Part 56
Mr. BROUGHAM rose amidst the most vehement expressions of approbation. He rose, he said, in acquiescence to the command imposed upon him by the council, to return thanks to the royal chairman for the kind and cordial manner in which he had been pleased to express himself towards the new University, and also to the company present for the very gratifying manner in which they had received the mention of the toast. The task had been imposed upon him, God knew, not from any supposed peculiar fitness on his part to execute it, but from a well-grounded recollection that he was amongst the earliest and most zealous promoters of the good work they were met to celebrate. Two years had not elapsed since he had the happiness of attending a meeting, at which, peradventure, a great proportion of those whom he was now addressing were present, for the purpose of promoting the foundation of the new University, held in the middle of the city of London, the cradle of all our great establishments, and of the civil and religious liberties of this land; the place where those liberties had first been nurtured; near the spot where they had been watered by the most precious blood of the noblest citizens; and he much deceived himself if the institution, the foundation of which they had met to celebrate, was not destined, with the blessing of Divine Providence, to have an extensive influence in rendering the liberties to which he had before alluded, eternal in England, and to spread the light of knowledge over the world. (Cheers.) On the day which he had referred to, the circumstances under which he spoke were very different from those which now surrounded him. The advocates of the University had then to endure the sneers of some, the more open taunts and jibes of others, accompanied with the timidly expressed hopes of many friends, and the ardent good wishes and fond expectations of a large body of enlightened men, balanced however by the loudly expressed and deep execrations of the enemies of human improvement, light, and liberty, throughout the world. (Applause.) Now, however, the early clouds and mists which had hung over the undertaking had disappeared, and the friends of the new University had succeeded in raising the standard of the establishment in triumph over its defeated enemies--they had succeeded in laying the foundation of the University, amidst the plaudits of surrounding thousands, accompanied by the good wishes of their kind in every corner of the globe. (Cheers.) The council had come to a fixed resolution that in the selection of teachers for the University, no such phrase as “candidate” for votes should ever be used in their presence. The appointments would be given to those who were found most worthy; and if the merits, however little known, should be found to surpass those of others the most celebrated, only in the same proportion as the dust which turned the balance, the former would certainly be preferred. Instead of teaching only four or five, or at the utmost six months in the year, it was intended that the lectures at the new University should continue nine months in the year. After each lecture, the lecturer would devote an hour to examining, in turn, each of the pupils, to ascertain whether he had understood the subject of his discourse. The lecturer would then apply another hour, three times in the week, if not six, (the subject was under consideration,) to the further instruction of such of his pupils as displayed particular zeal in the search of knowledge. By such means, it was hoped that the pupils might not only be encouraged to learn what was already known, but to dash into untried paths, and become discoverers themselves. (Applause.) The honourable and learned gentleman then proceeded, in a strain of peculiar eloquence, to defend himself from a charge which had been made against him, of being inimical to the two great English Universities, which he designated the two lights and glories of literature and science. Was it to be supposed that because he had had the misfortune not to be educated in the sacred haunts of the muses on the Cam or the Isis, that he would, like the animal, declare the fruit which was beyond his reach to be sour? He hoped that those two celebrated seats of learning would continue to flourish as heretofore, and he would be the last person in the world to do any thing which could tend to impair their glory. The honourable and learned gentleman said, he would conclude by repeating the lines from one of our sweetest minstrels, which he had before quoted in reference to the undertaking which they had assembled to support. He then quoted the passage prophetically--now it was applicable as a description of past events:--
“As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm; Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread, Eternal sunshine settles on its head.”
The ROYAL CHAIRMAN then proposed “The Marquis of Lansdown, and the University of Cambridge,” which was drank with great applause.
The Marquis of LANSDOWN, on rising, was received with loud cheers. He felt himself highly honoured, he said, in having his name coupled with the University in which he had received his education. He felt the greatest veneration for that institution, and he considered it by no means inconsistent with that feeling to express the most ardent wishes for the prosperity of the new University. (Applause.) He was persuaded that the extension of science in one quarter could not be prejudicial to its cultivation in another. (Applause.)
“The Royal Society” was next drank, then “Prosperity to the City of London,” and Mr. Alderman Venables returned thanks.
“Prosperity to the City of Westminster” being drank, Mr. Hobhouse returned thanks.
“The health of Lord Dudley” was drank with much applause.
Amongst the other toasts were “Prosperity to the Universities of Scotland and Ireland;” “Henry Brougham, Esq., and the Society for the Promotion of Useful Knowledge;” “The Duke of Norfolk;” “The Mechanics’ Institution,” &c.
The company did not separate till a late hour.[176]
[176] The Times.
* * * * *
~Syr Delaballe ande the Moncke.~
A LEGENDE OFFE TINMOUTHE PRIORIE.
(_For the Table Book._)
~“O horrydde dede toe kylle a manne forre a pygges hede.”~--INSCRIPTION.
Quahat want ye, quahat want ye thoue jollie fryare, Sayde Syr Delavalles Wardoure brave; Quahat lack ye, quahat lack ye, thoue jollie fryare;-- ------Saythe--Openne ye portalle, knave, Three wearye legues fro ye Pryorye Ive com synne ye sonne hathe smylde onne ye sea.
Nowe naye, nowe naye, thoue halie fryare, I maie notte lett ye ynne; Syr Delavalles moode ys notte forre ye Roode, Ande hee cares nott toe shryve hys synne; And schoulde hee retorne quithe hys hoonde and horne, Hee will gare thye haliness rynne.
Forre Chryste hys sak nowe saie nott naie, Botte openne ye portalle toe mee; Ande I wylle donne a ryche benyzonne Forre thye gentlesse ande cortesye:-- Bye Masse ande bye Roode gyffe thys boone ys quithstoode, Thoue shalte perryshe bye sorcerie.
Y’enne quycklie ye portalle wals opennd wyde, Syr Delavalles hal wals made free, Ande ye table wals spredde forre ye fryare quithe spede, Ande he fesstedde ryghte plentyfullie: Dydde a fryare wyghte everre lack off myghte Quhenne hee token chepe hostelrye?
Ande ye fryare hee ate, ande ye fryare hee dronke, Tylle ye cellarmonne wonderred fulle sore; And hee wysh’d hymm atte home att Saynte Oswynnes tombe,[177] Quithe hys relyckes ande myssall lore: Botte ye fryare hee ate offe ye vensonne mete, Ande ye fryare hee dronke ye more.
Nowe thys daie wals a daie off wassell keppt, Syr Delavalles byrthe daie I weene, And monnie a knycghte ande ladye bryghte, Ynne Syr Delavalles castell wals seene; Botte synne ye sunne onne ye blue sea schonne. They’d huntedd ye woodes sae greene.
And ryche and rare wals ye feste prepardde Forre ye knycghtes ande ladyes gaie; Ande ye fyelde ande ye floode baythe yyeldedd yere broode Toe grace ye festalle daie; And ye wynnes fro Espagne wyche longe hadde layne, And spyces fro farre Cathaye.
Botte fyrst ande fayrest offe al ye feste, Bye Syr Delavalle pryzd moste dere, A fatte boare rostedde ynn seemlye gyze, Toe grace hys lordlye chere: Ye reke fro ye fyre sore hongerdde ye fryare, Ynne spyte of refectynge gere.
Ande thuss thoughte ye fryare als he sate, Y’sse Boare ys ryghte savourie; I wot tys noe synn ytts hede toe wynne, Gyffe I mote ryghte cunnynglie; Ysse goddelesse knycghte ys ane churche hatynge wyghte, Toe fylche hymme ne knaverie.
Quithe yatt hee toke hys lethernne poke, Ande whettedde hys knyfe soe shene, Ande hee patyentlye sate atte ye kytchenne yate Tyll ne villeins quehere thyther seene; Yenne quithe meikle drede cutte offe ye boares hede. Als thoe ytte nevere hadde beene.
Yenne ye fryare hee nymblie footedde ye swerde, Ande bente hym toe halie pyle; Forre ance quithynne yttes sacredde shrynne, Hee’d loucgche and joke atte hys guyle; Botte hie thee faste quithe thye outmoste haste, Forre thye gate ys monnie a myle.
Nowe Chryste ye save, quehene ye vylleins sawe. Ye boare quithouten ye hede, They wyst ande grie yatte wytcherie Hadde donne ye featouse dede Ynne sore dystraughte ye fryare they soucghte, Toe helpe y’em ynne yere nede.
Theye soucghte and soucghte ande lang theye soucghte, Ne fryare ne hede cold fynde, Forre fryare ande hede farre oer ye mede, Were scuddynge ytte lyk ye wynde: Botte haste, botte haste, thoue jollie fryare, Quehere boltt and barre wylle bynde.
Ye sunne wals hyghe yane hys journeye flyghte, Ande homewarde ye fysher bote rowedde,[178] Quehenne ye deepe soundynge horne shoudde Syr Delavalles retorne, Quithe hys knychtes ande ladyes proude: Ye bagpypes y’sonde ande ye jeste went ronde, Ande revelrye merrye ande loude.
Botte meikle, botte meikle wals ye rage, Offe ye hoste and compagnie, Quehenne ye tale wals tolde offe ye dede soe bolde, Quilke wals layde toe wytcherie: Ande howe ynne destraucghte ye moncke they soucghte, Ye moneke offe ye Pryorie.
Now rycghtlie y wyss Syr Delavalle knewe, Quehenne tould of ye fryare knave; Bye mye knycghthoode I vowe hee schalle derelye rue, Thys trycke hee thoucghte soe brave; Ande awaie flewe ye knycghte, lyk are egle’s flychte, Oere ye sandes of ye northerne wave.
Ande faste and faste Syr Delavalle rodde, Tylle ye Pryorie yate wals ynne vyewe, Ande ye knycghte wals awar offe a fryare talle, Quithe ane loke baythe tiredde ande grewe, Who quithe rapydde spanne oerre ye grene swerde ranne, Ye wrathe offe ye knycghte toe eschewe.
Botte staie, botte staie, thou fryare knave, Botte staie ande shewe toe mee, Quatte thoue haste ynne yatte leatherne poke, Quilke thoue mayest carrie soe hie, Now Chryste ye save, sayde ye fryare knave, Fire-botte forre ye Pryorie.
Thoue lyest! thoue lyest! thoue knavyshe preste, Thoue lyest untoe mee, Ye knycghte hee toke ye leatherne poke, Ande hys boare’s hede dydde espie, And stylle ye reke fro ye scotchedde cheke, Dydde seeme rychte savourie.
Goddeswotte! botte hadde ye seene ye fryare, Quithe his skynne of lividde hue, Quehenne ye knycghte drewe outte ye rekynge snoutte, Ande floryshodde hys huntynge thewe; Gramercye, gramercye, nowe godde Syr Knycghte, Als ye Vyrgynne wylle mercye schewe.
Botte ye knycghte hee bangedde ye fryare aboutte, Ande bette hys backe fulle sore; And hee bette hym als hee rolledde onne ye swerde, Tylle ye fryare dydde loudlie roare: Ne mote hee spare ye fryare maire, Y’anne Mahounde onne easterene shore.[179]
Nowe tak ye yatte ye dogge offe ane moncke, Nowe tak ye yatte fro mee; Ande awaie rodde ye knycghte, ynne grete delycghte, Atte hys fete offe flagellrie; Ande ye sands dydde resounde toe hys chevalx boundde,[180] Als hee rodde nere ye mergynnedde sea.
Botte whaes yatte hyghes fro ye Pryorie yatte, Quithe a crosse soe halie ande talle, Ande offe monckes a crowde al yelpynge lowde, Atte quahatte mote ye fryare befalle; Forre theye seene ye dede fra ye Pryorie hede, Ande herde hym piteousse calle.
Ye fryare hee laye ynne sare distraucghte, Al wrythynge ynne grymme dismaie, Eche leeshedde wonnde spredde blode onne ye gronde, And tyngedde ye daisie gaie: Wae fa’ ye dede, ande yere laye ye hede, Bothe reekynge als welle mote theye.
Ne worde hee spak, ne cryne colde mak, Quehenne ye pryore cam breathlesse nyghe; Botte ye teares y’ranne fro ye halie manne, Als hee heavedde monie a syghe: Y’nne ye pryore wals redde offe ye savourie hede, Y’atte nere ye moncke dydde ly.
Y’enne theye bore ye moncke toe ye Pryorie yatte, Ynne dolorousse steppe ande slowe, They vengeannce vowdde, ynne curses loude, Onne ye horsmanne wyghte I trowe; Ye welkynne range wi yere yammerynges lange, Als ye cam ye Pryorie toe.
A leache offe skylle, quithe meikle care. Ande herbes ande conjurie, Soone gav ye moncke hys wontedde sponke, Forre hys quyppes ande knaverie; Quehenne hee tould how ye knycghte, Syr Delavalle hyghte, Hadde donne ye batterie.
Botte woe forre thys knycghte offe hyghe degre, And greete als welle hee maie, Forre ye fryare y’wot hee batteredde and bruysdde, Toke ylle, als ye churchmenne saye, Ande ys surelie dede quythouten remede, Quithynne yere ande eke a daie.
Farewelle toe y’re landes, Syr Delavalle bolde, Farewelle toe y’re castelles three, Y’ere gonne fro thye heyre, tho greiveste thoue saire Y’ere gonne toe ye Pryorie; Ande thoue moste thole a wollennne stole, Ande lacke thye libertie--
Three lange lange yeres ynne dolefulle gyze, Ynne Tynemouthe Abbie praie, And monie a masse toe hevenwerde passe, Forre ye fryare yatte thou dyddst slaye: Thoue mayest loke oere ye sea ande wyshe toe bee free, Botte ye pryore offe Tynemouthe saythe naye.
Quehenne thoue haste spente three lange lange yeres Toe ye halie londe thoue moste hie, Thye falchyonne wyelde onne ye battelled fyelde, Gaynste ye paynimme chevalrie; Three crescentes bryghte moste thoue wynne ynne fyghte, Ere thoue wynnste thye dere countrie.
Ande onne ye spotte quehere ye ruthless dede Ystayndde ye medowe grene, Al fayre toe see ynne masonrie, Als talle als ane oakenne treene, Thoue moste sette a stonne quithe a legende thereonne, Yatte ye murtherre yere hadde beene.
Ye masses maiste gryevedde Syr Delavalle sore, Botte praye he moste ande maye, Hee thrummelldde hys bede, ande bente hys hede, Thoroughe ye nyhte ande thoroughe ye daye, Tylle ye three yeres oerre, hee lepte toe ye shore, Ande cryedde toe ye battelle awaye!
Hee doffedde hys stole offe woolenne coorse, Ande donnde ynne knycghtlye pryde, Hys blade ande cuirasse, ande sayde ne mo masse, Quehyle hee crossedde ye byllowye tyd: Ne candle, ne roode, botte ye fyghtynge moode, Wals ye moode offe ye borderre syde.
Soone soone myddst ye foes offe ye halie londe, Quehere ye launces thyckestte grewe, Wals Syr Delavalle seene, quithe hys brande soe kene, Onne hys stede soe stronge ande trewe; Ye Pagannes they felle, ande passdde toe helle, Ande hee monie a Saracenne slewe.
Ande hee soone fra ye rankes offe Saladynne bore Three crescentes off sylverre sheene, Ne paganne knycghte mote quithestonde hys myghte, Who foughtenne forre wyffe and wene; Saincte George, cryedde ye knycghte, ande Englande’s myghte, Orre a bedde nethe ye hyllocke grene.
Gallantlye rodde Syr Delavalle onne Quehere lethal woundes were gyvenne, Ande ye onnesettes brave, lyk a swepynge wave, Rolldde ye warriors off Chryste toe hevene: Botte forre eche halie knycghte y’ slayne ynne fyghte, A hondredde fals hertes were ryvenne.
Nowe brave Syr Delavalles penaunce wals donne, Hee hamewerde soughtenne hys waie; Fro ye battel playne acrosse ye mayne, Toe fayre Englonndes wellcom baie; Toe see hys lone bryde, toe ye northe hee hyedde, Quithoutenne stoppe orr staye.
* * * * *
Ance maire ys merrye ye borderre londe, Harke thoroughe ye myddnyghte gale, Ye bagpypes agayne playe a wasselle strayne, Ronde ronde flees ye joyaunce tale: Monie a joke offe ye fryares poke Ys passedde oerre hylle ande dale.
Ye Ladye Delavalle ance matre smylde, Ande sange tylle herre wene onne herre knee, Ande pryedde herre knycghte ynne fonde delyghte, Quihile hee helde herre lovynglye: Ne gryevedde hee maire offe hys dolorres sayre, Tho’ stryppedde offe londe ande ffee.
Atte Werkeworthe castelle, quilke proudlie lookes Oerre ye stormie northernne mayne, Ye Percye gretedde ye borderre knycghte, Quithe hys merryeste mynstrelle strayne: Throngedde wals ye hal, quithe nobles alle, Toe wellcom ye knycghte agayne.
Nowe at thys daye quihile yeres rolle onne Ande ye knycghte dothe cauldlie ly, Ye stonne doth stande onne ye sylente londe Toe tellen toe strangeres nyghe. Yatte ane horrydde dede forre a pygge hys hede Dydde y’ere toe hevenwerdde crye.
* * * * *
ON THE ABOVE LEGEND.
_To the Editor._
The legend of “Syr Delavalle and the Moncke” is “owre true a tale.” The stone syr Delavalle was compelled to erect in commemoration of this “horryd dede” is (or rather the shattered remains of its shaft are) still lying close to a neat farmhouse, called Monkhouse, supposed to be built on the identical spot on which the “flagellrie” was effected, and is often bent over by the devout lovers of monkish antiquity.
The poem was found amongst the papers of an ingenious friend, who took pleasure in collecting such rhymes; but as he has been dead many years, I have no means of ascertaining at what period it was written, or whether it was the original channel through which the story has come down to posterity. I have some confused recollection, that I heard it stated my friend got this, and several similar ballads, from a very old man who resided at a romantic village, at a short distance from Tynemouth Priory, called “Holywell.” It is possible that there may be some account of its source among my lamented friend’s papers, but as they are very multitudinous and in a confused mass, I have never had courage to look regularly through them. There are several other poems of the like description the labour of copying which I may be induced to undergo should I find that this is within the range of the _Table Book_.
ALPHA
_London, April 14, 1827._
[177] St. Oswyn’s tomb was at Tynemouth Priory.
[178] There is an old picturesque fishing town, called Callercoats, in the direct road between the seat of the Delavals and Tynemouth abbey.
[179] The whipping described in this ballad was performed within about three quarters of a mile from the entrance of the Abbey, within hearing and sight of the astonished “halie monckes.”
[180] The nearest road from Delaval Castle to Tynemouth Abbey is a fine sandy beach, beaten hard by the ceaseless dash of the German Ocean wave.
* * * * *
Vol. I.--20.
This sketch, in the pocket-book of an artist, suddenly startled recollection to the April of my life--the season of sunshine hopes, and stormy fears--when each hour was a birth-time of thought, and every new scene was the birth-place of a new feeling. The drawing carried me back to an October morning in 1797, when I eagerly set off on an errand to Boughton-hill, near Canterbury, for the sake of seeing the country on that side of Chatham for the first time. The day was cloudy, with gales of wind. I reached Chatham-hill, and stood close to this sign, looking over the flood of the Medway to the Nore, intently peering for a further sea-view. Flashes of fire suddenly gleamed in the dim distance, and I heard the report of cannon. Until then, such sounds from the bosom of the watery element were unknown to me, and they came upon my ear with indescribable solemnity. We were at war with France; and supposing there was a battle between two fleets off the coast, my heart beat high; my thoughts were anxious, and my eyes strained with the hope of catching something of the scene I imagined. The firing was from the fleet at the Nore, in expectation of a royal review. The king was then proceeding from Greenwich to Sheerness, in the royal yacht, attended by the lords of the admiralty, to go on board the Dutch ships captured by lord Duncan, at the battle of Camperdown.[181] On my return to Chatham, the sign of “the Star” was surrounded by sailors, who, with their shipmates inside the house, were drinking grog out of pewter-pots and earthen basins, and vociferating “Rule Britannia.”
The following year, on the evening of a glorious summer’s day, I found refuge in this house from the greatest storm I had then seen. It came with gusts of wind and peals of thunder from the sea. Standing at the bow-window, I watched the lightning sheeting the horizon, making visible the buried objects in the black gloom, and forking fearfully down, while the rain fell in torrents, and the trees bent before the furious tempest like rushes. The elements quickly ceased their strife, the moon broke out, and in a few minutes there was
The spacious firmament on high, And all the blue ethereal sky And spangled heavens, a shining frame.
The “Star” in war time was the constant scene of naval and military orgies, and therefore rather repelled than courted other visitants. It is now a respectable inn and a stage for the refreshment of coach travellers. During a hasty trip to Canterbury a short time ago, Mr. Samuel Williams stopped there long enough to select its sign, and the character of the view beyond it, as “a bit” for his pencil, which I, in turn, seized on, and he has engraved it as a decoration for the _Table Book_.
My readers were instructed at the outset of the work that, if they allowed me to please myself, we might all be pleased in turn. If I am sometimes not their most faithful, I am never otherwise than their most sincere servant; and therefore I add that I am not always gratified by what gratifies generally, and I have, in this instance, presented a small matter of my particular liking. I would have done better if I could. There are times when my mind foils and breaks down suddenly--when I can no more think or write than a cripple can run: at other times it carries me off from what I ought to do, and sets me to something the very negative to what I wish. I then become, as it were, possessed; an untamable spirit has its will of me in spite of myself:--what I have omitted, or done, in the present instance, illustrates the fact.
*
[181] Owing to adverse winds, his majesty could not get farther than the Hope.
* * * * *
GREENGROCERS’ DEVICES.
_For the Table Book._
Dear Sir,--In my wanderings through the metropolis at this season, I observe an agreeable and refreshing novelty, an ingenious contrivance to make mustard and cress seeds grow in pleasant forms over vessels and basketwork, covered on their exterior with wet flannel, wherein the seeds are deposited, and take root and grow, to adorn the table or recess. The most curious which struck me, consisted of a “hedgehog”--a doll’s head looking out of its vernally-growing clothes--a “Jack in the green”--a Dutch cheese in “a bower”--“Paul Pry”--and “Pompey’s pillar.”