Chapter VII: Introduction: ix (6)

Then the people gan flocke aboute me a pace,
And before the Master of the Rolls I forthwith was broughte;
When I came there, I was knowne by my face.
To bee the same man that theye so longe had soughte;
And chiefest of the crewe that all the sturr had wroughte;
_Sir Gilberte Gerrarde_ examynde, and sente me to the Towre,
And stronglie was I guarded with a myghtie greate powre.

Then the Londoners rejoyced, and merrye did make,
With ringinge of bells, givinge God the prayse;
All my olde comon frendes did me clene forsake,
That before had flattred me dyverse and sondry wayes;
But favor, friendshipp, and faithe by treason decayes,
As appeares by me, whosse faime creditt and renowne,
My traytrose attempts had sone plucked downe.

Then shortlie after to the Kings Benche wee were broughte,
And a nomber of others confederates like case;
There to make awnswer to the deeds wee had wroughte;
But then my glorye gan darkyne apace,
Yett with a countnance I sett thereon a face;
Where beinge arraygned, I guyltie was found
Of high treason, agaynste my kinge and crowne.

_Barnewell_ and _Savage_ had confest the same before;
Then bootlesse twas for us anye poynte to denaye;
Our conscience beinge guiltie it irkt us the more;
So that fourteene of us weare condemned that daye.
We carde not for deathe, wee stowtlie did saye;
Our judgment was to bee hanged & quartered like case;
Of whiche wee made no accounte deathe coulde not us disgrace.

And nowe the day of our execution drewe nere,
In whiche wee did playe our laste tragicke parte;
When seven of us on hurdles from the towre were drawne,
Whiche was no small _corsive_[86] to our heavie hartes,
Yet a juste rewarde for our wicked desartes;
The people flockte aboute us with this heavie sounde,
"God save the Queene, and all traytors confounde."

In the fieldes near Lyncolns Inne a stage was sett upp,
And a mightie high gallose was rayled on the same,
Whiche was the verye instrument & our deadlie cuppe,
Of whiche to taste our selves wee must frame;
And beastlye _Ballarde_ twas hee beganne the game,
Whoe was hanged and quartered in all the peoples sight,
And his head on a poule on the gallose sett upright.

Nexte muste I make readie to treade the same dance;
Wherto I prepared myselfe, as a man without feare,
Thousands lamented I had so harde a chance,
And for mee there was shedd many a salte teare;
They lookte for confession, but weare never the nere,
_Sir Francis Knolls_ with others offered with me to praye,
"None but Catholick's prayers will profitt thus" did I saye.

Thus died I stoutlie and did not trulie repente,
My wicked life paste and moste haynouse treason;
If in a good cause my life had been spente,
To have avouchte the same there had bene some reason;
But wickedlie I lived and died at that season.
Havinge hanged a while, and my head cut off in haste,
On the right hande of _Ballards_ it was placed.[87]

Then died _Barnwell_; _Savage_; and yonge _Tuchborne_;
With _Tilnie_; and _Abington_, in order as they came;
But O Tuchborne! Tuchborne! thou makest me follorn!
For I was the firste that allurde thee to the same,
Thie witts beinge yonge likewaye I did frame,
Thou beinge well inclined through mee didst consente
To conceale the thinge that made us all repente.

The nexte daye dyed _Salsburye_; _Henrye Dunne_; & _Jones_;
And _John Travice_ of Preskott, which is in Lancashire;
So did _John Charnocke_, a traytor for the nonce;
_Robert Gage_ of Croydon muste then on stage appeare;
And lastlie _Bellamye_ our hoste that made us all the chere.
Theise seven weare apointed on _Sainte Matthewes_ daye,
The twentithe of September their partes they did playe.

Oure quarters weare boyled like the flesh of swyne,
And on the cittie gates in open veiwe doe stande;
Our conceited hedds, that once wee thought so fyne,
On London bridge be spectakles to subjectes of the lande,
Warning them to shunne to take like things in hande.
Our selves in the censure of God's judgments doe reste;
This was the rewarde for the treasons wee profeste.

Thus have I tolde thee my traggedie at large,
In everye particular as the same was wroughte;
Reporte it to my contrie men, I thee straytlie charge,
To shunn those things, that my destruction brought,
For traytrose attempts at all tyme prove noughte,
Serche our Englishe Chronikells thou shalte fynde the same,
That, whoe beginns in trecherie, hee endeth still in shame.

At my request therefore admonyshe then all men,
To spende well the tallente, that God hathe them lente;
And hee that hathe but one lett hym not toyle for tenne,
For one is to muche unlesse it be well spente;
I meane by ambition leaste he to sone repente.
To conclude happie is the man and threefold bleste is he,
That can be contente to live with his degree.

FELIX QUAM FACIUNT ALIENA PERICULA CANTUM.

FINIS.

FOOTNOTES:

[86] _Sic._ query corrosive?

[87] These executions were also commemorated by Thomas Deloney, in a ballad edited by Mr. J. P. Collier, for the Percy Society, in 1840.--_Old Ballads_, p. 104.

The lines on Babington are--

Next _Babington_, that caitife vilde,
Was hanged for his hier;
His carcase likewise quartered,
And hart cast in the fire.

And of those executed on the 21st, he makes _Donne_ and _Jones_ both complain of Babington.

The first of them was _Salsburie_,
And next to him was _Dun_,
Who did complaine most earnestly
Of _proud yong_ Babington.

Both Lords and Knights of hye renowne
He meant for to displace,
And likewise all the towers and townes
And cities for to raze:

So likewise _Jones_ did much complaine
Of his detested pride,
And shewed how lewdly he did live
Before the time he died.

Richard Jones had been licensed on 27th August, to print a Ballad authorised by the Archbishop of Canterbury, "beinge a joyfull songe made by a citizen of London in the behalfe of Her Mat^{ies} subjectes touchinge the Joye for the taking of the Traytors." _Registers of the Stationers' Company_, vol. II., p. 214; but no copy is known to be extant.

_A NEW SONG IN PRAISE OF_

_The Derbyshire Militia._

This song is of the period from 1780 to 1790, and is here given from a broad-sheet in my own collection. It is the only copy I have as yet met with. At the head of the song is a wood-cut of three soldiers seated round a table, smoking. On the table is a punch-bowl and glasses. On the same sheet is "_The Pressed Man's Lamentation_," a song of four verses, beginning, "Farewell our Daddies and our Mammies." At the head is a wood-cut of two ships at sea, one of which has struck on a rock.

Should the French but presume on our coast to appear,
We'll meet them as freely as we would drink beer
With courage undaunted
Or glory enhance,
Nor let our roast Beef be a dainty to France,
Be this our ambition
In chorus to sing,
He's just to himself who is true to his king.

So brave our Commanders so generous and kind,
To love and obey them we are all inclin'd,
No Terror nor Dread
In our conduct is shewn,
Their good and our King we prefer to our own.
Be this our ambition
In chorus to sing
He's just to himself who is true to his King.

Those false-hearted fellows who fall from their lot,
And others procure as they think to be shot,
Deserve with a badge
To be branded with Shame,
They are not of Britains deserving the name,
But make us quite angry
Whilst that we sing,
They're untrue to themselves their Country and King.

We are willing and free now the Order is come,
From Derby to march with the fife and the drum.
Come fill up your glasses
Boys up to the brim,
That they mayn't overflow let us chalk round the rim,
Let each take his bumper
And drive away care,
With a Toast to the King and the Duke of Devonshire.

To our Wives and our Sweethearts that we must leave behind,
We hope all true britons to them will be kind,
Altho that we go
For the term of three years,
And as we expect to face proud Monsieurs,
If we live to return
Then we'll merrily sing,
And we'll drink a good health unto George our King.

_The Florist's Song._

The Florists' Society of Derby flourished in the latter part of last century. Its meetings were held at the Angel Inn, in the Corn-market; and it held exhibitions, at which prizes were awarded. The following song was sung at the convivial meetings of its members, and is here reprinted from a broad-sheet in my own possession.

Attend ye jolly GARDENERS
of every Degree,
From the Setter of a _Flower_,
to the Planter of a _Tree_:
_And a Planting we will go, will go,
and a Planting we will go._

Our first Great Father ADAM,
was a GARDENER by Trade;
And likewise EVE our Mother,
did use the pruning Blade:
_And a Planting_, &c.

Since GARDENING so Ancient,
it's Praises let Us sing;
For in his own Enclosure,
he's as happy as a King:
_And a planting we will go_, &c.

Observe th' lowly _Shrub_,
and lofty spreading _Trees_;
That form the pleasant Shade,
fann'd by th' pleasant Breeze:
_And a Planting_, &c.

The FLORIST claims the Precedence,
in this delightful Art;
In ranging of his _Flowers_,
and setting each a-part:
_And a planting_, &c.

Take Notice of their Beauties,
and all their various Hues;
Set by his skillful Hand,
and rais'd by gentle Dews:
_And a Planting_, &c.

It wou'd be much too tedious,
to tell each _Flower's_ Name;
Or, which for Smell or Beauty,
th' Preference can claim:
_And a Planting_, &c.

Yet all allow the AURICULA
has the greatest Share;
Since FEASTS are held in Honour
of the _Flower_ ev'ry Year:
_And a Planting_, &c.

It is of Ancient standing,
and well conducted too;
When each in Emulation,
their finest _Flowers_ show:
_And a Planting_, &c.

There is a _Prize_ allotted,
to him that gains the Day;
And 'tis the noblest _Flower_,
that bears the Prize away:
_And a Planting_, &c.

Likewise the Second best,
for so we all agree;
Has both his Ordinary
and Extraordinary free:
_And a Planting_, &c.

These _Flowers_ rais'd from Seed,
which we preserve with Care;
For if the Seed be bad,
the _Flowers_ they are not Fair:
_And a Planting_, &c.

We have STEWARDS at our _Feasts_,
to see that all be right;
In Joy we spend the Day,
and Pleasure crowns the Night:
_And a Planting_, &c.

Our _Feasts_ are full of Mirth,
we have no windy Wars;
We never raise Disputes,
and are very free from Jars:
_And a Planting_, &c.

Our Judges are impartial,
both faithful Men and true;
They never take a Bribe,
but gives each Man his due:
_And a Planting_, &c.

Then to Conclude, since _FLORISTS_
enjoy so sweet a Life;
Here's a Health to the SOCIETY
all Foes to _Care_ and _Strife_:
_And a Planting we will go, will go,
and a Planting we will go._

_THE SORROWFUL LAMENTATION, LAST DYING SPEECH AND CONFESSION OF_

_Old Nun's Green,_

_Who after upwards of 460 Years (being a great and good Gift, by JOHN of GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster, and Earl of Leicester) was tried, cast and condemned, on the 14th of February, 1791, for being serviceable to the Poor People of this Town, as well as a Stranger, but a great Eye Sore to some particular Gentlemen; but the Execution is left till the Pleasure of Parliament be known._

Nun's Green was a large piece of ground, containing about fifty acres of land, in the town of Derby, on which the inhabitants of the borough had right of common. On this common many encroachments were made by persons digging for gravel, erecting small buildings, etc.; and in 1768 an act was passed for selling a portion of the Green, so as to erect dwelling-houses for the increasing population of the town, and for the removal of nuisances and encroachments.

In 1791 the remaining portion of the Green was determined to be sold for the like purpose, and application for the necessary powers was made to Parliament, the scheme being that the proceeds should in part, at all events, go towards defraying the cost of paving and lighting, and otherwise improving, the town of Derby. This movement provoked the utmost opposition, and I have in my own collection some thirty or forty, at least, different hand-bills, squibs, pamphlets, and songs to which the excitement gave birth. Despite the opposition and the petitions which were got up, Nun's Green was disposed of, and the tract of land is now covered with thickly inhabited streets. The following pieces will serve to show the style of the songs and ballads to which I have alluded. The first, which is printed in two columns, has a wood-cut, at its head, of a man being led to execution in a cart, with hangman, parson, javelin-men, and others around--

_A TRAVELLER'S DREAM._

Last Night as slumbering on my Bed I lay,
Good People pray now mind but what I say,
I thought as I was walking over cross Nun's Green,
I saw the fairest Goddess that was ever seen:
Her Head reclining o'er the purling Stream,
At first I thought this could not be a Dream,
I ask'd her Name, and weeping thus said she,
I once was call'd, that Jewel LIBERTY.
I ask'd her, why she in that Posture lay,
She rais'd Her head, and softly thus did say,
With broken Accents and with flowing Tears,
"I have liv'd here, Four Hundred and Sixty Years;
Was station'd here by Glorious JOHN of GAUNT,
Who never thought the poor should ever want,
But now I'm doom'd to die a cruel Death,
By Gentlemen, who never knew my Birth;
Because I gave Assistance to the Poor,
And oft times kept the Wolf, Sir, from the Door,
Because I'll not be sold the Streets to light,
That is the Reason, Sir they owe me spite;
If Gentlemen could only once agree,
They need not hang nor sell poor LIBERTY,
But let me live as I was first design'd,
To be a Comfort to the poorest Kind:
Tho' I'm the smallest of that Family,
I'm not the only Child of LIBERTY.
If you will tamely stand and see me die,
You'll soon repent the Loss of LIBERTY:
My other Sisters soon, must fall a Prey,
To those who falsely take my Life away;
Now Tyranny does put the Town in Fear,
Don't wonder why I drop this melting Tear,
Tread on a Worm, that Insect cannot bite,
But turns in Anguish to revenge its Spite:
So let them know such Usage you'll not brook
Whilst such a Man does live as PARKER COKE;"
At this I shouted, but found it a Joke,
A Dream it was, so instantly awoke.

_A Poem,_

_Found by Mr. * * * and Dedicated to Major Trowel._--MDCCXCII.

When Heav'n from Earth had shut out day,
And all was wrapt in darkest night,
On Nuns Green Bridge in proud array
There stood a venerable sprite.

Pale was his face, and, marked with scars,
His burnished steel was all complete;
The same with which in rueful wars,
He did our ancient foes defeat.

A goodly Knight, forsooth, was he,
(As in old story may be seen)
For he to Derby gave in Fee,
That airy, healthful, pleasant Green.

Across the plain the spectre went,
(He stalked with all the pomp of yore)
Then calling loud, "I'm John of Ghent,"
He tapt at Sammy's chamber door.

Now pow'r of speech from Samuel flew,
His pride and courage were quite gone,
Full sorely now he did him rue,
Of all the guilty deeds he'd done.

The door upon the hinges creak'd,
In came the Envoy from the dead,
Poor Sammy, sweating, frighted, sneaked
Under the cov'ring of his bed.

"Crompton," the spectre said, "I come
"Thy guilty conduct to arraign,
"From the close confines of the tomb
"Where I for ages past have lain.

"Nuns Green was mine by martial lot,
"The just acquirement of the brave;
"And what by prowess I had got,
"To Charity I freely gave.

"How dar'st thou then with impious hand,
"This public property invade?
"Nor shall thy mean and quibbling band
"Defeat the generous grant I made.

"Why not a bright example give,
"Why not espouse an honest cause,
"Why not support those men who strive,
"T' inforce our good and ancient laws?

"Oh Sammy! quit the hireling crew
"Which now the town so much disgrace,
"And be it said thou can'st be true,
"To th' Rights of this thy native place.

"Renounce that nonconforming set,
"Whose party zeal, and public hate,
"Would wildest anarchy beget,
"And glory in a ruin'd state.

"Remember how they serv'd their King,
"How serv'd the faithful Barons bold--
"They voted one an useless thing,
"To unjust death the other sold.

"In all the wiles of Satan taught,
"Despising order, God, and laws;
"With bitter rage and envy fraught,
"They plead the grand reforming cause.

"To that unhappy time look back,
"When Britain, tottering from her base,
"Sent forth her chosen sons t' attack,
"A haughty and rebellious race.

"Ah! think of Saratoga's day,
"Or on that horrid murd'rous scene,
"When fainting legions bleeding lay
"Unpitied on the rebel plain.

"And when repeated losses prov'd,
"The brave embattled hosts betrayed;
"The gloomy tale they heard unmov'd,
"And, smiling, her defeats survey'd.

"No longer then such miscreants join,
"To rob the poor of Common Right;
"Renounce this guilty scheme of thine,
"By other means the town enlight.

"To meddling Majors leave the field,
"Who, deeply skill'd in warlike art,
"The battle-sword can fiercely wield,
"And march their armies 'gainst a Cart.[88]

"The Red Rose gift shall ne'er be seen
"Immur'd in filth, and foul'd by crimes;
"Nor shall the Lancastrian Green,
"Disgrac'd, descend to distant times."

Thus spoke the fierce offended sprite,
Then vanishing, with sullen gloom,
Through the dark realms of dreary night,
He hasten'd to the silent tomb.

The clock struck One, and Sam arose
From off his damp and dewy bed,
And swore he'd ne'er again oppose
What angry JOHN OF GHENT had said.

FOOTNOTE:

[88] A great impediment to the manoeuv'ring of the Militia, about 15 years ago.

_The Quadrupedes, &c.,_

_Or, Four-footed Petitioners, against the Sale of Nun's-Green. A Terrestrial Poem. Written by me The Celestial Bard!!_

[**pointing hand symbol]I SING OF ASSES:----(A Motto of my own.)

Two _Jack-Asses_, (the _Father_, and his _Son_,)
Who, after work, on _Nun's-Green_ us'd to run
Exactly like two _Bards_;--the other day
Stood in a _muse_;--and then began to bray
With human voice;--For _Balaam's_ breed were they.

Quoth _old Ned_, to his _Lad_;--"I have been told,
_Nun's-Green_, my little dear, is to be sold
To pave, and light, old Derby; (_fulsome town!_)
And save the POOR from _laying money down_.
Now is it _fair_, that you and I should be
Depriv'd of our just _Rights_, and _Property_?
It is an _Insult_ on the _Jack-Ass_ kind,
Who have possess'd this _Green_, time out of mind;
And in Co-partnership with _Pigs_ and _Geese_
(A truly ancient, honorable race!)
Enjoy'd a _bit o' mouth_, and Common run,
Quite down from _John of Ghent_, to you my son.

"Say little _David_, why the devil should _Asses_
Find fault with _dirty_ ways, and _narrow_ passes?
These wild _Projectors_, are the _Asses_ foes,
For _pavements_, boy, will only hurt our _toes_;
And when the town's improv'd, in proud array
We poor _Jack-Asses_, shall be driven away!
No _panniers_ then, forsooth, must there be seen,
So let us all _unite_ to keep _Nun's-Green_."

The youthful _Ass_, brim full of _spiteful_ Ire,
Prick'd up his ears; and answer'd _thus_, his _Sire_,
"This shall not be;--this shall not come to pass;
They shall not rob us of our _lawful grass_!
And if to Parliament the _Knaves_ should stray,
We'll throw _Petitions_ in the _Robbers'_ way."

So saying, young _David_, on all fours bent,
To _Lawyer Goose_, for pious counsel went:
_Quill_ took his _fee_, (the _life_ and _soul_ of Law)
Then heard the _Case_; and _thus_, unscrew'd his jaw:
"You must _petition_, Sir; and every creature
That is _aggriev'd_, must put his _pen_ to _paper_:

"As hunters' _pudding_, we most toothsome find,
The more with _currants_ or with _plumbs_, 'tis lin'd;
So your _Petition_ will disturb their dreams,
The more 'tis stuff'd, with _any kind of names_."

"Thank ye," quoth he; "my business now is done;
Back to my _Daddy_, and _Nun's-Green_ I'll run;"
So saying, swift he flew; and _Edward_ found
All at his ease; and rolling on the ground:
The _scrawl_ he read; and all compos'dly then,
Stretch'd forth his hoofs; and 'twixt them held his pen,
The paper sign'd, and after him the _Geese_,
And _Pigs_, aggriev'd;--fill'd up each vacant space.
Yet not enough, to please his craving maw,
And answer all the good _intents_ of Law,
Young _David_ did a _glorious_ thought reveal;
"That _Rats_, and _Mice_, would suffer by the _Sale_!
And by destroying _Swamps_, and _wholesome Bogs_,
It must invade the _property_ of _Frogs_!
So _these_ amongst the rest, as I divine
Should be solicited, forthwith to _sign_."

"Right;" said old _Ned_, "you reason well, my son;
Directly to the _dikes_, and _gutters_ run;
And if you cannot there, get _names_ enough,
Employ some _Rat_ to canvass every _sough_."

Away he went;--away, away, went he;
Out came my Lady _Froggy_, who but she!
Smirk'd at the _paper_, nibb'd her crow quill pen,
Then sign'd her _name_ against these _naughty men_.

Next to the _Mice_, young _David_ went with speed;
Poor little souls, they could not _write_ or _read_!
But well inclin'd, to stop, these _horrid scenes_,
Employ'd the _Jack-Ass_, to write down their names.

Now _David_ got the whole, engross'd on skins,
Forming a pile, much higher than one's shins!
And when roll'd up, upon his back 'twas ty'd,
Who, then for _London_ went, in _stately pride_!

But here's the _Rub_;--when Parliament, serene,
Consider'd _well_, the business of _Nun's-Green_;
And by _each_ house, most clearly understood,
That 'twas a Plan, design'd for PUBLIC GOOD,
They curs'd the _names_, and laugh'd at all the _rigs_,
Contriv'd by Asses, Geese, Frogs, Mice, and Pigs.

_Paving and Lighting,_

_A NEW SONG._

_To the tune of Chivy Chase._

God prosper long fair DERBY Town,
And may it still be free;
From hellish plots of every kind,
Against its liberty.

A juncto formed of wicked men,
Though rich its true they be,
They'd rob the poor of Common-right,
That they may go shot free.

The Prebyterians Jesuit like,
The established Church took in;
To do the drudgery of their work,
And trudged through thick and thin.

Poor silly men to be misled,
By that deceitful race;
That would cut your throat behind your back,
But smile before your face.

From the Town-hall they issue forth,
With _Eunuch_ at their head;
Lazarus the Banker followed him,
You'd have thought they wanted bread.

Next one from beggar's blood that sprung,
To opulence grown is he;
And _struts_ along with iron rod,
And swears you shan't be free.

A tawny _Smith_ was of the gang,
And others as well as he;
They've neither house nor land in town,
Yet want your property.

A brazen face with empty skull,
In Dibden's Tour well known;
That cares not what he does or says,
So that the poor's o'erthrown.

Sly _Foxes_ too with silly _hopes_,
Expect to have their share;
Of all the Common-right you have,
Their pockets for to spare.

Lo! deep in thought as Tragic Muse,
With dagger to stab behind;
Lo! another as bad as he,
And much of the same kind.

The Scribbling kind with parchment roll,
For you to sign away,
The Right you have upon _Nun's-Green_,
Their charges to defray.

There are many others of the gang,
As bad as bad can be;
That lie, fawn, and threat, and use deceit,
To get your property.

Old _Shot-bag_ he has chang'd about,
That his Mills may go shot-free;
Some others too have done the same,
Such worthless men there be.

But all's a blank that they have done,
If you but true will be;
To the first promise that was made,
The friends to liberty.

Now Mundy's join'd with Parker Coke,
And others of renown;
Those tyrants for to circumvent,
To save this goodly town.

Those veterans that have stood the brunt,
Of many a well fought day;
Will always cheer you in the front,
And shew you the right way.

For to be free as Britons ought,
And have a right to be;
In spite of these tyrannic fools,
That want your liberty.

_The Nun's-Green Rangers,_

_Or the Triple Alliance. Consisting of an Old Sergeant, a Tinker, and a Bear._

Tune--_Bow, Wow, Wow._[89]

Come listen to me, neighbours all, attend unto my story,
My song concerns not _Church_ or _King_, neither _Whig_ nor _Tory_;
But my Ballad is to caution you, against the machinations,
Of those who mean t' impose on you by false insinuations.
Bow, wow, wow.

There's JEMMY PAD, that _Irish Lad_, who heads the clan of faction,
Swears by the _Holy Poker_ now, he'll make us all distraction,
To keep Nun's Green that _precious_ Land, for his own _dear_
advantage,
He means by lies to dupe you all, and GOBBLE up the Pasturage.
Bow, wow, wow.

Good Twenty Pounds a year, this son of a Teague Sir,
Of lawful British money is regularly paid Sir,
For driving the Poor Geese, from the Land their inheritance,
Whereby he addeth Riches to _Irish Impertinence_.
Bow, wow, wow.

There's TINKER JOE comes next, because next in colour,
He tells you all he'll make a speech, but alas, he's no Scholar;
He'll talk of Lords and Baronets his Juvenile connections,
By mending all their Pots and Pans, he's gained their affections.
Bow, wow, wow.

To claim your attention more, he'll talk about the Parliament,
And say how many Members, old _Ruby Face_ has thither sent,
That his interest is great in affairs of the nation,
Though still _Baboon_ of Nottingham, _Nun's Green_ shall be
his station.
Bow, wow, wow.

OROONOKO next presents himself, t' engage your attention,
As oft' before the _Bear_ has done, with many a vile intention,
By blasts and oaths to lead you all, against your common senses,
For tho' almost an Ideot, he'll forge some false Pretences.
Bow, wow, wow.

But none of you've forgot, the _sixteenth_ of _September_,
Th' exalted part he then perform'd, you all must well remember;
By such a wretch you'll ne'er be led, against your inclinations,
Who persecutes the poor man with _Game Informations_.
Bow, wow, wow.

Then join neighbours all, without hesitation,
Resist these Imposters, without exceptation,
May all of us with one accord, oppose this host of evil,
And send Sergeant Pad and Co. to Canvas with the D---l.
Bow, wow, wow.

FOOTNOTE:

[89] This tune is the same as "The Barking Barber" and "Date obolum Belisario."

_A Birch Rod for the Presbytarians._

_A NEW SONG._

Tune of "_Chevy Chace_."

This ballad, printed from the original broad-sheet in my possession, is another of the series to which I have alluded as being connected with the sale of Nun's Green, Derby. It is printed in two columns, with a wood-cut at its head representing a Highlander playing on the bag-pipes.

Good neighbours all, both great and small,
Of high and low degree;
Let's straight unite, ourselves to fight,
Against this _presbytree_.

If you'll but trace this hellish race,
Thro' every stage of life;
Where e'er they be you'll plainly see,
Nought but discord and strife.

If you'll history read your hearts will bleed,
To hear of their transactions;
For _king_ and _church_ have suffered much,
By their damn hellish factions.

Must we be opprest by this vile nest,
Who strives us to enslave;
Such is their spleen to sell _Nun's Green_,
The town to light and pave.

They do not care who the burden bear,
Such is their tyranny;
To enforce the tax on others' backs,
Whilst they themselves go free.

I wish all such Aldermen and folks like them,
Was forc'd to change their situation;
And that Greenland hulks for their vile bulks,
Might for ever be their station.

Proud oppulence with impudence,
As he struts along the streets;
Swears by his God with his iron rod,
He'll beat down all he meets.

There's shufling Charles both grins and snarles,
And where he can he'll bite;
For this last mishap he'll surely snap,
Except he's musseld tight.

There's Jemmy Twichit did both scrub and fidge it,
His head he roll'd about;
He stampt and swore he'd come there no more,
When he found the bill thrown out.

They blam'd old George that did not discharge,
His duty as he ought;
And his addle pate that cou'd not relate,
What kind of a bill he'd brought.

The wigs got a fall, I wish they ne'er may rise,
But henceforth for the future, may learn to be more wise;
And ne'er persume to sit in chairs, nor honoured be with
Town affairs,
But stay at home and say their prayers, & not over us tyrannize.

Pray God above from this earth remove,
This vile deceitful crew,
And send them hence for their offence,
Where they may receive their due.

God bless _Mundy_ and _Cooke_, on them we look,
As two from heaven sent;
To set us free from tyranny,
And serve in Parliament.

_Lost and Dead._

In the parish register of Chapel-en-le-Frith is the sad entry of the burial of a child which was found dead in the neighbourhood--"S. Sept. 20, 1656. A poor child found dead in y^e Forest." The following ballad, from the pen of Mr. Henry Kirke, is founded on this circumstance. It has not before been printed.

The fire burns brightly upon the hearth,
And dances and crackles with glee;
And the cottar's wife sits before the blaze,
But the child--ah, where is she.

The cottar's hand is on the latch,
And he stands by the opened door,
And his wife she kisses his sunburnt cheek,
But his child he shall see no more.

"She is gone out to play," the dame replied,
"And will soon be back again;"
But their hearts felt heavy, they knew not why
And ach'd sorely as if with pain.

And soon the gude wife on the ample board
Has spread out the frugal fare,
But a mist rose up in the cottar's eyes
As he gazed on that empty chair.

And he started up from his chair and cried,
"I can stay no longer here,
I must go and find my own bonnie child,
For my heart aches sore wi' fear."

And he wandered around from house to house,
Across the weary wild;
And his heart grew heavier every step,
For no one had seen his child.

The night had drawn her curtains dark,
And every star shone clear;
But still he followed his fruitless search,
Half dead with fatigue and fear.

Through brake and copse of the forest drear
He followed his weary way,
Till the rosy light of the morning sun
Told the dawn of another day.

It bathed his face in gladsome light
With the stream of its glorious ray,
It seemed but to mock his saddened heart,
And he turned with a sigh away;

He turned away down a mossy dell,
Where the sunbeams danced and smiled,
And there midst the fern and the mossy cups
The father found his child.

One little arm beneath its head
On the mossy bank was laid,
And the sunbeams lighted its little face,
And the wind with its tresses played.

A smile still lingered on those sweet lips,
Which seemed as by sleep untied,
But the father's heart grew cold as he looked,
For he knew it had smiled--as it died.

_Song._

Tune--"_Vicar and Moses_."

As a satirical attack on some members of the choir of All Saints Church, Derby, in the last century, the following verses are clever. All Saints is the principal church in Derby, and its choir has generally had the reputation of being at least tolerably good. I prefer leaving the blanks in the names of the parties, still unfilled. The broad-sheet from which I here reprint it is in my own collection.

I.

When Apollo thinks fit to handle his Lyre,
The sweet Vocal Muses take place;
The _Treble_ and _Counter_ repair to their Choir,
Attended with _Tenor_ and _Bass_.

II.

As Mortals below--the high Gods will be aping
In all their sublime Occupations;
They love to be _Singing_ and _Piping_ and _Scraping_
To assist your devout Congregation.

III.

Thus to raise our Devotion and stop all Complaints,
(As ev'ry Man knows it's his duty)
We've compleated our Choir at the Church of _All Saints_;
That God may be worship'd in _Beauty_.

IV.

Whoever comes in it can't help but admire
A Worship so Solomn and goodly;
Such Voices were sure never heard from a Choir,
As those that are led by _Will. D--d--y._

V.

_Sam. D--d--y's_ sweet _Counter Will's Treble_ excells,
Well strengthen'd with _Roger's_ strong _Bass_
Each softning each like a good Peal of Bells,
Were _C--b--y's_ fine _Tenor_ takes place.

VI.

Neither _Paul's_ nor _King's Chapel_ can boast of such Voices,
Nor can our grand _Op'ras_ come near 'em;
When on 'em I think, how my Spirit rejoices!
Then what must it do when I hear 'em!

VII.

Tho' their Parts are all charming how much his Excels,
Adorning the Vocal Profession!
Their _Treble_ I mean, that so quavers and swells,
Enchanting beyond all Expression!

VIII.

By the _Doctor's_ fine _Treble_ how well they are led,
Whose Expression all hearers admire;
O'er topping his Fellows at least by the _Head_,
So well he ennobles the _Choir_.

IX.

Altho' in the _Choir_ he so _Eminent_ stands,
Yet still ith' _Orchestra_ he's greater:
With his _Fiddle_ excelling the greatest of Hands,
So bountiful to him is Nature!

X.

With this he can _irritate_ all that is quick,
(Such Pow'r have his Taste and his Tone!)
For he ev'ry thing moves but his long Fiddle-Stick,
None like him before was yet known.

XI.

So useful a Hand (without Doubt) was ne'er born,
For _Concerts_, _Assembly_ and _Ball_;
He can turn to the _Fiddle_, _Bass Trumpet_, or _Horne_,
Yet equally _great_ upon all.

XII.

For _here_ his Expressions so _full_ I must own,
We ne'er were so fiddled before;
But then his fine _Taste_, _Execution_ and _Tone_,
Delight us a Thousand Times more.

XIII.

Where lives that grave mortal so strangely supine,
So Senseless and stupidly lazy;
In hearing such Hands himself to confine,
And not like his Brother, grow _crazy_?

XIV.

To hear such sweet Hands who wou'd not but give,
Or spend the best part of his Rental;
At so charming a Place as _Derby_ to live,
With such _Vocal_ and such _Instrumental_?

XV.

And this is the Reason your strolling _Italians_,
(As it happen'd, we know, to'ther Day)
At _Derby_ are treated like Tatter--de Mallions,
When _unheard_ they went weeping away.

FINIS.

N.B. Speedily will be published, a Particular Account of the great Abilities of each of these Famous _Singers_, wherein will be shewn their Ignorance and Impudence in attempting such Things as Solo and Verse Anthems by Dr. _Greene_, _Boyce_, _Nares_, &c. Oratorio Songs and Chorusses by Mr. Handel, &c., &c., It being well known to every Person who has the least Ear to Music, that they are not capable of _decently_ singing a Bar in any such Compositions. Mr. W---- some time since absolutely discharged them from making Use of any thing but the Old Psalm Tunes. The scandalous Behaviour of _D----_, and _C----_, on this occasion shall be particularly pointed out.

_Sir Francis Leke;_

_OR THE POWER OF LOVE._

_A Derbyshire Catholic Legend of Cromwell's time._

The Lekes, or Leakes, of Sutton-in-Scarsdale, Derbyshire, derived their descent from Alan de Leka, of Leak in Nottinghamshire, who was living in 1141. The first of the family who settled at Sutton was William, a younger son of Sir John Leke of Gotham, in the early part of the fifteenth century; and the manor was acquired by a marriage with the heiress of the Hilarys, who took the name of Gray, and who inherited it from Robert de Hareston, Lord of Sutton. Sir Francis Leake, the fourth in descent from William above-named, married a co-heiress of Swift, and was succeeded by his son Francis, who in 1611 was created a baronet. In 1642 he was created Lord Deincourt of Sutton, and in 1645, Earl of Scarsdale. These titles became, however, extinct in 1736, by the death of Nicholas, the fourth Earl, and the last of the family. His lordship took an active part in the Civil Wars; and Lysons, speaking of him, says in 1643, (the beginning of April) "Lord Deincourt began to fortify his house at Sutton. Sir John Gell sent his brother, Colonel Thomas Gell, with five hundred men and three pieces of ordnance to besiege it. Lord Deincourt was summoned, but refused to surrender, and for some time obstinately defended himself. The house was taken, and Lord Deincourt and his men made prisoners. The works were demolished, and Lord Deincourt set at liberty, on giving his word that he would repair to Derby within eight days and submit himself to the Parliament. Sir John Gell observes that the forfeiture of his word on this occasion was revenged by the garrison at Bolsover, who some time afterwards, when that castle was in the hands of the Parliament, plundered Lord Deincourt's house at Sutton. In 1645 Lord Deincourt was created Earl of Scarsdale. Having rendered himself very obnoxious to the Parliament by his exertions in the royal cause during the Civil War, his estates were sequestered, and, as he refused to compound, they were sold. His son procured some friends to be the purchasers, he paying the sum of £18,000, fixed by the Parliamentary Commissioners as the composition." His lordship felt so deeply the execution of his royal master, Charles the First, that he clothed himself in sackcloth, and, causing his grave to be dug some years before his death, laid himself in it, it is said, every Friday for divine meditation and prayer.

The following ballad, embodying a tradition concerning Sir Francis Leke, is by Richard Howitt, one of the "worthies" of Derbyshire, of which county I am proud to say he is a native.