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diff --git a/old/cblad10.txt b/old/cblad10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4a90b2b --- /dev/null +++ b/old/cblad10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9394 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Collection of Ballads, by Andrew Lang +(#6 in our series by Andrew Lang) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: A Collection of Ballads + +Author: Andrew Lang + +Release Date: September, 1997 [EBook #1054] +[This file was first posted on August 1, 1997] +[Most recently updated: June 25, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A COLLECTION OF BALLADS *** + + + + +Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk + + + + +A Collection of Ballads + + + + +Contents: + +Sir Patrick Spens +Battle Of Otterbourne +Tam Lin +Thomas The Rhymer +"Sir Hugh; Or The Jew's Daughter" +Son Davie! Son Davie! +The Wife Of Usher's Well +The Twa Corbies +The Bonnie Earl Moray +Clerk Saunders +Waly, Waly +Love Gregor; Or, The Lass Of Lochroyan +The Queen's Marie +Kinmont Willie +Jamie Telfer +The Douglas Tragedy +The Bonny Hind +Young Bicham +The Loving Ballad Of Lord Bateman +The Bonnie House O' Airly +Rob Roy +The Battle Of Killie-Crankie +Annan Water +The Elphin Nourrice +Cospatrick +Johnnie Armstrang +Edom O' Gordon +Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament +Jock O The Side +Lord Thomas And Fair Annet +Fair Annie +The Dowie Dens Of Yarrow +Sir Roland +Rose The Red And White Lily +The Battle Of Harlaw--Evergreen Version +Traditionary Version +Dickie Macphalion +A Lyke-Wake Dirge +The Laird Of Waristoun +May Colven +Johnie Faa +Hobbie Noble +The Twa Sisters +Mary Ambree +Alison Gross +The Heir Of Lynne +Gordon Of Brackley +Edward, Edward +Young Benjie +Auld Maitland +The Broomfield Hill +Willie's Ladye +Robin Hood And The Monk +Robin Hood And The Potter +Robin Hood And The Butcher + + + +INTRODUCTION + + + +When the learned first gave serious attention to popular ballads, +from the time of Percy to that of Scott, they laboured under +certain disabilities. The Comparative Method was scarcely +understood, and was little practised. Editors were content to +study the ballads of their own countryside, or, at most, of Great +Britain. Teutonic and Northern parallels to our ballads were then +adduced, as by Scott and Jamieson. It was later that the ballads +of Europe, from the Faroes to Modern Greece, were compared with our +own, with European Marchen, or children's tales, and with the +popular songs, dances, and traditions of classical and savage +peoples. The results of this more recent comparison may be briefly +stated. Poetry begins, as Aristotle says, in improvisation. Every +man is his own poet, and, in moments of stronge motion, expresses +himself in song. A typical example is the Song of Lamech in +Genesis-- + + +"I have slain a man to my wounding, +And a young man to my hurt." + + +Instances perpetually occur in the Sagas: Grettir, Egil, +Skarphedin, are always singing. In Kidnapped, Mr. Stevenson +introduces "The Song of the Sword of Alan," a fine example of +Celtic practice: words and air are beaten out together, in the +heat of victory. In the same way, the women sang improvised +dirges, like Helen; lullabies, like the lullaby of Danae in +Simonides, and flower songs, as in modern Italy. Every function of +life, war, agriculture, the chase, had its appropriate magical and +mimetic dance and song, as in Finland, among Red Indians, and among +Australian blacks. "The deeds of men" were chanted by heroes, as +by Achilles; stories were told in alternate verse and prose; girls, +like Homer's Nausicaa, accompanied dance and ball play, priests and +medicine-men accompanied rites and magical ceremonies by songs. + +These practices are world-wide, and world-old. The thoroughly +popular songs, thus evolved, became the rude material of a +professional class of minstrels, when these arose, as in the heroic +age of Greece. A minstrel might be attached to a Court, or a +noble; or he might go wandering with song and harp among the +people. In either case, this class of men developed more regular +and ample measures. They evolved the hexameter; the laisse of the +Chansons de Geste; the strange technicalities of Scandinavian +poetry; the metres of Vedic hymns; the choral odes of Greece. The +narrative popular chant became in their hands the Epic, or the +mediaeval rhymed romance. The metre of improvised verse changed +into the artistic lyric. These lyric forms were fixed, in many +cases, by the art of writing. But poetry did not remain solely in +professional and literary hands. The mediaeval minstrels and +jongleurs (who may best be studied in Leon Gautier's Introduction +to his Epopees Francaises) sang in Court and Camp. The poorer, +less regular brethren of the art, harped and played conjuring +tricks, in farm and grange, or at street corners. The foreign +newer metres took the place of the old alliterative English verse. +But unprofessional men and women did not cease to make and sing. + +Some writers have decided, among them Mr. Courthope, that our +traditional ballads are degraded popular survivals of literary +poetry. The plots and situations of some ballads are, indeed, the +same as those of some literary mediaeval romances. But these plots +and situations, in Epic and Romance, are themselves the final +literary form of marchen, myths and inventions originally POPULAR, +and still, in certain cases, extant in popular form among races +which have not yet evolved, or borrowed, the ampler and more +polished and complex genres of literature. Thus, when a literary +romance and a ballad have the same theme, the ballad may be a +popular degradation of the romance; or, it may be the original +popular shape of it, still surviving in tradition. A well-known +case in prose, is that of the French fairy tales. + +Perrault, in 1697, borrowed these from tradition and gave them +literary and courtly shape. But Cendrillon or Chaperon Rouge in +the mouth of a French peasant, is apt to be the old traditional +version, uncontaminated by the refinements of Perrault, despite +Perrault's immense success and circulation. Thus tradition +preserves pre-literary forms, even though, on occasion, it may +borrow from literature. Peasant poets have been authors of +ballads, without being, for all that, professional minstrels. Many +such poems survive in our ballad literature. + +The material of the ballad may be either romantic or historical. +The former class is based on one of the primeval invented +situations, one of the elements of the Marchen in prose. Such +tales or myths occur in the stories of savages, in the legends of +peasants, are interwoven later with the plot in Epic or Romance, +and may also inspire ballads. Popular superstitions, the witch, +metamorphosis, the returning ghost, the fairy, all of them +survivals of the earliest thought, naturally play a great part. +The Historical ballad, on the other hand, has a basis of resounding +fact, murder, battle, or fire-raising, but the facts, being derived +from popular rumour, are immediately corrupted and distorted, +sometimes out of all knowledge. Good examples are the ballads on +Darnley's murder and the youth of James VI. + +In the romantic class, we may take Tamlane. Here the idea of +fairies stealing children is thoroughly popular; they also steal +young men as lovers, and again, men may win fairy brides, by +clinging to them through all transformations. A classical example +is the seizure of Thetis by Peleus, and Child quotes a modern +Cretan example. The dipping in milk and water, I may add, has +precedent in ancient Egypt (in The Two Brothers), and in modern +Senegambia. The fairy tax, tithe, or teind, paid to Hell, is +illustrated by old trials for witchcraft, in Scotland. {1} Now, in +literary forms and romance, as in Ogier le Danois, persons are +carried away by the Fairy King or Queen. But here the literary +romance borrows from popular superstition; the ballad has no need +to borrow a familiar fact from literary romance. On the whole +subject the curious may consult "The Secret Commonwealth of Elves, +Fauns, and Fairies," by the Reverend Robert Kirk of Aberfoyle, +himself, according to tradition, a victim of the fairies. + +Thus, in Tamlane, the whole donnee is popular. But the current +version, that of Scott, is contaminated, as Scott knew, by +incongruous modernisms. Burns's version, from tradition, already +localizes the events at Carterhaugh, the junction of Ettrick and +Yarrow. But Burns's version does not make the Earl of Murray +father of the hero, nor the Earl of March father of the heroine. +Roxburgh is the hero's father in Burns's variant, which is more +plausible, and the modern verses do not occur. This ballad +apparently owes nothing to literary romance. + +In Mary Hamilton we have a notable instance of the Historical +Ballad. No Marie of Mary Stuart's suffered death for child murder. + +She had no Marie Hamilton, no Marie Carmichael among her four +Maries, though a lady of the latter name was at her court. But +early in the reign a Frenchwoman of the queen's was hanged, with +her paramour, an apothecary, for slaying her infant. Knox mentions +the fact, which is also recorded in letters from the English +ambassador, uncited by Mr. Child. Knox adds that there were +ballads against the Maries. Now, in March 1719, a Mary Hamilton, +of Scots descent, a maid of honour of Catherine of Russia, was +hanged for child murder (Child, vi. 383). It has therefore been +supposed, first by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe long ago, later by +Professor Child, and then by Mr. Courthope, that our ballad is of +1719, or later, and deals with the Russian, not the Scotch, +tragedy. + +To this we may reply (1) that we have no example of such a throwing +back of a contemporary event, in ballads. (2) There is a version +(Child, viii. 507) in which Mary Hamilton's paramour is a +"pottinger," or apothecary, as in the real old Scotch affair. (3) +The number of variants of a ballad is likely to be proportionate to +its antiquity and wide distribution. Now only Sir Patrick Spens +has so many widely different variants as Mary Hamilton. These +could hardly have been evolved between 1719 and 1790, when Burns +quotes the poem as an old ballad. (4) We have no example of a poem +so much in the old ballad manner, for perhaps a hundred and fifty +years before 1719. The style first degraded and then expired: +compare Rob Roy and Killiecrankie, in this collection, also the +ballads of Loudoun Hill, The Battle of Philiphaugh, and others much +earlier than 1719. New styles of popular poetry on contemporary +events as Sherriffmuir and Tranent Brae had arisen. (5) The +extreme historic inaccuracy of Mary Hamilton is paralleled by that +of all the ballads on real events. The mention of the Pottinger is +a trace of real history which has no parallel in the Russian +affair, and there is no room, says Professor Child, for the +supposition that it was voluntarily inserted by reciter or copyist, +to tally with the narrative in Knox's History. + +On the other side, we have the name of Mary Hamilton occurring in a +tragic event of 1719, but then the name does not uniformly appear +in the variants of the ballad. The lady is there spoken of +generally as Mary Hamilton, but also as Mary Myle, Lady Maisry, as +daughter of the Duke of York (Stuart), as Marie Mild, and so forth. +Though she bids sailors carry the tale of her doom, she is not +abroad, but in Edinburgh town. Nothing can be less probable than +that a Scots popular ballad-maker in 1719, telling the tale of a +yesterday's tragedy in Russia, should throw the time back by a +hundred and fifty years, should change the scene to Scotland (the +heart of the sorrow would be Mary's exile), and, above all, should +compose a ballad in a style long obsolete. This is not the method +of the popular poet, and such imitations of the old ballad as +Hardyknute show that literary poets of 1719 had not knowledge or +skill enough to mimic the antique manner with any success. + +We may, therefore, even in face of Professor Child, regard Mary +Hamilton as an old example of popular perversion of history in +ballad, not as "one of the very latest," and also "one of the very +best" of Scottish popular ballads. + +Rob Roy shows the same power of perversion. It was not Rob Roy but +his sons, Robin Oig (who shot Maclaren at the plough-tail), and +James Mohr (alternately the spy, the Jacobite, and the Hanoverian +spy once more), who carried off the heiress of Edenbelly. Indeed a +kind of added epilogue, in a different measure, proves that a poet +was aware of the facts, and wished to correct his predecessor. + +Such then are ballads, in relation to legend and history. They +are, on the whole, with exceptions, absolutely popular in origin, +composed by men of the people for the people, and then diffused +among and altered by popular reciters. In England they soon won +their way into printed stall copies, and were grievously handled +and moralized by the hack editors. + +No ballad has a stranger history than The Loving Ballad of Lord +Bateman, illustrated by the pencils of Cruikshank and Thackeray. +Their form is a ludicrous cockney perversion, but it retains the +essence. Bateman, a captive of "this Turk," is beloved by the +Turk's daughter (a staple incident of old French romance), and by +her released. The lady after seven years rejoins Lord Bateman: he +has just married a local bride, but "orders another marriage," and +sends home his bride "in a coach and three." This incident is +stereotyped in the ballads and occurs in an example in the Romaic. +{2} + +Now Lord Bateman is Young Bekie in the Scotch ballads, who becomes +Young Beichan, Young Bichem, and so forth, and has adventures +identical with those of Lord Bateman, though the proud porter in +the Scots version is scarcely so prominent and illustrious. As +Motherwell saw, Bekie (Beichan, Buchan, Bateman) is really Becket, +Gilbert Becket, father of Thomas of Canterbury. Every one has +heard how HIS Saracen bride sought him in London. (Robert of +Gloucester's Life and Martyrdom of Thomas Becket, Percy Society. +See Child's Introduction, IV., i. 1861, and Motherwell's +Minstrelsy, p. xv., 1827.) The legend of the dissolved marriage is +from the common stock of ballad lore, Motherwell found an example +in the state of Cantefable, alternate prose and verse, like +Aucassin and Nicolette. Thus the cockney rhyme descends from the +twelfth century. + +Such are a few of the curiosities of the ballad. The examples +selected are chiefly chosen for their romantic charm, and for the +spirit of the Border raids which they record. A few notes are +added in an appendix. The text is chosen from among the many +variants in Child's learned but still unfinished collection, and an +effort has been made to choose the copies which contain most poetry +with most signs of uncontaminated originality. In a few cases Sir +Walter Scott's versions, though confessedly "made up," are +preferred. Perhaps the editor may be allowed to say that he does +not merely plough with Professor Child's heifer, but has made a +study of ballads from his boyhood. + +This fact may exempt him, even in the eyes of too patriotic +American critics, from "the common blame of a plagiary." Indeed, +as Professor Child has not yet published his general theory of the +Ballad, the editor does not know whether he agrees with the ideas +here set forth. + +So far the Editor had written, when news came of Professor Child's +regretted death. He had lived to finish, it is said, the vast +collection of all known traditional Scottish and English Ballads, +with all accessible variants, a work of great labour and research, +and a distinguished honour to American scholarship. We are not +told, however, that he had written a general study of the topic, +with his conclusions as to the evolution and diffusion of the +Ballads: as to the influences which directed the selection of +certain themes of Marchen for poetic treatment, and the processes +by which identical ballads were distributed throughout Europe. No +one, it is to be feared, is left, in Europe at least, whose +knowledge of the subject is so wide and scientific as that of +Professor Child. It is to be hoped that some pupil of his may +complete the task in his sense, if, indeed, he has left it +unfinished. + + + +Ballad: Sir Patrick Spens + + + +(Border Minstrelsy.) + +The king sits in Dunfermline town, +Drinking the blude-red wine o: +"O whare will I get a skeely skipper +To sail this new ship of mine o?" + +O up and spake an eldern-knight, +Sat at the king's right knee: +"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor +That ever saild the sea." + +Our king has written a braid letter, +And seald it with his hand, +And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, +Was walking on the strand. + +"To Noroway, to Noroway, +To Noroway oer the faem; +The king's daughter of Noroway, +'Tis thou maun bring her hame." + +The first word that Sir Patrick read, +Sae loud, loud laughed he; +The neist word that Sir Patrick read, +The tear blinded his ee. + +"O wha is this has done this deed, +And tauld the king o me, +To send us out, at this time of the year, +To sail upon the sea?" + +"Be it wind, be it weet, be it hall, be it sleet, +Our ship must sail the faem; +The king's daughter of Noroway, +'Tis we must fetch her hame." + +They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn, +Wi' a' the speed they may; +They hae landed in Noroway, +Upon a Wodensday. + +They hadna been a week, a week +In Noroway but twae, +When that the lords o Noroway +Began aloud to say: + +"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud, +And a' our queenis fee." +"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud! +Fu' loud I hear ye lie! + +"For I brought as much white monie +As gane my men and me, +And I brought a half-fou' o' gude red goud, +Out o'er the sea wi' me. + +"Make ready, make ready, my merry-men a'! +Our gude ship sails the morn." +"Now ever alake, my master dear, +I fear a deadly storm! + +I saw the new moon, late yestreen, +Wi' the auld moon in her arm; +And if we gang to sea, master, +I fear we'll come to harm." + +They hadna sail'd a league, a league, +A league but barely three, +When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, +And gurly grew the sea. + +The ankers brak, and the top-masts lap, +It was sic a deadly storm; +And the waves cam o'er the broken ship, +Till a' her sides were torn. + +"O where will I get a gude sailor, +To take my helm in hand, +Till I get up to the tall top-mast; +To see if I can spy land?" + +"O here am I, a sailor gude, +To take the helm in hand, +Till you go up to the tall top-mast +But I fear you'll ne'er spy land." + +He hadna gane a step, a step, +A step but barely ane, +When a bout flew out of our goodly ship, +And the salt sea it came in. + +"Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith, +Another o' the twine, +And wap them into our ship's side, +And let na the sea come in." + +They fetchd a web o the silken claith, +Another o the twine, +And they wapped them roun that gude ship's side +But still the sea came in. + +O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords +To weet their cork-heel'd shoon! +But lang or a the play was play'd +They wat their hats aboon, + +And mony was the feather-bed +That fluttered on the faem, +And mony was the gude lord's son +That never mair cam hame. + +The ladyes wrang their fingers white, +The maidens tore their hair, +A' for the sake of their true loves, +For them they'll see na mair. + +O lang, lang may the ladyes sit, +Wi' their fans into their hand, +Before they see Sir Patrick Spens +Come sailing to the strand! + +And lang, lang may the maidens sit, +Wi' their goud kaims in their hair, +A' waiting for their ain dear loves! +For them they'll see na mair. + +O forty miles off Aberdeen, +'Tis fifty fathoms deep, +And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, +Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. + + + +Ballad: Battle Of Otterbourne + + + +(Child, vol. vi.) + +It fell about the Lammas tide, +When the muir-men win their hay, +The doughty Douglas bound him to ride +Into England, to drive a prey. + +He chose the Gordons and the Graemes, +With them the Lindesays, light and gay; +But the Jardines wald nor with him ride, +And they rue it to this day. + +And he has burn'd the dales of Tyne, +And part of Bambrough shire: +And three good towers on Reidswire fells, +He left them all on fire. + +And he march'd up to Newcastle, +And rode it round about: +"O wha's the lord of this castle? +Or wha's the lady o't ?" + +But up spake proud Lord Percy then, +And O but he spake hie! +"I am the lord of this castle, +My wife's the lady gaye." + +"If thou'rt the lord of this castle, +Sae weel it pleases me! +For, ere I cross the Border fells, +The tane of us sall die." + +He took a lang spear in his hand, +Shod with the metal free, +And for to meet the Douglas there, +He rode right furiouslie. + +But O how pale his lady look'd, +Frae aff the castle wa', +When down, before the Scottish spear, +She saw proud Percy fa'. + +"Had we twa been upon the green, +And never an eye to see, +I wad hae had you, flesh and fell; +But your sword sall gae wi' mee." + +"But gae ye up to Otterbourne, +And wait there dayis three; +And, if I come not ere three dayis end, +A fause knight ca' ye me." + +"The Otterbourne's a bonnie burn; +'Tis pleasant there to be; +But there is nought at Otterbourne, +To feed my men and me. + +"The deer rins wild on hill and dale, +The birds fly wild from tree to tree; +But there is neither bread nor kale, +To feed my men and me. + +"Yet I will stay it Otterbourne, +Where you shall welcome be; +And, if ye come not at three dayis end, +A fause lord I'll ca' thee." + +"Thither will I come," proud Percy said, +"By the might of Our Ladye!"-- +"There will I bide thee," said the Douglas, +"My troth I plight to thee." + +They lighted high on Otterbourne, +Upon the bent sae brown; +They lighted high on Otterbourne, +And threw their pallions down. + +And he that had a bonnie boy, +Sent out his horse to grass, +And he that had not a bonnie boy, +His ain servant he was. + +But up then spake a little page, +Before the peep of dawn: +"O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord, +For Percy's hard at hand." + +"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud! +Sae loud I hear ye lie; +For Percy had not men yestreen, +To dight my men and me. + +"But I have dream'd a dreary dream, +Beyond the Isle of Sky; +I saw a dead man win a fight, +And I think that man was I." + +He belted on his guid braid sword, +And to the field he ran; +But he forgot the helmet good, +That should have kept his brain. + +When Percy wi the Douglas met, +I wat he was fu fain! +They swakked their swords, till sair they swat, +And the blood ran down like rain. + +But Percy with his good broad sword, +That could so sharply wound, +Has wounded Douglas on the brow, +Till he fell to the ground. + +Then he calld on his little foot-page, +And said--"Run speedilie, +And fetch my ain dear sister's son, +Sir Hugh Montgomery. + +"My nephew good," the Douglas said, +"What recks the death of ane! +Last night I dreamd a dreary dream, +And I ken the day's thy ain. + +"My wound is deep; I fain would sleep; +Take thou the vanguard of the three, +And hide me by the braken bush, +That grows on yonder lilye lee. + +"O bury me by the braken-bush, +Beneath the blooming brier; +Let never living mortal ken +That ere a kindly Scot lies here." + +He lifted up that noble lord, +Wi the saut tear in his e'e; +He hid him in the braken bush, +That his merrie men might not see. + +The moon was clear, the day drew near, +The spears in flinders flew, +But mony a gallant Englishman +Ere day the Scotsmen slew. + +The Gordons good, in English blood, +They steepd their hose and shoon; +The Lindesays flew like fire about, +Till all the fray was done. + +The Percy and Montgomery met, +That either of other were fain; +They swapped swords, and they twa swat, +And aye the blood ran down between. + +"Yield thee, now yield thee, Percy," he said, +"Or else I vow I'll lay thee low!" +"To whom must I yield," quoth Earl Percy, +"Now that I see it must be so ?" + +"Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun, +Nor yet shalt thou yield to me; +But yield thee to the braken-bush, +That grows upon yon lilye lee!" + +"I will not yield to a braken-bush, +Nor yet will I yield to a brier; +But I would yield to Earl Douglas, +Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here." + +As soon as he knew it was Montgomery, +He stuck his sword's point in the gronde; +The Montgomery was a courteous knight, +And quickly took him by the honde. + +This deed was done at Otterbourne, +About the breaking of the day; +Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush, +And the Percy led captive away. + + + +Ballad: Tam Lin + + + +(Child, Part II., p. 340, Burns's Version.) + +O I forbid you, maidens a', +That wear gowd on your hair, +To come or gae by Carterhaugh, +For young Tam Lin is there. + +There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh +But they leave him a wad, +Either their rings, or green mantles, +Or else their maidenhead. + +Janet has kilted her green kirtle +A little aboon her knee, +And she has braided her yellow hair +A little aboon her bree, +And she's awa' to Carterhaugh, +As fast as she can hie. + +When she came to Carterhaugh +Tam Lin was at the well, +And there she fand his steed standing, +But away was himsel. + +She had na pu'd a double rose, +A rose but only twa, +Till up then started young Tam Lin, +Says, "Lady, thou's pu nae mae. + +"Why pu's thou the rose, Janet, +And why breaks thou the wand? +Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh +Withoutten my command?" + +"Carterhaugh, it is my ain, +My daddie gave it me; +I'll come and gang by Carterhaugh, +And ask nae leave at thee." + +* * * * * + +Janet has kilted her green kirtle +A little aboon her knee, +And she has snooded her yellow hair +A little aboon her bree, +And she is to her father's ha, +As fast as she can hie. + +Four and twenty ladies fair +Were playing at the ba, +And out then cam the fair Janet, +Ance the flower amang them a'. + +Four and twenty ladies fair +Were playing at the chess, +And out then cam the fair Janet, +As green as onie grass. + +Out then spak an auld grey knight, +Lay oer the castle wa, +And says, "Alas, fair Janet, for thee +But we'll be blamed a'." + +"Haud your tongue, ye auld-fac'd knight, +Some ill death may ye die! +Father my bairn on whom I will, +I'll father nane on thee." + +Out then spak her father dear, +And he spak meek and mild; +"And ever alas, sweet Janet," he says. +"I think thou gaes wi child." + +"If that I gae wi' child, father, +Mysel maun bear the blame; +There's neer a laird about your ha +Shall get the bairn's name. + +"If my love were an earthly knight, +As he's an elfin grey, +I wad na gie my ain true-love +For nae lord that ye hae. + +"The steed that my true-love rides on +Is lighter than the wind; +Wi siller he is shod before +Wi burning gowd behind." + +Janet has kilted her green kirtle +A little aboon her knee, +And she has snooded her yellow hair +A little aboon her bree, +And she's awa' to Carterhaugh, +As fast as she can hie. + +When she cam to Carterhaugh, +Tam Lin was at the well, +And there she fand his steed standing, +But away was himsel. + +She had na pu'd a double rose, +A rose but only twa, +Till up then started young Tam Lin, +Says, "Lady, thou pu's nae mae. + +"Why pu's thou the rose, Janet, +Amang the groves sae green, +And a' to kill the bonie babe +That we gat us between?" + +"O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin," she says, +"For's sake that died on tree, +If eer ye was in holy chapel, +Or christendom did see?" + +"Roxbrugh he was my grandfather, +Took me with him to bide, +And ance it fell upon a day +That wae did me betide. + +"And ance it fell upon a day, +A cauld day and a snell, +When we were frae the hunting come, +That frae my horse I fell; +The Queen o Fairies she caught me, +In yon green hill to dwell. + +"And pleasant is the fairy land, +But, an eerie tale to tell, +Ay at the end of seven years +We pay a tiend to hell; +I am sae fair and fu' o flesh +I'm feared it be mysel. + +"But the night is Halloween, lady, +The morn is Hallowday; +Then win me, win me, an ye will, +For weel I wat ye may. + +"Just at the mirk and midnight hour +The fairy folk will ride, +And they that wad their true love win, +At Miles Cross they maun bide." + +"But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lin, +Or how my true-love know, +Amang sae mony unco knights +The like I never saw?" + +"O first let pass the black, lady, +And syne let pass the brown, +But quickly run to the milk-white steed, +Pu ye his rider down. + +"For I'll ride on the milk-white steed, +And ay nearest the town; +Because I was an earthly knight +They gie me that renown. + +"My right hand will be gloyd, lady, +My left hand will be bare, +Cockt up shall my bonnet be, +And kaimd down shall my hair; +And thae's the takens I gie thee, +Nae doubt I will be there. + +"They'll turn me in your arms, lady, +Into an esk and adder; +But hold me fast, and fear me not, +I am your bairn's father. + +"They'll turn me to a bear sae grim, +And then a lion bold; +But hold me fast, and fear me not, +As ye shall love your child. + +"Again they'll turn me in your arms +To a red het gaud of airn; +But hold me fast, and fear me not, +I'll do to you nae harm. + +"And last they'll turn me in your arms +Into the burning gleed; +Then throw me into well water, +O throw me in wi speed. + +"And then I'll be your ain true-love, +I'll turn a naked knight; +Then cover me wi your green mantle, +And cover me out o sight." + +Gloomy, gloomy was the night, +And eerie was the way, +As fair Jenny in her green mantle +To Miles Cross she did gae. + +About the middle o' the night +She heard the bridles ring; +This lady was as glad at that +As any earthly thing. + +First she let the black pass by, +And syne she let the brown; +But quickly she ran to the milk-white steed, +And pu'd the rider down, + +Sae weel she minded whae he did say, +And young Tam Lin did win; +Syne coverd him wi her green mantle, +As blythe's a bird in spring. + +Out then spak the Queen o Fairies, +Out of a bush o broom: +"Them that has gotten young Tam Lin +Has gotten a stately groom." + +Out then spak the Queen o Fairies, +And an angry woman was she; +"Shame betide her ill-far'd face, +And an ill death may she die, +For she's taen awa the bonniest knight +In a' my companie. + +"But had I kend, Tam Lin," she says, +"What now this night I see, +I wad hae taen out thy twa grey e'en, +And put in twa een o tree." + + + +Ballad: Thomas The Rhymer + + + +(Child, Part II., p. 317.) + +True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank; +A ferlie he spied wi' his ee; +And there he saw a lady bright, +Come riding down by the Eildon Tree. + +Her skirt was o the grass-green silk, +Her mantle o the velvet fyne, +At ilka tett of her horse's mane +Hang fifty siller bells and nine. + +True Thomas he pulld aff his cap, +And louted low down to his knee: +"All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven! +For thy peer on earth I never did see." + +"O no, O no, Thomas," she said, +"That name does not belang to me; +I am but the queen of fair Elfland, +That am hither come to visit thee. + +"Harp and carp, Thomas," she said, +"Harp and carp, along wi' me, +And if ye dare to kiss my lips, +Sure of your bodie I will be!" + +"Betide me weal, betide me woe, +That weird sall never daunton me; +Syne he has kissed her rosy lips, +All underneath the Eildon Tree. + +"Now, ye maun go wi me," she said, +"True Thomas, ye maun go wi me, +And ye maun serve me seven years, +Thro weal or woe as may chance to be." + +She mounted on her milk-white steed, +She's taen True Thomas up behind, +And aye wheneer her bride rung, +The steed flew swifter than the wind. + +O they rade on, and farther on-- +The steed gaed swifter than the wind-- +Until they reached a desart wide, +And living land was left behind. + +"Light down, light down, now, True Thomas, +And lean your head upon my knee; +Abide and rest a little space, +And I will shew you ferlies three. + +"O see ye not yon narrow road, +So thick beset with thorns and briers? +That is the path of righteousness, +Tho after it but few enquires. + +"And see ye not that braid braid road, +That lies across that lily leven? +That is the path of wickedness, +Tho some call it the road to heaven. + +"And see not ye that bonny road, +That winds about the fernie brae? +That is the road to fair Elfland, +Where thou and I this night maun gae. + +"But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue, +Whatever ye may hear or see, +For, if you speak word in Elflyn land, +Ye'll neer get back to your ain countrie." + +O they rade on, and farther on, +And they waded thro rivers aboon the knee, +And they saw neither sun nor moon, +But they heard the roaring of the sea. + +It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light, +And they waded thro red blude to the knee; +For a' the blude that's shed an earth +Rins thro the springs o that countrie. + +Syne they came on to a garden green, +And she pu'd an apple frae a tree: +"Take this for thy wages, True Thomas, +It will give the tongue that can never lie." + +"My tongue is mine ain," True Thomas said, +"A gudely gift ye wad gie me! +I neither dought to buy nor sell, +At fair or tryst where I may be. + +"I dought neither speak to prince or peer, +Nor ask of grace from fair ladye:" +"Now hold thy peace," the lady said, +"For as I say, so must it be." + +He has gotten a coat of the even cloth, +And a pair of shoes of velvet green, +And till seven years were gane and past +True Thomas on earth was never seen. + + + +Ballad: "Sir Hugh; Or The Jew's Daughter" + + + +(Child, vol. v.) + +Four-and-twenty bonny boys +Were playing at the ba, +And by it came him sweet Sir Hugh, +And he playd o'er them a'. + +He kickd the ba with his right foot +And catchd it wi his knee, +And throuch-and-thro the Jew's window +He gard the bonny ba flee. + +He's doen him to the Jew's castell +And walkd it round about; +And there he saw the Jew's daughter, +At the window looking out. + +"Throw down the ba, ye Jew's daughter, +Throw down the ba to me!" +"Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter, +"Till up to me come ye." + +"How will I come up? How can I come up? +How can I come to thee? +For as ye did to my auld father, +The same ye'll do to me." + +She's gane till her father's garden, +And pu'd an apple red and green; +'Twas a' to wyle him sweet Sir Hugh, +And to entice him in. + +She's led him in through ae dark door, +And sae has she thro nine; +She's laid him on a dressing-table, +And stickit him like a swine. + +And first came out the thick, thick blood, +And syne came out the thin; +And syne came out the bonny heart's blood; +There was nae mair within. + +She's rowd him in a cake o lead, +Bade him lie still and sleep; +She's thrown him in Our Lady's draw-well, +Was fifty fathom deep. + +When bells were rung, and mass was sung, +And a' the bairns came hame, +When every lady gat hame her son, +The Lady Maisry gat nane. + +She's taen her mantle her about, +Her coffer by the hand, +And she's gane out to seek her son, +And wandered o'er the land. + +She's doen her to the Jew's castell, +Where a' were fast asleep: +"Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh, +I pray you to me speak." + +"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear, +Prepare my winding-sheet, +And at the back o merry Lincoln +The morn I will you meet." + +Now Lady Maisry is gane hame, +Make him a winding-sheet, +And at the back o merry Lincoln, +The dead corpse did her meet. + +And a the bells o merry Lincoln +Without men's hands were rung, +And a' the books o merry Lincoln +Were read without man's tongue, +And neer was such a burial +Sin Adam's days begun. + + + +Ballad: Son Davie! Son Davie! + + + +(Mackay.) + +"What bluid's that on thy coat lap? +Son Davie! Son Davie! +What bluid's that on thy coat lap? +And the truth come tell to me, O." + +"It is the bluid of my great hawk, +Mother lady, Mother lady! +It is the bluid of my great hawk, +And the truth I hae tald to thee, O." + +"Hawk's bluid was ne'er sae red, +Son Davie! Son Davie! +Hawk's bluid was ne'er sae red, +And the truth come tell to me, O." + +"It is the bluid of my grey hound, +Mother lady! Mother lady! +It is the bluid of my grey hound, +And it wudna rin for me, O." + +"Hound's bluid was ne'er sae red, +Son Davie! Son Davie! +Hound's bluid was ne'er sae red, +And the truth come tell to me, O." + +"It is the bluid o' my brother John, +Mother lady! Mother lady! +It is the bluid o' my brother John, +And the truth I hae tald to thee, O." + +"What about did the plea begin? +Son Davie! Son Davie!" +"It began about the cutting o' a willow wand, +That would never hae been a tree, O." + +"What death dost thou desire to die? +Son Davie! Son Davie! +What death dost thou desire to die? +And the truth come tell to me, O." + +"I'll set my foot in a bottomless ship, +Mother lady! mother lady! +I'll set my foot in a bottomless ship, +And ye'll never see mair o' me, O." + +"What wilt thou leave to thy poor wife? +Son Davie! Son Davie!" +"Grief and sorrow all her life, +And she'll never get mair frae me, O." + +"What wilt thou leave to thy young son? +Son Davie! son Davie!" +"The weary warld to wander up and down, +And he'll never get mair o' me, O." + +"What wilt thou leave to thy mother dear? +Son Davie! Son Davie!" +"A fire o' coals to burn her wi' hearty cheer, +And she'll never get mair o' me, O." + + + +Ballad: The Wife Of Usher's Well + + + +(Child, vol. iii.) + +There lived a wife at Usher's Well, +And a wealthy wife was she; +She had three stout and stalwart sons, +And sent them oer the sea, + +They hadna been a week from her, +A week but barely ane, +When word came to the carline wife +That her three sons were gane. + +They hadna been a week from her, +A week but barely three, +Whan word came to the carlin wife +That her sons she'd never see. + +"I wish the wind may never cease, +Nor fashes in the flood, +Till my three sons come hame to me, +In earthly flesh and blood!" + +It fell about the Martinmass, +Whan nights are lang and mirk, +The carline wife's three sons came hame, +And their hats were o the birk. + +It neither grew in syke nor ditch, +Nor yet in ony sheugh; +But at the gates o Paradise +That birk grew fair eneugh. + +* * * * * + +"Blow up the fire, my maidens! +Bring water from the well; +For a' my house shall feast this night, +Since my three sons are well." + +And she has made to them a bed, +She's made it large and wide; +And she's taen her mantle her about, +Sat down at the bedside. + +* * * * * + +Up then crew the red, red cock, +And up and crew the gray; +The eldest to the youngest said, +"'Tis time we were away." + +The cock he hadna crawd but once, +And clapp'd his wings at a', +Whan the youngest to the eldest said, +"Brother, we must awa. + +"The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, +The channerin worm doth chide; +Gin we be mist out o our place, +A sair pain we maun bide. + +"Fare ye weel, my mother dear! +Fareweel to barn and byre! +And fare ye weel, the bonny lass +That kindles my mother's fire!" + + + +Ballad: The Twa Corbies + + + +(Child, vol. i.) + +As I was walking all alane, +I heard twa corbies making a mane; +The tane unto the t'other say, +"Where sall we gang and dine the day?" + +"In behint yon auld fail dyke, +I wot there lies a new-slain knight; +And naebody kens that he lies there +But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair. + +"His hound is to the hunting gane, +His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, +His lady's ta'en another mate, +So we may make our dinner sweet. + +"Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane, +And I'll pike out his bonny blue een; +Wi ae lock o his gowden hair +We'll theek our nest when it grows bare. + +"Mony a one for him makes mane, +But nane sall ken whae he is gane, +Oer his white banes, when they are bare, +The wind sall blaw for evermair." + + + +Ballad: The Bonnie Earl Moray + + + +(Child, vol. vi.) + +A. + +Ye Highlands, and ye Lawlands +Oh where have you been? +They have slain the Earl of Murray, +And they layd him on the green. + +"Now wae be to thee, Huntly! +And wherefore did you sae? +I bade you bring him wi you, +But forbade you him to slay." + +He was a braw gallant, +And he rid at the ring; +And the bonny Earl of Murray, +Oh he might have been a King! + +He was a braw gallant, +And he playd at the ba; +And the bonny Earl of Murray, +Was the flower amang them a'. + +He was a braw gallant, +And he playd at the glove; +And the bonny Earl of Murray, +Oh he was the Queen's love! + +Oh lang will his lady +Look oer the castle Down, +Eer she see the Earl of Murray +Come sounding thro the town! +Eer she, etc. + +B. + +"Open the gates +and let him come in; +He is my brother Huntly, +he'll do him nae harm." + +The gates they were opent, +they let him come in, +But fause traitor Huntly, +he did him great harm. + +He's ben and ben, +and ben to his bed, +And with a sharp rapier +he stabbed him dead. + +The lady came down the stair, +wringing her hands: +"He has slain the Earl o Murray, +the flower o Scotland." + +But Huntly lap on his horse, +rade to the King: +"Ye're welcome hame, Huntly, +and whare hae ye been? + +"Where hae ye been? +and how hae ye sped?" +"I've killed the Earl o Murray +dead in his bed." + +"Foul fa you, Huntly! +and why did ye so? +You might have taen the Earl o Murray, +and saved his life too." + +"Her bread it's to bake, +her yill is to brew; +My sister's a widow, +and sair do I rue. + +"Her corn grows ripe, +her meadows grow green, +But in bonnie Dinnibristle +I darena be seen." + + + +Ballad: Clerk Saunders + + + +(Child, vol. iii.) + +Clerk Saunders and may Margaret +Walked ower yon garden green; +And sad and heavy was the love +That fell thir twa between. + +"A bed, a bed," Clerk Saunders said, +"A bed for you and me!" +"Fye na, fye na," said may Margaret, +"'Till anes we married be. + +"For in may come my seven bauld brothers, +Wi' torches burning bright; +They'll say,--'We hae but ae sister, +And behold she's wi a knight!'" + +"Then take the sword frae my scabbard, +And slowly lift the pin; +And you may swear, and save your aith. +Ye never let Clerk Saunders in. + +"And take a napkin in your hand, +And tie up baith your bonny e'en, +And you may swear, and save your aith, +Ye saw me na since late yestreen." + +It was about the midnight hour, +When they asleep were laid, +When in and came her seven brothers, +Wi' torches burning red. + +When in and came her seven brothers, +Wi' torches burning bright: +They said, "We hae but ae sister, +And behold her lying with a knight!" + +Then out and spake the first o' them, +"I bear the sword shall gar him die!" +And out and spake the second o' them, +"His father has nae mair than he!" + +And out and spake the third o' them, +"I wot that they are lovers dear!" +And out and spake the fourth o' them, +"They hae been in love this mony a year!" + +Then out and spake the fifth o' them, +"It were great sin true love to twain!" +And out and spake the sixth o' them, +"It were shame to slay a sleeping man!" + +Then up and gat the seventh o' them, +And never a word spake he; +But he has striped his bright brown brand +Out through Clerk Saunders' fair bodye. + +Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turned +Into his arms as asleep she lay; +And sad and silent was the night +That was atween thir twae. + +And they lay still and sleeped sound +Until the day began to daw; +And kindly to him she did say, +"It is time, true love, you were awa'." + +But he lay still, and sleeped sound, +Albeit the sun began to sheen; +She looked atween her and the wa', +And dull and drowsie were his e'en. + +Then in and came her father dear; +Said,--"Let a' your mourning be: +I'll carry the dead corpse to the clay, +And I'll come back and comfort thee." + +"Comfort weel your seven sons; +For comforted will I never be: +I ween 'twas neither knave nor loon +Was in the bower last night wi' me." + +The clinking bell gaed through the town, +To carry the dead corse to the clay; +And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret's window, +I wot, an hour before the day. + +"Are ye sleeping, Margaret?" he says, +"Or are ye waking presentlie? +Give me my faith and troth again, +I wot, true love, I gied to thee." + +"Your faith and troth ye sall never get, +Nor our true love sall never twin, +Until ye come within my bower, +And kiss me cheik and chin." + +"My mouth it is full cold, Margaret, +It has the smell, now, of the ground; +And if I kiss thy comely mouth, +Thy days of life will not be lang. + +"O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight, +I wot the wild fowls are boding day; +Give me my faith and troth again, +And let me fare me on my way." + +"Thy faith and troth thou sall na get, +And our true love sall never twin, +Until ye tell what comes of women, +I wot, who die in strong traivelling? + +"Their beds are made in the heavens high, +Down at the foot of our good lord's knee, +Weel set about wi' gillyflowers; +I wot, sweet company for to see. + +"O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight, +I wot the wild fowl are boding day; +The psalms of heaven will soon be sung, +And I, ere now, will be missed away." + +Then she has ta'en a crystal wand, +And she has stroken her troth thereon; +She has given it him out at the shot-window, +Wi' mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan. + +"I thank ye, Marg'ret, I thank ye, Marg'ret; +And aye I thank ye heartilie; +Gin ever the dead come for the quick, +Be sure, Mag'ret, I'll come for thee." + +It's hosen and shoon, and gown alone, +She climb'd the wall, and followed him, +Until she came to the green forest, +And there she lost the sight o' him. + +"Is there ony room at your head, Saunders? +Is there ony room at your feet? +Is there ony room at your side, Saunders, +Where fain, fain I wad sleep?" + +"There's nae room at my head, Marg'ret, +There's nae room at my feet; +My bed it is full lowly now, +Amang the hungry worms I sleep. + +"Cauld mould is my covering now, +But and my winding-sheet; +The dew it falls nae sooner down +Than my resting-place is weet. + +"But plait a wand o' bonnie birk, +And lay it on my breast; +And shed a tear upon my grave, +And wish my saul gude rest. + +"And fair Marg'ret, and rare Marg'ret, +And Marg'ret, o' veritie, +Gin ere ye love another man, +Ne'er love him as ye did me." + +Then up and crew the milk-white cock, +And up and crew the gray; +Her lover vanish'd in the air, +And she gaed weeping away. + + + +Ballad: Waly, Waly + + + +(Mackay.) + +O waly, waly, up the bank, +O waly, waly, down the brae. +And waly, waly, yon burn side, +Where I and my love wont to gae. +I leaned my back unto an aik, +An' thocht it was a trustie tree, +But first it bow'd and syne it brak, +Sae my true love did lichtly me. + +O waly, waly, but love is bonnie +A little time while it is new, +But when it's auld it waxes cauld, +And fades away like morning dew. +O wherefore should I busk my head, +O wherefore should I kame my hair, +For my true love has me forsook, +And says he'll never love me mair. + +Now Arthur's Seat shall be my bed, +The sheets shall ne'er be pressed by me, +St. Anton's well shall be my drink, +Since my true love has forsaken me. +Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, +And shake the green leaves off the tree! +O gentle Death, when wilt thou come? +For of my life I am wearie! + +'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, +Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie, +'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, +But my love's heart's grown cauld to me. +When we came in by Glasgow toun +We were a comely sicht to see; +My love was clad in the black velvet, +And I mysel in cramasie. + +But had I wist before I kist +That love had been sae ill to win, +I'd locked my heart in a case of gold, +And pinned it wi' a siller pin. +Oh, oh! if my young babe were born, +And set upon the nurse's knee; +And I myself were dead and gane, +And the green grass growing over me! + + + +Ballad: Love Gregor; Or, The Lass Of Lochroyan + + + +(Child, Part III., p. 220.) + +"O wha will shoe my fu' fair foot? +And wha will glove my hand? +And wha will lace my middle jimp, +Wi' the new-made London band? + +"And wha will kaim my yellow hair, +Wi' the new made silver kaim? +And wha will father my young son, +Till Love Gregor come hame?" + +"Your father will shoe your fu' fair foot, +Your mother will glove your hand; +Your sister will lace your middle jimp +Wi' the new-made London band. + +"Your brother will kaim your yellow hair, +Wi' the new made silver kaim; +And the king of heaven will father your bairn, +Till Love Gregor come haim." + +"But I will get a bonny boat, +And I will sail the sea, +For I maun gang to Love Gregor, +Since he canno come hame to me." + +O she has gotten a bonny boat, +And sailld the sa't sea fame; +She langd to see her ain true-love, +Since he could no come hame. + +"O row your boat, my mariners, +And bring me to the land, +For yonder I see my love's castle, +Close by the sa't sea strand." + +She has ta'en her young son in her arms, +And to the door she's gone, +And lang she's knocked and sair she ca'd, +But answer got she none. + +"O open the door, Love Gregor," she says, +"O open, and let me in; +For the wind blaws thro' my yellow hair, +And the rain draps o'er my chin." + +"Awa, awa, ye ill woman, +You'r nae come here for good; +You'r but some witch, or wile warlock, +Or mer-maid of the flood." + +"I am neither a witch nor a wile warlock, +Nor mer-maid of the sea, +I am Fair Annie of Rough Royal; +O open the door to me." + +"Gin ye be Annie of Rough Royal-- +And I trust ye are not she-- +Now tell me some of the love-tokens +That past between you and me." + +"O dinna you mind now, Love Gregor, +When we sat at the wine, +How we changed the rings frae our fingers? +And I can show thee thine. + +"O yours was good, and good enough, +But ay the best was mine; +For yours was o' the good red goud, +But mine o' the diamonds fine. + +"But open the door now, Love Gregor, +O open the door I pray, +For your young son that is in my arms +Will be dead ere it be day." + +"Awa, awa, ye ill woman, +For here ye shanno win in; +Gae drown ye in the raging sea, +Or hang on the gallows-pin." + +When the cock had crawn, and day did dawn, +And the sun began to peep, +Then up he rose him, Love Gregor, +And sair, sair did he weep. + +"O I dreamd a dream, my mother dear, +The thoughts o' it gars me greet, +That Fair Annie of Rough Royal +Lay cauld dead at my feet." + +"Gin it be for Annie of Rough Royal +That ye make a' this din, +She stood a' last night at this door, +But I trow she wan no in." + +"O wae betide ye, ill woman, +An ill dead may ye die! +That ye woudno open the door to her, +Nor yet woud waken me." + +O he has gone down to yon shore-side, +As fast as he could fare; +He saw Fair Annie in her boat, +But the wind it tossd her sair. + +And "Hey, Annie!" and "How, Annie! +O Annie, winna ye bide?" +But ay the mair that he cried "Annie," +The braider grew the tide. + +And "Hey, Annie!" and "How, Annie! +Dear Annie, speak to me!" +But ay the louder he cried "Annie," +The louder roard the sea. + +The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough, +And dashd the boat on shore; +Fair Annie floats on the raging sea, +But her young son rose no more. + +Love Gregor tare his yellow hair, +And made a heavy moan; +Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet, +But his bonny young son was gone. + +O cherry, cherry was her cheek, +And gowden was her hair, +But clay cold were her rosey lips, +Nae spark of life was there, + +And first he's kissd her cherry cheek, +And neist he's kissed her chin; +And saftly pressd her rosey lips, +But there was nae breath within. + +"O wae betide my cruel mother, +And an ill dead may she die! +For she turnd my true-love frae my door, +When she came sae far to me." + + + +Ballad: The Queen's Marie + + + +(Child, vi., Border Minstrelsy.) + +Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane, +Wi ribbons in her hair; +The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton, +Than ony that were there. + +Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane, +Wi ribbons on her breast; +The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton, +Than he listend to the priest. + +Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane, +Wi gloves upon her hands; +The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton, +Than the queen and a' her lands. + +She hadna been about the king's court +A month, but barely one, +Till she was beloved by a' the king's court, +And the king the only man. + +She hadna been about the king's court +A month, but barely three, +Till frae the king's court Marie Hamilton, +Marie Hamilton durst na be. + +The king is to the Abbey gane, +To pu the Abbey tree, +To scale the babe frae Marie's heart; +But the thing it wadna be. + +O she has rowd it in her apron, +And set it on the sea: +"Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe, +Ye's get na mair o me." + +Word is to the kitchen gane, +And word is to the ha, +And word is to the noble room, +Amang the ladyes a', +That Marie Hamilton's brought to bed, +And the bonny babe's mist and awa. + +Scarcely had she lain down again, +And scarcely faen asleep, +When up then started our gude queen, +Just at her bed-feet, +Saying "Marie Hamilton, where's your babe? +For I am sure I heard it greet." + +"O no, O no, my noble queen! +Think no such thing to be! +'Twas but a stitch into my side, +And sair it troubles me." + +"Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton, +Get up, and follow me, +For I am going to Edinburgh town, +A rich wedding for to see." + +O slowly, slowly raise she up, +And slowly put she on; +And slowly rode she out the way, +Wi mony a weary groan. + +The queen was clad in scarlet, +Her merry maids all in green; +And every town that they cam to, +They took Marie for the queen. + +"Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen, +Ride hooly now wi' me! +For never, I am sure, a wearier burd +Rade in your cumpanie." + +But little wist Marie Hamilton, +When she rade on the brown, +That she was ga'en to Edinburgh town, +And a' to be put down. + +"Why weep ye so, ye burgess-wives, +Why look ye so on me? +O, I am going to Edinburgh town, +A rich wedding for to see!" + +When she gaed up the Tolbooth stairs, +The corks frae her heels did flee; +And lang or eer she cam down again, +She was condemned to die. + +When she cam to the Netherbow Port, +She laughed loud laughters three; +But when she cam to the gallows-foot, +The tears blinded her ee. + +"Yestreen the queen had four Maries, +The night she'll hae but three; +There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaten, +And Marie Carmichael, and me. + +"O, often have I dressd my queen, +And put gold upon her hair; +But now I've gotten for my reward +The gallows to be my share. + +"Often have I dressd my queen, +And often made her bed: +But now I've gotten for my reward +The gallows-tree to tread. + +"I charge ye all, ye mariners, +When ye sail ower the faem, +Let neither my father nor mother get wit, +But that I'm coming hame. + +"I charge ye all, ye mariners, +That sail upon the sea, +Let neither my father nor mother get wit, +This dog's death I'm to die. + +"For if my father and mother got wit, +And my bold brethren three, +O mickle wad be the gude red blude, +This day wad be spilt for me! + +"O little did my mother ken, +The day she cradled me, +The lands I was to travel in, +Or the death I was to die!" + + + +Ballad: Kinmont Willie + + + +(Child, vol. vi.) + +O have ye na heard o the fause Sakelde? +O have ye na heard o the keen Lord Scroop? +How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie, +On Hairibee to hang him up? + +Had Willie had but twenty men, +But twenty men as stout as be, +Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont taen +Wi eight score in his companie. + +They band his legs beneath the steed, +They tied his hands behind his back; +They guarded him, fivesome on each side, +And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack. + +They led him thro the Liddel-rack. +And also thro the Carlisle sands; +They brought him to Carlisle castell. +To be at my Lord Scroope's commands. + +"My hands are tied; but my tongue is free, +And whae will dare this deed avow? +Or answer by the border law? +Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch?" + +"Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver! +There's never a Scot shall set ye free: +Before ye cross my castle-yate, +I trow ye shall take farewell o me." + +"Fear na ye that, my lord," quo Willie: +"By the faith o my body, Lord Scroope," he said, +"I never yet lodged in a hostelrie-- +But I paid my lawing before I gaed." + +Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper, +In Branksome Ha where that he lay, +That Lord Scroope has taen the Kinmont Willie, +Between the hours of night and day. + +He has taen the table wi his hand, +He garrd the red wine spring on hie; +"Now Christ's curse on my head," he said, +"But avenged of Lord Scroope I'll be! + +"O is my basnet a widow's curch? +Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree? +Or my arm a lady's lilye hand, +That an English lord should lightly me? + +"And have they taen him, Kinmont Willie, +Against the truce of Border tide? +And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch +Is keeper here on the Scottish side? + +"And have they een taen him, Kinmont Willie, +Withouten either dread or fear, +And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch +Can back a steed, or shake a spear? + +"O were there war between the lands, +As well I wot that there is none, +I would slight Carlisle castell high, +Tho it were builded of marble stone. + +"I would set that castell in a low, +And sloken it with English blood; +There's nevir a man in Cumberland +Should ken where Carlisle castell stood. + +"But since nae war's between the lands, +And there is peace, and peace should be; +I'll neither harm English lad or lass, +And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!" + +He has calld him forty marchmen bauld, +I trow they were of his ain name, +Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, calld +The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same. + +He has calld him forty marchmen bauld, +Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch, +With spur on heel, and splent on spauld, +And gleuves of green, and feathers blue. + +There were five and five before them a', +Wi hunting-horns and bugles bright; +And five and five came wi Buccleuch, +Like Warden's men, arrayed for fight. + +And five and five, like a mason-gang, +That carried the ladders lang and hie; +And five and five, like broken men; +And so they reached the Woodhouselee. + +And as we crossd the Bateable Land, +When to the English side we held, +The first o men that we met wi, +Whae sould it be but fause Sakelde! + +"Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?" +Quo fause Sakelde; "come tell to me!" +"We go to hunt an English stag, +Has trespassed on the Scots countrie." + +"Where be ye gaun, ye marshal-men?" +Quo fause Sakelde; "come tell me true!" +"We go to catch a rank reiver, +Has broken faith wi the bauld Buccleuch." + +"Where are ye gaun, ye mason-lads, +Wi a' your ladders lang and hie?" +"We gang to herry a corbie's nest, +That wons not far frae Woodhouselee." + +"Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?" +Quo fause Sakelde; "come tell to me?" +Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band, +And the nevir a word o lear had he. + +"Why trespass ye on the English side? +Row-footed outlaws, stand!" quo he; +The neer a word had Dickie to say, +Sae he thrust the lance thro his fause bodie. + +Then on we held for Carlisle toun, +And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we crossd; +The water was great and meikle of spait, +But the nevir a horse nor man we lost. + +And when we reachd the Staneshaw-bank, +The wind was rising loud and hie; +And there the laird garrd leave our steeds, +For fear that they should stamp and nie. + +And when we left the Staneshaw-bank, +The wind began full loud to blaw; +But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet, +When we came beneath the castell-wa. + +We crept on knees, and held our breath, +Till we placed the ladders against the wa; +And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell +To mount she first, before us a'. + +He has taen the watchman by the throat, +He flung him down upon the lead: +"Had there not been peace between our lands, +Upon the other side thou hadst gaed. + +"Now sound out, trumpets!" quo Buccleuch; +"Let's waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!" +Then loud the warden's trumpet blew +"O whae dare meddle wi me?" + +Then speedilie to wark we gaed, +And raised the slogan ane and a', +And cut a hole through a sheet of lead, +And so we wan to the castel-ha. + +They thought King James and a' his men +Had won the house wi bow and speir; +It was but twenty Scots and ten +That put a thousand in sic a stear! + +Wi coulters, and wi fore-hammers, +We garrd the bars bang merrilie, +Until we came to the inner prison, +Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie. + +And when we came to the lower prison, +Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie, +"O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie, +Upon the morn that thou's to die?" + +"O I sleep saft, and I wake aft, +It's lang since sleeping was fley'd frae me; +Gie my service back to my wyfe and bairns +And a' gude fellows that speer for me." + +Then Red Rowan has hente him up, +The starkest man in Teviotdale: +"Abide, abide now, Red Rowan, +Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell. + +"Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope! +My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!" he cried; +"I'll pay you for my lodging-maill, +When first we meet on the border-side." + +Then shoulder high, with shout and cry, +We bore him down the ladder lang; +At every stride Red Rowan made, +I wot the Kinmont's airms playd clang! + +"O mony a time," quo Kinmont Willie. +"I have ridden horse baith wild and wood; +But a rougher beast than Red Rowan, +I ween my legs have neer bestrode. + +"And mony a time," quo Kinmont Willie, +"I've pricked a horse out oure the furs; +But since the day I backed a steed +I nevir wore sic cumbrous spurs!" + +We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank, +When a' the Carlisle bells were rung, +And a thousand men, in horse and foot, +Cam wi the keen Lord Scroope along. + +Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water, +Even where it flowd frae bank to brim, +And he has plunged in wi a' his band, +And safely swam them thro the stream. + +He turned him on the other side, +And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he: +"If ye like na my visit in merry England, +In fair Scotland come visit me!" + +All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope, +He stood as still as rock of stane; +He scarcely dared to trew his eyes, +When thro the water they had gane. + +"He is either himsell a devil frae hell, +Or else his mother a witch maun be; +I wad na have ridden that wan water +For a' the gowd in Christentie." + + + +Ballad: Jamie Telfer + + + +(Child, vol. vi. Early Edition.) + +It fell about the Martinmas tyde, +When 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. + +The first ae guide that they met wi', +It was high up Hardhaughswire; +The second guide that we met wi', +It was laigh down in Borthwick water. + +"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." + +And whan they cam to the fair Dodhead, +Right hastily they clam the peel; +They loosed the kye out, ane and a', +And ranshackled the house right weel. + +Now Jamie Telfer's heart was sair, +The tear aye rowing in his e'e; +He pled wi' the captain to hae his gear, +Or else revenged he wad be. + +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!" + +The sun was na up, but the moon was down, +It was the gryming o' a new fa'n snaw, +Jamie Telfer has run three myles a-foot, +Between the Dodhead and the Stobs's Ha' + +And whan he cam to the fair tower yate, +He shouted loud, and cried weel hie, +Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot-- +"Wha's this that brings the fraye to me?" + +"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. + +"Gae seek your succour at Branksome Ha'. +For succour ye'se get nane frae me! +Gae seek your succour where ye paid black-mail, +For, man! ye ne'er paid money to me." + +Jamie has turned him round about, +I wat the tear blinded his e'e-- +"I'll ne'er pay mail to Elliot again, +And the fair Dodhead I'll never see! + +"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." + +He has turned him to the Tiviot side, +E'en as fast as he could drie, +Till he came to the Coultart Cleugh +And there he shouted baith loud and hie. + +Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve-- +"Wha's this that brings the fray to me?" +"It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead, +A harried man I trow I be. + +"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." + +"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." + +Then he has ta'en 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. + +And whan he cam to the Catslockhill, +He shouted loud and weel cried he, +Till out and spak him William's Wat-- +"O wha's this brings the fraye to me?" + +"It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead, +A harried man I think I be! +The captain of Bewcastle has driven my gear; +For God's sake rise, and succour me!" + +"Alas for wae!" quo' William's Wat, +"Alack, for thee my heart is sair! +I never cam by the fair Dodhead, +That ever I fand thy basket bare." + +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. + +And whan they cam to Branksome Ha', +They shouted a' baith loud and hie, +Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch, +Said--"Wha's this brings the fray to me? + +"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." + +"Alack for wae!" quoth the gude auld lord, +"And ever my heart is wae for thee! +But fye gar cry on Willie, my son, +And see that he come to me speedilie! + +"Gar warn the water, braid and wide, +Gar warn it soon and hastily! +They that winna ride for Telfer's kye, +Let them never look in the face o' me! + +"Warn Wat o' Harden, and his sons, +Wi' them will Borthwick water ride; +Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhaugh, +And Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside. + +"Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire, +And warn the Currors o' the Lee; +As ye come down the Hermitage Slack, +Warn doughty Willie o' Gorrinbery." + +The Scots they rade, the Scots they ran, +Sae starkly and sae steadilie! +And aye the ower-word o' the thrang, +Was--"Rise for Branksome readilie!" + +The gear was driven the Frostylee up, +Frae the Frostylee unto the plain, +Whan Willie has looked his men before, +And saw the kye right fast driving. + +"Wha drives thir kye?" 'gan Willie say, +"To mak an outspeckle o' me?" +"It's I, the captain o' Bewcastle, Willie; +I winna layne my name for thee." + +"O will ye let Telfer's kye gae back, +Or will ye do aught for regard o' me? +Or, by the faith o' my body," quo' Willie Scott, +"I se ware my dame's cauf's-skin on thee!" + +"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 Scot that's here." + +"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! + +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 ground lay slain. + +But he's ta'en aff his gude steel-cap, +And thrice he's waved it in the air-- +The Dinlay snaw was ne'er mair white, +Nor the lyart locks of Harden's hair. + +"Revenge! revenge!" auld Wat 'gan cry; +"Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie! +We'll ne'er see Tiviotside again, +Or Willie's death revenged shall be." + +O mony a horse ran masterless, +The splintered lances flew on hie; +But or they wan to the Kershope ford, +The Scots had gotten the victory. + +John o' Brigham there was slain, +And John o' Barlow, as I hear say; +And thirty mae o' the captain's men, +Lay bleeding on the grund that day. + +The captain was run thro' the thick of the thigh-- +And broken was his right leg bane; +If he had lived this hundred year, +He had never been loved by woman again. + +"Hae back thy kye!" the captain said; +"Dear kye, I trow, to some they be! +For gin I suld live a hundred years, +There will ne'er fair lady smile on me." + +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. + +"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, +When he ower Liddel his men did lead!" + +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!" + +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. + +There was an auld wife ayont the fire, +A wee bit o' the captain's kin-- +"Wha daur loose out the captain's kye, +Or answer to him and his men?" + +"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." + +When 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. + +And he has paid the rescue shot, +Baith wi' goud, and white monie; +And at the burial o' Willie Scott, +I wot was mony a weeping e'e. + + + +Ballad: The Douglas Tragedy + + + +(Child, vol. ii. Early Edition.) + +"Rise up, rise up now, Lord Douglas," she says, +"And put on your armour so bright; +Let it never be said that a daughter of thine +Was married to a lord under night. + +"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons, +And put on your armour so bright, +And take better care of your youngest sister, +For your eldest's awa the last night."-- + +He's mounted her on a milk-white steed, +And himself on a dapple grey, +With a bugelet horn hung down by his side, +And lightly they rode away. + +Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder, +To see what he could see, +And there be spy'd her seven brethren bold, +Come riding o'er the lee. + +"Light down, light down, Lady Marg'ret," he said, +"And hold my steed in your hand, +Until that against your seven brothers bold, +And your father I make a stand."-- + +She held his steed in her milk white hand, +And never shed one tear, +Until that she saw her seven brethren fa', +And her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear. + +"O hold your hand, Lord William!" she said, +"For your strokes they are wondrous sair; +True lovers I can get many a ane, +But a father I can never get mair."-- + +O she's ta'en out her handkerchief, +It was o' the holland sae fine, +And aye she dighted her father's bloody wounds, +That were redder than the wine. + +"O chuse, O chuse, Lady Marg'ret," he said, +"O whether will ye gang or bide?" +"I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said, +"For ye have left me no other guide."-- + +He's lifted her on a milk-white steed, +And himself on a dapple grey. +With a bugelet horn hung down by his side, +And slowly they baith rade away. + +O they rade on, and on they rade, +And a' by the light of the moon, +Until they came to yon wan water, +And there they lighted down. + +They lighted down to tak a drink +Of the spring that ran sae clear: +And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood, +And sair she 'gan to fear. + +"Hold up, hold up, Lord William," she says, +"For I fear that you are slain!" +"'Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak +That shines in the water sae plain." + +O they rade on, and on they rade, +And a' by the light of the moon, +Until they cam to his mother's ha' door, +And there they lighted down. + +"Get up, get up, lady mother," he says, +"Get up, and let me in!-- +Get up, get up, lady mother," he says, +"For this night my fair ladye I've win. + +"O mak my bed, lady mother," he says, +"O mak it braid and deep! +And lay Lady Marg'ret close at my back, +And the sounder I will sleep."-- + +Lord William was dead lang ere midnight, +Lady Marg'ret lang ere day-- +And all true lovers that go thegither, +May they have mair luck than they! + +Lord William was buried in St. Marie's kirk, +Lady Margaret in Marie's quire; +Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose, +And out o' the knight's a brier. + +And they twa met, and they twa plat, +And fain they wad be near; +And a' the warld might ken right weel, +They were twa lovers dear. + +But by and rade the Black Douglas, +And wow but he was rough! +For he pull'd up the bonny brier, +An flang't in St. Marie's Loch. + + + +Ballad: The Bonny Hind + + + +(Child, vol. ii.) + +O May she comes, and may she goes, +Down by yon gardens green, +And there she spied a gallant squire +As squire had ever been. + +And may she comes, and may she goes, +Down by yon hollin tree, +And there she spied a brisk young squire, +And a brisk young squire was he. + +"Give me your green manteel, fair maid, +Give me your maidenhead; +Gif ye winna gie me your green manteel, +Gi me your maidenhead." + +He has taen her by the milk-white hand, +And softly laid her down, +And when he's lifted her up again +Given her a silver kaim. + +"Perhaps there may be bairns, kind sir, +Perhaps there may be nane; +But if you be a courtier, +You'll tell to me your name." + +"I am na courtier, fair maid, +But new come frae the sea; +I am nae courtier, fair maid, +But when I court'ith thee. + +"They call me Jack when I'm abroad, +Sometimes they call me John; +But when I'm in my father's bower +Jock Randal is my name." + +"Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny lad, +Sae loud's I hear ye lee! +For I'm Lord Randal's yae daughter, +He has nae mair nor me." + +"Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny may, +Sae loud's I hear ye lee! +For I'm Lord Randal's yae yae son, +Just now come oer the sea." + +She's putten her hand down by her spare +And out she's taen a knife, +And she has putn't in her heart's bluid, +And taen away her life. + +And he's taen up his bonny sister, +With the big tear in his een, +And he has buried his bonny sister +Amang the hollins green. + +And syne he's hyed him oer the dale, +His father dear to see: +"Sing O and O for my bonny hind, +Beneath yon hollin tree!" + +"What needs you care for your bonny hyn? +For it you needna care; +There's aught score hyns in yonder park, +And five score hyns to spare. + +"Fourscore of them are siller-shod, +Of thae ye may get three;" +"But O and O for my bonny hyn, +Beneath yon hollin tree!" + +"What needs you care for your bonny hyn? +For it you needna care; +Take you the best, gi me the warst, +Since plenty is to spare." + +"I care na for your hyns, my lord, +I care na for your fee; +But O and O for my bonny hyn, +Beneath the hollin tree!" + +"O were ye at your sister's bower, +Your sister fair to see, +Ye'll think na mair o your bonny hyn +Beneath the hollin tree." + + + +Ballad: Young Bicham + + + +(Child, vol. ii.) + +In London city was Bicham born, +He longd strange countries for to see, +But he was taen by a savage Moor, +Who handld him right cruely. + +For thro his shoulder he put a bore, +An thro the bore has pitten a tree, +And he's gard him draw the carts o wine, +Where horse and oxen had wont to be. + +He's casten [him] in a dungeon deep, +Where he coud neither hear nor see; +He's shut him up in a prison strong, +An he's handld him right cruely. + +O this Moor he had but ae daughter, +I wot her name was Shusy Pye; +She's doen her to the prison-house, +And she's calld young Bicham one word by. + +"O hae ye ony lands or rents, +Or citys in your ain country, +Coud free you out of prison strong, +An coud maintain a lady free?" + +O London city is my own, +An other citys twa or three, +Coud loose me out o prison strong, +An could maintain a lady free." + +O she has bribed her father's men +Wi meikle goud and white money, +She's gotten the key o the prison doors, +And she has set Young Bicham free. + +She's gi'n him a loaf o good white bread, +But an a flask o Spanish wine, +An she bad him mind on the ladie's love +That sae kindly freed him out o pine. + +"Go set your foot on good ship-board, +An haste you back to your ain country, +An before that seven years has an end, +Come back again, love, and marry me." + +It was long or seven years had an end +She longd fu sair her love to see; +She's set her foot on good ship-board, +An turnd her back on her ain country. + +She's saild up, so has she down, +Till she came to the other side; +She's landed at Young Bicham's gates, +An I hop this day she sal be his bride. + +"Is this Young Bicham's gates?" says she. +"Or is that noble prince within?" +"He's up the stair wi his bonny bride, +An monny a lord and lady wi him." + +"O has he taen a bonny bride, +An has he clean forgotten me?" +An sighing said that gay lady, +"I wish I were in my ain country!" + +She's pitten her ban in her pocket, +An gin the porter guineas three; +Says, "Take ye that, ye proud porter, +An bid the bridegroom speak to me." + +O whan the porter came up the stair, +He's fa'n low down upon his knee: +"Won up, won up, ye proud porter, +And what makes a' this courtesy?" + +"O I've been porter at your gates +This mair nor seven years an three, +But there is a lady at them now +The like of whom I never did see. + +"For on every finger she has a ring, +An on the mid-finger she has three, +An there's as meikle goud aboon her brow +As woud buy an earldom o lan to me." + +Then up it started Young Bicham, +An sware so loud by Our Lady, +"It can be nane but Shusy Pye +That has come oor the sea to me." + +O quickly ran he down the stair, +O fifteen steps he has made but three, +He's tane his bonny love in his arms +An a wot he kissd her tenderly. + +"O hae you tane a bonny bride? +An hae you quite forsaken me? +An hae ye quite forgotten her +That gae you life an liberty?" + +She's lookit oer her left shoulder +To hide the tears stood in her ee; +"Now fare thee well, Young Bicham," she says, +"I'll strive to think nae mair on thee." + +"Take back your daughter, madam," he says, +"An a double dowry I'll gie her wi; +For I maun marry my first true love, +That's done and suffered so much for me." + +He's tak his bonny love by the han, +And led her to yon fountain stane; +He's changed her name frae Shusy Pye, +An he's cald her his bonny love, Lady Jane. + + + +Ballad: The Loving Ballad Of Lord Bateman + + + +(Child, vol. ii. Cockney copy.) + +Lord Bateman was a noble lord, +A noble lord of high degree; +He shipped himself all aboard of a ship, +Some foreign country for to see. + +He sailed east, he sailed west, +Until he came to famed Turkey, +Where he was taken and put to prison, +Until his life was quite weary. + +All in this prison there grew a tree, +O there it grew so stout and strong! +Where he was chained all by the middle, +Until his life was almost gone. + +This Turk he had one only daughter, +The fairest my two eyes eer see; +She steal the keys of her father's prison, +And swore Lord Bateman she would let go free. + +O she took him to her father's cellar, +And gave to him the best of wine; +And every health she drank unto him +Was "I wish, Lord Bateman, as you was mine." + +"O have you got houses, have you got land, +And does Northumberland belong to thee? +And what would you give to the fair young lady +As out of prison would let you go free?" + +"O I've got houses and I've got land, +And half Northumberland belongs to me; +And I will give it all to the fair young lady +As out of prison would let me go free." + +"O in seven long years I'll make a vow +For seven long years, and keep it strong, +That if you'll wed no other woman, +O I will wed no other man." + +O she took him to her father's harbor, +And gave to him a ship of fame, +Saying, "Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman, +I fear I shall never see you again." + +Now seven long years is gone and past, +And fourteen days, well known to me; +She packed up all her gay clothing, +And swore Lord Bateman she would go see. + +O when she arrived at Lord Bateman's castle, +How boldly then she rang the bell! +"Who's there? who's there?" cries the proud young porter, +"O come unto me pray quickly tell." + +"O is this here Lord Bateman's castle, +And is his lordship here within?" +"O yes, O yes," cries the proud young porter, +"He's just now taking his young bride in." + +"O bid him to send me a slice of bread, +And a bottle of the very best wine, +And not forgetting the fair young lady +As did release him when close confine." + +O away and away went this proud young porter, +O away and away and away went he, +Until he came to Lord Bateman's chamber, +Where he went down on his bended knee. + +"What news, what news, my proud young porter? +What news, what news? come tell to me:" +"O there is the fairest young lady +As ever my two eyes did see. + +"She has got rings on every finger, +And on one finger she has got three; +With as much gay gold about her middle +As would buy half Northumberlee. + +"O she bids you to send her a slice of bread, +And a bottle of the very best wine, +And not forgetting the fair young lady +As did release you when close confine." + +Lord Bateman then in passion flew, +And broke his sword in splinters three, +Saying, "I will give half of my father's land, +If so be as Sophia has crossed the sea." + +Then up and spoke this young bride's mother, +Who never was heard to speak so free; +Saying, "You'll not forget my only daughter, +If so be Sophia has crossed the sea." + +"O it's true I made a bride of your daughter, +But she's neither the better nor the worse for me; +She came to me with a horse and saddle, +But she may go home in a coach and three." + +Lord Bateman then prepared another marriage, +With both their hearts so full of glee, +Saying, "I will roam no more to foreign countries, +Now that Sophia has crossed the sea." + + + +Ballad: The Bonnie House O' Airly + + + +(Child, vol. vii. Early Edition.) + +It fell on a day, and a bonnie summer day, +When the corn grew green and yellow, +That there fell out a great dispute +Between Argyle and Airly. + +The Duke o' Montrose has written to Argyle +To come in the morning early, +An' lead in his men, by the back O' Dunkeld, +To plunder the bonnie house o' Airly. + +The lady look'd o'er her window sae hie, +And O but she looked weary! +And there she espied the great Argyle +Come to plunder the bonnie house o' Airly. + +"Come down, come down, Lady Margaret," he says, +"Come down and kiss me fairly, +Or before the morning clear daylight, +I'll no leave a standing stane in Airly." + +"I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle, +I wadna kiss thee fairly, +I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle, +Gin you shouldna leave a standing stane Airly." + +He has ta'en her by the middle sae sma', +Says, "Lady, where is your drury?" +"It's up and down by the bonnie burn side, +Amang the planting of Airly." + +They sought it up, they sought it down, +They sought it late and early, +And found it in the bonnie balm-tree, +That shines on the bowling-green o' Airly, + +He has ta'en her by the left shoulder, +And O but she grat sairly, +And led her down to yon green bank, +Till he plundered the bonnie house o' Airly. + +"O it's I hae seven braw sons," she says, +"And the youngest ne'er saw his daddie, +And altho' I had as mony mae, +I wad gie them a' to Charlie. + +"But gin my good lord had been at hame, +As this night he is wi' Charlie, +There durst na a Campbell in a' the west +Hae plundered the bonnie house o' Airly. + + + +Ballad: Rob Roy + + + +(Child, vol. vi. Early Edition.) + +Rob Roy from the Highlands cam, +Unto the Lawlan' border, +To steal awa a gay ladie +To haud his house in order. +He cam oure the lock o' Lynn, +Twenty men his arms did carry; +Himsel gaed in, an' fand her out, +Protesting he would many. + +"O will ye gae wi' me," he says, +"Or will ye be my honey? +Or will ye be my wedded wife? +For I love you best of any." +"I winna gae wi' you," she says, +"Nor will I be your honey, +Nor will I be your wedded wife; +You love me for my money." + +* * * * * + +But he set her on a coal-black steed, +Himsel lap on behind her, +An' he's awa to the Highland hills, +Whare her frien's they canna find her. + +* * * * * + +"Rob Roy was my father ca'd, +Macgregor was his name, ladie; +He led a band o' heroes bauld, +An' I am here the same, ladie. +Be content, be content, +Be content to stay, ladie, +For thou art my wedded wife +Until thy dying day, ladie. + +"He was a hedge unto his frien's, +A heckle to his foes, ladie, +Every one that durst him wrang, +He took him by the nose, ladie. +I'm as bold, I'm as bold, +I'm as bold, an more, ladie; +He that daurs dispute my word, +Shall feel my guid claymore, ladie." + + + +Ballad: The Battle Of Killie-Crankie + + + +(Child, vol. vii. Early Edition.) + +Clavers and his Highlandmen +Came down upo' the raw, man, +Who being stout, gave mony a clout; +The lads began to claw then. +With sword and terge into their hand, +Wi which they were nae slaw, man, +Wi mony a fearful heavy sigh, +The lads began to claw then. + +O'er bush, o'er bank, o'er ditch, o'er stark, +She flang amang them a', man; +The butter-box got many knocks, +Their riggings paid for a' then. +They got their paiks, wi sudden straiks, +Which to their grief they saw, man: +Wi clinkum, clankum o'er their crowns, +The lads began to fa' then. + +Hur skipt about, hur leapt about, +And flang amang them a', man; +The English blades got broken beads, +Their crowns were cleav'd in twa then. +The durk and door made their last hour, +And prov'd their final fa', man; +They thought the devil had been there, +That play'd them sic a paw then. + +The Solemn League and Covenant +Came whigging up the hills, man; +Thought Highland trews durst not refuse +For to subscribe their bills then. +In Willie's name, they thought nag ane +Durst stop their course at a', man, +But hur-nane-sell, wi mony a knock, +Cry'd, "Furich--Whigs awa'," man. + +Sir Evan Du, and his men true, +Came linking up the brink, man; +The Hogan Dutch they feared such, +They bred a horrid stink then. +The true Maclean and his fierce men +Came in amang them a', man; +Nane durst withstand his heavy hand. +All fled and ran awa' then. + +Oh' on a ri, Oh' on a ri, +Why should she lose King Shames, man? +Oh' rig in di, Oh' rig in di, +She shall break a' her banes then; +With furichinish, an' stay a while, +And speak a word or twa, man, +She's gi' a straike, out o'er the neck, +Before ye win awa' then. + +Oh fy for shame, ye're three for ane, +Hur-nane-sell's won the day, man; +King Shames' red-coats should be hung up, +Because they ran awa' then. +Had bent their brows, like Highland trows, +And made as lang a stay, man, +They'd sav'd their king, that sacred thing, +And Willie'd ran awa' then. + + + +Ballad: Annan Water + + + +(Child, vol. ii. Early Edition.) + +"Annan water's wading deep, +And my love Annie's wondrous bonny; +And I am laith she suld weet her feet, +Because I love her best of ony. + +"Gar saddle me the bonny black,-- +Gar saddle sune, and make him ready: +For I will down the Gatehope-Slack, +And all to see my bonny ladye."-- + +He has loupen on the bonny black, +He stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairly; +But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack, +I think the steed was wae and weary. + +He has loupen on the bonny gray, +He rade the right gate and the ready; +I trow he would neither stint nor stay, +For he was seeking his bonny ladye. + +O he has ridden o'er field and fell, +Through muir and moss, and mony a mire; +His spurs o' steel were sair to bide, +And fra her fore-feet flew the fire. + +"Now, bonny grey, now play your part! +Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary, +Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye, +And never spur sall make you wearie." + +The gray was a mare, and a right good mare; +But when she wan the Annan water, +She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair, +Had a thousand merks been wadded at her. + +"O boatman, boatman, put off your boat! +Put off your boat for gowden monie! +I cross the drumly stream the night, +Or never mair I see my honey."-- + +"O I was sworn sae late yestreen, +And not by ae aith, but by many; +And for a' the gowd in fair Scotland, +I dare na take ye through to Annie." + +The side was stey, and the bottom deep, +Frae bank to brae the water pouring; +And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear, +For she heard the water-kelpy roaring. + +O he has pou'd aff his dapperpy coat, +The silver buttons glanced bonny; +The waistcoat bursted aff his breast, +He was sae full of melancholy. + +He has ta'en the ford at that stream tail; +I wot he swam both strong and steady; +But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail, +And he never saw his bonny ladye. + +"O wae betide the frush saugh wand! +And wae betide the bush of brier! +It brake into my true love's hand, +When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire. + +"And wae betide ye, Annan water, +This night that ye are a drumlie river! +For over thee I'll build a bridge, +That ye never more true love may sever."-- + + + +Ballad: The Elphin Nourrice + + + +(C. K. Sharpe.) + +I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low, +An' a cow low down in yon glen; +Lang, lang will my young son greet, +Or his mither bid him come ben. + +I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low, +An' a cow low down in yon fauld; +Lang, lang will my young son greet, +Or is mither take him frae cauld. + +Waken, Queen of Elfan, +An hear your Nourrice moan. +O moan ye for your meat, +Or moan ye for your fee, +Or moan ye for the ither bounties +That ladies are wont to gie? + +I moan na for my meat, +Nor yet for my fee, +But I mourn for Christened land-- +It's there I fain would be. + +O nurse my bairn, Nourice, she says, +Till he stan' at your knee, +An' ye's win hame to Christen land, +Whar fain it's ye wad be. + +O keep my bairn, Nourice, +Till he gang by the hauld, +An' ye's win hame to your young son, +Ye left in four nights auld. + + + +Ballad: Cospatrick + + + +(Mackay.) + +Cospatrick has sent o'er the faem; +Cospatrick brought his ladye hame; +And fourscore ships have come her wi', +The ladye by the green-wood tree. + +There were twal' and twal' wi' baken bread, +And twal' and twal' wi' gowd sae red, +And twal' and twal' wi' bouted flour, +And twal' and twal' wi' the paramour. + +Sweet Willy was a widow's son, +And at her stirrup he did run; +And she was clad in the finest pall, +But aye she loot the tears down fall. + +"O is your saddle set awrye? +Or rides your steed for you owre high? +Or are you mourning, in your tide, +That you suld be Cospatrick's bride?" + +"I am not mourning, at this tide, +That I suld he Cospatrick's bride; +But I am sorrowing in my mood, +That I suld leave my mother good." + +"But, gentle boy, come tell to me, +What is the custom of thy countrie?" +"The custom thereof, my dame," he says, +"Will ill a gentle ladye please. + +"Seven king's daughters has our lord wedded, +And seven king's daughters has our lord bedded; +But he's cutted their breasts frae their breast-bane, +And sent them mourning hame again. + +"Yet, gin you're sure that you're a maid, +Ye may gae safely to his bed; +But gif o' that ye be na sure, +Then hire some damsel o' your bour." + +The ladye's called her bour-maiden, +That waiting was unto her train. +"Five thousand marks I'll gie to thee, +To sleep this night with my lord for me." + +When bells were rung, and mass was sayne, +And a' men unto bed were gane, +Cospatrick and the bonny maid, +Into ae chamber they were laid. + +"Now speak to me, blankets, and speak to me, bed, +And speak, thou sheet, enchanted web; +And speak, my sword, that winna lie, +Is this a true maiden that lies by me?" + +"It is not a maid that you hae wedded, +But it is a maid that you hae bedded; +It is a leal maiden that lies by thee, +But not the maiden that it should be." + +O wrathfully he left the bed, +And wrathfully his claes on did; +And he has ta'en him through the ha', +And on his mother he did ca'. + +"I am the most unhappy man, +That ever was in Christen land? +I courted a maiden, meik and mild, +And I hae gotten naething but a woman wi' child." + +"O stay, my son, into this ha', +And sport ye wi' your merry men a'; +And I will to the secret bour, +To see how it fares wi' your paramour." + +The carline she was stark and stare, +She aff the hinges dang the dure. +"O is your bairn to laird or loun, +Or is it to your father's groom?" + +"O hear me, mother, on my knee, +Till my sad story I tell to thee: +O we were sisters, sisters seven, +We were the fairest under heaven. + +"It fell on a summer's afternoon, +When a' our toilsome work was done, +We coost the kevils us amang, +To see which suld to the green-wood gang. + +"Ohon! alas, for I was youngest, +And aye my weird it was the strongest! +The kevil it on me did fa', +Whilk was the cause of a' my woe. + +"For to the green-wood I maun gae, +To pu' the red rose and the slae; +To pu' the red rose and the thyme, +To deck my mother's bour and mine. + +"I hadna pu'd a flower but ane, +When by there came a gallant hinde, +Wi' high colled hose and laigh colled shoon, +And he seemed to be some king's son. + +"And be I maid, or be I nae, +He kept me there till the close o' day; +And be I maid, or be I nane, +He kept me there till the day was done. + +"He gae me a lock o' his yellow hair, +And bade me keep it ever mair; +He gae me a carknet o' bonny beads, +And bade me keep it against my needs. + +"He gae to me a gay gold ring, +And bade me keep it abune a' thing." +"What did ye wi' the tokens rare, +That ye gat frae that gallant there?" + +"O bring that coffer unto me, +And a' the tokens ye sall see." +"Now stay, daughter, your bour within, +While I gae parley wi' my son." + +O she has ta'en her thro' the ha', +And on her son began to ca': +"What did ye wi' the bonny beads, +I bade ye keep against your needs? + +"What did you wi' the gay gold ring, +I bade you keep abune a' thing?" +"I gae them to a ladye gay, +I met in green-wood on a day. + +"But I wad gie a' my halls and tours, +I had that ladye within my bours, +But I wad gie my very life, +I had that ladye to my wife." + +"Now keep, my son, your ha's and tours; +Ye have that bright burd in your bours; +And keep, my son, your very life; +Ye have that ladye to your wife." + +Now, or a month was come and gane, +The ladye bore a bonny son; +And 'twas written on his breast-bane, +"Cospatrick is my father's name." + + + +Ballad: Johnnie Armstrang + + + +Some speak of lords, some speak of lairds, +And sic like men of high degree; +Of a gentleman I sing a sang, +Some time call'd Laird of Gilnockie. + +The king he writes a loving letter, +With his ain hand sae tenderlie, +And he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrang, +To come and speak with him speedilie. + +The Elliots and Armstrangs did convene, +They were a gallant companie: +"We'll ride and meet our lawful king, +And bring him safe to Gilnockie. + +"Make kinnen {3} and capon ready, then, +And venison in great plentie; +We'll welcome here our royal king; +I hope he'll dine at Gilnockie!" + +They ran their horse on the Langholm howm, +And brake their spears with meikle main; +The ladies lookit frae their loft windows-- +"God bring our men weel hame again!" + +When Johnnie came before the king, +With all his men sae brave to see, +The king he moved his bonnet to him; +He ween'd he was a king as well as he. + +"May I find grace, my sovereign liege, +Grace for my loyal men and me? +For my name it is Johnnie Armstrang, +And a subject of yours, my liege," said he. + +"Away, away, thou traitor strang! +Out of my sight soon may'st thou be! +I granted never a traitor's life, +And now I'll not begin with thee." + +"Grant me my life, my liege, my king! +And a bonnie gift I'll gi'e to thee; +Full four-and-twenty milk-white steeds, +Were all foal'd in ae year to me. + +"I'll gi'e thee all these milk-white steeds, +That prance and nicher {4} at a spear; +And as meikle gude Inglish gilt, {5} +As four of their braid backs dow {6} bear." + +"Away, away, thou traitor strang! +Out of my sight soon may'st thou be! +I granted never a traitor's life, +And now I'll not begin with thee." + +"Grant me my life, my liege, my king! +And a bonnie gift I'll gi'e to thee: +Gude four-and-twenty ganging {7} mills, +That gang thro' all the year to me. + +"These four-and-twenty mills complete, +Shall gang for thee thro' all the year; +And as meikle of gude red wheat, +As all their happers dow to bear." + +"Away, away, thou traitor strang! +Out of my sight soon may'st thou be! +I granted never a traitor's life, +And now I'll not begin with thee." + +"Grant me my life, my liege, my king! +And a great gift I'll gi'e to thee: +Bauld four-and-twenty sisters' sons +Shall for thee fecht, tho' all shou'd flee." + +"Away, away, thou traitor strang! +Out of my sight soon may'st thou be! +I granted never a traitor's life, +And now I'll not begin with thee." + +"Grant me my life, my liege, my king! +And a brave gift I'll gi'e to thee: +All between here and Newcastle town +Shall pay their yearly rent to thee." + +"Away, away, thou traitor strang! +Out of my sight soon may'st thou be! +I granted never a traitor's life, +And now I'll not begin with thee." + +"Ye lied, ye lied, now, king," he says, +"Altho' a king and prince ye be! +For I've loved naething in my life, +I weel dare say it, but honestie. + +"Save a fat horse, and a fair woman, +Twa bonnie dogs to kill a deer; +But England shou'd have found me meal and mault, +Gif I had lived this hundred year. + +"She shou'd have found me meal and mault, +And beef and mutton in all plentie; +But never a Scots wife cou'd have said, +That e'er I skaith'd her a puir flee. + +"To seek het water beneath cauld ice, +Surely it is a great follie: +I have ask'd grace at a graceless face, +But there is nane for my men and me. + +"But had I kenn'd, ere I came frae hame, +How unkind thou wou'dst been to me, +I wou'd ha'e keepit the Border side, +In spite of all thy force and thee. + +"Wist England's king that I was ta'en, +Oh, gin a blythe man he wou'd be! +For ance I slew his sister's son, +And on his breast-bane brak a tree." + +John wore a girdle about his middle, +Embroider'd o'er with burning gold, +Bespangled with the same metal, +Maist beautiful was to behold. + +There hang nine targats {8} at Johnnie's hat, +An ilk ane worth three hundred pound: +"What wants that knave that a king shou'd have, +But the sword of honour and the crown? + +"Oh, where got thee these targats, Johnnie. +That blink sae brawly {9} aboon thy brie?" +"I gat them in the field fechting, {10} +Where, cruel king, thou durst not be. + +"Had I my horse and harness gude, +And riding as I wont to be, +It shou'd have been tauld this hundred year, +The meeting of my king and me! + +"God be with thee, Kirsty, {11} my brother, +Lang live thou laird of Mangertoun! +Lang may'st thou live on the Border side, +Ere thou see thy brother ride up and down! + +"And God he with thee, Kirsty, my son, +Where thou sits on thy nurse's knee! +But an thou live this hundred year, +Thy father's better thou'lt never be. + +"Farewell, my bonnie Gilnock hall, +Where on Esk side thou standest stout! +Gif I had lived but seven years mair, +I wou'd ha'e gilt thee round about." + +John murder'd was at Carlinrigg, +And all his gallant companie; +But Scotland's heart was ne'er sae wae, +To see sae mony brave men die; + +Because they saved their country dear +Frae Englishmen! Nane were sae bauld +While Johnnie lived on the Border side, +Nane of them durst come near his hauld. + + + +Ballad: Edom O' Gordon + + + +It fell about the Martinmas, +When the wind blew shrill and cauld, +Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,-- +"We maun draw to a hald. {12} + +"And whatna hald shall we draw to, +My merry men and me? +We will gae straight to Towie house, +To see that fair ladye." + +[The ladye stood on her castle wall, +Beheld baith dale and down; +There she was 'ware of a host of men +Came riding towards the town. + +"Oh, see ye not, my merry men all, +Oh, see ye not what I see? +Methinks I see a host of men; +I marvel who they be." + +She thought it had been her own wed lord. +As he came riding hame; +It was the traitor, Edom o' Gordon, +Wha reck'd nae sin nor shame.] + +She had nae sooner buskit hersel', +And putten on her gown, +Till Edom o' Gordon and his men +Were round about the town. + +They had nae sooner supper set, +Nae sooner said the grace, +Till Edom o' Gordon and his men +Were round about the place. + +The ladye ran to her tower head, +As fast as she cou'd hie, +To see if, by her fair speeches, +She cou'd with him agree. + +As soon as he saw this ladye fair. +And her yetts all lockit fast, +He fell into a rage of wrath, +And his heart was all aghast. + +"Come down to me, ye ladye gay, +Come down, come down to me; +This night ye shall lye within my arms, +The morn my bride shall be." + +"I winna come down, ye false Gordon, +I winna come down to thee; +I winna forsake my ain dear lord, +That is sae far frae me." + +"Gi'e up your house, ye ladye fair, +Gi'e up your house to me; +Or I shall burn yoursel' therein, +Bot and your babies three." + +"I winna gi'e up, ye false Gordon, +To nae sic traitor as thee; +Tho' you shou'd burn mysel' therein, +Bot and my babies three. + +["But fetch to me my pistolette, +And charge to me my gun; +For, but if I pierce that bluidy butcher, +My babes we will be undone." + +She stiffly stood on her castle wall, +And let the bullets flee; +She miss'd that bluidy butcher's heart, +Tho' she slew other three.] + +"Set fire to the house!" quo' the false Gordon, +"Since better may nae be; +And I will burn hersel' therein, +Bot and her babies three." + +"Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man, +I paid ye weel your fee; +Why pull ye out the grund-wa'-stance, +Lets in the reek {13} to me? + +"And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man, +I paid ye weel your hire; +Why pull ye out my grund-wa'-stane, +To me lets in the fire?" + +"Ye paid me weel my hire, ladye, +Ye paid me weel my fee; +But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man, +Maun either do or dee." + +Oh, then out spake her youngest son, +Sat on the nurse's knee: +Says--"Mither dear, gi'e o'er this house, +For the reek it smothers me." + +["I wou'd gi'e all my gold, my bairn, +Sae wou'd I all my fee, +For ae blast of the westlin' wind, +To blaw the reek frae thee.] + +"But I winna gi'e up my house, my dear, +To nae sic traitor as he; +Come weal, come woe, my jewels fair, +Ye maun take share with me." + +Oh, then out spake her daughter dear, +She was baith jimp and small: +"Oh, row me in a pair of sheets, +And tow me o'er the wall." + +They row'd her in a pair of sheets, +And tow'd her o'er the wall; +But on the point of Gordon's spear +She got a deadly fall. + +Oh, bonnie, bonnie was her mouth, +And cherry were her cheeks; +And clear, clear was her yellow hair, +Whereon the red bluid dreeps. + +Then with his spear he turn'd her o'er, +Oh, gin her face was wan! +He said--"You are the first that e'er +I wish'd alive again." + +He turn'd her o'er and o'er again, +Oh, gin her skin was white! +"I might ha'e spared that bonnie face +To ha'e been some man's delight. + +"Busk and boun, my merry men all, +For ill dooms I do guess; +I canna look on that bonnie face, +As it lyes on the grass!" + +"Wha looks to freits, {14} my master dear, +Their freits will follow them; +Let it ne'er be said brave Edom o' Gordon +Was daunted with a dame." + +[But when the ladye saw the fire +Come flaming o'er her head, +She wept, and kissed her children twain; +Said--"Bairns, we been but dead." + +The Gordon then his bugle blew, +And said--"Away, away! +The house of Towie is all in a flame, +I hald it time to gae."] + +Oh, then he spied her ain dear lord, +As he came o'er the lea; +He saw his castle all in a flame, +As far as he could see. + +Then sair, oh sair his mind misgave, +And oh, his heart was wae! +"Put on, put on, my wighty {15} men, +As fast as ye can gae. + +"Put on, put on, my wighty men, +As fast as ye can drie; +For he that is hindmost of the thrang +Shall ne'er get gude of me!" + +Then some they rade, and some they ran, +Full fast out o'er the bent; +But ere the foremost could win up, +Baith ladye and babes were brent. + +[He wrang his hands, he rent his hair, +And wept in tearful mood; +"Ah, traitors! for this cruel deed, +Ye shall weep tears of bluid." + +And after the Gordon he has gane, +Sae fast as he might drie; +And soon in the Gordon's foul heart's bluid +He's wroken {16} his dear layde.] + +And mony were the mudie {17} men +Lay gasping on the green; +And mony were the fair ladyes +Lay lemanless at hame. + +And mony were the mudie men +Lay gasping on the green; +For of fifty men the Gordon brocht, +There were but five gaed hame. + +And round, and round the walls he went, +Their ashes for to view; +At last into the flames he flew, +And bade the world adieu. + + + +Ballad: Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament + + + +(Child, vol. iv. Early Edition.) + +Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep, +It grieves me sore to hear thee weep, +If thou'lt be silent, I'll be glad, +Thy mourning makes my heart full sad. +Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy, +Thy father bred one great annoy. +Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep, +It grieves me sore to hear thee weep. + +Balow, my darling, sleep a while, +And when thou wak'st then sweetly smile; +But smile not as thy father did, +To cozen maids, nay, God forbid; +For in thine eye his look I see, +The tempting look that ruin'd me. +Balow, my boy, etc. + +When he began to court my love, +And with his sugar'd words to move, +His tempting face, and flatt'ring chear, +In time to me did not appear; +But now I see that cruel he +Cares neither for his babe nor me. +Balow, my boy, etc. + +Fareweel, fareaeel, thou falsest youth +That ever kist a woman's mouth. +Let never any after me +Submit unto thy courtesy! +For, if hey do, O! cruel thou +Wilt her abuse and care not how! +Balow, my boy, etc. + +I was too cred'lous at the first, +To yield thee all a maiden durst. +Thou swore for ever true to prove, +Thy faith unchang'd, unchang'd thy love; +But quick as thought the change is wrought, +Thy love's no mair, thy promise nought. +Balow, my boy, etc. + +I wish I were a maid again! +From young men's flatt'ry I'd refrain; +For now unto my grief I find +They all are perjur'd and unkind; +Bewitching charms bred all my harms;-- +Witness my babe lies in my arms. +Balow, my boy, etc. + +I take my fate from bad to worse, +That I must needs be now a nurse, +And lull my young son on my lap: +From me, sweet orphan, take the pap. +Balow, my child, thy mother mild +Shall wail as from all bliss exil'd. +Balow, my boy, etc. + +Balow, my boy, weep not for me, +Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee. +Nor pity her deserved smart, +Who can blame none but her fond heart; +For, too soon tursting latest finds +With fairest tongues are falsest minds. +Balow, my boy, etc. + +Balow, my boy, thy father's fled, +When he the thriftless son has played; +Of vows and oaths forgetful, he +Preferr'd the wars to thee and me. +But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine +Make him eat acorns with the swine. +Balow, my boy, etc. + +But curse not him; perhaps now he, +Stung with remorse, is blessing thee: +Perhaps at death; for who can tell +Whether the judge of heaven or hell, +By some proud foe has struck the blow, +And laid the dear deceiver low? +Balow, my boy, etc. + +I wish I were into the bounds +Where he lies smother'd in his wounds, +Repeating, as he pants for air, +My name, whom once he call'd his fair; +No woman's yet so fiercely set +But she'll forgive, though not forget. +Balow, my boy, etc. + +If linen lacks, for my love's sake +Then quickly to him would I make +My smock, once for his body meet, +And wrap him in that winding-sheet. +Ah me! how happy had I been, +If he had ne'er been wrapt therein. +Balow, my boy, etc. + +Balow, my boy, I'll weep for thee; +Too soon, alake, thou'lt weep for me: +Thy griefs are growing to a sum, +God grant thee patience when they come; +Born to sustain thy mother's shame, +A hapless fate, a bastard's name. +Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep, +It grieves me sore to hear thee weep. + + + +Ballad: Jock O The Side + + + +(Child, Part VI., p. 479.) + +Now Liddisdale has ridden a raid, +But I wat they had better staid at hame; +For Mitchell o Winfield he is dead, +And my son Johnie is prisner tane? +With my fa ding diddle, la la dew diddle. + +For Mangerton house auld Downie is gane, +Her coats she has kilted up to her knee; +And down the water wi speed she rins, +While tears in spaits fa fast frae her eie. + +Then up and bespake the lord Mangerton: +"What news, what news, sister Downie, to me?" +"Bad news, bad news, my lord Mangerton; +Mitchel is killd, and tane they hae my son Johnie." + +"Neer fear, sister Downie," quo Mangerton; +"I hae yokes of oxen, four-and-twentie, +My barns, my byres, and my faulds, a' weel filld, +And I'll part wi them a' ere Johnie shall die. + +"Three men I'll take to set him free, +Weel harnessd a' wi best of steel; +The English rogues may hear, and drie +The weight o their braid swords to feel + +"The Laird's Jock ane, the Laird's Wat twa, +O Hobie Noble, thou ane maun be! +Thy coat is blue, thou has been true, +Since England banishd thee, to me." + +Now, Hobie was an English man, +In Bewcastle-dale was bred and born; +But his misdeeds they were sae great, +They banished him neer to return. + +Lord Mangerton then orders gave,-- +"Your horses the wrang way maun a' be shod; +Like gentlemen ye must not seem, +But look like corn-caugers gawn ae road. + +"Your armour gude ye maunna shaw, +Nor ance appear like men o weir; +As country lads be all arrayd, +Wi branks and brecham on ilk mare." + +Sae now a' their horses are shod the wrang way, +And Hobie has mounted his grey sae fine, +Jock his lively bay, Wat's on his white horse behind, +And on they rode for the water o Tyne. + +At the Cholerford they a' light down, +And there, wi the help o the light o the moon, +A tree they cut, wi fifteen naggs upon each side, +To climb up the wall of Newcastle toun. + +But when they came to Newcastle toun, +And were alighted at the wa, +They fand their tree three ells oer laigh, +They fand their stick baith short aid sma. + +Then up and spake the Laird's ain Jock, +"There's naething for't; the gates we maun force." +But when they cam the gate unto, +A proud porter withstood baith men and horse. + +His neck in twa I wat they hae wrung; +Wi foot or hand he neer play'd paw; +His life and his keys at anes they hae taen, +And cast his body ahind the wa. + +Now soon they reached Newcastle jail, +And to the prisner thus they call: +"Sleips thou, wakes thou, Jock o the Side, +Or is thou wearied o thy thrall?" + +Jock answers thus, wi dolefu tone: +"Aft, aft I wake, I seldom sleip; +But wha's this kens my name sae weel, +And thus to hear my waes does seek?" + +Then up and spake the good Laird's Jock: +"Neer fear ye now, my billie," quo he; +"For here's the Laird's Jock, the Laird's Wat, +And Hobie Noble, come to set thee free." + +"Oh, had thy tongue, and speak nae mair, +And o thy talk now let me be! +For if a' Liddesdale were here the night, +The morn's the day that I maun die. + +"Full fifteen stane o Spanish iron, +They hae laid a' right sair on me; +Wi locks and keys I am fast bound +Into this dungeon mirk and drearie." + +"Fear ye no that," quo the Laird's Jock; +"A faint heart neer wan a fair ladie; +Work thou within, we'll work without, +And I'll be sworn we set thee free." + +The first strong dore that they came at, +They loosed it without a key; +The next chaind dore that they cam at, +They gard it a' in flinders flee. + +The prisner now, upo his back, +The Laird's Jock's gotten up fu hie; +And down the stair him, irons and a', +Wi nae sma speed and joy brings he. + +"Now, Jock, I wat," quo Hobie Noble, +"Part o the weight ye may lay on me," +"I wat weel no," quo the Laird's Jock +"I count him lighter than a flee." + +Sae out at the gates they a' are gane, +The prisner's set on horseback hie; +And now wi speed they've tane the gate; +While ilk ane jokes fu wantonlie. + +"O Jock, sae winsomely's ye ride, +Wi baith your feet upo ae side! +Sae weel's ye're harnessd, and sae trig! +In troth ye sit like ony bride." + +The night, tho wat, they didna mind, +But hied them on fu mirrilie, +Until they cam to Cholerford brae, +Where the water ran like mountains hie. + +But when they came to Cholerford, +There they met with an auld man; +Says, "Honest man, will the water ride? +Tell us in haste, if that ye can." + +"I wat weel no," quo the good auld man; +"Here I hae livd this threty yeirs and three, +And I neer yet saw the Tyne sae big, +Nor rinning ance sae like a sea." + +Then up and spake the Laird's saft Wat, +The greatest coward in the company; +"Now halt, now halt, we needna try't; +The day is comd we a' maun die!" + +"Poor faint-hearted thief!" quo the Laird's Jock, +"There'll nae man die but he that's fie; +I'll lead ye a' right safely through; +Lift ye the prisner on ahint me. + +Sae now the water they a' hae tane, +By anes and 'twas they a' swam through +"Here are we a' safe," says the Laird's Jock, +"And, poor faint Wat, what think ye now?" + +They scarce the ither side had won, +When twenty men they saw pursue; +Frae Newcastle town they had been sent, +A' English lads right good and true. + +But when the land-sergeant the water saw, +"It winna ride, my lads," quo he; +Then out he cries, "Ye the prisner may take, +But leave the irons, I pray, to me." + +"I wat weel no," cryd the Laird's Jock, +"I'll keep them a'; shoon to my mare they'll be; +My good grey mare; for I am sure, +She's bought them a' fu dear frae thee." + +Sae now they're away for Liddisdale, +Een as fast as they coud them hie; +The prisner's brought to his ain fireside, +And there o's airns they make him free. + +"Now, Jock, my billie," quo a' the three, +"The day was comd thou was to die; +But thou's as weel at thy ain fireside, +Now sitting, I think, 'tween thee and me." + +They hae gard fill up ae punch-bowl, +And after it they maun hae anither, +And thus the night they a' hae spent, +Just as they had been brither and brither. + + + +Ballad: Lord Thomas And Fair Annet + + + +(Child, Part III., p. 182.) + +Lord Thomas and Fair Annet +Sate a' day on a hill; +Whan night was cum, and sun was sett, +They had not talkt their fill. + +Lord Thomas said a word in jest, +Fair Annet took it ill: +"A, I will nevir wed a wife +Against my ain friend's will." + +"Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife, +A wife wull neir wed yee;" +Sae he is hame to tell his mither, +And knelt upon his knee. + +"O rede, O rede, mither," he says, +"A gude rede gie to mee; +O sall I tak the nut-browne bride, +And let Faire Annet bee?" + +"The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear, +Fair Annet she has gat nane; +And the little beauty Fair Annet haes +O it wull soon be gane." + +And he has till his brother gane: +"Now, brother, rede ye mee; +A, sall I marrie the nut-browne bride, +And let Fair Annet bee?" + +"The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, +The nut-browne bride has kye; +I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride, +And cast Fair Annet bye." + +"Her oxen may dye i' the house, billie, +And her kye into the byre; +And I sall hae nothing to mysell +Bot a fat fadge by the fyre." + +And he has till his sister gane: +"Now, sister, rede ye mee; +O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride, +And set Fair Annet free?" + +"I'se rede ye tak Fair Annet, Thomas, +And let the browne bride alane; +Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace, +What is this we brought hame!" + +"No, I will tak my mither's counsel, +And marrie me owt o hand; +And I will tak the nut-browne bride, +Fair Annet may leive the land." + +Up then rose Fair Annet's father, +Twa hours or it wer day, +And he is gane unto the bower +Wherein Fair Annet lay. + +"Rise up, rise up, Fair Annet," he says +"Put on your silken sheene; +Let us gae to St. Marie's Kirke, +And see that rich weddeen." + +"My maides, gae to my dressing-roome, +And dress to me my hair; +Whaireir yee laid a plait before, +See yee lay ten times mair. + +"My maids, gae to my dressing-room, +And dress to me my smock; +The one half is o the holland fine, +The other o needle-work." + +The horse Fair Annet rade upon, +He amblit like the wind; +Wi siller he was shod before, +Wi burning gowd behind. + +Four and twanty siller bells +Wer a' tyed till his mane, +And yae tift o the norland wind, +They tinkled ane by ane. + +Four and twanty gay gude knichts +Rade by Fair Annet's side, +And four and twanty fair ladies, +As gin she had bin a bride. + +And whan she cam to Marie's Kirk, +She sat on Marie's stean: +The cleading that Fair Annet had on +It skinkled in their een. + +And whan she cam into the kirk, +She shimmerd like the sun; +The belt that was about her waist +Was a' wi pearles bedone. + +She sat her by the nut-browne bride, +And her een they wer sae clear, +Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride, +When Fair Annet drew near. + +He had a rose into his hand, +He gae it kisses three, +And reaching by the nut-browne bride, +Laid it on Fair Annet's knee. + +Up then spak the nut-browne bride, +She spak wi meikle spite: +"And whair gat ye that rose-water, +That does mak yee sae white?" + +"O I did get the rose-water +Whair ye wull neir get nane, +For I did get that very rose-water +Into my mither's wame." + +The bride she drew a long bodkin +Frae out her gay head-gear, +And strake Fair Annet unto the heart, +That word spak nevir mair. + +Lord Thomas he saw Fair Annet wex pale, +And marvelit what mote bee; +But when he saw her dear heart's blude, +A' wood-wroth wexed bee. + +He drew his dagger that was sae sharp, +That was sae sharp and meet, +And drave it into the nut-browne bride, +That fell deid at his feit. + +"Now stay for me, dear Annet," he sed, +"Now stay, my dear," he cry'd; +Then strake the dagger untill his heart, +And fell deid by her side. + +Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa, +Fair Annet within the quiere, +And o the ane thair grew a birk, +The other a bonny briere. + +And ay they grew, and ay they threw, +As they wad faine be neare; +And by this ye may ken right weil +They were twa luvers deare. + + + +Ballad: Fair Annie + + + +(Child, Part III., p. 69.) + +"It's narrow, narrow, make your bed, +And learn to lie your lane: +For I'm ga'n oer the sea, Fair Annie, +A braw bride to bring hame. +Wi her I will get gowd and gear; +Wi you I neer got nane. + +"But wha will bake my bridal bread, +Or brew my bridal ale? +And wha will welcome my brisk bride, +That I bring oer the dale?" + +"It's I will bake your bridal bread, +And brew your bridal ale, +And I will welcome your brisk bride, +That you bring oer the dale." + +"But she that welcomes my brisk bride +Maun gang like maiden fair; +She maun lace on her robe sae jimp, +And braid her yellow hair." + +"But how can I gang maiden-like, +When maiden I am nane? +Have I not born seven sons to thee, +And am with child again?" + +She's taen her young son in her arms, +Another in her hand, +And she's up to the highest tower, +To see him come to land. + +"Come up, come up, my eldest son, +And look oer yon sea-strand, +And see your father's new-come bride, +Before she come to land." + +"Come down, come down, my mother dear, +Come frae the castle wa! +I fear, if langer ye stand there, +Ye'll let yoursell down fa." + +And she gaed down, and farther down, +Her love's ship for to see, +And the topmast and the mainmast +Shone like the silver free. + +And she's gane down, and farther down, +The bride's ship to behold, +And the topmast and the mainmast +They shone just like the gold. + +She's taen her seven sons in her hand, +I wot she didna fail; +She met Lord Thomas and his bride, +As they came oer the dale. + +"You're welcome to your house, Lord Thomas, +You're welcome to your land; +You're welcome with your fair ladye, +That you lead by the hand. + +"You're welcome to your ha's, ladye, +You're welcome to your bowers; +Your welcome to your hame, ladye, +For a' that's here is yours." + +"I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie, +Sae dearly as I thank thee; +You're the likest to my sister Annie, +That ever I did see. + +"There came a knight out oer the sea, +And steald my sister away; +The shame scoup in his company, +And land where'er he gae!" + +She hang ae napkin at the door, +Another in the ha, +And a' to wipe the trickling tears, +Sae fast as they did fa. + +And aye she served the lang tables +With white bread and with wine, +And aye she drank the wan water, +To had her colour fine. + +And aye she served the lang tables, +With white bread and with brown; +And aye she turned her round about, +Sae fast the tears fell down. + +And he's taen down the silk napkin, +Hung on a silver pin, +And aye he wipes the tear trickling +A'down her cheek and chin. + +And aye he turn'd him round about, +And smiled amang his men; +Says, "Like ye best the old ladye, +Or her that's new come hame?" + +When bells were rung, and mass was sung, +And a' men bound to bed, +Lord Thomas and his new-come bride +To their chamber they were gaed. + +Annie made her bed a little forbye, +To hear what they might say; +"And ever alas!" Fair Annie cried, +"That I should see this day! + +"Gin my seven sons were seven young rats, +Running on the castle wa, +And I were a grey cat mysell, +I soon would worry them a'. + +"Gin my young sons were seven young hares, +Running oer yon lilly lee, +And I were a grew hound mysell, +Soon worried they a' should be." + +And wae and sad Fair Annie sat, +And drearie was her sang, +And ever, as she sobbd and grat, +"Wae to the man that did the wrang!" + +"My gown is on," said the new-come bride, +"My shoes are on my feet, +And I will to Fair Annie's chamber, +And see what gars her greet. + +"What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie, +That ye make sic a moan? +Has your wine-barrels cast the girds, +Or is your white bread gone? + +"O wha was't was your father, Annie, +Or wha was't was your mother? +And had ye ony sister, Annie, +Or had ye ony brother?" + +"The Earl of Wemyss was my father, +The Countess of Wemyss my mother; +And a' the folk about the house +To me were sister and brother." + +"If the Earl of Wemyss was your father, +I wot sae was he mine; +And it shall not be for lack o gowd +That ye your love sall fyne. + +"For I have seven ships o mine ain, +A' loaded to the brim, +And I will gie them a' to thee +Wi four to thine eldest son: +But thanks to a' the powers in heaven +That I gae maiden hame!" + + + +Ballad: The Dowie Dens Of Yarrow + + + +(Child, Part III. Early Edition.) + +Late at e'en, drinking the wine, +And ere they paid the lawing, +They set a combat them between, +To fight it in the dawing. + +"Oh, stay at hame, my noble lord, +Oh, stay at hame, my marrow! +My cruel brother will you betray +On the dowie houms of Yarrow." + +"Oh, fare ye weel, my ladye gaye! +Oh, fare ye weel, my Sarah! +For I maun gae, though I ne'er return, +Frae the dowie banks of Yarrow." + +She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, +As oft she had done before, O; +She belted him with his noble brand, +And he's away to Yarrow. + +As he gaed up the Tennies bank, +I wot he gaed wi' sorrow, +Till, down in a den, he spied nine arm'd men, +On the dowie houms of Yarrow. + +"Oh, come ye here to part your land, +The bonnie Forest thorough? +Or come ye here to wield your brand, +On the dowie houms of Yarrow?" + +"I come not here to part my land, +And neither to beg nor borrow; +I come to wield my noble brand, +On the bonnie banks of Yarrow. + +"If I see all, ye're nine to ane; +An that's an unequal marrow: +Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand, +On the bonnie banks of Yarrow." + +Four has he hurt, and five has slain, +On the bloody braes of Yarrow; +Till that stubborn knight came him behind, +And ran his body thorough. + +"Gae hame, gae hame, good-brother John, +And tell your sister Sarah, +To come and lift her leafu' lord; +He's sleepin' sound on Yarrow." + +"Yestreen I dream'd a dolefu' dream; +I fear there will be sorrow! +I dream'd I pu'd the heather green, +Wi' my true love, on Yarrow. + +"O gentle wind, that bloweth south, +From where my love repaireth, +Convey a kiss from his dear mouth, +And tell me how he fareth! + +"But in the glen strive armed men; +They've wrought me dole and sorrow; +They've slain--the comeliest knight they've slain-- +He bleeding lies on Yarrow." + +As she sped down yon high, high hill, +She gaed wi' dole and sorrow, +And in the den spied ten slain men, +On the dowie banks of Yarrow. + +She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, +She search'd his wounds all thorough, +She kiss'd them, till her lips grew red, +On the dowie houms of Yarrow. + +"Now, haud your tongue, my daughter dear! +For a' this breeds but sorrow; +I'll wed ye to a better lord +Than him ye lost on Yarrow." + +"Oh, haud your tongue, my father dear! +Ye mind me but of sorrow: +A fairer rose did never bloom +Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow." + + + +Ballad: Sir Roland + + + +(Child, vol. i. Early Edition.) + +Whan he cam to his ain luve's bouir +He tirled at the pin, +And sae ready was his fair fause luve +To rise and let him in. + +"O welcome, welcome, Sir Roland," she says, +"Thrice welcome thou art to me; +For this night thou wilt feast in my secret bouir, +And to-morrow we'll wedded be." + +"This night is hallow-eve," he said, +"And to-morrow is hallow-day; +And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen, +That has made my heart fu' wae. + +"I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen, +And I wish it may cum to gude: +I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound, +And gied me his lappered blude." + +* * * * * + +"Unbuckle your belt, Sir Roland," she said, +And set you safely down." +O your chamber is very dark, fair maid, +And the night is wondrous lown." + +"Yes, dark, dark is my secret bouir, +And lown the midnight may be; +For there is none waking in a' this tower +But thou, my true love, and me." + +* * * * * + +She has mounted on her true love's steed, +By the ae light o' the moon; +She has whipped him and spurred him, +And roundly she rade frae the toun. + +She hadna ridden a mile o' gate, +Never a mile but ane, +When she was aware of a tall young man, +Slow riding o'er the plain, + +She turned her to the right about, +Then to the left turn'd she; +But aye, 'tween her and the wan moonlight, +That tall knight did she see. + +And he was riding burd alane, +On a horse as black as jet, +But tho' she followed him fast and fell, +No nearer could she get. + +"O stop! O stop! young man," she said; +"For I in dule am dight; +O stop, and win a fair lady's luve, +If you be a leal true knight." + +But nothing did the tall knight say, +And nothing did he blin; +Still slowly ride he on before +And fast she rade behind. + +She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed, +Till his breast was all a foam; +But nearer unto that tall young knight, +By Our Ladye she could not come. + +"O if you be a gay young knight, +As well I trow you be, +Pull tight your bridle reins, and stay +Till I come up to thee." + +But nothing did that tall knight say, +And no whit did he blin, +Until he reached a broad river's side +And there he drew his rein. + +"O is this water deep?" he said, +"As it is wondrous dun? +Or is it sic as a saikless maid, +And a leal true knight may swim?" + +"The water it is deep," she said, +"As it is wondrous dun; +But it is sic as a saikless maid, +And a leal true knight may swim." + +The knight spurred on his tall black steed; +The lady spurred on her brown; +And fast they rade unto the flood, +And fast they baith swam down. + +"The water weets my tae," she said; +"The water weets my knee, +And hold up my bridle reins, sir knight, +For the sake of Our Ladye." + +"If I would help thee now," he said, +"It were a deadly sin, +For I've sworn neir to trust a fair may's word, +Till the water weets her chin." + +"Oh, the water weets my waist," she said, +"Sae does it weet my skin, +And my aching heart rins round about, +The burn maks sic a din. + +"The water is waxing deeper still, +Sae does it wax mair wide; +And aye the farther that we ride on, +Farther off is the other side. + +"O help me now, thou false, false knight, +Have pity on my youth, +For now the water jawes owre my head, +And it gurgles in my mouth." + +The knight turned right and round about, +All in the middle stream; +And he stretched out his head to that lady, +But loudly she did scream. + +"O this is hallow-morn," he said, +"And it is your bridal-day, +But sad would be that gay wedding, +If bridegroom and bride were away. + +"And ride on, ride on, proud Margaret! +Till the water comes o'er your bree, +For the bride maun ride deep, and deeper yet, +Wha rides this ford wi' me. + +"Turn round, turn round, proud Margaret! +Turn ye round, and look on me, +Thou hast killed a true knight under trust, +And his ghost now links on with thee." + + + +Ballad: Rose The Red And White Lily + + + +(Child, Part IV.) + +O Rose the Red and White Lilly, +Their mother dear was dead, +And their father married an ill woman, +Wishd them twa little guede. + +Yet she had twa as fu fair sons +As eer brake manis bread, +And the tane of them loed her White Lilly, +And the tither lood Rose the Red. + +O, biggit ha they a bigly bowr, +And strawn it oer wi san, +And there was mair mirth i the ladies' bowr +Than in a' their father's lan. + +But out it spake their step-mother, +Wha stood a little foreby: +"I hope to live and play the prank +Sal gar your loud sang ly." + +She's calld upon her eldest son: +"Come here, my son, to me; +It fears me sair, my eldest son, +That ye maun sail the sea." + +"Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear, +Your bidding I maun dee; +But be never war to Rose the Red +Than ye ha been to me." + +"O had your tongue, my eldest son, +For sma sal be her part; +You'll nae get a kiss o her comely mouth +Gin your very fair heart should break." + +She's calld upon her youngest son: +"Come here, my son, to me; +It fears me sair, my youngest son, +That ye maun sail the sea." + +"Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear, +Your bidding I maun dee; +But be never war to White Lilly +Than ye ha been to me." + +"O haud your tongue, my youngest son, +For sma sall be her part; +You'll neer get a kiss o her comely mouth +Tho your very fair heart should break." + +When Rose the Red and White Lilly +Saw their twa loves were gane, +Then stopped ha they their loud, loud sang, +And tane up the still moarnin; +And their step-mother stood listnin by, +To hear the ladies' mean. + +Then out it spake her, White Lily; +"My sister, we'll be gane; +Why shou'd we stay in Barnsdale, +To waste our youth in pain?" + +Then cutted ha they their green cloathing, +A little below their knee; +And sae ha they their yallow hair, +A little aboon there bree; +And they've doen them to haely chapel +Was christened by Our Ladye. + +There ha they changed their ain twa names, +Sae far frae ony town; +And the tane o them hight Sweet Willy, +And the tither o them Roge the Roun. + +Between this twa a vow was made, +An they sware it to fulfil; +That at three blasts o a buglehorn, +She'd come her sister till. + +Now Sweet Willy's gane to the kingis court, +Her true-love for to see, +And Roge the Roun to good green wood, +Brown Robin's man to be. + +As it fell out upon a day, +They a did put the stane; +Full seven foot ayont them a +She gard the puttin-stane gang. + +She leand her back against an oak, +And gae a loud Ohone! +Then out it spake him Brown Robin, +"But that's a woman's moan!" + +"Oh, ken ye by my red rose lip? +Or by my yallow hair; +Or ken ye by my milk-white breast? +For ye never saw it bare?" + +"I ken no by your red rose lip, +Nor by your yallow hair; +Nor ken I by your milk-white breast, +For I never saw it bare; +But, come to your bowr whaever sae likes, +Will find a ladye there." + +"Oh, gin ye come to my bowr within, +Thro fraud, deceit, or guile, +Wi this same bran that's in my han +I swear I will thee kill." + +"But I will come thy bowr within, +An spear nae leave," quoth he; +"An this same bran that's i my ban, +I sall ware back on the." + +About the tenth hour of the night, +The ladie's bowr door was broken, +An eer the first hour of the day +The bonny knave bairn was gotten. + +When days were gane and months were run, +The ladye took travailing, +And sair she cry'd for a bow'r-woman, +For to wait her upon. + +Then out it spake him, Brown Robin: +"Now what needs a' this din? +For what coud any woman do +But I coud do the same?" + +"Twas never my mither's fashion," she says, +"Nor sall it ever be mine, +That belted knights shoud eer remain +Where ladies dreed their pine. + +"But ye take up that bugle-horn, +An blaw a blast for me; +I ha a brother i the kingis court +Will come me quickly ti." + +"O gin ye ha a brither on earth +That ye love better nor me, +Ye blaw the horn yoursel," he says, +"For ae blast I winna gie." + +She's set the horn till her mouth, +And she's blawn three blasts sae shrill; +Sweet Willy heard i the kingis court, +And came her quickly till. + +Then up it started Brown Robin, +An an angry man was he: +"There comes nae man this bowr within +But first must fight wi me." + +O they hae fought that bowr within +Till the sun was gaing down, +Till drops o blude frae Rose the Red +Cam trailing to the groun. + +She leand her back against the wa, +Says, "Robin, let a' be; +For it is a lady born and bred +That's foughten sae well wi thee." + +O seven foot he lap a back; +Says, "Alas, and wae is me! +I never wisht in a' my life, +A woman's blude to see; +An ae for the sake of ae fair maid +Whose name was White Lilly." + +Then out it spake her White Lilly, +An a hearty laugh laugh she: +"She's lived wi you this year an mair, +Tho ye kenntna it was she." + +Now word has gane thro a' the lan, +Before a month was done, +That Brown Robin's man, in good green wood, +Had born a bonny young son. + +The word has gane to the kingis court, +An to the king himsel; +"Now, by my fay," the king could say, +"The like was never heard tell!" + +Then out it spake him Bold Arthur, +An a hearty laugh laugh he: +"I trow some may has playd the loun, +And fled her ain country." + +"Bring me my steed," then cry'd the king, +"My bow and arrows keen; +I'll ride mysel to good green wood, +An see what's to be seen." + +"An't please your grace," said Bold Arthur, +"My liege, I'll gang you wi, +An try to fin a little foot-page, +That's strayd awa frae me." + +O they've hunted i the good green wood +The buck but an the rae, +An they drew near Brown Robin's bowr, +About the close of day. + +Then out it spake the king in hast, +Says, "Arthur look an see +Gin that be no your little foot-page +That leans against yon tree." + +Then Arthur took his bugle-horn, +An blew a blast sae shrill; +Sweet Willy started at the sound, +An ran him quickly till. + +"O wanted ye your meat, Willy? +Or wanted ye your fee? +Or gat ye ever an angry word, +That ye ran awa frae me?" + +"I wanted nought, my master dear; +To me ye ay was good; +I came but to see my ae brother, +That wons in this green wood." + +Then out it spake the king again, +Says, "Bonny boy, tell to me, +Wha lives into yon bigly bowr, +Stands by yon green oak tree?" + +"Oh, pardon me," says Sweet Willie, +"My liege, I dare no tell; +An I pray you go no near that bowr, +For fear they do you fell." + +"Oh, haud your tongue, my bonny boy, +For I winna be said nay; +But I will gang that bowr within, +Betide me weal or wae." + +They've lighted off their milk-white steeds, +An saftly enterd in, +And there they saw her White Lilly, +Nursing her bonny young son. + +"Now, by the rood," the king coud say, +"This is a comely sight; +I trow, instead of a forrester's man, +This is a lady bright!" + +Then out it spake her, Rose the Red, +An fell low down on her knee: +"Oh, pardon us, my gracious liege, +An our story I'll tell thee. + +"Our father was a wealthy lord, +That wond in Barnsdale; +But we had a wicked step-mother, +That wrought us meickle bale. + +"Yet she had twa as fu fair sons +As ever the sun did see, +An the tane of them lood my sister dear, +An the tother said he lood me." + +Then out it spake him Bold Arthur, +As by the king he stood: +"Now, by the faith o my body, +This shoud be Rose the Red!" + +Then in it came him Brown Robin, +Frae hunting O the deer; +But whan he saw the king was there, +He started back for fear. + +The king has taen him by the hand, +An bide him naithing dread; +Says, "Ye maun leave the good greenwood, +Come to the court wi speed." + +Then up he took White Lilly's son, +An set him on his knee; +Says--"Gin ye live to wield a bran, +My bowman ye sall bee." + +The king he sent for robes of green, +An girdles o shinning gold; +He gart the ladies be arrayd +Most comely to behold. + +They've done them unto Mary kirk, +An there gat fair wedding, +An fan the news spread oer the lan, +For joy the bells did ring. + +Then out it spake her Rose the Red, +An a hearty laugh laugh she: +"I wonder what would our step-dame say, +Gin she his sight did see!" + + + +Ballad: The Battle Of Harlaw--Evergreen Version + + + +(Child, vol. vii. Early Edition, Appendix.) + +Frae Dunidier as I cam throuch, +Doun by the hill of Banochie, +Allangst the lands of Garioch. +Grit pitie was to heir and se +The noys and dulesum hermonie, +That evir that dreiry day did daw! +Cryand the corynoch on hie, +Alas! alas! for the Harlaw. + +I marvlit what the matter meant; +All folks were in a fiery fariy: +I wist nocht wha was fae or freind, +Yet quietly I did me carrie. +But sen the days of auld King Hairy, +Sic slauchter was not hard nor sene, +And thair I had nae tyme to tairy, +For bissiness in Aberdene. + +Thus as I walkit on the way, +To Inverury as I went, +I met a man, and bad him stay, +Requeisting him to mak me quaint +Of the beginning and the event +That happenit thair at the Harlaw; +Then he entreited me to tak tent, +And he the truth sould to me schaw. + +Grit Donald of the Ysles did claim +Unto the lands of Ross sum richt, +And to the governour he came, +Them for to haif, gif that he micht, +Wha saw his interest was but slicht, +And thairfore answerit with disdain. +He hastit hame baith day and nicht, +And sent nae bodward back again. + +But Donald richt impatient +Of that answer Duke Robert gaif, +He vow'd to God Omniyotent, +All the hale lands of Ross to half, +Or ells be graithed in his graif: +He wald not quat his richt for nocht, +Nor be abusit like a slaif; +That bargin sould be deirly bocht. + +Then haistylie he did command +That all his weir-men should convene; +Ilk an well harnisit frae hand, +To melt and heir what he did mein. +He waxit wrath and vowit tein; +Sweirand he wald surpryse the North, +Subdew the brugh of Aberdene, +Mearns, Angus, and all Fyfe to Forth. + +Thus with the weir-men of the yles, +Wha war ay at his bidding bown, +With money maid, with forss and wyls, +Richt far and neir, baith up and doun, +Throw mount and muir, frae town to town, +Allangst the lands of Ross he roars, +And all obey'd at his bandown, +Evin frae the North to Suthren shoars. + +Then all the countrie men did yield; +For nae resistans durst they mak, +Nor offer batill in the feild, +Be forss of arms to beir him bak. +Syne they resolvit all and spak, +That best it was for thair behoif, +They sould him for thair chiftain tak, +Believing weil he did them luve. + +Then he a proclamation maid, +All men to meet at Inverness, +Throw Murray land to mak a raid, +Frae Arthursyre unto Spey-ness. +And further mair, he sent express, +To schaw his collours and ensenzie, +To all and sindry, mair and less, +Throchout the bounds of Byne and Enzie. + +And then throw fair Strathbogie land +His purpose was for to pursew, +And whatsoevir durst gainstand, +That race they should full sairly rew. +Then he bad all his men be trew, +And him defend by forss and slicht, +And promist them rewardis anew, +And mak them men of mekle micht. + +Without resistans, as he said, +Throw all these parts he stoutly past, +Where sum war wae, and sum war glaid, +But Garioch was all agast. +Throw all these feilds be sped him fast, +For sic a sicht was never sene; +And then, forsuith, he langd at last +To se the bruch of Aberdene. + +To hinder this prowd enterprise, +The stout and michty Erl of Marr +With all his men in arms did ryse, +Even frae Curgarf to Craigyvar: +And down the syde of Don richt far, +Angus and Mearns did all convene +To fecht, or Donald came sae nar +The ryall bruch of Aberdene. + +And thus the martial Erle of Marr +Marcht with his men in richt array; +Befoir his enemis was aware, +His banner bauldly did display. +For weil enewch they kent the way, +And all their semblance well they saw: +Without all dangir or delay, +Come haistily to the Harlaw. + +With him the braif Lord Ogilvy, +Of Angus sheriff principall, +The constable of gude Dunde, +The vanguard led before them all. +Suppose in number they war small, +Thay first richt bauldlie did pursew, +And maid thair faes befor them fall, +Wha then that race did sairly rew. + +And then the worthy Lord Salton, +The strong undoubted Laird of Drum, +The stalwart Laird of Lawristone, +With ilk thair forces all and sum. +Panmuir with all his men, did cum, +The provost of braif Aberdene, +With trumpets and with tuick of drum, +Came schortly in thair armour schene. + +These with the Earle of Marr came on, +In the reir-ward richt orderlie, +Thair enemies to sett upon; +In awfull manner hardilie, +Togither vowit to live and die, +Since they had marchit mony mylis, +For to suppress the tyrannie +Of douted Donald of the Ysles. + +But he, in number ten to ane, +Right subtile alang did ryde, +With Malcomtosch, and fell Maclean, +With all thair power at thair syde; +Presumeand on their strenth and pryde, +Without all feir or ony aw, +Richt bauldie battil did abyde, +Hard by the town of fair Harlaw. + +The armies met, the trumpet sounds, +The dandring drums alloud did touk, +Baith armies byding on the bounds, +Till ane of them the feild sould bruik. +Nae help was thairfor, nane wald jouk, +Ferss was the fecht on ilka syde, +And on the ground lay mony a bouk +Of them that thair did battil byd. + +With doutsum victorie they dealt, +The bludy battil lastit lang; +Each man fits nibours forss thair felt, +The weakest aft-tymes gat the wrang: +Thair was nae mowis thair them amang, +Naithing was hard but heavy knocks, +That eccho mad a dulefull sang, +Thairto resounding frae the rocks. + +But Donalds men at last gaif back, +For they war all out of array: +The Earl of Marris men throw them brak, +Pursewing shairply in thair way, +Thair enemys to tak or slay, +Be dynt of forss to gar them yield; +Wha war richt blyth to win away, +And sae for feirdness tint the feild. + +Then Donald fled, and that full fast, +To mountains hich for all his micht; +For he and his war all agast, +And ran till they war out of sicht; +And sae of Ross he lost his richt, +Thocht mony men with hem he brocht; +Towards the yles fled day and nicht, +And all he wan was deirlie bocht. + +This is (quod he) the richt report +Of all that I did heir and knaw; +Thocht my discourse be sumthing schort, +Tak this to be a richt suthe saw: +Contrairie God and the kings law, +Thair was spilt mekle Christian blude, +Into the battil of Harlaw: +This is the sum, sae I conclude. + +But yet a bonnie while abide, +And I sall mak thee cleirly ken +What slaughter was on ilkay syde, +Of Lowland and of Highland men, +Wha for thair awin haif evir bene; +These lazie lowns micht weil be spared, +Chased like deers into their dens, +And gat their wages for reward. + +Malcomtosh, of the clan heid-cheif, +Macklean with his grit hauchty heid, +With all thair succour and relief, +War dulefully dung to the deid; +And now we are freid of thair feid, +They will not lang to cum again; +Thousands with them, without remeid, +On Donald's syd, that day war slain. + +And on the uther syde war lost, +Into the feild that dismal day, +Chief men of worth, of mekle cost, +To be lamentit sair for ay. +The Lord Saltoun of Rothemay, +A man of micht and mekle main; +Grit dolour was for his decay, +That sae unhappylie was slain. + +Of the best men amang them was +The gracious gude Lord Ogilvy, +The sheriff-principal of Angus, +Renownit for truth and equitie, +For faith and magnanimitie; +He had few fallows in the field, +Yet fell by fatall destinie, +For he naeways wad grant to yield. + +Sir James Scrimgeor of Duddap, knicht, +Grit constabill of fair Dunde, +Unto the dulefull deith was dicht; +The kingis cheif bannerman was he, +A valiant man of chevalrie, +Whose predecessors wan that place +At Spey, with gude King William frie +'Gainst Murray, and Macduncan's race. + +Gude Sir Allexander Irving, +The much renowit laird of Drum, +Nane in his days was bettir sene +When they war semblit all and sum. +To praise him we sould not be dumm, +For valour, witt, and worthyness; +To end his days he ther did cum +Whose ransom is remeidyless. + +And thair the knicht of Lawriston +Was slain into his armour schene, +And gude Sir Robert Davidson, +Wha provost was of Aberdene: +The knicht of Panmure, as was sene, +A mortall man in armour bricht, +Sir Thomas Murray, stout and kene, +Left to the warld thair last gude nicht. + +Thair was not sen King Keneths days +Sic strange intestine crewel stryf +In Scotland sene, as ilk man says, +Whare mony liklie lost thair lyfe; +Whilk maid divorce twene man and wyfe, +And mony childrene fatherless, +Whilk in this realme has bene full ryfe: +Lord help these lands, our wrangs redress. + +In July, on Saint James his even, +That four and twenty dismall day, +Twelve hundred, ten score and eleven +Of theirs sen Chryst, the suthe to say, +Men will remember, as they may, +When thus the ventie they knaw, +And mony a ane may murn for ay, +The brim battil of the Harlaw. + + + +Ballad: Traditionary Version + + + +(Child, Part VI.) + +As I came in by Dunidier, +An doun by Netherha, +There was fifty thousand Hielanmen +A marching to Harlaw. +(Chorus) Wi a dree dree dradie drumtie dree. + +As I cam on, an farther on, +An doun an by Balquhain, +Oh there I met Sir James the Rose, +Wi him Sir John the Gryme. + +"O cam ye frae the Hielans, man? +And cam ye a' the wey? +Saw ye Macdonell an his men, +As they cam frae the Skee?" + +"Yes, me cam frae ta Hielans, man, +An me cam a ta wey, +An she saw Macdonell an his men, +As they cam frae ta Skee." + +"Oh, was ye near Macdonell's men? +Did ye their numbers see? +Come, tell to me, John Hielanman, +What micht their numbers be?" + +"Yes, me was near, an near eneuch, +An me their numbers saw; +There was fifty thousand Hielanmen +A marching to Harlaw." + +"Gin that be true," says James the Rose, +"We'll no come meikle speed; +We'll cry upo our merry men, +And lichtly mount our steed." + +"Oh no, oh no!" quo' John the Gryme, +"That thing maun never be; +The gallant Grymes were never bate, +We'll try what we can dee." + +As I cam on, an farther on, +An doun an by Harlaw, +They fell fu close on ilka side; +Sic fun ye never saw. + +They fell fu close on ilka side, +Sic fun ye never saw; +For Hielan swords gied clash for clash, +At the battle o Harlaw. + +The Hielanmen, wi their lang swords, +They laid on us fu sair, +An they drave back our merry men +Three acres breadth an mair. + +Brave Forbes to his brither did say, +"Noo brither, dinna ye see? +They beat us back on ilka side, +An we'se be forced to flee." + +"Oh no, oh no, my brither dear, +That thing maun never be; +Tak ye your good sword in your hand, +An come your wa's wi me." + +"Oh no, oh no, my brither dear, +The clans they are ower strang, +An they drive back our merry men, +Wi swords baith sharp an lang." + +Brave Forbes drew his men aside, +Said, "Tak your rest a while, +Until I to Drumminnor send, +To fess my coat o mail." + +The servan he did ride, +An his horse it did na fail, +For in twa hours an a quarter +He brocht the coat o mail. + +Then back to back the brithers twa +Gaed in amo the thrang, +An they hewed doun the Hielanmen, +Wi swords baith sharp an lang. + +Macdonell he was young an stout, +Had on his coat o mail, +And he has gane oot throw them a' +To try his han himsell. + +The first ae straik that Forbes strack, +He garrt Macdonell reel; +An the neist ae straik that Forbes strack, +The great Macdonell fell. + +And siccan a lierachie, +I'm sure ye never sawe +As wis amo the Hielanmen, +When they saw Macdonell fa. + +An whan they saw that he was deid, +They turnd and ran awa, +An they buried him in Legget's Den, +A large mile frae Harlaw. + +They rade, they ran, an some did gang, +They were o sma record; +But Forbes and his merry men, +They slew them a' the road. + +On Monanday, at mornin, +The battle it began, +On Saturday at gloamin', +Ye'd scarce kent wha had wan. + +An sic a weary buryin, +I'm sure ye never saw, +As wis the Sunday after that, +On the muirs aneath Harlaw. + +Gin anybody speer at ye +For them ye took awa, +Ye may tell their wives and bairnies, +They're sleepin at Harlaw. + + + +Ballad: Dickie Macphalion + + + +(Sharpe's Ballad Book, No. XIV.) + +I went to the mill, but the miller was gone, +I sat me down, and cried ochone! +To think on the days that are past and gone, +Of Dickie Macphalion that's slain. +Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo, +To think on the days that are past and gone, +Of Dickie Macphalion that's slain. + +I sold my rock, I sold my reel, +And sae hae I my spinning wheel, +And a' to buy a cap of steel +For Dickie Macphalion that's slain! +Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo, +And a' to buy a cap of steel +For Dickie Macphalion that's slain. + + + +Ballad: A Lyke-Wake Dirge + + + +(Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii., p. 357.) + +This ae nighte, this ae nighte, +Every nighte and alle, +Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte, +And Christe receive thye saule. + +When thou from hence away art paste, +Every nighte and alle, +To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste; +And Christe receive thye saule. + +If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon, +Every nighte and alle, +Sit thee down and put them on; +And Christe receive thye saule. + +If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gavest nane, +Every nighte and alle, +The whinnes sall pricke thee to the bare bane; +And Christe receive thye saule. + +From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe, +Every nighte and alle, +To Brigg o' Dread thou comest at laste, +And Christe receive thye saule. + +From Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst passe, +Every nighte and alle, +To Purgatory fire thou comest at last, +And Christe receive thye saule. + +If ever thou gavest meat or drink, +Every nighte and alle, +The fire sall never make thee shrinke; +And Christe receive thye saule. + +If meate or drinke thou never gavest nane, +Every nighte and alle, +The fire will burn thee to the bare bane; +And Christe receive thye saule. + +This ae nighte, this ae nighte, +Every nighte and alle, +Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte, +And Christe receive thye saule. + + + +Ballad: The Laird Of Waristoun + + + +(Child, vol. iii. Early Edition.) + +Down by yon garden green, +Sae merrily as she gaes; +She has twa weel-made feet, +And she trips upon her taes. + +She has twa weel-made feet; +Far better is her hand; +She's as jimp in the middle +As ony willow wand. + +"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." + +* * * * * + +He spak a word in jest; +Her answer was na good; +He threw a plate at her face, +Made it a' gush out o' blood. + +She wasna frae her chamber +A step but barely three, +When up and at her richt hand +There stood Man's Enemy. + +"Gif ye will do my bidding, +At my bidding for to be, +I'll learn you a wile, +Avenged for to be." + +The foul thief knotted the tether; +She lifted his head on hie; +The nourice drew the knot +That gar'd lord Waristoun die. + +Then word is gane to Leith, +Also to Edinburgh town +That the lady had kill'd the laird, +The laird o' Waristoun. + +* * * * * + +Tak aff, tak aff my hood +But lat my petticoat be; +Pat my mantle o'er my head; +For the fire I downa see. + +Now, a' ye gentle maids, +Tak warning now by me, +And never marry ane +But wha pleases your e'e. + +"For he married me for love, +But I married him for fee; +And sae brak out the feud +That gar'd my dearie die." + + + +Ballad: May Colven + + + +(Child, Part I., p. 56.) + +False Sir John a wooing came +To a maid of beauty fair; +May Colven was this lady's name, +Her father's only heir. + +He wood her butt, he wood her ben, +He wood her in the ha, +Until he got this lady's consent +To mount and ride awa. + +He went down to her father's bower, +Where all the steeds did stand, +And he's taken one of the best steeds +That was in her father's land. + +He's got on and she's got on, +As fast as they could flee, +Until they came to a lonesome part, +A rock by the side of the sea. + +"Loup off the steed," says false Sir John, +"Your bridal bed you see; +For I have drowned seven young ladies, +The eighth one you shall be. + +"Cast off, cast off, my May Colven, +All and your silken gown, +For it's oer good and oer costly +To rot in the salt sea foam. + +"Cast off, cast off, my May Colven. +All and your embroiderd shoen, +For oer good and oer costly +To rot in the salt sea foam." + +"O turn you about, O false Sir John, +And look to the leaf of the tree, +For it never became a gentleman +A naked woman to see." + +He turned himself straight round about, +To look to the leaf of the tree, +So swift as May Colven was +To throw him in the sea. + +"O help, O help, my May Colven, +O help, or else I'll drown; +I'll take you home to your father's bower, +And set you down safe and sound." + +"No help, no help, O false Sir John, +No help, nor pity thee; +Tho' seven kings' daughters you have drownd, +But the eighth shall not be me." + +So she went on her father's steed, +As swift as she could flee, +And she came home to her father's bower +Before it was break of day. + +Up then and spoke the pretty parrot: +"May Colven, where have you been? +What has become of false Sir John, +That woo'd you so late the streen? + +"He woo'd you butt, he woo'd you ben, +He woo'd you in the ha, +Until he got your own consent +For to mount and gang awa." + +"O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot, +Lay not the blame upon me; +Your cup shall be of the flowered gold, +Your cage of the root of the tree." + +Up then spake the king himself, +In the bed-chamber where he lay: +"What ails the pretty parrot, +That prattles so long or day?" + +"There came a cat to my cage door, +It almost a worried me, +And I was calling on May Colven +To take the cat from me." + + + +Ballad: Johnie Faa + + + +(Child, vol. iv. Early Edition.) + +The gypsies came to our good lord's gate +And wow but they sang sweetly! +They sang sae sweet and sae very complete +That down came the fair lady. + +And she came tripping doun the stair, +And a' her maids before her; +As soon as they saw her weel-far'd face, +They coost the glamer o'er her. + +"O come with me," says Johnie Faw, +"O come with me, my dearie; +For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword, +That your lord shall nae mair come near ye." + +Then she gied them the beer and the wine, +And they gied her the ginger; +But she gied them a far better thing, +The goud ring aff her finger. + +"Gae take frae me this yay mantle, +And bring to me a plaidie; +For if kith and kin, and a' had sworn, +I'll follow the gypsy laddie. + +"Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed, +Wi' my good lord beside me; +But this night I'll lye in a tenant's barn, +Whatever shall betide me!" + +"Come to your bed," says Johnie Faw, +"Oh, come to your bed, my dearie: +For I vow and swear by the hilt of my sword, +Your lord shall nae mair come near ye." + +"I'll go to bed to my Johnie Faw, +I'll go to bed to my dearie; +For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand, +My lord shall nae mair come near me. + +"I'll mak a hap to my Johnie Faw, +I'll mak a hap to my dearie; +And he's get a' the coat gaes round, +And my lord shall nae mair come near me." + +And when our lord came hame at e'en, +And spier'd for his fair lady, +The tane she cry'd, and the other reply'd, +"She's awa' wi' the gypsy laddie!" + +"Gae saddle to me the black black steed, +Gae saddle and make him ready; +Before that I either eat or sleep, +I'll gae seek my fair lady." + +And we were fifteen weel-made men, +Altho' we were na bonny; +And we were a' put down but ane, +For a fair young wanton lady. + + + +Ballad: Hobbie Noble + + + +(Child, vi. Early Edition.) + +Foul fa' the breast first treason bred in! +That Liddesdale may safely say: +For in it there was baith meat and drink, +And corn unto our geldings gay. + +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. + +Now Hobie he was an English man, +And born into Bewcastle dale; +But his misdeeds they were sae great, +They banish'd him to Liddisdale. + +At Kershope foot the tryst was set, +Kershope of the lilye lee; +And there was traitour Sim o' the Mains, +With him a private companie. + +Then Hobie has graith'd his body weel, +I wat it was wi' baith good iron and steel; +And he has pull'd out his fringed grey, +And there, brave Noble, he rade him weel. + +Then Hobie is down the water gane, +E'en as fast as he may drie; +Tho' they shoud a' brusten and broken their hearts, +Frae that tryst Noble he would na be. + +"Weel may ye be, my feiries five! +And aye, what is your wills wi' me?" +Then they cry'd a' wi' ae consent, +"Thou'rt welcome here, brave Noble, to me. + +"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." + +"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, is dead. + +"And Anton Shiel he loves not me, +For I gat twa drifts o his sheep; +The great Earl of Whitfield loves me not, +For nae gear frae me he e'er could keep. + +"But will ye stay till the day gae down, +Until the night come o'er the grund, +And I'll be a guide worth ony twa, +That may in Liddesdale be fund? + +"Tho' dark the night as pitch and tar, +I'll guide ye o'er yon hills fu' hie; +And bring ye a' in safety back, +If ye'll be true and follow me." + +He's guided them o'er moss and muir, +O'er hill and houp, and mony a down; +Til they came to the Foulbogshiel, +And there, brave Noble, he lighted down. + +But 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." + +"Then Hobbie 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 lee. + +"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'. + +"Gar meet me on the Rodric-haugh, +And see it be by break o' day; +And we will on to Conscowthart-Green, +For there, I think, we'll get our prey." + +Then Hobbie Noble has dream'd a dream, +In the Foulbogshiel, where that he lay; +He thought his horse was neath him shot, +And he himself got hard away. + +The cocks could crow, the day could dawn, +And I wot so even down fell the rain; +If Hobbie had no waken'd at that time, +In the Foulbogshiel he had been tane or slain. + +"Get up, get up, my feiries five! +For I wot here makes a fu' ill day; +Yet the warst cloak of this companie, +I hope, shall cross the Waste this day." + +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 Hobbie could not gae. + +"Yet follow me, my feiries five, +And see of me ye keep good ray; +And the worst cloak o' this companie +I hope shall cross the Waste this day." + +There was heaps of men now Hobbie before, +And other heaps was him behind, +That had he wight as Wallace was, +Away brave Noble he could not win. + +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 Jersawigham's head. + +Now they have tane brave Hobie Noble, +Wi' his ain bowstring they band him sae; +And I wat heart was ne'er sae sair, +As when his ain five band him on the brae. + +They have tane him on for West Carlisle; +They ask'd him if he knew the why? +Whate'er he thought, yet little he said; +He knew the way as well as they. + +They hae ta'en him up the Ricker gate; +The wives they cast their windows wide; +And every wife to anither can say, +"That's the man loos'd Jock o' the Side!" + +"Fye on ye, women! why ca' ye me man? +For it's nae man that I'm used like; +I am but like a forfoughen hound, +Has been fighting in a dirty syke." + +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. + +Then they gave him a wheat loaf to eat, +And after that a can o beer; +Then they cried a' with ae consent, +"Eat, brave Noble, and make gude cheer! + +"Confess my lord's horse, Hobie," they said, +"And the morn in Carlisle thou's no die;" +"How shall I confess them," Hobie says, +"For I never saw them with mine eye?" + +Then Hobie has sworn a fu' great aith, +By the day that he was gotten and born, +He never had ony thing o' my lord's, +That either eat him grass or corn. + +"Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton! +For I think again I'll ne'er thee see: +I wad betray nae lad alive, +For a' the goud in Christentie. + +"And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale! +Baith the hie land and the law; +Keep ye weel frae traitor Mains! +For goud and gear he'll sell ye a'. + +"Yet wad I rather be ca'd Hobie Noble, +In Carlisle where he suffers for his faut, +Before I'd be ca'd traitor Mains, +That eats and drinks of the meal and maut." + + + +Ballad: The Twa Sisters + + + +(Sharpe's Ballad Book, No. X., p. 30.) + +There liv'd twa sisters in a bower, +Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. +There liv'd twa sisters in a bower, +Stirling for aye: +The youngest o' them, O, she was a flower! +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay. + +There came a squire frae the west, +Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. +There cam a squire frae the west, +Stirling for aye: +He lo'ed them baith, but the youngest best, +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay. + +He gied the eldest a gay gold ring, +Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. +He gied the eldest a gay gold ring, +Stirling for aye: +But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing, +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay. + +"Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea? +Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. +Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea? +Stirling for aye: +Our father's ships sail bonnilie, +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay." + +The youngest sat down upon a stane, +Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. +The youngest sat down upon a stane, +Stirling for aye: +The eldest shot the youngest in, +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay. + +"Oh sister, sister, lend me your hand, +Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. +Oh, sister, sister, lend me your hand, +Stirling for aye: +And you shall hae my gouden fan, +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay. + +"Oh, sister, sister, save my life, +Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. +Oh sister, sister, save my life, +Stirling for aye: +And ye shall be the squire's wife, +Bonny Sweet Johnstonne that stands upon Tay." + +First she sank, and then she swam, +Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. +First she sank, and then she swam, +Stirling for aye: +Until she cam to Tweed mill dam, +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay. + +The millar's daughter was baking bread, +Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. +The millar's daughter was baking bread, +Stirling for aye: +She went for water, as she had need, +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay. + +"Oh father, father, in our mill dam, +Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch, +Oh father, father, in our mill dam, +Stirling for aye: +There's either a lady, or a milk-white swan, +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay." + +They could nae see her fingers small, +Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. +They could nae see her fingers small, +Stirling for aye: +Wi' diamond rings they were cover'd all, +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay. + +They could nae see her yellow hair, +Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. +They could nae see her yellow hair, +Stirling for aye: +Sae mony knots and platts war there, +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay. + +Bye there cam a fiddler fair, +Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch. +Bye there cam a fiddler fair, +Stirling for aye: +And he's ta'en three tails o' her yellow hair, +Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay. + + + +Ballad: Mary Ambree + + + +(Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, vol. ii. p. 230.) + +When captaines couragious, whom death cold not daunte, +Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt, +They mustred their souldiers by two and by three, +And the formost in battle was Mary Ambree. + +When [the] brave sergeant-major was slaine in her sight, +Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight, +Because he was slaine most treacherouslie +Then vowd to revenge him Mary Ambree. + +She clothed herselfe from the top to the toe +In buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to showe; +A faire shirt of male then slipped on shee: +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? + +A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide, +A stronge arminge-sword shee girt by her side, +On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put shee: +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? + +Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett in hand, +Bidding all such, as wold, [to] bee of her band; +To wayte on her person came thousand and three: +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? + +"My soldiers," she saith, "soe valliant and bold, +Nowe followe your captaine, whom you doe beholde; +Still formost in battell myselfe will I bee:" +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? + +Then cryed out her souldiers, and loude they did say, +"Soe well thou becomest this gallant array, +Thy harte and thy weapons so well do agree, +No mayden was ever like Mary Ambree." + +She cheared her souldiers, that foughten for life, +With ancyent and standard, with drum and with fife, +With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded so free; +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? + +"Before I will see the worst of you all +To come into danger of death or of thrall, +This hand and this life I will venture so free:" +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? + +Shee ledd upp her souldiers in battaile array, +Gainst three times theyr number by breake of the daye; +Seven howers in skirmish continued shee: +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? + +She filled the skyes with the smoke of her shott, +And her enemyes bodyes with bulletts so hott; +For one of her own men a score killed shee: +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? + +And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent, +Away all her pellets and powder had sent, +Straight with her keen weapon she slasht him in three: +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? + +Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre, +At length she was forced to make a retyre; +Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew shee: +Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree? + +Her foes they besett her on everye side, +As thinking close siege shee cold never abide; +To beate down the walles they all did decree: +But stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree. + +Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in hand, +And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand, +There daring their captaines to match any three: +O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree! + +"Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou give +To ransome thy selfe, which else must not live? +Come yield thy selfe quicklye, or slaine thou must bee:" +Then smiled sweetlye brave Mary Ambree. + +"Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold, +Whom thinke you before you now you doe behold? +"A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe free, +Who shortlye with us a prisoner must bee." + +"No captaine of England; behold in your sight +Two brests in my bosome, and therefore no knight: +Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine you see, +But a poor simple mayden called Mary Ambree." + +"But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare, +Whose valor hath proved so undaunted in warre? +If England doth yield such brave maydens as thee, +Full well mey they conquer, faire Mary Ambree." + +The Prince of Great Parma heard of her renowne, +Who long had advanced for England's fair crowne; +Hee wooed her and sued her his mistress to bee, +And offered rich presents to Mary Ambree. + +But this virtuous mayden despised them all: +"'Ile nere sell my honour for purple nor pall; +A maiden of England, sir, never will bee +The wench of a monarcke," quoth Mary Ambree. + +Then to her owne country shee back did returne, +Still holding the foes of rare England in scorne! +Therfore English captaines of every degree +Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree. + + + +Ballad: Alison Gross + + + +O Alison Gross, that lives in yon tow'r, +The ugliest witch in the north countrie, +She trysted me ae day up till her bow'r, +And mony fair speeches she made to me. + +She straik'd my head, and she kaim'd my hair, +And she set me down saftly on her knee; +Says--"If ye will be my leman sae true, +Sae mony braw things as I will you gi'e." + +She shaw'd me a mantle of red scarlet, +With gowden flowers and fringes fine; +Says--"If ye will be my leman sae true, +This goodly gift it shall be thine." + +"Awa, awa, ye ugly witch, +Hand far awa, and let me be; +I never will be your leman sae true, +And I wish I were out of your company." + +She neist brocht a sark of the saftest silk, +Weel wrought with pearls about the band; +Says--"If ye will be my ain true love, +This goodly gift ye shall command." + +She show'd me a cup of the good red gowd, +Weel set with jewels sae fair to see; +Says--"If ye will be my leman sae true, +This goodly gift I will you gi'e." + +"Awa, awa, ye ugly witch, +Haud far awa, and let me be; +For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth, +For all the gifts that ye cou'd gi'e." + +She's turn'd her richt and round about, +And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn; +And she sware by the moon and the stars aboon, +That she'd gar me rue the day I was born. + +Then out has she ta'en a silver wand, +And she turn'd her three times round and round; +She mutter'd sic words, that my strength it fail'd, +And I fell down senseless on the ground. + +She turn'd me into an ugly worm, +And gar'd me toddle about the tree; +And aye on ilka Saturday night, +Auld Alison Gross she came to me, + +With silver basin, and silver kame, +To kame my headie upon her knee; +But rather than kiss her ugly mouth, +I'd ha'e toddled for ever about the tree. + +But as it fell out on last Hallow-e'en, +When the seely court was ridin' by, +The queen lighted down on a gowan bank, +Near by the tree where I wont to lye. + +She took me up in her milk-white hand, +And she straik'd me three times o'er her knee; +She chang'd me again to my ain proper shape, +And nae mair do I toddle about the tree. + + + +Ballad: The Heir Of Lynne + + + +Of all the lords in faire Scotland +A song I will begin: +Amongst them all dwelled a lord +Which was the unthrifty Lord of Lynne. + +His father and mother were dead him froe, +And so was the head of all his kinne; +He did neither cease nor blinne +To the cards and dice that he did run. + +To drinke the wine that was so cleere! +With every man he would make merry. +And then bespake him John of the Scales, +Unto the heire of Lynne say'd hee, + +Sayes "how dost thou, Lord of Lynne, +Doest either want gold or fee? +Wilt thou not sell thy land so brode +To such a good fellow as me? + +"For . . I . . " he said, +"My land, take it unto thee; +I draw you to record, my lords all;" +With that he cast him a Gods pennie. + +He told him the gold upon the bord, +It wanted never a bare penny. +"That gold is thine, the land is mine, +The heire of Lynne I will bee." + +"Heeres gold enough," saithe the heire of Lynne, +"Both for me and my company." +He drunke the wine that was so cleere, +And with every man he made merry. + +Within three quarters of a yeare +His gold and fee it waxed thinne, +His merry men were from him gone, +And left himselfe all alone. + +He had never a penny left in his purse, +Never a penny but three, +And one was brasse and another was lead +And another was white mony. + +"Now well-a-day!" said the heire of Lynne, +"Now well-a-day, and woe is mee! +For when I was the Lord of Lynne, +I neither wanted gold nor fee; + +"For I have sold my lands so broad, +And have not left me one penny! +I must go now and take some read +Unto Edenborrow and beg my bread." + +He had not beene in Edenborrow +Nor three quarters of a yeare, +But some did give him and some said nay, +And some bid "to the deele gang yee! + +"For if we should hang some land selfeer, +The first we would begin with thee." +"Now well-a-day!" said the heire of Lynne, +"Now well-a-day, and woe is mee! + +"For now I have sold my lands so broad +That merry man is irke with mee; +But when that I was the Lord of Lynne +Then on my land I lived merrily; + +"And now I have sold my land so broade +That I have not left me one pennye! +God be with my father!" he said, +"On his land he lived merrily." + +Still in a study there as he stood, +He unbethought him of a bill, +He unbethought him of a bill +Which his father had left with him. + +Bade him he should never on it looke +Till he was in extreame neede, +"And by my faith," said the heire of Lynne, +"Then now I had never more neede." + +He tooke the bill and looked it on, +Good comfort that he found there; +It told him of a castle wall +Where there stood three chests in feare: + +Two were full of the beaten gold, +The third was full of white money. +He turned then downe his bags of bread +And filled them full of gold so red. + +Then he did never cease nor blinne +Till John of the Scales house he did winne. +When that he came John of the Scales, +Up at the speere he looked then; + +There sate three lords upon a rowe, +And John o' the Scales sate at the bord's head, +And John o' the Scales sate at the bord's head +Because he was the lord of Lynne. + +And then bespake the heire of Lynne +To John o' the Scales wife thus sayd hee, +Sayd "Dame, wilt thou not trust me one shott +That I may sit downe in this company?" + +"Now Christ's curse on my head," she said, +"If I do trust thee one pennye," +Then bespake a good fellowe, +Which sate by John o' the Scales his knee, + +Said "have thou here, thou heire of Lynne, +Forty-pence I will lend thee,-- +Some time a good fellow thou hast beene +And other forty if it need bee." + +They drunken wine that was so cleere, +And every man they made merry, +And then bespake him John o' the Scales +Unto the Lord of Lynne said hee; + +Said "how doest thou heire of Lynne, +Since I did buy thy lands of thee? +I will sell it to thee twenty better cheepe, +Nor ever did I buy it of thee." + +"I draw you to recorde, lords all:" +With that he cast him god's penny; +Then he tooke to his bags of bread, +And they were full of the gold so red. + +He told him the gold then over the borde +It wanted never a broad pennye; +"That gold is thine, the land is mine, +And the heire of Lynne againe I will bee." + +"Now well-a-day!" said John o' the Scales' wife, +"Well-a-day, and woe is me! +Yesterday I was the lady of Lynne, +And now I am but John o' the Scales wife!" + +Says "have thou here, thou good fellow, +Forty pence thou did lend me; +Forty pence thou did lend me, +And forty I will give thee, +I'll make thee keeper of my forrest, +Both of the wild deere and the tame." + +But then bespake the heire of Lynne, +These were the words and thus spake hee, +"Christ's curse light upon my crowne +If ere my land stand in any jeopardye!" + + + +Ballad: Gordon Of Brackley + + + +Down Deeside cam Inveraye +Whistlin' and playing, +An' called loud at Brackley gate +Ere the day dawning-- +"Come, Gordon of Brackley. +Proud Gordon, come down, +There's a sword at your threshold +Mair sharp than your own." + +"Arise now, gay Gordon," +His lady 'gan cry, +"Look, here is bold Inveraye +Driving your kye." +"How can I go, lady, +An' win them again, +When I have but ae sword, +And Inveraye ten?" + +"Arise up, my maidens, +Wi' roke and wi' fan, +How blest had I been +Had I married a man! +Arise up, my maidens, +Tak' spear and tak' sword, +Go milk the ewes, Gordon, +An' I will be lord." + +The Gordon sprung up +Wi' his helm on his head, +Laid his hand on his sword, +An' his thigh on his steed, +An' he stooped low, and said, +As he kissed his young dame, +"There's a Gordon rides out +That will never ride hame." + +There rode with fierce Inveraye +Thirty and three, +But wi' Brackley were nane +But his brother and he; +Twa gallanter Gordons +Did never blade draw, +But against three-and-thirty +Wae's me! what are twa? + +Wi' sword and wi' dagger +They rushed on him rude; +The twa gallant Gordons +Lie bathed in their blude. +Frae the springs o' the Dee +To the mouth o' the Tay, +The Gordons mourn for him, +And curse Inveraye. + +"O were ye at Brackley? +An' what saw ye there? +Was his young widow weeping +An' tearing her hair?" +"I looked in at Brackley, +I looked in, and oh! +There was mirth, there was feasting, +But naething o' woe. + +"As a rose bloomed the lady, +An' blithe as a bride, +As a bridegroom bold Inveraye +Smiled by her side. +Oh! she feasted him there +As she ne'er feasted lord, +While the blood of her husband +Was moist on his sword. + +"In her chamber she kept him +Till morning grew gray, +Thro' the dark woods of Brackley +She shewed him the way. +'Yon wild hill,' she said, +'Where the sun's shining on, +Is the hill of Glentanner,-- +One kiss, and begone!'" + +There's grief in the cottage, +There's grief in the ha', +For the gude, gallant Gordon +That's dead an' awa'. +To the bush comes the bud, +An' the flower to the plain, +But the gude and the brave +They come never again. + + + +Ballad: Edward, Edward + + + +"Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude, +Edward, Edward? +Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude +And why sae sad gang ye, O?" +"O I hae killed my hawk sae gude, +Mither, mither; +O I hae killed my hawk sae gude, +And I hae nae mair but he, O." + +"Your hawk's blude was never sae red, +Edward, Edward; +Your hawk's blude was never sae red, +My dear son, I tell thee, O." +"O I hae killed my red-roan steed, +Mither, mither; +O I hae killed my red-roan steed, +That was sae fair and free, O." + +"Your steed was auld, and ye've plenty mair, +Edward, Edward; +Your steed was auld, and ye've plenty mair; +Some ither dule ye dree, O." +"O I hae killed my father dear, +Mither, mither; +O I hae killed my father dear, +Alas, and wae is me, O!" + +"And whatten penance will ye dree for that, +Edward, Edward? +Whatten penance will ye dree for that? +My dear son, now tell me, O." +"I'll set my feet in yonder boat, +Mither, mither; +I'll set my feet in yonder boat, +And I'll fare over the sea, O." + +"And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha', +Edward, Edward? +And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha', +That were sae fair to see, O?" +"I'll let them stand till they doun fa', +Mither, mither; +I'll let them stand till they doun fa', +For here never mair maun I be, O." + +"And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, +Edward, Edward? +And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife, +When ye gang ower the sea, O?" +"The warld's room: let them beg through life, +Mither, mither; +The warld's room: let them beg through life; +For them never mair will I see, O." + +"And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear, +Edward, Edward? +And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear, +My dear son, now tell me, O?" +"The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear, +Mither, mither; +The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear: +Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!" + + + +Ballad: Young Benjie + + + +Of all the maids of fair Scotland, +The fairest was Marjorie; +And young Benjie was her ae true love, +And a dear true love was he. + +And wow but they were lovers dear, +And lov'd full constantlie; +But aye the mair when they fell out, +The sairer was their plea. + +And they ha'e quarrell'd on a day, +Till Marjorie's heart grew wae; +And she said she'd chuse another luve, +And let young Benjie gae. + +And he was stout and proud-hearted, +And thought o't bitterlie; +And he's gane by the wan moonlight, +To meet his Marjorie. + +"Oh, open, open, my true love, +Oh, open and let me in!" +"I darena open, young Benjie, +My three brothers are within." + +"Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonnie burd, +Sae loud's I hear ye lee; +As I came by the Louden banks, +They bade gude e'en to me. + +"But fare ye weel, my ae fause love, +That I have lov'd sae lang! +It sets ye chuse another love, +And let young Benjie gang." + +Then Marjorie turn'd her round about, +The tear blinding her e'e; +"I darena, darena let thee in, +But I'll come down to thee." + +Then salt she smil'd, and said to him-- +"Oh, what ill ha'e I done?" +He took her in his arms twa, +And threw her o'er the linn. + +The stream was strong, the maid was stout, +And laith, laith to be dang; +But ere she wan the Louden banks, +Her fair colour was wan. + +Then up bespake her eldest brother-- +"Oh, see na ye what I see?" +And out then spake her second brother-- +"It is our sister Marjorie!" + +Out then spake her eldest brother-- +"Oh, how shall we her ken?" +And out then spake her youngest brother-- +"There's a honey mark on her chin." + +Then they've ta'en the comely corpse, +And laid it on the ground; +Saying--"Wha has kill'd our ae sister? +And how can he be found? + +"The night it is her low lykewake, +The morn her burial day; +And we maun watch at mirk midnight, +And hear what she will say." + +With doors ajar, and candles light, +And torches burning clear, +The streekit corpse, till still midnight, +They waked, but naething hear. + +About the middle of the night +The cocks began to craw; +And at the dead hour of the night, +The corpse began to thraw. + +"Oh, wha has done thee wrang, sister, +Or dared the deadly sin? +Wha was sae stout, and fear'd nae dout, +As throw ye o'er the linn?" + +"Young Benjie was the first ae man +I laid my love upon; +He was sae stout and proud-hearted, +He threw me o'er the linn." + +"Shall we young Benjie head, sister? +Shall we young Benjie hang? +Or shall we pike out his twa gray een, +And punish him ere he gang?" + +"Ye maunna Benjie head, brothers, +Ye maunna Benjie hang; +But ye maun pike out his twa gray een. +And punish him ere he gang. + +"Tie a green gravat round his neck, +And lead him out and in, +And the best ae servant about your house +To wait young Benjie on. + +"And aye at every seven years' end, +Ye'll take him to the linn; +For that's the penance he maun dree, +To scug his deadly sin." + + + +Ballad: Auld Maitland + + + +There lived a king in southern land, +King Edward hight his name; +Unwordily he wore the crown, +Till fifty years were gane. + +He had a sister's son o's ain, +Was large of blood and bane; +And afterward, when he came up, +Young Edward hight his name. + +One day he came before the king, +And kneel'd low on his knee: +"A boon, a boon, my good uncle, +I crave to ask of thee! + +"At our lang wars, in fair Scotland, +I fain ha'e wish'd to be, +If fifteen hundred waled wight men +You'll grant to ride with me." + +"Thou shall ha'e thae, thou shall ha'e mae; +I say it sickerlie; +And I myself, an auld gray man, +Array'd your host shall see." + +King Edward rade, King Edward ran-- +I wish him dool and pyne! +Till he had fifteen hundred men +Assembled on the Tyne. + +And thrice as many at Berwicke +Were all for battle bound, +[Who, marching forth with false Dunbar, +A ready welcome found.] + +They lighted on the banks of Tweed, +And blew their coals sae het, +And fired the Merse and Teviotdale, +All in an evening late. + +As they fared up o'er Lammermoor, +They burn'd baith up and down, +Until they came to a darksome house, +Some call it Leader-Town. + +"Wha hauds this house?" young Edward cried, +"Or wha gi'est o'er to me?" +A gray-hair'd knight set up his head, +And crackit right crousely: + +"Of Scotland's king I haud my house; +He pays me meat and fee; +And I will keep my gude auld house, +While my house will keep me." + +They laid their sowies to the wall, +With mony a heavy peal; +But he threw o'er to them agen +Baith pitch and tar barrel. + +With springalds, stanes, and gads of airn, +Amang them fast he threw; +Till mony of the Englishmen +About the wall he slew. + +Full fifteen days that braid host lay, +Sieging Auld Maitland keen; +Syne they ha'e left him, hail and feir, +Within his strength of stane. + +Then fifteen barks, all gaily good, +Met them upon a day, +Which they did lade with as much spoil +As they you'd bear away. + +"England's our ain by heritage; +And what can us withstand, +Now we ha'e conquer'd fair Scotland, +With buckler, bow, and brand?" + +Then they are on to the land of France, +Where auld king Edward lay, +Burning baith castle, tower, and town, +That he met in his way. + +Until he came unto that town, +Which some call Billop-Grace: +There were Auld Maitland's sons, all three, +Learning at school, alas! + +The eldest to the youngest said, +"Oh, see ye what I see? +If all be true yon standard says, +We're fatherless all three. + +"For Scotland's conquer'd up and down; +Landmen we'll never be! +Now, will you go, my brethren two, +And try some jeopardy?" + +Then they ha'e saddled twa black horse, +Twa black horse and a gray; +And they are on to king Edward's host, +Before the dawn of day. + +When they arrived before the host, +They hover'd on the lay: +"Wilt thou lend me our king's standard, +To bear a little way?" + +"Where wast thou bred? where wast thou born? +Where, or in what countrie?" +"In north of England I was born;" +(It needed him to lee.) + +"A knight me gat, a ladye bore, +I am a squire of high renown; +I well may bear't to any king +That ever yet wore crown." + +"He ne'er came of an Englishman, +Had sic an e'e or bree; +But thou art the likest Auld Maitland, +That ever I did see. + +"But sic a gloom on ae browhead, +Grant I ne'er see again! +For mony of our men he slew, +And mony put to pain." + +When Maitland heard his father's name, +An angry man was he; +Then, lifting up a gilt dagger, +Hung low down by his knee, + +He stabb'd the knight the standard bore, +He stabb'd him cruellie; +Then caught the standard by the neuk, +And fast away rode he. + +"Now, is't na time, brothers," he cried, +"Now, is't na time to flee?" +"Ay, by my sooth!" they baith replied, +"We'll bear you companye." + +The youngest turn'd him in a path, +And drew a burnish'd brand, +And fifteen of the foremost slew, +Till back the lave did stand. + +He spurr'd the gray into the path, +Till baith his sides they bled: +"Gray! thou maun carry me away, +Or my life lies in wad!" + +The captain lookit o'er the wall, +About the break of day; +There he beheld the three Scots lads +Pursued along the way. + +"Pull up portcullize! down draw-brig! +My nephews are at hand; +And they shall lodge with me to-night, +In spite of all England." + +Whene'er they came within the yate, +They thrust their horse them frae, +And took three lang spears in their hands, +Saying--"Here shall come nae me!" + +And they shot out, and they shot in, +Till it was fairly day; +When mony of the Englishmen +About the draw-brig lay. + +Then they ha'e yoked the carts and wains, +To ca' their dead away, +And shot auld dykes abune the lave, +In gutters where they lay. + +The king, at his pavilion door, +Was heard aloud to say: +"Last night, three of the lads of France +My standard stole away. + +"With a fause tale, disguised they came, +And with a fauser trayne; +And to regain my gaye standard, +These men where all down slayne." + +"It ill befits," the youngest said, +A crowned king to lee; +But, or that I taste meat and drink, +Reproved shall he be." + +He went before king Edward straight, +And kneel'd low on his knee: +"I wou'd ha'e leave, my lord," he said, +"To speak a word with thee." + +The king he turn'd him round about, +And wistna what to say: +Quo' he, "Man, thou's ha'e leave to speak, +Though thou should speak all day." + +"Ye said that three young lads of France +Your standard stole away, +With a fause tale and fauser trayne, +And mony men did slay; + +"But we are nane the lads of France, +Nor e'er pretend to be: +We are three lads of fair Scotland,-- +Auld Maitland's sons are we. + +"Nor is there men in all your host +Daur fight us three to three." +"Now, by my sooth," young Edward said, +"Weel fitted ye shall be! + +"Piercy shall with the eldest fight, +And Ethert Lunn with thee; +William of Lancaster the third, +And bring your fourth to me! + +"Remember, Piercy, aft the Scot +Has cower'd beneath thy hand; +For every drap of Maitland blood, +I'll gi'e a rig of land." + +He clanked Piercy o'er the head +A deep wound and a sair, +Till the best blood of his body +Came running down his hair. + +"Now, I've slayne ane; slay ye the twa; +And that's gude companye; +And if the twa shou'd slay ye baith, +Ye'se get nae help frae me." + +But Ethert Lunn, a baited bear, +Had many battles seen; +He set the youngest wonder sair, +Till the eldest he grew keen. + +"I am nae king, nor nae sic thing: +My word it shanna stand! +For Ethert shall a buffet bide, +Come he beneath my brand." + +He clankit Ethert o'er the head +A deep wound and a sair, +Till the best blood in his body +Came running o'er his hair. + +"Now, I've slayne twa; slay ye the ane; +Isna that gude companye? +And though the ane shou'd slay ye baith. +Ye'se get nae help of me." + +The twa-some they ha'e slayne the ane, +They maul'd him cruellie; +Then hung him over the draw-brig, +That all the host might see. + +They rade their horse, they ran their horse, +Then hover'd on the lee: +"We be three lads of fair Scotland, +That fain wou'd fighting see." + +This boasting when young Edward heard, +An angry man was he: +"I'll take yon lad, I'll bind yon lad, +And bring him bound to thee! + +"Now, God forbid," king Edward said, +"That ever thou shou'd try! +Three worthy leaders we ha'e lost, +And thou the forth wou'd lie. + +"If thou shou'dst hang on yon draw-brig, +Blythe wou'd I never be." +But, with the poll-axe in his hand, +Upon the brig sprang be. + +The first stroke that young Edward ga'e, +He struck with might and main; +He clove the Maitland's helmet stout, +And bit right nigh the brain. + +When Maitland saw his ain blood fall, +An angry man was he; +He let his weapon frae him fall, +And at his throat did flee. + +And thrice about he did him swing, +Till on the ground he light, +Where he has halden young Edward, +Tho' he was great in might. + +"Now let him up," king Edward cried, +"And let him come to me; +And for the deed that thou hast done, +Thou shalt ha'e earldomes three!" + +"It's ne'er be said in France, nor e'er +In Scotland, when I'm hame, +That Edward once lay under me, +And e'er gat up again!" + +He pierced him through and through the heart, +He maul'd him cruellie; +Then hung him o'er the draw-brig, +Beside the other three. + +"Now take frae me that feather-bed, +Make me a bed of strae! +I wish I hadna lived this day, +To make my heart sae wae. + +"If I were ance at London Tow'r, +Where I was wont to be, +I never mair shou'd gang frae hame, +Till borne on a bier-tree." + + + +Ballad: The Broomfield Hill + + + +There was a knight and lady bright +Set trysts amo the broom, +The one to come at morning eav, +The other at afternoon. + +"I'll wager a wager wi' you," he said, +"An hundred marks and ten, +That ye shall not go to Broomfield Hills, +Return a maiden again." + +"I'll wager a wager wi' you," she said, +"A hundred pounds and ten, +That I will gang to Broomfield Hills, +A maiden return again." + +The lady stands in her bower door, +And thus she made her mane: +"Oh, shall I gang to Broomfield Hills, +Or shall I stay at hame? + +"If I do gang to Broomfield Hills +A maid I'll not return; +But if I stay from Broomfield Hills, +I'll be a maid mis-sworn." + +Then out it speaks an auld witch wife, +Sat in the bower aboon: +"O ye shall gang to Broomfield Hills, +Ye shall not stay at hame. + +"But when ye gang to Broomfield Hills, +Walk nine times round and round; +Down below a bonny burn bank, +Ye'll find your love sleeping sound. + +"Ye'll pu the bloom frae off the broom, +Strew't at his head and feet, +And aye the thicker that ye do strew, +The sounder he will sleep. + +"The broach that is on your napkin, +Put it on his breast bane, +To let him know, when he does wake, +That's true love's come and gane. + +"The rings that are on your fingers, +Lay them down on a stane, +To let him know, when he does wake, +That's true love's come and gane. + +"And when he hae your work all done, +Ye'll gang to a bush o' broom, +And then you'll hear what he will say, +When he sees ye are gane." + +When she came to Broomfield Hills, +She walked it nine times round, +And down below yon burn bank, +She found him sleeping sound. + +She pu'd the bloom frae off the broom, +Strew'd it at 's head and feet, +And aye the thicker that she strewd, +The sounder he did sleep. + +The broach that was on her napkin, +She put it on his breast-bane, +To let him know, when he did wake, +His love was come and gane. + +The rings that were on her fingers, +She laid upon a stane, +To let him know, when he did wake, +His love was come and gane. + +Now when she had her work all dune, +She went to a bush o' broom, +That she might hear what he did say, +When he saw that she was gane. + +"O where were ye my guid grey hound, +That I paid for sae dear, +Ye didna waken me frae my sleep +When my true love was sae near?" + +"I scraped wi' my foot, master, +Till a' my collars rang, +But still the mair that I did scrape, +Waken woud ye nane." + +"Where were ye, my bony brown steed, +That I paid for sae dear, +That ye woudna waken me out o' my sleep +When my love was sae near?" + +"I patted wi my foot, master, +Till a' my bridles rang, +But the mair that I did patt, +Waken woud ye nane." + +"O where were ye, my gay goss-hawk +That I paid for sae dear, +That ye woudna waken me out o' my sleep +When ye saw my love near?" + +"I flapped wi my wings, master, +Till a' my bells they rang, +But still, the mair that I did flap, +Waken woud ye nane." + +"O where were ye, my merry young men +That I pay meat and fee, +That ye woudna waken me out o' my sleep +When my love ye did see?" + +"Ye'll sleep mair on the night, master, +And wake mair on the day; +Gae sooner down to Broomfield Hills +When ye've sic pranks to play. + +"If I had seen any armed men +Come riding over the hill-- +But I saw but a fair lady +Come quietly you until." + +"O wae mat worth yow, my young men, +That I pay meat and fee, +That ye woudna waken me frae sleep +When ye my love did see? + +"O had I waked when she was nigh, +And o her got my will, +I shoudna cared upon the morn +The sma birds o her were fill." + +When she went out, right bitter she wept, +But singing came she hame; +Says, "I hae been at Broomfield Hills, +And maid returned again." + + + +Ballad: Willie's Ladye + + + +Willie has ta'en him o'er the faem, +He's wooed a wife, and brought her hame; +He's wooed her for her yellow hair, +But his mother wrought her meikle care; + +And meikle dolour gar'd her dree, +For lighter she can never be; +But in her bow'r she sits with pain, +And Willie mourns o'er her in vain. + +And to his mother he has gane, +That vile rank witch, of vilest kind! +He says--"My lady has a cup, +With gowd and silver set about; +This gudely gift shall be your ain, +And let her be lighter of her bairn." + +"Of her bairn she's never be lighter, +Nor in her bow'r to shine the brighter +But she shall die, and turn to clay, +And you shall wed another may." + +"Another may I'll never wed, +Another may I'll never bring hame." +But, sighing, said that weary wight-- +"I wish my life were at an end." + +"Yet gae ye to your mother again, +That vile rank witch, of vilest kind +And say, your ladye has a steed, +The like of him's no in the land of Leed. + +"For he is silver shod before, +And he is gowden shod behind; +At every tuft of that horse mane +There's a golden chess, and a bell to ring. +This gudely gift shall be her ain, +And let me be lighter of my bairn." + +"Of her young bairn she's ne'er be lighter, +Nor in her bow'r to shine the brighter; +But she shall die, and turn to clay, +And ye shall wed another may." + +"Another may I'll never wed, +Another may I'll never bring hame." +But, sighing, said that weary wight-- +I wish my life were at an end!" + +"Yet gae ye to your mother again, +That vile rank witch, of rankest kind! +And say, your ladye has a girdle, +It's all red gowd to the middle; + +"And aye, at ilka siller hem, +Hang fifty siller bells and ten; +This gudely gift shall be her ain, +And let me be lighter of my bairn." + +"Of her young bairn she's ne'er be lighter, +Nor in your bow'r to shine the brighter; +For she shall die, and turn to clay, +And thou shall wed another may." + +"Another may I'll never wed, +Another may I'll never bring hame." +But, sighing, said that weary wight-- +"I wish my days were at an end!" + +Then out and spak the Billy Blind, +He spak aye in good time [his mind]:- +"Yet gae ye to the market place, +And there do buy a loaf of wace; +Do shape it bairn and bairnly like, +And in it two glassen een you'll put. + +"Oh, wha has loosed the nine witch-knots +That were amang that ladye's locks? +And wha's ta'en out the kames of care, +That were amang that ladye's hair? + +"And wha has ta'en down that bush of woodbine +That hung between her bow'r and mine? +And wha has kill'd the master kid +That ran beneath that ladye's bed? +And wha has loosed her left foot shee, +And let that ladye lighter be?" + +Syne, Willie's loosed the nine witch-knots +That were amang that ladye's locks; +And Willie's ta'en out the kames of care +That were into that ladye's hair; +And he's ta'en down the bush of woodbine, +Hung atween her bow'r and the witch carline. + +And he has killed the master kid +That ran beneath that ladye's bed; +And he has loosed her left foot shee, +And latten that ladye lighter be; +And now he has gotten a bonnie son, +And meikle grace be him upon. + + + +Ballad: Robin Hood And The Monk + + + +In somer when the shawes be sheyne, +And leves be large and longe, +Hit is full mery in feyre foreste +To here the foulys song. + +To se the dere draw to the dale, +And leve the hilles hee, +And shadow hem in the leves grene, +Vndur the grene-wode tre. + +Hit befell on Whitsontide, +Erly in a may mornyng, +The son vp fayre can shyne, +And the briddis mery can syng. + +"This is a mery mornyng," seid Litulle Johne, +"Be hym that dyed on tre; +A more mery man than I am one +Lyves not in Cristiante." + +"Pluk vp thi hert, my dere mayster," +Litulle Johne can sey, +"And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme +In a mornynge of may." + +"Ze on thynge greves me," seid Robyne, +"And does my hert mych woo, +That I may not so solem day +To mas nor matyns goo. + +"Hit is a fourtnet and more," seyd hee, +"Syn I my Sauyour see; +To day will I to Notyngham," seid Robyn, +"With the myght of mylde Mary." + +Then spake Moche the mylner sune, +Euer more wel hym betyde, +"Take xii thi wyght zemen +Well weppynd be thei side. +Such on wolde thi selfe slon +That xii dar not abyde." + +"Off alle my mery men," seid Robyne, +"Be my feithe I wil non haue; +But Litulle Johne shall beyre my bow +Til that me list to drawe." + +* * * * * + +"Thou shalle beyre thin own," seid Litulle Jon, +"Maister, and I wil beyre myne, +And we wille shete a peny," seid Litulle Jon, +"Vnder the grene wode lyne." + +"I wil not shete a peny," seyde Robyn Hode, +"In feith, Litulle Johne, with thee, +But euer for on as thou shetes," seid Robyn, +"In feith I holde the thre." + +Thus shet thei forthe, these zemen too, +Bothe at buske and brome, +Til Litulle Johne wan of his maister +V s. to hose and shone. + +A ferly strife fel them betwene, +As they went bi the way; +Litull Johne seid he had won v shyllyngs, +And Robyn Hode seid schortly nay. + +With that Robyn Hode lyed Litul Jone, +And smote him with his honde; +Litul John waxed wroth therwith, +And pulled out his bright bronde. + +"Were thou not my maister," seid Litulle Johne, +"Thou shuldis by hit ful sore; +Get the a man where thou wilt, Robyn, +For thou getes me no more." + +Then Robyn goes to Notyngham, +Hymselfe mornynge allone, +And Litulle Johne to mery Scherewode, +The pathes he knowe alkone. + +Whan Robyn came to Notyngham, +Sertenly withoutene layne, +He prayed to God and myld Mary +To brynge hym out saue agayne. + +He gos into seynt Mary chirche, +And knelyd downe before the rode; +Alle that euer were the churche within +Beheld wel Robyne Hode. + +Beside hym stode a gret-hedid munke, +I pray to God woo he be; +Full sone he knew gode Robyn +As sone as he hym se. + +Out at the durre he ran +Ful sone and anon; +Alle the zatis of Notyngham +He made to be sparred euerychone. + +"Rise vp," he seid, "thou prowde schereff, +Buske the and make the bowne; +I haue spyed the kynges felone, +For sothe he is in this towne. + +"I haue spyed the false felone, +As he stondes at his masse; +Hit is longe of the," seide the munke, +"And euer he fro vs passe. + +"This traytur[s] name is Robyn Hode; +Vnder the grene wode lynde, +He robbyt me onys of a C pound, +Hit shalle neuer out of my mynde." + +Vp then rose this prowd schereff, +And zade towarde hym zare; +Many was the modur son +To the kyrk with him can fare. + +In at the durres thei throly thrast +With staves ful gode ilkone, +"Alas, alas," seid Robin Hode, +"Now mysse I Litulle Johne." + +But Robyne toke out a too-hond sworde +That hangit down be his kne; +Ther as the schereff and his men stode thyckust, +Thidurward wold he. + +Thryes thorow at them he ran, +Then for sothe as I yow say, +And woundyt many a modur sone, +And xii he slew that day. + +Hys sworde vpon the schireff hed +Sertanly he brake in too; +"The smyth that the made," seid Robyn, +"I pray God wyrke him woo. + +"For now am I weppynlesse," seid Robyne, +"Alasse, agayn my wylle; +But if I may fle these traytors fro, +I wot thei wil me kylle." + +Robyns men to the churche ran +Throout hem euerilkon; +Sum fel in swonyng as thei were dede, +And lay still as any stone. + +* * * * * + +Non of theym were in her mynde +But only Litulle Jon. + +"Let be your dule," seid Litulle Jon, +"For his luf that dyed on tre; +Ze that shulde be duzty men, +Hit is gret shame to se. + +"Oure maister has bene hard bystode, +And zet scapyd away; +Pluk up your hertes and leve this mone, +And herkyn what I shal say. + +"He has seruyd our lady many a day, +And zet wil securly; +Therefore I trust in her specialy +No wycked deth shal he dye. + +"Therfor be glad," seid Litul Johne, +"And let this mournyng be, +And I shall be the munkes gyde, +With the myght of mylde Mary. + +"And I mete hym," seid Litull Johne, +"We will go but we too + +* * * * * + +"Loke that ze kepe wel our tristil tre +Vnder the levys smale, +And spare non of this venyson +That gose in thys vale." + +Forthe thei went these zemen too, +Litul Johne and Moche onfere, +And lokid on Moche emys hows +The hyeway lay fulle nere. + +Litul John stode at a window in the mornynge, +And lokid forth at a stage; +He was war wher the munke came ridynge, +And with him a litul page. + +"Be my feith," said Litul Johne to Moche, +"I can the tel tithyngus gode; +I se wher the munk comys rydyng, +I know hym be his wyde hode." + +Thei went into the way these zemen bothe +As curtes men and hende, +Thei spyrred tithyngus at the munke, +As thei hade bene his frende. + +"Fro whens come ze," seid Litul Johne, +"Tel vs tithyngus, I yow pray, +Off a false owtlay [called Robyn Hode], +Was takyn zisturday. + +"He robbyt me and my felowes bothe +Of xx marke in serten; +If that false owtlay be takyn, +For sothe we wolde be fayne." + +"So did he me," seid the munke, +"Of a C pound and more; +I layde furst hande hym apon, +Ze may thonke me therefore." + +"I pray God thanke yow," seid Litulle Johne, +"And we wil when we may; +We wil go with yow, with your leve, +And brynge yow on your way. + +"For Robyn Hode hase many a wilde felow, +I telle yow in certen; +If thei wist ze rode this way, +In feith ze shulde be slayn." + +As thei went talkyng be the way, +The munke an Litulle Johne, +Johne toke the munkes horse be the hede +Ful sone and anone. + +Johne toke the munkes horse be the hed, +For sothe as I yow say, +So did Muche the litulle page, +For he shulde not stirre away. + +Be the golett of the hode +Johne pulled the munke downe; +Johne was nothynge of hym agast, +He lete hym falle on his crowne. + +Litulle Johne was sore agrevyd, +And drew out his swerde in hye; +The munke saw he shulde be ded, +Lowd mercy can he crye. + +"He was my maister," said Litulle Johne, +"That thou hase browzt in bale; +Shalle thou neuer cum at our kynge +For to telle hym tale." + +John smote of the munkes hed, +No longer wolde he dwelle; +So did Moche the litulle page, +For ferd lest he wold tell. + +Ther thei beryed hem both +In nouther mosse nor lynge, +And Litulle Johne and Muche infere +Bare the letturs to oure kyng. + +* * * * * + +He kneled down vpon--his kne, +"God zow sane, my lege lorde, +Jesus yow saue and se. + +"God yow saue, my lege kyng," +To speke Johne was fulle bolde; +He gaf hym tbe letturs in his hond, +The kyng did hit unfold. + +The kyng red the letturs anon, +And seid, "so met I the, +Ther was neuer zoman in mery Inglond +I longut so sore to see. + +"Wher is the munke that these shuld haue browzt?" +Oure kynge gan say; +"Be my trouthe," seid Litull Jone, +"He dyed aftur the way." + +The kyng gaf Moche and Litul Jon +xx pound in sertan, +And made theim zemen of the crowne, +And bade theim go agayn. + +He gaf Johne the seel in hand, +The scheref for to bere, +To brynge Robyn hym to, +And no man do hym dere. + +Johne toke his leve at cure kyng, +The sothe as I yow say; +The next way to Notyngham +To take he zede the way. + +When Johne came to Notyngham +The zatis were sparred ychone; +Johne callid vp the porter, +He answerid sone anon. + +"What is the cause," seid Litul John, +"Thou sparris the zates so fast?" +"Because of Robyn Hode," seid [the] porter, +"In depe prison is cast. + +"Johne, and Moche, and Wylle Scathlok, +For sothe as I yow say, +Thir slew oure men vpon oure wallis, +And sawtene vs euery day." + +Litulle Johne spyrred aftur the schereff, +And sone he hym fonde; +He oppyned the kyngus prive seelle, +And gaf hyn in his honde. + +When the schereft saw the kyngus seelle, +He did of his hode anon; +"Wher is the munke that bare the letturs?" +He said to Litulle Johne. + +"He is so fayn of hym," seid Litulle Johne, +"For sothe as I yow sey, +He has made hym abot of Westmynster, +A lorde of that abbay." + +The scheref made John gode chere, +And gaf hym wine of the best; +At nyzt thei went to her bedde, +And euery man to his rest. + +When the scheref was on-slepe +Dronken of wine and ale, +Litul Johne and Moche for sothe +Toke the way vnto the jale. + +Litul Johne callid vp the jayler, +And bade him ryse anon; +He seid Robyn Hode had brokyn preson, +And out of hit was gon. + +The portere rose anon sertan, +As sone as he herd John calle; +Litul Johne was redy with a swerd, +And bare hym to the walle. + +"Now will I be porter," seid Litul Johne, +"And take the keyes in honde;" +He toke the way to Robyn Hode, +And sone he hym vnbonde. + +He gaf hym a gode swerd in his hond, +His hed with for to kepe, +And ther as the walle was lowyst +Anon down can thei lepe. + +Be that the cok began to crow, +The day began to sprynge, +The scheref fond the jaylier ded, +The comyn belle made he rynge. + +He made a crye thoroowt al the tow[n], +Whedur he be zoman or knave, +That cowthe brynge hyrn Robyn Hode, +His warisone he shuld haue. + +"For I dar neuer," said the scheref, +"Cum before oure kynge, +For if I do, I wot serten, +For sothe he wil me henge." + +The scheref made to seke Notyngham, +Bothe be strete and stye, +And Robyn was in mery Scherwode +As lizt as lef on lynde. + +Then bespake gode Litulle Johne, +To Robyn Hode can he say, +"I haue done the a gode turne for an euylle, +Quyte me whan thou may. + +"I haue done the a gode turne," said Litulle Johne, +"For sothe as I you saie; +I haue brouzt the vnder grene wode lyne; +Fare wel, and haue gode day." + +"Nay, be my trouthe," seid Robyn Hode, +"So shalle hit neuer be; +I make the maister," seid Robyn Hode, +"Off alle my men and me." + +"Nay, be my trouthe," seid Litulle Johne, +"So shall hit neuer be, +But lat me be a felow," seid Litulle Johne, +"Non odur kepe I'll be." + +Thus Johne gate Robyn Hode out of prisone, +Sertan withoutyn layne; +When his men saw hym hol and sounde, +For sothe they were ful fayne. + +They filled in wyne, and made him glad, +Vnder the levys smale, +And zete pastes of venysone, +That gode was with ale. + +Than worde came to oure kynge, +How Robyn Hode was gone, +And how the scheref of Notyngham +Durst neuer loke hyme vpone. + +Then bespake oure cumly kynge, +In an angur hye, +"Litulle Johne hase begyled the schereff, +In faith so hase he me. + +"Litulle Johne has begyled vs bothe, +And that fulle wel I se, +Or ellis the schereff of Notyngham +Hye hongut shuld he be. + +"I made hem zemen of the crowne, +And gaf hem fee with my hond, +I gaf hem grithe," seid oure kyng, +"Thorowout alle mery Inglond. + +"I gaf hem grithe," then seide oure kyng, +"I say, so mot I the, +For sothe soche a zeman as he is on +In alle Ingland ar not thre. + +"He is trew to his maister," seide oure kynge, +"I say, be swete seynt Johne; +He louys bettur Robyn Hode, +Then he dose vs ychone. + +"Robyne Hode is euer bond to him, +Bothe in strete and stalle; +Speke no more of this matter," seid oure kynge, +"But John has begyled vs alle." + +Thus endys the talkyng of the munke +And Robyne Hode i-wysse; +God, that is euer a crowned kyng, +Bryng vs alle to his blisse. + + + +Ballad: Robin Hood And The Potter + + + +In schomer, when the leves spryng, +The bloschems on every bowe, +So merey doyt the berdys syng +Yn wodys merey now. + +Herkens, god yemen, +Comley, corteysse, and god, +On of the best that yever bar bou, +Hes name was Roben Hode. + +Roben Hood was the yemans name, +That was boyt corteys and fre; +For the loffe of owr ladey, +All wemen werschep he. + +Bot as the god yemen stod on a day, +Among hes mery maney, +He was war of a prowd potter, +Cam dryfyng owyr the ley. + +"Yonder comet a prod potter," seyde Roben, +"That long hayt hantyd this wey; +He was never so corteys a man +On peney of pawage to pay." + +"Y met hem bot at Wentbreg," seyde Lytyll John, +"And therfor yeffell mot he the, +Seche thre strokes he me gafe, +Yet they cleffe by my seydys. + +"Y ley forty shillings," seyde Lytyll John, +"To pay het thes same day, +Ther ys nat a man arnong hus all +A wed schall make hem ley." + +"Her ys forty shillings," seyde Roben, +"Mor, and thow dar say, +That y schall make that prowde potter, +A wed to me schall he ley." + +Ther thes money they leyde, +They toke bot a yeman to kepe; +Roben befor the potter he breyde, +And bad hem stond stell. + +Handys apon hes horse he leyde, +And bad the potter stonde foll stell; +The potter schorteley to hem seyde, +"Felow, what ys they well?" + +"All thes thre yer, and mor, potter," he seyde, +"Thow hast hantyd thes wey, +Yet wer tow never so cortys a man +One peney of pauage to pay." + +"What ys they name," seyde the potter, +"For pauage thow ask of me?" +"Roben Hod ys mey name, +A wed schall thow leffe me." + +"Well well y non leffe," seyde the potter, +"Nor pavag well y non pay; +Away they honde fro mey horse, +Y well the tene eyls, be me fay." + +The potter to hes cart he went, +He was not to seke; +A god to-hande staffe therowt he hent, +Befor Roben he lepe. + +Roben howt with a swerd bent, +A bokeler en hes honde [therto]; +The potter to Roben he went, +And seyde, "Felow, let mey horse go." + +Togeder then went thes two yemen, +Het was a god seyt to se; +Therof low Robyn hes men, +Ther they stod onder a tre. + +Leytell John to hes felowhes seyde, +"Yend potter welle steffeley stonde:" +The potter, with an acward stroke, +Smot the bokeler owt of hes honde; + +And ar Roben meyt get hem agen +Hes bokeler at hes fette, +The potter yn the neke hem toke, +To the gronde sone he yede. + +That saw Roben hes men, +As they stode ender a bow; +"Let us helpe owr master," seyed Lytell John, +"Yonder potter els well hem sclo." + +Thes yemen went with a breyde, +To ther master they cam. +Leytell John to hes master seyde, +"He haet the wager won? + +"Schall y haff yowr forty shillings," seyde Lytel John, +"Or ye, master, schall haffe myne?" +"Yeff they wer a hundred," seyde Roben, +"Y feythe, they ben all theyne." + +"Het ys fol leytell cortesey," seyde the potter, +"As y haffe harde weyse men saye, +Yeff a por yeman com drywyng ower the wey, +To let hem of hes gorney." + +"Be mey trowet, thow seys soyt," seyde Roben, +"Thow seys god yemenrey; +And thow dreyffe forthe yevery day, +Thow schalt never be let for me. + +"Y well prey the, god potter, +A felischepe well thow haffe? +Geffe me they clothyng, and thow schalt hafe myne; +Y well go to Notynggam." + +"Y grant therto," seyde the potter, +"Thow schalt feynde me a felow gode; +But thow can sell mey pottes well, +Come ayen as thow yode." + +"Nay, be mey trowt," seyde Roben, +"And then y bescro mey hede +Yeffe y bryng eney pottes ayen, +And eney weyffe well hem chepe." + +Than spake Leytell John, +And all hes felowhes heynd, +"Master, be well war of the screffe of Notynggam, +For he ys leytell howr frende." + +"Heyt war howte," seyde Roben, +"Felowhes, let me alone; +Thorow the helpe of howr ladey, +To Notynggam well y gon." + +Robyn went to Notynggam, +Thes pottes for to sell; +The potter abode with Robens men, +Ther he fered not eylle. + +Tho Roben droffe on hes wey, +So merey ower the londe: +Heres mor and affter ys to saye, +The best ys beheynde. + + +[THE SECOND FIT.] + + +When Roben cam to Netynggam, +The soyt yef y scholde saye, +He set op hes horse anon, +And gaffe hem hotys and haye. + +Yn the medys of the towne, +Ther he schowed hes war; +"Pottys! pottys!" he gan crey foll sone, +"Haffe hansell for the mar." + +Foll effen agenest the screffeys gate +Schowed he hes chaffar; +Weyffes and wedowes abowt hem drow, +And chepyd fast of hes war. + +Yet, "Pottys, gret chepe!" creyed Robyn, +"Y loffe yeffell thes to stonde;" +And all that saw hem sell, +Seyde he had be no potter long. + +The pottys that wer werthe pens feyffe, +He sold tham for pens thre; +Preveley seyde man and weyffe, +"Ywnder potter schall never the." + +Thos Roben solde foll fast, +Tell he had pottys bot feyffe; +On he hem toke of his car, +And sende hem to the screffeys weyffe. + +Therof sche was foll fayne, +"Gramarsey, sir," than seyde sche; +"When ye com to thes contre ayen, +Y schall bey of they pottys, so mot y the." + +"Ye schall haffe of the best," seyde Roben, +And swar be the treneyte; +Foll corteysley she gan hem call, +"Com deyne with the screfe and me." + +"Godamarsey," seyde Roben, +"Yowr bedyng schalle be doyn;" +A mayden yn the pottys gan ber, +Roben and the screffe weyffe folowed anon. + +Whan Roben ynto the hall cam, +The screffe sone he met; +The potter cowed of corteysey, +And sone the screffe he gret. + +"Loketh what thes potter hayt geffe yow and me; +Feyffe pottys smalle and grete!" +"He ys fol wellcom, seyd the screffe, +"Let os was, and go to mete." + +As they sat at her methe, +With a nobell cher, +Two of the screffes men gan speke +Off a gret wager, + +Was made the thother daye, +Off a schotyng was god and feyne, +Off forty shillings, the soyt to saye, +Who scholde thes wager wen. + +Styll than sat thes prowde po, +Thos than thowt he; +"As y am a trow Cerstyn man, +Thes schotyng well y se." + +Whan they had fared of the best, +With bred and ale and weyne, +To the bottys they made them prest, +With bowes and boltys full feyne. + +The screffes men schot foll fast, +As archares that weren godde; +Ther cam non ner ney the marke +Bey halfe a god archares bowe. + +Stell then stod the prowde potter, +Thos than seyde he; +"And y had a bow, be the rode, +On schot scholde yow se." + +"Thow schall haffe a bow," seyde the screffe, +"The best that thow well cheys of thre; +Thou semyst a stalward and a stronge, +Asay schall thow be." + +The screffe commandyd a yeman that stod hem bey +Affter bowhes to wende; +The best bow that the yeman browthe +Roben set on a stryng. + +"Now schall y wet and thow be god, +And polle het op to they ner;" +"So god me helpe," seyde the prowde potter, +"Thys ys bot rygzt weke ger." + +To a quequer Roben went, +A god bolt owthe he toke; +So ney on to the marke he went, +He fayled not a fothe. + +All they schot abowthe agen, +The screffes men and he; +Off the marke he welde not fayle, +He cleffed the preke on thre. + +The screffes men thowt gret schame, +The potter the mastry wan; +The screffe lowe and made god game, +And seyde, "Potter, thow art a man; +Thow art worthey to ber a bowe, +Yn what plas that thow gang." + +"Yn mey cart y haffe a bowe, +Forsoyt," he seyde, "and that a godde; +Yn mey cart ys the bow +That I had of Robyn Hode." + +"Knowest thow Robyn Hode?" seyde the screffe, +"Potter, y prey the tell thou me;" +"A hundred torne y haffe schot with hem, +Under hes tortyll tree." + +"Y had lever nar a hundred ponde," seyde the screffe, +And swar be the trenite, +["Y had lever nar a hundred ponde," he seyde,] +"That the fals owtelawe stod be me. + +"And ye well do afftyr mey red," seyde the potter, +"And boldeley go with me, +And to morow, or we het bred, +Roben Hode wel we se." + +"Y well queyt the," kod the screffe, +And swer be god of meythe; +Schetyng thay left, and hom they went, +Her scoper was redey deythe. + +Upon the morow, when het was day, +He boskyd hem forthe to reyde; +The potter hes carte forthe gan ray, +And wolde not [be] leffe beheynde. + +He toke leffe of the screffys wyffe, +And thankyd her of all thyng: +"Dam, for mey loffe, and ye well thys wer, +Y geffe yow her a golde ryng." + +"Gramarsey," seyde the weyffe, +"Sir, god eylde het the;" +The screffes hart was never so leythe, +The feyr forest to se. + +And when he cam ynto the foreyst, +Yonder the leffes grene, +Berdys ther sange on bowhes prest, +Het was gret joy to sene. + +"Her het ys mercy to be," seyde Roben, +"For a man that had hawt to spende; +Be mey horne we schall awet +Yeff Roben Hode be ner hande." + +Roben set hes horne to hes mowthe, +And blow a blast that was full god, +That herde hes men that ther stode, +Fer downe yn the wodde; +"I her mey master," seyde Leytell John; +They ran as thay wer wode. + +Whan thay to thar master cam, +Leytell John wold not spar; +"Master, how haffe yow far yn Notynggam? +How haffe yow solde yowr war?" + +"Ye, be mey trowthe, Leytyll John, +Loke thow take no car; +Y haffe browt the screffe of Notynggam, +For all howr chaffar." + +"He ys foll wellcom," seyde Lytyll John, +"Thes tydyng ys foll godde;" +The screffe had lever nar a hundred ponde +[He had never sene Roben Hode.] + +"Had I west that beforen, +At Notynggam when we wer, +Thow scholde not com yn feyr forest +Of all thes thowsande eyr." + +"That wot y well," seyde Roben, +"Y thanke god that ye be her; +Therfor schall ye leffe yowr horse with hos, +And all your hother ger." + +"That fend I godys forbode," kod the screffe, +"So to lese mey godde;" +"Hether ye cam on horse foll hey, +And hom schall ye go on fote; +And gret well they weyffe at home, +The woman ys foll godde. + +"Y schall her sende a wheyt palffrey, +Het hambellet as the weynde; +Ner for the loffe of yowr weyffe, +Off mor sorow scholde yow seyng." + +Thes parted Robyn Hode and the screffe, +To Notynggam he toke the waye; +Hes weyffe feyr welcomed hem hom, +And to hem gan sche saye: + +"Seyr, how haffe yow fared yn grene foreyst? +Haffe ye browt Roben hom?" +"Dam, the deyell spede him, bothe bodey and bon, +Y haffe hade a foll grete skorne. + +"Of all the god that y haffe lade to grene wod, +He hayt take het fro me, +All bot this feyr palffrey, +That he hayt sende to the." + +With that sche toke op a lowde lawhyng, +And swhar be hem that deyed on tre, +"Now haffe yow payed for all the pottys +That Roben gaffe to me. + +"Now ye be corn hom to Notynggam, +Ye schall haffe god ynowe;" +Now speke we of Roben Hode, +And of the pottyr onder the grene bowhe. + +"Potter, what was they pottys worthe +To Notynggam that y ledde with me?" +"They wer worth two nobellys," seyd he, +"So mot y treyffe or the; +So cowde y had for tham, +And y had ther be." + +"Thow schalt hafe ten ponde," seyde Roben, +"Of money feyr and fre; +And yever whan thou comest to grene wod, +Wellcom, potter to me." + +Thes partyd Robyn, the screffe, and the potter, +Ondernethe the grene-wod tre; +God haffe mersey on Robyn Hodys solle, +And saffe all god yemanrey! + + + +Ballad: Robin Hood And The Butcher + + + +Come, all you brave gallants, and listen awhile, +With hey down, down, an a down, +That are in the bowers within; +For of Robin Hood, that archer good, +A song I intend for to sing. + +Upon a time it chanced so, +Bold Robin in forrest did 'spy +A jolly butcher, with a bonny fine mare, +With his flesh to the market did hye. + +"Good morrow, good fellow," said jolly Robin, +"What food hast [thou]? tell unto me; +Thy trade to me tell, and where thou dost dwell, +For I like well thy company." + +The butcher he answer'd jolly Robin, +"No matter where I dwell; +For a butcher I am, and to Nottingham +I am going, my flesh to sell." + +"What's [the] price of thy flesh?" said jolly Robin, +"Come, tell it soon unto me; +And the price of thy mare, be she never so dear, +For a butcher fain would I be." + +"The price of my flesh," the butcher repli'd, +"I soon will tell unto thee; +With my bonny mare, and they are not too dear, +Four mark thou must give unto me." + +"Four mark I will give thee," saith jolly Robin, +"Four mark it shall be thy fee; +The mony come count, and let me mount, +For a butcher I fain would be." + +Now Robin he is to Nottingham gone, +His butchers trade to begin; +With good intent to the sheriff he went, +And there he took up his inn. + +When other butchers did open their meat, +Bold Robin he then begun; +But how for to sell he knew not well, +For a butcher he was but young. + +When other butchers no meat could sell, +Robin got both gold and fee; +For he sold more meat for one peny +Then others could do for three. + +But when he sold his meat so fast, +No butcher by him could thrive; +For he sold more meat for one peny +Than others could do for five. + +Which made the butchers of Nottingham +To study as they did stand, +Saying, "Surely he 'is' some prodigal, +That hath sold his fathers land." + +The butchers stepped to jolly Robin, +Acquainted with him for to be; +"Come, brother," one said, "we be all of one trade, +Come, will you go dine with me?" + +"Accurst of his heart," said jolly Robin, +"That a butcher doth deny; +I will go with you, my brethren true, +As fast as I can hie." + +But when to the sheriffs house they came, +To dinner they hied apace, +And Robin Hood he the man must be +Before them all to say grace. + +"Pray God bless us all," said jolly Robin, +"And our meat within this place; +A cup of sack so good will nourish our blood, +And so do I end my grace." + +"Come fill us more wine," said jolly Robin, +"Let us be merry while we do stay; +For wine and good cheer, be it never so dear, +I vow I the reck'ning will pay. + +"Come, 'brothers,' be merry," said jolly Robin, +"Let us drink, and never give ore; +For the shot I will pay, ere I go my way, +If it cost me five pounds and more." + +"This is a mad blade," the butchers then said; +Saies the sheriff, "He is some prodigal, +That some land has sold for silver and gold, +And now he doth mean to spend all. + +"Hast thou any horn beasts," the sheriff repli'd, +"Good fellow, to sell unto me?" +"Yes, that I have, good master sheriff, +I have hundreds two or three; + +"And a hundred aker of good free land, +If you please it to see: +And Ile make you as good assurance of it, +As ever my father made me." + +The sheriff he saddled his good palfrey, +And, with three hundred pound in gold, +Away he went with bold Robin Hood, +His horned beasts to behold. + +Away then the sheriff and Robin did ride, +To the forrest of merry Sherwood; +Then the sheriff did say, "God bless us this day +From a man they call Robin Hood!" + +But when a little farther they came, +Bold Robin he chanced to spy +A hundred head of good red deer, +Come tripping the sheriff full nigh. + +"How like you my horn'd beasts, good master sheriff? +They be fat and fair for to see;" +"I tell thee, good fellow, I would I were gone, +For I like not thy company." + +Then Robin set his horn to his mouth, +And blew but blasts three; +Then quickly anon there came Little John, +And all his company. + +"What is your will, master?" then said Little John, +"Good master come tell unto me;" +"I have brought hither the sheriff of Nottingham +This day to dine with thee." + +"He is welcome to me," then said Little John, +"I hope he will honestly pay; +I know he has gold, if it be but well told, +Will serve us to drink a whole day." + +Then Robin took his mantle from his back, +And laid it upon the ground: +And out of the sheriffs portmantle +He told three hundred pound. + +Then Robin he brought him thorow the wood, +And set him on his dapple gray; +"O have me commanded to your wife at home;" +So Robin went laughing away. + + + +NOTES + + + +SIR PATRICK SPENS + + +Mr. Child finds the first published version of "the grand old +ballad of Sir Patrick Spens," as Coleridge calls it, in Bishop +Percy's Reliques. Here the name is "Spence," and the middle rhyme- +- + +"Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour," + +is not of early date. The "Cork-heeled Shoon," too, cannot be +early, but ballads are subject, in oral tradition, to such modern +interpolations. The verse about the ladies waiting vainly is +anticipated in a popular song of the fourteenth century, on a +defeat of the noblesse in Flanders-- + +"Their ladies them may abide in bower and hall well long!" + +If there be historical foundation for the ballad, it is probably a +blending of the voyage of Margaret, daughter of Alexander III., to +wed Eric, King of Norway, in 1281 (some of her escort were drowned +on their way home), with the rather mysterious death, or +disappearance, of Margaret's daughter, "The Maid of Norway," on her +voyage to marry the son of Edward I., in 1290. A woman, who +alleged that she was the Maid of Norway, was later burned at the +stake. The great number and variety of versions sufficiently +indicate the antiquity of this ballad, wherein exact history is not +to be expected. + + +THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN + + +From The Border Minstrelsy, Sir Walter Scott's latest edition of +1833: the copy in the edition of 1802 is less complete. The +gentle and joyous passage of arms here recorded, took place in +August 1388. We have an admirable account of Otterburn fight from +Froissart, who revels in a gallant encounter, fairly fought out +hand to hand, with no intervention of archery or artillery, and for +no wretched practical purpose. In such a combat the Scots, never +renowned for success at long bowls, and led by a Douglas, were +likely to prove victorious, even against long odds, and when taken +by surprise. + +Choosing an advantage in the discordant days of Richard II., the +Scots mustered a very large force near Jedburgh, merely to break +lances on English ground, and take loot. Learning that, as they +advanced by the Carlisle route, the English intended to invade +Scotland by Berwick and the east coast, the Scots sent three or +four hundred men-at-arms, with a few thousand mounted archers and +pikemen, who should harry Northumberland to the walls of Newcastle. +These were led by James, Earl of Douglas, March, and Murray. In a +fight at Newcastle, Douglas took Harry Percy's pennon, which +Hotspur vowed to recover. The retreat began, but the Scots waited +at Otterburn, partly to besiege the castle, partly to abide +Hotspur's challenge. He made his attack at moonlight, with +overwhelming odds, but was hampered by a marsh, and incommoded by a +flank attach of the Scots. Then it came to who would pound +longest, with axe and sword. Douglas cut his way through the +English, axe in hand, and was overthrown, but his men protected his +body. The Sinclairs and Lindsay raised his banner, with his cry; +March and Dunbar came up; Hotspur was taken by Montgomery, and the +English were routed with heavy loss. Douglas was buried in Melrose +Abbey; very many years later the English defiled his grave, but +were punished at Ancram Moor. There is an English poem on the +fight of "about 1550"; it has many analogies with our Scottish +version, and, doubtless, ours descends from a ballad almost +contemporary. The ballad was a great favourite of Scott's. In a +severe illness, thinking of Lockhart, not yet his son-in-law, he +quoted-- + + +"My wound is deep, I fain would sleep, +Take thou the vanguard of the three." + + +Mr. Child thinks the command to + + +"yield to the bracken-bush" + + +unmartial. This does not seem a strong objection, in Froissart's +time. It is explained in an oral fragment-- + + +"For there lies aneth yon bracken-bush +Wha aft has conquered mair than thee." + + +Mr. Child also thinks that the "dreamy dream" may be copied from +Hume of Godscroft. It is at least as probable that Godscroft +borrowed from the ballad which he cites. The embroidered gauntlet +of the Percy is in the possession of Douglas of Cavers to this day. + + +TAM LIN, OR TAMLANE + + +Burns's version, in Johnson's Museum (1792). Scott's version is +made up of this copy, Riddell's, Herd's, and oral recitations, and +contains feeble literary interpolations, not, of course, by Sir +Walter. The Complaint of Scotland (1549) mentions the "Tale of the +Young Tamlene" as then popular. It is needless here to enter into +the subject of Fairyland, and captures of mortals by Fairies: the +Editor has said his say in his edition of Kirk's Secret +Commonwealth. The Nereids, in Modern Greece, practise fairy +cantrips, and the same beliefs exist in Samoa and New Caledonia. +The metamorphoses are found in the Odyssey, Book iv., in the +winning of Thetis, the Nereid, or Fairy Bride, by Peleus, in a +modern Cretan fairy tale, and so on. There is a similar incident +in Penda Baloa, a Senegambian ballad (Contes Populaires de la +Senegambie, Berenger Ferand, Paris, 1885). The dipping of Tamlane +has precedents in Old Deccan Days, in a Hottentot tale by Bleek, +and in Les Deux Freres, the Egyptian story, translated by Maspero +(the Editor has already given these parallels in a note to Border +Ballads, by Graham R. Thomson). Mr. Child also cites Mannhardt, +"Wald und Feldkulte," ii. 64-70. Carterhaugh, the scene of the +ballad, is at the junction of Ettrick and Yarrow, between Bowhill +and Philiphaugh. + + +THOMAS RYMER + + +From The Border Minstrelsy; the original was derived from a lady +living near Erceldoune (Earlston), and from Mrs. Brown's MSS. That +Thomas of Erceldoune had some popular fame as a rhymer and +soothsayer as early as 1320-1350, seems to be established. As late +as the Forty Five, nay, even as late as the expected Napoleonic +invasion, sayings attributed to Thomas were repeated with some +measure of belief. A real Thomas Rymer of Erceldoune witnessed an +undated deed of Peter de Haga, early in the thirteenth century. +The de Hagas, or Haigs of Bemersyde, were the subjects of the +prophecy attributed to Thomas, + + +"Betide, betide, whate'er betide, +There will aye be a Haig in Bemersyde," + + +and a Haig still owns that ancient chateau on the Tweed, which has +a singular set of traditions. Learmont is usually given as the +Erceldoune family name; a branch of the family owned Dairsie in +Fifeshire, and were a kind of hereditary provosts of St. Andrews. +If Thomas did predict the death of Alexander III., or rather report +it by dint of clairvoyance, he must have lived till 1285. The date +of the poem on the Fairy Queen, attributed to Thomas, is uncertain, +the story itself is a variant of "Ogier the Dane." The scene is +Huntly Bank, under Eildon Hill, and was part of the lands acquired, +at fantastic prices, by Sir Walter Scott. His passion for land was +really part of his passion for collecting antiquities. The theory +of Fairyland here (as in many other Scottish legends and witch +trials) is borrowed from the Pre-Christian Hades, and the Fairy +Queen is a late refraction from Persephone. Not to eat, in the +realm of the dead, is a regular precept of savage belief, all the +world over. Mr. Robert Kirk's Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns, +and Fairies may be consulted, or the Editor's Perrault, p. xxxv. +(Oxford, 1888). Of the later legends about Thomas, Scott gives +plenty, in The Border Minstrelsy. The long ancient romantic poem +on the subject is probably the source of the ballad, though a local +ballad may have preceded the long poem. Scott named the glen +through which the Bogle Burn flows to Chiefswood, "The Rhymer's +Glen." + + +SIR HUGH + + +The date of the Martyrdom of Hugh is attributed by Matthew Paris to +1225. Chaucer puts a version in the mouth of his Prioress. No +doubt the story must have been a mere excuse for Jew-baiting. In +America the Jew becomes "The Duke" in a version picked up by Mr. +Newells, from the recitation of a street boy in New York. The +daughter of a Jew is not more likely than the daughter of a duke to +have been concerned in the cruel and blasphemous imitation of the +horrors attributed by Horace to the witch Canidia. But some such +survivals of pagan sorcery did exist in the Middle Ages, under the +influence of "Satanism." + + +SON DAVIE + + +Motherwell's version. One of many ballads on fratricide, +instigated by the mother: or inquired into by her, as the case may +be. "Edward" is another example of this gloomy situation. + + +THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL + + +Here + + +"The cock doth craw, the day doth daw," + + +having a middle rhyme, can scarcely be of extreme antiquity. +Probably, in the original poem, the dead return to rebuke the +extreme grief of the Mother, but the poem is perhaps really more +affecting in the absence of a didactic motive. Scott obtained it +from an old woman in West Lothian. Probably the reading "fashes," +(troubles), "in the flood" is correct, not "fishes," or "freshes." +The mother desires that the sea may never cease to be troubled till +her sons return (verse 4, line 2). The peculiar doom of women dead +in child-bearing occurs even in Aztec mythology. + + +THE TWA CORBIES + + +From the third volume of Border Minstrelsy, derived by Charles +Kirkpatrick Sharpe from a traditional version. The English +version, "Three Ravens," was published in Melismata, by T. +Ravensworth (1611). In Scots, the lady "has ta'en another mate" +his hawk and hound have deserted the dead knight. In the English +song, the hounds watch by him, the hawks keep off carrion birds, as +for the lady-- + + +"She buried him before the prime, +She was dead herselfe ere evensong time." + + +Probably the English is the earlier version. + + +THE BONNIE EARL OF MURRAY + + +Huntly had a commission to apprehend the Earl, who was in the +disgrace of James VI. Huntly, as an ally of Bothwell, asked him to +surrender at Donibristle, in Fife; he would not yield to his +private enemy, the house was burned, and Murray was slain, Huntly +gashing his face. "You have spoiled a better face than your own," +said the dying Earl (1592). James Melville mentions contemporary +ballads on the murder. Ramsay published the ballad in his Tea +Table Miscellany, and it is often sung to this day. + + +CLERK SAUNDERS + + +First known as published in Border Minstrelsy (1802). The +apparition of the lover is borrowed from "Sweet Willie's Ghost." +The evasions practised by the lady, and the austerities vowed by +her have many Norse, French, and Spanish parallels in folk-poetry. +Scott's version is "made up" from several sources, but is, in any +case, verse most satisfactory as poetry. + + +WALY, WALY + + +From Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, a curiously composite gathering +of verses. There is a verse, obviously a variant, in a sixteenth +century song, cited by Leyden. St. Anthon's Well is on a hill +slope of Arthur's Seat, near Holyrood. Here Jeanie Deans trysted +with her sister's seducer, in The Heart of Midlothian. The Cairn +of Nichol Mushat, the wife-murderer, is not far off. The ruins of +Anthony's Chapel are still extant. + + +LOVE GREGOR + + +There are French and Romaic variants of this ballad. "Lochroyal," +where the ballad is localized, is in Wigtownshire, but the +localization varies. The "tokens" are as old as the Return of +Odysseus, in the Odyssey: his token is the singular construction +of his bridal bed, attached by him to a living tree-trunk. A +similar legend occurs in Chinese. See Gerland's Alt-Giechische +Marchen. + + +THE QUEEN'S MARIE--MARY HAMILTON + + +A made-up copy from Scott's edition of 1833. This ballad has +caused a great deal of controversy. Queen Mary had no Mary +Hamilton among her Four Maries. No Marie was executed for child- +murder. But we know, from Knox, that ballads were recited against +the Maries, and that one of the Mary's chamberwomen was hanged, +with her lover, a pottinger, or apothecary, for getting rid of her +infant. These last facts were certainly quite basis enough for a +ballad, the ballad echoing, not history, but rumour, and rumour +adapted to the popular taste. Thus the ballad might have passed +unchallenged, as a survival, more or less modified in time, of +Queen Mary's period. But in 1719 a Mary Hamilton, a Maid of +Honour, of Scottish descent, was executed in Russia, for +infanticide. Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe conceived that this affair +was the origin of the ballad, and is followed by Mr. Child. + +We reply (1) The ballad has almost the largest number of variants +on record. This is a proof of antiquity. Variants so many, +differing in all sorts of points, could not have arisen between +1719, and the age of Burns, who quotes the poem. + +(2) This is especially improbable, because, in 1719, the old vein +of ballad poetry had run dry, popular song had chosen other forms, +and no literary imitator could have written Mary Hamilton in 1719. + +(3) There is no example of a popular ballad in which a +contemporary event, interesting just because it is contemporary, is +thrown back into a remote age. + +(4) The name, Mary Hamilton, is often NOT given to the heroine in +variants of the ballad. She is of several names and ranks in the +variants. + +(5) As Mr. Child himself remarked, the "pottinger" of the real +story of Queen Mary's time occurs in one variant. There was no +"pottinger" in the Russian affair. + +All these arguments, to which others might be added, seem fatal to +the late date and modern origin of the ballad, and Mr. Child's own +faith in the hypothesis was shaken, if not overthrown. + + +KINMONT WILLIE + + +From The Border Minstrelsy. The account in Satchells has either +been based on the ballad, or the ballad is based on Satchells. +After a meeting, on the Border of Salkeld of Corby, and Scott of +Haining, Kinmont Willie was seized by the English as he rode home +from the tryst. Being "wanted," he was lodged in Carlisle Castle, +and this was a breach of the day's truce. Buccleugh, as warder, +tried to obtain Willie's release by peaceful means. These failing, +Buccleugh did what the ballad reports, April 13, 1596. Harden and +Goudilands were with Buccleugh, being his neighbours near +Branxholme. Dicky of Dryhope, with others, Armstrongs, was also +true to the call of duty. A few verses in the ballad are clearly +by aut Gualterus aut diabolus, and none the worse for that. +Salkeld, of course, was not really slain; and, if the men were +"left for dead," probably they were not long in that debatable +condition. In the rising of 1745 Prince Charlie's men forded Eden +as boldly as Buccleuch, the Prince saving a drowning Highlander +with his own hand. + + +JAMIE TELFER + + +Scott, for once, was wrong in his localities. The Dodhead of the +poem is NOT that near Singlee, in Ettrick, but a place of the same +name, near Skelfhill, on the southern side of Teviot, within three +miles of Stobs, where Telfer vainly seeks help from Elliot. The +other Dodhead is at a great distance from Stobs, up Borthwick +Water, over the tableland, past Clearburn Loch and Buccleugh, and +so down Ettrick, past Tushielaw. The Catslockhill is not that on +Yarrow, near Ladhope, but another near Branxholme, whence it is no +far cry to Branxholme Hall. Borthwick Water, Goudilands (below +Branxholme), Commonside (a little farther up Teviot), Allanhaugh, +and the other places of the Scotts, were all easily "warned." +There are traces of a modern hand in this excellent ballad. The +topography is here corrected from MS. notes in a first edition of +the Minstrelsy, in the library of Mr. Charles Grieve at Branxholme' +Park, a scion of "auld Jock Grieve" of the Coultart Cleugh. Names +linger long in pleasant Teviotdale. + + +THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY + + +The ballad has Norse analogues, but is here localized on the +Douglas Burn, a tributary of Yarrow on the left bank. The St. +Mary's Kirk would be that now ruinous, on St. Mary's Loch, the +chapel burned by the Lady of Branxholme when she + + +"gathered a band +Of the best that would ride at her command," + + +in the Lay of the Last Minstrel. The ancient keep of Blackhouse on +Douglas Burn may have been the home of the heroine, if we are to +localize. + + +THE BONNY HIND + + +Herd got this tragic ballad from a milkmaid, in 1771. Mr. Child +quotes a verse parallel, preserved in Faroe, and in the Icelandic. +There is a similar incident in the cycle of Kullervo, in the +Finnish Kalevala. Scott says that similar tragedies are common in +Scotch popular poetry; such cases are "Lizzie Wan," and "The King's +Dochter, Lady Jean." A sorrow nearly as bitter occurs in the +French "Milk White Dove": a brother kills his sister, +metamorphosed into a white deer. "The Bridge of Death" (French) +seems to hint at something of the same kind; or rather the Editor +finds that he has arbitrarily read "The Bonny Hind" into "Le Pont +des Morts," in Puymaigre's Chants Populaires du Pays Messin, p. 60. +(Ballads and Lyrics of Old France, p. 63) + + +YOUNG BEICHAN, OR YOUNG BICHAM + + +This is the original of the Cockney Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman, +illustrated by Cruikshank, and by Thackeray. There is a vast +number of variants, evidence to the antiquity of the story. The +earliest known trace is in the familiar legend of the Saracen lady, +who sought and found her lover, Gilbert Becket, father of Thomas a +Becket, in London (see preface to Life of Becket, or Beket), Percy +Society, 1845. The date may be circ. 1300. The kind of story, the +loving daughter of the cruel captor, is as old as Medea and Jason, +and her search for her lover comes in such Marchen as "The Black +Bull o' Norraway." No story is more widely diffused (see A Far +Travelled Tale, in the Editor's Custom and Myth). The appearance +of the "True Love," just at her lover's wedding, is common in the +Marchen of the world, and occurs in a Romaic ballad, as well as in +many from Northern Europe. The "local colour"--the Moor or +Saracen--is derived from Crusading times, perhaps. Motherwell +found the ballad recited with intervals of prose narrative, as in +Aucassin and Nicolette. The notes to Cruikshank's Loving Ballad +are, obviously, by Thackeray. + + +THE BONNY HOUSE O' AIRLY + + +Lord Airly's houses were destroyed by Argyll, representing the +Covenanters, and also in pursuance of a private feud, in 1639, or +1640. There are erroneous versions of this ballad, in which +Lochiel appears, and the date is, apparently, transferred to 1745. +Montrose, in his early Covenanting days, was not actually concerned +in the burning of the Bonnie House, which he, when a Royalist, +revenged on the possessions of "gleyed Argyll." The reference to +"Charlie" is out of keeping; no one, perhaps, ever called Charles +I. by that affectionate name. Lady Ogilvie had not the large +family attributed to her: her son, Lord Ogilvie, escaped from +prison in the Castle of St. Andrews, after Philiphaugh. A Lord +Ogilvie was out in 1745; and, later, had a regiment in the French +Service. Few families have a record so consistently loyal. + + +ROB ROY + + +The abductors of the widowed young heiress of Edenhelly were Rob's +sons, Robin Oig, who went through a form of marriage with the girl, +and James Mohr, a good soldier, but a double-dyed spy and +scoundrel. Robin Oig was hanged in 1753. James Mohr, a detected +traitor to Prince Charles, died miserably in Paris, in 1754. +Readers of Mr. Stevenson's Catriona know James well; information as +to his villanies is extant in Additional MSS. (British Museum). +This is probably the latest ballad in the collection. It occurs in +several variants, some of which, copied out by Burns, derive thence +a certain accidental interest. In Mr. Stevenson's Catriona, the +heroine of that name takes a thoroughly Highland view of the +abduction. Robin Oig, in any case, was "nane the waur o' a +hanging," for he shot a Maclaren at the plough-tail, before the +Forty-Five. The trial of these sons of Alpen was published shortly +after Scott's Rob Roy. + + +KILLIECRANKIE + + +Fought on July 27, 1689. NOT on the haugh near the modern road by +the railway, but higher up the hill, in the grounds of Urrard +House. Two shelter trenches, whence Dundee's men charged, are +still visible, high on the hillside above Urrand. There is said, +by Mr. Child, to have been a contemporary broadside of the ballad, +which is an example of the evolution of popular ballads from the +old traditional model. There is another song, by, or attributed +to, Burns, and of remarkable spirit and vigour. + + +ANNAN WATER + + +From The Border Minstrelsy Scott says that these are the original +words of the tune of "Allan Water," and that he has added two +verses from a variant with a fortunate conclusion. "Allan Water" +is a common river name; the stream so called joins Teviot above +Branxholme. Annan is the large stream that flows into the Solway +Frith. The Gate-slack, in Annandale, fixes the locality. + + +THE ELPHIN NOURRICE + + +This curious poem is taken from the reprint of Charles Kirkpatrick +Sharpe's tiny Ballad Book, itself now almost introuvable. It does +not, to the Editor's knowledge, occur elsewhere, but is probably +authentic. The view of the Faery Queen is more pleasing and +sympathetic than usual. Why mortal women were desired as nurses +(except to attend on stolen mortal children, kept to "pay the Kane +to hell") is not obvious. Irish beliefs are precisely similar; in +England they are of frequent occurrence. + + +JOHNNIE ARMSTRANG + + +Armstrang of Gilnockie was a brother of the laird of Mangertoun. +He had a kind of Robin Hood reputation on the Scottish Border, as +one who only robbed the English. Pitscottie's account of his +slaying by James V. (1529) reads as if the ballad were his +authority, and an air for the subject is mentioned in the Complaint +of Scotland. In Sir Herbert Maxwell's History of Dumfries and +Galloway is an excellent account of the historical facts of the +case. + + +EDOM O' GORDON + + +Founded on an event in the wars between Kingsmen and Queensmen, in +the minority of James VI., while Queen Mary was imprisoned in +England. "Edom" was Adam Gordon of Auchindown, brother of Huntley, +and a Queen's man. He, by his retainer, Car, or Ker, burned Towie +House, a seat of the Forbes's. Ker recurs in the long and more or +less literary ballad of The Battle of Balrinnes. In variants the +localities are much altered, and, in one version, the scene is +transferred to Ayrshire, and Loudoun Castle. All the ballads of +fire-raising, a very usual practice, have points in common, and +transference was easy. + + +LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT + + +Tradition has confused the heroine of this piece with the wife of +Bothwelhaugh, who slew the Regent Murray. That his motive was not +mere political assassination, but to avenge the ill-treatment and +death of his wife, seems to be disproved by Maidment. The affair, +however, is still obscure. This deserted Lady Anne of the ballad +was, in fact, not the wife of Bothwelhaugh, but the daughter of the +Bishop of Orkney; her lover is said to have been her cousin, +Alexander Erskine, son of the Earl of Mar. Part of the poem (Mr. +Child points out) occurs in Broome's play, The Northern Lass +(1632). Though a popular favourite, the piece is clearly of +literary origin, and has been severely "edited" by a literary hand. +This version is Allan Ramsay's. + + +JOCK O' THE SIDE + + +A Liddesdale chant. Jock flourished about 1550-1570, and is +commemorated as a receiver by Sir Richard Maitland in a poem often +quoted. The analogies of this ballad with that of "Kinmont Willie" +are very close. The reference to a punch-bowl sounds modern, and +the tale is much less plausible than that of "Kinmont Willie," +which, however, bears a few obvious marks of Sir Walter's own hand. +A sceptical editor must choose between two theories: either Scott +of Satchells founded his account of the affair of "Kinmont Willie" +on a pre-existing ballad of that name, or the ballad printed by +Scott is based on the prose narrative of Scott of Satchells. The +former hypothesis, everything considered, is the more probable. + + +LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET + + +Published in Percy's Reliques, from a Scotch manuscript, "with some +corrections." The situation, with various differences in detail +and conclusion, is popular in Norse and Romaic ballads, and also in +many Marchen of the type of The Black Bull of Norraway. + + +FAIR ANNIE + + +From The Border Minstrelsy. There are Danish, Swedish, Dutch, and +German versions, and the theme enters artistic poetry as early as +Marie de France (Le Lai del Freisne). In Scotch the Earl of Wemyss +is a recent importation: the earldom dates from 1633. Of course +this process of attaching a legend or Marchen to a well-known name, +or place, is one of the most common in mythological evolution, and +by itself invalidates the theory which would explain myths by a +philological analysis of the proper names in the tale. These may +not be, and probably are not, the original names. + + +THE DOWNIE DENS OF YARROW + + +From The Border Minstrelsy. Scott thought that the hero was Walter +Scott, third son of Thirlestane, slain by Scott of Tushielaw. The +"monument" (a standing stone near Yarrow) is really of a very +early, rather Post-Roman date, and refers to no feud of +Thirlestane, Oakwood, Kirkhope, or Tushielaw. The stone is not far +from Yarrow Krik, near a place called Warrior's Rest. Hamilton of +Bangour's version is beautiful and well known. Quite recently a +very early interment of a corpse, in the curved position, was +discovered not far from the standing stone with the inscription. +Ballad, stone, and interment may all be distinct and separate. + + +SIR ROLAND + + +From Motherwell's Minstrelsy. The authenticity of the ballad is +dubious, but, if a forgery, it is a very skilled one for the early +nineteenth century. Poets like Mr. Swinburne, Mr. Rossetti, and +Mrs. Marriot Watson have imitated the genuine popular ballad, but +never so closely as the author of "Sir Roland." + + +ROSE THE RED AND WHITE LILY + + +From the Jamieson-Brown MS., originally written out by Mrs. Brown +in 1783: Sir Waiter made changes in The Border Minstrelsy. The +ballad is clearly a composite affair. Robert Chambers regarded +Mrs. Brown as the Mrs. Harris of ballad lore, but Mr. Norval +Clyne's reply was absolutely crushing and satisfactory. + + +THE BATTLE OF HARLAW + + +Fought on July 24, 1411. This fight broke the Highland force in +Scotland. The first version is, of course, literary, perhaps a +composition of 1550, or even earlier. The second version is +traditional, and was procured by Aytoun from Lady John Scott, +herself the author of some beautiful songs. But the best ballad on +the Red Harlaw is that placed by Scott in the mouth of Elspeth, in +The Antiquary. This, indeed, is beyond all rivalry the most +splendid modern imitation of the ancient popular Muse. + + +DICKIE MACPHALION + + +A great favourite of Scott's, who heard it sung at Miss +Edgeworth's, during his tour in Ireland (1825). One verse recurs +in a Jacobite chant, probably of 1745-1760, but the bibliography of +Jacobite songs is especially obscure. + + +A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE + + +From the Border Minstrelsy. The ideas are mainly pre-Christian; +the Brig o' Dread occurs in Islamite and Iroquois belief, and in +almost all mythologies the souls have to cross a River. Music for +this dirge is given in Mr. Harold Boulton's and Miss Macleod's +Songs of the North. + + +THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN + + +This version was taken down by Sir Walter Scott from his mother's +recitation, for Jamieson's book of ballads. Jamieson later +quarrelled bitterly with Sir Walter, as letters at Abbotsford +prove. A variant is given by Kinloch, and a longer, less poetical, +but more historically accurate version is given by Buchan. The +House of Waristoun is, or lately was, a melancholy place hanging +above a narrow lake, in the northern suburbs of Edinburgh, near the +Water of Leith. Kincaid was the name of the Laird; according to +Chambers, the more famous lairds of Covenanting times were +Johnstons. Kincaid is said to have treated his wife cruelly, +wherefore she, or her nurse, engaged one Robert Weir, an old +servant of her father (Livingstone of Dunipace), to strangle the +unhappy man in his own bedroom (July 2, 1600). The lady was +beheaded, the nurse was burned, and, later, Weir was also executed. +The line + + +"I wish that ye may sink for sin" + + +occurs in an earlier ballad on Edinburgh Castle-- + + +"And that all for the black dinner +Earl Douglas got therein." + + +MAY COLVEN + + +From Herd's MS. Versions occur in Polish, German, Magyar, +Portuguese, Scandinavian, and in French. The ballad is here +localised on the Carrick coast, near Girvan. The lady is called a +Kennedy of Culzean. Prof. Bugge regards this widely diffused +ballad as based on the Apocryphal legend of Judith and Holofernes. +If so, the legend is diablement change en route. More probably the +origin is a Marchen of a kind of Rakshasa fatal to women. Mr. +Child has collected a vast mass of erudition on the subject, and by +no means acquiesces in Prof. Bugge's ingenious hypothesis. + + +JOHNIE FAA + + +From Pinkerton's Scottish Ballads. The event narrated is a legend +of the house of Cassilis (Kennedy), but is wholly unhistorical. +"Sir John Faa," in the fable, is aided by Gypsies, but, apparently, +is not one of the Earls of Egypt, on whom Mr. Crockett's novel, The +Raiders, may be consulted. The ballad was first printed, as far as +is known, in Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany. + + +HOBBIE NOBLE + + +The hero recurs in Jock o' the Side, and Jock o' the Mains is an +historical character, that is, finds mention in authentic records, +as Scott points out. The Armstrongs were deported in great +numbers, as "an ill colony," to Ulster, by James I. Sir Herbert +Maxwell's History of Dumfries and Galloway may be consulted for +these and similar reivers. + + +THE TWA SISTERS + + +A version of "Binnorie." The ballad here ends abruptly; doubtless +the fiddler made fiddle-strings of the lady's hair, and a fiddle of +her breast-bone, while the instrument probably revealed the cruelty +of the sister. Other extant versions are composite or +interpolated, so this fragment (Sharpe's) has been preferred in +this place. + + +MARY AMBREE + + +Taken by Percy from a piece in the Pepys Collection. The girl +warrior is a favourite figure in popular romance. Often she slays +a treacherous lover, as in Billy Taylor. Nothing is known of Mary +Ambree as an historical personage; she may be as legendary as fair +maiden Lilias, of Liliarid's Edge, who "fought upon her stumps." +In that case the local name is demonstrably earlier than the +mythical Lilias, who fought with such tenacity. + + +ALISON GROSS + + +Jamieson gave this ballad from a manuscript, altering the spelling +in conformity with Scots orthography. Mr. Child prints the +manuscript; here Jamieson's more familiar spelling is retained. +The idea of the romance occurs in a Romaic Marchen, but, in place +of the Queen of Faery, a more beautiful girl than the sorceress +(Nereid in Romaic), restores the youth to his true shape. Mr. +Child regarded the tale as "one of the numerous wild growths" from +Beauty and the Beast. It would be more correct to say that Beauty +and the Beast is a late, courtly, French adaptation and +amplification of the original popular "wild growth" which first +appears (in literary form) as Cupid and Psyche, in Apuleius. +Except for the metamorphosis, however, there is little analogy in +this case. The friendly act of the Fairy Queen is without parallel +in British Folklore, but Mr. Child points out that the Nereid +Queen, in Greece, is still as kind as Thetis of old, not a +sepulchral siren, the shadow of the pagan "Fairy Queen Proserpina," +as Campion calls her. + + +THE HEIR OF LYNNE + + +From Percy's Folio Manuscript. There is a cognate Greek epigram-- + +[Greek text which cannot be reproduced] + + +GORDON OF BRACKLEY + + +This, though probably not the most authentic, is decidedly the most +pleasing version; it is from Mackay's collection, perhaps from his +pen. + + +EDWARD + + +Percy got this piece from Lord Hailes, with pseudo-antiquated +spelling. Mr. Swinburne has published a parallel ballad "From the +Finnish." There are a number of parallel ballads on Cruel +Brothers, and Cruel Sisters, such as Son Davie, which may be +compared. Fratricides and unconscious incests were motives dear to +popular poetry. + + +YOUNG BENJIE + + +From the Border Minstrelsy. That corpses MIGHT begin to "thraw," +if carelessly watched, was a prevalent superstition. Scott gives +an example: the following may be added, as less well known. The +watchers had left the corpse alone, and were dining in the +adjoining room, when a terrible noise was heard in the chamber of +death. None dared enter; the minister was sent for, and passed +into the room. He emerged, asked for a pair of tongs, and +returned, bearing in the tongs A BLOODY GLOVE, and the noise +ceased. He always declined to say what he had witnessed. +Ministers were exorcists in the last century, and the father of +James Thomson, the poet, died suddenly in an interview with a +guest, in a haunted house. The house was pulled down, as being +uninhabitable. + + +AULD MAITLAND + + +From The Border Minstrelsy. This ballad is inserted, not for its +merit, still less for its authenticity, but for the problem of its +puzzling history. Scott certainly got it from the mother of the +Ettrick Shepherd, in 1801. The Shepherd's father had been a grown- +up man in 1745, and his mother was also of a great age, and +unlikely to be able to learn a new-forged ballad by heart. The +Shepherd himself (then a most unsophisticated person) said, in a +letter of June 30, 1801, that he was "surprized to hear this song +is suspected by some to be a modern forgery; the contrary will be +best proved by most of the old people, here about, having a great +part of it by heart." The two last lines of verse seven were, +confessedly, added by Hogg, to fill a lacuna. They are especially +modern in style. Now thus to fill up sham lacunae in sham ballads +of his own, with lines manifestly modern, was a favourite trick of +Surtees of Mainsforth. He used the device in "Barthram's Dirge," +which entirely took in Sir Walter, and was guilty of many other +supercheries, especially of the "Fray of Suport Mill." Could the +unlettered Shepherd, fond of hoaxes as he was, have invented this +stratagem, sixteen years before he joined the Blackwood set? And +is it conceivable that his old mother, entering into the joke, +would commit her son's fraudulent verses to memory, and recite them +to Sir Walter as genuine tradition? She said to Scott, that the +ballad "never was printed i' the world, for my brothers and me +learned it and many mae frae auld Andrew Moore, and he learned it +frae auld Baby Mettlin" (Maitland?) "wha was housekeeper to the +first laird o' Tushilaw." (On Ettrick, near Thirlestane. She +doubtless meant the first of the Andersons of Tushielaw, who +succeeded the old lairds, the Scotts.) "She was said to hae been +another or a guid ane, and there are many queer stories about +hersel', but O, she had been a grand singer o' auld songs an' +ballads." (Hogg's Domestic Manners of Sir Walter Scott, p. 61, +1834.) + +"Maitland upon auld beird gray" is mentioned by Gawain Douglas, in +his Palice of Honour, which the Shepherd can hardly have read, and +Scott identified this Maitland with the ancestor of Lethington; his +date was 1250-1296. On the whole, even the astute Shepherd, in his +early days of authorship, could hardly have laid a plot so +insidious, and the question of the authenticity and origin of the +ballad (obvious interpolations apart) remains a mystery. Who could +have forged it? It is, as an exercise in imitation, far beyond +Hardyknute, and at least on a level with Sir Roland. The +possibility of such forgeries is now very slight indeed, but +vitiates early collections. + +If we suspect Leyden, who alone had the necessary knowledge of +antiquities, we are still met by the improbability of old Mrs. Hogg +being engaged in the hoax. Moreover, Leyden was probably too keen +an antiquary to take part in one of the deceptions which Ritson +wished to punish so severely. Mr. Child expresses his strong and +natural suspicions of the authenticity of the ballad, and Hogg is, +certainly, a dubious source. He took in Jeffrey with the song of +"Donald Macgillavray," and instantly boasted of his triumph. He +could not have kept his secret, after the death of Scott. These +considerations must not be neglected, however suspicious "Auld, +Maitland" may appear. + + +THE BROOMFIELD HILL + + +From Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland. There are +Elizabethan references to the poem, and a twelfth century romance +turns on the main idea of sleep magically induced. The lover +therein is more fortunate than the hero of the ballad, and, +finally, overcomes the spell. The idea recurs in the Norse poetry. + + +WILLIE'S LADYE + + +Scott took this ballad from Mrs. Brown's celebrated Manuscript. +The kind of spell indicated was practised by Hera upon Alcmena, +before the birth of Heracles. Analogous is the spell by binding +witch-knots, practised by Simaetha on her lover, in the second +Idyll of Theocritus. Montaigne has some curious remarks on these +enchantments, explaining their power by what is now called +"suggestion." There is a Danish parallel to "Willie's Ladye," +translated by Jamieson. + + +ROBIN HOOD BALLADS + + +There is plentiful "learning" about Robin Hood, but no real +knowledge. He is first mentioned in literature, as the subject of +"rhymes," in Piers Plowman (circ. 1377). As a topic of ballads he +must be much older than that date. In 1439 his name was a synonym +for a bandit. Wyntoun, the Scots chronicler, dates the outlaw in +the time of Edward I. Major, the Scots philosopher and master of +John Knox, makes a guess (taken up by Scott in Ivanhoe) as the +period of Richard I. Kuhn seeks to show that Hood is a survival of +Woden, or of his Wooden, "wooden horse" or hobby horse. The Robin +Hood play was parallel with the May games, which, as Mr. Frazer +shows in his Golden Bough, were really survivals of a world-wide +religious practice. But Robin Hood need not be confused with the +legendary May King. Mr. Child judiciously rejects these +mythological conjectures, based, as they are, on far-fetched +etymologies and analogies. Robin is an idealized bandit, reiver, +or Klepht, as in modern Romaic ballads, and his adventures are +precisely such as popular fancy everywhere attaches to such popular +heroes. An historical Robin there may have been, but premit nox +alta. + + +ROBIN HOOD AND THE MONK + + +This copy follows in Mr. Child's early edition, "from the second +edition of Ritson's Robin Hood, as collated by Sir Frederic +Madden." It is conjectured to be "possibly as old as the reign of +Edward II." That the murder of a monk should be pardoned in the +facile way described is manifestly improbable. Even in the lawless +Galloway of 1508, McGhie of Phumpton was fined six merks for +"throwing William Schankis, monk, from his horse." (History of +Dumfries and Galloway, by Sir Herbert Maxwell, p. 155.) + + +ROBIN HOOD AND THE POTTER + + +Published by Ritson, from a Cambridge MS., probably of the reign of +Henry VII. + + +ROBIN HOOD AND THE BUTCHER + + +Published by Ritson, from a Black Letter copy in the collection of +Anthony Wood, the Oxford antiquary. + + + +Footnotes: + + +{1} See Pitcairn, Case of Alison Pearson, 1586. + +{2} Translated in Ballads and Lyrics of Old France.--A. L. + +{3} "Kinnen," rabbits. + +{4} "Nicher," neigh. + +{5} "Gilt," gold. + +{6} "Dow," are able to. + +{7} "Ganging," going. + +{8} "Targats", tassels. + +{9} "Blink sae brawly," glance so bravely. + +{10} "Fechting," fighting. + +{11} "Kirsty," Christopher. + +{12} "Hald," hold. + +{13} "Reek," smoke. + +{14} "Freits," omens. + +{15} "Wighty," valiant. + +{16} "Wroken," revenged. + +{17} "Mudie," bold. + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A COLLECTION OF BALLADS *** + +This file should be named cblad10.txt or cblad10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, cblad11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, cblad10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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