Chapter 2

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.

THE MASONIC HYMN.

[THIS is a very ancient production, though given from a modern copy; it has always been popular amongst the poor ‘brethren of the mystic tie.’ The late Henry O’Brien, A.B., quotes the seventh verse in his essay _On the Round Towers of Ireland_. He generally had a common copy of the hymn in his pocket, and on meeting with any of his antiquarian friends who were not Masons, was in the habit of thrusting it into their hands, and telling them that if they understood the mystic allusions it contained, they would be in possession of a key which would unlock the pyramids of Egypt! The tune to the hymn is peculiar to it, and is of a plaintive and solemn character.]

COME all you freemasons that dwell around the globe, That wear the badge of innocence, I mean the royal robe, Which Noah he did wear when in the ark he stood, When the world was destroyed by a deluging flood.

Noah he was virtuous in the sight of the Lord, He loved a freemason that kept the secret word; For he built the ark, and he planted the first vine, Now his soul in heaven like an angel doth shine.

Once I was blind, and could not see the light, Then up to Jerusalem I took my flight, I was led by the evangelist through a wilderness of care, You may see by the sign and the badge that I wear.

On the 13th rose the ark, let us join hand in hand, For the Lord spake to Moses by water and by land, Unto the pleasant river where by Eden it did rin, And Eve tempted Adam by the serpent of sin.

When I think of Moses it makes me to blush, All on mount Horeb where I saw the burning bush; My shoes I’ll throw off, and my staff I’ll cast away, And I’ll wander like a pilgrim unto my dying day.

When I think of Aaron it makes me to weep, Likewise of the Virgin Mary who lay at our Saviour’s feet; ’Twas in the garden of Gethsemane where he had the bloody sweat; Repent, my dearest brethren, before it is too late.

I thought I saw twelve dazzling lights, which put me in surprise, And gazing all around me I heard a dismal noise; The serpent passèd by me which fell unto the ground, With great joy and comfort the secret word I found.

Some say it is lost, but surely it is found, And so is our Saviour, it is known to all around; Search all the Scriptures over, and there it will be shown; The tree that will bear no fruit must be cut down.

Abraham was a man well belovèd by the Lord, He was true to be found in great Jehovah’s word, He stretchèd forth his hand, and took a knife to slay his son, An angel appearing said, The Lord’s will be done!

O, Abraham! O, Abraham! lay no hand upon the lad, He sent him unto thee to make thy heart glad; Thy seed shall increase like stars in the sky, And thy soul into heaven like Gabriel shall fly.

O, never, O, never will I hear an orphan cry, Nor yet a gentle virgin until the day I die; You wandering Jews that travel the wide world round, May knock at the door where truth is to be found.

Often against the Turks and Infidels we fight, To let the wandering world know we’re in the right, For in heaven there’s a lodge, and St. Peter keeps the door, And none can enter in but those that are pure.

St. Peter he opened, and so we entered in, Into the holy seat secure, which is all free from sin; St. Peter he opened, and so we entered there, And the glory of the temple no man can compare.

GOD SPEED THE PLOW, AND BLESS THE CORN-MOW.

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE HUSBANDMAN AND SERVINGMAN.

The tune is, _I am the Duke of Norfolk_.

[THIS ancient dialogue, though in a somewhat altered form (see the ensuing poem), has long been used at country merry-makings. It is transcribed from a black-letter copy in the third volume of the Roxburgh collection, apparently one of the imprints of Peter Brooksby, which would make the composition at least as old as the close of the fifteenth century. There are several dialogues of a similar character.]

ARGUMENT.

The servingman the plowman would invite To leave his calling and to take delight; But he to that by no means will agree, Lest he thereby should come to beggary. He makes it plain appear a country life Doth far excel: and so they end the strife.

* * * * *

MY noble friends give ear, if mirth you love to hear, I’ll tell you as fast as I can, A story very true, then mark what doth ensue, Concerning of a husbandman. A servingman did meet a husbandman in the street, And thus unto him began:

SERVINGMAN.

I pray you tell to me of what calling you be, Or if you be a servingman?

HUSBANDMAN.

Quoth he, my brother dear, the coast I mean to clear, And the truth you shall understand: I do no one disdain, but this I tell you plain, I am an honest husbandman.

SERVINGMAN.

If a husbandman you be, then come along with me, I’ll help you as soon as I can Unto a gallant place, where in a little space, You shall be a servingman.

HUSBANDMAN.

Sir, for your diligence I give you many thanks, These things I receive at your hand; I pray you to me show, whereby that I might know, What pleasures hath a servingman?

SERVINGMAN.

A servingman hath pleasure, which passeth time and measure, When the hawk on his fist doth stand; His hood, and his verrils brave, and other things, we have, Which yield joy to a servingman.

HUSBANDMAN.

My pleasure’s more than that to see my oxen fat, And to prosper well under my hand; And therefore I do mean, with my horse, and with my team, To keep myself a husbandman.

SERVINGMAN.

O ’tis a gallant thing in the prime time of the spring, To hear the huntsman now and than His bugle for to blow, and the hounds run all a row: This is pleasure for a servingman! To hear the beagle cry, and to see the falcon fly, And the hare trip over the plain, And the huntsmen and the hound make hill and dale rebound: This is pleasure for a servingman!

HUSBANDMAN.

’Tis pleasure, too, you know, to see the corn to grow, And to grow so well on the land; The plowing and the sowing, the reaping and the mowing, Yield pleasure to the husbandman.

SERVINGMAN.

At our table you may eat all sorts of dainty meat, Pig, cony, goose, capon, and swan; And with lords and ladies fine, you may drink beer, ale, and wine! This is pleasure for a servingman.

HUSBANDMAN.

While you eat goose and capon, I’ll feed on beef and bacon, And piece of hard cheese now and than; We pudding have, and souse, always ready in the house, Which contents the honest husbandman.

SERVINGMAN.

At the court you may have your garments fine and brave, And cloak with gold lace laid upon, A shirt as white as milk, and wrought with finest silk: That’s pleasure for a servingman!

HUSBANDMAN.

Such proud and costly gear is not for us to wear; Amongst the briers and brambles many a one, A good strong russet coat, and at your need a groat, Will suffice the husbandman. A proverb here I tell, which likes my humour well, And remember it well I can, If a courtier be too bold, he’ll want when he is old. Then farewell the servingman.

SERVINGMAN.

It needs must be confest that your calling is the best, No longer discourse with you I can; But henceforth I will pray, by night and by day, Heaven bless the honest husbandman.

A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE HUSBANDMAN AND THE SERVINGMAN.

[THIS traditional version of the preceding ancient dialogue has long been popular at country festivals. At a harvest-home feast at Selborne, in Hampshire, in 1836, we heard it recited by two countrymen, who gave it with considerable humour, and dramatic effect. It was delivered in a sort of chant, or recitative. Davies Gilbert published a very similar copy in his _Ancient Christmas Carols_. In the modern printed editions, which are almost identical with ours, the term ‘servantman’ has been substituted for the more ancient designation.]

SERVINGMAN.

WELL met, my brother friend, all at this highway end, So simple all alone, as you can, I pray you tell to me, what may your calling be, Are you not a servingman?

HUSBANDMAN.

No, no, my brother dear, what makes you to inquire Of any such a thing at my hand? Indeed I shall not feign, but I will tell you plain, I am a downright husbandman.

SERVINGMAN.

If a husbandman you be, then go along with me, And quickly you shall see out of hand, How in a little space I will help you to a place, Where you may be a servingman.

HUSBANDMAN.

Kind sir! I ‘turn you thanks for your intelligence, These things I receive at your hand; But something pray now show, that first I may plainly know The pleasures of a servingman.

SERVINGMAN.

Why a servingman has pleasure beyond all sort of measure, With his hawk on his fist, as he does stand; For the game that he does kill, and the meat that does him fill, Are pleasures for the servingman.

HUSBANDMAN.

And my pleasure’s more than that, to see my oxen fat, And a good stock of hay by them stand; My plowing and my sowing, my reaping and my mowing, Are pleasures for the husbandman.

SERVINGMAN.

Why it is a gallant thing to ride out with a king, With a lord, duke, or any such man; To hear the horns to blow, and see the hounds all in a row, That is pleasure for the servingman.

HUSBANDMAN.

But my pleasure’s more I know, to see my corn to grow, So thriving all over my land; And, therefore, I do mean, with my plowing with my team, To keep myself a husbandman.

SERVINGMAN.

Why the diet that we eat is the choicest of all meat, Such as pig, goose, capon, and swan; Our pastry is so fine, we drink sugar in our wine, That is living for the servingman.

HUSBANDMAN.

Talk not of goose nor capon, give me good beef or bacon, And good bread and cheese, now at hand; With pudding, brawn, and souse, all in a farmer’s house, That is living for the husbandman.

SERVINGMAN.

Why the clothing that we wear is delicate and rare, With our coat, lace, buckles, and band; Our shirts are white as milk, and our stockings they are silk, That is clothing for a servingman.

HUSBANDMAN.

But I value not a hair your delicate fine wear, Such as gold is laced upon; Give me a good grey coat, and in my purse a groat, That is clothing for the husbandman.

SERVINGMAN.

Kind sir! it would be bad if none could be had Those tables for to wait upon; There is no lord, duke, nor squire, nor member for the shire, Can do without a servingman.

HUSBANDMAN.

But, Jack! it would be worse if there was none of us To follow the plowing of the land; There is neither king, lord, nor squire, nor member for the shire, Can do without the husbandman.

SERVINGMAN.

Kind sir! I must confess’t, and I humbly protest I will give you the uppermost hand; Although your labour’s painful, and mine it is so very gainful, I wish I were a husbandman.

HUSBANDMAN.

So come now, let us all, both great as well as small, Pray for the grain of our land; And let us, whatsoever, do all our best endeavour, For to maintain the good husbandman.

THE CATHOLICK.

[THE following ingenious production has been copied literally from a broadside posted against the ‘parlour’ wall of a country inn in Gloucestershire. The verses are susceptible of two interpretations, being Catholic if read in the columns, but Protestant if read across.]

I HOLD as faith What _England’s church_ alows What _Rome’s_ church saith My conscience disavows Where the _King’s_ head That _church_ can have no The flocks misled shame Where the _altars_ drest That holds the _Pope_ The peoples blest supreame. He’s but an asse There’s service scarce divine Who shuns the _masse_ With table, bread, and wine. Who the _communion_ flies Is _catholick_ and wise. London: printed for George Eversden, at the signe of the Maidenhead, in St. Powle’s Church-yard, 1655. _Cum privilegio_.

Ballads.

THE THREE KNIGHTS.

(TRADITIONAL.)

[_The Three Knights_ was first printed by the late Davies Gilbert, F.R.S., in the appendix to his work on _Christmas Carols_. Mr. Gilbert thought that some verses were wanting after the eighth stanza; but we entertain a different opinion. A conjectural emendation made in the ninth verse, viz., the substitution of _far_ for _for_, seems to render the ballad perfect. The ballad is still popular amongst the peasantry in the West of England. The tune is given by Gilbert. The refrain, in the second and fourth lines, printed with the first verse, should be repeated in recitation in every verse.]

THERE did three Knights come from the west, With the high and the lily oh! And these three Knights courted one ladye, As the rose was so sweetly blown. The first Knight came was all in white, And asked of her if she’d be his delight. The next Knight came was all in green, And asked of her if she’d be his queen. The third Knight came was all in red, And asked of her if she would wed. ‘Then have you asked of my father dear? Likewise of her who did me bear? ‘And have you asked of my brother John? And also of my sister Anne?’ ‘Yes, I’ve asked of your father dear, Likewise of her who did you bear. ‘And I’ve asked of your sister Anne, But I’ve not asked of your brother John.’ Far on the road as they rode along, There did they meet with her brother John. She stoopèd low to kiss him sweet, He to her heart did a dagger meet. {51} ‘Ride on, ride on,’ cried the servingman, ‘Methinks your bride she looks wondrous wan.’ ‘I wish I were on yonder stile, For there I would sit and bleed awhile. ‘I wish I were on yonder hill, There I’d alight and make my will.’ ‘What would you give to your father dear?’ ‘The gallant steed which doth me bear.’ ‘What would you give to your mother dear?’ ‘My wedding shift which I do wear. ‘But she must wash it very clean, For my heart’s blood sticks in every seam.’ ‘What would you give to your sister Anne?’ ‘My gay gold ring, and my feathered fan.’ ‘What would you give to your brother John?’ ‘A rope, and a gallows to hang him on.’ ‘What would you give to your brother John’s wife?’ ‘A widow’s weeds, and a quiet life.’

THE BLIND BEGGAR OF BEDNALL GREEN.

SHOWING HOW HIS DAUGHTER WAS MARRIED TO A KNIGHT, AND HAD THREE THOUSAND POUND TO HER PORTION.

[PERCY’S copy of _The Beggar’s Daughter of Bednall Green_ is known to be very incorrect: besides many alterations and improvements which it received at the hands of the Bishop, it contains no less than eight stanzas written by Robert Dodsley, the author of _The Economy of Human Life_. So far as poetry is concerned, there cannot be a question that the version in the _Reliques_ is far superior to the original, which is still a popular favourite, and a correct copy of which is now given, as it appears in all the common broadside editions that have been printed from 1672 to the present time. Although the original copies have all perished, the ballad has been very satisfactorily proved by Percy to have been written in the reign of Elizabeth. The present reprint is from a modern copy, carefully collated with one in the Bagford Collection, entitled,

‘The rarest ballad that ever was seen, Of the Blind Beggar’s Daughter of Bednal Green.’

The imprint to it is, ‘Printed by and for W. Onley; and are to be sold by C. Bates, at the sign of the Sun and Bible, in Pye Corner.’ The very antiquated orthography adopted in some editions does not rest on any authority. For two tunes to _The Blind Beggar_, see _Popular Music_.]