 | Lyrical Poems |  |
44
THE MERRY BALLAD OF STOCK GEILL.
In this ballad I have followed very closely the account given by our genial Reformer in his History, vol. I. p. 260, Laing. The word marmoset, signifying a sort of monkey, is applied by Knox to the idol. I put it into the mouth of the mob.
Good lords and ladies, who refuse to bend before a log,
I'll tell you of a merry gest, that gave the Pope a shog;
A gest that chanced in Embro' town, and in the
High Street old,
Where Willock taught, and stout John Knox, that faithful preacher bold.
Sing hey Stock Geill! and ho Stock Geill! the tale I tell is true;
We dashed his bones against the stones, and his stump in flinders flew!
I'll tell you of a merry gest, that gave the Pope a shog;
A gest that chanced in Embro' town, and in the
High Street old,
Where Willock taught, and stout John Knox, that faithful preacher bold.
Sing hey Stock Geill! and ho Stock Geill! the tale I tell is true;
We dashed his bones against the stones, and his stump in flinders flew!
'Twas the first day of September, and the priests were all agog,
All through the town, with pomp to bear the newly-painted log;
For the old Stock Geill, the silly god, was in the
North Loch drowned,
And they have beaten about about, till a new one they have found.
Sing hey Stock Geill! and ho Stock Geill! the old god and the new!
We dashed his bones against the stones, and his stump in flinders flew!
All through the town, with pomp to bear the newly-painted log;
45
North Loch drowned,
And they have beaten about about, till a new one they have found.
Sing hey Stock Geill! and ho Stock Geill! the old god and the new!
We dashed his bones against the stones, and his stump in flinders flew!
There goes a stir through all the streets, a buzz through all the town;
With banners, flags, and crosses they are walking up and down;
The Regent queen, the wily Guise, put on her proudest smile,
And busked her in her brawest gown, to march with the young Stock Geill.
Sing hey Stock Geill! and ho Stock Geill! the old god and the new!
We'll dash his bones against the stones, and shame the shaveling crew!
With banners, flags, and crosses they are walking up and down;
The Regent queen, the wily Guise, put on her proudest smile,
And busked her in her brawest gown, to march with the young Stock Geill.
Sing hey Stock Geill! and ho Stock Geill! the old god and the new!
We'll dash his bones against the stones, and shame the shaveling crew!
A marmoset! a marmoset! the Devil work them sorrow!
They've brought him from the Grey Friars, and nailed him to a barrow!
Then on their heads they lift him, and with sounding pomp they come,
With Latin rant, and snivelling chant, and pipe, and fife, and drum.
Sing hey Stock Geill! and ho Stock Geill! this day the priests shall rue!
Against the stones we'll dash the bones o' the idol painted new!
46
Then on their heads they lift him, and with sounding pomp they come,
With Latin rant, and snivelling chant, and pipe, and fife, and drum.
Sing hey Stock Geill! and ho Stock Geill! this day the priests shall rue!
Against the stones we'll dash the bones o' the idol painted new!
A marmoset! a marmoset! the puppet-god to show,
West about, and East about, and round about they go;
Along the Luckenbooths they trail, and down to big Jack's Close,
And the bone of his arm, to work a charm, they kiss at the Abbey Cross!
Sing hey Stock Geill! and ho Stock Geill! this kissing ye shall rue!
We'll dash your bones against the stones, though you're painted fresh and new!
West about, and East about, and round about they go;
Along the Luckenbooths they trail, and down to big Jack's Close,
And the bone of his arm, to work a charm, they kiss at the Abbey Cross!
Sing hey Stock Geill! and ho Stock Geill! this kissing ye shall rue!
We'll dash your bones against the stones, though you're painted fresh and new!
Now hold your god, ye shaveling loons!—for the queen she's gone to dine,
Full weary from the march, I ween, with Sandy Carpentine;
There brews a storm betwixt the Bows—the crowd looks black and grim!
They rush!—they spring!—hold fast your god! they'll tear him limb from limb!
Sing hey Stock Geill! and ho Stock Geill! this dainty godling new!
They mass their bands, and with strong hands they'll do! they'll do! they'll do!
47
There brews a storm betwixt the Bows—the crowd looks black and grim!
They rush!—they spring!—hold fast your god! they'll tear him limb from limb!
Sing hey Stock Geill! and ho Stock Geill! this dainty godling new!
They mass their bands, and with strong hands they'll do! they'll do! they'll do!
They rived the nails, they seized him by the feet,—I tell thee true—
They dashed his head against the stones—his stump in flinders flew!
Thou young Stock Geill, and wilt thou die, poor imp, and give no token?
Thy father had a stouter skull, was not so lightly broken!
Sing hey Stock Geill! and ho Stock Geill! the silly godling new!
We dashed his bones against the stones, and his stump in flinders flew!
They dashed his head against the stones—his stump in flinders flew!
Thou young Stock Geill, and wilt thou die, poor imp, and give no token?
Thy father had a stouter skull, was not so lightly broken!
Sing hey Stock Geill! and ho Stock Geill! the silly godling new!
We dashed his bones against the stones, and his stump in flinders flew!
48
Then hurly burly! light as straw the priests were blown asunder;
They puffed and blew, they panted hot, they gaped with foolish wonder;
Down go their crosses! up their skirts! their caps fly in the air;
Their surplice flaps; they run as fast as them their legs can bear!
Like crows at pop of gun, the grey and black stoled friars flew,
Mid curse and sneer, and gibe and jeer, and merry wild halloo!
They puffed and blew, they panted hot, they gaped with foolish wonder;
Down go their crosses! up their skirts! their caps fly in the air;
Their surplice flaps; they run as fast as them their legs can bear!
Like crows at pop of gun, the grey and black stoled friars flew,
Mid curse and sneer, and gibe and jeer, and merry wild halloo!
And so this gest was bravely done that gave the Pope a shog,
That now no stout Scotch knee might bend before a painted log!
The Devil's lumber-room we swept—for thus John Knox did say:
Pull down the rookery, and the rooks will quickly fly away!
We left no trappings of Stock Geill; that day we ne'er shall rue,
When we dashed his bones against the stones, and his stump in flinders flew!
That now no stout Scotch knee might bend before a painted log!
The Devil's lumber-room we swept—for thus John Knox did say:
Pull down the rookery, and the rooks will quickly fly away!
We left no trappings of Stock Geill; that day we ne'er shall rue,
When we dashed his bones against the stones, and his stump in flinders flew!
| Lyrical Poems | |