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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Book of Old English Ballads
+by George Wharton Edwards
+
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+Title: The Book of Old English Ballads
+
+Author: George Wharton Edwards
+
+Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9405]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on September 29, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF OLD ENGLISH BALLADS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by John B. Hare
+
+
+
+
+A BOOK OF OLD ENGLISH BALLADS
+
+with an
+
+Accompaniment of Decorative Drawings
+
+
+
+by
+
+
+George Wharton Edwards
+
+
+
+And an Introduction by
+
+Hamilton W. Mabie
+
+
+
+
+[1896]
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+Introduction
+
+Chevy Chace
+
+King Cophetua and the Beggar-Maid
+
+King Leir and his Three Daughters
+
+Fair Rosamond
+
+Phillida and Corydon
+
+Fair Margaret and Sweet William
+
+Annan Water
+
+The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington
+
+Barbara Allen's Cruelty
+
+The Douglas Tragedy
+
+Young Waters
+
+Flodden Field
+
+Helen of Kirkconnell
+
+Robin Hood and Allen-a-Dale
+
+Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne
+
+Robin Hood's Death and Burial
+
+The Twa Corbies
+
+Waly, Waly, Love be Bonny
+
+The Nut-brown Maid
+
+The Fause Lover
+
+The Mermaid
+
+The Battle of Otterburn
+
+The Lament of the Border Widow
+
+The Banks o' Yarrow
+
+Hugh of Lincoln
+
+Sir Patrick Spens
+
+
+
+
+
+Introduction
+
+
+
+Goethe, who saw so many things with such clearness of vision,
+brought out the charm of the popular ballad for readers of a later
+day in his remark that the value of these songs of the people is to
+be found in the fact that their motives are drawn directly from
+nature; and he added, that in the art of saying things compactly,
+uneducated men have greater skill than those who are educated.  It is
+certainly true that no kind of verse is so completely out of the
+atmosphere of modern writing as the popular ballad.  No other form of
+verse has, therefore, in so great a degree, the charm of freshness.
+In material, treatment, and spirit, these bat lads are set in sharp
+contrast with the poetry of the hour.  They deal with historical
+events or incidents, with local traditions, with personal adventure
+or achievement.  They are, almost without exception, entirely
+objective.  Contemporary poetry is, on the other hand, very largely
+subjective; and even when it deals with events or incidents it
+invests them to such a degree with personal emotion and imagination,
+it so modifies and colours them with temperamental effects, that the
+resulting poem is much more a study of subjective conditions than a
+picture or drama of objective realities.  This projection of the
+inward upon the outward world, in such a degree that the dividing
+line between the two is lost, is strikingly illustrated in
+Maeterlinck's plays.  Nothing could be in sharper contrast, for
+instance, than the famous ballad of "The Hunting of the Cheviot" and
+Maeterlinck's "Princess Maleine."  There is no atmosphere, in a
+strict use of the word, in the spirited and compact account of the
+famous contention between the Percies and the Douglases, of which
+Sir Philip Sidney said "that I found not my heart moved more than
+with a Trumpet."  It is a breathless, rushing narrative of a swift
+succession of events, told with the most straight-forward
+simplicity.  In the "Princess Maleine," on the other hand, the
+narrative is so charged with subjective feeling, the world in which
+the action takes place is so deeply tinged with lights that never
+rested on any actual landscape, that all sense of reality is lost.
+The play depends for its effect mainly upon atmosphere.  Certain
+very definite impressions are produced with singular power, but
+there is no clear, clean stamping of occurrences on the mind.  The
+imagination is skilfully awakened and made to do the work of
+observation.
+
+The note of the popular ballad is its objectivity; it not only takes
+us out of doors, but it also takes us out of the individual
+consciousness.  The manner is entirely subordinated to the matter; the
+poet, if there was a poet in the case, obliterates himself.  What we
+get is a definite report of events which have taken place, not a
+study of a man's mind nor an account of a man's feelings.  The true
+balladist is never introspective; he is concerned not with himself
+but with his story.  There is no self-disclosure in his song.  To the
+mood of Senancour and Amiel he was a stranger.  Neither he nor the
+men to whom he recited or sang would have understood that mood.
+They were primarily and unreflectively absorbed in the world outside
+of themselves.  They saw far more than they meditated; they recorded
+far more than they moralized.  The popular ballads are, as a rule,
+entirely free from didacticism in any form; that is one of the main
+sources of their unfailing charm.  They show not only a childlike
+curiosity about the doings of the day and the things that befall
+men, but a childlike indifference to moral inference and
+justification.  The bloodier the fray the better for ballad
+purposes; no one feels the necessity of apology either for ruthless
+aggression or for useless blood-letting; the scene is reported as it
+was presented to the eye of the spectator, not to his moralizing
+faculty.  He is expected to see and to sing, not to scrutinize and
+meditate.  In those rare cases in which a moral inference is drawn,
+it is always so obvious and elementary that it gives the impression
+of having been fastened on at the end of the song, in deference to
+ecclesiastical rather than popular feeling.
+
+The social and intellectual conditions which fostered self-
+unconsciousness,--interest in things, incidents, and adventures
+rather than in moods and inward experiences,--and the unmoral or non
+moralizing attitude towards events, fostered also that delightful
+naivete which contributes greatly to the charm of many of the best
+ballads; a naivete which often heightens the pathos, and, at times,
+softens it with touches of apparently unconscious humour; the naivete
+of the child which has in it something of the freshness of a
+wildflower, and yet has also a wonderful instinct for making the
+heart of the matter plain.  This quality has almost entirely
+disappeared from contemporary verse among cultivated races; one must
+go to the peasants of remote parts of the Continent to discover even
+a trace of its presence.  It has a real, but short-lived charm, like
+the freshness which shines on meadow and garden in the brief dawn
+which hastens on to day.
+
+This frank, direct play of thought and feeling on an incident, or
+series of incidents, compensates for the absence of a more perfect
+art in the ballads; using the word "art" in its true sense as
+including complete, adequate, and beautiful handling of subject-
+matter, and masterly working out of its possibilities.  These
+popular songs, so dear to the hearts of the generations on whose
+lips they were fashioned, and to all who care for the fresh note,
+the direct word, the unrestrained emotion, rarely touch the highest
+points of poetic achievement.  Their charm lies, not in their
+perfection of form, but in their spontaneity, sincerity, and graphic
+power.  They are not rivers of song, wide, deep, and swift; they are
+rather cool, clear springs among the hills.  In the reactions
+against sophisticated poetry which set in from lime to time, the
+popular ballad--the true folk-song--has often been exalted at the
+expense of other forms of verse.  It is idle to attempt to arrange
+the various forms of poetry in an order of absolute values; it is
+enough that each has its own quality, and, therefore, its own value.
+The drama, the epic, the ballad, the lyric, each strikes its note in
+the complete expression of human emotion and experience.  Each
+belongs to a particular stage of development, and each has the
+authority and the enduring charm which attach to every authentic
+utterance of the spirit of man under the conditions of life.
+
+In this wide range of human expression the ballad follows the epic
+as a kind of aftermath; a second and scattered harvest, springing
+without regularity or nurture out of a rich and unexhausted soil.  The
+epic fastens upon some event of such commanding importance that it
+marks a main current of history; some story, historic, or mythologic;
+some incident susceptible of extended narrative treatment.  It is
+always, in its popular form, a matter of growth it is direct, simple,
+free from didacticism; representing, as Aristotle says, "a single
+action, entire and complete."  It subordinates character to action; it
+delights in episode and dialogue; it is content to tell the story as
+a story, and leave the moralization to hearers or readers.  The
+popular ballad is so closely related to the popular epic that it may
+be said to reproduce its qualities and characteristics within a
+narrower compass, and on a smaller scale.  It also is a piece of the
+memory of the people, or a creation of the imagination of the people;
+but the tradition or fact which it preserves is of local, rather
+than national importance.  It is indifferent to nice distinctions and
+delicate gradations or shadings; its power springs from its
+directness, vigour, and simplicity.  It is often entirely occupied
+with the narration or description of a single episode; it has no room
+for dialogue, but it often secures the effect of the dialogue by its
+unconventional freedom of phrase, and sometimes by the introduction
+of brief and compact charge and denial, question and reply.  Sometimes
+the incidents upon which the ballad makers fastened, have a unity or
+connection with each other which hints at a complete story.  The
+ballads which deal with Robin Hood are so numerous and so closely
+related that they constantly suggest, not only the possibility, but
+the probability of epic treatment.  It is surprising that the richness
+of the material, and its notable illustrative quality, did not
+inspire some earlier Chaucer to combine the incidents in a sustained
+narrative.  But the epic poet did not appear, and the most
+representative of English popular heroes remains the central figure
+in a series of detached episodes and adventures, preserved in a long
+line of disconnected ballads.
+
+This apparent arrest, in the ballad stage, of a story which seemed
+destined to become an epic, naturally suggests the vexed question of
+the author ship of the popular ballads.  They are in a very real sense
+the songs of the people; they make no claim to individual authorship;
+on the contrary, the inference of what may be called community
+authorship is, in many instances, irresistible.  They are the product
+of a social condition which, so to speak, holds song of this kind in
+solution; of an age in which improvisation, singing, and dancing are
+the most natural and familiar forms of expression.  They deal almost
+without exception with matters which belong to the community memory
+or imagination; they constantly reappear with variations so
+noticeable as to indicate free and common handling of themes of wide
+local interest.  All this is true of the popular ballad; but all this
+does not decisively settle the question of authorship.  What share did
+the community have in the making of these songs, and what share fell
+to individual singers?
+
+Herder, whose conception of the origin and function of literature
+was so vitalizing in the general aridity of thinking about the
+middle of the last century, and who did even more for ballad verse
+in Germany than Bishop Percy did in England, laid emphasis almost
+exclusively on community authorship.  His profound instinct for
+reality in all forms of art, his deep feeling for life, and the
+immense importance he attached to spontaneity and unconsciousness in
+the truest productivity made community authorship not only
+attractive but inevitable to him.  In his pronounced reaction
+against the superficial ideas of literature so widely held in the
+Germany of his time, he espoused the conception of community
+authorship as the only possible explanation of the epics, ballads,
+and other folk-songs.  In nature and popular life, or universal
+experience, he found the rich sources of the poetry whose charm he
+felt so deeply, and whose power and beauty he did so much to reveal
+to his contemporaries.  Genius and nature are magical words with him,
+because they suggested such depths of being under all forms of
+expression; such unity of the whole being of a race in its thought,
+its emotion, and its action; such entire unconsciousness of self or
+of formulated aim, and such spontaneity of spirit and speech.  The
+language of those times, when words had not yet been divided into
+nobles, middle-class, and plebeians, was, he said, the richest for
+poetical purposes.  "Our tongue, compared with the idiom of the
+savage, seems adapted rather for reflection than for the senses or
+imagination.  The rhythm of popular verse is so delicate, so rapid,
+so precise, that it is no easy matter to defect it with our eyes;
+but do not imagine it to have been equally difficult for those
+living populations who listened to, instead of reading it; who were
+accustomed to the sound of it from their infancy; who themselves
+sang it, and whose ear had been formed by its cadence."  This
+conception of poetry as arising in the hearts of the people and
+taking form on their lips is still more definitely and strikingly
+expressed in two sentences, which let us into, the heart of Herder's
+philosophy of poetry: "Poetry in those happy days lived in the ears
+of the people, on the lips and in the harps of living bards; it sang
+of history, of the events of the day, of mysteries, miracles, and
+signs.  It was the flower of a nation's character, language, and
+country; of its occupations, its prejudices, its passions, its
+aspirations, and its soul."  In these words, at once comprehensive
+and vague, after the manner of Herder, we find ourselves face to
+face with that conception not only of popular song in all its forms,
+but with literature as a whole, which has revolutionized literary
+study in this century, and revitalized it as well.  For Herder was a
+man of prophetic instinct; he sometimes felt more clearly than he saw;
+he divined where he could not reach results by analysis.  He was often
+vague, fragmentary, and inconclusive, like all men of his type; but he
+had a genius for getting at the heart of things.  His statements often
+need qualification, but he is almost always on the tight track.  When he
+says that the great traditions, in which both the memory and the
+imagination of a race were engaged, and which were still living in
+the mouths of the people, "of themselves took on poetic form," he is
+using language which is too general to convey a definite impression
+of method, but he is probably suggesting the deepest truth with
+regard to these popular stories.  They actually were of community
+origin; they actually were common property; they were given a great
+variety of forms by a great number of persons; the forms which have
+come down to us are very likely the survivors of a kind of in formal
+competition, which went on for years at the fireside and at the
+festivals of a whole country side.
+
+Barger, whose "Lenore" is one of the most widely known of modern
+ballads, held the same view of the origin of popular song, and was
+even more definite in his confession of faith than Herder.  He
+declared in the most uncompromising terms that all real poetry must
+have a popular origin; "can be and must be of the people, for that is
+the seal of its perfection."  And he comments on the delight with
+which he has listened, in village street and home, to unwritten
+songs; the poetry which finds its way in quiet rivulets to the
+remotest peasant home.  In like manner, Helene Vacaresco overheard the
+songs of the Roumanian people; hiding in the maize to catch the
+reaping songs; listening at spinning parties, at festivals, at death-
+beds, at taverns; taking the songs down from the lips of peasant
+women, fortune-tellers, gypsies, and all manner of humble folk who
+were the custodians of this vagrant community verse.  We have passed
+so entirely out of the song-making period, and literature has become
+to us so exclusively the work of a professional class, that we find
+it difficult to imagine the intellectual and social conditions which
+fostered improvisation on a great scale, and trained the ear of great
+populations to the music of spoken poetry.  It is almost impossible
+for us to disassociate literature from writing.  There is still,
+however, a considerable volume of unwritten literature in the world
+in the form of stories, songs, proverbs, and pithy phrases; a
+literature handed down in large part from earlier times, but still
+receiving additions from contemporary men and women.
+
+This unwritten literature is to be found, it is hardly necessary to
+say, almost exclusively among country people remote from towns, and
+whose mental attitude and community feeling reproduce, in a way, the
+conditions under which the English and Scotch ballads were originally
+composed.  The Roumanian peasants sing their songs upon every
+occasion of domestic or local interest; and sowing and harvesting,
+birth, christening, marriage, the burial, these notable events in
+the life of the country side are all celebrated by unknown poets;
+or, rather, by improvisers who give definite form to sentiments,
+phrases, and words which are on many lips.  The Russian peasant
+tells his stories as they were told to him; those heroic epics whose
+life is believed, in some cases, to date back at least a thousand
+years.  These great popular stories form a kind of sacred
+inheritance bequeathed by one generation to another as a possession
+of the memory, and are almost entirely unrelated to the written
+literature of the country.  Miss Hapgood tells a very interesting
+story of a government official, stationed on the western shore of
+Lake Onega, who became so absorbed in the search for this
+literature of the people that he followed singers and reciters from
+place to place, eager to learn from their lips the most widely known
+of these folk tales.  On such an expedition of discovery he found
+himself, one stormy night, on an island in the lake.  The hut of
+refuge was already full of stormbound peasants when he entered.
+Having made himself some tea, and spread his blanket in a vacant
+place, he fell asleep.  He was presently awakened by a murmur of
+recurring sounds.  Sitting up, he found the group of peasants
+hanging on the words of an old man, of kindly face, expressive eyes,
+and melodious voice, from whose lips flowed a marvellous song; grave
+and gay by turns, monotonous and passionate in succession; but
+wonderfully fresh, picturesque, and fascinating.  The listener soon
+became aware that he was hearing, for the first time, the famous
+story of "Sadko, the Merchant of Novgorod."  It was like being
+present at the birth of a piece of literature!
+
+The fact that unwritten songs and stories still exist in great
+numbers among remote country-folk of our own time, and that additions
+are still made to them, help us to understand the probable origin of
+our own popular ballads, and what community authorship may really
+mean.  To put ourselves, even in thought, in touch with the ballad-
+making period in English and Scotch history, we must dismiss from our
+minds all modern ideas of authorship; all notions of individual
+origination and ownership of any form of words.  Professor ten Brink
+tells us that in the ballad-making age there was no production;
+there was only reproduction.  There was a stock of traditions,
+memories, experiences, held in common by large populations, in
+constant use on the lips of numberless persons; told and retold in
+many forms, with countless changes, variations, and modifications;
+without conscious artistic purpose, with no sense of personal
+control or possession, with no constructive aim either in plot or
+treatment; no composition in the modern sense of the term. Such a
+mass of poetic material in the possession of a large community
+was, in a sense, fluid, and ran into a thousand forms almost without
+direction or premeditation.  Constant use of such rich material gave a
+poetic turn of thought and speech to countless persons who, under
+other conditions, would have given no sign of the possession of the
+faculty of imagination.
+
+There was not only the stimulus to the faculty which sees events and
+occurrences with the eyes of the imagination, but there was also
+constant and familiar use of the language of poetry.  To speak
+metrically or rhythmically is no difficult matter if one is in the
+atmosphere or habit of verse-making; and there is nothing surprising
+either in the feats of memory or of improvisation performed by the
+minstrels and balladists of the old time.  The faculty of
+improvising was easily developed and was very generally used by
+people of all classes.  This facility is still possessed by rural
+populations, among whom songs are still composed as they are sting,
+each member of the company contributing a new verse or a variation,
+suggested by local conditions, of a well-known stanza.  When to the
+possession of a mass of traditions and stories and of facility of
+improvisation is added the habit of singing and dancing, it is not
+difficult to reconstruct in our own thought the conditions under
+which popular poetry came into being, nor to understand in what
+sense a community can make its own songs.  In the brave days when
+ballads were made, the rustic peoples were not mute, as they are
+to-day; nor sad, as they have become in so many parts of England.
+They sang and they danced by instinct and as an expression of social
+feeling.  Originally the ballads were not only sung, but they gave
+measure to the dance; they grew from mouth to mouth in the very act
+of dancing; individual dancers adding verse to verse, and the
+frequent refrain coming in as a kind of chorus.  Gesture and, to a
+certain extent, acting would naturally accompany so free and general
+an expression of community feeling.  There was no poet, because all
+were poets.  To quote Professor ten Brink once more:--
+
+"Song and playing were cultivated by peasants, and even by freedmen
+and serfs.  At beer-feasts the harp went from hand to hand.  Herein
+lies the essential difference between that age and our own.  The
+result of poetical activity was not the property and was not the
+production of a single person, but of the community.  The work of the
+individual endured only as long as its delivery lasted.  He gained
+personal distinction only as a virtuoso.  The permanent elements of
+what he presented, the material, the ideas, even the style and metre,
+already existed.  'The work of the singer was only a ripple in the
+stream of national poetry.  Who can say how much the individual
+contributed to it, or where in his poetical recitation memory ceased
+and creative impulse began!  In any case the work of the individual
+lived on only as the ideal possession of the aggregate body of the
+people, and it soon lost the stamp of originality.  In view of such
+a development of poetry, we must assume a time when the collective
+consciousness of a people or race is paramount in its unity; when
+the intellectual life of each is nourished from the same treasury of
+views and associations, of myths and sagas; when similar interests
+stir each breast; and the ethical judgment of all applies itself to
+the same standard.  In such an age the form of poetical expression
+will also be common to all, necessarily solemn, earnest, and simple."
+
+When the conditions which produced the popular ballads become clear
+to the imagination, their depth of rootage, not only in the community
+life but in the community love, becomes also clear.  We under stand
+the charm which these old songs have for us of a later age, and the
+spell which they cast upon men and women who knew the secret of
+their birth; we understand why the minstrels of the lime, when
+popular poetry was in its best estate, were held in such honour, why
+Taillefer sang the song of Roland at the head of the advancing
+Normans on the day of Hastings, and why good Bishop Aldhelm, when he
+wanted to get the ears of his people, stood on the bridge and sang a
+ballad!  These old songs were the flowering of the imagination of
+the people; they drew their life as directly from the general
+experience, the common memory, the universal feelings, as did the
+Greek dramas in those primitive times, when they were part of rustic
+festivity and worship.  The popular ballads have passed away with
+the conditions which produced them. Modern poets have, in several
+instances, written ballads of striking picturesqueness and power,
+but as unlike the ballad of popular origin as the world of to-day is
+unlike the world in which "Chevy Chase" was first sung.  These
+modern ballads are not necessarily better or worse than their
+predecessors; but they are necessarily different.  It is idle to
+exalt the wild flower at the expense of the garden flower; each has
+its fragrance, its beauty, its sentiment; and the world is wide!
+
+In the selection of the ballads which appear in this volume, no
+attempt has been made to follow a chronological order or to enforce a
+rigid principle of selection of any kind.  The aim has been to bring
+within moderate compass a collection of these songs of the people
+which should fairly represent the range, the descriptive felicity,
+the dramatic power, and the genuine poetic feeling of a body of verse
+which is still, it is to be feared, unfamiliar to a large number of
+those to whom it would bring refreshment and delight.
+
+
+HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE
+
+
+
+
+
+Chevy Chace
+
+
+
+God prosper long our noble king,
+Our liffes and safetyes all;
+A woefull hunting once there did
+In Chevy-Chace befall.
+
+To drive the deere with hound and horne,
+Erle Percy took his way;
+The child may rue that is unborne
+The hunting of that day.
+
+The stout Erle of Northumberland
+A vow to God did make,
+His pleasure in the Scottish woods
+Three summers days to take;
+
+The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chace
+To kill and beare away:
+These tydings to Erle Douglas came,
+In Scotland where he lay.
+
+Who sent Erie Percy present word,
+He wold prevent his sport;
+The English Erle not fearing that,
+Did to the woods resort,
+
+With fifteen hundred bow-men bold,
+All chosen men of might,
+Who knew full well in time of neede
+To ayme their shafts arright.
+
+The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,
+To chase the fallow deere;
+On Munday they began to hunt,
+Ere day-light did appeare;
+
+And long before high noone they had
+An hundred fat buckes slaine;
+Then having din'd, the drovyers went
+To rouze the deare againe.
+
+The bow-men mustered on the hills,
+Well able to endure;
+Theire backsides all, with speciall care,
+That day were guarded sure.
+
+The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,
+The nimble deere to take,
+That with their cryes the hills and dales
+An eccho shrill did make.
+
+Lord Percy to the quarry went,
+To view the tender deere;
+Quoth he, "Erle Douglas promised
+This day to meet me heere;
+
+"But if I thought he wold not come,
+Noe longer wold I stay."
+With that, a brave younge gentleman
+Thus to the Erle did say:
+
+"Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,
+His men in armour bright;
+Full twenty hundred Scottish speres,
+All marching in our sight.
+
+"All men of pleasant Tivydale,
+Fast by the river Tweede:"
+"O cease your sport," Erle Percy said,
+"And take your bowes with speede.
+
+"And now with me, my countrymen,
+Your courage forth advance;
+For never was there champion yett
+In Scotland or in France,
+
+"That ever did on horsebacke come,
+But, if my hap it were,
+I durst encounter man for man,
+With him to breake a spere."
+
+Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede,
+Most like a baron bold,
+Rode formost of his company,
+Whose armour shone like gold.
+
+"Show me," sayd hee, "whose men you bee,
+That hunt soe boldly heere,
+That, without my consent, doe chase
+And kill my fallow-deere."
+
+The man that first did answer make
+Was noble Percy hee;
+Who sayd, "Wee list not to declare,
+Nor shew whose men wee bee.
+
+"Yet will wee spend our deerest blood,
+Thy cheefest harts to slay;"
+Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe,
+And thus in rage did say;
+
+"Ere thus I will out-braved bee,
+One of us two shall dye:
+I know thee well, an erle thou art;
+Lord Percy, soe am I.
+
+"But trust me, Percy, pittye it were,
+And great offence, to kill
+Any of these our guiltlesse men,
+For they have done no ill.
+
+"Let thou and I the battell trye,
+  And set our men aside."
+"Accurst bee he," Erle Percy sayd,
+"By whome this is denyed."
+
+Then stept a gallant squier forth,
+Witherington was his name,
+Who said, "I wold not have it told
+To Henry our king for shame,
+
+"That ere my captaine fought on foote,
+And I stood looking on:
+You bee two erles," sayd Witherington,
+"And I a squier alone.
+
+"Ile doe the best that doe I may,
+While I have power to stand;
+While I have power to weeld my sword,
+Ile fight with hart and hand."
+
+Our English archers bent their bowes,
+Their harts were good and trew;
+Att the first flight of arrowes sent,
+Full four-score Scots they slew.
+
+[Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent,
+As Chieftain stout and good,
+As valiant Captain, all unmov'd
+The shock he firmly stood.
+
+His host he parted had in three,
+As Leader ware and try'd,
+And soon his spearmen on their foes
+Bare down on every side.
+
+Throughout the English archery
+They dealt full many a wound;
+But still our valiant Englishmen
+All firmly kept their ground.
+
+And throwing strait their bows away,
+They grasp'd their swords so bright:
+And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,
+On shields and helmets light.]
+
+They clos'd full fast on everye side,
+Noe slacknes there was found;
+And many a gallant gentleman
+Lay gasping on the ground.
+
+O Christ! it was a griefe to see,
+And likewise for to heare,
+The cries of men lying in their gore,
+And scattered here and there.
+
+At last these two stout erles did meet,
+Like captaines of great might;
+Like lyons wood they layd on lode,
+And made a cruell fight.
+
+They fought, untill they both did sweat,
+With swords of tempered steele;
+Until the blood, like drops of rain,
+They trickling downe did feele.
+
+"Yeeld thee, Lord Percy," Douglas sayd
+"In faith I will thee bringe,
+Where thou shalt high advanced bee
+By James our Scottish king.
+
+"Thy ransom I will freely give,
+And thus report of thee,
+Thou art the most couragious knight
+That ever I did see."
+
+"Noe, Douglas," quoth Erle Percy then,
+"Thy proffer I doe scorne
+I will not yeelde to any Scott,
+That ever yett was borne."
+
+With that, there came an arrow keene
+Out of an English bow,
+Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart,
+A deepe and deadlye blow:
+
+Who never spake more words than these,
+"Fight on, my merry men all;
+For why, my life is at an end:
+Lord Percy sees my fall."
+
+Then leaving liffe, Erle Percy tooke
+The dead man by the hand;
+And said, "Erle Douglas, for thy life
+Wold I had lost my land!
+
+"O Christ! my verry hart doth bleed
+With sorrow for thy sake;
+For sure, a more renowned knight
+Mischance cold never take."
+
+A knight amongst the Scotts there was,
+Which saw Erle Douglas dye,
+Who streight in wrath did vow revenge
+Upon the Lord Percye;
+
+Sir Hugh Mountgomerye was he call'd,
+Who, with a spere most bright,
+Well-mounted on a gallant steed,
+Ran fiercely through the fight;
+
+And past the English archers all,
+Without all dread or feare,
+And through Earl Percyes body then
+He thrust his hatefull spere
+
+With such a vehement force and might
+He did his body gore,
+The speare ran through the other side
+A large cloth-yard, and more.
+
+So thus did both these nobles dye,
+Whose courage none could staine;
+An English archer then perceiv'd
+The noble erle was slaine.
+
+He had a bow bent in his hand,
+Made of a trusty tree;
+An arrow of a cloth-yard long
+Up to the head drew hee.
+
+Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
+So right the shaft he sett,
+The grey goose-wing that was thereon
+In his harts bloode was wett.
+
+This fight did last from breake of day
+Till setting of the sun;
+For when they rung the evening bell,
+The battel scarce was done.
+
+With stout Erle Percy, there was slaine,
+Sir John of Egerton,
+Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,
+Sir James, that bold Bar n.
+
+And with Sir George and stout Sir James,
+Both knights of good account,
+Good Sir Ralph Rabby there was slaine,
+Whose prowesse did surmount.
+
+For Witherington needs must I wayle,
+As one in doleful dumpes;
+For when his legs were smitten off,
+He fought upon his stumpes.
+
+And with Erle Douglas, there was slaine
+Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
+Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld
+One foote wold never flee.
+
+Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too,
+His sisters sonne was hee;
+Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd,
+Yet saved cold not bee.
+
+And the Lord Maxwell in like case
+Did with Erle Douglas dye;
+Of twenty hundred Scottish speres,
+Scarce fifty-five did flye.
+
+Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,
+Went home but fifty-three;
+The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chace,
+Under the greene wood tree.
+
+Next day did many widowes come,
+Their husbands to bewayle;
+They washt their wounds in brinish teares,
+But all wold not prevayle.
+
+Theyr bodyes, bathed in purple blood,
+They bore with them away:
+They kist them dead a thousand times,
+Ere they were cladd in clay.
+
+This newes was brought to Eddenborrow,
+Where Scotlands king did raigne,
+That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye
+Was with an arrow slaine.
+
+"O heavy newes," King James did say;
+"Scottland can witnesse bee,
+I have not any captaine more
+Of such account as hee."
+
+Like tydings to King Henry came,
+Within as short a space,
+That Percy of Northumberland
+Was slaine in Chevy-Chace.
+
+"Now God be with him," said our king,
+"Sith it will noe better bee;
+I trust I have, within my realme,
+Five hundred as good as hee.
+
+"Yett shall not Scotts nor Scotland say,
+But I will vengeance take,
+I'll be revenged on them all,
+For brave Erle Percyes sake."
+
+This vow full well the king perform'd
+After, at Humbledowne;
+In one day, fifty knights were slayne,
+With lordes of great renowne.
+
+And of the rest, of small account,
+Did many thousands dye:
+Thus endeth the hunting in Chevy-Chace,
+Made by the Erle Percy.
+
+God save our king, and bless this land
+In plentye, joy, and peace;
+And grant henceforth, that foule debate
+'Twixt noblemen may cease!
+
+
+
+
+
+King Cophetua and the Beggar-Maid
+
+
+
+I read that once in Affrica
+A princely wight did raine,
+Who had to name Cophetua,
+As poets they did faine.
+From natures lawes he did decline,
+For sure he was not of my minde,
+He cared not for women-kind
+But did them all disdaine.
+But marke what hapned on a day;
+As he out of his window lay,
+He saw a beggar all in gray.
+The which did cause his paine.
+
+The blinded boy that shootes so trim
+From heaven downe did hie,
+He drew a dart and shot at him,
+In place where he did lye:
+Which soone did pierse him to the quicke,
+And when he felt the arrow pricke,
+Which in his tender heart did sticke,
+He looketh as he would dye.
+"What sudden chance is this," quoth he,
+"That I to love must subject be,
+Which never thereto would agree,
+But still did it defie?"
+
+Then from the window he did come,
+And laid him on his bed;
+A thousand heapes of care did runne
+Within his troubled head.
+For now he meanes to crave her love,
+And now he seekes which way to proove
+How he his fancie might remoove,
+And not this beggar wed.
+But Cupid had him so in snare,
+That this poor begger must prepare
+A salve to cure him of his care,
+Or els he would be dead.
+
+And as he musing thus did lye,
+He thought for to devise
+How he might have her companye,
+That so did 'maze his eyes.
+"In thee," quoth he, "doth rest my life;
+For surely thou shalt be my wife,
+Or else this hand with bloody knife,
+The Gods shall sure suffice."
+Then from his bed he soon arose,
+And to his pallace gate he goes;
+Full little then this begger knowes
+When she the king espies.
+
+"The gods preserve your majesty,"
+The beggers all gan cry;
+"Vouchsafe to give your charity,
+Our childrens food to buy."
+The king to them his purse did cast,
+And they to part it made great haste;
+This silly woman was the last
+That after them did hye.
+The king he cal'd her back againe,
+And unto her he gave his chaine;
+And said, "With us you shal remaine
+Till such time as we dye.
+
+"For thou," quoth he, "shalt be my wife,
+And honoured for my queene;
+With thee I meane to lead my life,
+As shortly shall be seene:
+Our wedding shall appointed be,
+And every thing in its degree;
+Come on," quoth he, "and follow me,
+Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.
+What is thy name, faire maid?" quoth he.
+"Penelophon, O King," quoth she;
+With that she made a lowe courtsey;
+A trim one as I weene.
+
+Thus hand in hand along they walke
+Unto the king's pallace:
+The king with courteous, comly talke
+This begger doth embrace.
+The begger blusheth scarlet red,
+And straight againe as pale as lead,
+But not a word at all she said,
+She was in such amaze.
+At last she spake with trembling voyce,
+And said, "O King, I doe rejoyce
+That you wil take me for your choyce,
+And my degree so base."
+
+And when the wedding day was come,
+The king commanded strait
+The noblemen, both all and some,
+Upon the queene to wait.
+And she behaved herself that day
+As if she had never walkt the way;
+She had forgot her gowne of gray,
+Which she did weare of late.
+The proverbe old is come to passe,
+The priest, when he begins his masse,
+Forgets that ever clerke he was
+He knowth not his estate.
+
+Here you may read Cophetua,
+Through long time fancie-fed,
+Compelled by the blinded boy
+The begger for to wed:
+He that did lovers lookes disdaine,
+To do the same was glad and faine,
+Or else he would himselfe have slaine,
+In storie, as we read.
+Disdaine no whit, O lady deere,
+But pitty now thy servant heere,
+Least that it hap to thee this yeare,
+As to that king it did.
+
+And thus they led a quiet life
+During their princely raine,
+And in a tombe were buried both,
+As writers sheweth plaine.
+The lords they tooke it grievously,
+The ladies tooke it heavily,
+The commons cryed pitiously,
+Their death to them was paine.
+Their fame did sound so passingly,
+That it did pierce the starry sky,
+And throughout all the world did flye
+To every princes realme.
+
+
+
+
+
+King Leir and his Three Daughters
+
+
+
+King Leir once ruled in this land
+With princely power and peace,
+And had all things with hearts content,
+That might his joys increase.
+Amongst those things that nature gave,
+Three daughters fair had he,
+So princely seeming beautiful,
+As fairer could not be.
+
+So on a time it pleas'd the king
+A question thus to move,
+Which of his daughters to his grace
+Could shew the dearest love:
+"For to my age you bring content,"
+Quoth he, "then let me hear,
+Which of you three in plighted troth
+The kindest will appear."
+
+To whom the eldest thus began:
+"Dear father, mind," quoth she,
+"Before your face, to do you good,
+My blood shall render'd be.
+And for your sake my bleeding heart
+Shall here be cut in twain,
+Ere that I see your reverend age
+The smallest grief sustain."
+
+"And so will I," the second said;
+"Dear father, for your sake,
+The worst of all extremities
+I'll gently undertake:
+And serve your highness night and day
+With diligence and love;
+That sweet content and quietness
+Discomforts may remove."
+
+"In doing so, you glad my soul,"
+The aged king reply'd;
+"But what sayst thou, my youngest girl,
+How is thy love ally'd?"
+"My love" (quoth young Cordelia then),
+"Which to your grace I owe,
+Shall be the duty of a child,
+And that is all I'll show."
+
+"And wilt thou shew no more," quoth he,
+"Than doth thy duty bind?
+I well perceive thy love is small,
+When as no more I find.
+Henceforth I banish thee my court;
+Thou art no child of mine;
+Nor any part of this my realm
+By favour shall be thine.
+
+"Thy elder sisters' loves are more
+Than well I can demand;
+To whom I equally bestow
+My kingdome and my land,
+My pompal state and all my goods,
+That lovingly I may
+With those thy sisters be maintain'd
+Until my dying day."
+
+Thus flattering speeches won renown,
+By these two sisters here;
+The third had causeless banishment,
+Yet was her love more dear.
+For poor Cordelia patiently
+Went wandring up and down,
+Unhelp'd, unpity'd, gentle maid,
+Through many an English town:
+
+Untill at last in famous France
+She gentler fortunes found;
+Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd
+The fairest on the ground:
+Where when the king her virtues heard,
+And this fair lady seen,
+With full consent of all his court
+He made his wife and queen.
+
+Her father, old King Leir, this while
+With his two daughters staid;
+Forgetful of their promis'd loves,
+Full soon the same decay'd;
+And living in Queen Ragan's court,
+The eldest of the twain,
+She took from him his chiefest means,
+And most of all his train.
+
+For whereas twenty men were wont
+To wait with bended knee,
+She gave allowance but to ten,
+And after scarce to three,
+Nay, one she thought too much for him;
+So took she all away,
+In hope that in her court, good king,
+He would no longer stay.
+
+"Am I rewarded thus," quoth he,
+"In giving all I have
+Unto my children, and to beg
+For what I lately gave?
+I'll go unto my Gonorell:
+My second child, I know,
+Will be more kind and pitiful,
+And will relieve my woe."
+
+Full fast he hies then to her court;
+Where when she heard his moan,
+Return'd him answer, that she griev'd
+That all his means were gone,
+But no way could relieve his wants;
+Yet if that he would stay
+Within her kitchen, he should have
+What scullions gave away.
+
+When he had heard, with bitter tears,
+He made his answer then;
+"In what I did, let me be made
+Example to all men.
+I will return again," quoth he,
+"Unto my Ragan's court;
+She will not use me thus, I hope,
+But in a kinder sort."
+
+Where when he came, she gave command
+To drive him thence away:
+When he was well within her court,
+(She said) he would not stay.
+Then back again to Gonorel
+The woeful king did hie,
+That in her kitchen he might have
+What scullion boys set by.
+
+But there of that he was deny'd
+Which she had promis'd late
+For once refusing, he should not,
+Come after to her gate.
+Thus twixt his daughters for relief
+He wandred up and down,
+Being glad to feed on beggars' food
+That lately wore a crown.
+
+And calling to remembrance then
+His youngest daughters words,
+That said, the duty of a child
+Was all that love affords--
+But doubting to repair to her,
+Whom he had ban'sh'd so,
+Grew frantic mad; for in his mind
+He bore the wounds of woe.
+
+Which made him rend his milk-white locks
+And tresses from his head,
+And all with blood bestain his cheeks,
+With age and honour spread.
+To hills and woods and watry founts,
+He made his hourly moan,
+Till hills and woods and senseless things
+Did seem to sigh and groan.
+
+Even thus possest with discontents,
+He passed o'er to France,
+In hopes from fair Cordelia there
+To find some gentler chance.
+Most virtuous dame! which, when she heard
+Of this her father's grief,
+As duty bound, she quickly sent
+Him comfort and relief.
+
+And by a train of noble peers,
+In brave and gallant sort,
+She gave in charge he should be brought
+To Aganippus' court;
+Whose royal king, with noble mind,
+So freely gave consent
+To muster up his knights at arms,
+To fame and courage bent.
+
+And so to England came with speed,
+To repossesse King Leir,
+And drive his daughters from their thrones
+By his Cordelia dear.
+Where she, true-hearted, noble queen,
+Was in the battel stain;
+Yet he, good king, in his old days,
+Possest his crown again.
+
+But when he heard Cordelia's death,
+Who died indeed for love
+Of her dear father, in whose cause
+She did this battle move,
+He swooning fell upon her breast,
+From whence he never parted;
+But on her bosom left his life
+That was so truly hearted.
+
+The lords and nobles, when they saw
+The end of these events,
+The other sisters unto death
+They doomed by consents;
+And being dead, their crowns they left
+Unto the next of kin:
+Thus have you seen the fall of pride,
+And disobedient sin.
+
+
+
+
+
+Fair Rosamond
+
+
+
+When as King Henry rulde this land,
+The second of that name,
+Besides the queene, he dearly lovde
+A faire and comely dame.
+
+Most peerlesse was her beautye founde,
+Her favour, and her face;
+A sweeter creature in this worlde
+Could never prince embrace.
+
+Her crisped lockes like threads of golde,
+Appeard to each man's sight;
+Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles,
+Did cast a heavenlye light.
+
+The blood within her crystal cheekes
+Did such a colour drive,
+As though the lillye and the rose
+For mastership did strive.
+
+Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde,
+Her name was called so,
+To whom our queene, Dame Ellinor,
+Was known a deadlye foe.
+
+The king therefore, for her defence
+Against the furious queene,
+At Woodstocke builded such a bower,
+The like was never seene.
+
+Most curiously that bower was built,
+Of stone and timber strong;
+An hundered and fifty doors
+Did to this bower belong:
+
+And they so cunninglye contriv'd,
+With turnings round about,
+That none but with a clue of thread
+Could enter in or out.
+
+And for his love and ladyes sake,
+That was so faire and brighte,
+The keeping of this bower he gave
+Unto a valiant knighte.
+
+But fortune, that doth often frowne
+Where she before did smile,
+The kinges delighte and ladyes joy
+Full soon shee did beguile:
+
+For why, the kinges ungracious sonne,
+Whom he did high advance,
+Against his father raised warres
+Within the realme of France.
+
+But yet before our comelye king
+The English land forsooke,
+Of Rosamond, his lady faire,
+His farewelle thus he tooke:
+
+"My Rosamonde, my only Rose,
+That pleasest best mine eye,
+The fairest flower in all the worlde
+To feed my fantasye,--
+
+"The flower of mine affected heart,
+Whose sweetness doth excelle,
+My royal Rose, a thousand times
+I bid thee nowe farwelle!
+
+"For I must leave my fairest flower,
+My sweetest Rose, a space,
+And cross the seas to famous France,
+Proud rebelles to abase.
+
+"But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt
+My coming shortlye see,
+And in my heart, when hence I am,
+Ile beare my Rose with mee."
+
+When Rosamond, that ladye brighte,
+Did heare the king saye soe,
+The sorrowe of her grieved heart
+Her outward lookes did showe.
+
+And from her cleare and crystall eyes
+The teares gusht out apace,
+Which, like the silver-pearled dewe,
+Ranne downe her comely face.
+
+Her lippes, erst like the corall redde,
+Did waxe both wan and pale,
+And for the sorrow she conceivde
+Her vitall spirits faile.
+
+And falling downe all in a swoone
+Before King Henryes face,
+Full oft he in his princelye armes
+Her bodye did embrace.
+
+And twentye times, with watery eyes,
+He kist her tender cheeke,
+Untill he had revivde againe
+Her senses milde and meeke.
+
+"Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?"
+The king did often say:
+"Because," quoth shee, "to bloodye warres
+My lord must part awaye.
+
+"But since your Grace on forrayne coastes,
+Amonge your foes unkinde,
+Must goe to hazard life and limbe,
+Why should I staye behinde?
+
+"Nay, rather let me, like a page,
+Your sworde and target beare;
+That on my breast the blowes may lighte,
+Which would offend you there.
+
+"Or lett mee, in your royal tent,
+Prepare your bed at nighte,
+And with sweete baths refresh your grace,
+At your returne from fighte.
+
+"So I your presence may enjoye
+No toil I will refuse;
+But wanting you, my life is death:
+Nay, death Ild rather chuse."
+
+"Content thy self, my dearest love,
+Thy rest at home shall bee,
+In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle;
+For travell fits not thee.
+
+"Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres;
+Soft peace their sexe delightes;
+Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers;
+Gay feastes, not cruell fightes.
+
+"My Rose shall safely here abide,
+With musicke passe the daye,
+Whilst I amonge the piercing pikes
+My foes seeke far awaye.
+
+"My Rose shall shine in pearle and golde,
+Whilst Ime in armour dighte;
+Gay galliards here my love shall dance,
+Whilst I my foes goe fighte.
+
+"And you, Sir Thomas, whom I truste
+To bee my loves defence,
+Be carefull of my gallant Rose
+When I am parted hence."
+
+And therewithall he fetcht a sigh,
+As though his heart would breake;
+And Rosamonde, for very griefe,
+Not one plaine word could speake.
+
+And at their parting well they mighte
+In heart be grieved sore:
+After that daye, faire Rosamonde
+The king did see no more.
+
+For when his Grace had past the seas,
+And into France was gone,
+With envious heart, Queene Ellinor
+To Woodstocke came anone.
+
+And forth she calls this trustye knighte
+In an unhappy houre,
+Who, with his clue of twined-thread,
+Came from this famous bower.
+
+And when that they had wounded him,
+The queene this thread did gette,
+And wente where Ladye Rosamonde
+Was like an angell sette.
+
+But when the queene with stedfast eye
+  Beheld her beauteous face,
+She was amazed in her minde
+At her exceeding grace.
+
+"Cast off from thee those robes," she said,
+"That riche and costlye bee;
+And drinke thou up this deadlye draught
+Which I have brought to thee."
+
+Then presentlye upon her knees
+Sweet Rosamonde did falle;
+And pardon of the queene she crav'd
+For her offences all.
+
+"Take pitty on my youthfull yeares,"
+Faire Rosamonde did crye;
+"And lett mee not with poison stronge
+Enforced bee to dye.
+
+"I will renounce my sinfull life,
+And in some cloyster bide;
+Or else be banisht, if you please,
+To range the world soe wide.
+
+"And for the fault which I have done,
+Though I was forc'd theretoe,
+Preserve my life, and punish mee
+As you thinke meet to doe."
+
+And with these words, her lillie handes
+She wrunge full often there;
+And downe along her lovely face
+Did trickle many a teare.
+
+But nothing could this furious queene
+Therewith appeased bee;
+The cup of deadlye poyson stronge,
+As she knelt on her knee,
+
+She gave this comelye dame to drinke;
+Who tooke it in her hand,
+And from her bended knee arose,
+And on her feet did stand,
+
+And casting up her eyes to heaven,
+Shee did for mercye calle;
+And drinking up the poison stronge,
+Her life she lost withalle.
+
+And when that death through everye limbe
+Had showde its greatest spite,
+Her chiefest foes did plain confesse
+Shee was a glorious wight.
+
+Her body then they did entomb,
+When life was fled away,
+At Godstowe, neare to Oxford towne,
+As may be seene this day.
+
+
+
+
+
+Phillida and Corydon
+
+
+
+In the merrie moneth of Maye,
+In a morne by break of daye,
+With a troope of damselles playing
+Forthe 'I yode' forsooth a maying;
+
+When anon by a wood side,
+Where that Maye was in his pride,
+I espied all alone
+Phillida and Corydon.
+
+Much adoe there was, God wot:
+He wold love, and she wold not.
+She sayde, "Never man was trewe;"
+He sayes, "None was false to you."
+
+He sayde, hee had lovde her longe;
+She sayes, love should have no wronge.
+Corydon wold kisse her then;
+She sayes, "Maydes must kisse no men,
+
+"Tyll they doe for good and all."
+When she made the shepperde call
+All the heavens to wytnes truthe,
+Never loved a truer youthe.
+
+Then with manie a prettie othe,
+Yea and nay, and faithe and trothe,
+Suche as seelie shepperdes use
+When they will not love abuse,
+
+Love, that had bene long deluded,
+Was with kisses sweete concluded;
+And Phillida with garlands gaye
+Was made the lady of the Maye.
+
+
+
+
+
+Fair Margaret and Sweet William
+
+
+
+As it fell out on a long summer's day,
+Two lovers they sat on a hill;
+They sat together that long summer's day,
+And could not talk their fill.
+
+"I see no harm by you, Margaret,
+And you see none by mee;
+Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock
+A rich wedding you shall see."
+
+Fair Margaret sat in her bower-wind w,
+Combing her yellow hair;
+There she spyed sweet William and his bride,
+As they were a riding near.
+
+Then down she layd her ivory combe,
+And braided her hair in twain:
+She went alive out of her bower,
+But ne'er came alive in't again.
+
+When day was gone, and night was come,
+And all men fast asleep,
+Then came the spirit of Fair Marg'ret,
+And stood at William's feet.
+
+"Are you awake, sweet William?" shee said,
+"Or, sweet William, are you asleep?
+God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,
+And me of my winding sheet."
+
+When day was come, and night was gone,
+And all men wak'd from sleep,
+Sweet William to his lady sayd,
+"My dear, I have cause to weep.
+
+"I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye,
+Such dreames are never good:
+I dreamt my bower was full of red 'wine,'
+And my bride-bed full of blood."
+
+"Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured sir,
+They never do prove good;
+To dream thy bower was full of red 'wine,'
+And thy bride-bed full of blood."
+
+He called up his merry men all,
+By one, by two, and by three;
+Saying, "I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower,
+By the leave of my ladie."
+
+And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower,
+He knocked at the ring;
+And who so ready as her seven brethren
+To let sweet William in.
+
+Then he turned up the covering-sheet;
+"Pray let me see the dead;
+Methinks she looks all pale and wan.
+She hath lost her cherry red.
+
+"I'll do more for thee, Margaret,
+Than any of thy kin:
+For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
+Though a smile I cannot win."
+
+With that bespake the seven brethren,
+Making most piteous mone,
+"You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,
+And let our sister alone."
+
+"If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,
+I do but what is right;
+I ne'er made a vow to yonder poor corpse,
+By day, nor yet by night.
+
+"Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,
+Deal on your cake and your wine:
+For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,
+Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine."
+
+Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,
+Sweet William dyed the morrow:
+Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,
+Sweet William dyed for sorrow.
+
+Margaret was buryed in the lower chancel,
+And William in the higher:
+Out of her brest there sprang a rose,
+And out of his a briar.
+
+They grew till they grew unto the church top,
+And then they could grow no higher;
+And there they tyed in a true lover's knot,
+Which made all the people admire.
+
+Then came the clerk of the parish,
+As you the truth shall hear,
+And by misfortune cut them down,
+Or they had now been there.
+
+
+
+
+
+Annan Water
+
+
+
+"Annan Water's wading deep,
+And my love Annie's wondrous bonny;
+I will keep my tryst to-night,
+And win the heart o' lovely Annie."
+
+He's loupen on his bonny grey,
+He rade the right gate and the ready',
+For a' the storm he wadna stay,
+For seeking o' his bonny lady.
+
+And he has ridden o'er field and fell,
+Through muir and moss, and stones and mire;
+His spurs o' steel were sair to bide,
+And frae her four feet flew the fire.
+
+"My bonny grey, noo play your part!
+Gin ye be the steed that wins my dearie,
+Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye,
+And never spur sail mak' you wearie."
+
+The grey was a mare, and a right gude mare:
+But when she wan the Annan Water,
+She couldna hae found the ford that night
+Had a thousand merks been wadded at her.
+
+"O boatman, boatman, put off your boat,
+Put off your boat for gouden money!"
+But for a' the goud in fair Scotland,
+He dared na tak' him through to Annie.
+
+"O I was sworn sae late yestreen,
+Not by a single aith, but mony.
+I'll cross the drumly stream to-night,
+Or never could I face my honey."
+
+The side was stey, and the bottom deep,
+Frae bank to brae the water pouring;
+The bonny grey mare she swat for fear,
+For she heard the water-kelpy roaring.
+
+He spurred her forth into the flood,
+I wot she swam both strong and steady;
+But the stream was broad, her strength did fail,
+And he never saw his bonny lady.
+
+O wae betide the frush saugh wand!
+And wae betide the bush of brier!
+That bent and brake into his hand,
+When strength of man and horse did tire.
+
+And wae betide ye, Annan Water!
+This night ye are a drumly river;
+But over thee we'll build a brig,
+That ye nae mair true love may sever.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington
+
+
+
+There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe,
+And he was a squire's son;
+He loved the bayliffe's daughter deare,
+That lived in Islington.
+
+Yet she was coye, and would not believe
+That he did love her soe,
+Noe nor at any time would she
+Any countenance to him showe.
+
+But when his friendes did understand
+His fond and foolish minde,
+They sent him up to faire London,
+An apprentice for to binde.
+
+And when he had been seven long yeares,
+And never his love could see,--
+"Many a teare have I shed for her sake,
+When she little thought of mee."
+
+Then all the maids of Islington
+Went forth to sport and playe,
+All but the bayliffe's daughter deare;
+She secretly stole awaye.
+
+She pulled off her gowne of greene,
+And put on ragged attire,
+And to faire London she would go
+Her true love to enquire.
+
+And as she went along the high road,
+The weather being hot and drye,
+She sat her downe upon a green bank,
+And her true love came riding bye.
+
+She started up, with a colour soe redd,
+Catching hold of his bridle-reine;
+"One penny, one penny, kind sir," she sayd,
+"Will ease me of much paine."
+
+"Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart,
+Praye tell me where you were borne."
+"At Islington, kind sir," sayd shee,
+"Where I have had many a scorne."
+
+"I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee,
+O tell me, whether you knowe
+The bayliffes daughter of Islington."
+"She is dead, sir, long agoe."
+
+"If she be dead, then take my horse,
+My saddle and bridle also;
+For I will into some farr countrye,
+Where noe man shall me knowe."
+
+"O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youthe,
+She standeth by thy side;
+She is here alive, she is not dead,
+And readye to be thy bride."
+
+"O farewell griefe, and welcome joye,
+Ten thousand times therefore;
+For nowe I have founde mine owne true love,
+Whom I thought I should never see more."
+
+
+
+
+
+Barbara Allen's Cruelty
+
+
+
+All in the merry month of May,
+When green buds they were swelling,
+Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay
+For love o' Barbara Allen.
+
+He sent his man unto her then,
+To the town where she was dwelling:
+"O haste and come to my master dear,
+If your name be Barbara Allen."
+
+Slowly, slowly rase she up,
+And she cam' where he was lying;
+And when she drew the curtain by,
+Says, "Young man, I think you're dying."
+
+"O it's I am sick, and very, very sick,
+And it's a' for Barbara Allen."
+"O the better for me ye'se never be,
+Tho' your heart's blude were a-spilling!
+
+"O dinna ye min', young man," she says,
+"When the red wine ye were filling,
+That ye made the healths gae round and round
+And ye slighted Barbara Allen?"
+
+He turn'd his face unto the wa',
+And death was wi' him dealing:
+"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends a';
+Be kind to Barbara Allen."
+
+As she was walking o'er the fields,
+She heard the dead-bell knelling;
+
+And every jow the dead-bell gave,
+It cried, "Woe to Barbara Allen!"
+
+"O mother, mother, mak' my bed,
+To lay me down in sorrow.
+My love has died for me to-day,
+I'll die for him to-morrow."
+
+
+
+
+
+The Douglas Tragedy
+
+
+
+"Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says,
+"And put on your armour so bright;
+Sweet William will hae Lady Margaret awi'
+Before that it be light.
+
+"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 buglet 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 he spied her seven brethren bold
+Come riding o'er the lea.
+
+"Light down, light down, Lady Margaret," he said,
+"And hold my steed in your hand,
+Until that against your seven brethren 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 Margaret," he said,
+"O whether will ye gang or bide?"
+"I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said,
+"For you have left me nae other guide."
+
+He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
+And himself on a dapple grey,
+With a buglet 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 came 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 lady I've win.
+
+"O mak my bed, lady mother," he says,
+"O mak it braid and deep!
+And lay Lady Margaret close at my back,
+And the sounder I will sleep."
+
+Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,
+Lady Margaret 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 world might ken right weel,
+They were twa lovers dear.
+
+But bye and rade the black Douglas
+And wow but he was rough!
+For he pulled up the bonny brier,
+And flanged in St. Marie's Loch.
+
+
+
+
+
+Young Waters
+
+
+
+About Yule, when the wind blew cool;
+And the round tables began,
+A' there is come to our king's court
+Mony a well-favoured man.
+
+The queen looked o'er the castle wa',
+Beheld baith dale and down,
+And then she saw young Waters
+Come riding to the town.
+
+His footmen they did rin before,
+His horsemen rade behind;
+Ane mantle of the burning gowd
+Did keep him frae the wind.
+
+Gowden graith'd[FN#1] his horse before,
+And siller shod behind;
+The horse young Waters rade upon
+Was fleeter than the wind.
+
+
+
+[FN#1]  Graitih'd, girthed.
+
+
+
+Out then spake a wily lord,
+Unto the queen said he:
+"O tell me wha's the fairest face
+Rides in the company?"
+
+"I've seen lord, and I've seen laird,
+And knights of high degree,
+But a fairer face than young Waters
+Mine eyen did never see."
+
+Out then spake the jealous king
+And an angry man was he:
+"O if he had been twice as fair,
+You might have excepted me."
+
+"You're neither laird nor lord," she says,
+"But the king that wears the crown;
+There is not a knight in fair Scotland,
+But to thee maun bow down."
+
+For a' that she could do or say,
+Appeased he wad nae be;
+But for the words which she had said,
+Young Waters he maun dee.
+
+They hae ta'en young Waters,
+And put fetters to his feet;
+They hae ta'en young Waters,
+And thrown him in dungeon deep.
+
+"Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town,
+In the wind but and the weet;
+But I ne'er rade thro' Stirling town
+Wi' fetters at my feet.
+
+"Aft have I ridden thro' Stirling town,
+In the wind but and the rain;
+But I ne'er rade thro' Stirling town
+Ne'er to return again."
+
+They hae ta'en to the heading-hill
+His young son in his cradle;
+And they hae ta'en to the heading-hill
+His horse but and his saddle.
+
+They hae ta'en to the heading-hill
+His lady fair to see;
+And for the words the queen had spoke
+Young Waters he did dee.
+
+
+
+
+
+Flodden Field
+
+
+
+King Jamie hath made a vow,
+Keepe it well if he may:
+That he will be at lovely London
+Upon Saint James his day.
+
+Upon Saint James his day at noone,
+At faire London will I be,
+And all the lords in merrie Scotland,
+They shall dine there with me.
+
+"March out, march out, my merry men,
+Of hie or low degree;
+I'le weare the crowne in London towne,
+And that you soon shall be."
+
+Then bespake good Queene Margaret,
+The teares fell from her eye:
+"Leave off these warres, most noble King,
+Keepe your fidelitie.
+
+"The water runnes swift, and wondrous deepe,
+From bottome unto the brimme;
+My brother Henry hath men good enough;
+England is hard to winne."
+
+"Away" quoth he "with this silly foole!
+In prison fast let her lie:
+For she is come of the English bloud,
+And for these words she shall dye."
+
+With that bespake Lord Thomas Howard,
+The Queenes chamberlaine that day:
+"If that you put Queene Margaret to death,
+Scotland shall rue it alway."
+
+Then in a rage King Jamie did say,
+"Away with this foolish mome;
+He shall be hanged, and the other be burned,
+So soone as I come home."
+
+At Flodden Field the Scots came in,
+Which made our English men faine;
+At Bramstone Greene this battaile was seene,
+There was King Jamie slaine.
+
+His bodie never could be found,
+When he was over throwne,
+And he that wore faire Scotland's crowne
+That day could not be knowne.
+
+Then presently the Scot did flie,
+Their cannons they left behind;
+Their ensignes gay were won all away,
+Our souldiers did beate them blinde.
+
+To tell you plaine, twelve thousand were slaine,
+That to the fight did stand,
+And many prisoners tooke that day,
+The best in all Scotland.
+
+That day made many [a] fatherlesse child,
+And many a widow poore,
+And many a Scottish gay lady
+Sate weeping in her bower.
+
+Jack with a feather was lapt all in leather,
+His boastings were all in vaine;
+He had such a chance, with a new morrice-dance
+He never went home againe.
+
+---
+
+This was written to adapt the ballad to the seventeenth century.
+
+
+Now heaven we laude that never more
+Such biding shall come to hand;
+Our King, by othe, is King of both
+England and faire Scotland.
+
+
+
+
+
+Helen of Kirkconnell
+
+
+
+I wad I were where Helen lies;
+Night and day on me she cries;
+O that I were where Helen lies,
+On fair Kirkconnell lea!
+
+Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
+And curst the hand that fired the shot,
+When in my arms burd Helen dropt,
+And died to succour me!
+
+O think na but my heart was sair
+When my Love dropt and spak nae mair!
+I laid her down wi' meikle care,
+On fair Kirkconnell lea.
+
+As I went down the water side,
+Nane but my foe to be my guide,
+Nane but my foe to be my guide,
+On fair Kirkconnell lea.
+
+I lighted down my sword to draw,
+I hacked him in pieces sma',
+I hacked him in pieces sma',
+For her sake that died for me.
+
+O Helen fair, beyond compare!
+I'll make a garland of thy hair,
+Shall bind my heart for evermair,
+Until the day I dee!
+
+O that I were where Helen lies
+Night and day on me she cries;
+Out of my bed she bids me rise,
+Says, "Haste, and come to me!"
+
+O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
+If I were with thee, I were blest,
+Where thou lies low and takes thy rest,
+On fair Kirkconnell lea.
+
+I wad my grave were growing green,
+A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
+And I in Helen's arms lying,
+On fair Kirkconnell lea.
+
+I wad I were where Helen lies!
+Night and day on me she cries,
+And I am weary of the skies,
+Since my Love died for me.
+
+
+
+
+
+Robin Hood and Allen-a-Dale
+
+
+
+Come listen to me, you gallants so free,
+All you that love mirth for to hear,
+And I will tell you of a bold outlaw,
+That lived in Nottinghamshire.
+
+As Robin Hood in the forest stood
+All under the greenwood tree,
+There he was aware of a brave young man,
+As fine as fine might be.
+
+The youngster was clad in scarlet red,
+In scarlet fine and gay
+And he did frisk it over the plain,
+And chaunted a roundelay.
+
+As Robin Hood next morning stood
+Amongst the leaves so gay,
+There did he espy the same young man
+Come drooping along the way.
+
+The scarlet he wore the day before
+It was clean cast away;
+And at every step he fetched a sigh,
+"Alas! and a well-a-day!"
+
+Then stepped forth brave Little John,
+And Midge, the miller's son;
+Which made the young man bend his bow,
+When as he see them come.
+
+"Stand off! stand off!" the young man said,
+"What is your will with me?"
+"You must come before our master straight,
+Under yon greenwood tree."
+
+And when he came bold Robin before,
+Robin asked him courteously,
+O, hast thou any money to spare,
+For my merry men and me?
+
+"I have no money," the young man said,
+"But five shillings and a ring;
+And that I have kept this seven long years,
+To have at my wedding.
+
+"Yesterday I should have married a maid,
+But she was from me ta'en,
+And chosen to be an old knight's delight,
+Whereby my poor heart is slain."
+
+"What is thy name?" then said Robin Hood,
+"Come tell me, without any fail."
+"By the faith of my body," then said the young man,
+"My name it is Allen-a-Dale."
+
+"What wilt thou give me," said Robin Hood,
+"In ready gold or fee,
+To help thee to thy true love again,
+And deliver her unto thee?"
+
+"I have no money," then quoth the young man,
+"No ready gold nor fee,
+But I will swear upon a book
+Thy true servant for to be."
+
+"How many miles is it to thy true love?
+Come tell me without guile."
+"By the faith of my body," then said the young man,
+"It is but five little mile."
+
+Then Robin he hasted over the plain,
+He did neither stint nor lin,
+Until he came unto the church
+Where Allen should keep his weddin'.
+
+"What hast thou here?" the bishop then said,
+"I prithee now tell unto me."
+"I am a bold harper," quoth Robin Hood,
+"And the best in the north country."
+
+"O welcome, O welcome," the bishop he said,
+"That music best pleaseth me."
+"You shall have no music," quoth Robin Hood,
+"Till the bride and bridegroom I see."
+
+With that came in a wealthy knight,
+Which was both grave and old;
+And after him a finikin lass,
+Did shine like the glistering gold.
+
+"This is not a fit match," quoth Robin Hood,
+"That you do seem to make here;
+For since we are come into the church,
+The bride shall chuse her own dear."
+
+Then Robin Hood put his horn to his mouth,
+And blew blasts two and three;
+When four-and-twenty bowmen bold
+Came leaping over the lea.
+
+And when they came into the church-yard,
+Marching all in a row,
+The first man was Allen-a-Dale,
+To give bold Robin his bow.
+
+"This is thy true love," Robin he said,
+Young Allen, as I hear say;
+And you shall be married this same time,
+Before we depart away."
+
+"That shall not be," the bishop he cried,
+"For thy word shall not stand;
+They shall be three times asked in the church,
+As the law is of our land."
+
+Robin Hood pulled off the bishop's coat,
+And put it upon Little John;
+"By the faith of my body," then Robin said,
+"This cloth doth make thee a man."
+
+When Little John went into the quire,
+The people began to laugh;
+He asked them seven times into church,
+Lest three times should not be enough.
+
+"Who gives me this maid?" said Little John,
+Quoth Robin Hood, "That do I;
+And he that takes her from Allen-a-Dale,
+Full dearly he shall her buy."
+
+And then having ended this merry wedding,
+The bride looked like a queen;
+And so they returned to the merry greenwood,
+Amongst the leaves so green.
+
+
+
+
+
+Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne
+
+
+
+When shaws beene sheene, and shradds full fayre,
+And leaves both large and longe,
+Itt is merrye walkyng in the fayre forrest
+To heare the small birdes songe.
+
+The woodweele sang, and wold not cease,
+Sitting upon the spraye,
+Soe lowde, he wakened Robin Hood,
+In the greenwood where he lay.
+
+"Now, by my faye," sayd jollye Robin,
+"A sweaven I had this night;
+I dreamt me of tow wighty yemen,
+That fast with me can fight.
+
+"Methought they did mee beate and binde,
+And tooke my bow mee froe;
+Iff I be Robin alive in this lande,
+Ile be wroken on them towe."
+
+"Sweavens are swift, master," quoth John,
+"As the wind that blowes ore the hill;
+For if itt be never so loude this night,
+To-morrow it may be still."
+
+"Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all,
+And John shall goe with mee,
+For Ile goe seeke yond wight yeomen,
+In greenwood where the bee."
+
+Then they cast on their gownes of grene,
+And tooke theyr bowes each one;
+And they away to the greene forrest
+A shooting forth are gone;
+
+Untill they came to the merry greenwood,
+Where they had gladdest to bee;
+There were they ware of a wight yeoman,
+His body leaned to a tree.
+
+A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,
+Of manye a man the bane;
+And he was clad in his capull hyde,
+Topp and tayll and mayne.
+
+"Stand you still, master," quoth Little John,
+"Under this tree so grene,
+And I will go to yond wight yeoman
+To know what he doth meane."
+
+"Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store,
+And that I farley finde:
+How offt send I my men beffore,
+And tarry my selfe behinde!
+
+"It is no cunning a knave to ken,
+And a man but heare him speake;
+And itt were not for bursting of my bowe,
+John, I thy head wold breake."
+
+As often wordes they breeden bale,
+So they parted Robin and John;
+And John is gone to Barnesdale;
+The gates he knoweth eche one.
+
+But when he came to Barnesdale,
+Great heavinesse there hee hadd,
+For he found tow of his owne fell wes
+Were slaine both in a slade.
+
+And Scarlette he was flying a-foote
+Faste over stocke and stone,
+For the sheriffe with seven score men
+Fast after him is gone.
+
+"One shoote now I will shoote," quoth John,
+"With Christ his might and mayne;
+Ile make yond fellow that flyes soe fast,
+To stopp he shall be fayne."
+
+Then John bent up his long bende-bowe,
+And fetteled him to shoote:
+The bow was made of tender boughe,
+And fell down to his foote.
+
+"Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,
+That ere thou grew on a tree;
+For now this day thou art my bale,
+My boote when thou shold bee."
+
+His shoote it was but loosely shott,
+Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine,
+For itt mett one of the sherriffes men,
+Good William a Trent was slaine.
+
+It had bene better of William a Trent
+To have bene abed with sorrowe,
+Than to be that day in the green-wood slade
+To meet with Little Johns arrowe.
+
+But as it is said, when men be mett
+Fyve can doe more than three,
+The sheriffe hath taken Little John,
+And bound him fast to a tree.
+
+"Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe,
+And hanged hye on a hill."
+"But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose," quoth John,
+"If itt be Christ his will."
+
+Lett us leave talking of Little John,
+And thinke of Robin Hood,
+How he is gone to the wight yeoman,
+Where under the leaves he stood.
+
+"Good morrowe, good fellowe," sayd Robin so fayre,
+"Good morrowe, good fellow," quoth he.
+"Methinks by this bowe thou beares in thy hande,
+A good archere thou sholdst bee."
+
+"I am wilfulle of my waye," quo' the yeoman,
+"And of my morning tyde:"
+"Ile lead thee through the wood," sayd Robin,
+"Good fellow, Ile be thy guide."
+
+"I seeke an outlawe," the straunger sayd,
+"Men call him Robin Hood;
+Rather Ild meet with that proud outlawe
+Than fortye pound soe good."
+
+"Now come with me, thou wight yeman,
+And Robin thou soone shalt see;
+But first let us some pastime find
+Under the greenwood tree.
+
+"First let us some masterye make
+Among the woods so even;
+We may chance to meet with Robin Hood
+Here att some unsett steven."
+
+They cutt them down two summer shroggs,
+That grew both under a breere,
+And set them threescore rood in twaine,
+To shoote the prickes y-fere.
+
+"Leade on, good fellowe," quoth Robin Hood,
+"Leade on, I doe bidd thee."
+"Nay, by my faith, good fellowe," hee sayd,
+"My leader thou shalt bee."
+
+The first time Robin shot at the pricke,
+He mist but an inch it fro;
+The yeoman he was an archer good,
+But he cold never shoote soe.
+
+The second shoote had the wightye yeoman,
+He shote within the garlande;
+But Robin he shott far better than hee,
+For he clave the good pricke-wande.
+
+"A blessing upon thy heart," he sayd,
+"Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode
+For an thy hart be as good as thy hand,
+Thou wert better then Robin Hoode.
+
+Now tell me thy name, good fellowe," sayd he,
+"Under the leaves of lyne."
+"Nay, by my faith," quoth bolde Robin,
+"Till thou have told me thine."
+
+"I dwell by dale and downe," quoth hee,
+"And Robin to take Ime sworne;
+And when I am called by my right name,
+I am Guy of good Gisbrne."
+
+"My dwelling is in this wood," sayes Robin,
+"By thee I set right nought:
+I am Robin Hood of Barnesdale,
+Whom thou so long hast sought."
+
+He that had neither beene kithe nor kin,
+Might have seen a full fayre sight,
+To see how together these yeomen went
+With blades both browne and bright:
+
+To see how these yeomen together they fought
+Two howres of a summers day,
+Yett neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy
+Them fettled to flye away.
+
+Robin was reachles on a roote,
+And stumbled at that tyde;
+And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all,
+And hitt him ore the left side.
+
+"Ah, deere Lady," sayd Robin Hood tho,
+"Thou art but mother and may';
+I think it was never mans destinye
+To dye before his day."
+
+Robin thought on Our Ladye deere,
+And soone leapt up againe,
+And strait he came with a 'backward' stroke,
+And he Sir Guy hath slayne.
+
+He took Sir Guy's head by the hayre,
+And stuck itt upon his bowes end:
+"Thou hast beene a traytor all thy liffe,
+Which thing must have an end."
+
+Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe,
+And nicked Sir Guy in the face,
+That he was never on woman born
+Cold tell whose head it was.
+
+Sayes, "Lye there, lye there now, Sir Guy,
+And with me be not wrothe;
+Iff thou have had the worst strokes at my hand,
+Thou shalt have the better clothe."
+
+Robin did off his gowne of greene,
+And on Sir Guy did throwe,
+And hee put on that capull hyde,
+That cladd him topp to toe.
+
+"The bowe, the arrowes, and litle horne,
+Now with me I will beare;
+For I will away to Barnesdale,
+To see how my men doe fare."
+
+Robin Hood sett Guy's horne to his mouth,
+And a loud blast in it did blow:
+That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham,
+As he leaned under a lowe.
+
+"Hearken, hearken," sayd the sheriffe,
+"I heare nowe tydings good,
+For yonder I heare Sir Guy's horne blowe,
+And he hath slaine Robin Hoode.
+
+"Yonder I heare Sir Guy's horne blowe,
+Itt blowes soe well in tyde,
+And yonder comes that wightye yeoman,
+Cladd in his capull hyde.
+
+"Come hyther, come hyther, thou good Sir Guy,
+Aske what thou wilt of mee."
+"O I will none of thy gold," sayd Robin,
+"Nor I will none of thy fee.
+
+"But now I have slaine the master," he sayes,
+"Let me goe strike the knave;
+For this is all the rewarde I aske.
+Nor noe other will I have."
+
+"Thou art a madman," said the sheriffe,
+"Thou sholdst have had a knightes fee;
+But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad,
+Well granted it shale be."
+
+When Little John heard his master speake,
+Well knewe he it was his steven;
+"Now shall I be looset," quoth Little John,
+"With Christ his might in heaven."
+
+Fast Robin hee hyed him to Little John,
+He thought to loose him belive:
+The sheriffe and all his companye
+Fast after him can drive.
+
+"Stand abacke, stand abacke," sayd Robin;
+"Why draw you mee so neere?
+Itt was never the use in our countrye,
+Ones shrift another shold heere."
+
+But Robin pulled forth an Irysh knife,
+And losed John hand and foote,
+And gave him Sir Guy's bow into his hand,
+And bade it be his boote.
+
+Then John he took Guy's bow in his hand,
+His boltes and arrowes eche one:
+When the sheriffe saw Little John bend his bow,
+He fettled him to be gone.
+
+Towards his house in Nottingham towne
+He fled full fast away,
+And soe did all the companye,
+Not one behind wold stay.
+
+But he cold neither runne soe fast,
+Nor away soe fast cold ryde,
+But Little John with an arrowe soe broad
+He shott him into the 'backe'-syde.
+
+
+
+
+
+Robin Hood's Death and Burial
+
+
+
+When Robin Hood and Little John
+Down a down, a down, a down,
+Went o'er yon bank of broom,
+Said Robin Hood to Little John,
+"We have shot for many a pound:
+Hey down, a down, a down.
+
+"But I am not able to shoot one shot more,
+My arrows will not flee;
+But I have a cousin lives down below,
+Please God, she will bleed me."
+
+Now Robin is to fair Kirkley gone,
+As fast as he can win;
+But before he came there, as we do hear,
+He was taken very ill.
+
+And when that he came to fair Kirkley-hall,
+He knocked all at the ring,
+But none was so ready as his cousin herself
+For to let bold Robin in.
+
+"Will you please to sit down, cousin Robin," she said,
+"And drink some beer with me?"
+"No, I will neither eat nor drink,
+Till I am blooded by thee."
+
+"Well, I have a room, cousin Robin," she said,
+"Which you did never see;
+And if you please to walk therein,
+You blooded by me shall be."
+
+She took him by the lily-white hand,
+And led him to a private room;
+And there she blooded bold Robin Hood,
+Whilst one drop of blood would run.
+
+She blooded him in the vein of the arm,
+And locked him up in the room;
+There did he bleed all the live-long day,
+Until the next day at noon.
+
+He then bethought him of a casement door,
+Thinking for to begone;
+He was so weak he could not leap,
+Nor he could not get down.
+
+He then bethought him of his bugle-horn,
+Which hung low down to his knee,
+He set his horn unto his mouth,
+And blew out weak blasts three.
+
+Then Little John, when hearing him,
+As he sat under the tree,
+"I fear my master is near dead,
+He blows so wearily."
+
+Then Little John to Fair Kirkley is gone,
+As fast as he can dree;
+But when he came to Kirkley-hall,
+He broke locks two or three;
+
+Until he came bold Robin to,
+Then he fell on his knee;
+"A boon, a boon," cries Little John,
+"Master, I beg of thee."
+
+"What is that boon," quoth Robin Hood,
+"Little John, thou begst of me?"
+"It is to burn fair Kirkley-hall,
+And all their nunnery."
+
+"Now nay, now nay," quoth Robin Hood,
+"That boon I'll not grant thee;
+I never hurt woman in all my life,
+Nor man in woman's company.
+
+"I never hurt fair maid in all my time,
+Nor at my end shall it be;
+But give me my bent bow in my hand,
+And a broad arrow I'll let flee;
+And where this arrow is taken up,
+There shall my grave digged be.
+
+"Lay me a green sod under my head,
+And another under my feet;
+And lay my bent bow by my side,
+Which was my music sweet;
+And make my grave of gravel and green,
+Which is most right and meet.
+
+"Let me have length and breadth enough,
+With a green sod under my head;
+That they may say when I am dead,
+Here lies bold Robin Hood."
+
+These words they readily promised him,
+Which did bold Robin please;
+And there they buried bold Robin Hood,
+Near to the fair Kirkleys.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Twa Corbies
+
+
+
+As I was walking all alane,
+I heard twa corbies making a maen:
+The tane unto the t'ither did say,
+"Whaur shall we gang and dine the day?"
+
+"O doun beside 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,
+Sae we may mak' our dinner sweet.
+
+"O we'll sit on his white hause bane,
+And I'll pyke out his bonny blue e'en;
+Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair
+We'll theek our nest when it blaws bare.
+
+"Mony a ane for him makes maen,
+But nane shall ken whaur he is gane.
+Over his banes when they are bare,
+The wind shall blaw for evermair."
+
+
+
+
+
+Waly, Waly, Love be Bonny
+
+
+
+A SCOTTISH SONG
+
+
+O waly, waly up the bank,
+And waly, waly down the brae,
+And waly, waly yon burn side,
+Where I and my love were wont to gae.
+I leant my back unto an aik,
+I thought it was a trusty tree;
+But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,
+Sae my true love did lichtly me.
+
+O waly, waly, but gin love be bonny,
+A little time while it is new;
+But when its auld, it waxeth cauld,
+And fades awa' like morning dew.
+O wherfore shuld I busk my head?
+Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair?
+For my true love has me forsook,
+And says he'll never loe me mair.
+
+Now Arthur-Seat sall be my bed,
+The sheets shall neir be prest by me:
+Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,
+Since my true love has forsaken me.
+Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
+And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
+O gentle death, when wilt thou cum?
+For of my life I am wearye.
+
+'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
+Nor blawing snaws inclemencye;
+'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,
+But my love's heart grown cauld to me.
+Whan we came in by Glasgow town,
+We were a comely sight to see;
+My love was clad in black velvet,
+And I myself in cramasye.
+
+But had I wist, before I kist,
+That love had been sae ill to win,
+I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd,
+And pinnd it with a siller pin.
+And, oh! that 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.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Nut-brown Maid
+
+
+
+Be it right, or wrong, these men among
+On women do complain;
+Affirming this, how that it is
+A labour spent in vain
+To love them wele; for never a dele
+They love a man again:
+For let a man do what he can,
+Their favour to attain,
+Yet, if a new do them pursue,
+Their first true lover then
+Laboureth for nought; for from her thought
+He is a banished man.
+
+I say not nay, but that all day
+It is both writ and said
+That woman's faith is, as who saith,
+All utterly decayed;
+But, nevertheless, right good witness
+In this case might be laid,
+That they love true, and continue,
+Record the Nut-brown Maid:
+Which, when her love came, her to prove,
+To her to make his moan,
+Would not depart; for in her heart
+She loved but him alone.
+
+Then between us let us discuss
+What was all the manere
+Between them two: we will also
+Tell all the pain, and fere,
+That she was in. Now I begin,
+So that ye me answere;
+Wherefore, all ye, that present be
+I pray you, give an ear.
+I am the knight; I come by night,
+As secret as I can;
+Saying,' Alas! thus standeth the case,
+  I am a banished man.'
+
+
+SHE
+
+And I your will for to fulfil
+In this will not refuse;
+Trusting to shew, in wordes few,
+That men have an ill use
+(To their own shame) women to blame,
+And causeless them accuse:
+Therefore to you I answer now,
+All women to excuse,--
+Mine own heart dear, with you what chere?
+I pray you, tell anone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+It standeth so; a dede is do
+Whereof great harm shall grow
+My destiny is for to die
+A shameful death, I trowe;
+Or else to flee: the one must be.
+None other way I know,
+But to withdraw as an outlaw,
+And take me to my bow.
+Wherefore, adieu, my own heart true!
+None other rede I can:
+For I must to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+O Lord, what is this worldys bliss,
+That changeth as the moon!
+My summer's day in lusty May
+Is darked before the noon.
+I hear you say, farewell: Nay, nay,
+We depart not so soon.
+Why say ye so? wheder will ye go?
+Alas! what have ye done?
+All my welfare to sorrow and care
+Should change, if ye were gone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+I can believe, it shall you grieve,
+And somewhat you distrain;
+But, afterward, your paines hard
+Within a day or twain
+Shall soon aslake; and ye shall take
+Comfort to you again.
+Why should ye ought? for, to make thought
+Your labour were in vain.
+And thus I do; and pray you to,
+As heartily as I can;
+For I must to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+Now, sith that ye have shewed to me
+The secret of your mind,
+I shall be plain to you again,
+Like as ye shall me find.
+Sith it is so, that ye will go,
+I wolle not leave behind;
+Shall never be said, the Nut-brown Maid
+Was to her love unkind:
+Make you ready, for so am I,
+Although it were anone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+Yet I you rede to take good heed
+What men will think and say:
+Of young and old it shall be told,
+That ye be gone away,
+Your wanton will for to fulfil,
+In green wood you to play;
+And that ye might from your delight
+No longer make delay.
+Rather than ye should thus for me
+Be called an ill woman,
+Yet would I to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+Though it be sung of old and young,
+That I should be to blame,
+Theirs be the charge, that speak so large
+In hurting of my name:
+For I will prove, that, faithful love
+It is devoid of shame;
+In your distress, and heaviness,
+To part with you, the same:
+And sure all tho, that do not so,
+True lovers are they none;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+I counsel you, remember how,
+It is no maiden's law,
+Nothing to doubt, but to renne out
+To wood with an outlaw:
+For ye must there in your hand bear
+A bow, ready to draw;
+And, as a thief, thus must you live,
+Ever in dread and awe;
+Whereby to you great harm might grow:
+Yet had I lever than,
+That I had to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+I think not nay, but as ye say,
+It is no maiden's lore;
+But love may make me for your sake,
+As I have said before,
+To come on foot, to hunt, and shoot
+To get us meat in store;
+For so that I your company
+May have, I ask no more:
+From which to part, it maketh my heart
+As cold as any stone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+For an outlaw this is the law,
+That men him take and bind;
+Without pity, hanged to be,
+And waver with the wind.
+If I had nede, (as God forbede!)
+What rescue could ye find?
+Forsooth, I trow, ye and your bow
+For fear would draw behind:
+And no mervayle: for little avail
+Were in your counsel then:
+Wherefore I will to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+Right well know ye, that women be
+But feeble for to fight;
+No womanhede it is indeed
+To be bold as a knight:
+Yet, in such fear if that ye were
+With enemies day or night,
+I would withstand, with bow in hand,
+To greve them as I might,
+And you to save; as women have
+From death men many a one:
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+Yet take good hede; for ever I drede
+That ye could not sustain
+The thorny ways, the deep valleys,
+The snow, the frost, the rain,
+The cold, the heat: for dry, or wet,
+We must lodge on the plain;
+And, us above, none other roof
+But a brake bush, or twain;
+Which soon should grieve you, I believe,
+And ye would gladly then
+That I had to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+Sith I have here been partynere
+With you of joy and bliss,
+I must als  part of your woe
+Endure, as reason is:
+Yet am I sure of one pleasure;
+And, shortly, it is this:
+That, where ye be, me seemeth, parde,
+I could not fare amiss.
+Without more speech, I you beseech
+That we were soon agone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+If ye go thyder, ye must consider,
+When ye have lust to dine,
+There shall no meat be for you gete,
+Nor drink, beer, ale, nor wine.
+No shetes clean, to lie between,
+Made of thread and twine;
+None other house, but leaves and boughs,
+To cover your head and mine;
+O mine heart sweet, this evil diete
+Should make you pale and wan;
+Wherefore I will to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+Among the wild dere, such an archere,
+As men say that ye be,
+Ne may not fail of good vitayle,
+Where is so great plenty:
+And water clear of the ryvere
+Shall be full sweet to me;
+With which in hele I shall right wele
+Endure, as ye shall see;
+And, or we go, a bed or two
+I can provide anone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+Lo! yet, before, ye must do more,
+If ye will go with me:
+As cut your hair up by your ear,
+Your kirtle by the knee;
+With bow in hand, for to withstand
+Your enemies, if need be:
+And this same night before day-light,
+To wood-ward will I flee.
+If that ye will all this fulfil,
+Do it shortly as ye can
+Else will I to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+I shall as now do more for you
+Than 'longeth to womanhede;
+To shorte my hair, a bow to bear,
+To shoot in time of need.
+O my sweet mother, before all other
+For you I have most drede:
+But now, adieu! I must ensue,
+Where fortune doth me lead.
+All this make ye: Now let us flee;
+The day cometh fast upon;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+Nay, nay, not so; ye shall not go,
+And I shall tell ye why,--
+Your appetite is to be light
+Of love, I wele espy:
+For, like as ye have said to me,
+In like wise hardely
+Ye would answere whosoever it were
+In way of company.
+It is said of old, Soon hot, soon cold
+And so is a woman.
+Wherefore I to the wood will go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+If ye take heed, it is no need
+Such words to say by me;
+For oft ye prayed, and long assayed,
+Or I you loved, parde:
+And though that I of ancestry
+A baron's daughter be,
+Yet have you proved how I you loved
+A squire of low degree;
+And ever shall, whatso befall;
+To die therefore anone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+A baron's child to be beguiled!
+It were a cursed dede;
+To be felawe with an outlawe!
+Almighty God forbede!
+Yet better were, the poor squyere
+Alone to forest yede,
+Than ye should say another day,
+That, by my cursed dede,
+Ye were betrayed: Wherefore, good maid,
+The best rede that I can,
+Is, that I to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+Whatever befall, I never shall
+Of this thing you upbraid:
+But if ye go, and leave me so,
+Then have ye me betrayed.
+Remember you wele, how that ye dele;
+For, if ye, as ye said,
+Be so unkind, to leave behind,
+Your love, the Nut-brown Maid,
+Trust me truly, that I shall die
+Soon after ye be gone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+If that ye went, ye should repent;
+For in the forest now
+I have purvayed me of a maid,
+Whom I love more than you;
+Another fayrere, than ever ye were,
+I dare it wele avow;
+And of you both each should be wroth
+With other, as I trow:
+It were mine ease, to live in peace;
+So will I, if I can;
+Wherefore I to the wood will go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+Though in the wood I understood
+Ye had a paramour,
+All this may nought remove my thought,
+But that I will be your:
+And she shall find me soft and kind,
+And courteys every hour;
+Glad to fulfil all that she will
+Command me to my power:
+For had ye, lo! an hundred mo,
+Of them I would be one;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+Mine own dear love, I see the proof
+That ye be kind and true;
+Of maid, and wife, in all my life,
+The best that ever I knew.
+Be merry and glad, be no more sad,
+The case is changed new;
+For it were ruth, that, for your truth,
+Ye should have cause to rue.
+Be not dismayed, whatsoever I said
+To you, when I began;
+I will not to the green wood go,
+I am no banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+These tidings be more glad to me,
+Than to be made a queen,
+If I were sure they should endure:
+But it is often seen,
+When men will break promise, they speak
+The wordes on the splene.
+Ye shape some wile me to beguile,
+And steal from me, I ween:
+Then, were the case worse than it was,
+And I more wo-begone:
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+Ye shall not nede further to drede;
+I will not disparage
+You, (God defend!) sith ye descend
+Of so great a lineage.
+Now understand; to Westmoreland,
+Which is mine heritage,
+I will you bring; and with a ring,
+By way of marriage
+I will you take, and lady make,
+As shortly as I can:
+Thus have you won an erly's son,
+And not a banished man.
+
+
+AUTHOR
+
+Here may ye see, that women be
+In love, meek, kind, and stable;
+Let never man reprove them then,
+Or call them variable;
+But, rather, pray God that we may
+To them be comfortable;
+Which sometime proveth such, as he loveth,
+If they be charitable.
+For sith men would that women should
+Be meek to them each one;
+Much more ought they to God obey,
+And serve but Him alone.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Fause Lover
+
+
+
+A fair maid sat in her bower door,
+Wringing her lily hands;
+And by it came a sprightly youth,
+Fast tripping o'er the strands.
+
+"Where gang ye, young John," she says,
+"Sae early in the day?
+It gars me think, by your fast trip,
+Your journey's far away."
+
+He turn'd about wi' surly look,
+And said, "What's that to thee?
+I'm ga'en to see a lovely maid,
+Mair fairer far than ye."
+
+"Now hae ye play'd me this, fause love,
+In simmer, 'mid the flowers?
+I shall repay ye back again,
+In winter, 'mid the showers."
+
+"But again, dear love, and again, dear love,
+Will ye not turn again?
+For as ye look to ither women,
+I shall do to other men."
+
+"Make your choice o' whom you please,
+For I my choice will have;
+I've chosen a maid more fair than thee,
+I never will deceive."
+
+But she's kilt up her claithing fine,
+And after him gaed she;
+But aye he said, "Ye'll turn again,
+Nae farder gae wi' me."
+
+"But again, dear love, and again, dear love,
+Will ye never love me again?
+Alas! for loving you sae well,
+And you na me again."
+
+The firstan' town that they came till,
+He bought her brooch and ring;
+But aye he bade her turn again,
+And gang nae farder wi' him.
+
+"But again, dear love, and again, dear love," etc.
+
+The nextan' town that they came till,
+He bought her muff and gloves;
+But aye he bade her turn again,
+And choose some other loves.
+
+"But again, dear love, and again, dear love," etc.
+
+The nextan' town that they came till,
+His heart it grew mair fain;
+And he was deep in love wi' her.
+As she was ower again.
+
+The nextan' town that they came till,
+He bought her wedding gown;
+And made her lady o' ha's and bowers,
+In sweet Berwick town.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Mermaid
+
+
+
+To yon fause stream that, near the sea,
+Hides mony an elf and plum,
+And rives wi' fearful din the stanes,
+A witless knicht did come.
+
+The day shines clear--far in he's gane
+Whar shells are silver bright,
+Fishes war loupin' a' aroun',
+And sparklin' to the light.
+
+Whan, as he laved, sounds cam sae sweet
+Frae ilka rock an' tree;
+The brief was out, 'twas him it doomed
+The mermaid's face to see.
+
+Frae 'neath a rock, sune, sune she rose,
+And stately on she swam,
+Stopped i' the midst, and becked and sang
+To him to stretch his han'.
+
+Gowden glist the yellow links
+That round her neck she'd twine;
+Her een war o' the skyie blue,
+Her lips did mock the wine;
+
+The smile upon her bonnie cheek
+Was sweeter than the bee;
+Her voice excelled the birdie's sang
+Upon the birchen tree.
+
+Sae couthie, couthie did she look,
+And meikle had she fleeched;
+Out shot his hand--alas! alas!
+Fast in the swirl he screeched.
+
+The mermaid leuch, her brief was gane,
+And kelpie's blast was blawin',
+Fu' low she duked, ne'er raise again,
+For deep, deep was the fawin'.
+
+Aboon the stream his wraith was seen,
+Warlochs tirled lang at gloamin';
+That e'en was coarse, the blast blew hoarse,
+Ere lang the waves war foamin'.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Battle of Otterburn
+
+
+
+THE FIRST FYTTE
+
+
+It fell about the Lammas tide,
+When husbands winn their hay,
+The doughty Douglas bound him to ride
+Into England to take a prey.
+
+The Earl of Fife, withouten strife,
+He bound him over Solway;
+The great would ever together ride
+That race they may rue for aye.
+
+Over Ottercap hill they came in,
+And so down by Rotheley crag,
+Upon Green Leighton they lighted down,
+Styrande many a stag;
+
+And boldly brente Northumberland,
+And harried many a town;
+They did our Englishmen great wrong
+To battle that were not bown.
+
+Then spake a berne upon the bent,
+Of comfort that was not cold,
+And said, "We have brente Northumberland,
+We have all wealth in holde.
+
+"Now we have harried all Bamborough shire
+All the wealth in the world have we;
+I rede we ride to Newcastle,
+So still and stalworthlye."
+
+Upon the morrow, when it was day,
+The standards shone full bright;
+To the Newcastle they took the way,
+And thither they came full right.
+
+Sir Henry Percy lay at the Newcastle,
+I tell you, withouten dread;
+He has been a March-man all his days,
+And kept Berwick upon Tweed.
+
+To the Newcastle when they came,
+The Scots they cried on hyght:
+"Sir Harry Percy, an thou bist within,
+Come to the field and fight:
+
+"For we have brente Northumberland,
+Thy heritage good and right;
+And syne my lodging I have take,
+With my brand dubbed many a knight."
+
+Sir Harry Percy came to the walls,
+The Scottish host for to see:
+"And thou hast brente Northumberland,
+Full sore it rueth me.
+
+"If thou hast harried all Bamborough shire,
+Thou hast done me great envy;
+For the trespass thou hast me done,
+The one of us shall die."
+
+"Where shall I bide thee?" said the Douglas;
+"Or where wilt thou come to me?"
+"At Otterburn in the high way,
+There mayst thou well lodged be.
+
+"The roe full reckless there she runs,
+To make thee game and glee;
+The falcon and the pheasant both,
+Among the holtes on hee.
+
+"There mayst thou have thy wealth at will,
+Well lodged there mayst thou be;
+It shall not be long ere I come thee till,"
+Said Sir Harry Percye.
+
+"There shall I bide thee," said the Douglas,
+"By the faith of my body."
+"Thither shall I come," said Sir Harry Percy,
+"My troth I plight to thee."
+
+A pipe of wine he gave them over the walls,
+For sooth, as I you say;
+There he made the Douglas drink,
+And all his host that day.
+
+The Douglas turned him homeward again,
+For sooth withouten nay;
+He took his lodging at Otterburn
+Upon a Wednesday;
+
+And there he pyght his standard down.
+His getting more and less;
+And syne he warned his men to go
+And get their geldings gress.
+
+A Scottish knight hoved upon the bent,
+A watch I dare well say;
+So was he ware on the noble Percy
+In the dawning of the day.
+
+He pricked to his pavilion door,
+As fast as he might ronne;
+"Awaken, Douglas!" cried the knight,
+"For His love that sits in throne.
+
+"Awaken, Douglas!" cried the knight,
+"For thou mayst waken with wynne;
+Yonder have I spied the proud Percy,
+And seven standards with him."
+
+"Nay, by my troth," the Douglas said,
+"It is but a feigned tale;
+He durst not look on my broad banner,
+For all England so hayle.
+
+"Was I not yesterday at the Newcastle,
+That stands so fair on Tyne?
+For all the men the Percy had,
+He could not garre me once to dyne."
+
+He stepped out at his pavilion door,
+To look, and it were less;
+"Array you, lordyngs, one and all,
+For here begins no peace.
+
+"The Earl of Menteith, thou art my eme,
+The forward I give to thee;
+The Earl of Huntley cawte and keen,
+He shall with thee be.
+
+"The Lord of Buchan, in armour bright,
+On the other hand he shall be;
+Lord Johnstone, and Lord Maxwell,
+They two shall be with me.
+
+"Swynton fair field upon your pride
+To battle make you bowen;
+Sir Davy Scot, Sir Walter Steward,
+Sir John of Agerstone."
+
+
+
+THE SECOND FYTTE
+
+
+The Percy came before his host,
+Which ever was a gentle knight,
+Upon the Douglas loud did he cry,
+  "I will hold that I have hight;
+
+"For thou hast brente Northumberland,
+And done me great envy;
+For this trespass thou hast me done
+The one of us shall die."
+
+The Douglas answered him again,
+With great words up on hee,
+And said, "I have twenty against thy one,
+Behold, and thou mayst see."
+
+With that the Percy was grieved sore,
+For sooth as I you say;
+He lighted down upon his foot,
+And shot his horse clean away.
+
+Every man saw that he did so,
+That ryall was ever in rout;
+Every man shot his horse him fro,
+And light him round about.
+
+Thus Sir Harry Percy took the field,
+For sooth as I you say,
+Jesu Christ in heaven on high,
+Did help him well that day.
+
+But nine thousand, there was no more,
+If chronicle will not layne;
+Forty thousand Scots and four
+That day fought them again,
+
+But when the battle began to join,
+In haste there came a knight,
+Then letters fair forth hath he ta'en,
+And thus he said full right:
+
+"My lord, your father he greets you well,
+With many a noble knight;
+He desires you to bide,
+That he may see this fight.
+
+"The baron of Grastock is come out of the west,
+With him a noble company;
+All they lodge at your father's this night,
+And the battle fain would they see."
+
+"For Jesu's love," said Sir Harry Percy,
+"That died for you and me,
+Wend to my lord, my father, again,
+And say thou saw me not with ee;
+
+"My troth is plight to yon Scottish knight,
+It needs me not to layne,
+That I should bide him upon this bent,
+And I have his troth again;
+
+"And if that I wend off this ground,
+For sooth unfoughten away,
+He would me call but a coward knight,
+In his land another day.
+
+"Yet had I lever to be rynde and rent,
+By Mary that mykel may,
+Than ever my manhood should be reproved
+With a Scot another day.
+
+"Wherefore shoot, archers, for my sake,
+And let sharp arrows flee;
+Minstrels, play up for your warison,
+And well quit it shall be.
+
+"Every man think on his true love,
+And mark him to the Trinity;
+For to God I make mine a-vow
+This day will I not flee."
+
+The bloody heart in the Douglas' arms,
+His standard stood on high,
+That every man might full well know;
+Beside stood starres three.
+
+The white Li n on the English part,
+For sooth as I you sayne,
+The luces and the crescents both
+The Scots fought them again.
+
+Upon Saint Andrew loud did they cry,
+And thrice they shout on hyght,
+And syne marked them on our Englishmen,
+As I have told you right.
+
+Saint George the bright, our Lady's knight,
+To name they were full fain,
+Our Englishmen they cried on hyght,
+And thrice they shout again.
+
+With that sharp arrows began to flee,
+I tell you in certain;
+Men of arms began to join;
+Many a doughty man was there slain.
+
+The Percy and the Douglas met,
+That either of them was fain;
+They schapped together, while that they sweat,
+With swords of fine Collayne;
+
+Till the blood from their basenets ran
+As the roke doth in the rain.
+"Yield thee to me," said the Douglas,
+"Or else thou shalt be slain;
+
+"For I see by thy bright basenet,
+Thou art some man of might;
+And so I do by thy burnished brand,
+Thou art an earl, or else a knight."
+
+"By my good faith," said the noble Percy,
+"Now hast thou rede full right;
+Yet will I never yield me to thee,
+While I may stand and fight."
+
+They swapped together, while that they sweat,
+With swordes sharp and long;
+Each on other so fast they beat,
+Till their helms came in pieces down.
+
+The Percy was a man of strength,
+I tell you in this stound
+He smote the Douglas at the sword's length,
+That he felled him to the ground.
+
+The sword was sharp, and sore did byte,
+I tell you in certain;
+To the heart he did him smite,
+Thus was the Douglas slain.
+
+The standards stood still on each side;
+With many a grievous groan,
+There they fought the day, and all the night,
+And many a doughty man was slone.
+
+There was no freyke that there would fly,
+But stiffly in stour did stand,
+Echone hewing on other while they might dry,
+With many a baleful brand.
+
+There was slain upon the Scottes side,
+For sooth and certainly,
+Sir James of Douglas there was slain,
+That day that he did die.
+
+The Earl of Menteith he was slain.
+Grysely groaned upon the ground;
+Sir Davy Scot, Sir Walter Steward,
+Sir John of Agerstone.
+
+Sir Charles Murray in that place,
+That never a foot would fly;
+Sir Hugh Maxwell, a lord he was,
+With the Douglas did he die.
+
+There was slain upon the Scottes side,
+For sooth as I you say,
+Of four and forty thousand Scots,
+Went but eighteen away.
+
+There was slain upon the English side,
+For sooth and certainly,
+A gentle knight, Sir John Fitzhugh,
+It was the more pity.
+
+Sir James Harebotell there was slain,
+For him their hearts were sore
+The gentle Lovel there was slain,
+That the Percy's standard bore.
+
+There was slain upon the English side,
+For sooth as I you say,
+Of nine thousand Englishmen,
+Five hundred came away;
+
+The others were slayne in the field,
+Christ keep their souls from woe,
+Seeing there were so few friends
+Against so many a foe!
+
+Then on the morn they made them biers
+Of birch and hazel gray;
+Many a widow with weeping tears
+Their makes they fetch away.
+
+This fray began at Otterburn,
+Between the night and the day;
+There the Douglas lost his life,
+And the Percy was led away.
+
+Then was there a Scottish prisoner ta'en,
+Sir Hugh Montgomery was his name,
+For sooth as I you say,
+He borrowed the Percy home again.
+
+Now let us all for the Percy pray,
+To Jesu most of might,
+To bring his soul to the bliss of heaven,
+For he was a gentle knight.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Lament of the Border Widow
+
+
+
+My love he built me a bonny bower,
+And clad it a' wi' a lilye flower,
+A brawer bower ye ne'er did see,
+Than my true love he built for me.
+
+There came a man, by middle day,
+He spied his sport and went away,
+And brought the king that very night,
+Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.
+
+He slew my knight, to me so dear;
+He slew my knight, and poined his gear;
+My servants all for life did flee,
+And left me in extremitie.
+
+I sewed his sheet, making my mane;
+I watched the corpse, myself alane;
+I watched his body, night and day;
+No living creature came that way.
+
+I took his body on my back,
+And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat,
+I digged a grave, and laid him in,
+And happed him with the sod so green.
+
+But think na ye my heart was sair,
+When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair;
+Think na ye my heart was wae,
+When I turned about, away to gae?
+
+Nae living man I'll love again,
+Since that my lovely knight is slain;
+W? ae lock of his yellow hair
+I'll chain my heart for evermair.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Banks o' Yarrow
+
+
+
+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.
+
+"What though ye be my sister's lord,
+We'll cross our swords to-morrow."
+"What though my wife your sister be,
+I'll meet ye then on Yarrow."
+
+"O stay at hame, my ain gude lord!
+O stay, my ain dear marrow!
+My cruel brither will you betray
+On the dowie banks o' Yarrow."
+
+"O fare ye weel, my lady dear!
+And put aside your sorrow;
+For if I gae, I'll sune return
+Frae the bonny banks o' Yarrow."
+
+She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,
+As oft she'd done before, O;
+She belted him wi' his gude brand,
+And he's awa' to Yarrow.
+
+When he gaed up the Tennies bank,
+As he gaed mony a morrow,
+Nine armed men lay in a den,
+On the dowie braes o' Yarrow.
+
+"O come ye here to hunt or hawk
+The bonny Forest thorough?
+Or come ye here to wield your brand
+Upon the banks o' Yarrow?"
+
+"I come not here to hunt or hawk,
+As oft I've dune before, O,
+But I come here to wield my brand
+Upon the banks o' Yarrow.
+
+"If ye attack me nine to ane,
+Then may God send ye sorrow!--
+Yet will I fight while stand I may,
+On the bonny banks o' Yarrow."
+
+Two has he hurt, and three has slain,
+On the bloody braes o' Yarrow;
+But the stubborn knight crept in behind,
+And pierced his body thorough.
+
+"Gae hame, gae hame, you brither John,
+And tell your sister sorrow,--
+To come and lift her leafu' lord
+On the dowie banks o' Yarrow."
+
+Her brither John gaed ower yon hill,
+As oft he'd dune before, O;
+There he met his sister dear,
+Cam' rinnin' fast to Yarrow.
+
+"I dreamt a dream last night," she says,
+"I wish it binna sorrow;
+I dreamt I pu'd the heather green
+Wi' my true love on Yarrow."
+
+"I'll read your dream, sister," he says,
+"I'll read it into sorrow;
+Ye're bidden go take up your love,
+He's sleeping sound on Yarrow."
+
+She's torn the ribbons frae her head
+That were baith braid and narrow;
+She's kilted up her lang claithing,
+And she's awa' to Yarrow.
+
+She's ta'en him in her arms twa,
+And gi'en him kisses thorough;
+She sought to bind his mony wounds,
+But he lay dead on Yarrow.
+
+"O haud your tongue," her father says,
+"And let be a' your sorrow;
+I'll wed you to a better lord
+Than him ye lost on Yarrow."
+
+"O haud your tongue, father," she says,
+"Far warse ye mak' my sorrow;
+A better lord could never be
+Than him that lies on Yarrow."
+
+She kiss'd his lips, she kaim'd his hair,
+As aft she had dune before, O;
+And there wi' grief her heart did break,
+Upon the banks o' Yarrow.
+
+
+
+
+
+Hugh of Lincoln
+
+
+
+SHOWING THE CRUELTY OF A JEW'S DAUGHTER
+
+
+Four and twenty bonny boys
+Were playing at the ba',
+And up it stands him sweet Sir Hugh,
+The flower among them a'.
+
+He kicked the ba' there wi' his foot,
+And keppit it wi' his knee,
+Till even in at the Jew's window
+He gart the bonny ba' flee.
+
+"Cast out the ba' to me, fair maid,
+Cast out the ba' to me."
+"Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter,
+Till ye come up to me."
+
+"Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh,
+Come up and get the ba'."
+"I winna come, I mayna come,
+Without my bonny boys a'."
+
+She's ta'en her to the Jew's garden,
+Where the grass grew lang and green,
+She's pu'd an apple red and white,
+To wyle the bonny boy in.
+
+She's wyled him in through ae chamber,
+She's wyled him in through twa,
+She's wyled him into the third chamber,
+And that was the warst o' a'.
+
+She's tied the little boy, hands and feet,
+She's pierced him wi' a knife,
+She's caught his heart's blood in a golden cup,
+And twinn'd him o' his life.
+
+She row'd him in a cake o' lead,
+Bade him lie still and sleep,
+She cast him in a deep draw-well
+Was fifty fathom deep.
+
+When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
+And every bairn went hame,
+Then ilka lady had her young son,
+But Lady Helen had nane.
+
+She row'd her mantle her about,
+And sair, sair 'gan she weep;
+And she ran unto the Jew's house,
+When they were all asleep.
+
+"My bonny Sir Hugh, my pretty Sir Hugh,
+I pray thee to me speak!"
+"Lady Helen, come to the deep draw-well
+'Gin ye your son wad seek."
+
+Lady Helen ran to the deep draw-well,
+And knelt upon her knee:
+"My bonny Sir Hugh, an ye be here,
+I pray thee speak to me!"
+
+"The lead is wondrous heavy, mither,
+The well is wondrous deep;
+A keen penknife sticks in my heart,
+It is hard for me to speak.
+
+"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear,
+Fetch me my winding-sheet;
+And at the back o' merry Lincoln,
+It's there we twa sall meet."
+
+Now Lady Helen she's gane hame,
+Made 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 men's tongue:
+Never was such a burial
+Sin' Adam's days begun.
+
+
+
+
+
+Sir Patrick Spens
+
+
+
+The king sits in Dunfermline town,
+Drinking the blude-red wine;
+"O whare will I get a skeely skipper,
+To sail this new ship of mine?"
+
+O up and spak' an eldern knight,
+Sat at the king's right knee,
+"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor,
+That ever sailed the sea."
+
+Our king has written a braid letter,
+And seated it with his hand,
+And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
+Was walking on the strand.
+
+"To Noroway, to Noroway,
+To Noroway o'er 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 hail, 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 an Moneday morn,
+Wi' a' the speed they may;
+They hae landed in Noroway,
+Upon a Wednesday.
+
+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 queen's 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 of 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 old moon in her arm;
+And, if we gang to sea, master,
+I fear we'll come to harm."
+
+They hadna sailed 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 topmasts 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 sail r,
+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 cam in.
+
+"Gae, fetch a web of the silken claith,
+Another o' the twine,
+And wap them into our ship's side,
+And let nae the sea come in."
+
+They fetched a web o' the silken claith,
+Another o' the twine,
+And they wapped them round that gude ship's side,
+But still the sea cam in.
+
+O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords
+To weet their cork-heeled shoon!
+But lang or a' the play was played,
+They wat their hats aboon.
+
+And mony was the feather bed,
+That flattered on the faem;
+And mony was the gude lord's son,
+That never mair cam hame.
+
+The ladies wrang their fingers white,
+The maidens tore their hair,
+A' for the sake of their true loves
+For them they'll see nae mair.
+
+O lang, lang, may the ladies 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,
+With their goud kaims in their hair
+A' waiting for their ain dear loves,
+For them they'll see nae mair!
+
+O forty miles off Aberdeen,
+'Tis fifty fathoms deep,
+And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens
+Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Book of Old English Ballads
+by George Wharton Edwards
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF OLD ENGLISH BALLADS ***
+
+This file should be named 9boeb10.txt or 9boeb10.zip
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Book of Old English Ballads
+by George Wharton Edwards
+
+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.
+
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+
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+eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file.  Included is
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+how the file may be used.  You can also find out about how to make a
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+**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
+
+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
+
+
+Title: The Book of Old English Ballads
+
+Author: George Wharton Edwards
+
+Release Date: December, 2005 [EBook #9405]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on September 29, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF OLD ENGLISH BALLADS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by John B. Hare
+
+
+
+
+A BOOK OF OLD ENGLISH BALLADS
+
+with an
+
+Accompaniment of Decorative Drawings
+
+
+
+by
+
+
+George Wharton Edwards
+
+
+
+And an Introduction by
+
+Hamilton W. Mabie
+
+
+
+
+[1896]
+
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+Introduction
+
+Chevy Chace
+
+King Cophetua and the Beggar-Maid
+
+King Leir and his Three Daughters
+
+Fair Rosamond
+
+Phillida and Corydon
+
+Fair Margaret and Sweet William
+
+Annan Water
+
+The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington
+
+Barbara Allen's Cruelty
+
+The Douglas Tragedy
+
+Young Waters
+
+Flodden Field
+
+Helen of Kirkconnell
+
+Robin Hood and Allen-a-Dale
+
+Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne
+
+Robin Hood's Death and Burial
+
+The Twa Corbies
+
+Waly, Waly, Love be Bonny
+
+The Nut-brown Maid
+
+The Fause Lover
+
+The Mermaid
+
+The Battle of Otterburn
+
+The Lament of the Border Widow
+
+The Banks o' Yarrow
+
+Hugh of Lincoln
+
+Sir Patrick Spens
+
+
+
+
+
+Introduction
+
+
+
+Goethe, who saw so many things with such clearness of vision,
+brought out the charm of the popular ballad for readers of a later
+day in his remark that the value of these songs of the people is to
+be found in the fact that their motives are drawn directly from
+nature; and he added, that in the art of saying things compactly,
+uneducated men have greater skill than those who are educated.  It is
+certainly true that no kind of verse is so completely out of the
+atmosphere of modern writing as the popular ballad.  No other form of
+verse has, therefore, in so great a degree, the charm of freshness.
+In material, treatment, and spirit, these bat lads are set in sharp
+contrast with the poetry of the hour.  They deal with historical
+events or incidents, with local traditions, with personal adventure
+or achievement.  They are, almost without exception, entirely
+objective.  Contemporary poetry is, on the other hand, very largely
+subjective; and even when it deals with events or incidents it
+invests them to such a degree with personal emotion and imagination,
+it so modifies and colours them with temperamental effects, that the
+resulting poem is much more a study of subjective conditions than a
+picture or drama of objective realities.  This projection of the
+inward upon the outward world, in such a degree that the dividing
+line between the two is lost, is strikingly illustrated in
+Maeterlinck's plays.  Nothing could be in sharper contrast, for
+instance, than the famous ballad of "The Hunting of the Cheviot" and
+Maeterlinck's "Princess Maleine."  There is no atmosphere, in a
+strict use of the word, in the spirited and compact account of the
+famous contention between the Percies and the Douglases, of which
+Sir Philip Sidney said "that I found not my heart moved more than
+with a Trumpet."  It is a breathless, rushing narrative of a swift
+succession of events, told with the most straight-forward
+simplicity.  In the "Princess Maleine," on the other hand, the
+narrative is so charged with subjective feeling, the world in which
+the action takes place is so deeply tinged with lights that never
+rested on any actual landscape, that all sense of reality is lost.
+The play depends for its effect mainly upon atmosphere.  Certain
+very definite impressions are produced with singular power, but
+there is no clear, clean stamping of occurrences on the mind.  The
+imagination is skilfully awakened and made to do the work of
+observation.
+
+The note of the popular ballad is its objectivity; it not only takes
+us out of doors, but it also takes us out of the individual
+consciousness.  The manner is entirely subordinated to the matter; the
+poet, if there was a poet in the case, obliterates himself.  What we
+get is a definite report of events which have taken place, not a
+study of a man's mind nor an account of a man's feelings.  The true
+balladist is never introspective; he is concerned not with himself
+but with his story.  There is no self-disclosure in his song.  To the
+mood of Senancour and Amiel he was a stranger.  Neither he nor the
+men to whom he recited or sang would have understood that mood.
+They were primarily and unreflectively absorbed in the world outside
+of themselves.  They saw far more than they meditated; they recorded
+far more than they moralized.  The popular ballads are, as a rule,
+entirely free from didacticism in any form; that is one of the main
+sources of their unfailing charm.  They show not only a childlike
+curiosity about the doings of the day and the things that befall
+men, but a childlike indifference to moral inference and
+justification.  The bloodier the fray the better for ballad
+purposes; no one feels the necessity of apology either for ruthless
+aggression or for useless blood-letting; the scene is reported as it
+was presented to the eye of the spectator, not to his moralizing
+faculty.  He is expected to see and to sing, not to scrutinize and
+meditate.  In those rare cases in which a moral inference is drawn,
+it is always so obvious and elementary that it gives the impression
+of having been fastened on at the end of the song, in deference to
+ecclesiastical rather than popular feeling.
+
+The social and intellectual conditions which fostered self-
+unconsciousness,--interest in things, incidents, and adventures
+rather than in moods and inward experiences,--and the unmoral or non
+moralizing attitude towards events, fostered also that delightful
+naivete which contributes greatly to the charm of many of the best
+ballads; a naivete which often heightens the pathos, and, at times,
+softens it with touches of apparently unconscious humour; the naivete
+of the child which has in it something of the freshness of a
+wildflower, and yet has also a wonderful instinct for making the
+heart of the matter plain.  This quality has almost entirely
+disappeared from contemporary verse among cultivated races; one must
+go to the peasants of remote parts of the Continent to discover even
+a trace of its presence.  It has a real, but short-lived charm, like
+the freshness which shines on meadow and garden in the brief dawn
+which hastens on to day.
+
+This frank, direct play of thought and feeling on an incident, or
+series of incidents, compensates for the absence of a more perfect
+art in the ballads; using the word "art" in its true sense as
+including complete, adequate, and beautiful handling of subject-
+matter, and masterly working out of its possibilities.  These
+popular songs, so dear to the hearts of the generations on whose
+lips they were fashioned, and to all who care for the fresh note,
+the direct word, the unrestrained emotion, rarely touch the highest
+points of poetic achievement.  Their charm lies, not in their
+perfection of form, but in their spontaneity, sincerity, and graphic
+power.  They are not rivers of song, wide, deep, and swift; they are
+rather cool, clear springs among the hills.  In the reactions
+against sophisticated poetry which set in from lime to time, the
+popular ballad--the true folk-song--has often been exalted at the
+expense of other forms of verse.  It is idle to attempt to arrange
+the various forms of poetry in an order of absolute values; it is
+enough that each has its own quality, and, therefore, its own value.
+The drama, the epic, the ballad, the lyric, each strikes its note in
+the complete expression of human emotion and experience.  Each
+belongs to a particular stage of development, and each has the
+authority and the enduring charm which attach to every authentic
+utterance of the spirit of man under the conditions of life.
+
+In this wide range of human expression the ballad follows the epic
+as a kind of aftermath; a second and scattered harvest, springing
+without regularity or nurture out of a rich and unexhausted soil.  The
+epic fastens upon some event of such commanding importance that it
+marks a main current of history; some story, historic, or mythologic;
+some incident susceptible of extended narrative treatment.  It is
+always, in its popular form, a matter of growth it is direct, simple,
+free from didacticism; representing, as Aristotle says, "a single
+action, entire and complete."  It subordinates character to action; it
+delights in episode and dialogue; it is content to tell the story as
+a story, and leave the moralization to hearers or readers.  The
+popular ballad is so closely related to the popular epic that it may
+be said to reproduce its qualities and characteristics within a
+narrower compass, and on a smaller scale.  It also is a piece of the
+memory of the people, or a creation of the imagination of the people;
+but the tradition or fact which it preserves is of local, rather
+than national importance.  It is indifferent to nice distinctions and
+delicate gradations or shadings; its power springs from its
+directness, vigour, and simplicity.  It is often entirely occupied
+with the narration or description of a single episode; it has no room
+for dialogue, but it often secures the effect of the dialogue by its
+unconventional freedom of phrase, and sometimes by the introduction
+of brief and compact charge and denial, question and reply.  Sometimes
+the incidents upon which the ballad makers fastened, have a unity or
+connection with each other which hints at a complete story.  The
+ballads which deal with Robin Hood are so numerous and so closely
+related that they constantly suggest, not only the possibility, but
+the probability of epic treatment.  It is surprising that the richness
+of the material, and its notable illustrative quality, did not
+inspire some earlier Chaucer to combine the incidents in a sustained
+narrative.  But the epic poet did not appear, and the most
+representative of English popular heroes remains the central figure
+in a series of detached episodes and adventures, preserved in a long
+line of disconnected ballads.
+
+This apparent arrest, in the ballad stage, of a story which seemed
+destined to become an epic, naturally suggests the vexed question of
+the author ship of the popular ballads.  They are in a very real sense
+the songs of the people; they make no claim to individual authorship;
+on the contrary, the inference of what may be called community
+authorship is, in many instances, irresistible.  They are the product
+of a social condition which, so to speak, holds song of this kind in
+solution; of an age in which improvisation, singing, and dancing are
+the most natural and familiar forms of expression.  They deal almost
+without exception with matters which belong to the community memory
+or imagination; they constantly reappear with variations so
+noticeable as to indicate free and common handling of themes of wide
+local interest.  All this is true of the popular ballad; but all this
+does not decisively settle the question of authorship.  What share did
+the community have in the making of these songs, and what share fell
+to individual singers?
+
+Herder, whose conception of the origin and function of literature
+was so vitalizing in the general aridity of thinking about the
+middle of the last century, and who did even more for ballad verse
+in Germany than Bishop Percy did in England, laid emphasis almost
+exclusively on community authorship.  His profound instinct for
+reality in all forms of art, his deep feeling for life, and the
+immense importance he attached to spontaneity and unconsciousness in
+the truest productivity made community authorship not only
+attractive but inevitable to him.  In his pronounced reaction
+against the superficial ideas of literature so widely held in the
+Germany of his time, he espoused the conception of community
+authorship as the only possible explanation of the epics, ballads,
+and other folk-songs.  In nature and popular life, or universal
+experience, he found the rich sources of the poetry whose charm he
+felt so deeply, and whose power and beauty he did so much to reveal
+to his contemporaries.  Genius and nature are magical words with him,
+because they suggested such depths of being under all forms of
+expression; such unity of the whole being of a race in its thought,
+its emotion, and its action; such entire unconsciousness of self or
+of formulated aim, and such spontaneity of spirit and speech.  The
+language of those times, when words had not yet been divided into
+nobles, middle-class, and plebeians, was, he said, the richest for
+poetical purposes.  "Our tongue, compared with the idiom of the
+savage, seems adapted rather for reflection than for the senses or
+imagination.  The rhythm of popular verse is so delicate, so rapid,
+so precise, that it is no easy matter to defect it with our eyes;
+but do not imagine it to have been equally difficult for those
+living populations who listened to, instead of reading it; who were
+accustomed to the sound of it from their infancy; who themselves
+sang it, and whose ear had been formed by its cadence."  This
+conception of poetry as arising in the hearts of the people and
+taking form on their lips is still more definitely and strikingly
+expressed in two sentences, which let us into, the heart of Herder's
+philosophy of poetry: "Poetry in those happy days lived in the ears
+of the people, on the lips and in the harps of living bards; it sang
+of history, of the events of the day, of mysteries, miracles, and
+signs.  It was the flower of a nation's character, language, and
+country; of its occupations, its prejudices, its passions, its
+aspirations, and its soul."  In these words, at once comprehensive
+and vague, after the manner of Herder, we find ourselves face to
+face with that conception not only of popular song in all its forms,
+but with literature as a whole, which has revolutionized literary
+study in this century, and revitalized it as well.  For Herder was a
+man of prophetic instinct; he sometimes felt more clearly than he saw;
+he divined where he could not reach results by analysis.  He was often
+vague, fragmentary, and inconclusive, like all men of his type; but he
+had a genius for getting at the heart of things.  His statements often
+need qualification, but he is almost always on the tight track.  When he
+says that the great traditions, in which both the memory and the
+imagination of a race were engaged, and which were still living in
+the mouths of the people, "of themselves took on poetic form," he is
+using language which is too general to convey a definite impression
+of method, but he is probably suggesting the deepest truth with
+regard to these popular stories.  They actually were of community
+origin; they actually were common property; they were given a great
+variety of forms by a great number of persons; the forms which have
+come down to us are very likely the survivors of a kind of in formal
+competition, which went on for years at the fireside and at the
+festivals of a whole country side.
+
+Barger, whose "Lenore" is one of the most widely known of modern
+ballads, held the same view of the origin of popular song, and was
+even more definite in his confession of faith than Herder.  He
+declared in the most uncompromising terms that all real poetry must
+have a popular origin; "can be and must be of the people, for that is
+the seal of its perfection."  And he comments on the delight with
+which he has listened, in village street and home, to unwritten
+songs; the poetry which finds its way in quiet rivulets to the
+remotest peasant home.  In like manner, Helene Vacaresco overheard the
+songs of the Roumanian people; hiding in the maize to catch the
+reaping songs; listening at spinning parties, at festivals, at death-
+beds, at taverns; taking the songs down from the lips of peasant
+women, fortune-tellers, gypsies, and all manner of humble folk who
+were the custodians of this vagrant community verse.  We have passed
+so entirely out of the song-making period, and literature has become
+to us so exclusively the work of a professional class, that we find
+it difficult to imagine the intellectual and social conditions which
+fostered improvisation on a great scale, and trained the ear of great
+populations to the music of spoken poetry.  It is almost impossible
+for us to disassociate literature from writing.  There is still,
+however, a considerable volume of unwritten literature in the world
+in the form of stories, songs, proverbs, and pithy phrases; a
+literature handed down in large part from earlier times, but still
+receiving additions from contemporary men and women.
+
+This unwritten literature is to be found, it is hardly necessary to
+say, almost exclusively among country people remote from towns, and
+whose mental attitude and community feeling reproduce, in a way, the
+conditions under which the English and Scotch ballads were originally
+composed.  The Roumanian peasants sing their songs upon every
+occasion of domestic or local interest; and sowing and harvesting,
+birth, christening, marriage, the burial, these notable events in
+the life of the country side are all celebrated by unknown poets;
+or, rather, by improvisers who give definite form to sentiments,
+phrases, and words which are on many lips.  The Russian peasant
+tells his stories as they were told to him; those heroic epics whose
+life is believed, in some cases, to date back at least a thousand
+years.  These great popular stories form a kind of sacred
+inheritance bequeathed by one generation to another as a possession
+of the memory, and are almost entirely unrelated to the written
+literature of the country.  Miss Hapgood tells a very interesting
+story of a government official, stationed on the western shore of
+Lake Onega, who became so absorbed in the search for this
+literature of the people that he followed singers and reciters from
+place to place, eager to learn from their lips the most widely known
+of these folk tales.  On such an expedition of discovery he found
+himself, one stormy night, on an island in the lake.  The hut of
+refuge was already full of stormbound peasants when he entered.
+Having made himself some tea, and spread his blanket in a vacant
+place, he fell asleep.  He was presently awakened by a murmur of
+recurring sounds.  Sitting up, he found the group of peasants
+hanging on the words of an old man, of kindly face, expressive eyes,
+and melodious voice, from whose lips flowed a marvellous song; grave
+and gay by turns, monotonous and passionate in succession; but
+wonderfully fresh, picturesque, and fascinating.  The listener soon
+became aware that he was hearing, for the first time, the famous
+story of "Sadko, the Merchant of Novgorod."  It was like being
+present at the birth of a piece of literature!
+
+The fact that unwritten songs and stories still exist in great
+numbers among remote country-folk of our own time, and that additions
+are still made to them, help us to understand the probable origin of
+our own popular ballads, and what community authorship may really
+mean.  To put ourselves, even in thought, in touch with the ballad-
+making period in English and Scotch history, we must dismiss from our
+minds all modern ideas of authorship; all notions of individual
+origination and ownership of any form of words.  Professor ten Brink
+tells us that in the ballad-making age there was no production;
+there was only reproduction.  There was a stock of traditions,
+memories, experiences, held in common by large populations, in
+constant use on the lips of numberless persons; told and retold in
+many forms, with countless changes, variations, and modifications;
+without conscious artistic purpose, with no sense of personal
+control or possession, with no constructive aim either in plot or
+treatment; no composition in the modern sense of the term. Such a
+mass of poetic material in the possession of a large community
+was, in a sense, fluid, and ran into a thousand forms almost without
+direction or premeditation.  Constant use of such rich material gave a
+poetic turn of thought and speech to countless persons who, under
+other conditions, would have given no sign of the possession of the
+faculty of imagination.
+
+There was not only the stimulus to the faculty which sees events and
+occurrences with the eyes of the imagination, but there was also
+constant and familiar use of the language of poetry.  To speak
+metrically or rhythmically is no difficult matter if one is in the
+atmosphere or habit of verse-making; and there is nothing surprising
+either in the feats of memory or of improvisation performed by the
+minstrels and balladists of the old time.  The faculty of
+improvising was easily developed and was very generally used by
+people of all classes.  This facility is still possessed by rural
+populations, among whom songs are still composed as they are sting,
+each member of the company contributing a new verse or a variation,
+suggested by local conditions, of a well-known stanza.  When to the
+possession of a mass of traditions and stories and of facility of
+improvisation is added the habit of singing and dancing, it is not
+difficult to reconstruct in our own thought the conditions under
+which popular poetry came into being, nor to understand in what
+sense a community can make its own songs.  In the brave days when
+ballads were made, the rustic peoples were not mute, as they are
+to-day; nor sad, as they have become in so many parts of England.
+They sang and they danced by instinct and as an expression of social
+feeling.  Originally the ballads were not only sung, but they gave
+measure to the dance; they grew from mouth to mouth in the very act
+of dancing; individual dancers adding verse to verse, and the
+frequent refrain coming in as a kind of chorus.  Gesture and, to a
+certain extent, acting would naturally accompany so free and general
+an expression of community feeling.  There was no poet, because all
+were poets.  To quote Professor ten Brink once more:--
+
+"Song and playing were cultivated by peasants, and even by freedmen
+and serfs.  At beer-feasts the harp went from hand to hand.  Herein
+lies the essential difference between that age and our own.  The
+result of poetical activity was not the property and was not the
+production of a single person, but of the community.  The work of the
+individual endured only as long as its delivery lasted.  He gained
+personal distinction only as a virtuoso.  The permanent elements of
+what he presented, the material, the ideas, even the style and metre,
+already existed.  'The work of the singer was only a ripple in the
+stream of national poetry.  Who can say how much the individual
+contributed to it, or where in his poetical recitation memory ceased
+and creative impulse began!  In any case the work of the individual
+lived on only as the ideal possession of the aggregate body of the
+people, and it soon lost the stamp of originality.  In view of such
+a development of poetry, we must assume a time when the collective
+consciousness of a people or race is paramount in its unity; when
+the intellectual life of each is nourished from the same treasury of
+views and associations, of myths and sagas; when similar interests
+stir each breast; and the ethical judgment of all applies itself to
+the same standard.  In such an age the form of poetical expression
+will also be common to all, necessarily solemn, earnest, and simple."
+
+When the conditions which produced the popular ballads become clear
+to the imagination, their depth of rootage, not only in the community
+life but in the community love, becomes also clear.  We under stand
+the charm which these old songs have for us of a later age, and the
+spell which they cast upon men and women who knew the secret of
+their birth; we understand why the minstrels of the lime, when
+popular poetry was in its best estate, were held in such honour, why
+Taillefer sang the song of Roland at the head of the advancing
+Normans on the day of Hastings, and why good Bishop Aldhelm, when he
+wanted to get the ears of his people, stood on the bridge and sang a
+ballad!  These old songs were the flowering of the imagination of
+the people; they drew their life as directly from the general
+experience, the common memory, the universal feelings, as did the
+Greek dramas in those primitive times, when they were part of rustic
+festivity and worship.  The popular ballads have passed away with
+the conditions which produced them. Modern poets have, in several
+instances, written ballads of striking picturesqueness and power,
+but as unlike the ballad of popular origin as the world of to-day is
+unlike the world in which "Chevy Chase" was first sung.  These
+modern ballads are not necessarily better or worse than their
+predecessors; but they are necessarily different.  It is idle to
+exalt the wild flower at the expense of the garden flower; each has
+its fragrance, its beauty, its sentiment; and the world is wide!
+
+In the selection of the ballads which appear in this volume, no
+attempt has been made to follow a chronological order or to enforce a
+rigid principle of selection of any kind.  The aim has been to bring
+within moderate compass a collection of these songs of the people
+which should fairly represent the range, the descriptive felicity,
+the dramatic power, and the genuine poetic feeling of a body of verse
+which is still, it is to be feared, unfamiliar to a large number of
+those to whom it would bring refreshment and delight.
+
+
+HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE
+
+
+
+
+
+Chevy Chace
+
+
+
+God prosper long our noble king,
+Our liffes and safetyes all;
+A woefull hunting once there did
+In Chevy-Chace befall.
+
+To drive the deere with hound and horne,
+Erle Percy took his way;
+The child may rue that is unborne
+The hunting of that day.
+
+The stout Erle of Northumberland
+A vow to God did make,
+His pleasure in the Scottish woods
+Three summers days to take;
+
+The cheefest harts in Chevy-Chace
+To kill and beare away:
+These tydings to Erle Douglas came,
+In Scotland where he lay.
+
+Who sent Erie Percy present word,
+He wold prevent his sport;
+The English Erle not fearing that,
+Did to the woods resort,
+
+With fifteen hundred bow-men bold,
+All chosen men of might,
+Who knew full well in time of neede
+To ayme their shafts arright.
+
+The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,
+To chase the fallow deere;
+On Munday they began to hunt,
+Ere day-light did appeare;
+
+And long before high noone they had
+An hundred fat buckes slaine;
+Then having din'd, the drovyers went
+To rouze the deare againe.
+
+The bow-men mustered on the hills,
+Well able to endure;
+Theire backsides all, with speciall care,
+That day were guarded sure.
+
+The hounds ran swiftly through the woods,
+The nimble deere to take,
+That with their cryes the hills and dales
+An eccho shrill did make.
+
+Lord Percy to the quarry went,
+To view the tender deere;
+Quoth he, "Erle Douglas promised
+This day to meet me heere;
+
+"But if I thought he wold not come,
+Noe longer wold I stay."
+With that, a brave younge gentleman
+Thus to the Erle did say:
+
+"Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come,
+His men in armour bright;
+Full twenty hundred Scottish speres,
+All marching in our sight.
+
+"All men of pleasant Tivydale,
+Fast by the river Tweede:"
+"O cease your sport," Erle Percy said,
+"And take your bowes with speede.
+
+"And now with me, my countrymen,
+Your courage forth advance;
+For never was there champion yett
+In Scotland or in France,
+
+"That ever did on horsebacke come,
+But, if my hap it were,
+I durst encounter man for man,
+With him to breake a spere."
+
+Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede,
+Most like a baron bold,
+Rode formost of his company,
+Whose armour shone like gold.
+
+"Show me," sayd hee, "whose men you bee,
+That hunt soe boldly heere,
+That, without my consent, doe chase
+And kill my fallow-deere."
+
+The man that first did answer make
+Was noble Percy hee;
+Who sayd, "Wee list not to declare,
+Nor shew whose men wee bee.
+
+"Yet will wee spend our deerest blood,
+Thy cheefest harts to slay;"
+Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe,
+And thus in rage did say;
+
+"Ere thus I will out-braved bee,
+One of us two shall dye:
+I know thee well, an erle thou art;
+Lord Percy, soe am I.
+
+"But trust me, Percy, pittye it were,
+And great offence, to kill
+Any of these our guiltlesse men,
+For they have done no ill.
+
+"Let thou and I the battell trye,
+  And set our men aside."
+"Accurst bee he," Erle Percy sayd,
+"By whome this is denyed."
+
+Then stept a gallant squier forth,
+Witherington was his name,
+Who said, "I wold not have it told
+To Henry our king for shame,
+
+"That ere my captaine fought on foote,
+And I stood looking on:
+You bee two erles," sayd Witherington,
+"And I a squier alone.
+
+"Ile doe the best that doe I may,
+While I have power to stand;
+While I have power to weeld my sword,
+Ile fight with hart and hand."
+
+Our English archers bent their bowes,
+Their harts were good and trew;
+Att the first flight of arrowes sent,
+Full four-score Scots they slew.
+
+[Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent,
+As Chieftain stout and good,
+As valiant Captain, all unmov'd
+The shock he firmly stood.
+
+His host he parted had in three,
+As Leader ware and try'd,
+And soon his spearmen on their foes
+Bare down on every side.
+
+Throughout the English archery
+They dealt full many a wound;
+But still our valiant Englishmen
+All firmly kept their ground.
+
+And throwing strait their bows away,
+They grasp'd their swords so bright:
+And now sharp blows, a heavy shower,
+On shields and helmets light.]
+
+They clos'd full fast on everye side,
+Noe slacknes there was found;
+And many a gallant gentleman
+Lay gasping on the ground.
+
+O Christ! it was a griefe to see,
+And likewise for to heare,
+The cries of men lying in their gore,
+And scattered here and there.
+
+At last these two stout erles did meet,
+Like captaines of great might;
+Like lyons wood they layd on lode,
+And made a cruell fight.
+
+They fought, untill they both did sweat,
+With swords of tempered steele;
+Until the blood, like drops of rain,
+They trickling downe did feele.
+
+"Yeeld thee, Lord Percy," Douglas sayd
+"In faith I will thee bringe,
+Where thou shalt high advanced bee
+By James our Scottish king.
+
+"Thy ransom I will freely give,
+And thus report of thee,
+Thou art the most couragious knight
+That ever I did see."
+
+"Noe, Douglas," quoth Erle Percy then,
+"Thy proffer I doe scorne
+I will not yeelde to any Scott,
+That ever yett was borne."
+
+With that, there came an arrow keene
+Out of an English bow,
+Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart,
+A deepe and deadlye blow:
+
+Who never spake more words than these,
+"Fight on, my merry men all;
+For why, my life is at an end:
+Lord Percy sees my fall."
+
+Then leaving liffe, Erle Percy tooke
+The dead man by the hand;
+And said, "Erle Douglas, for thy life
+Wold I had lost my land!
+
+"O Christ! my verry hart doth bleed
+With sorrow for thy sake;
+For sure, a more renowned knight
+Mischance cold never take."
+
+A knight amongst the Scotts there was,
+Which saw Erle Douglas dye,
+Who streight in wrath did vow revenge
+Upon the Lord Percye;
+
+Sir Hugh Mountgomerye was he call'd,
+Who, with a spere most bright,
+Well-mounted on a gallant steed,
+Ran fiercely through the fight;
+
+And past the English archers all,
+Without all dread or feare,
+And through Earl Percyes body then
+He thrust his hatefull spere
+
+With such a vehement force and might
+He did his body gore,
+The speare ran through the other side
+A large cloth-yard, and more.
+
+So thus did both these nobles dye,
+Whose courage none could staine;
+An English archer then perceiv'd
+The noble erle was slaine.
+
+He had a bow bent in his hand,
+Made of a trusty tree;
+An arrow of a cloth-yard long
+Up to the head drew hee.
+
+Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
+So right the shaft he sett,
+The grey goose-wing that was thereon
+In his harts bloode was wett.
+
+This fight did last from breake of day
+Till setting of the sun;
+For when they rung the evening bell,
+The battel scarce was done.
+
+With stout Erle Percy, there was slaine,
+Sir John of Egerton,
+Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John,
+Sir James, that bold Bar n.
+
+And with Sir George and stout Sir James,
+Both knights of good account,
+Good Sir Ralph Rabby there was slaine,
+Whose prowesse did surmount.
+
+For Witherington needs must I wayle,
+As one in doleful dumpes;
+For when his legs were smitten off,
+He fought upon his stumpes.
+
+And with Erle Douglas, there was slaine
+Sir Hugh Mountgomerye,
+Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld
+One foote wold never flee.
+
+Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too,
+His sisters sonne was hee;
+Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd,
+Yet saved cold not bee.
+
+And the Lord Maxwell in like case
+Did with Erle Douglas dye;
+Of twenty hundred Scottish speres,
+Scarce fifty-five did flye.
+
+Of fifteen hundred Englishmen,
+Went home but fifty-three;
+The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chace,
+Under the greene wood tree.
+
+Next day did many widowes come,
+Their husbands to bewayle;
+They washt their wounds in brinish teares,
+But all wold not prevayle.
+
+Theyr bodyes, bathed in purple blood,
+They bore with them away:
+They kist them dead a thousand times,
+Ere they were cladd in clay.
+
+This newes was brought to Eddenborrow,
+Where Scotlands king did raigne,
+That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye
+Was with an arrow slaine.
+
+"O heavy newes," King James did say;
+"Scottland can witnesse bee,
+I have not any captaine more
+Of such account as hee."
+
+Like tydings to King Henry came,
+Within as short a space,
+That Percy of Northumberland
+Was slaine in Chevy-Chace.
+
+"Now God be with him," said our king,
+"Sith it will noe better bee;
+I trust I have, within my realme,
+Five hundred as good as hee.
+
+"Yett shall not Scotts nor Scotland say,
+But I will vengeance take,
+I'll be revenged on them all,
+For brave Erle Percyes sake."
+
+This vow full well the king perform'd
+After, at Humbledowne;
+In one day, fifty knights were slayne,
+With lordes of great renowne.
+
+And of the rest, of small account,
+Did many thousands dye:
+Thus endeth the hunting in Chevy-Chace,
+Made by the Erle Percy.
+
+God save our king, and bless this land
+In plentye, joy, and peace;
+And grant henceforth, that foule debate
+'Twixt noblemen may cease!
+
+
+
+
+
+King Cophetua and the Beggar-Maid
+
+
+
+I read that once in Affrica
+A princely wight did raine,
+Who had to name Cophetua,
+As poets they did faine.
+From natures lawes he did decline,
+For sure he was not of my minde,
+He cared not for women-kind
+But did them all disdaine.
+But marke what hapned on a day;
+As he out of his window lay,
+He saw a beggar all in gray.
+The which did cause his paine.
+
+The blinded boy that shootes so trim
+From heaven downe did hie,
+He drew a dart and shot at him,
+In place where he did lye:
+Which soone did pierse him to the quicke,
+And when he felt the arrow pricke,
+Which in his tender heart did sticke,
+He looketh as he would dye.
+"What sudden chance is this," quoth he,
+"That I to love must subject be,
+Which never thereto would agree,
+But still did it defie?"
+
+Then from the window he did come,
+And laid him on his bed;
+A thousand heapes of care did runne
+Within his troubled head.
+For now he meanes to crave her love,
+And now he seekes which way to proove
+How he his fancie might remoove,
+And not this beggar wed.
+But Cupid had him so in snare,
+That this poor begger must prepare
+A salve to cure him of his care,
+Or els he would be dead.
+
+And as he musing thus did lye,
+He thought for to devise
+How he might have her companye,
+That so did 'maze his eyes.
+"In thee," quoth he, "doth rest my life;
+For surely thou shalt be my wife,
+Or else this hand with bloody knife,
+The Gods shall sure suffice."
+Then from his bed he soon arose,
+And to his pallace gate he goes;
+Full little then this begger knowes
+When she the king espies.
+
+"The gods preserve your majesty,"
+The beggers all gan cry;
+"Vouchsafe to give your charity,
+Our childrens food to buy."
+The king to them his purse did cast,
+And they to part it made great haste;
+This silly woman was the last
+That after them did hye.
+The king he cal'd her back againe,
+And unto her he gave his chaine;
+And said, "With us you shal remaine
+Till such time as we dye.
+
+"For thou," quoth he, "shalt be my wife,
+And honoured for my queene;
+With thee I meane to lead my life,
+As shortly shall be seene:
+Our wedding shall appointed be,
+And every thing in its degree;
+Come on," quoth he, "and follow me,
+Thou shalt go shift thee cleane.
+What is thy name, faire maid?" quoth he.
+"Penelophon, O King," quoth she;
+With that she made a lowe courtsey;
+A trim one as I weene.
+
+Thus hand in hand along they walke
+Unto the king's pallace:
+The king with courteous, comly talke
+This begger doth embrace.
+The begger blusheth scarlet red,
+And straight againe as pale as lead,
+But not a word at all she said,
+She was in such amaze.
+At last she spake with trembling voyce,
+And said, "O King, I doe rejoyce
+That you wil take me for your choyce,
+And my degree so base."
+
+And when the wedding day was come,
+The king commanded strait
+The noblemen, both all and some,
+Upon the queene to wait.
+And she behaved herself that day
+As if she had never walkt the way;
+She had forgot her gowne of gray,
+Which she did weare of late.
+The proverbe old is come to passe,
+The priest, when he begins his masse,
+Forgets that ever clerke he was
+He knowth not his estate.
+
+Here you may read Cophetua,
+Through long time fancie-fed,
+Compelled by the blinded boy
+The begger for to wed:
+He that did lovers lookes disdaine,
+To do the same was glad and faine,
+Or else he would himselfe have slaine,
+In storie, as we read.
+Disdaine no whit, O lady deere,
+But pitty now thy servant heere,
+Least that it hap to thee this yeare,
+As to that king it did.
+
+And thus they led a quiet life
+During their princely raine,
+And in a tombe were buried both,
+As writers sheweth plaine.
+The lords they tooke it grievously,
+The ladies tooke it heavily,
+The commons cryed pitiously,
+Their death to them was paine.
+Their fame did sound so passingly,
+That it did pierce the starry sky,
+And throughout all the world did flye
+To every princes realme.
+
+
+
+
+
+King Leir and his Three Daughters
+
+
+
+King Leir once ruled in this land
+With princely power and peace,
+And had all things with hearts content,
+That might his joys increase.
+Amongst those things that nature gave,
+Three daughters fair had he,
+So princely seeming beautiful,
+As fairer could not be.
+
+So on a time it pleas'd the king
+A question thus to move,
+Which of his daughters to his grace
+Could shew the dearest love:
+"For to my age you bring content,"
+Quoth he, "then let me hear,
+Which of you three in plighted troth
+The kindest will appear."
+
+To whom the eldest thus began:
+"Dear father, mind," quoth she,
+"Before your face, to do you good,
+My blood shall render'd be.
+And for your sake my bleeding heart
+Shall here be cut in twain,
+Ere that I see your reverend age
+The smallest grief sustain."
+
+"And so will I," the second said;
+"Dear father, for your sake,
+The worst of all extremities
+I'll gently undertake:
+And serve your highness night and day
+With diligence and love;
+That sweet content and quietness
+Discomforts may remove."
+
+"In doing so, you glad my soul,"
+The aged king reply'd;
+"But what sayst thou, my youngest girl,
+How is thy love ally'd?"
+"My love" (quoth young Cordelia then),
+"Which to your grace I owe,
+Shall be the duty of a child,
+And that is all I'll show."
+
+"And wilt thou shew no more," quoth he,
+"Than doth thy duty bind?
+I well perceive thy love is small,
+When as no more I find.
+Henceforth I banish thee my court;
+Thou art no child of mine;
+Nor any part of this my realm
+By favour shall be thine.
+
+"Thy elder sisters' loves are more
+Than well I can demand;
+To whom I equally bestow
+My kingdome and my land,
+My pompal state and all my goods,
+That lovingly I may
+With those thy sisters be maintain'd
+Until my dying day."
+
+Thus flattering speeches won renown,
+By these two sisters here;
+The third had causeless banishment,
+Yet was her love more dear.
+For poor Cordelia patiently
+Went wandring up and down,
+Unhelp'd, unpity'd, gentle maid,
+Through many an English town:
+
+Untill at last in famous France
+She gentler fortunes found;
+Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd
+The fairest on the ground:
+Where when the king her virtues heard,
+And this fair lady seen,
+With full consent of all his court
+He made his wife and queen.
+
+Her father, old King Leir, this while
+With his two daughters staid;
+Forgetful of their promis'd loves,
+Full soon the same decay'd;
+And living in Queen Ragan's court,
+The eldest of the twain,
+She took from him his chiefest means,
+And most of all his train.
+
+For whereas twenty men were wont
+To wait with bended knee,
+She gave allowance but to ten,
+And after scarce to three,
+Nay, one she thought too much for him;
+So took she all away,
+In hope that in her court, good king,
+He would no longer stay.
+
+"Am I rewarded thus," quoth he,
+"In giving all I have
+Unto my children, and to beg
+For what I lately gave?
+I'll go unto my Gonorell:
+My second child, I know,
+Will be more kind and pitiful,
+And will relieve my woe."
+
+Full fast he hies then to her court;
+Where when she heard his moan,
+Return'd him answer, that she griev'd
+That all his means were gone,
+But no way could relieve his wants;
+Yet if that he would stay
+Within her kitchen, he should have
+What scullions gave away.
+
+When he had heard, with bitter tears,
+He made his answer then;
+"In what I did, let me be made
+Example to all men.
+I will return again," quoth he,
+"Unto my Ragan's court;
+She will not use me thus, I hope,
+But in a kinder sort."
+
+Where when he came, she gave command
+To drive him thence away:
+When he was well within her court,
+(She said) he would not stay.
+Then back again to Gonorel
+The woeful king did hie,
+That in her kitchen he might have
+What scullion boys set by.
+
+But there of that he was deny'd
+Which she had promis'd late
+For once refusing, he should not,
+Come after to her gate.
+Thus twixt his daughters for relief
+He wandred up and down,
+Being glad to feed on beggars' food
+That lately wore a crown.
+
+And calling to remembrance then
+His youngest daughters words,
+That said, the duty of a child
+Was all that love affords--
+But doubting to repair to her,
+Whom he had ban'sh'd so,
+Grew frantic mad; for in his mind
+He bore the wounds of woe.
+
+Which made him rend his milk-white locks
+And tresses from his head,
+And all with blood bestain his cheeks,
+With age and honour spread.
+To hills and woods and watry founts,
+He made his hourly moan,
+Till hills and woods and senseless things
+Did seem to sigh and groan.
+
+Even thus possest with discontents,
+He passed o'er to France,
+In hopes from fair Cordelia there
+To find some gentler chance.
+Most virtuous dame! which, when she heard
+Of this her father's grief,
+As duty bound, she quickly sent
+Him comfort and relief.
+
+And by a train of noble peers,
+In brave and gallant sort,
+She gave in charge he should be brought
+To Aganippus' court;
+Whose royal king, with noble mind,
+So freely gave consent
+To muster up his knights at arms,
+To fame and courage bent.
+
+And so to England came with speed,
+To repossesse King Leir,
+And drive his daughters from their thrones
+By his Cordelia dear.
+Where she, true-hearted, noble queen,
+Was in the battel stain;
+Yet he, good king, in his old days,
+Possest his crown again.
+
+But when he heard Cordelia's death,
+Who died indeed for love
+Of her dear father, in whose cause
+She did this battle move,
+He swooning fell upon her breast,
+From whence he never parted;
+But on her bosom left his life
+That was so truly hearted.
+
+The lords and nobles, when they saw
+The end of these events,
+The other sisters unto death
+They doomed by consents;
+And being dead, their crowns they left
+Unto the next of kin:
+Thus have you seen the fall of pride,
+And disobedient sin.
+
+
+
+
+
+Fair Rosamond
+
+
+
+When as King Henry rulde this land,
+The second of that name,
+Besides the queene, he dearly lovde
+A faire and comely dame.
+
+Most peerlesse was her beautye founde,
+Her favour, and her face;
+A sweeter creature in this worlde
+Could never prince embrace.
+
+Her crisped lockes like threads of golde,
+Appeard to each man's sight;
+Her sparkling eyes, like Orient pearles,
+Did cast a heavenlye light.
+
+The blood within her crystal cheekes
+Did such a colour drive,
+As though the lillye and the rose
+For mastership did strive.
+
+Yea Rosamonde, fair Rosamonde,
+Her name was called so,
+To whom our queene, Dame Ellinor,
+Was known a deadlye foe.
+
+The king therefore, for her defence
+Against the furious queene,
+At Woodstocke builded such a bower,
+The like was never seene.
+
+Most curiously that bower was built,
+Of stone and timber strong;
+An hundered and fifty doors
+Did to this bower belong:
+
+And they so cunninglye contriv'd,
+With turnings round about,
+That none but with a clue of thread
+Could enter in or out.
+
+And for his love and ladyes sake,
+That was so faire and brighte,
+The keeping of this bower he gave
+Unto a valiant knighte.
+
+But fortune, that doth often frowne
+Where she before did smile,
+The kinges delighte and ladyes joy
+Full soon shee did beguile:
+
+For why, the kinges ungracious sonne,
+Whom he did high advance,
+Against his father raised warres
+Within the realme of France.
+
+But yet before our comelye king
+The English land forsooke,
+Of Rosamond, his lady faire,
+His farewelle thus he tooke:
+
+"My Rosamonde, my only Rose,
+That pleasest best mine eye,
+The fairest flower in all the worlde
+To feed my fantasye,--
+
+"The flower of mine affected heart,
+Whose sweetness doth excelle,
+My royal Rose, a thousand times
+I bid thee nowe farwelle!
+
+"For I must leave my fairest flower,
+My sweetest Rose, a space,
+And cross the seas to famous France,
+Proud rebelles to abase.
+
+"But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt
+My coming shortlye see,
+And in my heart, when hence I am,
+Ile beare my Rose with mee."
+
+When Rosamond, that ladye brighte,
+Did heare the king saye soe,
+The sorrowe of her grieved heart
+Her outward lookes did showe.
+
+And from her cleare and crystall eyes
+The teares gusht out apace,
+Which, like the silver-pearled dewe,
+Ranne downe her comely face.
+
+Her lippes, erst like the corall redde,
+Did waxe both wan and pale,
+And for the sorrow she conceivde
+Her vitall spirits faile.
+
+And falling downe all in a swoone
+Before King Henryes face,
+Full oft he in his princelye armes
+Her bodye did embrace.
+
+And twentye times, with watery eyes,
+He kist her tender cheeke,
+Untill he had revivde againe
+Her senses milde and meeke.
+
+"Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?"
+The king did often say:
+"Because," quoth shee, "to bloodye warres
+My lord must part awaye.
+
+"But since your Grace on forrayne coastes,
+Amonge your foes unkinde,
+Must goe to hazard life and limbe,
+Why should I staye behinde?
+
+"Nay, rather let me, like a page,
+Your sworde and target beare;
+That on my breast the blowes may lighte,
+Which would offend you there.
+
+"Or lett mee, in your royal tent,
+Prepare your bed at nighte,
+And with sweete baths refresh your grace,
+At your returne from fighte.
+
+"So I your presence may enjoye
+No toil I will refuse;
+But wanting you, my life is death:
+Nay, death Ild rather chuse."
+
+"Content thy self, my dearest love,
+Thy rest at home shall bee,
+In Englandes sweet and pleasant isle;
+For travell fits not thee.
+
+"Faire ladies brooke not bloodye warres;
+Soft peace their sexe delightes;
+Not rugged campes, but courtlye bowers;
+Gay feastes, not cruell fightes.
+
+"My Rose shall safely here abide,
+With musicke passe the daye,
+Whilst I amonge the piercing pikes
+My foes seeke far awaye.
+
+"My Rose shall shine in pearle and golde,
+Whilst Ime in armour dighte;
+Gay galliards here my love shall dance,
+Whilst I my foes goe fighte.
+
+"And you, Sir Thomas, whom I truste
+To bee my loves defence,
+Be carefull of my gallant Rose
+When I am parted hence."
+
+And therewithall he fetcht a sigh,
+As though his heart would breake;
+And Rosamonde, for very griefe,
+Not one plaine word could speake.
+
+And at their parting well they mighte
+In heart be grieved sore:
+After that daye, faire Rosamonde
+The king did see no more.
+
+For when his Grace had past the seas,
+And into France was gone,
+With envious heart, Queene Ellinor
+To Woodstocke came anone.
+
+And forth she calls this trustye knighte
+In an unhappy houre,
+Who, with his clue of twined-thread,
+Came from this famous bower.
+
+And when that they had wounded him,
+The queene this thread did gette,
+And wente where Ladye Rosamonde
+Was like an angell sette.
+
+But when the queene with stedfast eye
+  Beheld her beauteous face,
+She was amazed in her minde
+At her exceeding grace.
+
+"Cast off from thee those robes," she said,
+"That riche and costlye bee;
+And drinke thou up this deadlye draught
+Which I have brought to thee."
+
+Then presentlye upon her knees
+Sweet Rosamonde did falle;
+And pardon of the queene she crav'd
+For her offences all.
+
+"Take pitty on my youthfull yeares,"
+Faire Rosamonde did crye;
+"And lett mee not with poison stronge
+Enforced bee to dye.
+
+"I will renounce my sinfull life,
+And in some cloyster bide;
+Or else be banisht, if you please,
+To range the world soe wide.
+
+"And for the fault which I have done,
+Though I was forc'd theretoe,
+Preserve my life, and punish mee
+As you thinke meet to doe."
+
+And with these words, her lillie handes
+She wrunge full often there;
+And downe along her lovely face
+Did trickle many a teare.
+
+But nothing could this furious queene
+Therewith appeased bee;
+The cup of deadlye poyson stronge,
+As she knelt on her knee,
+
+She gave this comelye dame to drinke;
+Who tooke it in her hand,
+And from her bended knee arose,
+And on her feet did stand,
+
+And casting up her eyes to heaven,
+Shee did for mercye calle;
+And drinking up the poison stronge,
+Her life she lost withalle.
+
+And when that death through everye limbe
+Had showde its greatest spite,
+Her chiefest foes did plain confesse
+Shee was a glorious wight.
+
+Her body then they did entomb,
+When life was fled away,
+At Godstowe, neare to Oxford towne,
+As may be seene this day.
+
+
+
+
+
+Phillida and Corydon
+
+
+
+In the merrie moneth of Maye,
+In a morne by break of daye,
+With a troope of damselles playing
+Forthe 'I yode' forsooth a maying;
+
+When anon by a wood side,
+Where that Maye was in his pride,
+I espied all alone
+Phillida and Corydon.
+
+Much adoe there was, God wot:
+He wold love, and she wold not.
+She sayde, "Never man was trewe;"
+He sayes, "None was false to you."
+
+He sayde, hee had lovde her longe;
+She sayes, love should have no wronge.
+Corydon wold kisse her then;
+She sayes, "Maydes must kisse no men,
+
+"Tyll they doe for good and all."
+When she made the shepperde call
+All the heavens to wytnes truthe,
+Never loved a truer youthe.
+
+Then with manie a prettie othe,
+Yea and nay, and faithe and trothe,
+Suche as seelie shepperdes use
+When they will not love abuse,
+
+Love, that had bene long deluded,
+Was with kisses sweete concluded;
+And Phillida with garlands gaye
+Was made the lady of the Maye.
+
+
+
+
+
+Fair Margaret and Sweet William
+
+
+
+As it fell out on a long summer's day,
+Two lovers they sat on a hill;
+They sat together that long summer's day,
+And could not talk their fill.
+
+"I see no harm by you, Margaret,
+And you see none by mee;
+Before to-morrow at eight o' the clock
+A rich wedding you shall see."
+
+Fair Margaret sat in her bower-wind w,
+Combing her yellow hair;
+There she spyed sweet William and his bride,
+As they were a riding near.
+
+Then down she layd her ivory combe,
+And braided her hair in twain:
+She went alive out of her bower,
+But ne'er came alive in't again.
+
+When day was gone, and night was come,
+And all men fast asleep,
+Then came the spirit of Fair Marg'ret,
+And stood at William's feet.
+
+"Are you awake, sweet William?" shee said,
+"Or, sweet William, are you asleep?
+God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,
+And me of my winding sheet."
+
+When day was come, and night was gone,
+And all men wak'd from sleep,
+Sweet William to his lady sayd,
+"My dear, I have cause to weep.
+
+"I dreamt a dream, my dear ladye,
+Such dreames are never good:
+I dreamt my bower was full of red 'wine,'
+And my bride-bed full of blood."
+
+"Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured sir,
+They never do prove good;
+To dream thy bower was full of red 'wine,'
+And thy bride-bed full of blood."
+
+He called up his merry men all,
+By one, by two, and by three;
+Saying, "I'll away to fair Marg'ret's bower,
+By the leave of my ladie."
+
+And when he came to fair Marg'ret's bower,
+He knocked at the ring;
+And who so ready as her seven brethren
+To let sweet William in.
+
+Then he turned up the covering-sheet;
+"Pray let me see the dead;
+Methinks she looks all pale and wan.
+She hath lost her cherry red.
+
+"I'll do more for thee, Margaret,
+Than any of thy kin:
+For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
+Though a smile I cannot win."
+
+With that bespake the seven brethren,
+Making most piteous mone,
+"You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,
+And let our sister alone."
+
+"If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,
+I do but what is right;
+I ne'er made a vow to yonder poor corpse,
+By day, nor yet by night.
+
+"Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,
+Deal on your cake and your wine:
+For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,
+Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine."
+
+Fair Margaret dyed to-day, to-day,
+Sweet William dyed the morrow:
+Fair Margaret dyed for pure true love,
+Sweet William dyed for sorrow.
+
+Margaret was buryed in the lower chancel,
+And William in the higher:
+Out of her brest there sprang a rose,
+And out of his a briar.
+
+They grew till they grew unto the church top,
+And then they could grow no higher;
+And there they tyed in a true lover's knot,
+Which made all the people admire.
+
+Then came the clerk of the parish,
+As you the truth shall hear,
+And by misfortune cut them down,
+Or they had now been there.
+
+
+
+
+
+Annan Water
+
+
+
+"Annan Water's wading deep,
+And my love Annie's wondrous bonny;
+I will keep my tryst to-night,
+And win the heart o' lovely Annie."
+
+He's loupen on his bonny grey,
+He rade the right gate and the ready',
+For a' the storm he wadna stay,
+For seeking o' his bonny lady.
+
+And he has ridden o'er field and fell,
+Through muir and moss, and stones and mire;
+His spurs o' steel were sair to bide,
+And frae her four feet flew the fire.
+
+"My bonny grey, noo play your part!
+Gin ye be the steed that wins my dearie,
+Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye,
+And never spur sail mak' you wearie."
+
+The grey was a mare, and a right gude mare:
+But when she wan the Annan Water,
+She couldna hae found the ford that night
+Had a thousand merks been wadded at her.
+
+"O boatman, boatman, put off your boat,
+Put off your boat for gouden money!"
+But for a' the goud in fair Scotland,
+He dared na tak' him through to Annie.
+
+"O I was sworn sae late yestreen,
+Not by a single aith, but mony.
+I'll cross the drumly stream to-night,
+Or never could I face my honey."
+
+The side was stey, and the bottom deep,
+Frae bank to brae the water pouring;
+The bonny grey mare she swat for fear,
+For she heard the water-kelpy roaring.
+
+He spurred her forth into the flood,
+I wot she swam both strong and steady;
+But the stream was broad, her strength did fail,
+And he never saw his bonny lady.
+
+O wae betide the frush saugh wand!
+And wae betide the bush of brier!
+That bent and brake into his hand,
+When strength of man and horse did tire.
+
+And wae betide ye, Annan Water!
+This night ye are a drumly river;
+But over thee we'll build a brig,
+That ye nae mair true love may sever.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington
+
+
+
+There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe,
+And he was a squire's son;
+He loved the bayliffe's daughter deare,
+That lived in Islington.
+
+Yet she was coye, and would not believe
+That he did love her soe,
+Noe nor at any time would she
+Any countenance to him showe.
+
+But when his friendes did understand
+His fond and foolish minde,
+They sent him up to faire London,
+An apprentice for to binde.
+
+And when he had been seven long yeares,
+And never his love could see,--
+"Many a teare have I shed for her sake,
+When she little thought of mee."
+
+Then all the maids of Islington
+Went forth to sport and playe,
+All but the bayliffe's daughter deare;
+She secretly stole awaye.
+
+She pulled off her gowne of greene,
+And put on ragged attire,
+And to faire London she would go
+Her true love to enquire.
+
+And as she went along the high road,
+The weather being hot and drye,
+She sat her downe upon a green bank,
+And her true love came riding bye.
+
+She started up, with a colour soe redd,
+Catching hold of his bridle-reine;
+"One penny, one penny, kind sir," she sayd,
+"Will ease me of much paine."
+
+"Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart,
+Praye tell me where you were borne."
+"At Islington, kind sir," sayd shee,
+"Where I have had many a scorne."
+
+"I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee,
+O tell me, whether you knowe
+The bayliffes daughter of Islington."
+"She is dead, sir, long agoe."
+
+"If she be dead, then take my horse,
+My saddle and bridle also;
+For I will into some farr countrye,
+Where noe man shall me knowe."
+
+"O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youthe,
+She standeth by thy side;
+She is here alive, she is not dead,
+And readye to be thy bride."
+
+"O farewell griefe, and welcome joye,
+Ten thousand times therefore;
+For nowe I have founde mine owne true love,
+Whom I thought I should never see more."
+
+
+
+
+
+Barbara Allen's Cruelty
+
+
+
+All in the merry month of May,
+When green buds they were swelling,
+Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay
+For love o' Barbara Allen.
+
+He sent his man unto her then,
+To the town where she was dwelling:
+"O haste and come to my master dear,
+If your name be Barbara Allen."
+
+Slowly, slowly rase she up,
+And she cam' where he was lying;
+And when she drew the curtain by,
+Says, "Young man, I think you're dying."
+
+"O it's I am sick, and very, very sick,
+And it's a' for Barbara Allen."
+"O the better for me ye'se never be,
+Tho' your heart's blude were a-spilling!
+
+"O dinna ye min', young man," she says,
+"When the red wine ye were filling,
+That ye made the healths gae round and round
+And ye slighted Barbara Allen?"
+
+He turn'd his face unto the wa',
+And death was wi' him dealing:
+"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends a';
+Be kind to Barbara Allen."
+
+As she was walking o'er the fields,
+She heard the dead-bell knelling;
+
+And every jow the dead-bell gave,
+It cried, "Woe to Barbara Allen!"
+
+"O mother, mother, mak' my bed,
+To lay me down in sorrow.
+My love has died for me to-day,
+I'll die for him to-morrow."
+
+
+
+
+
+The Douglas Tragedy
+
+
+
+"Rise up, rise up, now, Lord Douglas," she says,
+"And put on your armour so bright;
+Sweet William will hae Lady Margaret awi'
+Before that it be light.
+
+"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 buglet 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 he spied her seven brethren bold
+Come riding o'er the lea.
+
+"Light down, light down, Lady Margaret," he said,
+"And hold my steed in your hand,
+Until that against your seven brethren 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 Margaret," he said,
+"O whether will ye gang or bide?"
+"I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said,
+"For you have left me nae other guide."
+
+He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
+And himself on a dapple grey,
+With a buglet 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 came 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 lady I've win.
+
+"O mak my bed, lady mother," he says,
+"O mak it braid and deep!
+And lay Lady Margaret close at my back,
+And the sounder I will sleep."
+
+Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,
+Lady Margaret 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 world might ken right weel,
+They were twa lovers dear.
+
+But bye and rade the black Douglas
+And wow but he was rough!
+For he pulled up the bonny brier,
+And flanged in St. Marie's Loch.
+
+
+
+
+
+Young Waters
+
+
+
+About Yule, when the wind blew cool;
+And the round tables began,
+A' there is come to our king's court
+Mony a well-favoured man.
+
+The queen looked o'er the castle wa',
+Beheld baith dale and down,
+And then she saw young Waters
+Come riding to the town.
+
+His footmen they did rin before,
+His horsemen rade behind;
+Ane mantle of the burning gowd
+Did keep him frae the wind.
+
+Gowden graith'd[FN#1] his horse before,
+And siller shod behind;
+The horse young Waters rade upon
+Was fleeter than the wind.
+
+
+
+[FN#1]  Graitih'd, girthed.
+
+
+
+Out then spake a wily lord,
+Unto the queen said he:
+"O tell me wha's the fairest face
+Rides in the company?"
+
+"I've seen lord, and I've seen laird,
+And knights of high degree,
+But a fairer face than young Waters
+Mine eyen did never see."
+
+Out then spake the jealous king
+And an angry man was he:
+"O if he had been twice as fair,
+You might have excepted me."
+
+"You're neither laird nor lord," she says,
+"But the king that wears the crown;
+There is not a knight in fair Scotland,
+But to thee maun bow down."
+
+For a' that she could do or say,
+Appeased he wad nae be;
+But for the words which she had said,
+Young Waters he maun dee.
+
+They hae ta'en young Waters,
+And put fetters to his feet;
+They hae ta'en young Waters,
+And thrown him in dungeon deep.
+
+"Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town,
+In the wind but and the weet;
+But I ne'er rade thro' Stirling town
+Wi' fetters at my feet.
+
+"Aft have I ridden thro' Stirling town,
+In the wind but and the rain;
+But I ne'er rade thro' Stirling town
+Ne'er to return again."
+
+They hae ta'en to the heading-hill
+His young son in his cradle;
+And they hae ta'en to the heading-hill
+His horse but and his saddle.
+
+They hae ta'en to the heading-hill
+His lady fair to see;
+And for the words the queen had spoke
+Young Waters he did dee.
+
+
+
+
+
+Flodden Field
+
+
+
+King Jamie hath made a vow,
+Keepe it well if he may:
+That he will be at lovely London
+Upon Saint James his day.
+
+Upon Saint James his day at noone,
+At faire London will I be,
+And all the lords in merrie Scotland,
+They shall dine there with me.
+
+"March out, march out, my merry men,
+Of hie or low degree;
+I'le weare the crowne in London towne,
+And that you soon shall be."
+
+Then bespake good Queene Margaret,
+The teares fell from her eye:
+"Leave off these warres, most noble King,
+Keepe your fidelitie.
+
+"The water runnes swift, and wondrous deepe,
+From bottome unto the brimme;
+My brother Henry hath men good enough;
+England is hard to winne."
+
+"Away" quoth he "with this silly foole!
+In prison fast let her lie:
+For she is come of the English bloud,
+And for these words she shall dye."
+
+With that bespake Lord Thomas Howard,
+The Queenes chamberlaine that day:
+"If that you put Queene Margaret to death,
+Scotland shall rue it alway."
+
+Then in a rage King Jamie did say,
+"Away with this foolish mome;
+He shall be hanged, and the other be burned,
+So soone as I come home."
+
+At Flodden Field the Scots came in,
+Which made our English men faine;
+At Bramstone Greene this battaile was seene,
+There was King Jamie slaine.
+
+His bodie never could be found,
+When he was over throwne,
+And he that wore faire Scotland's crowne
+That day could not be knowne.
+
+Then presently the Scot did flie,
+Their cannons they left behind;
+Their ensignes gay were won all away,
+Our souldiers did beate them blinde.
+
+To tell you plaine, twelve thousand were slaine,
+That to the fight did stand,
+And many prisoners tooke that day,
+The best in all Scotland.
+
+That day made many [a] fatherlesse child,
+And many a widow poore,
+And many a Scottish gay lady
+Sate weeping in her bower.
+
+Jack with a feather was lapt all in leather,
+His boastings were all in vaine;
+He had such a chance, with a new morrice-dance
+He never went home againe.
+
+---
+
+This was written to adapt the ballad to the seventeenth century.
+
+
+Now heaven we laude that never more
+Such biding shall come to hand;
+Our King, by othe, is King of both
+England and faire Scotland.
+
+
+
+
+
+Helen of Kirkconnell
+
+
+
+I wad I were where Helen lies;
+Night and day on me she cries;
+O that I were where Helen lies,
+On fair Kirkconnell lea!
+
+Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
+And curst the hand that fired the shot,
+When in my arms burd Helen dropt,
+And died to succour me!
+
+O think na but my heart was sair
+When my Love dropt and spak nae mair!
+I laid her down wi' meikle care,
+On fair Kirkconnell lea.
+
+As I went down the water side,
+Nane but my foe to be my guide,
+Nane but my foe to be my guide,
+On fair Kirkconnell lea.
+
+I lighted down my sword to draw,
+I hacked him in pieces sma',
+I hacked him in pieces sma',
+For her sake that died for me.
+
+O Helen fair, beyond compare!
+I'll make a garland of thy hair,
+Shall bind my heart for evermair,
+Until the day I dee!
+
+O that I were where Helen lies
+Night and day on me she cries;
+Out of my bed she bids me rise,
+Says, "Haste, and come to me!"
+
+O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
+If I were with thee, I were blest,
+Where thou lies low and takes thy rest,
+On fair Kirkconnell lea.
+
+I wad my grave were growing green,
+A winding-sheet drawn ower my een,
+And I in Helen's arms lying,
+On fair Kirkconnell lea.
+
+I wad I were where Helen lies!
+Night and day on me she cries,
+And I am weary of the skies,
+Since my Love died for me.
+
+
+
+
+
+Robin Hood and Allen-a-Dale
+
+
+
+Come listen to me, you gallants so free,
+All you that love mirth for to hear,
+And I will tell you of a bold outlaw,
+That lived in Nottinghamshire.
+
+As Robin Hood in the forest stood
+All under the greenwood tree,
+There he was aware of a brave young man,
+As fine as fine might be.
+
+The youngster was clad in scarlet red,
+In scarlet fine and gay
+And he did frisk it over the plain,
+And chaunted a roundelay.
+
+As Robin Hood next morning stood
+Amongst the leaves so gay,
+There did he espy the same young man
+Come drooping along the way.
+
+The scarlet he wore the day before
+It was clean cast away;
+And at every step he fetched a sigh,
+"Alas! and a well-a-day!"
+
+Then stepped forth brave Little John,
+And Midge, the miller's son;
+Which made the young man bend his bow,
+When as he see them come.
+
+"Stand off! stand off!" the young man said,
+"What is your will with me?"
+"You must come before our master straight,
+Under yon greenwood tree."
+
+And when he came bold Robin before,
+Robin asked him courteously,
+O, hast thou any money to spare,
+For my merry men and me?
+
+"I have no money," the young man said,
+"But five shillings and a ring;
+And that I have kept this seven long years,
+To have at my wedding.
+
+"Yesterday I should have married a maid,
+But she was from me ta'en,
+And chosen to be an old knight's delight,
+Whereby my poor heart is slain."
+
+"What is thy name?" then said Robin Hood,
+"Come tell me, without any fail."
+"By the faith of my body," then said the young man,
+"My name it is Allen-a-Dale."
+
+"What wilt thou give me," said Robin Hood,
+"In ready gold or fee,
+To help thee to thy true love again,
+And deliver her unto thee?"
+
+"I have no money," then quoth the young man,
+"No ready gold nor fee,
+But I will swear upon a book
+Thy true servant for to be."
+
+"How many miles is it to thy true love?
+Come tell me without guile."
+"By the faith of my body," then said the young man,
+"It is but five little mile."
+
+Then Robin he hasted over the plain,
+He did neither stint nor lin,
+Until he came unto the church
+Where Allen should keep his weddin'.
+
+"What hast thou here?" the bishop then said,
+"I prithee now tell unto me."
+"I am a bold harper," quoth Robin Hood,
+"And the best in the north country."
+
+"O welcome, O welcome," the bishop he said,
+"That music best pleaseth me."
+"You shall have no music," quoth Robin Hood,
+"Till the bride and bridegroom I see."
+
+With that came in a wealthy knight,
+Which was both grave and old;
+And after him a finikin lass,
+Did shine like the glistering gold.
+
+"This is not a fit match," quoth Robin Hood,
+"That you do seem to make here;
+For since we are come into the church,
+The bride shall chuse her own dear."
+
+Then Robin Hood put his horn to his mouth,
+And blew blasts two and three;
+When four-and-twenty bowmen bold
+Came leaping over the lea.
+
+And when they came into the church-yard,
+Marching all in a row,
+The first man was Allen-a-Dale,
+To give bold Robin his bow.
+
+"This is thy true love," Robin he said,
+Young Allen, as I hear say;
+And you shall be married this same time,
+Before we depart away."
+
+"That shall not be," the bishop he cried,
+"For thy word shall not stand;
+They shall be three times asked in the church,
+As the law is of our land."
+
+Robin Hood pulled off the bishop's coat,
+And put it upon Little John;
+"By the faith of my body," then Robin said,
+"This cloth doth make thee a man."
+
+When Little John went into the quire,
+The people began to laugh;
+He asked them seven times into church,
+Lest three times should not be enough.
+
+"Who gives me this maid?" said Little John,
+Quoth Robin Hood, "That do I;
+And he that takes her from Allen-a-Dale,
+Full dearly he shall her buy."
+
+And then having ended this merry wedding,
+The bride looked like a queen;
+And so they returned to the merry greenwood,
+Amongst the leaves so green.
+
+
+
+
+
+Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne
+
+
+
+When shaws beene sheene, and shradds full fayre,
+And leaves both large and longe,
+Itt is merrye walkyng in the fayre forrest
+To heare the small birdes songe.
+
+The woodweele sang, and wold not cease,
+Sitting upon the spraye,
+Soe lowde, he wakened Robin Hood,
+In the greenwood where he lay.
+
+"Now, by my faye," sayd jollye Robin,
+"A sweaven I had this night;
+I dreamt me of tow wighty yemen,
+That fast with me can fight.
+
+"Methought they did mee beate and binde,
+And tooke my bow mee froe;
+Iff I be Robin alive in this lande,
+Ile be wroken on them towe."
+
+"Sweavens are swift, master," quoth John,
+"As the wind that blowes ore the hill;
+For if itt be never so loude this night,
+To-morrow it may be still."
+
+"Buske yee, bowne yee, my merry men all,
+And John shall goe with mee,
+For Ile goe seeke yond wight yeomen,
+In greenwood where the bee."
+
+Then they cast on their gownes of grene,
+And tooke theyr bowes each one;
+And they away to the greene forrest
+A shooting forth are gone;
+
+Untill they came to the merry greenwood,
+Where they had gladdest to bee;
+There were they ware of a wight yeoman,
+His body leaned to a tree.
+
+A sword and a dagger he wore by his side,
+Of manye a man the bane;
+And he was clad in his capull hyde,
+Topp and tayll and mayne.
+
+"Stand you still, master," quoth Little John,
+"Under this tree so grene,
+And I will go to yond wight yeoman
+To know what he doth meane."
+
+"Ah! John, by me thou settest noe store,
+And that I farley finde:
+How offt send I my men beffore,
+And tarry my selfe behinde!
+
+"It is no cunning a knave to ken,
+And a man but heare him speake;
+And itt were not for bursting of my bowe,
+John, I thy head wold breake."
+
+As often wordes they breeden bale,
+So they parted Robin and John;
+And John is gone to Barnesdale;
+The gates he knoweth eche one.
+
+But when he came to Barnesdale,
+Great heavinesse there hee hadd,
+For he found tow of his owne fell wes
+Were slaine both in a slade.
+
+And Scarlette he was flying a-foote
+Faste over stocke and stone,
+For the sheriffe with seven score men
+Fast after him is gone.
+
+"One shoote now I will shoote," quoth John,
+"With Christ his might and mayne;
+Ile make yond fellow that flyes soe fast,
+To stopp he shall be fayne."
+
+Then John bent up his long bende-bowe,
+And fetteled him to shoote:
+The bow was made of tender boughe,
+And fell down to his foote.
+
+"Woe worth, woe worth thee, wicked wood,
+That ere thou grew on a tree;
+For now this day thou art my bale,
+My boote when thou shold bee."
+
+His shoote it was but loosely shott,
+Yet flewe not the arrowe in vaine,
+For itt mett one of the sherriffes men,
+Good William a Trent was slaine.
+
+It had bene better of William a Trent
+To have bene abed with sorrowe,
+Than to be that day in the green-wood slade
+To meet with Little Johns arrowe.
+
+But as it is said, when men be mett
+Fyve can doe more than three,
+The sheriffe hath taken Little John,
+And bound him fast to a tree.
+
+"Thou shalt be drawen by dale and downe,
+And hanged hye on a hill."
+"But thou mayst fayle of thy purpose," quoth John,
+"If itt be Christ his will."
+
+Lett us leave talking of Little John,
+And thinke of Robin Hood,
+How he is gone to the wight yeoman,
+Where under the leaves he stood.
+
+"Good morrowe, good fellowe," sayd Robin so fayre,
+"Good morrowe, good fellow," quoth he.
+"Methinks by this bowe thou beares in thy hande,
+A good archere thou sholdst bee."
+
+"I am wilfulle of my waye," quo' the yeoman,
+"And of my morning tyde:"
+"Ile lead thee through the wood," sayd Robin,
+"Good fellow, Ile be thy guide."
+
+"I seeke an outlawe," the straunger sayd,
+"Men call him Robin Hood;
+Rather Ild meet with that proud outlawe
+Than fortye pound soe good."
+
+"Now come with me, thou wight yeman,
+And Robin thou soone shalt see;
+But first let us some pastime find
+Under the greenwood tree.
+
+"First let us some masterye make
+Among the woods so even;
+We may chance to meet with Robin Hood
+Here att some unsett steven."
+
+They cutt them down two summer shroggs,
+That grew both under a breere,
+And set them threescore rood in twaine,
+To shoote the prickes y-fere.
+
+"Leade on, good fellowe," quoth Robin Hood,
+"Leade on, I doe bidd thee."
+"Nay, by my faith, good fellowe," hee sayd,
+"My leader thou shalt bee."
+
+The first time Robin shot at the pricke,
+He mist but an inch it fro;
+The yeoman he was an archer good,
+But he cold never shoote soe.
+
+The second shoote had the wightye yeoman,
+He shote within the garlande;
+But Robin he shott far better than hee,
+For he clave the good pricke-wande.
+
+"A blessing upon thy heart," he sayd,
+"Good fellowe, thy shooting is goode
+For an thy hart be as good as thy hand,
+Thou wert better then Robin Hoode.
+
+Now tell me thy name, good fellowe," sayd he,
+"Under the leaves of lyne."
+"Nay, by my faith," quoth bolde Robin,
+"Till thou have told me thine."
+
+"I dwell by dale and downe," quoth hee,
+"And Robin to take Ime sworne;
+And when I am called by my right name,
+I am Guy of good Gisbrne."
+
+"My dwelling is in this wood," sayes Robin,
+"By thee I set right nought:
+I am Robin Hood of Barnesdale,
+Whom thou so long hast sought."
+
+He that had neither beene kithe nor kin,
+Might have seen a full fayre sight,
+To see how together these yeomen went
+With blades both browne and bright:
+
+To see how these yeomen together they fought
+Two howres of a summers day,
+Yett neither Robin Hood nor Sir Guy
+Them fettled to flye away.
+
+Robin was reachles on a roote,
+And stumbled at that tyde;
+And Guy was quicke and nimble with-all,
+And hitt him ore the left side.
+
+"Ah, deere Lady," sayd Robin Hood tho,
+"Thou art but mother and may';
+I think it was never mans destinye
+To dye before his day."
+
+Robin thought on Our Ladye deere,
+And soone leapt up againe,
+And strait he came with a 'backward' stroke,
+And he Sir Guy hath slayne.
+
+He took Sir Guy's head by the hayre,
+And stuck itt upon his bowes end:
+"Thou hast beene a traytor all thy liffe,
+Which thing must have an end."
+
+Robin pulled forth an Irish kniffe,
+And nicked Sir Guy in the face,
+That he was never on woman born
+Cold tell whose head it was.
+
+Sayes, "Lye there, lye there now, Sir Guy,
+And with me be not wrothe;
+Iff thou have had the worst strokes at my hand,
+Thou shalt have the better clothe."
+
+Robin did off his gowne of greene,
+And on Sir Guy did throwe,
+And hee put on that capull hyde,
+That cladd him topp to toe.
+
+"The bowe, the arrowes, and litle horne,
+Now with me I will beare;
+For I will away to Barnesdale,
+To see how my men doe fare."
+
+Robin Hood sett Guy's horne to his mouth,
+And a loud blast in it did blow:
+That beheard the sheriffe of Nottingham,
+As he leaned under a lowe.
+
+"Hearken, hearken," sayd the sheriffe,
+"I heare nowe tydings good,
+For yonder I heare Sir Guy's horne blowe,
+And he hath slaine Robin Hoode.
+
+"Yonder I heare Sir Guy's horne blowe,
+Itt blowes soe well in tyde,
+And yonder comes that wightye yeoman,
+Cladd in his capull hyde.
+
+"Come hyther, come hyther, thou good Sir Guy,
+Aske what thou wilt of mee."
+"O I will none of thy gold," sayd Robin,
+"Nor I will none of thy fee.
+
+"But now I have slaine the master," he sayes,
+"Let me goe strike the knave;
+For this is all the rewarde I aske.
+Nor noe other will I have."
+
+"Thou art a madman," said the sheriffe,
+"Thou sholdst have had a knightes fee;
+But seeing thy asking hath beene soe bad,
+Well granted it shale be."
+
+When Little John heard his master speake,
+Well knewe he it was his steven;
+"Now shall I be looset," quoth Little John,
+"With Christ his might in heaven."
+
+Fast Robin hee hyed him to Little John,
+He thought to loose him belive:
+The sheriffe and all his companye
+Fast after him can drive.
+
+"Stand abacke, stand abacke," sayd Robin;
+"Why draw you mee so neere?
+Itt was never the use in our countrye,
+Ones shrift another shold heere."
+
+But Robin pulled forth an Irysh knife,
+And losed John hand and foote,
+And gave him Sir Guy's bow into his hand,
+And bade it be his boote.
+
+Then John he took Guy's bow in his hand,
+His boltes and arrowes eche one:
+When the sheriffe saw Little John bend his bow,
+He fettled him to be gone.
+
+Towards his house in Nottingham towne
+He fled full fast away,
+And soe did all the companye,
+Not one behind wold stay.
+
+But he cold neither runne soe fast,
+Nor away soe fast cold ryde,
+But Little John with an arrowe soe broad
+He shott him into the 'backe'-syde.
+
+
+
+
+
+Robin Hood's Death and Burial
+
+
+
+When Robin Hood and Little John
+Down a down, a down, a down,
+Went o'er yon bank of broom,
+Said Robin Hood to Little John,
+"We have shot for many a pound:
+Hey down, a down, a down.
+
+"But I am not able to shoot one shot more,
+My arrows will not flee;
+But I have a cousin lives down below,
+Please God, she will bleed me."
+
+Now Robin is to fair Kirkley gone,
+As fast as he can win;
+But before he came there, as we do hear,
+He was taken very ill.
+
+And when that he came to fair Kirkley-hall,
+He knocked all at the ring,
+But none was so ready as his cousin herself
+For to let bold Robin in.
+
+"Will you please to sit down, cousin Robin," she said,
+"And drink some beer with me?"
+"No, I will neither eat nor drink,
+Till I am blooded by thee."
+
+"Well, I have a room, cousin Robin," she said,
+"Which you did never see;
+And if you please to walk therein,
+You blooded by me shall be."
+
+She took him by the lily-white hand,
+And led him to a private room;
+And there she blooded bold Robin Hood,
+Whilst one drop of blood would run.
+
+She blooded him in the vein of the arm,
+And locked him up in the room;
+There did he bleed all the live-long day,
+Until the next day at noon.
+
+He then bethought him of a casement door,
+Thinking for to begone;
+He was so weak he could not leap,
+Nor he could not get down.
+
+He then bethought him of his bugle-horn,
+Which hung low down to his knee,
+He set his horn unto his mouth,
+And blew out weak blasts three.
+
+Then Little John, when hearing him,
+As he sat under the tree,
+"I fear my master is near dead,
+He blows so wearily."
+
+Then Little John to Fair Kirkley is gone,
+As fast as he can dree;
+But when he came to Kirkley-hall,
+He broke locks two or three;
+
+Until he came bold Robin to,
+Then he fell on his knee;
+"A boon, a boon," cries Little John,
+"Master, I beg of thee."
+
+"What is that boon," quoth Robin Hood,
+"Little John, thou begst of me?"
+"It is to burn fair Kirkley-hall,
+And all their nunnery."
+
+"Now nay, now nay," quoth Robin Hood,
+"That boon I'll not grant thee;
+I never hurt woman in all my life,
+Nor man in woman's company.
+
+"I never hurt fair maid in all my time,
+Nor at my end shall it be;
+But give me my bent bow in my hand,
+And a broad arrow I'll let flee;
+And where this arrow is taken up,
+There shall my grave digged be.
+
+"Lay me a green sod under my head,
+And another under my feet;
+And lay my bent bow by my side,
+Which was my music sweet;
+And make my grave of gravel and green,
+Which is most right and meet.
+
+"Let me have length and breadth enough,
+With a green sod under my head;
+That they may say when I am dead,
+Here lies bold Robin Hood."
+
+These words they readily promised him,
+Which did bold Robin please;
+And there they buried bold Robin Hood,
+Near to the fair Kirkleys.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Twa Corbies
+
+
+
+As I was walking all alane,
+I heard twa corbies making a maen:
+The tane unto the t'ither did say,
+"Whaur shall we gang and dine the day?"
+
+"O doun beside 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,
+Sae we may mak' our dinner sweet.
+
+"O we'll sit on his white hause bane,
+And I'll pyke out his bonny blue e'en;
+Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair
+We'll theek our nest when it blaws bare.
+
+"Mony a ane for him makes maen,
+But nane shall ken whaur he is gane.
+Over his banes when they are bare,
+The wind shall blaw for evermair."
+
+
+
+
+
+Waly, Waly, Love be Bonny
+
+
+
+A SCOTTISH SONG
+
+
+O waly, waly up the bank,
+And waly, waly down the brae,
+And waly, waly yon burn side,
+Where I and my love were wont to gae.
+I leant my back unto an aik,
+I thought it was a trusty tree;
+But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,
+Sae my true love did lichtly me.
+
+O waly, waly, but gin love be bonny,
+A little time while it is new;
+But when its auld, it waxeth cauld,
+And fades awa' like morning dew.
+O wherfore shuld I busk my head?
+Or wherfore shuld I kame my hair?
+For my true love has me forsook,
+And says he'll never loe me mair.
+
+Now Arthur-Seat sall be my bed,
+The sheets shall neir be prest by me:
+Saint Anton's well sall be my drink,
+Since my true love has forsaken me.
+Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
+And shake the green leaves aff the tree?
+O gentle death, when wilt thou cum?
+For of my life I am wearýe.
+
+'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
+Nor blawing snaws inclemencýe;
+'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,
+But my love's heart grown cauld to me.
+Whan we came in by Glasgow town,
+We were a comely sight to see;
+My love was clad in black velvet,
+And I myself in cramasýe.
+
+But had I wist, before I kist,
+That love had been sae ill to win,
+I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd,
+And pinnd it with a siller pin.
+And, oh! that 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.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Nut-brown Maid
+
+
+
+Be it right, or wrong, these men among
+On women do complain;
+Affirming this, how that it is
+A labour spent in vain
+To love them wele; for never a dele
+They love a man again:
+For let a man do what he can,
+Their favour to attain,
+Yet, if a new do them pursue,
+Their first true lover then
+Laboureth for nought; for from her thought
+He is a banished man.
+
+I say not nay, but that all day
+It is both writ and said
+That woman's faith is, as who saith,
+All utterly decayed;
+But, nevertheless, right good witness
+In this case might be laid,
+That they love true, and continue,
+Record the Nut-brown Maid:
+Which, when her love came, her to prove,
+To her to make his moan,
+Would not depart; for in her heart
+She loved but him alone.
+
+Then between us let us discuss
+What was all the manere
+Between them two: we will also
+Tell all the pain, and fere,
+That she was in. Now I begin,
+So that ye me answere;
+Wherefore, all ye, that present be
+I pray you, give an ear.
+I am the knight; I come by night,
+As secret as I can;
+Saying,' Alas! thus standeth the case,
+  I am a banished man.'
+
+
+SHE
+
+And I your will for to fulfil
+In this will not refuse;
+Trusting to shew, in wordes few,
+That men have an ill use
+(To their own shame) women to blame,
+And causeless them accuse:
+Therefore to you I answer now,
+All women to excuse,--
+Mine own heart dear, with you what chere?
+I pray you, tell anone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+It standeth so; a dede is do
+Whereof great harm shall grow
+My destiny is for to die
+A shameful death, I trowe;
+Or else to flee: the one must be.
+None other way I know,
+But to withdraw as an outlaw,
+And take me to my bow.
+Wherefore, adieu, my own heart true!
+None other rede I can:
+For I must to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+O Lord, what is this worldys bliss,
+That changeth as the moon!
+My summer's day in lusty May
+Is darked before the noon.
+I hear you say, farewell: Nay, nay,
+We depart not so soon.
+Why say ye so? wheder will ye go?
+Alas! what have ye done?
+All my welfare to sorrow and care
+Should change, if ye were gone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+I can believe, it shall you grieve,
+And somewhat you distrain;
+But, afterward, your paines hard
+Within a day or twain
+Shall soon aslake; and ye shall take
+Comfort to you again.
+Why should ye ought? for, to make thought
+Your labour were in vain.
+And thus I do; and pray you to,
+As heartily as I can;
+For I must to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+Now, sith that ye have shewed to me
+The secret of your mind,
+I shall be plain to you again,
+Like as ye shall me find.
+Sith it is so, that ye will go,
+I wolle not leave behind;
+Shall never be said, the Nut-brown Maid
+Was to her love unkind:
+Make you ready, for so am I,
+Although it were anone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+Yet I you rede to take good heed
+What men will think and say:
+Of young and old it shall be told,
+That ye be gone away,
+Your wanton will for to fulfil,
+In green wood you to play;
+And that ye might from your delight
+No longer make delay.
+Rather than ye should thus for me
+Be called an ill woman,
+Yet would I to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+Though it be sung of old and young,
+That I should be to blame,
+Theirs be the charge, that speak so large
+In hurting of my name:
+For I will prove, that, faithful love
+It is devoid of shame;
+In your distress, and heaviness,
+To part with you, the same:
+And sure all tho, that do not so,
+True lovers are they none;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+I counsel you, remember how,
+It is no maiden's law,
+Nothing to doubt, but to renne out
+To wood with an outlaw:
+For ye must there in your hand bear
+A bow, ready to draw;
+And, as a thief, thus must you live,
+Ever in dread and awe;
+Whereby to you great harm might grow:
+Yet had I lever than,
+That I had to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+I think not nay, but as ye say,
+It is no maiden's lore;
+But love may make me for your sake,
+As I have said before,
+To come on foot, to hunt, and shoot
+To get us meat in store;
+For so that I your company
+May have, I ask no more:
+From which to part, it maketh my heart
+As cold as any stone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+For an outlaw this is the law,
+That men him take and bind;
+Without pity, hanged to be,
+And waver with the wind.
+If I had nede, (as God forbede!)
+What rescue could ye find?
+Forsooth, I trow, ye and your bow
+For fear would draw behind:
+And no mervayle: for little avail
+Were in your counsel then:
+Wherefore I will to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+Right well know ye, that women be
+But feeble for to fight;
+No womanhede it is indeed
+To be bold as a knight:
+Yet, in such fear if that ye were
+With enemies day or night,
+I would withstand, with bow in hand,
+To greve them as I might,
+And you to save; as women have
+From death men many a one:
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+Yet take good hede; for ever I drede
+That ye could not sustain
+The thorny ways, the deep valleys,
+The snow, the frost, the rain,
+The cold, the heat: for dry, or wet,
+We must lodge on the plain;
+And, us above, none other roof
+But a brake bush, or twain;
+Which soon should grieve you, I believe,
+And ye would gladly then
+That I had to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+Sith I have here been partynere
+With you of joy and bliss,
+I must als  part of your woe
+Endure, as reason is:
+Yet am I sure of one pleasure;
+And, shortly, it is this:
+That, where ye be, me seemeth, parde,
+I could not fare amiss.
+Without more speech, I you beseech
+That we were soon agone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+If ye go thyder, ye must consider,
+When ye have lust to dine,
+There shall no meat be for you gete,
+Nor drink, beer, ale, nor wine.
+No shetes clean, to lie between,
+Made of thread and twine;
+None other house, but leaves and boughs,
+To cover your head and mine;
+O mine heart sweet, this evil diete
+Should make you pale and wan;
+Wherefore I will to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+Among the wild dere, such an archere,
+As men say that ye be,
+Ne may not fail of good vitayle,
+Where is so great plenty:
+And water clear of the ryvere
+Shall be full sweet to me;
+With which in hele I shall right wele
+Endure, as ye shall see;
+And, or we go, a bed or two
+I can provide anone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+Lo! yet, before, ye must do more,
+If ye will go with me:
+As cut your hair up by your ear,
+Your kirtle by the knee;
+With bow in hand, for to withstand
+Your enemies, if need be:
+And this same night before day-light,
+To wood-ward will I flee.
+If that ye will all this fulfil,
+Do it shortly as ye can
+Else will I to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+I shall as now do more for you
+Than 'longeth to womanhede;
+To shorte my hair, a bow to bear,
+To shoot in time of need.
+O my sweet mother, before all other
+For you I have most drede:
+But now, adieu! I must ensue,
+Where fortune doth me lead.
+All this make ye: Now let us flee;
+The day cometh fast upon;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+Nay, nay, not so; ye shall not go,
+And I shall tell ye why,--
+Your appetite is to be light
+Of love, I wele espy:
+For, like as ye have said to me,
+In like wise hardely
+Ye would answere whosoever it were
+In way of company.
+It is said of old, Soon hot, soon cold
+And so is a woman.
+Wherefore I to the wood will go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+If ye take heed, it is no need
+Such words to say by me;
+For oft ye prayed, and long assayed,
+Or I you loved, parde:
+And though that I of ancestry
+A baron's daughter be,
+Yet have you proved how I you loved
+A squire of low degree;
+And ever shall, whatso befall;
+To die therefore anone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+A baron's child to be beguiled!
+It were a cursed dede;
+To be felawe with an outlawe!
+Almighty God forbede!
+Yet better were, the poor squyere
+Alone to forest yede,
+Than ye should say another day,
+That, by my cursed dede,
+Ye were betrayed: Wherefore, good maid,
+The best rede that I can,
+Is, that I to the green wood go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+Whatever befall, I never shall
+Of this thing you upbraid:
+But if ye go, and leave me so,
+Then have ye me betrayed.
+Remember you wele, how that ye dele;
+For, if ye, as ye said,
+Be so unkind, to leave behind,
+Your love, the Nut-brown Maid,
+Trust me truly, that I shall die
+Soon after ye be gone;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+If that ye went, ye should repent;
+For in the forest now
+I have purvayed me of a maid,
+Whom I love more than you;
+Another fayrere, than ever ye were,
+I dare it wele avow;
+And of you both each should be wroth
+With other, as I trow:
+It were mine ease, to live in peace;
+So will I, if I can;
+Wherefore I to the wood will go,
+Alone, a banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+Though in the wood I understood
+Ye had a paramour,
+All this may nought remove my thought,
+But that I will be your:
+And she shall find me soft and kind,
+And courteys every hour;
+Glad to fulfil all that she will
+Command me to my power:
+For had ye, lo! an hundred mo,
+Of them I would be one;
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+Mine own dear love, I see the proof
+That ye be kind and true;
+Of maid, and wife, in all my life,
+The best that ever I knew.
+Be merry and glad, be no more sad,
+The case is changed new;
+For it were ruth, that, for your truth,
+Ye should have cause to rue.
+Be not dismayed, whatsoever I said
+To you, when I began;
+I will not to the green wood go,
+I am no banished man.
+
+
+SHE
+
+These tidings be more glad to me,
+Than to be made a queen,
+If I were sure they should endure:
+But it is often seen,
+When men will break promise, they speak
+The wordes on the splene.
+Ye shape some wile me to beguile,
+And steal from me, I ween:
+Then, were the case worse than it was,
+And I more wo-begone:
+For, in my mind, of all mankind
+I love but you alone.
+
+
+HE
+
+Ye shall not nede further to drede;
+I will not disparage
+You, (God defend!) sith ye descend
+Of so great a lineage.
+Now understand; to Westmoreland,
+Which is mine heritage,
+I will you bring; and with a ring,
+By way of marriage
+I will you take, and lady make,
+As shortly as I can:
+Thus have you won an erly's son,
+And not a banished man.
+
+
+AUTHOR
+
+Here may ye see, that women be
+In love, meek, kind, and stable;
+Let never man reprove them then,
+Or call them variable;
+But, rather, pray God that we may
+To them be comfortable;
+Which sometime proveth such, as he loveth,
+If they be charitable.
+For sith men would that women should
+Be meek to them each one;
+Much more ought they to God obey,
+And serve but Him alone.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Fause Lover
+
+
+
+A fair maid sat in her bower door,
+Wringing her lily hands;
+And by it came a sprightly youth,
+Fast tripping o'er the strands.
+
+"Where gang ye, young John," she says,
+"Sae early in the day?
+It gars me think, by your fast trip,
+Your journey's far away."
+
+He turn'd about wi' surly look,
+And said, "What's that to thee?
+I'm ga'en to see a lovely maid,
+Mair fairer far than ye."
+
+"Now hae ye play'd me this, fause love,
+In simmer, 'mid the flowers?
+I shall repay ye back again,
+In winter, 'mid the showers."
+
+"But again, dear love, and again, dear love,
+Will ye not turn again?
+For as ye look to ither women,
+I shall do to other men."
+
+"Make your choice o' whom you please,
+For I my choice will have;
+I've chosen a maid more fair than thee,
+I never will deceive."
+
+But she's kilt up her claithing fine,
+And after him gaed she;
+But aye he said, "Ye'll turn again,
+Nae farder gae wi' me."
+
+"But again, dear love, and again, dear love,
+Will ye never love me again?
+Alas! for loving you sae well,
+And you na me again."
+
+The firstan' town that they came till,
+He bought her brooch and ring;
+But aye he bade her turn again,
+And gang nae farder wi' him.
+
+"But again, dear love, and again, dear love," etc.
+
+The nextan' town that they came till,
+He bought her muff and gloves;
+But aye he bade her turn again,
+And choose some other loves.
+
+"But again, dear love, and again, dear love," etc.
+
+The nextan' town that they came till,
+His heart it grew mair fain;
+And he was deep in love wi' her.
+As she was ower again.
+
+The nextan' town that they came till,
+He bought her wedding gown;
+And made her lady o' ha's and bowers,
+In sweet Berwick town.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Mermaid
+
+
+
+To yon fause stream that, near the sea,
+Hides mony an elf and plum,
+And rives wi' fearful din the stanes,
+A witless knicht did come.
+
+The day shines clear--far in he's gane
+Whar shells are silver bright,
+Fishes war loupin' a' aroun',
+And sparklin' to the light.
+
+Whan, as he laved, sounds cam sae sweet
+Frae ilka rock an' tree;
+The brief was out, 'twas him it doomed
+The mermaid's face to see.
+
+Frae 'neath a rock, sune, sune she rose,
+And stately on she swam,
+Stopped i' the midst, and becked and sang
+To him to stretch his han'.
+
+Gowden glist the yellow links
+That round her neck she'd twine;
+Her een war o' the skyie blue,
+Her lips did mock the wine;
+
+The smile upon her bonnie cheek
+Was sweeter than the bee;
+Her voice excelled the birdie's sang
+Upon the birchen tree.
+
+Sae couthie, couthie did she look,
+And meikle had she fleeched;
+Out shot his hand--alas! alas!
+Fast in the swirl he screeched.
+
+The mermaid leuch, her brief was gane,
+And kelpie's blast was blawin',
+Fu' low she duked, ne'er raise again,
+For deep, deep was the fawin'.
+
+Aboon the stream his wraith was seen,
+Warlochs tirled lang at gloamin';
+That e'en was coarse, the blast blew hoarse,
+Ere lang the waves war foamin'.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Battle of Otterburn
+
+
+
+THE FIRST FYTTE
+
+
+It fell about the Lammas tide,
+When husbands winn their hay,
+The doughty Douglas bound him to ride
+Into England to take a prey.
+
+The Earl of Fife, withouten strife,
+He bound him over Solway;
+The great would ever together ride
+That race they may rue for aye.
+
+Over Ottercap hill they came in,
+And so down by Rotheley crag,
+Upon Green Leighton they lighted down,
+Styrande many a stag;
+
+And boldly brente Northumberland,
+And harried many a town;
+They did our Englishmen great wrong
+To battle that were not bown.
+
+Then spake a berne upon the bent,
+Of comfort that was not cold,
+And said, "We have brente Northumberland,
+We have all wealth in holde.
+
+"Now we have harried all Bamborough shire
+All the wealth in the world have we;
+I rede we ride to Newcastle,
+So still and stalworthlye."
+
+Upon the morrow, when it was day,
+The standards shone full bright;
+To the Newcastle they took the way,
+And thither they came full right.
+
+Sir Henry Percy lay at the Newcastle,
+I tell you, withouten dread;
+He has been a March-man all his days,
+And kept Berwick upon Tweed.
+
+To the Newcastle when they came,
+The Scots they cried on hyght:
+"Sir Harry Percy, an thou bist within,
+Come to the field and fight:
+
+"For we have brente Northumberland,
+Thy heritage good and right;
+And syne my lodging I have take,
+With my brand dubbed many a knight."
+
+Sir Harry Percy came to the walls,
+The Scottish host for to see:
+"And thou hast brente Northumberland,
+Full sore it rueth me.
+
+"If thou hast harried all Bamborough shire,
+Thou hast done me great envy;
+For the trespass thou hast me done,
+The one of us shall die."
+
+"Where shall I bide thee?" said the Douglas;
+"Or where wilt thou come to me?"
+"At Otterburn in the high way,
+There mayst thou well lodged be.
+
+"The roe full reckless there she runs,
+To make thee game and glee;
+The falcon and the pheasant both,
+Among the holtes on hee.
+
+"There mayst thou have thy wealth at will,
+Well lodged there mayst thou be;
+It shall not be long ere I come thee till,"
+Said Sir Harry Percye.
+
+"There shall I bide thee," said the Douglas,
+"By the faith of my body."
+"Thither shall I come," said Sir Harry Percy,
+"My troth I plight to thee."
+
+A pipe of wine he gave them over the walls,
+For sooth, as I you say;
+There he made the Douglas drink,
+And all his host that day.
+
+The Douglas turned him homeward again,
+For sooth withouten nay;
+He took his lodging at Otterburn
+Upon a Wednesday;
+
+And there he pyght his standard down.
+His getting more and less;
+And syne he warned his men to go
+And get their geldings gress.
+
+A Scottish knight hoved upon the bent,
+A watch I dare well say;
+So was he ware on the noble Percy
+In the dawning of the day.
+
+He pricked to his pavilion door,
+As fast as he might ronne;
+"Awaken, Douglas!" cried the knight,
+"For His love that sits in throne.
+
+"Awaken, Douglas!" cried the knight,
+"For thou mayst waken with wynne;
+Yonder have I spied the proud Percy,
+And seven standards with him."
+
+"Nay, by my troth," the Douglas said,
+"It is but a feigned tale;
+He durst not look on my broad banner,
+For all England so hayle.
+
+"Was I not yesterday at the Newcastle,
+That stands so fair on Tyne?
+For all the men the Percy had,
+He could not garre me once to dyne."
+
+He stepped out at his pavilion door,
+To look, and it were less;
+"Array you, lordyngs, one and all,
+For here begins no peace.
+
+"The Earl of Menteith, thou art my eme,
+The forward I give to thee;
+The Earl of Huntley cawte and keen,
+He shall with thee be.
+
+"The Lord of Buchan, in armour bright,
+On the other hand he shall be;
+Lord Johnstone, and Lord Maxwell,
+They two shall be with me.
+
+"Swynton fair field upon your pride
+To battle make you bowen;
+Sir Davy Scot, Sir Walter Steward,
+Sir John of Agerstone."
+
+
+
+THE SECOND FYTTE
+
+
+The Percy came before his host,
+Which ever was a gentle knight,
+Upon the Douglas loud did he cry,
+  "I will hold that I have hight;
+
+"For thou hast brente Northumberland,
+And done me great envy;
+For this trespass thou hast me done
+The one of us shall die."
+
+The Douglas answered him again,
+With great words up on hee,
+And said, "I have twenty against thy one,
+Behold, and thou mayst see."
+
+With that the Percy was grieved sore,
+For sooth as I you say;
+He lighted down upon his foot,
+And shot his horse clean away.
+
+Every man saw that he did so,
+That ryall was ever in rout;
+Every man shot his horse him fro,
+And light him round about.
+
+Thus Sir Harry Percy took the field,
+For sooth as I you say,
+Jesu Christ in heaven on high,
+Did help him well that day.
+
+But nine thousand, there was no more,
+If chronicle will not layne;
+Forty thousand Scots and four
+That day fought them again,
+
+But when the battle began to join,
+In haste there came a knight,
+Then letters fair forth hath he ta'en,
+And thus he said full right:
+
+"My lord, your father he greets you well,
+With many a noble knight;
+He desires you to bide,
+That he may see this fight.
+
+"The baron of Grastock is come out of the west,
+With him a noble company;
+All they lodge at your father's this night,
+And the battle fain would they see."
+
+"For Jesu's love," said Sir Harry Percy,
+"That died for you and me,
+Wend to my lord, my father, again,
+And say thou saw me not with ee;
+
+"My troth is plight to yon Scottish knight,
+It needs me not to layne,
+That I should bide him upon this bent,
+And I have his troth again;
+
+"And if that I wend off this ground,
+For sooth unfoughten away,
+He would me call but a coward knight,
+In his land another day.
+
+"Yet had I lever to be rynde and rent,
+By Mary that mykel may,
+Than ever my manhood should be reproved
+With a Scot another day.
+
+"Wherefore shoot, archers, for my sake,
+And let sharp arrows flee;
+Minstrels, play up for your warison,
+And well quit it shall be.
+
+"Every man think on his true love,
+And mark him to the Trinity;
+For to God I make mine a-vow
+This day will I not flee."
+
+The bloody heart in the Douglas' arms,
+His standard stood on high,
+That every man might full well know;
+Beside stood starres three.
+
+The white Li n on the English part,
+For sooth as I you sayne,
+The luces and the crescents both
+The Scots fought them again.
+
+Upon Saint Andrew loud did they cry,
+And thrice they shout on hyght,
+And syne marked them on our Englishmen,
+As I have told you right.
+
+Saint George the bright, our Lady's knight,
+To name they were full fain,
+Our Englishmen they cried on hyght,
+And thrice they shout again.
+
+With that sharp arrows began to flee,
+I tell you in certain;
+Men of arms began to join;
+Many a doughty man was there slain.
+
+The Percy and the Douglas met,
+That either of them was fain;
+They schapped together, while that they sweat,
+With swords of fine Collayne;
+
+Till the blood from their basenets ran
+As the roke doth in the rain.
+"Yield thee to me," said the Douglas,
+"Or else thou shalt be slain;
+
+"For I see by thy bright basenet,
+Thou art some man of might;
+And so I do by thy burnished brand,
+Thou art an earl, or else a knight."
+
+"By my good faith," said the noble Percy,
+"Now hast thou rede full right;
+Yet will I never yield me to thee,
+While I may stand and fight."
+
+They swapped together, while that they sweat,
+With swordes sharp and long;
+Each on other so fast they beat,
+Till their helms came in pieces down.
+
+The Percy was a man of strength,
+I tell you in this stound
+He smote the Douglas at the sword's length,
+That he felled him to the ground.
+
+The sword was sharp, and sore did byte,
+I tell you in certain;
+To the heart he did him smite,
+Thus was the Douglas slain.
+
+The standards stood still on each side;
+With many a grievous groan,
+There they fought the day, and all the night,
+And many a doughty man was slone.
+
+There was no freyke that there would fly,
+But stiffly in stour did stand,
+Echone hewing on other while they might dry,
+With many a baleful brand.
+
+There was slain upon the Scottes side,
+For sooth and certainly,
+Sir James of Douglas there was slain,
+That day that he did die.
+
+The Earl of Menteith he was slain.
+Grysely groaned upon the ground;
+Sir Davy Scot, Sir Walter Steward,
+Sir John of Agerstone.
+
+Sir Charles Murray in that place,
+That never a foot would fly;
+Sir Hugh Maxwell, a lord he was,
+With the Douglas did he die.
+
+There was slain upon the Scottes side,
+For sooth as I you say,
+Of four and forty thousand Scots,
+Went but eighteen away.
+
+There was slain upon the English side,
+For sooth and certainly,
+A gentle knight, Sir John Fitzhugh,
+It was the more pity.
+
+Sir James Harebotell there was slain,
+For him their hearts were sore
+The gentle Lovel there was slain,
+That the Percy's standard bore.
+
+There was slain upon the English side,
+For sooth as I you say,
+Of nine thousand Englishmen,
+Five hundred came away;
+
+The others were slayne in the field,
+Christ keep their souls from woe,
+Seeing there were so few friends
+Against so many a foe!
+
+Then on the morn they made them biers
+Of birch and hazel gray;
+Many a widow with weeping tears
+Their makes they fetch away.
+
+This fray began at Otterburn,
+Between the night and the day;
+There the Douglas lost his life,
+And the Percy was led away.
+
+Then was there a Scottish prisoner ta'en,
+Sir Hugh Montgomery was his name,
+For sooth as I you say,
+He borrowed the Percy home again.
+
+Now let us all for the Percy pray,
+To Jesu most of might,
+To bring his soul to the bliss of heaven,
+For he was a gentle knight.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Lament of the Border Widow
+
+
+
+My love he built me a bonny bower,
+And clad it a' wi' a lilye flower,
+A brawer bower ye ne'er did see,
+Than my true love he built for me.
+
+There came a man, by middle day,
+He spied his sport and went away,
+And brought the king that very night,
+Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.
+
+He slew my knight, to me so dear;
+He slew my knight, and poined his gear;
+My servants all for life did flee,
+And left me in extremitie.
+
+I sewed his sheet, making my mane;
+I watched the corpse, myself alane;
+I watched his body, night and day;
+No living creature came that way.
+
+I took his body on my back,
+And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat,
+I digged a grave, and laid him in,
+And happed him with the sod so green.
+
+But think na ye my heart was sair,
+When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair;
+Think na ye my heart was wae,
+When I turned about, away to gae?
+
+Nae living man I'll love again,
+Since that my lovely knight is slain;
+W? ae lock of his yellow hair
+I'll chain my heart for evermair.
+
+
+
+
+
+The Banks o' Yarrow
+
+
+
+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.
+
+"What though ye be my sister's lord,
+We'll cross our swords to-morrow."
+"What though my wife your sister be,
+I'll meet ye then on Yarrow."
+
+"O stay at hame, my ain gude lord!
+O stay, my ain dear marrow!
+My cruel brither will you betray
+On the dowie banks o' Yarrow."
+
+"O fare ye weel, my lady dear!
+And put aside your sorrow;
+For if I gae, I'll sune return
+Frae the bonny banks o' Yarrow."
+
+She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,
+As oft she'd done before, O;
+She belted him wi' his gude brand,
+And he's awa' to Yarrow.
+
+When he gaed up the Tennies bank,
+As he gaed mony a morrow,
+Nine armed men lay in a den,
+On the dowie braes o' Yarrow.
+
+"O come ye here to hunt or hawk
+The bonny Forest thorough?
+Or come ye here to wield your brand
+Upon the banks o' Yarrow?"
+
+"I come not here to hunt or hawk,
+As oft I've dune before, O,
+But I come here to wield my brand
+Upon the banks o' Yarrow.
+
+"If ye attack me nine to ane,
+Then may God send ye sorrow!--
+Yet will I fight while stand I may,
+On the bonny banks o' Yarrow."
+
+Two has he hurt, and three has slain,
+On the bloody braes o' Yarrow;
+But the stubborn knight crept in behind,
+And pierced his body thorough.
+
+"Gae hame, gae hame, you brither John,
+And tell your sister sorrow,--
+To come and lift her leafu' lord
+On the dowie banks o' Yarrow."
+
+Her brither John gaed ower yon hill,
+As oft he'd dune before, O;
+There he met his sister dear,
+Cam' rinnin' fast to Yarrow.
+
+"I dreamt a dream last night," she says,
+"I wish it binna sorrow;
+I dreamt I pu'd the heather green
+Wi' my true love on Yarrow."
+
+"I'll read your dream, sister," he says,
+"I'll read it into sorrow;
+Ye're bidden go take up your love,
+He's sleeping sound on Yarrow."
+
+She's torn the ribbons frae her head
+That were baith braid and narrow;
+She's kilted up her lang claithing,
+And she's awa' to Yarrow.
+
+She's ta'en him in her arms twa,
+And gi'en him kisses thorough;
+She sought to bind his mony wounds,
+But he lay dead on Yarrow.
+
+"O haud your tongue," her father says,
+"And let be a' your sorrow;
+I'll wed you to a better lord
+Than him ye lost on Yarrow."
+
+"O haud your tongue, father," she says,
+"Far warse ye mak' my sorrow;
+A better lord could never be
+Than him that lies on Yarrow."
+
+She kiss'd his lips, she kaim'd his hair,
+As aft she had dune before, O;
+And there wi' grief her heart did break,
+Upon the banks o' Yarrow.
+
+
+
+
+
+Hugh of Lincoln
+
+
+
+SHOWING THE CRUELTY OF A JEW'S DAUGHTER
+
+
+Four and twenty bonny boys
+Were playing at the ba',
+And up it stands him sweet Sir Hugh,
+The flower among them a'.
+
+He kicked the ba' there wi' his foot,
+And keppit it wi' his knee,
+Till even in at the Jew's window
+He gart the bonny ba' flee.
+
+"Cast out the ba' to me, fair maid,
+Cast out the ba' to me."
+"Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter,
+Till ye come up to me."
+
+"Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh,
+Come up and get the ba'."
+"I winna come, I mayna come,
+Without my bonny boys a'."
+
+She's ta'en her to the Jew's garden,
+Where the grass grew lang and green,
+She's pu'd an apple red and white,
+To wyle the bonny boy in.
+
+She's wyled him in through ae chamber,
+She's wyled him in through twa,
+She's wyled him into the third chamber,
+And that was the warst o' a'.
+
+She's tied the little boy, hands and feet,
+She's pierced him wi' a knife,
+She's caught his heart's blood in a golden cup,
+And twinn'd him o' his life.
+
+She row'd him in a cake o' lead,
+Bade him lie still and sleep,
+She cast him in a deep draw-well
+Was fifty fathom deep.
+
+When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
+And every bairn went hame,
+Then ilka lady had her young son,
+But Lady Helen had nane.
+
+She row'd her mantle her about,
+And sair, sair 'gan she weep;
+And she ran unto the Jew's house,
+When they were all asleep.
+
+"My bonny Sir Hugh, my pretty Sir Hugh,
+I pray thee to me speak!"
+"Lady Helen, come to the deep draw-well
+'Gin ye your son wad seek."
+
+Lady Helen ran to the deep draw-well,
+And knelt upon her knee:
+"My bonny Sir Hugh, an ye be here,
+I pray thee speak to me!"
+
+"The lead is wondrous heavy, mither,
+The well is wondrous deep;
+A keen penknife sticks in my heart,
+It is hard for me to speak.
+
+"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear,
+Fetch me my winding-sheet;
+And at the back o' merry Lincoln,
+It's there we twa sall meet."
+
+Now Lady Helen she's gane hame,
+Made 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 men's tongue:
+Never was such a burial
+Sin' Adam's days begun.
+
+
+
+
+
+Sir Patrick Spens
+
+
+
+The king sits in Dunfermline town,
+Drinking the blude-red wine;
+"O whare will I get a skeely skipper,
+To sail this new ship of mine?"
+
+O up and spak' an eldern knight,
+Sat at the king's right knee,
+"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor,
+That ever sailed the sea."
+
+Our king has written a braid letter,
+And seated it with his hand,
+And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
+Was walking on the strand.
+
+"To Noroway, to Noroway,
+To Noroway o'er 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 hail, 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 an Moneday morn,
+Wi' a' the speed they may;
+They hae landed in Noroway,
+Upon a Wednesday.
+
+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 queen's 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 of 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 old moon in her arm;
+And, if we gang to sea, master,
+I fear we'll come to harm."
+
+They hadna sailed 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 topmasts 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 sail r,
+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 cam in.
+
+"Gae, fetch a web of the silken claith,
+Another o' the twine,
+And wap them into our ship's side,
+And let nae the sea come in."
+
+They fetched a web o' the silken claith,
+Another o' the twine,
+And they wapped them round that gude ship's side,
+But still the sea cam in.
+
+O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords
+To weet their cork-heeled shoon!
+But lang or a' the play was played,
+They wat their hats aboon.
+
+And mony was the feather bed,
+That flattered on the faem;
+And mony was the gude lord's son,
+That never mair cam hame.
+
+The ladies wrang their fingers white,
+The maidens tore their hair,
+A' for the sake of their true loves
+For them they'll see nae mair.
+
+O lang, lang, may the ladies 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,
+With their goud kaims in their hair
+A' waiting for their ain dear loves,
+For them they'll see nae mair!
+
+O forty miles off Aberdeen,
+'Tis fifty fathoms deep,
+And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens
+Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Book of Old English Ballads
+by George Wharton Edwards
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BOOK OF OLD ENGLISH BALLADS ***
+
+This file should be named 9boeb10.txt or 9boeb10.zip
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