66 THE SONGS OF " ROOKWOOD." 



" Brake, brook, meadow, and plough'd field, Bess fleetly bestrode, 

 As the crow wings her flight, we selected our road, 

 We arrived at Hough Green in five minutes or less, 

 My neck, it was saved, by the speed of Black Bess. 



" Stepping carelessly forward, I lounge on the green, 

 Taking excellent care that by all I am seen, 

 Some remarks on time's flight, to the squires I address, 

 But I say not a word of the flight of Black Bess. 



" I mention the hour it was just about four 

 Play a rubber at bowls think the danger is o'er, 

 When athwart my next game, like a checkmate at chess, 

 Comes the horseman in search of the rider of Bess. 



" What matter details ? Off with triumph I came, 

 He swears to the hour and the squires swear the same, 

 I had robbed him at four while at four they profess 

 I was quietly bowling all thanks to Black Bess. 



" Then one halloo, boys one loud cheering halloo 

 To the swiftest of coursers the gallant, the true ; 

 For the sportsman unborn, shall the memory bless, 

 Of the horse of the highwayman bonny Black Bess !" 



We now come to one of the most racy and original compositions in 

 the volume, and we do not hesitate to pronounce it the very best flash ' 

 song ever written. We are not so rich as the French or Spaniards 

 are in this species of writing ; but w^ can boast some few good spe- 

 cimens, though not at all to be compared with Mr. Ainsworth's ditty. 

 It is one of those ballades a reprises which, according to Vidocq, are 

 generally aussi longues qu'un faubourg. Our author ought to have 

 christened it, as we shall christen it, the 



" AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF JERRY JUNIPER. 



" In a box a of the Stone Jug b I was born, 

 Of a hempen widow the kid forlorn. 



Fake away. 

 And my father, as I've heard say, 



Fake away, 



Was a merchant of capers d gay, ^ 



Who cut his last fling with great applause, 



e Nix my doll palls, fake away. 



though once the old road from Altringham to Knutsford, skirting the rich and 

 sylvan domains of Dunham, and descending the hill which brings you to the 

 bridge crossing the river Bollin. With some little difficulty we penetrated this 

 ravine; it is just the locality for such an adventure. A small brook wells 

 through it, and the steep banks are overhung with every description of timber, 

 and was, the other day, a perfect nest of primroses and wild flowers. Hough 

 (pronounced Hoo) Green lies, we believe, at about three miles distance across 

 the country -the way Turpin rode. The old Bowling Green is one of the 

 pleasantest inns in Cheshire. 



a Cell '' Newgate. 



c A woman whose husband has been hanged. d A dancing master. 



* a Nothing, comrades, on, on," supposed to be addressed by a thief to his 

 confederates. 



