A Lamentable Ballad of a Combat lately Fought, near London, between
Sir James Steward, and Sir George Wharton, Knights; who were both sl[ai]n
at that time. To the Tune of, Down Plumpton-park, etc.
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IT grieves my heart to tell the woe
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that did near London late befal,
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On Martlemas-eve, O woe is me,
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I grieve the chance and ever shall,
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Of two right gallant Gentlemen,
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who very rashly fell at words,
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But to their quarrel could not fall,
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till they fell both by their keen swords:
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The one Sir George Wharton calld,
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the good Lord Whartons son and heir,
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The other Sir James, a Scottish Knight,
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a man that a valiant heart did bear:
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Near to the court these Gallants stout,
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fell out as they in gaming were:
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And in their fury grew so hot,
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they hardly could from blows forbear.
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Nay, kind intreaties could not stay
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Sir James from striking in that place,
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For in the height and heat of bloud,
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he struck young Wharton oer the face;
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What dost thou mean, said Wharton then,
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to strike in such unmanly sort?
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That I will take it at thy hands,
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the tongue of man shall nere report.
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Why, to thy worst, then said Sir James,
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and mark me, Wharton, what I say,
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Theres ner a Lord in England breathes,
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shall make me give an inch of way.
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This brags too brave, stout Wharton s[ai]d,
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let our brave English Lords alone,
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And talk with me that am your foe
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for you shall find enough of one.
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Alas, Sir, said the Scottish Knight
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thy bloud and minds too base for me,
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Thy oppositions are too bold,
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and will thy dire destruction be.
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Nay, said young Wharton, you [mistake,]
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my courage and valour equals thine,
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To makt apparent cast thy glove,
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to gage to try, as I do mine.
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Ay, said Sir James, hast thou such spirit,
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I did not think within thy breast
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That such a haughty daring heart,
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as thou makst shew of eer could rest:
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I enter change my glove with thee,
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take it and p[a]int thy bed of death,
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The field, I mean, where we must fight,
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and one for both loose life and breath.
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Well meet near Waltham, said Sir George
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to morrow that shall be the day,
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Well either take a single man,
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and try who bears the bell away.
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This done, toget[h]er hands they shook,
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and without any envious sign,
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They went to Ludgate where they staid
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and drank each man his pint of wine.
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No kind of anger could be seen,
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no words of malice might bewray,
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But all was fair as calm as cool
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as love within their bosomes lay,
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Till parting time, and then indeed
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they shewd some rancor of their heart,
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George, said Sir James, when next we meet,
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so sound I know we shall not part.
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And so they parted both resolvd
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to have their valour fully tryd;
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The second Part shall briefly show,
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both how they met, and how they dyd.
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The Second PART.
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YOung Wharton was the first that came
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to the appointed place next day,
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[Who] presently spyd Sir James coming
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[as] fa[s]t as he could post away;
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A[nd] being met in manly sort,
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[the] Scotch Knight did to Wharton say,
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I [do] not like thy doublet George,
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[it sits] so well on thee to day:
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[Ha]st thou no privy armour on,
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[nor] yet no privy coat of steel?
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I neer saw Lord in all my life
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[be]come a doublet half so well.
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[Now] nay, now nay, stout Wharton said,
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Sir James Steward that may not be,
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I[le] not an armed man come hither,
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[a]nd thou a naked man truly.
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[Our] men shall strip our doublets, George,
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[so] shall we know whether of us lye,
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And then well to our weapons sharp,
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ourselves true Gallants for to try.
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Then they stript off their doublets fair,
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standing up in their shirts of lawn,
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Follow my counsel, the Scotch-man said,
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and Wharton to thee Ill make known:
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Now follow my counsel, Ill follow thine,
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and well fight in our shirts, said he.
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Now nay, now nay, young Wharton s[a]id,
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Sir James Steward that may not be,
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Unless we were drunkards and quarrellers,
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that had no care of our fell,
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Not caring what we go about,
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or whether our souls go to heaven or hell.
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Well first to God bequeath our souls,
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then next our corpse to dust and clay:
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With that stout Wharton was the first
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took rapier and poniard there that day:
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Seven thrusts in turns these Gallants had,
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before own drop of bloud was drawn,
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The Scottish Knight then speak valiantly,
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Stout Wharton still thou holdst thy own.
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With the next thrust that Wharton thrust,
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he ran him through the shoulder bone,
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The next was through the thick oth thigh,
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thinking he had the Scotch Knight slain:
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Then Wharton said to the Scottish Knight,
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Are you a living man, tell me?
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If there be a surgeon in England can,
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he shall cure your wounds right speedily.
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Now nay, now nay, the Scottish Knight said,
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Sir George Wharton that may not be
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The one of us shall the other kill,
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eer off this ground that we do flee.
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Then in amaze Sir George lookt back,
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to see what company was nigh,
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They both had dangerous marks of death,
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yet neither would from th other flie.
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But both through body wounded sore,
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with courage lusty strong and sound,
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They made a deadly desperate close,
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and both fell dead unto the ground;
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Our English Knight was the first that fell
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the Scotch Knight fell immediately,
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Who cryed both to Jesus Christ,
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Receive our souls, O Lord, we dye.
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God bless our noble King and Queen,
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and all the noble Progeny,
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That Britain still may live in one,
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in perfect love and unity:
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Thus to conclude, I make and end,
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wishing that quarrels still may cease,
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And that we still may live in love,
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in prosperous state, in joy and peace.
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