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Then up to John Alders he drabbeth,
And there all the night did repose,
And then, the next day being Sabbath,
Away he to Whittingham goes;
Where he to revenge the miscarriage
Of his little scatter-brain’d nag,
He went to the clerk of the parish,
’Tis past a man’s giving account on,
What way he traversed with speed,
From Eslington, Whittingham, Thrunton,
He past the Broom-park and Hill-head,
To Learchild, to Barton, to Branton,
And from thence to Mount on the clay,
To Fawdon, the Clinch, and to Glanton,
There’s Lemington, Abberwick, Bolton,
With Woodhall that stands on the fell,
And Titlington’s likewise untold on,
Where Jacob, of old, dig’d his well;
To Harup, to Hidgily and Beanly,
He past unto Callaly mill,
To Brandon, to Ingram, and Reavely,
Next day rising, rigging and starting,
He jogg’d on his journey with speed,
To Bewick, the Lilburns, Coldmartin,
From thence unto Woolerhaugh-head;
To Wooperton, Ilderton, Rodham,
And Rosedon, he scudded like mad,
Nothing fell by the way that withstood him,
Joe Hepple, Will Crudders, Tom Liddle,
With twenty or thirty men more,
If I could their names but unriddle,
At least I might make out two score,
That all cast about for to catch her,
And make her their own during life;
With others that strive to debauch her,
The Millers Haugh, Heugh Nebb, and Haystack,
The Flowers, the New Close, and Decoy,
With places whose titles I know not,
Where they met to love and enjoy,
Would be but too far a digression,
And make our fond passions rebell;
But, oh! had these places expression,
What pretty love tales they could tell!
But first I must his pardon crave,
For making bold and free,
For William was his christian name,
And shall be so for me;
But manners must to rhymes give place,
Or else we spoil our wares;
And _Will_ and _William’s_ all one case,
His face is like the midnight moon
And stars that shine so bright;
His nose is like a flaming fire,
That casts both heat and light;
It sparkles like the Syrian seas
When he gets in his airs,
A clown has not an heart to buy
Without a magnifying glass,
His neck you cannot see;
But if you please to let it pass,
It shall be pass’d by me;
His shoulders are compact and strong,
Made up of rounds and squares,
And no small burden e’er could wrong
Down from his shoulder-blades there springs
Two arms both stout and strong,
That flap just like a buzzard’s wings
As he marcheth along;
And from those arms there spring two hands,
Well skill’d in magic airs;
And William Lilley’s charter stands
If you do not you’ll hip me,
My sweetheart will slip me,
And if I should smart for’t,
And break my poor heart for’t
Are you not to blame!
But if you’ll oblige me,
As gratitude guides me,
I’ll still be your servant,
Obedient and fervent,
Whilst WHITTLE’S my name.
Poor Sandy was with riding daul’d,
He rues he saw their faces,
His back and sides they sorely gaul’d,
He pay’d for their embraces;
But if young Peter’s found her nest,
She’ll rue as well as Sandy;
And if she proves with child, she best
Now whether ’twas for want of beds,
Or whether ’twas cold weather,
Or whether ’twas to measure legs,
That they lay both together;
But as they smuggl’d for a while,
And gave out they were marry’d,
Till she at length did prove with child,
When in her presence they were come,
She rail’d at them like thunder,
For shame, cries she, what have you done,
That’s brought on you this blunder?
She call’d her slut and brazen fac’d,
Instead of kind caressing,
Our family you have disgrac’d,
Can you expect a blessing?
This when her parents understood,
Hoping it would be for her good,
To hinder both their loves intent,
To Stokesley, to an uncle sent;
At parting, many a sigh and tear,
Of love, and truth, thro’ life sincere;
Nor death should part; for from the grave
Now when she got him up behind,
They travelled faster then the wind;
That in two hours, or little more,
They came unto her father’s door;
And as they did this great haste make,
He sore complain’d his head did ache;
Her handkerchief she then pull’d out,
On wand’ring westward through Wardshill,
I there found the first three;
And heard the mass amissing still,
Had march’d towards the Lee;
I hir’d the herd, these to retain,
’Till in pursuit I went,
To bring the others back again,
Should you to marry be inclin’d,
I charge you to beware;
And caution you to change your mind,
Thus to escape that snare;
Be not decoy’d by age nor youth,
Whose aims are artful all;
But take my word as standard truth,
Reflect that Adam’s innocence,
Was to Eve’s blunder blind;
Whose crafty crime caus’d to commence,
A curse upon mankind;
So you cannot too cautious be,
Of wormwood mix’d with gall;
Then friends pray be advis’d by me,
To wed with _none at all_!
Upon the stately river Tees,
A goodly castle there was placed,
Nigh joining to the ocean seas,
Whereby our country was much graced;
Affording rich commodities,
With corn and lead, unto our nation;
Which makes me sing with chearful voice,