[This very curious ballad, or, more properly, metrical romance, was
originally published by the late Doctor Whitaker in his History of
Craven, from an ancient MS., which was supposed to be unique.
Whitaker's version was transferred to Evan's Old Ballads, the
editor of which work introduced some judicious conjectural
emendations. In reference to this republication, Dr. Whitaker
inserted the following note in the second edition of his History:-
This tale, saith my MS., was known of old to a few families only,
and by them held so precious, that it was never intrusted to the
memory of the son till the father was on his death-bed. But times
are altered, for since the first edition of this work, a certain
bookseller [the late Mr. Evans] has printed it verbatim, with
little acknowledgment to the first editor. He might have
recollected that The Felon Sewe had been already reclaimed
property
vested. However, as he is an ingenious and deserving man, this
hint shall suffice. - History of Craven, second edition, London,
1812.
When Sir Walter Scott published his poem of Rokeby, Doctor Whitaker
discovered that
The Felon Sewe was not of such 'exceeding rarity'
as he had been led to suppose; for he was then made acquainted with
the fact that another MS. of the 'unique' ballad was preserved in
the archives of the Rokeby family. This version was published by
Scott, who considered it superior to that printed by Whitaker; and
it must undoubtedly be admitted to be more complete, and, in
general, more correct. It has also the advantage of being
authenticated by the traditions of an ardent family; while of Dr.
Whitaker's version we know nothing more than that it was 'printed
from a MS. in his possession.' The readings of the Rokeby MS.,
however, are not always to be preferred; and in order to produce as
full and accurate a version as the materials would yield, the
following text has been founded upon a careful collation of both
MSS. A few alterations have been adopted, but only when the
necessity for them appeared to be self-evident; and the orthography
has been rendered tolerably uniform, for there is no good reason
why we should have 'sewe,' 'scho,' and 'sike,' in some places, and
the more modern forms of 'sow,' 'she,' and 'such,' in others. If
the MSS. were correctly transcribed, which we have no ground for
doubting, they must both be referred to a much later period than
the era when the author flourished. The language of the poem is
that of Craven, in Yorkshire; and, although the composition is
acknowledged on all hands to be one of the reign of Henry VII., the
provincialisms of that most interesting mountain district have been
so little affected by the spread of education, that the Felon Sewe
is at the present day perfectly comprehensible to any Craven
peasant, and to such a reader neither note nor glossary is
necessary. Dr. Whitaker's explanations are, therefore, few and
brief, for he was thoroughly acquainted with the language and the
district. Scott, on the contrary, who knew nothing of the dialect,
and confounded its pure Saxon with his Lowland Scotch, gives
numerous notes, which only display his want of the requisite local
knowledge, and are, consequently, calculated to mislead.
The Felon Sewe belongs to the same class of compositions as the
Hunting of the Hare, reprinted by Weber, and the Tournament of
Tottenham, in Percy's Reliques. Scott says that 'the comic romance
was a sort of parody upon the usual subjects of minstrel poetry.'
This idea may be extended, for the old comic romances were in many
instances not merely 'sorts of parodies,' but real parodies on
compositions which were popular in their day, although they have
not descended to us. We certainly remember to have met with an old
chivalric romance, in which the leading incidents were similar to
those of the Felon Sewe.
It may be observed, also, in reference to this poem, that the
design is twofold, the ridicule being equally aimed at the
minstrels and the clergy. The author was in all probability a
follower of Wickliffe. There are many sly satirical allusions to
the Romish faith and practices, in which no orthodox Catholic would
have ventured to indulge.
Ralph Rokeby, who gave the sow to the Franciscan Friars of
Richmond, is believed to have been the Ralph who lived in the reign
of Henry VII. Tradition represents the Baron as having been 'a
fellow of infinite jest,' and the very man to bestow so valuable a
gift on the convent! The Mistress Rokeby of the ballad was,
according to the pedigree of the family, a daughter and heiress of
Danby, of Yafforth. Friar Theobald cannot be traced, and therefore
we may suppose that the monk had some other name; the minstrel
author, albeit a Wickliffite, not thinking it quite prudent,
perhaps, to introduce a priest in propria persona. The story is
told with spirit, and the verse is graceful and flowing.]
Fitte the First
- Ye men that will of aunters wynne,
- That late within this lande hath bin,
- Of on I will yow telle;
- And of a sewe that was sea strang,
- Alas! that ever scho lived sea lang,
- For fell folk did scho wele.
- Scho was mare than other three,
- The grizeliest beast that ere mote bee
- Her hede was greate and graye;
- Scho was bred in Rokebye woode,
- Ther war few that thither yoode,
- But cam belive awaye.
- Her walke was endlang Greta syde,
- Was no barne that colde her byde,
- That was fra heven or helle;
- Ne never man that had that myght,
- That ever durst com in her syght,
- Her force it was sea felle.
- Raphe of Rokebye, with full gode wyll,
- The freers of Richmonde gav her tyll,
- Full wele to gar thayme fare;
- Freer Myddeltone by name,
- Hee was sent to fetch her hame,
- Yt rewed him syne full sare.
- Wyth hym tooke hee wyght men two,
- Peter of Dale was on of tho,
- Tother was Bryan of Beare;
- Thatte wele durst strike wyth swerde and knife,
- And fyght full manlie for theyr lyfe,
- What tyme as musters were.
- These three men wended at theyr wyll,
- This wickede sewe gwhyl they cam tyll,
- Liggand under a tree;
- Rugg'd and rustic was her here,
- Scho rase up wyth a felon fere,
- To fyght agen the three.
- Grizely was scho for to meete,
- Scho rave the earthe up wyth her feete,
- The barke cam fra' the tree:
- When Freer Myddeltone her saugh,
- Wete yow wele hee list not laugh,
- Full earnestful luik'd hee.
- These men of auncestors were so wight,
- They bound them bauldly for to fyght,
- And strake at her full sare;
- Until a kilne they garred her flee,
- Wolde God sende thayme the victorye,
- They wolde aske hym na maire.
- The sewe was in the kilne hoile doone,
- And they wer on the bawke aboone,
- For hurting of theyr feete;
- They wer sea sauted wyth this sewe,
- That 'mang thayme was a stalwarth stewe,
- The kilne began to reeke!
- Durst noe man nighe her wyth his hande,
- But put a rape downe wyth a wande,
- And heltered her ful meete;
- They hauled her furth agen her wyll,
- Qunyl they cam until a hille,
- A little fra the streete.
- And ther scho made thayme sike a fray,
- As, had they lived until Domesday,
- They colde yt nere forgette:
- Scho brayded upon every syde,
- And ranne on thayme gapyng ful wyde,
- For nathing wolde scho lette.
- Scho gaf sike hard braydes at the bande
- That Peter of Dale had in his hande,
- Hee myght not holde hys feete;
- Scho chased thayme sea to and fro,
- The wight men never wer sea woe,
- Ther mesure was not mete.
- Scho bound her boldly to abide,
- To Peter of Dale scho cam aside,
- Wyth mony a hideous yelle;
- Scho gaped sea wide and cryed sea hee,
- The freer sayd, 'I conjure thee,
- Thou art a fiend of helle!
- 'Thou art comed hider for sum trayne,
- I conjure thee to go agayne,
- Wher thou was wont to dwell.'
- He sained hym wyth crosse and creede,
- Tooke furth a booke, began to reade,
- In Ste Johan hys gospell.
- The sewe scho wolde not Latyne heare,
- But rudely rushed at the freer,
- That blynked all his blee;
- And when scho wolde have takken holde,
- The freer leapt as I. H. S. wolde,
- And bealed hym wyth a tree.
- Scho was brim as anie beare,
- For all their meete to laboure there,
- To thayme yt was noe boote;
- On tree and bushe that by her stode,
- Scho venged her as scho wer woode,
- And rave thayme up by roote.
- Hee sayd, 'Alas that I wer freer,
- I shal bee hugged asunder here,
- Hard is my destinie!
- Wiste my brederen, in this houre,
- That I was set in sike a stoure,
- They wolde pray for mee!'
- This wicked beaste thatte wrought the woe,
- Tooke that rape from the other two,
- And than they fledd all three;
- They fledd away by Watling streete,
- They had no succour but their feete,
- Yt was the maire pittye.
- The fielde it was both loste and wonne,
- The sewe wente hame, and thatte ful soone,
- To Morton-on-the-Greene.
- When Raphe of Rokeby saw the rape,
- He wist that there had bin debate,
- Whereat the sewe had beene.
- He bade thayme stand out of her waye,
- For scho had had a sudden fraye, -
- 'I saw never sewe sea keene,
- Some new thingis shall wee heare,
- Of her and Myddeltone the freer,
- Some battel hath ther beene.'
- But all that served him for nought, -
- Had they not better succour sought,
- They wer served therfore loe.
- Then Mistress Rokebye came anon,
- And for her brought scho meete ful soone,
- The sewe cam her untoe.
- Scho gav her meete upon the flower;
- [Scho made a bed beneath a bower,
- With moss and broom besprent;
- The sewe was gentle as mote be,
- Ne rage ne ire flashed fra her e'e,
- Scho seemed wele content.]
Fitte the Seconde
- When Freer Myddeltone com home,
- Hys breders war ful faine ilchone,
- And thanked God for hys lyfe;
- He told thayme all unto the ende,
- How hee had foughten wyth a fiende,
- And lived thro' mickle stryfe.
- 'Wee gav her battel half a daye,
- And was faine to flee awaye
- For saving of oure lyfe;
- And Peter Dale wolde never blin,
- But ran as faste as he colde rinn,
- Till he cam till hys wyfe.'
- The Warden sayde, 'I am ful woe
- That yow sholde bee torment soe,
- But wee had wyth yow beene!
- Had wee bene ther, yowr breders alle,
- Wee wolde hav garred the warlo falle,
- That wrought yow all thys teene.'
- Freer Myddeltone, he sayde soon, 'Naye,
- In faythe ye wolde hav ren awaye,
- When moste misstirre had bin;
- Ye all can speke safte wordes at home,
- The fiend wolde ding yow doone ilk on,
- An yt bee als I wene,
- Hee luik'd sea grizely al that nyght.'
- The Warden sayde, 'Yon man wol fyght
- If ye saye ought but gode,
- Yon guest hath grieved hym sea sore;
- Holde your tongues, and speake ne more,
- Hee luiks als hee wer woode.'
- The Warden waged on the morne,
- Two boldest men that ever wer borne,
- I weyne, or ere shall bee:
- Tone was Gilbert Griffin sonne,
- Ful mickle worship hadde hee wonne,
- Both by land and sea.
- Tother a bastard sonne of Spaine,
- Mony a Sarazin hadde hee slaine;
- Hys dint hadde garred thayme dye.
- Theis men the battel undertoke
- Agen the sewe, as saythe the boke,
- And sealed securitye,
- That they shold boldly bide and fyghte,
- And scomfit her in maine and myghte,
- Or therfor sholde they dye.
- The Warden sealed toe thayme againe,
- And sayde, 'If ye in fielde be slaine,
- This condition make I:
- 'Wee shall for yow praye, syng, and reade,
- Until Domesdaye wyth heartye speede,
- With al our progenie.'
- Then the lettres wer wele made,
- The bondes wer bounde wyth seales brade,
- As deeds of arms sholde bee.
- Theise men-at-arms thatte wer sea wight,
- And wyth theire armour burnished bryght,
- They went the sewe toe see.
- Scho made at thayme sike a roare,
- That for her they fear it sore,
- And almaiste bounde to flee.
- Scho cam runnyng thayme agayne,
- And saw the bastarde sonne of Spaine,
- Hee brayded owt hys brande;
- Ful spiteouslie at her hee strake,
- Yet for the fence that he colde make,
- Scho strake it fro hys hande,
- And rave asander half hys sheelde,
- And bare hym backwerde in the fielde,
- Hee mought not her gainstande.
- Scho wolde hav riven hys privich geare,
- But Gilbert wyth hys swerde of warre,
- Hee strake at her ful strang.
- In her shouther hee held the swerde;
- Than was Gilbert sore afearde,
- When the blade brak in twang.
- And whan in hande hee had her ta'en,
- Scho toke hym by the shouther bane,
- And held her hold ful faste;
- Scho strave sea stifflie in thatte stoure,
- Scho byt thro' ale hys rich armoure,
- Till bloud cam owt at laste.
- Than Gilbert grieved was sea sare,
- That hee rave off the hyde of haire;
- The flesh cam fra the bane,
- And wyth force hee held her ther,
- And wanne her worthilie in warre,
- And band her hym alane;
- And lifte her on a horse sea hee,
- Into two panyers made of a tree,
- And toe Richmond anon.
- When they sawe the felon come,
- They sange merrilye Te Deum!
- The freers evrich one.
- They thankyd God and Saynte Frauncis,
- That they had wonne the beaste of pris,
- And nere a man was sleyne:
- There never didde man more manlye,
- The Knyght Marone, or Sir Guye,
- Nor Louis of Lothraine.
- If yow wyl any more of thys,
- I' the fryarie at Richmond written yt is,
- In parchment gude and fyne,
- How Freer Myddeltone sea hende,
- Att Greta Bridge conjured a fiende,
- In lykeness of a swyne.
- Yt is wel knowen toe manie a man,
- That Freer Theobald was warden than,
- And thys fel in hys tyme.
- And Chryst thayme bles both ferre and nere,
- Al that for solas this doe here,
- And hym that made the ryme.
- Raphe of Rokeby wid ful gode wyl,
- The freers of Richmond gav her tyll,
- This sewe toe mende ther fare;
- Freer Myddeltone by name,
- He wold bring the felon hame,
- That rewed hym sine ful sare.
[This very curious old song is not only a favourite with our
peasantry, but, in consequence of having been introduced into the
modern dramatic entertainment of The Loan of a Lover, has obtained
popularity in higher circles. Its sweetly plaintive tune will be
found in Popular Music. The words are quaint, but by no means
wanting in beauty; they are, no doubt, corrupted, as we have
derived them from common broadsides, the only form in which we have
been able to meet with them. The author of the song was Mrs.
Fleetwood Habergham, of Habergham, in the county of Lancaster.
'Ruined by the extravagance, and disgraced by the vices of her
husband, she soothed her sorrows,' says Dr. Whitaker, 'by some
stanzas yet remembered among the old people of her neighbourhood.'
- History of Whalley. Mrs. Habergham died in 1703, and was buried
at Padiham.]
- I sowed the seeds of love, it was all in the spring,
- In April, May, and June, likewise, when small birds they do sing;
- My garden's well planted with flowers everywhere,
- Yet I had not the liberty to choose for myself the flower that I loved so dear.
- My gardener he stood by, I asked him to choose for me,
- He chose me the violet, the lily and pink, but those I refused all three;
- The violet I forsook, because it fades so soon,
- The lily and the pink I did o'erlook, and I vowed I'd stay till June.
- In June there's a red rose-bud, and that's the flower for me!
- But often have I plucked at the red rose-bud till I gained the willow-tree;
- The willow-tree will twist, and the willow-tree will twice, -
- O! I wish I was in the dear youth's arms that once had the heart of mine.
- My gardener he stood by, he told me to take great care,
- For in the middle of a red rose-bud there grows a sharp thorn there;
- I told him I'd take no care till I did feel the smart,
- And often I plucked at the red rose-bud till I pierced it to the heart.
- I'll make me a posy of hyssop, - no other I can touch, -
- That all the world may plainly see I love one flower too much;
- My garden is run wild! where shall I plant anew -
- For my bed, that once was covered with thyme, is all overrun with rue?
[The following old poem was long ascribed, on apparently sufficient
grounds, to the Rev. Ralph Erskine, or, as he designated himself,
'Ralph Erskine, V.D.M.' The peasantry throughout the north of
England always call it 'Erskine's song,' and not only is his name
given as the author in numerous chap-books, but in his own volume
of Gospel Sonnets, from an early copy of which our version is
transcribed. The discovery however, by Mr. Collier, of the First
Part in a MS. temp. Jac. I., with the initials G. W. affixed to it,
has disposed of Erskine's claim to the honour of the entire
authorship. G. W. is supposed to be George Withers; but this is
purely conjectural; and it is not at all improbable that G. W.
really stands for W. G., as it was a common practice amongst
anonymous writers to reverse their initials. The history, then, of
the poem, seems to be this: that the First Part, as it is now
printed, originally constituted the whole production, being
complete in itself; that the Second Part was afterwards added by
the Rev. Ralph Erskine; and that both parts came subsequently to
be ascribed to him, as his was the only name published in connexion
with the song. The Rev. Ralph Erskine was born at Monilaws,
Northumberland, on the 15th March, 1685. He was one of the thirty-
three children of Ralph Erskine of Shieldfield, a family of repute
descended from the ancient house of Marr. He was educated at the
college in Edinburgh, obtained his licence to preach in June, 1709,
and was ordained, on an unanimous invitation, over the church at
Dunfermline in August, 1711. He was twice married: in 1714 to
Margaret Dewar, daughter of the Laird of Lassodie, by whom he had
five sons and five daughters, all of whom died in the prime of
life; and in 1732 to Margaret, daughter of Mr. Simson of Edinburgh,
by whom he had four sons, one of whom, with his wife, survived him.
He died in November, 1752. Erskine was the author of a great
number of Sermons; A Paraphrase on the Canticles; Scripture Songs;
A Treatise on Mental Images; and Gospel SOnnets.
Smoking Spriritualized is, at the present day, a standard
publication with modern ballad-printers, but their copies are
exceedingly corrupt. Many versions and paraphrases of the song
exist. Several are referred to in Notes and Queries, and, amongst
them, a broadside of the date of 1670, and another dated 1672 (both
printed before Erskine was born), presenting different readings of
the First Part, or original poem. In both these the burthen, or
refrain, differs from that of our copy by the employment of the
expression 'drink', instead of 'smoke tobacco.' The former
was the ancient term for drawing in the smoke, swallowing it, and
emitting it through the nostrils. A correspondent of Notes and
Queries says, that the natives of India to this day use the phrase
'hooka peue,' to drink the hooka.]
Part I
- This Indian weed, now withered quite,
- Though green at noon, cut down at night,
- Shows thy decay;
- All flesh is hay:
- Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
- The pipe so lily-like and weak,
- Does thus thy mortal state bespeak;
- Thou art e'en such, -
- Gone with a touch:
- Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
- And when the smoke ascends on high,
- Then thou behold'st the vanity
- Of worldly stuff,
- Gone with a puff:
- Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
- And when the pipe grows foul within,
- Think on thy soul defiled with sin;
- For then the fire
- It does require:
- Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
- And seest the ashes cast away,
- Then to thyself thou mayest say,
- That to the dust
- Return thou must.
- Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
Part II
- Was this small plant for thee cut down?
- So was the plant of great renown,
- Which Mercy sends
- For nobler ends.
- Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
- Doth juice medicinal proceed
- From such a naughty foreign weed?
- Then what's the power
- Of Jesse's flower?
- Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
- The promise, like the pipe, inlays,
- And by the mouth of faith conveys,
- What virtue flows
- From Sharon's rose.
- Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
- In vain the unlighted pipe you blow,
- Your pains in outward means are so,
- Till heavenly fire
- Your heart inspire.
- Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
- The smoke, like burning incense, towers,
- So should a praying heart of yours,
- With ardent cries,
- Surmount the skies.
- Thus think, and smoke tobacco.
[This following song, which is very popular with the peasantry of
Somersetshire, is given as a curious specimen of the dialect still
spoken in some parts of that county. Though the song is a genuine
peasant's ditty, it is heard in other circles, and frequently
roared out at hunting dinners. It is here reprinted from a copy
communicated by Mr. Sandys.]
- There's no pleasures can compare
- Wi' the hunting o' the hare,
- In the morning, in the morning,
- In fine and pleasant weather.
- Cho. With our hosses and our hounds,
- We will scamps it o'er the grounds,
- And sing traro, huzza!
- And sing traro, huzza!
- And sing traro, brave boys, we will foller.
- And when poor puss arise,
- Then away from us she flies;
- And we'll gives her, boys, we'll gives her,
- One thundering and loud holler!
- Cho. With our hosses, &c.
- And when poor puss is killed,
- We'll retires from the field;
- And we'll count boys, and we'll count
- On the same good ren to-morrer.
- Cho. With our hosses and our hounds, &c.
[This song is ancient, but we have no means of ascertaining at what
period it was written. Captain Marryat, in his novel of Poor Jack,
introduces it, and says it is OLD. It is a general favourite. The
air is plaintive, and in the minor key. See Popular Music.]
- Farewell, and adieu to you Spanish ladies,
- Farewell, and adieu to you ladies of Spain!
- For we've received orders for to sail for old England,
- But we hope in a short time to see you again.
- We'll rant and we'll roar like true British heroes,
- We'll rant and we'll roar across the salt seas,
- Until we strike soundings in the channel of old England;
- From Ushant to Scilly is thirty-five leagues.
- Then we hove our ship to, with the wind at sou'-west, boys,
- We hove our ship to, for to strike soundings clear;
- We got soundings in ninety-five fathom, and boldly
- Up the channel of old England our course we did steer.
- The first land we made it was called the Deadman,
- Next, Ram'shead off Plymouth, Start, Portland, and Wight;
- We passed by Beachy, by Fairleigh, and Dungeness,
- And hove our ship to, off the South Foreland light.
- Then a signal was made for the grand fleet to anchor
- All in the Downs, that night for to sleep;
- Then stand by your stoppers, let go your shank-painters,
- Haul all your clew-garnets, stick out tacks and sheets.
- So let every man toss off a full bumper,
- Let every man toss off his full bowls;
- We'll drink and be jolly, and drown melancholy,
- So here's a good health to all true-hearted souls!
[In no part of England are the harvest-homes kept up with greater
spirit than in Suffolk. The following old song is a general
favourite on such occasions.]
- Here's a health unto our master,
- The founder of the feast!
- I wish, with all my heart and soul,
- In heaven he may find rest.
- I hope all things may prosper,
- That ever be takes in hand;
- For we are all his servants,
- And all at his command.
- Drink, boys, drink, and see you do not spill,
- For if you do, you must drink two, - it is your master's will.
- Now our harvest is ended,
- And supper is past;
- Here's our mistress' good health,
- In a full flowing glass!
- She is a good woman, -
- She prepared us good cheer;
- Come, all my brave boys,
- And drink off your beer.
- Drink, my boys, drink till you come unto me,
- The longer we sit, my boys, the merrier shall we be!
- In yon green wood there lies an old fox,
- Close by his den you may catch him, or no;
- Ten thousand to one you catch him, or no.
- His beard and his brush are all of one colour, -
- [takes the glass and empties it off...]
- I am sorry, kind sir, that your glass is no fuller.
- 'Tis down the red lane! 'tis down the red lane!
- So merrily hunt the fox down the red lane!
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Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs