Jone o' Greenfield's Ramble

Says Jone to his wife, on a hot summer's day,

'I'm resolved i' Grinfilt no lunger to stay;

For I'll go to Owdham os fast os I can,

So fare thee weel, Grinfilt, un fare thee weel, Nan;

A soger I'll be, un brave Owdham I'll see,

Un I'll ha'e a battle wi' th' French.'

'Dear Jone,' then said Nan, un hoo bitterly cried,

Wilt be one o' th' foote, or tha meons to ride?'

'Odsounds! wench, I'll ride oather ass or a mule,

Ere I'll kewer i' Grinfilt os black as te dule,

Booath clemmink un starvink, un never a fardink,

Ecod! it would drive ony mon mad.

'Aye, Jone, sin' wi' coom i' Grinfilt for t' dwell,

We'n had mony a bare meal, I con vara weel tell.'

'Bare meal! ecod! aye, that I vara weel know,

There's bin two days this wick ot we'n had nowt at o:

I'm vara near sided, afore I'll abide it,

I'll feight oather Spanish or French.'

Then says my Aunt Marget, 'Ah! Jone, thee'rt so hot,

I'd ne'er go to Owdham, boh i' Englond I'd stop.'

'It matters nowt, Madge, for to Owdham I'll go,

I'll naw clam to deeoth, boh sumbry shalt know:

Furst Frenchman I find, I'll tell him meh mind,

Un if he'll naw feight, he shall run.'

Then down th' broo I coom, for we livent at top,

I thowt I'd reach Owdharn ere ever I'd stop;

Ecod! heaw they stared when I getten to th' Mumps,

Meh owd hat i' my hond, un meh clogs full o'stumps;

Boh I soon towd um, I'r gooink to Owdham,

Un I'd ha'e battle wi' th' French.

I kept eendway thro' th' lone, un to Owdham I went,

I ask'd a recruit if te'd made up their keawnt?

'No, no, honest lad' (for he tawked like a king),

'Go wi' meh thro' the street, un thee I will bring

Where, if theaw'rt willink, theaw may ha'e a shillink.'

Ecod! I thowt this wur rare news.

He browt me to th' pleck where te measurn their height,

Un if they bin height, there's nowt said about weight;

I retched me, un stretched me, un never did flinch,

Says th' mon, 'I believe theaw 'rt meh lad to an inch.'

I thowt this'll do, I'st ha'e guineas enow,

Ecod! Owdham, brave Owdham for me.

So fare thee weel, Grinfilt, a soger I'm made,

I'n getten new shoon, un a rare cockade;

I'll feight for Owd Englond os hard os I con,

Oather French, Dutch, or Spanish, to me it's o one,

I'll make 'em to stare like a new-started hare,

Un I'll tell 'em fro' Owdham I coom.

The Jovial Hunter of Bromsgrove; or, The Old Man and His Three Sons (Traditional)

There comes an old man and his three sons,

I could match this beginning with an old tale. - i. 2.

Whether The Jovial Hunter belongs to either Worcestershire or Warwickshire is rather questionable. The probability is that it is a north country ballad connected with the family of Bolton, of Bolton, in Wensleydale. A tomb, said to be that of Sir Ryalas Bolton, the Jovail Hunter, is shown in Bromsgrove church, Worcestershire; but there is no evidence beyond tradition to connect it with the name or deeds of any 'Bolton;' indeed it is well known that the tomb belongs to a family of another name. In the following version are preserved some of the peculiarities of the Worcestershire dialect.]

Old Sir Robert Bolton had three sons,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter;

And one of them was Sir Ryalas,

For he was a jovial hunter.

He ranged all round down by the wood side,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter,

Till in a tree-top a gay lady he spied,

For he was a jovial hunter.

'Oh, what dost thee mean, fair lady,' said he,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter;

'The wild boar's killed my lord, and has thirty men gored,

And thou beest a jovial hunter.'

'Oh, what shall I do this wild boar for to see?'

Wind well thy horn, good hunter;

'Oh, thee blow a blast and he'll come unto thee,

As thou beest a jovial hunter.'

Then he blowed a blast, full north, east, west, and south,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter;

And the wild boar then heard him full in his den,

As he was a jovial hunter.

Then he made the best of his speed unto him,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter;

Swift flew the boar, with his tusks smeared with gore,

To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.

Then the wild boar, being so stout and so strong,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter;

Thrashed down the trees as he ramped him along,

To Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.

'Oh, what dost thee want of me?' wild boar, said he,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter;

'Oh, I think in my heart I can do enough for thee,

For I am the jovial hunter.'

Then they fought four hours in a long summer day,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter;

Till the wild boar fain would have got him away

From Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.

Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword with might,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter;

And he fairly cut the boar's head off quite,

For he was a jovial hunter.

Then out of the wood the wild woman flew,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter;

'Oh, my pretty spotted pig thou hast slew,

For thou beest a jovial hunter.

'There are three things, I demand them of thee,'

Wind well thy horn, good hunter;

'It's thy horn, and thy hound, and thy gay lady,

As thou beest a jovial hunter.'

'If these three things thou dost ask of me,'

Wind well thy horn, good hunter;

'It's just as my sword and thy neck can agree,

For I am a jovial hunter.'

Then into his long locks the wild woman flew,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter;

Till she thought in her heart to tear him through,

Though he was a jovial hunter.

Then Sir Ryalas drawed his broad sword again,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter,

And he fairly split her head into twain,

For he was a jovial hunter.

In Bromsgrove church, the knight he doth lie,

Wind well thy horn, good hunter;

And the wild boar's head is pictured thereby,

Sir Ryalas, the jovial hunter.

The Keach i' the Creel

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 lass,

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.'

The auld wife being not asleep,

Then something mair was said;

'I'll lay my life,' quo' the silly auld wife,

'There's a man by our dochter's bed, bed;

There's a man by our dochter's bed.'

The auld wife she gat owre the bed,

To see if the thing was true;

But what the wrack took the auld wife's fit?

For into the creel she flew, flew;

For into the creel she flew.

The man that was at the chimley-top,

Finding the creel was fu',

He wrappit the rape round his left shouther,

And fast to him he drew, drew:

And fast to him he drew.

'O, help! O, help! O, hinny, noo, help!

O, help! O, hinny, do!

For him that ye aye wished me at,

He's carryin' me off just noo, noo;

He's carryin' me off just noo.'

'O! if the foul thief's gotten ye,

I wish he may keep his haud;

For a' the lee lang winter nicht,

Ye'll never lie in your bed, bed;

Ye'll never lie in your bed.'

He's towed her up, he's towed her down,

He's towed her through an' through;

'O, Gude! assist,' quo' the silly auld wife,

'For I'm just departin' noo, noo;

For I'm just departin' noo.'

He's towed her up, he's towed her down,

He's gien her a richt down fa',

Till every rib i' the auld wife's side,

Played nick nack on the wa', wa';

Played nick nack on the wa'.

O! the blue, the bonny, bonny blue,

And I wish the blue may do weel;

And every auld wife that's sae jealous o' her dochter,

May she get a good keach i' the creel, creel;

May she get a good keach i' the creel!

---

The Beautiful Lady of Kent; or, The Seaman of Dover

[We have met with two copies of this genuine English ballad; the older one is without printer's name, but from the appearance of the type and the paper, it must have been published about the middle of the last century. It is certainly not one of the original impressions, for the other copy, though of recent date, has evidently been taken from some still older and better edition. In the modern broadside the ballad is in four parts, whereas, in our older one, there is no such expressed division, but a word at the commencement of each part is printed in capital letters.]

Part I

A Seaman of Dover, whose excellent parts,

For wisdom and learning, had conquered the hearts

Of many young damsels, of beauty so bright,

Of him this new ditty in brief I shall write;

And show of his turnings, and windings of fate,

His passions and sorrows, so many and great:

And how he was blessed with true love at last,

When all the rough storms of his troubles were past.

Now, to be brief, I shall tell you the truth:

A beautiful lady, whose name it was Ruth,

A squire's young daughter, near Sandwich, in Kent,

Proves all his heart's treasure, his joy and content.

Unknown to their parents in private they meet,

Where many love lessons they'd often repeat,

With kisses, and many embraces likewise,

She granted him love, and thus gained the prize.

She said, 'I consent to be thy sweet bride,

Whatever becomes of my fortune,' she cried.

'The frowns of my father I never will fear,

But freely will go through the world with my dear.'

A jewel he gave her, in token of love,

And vowed, by the sacred powers above,

To wed the next morning; but they were betrayed,

And all by the means of a treacherous maid.

She told her parents that they were agreed:

With that they fell into a passion with speed,

And said, ere a seaman their daughter should have,

They rather would follow her corpse to the grave.

The lady was straight to her chamber confined,

Here long she continued in sorrow of mind,

And so did her love, for the loss of his dear, -

No sorrow was ever so sharp and severe.

When long he had mourned for his love and delight,

Close under the window he came in the night,

And sung forth this ditty:- 'My dearest, farewell!

Behold, in this nation no longer I dwell.

'I am going from hence to the kingdom of Spain,

Because I am willing that you should obtain

Your freedom once more; for my heart it will break

If longer thou liest confined for my sake.'

The words which he uttered, they caused her to weep;

Yet, nevertheless, she was forced to keep

Deep silence that minute, that minute for fear

Her honoured father and mother should hear.

Part II

Soon after, bold Henry he entered on board,

The heavens a prosperous gale did afford,

And brought him with speed to the kingdom of Spain,

There he with a merchant some time did remain;

Who, finding that he was both faithful and just,

Preferred him to places of honour and trust;

He made him as great as his heart could request,

Yet, wanting his Ruth, he with grief was oppressed.

So great was his grief it could not be concealed,

Both honour and riches no pleasure could yield;

In private he often would weep and lament,

For Ruth, the fair, beautiful lady of Kent.

Now, while he lamented the loss of his dear,

A lady of Spain did before him appear,

Bedecked with rich jewels both costly and gay,

Who earnestly sought for his favour that day.

Said she, 'Gentle swain, I am wounded with love,

And you are the person I honour above

The greatest of nobles that ever was born; -

Then pity my tears, and my sorrowful mourn!'

'I pity thy sorrowful tears,' he replied,

'And wish I were worthy to make thee my bride;

But, lady, thy grandeur is greater than mine,

Therefore, I am fearful my heart to resign.'

'O! never be doubtful of what will ensue,

No manner of danger will happen to you;

At my own disposal I am, I declare,

Receive me with love, or destroy me with care.'

'Dear madam, don't fix your affection on me,

You are fit for some lord of a noble degree,

That is able to keep up your honour and fame;

I am but a poor sailor, from England who came.

'A man of mean fortune, whose substance is small,

I have not wherewith to maintain you withal,

Sweet lady, according to honour and state;

Now this is the truth, which I freely relate.'

The lady she lovingly squeezed his hand,

And said with a smile, 'Ever blessed be the land

That bred such a noble, brave seaman as thee;

I value no honours, thou'rt welcome to me;

'My parents are dead, I have jewels untold,

Besides in possession a million of gold;

And thou shalt be lord of whatever I have,

Grant me but thy love, which I earnestly crave.'

Then, turning aside, to himself he replied,

'I am courted with riches and beauty beside;

This love I may have, but my Ruth is denied.'

Wherefore he consented to make her his bride.

The lady she clothed him costly and great;

His noble deportment, both proper and straight,

So charmed the innocent eye of his dove,

And added a second new flame to her love.

Then married they were without longer delay;

Now here we will leave them both glorious and gay,

To speak of fair Ruth, who in sorrow was left

At home with her parents, of comfort bereft.

Part III

When under the window with an aching heart,

He told his fair Ruth he so soon must depart,

Her parents they heard, and well pleased they were,

But Ruth was afflicted with sorrow and care.

Now, after her lover had quitted the shore,

They kept her confined a full twelvemonth or more,

And then they were pleased to set her at large,

With laying upon her a wonderful charge:

To fly from a seaman as she would from death;

She promised she would, with a faltering breath;

Yet, nevertheless, the truth you shall hear,

She found out a way for to follow her dear.

Then, taking her gold and her silver also,

In seaman's apparel away she did go,

And found out a master, with whom she agreed,

To carry her over the ocean with speed.

Now, when she arrived at the kingdom of Spain,

From city to city she travelled amain,

Enquiring about everywhere for her love,

Who now had been gone seven years and above.

In Cadiz, as she walked along in the street,

Her love and his lady she happened to meet,

But in such a garb as she never had seen, -

She looked like an angel, or beautiful queen.

With sorrowful tears she turned her aside:

'My jewel is gone, I shall ne'er be his bride;

But, nevertheless, though my hopes are in vain,

I'll never return to old England again.

'But here, in this place, I will now be confined;

It will be a comfort and joy to my mind,

To see him sometimes, though he thinks not of me,

Since he has a lady of noble degree.'

Now, while in the city fair Ruth did reside,

Of a sudden this beautiful lady she died,

And, though he was in the possession of all,

Yet tears from his eyes in abundance did fall.

As he was expressing his piteous moan,

Fair Ruth came unto him, and made herself known;

He started to see her, but seemed not coy,

Said he, 'Now my sorrows are mingled with joy!'

The time of the mourning he kept it in Spain,

And then he came back to old England again,

With thousands, and thousands, which he did possess;

Then glorious and gay was sweet Ruth in her dress.

Part IV

When over the seas to fair Sandwich he came,

With Ruth, and a number of persons of fame,

Then all did appear most splendid and gay,

As if it had been a great festival day.

Now, when that they took up their lodgings, behold!

He stripped off his coat of embroidered gold,

And presently borrows a mariner's suit,

That he with her parents might have some dispute,

Before they were sensible he was so great;

And when he came in and knocked at the gate,

He soon saw her father, and mother likewise,

Expressing their sorrow with tears in their eyes,

To them, with obeisance, he modestly said,

'Pray where is my jewel, that innocent maid,

Whose sweet lovely beauty doth thousands excel?

I fear, by your weeping, that all is not well!'

'No, no! she is gone, she is utterly lost;

We have not heard of her a twelvemonth at most!

Which makes us distracted with sorrow and care,

And drowns us in tears at the point of despair.'

'I'm grieved to hear these sad tidings,' he cried.

'Alas! honest young man,' her father replied,

'I heartily wish she'd been wedded to you,

For then we this sorrow had never gone through.'

Sweet Henry he made them this answer again;

'I am newly come home from the kingdom of Spain,

From whence I have brought me a beautiful bride,

And am to be married to-morrow,' he cried;

'And if you will go to my wedding,' said he,

'Both you and your lady right welcome shall be.'

They promised they would, and accordingly came,

Not thinking to meet with such persons of fame.

All decked with their jewels of rubies and pearls,

As equal companions of lords and of earls,

Fair Ruth, with her love, was as gay as the rest,

So they in their marriage were happily blessed.

Now, as they returned from the church to an inn,

The father and mother of Ruth did begin

Their daughter to know, by a mole they behold,

Although she was clothed in a garment of gold.

With transports of joy they flew to the bride,

'O! where hast thou been, sweetest daughter?' they cried,

'Thy tedious absence has grieved us sore,

As fearing, alas! we should see thee no more.'

'Dear parents,' said she, 'many hazards I run,

To fetch home my love, and your dutiful son;

Receive him with joy, for 'tis very well known,

He seeks not your wealth, he's enough of his own.'

Her father replied, and he merrily smiled,

'He's brought home enough, as he's brought home my child;

A thousand times welcome you are, I declare,

Whose presence disperses both sorrow and care.'

Full seven long days in feasting they spent;

The bells in the steeple they merrily went,

And many fair pounds were bestowed on the poor, -

The like of this wedding was never before!

---

The King and the Countryman

[This popular favourite is a mere abridgment and alteration of a poem preserved in the Roxburgh Collection, called The King and Northern Man, Shewing How a Poor Northumberland Man (Tenant to the King) Being Wronged by a Lawyer (His Neighbour) Went to the King Himself to Make Known His Grievance. To the tune of Slut. Printed by and for Alex. Melbourne, at the Stationer's Arms in Green Arbour Court, in the Little Old Baily. The Percy Society printed The King and Northern Man from an edition published in 1640. There is also a copy preserved in the Bagford Collection, which is one of the imprints of W. Onley. The edition of 1640 has the initials of Martin Parker at the end, but, as Mr. Collier observes, 'There is little doubt that the story is much older than 1640.' See preface to Percy Society's Edition.]

There was an old chap in the west country,

A flaw in the lease the lawyers had found,

'Twas all about felling of five oak trees,

And building a house upon his own ground.

Right too looral, looral, looral - right too looral la!

Now, this old chap to Lunnun would go,

To tell the king a part of his woe,

Likewise to tell him a part of his grief,

In hopes the king would give him relief.

Now, when this old chap to Lunnun had come,

He found the king to Windsor had gone;

But if he'd known he'd not been at home,

He danged his buttons if ever he'd come.

Now, when this old chap to Windsor did stump,

The gates were barred, and all secure,

But he knocked and thumped with his oaken clump,

There's room within for I to be sure.

But when he got there, how he did stare,

To see the yeomen strutting about;

He scratched his head, and rubbed down his hair,

In the ear of a noble he gave a great shout:

'Pray, Mr. Noble, show I the King;

Is that the King that I see there?

I seed an old chap at Bartlemy fair

Look more like a king than that chap there.

'Well, Mr. King, pray how d'ye do?

I gotten for you a bit of a job,

Which if you'll be so kind as to do,

I gotten a summat for you in my fob.'

The king he took the lease in hand,

To sign it, too, he was likewise willing;

And the old chap to make a little amends,

He lugg'd out his bag, and gave him a shilling.

The king, to carry on the joke,

Ordered ten pounds to be paid down;

The farmer he stared, but nothing spoke,

And stared again, and he scratched his crown.

The farmer he stared to see so much money,

And to take it up he was likewise willing;

But if he'd a known King had got so much money,

He danged his wig if he'd gien him that shilling!

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