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“Bristol. The Rev. Mr. Whitefield . . . has been wonderfully laborious and successful, especially among the poor Prisoners in Newgate and the rude Colliers of Kingswood. . . . On Saturday the 18th instant [March] he preached at Hannum Mount to 5 or 6000 Persons, amongst them many Colliers” (Gentleman's Magazine, March 1739, vol. ix. p. 162).

Bishops in lawn sleeves preached at him;

Walpole talked of “a man and his price”;

This has been contradicted by the more literal historians. But it is sufficiently true for poetical purposes.

Nobody's virtue was over-nice:—

Those, in fine, were the brave days when
Coaches were stopped by .. Highwaymen!

And of all the knights of the gentle trade
Nobody bolder than “Beau Brocade.”

This they knew on the whole way down;
Best,—maybe,—at the “Oak and Crown.”

(For timorous cits on their pilgrimage
Would “club” for a “Guard” to ride the stage

And the Guard that rode on more than one
Was the Host of this hostel's sister's son.)

Open we here on a March day fine,
Under the oak with the hanging sign.

There was Barber Dick with his basin by;

These two personages are borrowed from Plate II. of Hogarth's Election Series, 1757 (“Canvassing for Votes”).

Cobbler Joe with the patch on his eye;

Portly product of Beef and Beer,
John the host, he was standing near.

Straining and creaking, with wheels awry,
Lumbering came the “Plymouth Fly”;—

Lumbering up from Bagshot Heath,
Guard in the basket armed to the teeth;

The basket was a cumbrous wicker appendage for luggage (and frequently passengers) at the back of the coach. (See Hogarth's Country Inn Yard, 1747.) “Its [London's] fopperies come down to us . . . in the very basket”—says Mr. Hardcastle in Act i. Scene 1, of She Stoops to Conquer, 1773. In 1741 a highwayman was shot from the basket by a Captain Mawley (Gentleman's Magazine, ii. 498).

Passengers heavily armed inside;
Not the less surely the coach had been tried!

Tried!—but a couple of miles away,
By a well-dressed man!—in the open day!

Tried successfully, never a doubt,—
Pockets of passengers all turned out!

Cloak-bags rifled, and cushions ripped,—
Even an Ensign's wallet stripped!

Even a Methodist hosier's wife
Offered the choice of her Money or Life!

Highwayman's manners no less polite,

“On Friday in the Afternoon, between Three and Four o'clock, the Bath Stage-Coach was robbed by a single Highwayman about two Miles this Side of Maidenhead, who took from the Passengers between four and five Pounds, behaved very genteely, and made off” (Covent Garden Journal, 10th March, 1752).

Hoped that their coppers (returned) were right;—

Sorry to find the company poor,
Hoped next time they'd travel with more;—

Plucked them all at his ease, in short:—
Such was the “Plymouth Fly's” report.

Sympathy! horror! and wonderment!
“Catch the Villain!” (But Nobody went.)

Hosier's wife led into the Bar;
(That's where the best strong waters are!)

Strong waters—e.g. Barbadoes-water, citron-water, &c.— were restorative cordials, much affected by the fair sex. In Richardson's Familiar Letters, 1741, p. 163, a sailor sends his Peggy from Barbadoes six bottles of citron-water. “It is what, they say, Ladies drink, when they can get it.”

Followed the tale of the hundred-and-one
Things that Somebody ought to have done.

Ensign (of Bragg's) made a terrible clangour:

Despite its suspicious appropriateness in this case, “Bragg's” regiment of Foot-Guards really existed, and was ordered to Flanders in April 1742 (see Gentleman's Magazine, 1742, i. 217). In 1759 Wolfe was leading it at Quebec when he was mortally wounded.

But for the Ladies had drawn his hanger!

A hanger is “a broad, crooked, short sword” (Bailey). Tom Bowling (Roderick Random, ch. iii.) wears “an hanger with a brass handle;” and Commodore Trunnion, going to his marriage, is equipped with “a huge hanger, with a hilt like that of a backsword” (Peregrine Pickle, chap. viii.).

Robber, of course, was “Beau Brocade”;
Out-spoke Dolly the Chambermaid.

Devonshire Dolly, plump and red,
Spoke from the gallery overhead;—

Spoke it out boldly, staring hard:—
“Why didn't you shoot then, George the Guard?”

Spoke it out bolder, seeing him mute:—
“George the Guard, why didn't you shoot?”

Portly John grew pale and red,
(John was afraid of her, people said;)

Gasped that “Dolly was surely cracked,”
(John was afraid of her—that's a fact!)

George the Guard grew red and pale,
Slowly finished his quart of ale:—

“Shoot? Why—Rabbit him!—didn't he shoot?”
Muttered—“The Baggage was far too 'cute!”

“Shoot? Why he'd flashed the pan in his eye!”
Muttered—“She'd pay for it by and by!”
Further than this made no reply.

Nor could a further reply be made,
For George was in league with “Beau Brocade”!

“That these suspicions [of connivance] were not without foundation is proved by the dying speeches of some penitent robbers of that age, who appear to have received from the innkeepers services much resembling those which Farquhar's Boniface [in the Beaux' Stratagem] rendered to Gibbet” (Macaulay's History of England, ed. 1864, i. p. 181).

And John the Host, in his wakefullest state,
Was not—on the whole—immaculate.

But nobody's virtue was over-nice
When Walpole talked of “a man and his price”;

And wherever Purity found abode,
'Twas certainly not on a posting road.

II

“Forty” followed to “Thirty-nine.”
Glorious days of the Hanover line!

Princes were born, and drums were banged;
Now and then batches of Highwaymen hanged.

‘Glorious news!”—from the Spanish Main;
Porto-Bello at last was ta'en.

Porto-Bello was taken in November 1739, but Vice-Admiral Vernon's despatches did not reach England until the following March (see Gentleman's Magazine, 1740, i. 124 et seq.).

“Glorious news!”—for the liquor trade;
Nobody dreamed of “Beau Brocade.”

People were thinking of Spanish Crowns;
Money was coming from seaport towns!

Nobody dreamed of “Beau Brocade,”
(Only Dolly the Chambermaid!)

Blessings on Vernon! Fill up the cans;
Money was coming in “Flys” and “Vans.”

Possibly John the Host had heard;
Also, certainly, George the Guard.

And Dolly had possibly tidings, too,
That made her rise from her bed anew,

Plump as ever, but stern of eye,
With a fixed intention to warn the “Fly.”

Lingering only at John his door,
Just to make sure of a jerky snore;

Saddling the gray mare, Dumpling Star;
Fetching the pistol out of the bar;

(The old horse-pistol that, they say,
Came from the battle of Malplaquet;)

Loading with powder that maids would use,
Even in “Forty,” to clear the flues;

And a couple of silver buttons, the Squire
Gave her, away in Devonshire.

These she wadded—for want of better—
With the B---sh---p of L---nd---n's “Pastoral Letter”;

A Pastoral Letter was issued by the Bishop of London in August, 1739. It was at once answered by Whitefield.

Looked to the flint, and hung the whole,
Ready to use, at her pocket-hole.

Thus equipped and accoutred, Dolly
Clattered away to “Exciseman's Folly”;—

Such was the name of a ruined abode,
Just on the edge of the London road.

Thence she thought she might safely try,
As soon as she saw it, to warn the “Fly.”

But, as chance fell out, her rein she drew,
As the Beau came cantering into the view.

By the light of the moon she could see him drest
In his famous gold-sprigged tambour vest;

This embroidery was so-called from being worked on a drum-shaped frame. “Your occasional tropes and flowers suit the general coarseness of your style, as tambour sprigs would a ground of linsey-woolsey” (Sheridan's Critic, 1779, Act i. Scene 1).

And under his silver-gray surtout,
The laced, historical coat of blue,

That he wore when he went to London-Spaw,

A tavern and pleasure garden at the corner of Rosoman Street and Exmouth Street, Clerkenwell, having a noted chalybeate spring on the premises.

“Sweethearts with their sweethearts go
To Islington or London-Spaw;
Some go but just to drink the water,
Some for the ale which they like better.”

(Poor Robin's Almanack, 1733.)

And robbed Sir Mungo Mucklethraw.

Out-spoke Dolly the Chambermaid,
(Trembling a little, but not afraid,)
“Stand and Deliver, O ‘Beau Brocade’!”

But the Beau rode nearer, and would not speak,
For he saw by the moonlight a rosy cheek;

And a spavined mare with a rusty hide;
And a girl with her hand at her pocket-side.

So never a word he spoke as yet,
For he thought 'twas a freak of Meg or Bet;—
A freak of the “Rose” or the “Rummer” set.

The “Rose” was a famous tavern at Covent Garden; the “Rummer” was at Charing Cross.

Out-spoke Dolly the Chambermaid,
(Tremulous now, and sore afraid,)
“Stand and Deliver, O ‘Beau Brocade’!”—

Firing then, out of sheer alarm,
Hit the Beau in the bridle-arm.

Button the first went none knows where,
But it carried away his solitaire;

A loose neck-tie of black silk, generally affixed to the bag of the wig (Fairholt).

Button the second a circuit made,
Glanced in under the shoulder-blade;—
Down from the saddle fell “Beau Brocade”!

Down from the saddle and never stirred!—
Dolly grew white as a Windsor curd.

Slipped not less from the mare, and bound
Strips of her kirtle about his wound.

Then, lest his Worship should rise and flee,
Fettered his ankles—tenderly.

Jumped on his chestnut, Bet the fleet
(Called after Bet of Portugal Street);

Portugal Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields.

Came like the wind to the old Inn-door;—
Roused fat John from a three-fold snore;—

Vowed she'd 'peach if he misbehaved . . .
Briefly, the “Plymouth Fly” was saved!

Staines and Windsor were all on fire:—
Dolly was wed to a Yorkshire squire;
Went to Town at the K---g's desire!

But whether His M---j---sty saw her or not,
Hogarth jotted her down on the spot;

And something of Dolly one still may trace
In the fresh contours of his “Milkmaid's” face.

See the Enraged Musician, an engraving of which was published in November of the following year (1741).

George the Guard fled over the sea:
John had a fit—of perplexity;

Turned King's evidence, sad to state;—
But John was never immaculate.

As for the Beau, he was duly tried,
When his wound was healed, at Whitsuntide;

Served—for a day—as the last of “sights,”

Walpole (Letters, 1857, ii. 219) says that “half White's,” with Lord Mountford at their head, went to see James Maclean (the “gentleman highwayman”) in prison. Also that Lady Caroline Petersham and Miss Ashe had been to comfort and weep over him. Maclean was hanged on October 3, 1750, for robbing the Salisbury Coach, near Turnham Green.

To the world of St. James's-Street and “White's,”

“White's” was a famous coffee-house in St. James's Street.
“Aim-well. Pray, Sir, ha'n't I seen your Face at Will's Coffee-house?
“Gibbet. Yes, Sir, and at White's too.”

(Farquhar's Beaux' Stratagem, Act iii. Scene 2.)

Went on his way to Tyburn Tree,
With a pomp befitting his high degree.

Fielding (Covent Garden Journal, 27th April 1752) says: “This Day five Malefactors were executed at Tyburn. No Heroes within the Memory of Man ever met their Fate with more Boldness and Intrepidity, and consequently with more felonious Glory.”

Elsewhere he says (March 27): “The real Fact at present is, that instead of making the Gallows an Object of Terror, our Executions contribute to make it an Object of Contempt in the Eye of a Malefactor; and we sacrifice the Lives of Men, not for [the italics are Fielding's] the Reformation, but for the Diversion of the Populace,” Cf. also Macaulay's History of England, ed. 1864, i. 182.

Every privilege rank confers:—
Bouquet of pinks at St. Sepulchre's;

“Another curious custom observed at this Church [St. Sepulchre's] was that of presenting a nosegay to every criminal on his way to Tyburn” (Wheatley and Cunningham's London, 1891, iii. 229, 230). When, as a boy of eight [1774], J. T. Smith watched the notorious John Rann, commonly called “Sixteen-string Jack,” on his road to Tyburn, he noticed that the robber (who was gallantly clad in bright pea green) was equipped with an immense nosegay which had come to him in this way (Book for a Rainy Day, 3rd ed., 1861, pp. 29–30).

Flagon of ale at Holborn Bar;

Holborn Bar, or Bars, marks the boundary in Holborn of the City Liberties. It was on the official route from Newgate to Tyburn.

Friends (in mourning) to follow his Car—

“He [Richard Turpin, alias John Palmer, hanged at York, 7th April 1739] gave 3l. 10s. to 5 Men who were to follow the Cart as Mourners, with Hatbands and Gloves to them and several others” (Gentleman's Magazine, 1739, vol. ix. 213).

(“t” is omitted where Heroes are!)

Every one knows the speech he made;
Swore that he “rather admired the Jade!”—

Waved to the crowd with his gold-laced hat:
Talked to the Chaplain after that;

Turned to the Topsman undismayed . . .

i.e. the hangman. In the Tyburn Scene of Hogarth's Apprentice Series (Plate XI.) he may be seen sitting at the top of the triple tree.

This was the finish of “Beau Brocade”!

And this is the Ballad that seemed to hide
In the leaves of a dusty “Londoner's Guide”;

“Humbly Inscrib'd (with curls and tails)
By the Author to Frederick, Prince of Wales:—

“Published by Francis and Oliver Pine;
Ludgate-Hill, at the Blackmoor Sign.
Seventeen-Hundred-and-Thirty-Nine.”