The Western Rising

In 1549 in young king Edward's reign
The cunning Cranmer said we'll break the Roman chain
Heap all that yet remains of old idolatry
To burn and warm our hearths that England might be free

The young king signed a name that he might work his will
But both were halted by one Thomas Underhill
Who said to Father Harper come what will to pass
Still Sampford Courtenay will have its fathers' Mass

The news was spread abroad throughout the Westland fold
That Sampford Courtenay yet prayed the Mass of old
And it was for that cause they loaded ball and shell
And made a chaos ring from every parish bell

In vain Sir Pollard rode in vain the scholars spoke
For all the western lands had shrugged off Cranmer's yoke
In vain the king appealed in vain the nobles raged
Until the battle lines of Crediton engaged

Sir Peter Carew found that he had met his match
And drove the townsfolk out set fire to their thatch
That news was spread abroad and blazed out like that flame
Till every village round vowed to endure the same

The roadways barricade the Topsham cannons fetch
Sir Walter Raleigh is a prize we have to catch
Ten thousand Cornishmen have rallied to our cause
To spurn the peace of men for our Church's laws

Lord Grey de Wilton's come to Oxfordshire's fields
And cruel and terrible's the power that he wields
His troops cannot be held the peasants have no hope
Their rectors' bodies dangle grimly from a rope

There is, alas, no means of gaining victory
For those who hack the limbs and leave the trunk to be
And loyal subjects who would kiss their monarch's hands
Can scarcely trust in him to cater to demands

On August third Sir Russel reached Woodbury Waste
And to the common marched the western men in haste
Till on that barren hillside nearly every one
Lay cold and bloodied murdered by a foreign gun

Beside the river Clyst the final stage was set
And all the royal army fiercely was beset
But fire claimed the thatch and drove defenders down
And pike and musket made a graveyard of the town

The Devonshire men are silent in the ground
Their wives are weeping but they dare not make a sound
And of the parish bells one only still is there
To tinkle feebly calling half-starved souls to prayer

So all you western men a warning take by me
If you would keep your faith don't hope to easily
Be brave your fathers' souls lie peacefully of late
But still their bodies dangle over London's gate
London's gate