Who came in haste with all his peers, To them Sir Ursine did succeed, And long the scepter bare, XIII. THE DRAGON OF WANTLEY. - THIS humorous song (as a former Editor has well observed) is to old metrical romances and ballads of chivalry, what Don Quixote is to prose narratives of that kind-a lively satire on their extravagant fictions. Mr. Bosville of Thorp, in Yorkshire, gave the following explanation of it :·- Wharncliffe Lodge, and Wharncliffe Wood (vulgarly pronounced Wantley), are in the parish of Penniston, in Yorkshire. The rectory of Penniston was part of the dissolved monastery of St. Stephen's, Westminster, and was granted to the Duke of Norfolk's family, who therewith endowed an hospital, which he built at Sheffield, for women. The trustees let the impropriation of the great tithes of Penniston to the Wortley family, who got a great deal by it, and wanted to get still more; for Mr. Nicholas Wortley attempted to take the tithes in kind, but Mr. Francis Bosville opposed him, and there was a decree in favour of the modus in 37th Eliz. The vicarage of Penniston did not go along with the rectory, but with the copyhold rents, and was part of a large purchase made by Ralph Bosville, Esq., from Queen Elizabeth, in the second year of her reign: and that part he sold in 12th Eliz. to his elder brother Godfrey, the father of Francis; who left it, with the rest of his estate, to his wife, for her life, and then to Ralph, third son of his uncle Ralph. The widow married Lyonel Rowlestone, lived eighteen years, and survived Ralph. This premised, the ballad apparently relates to the lawsuit carried on concerning this claim of tithes made by the Wortley family. "Houses and churches were to him geese and turkeys:" which are titheable things, the dragon chose to live on. Sir Francis Wortley, the son of Nicholas, attempted again to take the tithes in kind: but the parishioners subscribed an agreement to defend their modus. And at the head of the agreement was Lyonel Rowlestone, who is supposed to be one of "the stones, dear Jack, which the dragon could not crack." The agreement is still preserved in a large sheet of parchment, dated 1st of James I., and is full of names and seats, which might be meant by the coat of armour, "with spikes all about, both within and without." More of More-hall was either the attorney or counsellor, who conducted the suit. He is not distinctly remembered, but More-hall is still extant at the very bottom of Wantley [Wharncliffe] Wood, and lies so low that it might be said to be in a well as the Dragon's den [Wharncliffe Lodge] was at the top of the wood, "with Matthew's house hard by it." The keepers belonging to the Wortley family were named, for many generations, : *Collection of Historical Ballads, in 3 vols., 1727. Matthew Northall: the last of them left this lodge, within memory, to be keeper to the Duke of Norfolk. N.B.-The "two days and a night," mentioned in ver. 125, as the duration of the combat, was probably that of the trial at law. OLD stories tell, how Hercules With seven heads, and fourteen eyes, To see and well discern-a: But he had a club, this dragon to drub, Or he had ne'er done it, I warrant ye: But More of More-hall, with nothing at all, He slew the dragon of Wantley. This dragon had two furious wings, Each one upon each shoulder; With a sting in his tayl, as long as a flayl, Which made him bolder and bolder. He had long claws, and in his jaws Four and forty teeth of iron; With a hide as tough as any buff, Which did him round environ. Have you not heard how the Trojan horse Held seventy men in his belly? But very near, I'll tell ye. All sorts of cattle this dragon did eat. And that the forests sure he would For houses and churches were to him geese and turkies; He ate all, and left none behind, But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack, Which on the hills you will find. In Yorkshire, near fair Rotherham, The place I know it well; Some two or three miles, or there abouts, I vow I cannot tell; But there is a hedge, just on the hill edge, And Matthew's house hard by it; Some say, this dragon was a witch; And with it burning snivel; Hard by a furious knight there dwelt, Call son of a whore, do any kind of By the tail and the main, with his hands twain He swung a horse till he was dead; And that which is stranger, he for very anger Eat him all up but his head. These children, as I told, being eat; Men, women, girls, and boys, Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging, And made a hideous noise : save us all, More of More-hall, Thou peerless knight of these woods; Do but slay this dragon, who won't leave us a rag on, We'll give thee all our goods. Tut, tut, quoth he, no goods I want; But I want, I want, in sooth, A feir maid of sixteen, that's brisk and keen, With smiles about the mouth; Hair black as sloe, skin white as snow, With blushes her cheeks adorning ; To anoynt me o'er night, ere I go to fight, And to dress me in the morning. This being done, he did engage To hew the dragon down; But first he went, new armour to Bespeak at Sheffield town; With spikes all about, not within but without, Of steel so sharp and strong; Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er, Some five or six inches long. Had you but seen him in this dress, How fierce he look'd and how big, You would have thought him for to be Some Egyptian porcupig: He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all, Each cow, each horse, and each hog: For fear they did flee, for they took him to be Some strange outlandish hedge-hog. To see this fight, all people then On churches some, and chimneys too; Oh, quoth the dragon, pox take thee, come out, Thou disturb'st me in my drink : And then he turn'd, and s- at him; Good lack how he did stink: Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul, Thy dung smells not like balsam ; Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore, Sure thy diet is unwholsome. Our politick knight, on the other side, Crept out upon the brink, And gave the dragon such a douse, He knew not what to think: By cock, quoth he, say you so, do you see? And then at him he let fly With hand and with foot, and so they went to't; And the word it was, Hey boys, hey! Your words, quoth the dragon, I don't understand; Then to it they fell at all, Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may Compare great things with small. Two days and a night, with this dragon did fight Our champion on the ground; Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he Tho' their strength it was great, their skill Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh, Out of his throat of leather; More of More-hall! O thou rascal! With the thing at thy foot, thou hast And I'm quite undone for ever. Murder, murder, the dragon cry'd, Alack, alack, for grief; Had you but mist that place, you could Then his head he shaked, trembled and And down he laid and cry'd; First on one knee, then on back tumbled he, So groan'd, and kickt, and dy'd. XIV. ST. GEORGE FOR ENGLAND. THE FIRST PART. As the former song is in ridicule of the extravagant incidents in old ballads and metrical romances; so this is a burlesque of their style, particularly of the rambling transitions and wild accumulation of unconnected parts, so frequent in many of them. This ballad is given from an old black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, "imprinted at London, 1612." It is more ancient than many of the preceding; but we place it here for the sake of connecting it with the second part. |