'Twas sixteenth of October, eleven fifty nine,

When Gentry met at crack of dawn. For it was their design

To hunt the wild boar with their hounds in wood of Eskdaleside,

Where game was plentiful, and boar had lately been descried.

The Lord of Ugglebarnby, the Lord of Sneaton too,

The Allatson of Fylingdales, set off with wild 'Halloo'!

Then, throwing hounds into the wood, the boar was quickly seen,

And the hounds gave tongue at once, because the scent was very keen.

Pursued and sorely wounded, the boar ran down the Dale

With hounds full cry behind him, and hot upon the trail.

But, reaching Eskdale Hermitage, he turned to flee inside

And, falling on the Chapel floor, he breathed his last and died.

 

The Hermit, kneeling at his prayers, rose up and shut the door

Lest hounds might desecrate the place where lay the wounded boar.

The Gentlemen now followed on and, finding hounds at bay,

Knocked furiously on the door which kept them from their prey.

The Hermit came forth fearlessly, for he was very brave;

But all the Gentry ran at him and, each one with a stave,

Most violently and cruelly did wound him nigh to death;

Then stood a moment silently, to look with bated breath.

For now 'twas clear the Holy Man was very like to die;

And so they fled to sanctuary, where they might safely lie.

 

Meantime the Hermit had desired the Abbot that he call

The Gentlemen to come to him so he might speak to all.

The Gentry, ordered from their lair, came duly as he willed,

To stand before the dying man, while knowing they'd be killed.

"By the wounds I am sure to die" the Holy Hermit saith

"And, when thou dost", the Abbot vowed, "The law is death for death".

"Not so", replied the Holy Man, "for, if these men shall be

Enjoined to penance for their souls, then forgive them free".

The Gentlemen implored him to enjoin them what he cared,

And they would do it faithfully, if so their lives were spared.

 

Then hie to stray Head Wood'', he saith, ''that there you may receive 

strut stowers, stakes and yethers, all upon  Ascension Eve;

And cut by Abbot's Officer himself, and not in haste

But carefully with penny knife, lest there be any waste.

Then carry them upon your backs to Whitby Harbourside,

And set them up to make a hedge to stand three turns of tide.

And then the Abbot's Officer shall blow upon his horn

And thrice cry out, so that his words upon the wind are borne:"

"Out on ye! Out on ye! Out on ye!"

By Brenda H. English (1980).