VI.
GEORGE BARNWELL.
The subject of this ballad is sufficiently popular from the modern play which is founded upon it. This was written by _George Lillo_, a jeweller of London, and first acted about 1730.--As for the ballad it was printed at least as early as the middle of the last century.
It is here given from three old printed copies, which exhibit a strange intermixture of Roman and black letter. It is also collated with another copy in the _Ashmole Collection_ at Oxford, which is thus intitled, "An excellent ballad of _George Barnwell_, an apprentice of London, who ... thrice robbed his master and murdered his uncle in Ludlow." The tune is _The Merchant_.
This tragical narrative seems to relate a real fact; but when it happened I have not been able to discover.
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[Ritson writes as follows concerning certain improvements made by Percy in the following ballad (_Ancient Songs_, 1829, vol. ii. p. 165, note):--"Throughout this 'second part' (except in a single instance) the metre of the first line of each stanza is in the old editions lengthened by a couple of syllables, which are, occasionally at least, a manifest interpolation. The person also is for the most part changed from the first to the third, with evident impropriety. Dr. Percy has very ingeniously restored the measure by ejecting the superfluous syllables, and given consistency to the whole by the restoration of the proper person; and as it is now highly improbable that any further ancient copy will be found, and those which exist are manifestly corrupt, it seemed justifiable to adopt the judicious emendations of this ingenious editor."
Dr. Rimbault observes, "This curious tune (_The Merchant_) which has been quite overlooked by antiquaries, is found, together with the original ballad, _The Merchant and the Fiddler's Wife_, in D'Urfey's _Pills to Purge Melancholy_, vol. v. p. 77, edit. 1719."
The former great popularity of the story of the wicked young prentice is shown by James Smith's parody in the _Rejected Addresses_ and Thackeray's caricature romance--_George de Barnwell_.]
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THE FIRST PART.
All youths of fair Englànd That dwell both far and near, Regard my story that I tell, And to my song give ear.
A London lad I was, 5 A merchant's prentice bound; My name George Barnwell; that did spend My master many a pound.
Take heed of harlots then, And their enticing trains; 10 For by that means I have been brought To hang alive in chains.
As I, upon a day, Was walking through the street About my master's business, 15 A wanton I did meet.
A gallant dainty dame, And sumptuous in attire; With smiling look she greeted me, And did my name require. 20
Which when I had declar'd, She gave me then a kiss, And said, if I would come to her, I should have more than this.
Fair mistress, then quoth I, 25 If I the place may know, This evening I will be with you, For I abroad must go
To gather monies in, That are my master's due: 30 And ere that I do home return, I'll come and visit you.
Good Barnwell, then quoth she, Do thou to Shoreditch come, And ask for Mrs. Millwood's house, 35 Next door unto the Gun.
And trust me on my truth, If thou keep touch with me, My dearest friend, as my own heart Thou shall right welcome be. 40
Thus parted we in peace, And home I passed right; Then went abroad, and gathered in, By six o'clock at night,
An hundred pound and one: 45 With bag under my arm I went to Mrs. Millwood's house, And thought on little harm;
And knocking at the door, Straightway herself came down; 50 Rustling in most brave attire, With hood and silken gown.
Who, through her beauty bright, So gloriously did shine, That she amaz'd my dazzling eyes, 55 She seemed so divine.
She took me by the hand, And with a modest grace, Welcome, sweet Barnwell, then quoth she, Unto this homely place. 60
And since I have thee found As good as thy word to be: A homely supper, ere we part, Thou shalt take here with me.
O pardon me, quoth I, 65 Fair mistress, I you pray; For why, out of my master's house, So long I dare not stay.
Alas, good Sir, she said, Are you so strictly ty'd, 70 You may not with your dearest friend One hour or two abide?
Faith, then the case is hard: If it be so, quoth she, I would I were a prentice bound, 75 To live along with thee:
Therefore, my dearest George, List well what I shall say, And do not blame a woman much, Her fancy to bewray. 80
Let not affection's force Be counted lewd desire; Nor think it not immodesty, I should thy love require.
With that she turn'd aside, 85 And with a blushing red, A mournful motion she bewray'd By hanging down her head.
A handkerchief she had, All wrought with silk and gold: 90 Which she to stay her trickling tears Before her eyes did hold.
This thing unto my sight Was wondrous rare and strange; And in my soul and inward thought 95 It wrought a sudden change:
That I so hardy grew, To take her by the hand: Saying, Sweet mistress, why do you So dull and pensive stand? 100
Call me no mistress now, But Sarah, thy true friend, Thy servant, Millwood, honouring thee, Until her life hath end.
If thou wouldst here alledge, 105 Thou art in years a boy; So was Adonis, yet was he Fair Venus' only joy.
Thus I, who ne'er before Of woman found such grace, 110 But seeing now so fair a dame Give me a kind embrace,
I supt with her that night, With joys that did abound; And for the same paid presently, 115 In money twice three pound.
An hundred kisses then, For my farewel she gave; Crying, Sweet Barnwell, when shall I Again thy company have? 120
O stay not hence too long, Sweet George, have me in mind. Her words bewicht my childishness, She uttered them so kind:
So that I made a vow, 125 Next Sunday without fail, With my sweet Sarah once again To tell some pleasant tale.
When she heard me say so, The tears fell from her eye; 130 O George, quoth she, if thou dost fail, Thy Sarah sure will dye.
Though long, yet loe! at last, The appointed day was come, That I must with my Sarah meet; 135 Having a mighty sum
Of money in my hand,[426] Unto her house went I, Whereas my love upon her bed In saddest sort did lye. 140
What ails my heart's delight, My Sarah dear? quoth I; Let not my love lament and grieve, Nor sighing pine, and die.
But tell me, dearest friend, 145 What may thy woes amend, And thou shalt lack no means of help, Though forty pound I spend.
With that she turn'd her head, And sickly thus did say, 150 Oh me, sweet George, my grief is great, Ten pound I have to pay
Unto a cruel wretch; And God he knows, quoth she, I have it not. Tush, rise, I said, 155 And take it here of me.
Ten pounds, nor ten times ten, Shall make my love decay. Then from my bag into her lap, I cast ten pound straightway. 160
All blithe and pleasant then, To banqueting we go; She proffered me to lye with her, And said it should be so.
And after that same time, 165 I gave her store of coyn, Yea, sometimes fifty pound at once; All which I did purloyn.
And thus I did pass on; Until my master then 170 Did call to have his reckoning in Cast up among his men.
The which when as I heard, I knew not what to say: For well I knew that I was out 175 Two hundred pound that day.
Then from my master straight I ran in secret sort; And unto Sarah Millwood there My case I did report. 180
"But how she us'd this youth, In this his care and woe, And all a strumpet's wiley ways, The SECOND PART may showe."
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THE SECOND PART.
Young Barnwell comes to thee, Sweet Sarah, my delight; I am undone unless thou stand My faithful friend this night.
Our master to accompts, 5 Hath just occasion found; And I am caught behind the hand, Above two hundred pound:
And now his wrath to 'scape, My love, I fly to thee, 10 Hoping some time I may remaine In safety here with thee.
With that she knit her brows, And looking all aquoy,[427] Quoth she, What should I have to do 15 With any prentice boy?
And seeing you have purloyn'd Your master's goods away, The case is bad, and therefore here You shall no longer stay. 20
Why, dear, thou knowst, I said, How all which I could get, I gave it, and did spend it all Upon thee every whit.
Quoth she, Thou art a knave, 25 To charge me in this sort, Being a woman of credit fair, And known of good report:
Therefore I tell thee flat, Be packing with good speed; 30 I do defie thee from my heart, And scorn thy filthy deed.
Is this the friendship, that You did to me protest? Is this the great affection, which 35 You so to me exprest?
Now fie on subtle shrews! The best is, I may speed To get a lodging any where, For money in my need. 40
False woman, now farewell, Whilst twenty pound doth last, My anchor in some other haven With freedom I will cast.
When she perceiv'd by this, 45 I had store of money there: Stay, George, quoth she, thou art too quick: Why, man, I did but jeer:
Dost think for all my speech, That I would let thee go? 50 Faith no, said she, my love to thee I wiss is more than so.
You scorne a prentice boy, I heard you just now swear, Wherefore I will not trouble you.---- 55 ----Nay, George, hark in thine ear;
Thou shalt not go to-night, What chance so e're befall: But man we'll have a bed for thee, O else the devil take all. 60
So I by wiles bewitcht, And snar'd with fancy still, Had then no power to 'get' away, Or to withstand her will.
For wine on wine I call'd, 65 And cheer upon good cheer; And nothing in the world I thought For Sarah's love too dear.
Whilst in her company, I had such merriment; 70 All, all too little I did think, That I upon her spent.
A fig for care and thought! When all my gold is gone, In faith, my girl, we will have more, 75 Whoever I light upon.
My father's rich, why then Should I want store of gold? Nay with a father sure, quoth she, A son may well make bold. 80
I've a sister richly wed, I'll rob her ere I'll want. Nay, then quoth Sarah, they may well Consider of your scant.
Nay, I an uncle have; 85 At Ludlow he doth dwell: He is a grazier, which in wealth Doth all the rest excell.
Ere I will live in lack, And have no coyn for thee: 90 I'll rob his house, and murder him, Why should you not? quoth she:
Was I a man, ere I Would live in poor estate; On father, friends, and all my kin, 95 I would my talons grate.
For without money, George, A man is but a beast: But bringing money, thou shalt be Always my welcome guest. 100
For shouldst thou be pursued With twenty hues and cryes, And with a warrant searched for With Argus' hundred eyes,
Yet here thou shalt be safe; 105 Such privy ways there be, That if they sought an hundred years, They could not find out thee.
And so carousing both Their pleasures to content: 110 George Barnwell had in little space His money wholly spent.
Which done, to Ludlow straight He did provide to go, To rob his wealthy uncle there; 115 His minion would it so.
And once he thought to take His father by the way, But that he fear'd his master had Took order for his stay[428]. 120
Unto his uncle then He rode with might and main, Who with a welcome and good cheer, Did Barnwell entertain.
One fortnight's space he stayed, 125 Until it chanced so, His uncle with his cattle did Unto a market go.
His kinsman rode with him, Where he did see right plain, 130 Great store of money he had took: When coming home again,
Sudden within a wood, He struck his uncle down, And beat his brains out of his head; 135 So sore he crackt his crown.
Then seizing fourscore pound, To London straight he hyed, And unto Sarah Millwood all The cruell fact descryed. 140
Tush,'tis no matter, George, So we the money have To have good cheer in jolly sort, And deck us fine and brave.
Thus lived in filthy sort, 145 Until their store was gone: When means to get them any more, I wis, poor George, had none.
Therefore in railing sort, She thrust him out of door: 150 Which is the just reward of those, Who spend upon a whore.
O! do me not disgrace In this my need, quoth he She call'd him thief and murderer, 155 With all the spight might be:
To the constable she sent, To have him apprehended; And shewed how far, in each degree, He had the laws offended. 160
When Barnwell saw her drift, To sea he got straightway; Where fear and sting of conscience Continually on him lay.
Unto the lord mayor then, 165 He did a letter write; In which his own and Sarah's fault He did at large recite.
Whereby she seized was, And then to Ludlow sent: 170 Where she was judg'd, condemn'd, and hang'd, For murder incontinent.
There dyed this gallant quean, Such was her greatest gains: For murder in Polonia, 175 Was Barnwell hang'd in chains.
Lo! here's the end of youth, That after harlots haunt; Who in the spoil of other men, About the streets do flaunt. 180
FOOTNOTES:
[426] The having a sum of money with him on Sunday, &c. shews this narrative to have been penned before the civil wars: the strict observance of the sabbath was owing to the change of manners at that period.
[427] [coy, shy.]
[428] _i.e._ for stopping, and apprehending him at his father's.