Tag Archives: landlords

(1630) A Lanthorne for Landlords

A Lanthorne for Landlords was published as a broadsheet ballad to the tune of The Duke of Norfolk, and was clearly directed towards a popular audience in the countryside. Its narrative develops themes apparent in some of the earlier works in this section: most notably Robert Crowley’s poem, which ends with the voice of God promising retribution against an exploitative landlord.

In this ballad, the landlord’s crimes and punishments are described at greater length, in a mode of popular melodrama. Indeed the attention lavished on the downfall of his family assumes among the readership a reservoir of barely suppressed resentment directed against landowners. The narrative of divine retribution is designed to appeal to all readers who have felt aggrieved by the actions of those in positions of economic power.

Recommended edition – The Pepys Ballads, ed. W. G. Day, 5 vols (Cambridge, 1987).

With sobbing grief my heart will break asunder in my breast,
Before this story of great woe, I truly have expressed:
Therefore let all kind-hearted men and those that tender be,
Come bear a part of this my grief and jointly say with me,

Woe worth the man, etc.

Not long ago in Lincoln dwelt, As I did understand,
A labouring man from thence set forth to serve in Ireland:
And there in prince’s wars was slain, as doth that country know,
But left his widow great with child as ever she could go.

This woman having gone her time, her husband being dead,
Of two fine pretty boys at once was sweetly brought to bed:
Whereat her wicked landlord straight, did ponder in his mind,
How that their wants he should relieve, and succour for them find.

For being born upon his ground, this was his vile conceit,
That he the mother should maintain and give the other meat:
Which to prevent he hied fast, unto this widow poor,
And on the day she went to church, he turned her out of door.

Her household goods he strained upon, to satisfy the rent,
And left her scarce a rag to wear, so wilful was he bent.
Her pretty babes that sweetly slept upon her tender breast,
Were forced by the miser’s rage, by nights in streets to rest.

Quoth she, ‘my husband in your cause, in wars did lose his life,
And will you use thus cruelly his harmless wedded wife?
O God revenge a widow’s wrong, that all the world may know,
How you have forced a soldier’s wife a-begging for to go.’

From Lincoln thus this widow went, but left her curse behind,
And begged all the land about, her maintenance to find.
At many places where she came she knew the whipping post,
Constrained still as beggars be, to taste on such like roast.

[The woman’s twins, at the age of two, get lost and die in a field of barley,
where later the woman discovers their corpses in the course of the harvest.
The woman determines to return to Lincoln ‘To prosecute the law against /
The causer of this deed’.]

But see the judgement of the Lord, how he in fury great,
Did bring this miser to distress, though wealthy was his seat.
For when to Lincoln she was brought, the caitiff he was gone.
Of all his cursed family, remaining was but one.

For first the house wherein she dwelt, did prove unfortunate,
Which made the landlord and his friends, to marvel much thereat.
For tenants four there dwelt therein, A twelve month and a day,
Yet none of them could thrive at all, but beggars went away.

Whereat this miserable wretch did turn it to a barn,
And filled it full in harvest time with good red wheat and corn:
To keep it safely from the poor, until there came a year,
That famine might oppress them all and make all victuals dear.

But God forgetting not the wrongs, he did this widow poor,
Sent down a fire from heaven, which soon consumed all his store:
By which this wicked miser man, was brought to beggary,
And likewise laid a grievous scourge upon his family.

His wife she proved a cursed witch, and burned for the same,
His daughter now a strumpet is at London in defame.
At Leicester at the ‘sizes last was hanged his eldest son,
For there consenting wickedly unto a murder done.

His second son was fled away unto the enemy,
And proved disloyal to his prince, and to his own country.
His youngest son had like mishap, or worser in my mind,
For he consented to a bitch, contrary unto kind:

For which, the Lord without delay, rained vengeance on his head,
Who like a sinful sodomite defiled Nature’s bed.
For there were two great mastiff dogs that met him in a wood,
And tore his limbs in pieces small, devouring up his blood:

Whereof when as his father heard, most like a desperate man,
Within a channel drowned himself, that down the street it ran,
Whereas water could scarce suffice, to drown a silly mouse.
And thus the ruin you have heard of him and all his house.

The widow she was soon possessed of all the goods he left,
In recompence of those sweet babes mischance from her bereft.
Wherefore let all hard-hearted men, by this example take,
That God is just, and will be true, for woeful widows’ sake.

(1400s) The Bitter Withy

The Bitter Withy was a popular carol carried in the oral tradition for many generations, believed to date back to the 15th century. In it some haughty young lords are drowned by a young Jesus after they mock him for being poor:

As it fell out on a bright holiday
Small hail from the sky did fall;
Our Saviour asked his mother dear
If he might go and play at ball.

“At ball? At ball? My own dear son?
It’s time that you were gone;
Don’t let me hear of any complaints
At night when you come home.”

So up the hill and down the hill
Our sweet young Saviour ran
Until he met three rich lords’,
“Good morning to each one.”

“Good morn, good morn, good morn,” said they,
“Good morning,” then said he,
“And which of you three rich young lords
Will play at ball with me?”

“We are all lords’ and ladies’ sons
Born in a bower and hall,
And you are nothing but a poor maid’s child
Born in an ox’s stall.”

Sweet Jesus turned him round about,
He did neither laugh nor smile,
But the tears came trickling from his eyes
Like water from the sky.

“If you’re all lords’ and ladies’ sons
Born in your bower and hall,
I’ll make you believe in your latter end
I’m an angel above you all”

So he made him a bridge of the beams of the sun
And over the water ran he;
The rich young lords chased after him
And drowned they were all three.

So up the hill and down the hill
Three rich young mothers ran
Saying, “Mary mild, fetch home your child
For ours he’s drowned each one.”

“Oh I’ve been down in yonder town
Far as the holy well,
I took away three sinful souls
And dipped them deep in hell.”

Then Mary mild, she took her child
And laid him across her knee
And with a handful of withy twigs
She gave him slashes three.

“Oh bitter withy, oh bitter withy
You’ve caused me to smart.
And the withy shall be the very first tree
To perish at the heart.”


(1550) Of Rente Raysers by Robert Crowley

Today’s discovery, some lovely words from 1550…

“Of Rente Raysers” by Robert Crowley

————————Original

A Manne that had landes of tenne pounde by yere,
Surueyed the same and lette it out deare;

So that of tenne pounde he made well a score (20)
Moe poundes by the yere than other dyd before.

But when he was told whan daunger it was
to oppresse his tenauntes, he sayed he did not passe.

For thys thynge, he sayde, full certayne he wyste,
That wyth hys owne he myghte alwayes do as he lyste.

But immediatlye, I trowe thys oppressoure fyl sicke
Of a voyce that he harde, “geue accountes of thy baliwicke!”

———————–my adaptation

A man that had lands worth ten pound each year,
Surveyed the same and then let it out dear;

So that of ten pound he made well a score (20)
More pounds by the year than all others before.

But when he was told what danger it was
To oppress his tenants, he said I don’t pause,

For this thing, he said, full certain he wist,
That with his own, he might do as he list.

But immediately, I trow, this oppressor fell sick:
Of a voice that he heard, ‘Give accounts of thy bailiwick!’