Chapter IX: Appendix (1)

ARTHUR’S SEAT SHALL BE MY BED, ETC., OR, LOVE IN DESPAIR

A new song much in request, sung with its own proper tune.

Laing, Broadsides Ballads, No. 61, not dated but considered to have
been printed towards the end of the seventeenth or the beginning of
the eighteenth century, and probably at Edinburgh.

1
Come lay me soft, and draw me near,
And lay thy white hand over me,
For I am starving in the cold,
And thou art bound to cover me.

2
O cover me in my distress,
And help me in my miserie,
For I do wake when I should sleep,
All for the love of my dearie.

3
My rents they are but very small
For to maintain my love withall,
But with my labour and my pain
I will maintain my love with them.

4
O Arthur’s Seat shall be my bed,
And the sheets shall never be fil’d for me,
St Anthony’s well shall be my drink,
Since my true-love’s forsaken me.

5
Should I be bound, that may go free?
Should I love them that loves not me?
I’le rather travel into Spain,
Where I’le get love for love again.

6
And I’le cast off my robs of black,
And will put on the robs of blue,
And I will to some other land
Till I see my love will on me rue.

7
It’s not the cold that makes me cry,
Nor is’t the weet that wearies me,
Nor is’t the frost that freezes fell;
But I love a lad, and I dare not tell.

8
O faith is gone and truth is past,
And my true-love’s forsaken me;
If all be true that I hear say,
I’le mourn until the day I die.

9
Oh, if I had nere been born
Than to have dy’d when I was young!
Then I had never wet my cheeks
For the love of any woman’s son.

10
Oh, oh, if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse’s knee,
And I my self were dead and gone!
For a maid again I’le never be.

11
Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blow,
And blow the green leafs off the tree
O gentle Death, when wilt thou come!
For of my life I am wearie.

1^1. darw.

205

LOUDON HILL, OR, DRUMCLOG

‘The Battle of Loudoun Hill,’ Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,
III, 188, 1803; II, 206, 1833.

The “gospel-lads,” otherwise self-styled the true Presbyterian party, had in 1679, May 29 (observed both as the king’s birthday and the anniversary of the Restoration), begun their testimony against the iniquity of the times by publishing a Declaration, putting out loyal bonfires, and burning all acts of Parliament obnoxious to Covenanters, in retaliation for the burning of the Covenant at London seventeen years before. They had intended to do this at Glasgow, but as Claverhouse had established himself there, the demonstration was made at Rutherglen, a little place two miles off. On the 31st Claverhouse laid hands on three of the rioters and an outlawed minister. The Covenanters had appointed a great meeting, an armed conventicle, for the next day, Sunday, June 1, at Loudon Hill, on the borders of the shires of Ayr and Lanark. Not so many came as were expected, for Claverhouse had been heard of, but there were at least two hundred and fifty armed men; and these numbers were subsequently increased.[78] It was resolved to rescue the prisoners taken the day before, if the Lord should enable them, and in prosecution of this object they moved on to Drumclog, a swampy farm two miles east of Loudon Hill. The chief of command was Robert Hamilton, and with him were associated John Balfour of Kinloch, called Burly, Hackston of Rathillet, and others. What ensued is told in a frank letter of Claverhouse, written the night of the same Sunday.

The prisoners were to be conveyed to Glasgow. “I thought,” says Claverhouse, “that we might make a little tour, to see if we could fall upon a conventicle; which we did, little to our advantage. For, when we came in sight of them, we found them drawn up in battle, upon a most advantageous ground, to which there was no coming but through mosses and lakes. They were not preaching, and had got away all their women and children. They consisted of four battalions of foot, and all well armed with fusils and pitchforks, and three squadrons of horse. We sent, both, parties to skirmish, they of foot and we of dragoons; they run for it, and sent down a battalion of foot against them (the dragoons). We sent threescore of dragoons, who made them run again shamefully. But in the end (they perceiving that we had the better of them in skirmish), they resolved a general engagement, and immediately advanced with their foot, the horse following. They came through the loch, and the greatest body of all made up against my troop. We kept our fire till they were within ten pace of us. They received our fire and advanced to shock. The first they gave us brought down the cornet, Mr Crafford, and Captain Bleith. Besides that, with a pitchfork, they made such an opening in my sorrel horse’s belly that his guts hung out half an ell, and yet he carried me off a mile; which so discouraged our men that they sustained not the shock, but fell into disorder. Their horse took the occasion of this, and pursued us so hotly that we got no time to rally. I saved the standards, but lost on the place about eight or ten men, besides wounded. But the dragoons lost many more. They are not come easily off on the other side, for I saw several of them fall before we came to the shock. I made the best retreat the confusion of our people would suffer.”[79]

The cornet killed was Robert Graham, the “nephew” of Claverhouse, of whom so much is made in “Old Mortality.” There is no evidence beyond the name to show that he was a near kinsman of his captain. The Covenanters thought they had killed Claverhouse himself, because of the name Graham being wrought into the cornet’s shirt, and treated the body with much brutality. In ‘Bothwell Bridge,’ st. 12, Claverhouse is represented as refusing quarter to the Covenanters in revenge for ‘his cornet’s death.’[80]

* * * * *

1
You’l marvel when I tell ye o
Our noble Burly and his train,
When last he marchd up through the land,
Wi sax-and-twenty westland men.

2
Than they I neer o braver heard,
For they had a’ baith wit and skill;
They proved right well, as I heard tell,
As they cam up oer Loudoun Hill.

3
Weel prosper a’ the gospel-lads
That are into the west countrie
Ay wicked Claverse to demean,
And ay an ill dead may he die!

4
For he’s drawn up i battle rank,
An that baith soon an hastilie;
But they wha live till simmer come.
Some bludie days for this will see.

5
But up spak cruel Claverse then,
Wi hastie wit an wicked skill,
‘Gae fire on you westlau men;
I think it is my sovreign’s will.’

6
But up bespake his cornet then,
‘It’s be wi nae consent o me;
I ken I’ll neer come back again,
An mony mae as weel as me.

7
‘There is not ane of a’ yon men
But wha is worthy other three;
There is na ane amang them a’
That in his cause will stap to die.

8
‘An as for Burly, him I knaw;
He’s a man of honour, birth, an fame;
Gie him a sword into his hand,
He’ll fight thysel an other ten.’

9
But up spake wicked Claverse then—
I wat his heart it raise fu hie—
And he has cry’d, that a’ might hear,
‘Man, ye hae sair deceived me.

10
‘I never kend the like afore,
Na, never since I came frae hame,
That you sae cowardly here suld prove,
An yet come of a noble Græme.’

11
But up bespake his cornet then,
‘Since that it is your honour’s will,
Mysel shall be the foremost man
That shall gie fire on Loudoun Hill.

12
‘At your command I’ll lead them on,
But yet wi nae consent o me;
For weel I ken I’ll neer return,
And mony mae as weel as me.’

13
Then up he drew in battle rank—
I wat he had a bonny train—
But the first time that bullets flew
Ay he lost twenty o his men.

14
Then back he came the way he gaed,
I wat right soon an suddenly;
He gave command amang his men,
And sent them back, and bade them flee.

15
Then up came Burly, bauld an stout,
Wi ‘s little train o westland men,
Wha mair than either aince or twice
In Edinburgh confind had been.

16
They hae been up to London sent,
An yet they’re a’ come safely down;
Sax troop o horsemen they hae beat,
And chased them into Glasgow town.

206

BOTHWELL BRIDGE

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 209, 1803; II, 226, 1833.
From recitation.

The report of the success of the Covenanters at Drumclog brought four or five thousand malcontents into the rising, many of whom, however, were not radicals of the Hamilton type, but moderate Presbyterians. After not a little moving up and down, they established their camp on the nineteenth of June at Hamilton, on the south side of the Clyde, near the point where the river is crossed by Bothwell Bridge. They were deficient in arms and ammunition and in officers of military experience. “But,” as a historian of their own party says, “the greatest loss was their want of order and harmony among themselves; neither had they any person in whom they heartily centred, nor could they agree upon the grounds of their appearance.” Both before and after their final encampment at Hamilton, they were principally occupied with debating what testimony they should make against Popery, Prelacy, Erastianism, and the Indulgence, and whether their declaration should contain an acknowledgment of the king’s authority. Dissension ran high, “and enemies had it to observe and remark that ministers preached and prayed against one another.”

The king named the Duke of Monmouth to command his army in Scotland. Both the instructions which were given him and the duke’s own temper were favorable to an accommodation. The royal forces were at Bothwell Muir on the twenty-second of June, and their advanced guards within a quarter of a mile of the bridge. The duke marched his army to an eminence opposite the main body of the enemy, who lay on the moor (st. 10). The bridge was held by Hackston of Rathillet and other resolute men. It was very defensible, being only twelve feet wide and rising from each end to the middle, where there was a gate, and it was also obstructed with stones. Early in the morning a deputation was sent by the rebels to the duke to lay before him their demands. He heard them patiently, and expressed his willingness to do all that he could for them with the king, but would engage himself to nothing until they laid down their arms. He gave them an hour to make up their mind. The officers of the insurgents were unable to come to an agreement. Hamilton, who assumed the general command, was against any pacific arrangement, and no answer was returned. In the interim four field-pieces had been planted against the bridge. The defenders maintained themselves under the fire of these and of the musketeers and dragoons until their own powder was exhausted, and then unwillingly withdrew to the main body, by Hamilton’s order. The bridge was cleared of obstructions, and the royal army crossed and advanced in order of battle against the rebels on the moor. The first fire made the Covenanters’ horse wheel about, and their retreat threw the nearest foot into disorder; in consequence of which the whole army fell into confusion. Twelve hundred surrendered without resistance, the rest fled, and several hundred were killed in the pursuit.[81]

1–9. William Gordon of Earlston, a hot Covenanter, while on his way to Hamilton on the twenty-second to join the insurgents, fell in with some dragoons who were pursuing his already routed copartisans, and, resisting their attempt to make him prisoner, was killed. His son Alexander, a man of more temperate views, was at Bothwell Bridge,[82] and escaped. Although Earlston in st. 4 is represented as bidding farewell to his father, the grotesque narrative with which the ballad begins can be understood only of the father; sts. 7, 8 make this certain.

9. It seems to be meant, as grammar would require, that it is the ‘Lennox lad,’ and a Covenanter, that sets up ‘the flag of red set about with blue.’ In “Old Mortality,” Sir Walter Scott makes the Covenanters plant “the scarlet and blue colors of the Scottish covenant” on the keep of Tillietudlem. Whether he had other authority than this ballad for the scarlet, I have not been able to ascertain. All the flags of the covenant may not have been alike, but all would probably have a ground of blue, which is known to have been the Covenanters’ color. One flag, which belonged to a Covenanter who figured at Drumclog and Bothwell Bridge, has fortunately been preserved. It is of blue silk, with three inscriptions, one of which is, “No Quarters to y^e Active Enimies of y^e Covenant,” first painted in some light color, afterwards repainted in a dull red. (Napier, I, xliv).

The last half of the stanza must be spoken by Monmouth, and the tone of it is more chivalrous than the circumstances call for.

12–15. For Claverhouse’s cornet, see the preceding ballad. Captain John Graham, for that was all he then was, was not conspicuous at Bothwell Bridge. He commanded the horse on the right, and Captain Stuart the dragoons on the left, when the advance was made on the Covenanters. He was as capable of insubordination as Robert Hamilton was of Erastianism, and it is nearly as unnecessary, at this day, to vindicate him from the charge of cruelty as from that of procuring Monmouth’s execution six years in advance of the fates.[83]

‘Earlistoun,’ Chambers, Twelve Romantic Scottish Ballads, p. 26, is this piece with the battle omitted, or stanzas 1–6, 7^{1,2}, 8^{3,4}, 16.

Scott observes: “There is said to be another song upon this battle, once very popular, but I have not been able to recover it.”

There is a stall-ballad of Bothwell Brigg, not traditional, a very good ballad of its sort, with a touching story and a kindly moral, which may or may not be later than Sir Walter Scott’s day. It is of John Carr and his wife Janet and a non-covenanting lady, who carries off John, badly wounded, from the field (where he had fought better than most of his party), and nurses him in her lord’s castle till he is well enough to be visited by his wife.

Translated by Talvj, Charakteristik, p. 581.

* * * * *

1
‘O billie, billie, bonny billie,
Will ye go to the wood wi me?
We’ll ca our horse hame masterless,
An gar them trow slain men are we.’

2
‘O no, O no!’ says Earlstoun,
‘For that’s the thing that mauna be;
For I am sworn to Bothwell Hill,
Where I maun either gae or die.’

3
So Earlstoun rose in the morning,
An mounted by the break o day,
An he has joind our Scottish lads,
As they were marching out the way.

4
‘Now, farewell, father! and farewell, mother!
An fare ye weel, my sisters three!
An fare ye well, my Earlstoun!
For thee again I—‘ll never see.’

5
So they’re awa to Bothwell Hill,
An waly, they rode bonnily!
When the Duke o Monmouth saw them comin,
He went to view their company.

6
‘Ye’re welcome, lads,’ then Monmouth said,
‘Ye’re welcome, brave Scots lads, to me;
And sae are you, brave Earlstoun,
The foremost o your company.

7
‘But yield your weapons ane an a’,
O yield your weapons, lads, to me;
For, gin ye’ll yield your weapons up,
Ye’se a’ gae hame to your country.’

8
Out then spak a Lennox lad,
And waly, but he spoke bonnily!
‘I winna yield my weapons up,
To you nor nae man that I see.’

9
Then he set up the flag o red,
A’ set about wi bonny blue:
‘Since ye’ll no cease, and be at peace,
See that ye stand by ither true.’

10
They stelld their cannons on the height,
And showrd their shot down in the how,
An beat our Scots lads even down;
Thick they lay slain on every know.

11
As eer you saw the rain down fa,
Or yet the arrow frae the bow,
Sae our Scottish lads fell even down,
An they lay slain on every know.

12
‘O hold your hand,’ then Monmouth cry’d,
‘Gie quarters to yon men for me;’
But wicked Claverhouse swore an oath
His cornet’s death revengd sud be.

13
‘O hold your hand,’ then Monmouth cry’d,
‘If ony thing you’ll do for me;
Hold up your hand, you cursed Græme,
Else a rebel to our king ye’ll be.’

14
Then wicked Claverhouse turnd about—
I wot an angry man was he—
And he has lifted up his hat,
And cry’d, God bless his Majesty!

15
Than he’s awa to London town,
Ay een as fast as he can dree;
Fause witnesses he has wi him taen,
An taen Monmouth’s head frae his body.

16
Alang the brae beyond the brig,
Mony brave man lies cauld and still;
But lang we’ll mind, and sair we’ll rue,
The bloody battle of Bothwell Hill.

207

LORD DELAMERE

#A.# ‘The Long-armed Duke,’ first printed, about 1843, in a periodical
called the Story Teller; afterwards in Notes and Queries, First
Series, V, 243, 1852.

#B.# ‘Devonshire’s Noble Duel with Lord Danby, in the year 1687,’
Llewellynn Jewitt’s Ballads and Songs of Derbyshire, p. 55, 1867.

#C.# Llewellynn Jewitt’s Ballads and Songs of Derbyshire, p. 57, two
stanzas.

#D.# ‘Lord Delaware,’ Thomas Lyle’s Ancient Ballads and Songs, chiefly
from tradition, manuscripts, and scarce works, etc., London, 1827,
p. 125. ‘Lord Delamare,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 539. Dixon, Ancient
Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 80, Percy
Society, vol. xvii, 1846; the same, ed. Robert Bell, 1857, p. 66.

Of #D# the editor says: “An imperfect copy ... was noted down by us from the singing of a gentleman in this city [Glasgow], which has necessarily been remodelled and smoothed down to the present measure, without any other liberties, however, having been taken with the original narrative, which is here carefully preserved as it was committed to us.” The air, says Lyle, was “beautiful, and peculiar to the ballad.”

E. Leigh, Ballads and Legends of Cheshire, p. 203, repeats #A#.

Mr E. Peacock had an imperfect manuscript copy with the title ‘Lord Delamere,’ beginning

I wonder very much that our sovereign king
So many large taxes upon this land should bring.

Notes and Queries, First Series, II, 104, 1851.

Dr Rimbault remembered hearing a version sung at a village in Staffordshire, about 1842, in which Hereford was substituted for Devonshire: Notes and Queries, First Series, V, 348, 1852.

Lord Delamere, upon occasion of the imposition of some new taxes, begs a boon of the king, in the Parliament House; it is that he may have all the poor men in the land down to Cheshire and hang them, since it would be better for them to be hanged than to be starved. A French (Dutch) lord says that Delamere ought to be stabbed for publicly affronting the king. The Duke of Devonshire offers himself to fight for Delamere, and a stage is set up for a duel to the utterance. Devonshire’s sword bends at the first thrust and then breaks. An English lord who is standing by (Willoughby, #B#) gives him another, and advises him to play low, for there is treachery. Devonshire drops on his knee and gives his antagonist his death-wound. The king orders the dead man to be taken away, but Devonshire insists on first examining the body. He finds that the French lord had been wearing armor, and the king’s armor, while he himself was fighting bare. He reproaches the king with the purpose of taking his life, and tells him that he shall not have his armor back until he wins it.

According to the title of #B#, the duel was between Devonshire and Lord Danby, and in 1687. The other party is, however, called a Dutch lord in the ballad. The king is James. Delamere is said to be under age (he was thirty-five in 1687).

In #D#, Delamere is changed to Delaware, of Lincolnshire; the Duke of Devonshire is called a Welsh lord, and fights a Dutch lord in defence of _young_ Delaware. When Devonshire’s sword breaks, he springs from the stage, borrows another from a soldier in the ring, and leaps back to the stage.

It is scarcely necessary to say that the duel is on a par for historical verity with that in ‘Johnie Scot’ (No 99). If there was to be a duel, Devonshire (Earl, he was not created Duke till 1694, the last year of Delamere’s life) was well chosen for the nonce. He had fought with Lord Mohun, in 1676, and was credited with challenging Count Königsmark, in 1682. What is true in the ballad is that Delamere was a strenuous and uncompromising advocate of constitutional government, and that he and Devonshire were political and personal friends. Both were particularly active in bringing in the Prince of Orange; and so was Lord Danby, with whom, according to the title of #B#, Devonshire was fighting the duel the year before the revolution.

It has been suggested,[84] and it is barely conceivable, that the ballad may have grown out of a perverted report of the affair of the Earl of Devonshire with Colonel Colepepper.

“On Sunday the 24th of April, 1687, the said earl, meeting on Colonel Culpepper in the drawing-room in Whitehall (who had formerly affronted the said earl in the king’s palace, for which he had not received any satisfaction), he spake to the said colonel to go with him into the next room, who went with him accordingly; and when they were there, the said earl required of him to go down stairs, that he might have satisfaction for the affront done him, as aforesaid; which the colonel refusing to do, the said earl struck him with his stick, as is supposed.”[85] For this, Devonshire was summoned to the King’s Bench and required to give sureties to the amount of £30,000 that he would appear to stand trial. Delamere was surety for £5,000. Devonshire was in the end fined £30,000, and Delamere made a strong plea, apparently in the House of Lords, against the legality of the proceedings of the court.

There is the slightest possible similitude here to the facts of the ballad. It is merely that one party stands up for the other; but Delamere appears as the champion of Devonshire, not Devonshire of Delamere. If Devonshire had testified for Delamere when the latter was tried for high treason in 1686, there would be something to go upon. A more plausible explanation is desirable.

* * * * *

A

Taken down from recitation in Derbyshire, and first printed, about
1843, in a periodical called The Story Teller; afterwards in Notes
and Queries, First Series, V, 243, by C. W. G.

1
Good people, give attention, a story you shall hear,
It is of the king and my lord Delamere;
The quarrel it arose in the Parliament House,
Concerning some taxations going to be put in force.
Ri toora loora la.

2
Says my lord Delamere to his Majesty soon,
‘If it please you, my liege, of you I’ll soon beg a boon.’
‘Then what is your boon? let me it understand:’
‘It’s to have all the poor men you have in your land.

3
‘And I’ll take them to Cheshire, and there I will sow
Both hempseed and flaxseed, and [hang] them all in a row.
Why, they’d better be hanged, and stopped soon their breath,
If it please you, my liege, than to starve them to death.’

4
Then up starts a French lord, as we do hear,
Saying, ‘Thou art a proud Jack,’ to my lord Delamere;
‘Thou oughtest to be stabbed’—then he turnd him about—
‘For affronting the king in the Parliament House.’

5
Then up starts his grace, the Duke of Devonshire,
Saying, I’ll fight in defence of my lord Delamere.
Then a stage was erected, to battle they went,
To kill or to be killed was our noble duke’s intent.

6
The very first push, as we do understand,
The duke’s sword he bended it back into his hand.
He waited a while, but nothing he spoke,
Till on the king’s armour his rapier he broke.

7
An English lord, who by that stage did stand,
Threw Devonshire another, and he got it in his hand:
‘Play low for your life, brave Devonshire,’ said he,
‘Play low for your life, or a dead man you will be.’

8
Devonshire dropped on his knee, and gave him his death-wound;
O then that French lord fell dead upon the ground.
The king called his guards, and he unto them did say,
‘Bring Devonshire down, and take the dead man away.’

9
‘No, if it please you, my liege, no! I’ve slain him like a man;
I’m resolved to see what clothing he’s got on.
Oh, fie upon your treachery, your treachery!’ said he,
‘Oh, king, ’twas your intention to have took my life away.

10
‘For he fought in your armour, whilst I have fought in bare;
The same thou shalt win, king, before thou does it wear.’
Then they all turned back to the Parliament House,
And the nobles made obesiance with their hands to their mouths.

11
‘God bless all the nobles we have in our land,
And send the Church of England may flourish still and stand;
For I’ve injured no king, no kingdom, nor no crown,
But I wish that every honest man might enjoy his own.’

* * * * *

B

Llewellynn Jewitt, Ballads and Songs of Derbyshire, 1867, p. 55,
from a broad-sheet.

1
Good people give attention to a story you shall hear:
Between the king and my lord Delamere,
A quarrel arose in the Parliament House,
Concerning the taxes to be put in force.
With my fal de ral de ra.

2
I wonder, I wonder that James, our good king,
So many hard taxes upon the poor should bring;
So many hard taxes, as I have heard them say
Makes many a good farmer to break and run away.

3
Such a rout has been in the parliament, as I hear,
Betwixt a Dutch lord and my lord Delamere.
He said to the king, as he sat on the throne,
‘If it please you, my liege, to grant me a boon.’

4
‘O what is thy boon? Come, let me understand.’
‘’Tis to give me all the poor you have in the land;
I’ll take them down to Cheshire, and there I will sow
Both hemp-seed and flax-seed, and hang them in a row.

5
‘It’s better, my liege, they should die a shorter death
Than for your Majesty to starve them on earth.’
With that up starts a Dutch lord, as we hear,
And he says, ‘Thou proud Jack,’ to my lord Delamere,

6
‘Thou ought to be stabbed,’ and he turned him about,
‘For affronting the king in the Parliament House.’
Then up got a brave duke, the Duke of Devonshire,
Who said, I will fight for my lord Delamere.

7
‘He is under age, as I’ll make it appear,
So I’ll stand in defence of my lord Delamere.’
A stage then was built, and to battle they went,
To kill or be killed it was their intent.

8
The very first blow, as we understand,
Devonshire’s rapier went back to his hand;
Then he mused awhile, but not a word spoke,
When against the king’s armour his rapier he broke.

9
O then he stept backward, and backward stept he,
And then stept forward my lord Willoughby;
He gave him a rapier, and thus he did say;
Play low, Devonshire, there’s treachery, I see.

10
He knelt on his knee, and he gave him the wound,
With that the Dutch lord fell dead on the ground:
The king calld his soldiers, and thus he did say:
Call Devonshire down, take the dead man away.

11
He answered, My liege, I’ve killed him like a man,
And it is my intent to see what clothing he’s got on.
O treachery! O treachery! as I well may say,
It was your intent, O king, to take my life away.

12
‘He fought in your armour, while I fought him bare,
And thou, king, shalt win it before thou dost it wear;
I neither do curse king, parliament, or throne,
But I wish every honest man may enjoy his own.

13
‘The rich men do flourish with silver and gold,
While poor men are starving with hunger and cold;
And if they hold on as they have begun,
They’ll make little England pay dear for a king.’

* * * * *

C

Llewellynn Jewitt’s Ballads and Songs of Derbyshire, p. 57. “Another
version, which I have in MS., has, besides many minor variations,
these verses.”

1
O the Duchess of Devonshire was standing hard by;
Upon her dear husband she cast her lovely eye:
‘Oh, fie upon treachery! there’s been treachery I say,
It was your full intent to have taen my duke’s life away.’

2
Then away to the parliament these votes all went again,
And there they acted like just and honest men.
I neither curse my king, nor kingdom, crown or throne,
But I wish every honest man to enjoy but what is his own.

* * * * *

D

T. Lyle’s Ancient Ballads and Songs, p. 135, 1827, as “noted down
from the singing of a gentleman,” and then “remodelled and smoothed
down” by the editor.

1
In the Parliament House a great rout has been there,
Betwixt our good king and the lord Delaware:
Says Lord Delaware to his Majesty full soon,
‘Will it please you, my liege, to grant me a boon?’

2
‘What’s your boon?’ says the king, ‘now let me understand.’
‘It’s, give me all the poor men we’ve starving in this land,
And without delay I’ll hie me to Lincolnshire,
To sow hemp-seed and flax-seed, and hang them all there.

3
‘For with hempen cord it’s better to stop each poor man’s breath
Than with famine you should see your subjects starve to death.’
Up starts a Dutch lord, who to Delaware did say,
Thou deservest to be stabbd! then he turnd himself away.

4
‘Thou deservest to be stabbd, and the dogs have thine ears,
For insulting our king, in this parliament of peers.’
Up sprang a Welsh lord, the brave Duke of Devonshire:
‘In young Delaware’s defence, I’ll fight this Dutch lord, my sire.

5
‘For he is in the right, and I’ll make it so appear;
Him I dare to single combat, for insulting Delaware.’
A stage was soon erected, and to combat they went;
For to kill or to be killd, it was either’s full intent.

6
But the very first flourish, when the heralds gave command,
The sword of brave Devonshire bent backward on his hand.
In suspense he paused a while, scannd his foe before he strake,
Then against the king’s armour his bent sword he brake.

7
Then he sprang from the stage to a soldier in the ring,
Saying, Lend your sword, that to an end this tragedy we bring.
Though he’s fighting me in armour, while I am fighting bare,
Even more than this I’d venture for young Lord Delaware.

8
Leaping back on the stage, sword to buckler now resounds,
Till he left the Dutch lord a bleeding in his wounds.
This seeing, cries the king to his guards without delay,
Call Devonshire down! take the dead man away!

9
‘No,’ says brave Devonshire, ‘I’ve fought him as a man;
Since he’s dead, I will keep the trophies I have won.
For he fought me in your armour, while I fought him bare,
And the same you must win back, my liege, if ever you them wear.

10
‘God bless the Church of England! may it prosper on each hand,
And also every poor man now starving in this land.
And while I pray success may crown our king upon his throne,
I’ll wish that every poor man may long enjoy his own.’

* * * * *

#A.#

4^1. Dutch _for_ French, _according to some reciters._

8^2. Oh.

#B.#

4^1, 9^1. Oh.

#C.#

1^1. Oh.

#D.#

_Printed by Lyle in stanzas of eight short lines._

_The copy in Motherwell’s MS. is not in Motherwell’s handwriting.
It may have been written down from recollection of Lyle, or may
have been arbitrarily altered._

_The variations are as follows:_

1^2. Delamare, _and always_.

2^1. pray let.

2^2. now _for_ we’ve.

2^4. with flax seed.

3^1. the poor men’s.

4^2. or _for_ our.

5^1. it _wanting_.

6^2. in his.

6^3. the stroke.

6^4. broke.

7^1. The sprang.

8^2. he laid.

8^3. to the.

9^4. must won: my liege _wanting_.

10^1. bliss.

10^3. the king.

208

LORD DERWENTWATER

#A.# ‘Lord Dunwaters,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 331; ‘Lord Derwentwater,’
Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, p. 349.

#B.# ‘Lord Derwentwater,’ Notes and Queries, First Series, XII, 492.

#C.# Bell’s Rhymes of Northern Bards, 1812, p. 225, three stanzas.

#D.# ‘Lord Derntwater,’ Kinloch MSS, I, 323.

#E.# ‘Lord Derwentwater,’ Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, XI, 499.

#F.# ‘Lord Arnwaters,’ Buchan’s MSS, II, 478.

#G.# ‘Lord Dunwaters,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 126.

#H.# ‘Lord Derwentwater’s Death,’ Shropshire Folk-Lore, edited by
Charlotte Sophia Burne, p. 537.

#I.# The Gentleman’s Magazine, vol. xcv, 1825, Part First, p. 489.

Three stanzas of this ballad were printed in 1812 (#C#). #I# followed in 1825, a full copy, which would have been a very good one had it been given as taken down, and not restored “to something like poetical propriety.”[86] The editor of the “old song” observes that it was one of the most popular in the north of England for a long period after the event which it records, and a glance at what is here brought together will show that the ballad was at least equally popular in Scotland. #I# is repeated in Richardson’s Borderer’s Table-Book, VI, 291, and in Harland and Wilkinson’s Ballads and Songs of Lancashire, 1882, p. 265. Mr J. H. Dixon, in Notes and Queries, 4th Series, XI, 389, says that the ballad “originally appeared in the Town and Country Magazine.”

‘Lord Derwentwater’s Goodnight,’ Hogg’s Jacobite Relics, II, 30, 268, was both communicated and composed by Robert Surtees. ‘Derwentwater,’ Cromek’s Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, 1810, p. 127, is from the pen of Allan Cunningham. It is repeated in Hogg’s Jacobite Relics, 1821, II, 28, and in Cunningham’s Songs of Scotland, 1825, III, 192, etc.; also in Kinloch MSS, V, 413, with two lines to fill out an eighth stanza. (Translated by Loève-Veimars, p. 375.) ‘Young Ratcliffe,’ Sheldon’s Minstrelsy of the English Border, p. 400, is another ballad of the same class.

James Ratcliffe, Earl of Derwentwater, being suspected or known to be engaged in concerting a rising in the north of England in behalf of the Pretender, a warrant was issued by the Secretary of State for his apprehension, towards the end of September, 1715. Hereupon he took arms, and he was one of the fifteen hundred English and Scots who were forced to an inglorious surrender at Preston, November 14. The more distinguished prisoners were conveyed to London, where they had a boisterous reception from the mob. Derwentwater was committed to the Tower, December 9; was impeached of high treason, and pleaded guilty, in January; was sentenced to death, February 9, at Westminster Hall, and was executed February 24 (1716). In a paper which he read from the scaffold he stated that he had regarded his plea of guilty as a formality consequent upon his “having submitted to mercy,” and declared that he had never had “any other but King James the Third for his rightful and lawful sovereign.”

Derwentwater had not attained the age of twenty-seven at the time of his death. We may believe that the character given of him by the renegade Patten was not overcharged: “The sweetness of his temper and disposition, in which he had few equals, had so secured him the affection of all his tenants, neighbors, and dependants that multitudes would have lived and died with him. The truth is, he was a man formed by nature to be generally beloved, for he was of so universal a beneficence that he seemed to live for others. As he lived among his own people, there he spent his estate, and continually did offices of kindness and good neighborhood to everybody, as opportunity offered. He kept a house of generous hospitality and noble entertainment, which few in that country do, and none come up to. He was very charitable to poor and distressed families on all occasions, whether known to him or not, and whether Papist or Protestant. His fate will be sensibly felt by a great many who had no kindness for the cause he died in.”

The king’s letter, which, in the ballad, summons Derwentwater to London (to answer for his head, #D# 3), suggests the Secretary of State’s warrant of arrest, which his lordship, unhappily for himself, evaded. But very probably the ballad-maker supposed Derwentwater to have gone home after his less than six weeks in arms. As he is setting forth to obey the mandate, his wife calls to him from child-bed to make his will. This business does not delay him long: one third of his estate is to be his wife’s, and the rest to go to his children. (He had a son not two years old at the date of his execution, and a daughter who must have been born, at the earliest, not much before the rising. His very large estates first passed to the crown, and were afterwards bestowed on Greenwich hospital.) Bad omens attend his departure. As he mounts his horse, his ring drops from his finger, or breaks, and his nose begins to bleed, #B# 5, #D# 6, #E# 8, #F# 9, #H# 7, #I# 10; presently his horse stumbles, #A# 8, #E# 9, #F# 10, #I# 11; it begins to rain, #H# 8. When he comes to London, to Westminster Hall, #B# 6, #F# 11, to Whitehall, #D# 7, rides up Westminster Street, in sight of the White Hall, #I# 12, the lords and knights, the lords and ladies, a mob, #H# 9, call him “traitor.” How can that be, he answers, with surprise or indignation, except for keeping five hundred men (five thousand, seven thousand, eight score), to fight for King Jamie? #A# 10, #D# 8, #E# 11, #F# 12, #H# 10, #I# 13. A man with an ax claims his life, which he ungrudgingly resigns, #B# 8, #D# 9, 10, #E# 12, 13, #F# 13, 14, #H# 11, 12, #I# 14, 15, directing that a good sum of money which he has in his pockets shall be given to the poor, #A# 12, #D# 11, #E# 14, #F# 15, #I# 17.

In #A# 2, #D# 12, Derwentwater seems to be taken for a Scot.

Ellis, Brand’s Antiquities, 1813, II, 261, note, remarks that he had heard in Northumberland that when the Earl of Derwentwater was beheaded, the stream (the Divelswater) that runs past his seat at Dilston Hall flowed with blood.[87]

The Northern Lights (perhaps the red-colored ones) were peculiarly vivid on the night of February 16, 1716, and were long called Lord Derwentwater’s Lights in the north of England, where, it is said, many of the people know (or knew) them by no other name. It was even a popular belief that the aurora borealis was first seen on that night: Notes and Queries, Third Series, IX, 154, 268; Gibson, Dilston Hall, p. 111.

The omen of nose-bleed occurs in the ballad of ‘The Mother’s Malison,’ No 216, #C#; both nose-bleed and horse-stumbling, as omens, in Webster’s Dutchess of Malfi, Act II, Scene 2, Dyce, 1859, p. 70, cited, with other cases, in Ellis’s ed. of Brand’s Antiquities, II, 497.

‘Brig. Macintosh’s Farewell to the Highlands,’ or ‘Macintosh was a Soldier Brave,’ is one half a Derwentwater ballad: see Harland’s Ballads and Songs of Lancashire, 1865, p. 75, Ritson’s Northumberland Garland, p. 85, Hogg’s Jacobite Relics, II, 102, etc.

* * * * *

A

Motherwell’s MS., p. 331, July 19, 1825, “from the recitation of
Agnes Lile, Kilbarchan, a woman verging on fifty;” learned from her
father, who died fourteen years before, at the age of eighty.

1
Our king has wrote a lang letter,
And sealed it owre with gold;
He sent it to my lord Dunwaters,
To read it if he could.

2
He has not sent it with a boy, with a boy,
Nor with anie Scotch lord;
But he’s sent it with the noblest knight
Eer Scotland could afford.

3
The very first line that my lord did read,
He gave a smirkling smile;
Before he had the half o ‘t read,
The tears from his eyes did fall.

4
‘Come saddle to me my horse,’ he said,
‘Come saddle to me with speed;
For I must away to fair London town,
For me was neer more need.’

5
Out and spoke his lady gay,
In child-bed where she lay:
‘I would have you make your will, my lord Dunwaters,
Before you go away.’

6
‘I leave to yon, my eldest son,
My houses and my land;
I leave to you, my second son,
Ten thousand pounds in hand.

7
‘I leave to you, my lady gay—
You are my wedded wife—
I leave to you, the third of my estate;
That’ll keep you in a lady’s life.’

8
They had not rode a mile but one,
Till his horse fell owre a stane:
‘It’s warning gude eneuch,’ my lord Dunwaters said,
‘Alive I’ll neer come hame.’

9
When they came into fair London town,
Into the courtiers’ hall,
The lords and knichts in fair London town
Did him a traitor call.

10
‘A traitor! a traitor!’ says my lord,
‘A traitor! how can that be,
An it was na for the keeping of five thousand men
To fight for King Jamie?

11
‘O all you lords and knichts in fair London town,
Come out and see me die;
O all you lords and knichts into fair London town,
Be kind to my ladie.

12
‘There’s fifty pounds in my richt pocket,
Divide it to the poor;
There’s other fifty pounds in my left pocket,
Divide it from door to door.’

* * * * *

B

Notes and Queries, First Series, XII, 492, 1855; learned some forty
five years before from an old gentleman, who, about 1773, got it by
heart from an old washerwoman singing at her tub.

1
The king he wrote a love-letter,
And he sealed it up with gold,
And he sent it to Lord Derwentwater,
For to read it if he could.

2
The first two lines that he did read,
They made him for to smile;
But the next two lines he looked upon
Made the tears from his eyes to fall.

3
‘Oh,’ then cried out his lady fair,
As she in child-bed lay,
‘Make your will, make your will, Lord Derwentwater,
Before that you go away.’

4
‘Then here’s for thee, my lady fair,
. . . . . . .
A thousand pounds of beaten gold,
To lead you a lady’s life.’

5
. . . . . . .
. . . his milk-white steed,
The ring dropt from his little finger,
And his nose it began to bleed.

6
He rode, and he rode, and he rode along,
Till he came to Westminster Hall,
Where all the lords of England’s court
A traitor did him call.

7
‘Oh, why am I a traitor?’ said he;
‘Indeed, I am no such thing;
I have fought the battles valiantly
Of James, our noble king.’

8
O then stood up an old gray-headed man,
With a pole-axe in his hand:
‘’Tis your head, ’tis your head, Lord Derwentwater,
’Tis your head that I demand.’

9
. . . . . . .
His eyes with weeping sore,
He laid his head upon the block,
And words spake never more.

* * * * *

C

Bell’s Rhymes of Northern Bards, 1812, p. 225.

1
The king has written a broad letter,
And seald it up with gold,
And sent it to the lord of Derwentwater,
To read it if he would.

2
He sent it with no boy, no boy,
Nor yet with eer a slave,
But he sent it with as good a knight
As eer a king could have.

3
When he read the three first lines,
He then began to smile;
And when he read the three next lines
The tears began to sile.

* * * * *

D

Kinloch MSS, I, 323.

1
The king has written a braid letter,
And seald it up wi gowd,
And sent it to Lord Derntwater,
To read it if he coud.

2
The first lines o ‘t that he read,
A blythe, blythe man was he;
But ere he had it half read through,
The tear blinded his ee.

3
‘Go saddle to me my milk-white horse,
Go saddle it with speed;
For I maun ride to Lun[n]on town,
To answer for my head.’

4
‘Your will, your will, my lord Derntwater,
Your will before ye go;
For you will leave three dochters fair,
And a wife to wail and woe.’

5
‘My will, my will, my lady Derntwater?
Ye are my wedded wife;
Be kind, be kind to my dochters dear,
If I should lose my life.’

6
He set his ae fit on the grund,
The tither on the steed;
The ring upon his finger burst,
And his nose began to bleed.

7
He rode till he cam to Lunnon town,
To a place they ca Whiteha;
And a’ the lords o merry England
A traitor him gan ca.

8
‘A traitor! a traitor! O what means this?
A traitor! what mean ye?’
‘It’s a’ for the keeping o five hundred men
To fecht for bonny Jamie.’

9
Then up started a gray-headed man,
Wi a braid axe in his hand:
‘Your life, your life, my lord Derntwater,
Your life’s at my command.’

10
‘My life, my life, ye old gray-headed man,
My life I’ll freely gie;
But before ye tak my life awa
Let me speak twa words or three.

11
‘I’ve fifty pounds in ae pocket,
Go deal it frae door to door;
I’ve fifty five i the other pocket,
Go gie it to the poor.

12
‘The velvet coat that I hae on,
Ye may tak it for your fee;
And a’ ye lords o merry Scotland
Be kind to my ladie!’

* * * * *

E

Communicated to Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, XI, 499, 1873, by
Mr J. P. Morris, as taken down by him from the recitation of a woman
nearly seventy years of age, at Ulverston, North Lancashire.

1
The king wrote a letter to my lord Derwentwater,
And he sealed it with gold;
He sent it to my Lord Derwentwater,
To read it if he could.

2
He sent it by no boy,
He sent it by no slave,
But he sent it by as true a knight
As heart could wish or have.

3
The very first line that he looked upon
Made him for to laugh and to smile;
The very next line that he looked upon,
The tears from his eyes did fall.

4
He called to his stable-boy
To saddle his bonny grey steed,
‘That I unto loving London
May ride away with speed.’

5
His wife heard him say so,
In childbed as she lay;
Says she, ‘My lord Derwentwater,
Make thy will before thou goest away.’

6
‘It’s to my little son I give
My houses and my land,
And to my little daughter
Ten thousand pounds in hand.

7
‘And unto thee, my lady gay,
Who is my wedded wife,
The third part of my estate thou shalt have,
To maintain thee through thy life.’

8
He set his foot in the level stirrup,
And mounted his bonny grey steed;
The gold rings from his fingers did break,
And his nose began for to bleed.

9
He had not ridden past a mile or two,
When his horse stumbled over a stone;
‘These are tokens enough,’ said my lord Derwentwater,
‘That I shall never return.’

10
He rode and he rode till he came to merry London,
And near to that famous hall;
The lords and knights of merry London,
They did him a traitor call.

11
‘A traitor! a traitor! a traitor!’ he cried,
‘A traitor! how can that be,
Unless it’s for keeping five hundred men
For to fight for King Jamie?’

12
It’s up yon steps there stands a good old man,
With a broad axe in his hand;
Says he, ‘Now, my lord Derwentwater,
Thy life’s at my command.’

13
‘My life, my life, thou good old man,
My life I’ll give to thee,
And the green coat of velvet on my back
Thou mayst take it for thy fee.

14
‘There’s fifty pounds and five in my right pocket,
Give that unto the poor;
There’s twenty pounds and five in my left pocket,
Deal that from door to door.’

15
Then he laid his head on the fatal block,

* * * * * *

* * * * *

F

Buchan’s MSS, II, 478.

1
The king has written a broad letter,
And seald it with his hand,
And sent it on to Lord Arnwaters,
To read and understand.

2
Now he has sent it by no boy,
No boy, nor yet a slave,
But one of England’s fairest knights,
The one that he would have.

3
When first he on the letter lookd,
Then he began to smile;
But ere he read it to an end,
The tears did trickling fall.

4
He calld upon his saddle-groom
To saddle his milk-white steed,
‘For I unto London must go,
For me there is much need.’

5
Out then speaks his gay lady,
In child-bed where she lay:
‘Make your will, make your will, my knight,
For fear ye rue the day.’

6
‘I’ll leave unto my eldest son
My houses and my lands;
I’ll leave unto my youngest son
Full forty thousand pounds.

7
‘I’ll leave unto my gay lady,
And to my loving wife,
The second part of my estate,
To maintain a lady’s life.’

8
He kissd her on the pillow soft,
In child-bed where she lay,
And bade farewell, neer to return,
Unto his lady gay.

9
He put his foot in the stirup,
His nose began to bleed;
The ring from ‘s finger burst in two
When he mounted on his steed.

10
He had not rode a mile or two
Till his horse stumbled down;
‘A token good,’ said Lord Arnwaters,
‘I’ll never reach London town.’

11
But when into Westminster Hall,
Amongst the nobles all,
‘A traitor, a traitor, Lord Arnwaters,
A traitor,’ they did him call.

12
‘A traitor? a traitor how call ye me?
And a traitor how can I be
For keeping seven thousand valiant men
To fight for brave Jamie?’

13
Up then came a brave old man,
With a broad ax in his hand:
‘Your life, your life, Lord Arnwaters,
Your life’s at my command.’

14
‘My life, my life, my brave old man,
My life I’ll give to thee,
And the coat of green that’s on my back
You shall have for your fee.

15
‘There’s fifty pounds in one pocket,
Pray deal ‘t among the poor;
There’s fifty and four in the other pocket,
Pray deal ‘t from door to door.

16
‘There’s one thing more I have to say,
This day before I die;
To beg the lords and nobles all
To be kind to my lady.’

* * * * *

G

Motherwell’s MS., p. 126, from the recitation of Mrs Trail, Paisley,
July 9, 1825: a song of her mother’s.

1
The king has wrote a long letter,
And sealed it with his han,
And he has sent it to my lord Dunwaters,
To read it if he can.

2
The very first line he lookit upon,
It made him to lauch and to smile;
The very next line he lookit upon,
The tear from his eye did fall.

3
‘As for you, my auldest son,
My houses and my land;
And as for you, my youngest son,
Ten thousand pound in hand.

4
‘As for you, my gay lady,
You being my wedded wife,
The third of my estate I will leave to you,
For to keep you in a lady’s life.’

* * * * * *

* * * * *

H

Shropshire Folk-Lore, edited by Charlotte Sophia Burne, p. 537; as
recited in 1881 by Mrs Dudley, of Much Wenlock.