A lamentable Ballad of a Combat lately performed neere London,
betwixt Sir James Steward, and Sir George wharton Knights, who were
both slaine at that time.
To the Tune of, Downe Plumpton Parke.
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IT grieves me for to tell the woe,
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neere London late that did befall,
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On Martlemas Eve, oh 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 so their quarrell could not fall,
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till they fell both by their keene swords.
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The one was Sir George Wharton calld,
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the good Lord Whartons sonne and heire,
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The other Sir James the Scottish Knight,
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a man that valiant heart did beare:
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Neere 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 blowes forbeare.
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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 blood,
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he stroke young Wharton ore the face.
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What dost thou meane, said Wharton then,
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to strike in such unmanly sort?
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That I will take it at thy hand
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the tongue of man shall nere report.
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Why doe thy worst then, said Sir James,
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and marke me Wharton what I say,
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Theres nere a Lord in England breathes,
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shall make me give an inch of way:
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This brags too large stout Wharton said,
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let our brave English Lords alone,
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And talke to me who am your foe,
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for thou shalt find enough of one.
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Alas Sir, said the Scottish Knight,
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thy blood and minds too base for me,
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Thy oppositions be 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 apparant cast thy Glove
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to gage, to try as I doe mine.
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I, said Sir James, hast thou such spirit,
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I did not thinke within thy breast,
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That such a haughty daring heart,
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as thou makst shew of, ere could rest:
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I interchange my Glove with thee,
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take it, and point thy bed of death,
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The field I meane where we must fight,
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and one or both lose life and breath.
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Weel meet neere Waltham, said Sir George,
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to morrow that shall be the day;
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Weel either take a single man,
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and try who beares the bell away:
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This done, together hands they shooke,
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and without any envious signe,
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They went to Ludgate, where they staid,
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and drunke each man a pint of Wine.
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No kind of anger could be seene,
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no words of malice might bewray,
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But all as faire, as calme, as coole,
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as love within their bosome lay:
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Till parting time, and then indeed,
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they shewd some rancour 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 valours throughly tryd;
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The second part shall briefly shew,
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both how they met, and how they dyd
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The second part, To the same tune.
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YOung Wharton was the first that came,
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to the pointed place on the next day,
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Who presently spyed Sir James comming
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as fast as he could post away:
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And being met in manly sort,
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the Scottish Knight did to Wharton say,
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I doe mislike thy Doublet George,
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it sits so cleare on thee this day.
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Hast thou no privie Armour on?
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nor yet no privie coat of steele?
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I nere saw Lord in all my life,
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become a Doublet halfe so weele;
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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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Ile not an armed man come hither,
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and thou a naked man truely.
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Our men shall rip our Doublets George,
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so shall we know whether of us doe lye,
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And then weele to our weapons sharpe,
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our selves true Gallants for to try:
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Then they slipt off their Doublets faire,
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standing up in their shirts of Lawne,
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Follow my counsell the Scottish Knight said,
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and Wharton to thee Ile make it knowne.
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Now follow my counsell, Ile follow thine,
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and weele fight in our shirts said he,
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Now nay, now nay, young Wharton said,
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Sir James Steward that may not be,
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Unlesse we were drunkards and quarrellers,
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that had no care over our sell,
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Not caring what we goe about,
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or whether our soules go to heaven or hell.
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Weele first to God bequeath our soules,
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then next our Corps to dust and clay:
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With that stout Wharton was the first
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tooke Rapier and Pontard there that day:
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Seven thrusts in turnes these Gallants had,
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before one drop of blood was drawne:
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The Scottish Knight then spake valiantly,
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stout Wharton still thou holdst thine owne.
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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 thicke of the thigh,
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thinking he had the Scottish Knight slaine,
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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 kill each other,
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ere off this ground that we doe flee:
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Then in a maze Sir George lookt backe,
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to see what company was nigh:
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They both had dangerous markes of death,
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yet neither would from the other fly.
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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 desperate deadly close,
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they both fell dead unto the ground:
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Our English Knight was first that fell,
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the Scottish Knight fell immediately:
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Who cryed both to Jesus Christ,
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receive our soules, O Lord, we dye.
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God blesse our noble King and Queene,
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and all their Noble Progenie,
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That Brittaine all may live in one,
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in love and perfect unitie.
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Thus to conclude, I make an 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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