Part 16

7 An English lord, who by that stage did stand, Threw Devonshire another, and he got it in his hand: ‘Play low for your life, brave Devonshire,’ said he, ‘Play low for your life, or a dead man you will be.’

8 Devonshire dropped on his knee, and gave him his death-wound; O then that French lord fell dead upon the ground. The king called his guards, and he unto them did say, ‘Bring Devonshire down, and take the dead man away.’

9 ‘No, if it please you, my liege, no! I’ve slain him like a man; I’m resolved to see what clothing he’s got on. Oh, fie upon your treachery, your treachery!’ said he, ‘Oh, king, ’twas your intention to have took my life away.

10 ‘For he fought in your armour, whilst I have fought in bare; The same thou shalt win, king, before thou does it wear.’ Then they all turned back to the Parliament House, And the nobles made obesiance with their hands to their mouths.

11 ‘God bless all the nobles we have in our land, And send the Church of England may flourish still and stand; For I’ve injured no king, no kingdom, nor no crown, But I wish that every honest man might enjoy his own.’

* * * * *

B

Llewellynn Jewitt, Ballads and Songs of Derbyshire, 1867, p. 55, from a broad-sheet.

1 Good people give attention to a story you shall hear: Between the king and my lord Delamere, A quarrel arose in the Parliament House, Concerning the taxes to be put in force. With my fal de ral de ra.

2 I wonder, I wonder that James, our good king, So many hard taxes upon the poor should bring; So many hard taxes, as I have heard them say Makes many a good farmer to break and run away.

3 Such a rout has been in the parliament, as I hear, Betwixt a Dutch lord and my lord Delamere. He said to the king, as he sat on the throne, ‘If it please you, my liege, to grant me a boon.’

4 ‘O what is thy boon? Come, let me understand.’ ‘’Tis to give me all the poor you have in the land; I’ll take them down to Cheshire, and there I will sow Both hemp-seed and flax-seed, and hang them in a row.

5 ‘It’s better, my liege, they should die a shorter death Than for your Majesty to starve them on earth.’ With that up starts a Dutch lord, as we hear, And he says, ‘Thou proud Jack,’ to my lord Delamere,

6 ‘Thou ought to be stabbed,’ and he turned him about, ‘For affronting the king in the Parliament House.’ Then up got a brave duke, the Duke of Devonshire, Who said, I will fight for my lord Delamere.

7 ‘He is under age, as I’ll make it appear, So I’ll stand in defence of my lord Delamere.’ A stage then was built, and to battle they went, To kill or be killed it was their intent.

8 The very first blow, as we understand, Devonshire’s rapier went back to his hand; Then he mused awhile, but not a word spoke, When against the king’s armour his rapier he broke.

9 O then he stept backward, and backward stept he, And then stept forward my lord Willoughby; He gave him a rapier, and thus he did say; Play low, Devonshire, there’s treachery, I see.

10 He knelt on his knee, and he gave him the wound, With that the Dutch lord fell dead on the ground: The king calld his soldiers, and thus he did say: Call Devonshire down, take the dead man away.

11 He answered, My liege, I’ve killed him like a man, And it is my intent to see what clothing he’s got on. O treachery! O treachery! as I well may say, It was your intent, O king, to take my life away.

12 ‘He fought in your armour, while I fought him bare, And thou, king, shalt win it before thou dost it wear; I neither do curse king, parliament, or throne, But I wish every honest man may enjoy his own.

13 ‘The rich men do flourish with silver and gold, While poor men are starving with hunger and cold; And if they hold on as they have begun, They’ll make little England pay dear for a king.’

* * * * *

C

Llewellynn Jewitt’s Ballads and Songs of Derbyshire, p. 57. “Another version, which I have in MS., has, besides many minor variations, these verses.”

1 O the Duchess of Devonshire was standing hard by; Upon her dear husband she cast her lovely eye: ‘Oh, fie upon treachery! there’s been treachery I say, It was your full intent to have taen my duke’s life away.’

2 Then away to the parliament these votes all went again, And there they acted like just and honest men. I neither curse my king, nor kingdom, crown or throne, But I wish every honest man to enjoy but what is his own.

* * * * *

D

T. Lyle’s Ancient Ballads and Songs, p. 135, 1827, as “noted down from the singing of a gentleman,” and then “remodelled and smoothed down” by the editor.

1 In the Parliament House a great rout has been there, Betwixt our good king and the lord Delaware: Says Lord Delaware to his Majesty full soon, ‘Will it please you, my liege, to grant me a boon?’

2 ‘What’s your boon?’ says the king, ‘now let me understand.’ ‘It’s, give me all the poor men we’ve starving in this land, And without delay I’ll hie me to Lincolnshire, To sow hemp-seed and flax-seed, and hang them all there.

3 ‘For with hempen cord it’s better to stop each poor man’s breath Than with famine you should see your subjects starve to death.’ Up starts a Dutch lord, who to Delaware did say, Thou deservest to be stabbd! then he turnd himself away.

4 ‘Thou deservest to be stabbd, and the dogs have thine ears, For insulting our king, in this parliament of peers.’ Up sprang a Welsh lord, the brave Duke of Devonshire: ‘In young Delaware’s defence, I’ll fight this Dutch lord, my sire.

5 ‘For he is in the right, and I’ll make it so appear; Him I dare to single combat, for insulting Delaware.’ A stage was soon erected, and to combat they went; For to kill or to be killd, it was either’s full intent.

6 But the very first flourish, when the heralds gave command, The sword of brave Devonshire bent backward on his hand. In suspense he paused a while, scannd his foe before he strake, Then against the king’s armour his bent sword he brake.

7 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.

8 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!

9 ‘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.

10 ‘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.’

* * * * *

#A.#

4^1. Dutch _for_ French, _according to some reciters._

8^2. Oh.

#B.#

4^1, 9^1. Oh.

#C.#

1^1. Oh.

#D.#

_Printed by Lyle in stanzas of eight short lines._

_The copy in Motherwell’s MS. is not in Motherwell’s handwriting. It may have been written down from recollection of Lyle, or may have been arbitrarily altered._

_The variations are as follows:_

1^2. Delamare, _and always_.

2^1. pray let.

2^2. now _for_ we’ve.

2^4. with flax seed.

3^1. the poor men’s.

4^2. or _for_ our.

5^1. it _wanting_.

6^2. in his.

6^3. the stroke.

6^4. broke.

7^1. The sprang.

8^2. he laid.

8^3. to the.

9^4. must won: my liege _wanting_.

10^1. bliss.

10^3. the king.

208

LORD DERWENTWATER

#A.# ‘Lord Dunwaters,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 331; ‘Lord Derwentwater,’ Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, p. 349.

#B.# ‘Lord Derwentwater,’ Notes and Queries, First Series, XII, 492.

#C.# Bell’s Rhymes of Northern Bards, 1812, p. 225, three stanzas.

#D.# ‘Lord Derntwater,’ Kinloch MSS, I, 323.

#E.# ‘Lord Derwentwater,’ Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, XI, 499.

#F.# ‘Lord Arnwaters,’ Buchan’s MSS, II, 478.

#G.# ‘Lord Dunwaters,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 126.

#H.# ‘Lord Derwentwater’s Death,’ Shropshire Folk-Lore, edited by Charlotte Sophia Burne, p. 537.

#I.# The Gentleman’s Magazine, vol. xcv, 1825, Part First, p. 489.

Three stanzas of this ballad were printed in 1812 (#C#). #I# followed in 1825, a full copy, which would have been a very good one had it been given as taken down, and not restored “to something like poetical propriety.”[86] The editor of the “old song” observes that it was one of the most popular in the north of England for a long period after the event which it records, and a glance at what is here brought together will show that the ballad was at least equally popular in Scotland. #I# is repeated in Richardson’s Borderer’s Table-Book, VI, 291, and in Harland and Wilkinson’s Ballads and Songs of Lancashire, 1882, p. 265. Mr J. H. Dixon, in Notes and Queries, 4th Series, XI, 389, says that the ballad “originally appeared in the Town and Country Magazine.”

‘Lord Derwentwater’s Goodnight,’ Hogg’s Jacobite Relics, II, 30, 268, was both communicated and composed by Robert Surtees. ‘Derwentwater,’ Cromek’s Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, 1810, p. 127, is from the pen of Allan Cunningham. It is repeated in Hogg’s Jacobite Relics, 1821, II, 28, and in Cunningham’s Songs of Scotland, 1825, III, 192, etc.; also in Kinloch MSS, V, 413, with two lines to fill out an eighth stanza. (Translated by Loève-Veimars, p. 375.) ‘Young Ratcliffe,’ Sheldon’s Minstrelsy of the English Border, p. 400, is another ballad of the same class.

James Ratcliffe, Earl of Derwentwater, being suspected or known to be engaged in concerting a rising in the north of England in behalf of the Pretender, a warrant was issued by the Secretary of State for his apprehension, towards the end of September, 1715. Hereupon he took arms, and he was one of the fifteen hundred English and Scots who were forced to an inglorious surrender at Preston, November 14. The more distinguished prisoners were conveyed to London, where they had a boisterous reception from the mob. Derwentwater was committed to the Tower, December 9; was impeached of high treason, and pleaded guilty, in January; was sentenced to death, February 9, at Westminster Hall, and was executed February 24 (1716). In a paper which he read from the scaffold he stated that he had regarded his plea of guilty as a formality consequent upon his “having submitted to mercy,” and declared that he had never had “any other but King James the Third for his rightful and lawful sovereign.”

Derwentwater had not attained the age of twenty-seven at the time of his death. We may believe that the character given of him by the renegade Patten was not overcharged: “The sweetness of his temper and disposition, in which he had few equals, had so secured him the affection of all his tenants, neighbors, and dependants that multitudes would have lived and died with him. The truth is, he was a man formed by nature to be generally beloved, for he was of so universal a beneficence that he seemed to live for others. As he lived among his own people, there he spent his estate, and continually did offices of kindness and good neighborhood to everybody, as opportunity offered. He kept a house of generous hospitality and noble entertainment, which few in that country do, and none come up to. He was very charitable to poor and distressed families on all occasions, whether known to him or not, and whether Papist or Protestant. His fate will be sensibly felt by a great many who had no kindness for the cause he died in.”

The king’s letter, which, in the ballad, summons Derwentwater to London (to answer for his head, #D# 3), suggests the Secretary of State’s warrant of arrest, which his lordship, unhappily for himself, evaded. But very probably the ballad-maker supposed Derwentwater to have gone home after his less than six weeks in arms. As he is setting forth to obey the mandate, his wife calls to him from child-bed to make his will. This business does not delay him long: one third of his estate is to be his wife’s, and the rest to go to his children. (He had a son not two years old at the date of his execution, and a daughter who must have been born, at the earliest, not much before the rising. His very large estates first passed to the crown, and were afterwards bestowed on Greenwich hospital.) Bad omens attend his departure. As he mounts his horse, his ring drops from his finger, or breaks, and his nose begins to bleed, #B# 5, #D# 6, #E# 8, #F# 9, #H# 7, #I# 10; presently his horse stumbles, #A# 8, #E# 9, #F# 10, #I# 11; it begins to rain, #H# 8. When he comes to London, to Westminster Hall, #B# 6, #F# 11, to Whitehall, #D# 7, rides up Westminster Street, in sight of the White Hall, #I# 12, the lords and knights, the lords and ladies, a mob, #H# 9, call him “traitor.” How can that be, he answers, with surprise or indignation, except for keeping five hundred men (five thousand, seven thousand, eight score), to fight for King Jamie? #A# 10, #D# 8, #E# 11, #F# 12, #H# 10, #I# 13. A man with an ax claims his life, which he ungrudgingly resigns, #B# 8, #D# 9, 10, #E# 12, 13, #F# 13, 14, #H# 11, 12, #I# 14, 15, directing that a good sum of money which he has in his pockets shall be given to the poor, #A# 12, #D# 11, #E# 14, #F# 15, #I# 17.

In #A# 2, #D# 12, Derwentwater seems to be taken for a Scot.

Ellis, Brand’s Antiquities, 1813, II, 261, note, remarks that he had heard in Northumberland that when the Earl of Derwentwater was beheaded, the stream (the Divelswater) that runs past his seat at Dilston Hall flowed with blood.[87]

The Northern Lights (perhaps the red-colored ones) were peculiarly vivid on the night of February 16, 1716, and were long called Lord Derwentwater’s Lights in the north of England, where, it is said, many of the people know (or knew) them by no other name. It was even a popular belief that the aurora borealis was first seen on that night: Notes and Queries, Third Series, IX, 154, 268; Gibson, Dilston Hall, p. 111.

The omen of nose-bleed occurs in the ballad of ‘The Mother’s Malison,’ No 216, #C#; both nose-bleed and horse-stumbling, as omens, in Webster’s Dutchess of Malfi, Act II, Scene 2, Dyce, 1859, p. 70, cited, with other cases, in Ellis’s ed. of Brand’s Antiquities, II, 497.

‘Brig. Macintosh’s Farewell to the Highlands,’ or ‘Macintosh was a Soldier Brave,’ is one half a Derwentwater ballad: see Harland’s Ballads and Songs of Lancashire, 1865, p. 75, Ritson’s Northumberland Garland, p. 85, Hogg’s Jacobite Relics, II, 102, etc.

* * * * *

A

Motherwell’s MS., p. 331, July 19, 1825, “from the recitation of Agnes Lile, Kilbarchan, a woman verging on fifty;” learned from her father, who died fourteen years before, at the age of eighty.

1 Our king has wrote a lang letter, And sealed it owre with gold; He sent it to my lord Dunwaters, To read it if he could.

2 He has not sent it with a boy, with a boy, Nor with anie Scotch lord; But he’s sent it with the noblest knight Eer Scotland could afford.

3 The very first line that my lord did read, He gave a smirkling smile; Before he had the half o ‘t read, The tears from his eyes did fall.

4 ‘Come saddle to me my horse,’ he said, ‘Come saddle to me with speed; For I must away to fair London town, For me was neer more need.’

5 Out and spoke his lady gay, In child-bed where she lay: ‘I would have you make your will, my lord Dunwaters, Before you go away.’

6 ‘I leave to yon, my eldest son, My houses and my land; I leave to you, my second son, Ten thousand pounds in hand.

7 ‘I leave to you, my lady gay— You are my wedded wife— I leave to you, the third of my estate; That’ll keep you in a lady’s life.’

8 They had not rode a mile but one, Till his horse fell owre a stane: ‘It’s warning gude eneuch,’ my lord Dunwaters said, ‘Alive I’ll neer come hame.’

9 When they came into fair London town, Into the courtiers’ hall, The lords and knichts in fair London town Did him a traitor call.

10 ‘A traitor! a traitor!’ says my lord, ‘A traitor! how can that be, An it was na for the keeping of five thousand men To fight for King Jamie?

11 ‘O all you lords and knichts in fair London town, Come out and see me die; O all you lords and knichts into fair London town, Be kind to my ladie.

12 ‘There’s fifty pounds in my richt pocket, Divide it to the poor; There’s other fifty pounds in my left pocket, Divide it from door to door.’

* * * * *

B

Notes and Queries, First Series, XII, 492, 1855; learned some forty five years before from an old gentleman, who, about 1773, got it by heart from an old washerwoman singing at her tub.

1 The king he wrote a love-letter, And he sealed it up with gold, And he sent it to Lord Derwentwater, For to read it if he could.

2 The first two lines that he did read, They made him for to smile; But the next two lines he looked upon Made the tears from his eyes to fall.

3 ‘Oh,’ then cried out his lady fair, As she in child-bed lay, ‘Make your will, make your will, Lord Derwentwater, Before that you go away.’

4 ‘Then here’s for thee, my lady fair, . . . . . . . A thousand pounds of beaten gold, To lead you a lady’s life.’

5 . . . . . . . . . . his milk-white steed, The ring dropt from his little finger, And his nose it began to bleed.

6 He rode, and he rode, and he rode along, Till he came to Westminster Hall, Where all the lords of England’s court A traitor did him call.

7 ‘Oh, why am I a traitor?’ said he; ‘Indeed, I am no such thing; I have fought the battles valiantly Of James, our noble king.’

8 O then stood up an old gray-headed man, With a pole-axe in his hand: ‘’Tis your head, ’tis your head, Lord Derwentwater, ’Tis your head that I demand.’

9 . . . . . . . His eyes with weeping sore, He laid his head upon the block, And words spake never more.

* * * * *

C

Bell’s Rhymes of Northern Bards, 1812, p. 225.

1 The king has written a broad letter, And seald it up with gold, And sent it to the lord of Derwentwater, To read it if he would.

2 He sent it with no boy, no boy, Nor yet with eer a slave, But he sent it with as good a knight As eer a king could have.

3 When he read the three first lines, He then began to smile; And when he read the three next lines The tears began to sile.

* * * * *

D

Kinloch MSS, I, 323.

1 The king has written a braid letter, And seald it up wi gowd, And sent it to Lord Derntwater, To read it if he coud.

2 The first lines o ‘t that he read, A blythe, blythe man was he; But ere he had it half read through, The tear blinded his ee.

3 ‘Go saddle to me my milk-white horse, Go saddle it with speed; For I maun ride to Lun[n]on town, To answer for my head.’

4 ‘Your will, your will, my lord Derntwater, Your will before ye go; For you will leave three dochters fair, And a wife to wail and woe.’

5 ‘My will, my will, my lady Derntwater? Ye are my wedded wife; Be kind, be kind to my dochters dear, If I should lose my life.’

6 He set his ae fit on the grund, The tither on the steed; The ring upon his finger burst, And his nose began to bleed.

7 He rode till he cam to Lunnon town, To a place they ca Whiteha; And a’ the lords o merry England A traitor him gan ca.

8 ‘A traitor! a traitor! O what means this? A traitor! what mean ye?’ ‘It’s a’ for the keeping o five hundred men To fecht for bonny Jamie.’

9 Then up started a gray-headed man, Wi a braid axe in his hand: ‘Your life, your life, my lord Derntwater, Your life’s at my command.’

10 ‘My life, my life, ye old gray-headed man, My life I’ll freely gie; But before ye tak my life awa Let me speak twa words or three.

11 ‘I’ve fifty pounds in ae pocket, Go deal it frae door to door; I’ve fifty five i the other pocket, Go gie it to the poor.

12 ‘The velvet coat that I hae on, Ye may tak it for your fee; And a’ ye lords o merry Scotland Be kind to my ladie!’

* * * * *

E

Communicated to Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, XI, 499, 1873, by Mr J. P. Morris, as taken down by him from the recitation of a woman nearly seventy years of age, at Ulverston, North Lancashire.

1 The king wrote a letter to my lord Derwentwater, And he sealed it with gold; He sent it to my Lord Derwentwater, To read it if he could.

2 He sent it by no boy, He sent it by no slave, But he sent it by as true a knight As heart could wish or have.

3 The very first line that he looked upon Made him for to laugh and to smile; The very next line that he looked upon, The tears from his eyes did fall.

4 He called to his stable-boy To saddle his bonny grey steed, ‘That I unto loving London May ride away with speed.’

5 His wife heard him say so, In childbed as she lay; Says she, ‘My lord Derwentwater, Make thy will before thou goest away.’

6 ‘It’s to my little son I give My houses and my land, And to my little daughter Ten thousand pounds in hand.

7 ‘And unto thee, my lady gay, Who is my wedded wife, The third part of my estate thou shalt have, To maintain thee through thy life.’

8 He set his foot in the level stirrup, And mounted his bonny grey steed; The gold rings from his fingers did break, And his nose began for to bleed.

9 He had not ridden past a mile or two, When his horse stumbled over a stone; ‘These are tokens enough,’ said my lord Derwentwater, ‘That I shall never return.’

10 He rode and he rode till he came to merry London, And near to that famous hall; The lords and knights of merry London, They did him a traitor call.

11 ‘A traitor! a traitor! a traitor!’ he cried, ‘A traitor! how can that be, Unless it’s for keeping five hundred men For to fight for King Jamie?’

12 It’s up yon steps there stands a good old man, With a broad axe in his hand; Says he, ‘Now, my lord Derwentwater, Thy life’s at my command.’

13 ‘My life, my life, thou good old man, My life I’ll give to thee, And the green coat of velvet on my back Thou mayst take it for thy fee.

14 ‘There’s fifty pounds and five in my right pocket, Give that unto the poor; There’s twenty pounds and five in my left pocket, Deal that from door to door.’

15 Then he laid his head on the fatal block,

* * * * * *

* * * * *

F

Buchan’s MSS, II, 478.

1 The king has written a broad letter, And seald it with his hand, And sent it on to Lord Arnwaters, To read and understand.

2 Now he has sent it by no boy, No boy, nor yet a slave, But one of England’s fairest knights, The one that he would have.

3 When first he on the letter lookd, Then he began to smile; But ere he read it to an end, The tears did trickling fall.

4 He calld upon his saddle-groom To saddle his milk-white steed, ‘For I unto London must go, For me there is much need.’

5 Out then speaks his gay lady, In child-bed where she lay: ‘Make your will, make your will, my knight, For fear ye rue the day.’