Notes on the Lancashire Witches

This week a note on the Lancashire witches. In earlier episodes we’ve covered some of the folklore concerning the Lancashire Witch Trials, so when I heard that there was a ballad of the Lancashire witches I thought we would be going in for Tales spellcasting, familiars, trials, and late repentances. Instead I found a plot hook.

What I didn’t expect was a ballad saying that the most beautiful women in the world live in Lancashire, and that these are the witches. Some magi love ballads, House Jerbiton in particular, but anyone who has a pretention to nobility in Mythic Europe listens to new ballads as a mixture of news and entertainment.

If a redcap who is also a bard turns up at your covenant saying that he has a new lady friend and she’s one of the most beautiful women in the world because, obviously, she’s a witch from Lancashire, perhaps the player characters should get involved.

Thanks to the LibriVox production team for this recording.

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In vain I attempt to describe
The charms of my favourite fair ;
She’s the sweetest of Mother Eve’s tribe,
With her there is none to compare.
She’s a pride of beauty so bright,
Her image my fancy enriches ;
My charmer’s the village delight,
And the pride of the Lancashire witches.

Then hurrah for the Lancashire witches,
Whose smile every bosom enriches ;
Oh, dearly I prize
The pretty blue eyes
Of the pride of the Lancashire witches.

They may talk of the dark eyes of Spain —
‘Tis useless to boast as they do —
They attempt to compare them in vain
With the Lancashire ladies of blue.
Only view the dear heavenly belles,
You’re soon seized with love’s sudden twitches,
Which none could create but the spells
From the eyes of the Lancashire witches.

Then hurrah for the Lancashire witches,
Whose smile every bosom enriches ;
Oh, dearly I prize
The pretty blue eyes
Of the pride of the Lancashire witches.

The Lancashire witches, believe me,
Are beautiful every one ;
But mine, or my fancy deceives me,
Is the prettiest under the sun.
If the wealth of the Indies, I swear,
Were mine, and I wallow’d in riches,
How gladly my fortune I’d share
With the pride of the Lancashire witches.

Then hurrah for the Lancashire witches,
Whose smile every bosom enriches ;
Oh, dearly I prize
The pretty blue eyes
Of the pride of the Lancashire witches.