Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England Part 18

PART II.

Now, pray observe the second part, And you shall hear his sottish heart; He did the tavern so frequent, Till he three hundred pounds had spent.

This being done, we understand He p.a.w.ned the deeds of all his land Unto a tavern-keeper, who, When poor, did him no favour show.

For, to fulfil his father's will, He did command this cottage still: At length great sorrow was his share, Quite moneyless, with garments bare.

Being not able for to work, He in the tavern there did lurk; From box to box, among rich men, Who oftentimes reviled him then.

To see him sneak so up and down, The vintner on him he did frown; And one night kicked him out of door, Charging him to come there no more.

He in a stall did lie all night, In this most sad and wretched plight; Then thought it was high time to see His father's promised legacy.

Next morning, then, oppressed with woe, This young man got an iron crow; And, as in tears he did lament, Unto this little cottage went.

When he the door had open got, This poor, distressed, drunken sot, Who did for store of money hope, He saw a gibbet and a rope.

Under this rope was placed a stool, Which made him look just like a fool; Crying, 'Alas! what shall I do?

Destruction now appears in view!

'As my father foresaw this thing, What sottishness to me would bring; As moneyless, and free of grace, His legacy I will embrace.'

So then, oppressed with discontent, Upon the stool he sighing went; And then, his precious life to check, Did place the rope about his neck.

Crying, 'Thou, G.o.d, who sitt'st on high, And on my sorrow casts an eye; Thou knowest that I've not done well, - Preserve my precious soul from h.e.l.l.

''Tis true the slighting of thy grace, Has brought me to this wretched case; And as through folly I'm undone, I'll now eclipse my morning sun.'

When he with sighs these words had spoke, Jumped off, and down the gibbet broke; In falling, as it plain appears, Dropped down about this young man's ears,

In shining gold, a thousand pound!

Which made the blood his ears surround: Though in amaze, he cried, 'I'm sure This golden salve the sore will cure!

'Blessed be my father, then,' he cried, 'Who did this part for me so hide; And while I do alive remain, I never will get drunk again.'

PART III.

Now, by the third part you will hear, This young man, as it doth appear, With care he then secured his c.h.i.n.k, And to the vintner's went to drink.

When the proud vintner did him see, He frowned on him immediately, And said, 'Begone! or else with speed, I'll kick thee out of doors, indeed.'

Smiling, the young man he did say, 'Thou cruel knave! tell me, I pray, As I have here consumed my store, How durst thee kick me out of door?

'To me thou hast been too severe; The deeds of eightscore pounds a-year, I p.a.w.ned them for three hundred pounds, That I spent here;--what makes such frowns?'

The vintner said unto him, 'Sirrah!

Bring me one hundred pounds to-morrow By nine o'clock,--take them again; So get you out of doors till then.'

He answered, 'If this c.h.i.n.k I bring, I fear thou wilt do no such thing.

He said, 'I'll give under my hand, A note, that I to this will stand.'

Having the note, away he goes, And straightway went to one of those That made him drink when moneyless, And did the truth to him confess.

They both went to this heap of gold, And in a bag he fairly told A thousand pounds, ill yellow-boys, And to the tavern went their ways.

This bag they on the table set, Making the vintner for to fret; He said, 'Young man! this will not do, For I was but in jest with you.'

So then bespoke the young man's friend: 'Vintner! thou mayest sure depend, In law this note it will you cast, And he must have his land at last.'

This made the vintner to comply, - He fetched the deeds immediately; He had one hundred pounds, and then The young man got his deeds again.

At length the vintner 'gan to think How he was fooled out of his c.h.i.n.k; Said, 'When 'tis found how I came off, My neighbours will me game and scoff.'

So to prevent their noise and clatter The vintner he, to mend the matter, In two days after, it doth appear, Did cut his throat from ear to ear.

Thus he untimely left the world, That to this young man proved a churl.

Now he who followed drunkenness, Lives sober, and doth lands possess.

Instead of wasting of his store, As formerly, resolves no more To act the same, but does indeed Relieve all those that are in need.

Let all young men now, for my sake, Take care how they such havoc make; For drunkenness, you plain may see, Had like his ruin for to be.

Ballad: THE BOWES TRAGEDY.

Being a true relation of the Lives and Characters of ROGER WRIGHTSON and MARTHA RAILTON, of the Town of Bowes, in the County of York, who died for love of each other, in March, 1714/5

Tune of Queen Dido.

[The Bowes Tragedy is the original of Mallet's Edition and Emma.

In these verses are preserved the village record of the incident which suggested that poem. When Mallet published his ballad he subjoined an attestation of the facts, which may be found in Evans'

Old Ballads, vol. ii. p. 237. Edit. 1784. Mallet alludes to the statement in the parish registry of Bowes, that 'they both died of love, and were buried in the same grave,' &c. The following is an exact copy of the entry, as transcribed by Mr. Denham, 17th April, 1847. The words which we have printed in brackets are found interlined in another and a later hand by some person who had inspected the register:-

'RoDger Wrightson, Jun., and Martha Railton, both of Bowes, Buried in one grave: He Died in a Fever, and upon tolling his pa.s.sing Bell, she cry'd out My heart is broke, and in a Few hours expir'd, purely [OR SUPPOSED] thro' Love, March 15, 1714/5, aged about 20 years each.'

Mr. Denham says:-

'The Bowes Tragedy was, I understand, written immediately after the death of the lovers, by the then master of Bowes Grammar School.

His name I never heard. My father, who died a few years ago (aged nearly 80), knew a younger sister of Martha Railton's, who used to sing it to strangers pa.s.sing through Bowes. She was a poor woman, advanced in years, and it brought her in many a piece of money.']

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

Remote in Yorkshire, near to Bowes, Of late did Roger Wrightson dwell; He courted Martha Railton, whose Repute for virtue did excel; Yet Roger's friends would not agree, That he to her should married be.

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