"A ballad-monger is the ignominious nickname of a penurious poet, of whom he partakes in nothing but in povertie. He has a singular gift of imagination, for he can descant on a man's execution long before his confession. Nor comes his invention far short of his imagination. For want of truer relations, for a neede, he can finde you out a Sussex dragon, some sea or inland monster, drawne out by some Shoe-lane man in a Gorgon-like feature, to enforce more horror in the beholder."
The chief of the ballad-writers were William Elderton, Thomas Deloney, Richard Johnson, and Anthony Munday. Elderton was known as the prince of ballad-mongers; but, unfortunately, he was as notorious for his love of the bottle, and he is said to have drunk himself to death before the year 1592. Camden tells us that "he did arm himself with ale (as old Father Ennius did with wine) when he ballated," and two epitaphs made upon him are registered in the Remaines, the Latin one of which is also printed at p. 221 of vol. ii., with Oldys's translation, and the following:—
"Here is Elderton lying in dust,
Or lying Elderton; chuse which you lust.
Here he lies dead, I do him no wrong,
For who knew him standing, all his life long?"
Nash asserts that "Elderton consumed his alecrammed nose to nothing in bear-bayting" an enemy "with whole bundells of ballets;"[20] and Gabriel Harvey attacks "Father Elderton and his son Greene as the ringleaders of the riming and scribbling crew."
According to Stow, Elderton was an attorney in the Sheriffs' Courts of the City of London, and wrote some verses on the new porch and stone statues at Guildhall. Ritson does not think that his poetical powers are to be compared with those of Deloney and Johnson. Drayton also appears to have had a low opinion of him, for he writes:—
"I scorn'd your ballad then, though it were done
And had for finis, William Elderton,"
but Benedick, in Much Ado about Nothing (act v. sc. 2) does him the honour of singing one of his songs:—
"The god of love
That sits above,
And knows me, and knows me
How pitiful I deserve."
Thomas Deloney, the shoemaker's historiographer, was a voluminous writer of ballads, which he himself collected into Garlands, with different taking titles. Several of his pieces are printed in these volumes. Nash calls him "the balleting silk-weaver of Norwich;" and in his Have with you to Saffron Walden, he remarks on the ballad-maker's change of style: "He hath rhyme enough for all miracles, and wit to make a Garland of Good Will, &c., but whereas his muse, from the first peeping forth, hath stood at livery at an ale-house wisp, never exceeding a penny a quart, day or night—and this dear year, together with the silencing of his looms, scarce that—he is constrained to betake himself to carded ale, whence it proceedeth that, since Candlemas, or his jigg of John for the King, not one merry ditty will come from him; nothing but The Thunderbolt against Swearers; Repent, England, Repent, and the Strange Judgments of God." Kemp, the comic actor and morris-dancer, was particularly angry with the ballad-makers in general, and Deloney in particular, and addresses them in the following terms:—