Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England Part 12

The time was appointed for the wedding-day, A young farmer chosen to give her away; As soon as the farmer the young lady did spy, He inflamed her heart; 'O, my heart!' she did cry.

She turned from the squire, but nothing she said, Instead of being married she took to her bed; The thought of the farmer soon run in her mind, A way for to have him she quickly did find.

Coat, waistcoat, and breeches she then did put on, And a hunting she went with her dog and her gun; She hunted all round where the farmer did dwell, Because in her heart she did love him full well:

She oftentimes fired, but nothing she killed, At length the young farmer came into the field; And to discourse with him it was her intent, With her dog and her gun to meet him she went.

'I thought you had been at the wedding,' she cried, 'To wait on the squire, and give him his bride.'

'No, sir,' said the farmer, 'if the truth I may tell, I'll not give her away, for I love her too well'

'Suppose that the lady should grant you her love, You know that the squire your rival will prove.'

'Why, then,' says the farmer, 'I'll take sword in hand, By honour I'll gain her when she shall command.'

It pleased the lady to find him so bold; She gave him a glove that was flowered with gold, And told him she found it when coming along, As she was a hunting with her dog and gun.

The lady went home with a heart full of love, And gave out a notice that she'd lost a glove; And said, 'Who has found it, and brings it to me, Whoever he is, he my husband shall be.'

The farmer was pleased when he heard of the news, With heart full of joy to the lady he goes: 'Dear, honoured lady, I've picked up your glove, And hope you'll be pleased to grant me your love.'

'It's already granted, I will be your bride; I love the sweet breath of a farmer,' she cried.

'I'll be mistress of my dairy, and milking my cow, While my jolly brisk farmer is whistling at plough.'

And when she was married she told of her fun, How she went a hunting with her dog and gun: 'And now I've got him so fast in my snare, I'll enjoy him for ever, I vow and declare!'

Ballad: KING JAMES I. AND THE TINKLER. {5} (TRADITIONAL.)

[This ballad of King James I. and the Tinkler was probably written either in, or shortly after, the reign of the monarch who is the hero. The incident recorded is said to be a fact, though the locality is doubtful. By some the scene is laid at Norwood, in Surrey; by others in some part of the English border. The ballad is alluded to by Percy, but is not inserted either in the Reliques, or in any other popular collection. It is to be found only in a few broadsides and chap-books of modern date. The present version is a traditional one, taken down, as here given, from the recital of the late Francis King. {6} It is much superior to the common broadside edition with which it has been collated, and from which the thirteenth and fifteenth verses were obtained. The ballad is very popular on the Border, and in the dales of c.u.mberland, Westmoreland, and Craven. The late Robert Anderson, the c.u.mbrian bard, represents Deavie, in his song of the Clay Daubin, as singing The King and the Tinkler.]

And now, to be brief, let's pa.s.s over the rest, Who seldom or never were given to jest, And come to King Jamie, the first of our throne, A pleasanter monarch sure never was known.

As he was a hunting the swift fallow-deer, He dropped all his n.o.bles; and when he got clear, In hope of some pastime away he did ride, Till he came to an alehouse, hard by a wood-side.

And there with a tinkler he happened to meet, And him in kind sort he so freely did greet: 'Pray thee, good fellow, what hast in thy jug, Which under thy arm thou dost lovingly hug?'

'By the ma.s.s!' quoth the tinkler, 'it's nappy brown ale, And for to drink to thee, friend, I will not fail; For although thy jacket looks gallant and fine, I think that my twopence as good is as thine.'

'By my soul! honest fellow, the truth thou hast spoke,'

And straight he sat down with the tinkler to joke; They drank to the King, and they pledged to each other; Who'd seen 'em had thought they were brother and brother.

As they were a-drinking the King pleased to say, 'What news, honest fellow? come tell me, I pray?'

'There's nothing of news, beyond that I hear The King's on the border a-chasing the deer.

'And truly I wish I so happy may be Whilst he is a hunting the King I might see; For although I've travelled the land many ways I never have yet seen a King in my days.'

The King, with a hearty brisk laughter, replied, 'I tell thee, good fellow, if thou canst but ride, Thou shalt get up behind me, and I will thee bring To the presence of Jamie, thy sovereign King.'

'But he'll be surrounded with n.o.bles so gay, And how shall we tell him from them, sir, I pray?'

'Thou'lt easily ken him when once thou art there; The King will be covered, his n.o.bles all bare.'

He got up behind him and likewise his sack, His budget of leather, and tools at his back; They rode till they came to the merry greenwood, His n.o.bles came round him, bareheaded they stood.

The tinkler then seeing so many appear, He slily did whisper the King in his ear: Saying, 'They're all clothed so gloriously gay, But which amongst them is the King, sir, I pray?'

The King did with hearty good laughter, reply, 'By my soul! my good fellow, it's thou or it's I!

The rest are bareheaded, uncovered all round.' - With his bag and his budget he fell to the ground,

Like one that was frightened quite out of his wits, Then on his knees he instantly gets, Beseeching for mercy; the King to him said, 'Thou art a good fellow, so be not afraid.

'Come, tell thy name?' 'I am John of the Dale, A mender of kettles, a lover of ale.'

'Rise up, Sir John, I will honour thee here, - I make thee a knight of three thousand a year!'

This was a good thing for the tinkler indeed; Then unto the court he was sent for with speed, Where great store of pleasure and pastime was seen, In the royal presence of King and of Queen.

Sir John of the Dale he has land, he has fee, At the court of the king who so happy as he?

Yet still in his hall hangs the tinkler's old sack, And the budget of tools which he bore at his back.

Ballad: THE KEACH I' THE CREEL.

[This old and very humorous ballad has long been a favourite on both sides of the Border, but had never appeared in print till about 1845, when a Northumbrian gentleman printed a few copies for private circulation, from one of which the following is taken. In the present impression some trifling typographical mistakes are corrected, and the phraseology has been rendered uniform throughout. Keach i' the Creel means the catch in the basket.]

A fair young May went up the street, Some white fish for to buy; And a bonny clerk's fa'n i' luve wi' her, And he's followed her by and by, by, And he's followed her by and by.

'O! where live ye my bonny la.s.s, I pray thee tell to me; For gin the nicht were ever sae mirk, I wad come and visit thee, thee; I wad come and visit thee.'

'O! my father he aye locks the door, My mither keeps the key; And gin ye were ever sic a wily wicht, Ye canna win in to me, me; Ye canna win in to me.'

But the clerk he had ae true brother, And a wily wicht was he; And he has made a lang ladder, Was thirty steps and three, three; Was thirty steps and three.

He has made a cleek but and a creel - A creel but and a pin; And he's away to the chimley-top, And he's letten the bonny clerk in, in; And he's letten the bonny clerk in.

The auld wife, being not asleep, Tho' late, late was the hour; I'll lay my life,' quo' the silly auld wife, 'There's a man i' our dochter's bower, bower; There's a man i' our dochter's bower.'

The auld man he gat owre the bed, To see if the thing was true; But she's ta'en the bonny clerk in her arms, And covered him owre wi' blue, blue; And covered him owre wi' blue.

'O! where are ye gaun now, father?' she says, 'And where are ye gaun sae late?

Ye've disturbed me in my evening prayers, And O! but they were sweit, sweit; And O! but they were sweit.'

'O! ill betide ye, silly auld wife, And an ill death may ye dee; She has the muckle buik in her arms, And she's prayin' for you and me, me; And she's prayin' for you and me.'