ys those were!

There was talk of shutting up the infatuated lady. If not incarcerated,
she was rigidly watched. The earl her husband fell altogether to drinking
and coaching, and other things. The ballad makes her say:

'My family my gaolers be,
My husband is a zany;
Naught see I clear save my bold Buccaneer
To rescue Countess Fanny!'

and it goes on:

'O little lass, at play on the grass,

Come earn a silver penny,
And you'll be dear to my bold Buccaneer
For news of his Countess Fanny.'

In spite of her bravery, that poor woman suffered!

We used to learn by heart the ballads and songs upon famous events in
those old days when poetry was worshipped.

But Captain Kirby gave provocation enough to both families when he went
among the taverns and clubs, and vowed before Providence over his big
fist that they should rue their interference, and he would carry off the
lady on a day he named; he named the hour as well, they say, and that was
midnight of the month of June. The Levelliers and Cressetts foamed at the
mouth in speaking of him, so enraged they were on account of his age and
his passion for a young woman. As to blood, the Kirbys of Lincolnshire
were quite equal to the Cressetts of Warwick. The Old Buccaneer seems to
have had money too. But you can see what her people had to complain of:
his insolent contempt of them was unexampled. And their tyranny had
roused my lady's high spirit not a bit less; and she said right out:
'When he comes, I am ready and will go with him.'

There was boldness for you on both sides! All the town was laughing and
betting on the event of the night in June: and the odds were in favour of
Kirby; for though, Lord Cressett was quite the popular young English
nobleman, being a capital whip and free of his coin, in those days men
who had smelt powder were often prized above titles, and the feeling, out
of society, was very strong for Kirby, even previous to the fight on the
heath. And the age of the indomitable adventurer must have contributed to
his popularity. He was the hero of every song.

"'What's age to me!" cries Kirby;
"Why, young and fresh let her be,
But it 's mighty better reasoned
For a man to be well seasoned,
And a man she has in me," cries Kirby.'

As to his exact age:

"'Write me down sixty-three," cries Kirby.'

I have always maintained that it was an