The street ballad-singers were irrepressible. They were the more audacious as they often sang words which were innocent in their expression, but mischievous by right application. The Jacobites were ever apt at fitting old words and tunes to new circumstances. There was a song which was originally written in praise of the Duke of Monmouth. That song which lauded the unhappy nephew of James II. was now revived in honour of that king’s son. ‘Young Jemmy’ was to be heard at the corner of many a street. Groups of listeners and sympathisers gathered round the minstrel who metrically proclaimed that
Young Jemmy is a lad that’s royally descended,
With ev’ry virtue clad, by ev’ry tongue commended.
A German gentleman, who subsequently published his experiences, was astonished at the remissness or lenity of the magistrates generally, but especially towards one arch-offender who, by song, furthered the Pretender’s interests at the corner of Cranbourne Alley. ‘There a fellow stands eternally bawling out his Pye Corner pastorals in behalf of dear Jemmy, lovely Jemmy,’ &c.
POLITICAL SONGS.
The writer adds, in sarcastic allusion to nobler personages who were said to have the Chevalier’s commission in some secret drawer—‘I have been credibly informed this man has actually in his pocket a commission under the Pretender’s Great Seal, constituting him his Ballad-Singer in Ordinary in Great Britain; and that his ditties are so well-worded that they often poison the minds of many well-meaning people; that this person is not more industrious with his tongue in behalf of his master, than others are at the same time busy with their fingers among the audience; and the monies collected in this manner are among those mighty remittances the Post Boy so frequently boasts of being made to the Chevalier.’
The ballad, however, of ‘Young Jemmy’ did not mar the popularity of ‘The king shall enjoy his own again.’ The Jacobites knew no king but James III. It was he who was referred to when the singers vociferated
The man in the moon may wear out his shoon
By running after Charles’s wain;
But all to no end, for the times will not mend