An Excellent Ballad of that most Dreadful COMBATE,
FOUGHT
Between Moore of Moore-hall, and the Dragon of Wantley.
To a Pleasant Tune much in Request.
Licens'd and Enter'd according to Order.
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OLD stories tell how Hercules,
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a dragon slew at Lerma,
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With seven heads and fourteen eyes,
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to see and well discern-a;
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But he had a club,
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This dragon to drub,
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or he had ne'r don't, I warrant ye:
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But moore of moore-hall,
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With nothing at all,
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he slew the dragon of Wantley.
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This dragon had two furious wings,
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each one upon each shoulder,
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With a sting in his tail, as long as a flail,
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which made him bolder and bolder;
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He had long claws,
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And in his jaws,
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four and forty teeth of iron;
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With a hide as tough,
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As any buff,
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which did him round inviron.
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Have you not heard that the trojan horse,
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held seventy men in his belly?
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This dragon was not quite so big,
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but very near, I tell ye:
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Devour did he,
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Poor children three,
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that could not with him grapple;
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And at one sup,
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He eat them up,
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[As a man wou]ld ea[t a]n apple.
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All sorts of cattle this dragon did eat,
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some say he did eat up trees,
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And that the forrest sure he would
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devour up by degrees:
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For houses and churches,
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Were to him geese and turkies:
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eat all, and left none behind,
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But some stones, dear Jack,
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Which he could not crack,
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which on the hills you will find.
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In Yorkshire, near fair Rotheram,
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the place I know it well,
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Some two or three miles, or thereabouts,
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I vow I cannot tell;
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But there is a hedge,
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Just on the hill-edge,
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and Matthew's house hard by it;
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Oh! there and then,
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Was this dragon's den,
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you could not chuse but spy it.
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Some say this dragon was a witch,
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some say he was a devil,
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For from his nose a smoke arose,
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and with his burning snivil,
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Which he cast off
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When he did cough,
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in a well that he did stand by,
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Which made it look,
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Just like a brook,
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running with burning brandy.
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Hard by a furious knight there dwelt,
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of whom all towns did ring;
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For he could wrestle play at quarter-staff, kick, cuff, huff,
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call son of a whore, do any kind of thing:
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By the tail and the main,
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With his hands twain,
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he s[wun]g a horse till he was dead:
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And what is stranger,
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He for very anger,
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eat him all up but his head.
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These children, as I told being eat,
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men, women, girls and boys,
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Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging,
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and made a hedious noise:
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Oh! save us all,
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Moore of moore-hall,
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thou peerless knight of these woods!
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Do but slay this dragon,
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We won't leave us a rag on,
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we'll give thee all our goods.
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Tut, tut, quoth he, no goods I want,
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but I want, I want in sooth,
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A fair maid of sixteen, that's brisk,
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and smiles about the mouth:
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Hair as black as a sloe,
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Both above and below,
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with a blush her cheeks adorning,
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To 'noint me o're night,
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E're I go to fight,
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and to dress me in the morning.
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This being done he did engage
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to hew this dragon down:
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But first he went new armour to
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bespeak at Sheffield town;
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With spikes all about,
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Not within, but without,
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of steel so sharp and strong,
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Both behind and before,
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Arms, legs all o're,
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some five or six inches long.
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Had you seen him in this dress,
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how fierce he look'd, and how big,
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You would have thought him for to be
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an Egyptian porcupig:
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He frighted all,
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Cats, dogs and all;
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each cow, each horse, and each hog,
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For fear did flee,
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For they took him to be
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some strange outlandish hedge-hog.
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To see this fight all people there
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got upon trees and houses,
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On churches some, and chimneys too,
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but they put on their trouzes.
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Not to spoil their hose:
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As soon as he rose,
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to make him strong and mighty.
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He drank by the tale,
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Six pots of ale,
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and a quart of Aqua-vitae.
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It is not strength that always wins,
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for wit doth strength excel,
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Which made our cunning champion
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creep down into a well,
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Where he did think,
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This dragon would drink,
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and so he did in truth;
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And as he stoop[']d low,
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He rose up and cry'd, Boh,
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and hit him in the mouth.
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Oh! quoth the dragon, pox take you, come out,
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thou that disturb'st my drink;
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And then he turn'd and shit at him:
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Good-lack, how he did stink!
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Beshrew thy soul,
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Thy body is foul,
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thy dung smells not like balsam:
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Thou son of a whore,
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Thou stink'st so sore,
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sure thy diet it is unwholsome.
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Our politick knight on the other side,
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crept out upon the brink,
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And gave the dragon such a doust,
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he knew not what to think:
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By cock, quoth he;
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Say you so, do you see?
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and then at him he let fly
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With hand and with foot,
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And so they went to't,
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and the word it was, hey boys, hey.
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Your words, quoth th' dragon, I don't understand,
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then to it they fell at all,
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Like two wild boars so fierce, I may
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compare great things with small:
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Two days and a night,
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With this dragon did fight,
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our champion on the ground;
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Tho' their strength it was great,
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Yet their skill it was neat,
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they never had one wound.
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At length the hard earth began to quake,
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the dragon gave him such a knock,
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Which made him to reel, and straight he thought
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to lift him as high as a rock,
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And thence let him fall;
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But moore of moore-hall,
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like a valiant Son of Mars,
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As he came like a lout,
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So he turn'd him about,
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and hit him a kick on the arse.
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Oh! quoth the dragon with a sigh,
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and turn'd six times together,
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Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing,
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out of his throat of leather:
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Moore of moore-hall,
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Oh! thou rascal,
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would I had seen thee never,
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With the thing at thy Foot,
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Thou hast prick'd my arse-gut;
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oh! I am quite undone forever.
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Murder, murder, the Dragon cry'd,
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alack, alack, for grief,
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Had you but mist that place, you could
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have done me no mischief:
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Then his head he shak'd,
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Trembl'd and quak'd,
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and down he laid and cry'd,
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First on one knee,
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Then on back tumbl'd he,
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so groan'd, kick'd, shit, and dy'd.
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