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122
Childe Nugent.
A Fragment.
Childe Nugent stands by the dead man's grave,
With a picke axe and a spade,
For he longs to view a patriot true,
And to find out of what he is made.
With a picke axe and a spade,
For he longs to view a patriot true,
And to find out of what he is made.
He hath been easte and he hath been weste—
He hath roam'd farre and wide—
He hath traversed the lande of fayre Englande,
And Portingale eke besyde.
He hath roam'd farre and wide—
He hath traversed the lande of fayre Englande,
And Portingale eke besyde.
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He hath been northe and he hath been southe,
A patriot for to fynde,
Bote never yet mote Childe Nugent get
A patriot to hys mynde.
A patriot for to fynde,
Bote never yet mote Childe Nugent get
A patriot to hys mynde.
Soe now he stands by the dead man's grave,
With hys spade and hys picke axe;
Was never a resurrection man
Dyd give more lustie thwacks.
With hys spade and hys picke axe;
Was never a resurrection man
Dyd give more lustie thwacks.
Childe Nugent delved with ryght gode wille,
And dygg'd with might and maine;
Was never a Byschope and never a Burke
Colde sooner a styffe one gayne.
And dygg'd with might and maine;
Was never a Byschope and never a Burke
Colde sooner a styffe one gayne.
He hath dygg'd easte, he hath dygg'd weste,
He hath dygg'd both northe and southe,
And he cometh at last to the dead man's skull,
With hys thigh bones cross'd in hys mouthe!
He hath dygg'd both northe and southe,
And he cometh at last to the dead man's skull,
With hys thigh bones cross'd in hys mouthe!
Childe Nugent hath read a Runic rhyme,
In a voice both loud and dread;
I wis a tale of Portingale,
That well mote awaken the dead.
In a voice both loud and dread;
I wis a tale of Portingale,
That well mote awaken the dead.
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“Now awake and arise, John Hampden;
Awake and arise, I praye!
Though I stand here a living man,
And thou art a lump of clay.
Awake and arise, I praye!
Though I stand here a living man,
And thou art a lump of clay.
“Awake and say, John Hampden,
How I may a patriot be;
For never I ween was a patriot seen,
An' thou, John, wer't not he!”
How I may a patriot be;
For never I ween was a patriot seen,
An' thou, John, wer't not he!”
The dead man open'd hys chapless jaws,
And groan'd three eldritch groans,
As from out of hys mouthe, to the northe and the southe,
He spat out hys own thigh bones.
And groan'd three eldritch groans,
As from out of hys mouthe, to the northe and the southe,
He spat out hys own thigh bones.
With fear and amaze did Childe Nugent gaze;
Ne wonder that he dydde;
For never, I ween, did mortal eyne,
Spie such an unearthly quidde!
Ne wonder that he dydde;
For never, I ween, did mortal eyne,
Spie such an unearthly quidde!
The dead man grinn'd a ghastly grin,
And he laughed loud laughters three;
“Now lithe and listen, thou venturesome wight,
That wouldest a patriot be.”
And he laughed loud laughters three;
“Now lithe and listen, thou venturesome wight,
That wouldest a patriot be.”
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