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With him took he wight men two,
Peter Dale was one of thoe,

That ever was brim as beare; 14

And well durst strike with sword and knife,
And fight full manly for his life,
What time as mister ware, s

These three men went at God's will,
This wicked sew while they come till,

Liggan 16 under a tree;

Rugg and rusty was her baire;
She raise her up with a felon fare,"
To fight against the three.

She was so grisley for to meete,
She rave the earth up with her feete,
And bark came fro the tree;
When Fryar Middleton ber saugh, 's
Weet ye well he might not laugh,
Full earnestly look't hee.

15

These men of aunters that was so wight, 19 They bound them bauldly 2 for to fight,

And strike at her full sare; Untill a kiln they garred her flee, Would God send them the victory,

They would ask him noa mare.

The sew was in the kiln hole down,
As they were on the balke aboon, 21
For hurting of their feet;
They were so saulted with this sew,
That among them was a stalworth stew,
The kilne began to recke.

Durst noe man neigh her with his hand,
But put a rape down with his wand,
And haltered her full meete;
They hurled her forth against her will,
Whiles they came unto a hill
A little fro the streete.25

And there she made them such a fray,
If they should live to Doomes-day,
They tharrow 25 it ne'er forgett;

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She braded upon every side,
And ran on them gaping full wide,
For nothing would she lett.

1 Rushed.

She gave such brades at the band, That Peter Dale had in his hand,

He might not hold his feet;
She chafed them to and fro,
The wight men was never so woe,
Their measure was not so meete.

She bound ber boldly to abide;
To Pater Dale she came aside

With many a hideous yell;

She gaped so wide and cried so hee, The fryar said, I conjure thee,4

Thou art a fiend of hell.

Thou art come hither for some traine,

I conjure thee to go againe

Where thou was wont to dwell..

He sained him with crosse and creede, Took forth a book, began to reade,

In St John his gospell.

The sew she would not Latin heare,
But rudely rushed at the frear,

That blinked all his blee;7

And she would have taken her hold,
The fryar leaped as Jesus wold,
And bealed him with a tree.

She was as brim as any beare,
For all their meete to labour there,

To them it was no boote:

Upon tress and bushes that by her stood, She ranged as she was wood,'

And rave them up by roote.

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* Leave it.

16

* Pulls.

4 This line is wanting in Mr Whitaker's copy, whence it has been conjectured that something is wanting after this stanza, which now there is no occasion to suppose.

5 Evil device.

Blessed, Fr.

Sheltered himself. • Fierce.

Lost his colour.

10 The MS. reads to labour weere. The text seems to mean that all their labour to obtain their intended meat was of no use to them. Mr Whitaker reads,

She was as brim as any boar, And gave a grisly hideous roar, To them it was no boot.

Besides the want of connexion between the last line and the two former, the second has a very modern sound, and the reading of the Rokeby MS. with the slight alteration in the text, is much better. Mad.

12 Torn, pulled.

13 Knew.

44 Combat, perilous fight.

13 This stanza, with the two following, and the fragment of a fourth, are not in Mr Whitaker's edition.

16 The rope about the sow's neck.

17 Knew.

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The warden said, I am full woe,
That ever you should be torment so,
But wee with you had beene!
Had wee been there your brethren all,
Wee should have garred the warle' fall,
That wrought you all this teyne."
Fryer Middleton said soon. «Nay,
In faith you would have fled away,
When most mister had been;
You will all speake words at hame,
A man will ding to you every ilk ane,
And if it be as I weine."

He look't so griesly all that night,
The warden said, Yon man will fight
If you say ought but good:
Yon guest bath grieved him so sare,
Hold your tongues and speak noe mare,
He looks as he were wood.

The warden waged 12 on the morne,
Two boldest men that ever were borne,
I weine, or ever shall be;
The one was Gilbert Griffin's son,
Full mickle worship has he wonne,
Both by land and sea.

The other was a bastard son of Spain,
Many a Sarazin hath he slain,

His dint hath gart them die.
These two men the battle undertooke
Against the sew, as says the booke,
And scaled security,

That they should boldly bide and fight,
And skomfit her in maine and might,
Or therefore should they die.
The warden sealed to them againe,
And said, In field if ye be slain,
This condition make 1:

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We shall for you pray, sing, and read
To doomesday with hearty speede,

With all our progeny.»
Then the letters well was made,
Bands bound with seales brade,'

As deedes of armes should be.

These men of armes weere soe wight,
With armour and with brandes bright,
They went this sew to see;

She made on them slike a rerd,
That for her they were sare afer'd,
And almost bound to flee.

She came roveing them againe;
That saw the bastard son of Spaine,

He braded out his brand;
Full spiteously at her he strake,
For all the fence that he could make,

She gat sword out of hand;

And rave in sunder balf his shielde,
And bare him backward in the fielde,
He might not her gainstand.

She would have riven his privich geare,
But Gilbert with his sword of werre,
He strake at her full strong."

On her shoulder till she held the swerd;
Then was good Gilbert sore afer'd,

When the blade brake in throng.

Since in his hands be bath her tane,
She tooke him by the shoulder bane,3
And held her bold full fast,

She strave so stiffly in that stower, *
That thorough all his rich armour
The blood came at the last.

Then Gilbert grieved was sea sare,
That he rave off both hide and haire.
The flesh came fro the bone;
And all with force he felled her there,
And wan her worthily in werre,

And band her hame alone.

And lift her on a horse sea bee,
Into two panyers well made of a tree,
And to Richmond they did hay: 7
When they saw her come,
They sang merrily Te Deum,

The fryers on that day,

They thanked God and St Francis,
As they had won the beast of pris,
And never a man was slaine:
There did never a man more manly,
Knight Marcus, nor yet Sir Gui,
Nor Loth of Louthayne.

If ye will any more of this,

In the fryars of Richmond 't is

In parchment good and fine;

And how Fryer Middleton that was so kend," At Greta-bridge conjured a fiend

In likeness of a swine.

It is well known to many a man,

That Fryer Theobald was warden than,

And this fell in his time;

And Christ them bless both farre and neare,

All that for solace list this to heare,

And him that made the rhime.

Ralph Rokeby with full good will,

The Fryers of Richmond he gave her till,

This sew to mend their fare:

Fryer Middleton by his name,

Would needs bring the fat sew hame,
That rued him since full sare.

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Note 4. Stapza x.

The Filea of O'Neale was he.

had at the fyrst to cause them to weare gownes of sylke, furred with myneuere and gray; for before these kynges thought themselfe well apparelled whan they had on a mantell. They rode always without saddles and styropes, and with great payne I made them to ride after our usage.»-LORD BERNERS' Froissart, Lond. 1812. 4to. II, 621.

The influence of these bards upon their patrons, and their admitted title to interfere in matters of the, weightiest concern, may be also proved from the behaviour of one of them at an interview between Thomas Fitzgerald, son of the Earl of Kildare, then about to renounce the English allegiance, and the Lord Chancellor Cromer, who made a long and goodly oration to dissuade him from his purpose. The young lord had come to the council «armed and weaponed,» and

mail; and we are assured that the chancellor, having set forth his oration « with such a lamentable action as his cheeks were all beblubbered with teares, the horsemen, namelie, such as understood not English, began to diuine what the lord-chancelor meant with all this long circumstance; some of them reporting that he was preaching a sermon, others said that he stood making of some heroicall poetry in the praise of the Lord Thomas. And thus as every ideot shot his foolish bolt at the wise chancellor his discourse, who in effect did nought else but drop pretious stones before hogs, one Bard de Nelan, an Irish rithmour, and a rotten sheepe to infect a whole flocke, was chatting of Irish verses, as though his toong had run on pattens, in commendation of the Lord Thomas, investing him with the title of Silken Thomas, bicause his horsemens jacks were gorgeously imbrodered with silke: and in the end he told him that he lingered there ouer long. Whereat the Lord Thomas being quickened,» Hollinshed expresses it, bid defiance to the chancellor, threw down contemptuously the sword of office, which, in his father's absence, he held as deputy, and rushed forth to engage in open insurrection.

The Filea, or Ollamh Re Dan, was the proper bard, er, as the name literally implies, poet. Each chieftain 1 of distinction had one or more in his service, whose office was usually hereditary. The late ingenious Mr Cooper Walker has assembled a curious collection of particulars concerning this order of men in his Historical Memoirs of the Irish Bards. There were itinerant bards of less elevated rank, but all were held in the highest veneration. The English, who considered them as chief supporters of the spirit of national independeace, were much disposed to proscribe this race of poets, as Edward I. is said to have done in Wales. Spenser, while he admits the merit of their wild poetry, as savouring of sweet wit and good invention, and sprinkled with some pretty flowers of their natural de-attended by seven score horsemen in their shirts of vice, yet rigorously condemns the whole application of their poetry, as abased to « the gracing of wickedDess and vice. The household minstrel was admitted even to the feast of the prince whom he served, and sat at the same table. It was one of the customs of which Sir Richard Sewry, to whose charge Richard II. committed the instruction of four Irish monarchs in the civilization of the period, found it most difficult to break his royal disciples, though he had also much ado to subject them to other English rules, and particularly to reconcile them to wear breeches. «The kyng, my soverigne lords entent was, that in maner, countenaunce, and apparell of clothyng, they sholde use according to the maner of Englande, for the kynge thought to make them all four knyghtes: they had a fayre house to lodge in, in Duvelyn, and I was charged to abyde styll with them, and not to departe; and so two or three dayes I suffered them to do as they lyst, and sayde nothyng to them, but folowed their owne appetytes; they wolde sytte at the table, and make countenance nother good nor fayre. Than I thought I shulde cause them to chaunge that maner; they wolde cause their mynstrells, their seruauntes, and varlettes to sytte with them, and to eate in their owne dyssche, and to drinke of their cuppes; and they shewed me that the usage of their countre was good, for they sayd in all thyngs (except their beddes) they were and lyved as Leomen. So the fourthe day I ordayned other tables to be couered in the hall, after the usage of Englande, and I made these four knyghtes to sytte at the hyghe table, and their mynstrels at another borde, and their seruanates and varlettes at another byneth them, whereof by semynge they were displeased, and beheld each other, and wolde not eate, and sayde, how I wolde | take fro them their good usage, wherein they had been Then I answered them smylyng, to apeace them, that it was not honourable for their estates to do as they dyde before, and that they must leave it, and use the custom of Englande, and that it was the Kynges pleasure they shulde do so, and how he was charged so to order them. Whan they harde that, they I suffred it, bycause they had putte themselfe under the obeyance of the kynge of Englande, and parceuered in the same as long as I was with them; yet they had one ase which I knew was well used in their countre, and that was, they dyde were no breches; I caused breches of lynen clothe to be made for them. Whyle I was Iwith them I caused them to leaue many rude thynges, as well in clothyng as in other causes. Moche ado I

norished.

Note 5. Stanza x.

Ab, Clandeboy! thy friendly floor,
Slieve-Donard's oak shall light no more.

1

as

Clandeboy is a district of Ulster, formerly possessed by the sept of the O'Neales, and Slieve-Donard a romantic mountain in the same province. The clan was ruined after Tyrone's great rebellion, and their places of abode laid desolate. The ancient Irish, wild and uncultivated in other respects, did not yield even to their descendants in practising the most free and extended hospitality, and doubtless the bards mourned the decay of the mansions of their chiefs in strains similar to the verses of the British Llywarch Hen on a similar occasion, which are affecting, even through the discouraging medium of a literal translation:

Silent-breathing gale, long wilt thou be heard!
There is scarcely another deserving praise,
Since Urien is no more.

Many a dog that scented well the prey, and aerial hawk,
Have been trained on this floor
Before Erlleon became polluted

This hearth, ab, will it not be covered with nettles!
Whilst its defender lived,

More congenial to it was the foot of the needy petitioner.

HOLLINSHED, Lond. 1808, 4to. vol. VI, p. 291.

This hearth, will it not be covered with green sod!
In the lifetime of Owain and Elphin,

Its ample cauldron boiled the prey taken from the foe.

This hearth, will it not be covered with toad-stools!
Around the viand it prepared, more cheering was
The clattering sword of the fierce dauntless warrior.

This hearth, will it not be overgrown with spreading brambles!
Till now logs of burning wood lay on it,
Accustomed to prepare the gifts of Reged!

This hearth, will it not be covered with thorns!

More congenial on it would have been the mixed group
Of Owain's social friends united in harmony.

This hearth, will it not be covered over with the ants!
More adapted to it would have been the bright torches
And harmless festivities!

This hearth, will it not be covered with dock-leaves!
More congenial on its floor would have been
The mead, and the talking of wine-cheer'd warriors.

This hearth, will it not be turned up by the swine!
More congenial to it would have been the clamour of men,
And the circling horns of the banquet.

Heroic Elegies of Llywarch Hen, by Owen,
Lond. 1792, 8vo. p. 41.

The ball of Cynddylan is gloomy this night, Without fire, without bed

I must weep awhile, and then be silent!

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night,

Without fire, without candle

Except God doth, who will endue me with patience?

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night,
Without fire, without being lighted-
Be thou encircled with spreading silence!

The hall of Cynddylan, gloomy seems its roof,

Since the sweet smile of humanity is no more

Woe to him that saw it, if he neglects to do good!

The hall of Cynddylan, art thou not bereft of thy appearance! Thy shield is in the grave;

Whilst he lived there was no broken roof!

The hall of Cynddylan is without love this night,
Since he that owned it is no more-

Ah, death! it will be but a short time he will leave me!

The ball of Cynddylan is not easy this night,
On the top of the rock of Hydwyth,

Without its lord, without company, without the circling feasts!

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night,
Without fire, without songs-

Tears afflict the cheeks!

The hall of Cynddylan is gloomy this night,

Without fire, without family

My overflowing tears gush out!

The hall of Cynddylan pierces me to see it,
Without a covering, without fire-

My general dead, and I alive myself!

The ball of Cynddylan is the seat of chill grief this night,
After the respect I experienced;

Without the men, without the women, who reside there!

The hall of Cynddylan is silent this night,
After losing its master-

The great merciful God, what shall I do?

Note 6. Stanza xii.

-Marwood-chase and Toller-hill.

Ibid. p. 77.

Marwood-chase is the old park extending along the Durham side of the Tees, attached to Barnard Castle. Toller-hill is an eminence on the Yorkshire side of the river, commanding a superb view of the ruins.

Note 7, Stanza xiv.

-Hawthornden.

Drummond of Hawthornden was in the zenith of his reputation as a poet during the civil wars. He died in 1649.

Note 8. Stanza xiv. Mac-Curtin's harp.

« Mac-Curtin, hereditary Ollamh of North Munster, and Filea to Donough, Earl of Thomond, and President of Munster. This nobleman was amongst those who were prevailed upon to join Elizabeth's forces. Soon as it was known that he had basely abandoned the interests of his country, Mac-Curtin presented an adula- tory poem to Mac-Carthy, chief of South Munster, and of the Eugenian line, who, with O'Neil, O'Donnel, Lace, and others, were deeply engaged in protecting their violated country. In this poem he dwells with rapture on the courage and patriotism of Mac-Carthy; but the verse that should (according to an established law of ! the order of the bards) be introduced in the praise of i O'Brien, he turns into severe satire:-'How am I af- ¦ |flicted (says he), that the descendant of the great Brwn Boiromh cannot furnish me with a theme worthy the honour and glory of his exalted race! Lord Thomond, hearing this, vowed vengeance on the spirited hard, whe¦ fled for refuge to the county of Cork. One day, observing the exasperated nobleman and his equipage at a small distance, he thought it was in vain to fly, and i pretended to be suddenly seized with the of pangs death; directing his wife to lament over him, and teli his lordship that the sight of him, by awakening the sense of his ingratitude, had so much affected him that he could not support it; and desired her at the same time to tell his lordship that he entreated, as a dying! request, his forgiveness. Soon as Lord Thomond arrived, the feigned tale was related to him. The nobleman was moved to compassion, and not only declared that he most heartily forgave him, but, opening his purse, presented the fair mourner with some pieces to inter him. This instance of his lordship's pity and nerosity gave courage to the trembling bard, who, suddenly springing up, recited an extemporaneous ode in praise of Donough, and re-entering into his service, be came once more his favourite.»-WALKER's Memoirs of the Irish Bards, Lond. 1786, 4to. p. 141.

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preads over the adjoining hill; on the fourth, by mea- were the lady on whose account she had been sent for, dews which are watered by the river Kennet. Close on and a man of a haughty and ferocious aspect. The e side of the house is a thick grove of lofty trees, lady was delivered of a fine boy. Immediately the dong the verge of which runs one of the principal ave- man commanded the midwife to give him the child, mus to it through the park. It is an irregular building and catching it from her, he hurried across the room, af great antiquity, and was probably erected about the and threw it on the back of the fire, that was blazing time of the termination of feudal warfare, when defence in the chimney. The child, however, was strong, and came no longer to be an object in a country mansion. by its struggles rolled itself off upon the hearth, when Many circumstances, however, in the interior of the the ruffian again seized it with fury, and, in spite of house, seem appropriate to feudal times. The hall is the intercession of the midwife, and the more piteous very spacious, floored with stones, and lighted by large entreaties of the mother, thrust it under the grate, and, transom windows, that are clothed with casements. Its raking the live coals upon it, soon put an end to its walls are hung with old military accoutrements, that life. The midwife, after spending some time in affordhave long been left a prey to rust. At one end of the ing all the relief, in her power to the wretched mother, hal is a range of coats of mail and helmets, and there was told that she must begone. Her former conductor is on every side abundance of old-fashioned pistols and appeared, who again bound her eyes, and conveyed her , many of them with matchlocks. Immediately behind him to her own home: he then paid her handbelow the cornice hangs a row of leathern jerkins, made somely, and departed. The midwife was strongly agiin the form of a shirt, supposed to have been worn as tated by the horrors of the preceding night; and she armour by the vassals. A large oak table, reaching nearly immediately made a deposition of the fact before the from one end of the room to the other, might have magistrate. Two circumstances afforded hopes of defeasted the whole neighbourhood, and an appendage to tecting the house in which the crime had been comone end of it made it answer at other times for the old mitted; one was, that the midwife, as she sate by the game of shuffle-board. The rest of the furniture is in bedside, had, with a view to discover the place, cut out a suitable style, particularly an arm-chair of cumbrous a piece of the bed-curtain, and sewn it in again; the workmanship, constructed of wood, curiously turned, other was, that as she had descended the staircase, she with a high back and triangular seat, said to have been had counted the steps. Some suspicions fell upon one ad by Judge Popham in the reign of Elizabeth. The Darrell, at that time the proprietor of Littlecot-house, entrance into the hall is at one end by a low door, com- and the domain around it. The house was examined, municating with a passage that leads from the outer and identified by the midwife, and Darrell was tried at door in the front of the house to a quadrangle within; Salisbury for the murder. By corrupting his judge, he at the other, it opens upon a gloomy staircase, by which escaped the sentence of the law, but broke his neck by you ascend to the first floor, and, passing the doors of a fall from his horse in hunting, in a few months after. | some bed-chambers, enter a narrow gallery which ex- The place where this happened is still known by the tends along the back front of the house from one end name of Darrell's Stile,-a spot to be dreaded by the to the other of it, and looks upon an old garden. This peasant whom the shades of evening have overtaken gallery is hung with portraits, chiefly in the Spanish on his way. dresses of the sixteenth century. In one of the bedchambers, which you pass in going towards the gallery, is a bedstead with blue furniture, which time has now made dingy and threadbare, and in the bottom of one of the bed-curtains you are shown a place where a small piece has been cut out and sewn in again,-a circumstance which serves to identify the scene of the following story:

It was on a dark rainy night in the month of November, that an old midwife sate musing by her cottage áre-side, when on a sudden she was startled by a loud knocking at the door. On opening it she found a horseman, who told her that her assistance was required imImediately by a person of rank, and that she should be handsomely rewarded, but that there were reasons for keeping the affair a strict secret, and, therefore, she must submit to be blind-folded, and to be conducted in that condition to the bed-chamber of the lady. With some hesitation the midwife consented; the horseman bound her eyes, and placed her on a pillion behind him. After proceeding in silence for many miles, through rough and dirty lanes, they stopped, and the midwife was led into a house, which from the length of her | walk through the apartments, as well as the sounds about her, she discovered to be the seat of wealth and power. When the bandage was removed from her yes, she found herself in a bed-chamber, in which

I think there is a chapel on one side of it, but am not quite sure.

<<< Littlecot-house is two miles from Hungerford, in Berkshire, through which the Bath road passes. The fact occurred in the reign of Elizabeth. All the important circumstances I have given exactly as they are told in the country; some trifles only are added, either to render the whole connected, or to increase the impression.>>

With this tale of terror the author has combined

some circumstances of a similar legend, which was current at Edinburgh, during his childhood.

About the beginning of the eighteenth century, when the large castles of the Scottish nobles, and even the secluded hotels, like those of the French noblesse, which they possessed in Edinburgh, were sometimes the scenes of strange and mysterious transactions, a divine of singular sanctity was called up at midnight, to pray with a person at the point of death. This was no unusual summons; but what followed was alarming. He was put into a sedan-chair, and, after he had been transported to a remote part of the town, the bearers insisted upon his being blindfolded. The request was enforced by a cocked pistol, and submitted to; but in the course of the discussion he conjectured, from the phrases employed by the chairmen, and from some part of their dress, not completely concealed by their cloaks, that they were greatly above the menial station they had assumed. After many turns and windings, the chair was carried up stairs into a lodging, where his eyes were uncovered, and he was introduced into a bed

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