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Woodcut on title-page portraying a man sleeping with head resting on hand sitting at a table. A skull and crossbones is on table and a lion is inside the table. In background are scenes of a town and rural scene with trees and hills (with 2 pillars atop) in front of which stands a man in a kilt and wearing a backpack, who is reading a book
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Text
THE
PILGRIM'S
PROGRESS
FROM THIS WORLD TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME.
Delivered under the similitude of a Dream.
PAISLEY:
PRINTED BY CALDWELL AND SON,
W
2,
NEW STREET.
©
�his worthy friend
the Author of The Third Part ofths
Progress,
upon the perusal
thereof
T H O U G H many things are writ to please the age r
Amongst the re^t for this I dare engage,
"Where virtue dwells, it will acceptance find,
And to your pilgrim, most that read be kind,
But all to please, would be a task as hard,
As for the winds from blowing to be barr'd.
The pious Christian, in a mirror here,
May see the promised land, and, without fear
Of threaten'd danger, bravely travel oil,
Until his juurney he has safely gone,
And does arrive upon the happy shore,
Where joys increase, and sorrow is no more*
This is a dream, not fabled as of old j
In this express the sacred truths are told,
That do to our eternal peace belong,
And, after mourning changes to a song
Of glorious triumph, that are without end,
I f we but bravely for the prize eontend.
No pilgrimage like this, can make us blest?.
Since it brings us to everlasting rest;
So well in every part the sense is laid,
That it to charm t/te reader may be said,
WitA curious fancy and great delight,
W/iieZr to an imitation must invite.
And Aappy are they, that, tArougA stormy seas,
And dangers, seek adventures like to tAese !
W&o sell the world for t/jis great pearl of price,
WAicA, once procured, will purchase Paradise I
H e who in sucA a bark dotA spread /lis sails.
Needs never fear at last tAese prosperous gales
That will conduct /am to a land, wAfere he
SAall feel no storms, but in a calm sAall be:
WAere crown'd witA glory he sAall sit and sing
Eternal praise to Ais redeeming King
Who conquer'd deatA, despoilM him of his sting.
So wishes yourfaithful
friend,
Pilgrim
�a
"rhe progress of the Pilgrim is here represented by
Christian leaving the City of Destruction, in terror and
alarm at his fate. He is met by Evangelist, who, perceiving his fear, asked him, Wherefore dost thou cry?
H e asnwered, I see by the Book in my hand that I am
condemned to die. Then Evangelist said, why standest
thou still; Fly from the wrath to come. Whether shall
I fly? said Christian. Then said Evangelist, Dost thou
see yonder shining light; keep that light in yotar eye,
and go up directly thereto, so shalt thou see the gate, at
which when thou kncckest, it shall be told thee w hat thou
shalt do. Christian begari to run, but he had not run far
when his wife and children began to cry after him to return, but he put his fingers in his ears, and ran on crying
Life, Life, Eternal Life.
�Christian bad not proceeded far, till wife and children
with many neighbours, entreated him to come back, but
all in vain. Christian persuaded two of them to go with
him, viz. Pliable and Obstinate. Obstinate soon rebels,
but pliable jogged on, till suddenly both he and Christian
plumped into the Slough of Despond. Pliable set his
face homewards, determined to get rid of such difficulties ;
but Christian struggled hard to g2in the other side, while
the burden of sin on his back had nearly overcome him.
A man called Help came to his assistance, and again set
him on his way. He soon after met Worldly-wiseman,
who directed him to the Town of Morality, where one
named Legality would relieve him of his burden. H e
immediately tcok the road, but had not gone far till
terror and alarm seizM hiro, arid again Evangelist met him
and checked him, and set him on the right road.
�After getting a severe reproof from Evangelist, Christi in was horror struck at his deviating from the right road,
and almost lost hope of ever attaining his object, when
Evangelist, taking him by the hand, cheered him on
warning him of the same danger in time. Christian at
length arrived at the gate, upon which was inscribed
* knock and it shall be opened/ H e knocked more than
once or twice, when a grave person came to the gate,
named Goodwill, who asked him what, he wanted. Christian replied, he was a poor hardened sinner from the City
of Destruction, bound for Mount Zion, will you let me
in?" "With all my heart," he replied. Beelzebub, as
he entered, gava him a pull, but Christian escaped.
�Christian having fairly escaped the attempts of Beelze°
bub and his emissaries to hold him back, and being fairlyentered in at the gate, received many wholesome advices
from Goodwill how to proceed; and coming to the house
of Interpreter, was kindly welcomed, and shewn many
strange and wondrous sights, at which Christian was sadly
alarmed; but being soothed by Interpreter, with kindly
directions to proceed on his journey, he again set off,
passed the walls of salvation, and came to a rising ground,
where stood a cross, and a little below a sepulchre. At
the cross, his bundle loosened off, and tumbled to the
mouth of the sepulchre, whe^e it fell in, and was no more
seen. Then was Christian glad, and said with a merry
heart, 'he hath giyen me rest by his sorrow, and life by
his death.
�Christian having now got rid of his burden, pushed on
more lightly. He soon fell in with three men, named
Simple, Sloth, and Presumtion, whom he endeavoured
to rouse and assist; but they would not listen to him, so
he left them, very grieved. He then saw two men come
tumbling over the wall, Formality and Hypocrisy, who
walked along with him in hope of reaching Mount Zion,
though having no passport, till they came to the hill
Difficulty, when the one took the road to Destruction,
and the other to Danger; but Christian took the narrow
path up the hill, and struggled hard till he arrived at the
arbour, prepared by the Lord of the place for weary pilgrims, where he sat and refreshed himself, and read his
scroll with great delight.
�When Christian had got to the top of the hill, two men
came running to meet him, named Timorous and Mistrust. 'What is the matter, said he, that you are running
the wrong way?'
Timorous said, 'We were for
Mount Zion, but the farther we went, the dangers became the greater, and we were turning back again; two
mighty lions are before us, ready to pull us in pieces.'
Then was Christian in great distress, and knew not what
to do. He put his hand in his bosom for the roll to comfort him, but behold it was gone. He remembered having slept at the arbour, and traced his way back with
weary steps to find it. H e fell on his knees and begged
forgiveness for his error, and while in that position his
eye catched the roll under the seat. H e put it in his
bosom with joy, again took the road, came in view of the
lions; but they, being chained, could not hurt him.
�9
r
^
j
'
When Christian lift up his eyes, he beheld the palace
of Beautiful, the porter's gate, and two lions. H e was
encouraged to come forward, being assured he should
receive no harm, as they were chained. After a few interrogations from the Porter as to his intentions, and how
he came to be so late at night, which was satisfactorily
answered. Christian requested lodgings for the night.
The Porter knocked at the door of the Palace, when a
damsel called Discretion answered, and after a long conversation with her two sisters, Piety and Prudence, regarding the nature of his journey, the difficulties that had
befallen him, and what could have moved him to leave
his wife and family, to undertake such a journey, thc^
found it was time to go to re&t, when he was conducted
to the Chamber of Peace.
�H e got up in the morning, and was shown all the rarities of the place, and clad with a suit of Armour. The
Porter informed him that one Faithful had just past,
Christian followed, but was met by Apollyon, with whom
he had a bloody struggle, but overcame. The valley of
the Shadow of Death was another horrific scene that he
also accomplished; and looking back, now with horror
the bones of many martyrs at the mouth, and soon came
in sight of faithful, with whom he held sweet converse,
till he came to Vanity Fair. Their manner and dress
attracted the attention of people, and caused a great demur. A merchant asked what they would buy; they
said, 'the Truth;—which he took amiss, and raised such
a hubbub, that they were both taken up, and put in a
cage for publiG view.
�Poor Christian and Faithful, while in the cage, belmved
themselves very meekly, in spite of all the insults they
received; and many others were buffered for taking their
part. They were dragged through the Fair, and again
conducted to their cage to stand their trial, which was
soon brought on. Envy, Superstition, and Hypocrisy
were brought forward as evidences, who did not fail to
tell a partial story, which a partial judge, Mr. Hategood,
and a partial packed jury did not fail to confirm; and
Faithful was found guilty of the crime libelled, and condemmned to die at the stake. Faithful was allowed to
make a defence, but instead of doing him any good, only
hardened them against him.
�12
Poor Faithful was then Lr u^ht out, to do with him
according to the law. First h"y scourged him, then they
buffetted him, then they lanced his flesh with knives,
after that they stoned him with stones, they pricked him
with their swords, and last of all they burnt him to ashes
at the stake.-—Thus came Faithful to his end. Then
stood behind the multitude a chariot and a couple of horses
waiting for Faithful, who was taken up into it, and carried
up through the clouds with sound of trumpet, the nearest
way to tho Celestial Gate. Christian he got some respite,
and was remanded back to prison; but he that overrules
all things, abated their rage, and he escaped thence, and
went his way.
�A,
Altho' Christian went away alone, Hopeful, a pilgrim
bound for the Celestial City, fell in with him, and they
went on joyfully. They then fell in with Byends, but
soon parted with him. They met with several otherg,
whose company they did net rel'sfo, and left them. One
Demas attempted to lead them astray with filthy lucre,
but they resisted him, and kept the right road.
They
afterwards passed Lot's wife, and slept on the banks of
Pleasant River. They then went off their way. but again
found it, and fell asleep in the policies of Doubting Castle,
where Giant Despair took them both prisoners, and treat
them very harshly,—they almost chose death rather than
life under such treatment. However a key found in
Christian's bosom opened the doors? &nd they made their
escape with difficulty,
0
�Having escaped from Giant Despair, they errected a
pillar at the stile, warning travellers to beware of Doubting Castle, there they went on singing till they came to
the Delectable Mountains, where they surveyed all the
beautiful gardens and orchards on Emmanuel's land, in
company with the shepherds. They were now in sight
of the city, and the shepherds showed them many wonderful things; among the rest, a dismal hole. They
bade the pilgrims look in: when they heard a rumbling
noise, and beheld all within it dark and smoky, and a cry
of some tormented. They were told this was the way
of the wicked. Leaving this country, they came to the
enchanted ground, where they fell in with some of the
shining inhabitants of the city, and had abundance of corn
and wine, and heard voices out of the city, saying, 'say
ye to the daughter of Zion, Behold thy salvation cemetli-
�15
Drawing nearer the city, they beheld it built of pearls
and precious stones, the streets were paved with gold.
Christian with desire fell sick ; Hopeful also had a fit or
two. They were strengthened, and went on, beholding
the vineyards and gardens of these delightful lands. Between them and the gate was a river, very deep, and no
bridge. The pilgrims were alarmed, but through it they
must pass. Christian began to sink, but Hopeful cheered
him on. Then said Christian, 4 the sorrows of death hath
compassed me about.' In sinking, they lost their earthly
garments, but rose and were welcomed on the other side
by two glorious persons, who ascended a very steep hill.
They went up with great ease, and landed safely in the
Celestial City, which they entered singing, with a loud
voice, 'Blessing, honour, glory, and power to him oil the
throne, and to the Lamb, for ever and ever.
�16
Ever since Christian went off on his journey to the
Celestial City, Christiana his wife and their children did
nothing but weep and lament for him; crying often out
in her sleep, 'Lord have mercy upon me a sinner/ An
heavenly messenger came to her, and gave her a letter.
The contents advised her to do as her husband had done,
and to dwell in his presence for ever. At this she was
quite overcome, and asked him to carry her hither. But
he said, 'You must go through the troubles as he has
done before you: yonder is the wicket gate over the
plain, and I wish thee speed. Several of the neighbours
advised her against it, but she took the road, with all her
children; and falling in with Mercy, they went on in the
sweet hope of shortly arriving at that happy place where
her husband was.
�IT
Mary expressed herself doubtful as to her right of
admission at the wicket gate, but Christiana encouraged
hw on, and assured her of a kind reception. Then Mercy
eaid, 'Had I as good ground to hope as you have, I think
no Slough of Despond would discourage me.' They got
all safe over the Slough, and arrived at ihe gate, whe®e
they knocked a long time, but nothing but an angry dog
barked at them. They got afraid to knock any more, till
venturing another knock, the keeper called 'Who's there,'
and opened to them. Christiana said, she came from
whence Christian came, who was there before, and upon
the same errand here are also my children. H e took her
by the hand, and said, 'Suffer little children to come unto
me." She interceded far Mercy, and she was admitted
also.
�With some difficulty, Mercy was admitted. She questioned the keeper what he meant by keeping such a dog.
H e said the dog was not his, but kept by a person to terify pilgrims from the gate, in which he was but too successful. In passing along, they were LS aulted by two
ill favoured ones, who did what they could to lead them
astray, but were defeat. After being with one or two
more, she arrived at the Interpreter's house, who, while
supper was getting ready, shewed them many wondrous
things, told them many curious stories, and related many
parables. Supper being ready, and thanks given, they
partook of a hearty repast, while masic played sweetly.
When supper and music was over, Interpreter asked
Christiana what moved her to try a pilgrim's life, she said
the loss of her husband, and the letter from the King of
Zion,
�The Interpreter also asked Mercy what induced her to
go in such an undertaking. She said, 'My friend telHng
me how many fine things her husband was enjoying,
tempted me to go.' In the morning they rose with the
sun, to depart, but they were ordered into the garden to
bathe and purify themselves before they went on their
journey, which they (lid, and were much refreshed.
Greatheart was sent along with them to guide them on
their way, and converse with them. They passed the
place where the load fell from Christian's back, and made
a pause. After musing a little, they came to the place
where Simple, Sloth, and Presumption were hanging in
chains. Mercy inquired the cause of this, when she was
told their crime was leading a number of pilgrims out of
their way, and giving an ill report of your Lord, saying
he was a hard taskmaster.
�j
Greathearfc wished Christiana and Mercy to go up and
see their crimes engraven on a pillar of brass, but they
would not go ; but wished their names might rot, and
their crimes live for ever against them, saying, it was fortunate they were hanged before they came hither. They
soon arrived at the foot of the Hill of Difficulty; Greatheart shewed them the Spring where Christian drank, and
the two byeways where Formality and Hypocrisy lost
themselves.
Yet there are people who will choose to
adventure in these paths, rather than go up the hill.
They began to go up the hill, and Christiana began to pant
and want a rest; but Greatheart encouraged them, telling
them they were not far from the Arbour, where they
woukl find rest.
4
\
�Being refreshed at the Arbour, and seeing many sights
that Christian recounted before, they again took the road
determined to resist all obstacles. Greatheart at all times
proved their faithful friend and sure defence. He encountered a ferocious giant and slew him. Shortly after, they
fell in with another, which he also overcame; and lastly
they approached Doubting Castle, which Greatheart determined to level to the ground. He sent the giant a
challange, and they had a severe fight, but the giant was
overcome, and hie head was severed from his body. Then
they fell to demolishing the castle, and released several
prisoners, who were almost starved to death. It took
seven days to demoMsh it, and many strange sights were
seen.
�22
They H W jogged on in the usual path of pilgrims, occasionally
O
meeting with difficulties and encouragement, carefully surveying all
the spots where Christian her husband happened with any tiling memorable, till they arrived at the land of Beulah, where the sun shines
night and day, and here because they were weary they betook themselves to rest. But a little while soon refreshed them here; for the
bells did so ringT and the trumpets continually sounded so melodiously,
that they could not sleep, and yet they received as much refreshment
as if they slept their sleep never so soundly.
N o w while they lay here, and wailed for the good hour, there was
a noise in the town, that there was a post come from the Celestial
City, with matters of great importance, lo one Christiana the wife of
Christian the pilgrim. So enquiry was made for her, and the house
was found out where she was; so the post presented her with a letter
the contents were, "Hail, good woman! I bring thee tidings the Master calleth for thee, and expecteth that thou shouldst stand in his presence, in clothes of immortality, within these ten days."
When he had read this letter to her, he gave her therewith a true
token that he was a true messenger, and was come to bid her make
haste to be gone. The token was, an airow sharpened with love, let
easily into her heart, which by degrees wrought so effectually with her,
that at the time appointed s&e must be gone.
When Christiana saw her time was come, and that she was the first
of this company that was to go over, she called for Mr. Greatheart her
guide, and told him how matters were.
Then she called for her children, and gave them her blessing, and
told them, that she had read wi;h comfort the mark that was set in
their foreheads, and was glad to see them with her there, and that they
had kept their garments so white. Lastly, she bequeathed to the poor
that little she had, and commanded her sons and daughters to be ready
against the messenger should come for them.
When she had spoken these words to her guide, and to her children,
she called for Mr. Valiant-for-truth, and said unto him, Sir, You
have in all places shewed yourself true hearted, be faithful unto death,
and my King will give you a crown of glory. I would also entreat
you to have an eye to my children; and if at any time you see them
faint, speak comfortably to them; for my daughters, my sons* wives,
they have been faithful, and a fulfilling of the promise upon them will
be their end. But she gave Mr. Standfast a ring.
Then she aalled for old Mr. Honest, and she said of him, Behold an
Isr a elite indeed, in whom is no guile. Then said lie, I wish you a
fair day, when you set out for Mount Sion, and shall be glad to see
that you get over the river shod. But she answered, 'Come wet, or
come dry, I long to be gone; for however, the weather is in my journey, I shall have time enough when I come t/*ere, to sit down and rest
me, and dry me.
Then came in the good man Mr. Ready-to-halt, to see her. So she
said to him, Thy travail hitherto has been with difficulty: but that
will make thy rest the sweeter. But watch and be ready; for at an
hour when you think not, the messenger may come.
�%3
After him eaaae Mr. Despondency, and bis daughter Much-afraid ;
to whom she said, You ought with thankfulness, for ever, to remember your deliverance from the hand of Giant Despair, and out of Doubting Castle, The effect of that mercy is, that you are brought with
safety hither. Be yet watchful, and cast away fear; be sober and
hope to the end.
Then she said to Mr. Feeble-mind, Thou wast delivered from the
mouth of the Giant Slay good, that«thou mightest live in the light of
the living for ever, and see the King with comfort: only I advise thee
to repent thee of thy aptness to fear and doubt of his goodness, before
he sends for thee ; lest thou shouldest, when he comes, be forced to
stand before him, for the fault, with blushing.
Now the day drew on, that Christiana must be gone. So the road
was full of people to see her take her journey. But Behold ! all the
banks beyond the river were full of horses and chariots, which were
come down from above to accompany her to the city-gate. So she
came forth and entered the river with a beckon of farewell to those
that followed her to the river-side. The last words that she was heard
to say, were, "I come, Lord, to be with thee, and bless thee."
So her children and friends returned to their place; for that those
that waited for Christiana had carried her out of their sighv So
she went and called, and entered in at the gate with all the ceremonies of joy that her husband Christian had entered before her.
Then k came to pass a while after, that there was a post in the
t )wn that inquired for Mr. Honest, So he came to his house where lie
was, and delivered ieto his hands these lines, Thou art commanded to
be ready against this day sevennight to present thyself before thy
Lord, at his father's house. And for a token that my message is true,
All the daughters of the muse shall be brought low.
Then Mr.
Honest called for his friends, and said unto them, I die, but shall make
no will. As for my Honesty, it shall go with me; let him that comes
after be told this. When the day that he was to be gone was come,
he addressed himself to go over. Now this river at that time overflowed the banks in some places; but Mr. Honest in his lifetime had
spoken to one Good-Conscience to meet him there, the which he also
did, and lent him his hand, and so helped him over. The last Words
of Mr. Honest were, Grace reigns. So he left the world.
Now, while he was thus in discourse, his countenance changed, his
strong man bowed under him ; and after he had said, Take me, for I
come unto thee, he ceased to be seen of them.
In process of time, there came a post to the town again, and his
business was with Mr. Ready-to-halt. So he enquired him out and
said, I am come to thee in the name of Him whom thou hast loved
and followed, though upon crutches; and my message is, to tell thee,
that he expects thee at his table to sup with him in his kingdom, the
next day after Easter: wherefore prepare thyself for thy journey.
Then he also gave him a token that he was a true messenger, saying, I have broken the golden bowl, and loosed the silver cord*
After this, Mr. Ready-to-hal't called for his fellow pilgrims, and to
them, saying, I am sent for, and God shall surely visit you also. So
�24
he desired Mr. Valiant to make bis will; and because he had nothing
to bequeath them that should survive him, but his crutches, and hia
good wishes, therefore thus he said , These crutches I bequeatA to my
son that shall tread in my steps, with an hundred warm wishes that
he may prove better than I have been.
Then he thanked Mr. Great-heart for his conduct and kindness, and
so addressed himself to his journey. When he came to the brink of
the river, he said. N o w I shall hifve no more need of these crutches,
since yonder are chariots and horses for me to ride on. The last words
he was heard to say, were, Welcome life! So he went his way.
After this Mr. Feehle-mind had tidings brought him, that the post
sounded his horn at his chamber door. Then he came in, and told
liim, saying, l a m come to tell thee, that thy Master hath need of thee;
and that in a very little time thou must behold his face in brightness.
And take this as a token of the truth of my message : Those that look
out at the windows shall be darkened.
Then Mr. Feeble-mind called for his frie^ds^ and told them what
errand had been brought unto him, and what token he had received of
the truth of the message. Then he said, Smce I have nothing to bequeath to any, to what purpose should I make a will ? As for my feeblemind, that I will leave behind, for that I have no need of it in the
place whither I go : nor is it worth bestowing upon the poorest pilgrims, wherefore, when I am gone, I desire that you, Mr. Valiar\J,
would bury it in a dung-hill. This done, and the day being come in
which he was to depart, he entered the river as the rest: his last
words were, Hold out faith and patience. So he went over to the
other side.
But glorious it was to see how the opeu region w&s filled with
horses and chariots, with trumpets and pipers, with singers and players «n stringed instruments, to welcom the pilgrims as they went up,
and followed one another in at the beautiful gate of the city.
As for Christiana's children, the four boys that Christiana brought,
with their wives and children, I did not stajr where I was till they
were gone over. Also since I came away, 1 heard one say they were
yet alive, and so would be, for the Increase of the church ia that place
where they were for a time.
Shall it be my lot to go that way again, I may give those that desire it an account »f what 1 here am silent about. Mean time I bid
my reader
FAREWELL.
�
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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The Pilgrim's Progress from this world to that which is to come. Delivered under the similitude of a Dream.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1839
Extent
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24 pages
16 cm
Identifier
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<a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9935661083505154">s0587b45</a>
<a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923386473505154">s0221b12</a>
Contributor
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Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada
Rights
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In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413
Is Part Of
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Chapbook #21 in a bound collection of 22 chapbooks (s0221b12)
Format
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JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner.
Publisher
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Paisley: G. Caldwell and Son
Subject
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Chapbooks - Scotland - Paisley
Religion and Morals
Source
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Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario
Creator
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Bunyan, John, 1628-1688
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
allegory
# of woodcuts: 20
Animal: lion(s)
Architecture: pillar(s)
Bib Context: title-page
Chapbook Date: 1831-1840
Chapbook Genre: allegory
Chapbook Publisher - Paisley: G. Caldwell and Son
Fashion (Clothing): upper class
Furniture: table(s)
Gender: man/men
Nature: hill(s)
Nature: tree(s)
Object: backpack(s)
Object: book(s)
Object: walking stick/ staff
Occupation: peddler
Outdoor Scene
Symbols: skull & crossbones
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Title
A name given to the resource
Illustration on title-page of a young man wearing wig and long coat and pointing to 3 urns on a table. Interior scene with window, stool, and curtain
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PDF Text
Text
HISTORY
THE
FOOTMAN.
S H E W I N G H O W HE RAISED HIMSELF FROM T H E
HUMBLE
STATION OF A FOOT B O Y , TO A PLACE OF GREAT
E M I N E N C E A N D TRUST,
HONESTY A N D
BY HIS
INTEGRITY.
ALSO,
ON PRIDE, & T H E COUNTRY CLERGYMAN
pllBliliiiJa
SiM
PAISLEY:
PRINTED BY
CALDWELL
AND
SON,
2,
N E W STREET.
�n i s i d R T
OF
C H A B E E i
JOi\
T
£§.
M y father, George Jones commonly called
Black George, on account of his swarthy complexion, was one of the most industrious men in
the whole vilage. His cottage, which was his
own, and partly built by his own hands, stands
on the common, about a stone's throw from the
road, near the preat Oak tree, in the parish of
King's Charleton in Somersetshire.—The Lord
of the Manor having granted him leave to inclose
a bit of the common for a garden, my father had
got a thriving young orchard and a long strip of
potatoes, besides his cottage, all the produce of
his own industry. It used to be a favourable
saying with him, that no man to whom God had
given two hands, had ever need to want. i For
my part says he, I never knew what want was—
When I am sick, the club supports me, and when
1 am well, I warrant I'll support myself. My
mother, besides being equally industrious, was
ratteh more religious, ani l therefore much happier;
She was as good and sweet-tempered a
�I
wOiTMfen jto Mjf in $ * work^ For cor*S!tocf
Her duty, Friendship, civility to her neighbour**
cleanliness in her own person, her house and her
children, she had not her fellow. But the most
remarkable thing in her(I am afraid a very uncommon thing) was her steady and uninterrupted practice of family prayer. It must have been
a hard days work indeed, that hindered her from
her prayers. At six in the morning and eight in
the evening, as regularly as ever the hour came,
she always knelt down with her children round
her, four of us, and read with great solemnity
and devotion a short form given her by the clergyman, which concluded with the Lord's prayer,
in which we all joined. And she used to say
after she had finished, ' N o w I can go to bed
or to work, in peace; for now we may hope God
will protect us44 I am sorry to say my Father
seldom joined with us. He used to pretend he
was busy or tired; and yet it would not have detained him long nether, for we were never more
than six minutesaboutit, and surely twelve minutes
a day (six in ihe morning and six in the evening) is
no great time to give to God. One thing has often
struck me, that if any thing went wrong and ruffled my dear mother's temper, or made her uneasy,
the prayer seemed to set all to rights. When
she had been to prayers, all her grief seemed to be
fled away. And indeed I observed the same thing
with respect to my father; if he ever did join
with us, it always seemed somehow to compose
and sweeten his mind, and make him a great deal
kinder to my mother and vis.
�4
A* myfeiJheraod mother wer# very tetJmtiiotas
themselves, they were very desirous to make theit
children so ; every child was employd as soon as
he was able, in something or other. At about
thirteen years of age my employment had been for
some time to weed in the parson's garden, and
run errands for him. At fourteen he took me
into his house, and not a little proud was I at obtaining the title of his 'little footman.1
The
morning I left my father's cottage, my dear mother, who was kind as she was good, appeared
to be verj much affected; she said she could not
commit me to the wide world, without first committing me to God who governed it; and then
she knelt down with me by her side, and prayed,
* Gracious Lord, be pleased to have mercy on my
dear boy, T o thy care I commend him. Guard
him, I beseech thee in the many temptations
which he is now beginning to encounter. May
he with solid piety and honest diligence, do his
duty in that state of life in which it hath pleased
thee to place him,'—She then gave me her blessing, put a Testament into my pocket, bid me fear
God, and always act for my master as I would do
for myself.
In my new situation there were to be sure
some few things disagreable. My mistress was
peevish and fretful; the co©k violent and passionate. But what service is there, or indeed, what
situation in life, howsoever much above servitude,
which there is not something unpfeasant ? Every
state has its trials; servants have theirs: but if
they cannot learn to put up with some little itt-
i
�conveniences, they may change their places
every year of their lives, and never be satisfied
after all. This is a lesson I have learnt by long
experience.
Though by God's blessing I had received a
more raligious education than most children, it
yet soon appeared that I had many faults, which
it was necssary for me to be corrected of before
I could become a good servant. At first, when
I was sent npon an errand, I was much given to
loitering. I was then too young to consider that
by loitering in errands I was wasting what was
not my own, but my master's time. Besides this
fault, as every thing which I saw and heard in
my master's house was such as I had never se^i*
or heard before, I was too apt to talk of it to my
old play fellows, or at the village shop, Bat as
soon as ever I became a little older, I began to
reflect that this was very wrong. One Sunday
evening, when I had leave to go home to see my
parents, I was beginning to tell my mother how
there had been a great uproar at the parsonage
the day before, about
Here she put her hand
upon my lips, and said, 'Charles, not a word
more of what has passed at the parsonage.
Whatsoever happens in your masters house is
never to be spoken of out of your master's doors.
A tale bearing servant is alway an unfaithful servant; he betrays the trust which his master puts
in him."
My mother's vehemence surprised me a little,
but it made so much impression upon me, that I
was pretty well broken of the feult from that v©ry
�6
time. Into how many scrapes has thk talkative
tempei brought many servants of my acquaintance ! There was poor Nic Jarret, the squire's
under footman, that lost his place, a new suit of
black broad cloth, and a legacy of five pounds,
which he would soon have had by reason of his
mistress's death, only for saying at a neighbour's
house, that his mistress sometimes fell asleep
while the squire was reading to the family on a
Sunday night.
Nic and I were at one time rather too intimate;
I remember one day, when I was about sixteen,
having attended my master to the squire's house,
Nic prevailed on me after dinner to play with
him at pitch and toss. I was worth at that time
five shillings and two pence, more money than I
had ever possessed before in my life. In about
two hours Nic reduced me to my last shilling
But though it was a heavy stroke at the time,
yet it proved in the end a happy event, for by
my mother's persuasions, I resolved thence forward never to game again as long as I lived, which
resolution, by God's grace, I have hitherto happily kept. I wish from my heart that all other
servants would resolve the same. The practice of
card playing, so common among servants in large
families, is the worst custom they can possibly
fall into. My poor brother Tom suffered enough
for it one day having received in the morning
a quarter's wages, he lost the whole of it before
night at All Fours; and what was the consequence
W h y , from that very time,
took to tbo|p
practices of
Ml 'afattrter wfeki k&tedl &
�7
his ruin. How much better would it be for all
Servants, if instead of wasting their leisure in
card-playing, they would amuse themselves in
reading some Godly book, or improve themselves
in writing, or cyphering. It was by this means,
for I was never taught to write, that I qualified
myself for the place of Bailiff, which I now fill.
I remember Nic used to say, 6 Whilst my master plays cards in the parlour, why shoudst thou
be so sqeamish as not to play in the kitchen?
But Nic did not consider that his master being
rich, and playing for small sums, his loses laid
under no temptation of dishonesty in order to
pay them; besides the Squire could read and
write at any time, whereas this was our only
leisure time, and if we did not improve ourselves
then, we never could; what might be comparatively innocent in him, might be ruinous to us.
And even if my master be a professed gambler,
that is no reason I should be so too. A servant
is to do what is right, let his master do what he
will. If a master swears and gets drunk, and
talks at table with decency, or against God and
religion, to God he must account for it, and a
sorry account it will be, I doubt; but his example
will not excuse our crimes, though it will aggravate his. We must take care of our own souls,
whether our masters take care of theirs or not.
But to return to my history; I am ashamed to
say that I was guilty more than once in the earlier part of my servitude, of the shocking and
detestable crime of lying, in order to excuse or
screen my f a u l t s ^ £(appily l w^s cured of it in
�8
th<3 following manner; Having been one day ordered to carry a bottle of wine to a sick man, one
of my master's parishioners, 1 accidentally broke
the bottle, and of course lost the wine, What
was to be done? Should 1 confess my misfortune,
and acknowledge my carelessness, or conceal it
by a lie? After some deliberation, 1 resolved
upon the lie.— 1 therefore had made up my story,
'how the poor man sent his duty to my master,
and thanked him t a thousand times, and that he
was a little better, and that his wife said she
thought this wine would save his life.4 Being
thus prepared, as 1 was returning home, 1 met a
pedlar, of whom 1 bought for a penny a little
book containing a story of a woman at Dervizes,
who was struck dead on the spot for telling a lie.
To be sure it was Heaven seat the pedlar to me,
to save me from the sin 1 was going to commit.
'If this woman was struck dead for a lie, (said I
to myself) why may not 1 ? " 1 therefore went
directly home, and made a confession of my neg*
ligenee and misfortune. And it was well for me
1 did; for the sick man, whose duty and thanks
1 had wickedly intended to carry to my master,
was dead, as 1 understood afterwards* three
hours before the bottle was broken. From this
time, therefore, 1 began to see, what 1 am now
fully convinced of, that besides the sinfulness of
lieing, it is always more for the interest and lasting comforts of servants to confess the tiuth at
once, than to conceal a fault by falsehood, When
a servant has told a lie, he is always in danger of
its being found out, and sooner or later it gene^v
"'"HCT-
�9
ally h found out, and then hw eharaeter irniucd.
Whereas, if ke confesses the truth at once, ha
probably escapes without any anger at all, or mt
Worst it is soon over, and the fault itself is forgotten.
Having now lived seven years at the parsonage,
and being twenty one years of age, my master
called me one day into his study, where he spent
ft good deal of his time, and said to nie, 'Charles
you have lived with me a considerable time, and
it has been always with much pleasure that 1 have
remarked the decency, sobriety and diligence of
your conduct. These few faults which yot have,
further experience and more years will, 1 doubt
not, cure* You are now qualified for a better
place than mine, and are entitled to higher wages
than it is in my power to gi*e. 1 have therefore
recommended you to a friend of mine in London,
for which place you are to set out, if you approve
of it, in a month. But 1 should think it a crime to
dismiss you to a situation so full of teaiptatio®*,
without giving you some little advice. Listen,
therefore, my dear Charles, to what 1 shall say
as 1 mean it only for your good. 1 n the first place
fear G o d ; and then you will never have an
occasion to be afraid of man. Act always in his
presenee. Never enter or quit your bed without
prtyer. Do always for your master, as you would
your master, if you were to change places, should
do for you. Endeavour to get a pious friend,
but avoid, as you would the plague, all wickcd
company. Be cautious of too great familiarity
with your ftmale fellow §ervaut«£ aa utilaw&U
�10
i«t:er#ewr:e *f l i ^ k i n d will rum you, body
»oul. Flee from an alehouse as you would from
the devil; if you once get into it, you #ill never
be out of it. Keep your money, and your irtoney
*ill keep you. Here Charles, is a Bible for y o « ;
the more you read it, the more you will love it,
the better you will be, and the happier. 1 have
written some directions for you in the first page
of it. God bless you; and when my race, which
is now drawing to its end, shall finish, may we
Caeet in heaven. My master's kindness so affected
me, that 1 could not answer him for tears. 1 was
indeed very glad of going to see so fine a place ac
r
London, though at the same time i eould not
leave a house where 1 had been treated more lika
a child than a servant*, without great regret. 1
shall not attempt to describe my parting with Hy
mother. No description, 1 am sure, could de
justice to the solemn and affectionate manner in
which she exorted me to be pious and just, and
recommended me to God ih prayer. Her last
words 1 shall never forget—'1 know my dear son
(said she) that you love me tenderly, ^nd that
you would not give me unnecessary pain on any
account. Remember then, that whenever yo» 4o
any wrong thing, you are planting a dagger in
your mother's heart." With these words, he*
eyes brim full of tears, and her hands lifted up in
silent prayer to God, she turned away from nee,
and went into the cottage.
And now, Reader, you find me in the great
emd dangerous city of London, in the service of a
vfcy weastlthjf waster, who kept twelve m v m i *
�11
myself. If country people knew London
as well as 1 do, how cautious would they be for
exchanging their safe and peaceful situations in
the country for the perils and temptations of a
great city. How many young fellows have 1
known, who lived honestly aud happily in their
native place, come up to London in the hope of
higher wages, and there forfeit their integrity,
their peace of mind, their health ; their character
and souls. Workmen in particular are yery fond
of getting into large cities, because they think
their labour will turn to better account there than
in their own villages. They do not consider that
in a city, they must give as much for a filthy
roo«a, in a filthy house, inhabited by half a dozen
families, situated in a close, smokey, dirty street,
a« in the country would pay the rent of a cottage
and a garden. They do not consider the dearness of provisions in a city, the temptations they
are under from bad women, wicked company and
the great number of alehouses. In short I am
fully persuaded that a labourer in the country,
on a shilling a day, is better off than one in a
city on two shillings.
When I came to my place, I found every thing
for the first three or four days very smooth and
very pleasant, plenty of provisions, plenty of drink
little work, and a very merry servants hall. But
soon the face of things, with respect to me,
changed very much, and I underwent a severer
temptation than I ever experienced before or since
Xn the whole course of my life. I had always
hitherto been taught feo consider that sobriety and
�12
diligent, and piety, were virtues I therefore
never swore, I never got drunk, I never gamec^
1 went to church as often as 1 could, 1 said my
prayers night arid morning, and on Sunday at
least, if not on other days 1 read a little in my
good old master's Bible, But here 1 soon found
that all this was the worst vice 1 could be guilty
of. As soon as they found me out, it seemed to
be a trial of skill amosgst them who should plague
me most. One called me a Parson; awother, a
Methodist; a third, a conceited Prig; a fourth,
a canting Hypocrite. If I went into any other
gentleman's kitchen it was all the same; my
character flew before me, and many were the jests
and laughs rarised both at home and abroad at
my expense* In short, during three months, my
life wa« a constant amxiety and torment; so that
at l^st I i^as almost tempted, God forgive me for
the thought, to do as they did, and forfeit my
everlasting soul in order to a^oid the present
uneasiness. But while things were in this state,
I felt myself greatly and unexpectedly relieved.
One Sunday morning by a sermon which I happened to hear from our Parish Minister, on the
following text, 6 Blessed are ye when men shall
revile you and persecute you, and shall say all
manner of evil of you falsely for my sake, for
great is your reward in heaven.6 The excellent
discourse which this pious man delivered on these
words was so exactly suited to my circumstances
and feelings, that it seemed as if it had been
addressed solely to me; and it pleased God so to
apply what had been said to my heart and under-
�It
afcandiisg, thai I sot only determined ,*o bear in
future the sneers and scoffs of my fellow sefvants
with patience and fortitude, but even those very
sneers which I formerly considered as my heaviest
calamity, were now no longer grievous. From
this time, therefore, my uneasiness was pretty
well at an end. And I earnestly recommend it
to all other servants, who have been so happy as
to acquire sober and virtuous habits, not to suffer
themselves to be laughed out of their sobriety and
virtue by the jests and ridicule of their fellowservants. They may depend upon it that their
cause is a good one, and though they suffer for it
at first, they will finally triumph. In a short
time all my persecution was at an end. 8 T o be
sure (said the coachman one day to the cook)
Charles is a little too religious, but upon my
word I don't think he is the worse of it. Mayhap
it might be better for us we were more like him.
1 don't see but that he is as humble, friendly,
and worthy a fellow as any amongst us. For my
part I shall laugh at him no longer.4 This speech,
which I happened accidentally to overhear, gave
me great pleasure, and I soon found by the agreeable change in my fellow-servants conduct towards
me, that the coachman had expressed the opinion
of the whole hall. It is true I did every thing
to obtain their good will that lay in my power*
I was civil and obliging to every one among them
as I possibly could. Was any thing to be done ?
if nobody else would do it, I never stopped to
consider whether it belonged to my place or not,
but did it out of hand. If a,py body toek ii in®*
�M
Wa he«fl3 to fell out wMh n e, I gei:er&% disarmed
feim of his wrath by saying nothing. If any little
quarrels, or misfortunes or misconduct, happened
in the hall, I always endeavoured to hush it up,
and never carried any talcs to the master, unless
when I saw any body wronging him, and then I
thought it my duty, or unless the thing was very
bad indeed. In short, by pursuing always this
line of conduct, I found my situation very comfortable and agreeable. My master treated me
with great confidence and kindness; my fellow•ervants with great friendliness and respect.
In about two years time, the footman that used
to go to market being turned away for drunkenness, which vice soon proved his ruin, my master
old me, that as he believed I was aa honest and
careful young man, and perceiving that I could
write and keep aa account, he should ia future
employ me'm marketting. T# market, therefore,
I went every day, and as I had now a good deal
of my master's money always in my haad. 1
prayed heartily to God that he would be pleased
to preserve me under the temptation to which
this exposed me.
My first exploit in this way
was the purchase of ten shillings worth of fruit
at a fruiterer's. When 1 had finished my bargain, and was coming out of the shop, the fruiterer slipt a shilling into my hand. As 1 had
never, to the best of my recollection, seen him
before, 1 was somewhat surprized at his generosity; but fortunately had the presence of mind
to ask him whether he had charged bis fruit the
~ higher qp ac^punt of thi? present to me. 4 W h y
�li
yoing man (said lie) tiifa is an
and 1 will give you an honest answer. The fact
is, that as we know that gentlemen of your cloth
expect some compliment from the tradesmen that
they deal with we are obliged in our own defence
to charge our articles the higher on that account
to their masters.' 'And so, (said I) the money
you give us, comes finally from the pockets of
our masters? *To be sure it does.' ' W h y then,
(said I) I will take your shilling, but shall charge
my master only nine? shillings. And this method
I constantly pursued in the like case ever after;,
for I think the above mentioned practice of footmen, which, however, I hope is not very common
with them, is just the same in conscienee as if
they should rob their master's bureau.
One Monday morniug, having settled my
account for the last week with my master, 1 found
that he had made a mistake against himself of
twenty shillings. As soon as 1 discovered it, 1
said to myself, her* B W is an opportunity for
O
getting twenty shillings without any risk #f detection; but God forbid that 1 should d© it, m it
wouli ruin my peace of mind, and destroy my
soul. 1 therefore pointed out the error to my
master the first opportunity.—'Charles, (said
he) you are right the mistake is obvioas* 1 acknowledge 1 made it purposely to try your honesty
You will find that this affair will tura out, before
long, to your advantage.' Now, though 1 do
not think it quite fair ol masters to lay this kind
of trap for their servant's integrity, yet a» 1 know
h y t h e y sometimes do it, we must be
�16
doubly on i>ur guswd* Indeed, dishonesty i«
Bever a^fe. It always? will out somehow or other.
1 have seen surprizing instances of the discovery
of it, when it seemed to have been committed
with such cunning as to be impossible to be detected.
One day a» 1 was going to market, 1 met Sir
Robert S
'a butler, who told me, that having
long observed my sobriety and diligence, he was
happy to have it now in his power to offer me a
place in his master's family, where my wages
would be raised two guineas a yoar. 1 thanKed
kiai, and told him he skould have his answer
next evening. 1* the mean time 1 called upon
a pious and worthy friend, whom 1 consulted in
ail difficulties* and asked hit opinion.
After
mature deliberation, he said, 'Charles, don't go.
When you are once got into a good place, stick
to it like « leech. The rolling stone gets no *ioss
Tke more years you coatinue in one service, the
more you are respected by your master and all
the world.
A good family considers an old servant as one of themselves, and can no more see
him want thaa a near relation. Whereas servants
that are continually roving from place to place,
have no friend in distress, and seldom get a prevision for old age.' Happy it was for me that 1
followed this good advice. If 1 had not, 1 should
probably have been nothing more than a poor
footman all my life.
But before 1 bring my own story to an end, 1
must beg my reader's patience, to listen to the
sad hte of my poor brother Tom.
! po©r
�17
Tom, he was a great favourite in our kitchen,
because he sung the best song, and told the merriest tale, and paid his card money the most freely of any gentleman footman about town. And
then he swore so much like a gentleman, and was
so complaisant to the ladies, and pushed about
the strong beer so merrily, that he was, said our
servants, the most agreeable company in the
world. And yet all these entertaining qualities
did not preserve my poor brother from the most
dreadful state of distress and ruin. One morning he came to me about ten o'clock with a very
woeful face, which was a thing very unusual for
him, and told me, that he had just been turned
away from his place without a character, that he
had no money, many debts, and no real friends*
and what was worse than all, that he was labouring under disease.
Tom grew worse every day, and was at length
given over. In the morning of that day, while
1 was sitting at his bedside, who should come in
but my dear mother. She had walked 130 miles,
except now and then a lift in the waggon, to attend upon her undeserving son. When she saw
him, pale and emaciated, and his face half consumed by disease, it so shocked her, that she
fainted away. As soon as she recovered, and
wafc a little relieved by a plentiful flood of tears,
she said, • My dear Tom, I am come to take care
of thee, and make thee better, if I can,
Alas I
mother (answered he, putting his clay cold hand
into hers) it is all too late. I have but a few
hour* to live. It is by neglecting your adti
�18
that I am brought to this. Gaming and drink,
and bad company, and bad women have been my
ruin !
O what will become of my soul! if I
could but live my life over again. — Here he was
seized with a sudden fit, and though he lived
some hours, he never spoke after; and died that
evening in my mother's arms.
After recounting the sorrowful history of my
unhappy brother, I must now hasten to conclude
my own. About a twelvemonth after the offer of
a place in Sir Robert S
's family, my master,
in consideration as he said, of my faithful services,
made me his butler. He was indeed so kind and
friendly to me on all occasions, that I found it
necessary to be extreuiely cautious lest I should
grow proud, so saucy, or familiar, which some
servants, when they have lived long in a place,
and find themselves in favour, are apt to do.
After enjoying this post about six years, our
family being now removed into the country, I
made aquaintance with a farmer's daughter living
near the great house, whom on account of her
religious and industrious principles, and her
amiable and cheerfo] temper, I wished to make
my wife. She was no flaunter in fine clothes,
none of your dancing, flirting, forward lasses,
that run about to christenings, and revels, and
hopes, that will ruing a man before he knows
where he is; but a pious, sober, stay-at-home,
industrious young woman ; else I am sure any
body might have had her for me. As I had
never been guilty of any unnecessary expense,
for nobody will call that ^nneee^ary which I sent
�19
yearly to my parents, my savings, the- interest
being added yearly to the principal in the hands
of my master, amounted to two hundred pounds.
And as Fanny's father promised to give her another hundred,! thought we might with this take
a small farm, and maintain ourselves comfortably
and decently.—I therefore communicated the
affair to my master. 'Charles, (said he) though
I am loth to part with so good a servant, yet I
think it an act of gratitude due to you for your
long and faithful services, to consent readily to
any thing which may be for your welfare. But
I do not think it necessary for us to part at all.
I am at present in want of a bailiff. You may,
if you approve it, undertake that office, and still
retain your present wages. Your father-in-law,
who is an experienced farmer, will instruct and
assist you in the duties of it. I will, besides, let
you a small farm on an advantageous lease, which
you may makp the most of for yourself.'
T o this kind and generous offer I freely assented.
And Fanny and myself have now lived together
six years in the farm-house near the park-gate,
happy and prosperous. My father being dead,
and my brother and sister settled, my mother,
who is now very old, lives with me; and by her
example and exhortation I find afeenseof religion
sink deeper into my soul every day, and indeed
I am very well convinced by long experience,
that there is nothing in this world can make us
truly happy but tharfe.
�a®
I uddraw thk Utile book, which I wrote by
little and little in the long evenings of the last
hard winter, to all footmea. I hope they will
not be angry with my well meant endeavours, but
take kindly what is intended only for their good.
�IHfelDfi. #
king of Lydia, having expressed an
extraordinary inclination to see Solon, that philosopher repaired to Sard is to pay him a visit.
The first time he was presented, the king received him seated on his throne, and dressed on purpose in his most sumptuous robes; but Solon
appeared not the least astonished at the sight of
such a glare of magnificence.
" M y friend, said Croesus to him, Fame has
every where reported thy wisdom. 1 know you
have seen many conntries; but have you ever
seen a person dressed so magnificently as 1 am
"Yes, replied Solon, the pheasants and peacocks
are dressed more magnificently, because their
brilliant apparel is the gift of nature, without
their taking any thought or paini to adorn themselves."
Such an unexpected answer very much surprized Croesus, who ordered his officers to open all
his treasures, and shew them to Solon, as also
his rich furniture, and whatever was magnificent
in his palace. He then sent for him a second
time, and asked him if he had ever seen a man,
more happy than he was. "Yes, replied Solon,
and that man was Tellus, a citizen of Athens,
who lived with an unblemished character in a well
regulated republic. He left two children much
respected, with a moderate fortune for their sub^
sLstence, & at last had the happiness to die sword
in hand, after having obtained a victory for his
country. The Athenians have erected a monument to his memory on the spot where he fell,
and have otherwise paid him great hoonrs."
Croesur,
�32
Oroesfcg was no hm asteufelved at tfek tlran at
the first answer, and began to think Solon was
not perfectly right in his senses. " Well, continued Croesus, who is the next happy man to
Tellus?"—"There were formerly, replied Solon,
two brothers, the one named Cleobis, and the
other Biton. They were so robust, that thejf
alwaj/s obtained the prize in every sort of combat, and perfectly loved each other. One feast
dej/, when the priestess of Juno, their mother,
for whom the^ had the most tender affection,
was to go to the temple to sacrifice, the oxen
that were to draw her thither did not come
in time, Cleobis and Biton hereupon fastened
themselves to her carriage, and in that manner
drew her to the temple. All the matrons in
raptures congratulated their mother on having
brought two such sons into the world.
Their
mother, penetrated with emotions of the strongest joy and gratitude, ferventh/ prayed the goddess, that she would bestow on her sons the best
gift she had to confer on mortals. Her prayers
were heard; for, after the sacrifice, the two
sons fell asleep in the temple, and never afterwards awoke. Thus they finished their lives by
a tranquil and peaceful death."
Croesus could no longer conceal his rage,
" W h a t then, said he, do yon not even place
me among the number of happy people ? " — " O
king of the Lydians, replied Solon, yoM possess
great riches, and are master of a great multitude
of people; but life is liable to so many changes,
that we cannot presume to decide on the felicity of
an;y man, until he has finished his mortal career."
�Tfie
C o u n t r y
C l e r g y m a n
Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd
and still where many a garden flower grown
wild;
There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,
The village preacher's modest mansion rose,
A man he was, to all the country dear,
And passing rich with fort?/ pounds a year;
Remote from towns, he ran his godly race,
Nor e'er had chang'd nor wish'd to change hii
place,
Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for power,
By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour;
For other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,
More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise.
His house was known to all the vagrant train,
He chid their wand'rings, but relieved their pain ;
The long remembered beggar was his guest,
Whose beard descending, swept his aged breast;
The ruin'd spendthrift now no longer proud,
Claim'd kindred there, and had his claim allowed
The broken soldier, kindlj/ bid to staj/,
Sat by his fire, and talk'd the night away;
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,
Shoulder'd his crutch, and shewed how fields
were won,
Pleas d with his guests, the good man learn'd to
glow,
And quit forgot their vices in their woe;
Careless their merits, or their faults to scan,
His pity gave ere charity began.
�24
Thug to relieve the wretched was his prrde,
And even his failings lean'd to Virtue's free;
But in his duty prompt at even/ call,
H e watch'd and wept, he pray'd and felt for all
A n d , as a bird each fond endearment tries,
T o tempt its new fledg'ed offspring to the skies;
H e tried each art, reprov'd each dull delaj/,
Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the waj/.
Beside the bed where parting life was laid,
And sorrow, guilt and pain, by turns disrnay'd,
T h e reverend champion stood. At his control,
Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul;
Comfort came down, the trembling wretch to raise
And his last faultering accents whispered praise.
At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn*d the venerable place ;
Truth from his lips prevails! with double swaj/,
And fools, who came to scoffi remained to pray.
T h e service past, around the pious man,
W i t h ready zeal each honest rustic ran ;
Even children followed with endearing wile,
And pluck'd his gown to share the good mans,
smile.
His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest,
Their welfare pleas'd him, and their cares distrest
T o them his heart, his love, his griefs were given,
But all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven.
As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,
Swells from the vale, and midwaj/ leaves the
storm,
T h o ' round its breast the rolling clouds are spread
Eternal sunshine settles on its head.
�
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Title
A name given to the resource
Woodcut 022: Title-page illustration in double ruled border of a young man in a wig and long coat pointing to 3 urns on a table. Interior scene.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
The History of Charles Jones, the Footman. Shewing how he raised himself from the humble station of a foot-boy, to a place of great eminence and trust, by his strict honesty and integrity.
Alternative Title
An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific.
On Pride, & the Country Clergyman
Date
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1839
Extent
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24 pages
16 cm
Identifier
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<a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9935661133505154">s0587b44</a>
Contributor
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Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada
Rights
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In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413
Format
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JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner.
Source
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Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario
Publisher
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Paisley: G. Caldwell and Son
Description
An account of the resource
Woodcut #22: Illustration on title-page of a young man wearing wig and long coat and pointing to 3 urns on a table. Interior scene with window, stool, and curtain.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
moral tales
Subject
The topic of the resource
Chapbooks - Scotland - Paisley
Religion and Morals
# of Woodcuts: 1
Architecture: house
Architecture: window(s)
Bib Context: title-page
Chapbook Date: 1831-1840
Chapbook Genre: moral tales
Chapbook Publisher - Paisley: G. Caldwell and Son
Fashion (Clothing): upper class
Furniture: stool(s)
Furniture: table(s)
Indoor Scene
Object: urn(s)
-
https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/2cce36cfd7aea44a9cc109fad6ff099c.pdf
c36fd6941a0cfe1c9edc36abc95cef17
PDF Text
Text
THE STORY
OF THE
LITTLE
WHITE
MOUSE:
OR THE
OVERTHROW OF THE TYRANT KING.
GLASGOW:
PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.
30
�LITTLE WHITE
MOUSE.
ANCIENT history furnishes an example of a
k i n g and queen so tenderly attached to each
other, that nothing was wanting to make
their felicity complete.
Their wishes and
their sentiments corresponded exactly on all
subjects; they went frequently to hunt, killing
various sorts of game, and the stag often
became the object of their amusement, or the
victim of their exertions ; they visited the
rivers for the diversion of fishing; and, in
short, whatever gratified the one, became a
source of real delight to the other.
Their
subjects followed so amiable an example,
and thus the happiness of all the nation
consisted
happy.
in mu
T h e k i n g of an adjoining state, whose
manners and dispositions were directlycontrar
k i n g of the L a n d o f Pleasure; for so the
country was called, on account of the
tranquillity
and j o y
there. He was a declared enemy to pleasure;
�3
he sought for nothing but wounds and
bruises; his air was stern and forbiding,
with a l o n g beard and hollow eyes.
H e was
lean and withered always dressed in black ;
his bristly locks were dirty and uncombed;
there was no way so secure to obtain his
favour, but by committing the most atrocious
murders or assassinations: he took upon
himself the office of public executioner,becausehed
suffered. T h i s kingdom was therefore called
the L a n d of Tears,
T h i s wicked wretch, unworthy to possess
a throne, raised an immense army, and
determined with it to spread through the
territory o f this happy neighbour that desolation which was his greate
W h e n all was ready he began his m a r c h ;
but the news of his intention reached the K i n g
of the L a n d of Pleasure l o n g before the
invading
best possible state of defence, and waited the
attack with firmness and resolution.
But
the timid disposition of the queen suggested
a thousand f e a r s : " Sire' said she, " l e t
usfly;let us take the, wealth we possess,
and seek that safety in another quarter or
the world which we cannot now find here."
" I t is m y duty, madam," said the k i n g ,
to remain and protect m y subjects. I am
determined, therefore, to share
their
army, who put
�4
H e then assembled his forces, took a tender
leave of the queen, and marched out to meet
the enemy.
A s soon as he was departed, the queen
g a v e way to the excess of her sorrow, and
clasping her hands together, " A l a s !"
exclaimed
should fall in battle, I shall be left a widow,
in the power of a cruel monster, and my
unborn
idea redoubled her affliction. T h e k i n g wrote
to her every d a y ; but one morning, when
she was watching for the usual messenger,
with fear pictured in his countenance, he
dismounted immediately, and entering her
presence, " O h ! madam," said he, " a l l is
lost; the k i n g , is slain, the army defeated,
and the ferocious conquerer almost at our
backs."
she,
chil
T h e poor queen fell senseless; her attendants carried her to
stood weeping round; they tore their hair
in the bitterness of their affliction, and no
scene in the world could have been more
affecting. B u t their sobs and lamentations
were soon drowned by the cries that every
where spread through the palace of the cruel
manner in which the victorious army was
desolating the city.
T h e wicked k i n g , at
the head of his savage troops, was incessantly
employed
in e x c i t i n g them to acts of cruelty
�5
and plunder; and, thus directed, they slew,
without discrimination, every person they
met.
H e entered the palace, and penetrated
without ceremony into the most , retiredapartments,whe
distresses unmoved, and b y his ferocious
manner and brutal threats, added terror to
the pangs she felt before.
T h u s , too much
intimidated to answer a word, this monster
of a k i n g , supposed her silence to proceed
from sullenness and ill humour; he seized
her rudely by the hair, which the negligence
of g r i e f had suffered to fall loosely on her
shoulders, and then d r a g g i n g her from the
bed on which she lay, he through her across
his shoulders, and carried her a w a y without
remorse; he then mounted with her on his
steed, and rode off.
She besought him, with
tears and supplications, to have pity on her
sufferings; but he mocked her cries, and
said to her, u Weep on ; your complaints
are a source of pleasure and deversion to
me."
He carried her towards his own capital,
and, during the time that he was on the road,
he took the most dreadful oaths that he would
h a n g her as soon as he readied i t ; but he
was soon informed, on his arrival, that the
queen was pregnant.
W h e n the wicked k i n g knew this, a
�6
thought struck him;
daughter he could marry her to his son, and
to ascertain whether it was a daughter that
she should have, he sent for a fairy who lived
on the frontiers of his dominions. W h e n
she arrived, he entertained her with much
more hospitality than he showed to his most
intimate friends, and then led her to a tower,
in the highest room of which the poor queen
was confined. N o t h i n g Could Equal the misery
of the poor queen, and the unpleasantness of
her
apartment.
T h e broken casements
admitted both the wind and the rain, the
flooring was broken in several places, and
the damps that ran down the walls were
dangerous, especially to a person of so weak
a constitution as the queen ; the bed was
composed of nothing but an old matress,
worse than is found in the habitations o f the
poorest class of people,
in this miserable
condition, the queen passed both day
night, weeping bitterly at the thoughts
of
her own situation, and for the death of the
king her husband.
T h e fairy's heart was touched
so deplorable a s i g h t ; she embraced the
queen, and, at the same time, she whispered
her ear the following Words: " T a k e
courage,madam,your misfortunes will soon
be at an end ; I hope soon, to contribute to
your
happiness."
T h e queen was a little
�consoled by these words, and earnestlyentreated
princess, who had once enjoyed the greatest
favours of f o r t u n e ; instead of which, she
could now boast of nothing but suffering
the greatest misery.
T h e y were thus talking together, when the
wicked king, g r o w i n g ; impatient,
Come,
come'
said he, " let us not have so many
compliments ; I brought you here to inform
me whether the queen will have a daughter
or s o n ' " She is pregnant of a daughter,"
replied the fairy, " w h o will be the most
beautiful and, most accomplished princess
that has ever been seen, and the queen will
wish to see her placed in the highest possible
situation of rank and honour."
" I f she is
not very beautiful and accomplished," said
the k i n g , " I will h a n g her mother to a tree,
with the child at her neck, and nothing shall
prevent it." H a v i n g said this, he left the
place with the fairy, and took no notice, of
the unfortunate queen, who wept bitterly,
what shall I do ? I f I have a beautiful little
girl, he will give her to his reptile of a son;
and if she is u g l y , he will h a n g us both.
T o what an extremity am I reduced !
he can never see it ?"
T h e time approached when trie little princess
thus lamen
Cannot
I
�8
cess was to come into the world, and the
gaoler who guarded her g a v e her nothing
but three boiled peas and a small bit of black
bread for her food during the d a y ; by which
she was reduced so thin as to become little
else than skin and bone.
distress
O n e evening while she was employed in
spinning, (for the wicked k i n g was so
avaricious
as
him) she saw, entering at a small hole, a
pretty little mouse as white as snow. " A h !
pretty creature," exclaimed the queen,, " w h a t
do you come here to seek ? I have but three
peas to last me all d a y ; begone, i f you wis'
not to fast." T h e little mouse ran about
here and there, and danced and skipped like
a little m o n k e y : the queen was so pleased
with it, that she g a v e it the only pea that
remained for her supper. " H e r e * said she,
" h e r e , poor little t h i n g , eat this: I have
got no more; but I g i v e it thee w i l l i n g l y . "
T h e instant she had done this, to her great
surprise there appeared upon the table two
partridges, cooked most wonderfully well,
and two pots of preserves,
" R e a l l y , "exclaime
She ate a little; but, with fasting so l o n g ,
her appetite was almost gone.
She threw
down some to the mouse, which, having
�9
nibbled them a w a y , began to leap about with
more glee than before.
T h e next morning very early the gaoler
brought the queen three peas, which he had
put as usual in a large dish, to mock her
sufferings; the little white mouse came softly
and ate them all three, as well as the bread.
W h e n the queen wished to dine, she found
nothing there; at which she was very a n g r y
with the mouse.
" W h a t a wicked little
beast," cried the queen; " i f it continues
thus, I shall die with h u n g e r . "
A s she was
g o i n g to cover the plate which the mouse had
left empty, she found it full of all sorts of
things good for to e a t : she was very g l a d
and ate of them ; but while she was eating,
a thought came into her head, that in a few
days the k i n g would perhaps kill her child,
and she quitted the table to weep.
" A h !"
ejaculated the disconsolate queen, " i s there
no w a y of s a v i n g it ?"
A t the same time
that she pronounced these words she perceived
the mouse p l a y i n g with some straws; she
took some of them and began to work,
saying,
make a covered basket to put m y little
daughter in, and g i v e it out of the window
to the first charitable person who will take
care of it."
She then began to work very d i l i g e n t l y ;
and she never wanted straw, for the mouse
" I f I ha
�10
always brought some into the chamber; and
as at usual meal-time the queen always gave
it the three peas, she found in exchange a
number of dishes of the most delicate meats.
One day the queen was looking out of the
window, to see how long she should make
the cord to tie the basket to, when she should
let it down, and she perceived an old woman
below, leaning upon a stick, who spoke to
her
thus
i
know your trouble, and if
you wish it, I will serve you." " Alas!
my dear friend," replied the queen, " y o u
will very much oblige me, if you will come
every evening to the bottom of the tower, to
receive my child, w h o m 1 will let down to
y o u : you must feed and nurse it, and if ever
I am rich I will repay you well." " I care
for no pecuniary reward," answered the old
woman; ' ; but I am very nice in m y eating,
and wish for nothing so much as a fat plump
mouse. I f you find such a one in your prison,
kill i t and throw it to me; your infant will
the better for it.
When the queen heard this, she began to
weep without answering, and the old woman,
after having waited a little, asked her why
she cried : " Because,' replied the queen,
" there only comes into my chamber one
little mouse, so pretty and so engaging,
find in my heart to kill it," " H o w "
replied the old woman, with great anger, " d o
�11
you like a little rogue of a mouse, which
teats and eats e v e r y t h i n g , better than your
own c h i l d ?
V e r y well, madam, you are
not much to be pitied; remain in the good
company you have chosen; I can have plenty
of mice without y o u ; so I care but little
about i t ; " and, scolding in this manner, she
hobbled away.
A l t h o u g h the queen had a good repast
before her, the mouse played about as u s u a l ;
she never raised her eyes from the ground
where she had fixed them, and tears ran
down her cheeks.
O n this same n i g h t the little princess came
into the world, and her beauty surpassed all
the queen had ever beheld: instead of
crying
at h
smiled on her affectionate parent, and
extended
her little h
a good understanding.
T h e queen caressed
and kissed her fondly, at the same timesorrowfully
i f you fell into the hands of the wicked
k i n g , it will cost you your l i f e ; " she shut
it up in the basket, with a paper attached to
the clothes, on which was written
0
you, whose steps the fav'ring pow'rs direct
T o these lone scenes, your generous aid I claim ;
M y hapless child, in infant years, protect
From sorrow's grasp—and Juliet be her name.
A n d h a v i n g turned away for a moment, she
�12
looked again, and found the infant dressed
in the finest linens and laces: she then kissed
it, and shed a torrent of tears, not k n o w i n g
how to part with her treasure.
A t this moment in came the little mouse,
and jumped into the basket.
" A h ! little
creature," said the queen, cc how much it costs
me to save your life ! I shall perhaps lose my
dear Juliet.
A n y other than me would have
killed you for the dainty old woman ; but I
could not consent to it. "
" Y o u will not
repent
not so unworthy of your friendship as you
suppose." T h e queen was like onethunderstruck,w
change to that of a woman, and the paws
become hands and feet. A t length the queen,
hardly daring to look up, discovered the
figure to be the fairy that had visited her
before,
an
her misfortunes and sufferings.
" I wished
to try the goodness of your heart," said the
f a i r y ; " 1 know now that you are virtuous
and worthy of m y friendship.
Fairies like
me, who possess treasures and riches more
than I can relate, do not seek so much for
the luxuries of life as for friendship, and we
seldom find it." " Is it possible, great fairy,
exclaimed the queen, " that y o u , who are so
powerful and wealthy, find it such a great
trouble to g a i n a friend ?" " Yes*" replied
�13
she, " b e c a u s e persons seldom love us but for
interest; but when you loved me as a little
mouse, it seemed from a disinterested motive,
and I wished to put you to a still greater
trial: I took the figure of an old woman,
and it was I who spoke to you at the bottom
of the tower; you have always answerd my
best expectation."
A t these words she
embraced
the queen,
vermilion mouth of the infant princess, and
said, " M y pretty little girl, you shall
henceforth
be your mother's
be richer than your father; you shall live an
hundred years without illness, wrinkles, or
old a g e . "
T h e enraptured queen returned
thanks, and begged that the fairy would take
Juliet away, and be careful of her, adding
at the same time, " I g i v e her to be your
daughter."
T h e fairy accepted the offer, and thanked
h e r : she then put the little one into the
basket,
tower, and h a v i n g again taken the form of
a mouse, she descended by the cord; but
when she got down, she could not find the
child a n y where, and remounting in a fright,
" A l l is lost," cried she to the queen, " my
enemy Cancaline has j u s t carried away the
princess.
Y o u must know that she is a cruel
fairy, who hates me, and, unhappily, she is
older than I am, and has more power.
I
which she let d
�14
know not by what means to get the child out
of her wicked hands. "
W h e n the queen heard this melancholy
account, she almost died with g r i e f ; she
wept bitterly, and beseeched her good friend
to save her child, at whatever price it m i g h t
be done.
W h e n the gaoler entered the chamber of
the queen, he perceived that she had been
delivered, and he went and told the k i n g of
it, who came in a great passion to ask for the
c h i l d ; but she told him that a fairy, whose
name she knew not, had entered the prison,
and carried it away by force.
A t this the
wicked k i n g stamped and bit his lips, with
every expression of the most violent rage,
" I promised to h a n g thee," said he to the
unfortunate queen, " a n d now I will keep
m y word.
H e then d r a g g e d her by the hair
from the place of her confinement to a neighbouring wood, mo
just g o i n g to h a n g her, when the fairy, having rendered herself
rudely down, and four of his teeth were struck
out b y the fall.
Before he had time to
recover
himse
victim to a secure retreat i n her magnificent
palace.
She was there treated with every
attention and kindness, and if it had not
been for the thoughts of her little daughter,
she had once more been h a p p y ; but she
was
�15
unable to procure a n y intelligence of the
infant, though the little white mouse made
every exertion in her power for that purpose.
A t length, by the progress of time, the
queens grief abated, and fifteen years passed
away without any change in her situation.
A t this period there was great talk all over
the kingdom, that the son o f the wicked
monarch had fallen in love with the keeper
of the poultry, and that the y o u n g woman
refused to accept of him for a husband. T h i s
extraordinary refusal surprised every one;
however, the nuptial dresses were prepared,
and the marriage ceremony was soon expected
to take place.
T h e little white mouse
determined
to see this extraord
had resolution enough to refuse the son of a
k i n g , and immediately transported herself to
the capital.
She entered into the poultry
yard,
and found he
woollen g o w n , with her feet bare, and a cap
of goat's skin on her head; l y i n g by her side
were magnificent dresses, embroidered with
gold and silver, and ornamented with a
number of precious stones ; the turkeys and
other fowls that surrounded her trampled on
and spoiled them.
T h u s habited, and thus careless of the
splendour that awaited her, the keeper of the
poultry sat on a large stone in the middle of
�16
the yard, when the k i n g ' s son arrived: he
was crooked and humph-backed, and marked
with every kind of deformity.
" I f you
you to be put to death instantly."
She
answered him4 with disdain, " I will never
marry y o u ; you are too u g l y and too
pullets, to all the honours you have power to
bestow."
persist
wicked.
T h e little white mouse observed her with
wonder and admiration; for, though in so
a humble dress, she appeared to possess an
incomparable beauty.
A s soon therefore as
the prince retired, the fairy assumed the
figure of an old shepherdess.
" Good day,
fair damsel," said she, " the fowls do credit
to your care of them." T h e y o u n g woman
raised her eyes, and looked at her with a
countenance full of sweetness : " they w i s h '
answered she, " to persuade me to quit m y
present employment for a crown which I do
not want, and for a husband whom I should
despise; pray, good mother, what is your
advice ? " " M y child," returned the fairy,
" a crown is a dazzling object; but you
cannot
who wear it." " B u t suppose I do know all
this," quickly answered the keeper of the
k i n g ' s poultry, " still I would refuse to
imagine th
accept
�17
lation, and know not even the name of those
who gave me b i r t h '
" Y o u have their
beauty and virtue, m ychild"returnedthe
-wise and benevolent fairy, " w h i c h are worth
more than a thousand k i n g d o m s ; tell
m
then who placed you here, since you are
without'
parents a;nd withou
named Cancaline, is the cause that I have
been placed here," replied the y o u n g woman
she beat me till she almost killed me,
without
the least p
sufferings, one day I ran away from her,
and, not k n o w i n g where to g o , I stopped to
rest myself in a wood, where the son of the
wicked k i n g came by chance to w a l k : he
asked if I Would enter his service.
I
consented,
and was
poultry; where he came constantly to see
them, and always took great notice of them.
A l a s ! he soon conceived a violent love for
me, and has ever since so teased me with
expressions
of it, that I
in the world."
T h i s recital made the fairy suspect she
had a t last met with the princess Juliet, and
she therefore asked to know her name.
" I
am called Juliet," added she, modestly;
" but who g a v e me that name I never knew."
T h e doubts of the fairy were thus instantly
removed; she threw herself on the neck of the
princess, exclaiming, " J u l i e t , 1 have known
�you, l o n g ; I am., delighted to find you so
sensible and so lovely ; but I wish you were
better dressed ; take the clothes that are
obeyed immediately, and t a k i n g from, her
head the cap of goat's skin, her beautiful
golden hair fell in curls upon her shoulders;
then, ; t a k i n g some water from a fountain
that ran through the yard., she washed her
hands and face, and discovered a complexion
more bright and transparent than the choicest
pearls of I n d i a ; roses seemed to bloom
fresh on her cheeks; coral seemed to form her
beautiful m o u t h ; and her eyes shone like the
most brilliant diamonds,
W h e n she had
finished dressing herself, the gracefulness of
her form appeared equal to the beauty, of her
countenance, and the fairy gazed on her with
wonder and delight.
before
y
"
P r a y , who d
be now, m y dear c h i l d ? " asked the fairy.
" R e a l l y , " answered she, " I could fancy
myself to be the daughter of some great
k i n g . " u Should you be g l a d of it ? "
demanded
the
good mother," replied the princess, " f o r it
would g i v e me the power of assisting many
that are in distress." "Be happy then," Exclaimed the fairy
parents : to-morrow you shall know more."
The
fairy returned
immediately to her
�19
palace, where she had left the queen.
I bring you, madam," cried she, " ' t h ehappies
" what tidings of j o y can come to meT, who
•have lost both m y husband and my child ??
" I t is always right to hope," replied the
little white mouse, for the fairy had again
taken that figure; " I have seen the princess
your daughter, and she is more beautiful than
the blushes of the d a w n i n g d a y . "
She then
related the whole of her discovery, at which
the queen wept with j o y .
" W h o would
have thought," said she, " i n the days of
m y prosperity, that I should ever bear a
daughter to become the keeper ofhensand
'turkeys !" " It is the cruel Cancaline," said
the fairy, ^ who, k n o w i n g how I love you,
has brought this misery on your child,
purposely
to v e x m e ; b
I am determined," said the q u e e n . " that
she shall not marry the prince; pray g o
and seek her immediately, and bring her to
me."
T h e son of the wicked k i n g left Juliet in
a great r a g e at her obstinate refusal, arid
went into the gardens of the palace to
consider
what he sh
groaned so loud, that his father overheard
him, and, leaning through thewindow,inquiredthe cause of his
�20
I be otherwise than afflicted' answered he,
" to be thus, set at defiance by a keeper of
poultry ?"" W h a t , will not she love you ?"
said the k i n g ; " I am determined she shall
love you, or be put to death." H e then
her here immediately ; I will punish her so
severely, that she shall soon repent of her
obstinacy."
called
h
T h e y went to the poultry-yard, and found
Juliet there, magnificently dressed, as the
fairy left h e r ; they had never seen so lovely
a figure, and, t a k i n g her for some princess,
were afraid to speak to her.
She said
to them, in a sweet and condescending
voice, " P r a y whom do you seek h e r e ? "
" M a d a m , " said they, " we seek anunfortunat
person you seek," replied she; " w h a t do
you w a n t ? "
H e a r i n g this, they seized her,
and h a v i n g tied her hands and feet with
cords, lest she should escape, they carried
her into the presence of the k i n g .
" Well,
insolent wretch," said he, " a n d so you are
determined not to love my son?
He is a
thousand times handsomer than y o u ; love
him therefore immediately, or I'll have you
flayed alive." T h e princess, trembling l i k e
an affrighted dove, kneeled before him, and
tried to inspire pity in a heart that never
felt a n y ; but she pleaded in vain, as the
�21
prince insisted upon it, that his father should
order her for immediate execution.However,they
ment more severe than death, to shut her up
for life in a tower, where she would never
more see the light of the sun.
A t this moment the fairy and the good
queen arrived in a flying chariot, and the
affectionate mother began to weep bitterly,
on hearing the sad fate to which her longlost daughter was just condemned.
" Be
good comfort," said the fairy, " you shall in
the end be made happy, and your enemies
be amply punished." T h e princess was
bed; the fairy then resumed the form of the
little white mouse, and got upon his pillow.
Whenever he attempted to sleep she bit his
e a r ; at which, being much disturbed, he
turned the other side, and she bit at that also,
without mercy : he cried out for assistance,
and when his attendants came, they found
his ears bleeding so fast, that they were
seeking about the apartment to find the
mouse, she was gone into the prince's room
to inflict the same vengeance upon him ; he
likewise called his attendants, and h a v i n g
shown his wounded ears, made them put a
plaster on each.
T h e little white mouse, in
the mean time, returned to the k i n g , and
conveyed
to the tow
unable
to stop h
�22
she bit his nose and gnawed his face i n
several places: he put up his hands to delend his face, and she bit his fingers; he
cried out, " M e r c y ! m e r c y ! I am l o s t ; , ,
and, while his mouth was thus open, the
little white mouse entered it, and bit a piece
off his t o n g u e : his attendants came in once
more ; but he was now unable to speak to
them, his tongue was so severely wounded;
so he made signs that it was a mouse that
had thus wounded him, and every corner of
the room was immediately examined to find
the offender, but in vain, she was gone to
to pay a visit to the prince, and to treat him
much worse than she had treated his father.
She ate out one of his eyes, which left him
in total darkness; for he was blind of the
other before.
H e leaped out of bed instantly,
apartment of his father, who also had taken
his sword, storming and swearing that he
Would kill every one who came in his way till
the mouse was found.
W h e n he saw his son in such a passion,
he scolded him, and the prince, whose ears
were burning with pain, not k n o w i n g the
voice of his father, attacked him furiously.
T h e k i n g exceedingly irritated, made a
violent cut at him with his sword, and
same moment; so that they both fell to the
seized his
received
a
�ground bleeding profusely. A l l their
subjects,
only served and submitted to therm through
fear, now dreading them no longer, tied
cords to their feet, and d r a g g e d them into
the river, s a y i n g they were happy thus to
g e t rid of their tyrants.
who hated them
T h u s ended the days of the wicked k i n g
and his son.
T h e good fairy, who had seen
all that passed, went immediately to seek the
queen, and they went together to the black
tower, where the princess Juliet was confined
under more than forty locks.
T h e fairy
struck three times with a little r i n g on the
great door, which opened instantly, as did
all the rest; they found the poor princess
very thoughtful, and with scarcely spirits to
speak a word.
T h e queen ran to embrace
h e r ; " M y dear child, I am thy mother,
the queen of the L a n d of P l e a s u r e ! "exclaimed
of her birth. W h e n Juliet heard these happy
tidings, she was as near d y i n g with j o y as
she had been near d y i n g with g r i e f : she
threw herself at the feet of the queen, embraced her knees, and we
the tears she shed upon them.
She likewise
carressed the good fairy, who had conferred
so many obligations on them both.
The
fairy said to them, " It is not time now to
think of amusing ourselves; let us g o to
�24
the great hall of the castle and harangue
the people."
She walked first, with a g r a v e and
majestic
next came the queen in robes suitable to her
r a n k ; the princess followed, decorated in a
splendid habit, which the fairy had brought
her for the occasion ; but distinguished much
more by her native modesty and the lustre of
her beauty, which had never before been
equalled. They bowed gracefully to every
one they met by the w a y , whether rich or
poor, and by this condescension attracted the
notice of every one.
W h e n the great hall was full, the good
fairy said to the subjects of the deceased
tyrant, that she would recommend them to
choose for their sovereign the daughter of a
neighbouring k i n g , whom she then presented
to them. " Under so amiable a queen,"
said she, " you cannot fail to live in a state
of continual happiness and tranquillity." A t
these words the people cried out with one
voice, " Y e s ! y e s ! we choose her for our
queen, and we trust she will make us amends
for the miseries we have so l o n g endured
A s soon as the intelligence was generally
known, joy spread throughout the city, and
every sort of business was laid aside, to give
place to feasting and merriment.
FINIS.
air, a
�
https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/e4c36e4d3ccd22af0c4ee0c14397fd1f.jpg
d54c2818f099f2e8744c2309451178cb
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Title
A name given to the resource
Woodcut on title-page portraying exterior of a castle
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Woodcut 030: Title-page Illustration of the exterior of a castle.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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The story of the Little White Mouse: or the overthrow of the tyrant king.
Alternative Title
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The overthrow of the tyrant king.
Extent
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24 pages
16 cm
Identifier
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<a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9934198783505154">s0585b15</a>
Description
An account of the resource
30 printed at the foot of title page
Contributor
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Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada
Rights
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In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413
Date
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1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland
Format
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JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner.
Publisher
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Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers
Source
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Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario
Type
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fairytale/folk lore
Subject
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Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow
# of Woodcuts: 1
Architecture: castle
Bib Context: title-page
Chapbook Date: 1831-1840
Chapbook Date: 1841-1850
Chapbook Genre: fairytale/folk tale
Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers
Nature: flower(s)
Nature: rock(s)
Nature: tree(s)
Outdoor Scene
-
https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/3cc4624a2abdff7af969251002f0dea5.jpg
57c1c1b9e1252db49cfb7160d9ce9a0b
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The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Woodcut on title-page portraying a young man wearing a straw hat and coat standing in front of a large box of tobacco in a tropical climate
https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/a986574d595e19cdb5942ea65a1caa5f.pdf
12fe3bdef0d080a129571c45504c4c95
PDF Text
Text
THE
COMICAL
STORY
OF
T H f t U H i l Y CAP
AND
THE
GHAIST
TO WHICH IS ADDED
THE HIGHLAND
STORY
OF
DONALD& HIS DOG.
GLASGOW:
PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS
�0
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T 81A H O
a a a a A si HDIHW OT
iftIVi
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.OOfl filli MLI./../KXI
: WO03V TO
3HT JHH <MTKIJIr
�THRUMMY CAP.
A
TALE.
IN ancient times, far i' the north,
A hunder miles ayont the forth,
Upon a stormy winter day,
Twa men forgather'd oc the way,
Ane was a sturdy bardoch chiel
An' frae the weather happit weel,
Wi« a mill'd plaiding jockey-coat
And eke he on his head had got
A thrummy cap baith large and gtout,
Wi< flaps ahind, as weel's a snout,
Whilk button'd close aneath his chin,
To keep the cauld frae getting in :
Upon his legs he had gammashes,
Whilk sodgers term their spatterdashes
An' on his hands, instead o' gloves.
Large doddy mittens, whilk he'd roo*«t
Tor warm ness, an4 an aiken stick
Nae verra lang, but unco thick,
Intill his nieve—he drave awa',
But car d tor neither frost nor suaw,
The ither was just the reverse,
(J- claes and courage baith was scarce,
Sae in our tale, ; s we go on,
1 think we'll ca' him cowVldy John.
Sae on they gade at a gnde scowe'r,
'Cause that they saw a gathering shower,-
�4
Grow verra thick upon tlie wind,
Whilk to their wae they soon did find 5
A mighty show'r o' snaw and drift,
As ever dang down frae the lift !
Right wild and boist'rous Boreas roar'd,
Preserves! quoth John, we'll baith be smor'd*
Our trystic end we'll ne'er make o u t ;
Chear up, says Thrummy, never d o u t .
But I'm some fly'd we've tint our way,
Howe'er at the neist house we'll stay,
Until we see gif it grow fair,
Gin no, a' night we'll tarry there.
Weel, weel, says Johnny, we shall try ?
Syne they a mansion house did spy,
Upo' the road a piece afore,
Sae up they gade unto the door,
W here Thrummy chappit wi' his stick,
Syne to the door came verra quick,
A meikle dog, wha barked fair,
But Thrummy for him didna c a r e ;
H e handled weel his aikeu staff,
An' spite o*s teeth he kept him aff
Until the Landlord came to see,
And ken fat might the matter be ;
Then verra soon the dog did cease
The Landlord then did spear the case
Quoth Thrummy, Sir, we ha'e gane rill ;
we thought we'd ne'er a house get till,
W e near were smor'd amo' the drift,
And sae gudeman, ye ll mak' a shift
To gi'e us quarters a' this night,
For now we dinnaha'e the light,
Farer to gang, tho' it were fair,
See gin ye hae a bed to spare.
�5
Whatever ye charge we cauna grudge.
But satisfy ye, ere we budge
T o gang awa - - a n d fan 'tis day,
We'll pack out all, and tak the way.
T h e Landlord said, O 6 beds I've nane,
O u r ain fowks they will scarce contain,
But gin ye'll gang but twa miles foret
Aside the Kirk dwalls Robbie Dorret,
W h a keeps a Change-house, sells guide drink,
H i s house ye may mak out I think.
Quoth Thrnmmy, th t's owre far awa',
T h e roads are sae blawn up wi' snaw,
To mak it is na in our power;
For, look ye, there's a gathering shower
Just coming on— you'll let us bide,
T h o ' we should sit by the fire side.
The Landlord said to him, Na, na,
I canna let you bide ava,
Chap aff, for 'tis iia worth your while
T o bide, when ye hae scrimp twa mile
To g a n g - - s a e quickly aff you'll steer,
F o r faith, 1 doubt ye'll na be here.
T ^ a mile! quo' Thrummy, deil speed me,
If frae your house this night 1 jee,
A r e we to starve in Christian land ?
As lang's my stick bides in my hand,
A n ' siller plenty in my pouch,
T o nane about your house I'll crouch,
Landlord, ye needna be sae rude,
For faith we'll mak our quarters good.
Come, John, let's in, we'll tak a sate,
F a t sorrow gars yon look so blate ?
Sae in he gangs, and sets him down,
-Says lie, there's nae about your town.
�6
Sill put flie out till a ne>v day.
Lang as I've silier for to pay,
The Landlord said., Ye'r<' rather rash,
To turn you out I carina fash,
Since ye're so positive to hide,
But troth. vese sit by the fire-side;
[ tald ye else of beds I've name,
Unoccupied, except bareane;
In it. 1 fear, ye winna Iy ;
lu>r stoutest heart has aft,been shy
To venture in wjthin the room,
After the night begins to gloom;
For in it they can ne'er get rest,
k
l is haunted by a frightful ghaist;
Oursels are terrified a' night,
Sae ye may chance to get a sight,
Like that which some o' our fowk saw,
}
(ilar better still ye gang awa',
Or else ye'll maybe rue the day,
Guide faith quo' John, I'm thinking sae ;
Better into the neuk to sit,
Than fla'd, Gude keep's, out o' out wit;
Preserve us ever frae all evil,
I widna like to seethe devel!
Whisht gowk, quo1 Thrummy, baud your peace
That sanna gar me quit this place ;
Nor great nor sma' 1 ne'er did ill,
The ghaist nor deil my rest shall spill.
I will defy the meikle deil,
And a' his warks I wat fu' weel;
What the sorrow then maks you sae erry ?
Fling by your fears, and come he cheery,
Landlord gin ye'll mak up that bed,
J promise I'll he verra glad,
4
�7
W i t h i n the same a' night to lie,
If t h a t the room be warm and dry,
T h e Lanlord says, Ye'se get a tire,
And candle too gin ye desire,
W i ' beuks to r e a d ; and for your bed,
I'll orders gie, to g e t it made.
J o h n says, as I'm a Christian man,
W h o never likes to curse nor ban,
N o r steal, nor lie, nor drink, nor roar,
I'll never gang within its door,
But sit by the fireside a' nighit,
And gang awa' where'er 'tis light.
Says Thrummy till him, wi' a glow'tr,
Y e cowardly gowk I 11 mak ye cow r *
Come up the stair alang wi' me,
A n d I shall cautiou for ye be.
Then J o n n y faintly gaed consent.
Sine up the stairs to the room they went,
W h e r e soon they gat baith fire and light,
T o haud them hearty a' the n i g h t ;
T h e Landlord likewise gae them m e a t ;
Meikle as they baith could eat •
Shew'd then their bed and bade them gang
T o it, whene'er they did think l a n g :
Sae wishing them a gude repose
Straight syne to his ain bed he goes.
O u r travelers now being left alane,.
'Cause that the frost was nipping keen,
Coost aff their shoon, and warme d their feet,
T h e n syne gaed to their bed to sleep.
B u t cowardly J o h n wi' fear was quaking,
He coudna sleep but still lay waking,
Sae troubled with his panic fright,
W h e n near the twalt hour o l night,
�8
That Thrummy waken'd, arid thus spoke,
Preserv's ! quoth he, I rn like to chock
Wi' thirst, arid I maun hae a drink,
I will gang down the stair, I think,
And grapple for the water-pail,
0 for a waught o' caller ale I
Johnny grips till him, and says, Na,
1 winna let you gang awa':
W o w will you gang and leave'me here
A3ane to die wi perfect fear ?
Rise and gae wi me then, quoth Thrumm
Ye senseless gude-for-naething bummy,
I'm only gaen to seek some water,
i will he back just in a clatter.
Na na says J o h n I'll rather He
But as I'm likewise something dry
G if ye can get a jug or cap
Fesh up to me a little drap.
Av ay quoth Thrummy that I will
Aitho ye shonldna get a gill.
Sae dow n he goes to seek a drink,
But then he sees a little blink
O' light that shone upon the floor,
Out throngh the lock-hole o' the door,
Which wasna fast but stood a-gee,
Whatever's there he thinks he'll see:
Sae bauldly o'er the threshold ventures.
Then in within the door he enteis.
But reader judge of the surprise
T h a t there he saw with wondering eyes
A spacious vault well stored wi' casks
(T reaming ale and some big flasks,
And stride-legs o'er a cask o' ale
He saw the likeness oi himsel'.
�9
J u s t in the dress that he coost aff,
A thrummy and an aiken staff,
Gammashes and the jockey coat;
And in its hand the Ghaist had got
A big* four-legged timber bicker,
Fill'd to the brim wi' nappy liquor,
Our hero at the spectre stared,
But neither daunted was not car'd,
lint to the Ghaist stright up did step,
AU' says, dear brother, Thrummy Cap,
T h e warst ye surely dinna drink,
So I wi' you will taste 1 t h i n k ;
Syne took a jug, pou'd out the pail,
A id fill d it up wi' the same ale,
Frae under where the spectre sat,
And then up stairs wi' it he g a t ;
Took a gude drink, gae John auither,
Bnt never tald him o' his brither
That he inta the cellar saw,
Mair t h a n he'd naething seen ava,
Light brown and nappy was the beer :
W h a r did you get it ? John did speir,
S iys Thrummy, sure ye ncedna tare,
I'll gae and try and get some mair,
Sae down the stair again he goes,
T o get o' drink anlther dose.
Being positive to hae some mair
But still he fand the Ghaist was there,
Now on a butt behind the door:
Says he, ye didri* ill before,
Dear brother Thrummy, sae I'll try
You ance again, because I'm dry.
H e tills his jug stright out below,
An up the stair again does go.
�10
J o h n marvelled sair, but didna speir
Again w here he did get the beer,
F o r it was stronger then the first,
Sa^ they baith drank till like to burst,
Syne did compose themsels to rest,
T o sleep a while they thought it best.
One hour in bed they hadna been,
They scarcely weel had closed their een,
When j u s t into the neighbouring c h a n c e r
T h e y heard a dreadfu' din and clamour.
Beneath the bed-claes J o h n did cow'r,
B u t T h r u m m y jump'd upon the floor,
Him by the sark tail J o h n did baud ;
L y e still, quoth he, fat are ye mad ?
T h r u m m y then gaed hasty j u m p ,
Syne took J o h n on the ribs a thump,
Till oti the bed he tumbled down,
In little better then a swoon,
W h i l e T h r u m m y fast as he could rin,
Sets aff to see what made the din.
T h e chamber seem'd to him as light,
G i f a s t h e sun where shining bright,
T h e Ghaist was stanen at the door ;
In the same' dress he had afore ;
And o'er a n e n t i t , at the wa',
W e r e ither apparitions twa.
T h r u m m y beheld them for a-wee,
B u t deil a word as yet spake he
T h e spirits seerne'd to kick a ba f ,
T h e Ghaist against the other twa ;
Whilk close they drave baith back and fore,
Atween the chimney and the door.
H e stops a while and sees the play,
Syne, riiinin up, he this did say^
�11
Ane for ane may weel compare.
B u t twa for ane is rather sair ;
T h e play's nae equal, say I vow,
Dear brother T h r u m m y , I'll help you*
T h e n wi' his fit he kicked the ba<,
G a r d it play stot against the wa';
Quick then, as lightning f r a the sy,
T h e spectres with a horrid cry,
a' vanished in a clap oc thun'er.
while T h r u m m y at the same did won'er.
T h e room WT?S quiet now aud dar&,
An4 T h r u m m y striping in his sark;
Glauming the gate back to his bed,
H e thinks he hears a parson tread,
An' ere he gat without the door,
T h e Ghaist again stood him before,
And in his face did staring stand,
Wi4 a big candle in its hand.
Q u o t h T h m m m y , Friend, I want to know
w h a t brings you frae the shades below,
1 in goodness 4 name command
Y o u tell your story just aff hand ?
F a t wad ye h a e ? — M l do my best
F o r you, to let you be at rest.
T h e n says the Ghaist, ' T i s thirty year
Sinse I've been doorn'd to wander here ;
I n all that time there has been none
Behave ( d sae bold as ye have d o n e :
S ae if you'll do a j o b for me,
Disturbance mair I'll never gie.
Sae on your tale, quoth T h r u m m y
T o do ye justice sure will try.
T h e n mark me weel, the Ghaist replied
A n d ye shall soon be satisfied:
�12
E£r<ae this aback near forty year,
I of this place was overseer,
When this L a n d ' s father had the land r
A' thin^ was then at my command,
W i ' power to do as 1 thought tic,
In ilka cause I chief did s i t :
T h e Laird paid great respect for me
But I an ill return did ^ie,
T h e Title-Deeds of his Estate
(Jut of the sajue I did hitu cheat,
And stale them frae whare they did lie
Some days before the Laird did die
His son at that time was in France,
And sae I thought I'd liae a chance,
(xif he sud never come agaiu,
T h a t the Estate would be my ain.
But scarcely three bare weeks were past,
When death did come and grip me fast,
Sae sudden that I hadna pow'r
The charter back for to restore,
Soon after that hame came the heir,
And syne got up the reefu rair,
W h a t sorrow was come o' the Rights?
Thev sought them several days and nights
But never yet hae they been seen,
As 1 aneath a inuckle stane
Did hide them i' this cham'er wa\
Weel sew'd up in a leather ba';
But 1 was ne'er allow'd to rest
Untill that I the same confest;
But this to do i hadna power,
F r a e yon time to this verra hour
T h a t I've revealed it a to you,
And now I'll tell you what to do.
�13
Till nae langsyne nae mony kenfc,
That this same laird the rights did w a n t ;
But now they hae him at the law,
And the neist week the laird maun shaw,
Before the court the rights o's land,
This put him to an unco stand,
For if he didna shaw them there,
O a4 his lands he'll be striped bare ;
Nae hopes has he to save his state,
This makes him sour and unco blate:
He canna think whar's rights may be^
And ne're expects them mair to see,
But now my friend mark what I tell
And ye'll get something to yoursel.
Tak out the stane there in the wa',
And there ye'll get the leather ba',
Tis just ihe same that you did see,
W h e n you said that you would help m e ;
T h e rights are sewed up in its heart,
But see you dinna wi4 them part,
Until the laird shall pay you down
,I ust fifty guineas and a crown,
Wliilk at my death was due to me,
This for thy trouble I'll give thee ;
And I'll disturb this house nae mair,
'Cause 1 11 be free frae all my care.
This Thrummy promised to do,
And syne the Ghaist bid him adieu
And vanished with a pleasant sound
Down through the laft and thro' the ground.
Thrummy gaed back sine to his bed,
And cowardly John was verra glad,
That he his neibour sawance mair,
For of his life he did despair.
�14
Wow man, quo' John, whare hae you been.
Come tell rne a4 fat ye hae seen.
Na, bide, says Thrummy, till day-light,
And syne I'll tell you hale and right.
Sae baith lay still arid took a nap,
Until the ninth hour it did chap.
Thrummy syne raise, put on his claes,
And to the chamber quick he gaes,
Taks out the stane into the wa'.
And soon he found the leathern h a ' ;
Took out the Rights, replac'd the stane,
Ere J o h n did ken vvhar he had been :
Then baith came stappingdown the stair,
The morning now was calm and fair.
Weel, quoth the Laird, my trusty frien',
Hae ye ought in our chamber seen ?
Quoth Thrummy, Sir, I naething saw
T h a t did me ony ill ava.
Weel, qnoth the Laird, ye now may gang,
Ye ken the day's verra lang ;
In the meantime its calm and clear,
Y e lose your time in bidiug here.
Quoth Thrummy, Sir, mind what 1 tell,
I've mair right here than you yoursel.
Sae till I like I here shall bide,
The Laird at this began to chide:
Says he, my friend, you're turning rude.
Quoth Thrummy, I'll my claim make good,
F o r here I just before you a*,
T h e Rights o' this Estate can shaw,
And that is mair than ye can do.
W h a t ! quo' the Laird, can that he true ?
T i s true, quoth Thrummy, look and see,
D'ye think that I would tell a lie.
�The Parchments frae his pouch then drew,
And down upon the table threw.
The Laird at this up to him ran,
And cried, Whar did you get them, man ?
Syne Thrummy taid him a4 the tale
As I've taid you, baith clear and hale.
T h e Laird at this was fidgin Tain,
T h a t he had gat his Rights again:
And fifty guineas down did tell,
Besides a present fra\» himsel.
Thrummy thanked him, an' syne his gowd
Intil a muckle purse he stow'd.
And cramm'd it in his oxter-pouch,
And syne sought out his aiken crutch :
And fare-ye-weel, I maun awa,
And see gin I get thro' the sna';
Weel, fare-ye-weel, replied the Laird :
But how comes it ye hanna' s h a r d
Or gien your neibor o( the money?
Na, by my saul I, Sir, quo' Thrummy, '
When I the siller, Sir, did win,
( T o ha'e done this wad be a sin.)
Before that- I the Ghaist had laid,
T h e nasty beast had
the bed..
And sae my tale 1 here do eud,
I hope no one it will offend :
My muse wil! na assist, me linger,
T h e dorty jade sometimes does anger,
I thought tier ance a gay sm irt lass,
But now she's come to sic a pass,
That a* my cudgeli lg ond weeping,
Will hardly wake her out o' sleeping:
To plague her 1 winna try,
But dight my pen and lay it by.
�DON AL
AND
D
HIS
DOG.
Atween twa hills that tower'd up to the clouds,
Clad o'er with heather, bent, and wuds ;
'Mang rocks, and steeps, and waters falling,
W a s Highland Donald's humble dwelliug.
Aroun' his hut, beneath his eye,
Fed bout a score o' stirks and key,
Whiik, wi- his wife and family, were
His pleasure aud pecular care :
A mang sic barren heights and howes,
W h a r grain for food but scanty grows,
His family were but sparely fed—
Right coarse, and barely were they clad;
l or he had wi' the laird for years
Had, 4 aginst his will been in arrears
For whiik he had to thole the snarl
And threats o' the tyrannic carl
Till Donald's independent spirit
�17
Nae langer was resolved to bear it,
And hardships was resolved to scorn—
As the saying is, 4 to inak' a spoon or spoil a
horn.'
He shrewd and clever was, I t r o w ;
Spak 4 Gaelic weel, and Lawlan's, too ;
And, as he was an honest chiel,
By a4 his neighbours liket weel.
Ae day—contrivin' what to dae
To keep hiinsel' aboon the brae—
A plan he modell'd in his head,
And thus it down before them laid :—
That twa weeks hence in England, there
W a d be a great black cattle fair,
Wliar kye as he learnt frae men o' dealings
Gied double price gi'en in the Highlands.
Now if, wi' what he could himsel
Spare safely frae his flock to sell,
They wad mak' up a drove amang them,
He pledged his word he wadna wrang them,
But render, at his 0011™' back,
A just account 0' ilka plack;
Allowing him for recompense
Some sma' commission a n d ' s expense.'
On this they quickly greed to gie
�Itf
Out o' their flocks some twa, some three
Till a handsome drove colleckit,
x\nd to the south his way direckit.
H e mounted was upon a pony,
A dog his servant was, and crony;
And by his side, like ony lord,
There hung a braid sheep-headed s w o r d No as a wcaqon o' offence;
But, in case o' need, for self-defeijee ;
For they wlia liket, rich or poor,
Might wear a sword in days b1 yore.
Baith ear' and late—baith wat and dry—r
The dog and Donald drave the kye :
And, after muckle toil and care
A* safe and sound they reached the fair.
The kye were said—the price was paid—
'Twas down in yellow guineas laid;
The guineas in his purse was sneckit—
The price was mare than he expeckit.
Whilk raised his heart—and I wat weel
H e thought himsel' a clever chiel.
Instead o' Donald longin' careless
About the fair, to keek at fairlies,
Or bonze wi limmers, or to gamble,
Or spend his cash in ony ramble^
�19
He wisely mounts
Highland sheltv,
And took the roful on heltv skeftyv
As he rode on and cracked his wimp,
y gentleman came riding up,
Wha bade' Good day/ wi friendly air,
And spiered • if he'd been at the fair?'
When Donald; without vain parade,
Returned him thanks, and said 4 he had f
And a his business; tap and tail o't,
When at the fair, he la ni l the hale o't.
Right crotise they grew wi' ane anither.
And mony stories tanfd to ither,
Rout kings ain' priests an' great commanders,
The wars in Britain, France, and Flanders.
When mony niHeVthey'd rode in league,"
They in a hollow reached a brig
Across a burn, that ran wi' ease
Down through a glen adorned wi' trees.
Now 'twas a bonnie summer's day,
When a' the fields were clothed and gay,
They stopped, and dropped there tales and jokin',
Their horses'lowing drouth to slokeri,
And greed some little time to pass,
To let them rest and eat some grass.
�20
Now, as Donald and his comrade sat
Upon the green, they resumed their c h a t :
And Donald's dog before their teet
Lay stretched, and panting wi' the heat —
And Donald's sword, which he did carry
Beneath his hodden-grey havarry,
The Englishman's attention seized,
He begged a sight o% if he pleased
Whilk Donald drew and frankly gave him,
In confidence he'd not deceive him.
The billy thanked him for the sight o't,
Then praised the size the mak, an weight o't.
And asked at Donald, on his word,
If maist he trusted to the dog or sword,
Supposing the case, that any pad
Should demand the money that he had ?
' The sword,' quoth Donald, * I can wield,
And should sic wretch, by road or field,
E'er daur demand frae me a shilling,
I'd plunged with freedom in the villain ;
Yet ne'ertheless, for a' my cracks o't,
1 wadna gie the dog for sax o't.
W i ' this the fellow, at the word,
Chapped aff the dog's head with the sword ;
Syne pointed it to Donald's heart,
�21
And swore he with his cash should part,
Or instantly, with stabs and cuts,
He'd pierce his heart and rip his guts.
* 0 1 ' says Donald, * spare my life,
F o r sake o' my poor weans and wife!
Hae, there's the cash; but wi< what shame
And grief maun I face friends at hame !
They'll no believe a word o't neither—
Lord help's, we're ruined a thegitker 24
' Stop,' says the fellow, ? cease your crying
Your friends will not suppose you lying;
They will believe what you say to them.
By evidence which you shall give them
From ever man I rob I've credit,
By giving me his hand I did i t ;
My comrades ami I together
This token give to one another ;
So one of your hands must go with me
So take your choice, which shall it be,
< My dog is gane and darling purge,
And now my hand - s t i l l worse and worse
Hae mercy on me " Donald prays,
I'll be a beggar a' my days.'
'No mercy for you, ' cried the wretch ;
^pme, down wi t—I'll make quick dispatek
�22
< Weel-then,' says Donald, 4 I submit,
But ae repuest grant, if it's f i t ;
That is, since my left hand must go,
Drive't aff at ae most desperate blow •
N o on the saft green, there perhaps
Ye'll pine me sair by several chaps,
But ye'll at ance mair siocar do t
On yonder smooth tree's spreading root.*
P u i r Donald's prayer was heard, he then
Made bare his left hand shackle-bane,
And on the tree root laid it quaking ;
The robber now his aim was taking—
Baith hands raised the vengfV whittle,
And, as he drew with awful ettle,
Sly Donald slipped his arm a-jee.
W h e n firm the sword stuck in the tree.
4
Have at ye now, ye cruel wretch,'
Quoth Donald, 4 I am now your match V
that he caught him by the collar,
G i e d h i m a jerk that garred him gollar;
Donald's blood boiled in a passion,
H e gied his face a horrid bashin,
His cravate Donald squeesed sae tight,
T h a t faith he strangled him maisfc outright.
By this means Donald manned to mak
�23
His hands secure ahint his back*
Syne on the horse he put the billy,
His feet he tied beneath his belly;
T h e dog, whom Donald mourned full sore,
A frightfu' sight of reeling gore,
H e on ahint the fellow placed
Across the hurdies of the beast.
Syne, Donald's triumph to evince,
H e mounts his horse proud as a prince—Brandished the sword, and dared the blade
To move his hands, feet, tongue, or head;
T h a t if he did, he warned him now
Up to the hilt he'd run him through.
Sae on t h e road they moved alang,
And Donald crooned a Highland sang;
They reache'd the town, folks were surpris'd
T h e rober soon was recognized;
The magistrates they brawly kent him,
F o r mair nor arice he'd been f o m e n t them,
F o r mony years his deeds of horror
H a d kept baith far and near in terror,
F o r whilk, whae'er wad apprehend him,
And to the nearest prison send him,
W a d he entitled to regard,
And twenty guineas of reward,
�24
Whilk Donald got in word a«d deed,
With honours heaped upon his head.
T h e rober, too got his reward—
Stern Justice at him awfu' stared;
(3 u lt and remorse his bosom stung,
Hence he was tried, condemned, and hung.
Bauld Donald soon arrived at ha me,
Paid aff his laird and ilka claim ;
Mair o' him ye'd tire to hear me tell,
But he was soon a laird himsel ,
Yet ne'er forgot the awfu* shock,
When his left hand lay on the block
E N D OF DONALD AND HIS
DO0
�
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Title
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Woodcut 033:Title-page illustration of a young man in casual dress standing in front of a large box of tobacco in a tropical climate.
Document
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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The comical story of Thrummy Cap and the Ghaist. To which is added The Highland story of Donald & his dog.
Alternative Title
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The Highland story of Donald & his dog
Extent
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24 pages
15 cm
Identifier
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<a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923288593505154">s0488b16</a>
Contributor
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Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada
Rights
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In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413
Date
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1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland
Format
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JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner.
Publisher
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Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers
Source
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Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario
Type
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poetry
Subject
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Wit and Humor
Supernatural
Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow
# of Woodcuts: 1
Architecture: hut
Bib Context: title-page
Chapbook Date: 1831-1840
Chapbook Date: 1841-1850
Chapbook Genre: fairytale/folk tale
Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers
Fashion (Clothing): working class
Gender: man/men
Nature: flower(s)
Nature: tree(s)
Object: crate/barrel(s)
Object: tobacco
Outdoor Scene
-
https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/31c465b7784e8f8eb9715dc4ed665a7f.pdf
d8f62ea16574d8643960887e1d00a679
PDF Text
Text
�P R E F A T O R Y
N O T E .
THE traditions here, respecting the death of Marjory Bruce, are
very scanty. It is said that in hunting, near Renfrew, her horse got
entangled in a mire, or morass, by which she was violently thrown
from her saddle, and that she immediately thereafter expired, having
first given birth to a son, who was afterwards Robert 11. of Scotland.
Her remains, and also her effigy, still lie in the Sounding Aisle of our
Abbey Church. The effigy rests upon what was once, doubtless, the
altar of the church. The place where she met her untimely death is
still shown in a comer of one of the fields of the Knock Farm, and
is, as described by Baston, on the slope of the hill looking towards
Renfrew, and is still a mire. Till within these 40 or 50 years, a
stone cross marked the fatal spot. This cross has been carefully,
though unsuccessfully searched for by the present intelligent occupier of the Knock Farm.
Marjory Bruce, along with her mother, was taken prisoner after the
unfortunate battle of Methven, and carried into England. After the
battle of Bannockburn, however, they were both released ; on which
occasion Walter, the Lord High Steward of Scotland, who was much
trusted by Bruce, and who commanded the centre wing of the Scotch
army on that memorable occasion, was sent to meet them on the border, and conduct them to Stirling Castle, where the Scottish court
then was. It was then, doubtless, that that mutual attachment was
formed betwixt the hero and heroine of Baston's poem, which, in the
following year, issued in their marriage. They had been married only about nine months, when the birth of a child, under the
melancholy circumstances described, took place. From the consideration of this incident, we may exclaim with Cicero—
" Quae eximia plerisque et prsaclara videntur, parva ducere."
Had Marjory Bruce's horse fallen a little differently from what it
did, the infant in the womb might have been destroyed. We would
then have had no Stewart dynasty; and what the history of our
country would then have been, who can conjecture ?
How eventful! how instructive to princes and to nations, the history of that wide-spreading dynasty, from the time its first seed was
dropped on the banks of the Cart, to the time its main stem was
hewn down on the banks of the Boyne.
P A I S L E Y , 1839.
�THE
DEATH OF MARJORY BRUCE.
SOUTH BRIDGE,
EDINBURGH,
17th N o v . , 1838.
(To the Editor of the Paisley Advertiser.)
SIR,—Having, recently, made a curious literary
discovery, in connexion with your locality, I think
it but fair that it should be put into your hands.
Your readers are, in general, aware, that Edward
the I I . , in that march into Scotland which terminated in the battle of Bannockburn, brought along with
him a poet of the name of Baston, to celebrate in
verse his anticipated victory ; and that this unlucky
bard fell into the hands of the Scots, who punished
him in a very appropriate way, by making him write
a set of verses, in celebration of their victory over
his countrymen. This poem still remains : beginning
thus:—
" De planctu cudo metrum cum carmine nudo,
Risum retrudo, dam tali themate ludo."
W e say all this is well known to most of your
readers ; but few of them, we dare say, know that
this Baston, during his abode in Scotland, had his
domicile in the castle of Renfrew, the then principal
seat of the Lord High Steward of Scotland: that he
was residing there, when the death of his noble hostess took place, by her horse falling upon her as she
�rode from Paisley homewards ; and that he composed a set of Latin verses on that melancholy occasion,
in which he, most likely, describes what he had actually witnessed. Now we have had the good fortune to
find a copy of these verses which had so long- remained concealed, though often sought for by our
antiquaries.
We have made a free translation of
this poem. It is, perhaps, rather too long for your
paper, but, if you choose, you may publish it. You
must have still various floating traditions about the
sad catastrophe to which it relates ; and it may be
curious to compare these with the actual facts, as
related by a competent eye-witness. Some useful
conclusions might perhaps be deduced, on the nature
of evidence from such a comparison.
Yours, truly,
GEORGE
THOMSON.
[The lamentable death of Marjory Bruce, daughter of King
Robert the Bruce, and wife to Walter, the Lord High Steward of Scotland, which happened near to the Castle of Renfrew, on Mid-Summer eve, in the year 1316.]
'Twas even tide, the long bright day
"Was passing like a saint away ;
Still as it faded smiling meeker,
And touched with raptures holier, deeper ;
The sun ne'er built him fairer bowers,
To linger out eve's farewell hours,
The cloud-wove curtains of the sky,
Were never dipped in richer die,
And never did the peaks below
Dissolve amid so bright a glow.
From where the distant mountain's blue,
Emboldening meets the verdant hue
Of old Kilpatrick's woody slope,
To the Mistilaw's lone, western cope,
�The heavens a prophet's vision seems,
Or pageant of the world of dreams.
Full from that sanctuary of light,
With levell'd aim, superbly bright,
A glory o'er the green land pours,
Gilding its spires and banner'd towers.
Clyde like a vine-tinged current flows,
Like gold old Paisley's Abbey glows.
Swift slaunting, as a path-way meet
For some descending angel's feet,
Through its broad window pour'd the ray
Amid the long-ranged pillars grey,
To one wide warm empassion'd smile,
Flushing the cold dim western aisle.
It onward streamed, its mellow fire
A t length slept in the hallowed choir,
But, ere it kissed the sacred ground,
It met and beamed a glory round—
A rich-rob'd, Queen-like one, whose knee,
In midst of that fair sanctuary,
On cloth of gold is meekly bent,
Like some imploring penitent.
Her maidens and her knightly band,
With reverence deep at distance stand,
Nor Queen nor penitent is she,
But the fair Lady Marjory ;
A Bruce in soul as well as name,
Of meek but yet majestic mein.
The noblest knight in all the land,
The princely Stewart won her hand ;
And, soon, in hope's exulting glow
She waits a Mother's joy to know.
The mass is said, the vesper hymn
Floats mellow through the arches dim,
Soft mingling with the organ's swell,
Bidding the day a sweet farewell;
Whilst through the silent, gazing throng
The priestly train slow moves along,
T o seek the cloister's calm retreat,
Or silent cell for musing meet.
Then following came a noble band,
The grace, the beauty of the land,
Fair maidens in life's blooming May,
Like flowers woo'd by the morning ray,
�6
All blushing freshness, yet each face
Was solemn like the saintly place ;
As soft as falling snow they tread,
Each by a youthful warrior led,
Whose iron tramp, with ringing sound,
Startles the tomb-like echoes round.
But like the moon, serenely bright,
Calm gliding 'mid the stars of night,
Amid that glittering company
Slow paced the Lady Marjory.
Her placid brow, uplifted eye,
Spoke of high commerce with the sky,
Whilst the quick flushings of her cheek
Earth's hopes and anxious fears bespeak.
Now, 'twixt the western turret's hoar
They issue through the deep-arched door,
And never did a scene more bland
E'en in earth's richest climes expand
Than that fair one which round them lay
Like eye-enrapturing melody.
E'en like an angel's kiss, the air
Met the warm brow, and sounds were there,
Like angel-whispers, lover's-vows,
Heard 'mid the gently swinging boughs ;
Whilst, in soft harmony below,
Was heard the darkening river's flow,
And oft the mellow piping thrush
Pour'd forth her lay from shady bush,
A flood of music, liquid, clear,
Thrilling the calm air far and near.
Each lady reins her palfrey light,
Quick on his steed has sprung each knight ;
Along the green path, down the stream,
Like dreamers of some bright day-dream,
So, slowly, silently they ride
Onward to Renfrew's halls of pride,
Where, emblem of the Stewart's power,
His banner waves o'er massy tower.
Behind the far hills of Argyle
The sun had set, but still the smile,
Like hectic flush on beauty's cheek,
Of fading light plays round each peak ;
�Sweet as an infant's laughing eye,
Eve's dewy star beam'd down the sky.
Like visions, that in glory J^laze
Before ambition's fervid gaze,
And whilst he grasps them, melt away—
The crimson west had chang'd to grey.
And now they reach the sloping green,
Whence the broad castle's walls are seen
Their dark and massive bulk to heave ;
While, through the mellowing tints of eve,
They seem aerial halls pil'd high,
That mock the gazer's, wildered eye.
But, hark ! clear through the forest borne
Is heard the blast of bugle horn,
And in the garb of Lincoln green,
A weary hunting band is seen :
The note, from her long reverie,
Has roused the lady Marjory.
It is the blast she loves to hear,
That tell's her that her lord is near.
With joy she sees his coming train—
Slacks her impatient palfrey's rein;
That, long close curb'd, now bounds away
Like unleash'd hound upon his prey.
Nor answers now the guiding rein
But with high bound and proud-toss'd mane.
Though plunging on with furious speed,
Long trained to rein a mettled steed,
The graceful rider, firm, erect,
Calm, seeks his headlong course to check.
Forth springs a knight to seize her rein,
But ere his hand her hand could gain,
Still sweeping on with furious speed,
Deep in a mire had plunged her steed.
He falls, rolls o'er, and, woe the day !
His noble rider 'neath him lay.
T o aid, all wildly rush around,
And quickly from their saddles bound.
Her frantic maidens' scream of fear
Has reached the good Lord Steward's ear :
He starts—he sees the hurrying throng,
With arrow speed he spurs along :
�He speeds—but faster still life's tide
Is ebbing in his youthful bride !
But when his tones pf love she hears,
And meets his eye all drowned in tears,
And feels his thrilling warm embrace,
A flush plays o'er her livid face,
Like flowers that o'er a lone grave blow,
Or sunbeam on a wreath of snow.
A s waking from a troubled dream,
Her dark soft eye's dilated beam
Meets his mute gaze, and, bright'ning; still,
Like morning o'er the eastern hill,
I t pours, at length, so strange a light,
So bland, yet so intensely bright,
Her soul seemed to a seraph turned,
And with a seraph's rapture burned,
Pours like the glowing spirits above,
The tongueless eloquence of love.
And voiceless too, like spell-bound band,
All motionless her maidens stand.
They heave no sigh, they shed no tear,
D e e p awe has mastered grief and fear ;
Almost arrested, pulse and breath
And given each cheek the hue of death.
The spell is broke—they hear a moan—
And lo ! those eyes they gazed upon
A r e soulless ! pall'd in death's black night,
Is she who was the centre bright
That held a nation's gaze,—the one
"Who, like the summer's morning sun,
W o k e harmony, and joy, and love,
Where'er her graceful steps might move.
But life and death, strange mingle : lo !
A joy blends with the bitter woe.
A cherub smiles, an heir is born;
A s from eve's shades had sprung the morn.
T o Scotland, thus, by pitying Heaven,
A future hero may be given.
Sum Carmelita, B A S T O N cognomine dictus
Qui doleo vita in tali strage relictus.
�
https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/883a597f4ca7568502196287861c8709.jpg
9dd070f87b9a112a7080dd0cff2af2ca
Document
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Title
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The Death of Marjory Bruce, Daughter of King Robert the Bruce, And Wife to Walter, The Lord High Steward of Scotland, Which happened near to the Castle of Renfrew, on Mid-Summer eve, in the year 1316. A Poem
Date
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1839
Identifier
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<a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9953133953505154">s0141b34</a>
Is Part Of
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Chapbook #52 in a bound collection of 54 chapbooks
Extent
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8 pages
Is Referenced By
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<a title="National Library of Scotland" href="http://www.nls.uk/">National Library of Scotland</a>
Contributor
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Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada
Rights
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In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413
Format
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JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner.
Publisher
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Paisley: J. Neilson
Subject
The topic of the resource
Courtship and Marriage
Robert I, King of Scots, 1274-1329
Poetry
Chapbooks - Scotland - Paisley
Source
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Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario
# of Woodcuts: 0
Chapbook Date: 1831-1840
Chapbook Genre: poetry
Chapbook Genre: romance
Chapbook Publisher - Paisley: J. Neilson
-
https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/ce7a370b1ce3867ff5b015a8a31ef7ee.pdf
535115a166e0723a2e1789b8a225b3fa
PDF Text
Text
THE
HOLLANDER $
SAB'S DOOR,
THE INSULTED
PEDLAR,
LANG MILLS DETECTED,
/ C
^ t e ^ ' y ^ g * ^
Yes, while I live, no rich or sordid knave
Shall walk the world in credit to his grave.
POPE,
PAISLEY:
published
by n, smith $ m.
1B32.
�7X5 n?
�THE
S H A R K,
YE Weaver blades ! ye noble chiels!
Wha fill our lann wi* plenty,
And mak our vera barest fiel's
To wave wi' ilka dainty,
Defend yoursels ! Tak sicker heed !
I warn you as a brither,
Or SHARK'S resolved, wi' hellish greed,
To gorge us a' thegither,
At ance this day.
In gude's-name will we ne'er get free
O' thieves and persecution !
Will Satan never let a be
To plot our dissolution !
Ae scoun'rel sinks us to the pit,
Wi' his eternal curses,
Anither granes,—and prays,—-and .yet
Contrives to toom our purses,
Maist every day.
�4
A higher aim gars WILLY think,
And deeper schemes he's brewin j
Ten thousan' fouk at ance to sink
To poverty and ruin !
Hail mighty Patriot! Noble Soul!
Sae generous, and sae civil,
Sic vast designs deserve the whole
Applauses of the devil,
On ony day.
In vain we've toil'd wi' head and heart,
And constant deep inspection,
For years on years, to bring this Art
So nearly to perfection ;
The mair that Art and Skill deserve,
The greedier WILL advances,
And Saws and Barrels only serve
To heighten our expences
And wrath this day,
But know, to thy immortal shame,
While stands a Paper-Spot
So long, great Squeeze the Poor ! thy fame*
Thy blasted fame shall rot,
And as a brick, or limestane kill
Wi* sooty reek advances,
So grateful shall thy mem'ry still
Be to our bitter senses,
By night or day.
T
I
\
�5
Lang, WILLY SHARK wi' greedy snout
Had sneak'd about the C—n—1,
To eat his beef, and booze about, ^
Nor prov'd at drinking punGh ill,
Till, Judas-like, he got the bag,
And squeez'd it to a Jelly,
Thae war the days for WILL to brag.,
And blest times for the belly
Ilk ither day.
The mail* we get by heule and cruk
e af'en grow the greedier,
SHARK raiket now through every neuk
To harl till him speedier ;
His ghastly conscience, pale and spent,
Was summon'd up, right clever,
Syne, wi' an execration, sent
Aff, henceforth and for ever,
Frae him that day.
This done, Trade snoovt awa wi* skill
And wonderfu' extention,
And widen't soon WHS every Mill,
(A dexterous invention !)
Groat after groat, was clippet aff,
Frae ae thing an' ani'tber,
Till fouk began to think on draff,
To help to baud thegither
Their banes that day.
i
�6
Now, round frae Cork to Cork he trots
Wi' eagerness and rigour,
And Rump the Petticoats and Spots !"
His Sharkship roar'd wi' vigour ;
But, whan his Harnishes cam in
In dizens in a morning,
And a' grew desolate aud grim,
His rapture chang'd to mourning
And rage that day.
Thus Haman, in the days of yore,
Pufft up wi' spitefu' evil,
Amang his blackgaurd, wicked core
Centriv'd to play the devil;
High stood the Gibbet's dismal cape,
But little thought the sinner
That he had caft the vera rape
Wad rax his neck, e're dinner
Was ower that day.
Wha cou'd believe a Chiel «ae trig
Wad cheat us o' a bodle ?
Or that sae fair a gowden wig
Contain'd sae black a noddle?
But S H A R K beneath a sleekit smile
Conceals his fiercest ginning,
And, like his neighbours of the Nile,*
Devours wi' little warning
By night or day.
* A well-known river much infested by Crocodi!
�7
O huppy is that man and blest
Wha in the C—n—1 gets him !
Soon may he cram his greedy kist
And dare a soul to touch him,
But should some poor aul wife, by force
O' POortith, scrimp her measure,
Her cursed Reels at P — y Corse,
Wad bleeze wi* meikle pleasure
To them that day.
Whiles, in my sleep, methinks I see
Thee marching through the City,
And Hangman Jock, wi' girnan glee,
Proceeding to his duty.
I see thy dismal phiz, and back,
While Jock, his stroke to strengthen,
Brings down his brows at every swack,
"I'll learn you frien' to lengthen
Your Mills the day."
Poor Wretch ! in sic a dreadfu' hour
O' blude and dirt and hurry,
What wad thy saftest luks or sour
Avail to stap their fury ?
"Lang Mills," wad rise around thy lugs
In mony a horrid volley,
And thou be kicket to the dugs,
To think upo' thy foily
Ilk after day.
>
�Ye Senators ! whase wisdom deep
Keeps a' our matters even,
If sic a wretch ye dare to keep
How can ye hope for heaven ?
Kick out the scoun'erel to his shift,
We'll pay him for his sporting,
And sen' his Mills and him adrift
At ance to try their fortune
Down Cart this day.
Think, thou unconscionable SHARK !
For heaven's sake bethink thee !
To what a depth of horrors dark
Sic wark will surely sink thee—
Repent of sic enormous sins,
And drap thy curst intention,
Or faith I fear, wi' birslt shins,
Thou'l mind this reprehension
Some future day.
�THE
AMERICAN BLUE-BIRD.
When Winter's cold tempests and snows
are no more,
Green meadows, and brown furrowed
fields re-appearing,
The fisherman haling their shade to the shore
And cloud.cleaving geese to the lakes are
a-steering
When first the lone butterfly flits on the
wing,
When red glow the maples, so fresh and
so pleasing,
O then comes the Blue-bird, the herald of
Spring,
And hails with his warblings the charms
of the season.
Then loud piping frogs make the marshes to
ring;
Then warm glows the sunshine, and fine
is the weather;
�The blue woodland flowers just beginning
to spring,
And spicewood and sasafras budding together
O then to your gardens, ye housewives, repair ;
Your walks border up; sow and plant at
your leisure;
The Blue-bird will chant from his box such
an air,
That all your hard toils will seem truly
a pleasure.
He flits thro' the orchard, he visits each tree
The red flowering peach, and the apple's
sweet blossoms;
He snaps up destroyers wherever they be,
And seizes the caitiffs that lurk in their
bosoms;
He drags the vile grub from the corn it devours,
The worms from their webs where they
riot and welter.
His song and his services freely are ours,
And all that he asks, is, in summer, a
shelter.
is pleas'd when he gleams
�11
Now searching the furrows—now mounting to chear him,
The gard'ner delights in his sweet simple
strain,
And leans on his spade to survey and to
hear him,
The slow ling'ring schoolboys forget they'll
be chid,
While gazing intent as he warbles before
'em,
In mantle of sky-blue, and bosom so red,
That each little loiterer seems to adore him
When all the gay scenes of the summer are
o'er,
And Autumn slow enters so silent and
sallow,
And millions of warblers, that charm'd ua
before,
Have fled in the train of the sun-seeking
swallow;
The Blue-bird forsaken, yet true to his home
Still lingers, and looks for a milder tomorrow,
Till, forc'd by the horrors of winter to roam
He sings his adieu in a lone note of sorrow.
While Spring's lovely season, serene, dewy,
warm,
�12
The green face of earth, and the pure
blue of Heaven,
Or Love's native music have influence to
charm,
Or Sympathy's glow to our feelings are '
given,
Still dear to each bosom the Blue-bird shall
be.
His voice, like the thrillings of hope, is a
treasure;
For, thro* bleakest storms, if a calm he but
see.
He comes to remind us of sunshine and
pleasure.
C A L D W E L L , PRINTER.
�
https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/3cc355f84c7cb11797494a7720df721b.jpg
2b84de9a961ef9cc65d6fb2dd14adde4
Document
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Dublin Core
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Title
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The Hollander; Hab's Door, The Insulted Pedlar, Lang Mills Detected.
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1832
Identifier
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<a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9953133953505154">s0141b34</a>
Creator
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Wilson, Alexander, 1766-1813
Description
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Quote at bottom of title-page: "Yes, while I live, no rich or sordid knave Shall walk the world in credit to his grave. Pope."
"By Alex Wilson" in pen on title-page.
Alternative Title
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The Hollander
Hab's door
The insulted pedlar
Lang Mills detected
Is Part Of
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Chapbook #51 in a bound collection of 54 chapbooks
Extent
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12 pages
Coverage
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Cork, Ireland
Contributor
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Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada
Rights
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In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413
Format
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JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner.
Publisher
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Paisley: R. Smith & Co.
Subject
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Chapbooks - Scotland - Paisley
Poetry
Source
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Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario
# of Woodcuts: 0
Chapbook Date: 1831-1840
Chapbook Genre: poetry
Chapbook Publisher - Paisley: R. Smith & Co.
-
https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/40f3c56fa61a7065c44740f7e31d1229.pdf
6825f4742d53caea01469f0e805cbc39
PDF Text
Text
T H E
O L D
SCOTS
B A L L A D
OF
ANDREW LAMMIE,
OR,
Mill of Tifty's Annie.
O mother dear make me my bed,
And lay my face to Fyvie,
Thus will I lie, and thus will die,
For my dear Andrew Lammie.
FALKIRK:
PRINTED FOR THE B O O K S E L L E R S .
�ANDREW LAMMIE.
AT Mill of Tifty lived a man,
In the neighbourhood of Fyvie,
He had a lovely daughter fair,
Was called bonny Annie.
Her bloom was like the springing flower.
That hails the rosy morning,
With innocence and graceful mien,
Her beauteous form adorning.
Lord Fyvie had a trumpeter,
Whose name was Andrew Lammie,
He had the art to gain the heart
O f Mill of Tiftie's Annie.
Proper he was both young and gay,
His like was not in Fyvie,
Nor was ane there that could compare,
With this same Andrew Lammie.
Lord
Where lived Tiftie's Annie,
His trumpeter rode him before,
Even this same Andrew Lammie.
Her mother called her to the door,
Comehereto me my Annie,
Did e'er you see a prettier man
Then the trumpeter of Fyvie.
�Nothing she said, but sighing sore,
Alas ! for bonnie Annie :
She durst not own her heart was won
By the trumpeter of Fyvie.
At night when all went to their bed,
All slept full soon but Annie,
Love so oppressed her tender breast, .
And love will waste her body.
Love comes in at my bed side,
And love lies down beyond me,
Love so oppressed my tender breast,
And love will waste my body.
The first time me and my love met,
Was in the woods o f Fyvie,
His l o v e l y form, and speech so soft,
Soon gained the heart of Annie.
He called me mistress, I said no, '
I'm Tiftie's bonny Annie;
With apples sweet he did me treat,
And kisses soft and many.
It's up and down in Tiftie's den,
Where the burn runs clear and bonny,
I've often gane to meet my love,
My bonny Andrew Lammie.
But now, alas ! her father heard,
That the trumpeter of Fyvie,
Had had the art to gain the heart
Of Mill of Tifties Annie.
m*
�4
Her father soon a letter wrote,
And sent it on to Fyvie,
To tell his daughter was bewitched
By his servant, Andrew Lammie.
Then up the stair his trumpeter,
He called soon and shortly,
Pray tell me soon what's this you've done,
To Tiftie's bonny Annie.
Woe be to Mill of Tiftie's pride,
For it has ruined many,
They'll not have't said that she should wed
The trumpeter of Fyvie.
In wicked art I had no part,
Nor therein am I canny,
True love alone the heart has won
Of Tiftie's bonny Annie.
Where will I find a boy so kind,
That will carry a letter canny,
Who will run to Tiftie's town,
Give it to my love Annie.
Tifty he has daughters three,
Who all are wonderous bonnie,
But ye'll ken her o'er a' the rest,
Give that to bonny Annie.
It's up and down it Tiftie's den,
Where the burn runs clear and bonnie,
There wilt thou come and I'll attend,
My love I long to see thee.
�5
Thou may'st come to the Brig of Shigh,
And there I'll come and meet thee,
It's there we will renew our love,
Before I g o and leave you.
My love, I go to Edinburgh town,
And for a while must leave thee;
She sighed sore, and said no more,
But I wish that I were with you.
I'll buy to thee a bridal gown,
M y love I'll buy it bonny,
But I'll be dead ere ye.come back,
To see your bonny Annie.
If ye'll be true and constant too,
A s I am Andrew Lammie,
I shall ye we wed when I come back
T o see the lands of Fyvie.
I will be true and constant too,
T o thee my Andrew Lammie ;
But my bridal bed or then'll be made,
In the green church-yard of Fyvie.
The time is gone and now comes on,
M y dear, that I m u s t leave thee,
If longer here I should appear,
Mill of Tifty he would see me.
I now for ever bid adieu
T o thee, m y Andrew Lammie,
Or ye come back I will be laid
in the green church-yard of Fyvie.
�6
He hied him to the head of the house,
To the house top of Fyvie,
He blew his trumpet loud and shrill,
It was heard at Mill of Tifty.
Her father locked the door at night,
Laid by the keys fu' canny,
And when he heard the trumpet sound,
Said, your cow is lowing, Annie.
My father dear, I pray forbear,
And reproach not your Annie ;
I'd rather hear that cow to low,
Than all the kye in Fyvie.
I would not for my braw new gown,
And all your gifts so many,
That it was told in Fyvie land,
How cruel ye are to Annie.
But if ye strike me I will cry,
And gentlemen will hear me,
Lord Fyvie will be riding by,
And he'll come in and see me.
At the same time the lord came in,
He said, what ails thee, Annie ?
It's all for love now I must die,
For bonny Andrew Lammie.
Pray Mill of Tifty give consent,
And let your daughter marry ;
It will be with some higher match,
Than the trumpeter of Fyvie.
�If she were come of as high a kind,
As she's advanced in beauty,
I would take her unto myself,
And make her my own lady.
Fyvie lands are far and wide,
Aud they are wonderoas bonny,
But I would not leave my own true love,
For all the lands in Fyvie.
Her father struck her wonderous sore,
As also did her mother ;
Her sisters also did her scorn,
But woe be to her brother.
Her brother struck her wonderous sore,
With cruel strokes and many,
He broke her back in the hall door,
For liking Andrew Lammie.
Alas ! my father and mother dear,
Why so cruel to your Annie;
My heart was broken first by love,
My brother has broke my body.
O mother dear make me my bed,
And lay my face to Fyvie,
Thus will I lie, and thus will die,
For my dear Andrew Lammie.
Ye neighbours hear baith far and near.
And pity Tifty's Annie,
Who dies for love of one poor lad,
For bonny Andrew Lammie.
�8
No kind of vice e'er stained my life,
Or hurt my virgin honour ;
My youthful heart was won by love,
But death will me exoner.
Her mother then she made her bed,
And laid her face to Fyvie,
Her tender heart it soon did break,
And never saw Andrew Lammie.
Lord Fyvie he did wring his hands,
Said, alas! for Tifty's Annie ;
The fairest flower cut down by love,
That ever sprang in Fyvie.
Woe be to Mill of Fifty's pride,
He might have let them marry,
I should have given them both to live,
Into the lands of Fyvie.
Her father sorely now laments,
The loss of his dear Annie,
And wishes he had given consent,
To wed with Andrew Lammie.
Whan Andrew home from Edinburgh came,
With muckle grief and sorrow ;
My love is dead for me to-day,
I'll die for her to-morrow,
Now I will run to Tifty's den,
Where the burn runs clear and bonny,
With tears I'll view the Brig of Shigh,
Where I parted with my Annie.
�
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8
Channels
3
Height
3258
Width
1836
Dublin Core
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Title
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Illustration on title- page a woman in conversation with a
man in front of building.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
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Woodcut 072: Title-page illustration in a single ruled rectangular border of a woman in conversation with a man standing in front of building.
Document
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
The Old Scots Ballad of Andrew Lammie, or, Mill of Tifty's Annie. O mother dear make me my bed, and Lay my face to Fyvie, Thus will I lie, and thus will I die, For my dear Andrew Lammie.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
<a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9953134473505154">s0100b01</a>
Alternative Title
An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific.
Mill of Tifty's Annie.
O Mother dear make me my bed and lay my face to Fyvie
Thus will I lie, and thus will I die, for my dear Andrew Lammie
Date
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[1830-1840?] per University of Glasgow Union Catalogue of Scottish Chapbooks
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8 pages
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Chapbook #54 in a bound collection of 77 chapbooks
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Chapbooks - Scotland - Falkirk
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Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada
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University of Glasgow Union Catalogue of Scottish Chapbooks <a title="http://special.lib.gla.ac.uk/chapbooks/search/" href="http://special.lib.gla.ac.uk/chapbooks/search/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">http://special.lib.gla.ac.uk/chapbooks/search/</a>
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In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph. libaspc@uoguelph.ca, 519-824-4120, Ext. 53413
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JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner.
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Falkirk: Printed for the Booksellers
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Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario
Description
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Woodcut #72: Illustration on title- page a woman in conversation with a man in front of building.
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ballads & songs
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Bib Context: title-page
Chapbook Date: 1831-1840
Chapbook Genre: ballads & songs
Chapbook Publisher - Falkirk: Printed for the Booksellers
Nature: tree(s) Gender: man/men
Outdoor Scene
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https://scottishchapbooks.lib.uoguelph.ca/files/original/99663144c3a6725962b3c49332eb3551.pdf
8633badb1ca743d650e35786b8a79968
PDF Text
Text
THE
HISTORY
I JOSEPH & HIS BRETHREN,
EMBELLISHED WITH
CUTS;
TO WHICH IS ADDED,
THE
LIFE, JOURNEY1NGS,
A P O S T L E
AND
DEATH
P A U L .
GLASGOW*:
P R I N T E D FOR THE B O O K S E L L E R S .
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�JOSEPH'S
FIRST'DREAM,
In Canaan lived a man of righteousness.
Whom the great God in love was pleas'd to bless
With twelve sweet sons, one Joseph called by n a m
Whose worthiness we'll to the world proclaim,
Being endued with blessings from above,
He gained the favour of his father's love,
Now while his brothers hated him, behold!
He dream'd a dream, which unto them he told ;
Saving, " As we were binding in the field
Our sheaves of wheat, it was to me revealed
That mine arose upright, and jours around,
Stood making low obedience to the ground."
These words of his, they did anger breed ;
They say, must you reign over us indeed ?
The like of this was never known before,
Thus for his dreams they hated him the more.
�i
H I S SECOND D R E
Soon after this as Joseph sleeping ' ,
Free from the toils and troubles of the day,
He dreamed a second dream, and told the samp
Unto his brothers, as to them he came ;
Saying, in sleep appeared before my eyes,
The sun, the moon, the seven stars likewise.
All making their obedience unto me,
With meek and humble humility.
He told it likewise to his father dear,
Who chid him, saying, what is this I hear ?
Must I, thy mother, and thy brothers too,
Be all obliged to bow the knee to you,
Low on the earth, as if you reigned and rul©<J 2
TTis very hard that aged parents should
A meek and lowly veneration pay
To you who ought to honour and obey.
�f
HE IS PUT INTO A PIT.
This very paragraph will clearly show
How they did seek young Joseph's overthrow,
His father sent him to the rural plain,
Where with their flocks his brothers did remain.
When afar off young Joseph they espied,
Behold, here comes the dreamer now, they cried
Let us conclude to take his life away,
And cast him in a pit without delay,
Then see how all his dreams will come to pass:
But Reuben, Reuben pitied him, alas!
And hid him in the pit, there to remain,
Till he might safe conduct him home again.
What mortal man is able to express,
Poor Joseph's grief when in the wilderness
He lay confined ? no doubt his present tears
Caused his youthful eyes to flow with tears.
�*
H E IS SOLD I N T O E G Y P T .
While in the pit young Joseph lay confined,
They sat them down to eat, and ere they dined
Some Ishmaelites from Egypt passed by ; *
Then Judah made his brothers this reply,
" What shall it profit to us now, I pray,
If we should take this precious life away ?"
They all consented to the same with speed,
For loth they were to see their brother bleed.
Then from the lonesome pit the child they drew,
And sold him to those trading merchants, who
A score of silver pieces for him paid,
And then to Egypt he was soon conveyed.
When Reuben found him not, how did he grieve
The rest contrive their father to deceive,
By staining Joseph's coat with purple blood,
Which caused poor Joseph many a weeping fk*wL
�TEMFTED BY POTIPHAR'S
WIFE.
When Joseph to the land of Egypt came,
One Potiphar a man of noted fame,
Bought him with silver and preferred him straight.
Making him steward of his whole estate.
On whom his mistress cast her wanton eyes,
And he reproved her, and said, be wise,
And cast, henceforth, these idle thoughts away—
How can I do that wicked thing, I pray ?
N c v finding her entreaties would not do,
She went to seize him, but away he lew,
Leaving his garment in her hand also :
Now from that time she proved his mortal f o e :
She said, my lord, (when he returned at night,)
Thy Hebrew strove with all his might,
To mock thy lady, but was ne'er the near,
I cried, he fled, and left his garment her©.
�8
C A S T INTO T H E DUNGEON.
No sooner had she made this false report
Of Joseph's coming in so vile a sort,
But Potiphar immediately he flew
Into a sad and cruel passion too,
And cast him into prison where he lay
Till the chief butler and the baker, they
By Pharaoh's strict command were sent to be
Confined from their former liberty.
The baker and the butler both, wo
find
[mind,
With dreams one night were much disturbed in
When they to Joseph did themselves apply,
He told them what their dreams did signify ;
One he restores unto his former place,
The other, he must die in sad disgrace;
The butler must his former place supply,
The baker by the laws be doomed to die*
�9
H E W M A D E L Q B D OF T H E L A N D .
Still Joseph lay confined in prison fast,
Until two tedious years were gone and past.
A t length Pharaoh dreamed, but none in the land
Could his dream interpret or understand.
Then the chief butler to the king did say,
" 1 needs must own my faults this d a y :
In prison lies a Hebrew servant there,
Who will the truth of all your dreams declare:
Then from a prison to a palace straight,
Joseph was brought, and Pharoah did relate
His dreams, and did full satisfaction find,
Which eased the grief and anguish ©f his m i n d :
He gave such satisfaction to the king,
That from his royal hand he drew a ring,
And gave it Joseph, saying, " Thou shalfc bs
Hext to myself in royal dignity." v
�R E N GOIN& TO B U Y CORK.
Behold the dreams of Pharoah did forte! 1,
A mighty famine, which at length befell;
Joseph in Egypt was head ruler oyer all;
But when his brothers came, and seemed to fall
Before him, straight his dreams came in his mind.
Yet he spoke rough, and seemed most unkind :
You're spies said he, they answered, no,
We are true men, my lord, pray say not so,
Sons of one man, we twelve in number were,
The youngest now under his father's care
Remains at home, the other he is not,
He knew them, yet his anger seemed hot,
And for three days they were in prison cast,
Confined they lay, yet Joseph came at last,
And laid upon them all a strict command,
To bring their young brother out of hand.
�I!
BENJAMIN'S
SACK.
When they had eaten np th
lender store
Jacob he needs must send them down for more ;
But knowing that his youngest son must go,
His eyes with melting tears did overflow.
With presents then they did return again,
4nd Joseph dotli them kindly entertain.
When he his brother Benjamin beheld,
His bowels yearned, his heart with joy was filled
But here's a grief which did them all surround,
The nightly lord, his silver cup was found
On Benjamin ; this made them sore afraid,
That for that crime they would be captives made
Then to the house of Joseph they returned,
Judah he pleaded, till his bowels yearned,
To be a captive in his brother's room,
Lest he should see his father's threatened doo
�12
JOSEPH D E C L A R E T H
HIMSELF.
" My lord, hear thy servant now I pray,
Our father, when we brought the child away
Expressed such grief and sorrow for his sake,
That if he stay, his aged heart will break:
Seeing his tears, which fell like showers of rain,
I promised then he should return again.
Therefore, viiy lord, pray let him go, for I
A m loth to live to see my father die."
Joseph from tears could now no longer hold:
He said, 44 1 am your brother whom you sold
To Egypt, when on me your anger fell;
And is my father yet alive and well?"
Then on each other's necks they wept amain.
Their cries were heard, from tears could not refrain
" 0 fetch my father hither," Joseph cried,
" That for the family I may now provide."
�13
JACOB'S J O U R N E Y I N T O E G Y P T .
The sons of Jacob Pharaoh did command,
To take both food and waggons from the land
Of Egypt, to fetch their father straight;
They did, and poor old Jacob's joy was great
He said, still as his spirits did revive,
i t is enough, Joseph is yet alive,
The son for whom I mourned, therefore I
Will go and see him now before I die.
Then on his journey still he doth proceed
And in the land of Goshen, there indeed
Joseph did meet him, whom he straight did bring
Into the royal presence of the king.
When Jacob before king Pharaoh stood, '
His age one hundred and thirty years, a good
Old man was he ; Pharaoh gave to his race,
The land of Goshen for a dwelling-place.
�When Joseph Imew his pious father lay
his sick bed, to him he hastes away,
Joseph he brought Manasseh and Ephraim,
Placed them before his father's eyes now dim,
At sight of them, cries Jacob, u Who are these ?"
" My sons," says Joseph, * from between my knees,"
<
When near, he kissed them, and with sweet embrace
Admires his GOD before his Joseph's face.
These boys of thine which were in Egypt born,
They shall be mine, not orphans or forlorn.
Manasseh he blest, commended to his GOD,
r
Bids him to mark the steps that Abraham trod,
Displeased was Joseph to see his elder son
Put by, and the younger the blessing won ;
But Jacob replied, " Son, I know it well,
For Ephraim shall unto great nations swelL"
�15
JACOB B L E S S E T H H I S SONS.
Jacob "he calls his first horn, Reuben, near,
Weak as the water from the fountain clear;
Simeon and Levi, men of cruelty,
They smote a man, and caused him so to die.
Judah's bright sceptre shan't from him depart
Till Shiloh come rejoicing every heart.
Zbbulun's a small port where tall ships may pass,
Issachar well resembles the couchant ass.
Ban as a judge will do his people right,
Gad by a troop at last will win the fight;
Asher his bread is fat, and of a dainty sort,
Naphtali's a hind loosed for the hunter's sport.
Joseph's a bough laden with pleasent fruit,
Near to a well, whose branches sap recruit :
Benjamin like a ravenous wolf doth slay,
Devours his prey, then bears the spoil away.
�16
16
J O S E P H ' S LOVE TO H I S F A T j S E K
Filial affection's to old Jacob good,
When Canaan's land lay destitute of food,
Then Joseph kind his aged father fed,
When thousands daily starved for want of bread ;
His love expressed with mind sedate and calm,,
Then with rich spices did his corpse embalm;
When breathless lay upon a bed of down,
He treats blest Jacob, father of renown ;
Falls on his clay and with a kind embrace,
Salutes the late most venerable face
Of Pious Jacob, now growing stiff and cold.
It must be so when life is charged to mould,
Plenty of tears did from his eye balls flow,
To show mankind he did his duty know,
That nought's too much to pay a parent dear,
From children that the awful GOD do fear.
�IT
JACOB'S FUNERAL.
When seventeen long years Jacob had dwelt,
Behold, the fatal hand of death he felt:
To Joseph he commits the special care
Of his great funeral, and tells him where
He would be laid, which was fulfilled at large,
According to the tenor of his charge ;
For having yielded up his vital breath,
He dropped into the frozen arms of death.
Numbers of mourning coaches out of hand
Prepared were ; thus to his native land
He was conveyed a sleeping-place to have,
Near to the borders of his father's grave.
Upright he was, and just in all his ways ;
Pray now observe the number of his days,
He was, when he dropt off this earthly stage,
One hundred and forty-seven years of age.
�THE
L I F E OF ST. PAUL.
SUO5T PAUL, though not one of the twelve, yet for
his great eminence in the ministry of the gospel,
had the honour to be styled an apostle, particularly
above all the rest that were not of the number, and
hath justly the next place to St. Peter allotted U
him, both in regard they were so conversant in
their lives, and inseparable in their deaths. He
was born at Tarsus, not only of Jewish parents,
but originally descended from an ancient Jewish
family of the tribe of Benjamin in Judea, where
he had his education, which was a flourishing
Academj, whose scholars (as Strabo testifies) excelled those of Alexandria, and even Athens itself.
In the schools of this city, he was brought up from
his childhood, and became an excellent proficient in
all the polite learning of the ancients, yet at the same
time he was brought up to a manual trade, as even
the most learned of their Rabbins were, for enabling
them to. get a livelihood if occasion required i t ; it
being a maxim (especially amongst the Jews,) that
he who teacheth not his son a trade, teacheth him
to be a thief; for learning of old was not made an
instrument to get a maintenance by, but for the
better polishing the m i n d ; so that the learned
among the Jews were frequently denominated (as
Drusius observes,) from some one or other handycraft trade, as Rabbie Judah, the baker j Rabbie
Jochanan, the Shoemaker, &c.
Having at Tarsus attained to a great perfection
in the liberal arts and sciences. He was sent to
Jerusalem to be instructed in the knowledge of the
laws ; and for the better accomplishing him in that
study, was put under the tuition of Raban Gamaliel
the son of Simon, (the same probably^ that took up
our Saviour in his arms.) He was an eminent
�19
doctot of the law, one of the families of the swhoelg
at Jerusalem, and a person of principal note and
authority in the Jewish Sanhedrim, in which that
grave and prudent speech, mentioned in the Acts
of the Apostles, which he made on behalf of the
apostles and their doctrine, took great effect. At
the feet of this great doctor St. Paul was brought
as he himself testifies ; and by his instructions
he soon advanced to that degree, that he gained himself a reputation above all his fellow scholars.
Moreover he was a strict professor of the sect of
the Pharisees, which of all others amongst the Jews,
was the severest and most magisterial ; and the
professors thereof, generally great applauders of
themselves for their sanctity, despising and censuring all others as reprobates, and unworthy of their •
society, and presuming (as Josephus writes) to
govern even princes themselves. With the fiery
genius of this sect, our apostle was too deeply infected, which made him a most zealous persecuter
of the Saints ; so that when the blood of the martyr
Stephen was shed, I (saith he with sorrow after his
conversion) was standing by, consented to his death,
and kept the raiment of them that slew him. Nay,
of all the apparators, and inquisitors, employed by
the Sanhedrim, to execute their warrants ; upon
those upstart heretics, as they called them, who
preached against the law of Mos^s, and the tradition
of the fathers; he was the man that strove to be
the forwardest. In this zeal to execute his office,
as he was on his way to Damascus, with some others
of his fellow officers, breathing out vengeance and
destruction against the poor christians, their was
on a sudden a most glorious light shot full upon
him, and the rest that were with him, so that they
fell to the ground in great amazement, and at the
same time a voice from heaven was directed to him,
saying, " Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me V
�20
to which/amazed as no was, he answered, Lord
who art thou ? the voice replying, that it was Jesus
whom he persecuted, and that it was hard for him
to kick against the pricks. He again desired further
instructions ; Lord, said he, what wilt thou have me
to do ; upon which he was bid to rise, and g o . to
Damascus, and there expect what should be further
revealed to him ; rising from the ground he found
his sight gone. In this plight being led to Damascus, he was there three days fasting, and probably
then he saw that celestial vision mentioned by him,
wherein he heard and saw things past utterance,
and those divine revelations, which gave him
occasion to say, that the gospel he preached, he was
not taught by man, but had it revealed to him by
Jesus Christ. The three days being expired,
Ananias, a devout man, and one of the seventy
disciples came to him, according to the command
he had received from our Lord, who appeared to
him, to go and enquire for one Saul of Tarsus, and
having laid his hands on him, told him his message,
upon which his sight was restored to him, and the
gift of the Holy Ghost conferred on him ; presently
after he was baptized, and made a member of the
church, to the great joy of the rest of the disciples,
that he should become not only a professor, but a
preacher of that faith, which he so lately was a
bitter persecuter of. His stay at this time at Damascus was not long, for being warned away by a
vision from heaven, he took a journey into Arabia,
where he preached the gospel for three years, and
then returned to Damascus, where the unconverted
Jews eagerly sought his ruin, endeavouring to seize
him, but he escaped through the help of the disciples,
and the rest of his friends who were zealous for
his safety.
Thus far we have made an entrance into the life
and acts of this great apostle, with which there is
�21
scarcely any thing equally memorable in history :
nor could the further prosecution thereof have been
omitted, but that all the travels of this apostle in
the pursuance of his ministry, from the time of hia
conversion to the last of his being at Rome, with
the most principal transactions, and the severest
accidents that happened to him therein, are already
related in the exposition of the map of the voyages
of the apostles, and more particularly those of St
Paul, in which, for avoiding needless repetitions,
the sequel of his life may not unfitly be referred.
W e shall therefore make some enquiry into the
time and occasion of the several epistles wrote to
the several churches; as also unto the time and
manner of his death
When he went from Athens to Corinth, it is said
he wrote his first epistle to the Thessalonians,
which he sent Silas and Timothy, who returned
during his stay, and before his departure he wrote
his second epistle to them, to excuse his not coming
to them as he promised in his first. Not long after
at Epliesus, he is said to have Written his epistle to the
Galatians; and before he left Ephesus, he wrote
his first epistle to the Corinthians. Moreover, he
sent from thence by Apollos and Silas to Titus,
whom he left in that island to propagate the faith,
and had him made bishop thereof, in which he
gives him advice for the better execution of» his
episcopal office. At Macedonia, whither he went
from Ephesus, having by Titus received an account
of the church of Corinth's present state of affairs,
he sent by him at his return, when he was accompanied by St. Luke, his second epistle to the
Corinthians ; and about the same time he wrote his
first epistle to Timothy, whom he had left at
Ephesus. From Corinth he went to Macedon,
whither he sent his epistle to the Romans, by
Phebe, a deaconess of the Chtirch of Cenchrea, not
�0Umr
' f
k 11
far from Corintii. Going- thence to Rome, he sent
his epistle to the Phillipians by Epaphroditus, who
had been sent from them with relief, not knowing
to what straits he might be reduced by his imprisonment at Rome, In the next place, he sends
by Tychicus his epistle to the Ephesians. Not
long after, (if not about the same time) he wrote
his epistle to the Colossians,. and sent it by
Epaphras, his fellow-prisoner for some time at
Rome. As for his second epistle to Timothy,
there is some dispute about the time of his writing
i t ; only it seems probable, by authentic authors,
that it w&s written after the Philippians and
Ephesians
As for the epistle to the Hebrews, it
is not known when, or from whence written, and
rather conjectured than certainly kn,own to have
been St. Paul's. Tertulliah judgeth it to be written by Barnabas; but the most received opinion
is, that it was St. Paul's, but written by him in
Hebrew, and soJsentto the Jews; but for the better
publishing it to the Gentiles, translated into Greek,
some say by St. Luke, and others by St. Clement,
•for the style of whose epistles to the Corinthians
and Ephesians is observed by St. Jerome to come
very near the style of this epistle* and to contain a
purer vein of Greek than is found in the rest of St.
Paul's epistles.
Our apostle having been now two years a prisoner
at Rome, is at length set free,, and soon after departs to visit other parts of the world, for the
further divulging the gospel, but into what particular parts is variously conjectured; some think
into Greece, and some parts of Asia, where he had
not yet been; others will have it that he went
preaching, as well into the Eastern as Western
parts of the world; for i n his epistle to the Corinthians it is said, that Paul being a preacher both
Eastward and Westward, taught righteousness to
�23
fche whole world, and went to the utmost bounds of
the West. That he went into Spain, may be
gathered both from his own words, as intimating
so to do, and also from the testimony of other
authors, as Theodoret, who writes, that he not only
went into Spain to preach, but brought the gospel into
the isles of the sea, and particularly into our
island of Britain ; and more particularly in another
place, he reckons up the Gauls and the Britons
amongst those people to whom the apostles, and
especially the tent-maker, as he calls him, had
divulged the Christian faith.
Farther mention of St, Paul we find none till his
next and , last coming to- Home, which is said to be
about the 8th and 9tli years, of Nero's reign ; and
he came in the fittest time to suffer martyrdom lie
could have chosen ; for whereas at other times, his
privilege of being a Roman citizen gained him
those civilities which common morality could not
deny him, he had to do with a person with whom
the crime of being a christian weighed down all
apologies that could be alledged; a person whom
lewdness and debauchery had made seven times
more a Pagan than any custom or education could
have done. What his accusation was, cannot be certainly determined, whether it was his being an
associate with St. Peter in the fall of Siipon Magus,
or his conversion of Poppsea Sabina, one of the
Emperor's concubines, by which he was curbed in
the career , of his insatiate appetite. Neither can it
be resolved how long he remained in prison, what
the certain time of his suffering was, and whether
(according to the custom) he was first scourged ;
only Barentons speaks of two pillars in the church
of St. Mary, beyond the bridge in Rome, to. which
both he and St. Peter were bound, when they were
scourged.
It is affirmed that St. Paul and St. Peter suffered
�» 24
upon tlie same day, though different kinds of death,
Others will have it that they suffered on the same
day of the year, but at a year's distance ; and others
affirm that St. Paul suffered several years after St.
Peter; but all agree that Paul, as a Roman, had
the favour to be beheaded, and not crucified. His
execution was at the Aquae Salvise, 3 miles from
Rome ; and he is said to have converted the three
soldiers that guarded him thither, who also suffered
for the faith. Some of the fathers add, that upon
his death there flowed from his veins a liquor more
like milk than blood, the sight whereof (saith St.
Crysostom) converted the executioner.
He was buried about two miles from Rome, in
the way called Via, Ostiensis, where Lucina, a noble
Roman matron, not long after settled a farm for
"'he maintenance of the church. Here he lay but
.ndifferently entombed for several ages, till the
reign of Constantine the Great, who in the year of
our Lord, 318, at the request of Sylvester, bishop
of Rome, built, a very sumptuous church, supported
with a hundred stately pillars, and beautified with
a most rare and exquisite workmanship, and after
all richly gifted and endowed by the emperor himself. Yet was all this thought too mean an honour
for so great an apostle by the emperor Valentinian,
who sent an order to his Prsefect Salustinus, to
take that cliurcli down, and to erect in its room one
more large and stately, which, at the instance of the
Pope Leo, was richly adorned, and endowed by the
Empress Placidia, and doubtless, hath received
great additions ever since, from age to age.
Thus was brought up, became converted, and a
preacher of the gospel, and thus was put to death
and buried, this great apostle of the Gentiles,
superior in learning aud natural parts, and not
inferior in zeal to any of the rest of the apostles.
�
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The history of Joseph & his brethren, embellished with cuts; to which is added, The life, journeyings, and death of the Apostle Paul
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1840-1850 per National Library of Scotland
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
<a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9923332463505154">s0384b19</a>
Alternative Title
An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific.
The life, journeyings, and death of the Apostle Paul
Contributor
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Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner.
Extent
The size or duration of the resource.
24 pages and 16 Woodcuts
16 cm
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph libaspc@uoguelph.ca 519-824-4120 Ext 53413
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers
# of Woodcuts: 16
Activity: dining
Activity: drinking
Activity: eating
Architecture: city view
Bib Context: title-page
Chapbook Date: 1831-1840
Chapbook Date: 1841-1850
Chapbook Genre: religion & morals
Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers
Food & Drink
Furniture: chair(s)
Furniture: table(s)
Gender: man/men
Gender: woman/women
Nature: river/lake
Nature: tree(s)
Object: glass/goblet(s)
Outdoor Scene
-
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2a1b0c9c6ba113ec93827057f7cdf2ab
PDF Text
Text
JEMMY
OP
AND
NANCY
Y A R M O U T H ;
OR THE
CONSTANT
LOVERS-
A
TRAGICAL
BALLAD.
GLASGOW:
? PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.
3
�JEMMY AND NANCY OF YARMOUTH.
Lovers, I pray, lend an ear to my story,
Take an example by this constant pair;
How love a young woman did blast in her glory—
Beautiful Nancy of Yarmouth, we hear.
She was a merchant s only daugnter,
Heir unto fifteen hundred a year ;
A young man who courted her call'd her his jewel,
The son of a gentleman who lived near.
Many long years the fair maid he admir'd,
When they were infants in love they agreed:
And when at age this young couple arriv'd,
Cupid an arrow between them display'd.
Their tender hearts were linked together—
But when her parents the same they did hear,
They to their charming young beautiful daughter
Acted a part that was hard and severe.
Daughter they said give o'er your proceeding;
If that against our consent you do wed,
For evermore we resolve to disown you,
If you wed with one that is so mean bred.
Her mother said, You have a great fortune,
Besides you are beautiful, charming, and young,
You are a match, dear child, that is fitting
For any lord that is in Christendom.
Then did reply the young beautiful virgin,
Riches and honour I both do defy,
If that I am denied of my dearest lover,
Then farewell world! which is all vanity.
�3
fj
Then said her father, 'Tis m j resolution,
Although I have no more daughters but thee,
Jf that with him you resolve for to marry,
Banish'd for ever from me thou shalt be.
Well, cruel father, but this I desire,
Grant me that Jemmy once more I may see,
Though you do us part, I still will be loyal.
For none in the world I admire but he.
I
j
n
u
II l
For the young man he sent in a passion,
Saying, For ever, sir, now take your leave ;
I have a match more fit for my daughter,
Therefore it is but a folly to grieve.
Honoured father, then said the young lady,
Promis'd we are by the powers above ;
Why of all comforts will you bereave me,
Our love is fix'd never to be remov'd.
Then said her father, A trip to the ocean,
You first shall go in a ship of my own,
And I'll consent you shall have my daughter,
When to Yarmouth again you return.
Honoured sir, then said the two lovers,
Since 'tis your will we are bound to obey,
Our constant hearts can never be parted,
But our eager desires no longer can stay.
Then said kind Nancy, Behold, dearest Jemmy,
Here take this ring, the pledge of our vows,
And with it my heart, keep it safe in your bosom,
Carry it with you wherever you go.
Then in his arms he close did enfold her,
While crystal tears like a fountain did flow ;
�4
Crying, My heart in return I do give you,
And you shall be present wherever I go.
When on the ocean, my dear, I am sailing,
The thoughts of my jewel the compass shall steer
These tedious long days time soon will devour,
And bring me home again safe to my dear.
Therefore be constant, my dear lovely jewel,
For by the Heavens ! if you are untrue,
My troubled ghost shall torment you for ey.qj, Dead or alive I will have none but you.
Her lovely arms round his neck then she twined,
And saying, My dear when you are on the seas.
If the fates unto us should prove cruel,
That we each other no more ever see ;
No man alive shall ever enjoy me—
Soon as the tidings of death reach my ear,
Then like a poor unfortunate lover,
Down to the grave I will go with my dear.
Then with a sorrowful sigh lie departed,
The wind next morning blew a pleasant gale ;
All things being ready, the fam'd Mary Gailey
Then for Barbadoes she straightway set sail.
Jemmy was floating upon the wide ocean,
And her cruel parents were plotting the while,
How that the heart of their beautiful daughter,
With cursed gold should strive tp beguile.
Many a lord of fame, birth, and breeding,
Came to court this young beautiful maid ;
But their rich presents and proffers she slighted,
Constant I'll be to my jewel, she said.
�5
Young Jemmy was comely in every feature,
A Barbadoes Lady whose fortune was great,
So fix'd her eyes that she cried, If I have not
This brave English sailor I die for his sake.
She dressed herself in gallant attire,
With costly diamonds she plaited her hair,
And a hundred slaves well dressed to attend her,
She sent for this young man to come to her.
Come nobis sailor, she cried, can you fancy
A lady whose riches are very great
hundred slaves you shall have to attend you;
And music to charm you in your silent sleep.
.In robes of gold, my dear, I will deck you,
Pearls and rich jewels I'll lay at your feet,
In a chariot of gold you shall ride for your pleasure,
If you can fancy me answer me straight.
Amazed with wonder a while he stood gazing,
Forbear noble lady, at length, he replied,
In flourishing England I've vow'd to a lady,
At my return for to make her my bride.
She is a charming young beautiful creaturp,
She has my heart and I can love no more;
I bear in my eye her sweet lovely feature,
No other creature in earth I'll adore.
Hearing of this, she did rave in distraction,
Crying, Unfortunate niaid thus to love,
One that does basely slight all my glory,
And of my person he will not- approve.
Lords of renown I their favours have slighted,
Now I must dje.for a sailor so bold:
�G
I must not blame him because he is constant,
True love I know is far better than gold.
A costly jewel she instantly gave him,
Then in her trembling hand took a knife,
One fatal stroke before they could save her,
Quickly did put an end to her life.
Great lamentation was made for this lady—
Jemmy on board the ship he did steer ;
And then to England he homeward came sailing
With a longing desire to meet with his dear.
But when her father found he was returning,
A letter he wrote to the boatswain his friend,
Saying a handsome reward 1 will give you,
If you the life of young Jemmy will end.
Void of all grace and for sake of the money,
The cruel boatswain the same did complete,
As they on the deck were lovingly walking,
He suddenly tumbled him into the deep.
In dead of the night when all were asleep,
His troubled ghost to his love did appear,
Crying, Arise you beautiful Nancy,
Perform the vow you made to your dear.
She cried, Who is there under my window ?
Surely it is the voice of my dear :
Lifting her head off her downy pillow,
Straight to the casement she then did repair.
By light of the moon which brightly was shining,
She espied her lover who to her did say,
Your parents are sleeping, before they awaken,
Stir my dear creature and straight come away.
�7
Jemmy, she cried, if my father should hear thee,
We sliall be ruin'd, pray therefore repair,
At the sea-side I will instantly meet you,
With my two maids I will come to thee there.
Her night-gown embroider'd with gold and silver,
Carelessly round her body she throws,
With the two maidens v/ho did attend her,
To meet her true love she instantly goes.
Close in his arms the spirit did enfold her,
Jemmy, she said, you are colder than clay ;
Sure you can never be the man I admire,
Paler than death you appear unto me.
Yes, fair creature, I am your true lover,
Dead or alive you know you are mine :
I come for my vow, my dear, you must follow
My body now to a cold watery tomb.
I for your sake refus'd gold and silver,
Beauty and riches for you I despis'd,
A charming young lady for me did expire,
For, thinking of you, I was deaf to her cries.
Your cruel parents iiave been my undoing,
And I do sleep in a watery tomb,
Now for your promise, my dear, I am sueing,
Dead or alive, love, you are my own.
The trembling lady was sorely affrighted.
Amazed she stood near the brink of the sea,
With eyes lift to heaven she cried, Cruel parents,
Heaven requite you for your cruelty.
Indeed I promis'd, my dearest creature,
Dead or alive I would be his own ;
�8
Now to perform my solemn Y W I am ready,
O
And to follow him to his watery tomb.
The maids they heai'd the sad lamentation,
But the apparition indeed could not see;
Thinking the lady was fallen into distraction,
They strove to persuade her contented to be.
'
H •.! •
But still she cried, My dear I am coming,
And in thy bosom I'll sooii fall asleep ;
When she had spoke, this unfortunate lady
Suddenly plung'd herself into the deep.
But when to her father the maids told the,matter,
He wrung his hands, crying, What have I done,?
O h ! dearest child it was thy cruel father
That did provide thee a watery tomb
Two or three days then being expir'd,
These two unfortunate lovers were seen,
In each other's arni^^hey together were floating,
By the side of a ship on the watery main.
The cruel boatswain was stricken with horror,
Straight did confess the sad deed he had done-—
Shewing the letter that came from her father,
Which was the cause of.these true lovers' doom.
On board the ship he was tried for the murder,
A t the yard's arm Was hang'd for the same,
Her father he soon broke his heart for his daughter^
Before the ship into the harbour then came.
The cursed gold has caused destruction,
W h y should the rich covet after gain ?
I hope this story it will be a warning;;
That cruel parents may ne'er do the same.
�
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Woodcut 003: Title-page illustration of a dancing sailor wearing a hat, scarf, and open jacket.
Document
A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Jemmy and Nancy of Yarmouth; or the constant lovers, a tragical ballad
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1840-1850 per University of Glasgow Union Catalogue of Scottish Chapbooks
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
<a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9943830963505154">s0615b47</a>
Extent
The size or duration of the resource.
8 pages
15 cm
Description
An account of the resource
'3' printed at the bottom of the title-page
Woodcut #03: Illustration on title-page of a dancing sailor wearing a hat, scarf, and open jacket
Accrual Method
The method by which items are added to a collection.
Purchased through the Jane Grier Family Trust. 2012.
Is Referenced By
A related resource that references, cites, or otherwise points to the described resource.
University of Glasgow Union Catalogue of Scottish Chapbooks <a href="University%20of%20Glasgow%20Union%20Catalogue%20of%20Scottish%20Chapbooks%20%20http%3A//special.lib.gla.ac.uk/chapbooks/search/">http://special.lib.gla.ac.uk/chapbooks/search/</a>
Abstract
A summary of the resource.
The subject of this ballad is parental opposition to the lovers, Jemmy and Nancy. Returning to England from a forced voyage to Barbados, Jemmy is pushed overboard by a fellow crewman on instructions from Nancy’s father. His ghost appears to Nancy, who throws herself into the sea; the boatswain is hanged and the father dies of a broken heart. Despite his death of a broken heart, the father neither repents of his action nor recognizes his actions as sinful.
Alternative Title
An alternative name for the resource. The distinction between titles and alternative titles is application-specific.
The constant lovers, a tragical ballad
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Archival and Special Collection, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner.
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph libaspc@uoguelph.ca 519-824-4120 Ext 53413
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers
Subject
The topic of the resource
Courtship and Marriage
Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow
Source
A related resource from which the described resource is derived
Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
ballads & songs
Bib Context: title-page
Chapbook Date: 1831-1840
Chapbook Date: 1841-1850
Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers
Fashion (Clothing): jacket
Fashion (Clothing): pants
Fashion (Clothing): sailor uniform
Fashion (Clothing): scarves
Fashion (Clothing): top hat
Fashion (Clothing): waist coat
Fashion (Clothing): working class
Gender: man/men
Occupation : sailor
Outdoor Scene
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Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Woodcut 044: Title-page illustration in a single ruled border of two knights in battle on horses. In the foreground is a fallen shield marked with a cross. Printed on green paper.
Document
A resource containing textual data. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre text.
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
History of the life and death of the great warrior Robert Bruce, King of Scotland
Subject
The topic of the resource
Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow
War
Robert I, King of Scots, 1274-1329
Chapbooks - Scotland - Glasgow
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1840-1850 per University of Glasgow Union Catalogue of Scottish Chapbooks; http://special.lib.gla.ac.uk/chapbooks/search/
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
<a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9953133913505154">s0221b12</a>
<a href="https://ocul-gue.primo.exlibrisgroup.com/permalink/01OCUL_GUE/mrqn4e/alma9953133963505154">s0098b48</a> (copy)
Is Part Of
A related resource in which the described resource is physically or logically included.
Chapbook #8 in a bound collection of 34 chapbooks (s0098b48)
Chapbook #2 in a bound collection of 22 chapbooks (s0221b12)
Abstract
A summary of the resource.
A short biography and history of Robert the Bruce, focusing especially on his role in the First War of Scottish Independence and the famous Battle of Bannockburn. This chapbook is one of a series of histories and biographies of notable Scottish figures which have been bound together in this collection.
Extent
The size or duration of the resource.
24 pages
Is Referenced By
A related resource that references, cites, or otherwise points to the described resource.
University of Glasgow Union Catalogue of Scottish Chapbooks <a href="University%20of%20Glasgow%20Union%20Catalogue%20of%20Scottish%20Chapbooks%20%20http%3A//special.lib.gla.ac.uk/chapbooks/search/">http://special.lib.gla.ac.uk/chapbooks/search/</a>
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Archival and Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario, Canada
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
JPEGs and PDF derived from master file, which was scanned from the original book in 24-bit color at 600 dpi in TIFF format using an Epson Expression 10000XL scanner.
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
In the public domain; For high quality reproductions, contact Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph libaspc@uoguelph.ca 519-824-4120 Ext 53413
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers
Source
A related resource from which the described resource is derived
Archival & Special Collections, University of Guelph Library, Guelph, Ontario
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
biography
# of Woodcuts: 1
Activity: dueling/fighting
Animal: horse(s)
Bib Context: title-page
Chapbook Date: 1831-1840
Chapbook Date: 1841-1850
Chapbook Genre: biography
Chapbook Publisher - Glasgow: Printed for the Booksellers
Fashion (Clothing): armour
Fashion (Clothing): military
Gender: man/men
Monarch: king
Nature: hill(s)
Outdoor Scene
Symbols: cross(s)
Transportation: horse(s)
Weapons: axe(s)
Weapons: shield(s)
Weapons: sword(s)