Woodstock

Woodstock

Project Gutenberg's Woodstock; or, The Cavalier, by Sir Walter Scott
Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing
this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook.
This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project
Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the
header without written permission.
Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the
eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is
important information about your specific rights and restrictions in how
the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a
donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved.
**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since
1971**
*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of
Volunteers!*****
Title: Woodstock; or, The Cavalier
Author: Sir Walter Scott
Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9785] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on October 16,
2003]

Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK
WOODSTOCK; OR, THE CAVALIER ***

Produced by Lee Dawei, David King and PG Distributed Proofreaders

WOODSTOCK; OR, THE CAVALIER
BY
SIR WALTER SCOTT
1855.

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 Chro-nicled;
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,