Opening
THE ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH POPULAR BALLADS
EDITED BY FRANCIS JAMES CHILD
IN FIVE VOLUMES VOLUME IV
NEW YORK DOVER PUBLICATIONS, INC.
This Dover edition, first published in 1965, is an unabridged and unaltered republication of the work originally published by Houghton, Mifflin and Company, as follows:
Vol. I—Part I, 1882; Part II, 1884 Vol. II—Part III, 1885; Part IV, 1886 Vol. III—Part V, 1888; Part VI, 1889 Vol. IV—Part VII, 1890; Part VIII, 1892 Vol. V—Part IX, 1894; Part X, 1898.
This edition also contains as an appendix to Part X an essay by Walter Morris Hart entitled “Professor Child and the Ballad,” reprinted in toto from Vol. XXI, No. 4, 1906 [New Series Vol. XIV, No. 4] of the Publications of the Modern Language Association of America.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 65–24347
Manufactured in the United States of America
Dover Publications, Inc. 180 Varick Street New York, N.Y. 10014
ADVERTISEMENT TO PART VII
NUMBERS 189–225
I would acknowledge with particular gratitude the liberality of the HON. MRS MAXWELL-SCOTT in allowing the examination and use of the rich store of ballads accumulated at Abbotsford by her immortal ancestor; and also that of LORD ROSEBERY in sending to Edinburgh for inspection the collection of rare Scottish broadsides formed by the late David Laing, and permitting me to print several articles.
The REV. S. BARING-GOULD has done me the great favor of furnishing me with copies of traditional ballads and songs taken down by him in the West of England.
I am much indebted to the REV. W. FORBES-LEITH for his good offices, and to MR MACMATH, as I have been all along, for help of every description.
F. J. C.
OCTOBER, 1890.
ADVERTISEMENT TO PART VIII
NUMBERS 226–265
A considerable portion of this eighth number is devoted to texts from Abbotsford. Many of these were used by Sir WALTER SCOTT in the compilation of the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border; many, again, not less important than the others, did not find a place in that collection. They are now printed either absolutely for the first time, or for the first time without variation from the form in which they were written. All of them, and others which were obtained in season for the Seventh Part, were transcribed with the most conscientious and vigilant care by Mr MACMATH, who has also identified the handwriting, has searched the numerous volumes of letters addressed to Sir WALTER SCOTT for information relating to the contributors and for dates, and has examined the humbler editions of printed ballads in the Abbotsford library; this without remitting other help.
Very cordial thanks are offered, for texts or information, or for both, to the Rev. S. BARING-GOULD, the Rev. W. FORBES-LEITH, Mr ANDREW LANG, Dr GEORGE BIRKBECK HILL, Mr P. Z. ROUND, Dr F. J. FURNIVALL, Mr JAMES BARCLAY MURDOCH, Dr GIUSEPPE PITRÈ, of Palermo, Mr WILLIAM WALKER, of Aberdeen, Mr DAVID MACRITCHIE, of Edinburgh, Mr JAMES GIBB, of Joppa, Mr JAMES RAINE, of York, Rev. WILLIAM LESLIE CHRISTIE, of London, Mrs MARY THOMSON, of Fochabers, and Mr GEORGE M. RICHARDSON, late of Harvard College; for notes on Slavic popular literature, to Mr JOHN KARŁOWICZ, of Warsaw, and Professor WILHELM WOLLNER; and for miscellaneous notes, to my colleague, Professor G. L. KITTREDGE.
So far as can be foreseen, one part more will bring this book to a close; it is therefore timely to say again that I shall be glad of any kind of assistance that will make it less imperfect, whether in the way of supplying omissions or of correcting errors, great or small.
F. J. C.
FEBRUARY, 1892.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME IV
BALLAD PAGE 189. HOBIE NOBLE 1
190. JAMIE TELFER OF THE FAIR DODHEAD 4 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 518; V, 249, 300.)
191. HUGHIE GRAME 8 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 518; V, 300.)
192. THE LOCHMABEN HARPER 16 (Additions and Corrections: V, 300.)
193. THE DEATH OF PARCY REED 24 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 520.)
194. THE LAIRD OF WARISTON 28
195. LORD MAXWELL’S LAST GOODNIGHT 34 (Additions and Corrections: V, 251.)
196. THE FIRE OF FRENDRAUGHT 39 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 521; V, 251, 301.)
197. JAMES GRANT 49 (Additions and Corrections: V, 251.)
198. BONNY JOHN SETON 51 (Additions and Corrections: V, 251.)
199. THE BONNIE HOUSE O AIRLIE 54 (Additions and Corrections: V, 252.)
200. THE GYPSY LADDIE 61 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 522; V, 252, 301.)
201. BESSY BELL AND MARY GRAY 75 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 522; V, 253.)
202. THE BATTLE OF PHILIPHAUGH 77
203. THE BARON OF BRACKLEY 79 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 522; V, 253.)
204. JAMIE DOUGLAS 90
205. LOUDON HILL, OR, DRUMCLOG 105
206. BOTHWELL BRIDGE 108
207. LORD DELAMERE 110
208. LORD DERWENTWATER 115 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 522; V, 254.)
209. GEORDIE 123
210. BONNIE JAMES CAMPBELL 142
211. BEWICK AND GRAHAM 144 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 522.)
212. THE DUKE OF ATHOLE’S NURSE 150
213. SIR JAMES THE ROSE 155
214. THE BRAES O YARROW 160 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 522; V, 255.)
215. RARE WILLIE DROWNED IN YARROW, OR, THE WATER O GAMRIE 178 (Additions and Corrections: V, 256.)
216. THE MOTHER’S MALISON, OR, CLYDE’S WATER 185 (Additions and Corrections: V, 256, 301.)
217. THE BROOM OF COWDENKNOWS 191 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 523; V, 257.)
218. THE FALSE LOVER WON BACK 209
219. THE GARDENER 212 (Additions and Corrections: V, 258.)
220. THE BONNY LASS OF ANGLESEY 214
221. KATHARINE JAFFRAY 216 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 523; V, 260.)
222. BONNY BABY LIVINGSTON 231 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 523; V, 261.)
223. EPPIE MORRIE 239 (Additions and Corrections: V, 262.)
224. THE LADY OF ARNGOSK 241
225. ROB ROY 243 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 523; V, 262.)
226. LIZIE LINDSAY 255 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 524; V, 264.)
227. BONNY LIZIE BAILLIE 266 (Additions and Corrections: V, 265.)
228. GLASGOW PEGGIE 270 (Additions and Corrections: V, 266.)
229. EARL CRAWFORD 276 (Additions and Corrections: V, 301.)
230. THE SLAUGHTER OF THE LAIRD OF MELLERSTAIN 281
231. THE EARL OF ERROL 282 (Additions and Corrections: V, 267.)
232. RICHIE STORY 291 (Additions and Corrections: V, 270.)
233. ANDREW LAMMIE 300
234. CHARLIE MACPHERSON 308 (Additions and Corrections: V, 301.)
235. THE EARL OF ABOYNE 311 (Additions and Corrections: V, 270, 301.)
236. THE LAIRD O DRUM 322 (Additions and Corrections: V, 272.)
237. THE DUKE OF GORDON’S DAUGHTER 332 (Additions and Corrections: V, 273.)
238. GLENLOGIE, OR, JEAN O BETHELNIE 338 (Additions and Corrections: V, 273, 302.)
239. LORD SALTOUN AND AUCHANACHIE 347 (Additions and Corrections: V, 273.)
240. THE RANTIN LADDIE 351 (Additions and Corrections: V, 274.)
241. THE BARON O LEYS 355 (Additions and Corrections: V, 275.)
242. THE COBLE O CARGILL 358
243. JAMES HARRIS (THE DÆMON LOVER) 360 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 524.)
244. JAMES HATLEY 370
245. YOUNG ALLAN 375 (Additions and Corrections: V, 275.)
246. REDESDALE AND WISE WILLIAM 383 (Additions and Corrections: V, 276.)
247. LADY ELSPAT 387
248. THE GREY COCK, OR, SAW YOU MY FATHER? 389 (Additions and Corrections: V, 302.)
249. AULD MATRONS 391
250. HENRY MARTYN 393 (Additions and Corrections: V, 302.)
251. LANG JOHNNY MORE 396 (Additions and Corrections: IV, 524.)
252. THE KITCHIE-BOY 400 (Additions and Corrections: V, 277.)
253. THOMAS O YONDERDALE 409
254. LORD WILLIAM, OR, LORD LUNDY 411
255. WILLIE’S FATAL VISIT 415
256. ALISON AND WILLIE 416
257. BURD ISABEL AND EARL PATRICK 417 (Additions and Corrections: V, 278.)
258. BROUGHTY WA’S 423
259. LORD THOMAS STUART 425 (Additions and Corrections: V, 279.)
260. LORD THOMAS AND LADY MARGARET 426
261. LADY ISABEL 429
262. LORD LIVINGSTON 431
263. THE NEW-SLAIN KNIGHT 434 (Additions and Corrections: V, 279.)
264. THE WHITE FISHER 435
265. THE KNIGHT’S GHOST 437
ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS 439
189
HOBIE NOBLE
#a.# Caw’s Poetical Museum, p. 193.
#b.# ‘Hobie Noble,’ Percy Papers.
Scott’s Minstrelsy, I, 164, 1802, II, 90, 1833. The source is not mentioned, but was undoubtedly Caw’s Museum, though there are variations of text, attributable to the editor. A copy in the Campbell MSS, I, 230, is again from the Museum, with several corrections, two of which are also found in Scott. Caw received the ballad, says Sir Walter, from John Elliot of Reidheugh. #b# seems to have been sent Percy (with ‘Dick o the Cow’) by Roger Halt, in 1775.
Hobie Noble, though banished from Bewcastle for his irregularities, will always command the hearty liking of those who live too late to suffer from them, on account of his gallant bearing in the rescue of Jock o the Side. See especially No 187, #A#, of which Hobie is the hero. All that we know of him is so much as we are told in that ballad and in this. He attached himself, after his expulsion from England, to the laird of Mangerton, who gives him the praise ‘Thy coat is blue, thou has been true.’
Sim o the Mains, an Armstrong of the Whithaugh branch (the most important after that of Mangerton), undertakes to betray Hobie to the English land-sergeant. A tryst is set at Kershope-foot, the junction of that stream with the Liddel; and Hobie, who lives a little way up the Liddel, rides eagerly down the water to keep it. He meets five men, who ask him to join them in a raid into England. Hobie dares not go by day; the land-sergeant is at feud with him on account of a brother’s death, in which Hobie must have had a hand, and ‘the great earl of Whitfield’ has suffered from his depredations;[1] but he will be their guide if they will wait till night. He takes them to the Foulbogshiel, where they alight, and word is sent by Sim to the land-sergeant at Askerton, his adversary’s residence; the land-sergeant orders the men of the neighborhood to meet him at daybreak. Hobie has a bad dream, wakes his comrades in alarm, and sets out to guide them across the Waste; but the sergeant’s force come before him, and Sim behind; his sword breaks; he is bound with his own bow-string and taken to Carlisle. As he goes up the quarter called the Rickergate, the wives say one to the other, That’s the man that loosed Jock o the Side! They offer him bread and beer, and urge him to confess stealing “my lord’s” horses; he swears a great oath that he never had beast of my lord’s. He is to die the next day, and says his farewell to Mangerton; he would rather be called ‘Hobie Noble’ and be hanged in Carlisle, than be called ‘Traitor Mains’ and eat and drink.
Mr R. B. Armstrong informs me that he has found no notice of Hobie Noble except that Hobbe Noble, with eight others, “lived within the Nyxons, near to Bewcastle.”
1569. “Lancy Armistrang of Quhithauch obliged him ... for Sym Armistrang of the Mains and the rest of the Armistrangis of his gang. Syme of the Mains was lodged in Wester Wemys.” (Register of the Privy Council of Scotland.)
4. The Mains was a place a very little to the east of Castleton, on the opposite, or north, side of the Liddel. 13–17. Askerton is in the Waste of Bewcastle, “about seventeen miles” northeast of Carlisle. “Willeva and Spear-Edom [otherwise Spade-Adam] are small districts in Bewcastle dale, through which also the Hartlie-burn takes its course. Conscowthart-Green and Rodric-haugh and the Foulbogshiel are the names of places in the same wilds, through which the Scottish plunderers generally made their raids upon England.” (Scott.)
Sim o the Mains fled into England from the resentment of his chief, but was himself executed at Carlisle about two months after Hobie’s death. “Such is at least the tradition of Liddesdale,” says Scott. This is of course, notwithstanding the precision of the interval of two months, what Lord Bacon calls “an imagination as one would”; an appendage of a later generation, in the interest of poetical justice.
* * * * *
1 Foul fa the breast first treason bred in! That Liddisdale may safely say, For in it there was baith meat and drink, And corn unto our geldings gay. Fala la diddle, etc.
2 We were stout-hearted men and true, As England it did often say; But now we may turn our backs and fly, Since brave Noble is seld away.
3 Now Hobie he was an English man, And born into Bewcastle dale, But his misdeeds they were sae great, They banishd him to Liddisdale.
4 At Kershope-foot the tryst was set, Kershope of the lily lee; And there was traitour Sim o the Mains, With him a private companie.
5 Then Hobie has graithd his body weel, I wat it was wi baith good iron and steel; And he has pulld out his fringed grey, And there, brave Noble, he rade him weel.
6 Then Hobie is down the water gane, Een as fast as he may drie; Tho they shoud a’ brusten and broken their hearts, Frae that tryst Noble he would not be.
7 ‘Weel may ye be, my feiries five! And aye, what is your wills wi me?’ Then they cryd a’ wi ae consent, Thou’rt welcome here, brave Noble, to me.
8 Wilt thou with us in England ride? And thy safe-warrand we will be, If we get a horse worth a hundred punds, Upon his back that thou shalt be.
9 ‘I dare not with you into England ride, The land-sergeant has me at feid; I know not what evil may betide For Peter of Whitfield his brother’s dead.
10 ‘And Anton Shiel, he loves not me, For I gat twa drifts of his sheep; The great Earl of Whitfield loves me not, For nae gear frae me he eer coud keep.
11 ‘But will ye stay till the day gae down, Until the night come oer the grund, And I’ll be a guide worth ony twa That may in Liddisdale be fund.
12 ‘Tho dark the night as pick and tar, I’ll guide ye oer yon hills fu hie, And bring ye a’ in safety back, If you’ll be true and follow me.’
13 He’s guided them oer moss and muir, Oer hill and houp, and mony ae down, Til they came to the Foulbogshiel, And there brave Noble he lighted down.
14 Then word is gane to the land-sergeant, In Askirton where that he lay: ‘The deer that ye hae hunted lang Is seen into the Waste this day.’
15 ‘Then Hobie Noble is that deer; I wat he carries the style fu hie! Aft has he beat your slough-hounds back, And set yourselves at little ee.
16 ‘Gar warn the bows of Hartlie-burn, See they shaft their arrows on the wa! Warn Willeva and Spear Edom, And see the morn they meet me a’.
17 ‘Gar meet me on the Rodrie-haugh, And see it be by break o day; And we will on to Conscowthart Green, For there, I think, w’ll get our prey.’
18 Then Hobie Noble has dreamd a dream, In the Foulbogshiel where that he lay; He thought his horse was neath him shot, And he himself got hard away.
19 The cocks could crow, and the day could dawn, And I wat so even down fell the rain; If Hobie had no wakend at that time, In the Foulbogshiel he had been tane or slain.
20 ‘Get up, get up, my feiries five— For I wat here makes a fu ill day— And the warst clock of this companie I hope shall cross the Waste this day.’
21 Now Hobie thought the gates were clear, But, ever alas! it was not sae; They were beset wi cruel men and keen, That away brave Noble could not gae.
22 ‘Yet follow me, my feiries five, And see of me ye keep good ray, And the worst clock of this companie I hope shall cross the Waste this day.’
23 There was heaps of men now Hobie before, And other heaps was him behind, That had he been as wight as Wallace was Away brave Noble he could not win.
24 Then Hobie he had but a laddies sword, But he did more than a laddies deed; In the midst of Conscouthart Green, He brake it oer Jers a Wigham’s head.
25 Now they have tane brave Hobie Noble, Wi his ain bowstring they band him sae; And I wat his heart was neer sae sair As when his ain five band him on the brae.
26 They have tane him [on] for West Carlisle; They askd him if he knew the way; Whateer he thought, yet little he said; He knew the way as well as they.
27 They hae tane him up the Ricker-gate; The wives they cast their windows wide, And ilka wife to anither can say, That’s the man loosd Jock o the Side!
28 ‘Fy on ye, women! why ca ye me man? For it’s nae man that I’m usd like; I’m but like a forfoughen hound, Has been fighting in a dirty syke.’
29 Then they hae tane him up thro Carlisle town, And set him by the chimney-fire; They gave brave Noble a wheat loaf to eat, And that was little his desire.
30 Then they gave him a wheat loaf to eat And after that a can o beer; Then they cried a’, wi ae consent, Eat, brave Noble, and make good cheer!
31 Confess my lord’s horse, Hobie, they say, And the morn in Carlisle thou’s no die; ‘How shall I confess them?’ Hobie says, ‘For I never saw them with mine eye.’
32 Then Hobie has sworn a fu great aith, By the day that he was gotten or born, He never had onything o my lord’s That either eat him grass or corn.
33 ‘Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton! For I think again I’ll neer thee see; I wad betray nae lad alive, For a’ the goud in Christentie.
34 ‘And fare thee well now, Liddisdale, Baith the hie land and the law! Keep ye weel frae traitor Mains! For goud and gear he’ll sell ye a’.
35 ‘I’d rather be ca’d Hobie Noble, In Carlisle, where he suffers for his faut, Before I were ca’d traitor Mains, That eats and drinks of meal and maut.’
* * * * *
#a.#
9^4. brother is dead: cf. #b.# (Dead is death.)
10^2. For twa drifts of his sheep I gat: corrected in Scott and in the Campbell MS.
15^4. lee, #b# lye: corrected to fee in Campbell MS. (ee==awe.)
16^2. shaft is corrected to sharp in Scott and the Campbell MS.
24^4. Jersawigham’s: cf. #b#.
#b.# There is a burden after the first, second, and fourth line, variously given; as, Fa (La, Ta) la didle, Ta la la didle, etc., after the first and second; Fala didle, lal didle, Tal didle, tal diddle, after the fourth.
2^{1,2} wanting.
2^{3,4}. 1^{5,6} in the MS.
2^3. flee.
2^4. he is.
3^1. Then for Now.
5^2. both with.
5^3. out a.
6^3. If they should all have bursen.
6^4. From.
7^4. here wanting.
8^1. Will.
8^2. we shall.
8^3. pound.
8^4. shall.
9^1. in.
9^4. brother’s dead (death).
10^2. For twa drifts of his sheep I gott.
10^3. not me.
10^4. me that he can keep.
11^3. worth other three.
11^4 wanting.
12^{1,2} written as 11^4: The pick and tar was never so dark but I’le guide you over yon hillies high.
12^{3,4} wanting.
15^1. he was that.
15^3. slooth.
15^4. little lye.
16^2. shaft.
16^3. Gar warn.
17^1. me the morn.
17^2. see that it be by the.
17^3. Corscowthart.
17^4. ow?
18^3. beneath.
19^1. cra: da.
19^3. not.
19^4. either tane.
21^1. But H.: gates they had been.
21^3. set.
21^4. Noble he.
23^1. lumps for heaps (heaps in 23^2).
24^3. Corscothart.
24^4. Jers a wighams.
25^1. They have tane now H. N.
25^2. bow-strings.
25^3. his heart was never so wae.
26^1. on for.
27^2. cuist.
27^3. Then every.
27^4. John of.
28^3. for fouchald.
29^3. brave wanting: for to.
30^1. wanting.
32^3. had nothing.
33^1. now for sweet.
33^4. Crisenty.
34^3. And keep.
35^1. cald now.
35^4. That eat and drank him a of.
190
JAMIE TELFER OF THE FAIR DODHEAD
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, I, 80, 1802; II, 3, 1833.
Scott, by whom this ballad was first published, and to whom alone it seems to be known, gives us no information how he came by it. He says, “There is another ballad, under the same title as the following, in which nearly the same incidents are narrated, with little difference except that the honor of rescuing the cattle is attributed to the Liddesdale Elliots, headed by a chief, there called Martin Elliot of the Preakin Tower, whose son, Simon, is said to have fallen in the action. It is very possible that both the Teviotdale Scotts and the Elliots were engaged in the affair, and that each claimed the honor of the victory.” Ed. 1833, II. 3.
Scott has suggested that an article in the list of attempts upon England, fouled by the commissioners at Berwick in the year 1587, may relate to the subject of the ballad.
October, 1582.[2]
Thomas Musgrave, de- { Walter Scott, Laird } 200 kine and puty of Bewcastle, { of Buckluth, and his } oxen, 300 gait and the tenants, against { complices; for } and sheep.
Bewcastle, of which Thomas Musgrave at the above date was deputy and captain, was, says Percy, a great rendezvous of thieves and moss-troopers down to the last century. “It is handed down by report,” he remarks, “that@ there was formerly an Order of Council that no inhabitant of Bewcastle should be returned on a jury.” That the deputy of the warden, an officer of the peace, should be exhibited as making a raid, not in the way of retaliation, but simply for plunder, is too much out of rule even for Bewcastle, and does not speak favorably for the antiquity of the ballad.
Taking the story as it stands, the Captain of Bewcastle, who is looking for a prey, is taken by a guide to the Fair Dodhead, which he pillages of kye and everything valuable. Jamie Telfer, whose threat of revenge the Captain treats with derision, runs ten miles afoot to the Elliots of Stobs Hall, to whom he says he has paid mail, st. 11, and asks help. Gib Elliot denies the mail, and tells him to go to the Scotts at Branksome where he has paid it. Telfer keeps on to Coultart Cleugh, and there makes his case known to a brother-in-law, who gives him a mount “to take the fray” to Catslockhill. There William’s Wat, who had often eaten of the Dodhead basket, gives him his company and that of two sons, and they take the fray to Branksome. Buccleuch collects a body of men of his name, and sends them out under the command of Willie Scott, who overtakes the marauders, and asks the Captain if he will let Telfer’s kye go back. This he will not do for love or for fear. The Scotts set on them; Willie is killed, but two and thirty of the raiders’ saddles are emptied, and the Captain is badly wounded and made prisoner. Nor is that all, for the Scotts ride to the Captain’s house and loose his cattle, and when they come to the Fair Dodhead, for ten milk kye Jamie Telfer has three and thirty.
Walter Scott of Harden and Walter Scott of Goldielands, and, according to Scott of Satchells, Scott of Commonside, st. 26, were engaged with Buccleuch in the rescue of Kinmont Willie. So was Will Elliot of Gorrombye, st. 27^4.
The ballad was retouched for the Border Minstrelsy, nobody can say how much. The 36th stanza is in Hardyknute style. St. 12 is not only found elsewhere (cf. ‘Young Beichan,’ #E# 6), but could not be more inappropriately brought in than here; Scott, however, is not responsible for that.
Scott makes the following notes on the localities:
2. Hardhaughswire is the pass from Liddesdale to the head of Teviotdale. Borthwick water is a stream which falls into the Teviot three miles above Hawick. 3. The Dodhead was in Selkirkshire, near Singlee, where there are still the vestiges of an old tower. 7. Stobs Hall: upon Slitterick. 10. Branksome Ha, the ancient family-seat of the lairds of Buccleuch, near Hawick. 13. The Coultart Cleugh is nearly opposite to Carlinrig, on the road between Hawick and Mosspaul. 26. The estates mentioned in this verse belonged to families of the name of Scott residing upon the waters of Borthwick and Teviot, near the castle of their chief. 27. The pursuers seem to have taken the road through the hills of Liddesdale in order to collect forces and intercept the forayers at the passage of the Liddel on their return to Bewcastle. 29. The Frostylee is a brook which joins the Teviot near Mosspaul. 33, 38. The Ritterford and Kershopeford are noted fords on the river Liddel. 36. The Dinlay is a mountain in Liddesdale. 44. Stanegirthside: a house belonging to the Foresters, situated on the English side of the Liddel.
* * * * *
1 It fell about the Martinmas tyde, Whan our Border steeds get corn and hay, The Captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde, And he’s ower to Tividale to drive a prey.
2 The first ae guide that they met wi, It was high up in Hardhaughswire; The second guide that they met wi, It was laigh down in Borthwick water.
3 ‘What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?’ ‘Nae tidings, nae tidings, I hae to thee; But gin ye’ll gae to the Fair Dodhead, Mony a cow’s cauf I’ll let thee see.’
4 And when they cam to the Fair Dodhead, Right hastily they clam the peel; They loosed the kye out, ane and a’, And ranshakled the house right weel.
5 Now Jamie Telfer’s heart was sair, The tear aye rowing in his ee; He pled wi the Captain to hae his gear, Or else revenged he wad be.
6 The Captain turned him round and leugh; Said, Man, there’s naething in thy house But ae auld sword without a sheath, That hardly now wad fell a mouse.
7 The sun was na up, but the moon was down, It was the gryming of a new-fa’n snaw; Jamie Telfer has run ten myles a-foot, Between the Dodhead and the Stobs’s Ha.
8 And when he cam to the fair tower-yate, He shouted loud, and cried weel hie, Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot, ‘Whae’s this that brings the fray to me?’
9 ‘It’s I, Jamie Telfer o the Fair Dodhead, And a harried man I think I be; There’s naething left at the Fair Dodhead But a waefu wife and bairnies three.’
10 ‘Gae seek your succour at Branksome Ha, For succour ye’se get nane frae me; Gae seek your succour where ye paid blackmail, For, man, ye neer paid money to me.’
11 Jamie has turned him round about, I wat the tear blinded his ee: ‘I’ll neer pay mail to Elliot again, And the Fair Dodhead I’ll never see.
12 ‘My hounds may a’ rin masterless, My hawks may fly frae tree to tree, My lord may grip my vassal-lands, For there again maun I never be!’
13 He has turned him to the Tiviot-side, Een as fast as he could drie, Till he cam to the Coultart Cleugh, And there he shouted baith loud and hie.
14 Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve: ‘Whae’s this that brings the fray to me?’ ‘It’s I, Jamie Telfer o the Fair Dodhead, A harried man I trew I be.
15 ‘There’s naething left in the Fair Dodhead But a greeting wife and bairnies three, And sax poor ca’s stand in the sta, A’ routing loud for their minnie.’
16 ‘Alack a wae!’ quo auld Jock Grieve, ‘Alack, my heart is sair for thee! For I was married on the elder sister, And you on the youngest of a’ the three.’
17 Then he has taen out a bonny black, Was right weel fed wi corn and hay, And he’s set Jamie Telfer on his back, To the Catslockhill to tak the fray.
18 And whan he cam to the Catslockhill, He shouted loud and cried weel hie, Till out and spak him William’s Wat, ‘O whae’s this brings the fray to me?’
19 ‘It’s I, Jamie Telfer o the Fair Dodhead, A harried man I think I be; The Captain o Bewcastle has driven my gear; For God’s sake, rise and succour me!’
20 ‘Alas for wae!’ quo William’s Wat, ‘Alack, for thee my heart is sair! I never cam bye the Fair Dodhead That ever I fand thy basket bare.’
21 He’s set his twa sons on coal-black steeds, Himsel upon a freckled gray, And they are on wi Jamie Telfer, To Branksome Ha to tak the fray.
22 And when they cam to Branksome Ha, They shouted a’ baith loud and hie, Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch, Said, Whae’s this brings the fray to me?
23 ‘It’s I, Jamie Telfer o the Fair Dodhead, And a harried man I think I be; There’s nought left in the Fair Dodhead But a greeting wife and bairnies three.’
24 ‘Alack for wae!’ quo the gude auld lord, ‘And ever my heart is wae for thee! But fye, gar cry on Willie, my son, And see that he cum to me speedilie.
25 ‘Gar warn the water, braid and wide! Gar warn it sune and hastilie! They that winna ride for Telfer’s kye, Let them never look in the face o me!
26 ‘Warn Wat o Harden and his sons, Wi them will Borthwick water ride; Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhaugh, And Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside.
27 ‘Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire, And warn the Currors o the Lee; As ye cum down the Hermitage Slack, Warn doughty Willie o Gorrinberry.’
28 The Scotts they rade, the Scotts they ran, Sae starkly and sae steadilie, And aye the ower-word o the thrang Was, Rise for Branksome readilie!
29 The gear was driven the Frostylee up, Frae the Frostylee unto the plain, Whan Willie has lookd his men before, And saw the kye right fast driving.
30 ‘Whae drives thir kye,’ can Willie say, ‘To make an outspeckle o me?’ ‘It’s I, the Captain o Bewcastle, Willie; I winna layne my name for thee.’
31 ‘O will ye let Telfer’s kye gae back? Or will ye do aught for regard o me? Or, by the faith of my body,’ quo Willie Scott, ‘I’se ware my dame’s cauf’s skin on thee.’
32 ‘I winna let the kye gae back, Neither for thy love nor yet thy fear; But I will drive Jamie Telfer’s kye In spite of every Scott that’s here.’
33 ‘Set on them, lads!’ quo Willie than; ‘Fye, lads, set on them cruellie! For ere they win to the Ritterford, Mony a toom saddle there sall be!’
34 Then till ‘t they gaed, wi heart and hand; The blows fell thick as bickering hail; And mony a horse ran masterless, And mony a comely cheek was pale.
35 But Willie was stricken ower the head, And through the knapscap the sword has gane; And Harden grat for very rage, Whan Willie on the grund lay slane.
36 But he’s taen aff his gude steel cap, And thrice he’s waved it in the air; The Dinlay snaw was neer mair white Nor the lyart locks of Harden’s hair.
37 ‘Revenge! revenge!’ auld Wat can cry; ‘Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie! We’ll neer see Tiviot side again, Or Willie’s death revenged sall be.’
38 O mony a horse ran masterless, The splintered lances flew on hie; But or they wan to the Kershope ford, The Scotts had gotten the victory.
39 John o Brigham there was slane, And John o Barlow, as I hear say, And thirty mae o the Captain’s men Lay bleeding on the grund that day.
40 The Captain was run through the thick of the thigh, And broken was his right leg-bane; If he had lived this hundred years, He had never been loved by woman again.
41 ‘Hae back the kye!’ the Captain said; ‘Dear kye, I trow, to some they be; For gin I suld live a hundred years There will neer fair lady smile on me.’
42 Then word is gane to the Captain’s bride, Even in the bower where that she lay, That her lord was prisoner in enemy’s land, Since into Tividale he had led the way.
43 ‘I wad lourd have had a winding-sheet, And helped to put it ower his head, Ere he had been disgraced by the border Scot, Whan he ower Liddel his men did lead!’
44 There was a wild gallant amang us a’, His name was Watty wi the Wudspurs, Cried, On for his house in Stanegirthside, If ony man will ride with us!
45 When they cam to the Stanegirthside, They dang wi trees and burst the door; They loosed out a’ the Captain’s kye, And set them forth our lads before.
46 There was an auld wyfe ayont the fire, A wee bit o the Captain’s kin: ‘Whae dar loose out the Captain’s kye, Or answer to him and his men?’
47 ‘It’s I, Watty Wudspurs, loose the kye, I winna layne my name frae thee; And I will loose out the Captain’s kye In scorn of a’ his men and he.’
48 Whan they cam to the Fair Dodhead, They were a wellcum sight to see, For instead of his ain ten milk-kye, Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three.
49 And he has paid the rescue-shot, Baith wi gowd and white monie, And at the burial o Willie Scott I wat was mony a weeping ee.
* * * * *
28^1, 32^4, 38^4. Scots, Scot. In the last edition, Scotts, Scott.
29^4. drivand in the later edition.
31^4. cauf in the later edition.
37^1. gan in the later edition.
40. “The Editor has used some freedom with the original. The account of the Captain’s disaster (teste læva vulnerata) is rather too naive for literal publication.”
191
HUGHIE GRAME
#A.# ‘The Life and Death of Sir Hugh of the Grime.’ #a.# Roxburghe Ballads, II, 294. #b.# Douce Ballads, II, 204 b. #c.# Rawlinson Ballads, 566, fol. 9. #d.# Pills to purge Melancholy, VI, 289, 17. #e.# Roxburghe Ballads, III, 344.
#B.# ‘Hughie Graham,’ Johnson’s Museum, No 303, p. 312; Cromek, Reliques of Robert Burns, 4th ed., 1817, p. 287; Cromek, Select Scottish Songs, 1810, II, 151.
#C.# ‘Hughie the Græme,’ Scott’s Minstrelsy, 1803, III, 85; 1833, III, 107.
#D.# ‘Sir Hugh in the Grime’s Downfall,’ Roxburghe Ballads, III, 456, edited by J. F. Ebsworth for The Ballad Society, VI, 598.
#E.# ‘Sir Hugh the Græme,’ Buchan’s MSS, I, 53; Dixon, Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 73, Percy Society, vol. xvii.
#F.# Macmath MS., p. 79, two stanzas.
#G.# ‘Hughie Grame,’ Harris MS., fol. 27 b, one stanza.
There is a copy of the broadside among the Pepys ballads, II, 148, No 130, printed, like #a#, #b#, #c#, for P. Brooksby, with the variation, “at the Golden Ball, near the Bear Tavern, in Pye Corner.” The ballad was given in Ritson’s Ancient Songs, 1790, p. 192, from #A a#, collated with another copy “in the hands of John Baynes, Esq.” In a note, p. 332, Ritson says: “In the editor’s collection is a somewhat different ballad upon the same subject, intitled ‘Sir Hugh in the Grimes downfall, or a new song made on Sir Hugh in the Grime, who was hangd for stealing the Bishop’s mare.’ It begins, ‘Good Lord John is a hunting gone.’” This last was evidently the late and corrupt copy #D#. Of #C# Scott says: “The present edition was procured for me by my friend Mr W. Laidlaw, in Blackhouse, and has been long current in Selkirkshire. Mr Ritson’s copy has occasionally been resorted to for better readings.” #B# is partially rewritten by Cunningham, Songs of Scotland, I, 327. The copy in R. H. Evans’s Old Ballads, 1810, I, 367, is #A#; that in The Ballads and Songs of Ayrshire, First Series, p. 47, is of course #B#; Aytoun, ed. of 1859, II, 128, reprints #C#; Maidment, 1868, II, 140, #A#, II, 145, #C#.[3]
“According to tradition,” says Stenhouse, “Robert Aldridge, Bishop of Carlisle, about the year 1560, seduced the wife of Hugh Graham, one of those bold and predatory chiefs who so long inhabited what was called the debateable land on the English and Scottish border. Graham, being unable to bring so powerful a prelate to justice, in revenge made an excursion into Cumberland, and carried off, inter alia, a fine mare belonging to the bishop; but being closely pursued by Sir John Scroope, warden of Carlisle, with a party on horseback, was apprehended near Solway Moss, and carried to Carlisle, where he was tried and convicted of felony. Great intercessions were made to save his life, but the bishop, it is said, being determined to remove the chief obstacle to his guilty passions, remained inexorable, and poor Graham fell a victim to his own indiscretion and his wife’s infidelity. Anthony Wood observes that there were many changes in this prelate’s time, both in church and state, but that he retained his office and preferments during them all.” Musical Museum, 1853, IV, 297.
The pretended tradition is plainly extracted from the ballad, the bishop’s name and the date being supplied from without. The inter alia is introduced, and the mare qualified as a fine one, to mitigate the ridiculousness of making Hugh Graham steal a mare to retaliate the wrong done him by the bishop. As Allan Cunningham remarks, “tradition, in all the varieties of her legends, never invented such an unnecessary and superfluous reason as this. By habit and by nature thieves, the Græmes never waited for anything like a pretence to steal.” In passing, it may be observed that Hugh is quite arbitrarily elevated to the rank of a predatory chief.
Scott suggested in 1803, Minstrelsy, I, 86 f., that Hugh Graham may have been one of more than four hundred borderers against whom complaints were exhibited to the lord bishop of Carlisle for incursions, murders, burnings, mutilations, and spoils committed by the English of Cumberland and Westmoreland upon Scots “presently after the queen’s departure;” that is, after Mary Stuart’s going to France, which was in 1548. Nearly a third of the names given in a partial list are Grames, but there is no Hugh among them.[4] The bishop of Carlisle at the time was Robert Aldridge, who held the see from 1537 till his death in 1555.[5] Lord Scroope (Screw) is the English warden of the West Marches in #A#, #C#, #D#. A Lord Scroope had that office in 1542, but Lord Wharton, Lord Dacre, and others during the last years of Bishop Aldridge’s life, say from 1548 to 1555. Henry Lord Scroope of Bolton was appointed to the place in 1563, retained it thirty years, and was succeeded by his son, Thomas.[6] Considering how long the Scroopes held the warden-ship, and that the ballad is not so old as the middle of the sixteenth century, the fact that a Lord Scroope was not warden in the precise year when the complaints were addressed to the bishop of Carlisle would be of no consequence if Scott’s conjecture were well supported.
The story is the same in #A-D#, and in #E# also till we near the end, though there are variations in the names. The scene is at Carlisle in #A#, #C#, #D#; at Stirling in #B#, #E#. Lord Home, who appears as intercessor for Hugh Graham in #C#, exercises the authority of the Scottish warden and arrests Hugh in #E#. Lord Home was warden of the east marches of Scotland from 1550, and I know not how much earlier, to 1564. The Lord Boles of #A# may possibly represent Sir Robert Bowes, who was warden of the east marches of England in 1550 and earlier. The Whitefoords of #B# are adopted into the ballad from the region in which that version circulated, they being “an ancient family in Renfrewshire and Lanarkshire, and latterly in Ayrshire.”[7]
The high jump which Hugh makes in #A# 18, #C# 12, #D# 4 (fourteen, or even eighteen, feet, with his hands tied on his back), is presumably an effort at escape, though, for all that is said, it might be a leap in the air. In #E# 16–19, the prisoner jumps an eighteen-foot wall (tied as before), is defended by four brothers against ten pursuers, and sent over sea: which is certainly a modern perversion.
#A# is strangely corrupted in several places, 2^2, 11^4, 13^2. Screw is plainly for Scroope. Garlard, sometimes printed Garland, is an obscuration of Cárlisle. The extravagance in 16^3, it is to be hoped, is a corruption also. Stanzas 3, 8 of #B# are obviously, as Cromek says, the work of Burns, and the same is true of 10^{3–4}. But Burns has left some nonsense in 11, 12: ‘my sword that’s bent in the middle clear,’ ‘my sword that’s bent in the middle brown.’ We have more of this meaningless phraseology in #E# 10, 11, 12, where swords are pointed ‘wi the metal clear,’ ‘brown,’ ‘fine.’ Stanza 15 of #E# is borrowed from ‘Johnie Armstrong.’
* * * * *
A
#a.# Roxburghe Ballads, II, 294. #b.# Douce Ballads, II, 204 b. #c.# Rawlinson Ballads, 566, fol. 9. All printed for P. Brooksby: 1672–95(?). #d.# Pills to purge Melancholy, VI, 289, 17. #e.# Roxburghe Ballads, III, 344.
1 As it befell upon one time, About mid-summer of the year, Every man was taxt of his crime, For stealing the good Lord Bishop’s mare.
2 The good Lord Screw he sadled a horse, And rid after this same scrime; Before he did get over the moss, There was he aware of Sir Hugh of the Grime.
3 ‘Turn, O turn, thou false traytor, Turn, and yield thyself unto me; Thou hast stolen the Lord Bishops mare, And now thou thinkest away to flee.’
4 ‘No, soft, Lord Screw, that may not be! Here is a broad sword by my side, And if that thou canst conquer me, The victory will soon be try’d.’
5 ‘I ner was afraid of a traytor bold, Although thy name be Hugh in the Grime; I’le make thee repent thy speeches foul, If day and life but give me time.’
6 ‘Then do thy worst, good Lord Screw, And deal your blows as fast as you can; It will be try’d between me and you Which of us two shall be the best man.’
7 Thus as they dealt their blows so free, And both so bloody at that time, Over the moss ten yeomen they see, Come for to take Sir Hugh in the Grime.
8 Sir Hugh set his back against a tree, And then the men encompast him round; His mickle sword from his hand did flee, And then they brought Sir Hugh to the ground.
9 Sir Hugh of the Grime now taken is And brought back to Garlard town; [Then cry’d] the good wives all in Garlard town, ‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou’st ner gang down.’
10 The good Lord Bishop is come to the town, And on the bench is set so high; And every man was taxt to his crime, At length he called Sir Hugh in the Grime.
11 ‘Here am I, thou false bishop, Thy humours all to fulfill; I do not think my fact so great But thou mayst put it into thy own will.’
12 The quest of jury-men was calld, The best that was in Garlard town; Eleven of them spoke all in a breast, ‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou’st ner gang down.’
13 Then another questry-men was calld, The best that was in Rumary; Twelve of them spoke all in a breast, ‘Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou’st now guilty.’
14 Then came down my good Lord Boles, Falling down upon his knee: ‘Five hundred pieces of gold would I give, To grant Sir Hugh in the Grime to me.’
15 ‘Peace, peace, my good Lord Boles, And of your speeches set them by! If there be eleven Grimes all of a name, Then by my own honour they all should dye.’
16 Then came down my good Lady Ward, Falling low upon her knee: ‘Five hundred measures of gold I’le give, To grant Sir Hugh of the Grime to me.’
17 ‘Peace, peace, my good Lady Ward, None of your proffers shall him buy! For if there be twelve Grimes all of a name, By my own honour they all should dye.’
18 Sir Hugh, of the Grime’s condemnd to dye, And of his friends he had no lack; Fourteen foot he leapt in his ward, His hands bound fast upon his back.
19 Then he lookt over his left shoulder, To see whom he could see or spy; Then was he aware of his father dear, Came tearing his hair most pittifully.
20 ‘Peace, peace, my father dear, And of your speeches set them by! Though they have bereavd me of my life, They cannot bereave me of heaven so high.’
21 He lookt over his right shoulder, To see whom he could see or spye; There was he aware of his mother dear, Came tearing her hair most pittifully.
22 ‘Pray have me remembred to Peggy, my wife; As she and I walkt over the moor, She was the cause of [the loss of] my life, And with the old bishop she plaid the whore.
23 ‘Here, Johnny Armstrong, take thou my sword, That is made of the mettle so fine, And when thou comst to the border-side, Remember the death of Sir Hugh of the Grime.’
* * * * *
B
Johnson’s Museum, No 303, p. 312, contributed by Burns; Cromek, Reliques of Robert Burns, 4th ed., 1817, p. 287; Cromek, Select Scottish Songs, etc., 1810, II, 151. From oral tradition in Ayrshire.
1 Our lords are to the mountains gane, A hunting o the fallow deer, And they hae gripet Hughie Graham, For stealing o the bishop’s mare.
2 And they hae tied him hand and foot, And led him up thro Stirling town; The lads and lasses met him there, Cried, Hughie Graham, thou art a loun!
3 ‘O lowse my right hand free,’ he says, ‘And put my braid sword in the same, He’s no in Stirling town this day Daur tell the tale to Hughie Graham.’
4 Up then bespake the brave Whitefoord, As he sat by the bishop’s knee: ‘Five hundred white stots I’ll gie yon, If ye’ll let Hughie Graham gae free.’
5 ‘O haud your tongue,’ the bishop says, ‘And wi your pleading let me be! For tho ten Grahams were in his coat, Hughie Graham this day shall die.’
6 Up then bespake the fair Whitefoord, As she sat by the bishop’s knee: ‘Five hundred white pence I’ll gee you, If ye’ll gie Hughie Graham to me.’
7 ‘O haud your tongue now, lady fair, And wi your pleading let it be! Altho ten Grahams were in his coat, It’s for my honour he maun die.’
8 They’ve taen him to the gallows-knowe, He looked to the gallows-tree, Yet never colour left his cheek, Nor ever did he blink his ee.
9 At length he looked round about, To see whatever he could spy, And there he saw his auld father, And he was weeping bitterly.
10 ‘O haud your tongue, my father dear, And wi your weeping let it be! Thy weeping’s sairer on my heart Than a’ that they can do to me.
11 ‘And ye may gie my brother John My sword that’s bent in the middle clear, And let him come at twelve o’clock, And see me pay the bishop’s mare.
12 ‘And ye may gie my brother James My sword that’s bent in the middle brown, And bid him come at four o’clock, And see his brother Hugh cut down.
13 ‘Remember me to Maggy my wife, The niest time ye gang oer the moor; Tell her, she staw the bishop’s mare, Tell her, she was the bishop’s whore.
14 ‘And ye may tell my kith and kin I never did disgrace their blood, And when they meet the bishop’s cloak, To mak it shorter by the hood.’
* * * * *
C
Scott’s Minstrelsy, 1803, III, 85, 1833, III, 107, procured by W. Laidlaw in Blackhouse, and long current in Selkirkshire; with readings from Ritson’s copy.
1 Gude Lord Scroope’s to the hunting gane, He has ridden oer moss and muir, And he has grippet Hughie the Græme, For stealing o the bishop’s mare.
2 ‘Now, good Lord Scroope, this may not be! Here hangs a broad sword by my side, And if that thou canst conquer me, The matter it may soon be tryed.’
3 ‘I neer was afraid of a traitor thief; Although thy name be Hughie the Græme, I’ll make thee repent thee of thy deeds, If God but grant me life and time.’
4 ‘Then do your worst now, good Lord Scroope, And deal your blows as hard as you can; It shall be tried, within an hour, Which of us two is the better man.’
5 But as they were dealing their blows so free, And both so bloody at the time, Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall, All for to take brave Hughie the Græme.
6 Then they hae grippit Hughie the Græme, And brought him up through Carlisle town; The lasses and lads stood on the walls, Crying, Hughie the Græme, thou’se neer gae down!
7 Then they hae chosen a jury of men, The best that were in Carlisle town, And twelve of them cried out at once, Hughie the Græme, thou must gae down!
8 Then up bespak him gude Lord Hume, As he sat by the judge’s knee: ‘Twenty white owsen, my gude lord, If you’ll grant Hughie the Græme to me.’
9 ‘O no, O no, my gude Lord Hume, Forsooth and sae it mauna be; For were there but three Græmes of the name, They suld be hanged a’ for me.’
10 ’Twas up and spake the gude Lady Hume, As she sat by the judge’s knee: ‘A peck of white pennies, my good lord judge, If you’ll grant Hughie the Græme to me.’
11 ‘O no, O no, my gude Lady Hume, Forsooth and so it mustna be; Were he but the one Græme of the name, He suld be hanged high for me.’
12 ‘If I be guilty,’ said Hughie the Græme, ‘Of me my friends shall hae small talk;’ And he has loupd fifteen feet and three, Though his hands they were tied behind his back.
13 He looked over his left shoulder, And for to see what he might see; There was he aware of his auld father, Came tearing his hair most piteouslie.
14 ‘O hald your tongue, my father,’ he says, ‘And see that ye dinna weep for me! For they may ravish me o my life, But they canna banish me fro heaven hie.
15 ‘Fare ye weel, fair Maggie, my wife! The last time we came ower the muir ’Twas thou bereft me of my life, And wi the bishop thou playd the whore.
16 ‘Here, Johnnie Armstrang, take thou my sword, That is made o the metal sae fine, And when thou comest to the English side Remember the death of Hughie the Græme.’
* * * * *
D
Roxburghe Ballads, III, 456; edited for the Ballad Society by J. W. Ebsworth, VI, 598.
1 Good Lord John is a hunting gone, Over the hills and dales so far, For to take Sir Hugh in the Grime, For stealing of the bishop’s mare. He derry derry down
2 Hugh in the Grime was taken then And carried to Carlisle town; The merry women came out amain, Saying, The name of Grime shall never go down!
3 O then a jury of women was brought, Of the best that could be found; Eleven of them spoke all at once, Saying, The name of Grime shall never go down!
4 And then a jury of men was brought, More the pity for to be! Eleven of them spoke all at once, Saying, Hugh in the Grime, you are guilty.
5 Hugh in the Grime was cast to be hangd, Many of his friends did for him lack; For fifteen foot in the prisin he did jump, With his hands tyed fast behind his back.
6 Then bespoke our good Lady Ward, As she set on the bench so high: ‘A peck of white pennys I’ll give to my lord, If he’ll grant Hugh Grime to me.
7 ‘And if it be not full enough, I’ll stroke it up with my silver fan; And if it be not full enough, I’ll heap it up with my own hand.’
8 ‘Hold your tongue now, Lady Ward, And of your talkitive let it be! There is never a Grime came in this court That at thy bidding shall saved be.’
9 Then bespoke our good Lady Moor, As she sat on the bench so high: ‘A yoke of fat oxen I’ll give to my lord, If he’ll grant Hugh Grime to me.’
10 ‘Hold your tongue now, good Lady Moor, And of your talkitive let it be! There is never a Grime came to this court That at thy bidding shall saved be.’
11 Sir Hugh in the Grime lookd out of the door, With his hand out of the bar; There he spy’d his father dear, Tearing of his golden hair.
12 ‘Hold your tongue, good father dear, And of your weeping let it be! For if they bereave me of my life, They cannot bereave me of the heavens so high.’
13 Sir Hugh in the Grime lookd out at the door, Oh, what a sorry heart had he! There [he] spy’d his mother dear, Weeping and wailing ‘Oh, woe is me!’
14 ‘Hold your tongue now, mother dear, And of your weeping let it be! For if they bereave me of my life, They cannot bereave me of heaven’s fee.
15 ‘I’ll leave my sword to Johnny Armstrong That is made of mettal so fine, That when he comes to the border-side He may think of Hugh in the Grime.’
* * * * *
E
Buchan’s MSS, I, 53.
1 Lord Home he is a hunting gane, Through the woods and valleys clear, And he has taen Sir Hugh the Græme, For stealing o the bishop’s mare.
2 They hae taen Sir Hugh the Græme, Led him down thro Strieveling town; Fifeteen o them cried a’ at ance, ‘Sir Hugh the Græme he must go down!’
3 They hae causd a court to sit, Mang a’ their best nobilitie; Fifeteen o them cried a’ at ance, ‘Sir Hugh the Græme he now must die!’
4 Out it speaks the lady Black, And o her will she was right free: ‘A thousand pounds, my lord, I’ll gie, If Hugh the Græme set free to me.’
5 ‘Hold your tongue, ye Lady Black, And ye’ll let a’ your pleadings be! Though ye woud gie me thousands ten, It’s for my honour he must die.’
6 Then out it speaks her Lady Bruce, And o her will she was right free: ‘A hundred steeds, my lord, I’ll gie, If ye’ll gie Hugh the Græme to me.’
7 ‘O hold your tongue, ye Lady Bruce, And ye’ll let a’ your pleadings be! Though a’ the Græmes were in this court, It’s for my honour he must die.’
8 He looked over his shoulder, It was to see what he coud see, And there he saw his auld father, Weeping and wailing bitterlie.
9 ‘O hold your tongue, my old father, And ye’ll let a’ your mourning be! Though they bereave me o my life, They canno had the heavens frae me.
10 ‘Ye’ll gie my brother John the sword That’s pointed wi the metal clear, And bid him come at eight o’clock, And see me pay the bishop’s mare.
11 ‘And, brother James, take here the sword That’s pointed wi the metal brown; Come up the morn at eight o’clock, And see your brother putten down.
12 ‘And, brother Allan, take this sword That’s pointed wi the metal fine; Come up the morn at eight o’clock, And see the death o Hugh the Græme.
13 ‘Ye’ll tell this news to Maggy my wife, Niest time ye gang to Strievling town, She is the cause I lose my life, She wi the bishop playd the loon.’
14 Again he ower his shoulder lookd, It was to see what he could see, And there he saw his little son, Was screaming by his nourice knee.
15 Then out it spake the little son, ‘Since ’tis the morn that he must die, If that I live to be a man, My father’s death revengd shall be.’
16 ‘If I must die,’ Sir Hugh replied, ‘My friends o me they will think lack;’ He leapd a wa eighteen feet high, Wi his hands bound behind his back.
17 Lord Home then raised ten armed men, And after him they did pursue; But he has trudged ower the plain As fast as ony bird that flew.
18 He looked ower his left shoulder, It was to see what he coud see; His brother John was at his back, And a’ the rest o his brothers three.
19 Some they wound, and some they slew, They fought sae fierce and valiantly; They made his enemies for to yield, And sent Sir Hugh out ower the sea.
* * * * *
F
Macmath MS., p. 79. “Received by me 20th August and 7th September, 1887, from my aunt, Miss Jane Webster, who derived it from her mother, Janet Spark, Kirkcudbrightshire.”
1 ‘Ye may tell to my wife Maggie, When that she comes to the fair, She was the cause of all my ruin, It was her that stole the bishop’s mare.
2 ‘Ye may tell to my wife Maggie, When that she comes to the town, She was the cause of all my ruin, It was her that stole the bishop’s gown.’
* * * * *
G
Harris MS., fol. 27 b.
Dukes an lords a huntin gane, Over hills an vallies clear; There the’ve bound him Hughie Grame, For stealin o the bishop’s mare.
* * * * *
#A. a.#
Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball, in West-smith-field, neer the Hospital-gate.
12^2. Garland.
13^1. another.
22^3. the causer of my life.
#b.#
To a pleasant new northern tune.
Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden-Ball, in Westsmithfield.
3^3. Lords.
9^3. Then cry’d wanting.
9^4. never.
10^4. of the.
12^2. Garlard.
13^1. other.
21^3. ware.
22^3. the causer of my life.
22^4. plays.
23^3. borders.
#c.#
Printed for P. Brooksby [torn off] West-smith-field.
2^4. he wanting.
5^3. of thy.
9^3. Then cry’d wanting.
10^4. of the.
11^3. thy fact.
12^2. Garlard.
13^1. other.
21^3. ware.
22^3. the causer of my life.
22^4. plays.
23^3. borders.
#d.#
2^2. the same serime.
8^1. again.
8^2. compast.
9^{2,3}, 12^2. Garland.
9^3. Then cry’d.
10^1. the wanting.
11^4. it wanting.
13^1. other.
14^3. will I.
17^4. they wanting.
22^3. cause of the loss.
#e.#
No imprint.
2^2. rid wanting: the same.
2^3. he could.
5^2. my for thy.
7^1. as wanting.
8^2. compast.
9^{2,3}. Garland.
9^3. Then cry’d.
10^1. to town.
10^4. calld to.
11^2. for to.
13^1. other.
14^3. will I.
18^4. With his.
19^4. come.
22^3. of the loss of.
#B.#
8^4. blin’ in Johnson’s Museum: blink in Cromek.
#D.#
Sir Hugh in the Grime’s Downfall, or, A New Song made on Sir Hugh in the Grime, who was hangd for stealing the Bishop’s Mare. London: Printed and sold by L. How. (About 1770?)
5^2. did leet: cf. #A# 18^2.
10^4. biding.
14^1. tonge.
192
THE LOCHMABEN HARPER
#A. a.# ‘The Blind Harper of Lochmaben,’ Glenriddell MSS, XI, 42, 1791. #b.# ‘The Blind Harper,’ Johnson’s Museum, No 579, 1803. #c.# ‘The Lochmaben Harper,’ Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1802, I, 65; 1833, I, 422.
#B.# ‘Lochmaben Harper,’ Glenriddell MSS, XI, 39.
#C.# ‘The Auld Harper,’ The Edinburgh Topographical, Traditional, and Antiquarian Magazine, 1849, p. 58.
#D.# Macmath MS, p. 35.
#E.# ‘The Jolly Harper,’ Buchan’s MSS, I, 35; Dixon, Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, Percy Society, vol. xvii, p. 37.
The Stationers’ Registers, 22 July, 1564–22 July, 1565, Arber, I, 260, have an entry of a fee from Owyn Rogers for license to print “a ballett intituled The Blende Harper, etc.”; and again, the following year, Arber, I, 294, of a fee from Lucas Haryson for license to print “a ballet intituled The Blynde Harpers, with the Answere.” Nothing further is known of this ballet.
Boyd, the translator of Dante, had a recollection of a ballad of a Scotch minstrel who stole a horse from one of the Henries of England: Ritson, Scotish Song, I, xxxvi, note 25, 1794.
Printed in Scott’s Minstrelsy, 1802 (#A c#), and the next year in the Musical Museum (#A b#), as communicated by Burns. Burns’s copy differs very slightly from #A a#, however he came by it. Scott had access to the Glenriddell collection, and his ballad (of which he gives no account) was made by changing #A a# to his taste, substituting one stanza of his own in place of 18, and the last two of #B#, with alterations, for the last of #A a#. To reduce improbabilities, Scott put the Lord Warden for King Henry.
#C# was pointed out to me, and transcribed from the short-lived periodical in which it was printed, by Mr James Barclay Murdoch, to whom I have been from the beginning indebted for the most essential help.
Of #D# Mr Macmath writes: This version was copied by me in fac-simile from the original manuscript in the handwriting of the late Rev. George Murray, of Troquhain, minister of Balmaclellan, in the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, and was in possession of his son, the Rev. George Murray, to whose kindness I was indebted for the loan of it. The late Mr Murray took down the ballad from the singing of Sarah Rae, a poor weak-minded woman of his parish. Sarah Rae was the last person known to Mr Murray—and he was a keen observer of such matters—to use the distaff. The present Mr George Murray wrote to me on 12th January, 1883: “I may add that I have heard her sing the ballad myself, to a very simple but particularly plaintive lilt—more like a rapid chant than an ordinary song—which rings in my ear yet, although I only heard it once, when a lad.”[8]
#A-C.# A harper of Lochmaben (blind, #A#, #B#) who means to steal the Wanton Brown, a horse of King Henry’s, consults with his wife before setting about the business, and gets a few valuable hints; among them, to leave his mare’s foal at home. He goes up to England, and has the good luck, so common in ballads, of finding King Henry at his gate. The king wants to hear some of his harping, and, as the harper makes a difficulty about the stabling of his mare, orders the beast to be put into his own stable. The harper harps all his hearers asleep; then makes his way softly to the stable, slips a halter over the Wanton’s nose and ties him to the mare’s tail, and turns the mare out. She goes straight to Lochmaben, to her foal, neighs at the harper’s house, and is let in by the servant-lass, who exclaims at the braw foal that the mare has got. In the morning they find in England that both the Wanton Brown and the mare have been stolen. The harper breaks out into ‘allaces:’ he has lost a foal in Scotland and had his mare stolen in England! The king quiets him with a promise of a better mare and pay for his foal to boot.
In #D#, #E#, the harper steals the horse on a wager, which, however, is passed over lightly in #D#. The wager in #E# is with two knights of Stirling, five ploughs of land with one and five thousand pounds with the other, and “John” has to go all the way to London to win it. The knights pay their loss and then restore the Wanton Brown to Henry!—so great an improvement upon the dealings of the Scots with English horseflesh as to compel one to assign this particular version of the story to the nineteenth, if not the twentieth, century.[9]
The twelve armed men in armor bright that guard the stable night and day in #E# 23 remind us of popular tales; as of the Grimms’ ‘Master Thief.’
#A b# is loosely translated by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 16, p. 58.
* * * * *
A
#a.# Glenriddell MS. XI, 42, 1791; “from a MS. collection of Mr Henderson.” #b.# Johnson’s Museum, No 579, VI, 598, 1803, communicated by Burns, #c.# Scott’s Minstrelsy, 1802, I, 65.
1 Heard ye eer of the silly blind harper, That long livd in Lochmaben town, How he wad gang to fair England, To steal King Henry’s Wanton Brown? Sing, Faden dilly and faden dilly Sing, Faden dilly and deedle dan
2 But first he gaed to his gude wife, Wi a’ the speed that he coud thole; ‘This wark,’ quo he, ‘will never work Without a mare that has a foal.’
3 Quo she, Thou has a gude gray mare, That’al rin oer hills baith law and hie; Gae tak the gray mare in thy hand, And leave the foal at hame wi me.
4 ‘And tak a halter in thy hose, And o thy purpose dinna fail; But wap it oer the Wanton’s nose, And tie her to the gray mare’s tail.
5 ‘Syne ca her out at yon back geate, Oer moss and muir and ilka dale; For she’ll neer let the Wanton bite Till she come hame to her ain foal.’
6 So he is up to England gane, Even as fast as he can hie, Till he came to King Henry’s geate; And wha was there but King Henry?
7 ‘Come in,’ quo he, ‘thou silly blind harper, And of thy harping let me hear;’ ‘O, by my sooth,’ quo the silly blind harper, ‘I’d rather hae stabling for my mare.’
8 The king he looks oer his left shoulder, And says unto his stable-groom, Gae tak the silly poor harper’s mare, And tie her side my Wanton Brown.
9 And ay he harpit, and ay he carpit, Till a’ the lords had fitted the floor; They thought the music was sae sweet, And they forgot the stable-door.
10 And ay he harpit, and ay he carpit, Till a’ the nobles were sound asleep; Than quietly he took aff his shoon, And safly down the stair did creep.
11 Syne to the stable-door he hies, Wi tread as light as light coud be, And when he opned and gaed in, There he fand thirty gude steads and three.
12 He took the halter frae his hose, And of his purpose did na fail; He slipt it oer the Wanton’s nose, And tied it to his gray mare’s tail.
13 He ca’d her out at yon back geate, Oer moss and muir and ilka dale, And she loot neer the Wanton bite, But held her still gaun at her tail.
14 The gray mare was right swift o fit, And did na fail to find the way, For she was at Lochmaben geate Fu lang three hours ere ’twas day.
15 When she came to the harper’s door, There she gave mony a nicher and sneer; ‘Rise,’ quo the wife, ‘thou lazey lass, Let in thy master and his mare.’
16 Then up she rose, pat on her claes, And lookit out through the lock-hole; ‘O, by my sooth,’ then quoth the lass, ‘Our mare has gotten a braw big foal!’
17 ‘Come had thy peace, thou foolish lass, The moon’s but glancing in thy eye; I’ll wad my hail fee against a groat, It’s bigger than eer our foal will be.’
18 The neighbours too that heard the noise Cried to the wife to put hir in; ‘By my sooth,’ then quo the wife, ‘She’s better than ever he rade on.’
19 But on the morn, at fair day light, When they had ended a’ thier chear, King Henry’s Wanton Brown was stawn, And eke the poor old harper’s mare.
20 ‘Allace! allace!’ says the silly blind harper, ‘Allace, allace, that I came here! In Scotland I’ve tint a braw cowte-foal, In England they’ve stawn my gude gray mare.’
21 ‘Come had thy tongue, thou silly blind harper, And of thy allacing let me be; For thou shalt get a better mare, And weel paid shall thy cowte-foal be.’
* * * * *
B
Glenriddell MSS, XI, 39, 1791; “from Dr Clapperton, of Lochmaben.”
1 Hard ye tell of the silly blind harper? Long he lived in Lochmaben town; He’s away to fair Carlisle, To steal King Henry’s Wanton Brown. Sing, Fadle didle dodle didle Sing, Fadle didle fadle doo
2 He has mounted his auld gray mare, And ridden oer both hills and mire, Till he came to fair Carlisle town, And askd for stabling to his mare.
3 ‘Harp on, harp on, thou silly blind harper, ‘Some of thy harping let us hear;’ ‘By my sooth,’ says the silly blind harper, ‘I would rather hae stabling to my mare.’
4 The king looked oer his left shoulder And called to his stable-groom: ‘Gae stable up the harper’s mare, And just beyond the Wanton Brown.’
5 Ay he carped, and ay he harped, Till a’ the lords gaed thro the floor; But and the musick was sae sweet The groom forgot the key o the stable-door.
6 Ay he harped, and ay he carped, Till a’ the lords fell fast asleep, And, like a fause deceiver as he was, He quickly down the stair did creep.
7 He pulld a colt-halter out o his hoe, On purpose as I shall to you tell; He sliped it oer the Wanton’s nose, And tyed it to his gray mare’s tail.
8 ‘My blessing light upon my wife! I think she be a daily flower; She told me to ken my ain gray mare When eer I felt her by the ewer.’
9 ‘Harp on, harp on, thou silly blind harper, Some of thy harping let us hear:’ ‘Oh and alas!’ says the silly blind harper, ‘Oh and alas that eer I came here!
10 ‘For in Scotland I lost a good brown foal, And in England a good gray mare, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
11 ‘Harp on, harp on, thou silly blind harper, Some of thy harping let us hear, And thy brown foal shall be well payed, And thou’s hae a far better gray mare.’
12 Ay he harped, and ay he carped, And some of his harping he let them hear, And his brown foal it was well payed, And he got a better gray mare.
13 His mare’s away to Lochmaben, Wi mony a nicker and mony a sneer; His wife cry’d, Rise up, you lazy lass, Let in your master and his mare.
14 The lazy lass was loth to rise; She looked through a little hole; ‘By my troth,’ crys the lazy lass, ‘Our mare has brought a bonie foal.’
15 ‘Rise up, rise up, thou lazy lass, And, een as the sun it shines sae clear, I’ll wager my life against a groat The foal was better than ever the mare.’
* * * * *
C
The Edinburgh Topographical, Traditional, and Antiquarian Magazine, 1849, p. 58; communicated by W. G. “from the recitation of a friend, who learned it many years ago from her grandfather,” a farmer in Wigtonshire, who died in 1813, at the age of ninety-four.
1 It’s hae ye heard tell o the auld harper That lang lived in Lochmaben town, How he maun awa to England fair, To steal King Henry’s Wanton Brown? Faw aiden diden an diden an diden Faw aiden diden faw aiden dee
2 Out then bespak his gude auld wife, I wat she spak out very wiselie; ‘Ye’ll ride the mear to England fair, But the foal ye’ll leave at hame wi me.
3 ‘Ye’ll hide your halter in o your hose, And o your purpose ye’ll no fail; Ye’ll cast a hook on the Wanton’s nose, And tie him to the gray mear’s tail.
4 ‘Ye’ll lead them awa by a back yett, And hound them out at a wee hole; The mear she’ll neer [let] the Wanton bait Till hame at Lochmaben town wi her foal.’
5 Awa then rade the auld harper, I wat he rade right merrilie, Until he cam to England fair, Where wonned the gude King Henerie.
6 ‘Light down, light down, ye auld harper, And some o your harping let me hear; ‘O williwa!’ quo the auld harper, Will I get stabling for my mear?’
* * * * * *
7 And aye he harped and he carped, Till a’ the lordlings fell asleep; Syne bundled his fiddles upon his back, And down the stairs fu fast did creep.
8 He’s taen the halter out o his hose, And o his purpose he didna fail; He’s cast a hook on the Wanton’s nose, And tied him to the gray mear’s tale.
9 He’s led them awa by the back yett, And hounded them out at a wee hole; The mear she neer let the Wanton bait Till hame at Lochmaben town wi her foal.
10 And when they cam to the house-end, Wi mony a nicker but an a neigh, They waukend the auld wife out o her sleep; She was a-dreaming she was fouie.
11 ‘Rise up, rise up, my servant-lass, Let in your master and his mear;’ ‘It’s by my sooth,’ the wee lassie goud say, ‘I’m in a sleeping drowsy air.’
12 Wi mony a gaunt she turned her round, And keekit through at a wee hole; ‘It’s by my sooth!’ the wee lassie goud say, ‘Our mear has gotten a braw brown foal!’
13 ‘Lie still, lie still, ye lazy lass, It’s but the moon shines in your ee;’ ‘Na, by my sooth,’ the lassie goud say, ‘And he’s bigger than ony o his degree.’
14 Then lightly rose the gude auld wife, I wat the first up in a’ the town; She took the grit oats intil her lap And fodderd King Henry’s Wanton Brown.
15 King Henry’s groom rase in the morn, And he was of a sorry cheer: ‘King Henry’s Wanton Brown’s awa, And sae is the silly auld harper’s mear!’
16 Up then rase the auld harper, And loudly he did curse and swear: ‘In Scotland they but steald my foal, In England ye hae steald my mear!’
17 ‘It’s haud your tongue,’ King Henry did say, ‘Ye’ll hae nae cause to curse or swear; Here’s thirty guineas for your foal, And three times thirty for your mear.’
* * * * *
D
Taken down by the Rev George Murray from the singing of Sarah Rae, a weak-minded woman of Balmaclellan, Kirkcudbright, 1866. Communicated by Mr Macmath.
1 There was a poor silly harper-man, And he lived in Lochmaben toon, And he has wagered wi lairds and lords, And mony a guinea ag_ains_t a croon. Tum tid iddly Dodaly diddely Tidaly diddaly Dodaly dan
2 And he has wagered wi lairds and lords, And mony a guinea ag_ains_t a croon, That into England he w_oul_d go, And steal King Henerie’s Wanton Broun.
3 Out spak the silly poor harper’s wife, And O but she spak wililie: ‘If into England you do go, Leave the wee-wee foal wi me.’
4 The harper he got on to ride, And O but he rode richt highlie! The very first man that he did meet, They said it was King Henerie.
5 ‘Licht doon, licht doon, ye silly poor harper, And o _you_r harping let me hear;’ ‘And by my sooth,’ quoth the silly poor harper, ‘I’d rather hae stabling for my mear.’
6 O he lookit ower his left shoulder, And saw ane of the stable-grooms: ‘Go take the sillie poor harper’s mear, And stable her by my Wanton Brown.’
7 And aye he harpit, and aye he carpit, Till a’ the nobles fell on the floor, And aye he harpit, and aye he carpit, Till they forgot the key of the stable-door.
8 And aye he harpit, and aye he carpit, Till a’ the nobles fell fast asleep; He has taen his harp upon his back, And doon the stair did softly creep.
9 He has taen a halter frae his hose, And o his purpose did not fail; He coost a wap on Wanton’s nose, And tyed her to his ain mear’s tail.
10 He ca’d her through at the bye-yett, Through mony a syre and mony a hole; She never loot Wanton licht till she Was at Lochmaben, at her foal.
11 And she came oer Lochmaben heights, Wi mony a nicker and mony a sneeze, And waukend the silly poor harper’s wife, As she was a sleeping at her ease.
12 ‘Rise up, rise up, ye servant-lass, Let in the maister and the mear;’ ‘By my sooth,’ quoth the servant-lass, ‘I think my maister be na here.’
13 Up then rose the servant-lass, And lookit through a wee, wee hole; ‘By my sooth,’ quoth the servant-lass, ‘Our mear has gotten a waly foal.’
14 ‘Ye clatter, ye clatter, ye servant-lass, It is the moon shines in your ee;’ ‘By my sooth,’ quoth the servant-lass, ‘It’s mair than ever her ain will be.’
16 It’s whan the stable-groom awoke, Put a’ the nobles in a fear; King Henerie’s Wanton Brown was stown, And Oh! the silly poor harper’s mear.
16 Out then spak the silly poor harper, Says, Oh, this loss I douna thole! In England fair a guid grey mear, In fair Scotland a guid cout-foal.
17 ‘Haud your tongue, ye sillie poor harper, And wi your carping let me be; Here’s ten pounds for your auld gray mear, And a weel paid foal it’s be to thee!’
18 And O the silly poor harper’s wife, She’s aye first up in Lochmaben toun; She’s stealing the corn and stealing the hay, And wappin it oer to Wanton Broun.
* * * * *
E
Buchan’s MSS, I, 35; Dixon, Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 37, Percy Society, vol. xvii.
1 There was a jolly harper-man, That harped aye frae toun to toun; A wager he made, with two knights he laid To steal King Henry’s Wanton Brown.
2 Sir Roger he wagered five ploughs o land, Sir Charles wagered five thousand pound, And John he’s taen the deed in hand, To steal King Henry’s Wanton Brown.
3 He’s taen his harp into his hand, And he gaed harping thro the toun, And as the king in his palace sat, His ear was touched wi the soun.
4 ‘Come in, come in, ye harper-man, Some o your harping let me hear;’ ‘Indeed, my liege, and by your grace, I’d rather hae stabling to my mare.’
5 ‘Ye’ll gang to yon outer court, That stands a little below the toun; Ye’ll find a stable snug and neat, Where stands my stately Wanton Brown.
6 He’s down him to the outer court, That stood a little below the toun; There found a stable snug and neat, For stately stood the Wanton Brown.
7 Then he has fixd a good strong cord Unto his grey mare’s bridle-rein, And tied it unto that steed’s tail, Syne shut the stable-door behin.
8 Then he harped on, an he carped on, Till all were fast asleep; Then down thro bower and ha he’s gone, Even on his hands and feet.
9 He’s to yon stable snug and neat, That lay a little below the toun; For there he placed his ain grey mare, Alang wi Henry’s Wanton Brown.
10 ‘Ye’ll do you down thro mire an moss, Thro mony bog an lairy hole; But never miss your Wanton slack; Ye’ll gang to Mayblane, to your foal.’
11 As soon’s the door he had unshut, The mare gaed prancing frae the town, An at her bridle-rein was tied Henry’s stately Wanton Brown.
12 Then she did rin thro mire an moss, Thro mony bog an miery hole; But never missed her Wanton slack Till she reachd Mayblane, to her foal.
13 When the king awaked from sleep He to the harper-man did say, O waken ye, waken ye, jolly John, We’ve fairly slept till it is day.
14 ‘Win up, win up, ye harper-man, Some mair o harping ye’ll gie me:’ He said, My liege, wi a’ my heart, But first my gude grey mare maun see.
15 Then forth he ran, and in he came, Dropping mony a feigned tear: ‘Some rogue[s] hae broke the outer court, An stown awa my gude grey mare.’
16 ‘Then by my sooth,’ the king replied, ‘If there’s been rogues into the toun, I fear, as well as your grey mare, Awa is my stately Wanton Brown.’
17 ‘My loss is great,’ the harper said, ‘My loss is twice as great, I fear; In Scotland I lost a gude grey steed, An here I’ve lost a gude grey mare.’
18 ‘Come on, come on, ye harper-man, Some o your music lat me hear; Well paid ye’se be, John, for the same, An likewise for your gude grey mare.’
19 When that John his money received, Then he went harping frae the toun, But little did King Henry ken He’d stown awa his Wanton Brown.
20 The knights then lay ower castle-wa, An they beheld baith dale an down, An saw the jolly harper-man Come harping on to Striveling toun.
21 Then, ‘By my sooth,’ Sir Roger said, ‘Are ye returned back to toun? I doubt my lad ye hae ill sped Of stealing o the Wanton Brown.’
22 ‘I hae been into fair England, An even into Lunan toun, An in King Henry’s outer court, An stown awa the Wanton Brown.’
23 ‘Ye lie, ye lie,’ Sir Charles he said, ‘An aye sae loud’s I hear ye lie; Twall armed men, in armour bright, They guard the stable night and day.’
24 ‘But I did harp them all asleep, An managed my business cunninglie; If ye make light o what I say, Come to my stable an ye’ll see.
25 ‘My music pleasd the king sae well Mair o my harping he wishd to hear; An for the same he paid me well, And also for my gude grey mare.’
26 Then he drew out a gude lang purse, Well stored wi gowd an white monie, An in a short time after this The Wanton Brown he lat them see.
27 Sir Roger produced his ploughs o land, Sir Charles produced his thousand pounds, Then back to Henry, the English king, Restored the stately Wanton Brown.
* * * * *
#A. a.#
“I have here given another copy of this Border Ballad, which I took from a MS. collection of Mr Henderson. It varies a little from the former [#A#], which I had from Dr Clapperton of Lochmaben.”
4^4, 13^4, 18^4. The Wanton Brown is a mare: so #b#, and #D#, 9^4. But the Brown is a stallion in #C#, 3^4, 8^4, 13^4, and is so made to be in #A c#, 13^4, 17^3: rightly, I should suppose.
8^2. say.
12^4. to wanting.
#b.#
The third and fourth lines are repeated as burden.
1^1. O heard ye of a silly harper.
1^2. Livd long.
1^3. he did.
8^1. he wanting.
9^2. lords gaed through.
9^4. That they forgat.
14^4. ere it.
15^2. gae.
16^1. raise.
17^1. then (misprint) for those.
17^3. gainst.
21^3. shall.
#c.#
No burden.
1^1. O heard ye na o.
1^2. How lang he lived.
1^3. And how.
1^4. steal the Lord Warden’s.
2^2. the haste.
2^3. will neer gae weel.
3^1. hast.
3^2. That can baith lance oer laigh.
3^3. Sae set thee on the gray mare’s back.
4, 5, wanting.
6^2. And even: he may drie.
6^3. And when he cam to Carlisle gate.
6^4. O whae: but the Warden, he.
7^1. into my hall, thou.
7^4. I wad.
8^1. The Warden lookd ower.
8^2. said.
8^3. silly blind. 8^4. beside.
9^1. Then aye.
9^2. the lordlings footed.
9^3. But an the.
9^4. The groom had nae mind o.
10^2. were fast.
11^1 hied.
11^4. gude wanting.
12^1. took a cowt halter.
12^2. he did.
13^1. He turned them loose at the castle gate.
13^2. muir and moss.
13^3. neer let: bait.
13^4. But kept him a-galloping hame to her foal.
14^1. The mare she was: foot.
14^2. She didna.
14^4. A lang: before the day.
15^3. Rise up.
16^1. cloathes.
16^2. keekit through at the.
16^3. then cried.
16^4. braw brown.
17^1. haud thy tongue, thou silly wench.
17^2. morn’s: in your ee.
17^3. He’s.
18. Now all this while, in merry Carlisle, The harper harped to hie and law, And the fiend thing dought they do but listen him to, Untill that the day began to daw.
19^3. Behold the Wanton Brown was gane.
19^4. poor blind.
20^1. quo the cunning auld.
20^2. And ever allace.
20^3. I lost a.
21, 22, alteration of #B# 11, 12:
Come cease thy allacing, thou silly blind harper, And again of thy harping let us hear; And weel payd sall thy cowt-foal be, And thou sall have a far better mare.
Then aye he harped, and aye he carped, Sae sweet were the harpings he let them hear! He was paid for the foal he had never lost, And three times ower for the gude gray mare.
#B.#
1^2. in a Bell town: see 13^1.
5. The burden is here: Sing, Fadle fidle, etc.
#C.#
“The following is an oral version of a ballad which appears in the first volume of the ‘Minstrelsy.’ I have written it down from the recitation of a friend who learned it many years ago from her grandfather, a Mr John Macreddie, farmer, Little Laight parish of Inch, Wigtonshire. He died in 1813, at the age of ninety-four, and is supposed to have acquired the song from tradition in his youth. On comparison, it will be found to differ in several respects from Sir Walter’s version. 11 Hill Street, Anderston, Glasgow. W. G.”
#D.#
3^2, 4^2, 6^1, 18^1, oh. 10^1, at, 16^1, then, added by Mr Murray in pencil above the line, as if on reading over what he had written down.
18^4. Dr Mitchell gives: An waps. “ The ower-word,” he adds, “was something like the following:”
Hey tum tidly Doodlem didly Hey tum tidly Doodley dan.
#E.#
2^2. The reading is perhaps pounds.
7^{2,3}. Absurdity could be avoided by exchanging grey mare and steed.
24^2. by for my.
193
THE DEATH OF PARCY REED
#A.# ‘A song of Parcy Reed and the Three False Halls,’ the late Robert White’s papers.
#B.# ‘The Death of Parcy Reed,’ Richardson’s Borderer’s Table Book, 1846, VII, 361; J. H. Dixon, Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 99, Percy Society, vol. xvii, 1846.
Of #B#, which purports to have been taken down from an old woman’s singing by James Telfer, Mr Robert White, from whom I received #A#, said in a letter to Mr J. H. Dixon: “Parcy Reed, as you suspect, is not genuine, for it bears marks of our friend’s improvements. I have a copy of the original somewhere, but may not be able to find it.” And again, Telfer himself, “in a letter to the late Robert Storey, the Northumbrian poet,” wrote, “I will send Mr Dixon the real verses, but it is but a droll of a ballad.” (J. H. Dixon, in Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, I, 108, V, 520.)
Comparison will show that almost the whole of #A# is preserved in #B#, and in fairly good form. #B# has also some stanzas not found in #A# which may be accepted as traditional. Telfer may have added a dozen of his own, and has retouched others.
Mr White, after remarking that there is no historical evidence to show when the event on which the ballad was founded occurred, informs us that almost every circumstance in the narrative has been transmitted to the present century by local tradition.
“Percival, or Parcy, Reed,” in the words of Mr White, “was proprietor of Troughend, an elevated tract of land lying on the west side and nearly in the centre of Redesdale, Northumberland. The remains of the old tower may still be seen, a little to the west of the present mansion, commanding a beautiful and most extensive view of nearly the whole valley. Here he resided, and being a keen hunter and brave soldier, he possessed much influence, and was appointed warden or keeper of the district. His office was to suppress and order the apprehension of thieves and other breakers of the law; in the execution of which he incurred the displeasure of a family of brothers of the name of Hall, who were owners of Girsonsfield, a farm about two miles east from Troughend. He also drew upon himself the hostility of a band of moss-troopers, Crosier by name, some of whom he had been successful in bringing to justice. The former were, however, artful enough to conceal their resentment, and under the appearance of friendship calmly awaited an opportunity to be avenged. Some time afterwards, they solicited his attendance on a hunting expedition to the head of Redesdale, and unfortunately he agreed to accompany them. His wife had some strange dreams anent his safety on the night before his departure, and at breakfast, on the following morning, the loaf of bread from which he was supplied chanced to be turned with the bottom upwards, an omen which is still accounted most unfavorable all over the north of England. Considering these presages undeserving of notice, Reed set out in company with the Halls, and, after enjoying a good day’s sport, the party withdrew to a solitary hut in Batinghope, a lonely glen stretching westward from the Whitelee, whose little stream forms one of the chief sources of Reedwater. The whole of this arrangement had been previously planned by the Halls and Crosiers, and when the latter came down, late in the evening, to execute their purpose of vengeance, they found Parcy Reed altogether a defenceless man. His companions not only deserted him, but had previously driven his sword so firmly in its scabbard that it could not be drawn, and had also moistened the powder with which the very long gun he carried with him was charged, so as to render both useless when he came to rely upon them for protection. Accordingly the Crosiers instantly put him to death; and so far did they carry out their sanguinary measures, even against his lifeless body, that tradition says the fragments thereof had to be collected together and conveyed in pillow-slips home to Troughend. Public indignation was speedily aroused against the murderers; the very name of Crosier was abhorred throughout Redesdale, and the abettors were both driven from their residence and designated as the fause-hearted Ha’s, an appellation which yet remains in force against them.” (Richardson’s Borderer’s Table Book, VII, 361.)
The farm of Girsonsfield, according to the ballad, #A# 3, 18, belonged to the Halls. But that place has been the property of others, says Mr White, “ever since the reign of Elizabeth;” whence he concludes that the story is not to be dated later than the sixteenth century.
Parcy Reed is famed to have had a favorite dog named Keeldar, and, though a “peerless archer,” to have killed him by an unlucky shot while hunting. Sir Walter Scott has celebrated this mishap and its consequence in ‘The Death of Keeldar’ (Table Book, as above, p. 240); and he alludes to the treacherous murder of Reed (with which he became acquainted through Robert Roxby’s ‘Lay of the Reedwater Minstrel,’ 1809) in Rokeby, written in 1812, Canto I, xx.
* * * * *
A
The late Robert White’s papers; “Woodburn, December 1, 1829, Thomas Hedley, Bridge End, Corsonside Parish.”
1 The Liddesdale Crosiers hae ridden a race, And they had far better staid at hame, For they have lost a gallant gay, Young Whinton Crosier it was his name.
2 For Parcy Reed he has him taen, And he’s delivered him to law, But auld Crosier has made answer That he’ll gar the house of the Troughend fa.
3 So as it happened on a day That Parcy Reed is a hunting gane, And the three false Halls of Girsonsfield They all along with him are gane.
4 They hunted up and they hunted down, They hunted all Reedwater round, Till weariness has on him seized; At the Batinghope he’s fallen asleep.
5 O some they stole his powder-horn, And some put water in his lang gun: ‘O waken, waken, Parcy Reed! For we do doubt thou sleeps too sound.
6 ‘O waken, O waken, Parcy Reed! For we do doubt thou sleeps too long; For yonder’s the five Crosiers coming, They’re coming by the Hingin Stane.
7 ‘If they be five men, we are four, If ye will all stand true to me; Now every one of you may take one, And two of them ye may leave to me.’
8 ‘We will not stay, nor we dare not stay, O Parcy Reed, for to fight with thee; For thou wilt find, O Parcy Reed, That they will slay both us and thee.’
9 ‘O stay, O stay, O Tommy Hall, O stay, O man, and fight with me! If we see the Troughend again, My good black mare I will give thee.’
10 ‘I will not stay, nor I dare not stay, O Parcy Reed, to fight for thee; For thou wilt find, O Parcy Reed, That they will slay both me and thee.’
11 ‘O stay, O stay, O Johnnie Hall, O stay, O man, and fight for me! If I see the Troughend again, Five yoke of oxen I will give thee.’
12 ‘I will not stay, nor I dare not stay, O Parcy Reed, for to fight with thee; For thou wilt find, O Parcy Reed, That they will slay both me and thee.’
13 ‘O stay, O stay, O Willie Hall, O stay, O man, and fight for me! If we see the Troughend again, The half of my land I will give thee.’
14 ‘I will not stay, nor I dare not stay, O Parcy Reed, for to fight with thee; For thou wilt find, O Parcy Reed, That they will slay both me and thee.’
15 ‘Now foul fa ye, ye traitors all, That ever ye should in England won! You have left me in a fair field standin, And in my hand an uncharged gun.
16 ‘O fare thee well, my wedded wife! O fare you well, my children five! And fare thee well, my daughter Jane, That I love best that’s born alive!
17 ‘O fare thee well, my brother Tom! And fare you well his children five! If you had been with me this day, I surely had been man alive.
18 ‘Farewell all friends! as for my foes, To distant lands may they be tane, And the three false Halls of Girsonsfield, They’ll never be trusted nor trowed again.’
* * * * *
B
Richardsons’ Borderers’ Table Book, VII, 361, 1846; “taken down by James Telfer, of Saughtree, Liddesdale, from the chanting of an old woman named Kitty Hall, a native of Northumberland.”
1 God send the land deliverance Frae every reaving, riding Scot; We’ll sune hae neither cow nor ewe, We’ll sune hae neither staig nor stot.
2 The outlaws come frae Liddesdale, They herry Redesdale far and near; The rich man’s gelding it maun gang, They canna pass the puir man’s mear.
3 Sure it were weel, had ilka thief Around his neck a halter strang; And curses heavy may they light On traitors vile oursels amang.
4 Now Parcy Reed has Crosier taen, He has delivered him to the law; But Crosier says he’ll do waur than that, He’ll make the tower o Troughend fa.
5 And Crosier says he will do waur, He will do waur if waur can be; He’ll make the bairns a’ fatherless, And then, the land it may lie lee.
6 ‘To the hunting, ho!’ cried Parcy Reed, ‘The morning sun is on the dew; The cauler breeze frae off the fells Will lead the dogs to the quarry true.
7 ‘To the hunting, ho!’ cried Parcy Reed, And to the hunting he has gane; And the three fause Ha’s o Girsonsfield Alang wi him he has them taen.
8 They hunted high, they hunted low, By heathery hill and birken shaw; They raised a buck on Rooken Edge, And blew the mort at fair Ealylawe.
9 They hunted high, they hunted low, They made the echoes ring amain; With music sweet o horn and hound, They merry made fair Redesdale glen.
10 They hunted high, they hunted low, They hunted up, they hunted down, Until the day was past the prime, And it grew late in the afternoon.
11 They hunted high in Batinghope, When as the sun was sinking low; Says Parcy then, Ca off the dogs, We’ll bait our steeds and homeward go.
12 They lighted high in Batinghope, Atween the brown and benty ground; They had but rested a little while Till Parcy Reed was sleeping sound.
13 There’s nane may lean on a rotten staff, But him that risks to get a fa; There’s nane may in a traitor trust, And traitors black were every Ha.
14 They’ve stown the bridle off his steed, And they’ve put water in his lang gun; They’ve fixed his sword within the sheath That out again it winna come.
15 ‘Awaken ye, waken ye, Parcy Reed, Or by your enemies be taen; For yonder are the five Crosiers A-coming owre the Hingin-stane.’
16 ‘If they be five, and we be four, Sae that ye stand alang wi me, Then every man ye will take one, And only leave but two to me: We will them meet as brave men ought, And make them either fight or flee.’
17 ‘We mayna stand, we canna stand, We daurna stand alang wi thee; The Crosiers haud thee at a feud, And they wad kill baith thee and we.’
18 ‘O turn thee, turn thee, Johnie Ha, O turn thee, man, and fight wi me; When ye come to Troughend again, My gude black naig I will gie thee; He cost full twenty pound o gowd, Atween my brother John and me.’
19 ‘I mayna turn, I canna turn, I daurna turn and fight wi thee; The Crosiers haud thee at a feud, And they wad kill baith thee and me’
20 ‘O turn thee, turn thee, Willie Ha, O turn thee, man, and fight wi me; When ye come to Troughend again, A yoke o owsen I’ll gie thee.’
21 ‘I mayna turn, I canna turn, I daurna turn and fight wi thee; The Crosiers haud thee at a feud, And they wad kill baith thee and me.’
22 ‘O turn thee, turn thee, Tommy Ha, O turn now, man, and fight wi me; If ever we come to Troughend again, My daughter Jean I’ll gie to thee.’
23 ‘I mayna turn, I canna turn, I daurna turn and fight wi thee; The Crosiers haud thee at a feud, And they wad kill baith thee and me.’
24 ‘O shame upon ye, traitors a’! I wish your hames ye may never see; Ye’ve stown the bridle off my naig, And I can neither fight nor flee.
25 ‘Ye’ve stown the bridle off my naig, And ye’ve put water i my lang gun; Ye’ve fixed my sword within the sheath That out again it winna come.’
26 He had but time to cross himsel, A prayer he hadna time to say, Till round him came the Crosiers keen, All riding graithed and in array.
27 ‘Weel met, weel met, now, Parcy Reed, Thou art the very man we sought; Owre lang hae we been in your debt, Now will we pay you as we ought.
28 ‘We’ll pay thee at the nearest tree, Where we shall hang thee like a hound;’ Brave Parcy raisd his fankit sword, And felld the foremost to the ground.
29 Alake, and wae for Parcy Reed, Alake, he was an unarmed man; Four weapons pierced him all at once, As they assailed him there and than.
30 They fell upon him all at once, They mangled him most cruellie; The slightest wound might caused his deid, And they hae gien him thirty-three; They hacket off his hands and feet, And left him lying on the lee.
31 ‘Now, Parcy Reed, we’ve paid our debt, Ye canna weel dispute the tale,’ The Crosiers said, and off they rade; They rade the airt o Liddesdale.
32 It was the hour o gloaming gray, When herds come in frae fauld and pen; A herd he saw a huntsman lie, Says he, Can this be Laird Troughen?
33 ‘There’s some will ca me Parcy Reed, And some will ca me Laird Troughen; It’s little matter what they ca me, My faes hae made me ill to ken.
34 ‘There’s some will ca me Parcy Reed, And speak my praise in tower and town; It’s little matter what they do now, My life-blood rudds the heather brown.
35 ‘There’s some will ca me Parcy Reed, And a’ my virtues say and sing; I would much rather have just now A draught o water frae the spring.’
36 The herd flung aff his clouted shoon And to the nearest fountain ran; He made his bonnet serve a cup, And wan the blessing o the dying man.
37 ‘Now, honest herd, ye maun do mair, Ye maun do mair, as I you tell; Ye maun bear tidings to Troughend, And bear likewise my last farewell.
38 ‘A farewell to my wedded wife, A farewell to my brother John, Wha sits into the Troughend tower Wi heart as black as any stone.
39 ‘A farewell to my daughter Jean, A farewell to my young sons five; Had they been at their father’s hand, I had this night been man alive.
40 ‘A farewell to my followers a’, And a’ my neighbours gude at need; Bid them think how the treacherous Ha’s Betrayed the life o Parcy Reed.
41 ‘The laird o Clennel bears my bow, The laird o Brandon bears my brand; Wheneer they ride i the Border-side, They’ll mind the fate o the laird Troughend.’
* * * * *
#A.#
10^1, 12^1, 14^1, or for nor; cf. 8^1.
12^2. “O Parcy Reed, etc. (same as stanza 8, save at end, thee and me).” The same abridgment and remark at 10^2, 14^2, but the last words are there given as me and thee. Uniformity is to be expected.
16^1. fare thou: cf. 16^3, 17^1.
194
THE LAIRD OF WARISTON
#A.# ‘The Laird of Waristoun,’ Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 109.
#B.# ‘Laird of Wariestoun,’ Kinloch MSS, VII, 217; Kinloch’s Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 49.
#C.# ‘Death of Lord Warriston,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 56.
Birrell’s Diary, under the date of July 2, 1600, has the following entry: “John Kinland [Kincaid] of Waristone murderit be hes awin wyff and servant-man, and the nurische being also upone the conspiracy. The said gentilwoman being apprehendit, scho was tane to the Girth Crosse upon the 5 day of Julii, and her heid struck fra her bodie at the Can-nagait fit; quha diet verie patiently. Her nurische was brunt at the same tyme, at 4 houres in the morneing, the 5 of Julii.” P. 49.
Both husband and wife belonged to houses of some note. The wife, Jean Livingston, was a daughter of John Livingston of Dunipace, “and related to many of the first families in Scotland.”
Nothing seems to have been done to keep the murder from divulging. Warriston being only about a mile from Edinburgh, information very soon reached the authorities of justice, and those who were found in the house, the mistress, the nurse, and two female servants, were arrested. The crime was committed on Tuesday morning, not long after midnight. On Thursday such trial as there was took place, and it may have occupied three hours, probably less. At three o’clock on Saturday morning sentence was executed. This had been burning (i. e. after strangling), both for the principal and her accomplice, the nurse; but for the well-born woman, no doubt through the influence of her kindred, it was commuted to beheading. The servant-man who did the handiwork fled, but the penalty for undue devotion to his former master’s daughter overtook him within four years. He was broken on a cart-wheel with a plough-coulter.
The judicial records in the case of Jean Livingston are lost, but the process of the murder and the provocation are known from a register of the trial of Robert Weir, the actual perpetrator, and partly also from Jean Livingston’s own relation. Jean Livingston, having conceived a deadly hatred and malice against her husband, John Kincaid, “for the alleged biting of her in the arm and striking her divers times,” sent word by her nurse, Janet Murdo, to Robert Weir, formerly servant to her father, to come to Wariston to speak with her concerning the murdering of him. The nurse, who, we may safely suppose, had been the witness of Kincaid’s brutal behavior, was no unwilling agent. “She helped me too well in mine evil purpose,” says her mistress; “for when I told her what I was minded to do, she consented to the doing of it, and ... when I sent her to seek the man who would do it, she said, I shall go and seek him, and if I get him not, I shall seek another; and if I get none, I shall do it myself.” This the nurse confessed. The other two women knew nothing of the deed before it was done; “and that which they knew,” says the mistress again, “they durst not tell for fear, for I had compelled them to dissemble.” Robert Weir, having given consent, was put in a cellar, where he stayed till midnight, about which time he came up and went to Kincaid’s chamber. Kincaid, who had waked with the “din,” and was leaning over the side of his bed, was knocked to the floor by a blow in the neck, kicked in the belly, and then throttled. “As soon as that man gripped him and began his evil turn,” says the wife, “so soon as my husband cried so fearfully, I leapt outover my bed and went to the hall, where I sat all the time till that unhappy man came to me and reported that mine husband was dead.” She desired Weir, she says, to take her away with him, for she feared trial, albeit flesh and blood made her think that her father’s interest at court would have saved her (this may have been an after-thought). But Weir refused, saying, You shall tarry still, and if this matter come not to light, you shall say he died in the gallery, and I shall return to my master’s service. But if it be known, I shall fly and take the crime on me, and none dare pursue you.
A benevolent minister, who visited Jean Livingston in prison about ten o’clock on Thursday, the third day after the murder, found her “raging in a senseless fury, disdainfully taunting every word of grace that was spoken to her, impatiently tearing her hair, sometimes running up and down the house like one possessed, sometimes throwing herself on the bed and sprawling, refusing all comfort by word, and, when the book of God was brought to her, flinging it upon the walls, twice or thrice, most unreverently.” His warnings of wrath to come and his exhortations to seek mercy through repentance were treated as “trittle, trattle,” and she stubbornly refused to pray for herself, or to take part in his prayer, or to say so much as God help me. He told her that she was promising herself impunity, but within a few hours, when she should have the sentence of death pronounced against her, the pride of her heart would be broken. The trial and sentence followed hard upon this, and when the minister returned, some time in the afternoon, he found a visible and apparent grace beginning in her. He remained with her till after midnight, and when he left her, Jean Livingston could say that she felt in her heart a free remission of all her sins. This worthy man came to the prison again early the next morning, and found God’s grace wonderfully augmented in her. She was full of joy and courage. Those that stood about her said they never saw her so amiable or well-favored. The glory of God was shining both without and within her.
To follow no further this astounding chapter in psychology, this bairn of twenty-one years,[10] with whom the Lord began to work in mercy upon Thursday at two hours in the afternoon, gave up her soul to him in peace upon the Saturday following at three hours in the morning. “When she came to the scaffold and was carried up upon it, she looked up to the Maiden with two longsome looks,” but her serenity was not disturbed. She made a confession at each of the four corners of the scaffold, took “good night” cheerfully of all her friends, kissing them, and then, “as a constant saint of God, humbled herself on her knees and offered her neck to the axe.”[11]
It may be gathered from Weir’s indictment that it was the ill treatment which she had received from her husband that incited the wife to the murder. Two of the ballads, #A# 4, #B# 2, make the same representation. An epitaph on Jean Livingston gives us to understand that both parties were very young, and were married aganst their will (invita invito subjuncta puella puello): whence perpetual disagreements (nihil in thalamo nisi rixæ, jurgia, lites).
In #A#, #B#, the strangling is done by the nurse and her lady, Man’s Enemy personally knotting the tether in #A#; in #C# it is done by the nurse alone. In #B# 8 the great Dunipace, in his anger at hearing what his daughter has done, cries out for her to be put in a barrel of pikes[12] and rolled down some lea. In #C# the father, mother, and brother come to see Jean, and would fain give everything to borrow her. This is a by much too flattering account of the behavior of her relatives, who were principally anxious to have her got out of the world with as little éclat as might be. None of them came near her in prison, though Wariston’s brother did. #C# makes Wariston’s mortal offence not the throwing a plate at her face (#A#) or striking her on the mouth (#B#), but the taxing her with a bairn by another man.[13] The unfriendly relations of the pair must have been notorious. In the prison the wife “purged herself very sincerely from many scandalous things she had been bruited with. Not that she would excuse herself that she was a sinner in the highest rank, but that she might clear herself from these false reports that her house was charged with:” Memorial, p. XXVII.
* * * * *
A
Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 109, as taken down by Sir Walter Scott from the recitation of his mother.
1 Down by yon garden green Sae merrily as she gaes; She has twa weel-made feet, And she trips upon her taes.
2 She has twa weel-made feet, Far better is her hand; She’s as jimp in the middle As ony willow-wand.
3 ‘Gif ye will do my bidding, At my bidding for to be, It’s I will make you lady Of a’ the lands you see.’
* * * * * *
4 He spak a word in jest; Her answer wasna good; He threw a plate at her face, Made it a’ gush out o blood.
5 She wasna frae her chamber A step but barely three, When up and at her richt hand There stood Man’s Enemy.
6 ‘Gif ye will do my bidding, At my bidding for to be, I’ll learn you a wile Avenged for to be.’
7 The Foul Thief knotted the tether, She lifted his head on hie, The nourice drew the knot That gard lord Waristoun die.
8 Then word is gane to Leith, Also to Edinburgh town, That the lady had killd the laird, The laird o Waristoun.
* * * * * *
9 ‘Tak aff, tak aff my hood, But lat my petticoat be; Put my mantle oer my head, For the fire I downa see.
10 ‘Now, a’ ye gentle maids, Tak warning now by me, And never marry ane But wha pleases your ee.
11 ‘For he married me for love, But I married him for fee; And sae brak out the feud That gard my dearie die.’
* * * * *
B
Kinloch MSS, VII, 217; from the recitation of Jenny Watson.
1 It was at dinner as they sat, And whan they drank the wine, How happy war the laird and lady Of bonnie Wariston!
2 The lady spak but ae word, The matter to conclude; The laird strak her on the mouth, Till she spat out o blude.
3 She did not know the way Her mind to satisfy, Till evil cam into [her] head All by the Enemy.
* * * * * *
4 ‘At evening when ye sit, And whan ye drink the wine, See that ye fill the glass weill up To the laird o Wariston.’
5 So at table whan they sat, And whan they drank the wine, She made the glass aft gae round To the laird o Wariston.
6 The nurice she knet the knot, And O she knet it sicker! The lady did gie it a twig, Till it began to wicker.
7 But word’s gane doun to Leith, And up to Embro toun, That the lady she has slain the laird, The laird o Waristoun.
8 Word has gane to her father, the grit Dunipace, And an angry man was he; Cries, Gar mak a barrel o pikes, And row her down some lea!
9 She said, Wae be to ye, Wariston, I wish ye may sink for sin! For I have been your wife These nine years, running ten; And I never loved ye sae well As now whan ye’re lying slain.
10 ‘But tak aff this gowd brocade, And let my petticoat stay, And tie a handkerchief round my face, That the people may not see.’
* * * * *
C
Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 56.
1 ‘My mother was an ill woman, In fifteen years she married me; I hadna wit to guide a man, Alas! ill counsel guided me.
2 ‘O Warriston, O Warriston, I wish that ye may sink for sin! I was but bare fifteen years auld, Whan first I enterd your yates within.
3 ‘I hadna been a month married, Till my gude lord went to the sea; I bare a bairn ere he came hame, And set it on the nourice knee.
4 ‘But it fell ance upon a day, That my gude lord returnd from sea; Then I did dress in the best array, As blythe as ony bird on tree.
5 ‘I took my young son in my arms, Likewise my nourice me forebye, And I went down to yon shore-side, My gude lord’s vessel I might spy.
6 ‘My lord he stood upon the deck, I wyte he haild me courteouslie: Ye are thrice welcome, my lady gay, Whae’s aught that bairn on your knee?’
7 She turnd her right and round about, Says, ‘Why take ye sic dreads o me? Alas! I was too young married, To love another man but thee.’
8 ‘Now hold your tongue, my lady gay, Nae mair falsehoods ye’ll tell to me; This bonny bairn is not mine, You’ve loved another while I was on sea.’
9 In discontent then hame she went, And aye the tear did blin her ee; Says, Of this wretch I’ll be revenged For these harsh words he’s said to me.
10 She’s counselld wi her father’s steward What way she coud revenged be; Bad was the counsel then he gave, It was to gar her gude lord dee.
11 The nourice took the deed in hand, I wat she was well paid her fee; She kiest the knot, and the loop she ran, Which soon did gar this young lord dee.
12 His brother lay in a room hard by, Alas! that night he slept too soun; But then he wakend wi a cry, ‘I fear my brother’s putten down.
13 ‘O get me coal and candle light, And get me some gude companie;’ But before the light was brought, Warriston he was gart dee.
14 They’ve taen the lady and fause nourice, In prison strong they hae them boun; The nourice she was hard o heart, But the bonny lady fell in swoon.
15 In it came her brother dear, And aye a sorry man was he: ‘I woud gie a’ the lands I heir, O bonny Jean, to borrow thee.’
16 ‘O borrow me, brother, borrow me? O borrowd shall I never be; For I gart kill my ain gude lord, And life is nae pleasure to me.’
17 In it came her mother dear, I wyte a sorry woman was she: ‘I woud gie my white monie and gowd, O bonny Jean, to borrow thee.’
18 ‘Borrow me, mother, borrow me? O borrowd shall I never be; For I gart kill my ain gude lord, And life’s now nae pleasure to me,’
19 Then in it came her father dear, I wyte a sorry man was he; Says, ‘Ohon, alas! my bonny Jean, If I had you at hame wi me!
20 ‘Seven daughters I hae left at hame, As fair women as fair can be; But I would gie them ane by ane, O bonny Jean, to borrow thee.’
21 ‘O borrow me, father, borrow me? O borrowd shall I never be; I that is worthy o the death, It is but right that I shoud dee.’
22 Then out it speaks the king himsell, And aye as he steps in the fleer; Says, ‘I grant you your life, lady, Because you are of tender year.’
23 ‘A boon, a boon, my liege the king, The boon I ask, ye’ll grant to me;’ ‘Ask on, ask on, my bonny Jean, Whateer ye ask it’s granted be.’
24 ‘Cause take me out at night, at night, Lat not the sun upon me shine, And take me to yon heading-hill, Strike aff this dowie head o mine.
25 ‘Ye’ll take me out at night, at night, When there are nane to gaze and see, And hae me to yon heading-hill, And ye’ll gar head me speedilie.’
26 They’ve taen her out at nine at night, Loot not the sun upon her shine, And had her to yon heading-hill, And headed her baith neat and fine.
27 Then out it speaks the king himsell, I wyte a sorry man was he: ‘I’ve travelld east, I’ve travelld west, And sailed far beyond the sea, But I never saw a woman’s face I was sae sorry to see dee.
28 ‘But Warriston was sair to blame, For slighting o his lady so; He had the wyte o his ain death, And bonny lady’s overthrow.’
* * * * *
#B.#
4. The MS indicates that this is the nurse’s speech.
5^1. whan struck out, as written over.
8. has struck out, ‘s substituted.
10^2. stay struck out, be substituted.
10^3. Originally handkerchief; hand struck out.
Kinloch has made several changes in printing:
7^1. has gane.
8^3. Fy! gar.
8^4. some brae.
9^3. gud wife. He gives as in 5^1; be in 10^2; handkerchief in 10^3.
#C.#
6^4. Whase. Perhaps, Wha’s rather than Whae’s.
195
LORD MAXWELL’S LAST GOODNIGHT
#A.# ‘Lord Maxwell’s Last Goodnight,’ communicated to Percy by G. Paton, 1778.
#B.# ‘Lord Maxwell’s Goodnight,’ Glenriddell MSS, XI, 18, 1791, Scott’s Minstrelsy, I, 194, 1802; II, 133, 1833.
First published in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, “from a copy in Glenriddell’s MS., with some slight variations from tradition.” I understand this to mean, not that the variations were derived from tradition, but that the text of the Minstrelsy departs somewhat from that of the manuscript.
#A# and #B# agree entirely as to matter. The order of the stanzas, not being governed by an explicit story, might be expected to vary with every reciter.
In the year 1585, John, Lord Maxwell, having incurred the enmity of the king’s favorite, the Earl of Arran, was denounced rebel, on such charges as were always at hand, and a commission was given to the Laird of Johnstone to pursue and take him. A hired force, by the aid of which this was expected to be done, was badly routed by the Maxwells in a sharp fight. Johnstone made a raid on Maxwell’s lands; Maxwell burnt Johnstone’s house. Finally, in one of their skirmishes, Johnstone was captured: “the grief of this overthrow gave Johnstone, shortly after he was liberated, his death.”
After some years of feud, the two chiefs, “by the industry of certain wise gentlemen of the Johnstones,” surprised all Scotland by making a treaty of peace. On April 1, 1592, they entered into a bond to forget and forgive all rancor and malice of the past, and to live in amity, themselves and their friends, in all time coming. A little more than a year after, a party of Johnstones, relying, no doubt, on the forbearance of their new ally, then warden of the West Marches, “rode a stealing” in the lands of Lord Sanquhar and of the knights of Drumlanrig, Lag, and Closeburn, carried off a large booty, and killed eighteen men who endeavored to retrieve their property. (See No 184, ‘The Lads of Wamphray.’) The injured gentlemen made complaint to Maxwell as warden, and also procured a commission directing him to proceed against the Johnstones. Maxwell was in an awkward plight. To induce him to take action, several of the sufferers engaged to enter into a bond of manrent, or homage, to Maxwell, by which they should be obliged to service and he to protection. “Maxwell, thinking this to be a good occasion for bringing all Nithsdale to depend upon him, embraced the offer.” But this bond, through negligence, came to the hands of Johnstone, who, seeing what turn matters would take, made a league with Scotts, Eliots, and others, and in a battle at Dryfe Sands, by superior strategy, defeated Maxwell, though the warden had much larger numbers. This was in December, 1593. “The Lord Maxwell, a tall man and heavy in armor, was in the chase overtaken and stricken from his horse. The report went that he called to Johnstone and desired to be taken as he had sometime taken his father, but was unmercifully used, and the hand that he reached forth cut off. But of this,” says Spotiswood, “I can affirm nothing. There always the Lord Maxwell fell, having received many wounds.” Drumlanrig, Closeburn, and other of the Nithsdale lairds of Maxwell’s faction, barely escaped with their lives.
Sir James Johnstone soon made his peace with the king, whose warden had been slain while acting under royal authority. The heir of the slain warden, John, the ninth Lord Maxwell, is said to have been only eight years old at the time of his father’s death.[14] If this was so, he became very early of age for all purposes of offence. The two clans kept up a bloody and destructive private war. Both chiefs were imprisoned and proclaimed rebel or traitor; Maxwell twice, first in 1601, as favoring popery, and again in 1607, for his extravagant turbulence; and in each case he made his own escape, the second time by the use of violence. At length, influenced perhaps by a conviction that his defiance of the law had gone too far for his safety, Maxwell seemed to be seriously disposed to reconcile himself with his inveterate enemy.[15] Sir James Johnstone, as it happened, had already asked Sir Robert Maxwell, who was his brother-in-law and cousin to Lord Maxwell, to speak to his kinsman with that view. Sir Robert had no wish to meddle, for his cousin, he said, was a dangerous man to have to do with. Lord John, however, spontaneously sent for Sir Robert, and said to him, You see my estate and the danger I stand in. I would crave your counsel as a man that tenders my weal. The result of much conference and writing (in which Sir Robert Maxwell, evidently feeling imperfect confidence in his cousin, acted with great caution) was that Lord Maxwell proposed a tryst with Sir James Johnstone, each of them to be accompanied by one person only, and no others to be present except Sir Robert, and faithfully promised, with his hands between Sir Robert’s hands, that neither he nor the man he should bring with him should do any wrong, “whether they agreed or not.” Johnstone accepted the terms and made corresponding promises. The meeting came off the 6th of April, 1608. Johnstone brought Willie Johnstone with him, and Maxwell Charlie Maxwell, a man that Sir Robert strongly disapproved, but his chief undertook to be answerable for him. Sir Robert required the same guaranty on the part of Johnstone for his follower, and these men were ordered to keep away from one another. The two principals and their mediator between them rode off, with their backs to their men, and began their parley. Looking round, Sir Robert saw that Charlie Maxwell had left his appointed place and gone to Willie Johnstone, at whom, after some words between them, he fired a pistol. Sir Robert cried to Lord Maxwell, Fie, make not yourself a traitor and me both! Lord Maxwell replied, I am blameless. Sir James Johnstone slipped away to see to his follower’s safety. Lord Maxwell followed Sir James, shot him in the back, and rode off.[16]
Lord Maxwell fled the country, but was tried in his absence and sentenced to death, with forfeiture of his estates. He came back to Scotland after four years, was basely betrayed into the power of the government by a kinsman, and was beheaded at Edinburgh May 21, 1613.[17]
“Thus was finally ended,” remarks Sir Walter Scott, “by a salutary example of severity, the ‘foul debate’ betwixt the Maxwells and Johnstones, in the course of which each family lost two chieftains: one dying of a broken heart, one in the field of battle, one by assassination, and one by the sword of the executioner.”
#A# 1, 2, and passim. The very affectionate relations of Lord Maxwell and his ‘lady and only joy,’ are a fiction of the ballad-maker. His wife was daughter of the first Marquis of Hamilton. Maxwell instituted a process of divorce against her, and she died while this was pending, before he fled the country in 1608. By his treatment of his wife he made her brother, the second marquis, and the Hamiltons generally, his enemies.[18]
5, 6. Carlaverock castle had from far back belonged to the Maxwells, and is theirs still. They had a house, or castle, at Dumfries, and the custody of the “houses” of Lochmaben, Langholm, and Thrieve.
9, 10. Douglas of Drumlanrig, Kirkpatrick of Closeburn, and Grierson of Lag fled in the sauve qui peut of Dryfe Sands, and the partisans of Lord Maxwell, who there lost his life, would naturally describe them as deserting their chief. They (or two of them) had entered into a “band” with Maxwell, as aforesaid. The ballad-maker seems to intimate that they were in a band with each other, or with somebody, to betray Maxwell.
11, and #B# 1. ‘Robin in the Orchet,’ ‘Robert of Oarchyardtoan,’ is properly Sir Robert Maxwell of Orchardton, Lord John’s cousin, but it is evident, from the conjunction of mother and sisters, that the person here intended is his brother Robert, to whom, some years after the execution and forfeiture of Lord John, the estates were restored.
14. Maxwell’s wife, as said above, was no longer living. The “offers” which he made, to save his life, contain a proposal that he should marry the slain Sir James Johnstone’s daughter, without any dowry.
“Goodnight” is to be taken loosely as a farewell. Other cases are ‘John Armstrong’s last Goodnight,’ and the well-known beautiful fragment (?) of two stanzas called ‘Armstrong’s Goodnight;’ again, Essex’s last Goodnight, to the tune of The King’s last Goodnight, Chappell, Roxburghe Ballads, I, 570, and Popular Music, p. 174. The Earl of Derby sings a Goodnight (though the name is not used) in ‘Flodden Field,’ No 168, III, 356, stanzas 36–58. Justice Shallow sang those tunes that he heard the carmen whistle, and sware they were his Fancies, or his Good-nights: Second Part of Henry IV, III, 2. Lord Byron, in the preface to Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage, says “the good-night in the beginning of the first canto was suggested by Lord Maxwell’s Goodnight in the Border Minstrelsy.”
* * * * *
A
Communicated to Percy by G. Paton, Edinburgh, December 4, 1778.
1 ‘Good lord of the land, will you stay thane About my faither’s house, And walk into these gardines green, In my arms I’ll the embraice.
2 ‘Ten thousand times I’ll kiss thy face; Make sport, and let’s be mery:’ ‘I thank you, lady, fore your kindness; Trust me, I may not stay with the.
3 ‘For I have kil’d the laird Johnston; I vallow not the feed; My wiked heart did still incline; He was my faither’s dead.
4 ‘Both night and day I did proced, And a’ on him revainged to be; But now have I gotten what I long sowght, Trust me, I may not stay with the.
5 ‘Adue, Dumfriese, that proper place! Fair well, Carlaurike faire! Adue the castle of the Trive, And all my biddings there!
6 ‘Adue, Lochmaben gaits so faire, And the Langhm shank, where birks bobs bony! Adue, my leady and only joy! Trust me, I may not stay with the.
7 ‘Adue, fair Eskdale, up and doun, Wher my poor frends do duell! The bangisters will beat them doun, And will them sore compell.
8 ‘I’ll reveinge the cause mysell, Again when I come over the sea; Adue, my leady and only joy! Fore, trust me, I may not stay with the.
9 ‘Adue, Dumlanark! fals was ay, And Closburn! in a band; The laird of the Lag from my faither fled When the Jhohnstones struek of his hand.
10 ‘They wer three brethren in a band; I pray they may never be merry; Adue, my leady and only joy! Trust me, I may not stay with the.
11 ‘Adue, madam my mother dear, But and my sister[s] two! Fair well, Robin in the Orchet! Fore the my heart is wo.
12 ‘Adue, the lillie, and fair well, rose, And the primros, spreads fair and bony! Adue, my leady and only joy! Fore, trust me, I may not stay with the.’
13 He took out a good gold ring, Where at hang sygnets three: ‘Take thou that, my own kind thing, And ay have mind of me.
14 ‘Do not mary another lord Agan or I come over the sea; Adue, my leady and only joy! For, trust me, I may not stay with the.’
15 The wind was fair, and the ship was clare, And the good lord went away; The most part of his frends was there, Giving him a fair convoy.
16 They drank the wine, they did not spare, Presentting in that good lord’s sight; Now he is over the floods so gray; Lord Maxwell has te’n his last good-night.
* * * * *
B
Glenriddell MSS, XI, 18. 1791.
1 ‘Adiew, madam my mother dear, But and my sisters two! Adiew, fair Robert of Oarchyardtoan! For thee my heart is woe.
2 ‘Adiew, the lilly and the rose, The primrose, sweet to see! Adiew, my lady and only joy! For I manna stay with thee.
3 ‘Tho I have killed the laird Johnston, What care I for his feed? My noble mind dis still incline; He was my father’s dead.
4 ‘Both night and day I laboured oft Of him revenged to be, And now I’ve got what I long sought; But I manna stay with thee.
5 ‘Adiew, Drumlanrig! false was ay, And Cloesburn! in a band, Where the laird of Lagg fra my father fled When the Johnston struck off his hand.
6 ‘They were three brethren in a band; Joy may they never see! But now I’ve got what I long sought, And I maunna stay with thee.
7 ‘Adiew, Dumfries, my proper place, But and Carlaverock fair, Adiew, the castle of the Thrieve, And all my buildings there!
8 ‘Adiew, Lochmaben’s gates so fair, The Langholm shank, where birks they be! Adiew, my lady and only joy! And, trust me, I maunna stay with thee.
9 ‘Adiew, fair Eskdale, up and down, Where my poor friends do dwell! The bangisters will ding them down, And will them sore compel.
10 ‘But I’ll revenge that feed mysell When I come ou’r the sea; Adiew, my lady and only joy! For I maunna stay with thee.’
11 ‘Lord of the land, will you go then Unto my father’s place, And walk into their gardens green, And I will you embrace.
12 ‘Ten thousand times I’ll kiss your face, And sport, and make you merry;’ ‘I thank thee, my lady, for thy kindness, But, trust me, I maunna stay with thee.’
13 Then he took off a great gold ring, Where at hang signets three: ‘Hae, take thee that, my ain dear thing, And still hae mind of me.
14 ‘But if thow marry another lord Ere I come ou’r the sea— Adiew, my lady and only joy! For I maunna stay with thee.’
15 The wind was fair, the ship was close, That good lord went away, And most part of his friends were there, To give him a fair convay.
16 They drank thair wine, they did not spare, Even in the good lord’s sight; Now he is oer the floods so gray, And Lord Maxwell has taen his good-night.
* * * * *
#A.#
1^2. faither’s place? So #B#.
4^2. And a’ to be revainged on him. Cf. #B#.
5^2. Fair well the Lanríke faires. (?)
9^4. struet. (?)
13^{1,2}. He took out a good gold ring [where it hang, partly erased.] Where it hang signets three.
#B.#
Written in stanzas of eight lines.
4^1. labourod.
The variations of the Minstrelsy, being editorial, do not require to be recorded, but some of them have a certain interest.
1^2. sisters three.
1^4. My heart is wae for thee.
3^3. mind their wrath disdains.
6^{3,4}. Their treacherous art and cowardly heart Has twin’d my love and me.
11 Lord of the land, that ladye said, O wad ye go wi me Unto my brother’s stately tower, Where safest ye may be!
12^{1,2}. There Hamiltons and Douglas baith Shall rise to succour thee.
14^3. His life is but a three days’ lease.
15^1. was clear, as in #A#.
196
THE FIRE OF FRENDRAUGHT
#A. a.# ‘The Fire of Frendraught,’ Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, p. 161, 1827. #b.# ‘Burning of Frendraught,’ Maidment’s North Countrie Garland, p. 4, 1824.
#B.# ‘The Burning of Frendraught,’ Kinloch MSS, V, 399.
#C.# ‘The Fire of Frendraught,’ from a note-book of Dr Joseph Robertson’s.
#D.# Ritson’s Scotish Songs, II, 35, 1794.
#E.# Kinloch MSS, VI, 27, one stanza.
#A a# was communicated to Motherwell by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe. (Corrections have here been adopted from Motherwell’s Errata: see also the Musical Museum, 1853, IV, 322*.) #A b#, says Motherwell, has the “disadvantage of containing a very considerable number of slight verbal and literal inaccuracies.” The implication is, or should be, that these variations are of editorial origin. Some of the readings of #b# are in themselves better than those of #a#. #b# is repeated in Buchan’s Gleanings, p. 165. The copy in Maidment’s Scotish Ballads, 1868, I, 267, is a with a reading or two from #b#, arbitrary alterations, and some misprints.
Dr Joseph Robertson has, in one of his notebooks, “Adversaria,” p. 63, the two following stanzas, given him by a gentleman of Buchan as belonging to “The Burning of Frendraught House.”
‘Will ye play at the cards, Lord John? Will ye drink at the wine? Or will ye [gang] to a weel made bed, And sleep till it be time?’
‘I’ll no play at the cards, ladie, I’ll no drink at the wine; But I’ll gang to a weel made bed, An sleep till it be time.’
Undoubtedly these stanzas may have occurred in a version of this ballad, but they are a commonplace, and sometimes an intrusive one. See II, 109, ‘Fair Janet,’ #F# 4, 5; 154, ‘Young Hunting,’ #K# 8, 9; 164, ‘Clerk Saunders,’ #F#, 5, 6; 409, ‘Willie o Douglas Dale,’ #B# 20.
The modern, and extremely vapid, ballad of ‘Frennet Hall’ appeared originally (I suppose) in Herd’s Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 142, and was afterwards received into Ritson’s Scotish Songs, II, 31, The Musical Museum, No 286, etc.
James Crichton of Frendraught and William Gordon of Rothiemay (a neighboring estate[19]) had a fierce quarrel about fishing-rights pertaining to lands which Gordon had sold to Crichton. A legal decision was rendered in favor of Frendraught, who, however, pursued his adversary with excessive vigor and procured him to be outlawed. After this, Rothiemay would hear to no terms of peace, and collected a party of loose fellows with the intent to waste Frendraught’s lands. Frendraught obtained a commission to arrest Rothiemay, and on the first day of the year 1630 set out to put this in force, accompanied, among others, by his uncle (George Gordon) James Leslie, son of the laird of Pitcaple, and John Meldrum, who was married to young Leslie’s aunt. Rothiemay, hearing of Frendraught’s coming, rode out to meet him, and there was a fight, in which Rothiemay and George Gordon were mortally wounded, and Meldrum badly. The feud waxed hot, and Frendraught’s lands were in danger of being burned and ravaged by Highlanders, with whom John Gordon of Rothiemay, son to the slain laird, had combined for the purpose. But in the end, by the strenuous exertions of the Marquis of Huntly and others, a settlement was effected. The laird of Rothiemay and the children of George Gordon were “to remit their father’s slaughter mutually,” and in satisfaction thereof the laird of Frendraught was to pay a certain sum of money to young Rothiemay and to George Gordon’s children: “which both, Frendraught obeyed and performed willingly, and so, all parties having shaken hands, they were heartily reconciled.”
This broil was no sooner settled than another sprouted, a side-shoot from the same stem. Meldrum, who had been with Frendraught in the affray with Rothiemay, and had been wounded, was dissatisfied with such requital as he received, and, getting nothing more by his bickering and threats, helped himself one night to two of Frendraught’s best horses. Summoned to court for the theft, he “turned rebel” and did not appear. Frendraught obtained a commission to arrest him, and went to look for him at Pitcaple, a place belonging to John Leslie, Meldrum’s brother-in-law. He did not find Meldrum, but fell in with James Leslie, Pitcaple’s son, who had also been of Frendraught’s party at the encounter on New Year’s day. There was talk about Meldrum’s behavior, in which Frendraught comported himself forbearingly; but James Leslie and Robert Crichton, a kinsman of Frendraught, had hot words, which ended in Leslie’s getting a dangerous shot in the arm. Hereupon the larger part of the surname of Leslie rose in arms against the Crichtons. Frendraught, grieved for what had happened to James Leslie, betook himself to the Marquis of Huntly, and entreated him to make peace. The marquis sent for the Leslies, and did his best to reconcile them, but Pitcaple would listen to nothing until he knew whether his son James was to live or die. Huntly, fearing for Frendraught’s safety, kept him two days at the Bog of Gight, and then, hearing that the Leslies were lying in wait, sent his own son, Viscount Melgum, and the young laird of Rothiemay, to protect him on the way home. Arrived there, the laird and his lady begged these young gentlemen to remain overnight, “and did their best, with all demonstration of love and kindness, to entertain them, thinking themselves happy now to have purchased such friends who had formerly been their foes.” At about two in the morning the tower of Frendraught house, in which these guests lay, took fire, and they with four of their servants were burnt to death. This occurred on the eighth (ninth) of October.
So far Sir Robert Gordon, uncle of the lady of Frendraught and cousin of the Marquis of Huntly, who was perfectly acquainted with all the parties and circumstances. He goes on to say, with entire fairness: “The rumor of this unhappy accident did speedily spread itself throughout the whole kingdom, every man bewailing it, and constructing it diversly as their affections led them; some laying an aspersion upon Frendraught, as if he had wilfully destroyed his guests, who had come thither to defend him against his enemies; which carried no appearance of truth; for, besides the improbability of the matter, he did lose therein a great quantity of silver, both coined and uncoined, and likewise all his writs and evidents were therein burnt.”[20]
The monstrous wickedness of this act would not, in the light of the history of those times, afford an argument that would of itself avail to clear Frendraught; but what words could describe his recklessness and folly! Supposing him willing to set fire to his own house, and sacrifice his silver and securities, for the gratification of burning young Rothiemay with the rest, he knew very well what consequences he had to expect. He had been glad to compound his feud with the Rothiemays by the payment of money (some say the considerable sum of 50,000 merks). He had been alarmed, and with good reason, at the prospect of a feud with the Leslies. But what were these to a feud with the Marquis of Huntly, which would bring down upon him, and did bring down upon him, not only the reprisals of the Gordons, but spoliation from all the brigands of the country?[21]
‘Lewed people demen gladly to the badder ende,’
says Chaucer, and so it was with ballad-makers, and sometimes even with clerks; John Spalding, for instance, the other contemporary authority upon this subject, who gives a lively and detailed account of the burning of the tower, as follows.[22]
“The viscount was laid in a bed in the Old Tower, going off the hall, and standing upon a vault, wherein there was a round hole, devised of old, just under Aboyne’s[23] bed. Robert Gordon, born in Sutherland, his servitor, and English Will, his page, was both laid beside him in the same chamber. The laird of Rothiemay, with some servants beside him, was laid in an upper chamber just above Aboyne’s chamber; and in another room above that chamber was laid George Chalmer of Noth, and George Gordon, another of the viscount’s servants; with whom also was laid Captain Rollok, then in Frendraught’s own company. Thus all being at rest, about midnight that dolorous tower took fire in so sudden and furious manner, yea, and in a clap, that this noble viscount, the laird of Rothiemay, English Will, Colin Ivat, another of Aboyne’s servitors, and other two, being six in number, were cruelly burnt and tormented to the death, but help or relief; the laird of Frendraught, his lady and whole household looking on, without moving or stirring to deliver them from the fury of this fearful fire, as was reported. Robert Gordon, called Sutherland Robert, being in the viscount’s chamber, escaped this fire with his life. George Chalmer and Captain Rollok, being in the third room, escaped also this fire, and, as was said, Aboyne might have saved himself also if he had gone out of doors, which he would not do, but suddenly ran up stairs to Rothiemay’s chamber, and wakened him to rise, and as he is wakening him, the timber passage and lofting of the chamber hastily takes fire, so that none of them could win down stairs again; so they turned to a window looking to the close, where they piteously cried help, help, many times, for God’s cause! the laird and the lady, with their servants, all seeing and hearing this woeful crying, but made no help nor manner of helping;[24] which they perceiving, they cried oftentimes mercy at God’s hands for their sins, syne clasped in other arms, and cheerfully suffered this cruel martyrdom. Thus died this noble viscount, of singular expectation, Rothiemay, a brave youth, and the rest, by this doleful fire never enough to be deplored, to the great grief and sorrow of their kin, friends, parents, and whole country people, especially to the noble marquis, who for his goodwill got this reward.”
Spalding tells us that it was reported that, the morning after the fire, Lady Frendraught, riding on a small nag, and with no attendants but a boy to lead her horse, came weeping to the Bog, desiring to speak with the marquis, but was refused. The Huntly-Gordons, the Earl of Errol (brother of Viscountess Melgum), and many other friends held a council, and after serious consideration came to the conclusion that the fire “could not come by chance, sloth, or accident, but was plotted and devised of set purpose;” Frendraught, his lady, his friends and servants, one or other, knowing thereof. The marquis, however, was resolved not to revenge himself “by way of deed,” but to invoke the laws. Frendraught, as far as we can see, desired a legal inquiry no less than Huntly. He addressed himself to the Lord Chancellor and to the Privy Council, and offered to undergo any form of trial, and, delays occurring, he repeated to the Council his wish to have “that hidden mystery brought to a clear light.” Examinations and prosecutions, extended to the middle of the year 1634, failed to fix the guilt of the fire on him or anybody, although John Meldrum, on the strength of some threats which he had uttered, was wrongfully convicted of the act and was executed.[25]
#A.# The date is the eighteenth of October, new style for the eighth. When Gordon and Rothiemay (having convoyed Frendraught safely home) are on the point of returning, Lady Frendraught urges them to stay, in token of good feeling between Huntly and her husband. Lord John is quite disposed to comply, but Rothiemay says that his horse has been tampered with since their coming, and he fears that he is fey. After the regular evening-mass of ballads (which would have suited Lady Frendraught, a concealed Catholic, but not her husband), Lord John and Rothiemay are laid in one chamber, an arrangement which would have allowed both to escape, as Robert Gordon did, who slept in his master’s room. Lord John wakes with the smoke and heat, and rouses Rothiemay. The doors and windows are fastened. Rothiemay goes to the ‘wire-window,’ and finds the stanchions too strong to be dealt with. He sees Lady Frendraught below, and cries to her for mercy; her husband killed the father, and now she is burning the son. Lady Frendraught is sorry that she must burn Lord John in order to burn Rothiemay, but there is no help; the keys are cast in the deep draw-well.[26] [Robert] Gordon, who has escaped though the keys were in the well, calls to his master to jump from the window; he will catch him in his arms. His master answers that no fire shall part him and Rothiemay, and besides, the window is fast. He throws his finger-rings down, to be given to his lady. When the servant goes home to his mistress, she reproaches him for coming back alive and leaving his master dead. She tears off the clothes which her maid puts on her, exclaiming that she won a sore heart the day she was married, and that that day has returned (which is not easy to understand: see Appendix).
#B.# This fragment represents Lady Frendraught as being very importunate with Lord John: she presses him three times over to stay, and promises him a morning-gift of lands if he will comply; by a perversion of tradition, Strathbogie, which had been in his family three hundred years, and which, further on, he offers to give her if she will let him out. Finding that he cannot escape (perhaps stanza 7 should come later), Lord John takes out his psalm-book and sings three verses, with ‘God end our misery’ at each verse’s end. In 9 he sees his elder brother, Lord George, from the window, and asks what news he has, but a defect conceals from us the point of this passage. Stanza 16 seems to belong to Lord John’s wife.
#C.# When the gentlemen are in their saddles, ready to ride away, Lady Frendraught, on her bare knees, begs them to remain, and promises them a firlot of red gold if they will. When everybody has gone to bed, the doors are locked and the windows shut. The reek begins to rise and the joists to crack; Lord John betakes himself to the window, and finds the stanchions too strong to break. He goes back and wakens Rothiemay, and proposes to him to praise the Lord in the fifty-third psalm,[27] for there is treason about them. He calls to Lady Frendraught, walking on the green, for mercy; she replies that the keys are in the well, and the doors were locked yesterday. He reproaches her for burning her own flesh. George Chalmers (who really escaped, though lodged in the third story) is described as leaping the ditches and coming, from without, to Rothiemay’s help, and Colin Irving (the Colin Ivat of Spalding, who was burnt) as doing the same in behalf of Lord John, to whom he calls to jump into his arms. Lord John is burning, and there is little more left of him than his spirit; but he throws down a purse of gold for the poor and his rings for his wife. Lady Rothiemay comes in the morning to cry vengeance on Frendraught, who has betrayed the gay Gordons, killed her lord, and burnt her son.[28]
#D.# “‘There are some intermediate particulars,’ Mr Boyd says, ‘respecting the lady’s lodging her victims in a turret or flanker which did not communicate with the castle.’ ‘This,’ adds he, ‘I only have from tradition, as I never heard any other stanzas besides the foregoing.’ The author of the original, we may perceive, either through ignorance or design, had deviated from the fact in supposing Lady Frennet’s husband to have been slain by Lord John’s father.” Ritson, p. 36.@
It may be noted that three of the most tragical of the Scottish historical ballads are associated with the name of Gordon: the Burning of Towie, as we might call ‘Captain Car,’ No 178, through Adam Gordon, uncle of the first marquis of Huntly; the Burning of Donibristle, known as ‘The Bonny Earl of Murray,’ No 181, of which the responsibility is put upon the marquis (then earl) himself; and the Burning of Frendraught, in which his son perished.
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A
#a.# Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, p. 161, from a MS. of Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe. #b.# Maidment’s North Countrie Garland, p. 4; “long preserved by tradition in Aberdeenshire, and procured from an intelligent individual resident in that part of Scotland.”
1 The eighteenth of October, A dismal tale to hear How good Lord John and Rothiemay Was both burnt in the fire.
2 When steeds was saddled and well bridled, And ready for to ride, Then out it came her false Frendraught, Inviting them to bide.
3 Said, ‘Stay this night untill we sup, The morn untill we dine; ‘Twill be a token of good greement ’Twixt your good lord and mine.’
4 ‘We’ll turn again,’ said good Lord John; ‘But no,’ said Rothiemay, ‘My steed’s trapand, my bridle’s broken, I fear the day I’m fey.’
5 When mass was sung, and bells was rung, And all men bound for bed, Then good Lord John and Rothiemay In one chamber was laid.
6 They had not long cast off their cloaths, And were but now asleep. When the weary smoke began to rise, Likewise the scorching heat.
7 ‘O waken, waken, Rothiemay! O waken, brother dear! And turn you to our Saviour; There is strong treason here.’
8 When they were dressed in their cloaths, And ready for to boun, The doors and windows was all secur’d, The roof-tree burning down.
9 He did him to the wire-window, As fast as we could gang; Says, Wae to the hands put in the stancheons! For out we’ll never win.
10 When he stood at the wire-window, Most doleful to be seen, He did espy her Lady Frendraught, Who stood upon the green.
11 Cried, Mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught! Will ye not sink with sin? For first your husband killed my father, And now you burn his son.
12 O then out spoke her Lady Frendraught, And loudly did she cry; ‘It were great pity for good Lord John, But none for Rothiemay; But the keys are casten in the deep draw-well, Ye cannot get away.’
13 While he stood in this dreadful plight, Most piteous to be seen, There called out his servant Gordon, As he had frantic been:
14 ‘O loup, O loup, my dear master! O loup and come to me! I’ll catch you in my arms two, One foot I will not flee.
15 ‘O loup, O loup, my dear master! O loup and come away! I’ll catch you in my arms two, But Rothiemay may lie.’
16 ‘The fish shall never swim in the flood, Nor corn grow through the clay, Nor the fiercest fire that ever was kindled Twin me and Rothiemay.
17 ‘But I cannot loup, I cannot come, I cannot win to thee; My head’s fast in the wire-window, My feet burning from me.
18 ‘My eyes are seething in my head, My flesh roasting also, My bowels are boiling with my blood; Is not that a woeful woe?
19 ‘Take here the rings from my white fingers, That are so long and small, And give them to my lady fair, Where she sits in her hall.
20 ‘So I cannot loup, I cannot come, I cannot loup to thee; My earthly part is all consumed, My spirit but speaks to thee.’
21 Wringing her hands, tearing her hair, His lady she was seen, And thus addressed his servant Gordon, Where he stood on the green.
22 ‘O wae be to you, George Gordon! An ill death may you die! So safe and sound as you stand there, And my lord bereaved from me.’
23 ‘I bad him loup, I bad him come, I bad him loup to me; I’d catch him in my arms two, A foot I should not flee. &c.
24 ‘He threw me the rings from his white fingers, Which were so long and small, To give to you, his lady fair, Where you sat in your hall.’ &c.
25 Sophia Hay, Sophia Hay, O bonny Sophia was her name, Her waiting maid put on her cloaths, But I wot she tore them off again.
26 And aft she cried, Ohon! alas! alas! A sair heart’s ill to win; I wan a sair heart when I married him, And the day it’s well returnd again.
* * * * *
B
Kinloch MSS, V, 399, in the handwriting of John Hill Burton.
* * * * * *
1 ‘Ye’ll stay this night wi me, Lord John, Ye’ll stay this night wi me, For there is appearence of good greement Betwixt Frendraught and thee.’
2 ‘How can I bide, or how shall I bide, Or how can I bide wi thee, Sin my lady is in the lands of Air, And I long till I her see?’
3 ‘Oh stay this night wi me, Lord John, Oh stay this night wi me, And bonny[’s] be the morning-gift That I will to you gie.
4 ‘I’ll gie you a Strathboggie lands, And the laigh lands o Strathray, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
5 ‘Ye’ll stay this night wi me, Lord John, Ye’ll stay this night wi me, And I’ll lay you in a bed of down, And Rothiemay you wi.’
6 When mass was sung, and bells were rung, And a’ men bun to bed, Gude Lord John and Rothiemay In one chamber were laid.
* * * * * *
7 Out hes he taen his little psalm-buik, And verses sang he three, And aye at every verse’s end, ‘God end our misery!’
8 The doors were shut, the keys were thrown Into a vault of stone, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
9 He is dune him to the weir-window, The stauncheons were oer strong; There he saw him Lord George Gordon Come haisling to the town.
10 ‘What news, what news now, George Gordon? Whats news hae you to me? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
11 He’s dune him to the weir-window, The stauncheons were oer strang; And there he saw the Lady Frendraught, Was walking on the green.
12 ‘Open yer doors now, Lady Frendraught, Ye’ll open yer doors to me; And bonny’s be the mornin-gift That I shall to you gie.
13 ‘I’ll gie you a’ Straboggie lands, And the laigh lands o Strathbrae, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
14 ‘Now there’s the rings frae my fingers, And the broach frae my breast-bone; Ye’ll gae that to my gude ladye . . . . . . .
* * * * * *
15 ‘How can I loup, or how shall I loup? How can I loup to thee? When the blood is boiling in my body, And my feet burnin frae me?’
* * * * * *
16 ‘If I was swift as any swallow, And then had wings to fly, I could fly on to fause Frendraught And cry vengeance till I die.’
* * * * *
C
From a note-book of Dr Joseph Robertson: “procured in the parish of Forgue by A. Scott; communicated to me by Mr John Stuart, Aberdeen, 11 October, 1832.”
1 It was in October the woe began— It lasts for now and aye,— The burning o the bonny house o fause Frendraught, Lord John and Rothiemay.
2 When they were in their saddles set, And ready to ride away, The lady sat down on her bare knees, Beseeching them to stay.
3 ‘Ye’s hae a firlot o the gude red gowd, Well straiket wi a wan; And if that winna please you well, I’ll heap it wi my han.’
4 Then out it spake the gude Lord John, And said to Rothiemay, ‘It is a woman that we’re come o, And a woman we’ll obey.’
5 When a’ man was well drunken, And a’ man bound for bed, The doors were lockd, the windows shut, And the keys were casten by.
6 When a’ man was well drunken, And a’ man bound for sleep, The dowy reek began to rise, And the joists began to crack.
7 He’s deen him to the wire-window, And ruefu strack and dang; But they would neither bow nor brack, The staunchions were so strang.
8 He’s deen him back and back again, And back to Rothiemay; Says, Waken, waken, brother dear! Waken, Rothiemay!
9 ‘Come let us praise the Lord our God, The fiftieth psalm and three; For the reek and smoke are us about, And there’s fause treason tee.
10 ‘O mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught! As ye walk on the green:’ ‘The keys are in the deep draw-well, The doors were lockt the streen.’
11 ‘O woe be to you, Lady Frendraught! An ill death may you die! For think na ye this a sad torment Your own flesh for to burn?’
12 George Chalmers was a bonny boy; He leapt the stanks so deep, And he is on to Rothiemay, His master for to help.
13 Colin Irving was a bonny boy, And leapt the stanks so deep: ‘Come down, come down, my master dear! In my arms I’ll thee kep.’
14 ‘Come down? come down? how can I come? How can I come to thee? My flesh is burning me about, And yet my spirit speaks to thee.’
15 He’s taen a purse o the gude red gowd, And threw it oer the wa: ‘It’s ye’ll deal that among the poor, Bid them pray for our souls a’.’
16 He’s taen the rings off his fingers, And threw them oer the wa; Says, Ye’ll gie that to my lady dear, From me she’ll na get more.
17 ‘Bid her make her bed well to the length, But no more to the breadth, For the day will never dawn That I’ll sleep by her side.’
18 Ladie Rothiemay came on the morn, She kneeled it roun and roun: ‘Restore your lodgers, fause Frendraught, That ye burnd here the streen.
19 ‘O were I like yon turtle-dove, Had I wings for to flie, I’d fly about fause Frendraught Crying vengeance till I die.
20 ‘Frendraught fause, all thro the ha’s, Both back and every side; For ye’ve betrayd the gay Gordons, And lands wherein they ride.
21 ‘Frendraught fause, all thro the ha’s; I wish you’d sink for sin; For first you killd my own good lord, And now you’ve burnd my son.
22 ‘I caredna sae muckle for my good lord I saw him in battle slain, But a’ is for my own son dear, The heir o a’ my lan.
23 ‘I caredna sae muckle for my good lord I saw him laid in clay, But a’ is for my own son dear, The heir o Rothiemay.’
* * * * *
D
Ritson’s Scotish Songs, 1794, II, 35; remembered by the Rev. Mr Boyd, translator of Dante, and communicated to the editor by J. C. Walker.
1 The reek it rose, and the flame it flew, And oh! the fire augmented high, Until it came to Lord John’s chamber-window, And to the bed where Lord John lay.
2 ‘O help me, help me, Lady Frennet! I never ettled harm to thee; And if my father slew thy lord, Forget the deed and rescue me.’
3 He looked east, he looked west, To see if any help was nigh; At length his little page he saw, Who to his lord aloud did cry:
4 ‘Loup doun, loup doun, my master dear! What though the window’s dreigh and his? I’ll catch you in my arms twa, And never a foot from you I’ll flee.’
5 ‘How can I loup, you little page? How can I leave this window hie? Do you not see the blazing low, And my twa legs burnt to my knee?’
* * * * *
E
Kinloch MSS, VI, 27, in the handwriting of Joseph Robertson when a youth.
Now wake, now wake you, Rothiemay! I dread you sleep oer soun; The bed is burnin us about And the curtain’s faain down.
* * * * *
#A. a.#
23, 24. The &c. at the end denote that the servant repeated the substance of 15–18 and of 20, which, however, was not written out.
#b.#
1^1. day of.
1^4. Were. 2^1, 5^1, 5^4, 8^3. were.
2^3. out there came the.
6^2. but new.
6^3. the wanting.
7^3. to your.
8^1. dressed wi.
9^1. did flee to.
10^1. While he.
10^3, 12^1. the for her.
11^1. Cried wanting.
12^5. The keys were casten.
12^6. win away.
13^3. Then called.
15^4. may lay.
17^1. But wanting.
18^1. are southering.
19^2. Which are.
20^1. So wanting.
20^4. but wanting.
21^2. fair for she.
21^3. Calling unto his.
22^4. lord burned.
23^2. come to.
23^4. would not: no &c.
24^4. sit: no &c.
25^2. O wanting.
25^4. I wat wanting.
26^1. One alas wanting.
26^2. heart’s easy wan.
26^4. And, well wanting.
Some readings of #b# are preferable, as in 6^2, 18^1, 21^3, 22^4; others also, which may be editorial improvements.
#B.#
16. “This is another stanza which I afterwards received.”
#C.#
4^1. A small stroke between out and it.
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