Signelil, A Tale from the Cornish, and Other Ballads

“John,” said his master, “here’s your fee,
But if you’ll it return to me,
A point of wisdom I will teach you.”
“Give it me, Sir, I do beseech you.”
“For nought I will not speak, not I.”
“Well, take it then,” was John’s reply.
Quoth t’other: “Lodge not, for your life,
With an old man who’s a young wife.”

For yet a year they then agree,
The wages still the same to be.
And when the year to end had roll’d,
The three pounds out the master told.
“John,” said the master, “here’s your fee;
But if you’ll it return to me,
I’ll the best point of wisdom learn you.”
“For that, Sir, I’ll the wage return you.”
The farmer said: “Take this advice,
Ere striking once, bethink thee twice.”

Now John would serve no longer there,
Home to his wife he would repair.
“Go not to-day,” the farmer spake,
“To-morrow’s my wife’s day to bake;
She shall for you prepare a cake
Home to your faithful wife to take.”

The nine pounds in the loaf they hid,
And when John them adieu had bid,
The farmer cried: “I pray thee carry
This present home unto your deary;
And as ye two there merry make,
Then, and not till then, part the cake.”

John turned him homeward from the door;
And when he reach’d St. Eler’s Moor,
He met three Tre-ryn merchants there
Returning home from Exeter.
“We’re glad to see thee, John,” they cried,
“Where hast thou been this long, long tide?”
Says John: “I’m just from service come,
And to my wife am journeying home.”
“O travel with us,” cried all three,
“And very welcome shalt thou be.”

Before them two roads they behold;
They took the new, John kept the old.
And as they passed by Keou Tshoy Un,
When they had just lost sight of John,
Thieves set upon them furiously,
Whereat they raised a doleful cry,
Which reaching John’s ears on his rout,
“Murder!” and “Thieves!” he bellowed out.

His clamour scared the robber train,
Who from the merchants sped amain.
And when they came to Market Jew
They to their joy met John anew,
And cried: “What thanks we owe thee, John!
We had for certain, every one,
Been ruined people, but for thee,
Come with us, thou’lt most welcome be.”

And when they reached the hostelrie
At which it was their wont to lie,
Quoth John: “The master I must view.”
“The master! what with him wouldst do?”
They answered, “we’ve a mistress here,
And young enough she is, and fair;
To see the host, if you’re inclined,
Him in the kitchen you will find.”

Into the kitchen John he goes,
And sees the master of the house,
An ancient man who turned the spit.
“O, ho!” said John, “this house I quit;
No sleeping place of it I’ll make,
But in the next will quarters take.”
“Do not go yet,” they cried all three,
“Stay, sup with us, thou’lt welcome be.”

And now, with grief and shame, I say
That with a friar of orders grey
The mistress had contrived a plan
To murder the poor ancient man,
When sleep had bound the merchants fast,
And on their heads the crime to cast.

John in the next house that same night
Saw through a hole i’ the wall a light.
So getting up and gently walking,
He heard the friar and woman talking.
The friar said: “Against yon hole
My back I’ll set, for fear some soul
From the next house our deeds should spy.”

The hostess then most cruelly,
With a silk handkerchief she bore,
Murdered her ancient husband poor,
Strangled him did the accursed slut.