Woodstock; or, the Cavalier

  Walter Scott

  WOODSTOCK; OR, THE CAVALIER

  BY

  SIR WALTER SCOTT

  APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION.

  APPENDIX NO. I.

  THE WOODSTOCK SCUFFLE; or, Most dreadfull apparitions that were lately seene in the Mannor-house of Woodstock, neere Oxford, to the great terror and the wonderful amazement of all there that did behold them.

  It were a wonder if one unites,

  And not of wonders and strange sights;

  For ev'ry where such things affrights

  Poore people,

  That men are ev'n at their wits' end;

  God judgments ev'ry where doth send,

  And yet we don't our lives amend,

  But tipple,

  And sweare, and lie, and cheat, and—,

  Because the world shall drown no more,

  As if no judgments were in store

  But water;

  But by the stories which I tell,

  You'll heare of terrors come from hell,

  And fires, and shapes most terrible

  For matter.

  It is not long since that a child

  Spake from the ground in a large field,

  And made the people almost wild

  That heard it,

  Of which there is a printed book,

  Wherein each man the truth may look,

  If children speak, the matter's took

  For verdict.

  But this is stranger than that voice,

  The wonder's greater, and the noyse;

  And things appeare to men, not boyes,

  At Woodstock;

  Where Rosamond had once a bower,

  To keep her from Queen Elinour,

  And had escap'd her poys'nous power

  By good-luck,

  But fate had otherwise decreed,

  And Woodstock Manner saw a deed,

  Which is in Hollinshed or Speed

  Chronicled;

  But neither Hollinshed nor Stow,

  Nor no historians such things show,

  Though in them wonders we well know

  Are pickled;

  For nothing else is history

  But pickle of antiquity,

  Where things are kept in memory

  From stinking;

  Which otherwise would have lain dead,

  As in oblivion buried,

  Which now you may call into head

  With thinking.

  The dreadfull story, which is true,

  And now committed unto view,

  By better pen, had it its due,

  Should see light.

  But I, contented, do indite,

  Not things of wit, but things of right;

  You can't expect that things that fright

  Should delight.

  O hearken, therefore, hark and shake!

  My very pen and hand doth quake!

  While I the true relation make

  O' th' wonder,

  Which hath long time, and still appeares

  Unto the State's Commissioners,

  And puts them in their beds to feares

  From under.

  They come, good men, imploi'd by th' State

  To sell the lands of Charles the late.

  And there they lay, and long did waite

  For chapmen.

  You may have easy pen'worths, woods,

  Lands, ven'son, householdstuf, and goods,

  They little thought of dogs that wou'd

  There snap-men.

  But when they'd sup'd, and fully fed,

  They set up remnants and to bed.

  Where scarce they had laid down a head

  To slumber,

  But that their beds were heav'd on high;

  They thought some dog under did lie,

  And meant i' th' chamber (fie, fie, fie)

  To scumber.

  Some thought the cunning cur did mean

  To eat their mutton (which was lean)

  Reserv'd for breakfast, for the men

  Were thrifty.

  And up one rises in his shirt,

  Intending the slie cur to hurt,

  And forty thrusts made at him for't,

  Or fifty.

  But empty came his sword again.

  He found he thrust but all in vain;

  An the mutton safe, hee went amain

  To's fellow.

  And now (assured all was well)

  The bed again began to swell,

  The men were frighted, and did smell

  O' th' yellow.

  From heaving, now the cloaths it pluckt

  The men, for feare, together stuck,

  And in their sweat each other duck't.

  They wished

  A thousand times that it were day;

  'Tis sure the divell! Let us pray.

  They pray'd amain; and, as they say,

  —— ——

  Approach of day did cleere the doubt,

  For all devotions were run out,

  They now waxt strong and something stout,

  One peaked

  Under the bed, but nought was there;

  He view'd the chamber ev'ry where,

  Nothing apear'd but what, for feare.

  They leaked.

  Their stomachs then return'd apace,

  They found the mutton in the place,

  And fell unto it with a grace.

  They laughed

  Each at the other's pannick feare,

  And each his bed-fellow did jeere,

  And having sent for ale and beere,

  They quaffed.

  And then abroad the summons went,

  Who'll buy king's-land o' th' Parliament?

  A paper-book contein'd the rent,

  Which lay there;

  That did contein the severall farmes,

  Quit-rents, knight services, and armes;

  But that they came not in by swarmes

  To pay there.

  Night doth invite to bed again,

  The grand Commissioners were lain,

  But then the thing did heave amain,

  It busled,

  And with great clamor fil'd their eares,

  The noyse was doubled, and their feares;

  Nothing was standing but their haires,

  They nuzled.

  Oft were the blankets pul'd, the sheete

  Was closely twin'd betwixt their feete,

  It seems the spirit was discreete

  And civill.

  Which makes the poore Commissioners

  Feare they shall get but small arreares,

  And that there's yet for cavaliers

  One divell.

  They cast about what best to doe;

  Next day they would to wisemen goe,

  To neighb'ring towns some cours to know;

  For schollars

  Come not to Woodstock, as before,

  And Allen's dead as a nayle-doore,

  And so's old John (eclep'd the poore)

  His follower;

  Rake Oxford o're, there's not a man

  That rayse or lay a spirit can,

  Or use the circle, or the wand,

  Or conjure;

  Or can say (Boh!) unto a divell,

  Or to a goose that is uncivill,

  Nor where Keimbolton purg'd out evill,

  'Tis sin sure.

  There were two villages hard by,

  With teachers of presbytery,

  Who knew the house was hidiously

  Bepestred;

  But 'lasse! their new divinity

  Is not so deep, or not so high;

  Their witts doe (as their meanes did) lie

  Sequestred;

  But Master Joffman was the wight

  Which was to exorcise the spright;

  Hee'll preach and pray you day and night

  At pleasure.

  And by that painfull gainfull trade,

  He hath himselfe full wealthy made;

  Great store of guilt he hath, 'tis said,

  And treasure.

  But no intreaty of his friends

  Could get him to the house of fiends,

  He came not over for such ends

  From Dutch-land,

  But worse divinity hee brought,

  And hath us reformation taught,

  And, with our money, he hath bought

  Him much land.

  Had the old parsons preached still,

  The div'l should nev'r have had his wil;

  But those that had or art or skill

  Are outed;

  And those to whom the pow'r was giv'n

  Of driving spirits, are out-driv'n;

  Their colledges dispos'd, and livings,

  To grout-heads.

  There was a justice who did boast,

  Hee had as great a gift almost,

  Who did desire him to accost

  This evill.

  But hee would not employ his gifts.

  But found out many sleights and shifts;

  Hee had no prayers, nor no snifts,

  For th' divell.

  Some other way they cast about,

  These brought him in, they throw not out;

  A woman, great with child, will do't;

  They got one.

  And she i' th' room that night must lie;

  But when the thing about did flie,

  And broke the windows furiously

&

nbsp; And hot one

  Of the contractors o're the head,

  Who lay securely in his bed,

  The woman, shee-affrighted, fled

  —— ——

  And now they lay the cause on her.

  That e're that night the thing did stir,

  Because her selfe and grandfather

  Were Papists;

  They must be barnes-regenerate,

  (A Hans en Kelder of the state,

  Which was in reformation gatt,)

  They said, which

  Doth make the divell stand in awe,

  Pull in his hornes, his hoof, his claw;

  But having none, they did in draw

  —— —— ——

  But in the night there was such worke,

  The spirit swaggered like a Turke;

  The bitch had spi'd where it did lurke,

  And howled

  In such a wofull manner that

  Their very hearts went pit a pat;

  * * * * * —— —— ——

  The stately rooms, where kings once lay

  But the contractors show'd the way.

  But mark what now I tell you, pray,

  'Tis worth it.

  That book I told you of before,

  Wherein were tenants written store,

  A register for many more

  Not forth yet,

  That very book, as it did lie,

  Took of a flame, no mortall eye

  Seeing one jot of fire thereby,

  Or taper;

  For all the candles about flew,

  And those that burned, burned blew,

  Never kept soldiers such a doe

  Or vaper.

  The book thus burnt and none knew how

  The poore contractors made a vow

  To work no more; this spoil'd their plow

  In that place.

  Some other part o' th' house they'll find,

  To which the divell hath no mind,

  But hee, it seems, is not inclin'd

  With that grace;

  But other pranks it plaid elsewhere.

  An oake there was stood many a yeere,

  Of goodly growth as any where,

  Was hewn down,

  Which into fewell-wood was cut,

  And some into a wood-pile put,

  But it was hurled all about

  And thrown down.

  In sundry formes it doth appeare;

  Now like a grasping claw to teare;

  Now like a dog; anon a beare

  It tumbles;

  And all the windows battered are,

  No man the quarter enter dare;

  All men (except the glasier)

  Doe grumble.

  Once in the likenesse of woman,

  Of stature much above the common,

  'Twas seene, but spak a word to no man,

  And vanish'd.

  'Tis thought the ghost of some good wife

  Whose husband was depriv'd of life,

  Her children cheated, land in strife

  She banist.

  No man can tell the cause of these

  So wondrous dreadful outrages;

  Yet if upon your sinne you please

  To discant,

  You'le find our actions out-doe hell's;

  O wring your hands and cease the bells,

  Repentance must, or nothing else

  Appease can't.

  No. II.

  THE JUST DEVIL OF WOODSTOCK;

  OR,

  A TRUE NARRATIVE OF THE SEVERAL APPARITIONS, THE FRIGHTS AND PUNISHMENTS, INFLICTED UPON THE RUMPISH COMMISSIONERS SENT THITHER TO SURVEY THE MANNORS AND HOUSES BELONGING TO HIS MAJESTIE.

  [London, printed in the year 1660. 4to.]

  The names of the persons in the ensuing Narrative mentioned, with others:—

  CAPTAIN COCKAINE.

  CAPTAIN HART.

  CAPTAIN CROOK.

  CAPTAIN CARELESSE.

  CAPTAIN ROE.

  Mr. CROOK, the Lawyer.

  Mr. BROWNE, the Surveyor.

  Their three Servants.

  Their Ordinary-keeper, and others.

  The Gatekeeper, with the Wife and Servants.

  Besides many more, who each night heard the noise; as Sir Gerrard Fleetwood and his lady, with his family, Mr. Hyans, with his family, and several others, who lodged in the outer courts; and during the three last nights, the inhabitants of Woodstock town, and other neighbor villages.

  And there were many more, both divines and others, who came out of the country, and from Oxford, to see the glass and stones, and other stuffe, the devil had brought, wherewith to beat out the Commissioners; the marks upon some walls remain, and many, this to testifie.

  THE PREFACE TO THE ENSUING NARRATIVE.

  Since it hath pleased the Almighty God, out of his infinite mercy, so to make us happy, by restoring of our native King to us, and us unto our native liberty through him, that now the good may say, magna temporum felicitas ubi sentire quoe velis, et dicere licet quoe sentias, we cannot but esteem ourselves engaged in the highest of degrees, to render unto him the highest thanks we can express. Although, surpris'd with joy, we become as lost in the performance; when gladness and admiration strikes us silent, as we look back upon the precipiece of our late condition, and those miraculous deliverances beyond expression. Freed from the slavery, and those desperate perils, we dayly lived in fear of, during the tyrannical times of that detestable usurper, Oliver Cromwell; he who had raked up such judges, as would wrest the most innocent language into high treason, when he had the cruel conscience to take away our lives, upon no other ground of justice or reason, (the stones of London streets would rise to witness it, if all the citizens were silent.) And with these judges had such councillors, as could advise him unto worse, which will less want of witness. For should the many auditors be silent, the press, (as God would have it,) hath given it us in print, where one of them (and his conscience-keeper, too,) speaks out. What shall we do with these men? saith he; Aeger intemperans crudelem facit medicum, et immedicabile vulmis ense recidendum. Who these men are that should be brought to such Scicilian vespers, the former page sets forth—those which conceit Utopias, and have their day-dreams of the return of I know not what golden age, with the old line. What usage, when such a privy councillor had power, could he expect, who then had published this narrative? This much so plainly shows the devil himself dislikt their doings, (so much more bad were they than he would have them be,) severer sure than was the devil to their Commissioners at Woodstock; for he warned them, with dreadful noises, to drive them from their work. This councillor, without more ado, would have all who retained conceits of allegiance to their soveraign, to be absolutely cut off by the usurper's sword. A sad sentence for a loyal party, to a lawful King. But Heaven is always just; the party is repriv'd, and do acknowledge the hand of God in it, as is rightly apply'd, and as justly sensible of their deliverance in that the foundation which the councillor saith was already so well laid, is now turned up, and what he calls day-dreams are come to passe. That old line which (as with him) there seemed, aliquid divini, to the contrary is now restored. And that rock which, as he saith, the prelates and all their adherents, nay, and their master and supporter, too, with all his posterity, have split themselves upon, is nowhere to be heard. And that posterity are safely arrived in their ports, and masters of that mighty navy, their enemies so much encreased to keep them out with. The eldest sits upon the throne, his place by birthright and descent,

  "Pacatumque regit Patriis virtutibus orbem;"

  upon which throne long may he sit, and reign in peace. That by his just government, the enemies of ours, the true Protestant Church, of that glorious martyr, our late sovereign, and of his royal posterity, may be either absolutely converted, or utterly confounded.