Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England Part 19

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

Now anxious Martha sore distressed, A private message did him send, Lamenting that she could not rest, Till she had seen her loving friend: His answer was, 'Nay, nay, my dear, Our folks will angry be I fear.'

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

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

Where she with doleful cries beheld, Her fainting lover in despair; At which her heart with sorrow filled, Small was the comfort she had there; Though's mother showed her great respect, His sister did her much reject.

She stayed two hours with her dear, In hopes for to declare her mind; But Hannah Wrightson {8} stood so near, No time to do it she could find: So that being almost dead with grief, Away she went without relief.

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

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

And when she heard the dismal sound, Her G.o.dly book she cast away, With bitter cries would pierce the ground.

Her fainting heart 'gan to decay: She to her pensive mother said, 'I cannot live now he is dead.'

Then after three short minutes' s.p.a.ce, As she in sorrow groaning lay, A gentleman {9} did her embrace, And mildly unto her did say, 'Dear melting soul be not so sad, But let your pa.s.sion be allayed.'

Her answer was, 'My heart is burst, My span of life is near an end; My love from me by death is forced, My grief no soul can comprehend.'

Then her poor heart it waxed faint, When she had ended her complaint.

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

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

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

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

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

What h.e.l.l-born fury had possessed, Thy vile inhuman spirit thus?

What swelling rage was in thy breast, That could occasion this disgust, And make thee show such spleen and rage, Which life can't cure nor death a.s.suage?

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

But when to church the corpse was brought, And both of them met at the gate; What mournful tears by friends were shed, When that alas it was too late, - When they in silent grave were laid, Instead of pleasing marriage-bed.

You parents all both far and near, By this sad story warning take; Nor to your children be severe, When they their choice in love do make; Let not the love of cursed gold, True lovers from their love withhold.

Ballad: THE CRAFTY LOVER; OR, THE LAWYER OUTWITTED.

Tune of I love thee more and more.

[This excellent old ballad is transcribed from a copy printed in Aldermary church-yard. It still continues to be published in the old broadside form.]

Of a rich counsellor I write, Who had one only daughter, Who was of youthful beauty bright; Now mark what follows after. {10} Her uncle left her, I declare, A sumptuous large possession; Her father he was to take care Of her at his discretion.

She had ten thousand pounds a-year, And gold and silver ready, And courted was by many a peer, Yet none could gain this lady.

At length a squire's youngest son In private came a-wooing, And when he had her favour won, He feared his utter ruin.

The youthful lady straightway cried, 'I must confess I love thee, Though lords and knights I have denied, Yet none I prize above thee: Thou art a jewel in my eye, But here,' said she, 'the care is, - I fear you will be doomed to die For stealing of an heiress.'

The young man he replied to her Like a true politician; 'Thy father is a counsellor, I'll tell him my condition.

Ten guineas they shall be his fee, He'll think it is some stranger; Thus for the gold he'll counsel me, And keep me safe from danger.'

Unto her father he did go, The very next day after; But did not let the lawyer know The lady was his daughter.

Now when the lawyer saw the gold That he should be she gainer, A pleasant trick to him he told With safety to obtain her.

'Let her provide a horse,' he cried, 'And take you up behind her; Then with you to some parson ride Before her parents find her: That she steals you, you may complain, And so avoid their fury.

Now this is law I will maintain Before or judge or jury.

'Now take my writing and my seal, Which I cannot deny thee, And if you any trouble feel, In court I will stand by thee.'

'I give you thanks,' the young man cried, 'By you I am befriended, And to your house I'll bring my bride After the work is ended.'

Next morning, ere the day did break, This news to her he carried; She did her father's counsel take And they were fairly married, And now they felt but ill at case, And, doubts and fears expressing, They home returned, and on their knees They asked their father's blessing,

But when he had beheld them both, He seemed like one distracted, And vowed to be revenged on oath For what they now had acted.

With that bespoke his new-made son - 'There can be no deceiving, That this is law which we have done Here is your hand and sealing!'

The counsellor did then reply, Was ever man so fitted; 'My hand and seal I can't deny, By you I am outwitted.

'Ten thousand pounds a-year in store 'She was left by my brother, And when I die there will be more, For child I have no other.

'She might have had a lord or knight, From royal loins descended; But, since thou art her heart's delight, I will not be offended; 'If I the gordian knot should part, 'Twere cruel out of measure; Enjoy thy love, with all my heart, In plenty, peace, and pleasure.'

Ballad: THE DEATH OF QUEEN JANE. (TRADITIONAL.)

[We have seen an old printed copy of this ballad, which was written probably about the date of the event it records, 1537. Our version was taken down from the singing of a young gipsy girl, to whom it had descended orally through two generations. She could not recollect the whole of it. In Miss Strickland's Lives of the Queens of England, we find the following pa.s.sage: 'An English ballad is extant, which, dwelling on the elaborate mourning of Queen Jane's ladies, informs the world, in a line of pure bathos,

In black were her ladies, and black were their faces.'

Miss Strickland does not appear to have seen the ballad to which she refers; and as we are not aware of the existence of any other ballad on the subject, we presume that her line of 'pure bathos' is merely a corruption of one of the ensuing verses.]

Queen Jane was in travail For six weeks or more, Till the women grew tired, And fain would give o'er.

'O women! O women!

Good wives if ye be, Go, send for King Henrie, And bring him to me.'