The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 2 (of 5) (part 3 of 5)

Margaret will not give William back his faith and troth, in #B#, #D#, #E#, unless he resolves certain questions about the state of the dead; what becomes of women that die in travail; where the women go who hang themselves for sin; where unbaptized children. Mere curiosity does not sort well with this very seriously conceived ballad, and these passages have probably grown out of a not unnatural inquiry on the part of Margaret as to her lover's personal state, extended in #E# 12 to "tell me the pleasures o heaven, and pains o hell how they be." The scene at the grave in #C# 11-13 may be judged grotesque, but is not trivial or unimpressive. These verses may be supposed not to have belonged to the earliest form of the ballad, and one does not miss them from #A#, but they cannot be an accretion of modern date.

Sir Walter Scott informs us, in the Advertisement to The Pirate, that the lady whose affections had been engaged by Goff, the historical prototype of Cleveland, "went up to London to see him before his death, and that, arriving too late, she had the courage to request a sight of his body; and then touching the hand of the corpse, she formally resumed the troth-plight which she had bestowed." "Without going through this ceremony," Scott goes on to say, "she could not, according to the superstition of the country, have escaped a visit from the ghost of her departed lover, in the event of her bestowing upon any living suitor the faith which she had plighted to the dead."[130]

'Sweet William's Ghost' has much in common with one of the most beautiful and celebrated of the Scandinavian ballads, and may well be a different development of the same story:

#Danish.# 'Fæstemanden i Graven' ('Aage og Else'), Grundtvig, No 90, II, 492-97, III, 870-74, #A# from a manuscript of the seventeenth century, #B# from about 1700, #C# from recent tradition. #Swedish.# 'Sorgens Magt,' #A#, #B#, Afzelius, No 6, I, 29, II, 204; #C#, Arwidsson, No 91, II, 103; #D#, Wigström, Skånska Visor, No 8, the same, Folkdiktning, I, 17, No 6, 'Den döde brudgummen:' all from recent tradition.

According to the oldest version, Danish #A#,[131] from which the others do not materially vary, a man dies just as he is to be married. His love grieves for him passionately. The dead hears her under the ground, comes to her bower with his coffin on his back, and knocks. She lets him in after he has proved himself to be "a spirit of health" by uttering the name of Jesus, combs his hair, and asks him how it is under the black earth (cf. English, #E# 12). It is like the bliss of heaven. May she follow him into his grave? It is like blackest hell. Every time she weeps for him his coffin is filled with lappered blood. But when she sings and is happy, his grave is all hung with rose-leaves. The cock crows, the white, the red, the black; he takes up his coffin and goes wearily back to the graveyard. His love follows through the mirk wood (so Swedish #A# 9, cf. English #B# 11), to the churchyard, and into the church. Then his yellow hair falls away, his rosy color wans. He bids her go home and never weep for him more. "Look up at the sky, the night is going;" and as she looks he slips into his grave. She goes sadly home, prays God that she may not live out a year and a day, falls sick, and dies within a month.

The Scandinavian ballad agrees in many particulars with the conclusion of the second lay of Helgi Hundingsbani in the older Edda. Helgi, having been slain by Sigrún's brother, is bitterly bewailed by Sigrún. He quits his barrow to come to her. Sigrún will kiss him, but his hair is thick with hoar-frost, he is drenched in blood, and how is this? These are the grim tears that Sigrún has shed, every one of which falls on his breast. Sigrún says she will sleep in his arms as though he were alive, and goes into the barrow with him. The end of the story is lost; according to a prose tradition which professes to supply the close, Sigrún soon died of grief. The source of the later ballads is perceptible here.

In the English ballad the dead lover returns of his own motion, simply to ask back his troth; in the Scandinavian, his betrothed grieves him out of his grave, "hon sörjer sin fästeman ur graf," and the object of his visit is to admonish her to restrain her tears, which prevent his happy repose. A fragmentary story with this turn, which perhaps may even have been a variety of 'Sweet William's Ghost,' will be found in the ballad which follows this.

In a somewhat popular German ballad, 'Der todte Freier,' a dead man comes to the window of his betrothed in the night and calls her. She does not recognize him; says he smells of the ground. He has been eight years in the ground, and that may be. He bids her summon father, mother, and friends, for her bridegroom has come. She is decked as for her wedding; at the first sound of the bell makes her will or receives the sacrament, and dies at the second.[132]

A young man goes to the grave of his betrothed and asks his love-tokens back; she refers him to her mother, and tells him she will join him in a year: Haupt u. Schmaler, I, 88, No 55. This returning of gifts by the dead is not an infrequent phenomenon: Čelakowský, I, 4, No 2==Wenzig, Slawische Volkslieder, p. 57, and III, 16, No 6; Beaurepaire, p. 53, Le Héricher, Lit. pop. de Normandie, p. 160 f; Briz y Candi, I, 140, Milá, Observaciones, p. 155, No 50, Milá, Romancerillo, pp 320-22, No 337, #D#, #E#, #A#^{11}, #B#^{11}.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 34, No 4; by Herder, Book III, No 8; Bodmer, II, 36; Wackernagel, Altdeutsche Blätter, I, 189; Döring, p. 391; Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 86, No 23; von Marées, p. 24. #C# by Grundtvig, p. 319, No 90; Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 30, Hausschatz, p. 205; Knortz, as above, p. 179, No 49. A compound of #D#, #C#, #A#, by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, p. 53, No 12.

Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, "4th volume, 1740;" here from the London edition of 1763, p. 324.

1 There came a ghost to Margret's door, With many a grievous groan, And ay he tirled at the pin, But answer made she none.

2 'Is that my father Philip, Or is't my brother John? Or is't my true-love, Willy, From Scotland new come home?'

3 ''Tis not thy father Philip, Nor yet thy brother John; But 'tis thy true-love, Willy, From Scotland new come home.

4 'O sweet Margret, O dear Margret, I pray thee speak to me; Give me my faith and troth, Margret, As I gave it to thee.'

5 'Thy faith and troth thou's never get, Nor yet will I thee lend, Till that thou come within my bower, And kiss my cheek and chin.'

6 'If I shoud come within thy bower, I am no earthly man; And shoud I kiss thy rosy lips, Thy days will not be lang.

7 'O sweet Margret, O dear Margret, I pray thee speak to me; Give me my faith and troth, Margret, As I gave it to thee.'

8 'Thy faith and troth thou's never get, Nor yet will I thee lend, Till you take me to yon kirk, And wed me with a ring.'

9 'My bones are buried in yon kirk-yard, Afar beyond the sea, And it is but my spirit, Margret, That's now speaking to thee.'

10 She stretchd out her lilly-white hand, And, for to do her best, 'Hae, there's your faith and troth, Willy, God send your soul good rest.'

11 Now she has kilted her robes of green A piece below her knee, And a' the live-lang winter night The dead corp followed she.

12 'Is there any room at your head, Willy? Or any room at your feet? Or any room at your side, Willy, Wherein that I may creep?'

13 'There's no room at my head, Margret, There's no room at my feet; There's no room at my side, Margret, My coffin's made so meet.'

14 Then up and crew the red, red cock, And up then crew the gray: 'Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret, That you were going away.'

15 No more the ghost to Margret said, But, with a grievous groan, Evanishd in a cloud of mist, And left her all alone.

16 'O stay, my only true-love, stay,' The constant Margret cry'd; Wan grew her cheeks, she closd her een, Stretchd her soft limbs, and dy'd.

Herd's MSS, I, 177, II, 49, stanzas 27 ff.

1 Whan bells war rung, an mass was sung, A wat a' man to bed were gone, Clark Sanders came to Margret's window, With mony a sad sigh and groan.

2 'Are ye sleeping, Margret,' he says, 'Or are ye waking, presentlie? Give me my faith and trouthe again, A wat, trew-love, I gied to thee.'

3 'Your faith and trouth ye's never get, Nor our trew love shall never twain, Till ye come with me in my bower, And kiss me both cheek and chin.'

4 'My mouth it is full cold, Margret, It has the smell now of the ground; And if I kiss thy comely mouth, Thy life-days will not be long.

5 'Cocks are crowing a merry mid-larf, I wat the wild fule boded day; Gie me my faith and trouthe again, And let me fare me on my way.'

6 'Thy faith and trouth thou shall na get, Nor our trew love shall never twin, Till ye tell me what comes of women Awat that dy's in strong traveling.'

7 'Their beds are made in the heavens high, Down at the foot of our good Lord's knee, Well set about wi gilly-flowers, A wat sweet company for to see.

8 'O cocks are crowing a merry midd-larf, A wat the wilde foule boded day; The salms of Heaven will be sung, And ere now I'le be misst away.'

9 Up she has tain a bright long wand, And she has straked her trouth thereon; She has given [it] him out at the shot-window, Wi many a sad sigh and heavy groan.

10 'I thank you, Margret, I thank you, Margret, And I thank you hartilie; Gine ever the dead come for the quick, Be sure, Margret, I'll come again for thee.'

11 It's hose an shoon an gound alane She clame the wall and followed him, Untill she came to a green forest, On this she lost the sight of him.

12 'Is their any room at your head, Sanders? Is their any room at your feet? Or any room at your twa sides? Whare fain, fain woud I sleep.'

13 'Their is na room at my head, Margret, Their is na room at my feet; There is room at my twa sides, For ladys for to sleep.

14 'Cold meal is my covering owre, But an my winding sheet; My bed it is full low, I say, Down among the hongerey worms I sleep.

15 'Cold meal is my covering owre, But an my winding sheet; The dew it falls na sooner down Then ay it is full weet.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 262, Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 186, from the recitation of Mrs McCormick, and learned by her in Dumbarton, from an old woman, thirty years before: January 19, 1825.

1 Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie, Sat sewing her silken seam; By her came a pale, pale ghost, With many a sich and mane.

2 'Are ye my father, the king?' she says, 'Or are ye my brother John? Or are you my true-love, Sweet William, From England newly come?'

3 'I'm not your father, the king,' he says, 'No, no, nor your brother John; But I'm your true love, Sweet William, From England that's newly come.'

4 'Have ye brought me any scarlets so red? Or any silks so fine? Or have ye brought me any precious things, That merchants have for sale?'

5 'I have not brought you any scarlets sae red, No, no, nor the silks so fine; But I have brought you my winding-sheet, Oer many's the rock and hill.

6 'O Lady Marjory, Lady Marjory, For faith and charitie, Will you give to me my faith and troth, That I gave once to thee?'

7 'O your faith and troth I'll not give thee, No, no, that will not I, Until I get one kiss of your ruby lips, And in my arms you come [lye].'

8 'My lips they are so bitter,' he says, 'My breath it is so strong, If you get one kiss of my ruby lips, Your days will not be long.

9 'The cocks they are crowing, Marjory,' he says, 'The cocks they are crawing again; It's time the deid should part the quick, Marjorie, I must be gane.'

10 She followed him high, she followed him low, Till she came to yon church-yard; O there the grave did open up, And young William he lay down.

11 'What three things are these, Sweet William,' she says, 'That stands here at your head?' 'It's three maidens, Marjorie,' he says, 'That I promised once to wed.'

12 'What three things are these, Sweet William,' she says, 'That stands here at your side?' 'It is three babes, Marjorie,' he says, 'That these three maidens had.'

13 'What three things are these, Sweet William,' she says, 'That stands here at your feet?' 'It is three hell-hounds, Marjorie,' he says, 'That's waiting my soul to keep.'

14 She took up her white, white hand, And she struck him in the breast, Saying, Have there again your faith and troth, And I wish your soul good rest.

From tradition: Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, "Adversaria," p. 86.

1 Lady Margaret was in her wearie room, Sewin her silken seam, And in cam Willie, her true-love, Frae Lundin new come hame.

2 'O are ye my father Philip, Or are ye my brither John? Or are ye my true-love, Willie, Frae London new come home?'

3 'I'm nae your father Philip, Nor am I your brother John; But I am your true-love, Willie, An I'm nae a levin man.

4 'But gie me my faith and troth, Margrat, An let me pass on my way; For the bells o heaven will be rung, An I'll be mist away.'

5 'Yere faith and troth ye'se never get, Till ye tell me this ane; Till ye tell me where the women go That hang themsell for sin.'

6 'O they gang till the low, low hell, Just by the devil's knee; It's a' clad ower wi burnin pitch, A dreadfu sicht to see.'

7 'But your faith and troth ye'se never get, Till you tell me again; Till you tell me where the children go That die without a name.'

8 'O they gang till the high, high heaven, Just by our Saviour's knee, An it's a' clad ower wi roses red, A lovelie sicht to see.

9 'But gie me my faith and troth, Margrat, And let me pass on my way; For the psalms o heaven will be sung, An I'll be mist away.'

10 'But your faith and troth yese never get Till ye tell me again; Till ye tell me where the women go That die in child-beddin.'

11 'O they gang till the hie, hie heaven, Just by our Saviour's knee, And every day at twal o clock They're dipped oer the head.

12 'But gie me my faith and troth, Margret, And let me pass on my way; For the gates o heaven will be shut, And I'll be mist away.'

13 Then she has taen a silver key, Gien him three times on the breast; Says, There's your faith and troth, Willie, I hope your soul will rest.

14 'But is there room at your head, Willie? Or is there room at your feet? Or is there room at any o your sides, To let in a lover sweet?'

15 'There is nae room at my head, Margrat, There's nae room at my feet, But there is room at baith my sides, To lat in a lover sweet.'

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 241.

1 As May Margret sat in her bouerie, In her bouer all alone, At the very parting o midnicht She heard a mournfu moan.

2 'O is it my father? O is it my mother? Or is it my brother John? Or is it Sweet William, my ain true-love, To Scotland new come home?'

3 'It is na your father, it is na your mother, It is na your brother John; But it is Sweet William, your ain true-love, To Scotland new come home.'

4 'Hae ye brought me onie fine things, Onie new thing for to wear? Or hae ye brought me a braid o lace, To snood up my gowden hair?'

5 'I've brought ye na fine things at all, Nor onie new thing to wear, Nor hae I brought ye a braid of lace, To snood up your gowden hair.

6 'But Margaret, dear Margaret, I pray ye speak to me; O gie me back my faith and troth, As dear as I gied it thee.'

7 'Your faith and troth ye sanna get, Nor will I wi ye twin, Till ye come within my bouer, And kiss me, cheek and chin.'

8 'O should I come within your bouer, I am na earthly man; If I should kiss your red, red lips, Your days wad na be lang.

9 'O Margaret, dear Margaret, I pray ye speak to me; O gie me back my faith and troth, As dear as I gied it thee.'

10 'Your faith and troth ye sanna get, Nor will I wi ye twin, Till ye tak me to yonder kirk, And wed me wi a ring.'

11 'My banes are buried in yon kirk-yard, It's far ayont the sea; And it is my spirit, Margaret, That's speaking unto thee.'

12 'Your faith and troth ye sanna get, Nor will I twin wi thee, Till ye tell me the pleasures o heaven, And pains of hell how they be.'

13 'The pleasures of heaven I wat not of, But the pains of hell I dree; There some are hie hangd for huring, And some for adulterie.'

14 Then Margret took her milk-white hand, And smoothd it on his breast: 'Tak your faith and troth, William, God send your soul good rest!'

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 83, stanzas 26 ff.

1 When seven years were come and gane, Lady Margaret she thought lang; And she is up to the hichest tower, By the lee licht o the moon.

2 She was lookin oer her castle high, To see what she might fa, And there she saw a grieved ghost, Comin waukin oer the wa.

3 'O are ye a man of mean,' she says, 'Seekin ony o my meat? Or are you a rank robber, Come in my bower to break?'

4 'O I'm Clerk Saunders, your true-love, Behold, Margaret, and see, And mind, for a' your meikle pride, Sae will become of thee.'

5 'Gin ye be Clerk Saunders, my true-love, This meikle marvels me; O wherein is your bonny arms, That wont to embrace me?'

6 'By worms they're eaten, in mools they're rotten, Behold, Margaret, and see, And mind, for a' your mickle pride, Sae will become o thee.'

* * * * * * *

7 O, bonny, bonny sang the bird, Sat on the coil o hay; But dowie, dowie was the maid That followd the corpse o clay.

8 'Is there ony room at your head, Saunders? Is there ony room at your feet? Is there ony room at your twa sides, For a lady to lie and sleep?'

9 'There is nae room at my head, Margaret, As little at my feet; There is nae room at my twa sides, For a lady to lie and sleep.

10 'But gae hame, gae hame now, May Margaret, Gae hame and sew your seam; For if ye were laid in your weel made bed, Your days will nae be lang.'

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 183, ed. 1833, the last three stanzas.

* * * * * * *

1 'But plait a wand o bonny birk, And lay it on my breast, And shed a tear upon my grave, And wish my saul gude rest.

2 'And fair Margret, and rare Margret, And Margret o veritie, Gin eer ye love another man, Neer love him as ye did me.'

3 Then up and crew the milk-white cock, And up and crew the grey; The lover vanishd in the air, And she gaed weeping away.

* * * * *

#A.#

8^3. yon kirk-yard.

#B.#

1^2, ~And every one~ is substituted for ~A wat a' man~, no doubt by a reviser.

1^4, 9^4. grown.

5^1, 8^1. ~mid larf~, ~midd larf~ I retain, though I do not understand ~larf~.

9^2. _~on it~ struck out at the end of the line, and ~thereon~ written over. Qy ~it on~?_

14^4. A line is drawn through ~Down~ and ~the~.

15^1. ~is my bed~, written after ~weet~, is struck out.

The copy in Herd's second volume is a transcript of the other, and its variations have no apparent authority.

#C.#

7^4. MS. ~come (lye)~.

9^4. ~away~ written over ~be gane~.

10^2. Motherwell prints ~churchyard green~.

14^1. ~white~ thrice.

Motherwell makes not a few slight changes in printing.

#D.#

15^1. at my head, Willie.

#E.#

8 follows 10 in Kinloch.

[128] Motherwell probably meant 13.

[129] So #E# 10; #A# 9 has, in Ramsay, kirk-yard, which obviously requires to be corrected.

[130] In a note in the Kinloch MSS, VII, 277, Kinloch says that Sir Walter Scott told him that he had received this story from an old woman in Shetland.

[131] The ballad has been often translated, mostly after the compounded form in the Danske Viser, No 29: Prior, III, 76 (Danish #A#), 81; "London Magazine, 1820, I, 152;" Borrow, Foreign Quarterly Review, 1830, VI, 62, and p. 47 of his Romantic Ballads; Buchanan, p. 112.

[132] Hoffmann von Fallersleben in Deutsches Museum, 1852, II, 162==Erk's Wunderhorn, IV, 73, and Liederhort, p. 75, No 24^a, Mittler, No 545; Wagner in Deutsches Museum, 1862, II, 802, 803; Liederhort, No 24, p. 74; Ditfurth, II, 1, No 2; Meier, p. 355, No 201; Peter, I, 199, No 14; A. Müller, p. 95; Meinert, p. 3==Erlach, IV, 196, Erk's Wunderhorn, IV, 74, Liederhort, p. 76, No 24^b, Zuccalmaglio, p. 130, No 60, Mittler, No 544; Schleicher, Volkstümliches aus Sonneberg, p. 112, No 22.

THE UNQUIET GRAVE

#A.# 'The Unquiet Grave,' Folk-Lore Record, I, 60, 1868.

#B.# Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 486.

#C.# Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 387.

#D.# 'The Ghost and Sailor,' Buchan's MSS, I, 268.

The vow in the second stanza of all the copies is such as we find in 'Bonny Bee-Ho'm,' and elsewhere (see p. 156f of this volume), and #A#, #B#, #D# 4, 5, #C# 3, 4 are nearly a repetition of 'Sweet William's Ghost,' #A# 5, 6, #B# 3, 4, #C# 7, 8, #D# 7, 10. This may suggest a suspicion that this brief little piece is an aggregation of scraps. But these repetitions would not strike so much if the ballad were longer, and we must suppose that we have it only in an imperfect form. Even such as it is, however, this fragment has a character of its own. It exhibits the universal popular belief that excessive grieving for the dead interferes with their repose. We have all but had 'The Unquiet Grave' before, as the conclusion of two versions of 'The Twa Brothers:'

She ran distraught, she wept, she sicht, She wept the sma brids frae the tree, She wept the starns adown frae the lift, She wept the fish out o the sea.

'O cease your weeping, my ain true-love, Ye but disturb my rest;' 'Is that my ain true lover, John, The man that I loe best?'

''Tis naething but my ghaist,' he said, 'That's sent to comfort thee; O cease your weeping, my true-love, And 'twill gie peace to me.'

(I, 440, #C# 18-20.)

She put the small pipes to her mouth, And she harped both far and near, Till she harped the small birds off the briers, And her true-love out of the grave.

'What's this? what's this, Lady Margaret?' he says, 'What's this you want of me?' 'One sweet kiss of your ruby lips, That's all I want of thee.'

'My lips they are so bitter,' he says, 'My breath it is so strong, If you get one kiss of my ruby lips, Your days will not be long.'

(I, 439, #B# 10-12.)

Sir Walter Scott has remarked that the belief that excessive grieving over lost friends destroyed their peace was general throughout Scotland: Redgauntlet, Note 2 to Letter XI. See also Gregor's Notes on the Folk-Lore of the North-East of Scotland, p. 69. We have recent testimony that this belief survives in England (1868), Folk Lore Record, I, 60. It was held in Ireland that inordinate tears would pierce a hole in the dead: Killinger, Erin, VI, 65, 449 (quoting a writer that I have not identified).

The common notion is that tears wet the shroud or grave-clothes. Scott relates a story of a Highlander who was constrained to come back and say to a kinswoman: My rest is disturbed by your unnecessary lamentation; your tears scald me in my shroud.

Mrs Grant of Laggan tells a similar story. An only sister had lost an only brother. Night after night she sat up, weeping incessantly and calling upon his name. At length her brother appeared to her in his shroud, and seemed wet and shivering. "Why," said he, "am I disturbed with the extravagance of thy sorrow? Till thou art humble and penitent for this rebellion against the decrees of Providence, every tear thou sheddest falls on this dark shroud without drying, and every night thy tears still more chill and encumber me." Essays on the Superstitions of the Highlanders of Scotland, ed. New York, 1813, p. 95 f.

A dead boy appears to his mother, and begs her to cease weeping, for all her tears fall upon his shirt and wet it so that he cannot sleep. The mother gives heed, her child comes again and says, Now my shirt is dry, and I have peace. Grimms, K. u. H. märchen, No 109.

In another form of this tradition a child has to carry all its mother's tears in a large pitcher, and cannot keep up with a happy little band to which it would belong, 'Die Macht der Thränen,' Erk, Neue Sammlung, III, I, No 35==Wunderhorn, IV, 95, Liederhort, p. 8, No 3, Mittler, No 557; Hoffmann u. Richter, p. 341, No 290; Börner, Volkssagen aus dem Orlagau, pp 142, 152; or lags behind because its clothes are heavy with these tears, Geiler von Kaisersberg's Trostspiegel, 1510, cited by Rochholz in Wolf's Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie, II, 252; Thomas Cantipratensis, Bonum Universale, "l. ii, c. 53, § 17," about 1250; or the child collects its mother's tears in its hands, Müllenhoff, No 196.

A wife's tears wet her dead husband's shirt in the German ballad 'Der Vorwirth:' Meinert, p. 13==Erk's Wunderhorn, IV, 96, Erk's Liederhort, p. 160, No 46^a, Mittler, No 555; Hoffmann in Deutsches Museum, 1852, II, 161==Wunderhorn, IV, 98, Liederhort, p. 158, No 46, Mittler, No 556; Peter, I, 200, No 15.

Saint Johannes Eleemosynarius and a couple of his bishops are fain to rise from their graves because their stoles are wet through with a woman's tears, Legenda Aurea, c. 27, § 12, Grässe, p. 132, last half of the thirteenth century (cited by Liebrecht); and Saint Vicelin, because his robes are drenched with the tears of his friend Eppo, Helmold, Chronica Slavorum, l. i, 78, p. 15, ed. Lappenberg, last half of the twelfth century (cited by Müllenhoff).

Sigrún weeps bitter tears for Helgi's death every night ere she sleeps. The hero comes out of his mound to comfort her, but also to tell her how she discommodes him. He is otherwise well off, but every drop pierces, cold and bloody, to his breast: Helgakviða Hundingsbana II, 45. So in some of the ballads which apparently derive from this lay, the tears of Else or Kerstin fill her lover's coffin with blood: Grundtvig, II, 495, 497, No 90, #A# 17, #B# 8; Afzelius, I, 31, No 6, st. 14, Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 18, st. 9.

Almost the very words of the Highland apparition in Scott's tale are used by an Indian sage to a king who is inconsolable for the loss of his wife; "the incessant tears of kinsfolk burn the dead, so it is said:" Kâlidâsas, Raghuvansa, VIII, 85, ed. Stenzler, p. 61 of his translation. Another representation is that the dead have to swallow the rheum and tears of their mourning relations, and therefore weeping must be abstained from: Yâjnavalkya's Gesetzbuch, Sanskrit u. Deutsch, Stenzler, III, 11, p. 89.

The ancient Persians also held that immoderate grief on the part of survivors was detrimental to the happiness of the dead. Weeping for the departed is forbidden, because the water so shed forms an impediment before the bridge Tchînavar (over which souls pass to heaven). Sad-der, Porta XCVII, Hyde, Veterum Persarum et Parthorum Religionis Historia, p. 486, ed. Oxford, 1700. Again, Ardai Viraf, seeing a deep and fetid river, which is carrying away a multitude of souls in all the agony of drowning, and asking what this is, is told: The river that you see before you is composed of the tears of mankind, tears shed, against the express command of the Almighty, for the departed; therefore, when you return again to the earth inculcate this to mankind, that to grieve immoderately is in the sight of God a most heinous sin; and the river is constantly increased by this folly, every tear making the poor wretches who float on it more distant from ease and relief. The Ardai Viraf Nameh, translated from the Persian, by J. A. Pope, London, 1816, p. 53 f.[133]

The Greeks and Romans also reprehend obstinate condolement as troubling the dead, and perhaps, if we had the popular views on the subject, these might be found to have taken an expression like some of the above. In Lucian De Luctu, c. 16, the ghost of a son who had died in the bloom of youth is made to reproach the disconsolate father in these words: ω κακοδαιμον ανθρωπε, τι κεκραγας; τι δε μοι παρεχεις πραγματα;[134]

See, also, Maurer, Isländische Volkssagen, p. 312 f, No 9; Luzel, I, 65, 'La jeune fille et l'âme de sa mère;' Karadshitch, I, 272, No 368, Talvj, I, 84, ed. 1853; Kapper, Gesänge der Serben, II, 116; Nibelungen, 2302, ed. Bartsch; Blaas, in Germania, XXV, 429, No 34; Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie, III, 447, No 397; Müllenhoff, No 195; Wunderhorn, IV, 94, last stanza; Wolf, Beiträge zur deutschen Mythologie, I, 215, No 149.

Communicated to the Folk Lore Record, I, 60, by Miss Charlotte Latham, as written down from the lips of a girl in Sussex.

1 'The wind doth blow today, my love, And a few small drops of rain; I never had but one true-love, In cold grave she was lain.

2 'I'll do as much for my true-love As any young man may; I'll sit and mourn all at her grave For a twelvemonth and a day.'

3 The twelvemonth and a day being up, The dead began to speak: 'Oh who sits weeping on my grave, And will not let me sleep?'

4 ''Tis I, my love, sits on your grave, And will not let you sleep; For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips, And that is all I seek.'

5 'You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips; But my breath smells earthy strong; If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips, Your time will not be long.

6 ''Tis down in yonder garden green, Love, where we used to walk, The finest flower that ere was seen Is withered to a stalk.

7 'The stalk is withered dry, my love, So will our hearts decay; So make yourself content, my love, Till God calls you away.'

Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 436, cited by W. R. S. R., from the Ipswich Journal, 1877: from memory, after more than seventy years.

1 'How cold the wind do blow, dear love, And see the drops of rain! I never had but one true-love, In the green wood he was slain.

2 'I would do as much for my own true-love As in my power doth lay; I would sit and mourn all on his grave For a twelvemonth and a day.'

3 A twelvemonth and a day being past, His ghost did rise and speak: 'What makes you mourn all on my grave? For you will not let me sleep.'

4 'It is not your gold I want, dear love, Nor yet your wealth I crave; But one kiss from your lily-white lips Is all I wish to have.

5 'Your lips are cold as clay, dear love, Your breath doth smell so strong;' 'I am afraid, my pretty, pretty maid, Your time will not be long.'

"From a yeoman in Suffolk, who got it from his nurse;" B. Montgomerie Ranking, in Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 387.

1 'Cold blows the wind oer my true-love, Cold blow the drops of rain; I never, never had but one sweetheart, In the greenwood he was slain.

2 'I did as much for my true-love As ever did any maid; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

3 'One kiss from your lily-cold lips, true-love, One kiss is all I pray, And I'll sit and weep all over your grave For a twelvemonth and a day.'

4 'My cheek is as cold as the clay, true-love, My breath is earthy and strong; And if I should kiss your lips, true-love, Your life would not be long.'

Buchan's MSS, I, 268.

1 'Proud Boreas makes a hideous noise, Loud roars the fatal fleed; I loved never a love but one, In church-yard she lies dead.

2 'But I will do for my love's sake What other young men may; I'll sit and mourn upon her grave, A twelvemonth and a day.'

3 A twelvemonth and a day being past, The ghost began to speak: 'Why sit ye here upon my grave, And will not let me sleep?'

4 'One kiss of your lily-white lips Is all that I do crave; And one kiss of your lily-white lips Is all that I would have.'

5 'Your breath is as the roses sweet, Mine as the sulphur strong; If you get one kiss of my lips, Your days would not be long.

6 'Mind not ye the day, Willie, Sin you and I did walk? The firstand flower that we did pu Was witherd on the stalk.'

7 'Flowers will fade and die, my dear, Aye as the tears will turn; And since I've lost my own sweet-heart, I'll never cease but mourn.'

8 'Lament nae mair for me, my love, The powers we must obey; But hoist up one sail to the wind, Your ship must sail away.'

[133] Rochholz has cited the Raghuvansa in Deutscher Unsterblichkeits Glaube, p. 208; the other oriental citations are made by Kuhn, Wolf's Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie, I, 62 f.

[134] Schenkl, in Germania, XI, 451 f; who also cites Tibullus, I, 1, 67, Propertius, IV, 11, 1, and inscriptions, as Gruter, p. 1127, 8.

THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL

#A.# 'The Wife of Usher's Well,' Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 111, ed. 1802.

#B.# 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' stanzas 18-23, Kinloch MSS, V, 403.

#B# forms the conclusion, as already said, to a beautiful copy of 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' recited by the grandmother of Robert Chambers.

A motive for the return of the wife's three sons is not found in the fragments which remain to us. The mother had cursed the sea when she first heard they were lost, and can only go mad when she finds that after all she has not recovered them; nor will a little wee while, #B# 5, make any difference. There is no indication that the sons come back to forbid obstinate grief, as the dead often do. But supplying a motive would add nothing to the impressiveness of these verses. Nothing that we have is more profoundly affecting.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 14; by Freiligrath, Zwischen den Garben, II, 227, ed. Stuttgart, 1877; by Doenniges, p. 61; by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 9, with insertion of #B# 5, 6; and by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 227, after Allingham.

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 111, 1802, from the recitation of an old woman residing near Kirkhill, in West Lothian.

1 There lived a wife at Usher's Well, And a wealthy wife was she; She had three stout and stalwart sons, And sent them oer the sea.

2 They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely ane, Whan word came to the carline wife That her three sons were gane.

3 They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely three, Whan word came to the carlin wife That her sons she'd never see.

4 'I wish the wind may never cease, Nor fashes in the flood, Till my three sons come hame to me, In earthly flesh and blood.'

5 It fell about the Martinmass, When nights are lang and mirk, The carlin wife's three sons came hame, And their hats were o the birk.

6 It neither grew in syke nor ditch, Nor yet in ony sheugh; But at the gates o Paradise, That birk grew fair eneugh.

* * * * * * *

7 'Blow up the fire, my maidens, Bring water from the well; For a' my house shall feast this night, Since my three sons are well.'

8 And she has made to them a bed, She's made it large and wide, And she's taen her mantle her about, Sat down at the bed-side.

* * * * * * *

9 Up then crew the red, red cock, And up and crew the gray; The eldest to the youngest said, 'Tis time we were away.

10 The cock he hadna crawd but once, And clappd his wings at a', When the youngest to the eldest said, Brother, we must awa.

11 'The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, The channerin worm doth chide; Gin we be mist out o our place, A sair pain we maun bide.

12 'Fare ye weel, my mother dear! Fareweel to barn and byre! And fare ye weel, the bonny lass That kindles my mother's fire!'

Kinloch MSS, V, 403, stanzas 18-23. In the handwriting of James Chambers, as sung to his maternal grandmother, Janet Grieve, seventy years before, by an old woman, a Miss Ann Gray, of the Neidpath Castle, Peeblesshire: January 1, 1829.

1 The hallow days o Yule are come, The nights are lang an dark, An in an cam her ain twa sons, Wi their hats made o the bark.

2 'O eat an drink, my merry men a', The better shall ye fare, For my twa sons the are come hame To me for evermair.'

3 She has gaen an made their bed, An she's made it saft an fine, An she's happit them wi her gay mantel, Because they were her ain.

4 O the young cock crew i the merry Linkem, An the wild fowl chirpd for day; The aulder to the younger did say, Dear brother, we maun away.

5 'Lie still, lie still a little wee while, Lie still but if we may; For gin my mother miss us away She'll gae mad or it be day.'

6 O it's they've taen up their mother's mantel, An they've hangd it on the pin: 'O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantel, Or ye hap us again!'

* * * * *

#A.#

4^2. fishes. The correction is suggested in ed. 1833 of the Border Minstrelsy. Aytoun reads ~freshes~.

OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE

Percy MS., p. 90; Hales and Furnivall, I, 235.

This fine ballad was printed in the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, III, 48, ed. of 1765, "with considerable corrections." The information given by a page, the reward promised and the alternative punishment threatened him, the savage vengeance taken on the lady and the immediate remorse, are repeated in 'Little Musgrave,' No 81. So the "Sleep you, wake you" of 4^1, a frequent formula for such occasions,[135] which we find in 'Earl Brand,' No 7, #D# 1, 'King Arthur and King Cornwall,' No 30, st. 49^3; 'Clerk Saunders,' No 69, #F# 4; 'Willie and Lady Maisry,' No 70, #B# 2, 11; 'The Bent sae Brown,' No 71, st. 5; 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' No 73, #E# 5; 'Sweet William's Ghost,' No 77, #B# 2; 'Jellon Grame,' #A# 4; 'The Drowned Lovers,' Buchan, I, 140, st. 11; 'Jock o the Side,' Caw's Museum, st. 16; 'Kinmont Willie,' Scott, st. 35; 'The Baron of Brackley,' Scarce Ancient Ballads, st. 2; the song or ballad in 'King Lear,' III, 6, 40; Ravenscroft's Pammelia, 1609, No 30; the interlude of 'The Four Elements' (Steevens); Íslenzk Fornkvæði, II, 115, st. 26, 27; 'Der todte Freier,' Erk's Liederhort, p. 75, No 24^a, Deutsches Museum, 1852, II, 167==Mittler No 545, Wunderhorn, IV, 73, etc., and Deutsches Museum, 1862, II, 803, No 10; Ampère, Instructions, p. 36; Coussemaker, No 48, st. 5; Kolberg, Pieśni ludu Polskiego, No 7e, st. 8; etc.

Old Robin, instead of attaching a cross of red cloth to the right shoulder of his coat or cloak, shapes the cross in his shoulder "of white flesh and of red," st. 32; that is, burns the cross in with a hot iron, as was done sometimes by the unusually devout or superstitious, or for a pious fraud: Mabillon, Annales, ad annum 1095, cited by Michaud, Histoire des Croisades, I, 110, note, ed. 1825.

* * * * *

Translated by Bodmer, I, 153; by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 66.

* * * * *

1 God let neuer soe old a man Marry soe yonge a wiffe As did Old Robin of Portingale; He may rue all the dayes of his liffe.

2 Ffor the maiors daughter of Lin, God wott, He chose her to his wife, And thought to haue liued in quiettnesse W_i_th her all the dayes of his liffe.

3 They had not in their wed-bed laid, Scarcly were both on sleepe, But vpp shee rose, and forth shee goes To S_i_r Gyles, and fast can weepe.

4 Saies, Sleepe you, wake you, faire S_i_r Gyles? Or be not you w_i_thin? . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

5 'But I am waking, sweete,' he said, 'Lady, what is yo_u_r will?' 'I haue vnbethought me of a wile, How my wed lord we shall spill.

6 'Four and twenty knights,' she sayes, '_Tha_t dwells about this towne, Eene four and twenty of my next cozens, Will helpe to dinge him downe.'

7 W_i_th _tha_t beheard his litle foote-page, As he was watering his m_aste_rs steed; Soe s ... His verry heart did bleed.

8 He mourned, sikt, and wept full sore; I sweare by the holy roode, The teares he for his master wept Were blend water and bloude.

9 W_i_th _tha_t beheard his deare m_aster_, As [he] in his garden sate; Says, Euer alacke, my litle page, What causes thee to weepe?

10 'Hath any one done to thee wronge, Any of thy fellowes here? Or is any of thy good friends dead, W_hi_ch makes thee shed such teares?

11 'Or if it be my head-kookes-man, Greiued againe he shalbe, Nor noe man w_i_thin my howse Shall doe wrong vnto thee.'

12 'But it is not yo_u_r head-kookes-man, Nor none of his degree; But [f]or to morrow, ere it be noone, You are deemed to die.

13 'And of that thanke yo_u_r head-steward, And after, yo_u_r gay ladie:' 'If it be true, my litle foote-page, Ile make thee heyre of all my land.'

14 'If it be not true, my deare m_aste_r, God let me neuer thye:' 'If it be not true, thou litle foot-page, A dead corse shalt thou be.'

15 He called downe his head-kookes-man, Cooke in kitchen sup_er_ to dresse: 'All and anon, my deare m_aster_, Anon att yo_u_r request.'

16 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 'And call you downe my faire lady, This night to supp w_i_th mee.'

17 A_n_d downe then came _tha_t fayre lady, Was cladd all in purple and palle; The rings _tha_t were vpon her fingers Cast light thorrow the hall.

18 'What is yo_u_r will, my owne wed lo_rd_, What is yo_u_r will w_i_th mee?' 'I am sicke, fayre lady, Sore sicke, and like to dye.'

19 'But and you be sicke, my owne wed lo_rd_, Soe sore it greiueth mee; But my fiue maydens and my selfe Will goe and make yo_u_r bedd.

20 '_An_d at the wakening of yo_u_r first sleepe You shall haue a hott drinke made, And at the wakening of yo_u_r next sleepe Yo_u_r sorrowes will haue a slake.'

21 He put a silke cote on his backe, Was thirteen inches folde, And put a steele cap vpon his head, Was gilded w_i_th good red gold.

22 An_d_ he layd a bright browne sword by his side, And another att his ffeete, And full well knew Old Robin then Whether he shold wake or sleepe.

23 And about the middle time of the night Came twenty four good knights in; S_i_r Gyles he was the formost man, Soe well he knew _tha_t ginne.

24 Old Robin, w_i_th a bright browne sword, S_i_r Gyles head he did winne; Soe did he all those twenty four, Neu_er_ a one went quicke out [agen].

25 None but one litle foot-page, Crept forth at a window of stone, And he had two armes when he came in, And [when he went out he had none].

26 Vpp then came _tha_t ladie light, W_i_th torches burning bright; Shee thought to haue brought S_i_r Gyles a drinke, But shee found her owne wedd k_nigh_t.

27 And the first thinge _tha_t this ladye stumbled vpon Was of S_i_r Gyles his ffoote; Sayes, Euer alacke, and woe is me, Here lyes my sweete hart-roote!

28 And the _secon_d thing _tha_t this ladie stumbled on Was of S_i_r Gyles his head; Sayes, Euer alacke, and woe is me, Heere lyes my true-loue deade!

29 Hee cutt the papps beside he[r] brest, And bad her wish her will; And he cutt the eares beside her heade, And bade her wish on still.

30 'Mickle is the mans blood I haue spent, To doe thee and me some good;' Sayes, Euer alacke, my fayre lady, I thinke _tha_t I was woode!

31 He calld then vp his litle foote-page, And made him heyre of all his land, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

32 And he shope the crosse in his right sholder, Of the white flesh and the redd, And he went him into the holy land, Wheras Christ was quicke and dead.

* * * * *

6^{1, 3}, 23^2, 24^3. 24.

8^1. sist.

11^1, 12^1. bookes man: cf. 15^1.

14^2. never dye.

15^2. ~Cooke~ seems to be wrongly repeated.

19^3. 5.

20^3. first sleep.

21^2. 13.

25^3. 2.

25^4. So Hales and Furnivall.

26^1. ladie bright. Qy fayre?

26^2. burning light.

28^1. 2^d.

30^2. thee & and.

32^3. sent him.

And always for &.

[135] As Sir Frederick Madden has observed, who cites some of the instances given.

LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD

#A.# 'Little Musgrave and the Lady Barnard.' #a.# Wit Restord, 1658, in the reprint "Facetiæ," London, 1817, I, 293. #b.# Wit and Drollery, 1682, p. 81.

#B.# Percy MS., p. 53; Hales and Furnivall, I, 119.

#C. a.# 'Little Mousgrove and the Lady Barnet,' Pepys Ballads, I, 364. #b.# Pepys Ballads, III, 314. #c.# Roxburghe Ballads, III, 146. #d.# Roxburghe Ballads, III, 340. #e.# Bagford Ballads, I, 36.

#D.# 'Lord Barnard,' Kinloch MSS, I, 287.

#E.# 'Young Musgrave,' Campbell MSS, II, 43.

#F.# 'Lord Barnaby,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 170.

#G.# 'Wee Messgrove,' Motherwell's MS., p. 643.

#H.# 'Little Musgrave,' Motherwell's MS., p. 120.

#I.# 'Little Sir Grove,' Motherwell's MS., p. 305.

#J.# 'Lord Barnabas' Lady,' Motherwell's MS., p. 371.

#K.# Dr Joseph Robertson's Journal of Excursions, No 5.

#L.# 'Lord Barnett and Little Munsgrove,' Buchan's MSS, I, 27: Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, Percy Society, XVII, 21.

#M.# 'Little Mushiegrove,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xx, XXI, one stanza.

#N.# 'Little Massgrove,' communicated by Miss Reburn, as learned in County Meath, Ireland, two stanzas.

A copy of this ballad in Dryden's Miscellany, III, 312, 1716, agrees with the one in Wit and Drollery. That in Ritson's Select Collection of English Songs, II, 215, 1783, agrees with Dryden's save in two or three words. The broadside #C a# was printed for Henry Gosson, who is said by Chappell to have published from 1607 to 1641. If the lower limit be correct, this is the earliest impression known.[136] The other broadsides, #C b-e#, are later, but all of the seventeenth century. Percy inserted the ballad in his Reliques, III, 67, 1765, making a broadside in the British Museum his basis, and correcting as usual.

Percy remarks: This ballad is ancient, and has been popular; we find it quoted in many old plays. Cases cited by him are: Beaumont and Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, V, 3, Dyce II, 223, of about 1611:

And some they whistled, and some they sung, Hey down, down And some did loudly say, Ever as the lord Barnet's horn blew, Away, Musgrave, away!

Again, Sir William Davenant's play 'The Wits,' where Sir Thwack boasts, "I sing Musgrove, and for the Chevy Chase no lark comes near me," Act III, p. 194, of ed. 1672; and 'The Varietie,' a comedy, Act IV, 1649. In Beaumont and Fletcher's 'Bonduca,' V, 2, Dyce, V, 88, dating before March, 1619, we find this stanza, which is perhaps #A# 26, loosely remembered:

She set the sword unto her breast, Great pity it was to see That three drops of her life-warm blood Run trickling down her knee.

And two stanzas in Fletcher's 'Monsieur Thomas,' IV, 11, Dyce VII, 375, earlier than 1639, may well be #A# 11, 12 parodied:

If this be true, thou little tiny page, This tale that thou tellst me, Then on thy back will I presently hang A handsome new livery.

But if this be false, thou little tiny page, As false it well may be, Then with a cudgel of four foot long I'll beat thee from head to toe.

Jamieson says, in a prefatory note to #F#, that he had heard 'Little Musgrave' repeated, with very little variation, both in Morayshire and the southern counties of Scotland. All the Scottish versions are late, and to all seeming derived, indirectly or immediately, from print.[137] As a recompense we have a fine ballad upon the same theme, 'The Bonny Birdy,' which is not represented in England.

In the English broadside and most of the northern versions the lovers try a bribe, a threat, or both, to make the page keep counsel. In some of these Musgrave, when detected, ejaculates a craven imprecation of woe to the fair woman that lies in his arms asleep, #G# 23, #H# 16, #I# 14, #J# 20, #L# 37. In #I# the men are brothers; in #E#, #F# Musgrave has a wife of his own; in #C#, #G# Lord Barnard kills himself; in #E# he is hanged! None of these divergences from the story as we have it in #A# are improvements, but it is an improvement that the lady should die by stroke of steel as in #C#, #E#, #H#, #J#, #K#, #L#, in exchange for the barbarity of #A#. The penance in #L# is a natural and common way of ending such a tragedy. The collecting of the lady's heart's blood in a basin of pure silver, #G# 28-30, is probably borrowed from 'Lammikin,' where this trait is very effective.

The heathen child, #B# 13^1, is a child unchristened. An unbaptized child seems still to be called so in Norway, and so is a woman between childbirth and churching. In modern Icelandic usage a boy or girl before confirmation is called heathen, from confusion between baptism and confirmation: Ivar Aasen, at the word heiden; Vigfusson, at the word heiðinn.[138]

#K# 12,

O he's taen out a lang, lang brand, And stripped it athwart the straw,

explains a corruption in #E# 18^2, where the manuscript reads, He's struck her in the straw, and another in #J# 9. The sword is wiped or whetted on straw in 'Clerk Saunders,' #A# 15, #C# 13, #D# 8, #G# 17; 'Willie and Lady Maisry,' #B# 19; 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' #B# 36; 'Lady Diamond,' Buchan, II, 206, st. 8. Child Maurice dries his sword on the grass, John Steward dries his on his sleeve, #A# 27, 28; Glasgerion dries his sword on his sleeve, #A# 22; Horn wipes his sword on his arm, King Horn, ed. Wissmann, 622 f.

#a.# Wit Restord, 1658, in the reprint 'Facetiæ,' London, 1817, I, 293. #b.# Wit and Drollery, 1682, p. 81.

1 As it fell one holy-day, Hay downe As many be in the yeare, When young men and maids together did goe, Their mattins and masse to heare,

2 Little Musgrave came to the church-dore; The preist was at private masse; But he had more minde of the faire women Then he had of our lady['s] grace.

3 The one of them was clad in green, Another was clad in pall, And then came in my lord Bernard's wife, The fairest amonst them all.

4 She cast an eye on Little Musgrave, As bright as the summer sun; And then bethought this Little Musgrave, This lady's heart have I woonn.

5 Quoth she, I have loved thee, Little Musgrave, Full long and many a day; 'So have I loved you, fair lady, Yet never word durst I say.'

6 'I have a bower at Buckelsfordbery, Full daintyly it is deight; If thou wilt wend thither, thou Little Musgrave, Thou 's lig in mine armes all night.'

7 Quoth he, I thank yee, faire lady, This kindnes thou showest to me; But whether it be to my weal or woe, This night I will lig with thee.

8 With that he heard, a little tynë page, By his ladye's coach as he ran: 'All though I am my ladye's foot-page, Yet I am Lord Barnard's man.

9 'My lord Barnard shall knowe of this, Whether I sink or swim;' And ever where the bridges were broake He laid him downe to swimme.

10 'A sleepe or wake, thou Lord Barnard, As thou art a man of life, For Little Musgrave is at Bucklesfordbery, A bed with thy own wedded wife.'

11 'If this be true, thou little tinny page, This thing thou tellest to me, Then all the land in Bucklesfordbery I freely will give to thee.

12 'But if it be a ly, thou little tinny page, This thing thou tellest to me, On the hyest tree in Bucklesfordbery Then hanged shalt thou be.'

13 He called up his merry men all: 'Come saddle me my steed; This night must I to Buckellsfordbery, For I never had greater need.'

14 And some of them whistld, and some of them sung, And some these words did say, And ever when my lord Barnard's horn blew, 'Away, Musgrave, away!'

15 'Methinks I hear the thresel-cock, Methinks I hear the jaye; Methinks I hear my lord Barnard, And I would I were away.'

16 'Lye still, lye still, thou Little Musgrave, And huggell me from the cold; 'Tis nothing but a shephard's boy, A driving his sheep to the fold.

17 'Is not thy hawke upon a perch? Thy steed eats oats and hay; And thou a fair lady in thine armes, And wouldst thou bee away?'

18 With that my lord Barnard came to the dore, And lit a stone upon; He plucked out three silver keys, And he opend the dores each one.

19 He lifted up the coverlett, He lifted up the sheet: 'How now, how now, thou Littell Musgrave, Doest thou find my lady sweet?'

20 'I find her sweet,' quoth Little Musgrave, 'The more 'tis to my paine; I would gladly give three hundred pounds That I were on yonder plaine.'

21 'Arise, arise, thou Littell Musgrave, And put thy clothës on; It shall nere be said in my country I have killed a naked man.

22 'I have two swords in one scabberd, Full deere they cost my purse; And thou shalt have the best of them, And I will have the worse.'

23 The first stroke that Little Musgrave stroke, He hurt Lord Barnard sore; The next stroke that Lord Barnard stroke, Little Musgrave nere struck more.

24 With that bespake this faire lady, In bed whereas she lay: 'Although thou'rt dead, thou Little Musgrave, Yet I for thee will pray.

25 'And wish well to thy soule will I, So long as I have life; So will I not for thee, Barnard, Although I am thy wedded wife.'

26 He cut her paps from off her brest; Great pitty it was to see That some drops of this ladie's heart's blood Ran trickling downe her knee.

27 'Woe worth you, woe worth, my mery men all You were nere borne for my good; Why did you not offer to stay my hand, When you see me wax so wood?

28 'For I have slaine the bravest sir knight That ever rode on steed; So have I done the fairest lady That ever did woman's deed.

29 'A grave, a grave,' Lord Barnard cryd, 'To put these lovers in; But lay my lady on the upper hand, For she came of the better kin.'

Percy MS., p. 53, Hales and Furnivall, I, 119.

* * * * * * *

1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 'Ffor this same night att [Bucklesfeildberry] Litle Musgreue is in bed w_i_th thy wife.'

2 'If it be trew, thou litle foote-page, This tale thou hast told to mee, Then all my lands in Buckle[s]feildberry I'le freely giue to thee.

3 'But if this be a lye, thou little foot-page, This tale thou hast told to mee, Then on the highest tree in Bucklesfeildberry All hanged that thou shalt bee.'

4 Saies, Vpp and rise, my merrymen all, And saddle me my good steede, For I must ride to Bucklesfeildberry; God wott I had neuer more need!

5 But some they whistled, and some thé sunge, And some they thus cold say, When euer as Lo_rd_ Barnetts horne blowes, 'Away, Musgreue, away!'

6 'Mie thinkes I heare the throstlecocke, Me thinkes I heare the iay, Me thinkes I heare Lo_rd_ Barnetts horne, Away, Musgreue, away!'

7 'But lie still, lie still, Litle Musgreue, And huddle me from the cold, For it is but some sheaperds boy, Is whistling sheepe ore the mold.

8 'Is not thy hauke vpon a pearch, Thy horsse eating corne and hay? And thou, a gay lady in thine armes, And yett thou wold goe away!'

9 By this time Lo_rd_ Barnett was come to the dore, And light vpon a stone, And he pulled out three silver kayes, And opened the dores euery one.

10 And first he puld the couering downe, And then puld downe the sheete; Saies, How now? How now, Litle Musgreue? Dost find my gay lady sweet?

11 'I find her sweete,' saies Litle Musgreue, 'The more is my greefe and paine;' . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

12 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 'Soe haue I done the fairest lady _Tha_t euer wore womans weede.

13 'Soe haue I done a heathen child, W_hi_ch ffull sore greiueth mee, For w_hi_ch Ile repent all the dayes of my life, And god be with them all three!'

#a.# Pepys Ballads, I, 364, No 187. #b.# Pepys Ballads, III, 314, No 310. #c.# Roxburghe Ballads, III, 146. #d.# Roxburghe Ballads, III, 340. #e.# Bagford Ballads, I, 36.

1 As it fell on a light holyday, As many more does in the yeere, Little Mousgrove would to the church and pray, To see the faire ladyes there.

2 Gallants there were of good degree, For beauty exceeding faire, Most wonderous lovely to the eie, That did to that church repaire.

3 Some came downe in red velvet, And others came downe in pall, But next came downe my Lady Barnet, The fairest amongst them all.

4 She cast a looke upon Little Mousgrove, As bright as the summer's sunne; Full well perceived then Little Mousgrove Lady Barnet's love he had wonne.

5 Then Lady Barnet most meeke and mild Saluted this Little Mousgrove, Who did repay her kinde courtesie With favour and gentle love.

6 'I have a bower in merry Barnet, Bestrowed with cowslips sweet; If that it please you, Little Mousgrove, In love me there to meete,

7 'Within mine armes one night to sleepe, For you my heart have wonne, You need not feare my suspicious lord, For he from home is gone.'

8 'Betide me life, betide me death, This night I will sleepe with thee, And for thy sake I'le hazzard my breath, So deare is thy love to me.'

9 'What shall wee doe with our little foot-page, Our counsell for to keepe, And watch for feare Lord Barnet comes, Whilest wee together doe sleepe?'

10 'Red gold shall be his hier,' quoth he, 'And silver shall be his fee, If he our counsell safely doe keepe, That I may sleepe with thee.'

11 'I will have none of your gold,' said he, 'Nor none of your silver fee; If I should keepe your counsell, sir, 'Twere great disloyaltie.

12 'I will not be false unto my lord, For house nor yet for land; But if my lady doe prove untrue, Lord Barnet shall understand.'

13 Then swiftly runnes the little foot-page, Unto his lord with speed, Who then was feasting with his deare friends, Not dreaming of this ill deede.

14 Most speedily the page did haste, Most swiftly did he runne, And when he came to the broken bridge He lay on his brest and swumme.

15 The page did make no stay at all, But went to his lord with speed, That he the truth might say to him Concerning this wicked deed.

16 He found his lord at supper then, Great merriment there they did keepe: 'My lord,' quoth he, 'this night, on my word, Mousgrove with your lady does sleepe.'

17 'If this be true, my little foot-page, And true as thou tellest to me, My eldest daughter I'le give to thee, And wedded thou shalt be.

18 'If this be a lye, my little foot-page, And a lye as thou tellest to mee, A new paire of gallowes shall straight be set, And hanged shalt thou be.'

19 'If this be a lye, my lord,' said he, 'A lye that you heare from me, Then never stay a gallowes to make, But hang me up on the next tree.'

20 Lord Barnet then cald up his merry men, Away with speed he would goe; His heart was so perplext with griefe, The truth of this he must know.

21 'Saddle your horses with speed,' quoth he, 'And saddle me my white steed; If this be true as the page hath said, Mousgrove shall repent this deed.'

22 He charg'd his men no noise to make, As they rode all along on the way; 'Nor winde no hornes,' quoth he, 'on your life, Lest our comming it should betray.'

23 But one of the men, that Mousgrove did love, And respected his friendship most deare, To give him knowledge Lord Barnet was neere, Did winde his bugle most cleere.

24 And evermore as he did blow, 'Away, Mousgrove, and away; For if I take thee with my lady, Then slaine thou shalt be this day.'

25 'O harke, fair lady, your lord is neere, I heare his little horne blow; And if he finde me in your armes thus, Then slaine I shall be, I know.'

26 'O lye still, lye still, Little Mousgrove, And keepe my backe from the cold; I know it is my father's shepheard, Driving sheepe to the pinfold.'

27 Mousgrove did turne him round about, Sweete slumber his eyes did greet; When he did wake, he then espied Lord Barnet at his bed's feete.

28 'O rise up, rise up, Little Mousgrove, And put thy clothës on; It shall never be said in faire England I slew a naked man.

29 'Here's two good swords,' Lord Barnet said, 'Thy choice, Mousgrove, thou shalt make; The best of them thy selfe shalt have, And I the worst will take.'

30 The first good blow that Mousgrove did strike, He wounded Lord Barnet sore; The second blow that Lord Barnet gave, Mousgrove could strike no more.

31 He tooke his lady by the white hand, All love to rage did convert, That with his sword, in most furious sort, He pierst her tender heart.

32 'A grave, a grave,' Lord Barnet cryde, 'Prepare to lay us in; My lady shall lie on the upper side, Cause she's of the better kin.'

33 Then suddenly he slue himselfe, Which grieves his friends full sore; The deaths of these thra worthy wights With teares they did deplore.

34 This sad mischance by lust was wrought; Then let us call for grace, That we may shun this wicked vice, And mend our lives apace.

Kinloch MSS, I, 287.

1 There were four and twenty gentlemen A playing at the ba, And lusty Lady Livingstone Cuist her ee out oure them a'.

2 She cuist her ee on Lord Barnard, He was baith black and broun; She cuist her ee on Little Musgrave, As bricht as the morning sun.

3 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 'What'll I gie ye, my Little Musgrave, Ae nicht wi me to sleep?'

4 'Ae nicht wi you to sleep,' he says, 'O that wad breed meikle strife; For the ring on your white finger Shows you Lord Barnard's wife.'

5 'O Lord Barnard he is gane frae hame, He'll na return the day; He has tane wi him a purse o goud, For he's gane hind away.'

6 Up startit then the wylie foot-page, . . . . . . . 'What will ye gie to me,' he said, 'Your council for to keep?'

7 'O goud sall be my little boy's fee, And silver sall be his hire; But an I hear a word mair o this, He sall burn in charcoal fire.'

8 But the wylie foot-page to the stable went, Took out a milk-white steed, And away, away, and away he rade, Away wi meikle speed.

9 It's whan he cam to the water-side, He smoothd his breist and swam, And whan he cam to gerss growing, He set down his feet and ran.

10 'Whan he cam to Lord Barnard's towr Lord Barnard was at meat; He said, 'If ye kend as meikle as me, It's little wad ye eat.'

11 'Are onie o my castles brunt?' he says, 'Or onie my towrs won? Or is my gay ladie broucht to bed, Of a dochter or a son?'

12 'There is nane o your castles brunt, Nor nane o your towrs won; Nor is your gay ladie broucht to bed, Of a dochter or a son.

13 'But Little Musgrave, that gay young man, Is in bed wi your ladie, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

14 'If this be true ye tell to me, It's goud sall be your fee; But if it be fause ye tell to me, I'se hang ye on a tree.'

* * * * * * *

15 Whan they cam to yon water-side, They smoothd their breists and swam; And whan they cam to gerss growing, They set doun their feet and ran.

* * * * * * *

16 'How do ye like my sheets?' he said, 'How do ye like my bed? And how do ye like my gay ladie, Wha's lying at your side?'

17 'O I do like your sheets,' he said, 'Sae do I like your bed; But mair do I like your gay ladie, Wha's lying at my side.'

18 'Get up, get up, young man,' he said, 'Get up as swith 's ye can; Let it never be said that Lord Barnard Slew in bed a nakit man.'

* * * * * * *

19 'How do ye like his bluidy cheeks? Or how do ye like me?' 'It's weill do I like his bluidy cheeks, Mair than your haill bodie.'

20 Then she has kissd his bluidy cheeks, It's oure and oure again.' . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Campbell MSS, II, 43.

1 Four and twenty gay ladies Were playing at the ba, And [out] came Lord Barnaby's lady, The fairest o them a'.

2 She coost her eyes on Little Musgrave, And he on her again; She coost her eyes on Little Musgrave, As they twa lovers had been.

3 'I have a hall in Mulberry, It stands baith strong and tight; If you will go to there with me, I'll lye with you all night.'

4 'To lye with you, madam,' he says, 'Will breed both sturt and strife; I see by the rings on your fingers You are Lord Barnaby's wife.'

5 'Lord Barnaby's to the hunting gone, And far out oer the hill, And he will not return again Till the evening tide untill.'

6 They were not well lain down, Nor yet well fallen asleep, Till up started Lord Barnaby's boy, Just up at their bed-feet.

7 She took out a little penknife, Which hung down low by her gair: 'If you do not my secret keep, A word ye's neer speak mair.'

8 The laddie gae a blythe leer look, A blythe leer look gave he, And he's away to Lord Barnaby, As fast as he can hie.

* * * * * * *

9 'If these tidings binna true, These tidings ye tell to me, A gallows-tree I'll gar be made And hanged ye shall be.

10 'But if these tidings are true, These tidings ye tell me, The fairest lady in a' my court I'll gar her marry thee.'

11 He's taen out a little horn, He blew baith loud and sma, And aye the turning o the tune 'Away, Musgrave, awa!'

12 They were not well lain down, Nor yet well fallen asleep, Till up started Lord Barnaby, Just up at their bed-feet.

13 'O how like ye my blankets, Musgrave? And how like ye my sheets? And how like ye my gay lady, So sound in your arms that sleeps?'

14 'Weel I like your blankets, Sir, And far better yere sheets; And better far yere gay lady, So sound in my arms that sleeps.'

15 'Get up, get up, now, Little Musgrave, And draw to hose and sheen; It's neer be said in my country I'd fight a naked man.

16 'There is two swords into my house, And they cost me right dear; Take you the best, and I the worst, I'll fight the battle here.'

17 The first stroke that Lord Barnaby gave, It was baith deep and sore; The next stroke that Lord Barnaby gave, A word he never spoke more.

18 He's taen out a rappier then, He's struck it in the straw, And thro and thro his lady's sides He gard the cauld steel gae.

19 'I am not sae wae for Little Musgrave, As he lys cauld and dead; But I'm right wae for his lady, For she'll gae witless wud.

20 'I'm not sae wae for my lady, For she lies cauld and dead; But I'm right wae for my young son, Lies sprawling in her blood.'

21 First crew the black cock, And next crew the sparrow; And what the better was Lord Barnaby? He was hanged on the morrow.

Jamieson's Popular Ballads and Songs, I, 170.

1 'I have a tower in Dalisberry, Which now is dearly dight, And I will gie it to Young Musgrave, To lodge wi me a' night.'

2 'To lodge wi thee a' night, fair lady, Wad breed baith sorrow and strife; For I see by the rings on your fingers You're good Lord Barnaby's wife.'

3 'Lord Barnaby's wife although I be, Yet what is that to thee? For we'll beguile him for this ae night, He's on to fair Dundee.

4 'Come here, come here, my little foot-page, This gold I will give thee, If ye will keep thir secrets close 'Tween Young Musgrave and me.

5 'But here I hae a little pen-knife, Hings low down by my gare; Gin ye winna keep thir secrets close, Ye'll find it wonder sair.'

6 Then she's taen him to her chamber, And down in her arms lay he; The boy coost aff his hose and shoon, And ran to fair Dundee.

7 When he cam to the wan water, He slackd his bow and swam, And when he cam to growin grass, Set down his feet and ran.

8 And when he cam to fair Dundee, Wad neither chap nor ca, But set his braid bow to his breast, And merrily jumpd the wa.

9 'O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord, Waken, and come away!' 'What ails, what ails my wee foot-page, He cries sae lang ere day?

10 'O is my bowers brent, my boy? Or is my castle won? Or has the lady that I loe best Brought me a daughter or son?'

11 'Your ha's are safe, your bowers are safe, And free frae all alarms, But, oh! the lady that ye loe best Lies sound in Musgrave's arms.'

12 'Gae saddle to me the black,' he cried, 'Gae saddle to me the gray; Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed, To hie me on my way.'

13 'O lady, I heard a wee horn toot, And it blew wonder clear; And ay the turning o the note, Was, Barnaby will be here!

14 'I thought I heard a wee horn blaw, And it blew loud and high; And ay at ilka turn it said, Away, Musgrave, away!'

15 'Lie still, my dear, lie still, my dear, Ye keep me frae the cold; For it is but my father's shepherds, Driving their flocks to the fold.'

16 Up they lookit, and down they lay, And they're fa'en sound asleep; Till up stood good Lord Barnaby, Just close at their bed-feet.

17 'How do you like my bed, Musgrave? And how like ye my sheets? And how like ye my fair lady, Lies in your arms and sleeps?'

18 'Weel like I your bed, my lord, And weel like I your sheets, But ill like I your fair lady, Lies in my arms and sleeps.

19 'You got your wale o se'en sisters, And I got mine o five; Sae tak ye mine, and I's tak thine, And we nae mair sall strive.'

20 'O my woman's the best woman That ever brak world's bread, And your woman's the worst woman That ever drew coat oer head.

21 'I hae twa swords in ae scabbert, They are baith sharp and clear; Tak ye the best, and I the warst, And we'll end the matter here.

22 'But up, and arm thee, Young Musgrave, We'll try it han to han; It's neer be said o Lord Barnaby, He strack at a naked man.'

23 The first straik that Young Musgrave got, It was baith deep and sair, And down he fell at Barnaby's feet, And word spak never mair.

* * * * * * *

24 'A grave, a grave,' Lord Barnaby cried, 'A grave to lay them in; My lady shall lie on the sunny side, Because of her noble kin.'

25 But oh, how sorry was that good lord, For a' his angry mood, Whan he beheld his ain young son All weltring in his blood!

Motherwell's MS., p. 643, from the recitation of Mrs McConechie, Kilmarnock.

1 Lord Barnard's awa to the green wood, To hunt the fallow deer; His vassals a' are gane wi him, His companie to bear.

2 His lady wrate a braid letter, And seald it wi her hand, And sent it aff to Wee Messgrove, To come at her command.

3 When Messgrove lookt the letter on, A waefu man was he; Sayin, Gin I'm gript wi Lord Barnard's wife, Sure hanged I will be.

4 When he came to Lord Barnard's castel He tinklit at the ring, And nane was so ready as the lady hersell To let Wee Messgrove in.

5 'Welcome, welcome, Messgrove,' she said, 'You're welcome here to me; Lang hae I loed your bonnie face, And lang hae ye loed me.

6 'Lord Barnard is a hunting gane, I hope he'll neer return, And ye sall sleep into his bed, And keep his lady warm.'

7 'It cannot be,' Messgrove he said, 'I ween it cannot be; Gin Lord Barnard suld come hame this nicht, What wuld he do to me?'

8 'Ye naething hae to fear, Messgrove, Ye naething hae to fear; I'll set my page without the gate, To watch till morning clear.'

9 But wae be to the wee fut-page, And an ill death mat he die! For he's awa to the green wood, As hard as he can flee.

10 And whan he to the green wood cam, 'Twas dark as dark could bee, And he fand his maister and his men Asleep aneth a tree.

11 'Rise up, rise up, maister,' he said, 'Rise up, and speak to me; Your wife's in bed wi Wee Messgrove, Rise up richt speedilie.'

12 'Gin that be true ye tell to me, A lord I will mak thee; But gin it chance to be a lie, Sure hanged ye sall be.'

13 'It is as true, my lord,' he said, 'As ever ye were born; Messgrove's asleep in your lady's bed, All for to keep her warm.'

14 He mounted on his milk-white steed, He was ane angry man; And he reachd his stately castell gate Just as the day did dawn.

15 He put his horn unto his mouth, And he blew strong blasts three; Sayin, He that's in bed with anither man's wife, He suld be gaun awa.

16 Syne out and spak the Wee Messgrove, A frichtit man was he; 'I hear Lord Barnard's horn,' he said, 'It blaws baith loud and hie.'

17 'Lye still, lye still, my Wee Messgrove, And keep me frae the cauld; 'Tis but my father's shepherd's horn, A sounding in the fauld.'

18 He put his horn unto his mouth, And he blew loud blasts three; Saying, He that's in bed wi anither man's wife, 'Tis time he was awa.

19 Syne out and spak the Wee Messgrove, A frichtit man was he: 'Yon surely is Lord Barnard's horn, And I maun een gae flee.'

20 Lye still, lye still, Messgrove,' she said, 'And keep me frae the cauld; 'Tis but my father's shepherd's horn, A sounding in the fauld.'

21 And ay Lord Barnard blew and blew, Till he was quite wearie; Syne he threw down his bugle horn, And up the stair ran he.

22 'How do you like my blankets, Sir? How do you like my sheets? How do ye like my gay ladie, That lies in your arms asleep?'

23 'Oh weel I like your blankets, Sir, And weel I like your sheet; But wae be to your gay ladie, That lyes in my arms asleep!'

24 'I'll gie you ae sword, Messgrove, And I will take anither; What fairer can I do, Messgrove, Altho ye war my brither?'

25 The firsten wound that Messgrove gat, It woundit him richt sair; And the second wound that Messgrove gat, A word he neer spak mair.

26 'Oh how do ye like his cheeks, ladie? Or how do ye like his chin? Or how do ye like his fair bodie, That there's nae life within?'

27 'Oh weel I like his cheeks,' she said, 'And weel I like his chin; And weel I like his fair bodie, That there's nae life within.'

28 'Repeat these words, my fair ladie, Repeat them ower agane, And into a basin of pure silver I'll gar your heart's bluid rin.'

29 'Oh weel I like his cheeks,' she said, 'And weel I like his chin; And better I like his fair bodie Than a' your kith and kin.'

30 Syne he took up his gude braid sword, That was baith sharp and fine, And into a basin of pure silver Her heart's bluid he gart rin.

31 'O wae be to my merrie men, And wae be to my page, That they didna hald my cursed hands When I was in a rage!'

32 He leand the halbert on the ground, The point o 't to his breast, Saying, Here are three sauls gaun to heaven, I hope they'll a' get rest.

Motherwell's MS., p. 120.

1 Little Musgrove is to the church gone, Some ladies for to sply; Doun came one drest in black, And one came drest in brown, And down and came Lord Barlibas' lady, The fairest in a' the town.

* * * * * * *

2 'I know by the ring that's on your finger That you'r my Lord Barlibas' lady:' 'Indeed I am the Lord Barlibas' lady, And what altho I bee?'

* * * * * * *

3 'Money shall be your hire, foot-page, And gold shall be your fee; You must not tell the secrets That's between Musgrove and me.'

4 'Money shall not be hire,' he said, 'Nor gold shall be my fee; But I'll awa to my own liege lord, With the tidings you've told to me.'

5 When he cam to the broken brig, He coost aff his clothes and he swimd, And when he cam to Lord Barlibas' yett, He tirled at the pin.

6 'What news, what news, my little foot-page? What news have ye brocht to me? Is my castle burnt?' he said, 'Or is my tower tane? Or is my lady lighter yet, Of a daughter or son?'

7 'Your castle is not burnt,' he says, 'Nor yet is your tower tane, Nor yet is your lady brocht to bed, Of a daughter or a son; But Little Musgrove is lying wi her, Till he thinks it is time to be gane.'

8 'O if the news be a lie,' he says, 'That you do tell unto me, I'll ca up a gallows to my yard-yett, And hangd on it thou shallt be.

9 'But if the news be true,' he says, 'That you do tell unto me, I have a young fair dochter at hame, Weel wedded on her you shall be.'

10 He called upon his merry men, By thirties and by three: 'Put aff the warst, put on the best, And come along with me.'

11 He put a horn to his mouth, And this he gard it say: 'The man that's in bed wi Lord Barlibas' lady, It's time he were up and away.'

12 'What does yon trumpet mean?' he sayd, 'Or what does yon trumpet say? I think it says, the man that's in bed wi Lord Barlibas' lady, It's time he were up and away.'

13 'O lie you still, my Little Musgrove, And cover me from the cold, For it is but my father's sheepherd, That's driving his sheep to the fold.'

14 . . . . . . . In a little while after that, Up started good Lord Barlibas, At Little Musgrove his feet.

15 'How do you like my blankets?' he says, 'Or how do you like my sheets? Or how do you like mine own fair lady, That lies in your arms and sleeps?'

16 'I like your blankets very well, And far better your sheets; But woe be to this wicked woman, That lies in my arms and sleeps!'

17 'Rise up, rise up, my Little Musgrove, Rise up, and put your clothes on; It's neer be said on no other day That I killed a naked man.

18 'There is two swords in my chamber, I wot they cost me dear; Take you the best, give me the warst, We'll red the question here.'

19 The first stroke that Lord Barlibas struck, He dang Little Musgrove to the ground; The second stroke that Lord Barlibas gave Dang his lady in a deadly swound.

20 'Gar mak, gar mak a coffin,' he says, 'Gar mak it wide and long, And lay my lady at the right hand, For she's come of the noblest kin.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 305, from the recitation of Rebecca Dunse, 4th May, 1825: one of her mother's songs, an old woman.

* * * * * * *

1 'It's gold shall be your hire,' she says, 'And silver shall be your fee, If you will keep the secrets Between Little Sir Grove and me.'

2 'Tho gold should be my hire,' he says, 'And silver should be my fee, It's I'll not keep the secret Betwixt Little Sir Grove and thee.'

3 Up he rose, and away he goes, And along the plain he ran, And when he came to Lord Bengwill's castle, He tinkled at the pin; And who was sae ready as Lord Bengwill himsell To let this little page in.

4 'Is any of my towers burnt?' he said, 'Or any of my castles taen? Or is Lady Bengwill brought to bed, Of a daughter or a son?'

5 'It's nane of your towers are burnt,' he said, 'Nor nane of your castles taen; But Lady Bengwill and Little Sir Grove To merry bed they are gane.'

6 'If this be true that you tell me, Rewarded you shall be; And if it's a lie that you tell me, You shall be hanged before your ladie's ee.

7 'Get saddled to me the black,' he says, 'Get saddled to me the brown; Get saddled to me the swiftest steed That ever man rode on.'

8 The firsten town that he came to, He blew baith loud and schill, And aye the owre-word o the tune Was, 'Sir Grove, I wish you well.'

9 The nexten town that he came to, He blew baith loud and long, And aye the owre-word of the tune Was 'Sir Grove, it is time to be gone.'

10 'Is yon the sound of the hounds?' he says, 'Or is yon the sound of the deer? But I think it's the sound of my brother's horn, That sounds sae schill in my ear.'

11 'Lye still, lye still, Sir Grove,' she says, 'And keep a fair lady from cold; It's but the sound of my father's herd-boys, As they're driving the sheep to the fold.'

12 They lay down in each other's arms, And they fell fast asleep, And neer a one of them did wake Till Lord Bengwill stood at their feet.

13 'How do you love my soft pillow? Or how do you love my sheets? Or how do you love my fair lady, That lies in your arms and sleeps?'

14 'Full well I love your soft pillow, Far better I love your sheets; But woe be to your fair lady, That lies in my arms and sleeps!'

15 'Rise up, rise up, Sir Grove,' he says, 'Some clothes there put you upon; Let it never be said in fair England I fought with a naked man.'

16 'Oh where shall I go, or where shall I fly, Or where shall I run for my life? For you've got two broadswords into your hand, And I have never a knife.'

17 'You shall take the one sword,' he says, 'And I shall take the other, And that is as fair I'm sure to day As that you are my born brother.'

18 'Hold your hand, hold your hand, my brother dear, You've wounded me full sore; You may get a mistress in every town, But a brother you'll never get more.'

19 The very first stroke that Lord Bengwill gave him, He wounded him full sore; The very next stroke that Lord Bengwill gave him, A word he never spoke more.

20 He's lifted up Lady Bengwill, And set her on his knee, Saying, Whether do you love Little Sir Grove Better than you do me?

21 'Full well I love your cherry cheeks, Full well I love your chin, But better I love Little Sir Grove, where he lies, Than you and all your kin.'

* * * * * * *

22 'A grave, a grave,' Lord Bengwill cried, 'To put these lovers in, And put Lady Bengwill uppermost, For she's come of the noblest kin.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 371, from the recitation of Agnes Lyle, Kilbarchan.

1 Four and twenty ladies fair Was playing at the ba, And out cam the lady, Barnabas' lady, The flower amang them a'.

2 She coost an ee on Little Mossgrey, As brisk as any sun, And he coost anither on her again, And they thocht the play was won.

3 'What would you think, Little Mossgrey, To lye wi me this nicht? Good beds I hae in Barnabey, If they were ordered richt.'

4 'Hold thy tongue, fair lady,' he says, 'For that would cause much strife; For I see by the rings on your fingers That you're Lord Barnabas' wife.'

5 'Lord Barnabas' lady indeed I am, And that I'll let you ken, But he's awa to the king's court, And I hope he'll neer come hame.'

6 Wi wrapped arms in bed they lay Till they fell both asleep, When up and starts Barnabas' boy, And stood at their bed-feet.

7 'How likes thou the bed, Mossgrey? Or how likes thou the sheets? Or how likes thou my master's lady, Lyes in thy arms and sleeps?'

8 'Weel I love the bed,' he said, 'And far better the sheets; But foul may fa your master's lady, Lies in my arms and sleeps!'

9 She pulled out a rusty sword, Was sticking by the stroe; Says, Tell no tidings of me, my boy, Or thou'll neer tell no moe.

10 He's awa to the king's court, As fast as he can dree; He's awa to the king's court, For to tell Barnaby.

11 'Are there any of my biggins brunt? Or any of my young men slain? Or is my lady brocht to bed, Of a dochter or a son?'

12 'There is none of your biggings brunt, There's none of your young men slain; But Little Mossgrey and your lady They are both in a bed within.'

13 'If that be true, my bonnie boy, Thou tellest unto me, I have not a dochter but only one, And married ye shall be.

14 'But if it be a lie, my bonnie boy, You're telling unto me, On the highest tree of Bailsberry, Thereon I'll gar hang thee.'

15 There was a man in the king's court Had a love to Little Mossgrey; He took a horn out of his pocket, And blew both loud and hie: 'He that's in bed wi Barnabas' lady, It's time he were away!'

16 'Oh am I not the maddest man Ere lay in a woman's bed! I think I hear his bridle ring, But and his horse feet tread.'

17 'Lye still, lye still, Little Mossgrey, And keep me from the cold; It's but my father's small sheep-herd, Calling his sheep to the fold.'

18 With wrapped arms in bed they lay Till they fell both asleep, Till up and darts Barnabas himsell, And stood at their bed-fit.

19 'How likest thou the bed, Mossgrey? And how loves thou the sheets? And how loves thou my lady fair, Lyes in your arms and sleeps?'

20 'Well I love your bed,' he says, 'And far better your sheets; But foul may fa your lady fair, Lyes in my arms and sleeps!'

21 'Rise, O rise, Little Mossgrey, Put on your hose and shoon; I'll neer hae't said in a far countrie I killed a naked man.'

22 Slowly, slowly rose he up, And slowly put he on, And slowly down the stairs he goes, And thinking to be slain.

23 'Here's two swords,' Barnabas said, 'I wad they cost me dear; Tak thou the best, I'll tak the warst, We'll try the battle here.'

24 The first stroke that Mossgrey got, It was baith sharp and sore; And the next stroke his lady got, One word she neer spak more.

25 'Ye'll mak a coffin large and wide, And lay this couple in; And lay her head on his right hand, She's come o the highest kin.'

Dr Joseph Robertson's Journal of Excursions, No 5, taken down from a man in the parish of Leochel, Aberdeenshire, February 12, 1829.

1 It's four and twenty bonny boys Were playin at the ba, And out it cums Lord Barnet's ladie, And playit out ower them a'.

2 And aye she shot it's Little Mousgray, As clear as any sun: 'O what wad ye gie, it's Little Mousgray, It's in o my arms to won?'

3 'For no, for no, my gay ladie, For no, that maunna be; For well ken I by the rings on your fingers, Lord Barnet's ladie are ye.'

4 When supper was over, and mass was sung, And a' man boun for bed, It's Little Mousgray and that lady In ae chamber was laid.

5 It's up and starts her little foot-page, Just up at her bed-feet: 'Hail weel, hail weel, my little foot-page, Hail well this deed on me, An ever I lee my life to brook, I 'se pay you well your fee.'

6 Out it spaks it's Little Mousgray: 'I think I hear a horn blaw; She blaws baith loud and shill at ilka turning of the tune, Mousgray, gae ye your wa!'

7 'Lie still, lie still, it's Little Mousgray, Had the caul win frae my back; It's bat my father's proud shepherds, The're huntin their hogs to the fauld.'

8 O up it starts the bold Barnet: . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

9 'Win up, win up, it's Little Mousgray, Draw ti your stockins and sheen; I winna have it for to be said I killed a naked man.

10 'There is two swords in my scabbart, They cost me many a pun; Tak ye the best, and I the warst, And we sall to the green.'

11 The firsten strok Lord Barnet strak, He wound Mousgray very sore; The nexten stroke Lord Barnet strak, Mousgray spak never more.

12 O he's taen out a lang, lang brand, And stripped it athwart the straw, And throch and throu his ain ladie And he's gart it cum and ga.

13 There was nae main made for that ladie, In bower whar she lay dead! But a' was for her bonny young son, Lay blobberin amang the bluid.

Buchan's MSS, I, 27; Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, Percy Society, XVII, 21.

1 Four an twenty handsome youths Were a' playing at the ba, When forth it came him Little Munsgrove, The flower out ower them a'.

2 At times he lost, at times he wan, Till the noon-tide o the day, And four an twenty gay ladies Went out to view the play.

3 Some came down in white velvet, And other some in green; Lord Burnett's lady in red scarlet, And shin'd like ony queen.

4 Some came down in white velvet, And other some in pale; Lord Burnett's lady in red scarlet, Whose beauty did excell.

5 She gae a glance out ower them a', As beams dart frae the sun; She fixed her eyes on Little Munsgrove, For him her love lay on.

6 'Gude day, gude day, ye handsome youth, God make ye safe and free; What woud ye gie this day, Munsgrove, For ae night in bower wi me?'

7 'I darena for my lands, lady, I darena for my life; I ken by the rings on your fingers Ye are Lord Burnett's wife.'

8 'It woud na touch my heart, Munsgrove, Nae mair than 't woud my tae, To see as much o his heart's blood As twa brands coud let gae.

9 'I hae a bower in fair Strathdon, And pictures round it sett, And I hae ordered thee, Munsgrove, In fair Strathdon to sleep.'

10 Her flattering words and fair speeches, They were for him too strong, And she's prevailed on Little Munsgrove With her to gang along.

11 When mass was sung, and bells were rung, And a' man bound for bed, Little Munsgrove and that lady In ae chamber were laid.

12 'O what hire will ye gie your page, If he the watch will keep, In case that your gude lord come hame When we're fair fast asleep?'

13 'Siller, siller's be his wage, And gowd shall be his hire; But if he speak ae word o this, He'll die in a burning fire.'

14 'The promise that I make, Madam, I will stand to the same; I winna heal it an hour langer Than my master comes hame.'

15 She's taen a sharp brand in her hand, Being in the tidive hour; He ran between her and the door, She never saw him more.

16 Where he found the grass grow green, He slacked his shoes an ran, And where he found the brigs broken, He bent his bow an swam.

17 Lord Burnett ower a window lay, Beheld baith dale and down; And he beheld his ain foot-page Come hastening to the town.

18 'What news, what news, my little wee boy, Ye bring sae hastilie?' 'Bad news, bad news, my master,' he says, 'As ye will plainly see.'

19 'Are any of my biggins brunt, my boy? Or are my woods hewed down? Or is my dear lady lighter yet, O dear daughter or son?'

20 'There are nane o your biggins brunt, master, Nor are your woods hewn down; Nor is your lady lighter yet, O dear daughter nor son.

21 'But ye've a bower in fair Strathdon, And pictures round it sett, Where your lady and Little Munsgrove In fair Strathdon do sleep.'

22 'O had your tongue! why talk you so About my gay ladye? She is a gude and chaste woman As in the North Countrie.'

23 'A word I dinna lie, my lord, A word I dinna lie; And if ye winna believe my word, Your ain twa een shall see.'

24 'Gin this be a true tale ye tell, That ye have tauld to me, I'll wed you to my eldest daughter, And married you shall be.

25 'But if it be a fause story That ye hae tauld to me, A high gallows I'll gar be built, And hanged shall ye be.'

26 He's called upon his landlady, The reckoning for to pay, And pulled out twa hands fou o gowd; Says, We'll reckon anither day.

27 He called upon his stable-groom, To saddle for him his steed, And trampled ower yon rocky hills Till his horse hoofs did bleed.

28 There was a man in Lord Burnett's train Was ane o Munsgrove's kin, And aye as fast as the horsemen rade, Sae nimbly 's he did rin.

29 He set a horn to his mouth, And he blew loud and sma, And aye at every sounding's end, 'Awa, Munsgrove, awa!'

30 Then up it raise him Little Munsgrove, And drew to him his sheen; 'Lye still, lye still,' the lady she cried, 'Why get ye up sae seen?'

31 'I think I hear a horn blaw, And it blaws loud and sma; And aye at every sounding's end, Awa, Munsgrove, awa!'

32 'Lye still, lye still, ye Little Munsgrove, Had my back frae the wind; It's but my father's proud shepherd, Caing his hogs to town.'

33 'I think I hear a horn blaw, And it blaws loud and shrill, And aye at every sounding's end Bids Munsgrove take the hill.'

34 'Lye still, my boy, lye still, my sweet, Had my back frae the cauld; It's but the sugh o the westlin wind, Blawing ower the birks sae bauld.'

35 He turned him right and round about, And he fell fast asleep; When up it started Lord Burnett, And stood at their bed-feet.

36 'Is't for love o my blankets, Munsgrove? Or is't for love o my sheets? Or is't for love o my gay lady? Sae soun in your arms she sleeps!'

37 'It's nae for love o your blankets, my lord, Nor yet for love o your sheets; But wae be to your gay ladye, Sae soun in my arms she sleeps!'

38 'Win up, win up, ye Little Munsgrove, Put all your armour an; It's never be said anither day I killed a naked man.

39 'I hae twa brands in ae scabbard, Cost me merks twenty-nine; Take ye the best, gie me the warst, For ye're the weakest man.'

40 The first an stroke that Munsgrove drew Wounded Lord Burnett sair; The next an stroke Lord Burnett drew, Munsgrove he spake nae mair.

41 He turned him to his ladye then, And thus to her said he: 'All the time we've led our life I neer thought this o thee.

42 'How like ye now this well-faird face, That stands straight by your side? Or will ye hate this ill-faird face, Lyes weltering in his blude?'

43 'O better love I this well-faird face, Lyes weltering in his blude, Then eer I'll do this ill-faird face, That stands straight by my side.'

44 Then he's taen out a sharp dagger, It was baith keen and smart, And he has wounded that gay ladye A deep wound to the heart.

45 'A grave, a grave,' cried Lord Burnett, 'To bury these two in, And lay my ladye in the highest flat, She's chiefest o the kin.

46 'A grave, a grave,' said Lord Burnett, 'To bury these two in; Lay Munsgrove in the lowest flat, He's deepest in the sin.

47 'Ye'll darken my windows up secure, Wi staunchions round about, And there is not a living man Shall eer see me walk out.

48 'Nae mair fine clothes my body deck, Nor kame gang in my hair, Nor burning coal nor candle light Shine in my bower mair.'

Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xx, XXI.

It fell upon a Martinmas time, When the nobles were a' drinking wine, That Little Mushiegrove to the kirk he did go, For to see the ladies come in.

Communicated by Miss Margaret Reburn, as heard in County Meath, Ireland, about 1860.

1 'How do you like my rug?' he said, 'And how do you like my sheets? And how do you like my false ladie, That lies in your arms asleep?'

2 'Well I like your rug my lord, And well I like your sheets; But better than all your fair ladie, That lies in my arms asleep.'

* * * * *

#A. a.#

3^2. in pale.

6^2. geight.

6^3. wilt wed.

9^2. or sinn.

17^3. thou fair.

29^3. on upper.

#b.#

1^4. Their masses and mattins.

2^2. omits private.

3^2. pale.

3^4. among.

4^4. I have.

5^4. Yet word I never durst.

6^2. daintily bedight.

7^1. lady fair.

7^2. you shew.

7^4. will I.

8^1. All this was heard by.

8^3. Quo he, though I am my ladies page.

8^4. my lord.

9^2. Although I lose a limb.

9^3. whereas.

10^4. thy none.

11^4. omits will.

14^3. when as the.

14^4. Away, thou little Musgrave.

15^3. Bernards horn.

16^4. to fold.

17^1. the perch.

17^3. thy fair.

18^2. lighted upon a stone.

19^4. Doest find my lady so sweet.

20^3. hunder'd pound.

21^4. That I killed.

25^3. not do.

25^4. Though I.

26^1. omits That: heart.

27^2. ne're were.

28^2. on a.

#B.#

5^4. Musgerue.

6 is written in the MS. after 8, but a marginal note by the scribe directs this stanza to be put two higher than it is written. Furnivall.

8^4. awaw.

9^3. out 3.

11^2. Between here and 12^3 half a page is gone.

13^4. all 3.

#C.#

#a.# The lamentable Ditty of Little Mousgrove and the Lady Barnet... London, printed for H. Gosson. Stanzas of eight lines.

#b.# London: printed for J. Clark, W. Thackeray, and T. Passenger.

#c.# A Lamentable Ballad of the Little Musgrove and the Lady Barnet... London, printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, and J. Clarke.

#e.# London: printed by and for W. O., and are to be sold by the Booksellers.

#a.#

15^3. might lay.

After 16: The second part.

#b., c.#

Musgrove throughout.

1^1. light wanting.

1^2. more be.

2^4. which did to the.

3^2. some came. #c.# pale.

3^3. The next: the lady.

3^4. #c.# among.

4^1. upon.

4^3. well thou perceived.

5^1. The: most wanting.

5^3. #b.# reply.

6^3. that you please.

7^2. my love.

8^1. #b.# my life: my death.

8^2. will lye.

8^4. #c.# my love to thee.

9^3. come.

9^4. While: doe wanting.

10^3. So he: doe wanting.

11^1. he said.

13^1. ran this.

13^3. #b.# He then.

13^3. his own.

14^2. #c.# he did.

14^4. bent his.

15^2. to the.

15^3. #b.# my say. #c.# may say.

16^2. there wanting. #c.# did make.

16^3. upon.

16^4. doth.

17^2. that thou. #b.# telst.

17^2. to wanting.

18^2. as wanting. #b.# to wanting.

18^3. shall be set up.

18^4. thou shalt.

19^2. thou hearest of. #c.# And a.

19^3. Never stay a pair of gallows to make. #b.# to wanting.

19^4. me on.

20^1. Lord Barnet calld his merry men all.

20^3. was so.

21^1. he said.

21^4. #b.# his deed.

22^1. to make no noise.

22^2. all... on wanting.

22^3. horn.

23^1. #c.# of them that.

23^3. him notice: was come.

23^4. wind the.

24^1. did sound.

24^3. if he.

26^4. into the.

27^3. awake: did espy. #b.# then he.

27^4. the beds.

28^2. cloathing.

28^3. #c.# never shall.

28^3. England fair.

28^4. That I.

29^1. #b.# Here is two swords.

29^2. #c.# The choice: Musgrove shall.

29^3. shall.

30^1. good wanting.

30^{1, 3}. that wanting.

31^2. did wanting.

31^3. And with: furious wise.

32^4. she's the better skin: #c.# she is.

33^2. #b.# grieved. #c.# grievd.

33^3. #c.# death of these worthy.

34^1. #c.# mischief.

34^3. #b.# shun the.

34^4. And fly from sin.

#d.#

1^1. a high.

9^1. with this.

11^3. counsel, Madam.

21^2. my milk-white.

23^4. wind his bugle horn clear.

33^3. these three lovely.

#e.#

1^1. a high.

1^3. Little wanting.

3^3. Then next.

8^1. my life: my death.

13^3. He then.

15^3. might tell to.

19^2. that wanting.

26^4. unto the.

28^2. an for on.

29^1. Here is two.

29^2. Musgrove thy choice now make.

31^3. most wanting.

34^3. shun the.

#E.#

10^1. this tidings.

12^3. Banburry.

15^3. It neer.

18^2. struck her.

19^4. wud: (with it) in margin.

#G.#

10^1. (cam) to the green wood cam.

#H.#

13^1. Oh.

#I.#

9^3. old word.

#K.#

2^1. Corrupt: cf. #A#4, #C#4, #D#2, etc.

13^2. lay slain.

#L.#

9^4 On.

48^1. decks.

[136] #C a# was most obligingly copied, and #C b# collated, for me by Professor Skeat with his own hand.

[137] #L#, one of two copies in Buchan's MSS, would certainly have been but the slightest loss if omitted, as another, MSS II, 152, being a broadside made over for the stalls, has been.

[138] Pagani appellati interdum infantes quorum certis ex causis differebatur baptismus; Ducange, s. v. Pagani, who cites, Infans infirmus et paganus commendatus presbytero, etc. Ethnicus was used in the same way.

THE BONNY BIRDY

Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 42; Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 162.

Jamieson, in printing this ballad, gave the husband the name Lord Randal, made many changes, and introduced several stanzas, "to fill up chasms." But the chasms, such as they are, are easily leapt by the imagination, and Jamieson's interpolations are mere bridges of carpenter's work. The admirably effective burden is taken into the story at stanza 11. As Jamieson remoulds the ballad, it is no burden, but a part of the dialogue throughout.

The main part of the action is the same as in 'Little Musgrave.' The superior lyrical quality of the Scottish ballad makes up for its inferiority as a story, so that on the whole it cannot be prized much lower than the noble English ballad.

* * * * *

Cunningham has rewritten the ballad in his own style, pretending, as often, to have known another recited copy: 'Sir Hugh,' Songs of Scotland, II, 130.

1 There was a knight, in a summer's night, Was riding oer the lee, diddle An there he saw a bonny birdy, Was singing upon a tree. diddle O wow for day! diddle An dear gin it were day! diddle Gin it were day, an gin I were away! For I ha na lang time to stay. diddle

2 'Make hast, make hast, ye gentle knight, What keeps you here so late? Gin ye kent what was doing at hame, I fear you woud look blate.'

3 'O what needs I toil day an night, My fair body to kill, Whan I hae knights at my comman, An ladys at my will?'

4 'Ye lee, ye lee, ye gentle knight, Sa loud's I hear you lee; Your lady's a knight in her arms twa That she lees far better nor the.'

5 'Ye lee, you lee, you bonny birdy, How you lee upo my sweet! I will tak out my bonny bow, An in troth I will you sheet.'

6 'But afore ye hae your bow well bent, An a' your arrows yare, I will flee till another tree, Whare I can better fare.'

7 'O whare was you gotten, and whare was ye clecked? My bonny birdy, tell me:' 'O I was clecked in good green wood, Intill a holly tree; A gentleman my nest herryed, An ga me to his lady.

8 'Wi good white bread an farrow-cow milk He bade her feed me aft, An ga her a little wee simmer-dale wanny, To ding me sindle and saft.

9 'Wi good white bread an farrow-cow milk I wot she fed me nought, But wi a little wee simmer-dale wanny She dang me sair an aft: Gin she had deen as ye her bade, I woudna tell how she has wrought.'

10 The knight he rade, and the birdy flew, The live-lang simmer's night, Till he came till his lady's bowr-door, Then even down he did light: The birdy sat on the crap of a tree, An I wot it sang fu dight.

11 'O wow for day! diddle An dear gin it were day! diddle Gin it were day, an gin I were away! For I ha na lang time to stay.' diddle

12 'What needs ye lang for day, diddle. An wish that you were away? diddle Is no your hounds i my cellar, Eating white meal an gray?' diddle O wow, etc.

13 'Is nae your steed in my stable, Eating good corn an hay? An is nae your hawk i my perch-tree, Just perching for his prey? An is nae yoursel i my arms twa? Then how can ye lang for day?'

14 'O wow for day! diddle An dear gin it were day! diddle For he that's in bed wi anither man's wife Has never lang time to stay.' diddle

15 Then out the knight has drawn his sword, An straiked it oer a strae, An thro and thro the fa'se knight's waste He gard cauld iron gae: An I hope ilk ane sal sae be servd That treats ane honest man sae.

* * * * *

The burden stands thus in the manuscript after the first stanza:

O wow for day, diddle An dear gin it were day, diddle Gin it were day, diddle I were away, For I ha na lang time to stay. diddle

13^1. nae you. (?)

CHILD MAURICE

#A.# 'Childe Maurice,' Percy MS., p. 346; Hales and Furnivall, II, 502.

#B.# 'Child Noryce,' Motherwell's MS., p. 255; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 282.

#C.# 'Bob Norice,' Motherwell's MS., p. 510.

#D.# 'Gill Morice,' Motherwell's MS., p. 480.

#E.# 'Chield Morice,' Motherwell's MS., p. 165; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 269.

#F. a.# 'Gil Morrice,' Percy's Reliques, III, 93, 1765. #b.# Letter of T. Gray, June, 1757 (?).

#G.# Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 18, three stanzas; Jamieson, in The Scots Magazine, 1803, LXV, 698, two stanzas.

#A# was printed from the Percy manuscript by Jamieson, in his Popular Ballads, I, 8. Of #B# Motherwell says, 1827: "By testimony of a most unexceptionable description, but which it would be tedious here to detail, the editor can distinctly trace this ballad as existing in its present shape at least a century ago."

In his preface to the copy of the ballad in the Reliques of Ancient Poetry (#F#), Percy remarks: "The following piece has lately run through two editions in Scotland, the second printed at Glasgow in 1755, 8vo. Prefixed to them both is an advertisement, setting forth that the preservation of this poem was owing 'to a lady, who favored the printers with a copy as it was carefully collected from the mouths of old women and nurses;' and 'any reader that can render it more correct or complete' is desired to oblige the public with such improvements. In consequence of this advertisement sixteen additional verses have been produced and handed about in manuscript, which are here inserted in their proper places." The copy printed in 1755[139] and earlier had already "received very considerable modern improvements," as Percy goes on to say, the most noticeable of which is a conclusion of eight stanzas, in the taste of the middle of the last century. These, as also the four stanzas which had been handed about in manuscript, are omitted from this reprint.

Home's tragedy of Douglas, produced in Edinburgh in 1756, was founded upon the story of Gil Morice, and the popularity of the play seems to have given vogue to the ballad.[140] The sophisticated copy passed into recitation, and may very likely have more or less infected those which were repeated from earlier tradition. An old woman (Mrs Thomson, the reciter of #E#), who was born about the time when the ballad was printed, told Motherwell that she had learned 'Chield Morice' in her infancy from her grandmother, but at a later period of her life committed to memory 'Gil Morice,' "which began, with young lasses like her, to be a greater favorite and more fashionable than the set which her grandmother and old folks used to sing."[141]

Gray writes to Mason, June, 1757 (?): "I have got the old Scotch ballad on which Douglas was founded; it is divine, and as long as from hence [Cambridge] to Aston."[142] He cites the first fifteen lines.

The copy in Smith's Scottish Minstrel, III, 106, is Herd's (Percy's), with omissions and changes. 'Child Nourice,' a fragment, in Buchan's MSS, I, 143, is of recent make.

The name of Barnard, a name, says Aytoun, quite foreign to Scotland, may have been adopted from 'Little Musgrave.' There is a marked similarity in the conclusion of the two ballads.

Aytoun, in his compilation, I, 147, 149, rejects the two stanzas, #F# 13, 14, beginning, "And when he came to broken brigue," as taken from 'Lady Maisry.' These stanzas are the most favorite of all commonplaces, and belong as much to one ballad as another. They occur in one version or another of 'Lord Ingram,' 'Little Musgrave,' 'The Clerk's Twa Sons,' etc., and wearisomely often in the ballads in Buchan's collection.

The popularity of 'Gil Morice' since the middle of the last century has caused the story to be localized. The green wood, says Motherwell, was believed to be "the ancient forest of Dundaff, in Stirlingshire, and Lord Barnard's castle to have occupied a precipitous cliff overhanging the Water of Carron, on the lands of Halbertshire." Gil Morice, "according to the unvarying traditions of the country, was remarkable for the extreme length and loveliness of his yellow hair." Motherwell considers that the embellishments of the ballad may have been suggested by these traditions. But why should not these traditions have been derived from the embellished ballad? There had already been nearly fourscore years for them to grow up at the date of the publication of his Minstrelsy.

* * * * *

#B# is translated by Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 11, Hausschatz, p. 222; #F# by Loève-Veimars, p. 316, with some retrenchment; Allingham's copy by Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 31.

Percy MS., p. 346; Hales and Furnivall, II, 502.

1 Childe Maurice hunted ithe siluer wood, He hunted itt round about, And noebodye _tha_t he ffound therin, Nor none there was w_i_th-out.

2 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . And he tooke his siluer combe in his hand, To kembe his yellow lockes.

3 He sayes, Come hither, thou litle ffoot-page, _Tha_t runneth lowlye by my knee, Ffor thou shalt goe to Iohn Stewards wiffe And pray her speake w_i_th mee.

4 ' . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I, and greete thou doe _tha_t ladye well, Euer soe well ffroe mee.

5 'And, as itt ffalls, as many times As knotts beene knitt on a kell, Or marchant men gone to leeue London, Either to buy ware or sell.

6 'And, as itt ffalles, as many times As any hart can thinke, Or schoole-masters are in any schoole-house, Writting w_i_th pen and inke: Ffor if I might, as well as shee may, This night I wold w_i_th her speake.

7 'And heere I send her a mantle of greene, As greene as any grasse, And bidd her come to the siluer wood, To hunt w_i_th Child Maurice.

8 'And there I send her a ring of gold, A ring of p_re_cyous stone, And bidd her come to the siluer wood, Let ffor no kind of man.'

9 One while this litle boy he yode, Another while he ran, Vntill he came to Iohn Stewards hall, I-wis he neuer blan.

10 And of nurture the child had good, Hee ran vp hall and bower ffree, And when he came to this lady ffaire, Sayes, God you saue and see!

11 'I am come ffrom Ch[i]ld Maurice, A message vnto thee; And Child Maurice, he greetes you well, And euer soe well ffrom mee.

12 'And, as itt ffalls, as oftentimes As knotts beene knitt on a kell, Or marchant-men gone to leeue London, Either ffor to buy ware or sell.

13 'And as oftentimes he greetes you well As any hart can thinke, Or schoolem_aster_s [are] in any schoole, Wryting w_i_th pen and inke.

14 'And heere he sends a mantle of greene, As greene as any grasse, And he bidds you come to the siluer wood, To hunt w_i_th Child Maurice.

15 'And heere he sends you a ring of gold, A ring of the p_re_cyous stone; He prayes you to come to the siluer wood, Let ffor no kind of man.'

16 'Now peace, now peace, thou litle ffoot-page, Ffor Christes sake, I pray thee! Ffor if my lo_rd_ heare one of these words, Thou must be hanged hye!'

17 Iohn Steward stood vnder the castle-wall, And he wrote the words euerye one, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

18 And he called vnto his hors-keep_er_, 'Make readye you my steede!' I, and soe hee did to his chamberlaine, 'Make readye thou my weede!'

19 And he cast a lease vpon his backe, And he rode to the siluer wood, And there he sought all about, About the siluer wood.

20 And there he ffound him Child Maurice Sitting vpon a blocke, W_i_th a siluer combe in his hand, Kembing his yellow locke[s.]

* * * * * * *

21 But then stood vp him Child Maurice, And sayd these words trulye: 'I doe not know yo_u_r ladye,' he said, 'If _tha_t I doe her see.'

22 He sayes, How now, how now, Child Maurice? Alacke, how may this bee? Ffor thou hast sent her loue-tokens, More now then two or three.

23 'Ffor thou hast sent her a mantle of greene, As greene as any grasse, And bade her come to the siluer woode, To hunt w_i_th Child Maurice.

24 'And thou [hast] sent her a ring of gold, A ring of p_re_cyous stone, And bade her come to the siluer wood, Let ffor noe kind of man.

25 'And by my ffaith, now, Child Maurice, The tone of vs shall dye!' 'Now be my troth,' sayd Child Maurice, 'And _tha_t shall not be I.'

26 But hee pulled forth a bright browne sword, And dryed itt on the grasse, And soe ffast he smote att Iohn Steward, I-wisse he neuer [did] rest.

27 Then hee pulled fforth his bright browne sword, And dryed itt on his sleeue, And the ffirst good stroke Iohn Stewart stroke, Child Maurice head he did cleeue.

28 And he pricked itt on his swords poynt, Went singing there beside, And he rode till he came to _tha_t ladye ffaire, Wheras this ladye lyed.

29 And sayes, Dost thou know Child Maurice head, If _tha_t thou dost itt see? And lapp itt soft, and kisse itt offt, Ffor thou louedst him better than mee.'

30 But when shee looked on Child Maurice head, Shee neuer spake words but three: 'I neuer beare no child but one, And you haue slaine him trulye.'

31 Sayes, Wicked be my merrymen all, I gaue meate, drinke, and clothe! But cold they not haue holden me When I was in all _tha_t wrath!

32 'Ffor I haue slaine one of the curteousest k_nigh_ts _Tha_t euer bestrode a steed, Soe haue I done one [of] the fairest ladyes _Tha_t euer ware womans weede!'

Motherwell's MS., p. 255; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 282. From the singing of Widow McCormick, Paisley, January 19, 1825. Learned by her of an old woman in Dumbarton: Motherwell's Note Book, fol. 4.

1 Child Noryce is a clever young man, He wavers wi the wind; His horse was silver-shod before, With the beaten gold behind.

2 He called to his little man John, Saying, You don't see what I see; For O yonder I see the very first woman That ever loved me.

3 'Here is a glove, a glove,' he said, 'Lined with the silver grey; You may tell her to come to the merry green-wood, To speak to Child Nory.

4 'Here is a ring, a ring,' he says, 'It's all gold but the stane; You may tell her to come to the merry green-wood, And ask the leave o nane.'

5 'So well do I love your errand, my master, But far better do I love my life; O would ye have me go to Lord Barnard's castle, To betray away his wife?'

6 'O don't I give you meat,' he says, 'And don't I pay you fee? How dare you stop my errand?' he says; 'My orders you must obey.'

7 O when he came to Lord Bernard's castle, He tinkled at the ring; Who was as ready as Lord Barnard himself To let this little boy in?

8 'Here is a glove, a glove,' he says, 'Lined with the silver grey; You are bidden to come to the merry green-wood, To speak to Child Nory.

9 'Here is a ring, a ring,' he says, 'It's all gold but the stane; You are bidden to come to the merry green-wood, And ask the leave o nane.'

10 Lord Barnard he was standing by, And an angry man was he: 'O little did I think there was a lord in the world My lady loved but me!'

11 O he dressed himself in the holland smock, And garments that was gay, And he is away to the merry green-wood, To speak to Child Nory.

12 Child Noryce sits on yonder tree, He whistles and he sings: 'O wae be to me,' says Child Noryce, 'Yonder my mother comes!'

13 Child Noryce he came off the tree, His mother to take off the horse: 'Och alace, alace,' says Child Noryce, 'My mother was neer so gross!'

14 Lord Barnard he had a little small sword, That hung low down by his knee; He cut the head off Child Noryce, And put the body on a tree.

15 And when he came home to his castell, And to his ladie's hall, He threw the head into her lap, Saying, Lady, there's a ball!

16 She turned up the bloody head, She kissed it frae cheek to chin: 'Far better do I love this bloody head Than all my royal kin.

17 'When I was in my father's castel, In my virginity, There came a lord into the North, Gat Child Noryce with me.'

18 'O wae be to thee, Lady Margaret,' he sayd, 'And an ill death may you die; For if you had told me he was your son, He had neer been slain by me.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 510, from the singing of Mrs Storie, wife of William Storie, laborer, Lochwinnoch. A song of Mrs Storie's grandmother.

1 Bob Norice is to the grein-wud gane, He is awa wi the wind; His horse is siller-shod afore, In the shynand gowd ahind.

2 He said unto his wee boy John, I sie what ye dinna sie; I see the [first] woman that I eer luvit, Or ever luvit me.

3 'Gae tak to hir this pair o gluvis, They're o the siller-gray, And tell her to cum to the merrie grein-wud An speik to Bob Norice.

4 'Gae tak to her this gay gowd ring, And it's aw gowd but the stane, And tell her to cum to the merrie grein-wud, And ask the leive o nane.

5 'Gae tak to her this braw manteil, It's a' silk but the sleive, And tell her to cum to the merrie green-wud, And ax nae bauld Barnet's leive.'

6 'I daurna gang to Lord Barnet's castel, I daurna gang for my lyfe; I daurna gang to Lord Barnet's castell, To twyne him o his wife.'

7 'Do I nae pay you gowd?' he said, 'Do I nae pay you fee? How daur you stand my bidding, Sir, Whan I bid you to flee?'

8 'Gif I maun gang to Lord Barnet's castel, Sae sair agane my will, I vow a vow, and I do protest, It sall be dune for ill.'

9 But whan he came to Lord Barnet's castel He tinklet at the ring; Tha war nane sae ready as Lord Barnet himsell To let the wee calland in.

10 'What news, what news, my bonnie wee boy? What news hae ye to me?' 'Nae news, nae news, Lord Barnet,' he said, 'But your ladie I fain would see.

11 'Here is a pair o gluves to her, Thay'r o the silver gray; And tell her to cum to the merrie green-wud, And speik to Bob Norice.

12 'Here is a gay gowd ring to her, It's aw gowd but the stane; And she maun cum to the merrie green-wud, And speir the leive o nane.

13 'Here is a gay manteil to her, It's aw silk but the sleive; And she maun cum to the merrie grein-wud, And ask not bauld Barnet's leive.'

14 Then out bespack the yellow nurse, Wi the babie on her knee, Sayand, Gif thay be cum frae Bob Norice, They are welcum to me.

15 'O haud your tung, ye yellow nurse, Aloud an I heir ye lie; For they're to Lord Barnet's lady, I trew that this be she.'

16 Lord Barnet's to a dressing-room, And buskt him in woman's array, And he's awa to the merrie green-wud, To speik to Bob Norrice.

17 Bob Norrice he sits on a tree, He is whissland and singand; Says, Merrie, merrie may my hert be, I see my mither cumand.

18 Bob Norice he cam doun frae the trie, To help his mother to licht fra her horss; 'Och alace, alace,' says Bob Norice, 'My mither was neer sae gross!'

19 Lord Barnet had a not-brown sword, That hung down by his knee, And he has cut Bob Norice heid Aff frae his fair bodie.

20 He tuke the bluidy head in his hand, And he brocht it to the ha, And flang it into his lady's lap, Sayand, Lady, there is a ba!

21 She took the bluidy heid in her hand, And kisst it frae cheik to chin, Sayand, Better I lyke that well faurit face Nor aw my royal kin.

22 'Whan I was in my father's bour, A' in my dignity, An Englis lord a visit came, Gat Bob Norice wi me.'

23 Then out bespak Lord Barnet syne, And a wae, wae man was he, Sayand, Gif I had kent he was your son, He wuld neer been killit be me.

Motherwell's MS., p. 480, from the recitation of Widow Michael, a very old woman, as learned by her in Banffshire seventy years before. August, 1826.

1 Gill Morice stood in stable-door, With red gold shined his weed; A bonnie boy him behind, Dressing a milk-white steed.

2 'Woe's me for you, maister, Your name it waxes wide; It is not for your rich, rich robes, Nor for your meikle pride, But all is for yon lord's ladie, She lives on Ithan side.'

3 'Here's to thee, my bonnie wee boy, That I pay meat and fee; You will run on to Ithan side An errand unto me.'

4 'If ye gar me that errand run, Sae sair against my will, I'll make a vow, and keep it true, I'll do your errand ill.'

5 'I fear nae ill of thee, boy, I fear nae ill of thee; I fearna ill of my bonnie boy, My sister's son are ye.

6 'Ye'll tak here this green manteel, It's lined with the frieze; Ye'll bid her come to gude green-wood, To talk with Gill Morice.

7 'Ye'll tak here this sark o silk, Her ain hand sewed the sleeve; Ye'll bid her come to gude green-wood, And ask not Burnard's leave.'

8 When he gade to Ithan side They were hailing at the ba, And four and twenty gay ladyes They lookd ower castle wa.

9 'God mak you safe, you ladies all, God mak you safe and sure; But Burnard's lady amang you all, My errand is to her.

10 'Ye'll tak here this green manteel, It's a' lined wi the frieze; Ye're bidden come to gude green-wood And speak to Gill Morice.

11 'Ye'll tak here this sark of silk, Your ain hand sewed the sleeve; Ye're bidden come to gude green-wood, And ask not Burnard's leave.'

12 Up it stood the little nurice, She winked with her ee: 'Welcome, welcome, bonnie boy, With luve-tidings to me.

13 'Ye lie, ye lie, ye false nurice, Sae loud's I hear ye lie; It's to the lady of the house, I'm sure ye are not shee.'

14 Then out and spoke him bold Burnard, Behind the door stood he: 'I'll go unto gude green-wood, And see what he may be.

15 'Come, bring to me the gowns of silk, Your petticoats so small, And I'll go on to gude green-wood, I'll try with him a fall.'

16 Gill Morice stood in gude green-wood, He whistled and he sang: 'I think I see the woman come That I have loved lang.'

17 'What now, what now, ye Gill Morice, What now, and how do ye? How lang hae ye my lady luved? This day come tell to me.'

18 'First when I your lady loved, In green-wood amang the thyme, I wot she was my first fair love Or ever she was thine.

19 'First when I your lady loved, In green-wood amang the flouirs, I wot she was my first fair love Or ever she was yours.'

20 He's taen out a lang, lang brand That he was used to wear, And he's taen aff Gill Morice head, And put it on a spear: The soberest boy in a' the court Gill Morice head did bear.

21 He's put it in a braid basin, And brocht it in the ha, And laid it in his lady's lap; Said, Lady, tak a ba!

22 'Play ye, play ye, my lady,' he said, 'Play ye frae ha to bower; Play ye wi Gill Morice head, He was your paramour.'

23 'He was not my paramour, He was my son indeed; I got him in my mother's bower, And in my maiden-weed.

24 'I got him in my mother's bower, Wi meikle sin and shame; I brocht him up in good green-wood, Got mony a shower o rain.

25 'But I will kiss his bluidy head, And I will clap his chin; I'll make a vow, and keep it true, I'll never kiss man again.

26 'Oftimes I by his cradle sat, And fond to see him sleep; But I may walk about his grave, The saut tears for to weep.'

27 'Bring cods, bring cods to my ladye, Her heart is full of wae;' 'None of your cods, Burnet,' she says, 'But lay me on the strae.'

28 'Pox on you, my lady fair, That wudna telled it me; If I had known he was your son, He had not been slain by me; And for ae penny ye wud hae gien I wud hae gien him three.'

29 'Keep weel your land, Burnet,' she said, 'Your land and white monie; There's land eneuch in Norroway Lies heirless I wot the day.'

30 The one was killed in the mornin air, His mother died at een, And or the mornin bells was rung The threesome were a' gane.

Motherwell's MS., p. 165; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 269. From the recitation of Mrs Thomson, Kilbarchan, seventy years of age, as learned from her mother at the Water of Leven, Dumbarton, when she was ten years old. March, 1825.

1 Chield Morrice was an earl's son, His name it waxed wide; It was nae for his parentage, Nor yet his meikle pride, But it was for a lady gay, That lived on Carron side.

2 'O Willie, my man, my errand gang, And you maun rin wi speed; When other boys run on their feet, On horseback ye shall ride.

3 'O master dear, I love you weel, And I love you as my life, But I will not go to Lord Barnard's ha, For to tryst forth his wife.

4 'For the baron he's a man of might, He neer could bide a taunt, And ye shall see or it be late How meikle ye'll hae to vaunt.'

5 'O you must rin my errand, Willie, And you must rin wi speed, And if you don't obey my high command I'll gar your body bleed.

6 'And here it is a gay manteel, It's a' gowd but the hem; Bid her come speak to Chield Morice, Bring naebody but her lane.

7 'And here it is a holland smock, Her own hand sewed the sleeve; Bid her come speak to Chield Morice, Ask not the baron's leave.'

8 'Since I must run this errand for you, So sore against my will, I've made a vow, and I'll keep it true, It shall be done for ill.'

9 For he did not ask the porter's leave, Tho he stood at the gate, But straight he ran to the big hall, Where great folk sat at meat.

10 'Good hallow, gentle sir and dame, My errand canna wait; Dame, ye must go speak to Chield Morice, Before it be too late.

11 'And here it is a gay manteel, It's a' goud but the hem; Ye must come speak to Child Morice, Bring nae body but your lane.

12 'And here it is a holland smock, Your ain hand sewed the sleeve; You must come speak to Chield Morice, Ask not the baron's leave.'

13 O aye she stamped wi her foot, And winked wi her ee, But a' that she could say or do, Forbidden he wad na be.

14 'It's surely to my bouir-woman, It canna be to me:' 'I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady, And I trow that thou art she.'

15 Out then spak the wylie nurse, Wi the bairn just on her knee: 'If this be come fra Chield Morice, It's dear welcome to me.'

16 'Thou lies, thou lies, thou wylie nurse, Sae loud's I hear thee lie; I brought it to Lord Barnard's lady, And I trow thou binna she.'

17 Then up and rose him the bold baron, And an angry man was he; He took the table wi his foot, And keppd it wi his knee, Till silver cup and ezar dish In flinders they did flee.

18 'Go bring me one of thy cleeding, That hings upon the pin, And I'll awa to the good green-wood, And crack wi your leman.'

19 'I would have you stay at home, Lord Barnard, I would have you stay at home; Never wyte a man for violence douce That never thought you wrong.'

20 And when he to the green-wood went, No body saw he there But Chield Morice, on a milk-white steed, Combing down his yellow hair.

21 Chield Morice sat in the gay green-wood, He whistled and he sang: 'O what means a' thir folks coming? My mother tarries lang.'

22 'No wonder, no wonder, Chield Morice,' he said, 'My lady loved thee weel; For the whitest bit of my body Is blacker than thy heel.

23 'But nevertheless now, Chield Morice, For a' thy gay beautie, O nevertheless, Chield Morice, Thy head shall go with me.'

24 He had a rapier by his side, Hung low down by his knee; He struck Chield Morrice on the neck, Till aff his head did flee.

25 Then he's taen up that bloody head, And stuck it on a spear, And the meanest man in a' his train Gat Chield Morice head to bear.

26 The lady looked owre the castle-wa, Wi meikle dool and down, And there she saw Chield Morice head, Coming trailing to the town.

27 But he's taen up this bluidy head, And dashed it gainst the wa: 'Come down, come down, you ladies fair, And play at this foot-ba.'

28 Then she's taen up this bluidy head, And she kissed it both cheek and chin: 'I would rather hae a kiss o that bluidy head Than a' thy earldom.

29 'I got him in my father's bouir, Wi meikle sin and shame, And I brought him up in gay green-wood, Beneath the heavy rain.

30 'Many a day have I rockd thy cradle, And fondly seen thee sleep, But now I'll go about thy grave, And sore, sore will I weep.'

31 'O woe be to thee, thou wild woman, And an ill deid may thou die! For if ye had tauld me he was your son, He should hae ridden and gane wi me.'

32 'O hold your tongue, you bold baron, And an ill death may ye die! He had lands and rents enew of his ain, He needed nane fra thee.'

33 'Then I'll curse the hand that did the deed, The heart that thought him ill, The feet that carried me speedilie This comely youth to kill.'

34 This lady she died gin ten o'clock, Lord Barnard died gin twall, And bonnie boy now, Sweet Willie, What's come o him I canna tell.

#a.# Percy's Reliques, III, 93, 1765. #b.# Letter of T. Gray to Mason, June, 1757 (?): Gray's Works, ed. Gosse, II, 316.

1 Gil Morrice was an erles son, His name it waxed wide; It was nae for his great riches, Nor yet his mickle pride, Bot it was for a lady gay, That livd on Carron side.

2 'Whair sall I get a bonny boy, That will win hose and shoen, That will gae to Lord Barnard's ha, And bid his lady cum?

3 'And ye maun rin errand, Willie, And ye may rin wi pride; When other boys gae on their foot, On horseback ye sall ride.'

4 'O no! Oh no! my master dear, I dare nae for my life; I'll no gae to the bauld baron's, For to triest furth his wife.'

5 'My bird Willie, my boy Willie, My dear Willie,' he sayd, 'How can ye strive against the stream? For I sall be obeyd.'

6 'Bot, O my master dear,' he cry'd, 'In grene-wod ye're your lain; Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ye rede, For fear ye should be tain.'

7 'Haste, haste, I say, gae to the ha, Bid hir cum here wi speid; If ye refuse my heigh command, I'll gar your body bleid.

8 'Gae bid hir take this gay mantel, 'Tis a' gowd but the hem; Bid hir cum to the gude grene-wode, And bring nane bot hir lain.

9 'And there it is, a silken sarke, Hir ain hand sewd the sleive; And bid hir cum to Gill Morice, Speir nae bauld baron's leave.'

10 'Yes, I will gae your black errand, Though it be to your cost; Sen ye by me will nae be warnd, In it ye sall find frost.

11 'The baron he's a man of might, He neir could bide to taunt; As ye will see, before it's nicht, How sma ye hae to vaunt.

12 'And sen I maun your errand rin, Sae sair against my will, I'se mak a vow, and keip it trow, It sall be done for ill.'

13 And when he came to broken brigue, He bent his bow and swam; And when [he] came to grass growing, Set down his feet and ran.

14 And when he came to Barnard's ha, Would neither chap nor ca, Bot set his bent bow to his breist, And lichtly lap the wa.

15 He wauld nae tell the man his errand, Though he stude at the gait; Bot straiht into the ha he cam, Whair they were set at meit.

16 'Hail! hail! my gentle sire and dame, My message winna waite; Dame, ye maun to the gude grene-wod, Before that it be late.

17 'Ye're bidden tak this gay mantel, 'Tis a' gowd bot the hem; You maun gae to the gude grene-wode, Evn by your sel alane.

18 'And there it is, a silken sarke, Your ain hand sewd the sleive; Ye maun gae speik to Gill Morice, Speir nae bauld baron's leave.'

19 The lady stamped wi hir foot, And winked wi hir ee; But a' that she coud say or do, Forbidden he wad nae bee.

20 'It's surely to my bowr-woman; It neir could be to me:' 'I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady; I trow that ye be she.'

21 Then up and spack the wylie nurse, The bairn upon hir knee: 'If it be cum frae Gill Morice, It's deir welcum to mee.'

22 'Ye leid, ye leid, ye filthy nurse, Sae loud's I heire ye lee; I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady; I trow ye be nae shee.'

23 Then up and spack the bauld baron, An angry man was hee; He's tain the table wi his foot, Sae has he wi his knee, Till siller cup and ezar dish In flinders he gard flee.

24 'Gae bring a robe of your cliding, That hings upon the pin, And I'll gae to the gude grene-wode, And speik wi your lemman.'

25 'O bide at hame, now, Lord Barnard, I warde ye bide at hame; Neir wyte a man for violence That neir wate ye wi nane.'

26 Gil Morice sate in gude grene-wode, He whistled and he sang: 'O what mean a' the folk coming? My mother tarries lang.'

27 The baron came to the grene-wode, Wi mickle dule and care, And there he first spied Gill Morice, Kameing his yellow hair.

28 'Nae wonder, nae wonder, Gill Morice, My lady loed thee weel; The fairest part of my body Is blacker than thy heel.

29 'Yet neir the less now, Gill Morice, For a' thy great bewty, Ye's rew the day ye eir was born; That head sall gae wi me.'

30 Now he has drawn his trusty brand, And slaited on the strae, And thro Gill Morice fair body He's gard cauld iron gae.

31 And he has tain Gill Morice head, And set it on a speir; The meanest man in a' his train Has gotten that head to bear.

32 And he has tain Gill Morice up, Laid him across his steid, And brocht him to his painted bowr, And laid him on a bed.

33 The lady sat on castil-wa, Beheld baith dale and doun, And there she saw Gill Morice head Cum trailing to the toun.

34 'Far better I loe that bluidy head, Bot and that yellow hair, Than Lord Barnard, and a' his lands, As they lig here and thair.'

35 And she has tain hir Gill Morice, And kissd baith mouth and chin: 'I was once as fow of Gill Morice As the hip is o the stean.

36 'I got ye in my father's house, Wi mickle sin and shame; I brocht thee up in gude green-wode, Under the heavy rain.

37 'Oft have I by thy cradle sitten, And fondly seen thee sleip; Bot now I gae about thy grave, The saut tears for to weip.'

38 And syne she kissd his bluidy cheik, And syne his bluidy chin: 'O better I loe my Gill Morice Than a' my kith and kin!'

39 'Away, away, ye ill woman, And an il deith mait ye dee! Gin I had kend he'd bin your son, He'd neir bin slain for mee.'

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 18; Jamieson, in The Scots Magazine, 1803, LXV, 698, stanzas 1, 3.

1 Gil Morrice sat in silver wood, He whistled and he sang: 'Whar sall I get a bonny boy My errand for to gang?'

2 He ca'd his foster-brither Willie: 'Come, win ye hose and shoon, And gae unto Lord Barnard's ha, And bid his lady come.'

* * * * * * *

3 And she has taen the bloody head, And cast it i the brim, Syne gathered up her robes o green, And fast she followed him.

* * * * *

#A.#

1^1. siluen: compare 7^3, 8^3, 14^3, 15^3, etc.

2^{3, 4}. In the MS., these go with 3: compare 20.

3^2. rumeth.

4^{3, 4}. These precede what is printed as 6.

5^1, 6^1, 12^1. out many.

6^3. as schoole masters: compare 13^3.

6^{5, 6}. These lines may be the last half of a stanza. There is nothing corresponding in the page's repetition of his master's message.

17^{1, 2}. Joined in the MS. with 18.

18^4. then my.

21. At least one stanza must be lost after 20.

22^{1, 2} _precede 21, and 22^{3, 4} make a stanza with 21^{3, 4}: the order being 22^{1, 2}, 21, 22^{3, 4}._

22^4. 2 or 3.

26^1. Only half the ~n~ in the MS. Furnivall.

30^2. but 3.

32^1. curteouset.

And for & throughout.

#B.#

2^3. For is a later insertion.

2^3, 6^1. Oh.

6^{1, 2}. Originally, O do I not, And do I not.

9^3. to go to: come written over go.

13^2, 14^3. of.

14^2. That is a later insertion.

18^2. And is a later insertion.

18^4. Originally, He should neer have been.

#C.#

"This ballad was forwarded to me by my good friend Andrew Crawfurd, of John's Hill, Lochwinnoch. He wrote it from the recitation of Mrs Storie, wife of William Storie, laborer, in Lochwinnoch. It was a song of Mrs Storie's grandmother. It is queried if this should not be Babe Norice.... The interlineary corrections were made in consequence of Mrs Storie singing the ballad over to myself." Motherwell. The interlineary corrections have been adopted. The earlier readings follow.

Barnard for Barnet.

5^4. speir nae bauld baron's.

6^1. Barnard's ha.

8^3. and I doubly vow.

10^1. wee lad.

12^1. gay wanting.

13^1. braw manteil.

13^4. nae bauld baron's.

16^1. to a busking gane.

16^2. drest him.

19^1. Barnard liftit his.

19^3. has sneddit.

19^4. And aff frae his bodie.

20^4. lady wanting.

The affected spelling I suppose to be Crawfurd's.

7^4, 9^1. quhan.

In the Appendix to his Minstrelsy, p. xvii, Motherwell adopts the reading ~Babe Norice~ in 1^1, and prints ~burning gowd~ in 1^4.

#D.#

"This copy is from the recitation of Margaret Paterson, alias widow Michael, a very old woman residing at Dovecote Ha, Barhead. She is a native of Banffshire, and learned the ballad there in her infancy. She mentions that she has heard it sung with many variations, but this copy was considered to be the right way. It is seventy years since she committed it to her memory. 4th August, 1826." Motherwell.

#E.#

In his Minstrelsy, p. 269, Motherwell says that the reciter learned the ballad from her grandmother. He goes on to say: She mentions that at a later period of her life she also committed to memory 'Gill Morice,' which began with young lasses like her to be a greater favorite and more fashionable than the set which her grandmother and other old folks used to sing, under the title of 'Chield Morice.'

17^5. Written ~and dezar dish~, the ~d~ of ~and~ being carried on to the word following.

19^3. douce makes no apparent sense. Motherwell prints done.

20^1. Stood originally And when he came to the green wood.

26^2. No doubt a corruption of the familiar Beheld baith dale and down.

29^4. heaviy, perhaps representing the actual sound. Motherwell prints heavy.

#F. a.#

In eight-line stanzas. ~Wh~ and ~y~ are substituted for the initial ~quh~ and ~z~ cherished by ballad imitators.

5^4. shall.

30^4. He's gar.

#b.#

1^2. fame it wexed.

1^4. Nae for.

1^6. Carron's.

3^1. Ye maun rin this.

3^2. maun rin.

3^3. feet.

4^1. Ah na, ah na.

The four stanzas which follow, "~produced and handed about in manuscript~," in consequence of an advertisement, were introduced into his copy by Percy.

After 26:

His hair was like the threeds of gold, Drawne frae Minerva's loome; His lipps like roses drapping dew, His breath was a' perfume.

His brow was like the mountain snae, Gilt by the morning beam; His cheeks like living roses glow, His een like azure stream.

The boy was clad in robes of grene, Sweete as the infant spring, And like the mavis on the bush He gart the vallies ring.

After 27:

That sweetly wavd around his face, That face beyond compare; He sang sae sweet, it might dispel A' rage but fell dispair.

The following stanzas were appended to the ballad in the edition reprinted by Percy:

'Obraid me not, my Lord Barnard, Obraid me not for shame! With that saim speir O pierce my heart, And put me out o pain.

'Since nothing bot Gill Morice head Thy jelous rage could quell, Let that saim hand now tak hir life That neir to thee did ill.

'To me nae after days nor nichts Will eir be saft or kind; I'll fill the air with heavy sighs, And greet till I am blind.'

'Enouch of blood by me's bin spilt, Seek not your death frae mee; I rather lourd it had been my sel Than eather him or thee.

'With waefo wae I hear your plaint; Sair, sair I rew the deid, That eir this cursed hand of mine Had gard his body bleid.

'Dry up your tears, my winsom dame, Ye neir can heal the wound; Ye see his head upon the speir, His heart's blude on the ground.

'I curse the hand that did the deid, The heart that thocht the ill, The feet that bore me wi sik speid The comely youth to kill.

'I'll ay lament for Gill Morice, As gin he were my ain; I'll neir forget the dreiry day On which the youth was slain.'

The copy lent me by Mr Macmath lacks the four stanzas inserted by Percy, but has the eight given immediately above. The following are the variations from #F#.

2^1. will I.

7^4. thy body.

10^2. thy cost.

18^3. maun cum.

26^1. sits.

26^3. means a' these folks.

26^4. she tarrys.

27^1. And whan he cam to guid.

27^3. first saw.

27^4. Kemeing down.

28^2. Than my, misprint.

30^4. gard.

34^4. they lay.

35^4. hip was.

The eight stanzas follow which are printed immediately above.

[139] The edition of 1755 is not known now to exist. Mr David Laing showed Motherwell a copy, without place or date, with the title: Gill Morice, An Ancient Scots Poem. The foundation of the tragedy called Douglas, as it is now acted in the Concert-Hall, Canongate. There was no material difference between this edition and that which was reprinted in the Reliques, except that it lacked the four stanzas which Percy introduced. Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 259, note.

In Herd's MSS, I, 7, II, 70, there are half a dozen more stanzas, from The Weekly Magazine, August 13, 1772, which continue the story still further. My lady flings herself over a craig, my lord seeks death in battle. But, as Sir Walter Scott notes in the margin, these verses are "formed on the conclusion of Douglas, which tragedy is founded on the original ballad." These stanzas are printed by Jamieson, I, 21.

Mr Macmath has communicated to me an early copy of 'Gil Morice,' without place or date, in conjunction with a parody, entitled The Seven Champions of the Stage, printed in 1757, which satirizes Parson Home's efforts to get his Agis and his Douglas acted by Garrick. This copy of 'Gil Morice' might be another edition of that which Mr Laing possessed. Its variations, which are of slight consequence, will be given in the notes to #F#.

[140] The name of the heroine in the tragedy of Douglas was originally Lady Barnard, as in the ballad; it was altered to Lady Randolph when the play was produced in London. Motherwell, p. 257, note.

[141] Minstrelsy, p. 269, note. Mr Aytoun considers that #E# is only the copy printed in the middle of the last century purged, in the process of oral transmission, of what was not to the popular taste, "and altered more." There is no doubt that a copy learned from print may be transformed in this way, but it is certain that old tradition does not come to a stop when a ballad gets into print. Mrs Thomson's account of the matter Aytoun does not heed. It is difficult to understand why Aytoun printed the stanzas from Percy's Reliques, at I, 149 f, 2d ed., except as a simple courtesy to his correspondent.

[142] Already cited in The Ballad Minstrelsy of Scotland, Glasgow, 1871, p. 316.

BONNY BARBARA ALLAN

#A. a.# 'Bonny Barbara Allan,' Tea-Table Miscellany, IV, 46, ed. 1740; here from the edition of London, 1763, p. 343. #b.# 'Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan,' Percy's Reliques, 1765, III, 131.

#B. a.# 'Barbara Allen's Cruelty,' etc., Roxburghe Ballads, II, 25; reprint of the Ballad Society, III, 433. #b.# Roxburghe Ballads, III, 522. #c.# Broadside formerly belonging to Percy. #d.# Percy's Reliques, 1765, III, 125.

#C.# 'Barbara Allan,' Motherwell's MS., p. 288, from recitation.

#A a# is wrongly said by Stenhouse, The Scots Musical Museum, IV, 213, to have appeared in Ramsay's Miscellany in 1724. It is not even in the edition of 1733, but, according to Mr Chappell, was first inserted in that of 1740. Ramsay's copy is repeated in Herd, 1769, p. 29, 1776, I, 19, Johnson's Museum, p. 230, No 221, and Ritson's Scotish Song, II, 196. #C# was perhaps derived from Ramsay, but possibly may have come down by purely oral tradition. Some later copies of #B# have Reading Town for Scarlet Town (Chappell).

The Scottish ballad is extended in Buchan's MSS, I, 90, Motherwell's MS., p. 671, to forty-one stanzas. In this amplified copy, which has no claim to be admitted here, the dying lover leaves his watch and gold ring, his Bible and penknife, a mill and thirty ploughs, nine meal-mills and the freights of nine ships, all to tocher Barbara Allan. This is the ballad referred to by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe in Stenhouse's edition of the Museum, IV, 300*, as sung by the peasantry of Allandale. Doubtless it was learned by them from some stall-print.

Pepys makes this entry in his Diary, January 2, 1666: "In perfect pleasure I was to hear her [Mrs Knipp, an actress] sing, and especially her little Scotch song of Barbary Allen." Goldsmith, in his third essay, 1765, p. 14, writes: The music of the finest singer is dissonance to what I felt when an old dairy-maid sung me into tears with 'Johnny Armstrong's Last Good-night,' or 'The Cruelty of Barbara Allen.'[143]

* * * * *

#A b# is translated by Loève-Veimars, p. 379, von Marées, p. 34; #B d# by Bodmer, I, 85.

#a.# The Tea-Table Miscellany, IV, 46, ed. 1740; here from the London edition of 1763, p. 343. #b.# Percy's Reliques, III, 131, ed. 1765, "with a few conjectural emendations from a written copy."

1 It was in and about the Martinmas time, When the green leaves were a falling, That Sir John Græme, in the West Country, Fell in love with Barbara Allan.

2 He sent his men down through the town, To the place where she was dwelling: 'O haste and come to my master dear, Gin ye be Barbara Allan.'

3 O hooly, hooly rose she up, To the place where he was lying, And when she drew the curtain by, 'Young man, I think you're dying.'

4 'O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick, And 'tis a' for Barbara Allan:' 'O the better for me ye's never be, Tho your heart's blood were a spilling.

5 'O dinna ye mind, young man,' said she, 'When ye was in the tavern a drinking, That ye made the healths gae round and round, And slighted Barbara Allan?'

6 He turnd his face unto the wall, And death was with him dealing: 'Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all, And be kind to Barbara Allan.'

7 And slowly, slowly raise she up, And slowly, slowly left him, And sighing said, she coud not stay, Since death of life had reft him.

8 She had not gane a mile but twa, When she heard the dead-bell ringing, And every jow that the dead-bell geid, It cry'd, Woe to Barbara Allan!

9 'O mother, mother, make my bed! O make it saft and narrow! Since my love died for me to-day, I'll die for him to-morrow.'

#a.# Roxburghe Ballads, II, 25; reprint of the Ballad Society, III, 433. #b.# Roxburghe Ballads, III, 522. #c.# A broadside formerly belonging to Bishop Percy, #d.# Percy's Reliques, 1765, III, 125.

1 In Scarlet Town, where I was bound, There was a fair maid dwelling, Whom I had chosen to be my own, And her name it was Barbara Allen.

2 All in the merry month of May, When green leaves they was springing, This young man on his death-bed lay, For the love of Barbara Allen.

3 He sent his man unto her then, To the town where she was dwelling: 'You must come to my master dear, If your name be Barbara Allen.

4 'For death is printed in his face, And sorrow's in him dwelling, And you must come to my master dear, If your name be Barbara Allen.'

5 'If death be printed in his face, And sorrow's in him dwelling, Then little better shall he be For bonny Barbara Allen.'

6 So slowly, slowly she got up, And so slowly she came to him, And all she said when she came there, Young man, I think you are a dying.

7 He turnd his face unto her then: 'If you be Barbara Allen, My dear,' said he, 'come pitty me, As on my death-bed I am lying.'

8 'If on your death-bed you be lying, What is that to Barbara Allen? I cannot keep you from [your] death; So farewell,' said Barbara Allen.

9 He turnd his face unto the wall, And death came creeping to him: 'Then adieu, adieu, and adieu to all, And adieu to Barbara Allen!'

10 And as she was walking on a day, She heard the bell a ringing, And it did seem to ring to her 'Unworthy Barbara Allen.'

11 She turnd herself round about, And she spy'd the corps a coming: 'Lay down, lay down the corps of clay, That I may look upon him.'

12 And all the while she looked on, So loudly she lay laughing, While all her friends cry'd [out] amain, 'Unworthy Barbara Allen!'

13 When he was dead, and laid in grave, Then death came creeping to she: 'O mother, mother, make my bed, For his death hath quite undone me.

14 'A hard-hearted creature that I was, To slight one that lovd me so dearly; I wish I had been more kinder to him, The time of his life when he was near me.'

15 So this maid she then did dye, And desired to be buried by him, And repented her self before she dy'd, That ever she did deny him.

Motherwell's MS., p. 288; from Mrs Duff, Kilbirnie, February 9, 1825.

1 It fell about the Lammas time, When the woods grow green and yellow, There came a wooer out of the West A wooing to Barbara Allan.

2 'It is not for your bonny face, Nor for your beauty bonny, But it is all for your tocher good I come so far about ye.'

3 'If it be not for my comely face, Nor for my beauty bonnie, My tocher good ye'll never get paid Down on the board before ye.'

4 'O will ye go to the Highland hills, To see my white corn growing? Or will ye go to the river-side, To see my boats a rowing?'

5 O he's awa, and awa he's gone, And death's within him dealing, And it is all for the sake of her, His bonnie Barbara Allan.

6 O he sent his man unto the house, Where that she was a dwelling: 'O you must come my master to see, If you be Barbara Allan.'

7 So slowly aye as she put on, And so stoutly as she gaed till him, And so slowly as she could say, 'I think, young man, you're lying.'

8 'O I am lying in my bed, And death within me dwelling; And it is all for the love of thee, My bonny Barbara Allan.'

9 She was not ae mile frae the town, Till she heard the dead-bell ringing: 'Och hone, oh hone, he's dead and gone, For the love of Barbara Allan!'

* * * * *

#A. b.#

1^3. o the.

4^4. a wanting.

5^1. Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir.

5^2. Whan ye the cups wer fillan.

5^3. How ye.

6^4. And wanting.

7^1. Then hooly, hooly.

7^2. And hooly, hooly.

8^2. deid-bell knellan.

8^3. that wanting.

8^4. It wanting.

9^4. I 'se.

#B. a.#

Barbara Allen's Cruelty, or, The Youngman's Tragedy. With Barbara Allen's Lamentation for her Unkindness to her Lover and her Self.... Printed for P. Brooksby, J. Deacon, J. Blare, J. Back. Black Letter.

13^4. undone we.

#b.#

Barbara Allen's Cruelty, or, The Young Man's Tragedy. No name of printer.

1^3. for my own.

2^2. they were.

2^4. the sake of.

3^4. name is.

4^4. thy name is.

5^3. Then wanting.

6^1. she came to him.

6^3. came to him.

6^4. a wanting.

7^2. you are.

7^4. As I am on my death-bed lying.

8^1. If you are on your death-bed lying.

8^3. from your.

8^4. Then farewell: said wanting.

9^2. on him.

9^3. and wanting: to you all.

10^1. And wanting: out one day.

10^2. bells.

10^3. And they.

11^2. And saw.

11^3. corps said she.

12^3. cry'd out.

13^1. in his.

13^4. will quite undo me.

14^1. A wanting.

14^3. more kind.

14^4. In time of life.

15^3. eer.

16. As she was lying down to die, A sad feud she fell in; She said, I pray take warning by Hard-hearted Barbara Allen.

#c.#

Title the same as in #a#. Printed and sold at the Printing-office in Bow-Church-Yard, London.

1^3. for my own.

2^2. they wore.

3^4. name is.

4^3. And thou.

4^4. thy name is.

5^3. O little.

6^1. she came to him.

6^3. came to him.

6^4. a wanting.

7^2. you are.

7^4. As I am on my death-bed lying.

8^3. from your.

8^4. Then farewell: said wanting.

9^2. on him.

9^3. to you all.

10^1. And wanting: out one day.

10^2. bells.

10^3. And they.

11^2. And espy'd.

11^3. corps said she.

12^3. cry'd out.

13^4. will quite undo me.

14^1. A wanting.

14^3. more kind.

14^4. In time of life.

15^4. eer.

16 as in #b#.

#d# was "given, with some corrections, from an old printed copy in the editor's possession." That these corrections were considerable, we know from the [***] at the end. The old printed copy is very likely to have been #c#, and, if so, the ballad was simply written over. It does not seem necessary to give the variations under the circumstances. In 2^3 Percy has ~Yong Jemmye Grove~.

#C.#

2^1. bonny should perhaps be ~comely~, as in 3^1.

4^2. Originally written To see my white... courting.

5^2. Originally dwelling.

5^3. Originally it's.

5^4. The is written over ~His~, probably as a conjecture.

7^2. After ~stoutly~, ~slowly?~ as a conjectural emendation.

7^4. lying. 'An ingenious friend' of Percy's suggested the transposition of ~lying~ and ~dying~ in #A# 3^{2, 4}.

[143] Pepys is cited by James Farquhar Graham, The Scottish Songs, II, 157, and Goldsmith by Chappell, The Roxburghe Ballads, III, 433.

LADY ALICE

#A.# 'Lady Alice.' #a.# Bell's Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 127. #b.# Notes and Queries, Second Series, I, 418. #c.# Notes and Queries, Second Series, I, 354.

#B.# 'Giles Collins and Proud Lady Anna,' Gammer Gurton's Garland, p. 38, ed. 1810.

This little ballad, which is said to be still of the regular stock of the stalls, is a sort of counterpart to 'Lord Lovel.' A writer in Notes and Queries, Second Series, I, 418, says: This old song was refined and modernized by the late Richard Westall, R. A.

#a.# Bell's Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 127, a stall copy. #b.# Edward Hawkins, in Notes and Queries, Second Series, I, 418. #c.# Notes and Queries, Second Series, I, 354, as heard sung forty years before 1856, "Uneda," Philadelphia.

1 Lady Alice was sitting in her bower-window, Mending her midnight quoif, And there she saw as fine a corpse As ever she saw in her life.

2 'What bear ye, what bear ye, ye six men tall? What bear ye on your shoulders?' 'We bear the corpse of Giles Collins, An old and true lover of yours.'

3 'O lay him down gently, ye six men tall, All on the grass so green, And tomorrow, when the sun goes down, Lady Alice a corpse shall be seen.

4 'And bury me in Saint Mary's church, All for my love so true, And make me a garland of marjoram, And of lemon-thyme, and rue.'

5 Giles Collins was buried all in the east, Lady Alice all in the west, And the roses that grew on Giles Collins's grave, They reached Lady Alice's breast.

6 The priest of the parish he chanced to pass, And he severed those roses in twain; Sure never were seen such true lovers before, Nor eer will there be again.

Gammer Gurton's Garland, p. 38, ed. 1810.

1 Giles Collins he said to his old mother, Mother, come bind up my head, And send to the parson of our parish, For tomorrow I shall be dead. dead, For tomorrow I shall be dead.

2 His mother she made him some water-gruel, And stirrd it round with a spoon; Giles Collins he ate up his water-gruel, And died before 't was noon.

3 Lady Anna was sitting at her window, Mending her night-robe and coif; She saw the very prettiest corpse She'd seen in all her life.

4 'What bear ye there, ye six strong men, Upon your shoulders so high?' 'We bear the body of Giles Collins, Who for love of you did die.'

5 'Set him down, set him down,' Lady Anna she cry'd, 'On the grass that grows so green; Tomorrow, before the clock strikes ten, My body shall lye by hisn.'

6 Lady Anna was buried in the east, Giles Collins was buried in the west; There grew a lilly from Giles Collins That touchd Lady Anna's breast.

7 There blew a cold north-easterly wind, And cut this lilly in twain, Which never there was seen before, And it never will again.

* * * * *

#A. a.#

1^2. At midnight mending her quoif.

#b.#

1^2. Mending her midnight coif.

3^3. before the sun.

4. wanting.

5^3. grow, misprinted.

6^1. pass by.

6^2. And severd these.

6^4. ever there will.

#c.#

1^1. at her.

1^2. A mending her midnight coif.

1^3. the finest corpse.

1^4. That ever.

2^2. Upon your shoulders strong.

2^3. Sir Giles.

3, 4. wanting.

5^1. Lady Alice was.

5^2. Giles Collins all.

5^3. A lily grew out of.

5^4. And touched.

6. wanting.

YOUNG BENJIE

#A.# 'Young Benjie,' Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 251, ed. 1803; III, 10, ed. 1833.

#B.# 'Bondsey and Maisry,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 265.

'Verkel Vejemandsøn,' Grundtvig, IV, 151, No 198, invites a comparison with 'Young Benjie,' although the ballads, in the form in which they are now extant, are widely divergent. Verkel Vejemandsøn, seeing maid Gundelild shining in her virgin crown, makes a fiendish vow to rob her of it. He rides up to her house and asks where her father and mother are. They are away from home. He carries her off on his horse into the thickest of a wood, and bids her hold the beast while he makes a bed of leaves. He loses her in the thicket, and cannot find her, though he looks for her a day and two days. She goes to the strand and throws herself into the sea, saying, It was a very different bride-bed that my mother meant me to have. She is drawn out in a fisherman's net. Verkel swears that he has not seen her for eight years, but he is convicted of his crime, on evidence not given, and "clothes three stakes;" that is, he is hanged, and parts of his body are exposed on the wheels which crown the three posts of a gallows.

Sir Walter Scott's observations on the passage in which the drowned maid reveals the author of her death are too interesting to be spared:

"In this ballad the reader will find traces of a singular superstition, not yet altogether discredited in the wilder parts of Scotland. The lykewake, or watching a dead body, in itself a melancholy office, is rendered, in the idea of the assistants, more dismally awful by the mysterious horrors of superstition. In the interval betwixt death and interment, the disembodied spirit is supposed to hover round its mortal habitation, and, if invoked by certain rites, retains the power of communicating, through its organs, the cause of its dissolution. Such inquiries, however, are always dangerous, and never to be resorted to unless the deceased is suspected to have suffered foul play, as it is called. It is the more unsafe to tamper with this charm in an unauthorized manner, because the inhabitants of the infernal regions are, at such periods, peculiarly active. One of the most potent ceremonies in the charm, for causing the dead body to speak, is setting the door ajar, or half open. On this account the peasants of Scotland sedulously avoid leaving the door ajar while a corpse lies in the house. The door must either be left wide open or quite shut; but the first is always preferred, on account of the exercise of hospitality usual on such occasions. The attendants must be likewise careful never to leave the corpse for a moment alone, or, if it is left alone, to avoid, with a degree of superstitious horror, the first sight of it.

"The following story, which is frequently related by the peasants of Scotland, will illustrate the imaginary danger of leaving the door ajar. In former times a man and his wife lived in a solitary cottage on one of the extensive Border fells. One day the husband died suddenly, and his wife, who was equally afraid of staying alone by the corpse, or leaving the dead body by itself, repeatedly went to the door, and looked anxiously over the lonely moor for the sight of some person approaching. In her confusion and alarm she accidentally left the door ajar, when the corpse suddenly started up and sat in the bed, frowning and grinning at her frightfully. She sat alone, crying bitterly, unable to avoid the fascination of the dead man's eye, and too much terrified to break the sullen silence, till a Catholic priest, passing over the wild, entered the cottage. He first set the door quite open, then put his little finger in his mouth, and said the paternoster backwards; when the horrid look of the corpse relaxed, it fell back on the bed, and behaved itself as a dead man ought to do.

"The ballad is given from tradition. I have been informed by a lady of the highest literary eminence [Miss Joanna Baillie], that she has heard a ballad on the same subject, in which the scene was laid upon the banks of the Clyde. The chorus was,

O Bothwell banks bloom bonny,

and the watching of the dead corpse was said to have taken place in Bothwell church."

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Schubart, p. 164; by Gerhard, p. 88; by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 31.

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 251, ed. 1803; III, 10, ed. 1833. From tradition.

1 Of a' the maids o fair Scotland The fairest was Marjorie, And Young Benjie was her ae true-love, And a dear true-love was he.

2 And wow! but they were lovers dear, And loved fu constantlie; But ay the mair, when they fell out, The sairer was their plea.

3 And they hae quarrelled on a day, Till Marjorie's heart grew wae, And she said she'd chuse another luve, And let Young Benjie gae.

4 And he was stout, and proud-hearted, And thought o't bitterlie, And he's gaen by the wan moon-light To meet his Marjorie.

5 'O open, open, my true-love, O open, and let me in!' 'I dare na open, Young Benjie, My three brothers are within.'

6 'Ye lied, ye lied, ye bonny burd, Sae loud 's I hear ye lie; As I came by the Lowden banks, They bade gude een to me.

7 'But fare ye weel, my ae fause love, That I hae loved sae lang! It sets ye chuse another love, And let Young Benjie gang.'

8 Then Marjorie turned her round about, The tear blinding her ee: 'I darena, darena let thee in, But I'll come down to thee.'

9 Then saft she smiled, and said to him, O what ill hae I done? He took her in his armis twa, And threw her oer the linn.

10 The stream was strang, the maid was stout, And laith, laith to be dang, But ere she wan the Lowden banks Her fair colour was wan.

11 Then up bespak her eldest brother, 'O see na ye what I see?' And out then spak her second brother, 'It's our sister Marjorie!'

12 Out then spak her eldest brother, 'O how shall we her ken?' And out then spak her youngest brother, 'There's a honey-mark on her chin.'

13 Then they've taen up the comely corpse, And laid it on the grund: 'O wha has killed our ae sister, And how can he be found?

14 'The night it is her low lykewake, The morn her burial day, And we maun watch at mirk midnight, And hear what she will say.'

15 Wi doors ajar, and candle-light, And torches burning clear, The streikit corpse, till still midnight, They waked, but naething hear.

16 About the middle o the night The cocks began to craw, And at the dead hour o the night The corpse began to thraw.

17 'O wha has done the wrang, sister, Or dared the deadly sin? Wha was sae stout, and feared nae dout, As thraw ye oer the linn?'

18 'Young Benjie was the first ae man I laid my love upon; He was sae stout and proud-hearted, He threw me oer the linn.'

19 'Sall we Young Benjie head, sister? Sall we Young Benjie hang? Or sall we pike out his twa gray een, And punish him ere he gang?'

20 'Ye mauna Benjie head, brothers, Ye mauna Benjie hang, But ye maun pike out his twa gray een, And punish him ere he gang.

21 'Tie a green gravat round his neck, And lead him out and in, And the best ae servant about your house To wait Young Benjie on.

22 'And ay, at every seven year's end, Ye'll tak him to the linn; For that's the penance he maun drie, To scug his deadly sin.'

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 265.

1 'O come along wi me, brother, Now come along wi me; And we'll gae seek our sister Maisry, Into the water o Dee.'

2 The eldest brother he stepped in, He stepped to the knee; Then out he jumpd upo the bank, Says, This water's nae for me.

3 The second brother he stepped in, He stepped to the quit; Then out he jumpd upo the bank, Says, This water's wondrous deep.

4 When the third brother stepped in, He stepped to the chin; Out he got, and forward wade, For fear o drowning him.

5 The youngest brother he stepped in, Took's sister by the hand; Said, Here she is, my sister Maisry, Wi the hinny-draps on her chin.

6 'O if I were in some bonny ship, And in some strange countrie, For to find out some conjurer, To gar Maisry speak to me!'

7 Then out it speaks an auld woman, As she was passing by: 'Ask of your sister what you want, And she will speak to thee.'

8 'O sister, tell me who is the man That did your body win? And who is the wretch, tell me, likewise, That threw you in the lin?'

9 'O Bondsey was the only man That did my body win; And likewise Bondsey was the man That threw me in the lin.'

10 'O will we Bondsey head, sister? Or will we Bondsey hang? Or will we set him at our bow-end, Lat arrows at him gang?'

11 'Ye winna Bondsey head, brothers, Nor will ye Bondsey hang; But ye'll take out his twa grey een, Make Bondsey blind to gang.

12 'Ye'll put to the gate a chain o gold, A rose garland gar make, And ye'll put that in Bondsey's head, A' for your sister's sake.'

PRINCE ROBERT

#A.# 'Prince Robert,' Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 124, ed. 1802; III, 269, ed. 1833.

#B.# 'Earl Robert,' Motherwell's MS., p. 149; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 200.

#C.# 'Lord Robert and Mary Florence,' Motherwell's MS., p. 321.

#D.# 'Prince Robert,' Harris MS., fol. 29.

Prince Robert's mother poisons him because he has married against her will. He sends for his bride to come, but she is in time only for the funeral. The mother will give her nothing of her son's, not even the ring on his finger, all that she asks for. The bride's heart breaks before the mother's face.

There are other ballad-stories of a mother's poisoning because of displeasure at a son's match, but I know of none which demands comparison with this very slender tale.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Schubart, p. 122; by Doenniges, p. 57; #A# and #B# combined by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 36.

Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 124, ed. 1802; III, 269, ed. 1833: from the recitation of Miss Christian Rutherford.

1 Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye, He has wedded her with a ring; Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye, But he daur na bring her hame.

2 'Your blessing, your blessing, my mother dear, Your blessing now grant to me!' 'Instead of a blessing ye sall have my curse, And you'll get nae blessing frae me.'

3 She has called upon her waiting-maid, To fill a glass of wine; She has called upon her fause steward, To put rank poison in.

4 She has put it to her roudes lip, And to her roudes chin; She has put it to her fause, fause mouth, But the never a drop gaed in.

5 He has put it to his bonny mouth, And to his bonny chin, He's put it to his cherry lip, And sae fast the rank poison ran in.

6 'O ye hae poisoned your ae son, mother, Your ae son and your heir; O ye hae poisoned your ae son, mother, And sons you'll never hae mair.

7 'O where will I get a little boy, That will win hose and shoon, To rin sae fast to Darlinton, And bid Fair Eleanor come?'

8 Then up and spake a little boy, That wad win hose and shoon, 'O I'll away to Darlinton, And bid Fair Eleanor come.'

9 O he has run to Darlinton, And tirled at the pin; And wha was sae ready as Eleanor's sell To let the bonny boy in?

10 'Your gude-mother has made ye a rare dinour, She's made it baith gude and fine; Your gude-mother has made ye a gay dinour, And ye maun cum till her and dine.'

11 It's twenty lang miles to Sillertoun town, The langest that ever were gane; But the steed it was wight, and the ladye was light, And she cam linkin in.

12 But when she came to Sillertoun town, And into Sillertoun ha, The torches were burning, the ladies were mourning, And they were weeping a'.

13 'O where is now my wedded lord, And where now can he be? O where is now my wedded lord? For him I canna see.'

14 'Your wedded lord is dead,' she says, 'And just gane to be laid in the clay; Your wedded lord is dead,' she says, 'And just gane to be buried the day.

15 'Ye'se get nane o his gowd, ye 'se get nane o his gear, Ye'se get nae thing frae me; Ye'se na get an inch o his gude broad land, Tho your heart suld burst in three.'

16 'I want nane o his gowd, I want nane o his gear, I want nae land frae thee; But I'll hae the ring that's on his finger, For them he did promise to me.'

17 'Ye'se na get the ring that's on his finger, Ye'se na get them frae me; Ye'se na get the ring that's on his finger, An your heart suld burst in three.'

18 She's turn'd her back unto the wa, And her face unto a rock, And there, before the mother's face, Her very heart it broke.

19 The tane was buried in Marie's kirk, The tother in Marie's quair, And out o the tane there sprang a birk, And out o the tother a brier.

20 And thae twa met, and thae twa plat, The birk but and the brier, And by that ye may very weel ken They were twa lovers dear.

Motherwell's MS. p. 149; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 200; from the recitation of Mrs Thomson, Kilbarchan, a native of Bonhill, Dumbartonshire, aged betwixt sixty and seventy.

1 It's fifty miles to Sittingen's Rocks, As eer was ridden or gane; And Earl Robert has wedded a wife, But he dare na bring her hame. And Earl Robert has wedded a wife, But he dare na bring her hame.

2 His mother, she called to her waiting-maid, To bring her a pint o wine: 'For I dinna weel ken what hour of the day That my son Earl Robert shall dine.'

3 She's put it to her fause, fause cheek, But an her fause, fause chin; She's put it to her fause, fause lips, But never a drap went in.

4 But he's put it to his bonny cheek, Aye and his bonny chin; He's put it to his red rosy lips, And the poison went merrily doun.

5 'O where will I get a bonny boy, That will win hose and shoon, That will gang quickly to Sittingen's Rocks, And bid my lady come?'

6 It's out then speaks a bonny boy, To Earl Robert was something akin: 'Many a time have I ran thy errand, But this day wi the tears I'll rin.'

7 Bat when he came to Sittingin's Rocks, To the middle of a' the ha, There were bells a ringing, and music playing, And ladies dancing a'.

8 'What news, what news, my bonny boy? What news have ye to me? Is Earl Robert in very good health, And the ladies of your countrie?'

9 'O Earl Robert's in very good health, And as weel as a man can be; But his mother this night has a drink to be druken, And at it you must be.'

10 She called to her waiting-maid, To bring her a riding-weed, And she called to her stable-groom, To saddle her milk-white steed.

11 But when she came to Earl Robert's bouir, To the middle of a' the ha, There were bells a ringing, and sheets doun hinging, And ladies mourning a'.

12 'I've come for none of his gold,' she said, 'Nor none of his white monie, Excepting a ring of his smallest finger, If that you will grant me.'

13 'Thou'll not get none of his gold,' she said, 'Nor none of his white monie; Thou'll not get a ring of his smallest finger, Tho thy heart should break in three.'

14 She set her foot unto a stane, Her back unto a tree; She set her foot unto a stane, And her heart did break in three.

15 The one was buried in Mary's kirk, The other in Mary's quire; Out of the one there grew a birk, From the other a bonnie brier.

16 And these twa grew, and these twa threw, Till their twa craps drew near; So all the warld may plainly see That they loved each other dear.

Motherwell's MS., p. 321, from Agnes Laird, Kilbarchan, June 21, 1825.

1 Lord Robert and Mary Florence, They were twa children young; They were scarse seven years of age Till love began to spring.

2 Lord Robert loved Mary Florence, And she lovd him above power; But he durst not for his cruel mother Bring her unto his bower.

3 It was nineteen miles to Strawberry Castle, As good as ever was rode or gane, But the lord being light, and the steed being swift, Lord Robert was hame gin noon.

4 'A blessing, a blessing, dear mother,' he cries, 'A blessing I do crave!' 'A blessing, a blessing, my son Lord Robert, And a blessing thou shalt have.'

5 She called on her chamber-maid To fill up a glass of wine, And so clever was her cursed fingers To put the rank poison in.

6 'O wae be to you, mother dear,' he cries, 'For working such a wae; For poisoning of your son Lord Robert, And children you have nae mae.

7 'O where will I get a pretty little boy That'll rin him my errands sune? That will rin unto Strawberry Castle, And tell Mary Florence to cum?'

8 'Here am I, a pretty little boy, Your eldest sister's son, That will rin unto Strawberry Castle, And tell Mary Florence to come.'

9 When he came unto Strawberry Castle He tirled at the pin, And so ready was Mary Florence hersell To open and let him in.

10 'What news, what news, my pretty little boy? What news hast thou brocht here?' With sichin and sabbin and wringing his hands, No message he could refer.

11 'The news that I have gotten,' he says, 'I cannot weel declair; But my grandmother has prepard a feast, And fain she would hae thee thair.'

12 She called on her stable-groom To dress her swiftest steed; For she knew very weel by this pretty little boy That Lord Robert was dead.

13 And when she came to Knotingale Castle She tirled at the pin, And so ready was Lord Robert's mother To open and let her in.

14 'What news, what news, Mary Florence?' she says, 'What news has thou to me?' 'I came to see your son Lord Robert, And fain would I him see.

15 'I came not for his gude red gold, Nor for his white monie, But for the ring on his wee finger, And fain would I it see.'

16 'That ring thou cannot see, Mary Florence, That ring thou'll never see; For death was so strong in Lord Robert's breast That the gold ring burst in three.'

17 She has set her foot unto a stone, Her back unto a tree; Before she left Knotingale Castle Her heart it brak in three.

Harris MS., fol. 29, from the recitation of Mrs Molison.

1 Prince Robert he has wedded a wife, An he daurna bring her hame; The queen ... His mither was much to blame.

* * * * * * *

2 'It is the fashion in oor countrie, mither, I dinna ken what it is here, To like your wife better than your mither, That... bought you sae dear.'

3 She called upon her best marie, An tippet her wi a ring, To bring to her the rank poison, To gie Prince Robert a dram.

4 She put it to her cheek, her cheek, She put it to her chin; She put it to her fause, fause lips, But neer a drap gaed in.

5 She put it to his cheek, his cheek, She put it to his chin; She put it to his rosy lips, An the rank poison gaed in.

6 'Whare will I get a bonnie boy, Wha will win meat an fee, Wha will rin on to... bower, Bring my gude ladie to me?'

7 'Here am I, a bonnie boy, Willin to win meat an fee, Wha will rin on to... bower, An bring your gude ladie.'

8 'Whan you come to broken brig, Tak aff your coat an swim; An whan you come to grass growin, Tak aff your shoon an rin.'

9 An whan he cam to broken brig, He coost his coat an swam, An whan he cam to grass growin, Set doon his feet an ran.

10 An whan he cam to the ladie's bower, He fand her a' her lane, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

11 An syne she kissed his wan, wan lips, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * * * *

#A.#

13^1, 13^3. Oh.

16^3, 17^1, 17^3. ring, ed. 1802; rings, ed. 1833.

#B.#

2^2. Changed in the MS. to O bring me.

7^2, 11^2. a' added later.

9^2. a added later.

15^3. grew an; the next word looks like ~buk~, but is erased, and ~birk~ substituted. Motherwell printed ~bush~.

YOUNG JOHNSTONE

#A.# 'The Cruel Knight,' Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 305; I, 165, ed. 1776.

#B. a.# 'Young Johnstone,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 193. #b.# 'The Young Johnstone,' Finlay's Scottish Historical and Romantic Ballads, II, 71.

#C.# 'Sweet William and the Young Colonel,' Motherwell's MS., p. 310.

#D.# 'Johnston Hey and Young Caldwell,' Motherwell's MS., p. 639.

#E.# 'Lord John's Murder,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 20.

#F.# 'Young Johnston,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xx, XVIII, one stanza.

Pinkerton inserted Herd's 'Cruel Knight,' #A#, in his Select Scotish Ballads, I, 69, with alterations and omissions. Motherwell enters in his Note-Book, p. 6, that he had received from Mrs Gentles, Paisley, 'The Young Johnstone,' "different in some measure from the copy in Finlay's Ballads." Of the version printed in his Minstrelsy (#B a#), undoubtedly that which was derived from Mrs Gentles, he says, "for a few verbal emendations recourse has been had to Mr Finlay's copy (#B b#)." These versions should therefore not have differed considerably, Finlay suppressed "Young Johnstone's reason for being sae late a coming in," "as well as a concluding stanza of inferior merit;" in this rejection he was not followed by Motherwell. Christie, I, 156, gives #E# "with some alterations from the way it was sung" by an old woman; petty variations, such as one must think could not have impressed themselves upon a memory unapt to retain things of more importance. 'Young Johnstone' in Chambers's Twelve Romantic Scottish Ballads, p. 19, is made up mostly from #B a#, #B b#, #E#, like the copy in the same editor's Scottish Ballads, p. 293, but handles tradition very freely.

#E# seems to be #A# altered, or imperfectly remembered, with the addition of a few stanzas. Motherwell remarks of his version, what is true of all the others but #E#, that the ballad throws no light on Young Johnstone's motive for stabbing his lady. An explanation was afforded by the reciter: "The barbarous act was committed unwittingly, through Young Johnstone's suddenly waking from sleep, and, in that moment of confusion and alarm, unhappily mistaking his mistress for one of his pursuers." And this is the turn which is given to the act in #E# 13:

'Ohon, alas, my lady gay, To come sae hastilie! I thought it was my deadly foe, Ye had trysted into me.'

The apology may go for what it is worth. Awake or waking, Young Johnstone's first instinct is as duly to stab as a bull-dog's is to bite.

#C# 5, 9, 13 are taken from 'The Lass of Roch Royal:' cf. No 76, #B# 17, #C# 2, #E# 9, #H# 3. #D# 6 recalls 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William,' No 74, #A# 8, #B# 11; #A# 13, #B# 25, #C# 26, #D# 30, #E# 15, 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' No 73, #B# 34, #D# 17; #D# 31, 32, 'The Twa Brothers,' No 49, #B# 4, #C# 4, 5, #D# 5, 7, #E# 6, 7, #F# 5, 6, #G# 4, 5.

* * * * *

#A#, with the last two stanzas of #B a#, is translated by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 27; #E# by Gerhard, p. 157; Aytoun, II, 110 by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 30, p. 94, with abridgment; Pinkerton's copy by Grundtvig, No 20, p. 136.

Herd's Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 305.

1 The knight stands in the stable-door, As he was for to ryde, When out then came his fair lady, Desiring him to byde.

2 'How can I byde? how dare I byde? How can I byde with thee? Have I not killd thy ae brother? Thou hadst nae mair but he.'

3 'If you have killd my ae brother, Alas, and woe is me! But if I save your fair body, The better you'll like me.'

4 She's tane him to her secret bower, Pinnd with a siller pin, And she's up to her highest tower, To watch that none come in.

5 She had na well gane up the stair, And entered in her tower, When four and twenty armed knights Came riding to the door.

6 'Now God you save, my fair lady, I pray you tell to me, Saw you not a wounded knight Come riding by this way?'

7 'Yes, bloody, bloody was his sword, And bloody were his hands; But if the steed he rides be good, He's past fair Scotland's strands.

8 'Light down, light down then, gentlemen, And take some bread and wine; The better you will him pursue When you shall lightly dine.'

9 'We thank you for your bread, lady, We thank you for your wine; I would gie thrice three thousand pounds Your fair body was mine.'

10 Then she's gane to her secret bower, Her husband dear to meet; But he drew out his bloody sword, And wounded her sae deep.

11 'What aileth thee now, good my lord? What aileth thee at me? Have you not got my father's gold, But and my mother's fee?'

12 'Now live, now live, my fair lady, O live but half an hour, There's neer a leech in fair Scotland But shall be at thy bower.'

13 'How can I live? how shall I live? How can I live for thee? See you not where my red heart's blood Runs trickling down my knee?'

* * * * * * *

#a.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 193, from the recitation of Mrs Gentles, Paisley, #b.# Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 71, from two recited copies.

1 Young Johnstone and the young Colnel Sat drinking at the wine: 'O gin ye wad marry my sister, It's I wad marry thine.'

2 'I wadna marry your sister For a' your houses and land; But I'll keep her for my leman, When I come oer the strand.

3 'I wadna marry your sister For a' your gowd so gay; But I'll keep her for my leman, When I come by the way.'

4 Young Johnstone had a little small sword, Hung low down by his gair, And he stabbed it through the young Colnel, That word he neer spak mair.

5 But he's awa to his sister's bower, He's tirled at the pin: 'Whare hae ye been, my dear brither, Sae late a coming in?' 'I hae been at the school, sister, Learning young clerks to sing.'

6 'I've dreamed a dreary dream this night, I wish it may be for good; They were seeking you with hawks and hounds, And the young Colnel was dead.'

7 'Hawks and hounds they may seek me, As I trow well they be; For I have killed the young Colnel, And thy own true-love was he.'

8 'If ye hae killed the young Colnel, O dule and wae is me! But I wish ye may be hanged on a hie gallows, And hae nae power to flee.'

9 And he's awa to his true-love's bower, He's tirled at the pin: 'Whar hae ye been, my dear Johnstone, Sae late a coming in?' 'It's I hae been at the school,' he says, 'Learning young clerks to sing.'

10 'I have dreamed a dreary dream,' she says, 'I wish it may be for good; They were seeking you with hawks and hounds, And the young Colnel was dead.'

11 'Hawks and hounds they may seek me, As I trow well they be; For I hae killed the young Colnel, And thy ae brother was he.'

12 'If ye hae killed the young Colnel, O dule and wae is me! But I care the less for the young Colnel, If thy ain body be free.

13 'Come in, come in, my dear Johnstone, Come in and take a sleep; And I will go to my casement, And carefully I will thee keep.'

14 He had not weel been in her bower-door, No not for half an hour, When four and twenty belted knights Came riding to the bower.

15 'Well may you sit and see, lady, Well may you sit and say; Did you not see a bloody squire Come riding by this way?'

16 'What colour were his hawks?' she says, 'What colour were his hounds? What colour was the gallant steed, That bore him from the bounds?'

17 'Bloody, bloody were his hawks, And bloody were his hounds; But milk-white was the gallant steed, That bore him from the bounds.'

18 'Yes, bloody, bloody were his hawks, And bloody were his hounds; And milk-white was the gallant steed, That bore him from the bounds.

19 'Light down, light down now, gentlemen, And take some bread and wine; And the steed be swift that he rides on, He's past the brig o Lyne.'

20 'We thank you for your bread, fair lady, We thank you for your wine; But I wad gie thrice three thousand pound That bloody knight was taen.'

21 'Lie still, lie still, my dear Johnstone, Lie still and take a sleep; For thy enemies are past and gone, And carefully I will thee keep.'

22 But Young Johnstone had a little wee sword, Hung low down by his gair, And he stabbed it in fair Annet's breast, A deep wound and a sair.

23 'What aileth thee now, dear Johnstone? What aileth thee at me? Hast thou not got my father's gold, Bot and my mither's fee?'

24 'Now live, now live, my dear ladye, Now live but half an hour, And there's no a leech in a' Scotland But shall be in thy bower.'

25 'How can I live? how shall I live? Young Johnstone, do not you see The red, red drops o my bonny heart's blood Rin trinkling down my knee?

26 'But take thy harp into thy hand, And harp out owre yon plain, And neer think mair on thy true-love Than if she had never been.'

27 He hadna weel been out o the stable, And on his saddle set, Till four and twenty broad arrows Were thrilling in his heart.

Motherwell's MS., p. 310, from the recitation of Jeanie Nicol, May 4, 1825.

1 Sweet William and the young Colnel One day was drinking wine: 'It's I will marry your sister, If ye will marry mine.'

2 'I will not marry your sister, Altho her hair he brown; But I'll keep her for my liberty-wife, As I ride thro the town.'

3 William, having his two-edged sword, He leaned quite low to the ground, And he has given the young Colnel A deep and a deadly wound.

4 He rade, he rade, and awa he rade, Till he came to his mother's bower; 'O open, open, mother,' he says, 'And let your auld son in.

5 'For the rain rains owre my yellow hair, And the dew draps on my chin, And trembling stands the gallant steed That carries me from the ground.'

6 'What aileth thee, Sweet William?' she says, 'What harm now hast thou done?' 'Oh I hae killed the young Colnel, And his heart's blood sair does run.'

7 'If ye hae killed the young Colnel, Nae shelter ye'll get frae me; May the two-edged sword be upon your heart, That never hath power to flee!'

8 He rade, he rade, and awa he rade, Till he came to his sister's bower; 'Oh open, open, sister,' he says, 'And let your brother in.

9 'For the rain rains on my yellow hair, And the dew draps on my chin, And trembling stands the gallant steed That carries me from the ground.'

10 'What aileth thee, Sweet William?' she says, 'What harm now hast thou done?' 'Oh I have killed the young Colnel, And his heart's blood sair doth run.'

11 'If ye hae killed the young Colnel, Nae shelter ye'll get frae me; May the two-edged sword be upon your heart, That never hath power to flee!'

12 He rade, he rade, and awa he rade, Till he came to his true-love's bower; 'Oh open, oh open, my true-love,' he says, 'And let your sweetheart in.

13 'For the rain rains on my yellow hair, And the dew draps on my chin, And trembling stands the gallant steed That carries me from the ground.'

14 'What aileth thee, Sweet William?' she says, 'What harm now hast thou done?' 'Oh I hae killed thy brother dear, And his heart's blood sair doth run.'

15 'If ye hae killed my brother dear, It's oh and alace for me! But between the blankets and the sheets It's there I will hide thee!'

16 She's taen him by the milk-white hand, She's led him thro chambers three, Until she came to her own chamber: 'It's there I will hide thee.

17 'Lye down, lye down, Sweet William,' she says, 'Lye down and take a sleep; It's owre the chamber I will watch, Thy fair bodie to keep.'

18 She had not watched at the chamber-door An hour but only three, Till four and twenty belted knichts Did seek his fair bodie.

19 'O did you see the hunt?' she says, 'Or did you see the hounds? Or did you see that gallant steed, That last rade thro the town?'

20 'What colour was the fox?' they said, 'What colour was the hounds? What colour was the gallant steed, That's far yont London toun?'

21 'O dark grey was the fox,' she said, 'And light grey was the hounds, But milk-white was the gallant steed That's far yont London town.'

22 'Rise up, rise up, Sweet William,' she says, 'Rise up, and go away; For four and twenty belted knights Were seeking thy bodye.'

23 Sweet William, having his two-edged sword, He leaned it quite low to the ground, And he has given his own true-love A deep and a deadly wound.

24 'What aileth thee, Sweet William?' she says, 'What harm now have I done? I never harmed a hair of your head Since ever this love began.'

25 'Oh live, oh live, my own true-love, Oh live but half an hour, And the best doctor in London town Shall come within thy bower.'

26 'How can I live? how shall I live? How can I live half an hour? For don't you see my very heart's blood All sprinkled on the floor?'

27 William, having his two-edged sword, He leaned it quite low to the ground, And he has given his own bodie A deep and a deadly wound.

Motherwell's MS., p. 639, from the recitation of an Irishwoman, wife of John French, a porter at the quay of Ayr.

1 Johnston Hey and Young Caldwell Were drinking o the wine: 'O will ye marry my sister? And I will marry thine.'

2 'I winna marry your sister, Altho her locks are broun; But I'll make her my concubine, As I ride through the toun.'

3 Syne Johnston drew a gude braid sword, That hang down by his knee, And he has run the Young Caldwell Out through the fair bodie.

4 Up he gat, and awa he rade, By the clear light o the moon, Until he came to his mother's door, And there he lichtit doun.

5 'Whare hae ye been, son Willie,' she said, 'Sae late and far in the night?' 'O I hae been at yon new slate house, Hearing the clergy speak.'

6 'I dreamd a dream, son Willie,' she said, 'I doubt it bodes nae gude; That your ain room was fu o red swine, And your bride's bed daubd wi blude.'

7 'To dream o blude, mither,' he said, 'It bodeth meikle ill; And I hae slain a Young Caldwell, And they're seeking me to kill.'

8 'Gin ye hae slain a Young Caldwell, Alace and wae is me! But gin your fair body's free frae skaith, The easier I will be.'

9 Up he gat, and awa he rade, By the clear licht o the mune, Until he cam to his sister's bower, And there he lichtit doun.

10 'Whare hae ye been, brither,' she said, 'Sae late and far in the night?' 'O I hae been in yon new slate house, Hearing the clergy speak.'

11 'I dreamd a dream, brither,' she said, 'I doubt it bodes nae gude; I dreamd the ravens eat your flesh, And the lions drank your blude.'

12 'To dream o blude, sister,' he said, 'It bodeth meikle ill; And I hae slain a Young Caldwell, And they're seeking me to kill.'

13 'Gin ye hae slain a Young Caldwell, Alace and wae is me! To be torn at the tail o wild horses Is the death I weet ye'll die.'

14 Up he gat, and awa he rade, By the clear light o the mune, Untill he cam to his true-love's bower, And there he lichtit doun.

15 'Whare hae ye been, Love Willie,' she said, 'Sae late and far in the night?' 'O I hae been in yon new sklate house, Hearing the clergy speak.'

16 'I dreamd a dream, Willie,' she said, 'I doubt it bodes nae gude; I dreamd the ravens ate your flesh, And the lions drank your blude.'

17 'To dream o ravens, love,' he said, 'Is the loss o a near friend; And I hae killd your brither dear, And for it I'll be slain.'

18 'Gin ye hae slain my ae brither, Alace and wae is me! But gin your fair body's free frae skaith, The easier I will be.

19 'Lye doun, lye doun, Love Willie,' she said, 'Lye doun and tak a sleep; And I will walk the castel wa, Your fair bodie to keep.'

20 He laid him doun within her bowr, She happit him wi her plaid, And she's awa to the castle-wa, To see what would betide.

21 She hadna gane the castle round A time but only three, Till four and twenty beltit knichts Cam riding ower the lea.

22 And whan they came unto the gate, They stude and thus did say: 'O did ye see yon bludie knicht, As he rade out this way?'

23 'What colour was his hawk?' she said, 'What colour was his hound? What colour was the gudely steed The bludie knicht rade on?'

24 'Nut-brown was his hawk,' they said, 'And yellow-fit was his hound, And milk-white was the goodly steed The bluidie knicht rade on.'

25 'Gin nut-brown was his hawk,' she said, 'And yellow-fit was his hound, And milk-white was the gudely steed, He's up to London gone.'

26 They spurrd their steeds out ower the lea, They being void o fear; Syne up she gat, and awa she gade, Wi tidings to her dear.

27 'Lye still, lye still, Love Willie,' she said, 'Lye still and tak your sleep;' Syne he took up his good braid sword, And wounded her fu deep.

28 'O wae be to you, Love Willie,' she said, 'And an ill death may ye die! For first ye slew my ae brither, And now ye hae killd me.'

29 'Oh live, oh live, true-love,' he said, 'Oh live but ae half hour, And there's not a docter in a' London But sall be in your bower.'

30 'How can I live, Love Willie,' she said, 'For the space of half an hour? Dinnae ye see my clear heart's blood A rinnin down the floor?

31 'Tak aff, tak aff my holland sark, And rive't frae gare to gair, And stap it in my bleeding wounds; They'll may be bleed nae mair.'

32 Syne he took aff her holland sark, And rave't frae gare to gair, And stappit it in her bleeding wounds, But aye they bled the mair.

33 'Gae dress yoursell in black,' she said, 'And gae whistling out the way, And mourn nae mair for your true-love When she's laid in the clay.'

34 He leaned his halbert on the ground, The point o't to his breast, Saying, Here three sauls ['s] gaun to heaven; I hope they'll a' get rest.

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 20.

1 Lord John stands in his stable door, Says he, I will gae ride, His lady, in her bigly bower? Desired him to bide.

2 'How can I bide? how can I bide? How shall I bide wi thee? When I hae killd your ae brother; You hae nae mair but he.'

3 'If ye hae killd my ae brother, Alas, and wae is me! If ye be well yoursell, my love, The less matter will be.

4 'Ye'll do you to yon bigly bower, And take a silent sleep, And I'll watch in my highest tower, Your fair body to keep.'

5 She has shut her bigly bower, All wi a silver pin, And done her to the highest tower, To watch that nane come in.

6 But as she looked round about, To see what she could see, There she saw nine armed knights Come riding oer the lea.

7 'God make you safe and free, lady, God make you safe and free! Did you see a bludy knight Come riding oer the lea?'

8 'O what like was his hawk, his hawk? And what like was his hound? If his steed has ridden well, He's passd fair Scotland's strand.

9 'Come in, come in, gude gentlemen, And take white bread and wine; And aye the better ye'll pursue, The lighter that ye dine.'

10 'We thank you for your bread, lady, We thank you for the wine, And I woud gie my lands sae broad Your fair body were mine.'

11 She has gane to her bigly bower, Her ain gude lord to meet; A trusty brand he quickly drew, Gae her a wound sae deep.

12 'What harm, my lord, provokes thine ire To wreak itself on me, When thus I strove to save thy life, Yet served for sic a fee?'

13 'Ohon, alas, my lady gay, To come sae hastilie! I thought it was my deadly foe, Ye had trysted into me.

14 'O live, O live, my gay lady, The space o ae half hour, And nae a leech in a' the land But I'se bring to your bower.'

15 'How can I live? how shall I live? How can I live for thee? Ye see my blude rin on the ground, My heart's blude by your knee.

16 'O take to flight, and flee, my love, O take to flight, and flee! I woudna wish your fair body For to get harm for me.'

17 'Ae foot I winna flee, lady, Ae foot I winna flee; I've dune the crime worthy o death, It's right that I shoud die.

8 'O deal ye well at my love's lyke The beer but an the wine; For ere the morn, at this same time, Ye'll deal the same at mine.'

Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xx, XVIII.

As Willie and the young Colnel Were drinking at the wine, 'O will ye marry my sister?' says Will, 'And I will marry thine.'

* * * * *

#A.#

10^4. very deep, in the edition of 1776.

#B. a.#

4^1. Motherwell informs us, ~p. 200~, that the original reading was ~little small sword~; also ~he stabbed~ in 4^3.

#b.#

Finlay's version is compounded from two, and Motherwell's, since it adopts readings from Finlay's, is compounded from three; but Motherwell's has nevertheless been preferred, on account of its retaining stanzas which Finlay omitted. Besides, Motherwell gives us to understand that his changes are few.

3^2. gowd and fee.

3^4. come oer the sea.

4^1. nut-brown sword.

4^3. he ritted.

5^2. And he's.

5^3. dear Johnstone.

5^{5, 6}. wanting.

6^1, 10^1. dreamed a dream this night, she says.

6^2, 10^2. be good.

7^1, 11^1. They are seeking me with hawks and hounds.

8^2, 12^2. A dule.

9^1. his lover's.

9^{5, 6}. wanting.

12^3. But I gie na sae much for.

12^4. is free.

13^4. I'll thee.

14^{1, 2}. She hadna weel gane up the stair, And entered in her tower.

14^3. Till.

14^4. the door.

15^{1, 2}. O did you see a bloody squire, A bloody squire was he.

15^3. O did you see.

15^4. riding oer the lea.

16^1. she cried.

17^3. And.

19^1. But light ye down now.

19^3. be good he rides upon.

19^4. of Tyne.

20^1. bread, ladie.

20^3. But wanting: pounds.

20^4. Your fair bodie was mine.

21^{3, 4}. For there's four and twenty belted knights Just gone out at the gate.

22^1. had a wee penknife.

22{3, 4}. And he ritted it through his dear ladie, And wounded her sae sair.

25. How can I live, my dear Johnstone? How can I live for thee? O do ye na see my red heart's blood Run trickling down my knee?

26. But go thy way, my dear Johnstone, And ride along the plain, And think no more of thy true love Than she had never been.

27. wanting.

#C.#

19^1. Oh.

25^1. O: the first.

#D.#

1^3, 5^3, 15^3. Oh.

15^1. he been.

18^1. ae corrected from ain.

19^3. wa corrected from round.

24^1. she said.

29^1. O: the first.

Caldwell is an obvious corruption of Colonel.

#E.#

The alterations according to the singing of Christie's old woman are, as usual with him in such cases, utterly insignificant.

2^1. How can I bide, how shall.

2^2. How can.

3^4. will it.

6^3. she did see.

10^2. for your.

15^3. rins.

FAUSE FOODRAGE

#A.# 'Fa'se Footrage,' Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 3.

#B.# 'The Eastmure King and the Westmure King, Motherwell's MS., p. 341.

#C.# 'Eastmuir King,' Harris MS., No 18, fol. 22.

#A# was printed in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 73, 1802, "chiefly" from Mrs Brown's MS.; in fact, with not quite forty petty alterations. Scott remarks that the ballad has been popular in many parts of Scotland. Christie, I, 172, had heard it sung by an old Banffshire woman, who died in 1866, at the age of nearly eighty, with very little difference from Scott's copy.[144]

The resemblance of the verse in #A# 31, 'The boy stared wild like a gray gose-hawke,' to one in 'Hardyknute,' 'Norse een like gray goss-hawk stared wild,' struck Sir Walter Scott as suspicious, and led him "to make the strictest inquiry into the authenticity of the song. But every doubt was removed by the evidence of a lady of high rank [Lady Douglas of Douglas, sister to Henry, Duke of Buccleuch, as we are informed in the edition of 1833], who not only recollected the ballad as having amused her infancy, but could repeat many of the verses." It is quite possible that Mrs Brown may unconsciously have adopted this verse from the tiresome and affected Hardyknute, so much esteemed in her day. One would be only too glad were this the only corruption which the ballad had undergone. On the contrary, while not calling in question the substantial genuineness of the ballad, we must admit that the form in which we have received it is an enfeebled one, without much flavor or color; and some such feeling no doubt affected Sir Walter's mind, more than the reminiscence of 'Hardyknute,' which, of itself, is of slight account.

A tale 'How the king of Estmure Land married the king's daughter of Westmure Land' is mentioned in "The Complaint of Scotland," and there has been considerable speculation as to what this tale might be, and also as to what localities Estmure Land and Westmure Land might signify. Seeing no clue to a settlement of these questions, I pass them by, with the simple comment that no king of Estmure Land marries the king of Westmure Land's daughter in this ballad or any other.

Three kings (King Easter and King Wester, #A#, the Eastmure king and the Westmure king, #B#, #C#, and King Honor, #A#, the king of Onorie, #B#, King Luve, #C#), court a lady, and the third, who woos for womanhood and beauty, #B#, wins her. The Eastmure king, #B#, the Westmure, #C#, kills his successful rival on his wedding-day. According to the prosaic, not at all ballad-like, and evidently corrupted account in #A#, there is a rebellion of nobles four months after the marriage, and a certain False Foodrage takes it upon himself to kill the king. The murderer spares the queen, and if she gives birth to a girl will spare her child also, but if she bears a boy the boy is to die.

In #A# the queen escapes from custody before her time comes, and gives birth to a boy in the swines' sty. Lots are cast to see who shall go find the queen (the narrative is very vague here), and the lot falls on Wise William, who sends his wife in his stead. The queen induces this woman to exchange children with her, Wise William's wife having a girl. After some years Wise William reveals to the boy that he is rightful lord of the castle (and we may suppose royal dignity) which False Foodrage has usurped. The boy kills False Foodrage and marries Wise William's daughter. Some of these incidents are wanting in #B#. For Wise William's wife we have simply a poor woman in the town.

'Fause Foodrage' is closely related to a Scandinavian ballad, especially popular in Denmark, where it is found in not less than twenty-three manuscripts:

#Danish.# #A#, 'Ung Villum,' Danske Viser, No 126, III, 135, 66 stanzas; #B#, 'Vold og Mord,' Levninger, II, 64, No 12, 64 stanzas; #C#, 'Lille Villum,' Kristensen, I, 305, No 111, 15 stanzas; also, Tragica, No 18, not seen. #Icelandic.# 'Kvæði af Loga í Vallarhlíð,' Íslenzk fornkvæði, I, 235, No 28, 55 stanzas. #Swedish.# 'Helleman Unge,' Arwidsson, I, 132, No 15, 13 stanzas (imperfect). #Färöe#, in unprinted copies. There are more incidents in the Danish ballad, and too many, but something, without doubt, has been lost from the English, which, however, preserves these essential points: A man that has wedded a woman who had another lover is killed by his competitor shortly after his marriage; a boy is born, who is passed off as a girl; this boy, before he has attained manhood, slays his father's murderer.

In the Danish 'Young William,' #A#, Svend of Voldesløv, rich in gold, woos Lisbet, who prefers William for his good qualities. Svend shuts himself up in his room, sick with grief. His mother and sister come and go. The mother will get him a fairer maid, and gives him the good rede not to distress himself about a girl that is plighted to another man. The sister gives a bad rede, to kill William, and so get the bride. The mother remarks that a son is coming into being who would revenge his father's death. The business can be done, says Svend, before that son is born, and immediately after takes occasion to meet William as he is passing through a wood, and kills him. Forty weeks gone, Lisbet gives birth to a son, but Svend is told that she has borne a daughter. Young William attains to the age of eighteen, and is a stalwart youth, given to games of strength. One day when he is putting the stone with a peasant, the two fall out, and the peasant, being roughly treated, calls out, You had better avenge your father's death. Young William hastens to his mother, and asks whether his father's death had been by violence, and, if so, who killed him. The mother thinks him too young to wield a sword: he must summon Svend to a court. This is done. Svend informs his uncle that he is summoned to court by William, and asks what he is to do. The uncle had always been told that Lisbet's child was a girl. I shall never live to see the day, says Svend, when I shall beat a woman at tricks. Svend goes to the court, attended by many of his uncle's men. William charges him with the murder of his father, for which no compensation has been offered. Svend says not a penny will be paid, and William draws his sword and cuts him down. For killing Svend William is summoned to court by Svend's brother, Nilus. Nilus demands amends. William says they are quit, with brother against father, and he will marry Nilus's sister (whom he has already carried off). Never, says Nilus, for which William finds it necessary to kill him. He then rides to his mother, who asks what amends have been offered for his father's death, and, on hearing that William has killed both the murderer and his brother, clasps him to her heart, for all her grief is now over.

No other Scandinavian copy besides Danish #A# has the killing of Nilus, which may be regarded as an aftergrowth. In the Icelandic version, the sister, so far from putting her brother up to the murder, bursts into tears when her brother tells what he has done, because she knows that revenge will follow. The murderer offers himself to his former love in place of her husband, at the very moment when she is bowed in anguish over the dead body. She replies significantly, He is not far from me that shall revenge him. All the Scandinavian copies have the three chief points of the story except the Swedish, which lacks the first half.

Another Scandinavian ballad has many of the features of 'Young William:' #Danish#, 'Liden Engel,' #A#, Danske Viser, No 127, III, 147; #B#, Levninger, II, 82, No 13; #C#, Kristensen, I, 254, No 97, a fragment. #Norwegian#, 'Unge Ingelbrett,' Bugge, p. 110, No 23, derived from the Danish. According to Danish #A#, and for the most part #B#, Liden Engel (who, by the way, is of Westerris) carries off a bride by force. Her brother burns him and all his people in a church in which they have taken refuge, the lady being saved by lifting her on shields up to a window, whence she is taken by her natural friends. It is the mother that suggests the setting of the church on fire, and the first act of the daughter, after getting out of the church with singed hair, is to fall on her bare knees and pray that she may have a son who will take vengeance on her brother. A son is born, and called after his father, but his existence is as far as possible kept secret. As he grows up his mother is always saying to him, Thine uncle was the death of thy father. The boy wishes to serve the king; the mother says, Go, but remember thy father's death. The king observes that the youth has always a weight on his mind, and on his asking the cause Little Engel answers that his uncle had slain his father and paid no boot. The king says, If you wish to revenge his death, as it is quite proper you should, I will lend you three hundred men. When the uncle is informed that Little Engel is coming against him he declares that he had never heard of such a person before: so the secret has been well kept. Little Engel burns his uncle and all his people in a stone chamber in which they had shut themselves up.

In the Norwegian-Danish ballad Engel, or Ingelbrett, the second simply kills his uncle with a sword. The offence given in this case is not the carrying off a bride by force, but the omitting to ask the brother's consent to the marriage, though that of all the rest of the family had been obtained: another instance of the danger of such neglect in addition to those already mentioned in the preface to 'The Cruel Brother,' I, 142.

'Fause Foodrage' has some affinity with 'Jellon Grame.'

* * * * *

Scott's copy is translated by Schubart, p. 102; Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 33, and Hausschatz, p. 211; Doenniges, p. 51; Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 28.

'Ung Villum' is translated by Prior, III, 422, No 170; 'Liden Engel' by the same, III, 379, No 164.

Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 3.

1 King Easter has courted her for her gowd, King Wester for her fee, King Honor for her lands sae braid, And for her fair body.

2 They had not been four months married, As I have heard them tell, Until the nobles of the land Against them did rebel.

3 And they cast kaivles them amang, And kaivles them between, And they cast kaivles them amang Wha shoud gae kill the king.

4 O some said yea, and some said nay, Their words did not agree; Till up it gat him Fa'se Footrage, And sware it shoud be he.

5 When bells were rung, and mass was sung. And a' man boon to bed, King Honor and his gay ladie In a hie chamer were laid.

6 Then up it raise him Fa'se Footrage, While a' were fast asleep, And slew the porter in his lodge, That watch and ward did keep.

7 O four and twenty silver keys Hang hie upon a pin, And ay as a door he did unlock, He has fastend it him behind.

8 Then up it raise him King Honor, Says, What means a' this din! Now what's the matter, Fa'se Footrage? O wha was't loot you in?

9 'O ye my errand well shall learn Before that I depart;' Then drew a knife baith lang and sharp And pierced him thro the heart.

10 Then up it got the Queen hersell, And fell low down on her knee: 'O spare my life now, Fa'se Footrage! For I never injured thee.

11 'O spare my life now, Fa'se Footrage! Until I lighter be, And see gin it be lad or lass King Honor has left me wi.'

12 'O gin it be a lass,' he says, 'Well nursed she shall be; But gin it be a lad-bairn, He shall be hanged hie.

13 'I winna spare his tender age, Nor yet his hie, hie kin; But as soon as eer he born is, He shall mount the gallows-pin.'

14 O four and twenty valiant knights Were set the Queen to guard, And four stood ay at her bower-door, To keep baith watch and ward.

15 But when the time drew till an end That she should lighter be, She cast about to find a wile To set her body free.

16 O she has birled these merry young men Wi strong beer and wi wine, Until she made them a' as drunk As any wallwood swine.

17 'O narrow, narrow is this window, And big, big am I grown!' Yet thro the might of Our Ladie Out at it she has won.

18 She wanderd up, she wanderd down, She wanderd out and in, And at last, into the very swines' stye, The Queen brought forth a son.

19 Then they cast kaivles them amang Wha should gae seek the Queen, And the kaivle fell upon Wise William, And he's sent his wife for him.

20 O when she saw Wise William's wife, The Queen fell on her knee; 'Win up, win up, madame,' she says, 'What means this courtesie?'

21 'O out of this I winna rise Till a boon ye grant to me, To change your lass for this lad-bairn King Honor left me wi.

22 'And ye maun learn my gay gose-hawke Well how to breast a steed, And I shall learn your turtle-dow As well to write and read.

23 'And ye maun learn my gay gose-hawke To wield baith bow and brand, And I shall learn your turtle-dow To lay gowd wi her hand.

24 'At kirk or market where we meet, We dare nae mair avow But, Dame how does my gay gose-hawk? Madame, how does my dow?'

25 When days were gane, and years came on, Wise William he thought long; Out has he taen King Honor's son, A hunting for to gang.

26 It sae fell out at their hunting, Upon a summer's day, That they cam by a fair castle, Stood on a sunny brae.

27 'O dinna ye see that bonny castle, Wi wa's and towers sae fair? Gin ilka man had back his ain, Of it you shoud be heir.'

28 'How I shoud be heir of that castle In sooth I canna see, When it belongs to Fa'se Footrage, And he's nae kin to me.'

29 'O gin ye shoud kill him Fa'se Footrage, You woud do what is right; For I wot he killd your father dear, Ere ever you saw the light.

30 'Gin ye should kill him Fa'se Footrage, There is nae man durst you blame; For he keeps your mother a prisoner, And she dares no take you hame.'

31 The boy stared wild like a gray gose-hawke, Says, What may a' this mean! 'My boy, you are King Honor's son, And your mother's our lawful queen.'

32 'O gin I be King Honor's son, By Our Ladie I swear, This day I will that traytour slay, And relieve my mother dear.'

33 He has set his bent bow till his breast, And lap the castle-wa, And soon he's siesed on Fa'se Footrage, Wha loud for help gan ca.

34 'O hold your tongue now, Fa'se Footrage, Frae me you shanno flee;' Syne pierced him through the foul fa'se heart, And set his mother free.

35 And he has rewarded Wise William Wi the best half of his land, And sae has he the turtle-dow Wi the truth of his right hand.

Motherwell's MS., p. 341.

1 The Eastmure king, and the Westmure king, And the king of Onorie, They have all courted a pretty maid, And guess wha she micht be.

2 The Eastmure king courted her for gold, And the Westmure king for fee, The king of Onore for womanheid, And for her fair beautie.

3 The Eastmure king swore a solemn oath, He would keep it till May, That he would murder the king of Onore, Upon his wedding day.

4 When bells was rung, and psalms was sung. And all men boune for sleep, Up and started the Eastmure king At the king of Onore's head.

5 He has drawn the curtains by-- Their sheets was made of dorn-- And he has murdered the king of Onore, As innocent as he was born.

6 This maid she awak'd in the middle of the night, Was in a drowsy dream; She found her bride's-bed swim with blood, Bot and her good lord slain.

7 'What will the court and council say? What will they say to me? What will the court and council say But this night I've murderd thee?'

8 Out and speaks the Eastmure king: 'Hold your tongue, my pretty may, And come along with me, my dear, And that court ye'll never see.'

9 He mounted her on a milk-white steed, Himself upon a gray; She turnd her back against the court, And weeping rode away.

10 'Now if you be with child,' he says, 'As I trew well you be, If it be of a lassie-bairn, I'll give her nurses three.

11 'If it be a lassie-bairn, If you please she'll get five; But if it be a bonnie boy, I will not let him live.'

12 Word is to the city gone, And word is to the town, And word is to the city gone, She's delivered of a son.

13 But a poor woman in the town In the same case does lye, Wha gived to her her woman-child, Took awa her bonnie boy.

14 At kirk or market, whereer they met, They never durst avow, But 'Thou be kind to my boy,' she says, 'I'll be kind to your bonnie dow.'

15 This boy was sixteen years of age, But he was nae seventeen, When he is to the garden gone, To slay that Eastmure king.

16 'Be aware, be aware, thou Eastmure king, Be aware this day of me; For I do swear and do declare Thy botcher I will be.'

17 'What aileth thee, my bonnie boy? What aileth thee at me? I'm sure I never did thee wrang; Thy face I neer did see.'

18 'Thou murdered my father dear, When scarse conceived was I; Thou murdered my father dear, When scarse conceived was me:' So then he slew that Eastmure king, Beneath that garden tree.

Harris MS., No 18, fol. 22: derived from Jannie Scott, an old Perthshire nurse, about 1790.

1 Eastmuir king, and Wastmuir king, And king o Luve, a' three, It's they coost kevils them amang, Aboot a gay ladie.

2 Eastmuir king he wan the gowd, An Wastmuir king the fee, But king o Luve, wi his lands sae broad, He's won the fair ladie.

3 Thae twa kings, they made an aith, That, be it as it may, They wad slay him king o Luve, Upon his waddin day.

4 Eastmuir king he brak his aith, An sair penance did he; But Wastmuir king he made it oot, An an ill deid mat he dee!

* * * * *

#B.#

4^4. Onore's feet originally.

5^3. Onores.

[144] "As far as he can remember, the old woman gave the story in fewer verses." Christie gives the ballad from Scott (omitting stanzas 10-18), "with slight alterations from the way she sung it." These alterations are: 1^1, has omitted. 4^1, Then some for O some. 26^3, fair castle for bonny castle (bonny in Scott, 1833; fair in Scott, 1802). 29^2, is right for was right. 29^4. Ere ever you for Or ever ye. Dean Christie's memory, it seems, retains the most inconsiderable variations, while it is not so good for larger things. See the note at Christie, I, 128, 'Willie and Earl Richard's Daughter,' in this volume, and other ballads.

JELLON GRAME.

#A. a.# 'Jellon Grame and Lillie Flower,' A. Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 4. #b.# 'Jellon Grame,' Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 20, 1802.

#B.# 'Hind Henry,' Motherwell's MS., p. 443.

#C.# 'May-a-Row,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 231.

#D.# 'Lady Margerie,' Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, p. 222.

'Jellon Grame' was first given to the world in Scott's Minstrelsy, in 1802. The editor says of this copy, #A b#, "This ballad is published from tradition, with some conjectural emendations. It is corrected by a copy in Mrs Brown's MS. [#A a#], from which it differs in the concluding stanzas. Some verses are apparently modernized." The only very important difference between Scott's version and Mrs Brown's is its having four stanzas of its own, the four before the last two, which are evidently not simply modernized, but modern.

There is a material difference between the story furnished by #A# and what we learn from the three other copies. Jellon Grame sends for his love Lillie Flower to come to the wood. She is very eager to go, though warned by the messenger that she may never come back. Jellon Grame, who has already dug her grave, kills her because her father will hang him when it is discovered that she has had a child by him. He brings up the child as his sister's son. One day, when the boy asks why his mother does not take him home, Jellon Grame (very unnaturally) answers, I slew her, and there she lies: upon which the boy sends an arrow through him.

In #B#, #C#, #D#, the man is Henry, Hind Henry, #B#, #C#; the maid is May Margerie, #B#, May-a-Roe, #C#, Margerie, #D#. Margerie, in #B#, receives a message to come to the wood to make her love a shirt, which surprises her, for no month had passed in the year that she had not made him three. Nevertheless, she goes, though warned by her mother that there is a plot against her life. She is stopped in the wood by Hind Henry, who kills her because she loves Brown Robin. Word is carried that Margerie has been slain; her sister hastens to the wood, takes under her care the child which Margerie was going with, and calls him Brown Robin, after his father. The lad goes to the wood one day after school to pull a hollin wand, and meets Hind Henry at the place where the mother had been killed. No grass is growing just there, and the boy asks Hind Henry why this is so. Hind Henry, not less frank than Jellon Grame, says, That is the very spot where I killed your mother. The boy catches at Henry's sword and runs him through.

#C# has nearly the same incidents as #B#, diluted and vulgarized in almost twice as many verses. Brown Robin is made to be Hind Henry's brother. The sister does not appear in the action, and the child is brought up by the murderer, as in #A#, but is named Robin Hood, after that bold robber. On hearing from Hind Henry how his mother had come to her death, young Robin sends an arrow to his heart.

A story is supplied from the "traditions of Galloway" for the fragmentary, and perhaps heterogeneous, verses called #D#; I suppose by Allan Cunningham. Margerie was beloved by two brothers, and preferred the elder. Henry, the younger, forged a billet to her by which he obtained a meeting in a wood, when he reproached her for not returning his feelings: sts 1, 2. "She expostulated with him on the impropriety of bringing her into an unfrequented place for the purpose of winning affections which, she observed, were not hers to bestow;" but expostulations as to improprieties producing but slight effect in "those rude times," told him plainly that she was with child by his brother. Henry drew his sword and killed Margerie. The elder brother, who was hunting, was apprised of mischief by the omens in stanza 4. "Astonished at this singular phenomenon, he immediately flew to the bower of his mistress, where a page informed him she was gone to the 'silver wood,' agreeably to his desire. Thither he spurred his horse, and, meeting Henry with his bloody sword still in his hand, inquired what he had been killing." The other replied as in stanza 5. "A mutual explanation took place, and Henry fell by the sword of his unhappy brother."

The resemblance of this ballad at the beginning to 'Child Maurice' will not escape notice. Silver Wood, or the silver wood, is found in 'Child Maurice,' #A# 1, #G# 1. #A# 14, #B# 10, #C# 15, is a commonplace: see No 66, #A# 28, 29, #B# 20, 21, #D# 9, #E# 40; No 70, #B# 25; No 81, #K# 13. #B# 13 is found in 'Willie and Earl Richard's Daughter,' #B# 24: cf. #A# 15. The phenomenon in #D# 4 we have had in No 65, #D# 17.

'Jellon Grame,' and particularly versions #B#, #C#, #D#, may be regarded as a counterpart to 'Fause Foodrage,' and especially to versions #B#, #C#, of that ballad. In 'Fause Foodrage,' #B#, #C#, and 'Jellon Grame,' #B#, #C#, #D#, a woman has two lovers. The one who is preferred is killed by the other in 'Fause Foodrage;' in 'Jellon Grame' the woman herself is killed by the lover she has rejected. This kind of interchange is familiar in ballads. In both 'Fause Foodrage' and 'Jellon Grame' the son of the woman, before he comes to manhood, takes vengeance on the murderer.

'Jellon Grame,' as well as 'Fause Foodrage,' has certainly suffered very much in transmission. It is interesting to find an ancient and original trait preserved even in so extremely corrupted a version as #C# of the present ballad, a circumstance very far from unexampled. In stanza 18 we read that the child who is to avenge his mother "grew as big in ae year auld as some boys woud in three," and we have a faint trace of the same extraordinary thriving in #B# 15: "Of all the youths was at that school none could with him compare." So in one of the Scandinavian ballads akin to 'Fause Foodrage,' and more remotely to 'Jellon Grame,' the corresponding child grows more in two months than other boys in eight years:

Mei voks unge Ingelbrett í dei maanar tvaa hell híne smaabonni vokse paa aatte aar.

Bugge, Norske Folkeviser, No 23, st. 17, p. 113.

This is a commonplace: so again Bugge, No 5, sts 7, 8, p. 23. Compare Robert le Diable, and Sir Gowther.

In #B# 14 we are told that the boy was called by his father's name (#C# 17 is corrupted). This is a point in the corresponding Scandinavian ballads: Danske Viser, No 126, st. 21, No 127, st. 34; Levninger, No 12, st. 26, No 13, st. 18; Íslenzk fornkvæði, No 28, st. 33b; Bugge, No 23, st. 16; Kristensen, I, No 97, sts 7, 11, No 111, st. 9.

* * * * *

#A b# is translated by Schubart, p. 69; by Arndt, Blütenlese, p. 234.

#a.# A. Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 4. #b.# Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 20, 1802.

1 O Jellon Grame sat in Silver Wood, He whistled and he sang, And he has calld his little foot-page, His errand for to gang.

2 'Win up, my bonny boy,' he says, 'As quick as eer you may; For ye maun gang for Lillie Flower, Before the break of day.'

3 The boy he's buckled his belt about, And thro the green-wood ran, And he came to the ladie's bower-door, Before the day did dawn.

4 'O sleep ye, or wake ye, Lillie Flower? The red run's i the rain:' 'I sleep not aft, I wake right aft; Wha's that that kens my name?'

5 'Ye are bidden come to Silver Wood, But I fear you'll never win hame; Ye are bidden come to Silver Wood, And speak wi Jellon Grame.'

6 'O I will gang to Silver Wood, Though I shoud never win hame; For the thing I most desire on earth Is to speak wi Jellon Grame.'

7 She had no ridden a mile, a mile, A mile but barely three, Ere she came to a new made grave, Beneath a green oak tree.

8 O then up started Jellon Grame, Out of a bush hard bye: 'Light down, light down now, Lillie Flower, For it's here that ye maun ly.'

9 She lighted aff her milk-white steed, And knelt upon her knee: 'O mercy, mercy, Jellon Grame! For I'm nae prepar'd to die.

10 'Your bairn, that stirs between my sides, Maun shortly see the light; But to see it weltring in my blude Woud be a piteous sight.'

11 'O shoud I spare your life,' he says, 'Until that bairn be born, I ken fu well your stern father Woud hang me on the morn.'

12 'O spare my life now, Jellon Grame! My father ye neer need dread; I'll keep my bairn i the good green wood, Or wi it I'll beg my bread.'

13 He took nae pity on that ladie, Tho she for life did pray; But pierced her thro the fair body, As at his feet she lay.

14 He felt nae pity for that ladie, Tho she was lying dead; But he felt some for the bonny boy, Lay weltring in her blude.

15 Up has he taen that bonny boy, Gien him to nurices nine, Three to wake, and three to sleep, And three to go between.

16 And he's brought up that bonny boy, Calld him his sister's son; He thought nae man would eer find out The deed that he had done.

17 But it sae fell out upon a time, As a hunting they did gay, That they rested them in Silver Wood, Upon a summer-day.

18 Then out it spake that bonny boy, While the tear stood in his eye, 'O tell me this now, Jellon Grame, And I pray you dinna lie.

19 'The reason that my mother dear Does never take me hame? To keep me still in banishment Is baith a sin and shame.'

20 'You wonder that your mother dear Does never send for thee; Lo, there's the place I slew thy mother, Beneath that green oak tree.'

21 Wi that the boy has bent his bow, It was baith stout and lang, And through and thro him Jellon Grame He's gard an arrow gang.

22 Says, Lye you thare now, Jellon Grame, My mellison you wi; The place my mother lies buried in Is far too good for thee.

Motherwell's MS., p. 443.

1 Word has come to May Margerie, In her bower where she sat: 'You are bid come to good green-wood, To make your love a shirt.'

2 'I wonder much,' said May Margerie, 'At this message to me; There is not a month gone of this year But I have made him three.'

3 Then out did speak her mother dear, A wise woman was she; Said, Stay at home, my daughter May, They seek to murder thee.

4 'O I'll cast off my gloves, mother, And hang them up, I say; If I come never back again, They will mind you on May.

5 'Go saddle my horseback,' she said, 'It's quick as ever you may, And we will ride to good green-wood; It is a pleasant day.'

6 And when she came to good green-wood, It's through it they did ride; Then up did start him Hind Henry, Just at the lady's side.

7 Says, Stop, O stop, you May Margerie, Just stop I say to thee; The boy that leads your bridle reins Shall see you red and blue.

8 It's out he drew a long, long brand, And stroked it ower a strae, And through and through that lady's sides He made the cauld weapon gae.

9 Says, Take you that now, May Margerie, Just take you that from me, Because you love Brown Robin, And never would love me.

10 There was less pity for that lady, When she was lying dead, As was for her bony infant boy, Lay swathed amang her bleed.

11 The boy fled home with all his might, The tear into his ee: 'They have slain my lady in the wood, With fear I'm like to die.'

12 Her sister's ran into the wood, With greater grief and care, Sighing and sobbing all the way, Tearing her cloaths and hair.

13 Says, I'll take up that fair infant, And lull him on my sleeve; Altho his father should wish me woe, His mother to me was leeve.

14 Now she has taken the infant up, And she has brought him hame, And she has called him Brown Robin, That was his father's name.

15 And when he did grow up a bit, She put him to the lair, And of all the youths was at that school None could with him compare.

16 And it fell once upon a day A playtime it was come, And when the rest went from the school, Each one to their own home,

17 He hied him unto good green-wood, And leapt from tree to tree; It was to pull a hollin wand, To play his ownself wi.

18 And when he thus had passed his time, To go home he was fain, He chanced to meet him Hind Henry, Where his mother was slain.

19 'O how is this,' the youth cried out, 'If it to you is known, How all this wood is growing grass, And on that small spot grows none?'

20 'Since you do wonder, bonnie boy, I shall tell you anon; That is indeed the very spot I killed your mother in.'

21 He catched hold of Henry's brand, And stroked it ower a strae, And thro and thro Hind Henry's sides He made the cauld metal gae.

22 Says, Take you that, O Hind Henry, O take you that from me, For killing of my mother dear, And her not hurting thee.

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 231.

1 When spring appeard in all its bloom, And flowers grew fresh and green, As May-a-Roe she set her down, To lay gowd on her seam.

2 But word has come to that lady, At evening when 't was dark, To meet her love in gude greenwood, And bring to him a sark.

3 'That's strange to me' said May-a-Roe, 'For how can a' this be? A month or twa is scarcely past Sin I sent my lovie three.'

4 Then May-a-Roe lap on her steed, And quickly rade away; She hadna ridden but hauf a mile, Till she heard a voice to say:

5 'Turn back, turn back, ye ventrous maid, Nae farther must ye go; For the boy that leads your bridle rein Leads you to your overthrow.'

6 But a' these words she neer did mind, But fast awa did ride; And up it starts him Hynde Henry, Just fair by her right side.

7 'Ye'll tarry here, perfidious maid, For by my hand ye 'se dee; Ye married my brother, Brown Robin, Whan ye shoud hae married me.'

8 'O mercy, mercy, Hynde Henry, O mercy have on me! For I am eight months gane wi child, Therefore ye'll lat me be.'

9 'Nae mercy is for thee, fair maid, Nae mercy is for thee; You married my brother, Brown Robin, Whan ye shoud hae married me.'

10 'Ye will bring here the bread, Henry, And I will bring the wine, And ye will drink to your ain love, And I will drink to mine.'

11 'I winna bring here the bread, fair maid, Nor yet shall ye the wine, Nor will I drink to my ain love, Nor yet shall ye to thine.'

12 'O mercy, mercy, Hynde Henry, Until I lighter be! Hae mercy on your brother's bairn, Tho ye hae nane for me.'

13 'Nae mercy is for thee, fair maid, Nae mercy is for thee; Such mercy unto you I'll gie As what ye gae to me.'

14 Then he's taen out a trusty brand, And stroakd it ower a strae, And thro and thro her fair body He's gart cauld iron gae.

15 Nae meen was made for that lady, For she was lying dead; But a' was for her bonny bairn, Lay spartling by her side.

16 Then he's taen up the bonny bairn, Handled him tenderlie, And said, Ye are o my ain kin, Tho your mother ill used me.

17 He's washen him at the crystal stream, And rowd him in a weed, And namd him after a bold robber Who was calld Robin Hood.

18 Then brought to the next borough's town, And gae him nurses three; He grew as big in ae year auld As some boys woud in three.

19 Then he was sent to guid squeel-house, To learn how to thrive; He learnd as muckle in ae year's time As some boys would in five.

20 But I wonder, I wonder,' said little Robin, 'Gin eer a woman bare me; For mony a lady spiers for the rest, But nae ane spiers for me.

21 'I wonder, I wonder,' said little Robin, 'Were I of woman born; Whan ladies my comrades do caress, They look at me wi scorn.'

22 It fell upon an evening-tide, Was ae night by it lane, Whan a' the boys frae guid squeel-house Were merrily coming hame,

23 Robin parted frae the rest, He wishd to be alane; And when his comrades he dismist, To guid greenwood he's gane.

24 When he came to guid greenwood, He clamb frae tree to tree, To pou some o the finest leaves, For to divert him wi.

25 He hadna pu'd a leaf, a leaf, Nor brake a branch but ane, Till by it came him Hynde Henry, And bade him lat alane.

26 'You are too bauld a boy,' he said, 'Sae impudent you be, As pu the leaves that's nae your ain, Or yet to touch the tree.'

27 'O mercy, mercy, gentleman, O mercy hae on me! For if that I offence hae done, It was unknown to me.'

28 'Nae boy comes here to guid greenwood But pays a fine to me; Your velvet coat, or shooting-bow, Which o them will ye gie?'

29 'My shooting-bow arches sae well, Wi it I canno part; Lest wer't to send a sharp arrow To pierce you to the heart.'

30 He turnd him right and round about, His countenance did change: 'Ye seem to be a boy right bauld; Why can ye talk sae strange?

31 'I'm sure ye are the bauldest boy That ever I talkd wi; As for your mother, May-a-Roe, She was neer sae bauld to me.'

32 'O, if ye knew my mother,' he said, 'That's very strange to me; And if that ye my mother knew, It's mair than I coud dee.'

33 'Sae well as I your mother knew, Ance my sweet-heart was she; Because to me she broke her vow, This maid was slain by me.'

34 'O, if ye slew my mother dear, As I trust ye make nae lie, I wyte ye never did the deed That better paid shall be.'

35 'O mercy, mercy, little Robin, O mercy hae on me!' 'Sic mercy as ye pae my mother, Sic mercy I'll gie thee.

36 'Prepare yourself, perfidious man, For by my hand ye 'se dee; Now come's that bluidy butcher's end Took my mother frae me.'

37 Then he hae chosen a sharp arrow, That was baith keen and smart, And let it fly at Hynde Henry, And piercd him to the heart.

38 These news hae gaen thro Stirling town, Likewise thro Hunting-ha; At last it reachd the king's own court, Amang the nobles a'.

39 When the king got word o that, A light laugh then gae he, And he's sent for him little Robin, To come right speedilie.

40 He's putten on little Robin's head A ribbon and gowden crown, And made him ane o's finest knights, For the valour he had done.

Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, p. 222.

* * * * * * *

1 'D'ye mind, d'ye mind, Lady Margerie, When we handed round the beer? Seven times I fainted for your sake, And you never dropt a tear.

2 'D'ye mind, d'ye mind, Lady Margerie, When we handed round the wine? Seven times I fainted for your sake, And you never fainted once for mine.'

* * * * * * *

3 And he's taen the baby out of her womb And thrown it upon a thorn: 'Let the wind blow east, let the wind blow west, The cradle will rock its lone.'

* * * * * * *

4 But when brother Henry's cruel brand Had done the bloody deed, The silver-buttons flew off his coat, And his nose began to bleed.

* * * * * * *

5 'O I have been killing in the silver wood What will breed mickle woe; I have been killing in the silver wood A dawdy and a doe.'

* * * * * * *

* * * * *

#A. a.#

10^4. piteouus.

#b.#

1^2. he sharpd his broad-sword lang.

1^4. An errand.

2^2. quickly as ye.

3^1. boy has.

3^3. ladye's bower.

4^1. or omitted.

4^2. red sun's on.

4^{3, 4}. wanting.

5^{1, 2}. as 4^{3, 4}: I doubt ye'll.

5^{3, 4}. wanting.

6. wanting.

7^1. had na.

8^2. there bye.

9^4. no.

11^2. were born.

11^3. Full weel I ken your auld.

12^2. ye need na.

12^3. babe in gude.

13^1. on Lillie Flower.

14^1. for Lillie Flower.

14^2. Where she.

14^3. bonny bairn.

14^4. That lay.

15^3. Three to sleep and three to wake.

16^1. he bred.

16^3. And he thought no eye could ever see.

17^1. O so it fell upon a day.

17^2. When hunting they might be.

17^3. That omitted.

17^4. Beneath that green aik tree.

18-20. And mony were the green wood flowers Upon the grave that grew, And marvelld much that bonny boy To see their lovely hue.

'What's paler than the prymrose wan? What's redder than the rose? What's fairer than the lilye flower On this wee know that grows?'

O out and answered Jellon Grame, And he spake hastilie; 'Your mother was a fairer flower, And lies beneath this tree.

'More pale she was, when she sought my grace, Than prymrose pale and wan, And redder than rose her ruddy heart's blood, That down my broad-sword ran.'

22^1. Lie ye.

22^2. gang you wi.

#B.#

12^1. sisters ran: into altered to unto.

FAIR MARY OF WALLINGTON

#A.# 'Fair Mary of Wellington,' Lovely Jenny's Garland, three copies, as early as 1775.

#B.# 'Lady Mazery,' Herd's MSS: #a#, I, 186; #b#, II, 89.

#C.# 'The Bonny Earl of Livingston,' Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 5.

#D.# 'The Laird o Livingstone,' Dr John Hill Burton's MS., No 2.

#E.# 'Mild Mary,' Motherwell's MS., p. 123.

#F.# 'Lord Darlington.' #a.# Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 183. #b.# The Borderer's Table Book, VII, 178.

'Fair Mary of Wallington' was communicated to Bishop Percy, with other "old Scots Songs," in 1775, by Roger Halt, and presumably in a copy of the garland from which it is here printed. #A# was given by Ritson, from an inferior edition, with corrections, and the title changed to 'Fair Mabel of Wallington,' in The Northumberland Garland, 1793, p. 38 of the reprint of Northern Garlands, 1809. Ritson's copy is repeated in Bell's Rhymes of Northern Bards, 1812, p. 147, and in Richardson's Borderer's Table Book, VI, 141.

The story is very well preserved and very well told in #A#. All the seven sisters of a family are destined to die of their first child. Five having so died already, one of the remaining two expresses a resolution never to marry, since she is sure that she will go the way of the others. She is told that a knight has been there, asking for her hand. Then in three quarters of a year they may come to her burial. When her husband's mother welcomes her to her castle and bowers, the bride responds, under the operation of her melancholy conviction, I think they 'll soon be yours. At the end of three quarters of a year she sends messages to her family: to her mother to come to her sickening or her wake;[145] to her sister to remain in maidenhood, and escape the doom of the family. When the mother arrives the young wife is in extremities.[146] She gives rings to her mother, who is all to blame, gives rings to her husband, and with a razor opens her side, and takes out an heir for the house. In #D# we are told that five boys had been cut from their mothers, Mary's sisters, before. In #B# the remaining sister declares that no man shall ever lie by her side; but her mother says she shall marry though she live but three quarters of a year: so, nearly, in #C#.

A Breton ballad, 'Pontplancoat,' #A#, Luzel, I, 382, #B#, p. 386, exhibits such correspondences with the English and Scottish that we cannot hesitate to assume that it has the same source.

In the first version Pontplancoat marries Marguerite for his third wife. He is obliged by affairs to leave her, and has a dream which disturbs him so much that he returns home the same night. This dream is that his wife has been three days in travail, and it proves true. A spoon is put in the lady's mouth, an incision made in her right side, and a son taken out. This is Pontplancoat's third son, and each of them has been extracted from his mother's side. He has had three wives of the name of Marguerite, and they have all died in this way.

Marguerite, in the other version, is told by her mother that she is to marry Pontplancoat. Marguerite signifies her obedience, but Pontplancoat has already had four wives of her name, all of whom "had been opened," and she shall be the fifth. As before, Pontplancoat is obliged to go away, and during his absence he receives letters which inform him that his wife is in labor and that the chances are against a normal delivery. He returns instantly. The lady has been three days in labor. A silver ball is put into her mouth, her right side opened with a knife, and a son extracted. Pontplancoat has four sons besides, all of whom have been brought into the world in this way.

English #A# is localized in Northumberland, and Mary made the wife of a Sir William Fenwick of Wellington. According to notes of Percy, he had not been able to find a Sir William Fenwick, lord of Wallington, with a wife of the name of Mary. Were a Sir William and Lady Mary Fenwick authenticable, a nice historical question would arise between them and some baron and baroness of the family Pontplancoat in Finistère, Brittany.

An extensively disseminated Scandinavian ballad has been assumed to be of kin with 'Mary of Wallington,' and in one version or another has resemblances which may possibly come from unity of origin, but the general likeness is certainly not striking. The published texts are: #Norwegian#, 'Maalfrí,' Bugge, Gamle norske Folkeviser, p. 122, No 25, #A#, #B#. #Icelandic#, 'Málfríðar kvæði,' Íslenzk fornkvæði, I, 208, No 24, #A#-#D#. #Swedish#, 'Herr Peder och Malfred,' Afzelius, I, 70, No 14. #Danish#, #A#, 'Esben og Malfred,' "Tragica, No 26," Danske Viser, III, 208, No 133; #B#, #C#, Kristensen, I, 232, No 87, #A#, #B#; #D#, #E#, 'Malfreds Død,' Kristensen, II, 232, No 69, #A#, #B#; #F#, 'Liden Malfreds Vise,' Feilberg, Fra Heden, p. 119; #G#, 'Herr Peder og Liden Malfred,' Berggreen's Danske Folkesange, 3d ed., p. 172, No 88. The Danish ballad is preserved in ten manuscripts, and Grundtvig possessed not less than twenty-two traditionary Danish versions and two Swedish, which he did not live to print.

The Norwegian ballad is most like, or least unlike, the English. Maalfrí, a king's only daughter, is married to Karl, king of England. It was spaed to her when she was yet a maid that she should die of her twelfth lying in; she has already born eleven children. The king purposing to leave her for a time, she reminds him of the prophecy. He defies spaewives and goes, but after three days dreams that Maalfrí's cloak is cut in two, that her hair is cut to bits, etc.; and this sends him home, when he learns that two sons have been cut from her side. He throws himself on his sword. Maalfrí, Malfred, is, in the other Norse ballads, also an only daughter, and dies in her twelfth child-birth, in all but Icelandic #B#, #C#, #D#, where the first is fatal to her. There are no other important diversities, and the resemblances in the details of the Norse and the English ballads are these two: the wife being fated to die of her first child in Icelandic #B#, #C#, #D#, and the Cæsarean operation in the Norwegian versions.

It is barely worth mentioning that there is also a German ballad, in which a maid (only eleven years old in most of the versions) begs her mother not to give her to a husband, because she will not live more than a year if married, and dies accordingly in child-birth: 'Hans Markgraf,' "Bothe, Frühlings-Almanach, 1806, p. 132," reprinted in Büsching und von der Hagen's Volkslieder, p. 30, Erlach, II, 136, Mittler, No 133; "Alle bei Gott die sich lieben," Wunderhorn, 1808, II, 250, Erlach, IV, 127, Mittler, No 128; Hoffmann und Richter, Schlesische Volkslieder, p. 12, No 5, Mittler, No 132. To these may be added 'Der Graf und die Bauerntochter,' Ditfurth, II, 8, No 9; 'Der Mutter Fluch,' Meinert, p. 246. In these last it is the mother who objects to the marriage, on account of her daughter's extreme youth.[147]

Lovely Jenny's Garland, three copies, as early as 1775, but without place or date.

1 When we were silly sisters seven, sisters were so fair, Five of us were brave knights' wives, and died in childbed lair.

2 Up then spake Fair Mary, marry woud she nane; If ever she came in man's bed, the same gate wad she gang.

3 'Make no vows, Fair Mary, for fear they broken be; Here's been the Knight of Wallington, asking good will of thee.'

4 'If here's been the knight, mother, asking good will of me, Within three quarters of a year you may come bury me.'

5 When she came to Wallington, and into Wallington hall, There she spy'd her mother dear, walking about the wall.

6 'You're welcome, daughter dear, to thy castle and thy bowers;' 'I thank you kindly, mother, I hope they'll soon be yours.'

7 She had not been in Wallington three quarters and a day, Till upon the ground she could not walk, she was a weary prey.

8 She had not been in Wallington three quarters and a night, Till on the ground she coud not walk, she was a weary wight.

9 'Is there neer a boy in this town, who'll win hose and shun, That will run to fair Pudlington, and bid my mother come?'

10 Up then spake a little boy, near unto a-kin; 'Full oft I have your errands gone, but now I will it run.'

11 Then she calld her waiting-maid to bring up bread and wine: 'Eat and drink, my bonny boy, thou'll neer eat more of mine.

12 'Give my respects to my mother, [as] she sits in her chair of stone, And ask her how she likes the news, of seven to have but one.

13 ['Give my respects to my mother, as she sits in her chair of oak, And bid her come to my sickening, or my merry lake-wake.]

14 'Give my love to my brother William, Ralph, and John, And to my sister Betty fair, and to her white as bone.

15 'And bid her keep her maidenhead, be sure make much on 't, For if eer she come in man's bed, the same gate will she gang.'

16 Away this little boy is gone, as fast as he could run; When he came where brigs were broke, he lay down and swum.

17 When he saw the lady, he said, Lord may your keeper be! 'What news, my pretty boy, hast thou to tell to me?'

18 'Your daughter Mary orders me, as you sit in a chair of stone, To ask you how you like the news, of seven to have but one.

19 'Your daughter gives commands, as you sit in a chair of oak, And bids you come to her sickening, or her merry lake-wake.

20 'She gives command to her brother William, Ralph, and John, [And] to her sister Betty fair, and to her white as bone.

21 'She bids her keep her maidenhead, be sure make much on 't, For if eer she came in man's bed, the same gate woud she gang.'

22 She kickt the table with her foot, she kickt it with her knee, The silver plate into the fire, so far she made it flee.

23 Then she calld her waiting-maid to bring her riding-hood, So did she on her stable-groom to bring her riding-steed.

24 'Go saddle to me the black [the black,] go saddle to me the brown, Go saddle to me the swiftest steed that eer rid [to] Wallington.'

25 When they came to Wallington, and into Wallington hall, There she spy'd her son Fenwick, walking about the wall.

26 'God save you, dear son, Lord may your keeper be! Where is my daughter fair, that used to walk with thee?'

27 He turnd his head round about, the tears did fill his ee: ''T is a month,' he said, 'since she took her chambers from me.'

28 She went on ... and there were in the hall Four and twenty ladies, letting the tears down fall.

29 Her daughter had a scope into her cheek and into her chin, All to keep her life till her dear mother came.

30 'Come take the rings off my fingers, the skin it is so white, And give them to my mother dear, for she was all the wite.

31 'Come take the rings off my fingers, the veins they are so red, Give them to Sir William Fenwick, I'm sure his heart will bleed.'

32 She took out a razor that was both sharp and fine, And out of her left side has taken the heir of Wallington.

33 There is a race in Wallington, and that I rue full sare; Tho the cradle it be full spread up, the bride-bed is left bare.

Herd's MSS: #a#, I, 186; #b#, II, 89.

1 'When we were sisters seven, An five of us deyd wi child, And there is nane but you and I, Mazery, And we'll go madens mild.'

2 But there came knights, and there came squiers, An knights of high degree; She pleasd hersel in Levieston, Thay wear a comly twa.

3 He has bought her rings for her fingers, And garlands for her hair, The broochis till her bosome braid; What wad my love ha mair? And he has brought her on to Livingston, And made her lady thear.

4 She had na been in Liveingston A twelvemonth and a day, Till she was as big wi bairn As ony lady could gae.

5 The knight he knocked his white fingers, The goude rings flew in twa: 'Halls and bowers they shall go wast Ere my bonny love gie awa!'

6 The knight he knocked his white fingers, The goude rings flew in foure: 'Halls and bowers they shall go waste Eren my bonny lady gie it ore!'

7 The knight he knocked his white fingers, The lady[s] sewed and sung; It was to comfort Lady Mazery, But her life-days wear na long.

8 'O whare will I get a bonny boy, That will win both hoos and shoon, That will win his way to Little Snoddown, To my mother, the Queen?'

9 Up and stands a bonny boy, Goude yellow was his hair; I wish his mother mickle grace at him, And his trew-love mickle mare.

10 'Here am I a bonny boy, That will win baith hoos an shoon, That will win my way to Little Snoddown, To thy mother, the Queen.'

11 'Here is the rings frae my fingers, The garlonds frae my hair, The broches fray my bosom braid; Fray me she'll nere get mare.

12 'Here it is my weeding-goun, It is a' goude but the hem; Gi it to my sister Allen, For she is left now bird her lane.

13 'When you come whare brigs is broken, Ye'l bent your bow and swim; An when ye come whare green grass grows, Ye'l slack your shoon and run.

14 'But when you come to yon castle, Bide neither to chap nor ca, But you'l set your bent bow to your breast, And lightly loup the wa, And gin the porter be half-gate, Ye'll be ben throw the ha.'

15 O when he came whare brigs was broken, He bent his bow and swam; An when he came where green grass grows, He slackd his shoon an ran.

16 And when he came to yon castel, He stayed neither to chap no ca'l, But bent his bow unto his breast, And lightly lap the wa'l; And gin the porter was hafe-gate, He was ben throw the ha'l.

17 'O peace be to you, ladys a'l! As ye sit at your dine Ye ha little word of Lady Mazerë, For she drees mickel pine.

18 'Here is the rings frae her fingers, The garlands frae her hair, The broches frae her bosome brade; Fray her ye'l nere get mare.

19 'Here it is her weeding-goun, It is a' goude but the hem; Ye'll ge it to her sister Allen, For she is left bird her lane.'

20 She ca'd the table wi her foot, And coped it wi her tae, Till siller cups an siller cans Unto the floor did gae.

21 'Ye wash, ye wash, ye bonny boy, Ye wash, and come to dine; It does not fit a bonny boy His errant for to tine.

22 'Ge saddle to me the black, the black, Ge saddle to me the brown, Ge saddle to me the swiftest steed That ever rid frae a town.'

23 The first steed they saddled to her, He was the bonny black; He was a good steed, an a very good steed, But he tiyrd eer he wan the slack.

24 The next steed they saddled to her, He was the bonny brown; He was a good steed, an a very good steed, But he tiyird ere he wan the town.

25 The next steed they saddled to her, He was the bonny white; Fair fa the mair that fo'd the fole That carried her to Mazeree['s] lear!

26 As she gaed in at Leivingston, Thair was na mickel pride; The scobs was in her lovely mouth, And the razer in her side.

27 'O them that marrys your daughter, lady, I think them but a foole; A married man at Martimass, An a widdow the next Yule!'

28 'O hold your toung now, Livingston, Let all your folly abee; I bear the burden in my breast, Mun suffer them to dee.'

29 Out an speaks her Bird Allen, For she spake ay through pride; 'That man shall near be born,' she says, 'That shall ly down by my side.'

30 'O hold your toung now, Bird Allen, Let all your folly abee; For you shall marry a man,' she says, 'Tho ye shoud live but rathes three.'

Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 5.

1 'O we were sisters seven, Maisry, And five are dead wi child; There is nane but you and I, Maisry, And we'll go maidens mild.'

2 She hardly had the word spoken, And turnd her round about, When the bonny Earl of Livingston Was calling Maisry out.

3 Upon a bonny milk-white steed, That drank out of the Tyne, And a' was for her Ladie Maisry, To take her hyne and hyne.

4 Upon a bonny milk-white steed, That drank out o the Tay, And a' was for her Lady Maisry, To carry her away.

5 She had not been at Livingston A twelve month and a day, Until she was as big wi bairn As any ladie coud gae.

6 She calld upon her little foot-page, Says, Ye maun run wi speed, And bid my mother come to me, For of her I'll soon have need.

7 'See, there is the brootch frae my hause-bane, It is of gowd sae ried; Gin she winna come when I'm alive, Bid her come when I am dead.'

8 But ere she wan to Livingston, As fast as she coud ride, The gaggs they were in Maisry's mouth, And the sharp sheers in her side.

9 Her good lord wrang his milk-white hands, Till the gowd rings flaw in three: 'Let ha's and bowers and a' gae waste, My bonny love's taen frae me!'

10 'O hold your tongue, Lord Livingston, Let a' your mourning be; For I bare the bird between my sides, Yet I maun thole her to die.'

11 Then out it spake her sister dear, As she sat at her head: 'That man is not in Christendoom Shall gar me die sicken dead.'

12 'O hold your tongue, my ae daughter, Let a' your folly be, For ye shall be married ere this day week Tho the same death you should die.'

Dr John Hill Burton's MS., No 2.

1 'Here it is was sisters seven, And five is died with child; Was non but you and I, Hellen, And we'se be maidens mild.'

2 They hadna been maidens o bonny Snawdon A twalvemonth and a day, When lairds and lords a courting came, Seeking Mary away.

3 The bonny laird of Livingstone, He liket Mary best; He gae her a ring, a royal ring, And he wedded her at last.

4 She hed na been lady o Livingstone A twalvemonth and a day, When she did go as big wi bairn As iver a woman could be.

* * * * * * *

7 The knights were wringin their white fingers, And the ladys wer tearin their hair; It was a' for the lady o Livingstone, For a word she never spake mare.

8 Out and spake her sister Hellen, Where she sat by her side; 'The man shall never be born,' she said, 'Shall ever make me his bride.

9 'The man,' she said, 'that would merry me, I'de count him but a feel, To merry me at Whitsunday, And bury me at Yele.'

10 Out and spak her mother dear, Whare she sat by the fire: 'I bare this babe now from my side, Maun suffer her to die.

11 'And I have six boys now to my oyes, And none of them were born, But a hole cut in their mother's side, And they from it were shorne.'

12 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Motherwell's MS., p. 123, from the recitation of Mrs Macqueen, Lochwinnoch.

1 'Arise, arise, dochter,' she said, 'My bidding to obey; The bravest lord in all Scotland This night asked you of me.'

2 'O haud your tongue, mother,' she said, 'These words they do me wrang; For gin I lye in a man's bed, My days will no be lang.

3 'There were seven sisters o us a', We were a' clad in white; And five of them were married, And in child-bed they died.'

4 'Ye shall not be drest in black, Nor sall ye be in broun; But ye'se be drest in shining gowd, To gae glittering thro the town.

5 'Your father sall ride before you,' she said, 'And your brother sall ride ahin; Your horses fore-feet siller shod, And his hind anes wi gowd shall shine.

6 'Wi four and twenty buirdlie men Atween ye and the wun, And four and twenty bonnie mays Atween ye and the sun.

7 'Four and twenty milk-white geese, Stretching their wings sae wide, Blawing the dust aff the high-way, That Mild Mary may ride.'

8 They took to them their milk-white steeds, Set her upon a grey, And wi a napkin in her hand Weeping she rade away.

9 O they rade on that lee-lang nicht, And part o the neist day also, And syne she saw her auld good mother Stand in the gates below.

10 'You'r welcome, welcome, dochter,' she said, 'To your biggins and your bowers;' 'I thank ye kindly, mither,' she said, 'But I doubt they'll sune be yours.'

* * * * * * *

#a.# Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 183. #b.# The Borderer's Table Book, VII, 178, communicated by J. H. Dixon; "transcribed from a MS. copy in possession of an antiquarian friend," collated with #a#.

1 'O we were seven brave sisters, Five of us died wi child, And nane but you and I, Maisry, So we'll gae maidens mild.'

2 'O had your tongue, now Lady Margaret, Let a' your folly be; I'll gar you keep your true promise To the lad ayont the sea.'

3 'O there is neither lord nor knight My love shall ever won, Except it be Lord Darlington, And here he winna come.'

4 But when the hour o twall was past, And near the hour o one, Lord Darlington came to the yetts, Wi thirty knights and ten.

5 Then he has wedded Lady Margaret, And brought her oer the sea, And there was nane that lived on earth Sae happy as was she.

6 But when nine months were come and gane Strong travailling took she, And nae physician in the land Could ease her maladie.

7 'Where will I get a little wee boy, Will won baith meat and fee, That will gae on to Seaton's yetts, Bring my mother to me?'

8 'O here am I, a little wee boy, That will won meat and fee, That will gae on to Seaton's yetts, And bring your mother to thee.'

9 Then he is on to Seaton's yetts, As fast as gang could he; Says, Ye must come to Darlington, Your daughter for to see.

10 But when she came to Darlington, Where there was little pride, The scobbs were in the lady's mouth, The sharp sheer in her side.

11 Darlington stood on the stair, And gart the gowd rings flee: 'My ha's and bowers and a' shall gae waste, If my bonny love die for me.'

12 'O had your tongue, Lord Darlington, Let a' your folly be; I boor the bird within my sides, I'll suffer her to die.

13 'But he that marries my daughter, I think he is a fool; If he marries her at Candlemas, She'll be frae him ere Yule.

14 'I had seven ance in companie, This night I go my lane; And when I come to Clyde's water, I wish that I may drown.'

* * * * *

#A.#

The copy of the garland here used is much more correct than the other two, but still not carefully printed. The garland gives the ballad in eight stanzas of eight verses.

1^1. so were sisters.

6^2. bower: perhaps we should read towers.

8^2. weight, which makes sense, but, taking rhyme into account, the change seems requisite: cf. 30^2.

15^2. came: come in the other copies.

16^2. swim.

19^1. of aik?

19^2. weary lake-wake? if so, also 13^2.

27^1. his eyes.

28^2. downfal.

30^1. finger.

30^2. weight.

31^1. of: veine.

#B. a.#

Stanzas 5-7 should come after 26, but the changes which have been traditionally made in 7, to adapt the passage to its actual position, render the restoration of the right order impracticable. 7^1 is not comforting.

2^2. An lords?

3^3. brooch is.

12^4. now to bird: cf. 19^4.

13^2. bent: so the other copy.

13^4. Ye.

14^2. clap nor cae': cf. 16^2.

15^1. come.

16^2. war (?).

17^1. a^l.

19^3. to my.

20^2. coped: caped?

21. After this these lines are struck out:

Nor yet do (to?) a well-ford made Her errant for to set (let?).

22^1. Ga.

23^4. stack (?).

29^2. throught.

30^4. luve, in my copy.

The spelling is in several places doubtful.

#b# appears to be a transcript of #a#: the spelling is somewhat regulated.

3^3. broatch is.

6^2. in twa.

8^2. wun.

8^3. will rin.

8^3, 10^3. Little Snod Down.

9^3. of him.

12^4. bird her lane.

16^3. into.

18^3. broch is.

20^2. caped it.

21^{1, 2}. Gae wash.

22^{1, 2, 3}. Go, Go, Gae.

23^4. slack.

25^4. lear wanting.

26^3. scobs wanting.

30^4. live: rather.

#C.#

10^4. here: e added in different ink.

#D.#

1^4. maiden.

7^1. ringin.

9^1. that w^d.

10^3. I hear.

#E.#

6^2. the win' originally: ~i~ seems to have been changed to u.

#F. a.#

13^1. But her.

#b.#

2^4. the lord.

3^2. my true love eer shall be.

3^4. And he winna come here to me.

5^1. It's he.

6^3. And neer a leech in a'.

7^2. That will win meat.

7^4. And bring your.

8. O out then spake the little foot-page, And knelt on bended knee: O here, etc.

8^2. will win both.

11^1. Lord Darlington.

12^3. side.

13^1. He that marries a daughter o mine.

13^2. I wot.

13^3. Candemas tide.

13^4. at Yule.

14^3. When I come to the salt water.

[145] The stanza which should convey this part of the message is wanting, but may be confidently supplied from the errand-boy's repetition.

[146] The three steeds in #B# 23-25, the tiring out of the black and of the brown, and the endurance of the white, are found in 'Lady Maisry,' No 65, #B#, #C#, #E#, #F#, and this passage perhaps belongs to that ballad. It may, however, have been a commonplace. There is something similar in Bugge, p. 130, No 26 #B#, 6-8, and Landstad, p. 512, No 57, 24-27. For the milk-white geese, #E# 7, see No 66, #C# 22, No 73, #A#, note.

[147] Uhland, Schriften zur Geschichte der Dichtung und Sage, IV, 107, cites the chair of stone in English #A# 12, 18, as bringing to mind Bothe, st. 14, Wunderhorn, st. 12, where the mother sits down auf einen breiten Stein, an ein harten Stein, and breaks her heart. The chair of stone in the English ballad, like the chair of oak, is a customary seat of the mother's, and she is very far from breaking her heart. Nothing can be built on such accidents.

BONNY BEE HOM

#A.# 'Bonny Bee Ho'm,' Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 6; Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 185.

#B.# 'The Enchanted Ring,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 169.

#A# was given from the manuscript by Jamieson "verbatim," that is, with a few slight variations; the first stanza earlier, in the Scots Magazine, October, 1803, p. 700.

For the ring (chain, #A# 7) that makes a man invulnerable, and that which indicates by the discoloration of the stone that his love is dead or untrue, see 'Hind Horn,' I, 200 f; for the vows in #A# 3, 4, #B# 3, 'Clerk Saunders,' at p. 156 f of this volume.[148] The like vows are adopted into a song called 'The Lowlands of Holland,' found in Herd's MSS, I, 97, and inserted in his Scottish Songs, 1776, II, 2; a fragment, but all that concerns us.[149]

1 'My love has built a bony ship, and set her on the sea, With seven score good mariners to bear her company; There's three score is sunk, and three score dead at sea, And the Lowlands of Holland has twin'd my love and me.

2 'My love he built another ship, and set her on the main, And nane but twenty mariners for to bring her hame; But the weary wind began to rise, and the sea began to rout, My love then and his bonny ship turnd withershins about.

3 'There shall neither coif come on my head nor comb come in my hair; There shall neither coal nor candle-light shine in my bower mair; Nor will I love another one until the day I die, For I never lovd a love but one, and he's drowned in the sea.'

4 'O had your tongue, my daughter dear, be still and be content; There are mair lads in Galloway, ye neen nae sair lament:' 'O there is none in Gallow, there's none at a' for me, For I never lovd a love but one, and he's drowned in the sea.'

* * * * *

Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 6.

1 By Arthur's Dale as late I went I heard a heavy moan; I heard a ladie lammenting sair, And ay she cried Ohone!

2 'Ohon, alas! what shall I do, Tormented night and day! I never loved a love but ane, And now he's gone away.

3 'But I will do for my true-love What ladies woud think sair; For seven year shall come and go Ere a kaim gang in my hair.

4 'There shall neither a shoe gang on my foot, Nor a kaim gang in my hair, Nor eer a coal nor candle-light Shine in my bower nae mair.'

5 She thought her love had been on the sea, Fast sailling to Bee Hom; But he was in a quiet chamer, Hearing his ladie's moan.

6 'Be husht, be husht, my ladie dear, I pray thee mourn not so; For I am deep sworn on a book To Bee Hom for to go.'

7 She has gien him a chain of the beaten gowd, And a ring with a ruby stone: 'As lang as this chain your body binds, Your blude can never be drawn.

8 'But gin this ring shoud fade or fail, Or the stone shoud change its hue, Be sure your love is dead and gone, Or she has proved untrue.'

9 He had no been at Bonny Bee Hom A twelve month and a day, Till, looking on his gay gowd ring, The stone grew dark and gray.

10 'O ye take my riches to Bee Hom, And deal them presentlie, To the young that canna, the auld that maunna, And the blind that does not see.'

11 Now death has come into his bower, And split his heart in twain; So their twa souls flew up to heaven, And there shall ever remain.

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 169.

1 In Lauderdale I chanc'd to walk, And heard a lady's moan, Lamenting for her dearest dear, And aye she cried, Ohon!

2 'Sure never a maid that eer drew breath Had harder fate than me; I'd never a lad but one on earth, They forc'd him to the sea.

3 'The ale shall neer be brewin o malt, Neither by sea nor land, That ever mair shall cross my hause, Till my love comes to hand.

4 'A handsome lad, wi shoulders broad, Gold yellow was his hair; None of our Scottish youths on earth That with him could compare.'

5 She thought her love was gone to sea, And landed in Bahome; But he was in a quiet chamber, Hearing his lady's moan.

6 'Why make ye all this moan, lady? Why make ye all this moan? For I'm deep sworn on a book, I must go to Bahome.

7 'Traitors false for to subdue Oer seas I'll make me boun, That have trepand our kind Scotchmen, Like dogs to ding them down.'

8 'Weell, take this ring, this royal thing, Whose virtue is unknown; As lang's this ring's your body on, Your blood shall neer be drawn.

9 'But if this ring shall fade or stain, Or change to other hue, Come never mair to fair Scotland, If ye're a lover true.'

10 Then this couple they did part, With a sad heavy moan; The wind was fair, the ship was rare, They landed in Bahome.

11 But in that place they had not been A month but barely one, Till he lookd on his gay gold ring, And riven was the stone.

12 Time after this was not expir'd A month but scarcely three, Till black and ugly was the ring, And the stone was burst in three.

13 'Fight on, fight on, you merry men all, With you I'll fight no more; I will gang to some holy place, Pray to the King of Glore.'

14 Then to the chapel he is gone, And knelt most piteouslie, For seven days and seven nights, Till blood ran frae his knee.

15 'Ye'll take my jewels that's in Bahome, And deal them liberallie, To young that cannot, and old that mannot, The blind that does not see.

16 'Give maist to women in child-bed laid, Can neither fecht nor flee; I hope she's in the heavens high, That died for love of me.'

17 The knights they wrang their white fingers, The ladies tore their hair; The women that neer had children born, In swoon they down fell there.

18 But in what way the knight expir'd, No tongue will eer declare; So this doth end my mournful song, From me ye'll get nae mair.

* * * * *

#A.#

10^3. To the young that canna The auld that that maunna.

#B.#

11^3. Till they.

12^4. And stone.

[148] Also 'Bonny Molly Stewart,' Maidment's Scotish Ballads and Songs, 1859, p. 128, and the Reply to 'Cromlet's Lilt,' Maidment's Scotish Ballads and Songs, Historical and Traditionary, 1868, II, 59.

[149] There are six double stanzas in Johnson's Museum, p. 118, to which Stenhouse, IV, 115, adds a concluding one, the fourth of Herd's. "This ballad," Stenhouse was informed, "was composed about the beginning of the last century by a young widow in Galloway, whose husband was drowned on a voyage to Holland." His authority was probably traditional, and all the information except the date, and, to be accurate, the widowhood, is found in the song itself. Motherwell, Minstrelsy, Introduction, p. lxxii, note 37, observes that neither Herd's nor Johnson's copy is so full "as one which may occasionally be met with in stall editions published about sixty years ago:" 1827. Logan, who prints two vulgar versions, or rather perversions, in which a bridegroom is pressed into the king's sea-service on the night of his marriage, Pedlar's Pack, p. 22, says: "A more lengthened version of the same ballad in the Scotch dialect will be found in Book First of A Selection of Scots Songs, Harmonised.... By Peter Urbani, Professor of Music, Edinburgh, circa 1794." Christie, I, 236, says that 'The Lowlands of Holland' was sung in his father's family, in Aberdeenshire, as far back as the middle of the last century. Herd's copy is translated by Talvj, Charakeristik, p. 594.

LAMKIN

#A.# 'Lamkin,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 176.

#B.# 'Lambert Linkin,' Motherwell's MS., p. 15; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 290.

#C.# 'Lamerlinkin,' Motherwell's MS., p. 9.

#D.# 'Bold Rankin,' Maidment's New Book of Old Ballads, p. 73; Whitelaw's Book of Scottish Ballads, p. 246, V.

#E.# 'Lambkin,' Kinloch MSS, V, 246; retouched by Kinloch, II, 27.

#F.# 'Long Lankyn.' #a.# Notes and Queries, Second Series, II, 324. #b.# Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, II, 281.

#G.# 'Long Lonkin,' Richardson's Borderer's Table Book, 1846, VIII, 410; Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1835, p. 11.

#H.# 'Bauld Rankin,' Kinloch MSS, I, 306.

#I.# Skene MSS, p. 75.

#J.# 'Lammikin,' Kinloch MSS, V, 371.

#K.# 'Long Longkin,' Percy Papers, communicated by Rev. P. Parsons, 1775.

#L.# 'Lamkin,' Motherwell's MS., p. 14.

#M.# 'Cruel Lammikin.' #a.# Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, Adversaria, p. 60. #b.# Kinloch MSS, VI, 31.

#N.# 'Lamkin,' Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, Journal of Excursions, No 2.

#O.# 'Lammikin,' Kinloch MSS, V, 375.

#P.# 'Lammikin,' Herd's MSS, I, 25; Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 145.

#Q.# 'Lammikin,' Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 45.

#R.# 'Lammikin,' Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 55.

#S.# 'Lambkin,' Motherwell's Note-Book, fol. 13.

#T.# Recited by Ellen Healy, as sung by a woman living near Killarney.

#U.# 'Lamkin.' #a.# Allingham's Ballad Book, p. xxxiii. #b.# The same, p. 297, No 56.

#V.# Harris MS., No 28, fol. 27b.

'Lammikin: an Old Scotch Ballad,' Aberdeen, Lewis and James Smith, 1862, said to be edited by the Rev. Dr John Burnett Pratt, Episcopal minister at Cruden, Aberdeenshire, is made up of #A#, #B#, #P#, #Q#, #R#, with such alterations as seemed good to the editor, and a few interpolated stanzas.

'Long Lonkin,' edited by A. O. Bell, C. E., York, 1846 (Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, III, 93), I have not seen, but presume it to be a compounded copy.

The story is told without material variation in all the numerous versions. A mason has built a castle for a nobleman, cannot get his pay, and therefore seeks revenge. The name given the builder is Lamkin, #A#, #C#, #E#, #L#, #M#, #N#, #S#, #U#; Lammikin, #J#, #O#, #P#, #Q#; Lankin, Lonkin, #F b#, #G#, #I#; Lantin, #T#; Long Lankyn, or Long Longkin, #F a#, #G#, #K#; Rankin, #D#, #H#; Balankin, or Lambert Linkin, #B#; Balcanqual, #R#. That of the nobleman is Lord Wearie, Weire, #A#, #M#, #P#, #Q#, #U b#; Lord Earie, #N#; Erley, Earley, #J#; Murray, #I#; Arran, #C#; Montgomery, #E#; Cassilis, #S#; he is lord of Prime Castle, #B#. The lord, having occasion to leave his family, fears mischief from the man whom he has wronged, and enjoins his wife to keep the castle well fastened. Precautions are taken, but nevertheless his enemy effects an entrance through some aperture that has not been secured, #B#, #C#, #F#, #G#, #H#, #P#, #R#, #U b#, or by connivance with a nurse, #A#, #D#, #E#, #I#. Most of the servants are away. To get at the lady, Lamkin, as we may call him, by advice of the nurse inflicts some hurt on the babe in the cradle, stabbing it, or "nipping" it, and its cries bring the mother down. The lady proffers large sums of gold to save her life, but Lamkin does not care for gold now. He gloats over his opportunity, and bids the nurse, or a maid-servant, or even one of the daughters of the house, to scour a silver bason to hold the lady's noble blood. The lord has a presentiment of calamity at home, and, returning, finds his house red with the blood of his wife and child. Lamkin is hanged, #B#, #F#, #I#, or burned, #C#, #H#, or boiled in a pot full of lead, #D#. The nurse is burned, #A#, #B#, #D#, #F#, #H#, or hanged, #C#, #Q#, or boiled in a caldron, #I#.[150]

In #K#, the oldest version, except perhaps #P#, which is greatly inferior, Lady Betty is called down by Longkin to see her mother's blood running, then Lady Nelly to see her sister's blood running, Lady Jenny to see Lady Nelly's, etc. In #F#, #T#, the mother, very unnaturally, offers Lamkin her daughter as wife, in ransom of her own life. In #C#, #D#, a servant offers her life for her lady; in #D#, #G#, #K#, a daughter for her mother.

Motherwell remarks, p. lxx of his Minstrelsy, note 27: "There is a 'Lambirkyns wod' near Dupplin, in Perthshire. Can this have got its name from the cruel mason who the ballad assures us 'lived in the wode'? If so, it must be very ancient. It is localized, too, I believe, at Balwearie, in Fifeshire; but there are few places where the ballad is remembered but which have also some ancient edifice in the neighborhood reared by the hands of Lammikin.[151] Indeed, it seems questionable how some Scottish lairds could well afford to get themselves seated in the large castles they once occupied unless they occasionally treated the mason after the fashion adopted in this ballad." And again, at p. 291: "There can be little doubt that the epithet Linkin Mr Lambert acquired from the secrecy and address with which he insinuated him into that notable strength [Prime Castle]. Indeed, all the names of Lammerlinkin, Lammikin, Lamkin, Lankin, Linkin, Belinkin, can easily be traced out as abbreviations of Lambert Linkin." It might be inferred, however, from the mason's seemingly resentful inquiry in #A# 8-11, #J# 3-6, Where's the men, women, bairns, lady, that call me Lamkin? that the view in these particular versions was that Lamkin was a sobriquet applied in derision of the meekness with which the builder had submitted to his injury. Linkin, it will be observed, occurs only in #B#, and it is far more likely that Lamkin, or Lammikin, which is found in a full dozen copies, is a simply ironical designation for the bloody mason, the terror of countless nurseries.[152]

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Talvj, Versuch, etc., p. 571; Allingham's ballad by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 162.

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 176, communicated by Mrs Brown.

1 It's Lamkin was a mason good as ever built wi stane; He built Lord Wearie's castle, but payment got he nane.

2 'O pay me, Lord Wearie, come, pay me my fee:' 'I canna pay you, Lamkin, for I maun gang oer the sea.'

3 'O pay me now, Lord Wearie, come, pay me out o hand:' 'I canna pay you, Lamkin, unless I sell my land.'

4 'O gin ye winna pay me, I here sall mak a vow, Before that ye come hame again, ye sall hae cause to rue.'

5 Lord Wearie got a bonny ship, to sail the saut sea faem; Bade his lady weel the castle keep, ay till he should come hame.

6 But the nourice was a fause limmer as eer hung on a tree; She laid a plot wi Lamkin, whan her lord was oer the sea.

7 She laid a plot wi Lamkin, when the servants were awa, Loot him in at a little shot-window, and brought him to the ha.

8 'O whare's a' the men o this house, that ca me Lamkin?' 'They're at the barn-well thrashing; 'twill be lang ere they come in.'

9 And whare's the women o this house, that ca me Lamkin?' 'They're at the far well washing; 'twill be lang ere they come in.'

10 'And whare's the bairns o this house, that ca me Lamkin?' 'They're at the school reading; 'twill be night or they come hame.'

11 'O whare's the lady o this house, that ca's me Lamkin?' 'She's up in her bower sewing, but we soon can bring her down.'

12 Then Lamkin's tane a sharp knife, that hang down by his gaire, And he has gien the bonny babe a deep wound and a sair.

13 Then Lamkin he rocked, and the fause nourice sang, Till frae ilkae bore o the cradle the red blood out sprang.

14 Then out it spak the lady, as she stood on the stair: 'What ails my bairn, nourice, that he's greeting sae sair?

15 'O still my bairn, nourice, O still him wi the pap!' 'He winna still, lady, for this nor for that.'

16 'O still my bairn, nourice, O still him wi the wand!' 'He winna still, lady, for a' his father's land.'

17 'O still my bairn, nourice, O still him wi the bell!' 'He winna still, lady, till ye come down yoursel.'

18 O the firsten step she steppit, she steppit on a stane; But the neisten step she steppit, she met him Lamkin.

19 'O mercy, mercy, Lamkin, hae mercy upon me! Though you've taen my young son's life, ye may let mysel be.'

20 'O sall I kill her, nourice, or sall I lat her be?' 'O kill her, kill her, Lamkin, for she neer was good to me.'

21 'O scour the bason, nourice, and mak it fair and clean, For to keep this lady's heart's blood, for she's come o noble kin.'

22 'There need nae bason, Lamkin, lat it run through the floor; What better is the heart's blood o the rich than o the poor?'

23 But ere three months were at an end, Lord Wearie came again; But dowie, dowie was his heart when first he came hame.

24 'O wha's blood is this,' he says, 'that lies in the chamer?' 'It is your lady's heart's blood; 'tis as clear as the lamer.'

25 'And wha's blood is this,' he says, 'that lies in my ha?' 'It is your young son's heart's blood; 'tis the clearest ava.'

26 O sweetly sang the black-bird that sat upon the tree; But sairer grat Lamkin, when he was condemnd to die.

27 And bonny sang the mavis, out o the thorny brake; But sairer grat the nourice, when she was tied to the stake.

Motherwell's MS., p. 15; from the recitation of Mrs Thomson, Kilbarchan, February 25, 1825.

1 Balankin was as gude a mason as eer picked a stane; He built up Prime Castle, but payment gat nane.

2 The lord said to his lady, when he was going abroad, O beware of Balankin, for he lyes in the wood.

3 The gates they were bolted, baith outside and in; At the sma peep of a window Balankin crap in.

4 'Good morrow, good morrow,' said Lambert Linkin: 'Good morrow to yoursell, sir,' said the false nurse to him.

5 'O where is your good lord?' said Lambert Linkin: 'He's awa to New England, to meet with his king.'

6 'O where is his auld son?' said Lambert Linkin: 'He's awa to buy pearlings, gin our lady lye in.'

7 'Then she'll never wear them,' said Lambert Linkin: 'And that is nae pity,' said the false nurse to him.

8 'O where is your lady?' said Lambert Linkin: 'She's in her bower sleeping,' said the false nurse to him.

9 'How can we get at her?' said Lambert Linkin: 'Stab the babe to the heart, wi a silver bokin.'

10 'That would be a pity,' said Lambert Linkin: 'No pity, no pity,' said the false nurse to him.

11 Balankin he rocked, and the false nurse she sang, Till all the tores of the cradle wi the red blood down ran.

12 'O still my babe, nurice, O still him wi the knife!' 'He'll no be still, lady, tho I lay doun my life.'

13 'O still my babe, nurice, O still him wi the kame!' 'He'll no be still, lady, till his daddy come hame.'

14 'O still my babe, nurice, O still him wi the bell!' 'He'll no be still, lady, till ye come doun yoursell.'

15 'It's how can I come down, this cauld winter nicht, Without eer a coal, or a clear candle-licht?'

16 'There's two smocks in your coffer, as white as a swan; Put one of them about you, it will shew you licht down.'

17 She took ane o them about her, and came tripping doun; But as soon as she viewed, Balankin was in.

18 'Good morrow, good morrow,' said Lambert Linkin: 'Good morrow to yoursell, sir,' said the lady to him.

19 'O save my life, Balankin, till my husband come back, And I'll gie you as much red gold as you'll hold in your hat.'

20 'I'll not save your life, lady, till your husband come back, Tho you would give me as much red gold as I could hold in a sack.

21 'Will I kill her?' quo Balankin, 'will I kill her, or let her be?' 'You may kill her,' said the false nurse, 'she was neer good to me; And ye'll be laird of the castle, and I'll be ladie.'

22 Then he cut aff her head fram her lily breast-bane, And he hung't up in the kitchen, it made a' the ha shine.

23 The lord sat in England, a drinking the wine: 'I wish a' may be weel with my lady at hame; For the rings of my fingers the're now burst in twain!'

24 He saddled his horse, and he came riding doun, But as soon as he viewed, Balankin was in.

25 He had na weel stepped twa steps up the stair, Till he saw his pretty young son lying dead on the floor.

26 He had not weel stepped other twa up the stair, Till he saw his pretty lady lying dead in despair.

27 He hanged Balankin out over the gate, And he burnt the fause nurice, being under the grate.

Motherwell's MS., p. 9: from Edward King, weaver, Kilbarchan, taken from the recitation of his mother, an old woman.

1 Lamerlinkin, as gude a mason as eer laid a stane, Built a house to Lord Arran, but entrance had nane.

2 Says the lord to his lady, when going abroad, Take care of Lamerlinkin, wha bides in the wood.

3 'I care not for Lamkin, nor none of his kin; My house is plastered outside, and bolted within.'

4 The gates they were locked, baith outside and in, But there was a wee hole that let Lamkin creep in.

5 'Good woman, good woman,' said Lamerlinkin: 'Good woman, good woman,' said the fause nurse to him.

6 'Where's the lord o this house? is he not within?' 'He's up in Old England, he's dining wi the king.'

7 'Where's the lady of this house? or is she not within?' 'She's up in her high room, and cannot come down.'

8 'Where is the maids o this house? or are they not within?' 'They are at the well washing, and cannot get in.'

9 'Where is the men o this house? or are they not within?' 'They are at the barn threshing, and cannot win hame.'

10 'O what will I do, to mak her come doun?' 'We'll kill her auld son, to mak her come doun.'

11 He took out a pen-knife, baith pointed and sharp, And he stabbed the babie three times in the heart.

12 Lamerlinkin did rock, and the fause nurse did sing; Ower the four-cornered cradle the red blood did spring.

13 'O please my babie, nurse, O please him wi wands!' 'He'll no be pleased, madam, for a' his father's lands.'

14 'O please my babie, nurse, O please him wi keys!' 'He'll no be pleased, madam, let me do what I please.'

15 'O please my babie, nurse, O please him with bells!' 'He'll no be pleased, madam, till you come down yoursell.

16 'How can I come doun this cold frosty night, Without coal or candle for to shew me light?'

17 'The gold rings on your finger are bright as the sun; You may see to cum doun the stair with the light o them.'

18 O then she came doun the stair, stepping step by step; So ready was Lamkin to grip her in his lap.

19 'Save my life, Lamkin, till five minutes break, And I'll give thee gold, the fu o a peck.'

20 'I'll no save your life, till five minutes break, Tho thou should give me gold, the fu of a sack.'

21 'O Jeany, O Jeany, O scour the bason clean, That your lady's noble blood may be kepped clean.'

22 'O no, no, no, Lambkin, my heart will be sare; O take my life, Lambkin, let my lady go.'

* * * * * * *

23 He sent for the false nurse, to give her her fee; All the fee that he gave her was to hang her on a tree.

24 He sent for Lamerlinkin, to give him his hire; All the hire that he gave him was to burn him in the fire.

Maidment's New Book of Old Ballads, p. 73, No XX; Whitelaw's Book of Scottish Ballads, p. 246, No V: from a manuscript copy, in the possession of W. H. Logan, Edinburgh, derived from oral tradition.

1 Said the lord to his lady, Beware of Rankin; For I am going to England, to wait on the king.

2 'No fears, no fears,' said the lady, said she, 'For the doors shall be bolted, and the windows pindee.

3 'Go bar all the windows, both outside and in; Don't leave a window open, to let Bold Rankin in.'

4 She has barred all the windows, both outside and in; But she left one of them open, to let Bold Rankin in.

5 'O where is the master of this house?' said Bold Rankin; 'He's up in Old England,' said the false nurse to him.

6 'O where is the mistress of this house?' said Bold Rankin; 'She's up in the chamber sleeping,' said the false nurse to him.

7 'O how shall we get her down?' said Bold Rankin; 'By piercing the baby,' said the false nurse to him.

8 'Go please the baby, nursy, O go please it with a bell;' 'It will not be pleased, madam, till you come down yoursel.'

9 'How can I come down stairs, so late into the night, Without coal or candle, to shew me the light?

10 'There is a silver bolt lies on the chest-head; Give it to the baby, give it sweet milk and bread.'

11 She rammed the silver bolt up the baby's nose, Till the blood it came trinkling down the baby's fine clothes.

12 'Go please the baby, nursie, go please it with the bell:' 'It will not please, madam, till you come down yoursel.

13 'It will neither please with breast-milk, nor yet with pap; But I pray, loving lady, Come and roll it in your lap.'

14 The first step she stepit, she steppit on a stone; And the next step she stepit, she met Bold Rankin.

15 'O Rankin, O Rankin, spare me till twelve o'clock, And I will give you as many guineas as you can carry on your back.'

16 'What care I for as many guineas as seeds into a sack, When I cannot keep my hands off your lily-white neck?'

17 'O will I kill her, nursie, or let her abee?' 'O kill her,' said the false nurse, 'she was never good to me.'

18 'Go scour the bason, lady, both outside and in, To hold your mother's heart's blood, sprung from a noble kin.'

19 'To hold my mother's heart's blood would make my heart full woe; O rather kill me, Rankin, and let my mother go.'

20 'Go scour the bason, servants, both outside and in, To hold your lady's heart's blood, sprung from a noble kin.'

21 'To hold my lady's heart's blood would make my heart full woe; O rather kill me, Rankin, and let my lady go.'

22 'Go scour the bason, nursy, both outside and in, To hold your lady's heart's blood, sprung from a noble kin.'

23 'To hold my lady's heart's blood would make my heart full glad; Ram in the knife, Bold Rankin, and gar the blood to shed.

24 'She's none of my comrades, she's none of my kin; Ram in the knife, Bold Rankin, and gar the blood rin.'

25 'O will I kill her, nursy, or let her abee?' 'O kill her,' said the false nurse, 'she was never good to me.'

* * * * * * *

26 'I wish my wife and family may be all well at home; For the silver buttons of my coat they will not stay on.'

27 As Betsy was looking oer her window so high, She saw her dear father come riding by.

28 'O father, dear father, don't put the blame on me It was false nurse and Rankin that killed your lady.'

29 O was n't that an awful sight, when he came to the stair, To see his fairest lady lie bleeding there!

30 The false nurse was burnt on the mountain hill-head, And Rankin was boiled in a pot full of lead.

Kinloch MSS, V, 246, from Mary Barr.

1 Lambkin was as good a mason as ever laid stone; He builded Lord Montgomery's castle, but payment got none.

2 He builded the castle without and within; But he left an open wake for himself to get in.

3 Lord Montgomery said to his lady, when he went abroad, Take care of Bold Lambkin, for he is in the wood.

4 'Gar bolt the gate, nourice, without and within, Leave not the wake open, to let Bold Lambkin in.'

5 She bolted the gates, without and within, But she left the wake open, to let Bold Lambkin in.

6 'Gude morrow, gude morrow,' says Bold Lambkin then; 'Gude morrow, gude morrow,' says the false nurse to him.

7 'Where is Lord Montgomery? or where is he gone?' 'He is gone up to England, to wait on the king.'

8 'Where are the servants? and where are they gone?' 'They are all up to England, to wait upon him.'

9 'Where is your lady? or where is she gone?' 'She is in her bower sitting, and sewing her seam.'

10 'O what shall we do for to make her come down?' 'We'll kill the pretty baby, that's sleeping so sound.'

11 Lambkin he rocked, and the false nurse she sung, And she stabbed the babe to the heart with a silver bodkin.

12 'O still my babe, nourice, O still him with the pap:' 'He'll no be stilled, madam, for this nor for that.'

13 'O still my babe, nourice, go still him with the keys:' 'He'll no be stilled, madam, let me do what I please.'

14 'O still my babe, nourice, go still him with the bell:' 'He'll no be stilled, madam, till you come down yoursel.'

15 'How can I come down, this cold winter night, When there's neither coal burning, nor yet candle-light?'

16 'The sark on your back is whiter than the swan; Come down the stair, lady, by the light of your hand.'

17 The lady she cam down the stair trip for trap; Who so ready as Bold Lambkin to meet her in the dark?

18 'Gude morrow, gude morrow,' said Bold Lambkin then; 'Gude morrow, gude morrow,' said the lady to him.

19 'O where is Lord Montgomery? or where is he gone?' 'O he is up to England, to wait on the king.'

20 'O where are your servants? or where are they gone?' 'They are all up to England, to wait upon him.

21 'I'll give you as much gold, Lambkin, as you'll put in a peck, If you'll spare my life till my lord comes back.'

22 'Tho you would [give] me as much as I could put in a sack, I would not spare thy life till thy lord comes back.'

23 Lord Montgomery sate in England, drinking with the king; The buttons flew off his coat, all in a ring.

24 'God prosper, God prosper my lady and son! For before I get home they will all be undone.'

#a.# Notes and Queries, Second Series, II, 324, as sung by a nurse nearly a century ago [1856] in Northumberland. #b.# Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, II, p. 281, from Northamptonshire, communicated by Mr B. H. Cowper.

1 Said my lord to his ladye, as he mounted his horse, (bis) Take care of Long Lankyn, who lies in the moss. (bis)

2 Said my lord to his ladye, as he rode away, Take care of Long Lankyn, who lies in the clay.

3 Let the doors be all bolted, and the windows all pinned, And leave not a hole for a mouse to creep in.

4 Then he kissed his fair ladye, and he rode away; He must be in London before break of day.

5 The doors were all bolted, and the windows were pinned, All but one little window, where Long Lankyn crept in.

6 'Where is the lord of this house?' said Long Lankyn: 'He is gone to fair London,' said the false nurse to him.

7 'Where is the ladye of this house?' said Long Lankyn: 'She's asleep in her chamber,' said the false nurse to him.

8 'Where is the heir of this house?' said Long Lankyn: 'He's asleep in his cradle,' said the false nurse to him.

* * * * * * *

9 'We'll prick him, and prick him, all over with a pin, And that will make your ladye to come down to him.'

10 So he pricked him and pricked, all over with a pin, And the nurse held a basin for the blood to run in.

11 'Oh nurse, how you sleep! Oh nurse, how you snore!' And you leave my little son Johnstone to cry and to roar.'

12 'I've tried him with suck, and I've tried him with pap; So come down, my fair ladye, and nurse him in your lap.'

13 'Oh nurse, how you sleep! Oh nurse, how you snore! And you leave my little son Johnstone to cry and to roar.'

14 'I've tried him with apples, I've tried him with pears; So come down, my fair ladye, and rock him in your chair.'

15 'How can I come down, 'tis so late in the night, When there's no candle burning, nor fire to give light?'

16 'You have three silver mantles as bright as the sun; So come down, my fair ladye, by the light of one.'

* * * * * * *

17 'Oh spare me, Long Lankyn, oh spare me till twelve o'clock, You shall have as much gold as you can carry on your back.'

18 'If I had as much gold as would build me a tower,' . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

19 'Oh spare me, Long Lankyn, oh spare me one hour, You shall have my daughter Betsy, she is a sweet flower.'

20 'Where is your daughter Betsy? she may do some good; She can hold the silver basin, to catch your heart's blood.'

* * * * * * *

21 Lady Betsy was sitting in her window so high, And she saw her father, as he was riding by.

22 'Oh father, oh father, don't lay the blame on me; 'Twas the false nurse and Long Lankyn that killed your ladye.'

* * * * * * *

23 Then Long Lankyn was hanged on a gallows so high, And the false nurse was burnt in a fire just by.

Richardson's Borderer's Table Book, VIII, 410, 1846, communicated by Mrs Blackett, Newcastle, as taken down from the recitation of an old woman of Ovington, Northumberland, "several years ago;" previously in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1835, p. 11.

1 The lord said to his ladie, as he mounted his horse, Beware of Long Lonkin, that lies in the moss.

2 The lord said to his ladie, as he rode away, Beware of Long Lonkin, that lies in the clay.

3 'What care I for Lonkin, or any of his gang? My doors are all shut, and my windows penned in.'

4 There were six little windows, and they were all shut, But one little window, and that was forgot.

5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . And at that little window long Lonkin crept in.

6 'Where's the lord of the hall?' says the Lonkin: 'He's gone up to London,' says Orange to him.

7 'Where's the men of the hall?' says the Lonkin: 'They're at the field ploughing,' says Orange to him.

8 'Where's the maids of the hall?' says the Lonkin: 'They're at the well washing,' says Orange to him.

9 'Where's the ladies of the hall?' says the Lonkin: 'They're up in their chambers,' says Orange to him.

10 'How shall we get them down?' says the Lonkin: 'Prick the babe in the cradle,' says Orange to him.

11 'Rock well my cradle, and bee-ba my son; You shall have a new gown when the lord he comes home.'

12 Still she did prick it, and bee-ba she cried: 'Come down, dearest mistress, and still your own child.'

13 'Oh still my child, Orange, still him with a bell:' 'I can't still him, ladie, till you come down yoursell.'

* * * * * * *

14 'Hold the gold basin, for your heart's blood to run in,' . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

15 'To hold the gold basin, it grieves me full sore; Oh kill me, dear Lonkin, and let my mother go.'

Kinloch MSS, I, 306.

1 Bauld Rankin was as gude a mason as eer biggit wi stane; He has biggit a bonny castle, but siller he gat nane.

* * * * * * *

2 'Gae bar the gates,' the lady said, 'gae bar them out and in; Leave not a door open, lest Rankin should come in.'

3 They've bard them on the outer side, sae hae they on the in; But left the cellar-door open, and Bauld Rankin crap in.

4 'Where's a' the women o the house?' says Bauld Rankin: 'They're at the well washing,' says the fause nurse to him.

5 'Where's a' the men of this house?' says the Bauld Rankin: 'They are at the barn thrashing,' says the fause nurse to him.

6 'Where's the lady of this house?' says the Bauld Rankin: 'She's in the chamber, sleeping,' says the fause nurse to him.

7 'How will we get her wakent? how will we get her down?' 'We'll pierce the baby's heart's blood,' says the fause nurse to him.

* * * * * * *

8 'Come, please the babe, nurse, come please it wi the keys:' 'It'll no be pleased, madam, tho I'll down on my knees.'

9 'Come, please the babe, nurse, come, please it wi the knife:' 'It'll no be pleased, madam, should I lay down my life.'

10 'Come, please the babe, nurse, come, please it wi the bell:' 'It'll no be pleased, madam, till ye come down yoursel.'

11 'How can I come down, how can I come, sae late in the night, And neither coal nor candle, for to shew me light?'

12 The first step she steppit, she steppit on a stane; The next step she steppit, she met the Bauld Rankin.

13 'O spare my life, Rankin, O spare it most dear! I'll gie you as monie guineas as birds in the air.

14 'O spare my life, Rankin, O save it most sweet! I'll gie you as monie guineas as there's stanes in the street.'

* * * * * * *

15 'I wish my wife and bairns may be all well at hame; For the buttons on my waistcoat they winna bide on.

16 'I wish my wife and family may be all well at home; For the rings upon my fingers they winna bide on.'

* * * * * * *

17 He has kindled a big bane-fire, in the middle o the closs, And he has burned Bauld Rankin, likewise the fause nurse.

Skene MSS, p. 75, North of Scotland, 1802-03.

1 Lanckin was as guid a mason as ever did use stane; He biggit Lord Murray's house, an payment neer got nane.

2 It fell ance on a day Lord Murray went frae hame, An Lankin came to the fause nourice, . . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

3 'O still my bairn, nourice, still him wi the knife:' 'He winna still, lady, Tho I should lay down my life.'

4 'O still my bairn, nurice, still him wi the bell:' 'He winna still, lady, till ye come down yersel.'

5 The first [step she steppit], she came on the marble stane; The next step [she steppit], she met him Lankin.

6 'O spare my life, Lankin, an I'll gie ye a peck o goud; An that dinna please ye, I'll heap it wi my hand.'

7 'O will I kill the lady, nurice, or will I lat her be?' 'O kill her, Lankin, she was never guid to me.'

8 'O wanted ye yer meat, nurice? or wanted ye yer fee? Or wanted ye the othir bounties ladys are wont to gie?'

9 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 'O kill her, Lankin, she was never guid to me.'

10 'Gae wash a bason, nurice, an ye wash it clean, To cape this ladie's blood; she is come o high kine.'

11 'I winna wash a bason, nor will I wash it clean, To cape this ladie's blood, tho she's come o high kine.'

* * * * * * *

12 Bonny sang yon bird, as he sat upon the tree, But sare grat Lankin, for he was hangit hie.

13 Bonny sang the bird, that sat upon the hill, But sare grat the nurice, whan the caudron gan to boil.

14 . . . . . . . Lankin was hangit hie, And the fause nourice burnt in the caudron was she.

Kinloch MSS, V, 371, in the handwriting of Dr John Hill Burton.

1 O Lammikin was as good a mason as ever bigget stane; He's bigget Lord Erley's castle, but money he got nane.

2 It fell out upon a time Lord Earley went from home; He left his lady in his castle, but and his young son.

* * * * * * *

3 'Where is the lord o this house, that calls me Lammikin?' 'He's on the sea sailing, he will not come home.'

4 'Where are the men o this house, that call me Lammikin?' 'They are at the barn threshing, they will not come in.'

5 'Where are the maids of this house, that call me Lammikin?' 'They are at the well washing, they will not come in.'

6 'Where is the lady o this house, that calls me Lammikin?' 'She's in her room shewing, she will not come down.'

7 'How shall we contrive for to make her come down?' 'We'll stick her dear infant, and make her come down.'

8 O Lammikin he rocket, and the fause nurice sung, While out o the cradle the infant's blude sprung.

9 'O still my bairn, nurice,' the lady did cry: 'He will not still, lady, for you nor for I.'

10 'O still my bairn, nurice, still him wi the wan:' 'He will not still, lady, for a' his father's lan.'

11 'Oh still my bairn, nurice, still him wi the keys:' 'Oh he winna still, lady, for a' his father's leys.'

12 'Oh still my bairn, nurice, still him wi the bell:' 'Oh he winna still, lady, till ye come down yersell.'

13 The firsten step that lady stepped, it was upon a stone; The nexten step that lady stepped, she saw him Lammikin.

14 The nexten step that lady stepped was in her own child's blood, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

15 'Oh will I kill her, nurice, or will I let her be?' 'Kill her, dear Lammikin, she was never gude to me.'

16 'Oh wanted you meat, nurice? or wanted you fee? Or wanted you anything that a lady can gie?'

17 'I wanted no meat, lady, nor wanted I fee, But I wanted mony a thing that a lady could gie.'

* * * * * * *

Communicated to Percy by Rev. P. Parsons, of Wye, near Ashford, Kent, April 19, 1775.

1 My lord said to my lady, when he went from home, Take care of Long Longkin, he lies in the lone.

2 My lady said to my lord, when he went abroad, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

3 'I care not for Longkin, nor none of his kin, For my gate 's fast barrd, and my windows shut in.'

4 My lord was not gone many miles from the place, Untill the false Longkin came straight to the place.

* * * * * * *

5 'Pinch the bairn, nourry, pinch it very sore, Untill the mother shall come down below.'

6 'Still the bairn, nury, still it with the pap:' 'It wont be stilld, madam, with neither this nor that.'

7 'Still the bairn, nury, still it with a bell:' 'It wont be stilld, madam, till you cum down yoursell.'

* * * * * * *

8 'Come down, Lady Betty, the flower of all your kin, And see your mother's heart's blood, so freely running.

9 Down came Lady Betty, her heart full of woe: 'Oh take my life, Longkin, and let my mother go.'

10 'Come down, Lady Nelly, the flower of all your kin, And see your sister's heart's blood, so freely running.'

11 Down came Lady Nelly, her heart full of woe: 'Oh take my life, Longkin, and let my sister go.'

12 'Come down, Lady Jenny, etc.

Motherwell's MS., p. 14, from Mr W. Steele, Greenock.

* * * * * * *

1 'O where's the men of this house?' quo the Lamkin: 'They're in the barn threshing,' quo the false nurse within.

2 'O where's the women of the house?' quo the Lamkin: 'They're at the well washing,' quo the false nurse within.

3 'O where's the lord of this house?' quo the Lamkin: 'He's in the wood hunting,' quo the false nurse within.

4 'O where's the lady of the house?' quo the Lamkin: 'She's in her bower dressing,' quo the false nurse within.

* * * * * * *

5 'O please my babie, nourrice, O please him with the keys:' 'He'll no be pleased, madam, let me do what I please.'

6 'O please my babie, nourrice, O please him with the bell:' 'He'll no be pleased, madam, till ye come down yoursell.'

* * * * * * *

7 There was blood in the chaumer, and blood in the ha, And blood in his ladie's room, which he liked warst of a'.

* * * * * * *

#a.# Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, Adversaria, p. 60, from tradition. #b.# Kinloch MSS, VI, 31, in Dr Robertson's handwriting.

* * * * * * *

1 But it fell out upon a day Lord Wearie was to gae frae hame, And he has left his lady gay In his castell to stay her lane.

* * * * * * *

2 Lamkin rocked, and fausse nourice sang, And a' the four tors o the cradle red blood sprang.

3 'O still my bairn, nourice, O still him wi the wan: 'He winna still, lady, for a' his father's lan.'

4 'O still my bairn, nourice, O still him wi the keys: 'He winna still, lady, for a' his father's leys.'

5 'O still my bairn, nourice, O still him wi the pap:' 'He winna still, lady, for this nor for that.'

6 'O still my bairn, nourice, O still him wi the bell:' 'He winna still, lady, untill ye cum down yersell.'

7 The firsten step she steppet, she stepped on a stane, And the nexten step she stepped, she keppit him fause Lamkin.

8 The thirden step she steppit, she saw her young son's red blood run on, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

9 'Ye've killed my bairn, Lamkin, but lat mysell be; Ye'se be as weel payit a mason as was ever payd a fee.'

Dr Joseph Robertson's Journal of Excursions, 1828-29, No 2.

1 Lamkin was as gude a mason as ever biggit stone; He biggit Laird Earie's house, and payment he got none.

2 O it fell ance upon a day Laird Earie went from home, And Lamkin came cravin his lady alone.

3 'O far's the laird o this place? O neerice, tell me:' 'He's on the sea sailin, O Lamkin,' said she.

4 'O far's the lady o this place? neerice, tell me:' 'She's up the stair dressin, O Lamkin,' said she.

5 'O far's the bairns o this place? neerice, tell me:' 'The're at the scheel... O Lamkin,' said she. 'O will I get a word o her, neerice?' said he.

* * * * * * *

6 The first step that lady steppet she steppd on a stone; The next step that lady stept she met wi Lamkin.

* * * * * * *

7 Ere the basin was washen, or haf made clean, The ladie's heart-bleed was rinnin in the reem.

Kinloch MSS, V, 375, from Mrs Forbes, Milne's Court, Edinburgh, in the handwriting of Robert Chambers.

* * * * * * *

1 'You have two bright diamonds, as bright as the stars, Put one on each finger, they'll show you doun stairs.'

2 The first step this lady took, she dreaded no harm; But the second step this lady took, she was in Lammikin's arms.

3 'Will I kill her, nursie, or will I let her be?' 'Oh yes, kill her, Lammikin, she was never gude to me.'

4 'How can [ye] say so, nursie? how can ye say so? For your head neer did ache but my heart it was sore.

5 'Oh spare my life, nursie, oh spare my life, spare; Ye'll have as mony gowd guineas as there's birds in the air.

6 'Oh spare my life, nursie, till my lord comes back; Ye'll have as mony gowd guineas as the fou of a sack.'

7 'Oh yes kill her and... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

8 'Go scour the silver basin, go scour it fine, For our lady's heart's blude is gentle to tine.

9 'Go scour the silver skewer, oh scour it richt fine, For our lady's heart's blude is gentle to tine.'

Herd's MSS, I, 25.

1 A better mason than Lammikin nevir builded wi the stane, Wha builded Lord Weire's castill, but wages nevir gat nane.

* * * * * * *

2 They stecked doors, they stecked yates, close to the cheik and the chin; They stecked them a' but a little wickit, and Lammikin crap in.

3 'Now where's the lady of this castle? nurse, tell to Lammikin:' 'She's sewing up intill her bowir,' the fals nourrice she sung.

4 'What sall we do, what sall we say, to gar her cum there down?' 'We'll nip the baby in the cradle,' the fals nourrice she sung.

5 Lammikin nipped the bonie babe, while loud fals nourice sings; Lammikin nipped the bony babe, while hich the red blude springs.

6 'O gentil nourice, please my babe, O please him wi the keys:' 'He'll no be pleased, gay lady, gin I'd sit on my knees.'

7 'Gude gentil nourice, please my babe, O please him wi a knife:' 'He winna be pleased, mistress myne, gin I wad lay down my lyfe.'

8 'Sweet nourice, loud, loud cries my babe, O please him wi the bell:' 'He winna be pleased, gay lady, till ye cum down yoursell.'

Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 45.

1 Lammikin was as gude a mason as ever hewed a stane; He biggit Lord Weire's castle, but payment gat he nane.

* * * * * * *

2 'Where are the lads o this castle?' says the Lammikin: 'They are a' wi Lord Weire, hunting,' the false nourice did sing.

3 'Where are the lasses o this castle?' says the Lammikin: 'They are a' out at the washing,' the false nourice did sing.

4 'But where's the lady o this house?' says the Lammikin: 'She is in her bower sewing,' the false nourice did sing.

5 'Is this the bairn o this house?' says the Lammikin: 'The only bairn Lord Weire aughts,' the false nourice did sing.

* * * * * * *

6 'Still my bairn, nourice, O still him if ye can:' 'He will not still, madam, for a' his father's lan.'

7 'O gentle nourice, still my bairn, O still him wi the keys:' 'He will not still, fair lady, let me do what I please.'

8 'O still my bairn, kind nourice, O still him wi the ring:' 'He will not still, my lady, let me do any thing.'

* * * * * * *

9 The first step she stepped, she stepped on a stane; The next step she stepped, she met the Lammikin.

* * * * * * *

10 'O nourice, wanted ye your meat? or wanted ye your fee? Or wanted ye for any thing a fair lady could gie?'

11 'I wanted for nae meat, ladie, I wanted for nae fee; But I wanted for a hantle a fair lady could gie.'

* * * * * * *

12 'I wish a' may be weel,' he says, 'wi my ladie at hame; For the rings upon my fingers are bursting in twain.'

* * * * * * *

13 'There's bluid in my nursery, there's bluid in my ha, There's bluid in my fair lady's bower, an that's warst of a'.'

14 O sweet, sweet sang the birdie, upon the bough sae hie, But little cared false nourice for that, for it was her gallows-tree.

* * * * * * *

Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 55, "from a manuscript formerly written by an old lady."

1 When Sir Guy and his train gaed to hunt the wild boar, He gard bar up his castle, behind and before.

2 And he bade his fair lady guard weel her young son, For wicked Balcanqual great mischief had done.

3 So she closed a' the windows, without and within, But forgot the wee wicket, and Balcanqual crap in.

* * * * * * *

4 Syne Balcanqual he rocked, and fause nourice sang, Till through a' the cradle the baby's blood sprang.

5 'O please the bairn, nourice, and please him wi the keys:' 'He'll no be pleased, madam, for a' that he sees.'

6 And Balcanqual ay rocked, while fause nourice sang, And through a' the cradle the baby's blood ran.

7 'Please the bairn, nourice, and please him wi the knife:' 'He'll no be pleased, madam, tho I'd gie my life.'

8 And Balcanqual still rocked, and fause nourice sang, While through a' the cradle the baby's blood ran.

9 'Now please the bairn, nourice, and please him wi the bell:' 'He'll no be pleased, madam, till ye come yoursell.'

10 Down came this fair lady, tripping down the stair, To see her sick bairn, but returned never mair.

11 'Now scour the bason, Jenny, and scour 't very clean, To haad this lady's blood, for she's of noble kin.'

* * * * * * *

Motherwell's Note-Book, fol. 13.

1 Lambkin was as brave a builder as eer built a stane, And he built Lord Cassillis house, an for payment he gat nane.

2 My lord said to my lady, when he went abroad, Tak care o fause Lamkin, for he sleeps in the wood.

Recited to me by Ellen Healy, January 14, 1881, as sung by Moll Lochnie, a woman of about seventy, at a place near Killarney, before 1867.

1 'Where is the lord? or is he within?' 'He's gone to New England, to dine with the king.'

2 'Where is his horses? or where is his men?' 'They're gone to New England, to wait upon him.'

3 'Where is his lady? or is she within?' 'She's in her bedchamber, all in her lying in.'

4 'Can I get at her, with thousands of lands? Can I get at her, to make her understand?'

5 'You cannot get at her, with thousands of lands; You cannot get at her, to make her understand.'

6 'Lady, come down, and please your child,' . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

7 'Can't you please my child with white bread and breast-wine?' 'O lady, come down, and please him awhile.'

8 'How can I go down, this cold winter's night, Without a fire in the kitchen, or candle to light?'

9 'You've got nine bright lamps, just as bright as the king; Lady, come down, and light one of them.'

10 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . False Lantin he took her so brave in his arms.

11 Saying, Where is your friend, or where is your foe, That will hold the gold basin, your heart's blood to flow?

12 'My nurse is not my friend, my nurse is my foe; She'll hold the gold basin, my heart's blood to flow.

13 'O spare my life for one summer's day, And I'll give you as much money as there's sand in the sea.'

14 'I'll not spare your life for one summer's day, And I wont have as much money as there's sand in the sea.'

15 'O spare me my life until one o'clock, And I'll give you Queen Betsie, the flower of the flock.'

16 'O mama, dear mama, then please him awhile; My dada is coming, he's dressed in great style.'

17 False Lantin he heard the words from the high, Saying, Your mama is dead, and away I will fly.

18 'O dada, dear dada, do not blame me, 'Tis nurse and false Lantin betrayed your ladie.'

19 'I'll bury my mama against the wall, And I'll bury my baba, white all, white all.'

#a.# The Ballad Book, by William Allingham, p. xxxiii, part of a version sung by a nurse in the family of a relative in Ireland. #b.# The same, p. 297, No 56, a compounded version.

1 As my lord and my lady were out walking one day, Says my lord to my lady, Beware of Lamkin.

2 'O why should I fear him, or any such man, When my doors are well barrd, and my windows well pinnd?'

* * * * * * *

3 'O keep your gold and silver, it will do you some good; It will buy you a coffin, when you are dead.'

4 There's blood in the kitchen, and blood in the hall, And the young Mayor of England lies dead by the wall.

Harris MS., No 28, fol. 27 b, Miss Seymour, Lethnot.

I wald be very sorry to wash a basin clean, To haud my mither's heart's blude, that's comin, an I ken.

* * * * *

#C.#

21^2, 22^2. Motherwell suggests ~mother~ for ~lady~.

After 22, "a stanza, forgotten by the reciter, which purported that on the night his lady was murdered, the ring on Lord Arran's finger broke."

#F. b.#

1^1. he got on.

1^2, 2^2. who lives.

3^1. The doors are... windows are.

3^2. There is not... where a mouse can.

4^2. For he.

5^1. the windows all pinned.

5^2. But one: Lankin.

7^2. she's in her high chamber.

8^1. young heir.

9^1. we'll prick him, we'll.

10^1. They pricked him, they.

10^2. false nurse... drop in.

11^2. my son Johnson.

12^2, 14^2, 16^2. Come down.

13. wanting.

14^2. and nurse.

15^2. And there 's no fire burning, nor lamp.

16^2. all by.

17^2. much money.

18. wanting.

19, 20, 21. Nancy.

20^2. golden basin.

22^2, 23^1. Long wanting.

23^2. close by.

#G.#

"A friend of the lady who contributed our copy of this ballad gave a transcript to Miss Landon, who published it in the Drawing Room Scrap Book for 1835, in which, without any authority, she lays the scene of the murder in Cumberland."

Variations in the Drawing Boom Scrap Book: 7^1, 8^1, 9^1. Where are.

11, 13 are given in Halliwell's Nursery Rhymes of England, ed. 1874, p. 212, No 403, with only this variation: 11^2, when ye lord.

#I.#

5^1. marble stane, indistinct in the MS.

7^1. O... her gang.

#K.#

After 4. He was in league with the nurse, who let him in to one of the low rooms.

After 12. Whilst he and the nurse are plundering the house, the lord comes home, and avenges himself upon these wicked villains.

#L.#

2^1. woman.

#M. a.#

After 1. And a' the servants were frae hame; Lamkin made up wi the fauss norice.

2 follows 8.

#b.#

Begins with a stanza very near to #N# 1:

Lamkin was as gude a mason As ever laid a stane, And he has built Lord Wearie a castle. But payment he got nane.

1^1. once upon: Wearie went frae.

2 follows 6.

2^1. Lamkin he rockit and the.

2^2. Till to the four tors o the cradle the.

3^1. a wand.

8 is omitted.

9^2. as eer was paid.

#N.#

6^1. first steppd.

#P.#

Eleven of the nineteen stanzas of Herd's version are spurious, and many of the others have been tampered with. The metre is disturbed or changed.

Stanza 4 is omitted in Herd's printed copy.

After 1 follow:

'Sen ye winnae gie me my guerdon, lord, Sen ye winnae gie me my hyre, Yon proud castle, sae stately built, I sall gar reck wi the fyre.

'Sen ye winna gie me my wages, lord, Ye sall hae caus to rue:' And syne he brewed a black revenge, And syne he vowed a vow.

'Now byde at hame, my luve, my lyfe, I warde ye byde at hame; Oh gang nae to this day's hunting, To leave me a' my lane.

'Yestrene, yestrene, I dreamt my bower Of red, red blude was fu; Gin ye gang to this black hunting, I sall hae caus to rue.'

'Wha looks to dreams, my winsome dame? Ye hae nae caus to feare:' And syne he's kist her comely cheik, And syne the starting teare.

And syne he's gane to the good greene wode, And she to her painted bowir, And she's gard steck doors, windows, yates, Of castle, ha and tower.

_After 8 follow these five stanzas, found also in Herd's MSS, II, 97_:

And when she saw the red, red blude, A loud scrich scriched she: 'O monster, monster, spare the child Wha never skaithed thee.

'O spare, gif in your bluidy briest Albergs not heart of stane; O spare, and ye sall hae of gould What ye can carry hame.'

'Dame, I want not your gowd,' he sayd, 'Dame, I want not your fee; I hae been wronged by your lord, Ye sall black vengence drie.

'Here are nae serfs to guard your halls, Nae trusty spearsmen here; They sound the horn in good greene wode, And chase the doe and deer.

'Tho merry sounds the gude greene wode, Wi huntsmen hounds and horn, Your lord sall rue eer sets yon sun He hes done me skaith and scorn.'

* * * * * * *

For quha, ze, etc., wha, ye are printed.

#Q.#

Of the thirty-five stanzas printed by Finlay, seventeen, or 2, 3, 5-9, 12 (?), 14, 16 (?), 18, 19, 21-25, are derived from Herd's version, #P#, all his spurious verses being retained. There are some variations, due to imperfect recollection. Of the remaining eighteen, 4, 28, 29, 31, 34 are clearly by a modern pen. There are some twelve genuine stanzas, 1, 10, 11, 13, 15, 17, 20, 26, 27, 30, 32, 33, which are independent of Herd. Two more, Finlay's 12, 16, have been left with these because they vary considerably from Herd, and may possibly be traditional. So may the following be, Finlay's 35 and last; but I think it is not.

They carried him a' airts o wind, And mickle pain had he; At last before Lord Weire's gate They hanged him on the tree.

#R.#

This second version of Finlay's has been written over. His fourth stanza and his last six owe nothing to tradition. Finlay himself "restored" the name of Balwearie from a recited copy "in preference to that of Sr. Guy, or Gray, which the MS. bears, as it makes the ballad appear more decidedly local."

After 3:

Then up spak fause nourice: 'haste up to the tower, Somebody knocks at the gate, bauldly and dowr.'

After 11:

She's lifted her baby, and kissed cheek and chin, And his ance rosy lips, but nae breath was within.

'Fare weel, my sweet baby, ye've left me alane; But I see my death coming, I needna make mane.'

They've taen this fair lady, and tied her wi bands, And in her sweet heart's blood they've dipped their hands.

For Balcanqual and nourice had vowd her to slae, Because their ill deeds made Balwearie their fae.

Balwearie and his train cam hame weary at een, Nae voice gied them welcome, nae light could be seen.

'Open, dear lady, my castle to me:' Nae voice gied an answer, nae voice was to gie.

#S.#

"Lambkin.... 27 stanzas."

#T.#

After 5: "The nurse said this, and the false Lantin stabbed the baby. He bribed the nurse to make the lady come down and please the child. It told how he stabbed the baby, what kind of knife he had, and how he put it through the baby."

#U. b.#

Allingham's copy is principally composed of 14 stanzas of #A#, 9 of #G#, 5 of #Q#, 1 of #B#. So much of the following stanzas as is in larger type may be regarded as derived, partially or wholly, from the "copy taken down from the mouth of an Irish nurse in the family of a relative of the editor."

6 What care I for Lamkin, or any of his gang? I'll keep my doors weel guarded, my windows all pennd in.'

7 When all the doors were guarded, and all the windows shut, There was still one little window, and that one was forgot.

13 'And how are we to bring her down?' says the Lamkin: 'Pinch the babe in the cradle here,' says the fause nourice to him.

18 The first step the lady stepped, she stepped on a stane; The last step the lady stepped, there she met Lamkin.

19 'O mercy, mercy, Lamkin, have mercy upon me! O harm ye not my little son, I pray you let him be.'

23 Lord Weare he sat in England, a drinking o the wine; He felt his heart fu heavy at this very same time.

25 He sailed in his bonny ship upon the saut sea-faem; He leapd up on his horse and swiftly he rade hame.

27 'O whas blude is this,' he says, 'that lies in the bower?' 'It is your lady's heart's blude, where Lamkin he slew her.'

[150] Of boiling to death see Ducange, Caldariis decoquere, and other places cited by Robertson, Materials for the History of Thomas Becket, I, xxxii, note, and 128. This was especially a punishment for coiners, and was sanctioned as the penalty for poisoners by a statute of 22 Henry VIII, c. 29, repealed 1 Edward VI.

[151] More about the locality in Notes and Queries, First Series, II, 270.

[152] "Balcanquel is an ancient Scottish surname, and is sometimes corrupted, for the more agreeable sound, into Beluncan. All reciters agree that Lammikin, or Lambkin, is not the name of the hero, but merely an epithet." Finlay, Scottish Ballads, II. 56.

YOUNG WATERS

Percy's Reliques, 1765, II, 172.

Percy took this ballad "from a copy printed not long since at Glasgow, in one sheet 8vo," and he informs us that the world was indebted for its publication to the Lady Jean Hume, sister to the Earl of Hume. Maidment, Scotish Ballads and Songs, Historical and Traditionary, II, 62, gives the title of the first edition as follows: Young Waters, an Ancient Scotish Poem, never before printed. Glasgow: printed and sold by Robert and Andrew Foulis. MDCCLV. Small 4to, pp. 8. He does not say whether he prints from the original edition. The ballad was repeated in Herd's Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 238; in Ritson's Scotish Song, 1794, II, 181, with the variation of a word or two; and in Pinkerton's Select Scotish Ballads, 1783, I, 72, with arbitrary changes.

Motherwell, Minstrelsy, Introduction, p. lxviii, note 16, says he had never met with any traditionary version of this ballad. There is a copy in the Skene MSS, p. 23, which in all likelihood was learned by the writer from print. Buchan, who may generally be relied upon to produce a longer ballad than anybody else, has 'Young Waters' in thirty-nine stanzas, "the only complete version which he had ever met." Of this copy I will only say that everything which is not in the edition of 1755 (itself a little the worse for editing) is a counterfeit of the lowest description. Nevertheless it is given in an appendix; for much the same reason that thieves are photographed.

It is possible, and Aytoun, I, 93, thinks highly probable, that this ballad may have been founded on some real event in Scottish history; but Aytoun shows a commendable discretion in his conclusion that, "though various conjectures have been hazarded as to its origin, none appear sufficiently plausible to warrant their adoption," an opinion in which Maidment fully concurs. Chambers, who unhesitatingly accepted Buchan's ballad, did not, in 1829, entertain the least doubt that Young Waters was one of the Scottish nobles executed by James I after his return from his captivity in England, and very probably Walter Stuart, second son of the Duke of Albany: The Scottish Ballads, p. 34. Thirty years later he had no more doubt that the ballad was composed by Lady Wardlaw.

A Scandinavian ballad, historical to the extent that one version has historical names, exhibits the principal incidents of the short story of 'Young Waters.' #Danish.# 'Folke Lovmandsøn og Dronning Helvig,' texts of the 16th century, Grundtvig, III, 691, No 178, #A-D#.[153] #Swedish.# #A#, 'Falkvard Lagermanson,' tradition of this century, Arwidsson, II, 62, No 80. #B#, manuscript of the last century, Grundtvig, III, 697. The king and queen, Danish #B#, are Magnus I of Sweden and his wife Helvig (died 1290, 1325). Folke Lovmandsøn is in high favor with dames and maids, but especially with the queen, to whose service he is devoted. A little wee page plays the part of the wily lord of 'Young Waters' in exciting the king's jealousy. The innocent young knight is rolled down hill in a tun set with knives.

Translated by Grundtvig, No 7, p. 48; Herder, II, 68; Döring, p. 383; Allingham's copy by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 8, p. 33; Buchan's by Gerhard, p. 8.

1 About Yule, when the wind blew cule, And the round tables began, A there is cum to our king's court Mony a well-favourd man.

2 The queen luikt owre the castle-wa, Beheld baith dale and down, And then she saw Young Waters Cum riding to the town.

3 His footmen they did rin before, His horsemen rade behind; Ane mantel of the burning gowd Did keip him frae the wind.

4 Gowden-graithd his horse before, And siller-shod behind; The horse Young Waters rade upon Was fleeter than the wind.

5 Out then spake a wylie lord, Unto the queen said he, 'O tell me wha's the fairest face Rides in the company?'

6 'I've sene lord, and I've sene laird, And knights of high degree, But a fairer face than Young Waters Mine eyne did never see.'

7 Out then spack the jealous king, And an angry man was he: 'O if he had been twice as fair, You micht have excepted me.'

8 'You 're neither laird nor lord,' she says, 'Bot the king that wears the crown; There is not a knight in fair Scotland But to thee maun bow down.'

9 For a' that she could do or say, Appeasd he wad nae bee, Bot for the words which she had said, Young Waters he maun dee.

10 They hae taen Young Waters, And put fetters to his feet; They hae taen Young Waters, And thrown him in dungeon deep.

11 'Aft I have ridden thro Stirling town In the wind bot and the weit; Bot I neir rade thro Stirling town Wi fetters at my feet.

12 'Aft have I ridden thro Stirling town In the wind bot and the rain; Bot I neir rade thro Stirling town Neir to return again.'

13 They hae taen to the heiding-hill His young son in his craddle, And they hae taen to the heiding-hill His horse bot and his saddle.

14 They hae taen to the heiding-hill His lady fair to see, And for the words the queen had spoke Young Waters he did dee.

* * * * *

Quhen, zoung, etc., are printed when, young.

3^3. And corrected to Ane in the second edition of the Reliques.

5^1. But. Ritson, Maidment, Out.

10^{1, 3}. Waters and: and is carried on to the following line.

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The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 2 (of 5) (part 3 of 5)

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The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 2 (of 5) (part 3 of 5)