“A lamentable new ditty, made upon the death of a worthy gentleman named
George Stoole, dwelling sometime on Gate-side Moore, and sometime at
New-Castle in Northumberland: with his penitent end. To a delicate
Scottish tune.” Roxburghe Collection, I, 186, 187. Roxburghe Ballads,
ed. W. Chappell, I, 576. Previously printed by [Ritson], Northumberland
Garland, Newcastle, 1793, p. 33 (p. 43 of Haslewood’s reprint, London,
1809), and in Bell’s Rhymes of Northern Bards, p. 162.
1
Come, you lusty northerne lads,
That are so blith and bonny,
Prepare your hearts to be full sad,
To hear the end of Georgey.
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, my bon[n]y love,
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, my bonny!
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, my owne deare love,
And God be with my Georgie!
2
When Georgie to his triall came,
A thousand hearts were sorry;
A thousand lasses wept full sore,
And all for love of Georgy.
3
Some did say he would escape,
Some at his fall did glory;
But these were clownes and fickle friends,
And none that lovëd Georgy.
4
Might friends have satisfide the law,
Then Georgie would find many;
Yet bravely did he plead for life,
If mercy might be any.
5
But when this doughty carle was cast,
He was full sad and sorry;
Yet boldly did he take his death,
So patiently dyde Georgie.
6
As Georgie went up to the gate,
He tooke his leave of many;
He tooke his leave of his lard’s wife,
Whom he lovd best of any.
7
With thousand sighs and heavy lookes,
Away from thence he parted
Where he so often blith had beene,
Though now so heavy-hearted.
8
He writ a letter with his owne hand,
He thought he writ it bravely;
He sent to New-castle towne,
To his belovëd lady.
9
Wherein he did at large bewaile
The occasion of his folly,
Bequeathing life unto the law,
His soule to heaven holy.
10
‘Why, lady, leave to weepe for me!
Let not my ending grieve ye!
Prove constant to the man you love,
For I cannot releeve ye.
11
‘Out upon the, Withrington!
And fie upon the, Phœnix!
Thou hast put downe the doughty one
That stole the sheepe from Anix.
12
‘And fie on all such cruell carles
Whose crueltie’s so fickle
To cast away a gentleman,
In hatred, for so little!
13
‘I would I were on yonder hill,
Where I have beene full merry,
My sword and buckeler by my side,
To fight till I be weary.
14
‘They well should know, that tooke me first,
Though hopes be now forsaken,
Had I but freedome, armes, and health,
I’de dye ere I’de be taken.
15
‘But law condemns me to my grave,
They have me in their power;
Ther’s none but Christ that can mee save
At this my dying houre.’
16
He calld his dearest love to him,
When as his heart was sorry,
And speaking thus, with manly heart,
‘Deare sweeting, pray for Georgie.’
17
He gave to her a piece of gold,
And bade her give ‘t her barnes,
And oft he kist her rosie lips,
And laid him into her armes.
18
And comming to the place of death,
He never changëd colour;
The more they thought he would looke pale,
The more his veines were fuller.
19
And with a cheerefull countenance,
Being at that time entreated
For to confesse his former life,
These words he straight repeated.
20
‘I never stole no oxe nor cow,
Nor never murdered any;
But fifty horse I did receive
Of a merchant’s man of Gory.
21
‘For which I am condemnd to dye,
Though guiltlesse I stand dying;
Deare gracious God, my soule receive!
For now my life is flying.’
22
The man of death a part did act
Which grieves mee tell the story;
God comfort all are comfortlesse,
And did[e] so well as Georgie!
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, my bonny love,
Heigh-ho, heigh[-ho], my bonny,
Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, mine own true love,
Sweet Christ receive my Georgie!