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Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England edited
by Robert Bell. 1857 John W. Parker and Son edition. Scanned and
proofed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
***
Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England.
Taken down from oral recitation and transcribed from private
manuscripts, rare broadsides and scarce publications.
INTRODUCTION.
IN 1846, the Percy Society issued to its members a volume entitled
ANCIENT POEMS, BALLADS, AND SONGS OF THE PEASANTRY OF ENGLAND,
edited by Mr. James Henry Dixon. The sources drawn upon by Mr.
Dixon are intimated in the following extract from his preface:-
He who, in travelling through the rural districts of England, has
made the road-side inn his resting-place, who has visited the lowly
dwellings of the villagers and yeomanry, and been present at their
feasts and festivals, must have observed that there are certain old
poems, ballads, and songs, which are favourites with the masses,
and have been said and sung from generation to generation.
This traditional, and, for the most part, unprinted literature, -
cherished in remote villages, resisting everywhere the invasion of
modern namby-pamby verse and jaunty melody, and possessing, in an
historical point of view, especial value as a faithful record of
the feeling, usages, and modes of life of the rural population, -
had been almost wholly passed over amongst the antiquarian revivals
which constitute one of the distinguishing features of the present
age. While attention was successfully drawn to other forms of our
early poetry, this peasant minstrelsy was scarcely touched, and
might be considered unexplored ground. There was great difficulty
in collecting materials which lay scattered so widely, and which
could be procured in their genuine simplicity only from the people
amongst whom they originated, and with whom they are as 'familiar
as household words.' It was even still more difficult to find an
editor who combined genial literary taste with the local knowledge
of character, customs, and dialect, indispensable to the collation
of such reliques; and thus, although their national interest was
universally recognised, they were silently permitted to fall into
comparative oblivion. To supply this manifest DESIDERATUM, Mr.
Dixon compiled his volume for the Percy Society; and its pages,
embracing only a selection from the rich stores he had gathered,
abundantly exemplified that gentleman's remarkable qualifications
for the labour he had undertaken. After stating in his preface
that contributions from various quarters had accumulated so largely
on his hands as to compel him to omit many pieces he was desirous
of preserving, he thus describes generally the contents of the
work:-
In what we have retained will be found every variety,
'From grave to gay, from lively to severe,'
from the moral poem and the religious dialogue, -
'The scrolls that teach us to live and to die,' -
to the legendary, the historical, or the domestic ballad; from the
strains that enliven the harvest-home and festival, to the love-
ditties which the country lass warbles, or the comic song with
which the rustic sets the village hostel in a roar. In our
collection are several pieces exceedingly scarce, and hitherto to
be met with only in broadsides and chap-books of the utmost rarity;
in addition to which we have given several others never before in
print, and obtained by the editor and his friends, either from the
oral recitation of the peasantry, or from manuscripts in the
possession of private individuals.
The novelty of the matter, and the copious resources disclosed by
the editor, acquired for the volume a popularity extending far
beyond the limited circle to which it was addressed; and although
the edition was necessarily restricted to the members of the Percy
Society, the book was quoted not only by English writers, but by
some of the most distinguished archaeologists on the continent.
It had always been my intention to form a collection of local
songs, illustrative of popular festivals, customs, manners, and
dialects. As the merit of having anticipated, and, in a great
measure, accomplished this project belongs exclusively to Mr.
Dixon, so to that gentleman I have now the pleasure of tendering my
acknowledgments for the means of enriching the Annotated Edition of
the English Poets with a volume which, in some respects, is the
most curious and interesting of the series.
Subsequently to the publication of his collection by the Percy
Society, Mr. Dixon had amassed additional materials of great value;
and, conscious that the work admitted of considerable improvement,
both in the way of omission and augmentation, he resolved upon the
preparation of a new edition. His reasons for rejecting certain
portions of the former volume are stated in the following extract
from a communication with which he has obliged me, and which may be
considered as his own introduction to the ensuing pages.
The editor had passed his earliest years in a romantic mountain-
district in the North of England, where old customs and manners,
and old songs and ballads still linger. Under the influence of
these associations, he imbibed a passionate love for peasant
rhymes; having little notion at that time that the simple
minstrelsy which afforded him so much delight could yield hardly
less pleasure to those who cultivated more artificial modes of
poetry, and who knew little of the life of the peasantry. His
collection was not issued without diffidence; but the result
dissipated all apprehension as to the estimate in which these
essentially popular productions are held. The reception of the
book, indeed, far exceeded its merits; for he is bound in candour
to say that it was neither so complete nor so judiciously selected
as it might have been. Like almost all books issued by societies,
it was got up in haste, and hurried through the press. It
contained some things which were out of place in such a work, but
which were inserted upon solicitations that could not have been
very easily refused; and even where the matter was unexceptionable,
it sometimes happened that it was printed from comparatively modern
broadsides, for want of time to consult earlier editions. In the
interval which has since elapsed, all these defects and short-
comings have been remedied. Several pieces, which had no
legitimate claims to the places they occupied, have been removed;
others have been collated with more ancient copies than the editor
had had access to previously; and the whole work has been
considerably enlarged. In its present form it is strictly what its
title-page implies - a collection of poems, ballads, and songs
preserved by tradition, and in actual circulation, amongst the
peasantry.
BEX, CANTON DE VAUD.
SWITZERLAND.
The present volume differs in many important particulars from the
former, of the deficiencies of which Mr. Dixon makes so frank an
avowal. It has not only undergone a careful revision, but has
received additions to an extent which renders it almost a new work.
Many of there accessions are taken from extremely rare originals,
and others are here printed for the first time, including amongst
the latter the ballad of EARL BRAND, a traditional lyric of great
antiquity, long familiar to the dales of the North of England; and
the DEATH OF QUEEN JANE, a relic of more than ordinary intesest.
Nearly forty songs, noted down from recitation, or gathered from
sources not generally accessible, have been added to the former
collection, illustrative, for the most part, of historical events,
country pastimes, and local customs. Not the least suggestive
feature in this department are the political songs it contains,
which have long outlived the occasions that gave them birth, and
which still retain their popularity, although their allusions are
no longer understood. Amongst this class of songs may be specially
indicated JACK AND TOM, JOAN'S ALE WAS NEW, GEORGE RIDLER'S OVEN,
and THE CARRION CROW. The songs of a strictly rural character,
having reference to the occupations and intercourse of the people,
possess an interest which cannot be adequately measured by their
poetical pretensions. The very defects of art with which they are
chargeable, constitute their highest claim to consideration as
authentic specimens of country lore. The songs in praise of the
dairy, or the plough; or in celebration of the harvest-home, or the
churn-supper; or descriptive of the pleasures of the milk-maid, or
the courtship in the farm-house; or those that give us glimpses of
the ways of life of the waggoner, the poacher, the horse-dealer,
and the boon companion of the road-side hostelrie, are no less
curious for their idiomatic and primitive forms of expression, than
for their pictures of rustic modes and manners. Of special
interest, too, are the songs which relate to festival and customs;
such as the SWORD DANCER'S SONG AND INTERLUDE, the SWEARING-IN
SONG, OR RHYME, AT HIGHGATE, the CORNISH MIDSUMMER BONFIRE SONG,
and the FAIRLOP FAIR SONG.
In the arrangement of so multifarious an anthology, gathered from
nearly all parts of the kingdom, the observance of chronological
order, for obvious reasons, has not been attempted; but pieces
which possess any kind of affinity to each other have been kept
together as nearly as other considerations would permit.
The value of this volume consists in the genuineness of its
contents, and the healthiness of its tone. While fashionable life
was masquerading in imaginary Arcadias, and deluging theatres and
concert rooms with shams, the English peasant remained true to the
realities of his own experience, and produced and sang songs which
faithfully reflected the actual life around him. Whatever these
songs describe is true to that life. There are no fictitious
raptures in them. Love here never dresses its emotions in
artificial images, nor disguises itself in the mask of a Strephon
or a Daphne. It is in this particular aspect that the poetry of
the country possesses a permanent and moral interest.
R. B.
ANCIENT POEMS, BALLADS, AND SONGS OF THE PEASANTRY.
Contents
Poems:
The plain-dealing man.
The vanities of life.
The life and age of man.
The young man's wish.
The midnight messenger; or, a sudden call from an earthly glory to
the cold grave.
A dialogue betwixt an exciseman and death.
The messenger of mortality; or life and death contrasted in a
dialogue betwixt death and a lady.
England's alarm; or the pious christian's speedy call to repentance
Smoking spiritualized.
The masonic hymn.
God speed the plow, and bless the corn-mow. A dialogue between the
husbandman and servingman.
A dialogue between the husbandman and the servingman.
The Catholick.
The three knights.
The blind beggar of Bednall Green.
Ballads:
The bold pedlar and Robin Hood.
The outlandish knight.
Lord Delaware.
Lord Bateman.
The golden glove; or, the squire of tamworth.
King James I. And the tinkler.
The Keach i' the Creel.
The Merry Broomfield; or, the west country wager.
Sir John Barleycorn.
Blow the winds, i-ho!
The beautiful lady of Kent; or, the seaman of Dover.
The Berkshire lady's garland.
The nobleman's generous kindness.
The drunkard's legacy.
The Bowes tragedy.
The crafty lover; or, the lawyer outwitted.
The death of Queen Jane.
The wandering young gentlewoman; or, Catskin.
The brave Earl Brand and the King of England's Daughter.
The Jovial Hunter of Bromsgrove; or, the old man and his three
sons.
Lady Alice.
The felon sewe of rokeby and the freeres of Richmond.
Arthur o'Bradley's wedding.
The painful plough.
The useful plow; or, the plough's praise.
The farmer's son.
The farmer's boy.
Richard of Taunton Dean; or, dumble dum deary.
Wooing song of a yeoman of Kent's sonne.
The clown's courtship.
Harry's courtship.
Harvest-home song.
Harvest-home.
The mow.
The barley-mow song.
The barley-mow song. (Suffolk version.)
The craven churn-supper song.
The rural dance about the may-pole.
The Hitchin may-day song.
The Helstone furry-day song.
Cornish midsummer bonfire song.
Suffolk harvest-home song.
The haymaker's song.
The sword-dancers' song.
The sword-dancers' song and interlude.
The maskers' song.
Gloucestershire wassailers' song.
The mummers' song; or, the poor old horse.
Fragment of the hagmena song.
The greenside wakes song.
The swearing-in song or rhyme.
Fairlop fair song.
As Tom was a-walking.
The miller and his sons.
Jack and Tom.
Joan's ale was new.
George Ridler's oven.
The carrion crow.
The leathern bottel.
The farmer's old wife.
Old Wichet and his wife.
The Jolly Waggoner.
The Yorkshire horse-dealer.
The King and the countryman.
Jone o' Greenfield's ramble.
Thornehagh-moor woods.
The Lincolnshire poacher.
Somersetshire hunting song.
The trotting horse.
The seeds of love.
The garden-gate.
The new-mown hay.
The praise of a dairy.
The milk-maid's life.
The milking-pail.
The summer's morning.
Old Adam.
Tobacco.
The Spanish Ladies.
Harry the Tailor.
Sir Arthur and Charming Mollee.
There was an old man came over the lea.
Why should we quarrel for riches.
The merry fellows; or, he that will not merry, merry be.
The old man's song.
Robin Hood's hill.
Begone dull care.
Full merrily sings the cuckoo.
Jockey to the fair.
Long Preston Peg.
The sweet nightingale; or, down in those valleys below.
The old man and his three sons.
A begging we will go.
Poem: THE PLAIN-DEALING MAN.
[THE oldest copy of the PLAIN DEALING MAN with which we have been
able to meet is in black letter, printed by T. Vere at the sign 'Of
the Angel without Newgate.' Vere was living in 1609.]
A CROTCHET comes into my mind
Concerning a proverb of old,
Plain dealing's a jewel most rare,
And more precious than silver or gold:
And therefore with patience give ear,
And listen to what here is penned,
These verses were written on purpose
The honest man's cause to defend.
For this I will make it appear,
And prove by experience I can,
'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world
To be a plain-dealing man.
Yet some are so impudent grown,
They'll domineer, vapour, and swagger,
And say that the plain-dealing man
Was born to die a beggar:
But men that are honestly given
Do such evil actions detest,
And every one that is well-minded
Will say that plain dealing is best.
For this I will make it appear,
And prove by experience I can,
'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world
To be a plain-dealing man.
For my part I am a poor man,
And sometimes scarce muster a shilling,
Yet to live upright in the world,
Heaven knows I am wondrous willing.
Although that my clothes be threadbare,
And my calling be simple and poor,
Yet will I endeavour myself
To keep off the wolf from the door.
For this I will make it appear,
And prove by experience I can,
'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world
To be a plain-dealing man.
And now, to be brief in discourse,
In plain terms I'll tell you my mind;
My qualities you shall all know,
And to what my humour's inclined:
I hate all dissembling base knaves
And pickthanks whoever they be,
And for painted-faced drabs, and such like,
They shall never get penny of me.
For this I will make it appear,
And prove by experience I can,
'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world
To be a plain-dealing man.
Nor can I abide any tongues
That will prattle and prate against reason,
About that which doth not concern them;
Which thing is no better than treason.
Wherefore I'd wish all that do hear me
Not to meddle with matters of state,
Lest they be in question called for it,
And repent them when it is too late.
For this I will make it appear,
And prove by experience I can,
'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world
To be a plain-dealing man.
O fie upon spiteful neighbours,
Whose malicious humours are bent,
And do practise and strive every day
To wrong the poor innocent.
By means of such persons as they,
There hath many a good mother's son
Been utterly brought to decay,
Their wives and their children undone.
For this I will make it appear,
And prove by experience I can,
'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world
To be a plain-dealing man.
O fie upon forsworn knaves,
That do no conscience make
To swear and forswear themselves
At every third word they do speak:
So they may get profit and gain,
They care not what lies they do tell;
Such cursed dissemblers as they
Are worse than the devils of hell.
For this I will make it appear,
And prove by experience I can,
'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world
To be a plain-dealing man.
O fie upon greedy bribe takers,
'Tis pity they ever drew breath,
For they, like to base caterpillars,
Devour up the fruits of the earth.
They're apt to take money with both hands,
On one side and also the other,
And care not what men they undo,
Though it be their own father or brother.
Therefore I will make it appear,
And show very good reasons I can,
'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world
To be a plain-dealing man.
O fie upon cheaters and thieves,
That liveth by fraud and deceit;
The gallows do for such blades groan,
And the hangmen do for their clothes wait.
Though poverty be a disgrace,
And want is a pitiful grief,
'Tis better to go like a beggar
Than to ride in a cart like a thief.
For this I will make it appear,
And prove by experience I can,
'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world
To be a plain-dealing man.
And now let all honest men judge,
If such men as I have here named
For their wicked and impudent dealings,
Deserveth not much to be blamed.
And now here, before I conclude,
One item to the world I will give,
Which may direct some the right way,
And teach them the better to live.
For now I have made it appear,
And many men witness it can,
'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world
To be a plain-dealing man.
1. I' th' first place I'd wish you beware
What company you come in,
For those that are wicked themselves
May quickly tempt others to sin.
2. If youths be induced with wealth,
And have plenty of silver and gold,
I'd wish them keep something in store,
To comfort them when they are old.
3. I have known many young prodigals,
Which have wasted their money so fast,
That they have been driven in want,
And were forced to beg at the last.
4. I'd wish all men bear a good conscience,
And in all their actions be just;
For he's a false varlet indeed
That will not be true to his trust.
And now to conclude my new song,
And draw to a perfect conclusion,
I have told you what is in my mind,
And what is my [firm] resolution.
For this I have made it appear,
And prove by experience I can,
'Tis the excellen'st thing in the world
To be a plain-dealing man.
Poem: THE VANITIES OF LIFE.
[THE following verses were copied by John Clare, the
Northamptonshire peasant, from a MS. on the fly-leaves of an old
book in the possession of a poor man, entitled THE WORLD'S BEST
WEALTH; A COLLECTION OF CHOICE COUNCILS IN VERSE AND PROSE.
PRINTED FOR A. BETTESWORTH, AT THE RED LION IN PATERNOSTER-ROW,
1720. They were written in a 'crabbed, quaint hand, and difficult
to decipher.' Clare remitted the poem (along with the original
MS.) to Montgomery, the author of THE WORLD BEFORE THE FLOOD, &c.
&c., by whom it was published in the SHEFFIELD IRIS. Montgomery's
criticism is as follows:- 'Long as the poem appears to the eye, it
will abundantly repay the trouble of perusal, being full of
condensed and admirable thought, as well as diversified with
exuberant imagery, and embellished with peculiar felicity of
language: the moral points in the closing couplets of the stanzas
are often powerfully enforced.' Most readers will agree in the
justice of these remarks. The poem was, probably, as Clare
supposes, written about the commencement of the 18th century; and
the unknown author appears to have been deeply imbued with the
spirit of the popular devotional writers of the preceding century,
as Herbert, Quarles, &c., but seems to have modelled his smoother
and more elegant versification after that of the poetic school of
his own times.]
'Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.' - SOLOMON.
WHAT are life's joys and gains?
What pleasures crowd its ways,
That man should take such pains
To seek them all his days?
Sift this untoward strife
On which thy mind is bent,
See if this chaff of life
Is worth the trouble spent.
Is pride thy heart's desire?
Is power thy climbing aim?
Is love thy folly's fire?
Is wealth thy restless game?
Pride, power, love, wealth and all,
Time's touchstone shall destroy,
And, like base coin, prove all
Vain substitutes for joy.
Dost think that pride exalts
Thyself in other's eyes,
And hides thy folly's faults,
Which reason will despise?
Dost strut, and turn, and stride,
Like walking weathercocks?
The shadow by thy side
Becomes thy ape, and mocks.
Dost think that power's disguise
Can make thee mighty seem?
It may in folly's eyes,
But not in worth's esteem:
When all that thou canst ask,
And all that she can give,
Is but a paltry mask
Which tyants wear and live.
Go, let thy fancies range
And ramble where they may;
View power in every change,
And what is the display?
- The country magistrate,
The lowest shade in power,
To rulers of the state,
The meteors of an hour: -
View all, and mark the end
Of every proud extreme,
Where flattery turns a friend,
And counterfeits esteem;
Where worth is aped in show,
That doth her name purloin,
Like toys of golden glow
That's sold for copper coin.
Ambition's haughty nod,
With fancies may deceive,
Nay, tell thee thou'rt a god, -
And wilt thou such believe?
Go, bid the seas be dry,
Go, hold earth like a ball,
Or throw her fancies by,
For God can do it all.
Dost thou possess the dower
Of laws to spare or kill?
Call it not heav'nly power
When but a tyrant's will;
Know what a God will do,
And know thyself a fool,
Nor tyrant-like pursue
Where He alone should rule.
Dost think, when wealth is won,
Thy heart has its desire?
Hold ice up to the sun,
And wax before the fire;
Nor triumph o'er the reign
Which they so soon resign;
In this world weigh the gain,
Insurance safe is thine.
Dost think life's peace secure
In houses and in land?
Go, read the fairy lure
To twist a cord of sand;
Lodge stones upon the sky,
Hold water in a sieve,
Nor give such tales the lie,
And still thine own believe.
Whoso with riches deals,
And thinks peace bought and sold,
Will find them slippery eels,
That slide the firmest hold:
Though sweet as sleep with health,
Thy lulling luck may be,
Pride may o'erstride thy wealth,
And check prosperity.
Dost think that beauty's power,
Life's sweetest pleasure gives?
Go, pluck the summer flower,
And see how long it lives:
Behold, the rays glide on,
Along the summer plain,
Ere thou canst say, they're gone, -
And measure beauty's reign.
Look on the brightest eye,
Nor teach it to be proud,
But view the clearest sky
And thou shalt find a cloud;
Nor call each face ye meet
An angel's, 'cause it's fair,
But look beneath your feet,
And think of what ye are.
Who thinks that love doth live
In beauty's tempting show,
Shall find his hopes ungive,
And melt in reason's thaw;
Who thinks that pleasure lies
In every fairy bower,
Shall oft, to his surprise,
Find poison in the flower.
Dost lawless pleasures grasp?
Judge not thou deal'st in joy;
Its flowers but hide the asp,
Thy revels to destroy:
Who trusts a harlot's smile,
And by her wiles is led,
Plays with a sword the while,
Hung dropping o'er his head.
Dost doubt my warning song?
Then doubt the sun gives light,
Doubt truth to teach thee wrong,
And wrong alone as right;
And live as lives the knave,
Intrigue's deceiving guest,
Be tyrant, or be slave,
As suits thy ends the best.
Or pause amid thy toils,
For visions won and lost,
And count the fancied spoils,
If e'er they quit the cost;
And if they still possess
Thy mind, as worthy things,
Pick straws with Bedlam Bess,
And call them diamond rings.
Thy folly's past advice,
Thy heart's already won,
Thy fall's above all price,
So go, and be undone;
For all who thus prefer
The seeming great for small,
Shall make wine vinegar,
And sweetest honey gall.
Wouldst heed the truths I sing,
To profit wherewithal,
Clip folly's wanton wing,
And keep her within call:
I've little else to give,
What thou canst easy try,
The lesson how to live,
Is but to learn to die.
Poem: THE LIFE AND AGE OF MAN.
[FROM one of Thackeray's Catalogues, preserved in the British
Museum, it appears that THE LIFE AND AGE OF MAN was one of the
productions printed by him at the 'Angel in Duck Lane, London.'
Thackeray's imprint is found attached to broadsides published
between 1672 and 1688, and he probably commenced printing soon
after the accession of Charles II. The present reprint, the
correctness of which is very questionable, is taken from a modern
broadside, the editor not having been fortunate enough to meet with
any earlier edition. This old poem is said to have been a great
favourite with the father of Robert Burns.]
IN prime of years, when I was young,
I took delight in youthful ways,
Not knowing then what did belong
Unto the pleasures of those days.
At seven years old I was a child,
And subject then to be beguiled.
At two times seven I went to learn
What discipline is taught at school:
When good from ill I could discern,
I thought myself no more a fool:
My parents were contriving than,
How I might live when I were man.
At three times seven I waxed wild,
When manhood led me to be bold;
I thought myself no more a child,
My own conceit it so me told:
Then did I venture far and near,
To buy delight at price full dear.
At four times seven I take a wife,
And leave off all my wanton ways,
Thinking thereby perhaps to thrive,
And save myself from sad disgrace.
So farewell my companions all,
For other business doth me call.
At five times seven I must hard strive,
What I could gain by mighty skill;
But still against the stream I drive,
And bowl up stones against the hill;
The more I laboured might and main,
The more I strove against the stream.
At six times seven all covetise
Began to harbour in my breast;
My mind still then contriving was
How I might gain this worldly wealth;
To purchase lands and live on them,
So make my children mighty men.
At seven times seven all worldly thought
Began to harbour in my brain;
Then did I drink a heavy draught
Of water of experience plain;
There none so ready was as I,
To purchase bargains, sell, or buy.
At eight times seven I waxed old,
And took myself unto my rest,
Neighbours then sought my counsel bold,
And I was held in great request;
But age did so abate my strength,
That I was forced to yield at length.
At nine times seven take my leave
Of former vain delights must I;
It then full sorely did me grieve -
I fetched many a heavy sigh;
To rise up early, and sit up late,
My former life, I loathe and hate.
At ten times seven my glass is run,
And I poor silly man must die;
I looked up, and saw the sun
Had overcome the crystal sky.
So now I must this world forsake,
Another man my place must take.
Now you may see, as in a glass,
The whole estate of mortal men;
How they from seven to seven do pass,
Until they are threescore and ten;
And when their glass is fully run,
They must leave off as they begun.
Poem: THE YOUNG MAN'S WISH.
[FROM an old copy, without printer's name; probably one from the
Aldermary Church-yard press. Poems in triplets were very popular
during the reign of Charles I., and are frequently to be met with
during the Interregnum, and the reign of Charles II.]
IF I could but attain my wish,
I'd have each day one wholesome dish,
Of plain meat, or fowl, or fish.
A glass of port, with good old beer,
In winter time a fire burnt clear,
Tobacco, pipes, an easy chair.
In some clean town a snug retreat,
A little garden 'fore my gate,
With thousand pounds a year estate.
After my house expense was clear,
Whatever I could have to spare,
The neighbouring poor should freely share.
To keep content and peace through life,
I'd have a prudent cleanly wife,
Stranger to noise, and eke to strife.
Then I, when blest with such estate,
With such a house, and such a mate,
Would envy not the worldly great.
Let them for noisy honours try,
Let them seek worldly praise, while I
Unnoticed would live and die.
But since dame Fortune's not thought fit
To place me in affluence, yet
I'll be content with what I get.
He's happiest far whose humble mind,
Is unto Providence resigned,
And thinketh fortune always kind.
Then I will strive to bound my wish,
And take, instead of fowl and fish,
Whate'er is thrown into my dish.
Instead of wealth and fortune great,
Garden and house and loving mate,
I'll rest content in servile state.
I'll from each folly strive to fly,
Each virtue to attain I'll try,
And live as I would wish to die.
Poem: THE MIDNIGHT MESSENGER; OR, A SUDDEN CALL FROM AN EARTHLY
GLORY TO THE COLD GRAVE.
In a Dialogue between Death and a Rich Man; who, in the midst of
all his Wealth, received the tidings of his Last Day, to his
unspeakable and sorrowful Lamentation.
To the tune of AIM NOT TOO HIGH, (1) &c.
[THE following poem, and the two that immediately follow, belong to
a class of publications which have always been peculiar favourites
with the peasantry, in whose cottages they may be frequently seen,
neatly framed and glazed, and suspended from the white-washed
walls. They belong to the school of Quarles, and can be traced to
the time when that writer was in the height of his popularity.
These religious dialogues are numerous, but the majority of them
are very namby-pamby productions, and unworthy of a reprint. The
modern editions preserve the old form of the broadside of the
seventeenth century, and are adorned with rude woodcuts, probably
copies of ruder originals -
- 'wooden cuts
Strange, and uncouth; dire faces, figures dire,
Sharp-kneed, sharp-elbowed, and lean-ankled too,
With long and ghostly shanks, forms which once seen,
Can never be forgotten!' - WORDSWORTH'S EXCURSION.]
DEATH.
THOU wealthy man of large possessions here,
Amounting to some thousand pounds a year,
Extorted by oppression from the poor,
The time is come that thou shalt be no more;
Thy house therefore in order set with speed,
And call to mind how you your life do lead.
Let true repentance be thy chiefest care,
And for another world now, NOW prepare.
For notwithstanding all your heaps of gold,
Your lands and lofty buildings manifold,
Take notice you must die this very day;
And therefore kiss your bags and come away.
RICH MAN.
[He started straight and turned his head aside,
Where seeing pale-faced Death, aloud he cried],
Lean famished slave! why do you threaten so,
Whence come you, pray, and whither must I go?
DEATH.
I come from ranging round the universe,
Through courts and kingdoms far and near I pass,
Where rich and poor, distressed, bond and free,
Fall soon or late a sacrifice to me.
From crowned kings to captives bound in chains
My power reaches, sir; the longest reigns
That ever were, I put a period to;
And now I'm come in fine to conquer you.
RICH MAN.
I can't nor won't believe that you, pale Death,
Were sent this day to stop my vital breath,
By reason I in perfect health remain,
Free from diseases, sorrow, grief, and pain;
No heavy heart, nor fainting fits have I,
And do you say that I am drawing nigh
The latter minute? sure it cannot be;
Depart, therefore, you are not sent for me!
DEATH.
Yes, yes, I am, for did you never know,
The tender grass and pleasant flowers that grow
Perhaps one minute, are the next cut down?
And so is man, though famed with high renown.
Have you not heard the doleful passing bell
Ring out for those that were alive and well
The other day, in health and pleasure too,
And had as little thoughts of death as you?
For let me tell you, when my warrant's sealed,
The sweetest beauty that the earth doth yield
At my approach shall turn as pale as lead;
'Tis I that lay them on their dying bed.
I kill with dropsy, phthisic, stone, and gout;
But when my raging fevers fly about,
I strike the man, perhaps, but over-night,
Who hardly lives to see the morning light;
I'm sent each hour, like to a nimble page,
To infant, hoary heads, and middle age;
Time after time I sweep the world quite through;
Then it's in vain to think I'll favour you.
RICH MAN.
Proud Death, you see what awful sway I bear,
For when I frown none of my servants dare
Approach my presence, but in corners hide
Until I am appeased and pacified.
Nay, men of greater rank I keep in awe
Nor did I ever fear the force of law,
But ever did my enemies subdue,
And must I after all submit to you?
DEATH.
'Tis very true, for why thy daring soul,
Which never could endure the least control,
I'll thrust thee from this earthly tenement,
And thou shalt to another world be sent.
RICH MAN.
What! must I die and leave a vast estate,
Which, with my gold, I purchased but of late?
Besides what I had many years ago? -
What! must my wealth and I be parted so?
If you your darts and arrows must let fly,
Go search the jails, where mourning debtors lie;
Release them from their sorrow, grief, and woe,
For I am rich and therefore loth to go.
DEATH.
I'll search no jails, but the right mark I'll hit;
And though you are unwilling to submit,
Yet die you must, no other friend can do, -
Prepare yourself to go, I'm come for you.
If you had all the world and ten times more,
Yet die you must, - there's millions gone before;
The greatest kings on earth yield and obey,
And at my feet their crowns and sceptres lay:
If crowned heads and right renowned peers
Die in the prime and blossoms of their years,
Can you suppose to gain a longer space?
No! I will send you to another place.
RICH MAN.
Oh! stay thy hand and be not so severe,
I have a hopeful son and daughter dear,
All that I beg is but to let me live
That I may them in lawful marriage give: