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My Bonnie Black Bess
'My Bonnie Black Bess' in John Ashton's Modern Street Ballads
agrees in three respects with the Blaylock song: (i) Dick Turpin,
the famous eighteenth-century outlaw, is in both the narrator-owner;
(2) the "last ride" described in both songs is to the town of York;
(3) in both songs the gallant mare suffers death, though in Ashton's
she dies as the result of overstrain.
The Blaylock song is clearly a traditional version of 'Poor Black
Bess,' printed by the English ballad publisher Such as a broadside
(along with 'The Greenwich Pensioner') under a woodcut of Turpin
on Black Bess. There is a copy of Such's 'Poor Black Bess' in the
Claude Lovat Eraser collection of ballads and broadsides in the
Yale University Library. Randolph (OFS 11 152-5) reports it from
Arkansas. In the Blaylock version stanzas 8 and 9 have been trans-
posed, and a number of changes due to oral transmission have
occurred: e.g., "When Argus-eyed Justice did me hotly pursue"
becomes "When august Justice did me now pursue."
'My Bonnie Black Bess.* From the John Burch Blaylock Collection,
concerning which see the headnote to 'Bonny Barbara Allen' B, above.
I When Fortune, vain goddess, she fled from my bode,
And friends proved unkindly, I took to the road.
A-robbing the rich to relieve my distress,
I brought you to aid me, my bonnie black Bess.
^ Is "turst" for "twist," English slang equivalent to the American
"skirt"? "Feist," sometimes spelled "fice," is a contemptuous term for
a small dog.
OLDER BALLADS MOSTLY BRITISH 357
2 No vile whip or spurs did on your side fall,
No need for to use them, you'd bound at my call.
For each act of kindness you did me caress ;
You ever proved faithful, my bonnie black Bess.
3 When dark sable midnight her mantle had drawn
O'er the bright scenes of nature, how oft have we gone
To the famed house of wealth, though an unwelcome guest,
To the minions of Fortune, my bonnie black Bess.
4 How silent you stood when the carriage I'd stop,
And the inmates their gold and bright jewels did drop.
No poor man we robbed, nor did we oppress
The widows or orphans, my bonnie black Bess.
5 When august Justice did me now pursue.
From London to York like lightning we flew.
No tall bars could stop you, the river you'd breast.
And in twelve hours we reached it, my bonnie black Bess.
6 Now despair gathers o'er me, and dark is my lot.
For the law doth pursue me through the man that I shot.
But to save me, poor brute, you did do your best.
Though worn out and weary, my bonnie black Bess.
7 Hark, the bloodhounds approach ! No, they never shall have
A beast like thee — noble, so handsome and brave.
You must die, my dumb friend, though it does me distress.
There, I have shot you, my bonnie black Bess.
8 No one can e'er say that ingratitude dwelt
In the bosom of Turpin ; 'twas a vice he ne'er felt.
I shall die like a man and soon be at rest —
Then farewell forever, my bonnie black Bess.
9 In years to come, when I'm dead and gone,
This tale will be handed from father to son.
Some will take pity, while all will confess
'Twas through kindness I shot you, my bonnie black Bess.
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