Chapter III: Preface (3)

[Footnote 49: "The remains of a wet ditch surrounding Crossland hall are visible to this day; but neither Quarmby nor Lockwood houses had the same advantage."--WATSON'S _Hist. of Halifax_.]

[Footnote 50: It is stated in Hopkinson's MSS. "that when sir John Eland gave bread to Adam Beaumont, he threw it at him with disdain; on which sir John said he would weed out the offspring of his blood, as they weed out the weed from corn;" but this threatening was so far from being verified that sir John's male issue were entirely cut off, whilst that of Beaumont continued in John the third son. The preceding verse mentions only "two boys;" but the pedigree of the family gives a third, who probably was an infant at the time, and therefore too young to be noticed. Adam appears to have only been about five years of age; this may account for the different behaviour of the two boys.]

[Footnote 51: Some copies read Cromwelbottom hall; the residence of Lacy.]

[Footnote 52: "This verse," says Watson, "cannot be explained, for no authority which I have seen shows the name of sir John's son and heir."]

[Footnote 53: The half brother mentioned was a son of sir John's lady, who was daughter of Gilbert Umfravile, and widow of Robert Coniers of Sockburn, in the county of Durham.]

[Footnote 54: After the death of sir John Eland, and his son and heir, sir John Savile of Tankersley, purchased, in 1350, the wardship of Isabel Eland, daughter of the said sir John, from the lord of the honour of Pontefract, for 200_l_. See _Comput. Seneschall honoris de Pontfrete_, p. 17. After this purchase he married her, and in her right became possessed of the estates belonging to that family.]

[Footnote 55: Hopkinson's MSS. says "that the town and neighbourhood were raised by sound of horn, and ringing the bells backways."]

[Footnote 56: "In an ivy tree, with an intent to have been saved."--HOPKINSON'S _MSS_.]

[Footnote 57: The subsequent history of these gentlemen is given in "A relation of the lives and deaths of Wilkin (or William) Lockwood, and Adam Beaumont, esqrs. and what adventures happened to them after the battle with the Eland men, in Anely wood;" from which we learn that Lockwood retired to a solitary place called Camel hall, near Cawthorn (now Cannon hall), where he was subsequently taken by the sheriff and his men, after a desperate resistance, and cruelly put to death, to the utter extirpation of the ancient family of Lockwood, of Lockwood, in the West Riding of Yorkshire.

_Adam Beaumont_, upon hearing of the death of Lockwood, and that precepts were sent from London to the sheriff to arrest him, resolved to leave the country; and having landed in France, by some means or other got into the service of the knights of Rhodes. Some years after, his friends received an account of his life and death; from which it appears he resided sometimes at Rhodes, amongst the knights there, and sometimes in Hungary, where, in one of the engagements against the Turks, he honourably ended his life.]

THE BOY OF EGREMOND.

BY JOHN BIRD.

William de Meschines and Cecily de Romille his wife, founders of Embsay Priory, (says Dr. Whitaker,) were now dead, and had left a daughter, Alice, who adopted her mother's name, Romille, and was married to William Fitz-Duncan, nephew of David, king of Scotland. They had issue a son, commonly called the _Boy of Egremond_,[58] who, surviving an elder brother, became the last hope of the family.

In the deep solitude of the woods, betwixt Bolton and Barden, in Craven, four miles up the river, the Wharfe suddenly contracts itself to a rocky channel, little more than four feet wide, and pours through the tremendous fissure with a rapidity proportioned to its confinement. The place was then, as it is yet, called _the Strid_, from a feat often exercised by persons of more agility than prudence, who stride from brink to brink, regardless of the destruction which awaits a faltering step. Such was the fate of young Romille, who inconsiderately bounded over the chasm, with a greyhound in his leash, the animal hung back and drew his unfortunate master into the torrent. The misfortune is said to have occasioned the translation of the priory from Embsay to Bolton, which was the nearest eligible site to the place where it happened.

This priory existed upwards of four hundred years, when it was surrendered by Richard Moon, the prior, and fourteen of his brethren, on the 26th Jan. 1540. On the 3rd April, 1542, the site was granted to Henry Clifford, first earl of Cumberland, but nineteen days before his death, for the sum of 2,490_l_; from him it has descended to the present owner, the duke of Devonshire.

"Rise up, rise up, my noble boy,
The morn is fresh and fair;
The laughing rays look out with joy,
Rich balm is on the air:--
Rise up, rise up, my gallant son,
Nor let there story be,
That hawk was flown, or heron won,
Unseen, unheard, of thee!"

The boy rose up, that noble boy,
He knelt down at her knee;--
And, oh, it was a sight of joy,
That lady's joy to see!
She parted back his golden hair,
She kist his bonny brow--
"I would each mother's heart might share
Thy mother's gladness now!

"For thou art fair, and more than fair,
Gentle in word and thought;--
Yet, oh, my son, brave boy, beware
Of dangers love hath taught!"
"Trust me," he cried, and smiling went
To range the valleys green;
And many as fair and fond intent
As dark an end hath seen.

Bright on his path the dewdrops lay--
Rich gems of nature's court;
The foot that chased their light away,
Seem'd but to fall in sport--
Seem'd but the joy of him whose bound
Forgot its speed, to hear
The warbling lark, or win the hound
From his own wild career.

And never shone fair Bolton's vale
So beautiful as now,
And ne'er beneath the sportive gale
Did Wharfe so calmly flow.
"Hark! hark! on Barden-fell the horn
Of the blithe hunter rings,
Buscar! they rouse a stag this morn;
Oh, sweet the bugle sings."

Away, away, they speed with joy,
The frolic hound and he,
Proud Egremond's far boasted boy,
That gallant chase to see.
Why pause they in their course?--'tis where
The stream impetuous flows
Through the dark rocks, that, meeting there,
Its onward path oppose!

Yet, oh, the gush, the fearful gush,
Of the wild water's strife!
On that loud eddying flood to rush,
Were but to sport with life!
Yet one true gaze--one gallant bound--
And the dread gulf is past!
"Be firm and fleet, my faithful hound!"
That spring--it was his last!

Held in a leash, that craven hound,
Faltered in fear, and gave
His master to the gulf profound--
A swift and sudden grave!
One flash of light--one look that tells
Of late and vain remorse--
And a dark mass the current swells
Far on its rapid course!

Still beautiful is Bolton's vale,
Still Wharfe's bright waters there
Trace through long years the mournful tale,
That bids rash youth beware.
There through its chasm the fatal flood
Still pours the ceaseless wave,
Where the bright boy one moment stood,
And sprang--to find a grave!

Fair Bolton's Abbey yet records
The lady's sorrowing part,
And silent walls, e'en more than words,
May wake the slumbering heart.
Ye, then, who mourn her gentle son,
Whelm'd in the fearful Strid,
Think on a mother's love, and shun
The paths her lips forbid!

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 58: This incident has called forth the poetical effusions of Wordsworth and Rogers. See their respective works; also Wordsworth's _Hart Leap Well_, the scene of which is laid near Richmond, and _White Doe of Rylstone_.]

THE DEPOSING OF RICHARD II. AND HIS

MURDER IN POMFRET CASTLE.

Richard II., son of the Black Prince, was born in 1366, and succeeded his grandfather Edward III., on the throne of England, 1377; murdered in 1392. Historians differ with regard to the manner in which he was murdered. It was long the prevailing opinion that sir Piers Exton, and others of his guards, fell upon him in Pontefract castle, and that the king, wresting a pole-axe from one of the murderers, soon laid four of their number dead at his feet; but at length being overpowered, he was struck dead with a blow of a pole-axe.

"O Pomfret, Pomfret, O thou bloody prison!
Fatal and ominous to noble Peers!
Within the guilty closure of thy walls,
Richard the Second here was hack'd to death."

SHAKSPEARE'S _Richard III_.

But it is more probable that he was starved to death; and after all sustenance was denied him, he prolonged his unhappy life, it is said, for a fortnight, before he reached the end of his miseries. This account is more consistent with the story that his body was exposed in public, and that no marks of violence were found upon it.

When Richard the Second in England was king,
And reign'd with honour and state,
Six uncles he had, his grandfather's sons,
King Edward that ruled of late;
All counsellors noble and sage;
Yet would he not hear
Their precepts dear,
So wilful he was, in this his young age.

A sort of brave gallants he kept in his court,
That train'd him to wanton delights,
Which parasites pleased him better in mind,
Than all his best nobles and knights:
Ambition and avarice grew
So great in this land,
That still from his hand
A mass of rich treasure his parasites drew.

His peers and his barons dishonoured were;
And upstarts thus mounted on high;
His commons sore tax'd, his cities oppress'd,
Good subjects were nothing set by;
And what to his coffers did come,
He wantonly spent,
To please with content
His flattering upstarts, still sporting at home.

When thus unto ruin this kingdom began,
To fall from the highest estate,
The nobles of England their prince's amiss,
By parliament soon did rebate;
And likewise those flatterers all,
They banish'd the court,
That made but a sport
To see this so famous a kingdom to fall.

But after these gallants degraded were thus,
King Richard himself was put down,
And Bullinbrook, Lancaster's noble-born duke
By policy purchased his crown.
Thus civil wars here begun,
That could have no end,
By foe nor by friend,
Till seven kings' reigns, with their lives were out-run.

But Richard, the breeder of all these same broils,
In prison was wofully cast,
Where long he complain'd, in sorrowful sort,
Of kingly authority past:
No lords nor no subjects had he,
No glory, no state,
That early and late
Upon him attending had wont for to be.

His robes were converted to garments so old,
That beggars would hardly them wear;
His diet no comfort at all to him brought,
For he fed upon sorrow and care.
And from prison to prison was sent,
Each day, and each night,
To work him despight,
That, wearied with sorrows, he still might lament.

Poor king, thus abused, he was at the last
To Pomfret in Yorkshire convey'd,
And there in a dungeon, full low in the ground,
Unpitied, he nightly was laid:
Not one for his misery grieved,
That late was in place
Of royallest grace,
Where still the distress'd he kindly relieved.

King Henry usurping then all his estate,
Could never in heart be content,
Till some of his friends in secresy sought
To kill him by cruel consent;
Who soon to Pomfret hied,
Whereas the fear,
That touch'd him so near,
They finish'd as soon as king Richard there died.

There dy'd this good king, for murther'd he was,
That might well have lived full long,
Had not ill counsel betray'd his best good,
And done his high fortunes this wrong:
But blood for blood still calls,
No bloody-stain'd hand
Can long in this land
Stand surely, but soon into misery falls.

Lancaster thus the diadem gain'd,
And won his title by blood,
Which afterwards by heaven's high power,
Not three generations stood,
But yielded to York again:
Thus fortune shows
Their proud overthrows,
That cunningly climb an imperial reign.

THE FELON SEW OF ROKEBY AND THE

FRYERS OF RICHMOND.

This curious ballad was first published in Dr. Whitaker's "History of Craven," in 1805, but, from an inaccurate manuscript, not corrected very happily. It was transferred by Mr. Evans to the new edition of his Ballads, with some well-judged conjectural improvements. Sir Walter Scott, in "Rokeby," has given a more authentic and full, though still an imperfect, edition of this humoursome composition, from being furnished with a copy from a manuscript in the possession of Mr. Rokeby, of Northamptonshire, descended of the ancient barons of Rokeby. It has three or four stanzas more than that of Dr. Whitaker, and the language seems, where they differ, to have the more ancient and genuine readings.

Ralph Rokeby, esq. who bestowed this intractable animal on the convent of Richmond, seems to have flourished in the time of Henry VII., which, since we know not the date of Friar Theobald's wardenship, to which the ballad refers us, may indicate that of the composition itself.

Ye men that will of aunters[59] winne,
That late within this land hath beene,
Of one I will you tell;
And of a sew that was sea strang,
Alas! that ever she lived sae lang,
For fell[60] folk did she whell.[61]

She was mare than other three,
The grisliest beast that ere might be,
Her head was great and gray:
She was bred in Rokeby wood,
There were few that thither goed,
That came on live[62] away.

Her walk was endlong[63] Greta side;
There was no bren that durst her bide,
That was froe heaven or hell;
Nor never man that had that might,
That ever durst come in her sight,
Her force it was so fell.

Ralph[64] of Rokeby, with good will,
The fryers of Richmond gave her till,[65]
Full well to garre[66] them fare
Fryer Middleton by his name,
He was sent to fetch her hame,
That rued him sine full sare.

With him tooke he wicht men two,
Peter Dale was one of thoe,
That ever was brim as beare,[67]
And well durst strike with sword and knife,
And fight full manly for his life,
What time as mister ware.[68]

These three men went at God's will,
This wicked sew while they came till,
Liggan under a tree;
Rugg and rusty was her haire;
She raise up with a felon fare,[69]
To fight against the three.

She was so grisley for to meete,
She rave the earth up with her feete,
And bark came fro the tree;
When fryer Middleton her saugh,
Weet ye well he might not laugh,
Full earnestly look'd hee.

These men of aunters that was so wight,[70]
They bound them bauldly for to fight,
And strike at her full sare:
Until a kiln they garred her flee,
Wold God send them the victory,
The wold ask him noa mare.

The sew was in the kiln hole down,
As they were on the balke aboon,
For hurting of their feet;
They were so saulted with this sew,
That among them was a stalworth stew,
The kiln began to reeke.

Durst noe man neigh her with his hand,
But put a rape down with his wand,
And haltered her full meete;
They hurled her forth against her will,
Whiles they came into a hill,
A little fro the street.[71]

And there she made them such a fray,
If they should live to doomes-day,
They tharrow[72] it ne'er forgett;
She braded[73] upon every side,
And ran on them gaping full wide,
For nothing would she lett.[74]

She gave such brades[75] at the band,
That Peter Dale had in his hand,
He might not hold his feet.
She chafed them to and fro,
The wight men was never soe woe,
Their measure was not so meete.

She bound her boldly to abide;
To Peter Dale she came aside,
With many a hideous yell;
She gaped soe wide, and cried soe hee,
The fryer said, "I conjure thee,[76]
Thou art a feind of hell!

"Thou art come hither for some traine,[77]
I conjure thee to go againe
Where thou wast wont to dwell."
He sayned[78] him with crosse and creede,
Took forth a book, began to reade
In St. John his gospell.

The sew she would not Latin heare,
But rudely rushed at the frear,
That blinked all his blee;[79]
And when she would have taken her hold,
The fryer leaped as Jesus[80] wold,
And bealed him[81] with a tree.

She was as brim as any beare,
For all their meete to labour there,[82]
To them it was no boote:
Upon trees and bushes that by her stood,
She ranged as she was wood,[83]
And rave them up by roote.

He sayd, "Alas, that I was frear!
And I shall be rugged[84] in sunder here,
Hard is my destinie!
Wist my brethren in this houre,
That I was sett in such a stoure,[85]
They would pray for me."

This wicked beast that wrought this woe,
Tooke that rape from the other two,
And then they fled all three;
They fled away by Watling-street,
They had no succour but their feet,
It was the more pity.

The feild it was both lost and wonne,[86]
The sew went hame, and that full soone,
To Morton[87] on the greene;
When Ralph of Rokeby saw the rape,[88]
He wist that there had been debate,
Whereat the sew had beene.

He bade them stand out of her way,
For she had had a sudden fray,--
"I saw never sew so keene;
Some new things shall we heare,
Of her and Middleton the frear,
Some battell hath there beene."

But all that served him for nought.
Had they not better succour sought,
They were served therefore loe.
Then Mistress Rokeby[89] came anon,
And for her brought shee meate full soone,
The sew came her unto.

She gyve her meate upon the flower,
* * * *[90]

[_Hiatus valde deflendus._]

When fryer Middleton came home,
His brethren was full fain ilkone,[91]
And thanked God for his life;
He told them all unto the end,
How he had foughten with a fiend,
And lived through mickle strife.

"We gave her battell half a day,
And sithin[92] was fain to fly away,
For saving of our life;[93]
And Peter Dale would never blinn,[94]
But as fast as he could ryn,[95]
Till he came to his wife."

The warden said, "I am full of woe,
That ever ye should be torment so,
But wee with you had beene!
Had wee been there your brethren all,
Wee should have garred the warle[96] fall,
That wrought you all this teyne."[97]

Fryer Middleton said soon, "Nay,
In faith you would have fled away,
When most mister[98] had beene;
You will all speake words at hame,
A man would ding you every ilk ane,[99]
And if it be as I weine."

He look't so griesly all that night,
The warden said, "Yon man will fight
If you say aught but good;
Yon guest[100] hath grieved him so sare,
Hold your tongues, and speake noe mare,
He looks as he were woode."

The warden waged[101] on the morne,
Two boldest men that ever were borne,
I weine, or ever shall be;
The one was Gilbert, Griffin's son,
Full mickle worship has he wonne,
Both by land and sea.

The other was a bastard son of Spaine,
Many a Sarazin hath he slain,
His dint hath gart them die.
These two men the battle undertooke,
Against the sew, as says the booke,
And sealed security.

That they should boldly bide and fight,
And skomfit her in maine and might,
Or therefore should they die.
The warden sealed to them againe,
And said, "In feild if ye be slain,
This condition make I:

"We shall for you pray, sing, and read,
To doomes-day with hearty speede,
With all our progeny."
Then the letters well was made,
Bands bound with seales brade,
As deedes of armes should be.

These men of armes that weere so wight,
With armour and with brandes bright,
They went this sew to see;
She made on them slike a rerd,[102]
That for her they were sare afer'd
And almost bound to flee.

She came roveing them egaine;
That saw the bastard son of Spaine,
He braded[103] out his brand;
Full spiteously at her he strake,
For all the fence that he could make,
She gat sword out of hand;
And rave in sunder half his shielde,
And bare him backward in the feilde,
He might not her gainstand.

She would have riven his privich geare,
But Gilbert with his sword of werre,
He strake at her full strong,
On her shoulder till she held the swerd;
Then was good Gilbert sore afer'd,
When the blade brake in throng.[104]

Since in his hands he hath her tane,
She tooke him by the shoulder bane,
And held her hold full fast;
She strave so stiffly in that stower,[105]
That through all his rich armour
The blood came at the last.

Then Gilbert grieved was sea sare,
That he rave off both hide and haire,
The flesh came fro the bone;
And with all force he felled her there,
And wann her worthily in werre,
And band her him alone.

And lift her on a horse sea hee,
Into two paniers well-made of a tre,
And to Richmond they did hay:[106]
When they saw her come,
They sang merrily Te Deum,
The fryers on that day.[107]

They thanked God and St. Francis,[108]
As they had won the best of pris,[109]
And never a man was slaine:
There did never a man more manly,
Knight Marcus, nor yett sir Gui,
Nor Loth of of Louthyane.[110]

If ye will any more of this,
In the fryers of Richmond 'tis
In parchment good and fine;
And how fryer Middleton that was so kend,
At Greta bridge conjured a feind,
In likeness of a swine.

It is well known to many a man,
That fryer Theobald was warden than,
And this fell in his time;
And Christ them bless both farre and neare,
All that for solace list this to heare,
And him that made the rhime.

Ralph Rokeby with full good will,
The fryers of Richmond he gave her till,
This sew to mend their fare:
Fryer Middleton by his name,
Would needs bring the fat sew hame
That rued him since full sare.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 59: Both the MS. and Dr. Whitaker's copy read _ancestors_, evidently a corruption of _aunters_, adventures, as corrected by Mr. Evans.]

[Footnote 60: A Saxon word for many. See _fell_ in Glossary.]

[Footnote 61: A corruption of quell, to kill.]

[Footnote 62: Alive.]

[Footnote 63: Along the side of the river Greta.]

[Footnote 64: Dr. Whitaker reads Raphe, which is undoubtedly the ancient form.]

[Footnote 65: To.]

[Footnote 66: Make.]

[Footnote 67: Fierce as a bear. Dr. Whitaker's copy reads, perhaps in consequence of mistaking the MS., "T'other was Bryan of Bear."]

[Footnote 68: Need were. Whitaker reads _musters_.]

[Footnote 69: A fierce countenance or manner.]

[Footnote 70: Brave. The Rokeby MS. reads _incounters_, and Dr. Whitaker, _auncestors_.]

[Footnote 71: Watling-street, the Roman way from Catterick to Bowes.]

[Footnote 72: Dare.]

[Footnote 73: Rushed.]

[Footnote 74: Leave it.]

[Footnote 75: Pulls.]

[Footnote 76: This line is wanting in Dr. Whitaker's copy, whence it has been conjectured that something is wanting after this stanza, which now there is no occasion to suppose.]

[Footnote 77: Evil device.]

[Footnote 78: Blessed.]

[Footnote 79: Lost his colour.]

[Footnote 80: Some copies have the letters I.H.S., but both Whitaker and Scott write Jesus.]

[Footnote 81: Sheltered himself.]

[Footnote 82: The MS. reads, _to labour weere_. The text seems to mean that all their labour to obtain their intended meat was of no use to them. Dr. Whitaker reads:--

"She was brim as any boar.
And gave a grisly hideous roar,
To them it was no boot."

Besides the want of connection between the last line and the two former, the second has a very modern sound, and the reading in the Rokeby MS., with the slight alteration in the text, is much better.]

[Footnote 83: Mad.]

[Footnote 84: Torn, pulled.]

[Footnote 85: Combat, perilous fight.]

[Footnote 86: This stanza, with the two following, and a fragment of a fourth, are not in Dr. Whitaker's edition.]

[Footnote 87: The residence of this facetious baron. Leland says, that "Mr. Rokeby hath a place called Mortham, a little beneath Grentey-bridge, almost on the mouth of Grentey." "This place and Rokeby," says Hutchinson, "were, in very distant ages, in the possession of the Rokebies; Robert de Rokeby lived in the time of the Conqueror. By the arms and date on Mortham tower, it appears that it was built in 1166 by the Rokebies."]

[Footnote 88: The rope about the sow's neck.]

[Footnote 89: Ralph Rokeby married Margery, eldest daughter and co-heir of Robert Danby, esq., of Yafforth near Northallerton, by a daughter of sir Richard Conyers, knt. Her will is dated 27 Sep. 1540.--See Richmond Wills by Surtees Soc.]

[Footnote 90: This line is illegible according to Scott; but Bell in his Ballads gives the verse:--

Scho gav her meete upon the flower
[Scho made a bed beneath a bower,
With moss and broom besprent;
The sewe was gentle as mote be,
Ne rage ne ire flashed fra her e'e,
Scho seemèd wele content.]
]

[Footnote 91: Each one.]

[Footnote 92: Since then, after that.]

[Footnote 93: The above lines are wanting in Dr. Whitaker's copy.]

[Footnote 94: Cease, stop.]

[Footnote 95: Run.]

[Footnote 96: Warlock, or wizard.]

[Footnote 97: Harm.]

[Footnote 98: Need.]

[Footnote 99: Dr. Whitaker's copy reads, perhaps better:--

"The fiend would ding you down ilk one."
]

[Footnote 100: "Yon guest" may be yon _gest_, i. e. that adventure; or it may mean yon _ghaist_, or apparition, which in old poems is applied sometimes to what is supernaturally hideous. The printed copy reads,--"The beast hath," &c.]

[Footnote 101: Hired.]

[Footnote 102: Such like a roar.]

[Footnote 103: Drew out.]

[Footnote 104: In the combat.]

[Footnote 105: Meeting, battle.]

[Footnote 106: Hie, to hasten.]

[Footnote 107: The MS. reads, mistakenly, every day.]

[Footnote 108: At the back of French-gate, in Richmond, a little without the walls, stood the monastery of the Grey Friars, founded, in 1258, by Ralph Fitz-Randolph, lord of Middleham, and, after flourishing nearly three centuries, was surrendered, in 1539, by Robert Sanderson, the last warden, and fourteen brethren. Several of the families of Scroop, Plessey, and Frank, were buried here. In the time of Leland, the house, garden, orchard, and meadow, were walled in, and the edifice existed unimpaired; but there now remains only a solitary steeple, majestic and beautiful in ruins, to mark the residence and the sanctuary of that order of mendicants called Franciscans from their founder St. Francis.]

[Footnote 109: Prize.]

[Footnote 110: The father of sir Gawain, in the "Romance of Arthur and Merlin." The MS. is thus corrupted:--

"More loth of Louth Ryme."
]

THE RISING IN THE NORTH.

The subject of this ballad is the great Northern Insurrection in the 12th of Elizabeth, 1569. It happened thus:--

The zealous adherents of the Romish religion being dissatisfied at the change, formed the design of re-establishing that faith, restoring Mary of Scotland to her liberty, and placing her on the throne of England. The earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland, who possessed great power in the north, having held together several conferences, orders were despatched by Elizabeth to these noblemen to appear at court, and answer for their conduct. This order from the queen precipitated the rising before they were fully prepared, for the leaders had already proceeded so far that they dare not trust themselves in the queen's hands. They determined to begin the insurrection without delay; and committed themselves irrevocably by entering Durham in arms, on the 14th November, 1569. This rising was speedily suppressed, and martial law having been proclaimed, great severity was exercised. The earl of Northumberland and many gentlemen were executed; sixty-six petty constables were hanged; and not less than eight hundred persons are said to have suffered by the hands of the executioner. Between Newcastle and Wetherby, a district of sixty miles in length by forty in breadth, there was not a town or village in which some of the inhabitants did not expire on the gibbet.

The following was first printed by Dr. Percy, in 1765, from two MS. copies.

Listen, lively lordings all,
Lithe and listen unto me,
And I will sing of a noble earle,
The noblest earle in the north countrie.

Earle Percy[111] is into the garden gone,
And after him walkes his faire ladie:[112]
"I heard a bird sing in mine eare,
That I must either fight, or flee."

"Now heaven forfend, my dearest lord,
That ever such harm should hap to thee:
But goe to London to the court,
And faire full truth and honestie."

"Now nay, now nay, my ladye gay,
Alas! thy counsell suits not mee;
Mine enemies prevail so fast
That at the court I may not bee."

"O goe to the court yet, good my lord,
And take thy gallant men with thee:
If any dare to doe you wrong,
Then your warrant they may be."

"Now nay, now nay, thou lady faire,
The court is full of subtiltie;
And if I goe to the court, lady,
Never more I may thee see."

"Yet goe to the court, my lord," she sayes,
"And I myselfe will ryde wi' thee:
At court then for my dearest lord,
His faithfull borrowe[113] I will be."

"Now nay, now nay, my lady deare,
Far lever[114] had I lose my life,
Than leave among my cruell foes
My love in jeopardy and strife.

"But come thou hither, my little foot-page,
Come thou hither unto mee,
To maister Norton[115] thou must goe,
In all the haste that ever may bee.

"Commend me to that gentleman,
And beare this letter here fro' mee;
And say that earnestly I praye,
He will ryde in my companie."

One while the little foot-page went,
And another while he ran;
Untill he came to his journey's end;
The little foot-page never blan.[116]

When to that gentleman he came,
Down he kneeled on his knee;
And took the letter betwixt his hands,
And lett the gentleman it see.

And when the letter it was redd
Affore that goodlye companye,
I wis, if you the truth wold know,
There was many a weeping eye.

He sayd, "Come thither, Christopher Norton,[117]
A gallant youth thou seemst to bee;
What doest thou counsell me, my sonne,
Now that good earle's in jeopardy?"

"Father, my counselle's fair and free;
That earle he is a noble lord,
And whatsoever to him you hight,
I wold not have you break your word."

"Gramercy, Christopher, my sonne,
Thy counsell well it liketh mee,
And if we speed and scape with life,
Well advanced shalt thou bee.

"Come you hither, my nine good sonnes,
Gallant men I trowe you bee;
How many of you, my children deare,
Will stand by that good earle and mee?"

Eight of them did answer make,
Eight of them spake hastilie,
"O father, till the daye we dye
We'll stand by that good earle and thee."

"Gramercy now, my children deare,
You showe yourselves right bold and brave;
And whethersoe'er I live or dye,
A father's blessing you shall have.

"But what sayst thou, O Francis Norton,[118]
Thou art mine eldest sonne and heire:
Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast;
Whatever it bee, to mee declare."

"Father, you are an aged man,
Your head is white, your bearde is gray;
It were a shame at these your years
For you to ryse in such a fray."

"Now fye upon thee, coward Francis,
Thou never learnedest this of mee:
When thou wert yong and tender of age,
Why did I make soe much of thee?"

"But, father, I will wend with you,
Unarm'd and naked will I bee;
And he that strikes against the crowne,
Ever an ill death may he dee."

Then rose that reverend gentleman,
And with him came a goodlye band
To join with the brave earle Percy,
And all the flower o' Northumberland.

With them the noble Nevill[119] came
The earle of Westmoreland was hee;
At Wetherbye they mustred their host,
Thirteen thousand faire to see.

Lord Westmoreland his ancyent[120] raisde,
The Dun Bull he rays'd on hye,
And three Dogs with golden collars
Were there sett out most royallye.[121]

Earle Percy there his ancyent spred,
The Halfe-Moone shining all soe faire:[122]
The Norton's ancyent had the crosse,
And the five wounds our Lord did beare.

Then sir George Bowes[123] he straitways rose
After them some spoyle to make:
Those noble earles turn'd backe againe,
And aye they vowed that knight to take.

That baron he to his castle fled,
To Barnard castle then fled hee,[124]
The uttermost walles were eathe[125] to win,
The earles have wonne them presentlie.

The uttermost walles were lime and bricke;
But thoughe they won them soon anone,
Long e'er they wan the innermost walles,
For they were cut in rocke of stone.

Then newes unto leeve[126] London came
In all the speede that ever might bee,
And word is brought to our royall queene
Of the rysing in the north countrie.

Her grace she turned her round about,
And like a royall queene she swore,[127]
I will ordayne them such a breakfast,
As never was in the north before.

Shee caus'd thirty thousand men berays'd,
With horse and harneis[128] faire to see;
Shee caus'd thirty thousand men berays'd
To take the earles i' th' north countrie.

Wi' them the false earle Warwick[129] went,
Th' earle Sussex[130] and the lord Hunsdon;[131]
Untill they to Yorke castle came
I wis, they never stint ne blan.

"Now spred thy ancyent, Westmoreland,
Thy Dun Bull faine would we spye;
And thou, the earle o' Northumberland,
Now rayse thy Halfe-Moone up on hye."

But the Dun Bull is fled and gone,
And the Halfe-Moone vanished away:
The earles, though they were brave and bold,
Against soe many could not stay.

"Thee, Norton, wi' thine eight good sonnes,
Thy donn'd to dye, alas! for ruth![132]
Thy reverend lockes thee could not save,
Nor them their faire and blooming youthe."

Wi' them full many a gallant wight
They cruellye bereav'd of life:
And many a childe made fatherlesse,
And widowed many a tender wife.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 111: Thomas Percy, seventh earl of Northumberland, K. G; after the failing of this insurrection he fled into Scotland, but was betrayed by the earl of Moreton, viceroy of Scotland, and lord Hunsdon, governor of Berwick. He was brought to York, and beheaded on a scaffold, erected for the purpose, in the Pavement, near St. Crux church, 22nd August, 1572; in which church his body was buried, and his head placed over Micklegate bar, where it remained about two years.]

[Footnote 112: Anne, daughter of Henry Somerset, earl of Worcester.]

[Footnote 113: Surety.]

[Footnote 114: Rather.]

[Footnote 115: Richard Norton, esq., of Norton Conyers, co. York, mar. Susan, daughter of Richard Nevill, lord Latimer, by whom he had nine sons, all of man's estate, and all engaged in the rebellion, though only seven occur in the list of attainders. Old Norton escaped along with some of his sons over seas, where he died. In the Lansdowne MSS. is a paper addressed to Lord Burleigh, containing a pedigree of the families of Morton of Bawtry (Nicholas Morton, priest, being engaged in this rebellion) and Norton of Norton Conyers, interspersed with strange personal reflections on almost every individual of the two families, and endorsed, "A trybe of wicked people."]

[Footnote 116: Lingered.]

[Footnote 117: Christopher and Marmaduke are mentioned as prisoners in Sadler, II. 136, and the former appears to have been executed.]

[Footnote 118: After the failure of this enterprise he escaped to Flanders, where, after several attempts in vain to secure a pardon, he died in exile, a pensioner of the king of Spain. Mr. Surtees says he saved a part of the estate, and left descendants. The estate of Norton Conyers, however, was granted to a Musgrave, who sold it to an ancestor of sir B. R. Graham, bart., the present owner.]

[Footnote 119: Charles Nevill, sixth earl of Westmoreland, attainted for the share he took in this rebellion, when all his honours became _forfeited_. In the reign of James I., Edmond Nevill, the lineal descendant of George, youngest son of Ralph 1st earl, and next heir male of Charles the last earl, claimed the earldom of Westmoreland; but it was decided against him, on the ground that the attainder had caused all the honours possessed by the same Charles to be _forfeited_ to the crown as an estate of inheritance. A copy of Edmond Nevill's claim, which is curious, may be found in Lansdowne MSS. 254, p. 376, and Surtee's Durham, iv. 164.]

[Footnote 120: Standard.]

[Footnote 121: The supporters of the Nevills, earls of Westmoreland, were two bulls, argent, ducally collared gold, armed or, &c. But I have not discovered the device mentioned in the ballad among the badges, &c. given by that house. This, however, is certain, that among those of the Nevills, lords Abergavenny (who were of the same family), is a dun cow with a golden collar; and the Nevills of Chyte, in Yorkshire (of the Westmoreland family) gave for their crest, in 1513, a dog's (greyhound) head erased. So that it is not unlikely that Charles Nevill, earl of Westmoreland, here mentioned, might on this occasion use the above device on his banner.]

[Footnote 122: The silver crescent is a well-known crest or badge of the Northumberland family.]

[Footnote 123: Of Streatlam, co. Durham, received knighthood from the earl of Shrewsbury, being then marshal of Berwick, in 1558. He married 1st, Dorothy, daughter of sir William Mallory of Studley, co. York; and 2ndly, Jane, daughter of sir John Talbot, of Grafton, co. Worcester. Sir George is styled of South Cowton, co. York, 1 July, 4 Eliz; of Aske, co. York, 7 April, 1 Eliz. During this rebellion sir George was one of the most faithful as well as powerful supporters of Elizabeth and of the Protestant interest in the north; and, in consequence of his services, was created, by special patent, Provost Marshal north of the Trent, and is said, after the rebellion was quelled, to have exercised his office with stern severity. He died in 1580, and was succeeded by his eldest son of his first marriage, sir William Bowes, knighted in 1586.]

[Footnote 124:

"Coward, a coward, of Barney castell,
Dare not come out to fight a battell."

_Popular Rhyme._
]

[Footnote 125: Easy.]

[Footnote 126: Dear.]

[Footnote 127: This is quite in character; her majesty would sometimes swear at her nobles, as well as box their ears.]

[Footnote 128: Armour.]

[Footnote 129: Ambrose Dudley, created earl of Warwick, 26 Dec. 1561, with remainder, failing his issue male, to Robert Dudley, earl of Leicester, and the heirs male of his body, K. G., _ob_. 1589, _s. p._, and his brother Robert having died the year previous _s. p._, all his honours became extinct.]

[Footnote 130: Thomas Ratcliffe, 3rd earl, summoned to Parliament v. p. in his father's barony of Fitz-Walter, 1 and 2 Philip and Mary, 1554, K. G; _ob_. 1583, _s. p._, and was succeeded by his brother Henry, K. G.]

[Footnote 131: Henry Carey, (s. and h. of William Carey, by Mary, daughter of Thomas, earl of Wiltshire, sister of queen Anne Boleyn, mother of queen Elizabeth,) created baron Hunsdon of Hunsdon, co. Herts, 13 Jan. 1558-9, K. G; _ob_. 1597, and was succeeded by his s. and h. George, K. G.]

[Footnote 132: Two only appear to have suffered death, according to a rare tract of seven leaves, in verse, by Sampson Davie, entitled, "The several Confessions of Thomas Norton and Christopher Norton, two of the Northern Rebels, who suffered at Tyburn, and were drawn, hanged, and quartered for treason May 27 (1570). Imprinted by William How for Richard Jones." See _Notes and Queries_, 2nd S. vol. viii. 388; Strype's _Annals_, vol. ii. part i. pp. 577-8; and Wordsworth's _White Doe of Rylstone_.]

YORKE, YORKE FOR MY MONIE.[133]

BY W. E. (WILLIAM ELDERTON), A.D. 1584.

Yorke, Yorke for my monie:
Of all the citties that ever I see,
For mery pastime and companie,
Except the cittie of London.

As I came through the north countree,
The fashions of the world to see,
I sought for my mery companie,
To go to the cittie of London:
And when to the cittie of Yorke I came,
I found good companie in the same,
As well disposed to every game,
As if it had been at London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And in that cittie what saw I then?
Knightes, squires, and gentlemen,
A shooting went for matches ten
As if it had been at London.
And they shot for twentie poundes a bowe,
Besides great cheere they did bestowe,
I never sawe a gallanter showe,
Except I had been at London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

These matches you shall understande,
The earle of Essex took in hande,
Against the good earle of Cumberlande,
As if it had been at London.
And agreede these matches all shall be
For pastime and good company,
At the cittie of Yorke full merily
As if it had been at London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

In Yorke there dwells an alderman, which
Delights in shooting very much,
I never heard of any such
In all the cittie of London.
His name is Maltbie,[134] mery and wise,
At any pastime you can devise,
But in shooting all his pleasure lyes,
The like was never in London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

This Maltbie for the cittie sake,
To shoot (himself) did undertake,
At any good match the earls would make,
As well as they do at London.
And he brought to the fields with him,
One Specke, an archer, proper and trim,
And Smith, that shoote about the pin,
As if it had been at London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

Then came from Cumberlande archers three,
Best bowmen in the north countree,
I will tell you their names what they be
Well known to the cittie of London.
Walmsley many a man dothe knowe,
And Bolton how he draweth his bowe,
And Ratcliffe's shooting long agoe,
Well knowne to the cittie of London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And the noble earle of Essex came
To the fielde himselfe to see the same,
Which shal be had for ever in fame,
As soone as I come at London.
For he showed himself so diligent there,
To make a marke and keepe it faire:
It is worthie memorie to declare
Through all the cittie of London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And then was shooting out of crye,
And skantling at a handfull nie,
And yet the winde was very hie,
As it is sometimes at London.
They clapt the cloutes so on the ragges,
There was such betting and such bragges,
And galloping up and down with nagges,
As if it had been at London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And never an archer gave regarde
To halfe a bowe and halfe a yarde,
I never see matches goe more harde
About the cittie of London.
For fairer play was never plaide,
For fairer layes was never laide
And a week together they kept this trade,
As if it had been at London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

The maior of Yorke,[135] with his companie,
Were all in the fields, I warrant ye,
To see good rule kept orderly,
As if it had been at London.
Which was a dutifull sight to see,
The maior and alderman there to bee,
For setting forth of archerie,
As well as they do at London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And there was neither fault nor fray,
Nor any disorder any way,
But every man did pitch and pay,
As if it had been at London.
As soon as every match was done,
Every man was paid that won,
And merily up and downe dide ronne,
As if it had been at London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And never a man that went abroade,
But thought his monie well bestowde,
And monie laide in heap and loade,
As if it had been at London.
And gentlemen there so franke and free,
As a mint at Yorke again should bee;
Like shooting did I never see,
Except I had been at London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

At Yorke were ambassadours three,
Of Russia--lordes of high degree,
This shooting they desirde to see,
As if it had been at London.
And one desirde to draw a bowe,
The force and strength thereof to knowe,
And for his delight he drew it so
As seldom seen in London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And they did marvaile very much,
There could be any archer such,
To shoote so farre the cloute to tutch,
Which is no news to London.
And they might well consider than,
An English shaft will kill a man,
As hath been proved, where and whan,
And chronicled since in London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

The earle of Cumberlande's archers won
Two matches cleare, ere all was done,
And I made haste a pace to ronne,
To carrie these news to London.
And Walmsley did the upshot win,
With both his shafts so near the pin,
You could scant have put three fingers in,
As if it had been in London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

I passe not for my monie it cost,
Though some I spent and some I lost,
I wanted neither sod nor roast,
As if it had been in London.
For there was plentie of every thing,
Redd and fallowe deere, for a king,
I never saw so mery shooting,
Since first I came from London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

God save the cittie of Yorke, therefore,
That hath such noble friends in store,
And such good aldermen send them more,
And the like good luck at London.
For it is not little joye to see,
When lords and aldermen so agree,
With such according cummunaltie,
God send us the like in London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

God save the good earle of Cumberlande,
His praise in golden lines shall stande,
That maintains archerie through the land,
As well as they do at London.
Whose noble minde so courteously
Acquaintes himself with the communaltie,
To the glory of his nobilitie,
I will carie the praise to London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

And tell the good earle of Essex thus,
As he is now young and prosperus,
To use such properties vertuous,
Deserves great praise in London.
For it is no little joy to see,
When noble youths so gracious bee,
To give their good willes to their countrie,
As well as they do at London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

Farewell good cittie of Yorke to thee,
Tell alderman Maltbie this from mee,
In print shall this good shooting bee,
As soone as I come at London.
And many a song will I bestow,
On all the musitians that I know,
To sing the praises where they goe,
Of the cittie of Yorke, in London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

God save our queen, and keep our peace,
That our good shooting may increase,
And praying to God let us not cease,
As well at Yorke as at London.
That all our countree round about
May have archers good to hit the cloute,
Which England cannot be without,
No more than Yorke or London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

God graunt that (once) her majestie
Would come, her cittie of Yorke to see,
For the comfort great of that countree,
As well as she doth at London.
Nothing shall be thought too deare,
To see her highness' person there,
With such obedient loue and feare,
As ever she had in London.
Yorke, Yorke, &c.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 133: From a broadside (black letter) in the Roxburgh collection in the British Museum. It is a favourite chap-book history.]

[Footnote 134: Christopher Maltby, draper, Lord Mayor in 1583.]

[Footnote 135: Thomas Appleyard, Lord Mayor in 1584.]

THE SISTERS OF BEVERLEY.[136]

The tapers are blazing, the mass is sung,
In the chapel of Beverley,
And merrily too the bells have rung;
'Tis the eve of our Lord's nativity;
And the holy maids are kneeling round,
While the moon shines bright on the hallow'd ground.

Yes, the sky is clear, and the stars are bright,
And the air is hush'd and mild;
Befitting well the holy night,
When o'er Judah's mountains wild,
The mystic star blazed bright and free,
And sweet rang the heavenly minstrelsy.

The nuns have risen through the cloister dim,
Each seeks her lonely cell;
To pray alone till the joyful hymn
On the midnight breeze shall swell;
And all are gone save two sisters fair
Who stand in the moonlight silent there.

Now hand in hand, through the shadowy aisle,
Like airy things they've past,
With noiseless step, and with gentle smile,
And meek eyes heavenward cast;
Like things too pure upon earth to stay,
They have fled like a vision of light away.

And again the merry bells have rung,
So sweet through the starry sky;
For the midnight mass hath this night been sung,
And the chalice is lifted high,
And the nuns are kneeling in holiest pray'r,
Yes, all, save these meek-eyed sisters fair.

Then up rose the abbess, she sought around,
But in vain, for these gentle maids;
They were ever the first at the mass bell's sound,
Have they fled these holy shades?
Or can they be numbered among the dead?
Oh! whither can these fair maids be fled?

The snows have melted, the fields are green,
The cuckoo singeth aloud,
The flowers are budding, the sunny sheen
Beams bright through the parted cloud,
And maidens are gathering the sweet breath'd May,
But these gentle sisters, oh, where are they?

And summer is come in rosy pride,
'Tis the eve of the blessed Saint John,
And the holy nuns after vespertide,
All forth from the chapel are gone;
While to taste the cool of the evening hour
The abbess hath sought the topmost tower.

"Gramercy, sweet ladye! and can it be,
The long lost sisters fair
On the threshold lie calm, and silently,
As in holiest slumber there!
Yet sleep they not, but entranced they lie,
With lifted hands and heavenward eye.

"O long lost maidens, arise! arise!
Say when did ye hither stray."
They have turn'd to the abbess with their meek blue eyes,
"Not an hour hath passed away
But glorious visions our eyes have seen;
Oh sure in the kingdom of heaven we've been!"

There is joy in the convent of Beverley,
Now these saintly maidens are found,
And to hear their story right wonderingly,
The nuns have gathered around--
The long lost maidens, to whom was given,
To live so long the life of heaven.

And again the chapel bell is rung,
And all to the altar repair,
And sweetly the midnight lauds are sung,
By the sainted sisters there;
While their heaven-taught voices softly rise
Like an incense cloud to the silent skies.

The maidens have risen, with noiseless tread
They glide o'er the marble floor;
They seek the abbess with bended head,--
"Thy blessing we would implore,
Dear mother! for ere the coming day
Shall burst into light, we must hence away."

The abbess hath lifted her gentle hands,
And the words of peace hath said,
_O vade in pacem_, aghast she stands,
Have their innocent spirits fled?
Yes, side by side lie these maidens fair,
Like two wreaths of snow in the moonlight there.

List! List! the sweet peal of the convent bells,
They are rung by no earthly hand,
And hark how the far off melody swells
Of the joyful angel band,
Who hover around surpassingly bright,
And the chapel is bathed in rosy light.

'Tis o'er! side by side in the chapel fair,
Are the sainted maidens laid;
With their snowy brow, and their glossy hair,
They look not like the dead;
Fifty summers have come and passed away,
But their loveliness knoweth no decay!

And many a chaplet of flowers is hung,
And many a bead told there,
And many a hymn of praise is sung,
And many a low breathed pray'r;
And many a pilgrim bends the knee,
At the shrine of the sisters of Beverley.

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 136: In the south aisle of the nave of Beverley Minster is an altar tomb, covered with a slab of Purbeck marble, placed under a groined canopy, adorned with pinnacles, and surmounted with figures, without inscription or indeed anything to lead to a knowledge of its occupant. Tradition assigns it to two maiden sisters (daughters of earl Puch, of Bishop Burton, and in whose household St. John of Beverley is said, on the authority of Bede, to have effected a miraculous cure) who are said to have given two of the common pastures to the freemen of Beverley.--POULSON'S _Beverlac_, 704.]

MOTHER SHIPTON.

Tradition tells us that near the Dropping Well, at Knaresborough, this famous Yorkshire Sybil was born, about the year 1487; she married Tobias Shipton, a carpenter of Shipton, near York; and from this match derived the name of Mother Shipton. Many tales of her skill in futurity are still related in the county; the whole of which, including a series of succeeding events, are stated to have been delivered to the abbot of Beverley, as in the following:--

"A maiden queen full many a year,
Shall England's warlike sceptre bear."

Spoken of queen Elizabeth, that was beloved by her subjects, and dreaded by her enemies, above forty years.

"The western monarch's wooden horses,
Shall be destroy'd by Drake's forces."