The farmer was pleased when he heard of the news, With heart full of joy to the lady he goes:

'Dear, honoured lady, I've picked up your glove, And hope you'll be pleased to grant me your love.' 'It's already granted, I will be your bride;

I love the sweet breath of a farmer,' she cried. 'I'll be mistress of my dairy, and milking my cow, While my jolly brisk farmer is whistling at plough.' And when she was married she told of her fun, How she went a hunting with her dog and gun : 'And now I've got him so fast in my snare, I'll enjoy him for ever, I vow and declare!'

KING JAMES I. AND THE TINKLER.*

(TRADITIONAL.)

[THE ballad of King James I. and the Tinkler was probably written either in, or shortly after, the reign of the monarch who is the hero. The incident recorded is said to be a fact, though the locality is doubtful. By some the scene is laid at Norwood, in Surrey; by others in some part of the English border. The ballad is alluded to by Percy, but is not inserted either in the Reliques, or in any other popular collection. It is to be found only in a few broadsides and chap-books of modern date. The present version is a traditional one, taken down, as here given, from the recital of the late Francis King.† It is much superior to the

* A tinkler is still so called in the north of England.

This poor minstrel was born at the village of Rylstone, in Craven, the scene of Wordsworth's White Doe of Rylstone. King was always called the Skipton Minstrel;' and he merited that name, for he was not a mere player of jigs and country dances, but a singer of heroic ballads, carrying his hearers back to the days of chivalry and royal adventure, when the King of England called up Cheshire and Lancashire to fight the King of France, and monarchs sought the greenwood tree, and hob-a-nobbed with tinkers, knighting these Johns of the Dale as a matter of poetical justice and high sovereign prerogative. Francis King was a character. His physiognomy was striking and peculiar ; and, although there was nothing of the rogue in its expression, for an honester fellow never breathed, he might have sat for Wordsworth's 'Peter Bell.' He combined in a rare degree the qualities of the mime and the minstrel, and his old jokes, and older ballads and songs, always ensured him a hearty welcome. He was lame, in consequence of one

common broadside edition with which it has been collated, and from which the thirteenth and fifteenth verses were obtained. The ballad is very popular on the Border, and in the dales of Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Craven. The late Robert Anderson, the Cumbrian bard, represents Deavie, in his song of the Clay Daubin, as singing The King and the Tinkler.]

AND now, to be brief, let's pass over the rest,

Who seldom or never were given to jest,
And come to King Jamie, the first of our throne,
A pleasanter monarch sure never was known.

As he was a hunting the swift fallow-deer,
He dropped all his nobles; and when he got clear,
In hope of some pastime away he did ride,
Till he came to an alehouse, hard by a wood-side.
And there with a tinkler he happened to meet,
And him in kind sort he so freely did greet:
'Pray thee, good fellow, what hast in thy jug,
Which under thy arm thou dost lovingly hug?'
'By the mass!' quoth the tinkler, 'it's nappy brown ale,
And for to drink to thee, friend, I will not fail;
For although thy jacket looks gallant and fine,
I think that my twopence as good is as thine.'

'By my soul! honest fellow, the truth thou hast spoke,' And straight he sat down with the tinkler to joke; They drank to the King, and they pledged to each other; Who'd seen'em had thought they were brother and brother.

leg being shorter than the other, and his limping gait used to give occasion to the remark that few Kings had had more ups and downs in the world.' He met his death by drowning on the night of December 13, 1844. He had been at a 'merry-making' at Gargrave, in Craven, and it is supposed that, owing to the darkness of the night, he mistook the road, and walked into the river. As a musician his talents were creditable; and his name will long survive in the village records. The minstrel's grave is in the quiet churchyard of Gargrave. Further particulars of Francis King may be seen in Dixon's Stories of the Craven Dales, published by Tasker and Son, of Skipton.

pray?'

As they were a-drinking the King pleased to say,
'What news, honest fellow? come tell me, I
'There's nothing of news, beyond that I hear
The King's on the border a-chasing the deer.
And truly I wish I so happy may be
Whilst he is a hunting the King I might see;
For although I've travelled the land many ways
I never have yet seen a King in my days.'
The King, with a hearty brisk laughter, replied,
'I tell thee, good fellow, if thou canst but ride,
Thou shalt get up behind me, and I will thee bring
To the presence of Jamie, thy sovereign King.'
'But he'll be surrounded with nobles so gay,
And how shall we tell him from them, sir, I pray?'
'Thou'lt easily ken him when once thou art there;
The King will be covered, his nobles all bare.'

He got up behind him and likewise his sack,
His budget of leather, and tools at his back;
They rode till they came to the merry greenwood,
His nobles came round him, bareheaded they stood.
The tinkler then seeing so many appear,

He slily did whisper the King in his ear:
Saying, 'They're all clothed so gloriously gay,
But which amongst them is the King, sir, I pray?'
The King did with hearty good laughter, reply,
"By my soul! my good fellow, it's thou or it's I!
The rest are bareheaded, uncovered all round.'-
With his bag and his budget he fell to the ground,
Like one that was frightened quite out of his wits,
Then on his knees he instantly gets,

Beseeching for mercy; the King to him said,
'Thou art a good fellow, so be not afraid.

'Come, tell thy name?' 'I am John of the Dale, A mender of kettles, a lover of ale.'

'Rise up, Sir John, I will honour thee here,—
I make thee a knight of three thousand a year!'

This was a good thing for the tinkler indeed;
Then unto the court he was sent for with speed,
Where great store of pleasure and pastime was seen,
In the royal presence of King and of Queen.
Sir John of the Dale he has land, he has fee,
At the court of the king who so happy as he?
Yet still in his hall hangs the tinkler's old sack,
And the budget of tools which he bore at his back.

THE KEACH I' THE CREEL.

[THIS old and very humorous ballad has long been a favourite on both sides of the Border, but had never appeared in print till about 1845, when a Northumbrian gentleman printed a few copies for private circulation, from one of which the following is taken. In the present impression some trifling typographical mistakes are corrected, and the phraseology has been rendered uniform throughout. Keach the Creel means the catch in the basket.]

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.