But the very first flourish, when the heralds gave command, The sword of brave Devonshire bent backward on his hand; In suspense he paused awhile, scanned his foe before he strake, Then against the King's armour, his bent sword he brake. Then he sprang from the stage, to a soldier in the ring, Saying, Lend your sword, that to an end this tragedy we bring: Though he's fighting me in armour, while I am fighting bare, Even more than this I'd venture for young Lord Delaware.' Leaping back on the stage, sword to buckler now resounds, Till he left the Dutch Lord a bleeding in his wounds: This seeing, cries the King to his guards without delay, 'Call Devonshire down,-take the dead man away!' 'No,' says brave Devonshire, 'I've fought him as a man, Since he's dead, I will keep the trophies I have won ; For he fought me in your armour, while I fought him bare, And the same you must win back, my liege, if ever you them wear.' God bless the Church of England, may it prosper on each hand, And also every poor man now starving in this land; And while I pray success may crown our King upon his throne, I'll wish that every poor man may long enjoy his own. LORD BATEMAN. [THIS is a ludicrously corrupt abridgment of the ballad of Lord Beichan, a copy of which will be found inserted amongst the Early Ballads, An. Ed. p. 144. The following grotesque version was published several years ago by Tilt, London, and also, according to the title-page, by Mustapha Syried, Constantinople! under the title of The loving Ballad of Lord Bateman. It is, however, the only ancient form in which the ballad has existed in print, and is one of the publications mentioned in Thackeray's Catalogue, see ante, p. 20. The air printed in Tilt's edition is the one to which the ballad is sung in the South of England, but it is totally different to the Northern tune, which has never been published.] Lo ORD BATEMAN he was a noble lord, He shipped himself on board a ship, Until he came to proud Turkey; This Turk he had one only daughter, And swore Lord Bateman she would set free. I'll give it all to the fair young lady That out of prison would set me free.' O! then she took him to her father's hall, 'I wish, Lord Bateman, that you were mine! 'Now in seven years I'll make a vow, And seven years I'll keep it strong, If you'll wed with no other woman, I will wed with no other man.' O! then she took him to her father's harbour, Now seven long years are gone and past, And swore Lord Bateman she would go see. But when she came to Lord Bateman's castle, So boldly she rang the bell; 'Who's there? who's there?' cried the proud portèr, "Who's there? unto me come tell.' 'O! is this Lord Bateman's castle? Away, away went this proud young porter, Until he came to Lord Bateman's chamber, 'What news, what news, my proud young porter? What news hast thou brought unto me?' 'There is the fairest of all young creatures That ever my two eyes did see! 'She has got rings on every finger, And round one of them she has got three, 'She bids you send her a slice of bread, Then up spoke the young bride's mother, 'I own I made a bride of your daughter, THE GOLDEN GLOVE; OR, THE SQUIRE OF TAMWORTH. [THIS is a very popular ballad, and sung in every part of England. It is traditionally reported to be founded on an incident which occurred in the reign of Elizabeth. It has been published in the broadside form from the commencement of the eighteenth century, but is no doubt much older. It does not appear to have been previously inserted in any collection.] A WEALTHY young squire of Tamworth, we hear, He courted a nobleman's daughter so fair; And for to marry her it was his intent, All friends and relations gave their consent. 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, It pleased the lady to find him so bold; |