There's Eaton and Crapnidge and Perwolt in the clay,
There's Stramshall and Bramshall and merry Loxley,
There's Overton and Netherton, and Bramest and Fole,
There's Leechurch and Park Hall, and Checkley-in-the-hole.
There's Dubberidge and Blyfield, and so to Coloten Green,
There's Boslem[105] and Handley[106] green a little way between,
For potmen and great carriers they bear the bell away,
But the old stock of Borleyash is quite gone to decay.
Henry and Clara.
A PEAK BALLAD.
In the middle of last century as brutal and cold-blooded a murder as ever disgraced the annals of this kingdom was perpetrated in the Winnats (a corruption of "wind gates") at Castleton, the victims being a young gentleman and lady of "gentle," if not of "noble," blood, on their wedding-day, and the murderers being five miners of the place. The following ballad, the production, in his early days, of my late brother, the Rev. Arthur George Jewitt,[107] was printed by him in his "Wanderings of Memory," in 1815. The following explanatory note appears in "Wanderings of Memory:"—
"In the year 1768,[108] a young gentleman and lady, each mounted on a fine horse, but unattended by any servants, had been up to the Chapel of Peak Forest to be married, (as being extra-parochial, the Vicar at that time exercised the same privilege as the parson of Gretna Green, and married any couple that came to him, without making any impertinent enquiries concerning them,) and on their return, wishing to take Castleton in their way home, and being strangers in the country, found themselves benighted at the Winnats." "Here they were seized by five miners, dragged into a barn, robbed of a great sum of money, and then murdered. In vain the lady sought them to spare her husband; vainly he strove to defend his wife. While one part of them were employed in cutting the gentleman's throat, another of the villains, stepping behind the lady, struck a pick-axe into her head, which instantly killed her. Their horses were found, some days after, with their saddles and bridles still on them, in that great waste called Peak Forest; and Eldon Hole was examined for their riders, but without effect. They were then taken to Chatsworth, (the Duke of Devonshire being Lord of the Manor,) and ran there as 'waifs,' but never were claimed, and it is said the saddles are yet preserved there. This murder, thus perpetrated in silence, though committed by so large a company, remained a secret till the death of the last of the murderers; but Heaven, ever watchful to punish such horrid wretches, rendered the fate of all the five singularly awful. One, named Nicholas Cock, fell down one of the Winnats, and was killed on the spot. John Bradshaw, another of the murderers, was crushed to death by a stone which fell upon him near the place where the poor victims were buried. A third, named Thomas Hall, became a suicide; a fourth, Francis Butler, after many attempts to destroy himself, died raging mad; and the fifth, after experiencing all the torments of remorse and despair which an ill-spent life can inflict on a sinner's death-bed, could not expire till he had disclosed the particulars of the horrid deed."
Christians, to my tragic ditty
Deign to lend a patient ear,
If your breasts e'er heav'd with pity,
Now prepare to shed a tear.
Once there lived a tender virgin,
Virtuous, fair, and young was she,
Daughter of a wealthy lordling,
But a haughty man was he.
Many suitors, rich and mighty,
For this beauteous damsel strove,
But she all their offers slighted,
None could wake her soul to love.
One alone, of manners noble,
Yet with slender fortune blessed,
Caus'd this lady's bosom trouble,
Raised the flame within her breast.