Humour wit Satire of the Seventeenth Century 56

Humour wit Satire of the Seventeenth Century 56

Another named Richard Beere,

was ready at that time

Another worthy knight was there

call'd sir William White Wine.

 

Some of them fought in a blacke Jacke

some of them in a Can,

But the chiefest in a black pot,

like a worthy noble man.

 

Sir John Barley-corne fought in a Boule,

who wonne the victorie;

And made them all to fume and sweare

that Barley-corne should die.

 

[Illustration]

 

Some said kill him, some said drowne,

others wisht to hang him hie,

For as many as follow Barley-corne,

shall surely beggers die.

 

Then with a plough they plowed him up

and thus they did devise,

To burie him quicke within the earth,

and swore he should not rise.

 

With horrowes strong they combed him,

and burst clods on his head;

A joyfull banquet then was made

when Barly-Corne was dead.

 

He rested still within the earth,

till raine from skies did fall,

Then he grew up in branches greene,

which sore amaz'd them all.

 

And so grew up till Mid-sommer,

which made them all afeard,

For he was sprouted up on hie,

and got a goodly beard.

 

Then he grew till S. _James_ tide,

his countenance was wan,

For he was growne unto his strength,

and thus became a man.

 

With hookes and sickles keene

into the field they hide[F. 126]

They Cut his legs off by the knees

and made him wounds full wide.

 

Thus bloodily they cut him downe

from place where he did stand,

And like a thiefe for treachery,

they bound him in a band.

 

So then they tooke him up againe

according to his kind;

And packt him up in severall sackes,

to wither with the wind.

 

And with a pitch forke that was sharpe

they rent him to the heart,

And like a thiefe for treason vile,

they bound him in a cart.

 

And tending him with weapons strong

unto the towne they hye,

And straight they mowed him in a mow

and there they let him lie.

 

Then he lay groning by the wals,

till all his wounds were sore,

At length they tooke him up againe,

and cast him on the floore.

 

They hyred two with holly clubs,

to beat on him at once,

They thwacked so on Barly-corne,

that flesh fell from the bones.

 

And then they tooke him up againe,

to fulfill womens minde,

They dusted him, and they sifted him,

till he was almost blind.

 

And then they knit him in a sacke,

which grieved him full sore,

They steeped him in a Fat,[F. 127] God wot,

for three days space and more.

 

And then they took him up againe,

and laid him for to drie,

They cast him on a chamber floore,

and swore that he should die.

 

They rubbed him and they stirred him,

and still they did him turne,

The malt man swore that he should die,

his body he would burne.

 

They spightfully tooke him up againe,

and threw him on a kill [F. 128]

So dried him there with fire hot

and thus they wraught their will.

 

Then they brought him to the mill,

and there they burst his bones,

The Miller swore to murther him,

betwixt a pair of stones.

 

Then they tooke him up againe,

and serv'd him worse than that,

For with hot scalding liquor store

they washt him in a Fat

 

But not content with this, God wot,

that did him mickle harme;

With threatening words they promised

to beat him into barme.

 

And lying in this danger deep,

for feare that he should quarrell,

They tooke him straight out of the fat,

and tunn'd him in a barrell.

 

And then they set a tap to him,

even thus his death begun;

They drew out every drain of blood,

Whilst any drop would run.

 

Some brought jacks[F. 129] upon their backs,

some brought bill and bow,

And every man his weapon had,

Barly-Corne to overthrow.

 

When sir John Goodale heard of this

he came with mickle might,

And there he took their tongues away,

their legs or else their sight.

 

And thus sir John in each respect

so paid them all their hire,

That some lay sleeping by the way,

some tumbling in the mire.

 

Some lay groning by the wals,

some in the streets downeright,

The best of them did scarcely know

what they had done ore night.

 

All you good wives that brew good ale

God turn from you all teene,[F. 130]

But if you put too much water in

the devill put out your eyne.

 

FINIS.

 

London, Printed for _John Wright_,[F. 131] and are to be sold at his

shop in _Guilt spurre_ Street at the signe of the Bible.

 

A very slight comparison with Robert Burns' poem on this subject will

show how much he was indebted to this version, having plagiarised,

almost verbally, in many parts.

 

[Footnote 125: For tune, see Appendix.]

 

[Footnote 126: Hied.]

 

[Footnote 127: Vat]

 

[Footnote 128: Kiln]

 

[Footnote 129: A thick leather coat; here used in another

sense as a "black jack" or leather can.]

 

[Footnote 130: Sorrow.]

 

[Footnote 131: A John Wright at the Bible, near Newgate,

published between 1624 and 1627; but a J. Wright in Giltspur

Street published from 1670 to 1690. In the Roxburghe Ballads

are three editions of this ballad, catalogued (?) 1650, 1690,

1730.]

 

 

_How_ Tarlton _tooke Tobacco at the first comming up of it_.

 

[77.] _Tarlton_, (as other Gentlemen used) at the first comming up of

Tabacco, did take it more for fashion's sake than otherwise, & being

in a roome, set between two Men overcome with Wine, and they never

seeing the like, wondred at it; and seeing the vapour come out of

_Tarlton's_ nose, cryed out Fire, fire, and then threw a Cup of Wine

in _Tarlton's_ face. Make no more stirre, quoth Tarlton, the fire

is quenched: if the Sheriffes come, it will turne to a fine, as the

Custome is. And drinking that againe, Fie, sayes the other, what a

stinke it makes, I am almost poisoned. If it offend, saies _Tarlton_,

let's every one take a little of the smell, and so the savour will

quickly goe: but Tobacco whiffes made them leave him to pay all.

 

 

_Dick_ had but two words to maintain him ever, [5.]

And that was, Stand; and, after, stand--Deliver.

But _Dick's_ in Newgate, and he fears shall never

Be blest again with that sweet word, Deliver.