Friars of Richmond.

[This ballad is taken from the Notes to Sir Walter Scott's poem of Kokeby,'-in the fifth canto of which it is referred to,-where it is given from a manuscript in the possession of Mr. Rokeby, of Northamptonshire, descended of the ancient Barons of Rokeby.' It was first published, from what Sir Walter calls an inaccurate MS., not corrected very happily,' in Whitaker's History of Craven;' from whence it was transferred, with some well-judged conjectural improvements,' to Evans's Old Pallads.' But Sir Walter considers that Mr. Rokeby's MS. furnishes a more authenticated and full, though still imperfect, edition of this humorous composition.' It is,' he says, one of the very best of the ancient minstrel's mock romances, and has no small portion of comic humour. Ralph Rokeby, who, for the jest's sake apparently, bestowed this intractable animal on the convent of Richmond, seems to have flourished in the time of Henry VII., which, since we know not the date of Friar Theobald's Wardenship, to which the poem refers, may indicate that of the composition itself. It has been suggested to the Editor, by Mr. Dixon, his obligations to whom he has more than once had the pleasure of acknowledging, that the ballad is probably the effusion of some waggish monk of Sawlaye, or Bolton, who wished to ridicule the Benedictines of Richmond The language, Mr. Dixon says, is that of the mountain-district of Craven, in the West Riding of Yorkshire, as spoken by the inhabitants in. the present day.' Stanza 22 is defective in the original.]

E men that will of aunters winne,
That late within this land hath beene,

Of one I will you tell;

And of a sow that was sea strang;
Alas! that ever she lived sea lang,

She was mare than other three,
The grisliest beast that ere might be,
Her head was great and gray:
She was bred in Rokeby wood,
There were few that thither goed,
That came on live away.

Her walk was endlong Greta side;
There was no bren that durst her bide,
That was frae heaven to hell;

Nor never man that had that might,
That ever durst come in her sight,
Her force it was so fell.

Ralph of Rokeby, with good will,
The fryers of Richmond gave her till,
Full well to garre them fare;
Fryar Middleton by his name,
He was sent to fetch her hame,
That rued him sine full sare.

With him tooke he wicht men two,
Peter Dale was one of thoe,

That ever was brim as beare ;

And well durst strike with sword and knife,
And fight full manly for his life,
What time as mister ware.

These three men went at God's will,
This wicked sew while they came till,
Liggan under a tree;

Rugg and rusty was her haire;
She raise up with a felon fare,
To fight against the three.

She was so grisely for to meete,
She rave the earth up with her feete,
And bark came fro the tree;

When Fryar Middleton her saugh,
Weet
ye well he might not laugh,

Those men of aunters that was so wight,
They bound them bauldly for to fight,
And strike at her full sare:

Until a kiln they garred her flee,
Wold God send them the victory,
They wold ask him noa mare.

The sew was in the kiln hole down,
As they were on the balke aboon,
For hurting of their feet;

They were so saulted with this sew,
That among them was a stalworth stew,
The kiln began to reeke.

Durst noe man neigh her with his hand,
But put a rape down with his wand,
And haltered her full meete;
They hurled her forth against her will,
Whiles they came into a hill

A little fro the street.

And there she made them such a fray;
If they should live to Doomes-day,
They tharrow it ne'er forgett;
She braded upon every side,
And ran on them gaping full wide,
For nothing would she lett.

She gave such brades at the band
That Peter Dale had in his hand,
He might not hold his feet;
She chafed them to and fro,
The wight men was never soe woe,
Their measure was not so meete.

She bound her boldly to abide;
To Peter Dale she came aside,

With many a hideous yell;

She gaped soe wide and cried soe hee, The Fryar seid, I conjure thee,

Thou art a fiend of hell.

Thou art come hither for some traine,
I conjure thee to go agayne

Where thou wast wont to dwell.

He sayned him with crosse and creede,
Took forth a booke, began to reade
In St. John his gospell.

The sew she would not Latin heare,
But rudely rushed at the Frear,

That blinked all his blee;

And when she would have taken her hold,

The Fryar leaped as Jesus wold,

And bealed him with a tree.

She was as brim as any beare,
For all their meate to labour there,

To them it was no boote:

Upon trees and bushes that by her stood, She ranged as she was wood,

And rave them up by roote.

He sayd, Alas! that I was Frear!
And I shall be rugged in sunder here,
Hard is my destinie!

Wist my

brethren in this houre,

That I was sett in such a stoure,

They would pray for me.

This wicked beast that wrought this woe,
Tooke that rape from the other two,
And then they fledd all three;
They fledd away by Watling-street,
They had no succour but their feet,
It was the more pity.

The feild it was both lost and wonne;
The sew went hame, and that full soone,
To Morton on the Greene;

When Ralph of Rokeby saw the rape,
He wist that there had been debate,
Whereat the sew had beene.

He bad them stand out of her way,
For she had had a sudden fray,--
I saw never so keene;

Some new things shall we heare
Of her and Middleton the Frear,
Some battell hath there beene.

But all that served him for nought,
Had they not better succour sought,
They were served therfore loe.
Then Mistress Rokeby came anon,

And for her brought shee meate full soone,
The sew came here unto.

The warden said, I am full of woe,
That ever ye should be torment so,
But wee with you had beene!
Had wee been there your brethren all,
Wee should have garred the warle fall,
That wrought you all this teyne.