It appears from a state proclamation, dated July 22, 1540, that children were accustomed to be decked, and go about on St. Clement’s day in procession. From an ancient custom of going about on the night of this festival to beg drink to make merry with, a pot was formerly marked against the 23d of November upon the old clog-almanacs.[390]
St. Clement is the patron of blacksmiths. His quality in this respect is not noticed by Brand, or other observers of our ancient customs, nor do they mention any observances by that trade in commemoration of his festival. But the following communications will show the estimation wherein he is held among the “cunning workmen in iron.”
To the Editor of the Every-Day Book.
Chancery-lane, Nov. 19, 1825.
Sir,
As secretary of the “Benevolent Institution of Smiths,” I take the liberty of jogging your memory. I hope you will not forget our St. Clement, (Nov. 23,) in your interesting Every-Day Book. When I was a child, an old man went about in the trade, reciting the following ode on smithery, which, I believe, is very old. If you think it worthy a place in your work, it will much oblige me and our trade; for it is now quite forgot, with many good customs of hospitality of the olden days which are no more. I hope you will cull your flowers of antiquity, and collect all you can for our trade; there is a story of St. Dunstan, the smith, with his tongs, pinching the devil by the nose, &c.
An Ode on Smithery, 1610.
“By reading of old authors we do find
The smiths have been a trade time out of mind;
And it’s believed they may be bold to say,
There’s not the like to them now at this day.
For was it not for smiths what could we do,
We soon should loose our lives and money too;
The miser would be stript of all his store,
And lose the golden god he doth adore:
No tradesman could be safe, or take his rest
But thieves and rogues would nightly him molest;
It’s by our cunning art, and ancient skill,
That we are saved from those who would work ill.
The smith at night, and soon as he doth rise,
Doth always cleanse and wash his face and eyes;
Kindles his fire, and the bellows blows,
Tucks up his shirt sleeves, and to work he goes:
Then makes the hammer and the anvil ring,
And thus he lives as merry as a king.
A working smith all other trades excels,
In useful labour wheresoe’er he dwells;
Toss up your caps ye sons of Vulcan then,
For there are none of all the sons of men,
That can with the brave working smiths compare,
Their work is hard, and jolly lads they are.
What though a smith looks sometimes very black,
And sometimes gets but one shirt to his back
And that is out at elbows, and so thin
That you through twenty holes may see his skin;
Yet when he’s drest and clean, you all will say,
That smiths are men not made of common clay.
They serve the living, and they serve the dead,
They serve the mitre, and the crowned head;
They all are men of honour and renown,
Honest, and just, and loyal to the crown.
The many worthy deeds that they have done,
Have spread their fame beyond the rising sun
So if we have offended rich or poor,
We will be good boys, and do so no more.”
I hope you will polish up for insertion. I will call for the old copy at your office: I should have sent it sooner, but could not find it, and the trouble it has cost me has made it valuable.