So now I do begin to tell you of the fun :

Full twenty miles that morning this Taylor he had run ; And when he came to Ashford, the people they did cry, "Make haste, my jovel lad, for your enemies are nigh!"

This Taylor was a mighty man-a man of wondrous size,

And when he came to Entcliff Hill * you would have thought he would

have reached the skies;

And when he did climb those rocks that was so wondrous high,

The cavelry came all round, and the Taylor they did spy.

They loaded their Pistols with Powder and Ball,

All for to take this Taylor that was both stout and tall;

He was near four feet high, and a mighty man indeed—

You'd a laugh'd to have seen the cavelry ride after him full speed.

In lighting from their horses, their valour for to show,

Five of them upon the ground this Taylor he did throw;

They being sore affirighted, saying, "We would shoot him if we durst!"
But their Carbines would not fire, for their balls they had put in first.

Their captain, as commander, he ordered ranks to form, All for to take this Taylor the Entcliff rocks to storm : "Prime and load!" then was the word their captain he did cry; "Cheer up, my jovel lads; let us conquerors be or die!"

These valiants being reinforced, they took the Taylor bold,
And guarded him to Bakewell, the truth I will unfold;
At the White Horse Inn in Bakewell, as you may understand,
It took full fifty of their troops to guard this noble man.

The battle being over, the Taylor they have won,
And this is the first prank our cavelry has done;

I tell you the truth, they cannot refuse,

They are ten times worse than the runaway blues.

Here's a health unto the Taylor, of courage stout and bold,

And by our noble cavelry he scorns to be control'd ;

If he'd but his goose, his bodkin, and his shears,

He would soon have cleared Bakewell of those Derby volunteers.

About a mile from Bakewell, on the way to Ashford.

THE DERBY RAM.

[This remarkable animal has been associated in verse and song with the history of Derby for more than a century. The ballad, according to Mr. Pendleton, was set to music, as a glee, by Dr. Calcott, and is still occasionally sung both as a glee and to its old humdrum ballad melody at public dinners in the town.]

As I was going to Derby, sir,

All on a market-day,

I met the finest Ram, sir,

That ever was fed on hay.

Daddle-i-day, daddle-i-day,

Fal-de-ral, fal-de-ral, daddle-i-day.

This Ram was fat behind, sir,

This Ram was fat before;

This Ram was ten yards high, sir-
Indeed, he was no more.

Daddle-i-day, etc.

The wool upon his back, sir,

Reached up into the sky;

The eagles made their nests there, sir,
For I heard the young ones cry.
Daddle-i-day, etc.

The wool upon his belly, sir,

It dragged upon the ground;
It was sold in Darby town, sir,
For forty thousand pound.
Daddle-i-day, etc.

The space between his horns, sir,

Was as far as a man could reach ;

And there they built a pulpit

For the parson there to preach.
Daddle-i-day, etc.

The teeth that were in his mouth, sir,

Were like a regiment of men ;

And the tongue that hung between them, sir,
Would have dined them twice and again.
Daddle-i-day, etc.

This Ram jumped over a wall, sir,

His tail caught on a briar

It reached from Darby town, sir,

All into Leicestershire.

Daddle-i-day, etc.

176

APPENDIX.

And of this tail so long, sir—
'Twas ten miles and an ell—
They made a goodly rope, sir,
To toll the market bell.

Daddle-i-day, etc.

This Ram had four legs to walk on, sir ;
This Ram had four legs to stand,

And every leg he had, sir,

Stood on an acre of land.

Daddle-i-day, etc.

The butcher that killed this Ram, sir,

Was drownded in the blood;
And the boy that held the pail, sir,
Was carried away in the flood.
Daddle-i-day, etc.

All the maids in Darby, sir,

Came begging for his horns,

To take them to coopers

To make them milking gawns.*
Daddle-i-day, etc.

The little boys of Darby, sir,

They came to beg his eyes
To kick about the streets, sir,
For they were football size.
Daddle-i-day, etc.

The tanner that tanned its hide, sir,
Would never be poor any more,

For when he had tanned and retched it,
It covered all Sinfin Moor.

Daddle-i-day, etc.

The jaws that were in his head, sir,

They were so fine and thin,

They were sold to a Methodist parson
For a pulpit to preach in.

Daddle-i-day, etc.

Indeed, sir, this is true, sir,

I never was taught to lie,
And had you been to Darby, sir,
You'd have seen it as well as I.

Daddle-i-day, etc.

* Milk-pails.

THE DRUNKEN BUTCHER OF TIDESWELL.

[This village is about eight or ten miles from Bakewell, and nearly the same distance from Chapel-en le-Frith. Sparrow Pit, mentioned in the ballad, is two miles from the last-named place, on the road to Tideswell. The following droll lines were written by Mr. William Bennett. "The legend is still so strong in the Peak," says the author, "that numbers of the inhabitants do not concur in the sensible interpretation put upon the phantom by the butcher's wife, but pertinaciously believe that the drunken man was beset by an evil spirit, which either ran by his horse's side or rolled on the ground before him faster than his horse could gallop, from Peak Forest to the sacred enclosure of Tideswell Churchyard, where it disappeared; and many a bold fellow, on a moonlight night, looks anxiously around as he crosses Tideswell Moor, and gives his nag an additional touch of the spur as he hears the bell of Tideswell Church swinging midnight to the winds, and remembers the tale of The Drunken Butcher of Tideswell '"']

Oh list to me, ye yeomen all,

Who live in dale or down:
My song is of a butcher tall,

Who lived in Tideswall town.

In bluff King Harry's merry days,

He slew both sheep and kine;
And drank his fill of nut-brown ale,
In lack of good red wine.

Beside the church this butcher lived,
Close to its grey old walls;

And envied not when trade was good
The baron in his halls.

No carking cares disturbed his rest,
When off to bed he slunk ;

And oft he snored for ten good hours,
Because he got so drunk.

One only sorrow quelled his heart,

As well it might quell mine-
The fear of sprites and grisly ghosts
Which dance in the moonshine;
Or wander in the cold churchyard,
Among the dismal tombs,
Where hemlock blossoms in the day,
By night the nightshade blooms.

It chanced upon a summer's day,
When heather-bells were blowing,
Bold Robin crossed o'er Tideswall moor,
And heard the heath-cock crowing:

Well mounted on a forest nag,

He freely rode and fast;
Nor drew a rein till Sparrow Pit
And Paislow Moss was past.

Then slowly down the hill he came,
To the Chappelle-en-le-frith,
Where at the Rose of Lancaster

He found his friend the smith;
The parson and the pardoner, too,
They took their morning draught;
And when they spied a brother near
They all came out and laughed.

"Now draw thy rein, thou jolly butcher: How far hast thou to ride?"

"To Waylee Bridge, to Simon the tanner, To sell this good cow-hide."

"Thou shalt not go one foot ayont,

Till thou light and sup with me;

And when thou'st emptied my measure of liquor, I'll have a measure wi' thee."

"Oh no, oh no, thou drouthy smith !

I cannot tarry to-day;

The wife she gave me a charge to keep,

And I durst not say her nay."

"What likes o' that," said parson then,

"If thou'st sworn, thou'st ne'er to rue;

Thou may'st keep thy pledge, and drink thy stoup,

As an honest man e'en may do."

"Oh no, oh no, thou jolly parson!

I cannot tarry, I say;

I was drunk last night, and if I tarry,

I'se be drunk again to-day."

"What likes, what likes!" cried the pardoner then,

"Why tellest thou that to me?

Thou may'st e'en get thee drunk this blessed night,

And well shrived for both thou shalt be."

Then down got the butcher from his horse,
I wot full fain was he;

And he drank till the summer sun was set
In that jolly company;