THE CRUEL KNIGHT.
Or, the Fortunate Farmer's Daughter.
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IN famous York City a farmer did dwell,
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Who was belov'd by his neighbours well,
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He had a wife that was virtuous and fair,
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And by her he had a young child ev'ry year.
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In seven years time six children he had,
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Which made their parents hearts full glad;
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But in a short time, as we did hear say,
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The farmer in wealth and stock did decay.
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Tho' that once he had riches in store,
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In a little time he grew very poor,
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He strove all he could, but, alas! could not thrive,
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He hardly could keep his children alive.
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The children came faster than silver or gold,
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For his wife conceiv'd again as we are told,
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And when the time came, in labour she fell,
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But if you will mind, an odd story I'll tell.
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A noble rich knight by chance did ride by,
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And hearing this woman to shriek and cry,
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He being well learn'd in the planets and signs,
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Did look in his book, which puzzled his mind.
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For the more he did look, the more he did read,
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And found that fate the child had decreed,
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Who was born in that house the very same tide,
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He found it was she that must be his bride.
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But judge how the knight was disturbed in mind,
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When he in that book his fortune did find,
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He quickly rode home, and was sorely oppress'd,
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From that sad moment he could take no rest.
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At night he did toss and tumble in his bed,
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And very strange projects came into his head,
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Then he resolv'd and soon try'd indeed,
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To alter the fortune he found was decreed.
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With a vexing heart next morning he 'rose,
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And to the house of the farmer he goes,
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And ask'd the man, with a heart full of spite,
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If the child was alive that was born the last night?
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Worthy sir, said the farmer, although I am poor,
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I had one born last night, and six born before,
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Four sons and three daughters I now have alive,
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They are all in good health and likely to thrive.
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The knight reply'd, if that seven you have,
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Let me have the youngest, I'll keep it most brave,
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For you very well one daughter may spare,
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And when I die I'll make her my heir.
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For I am a knight of a noble degree,
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And if you will part with your child unto me,
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Full three thousand pounds I'll unto thee give,
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When I from your hands your daughter receive.
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The father and mother with tears in their eyes,
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Did hear this kind offer, and were in a surprize,
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And seeing the knight was so noble and gay,
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Presented the infant unto him that day.
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But they spoke to him with words most mild,
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We beseech thee, good sir, be kind to our child,
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You need not mind, the knight he did say,
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I will maintain her both gallant and gay.
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So with this sweet babe away he did ride,
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Until he came to a broad river's side,
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Being cruelly bent, he resolved indeed,
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To drown the young infant that day with speed.
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Saying, if you live, you must be my wife,
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So I am resolved to bereave you of life,
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For till you are dead, I no comfort can have,
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Therefore you shall lie in a watery grave.
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In saying of this, that moment, they say,
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He flung the babe into the river straigtway,
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And being well pleas'd, when this he had done,
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He leap'd on his horse, and straight he rode home.
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But mind how good fortune for her did provide,
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She was drove right on her back by the tide,
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Where a man was a fishing, as fortune would have,
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When she was floating along with the waves.
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He took her up, but was in amaze,
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He kiss'd her, he press'd her, and on her did gaze,
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And he never having a child in his life,
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He straightway did carry her home to his wife.
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His wife was pleased the child for to see,
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And said, my dear husband, be ruled by me,
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Since we have no child, if you'll let me alone,
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We will keep this, and nurse it, and call it our own.
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The good man consented, as we have been told,
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And spared for neither silver nor gold:
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Until she was eleven full years,
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And then her beauty began to appear.
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The fisherman was one day at an inn,
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And several gentlemen drinking with him,
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His wife sent this girl to call her husband home,
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But when she into the drinking room come,
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The gentlemen there were amazed to see,
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The fisherman's daughter so full of beauty,
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They ask'd him then, if she was his own,
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And he told them the story before he went home.
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As I was a fishing, within my own bounds,
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One Monday morning, this sweet babe I found,
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Or else she had laid in a watery grave,
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And this was the account which he then gave.
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The cruel knight was in the company,
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And hearing the fisherman tell his story,
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He was vex'd at the heart to see her alive,
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And how to destroy her he again did contrive.
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Then spoke the knight, and unto him said,
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If you will but part with this sweet maid,
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I'll give you whatever your heart can devise,
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For she in time to great riches may rise.
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The fisherman answer'd, with a modest grace,
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I cannot unless my dear were in the place,
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Get first her consent, you shall have mine of me.
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And then to go with you, sir, she is free.
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The wife she did also as freely consent,
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But little they thought of his intent,
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He kept her a month very bravely, they say,
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And then he contrived to send her away.
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[He had a great brother in Lancashire
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A noble man worth ten thousand a year]
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A[nd he sent this girl unto him wit]h spe[ed]
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In hopes he would act a most cruel deed.
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He sent a man with her likewise, they say,
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But as they did lodge at an inn on the way,
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A thief in the house with an evil intent,
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To rob the portmanteau immediately went.
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But the thief was amaz'd when he could not find,
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Neither silver nor gold, nor ought to his mind,
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But only a letter, the which he did read,
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And soon put an end to this tragical deed.
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The knight had wrote to his brother that day,
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To make this poor innocent damsel away
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With sword or with poison that very same night,
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And not let her live till morning light.
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The thief read the letter, and had so much grace,
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To tear it, and wrote in the very same place,
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Dear brother, receive this maiden from me,
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And bring her up well as a maiden should be.
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Let her be esteemed, dear brother, I pray,
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Let servants attend her by night and by day,
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For she is a lady of noble worth,
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A nobler lady ne'er liv'd in the North.
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Let her have good learning, dear brother, I pray,
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And for the same I'll sufficiently pay,
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And so, loving brother, this letter I send,
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Subscribing myself your dear brother and friend.
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The servant and maid were still innocent,
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And onward their journey next day they went,
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Before sun-set to the knight's house they came,
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Where the servant left her and came home again,
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The girl was attended most nobly indeed,
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With the servants to attend her with speed,
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Where she did continue a twelvemonths space,
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'Till this cruel knight came to this place.
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As he and his brother together did talk,
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He 'spy'd the young maid in the garden to walk,
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She look'd most beautiful, pleasant and gay,
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Like to sweet Aurora, or the goddess of May.
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He was in a passion when her he did spy,
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This knight could have kill'd her if he had been nigh,
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Did you not do as in the letter I writ?
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His brother reply'd it is done ev'ry bit.
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No, no, said the knight, it is not so I see,
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Therefore she shall back again go with me.
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But his brother shew'd him the letter that day,
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Then he was amaz'd, but nothing did say,
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Soon after the knight took this maiden away,
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And with her did ride till they came to the sea,
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Then looking upon her with anger and spite,
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He spoke to this maiden and bid her alight.
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The maid from the horse immediately went,
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And trembling to think what was his intent,
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Ne'er tremble, said he, for this hour is your last,
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So pull off your cloaths, I command you in haste.
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This virgin, with tears, on her knees did reply,
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Oh! what have I done, sir, that now I must die?
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Oh! let me but know how I offend,
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I'll study each hour to make you amends.
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Ah! spare my life, and I'll wander forlorn,
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And never come near you while I have breath,
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He hearing the pitiful moan she did make,
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Straight from his finger a ring he did take.
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[He then to this maiden these words he did say,
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This ring into the water I'll now throw away;
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Pray look on it well for the posy is plain;
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Tha]t you [when you see it you may know it again,]
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I charg[e you for life never come in my sight,]
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For if you do [I sh]al[l o]w[e you a spite]
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Unless you do bring the [same unto] m[e.]
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With that he let the ring d[eep into] the [sea.]
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Which when he had done, [aw]ay he [did go,]
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And left her to wander in sorrow and w[oe,]
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She rambl'd all night, and at length did espy,
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A homely poor cottage, and to it did hie.
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Being hungry and cold, & her heart full of grief,
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She went to this cottage to ask for relief,
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The people reliev'd her, and the next day,
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They got her a service, as I did hear say,
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At a nobleman's house, not far from the place,
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Where she did behave with a modest grace,
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She was a cook-maid, and forgot all times past,
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But observe the wonder that comes at last.
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As she a fish dinner was dressing one day,
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And open'd the head of a cod, as they say,
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She found such a ring, and was in amaze,
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And she in great wonder upon it did gaze.
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And viewing it well, she found it to be,
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The very same ring the knight dropt in the sea.
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She smil'd when she saw it and blest her kind fate,
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But did to no creature the secret relate.
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This maid in her place did all maidens excel,
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That the lady took notice and liked her well,
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Saying she was born of some noble degree,
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And took her for her companion to be.
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This beautiful lady in trappings of gold,
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The knight seeing her he began to look cool,
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Then he ask'd the lady to grant him a boon,
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And said, it was to walk with that virgin alone.
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The lady consenting, telling the young maid,
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By him she need not fear to be betray'd,
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When he first met her, thou strumpet said he,
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Did I not charge thee never to see me?
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This hour is your last, to the world bid good night,
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For being so bold to appear in my sight;
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Said she, in the sea, sir, you flung in your ring,
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And bid me not see you, unless I did bring
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The same unto you; Now I have it, cries she,
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Behold its the same which you flung in the sea.
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When the knight saw it he flew to her arms,
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And said thou hast a million of charms,
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Said he, charming creature, pray pardon me,
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Who often contrived the ruin of thee.
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in vain to alter what heaven doth decree,
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For I find you are born my wife to be,
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Then wedded they were, as I did hear say,
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And now she's a lady both gallant and gay.
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They quickly unto her parents did haste,
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Where the knight told the story of what had past,
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But ask'd their pardon upon his bare knee,
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Who gave it, and rejoic'd their daughter to see.
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Then they for the fisherman and his wife sent,
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And for their past troubles did them content,
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So there was joy unto all them that did see,
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The farmer's young daughter a lady to be.
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