“Ye lazy caterpillars! ye cowardly scum of humanity! if ye follow me not, I’ll rouse the Welsh bull-dogs.  Sir Osmund hath ta’en him to the dungeon, I tell ye; and who is there that will not lend a hand to the rescue of Sir William Bradshaigh?”

Grim was among the foremost of the invading army; on hearing this news, a latent spark enkindled his courage most opportunely into a blaze.  Seizing a cudgel, he brandished it in front of his comrades, like one half-frantic, crying, “It is, it is; I have seen him this blessed day!—­Hurrah for Sir William!”

“Hurrah!” shouted the crowd, whose courage, augmenting with their numbers, soon manifested itself in an immediate attack on the cell, whence they speedily extricated their lord.  Intoxicated with joy, they vowed a summary vengeance on the discourteous knight who had so vilely entreated him.

Sir William’s first care was for the rescue of his lady.  She almost forgot her own sorrows on witnessing his joy when once more folding the children to his embrace.  A short interval elapsed ere he sought his adversary; but he had fled, along with his unworthy followers.  Such was the wrong Sir William had suffered, that his yet untamed spirit deemed it an offence too foul to be expiated by aught but the blood of his merciless foe.  Armed, and with but few attendants, he hotly pursued him, and, as old chronicles tell, at a place called Newton, he overtook and slew him in single combat.  Returning in safety, he lived happily with his lady to a good old age.  They lie buried in the chancel of All Saints, Wigan, where, carved on the tomb, their effigies still exist, the rarest of the monumental antiquities in that ancient edifice.

The Lady Mabel’s spirit had been too sorely wounded to recover its tranquillity.  For the purpose of what was then deemed an expiation to her unintentional offence, she performed a weekly penance, going barefooted from Haigh to a place outside the walls at Wigan, where a stone cross was erected, which bears to this day the name of “MAB’S CROSS.”

THE PRIOR OF BURSCOUGH.

    “Quhere are ye boun, ye bold prior,
      With that ladye on your knee?”
    “I’m boun to the hills, I’m boun to the dales,
      I’m boun to the grey priory.”

Old Ballad.  M.S.

Of the once renowned priory of Burscough, only two pillars, belonging to the centre arch of the church, are now remaining.  It is situated about two miles from Ormskirk, on the Preston road, in a level district of great compass renowned for its fertility.  The extensive manor and living of Ormskirk formerly belonged to this priory.  The charter of King Edward II., “reciting and confirming the grants of the donors,” with a confirmation of the charter by which “the prior and convent of Burscough, and their successors for ever, shall have one market every week on Thursday, at their manor of Ormskirk, and likewise one fair every year, of five days’ continuance,” is still preserved in the office of the Duchy of Lancaster.