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VOL. I. 

















mn ^allatr^, 



^oto for tl)t first time coUcctfU. 






€l)t perrp ^onetp* 

J. A. CAHUSAC, Esq. F.S.A. 










E. F. RIMBAULT, Esq. Secretary. 



The following Ballads are reprinted from the 
original broadsides, which were published at various 
dates between the middle of the sixteenth and the 
beginning of the seventeenth centuries. Nearly 
all of them are from the only existing copies ; 
and of the few which are not absolutely unique 
not more than two or three impressions are 

It was thought that they would be a curious 
and valuable addition to the published specimens 
of our early popular literature, and therefore an 
appropriate commencement to the labours of The 
Percy Society. 

The reader who has devoted attention to relics 
of this description, will not be surprised to observe 

among the contributors to the present vohune, 
such popular ballad-writers as William Elderton, 
Thomas Churchyard, and Thomas Deloney ; but 
he will peruse with great interest the compo- 
sitions of men like John Skelton, Richard Tarl- 
ton, William Fulwood, and Thomas Preston, 
now for the first time included among authors of 
this class ; while the names of Stephen Peele, 
Ralph Norris, and Robert Seall, will be new to 
our most learned antiquaries. 

The Ballads are reprinted precisely as they 
stand in the old copies, (including the titles and 
the imprints) with the exception of corrected 
punctuation. Such illustrative matter as was 
considered necessary, will be found to precede 
each separate production. 



1 . Tlie Maner of the World now a dayes. By John Skelton . 1 

2. Of Misrules contending with Gods Vt'orde by name, 
And then of ones judgment that heard of the same. 

By William Kethe . .2 

3. A new Balade made by Nicholas Balthoi-p, which suffered in 

Calys the xv dale of Marche M.D.L. . . .13 

4. An Epitaph upon the death of Kyng Edward . . .17 

5. A new mery Balad of a Maid that wold mary wyth a Servyng 

Man. By Thomas Emiey . . . . .21 

6. The Panges of Love and Lovers Fittes. By William Elderton 2.5 

7. The cruel Assault of Gods Fort. By John Awdeley . 

8. A new Balet entituled howe to wyve well. By Lewis Evans 

9. A new Balade of the worthy senice of late doen by Maister 

Strangwige in Fraunce, and of his Death. By W. Birch . 

10. The Lamentation of Follie. By William Elderton 

11. Against filthy writing and such like delighting. By Thomas 

Brice . . . .49 

12. A proper n^w Balade exjiressyng the fames 
Concerning a Warning to all London Daraes. 

By Stephen Pcele . . .62 












■ ' / 



13. A Supplication to Eldertonne for Leache's unlewdnes, 
Desiring him to pardone liis manifest iinnidenes. 

By William Fulwood .56 

14. A Letter from Rome to declare to the Fope 
John Felton his freend is hangd in a rope : 
And farther, a right his Grace to informe 
He dyed a Papist and seemd not to turne. 

By Stephen Peele . . . . Ci 

15. A Lamentation from Rome how the Pope doth bewavle 
That Rebelles in England can not prevayle. 

By Thomas Preston . .68 

16. A Commendation of the adventerus Viage of the wurtln- 

Captain M. Thomas Stately, esquyer, and others, towards 
the land called Terra Florida. By Robert Seall . . 72 

17. A very lamentable and wofull Discours of the fierce Finds 

which lately flowed in Bedford shire, in Lincoln shire, and 
in many other places, \\-ith the great losses of sheep and 
other cattel, the 5 of October 1570. By Richard Tarlton . 7.S 

18. A free Aibnonition without any fees, 

To warne the Papistes to beware of three trees. 

By G. B. . . . . 85 

19. A Warning to London by the Fall of Antwerp. By Ralph 

Norris . . . .89 

20. A worthy mirroiir, wherin ye may maike 
An excellent Discourse of a breeding Larie ; 
By readyng wherof perceyve well ye may 
AMiat trust is in freendes or on kinsfolks to stay. 

By Arthui- Bour .92 

21. A proper new Ballad, breefely declaring the Death and Exe- 

cution of 14 most wicked Traitors, who suffered Death in 
Ijncolnes Inne Fielde, neere London, the 20 and 21 of 
September 1586. By Thomas Deloney .101 


22. A Farewell, cauld Churcheyeards Rounde, 
From the court to the cuntry ground. 

By Thomas Churchyard . .107 

23. A joyftil Song of the royall receiving of the Queenes most 

excellent Majestic into her Highnesse campe at TOsburio, / -'.-lO 

in Essex, on Thursday and Fryday the eight and ninth of 
August 1-588. By T.J. . . .110 

24. Liike Button's Lamentation, which he wTote the day '^efore 

his Death, being condemned to be hanged at Yorke tliis 
last Assises for his robberies and trespasses committed . 117 

2o. A lamentable Dittie composed upon tlie Death of Robert Lord 

Devereux, late Earle of Essex, who was beheaded in the ' -' 

Tower of London upon Ash Wednesday in the morning . 123 


Not only the initials at the end of the following ballad, " Finis 
J. S.," but internal evidence, assign it to the humorous and 
severe pen of the celebrated John Skelton. It is highly curious 
and amusing as a picture of the times when it was written, but it 
was not printed until after the death of the author, unless the copy 
from which our transcript was made (in the Collection of the late 
Mr. Heber) were itself a re-impression of some earlier edition. 
W. Copland printed between 1548 and 1561, at least none of the 
dated productions of his press are earlier or later ; it is fair to infer, 
therefore, that the subsequent undated ballad appeared in the in- 
terval. Several temporary allusions, and the ridicule of particular 
fashions, may serve to ascertain pretty correctly the period when 
it was composed. It will be observed that towards the close the 
author changes his measure, and employs at last those short lines 
which obtained from him the appellation of " Skeltonic verses,'' 
and does not even observe the form of stanza with which he had 
commenced. The complaint, that there are "so few buyers of 
books,'' came very naturally from one who was perhaps our first 
author by profession. It should be mentioned, that in the 
Register of the Abbey of Missenden (Sloane ^ISS. No. 747) is a 
ballad in the same metre as the succeeding, and evidently only 
a diflerent and briefsr versionofit. It has no author's name, nor 
initials appended, and is in a hand-writing of the time of Henry 
Vri. orVIIL It ends thus; 

" God save our sovereign lord the kynge, 
And all his ryall kepinge. 
For so noble a prince reyniuge, 
Sawe I never." 



So many poynted caps, 
Lased with double flaps, 
And so gay felted hats, 

Sawe I never. 
So many good lessons, 
So many good sermons. 
And so few devocions, 

Sawe I never. 

So many gardes worne, 
Jagged and al to torne, 
And so many falsely forsworne, 

Sawe I never. 
So few good polycies 
In townes and cytyes 
For kepinge of blinde hostryes, 

Sawe I never. 

So many good warkes, 

So few wel lerned clarkes, 

And so few that goodnes markes, 

Sawe I never : 
Such pranked cotes and sieves, 
So few yonge men that preves, 
And such encrease of theves, 

Sawe 1 nevei". 

So many garded hose. 
Such cornede shoes, 
And so many envious foes, 
Sawe I never : 


So many questes sytte 
With men of smale wit, 
And so many falsely quitte, 
Sawe I never. 

So many gay swordes, 
So many altered wordes, 
And so few covered hordes, 

Sawe I never : 
So many empti purses, 
So few good horses, 
And so many curses, 

Sawe I never. 

Such bosters and braggers, 
So newe fashyoned daggers, 
And so many beggers, 

Sawe I never : 
So many propre knyves. 
So well apparrelled wyves, 
And so yll of theyr lyves. 

Saw I never. 

So many cockolde makers, 

So many crakers. 

And so many peace breakers, 

Saw I never : 
So much vayne clothing. 
With cultyng and jagging. 
And so much bragginge. 

Saw I never. b 2 


So many newes and knackes, 
So many naughty packes, 
And so many that mony lackes. 

Saw I never : 
So many maidens with child, 
And wylfiilly begylde, 
And so many places untildr,, 

Sawe I never. 

So many women blamed, 
And rightuously defaimed, 
And so lytle ashamed, 

Sawe I never : 
Widowes so sone wed 
After their husbandes be deade, 
Having such hast to bed, 

Sawe I never. 

So much strivinge 

For goodes and for wivinge, 

And so lytle thryvynge, 

Sawe I never : 
So many capacities. 
Offices and pluralites, 
And chaunging of dignities, 

Sawe I never. 

So many lawes to use 
The truth to refuse, 
Suche falshead to excuse, 
Sawe I never : 


Executers havinge the ware, 
Taking so littel care 
Howe the soule doth fare, 
Sawe 1 never. 

Amonge them that are riche 
No frendshyp is to kepe tuche, 
And such fayre glosing speche, 

Sawe I never : 
So many pore 
In every bordoure. 
And so small soccoure, 

Saw I never. 

So proude and so gaye, 
So riche in araye, 
And so skant of money, 

Saw I never : 
So many bowyers, 
So many fletchers, 
And so few good archers. 

Saw I never. 

So many chepers, 

So fewe biers, 

And so many borowers, 

Sawe I never: 
So many alle sellers. 
In baudy holes and sellers, 
Of yonge folkes yll counsellers, 

Sawe I never. 


So many pinkers, 
So many thinkers, 
And so many good ale drinkers, 

Sawe I never : 
So many wronges, 
So few mery songes. 
And so many yll tonges, 

Sawe I never. 

So many a vacabounde 

Through al this londe, 

And so many in pryson bonde, 

I sawe never : 
So many citacions, 
So fewe oblacions, 
And so many newe I'acions, 

Sawe I never. 

So many Heyng tales, 
Pickers of purses and males. 
And so many sales, 

Saw I never: 
So much preachiuge. 
Speaking fayre and teaching, 
And so ill belevinge, 

Saw I never. 

So much wrath and envy, 
Covetous and glottony, 
And so litle charitie, 
Sawe I never : 


So many carders, 
Revelers and dicers, 
And so many yl ticers, 
Sawe I never. 

So many lollers. 

So few true tollers, 

So many baudes and pollers, 

Sawe I never : 
Such treachery, 
Simony and usury. 
Poverty and lechery, 

Saw I never. 

So many avayles, 

So many geales, 

And so many fals baylies, 

Sawe I never : 
By fals and subtyll wayes 
All England decayes, 
For more envy and lyers 

Sawe I never. 

So new facioned jackes. 

With brode flappes in the neckes, 

And so gay new partlettes, 

Sawe I never : 
So many slutteshe cookes. 
So new facioned tucking hookes, 
And so few biers of bookes, 
Saw I never. 


Sometime we song of myrtli and play. 
But now our joy is gone away, 
For so many fal in decay, 

Sawe I never : 
Whither is the welth of England gon ? 
The spiritual saith they have none, 
And so many wrongfully undone, 

Saw I never. 

It is great pitie that every day 

So many brybors go by the way, 

And Eo many extorcioners in eche cuntrey, 

Sawe I never. 
To the lord I make my mone, 
For thou maist healpe us everichone : 
Alas, the people is so wo begone, 

Worse was it never. 


Were convenient. 

But it may not be ; 

We have exiled veritie. 

God is neither dead nor sicke, 

He may amend al yet, 

And trowe ye so in dede, 

As ye beleve ye shal have mede. 

After better I hope ever, 

For worse was it never. 

Finis. J. S. 

Imprinted at London in Flete Strete at thesigne of the Rose 
Garland by W. Copland. 




The last stanza of the following ballad carries it back to the reign 
of Edward VL, when it most likely came from Singleton's press : 
none of his dated performances are, however, earlier than 1553, 
and he continued in the trade until 1592. The author, William 
Keth, was a zealous preacher and reformer, and such of his works 
as are known were intended to promote and confirm the change 
in religion, beginning with his ballad called " Tye thy mare Tom 
boye," which probably was only a " moralization" of an older tune. 
He translated some of the Psalms, and was a friend to John Knox, 
and added a version of the 94th Psalm to " the Appellation of 
John Knox," L558. Ritson (Bibl. Poet. 262) quotes the title of 
the ballad inserted below with an important error, in which he is 
followed by Dr. Dibdin, who does not appear to have seen the 
original. Hugh Singleton also printed " William Keth his 
Seeing Glasse,'' which came out in the time of Queen Mary, 
while the writer was in exile at Frankfort. 


I HEARE sale, that some saie, ther chaunsed of late 
Betwene one mad misrule and godde's word great hate ; 
The cause of there out fall (as some saye) is this : 
By here saye I harde it, now marke what it is. 

This misrule was moved and inadde in his mynde. 
That goddes worde with great men such grace shuld 

still finde, 
Wherby as an outcaste he myght be rejecte : 
Thys some say, and here saye to be the effectc. 


But douting where all things wliyche some saye were 

Sith some saye by here saye a lye spred be myght, 
I sought, and hanle some saye they did it beholde, 
By whose wordes of credit my doutes were resolved. 

But now to my purpose agayne for to come, 
This misrule through raadnes at last frynds had some, 
Of whome he gat coraforte, as it maye well seme, 
His boldnes well wayed, who would not so deme? 

And beyng in favor at laste well was he, 
That could unto mysrule from good order flee, 
Who lost not ther labor, as some saye, for that. 
But were well estemed, and had, I harde what. 

That gods worde muche lothing could it not abyde, 
But stepped fourth boldly and misrule defied, 
Wyshing from misrule all men to I'efrayne, 
As from a thing noysorae, to vile and to vayne. 

But misrule, that hearyng, beganne for to starte, 
Lyke one that were vexed, and that to the harte. 
As it well aperethe by his subtil shyft, 
Who so well can ponder the truth of his dryft. 

He knew well he could not godde's worde well withstond. 
To mete him as men do that fyght hand to hand. 
But sought his fetch farder, by couler to crave, 
And so under couler godde's worde to deprave. 


But now, if in conscience speake frely I maye, 

In mynde I digresse not from that whyche some saye: 

If mysrule mayntayned be, and seke to ascend, 

In this casse I doute muche, but marke well the ende. 

What regyons to ruyn hath there not bene brought. 
Where misrule was chosen, and good rule unsought ; 
Weales publick full welthy to nought brought it hath. 
For mysrule to myschiefe must nedes be the path. 

What caused god's wrath all fleshe to distroye, 
Save onely viii parsons with olde father Noye, 
But for that this misrule god's worde did deface, 
And moved that all men misrule shuld imbrace. 

In Sodom and Gomor suche lyke stryife began 
Betwene this madde mysrule and god's worde ; but than, 
Could god longe abide it, when he in his fume 
With sulphire and brimston mysrule dyd consume ? 

His owne Jewish people, as ofte as they ranne 

A maddying with mysrule, wyth plages God beganne ; 

To lerne us that mysrule he alwayes did hate, 

And yet (alas) se you how he plaith chek mate. 

By misrule the subjectes be so far past grace, 
Theyr heddes and (heir rulers they know not in place ; 
But lyke to beastes brutall, with ungodly strife, 
As rebelles resyst wyll with losse of their lyfe. 


What law is so strayt made they feare not to breake ? 
What threat can such tounges stoppe they feare not to 

speake ? 
What doctrine can dryve them to know wliat they be? 
Wliat myschief may move them, that onely they se. 

What nede mo examples then this our owne realme, 
To teach us that mysrule hath bene so extreame, 
In preasinge so proudly to noble welfare, 
As some saye so boldly as it were Jack Hare. 

And so under couler of spare and beware, 

To taunt at god's preachers as muche as they dare, 

Sayeng such passe not, by here saye to go. 

And preach in ther pulpittes that thus some saye so. 

Of some saye and here say this well tell I canne. 
That here say and some say the truth now and than, 
Of such as both some saye and here saye dysdayne, 
Bycause that both here saye and some saye so playne. 

But be it that some saye by here say a misse. 
And saye not (through here say) the truth as it is. 
Doth it therfoi'e folow for that thinge fourth brought. 
That al thinges whyche some say therfore shuld be 
nought ? 

If it be unlawfull by here say to wade, 
I mervell what PauU ment to use the same trade, 
Who speaking by here say belyve did the same. 
Which jiurgeth (as some saye) the rest from all blauic. 


But god's worde of one thing hath cause to rejoysp, 
For that this sharpe taunting is but niysrule's voyce, 
Who beinge accepted, to muche thus I feare, 
Of ryght shuld leave courtinge, and not remayne there. 

But who shall stand douting, when our noble Kynge 
Wyth his faythfull counsaill perceave shall the thinge, 
But that they wyll shortly raysrule so represse, 
That glad shal the good be to se suche redresse. 

Finis. Quod Wyllyam Kethe. 
Dominus mihi adjutor. 

Imi)rynted at London in Temestrate by Heugh Syngeltoii 
dwellynge overgaynst the Stiliardes. 


For what ot^ence Nicholas Balthorp "suffered in Calais" in 1550 
is no where mentioned, and the subsequent ballad contains only an 
obscure and general hint, where the writer thus accuses himself: 

" Thou haste me caused to offende 
In folowing muche thi fleshely wil ; 
But, God willing, now I shal amend, 
In token where of I do the kil," &c. 

Which might lead us to suppose that he had committed suicide, 
did not the title of the ballad seem to contradict it. Ritson conjec- 
tures, no doubt rightly, that he was the same as Nycholas 
Baltroppe, who wrote " a ballet of mode," licensed to John 
Walley and the widow Toy in 1557 (Bibl. Poet. 124), of course 
after the author's death. The last dated book by Walley is in 
1558, and it seems likely that the ensuing broad-side came out 
very soon after the event to which it refers. 



When raging death with extreme paine 
Most cruelly assaultes my herte, 
And when my Heshe, although in vaine. 
Doth feare the felinge of that smarte ; 
For when the swerde wil stop mi brethe, 
Then am I at the poynt of death. 

I call to minde the goodnes greate 

The father promised to us al, 

Howe that his sonne for us should sweat 

Water and bloud, and drinke the gal, 

And should lose the life he hathe 

To pacifie his father's wrathe. 

And how we shuld by his sounes death 
Knowe the father's mind and wil, 
And to preserve us stil in faith 
His commaundementes to fulfil ; 
So that, before where we were slaine. 
By his bloud we might live againe. 

And where in thousand yeres ther were, 
Before the comming of this childe, 
Mani a man that came farre 


For lacke of knowledge was begild ; 
As Pharaoe's people, whiche did rebel 
Againste Moses, deserving hel. 

But when the child had shed his bloud, 
He made us free wher we were bande ; 
He after was to us so good 
To put us in the promised lande, 
And brought us from the lake so depe, 
Wher he him selfe of us take kepe. 

Then saide I streight unto my fleshe, 
The vile carkas, why doest thou fret 
That of this earthe art made so neshe, 
And naught thou art but wormes meat ? 
In the have I no delyght, 
For al is vexed in sprite. 

Thou haste me caused to ofFende 

In folowing muche thi fleshely wil ; 

But, God willing, now I shal amend, 

In token where of I do the kil, 

Because thou woldest not have him forgeve 

Thi shameful fauts while thou might live. 

Thou didest thi selfe so muche esteme 
Thou madest thi spirite the to obeye ; 
But thi rewarde is, as I deme, 
Streight from the spirit now to decaie ; 
And from the world thou shalt now turne. 
And be a subjecte to the worme. 


As for my spiiite, I trust, heslial 
Amonge the auncient fathers slepe, 
Readie when the Lord doth cal 
His heaveiilie deitie for to kepe: 
This is the chiefe grounde of my faithe. 
And ther upon I take my death. 

What availeth anie princely power, 
Yf God agreeth not them tyl ? 
For if the Lorde doth apointe the houre, 
Thei can not worke against his wil ; 
So that for me he doth prevente, 
For to agre I do consente. 

Beare record now, ye Christian al, 
That seethe the ende of this mi life, 
For helpe to none of you I cal, 
But unto God for mercie rife ; 
But this to you I calle and crye, 
Witnes a christian do I die. 

Forgeve me al in this worlde wide, 
And praie for me whiles I do live : 
For do [no] mans sake tarieth the tide, 
Therfore I do you al forgeve. 
In the Lordes handes I do commend 
My spirite, and here I make an ende. 

Finis. Qd. Nicholas Balthorpe. 

Imprinted at loudon in Foster lane by Jhon Walcy. 



The following anonymous and undated production on the death 
of Edward VI. was not printed until after the marriage of Philip 
and Mary, in the second year of the reign of the latter, as the 
king and queen are expressly prayed for in a sort of postscript. 
Queen Mary only is mentioned in the body of the epitaph, and we 
may probably infer that it was written soon after the burial of the 
subject of it at Westminster, on the 10th of August, 1553. The 
author, whoever he might be, very carefully avoids the topic 
of religion, and adverts to the personal and chivalrous accomplish- 
ments of the king, as well as to his known partiality for Greenwich, 
vfhere he died. 


Adewe pleasure. 

Gone is our treasure, 
Morning may be our mirth ; 

For Edward our king, 

That rose did spring. 
Is vaded and lyeth in earth. 

Therfore morne we may 

Both night and day, 
And in hart we may he full sad : 

Sense Brute came in, 

Or at any time sence, 
The like treasure we never had. 

But Death with his darte 
Hath pearced the harte 
Of that Prince most excellent. c 


The child new borne 
May lament and morne, 
And for the death of him repent. 

Gone is our joy, 

Our sport and our play ; 
Our comfort is turned to care : 

To Englandes great cost 

This Jewell we have lost, 
That with all Christendom might compare. 

Of so noble birth, 

The godliest in earth, 
Our true king and eyre by right ; 

Edward by name, 

Boi'ne of queene Jane, 
And son to king Henry the eighth. 

At the age of sixteene yeres. 

As by Chronicles apperes. 
In the seventh yere of his raigne, 

God toke him away, 

Our comfort and joy, 
To Englands great dolour and payne. 

In his tender age 

So grave and so sage, 
So well learned and wittie ; 

And now that sweete flower 

Hath builded his bower 
In the earth, the more is the pitie. 


The whose losse and laeke 

Is to England a wracke, 
All faythfull hartes may morne, 

To see that svvete childe, 

So meeke and so milde, 
So soone subdued by wormes. 

Out of Grenewiche lie is gone, 

And lieth under a stone. 
That loveth both house and parke. 

Thou shalt see him no more, 

That set by thee such store, 
For death hath pearced his harte. 

Gone is our king 

That could run at the ringe, 
And ofttimes ride on Blackheath. 

Ye noble men of chevalry, 

And ye men of artilerie. 
May all lament his death. 

That swete childe is deade, 

And lapped in leade. 
And in Westminster lyeth full colde : 

All hartes may rewe, 

That ever they him knew, 
Or that swete childe did beholde. 

Farewell, Diamonde deare, 
Farewell, Christall cleare. 
Farewell, the flower of chevalry I 


The Lorde hath taken him, 
And for his peoples sinne, 
A just plage for our iniquitie. 

But now, ye noble peeres, 

Marke well your yeares, 
For you do not know your day ; 

And this you may be bolde, 

Both yonge and olde, 
Ye shall die and hence away. 

And fur our royall kinge. 

The noblest livinge. 
No longer with us may tarie ; 

But his soule we do commende 

Unto the Lordes hande, 
Who preserve our noble Queue Mary. 

Longe with us to endure, 

With mirth and pleasure, 
To rule her realme aright, 

And her enemies to withstande 

By sea and by lande : 
Lord preserve her both daye and nighte. 

God save the Kinge and the Queene. 

Imprinted at London in Holburne nere the Condite at the 
signe of the Sarsins head by John Chailewood and John Tysdale. 



This " new merry ballad" has no date; but though it bears the 
name ofWaley, or Walley, as the printer of it, it seems to have 
been licensed originally to him and the widow Toy, (Dibdin's 
Typ. Ant. iii. p. 577,) about the first year of the reign of Elizabeth. 
Dr. Dibdin gives the entry thus : — " A mayde that wolde mary 
with a servynge man. Whan raging love," as if " whan raging 
love" were the first words of it, whereas, that was either a separate 
production, or the tune to which the ballad was sang. Thomas 
Emley is not known as the writer of anything but the subsequent 
ballad, and it is now for the first time re-printed, from a broadside. 
In Ritson's "Ancient Songs," (n. 7, edit. 1829) is a song, called 
*' The Praise of Serving-men ; " and at p. 145 of the same volume 
is, " The Famous Flower of Serving-men ;" but the first is more 
ancient, and the second more modern than the following. 


NowE prudentlie to ponder proverbes of olde, 
How that seldome or when commeth the better, 
Wyth divers other tales as I have herd tolde. 
That the nigher the bone, the flesh is much sweter ; 
Thus a lover of late sente me his letter ; 
Therfore let al my friendes saye what they can, 
I wyl have to my husbande a serving man. 

The sight of serving men doth my herte good 
When I them beholde, and wot ye well why? 


Bicause they be lustie and ful of yonge bloude, 
Stronge and nymble, and very quicke of eye, 
Clene, brave in apparel, and made properlye ; 
Wherfore let father and mother saye what they can, 
I wyl have to my husband a serving man. 

My father and mother geveth me exhortacion, 
That if ever their good wylles I wyl have, 
To take a man of some good occupacion. 
Or els some ryche farmoures sonne, substaunce to ^^ 

save. t' 

Thus upon me dayly they do crave, f 

But let them bothe saye what they can, 
I wyl have to my husbande a serving man. 

Servinge men that be gentle and wyce, 

Can lacke no service, nor livyng at all, 

Though one of an hundred suche be geven to vyce, 

Shuld the residue of them be hated all ? 

No, by saint Marie ; come of it what shall, 

And let my friendes do and say what they can, 

I wyl have to my husbande a serving man. 

Servyng men honeste are greatly commended 
Of Lordes and Ladies, and of gentelmen fyne ; 
Though loutes with serving men be offended. 
Yet wyl not I from their company declyne, 
For I trust and hope one of them to be myne ; 
Let my friends do and saye what they can, 
I wyl have to my husband a servyng man. 


Serving men ever be jocunde and mery, 
Whether they have litle or muche in their purse, 
And of good conipanie they are never wearie, 
And a woman they love as a childe dothe the nurse ; 
One serving man I knowe that loveth me no worse ; 
Wherfore let all my friendes saye what they can, 
I wyl have to my husbande a servinge man. 

Serving men finelie can colly and kysse, 

Serving men featlie can maidens imbrace, 

Fewe suche serving men of their purpose can mysse, 

Bicause of audacite, beautie or grace, 

And in some of them all three taketh place ; 

Wherfore let my friendes saye what they can, 

I wyl have the swete, loving, kynde serving man. 

Oh Lorde, how the herte in my bealie doth hoppe, 
When I here that serving men be come to towne ; 
Streight some resortes to my mistres shoppe, 
There mei'elie talking, by me sitting downe ; 
Of lovers fame they maye well weare the crowne ; 
Wherfore let all the worlde saie what they can, 
I wyl have to my husband a servinge man. 

What yonge men eyther in towne or citie 
With them in daliaunce maie compare ? 
In entertainement they be excellent wittie, 
God geve them longe lyfe and well to fare ; 
Thoughe my chaunce be to live in carpe and care, 
As my friendes saye, yet if that I can, 
I wyl have to my husband a serving man. 


Shulde I marie with a boye, a loute, or a slymme, 

A dawcocke, an asse, a toyle or a jacke, 

That wyll not let me go tricke nor trimme. 

Nor yet he hym selfe, but lyke one in a sacke, [lacke ? 

And that with al mirth and solace wyl grudge and find 

I wyll no such dranes ; say my friendes what they can, 

But 1 wyl marrie with the merie good serving man. 

A man is manlie, and to a woman comfortable, 

But a churle or a nygarde is to women greate wooe ; 

A serving man, beinge grome or but page in the stable, 

With meate to his maisters owne borde maye go. 

When ten times his betters may not do so, 

And manie times be thrieftie ; to prove this I can, 

Wherfore shuld I not marie with a serving man ? 

Some men growe ryche, although they do spend. 
And some men waxe pore, thoughe they do spare ; 
Then why may not a serving man to riches assend, 
As well in their myrthe as some with their care ? 
The world now a dales goth round and square, 
Wherfore I wyl do the best that I can. 
To have to my husbande a servynge man. 

My mistres liveth a merye lyfe 
As most women doth for her degree, 
Although a serving man hath her to wyfe. 
And whie may not I do so as well as she ? 
No men on earth do better please me ; 
Ryche or unriche, saye all what you can, 
I wyll have to my husbande a servynge man. 



And tyll that daj'e douteles be come and gone, 
That I quickely be niaried to my true love, 
My fleshe wyll pine awaye even to the bone, 
Bicause my herte from hym wyll not remove. 
Fare well, swete serving men, by God above ; 
And for my sake all you that tipple pot or canne, 
Drynke freely to the merie good serving man. 

Finis. Quod Thomas Emley. 

Imprinted at London in foster lane, by Jhon Waley. 


Herbert (as quoted in Dibdin's Typ. Ant., in. ."JSS) mentions 
the license of a ballad to Ricliard Lant, under the title of "The 
Pangs of Love," but until very recently it was not known to have 
been published. It is precisely in the same measure, and with the 
same burden, as a song in the interlude of " The Trial of Treasure," 
(Hist, of Dramatic Poetry, and the Stage, ii. 331) which was 
printed in 1567, while what follows came from the press of Lant 
in 1559, eleven years later than any dated performance by him 
yet discovered. The initials, W. E., at the end, are doubtless 
those of the celebrated William Elderton ; and making allowances 
for misprints and clerical errors, (such as Priamus for Piramus, in 
the fifth stanza, &c.) it is a very favourable specimen of his skill 
as a poet. 


Was not good kyng Salamon 
Ravished in sondry wyse, 
With every livelie Paragon 
That glistered before his eyes ? 



If this be true, as trewe it was, 

Lady ! lady ! 
Why should not I serve you, alas, 

My deare lady? 

When Paris was enamoured 
With Helena, dame bewties peare, 
Whom Venus first him promised 
To ventor on, and not to feare. 
What sturdy stormes endured he 

Lady ! lady ! 
To winne her love, or it would be, 

My deare ladye. 

Knowe ye not, how Troylus 
Languished and lost his joye. 
With fittes and fevers mervailous 
For Cresseda that dwelt in Troye ; 
Tyll pytie planted in her brest, 

Ladie ! ladie ! 
To slepe with him, and graunt him rest, 

My deare ladie. 

I read sometime howe venterous 
Leander was his love to please, 
Who swomme the waters perillous 
Of Abidon, those surginge sease, 
To come to her where as she lay, 

Ladie ! ladie ! 
Tyll he was drowned by the waye. 

My deare ladie. 

ot;d ballads. 

What say you then to Priam us, 
That promised his love to mete, 
And founde by fortune merveilous 
A bloudie clothe before his feete ? 
For Tysbies sake hym selfe he slewe, 

Ladie ! ladie ! 
To prove that he was a lover trewe, 

My deare ladie. 

When Hercules for Eronie 
Murdered a monster fell, 
He put him selfe in jeoperdie 
Perillous, as the stories tell, 
Reskewinge her upon the shore, 

Ladie 1 ladie ! 
Which els by lot had died therfore, 

My deare ladie. 

Anaxeretes bewtifull. 
When Iphis did beholde and see, 
With sighes and sobbinges pitifuU, 
That Paragon longe wooed he ; 
And when he could not wynne her so, 

Ladye ! ladye ! 
He went and honge him selfe for woe. 

My deare ladye. 

Besides these matters merveilous. 
Good lady, yet I can tell the more; 
The Gods have ben fidl amorous, 
As Jupiter by learned lore, 



Who changed his shape, as fame hath spred. 

Lady ! ladye ! 
To come to Alcumenaes bed, 

My deare ladye. 

And if bewtie bred such blisfulnesse. 
Enamouring both God and man, 
Good lady, let no wilfuluesse, 
Exuperate your bewtie, then, 
To slaye the hertes, that yeld and crave, 

Ladye ! ladye ! 
The graunt of your good wil to have. 

My deare ladye. 

Finis. Qd. W. E. 

Imprinted at London in Smithfeld in the Parish of Saynt 
Bartholomewes Hospitall by 

Richard Lant. 
An. Dni. M.D. lix. xxij. Mar. 


This highly interesting ballad, which celebrates, under the form 
of an allegory, many of the early Reformers and their enemies, 
was no doubt written by John Awdeley, the printer, and his ini- 
tials are at the end of it. He was the writer and printer of " an 
Epitaph upon Mayster John Viron, Preacher,'' which was licensed 
to him in 1562, as well as of a poem dated 30th April 1569, 
beginning, " Remember death, and thou shalt never sinne,'' sub- 


scribed, John Awd. The subject and treatment of what follows 
fixes its date quite early in the reign of Elizabeth, perhaps in 1559 
or 1560. Among other persons mentioned in it is John Avale, 
perhaps related to Leraeke Avale who in 1509 wrote and published 
" A Commemoration or Dirige of Bastarde Edmonde Boner, 
alias Savage, usurped Bishoppe of London," of which an account 
is given in the Bridgewater Catalogue, p. 14. John Avale, or 
Availe, is introduced into it in company with Miles Huggarde. 


By Edward the sixt, of England kyng, 
A fort was made gods truth to shield ; 

In whose lyfe time, by good rulyng, 
Both friend and foe to it dyd yelde. 

But when, for synne of his owne flocke. 
The Lord in wrath tooke him away. 

Leaving the fort to his next stocke, 

The enniies then sought out theyr pray. 

Then blew up trumpets of Papists sounde 
Souldiers to call, and wages gave : 

Come who so would was armed rounde ; 
None they refusde, but drest them brave. 

The field was pitcht of Papists part, 
With corned caps, tippets and gownes : 

Theyr ordnaunce lay redy in cart 
To beat the fort of Gods truth downe. 


The generall Gardner, brave and stout, 
And captain Boner marcht foorth amain.; 

Bourne with standard cryed out 

Al arme, al arme ! our shavlinges traine. 

The auncient which that Bourne bare 

Were fierce wolves teeth with blood besprent ; 

Fire and fagot, whych did declare 

Their ravenous hartes to Christians ment. 

Then doctour Martin, as clarke of armye. 
With doctour Story, the master gonner, 

These two in office were as trusty 

As Gardner, Bourne, or byshop Bonner. 

A cry was made throughout the host, 
With fire and hempe all to destroy. 

Where ever they were in al the cost, 
That dyd the Popes power seke to noye. 

The fort thus sieged on every syde 
With cry so fierce to kyll them all : 

A sorte for feare durst not abide, 
But from Gods fort to them dyd fall. 

Then might ye heare the canons rore, 
Which Bourne and Watson falsely shot : 

Yelde I yeld I these cryde, from hereticks lore, 
Or batter we shal both wall and fort. 


No, no ! (quoth they within the fort) 
We yelde us not Gods truth to stayne : 

Though you destroy us in this sort, 

God shal our fort wyth force maintayne. 

Wyth that they all the fort wythin 

Wyth sighes and sobs to God out cryde, 

Thou Lord of hostes, way not our synne, 
But ayde thy flocke so wo betyde. 

For though with sinne we causde this day 
That our good king thou shouldst thus take. 

Yet, liord, with bitterness of soule we pray, 
Strength us against this firye lake. 

This done, they blowde a cheerful blast 

Unto the souldiers in the fort. 
Arme ye ! arme ye ! in all the hast, 

Our enmies now to fort resort. 

The auncient which was spred on wall. 
Had a white lambe with red spots thicke. 

And in gold letters were these wordes all. 
Why do ye, Sauls, against me kicke ? 

Forth came Rogers, Hooper and Sanders 
Upon the walles the forte to fende ; 

We yelde not (said they) to such destroyers, 
But fight we will unto the ende. 


To these Steven Gardner gave onset, 
And layde on lode as wolfe on pray : 

He tooke them prisoners with his false net, 
And sent them to the fire straightway. 

Then Story, the maister of the shot, 
On Papists rampire brave and proude, 

For spilling bloud he cared not, 
Assault I assault ! he cryde aloude. 

These were no sooner of the wall, 
But up lept Rydley and Latymer, 

To rescue God's fort so nere to fall. 
And ded with force the foes encounter. 

And bishop Cranmer, though with gyle 
The enniies stole him from the fort, 

Yet boldly fought with them a whyle, 
And folowed his mates in lyke sort. 

Then doctour Weston at these out shot 

The pellets of Rome, and them did mayme, 

So that away they passed not, 

But were destroyed with fire and flame. 

But Bradford then on the wall up lept, 
And Philpot eke by him did stand; 

Cardmaker and Taylour also up crept, 
And these by truth dyd noy theyrband 


Bishop Boner on these laide hand. 
And to Smithfield sent them in hast ; 

But to the death these did withstand. 
And would not yeld to enmies blast. 

Then blewe the Papists to assault, 

And set a watch about the fort, 
Of knights and yemen to finde some fault 

To make them yelde after this sort. 

And sworen men in every cost 

They did compell to watch and spye ; 

If any did resist their host, 

They must present them for to dye. 

The fort with enmies laid round about, 
And al the captaines so cruelly slaine, 

The soldiours therof with courage stout 
Kept yet the walles with might and maine. 

Now scale the walles, (quoth Boner then) 
Behold, the captaines we have slaine: 

Ransack the fort, destroy all men, 

Both wemen and children, let none remaine. 

Then scaling lathers were up rearde. 
And John A vales on them with targe ; 

His knees had crosses, because he fearde 
The steps wold breake and hang him large. 


Up came Beard, by Vales his man, 
Armed al round as dronkardes use ; 

His head was closde with good ale can, 
And in his hand a taverners cruse. 

But they in fort did with them play, 

And cast them bribes which made them yelde : 

They, striving who should have the pray, 
Fought one with other in their owne fielde. 

Yet battred was this fort full sore 
With vehement shot on Papists part : 

The walles they bet styl more and more, 
But yet the fortmen would not start. 

Then pushed the Papists with their pikes, 
The hargabusses shot out amayne. 

And dyms the ayre, and many sti'ikes 
Of them that did the fort sustayne. 

The holberts and the bowmen eke, 

Came preasing toward the fort with spede : 

These were the rakehels that did seke 
To have mens goodes playde Cains dede. 

There might you see the fort about 

Great streames of bloode and bodies slayne ; 

The handes of al the host throughout 

With blood of Saints they did them staine. 

()I;r) BALLAllS. 35 

In this assault the infants out cryde, 
And eke their motiiers as wydowes left, 

To see theyr friendes before them dyde. 
And al their goodes from them bereft. 

Though thus the fort was almost gone 

By cruel assault of enmies bolde, 
Yet some within the fort alone 

To God did crye, Lord keepe thy holde ! 

Then God did send his slave Death down 

Into the Papists host among. 
Which slew the chiefest in all the towne, 

And greatest captaines in the throng. 

By thys great stroke of mightie Jove 

The vehement force of Papists fell, 
And sent this fort (which is hys love) 

A godly captaine to keepe it well. 

Which when in fort she did appere, 

A flag of truce spred in her hand. 
Aloud she cried, Cease now your yre, 

And yelde to me, right heyre of England. 

Then scattred were the Papists host. 
Their flags of fire to ground did fail. 

Their flaming brandes, which oft they tost, 
Were clene out quentch at our Quenes call. 

D 2 


Crye then was made to God on lij^'e 
Of al the souldiours in the fort ; 

Oh praise the Lorde for victorye, 
In helping us after this sort ! 

Now yelde (they cried) our brethren dere, 
Which have against Gods truth so stoode ; 

Beholde our Quene doth profer here 

To graunt ye peace to chaunge your moode. 

Which, if her cleniencie you refuse, 
And pleade not for your lives graunt, 

The law of armes she must nedes use 
On such as are to her repugnaunt. 

Yelde, yelde, therefore : ye chiefe captaines, 

Example geve to al your host, 
Or els wyll God revenge with paines 

The bloud of those whom ye have rost. 

And all ye Christians of this England, 
Your trumpets sound to Gods hie praise : 

On Gods head set a bay garland. 

For your triumphe of all these fraies. 

Yeld now your lives after such sort 
As God may not this fort so plage ; 

Strength now your selves in this Gods fort, 
That ye yelde no more to enmies rage. 


So God will spare us our Quene long, 
So God will make our land encrease ; 

So God wyl builde our fort so strong, 
That no eninies dare to it prease. 

To this say al right Christen men, 
God save our Quene ! Amen. Amen. 

Tf\wc. Qd. J. A. 

Imprinted at London by John Awdeley, dwelling by great 
S. Bartelmewes beyonde Aldersgate. 


The existence of this ballad has been long known, as it is men- 
tioned by Herbert, Ritson, &c. ; but it has never been re- 
printed, no authority mentioning where it was to be found. It is 
preserved in the library of the Antiquarian Society, as well 
as "the Second Poesye of Horace," by the same author, who also 
translated the first Satire of Horace. Owen Rogers had a license 
to print "A new yeres gyfte made by Lewes Evans," in 1561, 
and to about that date may be assigned the following humorous 
and satirical production. Lewis Evans calls himself " school- 
master," but we are without any other particulars regarding him. 


Wher wyving some mislike. 

And women muche dysplease. 
The women frowarde be, 

And fewe men cane them please. 


And thoughe the maried life 

The wyse muste nedes comende. 

Yet chifeste carke and care 
Doth therin full depende. 

For though thye lusting eyes 

Thou fedeste with plaesant sighte, 

And from thy hart do nothing kepe 
Whiche maye gyve it delyght ; 

And thoughe thou treasure have, 

Reputed with the beste, 
Yet yf thou have a frowarde wyf, 

Then what prevaelith the reste ? 

And syth unto a shrowe 

None yll coniparde maye be, 

Then make no hast, lest after wast, 
But faythfuU loke she bee. 

One Erupis philosopher 
Doth tell us dangers sore. 

Which be in seas, and eke one earth, 
But none then women more : 

For yf she frowarde be, 

As moste doe growe from kynde, 
That thee delights shall her displease, 

Such is her frowarde mynde. 


Thy woes dothe her rejoes, 

Thy sorwes joeth her harte : 
When fortune frowne, that then will cause 

Her from thee to departe. 

In thee delitghts she not, 

Thy presence maketh her lowere ; 
When thou gevest her thy homcom kis, 

Her countenance then is sowre. 

That whiche doth thee myslyke 

To her it doeth contente ; 
And things to go agenste thy will 

Full frowarde is she bente. 

The frutefulnes of her 

Is scowlding daye and nyghte, 
And when thou angerste her, 

Then with thy bratts she fights. 

Yf sickenes, sores, or paynes 

Doe happe thee to oppresse. 
She coursing spend the tedyous nyght, 

Prayng deth it to redresse. 

Then wyll she send thy slave 

To helpe to holde thy hedde, 
When that full carles she 

Will (after meate) to bedde. 


But when she heres thee deade, 
She shifteth thee to grave ; 

Thee bringes one byre to churche 
Thy silye symplc slave. 

And for she cane not weepe, 
With clothe she hydes her face, 

x\nd shakes her head as thoughe 
She weepte forsuthe a pace. 

The wanting of due tears, 
That ought her eyes fall fro, 

x\nd fained wringing of her hands 
Shewe furth no inwarde wo. 

No joye cane her but gladde, 
All myrth she dothe pretende. 

And wisheth straight that in thi stede 
God wolde anothere sende. 

Wher is ther suche a foe 

In other kynde of lyf ? 
No foe mai doutelesse be comparde 

Unto the wicked wyf. 

And though somes hape have bin 
Full faythfull wyves to finde, 

Yet let the bade styll bere the blanae, 
That so growe out of kynd. 


At this good wyves have no disden, 

For them it doth comende ; 
The vvorsere sort must be content, 

[Tlherfore, you shrowsse, amende. 

You maydens al, that wives do mind 

Jn time to come to be, 
Endever your selfe that eche of you 

A faythfuU wyfe maye be. 

Finis. Quod Lewys Evans. 

Imprinted at London by Owen Rogers at the spread Egle 
betwyxte both the Saynct Bartholomews. 


William Birch, the author of the subsequent ballad, on the life, 
services, and death of Strangwige, also wrote " A Song betwene 
the Quenes Majestic and England,'' ])rinted by William Pickering, 
without date. Ritson only introduces Birch when speaking of 
the productions of Elderton, upon one of which he composed a 
puritanical parody. (Bibl. Poet. 196.) It appears that the hero 
of what follows, after having led a most irregular and ungoverned 
life, turned pirate, and being condemned and pardoned, vowed 
afterwards to spend his life in the Queen's service ; and putting to 
sea, attacked a French port, where he received his death- wound. He 
seems to have been of " mean estate" and of "base birth," though 
of " worshipful kin." Alexander Lacy, from whose press what 
follows came, was a printer in the beginning of the reign of 
Elizabeth, and bad a license to publish Birch's puritanical parody 
above-mentioned, in 1562. The date of what follows was pro- 
bably somewhat later, as Strangwige seems to have been engaged 
in the hostilities against France which were carried on through 
the summer of 1563. 





England hath lost a soldiour of late, 
Who Strangwige was to name: 

Although he was of meane estate, 
His deedes deserved fame. 

For as the jDlovvman plowes the ground, 
And toyleth to til for come. 

So Strangwige sought a deadlj' wound 
For Brittaine, where he was borne. 

In deede of birth he was borne bace. 
Although of worshipful kyn : 

In youth he sought to runne the race 
Where he might prowes wyn. 

In his yong yeares he walked wyde, 

And wandred oft a stray : 
For why blynd Cupid did him guyde, 

To walke that wyldsome way. 

Thus here and there, I wot not where, 

He sounded where to ryde, 
But happy haven he found no where, 

Nor harbour for to abyde. 


But when he had the course out run 

Where pyrates prict the carde, 
Twyse at the least he thought undone, 

And looked for his rewarde. 

For by legall lawes he was condemd, 

Yet mercy bare the mace, 
And in respect he wold amend, 

He found a princes grace. 

And in that state he vowed to God, 

And to his righteous queene, 
He wold nomore deserve such rod, 

Nor at justice barre be scene. 

He thus contented for a whyle, 

And laughed fortune to scorne, 
Tyl weeds did worke by subtil guyle 

To overgrow the corne. 

And then occasion served just 

That martiall men must trudge : 
He vaunced himselfe with valiaunt lust ; 

To go he did not grudge. 

And to the sea he sought a charge 

Where he might take his chaunce. 
And therewith spred his sayles at large 

To seke a porte in Fraunce. 


And passed by a warlyke towne 
Where municion lay a land : 

He spoyld and cut their chaynes a down, 
And passed by strong hand. 

Where as he caught a deadly wound, 
Yet his courage never quayled. 

But as he had ben safe and sound, 
On his way forth he sayled. 

And passed through even to that porte 

Where he vowed to aryve ; 
And still he did his men coumfort, 

And courage did them geve. 

Then Atropos did him assayle, 
That al Adams kynd doth call ; 

Against whose force may none prevayle. 
But subject to him all. 

This life (qd. he) which was me lent 
From judgment seat, in perrill 

I came with heart to that entent 
To spende in my queenes quarell. 

Therfore this debt here wil I pay, 

This life which is not mine. 
O Lord, receyve my spirit to joy. 

That by Christes death is thine. 


All subjects now loke and foresee, 

That to trade the warres pretend : 
OfFendours eke (if any there bee) 

Make ye no worse an end. 

Finis. W. Birch. 

Imprinted at London by Alexander Lacy for William Owen and 
are to be sold at the little shop at the north dore of Poules. 


There is nothing about the ensuing production to enable us to 
fix its date with any accuracy. It is of a serious and religious 
cast, written when the author, William Eldertou, (whose initials 
are at the end) was in a graver mood than at the time he pro- 
duced his " jestes and mery toyes," which were licensed to Hugh 
Singleton in 1561. We have therefore placed it later in the pre- 
sent series of ballads, and John Allde, the printer of it, has no 
dated work earlier than 1561. " The Lamentation of Folly" is 
no where mentioned, and only a single copy has yet been dis- 
covered. Elderton was dead when Tho. Nash wrote his " Strange 
Newes," which bears the date of 1592. Vide Sign. D 4. Several 
of the rarest of Elderton's pieces are printed in the last volume 
of the Harleian Miscellany, Edit. Park. 



Alas, what meaneth man 
With care and greedy paine 

To wrest to win a worldly fame 
Which is but vile and vaine? 


As though he had no cause; to doubt 

The drift of his desire, 
Not pleased though he rule the route, 

But still to covet higher 

And wander after will, 

Farre passing his degree, 
Not so contented still, 

But a king himselfe to be. 
Subverting law and right. 

Detecting triall true, 
Wringing every wight, 

That all the realme dooth rue. 

Whose deed and ill desart, 

Compact and false consent, 
I thinke no Christen heart 

Can choose but needs lament. 
Alas, it seemed strange 

Such thraldome in a realme 
Which wealthie was to wast away 

By will that was extreame. 

Such vertue was profest, 

Most famous frank and free. 
Yet men transposed clean e, 

More vile and worse to be. 
And such as did pretend 

To shew themselfe most holie, 
Have swarved in the end. 

And fawned after follie. 


Whose wordes so disagree. 

As waters come and go : 
Their livings be contrary, 

That should examples showe ; 
And fawning after fame 

Pursue their owne decay, 
As though there were no God 

To call their life away. 

What surety is in man, 

What truth or trust at all, 
Which frameth what he can 

To worke unworthy thrall ? 
Oppression hath beene free, 

The poore alas be spoyled, 
Maides and wives be ravished, 

The simple are beguiled. 

Lawe is made a libertie. 

And right is overthrowne ; 
Faith is but a foolish thing. 

Falsehood is alone. 
Pride is counted clenlinesse, 

And theft is but a slight, 
Whoredome is but wantonnesse, 

And waste is but delight. 

Spoiling is but pleasure, 

Riot is but youth, 
Slaunder is a laughing game. 

And lying counted trueth. 


Mariage is but mockage. 
The children counted base : 

Thus right is wronged everj- way 
In our accursed case. 

Flatterie is the forte of fame, 

And trueth is troden downe ; 
The innocent do beare the blame. 

The wicked winne renowne. 
Thus Sathan hath prevailed long, 

And we for want of grace 
Have troden vertiie under foote, 

And vice hath taken place. 

But God that is most righteous 

Hath seene our fatall fall, 
And spred his mercie over us 

To shield us from the thrall : 
Whose mercy is so infinite 

To such as were oppressed, 
He hath restored them to right, 

And hath their care redressed. 

And though that our unworthinesse 

Hath not deserved so ; 
Now let us cease our wickednesse, 

And graft where grace may grow. 
And let us pray for our defence. 

Our worthy queene elect, 
That God may worke his will in her 

Our thraldome to correct. 


That God be chiefely served so, 

As dooth to him belong ; 
That right may have his course againe, 

And vanquish wicked wrong ; 
That we may live in feare and awe. 

And truly so intend. 
And have the justice of the lawe 

Our causes to defend. 

That truth may take his wonted place, 

And faith be fast againe, 
And then repent and call for grace 

That wrought our care and paine ; 
That God send us a short redresse 

With wealth and great increase, 
And to our Queene to reigne and rule 

In honour, health and peace. 

Finis. W. E. 

Imprinted at London by Edward Allde. 


Thomas Brice, the author of the following invective, was a 
preacher, who died before 1570, in which year John Allde had a 
license to print an epitaph upon him. Three years earlier, H. 
Bynneman had a license to print " Songes and Sonnettes by Thos. 
Bryce," (Ritson, Bibl. Poet. 144) but they were probably not like 
the " Songs and Sonnets" of the Earl of Surrey, &c., but pious 
poems, and in 1567 Hugh Singleton was authorized to publish 



" The Court of Venus moralized by Thos. Bryce." One work by 
him has survived, viz. " A Register in meter, containing the 
names and patient sufferings" of the martyrs in the time of Queen 
Mary, which was twice printed, — in 1559, by John Kingston, and 
again by the same printer without date. The subsequent effusion 
should seem to have been part of a literary contest, for the author 
refers to what he had formerly written against some unnamed 
antagonists, and in the last line notices the challenges which he had 
received. It is no where enumerated among the productions of 
the press of John Allde, and appears to have been unknown to all 
our literary antiquaries. 


What meane the rimes that run thus large in every 

shop to sell, 
With wanton sound and filthie sense? me thinke it 

grees not well. 
We are not Ethnickes, we forsoth, at least professe 

not so ; 
Why range we then to Ethnickes trade ? come back, 

where wil ye go? 

Tel me, is Christ or Cupide Lord ? doth God or Venus 

reigne ? 
And whose are wee? whom ought wee serve ? I aske 

it; answere plaine : 
If wanton Venus, then go forth ; if Cupide, keep your 

trade ; 
If God or Christ, come bak the best, or sure you will 

be made. 


Doth God, is he the Lord in deed, and should we 

him obey ? 
Then his commaundemeut ought to guide all that we 

doo or say. 
But shew me his conimaundement, then, thou filthy 

writer thou ; 
Let seet, I cease ; if not, geve place, or shamles shew 

thee now. 

We are no foes to musicke wee, a rais your man doth 

take us, 
So frendes to thinges corrupt and vile you all shall 

never make us. 
If you denie them such to bee, I stand to prove it I ; 
If you confesse, (defend them not) why then do you 

reply ? 

But such they bee, I will mainteine, which yet you 

bothe defend. 
And judge them fooles that them mislike ; would God 

you might amend ! 
But substance onely I regarde, let accidencis go : 
Both you and wee, bee that wee bee, I therfore leave 

it so. 

And yet I wishe your tearmes in deed upon some 

reason stayd ; 
If mine be not, reprove them right. He l)lot that I have 




And that I wrote, or now doo wrighte, against you as 

may seeme, 
What cause I had, and have, I yelde to modest men to 


I wishe you well, I doo protest, (as God will, I will so) 
I cannot helpe as frend ye wot, nor will not hurt as fo ; 
But for the vile corrupting rimes which you confesse 

to wrighte, 
My soule and hart abhorres their sence, as far from my 


And those that use them for their glee, as you doo 

vaunte ye will, 
I tell you plainly what I think ; I judge them to bee ill. 
This boasting late in part hath causd mee now to say 

ray rainde. 
Though chalenges of yours also in every place I finde. 

Thomas Brice. 

Imprinted at London by John Aide for Edniond Halley and are to 
l)e solde iu Lumbard strete at the signe of the Egle. 


It may be matter of conjecture whether Stephen Peell, the author 
of the following, and of another ballad in this collection, were 
not father to the distinguished poet George Peele. The Rev. 
Mr. Dyce was probably not acquainted with the existence of 
any such writer as Stephen Peell : if he knew nothing of him. 


we need not be surprised at the silence of all our other writers 
upon old poets and poetry. It is impossible to assign a date to 
this " Warning to all London Dames," but it may be given to an 
early year in the reign of Elizabeth, and another production by 
the same author (vide p. 65) clearly belongs to 1570. Stephen 
Peell writes like a practised versifier, and in what follows there 
are several pretty passages. 



You London dames whose passing fames 
Through all the worlde is spread, 

In to the skye ascendyng hye, 
To every place is fled ; 

For through each land and place, 

For beauties kyndely grace, 
You are renovvned over all, 
You have the prayse and ever shall. 

What wight on earth that can beholde 

More dearer and fayrer dames then you ? 
Therfore to extoll you I may be bolde, 
Your faces and graces so gay to view. 

For vertues lore, and other thinges more. 

Of truth you do excell : 
I may well gesse for comelynesse, 

Of all you beare the bell. 
As trim in your arraye 
As be the flowres in Maye; 

With roset hew so bravely dight, 

As twinkling starres that sliyneth by uiglit. 


For curtesj'e in everj^ parte. 
Not many nor any resemble you can. 
In lady natures comely arte, 
So gravely and bravely to every man. 

And oft when you goe, fayre dames, on a rowe 
In to the feeldes so greene, 

You sit and vevve the beautifuU hewe 
Of flowres that there be scene ; 

Which lady Flora hath 

So garnyshed in each path. 

With all the pleasures that may be 
(Fayre dames) are there to pleasure ye ; 

Tyl frost doth come and nip the top, 

And lop them and crop them, not one to be scene 
So when that death doth hap to your lot, 
Consider and gather what beauty hath beene. 

For as the flowre doth change in an houre 
That was so fayre to see ; 

Consyder and gather, (fayre dames) the wether 
May change as well with yee, 

And turne your joyes as soone 

As frost the flowres hath doone. 

So sudden death may change as well 
Your beauties that now doth excell, 

And turne your sweetes to bitter and sowre ; 

When death with his breath comes stealing neare, 
Such haps may hap to come in an houre, 
Which ever or never vou little dyd fcare. 


Wherfore I say, fayre dames so gay, 
That death is busyest now 

To catch you hence, where no defence 
May make him once to bow. 

Experience well doth try. 

You see it with your eye, 

How quickely some are taken hence, 
Not youthfull years may make defence : 

And strange diseases many are scene 

Encreasyng and preasyng to vexe us each day ; 
But sure the lyke hath ever beene, 
May hove you and move you to God to pray. 

And learne to know, as grasse doth grow 

And withereth into haye. 
Remember therfore, kepe vertue in store, 

For so you shall decaye. 
And pitie on the poore, 
With some parte of your store : 

Loke that your lampes may ready bee ; 

The dreadfull day approacheth nye, 
When Christ shal come to judge our deeds. 
No fairnes nor clerenes can helpe you than 

The eorne to seperate from the weeds, 

Fayre dames when cometh the day of dome. 

Now that I have sayd, let it be wayed. 

It is no jesting toye ; 
Not all your treasure can you pleasure, 

It is but fadyng joye : 


Therfore remember me 

What I have sayd to yee. 

And thus the Lorde preserve the Queeiie, 
Long space with us to live and raigne : 

As we are all bound incessantlie 

To desyre with prayr both night and day, 
God to preserve her majestie. 
Amen, let all her good subjects say. 

Finis. Quoth Steven Peell. 

Imprinted at S. Katherins by Alexander Lacie for Henrye 

Kyrkham, dwellyng at the middle North dore 

of S. Paules church. 


It is not easy to give any explanation of the circumstances out 
of which the subsequent ballad arose. Its curiosity and value 
depend much upon its personal allusions. We gather from it that 
Leach was a manufacturer of hose, with whom Elderton had had 
some literary skirmish, or " flytiug," as our neighbours north of 
the Tweed term it ; and William Fulwood, who was a writer as 
early as 1562, (Ritson, Bibl. Poet. 213) seems to have interfered 
"more to embroil the fray," bj' ironically taking part with the 
less notorious combatant. In 1561 and 1562 John Allde had a 
license to print " An Admonition to Elderton to leave the toyes by 
hym begonne," but from the allusion made to Elderton's red nose 
in the following effusion, it may be supposed that it was of some- 
what later date. It was perhaps one of the " great many ballads" 
which Dr. Dibdin informs us John Allde printed, the names of 
none of which he furnishes. 



Good gentle maister Eldertonne, 

May I not you intreate, 
To pardon Leache that lie hath donne, 

And not with him to frete ? 

For I confesse, and know the same, 

It was for lack of lewdnes, 
That he so blasde abrode your name ; 

Therefore forgive his rudenes. 

For you may see he is in deed 

An unrude simple man ; 
Therefore of him take you no heed, 

Sithe nurture none he can. 

A seely simple man hee is, 

As prooff may well be made, 
For no more wit he hath, ywis, 

But to call a spade a spade. 

Therefore, though that your filthy rymes 

He filthy name to bee. 
Accuse him not, I say, of crimes ; 

You heare his qualitie. 

It was, no doubt, unhomely done 

To chalenge in such case 
So fyne a felow as Eldertonne, 

That hath so fayre a face. 


But though your face be never so riche, 

So precious or so gay, 
Yet wil he scratche it if it itche, 

The paines for to delay- 
Wherefore you ought him thankes to geve 

That worketh you such good, 
And not to shake him by the sleeve, 

To wreke your angry moode. 

I may well, must, and mervel much 

What might be your intent, 
Seth that you prove your selfe one such 

As truth cannot content. 

You showe that Leache you doo contemne, 

Even by the self same reed 
Wherein you do your self condemne: 

I wishe you wolde take heed. 

You binde it up with othes inow. 

In faith, in faith, say yee ; 
But by such frutes a man may know 

The goodness of the tree. 

A shame it is that you should bring 
The example of Christ, I say, 

And eke forthwith the self-same thing 
So sore to disobev. 


For with the breach of charitie 

You tloo him sharply charge, 
And by and by outragiously 

You raile on him at large. 

Thus Sathan also for his turne 

The scriptures can out-pike; 
And as you well his lesson learne. 

So are your deedes a like. 

You[r] harte is vaine and bent to evill, 

Your toung also is naught ; 
How can it be then but the devill 

Must rule both toung and thought? 

But hereby men may easely spie 

How you doo Leache abuse. 
Seth that your quarrell for to trie, 

By scripture you refuse. 

Therefore you go about, I see. 

The scripture set aparte, 
Unto your toies and vanitie. 

His penne for to convart. 

And if indeed you could him cause 

From scripture for to flie. 
No doubt, forsoth, but clause by clause 

Much braverv should Me see. 


Then wolde you leke, then wohl you laffe. 

As you doo make reporte ; 
Then wold you answere every staffe, 

And that in sugred sorte. 

In sugred sorte ? nay, poisened then 

I might it better call, 
Although it sugred seemes to men 

Which are in sinfuU thrall. 

A worthy worke it is, doubtles, 

And full of lerned skill, 
Whereby appeareth your shameles 

And wilful wicked will. 

And where you write, that secretly 
Your fault he should have tolde, 

That might not be ; sith openly 
Your selfe did it upholde. 

And where as he ful skilfully 
Takes scriptures for his staie, 

You say in deed that wickedly 
He useth them alwaie. 

It is not streight way proved so, 

When that you have it said. 
Except you bring a profe thereto 

Which cannot be denaid. 


As if that I should say in deed 

You were an honest man, 
All wise men might me then deride, 

Sith prove it not I can. 

I wolde now wishe you should forget 

His science to deface ; 
For honestly a man may get 

His living in that race. 

Muche better then the witte to spend, 

A parasite to play, 
The bad to please, the good to offend. 

And play the foole all day. 

And him raethinkes you should not blame 

That can well shape a hose ; 
For he may likewise cut and frame 

A case for your riche nose. 

To make a hose is no suche shame 

To Leache in his degree, 
As is your nose a glorious fame 

Upon your face to see. 

It doth become you very ill 

To talke so of your taile : 
But you shal there your toung hold still. 

As fitte for tounges that raile. 


And if you still thus doo deny 
Your knaverie to forbeare. 

You shal therein have victory, 
The garland you shall weare. 

But heere I must full sore lament 

The counsel you still geve 
To your vile Jone, not to repent, 

But beastly still to live. 

O wicked man, darste thou be bolde, 
Suche sinful seede to sowe? 

And eke the same for to upholde, 
In sinful hartes to growe? 

O Lord, shal whoredom thus prevaile, 
Shal men thus sinne mainteine? 

Is this a christen common weale, 
And can such filthe susteine ? 

O magistrates, play Phinehes parte 
Towarde suche, be not to milde. 

Which may procure most grevous smart 
To many a mothers childe. 

The whoredom of one heretofore 

Great plagues to many hath brought, 

Although the Lord eftsoons therfore 
In him repentance wrought. 


What shal our lot be then, Oh Lord, 
Which foster suche foule swine, 

As live a lyfe to bee abhorde. 
Yet glory and joye therein ? 

Repent (O wretche) and cal for grace, 
Leave of these wicked toyes. 

Lest Sathan reache thee sower sauce 
To these thy pleasant joyes. 

Now sir, if Leache, as you doe tell, 
Semes fondly thinges to knit, 

It is because you cannot well 
Them home Avith reason hit. 

A homely cloke wold serve full wel : 

Is there none to be had ? 
If Eldertonne of none heare tell, 

I doubt he will goe mad. 

But if as you doo threaten, so 

You fall for to bee wood, 
You shall streight waies to Bedlem go, 

To tame your madding mood. 

Now, Eldertonne, I must desire 
You to hold Leache excusde, 

For that no reason doth appeare 
Why he shuld so be usde. 


And sith that I thus curteously 

For Leache doo you intreat, 
Your phrensie so to satisfy, 

You need no more to freat. 

Wherfore, gentle Maiste Elderton, 

As I may doo you pleasure, 
Graunt this my supplication, 

Which is not out of measure. 

And thus subscribed, 
The first day of June, 
At which time you said 
Beginneth your fume. 

Qd. Willyam Fulwod. 

Imprinted at London at the Long shop adjoining unto Saint 
Mildreds Church in the Pultry by John Aide. 


John Felton, according to Stowe, was arraigned on the 4th, and 
executed, by hanging and quartering before the Bishop of London's 
palace, on the Sth August, 1570. His offence %vas hanging a bull 
from the Pope on the gate of the Bishop of London. From tlie fol- 
lowing ballad, (the second by the same author, Stephen Peell) it 
appears also that the offender's quarters were exposed upon the 
gates of the metropolis. It is in the form of an epistle to the 
Pope, and is cleverly written, like "The Warning to London 
Dames" to a very popular tune. 




Who keepes Saint Angell gates ? 

Where lieth our holy lather, say ? 
I muze that no man waytes, 

Nor comes to meete me on the way. 
Sir Pope, I say, yf you be nere, 
Bow downe to me your listning eare : 
Come forth, besturre you tlien a pace, 
Fo[r] I have newes to show your grace. 

Stay not, come on. 
That I from hence were shortly gon : 

Harke well, heare mee, 
What tidings I have brought to thee. 

The Bull so lately sent 

To England by your holy grace, 
John Felton may repent. 

For settyng of the same in place ; 
For he upon a goodly zeale. 
He bare unto your common weale, 
Hath ventured lyfe to pleasure you, 
And now is hangd, I tell you true. 


Wherfore, sir Pope, 
In England have you lost your hope. 

Curse on, spare not, 
Your knights are lyke to go to pot. 

But further to declare 

He dyed your obedient divide. 
And never .seemd to spare 

For to exalt your doctrine wylde : 
And tolde the people every one 
He dyed your obedient sonne; 
And as he might he did set forth 
Your dignitie, thats nothyng worth ; 

Your trash, your toyes 
He toke to be his onely joyes : 

Therefore hath wonne 
Of you the crowne of martirdome. 

Let him be shryned then 

According to his merits due. 

As you have others doen 

That prove unto their Prince untrue. 

For these (sir Pope) you love of lyfe, 

That with their Princes fall at stryfe, 

Defendyng of your supreame power; 

Yet som have paid full deare therfore, 
As now lately 

Your freend John Felton seemd to try. 
Therfore I pray 

That you a masse for him wyll say. 


Ryng all the belles in Rome, 

To doe his sinful soule some good : 
Let that be doen right soone, 

Because that he hath shed his blood. 
His quarters stand not all together, 
But ye mai hap to ring them thether 
In place where you wold have them be ; 
Then might you doe as pleaseth ye. 

For whye ? they hang 
Unshryned each one upon a stang : 

Thus standes the case, 
On London gates they have a place. 

His head upon a pole 

Stands wavering in the wherling wynd, 
But where shoulde be his soule 

To you belongeth for to fynd : 
I wysh you Purgatorie looke, 
And search each coi'ner with your hooke, 
Lest it might chance, or you be ware, 
The Devyls to catce him in a snare. 

Yf ye him see, 
From Purgatorie set liim free : 

Let not, trudge than, 
Fetch Felton out, and yf ye can. 

I wysh you now, sir Pope, 

To loke unto your faithful freendes, 

That in your Bidles have hope 

To have your pardon for their sinnes ; 



For here, I tell you, every lad 
Doth scoff and scorne your bulies to bad, 
And thinke they shall the better fare. 
For hatyng of your cursed ware. 

Now doe I end ; 
I came to show you as a frend : 

Whether blesse or curse, 
You send to me, I am not the worse. 

Finis. Steven Peele. 

Imprinted by Alexander Lacie for Henrie Kirkham, dwellyng at 

the signe of the blacke Boy : at the middle North 

dore of Paules church. 


The subsequent humorous ballad is in the same measure as 
the preceding, and until now it has never been heard of. Ritson 
(Bibl. Poet. 300) mentions Thomas Preston as the well-known 
author of " Cambises," which Shakespeare ridicules, and of a 
ballad called " A Geliiiower, or swete Marygolde," by the same 
printer as the following, and one year earlier in point of date; but 
Ritson knew nothing of this "Lamentation froin Rome." It is 
from first to last a piece of ridicule of the Pope and his Conrt, dis- 
concerted at the news of the defeat of the rebels in Northumberland. 



All you that newes would liere. 
Give eare to me, poor Fabyn Flye. 

At Rome I was this yere, 

And in the Pope his nose dyd lye ; 


But there I could not long abide, 
He blew me out of every side ; 
For furst when he had harde the newes 
That Rebelles dyd their Prince misuse, 

Then he with joye 
Did sporte him selfe with many a toye : 

He then so stout, 
That from his nose he blew me out. 

But as he was a slepe, 

Into the same againe I goot : 
I crept there in so depe, 

That I had almost burnt my coote. 
New newes to him was brought that nigiit, 
The Rebelles they were put to flight ; 
But Lord, how then the Pope toke one, 
And called for a Mary bone. 
Up howgh ! make hast, 
My lovers all be like to waste : 

Ryse Cardnall, up priest, 
Saint Peter he doth what he lest. 

So then they fell to messe : 

The fryers on their beades did praye ; 
The Pope began to blesse. 

At last he weist not what to saye. 
It chanced so the next day morne, 
A post came blowing of his home, 
Sayng Northomberland is take ; 
But then the Pope began to quake. 

He then rubd his nose; 


With pilgrome salve he noynt hi>! hose. 

Runne here, riinne there ; 
His nayles for anger gan to pare. 

Not Northomberland alone, 

But many of his wicked ayd, 
Such as thought not to grone : 

They hoped well for to aplayd 
Their partes, to have their hartes desire; 
But now is quenched their flames of fire. 
The greatest and the meane beside. 
With other youths fast bound must ride. 

Ketch fast, kepe well, 
There youthfull bloud they long to sell : 

. Trust this, dere Pope, 
What is it than wherfore ye hope? 

When he perceaved well 

The newes was true to him was brought. 
Upon his knees he fell. 

And then S. Peter he be sought. 
That he would stand his frend in this. 
To helpe to ayd those servauntes his. 
And he would do as much for him ; 
But Peter sent him to Saint Simme. 

So then he snuft, 
The fryers all about he cuft : 

He roarde, he cryde ; 
The priests they durst not once abide. 

The Cardnalles then they beginnes 
To stay and take him in their arme. 


He spurnd them on the shinnes, 

Away the[y] trudgd for feare of harme. 

So there the Pope was left alone. 

Good Lord, how he dyd make his mone ! 

The stooles against the walles he threwe, 

And me out of his nose he blewe. 
I hopt, I skipt, 

From place to place about I whipt : 
He swore, he tare, 

Till from his crowne he pold the heare. 

He courst me so about 

In the house I could finde no rome. 
Loth was I to go out, 

And shrind my selfe under a brorae. 
Then by and by downe he was set ; 
With anger he was one a swet : 
He rubde his elbovve on the wall, 
So fell a ray ling on Saint Paule. 

Fye, fye, bloud, harte ! 
He scratchd him selfe till he dyd smart. 

Poll nose, rube eye, 
Grash the teth, drawe mouth awrye. 

He wept and wrong his handes, 

Yea, worse and worse began to fret : 

Thus raging still he standes ; 

Then out at doore I dyd me get. 

I was not sooner gone from tiience, 

But worse and worse was his pretence. 


The post he plucked from the house, 
He left no harbour for a mouse. 

Thus now the Popes mad, 
Because no better lucke they had ; 

Forlorne, molest, 
That they so ill their meate digest. 

When I had vewed all, 

To bring this newes my winges I spred. 
To this parplict is he fall, 

I wish some would go hold his head ; 
For certainely he doth yll fare ; 
Yet for the same I do not care, 
For God his power will convince, 
And ayd with right his beloved prince. 

Then, Pope, radge thou: 
The God in heaven hath made a vowe 

To kepe all his. 
That God is just, our stay he is. 

Finis. Qd. Thomas Preston. 

Imprinted at London in Fletestrete at the Signe of the Faulcon by 

Wylliam Gryfiith and are to be solde at his shoppe 

in Saint Dunstones Churchyard. 1570. 


Most of the existing information regarding the celebrated adven- 
turer Thomas Stutely, or Stukeley, is to be found in a note to 
Dyce's Peele's Works, ii. 82. The name of Robert Seall, who 
subscribes the ensuing ballad, is new in poetical bibliography ; 


aud if lie wrote anything else, it has not been recovered. .John 
Allde have printed this broadside at an early date, because 
Stuteley's voyage to Florida was one of his first enterprises. The 
parallel between Stuteley and Columbus, near the end, is singular. 
It is no where inserted among the productions of Allde's press. 





If fortunes force procure 

The valiant noble hart 
In travail pain and daungers great. 

In warres to have his part ; 

If losse of goods insue 

Through valiant enterprise. 
Or for slaknes, or the foresight 

Of diligent advise ; 

Yet of his wurthy praise 

I can not speak tomiche, 
Who ventreth both his goods and life 

His contrey to enriche. 

The worldly wise doo muse, 

And also doo envay 
At noble harts, when that their welths 

Doo fall unto decay. 


As now of late I knew, 

And saw the evidence, 
Of one whose part it was to sliew 

The like experience. 

A noble hart in deed. 

And wurthy great renowne, 

Whose fortune was not to remain 
In cittie nor in towne. 

A yong Eneas bolde, 

With hart and courage stout. 
Whose enterprise was only pight 

Straunge things to bring about. 

And though that all men seemd 

His dooings to deride, 
Yet this his fact he would not leve. 

Nor throwe it so a side. 

But stil he dooth procure 

With boldned hart and minde 

That thing which erst he had assayd 
By travail now to finde. 

Into a land unknowne 

To win hym wurthy fame, 

As exequies and memory 
Of his most noble name ; 


Whiclie if it fall to his lot 

With fortunes helping hand, 
He may wel make a lawhing stock 

Of them whiche him withstand. 

Some terme it Stolida. 

And Sordida it name ; 
And to be plain, they doo it mock 

As at a foolishe game. 

If reasons sence be cause 

Of this forespoken talke, 
Or fayned folly be the ground 

Why mennes tungs thus doo walke, 

Then might it seem to me 

The Frenches labour lost, 
Their careful pain and travail eke 

That they therein have cost. 

The cronicles also, 

Whiche only seem as trew. 
And writ by them that of that place 

Before did take the vew. 

The Spaniards eke doo shew, 

And verify the same. 
To be described as a thing 

Deserving suche a name. 


The Portingales doo say 

The crownacles be just, 
And all that travaiid have that coste 

The same confes it must. 

Of that in times before 

Through talkes men have refraind, 
Whiche for the love of travail sore 

Their harts have long been paind. 

Columbus, as I reed, 

The space of many yeeres 
Was counted as unwise also, 

As in writers appeeres. 

His ernest sute denied, 

Yet in the finall ende 
His wards and deeds did seem at length 

On reason to depend. 

The like assay in hand 

He did at last procure, 
Whose life and lucky viages 

Good fortune did assure. 

At thend in savety home 

At length he did retourn, 
And quenched all their mocking harts, 

Whiche erst did seem to burn. 


For fire of force must needs 

Declare his burning heat, 
Though for a time in smothering smoke 

It seemes it self to beat. 

So talk of tungs may not. 

By smothering through be tame, 

But bursting out at length vvil turn 
Into a firye flame. 

And then, the mallice gon, 

The fire falleth down 
And quenched quite, as by this man, 

Whiche was of great renowne. 

Now, Stuetley, hoice thy sail, 

Thy wished land to finde. 
And never doo regard vain talke. 

For wurds they are but winde. 

And in reproof of all, 

I will not once refrain 
With prayer for to wish that thou 

JVIaist safely come again. 

And that sum frute at length 

By travail thou maist finde, 
With riches for to satisfy 

Thy manly modest minde. 

Finis. Qd. Robert Seall. 

Impriiued at London at the long Shop adjoyning unto Saint 
Mildreds Churche in the Pultrie, by John Allde. 


The subsequent ballad gives us the earliest notice of that extra- 
ordinarily popular actor, Richard Tarlton, whose name is sub- 
scribed as the author of it. Whether he was on the stage at this 
time, must be matter of speculation ; but it is certain that he was 
not a member of the first authorized theatrical company — that of 
the Earl of Leicester, in 1574. (Vide Hist, of Dramatic Poetry and 
the Stage, i. 211.) He is not spoken of as an actor until 1583, when, 
with Wilson, he was at the head of the twelve players selected by 
the Queen as her own company; but he must have obtained cele- 
brity considerably before that date, and we know that he died in 
September 1588. According to the writer of the play, " The 
Three Lords and Three Ladies of London," published only two 
years after Tarlton's death, he was originally "a water-bearer." It 
seems probable that he had obtained some reputation prior to the 
following temporary effusion, and that that reputation was employed 
to secure it an additional sale, for it certainly has little merit as 
an original composition. In 1578, John Allde (the printer of 
what follows) had a license to publish " Tarlton's device upon 
this unlooked for great snowe." (Dibdin's Typ. Ant. iv. 579.) 
The ensuing ballad was not the only production upon the occasion 
to which it relates, for William How in 1571 printed ' A Decla- 
ration of such tempestuous and outragious Fluddes as hath been 
in divers places of England. 1570." We may gather from 
Thomas Nash's "Terrors of the Night," 4to. 1594, that "Tarl- 
ton's Toys" had appeared in 1586, but Tarlton's " Jests" and 
" News out of Purgatory" were published after his decease. The 
precise share he had in the extemporal play of " The Seven Deadly 
Sins," may be disputed. Stowe mentions the " terrible tempest of 
wind and rain," on 5th October, 1570. 






All faithful harts come waile, 

Com rent your garments gaj^, 
Els nothing can prevaile 

To turn Gods wrath away. 


Of waters fierce and fel, 

And fluds both huge and hie, 

You may report and tel 
Of places far and nye. 

Of monsters very rare. 
That are unseemly borne, 

Whiche dooth at large declare 
We live as men forlorne. 

We live and linger stil, 
We wander quite astray, 

We want true Christians skil 
To guide us in the way. 

Ful straunge unseemly sights 
We may beholde and see, 

What mis-deformed wights 
Of women borne there bee. 

Ouse bridge was lately lost 
By force of roring streame, 

Which many a crowne hath cost, 
In this our English realme. 

Why should I make delay, 
Reciting of such acts? 

What need I more to say 
Of vice and worldly facts ? 


As erst I did pretend, 
So forward will I glide, 

To tel the totall end. 

What hapned at this tide. 

By rushing rivers late, 
In Bedford town, no na}% 

Ful many a woful state 

May yeeld to fast and pray. 

At twelve a clock at night, 
It flowde with such a hed, 

Yea, many a woful wight 
Did swim in naked bed. 

Among the rest there was 
A woful widow sure, 

Whome God did bring to passe 
The death she did procure. 

Widow Spencer by name : 
A sleep she beeing fast, 

The flud so rashly came, 
That she aloft was cast. 

Which seeing started up, 
Regarding small her pelf. 

She left beside her bed. 

And so she drownd her self. 


The houses very strong, 
The cattel great and small, 

Were quickly laid along. 
And so they perisht all. 

The geldings tall and brave 
In stables rashly roules : 

The churche was over flowed 
In Bedford, named Poules. 

The gardens round about. 
The sheep in marsh or feeld, 

The river was so stout 

They knew not where to sheeld. 

The kine and oxen, to, 

Were all drowned by force, 

They west not what to doo, 
It had so small remorse. 

O Lord, this flud was straunge. 
And none occasion why ; 

The wether did not chaunge. 
The wind was nothing hie. 

There was no store of raine. 

But very little sure. 
That wee should thus sustaine 

The losse we did endure. 


The arke of father Noy 

Was had in rainde as than. 

When God did clene destroy 
Both woman, childe and man. 

But that he promis made, 
When he did heer remaine, 

Tlie world should never vade 
By waters force agaiue ; 

Els would we then have thought 
The dredful day of doome 

Had been both shape and wrought 
To drown us all and some. 

Upon the Saboth day 

We were amazed all ; 
In church we could not pray, 

But in the judgement hall 

We were assembled there, 
With praiers most devout 

To God, with many a tare, 
To tame this river stout. 

No horse nor man could passe 
Of busines small or post, 

For issue none there was, 
No way but to be lost. 


In Bedford town, I knowe, 
This many score of yeeres, 

Did never rivers flowe, 

To bring us in such feares. 

By chaunce I came in place, 
This great mischaunce to tel, 

To end our crooked race 
What fotune late befel. 

Which tale no sooner doon, 
Two men along did walke : 

Betwixt us we begon 

To raise some further talke. 

What cuntrey men they were 
I did request to knowe: 

They said of Lincoln shire, 
The certen trueth is so. 

Quod they, your losse is small, 
But one hath lost her life : 

He askt what dame she was ? 
I said one Spencer's wife. 

In Lincoln shire (he said) 

We have sustaind great losse : 

Our stomacks are decaide, 
That late so frolick was. 



Our cattel in like case 

Are drowncl and cast away ; 
For oure offence in every place 

The dum beasts truly pay. 

We have not scaped so : 

Both widow, man and wife, 
Since first this flud did flowe. 

Have gained losse of life. 

When that the waters seast, 

As I and more doo knowe, 
Ther did from skies discend 

A great and greevous snowe. 

And so we parted then. 

Bewailing both togither, 
Like poor and out cast men, 

This sudden chaunge of wether. 

In us therefore for shame 

Let vice no more be seene, 
And eke our selves to frame 

To serve a right our Queen. 

Finis. Qd. Richard Tarlton. 

Imprinted at London at the long shop adjoyning unto Saint 
Mildreds Churche in the Pultrye by John Allde. 1570. 



This ballad, subscribed " G. B." may have been by Gulielnius or 
William Birch, the author of a former piece of the same kind in 
the present volume: William Baldwin, who was a writer of con- 
siderable celebrity, and one of the original projectors of " The 
Mirror for Magistrates," sometimes used the initials G. B. and 
1571 is not perhaps too late a date for him. The following is, 
however, precisely in the pious, puritanical spirit of Birch. It 
was unknown to Dibdin, Ames and Herbert, and is therefore not 
enumerated among the productions of Awdeley's press. Towards 
the close it refers to the execution of John Felton in the year pre- 
ceding, regarding which we have already inserted a contemporary 
eifusion by Stephen Peel. The " three trees," of which the 
Roman Catholics are told in the title to beware, of course meant 
" the triple gallow-tree," or "the three legged mare," as it was 
sometimes called in the language of the time. 



If that you be not past all grace, 

O Papystes, heare mee speake ; 
Let reason rule and truth take place. 

Cease you from that you seeke. 
Can you God or his woord deface ? 

Can you the truth wythstand? 
Can you our noble Queene displace, 

And yet lyve in England ? 

Take heede, beware the Devyll is a knave, 

He wyl you sure begile : 
In cruelty he would you have 

To serve hvm here awhile : 

86' OLD BAl.T.ADS. 

With lying ami liipocrisy 

His kyngdonie to iiiayntayne. 
Contemning truth and equity, 

This is his suhtiK> trayne. 

Let cursed Cain example be 

That slew Abel his brother ; 
Whom neither (iod with majesty, 

Could move to leave his murder, 
Nor yet the godly lyfe of hym 

That gave hym none offence, 
Tyll he had heaped up hys synne 

In pi'aetisyng his pretence. 

Let Core and Datlian come from iiell 

Where now they do remayne. 
That they their minds at length mai tel 

W^herfore they ther remain ; 
Namely for that they did rebel 

And would not be perswaded, 
But would be Lordes in Israel, 

Tyll hell had thorn devoured. 

What could make Absalon meeke and tame 

And to desist from rage ? 
His father Davids worthy fame, 

Or yet his counsel sage ? 
No, no, these things wil not prevail 

With hym that feares not God ; 
The force of doctrine there doth fail, 

Tvl God strike with his rod. 

0\.\\ UAl.l.AOS. 87 

Antl as flu' |)('\il ill iIksc diii ra^c 

'Vo Avorkc \]\< \v\rkoil \\\\\. 
I'liat iiotliviig 0(iulii(> llii'vr lurvi' svvagt^ 

Tyl flioy dill it rnltyl, 
vSo that the law of Cod and man 

They sought to overthrow; 
Kvon so of hifi! I truly can 

The lyko unto yon show. 

Whon kyiig l',d\\ard nf vmiliv fnnio 

Had Anti<"hrist |iui ddwnc. 
And Id the ltIoiv of Gods name, 

Had jilaccil truth in hor roouH"; 
'I'hc DiMisiiirc dolls, like Hchcis ranok 

In rusi V annoiir ran;i:('d. 
Hut liauixd wcr soiu. tlicir oarions stanok, 

The worUl was <|uirkly changed. 

And thi'ii dyd Kot, the tanner stout, 

In NorHolkc j)lay his part. 
Assembling such his i-ebcls rout, 

That innocents might smari. 
Hut hanged he was, this wa.s his end, 

And so ende all the sort 
That Rebels are ami wyll imi miinl. 

A rope be their eomrort. 

Such blessings as the Nortons liiul. 

And such as Feltnn found, 
(lod send I hem all that are so bad 

\\ ilh ill ( les to blcsse the iiround. 

8S OLD llAl.l.ADS. 

It' that you liki' not tor to liave 

Tins blessyiig in a ropo, 
Leavf of you robels tor to rave. 

And curso your chid tlie Pope. 

Whicli makes you ott sueli crowes to put. 

Then leaves you in tlie mire ; 
In sending you to sueh a liull. 

This is but symple liire : 
Behold tlie end of tliis attempt 

That hist here was begun, 
Loe, God your doyng dotii prevent 

The rebels race to run. 

Synce God by grace doth guyde hy> Hock 

That none can them anoy. 
If you be grafted in this stocke 

He wyl you not destroy. 
Feare God, tlee syn, the truth embrace. 

And seeke your Prince to please. 
Obey the hiwes and call for grace. 

So shall you lyve at peace. 

God save our Queene Elizabeth 

Finis. Qd. O. B. 

Impriiued at London by John Awdely, for Henry Kirkluiin, 

dwelling :it the middle North doore of Paules, at the sigue 

ot the blacke Bov. The xii of December. 1571. 



The date of this ballad is only to be ascertained from the event to 
which it relates: it is no where mentioned among the prodnetions 
of Allde's press, (which range between 15C1 and 159(i) though Dr. 
Dibdiu informs us " a great many ballads" were licensed to him. 
Ralph or Rafe Norris is one of several names in this collection 
quite new in our poetical bibliography, and no other production of 
his pen is known. The tune to which he wrote, " Row well, ye 
mariners," was very popular, as may be seen from Mr. W. Chap- 
pell's "National English Airs," p. ]34; and we have already 
inserted two specimens of verse adapted to it. Camden introduces 
the siege and sacking of Antwerp by the Spaniards among the 
events of the year 1 576, and there can be little doubt that the 
" Warning to London" appeared very soon afterwards. 



The sturdy oke at length, 

When torse doth fail, thouuh nere .so tall, 
Resignetli up his strcngtli 

Bj' boistrous blasts unto the fal : 
Tiie stately stag in time dooth yoeld 
Him self a pray to dogs in foeld : 
The pecock proud, the swelling swan, 
At last dooth serve the use of man. 

Pride, pompe, plumes gay, 
Must have a fall, who ere say nay : 

Hye mindes, state, power, 
Shall come to end witliin an houre. 

Let Antwerp warning be, 

Thou stately London, to lieware, 


Lest, resting in thy glee, 

Tliou wrapst thy self in wretched care. 
Be vigilant, sleepe not in sin, 
Lest that thy foe doo enter in : 
Keep sure thy trench, prepare thy shot ; 
Watch wel, so shall no foil be got. 

Stand fast, play thy parte ; 
Quail not, but shew an English hart. 

Dout, dread, stil fear, 
For Antwerps plague approcheth neer. 

Leave tearing of thy God, 

Let vain excesse be laid aside; 

Els shalt thou feel the rod 

Prepared for to scou[r]ge thy pride. 

Forsake thy Devilish drunken trade, 

Which almoste hath the entrance made. 

Erect your walles, give out your charge ; 

Keep wel your ray, run not at large. 
Faint not, fiercely fight : 

Shrink not, but keep your countries right. 
Stand stout, on Jesus call, 

And he no doubt will help you all. 

Trust not a civil foe 

Which under couiour wisheth good. 
For ere thy self doost knowe. 

By craft he seeks to have thy blood. 
The snake in grasse doth groveling lie. 
Til for revenge due time he spie. 


The leering dog doth bite more sore. 
Then he that warning gives before. 

Fine flattery, fair face 
Much discorde breeds in every place. 

Fire shot must be to hot 
For those which have their God forgot. 

Rejoyce not if thou see 

Thy neighbours house set on a flame, 
For like thy luck may be, 

Unlesse thou wel prevent the same. 
The scourge which late on Antwerp fel, 
Thy wrack and ruine dooth foretel. 
Make not a gibing jest tlierat, 
I^est stately Troy be beaten flat. 

Pray God faithfully 
To save us from all treachery. 

Dout not if we doo so, 
We shall escape the forain fo. 

Pray we with one accorde. 

That God our Queene may ay defend 
From those which seeke by swoord 

To bring her graces reign to end. 
Cut of (O Lord) their devilish dayes, 
And graunt her life thy name to praise. 
Garde her with grace, her champion be, 
That she may gain the victory. 


Hope wel, pray stil : 
God is our guide, we feare none il. 

Fear not, watch, pray : 
God sheeld this Citie from decay. 

Amen. Qd. Rafe Norris. 

Imprinted at London at the long Shop adjoyning unto S. Mildreds 
Church in the Pultrie by John Allde. 


E.1TS0N, who mentions this ballad (Bibl. Poet. 137), informs us 
that the author's name is not Arthur Bour, as it is subscribed at 
the end, but Arthur Bourcher ; and certainly a person of the latter 
name has a poem in " The Paradise of Dainty Devices." What 
follows was twice printed, and the copy here adopted was of the 
later edition by Richard Jones. Mr. Heber had an earlier im- 
pression. The apologue, which is from yEsop, has been frequently- 
translated, and three times at an early date, — viz. in prose, in 
"The Palace of Pleasure," 4to. 1566; and in verse, in "The 
Forrest of Fancy," 4to. 1579, (attributed by some to H. Chettle, 
and by others to H. Constable, but in all probability by neither) 
where it is related in ten-syllable alternate rhyme, and by Arthur 
Bour or Boucher, very cleverly, as follows. 





A LARKE sometimes did breed 

Within a field of corne, 
And had increase when as the grayne 

Wasredy to be shorne. 



Shee, wary of the tyuie 

And carefull for her nest. 
Debated wisely with her selfe 

What thynge to doo were best. 

For to abyde the rage 

Of crueli reapers hande, 
Shee knew it was to perillous, 

With safetie for to stande : 

And to dislodge her broode, 

Unable yet to Hy, 
(Not knowing whither to remove) 

Great harmes might hap thereby. 

Therfore shee ment to staye 

Tyll force constraynd to fleete, 
And in the whyle for to provyde 

Some other place as meete. 

The better to provyde 

The purpose of her mynde ; 
She would forthwith go seeke abroad, 

And leave her yong behind: 

But first shee bad them all 

Attend their mothers wyll, 
Which carefull was for to eschewe 

Each likelyhood of yll. 


This corne is ripe (quoth shee,) 

Wherin we nestled are, 
The which (if heede prevents not harmes) 

May cause our raortall care. 

Therfbre to fence with skyll 

The sequeall of mishappes, 
I wyll provyde some other place 

For feare of afterclappes. 

Whilste I for this and foode 

Am flowen hence awaye. 
With heedefull eares attentive bee 

What coramers by doo saye. 

Thus sayde shee vaunste her selfe 

Upon her longest toe. 
And mounted up into the skies, 

Styll singing as shee flovve. 

Anone shee home returnde 

Full fraught with choyce of meate ; 

But loe, (a suddaine change) her byrdes 
For feare could nothyng eate. 

Therwith agast she cryed, 

What, how ? what meaneth this? 

I charge ye ou my blessyng tell 
What thyng hath chaunst amis. 


Are these my welcomes home. 

Or thankes for foode I have? 
Ye wonted were with chirping cheare 

To gape before 1 gave : 

But now such quawmes oppresse 

Your former quiet kynde, 
That (quite transformed) dumb mute things, 

And senselesse soules I finde. 

The prime and eldest birde 

(Thuscheckt) began to say, 
Alas, deare dame, such news we hard 

Sence ye were flowen awaye, 

That were it not the trust 

That wee repose in you, 
Our lives were lost remediles 

We know it well ynow. 

The owner of this plot 

Came hither with his sonne, 
And sayd to him, this wheat must down, 

'Tis more than time 'twere don: 

Go get thee to my friendes, 

And byd them come to morne, 
And tell them that I crave their helpes 

To reape a peece of corne. 


The Larke that was the dam 
Stood in a dump a whyle. 

And after said, his frindes (quoth hee) 
And then began to smile. 

Tush, friendes are hard to finde, 
True friendship seild appeares : 

A man may misse to have a friend, 
That lives olde Nestors yeares. 

True Damon and his friend 
Long ere our time were dead : 

It was in Greece, a great way hence, 
Whei's two such friends were bred. 

Our country is to colde 

To foster up a friende, 
Tyll proofe be made eche one wyll say, 

Styll yours unto the ende. 

But trye in time of need? 

And all your friends are flowen ; 
Suche fruitlesse seede, suche fickle stay 

In faithlesse friendes is sowen. 

Therfore be of good cheere, 
Revive your dulled sprites, 

Expell the care that causelesse thus 
Bereaves you of delightes. 


Let no surmised feare 

Deprive your eyes of sleepe, 
My selfe wyll be amongst ye still, 

That safely shall ye keepe. 

And sweare eene by the tufte 

That growes upon my crowne, 
If all his helpe be in his freendes 

This come shall not goe downs. 

The yong, assured by her 

That such an othe dyd sweare, 
Dyd passe the time with wonted sleepe, 

And banisht former feare. 

And when the drowsie night 

Was fled from gladsome daye, 
She bad them wake and looke about, 

For she must go her way. 

And saide, I warrant you, 

These friendes wyll not come heere ; 
Yet notwithstanding, listen well. 

And tell me what you heare. 

Anone the farmer came, 

Enraged, wellnie raadde. 
And sware who so depends on friends. 

His case is worse then badde : 



I wyll go fet ray kinne 

To helpe raee with this geare : 

In things of greater weight then this 
Their kindred shall appeare. 

The larkes, their dam returnd, 

Informed her of all, 
And how that he hymselfe was gone 

His kindred for to call. 

But w hen she hard of kinne 
Shee laughinge cried araayne, 

A pin for kin, a figge for friendes. 
Yet kinne the worst of twayne. 

This man him selfe is poore 
Though wealthy kine he have, 

And kindred now a dayes doth quaile 
When neede compelles to crave. 

No, no, he shall returne 
With yll contented minde ; 

His paynes shall yeald but losse of time. 
No succoure he shall finde. 

They all are so addicte 

Unto their private gayne, 
That if ye lacks power to requite 

Your sutes are all in vayne. 


My selfe am over chardgde 

With harvest, ye maye see, 
And neerer is my skin then shirte : 

This shall their answer bee. 

Therfore, as earste of frieudes 

So saye I now of kin : 
Wee shall receyve no hurte by them 

Nor he no profite win. 

Yet listen once agayne 

What now [h]is refuge is. 
For kinred shalbe lyke to friendes ; 

Be well assured of this. 

I must go furnish up 

A neast I have begone, 
And wyll returne and bring ye nieate 

Assoone as it is done. 

Then up she clam the clowdes 

With suche a lusty saye 
That it rejoyste her yonglinges hartes 

As in their neast they layer 

And muche they did commende 

Their mothers lofty gate, 
And thought it long til time had brought 

Them selves to such estate. 

H 2 


Thus whilste their twinkelynge eyes 

Were rovyng to and fro, 
They saw where as the Farmer came 

That was their mortall foe. 

Who after due complaintes, 

Thus said in the ende; 
I wyll from hencefoorth trust myselfe, 

And not to kinne nor friende. 

Who gives me glosing wordes, 
And fayles me at ray neede. 

May in my Pater noster bee, 
But never in my Creede. 

My selfe wyll have it downe, 
Since needes it must be so, 

For proofs hath taught me too mutch wit 
To trust to any mo. 

The birdes that listenyng laye 

Attentive to the same, 
Informde their mother of the whole 

As soone as ere she came. 

Yee, mary, then quoth shee, 

The case now altered is : 
We wyll no longer heare abyde ; 

I alwayes feared this. 


But out she got them all 

And trudged away apace, 
And through the corn she brought them safe 

Into another place. 

God send her lucke to shun 

Both hauke and fowlers gin, 
And mee the hap to have no neede 
Of friende, nor yet of kin. 

Finis. Arthur Bour. 
Printed at London by Richard Johnes. 


The history of the plot in which Ballard, Babbington, Tichbourne 
and others, were engaged in 1586, is well known. The subsequent 
ballad, by the celebrated Thomas Deloney, (liis initials T. D. 
being at the conclusion of it) was no doubt printed immediately 
after the execution of the " fourteen most wicked traitors," on 
the 20th and 21st September. At the top of the broadside are 
woodcuts of fourteen heads, but they are not likenesses, but merely 
engravings which the printer happened to have in his possession, 
and which had been already used for Hill's work on Physiognomy, 
and perhaps for other publications requiring illustration. 






Rejoyce in hart, good people all, 

Sing praise to God on hye. 
Which hath preserved us by his power 

From traitors tiranny ; 


Which now have had their due desarts, 

In London lately seen, 
And Ballard was the first that died, 
For treason to our Queene. 

O praise the Lord with hart and minde. 

Sing praise with voices cleare ; 
Seth traiterous crue, have had their due 
To quaile their partener's cheere. 

Next Babington, that caitife vilde, 

Was hanged for his hier ; 
His carcasse likewise quartered, 

And hart cast in the fier. 
Was ever seen such wicked troopes 

Of traytors in this laud, 
Against the pretious woord of truthe, 

And their good Queene to stand ? 
Oh praise, &c. 

But heer beholde the rage of Rome, 

The fruits of Popish plants ; 
Beholde and see their wicked woorks. 

Which all good meaning wants ; 
For Savage also did receave 

Like death for his desert. 
Which in that wicked enterprise 

Should then have doon his part. 
O praise, &c. 


O cursed catifes, void of grace, 

Will nothing serve your turne, 
But to behold your cuntries wrack, 

In malice while you burne ? 
And Barnwell thou, which went to view 

Her grace in each degree, 
And how her lite might be dispatcht, 

Thy death we all did see. 
O praise, &c. 

Confounding shame fall to their share, 

And hellish torments sting, 
That to the Lords annointed shall 

Devise so vile a thing. 
O Techburne, what bewitched thee 

To have such hate in store, 
Against our good and gratious Queene, 

That thou must dye therfore ? 
O praise, &c. 

What gaine for traitors can returne, 

If they their wish did win ? 
Or what preferment should they get. 

By this their trecherous sinne? 
Though forraine power love treason well. 

The traitors they dispise. 
And they the first that should sustaine 

The smart of their devise. 
O praise, &c. 


What cause had Tilney, traitor stout, 

Or Abbington likewise, 
Against the Lords annointed thus 

Such mischeef to devise? 
But that the Devill inticed them 

Such wicked woorks to render ; 
For which these seven did suffer death. 

The twentith of September. 
O praise, &c. 

Seven more the next day following 

Were drawen from the Tower, 
Which were of their confederates, 

To dye that instant hower: 
The first of them was Salsburie, 

And next to him was Dun, 
Who did complaine most earnestly 

Of proud yong Babington. 
O praise, &c. 

Both lords and knights of hye renowne 

He ment for to displace, 
And likewise all the towers and townes 

And cities for to race : 
So likewise Jones did much complaine 

Of his detested pride, 
And shewed how lewdly he did live 

Before the time he died. 
O praise, &c. 


Then Cliarnock was the next in place 

To taste of bitter death ; 
And praying unto holy saints, 

He left his vitall breath. 
And in like nianer Travers then 

Did suffer in that place, 
And fearfully he left his life, 

With crossing brest and face. 
O praise, &c. 

Then Gage was stripped in his shirt, 

Who up the lather went. 
And sought for to excuse him selfe 

Of treasons falce intent. 
And Bellamie the last of all 

Did suffer death that daye ; 
Unto which end God bring all such 

As wish our Queenes decay. 
O praise, &c. 

O faulce, and foule disloyall men, 

W^hat person would suppose 
That clothes of velvet and of silke 

Should hide such mortall foes ? 
Or who would think such hiddenhate 

In men so fair in sight, 
But that the Devill can turne him selfe 

Into an angell bright. 
O praise, &c. 


But, soveraigne Queene, have thou no care, 

For God, which knoweth all, 
Will still maintaine thy royall state, 

And give thy foes a fall. 
And for thy Grace thy subjects all 

Will make their praiers still. 
That never traitor in this land 

May have his wicked will. 
O praise, &c. 

Whose glorious daies in England heere 

The mighty God maintaine, 
That long unto thy subjects joye 

Thy Grace may rule and raigne. 
And, Lord, we pray, for Christes sake, 

That all thy secret foes 
May come to naught, which seeke thy life 

And Englands lasting woes. 

O praise the Lord with hart and minde, &c. 

The names of 7 Traitors The names of the other 

which were executed on vii which were exe- 

Tuesdaj' being the xx cuted on the next 

of September 1586. day after. 

3ohn Ballard Freest. Thomas Salsbury. 

Anthony Babington. Henry Dun. 

John Savage. Edward Jhones. 

Robert Barnwell. John Travers. 

Chodicus Techburne. John Charnock. 

Charles Tilney. Robert Gage. 

Edward Abbington. Harman Bellamy. 

Finis. T. D. 

Imprinted at London at the Long Shop adjoyning unto Saint 
Mildreds Churche in the Pultric by Edward .\lldc. 



Thomas Churchyard, the author of the subsequent hitherto 
unknown production, was a versifier (not to dignify him by the 
title of poet, to which he had few pretensions) from his early 
youth, and he continued to ])rint his rhimes down to the very year 
of his death, 1604, when he had attained the age of eighty-four. 
Many of his publications were autobiographical, and a singular 
and varied life might easily be composed from them. He was 
patronized in the outset of his career by the Earl of Surrey, and 
wrote some of the " Songes and Sonnettes," first printed in 1557. 
At this time he was probably in the army, and so he continued 
for many years, vainly seeking employment at court. The 
following ballad was evidently written in a fit of despondency at 
some disappointment of the kind ; and he laments the absence of 
Lady Sydney from court, as the cause of it. He probably means 
the widow of Sir Philip Sydney, which would fix the date of 
the ballad prior to her marriage with Robert Earl of Essex. 
Some new and interesting particulars regarding Churchyard and 
his patrons are to be found in Mr. Wright's " Elizabeth and her 
Times," 8vo. 1838. 


In courte yf largies be, 
Why parte I thens so bare ? 
Yf lords were franke and fre, 
Sum dradg wold lordings spare. 
To hyme whose tonge and penn 
Myght showe in every coste 

The worth ynes of men. 

And who desarvythe moste. 

Full lyttill may be gott 
Where hungry droppes do falle ; 
Where all goes to the pott 
The kitchine fese are smalle. 


The byrde can spare no plumes 
That fethers gave wolde have ; 
The Courtyer all consumes 
• Who makes hymeselfe so brave. 

No, no, here lyes in dede 
The padde within the stravve ; 
For eche man pleadethe neade, 
And he is held a dawe 
That gyves to such as wante. 
And thynkes hyme selfe in lacke. 
This makes the world so skant. 
And tournythe all to wracke. 

For fryndshype, cowlde as ise, 
I wayted longe and late, 
And gladde to playe the vice 
To plesure eche estate ; 
And ever dyd I hope 
To hitt my wyshyd marke, 
Yet lo, I dyd but grope 
For gnats within the darke. 

Perhappes the froste hath nypt 
Eache noble lyberall hand. 
Or ellse awaye is skypte 
In to sume other lannde, 
God send a thawe a gayne, 
And shyppes drawe home as fast, 
That pore men for ther payne 
Maye fynde some welthe at last. 


I saught the Prynce to sarve, 

As all oure dutyes is, 

And hope I dyd desarve 

A greter sute then this ; 

But dayes and wekes are spente, 

And worne ray cotes fid thyne. 
And all my yearly rent, 
Yet founde no grace therein. 

No monstoure sure I am, 
Nor fovvUe deformyd thynge ; 
No shepe nor suckinge lame ; 
More lycke to sarve a kinge. 
As shall both hand and harte 
At lengthe ray wytnes be. 
When profFe in any part 
Shall be requyrde of me. 

Had I but founde a wyght 
In courte, when I was there, 
The Lady Sydney hight, 
All changed had byn this gere. 
What happ had I to shue 
Where no suche helpe is founde ? 
O dames, yt blush not you. 
Thought she in grace a bound. 

Nowe from the courte to carte, 
My horse and I must pase. 
Who hathe the meryst harte, 
Who is in better case, 


My horse or I, GotI knon'es : 
The one muste beare his charge, 

The other where he goes 

Must pourely lyve at large. 

Finis. Quod. T. Churcheyeard. 

Imprinted at London in Fletestrte at the Faucon, over againste 
St. Dunstons Churche by Wj'lliam Gryffith. 


It would be idle to conjecture to whom the initials T. J. at the 
end of this spirited ballad belong : had it been some half century 
later, it would have been confidently assigned to Thomas Jordan, 
who was a prolific penman of pieces of this class. The production 
itself is no where mentioned, and the only known writer of about 
that period whose name corresponds is Thomas Jeney, who in 1568 
printed " A Discours of the present Troobles in Fraunce," trans- 
lated from Ronsard. It is improbable, both from the date and 
style, that the ballad should have been by him. It gives a few 
particulars respecting the Queen's visit to the camp at Tilbury 
not found in contemporary historians. The date when the ballad 
was printed, was of course shortly anterior to the destruction of the 
Spanish Armada. 






Good English men, whose valiant harts, 
With courage great and manly partes, 
Doe minde to daunt the overthwarts 
Of any foe to England, 


Attend a while, and you shall heare 
What love and kindnesse doth appeare 
From the princely mind of our love deare 

Elizabeth Queene of England. 
To cheare her souldiers one and all, 
Of honour great or title small, 
And by what name you will them call : 

Elizabeth Queene of England. 

The time being dangerous now, ye know, 
That forraigne enimies to and fro 
For to invade us make a show, 

And our good Queene of England, 
Her Majestie by grave advise, 
Considering how the danger lyes, 
By all good meanes she can devise 

For the safetie of all England, 
Hath pointed men of honour right, 
With all the speede they could or might, 
A canipe of men there should be pight 

On Tilsburie hill in England. 

Her grace being given to understand 
The mightie power of this her land. 
And the willing harts thereon she fand 

From every shire in England ; 
The mightie troupes have shewed the same, 
That day by day to London came, 
From shires and townes too long to name, 

To serve the Queene of England. 


Her grace, to glad their harts againe, 
In princely person tooke the paine 
To honour the troupes and martiall traine 
In Tilsburie campe in England. 

On Thursday the eight of August last 

Her Majestie by water past, 

When stormes of winde did blow so fast, 

Would feare some folke in England ; 
And at her forte she went on land, 
That neare to Tilsburie (strong) doth stand, 
Where all things furnisht there she fand 

For the safe defence of England. 
The great shot then did rage and roare, 
Replyed by a forte on the other shore. 
Whose poudred pellets, what would ye have more. 

Would feare any foe in England. 

Her highnesse then to the campe did goe, 

The order there to see and know, 

Which her Lord Generall did dutifully showe 

In Tilsburie campe in England : 
And everie captaine to her came. 
And every officer of fame, 
To show their duetie and their name 

To their sovereign Queene of England. 
Of tents and cabins thousands three. 
Some built with bowes and many a tree, 
And many of canvasse she might see 

In Tilsburie campe in England. 


Each captain e had his colours brave 
Set over his tent in winde to wave ; 
With them their officers there they have 

To serve the Queene of England. 
The other lodginges had their signe 
For souldiers where to sup and dine, 
And for to sleepe with orders fine 

In Tilsburie campe in England : 
And vittaling boothes there plentie were, 
Where they sold meute, bread, cheese and beere : 
One should have been hangd for selling too dear 

In Tilsburie campe in England. 

To tell the joy of all and some 

When that her Majestic was come, 

Such playing on phiphes and many a drum 

To welcome the Queene of England : 
Displaying of ensignes very brave. 
Such throwing of hats, what would ye have ? 
Such cryes of joy, God keepe and save 

Our noble Queene of England I 
And then to bid her grace good night. 
Great ordenance shot with pellets pight, 
Fourteene faire peeces of great might 

To teaze the foes of England. 

Her Majestic went then away 
To the Court, where that her highnesse lay. 
And came againe on the next day 
To Tilsburie campe in England. 


The captaines yerly did prepare 
To have their battell set out faire, 
Against her highnesse coming there, 

To Tilsburie campe in England ; 
And long before her highnesse carae 
Each point was ordered so in frame, 
Which served to set forth the fame 

Of a royal campe in England. 

The gallant horsemen mounted brave, 
With stomackes stoute that courage have, 
Whose countenance sterne might well deprave 

In fight the foe of England ; 
The armde men, bowmen, and the shot 
Of muskets and calivers hot, 
None of these wanted, well I wot, 

In Tilsburie campe in England. 
Fiftie ensignes spred there were. 
Of severall colours fine and faire. 
Of drums and phyphes great numbers there, 

In Tilsburie campe ia England. 

The battell plac'd in order due, 
A mightie host, I tell you true ; 
A famous sight it was to view 

That royall campe in England. 
The hoast thus set in battell ray. 
In braver sorte then I can say, 
For want of knowledge to display 

So goodly a carape in England. 


How the maine battell and the winges, 
The vauntgarde, rearewarde and such thinges, 
The horsemen whose sharpe launces stinges 
In fight the foe of England. 

The noble men and men of fame, 
In duetie bound did show the same, 
To waite when that her highness came 

Our soveraigne Queene of England : 
And she, being come into the field, 
A martiall stafFe my lord did yeelde 
Unto her highnesse, being our shield 

And marshall chiefe of England. 
Then rode she along the campe to see 
To everie captaine orderly, 
Amid the rankes so royally. 

The marshall chiefe of England. 

What princely wordes her grace declarde, 
What gracious thankes in every warde 
To every souldier, none she sparde 

That served any where for England. 
With princely promisse none should lacke 
Meate or driuke or cloth for backe, 
Golde and silver should not slacke 

To her marshall men of England. 
Then might she see the hats to flye, 
And everie souldeir shouted hye 
For our good Queene wee'i fight or dye 

On any foe to England. 

I 2 


And many a captaine kist her hand 
As she past forth through everie band, 
And left her traine farre off to stand 

From her marshall men of England. 
Two houres she spent among them there, 
Her princely pleasure to declare, 
Where many a one did say and sweare 

To live and dye for England ; 
And would not aske one penny pay. 
To charge her highnesse anj'^ way, 
But of their owne would finde a stay 

To serve her grace for England. 

To my lordes pavilion then she went, 
A sumptuous faire and famous tent. 
Where dinner time her highnesse spent 

With martiall men of England. 
In the evening, when the tide was come. 
Her highnesse thankt them all and some : 
With trumpets shrile and sound of drum 

Returnd the Queene of England, 
To the blockhouse where she tooke barge ; 
Their divers captaines had their charge, 
Then shot the cannons off at large 

To honour the Queene of England. 

And thus her highnesse went away, 
For whose long life all England pray. 
King Henries daughter and our stay, 
Elizabeth Queene of England. 


What subject would not spend his life 
And all he hath to stay the strife 
Of forraigne foe that seekes so rife 

To invade this realme of England. 
Therefore, deare countrie men, I say, 
With hart to God let us all pray 
To blesse our armies night and day, 

That serve our Queene for England. 

Finis. T. J. 

London, Printed by John Wolfe for Richard Jones. 15S8. 


/? -. 
A TRACT by Luke Hutton, of which there were two editions, the 

first without date, and the last in 1638, is very well known, and 

an account of it may be found in the Bridgewater Catalogue, 

(privately printed for Lord Francis Egerton) p. 149. Hence it .,''#^ ' ^' 

appears also that Hutton was the author of an earlier production, j. 

called his " Repentance." He seems to have been a highway- J "^ ^ 

man and housebreaker, who, being condemned and pardoned, 

dedicated an affected piece of contrition to Lord Chief Justice 

Popham ; and on subsequent liberation, returned to his old 

courses, and was hanged at York in 1598. Whether what follows, 

or indeed anything that goes under his name, were really written 

by him is very questionable. 






I AM a poore prisoner condemned to dye, 
Ah woe is me, woe is me, for my great folly ! 


Fast fettred in yrons in place where I lie. 

Be warned yong wantons, hemp passeth green holly. 

My parents were of good degree, 

By whom I would not counselled be. 
Lord Jesu forgive me, with mercy releeve me, 
Receive, O sweet Saviour, my spirit unto thee. 

My name is Hutton, yea Luke of bad life. 
Ah woe is me, woe is me, for my great folly I 
Which on the high way did rob man and wife, 
Be warned yong wantons, &c. 
Inticed by many a gracelesse mate, 
Whose counsel I repent too late. 
Lord, &c. 

Not twentie yeeres old, alas, was I, 
Ah woe is me, woe is me, &c., 
When I begun this fellonie. 
Be warned yong wantons, &c. 
With me went still twelve yeomen tall, 
Which I did my twelve Apostles call. 
Lord, &c. 

There was no squire nor barron bold, 

Ah woe is me, woe is me for my great folly ! 

That rode the way with silver or gold, 
Be warned yong wantons, &c. 

But I and my twelve Apostles gaie 

Would lighten their load ere they went away. 
Lord, See. 


This newes procured ray kins-folkes griefe, 

Ah woe is me, woe is me ! 
They hearing I was a famous theefe, 

Re warned yong wantons. 
They wept, they wailde, they wrong their hands, 
That thus I should hazard life and lands. 
Lord, &c. 

They made me a jaylor a little before, 

Ah woe, &c. 
To keep in prison offenders store ; 

Be warned, &c. 
But such a jaylor was never none, 
I went and let them out everie one. 
Lord, &c. 

I wist their sorrow sore grieved me. 

Ah woe is me, &c., 
Such proper men should hanged be. 

Be warned yong, &c 
My office ther I did defie. 
And ran away for company. 
Lord, &c. 

Three yeeres I lived upon the spoile, 

Ah woe is me, &c. 
Giving many a carle the foile. 

Be warned yong, &c. 
Yet never did I kil man nor wife, 
Though lewdly long I led my life. 
Lord, &c. 


But all too bad my deedes hath been, 

Ah woe is me, &c. 
Offending my country and my good queene, 

Be warned yong, &c. 
All men in Yorke-shire talke of me ; 
A stronger theefe there could not be. 
Lord, &c. 

Upon S. Lukes day was I borne. 

Ah woe, &c. 
Whom want of grace hath made a scorne, 

Be war &c. 
In honor of my birth day then, 
I robd in a bravery nineteen men. 
Lord, &c. 

The country weary to beare this wrong, 

Ah woe is me, &c. 
With huse and cries pursude me long. 

Be war &c. 
Though long I scapt, yet loe at last, 
London, I was in Newgate cast. 
Lord, &c. 

There did I lye with a grieved minde : 

Ah woe is me, &c.. 
Although the keeper was gentle and kinde, 

Be warned yong, &c. 
Yet was he not so kinde as I, 
To let me be at libertie. 
Lord, &c. 


At last the shiriffe of Yorke-shire came, 

Ah woe is me, &c. 
And in a warrant he had my name. 

Be warned yong, &c. 
Said he at Yorke Ihou must be tride, 
With me therefore hence must thou ride. 
Lord, &c. 

Like pangues of death his words did sound 

Ah woe is me, &c. 
My hands and armes full fast he bound. 

Be warned, &c. 
Good sir, quoth I, I had rather stay, 
I have no heart to ride that way. 
Lord, &c. 

When no entreaty might prevaile, 

Ah woe is me, &c. 
I calde for beere, for wine and ale ; 

Be warned, &c. 
And when my heart was in wofuU case, 
I drunke to my friends with a smiling face. 
Lord, &c. 

With clubs and staves I was garded then ; 

Ah woe is me, &c. 
I never before had such waiting men : 

Be warned, &c. 
If they had ridden before amaine, 
Beshrew me if I had cald them againe. 
Lord &c. 


And when into Yorke that I was come, 

Ah, &c. 
Each one on me did passe their doome ; 

Be war &c. 
And whilst 3'ou live this sentence note, 
Evill men can never have good report. 
Lord, &c. 

Before the judges when I was brought, 

Ah woe is me, &c. 
Be sure I had a careful! thought, 

Nine score inditements and seaventeene 
Against me there was read and scene. 
Lord, &c. 

And each of these was fellony found, 

Ah woe is me, &c. 
Which did ray heart with sorrow wound. 

What should I heerein longer stay, 
For this I was condemned that day. 
Lord, &c. 

My death each houre I do attend ; 

Ah woe is me. 
In prayer and teares my time I spend ; 

Be &c. 
And all my loving friends this day 
I do intreate for me to pray. 
Lord, &c. 


I have deserved long since to die : 

Ah woe, &c. 
A viler sinner livde not then T, 

Be &c. 
On friends I hopte my life to save. 
But I am fittest for my grave. 
Lord, &c. 

A due my loving frends each one : 

Ah woe is me, woe is me. for my great folly ! 
Thinke on my words when I am gone. 

Be warned young wantons, &c. 
When on the ladder you shall me view, 
Thinke I am neerer heaven then you. 
Lord, &c. 

Finis. Hutton. 

Printed at London for Thomas Millington. 1598. 


The subsequent ballad, for obvious reasons, was not published 
until James I. came to the throne, though it would seem from the 
narrative that it had been written very soon after the melancholy 
event it celebrates. It gives some new, and probably then well- 
known, particulars regarding the Earl of Essex and his demeanour 
before and at his execution, which are omitted by Camden and 
other authorities. When Stowe wrote, he was afraid of enlarging 
upon the subject, and purposely left it to the " books thereof 
extant." Howes, in his continuation, was equally cautious, 
although without the same reason. Margaret Allde, for whom 
what follows was printed, was no doubt the widow of John Allde, 


whom Dr. Dibdin names Mary, possibly from misreading Marg. 
in the registers of the Stationers' Company. (Typ. Ant. iv. 571.) 
The tune of *' Welladay," to which the anonymous writer adapted 
his lines, is not mentioned, at least under that name, by Mr. W. 
Chappell in his " National English Airs." 






Sweet Englands pride is gone, 

Welladay, welladay ! 
Which makes her sigh and grone 

Evermore still. 
He did her fame advance 
In Ireland Spaine and France, 
And now by dismall chaunce 

Is from her tane. 

• He was a vertuous peere, 

Welladay, welladay I 
And was esteemed deere 

Evermore still. 
He alwaies helpt the poore, 
Which makes them sigh full sore ; 
His death they doe deplore 

In every place. 

Brave honor grac'd him still 

Gallantly, gallantly : 
He nere did deede of ill, 

Well is it knowne. 


But envie, that foule fiend 
Whose malice ne're hath end, 
Hath brought true vertues friend 
Unto his thrall. 

At tilt he did surpasse 

Gallantly, gallantly, 
All men that is and was 

Evermore still. 
One day, as it was scene, 
In honor of his Queene 
Such deeds hath ne're been seen 

As he did doe. 

Abroade and eke at home 

Gallantly, gallantly. 
For valour there was none 

Like him before. 
In Ireland France and Spaine 
They feared great Essex name, 
And England lov'd the same, 
In every place. 

But all would not prevaile, 
Welladay, welladay ! 

His deedes did nought availe, 
More was the pittie. 

He was condemnd to die 

For treason certainly, 

But God that sits on hie 
Knoweth all things. 


That Sunday in the morne, 
Welladay, welladay ! 

That he to the cittie came 
With all his troupe: 

That first began the strife, 

And caused hira loose his life, 

And others did the like 
As well as hee. 

Yet her princely Majestic 
Gratiously, gratiously, 

Hath pardon given free 
To many of them. 

She hath released them quite, 

And given them their right ; 

They may pray both day and night 
God to defend her. 

Shrovetewesday in the night, 

Welladay, welladay ! 
With a heavy harted spright. 

As it is sayd, 
The leiftenant of the Tower, 
Who kept him in his power. 
At ten a clocke, that hour, 
To him did come. 

And sayd unto him there, 
Mournfully, mournfully, 

My lord you must prepare 
To die tomorrow. 


Gods will be done, quoth he. 
Yet shall you strangely see 
God strong in me tobe, 
Though I am weake. 

I pray you, pray for me, 
Welladay, welladay 1 
That God may strengthen me 

Against that houre. 
Then straightway did he call 
The guard under the wall, 
And did intreate them all 
For him to pray. 

For to morrow is the day, 
Welladay, welladay I 

That I the debt must pay 
Which I doe owe : 

It is my life I meane. 

Which I must pay my Queene, 

Even so hath justice given 
That 1 must doe. 

In the morning was he brought, 
Welladay, welladay ! 

Where a scaffold was set up 
Within the Tower. 

Many lords were present then, 

With other gentlemen, 

Which were appointed then 
To see bim dye. 


You noble lords, quoth he, 
Welladay, welladay I 

That must the witnesse be 
Of this my death ; 

Know, I never loved Papistrye, 

But did it still defye. 

And Essex thus did dye, 
Heere in this place. 

I have a sinner been, 

Welladay, welladay ! 
Yet never wrong'd my Queene 

In all my life. 
My God I did offend, 
Which grieves me at my end : 
May all the rest amend, 
I doe forgive them. 

To the state I nere ment ill, 

Welladay, welladay ! 
Neither wisht the Commons ill 

In all my life ; 
But loved with all my heart, 
And alwaies tooke their part 
Whereas there was desert 
In any place. 

Then mildely did he crave, 
Mournfully mournfully, 

He might that favour have 
Private to pray : 


riien he prayed heartely, 
And with great fervency 
To God that sits on hie 
For to receive him. 

And then he prayed againe, 

Mournefully, mournefully, 
God to preserve his Queene 

From all her foes ; 

And send her long to raigne 

True justice to maintaine, 

And not to let proud Spaine 

Once to offend her. 

His gowne he shpt off then, 

Welladay, welladay ! 
And put off his hat and l)ani!, 

And hung it by ; 

Praying still continually 

To God that sits on hie, 

That he might paciently 

There suffer death. 

My headsman that must be, 

Then said he cheerfuUie, 
Let him come heere to me 
That I may him see ; 
Who kneeled to him then. 
Art thou (quoth he) the man 
Which art appointed now 
My life to free ? 


Yes, my lord, did he say, 
Welladay, welladay ! 
Forgive me I you pray 

For this your death. 
1 heere doe thee forgive, 
And may true justice live. 
No foule crime to forgive 
Within their place. 

Then he kneeled dbwne againe, 
MournefuUy, mournefully. 
And was required by some 

There standing by, 
To forgive his enemies 
Before death closde his eyes, 
Which he did in heartie wise, 
Thanking them for it. 

That they would remember him, 
Welladay, welladay ! 

That he might forgive all them 
That had him wrong'd. 

Now, my lords, I take my leave, 

Sweet (Christ ray soiile receive; 

Now when you wil I prepare, 
For I am readie. 

He laide his head on the blocke, 
Welladay, welladay ! 

But his doubtlet did let the stroke. 
Some there did say. 


What must be done (quoth he) 
Shall be done presently ; 
Then his doubtlet put off hee, 
And laye downe againe. 

Then his headsman did his part 

Cruelly, cruelly. 
He vvas never seene to start 

For all the blowes . 
His soule it is at rest"^ 
In heaven among the blest, 
Where God send us to rest, 

When it shall please him. 

God save the King, 

Imprinted at London for Margret Allde, and are to be solde at the 
long shop under Saint Mildreds Church in the Poultry. 1608. 








dTifteeutl;, ^ivtccnti), ani ^ebcnteentj^ Ccntuiif^. 






€i)t ^errp ^onetp* 

J. A. CAHUSAC, Esq. F.S.A. 






JAMES ORCHARD HALLItt'ELL, Esq. F.R.S. Treasurer. 




E. F. RIMBAULT, Esa Secretary. 



In offering this collection to the members of the 
Percy Society, the Editor thinks it necessary to 
say a few words in explanation of his departure 
from his original intention of confining it solely 
to Songs and Ballads relating to the London 
Prentices and Trades during the fifteenth, six- 
teenth, and seventeenth centuries. The London 
Prentices were, during this period, and especially 
towards the latter part of it, a very important 
body; and it was thought that it would be a 
matter of comparatively small difficulty to collect 
a number of ballads relating to them sufficient to 
form of themselves a volume of moderate size. 
Upon further investigation, however, it was found 
that the number extant was not so great as was 
anticipated, and, of this number, some were 
unworthy, and many more unfit on the score of 
decency, for republication in the present day. 
It was therefore deemed advisable to extend 
the design of the collection, and to include, not 
only ballads relating to the Prentices and Trades, 
but to the public events and politics of London 
in general. To these have been added a few 


that are interesting at the present time from 
their mention of the ancient topography of this 
daily increasing city; and the whole, it is hoped, 
will prove acceptable to the members of the 
Percy Society. 

The Editor cannot conclude without returning 
his thanks to various members of the Council, 
and especially to the ever-zealous Mr. Rimbault, 
for their valuable suggestions and other assistance 
during the progress of his labours. 

March 2bth, 1841. 



1. Epistles of John Ball ..... 1 

■i. Second Epistle of John Ball ..... 2 

3. Jack Miller's Song ...... 3 

4. .Tack Trneman's Epistle . . . . .4 
.5. Sir Richard Wliittington's Advancement . .4 
C. The Story of 111 May Day, in the time of King Henry VIII 1 1 

7. The Honour of a London Prentice . . . .22 

8. Upon my Lord Maior's Day being put olf by reason of the 

Plague ....... 28 

9. London's Ordinary; or, Every Man in his Humour . . 31 

10. George Barnwell . . . . . .35 

11. A Ballad ....... 51 

13. The Ranting Rambler . . .54 

13. A True Character of Sundry Trades and Callings; or, a new 

ditty of Innocent Mirth . . . .59 

14. Michaelmas Term . . .63 

15. A Use of Exhortation to the London Apprentices: or, a 

Second Message after their Petition . . .67 

16. Robin Conscience . . . .69 

17. A Dialogue betwixt Tom and Dick . . . .88 

18. A Ballad in praise of I^ondon Prentices, and what they did 

at the Cockpit Play-House, in Drury Lane . . 94 

19. The Life and Death of the Two Ladies of Finsbury, that 

gave Moorfields to the City, for the Maidens of London 

to dry Cloaths . . .97 

20. A new Song, on the Instalment of Sir John Moor Lord 

Mayor of London . . .103 

21. Loyalty Triiunphant ...... 109 

22. London's Joy and Triumph, on the Instalment of Sir William 

Pritchard Lord Mayor of London for the ensuing year . 112 




Lomloii s Lanieutatiou for tbe Loss of tlieir Charter . 

A new Song, in praise of the Loyal Company of Stationers, 

who, for their singular Loyalty, obtained tlie First 

Charter of I^ndon, 1684 . 
The Mug-House .... 

The Couragious Enghsli Boys of several Trades and Callinj 
The Blacksmith .... 

The Brewer ..... 
The Good Fellows' Frolick; or, Kent Street Cliih 
The Merry Hoastess .... 
The Merchant Tailors' Seng . 
The Mercer's Company's Song 
Freemen's Song, of Four Voices 
The Scriuener's Seruant's Song of HolViorne . 
A Belman's Song .... 

The Smith's Man .... 
The Cryer's Song of Cheapside 
The Painter's Song of London 
Citie Rounds ..... 
New Broomes, — Green Broomes 
The Tinker ..... 
He that a Tinker would be . 
Hot Codlins ..... 







The Epistles of John Ball are taken from Stowe's Annals. John 
Ball was a priest who was hanged and beheaded at St. Alban's, 
on the 15th of July, 1381, for his participation in the rebellion 
of Wat Tyler. He was author of that famous couplet — 

" When Adam delved and Eve span, 
\Mio was then the gentleman?" 

And, according to Stowe, used to commence his sermons with it, 
when he wished to stir up the people. He confessed, at the place 
of execution, that he wrote these Epistles — half prose and half 
verse — and distributed copies of them among the populace. 
Stowe says they are full of riddles and dark sentences ; and 
many of the allusions are now unintelligible. The following 
was taken from the pockets of a man, who was captured after 
the riots of London, and sentenced to be hanged. 

John Shepe, sometime Saint Mary priest, of York, 
and now of Colchester, greeteth well John Namelesse, 
and John Miller, and John Carter, and biddetli them 
that they beware of Gillinbrough, and standeth together 
in God's name ; and biddeth Pierce Plowman goe to his 
work, and chastise well Hob the Robber, and take with 
him John Trueman, and all his fellowes, and no moe. 



John the Miller hath ygi-onnd small, small, 
The king's son of heaven shall pay for all, 
Beware or be ye wo! 
Know your friend from your foe. 
Haveth ynough and saith hoe! 
And doe well and better and fleeth sinne, 
And seeketh peace and holde therein ! 
And so biddeth John Truemau and all his fellowi 


Stowe saj's he had seen several other Epistles of John Ball, but 
has only preserved the foUo\ving. 

John Baxl, Saint Mary priest, 

Greeteth well all manner of men, 

And biddeth them in name of the Trinitie, 

Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 

Stand manlike together in truth. 

And helpe truth, and truth shall hel}) you. 

Now reigneth pride in jirice, 

Couetise is holden wise. 

Lechery without shame, 

Gluttonie without blame. 

Enuie raigneth with reason. 

And sloth is taken in great season, 

God do boote, for now is time, Amen. 



Jack Miller was an important personage in these riots, but 
the old chroniclers give no information of his fate. It is probable, 
however, that he suffered execution about the same time as Wat 
Tyler, John Ball, Jack Straw, and the other leaders of the 
rebellion. Fifteen of them were beheaded with John Ball, at 
St. Alban's, and more than double that number at London. The 
following verses are printed in Stowe's Annals as if they were 
prose, and have thus doubtless escaped the observation of those 
who are curious in old jjoetry. 

Jack Miller asketh helpe to turn his Mill aright, 

He hath gi'ound small, small, 

The king's son of heauen shall pay for all ; 

Looke thy Mill goe right, 

With four sails, and the post; 

Stand in stedfastnes. 

With right and might. 

With skill and will, 

Let might helpe right, 

And skill before will. 

And right before might. 

Then goeth our Mill aright. 

But if might 

Goe before right, 

And will 

Before skill, 

Then is our Mill misdight. 

B 2 



This is also taken from Stowe, and was popular at the same 
period as the foregoing. Jack Trueman is more than once 
alluded to in the first Epistle of John Ball. The name of John 
Bathon, Mhich occurs in this, is not mentioned by any of the 
historians of Wat Tyler's rebellion. 

Jacke Trewman doeth you to vnderstond 

That falsenesse and guile hath raigned too long; 

And truth hath been set vnder a locke, 

And falsenesse raigneth in every flocke, 

No man may come truth to, 

But he sing, si dedero; [and therefore, 

Speake, spend and speed, quoth John of Bathon, 

Sinne fareth as wilde flood. 

True love is away that is so good, 

And clarkes for wealth wirketh them wo — 

God doe boote for now is time. Amen. 



To the Tune of " Dainty, come thou to me." 

The following is taken from the third edition of a " Collection of 
old Ballads, corrected from the best and most ancient Copies, 
with Litroductions, historical, critical, and humorous. London, 
Printed for J. Roberts, in Warwick Lane ; D. Leach, in Black and 
White Court, in the Old Bailey ; and J. Batteley, at the Dove, 
in Paternoster Row. 1727." It has also been collated with 
another copy of the same ballad, entitled " A song of Richard 
Whittington, who by strange Fortunes came to be thrice Lord 
Mayor of London, with his bountiful Gifts and I^iberality, given 


to this honourable City ;" which is to be found in the " Crown 
Garland of Golden Roses, gathered out of England's Royal 
Garden, set forth in many pleasant new Songs and Sonnets, &c. 
by R. Johnson. London, jjrinted by J. M. for W. F. Thackeray, 
at the Sign of the " Angel," in Duck Lane, near West Smith- 
field, 1692." The two concluding stanzas do not appear in the 
collection of 1727. The story of Sir Richard Whittington, 
and the marvellous advancement of his fortune by means of 
his cat, has long been popular in England ; but there appears 
to be no other authority for it than tradition. The wealth and 
benevolence of Sir Richard are however beyond doubt. This 
worthy citizen was, as the ballad repeats, thrice Lord Mayor of 
London, — the first time in 1396, the second in 1404, and the 
third in 1419. From Sir Richard's will, it appears that his ex- 
traction was not so humble as the old legends represent it, but 
that he was the son of a knight — Sir William Whittington and 
Dame Joan his wife. The various good works he performed, and 
the chai-ities he endowed, are correctly enumerated in the ballad. 
Grafton, in his Chronicle, relates an anecdote of the knight, 
which is not elsewhere recorded. In a codicil to his will, he 
commanded his executors, as they should one day answer before 
God, to look diligently over the list of the persons indebted to 
him, and if they found any who was not clearly possessed of 
three times as much as would fully satisfy all the claim, they 
were freely to forgive it. He also added, that no man whatever 
should be imprisoned for any debt due to his estate. "Look 
upon this, ye aldermen," says the historian emphatically, " for it 
is a glorious glass !" 

Here must I tell the praise 
Of worthy Whittington, 

Known to be in his days 

Thrice Lord Mayor of London. 

But of poor Parentage 
Born was he, as we hear. 

And in his tender Age 
Bred up in Lancashire, 


Poorly to London then 
Came up this simple lad; 

Where, with a Merchant-man 
Soon he a dwelling had; 

And in a kitchen plac'd, 
A scullion for to be; 

Where a long time he pass'd 
In labour drudginly. 

His daily service was 

Turning at the fire; 
And to scour pots of brass, 

For a poor scullion's hire; 

Meat and Drink all his Pay, 
Of coin he had no store; 

Therefore to run away 

In secret, thought he bore. 

So from the merchant-man 
Wliittington secretely 

Towards his country ran 
To purchase liberty. 

But as he went along, 
In a fair summer's morn, 

London's bells sweetly rung 
Wliittington's back return; 

Evermore sounding so, 

Turn again, AVliittington ; 


For thou, in time, shall grow 
Lord Mayor of London. 

Whereupon back again 

Wliittington came with speed, 
A prentice to remain. 

As the Lord had decreed. 

StiU blessed be the beUs, 
This was his daily song; 

This my good fortune teUs, 
Most sweetly have they rung. 

If God so favour me, 
I will not prove unkind; 

London my love shall see. 
And my large bounties find. 

But, see this happy chance! 

This scullion had a Cat, 
Wliich did his state advance. 

And by it wealth he gat. 

His master ventm^'d forth. 

To a land far unknown, 
With merchandize of Worth, 

As is in Stories shown: 

Whittington had no more 
But this poor Cat as then. 

Which to the ship he bore, 
Like a brave valiant man: 


Vent'ring the same, quoth he, 
I may get store of gold, 

And Mayor of London be, 
As the Bells have me told. 

Wliittington's merchandise 

Carried to a land 
Troubled with rats and mice. 

As they did understand; 

The King of the country there 

As he at dinner sat, 
Daily remained in fear 

Of many a mouse and rat. 

Meat that on trenchers lay. 
No way they could keep safe ; 

But by rats bore away. 
Fearing no wand or staff ; 

Whereupon soon they brought 
Whittington's nimble cat; 

Which by the King was bought; 
Heaps of gold giv'n for that. 

Home again came these men 
With their ship laden so, 

Wliittington's wealth began 
By this cat thus to grow: 

Scullions life he forsook, 
To be a merchant good, 


And soon began to look 
How well his Credit stood. 

After that he was chose 
SheriiF of the City here, 

And then full quickly rose 
Higher as did appear; 

For, to this City's praise. 
Sir Richard Whittington 

Came to be in his days 
Thrice Mayor of London. 

More his fame to advance, 
Thousands he lent the King, 

To maintain war in France, 
Glory from thence to bring. 

And after, at a feast 

Wliich he the King did make. 
He burnt the bonds all in jest, 

And would no money take. 

Ten thousand pounds he gave 
To his Prince willingly; 

And would no penny have 
For this kind courtesy. 

As God thus made him great. 

So he would daily see 
Poor people fed with meat, 

To shew his charity: 


Prisoners poor cherish'd were, 
Widows sweet comfort found: 

Good deeds, both far and near 
Of him do still resound. 

Wliittington's College is 
One of his charities; 

Record reporteth this, 
To lasting memories. 

Newgate he builded fair. 
For prisoners to lye in; 

Christ Church he did repaii', 
Christian love for to win. 

Many more such like deeds 
Were done by Wliittington ; 

WTiich joy and comfort breeds, 
To such as look thereon. 

Lancashire, thou hast bred 
This flower of charity, 

Though he be dead and gone, 
Yet lives he lastingly. 

Those bells that called him so: 
" Tui-n again Whittington," 

Call you him back no more, 
To live so in London. 






To the Tune of " Essex's good night." 

Froji the same collection as the preceding ballad. The story 
of Evil May Day is one of great note in the annals of London, 
and is one in which the apprentices played a chief but unhappy 
part. The events which gave rise to this calamitous occurrence 
happened in the early part of 1517 ; and the first outbreak was 
on May-day of the same j-ear. The story, as related in the ballad, 
is very much exaggerated. The following more correct account 
of it is taken from Mackay's " History of London," p. 203 to 212. 

" The first of May, 1517, is a remarkable day in the annals of 
London, and has been called E^il May day, on account of the 
calamities which it occasioned. For some time previous there 
had existed a growing jealousy in the city towards the foreigners 
and non-freemen who were permitted to exercise their craft 
within the walls, to the detriment of the freemen, whose profits 
were in consequence much reduced. One John Lincoln, a broker, 
was loud in his complaints, and made himself very conspicuous 
in his enmity to the foreign artisans. He had influence enough 
mth a popular preacher, named Bell, to induce him to make 
allusions in his sermons to the injustice of suffering these 
foreigners to take the bread out of the mouths of native-bom 
Englishmen. The preacher entered into the cause with so much 
zeal, and expatiated v^dth so much eloquence on the hardships of 
the oppressed freemen, that the whole city was in a ferment. 
This was about the middle of April ; and day after day it was 
whispered abroad, among the people, that on May-day some 
dreadful event would take place. It was impossible to trace this 
dark and menacing riunour to its source — nobody knew what 
was to happen, but every one was prepared for something extra- 

" While the popular mind was in this state of excitement, the 
yoimg men of the city insulted and abused every foreigner they 
passed. Three young men, named Studley, Stevenson, and 


Betts, made themselves particularly consijicuous ; and having, on 
the 28th of April, met five or six foreign traders in Cheapside, 
they abused and beat them in so shamefid a manner, that the 
lord mayor deemed it necessary to interfere, and sent out a strong 
party of the city-watch to capture the offenders, who were im- 
mediately conveyed, bound hand and foot, to the Compter. 

" The indignation of the people against the foreigners now 
began to assume a more threatening complexion, and the vague 
rumours of the preceding fortnight hourly acquired a fearful con- 
sistency ; and it was openly asserted, that on May-day evening every 
foreigner in London woidd be put to the sword. This rumour 
ha\ing reached the ears of Cardinal Wolsey, he sent in all haste 
for the lord mayor, the sheriffs, and the principal aldermen, and 
told them what he had heard, and that he shoidd hold them 
responsible for the tranquillity of the city. This was on the 
30th of April, or May-day eve ; and as soon as the lord mayor 
was dismissed from the presence of the cardinal, he returned to 
the city, and immediately summoned a common-hall, to adopt 
such measures as shoidd appear advisable for the preservation of 
the peace. The Guildhall was in less than an hour crowded by 
the aldermen and common councilmen, all filled with the most 
intense anxiety as to the fearful rumours that were abroad. 

" After a long debate, it was agreed that orders should be im- 
mediately issued to every householder in the city, calling upon 
him to shut up his house, and keep his children, apprentices, and 
servants, strictly within doors, from nine o'clock that night until 
nine on the following morning. It was nearly eight o'clock 
before they agreed to this resolution, and it was necessary that 
they should acquaint Cardinal Wolsey of what the}' had resolved, 
as they coidd do nothing without his approbation. The recorder 
was, in consequence, charged to proceed with the utmost haste 
to Westminster, and inform the cardinal. The latter signified 
his approval of this precautionary measure, and the recorder 
rode back again into the city, where he an-ived at half-past eight. 
There now remained but the short space of half an hour to pro- 
claim this order in every part of the city ; the consequence was, 
that the clock struck nine before the proclamation had been read 
in more than two or three places. 

" An unfortunate, and certainly unpremeditated circumstance, 
rendered all these precautions vain, and let loose the flood of 


angry passions. Alderman Sir John Mumlie, ha\ingjust left the 
common-hall, was passing through the Cheap, on his way home, 
when he saw two apprentices plajang at buckler in the middle 
of the street. It was a few minutes past nine o'clock ; and, 
without staying to inquire whether the order had yet been pub- 
lished in that quarter, he threatened to send the two young 
men to the Compter. The over-zealous alderman met with an 
insolent answer from the youths, who had no idea of lea\ing off 
their sport ; and this having roused his ire, he seized hold of 
one of them, with the intention of dragging him off to prison. 
This unfortimate act was the signal for the commencement of 
the riot. Several other apprentices, who were looking on, no 
sooner saw this violence offered to their companion, than they 
raised the customary cry of ' Prentices ! prentices ! — Clubs ! 
clubs !' In less than a minute the shout was responded to by a 
boisterous crowd of the young men of the city, armed vnth clubs, 
bills, staves, and weapons of every description. They rescued 
the apprentice from the gTasp of the alderman, who had great 
difficulty in escaping with his life from the hands of his enraged 

" The riot had now begun in earnest, and the apprentices were 
joined by upwards of seven hundred watermen, porters, and idle 
fellows, from all parts of the city. Another mob, with a similar 
purpose, collected about the same time in St. Paul's Churchyard, 
and the two having effected a junction, and being increased every 
minute by fresh bands of riotous apprentices from all parts of 
the town, commenced the work of destruction. Their first ob- 
ject was the release of Stevenson, Studley, and Betts, who had 
been committed to Newgate two days before, and they proceeded 
in that direction, bearing down all opposition, till they arrived 
at the gates of the prison. The gaolers were summoned to 
deliver up their captives ; and, this being refused, the mob in- 
stantly broke open the doors, and brought them out in triumph. 

" Their next feat was to force open the Compter, set all the 
prisoners loose, and then plunder the building, of which they left 
nothing but the bare walls standing. Hanng thus recruited 
their ranks by the addition of men who were not likely to be 
very scrupulous as to what they attempted, they rushed on, hal- 
looing and shouting, to LeadenhaU Street, where several of the 
foreigners resided, pillaging a house in St. Martin's-le-Grand in 


their way, because somebody from a window had cried out 
'Down with the 'prentices! down with the rioters!' The 
strangers, who had heard, in common with every other inhabitant 
of the city, the dark and sinister rumours of the preceding week, 
had taken care of their own safety, and transported themselves 
and famihes to places of security, \nthout the walls — to IsKngton, 
Hackney, and other villages. The mob, thus baulked of their 
victims, vented their rage upon their dwellings, and pillaged 
every house where foreign traders or artisans, non- freemen, were 
known to reside, levelling to the ground such of them as were not 
strong enough to resist their furious onset. This scene of plunder 
and confusion continued Vv ithout intermission until three o'clock in 
the morning, when the rioters, exhausted with their own violence, 
separated gradually, and returned to their homes. 

" In the meantime the government had not been idle, and Car- 
dinal Wolsey, on the first intimation of the real state of affiiirs 
in the city, had dispatched a message, with orders to the lieu- 
tenant of the Tower to commence a discharge of artillery upon 
the city. Several shots were fired, but as they only damaged 
the houses, without producing the sUghtest effect upon the mob, 
the assault from this quarter was discontinued, and the Earls of 
Shrewsbury and Surrey were ordered to enter the city at the 
head of a strong body of troops. They did not, however, effect 
an entrance, until the rioters had begiin to disperse of their own 
accord, when they aided the Lord Mayor in capturing nearly 
three hundred of the most violent, including some women, who 
had excited the rest, 

"Next morning one of the aldermen recalled to mind the 
seditious sermons of Dr. Bell, and orders were immediately 
given for his apprehension, and that of John Lincoln, the broker, 
who had originally prevailed upon him to i^reach to the people 
as he had done. They were both sent to the Tower, and the 
following day was fixed for their trial, along with the other 
rioters. The trial, owing to the great number of prisoners, was 
afterwards fixed for the fourth of May, when the Duke of Nor- 
folk and the Earl of Surrey were sent, on the part of the lung, 
to aid the lord mayor. The former entered the city with a force 
of upwards of one thousand men, under whose escort the whole 
of the prisoners were led at once through the streets from New- 
gate to the Guildhall. The court was set, and John Lincoln, 


Betts, Stiidley, and ten others, were found guilty, and ordered to 
be taken next day to the place of exeention, and to be hanged, 
dra'svn, and quartered. The remaining rioters, whose trial had 
not been proceeded with, were remanded to prison until a future 

" The king's commissioners were determined on this occasion 
to strike terror, and orders were given that ten gallows should 
be erected during the night in different parts of the city. One 
was placed before Newgate, another at the Compter, and the 
remaining eight at Aldgate, Bishopsgate, St. i\Iartin's-le-Grand, 
Mark Lane, Leadenhall Street, Gracechurch Street, Aldersgate 
Street, and Smithfield. Early in the morning the thirteen un- 
fortunate men were brought to the place of execution ; and John 
Lincoln, in the presence of a large body of soldiers to keep the 
crowd in awe, was first hanged. 

" The spectators were remarkably silent, and looked upon each 
other with lowering eyes, to think of the undue severity which 
was about to deprive so many men of life — ^for a rumour was 
spread abroad that evei'y one of the three hundred would surely 
be hanged. The luckless companions of Lincoln, ha^^ing been 
forced to behold his death-struggles for a time, were then led off 
to other quarters of the city, with the ropes about their necks, 
followed by the array of the soldiery, and the immense but silent 
mob. They had just an-ived at the next gallows, when a horse- 
man, covered with dust, rode rapitUy through the mass, which 
opened for him as he came. Every eye was turned towards him — 
a fearfid stUlness reig-ned, and the multitude ahnost held its 
breath, in anxiety to discover the message of the hard-i-iding 
horseman. Wiping the perspiration from his forehead with one 
hand, he presented a document to the sheriffs with the other. 
It was a reprieve for the remaining culprits. An overpowering 
shout of ' God save the King' resounded through the air as soon 
as the multitude were made acquainted with it, and the prisoners 
were then led back to Newgate. 

" This act of grace was not a pardon, but only a reprieve tiU 
the king's pleasm-e should be known, and the lord mayor and 
aldermen, who had heard that the king was highly incensed with 
them, resolved to wait upon Henry, who was then at Green\^T[ch, 
and exculpate themselves from all blame. The Idng did not 
receive them so graciously as they had expected ; but told them 


in angry terms, that such men as they ought not to be entrusted 
with the government of a great city ; — that they had been guilty 
of gross negligence at the very least, and for all that he yet knew 
to the contrary, might have connived at the riot, for their own 
dishonest puii^oses. "With this he dismissed them, adding that 
if he had anything fiu'ther to communicate to them upon the 
matter, they should hear it from the mouth of the Lord Chan- 
cellor Wolsey. 

" The lord mayor and his fellows left the royal presence in no 
en\ iable frame of mind, and remained for two days in a state of 
anxiety as to the ultimate intentions of the king. At the end of 
that time a note was received from Cardinal Wolsey, to the effect 
that they should present themselves with befitting humility, and 
with the whole of their prisoners, before the king, at Westmin- 
ster Hall, on the 22nd of Ma}-. Accordingly, the lord mayor, 
the recorder, the sheriffs, and many of the aldermen and mem- 
bers of the common-council appeared before the king. They 
were all dressed in mourning robes, in token of contrition for 
their negligence. The king sate on the throne at the upper end 
of Westminster Hall, surrounded b}' Cardinal Wolsey, the Dukes 
of Norfolk and Suffolk, the Earls of Surrey, Shrewsbury and 
Essex, and others of the principal officers of state. After the 
lord mayor and the other citj^-functionaries had made their 
obeisance to the king, orders were issued for the introduction of 
the prisoners, who, to the number of two hundred and seventy- 
eight, including eleven women, were marched into the hall, tied 
together in couples, dressed only in their long shirts, and with 
halters about their necl;s. 

" The Lord Chancellor Wolsey then addressed the magisti-ates 
in the king's name, and rebuked them in severe terms for their 
negligence in not taking proper precautions to preserve the peace 
of the city, and the lives and property of strangers who had 
taken up their abode within their walls in the fullest reliance 
that they would be protected by the right feeling of the magis- 
tracy, as well as by the law. The lord mayor and his company 
bowed their heads in submission, and made no reply. Cardinal 
Wolsey then turned from them to the long array of unfortunate 
prisoners, and asked them what they coidd plead in extenuation 
of their offence, and wherefore they should not one and all be 
sentenced to death? The degi-aded and miserable trim of the 


culprits, and the sobs and cries for mercy by which alone they 
answered the interrogatory of the chancellor, somewhat softened 
the heart of Henry ; some of the nobility present even shed 
tears, and implored the king to pardon the unhappy culprits. 
After a little solicitation, Henry allowed himself to be persuaded, 
and ha\-ing listened to a severe admonition from the cardinal as 
to their future conduct, they were ordered to be discharged. 
The same night the ten gallows, the shame and dread of the 
city, were removed amid the general rejoicings of the inhabit- 
ants, upon whose mind the clemency of the king produced a 
more salutary effect than aU the rigour he could have employed." 

Peruse the stories of this land, 

And with advisement mark the same, 
And you shall justly understand { ^ 

How 111 May-Day first got the name. 
For when King Henry th' Eighth did reign, 

And rul'd our famous kingdom here, 
His royal queen he had from Spain, 

With whom he liv'd full many a year. 

Queen Catharine nam'd, as stories tell, 

Sometime his elder bi'other's wife ; 
By which unlawful marriage fell 

An endless trouble during life. 
But such kind love he still conceiv'd 

Of his fair queen, ana* of her friends, 
Which being by Spain and France perceiv'd. 

Their journey's fast for England's bends. 

And with good leave were suffered 
Within our kingdom here to stay : 


Which multitude made victuals dear, 
And all things else from day to day. 

For strangers then did so increase, 
By reason of King Henry's queen, 

And privileg'd in many a place 
To dwell, as was in London seen. 

Poor tradesmen had small dealing then, 

And who but strangers bore the bell ? 
Which was a grief to English-men, 

To see them here in London dwell : 
Wherefore (God wot) upon May Eve, 

As prentices on Maying went, 
Who made the magistrates believe 

At all to have no other intent. 

But such a May-game it was known. 

As like in London never were ; 
For by the same full many a one. 

With loss of life did pay fuU dear : 
For thousands came with Bilboe blade. 

As with an army they would meet. 
And such a bloody slaughter made 

Of foreign strangers in the street. 

That aU the channels ran with blood. 
In every street where they remain'd ; 

Yea, every one in danger stood, 
That any of their part maintain'd ; 


The rich, the poor, the old, the young. 
Beyond the seas tho' born and bred, 

By prentices they suifer'd wrong, 

When armed thus they gather'd head. 

Such multitudes together went, 

No warlike troops could them withstand, 
Nor yet by policy them prevent, 

What they by force thus took in hand: 
Till at the last King Henry's power 

This multitude encompass'd round, 
There with the strength of London's Tower 

They were by force suppress'd and bound. 

And hundi-eds hang'd by martial law. 

On sign posts at their masters' doors, 
By which the rest were kept in awe, 

And frighted from such loud uproars; 
And others which the fact repented, 

(Two thousand 'prentices at least) 
Were all unto the King presented, 

As mayor and magistrates thought best. 

With two and tAvo together tied, 

Through Temple-Bar and Strand they go. 
To Westminster there to be tried, 

With ropes about their necks also: 
But such a cry in every street, 

Till then was never heard or known, 
By mothers for their children sweet, 

Unhappily thus overthrown. c 2 


Whose bittei' moans and sad laments, 

Possess'd the coiu't with trembling fear; 
Whereat the queen herself relents, 

Tho' it concern'd her country dear; 
'NVliat if (quoth she) by Spanish blood 

Have London's stately streets been wet, 
Yet will I seek this country's good. 

And pardon for these young men get. 

Or else the world will speak of me. 

And say Queen Catharine was unkind, 
And judge me stiJl the cause to be 

These young men did their fortunes find. 
And so disrob'd from rich attires. 

With hairs hang'd down, she sadly hies. 
And of her gracious lord requires 

A boon, which hardly he denies. 

The lives (quoth she) of all the blooms 

Yet budding green, these youths, I crave; 
let them not have timeless tombs. 

For nature longer limits gave: 
In saying so, the pearled tears 

Fell trickling from her princely eyes; 
Whereat his gentle Queen he cheers, 

And says, stand up, sweet lady, rise. 

The lives of them I freely give. 
No means this kindness shall debar; 


Thou hast thy boon, and they may live 

To serve me in my Bullen* war. 
No sooner was this pardon given, 

But peals of joy rung through the hall, 
As tho' it thunder'd down from heaven 

The Queen's renown amongst them all. 

For which (kind Queen), with joyful heai't. 

She gave to them both thanks and praise, 
And so from them did gently part. 

And liv'd beloved all her days : 
And when King Henry stood in need 

Of trusty soldiers at command. 
These prentices prov'd men indeed. 

And fear'd no force of wai'like band. 

For at the siege of Tours, in France, 

They shew'd themselves brave Englishmen ; 
At Bullen, too, they did advance 

St. George's lusty standard then : 
Let Tourine, Tournay, and those towns 

That good King Henry nobly won, 
Tell London's prentices' renowns. 

And of the deeds by them there done. 

For Bl May-Day and Bl May-games, 
Perform'd in young and tender days. 



Can be no hindrance to their fames, 

Or stains of manhood any ways : 
And now it is ordain'd by law 

We see on May-Day's eve at night, 
To keep unruly youths in awe, 

By London's watch in armoui* bright. 

Still to prevent the like misdeed, 

^Vliich once thro' headstrong young men came ; 
And that 's the cause that I do read 

May-Day hath got so ill a name. 





To the Tuuo of " All you that love good fellows," &c. 

The tune of this ballad is to be found in ]\Ir. Chappell's " CoUection 
of National English Airs." The editor of the " Collection of 
Old Ballads, corrected from the most Ancient Copies Extant, 
with Introductions, Historical, Critical, or Hmnorous, London, 
1727," says this ballad relates " to a noble piece of chivalry per- 
formed in Queen Elizabeth's day, but I must acknowledge myself 
so ignorant that I cannot yet discover who this famous prentice 
was, nor yet any particular accoimt of the fact." The only 
celebrated apprentice in Queen Elizabeth's time, and who fi-om 
his after renown was of importance enough to have g^ven occa- 
sion to popular ballads, was Edward Osborn, apprentice to Sir 
William Hewitt, Lord Mayor of London, and cloth-worker, on 
London Bridge. Osborn, while at work, saw his master's 



daughter, then an infant, fall from the arms of a servant, who 
was standing at the window, into the Thames. He instantly 
sprang out of the window, and brought the chUd safely to the 
shore. As she grew up to womanhood she bestowed her love 
upon the apprentice, and afterwards married him, although the 
Earl of Shrewsbury was a suitor for her hand. Osborn himself 
became Lord Mayor of London, and was the founder of the 
present ducal family of Leeds. It is stated in the histories of 
London, that Osborn performed many valiant deeds, and was 
quite a popular hero in his day. It does not however appear 
that the present ballad, which is e^-idently fabidous, has any re- 
ference to him, — the only allusions tending to warrant the sup- 
position being, that both were from Cheshire and appi'enticed to 
masters who resided on London Bridge. There is a black-letter 
copy of this baUad in the collection in three volumes, folio, under 
the press-mark 643m, in the British Museum, of which the fol- 
lowing is a transcript. 

Of a worthy London prentice 

my purpose is to speak, 
And tell his brave adventures 

done for his country's sake ; 
Seek all the world about, 

and you shall hai'dly find 
A man in valour to exceed 

a prentice gallant mind. 

/ i^\ 

He was born in Cheshire, 

The chief of men was he, 
From thence brought up to London 

a prentice -boy to be. 
A merchant on the bridge 

did like his service so, 
That for three years his factor 

to Turkey he should go. 


And in that famous countiy 

a yeai" he had not been, 
Ere he by tilt maintained 

the honour of his queen : 
Elizabeth the princess 

he nobly did make known, 
To be the Phenix of the world, 

And none but she alone. 

In armour richly gilded, 

well-mounted on a steed, 
One score of knights most hardy, 

one day he made to bleed : 
And brought them all to ground, 

who proudly did deny 
Elizabeth to be the pearl 

of princely majesty. 

The king of that same country 

thereat began to frown. 
And will'd his son, there present 

to pull this youngster down ; 
Who at his father's words 

these boasting speeches said : 
" Thou ai't a traytor, English boy, 

and hast the traytor plaid." 

" I am no boy nor traytor, 

thy speeches I defie. 
For which I'll be revenged 

upon thee by and by : 


A London prentice still 

shall prove as good a man 
As any of your Turkish knights, 

do all the best you can." 

And there withal he gave him 

a box upon the ear, 
W^iich broke his neck asunder, 

as plainly doth appear. 
" Now know, proud Turk," quoth he, 

" I am no English boy. 
That can with one small box o' th' eai* 

the prince of Turks destroy." 

When the as king perceived 

liis son so strangely slain, 
His soul was soi'e afflicted 

with more than mortal pain : 
And in revenge thereof, 

he swore that he should dye 
The cruel'st death that ever man 

beheld with mortal eye. 

Two lyons were prepared 

this prentice to devour. 
Near famish'd-up with hunger 

ten days within the tower, 
To make them far more fierce 

and eager of their pray, 
To glut themselves with human gore, 

upon this di-eadful day. 


The appointed time of torment 

at length grew neai* at hand, 
Where all the noble ladies 

and barons of the land, 
Attended on the king, 

to see this prentice slain, 
And buried in the hungry maws 

of these fierce lyons twain. 

Then in his shirt of cambrick, 

with silk most richly wrought, 
This worthy London prentice 

was from the prison brought, 
And to the lyons given 

to stanch their hvmger great, 
Which had not eat in ten days' space 

not one small bit of meat. 

! But God, that knows all secrets, 

I the matter so contriv'd, 

That by this young man's valour 

they were of life depriv'd; 
For being faint for food, 

they scarcely could withstand 
The noble force and fortitude 
and courage of his hand: 

For when the hungry lyons 
had cast him in their eyes, 

The elements did thunder 

with the eccho of their cries; 


And running all amain 

his body to devour, 
Into their throats he thrust his arms, 

with all his might and power; 


From thence by manly valour 

their hearts he tore in sunder, 
And at the king he threw them, 

to all the people's wonder. 
" This have I done," quoth he, 

" for lovely England's sake, 
And for my country's maiden queen 

much more will undertake." 

But when the king perceived 

his wrothful lyons' hearts. 
Afflicted with great terrour, 

his rigor soon reverst: 
And turned all his hate 

into remorse and love, 
And said : " It is some angel 

sent down from heaven above." 

"^^ eyi- ■■■- 

" No, no, I am no angel," 

the courteous young man said, 
" But born in famous England, 

where God's word is obey'd : 
Assisted by the heavens, 

who did me thus befriend. 
Or else they had most cruelly 

brought here my life to end." 


The king in heart amazed, 

lift up his eyes to heaven, 
And for his foul offences 

did crave to be forgiven; 
Believing that no land 

like England may be seen, 
No people better governed 

by vertue of a queen. 

So taking up this young man, 

he pardon'd him his life, 
And gave his daughter to him 

to be his vredded wife; 
AVliere then they did remain, 

and live in quiet peace. 
In spending of their happy days 

in joy and love's encrease. 

London : Printed by and for W. S. and sold by the Booksellers 
of Pye Corner and London Bridge. 


This satirical ballad, which is extracted from " Wit and Drol- 
lery, 1656," and which the Editor has not been able to find in 
any earlier collection, appears, from the allusions it contains, to 
have been written on the plague of 1602-1603. The mention 
made in the third stanza of the Spanish armada, shows that that 



event was still comparatively recent ; and the words in the eighth 
stanza, " in first of reigne," fix its period more clearly as the 
first of James I, when this gi-eat plague broke out. It raged 
for nearly a year, and carried off 30,578 persons, of whom 3,090 
died in one week. The king's public entry into London, and the 
city rejoicings, were postponed from the 9th November, 1603, to 
the 15th of JMarch following, when the plague having abated, 
the king, queen, and Prince Henry, rode from the Tower of 
London through the city, which on that occasion was decorated 
with more than usual magnificence. 

If you '1 but hear me I shall tell 
A sad mischance that late befell, 

for which the dayes of old, 
In all new almanacks must moLxrne, 
And babes that never must be borne 

shall weep to hear it told. 


For loe the sport of that great day, 
In which the Maior hath leave to play, 

and with him all the town ; 
His flag and drum, and fife released, 
And he forbad to goe a feast- 
ing in his scarlet gown. 

/• .:i 



No fife must on the Thames be seen, 

To fright the maior, and please the queen, 

nor any wilde-fire tost ; 
Though he suppose the fleet that late 
Invaded us in eighty-eight, 

ore-matcht by his gaily foist. 


The pageants, and the painted cost 
Bestowed on them, are all quite lost, 

for now he must not ride ; 
Nor shall they hear the players tale, 
AVlio mounted on some mighty whale, 

swims with him tlu-ough Cheap-side. 

Guildhall noAv must not entertaine 

The maior, who there would feast his brain 

Avith white broth and with hen ; 
Nor shall the fencers act their piggs 
Before the hinch-boyes, which are giggs 

whipt out with all the men. 

Nor must he goe in state to sweare. 
As he was wont, at Westminster, 

no trumpet's at the hall; 
Their clamorous voices there would stretch, 
As if the lawyers they would teach 

in their owne courts to bawl. 

But what in sooth is pitty most, 
Is for the daughters they have lost, 

all joyes for which they pray; 
Which scatter palmes on their cheeks, 
AVliich they had prim'd at least three weeks 

before, against the day. 

And 'mongst themselves they much complain, 
That this lord maior in first of reigne 
should doe them so much wrong. 



As to surpresse by message sad, 
The feast for which they all have had 

theii" march-pane dream so long. 

Thus for their beauteous sakes have 1 
Described the dayes large history, 

'tis true, although not witty; 
Which is deny'd, for I'de be loth 
To cut my coat above my cloath, — 

my subject is the city. 


To a pleasant new Tune. 

The following humorous list of taverns in London, has been 
transcribed from a broadside in the British Museum. It is also 
to be found in Heywood's " Eape of Lucrece." A portion of it, 
with some variations, is also inserted, under the title of the " Ta- 
vern Song," in the third edition of " Wit and Mirth, an Antidote 
against Melancholy. London, 1682." 

Through the Royal Exchange as I walked, 
where gallants in sattin did shine ; 

At midst of the day they parted away 
at several places to dine. 

The gentry went to the King's Head, 

the nobles unto the Crown ; 
The knights unto the Golden Fleece, 

and the plowman to the Clown. 



The clergy Avill dine at the Miter, 

the vintners at the Three Tuns; 
The usurers to the Devil will go, 

and the fryers unto the Nuns. 

The ladies will dine at the Feathers, 

the Globe no captain will scorn; 
The huntsman will go to the Grey -hound below, 

and some townsmen to the Horn. 

The plummer will dine at the Fountain, 

the cooks at the Holy Lamb; 
The di'unkards at noon to the Man in the Moon, 

and the cuckolds to the Earn. 

The rovers will dine at the Lyon, 

the watermen at the Old Swan; 
The bawds wiU to the Negro go, 

and the whores to the Naked Man. 

The keepers will to the Wliite Hart, 

the marriners unto the Ship; 
The beggars they must take their way 

to the Eg-shell and the A^Hiip. 

The ferriers wiU to the Horse, 

the blacksmith unto the Lock ; 
The butchers to the Bull will go, 

and the carmen to Bridewell-Dock. 


The fishmong^ers unto the Dolphin, 

the bakers to the Cheat-Loaf ; 
The turners unto the Table will go, 

where they may merrily quaff. 

The taylor will dine at the Sheers, 

the shoo-makers will to the Boot; 
The Welshmen they will take their way, 

and dine at the sign of the Goat. 

Tlie hosiers will dine at the Leg, 

and drapers at the sign of the Brush; 
The tletchers to Robin Hood will go, 

and the spendthrift to Beggar's Bush. 

The pewterers to the Quart Pot, 

the coopers will dine at the Hoop; 
The coblers to the Last will go, 

and the bargemen to the Scooj). 

The carpenters Avill dine at the Axe, 

the colliers will dine at the Sack; 
Your fruiterer he to the Cherry-tree, — 

good fellows no liquor will lack. 

The goldsmiths to the Three Cups, 

their money they count as dross; 
Your puritan to the Pewter Can, 

and your papists to the Cross. ^ 


The weavers will dine at the Shuttle, 

the glovers will into the Glove; 
The maidens all to the Maidenhead, 

and true lovers unto the Dove. 

The sadlers will dine at the Saddle, 
the painters to the Green Dragon; 

The Dutchman will go to the sign of the Vrow, 
where each man may drink his flagon. 

The chandlers will dine at the Scales, 
the salters at the sign of the Bag; 

The porters take pain at the Labour-in-vain, 
and the horse-courser to the White Nag. 

Thus every man in his humour, 

from the north unto the south; 
But he that hath no money in his purse, 

may dine at the sign of the Mouth. 

The swaggerers wiU dine at the Fencers ; 

but those that have lost their wits, 
With Bedlam Tom let there be their home, 

and the Drum the drummers best hits. 

The cheater will dine at the Chequer, 
the pick -pocket at the Blind Ale-house; 

Till taken and tride, up Holborn they ride, 
and make their end at the gallows. 

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, and J. Clarke. 



An apology may be necessary for the reproduction ln-re of a 
ballad so well known as " George Barnwell ;" and tlie only 
apology that can be offered is, that a collection relating to London 
and London Prentices would be incomplete without it. In the 
introduction given to it in Percy's Reliques, the bishop states 
that this tragical ballad seems to relate to a real fact, but when 
it happened he had not l)een able to discover. No further light 
has since been thrown upon the matter. The title of the ballad, 
as taken by Percy from the Ashmole Collection, at Oxford, is 
" An excellent Ballad of George Barnwell, an Apprentice of 
London, who thrice robbed his master, and Murdered his Uncle, 
at Ludlow. To the Tune of ' The IMcrchant.' " The well-known 
play of " George Barnwell," written by Lillo, and produced 
by him in or shortl}' prior to 1730, was until very recently 
annually brought forward on the metropolitan boards at holiday 
time, as an example to the idle youths that then Hocked to the 
theatres ; but it now seems to be discarded altogether, and bids 
fair to become obsolete. It is said of a recent worthy chamber- 
lain of the city, that he never failed when an apprentice was 
bound before him, to relate the sad story of George Barnwell, 
and quote some lines of the ballad, as a warning to him. 


All youth of fair England 

Tliat dwell both far and near, 
Regard my story that I tell, 

And to my song give ear. 

A London lad I was, 

A merchant's prentice bound ; 
My name George Barnwell ; that did spend 

My master many a jiound, 



Take heed of harlots then, 
And their enticing trains ; 

For by that means I have been brought 
To hang alive in chains. 

As I, upon a day, 

Was walking through the street 
About my master's business, 

A wanton I did meet. 

A gallant dainty dame, 
And sumptuous in attire ; 

With smiling look she greeted me. 
And did my name require. 

Which when I had declar'd, 

She gave me then a kiss, 
And said, if I would come to her, 

I should have more than this. 

Fair mistress, then quoth I, 

If I the place may know, 
This evening I wiU be with you, 

For I abroad must go, 

To gather monies in. 

That are my master's due : 

And ere that I do home return, 
I'll come and visit you. 


Good Barnwell, then quoth she, 

Do thou to Shoi'editch come. 
And ask for Mrs. Millwood's house, 

Next door unto the Gun. 

And trust me on my trutli. 

If thou keep touch with me, 
My dearest friend, as my own heart 

Thou shalt right welcome be. 

Thus parted we in peace. 

And home I passed i-ight; 
Then went abroad, and gathered in. 

By six o'clock at night, 

An hmidred pound and one: 

With bag under my arm 
I went to Mrs. Millwood's house. 

And thought on little harm ; 

And knocking at the door, 

Straightway herself came down ; 
Rustling in most brave attire. 

With hood and silken gown. 

Wlio, tlu-ough her beauty bright. 

So gloriously did shine, 
That she amaz'd my dazzling eyes, 

She seemed so divine. 


She took me by the hand, 

And with a modest grace 
Welcome, sweet Barnwell, then quoth she, 

Unto this homely place. 

And since I have thee found 

As good as thy word to be : 
A homely supper, ere we part. 

Thou shalt take here with me. 

pardon me, quoth I, 

Fair mistress, I you pray ; 
For why, out of my master's house, 
So long I dare not stay. 

Alas, good sir, she said. 

Are you so strictly ty'd. 
You may not with your dearest friend 

One hour or two abide ? 

Faith, then the case is hard ; 
■ If it be so, quoth she, 

1 would I were a prentice bound, 

To live along with thee : 

Therefore, my dearest George, 

List well what I shall say. 
And do not blame a woman much, 

Her fancy to bewray. 


Let not affection's force 

Be counted lewd desire ; 
Nor think it not immodesty, 

I should thy love require. 

With that she tui-n'd aside, 

And with a blushing red, 
A moui'nful motion she bewray'd 

By hanging down her head. 

A handkercliief she had 

All wrought with silk and gold : 
Which she to stay her trickling tears 

Before her eyes did hold. 

This thing unto my sight 

Was wondrous rare and strange ; 

And in my soul and inward thought 
It wrought a sudden change : 

That I so hardy grew, 

To take her by the hand : 
Saying, Sweet mistress, why do you 

So dull and pensive stand ? 

Call me no mistress now. 

But Sarah, thy true friend, 
Thy servant, MiUwood, honouring thee, 

Until her life hath end. 


It' thou wouldst here alleclge, 
Thou art in years a boy; 

So was Adonis, yet was he 
Fair Venus' only joy. 

Thus I, who ne'er before 
Of woman found such grace, 

But seeing now so fair a dame 
Give me a kind embrace, 

1 supt with her that night, 
With joys that did abound ; 

And for the same paid presently. 
In Money twice three pound, 

An hundred kisses then, 
For my farewel she gave ; 

Crying, Hweet Barnwell, when shall I 
Again thy company have ? 

O stay not hence too long, 

Sweet George, have me in mind. 

Her words bewitcht my childishness, 
She uttered them so kind : 

So that I made a vow, 

Next Sunday without fail. 

With my sweet Sarah once again 
To tell some pleasant tale. 


When she heai'd me say so, 

The tears fell from her eye ; 
O George, quoth she, if thou dost fail, 

Thy Sarah sure will dye. 

Though long, yet loe I at last, 

The appointed day was come, 
That I must Avith my Sarah meet ; 

Having a mighty sum 

Of money in my hand,* 

Unto her house went I, 
Whereas my love upon her bed 

In saddest sort did lye. 

What ails my heart's delight, 

My Sarah dear ? quoth 1 ; 
Let not my love lament and grieve. 

Nor sighing pine, and dye. 

But tell me, dearest friend, 

Wliat may thy woes amend, 
And thou shalt lack no means of help, 

Though forty pound I spend. 

* The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c. shows 
this narrative to have been penned before the civil wars: the 
strict observance of the Sabbath was owing to change of manners 
at that period. — Percy. 


With that she tui'n'd her head, 

And sickly thus did say, 
Oh me, sweet George, my grief is great. 

Ten pound I have to pay 

Unto a cruel wretch ; 

And God he knows, quoth she, 
I have it not. Tush, i-ise, I said. 

And take it here of me. 

Ten pounds, nor ten times ten, 
Shall make my love decay, 

Then from my bag into her lap, 
I cast ten pound straightway. 

All blithe and pleasant then. 

To banqueting we go; 
She proffered me to lye with her, 

And said it should be so. 

And after that same time, 

I gave her store of coyn. 
Yea, sometimes fifty pound at once, 

AU which I did purloyn. 

And thus I did pass on; 

Until my master then 
Did call to have his reckoning in 

Cast up among his men. 


The which when as I heard, 

I knew not what to say; 
For well I knew that I was out 

Two liundred pound that day. 

Then from my master straight 

I ran in secret sort; 
And unto Sarah Millwood there 

My case I did report. 

" But how she us'd this youth, 

In this his care and woe, 
And all a strumpet's wiley ways, 

The SECOND PART may show." 


Young Barnwell comes to thec^ 

Sweet Sarah, my delight; 
I am undone, unless thou stand 

My faithful friend this night. 

Our master to accompts 

Hath just occasion found; 
And I am caught behind the hand 

Above two hundred pound. 

And now his wrath to 'scape. 

My love, I fly to thee, 
Hoping some time I may reniaine 

In safety here with thee. 


With that she knit her brows, 

And looking all aquoy, 
Quoth she, "Wliat should I have to do 

With any prentice boy? 

And seeing that you have purloyn'd 
Your master's goods away, 

The case is bad, and therefore here 
You shall no longer stay. 

WHiy, dear, thou know'st, I said, 
How all which I could get, 

I gave it, and did spend it all 
Upon thee every whit. 

Quoth she, Thou ai't a knave, 
To charge me in this sort, 

Being a woman of credit fair, 
And known of good report. 

Therefore I tell thee flat, 
Be packing with good speed, 

I do defie thee from my heart. 
And scorn thy filthy deed. 

Is this the friendship, that 

You did to nie protest? 
Is this the great affection, which 

You so to me exprest? 


Now fie on subtle shrews! 

The best is, I may speed 
To get a lodging any wliei'e 

For money in my need. 

False woman, now farewell. 

Whilst twenty pound doth last, 
My anchor in some other haven 

With freedom I will cast. 

Wlien she perceiv'd by this, 

I had store of money there, 
Stay, George, quoth she, thou art too quick: 

Wliy, man, I did but jeer. 

Dost think for all my speech, 

That I would let thee go? 
Faith no, said she, my love to thee 

I wiss is more than so. 

You scorne a prentice boy, 

I heard you just now swear, 
AVlierefore I will not trouble you. 

Nay, George, hark in thine ear 

Thou shalt not go to-night. 

What chance soe'er befall; 
But man we'll have a bed for thee, 

Or else the devil take all. 




So I by wiles bewitcht, 

And snar'd with fancy still, 

Had then no power to get away, 
Or to withstand her will. 

For wine on wine I call'd, 
And cheer upon good cheer; 

And nothing in the world I thought 
For Sarah's love too dear. 

AVhilst in her company, 

I had such merriment ; 
AU, all too little I did think, 

That I upon her spent. 

A fig for cai'e and thought! 

AAHien all my gold is gone, 
In faith, my girl, we will have more, 

AAHioever I light upon. 

My father's ricli, why then 
Should I want store of gold? 

Nay with a father sure, quoth she, 
A son may weU make bold. 

I've a sister riclily wed, 

I'll rob her ere I'll want. 
Nay then, quoth Sarali, they may Avell 

Consider of you scant. 



Nay, I an uncle have: 

At Ludlow he doth dwell: 
He is a grazier, which in wealtli 

Doth all the rest excell. 

Ere I wiU live in lack. 

And have no coyn for thee; 
I'll rob his house, and murder him. 

Wliy should you not? quoth she: 

Was I a man, ere I 

Would live in poor estate; 
On fathei', friends, and all my kin, 

I would my talons grate. 

For without money, George, 

A man is but a beast: 
But bringing money, thou shalt be 

Always my welcome guest. 

For shouldst thou be pursued 

With twenty hues and ciyes, 
And with a warrant searched for 

With Argus' hundred eyes. 

Yet here thou shalt be safe; 

Such privy wayes there be, 
That if they sought an hundred years, 

They could not find out thee. 



And so carousing both 

Their pleasures to content : 

■George Barnwell had in little space 
His money whoUy spent. 


Which done, to Ludlow straight 

He did provide to go, 
To rob his wealthy uncle there; 

His minion would it so. 

And once he thought to take 

His father by the way. 
But that he fear'd his master had 

Took order for his stay. 

Unto his uncle then 

He rode with might and main, 
Wlio with a welcome and good cheer 

Did BarnweU entertain. 

One fortnight's space he stayed 

Until it chanced so, 
His uncle with his cattle did 

Unto a market 2:0. 

His kinsman rode with him, 
Wliere he did see right plain. 

Great store of money he had took: 
When coming home again, 


Sudden within a wood, 

He struck his uncle down, 
And beat his brains out of his head; 

So sore he crackt his crown. 

Then seizing fourscore pound. 

To London straight he hyed, 
And unto Sai'ah Millwood all 

The cruell fact descryed. 

Tush, 'tis no matter, George, 

So we the money have 
To have good cheer in jolly sort, 

And deck us fine and brave. 

Thus lived in filthy sort. 

Until their store was gone: 
When means to get them any more, 

I wis, poor George had none. 

Therefore in railing sort, 

She thrust him out of door: 
A^Hiich is the just reward of those. 

Who spend upon a whore. 

O! do me not disgrace 

In tliis my need, quoth he, 
She caU'd him thief and mm'derer ; — 

AVith all the spight might be, 



To the constable she sent, 

To have him apprelieuded: 
And shewed how far, in each degree. 

He had the laws offended. 

When Bai-nweU saw her cb-ift, 

To sea he got straightway; 
Where fear and sting of conscience 

Continixally on him lay. 

Unto the lord mayor then. 

He did a letter write; 
In which his own and Sarah's fault 

He did at large recite. 

Whereby she seized was, 

And then to Ludlow sent; 
"WTiere she was judg'd, condemn'd, and hang'd. 

For murder incontinent. 

There dyed this gallant quean, 

Such was her greatest gains: 
For murder in Polonia, 

Was BarnweU hang'd in chains. 

Lo ! here's the end of youth, 

That after harlots haunt; 
Who in the spoU of other men, 

About the streets do flaunt. 





To the Tune of " I waile in woe, I plunge in pain ; or, Labandola 

In the books of the Stationer's Company is the following entry : " [y ^ /,*- 

"7November,T576, licensed untohim(i.e.RichardJones) aballad, , ( •% L 

intituled 'A woeful Ballacl, made by Mr. George IMannyngton an ■^■*^ ^*^ 

Hour before he suRered at Cambridge CasteU,' to the Tune of --> ./-^ O 

' Labandola Shott,' and beginning ' I waile in woe, I plunge in 

paine.' " The following ballad, which is transcribed fi-om " Wit 

and Drollery," 1656, and which is published without a title, appears 

from the allusion to Mannington, to have been written at a time 

when the fate of that malefactor was still recent and fresh in the 

popular memory. The lines commencing the second stanza: 

" I cast my coat and cap away. 
And went in silt and satins gay," 

seem to refer to an order published in 1582, at the command of 
the queen. Elizabeth, being scandalized at the extravagance of 
dress indulged in by the citizens generally, and by the appren- 
tices in particular, sent a remonstrance to the Court of Common 
Council, commanding them to take care, under pain of her dis- 
pleasure, that the apprentices dressed themselves in a more sober 
and becoming manner. The court issued their orders accord- 
ingly ; and apprentices were commanded to wear a woollen coat 
and cap, and forbidden under any circiunstances, or upon &ny 
pretence whatever, to wear jewellery, or any silk or velvet 
apparel, or to carry any weapon of offence or defence. For the 
first transgression of this kind, the delinquent was to be punished 
at the discretion of his master ; for the second, he was to be pub- 
licly whipped in the hall of his company ; and for the third, he 
was not only to be whipped, but to serve six months longer than 
the term for which he was bound. The ballad relating to George 
Mannington may be seen in the " Gentleman's Magazine" for 
January 1781 ; and in Ritson's Collection of Ancient Songs and 
Ballads. In " Eastward Hoe," by Jonson, Chapman, and ilars- 
ton. Quicksilver, the apprentice, is introduced as a prisoner in 
the Counter, reading these verses, which he calls his " Repent- 

E 2 


ance." The tune of " Labandola Shott," although that of a 
"woful ballad," was, it appears, frequently danced to. SeeEitson's 
introduction to the " Lamentation of George Mannington," in his 
Ancient Songs and Ballads, vol. ii. p. 47. London, 1829. 


In Cheapside, famous for gold and plate, 

Quicksilver I did dwell of late; 

I had a master good and kinde, 

That would have wrought me to his minde. 

He bade me stiU work upon that, 

But, alas ! I wrought I know not what. 

He was a Touchstone, black but true, 

And told me still what would ensue; 

Yet, woe is me, I would not learne, 

I saw, alas! but could not discerne. 

I cast my coat and cap away, 
I went in silkes and sattins gay; 
False mettall of good manners I 
Did daily coyne unlawfully. 
I scorn'd my master, being drunke, 
I kept my gelding and my punke. 
And with a knight, Sir Flash by name, 
VJJio now is sorry for the same. 

StiU eastward hoe, was all my word, 
But westward I had no regard; 
Nor never thought what would come after, 
As did, alas, his youngest daughter. 


At last the black oxe trod on my foote, 
I saw then what belong'd unto't; 
Now cried I, Touch-stone, touch me still, 
And make me current by thy skill. 

O Mannington, thy stories show 

Thou cut'st a horse head off at a blow ; 

But I confesse I have not the force 

For to cut off the head of a horse. 

Yet I desire this grace to win, 

That I may cut off the horse-head of Sin, 

And leave his body in the dust 

Of Sinnes high way, and bogges of lust, 

AVTiereby I may take Vei'tue's purse; 

And live with her for better for worse. 

Farewell, Cheapside; farewell, sweet trade 
Of goldsmiths all, that never shall fade; 
Farewell, dear feUow prentices all. 
And be you warned by my faU: 
Shun usurer's bonds, and dice and drabs, 
Avoid them as you would French scabs; 
Seek not to goe beyond your tether. 
And cut your thongs unto joiu- lethei". 
So shall you tlirive by little and little. 
Scape Tyborne, Counters, and the Spittle. 




night; where he was taken by the watch, and sent 
TO the counter because he would not speak; and 
the next day brought before my lord mayor, where 
HIS pardon was begg'd by his loving daughter. 

To a pleasant new Tune, called " The Rant, Dal, derra, 

From a broadside in the British Museum. The tune of the 
Kant is to be found in " A Collection of National English Airs," 
by W. Chappell, F.S.A. 4to. 1840. 

I PRAY now attend to this ditty, 
a merry and frollicksome song, 

'Twas of a young spark through the city, 
by night he went ranting along, 

The Rant, Dal derra, rarra, &c. 

The constable happen'd to hear him, 
and call'd to his watch out of hand; 

They went forth and never did fear him, 
but presently bid him to stand. 

The Rant, &c. 

Come bring forth the lanthorn and candle. 
That streight we his person may seize; 

I hope we have power to handle 
such tui-bulent fellows as these. 

The Rant, &c. 



Sir, come before Mr. Constable, 

there to be examin'd, in course, 
Nay, if you refuse it, we're able 

to bring you before him by force. 
The Rant, &c. 

Friend, where have you been this late hour, 

ne'er baffle, but now tell me true; 
'Tis veiy well known I have power 

to punish such ranters as you, 
The Rant, &c. 

No person like him ever acted, 

his senses and reason is fled; 
I think that the fellow's distracted; — 

why han't you a tongue in your head? 
The Rant, &c. 

I'm the king's lieutenant, don't flout me, 

my power all persons will own; 
The watch are my nobles about me, 

this chair is a type of the throne. 
The Rant, &c. 

This touch of my office I'U lend him, 
my power o'er night he don't mind; 

Therefore to the Counter I'll send him, 
next morning a tongue he may find. 

The Rant, &c. 


The watchmen did streightways surround him, 
and him to the Counter they bring, 

And yt"t notwithstanding they found him 
resolved tliis ditty to sing, 

The Rant, &c. 

Come open, Turnkey of the prison. 

this ranter must with you remain, 
AVhen sleep has restored his reason, 

oiu- master ^vill call here again. 
The Rant. ^o. 

The keeper he said. Worthy Squire, 
you seem like a person well bred; 

Will you have a chamber and fire? 
or shall we provide you a bed? 

The Rant. &c. 

Come bring him a quart of canary. 

and pipes of tobacco jxlso; 
The gentleman seems to be merry. 

hell pay us before he doth go. 
The Rant. 8ic. 

The prisoners heard the oration, 

how he in his rant diil proceed. 
And therefore without disputation, 

they j\ll came for garnish with speed. 
The Rant, &c. 


And streight they laid huld of his bever, 
and told him he garnish should pay; 

The keeper he us'd his endeavour 
to pacifie them while next day. 

The Rant, 8fc. 

The constable that was offended, 
next day to the goal did repair, 

And being with servants attended, 

he brought him before the Lord Mayor. 

The Rant, &c. 

As I in my watch-house was sitting, 

this fellow a racket did keep; 
A humour which was much unfitting, 

he waken'd men out of their sleep. 
The Rant, &c. 

Said I, where is your habitation, 
I question'd this over and o'er; 

But he would give me no relation, 
but still he came ranting the more. 

The Rant, &c. 

My officers has he not rested, 

in this you must satisfie me; 
They to my Lord Mayor streight protested, 

no man had slept better than he. 
The Rant, &c. 


Do's such a strange humour attend you? 

will you by strange fancies be led? I 

Again to the Counter I'll send you, 

to cure the strange noise in your head. 
The Rant, &c. 


Then streightways came in my lord's daughter, * 

and begg'd that he might be set free; 
And said, Sir, I know that hereafter, 

you'll find this a wager to be. 
The Rant, &c. 

He streightways did grant her desire, 

and to her request he agrees, 
And did the young gallant require 

to pay down his officers fees. 
The Rant, &c. 

To pay which the gallant was ready, 

yet never a word did he say. 
But made a bow to the young lady, 

and then he went singing away, 
The Rant, &c. 

Licensed according to Order. 
Printed for P. Broolcsby, J. Deacon, J. Blare, J. Back. 





This song is new, perfect, and true, 

There's none can tliis deny ; 
For I am known, friend, to be one 

That scorn to tell a lie. 

To the Tune of " Old Simon the Iving." 
Licensed accordinsr to Order. 

From a broadside in the British Museum. The song and tune 
of " ( )ld Sir Simon the King, are reprinted in " A Collection of 
National English Airs," by W. Chappell, F.S.A. 4to. 1840. 

Now, gentlemen, be you all merry, "'*-' / '/ ^ 

I'll sing you the song of a want ; 
I'll make you as merry as may be, 

Tho' money begins to grow scant, 
A Woman without e'er a tongue 

She never can scold very loud; 
'Tis just such another great want 

Wlien the Fidler wants his crowd. 
Good people, I tell unto you, 

These lines are absolute new ; 
For I hate and despise the telling of lies, — 

This ditty is merry and true. 

A Ship that's without e'er a sail, 

May be di'iven the Lord knows whither; 
'Tis just such another sad want 

When the Shooe-maker wants his leather. 


A man tliat has got but one legg, 
Will make but a pitiful runner; 

And he that has no eyes in his head, 
Will make but a sorrowful Gunner. 

Good people, I tell, &c. 

A Doctor without any stomack 

Will make but a pitiful dinner; 
And he that has got no dinner to eat, 

Will quickly look thinner and thinner, 
A beU without e'er a clapper, 

Will make but a sorrowful sound; 
And he that has no land of his own, 

Blay work on another man's ground. 
Good people, I tell, &e. 

A Blacksmith without his bellows. 

He need to not rise very soon; 
And he that has no cloaths to put on, 

May lye in his bed tUl noon. 
An Innkeeper without any custom, 

Will never get store of wealth ; 
And if he has ne'er a sign to hang up, 

He may e'en go hang up himself. 
Good people, &c. 

A Mdler without any stones, 

He is but a son-owful soul; 
And if that he has no corn to grind, 

He need not stand taking of toll. 


The Taylor we know he is loath 

To take any cabbidge at all, *" 

If he has no silk, stuiF, or cloath, 

To do that good office withal. 
Good people, &c. 

A Woman without e'er a fault, 

She like a bright star will appear; 
But a Brewer w itliout any mault, 

Will make but pitiful beer. 
A man that has got but one shirt, 

When e'er it is wash'd for his hide, 
I hope it can't be no great hurt 

To lye in his bed till 'tis dry'd. 
Good people, &c. 

A Mountebank without his fools. 

And a ship-kennel turn'd out of place, yr^ Q'/'^-^ 

A Tinker without any tools, 

They are all in a sorrowful case. 
All know that a dish of good meat, 

It is the true stay of man's life; 
But he that has nothing to eat. 

He need not to draw out his knife. 
Good people, &c. 

A Pedlar without e'er a stock. 

It makes him look pittiful blcAv; 
A Shepherd without e'er a flock, 

Has little or nothing to do. 


A Farmer without any corn, 

He neither can give, sell, or lend; 

A Huntsman without e'er a horn, 

His whistle must stand his good friend. 

Good people, &c. 

A Plowman that has ne'er a plow, 

I think may live at his ease; 
A Dairy witliout e'er a cow, 

Will make but bad butter and cheese. 
A man that is pittiful poor. 

Has little or nothing to lose; 
And he that has never a foot. 

It saves him the buying of shooes. 
Good people, &c. 

A Warren without e'er a coney. 

Is bai-ren, and so much the worst;; 
And he that is quite without money. 

Can have no great need of a purse, 
I hope there is none in this place 

That is now displeas'd with this song; 
Come buy uji my ballads apace. 

And I'll pack up my awls and begone. 
Good people, I tell unto you, 

These lines are absolute new; 
For I hate and despise the telling of lies, 

This ditty is merry and true. 

London : Printed for P. Brooksby, at the " Goklen Ball," in 
Pyo Corner. 




To the Tune of " The Kambling Gierke." 
[From a broadside in the British Museum.] 

Come hither, my muse, if that thou be'st cold, f cJ / ^0 i' 

And warm thyself well with Promethean fire; 
Which when thou hast done, let me be bold 

In matter of moment thy aid to require. 
My mind is resolved to write on a theam. 

The which my expression I hope shall confirm; 
Those men that do come from all parts of the realm,-—- -aX^ 

I bid them all welcome to Michaelmas Term. 

The tradesmen of London, with long expectation 

Have lookt for the coming of this ha])py time; 
They are sick at heart of the tedious vexation, 

But now on a sudden they'll l)e in their prime. 
They think themselves happy, especially some. 

If Michaelmas rent and their dyet they earn; 
But now they are glad, for their harvest is come, — 

The country brings money to Michaelmas Term. 

The Innholders, Vintners, Victualers, and Cooks, ' 

Through want of imployment make grievus complaint ; 


In all this long season they were off o' th' hook, 
But now their Red Lettise they do new paint. 

Some set up new signes, or new florish the old, 
And mend their old houses, if they be infirm ; 

To venture their money they dai'e well be bold, 
In hope to regain it in Michaelmas Term. 

The Tapsters, Ostlers, and Chamberlains ale, 

Chiefly about Holborn, Fleet Street, and the Strand, 
Since Trinity term had takings but small, 

Wliich caus'd many of them to run beliind hand; 
But now they are jovial, and take heart a grace. 

And both nimble gestures and speeches they learn; 
Theu" gains now come tumbling in a great pace, — 

Long time they have wished for Michaelmas Term. 

Some atturnies, and some that solicite law cases, 

That at the vacation in the country plods. 
They, like to King Janus, can use double faces. 

And bribe to set neighbour with neighbour at odds; 
Now hither they come, with their bags fuU of law, 

But the profits they all to themselves do confirm; 
Although it be but for a trusse of rye straw. 

The case must be try'd at Michaelmas Term. 

The rambling Clerks, that for lodging and dyet 
Have rim on the ticket with Vitlers and Cooks, 

Besides now and then for some overplus royot 

Some of them liavc pawn'd their gowns and their books. 


O now they are frollick, and sing cai'e away, 

For country clients about them do swarm; 
Now all their old scores they'll be able to pay, — 

Their hands are so busy in Michaelmas Term. 

The three-peny ordinaries are so full throng'd, '-/ 

That there you can scarce get one bit of meat; 
Your countrymen proudly do scorn to be wrong'd, 

And yet their own bellies they basely will cheat. 
The lawyers' hands are stiU itching for fees. 

Which maizes the plain husbandman let out his farm, 
To come up to London to eat bread and cheese, 

Wliile lawyers eat rost meat in Michaelmas Term. 

The dainty fine girls that keep shop in the Change, j 

Against this quick season have been exercis'd, 

To fm-nish their coffers with fashions all strantre, — 1 

The finest and rarest that can be devis'd; i 

They keep their old ditty, — sir, what is't you lack? — 

Which country people ai'e greedy to learn: / 

The husband must carry the wife some new knack, / 

Or else he's not welcome from Michaelmas Term. 

The jovial Watennen trim up their botes. 

And to be more plyant in plying their fares. 
With strong beer and ale they do liquor their throats, 

For which they will wander to the ale-house by pairs; 
And, if the frost do not their labour prevent, 

Abundance of money they daily wiU earn, 
Which in the vacation will freely be spent, 

And then they will think upon Michaelmas Term. 


The feather-heel'd wenches that live by tlieir owne, 
Wlio long have been needy, foi* want of good training; 

For Avhen all the gallants are gone out o' th' town, 
O then these fine pinaces lack their due lading. 

Therefore the vocation they rue like the rest, 

♦' Because neither dyet nor cloaths they can earne; 

But now they're in hope well to feather their nest, — 
They looke for good doings in Michaelmas Term. 

Pick-pockets and Cheaters, with knights of the post, 

Doe long for the term-time, like honester men; 
Where concourse of jjeople is, they doe get most. 

With raking exploits, which they use now and then. 
And yet if they chance to be got in the nick, 

The Hangman next sessions will teach them a charm 
WiU cure their disease, be they never so sick; 

O then will they think upon Michaelmas Term. 

The court and the city, the country withaU, 

If you will behold a part of all three, 
Then come at this time to Westminster Hall, 

Wliere people from all parts assembled be: 
And thus I'll conclude, as at first I began. 

Experience all this for truth will confirm; 
I hope I have given distaste to no man, 

For I bid them all welcome to Michaelmas Term. 

Printed for F. Coles, J. W. T. Vcre, W. Gilbertson. 





These lines, which are transcribed from a broadside in the 
British Museum, have no date, but are probably of the year 
1643. At that time, and for some months previous, the appren- 
tices had taken a great part in public affairs : they had assisted 
to fortify London against the royal army; they had drawn up 
petitions to parliament several times, and besieged the doors of 
the house in going to present them. After the battle of Edge- 
hill, when the king retired to Oxford, the parliamentary army, 
imder the Earl of Essex, was recruited out of the apprentices of 
London, who were encouraged by an ordinance of parliament 
that delivered them from the authority of their masters, and 
commanded their masters to receive them upon their return, 
with a clause to indemnify the masters out of the public purse 
for any damage they might sustain by their absence. In 1643, 
the king made an effort to gain over the Londoners and the 
apprentices, and wrote a letter, addressed to the lord mayor, 
aldermen, and aU other well-affected citizens, with the view of 
eflecting a reconcihation. These verses appear to have been 
printed at Oxford at the time, to aid the efforts of the Icing, and 
produce an impression upon that powerful body, the apprentices. 
The " carnation coats" and " lobsters" alluded to, are the soldiers 
of the Earl of Essex : and the mention of the doings in Exeter 
and Cornwall, shows that we must fix the date of this production 
shortly after the victories of the Cornish royalists. The petition 
of the apprentices may be seen in the Harleian Miscellanj', 
vol. viii. page 593. 

Young meu, where are you now ; what, fast asleep? ■■'' / ^ 

What, in a dream? or do you keep 

Close to the fire-side, because 'tis cold? 

Or (as your masters say) must you be told 

Over and over? What are you blinde? 

Besotted quite, or do you feare the winde? 



Or have the gun-men phuig'd you into fears? 

Or are you frighted with their bandileers? 

Why gaze you thus? like men distracted, 

Looking at one another, and nothing acted : 

Crjang a lyon hirketh in the way: 

When as 'tis but a lobster, whom (men say) 

Turn him but o're and o're hell turn to you ; 

Then turn for shame, O sluggards, least you rue 

When 'tis too late; — be wise betimes, 

Me thinks the countries valour should ring chimes: 

Unless you stop your ears, you can't but hear 

How Exiter and Cornwal banish fear; 

They help for you to better your condition, 

They hazard all to fuMll your petition; 

Yet you won't help yourselves, I blush to see 

Such pettie places venture more then we. 

Then Prentices awake, awake for shame, 

Be faint no more, all cowai'dize disclaim; 

Disband feamality, let courage be your portion, 

In such a case, vaUour's the best devotion. 

Petitions will not do, fare means are slighted. 

You are compeU'd at least, much more invited 

To do the work yourselves; then since 'tis so. 

Shew yourselves men, about the business go: 

Time is a precious thing, forbear delay, 

Wliilst the sun shines, be sure to make your hay. 

Fear not carnation coats, they are but men, 

They'd rather eat then fight; not one in ten, 

But (like self-seeking rascalls) are so evil, 

For six-pence more they'd list unto the devil. 


Then blades revive, thus far I dare aspire, 
You may yourselves accomplish your desire; 
The day's your own, and such is your condition. 
Yourselves may quickly grant your own petition. 
Till these things come to pass, till this we see. 
Serve Jacob's prentiship, you shan't be free. 
Till men have noble hearts, till youths grow bold. 
Till men do one another's good uphold. 
Till valour springs, till courage doth increase, 
Till wrong have right, expect no settled peace: 
Here's arguments enough, if you be wise. 
Reduce your honour, though you lose your eyes. 
Uphold your trade, maintain the good old cause, 
Uncoat the lobsters, take away their clawes. 

Take this for all, I have no more to say, 
I am the guide to put you in the way: 
Here's the right path, hang him that goes astray. 

J.E. App;— 
Oxford : Printed for Carolus Adolphus. 





This ballad, which is of peculiar value to all who are interested 
in the topography of London, was, it would appear, first pub- 
lished at Edinburgh, in 1683, in a small duodecimo tract of 


twenty-four pages, and has been since (ven- incorrectly) printed in 
the first voUmie of the Harleian Miscellany. The local allusions 
are interesting at this distance of time, and the satire is of such 
a character as never to be out of date. The idea seems to have 
been suggested by Lydgate's ballad of " London Lackpeiuiy." 

I HAVE been quite through England wide 
With many a foint and weary stride, 
To see what people there abide 

that love me, 
Poor Robin Conscience is my name. 
Sore vexed with reproach and blame. 
For all wherever yet I came 

reprove me. 

Few now endure my presence here, 
I shall be banishd quite I fear, 
I am despised every where, 

and scorned, 
Yet is my fortune now and then 
To meet some good woman or man, 
Who have (when they my woes did scan) 

sore mourned. 

To think that conscience is despised, 
Wliich ought to be most higlily prized, 
This trick the devil hath devised 

to blind men, 
'Cause Conscience tells them of their ways, 
Which 01*6 so wicked now-a-days. 
They stop their ears to what he says; — 

unkind men! 


I first of all went to the court, 
Where lords and ladies did resort, 
My entertainment there was short; — 

cold welcome! 
As soon as e'er my name they heard. 
They ran away full sore afear'd. 
And thought some goblin had appear'd 

from hell come. 

" Conscience," quoth one, " begone with speed. 
The court few of thy name doth breed, 
We of thy presence have no need; — 

be walking; 
Thou tell'st us of our pride and lust. 
Which spite of thee we follow must. 
(So out of court was Conscience thrust) 

no talking. 

Thus banished from the court I went. 
To Westminster incontinent, 
Wliere I alas was sorely shent 

for coming, 
The lawyers did against me plead, 
" 'Twas no great matter," some there said, 
" If Conscience quite were knock'd in th' head; 

Then running 

From them I fled with winged haste; 
They did so tlu'eaten me to baste, 
Thought it was vain my breath to waste 
in counsel. 


For lawyers cannot me abide, 
Because for falsehood I them chide, 
And he that holds not on their side 
must down still. 

Unto the city hied I then, 

To try what welcome there, trades-men 

Would give poor Robin Conscience; when 

I came there 
The shop-keepers that use deceit 
Did come about me and did threat, 
Unless I would begone, to beat 

me lame there. 

And eveiy one, both high and low, 
Held Conscience as a mortal foe 
Because he doth ill vices sliow 

each minute. 
Therefore the City in uproar 
Against me rose, and me so tore 
That I'm resolved I'll never more 

come in it. 

On Friday I to Smitlifield went. 
Where being come incontinent. 
The horse-coursers with one consent 

did chide me; 
They said that I was not myself, 
And said I was a pinching elf. 
And they could get more store of pelf, 

beside me. 


1 told them of a cheating trick 
Wliich makes the horses run and kick, 
By ])utting in an eel that's quick 

i' th' belly, 
Another which they use full oft 
To bear their lame jades' heads aloft, 
And beat their buttocks till they're soft 

as jelly. 

I told them that their wealth would rot, 
That they by cheating men thus got. 
But they for this same tale, would not 

abide me, 
And charged me quickly to be gone. 
Quoth they, " Of Conscience we use none," 
Those whom I follow with my mone 

out-ride me. 

From thence I stepp'd into Long Lane, 
^^niiere many brokers did remain. 
To try how they would entertain 

poor Conscience; 
But my name when I to them told. 
The women did begin to scold, 
The men said, " They that word did hold 

but nonsense." 

For Conscience is so hard a w^ord 
That scarce the broker can afford 
To read it, for liis mouth is stored 
with lying •, 


He knows not what this Conscience means, 
That is no cause unto his gains, 
Thus I was scorned for my pains; 
all crying, 

" Away with Conscience from this lane, 
For we his presence do disdain": — 
They said if I came there again 

among them, 
They said they'd band me back and side; 
Being menaced, away I hied; 
Thus worldlings think, that when I chide, 

I wrong them. 

Among the butchers then went I; 
As soon as e'er they did me spy. 
They threaten'd me most spitefully 

to kill me; 
Quoth one, " If Conscience here should dwell 
We were not able to live well, 
Nor could we gain by the meat we sell; — 

nor will we 

Be bound to follow Conscience nice, 
Which would confine us to a price; 
Robin, be rul'd by my advice, 

(quoth he then) 
And get thee to some other place; 
We hate to look thee in the face:" 
I, hearing this, from them a-pace 

did flee then. 


To Newgate market went I then, 
Where country-women, maids, and men, 
Were selling needful things; and when 

they saw me, 
At me the butter-woman rails 
Whose butter weigh'd not down the scales; 
Another comes, and with her nails 

did claw me. 

The bakers which stood in a row, 
Began to brawl at me also, 
And charged me away to go, 

because I 
Told them they did make lesser bread; — 
Did not the laws put them in dread; — 
There's some of them would wish them dead, 

might laws die. 

Thus chid of them, my way I took 
Unto Pye-corner, where a cook 
Glanc'd at me as the devil did look 

o'er Lincoln. 
" Conscience," quoth he, " thou shew'st not wit 
In coming to this place unfit; 
I'U run thee thorow with a spit; 

then think on 

Those words to thee which I have said, 
I cannot weU live by my trade, 
If I should stiU require thy aid 
in selling : 


Sometimes one joint I must roast thrice 
Ere I can sell it at my price; 
Then here's for thee (who art so nice) 
No dwelling." 

Perforce he drove me backward still, 

Until I came unto Snow-hill; 

The sale- men there, with voices shrill 

fell on me. 
I was so irksome in their sight, 
That they conjured me to flight. 
Or else they swore, (such was their spight) 

" They'd stone me." 

At Turn-again Lane the fish-wives there 

And wenches did so rail and sweai". 

Quoth they, " No Conscience shall come here, 

we hate him;" 
Theii' bodges which for half-pecks go 
They vowed at my head to throw; 
No Conscience they were bred to know, 

but prating. 

Away thus frighted by these scolds, 

To Fleet Street straight my love it holds, 

Where men whose tongues were made in moulds 

of flattery, 
Did cry, " Wliat lack you, countryman?" 
But seeing me away they ran. 
As though the enemy had began 

his battery. 


One said to others, " Sir, ill news. 
Here Conscience comes us to abuse, 
Let us his presence all refuse 

And boldly stand against him all; 
We ne'er had use of him, nor shall 
He live with us; — what chance did call 

him hither?" 

The haberdashers that sell hats 
Hit Robin Conscience many pats. 
And like a company of cats 

they scratch'd him; 
Quoth they, " Why com'st thou unto us? 
We love not Conscience," ruling thus, 
They gave him words opprobrious, 

and match'd him. 

The mercers and silk-men also. 

That live in Paternoster Row, 

Their hate against poor Conscience show, 

and when I 
Came to that place they all did set 
On me, 'cause I their gain would let, 
Wlio will both swear and lie to get 

one penny. 

From thence unto Cheapside I past, 
Wliere words in vain I long did waste, 
Out of the place I soon was chas'd; 
quoth one man. 


" Conscience, for thy presumption base, 
Intruding to tliis golden place. 
Thou death deserv'st, therefore a-pace 
begone man! 

Think'st thou that we have so much gold 
Before our eyes still to behold, 
WiU this by Conscience be controU'd 

and curbed; 
Oh! no, poor fellow, haste away, 
For if long in this place thou stay. 
Thou shalt be (I'll be bold to say) 


From thence I turned down Bread Sti'eet, 
A cheese-monger I thei-e did meet. 
He hied away with winged feet 

to shun me; 
" How now," quoth I, "why run ye so?" 
Quoth he, " Because I well do know 
That thou art Conscience my old foe; — 

thou'st done me 

Great wrong: while I made use of thee, 
And dealt with all men honestly, 
A rich man I could never be; 

but since then 
I banish'd have thy company, 
And us'd deceit with those that buy, 
I thrive, and therefore, Robin, hie 

tlioe hence then." 


I left him with his bad intent, 

And unto Fish Street straight I went, 

Among those lads who wish that Lent 

were all year, 
As soon as e'er they me espy'd, 
They all at once upon me cry'd, 
And swore that " Conscience should not guide 

a stall there." 

I seeing things thus seeming strange 
That all men did from goodness range. 
Did hie me straight to the Exchange. 

A merchant 
Was so affrighted when I came. 
That presently he blush'd for shame, 
His countenance did show the same 
in searchant. 

Quoth he, " Friend Robin, what dost thou 
Here among us merchants now? 
Our business will not allow 

to use thee; 
For we have tratific without thee, 
And thrive best if thou absent be; — 
I for my part will utterly 

refuse thee." 

Now 1, being thus abus'd below, 
Did walk up stairs, where on a row 
Brave shops of ware did make a show 
most sumptuous. 


But, when the shop-folk me did spy, 
They drew their dark light instantly, 
And said, in coming there, was I 

The gallant girls that there sold knacks 
Wliich ladies and brave women lacks, 
When they did see me, they did wax 

in choler. 
Quoth they, " we ne'er knew Conscience yet, 
And, if he comes om* gains to let, 
We'U banish him; he'U here not get 

one scholar." 

I, being jeered thus and scorn'd, 

AVent down the stairs, and sorely mouruM 

To think that I should thus be turn'd 

a begging. 
To Grace-church-street I went alpng. 
Where dwell a great ungracious throng, 
That will deceive both old and young 

As drapers, poulterers, and such 
Who think they never get too much; 
The word Conscience to them is Dutch, 

or Spanish; 
And harder too, for speech they'll learn. 
With all their heart, to serve their turn. 
But Conscience, when they him discern, 

they banish. 


I, seeing all the city given 

To use deceit, in s^iiglit of heaven., 

To leave their company I was driven 

perforce then; 
So over London bridge in haste, 
I, — hiss'd and scoff'd of all men, — past ; 
Then I to Southwark took, at last, 

my course then. 

When I came there, I hoped to find 
Welcome according to my mind; 
-But they are rather more unkind 

than London. 
All sorts of men and women, there, 
Ask'd how I durst to them appear, 
And swore my presence they would clear 


Then I, being sore athirst, did go 
Into an alehouse in the Row, 
Meaning a penny to bestow 

on strong beer; 
But, 'cause I for a quart did call, 
l\Iy hostess swore, " she'd bring me small, 
Or else I should have none at all." 

Thus wrong'd there, 

I bade her on her licence look, 

" Oh sir," quoth she, " ye are mistook, 

I ha\'e a lesson without book 

most perfect: g 


If I my licence should observe, 
And not in any point to swerve, 
Both I and mine, alas! should starve, 
not surfeit. 

" Instead of a quart-pot of pewter, 
I fill small jugs, and need no tutor; 
I quart'ridge give to the geometer* 

most duly; 
And he will see, and yet be blind; 
A knave, made much of, will be kind, 
If you be one, sir, teU your mind 

most truly." 

" No, no," quoth I, " I am no knave. 

No fellowship with such I have; 

My name is Robin Conscience, brave, 

that wander 
From place to place, in hope that some 
Will as a servant give me room; 
But all abuse me, where I come, 

with slander." 

Now, when my hostess heard me teU 
INIy name, she swore " I should not dwell 
With her, for I would make her sell 
fidl measure." 

Tlu' ganger. 


She did conjure me to depart; 
" Hang Conscience," quoth she, " give nie art 
I have not got, by a penny a quart, 
my treasure." — 

So out of doors I went with speed, 
And glad she was to be thus freed 
Of Conscience, that she thence might speed 

in frothing. 
To the King's Bench I needs woukl go; 
The jailor did me backward throw: 
Quoth he, " For Conscience here ye know 

is nothing." 

Through Blackman Street I went, where whores 
Stood gazing, there at many doors, — 
Thei-e two or three bawds against me roars 

most loudly: 
And bade me to get thence apace, 
Or else they'd claw me by the face; 
They swore they scorn'd me and all grace. 

Most proudly 

I walk'd into St. George's field, 
Where rooking rascals I beheld, 
That all the year their hopes did build 

on cheating; 
They were close playing at nine pins, — 
I came and told them of their sins, 
Then one among the rest begins, 

intreatinof g 2 


That I would not torment them so. — 

I told them that I would not go: 

" Wliy then," quoth he, " HI let thee know 

we care notj 
And yet we'll banish thee perforce." 
Then he began to swear and cui'se; 
And said, " Prate on till thou art hoaa*se, 

and spare not." 

I left them in their wickedness. 
And went along in great distress, 
Bewailing of my bad success 

and speed. 
A windmill standing there hard by. 
Towards the same then passed I, 
But when the miller did me spy, 

he cryed, 

" Away with Conscience, I'll none such, 
That dwell with honesty so much, 
I shall not quickly fill my hutch 

by due toll; 
But must, for every bushel of meal 
A peck, if not three gallons, steal; 
Therefore with thee I will not deal, 

thou true soul." 

Then leaving cities, skirts and all, 
Where my welcome it was but small, 
I went to try what would befall 
i' th' country. 


There thought I to be entertain'd 
But I was likewise there disdain'd, 
As long as bootless I complain'd 
to th' gentry. 

And yet no service could I have; 
Yet, if I would have play'd the knave, 
I might have had maintainance brave 

among them. 
Because that I was Conscience poor, 
Alas! they thrust me out of door, — 
For Conscience many of them swore 

did wrong them. 

Then went I to the yeomanry, 
And farmers aU of the country, 
Desiring them most heartily 

to take me: 
I told them I would sell their corn 
Unto the poor; but they did turn 
Me out of doors, and with great scorn 

forsake me. 

One said, " He had no use of me 
To sell his corn; for, I (quoth he) 
Must not be only rul'd by thee 

in selling. 
If I shall Conscience entertain. 
He'd make me live in crossing gain, — 
Here is for thee, I tell thee plain, 

no dwelling." 


Thus from the rich men of the world 
Poor Conscience up and down is hui'l'd;- 
Like angry curs at me they snarl'd, 

and clieck'd me. 
Alas! what shall I do? thought I. 
Poor Robin, must I starve and die? 
Aye, tliat I must, if nobody 

respect me. 

At last I to myself bethought 

Where I must go, and heaven brought 

Me to a place where poor folks wrought 

most sorely; 
And there they entertained me well, 
With whom I ever mean to dwell, 
With them to stay it thus befel, 

though poorly. 

Thus people that do labour hard 
Have Robin Conscience in regard, 
For which they shall have their reward 

in heaven; 
For all their sorrows here on earth. 
They shall be filled with true mirth, — 
Crowns shall to them at second birth 

be given. 

And all these caitiffs that deny'd 
To entertain him for their guide, 
When they by Conscience shall be tried 
and judged. 


Then will they wish that they had us'd 
Poor Conscience, whom they have refus'd, — 
Wliose company they have abus'd 
and grudged. 

Thus Robin Conscience, that hath had, 
Amongst most men a welcome bad, 
He now hath found to make him glad, 

'Mong honest folks that hath no lands. 
But get their living with their hands. 
These are the friends that to him stands 

and's guiding. 

These still keep Conscience from grim death, 
And ne'er gainsay what'er he saith; 
These lead their lives so here beneath, 

that dying, 
They may ascend from poverty 
To glory and great dignity. 
Where they shall live and never die; 

Avhile frying 

In hell the wicked lie, who would 

Not use true Conscience as they should. 

This is but for a moral told 

you; in it 
He that observes may somewhat spy 
That savours of divinity, — 
For conscionable folks do I 

beain it. 


And so I'll bring all to an end: — 

It can no honest man oftend, 

For those that Conscience do defend, 

it praises. 
And if that any jrall'd jade kick, 
The author hath devis'd a trick, 
To turn him loose, i' th' fields to pick 

up daisies. 


drapers' HALL, IN LONDON, MARCH 28, 1660. 

To the Tune of " I'll never love thee more." 

The tune of " I'll never love thee more" is found in " The 
English Dancing Master," 4to. 1651, and in at least ten more 
editions of the same vf ork. " I'll nevt r love thee more" is the 
burden of the Marquess of Montrose's celebrated song, begin- 
ning " My dear and only love, I pray," which is reprinted in 
Evans' Collection of Old Ballads, 8vo. 1810. The following 
ballad, from a broadside in the collection in the British IMuseum, 
in three volumes, folio, under the press-mark 643m, is a loyalist 
effusion, made immediately prior to the restoration of Charles 11, 
when General Monk, the " George" so vaunted by Dick in every 
stanza, was in the height of his popularity. In the previous 
year, the citizens, uncertain whether to side with the parliament 
or make a stand against it, and greatly apprehensive of a ci^dl 
war, declined for a time to declare either for the parliament or 
the army. The apprentices, however, were more decided in their 
opinions, and assembled in great numbers about the doors of the 
House of Commons, and in the streets of the city, declaring that 


they would have a free parliament. Colonel Ilughson marched 
against them ^vith a company of troops, and a conflict ensued, in 
which several of the apprentices were slain. The proceeding- 
was very unpopular in the city, and a violent outcry was raised 
against the army. The Committee of Safety afterwards applied 
to the city for a loan, which was denied, the citizens at the same 
time boldly objecting to their authority, and declaring their in- 
tention to submit to no imposition that was not commanded by a 
freely chosen parliament. General Monk was immediately 
ordered to march into the city and reduce it to obedience. He 
posted regiments at all the gates, — the posts and chains were pulled 
down, — the portcullises at Bishopsgate, Cripplegate, and Aldgate 
taken away, and the other gates taken off and their hinges 
destroyed. Eight members of the Common Council and two 
aldermen were also made prisoners, together with a great number 
of apprentices and other riotous young men. Monk afterwards 
saw reason to regret his severity against the city, and mistrusting 
the parliament, in whose name he had acted, he thought it pru- 
dent, in the interest of the king, to make peace again with the 
Londoners. Having drawn up his army in Finsbury Fields, he 
sent a message to the Lord Mayor, in which he expressed his 
sorrow for what he had done to the prejudice of the city, and 
desired the favour of a conference with his lordship and the 
Common Council, that he might make reparation for his late 
error. They met accordingly, and the result was that friendship 
was sworn between them, and the doom of the famous, or in- 
famous. Rump Parliament was sealed. " This coalition," says 
Entick, in his History of London, vol. ii. p. 240, " was no 
sooner published in the city but an universal joy and rejoicing- 
spread over all, with ringing- of bells, acclamations, bonfires, and 
illuminations. At the same time they breathed out the most 
contemptible tokens and signs of scorn and ridicule against the 
parliament. There was scarce a bonfire where a rump was not 
roasted, or something- resembling a rvunp, to celebrate the par- 
liament's funeral obsequies." Monk was now as popular in the 
city as he was formerly detested ; and between this time and the 
return of Charles II, was a frequent visitor to one or other of the 
city halls, to deliberate with the lord mayor and corporation 
upon the exigencies of the times. Maitland says, book i. p. 285, 
that " at this time sti-ong nightly guards were kept in the city, 


vnth tho clKiins drawn across the streets till the morninj;; ; and 
by day frequent entertainments were made by the several com- 
panies at their halls for regalin"; the Council of State, the general 
(Monk), and his principal officers. The entertainment, com- 
memorated in the title of the follow-ing baUad, took place only 
seventeen days before the celebrated letter of Charles 11 was 
written to the citizens from Breda. 

Tom. Now would I give my life to see 
This wondrous man of might, 
Dick, dost thou see that jolly lad? That's he, 

I'le warrant him he's right. 
There's a true Trojan in his face; 
Observe him o'er and o'er. 
Dick. Come, Tom, if ever George be base 

, C/iorus. 
Ne're trust good feUow more. 

; base 1 

He's none of that phantastique brood 

That murther while they pray; 
That trusse and cheat us, for ovu* good, 

(All in a godly way); 
He drinkes no bloud, and they no sack 

Into their gutts wUl poiu*e, 
But if George does not do the knack, ^ 

Ne're trust good fellow more. j 

His quiet conscience needs no guai'd, 
He's brave, but fuU of pitty. 
Tom. Yet, by your leave, he knock'd so hard, 
H'ad like t'awak'd the city. 


Dick. Foole, 'twas the Rump that let a f — t, 
The chaynes and gates it tore, 
But if George bears not a true heart, ^ 
Ne're trust good fellow more. J 

Tom. Your city-blades are cunning i-ookes, 
How rarely you collogue liim! 
But when your gates flew off the hookes. 
You did as much be-rogue him. 
Dick. Pugh — 'twas the Rum}) did onely feele, 
The blowes the city bore; 
But if George be'nt as true as Steele, ^ 
Ne're trust good fellow more. J 

Dick. Come, by this hand, we'll crack a quart, 

Thou'U pledge his health, I trow: 
Tom. Tope, boy! Dick — A lusty dish my heart, 

Away wi't ! Tom — Let it go. 
Drench me your slave in a full bowle, 

I'U take 't an 'twex'e a score. 
Dick. Nay, if George be'nt a hearty soule, \ 

Ne're trust good fellow more. j 

Tom. But heark you, sirrah, we're too loud, 

He'U hang us by and by. 

Methinks, he should be vengeance proud? 

Dick. No more than thou or I. 

Tom. Why, then, I'le give him the best blade 

That e'er the Bilbo wore. 

Dick. If George prove not a bonnv lad, ) 

X- » 1 /- 1, " flmrits. 

JNere trust good lelloAv more. I 


Tom. 'Twas well he came, we'd mawU'd the tayle; 

We've all throwne up our farmes; 

And from the musket to the flayle 

Put all our men in armes. 

The girles had ta'ne the Members down 

Ne're saw such things before. 

Dick. If George speak not the town our owne, \ 

^^ , , „ „ c Chorus. 

Ne re trust good lellow more. J 

Dick. But, prethee, are the folks so mad — 

Tom. So mad, say'st, — They're undone, 

There's not a penny to be had; 

And ev'ry mother's sonne 
Must fight if he intend to eate, 
Grow vaUiant now he is poore. 
Dick. Come — yet if George don't do the feate, 
Ne're trust good fellow more. 


Tom. Wliy, Richard, 'tis a devilish thing, 

We're not left worth a groate, 
My Doll has sold her wedding ring. 

And Sue has pawn'd her coate. 
The sniv'ling rogues abus'd our stjuire. 

And call'd his mistresse whore. 

Dick. Yet — if George don't what we desire, ) ^, 

> Lhoriis. 
Ne're trust good fellow more. ) 

Tom. By this good day; I did but speak. 
They took my py-baU'd mare; 
And put the carrion wench to th' squesik, 
(Things go against the liair). 


Our prick-ear'd cor'nell looks as bigg 
Still as he did before. 
Dick. And yet if George do'nt liumme his gigg, 
Ne're trust good fellow more. 


Faith, Tom; our case is much at one; 

We're broke for want of trade; 
Our city's baffled, and undone, 

Betwixt the Rump and blade. 
We've emptied both our veines and baggs 

Upon a factious score : 

If George compassion not our raggs ) ^, 

V Cnorits. 
Ne're trust good fellow more. ) 

Tom. But what dost think should be the cause 
Wlience all these mischiefs spring? 

Dick. Our damned breach of oaths and lawes, 

Our murther of the king. 

We have been slaves since Charles his reign. 

We liv'd like lords before. 

If George do'nt set all right again, | ^, 

- Lliorus. 
Ne re trust good fellow more. ) 

Tom. Our vicar — (and he's one that knows) 

Told me once — I know what; — 

(And yet the thief is woundy close). 

Dick. 'Tis all the better; — That 

Has too much honesty and witt 

To let hi& tongue runne o'er; 

If this prove not a lucky hit, ) ^, 

^ ^ \ Chorns. 

Ne're trust good fellow more, j 


Shall's ask him, what he means to doe? 
Tom. Good faith, with all my heart; 

Thou mak'st the better leg o' th' two; 
Take thou the better part. 

I'll follow, if thou'lt lead the van. 

Dick. Content — I'll march before. 

If George prove not a gallant man, ) ^, 

Ne're trust good fellow more. ) 

My Loixl — in us the nation craves. 
But what you're bound to doe. 
Ton. Wehavehv'd di'udges; Dick. — And we slaves; 
Both. We would not die so too. 

Restore us but our lawes agen: \ 

Th'unborn shall thee adore; _,, 

If George denies us his Amen, 

Ne're trust good feUow more. 




The London prentices, at the time of the Revohition, laid claim 
not only to great valour but to great piety. " On Shrove Tues- 
daj-, March 4th, 1617," says ]\Ir. J. P. Collier, in his "History 
of English Dramatic Poetry and Annals of the Stage," vol. i. 
p. 401 ; " some riots occurred in Lincoln's Liu Fields (then an 
open space unoccupied by houses) and in Drury Lane, where the 
mob, among whom the apprentices appear, as usual, to have been 
especially active, made an attack upon the Cock]>it Theatre. 
Camden, in his Annals, states that they pulled it down and 


destroyed the wardrobe ; but according^ to the account of this 
circumstance in the Privy Council Rejj;i.ster, which was drawn up 
on the following day, the mob only attempted to pull it do^\n. 
However there is no doubt they did considerable damage, and 
that several lives were lost in the fray. The apprentices of 
London from time immemorial had claimed, or at least exercised, 
the right of attacking and demolishing houses of ill fame on Shrove 
Tuesday ; and, in this instance, they carried their zeal for morals 
a degree farther." Li the Collection of Ballads in the British 
Museum, which will be found imder the press-mai'k 64331, there 
are two or three other ballads relating to the demolition of the 
houses of ill-fame by the apprentices, and the complaints made 
by their frail tenants of the rigid righteousness of the young 
men, but they are too gross for publication. 

The Prentices of London long 

Have famoits been in story, 
But now they are exceeding all 

Their chronicles of glory: 
Looke backe, some say, to other day, 

But I say looke before ye, 
And see the deed they have now done, 

Tom Brent and Johnny Cory. 

Tom Brent said then to his merry men, 

" Now whoop my men and hollow, 
And to the Cockpitt let us goe, — 

I'll lead you like brave Rollow." 
Then Johnny Corry answered straight, 

In words much like Apollo; 
" Lead, Tommy Brent, incontinent, 

And we'll be sm-e to follow." 


Three score of these brave prentices, 

All fit for workes of wonder, 
Rush'd down the plaine of Drury Lane, 

Lilie lightning and like thunder: 
And there each dore, with hundreds more. 

And windows burst asunder; 
And to the tire-howse broke they in, 

^\niich some began to plunder. 

" Now hold your handes, my merry men," 

Said Tom; "for I assure ye, 
Wlio so begin to steale shall win 

Mee both forjudge and jury: 
And eke for executioner, 

Within this lane of Drury; 
But teare and rend, I'll stand your frend. 

And will uphold your fury." 

King Priam's robes were soon in rags. 

And broke his gilded scepter; 
False Cressid's hood, that was so good 

When loving Troylus kept her: 
Besse Brydges gowne, and Muli's crowne. 

Who would ful faine have lept her: 
Had Theseus scene them use his queene 

So ill, he had bewept her. 

Books old and young on heap they flung. 
And burnt them in the blazes, — 

Tom Dekker, Haywood, Middleton, 
And other wand'iing crayzes. 


Poor Daye that daye not scapte awaye; 

And what still moi'e amazes, 
Immortal] Cracke* was burnt all blacke, 

"Wliich every bodie praises. 

Now sing we laude with one accord, 

To these most dignl latak', 
Who thus intend to bring to end 

All that is vile and bawdie; 
All players and whores thrust out a' dores, 

Seductive both and gawdie, 
And praise we these bold prentices 

Cum voce et cum corde. 





To the Tune of " Where is my true love." 

From the " Crowii Garland of Golden Roses." The ballad is 
also inserted in Evans' Collection, vol. iii. p. 318. 

You gallant London damsels. 
Awhile to me give ear. 

* " Regarding this person, orpla^," says Mr. Collier, "which- 
ever it might be, I can give no information." 


And be you well contented 

With what you now shall hear. 

The deeds of two kind ladies 
Before you shall appear; — 

Oh maidens of London so fair! 

At Finsbury there dwelled 

A noble gallant knight, 
That for the love of Jesus Christ 

Desired for to fight: 
And 60 unto Jerusalem 

He went in armoiu* bright. 
Oh maidens of London so fiiir! 

And charged both his daughters 

Unmarried to remain, 
Till he from blessed Palestine 

Returned back again: 
And then two loving husbands 

For them he would attain; 
Oh maidens of London so fair! 

When he was gone from fair England 
A knight of Rhodes to be, 

His daughters they were well content, 
Though born of good degree. 

To keep themselves in mean estate 
Of living orderly; — 

Oh maidens of London so fair! 


The eldest of the two was naiii'd 

Fair Maiy, as is said, 
Wlio made a secret vow to God 

To live and die a maid; 
And so a true professed nun 

Herself with speed array'd, — 
Oh maidens of London so fair! 

Her garments were of mourning blat-k, 

Befitting her desires, 
Wliere at the house of Bethlehem 

The abbess she requires, 
An entertainment to be made 

To their melodious quires; — 
Oh sweet singing maids so fair! 

Wliere in the nunnery she remained 

Beloved many a yeai', 
Still spending day and night in prayers 

For her old father dear, — 
Refusing woi'ldly vanities 

With joy and pleasant cheer; — 
Oh heavenly blest maidens so fair! 

And in the name of Jesus Christ 

A holy cross did build, 
Which some have seen at Bedlam-gate, 

Adjoining to Moorfield: 
These be the blessed springing fruits 

That chastity doth yield; — 
Oh maidens of London so fair! h 2 


" If that England's great I'oyal queen 
I should be made," quoth she, 

" Not lialf so well contented then, 
Good ladies should I be; 

There is no life that's half so sweet 
As virgin life, I see:" 

Oh maidens of London so fair! 

" Nor will I taste the joys of love 

Belong to marriage bed. 
Nor to a king consent to yield 

My blooming maidenhead. 
Till from my father I do hear 

To be alive or dead;" 
Oh maidens of London so fair! 

So virgin-like she spent her days 
About this pleasant spring. 

And us'd herself from time to time 
Upright in every thing; 

Wliich caused the ladies of this land 
Her noble praise to sing; — 

Oh maidens of London so fair! 

The younger of the sisters, nam'd 
Dame Annis, fair and clear. 

Who framed there a pleasant well, 
By her esteemed dear; 

Where wives and maidens daily came 
To wash, from far and near; 

Oh heaven-blest maidens so fair! 


Li it were all her earthly joys, 

Her comfort and delight; 
About the same remaining still 

With pleasure day and night, 
As glorious as the golden sun. 

In all his beams so bright; 
Oh maidens of London so fair! 

The lovely ladies of the land 

Unto Dame Annis went, 
Persuading her this single life 

Was not the best content; 
The married sort doth most commend. 

Being stiU to pleasures bent; 
Oh maidens of London so fair! 

And daily troops of London dames 

Unto her did repair. 
With purest lawn and cambric fine 

To wash both clean and fair; 
And rich embroidered furnitures 

Of child-bed linen rare; — 
Oh maidens of London so fair! 

Thus lived these two sisters here. 

As you have heard it told. 
Till time had chang'd their beauteous cheeks, 

And made them wrinkled old; 
Then of their father news was brought 

How he was wrapt in mould; — 
Oh maidens of London so fair! 


For the King of England soon 

Tlie Duke of Normandy, 
Returned from Jerusalem 

With fame and victory; 
And brought their father's heart in lead 

Here buried for to be; — 
Oh maidens of London so fair! 

This heart that spilt its dearest blood 
For Jesus Christ in heaven, 

Being thus unto his daughters twain 
Li kindness brought and given. 

Was mourned for three hundred days, 
From morning until even; 

Oh maidens of London so lair! 

And then with lamentations, 
Sweet maidens, being weary. 

Their aged father's noble heart 
Most solemnly did bui-y; 

And gave the place their father's name. 
As says our English story: 

Oh maidens of London so fair! 

Old Sir John Fines he had the name, 
Being buried in that place, 

Now, since then, called Finsbury, 
To his renown and grace; 

Which time to come shall not outwear, 
Nor yet the same deface: 

Oh maidens of London so fair! 


And likewise when those maidens died, 

They gave those pleasant fields 
Unto our London citizens, 

Wliich they most bravely build. 
And now are made most pleasant walks. 

That great contentment yield 
To maidens of London so fair! 

Where lovingly both man and wife 

May take the evening air, 
And London dames to dry their cloaths 

May hither still repair; 
For that intent most freely given. 

By these two damsels fair. 
Unto the maidens of London for ever! 


To the Tune of " St. George for England." 

From a " Collection of One Hundred and Eighty Loyal Songs, all 
wTitten since 1678, and intermixed Avith several new Love Songs. 
The Fourth Edition, with many Additions. London, printed 
and to be sold by Richard Butt, in Princess Street, in Covent 
Garden. 1694." These loyal songs appear, from the initials 
N. T. to the preface, to have been collected by Nathaniel Thomp- 
son, who says that the malice of the opposite party " swelled so 
high against him, that he was imprisoned six times ; so that for 
above six years he was never fi'ee from trouble, having seldom 
less than three or four indictments at a session against him ; at 
other times, informations in the Crown Office, -which villainous 
contrivances of their agents cost him at least £500 in money, 
besides the loss of his trade and reputation. The principal 


crimes alleged against him were — ' Let Oliver now be forgotten,' 
a song ; ' A Hue and Cry after Titus Gates when turned from 
Whitehall ;' ' The Character of an ignoramus Doctor ;' ' A Dia- 
logue between the Devil and the Doctor ;' and ' The Prisoners' 
Lamentation for the Loss of Sheriff Bethel.' " 

Towards the end of the reign of King Charles IL the more than 
suspected popery of the king, and the avowed popery of the heir to 
the throne, were the occasion of violent contests for all the municipal 
offices for the city of London. Sir Patience Ward, the late lord 
mayor, was a violent enemy of the court ; and at the expiration 
of his mayoralty, great efforts were made by the friends of the 
king and the Duke of York, to secure sheriffs as fully attached 
to their side as the next in rotation to the chair (Sir John Moor) 
was known to be. The lord mayor, in accordance with an 
ancient custom, drank to ^Mr. Dudley North, at the Bridge House 
feast, by which this person was nominated as one of the sheriffs. 
Another gentleman in the court interest, named Box, was also 
nominated ; and two, named Papilion and Dubois, on the popular 
side, being proposed, a hot contest for the office took place, which 
ended, after many squabbles, in the election of the latter,— the 
crowd following them, great numbers shouting " God bless the 
protestant sheriffs — God bless Papilion and Dubois." Some dis- 
turbance having taken place at the polling-booth. Sir John Moor 
complained to the king and council of being jostled and insulted. 
In consequence, the lord mayor, aldermen, and sheriffs, were 
ordered to attend the Privy Council on the Monday following, 
and the lord mayor having made his complaint, the late sheriffs, 
Pilkington and Shute, and Mr. Alderman Cornish, were com- 
mitted prisoners to the Tower, and the attorney-general was 
ordered to prosecute with the utmost rigour of the law all persons 
implicated in the late distui'bances. Several persons were 
arrested, whose trial came on shortly afterwards, before the 
Lord Chief Justice Jeffreys, in the King's Bench, at Guildhall. 
The following were found guilty, and fined in the undermen- 
tioned sums : — Alderman Cornish, the late sheriffs, and the Lord 
Gra}', were fined 1,000 marks each ; four other influential citi- 
zens, named Pilkington, Player, Swinock, and Goodenough, .500 
marks each ; one, named Deagle, 400 marks ; two, named Jenkes 
and Freeman, 300 marks each ; one, named Jekyll, 200 marks ; 
and two, named Keys and Wickham, 100 marks each. 


You London lads rejoyce, 

And cast away your care, 
Since with one heart and voice 

Sir John is chosen Mayor; 
The famous Sir John Moor, 

Lord Mayor of London town, 
To your eternal praise 

Shall stand a subject of renown 
Anaongst your famous worthies, 

Wlio have been most esteem'd; 
For Sir John, Sir John, 

Your honour hath redeem'd. 
Sir John he's for the king's right, 

Which rebels would destroy, 
Vive, Vive, Vive le Roy. 

When with a Hide-bound mayor 

The town was in distraction, 
Sir John clapt in the chair. 

And cur'd the hall of faction; 
He to the people shew'd 

Their duty and allegiance, 
How to the sacred king and laws 

They pay their due obedience. 
Sir George unto the people 

A loyal speech did give; 
But Sir John, Sir John, 

Your honour did retrieve. 
Sir John is for allegiance, 

Which rebels would destroy. 
Vive, Vive, Vive le Roy. 


When thou wast last, O London, 

In faction and sedition; 
By Wliigs and zealots are midone, 

While they were in commission; 
"Wlien treason, Hke Old Noll's brigade, 

Did gallop thi'ough the town, 
And loyalty (a tyr'd jade) 

Had cast her rider down; 
The famous Sir George Jeffiys 

Your charter did maintain; 
But Sir John, Sir John, 

Restor'd your fame again. 
Sir John, he is for monarchy, 

Which rebels would destroy. 
Vive, Vive, Vive le Roy. 

When the mayor with sheriffs mounted, 

And jealousies contriv'd, 
And all the town run after. 

As if the devil di-iv'd; 
Then famous Sir John Moor 

Thy loyalty restor'd. 
And noble Sir George Jeffrys 

AATio did the acts record; 
Sir George of all the heroes 

Deserves the foremost place; 
But Sir John, Sir John, 

Hath got the sword and mace; 
^ Sir John, he is for justice, 

Which rebels would destroy. 
Vive, Vive, A'ive le Roy. 


Sir Patience wou'd have the court 

Submit unto the city, 
Wliite-Hall stooi) unto the Change, 

And is not that a pity? 
Sheriff Bethel (save allegiance) 

Thinks nothing a transgression: 
Sir Tom rails at the lawful prince, 

Sir Bob at the succession; 
Wliile still the brave Sir George 

Does then- fury intei^jose. 
But Sir John, Sir John, 

Maintains the royal cause. 
Sir John is for His Highness 

Whom rebels would destroy. 
Vive, Vive, Vive le Roy. 

Sir Patience is for a parliament, 

Sheriff Bethel a petition, 
Instead of an address 

Cramm'd brim full of sedition. 
Sir Tom he is for liberty 

Against prerogative; 
Sir Bob is for the subject's right, 

But will not justice give; 
And brave Sir George does all 

Their famous deeds record: 
But Sir John, Sir John, 

Your loyalty restor'd. 
Sir John, he's for the int'rest 

Which rebels would destroy. 
Vive, Vive, Vive le Roy. 


Sir Patience he calls for justice, 

And then the wretch will sham us; 
Sheriff Bethel he packs a jury 

Well vers'cl in ignoramus: 
Sir Tom would hang the Tory, 

And let the Whig go free; 
Sir Bob wou'd have a commonwealth, 

And cry down monarchy. 
While still the brave Sir George 

Does all their deeds record; 
But Sir John, Sir John, 

Your loyalty restor'd; 
Sir John he is for justice, 

WMch rebels would destroy. 
Vive, Vive, Vive le Roy. 

And may such loyal mayors, 

As honest sheriffs find; 
Such sheriffs find a jury 

Will to the king be kind; 
And may the king live long 

To rule such people here; 
And may ye such a Lord Mayor find 

And Sheriffs eveiy year: 
That tray tors may receive 

The justice of the laws. 
While Sir John, Sir John, 

Maintains the royal cause; 
Sir John is for the king still, 

Whom rebels would destroy. 
Vive, Vive, Vive le Roy. 




Tune, — " Joy to the bridegroom." 

From the same collection as the preceding, and relating to the 
same circumstances. Mr. North and Mr. Box, the defeated can- 
didates at the Common Hall, were returned by the lord mayor 
to the Court of Aldermen, as the duly elected sheriffs, upon 
pretence of the illegality of the former proceedings, already 
alluded to. The citizens petitioned the Court of Aldermen to 
swear in Papilion and Dubois, the protestant sheriffs, as they 
were called, but the aldermen refused. Mr. Box, however 
fearing that if he served the office riots might ensue, decKned, 
and was fined the usual sum. The court party thereupon, aided 
by the influence of the lord mayor, returned Mr. Peter Rich, 
the person alluded to in the ballad, and he and Mr. North were 
sworn accordingly. In Entick's " History and Survey of Lon- 
don," vol. ii. page 316, are the following remarks relative to 
these memorable proceedings : — " All this strife about sheriffs, 
was not in favour of any particular men ; the court had deep 
views. By securing sheriffs of London in their interest, they 
secured juries to acquit or condemn whom they pleased, — to 
favour or ruin. Under which influence we find the juries that 
found Lord Russell (Lord William Russell) guilty of treason ; 
that fined Alderman Pilkington £100,000, for saying 'that the 
Duke of York had fired the city, and was now come to cut their 
throats,' upon the information of Sir William Hooker and Sir 
Henry Tulse, Aldermen; and brought in Sir Patience Ward 
guilty of perjury, because he, upon the trial of Alderman Pil- 
kington, swore he did not hear him say the words above recited, 
though he was present at the time Hooker and Tulse swore that 
he said them." 

Fill up the bowl, and set it round, 
The day is won, the Sheriff's crown'd, 
The rabble flies, the tumults yield ; 
And loyalty maintains the field: 


Saint George for England, then amain 
To royal James the ocean drain. 

With justice may it ever flow, 

And in an endless cii'cle go; 

The brim with conqu'ring bays be crown'd. 

And faction in the dregs be di'own'd: 

Then to the Queen and royal James 

Sacrifice your flowing Thames. 

Thanks to Sir John, oui- good Lord Mayor, 
'Gainst Sheriffs' tricks he kept the Chair; 
The Court and City's rights maintains, 
While head-strong faction broke the reins; 
Then to the famous Sir John Moor; 
May after-age that name adore. 

What zeal (ye whigs) to the old cause. 
Thus makes you act against the laws; 
That none for Sheriff must contend. 
But your old ignoramus friend ? 
But now, your hopes are all destroy'd, 
And your two champions laid aside. 

Is this your love to Church and State, 
That no good man must serve of late. 
While you can find one factious rogue 
To sway the poll, and get the vogue; 
By unjust means your rights you claim, 
And lawless force maintain the same. 


But brave Sir John, while th' storms inci'case, 

His wisdom made the tumults cease; 

In spight of all illegal poU, 

The routs and ryotts did control; 

Whence he shall gain a lasting name, 

And after-age record his fame. 

Amongst the men of cliiefest worth, 
The vote is given for loyal North: 

In spight of PUkington and Sh 

PapiUion, and the rabble rout. 
Then to brave North a double dose, 
Who the strong factions did oppose. 

Now Box withdraw, Dubois contends, 
And noble Rich the stage ascends; 
By legal ('gainst illegal) vote. 
The loyal Tribune they promote; 
Then, to brave Rich a help of hand, 
Who the loud tumults did withstand. 

For ropes and gibbets the next year, 
The whigs (we hope) need not despair; 
If Rich find timber, (give them scope) 
Brave North will never grudge them rope: 
Then to conclude, we'U crown the bowl. 
With a health to the king and each loyal soul. 



To thu Tune of " Tangier March." 

Froji the same Collection as the preceding. Sir William Prit- 
chard succeeded Sir John Moor in the Mayoralty, and was of 
the same political opinions as his predecessor. Many of the 
names of the persons mentioned in the following, will be found 
in our note to the foregoing ballad, on the installation of Sir 
John Moor and the confirmation of Mr. North and Mr. Rich. 

Let the Wliigs revile, the Tories smile, 

That their business is compleated; 
Let all rejoyce with heart and voice 

That the AVliig 's at last defeated. 
The Whigs for loyalty so fam'd, 

With all their hopes are undone; 
Since now brave Pritchard is proclaim'd 

The loyal Mayor of London. 

Y"ou Polish brace whose brazen face 

To the chair wou'd be aspiring, 
See the rabble crowd who bawl'd so loud 

Are bawk'd beyond admiring; 
Learn in time to mitigate 

Your bold tumultuous furies; 
Ere you shall find you trust too late 

To ignoramus juries. 


Let player Tom receive the doom 

So long due for his cheating, 
Who did purloin the city coin, 

To keep up holy meeting; 
To rob the orphan, and the poor, 

His great discharge of trust is. 
And run upon the widows' score, 

To do the city justice. 

Let Ward repent, and Jenks relent. 

Their practice so malicious; 
Let Hubbard rue, with all the crew, 

That they were so officious; 
Such Jews as these, who did deny 

Their Saviour for a tester, 
No doubt again would crucify 

Their sovereign lord and master. 

For North and Rich, and ev'ry such, 

They set up a Papillion; 
'Gainst Pritchard bold, with Cornish Gold, 

With I'yot and rebellion. 
To love the king can you pretend, 

AVlio Royalists deny all? 
And with such vigour dare contend 

Against the man that's loyal. 

For shame, in time repent your crime, 
Your ryot and commotion; 



And to the Mayor, who kept the chair, 
Pay all your just devotion. 

Sucli was their loyalty of late 
To give the king no money; 

But freely throAv away their plate 
To join with rebel Toney. 

Thus you before did run on score 

With royal Charles, your master; 
Like di'unk or mad, spent all you had 

To uphold a bold impostor. 
Let not knaves again betray, 

And rob you of your reason ; 
Then leave your factious heads to pay 

The forfeit of your treason. 

With all your heat what did you get? 

With all yom* did aun quarter;* 
But to involve with each resolve 

The more entangled Charter? 
To James your just allegiance give, 

Your properties then plead 'em; 
Defending the prerogative 

You best protect your freedom. 

* The Editor is quite unable to explain this line. It is pro- 
bably a misprint ; but he has in vain endeavoured to discover the 
true reading. 



To the Tune of " Pakington's Pound." 

From the same Collection as the preceding. The constant disputes 
between the court and the citizens relative to the appointment of 
the sheriffs, led to the well-known determination on the part of the 
government of Charles U, to annul the charters of the city. The 
celebrated Quo Warranto was issued by the attorney-general, 
and the corporation was cited into the Court of King's Bench, 
to show cause wh}' they had so long usurped the pri\ilege of 
choosing their own officers. The matter being argued. Lord 
Chief .Justice Jones pronounced judgment against the city, on 
the 12th of June, 1683. The court then took the government 
of London into its own hands. Sir William Pritchard was con- 
firmed in the office of lord mayor, during his Majesty's pleasure ; 
eight aldermen in the popular interest were deprived of their 
office, and eight others of the Yoi-k faction appointed to their 
places. Besides this, the king dismissed the then recorder. Sir 
George Treby, and conferred the dignity upon Thomas Jerner, 
whom he also knighted for the occasion. 

You freemen and master, and prentices mourn, 
For now you are left with your Charter forlorn ; 
Since London was London, I dare boldly say, 
For your riots you never so dearly did pay: 
In Westminster Hall 
Your Dagon did fall. 
That caus'd you to ryot and mutiny all; 
Oh London ! Oh London ! thou'dst better had none. 
Than thus with thy Charter to vie with the tlu-one. 

Oh London ! Oh London ! how cou'dst thou pretend 
Against thy Defender thy crimes to defend? 


Thy freedom and rights from kind princes did spring, 
And yet in contempt thou withstandest thy king; 

With bold brazen face, 

They pleaded thy case. 
In hopes to the Charter the king would give place : 
Oh London! thou'dst better no Charter at all. 
Than thus for rebellion thy Charter shou'd ftill. 

Since Britains to London came over to dwell, 
You had an old Charter to buy and to sell; 
And whilst in allegiance each honest man lives, 
Then you had a Charter for Lord Mayor and Shrieves ; 
But when, with your pride, 
You began to backslide. 
And London by factions did run with the tide; 
Then London, Oh London! 'tis time to withdraw, 
Lest the flood of your factions the land over-flow. 

When faction and fury of rebels prevail'd, 

Wlien coblers were kings, and monarchs were jay I'd, 

When masters in tumult their prentices led. 

And the tail did begin to make war with the head; 

When Thomas and Kate 

Did bring in their plate, 
T'uphold the old cause of the Rump of the state; 
Then tell me. Oh London ! I prithee now tell, 
Hadst thou ere a Charter to fight and rebel? 

WHien zealous sham sheriifs the city oppose. 
In spight of the Charter, the king, and the laws, 


And make such a ryot and rout in the town, 
That never before such a racket was known; 

"VVlien ryoters dare 

Arrest the Lord May'r, 
And force the king's substitute out of the chair ;^ 
Oh London ! whose Charter is now on the lees, 
Did your Charter e'er warrant such actions as these? 

Alas for the brethren ! what now must they do, 
For choosing Whig sheriffs and bm-gesses too? 
The Charter with Patience is gone to the pot. 
And the Doctor is lost in the depth of the plot: 

St. Stephen his flayl 

No more wiU prevail, 
Nor Sir Robert's dagger, the Chaiter to bail; 
Oh London! thou'dst better have laid in the fii-e, 
Then thus thy old Charter should stick in the mire. 

But since with your foUy, your faction and pride, 
You sink with the Charter who strove with the tide. 
Let all the lost rivers return to the main 
From whence they descended; they'll spring out again; 

Submit to the king 

In every thing, 
Then of a new Charter, new sonnets we'U sing; 
As London (the phoenix of England) ne'er dies, 
So out of the flames a new Charter will rise. 



To the Tune of " Winchester Wedding." 

From the same Collection as the foregoing. The Stationers' 
Company, as related in the ballad, obtained a restoration of their 
charter, in consequence of their dutiful submission to the court. 
The persons alluded to in the ballad by the names of Dick, Jack, 
George, William, &c. were probably apprentices, distinguished 
in their day for their adherence to the popular side. 

In London was such a quarter, 

The like was never known. 
About the forfeited Charter, 

Betwixt the Court and the Town. 
The masters were crowding before, 

The prentices i' th' rear did fall, 
There were a thousand and more 

Attended to lead up the brawl : 
Kit arm'd with a fork and a spade, 

And Bob with a shovel and fork, 
But Tender was for a surrender 

And now it began to work. 

Quoth Willj, what lose the Charter ? 

I'll sooner lose my head : 
Quoth Bob Hog, I'll die a martyr 

Before that shall ever be said. 
Quoth John, you may shut up your shopping, 

Yoiu- Charter was all your shield, 


For every seaman of Wappiug 

May be freeman now of the Guield, 

Quoth a butcher, the beggarly French 
Will out of our mouths eat the bread ; 

But the weaver he cock'd up his beaver, 
And valiantly march'd at the head. 

But Stationers- Hall so loyal 

The Charter by which they meet, 
The gift of his Ancestors Royal, 

Did humbly lay at liis feet ; 
Whose suit he so far befriendeth. 

Their liberties know no bound. 
Their Charter her \^Tiigs extendeth, 

Thro' London, and full four miles round. 
And now from the Bygot and Wliig, 

(To distinguish the good men and true), 
The table is purg'd, and rabble 

With the members excluded withdrew. 

With limping Dick the zealous. 

Went doting Yea and Nay, 
And squinting Jack so zealous 

Lest loyalty got the day. 
With these Jack Thumb was reckon'd, 

And hungry Will of the Wood ; 
And Frank the first and the second. 

And George that will never be good. 
And thus they did trip it along. 

Whilst William led up the brawl. 


But John did storm above any 
To be turn'd out of the Hall. 

Jack gave his right hand to Harry, 

Who almost his place had lost, 
And swore if the day they carry. 

The loyal should pay for the roast. 
But Bob Hog who made a tryal. 

And found how the jig would go, 
Resolv'd to change sides and be loyal, 

But all the Dissenters said " No:" 
Thus whilst to the Charter or law 

They woidd no obedience yield, 
The glory was stiU, true Tory 

Is master of the field. 

Now to the stationers honour, 

The Charter is on record ; 
Great Charles the bountiful donor 

Their franchises has restor'd ; 
To whose everlasting glory 

Thy honour will still redound ; 
That they are the first in story, 

Who London's Charter did found ; 
Then to the brave founder a health, 

Who first did oui- freedom create ; 
A bumper to Charles, to the rumper 

A halter, aiid Robin Hogs fate. 



From the same Collection as the preceding. This ballad, which 
was written prior to the year 1694, shows that the " Mug" was 
a common party cry at least twenty -four years before the cele- 
brated Mug-house riots, which broke out in Salisbury Court, 
Fleet Street, and led to the death of several persons. I have 
seen it somewhere stated, though I am not able to refer to the 
passage, that the " mugs" out of which the politicians of that 
day drank their beer, were fashioned into the resemblance of 
Lord Shaftesbury's face. It has since become a \ailgar phrase, 
to say of a man with a disagreeable coimtenance, that " he has an 
ugly mug." 

If sorrow the tyrant invade thy breast, 
Draw out the foitl fiend by the lug, the lug; 
Let no thought of to-morrow disturb thy rest, 
But dash out its brains with a mug, a mug. 
If business unluckily go not well, 
Let duU fools their ill fortune hug: 
To show our allegiance we'll go to the Bell, 
And di'own all our cares in a mug, a mug. 

If thy wife be not one of the best, the best. 

Admit not a respit to think, to think; 

Or the weight of thy forehead weigh down thy brest, 

Divert the dull demon with drink, with drink; 

If thy mistress prove peevish, and wiU not gee, 

Ne'er pine, ne'er pine, for the scornful pug; 

But find out a prettier, and kinder than she; 

And banisli despair with a mug, a mug. 


Let zealots o'er coffee new plots divine, 
And lace with fresh treasons the pagan di*ug; 
With loyal blood flowing in our veins, that shine 
Like our faces, inspir'd with the mug, the mug; 
Let sectai'ies dream of alarms, alarms. 
And fools, still for new changes tug; 
We fam'd for oui' loyalty, Avill stand to our arms; 
And di'ink the king's health in a mug, a mug. 

Then, then to the queen, let the next advance. 

With all loyal lads of true English race ; 

That scorn the stum'd notion of Spain and France; 

Or to Burdeux or Bm-gundy to give place, 

The flask and the bottle breed ach and gout, 

"N^Tiilst we, we all the season lie snug ; 

Nor Spaniai'd nor Florentine can vie with our stout, 

And Monsieur submits to the mug, the mug. 



To the Tune of " Let Cpesar live long." 

From a broadside in the British Museum. Licensed according to 
Order. The song of " Let C?esar live long," with the tune, is printed 


in " A Collection of One Hundred and Eighty Loyal Songs," &c. 
12m(). 1694, 4th edition, from which we have already and largely 
quoted ; also in earlier editions of the same work. 

Brave boys we shall soon have an army of those 
That will both the French and the Papists oppose, 
What tho' they do now on the Protestants frown, 
It is not those Romans that shall run us down; 
For every tradesman his calling will leave, 
And bright shining armour resolves to receive. 

The Weavers they throw by their shuttle and loom. 
Resolving to stand against treacherous Rome, 
Whose insolent pride did their betters degrade, 
And oftentimes proved the ruin of trade; 
Therefore the brave Weavers will now play their part, 
Vowing that MoUnsier they'll vex to the heart. 

The valiant Shoomakers in hundreds come. 
Resolving to follow the true martial drum, 
With flourishing colours to enter the field, 
Not fearing to make the proud enemy yield. 
The bones of St. Hugh they do now bid adieu. 
As having a far greater work now to do. 

The Butchers, the Dyers, the Hatters also, 
AVith undaunted courage these valiantly go, 
Stout lads that are season'd to laborious work. 
Well able to fight the proud French or the Turk, 
In glittering arms they resolve to appear. 
To make all our enemies tremble for fear. 


Not only in London, but every where 
They do to the army in thousands repair, 
The Cornwall and Devonshire boys are agreed 
To make the proud ])apists in Flanders to bleed; 
And like valiant souldiers they solemnly vow 
To make the most insolent Catholicks bow. 

The Dorset and Somerset boys too we find, 
They are to a Protestant monarch inclin'd; 
And at his command they will valiantly go 
In order our enemies to overthi'ow. 
They have not forgot their relations of late, 
Who suffer'd under a great j)erson of state. 

Through every county all over the west, 
Their loyalty to their good king is exprest; 
And under his banner they'll fight till they dye, 
Or otherwise make our proud enemies flye; 
Their cause being good, they are void of all fear, 
Resolving to charge from the front to the rear. 

'Tis very well known that they fear not the French, 
Nor will they retire to give back an inch, 
But up to the face of the enemy ride. 
To curb and subdue their insolent pride: 
A touch of true courage ere long they shall feel, 
They'll cliase them vvith swords of true temper'd 


Our army makes Lewis to tremble and quake, 
He fearing that Mons we again will retake; 
Which we are resolved tliis summer to do, 
And a farther progi-ess we still will pursue; 
With undaunted courage, brave boys, we'll advance, 
In order to conquer the glory of France. 

Renowned King William, of conduct and skill. 
With brave sons of thunder will follow them still; 
Wliile drums they are beating, and trumpets do sound, 
And cannons like thunder are tearing the ground, 
The glory and power of France we disdain. 
King William in triumph and glory shall reign. 

From Flanders to France, boys, we soon will repair. 
And conquer that nation, oppose us who dare. 
Their castles, and towers, and cities subdue. 
And make the proud Lewis submit to us too; 
Wliilst conquering William with lawrels is crown'd, 
His fame and his name thro' the world shall go round. 

Printed for J. Blare, at the " Looking-glass," on London Bridge. 



From " Pills to Purge Melancholy ; or, Wit and Mirth, an An- 
tidote against IMelancholy, compounded of T\-itty and ingenious 
Ballads, Songs, and Catches, and other pleasant and merry 
Poems ; the Third Edition, enlarged. London, printed by A. G. 
and J. P. and sold by Henry Playford, near the Temple Church, 

Of all the trades that ever I see, 

Ther's none to a Blacksmith compared may be, 

AVith so many several tools works he, 

Wliich nobody can deny. 

The first that ever thunderbolt made 
Was a Cyclops of the Blacksmith's trade. 
As in a learned author is said. 

Which nobody can deny. 

Wlieu thundering like we strike about, 
The fire like lightning flashes out. 
Which suddenly with water we dout, 

AVhich nobody can deny. 

The fairest goddess in the skies. 
To marry with Vulcan did advise. 
And he was a Blacksmith grave and wise. 
Which nobody can deny. 

Vulcan he, to do her right, 
Did build her a town by day and by night. 
And gave it a name which was Hammersmith hight, 
Wliich nobody can deny. 


Vulcan further did acquaint her, 
That a pretty estate he would appoint her, 
And leave her Sea Coal Lane for a joynter, 
Which nobody can deny. 

And that no enemy might wrong her. 

He built her a fort you'd wish no stronger, 

Which was in the lane of Ironmonger, 

Which nobody can deny. 

Smithiield he did cleanse from dirt, 
And sure there was great reason for't, 
For there he meant she should keep her court, 
Which nobody can deny. 

But after in a good time and tide, 
It was by the blacksmith rectified. 
To the honour of Edmund Ironside, 

Which nobody can deny. 

Vulcan after made a train 
Wherein the god of war was ta'en, 
Which ever since hath been call'd Paul's Chain, 
Which nobody can deny. 

The common proverb, as it is read, 
That a man must hit the nail on the head. 
Without the Blacksmith cannot be said, 
Which nobody can deny. 


Anotlier must not be fiargot, 
And falls unto the Blacksmith's lot, 
That a man must strike while the iron is hot, 
Which nobody can deny. 

Another comes in most proper and fit. 
The Blacksmith's justice is seen in it, 
Wlien you give a man roast meat, and beat him witli 
the spit. Which nobody can deny. 

Another comes in our Blacksmith's way. 
When tilings ai^e safe, as old wives say. 
We have them under lock and key, 

Which nobody can deny. 

Another that's in the Blacksmith's books, 
And only to him for remedy looks. 
Is when a man's quite off the hooks, 

Wliich nobody can deny. 

Another proverb to him doth belong, 
And therefore let's do the Blacksmith no wrong. 
When a man's held hard to it, buckle and thong. 
Which nobody can deny. 

Another proverb doth make me laugh. 
Wherein the Blacksmith may challenge half, 
AYlien a reason 's as plain as a jnke staff, 
Which nobody can deny. 


Tho' your lawyers travel both near and far, 
And by long pleading a good cause may mar, 
Yet your Blacksmith takes more pains at the bar. 
Which nobody can deny. 

Tho' your scrivener seeks to crush and to kill. 
By his counterfeit deeds, and thereby doth ill. 
Yet your blacksmith may forge wliat he will. 
Which nobody can deny. 

Tho' your bankrupt citizens lurk in their holes, 
And laugh at their creditors and their catchpoles, 
Yet your Blacksmith can fetch them over the coals. 
Which nobody can deny. 

Though jockey in stable be never so neat, 
To look to his nag and prescribe him his meat, 
Yet your Blacksmith knows better how to give him aheat, 
Wliich nobody can deny. 

If any tailor have the itch. 

The Blacksmith's water as black as pitch 

Will make his hands go thorough stitch. 

Which nobody can deny. 

There's never a slut, if filth o'ermatch her, 
But owes to the Blacksmith for her leacher, [her. 

For without a pair of tongs there's no man would touch 
WTiich nobody can deny. 


Your roaring boys who every one quails, 
Fights, domineers, swaggers, and rails. 
Could never yet make the smith eat liis nails, 
Which nobody can deny. 

If a scholar be in doubt, 
And cannot well bring his matter about. 
The Blacksmith can iilways hammer it out, 
^Vliicli nobody can deny. 

Now if to know him you would desire. 
You must not scorn but rank him higher. 
For what he gets is out of the Jire, 

^\1iich nobody can deny. 

Now here's a good health to Blacksmiths all, 
And let it go round, as round as a ball; 
We'U drink it all off, though it costs us a ftiU, 
^^'^lich nobody can deny. 


From the same Collecrion as the preceding. The last stanzas 
e%idently refer to Oliver Cromwell, whose father was a brewer, 
at Huntingdon, and appear, fi'om the allusions to his son Richard, 
to have been written shortly after the death of the great Pro- 
tector, by some admirer of his principles and prowess. 

There's many a clinching verse is made 
In honour of the Blacksmith's trade. 
But more of the Brewer may be said, 

"Which nobody can deny. 


I need not much of this repeat, 
The Blacksmith cannot be complete, 
Unless the Brewer do give him a heat, 

Wliich nobody can deny. 

When Smug unto the forge doth come. 
Unless the Brewer doth liquor him home. 
He'll never strike " my 2)ot and thy pot, Tom," 
Wliich nobody can deny. 

Of all professions in the town. 

The Brewer's trade hath gain'd renown, — 

His liquor reacheth up to the crown, 

Wliich nobody can deny. 

Many new laws from him there did spring. 
Of all the trades he still was their king; 
For the Brewer had the world in a sling, 
Which nobody can deny. 

He scorneth all laws and marshal stops, 
But whips an army as sound as tops, 
And cuts off his foes as thick as Ao/w; 

Wliich nobody can deny. 

He dives for riches down to the bottom. 
And cries, " My masters," when he has got 'em, 
"Let every tub stand on its own bottom;" 
"\^^lich nobody can deny. 

K 2 


In warlike acts he scorns to stoop; 
For when his army begins to droop, 
He draws them up as round as a hoop, 

AVliich nobody can deny. 

The Jewish sot, that scorns to eat 
The flesh of swine, and Brewers' beat, — 
'Twas the sight of his hogshead made 'em retreat, 
Which nobody can deny. 

Poor Jockey and his basket hilt, 
Was beaten, and much blood was spilt. 
And their bodies, like barrels, did run a tilt, 
WTiich nobody can deny. 

Tho' Jemmy gave the first assault, 
The Brewer at last made him to halt. 
And gave them Avhat the cat left in the malt, 
Which nobody can deny. 

They cry'd that Antichi'ist came to settle 
Religion in a cooler and a kettle; 
For his nose and copper were both of one mettle, 
Wliich nobody can deny. 

Some Christian kings began to quake. 
And said with the Brewer no quarrel we'll make, 
We'U let him alone, as he brews, let him bake; 
Wliich nobody can deny. 


He had a strong and very stout heart, 
And thought to be made an emperor for't, 
But the dev^il put a spoke in his cart, 

Which nobody can deny. 

If any intended to do him disgrace, 
His fury would take off his head in the place, 
He always did carry his furnace in his face, 
Which nobody can deny. 

But yet, by the way, you must understand, 
He kept his foes so under command. 
That Pride coidd never get the upper hand, 
Which nobody can deny. 

He was a stout Brewer, of whom we may brag, 
But now he is hmTied away with a hag, — 
He brews in a bottle and bakes in a bag, 
Which nobody can deny. 

And now may all stout soldiers say. 
Farewell the glory of the day. 
For the Brewer himself is turned to clay. 
Which nobody can deny. 

Thus fell the brave brewer, the bold son of slaughter; 
We need not to fear what shall follow after. 
For he dealt all his time in fii'e and water, 
Which nobody can deny. 


And if his successor had had but his might, 
Then we had not been in a pitiful plight, 
But he was found many grains too light. 
Which nobody can deny. 

Let's leave off singing, and drink off our bub, 
We'll call up a reckoning, and every man club, 
For I think I have told you a tale of a tub. 
\\'liich nobody can deny. 


From Evans' Collection of Old Bjillads, Lond. 1810, vol. i. p. 162 

Here is a crew of jovial blades, 

That lov'd the nut-brown ale. 
They in an alehouse chanc'd to meet, 

And told a merry tale. 
A bonny seaman was the first, 

But newly come to town, 
And swore that he his guts could bm*st, 

With ale that was so brown. 

See how the jolly carman he 
Doth the strong liquor prize, 

He so long in the alehouse sat. 
That he drank out his eyes; 


Aiid groping to get out of door, 

Sot-like, he tumbled down, 
And there he like a madman swore 

He lov'd the ale so brown. 

The nimble weaver he came in, 

And swore he'd have a little. 
To drink good ale it was no sin, 

Though't made him pawn his shuttle. 
Quoth he, I am a gentleman, 

No lusty country clown, 
But yet I love with all my heart 

The ale that is so brown. 

Then next the blacksmith he came in. 

And said, " 'Twas mighty hot;" 
He sitting down did thus begin: 

" Fair maid, bring me a pot; 
Let it be of the very best, 

That none exceeds in town, 
I tell you true, and do not jest, 

I love the ale so brown." 

The prick louse tailor he came in, 

Whose tongue did run so nimble. 
And said he would engage for drink 

His bodkin and his thimble. 
" For though Avitli long thin jaws I look, 

I value not a crown, 
So I can have my belly full 

Of ale that is ?o brown." 


The lusty porter passing by 

With basket on his back, 
He said that he was grievous dry, 

And needs would pawn his sack. 
His angry wife he did not fear, 

He valued not her frown, 
So he had that he lov'd so dear, 

I mean the ale so brown. 

The next that came was one of them 

Was of the gentle craft. 
And when that he was wet within. 

Most heartily he laugh'd. 
Crispin was ne'er so boon as he, 

Tho' some kin to a crown, 
And there he sat most merrily, 

With ale that was so brown. 

But at the last a barber, he 

A mind had for to taste. 
He called for a pint of di'ink, 

And said he was in haste. 
The drink so pleased he tarried there 

Till he had lost a crown, 
'Twas all the money he could spare 

For ale that is so brown. 

A broom-man as he passed by 
His morning draught did lack ; 


Because that he no money had, 
He pawn'd his shirt from 's back: 

And said that he without a shirt 
Would cry brooms up and down; 

" But yet," quoth he, " I'll merry be 
With ale that is so brown." 

But when all these together met, 

Oh what discourse was there; — 
'Twould make one's hair to stand on end 

To hear how they did swear! 
One was a fool and puppy dog. 

The other was a clown, 
And there they sat and swill'd their guts 

With ale that was so brown. 

The landlady they did abuse, 

And called her nasty whore; 
Quoth she, " Do you your reckoning pay, 

And get you out of door!" 
Of them she could no money get. 

Which caused her to frown; 
But loath they were to leave behind 

The ale that was so brown. 




A pretty new ditty, compos'd by an hoastess that lives in the city 
To wrong such an hoastess it were a great pity. 
By reason she caused this pretty new ditty. 

From Evans' Collection of Old Ballads, vol. i. page 150. 

Come all that love good company, 

And hearken to my ditty, 
'Tis of a lovely hostess fine, 

That lives in London city, 
AVliich sells good ale, nappy and stale, 

And always thus sings she, 
My ale was tunn'd when I was young. 

And a little above my knee. 

Her ale is lively, strong, and stout, 

If you please but to taste. 
It is well brew'd you need not fear. 

But I pray you make no waste. 
It is lovely brown, the best in town. 

And always thus sings she, 
My ale was tunn'd when I was young, 

And a little above my knee. 

The gayest lady with her fan, 

Doth love such nappy ale. 
Both city maids and country girls 

That carry the milking pail. 


Will take a touch, and not think much, 

To sing so merrily, 
My ale was tunn'd when I was young. 

And a little above my knee. 

Both lord and squire have a desire 

Unto it night and day, 
For a quart or two, be it old or new. 

And for it then will pay. 
With pipe in hand, they may her command, 

To sing right merrily. 
My ale was tunn'd when I was young. 

And a little above my knee. 

You're welcome all, brave gentlemen, 

If you please to come in, 
To take a cup I do intend. 

And a health for to begin, 
To all the merry jovial blades 

That wiU sing for company, 
My ale was tunn'd when I was young. 

And a little above my knee. 

Here's a health to all brave Englishmen, 

That love a cup of ale, 
Let every man fill up his can, 

And see that none do fail; 
'Tis very good to nourish the blood, 

And make you sing with me. 
My ale was tunn'd when I was young, 

And a little above my knee. 



The bonny Scot will lay a plot 

To get a handsome touch 
Of this my ale so good and stale, 

So will the cunning Dutch, 
They will take a part with all their heart. 

To sing this tune with me, 
My ale was tunn'd when I was young, 

And a little above my knee. 

It will make the Irish cry " ahone!" 

K they but take their fill, 
And put them all quite out of tune. 

Let them use their chiefest skill. 
So strong and stout it will hold out, 

In any company, — 
For my ale was tunn'd when I was young, 

And a little above my knee. 

The Welshman on St. David's day. 

Will cry, " Cot's plutter a nail!" 
Hur will hur ferry quite away 

From off that nappy ale; 
It makes hur foes with hur red nose, 

Hur seldom can agree, — 
But my ale was tunn'd when I was young. 

And a little above my knee. 

The Spaniard f^tout will have a bout. 
For he hath store of "old. 


Till at the last he is laid fast, — 

My ale doth him so hold; 
His poignard strong is laid along, 

Yet he is good company, — 
For my ale was tunn'd when I was young. 

And a little above my knee. 

There's never a tradesman in England 

That can my ale deny, — 
The weaver, tailor, and glover, 

Delight it for to buy; 
Small money they do take away. 

If that they drink with me, — 
For my ale was tunn'd when I was young, 

And a little above my knee. 

There's Smug, the honest blacksmith. 

He seldom can pass by. 
Because a spark lies in his tliroat, 

Which makes him very dry; 
But my old ale tells him a tale. 

So finely we agree, — 
For my ale was tunn'd when I was young, 

And a little above my knee. 

The brewer, baker, and butcher, 

As well as all the rest, 
Both night and day wiU watch where they 

May find ale of the best; 

..q A 


And the gentle craft will come full oft, 

To drink a cup with nie, — 
For my ale was tunu'd when I was young, 

And a little above my knee. 

So, to conclude, good fellows all, 

I bid you all adieu; 
If that you love a cup of ale, 

Take rather old than new: 
For if you come where I do dwell. 

And chance to drink with me, — 
My ale was tunn'd when I was young, 

And a little above my knee. 


To the Time of " Treason's Joy." 

From the " Crown Garland of Golden Roses," where it is enti- 
tled " A delightful Song of the four famous Feasts of England ; 
one of them ordained by King Henry the Seventh to the Honour 
of Merchant Taylors, shewing how seven Kings ha^ ing been free 
of that Company, and how lastly it was graced by the renowned 
Henry of Great Britain." The ballad is also inserted in E\ans" 
Collection, vol. iii. page 44 to :50 ; and in the " History of the 
Twelve Companies of London, by William Herbert. London, 

[^ (o I ^ England is a kingdom 

Of all the world atlmu-ed. 
More stateliness in pleasures 
Can no way be desired; 


The court is full of bravery, 

The city stor'd with wealth, 
The law preservetli unity. 

The country keepeth health. 

Yet no like pomp and glory 

Our chi-onicles record. 
As four great feasts of England 

Do orderly afford; 
All others be but dinners called, 

Or banquets of good sort, 
And none but four be named feasts, 

AVhich here I will report. 

St. George our English champion, 

In most delightful sort. 
Is celebrated year by year 

In England's royal court; 
The king with all his noble train, 

In good and rich array, 
StiU glorifies the festival 

Of great St. George's day. 

The honoured Mayor of London 

The second feast ordains. 
By which the worthy citizen 

Much commendation gains; 
For lords and judges of the land, 

And knights of good request. 
To Guildliall come to countenance 

Lord Mayor of London's feast. 


Also the sergeants of the law 

Another feast aifords, 
With gi'ace and honour glorified 

By England's noble lords; 
And this we call the sergeant's feast, 

A third in name and i^lace, 
But yet there is a fourth likewise 

Deserves a gallant grace. 

The Merchant Tailor's company, 

The fellowship of fame, 
To London's lasting dignity 

Lives honour'd with the same; 
A gift King Henry the Seventh gave. 

Kept once in three years still, 
Where gold and gowns be to poor men 

Given by King Henry's will. 

Full many a good fat buck he sent. 

The fairest and the best 
The king's large forests can afford. 

To grace this Avorthy feast; 
A feast that makes the number just 

And last account of four, 
Therefore let England thus record 

Of feasts there be no more. 

Then let all London companies, 

So highly in renown. 
Give Merchant Tailor's name and fame 

To wear the laurel crown; 


For seven of England's royal kings 

Thereof have all been free, 
And with their loves and favours graced 

This worthy company. 

King Richai'd once, the second name. 

Unhappy in his fall, 
Of all his race of royal kings 

Was freeman first of all ; 
Bullingbrook, fourth Henry, next. 

By order him succeeds, 
To gloryfie his brotherhood 

By many princely deeds. 

Fift Henry, which so valiantly 

Deserved fame in France, 
Became free of this company. 

Fair London to advance; 
Sixt Henry, the next in reign, 

Though luckless in his dayes, 
Of Merchant Tailors freeman was, 

To their eternal praise. 

Fourth Edwai'd, that most worthy king, 

Beloved of great and small. 
Also performed a freeman's love 

In this renowned hall; 
Third Richard, which by cruelty. 

Brought England many woes, 
Unto this worthy company 

No little favour shews. l 


But richest favours yet at last 

Proceeded from a kinjr 
Whose kingdom round about the world 

In princes' ears do ring; 
King Henry, whom we call the Seventh, 

Made them the greatest grace, 
Because in Merchant Tailor's Hall 

His picture now stands plac'd. 

Their charter was his princely gift, 

Maintained to this day, 
He added Merchant to the name 

Of Tailors, as some say. 
So Merchant Tailors they be called, 

His royal love was so, 
No London company the like 

Estate of kings can shew. 

From time to time we thus behold 

The Merchant Tailors' glory. 
Of whose renown the Muses' pen 

May make a lasting story. 
This love of kings begot such love 

Of our now royal prince. 
For greater love than this to them 

Was ne'er before nor since. 

It pleased so his princely mind, 

Li meek kind courtesie, 
To be a friendly freeman made 

Of this brave company. 


O Loudon then in heart rejoyce, 

And Merchant Tailors sing 
Forth praises of this gentle prince, 

The son of our good king. 

To tell the welcome to the world 

Here then in London had, 
Might fill us full of pleasant joyes. 

And make our hearts full glad. 
His triumphs were performed and done, 

Long lasting will remain, 
And chronicles report aright 

Tlie order of it plain. 


This ballad, which is of the year 1701, is transcribed from Her- 
bert's " Historj' of the Twelve Companies of London." 

Advance the virgin, — lead the van, — 
Of all that are in London free, 

The Mercer is the foremost man 
That founded a society. 
Cho. Of all the trades that London grace, 

We are the first in time and place. 

^Vlien nature in perfection was, 
And virgin beauty in her prime, 



The Mercer gave the nymph a gloss, 
And made e'en beauty more sublime. 
Cho. In this above our brethren blest, 

The Virgin's since our coat and crest. 

Let others boast of lions bold. 

The camel, leopard, and the bear, — 

That tygers fierce their arms uphold. 

And rav'nous wolves their scutcheons rear, 
Cho. To us our virgin innocence 

Is both supporter and defence. 

Then let a loyal peal go round, 
There's none dare claim priority; 

To Cesar's health each glass be crown'd, 
Whose predecessors made us free. 
Cho. Of all the trades that London grace, 

Oui''s first in dignity and place. 


From "Deuteromelia: or, the Second Part of pleasant Rounde- 
layes ; K. H. Mirth, or Freemen's Songs, and such delightful 
Catches. London, printed for Thomas Adams, dwelling in Paul's 
Church-yard, at the sign of the ' Wliite Lion,' 1609." The terms 
A'. H. Mirth and Freemen s Songs have given rise to considerable 
discussion. It is supposed that the former stands for King Henry's 
Mirth ; that is, songs or catches of a merry nature, which were 
favourites with that prince. It may be so ; but there is no au- 
thority for it beyond mere conjecture. Ritson has some absurd 
notion of freemen being a mistake for three-men, because Shake- 


speare speaks of " Three-men song-men" that is, men who could 
sing songs of three parts : but if Ritson ever saw the book in 
question, he must there have found freemen's songs to four voices, 
which sets the mr.tter at rest. This ballad is also to be found in 
the "Pills to Purge Melancholy," third edition, vol. i. p. 49. 
London, 1707. 

Who liveth so merry in all this land 
As cloth the poor widdow that selleth the sand? 
And ever shee singeth as I can guesse, 
Will you buy any sand, any sand, mistress? 

The broom-man maketh his living most sweet, 
With carrying of broomes from street to street; 
"VVlio woidd desire a pleasanter thing, 
Then all the day long to doe nothing but sing. 

The chimney-sweeper aU the long day, 
He singeth and sweepeth the soote away; 
Yet when he comes home altho' he be weary, 
With his sweet wife he maketh full merry. 

The cobbler he sits cobbling tiU noone, 
And cobbleth his shooes till they be done; 
Yet doth he not feare, and so doth say. 
For he knows his worke wiU soone decay. 

The marchant man doth saile on the seas, 
And lye on the ship -board with little ease; 
Always in doubt the rocke is neare. 
How can he be merry and make good cheare? 

C-. \. <'' 


The husband-man all day goeth to plow, 
And when he comes home he serveth his sow; 
He moyleth and toyleth all the long yeare, 
How can he be merry, and make good cheare? 

The servingman waiteth fro' street to street, 
With blowing his nails and beating his feet: 
And serveth for forty shillings a yeare, 
That 'tis impossible to make good cheare. 

Wlio liveth so merry and maketh such sport 
As those that be of the poorest sort? 
The poorest sort wheresoever they be. 
They gather together by one, two, and three. 

And every man will spend his penny. 

What makes such a shot among a great many? 


This and the five following, — "The Belman's Song," "The 
Smith's Man," " The Cryer's Song of Cheapside," " The Pain- 
ter's Song of London," and " The City Rounds,"- — ^are transcribed 
from " Meligmata ; Musical Phantasies, fitting the Court, City, 
and Country Manners, to three, four, and five Voices, — 

To all delightful, except to the spiteful ; 
To none offensive, except to the pensive. 

London, printed by William Stansby, for Thos. Adams, 1611." 
From the initials, T. R., B.M., at the end of the dedicafion, there 


can be little doubt that the work was compiled by Thomas Ra- 
venscroft, Bachelor of Music. He was also the editor of " Dcii- 
teromelia," and tv,o other musical works. In the year 1822, the 
Duke of Marlborough presented to the Members of the Rox- 
burgh Club " A Selection from the Works of Thomas Ravens- 
ci'oft," but they were very incorrectly given. 

My master is so wise, so wise, 

That he'es proceeded wittall. 
My mistris is a foole, a foole. 

And yet 'tis the most get-all. 
Let the vsiirer cram him 

Interest that excell, 
Their pit's enough to damme him 

Before he goes to hell. 
In Holborne some: in Fleet Streete some, 
Where care he come. 


Maides to bed, and cover coale, 
Let the mouse out of her hole. 
Crickets in the chimney sing, 
Wliilst the httle bell doth ring; 
If fast asleep, who can tell 
When the clapper hits the bell? 



Who will be the smith's man? 

He that any good can, 

To take his cups, or drink his bowls, 

Or whisk his beesom o'er the coals. 

Or heave the bellows, the first to blow. 

And while the iron is hot, strike ho! 

Fouffh — fouffh — to fouorh ! 


Oyes ! oyes ! oyes ! if any one at fifteene 
Hath taken vp and found 

A pretie pretie thing •• 

That hath her maiden head vnbound, 
If any gallant haue with cater-tray, 
Play'd the wise-acre, and made all away, 

Let him come to the cryer. 
There will be laide a thousand pound to tenne. 
That none of these will e'er be had againe. 

Oyes ! oyes ! if note or line, or word be here let fall, 
That giues to any man the taste of gall, 

Let him come to the cryer, 
I will lay my lips to a fat slu'oving hen 
That none of these will 'er be had againe. 
For this I say and likewise I protest 
No arrowes here are shot at any brest; 
But all are welcome to my musicke feastc. 



Where are you, faire maides, 
That have need of our trades? 

I'll sell you a rare confection: 
WiU yee have your faces spread 
Either with white or red, 

Will yee buy any fair comp lection? 

My di'ugges are no dregges, 
For I have whites of egges, 

Made in a rare confection. 
Red leather and surflet water. 
Scarlet colour or staues-aker, 

WiU yee buy any fair complection? 


Broomes for old shooes ! pouchrings,bootes and buskings ! 

Will yee buy any new broome? 
New oysters! new oysters! new new cockels! 

Cockles nye ! fresh herrings ! Will yee buy any straw ? 
Hay yee any kitchen stuife, maides? 

Pippins fine, cherrie ripe, ripe, ripe! 
Cherrie ripe! &c. 


Hay any wood to cleaue? 
Give eare to the eloeke! 
Beware your loeke ! 
Your fire and yom* light ! 
And God giue you good night! 
One o' clocke! 


From " A right excellent and famous comedy, called The Three 
Ladies of London, wi-itten by R. W. printed in 1584." One of 
the personages of the comedy is Conscience, who is supposed to 
enter with brooms at her back, singing the following. 

New broomes, green broomes, will you buy any? 
Come, maydens, come quickly, let me take a peny. 

My broomes are not steeped, 

but very weU bound: 
My broomes be not crooked, 

but smooth cut and round. 
I wish it should please you 

to buy of my broome: 
Then would it well ease me, 

if market were done. 

Have you any olde bootes, 

or any olde shoone? 
Powch-rings or buskijis 

to cope Tiith new broome? 


If so you have, maydens, 

I pray you bring hither: 
That you and I, friendly, 

may bargen together. 

New broomes, green broomes, will you buy any? 
Come, maydens, come quickly, let me take a peny. 


From " Catch that Catch can ; or, the Musical Companion," 
1667, 4to. Both this and the following appear in the "New 
Academy of Complements, erected for Ladies, Gentlewomen, 
Courtiers, Gentlemen, Scholars, Souldiers, Citizens, Countrymen, 
and all Persons of what DegTee soever, of both Sexes, compiled 
by L. B. Sir C. S. Sir W. D. and others, the most refined Wits 
of the Age. London, printed by J. D. for John Churchill, at 
the 'Black Swan,' in Paternoster Row. 1694." The initials 
Sir C. S. and Sir W. D. are probably meant for Sir Charles 
Sedley and Sir William Davenant. 

Have you any work for a tinker, mistriss? 

Old brass, old pots, or kettles? 

I'le mend them all with a tink, terry tiuk, 

And never hurt your mettles. 

First let me have but a touch of your ale, 

'Twill steel me 'gainst cold weather, 

Or tinkers frees, 

Or vintners lees, 

Or tobacco, chuse you whether. 


But of your ale, 

Your nappy ale, 

1 would I had a ferkin, 

For I am old, 

And very cold, 

And never weai- a jerkin. 


From " Wit and Mirth, or Pills to Purge Melancholy," vol. i. 
London, 1707. 

He that a Tinker, a Tinker would be, 

Let him leave other loves 
And come listen to me; 
Though he travels all the day, 

He comes home late at night, 
And dallies with his doxey 

And dreams of delight. 

His pot and his toast in the morning he takes, 
And aU the day long good music he makes; 
And wanders the world to wakes and to fairs, 
And casts his cap at the court and her cares. 
"VATien to the town the tinker doth come. 
Oh how the wanton wenches run! 

Some bring liim basons, some bring him bowls; 
All wenches pray him to stop up their holes. 


Tink! goes the hammer, 
The skillet and the skummer! 

Come bi'ing me the copper kettle! 
For the Tinker, the merrj Tinker, 

He is the man of mettle. 


From "Catch that Catch Can; or, the Musical Companion," 1667 

Have jou observ'd the wench in the street, — 

She's scarce any hose, or shoes to her feet, 

Yet she is very merry. 

And when she cries, 

She sings " I ha' hot codlins ;" 

Or have you ever seen or heard 

The mortal with a lion taiony heard ? — 

He lives as merrily as any heart can wish, 

And still he cries " buy a bris/t." 

Since these are merry why should we take care? 

Musicians, like camelions, must live by the ayr. 

Then let's be blitli and bonny, 

And no good meeting balk; 

For when we have no mony, 

We shall find chalk. 














Cfte ^ercp ^onetp* 

J. A. CAHUSAC, Esq. F.S.A. 










E. F. RIMBAULT, Esq. Secretary 



There is an old adage, that "• the least said is the 
soonest mended ;" to the profound wisdom of 
which the Editor subscribes. 

Nevertheless, in editing the following songs, he 
has said a great deal more than is necessary, to 
recal to the reader's mind the precise circum- 
stances under which the songs, selected by him to 
illustrate an important page in the history of 
the British Isles, were Avritten. He has been 
induced to pursue this course, and to deviate 
from the path which prudence dictated he should 
follow, by the strong light under which party 
feelings may regard even at the present moment 
some of the points touched upon in this Collection, 

The endeavour honestly to perform his duty as 
Editor, without reference to party objects, has 
perhaps led him into the error of minute contem- 
porary illustration ; which, if it should be so 
considered after thus explaining his motive, he 
trusts will be indulgently viewed by the members 
of the Percy Society. 

The Editor most gratefully acknowledges the 
assistance he has received from many kind friends, 
while passing this little publication through the 

Rosamon(Vs Bower, Fulhatn, 
2(5th January, 1841. 



Introduction - - - - 1 

Ballad. Parti - ... 6 

Ditto. Part II - - - - 9 

Notes - - - - - 11 

The Reading Skirmish — 

Introduction - - - 14 

Ballad - - - - - 15 

Notes - - - - - 19 

King James's Welcome to Ireland — 

Introduction - - - - 22 

Song - - - - - 29 

Undaunted Londonderry — 

Introduction - - - .30 

Ballad - - - - - 46 

Notes - - - - - 49 

The Protestant Commander — 

Introduction - - - - 51 

Ballad - - - - - 53 

The Boyne W.\ter — 

Introduction - - - - 56 

Ballad - - - - 60 

Notes - - - - - 63 

The Death of the Duke ov Schomberg — 

Introduction - - - - 64 

Ballad - - - - - 71 


Tut Woman Waukiok — 

Introduction - - - .74 

Ballad - - - - - 76 

Note - - - - - 79 

The Conquest of Ikel.vxd — 

Introduction - - - - 80 

La Conquete d'Irlaude - - -82 

Le Relour de Vaphnis - - - 80 

Notes - - - - - 101 

The Stout Insiskillin Man — 

Introduction - - - - 109 

Song - - - - - 115 

The Tkeatv of Limerick — 

Introduction - - - - 117 

Epigram ..... 120 

It was a' for our rightfu' King — 

Introduction ..... 120 

Song - . . . - 121 

The Jacks put to their Trumps — 

Introduction - - - - 123 

Ballad - . - - - 13.3 



It is stated in the " Memoirs of Ireland, by the Author 
of the Secret History of Europe,"* that soon after the 
accession of James II, " the Irish lords animated their 
vassals to insult them [the Protestants], giving out that 
the Earl of Clarendon should not be long lord-lieutenant. 
They hired wretched scribblers to make barbarous songs 
in praise of Tyrconnel, whom they designed his suc- 
cessor, and prophetically decreed him the honour of de- 
stroying the English Church. These infamous ballads 
were bawled about the streets, and served to inflame 
their lewd mirth." 

At this period, according to a letter which the Editor 
has seen, and which existed among that important his- 
torical collection, the Southwell MSS.,f " an Irish song 
was much sung by the lower orders of the people 
throughout the kingdom, in which there was a great 
repetition of the words here, lere, burlere ; J and it was 

* London, 1716, p. 45. 

t Now dispersed. Sold by auction at Messrs. Christie's, 
February 1 834, by order of the executors of Lord De Clifford. 
X " Religion, religion, yoxir religion.^' 


soon after most effectively parodied against Tyrconnel 
and the tyrannical proceedings towards the poor Pro- 
testants in Ireland." 

According to Bishop Percy, " Lilli. burlero, and 
Bullen a lah, are said to have been words of distinction 
used among the Irish Papists, in their massacre of the 
Protestants in 1641." There can be no doubt that these 
words are an English imitation of the sound of an 
Irish phrase or sentence, but they are so disguised as 
to admit only of a conjectural translation. Mr. David 
Murphy, an ingenious Irish scholar, supposes the ori- 
ginal words to have been equivalent to "A foreign 
soldier, strike him down." 

The first part of the song of Lilli burlero is preserved 
by Bishop Percy, in his " Reliques of Ancient English 
Poetry," where these remarks occur upon it : " The fol- 
lowing rhymes, slight and insignificant as they may now 
seem, had once a more powerful effect than either the 
philippics of Demosthenes or Cicero ; and contributed 
not a little towards the great revolution of 1688. Let 
us hear a contemporary writer. ' A foolish ballad was 
made at that time, treating the Papists, and chiefly the 
Irish, in a very ridiculous manner, which had a burden 
said to be Irish words, ' Lero, lero, lilliburlero,' that 
made an impression on the [king's] array, that cannot 
be imagined by those that saw it not. The whole army, 
and at last the people, both in city and county, were 
singing it perpetually ; and, perhaps, never had so slight 
a thing so great an effect.* — Bishop Burnet's History of 
his Own Times." 


A note in Percy at the end of Lilli burlero, adds, 
" The foregoing song is attributed to Lord Wharton, in 
a small pamphlet, entitled, ' A true Relation of the 
several Facts and Circumstances of the intended Riot 
and Tumult on Queen Elizabeth's Birthday, &c. third 
edition. London, 1712, price 2d., see page 5, viz. :' — 
' A late viceroy [of Ireland] who has so often boasted 
himself upon his talent for mischief, invention, lying, 
and for making a certain Lilli burlero song, with which, 
if you may believe himself, he sung a deluded prince 
out of three kingdoms.' " 

With regard to the authorship of Lilli burlero, Mr. 
Markland has observed,* that, according to Lord 
Dartmouth, " there was a particular expression in it, 
which the King remembered he had made use of to the 
Earl of Dorset, from whence it was concluded that he 
was the author." " The ballad of Lilli burlero," re-, 
marked Beauclerk to Dr. Johnson, " was once in the 
mouths of all the people of this country, and is said to 
have had a great effect in bringing about the revolution. 
Yet I question," he continued, " whether any body can 
repeat it now; which shews how improbable it is that 
much poetry should be preserved by tradition." This, 
however, is not a fair deduction ; for, a political squib, 
and especially one in a barbarous jargon, cannot be 
considered poetry; and, although in a moment of ex- 
citement few things are more captivating to the fancy 

* Boswell's Johnson. Note in Murray's 10 vol. ed. vol. v. 
p. 291 . 

B 2 


than the jingle of satirical rhj'mes which have a witty 
reference to temporary circumstances, yet few things 
sooner lose their popular relish. 

A slight reference to the verses of this period, will 
shew how popular the ballad of Lilli bui-lero must have 
been.* -' 

* In the Irish Huclibras, (London 1689, p. 151), we have — 

'■ LilU-bo-lero-lero sing 
Tyrconnel is no longer k ," &:c. 

In an epistle to INIr. Diyden, (Poems on Affairs of State, 
1716, vol. i. p. 143,) 

" Dryden, thy wit has catterwaul'd too long, 
Now lero lero is the only song." 

The tenth verse of a ballad on the Inniskilling Regiment, 
in the same volume (p. 261) runs thus : — it may also be found 
in D' Urfey's " Pills to purge Melancholy." 

" He the nag of an Irish papist did buy, 
So doubting his courage and his loyalty, 
He taught him to eat with his oats gunpowdero. 
And prance to the tune of Lilli-burlero." 

A ballad entitled " Popery pickled ; or, the Jesuit's Shoes 
made of running Leath," has the following verse: 

" Would you see the priests recanting, 
Now they fear the Enghsh law; 
You shall hear them all a ranting 
Lew, lero, bullcn a la." 

" On the Lord Lovelace's coming to Oxford from Gloucester 
Gaol in 1688. 

" At the foot of the colours blithe Craudon did go. 
Who play'd a new tune you very well know ; 
His bagpipes squeak'd nothing but lero, lero, 

Wliich nobody can deny." 


Sterne has materially contributed to extend the fame 
of Lilli burlero to our times, by making my Uncle 
Toby whistle the tune on many occasions. The present 
version of this celebrated song, is given from " The 
Muses' Farewell to Popery and Slavery ; or, a Collec- 
tion of Miscellany Poems, Satyrs, Songs, &c. made by 
the most eminent wits of the nation, as the Shams, In- 
trigues, and Plots of Priests and Jesuits gave occasion." 
London, 1689. And the second part from the sup- 
plement to the same work. In the table of contents, 
the first part of Lilli burlero is emphatically called 
" The Irish Song." 

Mr. Monck Mason, in his " History of St. Patrick's 
Cathedral," states, that " Abel Roper, publisher of the 
' Post-boy,' a person of infamous character, who was 
alternately Whig or Tory, as suited his purpose, is said 
to have been the original printer of the celebrated 
ballad of Lilly bullero." 

The zealous Secretary of the Percy Society, Mr. 
Rimbault, has informed the Editor, that " The air of 
Lilli burlero is generally considered to be the composi- 
tion of the celebrated Henry Purcell ; but that it could 

A song in " the Muses' Farewell to Popery and Slavery," 
contains this verse : 

" Life and fortune addresses 

Shall not wear out our presses, 
To flatter and sooth ajust Nero; 

But loud declarations 

To secure the three nations 
From the French, and from Lilli burlero." &c. 

See also note (B), p. 21. 


not liave been his composition is evident from the fact 
of its being contained in 'An Antidote against Melan- 
choly,' printed in the year 1661, when Purcell was only 
three years old. The air is there given (with some tri- 
fling difference in the latter part) to the following words : 

' There was au old man at Walton cross, 
Who merrily sinig- when he liv'd by the loss ; 
He never was heard to sigh a hey ho, 
But he sent it out with a hey truly lo. 
He chear'd up his heart 
When his goods went to wrack, 
With a hem, hey hem 
And a cup of old sack 

Sing, hey troly-troly lo.' 

" The air of Lilli burlero," adds Mr. Rimbault, " first 
appeared with Purcell's name to it, in ' Musick's 
Handmaid, New Lessons and Instructions for the Vir- 
ginals, 1678,' where it is called Lilli burlero, or Old 
woman, whither so high ; but Purcell's name attached 
to it merely signifies that he arranged it." 


Ho ! brother Teague, dost hear de decree, 

Lilli burlero buUen a la; 
Dat we shall have a new debittie, [^deputy'] 
Lilli burlero bullen a la. 
Lero, lero, lero, lero, Lilli burlero bullen a la. 
Lero, lero, lero, lero, Lilli burlero bullen a la. 


Ho ! by my shoul' it is a T 1, [Talbot] 

LilH, &c. 
And he will cut all the English"^ t — t, [throat] 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

Though by my shoul de English do prat, 

Lilli, &c. 
De law's on dare side, and Chreist knows what, 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

But if dispense do come from de pope, 

Lilli, &c. 
We'll hang Magno Carto and demselves^ in a rope, 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

And" the good T 1 [^Tatbotl is made a lord, 

Lilli, &c. 
And he with brave lads is coming aboard,* 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

Who all in France have taken a swear, 

Lilli, &c. 
Dat dey will have no Protestant h — r, [/te/r] 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

O ! "^ but why does he ' stay behind ? 
LiUi, &c. 

^ Ho ! by Sheint Tyburn. — Percy. 

2 Englishmen's. — Percy. ^ Dem. — Percy. ■* For. — Percy. 

* And lie, brave lads, is coming aboard. — Percy. 

" Ara. — Percy. '' King James. 


Ho by mj' shoul 'tis a Pro.testant wind,' 
Lilli, &c. &c. 

Now T 1 [^Tyrcoiine/^ is come ashore,^ 

Lilli, &c. 
And we shall have coramissious gillore,^ 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

And he dat will not go to ni— ss^ [//mss] 

Lilli, &c. 
ShalH turn out and look like an ass, 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

Now, now de heretics all go down, 

Lilli, &c. 
By Chreist and St. Patrick de nation's our own,* 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

There was an old prophecy found in a bog, 

Lilli, &c. 
That Ireland should be rul'd by an ass and a dog :' 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

And now this prophecy is come to pass,^ 
Lilli, &c. 

1 See note (A). 

2 But see de Tpconnel is now come ashore. — Percy. 

^ Plenty — in abundance. ■• Go to de Mass. — Percy. 
» Shall he.— Percy. « See note (B). 

^ " Ireland shall he rul'd by an ass and a dog." — Percy. 
* " The prophecy's true, and now come to pass." — Poems 
on Affairs of State. 


For T — but's [_Talbot's'] the dog, and Tyr — nel's 
[^Tijrconnelsl the ass,' 
Lilli, &c. &c. 


By Creist my dear Morish vat makes de sho' shad ? 

Lilli, &c. 
The heritticks jear us and mauke me mad, 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

Plague take me, dear Tague, but I am in a rage, 

Lilli, &c. 
Poo' what impidence is in dish age ? 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

Vat if Dush \_Dutch~\ shou'd come as dey hope, 

Lilli, &c. 
To up hang us for all de dispence of de pope, 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

Day shay dat T I's [Tyrconnel] a friend to 

de mash, 

Lilli, &c. 
For which he's a traitor, a goose, and an ass, 

Lilli, &c. &-C. 

^ See note (C). 


Ara' plague tauke me now I make a swar, 

Lilli, &c. 
I to Shent Tyburn will make a great prayer, 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

O' I will pray to Shaint Patrick's frock, 

Lilli, &c. 
Or to Loretto's sacred smock, 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

Now a plague tauke me what dost dow tink, 

Lilli, &c. 
De English confusion to popery drink ; 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

And by my shoul the mash house pull down, 

Lilli, &c. 
While they were swearing the mayor of de town, 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

O' fait and be I'll mauke de decree, 

Lilli, &c. 
And swar by the Chancellor's modesty,^ 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

Dat I no longer in English will stay, 

Lilli, &c. 
For be goad dey will hang us out of de way, 

Lilli, &c. &c. 

* See note (D). 



(A) When it was known that the Prince of Orange was 
about leaving Holland for the invasion of England, such was 
the excitement of public feeling, that the slightest change in 
the wind was regarded with intense anxiety. If it blew fairly 
for England, it was spoken of as the Protestant, and when 
in an adverse direction, as the Catholic Avind. The apart- 
ments of James II v/ere opposite to the banquetting-house at 
Whitehall. On the roof of this building he caused a lofty 
vane to l)e erected, which he is said to have regarded daily 
with extreme interest. This curious relic is supposed to be 
the vane at present existing. 

(B) " What follows," observes Bishop Percy, " is not in 
some copies." Both the first and second parts of Lilli bur- 
lero may be found in " A Collection of Poems on Affairs of 
State," vol. iii. p. 231 (1704), but without these verses. At p. 
256, however, they are given as an epigram, and entitled " An 
Irish Prophecy." 

(C) " For Talbot's de dog, and James is de ass." —Percy. 
The last line of the " Irish Prophecy" above mentioned, agrees 
with the text, and not with Bishop Percy's version, which at 
first seems the better reading of the two. But the line appears 
intended to satirise the heads of Church and State. Peter 
Talbot, the In-other of Tyrconnel, had been the titular, or 
Roman Catholic Archbishop of Dublin, and many anecdotes 
are current as to the keenness with wliich he watched the 
property that had belonged to his church. The one most 


commonly told is, that " landing at a place called the Sker- 
ries, within twelve miles of Dublin, the archbishop was very 
hospitably entertained by one Captain Coddington, at whose 
house he lodged all night. The next morning he (the arch- 
bishop) took him aside, and after the most affectionate expres- 
sions of kindness, asked him, ' what title he had to that 
estate ?' for that he observed he had expended considerably 
upon its improvements. Coddington answered, "Twas an 
old estate belonging to the Earl of Thomond.' Tall)ot re- 
plied, 'That's nothing, it belonged to the church, and would 
be taken away.' He then advised him to lay out no more 
upon it, but to get what he could and desert it." Harris 
(Ware's " Writers," p. 192) says that Peter Talbot, who had 
been educated as a Jesuit, " was always forming designs, and 
contriving schemes for advancing" the interests of the Roman 
Catholic church, which, to use the words of an old author, 
" he guarded with the fidelity that became the doggedness of 
his name." 

Upon being appointed by the pope Archbishop of Dublin, 
as a reward, it is supposed, for the part he had played in 
England during Cromwell's government, Talbot directly em- 
broiled himself with Plunket, the titular Primate of Ireland, 
who told him " that he had the reputation of meddling too 
much in affairs of state." Mr. D' Alton, in his " Memoirs of 
the Archbishops of Dublin" (1838), labours hard to shew that 
Talbot was an amiable and persecuted man ; and expresses a 
hope that justice will be done to his character, notwithstanding 
"the prejudices of his contemporaries have sought to vilify 
Ms memory ; and even Mr. Moore has reflected their opinions 
when he styles him ' the clever and turbulent Peter Talbot.' " 
This prelate died a prisoner in the Castle of Dublin, in 1680 ; 
a picture of him is preserved at Malahide Castle. 


(D) The notorious Judge Jeffreys was made Lord Chancellor 
by James II, 28th September 1685, and created Baron Wem. 
His cruelty is said to have been only exceeded by his insa- 
tiable avarice, and the open and unblushing manner in which 
he received bribes. " He was not more hasty to hang up 
those that had no money than he was zealous to procure in- 
demnity to those that were rich. Pardons now were just as 
they were at Rome, not according to the offence, but the 
ability of the person, from ten pounds to 14,000 guineas, 
which last sum this judge of iniquity did not scruple to take 
from ]\Ir. Sp — s, and with which he bought an estate that may 
be justly called ' the Field of Blood.' " Upon this passage, 
which is from a contemporary tract, the Editor's friend Mr. 
Bruce observes : — " I fancy there is a little mistake in the name 
of the person who paid Jeffreys the 14,000 guineas. You have it 
" Mr. Sp — s." The immensity of the amount seems to fix it 

as having been the sum paid by " Mrs. P x" [Mrs Pri- 

daux] for the release of her husband, which was agreed to 
be £15,000; but a sum was abated byway of discount for 
prompt payment, and the sum actually paid was thus reduced 
to about 14,000 guineas. One can scarcely think there could 
have been two such transactions. With tlie money thus ob- 
tained Jeffreys bought the manor of Bough ton in Leicester- 
shire, and after the establishment of William III, an endea- 
vour was made to charge that estate with the sum paid to 
Jeffreys on account of Mr. Pridaux, but it failed." — Wool- 
rych's Life of Jeffreys, p. 238. Jeffreys, as is well-known, 
having been taken in Wapping disguised as a sailor, died soon 
after in the Tower. A contemporary rhymer recommends 

" On his grave 

This should he wrote : — I was both fool and knave ; 
To law and drink a scandal and a slave." 



" In 1688, a skirmish happened at Reading (Berk- 
shire), in which fell the only officer of the Prince of 
Orange's army, who lost his life in the expedition 
which effected the happy revolution of that year. King 
James's army, consisting of some Irish and Scotch 
regiments, had been quartered at Reading, and had 
quitted it on hearing that the Prince of Orange was 
advancing with the main body of his army. The inha- 
bitants, immediately on their departure, invited the 
Prince to take possession of the town, and secure them 
from the Irish, of which nation the King's army was 
then chiefly composed, and of whom they, in common 
with the rest of the kingdom, seemed to have enter- 
tained a great dread. The King's army having received 
intelligence that it was only a detachment from the 
Prince of Orange, that had advanced to Newbury, 
returned to Reading, and posted some Irish dragoons 
to defend the bridge ; the Scotch were drawn up in 
the market-place, when the Prince of Orange's troops 
entered the town ; a slight skirmish ensued, and a few 
lives were lost, but the King's troops soon fled with 
precipitation, and left the town in possession of their 
opponents.* This affair became the subject of a ballad. 

* Rennet's History. 


called the ' Reading Skirmish ; or the bloody Irish 
routed by the victorious Dutch.' The anniversary of 
the Reading fight is still commemorated by bell-ringing 
in the three parishes." — Lysons Magna Britannia. 

This song is given from a collection of printed 
ballads, &c. in the British Museum, two vols, folio. 
The original is in black letter, except the title and the 
last line of each verse, and is embellished with a wood- 
cut representing two knights in armour tilting. 

" By Chi'eest and St. Patrick we all go down," 
resembles so closely the tenth verse of the first part of 
Lilli burlero, (see p. 8) that there can be little doubt 
this burden was derived from it; and there are reasons 
for believing that this verse was the conclusion of the 
original song. See Note (B) p, 11. 



" Five hundred papishes came there, 
To make a final end 
Of all the town in time of prayer, 
But God did them defend." 

To the tune of Lilli borlero. Licensed according to order. 
Printed for J. D. iu the year 1688. 

We came into brave Reading by night, 
Five hundred horsemen, proper and tall ; 

Yet not resolved fairly to fight, 

But for to cut the throats of them all. 


Most of us was Irish Papists, 

Who vowed to kill, then plunder the town ; 
We this never doubted, but soon we were routed, 

By Chreest and St. Patrick, we all go down. 

In Reading town we ne'er went to bed, 

Every soul there mounted his horse, 
Hoping next day to fill them witli dread ; 

Yet I swear by St. Patrick's cross, 
We most shamefully was routed. 

Fortune was pleased to give us a frown. 
And blasted our glory : I'll tell you the story. 

By Chreest and St. Patrick, we all go down. 

We thought to slay them all in their sleep, 

But by my shoul, were never the near; 
The hereticks their guard did so keep, 

Which put us in a trembling fear. 
We concluded something further. 

To seize the churches all in the town, 
With kiUing and slaying, while they were a praying 

But we were routed, and soon run down. 

Nay, before noon, we vowed to despatch 

Every man, nay, woman and child ; 
This in our hearts we freely did hatch, 

Vowing to make a prey of the spoil : 
But we straightways was prevented, 

When we did hope for fame and renown. 
In less than an hour we forced [are] to scoure. 

By Chreest and St. Patrick, we are run down. 


We were resolved Reading to clear, 

Having in hand the flourishing sword ; 
The bloody sceen was soon to appear, 

For we did then but wait for the word : 
While the ministers were preaching, 

We were resolved to have at their gown ; 
But straight was surrounded, and clearly confounded. 

By Chreest and St. Patrick, we all go down. 

Just as we all were fit to fall on. 

In came the Dutch with fury and speed ; 
And amongst them there was not a man, 

But what was rarely mounted indeed ; 
And rid up as fierce as tygers, 

Knitting their brows, they on us did frown, 
Not one of them idle, their teeth held their bridle. 

By Chreest and St. Patrick, we were run down. 

They never stood to use many words. 

But in all haste up to us they flocked ; 
In their right hands their flourishing swords. 

And in their left carbines ready cock'd : 
We were forced to fly before them 

Thorow the lanes and streets of the town ; 
While they pursued after, and threaten'd a slaughter. 

By Chreest and St. Patrick, we were run down. 

Thus being fairly put to the rout, 

Hunted and drove before um like dogs; 



Our captain bid us then face about, 

But we wisht for our Irish bogs ; 
Having no great mind for fighting, 

The Dutch did drive us thorow the town ; 
Our foreheads we crossed, yet still was unhorsed. 

By Chreest and St. Patrick, we're all run down. 

We threw away our swords and carbines. 

Pistols and cloaks lay strow'd on the lands ; 
Cutting off boots for running, uds-doyns, 

One pair of heels was worth two pair of hands. i 
Then we called on sweet St. Coleman,2 

Hoping he might our victory crown ; 
But Du'chraen pursuing poor Teagues to our ruin. 

By Chreest and St. Patrick, we're all run down. 

Never was Teagues in so much distress. 

As the whole world may well understand ; 
When we came here, we thought to possess 

Worthy estates of houses and land : 
But we find 'tis all a story, 

Fortune is pleased on us to frown : 
Instead of our riches, we stink in our breeches. 

By Chreest and St. Patrick, we're all run down. 

They call a thing a three-legged mare. 

Where they will fit each neck with a nooze ; 

Then with our beads to say our last prayer. 
After all this to die in our shoes. 

1 See note (A). ^ See note (B) 


Thence we pack to purgatory ; 

For us let all the Jesuits pray. 
Farewell, Father Peters,' here's some of your creatures 

Would have you to follow the selfsame way. 


(A) The Irish troops, on which James depended at this 
critical period, were ill disciplined, and generally, upon the 
slightest cause, ran away panic-struck. In the instance men- 
tioned in the song, we are told, that " Upon the approach of 
a small party of his highness' [the Prince of Orange's] cavalry, 
the Irish made a discharge and abandoned their post; the 
Scotch, who had no inclination to fight, followed their example, 
and fled in disorder, till they were rallied by the Earl of Fa- 
versham, who was coming up to support them. Of the Irish 
not many were killed, and as few taken. However, tbe court 
[James's party] complained that tbe [Reading] town's-people 
shot at them behind, from their windows, while the prince's 
horse charged them before; but they justify themselves by 
saying, that the fear the Irish were in made tliem fancy they 
were attacked on every side, which, at this juncture, the court 
thought fit to believe. Maidenhead bridge was also fortified, 
and its defence committed to the Irish ; but some of the 
townsmen beating a Dutch march in the night, in order to 
alarm them, this stratagem took so well, that the Irish aban- 

1 See note (C). 

c 2 


doned their post in confusion, leaving their great guns behind 

(B) Edward Coleman, hanged at Tyburn in 1678, for his 
participation in the Popish Plot. 

" Now, painter, draw me hell in all its beat, 
Let sulpliiirous flames and dismal darkness meet, 
And in tlie hottest place, as best befits. 
Draw Stayley, Coleman, and the Jesuits." 

The Second Advice to a Painter. Broadside. 

Upon this broadside Mr. Bruce has favoured the Editor 
with the following observations : 

" Stayley w'as the first victim sacrificed upon the testimony 
of the respectable contrivers of the Popish plot. He was a 
goldsmith or banker in Covent Garden, and it was sworn that 
he was overheard to say, in a cook's shop, that the king was a 
great rogue, and that his was the hand that would kill him, if 
nobody else's would. All that seems to have been true was 
that he was in the cook's shop and spoke in French. The 
words were uttered on the 14th November, 1678 ; he was 
arraigned on the 20th of the same month ; tried on the 21st; 
executed on the 26th. His relations petitioned the king that 
his body might not be set up on the gates of the city, and Charles 
"out of his princely clemency and compassion," granted an 
order for the sheriflF to deliver the " quarters" to his friends. 
This was done, but, they being injudicious enough to say 
masses over the mangled remains, and bury them pompously 
in St. Paul's, Covent Garden, the king revoked his order ; the 
body was disinterred ; and the head and quarters made to 
adorn the city in the usual manner. The authorities for 
these facts are Burnet's Own Times, ii. 160, Edit. 1823; 
and the State Trials, vi. 1502. Stayley was probably a part- 
ner with his father in the banking-house, which was lately 


" There is a reference to ' Sweet Saint Coleman,' in a libel 
published in 1689, entitled ' The Chancellor's Examination 
and Preparation for a Trial,' of which Woolrych has given 
a copy. It purports to contain a will made by JeftVeys, in 
which he gives a thousand pounds, for the erection ' of a 
shrine and chapel to St. Coleman, for the particular devotion 
of a late very great English zealot: for whose glory,' he 
continues, ' I further order my executors to bear half charges 
in inserting and registering the sacred papers and memoirs of 
the said saint in those divine legends ' The Lives of the 
Saints,' by the hands of the reverend and no less industrious 
successor. Father Peters.' In the same paper there is also 
the following passage : — ' I desire that my funeral anthems 
be all set to the tune of ' Old Lillihurlero,' that never-to-be- 
forgotten Irish Shibboleth, in commemoration not only of 
200,000 heretics that formerly danced off to the said musical 
notes, but also of the second part of the same tune, lately 
designing, setting, and composing by a great master of mine 
and myself.' " 

(C) The skirmish at Reading took place on the 9th Decem- 
ber, 1688. On the 6th of December, "the popish party had 
become so contemptible in London, that there was a hue and 
cry after Father Petre publicly cried and sold in the streets." 

This song, from the statement that the Irish intended to 
" cut the throats of them all," and had " vowed to kill and 
then plunder the town," was no doubt written immediately 
after the 13th December, on which day "some country fellows 
arriving towards midnight at Westminster, caused a sudden 
uproar by reporting that the Irish, in a desperate rage, were 
approaching London, firing the houses, and putting man, 
woman, and child, to the sword. This false report gathered 
as it went along, so that in a few moments, not only the 


trained bands and disciplined troops appeared in anns, but 
cveiy body leaving their beds, placed lights in the windows, 
betook themselves, with half their clothes on, the most fearful 
to flight, the most resolute to their weapons. And what is 
most strange, this alarm spread itself the same night over the 
whole kingdom, and all that were able to carry arms vowed 
the defence of their lives, laws, religion, and liberties, and 
stood resolved to destroy all the Irish and papists in England, 
in case any injury were offered them. Some said that this 
general flight was occasioned by seven or eight Irish soldiers, 
who, having no money, resolved to keep themselves from 
starving, by forcibly entering into a country house. Whilst 
they were cuffing with those who would have thrust them 
out, a paltry cottage happened to catch fire, whereupon all 
the neighbouring towiis and villages rang their alarm bells, 
which were echoed throughout all England. 

" Some politicians assigned another cause {which was most 
probable) of this universal terror, and said it was industriously 
propagated Ijy the directions of the Duke of Schomberg, both 
to feel the pulse of the nation, and to .inspire them with 
resentment against the popish party, by letting them see to 
what dangers they were reduced by the bringing of Irish 
troops into the kingdom." — Bowyerh History of William III. 
Vol. i. 372 and 387. (1703.) 


Ja.mes II landed at Kinsale on Tuesday, 12th March, 
1688-9, where he was received by the Earl of Clan- 
carty, and where, " for the want of bells," we are told, 
" the king was welcomed with the shouts and accla- 

KING James's welcome to Ireland. 23 

mations of the people, bonfires, &c." Mr. Walker 
states that a national dance, called the Rinka fada, 
which he has minutely described in the " Memoirs of 
the Irish Bards," was danced on this occasion before 
James, " the figure and execution of which dehghted 
him exceedingly." 

On the following day, James proceeded to Cork, and 
awaited in that city the arrival of his lord-deputy, 
Tyrconnel. Here the king publicly heard mass on 
Sunday, the 17th March, (St. Patrick's day) at the 
new chapel of the north abbey, to which he went in 
procession through the main street of the city, sup- 
ported by two Franciscan friars, and attended bv 
several other friars in their habits. Many traditionary 
anecdotes are remembered of James's sojourn in Cork, 
which tend to shew, that mercy, although the royal 
prerogative, was one sparingly exercised by that king. 
His sanction of the execution of Mr. Brown, a magis- 
trate and a Protestant gentleman of consideration in 
the county, was, under the circumstances, a cruel and 
impolitic act j and the shooting on the spot, without 
trial, a recruit whose musket had accidentally gone off, 
was an unnecessary display of despotism. 

On Wednesday, the 20th March, James rode to 
Lismore Castle, where he is said to have started back 
with surprise at beholding the height of the window 
from which he looked upon the Blackwater. That 
night he slept at Clonmel. On Thursday he rested in 
the Castle of Kilkenny ; and on Friday night, after 
being at Carlow, " slabbered with the kisses of the 


rude country Irish gentlewomen, so that he was forced 
to beg to have them kept from him," the king slept at 
Sir Maurice Eustace's, near Kilcullen Bridge, distant 
seventeen miles from Dublin. 

The journey was chiefly performed by James on 
horseback, and he always made a point of riding through 
the towns and villages. During this royal progress, 
the roads were thronged with the peasantry, to be 
recognised in Irish history under the name of Rappa- 
rees,* or the more antiquated name of Tories, who 

* The word Rapparee is explained by O'Reilly, as " a hti- 
gious, bullying- fellow." 

" Not only the men," says M'Kenzie, in his ' Narrative of 
the Siege of Londonderry' (1690), " but the women and boys 
too, began to furnish themselves with skeans and half pikes ; 
it being the great business of the Irish smitbs in the country 
to make this sort of arms for them. These were afterwards 
called Rapparees, a sort of Iris 't vultures that follow their 
armies to prey on their spoil." Dean Story observes of the 
Rapparees, that they were "very prejudicial to our LWilliam's] 
army, as well by killing our men privately, as stealing our 
horses and intercepting our provisions. But after all," he 
adds, " lest the next age may not be of the same humour 
with this, and the name of Rapparee may possibly be thought 
a finer thing than it really is, I do assure you that, in my 
style, they can never be reputed other than tories, robbers, and 

O'Halloran, who would excite our sympathy on behalf of 
" those unhappy freebooters, called Rapparees," states that 
" they were too numerous to be employed in the [Irish] army, 
and their miseries often obliged them to prey alike upon friend 
and foe; at length some of the most daring of them formed 
themselves into independent companies, whose subsistence 
chiefly arose from depredations committed on the enemy." 


were armed with half pikes, skeins, or daggers, and 
affected a military appearance. 

About noon, on Saturday, the S^th March, James 
entered Dublin. The way on both sides, from the St. 
James's Gate to the Castle, was lined with soldiers, 
and strewed with fresh gravel. At the entrance of the 
liberty of the city, a stage had been erected covered 
with tapestry, on which were placed two harpers ; 
"and below," says a contemporary writer,* "a great 
number of friars, with a large cross, singing ; and 
about forty oyster wenches, poultry and herb women, 
in white," who danced along by the side of the king to 
the castle, " here and there strewing flowers. Some 
hung out of their balconies, tapestry and cloth of arras ; 
and others imitating them, sewed together the coverings 
of Turkey work chairs, and handle cloth blankets, and 
hung them out likewise on each side of the street." 

" About a mile from Dublin, he [the king] called 
for a fresh pad-nag, which, turning about to be brought 
him, got loose, and forced him to stay, which did, in 
some measure, vex him, so that he said to Tyrconnel, 
' I think you are all boder'd.' " 

After the siege of Limerick, a reward of forty shillings 
was offered for the head of every Rapparee who did not sub- 
mit himself. Upon which it has been asked, how a magistrate 
was to distinguish the head of a Rapparee from any other 
head ? A smart passage on this subject occurs in O'Driscol's 
" History of Ireland," vol. ii. p. 350. 

* "Ireland's Lamentation," &c. written by an English 
Protestant that lately narrowly escaped with his life from 
thence. London, printed by J. D. 1689. 

26 KING James's 

At the proper point, James was met by " the lord 
mayor, aldermen, common-council, master, wardens, 
and brethren of the several companies, in their form- 
alities, the king and herald at arras, pursevants, and 
servants of the household, and there received the sword 
of state (which he gave to Tyrconnel, who carried it 
before him through the city), and the sword and keys 
of the city, and there had a speech made to welcome 
him to that loyal city and people, by Counsellor Dillon, 
who, that morning, was sworn recorder in the room of 
Counsellor Barnwell. 

" From thence he set forward toward the castle, pre- 
ceded by five or six coaches with six horses each, two 
callashes, four or five carts, and one close waggon, at- 
tended by five or six French troopers ; next them fol- 
lowed about two hundred of the stragglers of the city 
that went out to meet him ; and after them, Major 
Barker, of the royal regiment, bareheaded, giving orders 
to the soldiers to keep the middle of the street clear, 
and stand with their muskets shouldered ; then twenty- 
nine horsemen, bareheaded, shouting before Mr. Fitz- 
james, who was alone in one of Tyrconnel's coaches 
with six horses. Close after him followed three officers 
of the guard on horseback, attended by three led 
horses ; after them, fifteen or sixteen officers of the 
army, closely followed by the five trumpets and kettle- 
drums of state in their liveries. After them, about 
twenty of the gentlemen at large on horseback ; then 
the messengers and pursevants, servants of the house- 
hold ; next them, the herald and king-at arms ; close 
after them, Tyrconnel, carrying the sword of state ira- 


mediately before King James, who rid on a pad-nag in 
a plain cinnamon- coloured cloth suit, and black slouch- 
ing hat, and a George hung over his shoulder with a 
blue ribbon. He was attended by the Duke of Ber- 
wick, Lord Granard, and some maids running by him 
on his left hand ; the Lords Powis and Melfort on his 
right, with their hats on. Close after him followed a 
troop of dragoons, several gentlemen and officers, two 
troops of horse, and many attendants. After them, six 
lords' coaches with six horses each; then Judge Keating 
in scarlet, and next after his, three other gentlemen's 
coaches empty, with six horses each ; then three coaches 
with two horses each ; and then, last of all, the confused 
rabble on foot. ' 

As King James was "riding along in this order," 
continues the minute narrator of his entry into Dublin, 
" one Flemming, a pretended mad Scotsman, in Skinner 
Row, the middle of the city, suddenly rushed through 
the crowd, flung liis hat over the king's head, crying in 
French, with a loud voice, ' Let the king live for ever,' 
caughtsuddenly (madman-like) fast hold of the king's 
hand and kist it, and so ran capering after his hat. 

" As James marched thus along, the pipers of the 
several companies played the tune of 'The king enjoys 
his own again ;' and the people shouting and crying, 
' God save the king.' And if any Protestants were ob- 
served not to shew their zeal that way, they were im- 
mediately reviled and abused by the rude papists. And 
[James] being come thus to the castle, [he] alighted 
from his horse, and was met at the gate by the host, 
overshaded with a canopy bore up by four popish 


bishops, and accompanied with a numerous train of 
friars singing, and others of that clergy. And among 
the rest, the titular primate with a triple crown upon 
his head, representing the pope, who this unfortunate 
and bigotted prince no sooner saw, but he forthwith 
went down upon his knees to pray to the image, and 
for a blessing from this Irish pope. And from thence 
[James was] conducted into the chapel there (made by 
Tyrconnel of Henry Comwells riding-house), where 
Te Deum was sung for his happy arrival. Thence he 
retired into an apartment prepared in a new house 
built before in the castle by Tyrconnel, and there dined 
and refi'eshed himself." 

The following song, which is given from the recita- 
tion of an old lady, was probably that sung by the 
pretty "oyster wenches, poultry and herb women in 
white," who strewed flowers beside the king. There is 
some slight resemblance between the first verse, and 
one of a Jacobite song, called " King William's March," 
a satire on William's departure to join his army in Ire- 
land previous to the battle of the Boyne, the burden of 
which song is, " O Willie, Willie wan beard." 

" Play, piper— play, piper, 
Play a bonny spring, 
For there's an auld harper 
Harping to the king. 
Wi' his sword by his side, 
An' his sign by his reade. 
An' his crown on his head 
Like a true kins:." 



Play, piper — play, piper, 

Come, lasses, dance and sing. 
And old harpers strike up 

To harp for the king. 
He is come — he is come, 

Let us make Ireland ring 
With a loud shout of welcome, 

May God save the king. 

Bring ye flowers — bring ye flowers. 

The fresh flowers of spring, 
To strew in the pathway 

Of James our true king. 
And better than flowers. 

May our good wishes bring 
A long life of glory 

To James our true king. 

Huzza, then — huzza, then, 

The news on the wing. 
Triumphant he comes 

Amid shouts for the king. 
All blessings attend him, 

May every good thing 
Be showered on the brave head 

Of James, our true king. 



"The defence of Derry," says O'Driscol,* "has 
been much celebrated ; but never beyond, hardly ever 
as much, as it merited. Few sieges have had more 
effect upon the fate of nations ; none ever displayed 
more heroic devotion and endurance on the part of the 

The story of the siege of Derry, is a long and a me- 
lancholy one. Tyrconnel having withdrawn the garri- 
son in order to enable him to send Irish troops to 
England to support the cause of James, soon perceived 
his error, and he endeavoured to remedy it by ordering 
Lord Antrim's regiment, which consisted wholly of 
Roman Catholics, to regarrison the town. On the 7th 
December, 1688, the advanced party of this regiment 
appeared within a short distance of the gate, when 
about a dozen young men, whose names are fondly re- 
membered in local history as " the 'prentice boys," 
closed the gate and drew up the bridge, and, seizing 
upon the keys of the town, they secured the other three 
gates, and refused to admit King James's soldiers. 
Their conduct being approved of by a large and influ- 
ential body of the inhabitants, guards were posted, the 
magazine and all the arms that could be collected taken 
possession of, and an agent was despatched to London 

* History of Ireland, vol. ii. p. 14 ; 1827. 


with an urgent application for support. " On this sud- 
den, and apparently unimportant movement," it is justly 
remarked by Dr. Reid,* " the fate of the three kingdoms 
ultimately depended." 

The result of these violent proceedings was, that 
Lord Antrim's " red shanks" retired; and a negociation 
followed, by which a free and general pardon for all 
that had passed was granted, and a small body of Pro- 
testant soldiers only were t . be admitted into Derry, 
commanded by Lord Mountjoy, who was known to be 
attached to the Protestant cause. On Lord Mountjoy 
being recalled, he was succeeded by Colonel Lundy, a 
professed friend of the Protestants ; but, as subsequently 
appeared, a decided partisan to James, owing, it is 
asserted, to his being under several obhgations to the 
Duke of Berwick. f 

Derry had become the principal refuge of the Pro- 
testants of the north of Ireland, who chose rather the 
hazard of standing on their defence, than of submit- 
ting to the persecution they were likely to suffer under 
Tyrconnel's government. But Lundy's reputation as 
an officer of honour, courage, and skill, stood so high, 
that the Ulster Protestants, who had entered into an 
armed association for the protection of their lives, 
liberty, and property, determined, although he had 
been appointed by Tyrconnel, to put themselves under 
his command. 

* History of the Presbyterian Church in Ireland, vol. ii. 
p. 440. London, 1837. 

f Life of the Duke of Berwick, p. 36. London, 1738. 


While these occurrences took place, James arrived 
in Ireland, and, on the 8th of April, left Dublin at the 
head of an army of 12,000 men, with a considerable train 
of artillery, intending to I'educe the refractory north to 
submission, and then to proceed to Scotland. In ten 
days after the king left Dublin, he appeared before 
Londonderry, which place he expected would immedi- 
ately be surrendered to him ; but, to his astonishment, 
the reply to the royal summons was a heavy discharge 
of cannon from the walls. 

Although two regiments had arrived from England 
to aid in the defence of Derry, Lundy stated " that 
they had provisions but for a very few days, a week or 
ten days at most, and that the people who were in the 
city were but a rabble," therefore, that the place was 
not tenable, and he advised the newly-arrived troops to 
return, which they did. Upon the determination of the 
council of war being promulgated, that Derry was to 
be given up to King James, the cries of " treachery" 
and " no surrender" resounded through the city, and 
at this critical moment Captain Adam Murray, the 
commander of a volunteer corps, arrived in the town. 
He remonstrated with Lundy, and encouraged the 
inhabitants to defend the place, upon which they 
rushed to the walls, and fired upon James and his 
advancing army. The men of Derry now prepared 
for an obstinate defence. " Their choice of governors 
was as extraordinary as the whole proceeding had been 
strange." Major Baker, a military officer, and the 
Rev. George Walker, a Protestant clergyman, were 


elected to the government of the besieged town, and 
the treacherous Lundy escaped in disguise, " with a 
load of match on his back." 

It has been as eloquently as truly observed, that, " in 
mockery of all human wisdom, it was the very folly of 
the mob that saved the town ; it was the madness of a 
crowd of fools that snatched this important fortress 
from the grasp of James, and contributed materially to 
the successful issue of the war. The defence of Derry 
was accomplished at an expense, no doubt, of enormous 
and incalculable suffering. Most of the population 
perished miserably, and only a wasted and ruined rem- 
nant of the people survived to enjoy their melancholy 

Nothing could exceed the excitement of the besieged, 
and nothing but that excitement could have enabled 
them to sustain a siege of one hundred and five days. 

" The Protestant clergy of all denominations," says 
O'Driscol, " shared the labours of the siege in their 
turns ; and when the day's work was over, and their 
military tasks were at an end, they took their places 
in the churches and conventicles.* There the people 
crowded to their devotions, — weary, indeed with the 
toils and labours of the day, and fainting, perhaps, for 
want of sufficient food, but still with the high excite- 
ment which the perils and the importance of the occa- 

* There were eighteen clergymen in the town of the com- 
munion of the church, and seven non-confonuing ministers. — 


sion created ; and when the preacher poured forth his 
labouring heart at the feet of the great disposer of 
events, the God of armies, and the ruler of the destiny 
of nations, the people joined in the prayer with a solemn 
energy of devotion which those only know who have 
been in ' peril of their lives,' and in ' the toil of their 
enemies,' The awful circumstances in which the city 
was placed, were inspiration to the preacher, and fer- 
vent and undoubting faith to the congregation. The 
' man of God' had no need of the ornaments of speech, 
while the thunder of the enemies' cannon roared round 
the walls ; and the doubts of the sceptic, and the jests 
of the scoffer fled before the face of famine, and the 
rebuke of unrelenting misery. 

" Thirty thousand fugitives, including aged men, 
boys, women, and children from the neighbouring dis- 
tricts, exclusive of the garrison, were shut up within 
the walls of Derry.* Those could render no assistance 
in the defence. The besiegers were estimated at twenty 
thousand. When the rulers of this little republic looked 
around them upon the multitude that were to be fed, 
and abroad upon the host that encompassed them, 
even their utmost enthusiasm could hardly sustain their 
confidence, or their most exalted piety preserve them 
from despair." 

" It did beget," says Walker, " some disorder among 
us, and confusion, when we looked about us, and saw 

* Of these 10,000 left upon protections from the enemy, 
and 7,000 died.— Walker. 


what we were doing ; our enemies all about us, and 
our friends running away from us. A garrison we had, 
composed of a number of poor people frightened from 
their own homes, who seemed more fit to hide them- 
selves than to face an enemj-. When we considered 
that we had no persons of any experience in war among 
us, and those very persons that were sent to assist us 
had so little confidence in the place, that they no sooner 
saw it than they thought fit to leave it ; that we had but 
few horse to sally out with, and no forage ; no engineers 
to instruct us in our works ; no fire-works, not so much 
as a hand-granado to annoy the enemy ; not a gun well 
mounted in the whole town ; that we had so many 
mouths to feed, and not above ten days' provisions for 
them in the opinion of our former governors ; that 
every day several left us, and gave constant intelligence 
to the enemy ; that they had so many opportunities to 
divide us, and so often endeavoured it, and to betray 
the governors ; that they were so numerous, so powerful 
and well-appointed an array, that, in all human proba- 
bility, we could not think ourselves in less danger than 
the Israelites at the Red Sea. When we considered all 
this, it was obvious enough what a dangerous under- 
taking we had ventured upon. But the resolution and 
courage of our people, and the necessity we were under, 
and the great confidence and dependence amongst us 
on God Almighty, that he would take care of us and 
preserve us, made us overlook all those difficulties." 

" This quotation, from the diary of this singular man," 
observes O'Driscol, " is admirably descriptive of the 

D 2 


situation and condition of the besieged. Their defence 
was conducted in a most unmilitarj- and irregular man- 
ner, but it was effectual. Those who chose sallied 
against the enenay, in what order, and with what accom- 
paniment they pleased, and their sallies were frequent. 
The town was almost in ruins ; the gates were often 
open ; and the besieged would scornfully invite the 
attack of their enemy, and ask why he lost his powder 
upon the walls when the gates were open to him ? 

" The high-wrought enthusiasm of the besieged 
seems to have deterred the Irish commanders from the 
attack, and they resolved to wait the slow but certain 
progress of famine." 

Having vainly essayed to take " Undaunted London- 
derry," which, to use the expression of Story, " was the 
greatest thorn in their sides," James returned to 
Dublin, and committed the conduct of the siege to 
General de Rosen, a foreign officer of some reputation. 
" Every day increased the sufferings of the unhappy 
garrison. Disease followed upon the rear of famine. 
Exhausted with incessant labour, perishing of hunger, 
sick from unwholesome and unnatural food, hope for- 
sook them, and they surrendered themselves to despair, 
but not to the enemy. They could not yet resolve to 

"While in this state of sullen stupor, they were sud- 
denly roused by the appearance of ships in the lake 
bearing British ensigns. It was a fleet of thirty sail, 
bringing troops, arms, ammunition, and provisions for 
the relief of the garrison. The joy and exultation of 


the perishing people of Derry knew no bounds. It was 
to them a resurrection from death to life ; from bond- 
age to liberty. They gazed with ecstacy upon the ships 
as they continued their steady course upon the beauti- 
ful waters of Lough Foyle ; every heart beat high, as 
ship after ship bore up and displayed her white canvass 
to the anxious crowd close wedged upon the ramparts. 
Every voice whispered fervent murmurs of thanks- 
giving to the God of the land and of the ocean, who 
never deserts his faithful people in their extremity, or 
consigns those who trust in him to the hands of his 

" On a sudde'.i, the ships were observed to haul to 
windward, to the amazement of the garrison, and the 
surprise of the army outside the walls. What could be 
the meaning of this manoeuvre ? It was soon explained ; 
the ships were standing out to sea. Signal followed 
rapidly after signal from the dismayed inhabitants of 
Derry, and Kirk made no signal in return. 

"Meantime the Irish take their measures. Batteries 
are planted along the shore, strong battalions are 
marched to the water's edge, and line the borders of 
the lake where they approach the city. A boom of 
great strength, formed of timber, strong cables, and 
vast iron chains, is stretched across a narrow part of 
the lake, and made firm upon either shore. While all 
this is transacting, the fleet was rapidly passing out of 

" Failh and patience are the great foundations of the 
Christian religion ; and, tiiough all are called upon to 


practise them, there have been few instances, perhaps, 
of a severer trial than this was to the forlorn citizens of 
Derry. When the hand is stretched out to save and 
instantly withdra\^n ; when the time is come, and to- 
morrow will be too late, can the victim be accused if he 
dies with murmurs upon his lip ? 

" Bakei-, the governor, was dead ; and famine was 
novv rapidly thinning the ranks of the heroic garrison 
more effectually than the sword of the enemy. Their 
food was dead horses, dogs, cats, rats, and all loathsome 
vermin. The extremity and horror of the famine had 
nearly dissolved all discipline and authority. Murmurs 
for a capitulation began to be heard among the dying 
and ghastly crowd, and were only suppressed by the 
fury of those who had become almost insane by their 
sufferings. They threatened death to any who should 
propose or mention a surrender, while they were 
themselves expiring and without hope. Their detesta- 
tion of Popery seemed to derive strength from the decay 
of nature. 

" They heai'd in a short time from Kirk ; he had 
sailed round to Lough Swilly. He still talked of relieving 
them, but he spoke doubtingly. He assured them that 
everything went on well in England and Scotland for 
the Protestant cause, and advised them to hold out 
bravely, and be careful of their provisions. It was un- 
certain whether Kirk's communications were not a cruel 

Marshal do Rosen, annoyed at the obstinacy with 
which Londonderry resisted, had recourse to a cruel and 


unsoldierlike mode of attack — appealing to the hearts of 
the besieged, instead of storming their batteries. He 
sent out parties to collect all the miserable Protestants 
they could find about the country, without regard to 
age or sex, and these were driven, by Rosen's orders, 
under the walls of the town to perish, unless saved by 
its capitulation. The besieged in return brought 
forth their prisoners ; and, having erected a gallows 
upon the rampart, threatened to hang them imme- 
diately, unless the unfortunate creatures who had been 
driven under the walls were allowed to depart. This 
had the desired effect, but many had already died from 
the hardships to which they were exposed ; and some, 
as they expired, Avith their last breath, entreated the 
famishing garison to persevere in the defence of the 

" The tumult of the retreating multitude had hardly 
ceased outside the walls, when three ships were disco- 
vered, in the lake, with all sails set, and steering for 
the town. These were two store-sloops, laden with 
provisions, and the Dartmouth frigate, part of Kirk's 
squadron. Kirk had learned that his conduct at Derry 
bad been heard with anger and astonishment in Eng- 
land, and he hastened to avert the storm which he 
saw was likely to overtake him. His dastardly or 
treacherous conduct had lengthened the sufFei'ings 
of Derry from the middle of June to the end of 

" The ships approached in view of the besiegers and 
the besieged; but of the latter, more than half the eyes 


were closed in death that had witnessed the former in- 
effectual attempt at relief. The Irish army had taken 
their posts along the shore ; the batteries that com- 
manded the harbour were manned; the boom was 
made tight, and all was in readiness. As the vessels 
came within the range of shot, a heavy fire of cannon 
and musketry was opened upon them from the Irish 
lines along the shore. They returned the fire with 
spirit, and continued to advance. At length the head- 
most store-ship approached the boom, and struck it ; 
the boom was broke, but the vessel went ashore with 
the violence of the rebound. The besieging army 
shouted, and prepared to board her; but the vessel 
fired all her guns, and, extricated by the shock, she 
floated and passed rapidly unto the city followed by her 

"The garrison of Derry had consisted of about 
eight thousand men; it was now reduced to less than 
lour. The Ii-ish army broke up suddenly and retired ; 
-their loss is said to have exceeded that of the garri- 

Walker, the gallant defender of Londonderry, pro- 
ceeded (o London with an address to King William and 
his queen, and was received by their majesties in the 
most gracious manner. Thanks were voted to him by 
the House of Commons, and delivered in form by the 
Speaker ; he was entertained by the city, and cheered 
wherever he was recognised by the populace, as the 
champion of the Protestant faith ; the honorary degree 
of Doctor of Divinity was conferred on him by the 


University of Oxford ; the king presented him with 
£5,000 ; and, by his majesty's command, Sir Godfrey 
Kneller painted Walker's picture, which was imme- 
diately engraved. In this picture he is represented 
" with a Bible, open at the 20th chapter of Exodus, in 
one hand, and a drawn sword in the other. His gar- 
ment of a purple colour, and a large old-fashioned 
band, form a strong contrast to the military sash ap- 
pearing in crimson folds about his waist," in which a 
pistol is lodged. 

While in London, Walker published his " Diary of 
the Siege of Londonderry," which was followed by no 
less than nine publications on the same subject. In the 
address prefixed to his " Diary," he apologizes as a 
churchman, for having acted in that service a part which 
might, with more propriety, have been done by other 
hands. It is impossible that Walker could have been 
made Bishop of Derry, as stated by O'Driscol, for that 
see was not vacant until the day previous to the Battle 
of the Boyne, where Walker was mortally wounded, 
and where he was engaged as chaplain to the army. 

O'Driscol, whose animated account of the " Siege of 
Derry" has been so largely quoted from, therefore very 
unfairly says, " This man was unnecessarily present at 
the Boyne. Walker's exploits at Derry," he adds, 
" might have had an excuse in the peculiarity of his 
situation ; but neither his exhibitions in London, nor 
his presence at the Boyne, can be justified." Now, the 
fact is. Walker was a hero in Derry, the advocate of 
his brave fellow-sufferers in London, and, in the course 


of his duty as a Protestant clergyman, was slain at the 

* Mr. Bruce, in a note to the Editor, remarls upon this 
passage : — " You are probably aware that there is a letter of 
Tillotson's, in which he says 'the king. . . hath made him 
[Walker] Bishop of Londonderry.' You say the see was not 
vacant until the day before the Battle of the Boyne : i.e. the 
30th June. Now I find in Wood's ' Athenae' (iv. 288), that 
Bishop Hopkins died on the 19th June, 1690, and was buried 
on the 24th, in St. Mary Aldermanbury. It is possible, if 
Wood's date be right, that Walker may have been appointed, 
although Wood himself, in another place (iv. 877), merely 
says that he ' was designed to succeed' Bishop Hopkins ; 
which is probably all that is true, and that the design may have 
existed long before Hopkins's death. After all, the question 
is, not whether he was Bishop of Derrj', but whether he was 
chaplain to the anny. If he were, he was in his place at the 
Boyne, whether bishop or not. And upon that point Wood 
aids you ; for, immediately after stating that on his way 
back into Ireland he had the degree of D.D. conferred upon 
him at Oxford, he goes on : ' thence he went into Ireland, 
where having a command conferred upon him in the aixny 
(iv. 409) he ' received his death's wound,' and so on in 
Wood's usual ballad style. One can scarcely conceive any 
other 'command' than a chaplaincy conferred upon a new- 
made D.D. It is very strange that Burnet does not mention 
even the name of Walker. 

" It seems from an extract from Anchitell Gray's Debates, 
in the ' Gentleman's Magazine' for 1745, p. 192, that the 
House of Commons recommended the king to grant ' the 
mdows and orphans of Londonderry' £10,000, and that they 
communicated their determination upon that head to Dr. 
Walker at the same time that they returned him thanks for 
his defence. Walker was apparently the bearer of the peti- 
tion of ' the widows and orphans ;' of itself a sufficient cause 
for his coming to London. He returned the house thanks on 
their behalf as well as his own." 


Dr. Reid, in his "History of the Presbyterian Church 
in Ireland," says,* "It is painful to be obliged to add, 
that the gallant defenders of Derry and Enniskillen 
were treated very ungratefully by the state. Instead 
of being in any wise rewarded, they did not even re- 
ceive the amount of pay which was acknowledged by 
parliament to be justly due to them." Dr. Reid then 
enters into various particulars on this subject, the result 
of which is, that after two-and-thirty yeai's of tedious 
and fruitless negociations, 1^,1511. lls.Sd. arrears were 
due to the eight regiments that formed the garrison of 
Derry, " not a farthing of which appears to have been 
ever paid." Upon this statement, however, it may be 
questioned whether the Derry and Enniskillen troops 
were not in the same position as the thirteen Dutch and 
three French regiments, who served with them in Ire- 
land, regarding their claims for arrears of pay, and 
whose cases were printed in 1709, with " the case of 
several of the inhabitants of Ireland, that subsisted 
the army there for the year 1690 and 1691 pursuant to 
the directions of the government;" and to whom and 
not to the troops, this arrear of their pay appears to 
have been due. 

In the " Memoir of the Ordnance Survey of Lon- 
donderry,"-]- it is stated that, " after a lapse of more 
than two centuries, the fortifications of Derry remain 
nearly unchanged in their original form and character ; 
the external ditch, indeed, is no longer visible, being 

* Vol. ii. note, p. 473. f ^"o\.\. p. 100. Dublin, 1837. 


mostly occupied by the rears of houses. Between 1806 
and 1808, the walls were repaired at a cost of 1,119/. 
6s. 2d. In 1824, the north-west bastion was demolished 
to make room for the erection of a market; and, in 
1826, the central western bastion was modified for the 
reception of Walker's Testimonial — an ornamental 
memorial, both just and appropriate. 

" Of the guns which performed such valuable services 
in by-gone time, a few are preserved as memorials in 
their original localities, the bastions ; but the greater 
number have been converted to the quiet purposes of 
peace, serving as posts for fastening cables, protecting 
the corners of streets, &c. There are six at the south- 
west bastion, two of which are inscribed ' vintners, 

LONDON. 164-8.' ' MERCERS, LONDON. 164'2.' Of the 

others, one bears the arms of Elizabeth — a rose sur- 
mounted by a crown, with the letters ' E. R.' at each 
side; and below, the date 1590. Another, the arms of 
the Irish Society ; and a third, a less decipherable de- 
vice. Of these three, the first was one of the few 
pieces of ordnance possessed by the city on the out- 
break of the rebellion of 1641. There are four at 
Walker's Testimonial, two of which are inscribed 


LONDON. 1642.' Mounted on a carriage, in the court- 
house-yard, and in good condition, stands ' Roaring 
Meg,' so called from the loudness of her roaring during 
the siege. This cannon is four feet six inches round at 
the thickest part, and eleven feet long, and is thus in- 
scribed, 'FISHMONGERS, LONDON. 1642.' The total 


number of cannon i-eraaining in the city and suburbs is 
nearly fifty." 

The song upon tlie gallant defence of Londonderry 
is here given from a black letter copy in the British 
Museum, preserved in a collection of ballads, &c. 2 
vols, folio. The title runs thus : " Undaunted London- 
derry ; or, the Victorious Protestants' constant success 
against the proud French and Irish Forces. To the 
tune of ' Lilli Borlero.' Licensed according to Order." 
It is embellished with a rude woodcut, representing a 
city in flames, and bearing the word "Londonderry." 
" Printed for J. Deacon, in Guiltspur Street." 

This song is quite unworthy of the achievement that 
it was intended to celebrate. Among the poems* of 
the Rev. John Graham, the historian and bard of Derry, 
may be found several clever lyrics referring to the me- 
morable siege of " the maiden city ;" one in particular, 
entitled " The Catalogue '' (p. 97), which consists of 
no less than thirty-six verses, combines all the vigorous 
simplicity of the old ballad, with an extraordinary mass 
of minute historical particulars. Although not in- 
cluded in Mr. Graham's volume of poems, the editor 
believes that he does not incorrectly attribute the 
authorship of the following spirited verses to that gen- 

" Derriaua ! lovely dame, 
By many suitors courted ; 
Thy beauty rare and deeds of fame, 
Have been but ill reported. 

* Belfast, 1829. 


" Seated in dignity serene 
Beside a crystal fountain, 
In radiant comeliness thou'rt seen 
O'ershadowed by a mountain. 

" Round tliee are groves and villas bright, 
And temples of devotion ; 
Fair fields for plenty and delight, 
And inlets of the ocean. 

" What was proud Troy compared to thee, 
Though Hector did command her ? 
How great thy Foyle would seem to be 
Near Homer's old Scamander ! 

" Like thee, two sieges sharp she stood. 
By timid friends forsaken ; 
But, unlike thee, twice drenched in blood. 
She fainted and was taken. 

" What was her cause compared to thine ? 
A harlot she protected ; 
But thou for Liberty divine 
All compromise rejected. 

" But Troy a bard of brilliant mind 
Found out to sing her glory, 
While thou canst only dunces find 
To mar thy greater story." 


Protestant boys, both valliant and stout, 
Fear not the strength and power of Rome, 

Thousands of them are put to the rout, 
Brave Londonderry tells 'urn their doom ; 


For their cannons roar like thunder, 
Being resolved the town to maintain ; 

For William and Mary, still brave Londonderry, 
Will give the proud French and Tories their bane. 

Time after time, with powder and balls, 

Protestant souls they did 'um salute ; 
That before Londonderry's stout walls, 

Many are slain and taken to boot ; 
Nay, their noble Duke of Berwick, 

Many reports, is happily tane,* 
Where still they confine him, and will not resign him. 

Till they have given the Tories their bane. 

Into the town their bombs they did throw,f 

Being resolved to fire the same. 
Hoping thereby to lay it all low, 

Could they but raise it into a flame ; 
But the polititious Walker, j 

By an intreague did quail them again, 
And blasted the glory of French, Teague, and Tory, 

By policy, boys, he gave them their bane. 

Thundering stones they laid on the wall 

Ready against the enemy came, § 
With which they vow'd the Tories to mawl 

Whene'er they dare approach but the same. 

* See note (A). J See note (B). 

t See note (C). § See note (D). 


And another sweet invention, 

The which in brief I reckon to name ; 

A sharp bloody slaughter, did soon follow after, 
Among the proud French, and gave 'em their bane. 

Stubble and straw in parcels they laid. 

The which they straightways kindled with speed ; 
By this intreague the French was betrayed. 

Thinking the town was fired indeed.* 
Then they placed their scaling ladders. 

And o'er the walls did scour amain ; 
Yet strait, to their wonder, they were cut in sunder, 

Thus Frenchmen and Tories met with their bane. 

Suddenly, then, they opened their gate, 

Sallying forth with vigour and might ; 
And, as the truth I here may relate, 

Protestant boys did valliantly fight, 
Taking many chief commanders,f 

While the sharp fray they thus did maintain 
With vigorous courses, they routed their forces. 

And many poor Teagues did meet with their bane. 

While with their blood the cause they have sealed, 
Heaven upon their actions did frown, 

Protestants took the spoil of the field. 

Cannons full five they brought to the town. 

* See note (E). f See note (F). 


With a lusty, large, great mortar 

Tims they returned with honour and gain, 

While Papists did scour from Protestant power, 
As fearing they all should suffer their bane. 

In a short time we hope to arrive 

With a vast army to Ireland, 
And the affairs so well we'll contrive. 

That they shall ne'er have power to stand 
'Gainst King William and Queen Mary, 

W^ho in the throne does flourish and reign ; 
We'll down with the faction that make the distraction. 

And give the proud French and Tories their bane. 


(A) In a sally, which was made by the garrison of London- 
derry towards the end of April, " the Duke of Berwick re- 
ceived a slight wound in his back." This was probably the 
origin of the report mentioned in the song, and fixes the pre- 
cise date of its composition to have been May 1689, as no 
allusion to any subsequent occurrence is made. 

(B) A list of the number of bombs throwTi into London - 
deny daily during the siege, may be found in Walker's 
" Diary." The total number was 587, besides cannon-balls 
of twenty pounds' weight. 



(C) " Violent disagreements arose as to the most acceptable 
modes of addressing the Supreme Being. Some of the clergy 
denounced those as unworthy to assist in the defence of the 
town who refused to take the solemn covenant ; but the good 
sense of Walker and others appeased the tumult as often as 
it broke forth, and no serious consequences followed." — 
O'DriscoVs Ireland, vol. ii. p 16. 

(D) The labour was probably performed by the women. In 
Mackenzie's Narrative of the Siege (London, 1690), under 
date of the 4th of June, it is stated, that " our women, also, 
did good service, carrying ammunition, match, bread, and 
drink to our men, and assisted to very good purpose at the 
Bogg side, in beating off the granadiers with stones, who 
came so near to our lines." 

(E) This seems to refer to the burning of some houses 
outside the walls soon after the commencement of the siege. 
"The first thing they [the governors] went upon, was the 
burning of all the houses clear round the town without the 
walls, and levelling their rubbish and ditches, so that the 
enemy might not sculk in them and gall the men on the 
walls." — A true and impartial Account of the most material 
passages in Ireland, since December 1688, p. 27. London, 

(F) No doubt an allusion to the sally made by the besieged 
on the 6th of May, when, according to Mackenzie, " the men 
were impatient, and ran out of their own accord." Lord 
Neterville, Sir Gerald Aylmur, and Lieut.-Col. Talbot (called 
Wicked Will), and who afterwards died of his wounds, were 
taken prisoners in this affair. 



Mr. Bruce views the action of this ballad in somewhat a 
different light from the Editor. He says : — " Are you satisfied 
that the lines to which your notes C, E, and F refer, relate to 
separate transactions, which, if I apply the notes correctly 
you seem to consider them to do ? The song reads to me as 
if the whole of its action related to one incident in the siege- 
The French threw their bombs, hoping to set the town on fire. 
Walker defeated them by a stratagem. Stones had been pre- 
viously piled on the walls, — he collected stubble and set it on 
fire. The French thought they had succeeded, and mounted 
the walls, where Walker's troops were ready stationed to use 
their piles of stones and cut the assailants ' in sunder.' No 
sooner had they thus repelled them, than out they sallied 
'with vigour and might,' and took the 'many chief com- 
manders.' I think it is all one. If not, I do not understand 
the praise of Walker's intrigue." 


On the 20th of March, 1690, in compliance with a 
royal summons, a new parliament met at Westminster. 
On the following day, King William addressed himself 
to both houses, stating that he was resolved to leave 
nothing unattempted on his part which might contribute 
to the prosperity of the nation ; and finding his presence 
in Ireland would be absolutely necessary for the more 



speedy reducing of that kingdom, he continued his re- 
solution of going thither as soon as might be, and he 
had now called them together for their assistance, to 
enable him to prosecute the war with speed and vigour. 
The king concluded a long speech by observing, that 
the season of the year and his journey into Ireland, 
would admit but of a very short session, so that he re- 
commended to them the making such despatch, that 
they might not be engaged in debates when their ene- 
mies were in the field. 

" All the people," says Dean Story, " were now big 
with hopes of his Majesty's coming for Ireland, who left 
Kensington the 4th of June, 1690, took shipping at 
Hylake on the 12th, and on the l^th, being Saturday, 
he landed, about four in the afternoon, at Carigfergus ;* 
from whence, being upon the road to Belfast, he was 
met by the general, Major-General Kirk, and a great 
many more officers of the army, that were expecting 
his Majesty's landing. And that evening landed his 
highness Prince George, the Duke of Ormond, Earl of 
Oxford, Earl of Portland, Earl of Scarborough, Earl 
of Manchester, my Lord Overkirk, my Lord Sidney, 
with a great many other persons of quality, some of 
them officers in tlie army, and others volunteers." 

The following song is entitled, " The Protestant Com- 
mander, or a Dialogue between him and his loving 

* "A large stone at the point of the quay is still called 
' King- William's stone,' from his having set his foot on it 
when lauding." — McSkimin^s History of Carrichfcnjus. 


Lady, at his departure hence with his Majesty King 
WilHam, for the expedition in Ireland. To the tune of 
' Let Caesar live long.' Licensed according to order." 
It is copied from a collection of ballads and broadsides, 
in two vols, folio, in the British Museum, and is in 
black letter, except the two last lines or chorus of each 
verse, which are in Roman letter, with the exception of 
the words " King William." This song is " printed for 
P. Brooksby. J. Deacon.'' The rest of the imprint is 
cut off, but it probably was " J. Blare and J. Black," 
as these persons appear to have been the principal 
ballad publishers in London during the Revolution of 


Farewell, my sweet lady, my love, and delight. 
Under great King WiUiam in person I'lPfight ; 
Wherefore for awhile I must leave thee behind, 
Yet let not my absence, love, trouble thy mind : 
In Dublin city our king we'll proclaim. 
And crown him with trophies of honour and fame. 

An army we have of true Protestant boys, 

Who fears not the French nor the Irish, dear joys ; 

We'll freely salute them with powder and ball, 

Till we have utterly routed them all ; 

The sword of King William his name shall proclaim, 

And crown him with trophies of honour and fame. 


Love, let me go with thee, the lady reply 'd, 

I freely can venture to die by thy side ; 

A heart of true courage I bear in my breast, 

Therefore for King William I vow and protest, 

A sword I will flourish his name to proclaim. 

And crown him with trophies of honour and fame. 

I'll strip off these jewels and rings which I wear, 
And other apparel in brief I'll prepare ; 
In bright shining armour I then will appear. 
And march in the field by the side of my dear ; 
The conquering sword shall King William proclaim, 
And crown him with trophies of honour and fame. 

My jewel, if thou hast a mind to go o'er 

Along with thy love to the Irish shore ; 

I freely will give my consent to this thing, 

Yet not like a souldier to fight for the king : 

His army is able his name to proclaim, 

And crown him with trophies of honour and fame. 

The court is more fit than the camp for my dear, 

Where beautiful ladies in glory appear ; 

W^hile soldiers of fortune must fight in the field, 

Until they have made the proud enemy yield. 

The conquering sword shall King William proclaim, 

And crown him with trophies of honour and fame. 

My dearest, said she, I'll to Ireland go, 
I value not courts, neither fear I the foe ; 


Thy presence will yield me both joy and delight; 
I'll wait in thy tent till, returning from fight, 
The conquering sword does King William proclaim. 
And crown him with trophies of honour and fame. 

If thou shouldst be wounded, ray dear, in the field, 
Then shall I be ready some succour to yield, 
'Tis true, my sweet lady, he straitways reply'd, 
Thy earnest desire shall not be deny'd ; 
Our conquering sword shall King William proclaim, 
And crown him with trophies of honour and fame. 

The French and the Tories King William will rout, 

From city to castle he'll course them about; 

We'll make the poor Teagues to quite change their tone, 

From Lilli burlero to Ah 1 hone, ah ! hone. 

With conquering sword we'll King William proclaim. 

And crown him with trophies of honour and fame. 

The Frenchmen the height of our fury shall feel. 
We'll chase them with swords of true-tempered steel ; 
They, food for the ravens and crows shall be made, 
To* teach them hereafter that land to invade. 
Then through the whole nation our king we'll proclaim. 
And crown him with tropliies of honour and fame. 

* " And" in the printed copy, probahly a printer's error. 
" To" is substituted as the more obvious readino-. 



The Battle of the Boyne, although in its result 
among the most important in English history, was, as a 
battle, neither remarkable for the length of time it 
occupied, the severity of the conflict, the number of 
killed, nor the skill displayed on either side. 

A veteran, who was himself engaged in this battle, 
has left us the following description of it,* which will 
serve to correct the inflated accounts given by various 
historians. " On the 29th of June we advanced to 
Atherdee [Ardee], and on the 30th marched up to the 
enemy and encamped within cannon-shot of them. 
They were drawn up in good order, and to great ad- 
vantage, on the other side of the Boyne, and seemed 
resolved to dispute the passage of the river with us. 
There was a rising ground on our side, which over- 
looked their whole situation ; to this place they con- 
cluded the King [William] would come to make his 
observations. Whereupon they planted four field- 

* " Memoirs of the most remarkable military transactions, 
from the year 1683 to 1718, containing a more particular 
account than any yet published, of the several battles, sieges, 
&c. in Ireland and Flanders, during the reigns of King 
William and Queen Anne, by Captain Robert Parker, late of 
the Royal Regiment of Foot in Ireland, who was an eye-wit- 
ness to most of them. Published by his son. Second Edition." 
London, 1753. 


pieces in a place proper for their purpose, under covert 
of some buslies, which prevented them from being 
discovered. The king came this evening to the very 
spot they expected, and had not been long there when 
they fired their four field-pieces at him. One of the 
balls grazed on his shoulder, tore his clothes, and raised 
a contusion in his skin ; but he soon had it dressed, and 
shewed himself to the army. However, the enemy 
observing some confusion in those about the king, con- 
cluded he was killed ; and this news soon flew to Dub- 
lin, and from thence to Paris, where they had public 
rejoicings for it. 

" Upon the king's taking a view of the enemy 
[James's armyj, he observed they were strongly posted, 
and drawn up to great advantage ; and saw plainly it 
would be a difficult matter to force them from their 
ground, unless some measures were taken before the 
battle began, which might oblige them to break the 
order they were drawn up in. Upon this a council of 
war was held, in which it was resolved tiiat Lieut.- 
General Douglas should march by break of day, with 
about 8,000 men, to the ford of Slane, two miles up 
the river, in order to pass there, and fall on the left 
flank of the enemy, while the king, with the main of 
the army, charged thera in front. 

" Early next morning, being the first of July, both 
armies were drawn up in order of battle, and General 
Douglas marched ofi' with his detachment. The enemy 
perceiving this, ordered oflT the greatest part of their 
left wing to oppose Douglas ; and they were put into 


no small confusion, in drawing troops from other parts 
in order to make good their left, which they had weak- 
ened. This answered the king's expectation, who, 
perceiving the disorder they were in, ordered the army 
to pass the river.* The front line was over before the 
enemy had recovered their disorder, and the king soon 
passed over and put himself at the head of them. The 
enemy, being now prepared, charged our first line, and 
broke through some of them. And some of ours, in 
their turn, obliged some of theirs to scamper. By this 
time, our whole army having passed the river, we 
charged each other alternately with various success. 
But the engagement did not last long, for they soon 
took to their heels, even before Douglas could come up 
to engage those that were sent against him, notwithstand- 
ing he had passed the ford before the king began the 

" I have met," adds Captain Parker, " with several 
accounts of this battle ; some of them very particular 
in reciting all the charges and repulses that had been 
made on both sides, as if it had lasted the greatest part 
of the day, and the field had been covered with slain. 
But, after all, the enemy made but a poor fight of it, as 
may appear by the loss on both sides. The enemy had 
not quite 800 killed, and about as many taken ; and 
we not above 500 killed, and as many wounded." 

This total of thirteen hundred killed, where sixty 

* According to Story, " it was about a quarter past ten 
when our [William's] Foot first entered the river." 


thousand men were in the field to contest the crown of 
England, headed by the claimants in person, gives the 
Battle of the Boyne the character rather of a mere 
skirmish to pass a difficult ford of a river than of an 
important victory. In fact, it was James's panic that 
made the Battle of the Boyne memorable. 

" And a mighty creditable thing it was, surely, to 
that same King William, as you call him, and some- 
thing to boast of," observed an Irishman, commenting 
upon this victory, " a miglity creditable thing, indeed, 
to turn out against a man's father-in-law, and to beat 

It is noticed by Mr. Lockhart, in his life of Sir 
Walter Scott, that an old officer of dragoons, hearing 
of the arrival of " the great unknown" at Drogheda 
(July 1825), sent in his card, with the polite offer to 
attend him over the field of the Battle of the Boyne, 
about two miles off, which, of course, was accepted. 
" Sir Walter," adds Mr. Lockhart, " rejoicing the ve- 
teran's heart by his vigorous recitation of the famous 
ballad ( The crossing of the water) as we proceeded to 
the ground, and the eager and intelligent curiosity with 
which he received his explanations; of it." 

This song has been called " the Great Orange Song 
of Ireland. ' The present version is given from a MS. 
copy, in the Editor's possession, which corrects the read- 
ing of a line in the seventh verse, invariably printed — 

" And tried at Milmouiit after. 



July the first, in Oldbridge town,* 

There was a grievous battle, 
Where many a man lay on the ground, 

By the cannons that did rattle. 
King James he pitched his tents between 

The lines for to retire ; 
But King William threw his bomb-balls in. 

And set them all on fire. 

Thereat enraged, they vow'd revenge 

Upon King William's forces ; 
And often did cry vehemently, 

That they would stop their courses : 
A bullet from the Irish came. 

Which grazed King William's arm: 
They thought his majesty was slain, 

Yet it did him little harm. 

Duke Schomberg then, in friendly care, 

His king would often caution 
To shun the spot, where bullets hot 

Retain'd their i-apid motion. 
But William said, — He don't deserve 

The name of Faith's defender. 
That would not venture life and limb 

To make a foe surrender. 

* See note (A). 


When we the Boyne began to cross, 

The enemy they descended ; 
But few of" our brave men were lost. 

So stoutly we defended. 
The horse was the first that marched o'er, 

The foot soon followed a'ter, 
But brave Duke Schomberg was no more 

By venturing over the water. 

When valiant Schomberg he was slain, 

King William thus accosted 
His warlike men, for to march on, 

And he would be tiie foremost. 
" Brave boys," he said, " be not dismayed 

For the losing of one commander ; 
For God will be our king this day, 

And I'll be general under." 

Then stoutly we the Boyne did cross, 

To give our enemies battle ; 
Our cannon, to our foes' great cost, 

Like thundering claps did rattle. 
In majestic mien our prince rode o'er, 

His men soon followed a'ter: 
With blows and shouts put our foes to the route, 

The day we crossed the water. 

The Protestants of Drogheda 

Have reasons to be thankful 
That they were not to bondage brought, 

They being but a handful : 


First to the Tholsel they were brought. 
And tied at Mihuount a'ter,* 

But brave King William set them free, 
By venturing over the water. 

The cunning French, near to Duleek,]- 

Had taken up their quarters ; 
And fenced themselves on evei'y side, 

Still waiting for new orders. 
But in the dead time of the night, 

They set the field on fire ; 
And, long before the morning light, 

To Dublin they did retire. 

Then said King William to his men, 

After the French departed — 
" I'm glad," said he, " that none of ye 

Seemed to be faint-hearted. 
So sheath your swords, and rest awhile ; 

In time we'll follow a'ter." 
These words he uttered with a smile, 

The day he crossed the water. 

Come, let us all, with heart and voice. 
Applaud our lives' defender, 

Who, at the Boyne, his valour shewed, 
And made his foes surrender. 

* See note (B). f See note (C). 


To God above the praise we'll give, 

Both now and ever a'ter ; 
And bless the "glorious memory"* 

Of KingWilliam that crossed theBoyne water. 


(A) The Dutch guards first entered the river Boyne at a 
ford opposite to the little village of Oldhridge. 

(B) " After the battle of the Boyne, the popish garrison of 
Drogheda took the protestants out of prison, into which they 
had thrown them, and carried them to the Mount; where 
they expected the cannon would play, if King William's 
forces besieged the town. They tied them together, and set 
them to receive the shot; but their hearts failed them who 
were to defend the place, and so it pleased God to preserve 
the poor protestants." — Memoirs of Ireland, hy the Author of 
the Secret History of Europe. (1716) p. 221. 

(C) "When, in the coursebf the day, the battle approached 
James's position on the hill of Donore, the warlike prince 
retired to a more secure distance at Duleek, where he soon 
put himself at the head of his French allies, and led the 
retreat ; the king and the French coming off without a scar." 
— O^DriscoVs History of Ireland, ii. 1 16. 

(D) Many curious anecdotes might be told about " the 
glorious memory." It was the fashion among the whigs of 

* See note (D). 


William and Anne's time, as it was among the tories of our 
day, to drink " the glorious, pious, and immortal memory" of 
King William IIT ; which is supposed to have induced Dr. 
Peter Brown, Bishop of Cork, to publish, in 1715, a little 
volume which was much spoken of, intitled " Of Drinking in 
Remembrance of the Dead ;" and in the following year " A 
Discourse on Drinking Healths." His notion was, that 
drinking to the dead is tantamount to praying for them, and 
not, as is truly the case, in approbation of ceilaiu conduct or 
principles. Neither whigs nor tories have been less copious 
of their libations in consequence ; and the only effect Dr. 
Bro^vn's books appear to have had, was the production of an 
addenda to the obnoxious toast, " and a fig for the Bishop of 


" The renowned Duke of Schomberg or Schonberg," 
says a contemporary writer, " was a person of firm and 
composed courage, and one of the best generals that 
France ever bred. To the laurels he gathered in Cata- 
lonia and in Flanders, he added the glory of having 
fixed the present King of Portugal* on his throne, and 
of having been instrumental to the settlement of King 
William. He had a great experience of the world, 

* Pedro II. 


knew men and things better thaii any man of his pro- 
fession ever did, and was as great in council as at the 
head of an army. In his declining years, his memory 
very much failed, but his judgment remained true and 
clear to the last. He appeared courteous and affable 
to everybody, and yet he had an air of grandeur that 
commanded respect from all. He was of a middle 
stature, fair complexioned, a very sound hardy man of 
his age, and sat a horse incomparably well. As he 
loved always to be neat in his cloaths, so he was ever 
pleasant in his conversation, of which this repartee is a 
pregnant instance. Sometime before he went for Ire- 
land, he was walking in St. James's Park, amidst crowds 
of the young and gay, and being asked, what a man of 
his age had to do with such company? — his answer 
was, that a good General makes his retreat as late as 
he can. — He was eighty-two years of age when he was 

Notwithstanding the great age of the Duke of Schom- 
berg, William determined to entrust to him the com- 
mand of an expedition into Ireland, on the result of 
which depended the crown of England. " It is a proof 
of the deep importance which the British parliament 
attached to this expedition, that the House of Commons 
sent for Schomberg, on his appointment, and the 
Speaker having ordered a chair for the veteran, made 
him a complimentary speech ; after which the House 
voted him a sum of £100,000, a vast sura of money at 
that period. In addition <o this munificent grant, the 



General was created a Duke by the King, and presented 
with the Order of the Garter."* 

Schomberg landed at Carrickfergus, on the 13th of 
August, 1689, with about ten thousand men. His 
campaign, although unmarked by any brilliant achieve- 
ment, was severe and distressing in no ordinary degree; 
and all his judgment and coolness (no doubt, the qua- 
lities for which he had been selected by William) Avere 
required to preserve himself and his master from de- 

Before the Battle of the Boyne, in which Schomberg 
fell, he is said to have remonstrated with William 
against attacking the enemy in so strong a position as 
that occupied by James's army. The Prince of Orange 
(for, until after that battle, William, although proclaimed 
in England and acknowledged by several foreign powers, 
can scarcely be called king) determined otherwise ; and 
it has been well remarked, that "he reasoned as a king, 
Schomberg argued as a general ; and though they dif- 
fered, they were both right." The Duke, it is stated, 
retired from the council of war to his tent, dissatisfied 
that certain movements, which he had suggested, were 
not adopted, and when the order of battle was brought 
to him, he took it with discontent and indifference, ob- 
serving, " It was the first that ever was sent him." 

* O'Diiscol's History of Ireland, ii.p. 51. It should be 
observed, that of this sum of £100,000, the duke received 
but a small part ; his sou had £5,000 per annum paid him by 
Kins: Willia:ii in lieu of the remainder. 


Schomberg received his death-wound while leading 
some French cavalry and infantry, whom he had rallied 
a second time, across the Boyne. " Allons, Messieurs, 
voila vos persecuteurs I" exclaimed the Duke ; and he 
had scarcely uttered these words, when two sabre cuts 
on the head, but not mortal wounds, were given to him 
by some of James' guards, who were retreating full 
speed to the main body. 

" In this hurry," to use the words of Captain Par- 
ker, " he was killed, some said by his own men, as they 
fired on the enemy, and some said, otherwise; but that 
which passed current in the army that day, and indeed 
seems most probable, was, that he was shot by a trooper 
that had deserted from his own regiment about a year 
before, and was then in King James's guards." The 
skull, which is shewn in St. Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin, 
as that of the gallant Schomberg, appears to have been 
penetrated by a ball in the forehead. 

"The remains of this great General," says Mr. Wil- 
liam Monck Mason,* " were removed to this cathedral 
immediately after the Battle of Boyne, where they lay 
until tiie 10th of July, and were then deposited under 
the altar ; the interment of Duke Schomberg is noted 
with a pencil in the register; the entry is almost illegible, 
insomuch that it has been often sought for in vain. 
Although he well merited from the gratitude of a 
country in whose cause he fell, and the favour of a 

* " History of St. Patrick's," Appendix I, note (A). 

F 2 


prince whom he faithfully served, such a testimonial, no 
memorial of the place of his interment was erected un- 
til the year 1731. 

" Dean Swift, besides his anxiety to embellish this 
his cathedral, was actuated by a just indignation to- 
wards the relations of this great man, who, though they 
derived all their wealth and honours from him, neglected 
to pay the smallest tribute of respect to his remains; 
he therefore caused this stone [a slab of black marble 
fixed in the wall near the monument of Archbishop 
Jones] to be erected, and himself dictated the inscrip- 
tion, which is as follows : 

" Hie infra situm est corpus Frederici Ducis de Schon- 
berg ad Bubindam, occisi a.d. 1690. 

" Decanus et capitulum maximopere etiam atque 
etiam petierunt, ut hseredes Ducis monumentum in 
memoriam parentis erigendum curarent. 

" Sed postquam per epistolas, per amicos, diu ac 
saepe orando nil profecere ; hunc demum lapidem sta- 
tuerunt; saltem ut scias hospes ubinam terrarum Schon- 
BERGENSES cinercs delitescunt.* 

* In a letter to the Countess of Suffolk respecting this 
monument, Dean Swift says : — " And I will confess it was upon 
their [the Chapter's] advice that T omitted the only two passages 
which had much bitterness in them; and which a bishop here, 
one after your own heart, blamed me very much for leaving 
out: declaring the treatment given us by the Schomberg 
family deserved a great deal worse. Indeed, madam, I shall 
not attempt to convince England of anything that relates to 
tliis kingdom." 

" One of the passages to which he alludes in this letter Dr. 


" Plus potuit fama virtutis apud alienos quam san- 
guinis proximitas apud suos. a.d. 1731. 

" Dean Swift, before he caused this stone to be 
erected, made repeated applications to the descendants 
of this nobleman, and endeavoured to interest them so 
far as to contribute somewhat toward erecting a monu- 
ment to his memory; on the lOth May, 1728, he wrote 
a letter to Lord Carteret, from which I extract the fol- 
lowing passage : 

" ' The great Duke of Schomberg is buried under 
the altar in my cathedral. My Lady Holderness is 
ray old acquaintance; and I writ her about a. small 
sum to make a monument for her grandfather. I writ 
to her myself; and also, there was a letter from the 
Dean and Chapter, to desire she would order a monu- 
ment to be raised for him in my cathedral. It seems 
Mildmay, now Lord Fitzwalter, her husband, is a 
covetous fellow ; or whatever is the matter, we have 
had no answer. I desire you will tell Lord Fitzwalter, 
that if he will not send fifty pounds to make a monu- 
ment for the old duke, I and the Chapter will erect a 
small one of ourselves for ten pounds ; whereon it shall 
be expressed, that the posterity of the duke, naming 
particularly Lady Holderness and Mr. Mildmay, not 
having the generosity to erect a monument, we have 

Delany informs us was as follows : — instead of ' Saltern ut 
scias hospes,' &o. it stood thus : ' Saltem ut sciat viator in- 
dignabundus, quali in cellula, tanti ductoris cineres delites- 
cunt.' " 


done it of ourselves. And if, for an excuse, they pretend 
they will send for his body, let them know it is mine ; 
and, rather than send it, I will take up the bones, and 
make of it a skeleton, and put it in ray register office 
to be a memorial of their baseness to all posterity. 
This I expect your Excellency will tell Mr. Mildmay, 
or, as you now call him, Lord Fitzwalter ; and I expect 
likewise that he will let Sir Conyers D'Arcy know how 
ill I take his neglect in this matter; although to do him 
justice, he averred, 'that Mildmay was so avaricious a 
wretch, that he would let his own father be buried 
without a coffin, to save charges.'" — Swift's Works, vol. 
xvii. p. 219. Scott's Edition. 

Swift's letter repeating his application to the Countess 
of Holderness on this subject, dated the 22nd May, 
1729^ is entered on the book of Chapter-minutes, and 
is printed by Mr. Mason in his history of St. Patrick's. 

" When this inscription was first set up. Swift was 
informed that it had given great offence," and he wrote 
to his friend Pope on the occasion (29th July, 1731). 
See Scott's Edition of Swift, vol. xvii. p. 412. In the 
same volume, p. 416, and p. 449, may be found two 
letters from Swift, dated 24th July, and 26th October, 
1731, to the Countess of Suffolk, referring to this mo- 
nument, the latter of which contains this passage: — 
" Why should the Schoraberg family be so uneasy at 
a thing they were so long warned of, and were told they 
might prevent for fifty pounds ?" 

The following Lament is given from a black-letter 
copy in a Collection of Ballads, &c. 2 vols, folio, in the 


British Museum. It is entitled, " Tlie Valiant Soul- 
dier's Misfortune, or His Grace the Duke of Schom- 
berg's last farewell. To the tune of ' The Souldier's 
Departure.' Licensed according to Order, and printed 
for P. Brooksby, J. Deacon, J. Blare, J. Black." Two 
rude wood-cuts embellish this ballad ; one of which 
represents a battle, and bears, in a conspicuous part, the 
initials I. D. The other cut is a monumental effigy. 


Let all noble stout commanders. 

Likewise souldiers, foot and horse, 
Both in England, Holland, Flanders, 

Now lament this heavy loss, 
Of a right renowned leader. 

Who did many fights maintain, 
The Duke Schomberg, gentle reader, 

He in Ireland was slain. 

With a right heroick spirit 

He was evermore endu'd, 
Fame and glory did he merit 

As his foes he still subdu'd. 
Where the guns did roar like thunder, 

Bloudy fights he did maintain. 
Filling all the world with wonder. 

But great Schomberg now is slain. 


At the head of warlike forces, 

Did he place his chief delight. 
Taking such effectual courses 

That his foes he put to flight; 
Where the warlike drums did rattle, 

Bloudy fights he did maintain 
Never did he lose a battle. 

Yet great Schomberg now is slain. 

Though great councils did assemble, 

To oppose him in the field ; 
Yet he made them quake and tremble, 

And as soon submit and yield. 
Nay, his very name they dreaded. 

Causing them to flye amain, 
Many armies hath he headed, 

Yet at last he now is slain. 

Righteous causes he defended, 

And would wronged monarchs right ; 
So that blessings still attended 

Him in shining armour bright : 
By the sword he purchased glory, 

Which the world can never stain, 
Though he, by a rebel Tory, 

Was in sharp battle slain. 

He in warlike flaming fire, 
Salamander-like did live ; 

Nothing did he more desire 
Than a fatal stroke to give, 


To a rude rebellious faction, 

Who in villanies did reign ; 
But in the late Irish action, 

Noble Schomberg he was slain. 

Pale-faced Death has now confiii'd him 

In a narrow silent tomb ; 
Yet a name he left behind him,* 

Sweeter than a rich perfume. 
Let his actions be recorded 

In the lasting rolls of fame, 
In another world rewarded, 

Noble Schomberg, who was slain. 

Though his death may be lamented, 

France shall have no cause to boast. 
Their designs will be prevented 

By our warlike armed host ; 
Who, with courage, will pursue them, 

Britain's freedom to maintain, 
And has valiant courage shew'd 'em, 

Though great Schomberg he is slain. 

Towns and castles do's surrender 

To our right renowned King, 
The true Christian Faith's defender 

Through the land his fame do's ring : 
Nay, his very foes adore him, 

Wishing that he long may reign ; 
BoySj he conquers all before him, 

Though great Schomberg he is slain. 

* In the original erroneously printed " himer." 



" Who," says the introduction prefixed to this song, 
in D'Urfey's " Pills to Purge Melancholy,"* " lived in 
Cow Cross, near West Smithfield ; who, changing her 
apparel, entered herself on board in quality of a sol- 
dier, and sailed to Ireland, where she valiantly behaved 
herself, particularly at the siege of Cork, -where she lost 
her toes, and received a mortal wound in her body, of 
which she died in her return to London." 

Whether the foundation of this song be true, or a 
mere poetical invention, the Editor is unable to deter- 
mine. Many instances, however, are on record of the 
gallantry of " Warrior Women, " especially during 
revolutionary times. The lamentation for the heroine 
of Cow Cross, the Mary Ambree of her age, appears 
to have been one of the many indirect efforts made to 
bring into popular notice the military skill of the 
famous Duke, then the Earl of Marlborough. William 
III had returned to England, after an unsuccessful 
effort to reduce Limerick ; and Marlborough, anxious 
to distinguish himself, was, it is believed, appointed to 
the command of an expedition for Ireland, by the in- 
fluence of the Princess Anne's party, who urged the 
necessity of securing Cork and Kinsale, which were 
open to receive troops or supplies from France for the 

* Vol. V. p. 8. 1719. 


support of the cause of James. William, although he 
could not well refuse his sanction to the proposed ex- 
pedition, is said to have viewed it with a jealous eye, 
and to have caused what is asserted to be the unneces- 
sary co-operation of the Duke of Wirtemberg at the 
head of a body of foreign troops, which led to a dis- 
pute between Marlborough and Wirtemberg, as to the 
command, and ended in an adjustment that they should 
command alternate days. 

Dryden, in his prologue to " The Mistakes," a play 
written by Joseph Harris, comedian, says : 

" Our young poet has brought a piece of work, 
In which though much of art there does not lurk, 
It may hold out three days, and that's as long as Cork." 

And as Marlborough commanded on the first and third 
days of the siege : viz. the 27th and 29th September, 
1690, he obtained the credit of taking Cork. As a 
military exploit it was one of no great difficulty ; but 
in a political point of view it was important, and the 
achievement was proportionably magnified for party 
purposes. Marlborough's success at Cork may be 
considered as the foundation of his future fame and 
fortune. " The Earl arrived at Kensington on the 
2Sth October," says a contemporary writer, " where he 
received that favourable welcome from their majesties 
which his great services deserved. How his lordship 
came a year after to lay down his employments is still 
a secret." 

Immediately after the taking of Cork, Kinsale sur- 


rendered; and the adherents of James truly sung, in 
rhymes still current in Ireland : 

" We have no fortresses that we can call our own, 
But Limerick stout, Gal way, and brave Athlone." 


Let the females attend 

To the lines which are penn'd, 

For here I shall give a relation 
Of a young mai'ry'd wife 
Who did venture her life ; 

For a soldier, a soldier she went from the nation. 

She her husband did leave. 
And did likewise I'eceive 

Her arras, and on board she did enter ; 
And right valiantly went 
With a resolution bent 

To the ocean, the ocean, her life there to venture. 

Yet of all the ship's crew, 
Not a seaman that knew 

They then had a woman so near 'em ; 
On the ocean so deep 
She her counsel did keep, 

Ay, and therefore, and therefore she never did 
fear 'em. 


She was valiant and bold, 
And would not be control'd 

By any that dare to offend her ; 
If a quarrel arose, 
She would give him dry blows, 

And the captain, the captain did highly commend 

For he took her to be 
Then of no mean degree, 

A gentleman's son, or a squire ; 
With a hand white and fair. 
There was none could compare, 

Which the captain, the captain did often admire. 

On the Irish shore, 

Where the cannons did roar. 

With many stout lads she was landed ; 
There her life to expose. 
She lost two of her toes. 

And in battle, in battle was daily commended. 

Under Grafton* she fought. 
Like a brave hero stout. 

And made the proud Tories retire ; 
She in field did appear 
With a heart void of fear. 

And she bravely, she bravely did cliarge and 
give fire. 

* See note (A). 


While the battering balls, 
Did assault the strong walls 

Of Cork, and sweet trumpets sounded ; 
She did bravely advance 
Where by unhappy chance 

This young female, young female, alas! was 

At the end of the fray 
Still she languishing lay, 

Then over the ocean they brought her, 
To her own native shore: 
Now they ne'er knew before 

That a woman, a woman hadbeen in that slaughter. 

What she long had conceal'd 
Now at length she reveal'd, 

That she was a woman that ventur'd ; 
Then to London with care 
She did straightways repair. 

But she dy'd, oh she dy'd e'er the city she enter'd. 

When her parents beheld, 
They with sorrow was fill'd. 

For why, they did dearly adore her ; 
In her grave now she lies, 
Tis not watery eyes, 

No, nor sighing, nor sighing that e'er can re- 
store her. 



(A) The Duke of Grafton (son of Charles II) served as a 
volunteer at the siege of Cork, and received a mortal wound 
in his shoulder, while leading some grenadiers to the assault. 
The place where he fell, which then was a marsh, has since 
been built upon, and the street named " Grafton's Alley," 
from this event. The Duke died at Cork on the 9th October. 
(" London Gazette," 2,604.) " His bowels," says Fitzgerald, 
in his rude local chronicle, " The Cork Remembrancer," 
c'were buried at Spring Garden, and his body carried to Eng- 
land." The following jocular and equivocal epitaph on the 
Duke of Grafton's death, does full justice to his bravery : 

" Beneath this place 
Is stowed his Grace 

The Duke of Grafton ; 
As shai-p a Made 
As e'er was made , 

Or e'er had haft on ; 
Who ne'er turn'd tail, 
Though shot hke hail 
Flew 'bout his ears, 
Througli pikes and spears 
So thick they hid the sun. 
He valued not the balls of gun, 
He ne'er would dread 
Shot made of lead, 
Or cannon ball, 
Nothing at all. 
Yet a Itullet of Cork 
Soon did his work ; 
Unhappy pellet, 
With grief I tell it, 
It has undone 
Great Caesar's son, 
A statesman spoiled, 
A soldier foiled, 
God rot him 
Wlio sht)t liim, 
A son of a whore, 
I say no more." 



When the Editor placed before the Council of the 
Percy Society, the extremely rare, if not unique, 
pamphlet, in which the following curious contemporary 
song, on the I'eturn of William III from Ireland, occurs, 
the wish of the Council appeared to be, that, instead 
of inserting merely the song in the present collection, 
the pamphlet should be reprinted entire. 

This pamphlet is a small quarto, consisting of 
eighteen pages, and entitled " La Conquete d'Irlande ; 
Dialogue en Vers." The imprint : " A Londres, chez 
R. Baldwin, dans Warwick Lane, a I'Enseigne des 
Armes d'Oxford. 1691." It was formerly, as appears 
from the stamp, " bibliotheca heberiana," in the 
possession of the late Mr. Heber. The character of 
this production resembles the masque of Charles the 
First's time, and that it was written by a French refugee 
is certain, from the national feeling evident in many 
passages. Neither can it escape the reader how politely 
the exiled king is treated in a party song ; there is 
nothing of asperity — no abuse whatever ; he is merely 
" the unfortunate Mceris." If it had been the produc- 
tion of an English pen, James's " papistrie" would 
scarcely have been passed without notice. 

With respect to the reception given by King William 
to the French Protestants, it has been observed* that 

* The History of King William III. (1702) vol. ii. p. 78. 


" it became a prince who owed his greatness to his 
being the support of the Protestant interest to cast an 
eye of compassion upon those who had abandoned their 
possessions and various callings in France upon the 
score of religion ; wherefore his Majesty issued out a 
proclamation, [25th April, 1689] whereby he declared, 
'That finding in his subjects a true and just sense of 
their deliverance from the persecution lately threatning 
them for their religion, and of the miseries and oppres- 
sions the French Protestants lay under, such of them 
as should seek their refuge in, and transport themselves 
into, this kingdom of England, should not only have his 
royal protection, but he would so aid and assist them in 
their several trades and ways of livelihood, as that their 
being in this realm might be comfortable and easie to 

" Some people, altogether void of charity, repined at 
this invitation given to foreigners to settle here ; but 
the generality highly applauded his Majesty for it, not 
only out of a Christian tenderness for their persecuted 
brethren, but also out of their love for the welfare of 
England ; wisely considering that the kind entertain- 
ment Queen Elizabeth gave to the Walloons, whom the 
Inquisition drove out of the Low Countries, had vastly 
improved the woollen and silken manufactures of this 
nation ; and that the Dutch daily encreased in riches 
and strength, by the favour they showed to the French 
refugees, amongst whom were many wealthy merchants, 
or brave and experienced officers and soldiers, who 
would cheerfully venture their lives in the defence of 




the Protestant religion, and of those States that afforded 
them protection." 

The Editor has preferred faithfully retaining the 
spelling of the original tract, to making anj% even a 
literal alteration. 



Hypomene , 


Irlandois Refugie. 
Francois Refugie. 


Quel sujet, Lycidas, si matin vous ameine ? 


Cork, Ariste, est rendu, la nouvelle est certaine, 
Le brave Malborough signalant sa valeur,* 
A montrc ce que peut la conduite et le coeur. 
Les Irlandois vaincus et prisonniers de guerre. 

* See introductory remarks to the preceding song, p. 74. 


Le Francois pred * courage, et ne voit rien sur terre. 
Qui puisse I'empecher de toinber dans les fers ; 
La fuite est son refuge, il repasse les mers. 
Kingsale a nos soldats ouvre aussi-tot les portes, 
Le Vieux Fort emporte par nos braves cohortes ; 
Le Nouveau quelque jours vainement se defend, 
Nos valureux guerriers le pressent, il se rend.f 
Mais, 6 chere conquete I 6 cruel sort des armes ! 
Grafton y meurt ;J Bellone en a verse des larmes. 
Mars repand a sa mort du sang au lieu de pleurs, 
Et rile par des cris temoigne ses douleurs.§ 
Manes appaisez-vous, I'Hybernois prend la fuite, 
Et le Printemps prochain voit I'lrlande reduite. 
L'Automne le verroit, si le faux point d'lionneur|l 
N'eut pas devant Limriek retarde ce bonheur. 
Tandis que les premiers trop avides de gloire, 
Disputent aux seconds I'honneur de la victoire, 
Le canon ennemi tonne de toutes parts, 
Et les chasse tous deux de dessus les reniparts. 


J'ay su ce coup fatal, mais puis qu'en recompense. 
On voit tout Albion en bonne intelligence. 
Le Parlement conforme aux volontez du Roy, 
Un rebelle vaincu nous ferat-il la loy ? 


Non. Je crains seulement la France raartiale. . . . 

* No doubt a misprint for ferd. \ See note (A). 

+ See p. 79. § See note (B). 

II See p. 75. 




II est vray, sa valeur que nulla autre n'egale, 

Son pouvoir qu'aucun coup ne paroit ebranler, 

Son Prince qui jamais ne semble chanceler. 

Son peuple trop zele, ses conseillers trop sages, 

Et ses succes passez sont de tristes presages. 

La derniere campagne, on a vu les Germains 

Assez unis entr'eux n'en venir point aux mains, 

Le Batave battu, le Savoj-ard en fuite, 

Opprimez par le nombre, ou faute de conduite, 

Ou le Frau9ois montrant trop d'adresse et de coeur. 

Mais qu'il est beau de vaincre un Roy toujours vain- 

queur ! 
Que son nom soit illustre et son pouvuir terrible, 
Louis est invaincu, mais non pas invincible ; 
Plus I'adversaire est noble et le combat douteux, 
Plus la victoire est belle et le sort glorieux. 
Quel ennemi craint-on, si le bras de Gulllainne 
A fait voir si souvent qu'il vaut seul un royaume ? 
Suivons-le, et que les soins de nos coeurs soient banis. 
A propos : et vos vers, le Retour de Daphnis* 
Ne peut-on point les voir ? 


Quoy, devant Hypomene 
Lire des vers Francois ? 


Ma presence vous gene ; 
Je m'en vay. 

* William III. 



Vous pouvez m'entendre sans danger, 
Pourvu que vous pensiez que je suis ctranger, 
Et qu'il faut me passer quelque faute grossiere. 


A d'autres. Vous rimez aussi bien que Moliere. 



Lycidas lit. 


Bergers, chantons en ce beau jour 

Le Liberateur de retour ; 
Le ciel nous a rendu cette tete si chere ; 
Oublions nos ennuis, oublions nos frayeurs, 
Et si quelque souci ronge encore nos cceurs, 

Que ce soit le soin de luy plaire. 


Loiions le Souverain des Cieux, 

Qui sur ce heros tient les yeux, 
Qui par tout I'acconipagne, et par tout le couronne ; 
La foudre a respecte les lauriers de Daphnis, 
Et quand sous ces rameaux nous nous tiendrons unis, 

Qu'aucun danger ne nous etonne. 



Son grand coeur le porte aux hazards, 

II veut surpasser les Cezars ; 
II vient, il voit, il vainc, il conquiert I'Hybernie ; 
Des passages forcez qu'on ne nous parle plus, 
De I'Hydaspe, du Rhiii, des Alpes, du Taurus, 

La Boyne a leur gloire ternie. 


Ou sont ces guerriei's indomptez, 
Dans un coin de leur camp plantez, 
Ou du sommet d'un mont regardant si Ton donne ; 
Qu'ils ne s'excusent plus sur le sort des combats, 
C'est d'eux que vient le mal ; que peuvent des soldats 
Lors que le chef les abandonne ?* 


C'est a notre chef glorieux, 

Qu'est du le succes de nos vceux : 
C'est de son sang verse que Ton tient la victoire ;-|- 
Playe heureuse qui fait le salut du Pais, 
Anime nos guerriers, abat nos ennemis, 

Et comble le blesse de gloire 1 


Qui peut egaler sa valeur ? 

Rien que luy seul dans le malheur, 
C'est alors que Ton voit triorapher sa sagesse ; 
C'est dans I'adversite qu'eclate sa vertu, 
Et jamais sous ce poids son courage abatu, 

Ne marqua la moindre foi blesse. 

* See p. 63, and note (G). f See note (C). 



Soit imprudence, on lachete. 

Ascendant, on fatalitc, 
Les maitres de la mer, batus sur leur rivage; 
Succombent sous I'efFort du superbe Gaulois;* 
Et le Batave aux mains deserte de I'Anglois, 

Luy laisse Tocean en gage. 


Un ange vient dans le moment, 

Rapporter ce coup a*sommant 
Au valureux Daphnis, qui rangcoit son armue, 
Pret a passer le fleuve, et livrer le combat. 
Croit-on sous ce revers que son ame s'abat ? 

EUe n'est pas meme allarmee.f 


Nul trait ne trahit sa douleur; 

" Courage I" dit-il ; " le malheur 
Poursuit nos ennemis, et sur mer et sur terre ; 
Passons, amis, passons, rHybernois est a nous ; 
Ces laches pourroient-ils resister a vos coups, 

Et savent-ils I'art de la guerre ? ' 


Ainsi qu'un rapide torrent, 

Dont la pluye enfle le courant, 
Innonde, entraine, abat, et semble toujours craitre, 
Ainsi Ton voit nager nos valureux guerricrs, 
Terrasser, foudroyer, et courir aux lauriers, 

Sur les traces de leur grand maitre. 

* See note (D). f ^^(^ n<Jte (E) 



Qui pourroit ne pas avancer, 

En voyant ce heros percer 
Les epais bataillons des forces d'Hybernie ; 
En le voyant suivi du Prince i et de Schoniberg,2 
De Solmes/ de Douglas,* Cuts,^ Lumley,^ Wirtemberg/ 

Renversant la troupe ennemie. 


Par tout THybernols chancelant 

Fuit devant Ormond* et Portland f 
Overkerk ^"^ y fait voir la valeur qui I'anime ; 
Harmstad/^ et cent guerriers s'y signalent encor, 

Que Ton ne pent nomraer en rime. 

1 Prince George of Denmark, see p. 52. 

2 Count Schomberg, General of the Horse. 

^ Heniy, Count de Solmes, or Zolmes, General of the Foot ; 
made Commauder-in-Cbief of the Forces in Ireland, on King 
William's return to England. 

* Lieutenant-General Douglas. 

^ Jobn, Lord Cutts ; see note (F). 

* Ricbard, Viscount Lumley, created Earl of Scarborougb. 
'' Tbe Duke of Wirtemberg, General of the Danes; see 

p. 75. 

® Tbe Duke of Ormond ; see p. 52. 

' Earl of Portland, INIaistre-General des Camp ; see p. 52. 
1" Lord Overkirk, Maistre-General des Camp ; see p. 52. 

11 The Earl of Oxford ; see p. 52. 

12 Baron de Giuckel, Lieutenant-General ; made Com- 
mander-in-Chief of the army on Count Solmes leaving for 
England in September 1690. Tbe Victor of Aughrim, and 
the negociator of the memorable " Articles of Limerick." 
Created Earl of Atblone. 

13 Henry, Viscount S'dney, Major-General of Foot; see 



Cependant le triste Moeris* 

Pousse au ciel d'inutiles cris, 
Lors qu'il voit f'uir ses gens du haut d'une colline ; 
Et ne pouvant forcer Timplaeable destin, 
II cede et se retire en hate vers Dublin, f 

Cachant le chagrin qui le mine. 


C'est trop long-temps braver le sort, 

Ne pouvant rencontrer la mort, 
" Fuyons, amis," dit-il, " et retournons en France ; 
Daphnis est invincible, on a beau resister; 
Pour plaire au grand Louis, j'ay voulu tout tenter, 

Mais a quoy nous sert la defense ?" 


Laissons ce Prince infortune 

Recourir a son Dieu-donne,t 
Revenons a Daphnis, que la gloire environne; 
Son parti dans Dublin se trouve le plus fort, 
Drogheda se soumet,§ on luy rend Waterford,|| 

L'ennemi les champs abandonne. 

p. 52. Appointed one of the Lord Justices of Ireland, and after- 
wards Secretary of State; created in 1694 Earl of Rumney. 
I'i The Marquis of Montpouillan, the senior commander of 
one of the thirteen Dutch regiments which went into Ireland 
with William. 

15 Or Scraveumore, Major-General of Horse. 

16 The Prince of H esse Darmstadt. 

* James II. f See note (G). 

X Does this allude to the Pretender, — the warming-pan 
gentleman ? or does it refer to James's Popish propensities ? 
§ See note (H). || See note (I). 



Venez, vaincus, — venez, vainqueurs ; 

Jou'issez en paix des douceurs 
D'un empire ou le ciel a fait tant de merveilles ; 
Soumettez a ses loix jusques a vos desirs, 
Et si jamais en haut vous poussez des soupirs, 

Demandez des graces pareilles. 


Priez qu'il prolonge les jours 

D'un roy notre unique recours, 
Qui nous defend luy seul contre deux puissant Princes ; 
Qui pour notre repos afFronte le danger, 
Arme, unit nos voisins afin de nous vanger, 

Et gagne en un mois des provinces. 


Et de la tete et de la main, 

Par tout il paroit plus qu'humain. 
Passant les derai-dieux dont nous parle la fable ; 
General, capitaine, et soldat a la fois, 
Un Nestor en conseil, un Achile en exploits. 

Ah ! que n'est-il invulnerable ! 


Le ciel est fecond en bien-faits, 

Nous en ressentons les effets, 
Mais peut-on esperer miracle sur miracle ? 
Est-ce que les boulets connoissent les heros ? 
Si quelqu'un de leurs coups tranchoit des jours si beaux, 

Bon Dieu, quel terrible spectacle ! 



On verroit I'insolent Gaulois, 

Sur nos cotes donner les loix, 
Tenter encor un coup d'y faire un descente ; 
On verroit le saint nom de la Religion, 
Servant de couverture a chaque faction, 

Arraer la discorde naissante. 


On verroit de fleuves de sang 

Du plus haut et du plus bas rang 
La Taraise grossie, et la terra couverte. 
Daphnis, quand ta valeur t'engage a conquerir, 
Pense qu'un coup fatal t'y peut faire perir, 

Et que rien n'egale ta perte. 


Pasteurs, dont les sacrez accens 

Sur ce Prince sont si puissans, 
De cueuillir des lauriers faites luy perdre envie ; 
Chantez que son courage a passe nos souhaits, 
Qu'il ne doit plus songer qu'a retablir la paix, 

Assurant nos jours par sa vie. 


Compagnons, illustres rivaux, 

De sa gloire et de ses travaux, 
Gardez de reveillerson ardeur martiale; 
Pensez que le peril est aussi fait pour vous, 
Et qu a suivre un heros au plus epais des coups, 

Le danger votre honneur egale. 



Innoccnte troupe d'agneaux, 

Remplissez de cris ces cotaux, 
Et qu'a vos belemens son grand coeur s'amolisse ; 
Nymphes, pour I'enchainer eniployez vos attraits, 
Amour, pour le blesser decoche tous tes traits, 

Et Ion rira de ta malice. 


Nymphes, je crains pour vos appas, 
Daphnis est ne pour les combats, 
Sensible au seul plaisir d'achever sa victoire ; 
Le printemps cessera dembelir nos guerets, 
Les oiseaux de chanter dans le fonds des forets, 
Plutot que luy d'aimer la gloire. 


Ouj', cruel Lycidas, j'espere que vos voeux 

Du ciel et de Daphnis censez pernicieux, 

A quoy que votre zele indiscret vous engage, 

Seront placez au rang des serments d'un volage. 

Voulez-vous par vos cris arreter un heros, 

De qui I'Europe en trouble attend seul le repos ; 

Du reproche honteux d'une conduite mole 

Ternir un nom chante de I'un a I'autre pole, 

Et retenir le bras qui veut nous secourir, 

De crainte des hazards qu'on court a conquerir. 

Ne craignez rien, le Ciel, son ange tutelaire, 

Le rendra possesseur de prince titulaire ; 

Je vois encor un coup couronner ce grand roy, 

N'enviez point aux Francs de vivre sous sa loy. 



Parlons p'us franchement, avouez le, Hyporaene, 

L'interet d'Albion n'est pas ce qui vous meine ; 

Un motif plus puissant aninie vos raisons ; 

On vous retient des prez, des champs, et des maisons, 

Des enf'ans bien nourris, une femme fort sage, 

Les bourreaux ont sur vous lasse toute leur rage ; 

C'est un mal sans remede. On a vu de tons terns 

Les petits exposoz a la fureur des grands, 

Et quand de se vanger ils ont eu la raanie, 

Ajouter a leurs maux nouvelle ignominie. 

Croj'ez-moy, soyez calrae, et benissez le sort. 

Par un naufrage heureux vous vous trouvez au port. 

Chez tous les Protestans, les peuples, et les princes 

Vous ont ouvert les bras, leur bourse, et leurs provinces, 

Eu plus d'egards pour vous que pour ceux du pais, 

Qu'esperez-vous de tel parmi nos ennemis ? 

Vous voulez, dites-vous, aller joindre vos freres, 

Les aider a sortir de leiirs longues miseres. 

Puisse le juste Ciel accomplir vos souhaits, 

Et que suivant chez vous la Victoire ou la Paix, 

Vous goutiez les plaisirs d'une innocente vie. 

Puissent les traits malins d'une jalouse envie 

N'irriter plus I'esprit du monarque Gaulois, 

Et ne plus renverser le boulevart des loix. 

Qu'il n'arrive jamais de rupture nouvelle. 

Capable a vous forcer d'etre ingrat ou rebelle, 

De traliir votre prince ou votre defenseur. 


Vos voeux en apparence ont beaucoup de douceur, 


Mais ils cachent au fond je ne say quoy qui pique. 
Voulez-vous nous charger de la haine publique ; 
Qu'odieux aux Bretons, et suspects aux Francois, 
Nous errions vagabonds par les monts et les bois ; 
Toujours battus des flots, des vents, de la tem])ete. 
Sans trouver nulle part ou reposer la tete ? 


Non, Hypomene, non, connoissez Lycidas, 

Vous nuire ce seroit avoir le co2ur trop bas, 

II vous aime, et voudroit vous voir I'esprit tranquiile, 

Et n'abandonner pas aisement votre azyle. 


Nous suivrons vos avis, la prudence du roy 

Nous servira de guide, et ses ordres de loy. 

Si sa protection merite nos services, 

Son exemple et son bras sont des heureux auspices, 

Sous qui le fier Gaulois peut craindre des banis. 


Je vous laisse en repos disposer de Daphnis, 
L'arreter dans votre isle, ou Tamener en France : 
D'autres raisons chez luy font pancher la balance. 
Son grand coeur renfermant les secrets de I'etat, 
Vouloir le decouvrir c'est faire un attentat. 
Mais si j'ose meler mes pensees aux autres, 
De plus forts interets I'emportent sur los votres. 
Chez les gens vertueux, les amis anciens 
Sont toujours prcferez a de nouveaux liens. 
Ce sacre rejetton de tant d'illustres princes, 
A vu le jour naissant dans nos riches provinces, 
Qui trois lustres et plus sous sa direction, 


Ont temoigne pour luy leur tcndre affection. 
C'est pour votre salut, ou de toute la terre, 
Qu'un puissant roy nous fait une mortelle guerre, 
Et de votre bonheur ce monarque jaloux, 
Nous fit pour I'empecher sentir ses premiers coups. 
L'officieux Germain veut en vain nous defendre, 
Sans le bras de Daphnis que pouvons-nous attendre ? 
Pretez-nous son secours, rendez le a son pais, 
C'est le seul Mars qu'on peut opposer a Louis. 


Ouy, nous vous le rendrons, mais avec cette clause, 
Qu'en maltre souverain de vos coeurs il dispose, 
Et que vous n'alliez pas par de faux contre-temps, 
Mettre obstacle aux succes dont vous serez contens. 
Qu'otant de vos esprits une crainte importune, 
Vous luy laissiez le soin de la cause commune; 
Qu'une trop naturelle, ou maligne lenteur, 
Fasse place aux efforts d'une sincere ardeur ; 
Que vous fermiez I'oreille aux vaines conjectures 
D'un ennemi qui tache a rompre nos mesures, 
Et vous faire abuser de votre liberte, 
Par un jaloux caprice ou par temerite, 
Pour causer notre deuil, ne faites pas sa joie, 
Et ne nous livrez pas a ses fureurs en proie. 


Accusez de caprice et de soubcon jaloux, 
Nous pourrions le souffrir d'un autre que de vous. 
Chez qui regnent le plus les plaintes, les murmures, 
Les libelles malins, les fausses conjectures ? 
Voit-on chez les Batave, ecrivain ou rimeur 


S'en prendre insolemment aux droits du gouverneur? 
A-on [A-t-on] oui parler chez nous de Jacobites, 
Ou de Louisiens ? en connoissez-vous? dites. 


Eh, de grace ! Bergers, ne passez pas plus loin, 
Si de vous chagriner vous prenez tant de soin, 
Croyez-vous que toujours un fidele Hyponiene 
De vous racommoder se donnera la peine? 
Manquons nous d'ennemis, declarez ou couverts, 
Qui nous font quereller pour nous mettre des fcrs? 


Embrassez-vous, bergers, et sortez de vos doutes, 
Vous courez a Daphnis par diiferentes routes, 
Unissez vos efforts contre nos ennemis, 
Assurez du succcs que le ciel a promis. 


Promis ! Expliquez-vous, comment done, Theophane ? 
Dites, ne craignez jioint ici d'esprit profane. 


Est-ce un prophete? A-t-il eu quelque vision ? 


Ce siecle est-il un temps a revelation ? 


Qui vous fait done parler ainsi? 


Ce n'est qu'un songe. 




Accable du chagrin qui me ronge, 


Depuis que pour ranger I'Hybernois sous la loy, 

Nous voyons tous les jours s'exposer un grand roy ; 

Dans un lieu solitaire ou souvent je m'egare, 

Je revois au bonheur que son retour prepare. 

La fraicheur de rombrage et I'ardeur du soleil. 

La lassitude enfin m'invitoient au sorameil. 

Je m'etends sous un arbre, ou tot apres Morphea 

Eut enchante mes sens, et ma peine etoufee. 

Dans ce profond sommeil, tout a coup d'un haut ton, 

Une celeste voix m'appelle par mon nom. 

Je m'eveille en sursaut, au moins il me le semble, 

Un eclat de splendeur m'environne, je tremble, 

Je palis, je freniis, je ne sais ou je suis, 

Je fais de vains efforts pour parler, je ne puis. 

Ne crains point, dit la voix, Ecoute, Theophane, 

Ce que n'ouit jamais une oreille prophane. 

Avant que Cynthie ait fourni trois cours entiers. 

Ton Daphnis reviendra couronne de lauriers. 

Avant que Phebus ait parcouru I'Ecliptique, 

Ce heros finira la misere publique. 

Ses deux fiers ennemis egaux en leur malheur, 

Tous deux craints par leur haine, et I'un parsa valeur, 

Ne pouvant soutenir I'efFort de sa puissance : 

Ou ploiront sous son joug, ou fuiront sa presence. 

Au devant du vainqueur tout le peuple sortant, 

Temoigne par ses cris combien il est content ; 

Les cloches, les buchers marquent leur allegresse ; 

Les harangues, les vers expriment leur tendresse ; 

Mais cependant Daphnis, qui veille pour I'etat, 

S'applique a prevenir un nouvel attentat, 



Jette les fondemens d'une paix immobile, 
Qui rende le pays florissant et tranquile, 
Qui remette le calme au milieu d'Albion ; 
Et luj' fasse oublier le nom de faction. 
Tandis que I'Aquilon fait regner la froidure, 
Et que d'epais frimats il couvre la nature, 
Son esprit penetrant perce dans I'avenir, 
Et contre ses projets rien ne sauroit tenir. 
A quelle des vertus donner la preference ? 
Sera-ce a sa valeur ? sera-ce a sa prudence ? 
Ses desseins sont batis qu'ils ne sauroient tomber, 
Et son bras si puissant qu'il ne pent succomber. 
Mais le printemps revient, et deja le Zephire, 
Semble eveiller Daphnis, et sans cesse luy dire, 
Qu'il faut passer la mer et voler au secours 
D'une troupe d'amis qui I'attend tous les jours : 
Que combattre sans luy c'est tenter I'impossible, 
Qu'a tout autre qu'a luy la France est invincible, 
Et qu'a toute I'Europe elle mettra des fers, 
Si son bras ne luy fait sentir un dur revers. 
Neptune I'a deja porte chez les Bataves, 
Je le vois entoure d'une troupe de braves, 
Qui s'animent I'un I'autre a repandre leur sang, 
Et veulent au combat chacun le premier rang. 
Le Breton et le Beige oubliant leurs querelles, 
Montrent a le servir des ardeurs mutuelles ; 
L'Espagnol a repris son antique valeur ; 
En suivant ce heros qui peut manquer de coeur ? 
Pour I'interet commun de la cause publique. 
On voit se reunir tout le corps Germanique, 


Et du brave Lorrain s'ils regrettent le sort, 

lis trouvent plus 19! que n'a ravi la mort. 

La Boyue et le Shannon ne sont pas de sa gloire 

D'assez dignes temoins. Et le Rhin, et la Loire, 

Et le Danube, et I'Arne, et le Tybre fameux, 

Raconteront un jour ses exploits merveilleux. 

Ses grandes actions rempliront les histoires, 

Et ses combats seront contez par ses victoires. 

Mais que vois-je 1 I'Envie au parler decevant, 

Monstre qui meurt sans cesse, et sans cesse est vivant, 

Qui du bien des liumains fait sa plus grande peine, 

Et ne prend du plaisir que dans ce qui les gene, 

Le sujet de I'horreur de la Terre et des Cieux, 

Veut rendre de Daphnis les desseins odieux. 

Impute sa valeur a son heureuse etoile, 

Et de la piete prenant le sacre voile, 

Inspire aux faux zelez qu'ils doivent craindre un bras, 

Qui des Saints faineans menace le trepas. 

Qui met dans Albion I'Eglise sur le trone, 

Et tache dabolir le nom de Babylone. 

Puis tournant ses regards vers les ambitieux, 

La grandeur du heros quelle expose a leurs yeux. 

Son nom ecrit au front du Temple de Meraoire, 

Les grandes actions qui ternissent leur gloire, 

Et I'amour qu'ont pour lui ses fideles sujets, 

Les porte a traverser ses illustres projets. 

Enfin cette Megere anime un cceur timide, 

En peignant de Daphnis le courage intrepide, 

Et leur persuadant que ses vastes desseins 

Vent a luy conquerir I'empire des humains ; 

H 2 


Que trop differer met la fortune en balance, 
Et qu'il est encor temps de borner sa puissance. 
L'Ignorance a ces mots leve ses etendarts, 
La Discorde en fureur fremit de toutes parts, 
L'alliance se romt. Un amas de perfides 
Forment contre Daphnis des complots parricides; 
Les Protestans, liguez pour proteger Sion, 
Jurent d'aneantir la superstition. 
Ne crain point de Babel I'impuissant artifice, 
De la religion soutien seul I'edifice, 
Daphnis, la verite s'est commise a tes soins, 
Et son Pere Eternel veille pour ses besoins. 
Va, fais la triompher du couchant a I'aurore, 
Heros cheri du Ciel ; que le Tybre I'adore, 
Que la Seine qui I'aime, et ne I'embrasse pas, 
Avec toutes ses eaux se jette entre tes bras : 
Que I'aigle ravissante abhorre le carnage, 
Du sang des meurtriers fais deborder le Tage, 
Sois le Liberateur du Chretien gemissant, 
Et va planter la croix ou regne le croisant. 
A ces mots la voix cesse, et ma foible paupiere 
Eblouie al'instant d'un eclat de lumiere, 
Je ne say si pour lors je commence a veiller, 
Ou si je n'avois fait encor que sommeiller. 
Mais cette vision me chargeant la memoire, 
Je vous cherchois, amis, pour en faire I'histoire. 




(A) Cork being reduced (see p. 75), was put under the 
government of Colonel Hales. " Brigadier Villiers was, the 
same day, detached with a party to possess himself of Kinsale, 
which not being tenable was deserted by the enemy. On the 
2nd October, the Lord Marlborough came thither with the 
army ; on the 3rd, Alajor-General Tettau and Colonel Fitz- 
Patrick, with about eight hundred men, got over in boats, 
unperceived, near Ringroan Castle, marched towards the Old 
Fort (called Castle ni Park), which they boldly assaulted and 
took by storm ; whereupon the enemy retired into the Castle, 
but, at the same time, three barrels of their powder took lire 
at the gate, and blew it up, with about forty soldiers. At 
length the governor. Colonel Driscoll, and two hundred of 
the garrison, being killed, the rest surrendered upon quarter. 

" Hereupon the New Fort (called Charles Fort) was sum- 
moned ; but Sir Edward Scot, the governor, answered, that it 
would be time enough a month hence to talk of surrendering : 
whereupon the trenches were opened the 5th October; the 
batteries were managed by the Danes on the east, and by the 
English on the north. On the 15th a breach was made by 
the Danes, and the English being masters of the counterscarp, 
they sprung a mine with good success, when the governor 
capitulated, and surrendered upon honourable conditions : 
which would not have been granted, but that the weather was 
exceedingly bad, provisions scarce, and the army very sickly. 
Colonel O'Douovan delivered the keys of this fort into Lord 
Marlborough's hands, who having thus fortunately accom- 
plished the design of his voyage, left his brother. Brigadier 
Churchill, governor of Charles Fort; and having disposed 


his regiments into Cork, Kinsale, and Bandon, he returned 
with the fleet to Portsmouth." — Sir Richard Cox's Narration, 
MS. quoted by Smith in his History of Cork. 

(B) Although it is not probable that Ireland would respond 
by its cries to the feeling of the English upon the death of 
the Duke of Grafton, it is nevertheless probable that native 
professional keeners exerted their extraordinary powers upon 
that occasion. Stanihurst observes : — " They [the Irish] 
follow the dead corpse to the grave with howling and bar- 
barous outcries, pitifull in aparance ; whereof grew, as I 
suppose, the proverbe, ' To weepe Irish.' " 

(C) On the 30th June, King William encamped about a 
mile distant from the River Boyne, and at noon he rode in 
full view of the Irish army, which lay encamped on the other 

" The enemy soon discovered it must be His Majesty who 
was so attended, which made them draw down two pieces of 
six-pound ball from the forts a little higher, and planted them 
opposite to the place where our horse were drawn up, they 
presently began to fire, and one of the balls passed so close 
to His Majesty that it took away a piece of his coat, waste 
coat, and shirt, raised the skin on the blade of his right 
shoulder and drew a little blood ; but a plaister being put on, 
His Majesty continued on horseback without the least con- 
cern, till four in the afternoon, when he dined, and in the 
evening was on horseback again, though he had been up from 
one in the morning." — Villare Hibernicum, or a View of 
His Majesty's late Conquest in Ireland, by W. Griffytli, Esq. 

The Irish local tradition respecting this memorable shot is 
perhaps worth repeating. It is said that one of James's 


officers observing William on the opposite bank of the river, 
directed two guns to be brought to a particular spot, where 
they would be concealed by some old thorns, under the direc- 
tion of a gunner named Burke, who was reputed to be ex- 
ceedingly skilful in his art. The officer rode off to James, 
who was not far distant, and solicited His Majesty to behold 
the shot, which he complied with, and came up to the guns 
just as Burke said : — " I have the Prince of Orange covered ;" 
James, instead of giving the word fire, exclaimed : " Would 
you make a widow of my daughter ?" But the gunner, who 
saw only the movement of his monarch's lips, mistook the 
import of his words, and applied his match to the touch-hole. 
The news of William's death immediately spread through 
the Irish camp, and was speedily carried to Paris. Voltaire, 
in his "Siecle de Louis XIV," says : — " Cette fausse nouvelle 
fut re^ue a Paris avec une joie indecente et honteuse. Quel- 
ques magistrats subalternes encouragerent les bourgeois et 
le peuple a faire des illuminations. On sonna les cloches; 
on brula dans plusieurs quartiers des figures d'osier qui re- 
presenterent le Prince d'Orange, comme on brule le pape dans 
Londres ; on tira le canon de la Bastille, non par ordre du 
roi, mais par le zele inconsidere d'un commandant." 

(D) The 29th April, 1689, Admiral Herbert, being on the 
south coast of Ireland, by his scouts discovered the French 
fleet, and next day had intelligence that they were gone into 
Baltimore, being forty-four sail ; but, on pursuing them, the 
scouts had sight of them to the west of Cape Clear ; and, 
upon steering after them, found they were got into Bantry 
Bay. The admiral lay off the bay all night, and next morn- 
ing stood in, where he found the enemy at anchor ; but soon 
got under sail, bearing down upon him, in aline composed of 
twenty-eight men of war and five fire ships. When they 


came within musquet-sbot of the Defiance, who led the van, 
the French admiral put out the signal of battle ; which was 
begun by firing their great and small shot at the Defiance, 
and the rest as they came into line. The English made 
several boards to gain the wind, or, at least to engage them 
closer. Finding that way of working very disadvantageous, 
Admiral Herbert stood ofi" to sea, as well to have got his 
ships into a line as to have gained the wind of the enemy ; 
but found them so cautious in bearing down, that he could 
not get an opportunity to do it; so continued battering 
upon a stretch till five in the afternoon, when the French 
admiral stood into the bay. The admiral's ship and some 
others being disabled in their rigging, they could not follow 
them ; but continued for some time after before the bay, and 
the admiral gave them a gun at parting. In this action 
Captain George Aylmer, of the Portland, with one lieutenant 
and ninety-four seamen were killed, and about two hundred 
and fifty wounded. On the 7th of May the admiral got into 
Plymouth with the fleet. — CamphelVs Naval History, vol. iii. 
p. 9. 

Although it appears to have been William's policy to con- 
sider this encounter in the light of a victory (see subsequent 
note), the dispassionate historian must regard the aftair as a 
defeat. If any advantage was gained, that advantage was 
most unquestionably on the side of the French fleet. 

(E) On the 15tb May, 1089, a fortnight after the encounter 
of the French and English fleets oS" the south-west coast of 
Ireland, King William went to Portsmouth, " both to hasten 
the refitting of the fleet, and to distribute rewards to the 
oflicers and soldiers who had distinguished themselves in the 
late engagement. Admiral Herbert was declared, and soon 
after made Earl of Torriugton ; Captain John Ashby, com- 


mander of the Defiance, and Captoin Cloudesly Shovel, of 
the Edgar, received the honour of tnighthood; and each 
seaman a gratuity of ten shillings, which amounted to the 
sum of £26,000. Besides this donative to the living. His 
Majesty's bounty extended to the relicts of those \\'ho had 
lost their lives in his and their country's service. Some 
report that when the king received the news of this sea-fight, 
he said : ' That 'twas necessary in the beginning of a war, 
but that it had been rash in the course of it.' " — Bowyer's 
History of William III, vol. ii. p. 83. 

(F) " Lord John Cutts, one of the most memorable men of 
his day, a soldier of great enterprise and bravery, was the son 
of Richard Cutts, Esq. of Matching in Essex. He entered 
early into the army, and served under the Duke of Monmouth 
abroad ; was aid-du-camp to the Duke of Lorraine in Hun- 
gary, and signalized himself in an extraordinaiy manner at 
the taking of Breda by the Imperialists, in 1686. By what 
means he found leisure to court the muses does not appear; 
but in 1 687, his ' Poetical Exercises,' written upon several 
occasions, dedicated to Her Royal Highness Maiy, Princess 
of Orange, afterwards Queen Mary, were printed in 8vo. 
containing verses to that princess, to Waller, &c. among them 
one entitled ' La Muse Cavalier.' 

" On the landing of the Prince of Orange, he had conferred 
on him the command of a regiment, and was created Baron 
of Gowran in Ireland, December 6, 1690. April 14, 1693, 
he was appointed governor of the Isle of Wight, and raised 
in rank to be a Major-General. 

" In 1696, when the assassination plot was discovered. 
Lord Cutts was Captain of the King's Guards. In 1699, in 
some complimentary verses to King William on his conquests, 
Lord Cutts is thus introduced : 


" The warlike Cutts the welcome tidings brings. 
The true best servant of the best of Kings ; 
Cutts, -whose known worth no herald need proclaim, 
His wounds and his o^ti worth can speak his fame." 

"As Colonel of the Coldstream Guards, Steele was in- 
debted to him, in 1701, for a military commission, and to 
him he dedicated his ' Christian Hero.' On the accession 
of Queen Anne, he was made a Lieutenant-General of the 
Forces in Holland; Commander-in-Chief of the Forces in 
Ireland under the Duke of Onuond, March 23, 1705 ; and, 
' to keep him out of the way of action,' subsequently one of 
the Lords Justices, a circumstance which it is said broke his 
heart. He died at Lord Kerry's house, in Dublin, January 
26, 1707, and was buried in the Cathedral of Christ's Church." 
— Abridged from Thorpe's Catalogue of State Papers. 

(G) " The wreath of laurel which the unfortunate James 
won by sea he lost by land. Having been a spectator of the 
battle of the Boyne, he thought it most prudent while the 
fate of the day was yet undecided to seek for safety in flight. 
In a few hours he reached the Castle of Dublin, where he was 
met by Lady Tyrconnell, a woman of spirit. ' Your country- 
men (the Irish), Madam,' said James, as he was ascending the 
stairs, ' can run well.' — ' Not quite so well as your Majesty,' 
retorted her ladyship, ' for I see you have won the race.' 
Having slept that night in Dublin, he rode the next day to 
Waterford, a distance of two hundred English miles, in the 
space of twenty-four hours. On his arrival in that city he 
went immediately on board a ship that lay ready for him in 
the harbour, in order to carry him to France. As he was 
passing along the quay a sudden gust of wind carried off his 
hat, and as it was night. General O'Ferrall, an old officer in 
the Austrian service, presented him with his own. James took 


it without any ceremony, observing as he put it on his head, 
that if he had lost a crowii by the Irish, he had gained a hat 
by them." 

The following graphic extract from a contemporaiy journal, 
aflfords a complete vindication of Lady Tyrconnell's reply : 

"July 1st. Early in the morning the Protestants were 
wakened by an alarm, and the news that there would be a 
battle. The gates of the city {Duhlin) were kept strictly 
guarded, and the Protestants kept their houses. The issue 
they expected with the greatest apprehensions. Several reports 
were spread abroad every hour: one, that the French fleet 
were in the bay ; another, that a French express was come 
from Waterford, with the news of taking the Isle of Wight, 
by the French, and of their being gone to Dover ; then that 
the English right wing were quite routed ; then that the 
Prince of Orange was taken prisoner. But at five that after- 
noon, some that had made their escape on tired horses, told 
the Protestants that the Irish were much worsted, and others, 
at six, that they were totally defeated. From hence, till one 
that night, all the entries of the town were filled with dusty, 
wounded, and tired soldiers and carriages perpetually com_ 
ing in. 

" After these, several of King James's horse-guards came 
in straggling, without pistols or swords, and could not tell 
what was become of himself. 

" Near ten at night, he came in with about two hundred 
horse, all in disorder. The Protestants concluded now that it 
was a total rout, and that the English army were just ready 
to come into town, but were greatly surprised, when an hour 
or two after they heard the whole body of the Irish horse 
coming in, in very good order, with kettle-drums, hautboys, 
and trumpets ; and early the next morning the French, and a 
great party of the Irish foot. These being a little rested. 


marched out agaiu (as they gave out) to meet the enemy, 
which were supposed to draw nigh. 

"Wednesday, July 2d. About five this morning. King 
James, having sent for the Irish Lord Mayor and some prin- 
cipal persons to the castle, made a speech to them." 

This speech is well known, and has been admirably criti- 
cized by O'Driscol. {History of Ireland, vol. ii. p. 218.) 
Inmiediately after its delivery James left Dublin for Waterford. 

(H). The morning after the Battle of the Boyne, " His 
Majesty sent Brigadier la Meillonere, with one thousand 
horse and dragoons, a party of foot and eight pieces of cannon, 
to summons Drogheda, wherein the Irish had a garrison of 
about 1300 men, commanded by my Lord Iveagh, who sur- 
rendered the town upon condition that his garrison should 
have leave to march out without their arms, and be conducted 
to Athlone ; tho' their barbarity in tying the Protestants, in 
town, back to back, and placing them where they expected 
our guns to play (see p. 63) ought not to be forgot." — Storrfs 
wars of Ireland, p. 26. (1693.) 

(I). "Major General Kirk, with his own regiment and Col. 
Brewer's, as also a party of horse, marched (on the 20th July 
1690) from Carrick towards Waterford, more forces designing 
to follow. The ^lajor General sent a trumpet to summon 
the town, who, at first, refused to surrender, there being two 
regiments then in garrison ; their refusal, however, was in 
such civil tenns, that their inclinations were easily understood; 
for soon after, ihey sent out to know what terms they might 
have ? which were the same with those of Drogheda. But not 
liking them, they proposed some of their own, which were, 
that they might enjoy their estates, the liberty of their religion, 
and a safe convoy to the next garrison, with their arms and 


proper goods. Those would not be granted; then the hea\7 
cannon were brought down that way, and some more forces 
ordered to march. But the Irisli, understanding this, sent to 
ask liberty to march out with their arras, and to have a safe 
convoy, which was granted them. And accordingly on the 
25th, they marched out, with their arms and baggage, being 
conducted to Mallow. 

" The day after Waterford surrendered, (July 26) King 
William went to see it, and took care that no persons should 
be disturbed in their houses and goods." — Sinith^s Waterford, 
p. 154. 


" Nor did Inniskillin, another town in the north of 
Ireland," says the author of a History of King William 
III, " contribute less than Londonderry to the asserting 
the Protestant cause ; for upon notice that the latter 
had deny'd entrance to the Lord Antrim's Regiment, 
they resolved not to admit any Irish garrison, and 
having raised a regiment of twelve companies, gave the 
command of it to Gustavus Hamilton, Esq. a person of 
conduct and resolution, whom they likewise chose their 
governor. The towns-men being thus in some posture 
of defence, proclaimed King William and Queen Mary, 
on the nth March [1689] ; but the Lord Galraoy de- 

* London, 1702, vol. ii. p. 69. 


daring for King James, some time after his Majesty's 
arrival at Dublin, summoned the Governor of Innis- 
killin to surrender that place to him, with a promise as 
from King James, to grant them better terms than they 
might ever expect from him afterwards. A council 
being called upon this summons, it was unanimously 
agreed to stand firm to their former resolutions of de- 
fending the Protestant religion, and maintaining King 
William's title. 

" Whereupon, the Lord Galmoy landed all his forces 
towards Crom, a castle sixteen miles distant fromlnnis- 
killin, and possessed by the Protestants, which was be- 
sieged some time by part of his troops ; but the Innis- 
killiners having thrown a relief of two hundred men 
into the castle, forced him to raise the siege and to re- 
treat to Belturbat. On the 24th of April, a detachment 
of the garrison of Inniskillin, headed by Lieutenant 
Colonel Lloyd, made an excursion into the enemies' 
country, took and demolished the Castle at Aughor, 
and returned home with a considerable booty. Several 
other skirmishes and rencontres passed between the 
two parties, wherein the Inniskilliners signalized their 
valour, and always came off with advantage ; but none 
of those actions was so remarkable as that which hap- 
pened, as it were, by a particular appointment of Pro- 
vidence, on the same day Londonderry was relieved, 
wherein 2000 Inniskilliners fought and routed 6000 
Irish at a place called Newtown-Butler, and took their 
commander, M'Carthy [More], with the loss only of 
twenty men killed, and fifty wounded." 

Upon more than one occasion Schomberg compli- 


raented the bravery of the Inniskillin troops in the 
highest manner ; and the many gallant feats performed 
by them are to be found recorded in " A true Relation 
of the Actions of the Inniskillen Men," from their first 
taking up arms in December, 1688, by the Rev. An- 
drew Hamilton,* and " A farther impartial Account 
of the Inniskillen men," by Captain William Mac Car- 

"These troops," says O'Driscol.t speaking in what 
may be called the dashing historical style, " the fame 
of whose exploits had been spread abroad, excited 
much attention in the British camp. Their appearance 
was remarkable. They were a fine and hardy body of 
men ; but resembled more a horde of wild Arabs, or 
Italian banditti, than a body of European cavalry. They 
observed little order in their military movements ; and 
no uniformity of dress or accoutrement. Every soldier 
was armed and clad according to his own fancy, and 
each man was attended like the Asiatic military, by a 
servant mounted on an inferior horse and carrying his 
heavy arms and baggage. § 

* London, 4to. p. 65. 1690. 

t London, 4to. p. 68. 1691. 

X " History of Ireland," vol. ii. p. 55. 

§ The practice of horsemen requiring attendants, appears 
to have been carried to a serious extent in Ireland. Pierce 
Butler, Earl of Orinond and Ossory, being required in the 
time of a Geraldine rebellion to send to the Lord Deputy a 
body of sixty or eighty horsemen, objected to the expense it 
would be to the king; begging his lordship to consider, that 
" every horssman must have 3 horsses and 3 kepers." — MS. 
Letter in State Paper Office. 


" But they were distinguished by an astonishing 
rapidity of movement, and a boldness or rather fierce- 
ness, and contempt of all difficulty and danger, which 
made them almost invincible. They never calculated 
obstacles or counted numbers, but rushed to the attack 
with the ferocity and exultation of a tiger when bound- 
ing upon his prey. That the enemy was Popish was 
enough to excite horror and contempt. To hesitate in 
attacking such a foe was disgrace worse than death ; 
and to slaughter them a more acceptable service to the 
Lord than a smoking holocaust offered by David him- 

" These strange troops were religious men or thought 
they were. Their memories were abundantly stored 
with scraps of the Old Testament, chiefly relating to 
the massacres and spoliations committed by the Jews. 
Upon these they formed themselves, and with these 
they justified their practices. They were robbers and 
murderers. They spared no man's life or property. 
When spoil was not otherwise to be had, they never 
hesitated to plunder their own party, whether Irish 
Protestants or British allies. They were a fearful 
scourge in the country, and aggravated dreadfully the 
calamities of the war ; but they were scrupulous to 
have their proper establishment of Chaplains or gifted 
preachers of the word ; and heard prayers or out- 
pourings of the spirit regularly. The Derrymen were 
in all respects similar to the Inniskilliners. 

" The Inniskilliners could not endure the restraints of 
discipline ; and when placed under Schomberg's com- 


mand, they said of tliemselves that ' they should never 
thrive so long as they were under his orders,' and they 
were right. They were a kind of Cossack cavalry, 
that were of no use unless left to themselves, and their 
irregularities connived at. Schomberg did not under- 
stand thera ; and General Ginckle, at a later period of 
the war, considered them a nuisance and hated them 

Although there are some truths in this sketch of the 
Tnniskilliners, it is evidently the preparatory candid 
statement of an ingenious lawyer, to support his asser- 
tions respecting their conduct at the Boyne, where he 
would represent, if he could, these wild and fanatic 
troops as wanting in courage when headed by " their 
saviour," as William was irreverently styled by them. 

It is said, by O'Driscol, that King William led on 
bravely to the attack, his horse regiments ; " their 
charge was met by that of the Irish cavalry, and they 
had no sooner come in contact than the whole of this 
foreign cavalry went about and rode off the field. 
The Irish horse followed in pursuit, and the king stood 
alone upon the field of battle. At this moment," con- 
tinues O'Driscol, " the Inniskilliners appeared coming 
up, and the King rode towards them and asked them 
what they would do for him ? Woolsey told his men, 
it was the king, and asked if they would follow him ? 
The men replied by a shout, and the King put himself 
at their head, and rode towards the Irish infantry ; but 
the northerns did not venture to charge, and on receiving 



a well-directed volley they went about, and left the King 
alone on thejield as before." 

Now contemporary writers, and eye-witnesses of the 
conduct of the Inniskilliners — those men of wild and 
fanatic bravery, who are represented as deserting their 
King upon the field of battle, in consequence of a well- 
directed volley, — assure us that they behaved most gal- 

According to one authority,* " Duke Schomberg 
headed the Dutch fort-guards, and the King the Innis- 
killin horse, telling them, ' they should be his guards 
that day.' " Is it probable then, that these men, — men 
who had been, for the preceding eighteen months under 
constant fire, would desert, at this critical moment, the 
post of danger and of honour? Story's words are, 
" the Inniskilliners, and French, too, both horse and 
foot, did good service" [at the Boyne.] 

A contemporary manuscript account of the battle, 
most probably gives the true explanation of the retreat 
of the Inniskilliners. After William's foreign cavalry 
had been forced back, " the King, with that coolness of 
thought which accompanies true courage, rode up to 
the Inniskillin horse, and asked, what they would do 
for him ? Their officer told his men that it was King 
William who asked them that question. The brave 

* " A true and perfect Journal of the Affairs of Ireland 
since His Majesty's Arrival in that Kingdom, by a Person of 
Quality." London 1690. See also " VUlare Hihernicum, by 
W. Griffyth, Esq." London, 1690. 


fellows then gave a loud cheer, and the King saying 
that they should be his guai'ds, headed them. They 
advanced with the King, and received the enemy's fire ; 
and as his Majesty wheeled to the left they followed. 
But when King William led up some Dutch troojis, 
they perceived their error, and returned bravely to the 

The following song is given from a manuscript, in 
which it is stated to have been " sung at the play-houses." 
It is printed with some slight variations in D'Urfey's 
" Pills to purge Melancholy," vol. i. p. 203, where it is 
entitled, " Mac Bailor, a comical ditty, in imitation of 
the Irish stile," and where the music may be found. 


If a woeful sad ditty to know thou art willing, man, 
Open thy ears, joy, and then thou shalt see ;* 
To London, Mac Ballor,f a stout Inniskillin man, 

A seeking brown Kate, by my shoul am come eey ; 
My heart is sore wounded, sore wounded, sore, 

A la boo, boo, boo, boo, hone, oh hone, hery Morah. 

* A specimen of that figure of speech called a bull. To 
Irishmen speaking imperfectly the English language, may be 
ascribed the national reputation for blunders. 

f Mac Bailor means literally son of a clown. " Balach, a 
clown, a sturdy fellow." — O'Reilly. 



When the valiant King William cross'd over the Boyne, 

And with broken pates made Jack Papishes flee ; 

Of dragoons a brave troop made a gallop to join, joy, 

And march with the foremost by Chreest did come eey ; 

They were beaten sore, curst and swore, and did roar, 

A la boo, boo, boo, i^c. 

When 1 went on a party, I sung and was merry too. 
Though hunger gives small occasion to laugh ; 

I without any grumbling fought in Londonderry too, 
Without one dram of Snush or Usquebaugh, 

Where we fed on roots, stinking fruits, old jack boots, 
A la boo, boo, boo, (5fc. 

In a skirmish near Limerick, on the banks of the Shan- 
non there, 
Many stout Teagues were slain in time of rout ; 
And at Aghrim I narrowly escaped the damned cannon 
Catching the balls by my shoul in my mout. 
But though the guns spared my bones, love Gad zoous, 
A la boo, boo, boo, &^c. 

The bully god, Mars, though a bug-bear they make him. 
All arm'd like a gunsmith with bullets and fire, 

I defy ; but the little whelp, Cupid, plague take him. 
Makes me snort and grunt like a hog in the mire. 

She has Irish eyes, Dutch size, an English prize, 
A la boo, boo, boo, ^c. 


Heaven make rae a cobler, or make me a broom-man, 
Or, cry puddings, what a plague call ye it i' th* streets. 

So I may no more follow after a woman ; 

De'il take me, 't has scared me quite out of my wits : 

For when I get drunk, like a monk, I'm in a funk. 
A la boo, boo, boo, S(c. 


" When they came to capitulate," says Burnet, " the 
Irish insisted on very high demands, which was set on 
by the French, who hoped they would be rejected ; but 
the king had given Ginckle secret instructions that he 
should grant all the demands they could make that 
■would put an end to the war. So every thing was 
granted, to the great disappointment of the French, 
and the no small grief of some of the English, who 
hoped this war should have ended in the total ruin of 
the Irish interest." 

" No one was pleased ;" observes O'Driscol. " The 
Anglo-Irish party inveighed bitterly against the treaty, 
as being unreasonably favourable to the Irish, whom it 
was their object to crush, not to treat with. The Irish 
were loud in their accusations of those who had made 
peace with an enemy, who they asserted had never yet 
kept faith with them ; and at a moment when a great 
French fleet was on the coast, and when, even without 


their help, they were able and readj^ to fight the battle 
out to the last. The court of France cried out loudly 
against the treaty, as treasonable and disgraceful ; 
having been made M-ithout necessity." 

After some interesting remarks upon this famous 
treaty, O'Driscol proceeds : — " The clergy of the vio- 
lent party commenced preaching against the treaty, 
Dr. Dopping, Bishop of Meath, had the boldness to 
preach against it before the Lords Justices, at Christ 
Church, in Dublin, the Sunday after their return from 
Limerick. He reproached the justices bitterly for the 
treaty they had concluded, and argued that Protestants 
were not bound to keep faith with Papists. 

" The king was alarmed at this spirit, and ordered 
Dopping to be removed from the council; and Dr. 
Moreton, bishop of Kildare, and other moderate di- 
vines, were instructed topreach the obligation of keeping 
faith with all men. But Dopping continued to be the 
popular man amongst his party." 

The epigram, or " smart poem," on the treaty of 
Limerick, here given, is copied from a rare tract of 
twelve pages, entitled the " British Muse, or Tyranny 
Expos'd : a satyr, occasioned by all the fulsom and 
lying poems and elegies that have been written on the 
death of the late King James, to which is added a 
smart poem on the generous Articles of Limerick and 
Galway." [A MS. note adds, " supposed to have been 
written by Tutchin."] 

" London, Printed for Eliz. Mallet, and Sold by the 


Williamite Book-sellers of London and Dublin, who 
are the haters of Tyranny and Slavery." 

This tract is without date, but appears from the 
address to the reader to have been published immedi- 
ately after the death of James II (1700). " He [James] 
has now," says the writer, " paid his debt to nature. 
But his men of blood, who had not fully satisfied their 
sanguinary desires in the late reign, are building monu- 
ments of praise to his memory, which ought to be 
buried in eternal oblivion. These men are the occasion 
of this poem, and if they find it disagreeable they may 
thank themselves." 

Tutchin — " Captain Tutchin," as he was nicknamed — 
the supposed author of this epigram, was the gentleman 
who, being sentenced by JeflTries to be whipt in several 
market-towns, for writing something or other in favour 
of Monmouth, petitioned the king that his sentence 
might be changed to hanging. He was a poor, miser- 
able wretch, and died in great distress in some privi- 
leged place, in 1707 ; his death being said to have been 
hastened by a severe personal chastisement, inflicted 
upon him about a month before by some friends of 
King James. 

" The following verses were made upon the surrender 
of Limerick, 1691. When the late King James's army 
(that fled there) obtained such large conditions." 



Hard fate, that still attends our Irish war. 
The conquerors lose, the conquered gainers are ; 
Their pens the triumph of our swords defeat : 
We fight like soldiers, but like fools we treat. 
Sure Teague has charm'd us with some fatal spell : 
- For lest the coward should no more rebell, 
Lest he grow honest by becoming poor, 
We pardon all his former bloody score. 
And set him up again to murther more. 
With a new fund of our own plunder'd store ; 
But England doubtless in our loss will share; 
And, to reconquer, a new tax prepare. 


Is copied, with the following introductory observations, 
from a small volume, entitled " Jacobite Minstrelsy," 
published at Glasgow in 1829. There have been so 
many clever modern imitations in Scotland of Jacobite 
songs, that it is difficult to distinguish between what is 
genuine or not, and the Editor is therefore unwilling to 
risk an opinion in this matter ; he consequently gives 
this song and its history as he found them. 

" Captain Ogilvie, of the house of Inverquharity, is 
believed to have been the author of this song. He 

IT WAS a' for our rightful KING. 121 

was with King James at the battle of the Boyne, and 
afterwards fell in an engagement on the Rhine. It is 
said also that he was one of the hundred gentlemen, all 
of good families, who volunteered to attend their royal 
master in his exile. James had afterwards the pain of 
seeing these devoted followers submit voluntarily to 
become private soldiers on his account in the French 
service, rather than return to their own country, with 
permission of the government, although it was optional 
to them to do so. They were formed into one company, 
and fought both in Spain and on the Rhine with heroic 
valour and reputation. At the peace of 1696 only 
sixteen of them remained alive. Of the whole number 
only four were Catholics ; the rest were Protestants of 
the Episcopalian persuasion, and several of them had 
been bred as divints. What is perhaps still more 
curious, by far the greater portion of them were low- 


It was a' for our rightfu' king 
We left fair Scotland's strand I 

It was a' for our rightfu' king 
We e'er saw Irish land, my dear, 
We e'er saw Irish land. 

122 IT WAS a' for our rightfu' king. 

Now a' is done that men can do, 

And a' is done in vain ; 
My love an' native land, fareweel. 

For I maun cross the main, my dear ; 

For I maun cross the main. 

He turn'd him right an' round about 
Upon the Irish shore. 

And ga'e his bridle-reins a shake. 

With, " Adieu for evermore, my dear ;' 
With, " Adieu for evermore." 

The sodger frae the wars returns, 

The sailor frae the main ; 
But I hae parted frae my love, 

Never to meet again, my dear. 

Never to meet again. 

When day is gane, an' night is come, 
An' a' folk bound to sleep, 

I think on him that's far awa', 

The lee-lang night an' weep, my dear. 
The lee-lang night an' weep. 



Is reprinted from a rare 4to. pamphlet of twelve pages, 
so entitled : — " A Tale of a King James's Irish Shilling. 

Quis talia fando, 

MyiTaidonum Dolopumve aut duri miles Ulyssei 
Temperet a lacrymis ? 

Virgil, JEneid. u. 

London, Printed and Sold by R. Burleigh, in Amen 
Corner. 1714. (Price 3J.)" 

The title-page is embellished with a wood-cut, not 
badly executed, of the reverse and obverse of James 
the Second's brass shilling, for August 1689. 

'• When the late king was obliged by his necessity to 
make brass money current in Ireland, it was at first 
pretended to pass only in payments between man and 
man in their daily commerce and dealings, and in pub- 
lick payment of duties to the Exchequer. But soon 
after, the Irish beginning to consider that they were 
generally indebted to the English, and that this might 
be a fit season, and a lucky opportunity to get their 
debts easily and cheaply discharged, a proclamation 
was published, enjoyning and requiring, that copper 
and brass money should pass as current money within 
the realm of Ireland, in the payment of bills, bonds, 
debts by record, mortgages, and all other payments 
whatsoever. By which knack many a poor Protestant 
was fob'd out of his right, and compell'd to take an heap 


of trash for debt, (as he was for his wheat and other 
commodities) or be precluded from any further satis- 

" And thus T have heard that Colonel Roger Moore 
was served, (but I do not aver it upon my certain know- 
ledge) who having an incumbrance of £3,000 upon the 
Lord Dillon's estate, who is married to the daughter of 
the Lord or Lady Tyrconnel ; she sent for him, and 
told him, that having some money at her command, 
and being very desirous to take off the burthen from 
her daughter's estate, she was content to pay him off in 
ready money, provided he would make some handsome 
abatement of the sum due. The gentleman being com- 
plaisant to the lady, and very willing to receive money 
in such a time of scarcity, freely consented to abate 
a thousand pounds, so the rest might be paid down 
at once. The lady seem'd very thankful, and appointed 
him to come next day, and to bring the deeds and obli- 
gations with him, and to receive his money. Accord- 
ingly he came, and having given a legal release, the 
lady opened a door, and shewed him a long table 
covered over with copper and brass, and tendered it for 
his payment ; which whether he rejected it in passion, 
or hired a cart to carry it away I cannot tell ; but this 
I can say, having an estate, which was mortgaged to 
the old proprietor before 1641, to which on payment 
of the mortgage money, he hoped to be restored by 
repealing the Acts of Settlement; he repaired to me, 
and desired me to appoint time and place for paying 
the mortgage money, of which I have taken time to 


consider. One of the most eminent silver smiths in 
Dublin, having sold all his plate to a papist, who pro- 
mised to pay him his price (agreed upon) in silver and 
gold ; but no faith being to be kept with hereticks, the 
goldsmith was compelled to take brass and copper. 
But not to detain the reader with many more of these 
examples, I here present you with that savoury and 
fruitful proclamation, which is to make brass money 
pass in satisfaction of all debts. 

" By the King, a Proclamation. 

" James R. 

" Whereas, ive have by former Proclamations of the 
I8th and 27th days of June last, for the reasons therein 
set forth : ordained and declared, that a certain coyn 
made by our order of a certain metal, mixed ivith cop- 
per and brass, and viarked and stamped as in the said 
Proclamations is expressed, in Sixpence, Tivelvepence, 
and Half-crown pieces, should duriny our pleasure pass 
as current mony, amo)iy all our subjects within this 
realm, accordiny to the rates and values in the said 
Proclamations mention'd ; and in all payments to be paid 
either to us or from us, or to, or by any of our subjects 
within this kingdom ; excepting mortgages, bills, bonds, 
or obligations, debts due by record, and mony heretofore 
left in trust or keeping with any person. And whereas 
it hath since been represented to us, that such restriction 
upon the said coyn is a great hindrance to trade and 
industry, and to the circulation of the said mony, in 


regard vien of trade and industry cannot have credit 
without passing bonds and judgments, ivhich since they 
cannot satisjie by the said mony, they are therefore the 
less industrious to acquire it by the sale of any of their 
goods or merchandizes, as are also the generality of all 
others ; because when they have acquired any quantity 
thereof, they cannot thereby fay their debts, nor clear 
their estates from incumbrances ; whereof we have 
thought Jit by the advice of our privy council, further 
to declare and ordain, that the aforesaid mony, made of 
mixture of copper and brass as aforesaid, shall here- 
after during our pleasure pass as current mony within 
this realm, not only in all payments, in the said former 
Proclamation mentioned ; but also in all the said pay- 
ments of bills, bonds, debts by record, mortgages, and 
all other payments whatsoever, in the said former Pro- 
clamations excepted ; and whereas this is ordered at this 
time to supply the present scarcity of mony, and remedy 
the great inconvenience which would otherwise etisiie ; 
we do therefore hereby promise and declare to all our 
loving subjects, that as soon as the said mony shall be 
called in, and decried, we shall thereupon not only 
receive from all our loving subjects within this kingdom, 
such proportion thereof as shall be in any of their 
hands, at such time as it shall be so decried, according 
to the value for which it noiv passes, in satisfaction of 
any rents, customs, excise, debts or duties, tvhich they 
shall oive to us ; but also where no such debts or duties 
shall be due to us, we will make full satisfaction for 


the same in gold or silver of the current coyri of this 

" Given at oj(r Court at Dublin Castle, the ^th 
day of February, 1689."* 

" Aboiatthe 10th of March," (1690-1) says Story, 
(p. 61 ) " we had an account by some Protestants, that 
came out of Connaught, that the Irish a little after my 
Lord Tyrconnel's landing, being out of humour with 
the brass money, little or nothing being to be had for 
it, they cry'd it down by Proclamation, the crown piece 
to three pence, the half-crown to three halfpence, the 
shilling to a penny, and the sixpence to an halfpenny. 
After which the soldiers lived upon free quarters. Pro- 
visions also being scarce, and no markets, for want of 
money, those parts begun to be under worse circum- 
stances every day." 

In a curious contemporary manuscript, in the Editor's 
library, written by Colonel Charles 0"Kelly,f the fol- 
lowing particulars respecting the brass currency intro- 
duced by James occur: — " Another grievance was, that 
which was generally believed to be in a great measure the 
occasion of the Irish ruin, and of the disorders of their 

* An Account of the Transactions of the late King James 
in Ireland. London, 1690. 

f As the names of the parties and places mentioned appear 
masked iu this manuscript, — for instance, Amasis, for James ; 
Corydon, for Tyrconnel ; Cyprus, for Ireland ; Syria, for 
France; &c. — the disguise has been removed in the above 
extract, with the view of making it readily intelligible. 


government. This was the abundance of copper money 
that was coined by the king's order, and which produced 
so many inconveniences in the country, that it merits a 
more particular relation, and deserves to be traced up to 
its source. When James arrived in Ireland, which was 
about the middle of March, in the second year of the 
war, he found the country very bare of gold and silver 
(the English, who had all the wealth of the kingdom 
in their hands, having transported their effects into 
England) ; and as he was not very fond of spending in 
haste the stock of money which Louis XIV freely 
granted for the support of the war in Ireland, least it 
might oblige him to call for more ; a thing he would 
gladly avoid, foreseeing, that by being too far engaged 
to any foreign prince in that manner, the reimburse- 
ment of such vast sums must exhaust his treasure when 
he came to the possession of his kingdoms, which he 
soon expected, by the voluntary submission of his 
deluded subjects ; he was therefore advised by a Scotch 
counsellor, to make use of this copper coin to serve his 
present turn in Ireland ; adding that this method would 
enable him to employ a good part of his gold to keep 
in heart his friends in Scotland and gain others in Eng- 
land, which he represented was of greater consequence 
than the affairs of Ireland, and that matters being once 
settled there, he might recall this coin again and recom- 
pense the losers. But though the French ambassador. 
Count d'Avaux, and the nobles of Ireland, assured 
James, that if he laid out the money he brought from 
France, it would by circulation come back again into 


his treasury (the Pai'liament of the kingdom having 
already freely granted a subsidy of £200,000); ne- 
vertheless the Scottish advice prevailed. Accord- 
ingly a considerable part of the gold was sent into that 
country, and the remainder being reserved by James 
for a dead lift, the copper money was resolved upon, and 
the mint set to work in the August of the second year. 
" On its first appearance abroad, the Protestants in 
Leinster shewed a reluctancy to receive it ; but they 
were soon forced into a compliance. Elsewhere it 
passed pretty well in the beginning ; the people, who 
were hitherto scant of money, being glad to have any 
coin current among them, to advance trade, which was 
dead in the country. But when it came to be coined 
in such plenty, that the merchants, who could not use 
it in foreign countries, raised the price of their out- 
landish ware to an unreasonable rate, and that the 
country people, following the example, began to rise 
the prices of their commodities also, and in fine, that 
the French troops, whcf were paid in silver, seemed to 
reject it ; then, and not before, it began to decline. 
But what undervalued it most, was the little esteem the 
great ones about court shewed for it : Tyrconnel's 
lady commonly giving double the quantity of brass for 
so much silver. This made the inferior sort to vilify 
the coin, which became so despicable, especially after 
the defeat of James on the river Boyne, that the com- 
modity which might be purchased for one piece of 
silver would cost twenty in brass ; and yet Tyrconnel, 
and those who governed under him, extorted from the 



country people their goods at the king's rate, when paid 
in silver. But the oppression that the poor Irish mer- 
chants lay under in the cities of Limerick and Galway, 
from Tyrconnel's party, was most insufferable. A factor 
who had his goods ready to be shipped on board a 
vessel hired for that purpose, must have the affliction 
to behold his warehouse broke open, and all the intended 
fieight, which he acquired with so great pains and 
expense, snatched from him in a moment; for which 
he had the value given him in copper according to the 
king's rate (or perhaps a ticket for it) which would not 
yield him the price of a shoebuckle in any foreign 
country. And though this plunder was daily committed, ' 
under pretence of supplying the king's stores, yet the 
misfortune was, that the nephews and nieces, the friends 
and favourites of Tyrconnel, got the greater part of 
the spoil. The town of Galway can bear witness that 
this was done commonly by his own orders, when he 
was there to take shipping for France. If an outlandish 
vessel came in by chance (for few would come design- 
edly into a land where no other coin was used but 
copper) the whole cargo was immediately seized, and 
the owners must stay until their ship was loaded again 
with the country provisions or commodities, which were 
to be plundered from the natives. This unhappy man- 
agement made all neighbouring nations shun that part 
of Ireland, which was reputed an infamous den of rob- 
bers and a receptacle of pyrates. It was the common 
opinion, that this pitiful project of the copper coin was 
purposely advised by some, who designed the total 


ruin of Ireland ; for it miglit easily be foreseen, that it 
would quickly destroy all commerce, wherein chiefly 
consists the wealth of any country surrounded by the 

As money is said to be the sinews of war, O'Driscol's 
view of the policy of this question, on both sides, is 
perhaps worthy of consideration. 

" The two kings who divided the British empire at 
this time, were both driven by their necessities to 
schemes of finance. William, having been reared in 
the counting-house of Holland, was the abler contriver. 
He laid the basis of the debt of England, by borrowing 
gold and pawning the revenue of the country to the 
lender. James did not understand the matter, or could 
get no one to lend upon his security ; and the alchemy 
of banking, or converting paper into gold, was not yet 
discovered. But his plan was not very different. 

" James's plan was to convert copper, or other metal 
of small value, into gold and silver. He coined a large 
quantity of base metal, into pieces upon which he 
stamped a nominal value, and made them a legal tender 
for crowns, halfcrowns, and other silver and gold coin. 
By his proclamation, this new coinage was to be re- 
ceived in all dealings, except only in the payment of 
trust money, or money due on bills, bonds, or mort- 
gages, and except for customs on imported commodities. 
These exceptions were soon removed, — all but the latter. 

" James promised that this coin should, at the end of 
the war, be received in payment at the Exchequer, and 
exchanged for sterling money. A respectable historian 


(Leland) sa5's, that this plan of finance was against all 
' law, reason, and humanity,' and that it has rendered 
the name of James 'horrible to Irish Protestants.' It 
was not against law, because a law was made for the 
purpose ; and reason and humanity seem to have little 
to do with financial schemes. James's was as good as 
many of later date. His bank failed, undoubtedly ; so 
have many other banks ; but the Protestants did not 
suffer more by the failure than the people of other 
creeds. The Catholics were far the greatest holders 
of James's promissory copper tokens. 

"James's plan was a copper bank, set up Inst ant er, 
with an immediate bank restriction. There might have 
been, no doubt, an over-issue; but if the Protestants 
lost, they had least right of any to complain, for 
they did all they could to break the banker, and finally 
succeeded in driving him out of the kingdom, copper- 
notes and all. The Catholics lost by the coin very se- 
verely, and they lost their estates also. The Protestants, 
though they lost by this early experiment in banking, 
recovered the land, which was ample compensation. 

" In all former Irish wars, the land was made to pay 
a great part, if not the whole, of the expense. Loans 
were raised in London for carrying on the war, the 
lender to be satisfied afterwards in Irish estates. This 
system could not now be acted upon. There were 
already two sets of claimants for the land: one claiming 
under William, and the other under James. There M'as 
no party that covUd be safely put out at this time. 


Hence the necessitj' of the financial measures resorted 
to by the contending powers. 

" James was totally ignorant how to support the 
credit of his coin. He had but one idea about any 
thing — force ; and force, when applied to the currency, 
is sure to fail. His exceptions to the circulation of his 
coin, though a clumsy attempt at being honest, were 
very injurious to its credit. Probably, if he had got a 
few thousand pounds of sterling coin, and made his 
copper tokens convertible, he might have kept up their 
credit, as long, at least, as things went on well in the 
country ; and it would have been time enough for the 
restriction after the battle of tlie Boyne. 

"James, like greater financiers, soon found himself 
exceedingly embarrassed. His metal tokens came back 
rapidly to his exchequer, in the payment of all taxes 
and assessments. They were paid to him at their no- 
minal value, but in the common transactions of busi- 
ness they fell almost to their intrinsic worth. He could 
fix a denomination upon his coin ; but the seller of any 
article could fix a price upon his commodity, to meet 
the arbitrary denomination. If a piece of metal, worth 
one penny, be tendered for a shilling, the seller of a 
pennyworth of bread has only to ask a shilling for it, 
and the difficulty is got rid of. James was puzzled at 
this. He found it necessary, in order to keep his scheme 
of currency afloat, to take one step more, and fix a 
price upon commodities, as he had settled a value upon 
his coin. 


"Having done this, his views suddenly enlarged. 
He found that money might be made of it ; and he 
turned merchant himself. He bought large quantities 
of butter, corn, hides, wool, and other articles, at such 
prices as he thought proper to give, and he paid for all 
by a few pounds'-weight of tin or copper. It is easy to 
believe that he was no welcome customer : but he had 
persons employed to find out who had goods to sell ; 
and none dared to refuse to deal with a customer who 
had forty-two regiments of foot and fourteen of cavalry. 
All those commodities he shipped to France, where they 
were sold for his own account. By this traffic, he real- 
ised large sums of money, at the expense of his subjects." 

There can be no question that the following ballad, 
upon internal evidence, may be as fairly attributed to 
Dean Swift, as many effusions which have appeared in 
several editions of his works ; but when it is stated that 
the pamphlet from which it is copied, was found among 
a bundle of broadsides, most, if not all, of which, are 
well-known to be Swift's composition, and when it is 
remembered how many of the productions of Swift's 
muse, about the period when this " tale of King James' 
Shilling" was printed (1714-), are unknown, and to 
which the Dean himself has made especial reference, it 
will be admitted that this ballad deserves more than or- 
dinary consideration, especially if it be possible to trace 
in it the germs of feeling which afterwards displayed 
themselves so vigorously in the Drapier's opposition to 
Wood's coinage, and which have formed an immortal 
wreath for the brow of Swift. 



How wondrous fickle is this world I 

How Fortune's wheel turns round ! 
The spoke that is to-day at top, 

To-morrow 's on the ground. 
When once in dust a monarch 's laid, 

His honour soon is gone. 
All in an instant tack about 

And court the rising sun. 
True friendship with Astraea went, 

And took to Heav'n her flight. 
For she and loyalty long since 

Were banish'd Ireland quite. 


The name of Christians we assume. 

But are than Pagans worse. 
There's few amongst us who have more 

Religion than a horse. 


Religion a chimaera proves. 

Heaven has our pray'rs the least, 

All our sincere devotion 's paid 
Alone to interest. 


While my dear master smiled on me, 

Whose image still I bear, 
I was a welcome guest to all, — 

Was courted everywhere. 


The gentleman, and tradesman, too, 

Mj' company approved ; 
In city, and at Court I dwelt, 

And was by all beloved. 


The miser hugg'd me in his arms, 
And lock'd me in his chest, 

And never once his visit fail'd 
Before he went to rest. 


The ladies did my shapes approve. 
My features, too, admired ; 

Where e'en my king could never go, 
Securely I retired. 


Within their bosoms lay all day. 
And revelled in their arms ; 

I was myself all over love, 
And they all over charms. 


Thus for a time I liv'd secure, 
And at my heart's content, 

But soon I found a wondrous change 
On Will's establishment. 


Some few, indeed, my stamp did prize, 

As high as e'er before ; 
Yet as the Revolution grew, 

I wasted more and more. 



Those few, at last, veer'cl quite about, 

And joyn'd in my disgrace, 
They cry'd, my master's son, and 1, 

Came both of bastard race. 


That I had never seen the light. 

If James had never run, 
That I at Dublin was begot. 

And was a cannon's son. 


In such contempt, in short, I fell. 

Which was a very hard thing, 
They scurrilously us'd mu there, 

For nothing but a farthing. 


Mad, you may think, to be thus us'd, 

Tho' miserably poor. 
Thinking I couldn't well be worse, 

To England I came o'er. 


But to my sorrow when I came. 

Like-treatment there I found. 
No Jacobite amongst 'em all 

My former value own'd, 


All Will's, and best of Anna's, reign, 

No better w as my state ; 
But yet I cheer'd myself with hopes 

I should be fortunate. 


My master's son, 1 thought, would come, 

His father's cause t' advance; 
I thought t' have shewn my face again, 

And welcomed him from France. 


In greater lustre thought to shine, 

Long hop'd to be prefer'd, 
T' have laid the Father's image down, 

For that of James the Third. 


But all my hopes abortive prov'd, 
In need, he found no friend, 

There w^asn't one amongst 'em all. 
Would sail against the wind. 


Misfortunes never come alone, 

Just before Anna dy'd. 
By Whigg and Tory, too, was I 

Most basely mortify'd. 


No piece that wore m' unhappy face 
Amongst the rogues would pass, 

For any more than what would prove 
To be my weight in brass. 


And now King George, and all his tribe, 

Is settled in the nation, 
I still a harder fate do droad, 

A far-worse transmisrration. 



Some founder soon will melt me down. 

And sell m}^ despised mettle 
To some damn'd tinker, in the street, 

To mend some whore's damn'd kettle. 


Take warning, Brother Jacks, by me, 

Before 'tis quite too late. 
Think what will be your next remove. 

If you should transmigrate. 


If you at Tyburn chance to swing, 
You're brought all to such passes ; 

That when you quit your present shapes. 
You'll change, I fear, to asses. 



^IJBU Marmot* 









€in ^tvt^ ^ofietp* 

J. A. CAHUSAC, Esq. F.S.A. 










E. F. RIMBAULT, Esq. Secretary. 



There are three early humorous tracts in verse 
upon the subject of marriage, all printed by 
Wynkyn de Worde : only one of them has a 
date, 1535, but we can have little difficulty in 
assigning the two others to about the same 
period. They have the following titles. 

1. " A complaynt of them that be to soone 

2. " Here begynneth the complaynte of them 
that ben to late maryed." 

3. " The payne and sorowe of evyll maryage." 
The last we have printed entire in the following 

pages, and of the two others. Dr. Dibdin has 
inserted a brief account in his edition of Ames 
(Typ. Ant. Ii. 384). We propose to go more at 
large into a description of the contents of these 
ancient and facetious relics. 

We have reason to believe that the two first 
are translations ; and in default of English expres- 
sions, especially in the second piece, the writer 

has employed, and sometimes anglicised, several 
of the French words, which he thought better 
adapted to his purpose. To this production, 
" the Auctour," as he calls himself, has subjoined 
a sort of epilogue, which ingeniously includes the 
printer's colophon, as follows : 

" Here endeth the complaynt of to late maryed, 
For spendynge of tyme or they a horde 
The sayd holy sacramente have to longe taryed, 
Humane nature tiissemble and it to accorde. 
Enprynted in Fletestrete hy Wynkyn de Worde, 
Dwcllyuge in the famous cyte of London, 
His hous in the same at the sygne of the Sonne." 

At the conclusion of the " complaynt of them 
that be to soone maryed," the date of 1535 has 
also been interwoven. Wynkyn de Worde's will 
was proved the 19th January, 15.84, which, ac- 
cording to our present mode of computing the 
year, would be the 19th January, 1535 ; so that 
eitlur this piece came out after his death, or it 
was printed just before that event, and in an- 
ticipation of the new year, which would not then 
commence until the 26th March. 

Each of the tracts has a wood-cut on the title- 
page, but only that called " The payne and 
sorowe of evyll maryage," can be said to have 
anything to do with the subject, and that no 
doidit had been used for other ^^•orks : it repre- 


sents a marriage ceremony, — a priest joining- tiie 
hands of a couple before the altar. 

The " complaynt of them that be to soone 
maryed" opens with the following stanza: 

" For as moche as many folke there be 
That desyre the sacrament of weddynge, 
Other wyll kepe them in vyrgyny[t]e, 
And toyll in chastyte he lyvynge ; 
Thertbre I wyll put now in wrytjTige 
In what sorowe these men lede theyr lyvcs, 
That to soone he coupled to cursed Wyves." 

Thence the author proceeds to give some very 
sage and serious advice upon the evil of too hasty 
matrimonial alliances, but he does not attempt 
nuich humour until he comes to describe the con- 
duct of his wife (for he \\Tites in the first person 
tlirougliout) when they had been married eight 
days : until then he had not been " chydden ne 
banged," but he suffered for it bitterly afterwards ; 

" But soone ynoughe I had assayes 
Of sorowe and care that made me bare." 

It may here be observed that the stanza is peculiar, 
and consists of eight lines, the four first lines 
rhyming alternately, the fifth rhyming with the 
fourth, then a line with a new rhyme, while the 
seventh line rhymes with the third and fourth, and 
the eighth with the sixth. He continues the nar- 
rative of his sufferings in the following manner : 

" About eygbt dayes, or scone after 
Our niaryage, the tyme for to passe 
My ^vyfe I toke, and dyd set her 
Upon my knee for to solace ; 
And began her for to enbrace, 
Sayenge, syster, go get the tyme loste ; 
We must thynke to labour a pace 
To recompence that it bathe us coste. 

" Than for to despyte she up arose, 
And drewe her faste behynde me, 
To me sayenge, is this the glose ? 
Alas, pore caytyfe, well I se 
That I never shall have, quod she, 
With you more than payne and tormente : 
I am in an evyll degre ; 
I have now loste my sacramentc. 

" For me be to longe with you here, 
Alas, I ought well for to thynke 
What we sholde do within ten yere. 
Whan we shall have at our herte brynke 
Many chyldren on for to thynke. 
And crye after us without fayle 
For theyr meate and theyr drynke ; 
Then shall it be no mervayle. 

" Cursed be the houre that I ne was 
Made a none in some cloyster. 
Never there for to passe ; 
Or had be made some syster, 
In servage with a clousterer. 
It is not eyght dayes sythe oiire weddynge 
That we two togyther weere : 
By god, ye speke to soone of werkynge." 

The second piece of ancient facetioc, " the 
complaynte of them that ben to late maryed," is 


vvi'itten with much more humour, and is far better 
worth preservation, but it is disfigured by in- 
delicacy, though not of the grossest kind, and 
never introduced but for the sake of heightening 
the drollery. It is the lamentation of an elderly 
gentleman, who after a youth of riot had married 
a young frolicksome wife, and he relates very 
feelingly the inconveniences, annoyances, and jea- 
lousies to which he is thereby exposed. After 
two introductory stanzas, (all of them are in the 
ordinary seven-line ballad form) he thus states 
his resolution late in life to commit the folly of 

" To lono;e have I lyved without oiiy make ; 
All to longe have I used my yonge age : 
I wyll all for go and a wyfe to me take 
For to increase both our twoos lynage ; 
For saynt John sayth that he is sage 
That ayenst his wyll doth him governe, 
And our lordes precepte hym selfe for to learne. 

" There is no greter pleasure than for to have 
A wyfe that is full of prudence and wysdome. 
Alas, for love nygh I am in poynte to rave. 
These cursed olde men have an yll custome 
Women for to blame, both all and some ; 
For that they can not theyr myndes full fyll, 
Therfore they speke of them but all yll. 

" Now, syth that I have my tyme used 
For to follow my folyshc plcasaunces, 
And have my sclfc oftentimes sore abused 
At plaies and sportcs, pompcs and daunccs, 

Spendynge golde and sylver and grete fynaimces, 
For taut of a wyfe the cause is all : 
To late maiyed men may me call." 

Hence he proceeds to narrate his early courses, 
especially his amours with " mercenary beauties,'" 
He says : — 

" Yf I vvithhelde ony piaty one, 
Swetely ynough she made me chere, 
Sayenge tliat sLe loved no ])ersone 
But me, and tlierto she dyde swere. 
But whan I wente fro that place there. 
Unto another she dyde as moche ; 
For they love none but for theyr poche." 

His male companions were about upon a par 
with his female, and upon both he wasted his 
substance ; but having at last married, he ima- 
gined that he had only to enjoy tranquillity and 
happiness, and exclaimed : — 

" Now am I out of this daunger so alenge, 
Wherfore I am gladde it for to persever. 
Longe about have I ben me for to renge ; 
But it is better to late than to be ne\er. 
Certes I was not in my lyfe tyll hyther 
So full of joye, that doth in my herte inspyre : 
Wedded folke have tyme at theyr desyre." 

On trying the experiment, he by no means finds 
it answer his expectation. Besides other evils, 
he says, "constrayned I am to be full of jalousy;" 
and ho admits in plain terms that his young wife 


has no great reason to be satisfied with her old 
husband. He observes : — 

" It is sayd that a man in servytude 
Hyra putteth, wlian he doth to woman bende : 
He ne hath but only habytude 
Unto her the whiche well doth hym tende. 
Who wyll to householde comprehende, 
And there a bout studyeth in youth alwayes, 
He shall have honoure in his olde dayes. 

" Some chyldren unto the courtes hauntes, 
And lien purvayed of benefyces ; 
Some haunteth markettes and be marchauntes, 
Byenge and sellynge theyr marchaundyses ; 
Or elles coustytuted in offyces. 
Theyr faders and moders have grete solace, 
That to late maryed by no waye base. 

" I be wayll the tyme that is so spent, 
That I ne me hasted for to wedde ; 
For I shall have herytage and rente, 
Both golde and sylver and kynred ; 
But syth that our lorde hath ordeyned 
That I this sacrament t;ike me upon, 
I wyll kepe it trewely at all season." 

In the subsequent stanza, which occurs soon 
afterwards, the author seems to alhide to the first 
of the three tracts now under consideration. 

" Yf that there be ony tryfelers. 
That have wylled for to blame maiyage, 
I da'e well saye that they ben but lyers, 
Or elles god fayled in the fyrste age : 
Adam beretb wytnesse and tesmonage : 
Maryed he was, and comen we ben. 
God dyde choyse maryage unto all men." 

This stanza affords an instance of the employ- 
ment of an anglicised French word because it 
happened to answer the translator's purpose as a 
rhyme to " age." His objection is not to mar- 
riage generally, but to marriage when a man has 
ceased to be the subject of amorous affection ; for 
he says expressly, 

" All tbey that by tlieyr subtyll artes 
Hath wylled for to blame maiyage, 
I vvyll susteyue that they be bastardes, 
Or at least wage an evyll courage, 
For to save that therein is servage 
In maryage ; but I it reny, 
For therin is but humayne company. 

" Yf ther be yll women and rebell, 
Shrewed, dispytous, and eke felonyous, 
There be other fayre, and do full well, 
Propre, gentyll, lusty and joyous, 
That ben full of grace and vertuous ; 
They ben not all born under a sygnet : 
Happy is he that a good one can get." 

He adds just afterwards : — 

" Galantes, playne ye the tpne that yo have lost, 
INlary you be tyme, as the wyse man sayth. 
Tossed I have ben fro pyler to post 
In commersynge natures werke ahvayes. 
I have passed full many quasy dayes. 
That now unto good I can not mate, 
For mary I dyde my selfe to late." 

In the second line we ought to read " sayes" 

for " sayth," as the rhyme evidently shews. The 
last stanza of the body of the poem is in the 
same spirit. 

" Better it is in youth a wyfe for to take, 
And lyve with her to goddes pleasaunce, 
Than to go in age, for goddes sake, 
In worldly sorowe and perturbaunce, 
For youthes love and uttcraunce, 
And than to dye at the last ende. 
And be danipned in hell with the foule fende." 

The three terminating stanzas consist of a sup- 
plementary address from " the Auctour," the last 
containing the imprint or colophon as already 
inserted. The work is ended by Wynkyn de 
Worde's well known tripartite device. 

We now proceed to insert, in its entire shape, 
the third tract upon this amusing subject, pre- 
mising that (like our preceding quotations) it 
is from an unique copy. It will remind the reader 
in several places of passages in the Prologue of 
Chaucer's " Wife of Bath," especially where she 

" Thou sayst droppyng houses, and eke smoke, 
And chidyng wyves maken men to flee 
Out of her owne houses. Ah, benedieite ! 
What ayleth suche an olde man for to chide ?" 

But the Wife of Bath does not quote Solomon 
for the proverb, as we find him referred to on 


p. 20. Again, in a subsequent stanza, p. 21 , we are 
strongly reminded of the lines where the Wife of 
Bath thus describes her conduct after she had 
married her fifth husband : — 

" Therfore made I my visytations 
To vigilles, and to processyons, 
To preachyng eke, and to pilgrymages, 
To playes of myracles, and to manages, 
And weared on my gay skarlet gytes." 

The main difference is that instead of saying, 
with Chaucer, that women frequent " playes of 
myracles," the author of the ensuing tract tells 
us that they delight " on scaffoldes to sytte on 
high stages," from whence they usually beheld 
such performances. Throughout, the writer seems 
to have had our great early poet more or less in 
his eye, and hence we may possibly conclude, that 
if the two other pieces on the same subject were 
translations, this was original. It, therefore, 
deserves the more attention. 


Take hede and lerne, thou lytell chykle, and se 
That tyme passed wyl not agayne retourne, 
And in thy youthe unto vertues use the: 
Lette in thy brest no maner vyce sojourne, 
That in thyne age thou have no cause to mourne 
For tyme lost, nor for defaute of wytte : 
Thynke on this lesson, and in thy mynde it shytte. 

Glory unto god, lovynge and benyson 
To Peter and Johan and also to Laurence, 
Whiche have me take under proteccyon 
From the deluge of mortall pestylence. 
And from the tempest of deedly vyolence, 
And me preserve that I fall not in the rage 
Under the bonde and yocke of maryage. 

I was in purpose to have taken a wyfe, 

And for to have wedded without avysednes 

A full fayre mayde, with her to lede my lyfe, 

Whome that I loved of hasty wylfulnes, 

With other fooles to have lyved in dystresse, 

As some gave me counseyle, and began me to constraynr 

To have be partable of theyr woofull payne. 


They laye upon me, and hasted me full sore, 
And gave me counseyle for to have be bounde. 
And began to prayse eche daye more and more 
The woofuU lyfe in whiche they dyd habounde, 
And were besy my gladnes to confounde, 
Themselfe rejoysynge, bothe at even and morowe, 
To have a felowe to lyve with them in sorovve. 

But of his grace god hath me preserved 
By the wyse counseyle of these aungelles thre : 
From hell gates they have my lyfe conserved 
In tyme of warre, whan lovers lusty, 
And bryght Phebus was fresshest unto se 
In Gemynys, the lusty and glad season, 
Whan to wedde caught fyrst occasyon. 

My joye was sette in especyall 

To have wedded one excellent in fayrnes, 

And thrugh her beaute have made my selfe thrall 

Under the yocke of everlastynge dystresse ; 

But god alonely of his high goodnes 

Hath by an aungell, as ye have herde me tell, 

Stopped my passage from that peryllous hell. 

Amonge these aungelles, that were in nombre thre. 

There appered one out of the southe, 

Whiche spake fyrst of all the trynyte 

All of one sentence, the mater is full couthe ; 

And he was called Johan with the golden mouthe, 

Which concluded by sentence full notable, 

Wyves of custome ben gladly varyable. 


After this Johan, the storj' sayth also, 

In confyrmacj'on of theyr fragylyte, 

How that Peter, called acorbylio, 

AfFerraeth playnly, how that wyves be 

Dyverse of herte, full of duplycyte, 

Mayterfull, hasty, and eke proude, 

Crabbed of langage whan they lyst erye aloude. 

Who taketh a wyfe receyveth a great charge, 
In whiche he is full lyke to have a fall : 
With tempest tossed, as is a besy barge ; 
There he was fre he maketh hyrnselfe thrall. 
Wyves of porte ben full imperyall, 
Husbandes dare not theyr lustes gaynsaye. 
But lovely please and mekely them obaye. 

The husbandes ever abydeth in travayle ; 

One labour passed there cometh an other newe, 

And every daye she begynneth a batayle. 

And in complaynynge chaungeth chere and hewe. 

Under suche falsnes she fayneth to be true ; 

She maketh hym rude as is a dull asse, 

Out of whose daunger impossyble is to passe. 

Thus wedlocke is an endlesse penaunce, 

Husbandes knowe that have experyence, 

A martyrdom and a contynuaunce 

In sorowe everlastynge, a deedly vyolence ; 

And this of wyves is gladly the sentence 

Upon theyr husbandes, whan they lyst to be bolde, 

How they alone governeth the housholde. 


And yf her husbande happen for to thryve, 
She sayth it is her prudent purveyaunce : 
If they go abacke ayenwarde and unthry ve, 
She sayth it is his mysgovernaunce. 
He bereth the blame of all suche ordynaunee ; 
And yf they be poore and fall in dystresse, 
She sayth it is his foly and lewdnesse. 

And yf so be he be no werkman good. 

It may well happe he shall have an home, 

A large bone to stufFe with his hood ; 

A mowe behynde, and fayned cheere beforne : 

And yf it fall that theyr good be lorne 

By aventure, eyther at even or morowe, 

The sely husbande shall have all the sorowe. 

An husbande hath greate cause to care 

For wyfe, for chylde, for stufFe and meyne. 

And yf ought lacke she wyll bothe swere and stare, 

He is a wastour and shall never the : 

And Salomon sayth there be thynges thre, 

Shrewde wyves, rayne, and smokes blake 

Make husbandes ofte theyr houses to forsake. 

Wyves be beestes very unchaungeable 

In theyr desyres, whiche may not staunched be, 

Lyke a swalowe whiche is insacyable : 

Peryllous caryage in the trouble see; 

A wawe calme full of adversyte. 

Whose blandysshynge endeth with myschaunce. 

Called Cyrenes, ever full of varyaunce. 


They them rejoyce to se and to be sene, 
And for to seke sondrye pylgrymages, 
At greate gaderynges to walke on the grene, 
And on scafFoldes to sytte on hygh stages, 
If they be fayre to shevve theyr vysages ; 
And yf they be foule of loke or countenaunce, 
They it amende with pleasynge dalyaunce. 

And of profyte they take but lytell hede, 

But loketh soure whan theyr husbandes ayleth ought ; 

And of good mete and drynke they wyll not fayle in dede, 

What so ever it cost they care ryght nought ; 

Nor they care not how dere it be bought, 

Rather than they should therof lacke or mysse, 

They wolde leever laye some pledge ywys. 

It is trewe, I tell you yonge men everychone, 

Women be varyable and love many wordes and stryfe : 

Who can not appease them lyghtly or anone, 

Shall have care and sorowe all his lyfe. 

That woo the tyme that ever he toke a wyfe ; 

And wyll take thought, and often muse 

How he myght fynde the maner his wyfe to refuse. 

But that maner with trouth can not be founde, 

Therfore be vvyse or ye come in the snare. 

Or er ye take the waye of that bounde; 

For and ye come there your joye is tourned unto care. 

And remedy is there none, so may I fare. 

But to take pacyens and thynke none other way aboute ; 

Than shall ye dye a martyr without ony doute. 


Therfore, you men that wedded be, 

Do nothynge agaynst the pleasure of your wyfe, 

Than shall you lyve the more meryly, 

And often cause her to lyve withouten stryfe; 

Without thou art unhappy unto an evyll lyfe, 

Than, yf she than wyll be no better, 

Set her upon a lelande and bydde the devyll fet her. 

Therfore thynke moche and saye nought, 

And thanke God of his goodnesse, 

And prece not for to knows all her thought. 

For than shalte thou not knowe, as I gesse. 

Without it be of her own gentylnesse, 

And that is as moche as a man may put in his eye. 

For, yf she lyst, of thy wordes she careth not a flye. 

And to conclude shortly upon reason, 

To speke of wedlocks of fooles that be blente. 

There is no greter grefe nor feller poyson, 

Nor none so dredeful peryllous serpent, 

As is a wyfe double of her entent. 

Therfore let yonge men to eschew sorowe and care 

Withdraws theyr fete or they come in the snare. 

Here endeth the payne and sorowe of evyll maryage. 
Imprynted at London in Fletestrsts at the signs of the 
Sonne, by me Wynkyn de Words. 






dTwm tfft (IBtiitmi of 164-0. 





€i)t ^ercp ^onetp. 

J. A. CAHUSAC, Esq. F.S.A. 










E. F. RIMBAULT, Esa Secretary. 



Although somewhat modernized in the following 
copy, there is little doubt that the humorous 
story of " The King and the poor Northern Man" 
is much older than 1640. It reads in particular 
places like a narrative of considerable antiquity ; 
but when it was " printed by The. Cotes," whose 
name appears at the bottom of the title-page of 
the black-letter edition which we have employed, 
it was intended that the reader should suppose 
the tale a new one, and that it was the author- 
ship of Martin Parker, the celebrated and popular 
ballad-maker : his well-known initials are placed 
quite at the end, after the word '■'•Finis" but 
possibly he was not concerned in the imposition, 
v»'hich might be concocted by Francis Grove, the 
bookseller. No older edition is extant than that 
we have reprinted, and as far as yet appears it is 
the only remaining copy of it. We find it men- 
tioned in no bibliographical work, nor have we 
been able to trace it in any catalogue. 


Besides the internal evidence, there is external 
proof of the antiquity of the story, and even of 
the title of the piece. In Henslowe's Diary, 
under the date of 1601, we meet with two entries, 
the first of which runs thus : 

" Lent at the apoyntment of the company, and 
my Sonne, unto Hary Chettell, in earnest of a 
playe called To good to be trewe or Northern 
Man, the some of 5s : the 14 of novmbr, 1601." 

The second is as follows : 

" Pd. at the apoyntment of Robart Shawe, and 
Thomas To\ATie, unto Mr. Hathwaye and Mr. 
Smythe, in part of payment of a boocke called 
To goode ta be trewe, the 6 of Janewary 1601, 
the some of 1*." 

Hence we see that as early as 1601 a play had 
been ^^Titten by Henry Chettle, Richard Hathe- 
waye and Wentworth Smith, called " Too good 
to be true, or the Northern Man," though the 
second title is omitted in Henslowe's latest entry. 
This play was, no doubt, founded upon the popu- 
larity of the subsequent story ; the incidents of 
which are hio-hlv lauo-hable, and would have af- 
forded much scope to the rustic comicalities of 
such actors as Pope, Singer, or Kempe. 

That the story was known of old by the name 
of " Too good to be true" we are not without 
proof. The same incidents were employed in a 

broadside in verse under the title of " The King 
and Northern Man," printed " by W.O., and to be 
sold by the Booksellers in Pye Corner and Lon- 
don Bridge," a copy of which is in the British 
Museum. The wording of the body of the ballad 
does not differ very materially from our version 
of 1640, but it varies at the beginning and end. 
The ^Titer professes in the outset to have bor- 
rowed from a work already in print, for the broad- 
side thus opens : 

" To drive away the weary day 

A book I chanc'd to take in hand, 
And therein I read assuredly 

A story, as you shall understand. 

" Perusing many a history over, 

Amongst the leaves I chanc'd to view 

The books name, and the title is this. 
The Second Lesson, too good to he true." 

Thus we have both the titles of the play men- 
tioned by Henslowe in his first memorandum. The 
book which the \\Titer of the broadside employed 
must have been a now lost collection of popular 
histories, divided into what were called " Lessons," 
the " second lesson" being the tale of " The King 
and a poor Northern Man," or " Too good to 
be true." This was probably the same as the 
story used by Cliettle, Hathwaye, and Smith 
for the foundation of their play, which story was 

furbished up in 1640, and printed in a separate 
duodecimo pamphlet. It is this pamphlet that 
we have now accurately reprinted, with the omis- 
sion only of some coarse and uncouth wood-cuts, 
at the time intended to be attractive. 

Many of our readers will be aware that the 
same circumstance of a visit to the King by one 
of his country tenants, though much abridged, 
forms the subject of a comic song, which has kept 
its place in various modern collections. 









Printed at London by Tho. Cotes, and are to be sold 

by Francis Grove, dwelling upon Snow hill. 




Come hearken to me all around, 

and I will tell you a merry tale 
Of a Northumberland man that held some ground, 

which was the Kings land in a dale. 

He was borne and bred thereupon, 

and his father had dwelt there long before, 

Who kept a good house in that country, 
and stav'd the wolfe from off his doore. 

Now, for this farme the good old man 
just twenty shillings a yeare did pay : 

At length came cruell death with his dart, 
and this old farmer he soone did slay : 

Who left behinde him an aude wife then, 
that troubled was with raickle paine, 

And with her cruches she walkt about, 
for she was likewise blinde and lame. 

When that his corpes were laid in the grave 
his eldest sonne possesse did the farme, 

At the same rent as the father before : 

he took great paines and thought no harme. 

B 2 


By him there dwelt a Lawyer false, 

that witli his farme was not content, 
But over the poore man still haug'tl his nose, 

because he did gather the King's rent. 

This farme layd by the Lawyer's land, 
which this vild kerne had a mind unto : 

The deele a good conscience had he in his bulke, 
that sought this poore man for to undoe. 

He told him he his lease had forfite, 

and that he must there no longer abide : 

The King by such lownes hath mickle wrong done, 
and for you the world is broad and wide. 

The poore man pray'd him for to cease, 

and content himselfe, if he would be willing ; 

And picke no vantage in my lease, 
and I will give thee forty shilling. 

Its neither forty shillings, no forty pound, 
Ise warrant thee, so can agree thee and me, 

Unlesse thou yeeld me thy farme so round, 
and stand unto my curtesie. 

The poore man said he might not do sa : 

his wife and his bearnes will make him ill warke. 

If thou wilt with my farme let me ga, 

thou seemes a good fellow, Ise give thee five marke. 


The Lawyer would not be so content, 

but further in the matter he means to smell. 

The neighbours bad the poor man provide his rent, 
and make a submission to the King him sell. 

This pooi'e man now was in a great stond, 

his senses they were almost wood : 
I thinke, if he had not tooke grace in 's mind 

that he would never againe beene good. 

His head was troubled in such a bad plight, 

as though his eyes were apple gray; 
And if good learning he had not tooke 

he wod a cast himselfe away. 

A doughty heart he then did take, 
and of his mother did blessing crave, 

Taking farewell of his wife and bearnes ; 
it earned his heart them thus to leave. 

Thus parting with the teares in his eyne, 

his bob-taild dog he out did call : 
Thou salt gang with me to the King ; 

and so he tooke his leave of them all. 

He had a humble staffe on his backe, 

a jerkin, I wat, that was of gray, 
With a good blue bonnet, he thought it no lacke ; 

to the king he is ganging as fast as he may. 


I Fe had not gone a mile out o' th' toone, 
but one of his neighbours he did espy : 

How far ist to th' King ? for thither am I boone, 
as fast as ever I can hye. 

I am sorry for you, neighbour, he sayd, 

for your simplicity I make mone : 
Ise warrant you, you may ask for the King, 

when nine or ten dayes journey you have gone. 

Had I wist the King wond so farre 

Ise neere a sought him a mile out o'th' toone: 
Hes either a sought me, or wee'd neere a come nare 

at home I had rather spent a crowne. 

Thus past he alang many a weary mile, 

in raine, and wet, and in foule mire, 
That ere he came to lig in his bed 

his dog and he full ill did tire. 

Hard they did fare their charges to save, 

but alas hungry stomackes outcrie for meate, 

And many a sup of cold water they dranke, 
when in the lang way they had nought to eate. 

Full lile we know his hard griefe of mind, 
and how he did long London to ken ; 

And yet he thought he should finde it at last, 
because he met so many men. 


At length the top of kirkes he spide, 
and houses so thicke that he was agast : 

I thinke, quoth he, their land is full deere, 
for ther's nought that here lies wast. 

But when he came into the city of London, 
of every man for the King he did call. 

They told him that him he neede not feare, 
lor the King he lies now at Whitehall. 

For Whitehall he then made inquire, 
but as he passed strange geere he saw : 

The bulkes with such gue gawes were dressed, 
that his mind a tone side it did draw. 

Gud God, unto himselfe he did say, 
what a deele a place I am come unto I 

Had a man, I thinke, a thousne pounds in's purse, 
himselfe he might quickly here undoe. 

At night then a lodging him a got, 

and for his supper he then did pay : 
He told the host then heed goe lig in his bed, 

who straight took a candle and shewd him the way. 

Then with spying of farlies in the citie, 
because he had never been there beforne, 

He lee so long a bed the next day, 

the Court was remov'd to Windsor that morne. 


You ha laine too long then, then said his host, 
you ha laine too long by a great while : 

The king is now to Windsor gone ; 
he's further to seeke by twenty mile. 

I thinke I was corst, then said the poo re man ; 

if I had been wise I might ha consider. 
Belike the King of me has gotten some weet : 
he had neere gone away had not I come hither. 

He fled not for you, said the hoste ; 

but hie you to Windsor as fast as you may : 
Be sure it will requite your cost, 

for looke, what's past the king will pay. 

But when he came at Windsor Castle, 
with his bumble staff upon his backe, 

Although the gates wide open stood 

he layd on them till he made um cracke. 

Why, stay 1 pray friend, art mad ? quoth the Porter 
what makes thee keepe this stirre to day ? 

Why, I am a tenant of the Kings, 
and have a message to him to say. 

The King has men enough, said the Porter, 

your message well that they can say. 
Why, there's neere a knave the King doth keepe 

shall ken my secret mind to day. 


I were told, ere I came from home, 

ere I got hither it would be dear bought : 

Let me in, Ise give thee a good single penny. 

I see thou wilt ha small, ere thou t doe for nought. 

Gramercy, said the Porter then ; 

thy reward's so great I cannot say nay. 
Yonder's a Nobleman within the court, 

He first heare what he will say. 

When the Porter came to the Nobleman, 
he sayd he would shew him a pretty sport : 

There's sike a clowne come to the gate, 

as came not this seven yeares to the Court, 

He cals all knaves the King doth keepe ; 

he raps at the gates and makes great din ; 
He's passing liberall of reward ; 

heed give a good single penny to be let in. 

Let him in, sayd the Nobleman. 

Come in, fellow, the Porter gan say : 
If thou come within thy selfe, he sayde, 

thy staffe behind the gate must stay. 

And this cuckolds curre must lig behind : 
what a deele, what a cut hast got with thee I 

The King will take him up for his owne sol, 
Ise warrant, when as he him doth see. 


Beshrew thy limbes, then said the poore man ; 

then mayst thou count rae foole, or worse. 
I wat not what banckrout lies by the King ; 

for want of money he may picke my purse. 

That's to be fear'd, the Porter said ; 

Ise wish you goe in well arm'd ; 
For the King he hath got mickle company, 

and among them all, you may soone be harm'd. 

Let him in with his stafFe and his dog, said the Lord, 
and with that he gave a nod with's head, and beck 
with's knee. 

If you be Sir King, then said the poore man, 
as I can very well thinke you be; 

For I was told ere I came from home, 

you're the goodliest man ere I saw beforne ; 

With so many jingle jangles about ones necke, 
as is about yours, I never saw none. 

I am not the King, said the Nobleman, 

fellow, although I have a proud coat. 
If you be not the King, helpe me to the speech of him, 

you seeme a good fellow, Ise gi you a groat. 

Gramercy, said the Nobleman ; 

the rewards so great, I cannot say nay. 
He go know the Kings pleasure, if I can ; 

till I come againe be sure thou stay. 


Heres sike a staying, then said the pooro man ; 

belike the Kings better than any in our countrey. 
I might be gone to th' farthest nuke i'th' honse, 

neither lad nor lowne to trouble me. 

When the Nobleman came to the King, 

he said he would shew his (irace good sport : 

Heres such a clowne come to the gate, 
as came not this seven yeares to the Court. 

He cals all knaves your Highnesse keepes, 
and more than that, he termes them worse. 

Heele not come in without his stafFe and his dogge, 
for fear some bankrout will picke his purse. 

Let him in with his staffe and his dog, said our King, 

that of his sport we may see some. 
Weele see how heele handle everything, 

as soone as the match of bowles is done. 

The Nobleman led him through many a roome, 

and through many a gallery gay. 
What a det:le doth the king with so many toome houses, 

that he gets um not fild with corne and hay ? 

What gares these babies and babies all ? 

some ill have they done that they hang by the walls ? 
And staring aloft at the golden roofe toppe, 

at a step he did stumble, and downe he falles. 


Stand up, good fellow, the Nobleman sayd ; 

what, art thou drunke or blind, I trow ? 
Ise neither am blinde nor drunke, he sed, 

although, in my sowle, you oft are so. 

It is a disease, said the Lord againe, 

that many a good man is troubled withall. 

Quoth the Country man then, yet I made your proud 
to kisse my backeside, though they gave me a fall. 

At last they spide the King in an ally, 

yet from his game he did not start. 
The day was so hot, he cast off his doublet ; 

he had nothing from the wast up but his shirt. 

Loe, yonder's the King, said the Noble man : 

behold, fellow ; loe, where he goes. 
Beleevet bee's some unthrift, sayes the poore man, 

that has lost his money and pawnd his cloathes. 

How hapt he hath gat neere a coate to his backe ? 

this bowling I like not; it hath him undone. 
Ise warrant that fellow in those gay cloathes, 

he hath his coyne and his doublet won. 

But when he came before the King, 

the Nobleman did his curtesie : 
The poore man followed after him, 

and gave a nod with his head and a becke witli his knee. 


If you be Sir King, then said the poore man, 

as I can hardly thinke you be ; 
Here is a gude fellow that brought me hither, 

is liker to be the King than ye. 

I am the King, his Grace now sayd ; 

Fellow, let me thy cause understand. 
If you be Sir King, Ime a tennant of yours, 

that was borne and up brought within your ownc 

There dwels a Lawyer hard by me, 

and a fault in my lease he sayes he hath found ; 
And all was for felling five poor ashes, 

to build a house upon my owne ground. 

Hast thou a lease here ? said the King, 

or canst thou shew to me the deed ? 
He put it into the Kings owne hand, 

and said, Sir, tis here, if that you can read. 

Why, what if I cannot ? said our King ; 

that which I cannot, another may. 
I have a boy of mine owne, not seven yeares old, 

a will read you as swift as yould run i'th' highway. 

Lets see thy lease, then said our King : 
then from his blacke boxe he puld it out. 

He gave it into the Kings owne hand, 

with foure or five knots ty'd fast in a clout. 


Wast neere unloose these knots ? said the King : 
he gave it to one that behind him did stay. 

It is a proud horse, then said the poore man, 

will not carries owne provinder along the highway, 

Pay me forty shillings, as Ise pay you, 
I will not thinke much to unloose a knot : 

I would I were so occupied every day. 
Ide unloose a score on urn for a groat. 

When the King had gotten these letters to read, 

and found the truth was very so : 
I warrant thee, thou hast not forfeit thy lease, 

if that thou hadst feld five ashes moe. 

I, every one can warrant me, 

but all your warrants are not worth a flea ; 
For he that troubles me and will not let me goe, 

neither cares for warrant of you nor me. 

The Lawyer he is sike a crafty elfe : 

a will make a foole of twenty such as me ; 

And if that I said gang hang my sel, 
Ise trow, he and I sud neere agree. 

For he's too wise for all our towne, 

and yet we ha got crafty knaves beside. 

Heele undoe me and my wife and bearnes : 
alas, that ever I saw this tide I 


Thoust have an injunction, said our King ; 

from troubling of thee he will cease : 
Heele either shew thee a good cause why, 

or else heele let thee live in peace. 

What's that injunction ? said the poore man, 

good Sir, to me I pray you say. 
Why, It is a letter He cause to be written: 

but art thou as simple as tliou shewest for to day ? 

W^hy, ift be a letter, Ime neere the better: 

keept to yourselfe and trouble not me. 
I could a had a letter cheaper written at home, 

and neere a come out of mine owne countrey. 

Thoust have an attachment, said our King : 

charge all thou seest to take thy part. 
Till he pay thee an hundred pound, 

be sure thou never let him start. 

A, wais me I the poore man saide then ; 

you ken no whit what you now do say. 
A won undoe roe a thousand times, 

ere he such a mickle of money will pay. 

And more than this, there's no man at all 
that dares anongst him for to lift a hand ; 

For he has got so much guile in his budget, 
that he will make all forfeit their land. 


If any seeme against thee to stand, 
be sure thou corae hither straight way. 

A, marry, is that all Ise get for my labour ? 
then I may come trotting every day. 

Thou art hard a beleefe, then said our King : 
to please him with letters he was right willing. 

I see you have taken great paines in writing, 
with all ray heart lie give you a shilling. 

He have none of thy shilling, said our King ; 

man, with thy money God give thee win. 
He threw it into the Kings bosome ; 

the money lay cold next to his skin. 

Beshrew thy heart, then said our King ; 

thou art a carle something too bold : 
Dost thou not see I am hot with bowling ? 

the money next to my skin lies cold. 

I neere wist that before, said the poore man, 

befoi'e sike time as I came hither. 
If the Lawyers in our country thought twas cold, 

they would not heape up so much together. 

The King call'd up his Treasurer, 

and bad him fetch him twenty pound. 

If ever thy errant lye here away, 
He beare thy charges up and downe. 


When the poore man saw the gold tendred, 

for to receive it he was willing. 
If I had thought the King had so mickle gold, 

beshrew my heart, Ide a kept mj^ shilling. 

Now, farewell, good fellow, quoth the King : 
see that my command you well doe keepe ; 

And when that the Lawyer you have in your hands, 
looke that he doe pay you before he doe sleepe. 

Gods benison light on your soule, then he sayd, 
and send you and yours where ever you gang : 

If that I doe ever meete with your fewd foes, 

Ise sweare by this staffe that their hide I won bang. 

And farewell, brave lads now, unto you all : 
I wod all may win and neane of you leese. 

Haude ; take this same tester among you awe : 
I ken that you Courtiers doe all looke for fees. 

Thus with a low courtsie of them he tooke leave, 
thinking from the Court to take his way ; 

But some of the gentlemen then of the Kings 
would needs invite him at dinner to stay. 

A little entreaty did soone serve his turne : 
a thought himsel as good a man as them all. 

But where (quoth he) sail I have this same feast? 
then straightway they ushered him into the hall. 



Such store of cheare on the board there was plast, 
that made the countryman much for to muse. 

Quoth he, I doe think you are all craftie knaves, 
that such a service you will not refuse. 

I nere saw such a flipper de flapper before ; 

here's keele I doe think is made of a whetstone. 
Heer's dousets and flappjacks, and I ken not what ; 

I thinke, in tlie worlde such feasts there is none. 

When he had well din'd and had filled his panch, 
then to the winecellar they had him straight way, 

Where they with brave claret and brave old Canary, 
they with a foxe tale him soundly did pay. 

So hard they did ply him with these strong wines, 
that he did wrong the long seames of his hose, 

That two men were faine to leade him up stayres ; 
so, making indentures, away then he goes. 

The poore man got home next Sunday : 

the Lawyer soone did him espy. 
Oh, Sir, you have been a stranger long, 

I thinke from me you have kept you by. 

It was for you indeed, said the poore man, 
the matter to the King as I have tell. 

I did as neighbours put it in ray head, 

and made a submission to the King my sel. 


Whatadeel didst thou with the King ? said the Lawyer: 
could not neighbours and friends agree thee and me ? 

The deel a neighbour or friend that I liad, 
that would a bin sike a dales man as he. 

He has gin me a letter, but I know not what they cal't ; 

but if the King's words be frue to me, 
When you have read and perused it over, 

I hope you will leave, and let me be. 

He has gin me another, but I know not what 'tis ; 

but I charge you all to hold him fast. 
Pray you that are learned this letter reade ; 

which presently made them all agast. 

Then they did reade this letter plaine, 

the Lawyer must pay him a hundred pound. 

You see the King's letter, the poore man did say, 
and unto a post he sal straight way be bound. 

Then unto a post they tide him fast, 
and all men did rate him in cruell sort ; 

The lads, and the lasses, and all the towne 
at him had great glee, pastime and sport. 

He pay it, He pay it, the Lawyer said : 

the attachment, I say, it is good and faire ; 

You must needes something credit me, 
till I £joe home and fetch some meare. 


Credit I nay, thats it the King forbad : 
he bad, if I got thee, I should thee stay. 

The Lawyer payd him an hundred pound 
in ready money, ere he went away. 

Would every Lawyer were served thus I 

from troubling poore men they would cease : 

They'd either show them a good cause why, 
or else they'd let them live in peace. 

And thus I end my merry tale, 

which shewes the plain mans simplenesse, 
And the Kings great mercy in righting his wrongs, 

and the Lawyers fraud and wickednesse. 

M. P. 






Otouncil, 1840-1. 

J. A. CAHUSAC, Esq. F.S.A. 










EDWARD F. RIMBAULT, Esq., Secretary. 


Persons wishing to become Members, are requested to send 
their names, as soon as convenient, to the Secretary, 9, 
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Subscriptions received at C. Richards' Printing Office, 
100, St. Martin's Lane. 

Bankers : Messrs. Cocks, Biddulph, and Biddulph, 4-3, 
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latos; of tfte perrp ^ocietp* 

1 . That the Society be called " The Percy Society." 

2. That the Publications of the Society shall consist of 
Ancient Ballads, Songs, Plays, minor pieces of Poetry, and 
Popular Literature, or works illustrative of the above-mentioned 

3. The Society shall consist of Members being Subscribers 
of One Pound annually, such Subscription to be paid in 
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The General Meeting to be held on the 1st of May, in every 
year, unless it should fall on a Sunday, when some other day 
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consisting of twelve Members, including a Treasurer and Secre- 
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sidered as belonging to the Society. 

7. That every Member, not in arrear of his Annual Sub- 
scription, be entitled to a copy of each of the works published 
by the Society. 

movki ahtaOs ^riiitctr. 

1. A Collection of Old Ballads anterior to the reign of Charles I, 
by John Skelton, Stephen Peel, Clmrehyard, Tarlton, Eldtrton, 
Deloney, <Vc. &c. Edited by J. Payne Collier, Esq. F.S.A. 

2. " A search for Money ; or the lamentable Complaint for the 
losse of the wandring Knight jNIounsieur 1' Argent ; or Come along 
with me, I know thou lovest Money, &c. By William Rowley. 
Imprinted at London for Joseph Hunt, &c. 1609." Reprinted 
from the only extant copy. 

movU in tljt ^vm. 

3. " The Payne and Sorowe of evyll Maryage." From a copy 
believed to be unique, printed by Wynkyn de Worde ; with an 
Introduction regarding other works of the same class, and from the 
same press. 

4. A Selection from the Miscellaneous Poems of John Lydgate. 
To be edited by James Orchard Halliwell, Esq. F.R.S. and English 
Correspondent of the Royal Historical Commission of France. 

5. Songs of the London Prentices and Trades, during the Reigns 
of Henry VII, Henry VIII, Elizabeth, and James I. To be edited 
by Charles Mackay, Esq. 

WLoxks ^uggc^tetJ for publication. 

6. " The King and a Poore Northerne Man. Shewing how a 
poore Northumberland man, &c. went to the King himself to make 
known his grievances. Full of simple mirth and merry plaine 
jests." By Martin Parker. Printed at Loudon by Tho. Coates, 

7. The Revolution of 1688, illustrated by tlie popular Ballads of 
the period. To be edited, with Introductions and Notes, by T. 
Croftou Croker, Esq. F.S.A. M.R.I.A. 

8. A Selection of Stories, Anecdotes, and Jokes, from various 
Jest Books printed prior to the end of the reign of Charles I ; with 
an account of the origin of many of them, and of the manner in 
which they are to be traced through several European languages. 

9. The Batcheler's Banquet, or a Banquet for Batcbelers. 
Wherein is prepared sundry dainty dishes, &:c. Pleasantly dis- 
coursing the variable humours of Women, &c. By Thomas Dekker. 
Loudon. Printed by T. C. &c. 1603. 

10. Latin Stories written in England during the 13th and 14th 
Centuries, illustrative of the History of Fiction. Edited from the 
original MSS. wth translations by Thomas Wright, Esq. M.A. 

11. A Collection of Lyrical Pieces contained in Old Plays of a 
date prior to the suppression of Theatrical Representations in 1()47. 
To be edited by Edward F. Rimbault, Esq. 

12. " A Treatise shewing and declaring the Pryde and Abuse of 
Women now a dayes." By Charles Bansley. From a copy printed 
by Thomas Raynoldes, in the reign of Edward VI. 

13. A Collection of Jacobite Ballads and Fragments, many of 
them hitherto unpublished. To be edited by William Jerdan, Esq. 
F.S.A., M.R.S.L. 

14. " Strange Histories or Songes and Sonets of Kings, Princes, 
Dukes, Lordes, Ladyes, Knights, and Gentlemen. Very pleasant 
either to be read or songe," &c. By Thomas Deloney. Imprinted 
at London for W. Barley, &c. 1607. 

15. The French Invasions of Ireland, illustrated by popular 
Songs, in three Parts, with an Introduction. To be edited by 
T. Crofton Croker, Esq. F.S.A. M.R.I.A. 

16. " A Marriage Triumphe. Solemnized in au Epithalamium 
in memorie of the happie Nuptials betwixt the Count Palatine and 
the Lady Elizabeth. Written by Thomas Heywood. London. 
Printed for Edward Marchant, &c. 1613." With an introduction, 
giving an account of other poems by different authors on the same 

17. A Collection of Christmas Carols, from the 12th to the 15th 
Century. To be edited by Thomas Wright, Esq. M.A., F.S.A. 

18. " The meriy Pranks of Robin Good-fellow. Very pleasant 
and witty." A Poem reprinted from the only known copy, published 
in the commencement of the 17th Century. 

19. " The Pleasant History of the two angry Women of Abington. 
With the humorous mirth of Dicke Cooraes and Nicholas Proverl)S, 
two Servingmen. As it was lately playde by the Lord High Ad- 
mirall his servants." Written by Henry Porter. 1599. The first 
of a series of old plays, to be edited by the Rev. A. Dyce. 


20. A Collection of Old English Ballads, from the Reign of 
Henry VI to that of Edward VI. To be edited by William 
Chappell, Esq. F.S.A. 

21. The Poetical Works of James I of Scotland, with a Pre- 
liminary Dissertation. To be edited by Charles Maclvay, Esq. 

22. The Pleasant and sweet History of Patient Grissell. Shewing 
how she, from a poore man's Danghter, came to l)e a great Eady in 
France, being a patterne to all vertuous Women, &c. Loudon, 
printed by E. P. for John Wright, &c. No date. In prose and 

23. Political Songs of the age of Cromwell, collected and edited 
by Thomas Wright, Esq. M.A. F.S.A. 

24. " A most pleasant and merie new Comedie, intituled a Knack 
to knowe a Knave. Newlie set foorth, as it hath sundrie tymes bene 
played by Ed. Allen and his companie. With Kemp's applauded 
Merrimentes of the Men of Goteham in receiving the Kiujr into 
Goteham, 1594." 

25. " Kind-Harts Dream. Conteining five Apparitions, with their 
Invectives against abuses raigning. Delivered by severall Ghosts 
unto him to lie publisht, after Piers Penilesse Post had refused the 
carriage." Printed without date in 1592. 

26. A Collection of early Ballads relating to Naval Affairs. To 
be editedjby James Orchard Halliwell, Esq. F.R.S. 

27. " Vinegar and Mustard, or Worm-wood Lectures for eveiy 
Day in the Week. Being exercised and delivered in several 
Parishes both of Town and City, on several dayes, See. Taken 
verliatim in short writing by J. W." Reprinted from the edition of 

28. " Pleasant Quippes for LTpstart newfangled Gentlewomen, 
1596." A satirical and humorous production in verse by Stephen 
Gosson, printed from a copy presented by the author to a contem- 

29. Songs and Poems by known and unknown Authors, to be 
found in Musical Miscellanies published during the reigns of 
Elizabeth and James I. 

Mtmbtti* faints. 

Advocates' Library, Edinburgh 
Amyot, T. Esq. F.R.S. Treas. S.A. 
Aungier, G. J. Esq. 
Ayrton, W. Esq. F.R.S. F.S.A. 

Barnwell, C. F. Esq. M.A. F.R.S. 

Bartlett, — Esq. 

Barton, Thomas P. Esq. 

Bea.sant, John J. Esq. 

Bevan, Edward, Esq. 

Bibliotheque du Roi, Paris 

Black, John, Esq. 

Black, William Henry, Esq. 

Black, WilUam, Esq. 

Blood, Biudon, Esq. Edinburgh 

Boinpas, Charles S. Esq. 

Bourne, H. Esq. 

Bright, Benjamin Heywood, Esq. 

Bruce, John, Esq. F.S.A. 

Brumridge, J. Esq. 

Burn, James, Esq. Edinburgh 

Burton, Septimus, Esq. Chiswick Grove 

Cahusao, J. A. Esq. F.S.A. 

Caldwell, David, E.sq. 

Cannichael, Arch. Esq. M.A. Edinburgh 

Chappell, William, Esq. F.S.A. 

Chappell, J. C. Esq. 

Chater, George, Esq. 

Chorley, H. F. Esq. 

Clare, Edward, Esq. 

ColHer, J. Payne, Esq. F.S.A. 

Colher, J. Pycroft, Esq. 


F.R.S. F.S.A. 
Cooper, W. D. Esq. 
Coniey, Bolton, Esq. 
Corser, Rev. Thomas 
Croker, T. Crofton, Esq. F.S.A. :M.R.I.A. 
Crossly, J. Esq. 

Cunningham, George, Esq. Glasgow 
Currer, Miss Richardson, Asheton Hall 

Dalzell, Sir John Graham, Edinburgh 
Davies, Thomas Stevens, Esq. F.R.S. L. 

& E. F.S.A. R.M.A. Woolwich. 
Deck, N. Esq. 
Dilke, C. W. Esq. 
Disney, John, Esq. F.R.S. F.S.A. 
DLxon, J. H. Esq. 
Dixon, R. W. Esq, 
Dovaston, J. F. M. Esq. A.M. 
Dudgeon, George, Esq. 
Duncan, James, Esq. 
Dyce, Rev. Alexander 
Dyke, Rev. Henry 

Eyton, Joseph W. King, Esq. 

Fairholt, Frederick W. Esq. 
Fletcher, Thomas W. Esq. F.R.S. 
Forett, Da-\-id, Esq. 
Fraser, Thomas, Esq. 
Frend, Hemy Tyrwhitt, Esq. 

Glen, J. P. Esq. Radnorshire 
Gracie, J. B. Esq. Edinburgh 
Greene, — , Esq. Edinburgh 
Gutch, John Mathew, Esq. F.S.A. 

Halliwell, James Orchard, Esq. F.R.S. 


& E. &c. Tkeasureb 
HaUiwell, Richard, Esq. F.S.A. 
Harrison, W. F. Esq. 
Hill, Thomas, Esq. 
Hogarth, George, Esq. 
Hollond, Robert, Esq. M.P. 
Holme, Edward, Esq. M.D. 
Hopper, A. M. Esq. 
How, Jeremiah, Esq. 
Hunter, Rev. Joseph, F.S.A. 

Ingraham, Edward D. Esq. 
Irving, David, LL.D. iidinburgh 

Jacob, B. Esq. Dorcbester 

James, G. P. R. Esq. 

Jenlan, William, Esq. F.S.A. M.R.S.L. 

Johns, Richard, Esq. Lieut. R.M. 

Kerr, John, Esq. Glasgow 

Klingemami, C. Esq. 

Konig, Charles, Esq. K.H. F.R.S. 

Laing, David, Esq. F.S.A. Scotland 

Law, W. Esq. 

Leatham, W. H. Esq. 

Lever, Charles, Esq. 

Lilly, J. Esq. 

Lloyd, George, Esq. 

Logan, W. H. Esq. Edinburgh 

London, City of, Literary and Scientific 

Lover, Samuel, Esq. 

Mackay, Charles, Esq. 

Mackenzie, John Whitetbord, Esq. Edin. 

Macknight, James, Esq. Edinburgh 

Maconochie, James Allan, Es(]. Edinb. 

Madden, Sir Fred. K.H. F.R S. F.S.A 
Keeper of the Manuscripts in the Bri- 
tish Museum, &c. &c. 

Mahon, William M', Esq. 

Maidment, James, Esq. Edinburgh 

Miller, John, M.D. Edinburgh 

Mewburn, Francis, Esq. 

Mitford, Rev. John 

Morton, Rev. James, B.D. Holbeach 

Muggeridge, Nathaniel, Esq. 

Nichols, John Gough, Esq. F.S.A. 

Oliphant, Thomas, Esq. 
Ottley, Henry, Esq. 
Ouvry, Frederic, Esq. 

Pagan, S. N. Esq. Edinburgh 

Parkes, Joseph, Esq. 

Parry, Thomas, Esq. 

Peacock, Reginald, Esq. 

I'etheram, John, Esq. 

I'etit, Louis Hayes, Esq. F.R.S. 

I'ettigrew, Thomas J. Esq. F.R.S. F.S.A. 

Phillipps, Sir Thomas, Bt. F.R.S. F.S.A. 

Pickering, WUliam, Esq. 

Pitcaim, Robert, Esq. Edinburgh 

Poeock, C. J. Esq. Bristol 

Poison, Archer, Esq. 

Price, Joseph, Esq. 

Proctor, Rev. George, D.D. 

Proctor, George H. Esq. Oxford 

Proctor, Robert, Esq. 

Pycroft, Edmund, Esq. 

Pyper, Hamilton, Esq. Edinburgh 

Rackham, Hanworth E. Esq. B A. 

Rackham, Richard, Esq. 

Read, John, Esq. Dorwent Hall, near 

Reptou, John Adey, Esq. F.S.A. 
Richards, Charles, Esq. 
Rickards, C. Esq. 
Rickards, Samuel, Esq. 
Riddell, Henry M. Esq. 
Rimbault, Edward F. Esq. Segjretarv 
Robinson, Henry Crabb, Esq. 
Robertson, John, Esq. Edinburgh 
Rodwell, George Herbert, Esq. 
Rogers, Samuel, Esq. F.R.S. F.S.A. 
Row, James Yeeles, Esq. 

Sandys, William, Esq. F.S.A. 

Sharpe, Sir Cuthbert 

Shaw, Henry, Esq. F.S.A. 

Sheriff, Dr. 

Shipp, W. Esq. 

Smith, Richard John, Esq. 

Smith, W. J. Esq. 

Snaith, Frederick, M.D. Holbeach 

Sotheby, Leigh, Esq. 

Stanfield, Clarkson, Esq. R.A. 

Stewart, Duncan, Esq. Edinburgh 

Stokes, George, Esq. 

Strang, Jno. Esq. Chamberlain of Glasgow 

Thompson, Rev. George Hodgson 
Thoms, William Jolin, Esq. F.S.A. 
Thomson, John, Esq. Musical Professor 

at the University, Edinburgh 
Thorby, Thomas, Esq. 
Thornhill, Walter, Esq. 

Tomlins, F. G. Esq. 

Tumbull, W. B. D.D. Esq. Edinburgh 

Turner, J. Esq. 

Turner, R. S. Esq. 

Utterson, Edward Vernon, Esq. 

Valle, Frederick, Esq. 

Van de Wejer, His Excellency M. Syl- 

Vincent, G. Esq. 
Vines, Samuel, Esq. 

Warren, Joseph, Esq. 

West, W. Esq. 

West, W. H. Custance, Esq. 

Willement, Thomas, Esq. F.S.A. 

Windus, Beujamin Godfrey, Esq. 

Wolf, ]M. Ferdinand, Mem. For. S.A. 

Secretary of the Imperial Library at 

Wright, Thomas, Esq. M.A. F.S.A. 
Wright, J. H. C. Esq. 

Young, Charles, Esq. 

>«^ii^aiv^i ^^t^V^ I « «/ w >i I ^ <«7UC7 

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1121 Er.rly English ooetry