Young Bateman's ghost (NLS104184990)

YOUNG
Bateman's
Ghoſt!
AND
The Chevalier's Lament
After the Battle of Culloden.

Falkirk—Printed by T. Johnston.
1817.

YOUNG BATEMAN's GHOST

Tune—Flying Fame.

YOU dainty dames ſo finely fram'd
⁠of beauty's chiefeſt mould.
And you that trip it up and down,
⁠like lambs of Cupid's fold,
Here is a leſſon to be learn'd,
⁠a leſſon in the mind,
For ſuch as will prove falſe in love,
⁠and bear a faithleſs mind.

Not far from Nottingham, of lato,
⁠in Clifton, as I hear,
There dwelt a fair and comely dame,
⁠none with her could compare!
Her cheeks were like the crimſon roſe.
⁠yet, as you may perceive,
The faireſt face the faireſt heart,
⁠the ſooneſt will deceive.

This gallant dame ſhe was belov'd
⁠of many of that place,
And many fought, in marriage-bed,
⁠her body to emabrace:
At laſt a proper handſome youth,
⁠Young Bateman called by name,
In hopes ſhe would become his wife,
⁠unto this maiden came.

Such love and liking there was found,
⁠that he from all the reſt
Had ſtolen away the maiden's heart,
⁠and ſhe did love him beſt:
"Then plighted promiſe ſecretly
⁠did paſs between them two,
"That nothing could but death itſelf,
⁠this true-love knot undo.

He brake a piece of geld in twain,
⁠one half to her he gave,
The other as a pledge, quoth he,
⁠dear love, myſelf will have:
If I do break my vow, quoth the,
⁠while I remain alive,
May ne'er a thing I take in hand,
⁠be ſeen at all to thrive.

This palled on for two months ſpace,
⁠and then the maid began.
To ſettle love and liking too,
⁠upon another man:
One German, who a widower was,
⁠her huſband needs muſt be,
Becauſe he is of greater wealth,
⁠and better in degree.

Her vows and promiſe lately made
⁠to Bateman, ſhe deny'd;
And in, ſpite of him and his,
⁠ſhe utterly defy'd.
Well then, quoth ſhe, if it be ſo,
⁠that thou wilt me forſake,
And like a falſe forlorn wretch,
⁠another huſband take,

Thou ſhalt not live one quiet hour,
⁠for ſurely I will have
Thee either now alive or dead,
⁠when I'm laid in the grave:
Thy faithleſs mind thou ſhalt repent,
⁠therefore be well afford,
When for thy ſake thru hear'ſt report
⁠what torments I endur'd.

But mark how. Bateman died for love,
and finiſhed his life,
That very day ſhe married was,
and made old German's wife!
For with a ſtrangling curd, (God wot,
⁠great moan was made therefore,)
He hang'd himſelf in deſperate fort,
⁠before the bride's own door.

Whereat ſuch forrow pierc'd her heart,
⁠and troubled fare her mind is te
That ſhe could never after that!
⁠one day of comfort find:
And wherſvever ſhe did go,
⁠her fancy did ſurmiſe
Young Bateman's pale and ghaſtly ghoſt
⁠appear'd before her eyes.

When the in bed one night did ly,
⁠betwixt her huſband's arms,
In hopes thereby to ſleep and reſt
⁠in ſafety without harm,
Great cries and grievous grouns ſhe heard,
⁠and voice that ſometimes ſaid,
Oh! thou art ſhe that I muſt have,
⁠and will not be deny'd.

But ſhe being now grown big with child,
⁠was, for the infant's ſake,
Preſerved from the ſpirit's power,
⁠no vengeance could it take:
The babe unborn did ſafely keep,
⁠as God appointed ſo
His mother's body from the fiend,
⁠that fought her overthrow.

But being of her burden eas'd,
⁠and ſafely brought to bed,
Her cares and grief began a-new,
⁠and further ſorrow bred;
And of her friends ſhe did entreat,
⁠deſiring them to ſtay,
Out of the bed, quoth ſhe, this night
⁠I ſhall be borne away.

Here comes the ſpirit of my love,
⁠with pale and ghaſtly face,
Who, till he carry me henceforth,
⁠will not depart this place
Alive or dead, I'm his by right,
⁠and he will ſurely have,
In ſpite of me and all the world,
⁠what I by promiſe gave.

Oh! watch with me this night, I pray,
⁠and ſee you do not ſleep;
No longer than you do keep wake,
⁠my body can you keep.
All promiſed to do their beſt,
⁠yet nothing could ſuffice,
In middle fo the night, to keep
⁠ſad ſlumber from their eyes.

So being all full faſt aſleep.
⁠to them unknown which way,
The child-bed woman, that woeful night,
⁠from thence was borne away!
And to what place no creature knew,
⁠no to this day can tell;
As ſtrange a thing as ever yet!
⁠in any age befel.

You maidens that deſire to love,
⁠and would good huſbands chuſe,
To him that you do vow to love,
⁠by no means do refuſe:
For God, that hears all ſecret oaths,
⁠will dreadful vengeance take
On ſuch that of a lawful vow,
⁠do ſlender reckoning make.

THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT,
After the Battle of Culloden.

The ſmall birds rejoice
⁠in the green leaves returning
The murmuring ſtreamlet
⁠runs clear thro' the vale; The primroſes blow
⁠in the dew of the morning,
And wild ſcatter'd con ſlips
⁠bedeck the green dale.

But what can give pleaſures, de
⁠or what can ſeem fair,
When the lingering moments
⁠are number'd by care?

No birds ſweetly ſinging,
⁠nor flowers gaily ſpringing,
Can feoth the ſweet boſom
⁠of joyleſs deſpair.

The deed that I dar'd,
⁠could it merit their malice;
A King and a Father:
⁠to place on his throne?

His rights are theſe hills,
⁠and his rights are theſe valleys,
Where the wild beaſts find ſhelter,
⁠but I can find none.

But'tis not my ſuffrings,
⁠thus wretched forlorn,
My brave gallant friends,
⁠tis your min I mourn!

FINIS.