The farmer was pleased when he heard of the news,
With heart full of joy to the lady he goes:
‘Dear, honoured lady, I’ve picked up your glove,
And hope you’ll be pleased to grant me your love.’
‘It’s already granted, I will be your bride;
I love the sweet breath of a farmer,’ she cried.
‘I’ll be mistress of my dairy, and milking my cow,
While my jolly brisk farmer is whistling at plough.’
And when she was married she told of her fun,
How she went a hunting with her dog and gun:
‘And now I’ve got him so fast in my snare,
I’ll enjoy him for ever, I vow and declare!’
KING JAMES I. AND THE TINKLER. [72a]
(TRADITIONAL.)
[This ballad of King James I. and the Tinkler was probably written either in, or shortly after, the reign of the monarch who is the hero. The incident recorded is said to be a fact, though the locality is doubtful. By some the scene is laid at Norwood, in Surrey; by others in some part of the English border. The ballad is alluded to by Percy, but is not inserted either in the Reliques, or in any other popular collection. It is to be found only in a few broadsides and chap-books of modern date. The present version is a traditional one, taken down, as here given, from the recital of the late Francis King. [72b] It is much superior to the common broadside edition with which it has been collated, and from which the thirteenth and fifteenth verses were obtained. The ballad is very popular on the Border, and in the dales of Cumberland, Westmoreland, and Craven. The late Robert Anderson, the Cumbrian bard, represents Deavie, in his song of the Clay Daubin, as singing The King and the Tinkler.]
And now, to be brief, let’s pass over the rest,
Who seldom or never were given to jest,
And come to King Jamie, the first of our throne,
A pleasanter monarch sure never was known.
As he was a hunting the swift fallow-deer,
He dropped all his nobles; and when he got clear,
In hope of some pastime away he did ride,
Till he came to an alehouse, hard by a wood-side.
And there with a tinkler he happened to meet,
And him in kind sort he so freely did greet:
‘Pray thee, good fellow, what hast in thy jug,
Which under thy arm thou dost lovingly hug?’
‘By the mass!’ quoth the tinkler, ‘it’s nappy brown ale,
And for to drink to thee, friend, I will not fail;
For although thy jacket looks gallant and fine,
I think that my twopence as good is as thine.’