Appendix

Appendix

FLODDEN FIELD

#a.# ‘Flodden Ffeilde,’ Percy MS., p. 117; Hales and Furnivall, I, 313. #b.# Harleian MS. 293, fol. 55. #c.# Harleian MS. 367, fol. 120.

A text made from #b# and #c# is printed by Weber, Flodden Field, p. 366, and by R. H. Evans, Old Ballads, 1810, III, 58. #b#, #c# lack all that follows 102 except 103, with which all three copies alike end. This stanza makes a natural conclusion to the vindication of Lancashire, Cheshire and the Earl of Derby, and what intervenes in #a#, after 102, seems to be an interpolation. Nevertheless I have preferred to give the Percy text (though the others are not inferior to it, and possess the unity which has to be brought about in this case by transferring the last stanza), on account of the pleasing story How Rowland Egerton came to the lordship of Ridley, 107–119, which would make no bad ballad by itself.

At the battle of Flodden, the right wing of the van, commanded by Sir Edmund Howard, the third son of the Earl of Surrey, was routed by the Scots under Lord Home, Chamberlain of Scotland, and the Earl of Huntly. “Edmund Howard had with him a thousand Cheshire men, and five hundred Lancashire men, and many gentlemen of Yorkshire, on the right wing of the lord Howard; and the Lord Chamberlain of Scotland, with many lords, did set on him, and the Cheshire and Lancashire men never abode stroke, and few of the gentlemen of Yorkshire abode, but fled.... And the said Edmund Howard was thrice felled, and to his relief the lord Dacre came, with fifteen hundred men.”[219] On the other hand, the Cheshire and Lancashire men of the extreme left, under command of Sir Edward Stanley, discomfited the Scottish division of Lennox and Argyle. King Henry received the news of the victory while he was lying before Tournay, “and highly praised the Earl, and the Lord Admiral and his son, and all the gentlemen and commons that were at that valiant enterprise; howbeit, the king had a secret letter that the Cheshire men fled from Sir Edmund Howard, which letter caused great heart-burning and many words; but the king thankfully accepted all thing, and would no man to be dispraised.”[220]

This poem, a history in the ballad style, was composed to vindicate the behavior of Lancashire and Cheshire at Flodden, and to glorify the Stanleys;[221] in the accomplishment of which objects it becomes incumbent upon the minstrel to expose the malice of the Earl of Surrey, to whom he imputes the “wrong writing” which caused such heart-burning.

The Earl of Surrey sends a letter by a herald to King Henry, then at Tournay. The king asks the news before he breaks the seal, and who fought and who fled. The herald answers that King James is slain, and that Lancashire and Cheshire fled; no man of the Earl of Derby’s durst face the foe. The king opens the letter, which confirms the herald’s report, and calls for the Earl of Derby. Sir Ralph Egerton suggests that if Lancashire and Cheshire fled, it must have been because they had a Howard, and not a Stanley, for their captain. The Earl of Derby comes before the king, and says the same; let him have Lancashire and Cheshire, and he will burn up all Scotland and conquer to Paris gate. The king says cowards will fight to retrieve what they have lost. We were never cowards, rejoins Derby; who brought in your father at Milford Haven? (It was not precisely the Stanleys.) The king turns away; the Duke of Buckingham is ready to lay his life that all this comes from a false writing of the Earl of Surrey.[222] Derby is not to be comforted, and breaks out in farewells to all his kith and kin, Edward Stanley, John Stanley, and many more; they must be slain, for they never would flee. The Earl of Shrewsbury bids him take heart; Derby goes on with farewells to Lancaster, Latham, and all familiar places. In the midst of his exclamations, James Garsed, “Long Jamie,” a yeoman of the guard, comes flying to the Earl of Derby for protection: he had killed two men, and wounded three. Derby’s intercession can do only harm now, but he will ask friends to speak for Jamie. A messenger arrives from the king ordering Long Jamie to be delivered up; he is to be hanged. Buckingham takes Jamie by one arm and Shrewsbury takes him by the other, and with Derby in front and many gentlemen following, they go to the king. Welcome, dukes and earls, says the king, but most welcome of all our traitor, Long Jamie! Jamie, how durst thou show thyself in our presence after slaying thy brethren? Jamie explains that his fellows had called him coward, and bidden him flee to that coward the Earl of Derby. The Earl of Derby had befriended him when he was little and maintained him till he was able to shoot. Then one day a Scottish minstrel brought King Henry a bow which none of his guard could bend. Jamie shot seven times with it, and the eighth time broke it; then told the Scot to pick up the pieces and take them to his king; upon which Henry had made him yeoman of the guard, thanks to His Grace and to the Earl of Derby who had brought him up. And now, to have the earl taunted, to be false to the man who had been true to him—he had rather die. Stand up, Jamie, says the King; have here my charter; but let there be no more fighting while you are in France. Then you must grant me one thing, says Jamie—that he that abuses Lancashire or Cheshire shall die; and the king commands proclamation to be made that any man abusing Lancashire or Cheshire shall have his judgment on the next tree. The next morning comes a messenger from the queen wishing the king joy, for his brother-in-law, King Jamie, is slain. Henry asks again, Who fought and who fled? “Lancashire and Cheshire have done the deed,” is the reply; “had not the Earl of Derby been true to thee, England had been in great hazard.” The king on the moment promotes Edward and John Stanley and ‘Rowland’ Egerton, who had fought with Edward. Buckingham runs for Derby, and the king welcomes the earl, and returns to him all that he had taken from him. But one thing grieveth me still, says Derby—to have been called coward yesterday. “It was a wrong writing that came from the Earl of Surrey,” says the king, “but I shall teach him to know his prince.” Derby asks no more than to be judge over Surrey, and the king makes him so; as he says, so it shall be. “Then his life is saved,” says the earl; “if my uncle slew his father” (but, as before said, there was no occasion for uneasiness on that score), “he would have taken vengeance on me.” And so the glory is all shifted to Derby, and nothing remains for Surrey.

The minstrel goes on to speak of the surrender of Tournay, and then of an essay of the king’s to reward an Egerton for good service done.[223] Egerton would be glad to have his reward in Cheshire. The king has nothing there to give but five mills at Chester; Egerton does not wish to be called a miller. The king offers the forest of Snowdon; Egerton, always kneeling on his knee, does not wish to be called a ranger. Nothing will please thee, Egerton, says the king; but Egerton asks for Ridley in Cheshire, and gets it.

The last twelve verses profess to enumerate Henry Eighth’s victories in France: ‘Hans and Gynye’ (neither of which I recognize, unless Gynye stands for Guinegatte, the Battle of the Spurs), Tournay and Thérouanne, these in the campaign of 1513, and Boulogne and Montreuil[224] during the invasion of 1544.

1 Now let vss talke of [the] Mount of Flodden, Fforsooth such is our chance, And let vs tell what tydings the Ear[l]e of Surrey Sent to o_u_r k_ing_ into France.

2 The earle he hath a writting made, And sealed it w_i_th his owne hand; From the Newcastle vpon Tine The herald passed from the land.

3 And after to Callice hee arriued, Like a noble leed of high degree, And then to Turwin soone he hyed, There he thought to haue found K_ing_ Henery.

4 But there the walls were beaten downe, And our English soldiers therin laine; Sith to Turnay the way hee nume, Wheras lay the emperour of Almaine, And there he found the k_ing_ of England, Blessed Iesus, p_re_serve _tha_t name!

5 When the herald came before o_u_r k_ing_, Lowlye he fell downe on his knee, And said, Christ, christen k_ing_, _tha_t on the cross dyed, Noble K_ing_ Henery, this day thy speed may bee!

6 The first word _tha_t the prince did minge, Said, Welcome, herald, out of England, to me! How fares my leeds? how fares my lords? My knights, my esq_uie_rs, in their degree?

7 ‘Heere greeteth you well yo_u_r owne leae_tena_nt, The Honorable Erle of Surrey; He bidds you in Ffrance to venter yo_u_r chance, For slaine is yo_u_r brother, K_ing_ Iamye, And att louelie London you shall him finde, My comelye prince, in the p_re_sence of thee.’

8 Then bespake our comlye king, Said, Who did fight and who did flee? And who bore him best of the Mount of Fflodden? And who was false, and who was true to me?

9 ‘Lancashire and Cheshire,’ sayd the messenger, ‘Cleane they be fled and gone; There was nere a man that longd to the Er_le_ of Darby _Tha_t durst looke his enemyes vpon.’

10 S[t]ill in a study stood o_u_r noble k_ing_, And tooke the writting in his hand; Shortlye the seale he did vnclose, And readilye he read as he found.

11 Then bespake our comlye k_ing_, And called vpon his chiualree, And said, Who will feitch me the K_ing_ of Man, The Honno_ra_bl_e_ Thomas Erle of Darbye?

12 He may take Lancashire and Cheshire, _Tha_t he hath called the cheefe of chiualree; Now falsely are they fled and gone, Neuer a one of them is true to mee!

13 Then bespake S_i_r Raphe Egerton, the k_night_, And lowlye kneeled vpon his knee, And said, My soueraigne lo_rd_, K_ing_ Henery, If it like yo_u_r Grace to pardon mee,

14 If Lancashire and Cheshire be fled and gone, Of those tydings wee may be vnfaine; But I dare lay my life and lande It was for want of their capt_aine_.

15 For if the Erle of Derby our capt_aine_ had beene, And vs to lead in our arraye, Then noe Lancashire man nor Cheshire _Tha_t euer wold haue fled awaye.

16 ‘Soe it prooued well,’ said our noble k_ing_, ‘By him _tha_t deerlye dyed vpon a tree! Now when wee had the most neede, Falslye they serued then to mee.’

17 Then spake W_illia_m Brewerton, k_night_, And lowlye kneeled his prince before, And sayd, My soueraigne k_ing_, Henery the Eighth, If yo_u_r Grace sett by vs soe little store,

18 Wheresoeuer you come in any feild to fight, Set the Earle of Darby and vs before; Then shall you see wether wee fight or flee, Trew or false whether we be borne.

19 Compton rowned w_i_th our k_ing_, And said, Goe wee and leaue the cowards right; ‘Heere is my gloue to thee,’ q_uo_th Egerton, ‘Compton, if thou be a k_nigh_t.

20 ‘Take my gloue, and w_i_th me fight, Man to man, if thou wilt turne againe; For if our prince were not p_re_sent right, The one of vs two shold be slaine,

21 ‘And neu_er_ foote beside the ground gone Vntill the one dead shold bee.’ Our prince was moued theratt anon, And returned him right teenouslye.

22 And to him came on the other hand The Honno_ra_ble Erle of Darbye; And when he before our prince came, He lowlye kneeled vpon his knee,

23 And said, Iesu Christ, _tha_t on the crosse dyed, This day, noble Henery, thy speed may bee! The first word _tha_t the k_ing_ did speake, Sayd, Welcome, K_ing_ of Man and Erle of Darbye!

24 How likest thou Cheshire and Lancashire both, W_hi_ch were counted cheefe of chiualree? Falslye are they fled and gone, And neu_er_ a one is trew to mee.

25 ‘If _tha_t be soe,’ said the erle free, ‘My leege, therof I am not faine; My comlye prince, rebuke not mee, I was not there to be there capt_aine_.

26 ‘If I had beene their capt_aine_,’ the erle said then, ‘I durst haue layd both liffe and land He neu_er_ came out of Lancashire nor Cheshire That wold haue fledd beside the ground.

27 ‘But if it like yo_u_r noble Grace A litle boone to grant itt mee, Lett me haue Lancashire and Cheshire both, I desire noe more helpe trulye;

28 ‘If I ffayle to burne vp all Scottland, Take me and hang me vpon a tree! I, I shall conquer to Paris gate, Both comlye castles and towers hye.

29 ‘Wheras the walls beene soe stronge, Lancashire and Cheshire shall beate them downe.’ ‘By my fathers soule,’ sayd our k_ing_, ‘And by him _tha_t dyed on the roode,

30 ‘Thou shalt neu_er_ haue Lancashire nor Cheshire right Att thy owne obedyence for to bee! Cowards in a feild felly will fight Againe to win the victorye.’

31 ‘Wee were neu_er_ cowards,’ said the erle, ‘By him _tha_t deerlye dyed on tree! Who brought in yo_u_r father att Milford Hauen? K_ing_ Henery the Seuenth forsooth was hee.

32 ‘Thorow the towne of Fortune wee did him bring, And soe convayd him to Shrewsburye, And soe crowned him a noble k_ing_; And Rich_ard_ _tha_t day wee deemed to dye.’

33 Our prince was greatlye moued at _tha_t worde, And returned him hastilye againe; To comfort the erle came on the other hande The doughtye Edward, Duk of Buckingam.

34 ‘Plucke vp thy hart, brother Stanlye, And lett nothing greeiue thee! For I dare lay my liffe to wedd It is a false writing of the Erle of Surrey.

35 ‘Sith K_ing_ Rich_ard_ felle, he neu_er_ loued thee, For thy vnckle slue his father deere, And deerlye deemed him to dye; S_i_r _Christ_opher Savage his standard away did beare.’

36 ‘Alas, brother,’ sayd the Erle of Darbye, ‘Woe be the time _tha_t I was made k_nigh_t, Or were ruler of any lande, Or euer had manhood in feild to fight!

37 ‘Soe bold men in battle as were they, Forsooth had neither lo_rd_ nor swaine; Ffarwell my vnckle, S_i_r Ed_ward_ Stanley! For well I wott _tha_t thou art slaine.

38 ‘Surelye whiles thy liffe wold last Thou woldest neu_er_ shrinke beside the plaine; Nor Iohn Stanley, _tha_t child soe younge; Well I wott _tha_t thou art slaine.

39 ‘Ffarwell Kighlye! coward was thou neu_er_; Old S_i_r Henery, the good k_nigh_t, I left the[e] ruler of Latham, To be [my] deputye both day and night.

40 ‘Ffarwell Townlye, _tha_t was soe true! And _tha_t noble Ashton of Middelton! And the sad Southwarke, _tha_t eu_er_ was sure! For well I wott _tha_t thou art gone.

41 ‘Farwell Ashton vnde[r] Line! And manlye Mullenax! for thou art slaine; For doubtlesse while yo_u_r liues wold last You wold never shun beside the plaine.

42 ‘Ffarwell Adderton w_i_th the leaden mall! Well I know thow art deemed to dye; I may take my leaue att you all; The flower of manhoode is gone from mee.

43 ‘Ffarwell S_i_r John Booth of Barton, k_nigh_t! Well I know _tha_t thou art slaine; While thy liffe wold last to fight, Thou wold neu_er_ be-sids the plaine.

44 ‘Ffarwell Butler, and S_i_r Bode! Sure you haue beene eu_er_ to mee; And soe I know _tha_t [still] you wold, If _tha_t vnslaine you bee.

45 ‘Ffarwell _Christ_opher Savage, the wighte! Well I know _tha_t thou art slaine; For whiles thy life wold last to fight, Thou wold neuer besids the plaine.

46 ‘Ffarwell Dutton, and S_i_r Dane! You haue beene eu_er_ trew to mee; Ffarwell the Baron of Kinderton! Beside the feild thou wold not flee.

47 ‘Ffarwell Ffitton of Gawsworth! Either thou art taken or slaine; Doubtelesse while thy life wold last, Thou wold neuer beside the plaine.’

48 As they stood talkinge together there, The duke and the erle trulye, Came ffor to comfort him th[e] trew Talbott, And the noble Erle of Shrewsburye.

49 ‘Plucke vp thy hart, sonne Tho_mas_, and be merry, And let noe tydings greeve thee! Am not I godfather to our k_ing_? My owne god-sonne forsooth is hee.’

50 He tooke the Duke of Buckingam by the arme, And the Erle of Sh[r]ewsburye by the other: ‘To p_ar_t w_i_th you it is my harme; Farwell, my father and my brother!

51 ‘Farwell Lancaster, _tha_t litle towne! Farwell now for euer and aye! Many pore men may pray for my soule When they lye weeping in the lane.

52 ‘Ffarwell Latham, _tha_t bright bower! Nine towers thou beares on hye, And other nine thou beares on the outer walls; W_i_thin thee may be lodged k_ing_s three.

53 ‘Ffarwell Knowsley, _tha_t litle tower Vnderneth the holtes soe hore! Eu_er_ when I thinke on _tha_t bright bower, Wite me not though my hart be sore.

54 ‘Ffarwell Tocstaffe, _tha_t trustye _par_ke, And the fayre riuer _tha_t runes there beside, There I was wont to chase the hinde and hart! Now therin will I neu_er_ abide.

55 ‘Ffarwell bold Birkhead! there was I boorne, Within the abbey and that monesterye; The sweet covent for mee may mourne; I gaue to you the tythe of Beeston, trulye.

56 ‘Ffarwell Westchester for eu_er_more! And the Watter Gate! it is my owne; I gaue a mace for the serieant to weare, To waite on the maior, as it is knowne.

57 ‘Will I neu_er_ come _tha_t citye w_i_thin; But, sonne Edw_ard_, thou may clayme it of right: Ffarwell Westhardin! I may thee [call] myn, K_nigh_t and lord I was of great might.

58 ‘Sweete sonne Edw_ard_, white bookes thou make, And eu_er_ haue pittye on the pore cominaltye! Ffarwell Hope and Hopedale! Mould and Moulesdale, God be w_i_th thee! I may take leaue with a sorry cheere, For w_i_thin thee will I neuer bee.’

59 As they stoode talking together there, The duke and the lords trulye, Came Iamie Garsed, a yeman of the guard, _Tha_t had beene brought vp w_i_th the Erle of Derbye; Like the devill w_i_th his fellowes he had fared, He s[t]icked two, and wounded three.

60 After, w_i_th his sword drawen in his hand, He fled to the noble Earle of Derbye: ‘Stand vp, Iamye!’ the erle said, ‘These tydings nothing liketh mee.

61 ‘I haue seene the day I cold haue saued thee, Such thirty men if thou hads slaine, And now if I shold speake for thee, Sure thow weret to be slaine.

62 ‘I will once desire my bretheren eche one _Tha_t they will speake for thee.’ He prayd the Duke of Buckingam, And alsoe the Erle of Shrewsburye,

63 Alsoe my lo_rd_ Fitzwater soe wise, And the good Lo_rd_ Willowbye, S_i_r Rice Ap Thomas, a k_nigh_t of price; They all spoke for Long Iamye.

64 They had not stayd but a litle while there, The duke and the erles in their talkinge, But straight to the erle came a messenger, _Tha_t came latelye from the k_ing_,

65 And bad _tha_t Long Iamie shold be sent; There shold neither be grith nor grace, But on a boughe he shold be hanged, In middest the feild, before the erles face.

66 ‘If _tha_t be soe,’ said the Erle of Derbye, ‘I trust our prince will better bee; Such tydings maketh my hart full heavye Afore his Grace when _tha_t wee bee.’

67 The Duke of Buckingam tooke Iamie by the one arme, And the Erle of Shrewsburye by the other; Afore them they put the K_ing_ of Man, It was the Erle of Darbye and noe other.

68 The lo_rd_ Fitzwater followed fast, And soe did the lo_rd_ Willowbyghe; The comfortable Cobham mad great hast; All went w_i_th the noble Erle of Derbye.

69 The hind Hassall hoved on fast, W_i_th the lusty Lealand trulye; Soe did S_i_r Alex_ander_ Osbaston, Came in w_i_th the Erle of Derbye.

70 The royall Ratcliffe, _tha_t rude was neu_er_, And the trustye Trafford, keene to trye, And wight Warburton, out of Cheshire, All came w_i_th the Erle of Darbye.

71 S_i_r Rice ap Thomas, a k_nigh_t of Wales, Came w_i_th a feirce menye; He bent his bowes on the bent to abyde, And cleane vnsett the gallow-tree.

72 When they came afore our k_ing_, Lowlye they kneeled vpon their knees; The first word _tha_t our prince did myn, ‘Welcome, dukes and erles, to mee!

73 ‘The most welcome hither of all Is our owne traitor, Long Iamie: Iamie, how durst thou be soe bold As in our p_re_sence for to bee?

74 ‘To slay thy bretheren w_i_thin their hold! Thou was sworne to them, and they to thee.’ Then began Long Iamie to speake bold: ‘My leege, if it please yo_u_r Grace to pardon mee,

75 ‘When I was to my supp_er_ sett, They called me coward to my face, And of their talking they wold not lett, And thus w_i_th them I vpbrayded was.

76 ‘The bade me flee from them apace To _tha_t coward the Erle of Derbye! When I was litle, and had small grace, He was my helpe and succour trulye.

77 ‘He tooke [me] from my father deere, And keeped me w_i_thin his woone Till I was able of my selfe Both to shoote and picke the stone.

78 ‘Then after, vnder Grenwich, vpon a day A Scottish minstrell came to thee, And brought a bow of yew to drawe, And all the guard might not stirr _tha_t tree.

79 ‘Then the bow was giuen to the Erle of Derbye, And the erle deliuered it to mee; Seven shoots before yo_u_r face I shott, And att the eighth in sunder it did flee.

80 ‘Then I bad the Scott bow downe his face, And gather vp the bow, and bring it to his k_ing_; Then it liked yo_u_r noble Grace Into yo_u_r guard for me to bring.

81 ‘Sithen I haue liued a merry liffe, I thanke yo_u_r Grace and the Erle of Darbye; But to haue the erle rebuked thus, _Tha_t my bringer-vp forsooth was hee,

82 ‘I had rather suffer death,’ he said, ‘Then be false to the erle _tha_t was true to me.’ ‘Stand vp Iamie!’ said our k_ing_, ‘Haue heere my charter, I giue it thee.

83 ‘Let me haue noe more fighting of thee Whilest thou art w_i_thin Ffrance lande.’ ‘Then one thing you must grant,’ said Iamie, ‘_Tha_t yo_u_r word theron may stand:

84 ‘Whosoe rebuketh Lancashire or Chesshire Shortlye shall be deemed to dye.’ Our k_ing_ comanded a cry i-wis To be p_ro_claimed hastilye.

85 ‘If the dukes and erles kneele on their knees, Itt getteth on sturr the comonaltye; If wee be vpbrayded thus, Manye a man is like to dye.’ The k_ing_ said, He _tha_t rebuket Lancashire or Cheshire Shall haue his iudgment on the next tree.

86 Then soe they were in rest For the space of a night, as I weene, And on the other day, w_i_thout leasinge, There came a messenger from the q_ueene_.

87 And when he came before our k_ing_, Lowlye he kneeled vpon his knee, And said, Chr[i]st thee saue, our noble k_ing_, And thy speed this day may bee! Heere greeteth thee well thy loue and liking, And our honorable q_ueene_ and ladye,

88 And biddeth you in Ffrance to be glad, For slaine is yo_u_r brother-in-law K_ing_ Iamie, And att louelye London he shalbe found, My comlye prince, in the p_re_sence of thee.

89 Then bespake our comlye prince, Saiinge, Who did fight and who did flee? And who bare them best of the Mount of Fflodden? And who is false, and who is true to mee?

90 ‘Lancashire and Cheshire,’ said the messenger, ‘They haue done the deed w_i_th their hand; Had not the Erle of Derbye beene to thee true, In great aduenture had beene all England.’

91 Then bespake our prince on hye, ‘S_i_r Raphe Egertton, my marshall I make thee; S_i_r Edward Stanley, thou shalt be a lo_rd_, Lord Mounteagle thou shalt bee.

92 ‘Yonge Iohn Stanley shalbe a k_nigh_t, And he is well worthy for to bee.’ The Duke of Buckingham the tydings hard, And shortlye ran to the Erle of Darbye:

93 ‘Brother, plucke vp thy hart and be merrye, And let noe tydings greeve thee! Yesterday, thy men called cowerds were, And this day they haue woone the victorye.’

94 The duke tooke the erle by the arme, And thus they ledden to the prince [trulye]. Seven roods of ground the k_ing_ he came, And sayd, ‘Welcome, K_ing_ of Man and Erle of Derbye! The thing _tha_t I haue taken from thee, I geeve it to thee againe whollye.

95 ‘The manrydden of Lancashire and Cheshire both, Att thy bidding euer to bee; Ffor those men beene true, Thomas, indeed; They beene trew both to thee and mee.’

96 ‘Yett one thing greeveth me,’ said the erle, ‘And in my hart maketh me heavye, This day to heare the wan the feild, And yesterday cowards to bee.’

97 ‘It was a wronge wryting,’ sayd our k_ing_, ‘_Tha_t came ffrom the Erle of Surrey; But I shall him teach his prince to know, If euer wee come in our countrye.’

98 ‘I aske noe more,’ sayd the noble erle, ‘Ffor all _tha_t my men haue done trulye, But _tha_t I may be iudge my selfe Of _tha_t noble Erle of Surreye.’

99 ‘Stand vp, Thomas!’ sayd our prince, ‘Lord Marshall I make thee, And thou shalt be iudge thy selfe, And as thou saiest, soe shall it bee.’

100 ‘Then is his liffe saued,’ sayd the erle, ‘I thanke Iesu and yo_u_r Grace trulye; If my vnckle slew his father deere, He wold haue venged him on mee.’

101 ‘Thou art verry patient,’ sayd our k_ing_; ‘The Holy Ghost remaines, I thinke, in thee; On the south side of Turnay thou shalt stande, W_i_th my godfather the Erle of Shrewsburye.’

102 And soe to _tha_t seege forth the went, The noble Shrewsburye and the Erle of Derbye, And the laid seege vnto the walls, And wan the towne in dayes three.

103 Thus was Lancashire and Cheshire rebuked Thorow the pollicye of the Erle of Surrey. Now God, _tha_t was in Bethlem borne, And for vs dyed vpon a tree, Saue o_u_r noble prince _tha_t wereth the crowne, And haue mercy on the Erles soule of Derbye!

· · · · ·

104 And then bespake o_u_r noble k_ing_, These were the words said hee; Sayes, Come, Alex_ander_ Ratcliffe, k_nigh_t, Come hither now vnto mee, Ffor them shalt goe on the south side of Tournay, And w_i_th thee thou shalt haue thousands three.

105 Then forth is gone Alex_ander_ Ratcliffe, k_nigh_t; W_i_th him he leads men thousand three; But or ere three dayes were come to an end, The Ffrenchmen away did flee.

106 Then K_ing_ Henery planted three hundred Englishmen _Tha_t in the citye shold abyde and bee: Alex_ander_ Rat_cliffe_, he wold haue mad him gou_er_no_u_r there, But he forsooke it certainelye, And made great intreatye to our k_ing_ _Tha_t he might come into England in his compa[n]ye.

· · · · ·

107 And then bespake noble K_ing_ Henery, And these were the words said hee: Sayes, Come hither, Row_land_ Egerton, k_nigh_t, And come thou hither vnto mee;

108 For the good service _tha_t thou hast done, Well rewarded shalt thou bee. Then forth came Row_land_ Egerton, And kneeled downe vpon his knee.

109 Saies, If it like yo_u_r Grace, my gracious k_ing_, The reward _tha_t you will bestow on mee, I wold verry gladlye haue it in Cheshire, Ffor _tha_t’s att home in my owne country.

110 And then bespake him noble K_ing_ Henery, And these were the words said hee; ‘I haue nothing, Egerton, in all Cheshire _Tha_t wilbe any pleasure for thee But fiue mills stands att Chester townes end; The gone all ouer the water of Dee.’

111 Still kneeled Row_land_ Egerton, And did not rise beside his knee; Sayes, If it like yo_u_r Highnesse, my gracious k_ing_, A milner called I wold neuer bee.

112 And then bespake him noble K_ing_ Harrye, These were the words said hee; Saith, I’le make mine avow to God, And alsoe to the Trinitye, There shall neu_er_ be k_ing_ of England But the shalbe miller of the mills of Dee!

113 I haue noe other thing, Egerton, _Tha_t wilbe for thy delight; I will giue thee the forrest of Snoden in Wales, Wherby thou may giue the horne and lease; In siluer it wilbe verry white, And meethinkes shold thee well please.

114 . . . . . . . . . Still kneeled Row_land_ Egerton on his knee; He sayes, If itt like yo_u_r Highnes, my gracious k_ing_, A ranger called wold I neuer bee.

115 Then our k_ing_ was wrath_e_, and rose away, Sayes, I thinke, Egerton, nothing will please thee. And then bespake him, Row_land_ Egerton, Kneeling yet still on his knee:

116 Sayes, If itt like yo_u_r Highnesse, my gracious k_ing_, _Tha_t yo_u_r Highnes pleasure will now heer mee, In Cheshire there lyes a litle grange-house, In the lo_rd_sh[i]ppe of Rydeley it doth lyee.

117 A tanner there in it did dwell; My leege, it is but a cote w_i_th one eye, And if yo_u_r Grace wold bestow this on mee, Ffull well it wold pleasure me.

118 Then bespake our noble K_ing_ Harrye, And these were the words saith hee; Saies, Take thee _tha_t grange-house, Egerton, And the lo_rd_shippe of Rydley, faire and free.

119 For the good service thou hast to me done, I will giue it vnto thy heyres and thee: And thus came Row[land] Egertton To the lo_rd_shippe of Rydley, faire and free.

· · · · ·

120 This noble K_ing_ Harry wan great victoryes in France, Thorrow the might _tha_t Christ Jesus did him send.

First our k_ing_ wan Hans and Gynye, And [two] walled townes, the truth to say; And afterwards wan other two townes, The names of them were called Turwin and Turnay.

121 High Bullen and Base Bullen he wan alsoe, And other village-townes many a one, And Muttrell he wan alsoe— The cronicles of this will not lye— And kept to Calleis, plainsht w_i_th Englishmen, Vnto the death _tha_t he did dye.

* * * * *

#a.#

4^2. soliders.

16^4. them.

17^3. 8^{th}.

20^3. wright.

20^4. vs 2.

31^4. 7[th .].

35^1. feele.

35^4. xopher Savage, and again 45^1: always for away.

41^1. vndeline.

45^1. K_nigh_t for wighte.

52^{2,3}. 9.

52^4. 3.

53^2. whore.

53^4. white.

56^3. giue: p_ro_ for for.

57^2. wright.

58^1. Lookes for bookes. 2d Parte at 59^3.

59^6. 2: 3.

61^2. 30.

65^1. Ianie.

79^3. 7.

79^4. 8^{th}: breake for flee, cf. #b#, #c#.

83^4. ward: cf. #b#.

84^3. I cry for a cry: a in #b#, #c#.

89^4. who his for the first who is.

94^3. 7.

95^1. Maurydden.

102^4, 104^4. 3.

103. 121 in the MS.

104^6. 1000[s :] 3.

105^2. 1000[d :] 3.

106^1. 300[d :].

110^5. 5.

112^6. he for the?

117^4. me pleasure.

120^5. 2.

And for & always.

#b#, #c#.

In stanzas of eight lines. #b.# A ballate of the Battalle of Ffloden Ffeeld betweene the Earle of Surrey and the King of Scots. #c.# Flowden Feilde.

Trivial variations of spelling are not regarded.

1^1. of the.

1^2. our fortune and chaunce.

1^3. tell of. #b.# tythandes. #c.# tythance.

2^2. surly after And: his wanting.

3^1. at for to.

3^2. #b.# lorde for leed. #b#, #c#. great for high.

3^4. #b.# found Henry our kynge.

4^5–7^6. Two stanzas, the first ending at 6^2.

4^5. the prince.

4^6. #c.# Iesu.

5^2. he kneeled vppon.

5^4. King wanting.

6^4. and for the second my.

7^3. biddethe.

7^5. ye.

8^2. Prefix And.

8^3. bare: uppon, upon, for of. #b.# them for him.

9^2. they bene both.

9^3. non for nere. #b.# belonged.

10^1. #b.# a stand.

10^2. And he.

10^4. First he wanting. #b.# tould (corrected from coulde?) for found.

11^1. #b.# noble for comlye.

11^2. And he.

12^1. #b.# C. and L. #b#, #c# add bothe.

12^2. the wanting.

12^4. Not a.

13^3. King wanting.

13^4. #b#, And it, #c#, Yf it, like you my souereigne lord.

14^1. #c.# bene.

14^2. #c.# tythandes.

15^3. #b.# L. nor C. mene.

15^4. #b.# wold euer.

16^2. on for vpon a.

16^3. For now: greatest for most.

16^4. then served they for they serued then.

17^4. And for If.

18^1. ye: any wanting.

18^3. #c.# ye.

18^4. #b.# whether (altered from wher) that wee are.

19^1. #b.# rounded. #b#, #c#. anon added to king.

19^2. And wanting. #b.# Sayenge.

19^3. to thee wanting.

21^1. #b.# neuer a: besydes.

21^4. #b.# right angerly.

22^1. other syde.

22^4. lowly he.

23^3. #b.# our king sayde. #c.# speake.

23^4. #b.# Was for Sayd.

24^1. #c.# L. and C.

24^2. was for were.

24^3. nowe inserted before are.

24^4. #b.# Neuer a one of them. #c.# Neuer one of them ys (but are, in a later hand).

25^1. #c.# then for free.

26^4. #b.# fled a foote.

27^2. #b.# to for itt.

28^1. to brene, bren.

28^2. First me wanting.

28^3. First I wanting: all to. #b.# gates.

28^4. #b.# Bothe the.

29^1. walles they.

29^3. then sayd.

30^1. and for nor.

30^2. #c.# thyne.

30^3. #b.# freely for felly.

31^2. for me for on tree.

32^2. #b.# To the towne of.

32^3. we after soe.

33^2. #b.# vppon the same for againe. #c.# in same, but on the for in, in a later hand.

33^3. side, syde, for hande.

34^4. #b.# duke for erle.

35^1. Synce: feelde, feylde.

35^2. #c.# thyne: theare, there for deere.

35^4. awaye for always.

36^3. #c.# therby added by a later hand.

37^3. #c.# myne.

37^4. #c.# art altered to weart.

38^1. whileste that, whiles that.

38^2. schunte besides.

38^4. nowe before that.

39^1. #b.# for before coward, #b#, #c#. none for neuer.

39^4. be my.

40^2. the for that.

40^3. #b.# Sotheworthe. #c.# Sothewarke altered to Sotheworthe.

41^3. #c.# whilest.

41^4. schunte.

42^1. #b.# Anderton.

42^3. leaue nowe. #b.# at altered to of.

43^3. For whileste, For whiles.

43^4. wouldeste (#c# woulde) neuer beside the playne.

44^1. #b.# Bolde.

44^2. ye.

44^3. stylle, still.

44^4. Vnslayne nowe yf, (#b#) that you bee, (#c#) you had bee.

45^1. weighte, wighte.

45^3. #b.# whileste.

45^4. woldeste, wouldest: beside.

46^1. Done, Downe.

46^2. Ye.

46^4. #b.# woldeste.

47^1. #b.# Seton altered to Fitton.

47^2. Other.

47^3. Prefix For: whiles.

47^4. woldeste, wouldest.

48^3. ffor wanting.

49^2. #c.# tythands.

49^4. myne.

51^4. #c.# lawne.

52^2. beareste, bearest.

52^3. in the vtter.

53^2. whore.

53^4. Wyte.

54^2. ronnethe, renneth. #b.# besydes.

54^3. #b.# was I.

54^4. #b.# I will.

55^1. Berkenhede, Byrkhead altered to Byrkenhead.

55^4. #c.# the wanting.

56^2. myn, myne.

56^3. gaue: p_ro_ (or for) wanting.

57^2. mayeste, maiest. #c.# yt clayme.

57^3. #c.# call after may, in a later hand.

58^1. bookes, bokes.

58^2. comentye, comyntie.

58^3. Hopesdalle.

58^4. Mouldesdalle, Mouldesdale.

58^5. take my: hevie, heavie for sorry.

59^3. Iames: Garsye, Garsyde.

59^6. stycked, sticked.

60^1. #b.# And after.

60^3. #b.# Iames.

60^4, 66^3. #c.# tythandes.

61^2. hadeste, had.

61^4. wearte for, were for.

62^2. will nowe.

63^1. #b.# Fitzwaters. #c.# Feighwater altered to Fitzwater.

63^3, 71^1. #c.# vp for ap.

63^4. And all they spake.

64^1. standen.

64^3. But wanting.

65^1, 73^3, 74^3, 82^3. #b.# Iames.

65^1. #c.# send.

65^4. Amydeste.

66^1. #c.# soe wanting.

66^3. #b.# makes.

67^4. non.

68^1. #c.# Feighwater. #b.# he followed.

69^1. #b.# hied for hoved.

69^3. #b.# Osboldstone.

69^4. #b.# come.

70^3. #b.# wighty.

71^2. came forthe even with.

71^3. #c.# bend.

71^4. gallowes.

72^1. When as. #b.# the king.

72^3. #b.# minge.

72^4. Prefix Said: vnto.

73^1. Prefix But.

73^2. #c.# our owne altered to yondere.

74^2. #c.# waste.

74^4. lyke, like, for please.

75^4. vpbrayded that I for I vpbrayded.

77^1. tooke me.

77^2. #b.# kepte.

78^3. of vewe.

79^4. #b.# did flee. #c.# be altered to flie.

80^{1,2}. #b.# Then I layd the bowe one his face, and bade him gather vpe the bowe, etc. #c.# geder.

80^4. for wanting.

82^1. had lyuer, leaver.

83^2. #c.# whiles, #b.# Frenche.

83^3. ye.

83^4. #b.# word.

84^3. Our prince: a cry.

85^2. #b.# settethe one and.

85^3. Yf that.

85^5. rebuketh. #b.# and for or.

86^1. stylle at rest.

86^2. #b.# as wanting.

87^1. #b.# prince for king.

87^2. #b.# kneene, rhyming with 86^{2,4}.

87^3. prince for king.

87^4. This owere (#c# our) noble kynge this (#c# thy) speede may be.

87^5. greetes (#c# gretteth) yow well your lyffe and spouse (#c# liking).

87^6. Your honorable: fair ladye.

88^1. for to.

88^2. #b.# in-law wanting.

89^2. And sayd.

89^3. vppon, vpon, the for of the.

89^4. And who weare, were, bis.

91^1. #b.# on highe, originally; altered in the same hand to w_i_th ane highe word.

91^4. Ye, yea, prefixed: shalt thou.

92^2. As for And.

92^3. #b.# thes for the. #c.# tythands. #b.# adds righte at the end.

93^1. Brother after hart.

93^2. #c.# tythandes.

93^3. #b.# this (written upon thy) men cowards were they. #c.# cowardes called for called cowerds.

93^4. they wanting.

94^1. #b.# him for the erle.

94^2. adds trulye at the end. #b.# and lede him for thus they ledden.

94^5. haue from the taken.

94^6. agayne to thee.

95^1. #b.# marshallynge. #c.# manratten. #b.# men for both.

95^2. for to. #b# omits euer.

95^3. these. #b.# be.

95^4. #b.# be.

96^1. #b.# the earle saide.

96^4. for to.

97^1. #b.# our kinge sayd.

97^4. And for If.

98^1. #b.# the earle nowe.

98^3. #b.# That I my selfe his iudgmente maye pronounce, #c.# But that I gyve iudgment my selfe.

99^2. #b.# will I. #c.# that I shall.

99^3. shalt geue (gyue) the iudgment.

100^1. #b.# Then sayd the earle, saved is his lyfe.

100^3. If wanting.

101^1. #b.# our kyng sware.

101^2. remayneth: I thinke wanting.

101^4. #c.# the wanting.

102^1. #b.# they ganged.

102^3. #b# adds batled at the end.

102^4. #b.# toweres. #c.# townes. #b#, #c#. w_i_thin.

103^5. #b.# weres.

103^6. #b.# And shewe thie mersye one the Earle of Derby.

104–121 wanting.

169

JOHNIE ARMSTRONG

#A. a.# ‘A Northern Ballet,’ Wit Restord in severall Select Poems not formerly publisht, London, 1658, p. 30, in Facetiæ, London, 1817, I, 132. #b.# ‘A Northern Ballad,’ Wit and Drollery, London, 1682, p. 57.

#B. a.# ‘John Arm-strongs last Good - Night,’ etc., Wood, 401, fol. 93 b, Bodleian Library. #b.# Pepys Ballads, II, 133, No 117. #c.# ‘Johnny Armstrongs last Good-Night,’ Old Ballads, 1723, I, 170.

#C.# ‘Johnie Armstrang,’ The Ever Green, 1724, II, 190.

#A b# is not found in Wit and Drollery, 1661; it is literally repeated in Dryden’s Miscellanies, 1716, III, 307. #B# is in the Roxburghe collection, III, 513, the Bagford, I, 64, II, 94, and no doubt in others. It was printed by Evans, 1777, II, 64, and by Ritson, English Songs, 1783, II, 322. #C# was printed by Herd, 1769, p. 260, 1776 (with spelling changed), I, 13; by Ritson, Scotish Songs, 1794, II, 7; by Scott, 1802, I, 49, 1833, I, 407 (with a slight change or two).

‘Ihonne Ermistrangis dance’ is mentioned in The Complaynt of Scotland, 1549, ed. Murray, p. 66. The tune of #C# is No 356 of Johnson’s Museum; see further Stenhouse, in the edition of 1853, IV, 335 f.

Of his copy #C#, Ramsay says: “This is the true old ballad, never printed before.... This I copied from a gentleman’s mouth of the name of Armstrang, who is the sixth generation from this John. He tells me this was ever esteemd the genuine ballad, the common one false.” Motherwell remarks, Minstrelsy, p. lxii, note 3: “The common ballad alluded to by Ramsay [#A#, #B#] is the one, however, which is in the mouths of the people. His set I never heard sung or recited; but the other frequently.” A manuscript copy of #B#, entitled Gillnokie, communicated to Percy by G. Paton, Edinburgh, December 4, 1778, which has some of the peculiar readings of #B a#, introduces the 27th stanza of #C#[225] in place of 12, and has ‘Away, away, thou traitor strong’ for 12^1. A copy in Buchan’s MSS, I, 61, ‘The Death of John Armstrong,’ has the first half of #C# 18 and also of #C# 19 (with very slight variations). Another Scottish copy, which was evidently taken from recitation, introduces #C# 23 after 14.[226]

Both forms of the ballad had been too long printed to allow validity to any known recited copy. Besides the three already mentioned, there is one in Kinloch’s MSS, V, 263, which intermixes two stanzas from Johnie Scot. The Scottish copies naturally do not allow ‘Scot’ to stand in 17^3. Paton’s substitutes ‘chiell’; the others ‘man,’ and so a broadside reprinted by Maidment, Scotish Ballads and Songs, Historical and Traditionary, I, 130.

The Armstrongs were people of consideration in Liddesdale from the end, or perhaps from the middle, of the fourteenth century, and by the sixteenth had become the most important sept, as to numbers, in that region, not only extending themselves over a large part of the Debateable Land,[227] but spreading also into Eskdale, Ewesdale, Wauchopedale, and Annandale. The Earl of Northumberland, in 1528, puts the power of the Armstrongs, with their adherents, above three thousand horsemen. Mangerton, in Liddesdale, on the east bank of the Liddel, a little north of its junction with the Kersope, was the seat of the chief. John Armstrong, known later as Gilnockie, a brother of Thomas, laird of Mangerton, is first heard of in 1525. Removing from Liddesdale early in the century, as it is thought, he settled on the church lands of Canonby, and at a place called The Hollows, on the west side of the Esk, built a tower, which still remains.[228]

Others of the Armstrongs erected strong houses in the neighborhood. Lord Dacre, the English warden of the West Marches, essayed to surprise these strengths in the early part of 1528, but was foiled by John and Sym Armstrong, though he had a force of two thousand men. The Armstrongs, if nominally Scots, were so far from being “in due obeysaunce” that, at a conference of commissioners of both realms in November of the year last named, the representatives of the Scottish king could not undertake to oblige them to make redress for injuries done the English, though a peace depended upon this condition. Perhaps the English border suffered more than the Scottish from their forays (and the English border, we are informed, was not nearly so strong as the Scottish, neither in “capetayns nor the commynnaltie”), but how little Scotland was spared appears from what Sym Armstrong, the laird of Whitlaugh, in the same year again, told the Earl of Northumberland: that himself and his adherents had laid waste in the said realm sixty miles, and laid down thirty parish churches, and that there was not one in the realm of Scotland dare remedy the same. Indeed, our John, Thomas of Mangerton, Sym of Whitlaugh, and the rest, seem to be fairly enough described in an English indictment as “enemies of the king of England, and traitors, fugitives, and felons of the king of Scots.[229]

Other measures having failed, King James the Fifth, in the summer of 1530, took the pacifying of his borders into his own hand, and for this purpose levied an army of from eight to twelve thousand men. The particulars of this noted expedition are thus given by Lindsay of Pitscottie.[230]

“The king ... made a convention at Edinburgh with all the lords and barons, to consult how he might best stanch theiff and river within his realm, and to cause the commons to live in peace and rest, which long time had been perturbed before. To this effect he gave charge to all earls, lords, barons, freeholders and gentlemen, to compeir at Edinburgh with a month’s victual, to pass with the king to daunton the thieves of Teviotdale and Annandale, with all other parts of the realm; also the king desired all gentlemen that had dogs that were good to bring them with them to hunt in the said bounds, which the most part of the noblemen of the Highlands did, such as the earls of Huntly, Argyle, and Athol, who brought their deer-hounds with them and hunted with his majesty. These lords, with many other lords and gentlemen, to the number of twelve thousand men, assembled at Edinburgh, and therefrom went with the king’s grace to Meggat-land, in the which bounds were slain at that time eighteen score of deer. After this hunting the king hanged John Armstrong, laird of Kilnokie; which many a Scotsman heavily lamented, for he was a doubtit man, and as good a chieftain as ever was upon the borders, either of Scotland or of England. And albeit he was a loose-living man, and sustained the number of twenty-four well-horsed able gentlemen with him, yet he never molested no Scotsman.[231] But it is said, from the Scots border to Newcastle of England, there was not one, of whatsoever estate, but paid to this John Armstrong a tribute, to be free of his cumber, he was so doubtit in England. So when he entered in before the king, he came very reverently, with his foresaid number very richly appareled, trusting that in respect he had come to the king’s grace willingly and voluntarily, not being taken nor apprehended by the king, he should obtain the more favor. But when the king saw him and his men so gorgeous in their apparel, and so many braw men under a tyrant’s commandment, throwardlie he turned about his face, and bade take that tyrant out of his sight, saying, What wants yon knave that a king should have? But when John Armstrong perceived that the king kindled in a fury against him, and had no hope of his life, notwithstanding of many great and fair offers which he offered to the king—that is, that he should sustain himself, with forty gentlemen, ever ready to await upon his majesty’s service, and never to take a penny of Scotland nor Scotsmen; secondly, that there was not a subject in England, duke, earl, lord, or baron, but within a certain day he should bring any of them to his majesty, quick or dead—he, seeing no hope of the king’s favor towards him, said very proudly, I am but a fool to seek grace at a graceless face. But had I known, sir, that ye would have taken my life this day, I should have lived upon the borders in despite of King Harry and you both; for I know King Harry would down weigh my best horse with gold to know that I were condemned to die this day. So he was led to the scaffold, and he and all his men hanged.”

Buchanan’s account is, that the king undertook an expedition for the suppressing of freebooters in July, 1530, with an army of about eight thousand men, and encamped at Ewes water, near which was the hold of John Armstrong, a chief of a band of thieves, who had struck such terror into the parts adjacent that even the English for many miles about paid him tribute. Under enticement of the king’s officers, John set out to pay a visit to the king with about fifty horsemen, both unarmed and without a safe-conduct, and on his way fell in with a body of scouts, who took him to their master as a pretended prisoner, and he and most of his men were hanged. The authors of his death averred that Armstrong had promised the English to put the neighboring Scots territory under their sway, if they would make it for his interest; whereas the English were extremely pleased at his death, because they were rid of a redoubtable enemy.[232]

Bishop Lesley says simply that in the month of June (apparently 1529) the king passed to the borders with a great army, where he caused forty-eight of the most noble thieves, with John Armstrong, their captain, to be taken, who being convict of theft, reiff, slaughter, and treason, were all hanged upon growing trees.[233]

Another account gives us positively and definitely to understand that the Armstrongs were not secured without artifice. “On the eighth of June the principals of all the surnames of the clans on the borders came to the king, upon hope of a proclamation proclaimed in the king’s name that they should all get their lives if they would come in and submit themselves in the king’s will. And so, upon this hope, John Armstrong, who kept the castle of Langholm (a brother of the laird of Mangerton’s, a great thief and oppressor, and one that kept still with him four and twenty well-horsed men), came in to the king; and another called Ill Will Armstrong, another stark thief, with sundry of the Scotts and Elliotts, came all forward to the camp where the king was, in hope to get their pardons. But no sooner did the king perceive them, and that they were come afar off, when direction was given presently to enclose them round about; the which was done, accordingly, and were all apprehended, to the number of thirty-five persons, and at a place called Carlaverock Chapel were all committed to the gallows.... The English people was exceeding glad when they understood that John Armstrong was executed, for he did great robberies and stealing in England, maintaining twenty-four men in household every day upon reiff and oppression.”[234]

The place of execution is mentioned by no other historian than Anderson, just quoted, and he gives it as Carlaverock Chapel. But this must be a mistake for Carlenrig Chapel, Carlaverock not being in the line of the king’s progress. James is known to have been at Carlenrig[235] on the 5th of July, and Johnie Armstrong not to have been alive on the eighth. It has been popularly believed that Johnie and his band were buried in Carlenrig churchyard (where the graves used to be shown), and their execution made so deep an impression on the people[236] that it is not unplausible that the fact should be remembered, and that the ballad #C#, in saying that John was murdered at Carlenrig, has followed tradition rather than given rise to it.

It appears from Lindsay’s narrative that Johnie Armstrong came to the king voluntarily, and that he was not “taken or apprehended.” Buchanan says that he was enticed by the king’s officers, and Anderson that the heads of the border-clans were induced to come in by a proclamation that their lives should be safe. It is but too likely, therefore, that the capture was not effected by honorable means, and this is the representation of the ballads. There is no record of a trial,[237] and the execution was probably as summary as the arrest was perfidious.

The ballads treat facts with the customary freedom and improve upon them greatly. In #A#, #B#, English ballads, Johnie is oddly enough a Westmorland man,[238] though in #B# 11 he admits himself to be a subject of the Scots king. The king writes John a long letter promising to do him no wrong, #A# 4; a loving letter, to come and speak with him speedily, #B# 4, #C# 2. Johnie goes to Edinburgh with the eight-score men that he keeps in his hall, all in a splendid uniform, asks grace, and is told that he and his eight-score shall be hanged the next morning. They are not unarmed, and resolve to fight it out rather than be hanged. They kill all the king’s guard but three, #B# 16, but all Edinburgh rises; four-score and ten of Johnie’s men lie gasping on the ground, #A# 14. A cowardly Scot comes behind Johnie and runs him through; like Sir Andrew Barton, he bids his men fight on; he will bleed awhile, then rise and fight again. Most of his company are killed, but his foot-page escapes and carries the bad news to Giltnock Hall. His little son, by or on the nurse’s knee, vows to revenge his father’s death.

#C# differs extensively from #A#, #B#, indeed resembles or repeats the English ballad only in a few places: #C# 2==#A# 4, #B# 4; #C# 6==#B# 10; #C# 7==#A# g, #B# 11; #C# 22^{3,4}==#A# 11^{3,4}, #B# 13^{3,4}. The Eliots go with the Armstrongs according to #C# 3, and it is the intention to bring the king to dine at Gilnockie. In #C# 9–17 Johnie offers twenty-four steeds, four of them laden with as much gold as they can carry, twenty-four mills, and as much wheat as their hoppers can hold, twenty-four sisters-sons, who will fight to the utterance, tribute from all the land between ‘here’ and Newcastle,—all this for his life. The king replies to each successive offer that he never has granted a traitor’s life, and will not begin with him. Johnie gives the king the lie as to his being a traitor; he could make England find him in meal and malt for a hundred years, and no Scot’s wife could say that he had ever hurt her the value of a fly. Had he known how the king would treat him, he would have kept the border in spite of all his army. England’s king would be a blithe man to hear of his capture. At this point the king is attracted by Johnie’s splendid girdle and hat, and exclaims, What wants that knave that a king should have! Johnie bids farewell to his brother, Laird of Mangerton (Thomas, here called Kirsty), and to his son Kirsty, and to Gilnock-Hall, and is murdered at Carlenrig with all his band.

It will be observed that the substance, or at least the hint, of #C# 21^{3,4}, 17^{3,4}, 26, 15, 22^{3,4}, 23, 24^{1,2}, is to be found in Lindsay’s narrative.

In the last stanza of #A# and of #B#, Johnie Armstrong’s son (afterwards known as Johnie’s Christy) sitting on his nurse’s knee, #B# (cf. #C# 30), or standing by his nurse’s knee, #A#, vows, if he lives to be a man, to have revenge for his father’s death.[239] Not infrequently, in popular ballads, a very young (even unborn) child speaks, by miracle, to save a life, vindicate innocence, or for some other kindly occasion;[240] sometimes again to threaten revenge, as here. So a child in the cradle in ‘Frændehævn,’ Grundtvig, I, 28, No 4, #B# 34 (==#C# 63), and in ‘Hævnersværdet,’ I, 351, No 25, sts 29, 30; and Kullervo in his third month, Kalevala, Rune 31, Schiefner, p. 194, vv. 109–112.[241]

Johnie’s plain speech to the king in #C# 19, ‘Ye lied, ye lied, now, king!’ is such as we have often heard before in these ballads: see I, 427, No 47, #A# 14; I, 446, No 50, #A# 8, 9; I, 452 f, No 52, #C# 10, #D# 7; II, 25 f, No 58, #G# 7, #H# 10; II, 269 ff, No 83, #D# 13, #E# 16, #F# 22; II, 282, No 86, #A# 6; III, 62, 67, No 117, sts 114, 222. It is not unexampled elsewhere. So Sthenelus to Agamemnon, II. iv, 204; Ἀτρεΐδη, μὴ ψεύδε’, ἐπιστάμενος σάφα εἰπεῖν; and Bernardo del Carpio, on much the same occasion as here,

Mentides, buen rey, mentides, que no decides verdad, que nunca yo fuí traidor,

Wolf & Hofmann, Primavera, I, 38 and 41; see also I, 186, II, 100, 376.

This ballad was an early favorite of Goldsmith’s: “The music of the finest singer is dissonance to what I felt when our old dairymaid sung me into tears with Johnny Armstrong’s Last Good Night, or the Cruelty of Barbara Allen.” Essays, 1765, p. 14.

#C# is translated by Talvi, Versuch, u. s. w., p. 543; by Schubart, p. 179; by Loève-Veimars, p. 270.

A

#a.# Wit Restord in severall Select Poems not formerly publisht, London, 1658, p. 30, in Facetiæ, London, 1871, I, 132.

#b.# Wit and Drollery, London, 1682, p. 57.

1 There dwelt a man in faire Westmerland, Ionnë Armestrong men did him call, He had nither lands nor rents coming in, Yet he kept eight score men in his hall.

2 He had horse and harness for them all, Goodly steeds were all milke-white; O the golden bands an about their necks, And their weapons, they were all alike.

3 Newes then was brought unto the king That there was sicke a won as hee, That livëd lyke a bold out-law, And robbëd all the north country.

4 The king he writt an a letter then, A letter which was large and long; He signëd it with his owne hand, And he promised to doe him no wrong.

5 When this letter came Ionnë untill, His heart it was as blythe as birds on the tree: ‘Never was I sent for before any king, My father, my grandfather, nor none but mee.

6 ‘And if wee goe the king before, I would we went most orderly; Every man of you shall have his scarlet cloak, Laced with silver laces three.

7 ‘Every won of you shall have his velvett coat, Laced with sillver lace so white; O the golden bands an about your necks, Black hatts, white feathers, all alyke.’

8 By the morrow morninge at ten of the clock, Towards Edenburough gon was hee, And with him all his eight score men; Good lord, it was a goodly sight for to see!

9 When Ionnë came befower the king, He fell downe on his knee; ‘O pardon, my soveraine leige,’ he said, ‘O pardon my eight score men and mee!’

10 ‘Thou shalt have no pardon, thou traytor strong, For thy eight score men nor thee; For to-morrow morning by ten of the clock, Both thou and them shall hang on the gallow-tree.’

11 But Ionnë looke’d over his left shoulder, Good Lord, what a grevious look looked hee! Saying, Asking grace of a graceles face— Why there is none for you nor me.

12 But Ionnë had a bright sword by his side, And it was made of the mettle so free, That had not the king stept his foot aside, He had smitten his head from his faire boddë.

13 Saying, Fight on, my merry men all, And see that none of you be taine; For rather then men shall say we were hange’d, Let them report how we were slaine.

14 Then, God wott, faire Eddenburrough rose, And so besett poore Ionnë rounde, That fowerscore and tenn of Ionnës best men Lay gasping all upon the ground.

15 Then like a mad man Ionnë laide about, And like a mad man then fought hee, Untill a falce Scot came Ionnë behinde, And runn him through the faire boddee.

16 Saying, Fight on, my merry men all, And see that none of you be taine; For I will stand by and bleed but awhile, And then will I come and fight againe.

17 Newes then was brought to young Ionnë Armestrong, As he stood by his nurses knee, Who vowed if ere he live’d for to be a man, O the treacherous Scots revengd hee’d be.

B

#a.# Wood, 401, fol. 93 b, London, printed for Francis Grove (1620–55?).

#b.# Pepys, II, 133, No 117, London, printed for W. Thackeray and T. Passenger (1660–82?).

#c.# A Collection of Old Ballads, 1723, I, 170.

1 Is there never a man in all Scotland, From the highest state to the lowest degree, That can shew himself now before the king? Scotland is so full of their traitery.

2 Yes, there is a man in Westmerland, And John Armstrong some do him call; He has no lands nor rents coming in, Yet he keeps eightscore men within his hall.

3 He has horse and harness for them all, And goodly steeds that be milk-white, With their goodly belts about their necks, With hats and feathers all alike.

4 The king he writ a lovely letter, With his own hand so tenderly, And has sent it unto John Armstrong, To come and speak with him speedily.

5 When John he looked the letter upon, Then, Lord! he was as blithe as a bird in a tree: ‘I was never before no king in my life, My father, my grandfather, nor none of us three.

6 ‘But seeing we must [go] before the king, Lord! we will go most valiantly; You shall every one have a velvet coat, Laid down with golden laces three.

7 ‘And you shall every one have a scarlet cloak, Laid down with silver laces five, With your golden belts about your necks, With hats [and] brave feathers all alike.’

8 But when John he went from Guiltknock Hall! The wind it blew hard, and full sore it did rain: ‘Now fare you well, brave Guiltknock Hall! I fear I shall never see thee again.’

9 Now John he is to Edenborough gone, And his eightscore men so gallantly, And every one of them on a milk-white steed, With their bucklers and swords hanging down to the knee.

10 But when John he came the king before, With his eightscore men so gallant to see, The king he moved his bonnet to him; He thought he had been a king as well as he.

11 ‘O pardon, pardon, my soveraign leige, Pardon for my eightscore men and me! For my name it is John Armstrong, And a subject of yours, my leige,’ said he.

12 ‘Away with thee, thou false traitor! No pardon I will grant to thee, But, to-morrow before eight of the clock, I will hang thy eightscore men and thee.’

13 O how John looked over his left shoulder! And to his merry men thus said he: I have asked grace of a graceless face, No pardon here is for you nor me.

14 Then John pulld out a nut-brown sword, And it was made of mettle so free; Had not the king moved his foot as he did, John had taken his head from his body.

15 ‘Come, follow me, my merry men all, We will scorn one foot away to fly; It never shall be said we were hung like doggs; No, wee’l fight it out most manfully.’

16 Then they fought on like champions bold— For their hearts was sturdy, stout, and free— Till they had killed all the kings good guard; There was none left alive but onely three.

17 But then rise up all Edenborough, They rise up by thousands three; Then a cowardly Scot came John behind, And run him thorow the fair body.

18 Said John, Fight on, my merry men all, I am a little hurt, but I am not slain; I will lay me down for to bleed a while, Then I’le rise and fight with you again.

19 Then they fought on like mad men all, Till many a man lay dead on the plain; For they were resolved, before they would yield, That every man would there be slain.

20 So there they fought couragiously, ‘Till most of them lay dead there and slain, But little Musgrave, that was his foot-page, With his bonny grissell got away untain.

21 But when he came up to Guiltknock Hall, The lady spyed him presently: ‘What news, what news, thou little foot-page? What news from thy master and his company?’

22 ‘My news is bad, lady,’ he said, ‘Which I do bring, as you may see; My master, John Armstrong, he is slain, And all his gallant company.

23 ‘Yet thou are welcome home, my bonny grisel! Full oft thou hast fed at the corn and hay, But now thou shalt be fed with bread and wine, And thy sides shall be spurred no more, I say.’

24 O then bespoke his little son, As he was set on his nurses knee: ‘If ever I live for to be a man, My fathers blood revenged shall be.’

C

Allan Ramsay, The Ever Green, II, 190, “copied from a gentleman’s mouth of the name of Armstrang, who is the 6th generation from this John.”

1 Sum speiks of lords, sum speiks of lairds, And siclyke men of hie degrie; Of a gentleman I sing a sang, Sumtyme calld Laird of Gilnockie.

2 The king he wrytes a luving letter, With his ain hand sae tenderly: And he hath sent it to Johny Armstrang, To cum and speik with him speidily.

3 The Eliots and Armstrongs did convene, They were a gallant company: ‘We’ill ryde and meit our lawful king, And bring him safe to Gilnockie.

4 ‘Make kinnen and capon ready, then, And venison in great plenty; We’ill welcome hame our royal king; I hope he’ill dyne at Gilnockie!’

5 They ran their horse on the Langum howm, And brake their speirs with mekle main; The ladys lukit frae their loft-windows, ‘God bring our men weil back again!’

6 When Johny came before the king, With all his men sae brave to see, The king he movit his bonnet to him; He weind he was a king as well as he.

7 ‘May I find grace, my sovereign liege, Grace for my loyal men and me? For my name it is Johny Armstrang, And subject of yours, my liege,’ said he.

8 ‘Away, away, thou traytor, strang! Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be! I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe, And now I’ll not begin with thee.’

9 ‘Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king, And a bony gift I will give to thee; Full four-and-twenty milk-whyt steids, Were a’ foald in a yeir to me.

10 ‘I’ll gie thee all these milk-whyt steids, That prance and nicher at a speir, With as mekle gude Inglis gilt As four of their braid backs dow beir.’

11 ‘Away, away, thou traytor strang! Out o’ my sicht thou mayst sune be! I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe, And now I’ll not begin with thee.’

12 ‘Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king, And a bony gift I’ll gie to thee; Gude four-and-twenty ganging mills, That gang throw a’ the yeir to me.

13 ‘These four-and-twenty mills complete Sall gang for thee throw all the yeir, And as mekle of gude reid wheit As all their happers dow to bear.’

14 ‘Away, away, thou traytor, strang! Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be! I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe, And now I’ll not begin with thee.’

15 ‘Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king, And a great gift I’ll gie to thee; Bauld four-and-twenty sisters sons, Sall for the fecht, tho all sould flee.’

16 ‘Away, away, thou traytor, strang! Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be! I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe, And now I’ll not begin with thee.’

17 ‘Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king, And a brave gift I’ll gie to thee; All betwene heir and Newcastle town Sall pay thair yeirly rent to thee.’

18 ‘Away, away, thou traytor, strang! Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be! I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe, And now I’ll not begin with thee.’

19 ‘Ye lied, ye lied, now, king,’ he says, ‘Althocht a king and prince ye be, For I luid naithing in all my lyfe, I dare well say it, but honesty;

20 ‘But a fat horse, and a fair woman, Twa bony dogs to kill a deir: But Ingland suld haif found me meil and malt, Gif I had livd this hundred yeir!

21 ‘Scho suld half found me meil and malt, And beif and mutton in all plentie; But neir a Scots wyfe could haif said That eir I skaithd her a pure flie.

22 ‘To seik het water beneth cauld yce, Surely it is a great folie; I haif asked grace at a graceless face, But there is nane for my men and me.

23 ‘But had I kend, or I came frae hame, How thou unkynd wadst bene to me, I wad haif kept the border-syde, In spyte of all thy force and thee.

24 ‘Wist Englands king that I was tane, O gin a blyth man wald he be! For anes I slew his sisters son, And on his breist-bane brak a tree.’

25 John wore a girdle about his midle, Imbroiderd owre with burning gold, Bespangled with the same mettle, Maist beautifull was to behold.

26 Ther hang nine targats at Johnys hat, And ilk an worth three hundred pound: ‘What wants that knave that a king suld haif, But the sword of honour and the crown!

27 ‘O whair gat thou these targats, Johnie, That blink sae brawly abune thy brie? ’ ‘I gat them in the field fechting, Wher, cruel king, thou durst not be.

28 ‘Had I my horse, and my harness gude, And ryding as I wont to be, It sould haif bene tald this hundred yeir The meiting of my king and me.

29 ‘God be withee, Kirsty, my brither, Lang live thou Laird of Mangertoun! Lang mayst thou live on the border-syde Or thou se thy brither ryde up and doun.

30 ‘And God be withee, Kirsty, my son, Whair thou sits on thy nurses knee! But and thou live this hundred yeir, Thy fathers better thoult never be.

31 ‘Farweil, my bonny Gilnock-Hall. Whair on Esk-syde thou standest stout! Gif I had lived but seven yeirs mair, I wald haif gilt thee round about.’

32 John murdred was at Carlinrigg, And all his galant companie: But Scotlands heart was never sae wae, To see sae mony brave men die.

33 Because they savd their country deir Frae Englishmen; nane were sae bauld, Whyle Johnie livd on the border-syde, Nane of them durst cum neir his hald.

* * * * *

#A. a.#

3^3. syke a.

17^4. O th’ the.

#b.#

3^2. sick a man.

5^2. it wanting.

6^1. And therefore if.

7^4. and white.

8^4. an it: for wanting.

9^1. Johnnee.

10^2. Ne for.

11. There Johnne.

11^3. Said he.

11^4. yee.

12^2. the wanting.

13^4. that we.

14^3. Johnnee’s.

15^4. thorough.

#B. a.#

Iohn Arm-strongs last good night. Declaring How John Arm-strong and his eightscore men fought a bloody bout with a Scottish king at Edenborough. To a pretty northern tune called, Fare you well, guilt Knock-hall.

6^1. we must before; perhaps rightly.

8^{1,3}, 21^1. guilt Knock-hall.

Signed T. R.

London, Printed for Francis Grove on S[n]owhill.

Entered according to order.

#b.#

Title: with the Scottish. To a pretty new northern tune: called, &c., omitted.

1^2. estate.

1^4. of treachery.

2^2. Jonny: they do.

4^1. writes a loving.

4^2. And with.

4^3. hath.

5^1. this letter.

5^1. Good Lord.

5^2. he lookt.

5^3. a king.

6^1. must go.

6^2. most gallantly.

7^1. And ye.

7^4. hats and.

8^{1,3}, 21^1. guilt Knock-hall.

8^2. full fast.

8^3. fare thee well thou guilt.

9^1. Johnny.

9^4. to their.

10^1. he wanting.

12^3. to morrow morning by eight.

12^4. hang up.

13^1. Johnny.

14^1. out his.

15^3. It shall ne’r.

15^4. We will.

16^2. were.

16^4. but two or.

17^{1,2}. rose.

17^3. Then wanting.

18^2. little wounded but am.

19^2. up on.

20^3. Musgrove.

21^1. up wanting.

22^3. Johnny Armstrong is.

23^2. been fed with.

24^1. bespake.

24^3. for wanting.

24^4. father’s death.

Signed T. R.

London, Printed for W. Thackeray and T. Passenger.

#c.#

Johnny Armstrongs, last Good-night, shewing how John Armstrong, with his Eightscore Men, fought a bloody Battle with the Scotch King at Edenborough. To a Northern Tune.

1^1. ever.

1^2. estate.

1^3. our king.

1^4. full of treachery.

2^2. Johnny: they do.

3^1. horses.

4^1. writes a loving.

4^2. And with.

4^3. hath: Johnny.

5^1. this letter.

5^2. He lokd as blith.

5^3. a king.

6^1. must go.

6^2. most gallantly.

6^3. Ye.

7^1. And every one shall.

6^4. hats and feathers.

8^1. Johnny went: Giltnock.

8^2. full fast.

8^3. fare thee well thou Giltnock.

9^1. Johnny.

9^2. With his.

9^4. hanging to their.

10^1. he wanting.

11^3. Johnny.

11^4. a wanting.

12^2. will I.

12^3. to-morrow morning by eight.

12^4. hang up.

13^1. Then Johnny.

13^4. there is: you and.

14^1. his good broad sword.

14^2. That was made of the.

14^4. his fair.

15^2. foot for to.

15^3. shall never be: hangd.

15^4. We will.

16^2. were.

16^4. were: but one, two or three.

17^{1,2}. rose.

17^3. Then wanting.

17^4. through.

18^2. little wounded but am.

18^3. for wanting.

21^1. up wanting.

21^1. Giltnock.

22^3. Iohnny Armstrong is.

23^2. hast been fed with corn.

24^1. bespake.

24^2. he sat on.

24^3. for wanting.

24^4. fathers death.

#C.#

Printed in stanzas of eight lines.

Zours, zeir, etc., are here printed yours, yeir, etc.; quhair, quheit, here, whair, wheit.

5^1. hown.

11, 14, 16, 18, only Away, away thou traytor, etc., is printed.

19^4. sayit.

170

THE DEATH OF QUEEN JANE

#A.# Percy papers, 1776. #B.# ‘Queen Jeanie,’ Kinloch’s Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 116. #C. a.# Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 182.[242] #b.# Herd’s MSS, I, 103. #D.# ‘The Death of Queen Jane,’ Bell’s Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 113. #E.# ‘Queen Jeanie,’ Macmath MS., p. 68. #F.# Notes and Queries, Second Series, XI, 131. #G.# A fragment from William Motherwell’s papers.

This threnody is said to have been current throughout Scotland. There is another, not in the popular style, in the Crowne Garland of Golden Roses, 1612, Percy Society, vol. vi, p. 29: The Wofull Death of Queene Jane, wife to King Henry the Eight, and how King Edward was cut out of his mother’s belly. This is reprinted in Old Ballads, 1723, II, 115, and Evans’s Collection, 1777, 1784, II, 54, and is among Pepys’s Penny Merriments, vol. iii. ‘A ballett called The Lady Jane’ and another piece entitled The Lamentation of Quene Jane were licensed in 1560; Stationers’ Registers, Arber, I, 151 f.

Jane Seymour gave birth to Prince Edward October 12, 1537, and by a natural process, but, in consequence of imprudent management, died twelve days after. There was a belief that severe surgery had been required, under which the queen sank. The editor of Old Ballads, II, 116 f, cites Sir John Hayward as saying: “All reports do constantly run that he [Prince Edward] was not by natural passage delivered into the world, but that his mother’s belly was opened for his birth, and that she died of the incision the fourth day following.” And Du Chesne: “Quand ce vint au terme de l’accouchement, elle eut tant de tourment et de peine qu’il lui fallut fendre le costé, par lequel on tira son fruit, le douzième jour d’Octobre. Elle mourut douze jours après.” But Echard again: “Contrary to the opinion of many writers,” the queen “died twelve days after the birth of this prince, having been well delivered, and without any incision, as others have maliciously reported.”

* * * * *

A

Communicated to Percy by the Dean of Derry, as written from memory by his mother, Mrs. Bernard, February, 1776.

1 Queen Jane was in labour full six weeks and more, And the women were weary, and fain would give oer: ‘O women, O women, as women ye be, Rip open my two sides, and save my baby!’

2 ‘O royal Queen Jane, that thing may not be; We’ll send for King Henry to come unto thee.’ King Henry came to her, and sate on her bed: ‘What ails my dear lady, her eyes look so red?’

3 ‘O royal King Henry, do one thing for me: Rip open my two sides, and save my baby!’ ‘O royal Queen Jane, that thing will not do; If I lose your fair body, I’ll lose your baby too.’

4 She wept and she waild, and she wrung her hands sore; O the flour of England must flurish no more! She wept and she waild till she fell in a swoond, They opend her two sides, and the baby was found.

5 The baby was christened with joy and much mirth, Whilst poor Queen Jane’s body lay cold under earth: There was ringing and singing and mourning all day, The princess Eliz[abeth] went weeping away.

6 The trumpets in mourning so sadly did sound, And the pikes and the muskets did trail on the ground. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

B

Kinloch’s Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 116.

1 Queen Jeanie, Queen Jeanie, traveld six weeks and more, Till women and midwives had quite gien her oer: ‘O if ye were women as women should be, Ye would send for a doctor, a doctor to me.’

2 The doctor was called for and set by her bedside: ‘What aileth thee, my ladie, thine eyes seem so red?’ ‘O doctor, O doctor, will ye do this for me, To rip up my two sides, and save my babie?’

3 ‘Queen Jeanie, Queen Jeanie, that’s the thing I’ll neer do, To rip up your two sides to save your babie:’ Queen Jeanie, Queen Jeanie, traveld six weeks and more, Till midwives and doctors had quite gien her oer.

4 ‘O if ye were doctors as doctors should be, Ye would send for King Henry, King Henry to me:’ King Henry was called for, and sat by her bedside, ‘What aileth thee, Jeanie? what aileth my bride?’

5 ‘King Henry, King Henry, will ye do this for me, To rip up my two sides, and save my babie?’ ‘Queen Jeanie, Queen Jeanie, that’s what I’ll never do, To rip up your two sides to save your babie.’

6 But with sighing and sobbing she’s fallen in a swoon, Her side it was ript up, and her babie was found; At this bonie babie’s christning there was meikle joy and mirth, But bonnie Queen Jeanie lies cold in the earth.

7 Six and six coaches, and six and six more, And royal King Henry went mourning before; O two and two gentlemen carried her away, But royal King Henry went weeping away.

8 O black were their stockings, and black were their bands, And black were the weapons they held in their hands; O black were their mufflers, and black were their shoes, And black were the cheverons they drew on their luves.

9 They mourned in the kitchen, and they mournd in the ha, But royal King Henry mournd langest of a’: Farewell to fair England, farewell for evermore! For the fair flower of England will never shine more.

C

#a.# Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 182; “from two fragments, one transmitted from Arbroath and another from Edinburgh.” #b.# Herd’s MSS, I, 103.

1 Queen Jeany has traveld for three days and more, Till the ladies were weary, and quite gave her oer: ‘O ladies, O ladies, do this thing for me, To send for King Henry, to come and see me.’

2 King Henry was sent for, and sat by her bedside: ‘Why weep you, Queen Jeany? your eyes are so red.’ ‘O Henry, O Henry, do this one thing for me, Let my side straight be opend, and save my babie!’

3 ‘O Jeany, O Jeany, this never will do, It will leese thy sweet life, and thy young babie too.’ She wept and she wailed, till she fell in a swoon: Her side it was opened, the babie was found.

4 Prince Edward was christened with joy and with mirth, But the flower of fair England lies cold in the earth. O black was King Henry, and black were his men, And black was the steed that King Henry rode on.

5 And black were the ladies, and black were their fans, And black were the gloves that they wore on their hands, And black were the ribbands they wore on their heads, And black were the pages, and black were the maids.

* * * * *

6 The trumpets they sounded, the cannons did roar, But the flower of fair England shall flourish no more. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

D

Robert Bell’s Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 113; “taken down from the singing of a young gipsy girl, to whom it had descended orally through two generations.”

1 Queen Jane was in travail for six weeks or more, Till the women grew tired and fain would give oer: ‘O women, O women, good wives if ye be, Go send for King Henrie, and bring him to me!’

2 King Henrie was sent for, he came with all speed, In a gownd of green velvet from heel to the head: ‘King Henrie, King Henrie, if kind Henrie you be, Send for a surgeon, and bring him to me!’

3 The surgeon was sent for, he came with all speed, In a gownd of black velvet from heel to the head; He gave her rich caudle, but the death-sleep slept she, Then her right side was opened, and the babe was set free.

4 The babe it was christened, and put out and nursed, While the royal Queen Jane she lay cold in the dust. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

5 So black was the mourning, and white were the wands, Yellow, yellow the torches they bore in their hands; The bells they were muffled, and mournful did play, While the royal Queen Jane she lay cold in the clay.

6 Six knights and six lords bore her corpse through the grounds, Six dukes followed after, in black mourning gownds; The flower of Old England was laid in cold clay, Whilst the royal King Henrie came weeping away.

E

Macmath MS., p. 68. “From my aunt, Miss Jane Webster, 1886–1887. She learned it at Airds of Kells, Kirkcudbrightshire, over fifty years ago, from the singing of James Smith.”

1 ‘Ye midwives and women-kind, do one thing for me; Send for my mother, to come and see me.’

2 Her mother was sent for, who came speedilie: ‘O Jeanie, Queen Jeanie, are ye gaun to dee?’

3 ‘O mother, dear mother, do one thing for me; O send for King Henry, to come and see me.’

4 King Henry was sent for, who came speedilie: ‘O Jeanie, Queen Jeanie, are ye gaun to dee?’

5 ‘King Henry, King Henry, do one thing for me; O send for a doctor, to come and see me.’

6 The doctor was sent for, who came speedilie: ‘O Jeanie, Queen Jeanie, are ye gaun to dee?’

7 ‘O doctor, oh doctor, do one thing for me; Open my left side, and let my babe free.’

8 He opened her left side, and then all was oer, And the best flower in England will flourish no more.

F

Notes and Queries, Second Series, XI, 131; sung by an illiterate nursemaid “some forty years since” (1861).

1 Queen Jane lies in labour six weeks or more, Till the women were tired, go see her no more: ‘Oh women, oh women, if women you be, You’ll send for King Henry, to come and see me.

2 ‘Oh King Henry, King Henry, if King Henry you be, You’ll send for the doctor, to come and see me: Oh doctor, oh doctor, if a doctor you be, You’ll open my right side, and save my baby.’

3 They churchd her, they chimed her, they dug her her grave, They buried her body, and christend her babe.

G

In pencil, in Motherwell’s handwriting, inside of the cover of what appears to be a sketch of his Introduction to his Minstrelsy; communicated by Mr Macmath.

1 Queen Jeanie was in labour full three days and more, Till a’the good women was forced to gie her oer: ‘O guide women, gude women, gude women,’ quo she, ‘Will ye send for King Henry, to come and see me?’ Wi weeping and wailing, lamenting full sore, That the flower of all Engl_and_ should flourish no more.

2 K_ing_ H_enry_ was sent for, wh_o_ came in g_reat_ speed, Stand_ing_ weep_ing_ and wail_ing_ at Q_ueen_ Jeanie’s bedside; Stand_ing_ weep_ing_ and wail_ing_, etc.

3 ‘O King H_enry_, Ki_ng_ H_enry_, K_ing_ H_enry_,’ quo she, ‘Will ye send for my mothe_r_....

* * * * *

#B.#

3^1, 5^3. do is to be pronounced dee.

#C. b.#

Only six lines: 2^{3,4}, 4^{1,2}, 5^{1,2}

2^3. This thing.

2^4. Straight open my two sides: save your.

4^1. The babie was.

4^2. But royal Queen Jeany lay low.

5^1. Then black were their mournings.

#E.#

The first seven stanzas taken down October 15, 1886, and the last sent on February 3, 1887.

24th March, 1887. “I can never remember them, sitting thinking about them. Yesterday I was humming away, not knowing what I was singing, until I sung this:

8 He opened her left side, Queen Jeanie’s life’s oer, And the last rose of England will flourish no more.”

171

THOMAS CROMWELL

Percy MS., p. 55; Hales and Furnivall, I, 129.

June 10, 1540, Thomas Lord Cromwell, “when he least expected it,” was arrested at the council-table by the Duke of Norfolk for high-treason, and on the 28th of July following he was executed. Cromwell, says Lord Herbert of Cherbury, judged “his perdition more certain that the duke was uncle to the Lady Katherine Howard, whom the king began now to affect.” Later writers[243] have asserted that Katherine Howard exerted herself to procure Cromwell’s death, and we can understand nobody else but her to be doing this in the third stanza of this fragment; nevertheless there is no authority for such a representation. The king had no personal interview with the minister whom he so suddenly struck down, but he did send the Duke of Norfolk and two others to visit Cromwell in prison, for the purpose of extracting confessions pertaining to Anne of Cleves. Cromwell wrote a letter to the king, imploring the mercy which, as well as confession, he refuses in stanza five.

Percy inserted in the Reliques, 1765, II, 58, a song against Cromwell, printed in 1540, and apparently before his death, and he observes, 1767, II, 86, that there was a succession of seven or eight more, for and against, which were then preserved, and of course are still existing, in the archives of the Antiquarian Society.

* * * * *

1 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ‘Ffor if yo_u_r boone be askeable, Soone granted it shalbe:

2 ‘If it be not touching my crowne,’ he said, ‘Nor hurting poore com_m_inaltye.’ ‘Nay, it is not touching yo_u_r crowne,’ shee sayes, ‘Nor hurting poore cominaltye,

3 ‘But I begg the death of Tho_mas_ Cromwell, For a false traitor to you is hee.’ ‘Then feitch me hither the Earle of Darby And the Earle of Shrewsbury,

4 ‘And bidde them bring Thomas Cromawell; Let’s see what he can say to mee;’ For Thomas had woont to haue carryed his head vp, But now he hanges it vppon his knee.

5 ‘How now? How now?’ the k_ing_ did say, ‘Thomas, how is it w_i_th thee?’ ‘Hanging and drawing, O k_ing_!’ he saide; ‘You shall neuer gett more from mee.’

* * * * *

Half of the page is gone before the beginning.

2^3. it it is.

172

MUSSELBURGH FIELD

‘Musleboorrowe ffeild,’ Percy MS., p. 54; Hales and Furnivall, I, 123.

The Protector Somerset, to overcome or to punish the opposition of the Scots to the marriage of Mary Stuart with Edward VI, invaded Scotland at the end of the summer of 1547 with eighteen thousand men, supported by a fleet. The Scots mustered at Musselburgh, a town on the water five or six miles east of Edinburgh, under the Earls of Arran, Angus, and Huntly, each of whom, according to Buchanan, had ten thousand men, and there the issue was tried on the 10th of September. The northern army abandoned an impregnable position, and their superior, but ill-managed, and partly ill-composed, force, after successfully resisting a cavalry charge, was put to flight by the English, who had an advantage in cannon and cavalry as well as generalship. A hideous slaughter followed; Leslie admits that, in the chase and battle, there were slain above ten thousand of his countrymen. Patten, a Londoner who saw and described the fight, says that the one anxiety of the Scots was lest the English should get away, and that they were so sure of victory that, the night before the battle, they fell “to playing at dice for certain of our noblemen and captains of fame” (cf. stanza 3), as the French diced for prisoners on the eve of Agincourt. The dates are wrong in 1^{1,2}, 5^1; Huntly is rightly said to have been made prisoner, 7^1.

6, 8. When the Scots were once turned, says Patten, “it was a wonder to see how soon and in how sundry sorts they were scattered; the place they stood on like a wood of staves, strewed on the ground as rushes in a chamber, unpassable, they lay so thick, for either horse or man.” Some made their course along the sands by the Frith, towards Leith; some straight toward Edinburgh; “and the residue, and (as we noted then) the most, of them toward Dalkeith, which way, by means of the marsh, our horsemen were worst able to follow.”[244]

The battle is known also by the name of Pinkie or Pinkie Cleuch, appellations of an estate, a burn and a hill (“a hill called Pinkincleuche,” Leslie), near or within the field of operations.

Percy remarks upon 3^3: “It should seem from hence that there was somewhat of a uniform among our soldiers even then.” There are jackets white and red in No 166, 29^3. Sir William Stanley has ten thousand red coats at his order in ‘Lady Bessy,’ vv 593, 809–11, 937 f, Percy MS., III, 344, 352, 358; Sir John Savage has fifteen hundred white hoods in the same piece, v. 815.

1 On the tenth day of December, And the fourth yeere of K_ing_ Edwards raigne, Att Musleboorrowe, as I remember, Two goodly hosts there mett on a plaine.

2 All that night they camped there, Soe did the Scotts, both stout and stubborne; But “wellaway,” it was their song, For wee haue taken them in their owne turne.

3 Over night they carded for our English mens coates; They fished before their netts were spunn; A white for sixpence, a red f_or_ two groates; Now wisdome wold haue stayed till they had been woone.

4 Wee feared not but that they wold fight, Yett itt was turned vnto their owne paine; Thoe against one of vs _tha_t they were eight, Yett w_i_th their owne weapons wee did them beat.

5 On the twelfth day in the morne The made a face as the wold fight, But many a proud Scott there was downe borne, And many a ranke coward was put to flight.

6 But when they heard our great gunnes cracke, Then was their harts turned into their hose; They cast down their weapons, and turned their backes, They ran soe fast _tha_t the fell on their nose.

7 The Lo_rd_ Huntley, wee had him there; W_i_th him hee brought ten thousand men, Yett, God bee thanked, wee made them such a banquett That none of them returned againe.

8 Wee chased them to D[alkeith]

* * * * *

* * * * *

1^1. 10^{th}.

1^2. 4[th :].

1^4. 2.

2^1. all night that.

2^4. horne may be the reading, instead of turne.

3^3. 6[d :] p_ro_ 2.

4^3. 8[t :].

5^1. 12[th :].

7^2. 10000.

8^1. Half a page gone.

173

MARY HAMILTON

#A. a.# ‘Marie Hamilton,’ Sharp’s Ballad Book, 1824, p. 18. #b.# Communicated by the late John Francis Campbell. #c.# Aungervyle Society’s publications, No V, p. 18.

#B.# ‘Mary Hamilton,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 337; printed in part in Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, p. 313 ff.

#C.# ‘Mary Myles,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 265.

#D.# ‘Mary Hamilton,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 267; Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, p. 316.

#E.# ‘Lady Maisry,’ Buchan’s MSS, II, 186; Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 190.

#F.# Skene MS., p. 61.

#G.# ‘Mary Hamilton,’ MS. of Scottish Songs and Ballads copied by a granddaughter of Lord Woodhouselee, p. 51.

#H.# ‘Mary Hamilton,’ Kinloch’s Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 252.

#I. a.# ‘The Queen’s Marie,’ Scott’s Minstrelsy, 1833, III, 294. #b.# Scott’s Minstrelsy, 1802, II, 154, three stanzas.

#J.# ‘Marie Hamilton,’ Harris MS., fol. 10 b.

#K.# ‘The Queen’s Mary,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 96.

#L.# ‘Mary Hamilton,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 280.

#M.# ‘Mary Hamilton,’ Maidment’s North Countrie Garland, p. 19. Repeated in Buchan’s Gleanings, p. 164.

#N.# ‘The Queen’s Maries,’ Murison MS., p. 33.

#O.# ‘The Queen’s Marie,’ Finlay’s Scottish Ballads, I, xix.

#P.# Kinloch MSS, VII, 95, 97; Kinloch’s Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 252.

#Q.# ‘Queen’s Marie,’ Letters from and to Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, ed. Allardyce, II, 272, two stanzas.

#R.# Burns, Letter to Mrs Dunlop, 25 January, 1790, Currie, II, 290, 1800, one stanza.

The scene is at the court of Mary Stuart, #A-N#, #Q#. The unhappy heroine is one of the queen’s Four Maries, #A a# 18, #b# 14, #c# 1, 18, 23, #B# 19, #D# 21, #F# 3, 12, #G# 16, #H# 18, #I# 19, #J# 8, 10, #K# 8, #M# 7, #N# 1; Mary Hamilton, #A a# 1, #b# 2, #c# 2, #B# 3, #D# 8, #G# 1, #H# 4, #I# 1, #J# 6; Lady Mary, #F# 5, 6; Mary Mild, Myle, #C# 5, #M# 1, #N# 1, also #A c# 6, Moil, #O#, but Lady Maisry, #E# 6. She gangs wi bairn; it is to the highest Stewart of a’, #A a# 1, #A c# 2, #B# 3, #C# 5; cf. #D# 3, #G# 1–3, #I# 1–6, #L# 9, #P# 1. She goes to the garden to pull the leaf off the tree, in a vain hope to be free of the babe, #C# 3; it is the savin-tree, #D# 4, the deceivin-tree, #N# 3, the Abbey-tree (and pulled by the king), #I# 6.[245] She rolls the bairn in her apron, handkerchief, and throws it in the sea, #A a# 3, #A b# 3, #A c# 4, #C# 4, #D# 5, 9, #I# 7, #K# 2, 4, #L# 5 (inconsistently), #O# 3; cf. #B# 7. The queen asks where the babe is that she has heard greet, #A a# 4, #b# 4, #c# 6, #B# 4, 6, #C# 6, #D# 6, 8, #E# 6, 7, #F# 6, #G# 5, #H# 5, #I# 9, #J# 3, #L# 1, #M# 1; there is no babe, it was a stitch in the side, colic, #A a# 5, #b# 5, #c# 7, #B# 5, #C# 7, #D# 7, #E# 8, #F# 7, #G# 6, #H# 6, #I# 10, #J# 4, #L# 2, #M# 2; search is made and the child found in the bed, dead, #E# 9, #F# 9, #H# 7, #J# 5, #L# 4, #M# 4 (and #A c# 8 inconsistently). The queen bids Mary make ready to go to Edinburgh (i. e., from Holyrood), #A a# 6, #A b# 6, #A c# 10, #C# 8, #D# 11, #E# 10, #F# 12, #H# 8, #I# 11. The purpose is concealed in #A#, #a#, #b#, #c#, and for the best effect should be concealed, or at least simulated, as in #B#, #D#, #G#, #I#, where a wedding is the pretence, Mary Hamilton’s own wedding in #D#. The queen directs Mary to put on black or brown, #A a# 6, #A b# 6, #A c# 10; she will not put on black or brown, but white, gold, red, to shine through Edinburgh town, #A a# 7, #A b# 7, #A c# 11, #B# 9, #C# 9, #D# 13, #E# 11, #H# 10, #K# 6, #N# 5, #O# 5. When she went up the Canongate, #A a# 8, #b# 8, #c# 13, #L# 6, up the Parliament stair, #A a# 9, #b# 9, #c# 14, #D# 16, up the Tolbooth stair, #C# 12, #E# 14, #H# 15, #I# 17, came to the Netherbow Port, #G# 10, #I# 18, #M# 6, she laughed loudly or lightly, #A a# 8, #b# 8, #c# 13, #D# 16, #E# 14, #G# 10, #H# 15, #I# 18, #L# 6, #M# 6; the heel, lap, came off her shoe, #A a# 9, #b# 9, #c# 14, #C# 12, the corks from her heels did flee, #I# 17; but ere she came down again she was condemned to die, #A a# 9, #b# 9, #c# 14, #C# 12, #D# 16, #E# 14, #H# 15, #I# 17; but when she reached the gallows-foot, #G# 10, #I# 18, #M# 6, ere she came to the Cowgate Head, #L# 6, when she came down the Canongate, #A a# 8, #b# 8, #c# 13, the tears blinded her eyes. She calls for a bottle of wine, that she may drink to her well-wishers and they may drink to her, #A a# 12, #b# 10, #c# 17, #B# 14; cf. #D# 19, 20, #G# 13. She adjures sailors, travellers, not to let her father and mother get wit what death she is to die, #A a# 14, #b# 12, #c# 19, #B# 15, #C# 13, #D# 20, #F# 15, #G# 13, #H# 21, #I# 23, #L# 7, #M# 8, or know but that she is coming home, #A a# 13, #b# 11, #B# 16, #C# 14, #D# 19, #E# 15, #F# 16, #G# 14, #H# 20, #I# 22, #L# 8. Little did her mother think when she cradled her (brought her from home, #F# 18) what lands she would travel and what end she would come to, #A a# 15, #c# 21, #B# 17, 18, #C# 15, #D# 17, #G# 15, #I# 25, #J# 9, #N# 9, #R#; as little her father, when he held her up, #A a# 16, #c# 22, #C# 16, brought her over the sea, #F# 17. Yestreen the queen had four Maries, to-night she’ll have but three (see above); yestreen she washed Queen Mary’s feet, etc., and the gallows is her reward to-day, #A a# 17, #b# 13, #B# 20, #C# 17, #G# 11, 12, #H# 19, #I# 20, 21, #N# 8.

It is impossible to weave all the versions into an intelligible and harmonious story. In #E# 10, #F# 12, #H# 8 the intention to bring Mary to trial is avowed, and in #A c# 9, #B# 8^{5,6}, #F# 10, #K# 5, #M# 5 she is threatened with death. In #D# 12, #H# 9, #J# 7, #N# 4, the queen is made to favor, and not inhibit, gay colors. Mary may laugh when she goes up the Parliament stair, but not when she goes up the Tolbooth stair. She goes up the Canongate to the Parliament House to be tried, but she would not go down the Canongate again, the Tolbooth being in the High Street, an extension of the Canongate, and the Parliament House in the rear. The tears and alaces and ohones as Mary goes by, #A a# 10, #c# 15, #B# 10, #C# 10, #D# 14, #E# 12, #F# 13, #H# 11, #I# 16, are a sufficiently effective incident as long as Mary is represented to be unsuspicious of her doom, as she is in #D# 15, #G# 9, #I# 15, 16; but in #A a# 11, #c# 16, #B# 11, #C# 11, #H# 12, 22, she forbids condolement, because she deserves to die for killing her babe, which reduces this passage to commonplace. Much better, if properly introduced, would be the desperate ejaculation, Seek never grace at a graceless face! which we find in #E# 13, #F# 14, #H# 13, #N# 7.

At the end of #B# the king tells Mary Hamilton to come down from the scaffold, but she scorns life after having been put to public shame. So in #D#, with queen for king.

In #A a# 4, #b# 4, 13, #G# 5 the queen is “the auld queen,” and yet Mary Stuart.

#E#, from 16, #F#, from 19, are borrowed from No 95, ‘The Maid freed from the Gallows:’ see II, 346. #G# 8 (and #I# 13, taken from #G#) is derived from ‘Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,’ #D a# 11, #e# 10, #g# 11: see II, 187, 196, 197. The rejection of black and brown, #A# 7, #C# 9, #D# 13, etc., or of green, #K# 6, is found in the same ballad, #C# 10, #E# 16, #F# 12, 15, etc., #B# 20. #B# 21 is perhaps from ‘The Laird of Waristoun:’ see further on, #A# 9, #B# 10, #C# 4. #I# 12, 14 look like a souvenir of ‘Fair Janet,’ No 64.

There are not a few spurious passages. Among these are the extravagance of the queen’s bursting in the door, #F# 8; the platitude, of menial stamp, that the child, if saved, might have been an honor to the mother, #D# 10, #L# 3, #O# 4; the sentimentality of #H# 3, 16.

Allan Cunningham has put the essential incidents of the story into a rational order, that of #A#, for example, with less than usual of his glistering and saccharine phraseology: Songs of Scotland, I, 348. Aytoun’s language is not quite definite with regard to the copy which he gives at II, 45, ed. 1859: it is, however, made up from versions previously printed.

When Mary Stuart was sent to France in 1548, she being then between five and six, she had for companions “sundry gentlewomen and noblemen’s sons and daughters, almost of her own age, of the which there were four in special of whom every one of them bore the same name of Mary, being of four sundry honorable houses, to wit, Fleming, Livingston, Seton, and Beaton of Creich; who remained all four with the queen in France during her residence there, and returned again in Scotland with her Majesty in the year of our Lord 1561:” Lesley, History of Scotland, 1830, p. 209. We still hear of the Four Maries in 1564, Calendar of State Papers (Foreign), VII, 213, 230; cited by Burton, IV, 107. The ballad substitutes Mary Hamilton and Mary Carmichael for Mary Livingston and Mary Fleming; but #F# 3, 12 has Livingston. #N#, of late recitation, has Heaton for Seton and Michel for Carmichael.

#D# 4, etc. In ‘Tam Lin,’ No 39, Janet pulls the rose to kill or scathe away her babe; #A# 19, 20, #F# 8, #I# 24, 25 (probably repeated from #A#). In #G# 18, 19, the herb of 15 and the rose of 17 becomes the pile of the gravil green, or of the gravil gray; in #H# 5, 6 Janet pulls an unspecified flower or herb (I, 341 ff).

We have had in ‘The Twa Brothers,’ No 49, a passage like that in which Mary begs sailors and travellers not to let her parents know that she is not coming home; and other ballads, Norse, Breton, Romaic, and Slavic, which present a similar trait, are noted at I, 436 f, II, 14. To these may be added Passow, p. 400, No 523; Jeannaraki, p. 116, No 118; Sakellarios, p. 98, No 31; Puymaigre, 1865, p. 62, Bujeaud, II, 210 (Liebrecht); also Guillon, p. 107, Nigra, No 27, #A, B#, pp. 164, 166, and many copies of ‘Le Déserteur,’ and some of ‘Le Plongeur,’ ‘La ronde du Battoir.’

Scott thought that the ballad took its rise from an incident related by Knox as occurring in “the beginning of the regiment of Mary, Queen of Scots.” “In the very time of the General Assembly,” says Knox, “there comes to public knowledge a heinous murder committed in the court, yea, not far from the queen’s own lap; for a French woman that served in the queen’s chamber had played the whore with the queen’s own apothecary. The woman conceived and bare a child, whom, with common consent, the father and the mother murdered. Yet were the cries of a new-born bairn heard; search was made, the child and mother was both deprehended, and so were both the man and the woman damned to be hanged upon the public street of Edinburgh.”[246] “It will readily strike the reader,” says Scott, “that the tale has suffered great alterations, as handed down by tradition; the French waiting-woman being changed into Mary Hamilton, and the queen’s apothecary[247] into Henry Darnley. Yet this is less surprising when we recollect that one of the heaviest of the queen’s complaints against her ill-fated husband was his infidelity, and that even with her personal attendants.” This General Assembly, however, met December 25, 1563, and since Darnley did not come to Scotland until 1565, a tale of 1563, or of 1563–4, leaves him unscathed.

Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, in his preface to #A#, Ballad Book, 1824, p. 18, observes: “It is singular that during the reign of the Czar Peter, one of his empress’s attendants, a Miss Hamilton, was executed for the murder of a natural child.... I cannot help thinking that the two stories have been confused in the ballad, for if Marie Hamilton was executed in Scotland, it is not likely that her relations resided beyond seas; and we have no proof that Hamilton was really the name of the woman who made a slip with the queen’s apothecary.” Sharpe afterwards communicated details of the story[248] to Scott, who found in them “a very odd coincidence in name, crime and catastrophe;” Minstrelsy, 1833, III, 296, note. But Sharpe became convinced “that the Russian tragedy must be the original” (note in Laing’s edition of the Ballad Book, 1880, p. 129); and this opinion is the only tenable one, however surprising it may be or seem that, as late as the eighteenth century, the popular genius, helped by nothing but a name, should have been able so to fashion and color an episode in the history of a distant country as to make it fit very plausibly into the times of Mary Stuart.

The published accounts of the affair of the Russian Mary Hamilton differ to much the same degree as some versions of the Scottish ballad. The subject has fortunately been reviewed in a recent article founded on original and authentic documents.[249]

When the Hamiltons first came to Russia does not appear. Artemon Sergheievitch Matveief, a distinguished personage, minister and friend of the father of Peter the Great, married a Hamilton, of a Scottish family settled at Moscow, after which the Hamilton family ranked with the aristocracy. The name of Mary’s father, whether William or Daniel, is uncertain, but it is considered safe to say that she was niece to Andrei Artemonovitch Matveief, son of the Tsar Alexei’s friend. Mary Hamilton was created maid-of-honor to the Empress Catharine chiefly on account of her beauty. Many of Catharine’s attendants were foreigners; not all were of conspicuous families, but Peter required that they should all be remarkably handsome. Mary had enjoyed the special favor of the Tsar, but incurred his anger by setting afloat a report that Catharine had a habit of eating wax, which produced pimples on her face. The empress spoke to her about this slander; Mary denied that she was the author of it; Catharine boxed her ears, and she acknowledged the offence. Mary Hamilton had been having an amour with Ivan Orlof, a handsome aide-de-camp of Tsar Peter, and while she was under the displeasure of her master and mistress, the body of a child was found in a well, wrapped in a court-napkin. Orlof, being sent for by Peter on account of a missing paper, thought that his connection with Mary had been discovered, and in his confusion let words escape him which Peter put to use in tracing the origin of the child. The guilt was laid at Mary’s door; she at first denied the accusation, but afterwards made a confession, exonerating Orlof, however, from all participation in the death of the babe; and indeed it was proved that he had not even known of its birth till the information came to him in the way of court-gossip. Both were sent to the Petropaulovsk fortress, Orlof on April 4, Mary on April 10, 1718. Orlof was afterwards discharged without punishment. Mary, after being twice subjected to torture, under which she confessed to having previously destroyed two children,[250] was condemned to death November 27, 1718, and executed on March 14, 1719, the Tsar attending. She had attired herself in white silk, with black ribbons, hoping thereby to touch Peter’s heart. She fell on her knees and implored a pardon. But a law against the murder of illegitimate children had recently been promulgated afresh and in terms of extreme severity. Peter turned aside and whispered something to the executioner; those present thought he meant to show grace, but it was an order to the headsman to do his office. The Tsar picked up Mary’s head and kissed it, made a little discourse on the anatomy of it to the spectators, kissed it again, and threw it down. That beautiful head is said to have been kept in spirits for some sixty years at the Academy of Sciences in St Petersburg.

It will be observed that this adventure at the Russian court presents every material feature in the Scottish ballad, and even some subordinate ones which may or may not have been derived from report, may or may not have been the fancy-work of singers or reciters. We have the very name, Mary Hamilton; she is a maid-of-honor; she has, as some versions run, an intrigue with the king, and has a child, which she destroys; she rolls the child in a napkin and throws it into a well (rolls the child in her handkerchief, apron, and throws it in the sea); she is charged with the fact and denies; according to some versions, search is made and overwhelming proof discovered;[251] she is tried and condemned to die; she finds no grace. The appeal to sailors and travellers in the ballad shows that Mary Hamilton dies in a foreign land—not that of her ancestors. The king’s coming by in #B# 22 (cf. #D# 22, 23) may possibly be a reminiscence of the Tsar’s presence at the execution, and Mary’s dressing herself in white, etc., to shine through Edinburgh town a transformation of Mary’s dressing herself in white to move the Tsar’s pity at the last moment; but neither of these points need be insisted on.

There is no trace of an admixture of the Russian story with that of the French woman and the queen’s apothecary, and no ballad about the French woman is known to have existed.

We first hear of the Scottish ballad in 1790, when a stanza is quoted in a letter of Robert Burns (see #R#). So far as I know, but one date can be deduced from the subject-matter of the ballad; the Netherbow Port is standing in #G#, #I#, #M#, and this gate was demolished in 1764. The ballad must therefore have arisen between 1719 and 1764. It is remarkable that one of the very latest of the Scottish popular ballads should be one of the very best.

#I a# is translated by Gerhard, p. 149; Aytoun’s ballad by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, p. 76, No 24.

A

#a.# Sharpe’s Ballad Book, 1824, p. 18. #b.# Communicated by the late John Francis Campbell, as learned from his father about 1840. #c.# Aungervyle Society’s publications, No V, p. 5 (First Series, p. 85); “taken down early in the present century from the lips of an old lady in Annandale.”

1 Word’s gane to the kitchen, And word’s gane to the ha, That Marie Hamilton gangs wi bairn To the hichest Stewart of a’.

2 He’s courted her in the kitchen, He’s courted her in the ha, He’s courted her in the laigh cellar, And that was warst of a’.

3 She’s tyed it in her apron And she’s thrown it in the sea; Says, Sink ye, swim ye, bonny wee babe! You’l neer get mair o me.

4 Down then cam the auld queen, Goud tassels tying her hair: ‘O Marie, where’s the bonny wee babe That I heard greet sae sair?’

5 ‘There never was a babe intill my room, As little designs to be; It was but a touch o my sair side, Come oer my fair bodie.’

6 ‘O Marie, put on your robes o black, Or else your robes o brown, For ye maun gang wi me the night, To see fair Edinbro town.’

7 ‘I winna put on my robes o black, Nor yet my robes o brown; But I’ll put on my robes o white, To shine through Edinbro town.’

8 When she gaed up the Cannogate, She laughd loud laughters three; But whan she cam down the Cannogate The tear blinded her ee.

9 When she gaed up the Parliament stair, The heel cam aff her shee; And lang or she cam down again She was condemnd to dee.

10 When she cam down the Cannogate, The Cannogate sae free, Many a ladie lookd oer her window, Weeping for this ladie.

11 ‘Ye need nae weep for me,’ she says, ‘Ye need nae weep for me; For had I not slain mine own sweet babe, This death I wadna dee.

12 ‘Bring me a bottle of wine,’ she says, ‘The best that eer ye hae, That I may drink to my weil-wishers, And they may drink to me.

13 ‘Here’s a health to the jolly sailors, That sail upon the main; Let them never let on to my father and mother But what I’m coming hame.

14 ‘Here’s a health to the jolly sailors, That sail upon the sea; Let them never let on to my father and mother That I cam here to dee.

15 ‘Oh little did my mother think, The day she cradled me, What lands I was to travel through, What death I was to dee.

16 ‘Oh little did my father think, The day he held up me, What lands I was to travel through, What death I was to dee.

17 ‘Last night I washd the queen’s feet, And gently laid her down; And a’the thanks I’ve gotten the nicht To be hangd in Edinbro town!

18 ‘Last nicht there was four Maries, The nicht there’l be but three; There was Marie Seton, and Marie Beton, And Marie Carmichael, and me.’

B

Motherwell’s MS., p. 337.

1 There were ladies, they lived in a bower, And oh but they were fair! The youngest o them is to the king’s court, To learn some unco lair.

2 She hadna been in the king’s court A twelve month and a day, Till of her they could get na wark, For wantonness and play.

3 Word is to the kitchen gane, And word is to the ha, And word is up to Madame the Queen, And that is warst of a’, That Mary Hamilton has born a bairn, To the hichest Stewart of a’.

4 ‘O rise, O rise, Mary Hamilton, O rise, and tell to me What thou did with thy sweet babe We sair heard weep by thee.’

5 ‘Hold your tongue, madame,’ she said, ‘And let your folly be; It was a shouir o sad sickness Made me weep sae bitterlie.’

6 ‘O rise, O rise, Mary Hamilton, O rise, and tell to me What thou did with thy sweet babe We sair heard weep by thee.’

7 ‘I put it in a piner-pig, And set it on the sea; I bade it sink, or it might swim, It should neer come hame to me.’

8 ‘O rise, O rise, Mary Hamilton, Arise, and go with me; There is a wedding in Glasgow town This day we’ll go and see.’

9 She put not on her black clothing, She put not on her brown, But she put on the glistering gold, To shine thro Edinburgh town.

10 As they came into Edinburgh town, The city for to see, The bailie’s wife and the provost’s wife Said, Och an alace for thee!

11 ‘Gie never alace for me,’ she said, ‘Gie never alace for me; It’s all for the sake of my poor babe, This death that I maun die.’

12 As they gaed up the Tolbuith stair, The stair it was sae hie, The bailie’s son and the provost’s son Said, Och an alace for thee!

13 ‘Gie never alace for me,’ she said, ‘Gie never alace for me! It’s all for the sake of my puir babe, This death that I maun die.

14 ‘But bring to me a cup,’ she says, ‘A cup bot and a can, And I will drink to all my friends, And they ll drink to me again.

15 ‘Here’s to you all, travellers, Who travels by land or sea; Let na wit to my father nor mother The death that I must die.

16 ‘Here’s to you all, travellers, That travels on dry land; Let na wit to my father nor mother But I am coming hame.

17 ‘Little did my mother think, First time she cradled me, What land I was to travel on, Or what death I would die.

18 ‘Little did my mother think, First time she tied my head, What land I was to tread upon, Or whare I would win my bread.

19 ‘Yestreen Queen Mary had four Maries, This night she’ll hae but three; She had Mary Seaton, and Mary Beaton, And Mary Carmichael, and me.

20 ‘Yestreen I wush Queen Mary’s feet, And bore her till her bed; This day she’s given me my reward, This gallows-tree to tread.

21 ‘Cast off, cast off my goun,’ she said. ‘But let my petticoat be, And tye a napkin on my face, For that gallows I downa see.’

22 By and cum the king himsell, Lookd up with a pitiful ee: ‘Come down, come down, Mary Hamilton, This day thou wilt dine with me.’

23 ‘Hold your tongue, my sovereign leige, And let your folly be; An ye had a mind to save my life, Ye should na shamed me here.’

C

Motherwell’s MS. p. 265; from Mrs Crum, Dumbarton, 7 April, 1825.

1 There lived a lord into the west, And he had dochters three, And the youngest o them is to the king’s court, To learn some courtesie.

2 She was not in the king’s court A twelvemonth and a day, Till she was neither able to sit nor gang, Wi the gaining o some play.

3 She went to the garden, To pull the leaf aff the tree, To tak this bonnie babe frae her breast, But alas it would na do!

4 She rowed it in her handkerchief, And threw it in the sea: ‘O sink ye, swim ye, wee wee babe! Ye’ll get nae mair o me.’

5 Word is to the kitchen gane, And word is to the ha, That Mary Myle she goes wi child To the highest Steward of a’.

6 Down and came the queen hersell, The queen hersell so free: ‘O Mary Myle, whare is the child That I heard weep for thee?’

7 ‘O hold your tongue now, Queen,’ she says, ‘O hold your tongue so free! For it was but a shower o the sharp sickness, I was almost like to die.’

8 ‘O busk ye, busk ye, Mary Myle, O busk, and go wi me; O busk ye, busk ye, Mary Mile, It’s Edinburgh town to see.’

9 ‘I’ll no put on my robes o black, No nor yet my robes [o] brown; But I’ll put on my golden weed, To shine thro Edinburgh town.’

10 When she went up the Cannongate-side, The Cannongate-side so free, Oh there she spied some ministers’ lads, Crying Och and alace for me!

11 ‘Dinna cry och and alace for me! Dinna cry o[c]h and alace for me! For it’s all for the sake of my innocent babe That I come here to die.’

12 When she went up the Tolbooth-stair, The lap cam aff her shoe; Before that she came down again, She was condemned to die.

13 ‘O all you gallant sailors, That sail upon the sea, Let neither my father nor mother know The death I am to die!

14 ‘O all you gallant sailors, That sail upon the faem, Let neither my father nor mother know But I am coming hame!

15 ‘Little did my mother know, The hour that she bore me, What lands I was to travel in, What death I was to die.

16 ‘Little did my father know, When he held up my head, What lands I was to travel in, What was to be my deid.

17 ‘Yestreen I made Queen Mary’s bed, Kembed doun her yellow hair; Is this the reward I am to get, To tread this gallows-stair!’

D

Motherwell’s MS., p. 267; from the recitation of Miss Nancy Hamilton and Mrs Gentles, January, 1825.

1 There lives a knight into the north, And he had daughters three; The ane of them was a barber’s wife, The other a gay ladie.

2 And the youngest of them is to Scotland gane, The queen’s Mary to be, And a’that they could say or do, Forbidden she woudna be.

3 The prince’s bed it was sae saft, The spices they were sae fine, That out of it she couldna lye While she was scarse fifteen.

4 She’s gane to the garden gay To pu of the savin tree; But for a’that she could say or do, The babie it would not die.

5 She’s rowed it in her handkerchief, She threw it in the sea; Says, Sink ye, swim ye, my bonnie babe! For ye’ll get nae mair of me.

6 Queen Mary came tripping down the stair, Wi the gold strings in her hair: ‘O whare’s the little babie,’ she says, ‘That I heard greet sae sair? ’

7 ‘O hold your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame, Let all those words go free! It was mysell wi a fit o the sair colic, I was sick just like to die.’

8 ‘O hold your tongue, Mary Hamilton, Let all those words go free! O where is the little babie That I heard weep by thee?’

9 ‘I rowed it in my handkerchief, And threw it in the sea; I bade it sink, I bade it swim, It would get nae mair o me.’

10 ‘O wae be to thee, Marie Hamilton, And an ill deid may you die! For if ye had saved the babie’s life It might hae been an honour to thee.

11 ‘Busk ye, busk ye, Marie Hamilton, O busk ye to be a bride! For I am going to Edinburgh toun, Your gay wedding to bide.

12 ‘You must not put on your robes of black, Nor yet your robes of brown; But you must put on your yellow gold stuffs, To shine thro Edinburgh town.’

13 ‘I will not put on my robes of black, Nor yet my robes of brown; But I will put on my yellow gold stuffs, To shine thro Edinburgh town.’

14 As she went up the Parliament Close, A riding on her horse, There she saw many a cobler’s lady, Sat greeting at the cross.

15 ‘O what means a’ this greeting? I’m sure its nae for me; For I’m come this day to Edinburgh town Weel wedded for to be.’

16 When she gade up the Parliament stair, She gied loud lauchters three; But ere that she came down again, She was condemned to die.

17 ‘O little did my mother think, The day that she prinned my gown, That I was to come sae far frae hame To be hangid in Edinburgh town.

18 ‘O what’ll my poor father think, As he comes thro the town, To see the face of his Molly fair Hanging on the gallows-pin!

19 ‘Here’s a health to the marineres, That plough the raging main! Let neither my mother nor father know But I’m coming hame again!

20 ‘Here’s a health to the sailors, That sail upon the sea! Let neither my mother nor father ken That I came here to die!

21 ‘Yestreen the queen had four Maries, This night she’ll hae but three; There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton, And Mary Carmichael, and me.’

22 ‘O hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton, Let all those words go free! This night eer ye be hanged Ye shall gang hame wi me.’

23 ‘O hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame, Let all those words go free! For since I have come to Edinburgh toun, It’s hanged I shall be, And it shall neer be said that in your court I was condemned to die.’

E

Buchan’s MSS, II, 186.

1 ‘My father was the Duke of York, My mother a lady free, Mysell a dainty damsell, Queen Mary sent for me.

2 ‘Yestreen I washd Queen Mary’s feet, Kam’d down her yellow hair, And lay a’night in the young man’s bed, And I’ll rue t for evermair.

3 The queen’s kale was aye sae het, Her spice was aye sae fell, Till they gart me gang to the young man’s bed, And I’d a’the wyte mysell.

4 ‘I was not in the queen’s service A twelvemonth but barely ane, Ere I grew as big wi bairn As ae woman could gang.

5 ‘But it fell ance upon a day, Was aye to be it lane, I did take strong travilling As ever yet was seen.’

6 Ben it came the queen hersell, Was a’ gowd to the hair; ‘O where’s the bairn, Lady Maisry, That I heard greeting sair?’

7 Ben it came the queen hersell, Was a’ gowd to the chin: ‘O where’s the bairn, Lady Maisry, That I heard late yestreen.’

8 ‘There is no bairn here,’ she says, ‘Nor never thinks to be; ’Twas but a stoun o sair sickness That ye heard seizing me.’

9 They sought it out, they sought it in, They sought it but and ben, But between the bolster and the bed They got the baby slain.

10 ‘Come busk ye, busk ye, Lady Maisdry, Come busk, an go with me; For I will on to Edinburgh, And try the verity.’

11 She woud not put on the black, the black, Nor yet wad she the brown, But the white silk and the red scarlet, That shin’d frae town to town.

12 As she gaed down thro Edinburgh town The burghers’ wives made meen, That sic a dainty damsel Sud ever hae died for sin.

13 ‘Make never meen for me,’ she says, ‘Make never meen for me; Seek never grace frae a graceless face, For that ye’ll never see.’

14 As she gaed up the Tolbooth stair, A light laugh she did gie; But lang ere she came down again She was condemned to die.

15 ‘A’ you that are in merchants-ships, And cross the roaring faem, Hae nae word to my father and mother, But that I’m coming hame.

16 ‘Hold your hands, ye justice o peace, Hold them a little while! For yonder comes my father and mother, That’s travelld mony a mile.

17 ‘Gie me some o your gowd, parents, Some o your white monie, To save me frae the head o yon hill, Yon greenwood gallows-tree.’

18 ‘Ye’ll get nane o our gowd, daughter, Nor nane o our white monie; For we hae travelld mony a mile, This day to see you die.’

19 ‘Hold your hands, ye justice o peace, Hold them a little while! For yonder comes him Warenston, The father of my chile.

20 ‘Give me some o your gowd, Warenston, Some o your white monie, To save me frae the head o yon hill, Yon greenwood gallows-tree.’

21 ‘I bade you nurse my bairn well, And nurse it carefullie, And gowd shoud been your hire, Maisry, And my body your fee.’

22 He’s taen out a purse o gowd, Another o white monie, And he’s tauld down ten thousand crowns, Says, True love, gang wi me.

F

Skene MS., p. 61.

1 My father was the Duke of York, My mother a lady free, Mysel a dainty demosell, Queen Mary sent for me.

2 The queen’s meat, it was sae sweet, Her clothing was sae rare, It made me lang for Sweet Willie’s bed, An I’ll rue it ever maer.

3 Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton, And Lady Livinston, three, We’ll never meet in Queen Mary’s bower, Now Maries tho ye be.

4 Queen Mary sat in her bower, Sewing her silver seam; She thought she heard a baby greet, But an a lady meen.

5 She threw her needle frae her, Her seam out of her hand, An she is on to Lady Mary’s bower, As fast as she could gang.

6 ‘Open yer door, Lady Mary,’ she says, ‘And lat me come in; For I hear a baby greet, But an a lady meen.’

7 ‘There is na bab in my bower, madam, Nor never thinks to be, But the strong pains of gravel This night has seized me.’

8 She pat her fit to the door, But an her knee, Baith of brass and iron bands In flinders she gard flee.

9 She pat a hand to her bed-head, An ither to her bed-feet, An bonny was the bab Was blabbering in its bleed.

10 ‘Wae worth ye, Lady Mary, An ill dead sall ye die! For an ye widna kept the bonny bab, Ye might ha sen’t to me.’

11 ‘Lay na the wate on me, madam, Lay na the wate on me! For my fas love bare the brand at his side That gared my barrine die.’

12 ‘Get up, Lady Beaton, get up, Lady Seton, And Lady Livinstone three, An we will on to Edinburgh, An try this gay lady.’

13 As she came to the Cannongate, The burgers’ wives they cryed Hon ohon, ochree! . . . . . . . . . .

14 ‘O had you still, ye burgers’ wives, An make na meen for me; Seek never grace of a graceless face, For they hae nane to gie.

15 ‘Ye merchants and ye mariners, That trade upon the sea, O dinna tell in my country The dead I’m gaen to die!

16 ‘Ye merchants and ye mariners, That sail upo the faeme, O dinna tell in my country But that I’m comin hame!

17 ‘Little did my father think, Whan he brought me our the sea, That he wad see me yellow locks Hang on a gallow’s tree.

18 ‘Little did my mither think Whan she brought me fra hame, That she maught see my yellow loks Han[g] on a gallow-pin.

19 ‘O had your hand a while! . . . . . . . For yonder comes my father, I’m sure he’l borrow me.

20 ‘O some of your goud, father, An of your well won fee, To save me [frae the high hill] [And] frae the gallow-tree!’

21 ‘Ye’s get nane of my goud, Nor of my well won fee, For I would gie five hundred pown To see ye hangit hie.’

22 ‘O had yer hand a while! . . . . . . . Yonder is my love Willie, Sure he will borrow me.

23 ‘O some o your goud, my love Willie, An some o yer well won fee, To save me frae the high hill, And fra the gallow-tree!’

24 ‘Ye’s get a’ my goud, And a’ my well won fee, To save ye fra the headin-hill, And frae the gallow-tree.’

G

Manuscript of Scottish Songs and Ballads, copied by a granddaughter of Lord Woodhouselee, 1840–50, p. 51.

1 O Mary Hamilton to the kirk is gane, Wi ribbons in her hair; An the king thoct mair o Marie Then onie that were there.

2 Mary Hamilton’s to the preaching gane, Wi ribbons on her breast; An the king thocht mair o Marie Than he thocht o the priest.

3 Syne word is thro the palace gane, I heard it tauld yestreen, The king loes Mary Hamilton Mair than he loes his queen.

4 A sad tale thro the town is gaen, A sad tale on the morrow; Oh Mary Hamilton has born a babe, An slain it in her sorrow!

5 And down then cam the auld queen, Goud tassels tied her hair: ‘What did ye wi the wee wee bairn That I heard greet sae sair?’

6 ‘There neer was a bairn into my room, An as little designs to be; ’Twas but a stitch o my sair side, Cam owre my fair bodie.’

7 ‘Rise up now, Marie,’ quo the queen, ‘Rise up, an come wi me, For we maun ride to Holyrood, A gay wedding to see.’

8 The queen was drest in scarlet fine, Her maidens all in green; An every town that they cam thro Took Marie for the queen.

9 But little wist Marie Hamilton, As she rode oure the lea, That she was gaun to Edinbro town Her doom to hear and dree.

10 When she cam to the Netherbow Port, She laughed loud laughters three; But when she reached the gallows-tree, The tears blinded her ee.

11 ‘Oh aften have I dressed my queen, An put gowd in her hair; The gallows-tree is my reward, An shame maun be my share!

12 ‘Oh aften hae I dressed my queen, An saft saft made her bed; An now I’ve got for my reward The gallows-tree to tread!

13 ‘There’s a health to all gallant sailors, That sail upon the sea! Oh never let on to my father and mither The death that I maun dee!

14 ‘An I charge ye, all ye mariners, When ye sail owre the main, Let neither my father nor mither know But that I’m comin hame.

15 ‘Oh little did my mither ken, That day she cradled me, What lands I was to tread in, Or what death I should dee.

16 ‘Yestreen the queen had four Maries, The nicht she’ll hae but three; There’s Marie Seaton, an Marie Beaton, An Marie Carmichael, an me.’

H

Kinloch’s Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 252; a North Country version.

1 ‘Whan I was a babe, and a very little babe, And stood at my mither’s knee, Nae witch nor warlock did unfauld The death I was to dree.

2 ‘But my mither was a proud woman, A proud woman and a bauld; And she hired me to Queen Mary’s bouer, When scarce eleven years auld.

3 ‘O happy, happy is the maid, That’s born of beauty free! It was my dimpling rosy cheeks That’s been the dule o me; And wae be to that weirdless wicht, And a’ his witcherie!‘

4 Word’s gane up and word’s gane doun, An word’s gane to the ha, That Mary Hamilton was wi bairn, An na body kend to wha.

5 But in and cam the queen hersel, Wi gowd plait on her hair: Says, Mary Hamilton, whare is the babe That I heard greet sae sair?

6 ‘There is na babe within my bouer, And I hope there neer will be; But it’s me wi a sair and sick colic, And I’m just like to dee.’

7 But they looked up, they looked down, Atween the bowsters and the wa, It’s there they got a bonnie lad-bairn, But its life it was awa.

8 Rise up, rise up, Mary Hamilton, Rise up, and dress ye fine, For you maun gang to Edinbruch, And stand afore the nine.

9 ‘Ye’ll no put on the dowie black, Nor yet the dowie brown; But ye’ll put on the robes o red, To sheen thro Edinbruch town.’

10 ‘I’ll no put on the dowie black, Nor yet the dowie brown; But I’ll put on the robes o red, To sheen thro Edinbruch town.’

11 As they gaed thro Edinbruch town, And down by the Nether-bow, There war monie a lady fair Siching and crying, Och how!

12 ‘O weep na mair for me, ladies, Weep na mair for me! Yestreen I killed my ain bairn, The day I deserve to dee.

13 ‘What need ye hech and how, ladies? What need ye how for me? Ye never saw grace at a graceless face, Queen Mary has nane to gie.’

14 ‘Gae forward, gae forward,’ the queen she said, ‘Gae forward, that ye may see; For the very same words that ye hae said Sall hang ye on the gallows-tree.’

15 As she gaed up the Tolbooth stairs, She gied loud lauchters three; But or ever she cam down again, She was condemnd to dee.

16 ‘O tak example frae me, Maries, O tak example frae me, Nor gie your luve to courtly lords, Nor heed their witchin’ ee.

17 ‘But wae be to the Queen hersel, She micht hae pardond me; But sair she’s striven for me to hang Upon the gallows-tree.

18 ‘Yestreen the Queen had four Maries, The nicht she’ll hae but three; There was Mary Beatoun, Mary Seaton, And Mary Carmichael, and me.

19 ‘Aft hae I set pearls in her hair, Aft hae I lac’d her gown, And this is the reward I now get, To be hangd in Edinbruch town!

20 ‘O a’ye mariners, far and near, That sail ayont the faem, O dinna let my father and mither ken But what I am coming hame!

21 ‘O a’ye mariners, far and near, That sail ayont the sea, Let na my father and mither ken The death I am to dee!

22 ‘Sae, weep na mair for me, ladies, Weep na mair for me; The mither that kills her ain bairn Deserves weel for to dee.’

I

#a.# Scott’s Minstrelsy, 1833, III, 294, made up from various copies. #b.# Three stanzas (23, 18, 19) in the first edition of the Minstrelsy, 1802, II, 154, from recitation.

1 Marie Hamilton’s to the kirk gane, Wi ribbons in her hair; The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton Than ony that were there.

2 Marie Hamilton’s to the kirk gane, Wi ribbons on her breast; The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton Then he listend to the priest.

3 Marie Hamilton’s to the kirk gane, Wi gloves upon her hands; The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton, Than the queen and a’her lands.

4 She hadna been about the king’s court A month, but barely one, Till she was beloved by a’the king’s court, And the king the only man.

5 She hadna been about the king’s court A month, but barely three, Till frae the king’s court Marie Hamilton, Marie Hamilton durstna be.

6 The king is to the Abbey gane, To pu the Abbey-tree, To scale the babe frae Marie’s heart, But the thing it wadna be.

7 O she has rowd it in her apron, And set it on the sea: ‘Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe! Ye’s get nae mair o me.’

8 Word is to the kitchen gane, And word is to the ha, And word is to the noble room, Amang the ladyes a’, That Marie Hamilton’s brought to bed, And the bonny babe’s mist and awa.

9 Scarcely had she lain down again, And scarcely fa’en asleep, When up then started our gude queen, Just at her bed-feet, Saying, Marie Hamilton, where’s your babe? For I am sure I heard it greet.

10 ‘O no, O no, my noble queen, Think no such thing to be! ’Twas but a stitch into my side, And sair it troubles me.’

11 ‘Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton, Get up and follow me; For I am going to Edinburgh town, A rich wedding for to see.’

12 O slowly, slowly raise she up, And slowly put she on, And slowly rode she out the way, Wi mony a weary groan.

13 The queen was clad in scarlet, Her merry maids all in green, And every town that they cam to, They took Marie for the queen.

14 ‘Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen, Ride hooly now wi me! For never, I am sure, a wearier burd Rade in your cumpanie.’

15 But little wist Marie Hamilton, When she rade on the brown, That she was gaen to Edinburgh town, And a’to be put down.

16 ‘Why weep ye so, ye burgess-wives, Why look ye so on me? O I am going to Edinburgh town A rich wedding for to see!’

17 When she gaed up the Tolbooth stairs, The corks frae her heels did flee; And lang or eer she cam down again She was condemnd to die.

18 When she cam to the Netherbow Port, She laughed loud laughters three; But when she cam to the gallows-foot, The tears blinded her ee.

19 ‘Yestreen the queen had four Maries, The night she’ll hae but three; There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaton, And Marie Carmichael, and me.

20 ‘O often have I dressd my queen, And put gold upon her hair; But now I’ve gotten for my reward The gallows to be my share.

21 ‘Often have I dressd my queen, And often made her bed; But now I’ve gotten for my reward The gallows-tree to tread.

22 ‘I charge ye all, ye mariners, When ye sail ower the faem, Let neither my father nor mother get wit But that I’m coming hame!

23 ‘I charge ye all, ye mariners, That sail upon the sea, Let neither my father nor mother get wit This dog’s death I’m to die!

24 ‘For if my father and mother got wit, And my bold brethren three, O mickle wad be the gude red blude This day wad be spilt for me!

25 ‘O little did my mother ken, That day she cradled me, The lands I was to travel in, Or the death I was to die!’

J

Harris MS., fol. 10 b; “Mrs Harris and others.”

1 My mother was a proud, proud woman, A proud, proud woman and a bold; She sent me to Queen Marie’s bour, When scarcely eleven years old.

2 Queen Marie’s bread it was sae sweet, An her wine it was sae fine, That I hae lien in a young man’s arms, An I rued it aye synsyne.

3 Queen Marie she cam doon the stair, Wi the goud kamis in her hair: ‘Oh whare, oh whare is the wee wee babe I heard greetin sae sair?’

4 ‘It’s no a babe, a babie fair, Nor ever intends to be; But I mysel, wi a sair colic, Was seek an like to dee.’

5 They socht the bed baith up an doon, Frae the pillow to the straw, An there they got the wee wee babe, But its life was far awa.

6 ‘Come doon, come doon, Marie Hamilton, Come doon an speak to me; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

7 ‘You’ll no put on your dowie black, Nor yet your dowie broun; But you’ll put on your ried, ried silk, To shine through Edinborough toun.’

* * * * *

8 ‘Yestreen the queen had four Maries, The nicht she’ll hae but three; There was Marie Bethune, an Marie Seaton, An Marie Carmichael, an me.

9 ‘Ah, little did my mother ken, The day she cradled me, The lands that I sud travel in, An the death that I suld dee.’

10 Yestreen the queen had four Maries, The nicht she has but three; For the bonniest Marie amang them a’ Was hanged upon a tree.

K

Motherwell’s MS., p. 96; from Jean Macqueen, Largs.

1 Queen Mary had four serving-maids, As braw as braw could be, But ane o them has fa’n wi bairn, And for it she maun die.

2 But whan the babie it was born, A troubled woman was she; She rowed it up in a handkerchief, And flang it in the sea.

3 Out then spoke a bonnie wee burd, And it spak sharp and keen: ‘O what did ye do wi your wee babie, Ye had in your arms yestreen?’

4 ‘O I tyed it up in a napkin, And flang it in the sea; I bade it sink, I bade it soom, ‘Twad get nae mair o me.’

5 Out and spak King Henrie, And an angry man was he: ‘A’for the drowning o that wee babe High hanged ye shall be.’

* * * * *

6 ‘I’ll no put on a goun o black, Nor yet a goun o green, But I’ll put on a goun o gowd, To glance in young men’s een.

7 ‘O gin ye meet my father or mother, Ye may tell them frae me, ’Twas for the sake o a wee wee bairn That I came here to die.

8 ‘Yestreen four Maries made Queen Mary’s bed, This nicht there’ll be but three, A Mary Beaton, a Mary Seaton, A Mary Carmichael, and me.

9 ‘O what will my three brithers say, When they come hame frae see, When they see three locks o my yellow hair Hinging under a gallows-tree!’

L

Motherwell’s MS., p. 280; from the recitation of Mrs Trail of Paisley.

1 Doun and cam the queen hersell, Wi the goud links in her hair: ‘O what did you do wi the braw lad bairn That I heard greet sae sair?’

2 ‘There was never a babe into my room, Nor ever intends to be; It was but a fit o the sair colic, That was like to gar me die.’

3 Doun and cam the king himsell, And an angry man was he: ‘If ye had saved that braw child’s life, It might hae been an honour to thee.’

4 They socht the chamer up and doun, And in below the bed, And there they fand a braw lad-bairn Lying lapperin in his blood.

5 She rowed it up in her apron green, And threw it in the sea: ‘Een sink or swim, you braw lad bairn! Ye’ll neer get mair o me.’

* * * * *

6 When she gaed up the Cannogate, She gied loud lauchters three; But or she cam to the Cowgate Head The tears did blind her ee.

7 ‘Come a’ye jovial sailors, That sail upon the sea, Tell neither my father nor mother The death that I’m to die!

8 ‘Come a’ye jovial sailors, That sail upon the main, See that ye tell baith my father and mother That I’m coming sailing hame!

9 ‘My father he’s the Duke of York, And my mother’s a gay ladie, And I mysell a pretty fair lady, And the king fell in love with me.’

M

Maidment’s North Countrie Garland, p. 19.

1 Then down cam Queen Marie, Wi gold links in her hair, Saying, Marie Mild, where is the child, That I heard greet sae sair?

2 ‘There was nae child wi me, madam, There was nae child wi me; It was but me in a sair cholic, When I was like to die.’

3 ‘I’m not deceived,’ Queen Marie said, ‘No, no, indeed not I! So Marie Mild, where is the child? For sure I heard it cry.’

4 She turned down the blankets fine, Likewise the Holland sheet, And underneath, there strangled lay A lovely baby sweet.

5 ‘O cruel mother,’ said the queen, ‘Some fiend possessed thee; But I will hang thee for this deed, My Marie tho thou be!’

* * * * *

6 When she cam to the Netherbow Port She laught loud laughters three; But when she cam to the gallows-foot, The saut tear blinded her ee.

7 ‘Yestreen the Queen had four Maries, The night she’ll hae but three; There was Marie Seton, and Marie Beaton, And Marie Carmichael, and me.

8 ‘Ye mariners, ye mariners, That sail upon the sea, Let not my father or mother wit The death that I maun die!

9 ‘I was my parents’ only hope, They neer had ane but me; They little thought when I left hame, They should nae mair me see!’

N

Murison MS., p. 33; from recitation at Old Deer, 1876.

1 The streen the queen had four Maries, This nicht she’ll hae but three; There’s Mary Heaton, an Mary Beaton, An Mary Michel, an me, An I mysel was Mary Mild, An flower oer a’the three.

2 Mary’s middle was aye sae neat, An her clothing aye sae fine, It caused her lie in a young man’s airms, An she’s ruet it aye sin syne.

3 She done her doon yon garden green, To pull the deceivin tree, For to keep back that young man’s bairn, But forward it would be.

4 ‘Ye winna put on the dowie black, Nor yet will ye the broon, But ye’ll put on the robes o red, To shine through Edinburgh toon.’

5 She hasna pitten on the dowie black, Nor yet has she the broon, But she’s pitten on the robes o red, To shine thro Edinburgh toon.

6 When she came to the mariners’ toon, The mariners they were playin, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

7 ‘Ye needna play for me, mariners, Ye needna play for me; Ye never saw grace in a graceless face, For there’s nane therein to be.

8 ‘Seven years an I made Queen Mary’s bed, Seven years an I combed her hair, An a hansome reward noo she’s gien to me, Gien me the gallows-tows to wear!

9 ‘Oh little did my mither think, The day she cradled me, What road I’d hae to travel in, Or what death I’d hae to dee!’

O

Finlay’s Scottish Ballads, I, xix, from recitation.

1 There lived a lord into the south, And he had dochters three, And the youngest o them went to the king’s court, To learn some courtesie.

2 She rowd it in a wee wee clout . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

3 She rowd it in a wee wee clout And flang’t into the faem, Saying, Sink ye soon, my bonny babe! I’ll go a maiden hame.

4 ‘O woe be to you, ye ill woman, An ill death may ye die! Gin ye had spared the sweet baby’s life, It might hae been an honour to thee.’

5 She wadna put on her gowns o black, Nor yet wad she o brown, But she wad put on her gowns o gowd, To glance through Embro town.

6 ‘Come saddle not to me the black,’ she says, ‘Nor yet to me the brown, But come saddle to me the milk-white steed, That I may ride in renown.’

P

Kinloch’s MSS, VII, 95, 97.

My father’s the Duke of Argyll, My mither’s a lady gay, And I mysel am a dainty dame, And the king desired me.

He schawd [me] up, he shawed me doun, He schawd me to the ha; He schawd me to the low cellars, And that was waurst of a’.

Q

Letters from and to Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, ed. Allardyce, 1888, II, 272, in a letter from Sharpe to W. Scott [1823].

1 The Duke of York was my father, My mother a lady free, Myself a dainty damosell, Queen Marie sent for me.

2 The queen’s meat it was sae sweet, Her cleiding was sae rare, It gart me grien for sweet Willie, And I’ll rue it evermair.

R

Burns, in a letter to Mrs Dunlop, January 25, 1790; Currie, II, 290, 1800.

Little did my mother think, That day she cradled me, What land I was to travel in, Or what death I should die!

* * * * *

#A. b.#

1. There’s news is gaen in the kitchen, There’s news is gaen in the ha, There’s news is gaen in the laigh cellar, And that was warst of a’.

2. There’s news is gaen in the kitchen, There’s news is gaen in the ha’, That Mary Hamilton’s gotten a wean, And that was warst of a’.

3^1. She’s rowed.

3^2. She’s cuist it.

3^3. My bonnie bairn ga sink or swim.

3^4. Ye’s no hear mair.

4^1. Then doon.

4^2. Wi tasslets.

4^3. Cri’n, M. H., whaur’s the bairn.

4^4. That wanting.

5^1. There’s no a bairn in a’ the toon.

5^2. Nor yet.

5^3. ’Twas but a steek in.

6^1. And ye maun.

6^4. And ye maun awa wi me the morn.

7^1. I’se no.

7^4. To see fair.

8^1. And when.

8^3. And when.

8^4. tear stood in.

9^1. And when.

9^2. heel slipped off.

9^3. And when she cam doon the Parliament stair.

10, 11 wanting.

12^1. But bring: she cried.

13^1, 14^1. And here’s to the jolly sailor lad.

13^2, 14^2. sails: faem.

13^3. And let not my father nor mother get wit.

13^4. that I shall come again.

14^3. But let, as in 13^3.

14^4. O the death that I maun dee.

15, 16 wanting.

17^1. auld queen’s.

17^2. And I laid her gently.

17^3. I hae gotten the day.

17^4. Is to.

18^1. night the queen had.

18^2. This night she’ll hae.

18^4. M. Beton and M. Seton.

#c.#

Begins: This nicht the queen has four Maries, Each fair as she can be; There’s Marie Seton, etc.

3^1. The bairn’s tyed.

3^2. And thrown intill.

4^3. O sink.

After 3: Oh I have born this bonnie wee babe Wi mickle toil and pain; Gae hame, gae hame, you bonnie wee babe! For nurse I dare be nane.

4^1. Then down cam Queen Marie.

4^3. Saying, Marie mild, where is the babe.

5^1. There was nae babe.

5^2. There was na babe wi me.

5^3. o a sair cholic.

After 5 (mostly spurious): The queen turned down the blankets fine, Likewise the snae-white sheet, And what she saw caused her many a tear, And made her sair to greet.

O cruel mither, said the queen, A fiend possessed thee: But I will hang thee for this deed, My Marie though thou be.

After 7: And some they mounted the black steed, And some mounted the brown, But Marie mounted her milk-white steed, And rode foremost thro the town.

8^3. But when.

After 12: Yestreen the queen had four Maries, The nicht she’ll hae but three; There was M. S., and M. B. And M. C., and me.

13 wanting.

14^1. Ye mariners, ye mariners.

14^3. L[et] not my father and mother wit.

14^4. The death that I maun dee.

After 14: I was my parents’ only hope, They neer had ane but me; They little thought, when I left hame, They should nae mair me see.

17 wanting.

18^1. there were.

Largely taken from #a#, 1, 2, 6–12, 15, 16 being literally repeated.

#B.#

3^3. us up.

8^{5,6}. wrongly: And we’ll ride into Edinburgh town, High hanged thou shalt be.

#C.#

9^2. Altered from I’ll put on my brown. Var. between 9^2 and 9^3: Nor I’ll no put on my suddling silks, That I wear up and down.

up and down altered from ilka day.

10^1. went altered from gaed.

13^1, 14^1. Oh.

#D.#

From two reciters, which accounts for the alterations and insertions.

1^1. Altered from There was a lord lived in the north.

2^1. Altered from And the third.

2^3. Altered from that he.

4^1. gay added later.

4^2. Altered from And pued the saving tree.

4^3. for inserted later.

4^4. it inserted later.

7^3. a fit o inserted later.

7^4. Altered from I am just.

9. After 9, Motherwell wrote A stanza wanting, and subsequently added 10, 11.

12^3. Originally, gold stars.

13. Originally,

She did not put on her robes of black, Nor yet her robes of brown, But she put on her yellow gold stars (stays?).

14. Originally,

And when she came into Edinborugh, (bad reading) And standing at the cross, There she saw all the coblers’ wifes, Sat greeting at the cross.

15^{3,4}. Originally, For I am come to, etc., Weeded for to be.

A marginal note by Motherwell, opposite the last line, but erased, has A rich wedding to sie.

16^1. stair altered from close.

19, 20. Written in the margin, after those which follow.

23^{3,4} and And, 23^5, are of later insertion.

#E.#

For the seven stanzas after 15, see No 95, II, 346.

#F.#

3. Mary Beaton & Mary Seaton & Lady Livinston Three we’ll [or will] never meet In queen Mary’s bower Now Maries tho ye be.

13^2. then cryed.

14^1. had your.

18^4. pine.

For the six stanzas after 18, see No 95, II, 346.

#G.#

1^1. Oh.

#H.#

3, 16, 17, 22 are put into smaller type as being evidently spurious.

#I. a.#

24 is certainly spurious, and reduces the pathos exceedingly.

#b.#

18^4. tear.

23. O ye mariners, mariners, mariners, That sail upon the sea, Let not my father nor mother to wit The death that I maun die!

#K.#

From Jean Macqueen, Largo, in the MS. “More likely to be Largs, which is on the Clyde, than Largo, on the east coast”: note of Mr J. B. Murdoch.

4^1. Oh.

6 is the last stanza but one in the MS.

#L.#

9 might better be 1.

#N.#

Variations.

1^{3–6}. There’s Mary Beaton, an Mary Seaton, An Mary Carmichael, an me; An I mysel, Queen Mary’s maid, Was flower oer a’ the three.

2^1. sae jimp.

2^3. She loved to lie.

3^2. the savin tree.

3^{3,4}. But the little wee babe came to her back, An forward it would be.

8 is 4 in the MS.

#O.#

“The unfortunate heroine’s name is Mary Moil”: Finlay, p. xix.

174

EARL BOTHWELL

‘Earle Bodwell,’ Percy MS., p. 272; Hales and Furnivall, II, 260.

Printed in Percy’s Reliques, with changes, 1765, II, 197, ‘The Murder of the King of Scots;’ with some restorations of the original readings, 1794, II, 200.

This ballad represents, 8, 13, that the murder of Darnley was done in revenge for his complicity in the murder of Riccio; in which there may be as much truth as this, that the queen’s resentment of Darnley’s participation in that horrible transaction may have been operative in inducing her assent—such assent as she gave—to the conspiracy against the life of her husband.

2. Darnley came to Scotland in February, 1565 (being then but just turned of nineteen), not sent for, but very possibly with some hope of pleasing his cousin, ‘the queen [dowager] of France,’ to whom he was married in the following July. His inglorious career was closed in February, 1567.

5. On the fatal evening of the ninth of March, 1566, Riccio was sitting in the queen’s cabinet with his cap on; “and this sight was perhaps the more offensive that a few Scotsmen of good rank seem to have been in attendance as domestics.”[252]

6. The ballad should not be greatly in excess as to the number of the daggers, since Riccio had fifty-six [fifty-two] wounds.

7. After Riccio had been dragged out of the queen’s cabinet, Darnley fell to charging the queen with change in her ways with him since “yon fellow Davie fell in credit and familiarity” with her. In answer to his reproaches and interpellations her Majesty said to him that he was to blame for all the shame that was done to her; “for the which I shall never be your wife nor lie with you, nor shall never like well till I gar you have as sore a heart as I have presently.”[253]

9–14. A large quantity of powder was fired in the room below that in which “the worthy king” slept, but the body of Darnley and that of his servant were found lying at a considerable distance from the house, without any marks of having been subject to the explosion. One theory of the circumstances was that the two had been strangled in their beds, and removed before the train was lighted; another account is that Darnley, who would naturally hear some stir in the house, made his escape with his page, but “was intercepted and strangled after a desperate resistance, his cries for mercy being heard by some women in the nearest house.”[254] Bothwell, though the author of all these proceedings and personally superintending the execution of them, did not openly appear.

It will be observed that King James says that his father [MS. mother] was hanged on a tree, in ‘King James and Brown,’ No 180, 8^2.

Bothwell and Huntly, who by virtue of their offices had apartments in the palace, not being in sympathy with the conspirators, are said in the Diurnal of Occurrents, p. 90, to have broken through a window, in fear of their lives, and to have let themselves down by a cord. Bothwell, as the champion of the queen against the confederate lords, might naturally be supposed by the minstrel to take a personal interest in revenging Riccio.

15, 16. The Regent Murray is here described as ‘bitterly banishing’ Mary, wherefore she durst not remain in Scotland, but fled to England. The queen escaped from Lochleven Castle on the second of May, 1568, and took refuge in England on the sixteenth. We must suppose the ballad to have been made not long after.

Translated by Bodmer, II, 51, from Percy’s Reliques.

1 Woe worth thee, woe worth thee, false Scottlande! Ffor thou hast eu_er_ wrought by a sleight; For the worthyest prince _tha_t euer was borne, You hanged vnder a cloud by night.

2 The Queene of France a letter wrote, And sealed itt w_i_th hart and ringe, And bade him come Scottland w_i_thin, And shee wold marry him and crowne him k_ing_.

3 To be a k_ing_, itt is a pleasant thing, To bee a prince vnto a peere; But you haue heard, and so haue I too, A man may well by gold to deere.

4 There was an Italyan in that place, Was as wel beloued as euer was hee; Lo_rd_ David was his name, Chamberlaine vnto the queene was hee.

5 Ffor if the king had risen forth of his place, He wold haue sitt him downe in the cheare, And tho itt beseemed him not soe well, Altho the king had beene p_re_sent there.

6 Some lords in Scottland waxed wonderous wroth, And quarrelld w_i_th him for the nonce; I shall you tell how itt beffell, Twelue daggers were in him all att once.

7 When this queene see the chamberlaine was slaine, For him her cheeks shee did weete, And made a vow for a twelue month and a day The k_ing_ and shee wold not come in one sheete.

8 Then some of the lo_rd_s of Scottland waxed wrothe, And made their vow vehementlye, ‘For death of the queenes chamberlaine The k_ing_ himselfe he shall dye.’

9 They strowed his chamber ou_er_ w_i_th gunpowder, And layd greene rushes in his way; Ffor the traitors thought _tha_t night The worthy king for to betray.

10 To bedd the worthy k_ing_ made him bowne, To take his rest, _tha_t was his desire; He was noe sooner cast on sleepe, But his chamber was on a blasing fyer.

11 Vp he lope, and a glasse window broke, He had thirty foote for to ffall; Lo_rd_ Bodwell kept a priuy wach Vnderneath his castle-wall: ‘Who haue wee heere?’ sayd Lo_rd_ Bodwell; ‘Answer me, now I doe call.’

12 ‘K_ing_ Henery the Eighth my vnckle was; Some pitty show for his sweet sake! Ah, Lo_rd_ Bodwell, I know thee well; Some pitty on me I pray thee take!’

13 ‘I’le pitty thee as much,’ he sayd, ‘And as much favor I’le show to thee As thou had on the queene’s chamberlaine _Tha_t day thou deemedst him to dye.’

14 Through halls and towers this k_ing_ they ledd, Through castles and towers _tha_t were hye, Through an arbor into an orchard, And there hanged him in a peare tree.

15 When the gou_er_nor of Scottland he heard tell _Tha_t the worthye king he was slaine, He hath banished the queene soe bitterlye _Tha_t in Scottland shee dare not remaine.

16 But shee is ffled into merry England, And Scottland to a side hath laine, And through the Queene of Englands good grace Now in England shee doth remaine.

* * * * *

6^2. noncett, with tt blotted out. (?) Furnivall.

6^4, 7^3. 12. 10^3. sleepee.

11^2. 30.

12^1. 8[th .].

13^1. Partly pared away. Furnivall.

16^2. to aside.

175

THE RISING IN THE NORTH

‘Risinge in the Northe,’ Percy MS., p. 256; Hales and Furnivall, II, 210.

Printed in Percy’s Reliques, 1765, I, 250, “from two MS. copies, one of them in the editor’s folio collection. They contained considerable variations, out of which such readings were chosen as seemed most poetical and consonant to history.” Bearing in mind Percy’s express avowal that he “must plead guilty to the charge of concealing his own share in amendments under some such general title as a modern copy, or the like,” one would conclude without hesitation that there was but a single authentic text in this case, as in others. Percy notes on the margin of his manuscript: “N.B. To correct this by my other copy, which seems more modern. The other copy in many parts preferable to this.” But this note would seem to be a private memorandum. Or are we to suppose that Percy might employ, from habit perhaps, the same formula, not to say artifice, with himself as with the public? In notes in the Folio to ‘Northumberland betrayed by Douglas’ (No 176), Percy speaks of a second copy of that ballad also as being in his possession, and describes it as containing much which is omitted in the other, and as beginning like ‘The Earl of Westmoreland,’ (No 177). Of the beginning of this last he says, in a note in the Folio, “these lines are given in one of my old copies to Lord Northumberland.” “Old copies” is staggering; for any one who examines the variations of the texts in the Reliques from the texts in the Folio will find them of the same character and style as Percy’s acknowledged improvements of other ballads, and will be compelled to impute them to the editor or his double.[255]

The earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland, having for a time succeeded, by exuberant professions, in allaying very sufficiently grounded suspicions of their loyal dealing, at last, upon receiving the Queen’s summons to London, found compliance unsafe, and went into rebellion. They took this step with but half a heart and against their judgment, overcome by the clamor and urgency of a portion of their fellow-conspirators. The intent of the insurgents was, in Northumberland’s own words, “the reformation of religion, and the preservation of the Queen of Scots, whom they accounted by God’s law and man’s law to be right heir, if want should be of issue of the Queen’s Majesty’s body.” These two causes, they were confident, were favored by the larger number of noblemen within the realm.[256] Protestantism had no hold in the north, and the Queen’s officers in those parts were, for the moment, not strong enough to make opposition. With leaders of energy and military skill, and a good chest to draw upon,[257] the rising would have been highly dangerous. As things were, it collapsed in five weeks without the shedding of a drop of blood; but hundreds of simple people were subsequently hanged.

The earls, with others, among whom Richard Norton, then sheriff of York, was the most conspicuous, entered Durham in arms on Sunday, the fourteenth of November (1569). They went to the minster, overthrew the communion-table, tore the Bible and service-books, replaced the old altar (which had been thrown into a rubbish-heap), and had mass said. The next day they turned southwards, with nobody to molest or stop them in their rear or in front. The Earl of Sussex was collecting a force at York, but it came in slowly, and it could not be trusted. “To get the more credit among the favorers of the old Romish religion, they had a cross, with a banner of the five wounds, borne after them, sometime by old Norton, sometime by others” (Holinshed). They proceeded to Ripon, Wetherby, and Clifford Moor (Bramham Moor) near Tadcaster. “Their main body was at Wetherby and Tadcaster, their advanced horse were far down across the Ouse.” Their numbers, according to Holinshed, never exceeded about two thousand horse and five thousand foot. Tutbury, where Mary Stuart was confined, was but a little more than fifty miles from their advance; they proposed to release the Queen of Scots, and then to move on London, or wait for a rising in the south. Mary Stuart, at the nick of time, was removed to Coventry. On the twenty-fourth we hear that the rebels were drawn back to Knaresborough and Boroughbridge; on the thirtieth, that they are returned into the Bishopric. There they laid siege to Barnard Castle, which Sir George Bowes was obliged to surrender on December twelfth; on the fifteenth the earls were still at Durham. On the thirteenth the earls of Warwick and Clinton, commanders of the Army of the South, met at Wetherby with a combined force of eleven thousand foot and above twelve hundred horse, “eager to encounter the rebels, if they would abide.” But on the sixteenth the “lords rebels” warned their footmen to shift for themselves, and fled with such horse as they had left into Northumberland. The twenty-second of December, the Earl of Sussex, qui cunctando restituit rem, Lord Hunsdon, who had been joined with him in command, and Sir Ralph Sadler, who had been deputed to watch him, write to the Queen: “The earls rebels, with their principal confederates and the Countess of Northumberland, did the twentieth of this present in the night, flee into Liddesdale with about a hundred horse; and there remain under the conduction of Black Ormiston, one of the murtherers of the Lord Darnley, and John of the Side and the Lord’s Jock, two notable thieves of Liddesdale, and the rest of the rebels be utterly scaled.”[258]

The ballad, which is the work of a loyal but not unsympathetic minstrel, gives but a cursory and imperfect account of “this geere.” Earl Percy has come to the conclusion that he must fight or flee; his lady urges him thrice over to go to the court, and right himself, but he tells her that his treason is known well enough; if he follows her advice she will never see him again. He sends a letter to Master Norton, urging that gentleman to ride with him. Norton asks counsel of his son Christopher, who advises him not to go back from the word he has spoken, and much pleases his father thereby. He asks his nine sons how many of them will take part with him. All but the eldest at once answer that they will stand by him till death: Francis Norton, the eldest, will not advise acting against the crown. Coward Francis, thou never tookest that of me! says the father. Francis will go with his father, but unarmed, and he wishes an ill death to them that strike the first stroke against the crown. There is a muster at Wetherby, and Westmoreland and Northumberland are there with their proper banners,[259] and with another setting forth the Lord on the cross. Sir George Bowes “rising to make a spoil,” they besiege him in a castle to which he retires, easily win the outer walls, but cannot win the inner. Word comes to the Queen of the rebels in the north; she sends thirty thousand men against them, under the “false” Earl of Warwick, and they never stop till they reach York. (A gap occurs here, which need not be a large one, considering the leaps taken already.) Northumberland is gone, Westmoreland vanished, and Norton and his eight sons fled.

5–10. The Countess of Northumberland would have been the last person to give such advice as is attributed to her. “His wife, being the stouter of the two, doth encourage him to persevere, and rideth up and down with the army, so as the grey mare is the better horse.” Hunsdon to Cecil, November twenty-sixth, MS. cited by Froude.

11–27. Richard Norton, miscalled Francis in 40, was a man of seventy-one when he engaged in the rising, and the father of eleven sons and eight daughters. Seven of the sons were involved in the rebellion. Francis, the eldest son, so far from standing out, took a prominent part with his father. But what is said of Francis is true of William, the fourth son. Sir George Bowes says of him: “I neither heard or could perceive William Norton to deal with any office or charge amongst the rebels, but, as I have heard it affirmed, he both refused the taking charge of horsemen when it was offered unto him, and also would wear no armor. Farther, upon my departure from the castle [Barnard Castle], he came to me, and in the way as he rode with me, he entered to declare that he greatly misliked of all their doings and practices, saying that he was there amongst them for his father’s sake, and to accompany him, and otherways he never had been with them,” etc. MS. cited by Sharp, p. 284.

Christopher Norton deserves the distinction accorded him in the ballad. “Christopher had been among the first to enroll himself a knight of Mary Stuart. His religion had taught him to combine subtlety with courage, and through carelessness or treachery, or his own address, he had been admitted into Lord Scrope’s guard at Bolton Castle. There he was allowed to assist his lady’s escape, should escape prove possible; there he was able to receive messages and carry them; there, to throw the castellan off his guard, he pretended to flirt with her attendants, and twice at least, by his own confession, closely as the prisoner was watched, he contrived to hold private communications with her.” (Froude, Reign of Elizabeth, III, 505, where follow lively particulars of these two encounters.) Christopher was the only one of the Nortons who is known to have suffered the death-penalty of treason; it was “after he had beheld the death of his uncle, as well his quartering as otherwise, knowing and being well assured that he himself must follow the same way.” (Sharp, p. 286.) Richard Norton, the father, fled to Flanders with his sons Francis and Sampson, and all three seem to have died there.

33 f. Sussex to Cecil: Dec. 6. “The rebels have shot three days together at the wall of the outer ward, but they have done no hurt.” Dec. 8. “The rebels have won the first ward.” Sir George Bowes’ men leaped the walls, one day some eighty at a time, and the next day seven or eight score of the best disposed, who had been appointed to guard the gates, suddenly set them open, and went to the rebels; whereupon Sir George was driven to composition, and there was no need to take the inner walls.[260]

A considerable number of “balletts” were called forth by the northern rebellion, and a few of these have been preserved. See Arber, Stationers’ Registers, I, 404–6, 407–9, 413–15; A Collection of Seventy-Nine Blackletter Ballads, etc., 1870, pp. xxv, 1, 56, 231, 239.

The copy in the Reliques is translated by Seckendorf, Musenalmanach, 1807, p. 103; by Doenniges, p. 102.

1 Listen, liuely lordings all, And all _tha_t beene this place within: If you’le giue eare vnto my songe, I will tell you how this geere did begin.

2 It was the good Erle of Westmorlande, A noble erle was callëd hee, And he wrought treason against the crowne; Alas, itt was the more pittye!

3 And soe itt was the Erle of Northumberland, Another good noble erle was hee; They tooken both vpon one p_ar_t, Against the crowne they wolden bee.

4 Earle Pearcy is into his garden gone, And after walkes his awne ladye: ‘I heare a bird sing in my eare _Tha_t I must either ffight or fflee.’

5 ‘God fforbidd,’ shee sayd, ‘good my lord, _Tha_t euer soe _tha_t it shalbee! But goe to London to the court, And faire ffall truth and honestye!’

6 ‘But nay, now nay, my ladye gay, _Tha_t eu_er_ it shold soe bee; My treason is knowen well enoughe; Att the court I must not bee.’

7 ‘But goe to the court yet, good my lo_rd_, Take men enowe w_i_th thee; If any man will doe you wronge, Yo_u_r warrant they may bee.’

8 ‘But nay, now nay, my lady gay, For soe itt must not bee; If I goe to the court, ladye, Death will strike me, and I must dye.’

9 ‘But goe to the court yett, [good] my lord, I my-selfe will ryde w_i_th thee; If any man will doe you wronge, Yo_u_r borrow I shalbee.’

10 ‘But nay, now nay, my lady gay, For soe it must not bee; For if I goe to the court, ladye, Thou must me neuer see.

11 ‘But come hither, thou litle foot-page, Come thou hither vnto mee, For thou shalt goe a message to M_aster_ Norton, In all the hast _tha_t eu_er_ may bee.

12 ‘Comend me to _tha_t gentleman; Bring him here this letter from mee, And say, I pray him earnestlye _Tha_t hee will ryde in my companye.’

13 But one while the foote-page went, Another while he rann; Vntill he came to M_aster_ Norton, The ffoot-page neuer blanne.

14 And when he came to M_aster_ Nortton, He kneeled on his knee, And tooke the letter betwixt his hands, And lett the gentleman it see.

15 And when the letter itt was reade, Affore all his companye, I-wis, if you wold know the truth, There was many a weeping eye.

16 He said, Come hither, Kester Nortton, A ffine ffellow thou seemes to bee; Some good councell, Kester Nortton, This day doe thou giue to mee.

17 ‘Marry, I’le giue you councell, ffather, If you’le take councell att me, _Tha_t if you haue spoken the word, father, _Tha_t backe againe you doe not flee.’

18 ‘God a mercy! Christopher Nortton, I say, God a mercye! If I doe liue and scape w_i_th liffe, Well advanced shalt thou bee.

19 ‘But come you hither, my nine good sonnes, In mens estate I thinke you bee; How many of you, my children deare, On my p_ar_t _tha_t wilbe?’

20 But eight of them did answer soone, And spake ffull hastilye; Sayes, We wilbe on yo_u_r p_ar_t, ffather, Till the day _tha_t we doe dye.

21 ‘But God a mercy! my children deare, And eu_er_ I say God a mercy! And yett my blessing you shall haue, Whether-soeuer I liue or dye.

22 ‘But what sayst thou, thou Ffrancis Nortton, Mine eldest sonne and mine heyre trulye? Some good councell, Ffrancis Nortton, This day thou giue to me.’

23 ‘But I will giue you councell, ffather, If you will take councell att mee; For if you wold take my councell, father, Against the crowne you shold not bee.’

24 ‘But ffye vpon thee, Ffrancis Nortton! I say ffye vpon thee! When thou was younge and tender of age I made ffull much of thee.’

25 ‘But yo_u_r head is white, ffather,’ he sayes, ‘And yo_u_r beard is wonderous gray; Itt were shame ffor yo_u_r countrye If you shold rise and fflee away.’

26 ‘But ffye vpon thee, thou coward Ffrancis! Thou neu_er_ tookest _tha_t of mee! When thou was younge and tender of age I made too much of thee.’

27 ‘But I will goe w_i_th you, father,’ q_uo_th hee; ‘Like a naked man will I bee; He _tha_t strikes the first stroake against the crowne, An ill death may hee dye!’

28 But then rose vpp M_aster_ Nortton, _tha_t esq_uier_, W_i_th him a ffull great companye; And then the erles they comen downe To ryde in his companye.

29 Att Whethersbye the mustered their men, Vpon a ffull fayre day; Thirteen thousand there were seene To stand in battel ray.

30 The Erle of Westmoreland, he had in his ancyent The dunn bull in sight most hye, And three doggs w_i_th golden collers Were sett out royallye.

31 The Erle of Northumberland, he had in his ancyent The halfe moone in sight soe hye, As the Lo_rd_ was crucifyed on the crosse, And set forthe pleasantlye.

32 And after them did rise good S_i_r George Bowes, After them a spoyle to make; The erles returned backe againe, Thought eu_er_ _tha_t k_nigh_t to take.

33 This barron did take a castle then, Was made of lime and stone; The vttermost walls were ese to be woon; The erles haue woon them anon.

34 But tho they woone the vttermost walls, Quickly and anon, The innermust walles the cold not winn; The were made of a rocke of stone.

35 But newes itt came to leeue London, In all the speede _tha_t eu_er_ might bee; And word it came to our royall queene Of all the rebells in the north countrye.

36 Shee turned her grace then once about, And like a royall queene shee sware; Sayes, I will ordaine them such a breake-fast As was not in the north this thousand yeere!

37 Shee caused thirty thousand men to be made, W_i_th horsse and harneis all quicklye; And shee caused thirty thousand men to be made, To take the rebells in the north countrye.

38 They tooke w_i_th them the false Erle of Warwicke, Soe did they many another man; Vntill they came to Yorke castle, I-wis they neu_er_ stinted nor blan.

* * * * *

39 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ‘Spread thy ancyent, Erle of Westmoreland! The halfe-moone ffaine wold wee see!’

40 But the halfe-moone is fled and gone, And the dun bull vanished awaye; And Ffrancis Nortton and his eight sonnes Are ffled away most cowardlye.

41 Ladds w_i_th mony are counted men, Men w_i_thout mony are counted none; But hold yo_u_r tounge! why say you soe? Men wilbe men when mony is gone.

* * * * *

3^4. their for the.

7^4. they altered in MS. from them.

18^1. amercy: and afterwards.

19^1. 9.

20^1. 8^{th}.

21^2. godamercy.

29^3. 13000.

30^2. Dum̄: m for nn. Furnivall.

30^3. 3.

34^3. imermust.

35^2. all they.

36^4. 1000.

37^{1,3}. 30000.

38^2. Only half the n in many. Furnivall.

And for & throughout.

Variations of the copy in Percy’s Reliques, 1765, I, 250.

1^{2–4}. Lithe and listen unto mee, And I will sing of a noble earle, The noblest earle in the north countrie.

2, 3 wanting.

4^2. after him walkes his faire.

4^3. mine.

5^{1,2}. Now heaven forefend, my dearest lord, That eer such harm should hap to thee.

6^1, 8^1, 10^1, 24^1. Now for But.

6^{2,3}. Alas thy counsell suits not mee; Mine enemies prevail so fast.

6^4. That at: I may.

7^1. O goe.

7^2. And take thy gallant men.

7^3. any dare to doe.

7^4. Then your warrant.

8^1. thou lady faire.

8^2. The court is full of subtiltie.

8^3. And if.

8^4. Never more I may thee see.

9^1. Yet goe to the court, my lord, she sayes.

9^2. And I: will goe wi. ryde in ed. 1794.

9^3. At court then for my dearest lord.

9^4. His faithfull borrowe I will.

10^1. lady deare.

10^{2–4}. Far lever had I lose my life, Than leave among my cruell foes My love in jeopardy and strife.

11^1. come thou: my little.

11^3. To maister Norton thou must goe.

12^2. And beare this letter here fro mee.

12^3. And say that earnestly I praye.

12^4. That wanting.

13^1. But wanting: little footpage.

13^2. And another.

13^3. to his journeys end.

13^4. little footpage.

14^1. When to that gentleman he came.

14^2. Down he knelt upon.

14^{3,4}. Quoth he, My lord commendeth him, And sends this letter unto thee.

The reading of the Folio is restored in ed. 1794.

15^2. Affore that goodlye.

15^3. you the truthe wold know.

16^1. thither, Christopher.

16^2. A gallant youth thou seemst.

16^{3,4}. What doest thou counsell me, my sonne, Now that good earle’s in jeopardy.

17. Father, my counselle’s fair and free; That earle he is a noble lord, And whatsoever to him you hight, I wold not have you breake your word.

18^{1–3}. Gramercy, Christopher, my sonne, Thy counsell well it liketh mee, And if we speed, and

18^4. thou shalt.

19^1. But wanting.

19^2. Gallant men I trowe.

19^4. Will stand by that good earle and mee.

20^1. But wanting: answer make.

20^2. Eight of them spake hastilie.

20^{3,4}. O father, till the daye we dye, We’ll stand by that good earle and thee.

21^1. Gramercy now, my children deare, You showe yourselves right bold and brave; And whethersoeer I live or dye, A fathers blessing you shal have.

22^1. O Francis.

22^{2–4}. Thou art mine eldest sonn and heire; Somewhat lyes brooding in thy breast, Whatever it bee, to mee declare.

23 wanting, and instead, this stanza, like 25: Father, you are an aged man, Your head is white, your bearde is gray; It were a shame, at these your yeares, For you to ryse in such a fray.

24, 26. For these: Now fye upon thee, coward Francis, Thou never learnedst this of mee; When thou wert yong and tender of age, Why did I make soe much of thee?

27^{1,2}. But, father, I will wend with you, Unarmd and naked will I bee.

27^3. And he: the first stroake wanting.

27^4. Ever an.

28. Then rose that reverend gentleman, And with him came a goodlye band, To join with the brave Earl Percy, And all the flower o Northumberland.

29. With them the noble Nevill came, The earle of Westmorland was hee; At Wetherbye they mustred their host, Thirteen thousand faire to see.

30^{1,2}. Lord Westmorland his ancyent raisde, The dun bull he raysd on hye.

30^3. And wanting: collars brave.

30^4. Were there sett out most.

31. Earl Percy there his ancyent spred, The half moone shining all soe faire; The Nortons ancyent had the crosse, And the five wounds our Lord did beare.

32^1. Then Sir George Bowes he straitwaye rose.

32^2. some spoyle.

32^3. Those noble earles turnd.

32^4. And aye they vowed that.

33. That baron he to his castle fled, To Barnard castle then fled hee; The uttermost walles were eathe to win, The earles have wonne them presentlie.

34. The uttermost walles were lime and bricke; But thoughe they won them soon anone, Long eer they wan the innermost walles, For they were cut in rocke of stone.

35^1. Then newes unto leeve London came.

35^2. ever may.

35^3. word is brought.

35^4. Of the rysing in.

36^1. Her grace she turned her round about.

36^2. swore.

36^3. Sayes wanting.

36^4. As never was in the North before.

37^1. be raysd.

37^2. harneis faire to see.

37^3. And wanting: be raised.

37^4. the earles i th’.

38^{1,2}. Wi them the false Earle Warwick went, Th’ earle Sussex and the lord Hunsdèn.

38^3. to Yorke castle came.

38^4. stint ne.

39. Now spread thy ancyent, Westmorland, Thy dun bull faine would we spye; And thou, the Earl o Northumberland, Now rayse thy half moone up on hye.

40^1. the dun bulle is.

40^2. the half moone vanished.

40^{3,4}. The Earles, though they were brave and bold, Against soe many could not stay.

41. Thee, Norton, wi thine eight good sonnes, They doomd to dye, alas! for ruth! Thy reverend lockes thee could not save, Nor them their faire and blooming youthe.

Wi them full many a gallant wight They cruellye bereavd of life, And many a childe made fatherlesse, And widowed many a tender wife.

176

NORTHUMBERLAND BETRAYED BY DOUGLAS

‘Northumberland betrayd by Dowglas,’ Percy MS., p. 259; Hales and Furnivall, II, 217.

Printed in Percy’s Reliques, 1765, I, 257, “from two copies [which contained great variations, 1794, I, 297], one of them in the Editor’s folio MS.” In this manuscript Percy makes these notes. “N. B. My other copy is more correct than this, and contains much which is omitted here. N. B. The other copy begins with lines the same as that in page 112 [that is, the ‘Earl of Westmoreland’]. The minstrels often made such changes.”

See the preface to the foregoing ballad as to the probable character of the copy, which “contains much that is omitted here.”

The Earl of Sussex writes on December 22d that, the next morning after Northumberland and Westmorland took refuge in Liddesdale, Martin Eliot and others of the principal men of the dale raised a force against the earls, Black Ormiston, and the rest of their company, and offered fight; but in the end, Eliot, wishing to avoid a feud, said to Ormiston that “he would charge him and the rest before the Regent for keeping of the rebels of England, if he did not put them out of the country, and that if they [the earls] were in the country after the next day, he would do his worst against them and all that maintained them.” Whereupon the earls were driven to quit Liddesdale and to fly to one of the Armstrongs in the Debateable Land, leaving the Countess of Northumberland “at John of the Sydes house, a cottage not to be compared to any dog-kennel in England.” Three days later Sussex and Sadler write that “the Earl of Northumberland was yesterday [the 24th], at one in the afternoon, delivered by one Hector, of Harlaw wood, of the surname of the Armstrongs, to Alexander Hume, to be carried to the Regent.”[261] The Regent took Northumberland to Edinburgh, and on the second of January, 1570, committed him to the castle of Lochleven, attended by two servants.[262]

The sentiment of Scotsmen, and especially of borderers, was outraged by this proceeding: “for generally, all sorts, both men and women, cry out for the liberty of their country; which is, to succor banisht men, as themselves have been received in England not long since, and is the freedom of all countries, as they allege.”[263]

Northumberland remained in confinement at Lochleven until June, 1572. Meanwhile the Countess of Northumberland, who had escaped to Flanders, had been begging money to buy her husband of the Scots, and had been negotiating with Douglas of Lochleven to that effect. She was ready to give the sum demanded, which seems to have been two thousand pounds, as soon as sufficient assurance could be had that her husband would be liberated upon payment of the money. Lord Hunsdon discussed the surrender of Northumberland with the Earl of Morton and the Commendator of Dunfermling, on the occasion of their coming to Berwick to treat about the pacification of the troubles in Scotland. “They made recital of the charges that the lord of Lochleven hath been at with the said earl, and how the earl hath offered the lord of Lochleven four thousand marks sterling, to be paid presently to him in hand, to let him go. Notwithstanding, both he and the rest shall be delivered to her Majesty upon reasonable consideration of their charges.” (November 22, 1571.) Political considerations turned the scale, and on the seventh of June Lord Hunsdon paid the two thousand pounds which the countess had offered, and Northumberland was put into his hands. Hunsdon had the earl in custody at Berwick until the following August. He was then made over to Sir John Forster, Warden of the Middle Marches, taken to York and there beheaded (August 27th, 1572).[264]

The ballad-minstrel acquaints us with circumstances concerning the surrender of Northumberland which are not known to any of the historians. One night, when many gentlemen are supping at Lochleven Castle, William Douglas, the laird of the castle, rallies the earl on account of his sadness; there is to be a shooting in the north of Scotland the next day, and to this Douglas has engaged his word that Percy shall go. Percy is ready to ride to the world’s end in Douglas’s company. Mary Douglas, William’s sister, interposes: her brother is a traitor, and has taken money from the Earl [Morton?] to deliver Percy to England. Northumberland will not believe this; the surrender of a banisht man would break friendship forever between England and Scotland. Mary Douglas persists; he had best let her brother ride his own way, and he can tell the English lords that he cannot be of the party because he is in an isle of the sea (an obstacle which must appear to us not greater for one than for the other); and while her brother is away she will carry Percy to Edinburgh Castle, and deliver him to Lord Hume, who has already suffered loss in his behalf. But if he will not give credence to her, let him come on her right hand, and she will shew him something. Percy never loved witchcraft, but permits his chamberlain to go with the lady. Mary Douglas’s mother was a witch-woman, and had taught her daughter something of her art. She shows the chamberlain through the belly of a ring many Englishmen who are on the await for his master, among them Lord Hunsdon, Sir William Drury, and Sir John Forster, though at that moment they are thrice fifty mile distant. The chamberlain goes back to his lord weeping, but the relation of what he has seen produces no effect. Percy says he has been in Lochleven almost three years and has never had an ‘outrake’ (outing); he will not hear a word to hinder him from going to the shooting. He twists from his finger a gold ring—left him when he was in Harlaw wood—and gives it to Mary Douglas, with an assurance that, though he may drink, he will never eat, till he is in Lochleven again. Mary faints when she sees him in the boat, and Percy once and again proposes to go back to see how she fares; but William Douglas treats the fainting very lightly; his sister is crafty enough to beguile thousands like them. When they have sailed the first fifty mile (it will be borne in mind that the Douglas castle is described as being on an isle of the sea), James Swynard, the chamberlain,[265] asks how far it is to the shooting, and gets an alarming answer: fair words make fools fain; whenever they come to the shooting, they will think they have come soon enough! Jamie carries this answer to his master, who finds nothing discouraging in it; it was meant only to try his mettle. But after sailing fifty miles more, Percy himself calls to Douglas and asks what his purpose is. “Look that your bridle be strong and your spurs be sharp,” says Douglas (but 49^1 is probably corrupted). “This is mere flouting,” replies Percy; “one Armstrong has my horse, another my spurs and all my gear.” Fifty miles more of the sea, and they land Lord Percy at Berwick, a deported, “extradited” man!

14. The Countess of Northumberland was sheltered for some time at Hume Castle (Sir C. Sharp’s Memorials, pp. 143, 146, 150, 344, ff). The castle was invested, and by direction of Lord Hume, then absent in Edinburgh, was surrendered without resistance, in the course of Sussex’s destructive raid in April, 1570. Cabala, ed. 1663, p. 175. See also Diurnal of Occurrents, p. 170.

19. Witchcraft was rife at the epoch of this ballad, nor was the imputation of it confined to hags of humble life. The Lady Buccleuch, the Countess of Athole, and the Lady Foullis were all accused of practising the black art. Nothing in that way was charged upon Lady Douglas of Lochleven, the mother of William Douglas and of the Regent Murray; but Lady Janet Douglas, sister of the Earl of Angus, had been burnt in 1537 for meditating the death of James V by poison or witchcraft, and it is possible, as Percy has suggested, that this occurrence may have led to the attribution of sorcery to Lady Douglas of Lochleven.[266]

Mary Douglas shows Northumberland’s chamberlain, through the hollow of her ring, the English lords who are waiting for his master “thrice fifty mile” distant, at Berwick. In a Swiss popular song the infidelity of a lover is revealed by a look through a finger-ring. People on the Odenberg hear a drum-beat, but see nothing. A wizard makes one after another look through a ring made by bowing the arm against the side; they see armed men going into and coming out of the hill. So Biarco is enabled to see Odin on his white horse by looking through Ruta’s bent arm.[267]

32, 33. The day after Northumberland was put into his hands, Hunsdon writes to Burghley: “For the earl, I have had no great talk with him; but truly he seems to follow his old humours, readier to talk of hawks and hounds than anything else.” (Sharp, p. 330.)

51. It was their old manner, as Robin Hood says, to leave but little behind; but what is recorded is that, when “the earls were driven to leave Liddesdale and to fly to one of the Armstrongs upon the Bateable, ... the Liddesdale men stole my lady of Northumberland’s horse, and her two women’s horses, and ten other horses.” Sussex to Cecil, Sharp, p. 114 f.

52. Percy “left Lochleven with joy, under the assurance that he should be conveyed in a Scottish vessel to Antwerp. To his surprise and dismay he found himself, after a short voyage, at Coldingham.” Lingard’s History, VI, 137, London, 1854.

The copy in the Reliques is translated by Doenniges, p. 111.

1 Now list and lithe, you gentlemen, And I’st tell you the veretye, How they haue dealt w_i_th a banished man, Driuen out of his countrye.

2 When as hee came on Scottish ground, As woe and wonder be them amonge! Ffull much was there traitorye The wrought the Erle of Northumberland.

3 When they were att the supp_er_ sett, Beffore many goodly gentlemen, The ffell a fflouting and mocking both, And said to the Erle of Northumberland:

4 ‘What makes you be soe sad, my lord, And in yo_u_r mind soe sorrowffullye? In the north of Scottland to-morrow there’s a shooting, And thither thou’st goe, my Lo_rd_ Percye.

5 ‘The buttes are sett, and the shooting is made, And there is like to be great royaltye, And I am sworne into my bill Thither to bring my Lord Pearcy.’

6 ‘I’le giue thee my hand, Douglas,’ he sayes, ‘And be the faith in my bodye, If _tha_t thou wilt ryde to the worlds end, I’le ryde in thy companye.’

7 And then bespake the good ladye, Marry a Douglas was her name: ‘You shall byde here, good English lo_rd_; My brother is a traiterous man.

8 ‘He is a traitor stout and stronge, As I’st tell you the veretye; For he hath tane liuerance of the Erle, And into England he will liuor thee.’

9 ‘Now hold thy tounge, thou goodlye ladye, And let all this talking bee; Ffor all the gold _tha_t’s in Loug Leuen, William wold not liuor mee.

10 ‘It wold breake truce betweene England and Scottland, And freinds againe they wold neu_er_ bee, If he shold liuor a bani[s]ht erle, Was driuen out of his owne countrye.’

11 ‘Hold yo_u_r tounge, my lo_rd_,’ shee sayes, ‘There is much ffalsehood them amonge; When you are dead, then they are done, Soone they will part them freinds againe.

12 ‘If you will giue me any trust, my lord, I’le tell you how you best may bee; You’st lett my brother ryde his wayes, And tell those English lords, trulye,

13 ‘How _tha_t you cannot w_i_th them ryde, Because you are in an ile of the sea; Then, ere my brother come againe, To Edenborrow castle I’le carry thee.

14 ‘I’le liuor you vnto the Lo_rd_ Hume, And you know a trew Scothe lo_rd_ is hee, For he hath lost both land and goods In ayding of yo_u_r good bodye,’

15 ‘Marry, I am woe, woman,’ he sayes, ‘_Tha_t any freind fares worse for mee; For where one saith it is a true tale, Then two will say it is a lye.

16 ‘When I was att home in my [realme], Amonge my tennants all trulye, In my time of losse, wherin my need stoode, They came to ayd me honestlye.

17 ‘Therfore I left a many a child ffatherlese, And many a widdow to looke wanne; And therfore blame nothing, ladye, But the woeffull warres w_hi_ch I began.’

18 ‘If you will giue me noe trust, my lo_rd_, Nor noe credence you will give mee, And you’le come hither to my right hand, Indeed, my lorid, I’le lett you see.’

19 Saies, I neuer loued noe witchcraft, Nor neu_er_ dealt w_i_th treacherye, But euermore held the hye way; Alas, _tha_t may be seene by mee!

20 ‘If you will not come yo_u_r selfe, my lo_rd_, You’le lett yo_u_r chamberlaine goe w_i_th mee, Three words _tha_t I may to him speake, And soone he shall come againe to thee.’

21 When Iames Swynard came _tha_t lady before, Shee let him see thorrow the weme of her ring How many there was of English lords To wayte there for his m_aster_ and him.

22 ‘But who beene yonder, my good ladye, _Tha_t walkes soe royallye on yonder greene?’ ‘Yonder is Lo_rd_ Hunsden, Iamye,’ she saye[d], ‘Alas, hee’le doe you both tree and teene!’

23 ‘And who beene yonder, thou gay ladye, _Tha_t walkes soe royallye him beside?’ ‘Yond is S_i_r W_illia_m Drurye, Iamy,’ shee sayd, ‘And a keene capt_ain_ hee is, and tryde.’

24 ‘How many miles is itt, thou good ladye, Betwixt yond English lord and mee?’ ‘Marry, thrise fifty mile, Iamy,’ shee sayd, ‘And euen to seale and by the sea.

25 ‘I neu_er_ was on English ground, Nor neu_er_ see itt w_i_th mine eye, But as my witt and wisedome serues, And as [the] booke it telleth mee.

26 ‘My mother, shee was a witch woman, And p_ar_t of itt shee learned mee; Shee wold let me see out of Lough Leuen What they dyd in London cytye.’

27 ‘But who is yonde, thou good laydye, _Tha_t comes yonder w_i_th an osterne fface?’ ‘Yond’s S_i_r Iohn Forster, Ia_m_ye,’ shee sayd; ‘Methinkes thou sholdest better know him then I.’ ‘Euen soe I doe, my goodlye ladye, And eu_er_ alas, soe woe am I!’

28 He pulled his hatt ouer his eyes, And, Lord, he wept soe tenderlye! He is gone to his m_aster_ againe, And euen to tell him the veretye.

29 ‘Now hast thou beene w_i_th Marry, Iamy,’ he sayd, ‘Euen as thy tounge will tell to mee; But if thou trust in any womans words, Thou must refraine good companye.’

30 ‘It is noe words, my lord,’ he sayes; ‘Yonder the men shee letts me see, How many English lords there is Is wayting there for you and mee.

31 ‘Yonder I see the Lo_rd_ Hunsden, And hee and you is of the third degree; A greater enemye, indeed, my Lord, In England none haue yee.’

32 ‘And I haue beene in Lough Leven The most p_ar_t of these yeeres three: Yett had I neuer noe out-rake, Nor good games _tha_t I cold see.

33 ‘And I am thus bidden to yonder shooting By William Douglas all trulye; Therfore speake neu_er_ a word out of thy mouth That thou thinkes will hinder mee.’

34 Then he writhe the gold ring of his ffingar And gaue itt to _tha_t ladye gay; Sayes, _Tha_t was a legacye left vnto mee In Harley woods where I cold bee.

35 ‘Then ffarewell hart, and farewell hand, And ffarwell all good companye! _Tha_t woman shall neuer beare a sonne Shall know soe much of yo_u_r priuitye.’

36 ‘Now hold thy tounge, ladye,’ hee sayde, ‘And make not all this dole for mee, For I may well drinke, but I’st neu_er_ eate, Till againe in Lough Leuen I bee.’

37 He tooke his boate att the Lough Leuen, For to sayle now ou_er_ the sea, And he hath cast vpp a siluer wand, Saies, Fare thou well, my good ladye! The ladye looked ouer her left sholder; In a dead swoone there fell shee.

38 ‘Goe backe againe, Douglas!’ he sayd, ‘And I will goe in thy companye, For sudden sicknesse yonder lady has tane, And euer, alas, shee will but dye!

39 ‘If ought come to yonder ladye but good, Then blamed sore _tha_t I shall bee, Because a banished man I am, And driuen out of my owne countrye.’

40 ‘Come on, come on, my lord,’ he sayes, ‘And lett all such talking bee; There’s ladyes enow in Lough Leuen And for to cheere yonder gay ladye.’

41 ‘And you will not goe yo_u_r selfe, my lord, You will lett my chamberlaine go w_i_th mee; Wee shall now take our boate againe, And soone wee shall ou_er_take thee.’

42 ‘Come on, come on, my lord,’ he sayes, ‘And lett now all this talking bee; Ffor my sister is craftye enoughe For to beguile thousands such as you and mee.’

43 When they had sayled fifty myle, Now fifty mile vpon the sea, Hee had fforgotten a message _tha_t hee Shold doe in Lough Leuen trulye: Hee asked, how ffarr it was to _tha_t shooting _Tha_t W_illia_m Douglas p_ro_mised mee.

44 ‘Now faire words makes fooles faine, And _tha_t may be seene by thy m_aster_ and thee; Ffor you may happen think itt soone enoughe When-eu_er_ you _tha_t shooting see.’

45 Iamye pulled his hatt now ou_er_ his browe, I wott the teares fell in his eye; And he is to his m_aster_ againe, And ffor to tell him the veretye.

46 ‘He sayes fayre words makes fooles faine, And _tha_t may be seene by you and mee, Ffor wee may happen thinke itt soone enoughe When-eu_er_ wee _tha_t shooting see.

47 ‘Hold vpp thy head, Iamye,’ the erle sayd, ‘And neu_er_ lett thy hart fayle thee; He did itt but to proue thee w_i_t_h_, And see how thow wold take w_i_th death trulye.’

48 When they had sayled other fifty mile, Other fifty mile vpon the sea, Lo_rd_ Peercy called to him, himselfe, And sayd, Douglas, what wilt thou doe w_i_th mee?

49 ‘Looke _tha_t yo_u_r brydle be wight, my lord, _Tha_t you may goe as a shipp att sea; Looke _tha_t yo_u_r spurres be bright and sharpe, _Tha_t you may pricke her while shee’le awaye.’

50 ‘What needeth this, Douglas,’ he sayth, ‘_Tha_t thou needest to ffloute mee? For I was counted a horsseman good Before _tha_t eu_er_ I mett w_i_th thee.

51 ‘A ffalse Hector hath my horsse, And eu_er_ an euill death may hee dye! And Willye Armestronge hath my spurres And all the geere belongs to mee.’

52 When the had sayled other fifty mile, Other fifty mile vpon the sea, The landed low by Barwicke-side; A deputed lord landed Lo_rd_ Percye.

* * * * *

6^1. my Land.

15^4. 2.

16^1. This line is partly pared away. Furnivall.

18^4. Lorid, or Lou_e_rd; or Lord, with one stroke too many. Furnivall.

20^3. 3.

22^1. ny for my.

24^3. 3^{se} 50.

31^2. 3^d.

32^2. 3.

33^4. Partly cut away by the binder. Furnivall.

43^{1,2}, 48^{1,2}, 52^{1,2}. 50.

52^4. land for lord.

And for & throughout.

* * * * *

Variations of Percy’s Reliques, 1765, I, 258.

1–3. Cf. the next ballad, 1–3. How long shall fortune faile me nowe, And harrowe me with fear and dread? How long shall I in bale abide, In misery my life to lead?

To fall from my bliss, alas the while! It was my sore and heavye lott; And I must leave my native land, And I must live a man forgot.

One gentle Armstrong I doe ken, A Scot he is much bound to mee; He dwelleth on the border-side, To him I’ll goe right privilie.

Thus did the noble Percy ‘plaine, With a heavy heart and wel-away, When he with all his gallant men On Bramham moor had lost the day.

But when he to the Armstrongs came, They dealt with him all treacherouslye; For they did strip that noble earle, And ever an ill death may they dye!

False Hector to Earl Murray sent, To shew him where his guest did hide, Who sent him to the Lough-levèn, With William Douglas to abide.

And when he to the Douglas came, He halched him right courteouslie; Sayd, Welcome, welcome, noble earle, Here thou shalt safelye bide with mee.

When he had in Lough-leven been Many a month and many a day, To the regent the lord-warden sent, That bannisht earle for to betray.

He offered him great store of gold, And wrote a letter fair to see, Saying, Good my lord, grant me my boon, And yield that banisht man to mee.

Earle Percy at the supper sate, With many a goodly gentleman; The wylie Douglas then bespake, And thus to flyte with him began.

4^{3 4}. To-morrow a shootinge will bee held Among the lords of the North countrye.

5^1. sett, the shooting’s.

5^2. there will be.

6^1. hand, thou gentle Douglas: he sayes wanting.

6^2. And here by my true faith, quoth hee.

6^3. If thou: worldes.

6^4. I will.

7^1. bespake a lady faire.

8^2. As I tell you in privitie.

8^3. he has. hath, 1794.

8^4. Into England nowe to ‘liver.

9. Now nay, now nay, thou goodly lady, The regent is a noble lord; Ne for the gold in all Englànd The Douglas wold not break his word.

When the regent was a banisht man, With me he did faire welcome find; And whether weal or woe betide, I still shall find him true and kind.

10^1. Tween England and Scotland ‘twold break truce. Betweene: it, 1794.

10^3. If they.

11, 12. Alas! alas! my lord, she sayes, Nowe mickle is their traitorìe; Then let my brother ride his ways, And tell those English lords from thee.

13^1. with him.

14–17. ‘To the Lord Hume I will thee bring; He is well knowne a true Scots lord, And he will lose both land and life Ere he with thee will break his word.’

‘Much is my woe,’ Lord Percy sayd, ‘When I thinke on my own countrìe; When I thinke on the heavye happe My friends have suffered there for mee.

‘Much is my woe,’ Lord Percy sayd, ‘And sore those wars my minde distresse; Where many a widow lost her mate, And many a child was fatherlesse.

‘And now that I, a banisht man, Shold bring such evil happe with mee, To cause my faire and noble friends To be suspect of treacherie,

‘This rives my heart with double woe; And lever had I dye this day Then thinke a Douglas can be false, Or ever will his guest betray.’ he will, 1794.

18. ‘If you’ll give me no trust, my lord, Nor unto mee no credence yield, Yet step one moment here aside, Ile showe you all your foes in field.’

19^{1,2}. Lady, I never loved witchcraft, Never dealt in privy wyle.

19^4. Of truth and honoure, free from guile.

20^1. If you’ll.

20^2. Yet send your chamberlaine with.

20^3. Let me but speak three words with him.

20^4. And he.

21^1. James Swynard with that lady went.

21^3. She showed him through.

21^3. many English lords there were.

21^4. Waiting for.

22^1. And who walkes yonder.

22^2. That walkes wanting.

22^3. O yonder is the lord Hunsdèn.

22^4. you drie and teene.

23^1. who beth.

23^2. so proudly.

23^3. That is: Iamy wanting.

23^4. And wanting.

24^1. itt, madàme.

24^2. lords.

24^{3,4}. Marry, it is thrice fifty miles, To sayl to them upon the sea.

25^2. Ne never sawe.

25^{3,4}. But as my book it sheweth mee, And through my ring I may descrye.

26^1. witch ladye.

26^2. And of her skille she.

27^1. thou lady faire.

27^2. That looketh with sic an.

27^{3,4}. Yonder is Sir John Foster, quoth shee, Alas! he’ll do ye sore disgrace.

27^{5,6} wanting.

28^1. downe over his browe.

28^2. And in his heart he was full woe. He wept; his heart he was full of woe, 1794.

28^{3,4}. And he is gone to his noble lord, Those sorrowfull tidings him to show.

29. Now nay, now nay, good James Swynàrd, I may not believe that witch ladìe; The Douglasses were ever true, And they can neer prove false to mee.

30, 31 wanting.

32^1. I have now in Lough-leven been.

32^3. And I have never had. Yett have I never had, 1794.

32^4. Ne no good.

33. Therefore I’ll to yond shooting wend, As to the Douglas I have hight; Betide me weale, betide me woe, He neer shall find my promise light.

34^1. He writhe a gold ring from.

34^2. that faire ladìe. that gay ladìe, 1794.

34^3. Sayes, It was all that I cold save.

35. And wilt thou goe, thou noble lord? Then farewell truth and honestìe! And farewell heart, and farewell hand! For never more I shall thee see.

36 wanting.

37^{1,2}. The wind was faire, the boatmen calld, And all the saylors were on borde; Then William Douglas took to his boat, And with him went that noble lord.

37^{3–6}. Then he cast up a silver wand, Says, Gentle lady, fare thee well! The lady fett a sigh soe deepe, And in a dead swoone down shee fell.

38, 39. Now let us goe back, Douglas, he sayd, A sickness hath taken yond faire ladìe; If ought befall yond lady but good, Then blamed for ever I shall bee.

40^2. Come on, come on, and let her bee.

40^4. For to: that gay.

41. ‘If you’ll not turne yourself, my lord, Let me goe with my chamberlaine; We will but comfort that faire lady, And wee will return to you againe.

42^{2–4}. ‘Come on, come on, and let her bee; My sister is crafty, and wold beguile A thousand such as you and mee.

43^2. Now wanting: restored, 1794.

43^{3,4} wanting.

43^{5–6}. Hee sent his man to ask the Douglas When they shold that shooting see.

44^1. Faire words, quoth he, they make.

44^2. And that by thee and thy lord is seen.

44^3. You may hap to.

44^4. Ere you that shooting reach, I ween.

45^1. his hatt pulled over.

45^{2–4}. He thought his lord then was betrayd; And he is to Earle Percy againe, To tell him what the Douglas sayd.

46 wanting.

47^1. head, man, quoth his lord,

47^{2–4}. Nor therfore let thy courage fail; He did it but to prove thy heart, To see if he cold make it quail.

48^1. had other fifty sayld.

48^3. calld to the Douglas himselfe. to D., 1794.

48^4. Sayd, What wilt thou nowe doe.

49^2. And your horse goe swift as ship.

50^1. sayd. sayth, 1794.

50^2. What needest thou to flyte with mee.

51^1. he hath. hath, 1794.

51^2. Who dealt with mee so treacherouslìe.

51^3. A false Armstrong he hath. hath, 1794.

51^4. geere that. geere, 1794.

52^3. landed him at Berwick towne. MS. reading restored, 1794.

52^4. The Douglas landed Lord Percie.

MS. reading restored with ‘laird’ for land.

Then he at Yorke was doomde to dye, It was, alas! a sorrowful sight; Thus they betrayed that noble earle, Who ever was a gallant wight.

177

THE EARL OF WESTMORELAND

‘Earle of Westmorlande,’ Percy MS., p. 112; Hales and Furnivall, I, 292.

“These lines,” says Percy in a note in his MS. to 1^1, “are given in one of my old copies to Lord Northumberland; they seem here corrupted.” The first three stanzas, with extensive variations, begin ‘Northumberland betrayed by Douglas,’ as printed in the Reliques, I, 258, 1765. It will be remarked that Percy does not allege that he has an old copy of this ballad, though he implies he has one of the other, ‘Northumberland betrayed by Douglas.’

The earls of Westmoreland and Northumberland, as has been seen, upon being forced to leave Liddesdale, took refuge for a short time with one of the Armstrongs, John of the Side (cf. st. 3). They parted company, and Westmoreland, Lady Northumberland, Francis Norton, and others, were received by Sir Thomas Ker at Fernihurst, near Jedburgh; Old Norton, Markenfield, and others, by Buccleuch at Branxholm. Lady Northumberland shortly after removed to Hume Castle. The Regent Murray sent a secret messenger to persuade Fernihurst and Buccleuch to render into his hands the “Earl of Westmoreland and the other her Majesty’s principal rebels being in their bounds,” Jan. 14, 1570 (cf. st. 9). Westmoreland escaped to Flanders in the autumn of 1570, “with very slight means.” He was very desirous to make his peace with Elizabeth, but the efforts he made were unsuccessful, and he wore out thirty-one years in the Low Countries, a pensioner of Spain, dying at Newport in November, 1601. The countess, his wife, daughter of the poet Surrey, a highly educated and in every way admirable woman, was treated by Elizabeth as innocent of treason (she was a zealous Protestant), and was granted a decent annuity for the support of herself and her three daughters. The Countess of Northumberland fled to Flanders in 1570, and lived on the King of Spain’s bounty, separated from her children, and with no consolation but such as she derived from her intense religious and theological convictions, until 1596.[268]

The ballad-story is that after the flight (as it is described) from Bramham (‘Bramaball’) Moor, Westmoreland sought refuge with Jock Armstrong on the west border, who also “took”[269] or sheltered Old Norton and other of the rebels. Neville does not think the Debateable Land safe, and goes to Scotland, to Hume Castle, where all the banished men find welcome. The Regent is minded to write to Lord Hume to see whether he can be brought to surrender the fugitives, but on second thoughts, being at deadly feud with Hume, he concludes that writing will serve no purpose. (10^4 is not very intelligible.) He will rather send for troops from Berwick, and take the men by force. Lord Hume gets knowledge of the Regent’s intention, and removes his guests to the castle of ‘Camelye.’ But still Neville sees that there is no biding even in Scotland, and he and his comrades take a noble ship, to be mariners on the sea.

So far the ballad, it will be perceived, has an historical substratum, though details are incorrect; what follows is pure fancy work, or rather an imitation of stale old romance.

After cruising three months, a large ship is sighted. Neville calls Markenfield to council. The latter, who knows every banner that is borne, knows whether any man that he has once laid eyes on is friend or foe, knows every language that is spoken, and who has besides (st. 39) a gift of prophecy. By the serpent and the serpent’s head and the mole in the midst, Markenfield is able to say that the ship is Don John of Austria’s, and he advises flight. This counsel (which would have lost Neville much glory and a hundred pounds a day) does not please the earl; he orders his own standard of the Dun Bull to be displayed. Don John sends a pinnace, with a herald, to fetch the name of the master of the ship he has met. Neville refuses to give up his name until he knows the master of the other vessel; the herald informs him that it is Duke John of Austria, who lives in Seville; then says the Briton, Charles Neville is my name, and in England I was Earl of Westmoreland. The herald makes his report, and is sent back to invite the nobleman to Don John’s ship; for Don John had read in the ‘Book of Mable’ that a Briton, Charles Neville, ‘with a child’s voice,’ should come over the sea. Neville is courteously received; Don John desires to see his men; it is but a small company, says the earl, and calls in Markenfield the prophet, Dacres, Master Norton and four sons, and John of Carnabye. These are all my company, says Neville; when we were in England, our prince and we could not agree. The duke says Norton and his sons shall go to France, and also Dacres, who shall be a captain; Neville and Markenfield shall go to Seville, and the two others (there is but one other, John of Carnabye) are to go with Dacres. Neville will not part with men who have known him in weal and woe, and the duke says that, seeing he has so much manhood, he shall part with none of them. Both ships land at Seville, where the duke recommends Neville to the queen as one who wished to serve her as captain. The queen, first acquainting herself with his name, makes Neville captain over forty thousand men, to keep watch and ward in Seville, and to war against the heathen soldan. The soldan, learning in Barbary that a venturesome man is in Seville, sends him, through the queen, a challenge to single combat, both lands to be joined in one according to the issue of the fight. The queen declines this particular challenge, but promises the soldan a fight every day for three weeks, if he wishes it. Neville overhears all this and offers the queen to fight the soldan; she thinks it great pity that Neville should die, though he is a banished man. Don John informs the queen that he has read in the Book of Mable that a Briton was to come over the sea, Charles Neville by name, with a child’s voice, and that this man there present hath heart and hand. (62 is corrupted.) The queen’s council put their heads together, and it is determined that Neville shall fight with the soldan. The battle is to come off at the Headless Cross. Neville wishes to see the queen’s ensign. In the ensign is a broken sword, with bloody hands and a headless cross. The all-knowing Markenfield pronounces that these are a token that the prince has suffered a sore overthrow. Neville orders his Dun Bull to be set up and trumpets to blow, makes Markenfield captain over his host during his absence, and rides to the headless cross, where he finds the soldan, a foul man to see. The soldan cries out, Is it some kitchen-boy that comes to fight with me? Neville replies with a commonplace: thou makest[270] so little of God’s might, the less I care for thee. After a fierce but indecisive fight of an hour, the soldan, with a glance at his antagonist, says, No man shall overcome me except it be Charles Neville. Neville, without avowing his name, waxes bold, and presently strikes off the soldan’s head. The queen comes out of the city with a procession, takes the crown from her head, and wishes to make him king on the spot, but Neville informs her that he has a wife in England. So the queen calls for a penman and writes Neville down for a hundred pound a day, for which he returns thanks, and proffers his services as champion if ever her Grace shall stand in need.

4. Martinfield is Thomas Markenfield of York, one of the most active promoters of the rising. He had been long a voluntary exile on account of religion, but returned to England the year before the rebellion. He fled to the continent with Westmoreland and the Nortons, and had a pension of thirty-six florins a month from Spain.

By Lord Dakers should be meant Edward, son of William, Lord Dacre, for he is in the list of fugitive rebels demanded of the Regent Murray by Lord Sussex. He fled to Flanders. But Leonard Dacre may be intended, who, though he did not take part with the earls, engaged in a rebellion of his own in February, 1570, fought and lost a battle, and like the rest fled to Flanders.

5. Only two of Richard Norton’s sons went to the Low Countries with their father, Francis and Sampson. John Carnaby of Langley is in a list of persons indicted for rebellion. (Sharp, p. 230.) No reason appears why he should be distinguished.

11. Captain Reed, one of the captains of Berwick, was suspected of having to do with the rebels, and on one occasion was observed to be in company with some of the Nortons, in arms. He was committed to ward, but Lord Hunsdon stood his friend and brought him through safely. Sharp, p. 15 f.

21 ff. Don John’s sole connection with the rebels seems to have been the paying of their pensions for the short time during which he was governor of the Netherlands, 1576–78. Westmoreland’s pension was two hundred florins a month. (Sharp, p. 223, note.)

1 ‘How long shall fortune faile me now, And keepe me heare in deadlye dreade? How long shall I in bale abide, In misery my life to leade?

2 ‘To ffall from my rose, it was my chance; Such was the Queene of England free; I tooke a lake, and turned my backe, On Bramaball More shee caused me flye.

3 ‘One gentle Armstrong _tha_t I doe ken, Alas, w_i_th thee I dare not mocke! Thou dwellest soe far on the west border, Thy name is called the Lo_rd_ Iocke.’

4 Now hath Armstrong taken noble Nevill, And as one Martinfield did p_ro_fecye; He hath taken the Lo_rd_ Dakers, A lords sonne of great degree.

5 He hath taken old M_aster_ Nortton, And sonnes four in his companye; Hee hath taken another gentleman, Called Iohn of Carnabie.

6 Then bespake him Charles Nevill; To all his men, I wott, sayd hee, Sayes, I must into Scottland fare; Soe nie the borders is noe biding for me.

7 When he came to Humes Castle, And all his noble companye; The Lo_rd_ Hume halched them right soone, Saying, Banished men, welcome to mee!

8 They had not beene in Humes Castle Not a month and dayes three, But the regent of Scottland and he got witt _Tha_t banished men there shold be.

9 ‘I’le write a letter,’ sayd the regent then, ‘And send to Humes Castle hastilye, To see whether Lo_rd_ Hume wilbe soe good To bring the banished men vnto mee.

10 ‘_Tha_t lord and I haue beene att deadlye fuyde, And hee and I cold neu_er_ agree; Writting a letter, _tha_t will not serue; The banished men must not speake w_i_th me.

11 ‘But I will send for the garrison of Barwicke, _Tha_t they will come all w_i_th speede, And w_i_th them will come a noble captaine, W_hi_c_h_ is called Capt_ain_ Reade.’

12 Then the Lo_rd_ Hume he got witt They wold seeke vnto Nevill, where he did lye; He tooke them out of the castle of Hume, And brought them into the castle of Camelye.

13 Then bespake him Charles Nevill, To all his men, I wott, spoke hee, Sayes, I must goe take a noble shippe, And wee’le be marriners vpon the sea.

14 I’le seeke out fortune where it doth lye; In Scottland there is noe byding for mee; Then the tooke leaue w_i_th fayre Scottland, For they are sealing vpon the sea.

15 They had not sayled vpon the sea Not one day and monthes three, But they were ware of a Noble shippe, _Tha_t fiue topps bare all soe hye.

16 Then Nevill called to Martinfeeld, Sayd, Martinffeeld, come hither to mee; Some good councell, Martinfeeld, I pray thee giue it vnto mee.

17 Thou told me when I was in England fayre, Before _tha_t I did take the sea, Thou neu_er_ sawst noe banner borne But thou wold ken it w_i_th thine eye.

18 Thou neu_er_ saw noe man in the face, Iff thou had seene before w_i_th thine eye, [But] thou coldest haue kend thy freind by thy foe, And then haue told it vnto mee.

19 Thou neu_er_ heard noe speeche spoken, Neither in Greeke nor Hebrewe, [But] thou coldest haue answered them in any language, And then haue told it vnto mee.

20 ‘M_aster_, m_aster_, see you yonder faire ancyent? Yonder is the serpent and the serpents head, The mould-warpe in the middest of itt, And itt all shines w_i_th gold soe redde.

21 ‘Yonder is Duke Iohn of Austria, A noble warryour on the sea, Whose dwelling is in Ciuill land, And many men, God wot, hath hee.’

22 Then bespake him Martinfeelde, To all his fellowes, I wot, said hee, Turne our noble shipp about, And _tha_t’s a token _tha_t wee will flee.

23 ‘Thy councell is not good, Martinfeeld; Itt falleth not out fitting for mee; I rue the last time I turnd my backe; I did displease my prince and the countrye.’

24 Then bespake him noble Nevill, To all his men, I wott, sayd hee, Sett me vp my faire Dun Bull, W_i_th gilden hornes hee beares all soe hye.

25 And I will passe yonder noble Duke, By the leaue of mild Marye; For yonder is the Duke of Austria, _Tha_t trauells now vpon the sea.

26 And then bespake this noble Duke, Vnto his men then sayd hee, Yonder is sure some nobleman, Or else some youth _tha_t will not flee.

27 I will put out a pinace fayre, A harold of armes vpon the sea, And goe thy way to yonder noble shippe, And bring the m_aste_rs name to mee.

28 When the herald of armes came before noble Nevill, He fell downe low vpon his knee: ‘You must tell me true what is yo_u_r name, And in what countrye yo_u_r dwelling may bee.’

29 ‘_Tha_t will I not doe,’ sayd noble Nevill, ‘By Mary mild, _tha_t mayden ffree, Except I first know thy m_aste_rs name, And in what country his dwelling may bee.’

30 Then bespake the herald of armes, O _tha_t he spoke soe curteouslye! Duke Iohn of Austria is my m_aste_rs name, He will neuer lene it vpon the sea.

31 He hath beene in the citye of Rome, His dwelling is in Ciuillee: ‘Then wee are poore Brittons,’ the Nevill can say, ‘Where wee trauell vpon the sea.

32 ‘And Charles Nevill itt is my name, I will neu_er_ lene it vpon the sea; When I was att home in England faire, I was the Erle of Westmoreland,’ sayd hee.

33 Then backe is gone this herald of armes Whereas this noble duke did lye; ‘Loe, yonder are poore Brittons,’ can he say, ‘Where the trauell vpon the sea.

34 ‘And Charles Nevill is their m_aste_rs name, He will neuer lene it vpon the sea; When he was at home in England fayre, He was the Erle of Westmoreland, said hee.’

35 Then bespake this noble duke, And euer he spake soe hastilye, And said, Goe backe to yonder noble-man, And bid him come and speake w_i_th me.

36 For I haue read in the Booke of Mable, There shold a Brittaine come ou_er_ the sea, Charles Nevill w_i_th a childs voice: I pray God _tha_t it may be hee.

37 When these two nobles they didden meete, They halched eche other right curteouslye; Yett Nevill halched Iohn the sooner Because a banished man, alas! was hee.

38 ‘Call in yo_u_r men,’ sayd this noble duke, ‘Faine yo_u_r men _tha_t I wold see;’ ‘Euer alas!’ said noble Nevill, ‘They are but a litle small companye.’

39 First he called in Martinfield, _Tha_t Martinffeeld _tha_t cold p_ro_phecye; He call[ed] in then Lo_rd_ Dakers, A lords sonne of high degree.

40 Then called he in old M_aster_ Nortton, And sonnes four in his companye; He called in one other gentleman, Called Iohn of Carnabye.

41 ‘Loe! these be all my men,’ said noble Nevill, ‘And all _tha_t’s in my companye; When we were att home in England fayre, Our prince and wee cold not agree.’

42 Then bespake this noble duke: To try yo_u_r manhood on the sea, Old M_aster_ Nortton shall goe ou_er_ into France, And his sonnes four in his companye.

43 And my lo_rd_ Dakers shall goe over into Ffrance, There a captaine ffor to bee; And those two other gentlemen wold goe w_i_th him, And for to fare in his companye.

44 And you yo_u_r-selfe shall goe into Ciuill land, And Marttinffeild _tha_t can p_ro_phecye; ‘_Tha_t will I not doe,’ sayd noble Nevill, ‘By Mary mild, _tha_t mayden free.

45 ‘For the haue knowen me in wele and woe, In neede, scar[s]nesse and pouertye; Before I’le p_ar_t w_i_th the worst of them, I’le rather p_ar_t w_i_th my liffe,’ sayd hee.

46 And then bespake this noble duke, And euer he spake soe curteouslye; Sayes, You shall p_ar_t w_i_th none of them, There is soe much manhood in y_ou_r bodye.

47 Then these two noblemen labored together, Pleasantlye vpon the sea; Their landing was in Ciuill land, In Ciuilee that ffaire citye.

48 Three nights att this dukes Nevill did lye, And serued like a nobleman was hee; Then the duke made a supplication, And sent it to the queene of Ciuilee.

49 Saying, Such a man is yo_u_r citye w_i_thin, I mett him pleasantlye vpon the sea; He seemes to be a noble man, And captaine to yo_u_r Grace he faine wold bee.

50 Then the queene sent for [these] noble men For to come into her companye; When Nevill came before the queene, Hee kneeled downe vpon his knee.

51 Shee tooke him vp by the lilly-white hand, Said, Welcome, my lo_r_d, hither to me; You must first tell me yo_u_r name, And in what countrye thy dwelling may bee.

52 He said, Charles Nevill is my name; I will neu_er_ lene it in noe countrye; When I was att home in England fayre, I was the Erle of Westmorland trulye.

53 The queene made him captaine ou_er_ forty thousand, Watch and ward w_i_thin Ciuill land to keepe, And for to warr against the heathen soldan, And for to helpe her in her neede.

54 When the heathen soldan he gott witt, In Barbarye where he did lye, Sainge, Such a man is in yonder citye w_i_thin, And a bold venturer by sea is hee.

55 Then the heathen soldan made a letter, And sent it to the queene instantlye, And all that heard this letter reade Where it was rehersed in Ciuillee.

56 Saying, Haue you any man yo_u_r land w_i_thin Man to man dare fight w_i_th mee? And both our lands shalbe ioyned in one, And cristened lands they both shalbe.

57 Shee said, I haue noe man my land w_i_thin Man to man dare fight w_i_th thee; But euery day thou shalt haue a battell, If it be for these weekes three.

58 All beheard him Charles Nevill, In his bedd where he did lye, And when he came the queene before, He fell downe low vpon his knee.

59 ‘Grant me a boone, my noble dame, For Chrissts loue _tha_t dyed on tree; Ffor I will goe fight w_i_th yond heathen soldan, If you will bestowe the manhood on mee.’

60 Then bespake this curteous queene, And eu_er_ shee spoke soe curteouslye: Though you be a banished man out of yo_u_r realme, It is great pitye _tha_t thou shold dye.

61 Then bespake this noble duke, As hee stood hard by the queenes knee: As I haue read in the Booke of Mable, There shall a Brittone come ou_er_ the sea,

62 And Charles Nevill shold be his name; But a childs voyce, I wott, hath hee, And if he be in Christendome; For hart and hand this man hath hee.

63 Then the queenes councell cast their heads together, . . . . . . . _Tha_t Nevill shold fight w_i_th the heathen soldan _Tha_t dwelt in the citye of Barbarye.

64 The battell and place appointed was In a fayre greene, hard by the sea, And they shood meete att the Headless Crosse, And there to fight right manfullye.

65 Then Nevill cald for the queenes ancient, And faine _tha_t ancient he wold see; The brought him forth the broken sword, W_i_th bloodye hands therein trulye.

66 The brought him forth the headless crosse, In _tha_t ancyent it was seene; ‘O this is a token,’ sayd Martinfeeld, ‘_Tha_t sore ouerthrowen this prince hath beene.

67 ‘O sett me vp my fayre Dun Bull, And trumpetts blow me farr and nee, Vntill I come w_i_thin a mile of the Headlesse Crosse, _Tha_t the Headlesse Crosse I may see.’

68 Then lighted downe noble Nevill, And sayd, Marttinffeeld, come hither to me; Heere I make thee choice cap_tain_ over my host Vntill againe I may thee see.

69 Then Nevill rode to the Headless Crosse, W_hi_ch stands soe fayre vpon the sea; There was he ware of the heathen soldan, Both fowle and vglye for to see.

70 Then the soldan began for to call; Twise he called lowd and hye, And sayd, What is this? Some kitchin boy _Tha_t comes hither to fight w_i_th mee?

71 Then bespake him Charles Nevill, But a childs voice, I wott, had hee: ‘Thou spekest soe litle of Gods might, Much more lesse I doe care for thee.’

72 Att the first meeting _tha_t these two mett, The heathen soldan and the christen man, The broke their speares quite in sunder, And after _tha_t on foote did stand.

73 The next meeting _tha_t these two mett, The swapt together w_i_th swords soe fine; The fought together till they both swett, Of blowes _tha_t were both derf and dire.

74 They fought an houre in battell strong; The soldan marke[d] Nevill w_i_th his eye; ‘There shall neuer man me ouercome Except it be Charles Nevill,’ sayd hee.

75 Then Nevill he waxed bold, And cunning in fight, I wott, was hee; Euen att the gorgett of the soldans iacke He stroke his head of p_re_sentlye.

76 Then kneeled downe noble Nevill, And thanked God for his great grace, _Tha_t he shold come soe farr into a strang[e] land, To ouercome the soldan in place.

77 Hee tooke the head vpon his sword-poynt, And carryed it amongst his host soe fayre; When the saw the soldans head, They thanked God on their knees there.

78 Seuen miles from the citye the queene him mett, W_i_th p_ro_cession _tha_t was soe fayre; Shee tooke the crowne beside her heade, And wold haue crowned him k_ing_ there.

79 ‘Now nay! Now nay! my noble dame, For soe, I wott, itt cannott bee; I haue a ladye in England fayre, And wedded againe I wold not bee.’

80 The queene shee called for her penman, I wot shee called him lowd and hye, Saying, Write him downe a hundred pound a day, To keepe his men more merrylye.

81 ‘I thanke yo_u_r Grace,’ sayd noble Nevill, ‘For this worthy gift you haue giuen to me; If euer yo_u_r Grace doe stand in neede, Champion to yo_u_r Highnesse again I’le bee.’

* * * * *

1^1. feare for dreade.

2^2. fayre for free.

2^4. my for me.

5^2, 40^2, 42^4. 4.

5^4. Carnakie: cf. 40^4.

8^2, 15^2, 48^1, 57^4. 3.

8^3. he & god.

14^1. fortume.

15^4. 5.

20^3. middest ffitt.

35. The Second Part.

37^1, 43^3, 47^1, 72^1, 73^1. 2.

48^4. Ciuilee. In this and the like names following, the u has only one stroke in the MS., as often happens. The letter is not meant for c, clearly, as it has not the accent or beak of a c. Furnivall.

53^1. 40000.

55^3. all they? all these?

62^3. ben.

70^2. 2[se :].

78^1. 7.

80^2. 100[li :].

And for & always.

178

CAPTAIN CAR, OR, EDOM O GORDON

#A.# Cotton MS. Vespasian, A. xxv, No 67, fol. 187, of the last quarter of the 16th century,[271] British Museum; Ritson’s Ancient Songs, 1790, p. 137; Böddeker, in Jahrbuch für romanische und englische Sprache und Literatur, XV, 126, 1876 (very incorrectly); Transactions of the New Shakspere Society, 1880–86, Appendix, p. 52[B], edited by F. J. Furnivall.

#B.# Percy MS., p. 34; Hales and Furnivall, I, 79.

#C.# Percy Papers, from a servant of Rev. Robert Lambe’s, 1766.

#D.# ‘Edom of Gordon,’ an ancient Scottish Poem. Never before printed. Glasgow, printed and sold by Robert and Andrew Foulis, 1755, small 4º, 12 pages. Ritson, Scotish Songs, II, 17.

#E.# ‘Edom o Gordon,’ Kinloch MSS, V, 384.

#F.# The New Statistical Account of Scotland, V, 846, 1845; ‘Loudoun Castle,’ The Ballads and Songs of Ayrshire, J. Paterson and C. Gray, 1st Series, p. 74, Ayr, 1846.

#G.# ‘The Burning o Loudon Castle,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 543.

First printed by the Foulises, Glasgow, 1755, after a copy furnished by Sir David Dalrymple, “who gave it as it was preserved in the memory of a lady.” This information we derive from Percy, who inserted the Dalrymple ballad in his Reliques, 1765, I, 99, “improved, and enlarged with several fine stanzas recovered from a fragment ... in the Editor’s folio MS.” Seven stanzas of the enlarged copy were adopted from this MS., with changes; 16^{2,4}, 30, 35, 36, are Percy’s own; the last three of the Glasgow edition are dropped. Herd’s copy, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 234, is from Percy’s Reliques; so is Pinkerton’s, Scottish Tragic Ballads, 1781, p. 43, with the omission of the seventh stanza and many alterations. Ritson, Scotish Songs, 1794, II, 17, repeats the Glasgow copy; so the Campbell MSS, I, 155, and Finlay, I, 85. The copy in Buchan’s Gleanings, p. 180, is Percy’s, with one stanza from Ritson. Of twelve stanzas given in Burton’s History of Scotland, V, 70 f., 3–6 are from Percy’s Reliques (modified by #E#, a fragment obtained by Burton), the rest from #D#,

During the three wretched and bloody years which followed the assassination of the regent Murray, the Catholic Earl of Huntly, George Gordon, was one of the most eminent and active of the partisans of the queen. Mary created him her lieutenant-governor, and his brother, Adam Gordon, a remarkably gallant and able soldier, whether so created or not, is sometimes called the queen’s deputy-lieutenant in the north. Our ballad is concerned with a minor incident of the hostilities in Aberdeenshire between the Gordons and the Forbeses, a rival but much less powerful clan, who supported the Reformed faith and the regency or king’s party.[272]

“The queen’s lieutenant-deputy in the north, called Sir Adam Gordon of Auchindown, knight, was very vigilant in his function; for suppressing of whom the Master of Forbes was directed, with the regent’s commission. But the first encounter, which was upon the ninth day of October [1571], Auchindown obtained such victory that he slew of the Forbeses a hundred and twenty persons, and lost very few of his own.” This was the battle of Tulliangus, on the northern slope of the hills of Coreen, some thirty miles northwest of Aberdeen. Both parties having been reinforced, an issue was tried again on the twentieth of November at Crabstane, in the vicinity of Aberdeen, where Adam Gordon inflicted a severe defeat on the Forbeses.[273]

“But what glory and renown,” says the contemporary History of King James the Sixth, “he [Gordon] obtained of these two victories was all cast down by the infamy of his next attempt; for immediately after this last conflict he directed his soldiers to the castle of Towie, desiring the house to be rendered to him in the queen’s name; which was obstinately refused by the lady, and she burst forth with certain injurious words. And the soldiers being impatient, by command of their leader, Captain Ker, fire was put to the house, wherein she and the number of twenty-seven persons were cruelly burnt to the death.”

Another account, reported by a contemporary who lived in Edinburgh, is that “Adam Gordon sent Captain Ker to the place of Toway, requiring the lady thereof to render the place of Carrigill to him in the queen’s name, which she would noways do; whereof the said Adam having knowledge, moved in ire towards her, caused raise fire thereintill, wherein she, her daughters, and other persons were destroyed, to the number of twenty-seven or thereby.”[274] This was in November, 1571.

We have a third report of this outrage from Richard Bannatyne, also a contemporary, a man, it may be observed, bitterly hostile to the queen’s party. “Adam of Gordon ... went to the house of Towie, which he burnt and twenty four persons in the same, never one escaping but one woman that came through the corns and hather which was cast to the house-sides, whereby they were smothered. This was done under assurance; for the laird of Towie’s wife, being sister to the lady Crawfurd (and also died within the house), sent a boy to the laird in time of the truce (which was for the space of twelve hours) to see on what conditions they should render the house. In the mean time, Adam Gordon’s men laid the corns and timbers and hather about the house, and set all on fire.”[275]

Buchanan puts the incident which mainly concerns us between the fights of Tulliangus and Crabstone; so does Archbishop Spottiswood. “Not long after” the former, says the archbishop, who was a child of six when the affair occurred, Adam Gordon “sent to summon the house of Tavoy, pertaining to Alexander Forbes. The lady refusing to yield without direction from her husband, he put fire unto it and burnt her therein with children and servants, being twenty-seven persons in all. This inhuman and barbarous cruelty made his name odious, and stained all his former doings; otherwise he was held both active and fortunate in his enterprises.”[276]

Buchanan dispatches the burning of the house in a line: Domus Alexandri Forbosii, cum uxore pregnante, liberis et ministris, cremata. Ed. 1582, fol. 248 b.

Towie was a place of no particular importance; judging both by the square keep that remains, which is described as insignificant, and by the number of people that the house contained, it must have been a small place. It is therefore more probable that Captain Ker burnt Towie while executing a general commission to harry the Forbeses than that this house should have been made a special object. But whether this were so or not, it is evident from the terms in which the transaction is spoken of by contemporaries, who were familiarized to a ferocious kind of warfare,[277] that there must have been something quite beyond the common in Captain Ker’s proceedings on this occasion, for they are denounced even in those days as infamous, inhuman, and barbarously cruel, and the name of Adam Gordon is said to have been made odious by them.

It is not to be disguised that the language employed by Spottiswood might be so interpreted as to signify that Ker did not act in this dreadful business entirely upon his own responsibility; and the second of the four writers who speak circumstantially of the affair even intimates that Ker applied to his superior for instructions. On the other hand, the author of the History of James the Sixth says distinctly that the house was fired by the command of Ker, whose soldiers were rendered impatient by an obstinate refusal to surrender, accompanied with opprobrious words. The oldest of the ballads, also, which is nearly coeval with the occurrence, speaks only of Captain Car, knows nothing of Adam Gordon. On the other hand, Bannatyne knows nothing, or chooses to say nothing, of Captain Car: Adam Gordon burns the house, and even does this during a truce. It may be said that, even if the act were done without the orders or knowledge of Adam Gordon, he deserves all the ill fame which has fallen to him, for not punishing, or at least discharging, the perpetrator of such an outrage. But this would be applying the standards of the nineteenth century (and its very best standards) to the conduct of the sixteenth. It may be doubted whether there was at that time a man in Scotland, nay, even a man in Europe, who would have turned away a valuable servant because he had cruelly exceeded his instructions.[278]

A favorable construction, where the direct evidence is conflicting, is due to Adam Gordon because of his behavior on two other occasions, one immediately preceding, and the other soon following, the burning of the house of Towie. We are told that he used his victory at Crabstone “very moderately, and suffered no man to be killed after the fury of the fight was past. Alexander Forbes of Strath-gar-neck, author of all these troubles betwixt these two families, was taken at this battle, and as they were going to behead him Auchindown caused stay his execution. He entertained the Master of Forbes and the rest of the prisoners with great kindness and courtesy, he carried the Master of Forbes along with him to Strathbogie, and in end gave him and all the rest leave to depart.”[279] And again, after another success in a fight called The Bourd of Brechin, in the ensuing July, he caused all the prisoners to be brought before him, they expecting nothing but death, and said to them: “My friends and brethren, have in remembrance how God has granted to me victory and the upper hand of you, granting me the same vantage [‘vand and sching’] to punish you wherewith my late father and brother were punished at the Bank of Fair; and since, of the great slaughter made on the Queen’s Grace’s true subjects, and most filthily of the hanging of my soldiers here by the Earl of Lennox; and since, by the hanging of ten men in Leith, with other unlawful acts done contrary to the laws of arms; and I doubt not, if I were under their dominion, as you are under mine, that I should die the death most cruelly. Yet notwithstanding, my good brethren and countrymen, be not afraid nor fear not, for at this present ye shall incur no danger of your bodies, but shall be treated as brethren, and I shall do to you after the commandment of God, in doing good for evil, forgetting the cruelty done to the queen and her faithful subjects, and receiving you as her faithful subjects in time coming. Who promised to do the same, and for assurance hereof each found surety. After which the Regent past hastily out of Sterling to Dundee, charging all manner of man to follow him, with twenty days victuals, against the said Adam Gordon. But there would never a man in those parts obey the charge, by reason of the bond made before and of the great gentleness of the said Adam.”[280]

After the Pacification of February, 1573, Adam Gordon obtained license to go to France and other parts beyond sea, for certain years, on condition of doing or procuring nothing to the hurt of the realm of Scotland; but for private practices of his, contrary to his promise, in conjunction with Captain Ker and others, he was ordered to return home, 12th May, 1574. His brother, the Earl of Huntly, upon information of these unlawful practices in France, was committed to ward, and when released from ward had to give security to the amount of £20,000. Adam Gordon returned in July, 1575, “at the command of the regent,” with twenty gentlemen who had gone to France with him, and was in ward in 1576. He died at St. Johnston in October, 1580, “of a bleeding.” As he was of tender age in 1562, he must still have been a young man.[281]

Thomas Ker was a captain “of men of war”; that is, a professional soldier. As such he is mentioned in one of the articles of the Pacification, where it is declared that Captain Thomas Ker, Captain James Bruce, and Captain Gilbert Wauchop, with their respective lieutenants and ensigns, and two other persons, “shall be comprehended in this present pacification, as also all the soldiers who served under their charges, for deeds of hostility and crimes committed during the present troubles.” He was accused of being engaged in practices against the regency, as we have already seen, in 1574. He was released from ward upon caution in February, 1575. 1578, 26th July, he was summoned to appear before the king and council to answer to such things as should be inquired of him. He is mentioned as a burgher of Aberdeen 1588, 1591. 1593, 3d March, he is required to give caution to the amount of 1000 merks that he will not assist the earls of Huntly and Errol. His “counsail and convoy was chiefly usit” in an important matter at Balrinnes in 1594, at which battle he “behavit himself so valiantly” that he was knighted on the field. November 4, 1594, Captain Thomas Ker and James Ker, his brother, are ordered to be denounced as rebels, having failed to appear to answer touching their treasonable assistance to George, sometime Earl of Huntly; and this seems to be the latest notice of him that has been recovered.[282]

In the Genealogy of the family of Forbes drawn up by Matthew Lumsden in 1580, and continued to 1667 by William Forbes, p. 43 f., ed. 1819, we read: “John Forbes of Towie married —— Grant, daughter to John Grant of Bandallach, who did bear to him a son who was unmercifullie murdered in the castle of Corgaffe; and after the decease of Bandallach’s daughter, the said John Forbes married Margaret Campbell, daughter to Sir John Campbell of Calder, knight, who did bear him three sons, Alex. Forbes of Towie, John Forbes, thereafter of Towie, and William Forbes.... The said John Forbes of Towie, after the murder of Margaret Campbell, married —— Forbes, a daughter to the Reires,” by whom he had a son, who, as also a son of his own, died in Germany. Alexander and William, sons of Margaret Campbell, died without succession, and by the death of an only son of John, junior, the house of Towie became extinct. “The rest of the said Margaret Campbell’s bairns, with herself, were unmercifullie murdered in the castle of Corgaffe.”[283]

According to the Lumsden genealogy, then, Margaret Campbell, with her younger children, and also a son of her husband, John Forbes of Towie, by a former marriage, were murdered at the castle of Corgaffe. Corgarf is a place “exigui nominis,” some fifteen miles west of Towie, and, so far as is known, there is nothing to connect this place with the Forbes family.[284] Three sixteenth-century accounts, and a fourth by an historian who was born before the event, make Towie to be the scene of the “murder,” and Towie we know to have been in the possession of a member of the house of Forbes for several generations. Since Lumsden wrote only nine years after the event, and was more particularly concerned with the Forbes family than any of the other writers referred to, his statement cannot be peremptorily set aside. But we may owe Corgarf to the reviser of 1667, although he professes not to have altered the substance of his predecessor’s work.

Reverting now to the ballad, we observe that none of the seven versions, of which one is put towards the end of the sixteenth century, one is of the seventeenth century, two are of the eighteenth, and the remainder from tradition of the present century, lay the scene at Towie. #E#, which is of this century, has Cargarf. #A#, #B#, the oldest copies (both English), give no name to the castle. Crecrynbroghe in #A#, Bittonsborrow in #B#, are not the name of the castle that is burned, but of a castle suggested for a winter retirement by one of Car’s men, and rejected by the captain. The fragment #C# (English again) also names no place. #D# transfers the scene from the north to the house of Rodes, near Dunse, in Berwickshire, and #F#, #G# to Loudoun castle in Ayrshire; the name of Gordon probably helping to the localizing of the ballad in the former case, and that of Campbell, possibly, in the other.

Captain Car is the leader of the bloody band in #A#, #B#; he is lord of Eastertown #A# 6, 13, of Westertown #B# 5, 9; but ‘Adam’ is said to fire the house in #B# 14. Adam Gordon is the captain in #C-G#. The sufferers are in #A# Hamiltons,[285] in #F#, #G#, Campbells. The name Forbes is not preserved in any version.

#A#, #B#. Martinmas weather forces Captain Car to look for a hold. Crecrynbroghe, #A#, Bittonsborrow, #B#, is proposed, but he knows of a castle where there is a fair lady whose lord is away, and makes for that. The lady sees from the wall a host of men riding towards the castle, and thinks her lord is coming home, but it was the traitor Captain Car. By supper-time he and his men have lighted about the place. Car calls to the lady to give up the house; she shall lie in his arms that night, and the morrow heir his land. She will not give up the house, but fires on Car and his men. [Orders are given to burn the house.] The lady entreats Car to save her eldest son. Lap him in a sheet and let him down, says Car; and when this is done, cuts out tongue and heart, ties them in a handkerchief, and throws them over the wall. The youngest son begs his mother to surrender, for the smoke is smothering him. She would give all her gold and fee for a wind to blow the smoke away; but the fire falls about her head, and she and her children are burned to death. Captain Car rides away, #A#. The lord of the castle dreams, learns by a letter, at London, that his house has been fired, and hurries home. He finds the hall still burning, and breaks out into expressions of grief, #A#. In #B#, half of which has been torn from the manuscript, after reading the letter he says he will find Car wherever Car may be, and, long ere day, comes to Dractonsborrow, where the miscreant is. If nine or ten stanzas were not lost at this point, we should no doubt learn of the revenge that was taken.

In the short fragment #C#, upon surrender being demanded, reply is made by a shot which kills seven of the beleaguerers. An only daughter, smothered by the reek, asks her mother to give up the house. Rather would I see you burnt to ashes, says the mother. The boy on the nurse’s knee makes the same appeal; her mother would sooner see him burnt than give up her house to be Adam of Gordon’s whore.

#D# makes the lady try fair speeches with Gordon, and the lady does not reply with firearms to the proposal that she shall lie by his side. Nevertheless she has spirit enough to say, when her youngest son beseeches her to give up the house, Come weal, come woe, you must take share with me. The daughter, and not the eldest son, is wrapped in sheets and let down the wall; she gets a fall on the point of Gordon’s spear. Then follow deplorable interpolations, beginning with st. 19. Edom o Gordon, having turned the girl over with his spear, and wished her alive, turns her owr and owr again! He orders his men to busk and away, for he cannot look on the bonnie face. One of his men hopes he will not be daunted with a dame, and certainly three successive utterances in the way of sentiment show that the captain needs a little toning up. At this point the lord of the castle is coming over the lea, and sees that his castle is in flames. He and his men put on at their best rate; lady and babes are dead ere the foremost arrives; they go at the Gordons, and but five of fifty of these get away.

And round and round the wae’s he went, Their ashes for to view: At last into the flames he flew, And bad the world adieu.

This is superior to turning her owr and owr again, and indeed, in its way, not to be improved.

Nothing need be said of the fragment #E# further than that the last stanza is modern.

#F# is purely traditional, and has one fine stanza not found in any of the foregoing:

Out then spake the lady Margaret, As she stood on the stair; The fire was at her goud garters, The lowe was at her hair.

There is no firing at the assailants (though the lady wishes that her only son could charge a gun). Lady Margaret, with the flame in her hair, would give the black and the brown for a drink of the stream that she sees below. Anne asks to be rowed in a pair of sheets and let down the wall; her mother says that she must stay and die with her. Lord Thomas, on the nurse’s knee, says, Give up, or the reek will choke me. The mother would rather be burned to small ashes than give up the castle, her lord away. And burnt she is with her children nine.

#G# has the eighteen stanzas of #F#,[286] neglecting slight variations, and twenty more (among them the bad #D# 21), nearly all superfluous, and one very disagreeable. Lady Campbell, having refused to “come down” and be “kept” (caught) on a feather-bed, 5, 6, is ironically asked by Gordon to come down and be kept on the point of his sword, 7. Since you will not come down, says Gordon, fire your death shall be. The lady had liefer be burnt to small ashes than give up the castle while her lord is from home, 10. Fire is set. The oldest daughter asks to be rolled in a pair of sheets and flung over the wall. She gets a deadly fall on the point of Gordon’s sword, and is turned over and over again, 18, over and over again, 19. Lady Margaret cries that the fire is at her garters and the flame in her hair. Lady Ann, from childbed where she lies, asks her mother to give up the castle, and is told that she must stay and dree her death with the rest. The youngest son asks his mother to go down, and has the answer that was given Gordon in 10. The waiting-maid begs to have a baby of hers saved; her lady’s long hair is burnt to her brow, and how can she take it? So the babe is rolled in a feather-bed and flung over the wall, and gets a deadly fall on the point of Gordon’s ever-ready sword. Several ill-connected stanzas succeed, three of which are clearly recent, and then pity for Lady Ann Campbell, who was burnt with her nine bairns. Lord Loudon comes home a “sorry” man, but comforts himself with tearing Gordon with wild horses.

A slight episode has been passed over. It is a former servant of the family that breaks through the house-wall and kindles the fire, #A# 21, #D# 12–14, #F# 5, 6, #G# 13, 14. In all but #A# he makes the excuse that he is now Gordon’s man, and must do or die.

There is a Danish ballad of about 1600 (communicated to me by Svend Grundtvig, and, I think, not yet printed) in which Karl grevens søn, an unsuccessful suitor of Lady Linild, burns Lady Linild in her bower, and taking refuge in Maribo church, is there burned himself by Karl kejserens søn, Lady Linild’s preferred lover. See also ‘Liden Engel,’ under ‘Fause Foodrage,’ No 89, II, 298.

The copy in Percy’s Reliques is translated by Bodmer, I, 126, and by Doenninges, p. 69; Pinkerton’s copy by Grundtvig, No 9, and by Loève-Veimars, p. 307; Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 13, apparently translates Allingham’s.

A

Cotton MS. Vespasian, A. xxv, No 67, fol. 187; Furnivall, in Transactions of the New Shakspere Society, 1880–86, Appendix, p. 52†.

1 It befell at Martynmas, When wether waxed colde, Captaine Care said to his me_n_, We must go take a holde.

Syck, sike, and to-towe sike, And sike and like to die; The sikest nighte that eu_er_ I abode, God lord haue m_er_cy on me!

2 ‘Haille, m_aste_r, and wether you will, And wether ye like it best;’ ‘To the castle of Crecrynbroghe, And there we will take o_ur_ reste.’

3 ‘I knowe wher is a gay castle, Is builded of lyme and stone; Within their is a gay ladie, Her lord is riden and gone.’

4 The ladie she lend on her castle-walle, She loked vpp and downe; There was she ware of an host of me_n_, Come riding to the towne.

5 ‘Se yow, my meri men all, And se yow what I see? Yonder I see an host of me_n_, I muse who they bee.’

6 She thought he had ben her wed lord, As he comd riding home; Then was it trait_ur_ Captaine Care The lord of Ester-towne.

7 They wer no son_er_ at supper sett, Then after said the grace, Or Captaine Care and all his men Wer lighte aboute the place.

8 ‘Gyue ou_er_ thi howsse, thou lady gay, And I will make the a bande; To-nighte thou shall ly w_i_t_h_in my arm_es_, To-morrowe thou shall ere my lande.’

9 The_n_ bespacke the eldest sonne, That was both whitt and redde: O mother dere, geue ou_er_ y_our_ howsse, Or ell_es_ we shalbe deade.

10 ‘I will not geue ou_er_ my hous,’ she saithe, ‘Not for feare of my lyffe; It shalbe talked throughout the land, The slaughter of a wyffe.

11 ‘Fetch me my pestilett, And charge me my gonne, That I may shott at yonder bloddy butcher, The lord of Easter-towne.’

12 Styfly vpon her wall she stode, And lett the pellett_es_ flee; But then she myst the blody bucher, And she slew other three.

13 ‘[I will] not geue ou_er_ my hous,’ she saithe, ‘Netheir for lord nor lowne; Nor yet for traito_ur_ Captaine Care, The lord of Easter-towne.

14 ‘I desire of Captine Care, And all his bloddye band, That he would saue my eldest sonne, The eare of all my lande.’

15 ‘Lap him in a shete,’ he sayth, ‘And let him downe to me, And I shall take him in my armes, His waran shall I be.’

16 The captayne sayd unto him selfe: Wyth sped, before the rest, He cut his tonge out of his head, His hart out of his brest.

17 He lapt them in a handkerchef, And knet it of knot_es_ three, And cast them ouer the castell-wall, At that gay ladye.

18 ‘Fye vpon the, Captayne Care, And all thy bloddy band! For th_o_u hast slayne my eldest sonne, The ayre of all my land.’

19 Then bespake the yongest sonne, Th_a_t sat on the nurses knee, Sayth, Mother gay, geue ouer your house; It smoldereth me.

20 ‘I wold geue my gold,’ she saith, ‘And so I wolde my ffee, For a blaste of the westryn wind, To dryue the smoke from thee.

21 ‘Fy vpo_n_ the, John Hamleton, That euer I paid the hyre! For th_o_u hast broken my castle-wall, And kyndled in the ffyre.’

22 The lady gate to her close p_ar_ler, The fire fell aboute her head; She toke vp her childre_n_ thre, Seth, Bab_es_, we are all dead.

23 Then bespake the hye steward, Th_a_t is of hye degree; Saith, Ladie gay, you are in close, Wether ye fighte or flee.

24 Lord Hamleto_n_ dremd in his dream, In Caruall where he laye, His halle were all of fyre, His ladie slayne or daye.

25 ‘Busk and bowne, my mery me_n_ all, Eve_n_ and go ye with me; For I dremd th_a_t my haal was on fyre, My lady slayne or day.’

26 He buskt him and bownd hym, And like a worthi knighte; And when he saw his hall burni_n_g, His harte was no dele lighte.

27 He sett a tru_m_pett till his mouth, He blew as it plesd his grace; Twe_n_ty score of Ha_m_lentons Was light aboute the place.

28 ‘Had I knowne as much yesternighte As I do to-daye, Captaine Care and all his me_n_ Should not haue gone so quite.

29 ‘Fye vpon the, Captaine Care, And all thy blody band_e_! Thou haste slayne my lady gay, More w_u_rth the_n_ all thy lande.

30 ‘If th_o_u had ought eny ill will,’ he saith, ‘Thou shoulde haue taken my lyffe, And haue saved my children thre, All and my louesome wyffe.’

B

Percy MS., p. 34; Hales and Furnivall, I, 79.

1 ‘Ffa_i_th, m_aster_, whither you will, Whereas you like the best; Vnto the castle of Bittons-borrow, And there to take yo_u_r rest.’

2 ‘But yonder stands a castle faire, Is made of lyme and stone; Yonder is in it a fayre lady, Her lord is ridden and gone.’

3 The lady stood on her castle-wall, She looked vpp and downe; She was ware of an hoast of men, Came rydinge towards the towne.

4 ‘See you not, my merry men all, And see you not what I doe see? Methinks I see a hoast of men; I muse who they shold be.’

5 She thought it had beene her louly l_ord_, He had come ryding home; It was the traitor, Captaine Carre, The lord of Westerton-towne.

6 They had noe sooner sup_er_ sett, And after said the grace, But the traitor, Captaine Carre, Was light about the place.

7 ‘Giue over thy house, thou lady gay, I will make thee a band; All night w_i_t_h_-in mine armes thou’st lye, To-morrow be the heyre of my land.’

8 ‘I’le not giue over my house,’ shee said, ‘Neither for ladds nor man, Nor yet for traitor Captaine Carre, Vntill my lord come home.

9 ‘But reach me my pistoll pe[c]e, And charge you well my gunne; I’le shoote at the bloody bucher, The lord of Westerton.’

10 She stood vppon her castle-wall And let the bulletts flee, And where shee mist . . . . . . . .

11 But then bespake the litle child, That sate on the nurses knee; Saies, Mother deere, giue ore this house, For the smoake it smoothers me.

12 ‘I wold giue all my gold, my childe, Soe wold I doe all my fee, For one blast of the westerne wind To blow the smoke from thee.’

13 But when shee saw the fier Came flaming ore her head, Shee tooke then vpp her children two, Sayes, Babes, we all beene dead!

14 But Adam then he fired the house, A sorrowfull sight to see; Now hath he burned this lady faire And eke her children three.

15 Then Captaine Carre he rode away, He staid noe longer at that tide; He thought that place it was to warme Soe neere for to abide.

16 He calld vnto his merry men all, Bidd them make hast away; ‘For we haue slaine his children three, All and his lady gay.’

17 Worde came to louly London, To London wheras her lord lay, His castle and his hall was burned, All and his lady gay.

18 ‘Soe hath he done his children three, More dearer vnto him Then either the siluer or the gold, That men soe faine wold win.

19 But when he looket this writing on, Lord, in is hart he was woe! Saies, I will find thee, Captaine Carre, Wether thou ryde or goe!

20 Buske yee, bowne yee, my merrymen all, W_i_th tempered swords of steele, For till I haue found out Captaine Carre, My hart it is nothing weele.

21 But when he came to Dractons-borrow, Soe long ere it was day, And ther he found him Captaine Carre; That night he ment to stay.

* * * * *

C

Communicated to Percy by Robert Lambe, Norham, October 4, 1766, being all that a servant of Lambe’s could remember.

* * * * *

1 ‘Luk ye to yon hie castel, Yon hie castel we see; A woman’s wit’s sun oercum, She’ll gie up her house to me.’

2 She ca’d to her merry men a’, ‘Bring me my five pistols and my lang gun;’ The first shot the fair lady shot, She shot seven of Gordon’s men.

3 He turned round about his back, And sware he woud ha his desire, And if that castel was built of gowd, It should gang a’to fire.

4 Up then spak her doughter deere, She had nae mair than she: ‘Gie up your house, now, mither deere, The reek it skomfishes me.’

5 ‘I d rather see you birnt,’ said she, ‘And doun to-ashes fa, Ere I gie up my house to Adam of Gordon, And to his merry men a’.

6 ‘I’ve four and twenty kye Gaing upo the muir; I’d gie em for a blast of wind, The reek it blaws sae sour.’

7 Up then spak her little young son, Sits on the nourrice knee: ‘Gie up your house, now, mither deere, The reek it skomfishes me.’

8 ‘I’ve twenty four ships A sailing on the sea; I’ll gie em for a blast of southern wind, To blaw the reek frae thee.

9 ‘I’d rather see you birnt,’ said she, ‘And grund as sma as flour, Eer I gie up my noble house, To be Adam of Gordon’s hure.’

* * * * *

D

Robert and Andrew Foulis, Glasgow, 1755; “as preserved in the memory of a lady.”

1 It fell about the Martinmas, When the wind blew schrile and cauld, Said Edom o Gordon to his men, We maun draw to a hald.

2 ‘And what an a hald sall we draw to, My merry men and me? We will gae to the house of the Rhodes, To see that fair lady.’

3 She had nae sooner busket her sell, Nor putten on her gown, Till Edom o Gordon and his men Were round about the town.

4 They had nae sooner sitten down, Nor sooner said the grace, Till Edom o Gordon and his men Were closed about the place.

5 The lady ran up to her tower-head, As fast as she could drie, To see if by her fair speeches She could with him agree.

6 As soon he saw the lady fair, And hir yates all locked fast, He fell into a rage of wrath, And his heart was aghast.

7 ‘Cum down to me, ye lady fair, Cum down to me; let’s see; This night ye’s ly by my ain side, The morn my bride sall be.’

8 ‘I winnae cum down, ye fals Gordon, I winnae cum down to thee; I winnae forsake my ane dear lord, That is sae far frae me.’

9 ‘Gi up your house, ye fair lady, Gi up your house to me, Or I will burn yoursel therein, Bot and your babies three.’

10 ‘I winnae gie up, you fals Gordon, To nae sik traitor as thee, Tho you should burn mysel therein, Bot and my babies three.’

11 ‘Set fire to the house,’ quoth fals Gordon, ‘Sin better may nae bee; And I will burn hersel therein, Bot and her babies three.’

12 ‘And ein wae worth ye, Jock my man! I paid ye weil your fee; Why pow ye out my ground-wa-stane, Lets in the reek to me?

13 ‘And ein wae worth ye, Jock my man! For I paid you weil your hire; Why pow ye out my ground-wa-stane, To me lets in the fire?’

14 ‘Ye paid me weil my hire, lady, Ye paid me weil my fee, But now I’m Edom of Gordon’s man, Maun either do or die.’

15 O then bespake her youngest son, Sat on the nurses knee, ‘Dear mother, gie owre your house,’ he says, ‘For the reek it worries me.’

16 ‘I winnae gie up my house, my dear, To nae sik traitor as he; Cum weil, cum wae, my jewels fair, Ye maun tak share wi me.’

17 O then bespake her dochter dear, She was baith jimp and sma; ‘O row me in a pair o shiets, And tow me owre the wa.’

18 They rowd her in a pair of shiets, And towd her owre the wa, But on the point of Edom’s speir She gat a deadly fa.

19 O bonny, bonny was hir mouth, And chirry were her cheiks, And clear, clear was hir yellow hair, Whereon the reid bluid dreips!

20 Then wi his speir he turnd hir owr; O gin hir face was wan! He said, You are the first that eer I wist alive again.

21 He turned hir owr and owr again; O gin hir skin was whyte! He said, I might ha spard thy life To been some mans delyte.

22 ‘Busk and boon, my merry men all, For ill dooms I do guess; I cannae luik in that bonny face, As it lyes on the grass.’

23 ‘Them luiks to freits, my master deir, Then freits will follow them; Let it neir be said brave Edom o Gordon Was daunted with a dame.’

24 O then he spied hir ain deir lord, As he came owr the lee; He saw his castle in a fire, As far as he could see.

25 ‘Put on, put on, my mighty men, As fast as ye can drie! For he that’s hindmost of my men Sall neir get guid o me.’

26 And some they raid, and some they ran, Fu fast out-owr the plain, But lang, lang eer he coud get up They were a’deid and slain.

27 But mony were the mudie men Lay gasping on the grien; For o fifty men that Edom brought out There were but five ged heme.

28 And mony were the mudie men Lay gasping on the grien, And mony were the fair ladys Lay lemanless at heme.

29 And round and round the waes he went, Their ashes for to view; At last into the flames he flew, And bad the world adieu.

E

Kinloch MSS, V, 384, in the handwriting of John Hill Burton.

1 It fell about the Martinmas time, When the wind blew shrill and cauld, Said Captain Gordon to his men, We’ll a’draw to som hauld.

2 ‘And whatena hauld shall we draw to, To be the nearest hame?’ ‘We will draw to the ha o bonny Cargarff; The laird is na at hame.’

3 The lady sat on her castle-wa, Beheld both dale and down; And she beheld the fause Gordon Come halycon to the town.

4 ‘Now, Lady Cargarff, gie ower yer house, Gie ower yer house to me; Now, Lady Cargarff, gie ower yer house, Or in it you shall die.’

5 ‘I’ll no gie ower my bonny house, To lord nor yet to loun; I’ll no gie ower my bonny house To the traitors of Auchindown.’

* * * * *

6 Then up and spak her youngest son, Sat at the nourice’s knee: ‘O mother dear, gie ower yer house, For the reek o’t smothers me.’

7 ‘I would gie a’my goud, my child, Sae would I a’my fee, For ae blast o the westlan win, To blaw the reek frae thee.’

8 Then up and spak her eldest heir, He spak wi muckle pride: ‘Now mother dear, keep weel yer house, And I’ll fight by yer side.’

F

The New Statistical Account of Scotland, V, 846, Parish of Loudoun, by Rev. Norman Macleod: “known among the peasantry from time immemorial.”

1 It fell about the Martinmas time, When the wind blew snell and cauld, That Adam o Gordon said to his men, Where will we get a hold?

2 See [ye] not where yonder fair castle Stands on yon lily lee? The laird and I hae a deadly feud, The lady fain would I see.

3 As she was up on the househead, Behold, on looking down, She saw Adam o Gordon and his men, Coming riding to the town.

4 The dinner was not well set down, Nor the grace was scarcely said, Till Adam o Gordon and his men About the walls were laid.

5 ‘It’s fause now fa thee, Jock my man! Thou might a let me be; Yon man has lifted the pavement-stone, An let in the low unto me.’

6 ‘Seven years I served thee, fair ladie, You gave me meat and fee; But now I am Adam o Gordon’s man, An maun either do it or die.’

7 ‘Come down, come down, my lady Loudoun, Come down thou unto me! I’ll wrap thee on a feather-bed, Thy warrand I shall be.’

8 ‘I’ll no come down, I’ll no come down, For neither laird no[r] loun; Nor yet for any bloody butcher That lives in Altringham town.

9 ‘I would give the black,’ she says, ‘And so would I the brown, If that Thomas, my only son, Could charge to me a gun.’

10 Out then spake the lady Margaret, As she stood on the stair; The fire was at her goud garters, The lowe was at her hair.

11 ‘I would give the black,’ she says, ‘And so would I the brown, For a drink of yon water, That runs by Galston Town.’

12 Out then spake fair Annie, She was baith jimp and sma ‘O row me in a pair o sheets, And tow me down the wa!’

13 ‘O hold thy tongue, thou fair Annie, And let thy talkin be; For thou must stay in this fair castle, And bear thy death with me.’

14 ‘O mother,’ spoke the lord Thomas, As he sat on the nurse’s knee, ‘O mother, give up this fair castle, Or the reek will worrie me.’

15 ‘I would rather be burnt to ashes sma, And be cast on yon sea-foam, Before I’d give up this fair castle, And my lord so far from home.

16 ‘My good lord has an army strong, He’s now gone oer the sea; He bad me keep this gay castle, As long as it would keep me.

17 ‘I’ve four-and-twenty brave milk kye, Gangs on yon lily-lee; I’d give them a’ for a blast of wind, To blaw the reek from me.’

18 O pittie on yon fair castle, That’s built with stone and lime! But far mair pittie on Lady Loudoun, And all her children nine!

G

Motherwell’s MS., p. 543, from the recitation of May Richmond, at the Old Kirk of Loudon.

1 It was in and about the Martinmas time, When the wind blew schill and cauld, That Adam o Gordon said to his men, Whare will we get a hauld?

2 ‘Do ye not see yon bonnie castell, That stands on Loudon lee? The lord and I hae a deadlie feed, And his lady fain wuld I see.’

3 Lady Campbell was standing in the close, A preenin o her goun, Whan Adam o Gordon and his men Cam riding thro Galston toun.

4 The dinner was na weel set doun, Nor yet the grace weel said, Till Adam o Gordon and a’his men Around the wa’s war laid.

5 ‘Come doun, come down, Ladie Campbell,’ he said, ‘Come doun and speak to me; I’ll kep thee in a feather bed, And thy warraner I will be.’

6 ‘I winna come doun and speak to thee, Nor to ony lord nor loun; Nor yet to thee, thou bloody butcher, The laird o Auchruglen toun.’

7 ‘Come doun, come doun, Ladye Campbell,’ he said, ‘Cum doun and speak to me; I’ll kep thee on the point o my sword, And thy warraner I will be.’

8 ‘I winna come doun and speak to thee, Nor to ony lord or loun, Nor yet to thee, thou bludie butcher, The laird o Auchruglen toun.’

9 ‘Syne gin ye winna come doun,’ he said, ‘A’ for to speak to me, I’ll tye the bands around my waist, And fire thy death sall be.’

10 ‘I’d leifer be burnt in ashes sma, And cuist in yon sea-faem, Or I’d gie up this bonnie castell, And my gude lord frae hame.

11 ‘For my gude lord’s in the army strong, He’s new gane ower the sea; He bade me keep this bonnie castell, As lang’s it wuld keep me.’

12 ‘Set fire to the house,’ said bauld Gordon, ‘Set fire to the house, my men; We’ll gar Lady Campbell come for to rew As she burns in the flame.’

13 ‘O wae be to thee, Carmichael,’ she said, ‘And an ill death may ye die! For ye hae lifted the pavement-stane, And loot up the lowe to me.

14 ‘Seven years ye war about my house, And received both meat and fee:’ ‘And now I’m Adam o Gordon’s man, I maun either do or dee.’

15 ‘Oh I wad gie the black,’ she said, ‘And I wuld gie the brown, All for ae cup o the cauld water That rins to Galstoun toun.’

16 Syne out and spak the auld dochter, She was baith jimp and sma: ‘O row me in a pair o sheets, And fling me ower the wa!’

17 They row’t her in a pair o sheets, And flang her ower the wa, And on the point o Gordon’s sword She gat a deadlie fa.

18 He turned her ower, and ower again, And oh but she looked wan! ‘I think I’ve killed as bonnie a face As ere the sun shined on.’

19 He turned her ower, and ower again, And oh but she lookt white! ‘I micht hae spared this bonnie face, To hae been some man’s delight!’

20 Syne out and spak Lady Margaret, As she stood on the stair: ‘The fire is at my gowd garters, And the lowe is at my hair.’

21 Syne out and spak fair Ladie Ann, Frae childbed whare she lay: ‘Gie up this bonnie castell, mother, And let us win away.’

22 ‘Lye still, lye still, my fair Annie, And let your talking be; For ye maun stay in this bonnie castell And dree your death wi me.’

23 ‘Whatever death I am to dree, I winna die my lane: I’ll tak a bairn in ilka arm And the third is in my wame.’

24 Syne out and spak her youngest son, A bonnie wee boy was he: ‘Gae doun, gae doun, mother,’ he said, ‘Or the lowe will worry me.’

25 ‘I’d leifer be brent in ashes sma And cuist in yon sea-faem, Or I’d gie up this bonnie castell, And my guid lord frae hame.

26 ‘For my gude lord’s in the army strong, He’s new gane ower the sea; But gin he eer returns again, Revenged my death sall be.’

27 Syne out and spak her waitin-maid: Receive this babe frae me, And save the saikless babie’s life, And I’ll neer seek mair fee.

28 ‘How can I tak the bairn?’ she said, ‘How can I tak’t?’ said she, ‘For my hair was ance five quarters lang, And ’tis now brent to my bree.’

29 She rowit it in a feather-bed, And flang it ower the wa, But on the point o Gordon’s sword It gat a deidlie fa.

30 ‘I wuld gie Loudon’s bonnie castell, And Loudon’s bonnie lee, All gin my youngest son Johnnie Could charge a gun to me.

31 ‘Oh, I wuld gie the black,’ she said, ‘And sae wuld I the bay, Gin young Sir George could take a steed And quickly ride away.’

32 Syne out and spak her auldest son, As he was gaun to die: ‘Send doun your chamber-maid, mother, She gaes wi bairn to me.’

33 ‘Gin ye were not my eldest son, And heir o a’ my land, I’d tye a sheet around thy neck, And hang thee with my hand.

34 ‘I would gie my twenty gude milk-kye, That feed on Shallow lee, A’for ae blast o the norland wind, To blaw the lowe frae me.’

35 Oh was na it a pitie o yon bonnie castell, That was biggit wi stane and lime! But far mair pity o Lady Ann Campbell, That was brunt wi her bairns nine.

36 Three o them war married wives, And three o them were bairns, And three o them were leal maidens, That neer lay in men’s arms.

37 And now Lord Loudon he’s come hame, And a sorry man was he: ‘He micht hae spared my lady’s life, And wreakit himsell on me!

38 ‘But sin we’ve got thee, bauld Gordon, Wild horses shall thee tear, For murdering o my ladie bricht, Besides my children dear.’

* * * * *

#A.#

Stanzas 1–15 have been revised, or altered, in another hand.

2^1. m_aste_r in my copy: m_ary_, Furnivall.

3^1. wher is is inserted.

3^2. ed in builded has been run through with a line.

3^4. riden & gone struck out, and ryd from hom written over.

4^1. she struck out.

5^1. Se yow changed to Com yow hether: merimen in MS.

5^2. Changed to And look what I do see. And (&), both in the original text and in the revised, is rendered O in my copy.

5^3. Changed to Yonder is ther.

5^4. musen, as a correction: Furnivall.

6^1. own wed, as a correction: Furnivall.

6^2. y^t had for As he.

8^3. thou shall ly in altered to thoust ly w^tin.

10^2. Not is a correction: Furnivall. My copy has no.

11^3. this substituted for yonder.

12^1. Changed to She styfly stod on her castle wall.

12^3. but then struck out.

12^4. she struck out.

13^1. I will: MS. torn.

15^3. arme, Furnivall: my copy, armes.

15^4. wyll substituted for shall.

19^4. Editors supply The smoke at the beginning of the line.

20^3. westeyn: Furnivall.

21^4. MS. has thee.

23^3. Saith: no close, Furnivall. South: in close, my copy. to chose, Böddeker.

24^2. Perhaps carnall: Furnivall.

25^1. Bush in my copy: merymen in MS.

25^3. dreme, hall in my copy: Furnivall as printed.

26^1. busht in my copy: buskt, Furnivall.

26^{2,3}. My copy renders And (&) O: Furnivall as printed.

28^4. Editors supply awaye at the end of the line. Böddeker reads so gai.

29^2. bande looks like baides, one stroke of the n wanting.

30^1. Should we not read me for eny? she for he in my copy: he, Furnivall.

And for & throughout.

Finis p_er_ me Will_elmu_m Asheton, cleri_cu_m.

By my copy is meant a collation made for me by Miss Lucy Toulmin Smith.

#B.#

13^3. 2.

14^4, 16^3, 18^1. 3.

10^3, 21^4. Half a page gone.

And for &.

#D.#

27^1, 28^1. Mudiemen, Mudie men.

Quhen, ze, zour, etc., are here spelled when, ye, your, etc.

#F.#

5^4. the loun to: cf. #G# 13^4.

#G.#

6^4. Another recitation gave Auchindown.

179

ROOKHOPE RYDE

The Bishopric Garland, or Durham Minstrel [edited by Joseph Ritson], 2d ed., Newcastle, 1792; here, from the reprint by Joseph Haslewood, 1809, p. 54, in Northern Garlands, London, 1810. “Taken down from the chanting of George Collingood the elder, late of Boltsburn, in the neighborhood of Ryhope,” who died in 1785.

Printed in Bell’s Rhymes of Northern Bards, 1812, p. 276; Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1833, II, 101; [Sir Cuthbert Sharp’s] Bishoprick Garland, 1834, p. 14.

The date of this ryde, or raid, may be precisely ascertained from the ballad itself; it is shown by 13^4, 11 to be December 6, 1569.

The thieves of Thirlwall (Northumberland) and Williehaver, or Willeva (Cumberland), avail themselves of the confusion incident to the Rising in the North and of the absence of a part of the fencible men (some of whom were with the earls, others with Bowes in Barnard castle) to make a foray into Rookhope, in Weardale, Durham. In four hours they get together six hundred sheep. But the alarm is given by a man whose horses they have taken; the cry spreads through the dale; word comes to the bailiff, who instantly arms, and is joined by his neighbors to the number of forty or fifty. The thieves are a hundred, the stoutest men and best in gear.

When the Weardale men come up with them, the marauders get fighting enough. The fray lasts an hour; four of the robbers are killed, a handsome number wounded, and eleven taken prisoners, with the loss of only one of those who fought for the right.

Rookhope is the name of a valley, about five miles in length, at the termination of which Rookhope burn empties itself into the river Wear. Rookhope-head is the top of the vale. (Ritson.)

The Weardale man who was killed was Rowland Emerson, perhaps a kinsman of the bailiff. The family of Emerson of Eastgate, says Surtees, long exercised the offices of bailiff of Wolsingham (the chief town and borough of Weardale) and of forester, etc., etc., under successive prelates. (Surtees to Scott, Memoir by Taylor and Raine, p. 33.)

34. The thieves bare ‘three banners’ against the Weardale men. They choose three captains in 9.

1 Rookhope stands in a pleasant place, If the false thieves wad let it be; But away they steal our goods apace, And ever an ill death may they die!

2 And so is the men of Thirlwa ‘nd Williehaver, And all their companies thereabout, That is minded to do mischief, And at their stealing stands not out.

3 But yet we will not slander them all, For there is of them good enough; It is a sore consumed tree That on it bears not one fresh bough.

4 Lord God! is not this a pitiful case, That men dare not drive their goods to t’fell, But limmer thieves drives them away, That fears neither heaven nor hell?

5 Lord, send us peace into the realm, That every man may live on his own! I trust to God, if it be his will, That Weardale men may never be overthrown.

6 For great troubles they’ve had in hand, With borderers pricking hither and thither, But the greatest fray that eer they had Was with the ‘men’ of Thirlwa’nd Williehaver.

7 They gatherd together so royally, The stoutest men and the best in gear, And he that rade not on a horse, I wat he rade on a weil-fed mear.

8 So in the morning, before they came out, So well, I wot, they broke their fast; In the [forenoon they came] unto a bye fell, Where some of them did eat their last.

9 When they had eaten aye and done, They sayd some captains here needs must be: Then they choosed forth Harry Corbyl, And ‘Symon Fell,’ and Martin Ridley.

10 Then oer the moss, where as they came, With many a brank and whew, One of them could to another say, ‘I think this day we are men enew.

11 ‘For Weardale men is a journey taen; They are so far out-oer yon fell That some of them’s with the two earls, And others fast in Barnard castell.

12 ‘There we shal get gear enough, For there is nane but women at hame; The sorrowful fend that they can make Is loudly cries as they were slain.’

13 Then in at Rookhope-head they came, And there they thought tul a had their prey, But they were spy’d coming over the Dry Rig, Soon upon Saint Nicholas’ day.

14 Then in at Rookhope-head they came, They ran the forest but a mile; They gatherd together in four hours Six hundred sheep within a while.

15 And horses I trow they gat But either ane or twa, And they gat them all but ane That belanged to great Rowley.

16 That Rowley was the first man that did them spy; With that he raised a mighty cry; The cry it came down Rookhope burn, And spread through Weardale hasteyly.

17 Then word came to the bailif’s house, At the East Gate, where he did dwell; He was walkd out to the Smale Burns, Which stands above the Hanging Well.

18 His wife was wae when she heard tell, So well she wist her husband wanted gear; She gard saddle him his horse in haste, And neither forgot sword, jack, nor spear.

19 The bailif got wit before his gear came That such news was in the land; He was sore troubled in his heart, That on no earth that he could stand.

20 His brother was hurt three days before, With limmer thieves that did him prick; Nineteen bloody wounds lay him upon; What ferly was’t that he lay sick?

21 But yet the bailif shrinked nought, But fast after them he did hye, And so did all his neighbours near, That went to bear him company.

22 But when the bailiff was gathered, And all his company, They were numberd to never a man But forty [or] under fifty.

23 The thieves was numberd a hundred men, I wat they were not of the worst That could be choosed out of Thirlwa’nd Williehaver, . . . . . . . .

24 But all that was in Rookhope-head, And all that was i Nuketon Cleugh, Where Weardale men oertook the thieves, And there they gave them fighting eneugh.

25 So sore they made them fain to flee, As many was ‘a’’ out of hand, And, for tul have been at home again, They would have been in iron bands;

26 And for the space of long seven years, As sore they mighten a had their lives; But there was never one of them That ever thought to have seen their ‘wives.’

27 About the time the fray began, I trow it lasted but an hour, Till many a man lay weaponless, And was sore wounded in that stour.

28 Also before that hour was done, Four of the thieves were slain, Besides all those that wounded were, And eleven prisoners there was taen.

29 George Carrick and his brother Edie, Them two, I wot, they were both slain; Harry Corbyl and Lennie Carrick Bore them company in their pain.

30 One of our Weardale men was slain, Rowland Emerson his name hight; I trust to God his soul is well, Because he ‘fought’ unto the right.

31 But thus they sayd: ‘We’ll not depart While we have one; speed back again!’ And when they came amongst the dead men, There they found George Carrick slain.

32 And when they found George Carrick slain, I wot it went well near their ‘heart;’ Lord, let them never make a better end That comes to play them sicken a ‘part!’

33 I trust to God, no more they shal, Except it be one for a great chance; For God wil punish all those With a great heavy pestilence.

34 Thir limmer thieves, they have good hearts, They nevir think to be oerthrown; Three banners against Weardale men they bare, As if the world had been all their own.

36 Thir Weardale men, they have good hearts, They are as stif as any tree; For, if they’d every one been slain, Never a foot back man would flee.

36 And such a storm amongst them fell As I think you never heard the like, For he that bears his head so high, He oft-times falls into the dyke.

37 And now I do entreat you all, As many as are present here, To pray for [the] singer of this song, For he sings to make blithe your cheer.

* * * * *

2^3. mischief hither in Bell, who, however, prints from Ritson.

2^4. as: at in Scott, who had his copy, as printed in 1792, from Ritson’s nephew. at also in Bell.

9^3, 29^3. Corbyl, it is thought, should be Corbyt, which is a northern name. Both Corbyl and Carrick were new to Surtees.

10^3. Bell reads would, not understanding that could means did.

11^1. Scott, wrongly, have for is: Bell, who aims at grammar, are.

17^3. He had, Bell, for improvement again.

23^4. The reciter, from his advanced age, could not recollect this line: Ritson.

25^2. Bell, land for hand.

30^3. Bell, in for to.

Ritson’s emendations, indicated by ’ ‘, have necessarily been allowed to stand.

180

KING JAMES AND BROWN

‘Kinge James and Browne,’ Percy MS., p. 58; Hales and Furnivall, I, 135.

As the minstrel is walking by himself, he hears a young prince lamenting. The prince says to him, Yonder comes a Scot who will do me wrong. Douglas comes with armed men, who beset the king with swords and spears. Are you lords of Scotland, come for council, asks the king, or are you traitors, come for my blood? They say that they are traitors, come for his blood. Fie on you, false Scots! exclaims the king; you have slain my grandfather, caused my mother to flee, and hanged my father. [About nine stanzas are lost here.] Douglas offers Brown his daughter in marriage to betray the king; Brown will never be a traitor. Douglas is making off fast, but Brown takes him prisoner and conducts him to the king. Douglas prays for pardon. The king replies that Douglas has sought to kill him ever since he was born. Douglas swears to be a true subject if pardoned. The king pardons him freely, and all traitors in Scotland, great and small. Douglas mutters to himself (we may suppose), If I live a twelvemonth you shall die, and I will burn Edinburgh to-morrow. This irredeemable traitor hies to Edinburgh with his men, but the people shut the gates against him. Brown is always where he is wanted, and takes Douglas prisoner again; the report that Douglas is secured goes to the king, who demands his taker to be brought into his presence, and promises him a thousand pound a year. So they call Brown; we may imagine that the distance is no greater than Holyrood. How often hast thou fought for me, Brown? asks James. Brown’s first service was in Edinburgh; had he not stood stoutly there, James had never been king. The second was his killing the sheriff of Carlisle’s son, who was on the point of slaying his Grace. The third was when he killed the Bishop of St Andrews, who had undertaken to poison the king. James had already made the faithful Englishman (for such he is) knight; now he makes him an earl, with professions of fidelity to the English queen.

This third service of Brown is the subject of a poem by William Elderton, here given in an appendix. The bishop is about to give the king (then a child) a poisoned posset. The lady nurse calls for aid. Brown, an Englishman, hears, goes to help, meets the bishop hurrying off with the posset in his hand, and forces him to drink it, though the bishop makes him handsome offers not to interfere. The venom works swiftly, the bishop’s belly bursts. The king knights Brown, and gives him lands and livings.

John Hamilton, Archbishop of St Andrews, must be the person whom Brown slays in the ballad for an attempt to poison the young king. He was, however, hanged by his political enemies, April 7, 1571. This prelate was credited with being an accomplice to the murder of Darnley and to that of the Regent Murray. His elder brother was heir to the throne after the progeny of Mary Stuart, and both of these persons were more or less in the way. Mary Stuart’s son was a step on which the Hamiltons must “fall down or else oerleap,” and the archbishop is said to have sneered at the Duke of Chatelheraut for letting an infant live between him and the throne. A report that the archbishop had undertaken to poison this infant would readily be believed. Sir William Drury thought it worth his while to write to Cecil that Queen Mary had done the same before her son was a year old.[287]

Of Browne’s two previous performances, his standing stoutly for the king at Edinburgh, st. 26, and his killing the son of the sheriff of Carlisle, st. 27, we are permitted to know only that, since these preceded the killing of the bishop, they occurred at some time before James was five years old. The epoch of the adventure with Douglas, which is the principal subject of the ballad, could be determined beyond question if we could ascertain when Brown was made an earl. It falls after the murder of the Regent Lennox, 8^1, that is, later than September, 1571, and the king is old enough to know something of the unhappy occurrences in his family, to forget and forgive, and to make knights and earls. There are correspondences between the ballad and the proceedings by which the Earl of Morton, after his resignation of the regency, obtained possession of the young king’s person and virtually reëstablished himself in his former power. This was in April, 1578, when James was not quite twelve years old. Morton was living at Lochleven “for policie, devysing the situation of a fayre gardene with allayis, to remove all suspicion of his consavit treason.” James was in the keeping of Alexander Erskine, his guardian, at Stirling Castle, of which Erskine was governor; and the young Earl of Mar, nephew of the governor, was residing there. This young man became persuaded, perhaps through Morton’s representations, that he himself was entitled to the custody of the castle, and incidentally of the king. Early in the morning of the 26th of April, before the garrison were astir, Mar (who was risen under pretence of a hunting-party), supported by two Abbot Erskines, his uncles, and a retinue of his own, demanded the castle-keys of the governor. An affray followed, in which a son of Alexander Erskine lost his life. The young king, wakened by the noise, rushed in terror from his chamber, tearing his hair. Mar overpowered resistance and seized the keys. Shortly after this, he and his uncle the governor came to terms at the instance of the king, Mar retaining Stirling Castle and the wardenship of the king, and the uncle being made keeper of the castle of Edinburgh. Morton was received into Stirling Castle, and resumed his sway. All this did not pass without opposition. The citizens of Edinburgh rose in arms against Morton (cf. sts 21, 22), and large forces collected from other parts of the country for the liberation of the king. A civil war was imminent, and was avoided, it would seem, chiefly through the influence of the English minister, Bowes, who offered himself as peacemaker, in the name of his queen (cf. sts 31, 32).[288]

The Douglas of this ballad is clearly William Douglas of Lochleven, who joined Mar at Stirling as Morton’s intermediary. He was afterwards engaged in the Raid of Ruthven.

It may be added that Robert Brown, a servant of the king’s, played a very humble part, for the defence of his master, in the Gowrie Conspiracy, but that was nearly twenty years after Andrew Brown was celebrated by Elderton, and when James was no young prince, but in his thirty-fifth year.

1 As I did walke my selfe alone, And by one garden greene, I heard a yonge prince make great moane, W_hi_ch did turne my hart to teene.

2 ‘O Lord!’ he then said vntou me, ‘Why haue I liued soe long? For yonder comes a cruell Scott,’ Q_uo_th hee, ‘_tha_t will doe me some ronge.’

3 And then came traitor Douglas there, He came for to betray his king; Some they brought bills, and some they brought bowes, And some the brought other things.

4 The king was aboue in a gallery, W_i_th a heauy heart; Vnto his body was sett about W_i_th swords and speares soe sharpe.

5 ‘Be you the lordes of Scotland,’ he said, ‘_Tha_t hither for councell seeke to me? Or bee yoe traitors to my crowne, My blood _tha_t you wold see?’

6 ‘Wee are the l_ord_s of Scottland,’ they said, ‘Nothing we come to craue of thee; But wee be traitors to thy crowne, Thy blood that wee will see.’

7 ‘O fye vpon you, you false Scotts! For you neuer all trew wilbe; My grandfather you haue slaine, And caused my mother to flee.

8 ‘My grandfather you haue slaine, And my owne father you hanged on a tree; And now,’ q_uot_h he, ‘the like treason You haue now wrought for me.

9 ‘Ffarwell hart, and farwell hand! Farwell all pleasures alsoe! Farwell th . . . my head . . . . . . .

10 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ‘If thou wilt . . . . And soe goe away w_i_th mee.’

11 ‘Goe marry thy daughter to whome thou wilt,’ Q_uot_h Browne; ‘thou marrys none to me; For I’le not be a traitor,’ q_uot_h Browne, ‘For all the gold that euer I see.’

12 This Douglas, hearing Browne soe say, Began to flee away full fast; ‘But tarry a while,’ saies lusty Browne, ‘I’le make you to pay before you passe.’

13 He hath taken the Douglas prisoner, And hath brought him before the k_ing_; He kneeled low vpon his knee, For pardon there prainge.

14 ‘How shold I pardon thee,’ saith the k_ing_, ‘And thou’le remaine a traitor still? For euer since that I was borne,’ Q_uot_h he, ‘thou hast sought my blood to spill.’

15 ‘For if you will grant me my pardon,’ he said, ‘Out of this place soe free, I wilbe sworne before yo_u_r Grace A trew subiect to bee.’

16 ‘God for-gaue his death,’ said the k_ing_, ‘When he was nayled vpon a tree; And as free as euer God forgaue his death, Douglas,’ q_uot_h he, ‘I’le forgiue thee.

17 ‘And all the traitors in Scottland,’ Q_uo_th he, ‘both great and small; As free as euer God forgaue his death, Soe free I will forgiue them all.’

18 ‘I thanke you for yo_u_r pardon, king, _Tha_t you haue granted forth soe plaine; If I liue a twelue month to an end, You shall not aliue remaine.

19 ‘Tomorrow yet, or ere I dine, I meane to doo thee one good turne; For Edenborrow, that is thine owne,’ Q_uo_th he, ‘I will both h[arry] and [burne].’

20 Thus Douglas hied towards Edenborrow, And many of his men were gone beffore; And after him on euery side, W_i_th him there went some twenty score.

21 But when that they did see him come, They cryed lowd w_i_th voices, saying, ‘Yonder comes a false traitor, That wold haue slaine our k_ing_.’

22 They chaynd vp the gates of Edenborrow, And there the made them wonderous fast, And there Browne sett on Douglas againe, And quicklye did him ouer cast.

23 But worde came backe againe to the k_ing_, W_i_th all the speed that euer might bee, _Tha_t traitor Douglas there was taken, And his body was there to see.

24 ‘Bring me his taker,’ q_uo_th the k_ing_, ‘Come, quickly bring him vnto me! I’le giue a thousand pound a yeere, What man soeuer he bee.’

25 But then they called lusty Browne; Sayes, ‘Browne, come thou hither to mee. How oft hast thou foughten for my sake, And alwayes woone the victory?’

26 ‘The first time that I fought for you, It was in Edenborrow, k_ing_; If there I had not stoutly stood, My leege, you neuer had beene k_ing_.

27 ‘The second time I fought for you, Here I will tell you in this place; I killd the sheriffs sonne of Carlile,’ Q_uot_h he, ‘that wold haue slaine yo_u_r Grace.

28 ‘The third time t_ha_t I fought for you, Here for to let you vnderstand, I slew the Bishopp of S^t Andrew[s],’ Q_uo_th he, ‘w_i_th a possat in [his hand].’

29 . . . . . q_uo_th hee, ‘_Tha_t euer my manhood I did trye; I’le make a vow for Englands sake _Tha_t I will neuer battell flee.’

30 ‘God amercy, Browne,’ then said the k_ing_, ‘And God amercy heartilye! Before I made thee but a knight, But now an earle I will make thee.

31 ‘God saue the queene of England,’ he said, ‘For her blood is verry neshe; As neere vnto her I am As a colloppe shorne from the fleshe.

32 ‘If I be false to England,’ he said, ‘Either in earnest or in iest, I might be likened to a bird,’ Q_uot_h he, ‘that did defile it nest.’

* * * * *

5^3. yoe bee.

5^4. by my: cf. 6^4.

6^1. are they.

8^2. mother for father.

9^4. Half a page torn away.

18^3. a 12.

20^4. 20 score.

24^3. a 1000.

28^1. the 3[d :].

28^4. possat? MS. rubbed: Hales.

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