Chapter IV: Preface (4)

The king of Spain's mighty armada, in 1588, was destroyed by the English fleet.

"Triumphant death rides London thro',
And men on tops of houses go."

The first line points to the great sickness in London, in 1665; the second to the dreadful fire in the following year.

This famous prophetess died in the fifty-ninth year of her age, fulfilling her own prediction, even to the day and hour. On her tomb was placed this epitaph:--

_Here lies she who seldom ly'd,
Whose skill so often has been try'd.
Her Prophecies shall still survive,
And ever keep her name alive._

To the tune of "_Nancy Dawson_."

I.

Of all the pretty pantomimes
That have been seen or sung in rhimes,
Since famous Johnny Rich's times,
There's none like Mother Shipton.
She pleases folks of every class,
She makes her swans and ducklings pass;
She shows her hog, she shows her ass,[137]
Oh, charming Mother Shipton!

II.

Near to the famous dropping well
She first drew breath, as records tell,
And had good beer and ale to sell,
As ever tongue was tipt on;
Her dropping well itself is seen,
Quaint gobblins hobble round their queen,
And little fairies tread the green,
Call'd forth by Mother Shipton.

III.

Oh, London is a charming place!
Yet grumble not ye critick race,
Tho' mansion house is seen to grace
The streets in Mother Shipton!
You think a blunder you descry:
Yet you might see with half an eye
'Tis Mother Shipton's prophecy--
Oh, charming Mother Shipton!

IV.

Come, jolly tars and sailors staunch,
Oh, come with us and see the launch!
'Twill feast your eyes, and fill your paunch,
As done by Mother Shipton.
The shores give way the hulk that prop--
Huzza! the ship is launch'd--and pop!
'Tis turn'd into a baker's shop--
Oh, charming Mother Shipton!

V.

Then after several wonders past,
To Yorkshire all return at last,
And in a coal pit they are cast--
Oh, won'ous Mother Shipton!
Yet she redeems them every soul:
And here's the moral of the whole--
'Tis Mother Shipton brings the cole:
Oh, charming Mother Shipton!

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 137: Exhibited in the Pantomime which was performed Covent Garden in the year 1770.]

BOLD NEVISON, THE HIGHWAYMAN.[138]

William Nevison was born in Yorkshire, though the place is uncertain; some say at Nevison hall, in Upsall, near Thirsk, others, at Pontefract and Wortley. He was notorious during the reign of Charles II., and was named by the "merry monarch" _Swift Nick_. After committing a robbery in London, about sunrise, he rode his mare to York in the course of the day, and appeared upon the Bowling-green of that city before sunset. From this latter circumstance, when brought to trial for the offence, he established an _alibi_ to the satisfaction of the jury, though he was in reality guilty. But, though he escaped this time, he was afterwards apprehended in a public-house at Sandal-three-Houses, near Wakefield, for another offence, convicted and hanged at York, May 4th, 1685. "Thus it was related," says lord Macaulay in his "History of England," "of William Nevison, the great robber of the north of Yorkshire, that he levied a quarterly tribute on all the northern drovers, and in return not only spared them himself, but protected them against all other thieves; that he demanded purses in the most courteous manner; that he gave largely to the poor what he had taken from the rich; that his life was once spared by the royal clemency, but that he again tempted his fate, and at length died, in 1685, on the gallows at York."

Did you ever hear tell of that hero,
Bold Nevison that was his name?
He rode about like a bold hero,
And with that he gained great fame.

He maintained himself like a gentleman,
Besides he was good to the poor;
He rode about like a bold hero,
And he gain'd himself favour therefore.

Oh the Twenty-first day of last month,
Proved an unfortunate day;
Captain Milton was riding to London,
And by mischance he rode out of his way.

He call'd at a house by the road-side,
It was the sign of the Magpie,
Where Nevison he sat a drinking,
And the captain soon did he espy.

Then a constable very soon was sent for,
And a constable very soon came;
With three or four more in attendance,
With pistols charged in the king's name.

They demanded the name of this hero,
"My name it is Johnson," said he,
When the captain laid hold of his shoulder,
Saying, "Nevison thou goeth with me."

Oh! then in this very same speech,
They hastened him fast away;
To a place call'd Swinnington bridge,
A place where he used to stay.

They call'd for a quart of good liquor,
It was the sign of the Black Horse,
Where there was all sorts of attendance,
But for Nevison it was the worst.

He call'd for a pen, ink, and paper,
And these were the words that he said,
"I will write for some boots, shoes, and stockings,
For of them I have very great need."

'Tis now before my lord judge,
Oh! guilty or not do you plead;
He smiled into the judge and jury,
And these were the words that he said,

"I've now robb'd a gentleman of two pence,
I've neither done murder nor kill'd,
But guilty I've been all my life time,
So gentlemen do as you will.

"Its when that I rode on the highway
I've always had money in great store;
And whatever I took from the rich
I freely gave it to the poor.

"But my peace I have made with my Maker,
And with you I'm quite ready to go;
So here's adieu! to this world and its vanities,
For I'm ready to suffer the law."

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 138: To Edward Hailstone, esq., F. S. A., F. G. S., &c. of Horton hall, Bradford, I am greatly indebted for the above, and also for the following _broadsides_, from his valuable collection of Yorkshire lore:--The Sheffield 'Prentice, The Great Exhibition, Bill Brown, The Funny Wedding, The Crafty Plough Boy, Miss Bailey's Ghost, The Yorkshire Lad in London, Spencer Broughton, and The Bonny Scotch Lad.]

ROSEBERRY TOPPING.

Roseberry, or Rosebury Topping, originally, it is said, called "Ottenberg," is a conical hill, situated at the north-west angle of the Eastern moorlands known as the Cleveland hills, near the village of Newton, about one mile to the east of the road from Guisbro' to Stokesley. It is about 1488 feet above the level of the sea, and, by its detatched position and superior elevation, it commands in all directions a prospect at once extensive and interesting, and serves as a land-mark to navigators.

Upon the top of the hill issues, from a large rock, a fountain of very clear water, to which the following very ancient tradition is connected. When king Oswald of Northumberland's son, Oswald, was born, the wise men and magicians were sent for to court, to predict and foretell the life and fortune of the newborn prince; they all agreed that he would when half a year old be drowned. The indulgent maternal queen would have carried him to Chiviot, a remarkable hill in their own county, but for the troubles then subsisting in the north; she, therefore, for his better security, brought him to a lofty hill in peaceful Cleveland, called Roseberry, and caused a cell or cave to be made near the top thereof, in order to prevent his foretold unhappy death. But, alas! in vain; for the fates, who spare nobody, dissolved the rugged rocks into a flowing stream, and, by drowning the son, put a period to all the mother's cares, though not her sorrows; for ordering him to be interred in Tivotdale (Osmotherley) church, she mourned with such inconsolable grief that she soon followed him, and was, according to her fervent desire, laid by her tenderly-beloved, darling child. The heads of the mother and son, cut in stone, may be seen at the east end of the church; and from a saying of the people, "Os by his mother lay," Tivotdale got the name of Osmotherley.

Ah! why do the walls of the castle to-day,
No longer resound with the strains of delight?
And why does the harp of the minstrel so gay,
Now rest in the gloom and the stillness of night?

But late as I travers'd these vallies long,
How high 'mid the air stream'd the banners of joy!
While the birth of prince Oswin, the boast of the song,
Gave mirth to each heart, as it beam'd in each eye.

What stranger art thou, who, in Cleveland so fair,
Of the fate of prince Oswin canst yet be untold?
How an old hoary sage had foreshown the young heir
By water should die when but half a year old!

His mother, all eager her offspring to save,
To Ottenberg high, with the morn did repair,
Still hoping to rescue her son from the grave,
For well did she know that no water was there.

But how powerless and vain is a mortal's design,
Opposed to that will which can never recede;
Who shall pull down the bright orb of heaven divine,
And raise up a meteor his rays to exceed?

Fatigued, and by ceaseless exertion opprest,
At length they arrive near the brow of the hill,
In whose shades on the moss they resign them to rest,
Now fearless of fate as unconscious of ill.

Not long in soft slumbers the fond mother lay,
Ere arous'd by a dream which dire horrors betide,
But, O God, who can paint her wild grief and dismay,
When she saw her lov'd baby lie drown'd by her side!

On the proud steep of Ottenberg still may be found,
That spring which arose his sad doom to complete;
And oft on its verge sit the villagers round,
In wonder recording the fiat of fate.

For this do the walls of the castle to-day,
No longer resound with the strains of delight;
And for this does the harp of the bard once so gay,
Now rest in the gloom of the stillness of night.[139]

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 139: "The editor is indebted for a copy of the above ballad to the obliging kindness of Dr. Rooke, of Scarborough." YORKSHIRE ANTHOLOGY, by James O. Halliwell, esq., F. R. S., F. S. A. _Printed for private circulation only_. London, 1851. To which work I am much indebted.]

THE CRUEL STEP-MOTHER; OR, THE

UNHAPPY SON.

Giving 1, an account of squire Brown, of York, who had one only son; and how his lady fell sick, and on her death-bed begged of him not to marry for the sake of her child.

2. How he soon married a rich widow, who was very cruel to his son; and how his uncle died, and left him an estate of two hundred pounds a year.

3. How his step-mother sent him away for the sake of his money, by taking a ring from his father and putting it in the boy's pocket; for which his father sent him to sea, and the ship was taken by the Spaniards, and he made a slave of.

4. How the ghost of his mother came to this cruel wretch, and told his father of the ring; and how afterwards his father fell into despair, and hanged himself; and his son came home again, went to law with his step-mother, got five hundred pounds from her, which broke her heart.

To the tune of "_Aim not too high_."

I.

You most indulging parents, lend an ear,
And you a dismal tragedy shall hear;
A story strange, but certain true, indeed,
Enough to make a stony heart to bleed.

In York, that famous city of renown,
There lived a gentleman, one squire Brown,
Whose wealth and riches was exceeding great,
But yet he had no heir to his estate.

He had a virtuous, kind, and loving wife,
With whom he liv'd a very happy life;
The want of children was their only grief,
But to their relief,--

She was with child, and with a son we hear;
Great was the joy when she delivered were;
Much feasting, which for many days did last,
Both rich and poor did of their bounty taste.

It pleased God the child did live and thrive,
Until it came to be the age of five;
At five years old its sorrows first begun,
And so continued many years to run.

The greatest pleasure that we here can boast,
Soon fades away, and very short at most;
When death approaches, who can shun the dart?
He has command, and strikes us to the heart.

Th' squire's lady was took very ill,
The doctors used in vain their best of skill;
All wou'd not do, the fatal stroke death gave,
And now no mortal here her life can save.

Her husband then she call'd for out of hand,
Her weeping friends around her bed do stand;
Her husband came, she said to him, "My dear,
The time is short I have to tarry here.

"Be careful of my darling child, your son,
See that in virtuous paths he strives to run;
That I in Heaven may see him once again,
And there in endless joys with him remain.

"For my child's sake, O marry not, my dear,
For if you do I shall not rest, I fear;
Let no step-mother my dear child abuse,
Whom I so tenderly have used.

"My jointure, which is fifty pounds a year,
I leave it to my child I love so dear;
Be you a tender father to my son;
Think on my words when I am dead and gone."

He said, "My dear, your words I'll keep in mind,
I to my child will be a father kind,
To wrong my child, I wrong myself you know,
I love my child too well to serve him so."

Then for her child she straight did call,
While the tears down her cheeks did fall,
And kissing of him with lips like clay,
The child did to its dying mother say:

"Mammy, what makes you kiss me so and cry?
I hope you'll be better by-and-bye."
"I hope I shall, my dear," to him she cry'd,
Then turn'd herself and instantly she dy'd.

II.

His wife scarce two months in the grave was laid,
Ere he forgot the promises he made,
Which makes this proverb true we find,
That out of sight, is quickly out of mind.

For to a rich and wealthy widow old,
He went a courting days and nights, we're told:
No rest or quiet would he let her have,
Till her consent to wed with him she gave.

She told him, ere with him she would engage,
She had a daughter fair ten years of age;
And therefore, for her only daughter's sake,
She was resolved a widow's will to make.

He gave his consent the will to make,
And in great joy and triumph they were wed;
But during of the time these things were done,
He quite forgot his former wife and son.

His new wife she was very cross and proud,
And this poor child must never be allow'd
With them to dine, but at her chair must stand,
Just like a footboy to obey command.

Her daughter, she must at the table sit,
And pick and cut the best of meat;
Besides a waiting maid, too, miss must have,
While the poor boy is made a drudge to slave.

Altho' he was neglected, so we find,
Yet fortune unto him did prove so kind;
His own dear mother's brother died, we hear,
And left this boy two hundred pounds a year.

His father was the interest for to have,
That he might keep this boy both fine and brave;
But if he died before to age he came,
His father then was to enjoy the same.

His step-mother found things were order'd so,
She was resolv'd to work his overthrow:
Said she when he is put aside and gone,
What's left him will quickly be my own.

III.

She with the devil then did straight think,
And to her husband gave a sleepy drink,
And as in the garden he sleeping lay,
These treacherous words to the boy did say:

"Go watch your father as he sleeping lies,
And if you see him wake and go to rise,
Come in and tell me, make all haste you can."
And so she did this harmless boy trapan.

The child, with watching long, did fall asleep;
Then softly to his father she did creep,
From off his finger she a ring did take.
On purpose of this boy a thief to make.

For as this harmless child there sleeping lay,
She in his pocket did the ring convey;
Then with great joy unto the house did come,
And said, I hope his business I have done.

The boy soon after wak'd and rubb'd his eyes,
But seeing his father going for to rise,
To tell his mother he did straightway run;
Meanwhile his father into doors did come.

And missing of his ring, to her did say,
"My dear, why did you take my ring, I pray?"
She said, "I took it not, upon my life;
You may believe me as I am your wife.

"But if you'd know what's of the ring become,
I'd have you to examine well your son;
As in the garden you did sweetly dose,
I saw him fumbling then about your cloathes."

He went to search his son, the ring he found,
Then hand and foot this harmless child he bound,
And lashed him till the blood did run,
While she, hard-hearted wretch, look'd on.

She said, "Send this wicked rogue to sea,
Least that he should disgrace our family;
I'll get a master for him soon," she cry'd,
"For he no longer shall with me abide."

He gave consent, and she a master got,
And he was sent away, hard was his lot,
Where we will leave him for to sail the main,
And turn unto this cruel wretch again.

IV.

But God, who sees our actions here below,
He would not let this wretch unpunish'd go;
For this boy's mother to them did appear
One night, as they in bed together were.

The apparition told them of the ring,
And how she serv'd the boy in everything;
Then sadly shook the bed wherein they lay,
And instantly it vanish'd quite away.

The squire he was very much surpriz'd,
And finding that his wife had told him lies
To make him send this harmless boy away,
He fell to grief and sad despair, they say.

To add unto his grief, we understand,
A letter from him came to hand;
He at Jamaica was, the letter told,
And to a captain there was basely sold.

And as they sailing were upon the main,
They by a Spanish privateer was ta'en;
The ship condemn'd and all made slaves,
This is my wretched case, dear sir, he says.

His father, hearing this, he swoon'd away,
And calling of his wife both night and day,
Saying, "Cursed wretch, what have you done,
To make a father thus abuse his son?"

From home, in grief, he rambled one day,
And to a lawyer went without delay;
His will he made, and left his son his store,
Then went and hang'd himself before his door.

The lawyer finding what he had done,
Did straightway send a letter to his son,
For him to return home with all speed,
And money sent to ransom him, indeed.

The letter by good fortune he receiv'd,
His ransom paid, and quickly was reliev'd;
He got a ship and home with speed he came;
None but the lawyer yet knew of the same.

He soon came home, to the great surprize
Of his base mother, who, with flattering lies,
Would fain excuse herself, but all in vain;
To law with her he went, and did obtain--

The cause, and five hundred pounds beside,
Because by her he basely was deny'd,
Which vex'd her sore, and almost broke her heart,
To think she with her ill-got gain must part.

Her darling daughter being left alone,
Despised by all, but pitied by none,
She sold off what she had, and went away,
And never has been heard of since that day.

To step-mothers let this a warning be,
Never to use poor children cruelly;
For Heav'n will help the widow in distress,
And be a Father to the fatherless.

Let parents all beg of the Lord to see,
Their children brought up to maturity,
'Till for themselves they're able to provide;
Lord send that they may be their careful guide!

THE BONNY SCOTCH LAD, AND HIS

BONNET SO BLUE.

At Kingston upon Hull, a town in Yorkshire,[140]
I lived in splendour, and free from love's care;
I roll'd in riches and had sweethearts not a few,
I'm wounded by a bonny lad, and his bonnet so blue.

There came a troop of soldiers, and soon you shall hear,
From Scotland to Woolwich, abroad for to steer;
There is one among them I wish I'd ne'er knew,
He's a bonny Scotch lad, and his bonnet so blue.

His cheeks are like the roses, his eyes like the sloes,
He is handsome and proper, and kills where he goes,
He is handsome and proper, and comely for to view,
He's a bonny Scotch lad, and his bonnet so blue.

When I go to my bed I can find no rest,
The thoughts of my true love still runs in my breast;
The thoughts of my true love still runs in my view,
He's a bonny Scotch lad, and his bonnet so blue.

Early in the morning, when I rose from my bed,
I call'd upon Sally, that is my waiting maid,
To dress me as fine as her two hands could do;
I'll away and see the lad, and his bonnet so blue!

She was instantly dress'd, and parade did attend,
Where she stood impatient to hear her love nam'd;
Charles Stuart they do call him, my love did renew,
Once a prince of that name wore a bonnet so blue.

My love he pass'd by me with his gun in his hand,
I strove to speak to him, but all was in vain;
I strove to speak to him, but away quite he flew,
My heart it went with him, and his bonnet so blue.

She says, "My dear laddie, I'll buy your discharge,
I'll free you from the soldiers and set you at large;
I'll free you from the soldiers, if your heart be true,
And you'll ne'er wear a stain on that bonnet so blue."

He says, "My dear lady, you'll buy my discharge,
You'll free me from the soldiers and set me at large;
For your kind offer I'm obliged to you,
And I'll ne'er wear a stain on that bonnet so blue.

"I have a dear lass in my own country,
I'll ne'er forsake her for her poverty;
To the girl that I love I will always prove true,
And I'll ne'er wear a stain on that bonnet so blue."

I'll send for a limner from London to Hull,
To draw my love's picture out in the full,
Set it in my chamber, keep it close in my view,
And I'll think on the lad, for his heart it is true.

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 140: Mr. Halliwell's copy reads, "Kingston upon Woolwich, a town in Yorkshire." The above copy is from Mr. Hailstone's collection, and reads throughout more correctly.]

THE CHILD IN THE WOOD; OR THE

CRUEL UNKLE.

In the town of Beverley, in Yorkshire, about two years ago [1703], there lived one squire Somers, a very honest gentleman of about three hundred per ann.; his wife dying, by whom he had one little daughter, about two years of age, he continued some months a sorrowful widower; he could not well enjoy himself after the loss of his dear spouse. And it so happened that, partly out of grief, partly from a violent fever, he was brought to his bed of sickness, where he continued not long, for he died within a fortnight after he was taken by that fever. He expressed a great concern for his little girl, and therefore called his brother, a gentleman that lived about fourteen miles from him, and begged him to take the care of his daughter upon him. "Brother," said he, "I leave with you the dearest thing that I have in the world--my little daughter, and with her to you I intrust my estate; manage it for her use, and take care of her education in virtue and religion; use her as if she were your own, and, for my sake, see her married to an honest country gentleman." All which was faithfully promised by the brother. Thus, when all things were settled, the gentleman dies, and the brother takes home the child to his house, and for some time used her kindly. But at the last, the devil of covetousness possessed him; nothing run in his mind so much as making away with the child, and so possess the estate. After many ways, he at last concluded to take her with him, and hide her in a hollow tree; which one morning he effected, and left the poor infant with her mouth stopped that she might not cry. For he had so much grace not actually to murder her, therefore he left her alive in the hollow of the tree; and, the better to hide the matter, gave out that the child was dead, and, therefore, caused an effigy of wax to be made, laid it in a coffin, and a shroud, and made a great funeral for the child. Thus the effigy was buried, and no notice at all taken of the matter. At the same time, a neighbouring gentleman dreamed that that day he should see something that would sufficiently astonish him. He told it to his lady, who dissuaded him from going a hunting that day; but he was resolved, not giving any credit to dreams, and so takes horse in the morning. As he was a hunting, he happened to be in the wood where the child was, and as he was riding by the tree his horse gave a great start, so that he had liked to have fallen down; and turning about, to see what was the matter, he saw something stir in a hole, and being inquisitive to know the cause, his dream presently came in his head, and therefore he calls his man, and bids him examine what was in the hole; who, having searched the tree, discovers the child in the tree. He took it out, and his master carried it to his lady almost dead; he told her his dream was out, declaring how he found the child, and begged her to take care of it. The child was revived, and in a little time brought to itself again; but they could not imagine whose it was; till at last it happened that some woman came to the gentleman's house, a singing at Christmas, and seeing the child, knew it, and declared whose it was, and that it was supposed to be dead and buried. The gentleman goes and prevails with the minister of the parish to have the grave opened, and found the waxen effigy of the child in the grave. He went to the justice of the peace, to whom he declared the matter; who sent his warrant for the child's trustee, who, being convicted of the matter, was not able to deny it, but confessed all the business. But seeing the child was alive, it is supposed he will not be tried for his life, but it is thought a severe punishment will be inflicted on him; and the justice appointed the gentleman that found the child to be its trustee till the assizes. The child is now at the gentleman's house, who loves it as if it was his own, for he has no children himself, and is a man of a good estate, and is likely to augment very much the child's fortune.

Tune "_Forgive me if your looks I thought_."

I.

A wealthy squire in the north,
Who left an infant daughter
All his estate of mighty worth;
But mark what follow'd after.
As he lay on his dying bed,
He call'd his brother to him,
And unto him these words he said:
"I from the world am going;

II.

"Therefore, dear brother, take my child,
Which is both young and tender,
And for my sake be kind and mild,
And faithfully defend her.
Three hundred pounds a year I leave
To bring her up in fashion;
I hope you will not her deceive,
But use her with compassion."

III.

To which the brother then replied,
"I'll sooner suffer torture,
Than e'er become a wicked guide,
Or wrong your only daughter."
The father then did seem content,
And like a lamb expired,
As thinking nothing could prevent
What he had thus desir'd.

IV.

The father being dead and gone,
The unkle then contrived
To make the child's estate his own,
And of its life deprive it.
A wicked thought came in his head,
And thus concludes to serve it;
He takes it up out of the bed
And then resolves to starve it.

V.

With wicked mind, into a wood
He then the infant carries;
And tho' he would not shed her blood,
Yet there alive he buries
Within a hollow oaken tree;
He stop'd the mouth from crying,
That none might hear and come to see
How the poor child was dying.

VI.

Then gave he out the child was dead,
And did pretend some sorrow,
And caus'd the shape in wax be made,
To bury on the morrow;
Some mourning, too, he bought beside,
All to avoid suspicion,
But yet, alas! this would not hide
The guilt of his commission.

VII.

For happy fate and providence
Did keep the child from dying,
Whose chiefest guard was innocence,
On which is best relying;
For when the breath was almost spent,
A gentleman did spy her,
As he and 's man a hunting went
And so approach'd nigh her.

VIII.

He took the wrong'd infant home,
And to his lady gave it;
Quoth he, "This child from fatal doom
I happily did save it;
Therefore I'll keep it as my own,
Since I have none beside it;
Tho' such a thing is seldom known,
I will support and guide it."

IX.

But as the lady and her spouse
Did to the neighbours show it,
A woman came into the house
That presently did know it.
And soon discover'd all the cheat
The unkle had intended,
To get the poor young child's estate
Who promis'd to defend it.

X.

The wicked unkle being seized,
And charged with his transgression,
His mind and conscience was so teazed,
He made a full confession.
The justice sent him to the jail,
Where he is closely guarded,
And next assizes will not fail
Of being well rewarded.

BOWES TRAGEDY;[141] OR, A PATTERN OF

TRUE LOVE.

Roger Wrightson, at the sign of the King's Head, in Bowes, in the N. R. of Yorkshire, courted widow Railton's daughter, at the sign of the George in the same town, and has done more than a year. On Shrove Tuesday, 1715, he fell sick, and languished till Sunday next but one following, and after saying three times, "Martha, Martha, come away," then died.

Poor Martha (for that was the maid's name whom he courted) Railton, though privately, took heavily on all that time, and only had declared to her sister and mother that if he died she could not live. An honest friend is unworthily blamed for doing what I[142] would have done myself had I known it; for Martha Railton begged of him to go and see young Roger, and tell him she would gladly come and see him, if he thought fit (knowing all his father's family was against her). Roger answered, "Nay, nay, T--my, our folks will be mad; but tell her I hope I shall recover." Well, the poor lass, almost dead in sorrow, first sent an orange, but Roger's mother sent it back; yet about three days before his death Martha went. His mother was so civil as to leave her by his bedside, and ordered her daughter Hannah to come away, but she would not. Poor Martha wanted only to speak three words to him, and (although she stayed two hours) yet Hannah would not let her have an opportunity, and so, in a sorrowful manner, she left him. Her book was her constant work Friday, Saturday, and Sunday; and she would oft say to herself, "Oh! you Hannah! if he dyes my heart will burst." So on the same Sunday se'night, at five o'clock in the afternoon, the bell was tolled for him, and upon the first toll, Martha lay by her book, got her mother in her arms, with, "Oh! dear mother, he's dead, I cannot live." About three minutes after Thomas Petty went in and desired her to be more easy. Her answer was, "Nay, now my heart is burst!" And so, in mournful cries and prayers, was fainter and fainter, for about three hours, and seemed to breathe her last; but her mother and another girl of the town shrieked aloud, and so called her back again (as they term it), and, in amazed manner, distorted with convulsion fits (just as it is described in Dr. Taylor's "Holy Living and Dying"), stayed her spirit ten or twelve hours longer, and then she died.

At last things was brought to this issue, to be buried both in one grave, and the corpse met at the church gate, but Hannah objected against their being buried together, as also she did at her being laid first in the grave; but was answered that a bride has to go first to bed. She, being asked why she should be so proud and inhumane, answered, that she said, "Martha might have taken fairer on, or have been hanged." But oh, the loud mourning of friends on both sides at the corpse meeting, and more at the grave; wherein first she was decently laid, and then he. In the parish register of Bowes is the following entry:--"Rodger Wrightson, junr., and Martha Railton, both of Bowes, buried in one grave. He died of a Fever, and upon tolling his passing Bell, she cry'd out 'My heart is broke,' and in a Few hours expired, purely (or supposed, _interlined in a different hand_) thro' Love. March 15, 1714-5, aged about 20 years each."

Tune of "_Queen Dido_."

Good Christian people, pray attend
To what I do in sorrow sing,
My bleeding heart is like to rend,
At the sad tydings which I bring;
Of a young couple, whom cruel fate
Designed to be unfortunate.[143]

Let Carthage Queen be now no more
The subject of your mournful song;
Nor such odd tales which heretofore,
Did so amuse the teeming throng;
Since the sad story which I'll tell,
All other tragedys excel.

Yorkshire, the ancient town of Bowes,[144]
Of late did Roger Wrightson dwell,
He courted Martha Railton, who[145]
In virtuous works did most excel;
Yet Roger's friends would not agree,
That he to her should married be.

Their love continued one whole year,
Full sore against their parents' will;
But when he found them so severe,
His royal heart began to chill;
And last Shrove Tuesday took his bed,
With grief and woe encompassed.

Thus he continued twelve days space,
In anguish and in grief of mind;
And no sweet rest in any case,
This ardent lover's heart could find;
But languish'd in a train of grief,
Which pierced his heart beyond relief.

Martha, with anxious thoughts possest
A private messuage to him sent,
Acquainting him she could not rest,[146]
Until she had seen her loving friend;
His answer was, "Nay, nay, my dear,
Our folks will angry be I fear."

Full frought with grief, she took no rest,
But spent her time in pain and fear,
Until few days before his death,
She sent an orange to her dear;
But 's cruel mother, in disdain,
Did send the orange back again.

Three days before her lover dy'd,
Poor Martha, with a bleeding heart,
To see her dying lover hy'd,
In hopes to ease him of his smart;
Where she's conducted to the bed,
In which this faithful young man laid.

Where she with doleful cries beheld,
Her fainting lover in despair;
Which did her heart with sorrow fill,[147]
Small was the comfort she had there;
Tho' his mother show'd her great respect,
His sister did her much reject.

She staid two hours with her dear,
In hopes for to declare her mind;
But Hannah Wrightson stood so near,
No time to do it she could find:
So that being almost dead with grief,
Away she went without relief.

Tears from her eyes did flow amain,
And she full oft wo'd sighing say,
"My constant love, alas! is slain,
And to pale death become a prey;
Oh! Hannah, Hannah, thou art base;
Thy pride will turn to foul disgrace."

She spent her time in godly prayers,
And quiet rest from her did fly,
She to her friends full oft declares,
She could not live if he did dye;
Thus she continued till the bell,
Began to sound his fatal knell.

And when she heard the dismal sound,
Her godly book she cast away,
With bitter cries would pierce the ground,
Her fainting heart began to decay;
She to her pensive mother said,
"I cannot live now he is dead."

Then after three short minutes' space,
As she in sorrow groaning lay,
A gentleman[148] did her embrace,
And mildly unto her did say,
"Dear melting soul, be not so sad,
But let your passions be allayed."

Her answer was, "My heart is burst,
My span of life is near an end;
My love from me by death is forced,
My grief no soul can comprehend."
Then her poor heart did soon wax faint,
When she had ended her complaint.

For three hours' space, as in a trance,
This broken-hearted creature lay,
Her mother wailing her mischance,
To pacify her did essay;
But all in vain, for strength being past,
She seemingly did breathe her last.

Her mother, thinking she was dead,
Began to shriek and cry amain,
And heavy lamentations made,
Which call'd her spirit back again,
To be an object of hard fate,
And give to grief a longer date.

Distorted with convulsions, she
In dreadful manner gasping lay,
Of twelve long hours no moment free,
Her bitter groans did all dismay;
Then her poor heart being sadly broke,
Submitted to the fatal stroke.

When things were to this issue brought,
Both in one grave were to be laid;
But flinty-hearted Hannah thought,
By stubborn means for to persuade,
Their friends and neighbours from the same,
For which she surely was to blame.

And being ask'd the reason why,
Such base objections she did make;
She answered thus scornfully,
In words not fit for Billingsgate:
"She might have taken fairer on,
Or else be hang'd." Oh, heart of stone!

What hell-born fury had possest,
Thy vile inhumane spirit thus?
What swelling rage was in thy breast,
That could occasion this disgust,
And make thee show such spleen and rage,
Which life can't cure nor death assuage?

Sure some of Satan's minor imps
Ordained were to be thy guide;
To act the part of sordid pimps,
And fill thy heart with haughty pride;
But take this caveat once for all,
Such dev'lish pride must have a fall.

But when to church the corpse was brought,
And both of them met at the gate,
What mournful tears by friends were shed,
When that, alas! it was too late!
When they in silent grave were laid,
A constant youth and constant maid.[149]

You parents all, both far and near,
By this sad story warning take,
Not to your children be severe,
When they their choice in love do make;
Let not the love of cursed gold,
True lovers from their loves withhold!

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 141: Mallet's _Edwin and Emma_ is founded on this ballad. See his "Ballads and Songs," edited by F. Dinsdale, esq., LL.D., F.S.A.]

[Footnote 142: The author of the ballad, whom the late Mr. Denham, of Piersebridge, learnt from his father, was the then master of Bowes grammar-school. His name does not appear.]

[Footnote 143: This verse is not in Mr. Bell's copy, in his "Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England."]

[Footnote 144: "Remote in Yorkshire, near to Bowes."--BELL.]

[Footnote 145: Bell has "whose;" and the following line reads thus:--

"Repute for virtue did excel."
]

[Footnote 146:

"Now anxious Martha sore distress'd,
A private message did him send,
Lamenting that she could not rest."--BELL.
]

[Footnote 147:

"At which her heart with sorrow filled."--BELL.
]

[Footnote 148: Thomas Petty, previously mentioned.]

[Footnote 149:

"Instead of pleasing marriage-bed."--BELL.
]

THE DONCASTER VOLUNTEERS.[150]

WRITTEN, ABOUT A.D. 1757, BY

JOHN ELLERKER, ESQ.

TO RICHARD TURBUTT, ESQ.

Worthy Sir,--He who sits down to write anything for the public benefit, without fixing on the person to whom he shall dedicate it, knows little of the art of authorizing, for perhaps when he has finished his work he may not know any person to whom the subject may be agreeable, or that has generosity enough to pay for washing the clean ruffles he is obliged to put on when he waits on him to implore his protection. But I generally take another way, and make my Patron before I begin my work, and suit the subject according to his capacity and genius. As, for example, if I write a book of History and Politics, I have Mr. Alderman Smith[151] for that; if of Love and Gallantry, who can be so good a judge as your neighbour Mr. Taylor; if of Wit and Humour, I have Mr. Alderman Cave[152] in my eye; if of Sobriety and Temperance, no one can be so proper as the Rev. Mr. Willatts;[153] if I write in praise of and recommend the practice of Generosity, Public Spirit, and Patriotism, and urge the indispensable duty of a good subject, not only to hazard his fortune, but even his person, for the good of his country, no man can be so proper as RICHARD TURBUTT, esq.,[154] as all those virtues are conspicuous in him in the highest degree. It is for this reason I humbly lay the inclosed lines at your feet, and implore your patronage of them. Should I say any more in your praise it would offend your known modesty, which has always been remarkably impatient at hearing yourself praised, even for those things for which some people (otherwise greedy of praise) would think they deserved no praise at all. But, to be serious with you, I wish this trifle may divert you during your unhappy confinement. To make you and your young ladies laugh, it will more than answer the most sanguine expectations of, &c. &c. JOHN ELLERKER.[155]

Non tali auxilio, nec defensoribus istis
Tempus eget.

When Britain's arms by War's fell chance
Were baffled by the arms of France,
And LOUIS threat'ned in bravado,
T' invade us with a huge armado,
Not of your men-of-war, but floats
Of lighters and flat-bottom'd boats,
To fill the land with blood and slaughter,
And ravish ev'ry wife and daughter;
Of our Religion to deprive us,
And send us to their priests to shrive us,
To change our leather shoes for wood ones,
(For heretics, like us, too good ones,)
To carbonade our pigs and ducklings,
And fricasee our babes and sucklings,
To make us keep a scarlet whore,
Who kept so many whores before;
To make our parsons mend their lives,
And leave their own for laymen's wives;
Nay, more, (the worst of papist bands)
To re-assume the abbeylands:
When all our military Hectors
(Well paid to be the land's protectors)
For all their vapouring and boasts,
Dreaded to see them on our coasts;
When ev'ry man was sore amaz'd,
And on each other hurried gaz'd;
When ev'ry fearful thing was fear'd,
And not one glimpse of hope appear'd,
To save us from impending ruin,
Which these French scoundrels were a brewing,
At DONCASTER a troop stepp'd forth,
All men of dignity and worth,
With wrath and indignation fir'd,
(By Mars himself, no doubt, inspir'd,)
With minds most valorous and willing,
Regardless of their pay--a shilling,
Offer'd themselves to fight our battles,
And to protect our goods and chattels.
To four times four their number mounted,[156]
Tho' each a thousand shou'd be counted;
Soon as 'twas known they were assembled,
The king of France look'd pale and trembled,
Recall'd his army from the strand,
And drew his lighters all to land.
This, soon as mighty FRED'RICK knew,
(For quick their fame to Prussia flew,)
That king, who all the world must own
Has soldiers good as most are known,
Said, "Give me sixteen such as these,
I'll sack Vienna when I please."
O Doncaster! blest corporation,
Whose sons add glory to the nation,
May Peace and Plenty still attend you,
And neighbouring lords their venison send you.
But hark! I hear the beat of drum,
See here with links[157] the heroes come.
Lo, in the front three men of laws,
All stedfast for the good old cause.
And first see STOVIN,[158] best of men,
Equal to brandish sword or pen,
Ready, for our defence, to shed
His dearest blood, or black, or red.
Whilom, commission'd to maintain
Fair lady Peace in counties twain,
But leaves her now and Themis' bench,
To volunteer against the French.
His rival next in either skill,
See waddling master JOSEPH GILL![159]
With no less martial rage inspir'd,
Nor yet with tedious marches tir'd,
His aid may be depended on;
None will suspect he'll ever run,
Three times the courage he possesses
Of common men, who three times less is,
And reason good, for he affords
Three times the mark for guns or swords.
Happy the man in an attack
Who safe shall stand behind his back.
BOWER,[160] the third, not least in fame,
Though last the Muse records his name;
Where's the attorney that can wear
Cockade with a more graceful air?
See how the maids' and widows' glances
Centre in him, as he advances.
Tho' with his manly beauteous face
He captivates each wishing lass,
Heedless he slights her painted charms,
Nothing his heart but glory warms,
Nor stickles[161] he for filthy riches
From scouring drains or emptying ditches,
Nor hates the pope and all his power
More firmly does his namesake Bower.[162]
Of surgeons next a valiant pair
Practised in blood and wounds appear.
Or say we shou'd their titles vary
And call each an apothecary.
As both they're fam'd for equal skill,
Licenc'd as both to cure or kill.
To specify each doughty wight,
This MIDDLETON, that FARRER[163] hight,
But when invasion or rebelling
Shall call them from their peaceful dwelling,
From gun-shot wounds good heav'n defend 'em!
And to their shops back quickly send 'em.
For, when they're absent, who shall draw
A rotten stump from aching jaw?
Who can from cholic pains relieve us?
Who purges or who clysters give us?
When fevers burn and agues shake us,
Who then shall febrifuges make us?
And when the itch invades each joint,
With brimstone who so well anoint?
If either pox should then assail us,
Who have we left then can avail us?
Who then will with a grave oration
Prognosticate a suppuration?
Or, when it comes, can right discuss
The laudability of pus?
Who then luxations shall reduce?
Who bathrum, or who vectis use?
And who the poor deluded maid
With hand obstetric timely aid?
That hand devoted to oppose
Great GEORGE'S[164] and his country's foes?
For there's no man, I'm sure, in all
The town, can shake an urinal,
Or know, like them, by Galen's rules,
The consequence of fetid stools.
Think not physicians I despise,
Doctors indeed I duly prize;
Doctors so call'd are those I drive at,
Their ignorance I can't connive at.
Kind reader pardon this digression,
And I will shorten the procession.
But say, what youth is he that follows?
Oh! he's a favourite of Apollo's,
Who, for our good, in time of need,
Forsakes his fav'rite Muse and reed;
And boldly owning Britain's quarrels,
Tho' crown'd with bays will gather laurels.
Say, MILLER,[165] why did'st thou supplant
Me of that fame I so much want?
Had'st thou not wrote I might have worn
Those laurels which thy head adorn.
Say, dost thou not thy castor grace
With a cockade as well as lace?
Adorn thy active feet so curious
With buckles set with diamonds spurious?
And by Euterpe's influence
With flute traverse[166] pick up the pence?
Have you not for the fall of France
Now introduc'd the Pyrrhic dance,
Which e'en our girls to arms will train,
And make them fight like modern men?
Nay, in York News most fairly worded
I've read you, gentlemen, recorded.
Could not emoluments like these
Thy mind, ambitious minstrel, please?
O! be thy song for ever curst,
You've gain'd the prize by starting first.
To equal thee let me aspire,
For tho' I envy, I admire.
Ten worthies yet remain unsung,
Fit subjects for the pen or tongue
Of Homer's self, had he been living.
But now of any bard surviving,
To sound their fame in lofty verse,
And sound his own by sounding their's.
Go on, great souls, and never flinch,
Your leader[167] ne'er will fly an inch.
Be active in your country's cause,
Protect her freedom, guard her laws.
Fight for the honour of your country,
Nor once forget his honor's bounty:
Let the remembrance of his claret,[168]
In each engagement rouse you spirit;
Support yourselves, in each attack,
With hopes of more frontiniac.
If broken, rally quick again,
Your sure reward is more champagne.
Never forgetting once to boast
That you're his beauteous lady's toast;[169]
But let it be your chief support
To think what sway he bears at court.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 150: From a MS. _penes_ James Falconar, esq., F. S. A., Doncaster.]

[Footnote 151: William Smith, alderman; buried, Nov. 13, 1760.]

[Footnote 152: Peter Cave, mayor 1748-9; buried, June 4, 1782.]

[Footnote 153: The Rev. Lionel Willatts, rector of Sprotbrough, son of Charles Willatts, rector of Plumtree, Notts, and Castiliana his wife, daughter of Lionel Copley, esq., of Wadworth and Sprotbrough; buried, at Doncaster, May 20, 1760.]

[Footnote 154: Mr. Turbutt was of a family at Mount St. John, near Thirsk, Yorkshire. He resided for several years at Doncaster, where he died, 3 Sept. 1758, æt. 68. He was the great grandfather of Gladwin Turbutt, esq., now (1860) of Ogston hall, Derbyshire. His "young ladies" were Frances, afterwards wife of John Woodyeare, esq., of Crookhill, near Doncaster, and Eleanor, who became the wife of Lieut. General Sowerby.]

[Footnote 155: Mr. Ellerker was of a good family, descended from Ralph Ellerker, of Youlton, Yorkshire. He was some time a solicitor in the Inner Temple, London, and died, at Doncaster, March 25, 1774, aged 82. (JACKSON'S _Hist. St. George's Church, Doncaster_, pp. 76, 77.)]

[Footnote 156: 1757. "The militia raised.--Sixteen inhabitants of Doncaster entered as volunteers."--MILLER'S _Hist. Doncaster_, p. 183.]

[Footnote 157: Alluding to their exercising by torchlight.]

[Footnote 158: James Stovin, esq., of Whitgift, a justice of the peace for the counties of York and Lincoln, died at Sprotbrough hall, where he then resided, 26 July, 1789, and was buried at Rossington. He was son of George Stovin, of Crowle and Winterton, the Lincolnshire antiquary. On the 11 Dec. 1771, he was appointed town-clerk of Doncaster, an office which he resigned on the 12 Jan. 1778. He was also clerk of the court of sewers from 1757 to 1775.]

[Footnote 159: Probably, "Mr. Joseph Gill, Gent.," who was buried, March 19, 1763.]

[Footnote 160: Freeman Bower, esq., of Bawtry and Maltby, co. York, born 15 Nov. 1732; died 29 July, 1786; a justice of the peace for the West Riding of Yorkshire, &c; was educated for the law, and practised for a few years as an attorney, but on inheriting some family property he discontinued that profession. On several occasions he acted as marshal to his uncle Mr. Baron Perrott, when on circuit. He is said to have been a handsome man, and of an hospitable, convivial disposition.]

[Footnote 161: Contends, strives for. Alluding to the contest between Mr. Stovin and Mr. Gill for the office of clerk to the commissioners of sewers for the level of Hatfield chace, which had become vacant by the death of Mr. Burden, and to which Mr. Stovin was elected, 5 Feb. 1757.]

[Footnote 162: Alluding to Bower, once a popish priest, the author of the "Lives of the Popes."]

[Footnote 163: Henry Farrer, of Doncaster, a surgeon and apothecary in extensive practice for nearly fifty years, son of John Farrer, A.M., rector of Hemsworth, descended from the Farrers of Ewood, co. York, died 7 June, 1789, aged 69. (See _Mon. Ins_. JACKSON'S _St. George's Church_, p. 107.)]

[Footnote 164: George II.]

[Footnote 165: Mr., afterwards Dr., Edward Miller, the organist of Doncaster, and author of the History of that Town. He composed a song to a warlike tune, and a dance to the same tune, in which were introduced several parts of a soldier's manual exercise. He died Sept. 13, 1807, aged 72. See account of him in JACKSON'S _St. George's Church_, pp. 58-96.]

[Footnote 166: Flauta Traversa, the Italian name for a German flute.]