P.S.—Iv tha'rt wantin' to send a reply,
Aw can gi'e thee mi place ov abode,
It's reet under Dukinfilt sky,
At thirty-nine, Cheetham Hill road.
Aw'm awfully freeten'd dos t' see,
Or else aw'd invite thee to come,
An' ewar Betty, hoo's softer nor me,
So aw'd raythar tha'd tarry awhoam.
The Driving of the Deer.
This admirable ballad, founded on an old Derbyshire tradition, is by my friend Mr. William Bennett, of whom I have before spoken. The Peverels were, as a part of the immense possessions given to them by William the Conqueror, owners of the tract of country comprising the Honour and Forest of the High Peak. Their stronghold was the castle at Castleton. The "Lord's seat" mentioned in the ballad is a mountain separating Rushop Edge from the valley of Edale. The view from here, where Peverel used to alight from his horse to watch the progress of the chace, says Mr. Bennett, "is magnificent; perhaps one of the finest in north Derbyshire, as from its summit you may see the Pennine chain of Cheshire, Derbyshire, and Staffordshire, with many of the lovely valleys which lie among the hills. Westward, you look down upon the valley of Chapel-en-le-Frith, the eastern part of which contains the ancient manor of Bowdon. To realize the following ballad, my readers must imagine the Lord of the Peak, William Peverel, with a number of his knights and gentlemen, on the Lord's Seat, preparing for the chace, when they hear the bugle blast which informs the proud baron that some audacious sportsmen are in chase of the deer within his forest. We may picture to ourselves the astonishment and indignation of the Norman prince, and his fierce determination to pounce upon the trespassers and punish them with all the severity of the cruel forest law. Well was it for all parties that he was attended by his brother Payne Peverel, the lord of Whittington, who was one of the noblest sons of chivalry, and whose presence prevented an affray which in all probability would have been fatal to many. Payne Peverel had previous to this time exhibited a grand pageant at Castleton, accompanied by a tournament held in the meadows below the castle, when he gave away his daughter to the knight who most distinguished himself on that occasion."
Lord Peverel stood on the Lordis Seat,
And an angry man was he;
For he heard the sound of a hunter's horn
Slow winding up the lea.
He look'd to north, he look'd to south,
And east and west look'd he;
And "Holy Cross!" the fierce Norman cried,
"Who hunts in my country?
Belike they think the Peverel dead,
Or far from forest walk;
Woe worth their hunting, they shall find
Abroad is still the Hawk."
Again he looked where Helldon Hill
Joins with the Konying's Dale;
And then once more the bugle blast
Came swelling along the gale.
"Mount, mount and ride!" the baron cried,
"The sound comes o'er the Edge,
By Perry dale, or Gautriss side,
My knightly spurs I pledge.
These outlaws, who now drive my deer,
Shall sooth our quarry be;
And he who reaches first the hounds
Shall win a guerdon free."
Each knight and squire soon sat in selle,
And urged his horse to speed,
And Peverel, first among the rout,
Proved his horse good at need.
Adown the slope, along the flat,
Against the hill they ride,
Nor pull a rein 'till every steed
Stands fast on Gautriss side.
"Hold hard! They're here," the Peverel said,
And upward held his hand,
While all his meany kept behind,
Awaiting their lord's command;
And westward, on the Bolt-edge Moor,
Beyond the rocky height,
Both hounds and hunters, men and horse,
And deer were all in sight.
Said then the baron, "Who are these
Who fear not Peverel's sword
Nor forest laws." Outspoke a squire,
"Of Bowdon he's the lord;
Sir Bruno, hight, a Franklin brave,
One of the Saxon swine
Who feasts each day on fat fed beef,
And guzzles ale, not wine."