THE BARNARDCASTLE TRAGEDY.

Tune—Constant Anthony.

Young men and maidens all, I pray you now attend,

Mark well this tragedy which you find here penn’d;

At Barnardcastle Bridge-end, an honest man lives there,

His calling grinding corn, for which few can compare.

He had a sister dear, in whom he took delight,

And Atkinson, his man, woo’d her both day and night;

Till thro’ process of time he chained fast her heart,

Which prov’d her overthrow, by Death’s surprising dart.

False-hearted Atkinson, with his deluding tongue,

And his fair promises, he’s this poor maid undone;

For when he found he’d caught her fast in Cupid’s snare,

Then made he all alike, Betty’s no more his dear.

Drinking was his delight, his senses sure to dose,

Keeping lewd company, when he should seek repose;

His money being spent, and they would tick no score,

Then with a face of brass, he ask’d poor Bett for more.

At length he met with one, a serving-maid in town,

Who for good ale and beer would often pawn her gown,

And at all-fours she’d play, as many people know,

A fairer gamester no man could ever show.

Tom Skelton, ostler at the King’s Arms does dwell,

Who this false Atkinson did all his secrets tell;

He let him understand of a new love he’d got,

And with an oath he swore, she’d keep full the pot.

Then for the girl they sent, Bett Hardy was her name,

Who to her mistress soon an excuse did frame;

Mistress, I have a friend at the King’s Arms doth stay,

Which I desire to see, before he goes away.

Then she goes to her friend, who she finds ready there,

Who catch’d her in his arms, how does my only dear?

She says, Boys drink about, and fear no reckonings large,

For she had pawn’d her smock, for to defray the charge.

They did carouse it off, till they began to warm,

Says Skelton, Make a match, I pray where’s the harm?

Then with a loving kiss they straightway did agree,

But they no money had, to give the priest a fee.

Quoth Skelton seriously, The priest’s fee is large,

I’ll marry you myself, and save you all the charge;

Then they plight their troth unto each other there,

Went two miles from the town, and go to bed we hear.

Then when the morning came, by breaking of the day,

He had some corn to grind, he could no longer stay;

My business is in haste, which I to thee do tell;

So took a gentle kiss, and bid his love farewell.

Now, when he was come home, and at his business there,

His master’s sister came, who was his former dear;

Betty, he said, I’m wed, certainly I protest;

Then she smile’d in his face, Sure you do but jest.

Then within few days space, his wife unto him went,

And to the sign o’ th’ Last, there she for him sent;

The people of the house, finding what was in hand,

Stept out immediately, and let Betty understand.

Now this surprising news caus’d her fall in a trance,

Like as if she was dead, no limbs she could advance;

Then her dear brother came, her from the ground he took;

And she spake up and said, O my poor heart is broke.

Then with all speed they went, for to undo her lace,

Whilst at her nose and mouth her heart’s blood ran apace:

Some stood half dead by her, others for help inquire,

But in a moment’s time her life it did expire.

False hearted lovers all, let this a warning be,

For it may well be called Betty Howson’s tragedy.

🖙 The above shews how one John Atkinson, of Morton, near Appleby, courted Betty Howson, of Barnardcastle Bridge-end; and, after having gained her affections, forsook her for another; upon which, she broke her heart and died.

A SONG
IN PRAISE OF THE DURHAM MILITIA.

Tune—The Lillies of France.

Militia boys for my theme I now chuse,

(Your aid I implore to assist me, my muse,)

Whilst here I relate of the Durham youths’ fame,

Who chearful appear’d when these new tidings came,

That to Barnardcastle they must march away,

Embody’d to be, without stop or delay.

What tho’ some cowards have betook them to flight,

And for their king and country scorn for to fight,

Yet we Durham boys, who jovial appear,

Right honest we’ll be, and we’ll banish all fear,

When head of the front, how martial we see

Our Colonel so brave, so gallant, and free.

Whose generous heart, by experience we know,

Why need we then dread along with him to go?

Then farewell, dear wives, and each kind sweetheart,

Pray do not repine that from you we must part;

But hark! the drums beat, and the fifes sweetly play,

We’re order’d to march now to Richmond straightway.

Where, clothed in red, and in purple attire,

Our exercise then shall be all our desire,

Which having acquir’d, then we’ll merrily sing,

Success to great George, and the Prussian king,

Likewise loyal Pitt, a statesman so bold,

Who scorns to be false, for interest or gold.

If then the Monsieurs should with their crafty guile,

E’er dare to molest us on Britain’s fair isle,

We’ll laugh at their fury, and malice so strong,

To Charon below how we’ll hurl them headlong.

Do they think that our muskets useless shall be,

When in numbers great, them advancing we see.

If they do, they’re mista’en, we’ll boldly proceed;

And conquer or die, ere ignobly we’ll yield;

Then crowned with laurel, (for vent’ring our lives)

Home then we’ll return to our sweethearts and wives,

What joy will be greater, our fame shall abound,

The bells then shall ring, and the trumpets shall sound.

Let each loyal Briton then fill up his glass,

For to drive care away, so round let it pass,

Drink a health to king George, who sits on his throne,

(Whose power the French to their sorrow have known,)

May the Heavens above preserve him from harm,

And ever defend him from foreign alarm.