LORD BATEMAN.

[THIS is a ludicrously corrupt abridgment of the ballad of Lord Beichan, a copy of which will be found inserted amongst the Early Ballads, An. Ed. p. 144. The following grotesque version was published several years ago by Tilt, London, and also, according to the title-page, by Mustapha Syried, Constantinople! under the title of The loving Ballad of Lord Bateman. It is, however, the only ancient form in which the ballad has existed in print, and is one of the publications mentioned in Thackeray's Catalogue, see ante, p. 240. The air printed in Tilt's edition is the one to which the ballad is sung in the South of England, but it is totally different to the Northern tune, which has never been published.]

L

ORD BATEMAN he was a noble lord,

A noble lord of high degree;

He shipped himself on board a ship,
Some foreign country he would go see.
He sailed east, and he sailed west,

Until he came to proud Turkèy;
Where he was taken, and put to prison,
Until his life was almost weary.

It

grew

And in this prison there grew a tree,
rew so stout, and grew so strong;
Where he was chained by the middle,
Until his life was almost gone.
This Turk he had one only daughter,
The fairest creature my eyes did see;
She stole the keys of her father's prison,
And sword
Lord Bateman she would set free.

'Have

you got houses? have you got lands? Or does Northumberland belong to thee? What would give to the fair young lady on would set you free?'

you

That out of pris

'I have got houses, I have got lands,

And half Northumberla

ad belongs to me
ing lady

I'll give it all to the fair you set me free.'
That out of prison would

O! then she took him to her father's hall,
And gave to him the best of wine;
And every health she drank unto him,

'I wish, Lord Bateman, that you were mine! 'Now in seven years I'll make a vow,

And seven years I'll keep it strong,
If you'll wed with no other woman,
I will wed with no other man.'

O! then she took him to her father's harbour,
And gave to him a ship of fame;
'Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman,
I'm afraid I ne'er shall see you again.'

Now seven long years are gone and past,
And fourteen days, well known to thee;
She packed up all her gay clothing,

And swore Lord Bateman she would go see. But when she came to Lord Bateman's castle, So boldly she rang the bell;

'Who's there? who's there?' cried the proud portèr, 'Who's there? unto me come tell.'

O! is this Lord Bateman's castle?
Or is his Lordship here within?'
'O, yes! O, yes!' cried the young portèr,
'He's just now taken his new bride in.'
'O! tell him to send me a slice of bread,
And a bottle of the best wine;
And not forgetting the fair young lady
Who did release him when close confine.'

Away, away went this proud young porter,
Away, away, and away went he,

Until he came to Lord Bateman's chamber,
Down on his bended knees fell he.

"What news, what news, my proud young porter?
What news hast thou brought unto me?'
'There is the fairest of all young creatures
That ever my two eyes did see!

U

'She has got rings on every finger,

And round one of them she has got three,
And as much gay clothing round her middle
As would buy all Northumberlea.

'She bids you send her a slice of bread,
And a bottle of the best wine;
And not forgetting the fair young lady
Who did release you when close confine.
Lord Bateman he then in a passion flew,

And broke his sword in splinters three;
Saying, 'I will give all my father's riches
If Sophia has crossed the sea.'
Then up spoke the young bride's mother,
Who never was heard to speak so free,
'You'll not forget my only daughter,
If Sophia has crossed the sea.'

'I own I made a bride of your daughter,
She's neither the better nor worse for me;
She came to me with her horse and saddle,
She
may go back in her coach and three.'
Lord Bateman prepared another marriage,
And sang, with heart so full of glee,
'I'll range no more in foreign countries,
Now since Sophia has crossed the sea.'

THE GOLDEN GLOVE;

OR, THE SQUIRE OF TAMWORTH.

[THIS is a very popular ballad, and sung in every part of England. It is traditionally reported to be founded on an incident which occurred in the reign of Elizabeth. It has been published in the broadside form from the commencement of the eighteenth century, but is no doubt much older. It does not appear to have been previously inserted in any collection.]

A

WEALTHY young squire of Tamworth, we hear, He courted a nobleman's daughter so fair; And for to marry her it was his intent, All friends and relations gave their consent. The time was appointed for the wedding-day, A young farmer chosen to give her away; As soon as the farmer the young lady did spy, He inflamed her heart; 'O, my heart!' she did cry. She turned from the squire, but nothing she said, Instead of being married she took to her bed; The thought of the farmer soon run in her mind, A way for to have him she quickly did find. Coat, waistcoat, and breeches she then did put on, And a hunting she went with her dog and her gun; She hunted all round where the farmer did dwell, Because in her heart she did love him full well: She oftentimes fired, but nothing she killed, At length the young farmer came into the field; And to discourse with him it was her intent, With her dog and her gun to meet him she went. 'I thought you had been at the wedding,' she cried, 'To wait on the squire, and give him his bride.' 'No, sir,' said the farmer, if the truth I may tell, I'll not give her away, for I love her too well.'

Suppose that the lady should grant you her love, You know that the squire your rival will prove.' 'Why, then,' says the farmer, 'I'll take sword in hand, By honour I'll gain her when she shall command.' It pleased the lady to find him so bold; She gave him a glove that was flowered with gold, And told him she found it when coming along, As she was a hunting with her dog and gun. The lady went home with a heart full of love,

And gave out a notice that she'd lost a glove;
And said, 'Who has found it, and brings it to me,
Whoever he is, he my husband shall be.'

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!'

[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 tinker is still called a tinkler 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