Let all young men now, for my sake, Take care how they such havoc make; For drunkenness, you plain may see, Had like his ruin for to be. THE BOWES TRAGEDY. Being a true relation of the Lives and Characters of ROGER WRIGHTSON and MARTHA RAILTON, of the Town of Bowes, in the County of York, who died for love of each other, in March, 1714/5 Tune of _Queen Dido_. [_The Bowes Tragedy_ is the original of Mallet’s _Edition and Emma_. In these verses are preserved the village record of the incident which suggested that poem. When Mallet published his ballad he subjoined an attestation of the facts, which may be found in Evans’ _Old Ballads_, vol. ii. p. 237. Edit. 1784. Mallet alludes to the statement in the parish registry of Bowes, that ‘they both died of love, and were buried in the same grave,’ &c. The following is an exact copy of the entry, as transcribed by Mr. Denham, 17th April, 1847. The words which we have printed in brackets are found interlined in another and a later hand by some person who had inspected the register:— ‘Ro_d_ger Wrightson, Jun., and Martha Railton, both of Bowes, Buried in one grave: He _D_ied in a Fever, and upon tolling his passing Bell, she cry’d out My heart is broke, and in a _F_ew hours expir’d, purely [_or supposed_] thro’ Love, March 15, 1714/5, aged about 20 years each.’ Mr. Denham says:— ‘_The Bowes Tragedy_ was, I understand, written immediately after the death of the lovers, by the then master of Bowes Grammar School. His name I never heard. My father, who died a few years ago (aged nearly 80), knew a younger sister of Martha Railton’s, who used to sing it to strangers passing through Bowes. She was a poor woman, advanced in years, and it brought her in many a piece of money.’] LET Carthage Queen be now no more The subject of our mournful song; Nor such old tales which, heretofore, Did so amuse the teeming throng; Since the sad story which I’ll tell, All other tragedies excel. Remote in Yorkshire, near to Bowes, Of late did Roger Wrightson dwell; He courted Martha Railton, whose Repute for virtue did excel; Yet Roger’s friends would not agree, That he to her should married be. Their love continued one whole year, Full sore against their parents’ will; And when he found them so severe, His loyal heart began to chill: And last Shrove Tuesday, took his bed, With grief and woe encompassèd. Thus he continued twelve days’ space, In anguish and in grief of mind; And no sweet peace in any case, This ardent lover’s heart could find; But languished in a train of grief, Which pierced his heart beyond relief.