V.

Then after several wonders past, To Yorkshire all return at last, And in a coal pit they are cast-- Oh, won'ous Mother Shipton! Yet she redeems them every soul: And here's the moral of the whole-- 'Tis Mother Shipton brings the cole: Oh, charming Mother Shipton!

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 137: Exhibited in the Pantomime which was performed Covent Garden in the year 1770.]

BOLD NEVISON, THE HIGHWAYMAN.[138]

William Nevison was born in Yorkshire, though the place is uncertain; some say at Nevison hall, in Upsall, near Thirsk, others, at Pontefract and Wortley. He was notorious during the reign of Charles II., and was named by the "merry monarch" _Swift Nick_. After committing a robbery in London, about sunrise, he rode his mare to York in the course of the day, and appeared upon the Bowling-green of that city before sunset. From this latter circumstance, when brought to trial for the offence, he established an _alibi_ to the satisfaction of the jury, though he was in reality guilty. But, though he escaped this time, he was afterwards apprehended in a public-house at Sandal-three-Houses, near Wakefield, for another offence, convicted and hanged at York, May 4th, 1685. "Thus it was related," says lord Macaulay in his "History of England," "of William Nevison, the great robber of the north of Yorkshire, that he levied a quarterly tribute on all the northern drovers, and in return not only spared them himself, but protected them against all other thieves; that he demanded purses in the most courteous manner; that he gave largely to the poor what he had taken from the rich; that his life was once spared by the royal clemency, but that he again tempted his fate, and at length died, in 1685, on the gallows at York."

Did you ever hear tell of that hero, Bold Nevison that was his name? He rode about like a bold hero, And with that he gained great fame.

He maintained himself like a gentleman, Besides he was good to the poor; He rode about like a bold hero, And he gain'd himself favour therefore.

Oh the Twenty-first day of last month, Proved an unfortunate day; Captain Milton was riding to London, And by mischance he rode out of his way.

He call'd at a house by the road-side, It was the sign of the Magpie, Where Nevison he sat a drinking, And the captain soon did he espy.

Then a constable very soon was sent for, And a constable very soon came; With three or four more in attendance, With pistols charged in the king's name.

They demanded the name of this hero, "My name it is Johnson," said he, When the captain laid hold of his shoulder, Saying, "Nevison thou goeth with me."

Oh! then in this very same speech, They hastened him fast away; To a place call'd Swinnington bridge, A place where he used to stay.

They call'd for a quart of good liquor, It was the sign of the Black Horse, Where there was all sorts of attendance, But for Nevison it was the worst.

He call'd for a pen, ink, and paper, And these were the words that he said, "I will write for some boots, shoes, and stockings, For of them I have very great need."

'Tis now before my lord judge, Oh! guilty or not do you plead; He smiled into the judge and jury, And these were the words that he said,

"I've now robb'd a gentleman of two pence, I've neither done murder nor kill'd, But guilty I've been all my life time, So gentlemen do as you will.

"Its when that I rode on the highway I've always had money in great store; And whatever I took from the rich I freely gave it to the poor.

"But my peace I have made with my Maker, And with you I'm quite ready to go; So here's adieu! to this world and its vanities, For I'm ready to suffer the law."

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 138: To Edward Hailstone, esq., F. S. A., F. G. S., &c. of Horton hall, Bradford, I am greatly indebted for the above, and also for the following _broadsides_, from his valuable collection of Yorkshire lore:--The Sheffield 'Prentice, The Great Exhibition, Bill Brown, The Funny Wedding, The Crafty Plough Boy, Miss Bailey's Ghost, The Yorkshire Lad in London, Spencer Broughton, and The Bonny Scotch Lad.]

ROSEBERRY TOPPING.

Roseberry, or Rosebury Topping, originally, it is said, called "Ottenberg," is a conical hill, situated at the north-west angle of the Eastern moorlands known as the Cleveland hills, near the village of Newton, about one mile to the east of the road from Guisbro' to Stokesley. It is about 1488 feet above the level of the sea, and, by its detatched position and superior elevation, it commands in all directions a prospect at once extensive and interesting, and serves as a land-mark to navigators.

Upon the top of the hill issues, from a large rock, a fountain of very clear water, to which the following very ancient tradition is connected. When king Oswald of Northumberland's son, Oswald, was born, the wise men and magicians were sent for to court, to predict and foretell the life and fortune of the newborn prince; they all agreed that he would when half a year old be drowned. The indulgent maternal queen would have carried him to Chiviot, a remarkable hill in their own county, but for the troubles then subsisting in the north; she, therefore, for his better security, brought him to a lofty hill in peaceful Cleveland, called Roseberry, and caused a cell or cave to be made near the top thereof, in order to prevent his foretold unhappy death. But, alas! in vain; for the fates, who spare nobody, dissolved the rugged rocks into a flowing stream, and, by drowning the son, put a period to all the mother's cares, though not her sorrows; for ordering him to be interred in Tivotdale (Osmotherley) church, she mourned with such inconsolable grief that she soon followed him, and was, according to her fervent desire, laid by her tenderly-beloved, darling child. The heads of the mother and son, cut in stone, may be seen at the east end of the church; and from a saying of the people, "Os by his mother lay," Tivotdale got the name of Osmotherley.

Ah! why do the walls of the castle to-day, No longer resound with the strains of delight? And why does the harp of the minstrel so gay, Now rest in the gloom and the stillness of night?

But late as I travers'd these vallies long, How high 'mid the air stream'd the banners of joy! While the birth of prince Oswin, the boast of the song, Gave mirth to each heart, as it beam'd in each eye.

What stranger art thou, who, in Cleveland so fair, Of the fate of prince Oswin canst yet be untold? How an old hoary sage had foreshown the young heir By water should die when but half a year old!

His mother, all eager her offspring to save, To Ottenberg high, with the morn did repair, Still hoping to rescue her son from the grave, For well did she know that no water was there.

But how powerless and vain is a mortal's design, Opposed to that will which can never recede; Who shall pull down the bright orb of heaven divine, And raise up a meteor his rays to exceed?

Fatigued, and by ceaseless exertion opprest, At length they arrive near the brow of the hill, In whose shades on the moss they resign them to rest, Now fearless of fate as unconscious of ill.

Not long in soft slumbers the fond mother lay, Ere arous'd by a dream which dire horrors betide, But, O God, who can paint her wild grief and dismay, When she saw her lov'd baby lie drown'd by her side!

On the proud steep of Ottenberg still may be found, That spring which arose his sad doom to complete; And oft on its verge sit the villagers round, In wonder recording the fiat of fate.

For this do the walls of the castle to-day, No longer resound with the strains of delight; And for this does the harp of the bard once so gay, Now rest in the gloom of the stillness of night.[139]

FOOTNOTE:

[Footnote 139: "The editor is indebted for a copy of the above ballad to the obliging kindness of Dr. Rooke, of Scarborough." YORKSHIRE ANTHOLOGY, by James O. Halliwell, esq., F. R. S., F. S. A. _Printed for private circulation only_. London, 1851. To which work I am much indebted.]

THE CRUEL STEP-MOTHER; OR, THE

UNHAPPY SON.

Giving 1, an account of squire Brown, of York, who had one only son; and how his lady fell sick, and on her death-bed begged of him not to marry for the sake of her child.

2. How he soon married a rich widow, who was very cruel to his son; and how his uncle died, and left him an estate of two hundred pounds a year.

3. How his step-mother sent him away for the sake of his money, by taking a ring from his father and putting it in the boy's pocket; for which his father sent him to sea, and the ship was taken by the Spaniards, and he made a slave of.

4. How the ghost of his mother came to this cruel wretch, and told his father of the ring; and how afterwards his father fell into despair, and hanged himself; and his son came home again, went to law with his step-mother, got five hundred pounds from her, which broke her heart.

To the tune of "_Aim not too high_."