Transcriber's Notes

Archaic, dialect and inconsistent spellings have been retained as in the original. Other than minor changes to format or punctuation, any changes to the text have been listed at [the end of the book].

ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH BALLADS.

EDITED BY
FRANCIS JAMES CHILD.

VOLUME III.

BOSTON:
LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY.
M.DCCC.LX.

Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857 by Little, Brown and Company, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.

RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY
H.O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME THIRD.

BOOK III.
CONTINUED.

EARL RICHARD.

A fragment of this gloomy and impressive romance, (corresponding to v. 21-42,) was published in Herd's Scottish Songs, i. 184, from which, probably, it was copied into Pinkerton's Scottish Tragic Ballads, p. 84. The entire ballad was first printed in The Border Minstrelsy, together with another piece, Lord William, containing a part of the same incidents. Of the five versions which have appeared, four are given in this place, and [the remaining one in the Appendix]. In the Gentleman's Magazine, 1794, Vol. 64, Part I. p. 553, there is a modern ballad of extremely perverted orthography and vicious style, (meant for ancient,) in which the twenty lines of Herd's fragment are interwoven with an altogether different story. It is printed as authentic in Scarce "Ancient" Ballads, Aberdeen, 1822.

"There are two ballads in Mr. Herd's MSS. upon the following story, in one of which the unfortunate knight is termed Young Huntin'. [[See Appendix].] The best verses are selected from both copies, and some trivial alterations have been adopted from tradition." Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 184.

"O Lady, rock never your young son, young,
One hour langer for me;
For I have a sweetheart in Garlioch Wells,
I love far better than thee.

"The very sole o' that lady's foot5
Than thy face is far mair white:"
"But, nevertheless, now, Erl Richard,
Ye will bide in my bower a' night?"

She birled him with the ale and wine,
As they sat down to sup:10
A living man he laid him down,
But I wot he ne'er rose up.

Then up and spake the popinjay,
That flew aboun her head;
"Lady! keep weel your green cleiding15
Frae gude Erl Richard's bleid."—

"O better I'll keep my green cleiding
Frae gude Erl Richard's bleid,
Than thou canst keep thy clattering toung,
That trattles in thy head."20

She has call'd upon her bower maidens,
She has call'd them ane by ane;
"There lies a dead man in my bour:
I wish that he were gane!"

They hae booted him, and spurred him,25
As he was wont to ride;—
A hunting-horn tied round his waist,
A sharpe sword by his side;

And they hae had him to the wan water,
For a' men call it [Clyde].30

Then up and spoke the popinjay
That sat upon the tree—
"What hae ye done wi' Erl Richard?
Ye were his gay ladye."—

"Come down, come down, my bonny bird,35
And sit upon my hand;
And thou sall hae a cage o' gowd,
Where thou hast but the wand."—

"Awa! awa! ye ill woman!
Nae cage o' gowd for me;40
As ye hae done to Erl Richard,
Sae wad ye do to me."

She hadna cross'd a rigg o' land,
A rigg but barely ane,
When she met wi' his auld father,45
Came riding all alane.

"Where hae ye been, now, ladye fair,
Where hae ye been sae late?
We hae been seeking Erl Richard,

But him we canna get."—50

"Erl Richard kens a' the fords in Clyde,
He'll ride them ane by ane;
And though the night was ne'er sae mirk,
Erl Richard will be hame."

O it fell anes, upon a day,55
The King was boun to ride;
And he has mist him, Erl Richard,
Should hae ridden on his right side.

The ladye turn'd her round about,
Wi' mickle mournfu' din—60
"It fears me sair o' Clyde water,
That he is drown'd therein."—

"Gar douk, gar douk," the King he cried,
"Gar douk for gold and fee;
O wha will douk for Erl Richard's sake,65
Or wha will douk for me?"

They douked in at ae weil-heid,
And out aye at the other;
"We can douk nae mair for Erl Richard,
Although he were our brother."70

It fell that, in that ladye's castle,
The King was boun to bed;
And up and spake the popinjay,
That flew abune his head.

"Leave aff your douking on the day,75
And douk upon the night;
And where that sackless knight lies slain,
The candles will burn bright."—

"O there's a bird within this bower,
That sings baith sad and sweet;80
O there's a bird within your bower,
Keeps me frae my night's sleep."

They left the douking on the day,
And douk'd upon the night;
And where that sackless knight lay slain,85
[The candles burned bright].

[The deepest pot in a' the linn],
They fand Erl Richard in;

A green turf tyed across his breast,
To keep that gude lord down.90

Then up and spake the King himsell,
When he saw the deadly wound—
"O wha has slain my right-hand man,
That held my hawk and hound?"—

Then up and spake the popinjay,95
Says—"What needs a' this din?
It was his light leman took his life,
And hided him in the linn."

She swore her by the grass sae grene,
Sae did she by the corn,100
She hadna seen him, Erl Richard,
Since Moninday at morn.

"Put na the wite on me," she said,
"It was my may Catherine:"
Then they hae cut baith fern and thorn,105
To burn that maiden in.

It wadna take upon her cheik,
Nor yet upon her chin;
Nor yet upon her yellow hair,

To cleanse the deadly sin.110

The maiden touch'd the clay-cauld corpse,
A drap it never bled;
The ladye laid her hand on him,
And soon the ground was red.

Out they hae ta'en her, may Catherine,115
And put her mistress in;
The flame tuik fast upon her cheik,
Tuik fast upon her chin;
Tuik fast upon her faire body—
[She burn'd like hollin-green].120

[30]. Clyde, in Celtic, means white.—Lockhart.

[86]. These are unquestionably the corpse-lights, called in Wales Canhwyllan Cyrph, which are sometimes seen to illuminate the spot where a dead body is concealed. The Editor is informed, that, some years ago, the corpse of a man, drowned in the Ettrick, below Selkirk, was discovered by means of these candles. Such lights are common in churchyards, and are probably of a phosphoric nature. But rustic superstition derives them from supernatural agency, and supposes, that, as soon as life has departed, a pale flame appears at the window of the house, in which the person had died, and glides towards the churchyard, tracing through every winding the route of the future funeral, and pausing where the bier is to rest. This and other opinions, relating to the "tomb-fires' livid gleam," seem to be of Runic extraction. Scott.

[87]. The deep holes, scooped in the rock by the eddies of a river, are called pots; the motion of the water having there some resemblance to a boiling caldron. Linn, means the pool beneath a cataract. Scott.

[120]. The lines immediately preceding, "The maiden touched," &c., and which are restored from tradition, refer to a superstition formerly received in most parts of Europe, and even resorted to by judicial authority, for the discovery of murder. In Germany, this experiment was called bahrrecht, or the law of the bier; because, the murdered body being stretched upon a bier, the suspected person was obliged to put one hand upon the wound and the other upon the mouth of the deceased, and, in that posture, call upon heaven to attest his innocence. If, during this ceremony, the blood gushed from the mouth, nose, or wound, a circumstance not unlikely to happen in the course of shifting or stirring the body, it was held sufficient evidence of the guilt of the party. Scott.

EARL RICHARD.

Obtained from recitation by Motherwell, and printed in his Minstrelsy, p. 218.

Earl Richard is a hunting gone,
As fast as he could ride;
His hunting-horn hung about his neck,
And a small sword by his side.

When he came to my lady's gate,5
He tirled at the pin;
And wha was sae ready as the lady hersell
To open and let him in?

"O light, O light, Earl Richard," she says,
"O light and stay a' night;10
You shall have cheer wi' charcoal clear,
And candles burning bright."

"I will not light, I cannot light,
I cannot light at all;
A fairer lady than ten of thee15
Is waiting at Richard's-wall."

He stooped from his milk-white steed,
To kiss her rosy cheek;
She had a penknife in her hand,
And wounded him so deep.20

"O lie ye there, Earl Richard," she says,
"O lie ye there till morn;
A fairer lady than ten of me
Will think lang of your coming home."

She called her servants ane by ane,25
She called them twa by twa:
"I have got a dead man in my bower,
I wish he were awa."

The ane has ta'en him by the hand,
And the other by the feet;30
And they've thrown him in a deep draw well,
Full fifty fathoms deep.

Then up bespake a little bird,
That sat upon a tree:
"Gae hame, gae hame, ye fause lady,35
And pay your maids their fee."

"Come down, come down, my pretty bird,
That sits upon the tree;
I have a cage of beaten gold,
I'll gie it unto thee."40

"Gae hame, gae hame, ye fause lady,
And pay your maids their fee;
As ye have done to Earl Richard,
Sae wud ye do to me."

"If I had an arrow in my hand,45
And a bow bent on a string;
I'd shoot a dart at thy proud heart,
Among the leaves sae green."

YOUNG REDIN.

"From the recitation of Miss E. Beattie, of Edinburgh, a native of Mearnsshire, who sings it to a plaintive, though somewhat monotonous air of one measure."—Kinloch, Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 1.

Young Redin's til the huntin gane,
Wi' therty lords and three;
And he has til his true-love gane,
As fast as he could hie.

"Ye're welcome here, my young Redin,5
For coal and candle licht;
And sae are ye, my young Redin,
To bide wi' me the nicht."

"I thank ye for your licht, ladie,
Sae do I for your coal;10
But there's thrice as fair a ladie as thee
Meets me at Brandie's well."

Whan they were at their supper set,
And merrily drinking wine,
This ladie has tane a sair sickness,15
And til her bed has gane.

Young Redin he has followed her,
And a dowie man was he;
He fund his true-love in her bouer,
And the tear was in her ee.20

Whan he was in her arms laid,
And gieing her kisses sweet,
Then out she's tane a little penknife,
And wounded him sae deep.

"O lang, lang, is the winter nicht,25
And slawly daws the day;
There is a slain knicht in my bouer,
And I wish he war away."

Then up bespak her bouer-woman,
And she spak ae wi' spite:—30
"An there be a slain knicht in your bouer,
It's yoursel that has the wyte."

"O heal this deed on me, Meggy,
O heal this deed on me;
The silks that war shapen for me gen Pasche,

They sall be sewed for thee."35

"O I hae heal'd on my mistress
A twalmonth and a day,
And I hae heal'd on my mistress,
Mair than I can say."40

They've booted him, and they've spurred him,
As he was wont to ride:—
A huntin horn round his neck,
And a sharp sword by his side;
In the deepest place o' Clyde's water,45
It's there they've made his bed.

Sine up bespak the wylie parrot,
As he sat on the tree,—
"And hae ye kill'd him young Redin,
Wha ne'er had love but thee!"50

"Come doun, come doun, ye wylie parrot,
Come doun into my hand;
Your cage sall be o' the beaten gowd,
When now it's but the wand."

"I winna come doun, I canna come doun,55
I winna come doun to thee;
For as ye've dune to young Redin,
Ye'll do the like to me;
Ye'll thraw my head aff my hause-bane,

And throw me in the sea."60

O there cam seekin young Redin,
Monie a lord and knicht;
And there cam seekin young Redin,
Monie a ladie bricht.

And they hae til his true-love gane,65
Thinking he was wi' her;
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *

"I hae na seen him, young Redin,
Sin yesterday at noon;70
He turn'd his stately steed about,
And hied him through the toun.

"But ye'll seek Clyde's water up and doun,
Ye'll seek it out and in—
I hae na seen him, young Redin,75
Sin yesterday at noon."

Then up bespak young Redin's mither,
And a dowie woman was scho;—
"There's na a place in a Clyde's water,
But my son wad gae through."80

They've sought Clyde's water up and doun,
They've sought it out and in,
And the deepest place o' Clyde's water
They fund young Redin in.

O white, white, war his wounds washen,85
As white as a linen clout;
But as the traitor she cam near,
His wounds they gushed out!

"It's surely been my bouer-woman,
O ill may her betide;90
I ne'er wad slain him young Redin,
And thrown him in the Clyde."

Then they've made a big bane-fire,
The bouer-woman to brin;
It tuke na on her cheek, her cheek,95
It tuke na on her chin,
But it tuke on the cruel hands
That put young Redin in.

Then they're tane out the bouer-woman,
And put the ladie in:100
It tuke na on her cheek, her cheek,
It tuke na on her chin,
But it tuke on the fause, fause arms,
That young Redin lay in.

LORD WILLIAM.

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 23.

This ballad was communicated to Sir Walter Scott by Mr. James Hogg, accompanied with the following note:—

"I am fully convinced of the antiquity of this song; for, although much of the language seems somewhat modernized, this must be attributed to its currency, being much liked, and very much sung in this neighbourhood. I can trace it back several generations, but cannot hear of its ever having been in print. I have never heard it with any considerable variation, save that one reciter called the dwelling of the feigned sweet-heart, Castleswa."

Lord William was the bravest knight
That dwalt in fair Scotland,
And though renown'd in France and Spain,
Fell by a ladie's hand.

As she was walking maid alone,5
Down by yon shady wood,
She heard a smit o' bridle reins,
She wish'd might be for good.

"Come to my arms, my dear Willie,
You're welcome hame to me;10
To best o' cheer and [charcoal red],
And candle burning free."—

"I winna light, I darena light,
Nor come to your arms at a';
A fairer maid than ten o' you15
I'll meet at Castle-law."—

"A fairer maid than me, Willie!
A fairer maid than me!
A fairer maid than ten o' me
Your eyes did never see."—20

He louted ower his saddle lap,
To kiss her ere they part,
And wi' a little keen bodkin,
She pierced him to the heart.

"Ride on, ride on, Lord William now,25
As fast as ye can dree!
Your bonny lass at Castle-law
Will weary you to see."

—

Out up then spake a bonny bird,
Sat high upon a tree,—30
"How could you kill that noble lord?
He came to marry thee."—

"Come down, come down, my bonny bird,
And eat bread aff my hand!
Your cage shall be of wiry goud,35
Whar now it's but the wand."—

"Keep ye your cage o' goud, lady,
And I will keep my tree;
As ye hae done to Lord William,
Sae wad ye do to me."—40

She set her foot on her door step,
A bonny marble stane,
And carried him to her chamber,
O'er him to make her mane.

And she has kept that good lord's corpse45
Three quarters of a year,
Until that word began to spread;
Then she began to fear.

Then she cried on her waiting maid,
Aye ready at her ca';50
"There is a knight into my bower,
'Tis time he were awa."

—

The ane has ta'en him by the head,
The ither by the feet,
And thrown him in the wan water,55
That ran baith wide and deep.

"Look back, look back, now, lady fair,
On him that lo'ed ye weel!
A better man than that blue corpse
Ne'er drew a sword of steel."—60

[11]. Charcoal red. This circumstance marks the antiquity of the poem. While wood was plenty in Scotland, charcoal was the usual fuel in the chambers of the wealthy. Scott.

PRINCE ROBERT

Was first published in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 269, and was obtained from the recitation of Miss Christian Rutherford. Another copy, also from recitation, is [subjoined].

Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye,
He has wedded her with a ring:
Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye,
But he darna bring her hame.

"Your blessing, your blessing, my mother dear!5
Your blessing now grant to me!"—
"Instead of a blessing ye sall have my curse,
And you'll get nae blessing frae me."—

She has call'd upon her waiting-maid,
To fill a glass of wine;10
She has call'd upon her fause steward,
To put rank poison in.

She has put it to her roudes lip,
And to her roudes chin;
She has put it to her fause, fause mouth,15
But the never a drap gaed in.

He has put it to his bonny mouth,
And to his bonny chin,
He's put it to his cherry lip,
And sae fast the rank poison ran in.20

"O ye hae poison'd your ae son, mother,
Your ae son and your heir;
O ye hae poison'd your ae son, mother,
And sons you'll never hae mair.

"O where will I get a little boy,25
That will win hose and shoon,
To rin sae fast to Darlinton,
And bid fair Eleanor come?"—

Then up and spake a little boy,
That wad win hose and shoon,—30
"O I'll away to Darlinton,
And bid fair Eleanor come."—

O he has run to Darlinton,
And tirled at the pin;
And wha was sae ready as Eleanor's sell35
To let the bonny boy in.

"Your gude-mother has made ye a rare dinour,
She's made it baith gude and fine;
Your gude-mother has made ye a gay dinour,
And ye maun cum till her and dine."—40

It's twenty lang miles to Sillertoun town,
The langest that ever were gane:
But the steed it was wight, and the ladye was light,
And she cam linkin' in.

But when she came to Sillertoun town,45
And into Sillertoun ha',
The torches were burning, the ladies were mourning,
And they were weeping a'.

"O where is now my wedded lord,
And where now can he be?50
O where is now my wedded lord?
For him I canna see."—

"Your wedded lord is dead," she says,
"And just gane to be laid in the clay:
Your wedded lord is dead," she says,55
"And just gane to be buried the day.

"Ye'se get nane o' his gowd, ye'se get nane o' his gear,

Ye'se get nae thing frae me;
Ye'se no get an inch o' his gude braid land,
Though your heart suld burst in three."—60

"I want nane o' his gowd, I want nane o' his gear,
I want nae land frae thee:
But I'll hae the rings that's on his finger,
For them he did promise to me."—

"Ye'se no get the rings that's on his finger,65
Ye'se no get them frae me;
Ye'se no get the rings that's on his finger,
An your heart suld burst in three."—

She's turn'd her back unto the wa',
And her face unto a rock;70
And there, before the mother's face,
Her very heart it broke.

The tane was buried in Marie's kirk,
The tother in Marie's quair;
And out o' the tane there sprang a birk,75
And out o' the tother a brier.

And thae twa met, and thae twa plat,
The birk but and the brier;
And by that ye may very weel ken
They were twa lovers dear.80

EARL ROBERT.

"Given," says Motherwell, "from the recitation of an old woman, a native of Bonhill, in Dumbartonshire; and it is one of the earliest songs she remembers of having heard chanted on the classic banks of the Water of Leaven."—Minstrelsy, p. 200.

Another copy is noted by the same editor as containing the following stanzas:—

Lord Robert and Mary Florence,
They wer twa children ying;
They were scarce seven years of age
Till luve began to spring.
Lord Robert loved Mary Florence,
And she lov'd him above power;
But he durst not for his cruel mither
Bring her intill his bower.

It's fifty miles to Sittingen's rocks,
As ever was ridden or gane;
And Earl Robert has wedded a wife,
But he dare na bring her hame.
And Earl Robert has wedded a wife,

&c.

His mother, she call'd to her waiting-maid:
"O bring me a pint of wine,
For I dinna weel ken what hour of this day
That my son Earl Robert shall dine."

She's put it to her fause, fause cheek,
But an' her fause, fause chin;10
She's put it to her fause, fause lips;
But never a drap went in.

But he's put it to his bonny cheek,
Aye and his bonny chin;
He's put it to his red rosy lips,15
And the poison went merrily down.

"O where will I get a bonny boy,
That will win hose and shoon,—
That will gang quickly to Sittingen's rocks,
And bid my lady come?"20

It's out then speaks a bonny boy,
To Earl Robert was something akin:
"Many a time have I run thy errand,
But this day with the tears I'll rin."

O when he cam to Sittingen's rocks,25
To the middle of a' the ha',
There were bells a ringing, and music playing,
And ladies dancing a'.

"What news, what news, my bonny boy,
What news have ye to me?30
Is Earl Robert in very good health,
And the ladies of your countrie?"

"O Earl Robert's in very good health,
And as weel as a man can be;
But his mother this night has a drink to be druken,35
And at it you must be."

She called to her waiting-maid,
To bring her a riding weed;
And she called to her stable groom,
To saddle her milk-white steed.40

But when she came to Earl Robert's bouir,
To the middle of a' the ha',
There were bells a ringing and sheets down hinging,
And ladies murning a'.

"I've come for none of his gold," she said,45
"Nor none of his white monie;
Excepting a ring of his smallest finger,
If that you will grant me."

"Thou'll no get none of his gold," she said.

"Nor none of his white monie;50
Thou'll no get a ring of his smallest finger,
Tho' thy heart should break in three."

She set her foot unto a stone,
Her back unto a tree;
She set her foot unto a stone,55
And her heart did break in three!

The one was buried in Mary's kirk,
The other in Mary's quier;
Out of the one there grew a bush,
From the other a bonnie brier.60

And thir twa grew, and thir twa threw,
Till thir twa craps drew near;
So all the world may plainly see
That they lov'd each other dear.

THE WEARY COBLE O' CARGILL.

From Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 230.

"This local ballad, which commemorates some real event, is given from the recitation of an old woman, residing in the neighbourhood of Cambus Michael, Perthshire. It possesses the elements of good poetry, and, had it fallen into the hands of those who make no scruple of interpolating and corrupting the text of oral song, it might have been made, with little trouble, a very interesting and pathetic composition.

"Kercock and Balathy are two small villages on the banks of the Tay; the latter is nearly opposite Stobhall. According to tradition, the ill-fated hero of the ballad had a leman in each of these places; and it was on the occasion of his paying a visit to his Kercock love, that the jealous dame in Balathy Toun, from a revengeful feeling, scuttled the boat in which he was to recross the Tay to Stobhall." Motherwell.

David Drummond's destinie,
Gude man o' appearance o' Cargill;
I wat his blude rins in the flude,
Sae sair against his parents' will.

She was the lass o' Balathy toun,5
And he the butler o' Stobhall;
And mony a time she wauked late,
To bore the coble o' Cargill.

His bed was made in Kercock ha',
Of gude clean sheets and of the hay;10
He wudna rest ae nicht therein,
But on the prude waters he wud gae.

His bed was made in Balathy toun,
Of the clean sheets and of the strae;
But I wat it was far better made,15
Into the bottom o' bonnie Tay.

She bored the coble in seven pairts,
I wat her heart might hae been sae sair;
For there she got the bonnie lad lost,
Wi' the curly locks and the yellow hair.20

He put his foot into the boat,
He little thocht o' ony ill:
But before that he was mid waters,
The weary coble began to fill.

"Woe be to the lass o' Balathy toun,25
I wat an ill death may she die;
For she bored the coble in seven pairts,
And let the waters perish me!

"O help, O help I can get nane,
Nae help o' man can to me come!"30
This was about his dying words,
When he was choaked up to the chin.

"Gae tell my father and my mother,
It was naebody did me this ill;
I was a-going my ain errands,35
Lost at the coble o' bonnie Cargill."

She bored the boat in seven pairts,
I wat she bored it wi' gude will;
And there they got the bonnie lad's corpse,
In the kirk-shot o' bonnie Cargill.40

O a' the keys o' bonnie Stobha',
I wat they at his belt did hing;
But a' the keys of bonnie Stobha',
They now ly low into the stream.

A braver page into his age45
Ne'er set a foot upon the plain;
His father to his mother said,
"O sae sune as we've wanted him!

"I wat they had mair luve than this,
When they were young and at the scule;50
But for his sake she wauked late,
And bored the coble o' bonnie Cargill.

"There's ne'er a clean sark gae on my back,
Nor yet a kame gae in my hair;
There's neither coal nor candle licht55
Shall shine in my bouer for ever mair.

"At kirk nor market I'se ne'er be at,
Nor yet a blythe blink in my ee;
There's ne'er a ane shall say to anither,
That's the lassie gar'd the young man die."60

Between the yetts o' bonnie Stobha',
And the kirkstyle o' bonnie Cargill,
There is mony a man and mother's son
That was at my luve's burial.

OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE.

Percy's Reliques of English Poetry, iii. 88.

"From an ancient copy in the Editor's folio MS., which was judged to require considerable corrections.

"In the former edition the hero of this piece had been called Sir Robin, but that title not being in the MS. is now omitted.

"Giles, steward to a rich old merchant trading to Portugal, is qualified with the title of Sir, not as being a knight, but rather, I conceive, as having received an inferior order of priesthood." Percy.

Let never again soe old a man
Marrye soe yonge a wife,
As did old Robin of Portingale;
Who may rue all the dayes of his life.

For the mayors daughter of Lin, God wott5
He chose her to his wife,
And thought with her to have lived in love,
But they fell to hate and strife.

They scarce were in their wed-bed laid,
And scarce was hee asleepe,10
But upp shee rose, and forth shee goes,
To the steward, and gan to weepe.

"Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles?
Or be you not within?
Sleepe you, wake you, faire Sir Gyles,15
Arise and let me inn."

"O I am waking, sweete," he said,
"Sweete ladye, what is your will?"
"I have [onbethought] me of a wile
How my wed lord weel spill.20

"Twenty-four good knights," shee sayes,
"That dwell about this towne,
Even twenty-four of my next cozens
Will helpe to dinge him downe."

All that beheard his litle footepage,25
As he watered his masters steed;
And for his masters sad perille
His verry heart did bleed.

He mourned, sighed and wept full sore;

I sweare by the holy roode,30
The teares he for his master wept
Were [blent] water and bloude.

And that beheard his deare master
As he stood at his garden pale:
Sayes, "Ever alacke, my litle foot-page,35
What causes thee to wail?

"Hath any one done to thee wronge,
Any of thy fellowes here?
Or is any of thy good friends dead,
That thou shedst manye a teare?40

"Or, if it be my head bookes-man,
Aggrieved he shal bee:
For no man here within my howse
Shall doe wrong unto thee."

"O it is not your head bookes-man,45
Nor none of his degree:
But, [on to-morrow] ere it be noone
All deemed to die are yee:
"And of that bethank your head steward,
And thank your gay ladye."50

"If this be true, my litle foot-page,
The heyre of my land thoust bee:"

"If it be not true, my dear master,
No good death let me die:"
"If it be not true, thou litle foot-page,55
A dead corse shalt thou bee.

"O call now downe my faire ladye,
O call her downe to mee;
And tell my ladye gay how sicke,
And like to die I bee."60

Downe then came his ladye faire,
All clad in purple and pall:
The rings that were on her fingers,
Cast light thorrow the hall.

"What is your will, my own wed-lord?65
"What is your will with mee?"
"O see, my ladye deere, how sicke,
And like to die I bee."

"And thou be sicke, my own wed-lord,
Soe sore it grieveth me:70
But my five maydens and myselfe
Will make the bedde for thee.

"And at the waking of your first sleepe,
We will a hott drinke make;
And at the waking of your [next] sleepe,75
Your sorrowes we will slake."

He put a silk cote on his backe,
And mail of manye a fold;
And hee putt a steele cap on his head,
Was gilt with good red gold.80

He layd a bright browne sword by his side,
And another att his feete:
[And twentye good knights he placed at hand,
To watch him in his sleepe.]

And about the middle time of the night,85
Came twentye-four traitours inn;
Sir Giles he was the foremost man,
The leader of that ginn.

Old Robin with his bright browne sword,
Sir Gyles head soon did winn;90
And scant of all those twenty-four
Went out one quick agenn.

None save only a litle foot-page,
Crept forth at a window of stone;
And he had two armes when he came in,95
And he went back with one.

Upp then came that ladie gaye,
With torches burning bright;
She thought to have brought Sir Gyles a drinke,

Butt she found her owne wedd knight.100

The first thinge that she stumbled on
It was Sir Gyles his foote;
Sayes, "Ever alacke, and woe is mee!
Here lyes my sweete hart-roote."

The next thinge that she stumbled on105
It was Sir Gyles his heade;
Sayes, "Ever alacke, and woe is me!
Heere lyes my true love deade."

Hee cutt the pappes beside her brest,
And didd her body spille;110
He cutt the eares beside her heade,
And bade her love her fille.

He called up then up his litle foot-page,
And made him there his heyre;
And sayd, "Henceforth my worldlye goodes,115
And countrie I forsweare."

[He shope the crosse on his right shoulder],
Of the white [clothe] and the redde,
And went him into the holy land,
Wheras Christ was quicke and dead.120

[19], unbethought.

MS. [32], blend.

[47], or to-morrow.

MS. [75], first.

[117]. Every person who went on a Croisade to the Holy Land usually wore a cross on his upper garment, on the right shoulder, as a badge of his profession. Different nations were distinguished by crosses of different colors: the English wore white, the French red, &c. This circumstance seems to be confounded in the ballad. Percy.

MS. [118], fleshe.

FAUSE FOODRAGE.

First published in Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 220.

"This ballad has been popular in many parts of Scotland. It is chiefly given from Mrs. Brown of Falkland's MSS. The expression,

"The boy stared wild like a gray goss-hawk," v. 31,

strongly resembles that in Hardyknute,

"Norse e'en like gray goss-hawk stared wild;"

a circumstance which led the Editor to make the strictest inquiry into the authenticity of the song. But every doubt was removed by the evidence of a lady of high rank, who not only recollected the ballad, as having amused her infancy, but could repeat many of the verses, particularly those beautiful stanzas from the 20th to the 25th. The Editor is, therefore, compelled to believe, that the author of Hardyknute copied the old ballad, if the coincidence be not altogether accidental." Scott.

King Easter has courted her for her lands,
King Wester for her fee,
King Honour for her comely face,
And for her fair bodie.

They had not been four months married,5
As I have heard them tell,
Until the nobles of the land
Against them did rebel.

And they cast kevils them amang,
And kevils them between;10
And they cast kevils them amang,
Wha suld gae kill the king.

O some said yea, and some said nay,
Their words did not agree;
Till up and got him, Fause Foodrage,15
And swore it suld be he.

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' men bound to bed,
King Honour and his gay ladye
In a high chamber were laid.20

Then up and raise him, Fause Foodrage,
When a' were fast asleep,
And slew the porter in his lodge,
That watch and ward did keep.

O four and twenty silver keys25
Hang hie upon a pin;
And aye as ae door he did unlock,
He has fasten'd it him behind.

Then up and raise him, King Honour,
Says—"What means a' this din?30
Or what's the matter, Fause Foodrage,
Or wha has loot you in?"—

"O ye my errand weel sall learn,
Before that I depart."—
Then drew a knife, baith lang and sharp,35
And pierced him to the heart.

Then up and got the Queen hersell,
And fell low down on her knee,
"O spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage!
For I never injured thee.40

"O spare my life, now, Fause Foodrage!
Until I lighter be!
And see gin it be lad or lass,
King Honour has left me wi'."—

"O gin it be a lass," he says,45
"Weel nursed it sall be;
But gin it be a lad bairn,
He sall be hanged hie.

"I winna spare for his tender age,
Nor yet for his hie, hie kin;50
But soon as e'er he born is,
He sall mount the gallows pin."

—

O four-and-twenty valiant knights
Were set the Queen to guard;
And four stood aye at her bour door,55
To keep both watch and ward.

But when the time drew near an end,
That she suld lighter be,
She cast about to find a wile,
To set her body free.60

O she has birled these merry young men
With the ale but and the wine,
Until they were a' deadly drunk
As any wild-wood swine.

"O narrow, narrow is this window,65
And big, big am I grown!"—
Yet through the might of Our Ladye,
Out at it she is gone.

She wander'd up, she wander'd down,
She wander'd out and in;70
And, at last, into the very swine's stythe,
The Queen brought forth a son.

Then they cast kevils them amang,
Which suld gae seek the Queen;
And the kevil fell upon Wise William,75
And he sent his wife for him.

O when she saw Wise William's wife,
The Queen fell on her knee:
"Win up, win up, madam!" she says:
"What needs this courtesie?"—80

"O out o' this I winna rise,
Till a boon ye grant to me;
To change your lass for this lad bairn,
King Honour left me wi'.

"And ye maun learn my gay goss-hawk85
Right weel to breast a steed;
And I sall learn your turtle dow
As weel to write and read.

"And ye maun learn my gay goss-hawk
To wield both bow and brand;90
And I sall learn your turtle dow
To lay gowd wi' her hand.

"At kirk and market when we meet,
We'll dare make nae avowe,
But—'Dame, how does my gay goss-hawk?'95
'Madame, how does my dow?'"

When days were gane, and years came on,
Wise William he thought lang;
And he has ta'en King Honour's son

A-hunting for to gang.100

It sae fell out, at this hunting,
Upon a simmer's day,
That they came by a bonny castell,
Stood on a sunny brae.

"O dinna ye see that bonny castell,105
Wi' halls and towers sae fair?
Gin ilka man had back his ain,
Of it you suld be heir."

"How I suld be heir of that castell,
In sooth, I canna see;110
For it belangs to Fause Foodrage,
And he is na kin to me."—

"O gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage,
You would do but what was right;
For I wot he kill'd your father dear,115
Or ever ye saw the light.

"And gin ye suld kill him, Fause Foodrage,
There is no man durst you blame;
For he keeps your mother a prisoner,
And she darna take ye hame."—120

The boy stared wild like a gray goss-hawk,
Says,—"What may a' this mean?"
"My boy, ye are King Honour's son,
And your mother's our lawful queen."

"O gin I be King Honour's son,125
By our Ladye I swear,
This night I will that traitor slay,
And relieve my mother dear!"—

He has set his bent bow to his breast,
And leaped the castell wa';130
And soon he has seized on Fause Foodrage,
Wha loud for help 'gan ca'.

"O haud your tongue, now, Fause Foodrage,
Frae me ye shanna flee;"—
Syne pierced him through the fause, fause heart,135
And set his mother free.

And he has rewarded Wise William
Wi' the best half o' his land;
And sae has he the turtle dow
Wi' the truth o' his right hand.140

BONNIE ANNIE.

From Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 123.

"There is a prevalent belief among seafaring people, that if a person who has committed any heinous crime be on ship-board, the vessel, as if conscious of its guilty burden, becomes unmanageable, and will not sail till the offender be removed: to discover whom, they usually resort to the trial of those on board, by casting lots; and the individual upon whom the lot falls, is declared the criminal, it being believed that Divine Providence interposes in this manner to point out the guilty person."—Kinloch.

Motherwell is inclined to think this an Irish ballad, though popular in Scotland.

With Bonnie Annie may be compared Jon Rimaardsöns Skriftemaal, Danske Viser, ii. 220; or, Herr Peders Sjöresa, Svenska Folk-Visor, ii. 31, Arwiddson, ii. 5 (translated in Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, 276).

There was a rich lord, and he lived in Forfar,
He had a fair lady, and one only dochter.
O she was fair, O dear! she was bonnie,
A ship's captain courted her to be his honey.

There cam a ship's captain out owre the sea sailing,5
He courted this young thing till he got her wi' bairn:—
"Ye'll steal your father's gowd, and your mother's money,
And I'll mak ye a lady in Ireland bonnie."

She's stown her father's gowd and her mother's money,
But she was never a lady in Ireland bonnie.10
* * * * * * *

"There's fey fowk in our ship, she winna sail for me,
There's fey fowk in our ship, she winna sail for me."
They've casten black bullets twice six and forty,
And ae the black bullet fell on bonnie Annie.

"Ye'll tak me in your arms twa, lo, lift me cannie,15
Throw me out owre board, your ain dear Annie."
He has tane her in his arms twa, lo, lifted her cannie,
He has laid her on a bed of down, his ain dear Annie.

"What can a woman do, love, I'll do for ye;"
"Muckle can a woman do, ye canna do for me.—
Lay about, steer about, lay our ship cannie,21
Do all you can to save my dear Annie."

"I've laid about, steer'd about, laid about cannie,
But all I can do, she winna sail for me.
Ye'll tak her in your arms twa, lo, lift her cannie,25
And throw her out owre board, your ain dear Annie."

He has tane her in his arms twa, lo, lifted her cannie,
He has thrown her out owre board, his ain dear Annie:
As the ship sailed, bonnie Annie she swam,
And she was at Ireland as soon as them.30

They made his love a coffin of the gowd sae yellow,
[And they buried her deep on the high banks of Yarrow].

[32]. The last two lines are derived from Motherwell, p. xcix. The text in Kinloch is corrupt, and stands thus:—

He made his love a coffin off the Goats of Yerrow,
And buried his bonnie love doun in a sea valley.

WILLIAM GUISEMAN.

From Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 156.

"My name is William Guiseman,
In London I do dwell;
I have committed murder,
And that is known right well;
I have committed murder,5
And that is known right well,
And it's for mine offence I must die.

"I lov'd a neighbour's dochter,
And with her I did lie;
I did dissemble with her10
Myself to satisfy;
I did dissemble with her
Myself to satisfy,
And it's for mine offence I must die.

"Sae cunningly's I kept her,15
Until the fields war toom;

Sae cunningly's I trysted her
Unto yon shade o' broom;
And syne I took my wills o' her,
And then I flang her doun,20
And it's for mine offence I must die.

"Sae cunningly's I killed her,
Who should have been my wife;
Sae cursedly's I killed her,
And with my cursed knife;25
Sae cursedly's I killed her,
Who should have been my wife,
And it's for mine offence I must die.

"Six days she lay in murder,
Before that she was found;30
Six days she lay in murder,
Upon the cursed ground;
Six days she lay in murder,
Before that she was found,
And it's for mine offence I must die.35

"O all the neighbours round about,
They said it had been I;
I put my foot on gude shipboard,
The county to defy;
The ship she wadna sail again,40
But hoisted to and fro,
And it's for mine offence I must die.

"O up bespak the skipper-boy,
I wat he spak too high;
'There's sinful men amongst us,45
The seas will not obey;'
O up bespak the skipper-boy,
I wat he spak too high,
And it's for mine offence I must die.

"O we cuist cavels us amang,50
The cavel fell on me;
O we cuist cavels us amang,
The cavel fell on me;
O we cuist cavels us amang,
The cavel fell on me,55
And it's for mine offence I must die.

"I had a loving mother
Who of me took gret care;
She wad hae gien the gold sae red,
To have bought me from that snare;60
But the gold could not be granted,
The gallows pays a share,
And it's for mine offence I must die."

THE ENCHANTED RING

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, i. 169. Annexed is a fragment published by Jamieson, under the title of Bonny Bee-Ho'm.

In Lauderdale I chanc'd to walk,
And heard a lady's moan,
Lamenting for her dearest dear,
And aye she cried, ohon!

"Sure never a maid that e'er drew breath5
Had harder fate than me;
I'd never a lad but one on earth,
They forc'd him to the sea.

"The ale shall ne'er be brewin o' malt,
Neither by sea nor land,10
That ever mair shall cross my hause,
Till my love comes to hand.

A handsome lad wi' shoulders broad,
Gold yellow was his hair;
None of our Scottish youths on earth15
That with him could compare.

She thought her love was gone to sea,
And landed in Bahome;
But he was in a quiet chamber,
Hearing his lady's moan.20

"Why make ye all this moan, lady?
Why make ye all this moan?
For I'm deep sworn on a book,
I must go to Bahome.

"Traitors false for to subdue,25
O'er seas I'll make me boun',
That have trepan'd our kind Scotchmen,
Like dogs to ding them down."

"Weell, take this ring, this royal thing,
Whose virtue is unknown;30
As lang's this ring's your body on,
Your blood shall ne'er be drawn.

"But if this ring shall fade or stain,
Or change to other hue,
Come never mair to fair Scotland,35
If ye're a lover true."

Then this couple they did part
With a sad heavy moan;
The wind was fair, the ship was rare,
They landed in Bahome.40

But in that place they had not been
A month but barely one,
Till [he look'd] on his gay gold ring,
And riven was the stone.

Time after this was not expir'd45
A month but scarcely three,
Till black and ugly was the ring,
[And the stone] was burst in three.

"Fight on, fight on, you merry men all,
With you I'll fight no more;50
I will gang to some holy place,
Pray to the King of Glore."

Then to the chapel he is gone,
And knelt most piteouslie,
For seven days and seven nights,55
Till blood ran frae his knee.

"Ye'll take my jewels that's in Bahome,
And deal them liberallie,

To young that cannot, and old that mannot,
The blind that does not see.60

"Give maist to women in child-bed laid,
Can neither fecht nor flee:
I hope she's in the heavens high,
That died for love of me."

The knights they wrang their white fingers,65
The ladies tore their hair;
The women that ne'er had children born,
In swoon they down fell there.

But in what way the knight expir'd,
No tongue will e'er declare;70
So this doth end my mournful song,
From me ye'll get nae mair.

[43], they look'd.

[48], And stone.

BONNY BEE-HO'M.

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, i. 184, from Mrs. Brown's MS., the interpolations of the editor being omitted.

By Arthur's dale as late I went,
I heard a heavy moan;
I heard a lady lamenting sair.
And ay she cried "ohon!"

"Ohon, alas! what shall I do,5
Tormented night and day?
I never loved a love but ane,
And now he's gone away.

"But I will do for my true love
What ladies would think sair;10
For seven years shall come and gae,
Ere a kaime gae in my hair.

"There shall neither a shoe gae on my foot,
Nor a kaime gae in my hair,
Nor ever a coal or candle light15
Shine in my bower nae mair."

She thought her love had been on sea,
Fast sailing to Bee-Ho'm;

But he was still in a quiet chamber,
Hearing his lady's moan.20

"Be hush'd, be hush'd, my lady dear,
I pray thee moan not so;
For I am deep sworn on a book
To Bee-Ho'm for to go."

She's gien him a chain o' the beaten goud,25
And a ring with a ruby stone:
"As lang as this chain your body binds,
Your blood can never be drawn.

"But gin this ring should fade or fail,
Or the stone should change its hue,30
Be sure your love is dead and gone,
Or she has proved untrue."

* * * * * * *

He had not been at bonny Bee-Ho'm
A twelvemonth and a day,
Till looking on his gay gold ring,35
The stone grew dark and gray.

"O ye tak my riches to Bee-Ho'm,
And deal them presentlie,
To the young that canna, the old that manna,
The blind that downa see."40

Now Death has come intill his bower,
And split his heart in twain:
Sae their twa sauls flew up to heaven,
And there shall ever remain.

THE THREE RAVENS.

From Ritson's Ancient English Songs, ii. 53. It is there reprinted from Ravenscroft's Melismata, 1611. [Another copy follows], taken from Scott's Minstrelsy. Motherwell has recast the ballad in modern style, p. 7 of his collection.

There were three ravens sat on a tree,
Downe, a downe, hay downe, hay downe,
There were three ravens sat on a tree,
With a downe,
There were three ravens sat on a tree,
They were as blacke as they might be,
With a downe, derrie, derrie, derrie, downe, downe.

The one of them said to his mate,
"Where shall we our breakefast take?"—

"Downe in yonder greene field,5
There lies a knight slain under his shield.

"His hounds they lie downe at his feete,
So well they their master keepe.

"His haukes they flie so eagerly,
There's no fowle dare him com nie."10

Downe there comes a fallow doe,
As great with yong as she might goe.

She lift up his bloudy hed,
And kist his wounds that were so red.

She got him up upon her backe,15
And carried him to earthen lake.

She buried him before the prime,
She was dead herselfe ere even-song time.

God send every gentleman,
Such haukes, such houndes, and such a leman.20

THE TWA CORBIES.

From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, ii. 359. It was communicated to Scott by Mr. Sharpe, as written down, from tradition, by a lady.

As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t'other say,
"Where sall we gang and dine to-day?"—

"In behint yon auld fail dyke,5
I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
And naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.

"His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk, to fetch the wild-fowl hame,10
His lady's ta'en another mate,
So we may mak our dinner sweet.

"Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
And I'll pick out his bonny blue een:
Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair15
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.

"Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken where he is gane:
O'er his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair."—20

THE DOWIE DENS OF YARROW.

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 143.

"This ballad, which is a very great favourite among the inhabitants of Ettrick Forest, is universally believed to be founded in fact. I found it easy to collect a variety of copies; but very difficult indeed to select from them such a collated edition as might, in any degree, suit the taste of 'these more light and giddy-paced times.'

"Tradition places the event, recorded in the song, very early; and it is probable that the ballad was composed soon afterwards, although the language has been gradually modernized, in the course of its transmission to us, through the inaccurate channel of oral tradition. The bard does not relate particulars, but barely the striking outlines of a fact, apparently so well known when he wrote, as to render minute detail as unnecessary as it is always tedious and unpoetical.

"The hero of the ballad was a knight of great bravery, called Scott, who is said to have resided at Kirkhope, or Oakwood Castle, and is, in tradition, termed the Baron of Oakwood. The estate of Kirkhope belonged anciently to the Scotts of Harden:

Oakwood is still their property, and has been so from time immemorial. The Editor was, therefore, led to suppose that the hero of the ballad might have been identified with John Scott, sixth son of the Laird of Harden, murdered in Ettrick Forest by his kinsmen, the Scotts of Gilmanscleugh. (See notes to Jamie Telfer.) This appeared the more probable, as the common people always affirm that this young man was treacherously slain, and that, in evidence thereof, his body remained uncorrupted for many years; so that even the roses on his shoes seemed as fresh as when he was first laid in the family vault at Hassendean. But from a passage in Nisbet's Heraldry, he now believes the ballad refers to a duel fought at Deucharswyre, of which Annan's Treat is a part, betwixt John Scott of Tushielaw and his brother-in-law, Walter Scott, third son of Robert of Thirlestane, in which the latter was slain.

"In ploughing Annan's Treat, a huge monumental stone, with an inscription, was discovered; but being rather scratched than engraved, and the lines being run through each other, it is only possible to read one or two Latin words. It probably records the event of the combat. The person slain was the male ancestor of the present Lord Napier.

"Tradition affirms, that the hero of the song (be he who he may) was murdered by the brother, either of his wife or betrothed bride. The alleged cause of malice was the lady's father having proposed to endow her with half of his property, upon her marriage with a warrior of such renown. The name of the murderer is said to have been Annan, and the place of combat is still called Annan's Treat. It is a low muir, on the

banks of the Yarrow, lying to the west of Yarrow Kirk. Two tall unhewn masses of stone are erected, about eighty yards distant from each other; and the least child, that can herd a cow, will tell the passenger, that there lie 'the two lords, who were slain in single combat.'

"It will be, with many readers, the greatest recommendation of these verses, that they are supposed to have suggested to Mr. Hamilton of Bangour, the modern ballad, beginning,

'Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride.'

"A fragment, apparently regarding the story of the following ballad, but in a different measure, occurs in Mr. Herd's MS., and runs thus:—

'When I look east, my heart is sair,
But when I look west, it's mair and mair;
For then I see the braes o' Yarrow,
And there, for aye, I lost my marrow.'"

We have added an uncollated copy from Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland. Another is furnished by Motherwell, Minstrelsy, p. 252. Some of Scott's verses are also found in Herd's fragment, (Scottish Songs, i. 202,) and Buchan's Haughs o' Yarrow, ii. 211. The Dowy Den, in Evans's collection, iii. 342, is the caput mortuum of this spirited ballad.

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.

"O stay at hame, my noble lord,5
O stay at hame, my marrow!
My cruel brother will you betray
On the dowie houms of Yarrow."—

"O fare ye weel, my ladye gaye!
O fare ye weel, my Sarah!10
For I maun gae, though I ne'er return
Frae the dowie banks o' Yarrow."

She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,
As oft she had done before, O;
She belted him with his noble brand,15
And he's away to Yarrow.

As he gaed up [the Tennies] bank,
I wot he gaed wi' sorrow,
Till, down in a den, he spied nine arm'd men,
On the dowie houms of Yarrow.20

"O come ye here to part your land,
The bonnie Forest thorough?
Or come ye here to wield your brand,
On the dowie houms of Yarrow?"—

"I come not here to part my land,25
And neither to beg nor borrow;

I come to wield my noble brand,
On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.

"If I see all, ye're nine to ane;
And that's an unequal marrow;30
Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,
On the bonnie banks of Yarrow."

Four has he hurt, and five has slain,
On the bloody braes of Yarrow,
Till that stubborn knight came him behind,35
And ran his body thorough.

"Gae hame, gae hame, good-brother John,
And tell your sister Sarah,
To come and lift her leafu' lord;
He's sleepin sound on Yarrow."—40

"Yestreen I dream'd a dolefu' dream;
I fear there will be sorrow!
I dream'd I pu'd the heather green,
Wi' my true love, on Yarrow.

"O gentle wind, that bloweth south,45
From where my love repaireth,
Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,
And tell me how he fareth!

"But in the glen strive armed men;
They've wrought me dole and sorrow;50
They've slain—the comeliest knight they've slain—
He bleeding lies on Yarrow."

As she sped down yon high high hill,
She gaed wi' dole and sorrow,
And in the den spied ten slain men,55
On the dowie banks of Yarrow.

She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,
She searched his wounds all thorough,
She kiss'd them, till her lips grew red,
On the dowie houms of Yarrow.60

"Now haud your tongue, my daughter dear!
For a' this breeds but sorrow;
I'll wed ye to a better lord,
Than him ye lost on Yarrow."—

"O haud your tongue, my father dear!65
Ye mind me but of sorrow;
A fairer rose did never bloom
Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow."

[17]. The Tennies is the name of a farm of the Duke of Buccleuch's, a little below Yarrow Kirk.

THE BRAES O' YARROW.

From Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, ii. 203. Repeated in the xviith volume of the Percy Society Publications.

Ten lords sat drinking at the wine,
Intill a morning early;
There fell a combat them among,
It must be fought,—nae parly.

"O stay at hame, my ain gude lord,5
O stay, my ain dear marrow."
"Sweetest min', I will be thine,
And dine wi' you to-morrow."

She's kiss'd his lips, and comb'd his hair,
As she had done before, O;10
Gied him a brand down by his side,
And he is on to Yarrow.

As he gaed ower yon dowie knowe,
As aft he'd dune before, O;
Nine armed men lay in a den,15
Upo' the braes o' Yarrow.

"O came ye here to hunt or hawk,
As ye hae dune before, O?
Or came ye here to wiel' your brand,
Upo' the braes o' Yarrow?"20

"I came na here to hunt nor hawk,
As I hae dune before, O;
But I came here to wiel' my brand,
Upon the braes o' Yarrow."

Four he hurt, and five he slew,25
Till down it fell himsell, O;
There stood a fause lord him behin',
Who thrust him thro' body and mell, O.

"Gae hame, gae hame, my brother John,
And tell your sister sorrow;30
Your mother to come take up her son,
Aff o' the braes o' Yarrow."

As he gaed ower yon high, high hill,
As he had dune before, O;
There he met his sister dear,35
Came rinnin fast to Yarrow.

"I dreamt a dream last night," she says,
"I wish it binna sorrow;
[I dreamt I was pu'ing the heather green],
Upo' the braes o' Yarrow."40

"I'll read your dream, sister," he says,
"I'll read it into sorrow;
Ye're bidden gae take up your love,
He's sleeping sound on Yarrow."

She's torn the ribbons frae her head,45
They were baith thick and narrow;
She's kilted up her green claithing,
And she's awa' to Yarrow.

She's taen him in her arms twa,
And gien him kisses thorough,50
And wi' her tears she bath'd his wounds,
Upo' the braes o' Yarrow.

Her father looking ower his castle wa',
Beheld his daughter's sorrow;
"O had your tongue, daughter," he says,55
"And let be a' your sorrow,
I'll wed you wi' a better lord,
Than he that died on Yarrow."

"O had your tongue, father," she says,
"And let be till to-morrow;60
A better lord there cou'dna be
Than he that died on Yarrow."

She kiss'd his lips, and comb'd his hair,
As she had dune before, O;
Then wi' a crack her heart did brack,65
Upon the braes o' Yarrow.

[39]. To dream of any thing green is regarded in Scotland as unlucky.

SIR JAMES THE ROSE.

Pinkerton first published this piece in his Scottish Tragic Ballads, p. 61. In a note, it is said to have been taken "from a modern edition in one sheet, 12mo. after the old copy." Motherwell gives another version "as it occurs in early stall prints," (Minstrelsy, p. 321,) and suspects a few conjectural emendations in Pinkerton's text. The passage from v. 51 to v. 59 is apparently defective, and has, probably, been tampered with; but Pinkerton's copy is on the whole much better than Motherwell's, or than Whitelaw's, (Scottish Ballads, 39,) which professes to be given chiefly from oral recitations.

Michael Bruce's Sir James the Rose will be found in another part of this collection. In Caw's Museum (p. 290) is a ballad in the worst possible taste, styled Elfrida and Sir James of Perth, which seems to be a mere disfiguration of Bruce's.

O heard ye o' Sir James the Rose,
The young heir o' Buleighan?
For he has kill'd a gallant squire,
Whase friends are out to tak him.

Now he has gane to the house o' Mar,5
Whar nane might seik to find him;
To see his dear he did repair,
Weining she wold befreind him.

"Whar are ye gaing Sir James," she said,
"O whar awa are ye riding?"10
"I maun be bound to a foreign land,
And now I'm under hiding.

"Whar sall I gae, whar sall I rin,
Whar sall I rin to lay me?
For I ha kill'd a gallant squire,15
And his friends seik to slay me."

"O gae ye down to yon laigh house,
I sall pay there your lawing;
And as I am your leman trew,
I'll meet ye at the dawing."20

He turned him richt and round about,
And rowd him in his brechan:
And laid him doun to tak a sleip,
In the lawlands o' Buleighan.

He was nae weil gane out o' sicht,25
Nor was he past Milstrethen,
Whan four and twenty belted knichts
Cam riding owr the Leathen.

"O ha ye seen Sir James the Rose,
The young heir o' Buleighan?30
For he has kill'd a gallant squire,
And we are sent to tak him."

"Yea, I ha seen Sir James," she said,
"He past by here on Monday;
Gin the steed be swift that he rides on,35
He's past the Hichts of Lundie."

But as wi speid they rade awa,
She leudly cryd behind them;
"Gin ye'll gie me a worthy meid,
I'll tell ye whar to find him."40

"O tell fair maid, and on our band,
Ye'se get his purse and brechan."
"He's in the bank aboon the mill,
In the lawlands o' Buleighan."

Than out and spak Sir John the Graham,45
Who had the charge a keiping,
"It's neer be said, my stalwart feres,
We kill'd him whan a sleiping."

They seized his braid sword and his targe,
And closely him surrounded:50
"O pardon! mercy! gentlemen,"
He then fou loudly sounded.

"Sic as ye gae, sic ye sall hae,
Nae grace we shaw to thee can."
"Donald my man, wait till I fa,55
And ye sall hae my brechan;
Ye'll get my purse thouch fou o' gowd
To tak me to Loch Lagan."

Syne they take out his bleiding heart,
And set it on a speir;60
Then tuke it to the house o' Mar,
And shawd it to his deir.

"We cold nae gie Sir James's purse,
We cold nae gie his brechan;
But ye sall ha his bleeding heart,65
Bot and his bleeding tartan."

"Sir James the Rose, O for thy sake
My heart is now a breaking,
Curs'd be the day I wrocht thy wae,
Thou brave heir of Buleighan!"70

Then up she raise, and furth she gaes,
And, in that hour o' tein,
She wanderd to the dowie glen,
And nevir mair was sein.

GRÆME AND BEWICK.

From Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 69. A single improved reading is adopted from a Newcastle chap-book.

"Given, in the first edition, from the recitation of a gentleman, who professed to have forgotten some verses. These have, in the present edition, been partly restored, from a copy obtained by the recitation of an ostler in Carlisle, which has also furnished some slight alterations."

"The ballad is remarkable, as containing, probably, the very latest allusion to the institution of brotherhood in arms, which was held so sacred in the days of chivalry, and whose origin may be traced up to the Scythian ancestors of Odin." Scott.

Gude Lord Græme is to Carlisle gane,
Sir Robert Bewick there met he,
And arm in arm to the wine they did go,
And they drank till they were baith merrie.

Gude Lord Græme has ta'en up the cup,5
"Sir Robert Bewick, and here's to thee!
And here's to our twae sons at hame!
For they like us best in our ain countrie."—

"O were your son a lad like mine,
And learn'd some books that he could read,10
They might hae been twae brethren bauld,
And they might hae bragged the Border side.

"But your son's a lad, and he is but bad,
And billie to my son he canna be;"
* * * * * * *

"[I sent] him to the schools, and he wadna learn;15
[I bought] him books, and he wadna read;
But my blessing shall he never earn,
Till I see how his arm can defend his head."—

Gude Lord Græme has a reckoning call'd,
A reckoning then called he;20
And he paid a crown, and it went roun',
It was all for the gude wine [and free].

And he has to the stable gane,
Where there stude thirty steeds and three;

He's ta'en his ain horse amang them a',25
And hame he rade sae manfullie.

"Welcome, my auld father!" said Christie Græme,
"But where sae lang frae hame were ye?"—
"It's I hae been at Carlisle town,
And a baffled man by thee I be.30

"I hae been at Carlisle town,
Where Sir Robert Bewick, he met me;
He says ye're a lad, and ye are but bad,
And billie to his son ye canna be.

"I sent ye to the schools, and ye wadna learn;35
I bought ye books, and ye wadna read;
Therefore my blessing ye shall never earn,
Till I see with Bewick thou save thy head."

"Now, God forbid, my auld father,
That ever sic a thing suld be!40
[Billie Bewick was my master, and I was his scholar],
And aye sae weel as he learned me."

"O hald thy tongue, thou limmer loon,
And of thy talking let me be!

If thou does na end me this quarrel soon,45
There is my glove, I'll fight wi' thee."

Then Christie Græme he stooped low
Unto the ground, you shall understand;—
"O father, put on your glove again,
The wind has blown it from your hand?"50

"What's that thou says, thou limmer loon?
How dares thou stand to speak to me?
If thou do not end this quarrel soon,
There's my right hand thou shalt fight with me."—

Then Christie Græme's to his chamber gane,55
To consider weel what then should be;
Whether he should fight with his auld father,
Or with his billie Bewick, he.

"If I suld kill my billie dear,
God's blessing I shall never win;60
But if I strike at my auld father,
I think 'twald be a mortal sin.

"But if I kill my billie dear,
It is God's will, so let it be;
But I make a vow, ere I gang frae hame,65
That I shall be the next man's die."

—

Then he's put on's back a gude auld jack,
And on his head a cap of steel,
And sword and buckler by his side;
O gin he did not become them weel!70

We'll leave off talking of Christie Græme,
And talk of him again belive;
And we will talk of bonny Bewick,
Where he was teaching his scholars five.

When he had taught them well to fence,75
And handle swords without any doubt,
He took his sword under his arm,
And he walk'd his father's close about.

He look'd atween him and the sun,
And a' to see what there might be,80
Till he spied a man in armour bright,
Was riding that way most hastilie.

"O wha is yon, that came this way,
Sae hastilie that hither came?
I think it be my brother dear,85
I think it be young Christie Græme.

"Ye're welcome here, my billie dear,
And thrice ye're welcome unto me!"—
"But I'm wae to say, I've seen the day,
When I am come to fight wi' thee.90

"My father's gane to Carlisle town,
Wi' your father Bewick there met he:
He says I'm a lad, and I am but bad,
And a baffled man I trow I be.

"He sent me to schools, and I wadna learn;95
He gae me books, and I wadna read;
Sae my father's blessing I'll never earn,
Till he see how my arm can guard my head."

"O God forbid, my billie dear,
That ever such a thing suld be!100
We'll take three men on either side,
And see if we can our fathers agree."

"O hald thy tongue, now, billie Bewick,
And of thy talking let me be!
But if thou'rt a man, as I'm sure thou art,105
Come o'er the dyke, and fight wi' me."

"[But I hae nae harness, billie, on my back],
As weel I see there is on thine."

—
"But as little harness as is on thy back,
As little, billie, shall be on mine."—110

Then he's thrown aff his coat o' mail,
His cap of steel away flung he;
He stuck his spear into the ground,
And he tied his horse unto a tree.

Then Bewick has thrown aff his cloak,115
And's psalter-book frae's hand flung he;
He laid his hand upon the dyke,
And ower he lap most manfullie.

O they hae fought for twae lang hours;
When twae lang hours were come and gane,120
The sweat drapp'd fast frae aff them baith,
But a drap of blude could not be seen.

Till Græme gae Bewick an ackward stroke,
Ane ackward stroke strucken sickerlie;
He has hit him under the left breast,125
And dead-wounded to the ground fell he.

"Rise up, rise up, now, billie dear,
Arise and speak three words to me!
Whether thou's gotten thy deadly wound,
Or if God and good leeching may succour thee?"

"O horse, O horse, now, billie Græme,131
And get thee far from hence with speed;
And get thee out of this country,
That none may know who has done the deed."—

"O I have slain thee, billie Bewick,135
If this be true thou tellest to me;
But I made a vow, ere I came frae hame,
That aye the next man I wad be."

He has pitch'd his sword in a moodie-hill,
And he has leap'd twenty lang feet and three,
And on his ain sword's point he lap,141
And dead upon the ground fell he.

'Twas then came up Sir Robert Bewick,
And his brave son alive saw he;
"Rise up, rise up, my son," he said,145
"For I think ye hae gotten the victorie."

"O hald your tongue, my father dear,
Of your prideful talking let me be!
Ye might hae drunken your wine in peace,
And let me and my billie be.150

"Gae dig a grave, baith wide and deep,
And a grave to hald baith him and me;
But lay Christie Græme on the sunny side,
For I'm sure he wan the victorie."

"Alack! a wae!" auld Bewick cried,155
"Alack! was I not much to blame?
I'm sure I've lost the liveliest lad
That e'er was born unto my name."

"Alack! a wae!" quo' gude Lord Græme,
"I'm sure I hae lost the deeper lack!160
I durst hae ridden the Border through,
Had Christie Græme been at my back.

"Had I been led through Liddesdale,
And thirty horsemen guarding me,
And Christie Græme been at my back,165
Sae soon as he had set me free!

"I've lost my hopes, I've lost my joy,
I've lost the key but and the lock;
I durst hae ridden the world round,
Had Christie Græme been at my back."170

[15], Scott, Ye sent;

[16], Ye bought.

[22]. Newcastle C. B., and hay.

[41], 42.

Shall I venture my body in field to fight
With a man that's faith and troth to me?
N. C. B.

[107]-118. Instead of this passage, the Newcastle copy has the following stanzas:—

He flang his cloak from off his shoulders,
His psalm-book from his pouch flang he,
He clapped his hand upon the hedge,
And o'er lap he right wantonly.

When Graham did see his bully come,
The salt tears stood long in his ee;
"Now needs must I say thou art a man,
That dare venture thy body to fight with me.

"Nay, I have a harness on my back;
I know that thou hast none on thine;
But as little as thou hast on thy back,
As little shall there be on mine."

He flang his jacket from off his back,
His cap of steel from his head flang he;
He's taken his spear into his hand,
He's ty'd his horse unto a tree.

THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW.

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 94.

This fragment was obtained from recitation in Ettrick Forest, where it is said to refer to the execution of Cockburne, of Henderland, a freebooter, hanged by James V. over the gate of his own tower. There is another version in Johnson's Museum, (Oh Ono Chrio, p. 90,) which, Dr. Blacklock informed Burns, was composed on the massacre of Glencoe. But in fact, these verses seem to be, as Motherwell has remarked, only a portion (expanded, indeed,) of The Famous Flower of Serving Men: see vol. iv. p. 174.

There are some verbal differences between Scott's copy and the one in Chambers's Scottish Songs, i. 174.

My love he built me a bonny bower,
And clad it a' wi' lilye flour,
A brawer bower ye ne'er did see,
Than my true love he built for me.

There came a man, by middle day,5
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 sae dear;
He slew my knight, and poin'd his gear;10
My servants all for life did flee,
And left me in extremitie.

I sew'd his sheet, making my mane;
I watch'd the corpse, myself alane;
I watch'd his body, night and day;15
No living creature came that way.

I tuk his body on my back,
And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat;
I digg'd a grave, and laid him in,
And happ'd him with the sod sae green.20

But think na ye my heart was sair,
When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair;
O think na ye my heart was wae,
When I turn'd about, away to gae?

Nae living man I'll love again,25
Since that my lovely knight is slain;
Wi' ae lock of his yellow hair
I'll chain my heart for ever mair.

YOUNG WATERS.

First published on an octavo sheet, by Lady Jean Home, about the middle of the last century, and from this copy reprinted in Percy's Reliques, (ii. 227.) Buchan has a version (i. 15) twenty-five stanzas longer than the present, which is given in our Appendix. This ballad has been supposed to refer to the fate of the Earl of Murray, (see post, The Bonny Earl of Murray.) The additional circumstances furnished by Buchan's copy, however, have led Chambers to suggest that the unfortunate hero was Walter Stuart, second son of the Duke of Albany. In support of his conjecture, he adduces "the name, which may be a corruption of Walter; the mention of the Heading (beheading) Hill of Stirling, which is known to have been the very scene of Walter Stuart's execution; the relationship which Young Waters claims with the king; and the sympathy expressed by the people, in the last verse, for the fate of the young knight, which exactly tallies with what is told us by the Scottish historians, regarding the popular feeling expressed in favour of

the numerous nobles and princes of his own blood, whom the king saw it necessary to sacrifice." We do not consider these coincidences sufficient to establish the historical character of the piece.

About Zule, quhen the wind blew cule,
And the round tables began,
A'! there is cum to our kings court
Mony a well-favourd man.

The queen luikt owre the castle wa',5
Beheld baith dale and down,
And then she saw zoung Waters
Cum riding to the town.

His footmen they did rin before,
His horsemen rade behind;10
Ane mantel of the burning gowd
Did keip him frae the wind.

Gowden graith'd his horse before,
And siller shod behind;
The horse zoung Waters rade upon15
Was fleeter than the wind.

But then spake a wylie lord,
Unto the queen said he:
"O tell me quha's the fairest face

Rides in the company?"20

"I've sene lord, and I've sene laird,
And knights of high degree,
Bot a fairer face than zoung Waters
Mine eyne did never see."

Out then spaek the jealous king25
(And an angry man was he):
"O if he had been twice as fair,
Zou micht have excepted me."

"Zou're neither laird nor lord," she says,
"Bot the king that wears the crown;30
There is not a knight in fair Scotland,
Bot to thee maun bow down."

For a' that she could do or say,
Appeasd he wade nae bee;
Bot for the words which she had said,35
Zoung Waters he maun dee.

They hae taen zoung Waters, and
Put fetters to his feet;
They hae taen zoung Waters, and
Thrown him in dungeon deep.40

"Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town,
In the wind bot and the weit;
Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town
Wi' fetters at my feet.

"Aft have I ridden thro' Stirling town,45
In the wind bot and the rain;
Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town
Neir to return again."

They hae taen to the heiding-hill
His zoung son in his craddle;50
And they hae taen to the heiding-hill
His horse bot and his saddle.

They hae taen to the heiding-hill
His lady fair to see;
And for the words the queen had spoke55
Zoung Waters he did dee.

BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL.

Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 44.

This, says Motherwell, "is probably a lament for one of the adherents of the house of Argyle, who fell in the battle of Glenlivat, stricken on Thursday, the third day of October, 1594 years." It is printed, somewhat differently, in Smith's Scottish Minstrel, v. 42. Finlay gives eight lines of this ballad in the Preface to his first volume, p. xxxiii.

Hie upon Hielands,
And low upon Tay,
Bonnie George Campbell
Rade out on a day.
Saddled and bridled5
And gallant rade he;
Hame cam his gude horse,
But never cam he!

Out cam his auld mither

Greeting fu' sair,10
And out cam his bonnie bride
Rivin' her hair.
Saddled and bridled
And booted rade he;
Toom hame cam the saddle,15
But never cam he!

"My meadow lies green,
And my corn is unshorn;
My barn is to big,
And my babie's unborn."20
Saddled and bridled
And booted rade he;
Toom hame cam the saddle,
But never cam he!

LAMKIN.

The following is believed to be a correct account of the various printed forms of this extremely popular ballad. In the second edition of Herd's Scottish Songs (1776) appeared a fragment of eighteen stanzas, called Lammikin, embellished in a puerile style by some modern hand. Jamieson published the story in a complete and authentic shape in his Popular Ballads, in 1806. Finlay's collection (1808) furnishes us with two more copies, the first of which (ii. 47) is made up in part of Herd's fragment, and the second (ii. 57) taken from a MS. "written by an old lady." Another was given, from recitation, in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, (1827,) with the more intelligible title of Lambert Linkin. An English fragment, called Long Lonkin, taken down from the recitation of an old woman, is said to have been inserted by Miss Landon, in the Drawing-Room Scrap-Book, for 1837. This was republished in Richardson's Borderer's Table-Book, 1846, vol. viii. 410, and the editor of that miscellany, who ought to have learned to be skeptical in such matters, urges the circumstantial character of local tradition as strong evidence that the real scene of the cruel history was in Northumberland.

Lastly, we have to note a version resembling Motherwell's, styled Bold Rankin, printed in A New Book of Old Ballads, (p. 73,) and in Whitelaw's Book of Scottish Ballads, (p. 246,) and an imperfect ballad (Long Lankyn) in Notes and Queries, New Series, ii. 324.

We have printed Jamieson's, [Motherwell's], [the longer of Finlay's versions], and [the English fragment]: the last two in the Appendix. The following is from Jamieson's Popular Ballads, i. 176. "This piece was transmitted to the Editor by Mrs. Brown."

"O pay me now, Lord Wearie;
Come, pay me out o' hand."
"I canna pay you, Lamkin,
Unless I sell my land."

"O gin ye winna pay me,5
I here sall mak a vow,
Before that ye come hame again,
Ye sall ha'e cause to rue."

Lord Wearie got a bonny ship,
To sail the saut sea faem;10
Bade his lady weel the castle keep,
Ay till he should come hame.

But the nourice was a fause limmer
As e'er hung on a tree;
She laid a plot wi' Lamkin,15
Whan her lord was o'er the sea.

She laid a plot wi' Lamkin,
When the servants were awa';
Loot him in at a little shot window,
And brought him to the ha'.20

"O whare's a' the men o' this house,
That ca' me Lamkin?"
"They're at the barn well thrashing,
'Twill be lang ere they come in."

"And whare's the women o' this house,25
That ca' me Lamkin?"
"They're at the far well washing;
'Twill be lang ere they come in."

"And whare's the bairns o' this house,
That ca' me Lamkin?"30
"They're at the school reading;
'Twill be night or they come hame."

O whare's the lady o' this house,
That ca's me Lamkin?"
"She's up in her bower sewing,35
But we soon can bring her down."

Then Lamkin's tane a sharp knife,
That hang down by his gaire,
And he has gi'en the bonny babe

A deep wound and a sair.40

Then Lamkin he rocked,
And the fause nourice sang,
Till frae ilkae bore o' the cradle
The red blood out sprang.

Then out it spak the lady,45
As she stood on the stair,
"What ails my bairn, nourice,
That he's greeting sae sair?

"O still my bairn, nourice;
O still him wi' the pap!"50
"He winna still, lady,
For this, nor for that."

"O still my bairn, nourice;
"O still him wi' the wand!"
"He winna still, lady,55
For a' his father's land."

"O still my bairn, nourice,
O still him wi' the bell!"
"He winna still, lady,
Till ye come down yoursel."60

O the firsten step she steppit,
She steppit on a stane;
But the neisten step she steppit,
She met him, Lamkin.

"O mercy, mercy, Lamkin!65
Ha'e mercy upon me!
Though you've ta'en my young son's life,
Ye may let mysel be."

"O sall I kill her, nourice?
Or sall I lat her be?"70
"O kill her, kill her, Lamkin,
For she ne'er was good to me."

"O scour the bason, nourice,
And mak it fair and clean,
For to keep this lady's heart's blood,75
For she's come o' noble kin."

"There need nae bason, Lamkin;
Lat it run through the floor;
What better is the heart's blood
O' the rich than o' the poor?"80

But ere three months were at an end,
Lord Wearie came again;
But dowie dowie was his heart
When first he came hame.

"O wha's blood is this," he says,85
"That lies in the châmer?"
"It is your lady's heart's blood;
'Tis as clear as the lamer."

"And wha's blood is this," he says,
"That lies in my ha'?"90
"It is your young son's heart's blood;
'Tis the clearest ava."

O sweetly sang the black-bird
That sat upon the tree;
But sairer grat Lamkin,95
When he was condemn'd to die.

And bonny sang the mavis
Out o' the thorny brake;
But sairer grat the nourice,
When she was tied to the stake.100

LAMBERT LINKIN.

"The present copy is given from recitation, and though it could have received additions, and perhaps improvements, from another copy, obtained from a similar source, and of equal authenticity, in his possession, the Editor did not like to use a liberty which is liable to much abuse. To some, the present set of the ballad may be valuable, as handing down both name and nickname of the revengeful builder of Prime Castle; for there can be little doubt that the epithet Linkin Mr. Lambert acquired from the secrecy and address with which he insinuated himself into that notable strength. Indeed, all the names of Lammerlinkin, Lammikin, Lamkin, Lankin, Linkin, Belinkin, can easily be traced out as abbreviations of Lambert Linkin. In the present set of the ballad, Lambert Linkin and Belinkin are used indifferently, as the measure of the verse may require; in the other recited copy, to which reference has been made, it is Lammerlinkin and Lamkin; and the nobleman for whom he "built a house" is stated to be "Lord Arran." No allusion, however, is made here to the name of the

owner of Prime Castle. Antiquaries, peradventure, may find it as difficult to settle the precise locality of this fortalice, as they have found it to fix the topography of Troy." Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 291.

In Finlay's second copy, the murderer's name is Balcanqual, "which," observes the editor, "is an ancient Scottish surname, and is sometimes corrupted, for the more agreeable sound, into Beluncan." It is more likely that Belinkin has suggested Balcanqual, than that Balcanqual has been corrupted into Lamkin.

Belinkin was as gude a mason
As e'er pickt a stane;
He built up Prime Castle,
But payment gat nane.

The lord said to his lady,5
When he was going abroad,
"O beware of Belinkin,
For he lyes in the wood."

The gates they were bolted,
Baith outside and in;10
At the sma' peep of a window
Belinkin crap in.

"Gude morrow, gude morrow,"
Said Lambert Linkin.
"Gude morrow to yoursell, sir,"15
Said the fause nurse to him.

"O whare is your gude lord?"
Said Lambert Linkin.
"He's awa to New England,
To meet with his king."20

"O where is his auld son?"
Said Lambert Linkin.
"He's awa to buy pearlings,
Gin our lady ly in."

"Then she'll never wear them,"25
Said Lambert Linkin.
"And that is nae pity,"
Said the fause nurse to him.

"O where is your lady?"
Said Lambert Linkin.30
"She's in her bouir sleepin',"
Said the fause nurse to him.

"How can we get at her?"
Said Lambert Linkin.
"Stab the babe to the heart35
Wi' a silver bo'kin."

"That wud be a pity,"
Said Lambert Linkin.
"Nae pity, nae pity,"

Said the fause nurse to him.40

Belinkin he rocked,
And the fause nurse she sang,
Till a' the [tores] o' the cradle
Wi' the red blude down ran.

"O still my babe, nurice,45
O still him wi' the knife."
"He'll no be still, lady,
Tho' I lay down my life."

"O still my babe, nurice,
O still him wi' the kame."50
"He'll no be still, lady,
Till his daddy come hame."

"O still my babe, nurice,
O still him wi' the bell."
"He'll no be still, lady,55
Till ye come down yoursell."

"It's how can I come doun,
This cauld frosty nicht,
Without e'er a coal

Or a clear candle licht?"60

"There's twa smocks in your coffer,
As white as a swan;
Put ane o' them about you,
It will shew you licht doun."

She took ane o' them about her,65
And came tripping doun;
But as soon as she viewed,
Belinkin was in.

"Gude morrow, gude morrow,"
Said Lambert Linkin.70
"Gude morrow to yoursell, sir,"
Said the lady to him.

"O save my life, Belinkin,
Till my husband come back,
And I'll gie ye as much red gold75
As ye'll haud in your hat."

"I'll not save your life, lady,
Till your husband come back,
Tho' you wud gie me as much red gold
As I could haud in a sack.80

"Will I kill her?" quo' Belinkin,
"Will I kill her, or let her be?"
"You may kill her," said the fause nurse,
"She was ne'er gude to me;

And ye'll be laird o' the Castle,85
And I'll be ladye."

Then he cut aff her head
Fra her lily breast bane,
And he hung 't up in the kitchen,
It made a' the ha' shine.90

The lord sat in England
A-drinking the wine:
"I wish a' may be weel
Wi' my lady at hame;
For the rings o' my fingers95
They're now burst in twain!"

He saddled his horse,
And he came riding doun;
But as soon as he viewed,
Belinkin was in.100

He hadna weel stepped
Twa steps up the stair,
Till he saw his pretty young son
Lying dead on the floor.

He hadna weel stepped105
Other twa up the stair,
Till he saw his pretty lady
Lying dead in despair.

He hanged Belinkin
Out over the gate;110
And he burnt the fause nurice,
Being under the grate.

[43]. Tores. The projections or knobs at the corners of old-fashioned cradles, and the ornamented balls commonly found surmounting the backs of old chairs. Motherwell.

THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN.

Jamieson and [Kinloch] have each published a highly dramatic fragment of this terrible story. Both of these are here given, and in the Appendix may be seen [Buchan's] more extensive, but far less poetical version. With this last, we have printed Mr. Chambers's account of the events on which these ballads are founded.

Jamieson's copy was taken down by Sir Walter Scott, from the recitation of his mother. Popular Ballads, i. 109.

Down by yon garden green
Sae merrily as she gaes;
She has twa weel-made feet,
And she trips upon her taes.

She has twa weel-made feet;5
Far better is her hand;
She's as jimp in the middle
As ony willow-wand.

"Gif ye will do my bidding,
At my bidding for to be,10
It's I will make you lady
Of a' the lands you see."

* * * * * * *

He spak a word in jest;
Her answer wasna good;
He threw a plate at her face,15
Made it a' gush out o' blood.

She wasna frae her chamber
A step but barely three,
When up and at her richt hand
There stood Man's Enemy.20

"Gif ye will do my bidding,
At my bidding for to be;
I'll learn you a wile
Avenged for to be."

The Foul Thief knotted the tether;25
She lifted his head on hie;
The nourice drew the knot
That gar'd lord Waristoun die.

Then word is gane to Leith,
Also to Edinburgh town,30
That the lady had kill'd the laird,
The laird o' Waristoun.

* * * * * * *

"Tak aff, tak aff my hood,
But lat my petticoat be;
Put my mantle o'er my head;35
For the fire I downa see.

"Now, a' ye gentle maids,
Tak warning now by me,
And never marry ane
But wha pleases your e'e.40

"For he married me for love,
But I married him for fee;
And sae brak out the feud
That gar'd my dearie die."

LAIRD OF WARIESTOUN.

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 53.

It was at dinner as they sat,
And when they drank the wine,
How happy were the laird and lady
Of bonnie Wariestoun.

The lady spak but ae word,5
The matter to conclude;
The laird strak her on the mouth,
Till she spat out o' blude.

She did not know the way
Her mind to satisfy,10
Till evil cam into her head
All by the Enemy.

* * * * * * *

"At evening when ye sit
And when ye drink the wine,
See that ye fill the glass well up15
To the laird o' Wariestoun."

* * * * * * *

So at table as they sat,
And when they drank the wine,
She made the glass aft gae round
To the laird o' Wariestoun.20

The nurice she knet the knot,
And O she knet it sicker;
The ladie did gie it a twig,
Till it began to wicker.

But word has gane doun to Leith,25
And up to Embro toun,
That the lady she has slain the laird,
The laird o' Wariestoun.

Word's gane to her father, the great Duniepace,
And an angry man was he;30
Cries, "Fy! gar mak a barrel o' pikes,
And row her doun some brae."

She said, "Wae be to ye, Wariestoun,
I wish ye may sink for ain;
For I hae been your gudwife35
These nine years, running ten;

And I never loved ye sae weill
As now when you're lying slain."

* * * * * * *

"But tak aff this gowd brocade,
And let my petticoat be,40
And tie a handkerchief round my face,
That the people may not see."

THE QUEEN'S MARIE.

Of this affecting ballad different editions have appeared in Scott's Minstrelsy, Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 18, Kinloch's Scottish Ballads, and Motherwell's Minstrelsy. There is also a fragment in Maidment's North Countrie Garland, which has been reprinted in Buchan's Gleanings, p. 164, and a very inferior version, with a different catastrophe, in Buchan's larger collection, (ii. 190,) called Warenston and the Duke of York's Daughter. [Kinloch's copy] may be found with [Maidment's fragment], in the Appendix to this volume: [Motherwell's] immediately after the present.

Sir Walter Scott conceives the ballad to have had its foundation in an event which took place early in the reign of Mary Stuart, described by Knox as follows: "In the very time of the General Assembly, there comes to public knowledge a haynous murther, committed in the court; yea, not far from the Queen's lap; for a French woman, that served in the Queen's chamber, had played the whore with the Queen's own apothecary. The woman conceived and bare a childe, whom, with common consent, the father and mother murthered; yet were the cries of a new

-borne childe hearde, searche was made, the childe and the mother were both apprehended, and so were the man and the woman condemned to be hanged in the publicke street of Edinburgh. The punishment was suitable, because the crime was haynous. But yet was not the court purged of whores and whoredoms, which was the fountaine of such enormities: for it was well known that shame hasted marriage betwixt John Sempill, called the Dancer, and Mary Levingston, sirnamed the Lusty. What bruit the Maries, and the rest of the dancers of the court had, the ballads of that age doe witnesse, which we for modestie's sake omit. Knox's History of the Reformation, p. 373.

"Such," Sir Walter goes on to say, "seems to be the subject of the following ballad, as narrated by the stern apostle of Presbytery. It will readily strike the reader, that the tale has suffered great alterations, as handed down by tradition; the French waiting woman being changed into Mary Hamilton, and the Queen's apothecary into Henry Darnley. Yet this is less surprising, when we recollect, that one of the heaviest of the Queen's complaints against her ill-fated husband, was his infidelity, and that even with her personal attendants."

Satisfactorily as the circumstances of Knox's story may agree with those of the ballads, a coincidence no less striking, and extending even to the name, is presented by an incident which occurred at the court of Peter the Great. "During the reign of the Czar Peter," observes Mr. C. K. Sharpe, "one of his Empress's attendants, a Miss Hamilton, was executed for the murder of a natural child,—not her first crime in that way, as was suspected; and the Emperor, whose admiration of her beauty did not preserve her life,

stood upon the scaffold till her head was struck off, which he lifted by the ears and kissed on the lips. I cannot help thinking that the two stories have been confused in the ballad; for, if Marie Hamilton was executed in Scotland, it is not likely that her relations resided beyond seas; and we have no proof that Hamilton was really the name of the woman who made the slip with the Queen's apothecary."

Scott's edition of Mary Hamilton, (the first ever published,) was made up by him, from various copies. See Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 294.

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

Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,5
Wi' ribbons on her breast;
The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,
Than he listen'd to the priest.

Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,
Wi' gloves upon her hands;10
The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,
Than the Queen and a' her lands.

She hadna been about the King's court
A month, but barely one,
Till she was beloved by a' the King's court,15
And the King the only man.

She hadna been about the King's court
A month, but barely three,
Till frae the King's court Marie Hamilton,
Marie Hamilton durstna be.20

The King is to the Abbey gane,
To pu' the Abbey tree,
To scale the babe frae Marie's heart;
But the thing it wadna be.

O she has row'd it in her apron,25
And set it on the sea,—
"Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe,
Ye's get nae mair o' me."—

Word is to the kitchen gane,
And word is to the ha',30
And word is to the noble room,
Amang the ladyes a',
That Marie Hamilton's brought to bed,
And the bonny babe's mist and awa'.

Scarcely had she lain down again,35
And scarcely fa'en asleep,
When up then started our gude Queen,
Just at her bed-feet;
Saying—"Marie Hamilton, where's your babe?
For I am sure I heard it greet."—40

"O no, O no, my noble Queen!
Think no such thing to be;

'Twas but a stitch into my side,
And sair it troubles me."—

"Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton:45
Get up and follow me;
For I am going to Edinburgh town,
A rich wedding for to see."—

O slowly, slowly raise she up,
And slowly put she on;50
And slowly rode she out the way,
Wi' mony a weary groan.

The Queen was clad in scarlet,
Her merry maids all in green;
And every town that they cam to,55
They took Marie for the Queen.

"Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen,
Ride hooly now wi' me!
For never, I am sure, a wearier burd
Rade in your cumpanie."—60

But little wist Marie Hamilton,
When she rade on the brown,
That she was ga'en to Edinburgh town,
And a' to be put down.

"Why weep ye so, ye burgess wives,65
Why look ye so on me?
O I am going to Edinburgh town,
A rich wedding for to see."

—

When she gaed up the tolbooth stairs,
The corks frae her heels did flee;70
And lang or e'er she cam down again,
She was condemn'd to die.

When she cam to [the Netherbow port],
She laughed loud laughters three;
But when she cam to the gallows foot,75
The tears blinded her ee.

[ "Yestreen the Queen had four Maries,
The night she'll hae but three;
There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaton,
And Marie Carmichael, and me.80]

"O often have I dress'd my Queen,
And put gold upon her hair;
But now I've gotten for my reward
The gallows to be my share.

"Often have I dress'd my Queen,85
And often made her bed;
But now I've gotten for my reward
The gallows tree to tread.

"I charge ye all, ye mariners,
When ye sail ower the faem,90
Let neither my father nor mother get wit,
But that I'm coming hame.

"I charge ye all, ye mariners,
That sail upon the sea,
Let neither my father nor mother get wit95
This dog's death I'm to die.

"For if my father and mother got wit,
And my bold brethren three,
O mickle wad be the gude red blude
This day wad be spilt for me!100

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

[73]. The Netherbow port was the gate which divided the city of Edinburgh from the suburb, called the Canongate. S.

[80]. The Queen's Maries were four young ladies of the highest families in Scotland, who were sent to France in her train, and returned with her to Scotland. Keith gives us their names, p. 55. "The young Queen, Mary, embarked at Dunbarton for France, ... and with her went ... and four young virgins, all of the name of Mary, viz. Livingston, Fleming, Seatoun, and Beatoun." Neither Mary Livingston, nor Mary Fleming, are mentioned in the ballad; nor are the Mary Hamilton, and Mary Carmichael, of the ballad, mentioned by Keith. But if this corps continued to consist of young virgins, as when originally raised, it could hardly have subsisted without occasional recruits; especially if we trust our old bard, and John Knox.

The Queen's Maries are mentioned in many ballads, and the name seems to have passed into a general denomination for female attendants.—Scott.

MARY HAMILTON.

From Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 311.

"In this set of the ballad, from its direct allusion to the use of the Savin-tree, a clue is, perhaps, afforded for tracing how the poor mediciner mentioned by Knox should be implicated in the crime of Mary Hamilton. It may also be noted as a feature in this version of the ballad, which does not occur in any heretofore printed, the unfortunate heroine's proud and indignant spurning at life after her character had been tainted by the infamy of a sentence of condemnation. In another copy of the ballad, also obtained from recitation, this sentiment is, perhaps, still more forcibly expressed; at any rate, it is more appropriate as being addressed to the King. The whole concluding verses of this copy, differing as they somewhat do from the version adopted for a text, it has been thought worth while to preserve.

"But bring to me a cup," she says,
"A cup bot and a can,
And I will drink to all my friends,
And they'll drink to me again.
Here's to you, all travellers,
Who travel by land or sea;
Let na wit to my father nor mother
The death that I must die.
Here's to you, all travellers,

That travel on dry land;
Let na wit to my father or mother
But I am coming hame.
O little did my mother think,
First time she cradled me,
What land I was to travel on,
Or what death I would die.
O little did my mother think,
First time she tied my head,
What land I was to tread upon,
Or whare I would win my bread.
Yestreen Queen Mary had four Maries;
This night she'll hae but three;
She had Mary Seaton, and Mary Beaton,
And Mary Carmichael, and me.
Yestreen I wush Queen Mary's feet,
And bore her till her bed;
This day she's given me my reward,
The gallows tree to tread.
Cast aff, cast aff my gown," she said,
"But let my petticoat be;
And tye a napkin on my face,
For that gallows I downa see."
By and cam the King himsell,
Look'd up wi' a pitiful ee:
"Come down, come down, Mary Hamilton;
This day thou wilt dine with me."
"Hold your tongue, my sovereign liege,
And let your folly be;
An ye had had a mind to save my life,
Ye should na hae shamed me here!"

"The copy of the ballad from which the above extract is given, begins with this verse:

"There were three ladies, they lived in a bower,
And O but they were fair;
The youngest o' them is to the King's court,
To learn some unco lair."

"There is another version in which the heroine is named Mary Myles, or Myle; but Myle is probably a corruption of the epithet 'mild,' which occurs in the fragment given in the North Countrie Garland." Motherwell.

There lived a knight into the North,
And he had daughters three:
The ane of them was a barber's wife,
The other a gay ladie;

And the youngest o' them to Scotland is gane5
The Queen's Mary to be;
And for a' that they could say or do,
Forbidden she wouldna be.

The prince's bed it was sae saft,
The spices they were sae fine,10
That out of it she could not lye
While she was scarce fifteen.

She's gane to the garden gay
To pu' of the savin tree;
But for a' that she could say or do,15
The babie it would not die.

She's rowed it in her handkerchief,
She threw it in the sea:
Says,—"Sink ye, swim ye, my bonnie babe,

For ye'll get nae mair of me."20

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

"O hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame,25
Let all those words go free;
It was mysell wi' a fit o' the sair colic,
I was sick just like to die."

"O hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton,
Let all those words go free;30
O where is the little babie
That I heard weep by thee?"

"I rowed it in my handkerchief,
And threw it in the sea;
I bade it sink, I bade it swim,35
It would get nae mair o' me."

"O wae be to thee, Mary Hamilton,
And an ill deid may you die;
For if you had saved the babie's life,
It might hae been an honour to thee.40

"Busk ye, busk ye, Mary Hamilton,
O busk ye to be a bride;
For I am going to Edinburgh town
Your gay wedding to bide.

"You must not put on your robes of black,45
Nor yet your robes of brown;
But you must put on your yellow gold stuffs,
To shine thro' Edinburgh town."

"I will not put on my robes of black,
Nor yet my robes of brown;50
But I will put on my yellow gold stuffs,
To shine thro' Edinburgh town."

As she went up the Parliament Close,
A riding on her horse,
There she saw many a burgess' lady55
Sit greeting at the cross.

"O what means a' this greeting?
I'm sure it's nae for me;
For I'm come this day to Edinburgh town,
Weel wedded for to be."60

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

"O little did my mother think,65
The day she prinned my gown,
That I was to come sae far frae hame
To be hanged in Edinburgh town.

"O what'll my poor father think,
As he comes through the town,70
To see the face of his Molly fair
Hanging on the gallows pin?

"Here's a health to the mariners
That plough the raging main;
Let neither my mother nor father ken75
But I'm coming hame again.

"Here's a health to the sailors
That sail upon the sea;
Let neither my mother nor father ken
That I came here to die.80

"Yestreen the Queen had four Maries,
This night she'll hae but three;
There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton,
And Mary Carmichael and me."

"O hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton,85
Let all those words go free;
This night ere ye be hanged
Ye shall gang hame wi' me."

"O hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame,
Let all those words go free;90
Since I have come to Edinburgh town,
It's hanged I shall be;
For it shall ne'er be said that in your court
I was condemned to die."

BESSIE BELL AND MARY GRAY.

From Lyle's Ancient Ballads and Songs, p. 160, where it was printed as collated "from the singing of two aged persons, one of them a native of Perthshire." There are two versions slightly differing from the present;—one in Cunningham's Songs of Scotland, iii. 60, obtained from Sir Walter Scott, and another in Mr. Kirkpatrick Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 62.

Allan Ramsay wrote a song with the same title, beginning with the first stanza of the ballad, (Tea Table Miscellany, i. 70.)

The story of the unfortunate heroines is thus given by Chambers: "Bessie Bell and Mary Gray were the daughters of two country gentlemen in the neighborhood of Perth; and an intimate friendship subsisted between them. Bessie Bell, daughter of the Laird of Kinnaird, happening to be on a visit to Mary Gray, at her father's house of Lynedoch, when the plague of 1666 broke out, to avoid the infection, the two young ladies built themselves a bower in a very retired and romantic spot, called the Burn-braes, about three quarters of a mile westward from Lynedoch House; where they resided for some time, supplied with food, it is

said, by a young gentleman of Perth, who was in love with them both. The disease was unfortunately communicated to them by their lover, and proved fatal; when, according to custom in cases of the plague, they were not buried in the ordinary parochial place of sepulture, but in a sequestered spot, called the Dronach Haugh, at the foot of a brae of the same name, upon the banks of the River Almond."

O Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray,
They were twa bonnie lassies;
They biggit a house on yon burn-brae,
An' theekit it o'er wi' rashes.

They theekit it o'er wi' birk and brume,5
They theekit it o'er wi' heather,
Till the pest cam frae the neib'rin town
An' streekit them baith thegither.

They were na' buried in Meffen kirk-yard,
Amang the rest o' their kin;10
But they were buried by Dornoch haugh,
On the bent before the sun.

Sing, Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray,
They were twa bonnie lasses,
Wha' biggit a bower on yon burn-brae,15
An' theekit it o'er wi' thrashes.

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.

The Children in the Wood is perhaps the most popular of all English ballads. Its merit is attested by the favor it has enjoyed with so many generations, and was vindicated to a cold and artificial age by the kindly pen of Addison. The editor of the Reliques thought that the subject was taken from an old play, published in 1601, "of a young child murthered in a wood by two ruffins, with the consent of his unkle," but Ritson discovered that the ballad was entered in the Stationers' Registers in 1595. The plot of the play was undoubtedly derived from the Italian, and the author of the ballad may have taken a hint from the same source.

Percy's edition, (Reliques, iii. 218,) which we have adopted, was printed from two old copies, one of them in black-letter, in the Pepys collection. The full title is, The Children in the Wood, or, The Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament. To the Tune of Rogero, &c. Copies slightly varying from Percy's may be seen in A Collection of Old Ballads, (1723,) i. 221; Ritson's Ancient Songs, ii. 150; The Book of British Ballads, p. 13; and Moore's Pictorial Book of Ancient Ballad Poetry, p. 263.

Now ponder well, you parents deare,
These wordes which I shall write;
A doleful story you shall heare,
In time brought forth to light.
A gentleman of good account5
In Norfolke dwelt of late,
Who did in honour far surmount
Most men of his estate.

Sore sicke he was, and like to dye,
No helpe his life could save;10
His wife by him as sicke did lye,
And both possest one grave.
No love between these two was lost,
Each was to other kinde;
In love they liv'd, in love they dyed,15
And left two babes behinde:

The one a fine and pretty boy,
Not passing three yeares olde;
The other a girl more young than he,
And fram'd in beautyes molde.20
The father left his little son,
As plainlye doth appeare,
When he to perfect age should come,
Three hundred poundes a yeare.

And to his little daughter Jane25
Five hundred poundes in gold,

To be paid downe on marriage-day,
Which might not be controll'd:
But if the children chance to dye,
Ere they to age should come,30
Their uncle should possesse their wealth;
For so the wille did run.

"Now, brother," said the dying man,
"Look to my children deare;
Be good unto my boy and girl,35
No friendes else have they here:
To God and you I recommend
My children deare this daye;
But little while be sure we have
Within this world to staye.40

"You must be father and mother both,
And uncle all in one;
God knowes what will become of them,
When I am dead and gone."
With that bespake their mother deare,45
"O brother kinde," quoth shee,
"You are the man must bring our babes
To wealth or miserie:

"And if you keep them carefully,
Then God will you reward;50
But if you otherwise should deal,
God will your deedes regard."

With lippes as cold as any stone,
They kist their children small:
"God bless you both, my children deare;"55
With that the teares did fall.

These speeches then their brother spake
To this sicke couple there:
"The keeping of your little ones,
Sweet sister, do not feare.60
God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children deare,
When you are layd in grave."

The parents being dead and gone,65
The children home he takes,
And bringes them straite unto his house,
Where much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes
A twelvemonth and a daye,70
But, for their wealth, he did devise
To make them both awaye.

He bargain'd with two ruffians strong,
Which were of furious mood,
That they should take these children young,75
And slaye them in a wood.
He told his wife an artful tale.
He would the children send

To be brought up in faire London,
With one that was his friend.80

Away then went those pretty babes,
Rejoycing at that tide,
Rejoycing with a merry minde,
They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly,85
As they rode on the waye,
To those that should their butchers be,
And work their lives decaye:

So that the pretty speeche they had,
Made Murder's heart relent:90
And they that undertooke the deed,
Full sore did now repent.
Yet one of them more hard of heart,
Did vowe to do his charge,
Because the wretch, that hired him,95
Had paid him very large.

The other won't agree thereto,
So here they fall to strife;
With one another they did fight,
About the childrens life:100
And he that was of mildest mood,
Did slaye the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood;
The babes did quake for feare!

He took the children by the hand,105
Teares standing in their eye,
And bad them straitwaye follow him,
And look they did not crye:
And two long miles he ledd them on,
While they for food complaine:110
"Staye here," quoth he, "I'll bring you bread,
When I come back againe."

These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
Went wandering up and downe;
But never more could see the man115
Approaching from the towne:
Their prettye lippes with blackberries,
Were all besmear'd and dyed,
And when they sawe the darksome night,
They sat them downe and cryed.120

Thus wandered these poor innocents,
Till deathe did end their grief,
In one anothers armes they died,
As wanting due relief:
No burial [this pretty pair]125
Of any man receives,
Till Robin-red-breast piously
Did cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrathe of God

Upon their uncle fell;130
Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt an hell;
His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd,
His landes were barren made,
His cattle dyed within the field,135
And nothing with him stayd.

And in [the voyage of Portugal]
Two of his sonnes did dye;
And to conclude, himselfe was brought
To want and miserye:140
He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven years came about,
And now at length this wicked act
Did by this meanes come out:

The fellowe, that did take in hand145
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judg'd to dye,
Such was God's blessed will:
Who did confess the very truth,
As here hath been display'd:150
Their uncle having dyed in gaol,
Where he for debt was layd.

You that executors be made,
And overseers eke

Of children that be fatherless,155
And infants mild and meek;
Take you example by this thing,
And yield to each his right,
Lest God with such like miserye
Your wicked minds requite.

[125], these ... babes, PP.

[137]. "A. D. 1588. Dr. Percy, not knowing that the text alludes to a particular event, has altered it to a voyage to Portugal." Ritson.

HUGH OF LINCOLN.

In the year 1255, we are told by Matthew Paris, in his account of the reign of Henry III., the Jews of Lincoln stole a boy, named Hugh, of the age of eight years, whom, after torturing for ten days, they crucified before a large council of their people, in contempt of the death of the founder of Christianity. The boy was sought by his mother in the house of a Jew, which he had been seen to enter, and his body was found in a pit. The occupant of the house being seized, acknowledged the crime, and avowed, besides, that the like was committed nearly every year by his nation. Notwithstanding the promise of impunity by which this confession had been obtained, the wretch who made it was tied to the tail of a horse and dragged to the gallows, and after a judicial investigation, eighteen of the richest and most distinguished Jews in Lincoln were hanged for participation in the murder, while many more were detained as prisoners in the Tower of London. On the other hand, the body of the child was buried with the honors of a martyr in Lincoln Cathedral, where a construction, assumed without reason to be his tomb, is still shown. The remains of a young person, found near this spot in 1791, were at once taken for granted to be those of

the sainted infant, and drawings were made of the relics, which may be seen among the works of the artist Grimm in the British Museum.

Several stories of the same tenor are reported by the English chroniclers. It may be doubted whether there is a grain of truth in any of them, although it would be no wonder if the atrocious injuries inflicted on the Jews should, in an instance or two, have provoked a bloody retaliation, even from that tribe whose badge has always been sufferance. The annual sacrifice of a Christian child, in mockery of the crucifixion of Jesus, is on a par for credibility with the miracles which are said to have followed the death of those innocents.

The exquisite tale which Chaucer has put into the mouth of the Prioress exhibits nearly the same incidents as the following ballad. The legend of Hugh of Lincoln was widely famous. Michel has published an Anglo-Norman ballad, (Hugo de Lincolnia,) on the subject, which appears to be almost contemporary with the event recorded by Matthew Paris, and is certainly of the times of Henry III. The versions of the English ballad are quite numerous. We give here those of Percy, Herd, and Jamieson, and two others in the Appendix. Besides these, fragments have been printed in Sir Egerton Brydges's Restituta, i. 381, Halliwell's Ballads and Poems respecting Hugh of Lincoln, (1849,) and in Notes and Queries, vol. viii. 614, ix. 320, xii. 496. The most complete of all the versions is to be found in the new edition of the Musical Museum, vol. iv. p. 500; but that copy is evidently made up from others previously published. See, for a collection of most of the poetry, and of much

curious information on the imputed cruelties of the Jews, Michel's Hugues de Lincoln, and Hume's Sir Hugh of Lincoln. The whole subject is critically examined in the London Athenæum for Dec. 15, 1849.

"The text of the following edition has been given verbatim, as the editor took it down from Mrs. Brown's recitation; and in it two circumstances are preserved, which are neither to be found in any of the former editions, nor in any of the chronicles in which the transaction is recorded; but which are perfectly in the character of those times, and tend to enhance the miracles to which the discovery is attributed. The first of these is, that, in order that the whole of this infamous sacrifice might be of a piece, and every possible outrage shown to Christianity, the Jews threw the child's body into a well dedicated to the Virgin Mary; and tradition says, that it was 'through the might of Our Ladie,' that the dead body was permitted to speak, and to reveal the horrid story to the disconsolate mother. The other is, the voluntary ringing of the bells, &c., at his funeral. The sound of consecrated bells was supposed to have a powerful effect in driving away evil spirits, appeasing storms, &c., and they were believed to be inspired with sentiments and perceptions which were often manifested in a very miraculous manner." Jamieson's Popular Ballads, i. 139-156.

Four and twenty bonny boys
Were playing at the ba';
And by it came him, sweet Sir Hugh,
And he play'd o'er them a'.

He kick'd the ba' with his right foot,5
And catch'd it wi' his knee;
And throuch-and-thro' the Jew's window,
He gar'd the bonny ba' flee.

He's doen him to the Jew's castell,
And walk'd it round about;10
And there he saw the Jew's daughter
At the window looking out.

"Throw down the ba', ye Jew's daughter,
Throw down the ba' to me!"
"Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter,15
"Till up to me come ye."

"How will I come up? How can I come up?
How can I come to thee?
For as ye did to my auld father,
The same ye'll do to me."20

She's gane till her father's garden,
And pu'd an apple, red and green;
'Twas a' to wyle him, sweet Sir Hugh,
And to entice him in.

She's led him in through ae dark door,25
And sae has she thro' nine;
She's laid him on a dressing table,
And stickit him like a swine.

And first came out the thick, thick blood,
And syne came out the thin;30
And syne came out the bonny heart's blood;
There was nae mair within.

She's row'd him in a cake o' lead,
Bade him lie still and sleep;
She's thrown him in Our Lady's draw well,35
Was fifty fathom deep.

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' the bairns came hame,
When every lady gat hame her son,
The Lady Maisry gat nane.40

She's ta'en her mantle her about,
Her coffer by the hand;
And she's gane out to seek her son,
And wander'd o'er the land.

She's doen her to the Jew's castell,45
Where a' were fast asleep;
"Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak."

She's doen her to the Jew's garden,
Thought he had been gathering fruit;50
"Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak."

She near'd Our Lady's deep draw-well,
Was fifty fathom deep;
"Whare'er ye be, my sweet Sir Hugh,55
I pray you to me speak."

"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear;
Prepare my winding sheet;
And, at the back o' merry Lincoln,
The morn I will you meet."60

Now Lady Maisry is 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,65
Without men's hands were rung;
And a' the books o' merry Lincoln,
Were read without man's tongue;
And ne'er was such a burial
Sin Adam's days begun.70

SIR HUGH.

From Herd's Scottish Songs, i. 157.

A' the boys of merry Linkim
War playing at the ba',
An up it stands him sweet Sir Hugh,
The flower among them a'.

He keppit the ba' than wi' his foot,5
And catcht it wi' his knee,
And 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."10
"Ah never a bit of it," she says,
"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,15
Without my bonny boys a'."

"Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh,
Come up and speak to me;"
"I mayna come, I winna come,
Without my bonny boys three."20

She's taen her to the Jew's garden,
Whar 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,25
She's wyled him in through twa,
She's wyled him in till her ain chamber,
The flower out owr them a'.

She's laid him on a dressin board,
Whar she did often dine;30
She stack a penknife to his heart,
And dress'd him like a swine.

She row'd him in a cake of lead,
Bade him ly still and sleep,
She threw him i' the Jew's draw-well,35
It was fifty fathom deep.

Whan bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' man bound to bed,
Every lady got home her son,
But sweet Sir Hugh was dead.

THE JEW'S DAUGHTER.

From Percy's Reliques, i. 40; printed from a manuscript copy sent from Scotland.

Mirryland toune is a corruption of Merry Lincoln, and not, as Percy conjectured, of Mailand (Milan) town. In Motherwell's copy we have Maitland town.

The rain rins doun through Mirry-land toune,
Sae dois it doune the Pa:
Sae dois the lads of Mirry-land toune,
Quhan they play at the ba'.

Than out and cam the Jewis dochter,5
Said, "Will ye cum in and dine?"
"I winnae cum in, I cannae cum in,
Without my play-feres nine."

Scho powd an apple reid and white,
To intice the zong thing in:10
Scho powd an apple white and reid,
And that the sweit bairne did win.

And scho has taine out a little pen-knife,
And low down by her gair;
Scho has twin'd the zong thing and his life;15
A word he nevir spak mair.

And out and cam the thick thick bluid,
And out and cam the thin;
And out and cam the bonny herts bluid:
Thair was nae life left in.20

Scho laid him on a dressing borde,
And drest him like a swine,
And laughing said, "Gae nou and pley
With zour sweit play-feres nine."

Scho rowd him in a cake of lead,25
Bade him lie stil and sleip;
Scho cast him in a deip draw-well,
Was fifty fadom deip.

Quhan bells wer rung, and mass was sung,
And every lady went hame,30
Then ilka lady had her zong sonne,
Bot Lady Helen had nane.

Scho rowd hir mantil hir about,
And sair sair gan she weip,
And she ran into the Jewis castèl,35
Quhan they wer all asleip.

"My bonny Sir Hew, my pretty Sir Hew,
I pray thee to me speik:"
"O lady, rinn to the deip draw-well,
Gin ze zour sonne wad seik."40

Lady Helen ran to the deip draw-well,
And knelt upon her kne:
"My bonny Sir Hew, and ze be here,
I pray thee speik to me."

"The lead is wondrous heavy, mither,45
The well is wondrous deip;
A keen pen-knife sticks in my hert,
A word I dounae speik.

"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither deir,
Fetch me my windling sheet,50
And at the back o' Mirry-land toun,
Its thair we twa sall meet."

SIR PATRICK SPENCE.

From Percy's Reliques, i. 81.

The event upon which this ballad is founded, if it has been rightly ascertained, belongs to a remote period in Scottish history. Margaret, the daughter of Alexander III., was, in the year 1281, betrothed to Eric, prince of Norway. The bride was conducted to her husband by a splendid convoy of knights and nobles, and in the month of August was crowned queen. In returning from the celebration of the nuptials, many of the Scottish escort were lost at sea, and among those who perished was Sir Patrick Spence, we are to suppose.

It is in conformity with this view of the origin of the ballad, (the suggestion of Motherwell,) that in Buchan's version the object of the voyage is said to be to take the king's daughter, now "a chosen queen," to Norway. In Scott's edition, on the other hand, Sir Patrick is deputed to bring home the king of Norway's daughter. To explain this circumstance in the story, Sir Walter is forced to suppose that an unsuccessful and unrecorded embassy was sent, when the death of Alexander III. had left the Scottish throne vacant, to bring the only daughter of Eric and Margaret, styled by historians the Maid of Norway, to the kingdom of which, after her grandfather's demise, she became the

heir. That such an embassy, attended with so disastrous consequences to the distinguished persons who would compose it, should be entirely unnoticed by the chroniclers is, to say the least, exceedingly improbable.

The question concerning the historical basis of the ballad would naturally lose much of its interest, were any importance attached to the arguments by which its genuineness has been lately assailed. These are so trivial as hardly to admit of a statement. The claims of the composition to a high antiquity are first disputed, (Musical Museum, new ed., iv. 457*,) on the ground that such a piece was never heard of till it was sent to Percy by some of his correspondents in Scotland, with other ballads of (assumed) questionable authority. But even the ballad of Sir Hugh is liable to any impeachment that can be extracted from these circumstances, since it was first made known by Percy, and was transmitted to him from Scotland, (for aught we know, in suspicious company,) while its story dates also from the 13th century. Then, "an ingenious friend" having remarked to Percy that some of the phrases of Hardyknute seemed to have been borrowed from Sir Patrick Spence and other old Scottish songs, this observation, combined with the fact that the localities of Dunfermline and Aberdour are in the neighborhood of Sir Henry Wardlaw's estate, leads to a conjecture that Lady Wardlaw may have been the author of Sir Patrick Spence, as she is known to have been of Hardyknute. It could never be deemed fair to argue from those resemblances which give plausibility to a counterfeit to the spuriousness of the original, but in fact there is no resemblance in the two pieces. Hardyknute is recognized at once by an ordinary critic

to be a modern production, and is, notwithstanding the praise it has received, a tame and tiresome one besides. Sir Patrick Spence, on the other hand, if not ancient, has been always accepted as such by the most skilful judges, and is a solitary instance of a successful imitation, in manner and spirit, of the best specimens of authentic minstrelsy.[1]

It is not denied that this ballad has suffered, like others, by corruption and interpolations, and it is not, therefore, maintained that hats and cork-heeld shoon are of the 13th century.

We have assigned to Percy's copy the first place, because its brevity and directness give it a peculiar vigor. [Scott's edition follows], made up from two MS. copies, (one of which has been printed in Jamieson's Popular Ballads, i. 157,) collated with several verses recited by a friend. Buchan's version, obtained from recitation, is [in the Appendix]. The variations in recited copies are numerous: some specimens are given by Motherwell, p. xlv.

The king sits in Dumferling[2] toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine:
"O quhar will I get guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?"

Up and spak an eldern knicht,5
Sat at the kings richt kne:
"Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor,
That sails upon the se."

The king has written a braid letter,
And signd it wi' his hand,10
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red,
A loud lauch lauched he:
The next line that Sir Patrick red,15
The teir blinded his ee.

"O quha is this has don this deid,
This ill deid don to me;
To send me out this time o' the zeir,
To sail upon the se?20

"Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne."
"O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.

"Late late yestreen I saw the new moone25
Wi' the auld moone in hir arme;
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,
That we will com to harme."

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith
To weet their cork-heild schoone;30
Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd,
Thair hats they swam aboone.

O lang, lang, may their ladies sit
Wi' thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence35
Cum sailing to the land.

O lang, lang, may the ladies stand
Wi' thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they'll se thame na mair.40

[Have owre, have owre to Aberdour],
It's fiftie fadom deip:
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.

[1] This controversy has been recently re-opened by R. Chambers, The Romantic Scottish Ballads, their Epoch and Authorship, Edin. 1859; and in reply, The Romantic Scottish Ballads and the Lady Wardlaw Heresy, by Norval Clyne, Aberdeen, 1859.

[2] The palace of Dunfermline was the favorite residence of King Alexander III.

[41]-44. "It is true that the name of Sir Patrick Spens is not mentioned in history; but I am able to state that tradition has preserved it. In the little island of Papa Stronsay, one of the Orcadian group, lying over against Norway, there is a large grave or tumulus, which has been known to the inhabitants, from time immemorial, as 'The grave of Sir Patrick Spens.' The Scottish ballads were not early current in Orkney, a Scandinavian country; so it is very unlikely that the poem could have originated the name. The people know nothing beyond the traditional appellation of the spot, and they have no legend to tell." Aytoun, Ballads of Scotland, i. 2.—This passage is cited simply as a piece of external evidence to the antiquity of the legend of Sir Patrick Spens,—supposing the matter of fact to be well established, and the alleged tradition to be of long standing.

SIR PATRICK SPENS.

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, i. 299.

In singing, the interjection O is added to the second and fourth lines.

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 spake an eldern knight,5
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 sealed it with his hand,10
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,15
'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 blindit his e'e.20

"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,25
Our ship must sail the faem;
The king's daughter of Noroway,
'Tis we must fetch her hame."

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn
Wi' a' the speed they may;30
They hae landed in Noroway
Upon a Wodensday.

They hadna been a week, a week,
In Noroway, but twae,
When that the lords o' Noroway35
Began aloud to say:

"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud,
And a' our queenis fee."
"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud!

Fu' loud I hear ye lie!40

"For I brought as much white monie
As gane my men and me,—
And I brought a half-fou o' gude red goud
Out o'er the sea wi' me.

"Make ready, make ready, my merrymen a'!45
Our gude ship sails the morn."
"Now, ever alake! my master dear,
I fear a deadly storm!

"I saw the new moon, late yestreen,
Wi' the auld moon in her arm;50
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,55
And gurly grew the sea.

The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap,
It was sic a deadly storm;
And the waves came o'er the broken ship,
Till a' her sides were torn.60

"O where will I get a gude sailor,
To take my helm in hand,

Till I get up to the tall topmast,
To see if I can spy land?"

"O here am I, a sailor gude,65
To take the helm in hand,
Till you go up to the tall topmast,—
But I fear you'll ne'er spy land."

He hadna gane a step, a step,
A step, but barely ane,70
When a bout flew out of our goodly ship,
And the salt sea it came in.

"Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith,
Another o' the twine,
And wap them into our ship's side,75
And letna the sea come in."

They fetched a web o' the silken claith,
Another o' the twine,
And they wapped them roun' that gude ship's side,
But still the sea came in.80

"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-bed85
That flatter'd on the faem;
And mony was the gude lord's son
That never mair cam hame.

The ladyes wrang their fingers white,
The maidens tore their hair;90
A' for the sake of their true loves,
For them they'll see nae mair.

O lang lang may the ladyes sit,
Wi' their fans into their hand,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens95
Come sailing to the strand!

And lang lang may the maidens sit,
Wi' their goud kaims in their hair,
A' waiting for their ain dear loves,
For them they'll see nae mair.100

O forty miles off Aberdeen
'Tis fifty fathoms deep,
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.

BOOK IV.

KING ESTMERE.

From Reliques of English Poetry, i. 65.

"This romantic legend," says Percy, "is given from two copies, one of them in the Editor's folio MS., but which contained very great variations." This second copy has been conjectured to be of Percy's own making, the ballad never having been heard of by any one else, out of his manuscript. Judging from the internal evidence, the alterations made in the printed text were not very serious.

King Easter and King Wester have appeared in the ballad of Fause Foodrage, (vol. iii. p. 40.) In another version of the same, they are called the Eastmure king and the Westmure king, (Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. lix.) There is also a tale cited in the Complaynt of Scotland, (i. 98,) of a king of Estmureland that married the daughter of the king of Westmureland. This is plausibly supposed by Ritson to have been a romance of Horn, in which case the two countries should mean England and Ireland. King Esmer is one of King Diderik's champions (in the Danish ballad, Kong Diderik og hans Kæmper), and the father of Svend Vonved (in Svend Vonved). In the Flemish and German romances of The Knight of the Swan, Essmer, or Esmerés, is one of the seven sons of Oriant, and in Le Dit de Flourence de Romme (Jubinal, Nouveau Recueil de Contes, etc., i. 88), Esmère is a Roman prince. (Grundtvig, i. 78, 236.) For the nonce, we are told

that King Estmere was an English prince, and we may, perhaps, infer from the eighth stanza that King Adland's dominions were on the same island. But no subject of inquiry can be more idle than the geography of the romances.

Hearken to me, gentlemen,
Come and you shall heare;
Ile tell you of two of the boldest brethren,
That ever born y-were.

The tone of them was Adler yonge,5
The tother was kyng Estmere;
They were as bolde men in their deedes
As any were, farr and neare.

As they were drinking ale and wine
Within kyng Estmeres halle,10
"When will ye marry a wyfe, brother,
A wyfe to gladd us all?"

Then bespake him kyng Estmere,
And answered him hartilye:
"I knowe not that ladye in any lande,15
That is able to marry with mee."

"Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother,
Men call her bright and sheene;
If I were kyng here in your stead,

That ladye shold be queene."20

Sayes, "Reade me, reade me, deare brother,
Throughout merry England,
Where we might find a messenger
Betweene us two to sende."

Sayes, "You shall ryde yourselfe, brother,25
Ile beare you companee;
[Many throughe fals messengers are deceived],
And I feare lest soe shold wee."

Thus they renisht them to ryde
On twoe good renisht steedes,30
And when they came to kyng Adlands halle,
Of red golde shone their weedes.

And when they came to kyng Adlands halle,
Before the goodlye yate,
Ther they found good kyng Adland,35
Rearing himselfe theratt.

"Nowe Christ thee save, good kyng Adland,
Nowe Christ thee save and see:"
Sayd, "You be welcome, kyng Estmere,
Right hartilye to mee."40

"You have a daughter," sayd Adler yonge,
"Men call her bright and sheene;

My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe,
Of Englande to be queene."

"Yesterdaye was att my dere daughter45
The king his sonne of Spayn;
And then she nicked him of naye;
I feare sheele do youe the same."

"The kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim,
And 'leeveth on Mahound,50
And pitye it were that fayre ladye
Shold marrye a heathen hound."

"But grant to me," sayes kyng Estmere,
"For my love I you praye,
That I may see your daughter dere55
Before I goe hence awaye."