A Remarkable and Memorable SONG of
Sir ROBERT BEWICK and the Laird GRAHAM,
GIVING
An Account of Laird Grahams Meeting with Sir Robert Bewick in the Town of Carlisle and they go-
ing to a Tavern, a dispute happened betwixt them, which of their Sons was the best Man. How
Graham rode Home in a Passion, and caused his Son to fight young Bewick, which proved their Deaths.
|
OLD Graham he is to Carlisle gone,
|
Where Sir Robert Bewick there met he:
|
In Arms to the Wine they are gone,
|
And drink till they were both merry.
|
Old Graham he took up the Cup,
|
And said, Brother Bewick heres to thee;
|
And heres to our two Sons at Home,
|
For they live best in our Country.
|
Nay, were thy Son as good as mine,
|
And of some Books he could but read,
|
With Sword and buckler by his Side.
|
To see how he could safe his Head;
|
They might have been calld two bold Brethren,
|
Wherever they do go or ride:
|
They might have been calld two bold Brethren.
|
They might have cracked the border side.
|
Thy Son is bad, he is but a Lad,
|
And Bully to my Son cannot be;
|
I put him to School, but he would not learn.
|
I bought him Books, but he would not read;
|
But my blessing hes never have,
|
Till I see how he can save his Head.
|
Old Graham he calld for an Account,
|
And he asked what there was to pay,
|
There he paid a Crown, so it went round,
|
Which was all for Wine and Hay.
|
Old Graham is to the Stable gone,
|
Where stood thirty good Steads and three:
|
Hes taken his own Stead by the Head,
|
And Home rode he right wantonly.
|
When he came there he did espy,
|
A loving sight to spy or see;
|
There did he espy his own three Sons,
|
Young Christy Graham the foremost was he;
|
Where have you been all Day, Father?
|
That no counsel youll take by me
|
Nay I have been at Carlisle Town,
|
Where Sir Robert Bewick there met me,
|
He said thou was bad and calld thou a Lad,
|
And baffled Man by thee I be.
|
He said, thou was bad, and calld thee a Lad,
|
And Bully to his Son cannot be;
|
For his Son Bewick can both write and read,
|
And sure I am that cannot be.
|
I put thee to School, but thou wouldst not learn;
|
I bought thee Books, but thou wouldst not read;
|
But my Blessing thous never have,
|
Till I see with Bewick thou canst save thy Head.
|
Oh! pray forbear, my Father dear,
|
That ever such a Thing should be:
|
Shall I venture my Body in Field to fight,
|
With a man thats Faith and Troth to me;
|
Whats that thou sayest, thou Limmer Loon;
|
Or how dare thou stand to speak to me;
|
If thou do not end this Quarrel soon,
|
Here is my Glove thou shalt fight me.
|
Christy stoopd low unto the Ground;
|
Unto the Ground as youll understand;
|
O Father put on your Glove again.
|
The Wind hath blown it from your Hand.
|
Whats that thou sayest thou Limmer Loon;
|
Or how dare you stand to speak to me;
|
If you do not end this Quarrel soon,
|
Here is my Hand thou shalt fight me.
|
Christy Graham is to his Chamber gone,
|
And for to studdy as well might be,
|
Whether to fight with his Father dear,
|
Or with his Bully Bewick he.
|
If it be my Fortune my Bully to kill,
|
As you shall boldly understand,
|
In every Town that I ride through,
|
Theyll say there rides a brotherless Man.
|
Nay, for to kill my brother dear,
|
I think it were a deadly Sin;
|
And for to kill my Father dear,
|
The blessing of Heaven I neer shall win.
|
O give me your blessing, Father, he said,
|
And pray well for me then to thrive;
|
If it be my Fortune my bully to kill,
|
I sware I shall never come home alive.
|
He put on his back a good old Jacket,
|
And on his head a Cap of Steel;
|
With Sword and Buckler by his Side,
|
O gin he did not become them Weel,
|
[Fare the]e well my Father dear,
|
[Fa]re thee well thou Carlisle Town,
|
If it be my Fortune my Bully to kill,
|
Ill swear Ill neer eat Bread again.
|
Now well leave off talking of Christy Graham,
|
And talk of them again belive;
|
But we will talk of bonny Bewick,
|
Where he was teaching his Scholars five.
|
Now when he had learned them to fence,
|
To handle their Swords without any Doubt,
|
Hes taken his Sword under his Arm,
|
And walked his Fathers Close about;
|
He lookd between them and the Sun,
|
To see what Farlies he could see,
|
There he espyd a Man with Armour on,
|
As he came riding oer the Lee.
|
I wonder much what man you be,
|
That so boldly this way doth come;
|
I think it my nighest Friend,
|
I think it is my Bully Graham.
|
O welcome, O welcome, my Bully Graham,
|
O Man, thou art my dear, welcome,
|
O Man, thou art my Dear, welcome,
|
For I love thee best in Christendom.
|
Away, away, O bully Bewick,
|
And of thy Bullyship let me be:
|
The Day is come that I neer thought on,
|
Bully, Im come hither to fight with thee.
|
O no, not so, O Bully Graham,
|
That eer such a Word should spoken be;
|
I was thy Master, and thou wast my Scholar,
|
So well I learned thee.
|
My Father he was in Carlisle Town,
|
Where thy Father Bewick there met he:
|
He said, I was bad, and he calld me a Lad,
|
And a baffled Man by thou I be.
|
Away, away, O Bully Graham,
|
And of that talk, Man, let us be;
|
Well make three Men on either Side.
|
To see if we can our Fathers agree.
|
Away, away, O bully Bewick,
|
And of thy Bullyship let me be?
|
But if thou be a Man, as I true thou art,
|
Come over this Ditch and fight with me.
|
O no, not so, my bully Graham,
|
That eer such a word should spoken be;
|
Shall I venture my body in Field to fight,
|
With a Man thats faith and Truth to me.
|
Away, away, thou Bully Bewick,
|
And of Care, Man, let us be:
|
If thou be a Man as I true thou art,
|
Come over this Ditch and fight with me.
|
Nay, if it be my Fortune thee Graham to kill,
|
As Gods Will, Man, it almost be,
|
But if it be my Fortune thee Graham to kill,
|
Tis Home again Ill never gae.
|
Thou art then of my Mind, Bully Bewick,
|
And sworn Brethren will we be:
|
If thou be a Man as I true thou art,
|
Come over this Ditch and fight with.
|
He flang his Cloak from off his Shoulder,
|
His Psalm Book from of his Shoulders, flang he,
|
He clappd his Hand upon the Hedge,
|
And oer lap he right wantonly.
|
When Graham did see his Bully come,
|
The Salt Tears stood long in his Eye:
|
Now needs must I say, thou art a Man,
|
That dare venture thy Body to fight with me.
|
Nay, I have a Harness on my Back,
|
I know that thou hath none on thine;
|
But as little as thou hath on thy Back,
|
Sure as little shall there be on mine.
|
He flang his Jacket from of his Back,
|
His Steel Cap from off his Head flang he,
|
Hes taken his Spear into his Hand,
|
Hes tyd his Horse unto a Tree.
|
Now, they fell to it with two broad Swords,
|
For two long hours fought Bewick and he,
|
Much Sweat was to be seen on them both,
|
But never a Drop of Blood to see.
|
Now, Graham gave Bewick an auckward Stroke,
|
An auckward struck surely struck he,
|
He struck him now under the left Breast,
|
Then down to the Ground as dead fell he.
|
Arise, arise, O Bully Bewick,
|
Arise, and speak three Words to me,
|
Whether this be thy deadly Wound.
|
Or God and good Surgeons will mend thee,
|
O Horse, O Horse, O Bully Graham,
|
And pray do get thee far from me,
|
Thy Sword it is sharp, it hath wounded my Heart,
|
And so no farther can I gae.
|
O Horse, O Horse, O Bully Graham,
|
And get thee far from me with Speed,
|
And get the out o this Country quite,
|
That not one may know who has done the Deed.
|
Oh! if this be true, my Bully dear,
|
The Words that thou doth tell to me,
|
The Vow I made and the Vow Ill keep,
|
I sware Ill be the first that die.
|
Then he struck his Sword in a Mould Hill,
|
Then he leapd thirty good feet and three;
|
First he bequeathd his Soul to God,
|
And upon his own Sword leapd he.
|
Now, Graham he was the first that died;
|
And then Robert Bewick came to see:
|
Arise, arise, O Son he said,
|
For I see thous won the Victory.
|
Arise, arise, O Son, he said,
|
For I see thous won the Victory.
|
Father, could you not drink your Wine at home,
|
And letten me and my Bully be,
|
Nay, dig a Grave both low and wide,
|
And in it us two pray bury.
|
But bury my bully Graham on the Sun-side,
|
For Im sure hes won the Victory.
|
Now well leave of talking off these bold Brethren,
|
In Carlisle Town where they were slain,
|
And talk of these two good old Men
|
Where they were making a pitiful Moan.
|
With that bespoke now Robert Bewick,
|
O Man, was I not much to blame;
|
I have lost one of the liveliest Lads,
|
That ever was bred unto my Name.
|
With that bespoke my good Lord Graham,
|
O Man, I have lost the better Block;
|
I have lost my Comfort and my Joy,
|
I have lost my Key, I have lost my Lock.
|
Had I gone through all Lauderdale,
|
And forty Horse had set on me,
|
Had Christy Graham been at my Back,
|
So well he would have guarded me.
|
I have no more of my Song to sing,
|
But two or three Words Ill name,
|
But it will be talked in Carlisle Town,
|
That these two old Men were all the Blame.
|
|
|
|
|
|