for glory;
But if there be such a place 'twixt this and heaven,
I fear he cannot pass, 'tis so uneven.

4.

Then did I to my panting muses say,
Haste and begone, you shall no longer stay
(within this place);
Haste and begone, upon Calton top your banners,
And call at Haddon, where lived ould John Manners,
O use him kindly I strictly you command,
For he was kind to th' poore of Ingland.

5.

But now he's gone, like others hence away,
Then for another Earle like him ever pray,
That will be kind both unto Rich and Poore,
Then God Almighty will increase his store,
And bless him here upon this earthly throne,
And at the last call him one of his owne.

6.

Walking by the River, Stanton[63] I did spye,
But neither Calton[64] nor a Bage[65] saw I:
They are all gone and none left but old Boards,
Alas! alas! what doth this world affordes.
There's severall more that are slipt out o' th' way,
But not one word of them I here will say.

7.

Then calling back my muses, mee thought I
Spyed Little Stancliffe[66] standing pleasantly,
But not one Steare[67] i' th' stall shall yet be seene;
Well fed win springs and deck'd with Lorrells green,
But one old Backer Bourning of the owne,
Till Steare retourne, there' no one knows how sowne.

8.

Then on the hills I came to Darley Hall,
To hear that music in those Ashes tall.
Listening awhile, I not being pleased well,
Thought I where is my pretty Cullen-bell,[68]
Whose name and fame made all this vale once sound,
But now that honour's buried under ground.

9.

Besides your Parsons of Divinity
As Pain, and Pot, Edwards, and Mosley,
All four divines and men of noble birth,
All dead and gone and buried in the earth;
How can I chuse but must lament to see
My friends all gone who did make much of me.

10.

Tho' all in haste one place I have past by,
That's Cowley Hall, where oft I heard the cry
Of great-mouthed doggs who did not feare to kill
What was their master's pleasure, word, and will;
His name was Sinner, who ever did him know,
He's dead and gone now many years ago.

11.

Then turning round, all gone, thus did I thinke,
Where shall I make my friend or muses drinke;
Then looking down below I did espy
A pretty hall which stood me very ney,
Where lived the Father, Son, and Wives of either,
Both in my time, all-tho' not both together.

12.

A Knight the Father, and a Squire the Son,
One heir is left, if dead that name is done;
This heir being young, with Ladies durst not play,
So he in sorrow quickly went away,
Leaving no heir o' th' name, no, not one,
So farewell Milwards[69] now of Snitterton.

13.

Then rushing forward down by Darwen side,
My muses presently through Matlock hied,
And finding there the good ould pastur gone,
I hide to Riber[70] there to make my mone;
But out, alas! my sorrows to increase,
That name is gone now buried under hears.

14.

Wolley, Wolley, Woolley, farewell to thee,
A noble Esquire, thou was both kind and free
To all that come, I say, both rich and poore,
There's few went empty that came to his doore.
Walker's fair Hous is almost wore away,
With several more now going to decay.

15.

To speak of Dedick[71] what shall I do there,
Babbington's[72] Treason hateful doth appear;
Their house is down, and they are gone to nought,
So will all those which ere rebellion sought.
Then pray to God for peace and unity,
That King and nobles all may well agree.

16.

Then I to Ogston,[73] there to break my fast,
They all in mourning stood at me agast,
To think my friend and lover was departed,
And so I left them almost broken hearted;
What shall I doe thought I to hide my head,
Seeing so many gallants now are dead.

17.

Then up by Amber I did quickly hey,
None of my ancient friends I could espey,
In Asher[74] parish I could find not one,
Old Crich,[75] and Dakin,[76] and ould Hobskinson,[77]
They are departed and gone hence away,
As er self, I have not long to stay.

18.

I will retourne unto my hill againe,
And cause my muses to sing out a straine,
And that in mourning too she shall be drest,
To sing new anthems of the very best.
And thus you see in a few dayes how they
Are all gone hence and tourned to dirt and clay.

19.

Farewell you Huntsmen that did hunt the hare,
Farewell you Hounds that tired both horse and mare,
Farewell you gallant Falkners every one,
The chief of all did live at Snitterton.
So to conclude both greate and small,
Those that are left the Lord preserve them all.

By me LEONARD WHEATCROFT.

20.

The conclusion.

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

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

FOOTNOTES:

[59] Oker Hill, near Darley Dale.

[60] Birchover.

[61] Roo Tor, or Row Tor, by Birchover, an old seat of the Eyre family.

[62] Hassop, a principal residence of the family of Eyre.

[63] Stanton, the present residence of W.P. Thornhill, Esq.

[64] The Caltons were an old Derbyshire family, long settled in this district and at Chesterfield.

[65] Bache, this family resided for two centuries at Stanton Hall, and from them the name of Bache-Thornhill was derived.

[66] Stancliffe, now the seat of Joseph Whitworth, Esq., the inventor of the celebrated Whitworth rifles and rifled canons.

[67] Steere. Stancliffe Hall passed to the Steeres by purchase in 1655, from whom it passed to Jenkinson, and from them, in 1715, to Greensmith.

[68] Columbell. Nether Hall, Darley Dale, was for many years the chief seat of the Columbell family, who held it till the death, in 1673, of John Columbell, whose heiress married Marbury.

[69] The Milwards held Snitterton for a long time. The last of the family, John Milward, died _circa_ 1670, when the estate passed by marriage of his heiress with Adderley.

[70] Riber Hall, in Matlock parish, was for many generations the property and seat of the Wolley family. Anthony Wolley, the last of that branch, died a bachelor in 1688, when his co-heiresses sold the estate to Statham.

[71] Dethick.

[72] Anthony Babington, the unfortunate conspirator, was of Dethick.

[73] Now the seat of Gladwin Turbutt, Esq.

[74] Ashover.

[75] The family of Crich was one of considerable note in this parish, and at one time owned the Stubbing Edge estate.

[76] The Dakeynes were of Ashover and of Darley Dale, and were people of much note.

[77] Hodgkinson. Part of the Old Hall Manor, as well as Overton Manor, in this parish, belonged to this family. Overton passed from them, by marriage, to Sir Joseph Banks.

_Cocktail Reel._

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

"From Chesterfield, Beighton, and Masber."

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

Soon as old Ball was got better,
A merriment there was appointed,
Creditor as well as debtor,
Both met to be better acquainted.
Number of lads there were present
From Kimberworth, Brightside, and Masper,
Each with a countenance pleasant,
His true love did cuddle and clasp her.
Stephen turn'd out with his fiddle,
Each lad took his lass by the middle,
Went reeling about like a riddle,
As if they had been enchanted.
Care, the forerunner of sorrow,
Was kick'd out of door till to-morrow,
Not one in his spirit was narrow;
Then, boh! cry'd Tyger, undaunted.

2.

Tyger connected with Jemmy,
Conducted Ball out of the stable,
Join'd in the yard by old Sammy,
Who alefied came from the table.
Ball being well prim'd with ginger,
Was fit to jump over the fences,
Neighbour as well as each stranger
All thought they were out of their senses.
Sammy, who hates to be idle,
Seized Ball fast by the Bridle,
Then gave him a kick made him sidle,
So went far round as they wanted,
Right hand and left they did clever,
Made Jem to squint harder than ever,
He promis'd his partner som liver;
Then, boh! cried Tyger, undaunted.

3.

Out jump'd the calf, elevated;
The cow broke her sole and ran after;
Shout upon shout it created,
And filled the spectators with laughter.
Tideswell the cow was so nam'd,
Because at that fair they had bought her,
She ran at Tyger untam'd,
To fork him as nature had taught her.
Tyger at that was displeas'd,
Which caus'd a fresh dust to be rais'd;
Her nose in a instant he seiz'd,
At which old Samuel ranted.
Tideswell took off like be madded,
O'er mother and daughter she gadded,
Huzzas in abundance were added,
Then, boh! cried Tyger, undaunted.

4.

Stephen, though blind as a beetle,
Laughed hard at old Hannah's disaster,
He lost no time with his fiddle,
His elbow went quicker and faster:
Ball cut such a new fashion'd caper,
Which really by-standers amazed,
All his four feet were at tapers,
The pavement it perfectly blazed;
Samuel nor no one that join'd him
Durst venture their carcase behind him,
Tho' age in a manner did blind him.
No colt could win him 'twas granted,
Tideswell caught Tyger and tost him
Quite out of the ring till she lost him,
Though many a bruise it did cost him;
Still, boh! cried Tyger, undaunted.

5.

Oceans to drink being call'd for,
Hot cuddle-me-buff was the liquor,
Wife of my own Jemmy called for,
Old Hannah, cried Stephen, play quicker.
Off they went after each other,
As if they had quicksilver in them,
Join'd by first one, then another,
You never see nothing could win them
Setting down sides, and then up again,
Crossing in couples, to sup again,
Sam'el, inspir'd with his cup, again
Of his activity vaunted.
Ball being prim'd with the best of them,
Pranced and kick'd with the rest of them,
Seeing he made a mere jest of them;
Boh! cried Tyger, undaunted.

6.

Tyger ran under Ball's belly,
All danger, like Rodney, kept scorning,
Some thought he was rather silly,
As Ball was new frosted that morning.
Sam'el got hurt in the scuffle,
As Ball his fore feet was advancing,
That seem'd his temper to ruffle,
And quite put an end to their dancing.
So they dismiss'd in civility,
Talking of Ball's great agility,
Tideswell and Tyger's fidelity,
Which kind nature implanted.
How the four brutes in particular
Danc'd with their tails perpendicular,
Straight forwards, sideways, and circular;
Boh! cries Tyger, undaunted.

_LINES OCCASIONED BY_

_A Yorkshire Pye,_[78]

_Sent as a Present from Sir William St. Quintin, to His Grace the Duke of Devonshire, at Bath, on Christmas-Day, 1762. Written by Mr. Derrick._

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

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

FOOTNOTES:

[78] This Pye was composed of Pheasants, Turkeys, Plovers, Snipes, Woodcocks, Partridges, Ox Tongue, and Hare, &c.

[79] When their present Majesties honoured the City of London with their Presence, Sir Samuel Fludyer, Bart., late Lord Mayor, entertained them with more Elegance than ever was known.

[80] According to Aldrovandus, the Pheasant is very fond of viewing his own image.

[81] According to the same writer, the Turkey is originally a Bæotian bird.

_The Agricultural Meeting._

Tune--"_The King of the Cannibal Islands._"

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

Come gather round and form a throng,
And trust me I'll not keep you long,
I'll entertain you with a Song
On the Agricultural Meeting!
A subject I have good and pat,
To make you smile, I'll answer that;
They say that laughing makes one fat,
And if you don't laugh I'll eat my hat!
I'll not give pain by any jokes,--
Tho' of the DERBY 'tis, good folks,
About it there's not any "_hoax_,"
The Agricultural Meeting!
Away with sorrow, care, and strife,
All the world will, and his wife,
Muster there, upon my life,
At the Agricultural Meeting.

The wish'd-for time is very nigh,
And all to do their best will try,
On the Eleventh of July,
At the Agricultural Meeting!
Come forward, lads, your best make haste,
You that plough, and you that rake;--
Let 'em see that you're awake,
For you've a chance a prize to take!
Forward bring the ox and sheaf,
Show Foreigners unto their grief,
The meaning of _real_ corn and beef,
At the Agricultural Meeting!
Away with sorrow, &c.

The thing will just be as it should,
For there'll be there, 'tis understood,
The rich, the titled, and the good,
At the Agricultural Meeting!
Of those who in the good cause stand,
And help with purse, and heart, and hand,
Are SPENCER, HARDWICK, COLVILE,[82] and
THE DUKE OF RICHMOND--what a band!
Joy will beam in heart and face,
To know that surely 'tis the case,
That their gay presence here will grace
The Agricultural Meeting?
Away with sorrow, &c.

'Twill be a glorious holiday--
All the week for fun and play--
No one then at home will stay
From the Agricultural Meeting!
Every one some sport will catch--
For there will be of fun a batch:--
TUESDAY they'll come to the scratch,
And try the famous Ploughing Match!
Of Implements there will be a show,--
Of things that reap, and things that mow,
Things to dig, and things that sow,
At the Agricultural Meeting!
Away with sorrow &c.

When this is o'er, at close of day,
Again for fun they'll start away--
Gents, and Ladies, such display--
At the Agricultural Meeting!
They'll to the Grand Hotel repair,
For JOHN BELL CROMPTON, who's the MAYOR,
Will give a dinner of rare fare,
And all the Council will be there!
Then after this, they'll dancing go,
And trip it gaily to and fro,
Upon "the light fantastic toe,"
At the Agricultural Meeting!
Away with sorrow, &c.

On WEDNESDAY there's another spree--
The Implements again we'll see,
And prove what's done in Husbandry,
At the Agricultural Meeting!
Come Dick and Thomas, Ralph and Giles,
In your best clothes, and your smiles,
Over hedges, ditches, stiles--
Across the country--many miles!
Then on _that_ night it will fall--
The Council are invited all
To dinner at the County-Hall,
From the Agricultural Meeting!
Away with sorrow, &c.

On THURSDAY there'll be more than this--
And such enjoyment who would miss?
On that day there'll be double bliss
At the Agricultural Meeting!
Won't there be a fine to do?
Pigs and sheep, and oxen, too;--
Four-legged calves--and, 'tween I and you,
A few, no doubt, that _walk on two_!
Lots of cattle will be there,
DERBY horses, I declare,
As well as our good _Derby Mayor_,
At the Agricultural Meeting!
Away with sorrow, &c.

On THURSDAY there's another feed--
When they've shown their live-stock breed;
For after work they'll something need,
At the Agricultural Meeting!
The Grand Pavilion, deck'd out fine,
Will be--and there'll two thousand dine:--
And they'll astonish, I opine,
Above a bit--the food and wine!
And even then the sport ne'er stops,
For they'll for dancing leave their drops,
And take to _capers_ and to _hops_,
At the Agricultural Meeting!
Away with sorrow, care, and strife,
All the world will, and his wife,
Muster there, upon my life,
At the Agricultural Meeting!

FOOTNOTE:

[82] Earl Spencer, Earl of Hardwicke, and C. R. Colvile, Esq., M.P.

_THE_

_Complainte of Anthonie Babington._

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

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

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

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

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

My dreade and royall sovereigne,

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

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

Your poore distressed subjecte
RICHARD WILLIAMS.

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

FOOTNOTES:

[83] The original is in the Bateman Collection at Lomberdale House.

[84] An error for 20th.

A DREAME OR INDUCTION.

ANTHONIE BABINGTON HIS COMPLAYNT.

What will it avayle on fortune to exclayme
When a due desarte is chiefest cause of all;
Myself and none but myselfe justlie can I blame,
That thus have procured myne untymelie fall;
And turned have my honnye swete unto bitter gall.
Wherefore good frende take thie penne and write,
And in mournful verse my Tragedie recite.

Long mighte I have lived a contented happie state,
And have borne a porte and countnance with the beste,
If fortune should me cheicke, I could her mate;
Thus none like me more happie was and bleste,
Till that discontente procured myne unreste;
And the pompe of pride so glared in myne eyen,
That I rejected vertue moste devyne.

But firste I will tell thee myne estate, and name,
And contrie soile, where I was bredd and borne;
Anthonie Babington I hight; of a worthy house I came,
Till my mysdemeanours made me forlorne,
Givinge cause to my foes to laugh me to scorne.
Whoe have stayned my state and blemisht my name,
In clymbing by follie have falne to my shame.

At Dethwicke in Darbye shire I was both borne and bredd;
My father was an esquier of good reputation;
A good house he kepte, a virtuose life he ledd;
My selfe beinge a childe was helde in estimation;
But havinge gott the rayne I changed my facion;
Then privatlie I sought my owne will and pleasure,
Livinge to my liking, but never kepte a measure.

Doctour Babington myne _eame_[85] did pronosticate
That harde was the happe whereto I was borne,
He sayde that "pride by glorye shoulde abate
And destenye decreede I shoulde be folorne;"
Whose wordes my father then helde in scorne,
"O trayne him up well," mine unkell did saye,
"Unlesse hee repente the same a nother daye."

"Give hym not brother his libertie in youthe,
For then olde dayes hee never shall see,
Hee is my nephewe the more is my rewthe,
To think of his happe and harde destinie,
If skill beguyle me not hanged he shalbe."
This was the foresight of my father's brother,
For which lote of his hee was hated by my mother.

I know not where hee spoke by hassarde or skill,
For such divinations I doe not comende;
Yet his counsell was good to flie future ill;
For whoe so in vertue there dayes doe not spende
Shalbe sure with me repente them in th' ende.
The proofe of myne unkells worde I founde so trewe
As by the sequell hereafter you may viewe.

Not longe after my father resyned upp his breathe,
And lefte my wofull mother with a great charge;
Whiche proved for us all to tymelie a deathe;
For then good gentelwoman her purse ranne at large,
Havinge of debts and legacies great somes to discharge;
But in the state of widowhode not long she tarried
For with that good gentleman Henry Foljambe she married.

Whoe loved us all tenderlie as wee had benne his owne,
And was verye carefull of oure education,
Whose love so mee was diverse wayes showne,
And I of the saime had daylie probation,
And by this maye appeare of whiche I make narration.
Withe his owne chaine of golde hee would mee oftene decke
Whiche made me a proud boye to weare about my necke.

As on a tyme this chayne about my necke I did weare,
And going to an orcharde some apples to gett,
When clymbing a high tree, as one without feare,
The boughe then brake, whereon my foote I sett,
And downwarde I slipt, but was caught in a nett.
In the tree I was hanged faste by the chayne,
So desyre of my pride was cause of my payne.

But was not suffered there longe to hang,
But was nere strangled or I was taken downe,
For there I strugled with suche a deadlie pange;
My mother shee frighted and fell in a sowne,
And griefe made my father likewise to frowne.
But my reviving, there sorrowes over caste;
Then they rejoyeste sayinge, "my destinie was paste."

Thus carelesse a tyme with them I lived at pleasure,
Surfetted with self will and with fonde delite;
I knew no golden meane, nor never kepte a measure,
But like a kyndlie beare gan tymelie to byte.
Even then I harborde envye and sucked despite;
And pride at that instante tooke so deepe a roote,
That humilitie for ever was troden under foote.

In myne noneage I was when my father dyde,
Philip Draycott, of Paynslie hee did me obtayne,
Whoe had appoynted me his doughter for my bryde,
And in whose house a space I did remayne;
There suckte I pleasure that proved to my payne;
There was I misled in papistre my soul to wounde;
There was I corrupted made rotten and unsounde.

There, even there awhile, I spente my youthfull tyme,
There was I lulled in securitie faste asleepe,
Then was I frollicke, there was I in my pryme,
In jollitie then I laught, but never thought to weepe;
My witts were moste fynne and conceits verye depe.
But oh Paynslie! Paynslie! I may thee curse;
Where nature made me ill, education made me worse.

For by nature I was with papistrie infected,
But might have beene restrayned, had it pleased God;
My father and myne eame they weare suspected;
They lived with there censcience wherein I was odd,
Therefore was beaten with a more sharper rodd;
There conscience they kepte, & ruled it by reason;
Livinge like subjectes, and still detested treason.

My father-in-lawe still ledd me to what I was inclined;
I meane for my conscience, no farther he coulde deale;
My mayntnance sufficient to content my mynde,
So that all this, whiche I tasted, nought but weale,
But could not be contente, which I muste nowe reveale.
My fynne head was desyrouse to studye the lawe,
In attainge whereof I proved my selfe a dawe.

And for that cause forthwith I to London wente,
Where in Lyncolns Inne a student I became;
And there some part of my flittinge tyme I spente,
But to bee a good lawyer my mynde coulde not frame;
I addicted was to pleasure and given so to game;
But to the theater and curtayne woulde often resorte,
Where I mett companyons fittinge my disporte.

Companyons, quothe you, I had companyons in deede,
Suche as in youthe with me weare well content to drawe;
Lyncked so in myscheife, wherein wee did excede,
We cared not for order nor paste of reasons lawe;
Of God, nor of good man, wee stoode in little awe.
Wee paste the bounds of modestie, and lived without shame,
Wee spotted our conscience, and spoiled our good name.

We cared not for the church, that place we not frequented;
The tavernes weere better our humors to fitt.
The companye of dayntie dames, wee chieflie invented;
With whom in dalliance wee desyred ofte to sitt.
Theise weare the fruytes of yonge hedds and witt;
Thus in lustlie libertie I led a loose life,
And thoughe I weare maried I cared not for my wife.

Yett to the sèrmons wee woulde oftene resorte,
Not in hope edification by them to obtayne;
But rather to jeste and make of them a sporte;
Whiche nowe I feele to my sorrowe griefe and payne;
These bee the fruytes that sicophantes doe gayne,
Cheiflie when they mocke, and skorne God's worde,
Disdaining the servantts and prophetts of the Lorde.

With Catholicks still conversant I coveted to be,
That weare alwayes in hope and looked for a daye;
Gapinge for a change which wee trusted to see.
Ambition so stonge me my selfe I could not staye,
Whiche makes me sighes to sighe well a waye.
Then I had my will and playde with pleasure's ball,
Then I was alofte and feared not this fall.

Yett so covertlie all this tyme I did my selfe behave,
And so closelie wrought in subtell _syners_ faime,
What so ere I thought my selfe I sought to save,
Livinge all this while without suspecte or blame;
And more to wynne mee credditt a courtier I becaime;
Where the syrens song so swetelie I did synge,
I never was suspected to worke such a thinge.

The nobles of the courte of me thoughte so well,
That often to their tables they would me invite;
Where in gesture and talke I did the common sorte excell;
Thereby wynninge favor in my company to delite,
Whiche with a Judas kisse I soughte to requyte.
As in a sequell of my storye will after appeare,
Which I shame to tell it toucheth me so nere.

And daylie more and more my credditt did increase,
And so in like manner did pride still abounde;
Beloved I was bothe of more and lesse;
When my inwarde motions were all unsounde;
My parsonage was comelie which favour eache where founde;
But pryde had so blynded me I could not see.
That with Iccarus aloft, I mynded was to flee.

The grounde, that I troade on, my feet could not holde,
Nor I bee contente in a happie state to reste,
Like Bayarde that blushed not, then was I more bolde;
When rancor inwardlie still boyled in my breste,
That like an unnaturall birde I filed my neste;
In parlinge with parasites that looked for a daye,
By the counsell of Caterpillers, I wrought my decaye.

Then I beganne to prie into matters of the state,
And with what I liked nott I secrett faulte did fynde;
Where I fawned openlie, I inwardlie did hate,
And to my confederates would closelie breake my mynde;
I mean to suche as to my love weare inclynde;
Betweene whome and mee suche mischiefe intented,
That we thoughte to have made all England repented.

Where upon in to France a jorney I did frame,
To parle with _Padgett_, _Morgan_, and others of that crewe;
What wee had but decrede, they resolved on the same;
Whose pretended purpose at large, when I knewe,
I willinglie consented too, which makes mee nowe to rewe;
And to sett the same forwarde a solleme oathe did take;
O cursed conscience that a traytor didst me make!

Then into Englande I retorned agayne with spede,
And gott conferrence hereof with some of greate fame.
Manye weare the plotts, whereon we agreed;
And greate the attemptes, whereat wee did aime;
Which afterwarde proved oure ruynose shaime;
And aspiringe pride so fyred my harte,
I was content to playe a traytors parte.

FOOTNOTE:

[85] This word signifies uncle. _Vide_ Ash. Dict.

HIS ARTICLES OF ARRAYGNMENT.

Yea to bee a most savage monster agaynste all kynde,
In seking the deathe of my Queene, the Lord's anoynted,
Ambition so stonge me, that I was stroke blynde,
In pluckinge her downe that God had appoynted,
And the unitie of the realme in sonder to have joynted;
To have made kings and rulers at our pleasure;
To have exceeded in vyllanye without rule or measure.

To have made suche lawes as wee thought beste;
To have turned the state quyte upside downe;
The nobles to have slayne and clene dispossest;
And on a stranger hedd have placed the crowne;
Herein we weare resolute, but fortune did frowne,
No twas God woulde not suffer our villanyes take place;
But unlookte for retornde them to our shamefull disgrace.

Farther our intente was to poyson the ordinance of the realme;
A most haynouse matter as ever was invented,
Whoe ever hath harde of trecheries so extreame,
Concluded, agreed upon, and fullye consented?
An wofull matter of all to be lamented.
All court rolls and records we mente to have raced,
And them to have burned spoyled and defaced.

The faire cittie of London wee also mente to rifell,
To have rob'de the rich, and killed eke the poore;
Theis thinges in effecte we counted but a trifell;
In all places of the lande have sett an uprore;
The wealthie to have bereavde both of life and store,
No state nor degree we weare mente to spare,
But if hee would resiste deathe should be his share.

Theise weare our intents, with mischiefs many more,
Even confusion to the whole realme to have brought,
Confederates we had, and that no small store;
Which ruyne and destruction weare readie to have wrought;
We either mente to make or bringe all to noughte.
Nought ne nought indeede, for nought weare our happs,
For desperate myndes doe feare no after clapps:

So forwarde weare that the verye daye was sett
To murther our good queene, that God had preserved;
_Barnewell_ and _Savage_ should have done the feate;
But justice rewarded them as they well deserved,
Being twoe monstrose traytors that from duty swerved;
The daggs and all things weare redye preparde,
But in the nett they layde, they themselves weare snared.

And _Ballarde_, that beast, hee into England was come,
A Jesuite, a prieste, and a semynarie vilde;
Hee brought with him our absolution from Roome,
Promysinge good successe, wherein he was beguyled;
So that from our hartes all pitye hee exilde;
And still he incoraged us in my myscheife to precede,
Egging us forwarde wherein there was no neede.

But God woulde not suffer us so closelie to worke,
But that all our doyngs laye open in his sight:
Revealinge those myscheifs, that in our hartes did lurke,
When wee suspected not, he brought the same to light.
Then must wee hyde our hedds, or scape awaye by flight;
But when wee had inklinge our treasons were descryde,
Away awaye in haste twas then no tyme to byde.

Then watche and warde was made in everye coaste,
Then weare wee taken, eache houre of the daye;
My selfe was once taken, but whie shoulde I boaste,
Howe that I made a scape and so gott awaye,
Not knowinge where to goe nor have perfitt staye;
But to Harrow on the Hill my selfe I convayde,
There in _Bellamyes_ howse a little tyme I stayde.

But there was made for me suche previe watche and warde,
And the contrie so besett, I no where coulde flye,
All hope of my escape was utterlie debarde;
And searche in eache corner was made no nye,
That I was compelde this polecye to trye;
To forsake the house and my self disguyse,
Lyke an Inkeper of London, to bleare the people's eyes.

But a rewarde was promyst hym that coulde me take,
Which made the people looke so much the nere;
And beinge constrayned the house to forsake;
Walked throughe the pastures as men without feer;
My man, like an hostler, was cladd in simple geare;
But this woulde not serve if truthe I shall tell,
My favor I could not change, my face was knowen well.

There was a poore man, a weaver, was one of the watch,
By whome the gate laye, as of force I must walke;
Hee came to mee boldly, by the arme did me catche,
"Staye, good frende," quothe he, "with you I must talke:"
My consciense beinge guyltie my tonge gane to balke.
"Wee are not those you looke for," I foltringlie did say,
"Our comyssion," quoth hee, "is all passengers to staye."