Subject: Lyr Add: THE DRUNKEN BUTCHER OF TIDESWELL
From:
Jim Dixon
Date: 14 Nov 18 - 01:01 AM
From The Ballads & Songs of Derbyshire, ed. by Llewellyn Jewitt (London: Bremrose and Sons, 1867), page 67:
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 Tiddeswall 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 gray 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 Tiddeswall 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,[1]
And Paislow Moss[2] were past.
Then slowly down the hill he came,
To the Chappelle-en-le-firth,[3]
Where, at the Rose of Lancaster,
He found his friend the Smith:
The Parson, and the Pardoner too,
There 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,[4] 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 the 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:
He drank ’till the summer sun went down,
And the stars began to shine;
And his greasy noddle was dazed and addle,
With the nut brown ale and wine.
Then up arose those four mad fellows,
And joining hand in hand,
They danced around the hostel floor,
And sung, tho’ they scarce could stand,
“We’ve aye been drunk on yester night,
And drunk the night before;
And sae we’re drunk again to-night,
If we never get drunk any more.”
Bold Robin the Butcher was horsed and away;
And a drunken wight was he;
For sometimes his blood-red eyes saw double;
And then he could scantly see.
The forest trees seemed to featly dance,
As he rode so swift along;
And the forest trees, to his wildered sense,
Resang the jovial song.
Then up he sped over Paislow Moss,
And down by the Chamber Knowle:[5]
And there he was scared into mortal fear
By the hooting of a barn owl:
And on he rode, by the Forest Wall,
Where the deer browsed silently;
And up the Slack, ’till, on Tiddeswall Moor,
His horse stood fair and free.
Just then the moon, from behind the rack,
Burst out into open view;
And on the sward and purple heath
Broad light and shadow threw;
And there the Butcher, whose heart beat quick,
With fear of Gramarye,
Fast by his side, as he did ride,
A foul phantom did espy.
Uprose the fell of his head, uprose
The hood which his head did shroud;
And all his teeth did chatter and girn,
And he cried both long and loud;
And his horse’s flank with his spur he struck,
As he never had struck before;
And away he galloped, with might and main,
Across the barren moor.
But ever as fast as the Butcher rode,
The Ghost did grimly glide:
Now down on the earth before his horse,
Then fast his rein beside:
O’er stock and rock, and stone and pit,
O’er hill and dale and down,
’Till Robin the Butcher gained his door-stone,
In Tiddeswall’s good old town.
“Oh, what thee ails, thou drunken Butcher?”
Said his Wife, as he sank down;
“And what thee ails, thou drunken Butcher?”
Cried one-half of the Town.
“I have seen a Ghost, it hath raced my horse,
For three good miles and more;
And it vanished within the Churchyard wall,
As I sank down at the door.”
“Beshrew thy heart, for a drunken beast!”
Cried his Wife, as she held him there;
“Beshrew thy heart, for a drunken beast,
And a coward, with heart of hare.
No Ghost hath raced thy horse to-night,
Nor evened his wit with thine:
The Ghost was thy shadow, thou drunken wretch!
I would the Ghost were mine.”
1 Sparrow Pit is a small hamlet about two miles from Chapel-en-le-Frith, situated at the “four lane ends,” where the Buxton and Castleton and the Chapel-en-le-Frith and Tideswell roads intersect each other.
2 Paislow Moss, about half way between Sparrow Pit and Sandy Way Head.
3 Chapel-en-le-Frith is a considerable and important market town, about six miles from Buxton.
4 Whaley Bridge, near Chapel-en-le-Frith.
5 Chamber Knoll is. about half a mile from Peak-Forest
Bella Hardy recorded this song on her album “The Dark Peak and the White” (2012) but she shortened it a bit, and she changed a few words.
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