[From Manx Note Book #8 p159]
OF
SAMUEL RUTTER D.D.
ARCHDEACON, AND AFTERWARDS BISHOP OF SODOR AND MANN, BUT LITTLE IS
KNOWN. His portrait, which we are enabled to publish by kind
permission of the Earl of Derby, represents him as having a grave and
pleasing countenance. He is said to have been the grandson of John
Rutter, miller on the Derby estate at Burscough,
in Lancashire, and to have been descended from the Rutters of
Kingsley, a Cheshire family. " He was probably sent by the family his
forefathers served to Westminster school," and" elected thence in
1623 to Christ Church, Oxford."1 In 1646 he was appointed
Archdeacon and Rector of Andreas, but he does not appear to have ever
resided in that parish. He was James the seventh Earl of Derby's
domestic chaplain and confidential friend, and, being tutor to his
eldest son, was constantly with the family. He seems also to have
played the part of court poet, as in the Library at Knowsley, there
is a MS. entitled "A Choice Collection of Songs composed by
Archdeacon Ryter (afterwards Bishop of Sodor and Mann), for the
amusement and diversion of the Right Hon. James Earl of Derby, during
his retreat into his Island of Mann, in the time of the Oliverian
usurpation." These songs, four in number, are not compositions of any
great merit, but probably served their end, which was, doubtless, to
amuse the boisterous cavaliers who formed the Earl's retinue. The
first of them is a lament " On the direful effects of the
Rebellion,"2 the other three, " A Song in praise of
Ale,"3 "The Little Quiet Nation," – and " Mellancolly
Drown'd in a Glass of Eubonia," (see following ballad), are
Bacchanalian in character; the last in particular would have come
more appropriately from the pen of a Sheridan than from that of a
reverend cleric. It is not positively known by whom the translations
into Manx were made, though they are attributed to Rutter, and appear
in the same MS. He also wrote a poem "To the Glorious Memory of the
Blessed Martyr James, Earle of Derby," 4 and an amusing
piece called " The Attorney Bated," originally published among the
Townley papers and reprinted by the Manx Society.5 His
literary labours were not confined to poetry, as we find Seacome, the
Derby historian, acknowledging that "to his assistance I am greatly
obliged for his collections, and memoirs made use of in my present
history of the noble house of
Stanley, but especially in that ever-memorable siege of Lathom;
the defence whereof he had a large share in."It is evident that the
Earl was greatly attached to him; in one of his letters to his eldest
son, Lord Strange, he writes "he is a man for whom both you and I may
thank God," and in his last letter to his children " Love the
Archdeacon, he will give you good precepts." He was at Lathom House
during the second siege, and was one of the Commissioners appointed
to treat concerning the surrender of Castle Rushen to the Parliament,
on this latter occasion, according to a contemporary newspaper, he
proved to be " a man of a very timorous spirit." Till the restoration
he remained with the Countess at Knowsley and in London. In
November,1660, he was appointed a prebendary of Lichfield, and on the
1st of September, 1661, he arrived in the Isle of Mann, being
installed Bishop on the 8th of October.7 He only survived
his installation six months, being interred in the centre of St.
Germain's Cathedral on the 30th of May, 1662.
1: "Manx Note Book," Vol. I., pp. 24-25.
2: Manx Society, Vol. XVI., pp. 76-79.
3: Stanley Papers, Part II., p. 201. Chetham Society.
4: "Manx Note Book," Vol. I., pp. 110-113.
5: Stanley Papers, Part III., Vol. II., p. 386.
6: Manx Society, Vol. XVI., pp. 227-230.
7: Notes on Malew Register, " Manx Note Book," pp. ii
73, 181.
TRIMSHEY BAIT 'SY JOUGH LAJER.
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MELLANCOLLY DROWN 'D IN A GLASS OF EUBONIA
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NY bee-jee groamagh arragh, cur-jee kiarail er
gooyll,
Eh ta smooinaght er mairagh te cheau laa mie er shooyll,
Cha vel eh agh lhome, naght yeean trot ny keim
Ta giu as nagh ceau laghyn y noal.
Te dooinney dangeyragh dy akin 'sy cheer ta shin nish
ayn,
Tra ta naboonyn troggal y cabbane, ta boirit still ayns e
chione,
As ooilley yn vea shoh goaill doot ny choud bio
As dy ntaase y argid ro-ghowin.
She ta'n 'n irrinagh 's creeney ta 'n irree choud as tatn
cheeaght hraaue,
Lhig da ny boddagh dy moghey girree ayn doccar myr tract
chiu,
Choud's ta famlagh 'sy traie bee ayns yn oai
Ver orrin arrane y ghoaill daue.
Tra hug yn oayrn hooin nee vaikyn vagher shin ooashley
glen chaart ny kione,
Eisht ven y thie jeagh nagh daghey dhyt rouyr jeh shen
ychaart ayn,
Veih 'n ooashley carrane ta cheet cooilleen 'n oll vane,
As chur er sleih creeney ny goan.
Nish va 'n 'sy thie lhieen as y churn dooin, as lhig da
dty linin dooin,
Son shee shen nee nyn dooin dooin dy chur chreenaght ayns ny
goan;
Te ooashley da ree, ta ooashley da ree
Dy chur er y kione lhied y crooin.
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CAST away care and sorrow, the cankerworm of the
brain.
For he that cares for to-morrow has spent a good day in
vain,
And he's but an ass, and he's but an ass,
That drinks not, and drinks not again.
Wee count him a dangerous fellow, as any that lives in ye
state,
Who when his neighbours are mellow doth troble an addle
pate,
With thinking too much, with thinking too much,
And all about living too late.
But he's the best husband that whistles whilst the merry
plowe doth go,
Let the fool reap his Tares and Thistles, which in sadness
he doth sowe,
We'l sing whilst the plowe, we'l sing whilst the plowe,
Is getting us Barley below.
And when it come up anon after, we give it a gentle
touch,
Of the purest purest watter, but faith it must not be too
much,
For watter's the thing, for watter's the thing
Makes all fools even such.
Let our Hostess fill up the flaggon, and let her good ail
be brown,
And let it spits fire like a draggon, till our heads be the
wisest in town,
Tis a life for a King, 'tis a life for a King
To wear such another crown.
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+ Spelling as in the original.
As the English version is a mere paraphrase of the Manx, Mr. R. W.
Heaton has made a literal translation which we append:–
MELANCHOLY DROWNED IN STRONG DRINK.
BE gloomy no longer, cast your cares aside,
He, who thinks on the morrow, has wasted a day,
For he's but a sorry, chicken-hearted knave,
Who drinks and recks aught of the time.
He's a dangerous man to behold in the land wherein eve dwell,
Who, while his neighbours are building their houses, is still addle
headed,
Who throughout his life keeps himself in a constant worry,
As to how he shall raise his means to affluence.
He is wise and thoughtful, who rises when the ploughman starts his
toil,
Let the lazy lout stifle himself with his unwilling labour,
As long as the sea-weed lies upon the shore
Our verse shall celebrate such men as these.
When we see the barley springing up in the fields, we sigh for a
glass of good liquor,
For our hostess of the inn watches that no one gets more than his
share;
Pale death awaits the drunken sot, as a punishment for his
intemperance,
And it is through this vice that wise men are so few.
Now we had in the house a net and a churn, and may they long be ours
!
For we are free to put wisdom into our words,
It is an honour for the king, it is an honour for the king,
To wear on his head such a crown.
