The Mudcat Café TM
Thread #28115   Message #347664
Posted By: *#1 PEASANT*
28-Nov-00 - 02:41 PM
Thread Name: Lyr Add: Song V on George Stoole
Subject: Song V on George Stoole
Song V (George Stoole)
A lamentable Ditty, made upon the death of a worthy gentleman, named George Stoole, dwelling
sometime on Gate-side Moor, and some time at Newcastle, In Northumberland: with his
penitent end. (c. 1610)

Come you lusty Northerne lads,
That are so blith and bonny,
Prepare your hearts to be full sad,
To heare the end of Georgy.

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho my bonny love,
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho my honny;
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho my owne deare love,
And God be with my Georgie.

When Georgie to his triall came,
A thousand hearts were sorry,
A thousand lasses wept full sore,
And all for love of Georgie.

Some did say he would escape,
Some at his fall did glory:
But these were clownes and fickle friends,
And none that loved Georgy.

Might friends have satisfide the law,
Then G(e)orgie would find many:
Yet bravely did he plead for life,
If mercy might be any.

But when this doughty carle was cast,
He was full sad and sorry:
Yet boldy did he take his death,
So patiently dyde Georgie.

As Georgie went up to the gate,
He tooke his leve of many:
He tooke his leave of his lards wife,
Whom he lov'd best of any.

With thousand sighs and heavy looks,
Away from thence he parted,
Where he so often blithe had been,
Thought now so heavy hearted.

He writ a letter with his owne hand,
He thought he writ it bravely:
He sent it to New-castle towne,
To his beloved lady.

Wherin he did at large bewaile,
the occasion of his folly:
Bequething life unto the law,
His soule to heaven holy.

Why, lady, leave to weepe for me,
Let not my ending grieve ye:
Prove constant to the'man' you love,
For I cannot releeve yee.

Out upon the, Withrington,
And fie upon the, Phoenix:
Thou hast put downe the doughty one
That stole the sheepe from Anix.

And fie on all such cruell carles,
Whose crueltie's so fickle,
To cast away a gentleman
In hatred for so little.

I would I were on yonder hill,
Where I have beene full merry:
My sword and buckeler by my side
To fight till I be weary.

They well should know that tooke me first
Though whoops be now forsaken;
Had I but freedome, armes,  and health,
I'de dye are I'de be taken.

But law condemns me to my grave,
They have me in their power;
There's none but Christ that can be save,
At this my dying houre.

He call'd his dearest love to him,
When as his heart was sorry:
And speaking thus with manly heart,
Deare sweeting, pray for Georgie.

He gave to her a piece of gold,
And bade her give't her barnes:
And oft he kist her rosie lips,
And laid him into her armes.

And coming to the place of death,
He never changed colour,
The more they thought he would look pale,
The more his veines were fuller.

And with a cheerful countenance,
(Being at that time entreated
For to confesse his former life)
These words he straight repeated.

I never stole no oxe nor cow,
Nor never murdered any:
But fifty horse I did receive
Of a merchants man of Gory.

For which I am condemn'd to dye
Though guiltlesse I stand dyiing:
Deare gracious God, my soule receive,
For now my life is flying.

The man of death a part did act,
Which grieves metell the story;
God comfort all are comfortlesse,
And did so well as Georgie.

Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, my bonny love,
Heigh-ho, heigh-(ho) my bonny;
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, mine own true love
Sweet Christ receive my Georgie.

-Source: The Northumberland Garland;or Newcastle Nightingale., Joseph Ritson,
Newcastle, MDCCXCIII , Harding and Wright, London,1809.