At Bretton Hall near Wakefield, known so well,
Sir William Wentworth Blackett did once dwell:
That mansion was his home; there with his bride,
In pomp and splendour, he once did reside
Yet, in the midst of all that he possessed,
A rambling mind disturbed Sir William’s breast;
His lady and his home he left behind,
Says he, “The end of this wide world I’ll find;
The Earth’s extensive, but you may depend on’t,
Before ere I return I’ll find the end on’t.”
So he embarked on board a ship, we find,
And sailing left her Ladyship behind,
Who oft in sorrow did his absence mourn,
And sighing, said, “Oh, that he would return,
For, he his voyage rough or smooth at sea,
It is a cruel bitter blast to me.”
Sir William he rolls on through wind and waves;
Undaunted he all kinds of weather braves;
Nor his strange project ere relinquished he,
Till one and twenty years he’d been at sea;
Then perhaps, he thought, “Good lack! The world is round,
The end is nowhere, so it can’t be found;
And, as weary of this wild goosechase,
At home again, ere long, I’ll show my face”
Then off he set, but little was aware,
What would transpire on his arrival there;
For while Sir William roved as here expressed
Another “Sir” his lady thus addressed -
“Sir William’s gone (ne’er to return again)
Past this world’s end, which long he sought in vain,
There’s not a doubt he’s found the end of life;
But don’t be troubled: you shall be my wife.”
She listened, till at length she gave consent,
And straight way to church then this couple went.
Sir William does about this wedding hear,
As he unto his journeys end draws near;
And thus he does within his mind reflect;-
“This sly usurper I shall now detect:
Soon shall he know, though much against his will
At Bretton Hall I have dominion still:
Those woods and fertile fields my own I call,
With this magnificent, this spendid, hall:
And now I come to claim them as my own,
Though by my dress not from a beggar known:
My clothes are turned to rags, and by the weather
My skin is tanned till it resembles leather;
So now I’ll act the begger bold and rude,
And at this wedding boldly I’ll intrude;
And though admittance I may be denied
I’ll rob the merry bridegroom of his bride”.
Then at his own hall door one rap he gave,
Resolved the inmates’ charity to crave,
So he presented his request, ’tis said,
And they presented him a crust of bread!
The bread he took, and then to their surprise,
He asked the servants for some beer likewise.
“No, No,” said they, “beer we will give you none,
You saucy, drunked vagabond, begone!”
At length (with much ado) some beer he got,
And quickly he returned the empty pot:
And straightway then into the hall went he,
And said her ladyship he wished to see.
“You can by no means see her,” answered they,
“She’s newly married! ’tis her wedding day!”
“Married!” the feigned beggerman replied,
“Then I’ll not go till I have seen the bride”
Then towards the dining room his course he bent,
The servants quick pursued with one consent,
And seized him, with intent to turn him out.
“Come back you villain; what are you about?”
“About my business, to be sure,” quoth he:
“The room I’ll enter, and the bride I’ll see”.
“We’ll see you out of doors,” the servants said;
And now of course, a clamorous din they made,
Just then the bride, on hearing such a clatter,
Opened the door to see what was the matter.
This noble beggar thus obtained a sight
Of her who erstwhile was his heart’s delight;
He viewed her in her nuptial garments dressed,
And did of her a glass of wine request,
Which she denied – whom little did suppose
The ragged stranger was her wealthy spouse;
Then straight into the the dining room he went,
And down he sat amongst the guests content.
Says he, “You’ll grant me my request, I know,
A glass of wine I’ll have before I go.”
The bride at length complied with his request,
Thus thinking to despatch the ragged guest;
But when he did this glass of wine obtain,
He drank and filled, and drank and filled again.
The guests, astonished, and disgusted viewed
Whilst he proceeded to be far more rude;
Around the bride’s fair neck he threw his arm,
And gave a kiss which did her much alarm;
On him she frowned and threatened him with law;
Says he, “Your threats I value not a straw;
My conduct to reprove is all in vain,
For what I’ve done I mean to do again.
Madam, your bridegroom’s in an awkward case;
This night I do intend to take his place.”
And while upon her countenance he pores,
The guests agree to kick him out of doors.
“The deuce is in the beggarman” they cried;
“He means either to beg or steal the bride”
“No, No,” says he “I claim her as my own”
He smiled, and then he did himself make known,
Saying, “William Wentworth Blackett is my name;
For my long absence I am much to blame;
But safe and sound I have returned at last,
So let’s forgive each other all that’s passed”
The bride did her first bridegroom recognise;
With joy transported to his arms she flies,
And whilst they tenderly each other kiss,
The disappointed bridegroom they dismiss;
Who inwardly did his hard case lament,
Hung down his head and out of door he went,
“I’m robbed of this fair jewel now,” thinks he;
“How cruel is this tender spouse to me!”
Awhile he scratched his head, then heaved a sigh,
Then eyed the hall again, and wiped his eye,
Sir William freely did forgive his wife;
They lived together till the end of life.
My honest story I must now conclude,
Which may by some be as a fiction viewed;-
But, Sirs, the boots in which Sir William went
Are kept in memory of that event;
The very hat he wore preserved has been
At Bretton Hall – where they may yet be seen.
