I've said, and say again, that they who praise,
With such inveterate glee, the good old days,
Are somewhat apt in prejudice to wander,
And treat the present age with less than candour;
But for his reason should you press your poet,
Hark to his tale, that probably will shew it!
Have you, sir, seen a comet ?-yes!-she shines
Exactly with the lustre of these lines;
No head, nor fountain of her light, we find,
But she's extremely luminous behind!
So if my story's dark at first-the rhyme
Will sparkle now-and then blaze forth in time,
Spreading around new light on times gone by-
On tales once famed in Border Minstrelsie !
Morpeth's good town is-just as you may know it; But as it was the histories don't shew it;
My Legend will-'tis local-and 'tis true,
A point that more concerns myself than you,
And how I came by it will prove it such,
Being taken that is stolen-from the Hutch,
Which all the corporation deeds are held in,
As old and as obscure as Meg o' Meldon !—
A huge and ugly oak-and-iron box,
They keep up stairs, secured by seven vast locks;
But what are locks to antiquarian fingers?
A hint's enough-meanwhile my story lingers.
King John, it seems, had made a desperate kick-up,
And the whole nation reel'd and had the hickup;
Now what they quarrel'd for, it matters not,
We care not now, nor did they then one jot;
On one side stood the king, and on the other
Was the Lord Morpeth and his younger brother.
In those hot days it was a sort of fashion,
That whatsoe'er the landlord chose to dash on,
The tenant followed, were it for good or evil—
"Go on, I follow-be it to the devil!"
And not a vassal dared his leader's steps shun,
A general rule, but there was one exception.
Hob o' the Stob Hill, simpleton by rule,
And wise enough, at least, to seem a fool,
Took, as few wiser men had ever done,
A witty way to cherish number one!
Such beings were and are-who can dispense,
A pound of sound, with half a grain of sense;
Sages look queer, and stranged how instinct can
So well supply the place of mind in man!—
Hob had a wife, one of those gentle dearies
Who rule with rod of iron-whose chief fear is
Not to be fear'd-who at the altar say,
"I will command" for "honour and obey."
Now Hobby's was a ticklish situation;
The king commanded him, with half the nation,
To join the royal banner,—and his lord
Bade Hob against the king to draw his sword;
His wife, with voice as terrible as either,
Cried, "draw thy sword, I charge thee, Hob, for neither." "Right!" said the king-"left!" cried the baron,-"halt!” Roar'd the domestic tyrant,-Hob at fault
Scratch'd his shock head, and rolled his eyes, and cried,
"There's but ae way to please them aw,"-and died.
Such accidents were not much heeded then;
The king and baron, both in want of men,
Desired the mourning widow out of hand
To furnish one for each, or lose the land.
In those days, would you think it? ladies' money
Could make a bitter bargain sweet as honey.
So Hobby's widow found a match, and he
Went as a trooper to the king,-while she
In Hobby's jack, and armed with good broad-sword, Mounted the one-eyed mare, and joined her lord !— 'Meg,” said the amazon, "keep ye the hoose,
"Look to the cows, and watch the cleckin goose;
And, for poor Hobby, tyek the silly creature "On your strang back, and fling him i' the water.”
Away she sallied, and to do the job
Maggie approached; when, lo! up started Hob,
Capering as though death had but made him stronger,
And swore he had but died to live the longer;
Free from his fears, and severed from his wife,
He hoped to lead a semi-joyous life.
Alas! how vain are human hopes! the king
Threatened on Morpeth fire and sword to bring.
Then stood the town on t'other side the river,
And the lord's bailiff then was the land giver;
He caused the freemen, as the king came down,
To save their lives, and sacrifice the town.
The patriot freemen quickly fired their houses,
And on their backs bore off their goods and spouses.
Hobby excepted!-he, with wiser aim,
Struggled to save his cottage from the flame,
And kindly offered to his brother freemen,
Ransom for all their goods, except their women.
Not to digress,-this ne'er was his intent,
He took them as a Morpeth compliment !
What that phrase means, authorities don't tell us,
But Hob's words may,—said he, "maw canny fellows,
"Ye knaw that aw was buckled wiv a marrow,
"That kept me like a tyed belaw a harrow,
"A naggy, stupid, fuilish, yammerin howdie,
"A parfit bison, and a huel for crowdie;
"She gav me nowt i' plenty but her tongue,
"O' that a Morpeth compliment she flung.
"My lord, aw wad na flickered at his order,
"Was't for a raid or foray o'er the border;
"But yens awn sells to whack at yen another,
"I see nae gude in't;-then to join the tother,
"Aw mean the king,-maw certes! when maw wife
“In maw awn breeks had met me i' the strife,
"She wad hae whumbled me and ta'en maw life.
"Ye brainless culls, ye set the town a-lowe,
"And what I saved, ye wad hae frae me now,
"But tyek whe likes, and let him keep whe can,
"Maw part is aye to play the canny man!
"Yer aw wise beggars-aw's a cull-but, hark!
"A wealthy fuil outweighs a hungry clerk;
"Ye die to live in story-when aw died,
"It was to live wi'
peace abuin maw head;
"And when yer story's tell'd in efter day,
"Ye maunna think to carry a' the praise,
"For on this spot six hunder years hereafter,
"Clusters o' bonny lassies, wi' loud laughter,
"And witching smiles, shall praise the canny skill
"And living death o' Hob o' the Stob Hill!"
"Better converse whole ages with the dead, Pore on a broken marble to retrieve
A single letter of a good man's name,
Than spend one moment with deceit and vice." Sewell's Tragedy of Sir Walter Raleigh.
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