Ballad from the Norman French.* By J. G. Lockhart, Esq. Here beginneth a Song which was made in the Wood of Bel-Regard by a Good Companion, who put himself there to eschew the horrible Cruelties of the Justices Trail-Baston. IN rhyme I clothe derision, my fancy takes thereto, An guard not God and Holy Dame, 'tis war that must ensue. I mean the articles abhorred of this their Trail-baston;† Except the king himself our lord, God send his malison On the devisers of the same: cursed be they every one, For full they be of sinful blame, and reason have they none. The original of this ballad, which is of the time of Edward I. has been published by the Roxburghe Club. The Court of Trail-baston took its name, according to Lord Coke, from the rapidity of its judgments, "which equalled that of a blow with a baton." Sir, if my boy offend me now, and I my hand but lift To teach him by a cuff or two what's governance and thrift: This rascal vile his bill doth file, attaches me of wrong; Forsooth, find bail, or lie in gaol, and rot the rogues among. 'Tis forty pennies that they ask, a ransom fine for me; And twenty more ('tis but a score) for my Lord Sheriff's fee: Else of his deepest dungeon the darkness I must dree; Is this of justice, masters ?-Behold my case and see. Away, then, to the greenwood! to the pleasant shade away! There evil none of law doth wonne, nor harmful per jury. I'll to the wood of Bel-regard, where freely flies the jay, And without fail the nightingale is chaunting of her lay. But for that cursed dozen, God shew them small pitie ! Of wicked thefts and robberies and other felonie, friends to be. In peace and war my service my lord the king hath ta'en, In Flanders, and in Scotland, and in Gascoyne his domain; But now I'll never, while I wis, be mounted man again, To pleasure such a man as this I've spent much time in vain. But if these cursed jurors do not amend them so Their menacings, and all such things, them to the winds I throw. The Martin and the Neville are worthy folk indeed; Their prayers are sure, albeit we're poor-salvation be their meed! But for Belflour and Spigurnel, they are a cruel seed; God send them in my keeping-ha! they should not soon be freed! I'd teach them well this noble game of Trail-baston to know; On every chine I'd stamp the same, and every nape also; These were the four first judges of this court, O'er every inch in all their frame I'd make my cudgel go; To lop their tongues I'd think no shame, nor yet their lips to sew. The man that did begin it first, without redemption He is for evermore accurst-he never can atone: Great sin is his, I tell ye true, for many an honest man For fear hath joined the outlaws' crew, since these new laws began. There's many a wildwood thief this hour was peaceful man whil'ere, The fear of prison hath such power even guiltless breast to scare: 'Tis this which maketh many a one to sleep beneath the tree; And he that these new laws begun, the curse of God take he! Ye merchants, and ye wandering freres, ye well may curse with me, For ye are painful travellers, while laws like these shall be ; The king's broad letter in your hand but little can bestead, For he perforce must bid men stand, that hath nor home nor bread. All ye who are indicted! I pray you come to me To the greenwood, the pleasant wood, where's neither suit nor plea, But only the wild creatures and many a spreading tree For there's little in the common law but doubt and misery. If at your need you've skill to read, you're summon'd ne'er the less To shew your lore the Bench before, and great is your redress; Clerk the most clerkly though thou be, expect the same penance: 'Tis true a Bishop turns the key: God grant deliverance! In honesty I speak-for me, I'd rather sleep beneath The canopy of the green tree, yea, on the naked heath, Than lie even in a Bishop's vault for many a weary day; And he that 'twixt such choice would halt, he is a fool I say. I had a name that none could blame, but that is lost and gone, For lawyer-tricks have made me mix with people that have none. |