A Lamentable Ballad of a Combate lately Fought, near London, between
Sir James Steward, and Sir George Wharton, Knights; who were both slain
near Waltham.
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 call'd,
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the good Lord Whartons Son and Heir,
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The other St James, a Scotish 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 blood,
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he struck young Wharton o're 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 ne'r report.
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Why, do thy worst, then said Sir James,
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and mark me, Wharton, what I say,
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There's ne'r a Lord in England breathes,
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shall make me give an inch of way.
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This brag's too brave, stout Wharton said,
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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 blood and mind's too base 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 make't 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 mak'st shew of e're could rest;
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I enterchange my glove with thee,
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take it, and point 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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We'll meet near Waltham, said Sir George,
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tomorrow, that shall be the day,
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We'll either take a single man,
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and try who bears the bell away.
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This done, together 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 bosoms lay,
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Till parting-time, and then indeed
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they shew'd some rancor of their hearts,
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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 lo they parted both resolv'd
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to have their valour fully try'd;
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The Second Part shall briefly show,
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both how they met, and how they dy'd.
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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 'spy'd Sir James coming
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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 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 today:
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Hast thou no privy armour on,
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nor yet no privy coat of steel?
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I ne'er saw Lord in all my life
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become 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'll not an armed Man come hither,
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and 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 we'll 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 I'll make known:
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Now follow my counsel, I'll follow thine,
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and we'll 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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Unless we were Drunkards and Quarrelers,
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that had no care of our sell,
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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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We'll 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 one drop of blood was drawn,
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The Scottish Knight then spake valiantly,
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Stout Wharton still thou holdst thy own.
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With the next that Wharton thrust,
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he ran him through the shoulder-bone,
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The next was through the thick o' th' thigh,
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thinking he had the Scotch Knight slain.
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Then Wharton said to the Scotch 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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e're 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 upon 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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Now God bless our most noble 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 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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