pn CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 924 073 426 326 The original of this book is in the Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924073426326 In compliance with current copyright law, Cornell University Library produced this replacement volume on paper that meets the ANSI Standard Z39.48-1984 to replace the irreparably deteriorated original. 1995 THE LEGENDARY BALLADS ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND. "/''-'■ /.. THE C HAND OS POETS. THE LEGENDARY BALLADS OF ENGLAND anb SCOTLAND. COMPILED AND EDITED BY JOHN S. ROBERTS. (EDITOR OF THE CROWN EdTtION OF BURNS' WORKS.) ^if^ ©riginal |lIo;strHlions Httb Stttl portrait. LONDON : FREDERICK WARNE AND CO. BEDFORD STREET, COVENT GARDEN. NEW YORK : SCRIBNER, WELFORD, AND CO. 1868. EY. l\Z°iOO\S LONDON: SAVILL, EDWARDS AND CO., PRINTERS, CHAN DOS STREET, COVENT GARDEN. PREFACE. When I assigned to myself the task of editing a collection of " Legen- dary Poetry," the time at my disposal would not have admitted of my doing more than simply gathering into a garland the best readings of the more meritorious ballads. A period of enforced leisure, under cir- cumstances which made it very desirable to forget in some genial employment many things which were extremely painful to me, led to my attempting something of greater magnitude and responsibility. Under any circumstances, in view of the many able men who have preceded me in this field, I would have hesitated before dealing with the subject at all, had not the early ballad poetry of my country been familiar to me from boyhood. Born in a rural district, where books were not plentiful, the cottage library consisting, in most cases, of a Brown's "Commentary and Dictionary of the Bible," a "Book of Devotion," a " Pilgrim's Progress," the "Works of Robert Bums," and " Ralph Erskine," a miscellaneous collection of songs in small books or in broadside, and a variety of the then popular " chap books," such as " Wise Willy and Witty Eppie," " Leper the Tailor," " Simple Jock Sandeman," " Geordie Buchanan, the King's Fool," &c., the long winter evenings were frequently spent in story-telling, &c. Even then, after the publication of " Scott's Minstrelsy," "Motherwell's" and "Buchan's" collections of Legendary Poetry, &c., many of the Ballads existed in the district in a traditionary shape (the printed versions, or even the fact that they were printed, being unknown), to be utterly forgotten by the humbler classes when the aged people to whom they had been known from childhood had passed away. I can only indulge in vain regrets that I cannot now remember a hundredtli part of the old stories, ballads, and songs with which I was then familiar. Removing early in life to a town, and living in a society where the modern newspaper, the " Waverley Novels," and the literature these had called into being, were the subject of universal attention, the humble Tales and Ballads which had delighted the fire- sides ^of the Forfarshire cottages had almost passed from my remem- brance, until a wider acauaintance with books surprised me into the PREFACE. knowledge that many of them had become part and parcel of our literature. Snatches and stanzas of old and inedited rhymes still cling to me, but although I have made anxious inquiries in my native district for complete copies, or even presentable fragments, of Ballads which have never been printed in any collection, I have not succeeded in securing anything worthy of preservation, the spread of education, and the interest taken in cheap books and serials among the lower classes, having driven the unprinted literature which delighted their ancestors out of existence. Several years ago it began to be whispered in certain literary circles that the bulk of our "Legendary Ballad Poetry " was of no later date than the beginning of the last century, and Mr. Robert Chambers gave this heresy form and substance by the publication of a paper* on the subject in i860. According to Mr. Chambers, the better known romantic Ballads, such as " Sir Patrick Spens," " Gil Monica," " Edward Edwards," "Edom o' Gordon," "Young Waters," "Mai^' Hamilton," "The Gay Goss-Hawk," "Johnnie o' Braidislee," "The Douglas Tragedy," "Young Huntin," "Burd Helen," and several others, were in all likelihood composed by Lady Wardlaw, of Pit- reavie, who died in 1727, and who for a time had succeeded in palming aBallad entitled " Hardyknute" upon her contemporaries as a genuine antique. This Ballad, though highly spoken of by Sir Walter Scott and others, is a clumsy and laboured performance as compared with the BaUads Mr. Chambers endeavours to ascribe to her, on no stronger plea than that certain phrases in these occur in " Hardy- knute." In his zeal he fails to notice that, as the authoress was avowedly imitating the antique Ballads, she would naturally adopt their phraseology and style. He fiarther argues that, because expres- sions occur in the Ballads which could not have been in use be)'ond the commencement of last century, they must have been composed since, forgetting that, as they existed only in a traditionary form, the language would necessarily change with the altered habits and speech of the people. The best evidence as to the genuineness of our Ballad Poetry is the fact that they were current in various forms all over the country, inci- dents and names of heroes and heroines being altered to suit the loca- lity of the reciter. That one or more writers during the last centurj' prodnced these Ballads, and that the manuscripts passed from hand to hand, until they became thoroughly rooted in the memories of an entire people, and that more than one version of each — as many as four, five, and six of some — should exist simulta- * "The Romantic Scottish Ballads, their Epoch and Authorship." By Robert Chambers, F.R.S.E. PREFACE. neously over the country, is one of those innipossible theories which need not disquiet the most timid believer in the tradi- tionary origin of our Ballad Poetry. That many of the Ballads have undergone some considerable tinkering before being printed need sur- prise no one. The compilers of the various original collections were mostly poets, and the temptation to help a halting stanza, and complete a fragmentary specimen, was too great to be resisted ; and to one thoroughly familiar with the subject it would be easy to point to many instances where this has been done. One thing is certain, that no spurious Ballad has escaped detection for any great length of time : there is a ring about the genuine metal which cannot be imitated, although many an adept at Homer's craft has tried his hand at it. In collating the various Ballads, I have, so far as my judgment could guide me, expunged all modem interpolations, and no Ballad which exists in more than one shape has passed from my hands into those of the printer until the various versions were thoroughly considered. To the composition of some of them is many as five versions, all dif- fering in some respects, have contributed j and if it be conceded that all the copies had one common origin, the propriety of collating them, when the work of collection is finished, will be at once ad- mitted. Professor Aytoun, in the Introduction to his admirable col- lection,* has so thoroughly defended the propriety of collating the various versions, that I may safely consider the question settled, the only point of moment to me being whether I have executed my self- imposed task with judgment and success. Anyone who is at all acquainted with this kind of work will readily understand that, if conscientiously performed, it is no light duty, and that to the merely critical reader it will be easy to find fault with much that I have done, or left undone. I can only claim to have entered upon and carried through my task in a tender and loving spirit, doing nothing without anxious deliberation, the work of one day being frequently undone by that of the next, after a more careful examination of the existing authorities. Many readers may miss old favourites, and may quarrel with the appearance of others less worthy. The space at my disposal was pre- scribed from the first, and within it I have included all those Ballads 1 held most worthy to appear in a " Popular Collection" which might lay claim to a completeness not hitherto attained by any publication of the kind issued in this country. I have to confess my obligations to Mr. Francis James Child, of Boston, U.S., who, by the publication of his " Enghsh and Scottish Ballads," t has laid the lovei-s of Ballad * "The Ballads of Scotland." Edited by William Edraonstone Aytoun, D.C.L. 2 vols. t " English and Scottish Ballads." Edited by Francis James Child. 8 vols. PREFACE. Literature under a deep debt of gratitude. Besides giving all the versions of each Ballad of any value, his volumes contain references to every known version, and to Ballads and traditions of other countries which are similar in incident to those of our own. Mr. Child's volumes have been a ready index, guiding at once to the page of the various collections where the Ballad under treatment .occurs. Some modern editors and writers can still aftbrd to look with contempt or patronage on our Ballad Literature. I have heard of one living editor who boasted that he had compiled his collection, &:c., within the space of a fortnight ; and another more recently, in his Introduction, made merry over the care and trouble his predecessors had taken in providing materials for his use. No one who has any knowledge of the subject can afford to speak lightly of the value of the labours of such men as Percy, Herd, Ritson, Scott, Motherwell, Buchan, &c. &c. ; tlie service they have rendered in collecting, and illustrating them, is not to be estimated. The popular novel or poem of this year may be forgotten the next, or may have the good fortune to live for a generation, but the bulk of our early Ballads must claim a more than passing attention as long as our Language and Literature endure. I have endeavoured as far as possible to explain all phrases which may not be understood by the general reader, and in doing this I have been more anxious to give the meaning conveyed bv the context than the mere arbitrary rendering. No arrangement of the Ballads into classes has been attempted j indeed, they are purposely printed without any arrangement, with the view of giving variety and interest. I have reproduced many Ballads which can lay no claim to Legendary origin ; the phrase, through frequent use or misuse, has become elastic enough to cover any kind of popular ancient poetry, whether preserved to us by tradition, or through the medium of the printer. John S. Roberts. JDuddingstone, Nov. 7,0th, 1867. INDEX TO CONTENTS. Adam Bell 565 A Famous Sea-fight between Captain Ward and the Rainbow . . . 450 Airlie, the Bonnie House o' . . . 308 Alison Gross 380 A Little Geste of Robin Hood . . 582 AUan-a-Maut 142 Annan Water 529 Annie Laurie 217 Archie o' Cafield 437 Armstrang, Johnie 276 Auchtei muchty, the Wife of . . .. 542 Auld Maitland 262 Barbara AitEN 331 Balrinnes, the Battle of ... . 404 Bessie Bell and Mary Gray ... 141 Binnorie 517 Bonnie George Campbell .... 225 Bonny John Seton 477 Bothwell 231 Bothwell's, Lady Anne, Lament . 4 1 Boyne Water, the 521 Brave Lord W Uoughby .... 383 Braidislie, Johnie of 386 Bristowe, the Merchant's daughter of 19 Broomfield Hill, the 340 BurdHJen 485 Captain Wedderburn's Courtship Chevy Chase, ancient version Chevy Chase, modern version Childe Waters Clerk Saun:^er3 Corrichie, the Battle of . . Cowdenknowes, the Broom of the Dick o' the Cow . . . . Douglas, the IMarchioness of , Earl Richard's Wedding . 479 178 187 S6i 395 400 196 549 343 333 pass Edward 92 Edom o' Gordon 4 Elore, Lo 475 Ercildoune, Thomas of .... 356 Fair Annie ......... 162 Fair Janet 260 Fair Helen . 116 Fause Foodr^e 294 Fine Flowers o' the Valley . . . 538 Flodden Field ....... 304 Foodrage, Fause" 294 Fordie, the Bonnie Banks o' . . . 194 Gawaine, Sir, the Marriage of . 63 Geordie 44 Gernutus, the Jew of Venice . . 417 Gilderoy 330 Gil Morrice 336 Glasgerion ... .... 30 Glasgow Peggie . . .... 310 Glenkindie . . 26 Glenlogie 257 Graeme and Bewick 125 Gude Wallace ...,,.. 50 Harlaw, the Battle of .... 348 Harlaw, the Battle of, another ver- sion 348 Helen of Kirkconnell 115 Hobbie Noble 420 Hugh Graeme . . .... 300 Hugh of Lincoln 536 Hynde Etin 219 Hynde Horn 113 Jamie Telfer 132 Jane Shore .... ... 462 Jew of Venice, the .... .417 Johnie Faa 510 Johnie of Braidislie 386 INDEX TO CONTENTS. FAGB Jock o' Hazelgreen 151 Jock o' the Side 41 2 Johnie Armstrang 276 John Gramlie 543 Johnnie Scott 498 Katherine Johnston .... 228 King Arthur's death 76 King Arthur, the Legend of , . . 57 Kirkconnell, Helen of . .... 115 King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid 280 King J olin and the Abbot of Canter- bury 37 King Lear and his three Daughters . 531 Kinmont Willie 1 20 Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament . 41 Lady Greensleeves , 424 Lady Mary Ann 293 Lammikin 384 Linne, the Heir of, English version 9 Linne, the Heir of, Scottish version 15 Lizzie Bailie 252 Lizzie Lindsay 47 Lochmaben, the Harper of . . . 456 Londonderry, Undaunted .... 503 London Hill, the Battle of . . . 443 London Lackpenny 138 Lord Beichan 242 LotA Livingstone 435 Lord Lovel 148 Lord Maxwell's Good Night . . 237 Lord Randal 298 Lord Thomas of Winesberrie . . 217 Lord Thomas and Fair Ajinet . . 306 Marie Hamilton 33 Mary Ambree 441 Mary CoUean 527 Menteith, Sir John, the death of . 474 Mistress Mouse 256 Murray, the Bonnie Earl of . . . 403 Murray, the Bonnie Earl of, another version 403 Northumberland betrayed by Dou- glas 320 Nut-Brown Maide, the 367 Our Gudeman 97 Otterburne, the Battle of, Scottish version 165 PAGE Otterburne, the Battle of, English version I7° Owsenford, the Clerks of ... - 47 Patient Grissell ..... 4^9 Parcy Reed, the Death of . . . . 446 Philiphaugh, the Battle of . . . 389 Proud Lady Margaret 154 Reidswire, theRaidof the . . . 144 Robin Hood's Birth, Breeding, Valour, and Marriage 577 Robin Hood, a Lytell Geste of . . 582 Robin Hood and Little John . . . 607 Robiif Hood's Progress to Notting- ham. 611 Robin Hood and the Butcher . . 612 Robin Hood and the Beggar . . . 614 Robin Hood's rescuing Will Stutly . 620 Robin Hood and the Bishop . . . 622 Robin Hood and the Tanner . . . 624 Rob Roy 254 Rookhope Ryde 210 Roslin's Daughter 479 Saddle to Rags 429 Sir Aldingar 199 Sir Andrew Barton 284 Sir Hugh Le Blond . . ■ . . 206 Sir James the Rose 250 Sir Lancelot du Lake 60 Sir Patrick Spens i Sir Ricliard Whittington's Advance- ment 87 Sir Roland 377 Tak your Auld Cloak about ye . . 431 Tamlane 117 The Battle of Balrinnes .... 404 The Battle of Corrichie .... 400 The Battle of Harlaw 348 The Battle of Harlaw, another version 3^8 The Battle of Loudon Hill ... 443 The Battle of Otterburn, Scottish version ifij The Battle of Otterburn, English version 170 The Battle of Philiphaugh . . . 389 The Bonnie Banks o' Fordie . . . 194 The Bonnie Earl of Murray . . . 403 The Bonnie Earl of Murray, another version 203 INDEX TO CONTENTS. The Bonnie House o' Airlie . . . 308 The Border Widow's Lament . . 248 The Boy and the Mantle .... 72 The Boyne Water 521 The Broom of the Cowdenknowes . 196 The Broomfield Hill 340 The Clerks of Owsenford .... 47 The Croodlin' Doo 298 The Cruel Knight 274 The Cruel Mother 495 The Cruel Mother, another version 496 The Death of Farcy Reed . . . 446 The Death of Sir John Menteith . 474 The Demon Lover 94 The Douglas Tragedy 467 The Dowie Dens o' Yarrovf . . . 512 The Duchess of Suffolk's Calamity 556 The Duke of AthoU's Nurse . . . 302 The Duke o' Perth's three Daughters i 94 The Elfin Knight 90 The Gallant Grahame 392 The Gay Goss-Havrk S05 The Gardener S4i The Gray Cock 526 The Harper of Lochmaben . . . 456 The Heir of Linne, English version 9 The Heir of Linne, Scottish version 15 The Hireman Chid 106 The Honeymoon 481 The Jew's Daughter 536 The Jolly Harper 459 The Lads of Wamphray .... 240 The Laird of Drum 312 The Laird of Woodhouselee ... 483 The Legend of King Arthur ... 57 The Life and Death of Tom Thumb 82 The Lowlands of Holland . • . 275 The Marchioness of Douglas . . . 343 The Marriage of Sir Gawaine . . 63 The Merchai.t's Daughter of Bristowe 19 The Mermaid 327 The Nut-Brown Maide .... 367 The Old and Young Courtier . . 433 The Old Man and his Wife ... 543 The Raid of the Reidswire . . . 144 The Rising in the North . . . . 31.:; The Souters o' Selkirk .... 467 The Spanish Lady's Love .... 452 The Taming of a Shrew .... 102 The Three Ravens 228 The Twa Brothers; or. The Wood o* Warslin 51S The Twa Corbies 226 The Twa Corbies, another version 227 The Water o' Wearie's Well . . 453 The Wee Wee Man 329 The Wifeof Auchtermuchty . . 542 The Wife of Ushei's Well ... 130 The Witch Mither 523 The Wood o' Warslin . . . . S'S Thomas of Erclldoune .... 356 Tom Thumb, the Life and Death of 82 True Thomas 364 Truth's Integrity 427 Undaunted Londonderry . . . 503 Usher's Well, the Wife of ... 130 Wallace, Gude 50 Wamphray, the Lads of ... . 240 Wearie's Well, the Water o' . . . 455 Wedderbum's, Captain, Courtship . 479 Whittington's, Sir Richard, Advance- ment 87 William's Ghost 258 Willie's Drovroed in Yarrow - . . 215 Willoughby, Lord 383 Woodhouselee, the Laird of . . . 483 YovNG Benjie 99 Young Huntin 158 Young Johnstone 270 Young Waters 236 THE ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH LEGENDARY BALLADS. SIR PATRICK SPENS. [The event upon which this ballad is founded has been the subject of considerable discussion \vith editors and collectors. Some maintain that it refers to the marriage of James III. with the Princess of Norway and Denmark; others believe it to refer to the expedition sent in 1 290 to bring home Margaret the Maid of Norway after the death of her father, Alexander III. The weight of testimony is in fevour of its bearing refe- rence to the fete of the expedition which in 1281 carried the same Margaret to Norway as the bride of King Eric Mr. Robert Chambers translates from Foidoun the follow- ing acaiunt of the incident : — " A little before this, namely, in the year 1281, Margaret, daughter of Alexander HI., w^ married to the King of Norway; who, leaving Scotland on the last day of July, was conveyed thither in noble style, in company with many knights and nobles. In returning home after the celebration of her nuptials, the Abbot of Balmerinoch, Bernard of Monte-Alto, and many other persons, were drowned." Dunfermline, an inland town in Fife, where there is a fine abbey in good preserva- tion, and the ruins of a royal palace, was a fevourite residence of the Scottish kings. Aberdour, the port to which the expedition was returning when the catastrophe occurred, is a beautifully-situated village on the Fife shore of the Forth, nearly opposite to Edinburgh. The phrase in the last verse of the ballad — " Half owre, half owre to Aberdour," means that Sir Patrick Spens's ship was half way across the German Ocean when she foundered and sank. I have ventured to re-collate the ballad from the \arious versions, and trust that nothing is introduced which injures the graphic point of the story as told in the generally received version.] The king sits in Dunfermline toun. Drinking the blude-red wine ; " O whaur will I get a skeely skipper^* To sail this ship o' mine ?" Then up and spake an eldem knight Sat at the king's right knee: " Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That ever sail'd the sea." * Skilful captain. SI SIR PATRICK SPENS. The king has written a braid letter. And seal'd it wi' his hand. And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens Was walking on the strand. ' To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway owre the faem j The king's daughter to Noroway, 'Tis tjiou maun tak her hame." The first line that Sir Patrick read, A loud laugh laughed he ; The neist* line that Sir Patrick read. The tear blindit his ee. " O wha is this has done this deed. Has tauld the king o' me. To send us out at this time c' the year To sail upon the sea ?" " Be 't wind or weet, be t hail or sleet. Our ship maun sail the faem ; The king's daughter to Noroway, 'Tis we maun tak her hame." They hoisted their sails on Monenday morn, Wi' a' the haste they may ; And they hae landed in Noroway Upon a Wodensday. They hadna been a week, a week. In Noroway but twae. When that the lords o' Noroway Began aloud to say — " Ye Scotismen spend a' our king's govvd. And a' our queenis fee." " Ye lee, ye lee, ye leears loud, Sae loud 's I hear ye lee ! " For I brought as much o' the white monie As ganet my men and me. And a half-fouj o' tlie gude red gowd. Out owre the sea with me. * Next. t Sened. } The eighth of a peck. S/R PA TRICK SPENS. " Mak ready, mak ready, my merry men a'. Our gude ship sails the morn." " Now ever alake, my master dear, I fear a deidly storm. " I saw the new moon late yestreen,* Wi' the auld moon in her arm ; And if we gang to sea, master, 1 fear we'll come to harm !" They hadna sail'd a league, a league, A league but barely three. When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud. And gurly grew the sea. The ankers brak, and the tap-masts lap. It was sic a deidly storm ; And the waves cam owre the broken ship. Till a' her sides were torn. " O whaur will I get a gude sailor's Will tak the helm in hand. Till I get up to the tall tap-mast. To see if I can spy land." " O here am I, a sailor gude. To tak the helm in hand. Till ye get up to the tall tap-mast — But I fear ye'U ne'er spy land." He hadna gane a step, a step, A step but barely ane. When a boutf flew out o' the gude ship's side. And the saut sea it cam in. " Gae, fetch a wab o' the silken claith, Anither o' the twine. And wap them into our gude ship's side. And let na the sea come in." They fetch'd a wab o' the silken claith, Anither o' the twine. And they wapp'd them into the gude ship's side. But aye the sea cam in. * Last night. t Bolt. EDOM a GORDON. " Ye'll pick her weel, an' span her weel. And mak her hale an' soun'," But ere he had the words weel spoke The bonnie ship was doun. O laitli, laith* were our Scots lords' sons To weet their coal-black shoon, But lang ere a' the play was owre. They wat their hats abune. And mony was the feather-bed That fluttered on the faem, And mony was the gude lord's son That never mair cam hame. O lang, lang may the ladies sit, Wi' their fans into their hand. Before they see Sir Patrick Spens Come sailing to the strand. And lang, lang may the maidens sit, Wi' the gowd kaims in their hair, A' waiting for their ain dear loves. For them they'll see nae mair. Half owre, half owre to Aberdour, It's fifty fathom deep. And tliere lies gude Sir Patrick Spens, Wi' the Scots lords at his feet. EDOM O' GORDON. [This ballad is founded on a real incident which took place in 1571. Edom, or Adam Gordon, was a brother of the Marquis of Huntly, and, as his deputy-lieutenant, held out in the north of Scotland for the imprisoned Queen Mary, against the party who maintained the authority of her infant son James VI. Gorilon was at feud with the dan Forbes, and had slain Arthur, brother of Lord Forljes. He sent a party under a Captain Car, or Ker, to reduce the house of Towie, the chief seat of the Forbeses. If we omit the death of the leader of the band, all the other inciilents in the ballad are truthfully given. As Gordon recognised the deed of Ker, he was held to be equally guilty, hence his introduction into the piece as leader of the raid. Professor Aytoun states that, in the interest of historical accuracy, he might have substituted "Towie House" for the " House o' the Rodes" in the ballad, as the latter was the name of a keep near the village of Gordon, in Berwickshire. The southern reciters had intro- duced the local name.] * Loath. EDOM a GORDON. It fell about the Martimas, When the wind blew shrill and cauld. Said Edom o' Gordon to his men, " We maun draw to a hauld.* '■ And whatna hauld sail we draw till. My merrie men and me ? We will gae to the house o' the Rodes, To see that fair ladye.'' The ladye stude on her castle wa. Beheld baith dale and doun ; There she was ware of a host o' men Cam riding towards the toun.f " O see ye not, my merrie men a', see ye not what I see ? Metliinks I see a host o' men — 1 marvel wha they be." She ween'd % it had been her ain dear lord As he cam riding hame ; It was the traitor, Edom o' Gordon, Wha reck'd nae sin nor shame. She had nae suner buskit hersel. And putten on her goun. Till Edom o' Gordon and his men Were round about the toun. They had nae suner supper set, Nae suner said the grace. Till Edom o' Gordon and his men Were light about the place. The ladye ran to her tower head. As fast as she could hie. To see if, by her fair speeches. She could wi' him agree. As sune as he saw the ladye fair. And her yetts a' lockit fast. He fell into a rage o' wrath. And his look was all aghast * Hold, t This word in Scotland signifies not only a city or town, but a ferm-steading, or residence. X Supposed. EDOM O' GORDON. " Come doun to me, ye ladye gay. Come doun, come doun to me ; This nicht sail ye lie within my arms. The morn my bride sail be." " I winna come doun, ye fause Gordon, I winna come doun to thee ; I winna forsake my ain dear lord. That is sae far frae me." " Gie owre your house, ye ladye fair, Gie owre your house to me ; Or I sail burn yoursel therein. But and your babies three." " I winna gie owre, ye fause Gordon, To nae sic traitor as thee j And if ye burn my ain dear babes. My lord sail mak ye dree." " But reach my pistol, Glaud, my man. And charge ye weel my gun ; For, but if I pierce that laluidy butcher. My babes we been undone." She stude upon her castle wa. And let twa bullets flee ; She mist that bluidy butcher's heart. And only razed his knee. " Set fire to the house '." quo the fause Gordon, All wude* wi' dulet and ire; " Fause ladye ! ye sail rue that shot, As ye burn in the fire." " Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man ! I paid ye weel your fee; Why pu' ye out the grund-wa-stane. Lets in the reek| to me ? " And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man ! I paid ye weel your hire ; Why pu' ye out my grund-wa-stane. To me lets in the fire ?" * Mad. t Foreboding. + Smoke. EDOM O' GORDON. " Ye paid me weel my hire, lady. Ye paid me weel my fee ; But noo I'm Edom o' Gordon's man. Maun either do or dee." O then outspak her youngest son. Sat on the nurse's knee ; Says, " Mither dear, gie owre this house. For the reek it smithers me." " I wad gie a' my gowd, my bairn, Sae wad I a' my fee, For ae blast o" the wastlin wind. To blaw the reek frae thee !" O then outspak her dochter dear — She was baith jimp and sma — " O row me in a pair o" sheets. And tow me owre the wa." They row'd her in a pair o' sheets. And tow'd her owre the wa ; But on the point o' Gordon's spear She gat a deadly fa. O bonnie, bonnie was her mouth. And cherry were her cheeks ; And clear, clear was her yellow hair. Whereon the red bluid dreeps. Then wi' his spear he tum'd her owre, gin her face was wan ! He said, " You are the first that e'er 1 wish'd alive again." He turn'd her owre and owre again, O gin her skin was white ! " I might hae spared that bonnie face To hae been some man's delight. " Back and boun, my merrie men a'. For ill dooms I do guess ; I canna look on that bonnie face. As it lies on the grass ! EDOM O- GORDON. " Wba looks to freits,* my master deir. It's freits will follow him : Let it ne'er be said brave Edom o" Gordon Was dauntit by a dame." But when the ladye saw the fire Come flaming owre her head She wept, and kiss'd her children twain, Said, " Bairns, we been but dead." The Gordon then his bugle blew, And said, " Awa, awa ! The house o" tlie Rodes is a in a flame, I haiild it time to ga." O then he spied her ain dear lord, As he came owre the lea ; He saw his castle a' in a lowe, Sae far as he could see. Then sair, O sair his mind misgave. And a' his heart was wae ; " Put on, put on, my wichtyf men. As fast as ye can gae. " Put on, put on, my wichty men. As fast as ye can drie ; For he that is hindmost o' the thrang Sail ne'er get gude o me !" Then some they rade, and some they ran, Fu' fast out owre the bent ; But ere the foremost could win up, ' Baith ladye and babes were brent.J '< He wrang his hands, he rent his hair. And wept in teenfu' mood ; " Ah, traitors ! for this cruel deed. Ye sail weep tears o' bluid." And after the Gordon he has gane, Sae fast as he might drie, And soon i" the Gordon's foul heart's bluid He's wroken§ his dear ladye. * Omens. f Mighty. J Burnt. § Revenged. THE HEIR OF LIh'NE. And mony were the mudie* men Lay gasping on the green -, And mony were the fair ladies Lay leraauless at hame. And mony were the mudie men Lay gasping on the green ; For o' fifty men the Gordon brocht. There were but five gaed hame. THE HEIR OF LINNE. [The following is from Percy's " Reliques." Percj- pointed out that although it had been long naturalized in England, it was evidently of Scottish origin. And Professor Aytoun gave three verses of the Scottish version, regretting that no complete copy had been recovered. " A comparison of the two would have been instructive, as showing the changes to which oral poetry is frequently subject." The Professor vvas evidently not aware that a complete version of the ballad had been recovered and printed by the Percy Society, in the volume of " Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads." 1 print it as the next ballad in order.] LiTHEt and listen, gentlemen ; To sing a song 1 will begin : It is of a lord of fair Scotland, Which was the unthrifty heir of Linne. His father was a right good lord, His mother a lady of high degree; But they, alas ! were dead him fro. And he loved keeping companie. To spend the day with merry cheer. To drink and revel ever)' night. To card and dice from eve to morn. It was, I ween, his heart's delight. To ride, to run, to rant, to roar. To alway spend and never spare, I wot, an' he were the king hirasel' Of gold and fee he mot be bare. So fares the unthrifty heir of Linne, Till all his gold is gone and spent ; And he maun sell his lands so broad. His house, and lands, and all his rent. * Strong, or stalwart. t Wait; stay. THE HEIR OF LINNE. His father had a steward keen, And John o' Scales was called he : But John is become a gentleman. And John has got baith gold and fee. Says, " Welcome, welcome. Lord of Linne ; Let nocht disturb thy merry cheer j If thou wilt sell thy lands so broad. Good store of gold I'll give thee here." " My gold is gone, mj money is spent ; My land now take it unto thee ; Give me the gold, good John o' Scales, And thine for aye my land shall be." Then John he did him to record draw. And John he gave him a god's-pennie ;* But, for every pound that John agreed. The land, I wis, was weal worth three. He told him the gold upon the board ; He was right glad the land to win : " The land is mine, the gold is thine. And now I'll be the Lord of Linne." Thus he hath sold his land so broad ; Both hill and holt, and moor and fen. All but a poor and lanesome lodge. That stood far off in a lonely glen. For so he to his father hight : " My son, when I am gone,'' said he, " Then thou wilt spend thy land so broad. And thou wilt spend thy gold so free : " But swear to me now upon the rood. That lanesome lodge thou'lt never spend ^ For when all the world doth frown on thee, Thou there shalt find a faithful friend." The heir of Linne is full of gold : And, " Come with me, my friends," said he ; Let's drink, and rant, and merry make. And he that spares ne'er mot he thri'e."t * Earnest money, f Thrive. THE HEIR OF LINNE. n They ranted, drank, and merry made. Till all his gold it waxed thin ; And then his friends they slunk away ; They left the unthrifty heir of Linne. He had never a penny left in his purse. Never a penny left but three j The tane was brass, the tither was lead. And tither it was white monie. " Now well-a-day !" said the heir of Linne, " Now well-a-day, and woe is me ! For when I was the Lord of Linne, I never wanted gold nor fee. " But many a trusty friend have I, And why should I feel dule or care ? I'll borrow of them all by turns. So need I not be ever bare." But one, I wis, was not at home. Another had paid his gold away ; Another called him thriftless loon,* And sharply bade him wend his way. " Now well-a-day !" said the heir of Linne, " Now well-a-day, and woe is me ! For, when I had my land so broad. On me they lived right merrilie. " To beg my bread from door to door, I wis, it were a burning shame : To rob and steal it were a sin : To work my limbs I cannot frame. "Now I'll away to the lanesome lodge. For there my father bade me wend : When all the world should frown on me, I there should find a trusty friend." Away then hied the heir of Linne, O'er hill and holt, and moor and fen. Until he came to the lanesome lodge. That stood so low in a lonely glen. * Fellow, THE HEIR OF LINNE. He looked up, he looked down, In hope some comfort for to win. But bare and lothely* were ihe walls : " Here's sorry cheer !" quoth the heir of Linne. The little window, dim and dark. Was hung with ivy, brier, and yew ; No shimmering sun here ever shone ; No halesome breeze here ever blew. No chair, no table, be mot spy. No cheerful hearth, no welcome bed, Nocht save a rope with a running noose. That dangling hung up o'er his head. And over it, in broad letters. These words were written so plain to see : " Ah ! graceless wretch, hast spent thy all. And brought thyself to penurie ? " All this my boding mind misgave, I therefore left this trusty friend : Now let it shield thy foul disgrace. And all thy shame and sorrows end." Sorely shentf with this rebuke. Sorely shent was the heir of Linne ; His heart, I wis, was near to brast, Witli guilt and sorrow, shame and sin. Never a word spak the heir of Linne, Never a word he spak but three : " This is a trusty friend indeed. And is right welcome unto me." Then round his neck the cord he drew. And sprung aloft with his bodie : When lo ! the ceiling burst in twain. And to the ground came tumbling he. Astonied lay the heir of Linne ; Nor knew if he were live or dead. At length he looked and saw a bill. And in it a key of gold so red. * Uncomfortable, loathsome. f Injured, shamed. THE HEIR OF LINNE. 13 He took the bill and looked it on ; Straight good comfort found he there : It told him of a hole in the wall. In which there stood three chests in-fere.* Two were full of the beaten gold ; The third was full of white monie ; And over them, in broad letters. These words were written so plain to see. " Once more, my son, I set thee clear ; Amend thy life and follies past ; For but thou amend thee of thy life, That rope must be thy end at last." " And let it be," said the heir of Linne ; " And let be, but if 1 amend : For here I will make mine avow, This redef shall guide me to the end." Away then went the heir of Linne, Away he went with merry cheer ; I wis, he neither stint nor staid. Till John o' the Scales" house he cam near. And when he cam to John o' the Scales, Up at the speerej then looked he : There sat three lords at the board's end. Were drinking of the wine so free. Then up bespak the heir of Linne ; To John o' the Scales then spak he : " I pray thee now, good John o' the Scales, One forty pence to lend to me." " Away, away, thou thriftless loon ! Away, away ! this may not be : For Christ's curse on my head," he said, " If ever I lend thee one penuie !" Then bespak the heir of Linne, To John o' the Scales" wife then spak he : " Madam, some awmous on me bestow I pray, for sweet Sainte Charitie."' * Together. t Advice. X An aperture in the wall; a shot window. 14 THE HEIR OF LINNE. "Away, away, thou thriftless loon! I swear thou gettest no alms of me; For if we suld hang ony losel* here, The first we wad begin with thee." Then up bespak a good fellow. Which sat at John o' the Scales his board; Said, " Turn again, thou heir of Linne ; Some time thou wast a right good lord. " Some time a good fellow thou hast been. And sparedst not thy gold and fee; Therefore I'll lend thee forty pence. And other forty if need there be. " And ever I pray thee, John o' the Scales, To let him sit in thy companie : For well I wot thou hadst his land. And a good bargain it was to thee." Then up bespak him John o' the Scales, All wudf he answered him again : '■' Now Christ's curse on my head," he said, " But I did lose by that bargain. " And here I proffer thee, heir of Linne, Before these lords so fair and free. Thou shalt have 't back again better cheap, By a hundred merks, than I had it of thee." "I draw you to record, lords," he said. With that he gave him a god's-pennie : " Now, by my fay," said the heir of Linne, " And here, good John, is thy monie." And he pulled forth the bags of gold. And laid tliem doun upon the board : All woe-begone was John o" the Scales, So shent he could say never a word. He told him forth the good red gold. He told it forth with mickle din, " The gold is thine ; the land is mine ; And now I'm again the Lord of Linne!" * Vagabond. "I- Furious. THE HEIR OF LINNE. '.5 Says, " Have thou here, thou good fellow ; Forty peuce thou didst lend me ; Now I'm again the Lord of Linne, And forty pounds I will give thee." " Now well-a-day !' quotli Joan o' the Scales ; " Now well-a-day, and woe is my life ' Yesterday I was Lady of Linne, Now I'm but John o' the Scales his wife.' " Now fare thee well," said the heir of Linne, " Farewell, good John o' the Scales !" said he; " When next I want to sell my land. Good John o' the Scales, I'll come to thee." THE HEIR OF LINNE. From Scottish Traditional Fersions of Ancient Ballads. Percy Society, vol. xvii. [This version contrasts somewhat unfavourably with the English : it is stiff and awkward, and must have existed in some other form, otherwise it could not have been popular as a piece for recitation.] The bonny heir, the weel-faur'd heir. And the wearie heir o' Linne, Yonder he stands at his father's yetts. An' nobody bids him come in. O see for he gangs, an' see for he stands. The wearie heir o' Linne ; see for he stands on the cauld causey,* And nae ane bids him come in. But if he had been his father's heir. Or yet the heir o' Linne, He woodna' stand on the cauld causey. Some one wad ta'en him in. " Sing owre again that sang, Nannie, The song ye sang just noo." 1 never sang a sang i' my life. But I wad sing owre to you." * Causeway. i6 THE HEIR OF LINNE. O see for he gangs, and see for he stands, The wearie heir o' Linne. see for he stands on the cauld causey. And nae ana bids him come in. But if he had been his father's heir. Or yet the heir o' Linne, He wadna' stand on the cauld causey; Some ane wad ta'en him in. When .his father's lands a sellin" were. His claise* lay weal in fauld ; But now he wanders on the shore, Baith hungry, weet, and cauld. As Willie he gaed doun the toun. The gentlemen were drinkin' ; Some body gie Willie a glass, a glass, And some body gie him nane ; Some body gie Willie a glass, a glass. The wearie heir o" Linne. As Willie he came up the toun, The fishars were a' sittin' ; Some body gie Willie a fish, a fish. Some body gie him a pin; Some body gie him a fish, a fish. The wearie heir o' Linne. He turned him richt and round about. As willf as a woman's son; And taen his cane into bis hand. And on his way to Linne. His Nannie at her window looked, Beholding dale and doun ; And she beheld this distressed young man Come walking to the toun. " Come here, come here, Wilhe," she said, "And set yoursal' wi' me. 1 hae seen you i' better days. And in jovial companie." * Clothes. f Wilful. THE HEIR OF LINNE. j; " Gie me a sheave* o' your bread, Nannie, And a bottle o' your wine ; And I'll pay you it a' owre again When I'm the Laird o' Linne.' " Yese get a sheave o' my bread, "Willie, And a little o' my wine ; And ye'U pay me when the seas gang dry. But ye'U ne'er be heir o' Linne." Then he turned him richt and round about. As will as woman's son ; And off he set, and bent his way. And straightway came to Linne. And when he came to that castle. They were sat doun to dine. A score o' nobles there he saw. Sat drinkin' at the wine. Then some bade gie him beef, the beef. And some bade gie him the bane ; And some bade gie him naetMng at a'. But lat the palmer gang. Then out it speaks the new come laird — A saucie word spak he — " Put round the cup, gie my rival a sup, Lat him fare on his way." Then out it speaks Sir Ned Magnew, Ane o' young Willie's kin : " This youth was ance a sprightlie boy As ever lived in Linne." He turned him richt and round about. As will as woman's son ; Then minded him on a little wee key. That his mither left to him. His mither left him this little wee key A little before she de'ed ;t And bade him keep this little wee key Till he was in maist need. * Slice. t Died- THE HEIR OF LINNE. Then forth he went, an' these nobles left, A drinkin' in the room ; Wi' walkin' rod intill his hand He walked the castle roun'. Then he found out a little door. For then the wee key slippit in ; An' there he got as muckle red gowd As freed the lands o' Linne. Back through the nobles then he went, A saucie man was then. " I'll tak the cup frae this new come laird, For he ne'er bad me sit doun." Then out it speaks the new come laird : He spake wi' mock and jeer : " I'd gie a seat to the Laird o' Linne Sae be that he were here." " When the lands o' Linne a sellin' were — A' men said they were free — This lad shall hae them frae me this day. If he'll gie the third pennie." " I tak ye witness nobles a', Gude witnesses ye'U be ; I'm promised the lands o' Linne this day, If I gie the third pennie." " Ye've ta'en us witnesses, Willie," they said, " Gude witnesses we'll be. Buy the lands o' Linne wha likes. They'll ne'er be bought by thee." He's done him to a gamin' table For it stood fair and clean ; Then he tauld doun as much rich gowd As freed the lands o' Linne. Thus having done he turned about — A saucie man was he — " Tak up your monie, ihy lad," he says, " Tak up your third pennie. THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER OF BRISTOWE. \c " Aft hae I ganc wi' barefeet cauld. Likewise wi' legs fu' bare ; And mony day walked at these yetts Wi' muckle dule an' care. "But now my sorrow's past and gane, And joy's returned to me ; And here I've gowd enough forbye, Ahin* this third pennie." As Willie he gaed doun the toun. There he craw'd wonderous crouse. He ca'd the may afore them a' The Nouricet o' the house. " Come here, come here, my nurse," he says ; " I'll pay your bread and wine. Seas ebb and flow as they wont to do. Yet I'm the Laird o' Linne." As he gaed up the Gallowgate port. His hose aboon his shoon ; But lang ere he cam doun again. Was convoyed by lords fifteen. THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER OF BRISTOWE. [This ballad, which is reprinted from Collier's " Book of Roxburghe Ballads," was popular early :n the seventeenth century, and is mentioned in Fletcher^s " Monsieur Thomas" by the name of ' Maudlin, the Merchant's Daughter.'] THE FIRST PART. Behold the touchstone of true love, Maudlin, the Merchant's Daughter of Bristowe town. Whose firm affection nothing could move ; This favour bears the lovely brown. A gallant youth was dwelling by. Which many years had borne this lady great good will ; She loved him so faithfully. But all her friends withstood it still. * Behind; after. t Nurse. c a 20 THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER OF BRTSTOWE. The young man now, perceiving well He could not get nor win the favour of her friends, The force of sorrow to expel To view strange countrys he intends. And now, to take his last farewell Of his true love, his fair and constant Maudlin, With niusick sweet that did excel He plays under her window then. "Farewell," quoth he, "mine own true love. Farewell, my dear, and chiefest treasure of my heart ! Through fortune's spight, that false did prove, I am inforced from thee to part " Into the land of Italy: There will I wail, and weary out my dayes in woe ; Seeing my true love is kept from me, I hold my life a mortal foe. " Fair Bristowe town, therefore, adieu. For Padua shall be my habitation now; Although my love doth lodge in thee. To whom alone my heart I vow." With trickling tears this he did sing, With sighs and sobs descending from his heart full sore ; He said, when he his hands did wring, " Farewell, sweet love, for evermore !" Fair Maudlin, from a window high. Beholding her true love with musick where he stood. But not a word she durst reply. Fearing her parents' angry mood. In tears she spent this doleful night. Wishing, though naked, with her faithful friend : She blames her friends, and fortune's spight That wrought their loves such luckless" end. And in her heart she made a vow Clean to forsake her country and her kinsfolks all. And for to follow her true love. To bide all chance that might befall. THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER OF BRISTOWE. %\ The night is gone, and the day is come. And in the morning very early she did rise : She gels her down in a lower room, Where sundrie seamen she espies. A gallant master amongst them all. The master of a fair and goodlie ship was he. Who there stood waiting in the hall. To speak with her father, if it might be. She kindly takes him by the hand, '' Good sir," said she, " would you speak with any here?" Quoth he, "Fair maid, tlierefore I stand:" " Thenj gentle sir, I pray you to draw near." Into a pleasant parlour by. With hand in hand she brings the seaman all alone; Sighing to him most piteonsly. She thus to him did make her moan. She falls upon her tender knee : '" Good sir," she said, " now pity you a woman s woe. And prove a faithfull friend to me. That I my grief to you may show.' " Sith you repose your trust," he said, "To me that am unknown, and eke a stranger here. Be you assured, most proper maid. Most faithfull still I will appear.' " I have a brother, then," quoth she, " Whom as my life I love and favour tenderlie. In Padua, alas ! is he. Full sick, God wot, and like to die. " And fain I would my brother see. But that my father will not yield to let me go ; Wherefore, good sir, be good to me. And unto me this favour show. " Some ship-boy's garment bring to me. That I disguised may go away from hence unknown ; And unto sea I'll go with thee. If thus much favour may be shown." 22 THE MERCHANTS DAUGHTER OF BRISTOWE. " Fair maid," quoth he, " take here my hand : I will fulfil each thing that you desire. And set you safe in that same land. And in that place that you require." She gave him then a tender kiss, " And faith, your servant, gallant master, will I be. And prove your faithful friend for this. Sweet master, then, forget not me." This done, as they had both decreed. Soon after, early, before the break of day He brings her garments then with speed. Wherein she doth herself array : And ere her father did arise, She meets her master as he walks in the hall : She did attend on him likewise. Even till her father did him call. But ere the merchant made an end Of all the matters to the master he could say. His wife came weeping in with speed. Saying, " Our daughter is gone away I" The merchant, thus amazed in mind, " Yonder vile wretch inticed away my child," quoth he ; " But well, I wot, I shall him find At Padua, in Italy." With that bespake the master brave : " Worshipfull master, thither goes tliis pretty youth, And anything that you would have, He will perform it, and write the truth." " Sweet youth," quoth he, " if it be so. Bear me a letter to the English merchants there, And gold on thee I will bestow : My daughter's welfare I do fear." Her mother takes her by the hand ; "Fair youth," quoth she, "if there thou dost my daughter see, Let me thereof soon understand. And there is twenty crowns for thee." THE MERCHANT'S DAUGHTER OF BRISTOWE. ^3 Thus, tlirough the daughter's strange disguise. The mother knew not when she spake unto her child ; And after her master straightway she hies. Taking her leave with countenance mild. Thus to the sea fair Maudlin is gone With her gentle master : God send tliem a merry wind ; Where we awhile must let them alone, Till you the second part do find. PART THE SECOND. " Welcome, sweet Maudlin, from the sea. Where bitter storms and tempests do arise : The pleasant banks of Italy We may behold with mortal eyes." " Thanks, gentle master," then quoth she : " A faithful friend in sorrow hast thou been; If fortune once doth smile on me. My thankful heart shall well be seen. " Blest be the land that feeds my love ! Blest be the place whereas his person doth abide! No trial will I stick to prove. Whereby my true love may be tried. " Now will I walk with joyful heart. To view the town whereas my darling doth remain, And seek him out in every part. Until I do his sight attain." " And I," quoth he, " will not forsake Sweet Maudlin in her sorrow up and down : In wealth and woe thy part I'll take. And bring thee safe to Padua town." And after many wearie steps In Padua diey safely do arrive at last: For very joy her heart it leaps ; She thinks not of her sorrows past. Condemned to die he was, alas ! Except he would from his religion turn; But rather than he vs'ould to mass. In fiery flames he vowed to burn. 24 THE MERCHANTS DAUGHTER OF BRISTOWE. Now doth Maudlin weep and wail : Her joy is changed to weeping, sorrow, grief, and care ; But nothing could her plaints prevail. For death alone must be his share. She walks under the prison walls, Where her true love doth lie and languish in distress ; Most wofully for food he calls. When hunger did his heart oppress. He sighs and sobs and makes great moan : " Farewell," he said, " sweet England, now for evermore. And all my friends that have me known In Bristowe town with wealth and store. " But most of all farewell," quoth he. My own true love, sweet Maudlin, whom I left behind 5 For never more shall I see thee ; Woe to thy father most unkind! " How well were I, if thou wert here. With thy fair hands to close these wretched eyes; My torments easie would appear ; My soul with joy shall scale the skies." When Maudlin heard her lover's moan. Her eyes with tears, her heart with sorrow filled was : To speak with him no means is known. Such grievous doom on him did pass. Then she cast off her lad's attire, A maiden's weed upon her back she seemly set : To the judge's house she did enquire. And there she did a service get. S.he did her duty there so well. And eke so prudently she did herself behave. With her in love her master fell ; Her servant's favour he doth crave. "Maudlin," quoth he, "my heart's delight. To whom my heart is in affection tied. Breed not my death through thy despight ; A faithful friend I will be tried. THE MERCHANTS DA UGHTER OF BRISTO WE. 25 " Grant me thy love, fair maid," quoth he, " And at my hands require what thou canst devise. And I will grant it unto thee. Whereby thy credit may arise." " I have a brother, sir," she said, " For his religion is now condemned to die : In loathsome prison he is laid, Oppressed with grief and misery. " Grant me my brother's life," she said, " And to you my love and liking I will ^ve." " That may not be," quoth he, " fair maid ; Except he turn, he cannot live." " An English friar there is," she said, " Of learning great and passing pure of life. Let him to my brother be sent. And he will finish soon the strife." Her master hearing this request. The mariner in friar's weed she did array. And to her love, that lay distressed. She did a letter straight convey. When he had read these gentle lines. His heart was ravished with sudden joy ; Where now she was full well he knew : The friar likewise was not coy ; But did declare to him at large The enterprise for him his love had taken in hand. The young man did the friar charge. His love should straight depart the land. " Here is no place for her," he said, " But wofd death and danger of her harmless life : Professing truth I was betrayed. And fearful! flames must end my strife. ' For, ere I will my faith deny. And swear myself to follow damned Antichrist, I'll yield my body for to die. To live in heaven with the Highest." 36 GLENKINDIE. " O sir !" the gentle friar said, " For your sweet love recant, and save your wished life. "A woful match," quoth he, " is made Where Christ is lost to win a wife." When she had wrought all means that might To save her friend, and that she saw it would not be. Then of the judge she claimed her right. To die the death as well as he. When no persuasion could prevail. Nor change her mind in any thing that she had said. She was with him condemned to die. And for them both one fire was made. And arm in arm most joyfully These lovers twain unto the fire did go: The mariner most faithfully Was likewise partner of their woe. But when the judges understood The faithful friendship did in them remain. They saved their lives ; and afterward To England sent them home again. Now was their sorrow turned to joy. And faithfiil lovers had now their heart's desire : Their pains so well they did imploy, God granted that they did require. And when they were to England come, And in merry Bristowe arrived at the last. Great joy there was to all and some That heard the dangers they had' past. Her gentle master she desired To be her father, and at the church to give her then : It was fulfilled as she required. Unto the joy of all good men. GLENKINDIE. [The two following ballads have the same subject, and in all likelihood had a com- mon original. ' Glasgerion,' the name of the English ballad, was a famous harper, whose renown was so widely spread that both Chaucer and Gawin Douglas associated his name with that of Orpheus. The Scottish composer had adapted the name to their own meridian, says Jamieson, calling him Glenkindie.] GLENKINDIE. 27 Glenkindie was ance a harper gude, He harpit to the King ; Glenkindie was auce the best harper That ever harpit on string. He'd harpit a fish out o" saut water. Or water out o' a stane ; Or milk out o' a maiden's breist. That bairn had never nane. He's ta'en his harp intill his hand, He harpit and he sang ; And ay he harpit to the King To haud him unthought lang. " ril gie you a robe, Glenkindie, A robe o' the royal pa'. Gin ye will harp i" the winter's nicht. Afore my nobles a'." The King but and his nobles a' Sat birling at the wine. And he wad hae nane but his ae daughter To wait on them at dine. He's ta'en his harp intill his hand. He's harpit them a' asleep. Except it was the young princess. That love did waukin keep. And first he has harpit a grave tune. And syne he has harpit a gay. And mony a sich* atween hands I wat the ladie gae : Says, " Whan day is dawin, and cocks hae crawn, And wappit their wings sae wide, It's ye may come to my bower door. And streekt ye by my side. " But look ye tell na Gib your man O' naething that ye dee, J For, an ye tell him, Gib your man. He'll beguile baith you and me." » Sigh. t Stretch. % Do. 28 GLENKINDIE. He's ta'en his harp intill his hand, He harpit and he sang ; And he is hame lo Gib his man. As fast as he could gang. " O micht I tell you, Gib, my man. Gin I a man had slain -"' " O that you micht, my gude master, Altho' ye had slain ten." " Then tak' ye tent now, Gib, my man. My bidden for to dee. And, but an ye wauken me in time. Ye sail be hangit hie. " When aay has dawn, and cocks hae crawn. And wappit their wings sae wide, I'm bidden gang to yon lady's bower. And streek me by her side." " Then gae to your bed, my gude master, Ye've waukit, I fear, owie lang; But I'll wauken ye iu as gude time. As ony cock i' the land." He's ta'en the harp intill his hand. He harpit and he sang. Until he harpit his master asleep. Syne fast awa" did gang. And he is till that lady's bower. As fast as he could rin, "When he cam' till that lady's bower He tirlit at the pin. " O wha is this," says that lady, "That opens nae and comes in '" " It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true-love, O, open and lat me in !" She kent he was nae gentle knight. That she had latten in ; For neither whan he gaed nor cam', Kist he her cheek or chm. GLENKINDIE. 29 He neither kist her whan he cam'. Nor clappit her when he gaed. And in and out at her bower \\'indow, The moon shone hke the gleed.* " O raggit are your hose, Glenkindie, And riven are your sheen,t And ravelled is your yellow hair That I saw late yestreen." "The hose and shoon are Gib, my man's, The)' cam' first to my hand; And I've ravelled a' my yellow hair. Coming against the wind." He's ta'en the harp intill his hand, He harpit and he sang. Until he came to his master's bed. As fast as he could gang. " Win up, win up, my gude master, I tear ye sleep owre lang ; There is na a cock in a' the land But has wappit his wings and crawn." Glenkindie's ta'en his harp in hand. And hastily he ran. And he has reach'd the lady's bower, Afore that e'er he blan.J "When he cam' to the lady's bower. He tirlit at the pin ; " O, wha is that at my bower door. That opens na, and comes in ?" " It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true-love. And in I cauna win." " Forbid it, forbid it," says that lady, " That ever sic shame betide ; That I should first be a wild loon's lass. And than a young knight's bride." * Live embers. f Shoes. X Stopped. 30 GLASGERION. There was nae pity for that lady. For she lay cauld and dead. But a' was for him, Glenkindie, III bower he must go mad. He's ta en his harp intill his hand, Sae mournfully it rang. And wae and weary it was lo hear Glenkindie's dowie sang. But cauld and dead was that lady, Nor heeded o' his maen. An' he wad harp till domisday. She'll never speak again. He's ta'en his harp intill his hand. He harpit and he sang ; And he's hame to Gib, his man. As fast as he could gang. " Come forth, come forth now, Gib, my man. Till I pay you your fee ; Come forth, come forth now, Gib, my man, Weel payit sail ye be.'' And he has ta'en him, Gib, his man. And he has hanged him hie. And he's hangit him owre his ain yett. As high as high could be. GLASGERION. From. Percy's Reliques, vol. iii. p. 8,^. Glasgekion was a king's own son. And a harper he was good ; He harped in the king's chamber. Where cup and caudle stood. And so did he in the queen's chamber, Till ladies waxed wud ;* And up bespake the king's daughter. And these words thus she said : * Enchanted. GLASGERION. %\ " Strike on, strike on, Glasgerion, Of thy striking do not blinj* There's never a stroke comes o'er thy harp, But it glads my heart within." " Fair might him, fall lady," quoth he; " Who taught you now to speak ? I have loved you, lady, seven long year ; My heart I ne'er durst break." " But come to my bower, Glasgerion. When all men are at rest. As I am a lady true of my promise. Thou shalt be a welcome guest." Home then came Glasgerion ; A glad man then was he. " And come thou hither Jack, my boy. Come hither unto me, " For the king's daughter of Normandy Hath granted me a boon ; And at her chamber must I be Before the cocks have crowin." " O master, master," then quoth he, " Lay your head down on this stone. For I will waken you, master dear. Afore it be time to gone." But up then rose that litherf lad. And hose and shoon did on ; A collar he cast upon his neck ; He seemed a gentleman. And when he came to the lady's chamber. He tirled upon a pin. The lady was true of her promise. And rose and let him in. He did not take that lady gay To bolster nor to bed ; Nor though he had his wicked will, A single word he said. Cease. t Naughty; wicked. •32 GLASGERION. He did not kiss that lady's mouth. Nor when he came, nor yode ;* And sore that lady did mistrust He was of some churl's blood. And home then came that lither lad. Did off his hose and shoon ; And cast the collar from off his neck — He was but a churl's son. "Awake, awake, my dear master; The cock hath well nigh crowiu. , wake, awake, my master dear; I hold it time to be gone. " For I have saddled your horse, master. Well bridled I have your steed ; And I have served you a good breakfast. For thereof ye have need." Up then rose good Glasgerion, And did on hose and shoon ; And cast a collar about his neck. For he was a king, his son. And when he came to the lady's chamber. He tirled upon the pin ; The lady was more than true of promise. And rose and let him in. " O whether have you left with me Your bracelet or your glove ? Or are you returned back again To know more of my love ?" Glasgerion swore a ftdl great oath : " By oak, and ash, and thorn, Lady, I was ne'er in your chamber Sith the time that I was bom." "Oh then it was your lither foot page; He hath beguiled me." Then she pulled forth a little penknife. That hanged by her knee. * Went. MARIE HAMILTON. ^^.^ " Say there shall never no churl's blood Within my body spring ; No churl's blood shall e'er defile The daughter of a king." Home then went Glasgerion, And woe good lord was he. Says, " Come thou hither. Jack, my boy. Come hither unto me." " If I had killed a man to night. Jack, I would tell it thee. But if I have not killed a man to nigh' ' Jack, thou hast killed three." And he pulled out his bright brown sword. And dried it on his sleeve j And he smote off that lither lad's head. Who did his lady grieve. He set the sword's point till his breast. The pummel until a stone ; Through the falseness of that lither lad These tliree lives were all gone. MARIE HAMILTON. [Sir Walter Scott conceives that this ballad had its origin in an event which took place early in the reign of Mary Stuart, which John Knox describes as follows: — "In the ver)' 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 bore a childe, whom, with common con- sent, the father and mother murthered ; yet were the cries of the new-bome childe heard, searche was made, the father and the mother were both apprehended, and so were the man and woman condemned to be hanged in the public street of Edinburgh." This tragedy being accepted as the foundation of the ballad, it is easy to account for the French waiting-woman being changed into a Marie Hamilton, and her partner in guilt from the queen's apothecary into Lord Darnley, the more especially as he was known to be guilty of infidelity with the queen's personal attendants. Curiously enough, according to Mr. Sharpe, a tragedy of a similar kind happened in the Russian Court during the reign of the Czar Peter. One of the emperor's attendants, a Miss Hamilton, was executed for the murder of a natural child. "And the emperoi, whose admiration of her 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." D 34 MARIE HAMILTON. Mr. Child thinks that the Scottish ballad is a blending of the two stones ; and this idea is borne out from the fact that in some versions the lady's father is spoken of as living in the west, and her affecting mjunction to the mariners not to tell her fether and her mother of her tragic end, point to a home beyond the sea. The following is the result of a collation of the various printed versions : — '\ There lived a lord into the west, And he had daughters three. The youngest o' them to Holyrood has gane. The Queen's Marie to be, Marie Hamilton to the kirk is gane, Wi' ribbons on her breist : The King thocht mair o' Marie Hamilton Than he listened to the priest Marie Hamilton to the kirk is gane, Wi' ribbons m her hair. The King thocht mafr o' Marie Hamilton Than onie that were there. Marie Hamilton to the kirk is gane Wi" gloves upon her hands : And the King thocht mair o' Marie Hamilton Than the Queen and a' her lands. She hadna been about the King's Court A twelvemonth and a day, Till she could neither sit nor gang, Wi" the gaining o' some play. The King has gane to the Abbey garden. And pu'd the savin tree. To scale the babe frae Marie's heart. But the thing it wadna be. Word's gane up, and word's gane doiin. And word's gane to the ha', That Marie Hamilton's brought to bed. And the bonnie babe's awa'. Then in and cam' the Queen hersei, Wi" the gowd strings in her hair : " Where is the little babe," she said. That I heard greet sae sairr" MARIE HAMILTON. 2,S " There is nae babe within my bower. And 1 hope there ne'er will be; ll was mysel wi' a fit o' the sair colic, I was sick just like to dee!" " O haud your tongue, Marie Hamilton ! Let a' thae words gae free ; And where tell me is the little babe. That I heard greet by thee ?" " I rowed it in my hankerchief. And threw it in the sea ; I bade it sink, I bade it swim, It wad get nae mair o' me." " O wae be to thee, Marie Hamilton ! An ill deid* may ye dee! For if ye had saved the babie's life. It micht have honoured thee. " But rise, rise up, Marie Hamilton, Rise up and follow me. For ye maun gang to Edinburgh town, And stand afore the three."t O slowly, slowly rase she up. And slowly put she on. And slowly rade she out the way, Wi' monie a weary groan. But little wist Marie Hamilton, When she rode on the broun. That she was gaun to Edinburgh, And a' to be put doun.J " Ride hooly,§ ride hooly now, gentlemen ; Ride hooly now wi' me. For never, I'm sure, a wearier burd Rade in your companie !" As she gaed up the Canongate, The Canongate sae free, Monie a lady looked owre her window Weeping for sweet Marie. Death, f The three judges. % To be executed. § Slowly; gently. D 2 36 MARIE HAMILTON. As she gaed up the Parliament Close, A riding on her horse. There she saw monie a burgess' lady Sit weeping at the Cross. "O weep nae mair for me, ladies ! Weep ye nae mair for me : Yestreen I killed my ain dear bairn. This day I deserve to dee." When she gaed up the Tolbooth stairs. She gied loud laughters three ; But or ever she cam' doun again. She was condemned to dee. " Cast aff, cast afF my gown," she said, "But let my petticoat be; And tie a napkin owre my face. That the gallows I may na see, " Yestreen the Queen had four Maries, The nicht she'll hae but three; There was Marie Beaton, and Mary Seaton, And Mary Carmichaei, and me. " O aften hae I dressed my Queen, And put gowd in her hair; But now I've gotten for my reward The gallows tree to share ! " O aften hae I dressed my Queen, And aften made her bed ; But now I've gotten for my reward The gallows tree to tread. " And wae be to the Queen hersel. She micht hae pardoned me ; But sair she's striven for me to hang Upon the gallows tree. " O happy, happy is the maid That's born o" beauty free ! It was my dimpling rosie cheeks That's been the dule* o' me. * Woe; ruin. KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. 37 " I charge ye all, ye mariners, When ye sail owre the faem. That ye let na my father or mither wit* But that I'm coming hame ! " Ye mariners, ye mariners. When ye sail owre the sea. Let neither my fatlier nor mither ken, I hung on the gallows tree. " O little did my mither think. That day she cradled me. The lands 1 was to travel in. Or the death I was to dee ! " O little did my father think. That day he held up me, That I, his last and fairest hope. Should liiug upon a tree! " For if my father and mither got wit. And my bauld brethren three, * O mickle wad be the gude red blude This day wad be spilt for me. " Sae weep nae mair for me, ladies. Weep nae mair for me ! The mither that kills her ain bairn Deserves weel for to dee." KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. [The following version of this ballad is from Percy's "Reliques." Several other versions are common, but are inferior. Percy says : — "The common popular ballad of ' King John and the Abbot' seems to have been abridged and modernized about the time of James I., from one much older, entitled ' Kmg John and the Bishop of Canterbury.' The Editor's folio MS. contains a copy of this last, but in too corrupt a state to be reprinted ; it however afforded many lines worth reviving, which will be found mserted in the ensuing stanzas. "The archness of the following questions and answers hath been much admired by our old ballad-makers; for besides the two copies above mentioned, there is extant another ballad on the same subject (but of no great antiquity or merit), entitled ' King Oltrey and the Abbot." [" Old Ball." n. 55. J Lastly, about the time ol the Civil %Vars, when the cry ran against the bishops, some puritan worked up the same story into a * Know, 38 KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBUBY. veiy doleful ditty, to a solemn tune, concerning ' King Henry and a Bishop ;' with this stinging moral : — ' Unlearned men hard matters out can find. When learned bishops princes eyes do bhnd.' " The following is chiefly printed from an ancient black-letter copy, to the tune of ' Derry-down.' "] An ancient stoiy I'll tell you anon Of a notable prince that was called King John; And he niled England with main and with might. For he did great wrong, and maintained little right. And I'll tell you a story, a story so merrie. Concerning the Abbot of Canterbury ; How for his house-keeping and high renown. They rode post for him to fair London town. An hundred men, the king did hear say. The abbot kept in his house every day j And fifty gold chains without any doubt. In velvet coats waited the abbot about. " How now, father abbot, I hear it of thee. Thou keepest a far better house than me ; * And for thy house-keeping and high renown, I fear thou work'st treason against my crown.' " My liege," quo' the abbot, " I would it were known I never spend nothing, but what is my own ; And I trust your grace will do me no deere,* For spending of my own true-gotten gear." " Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is high. And now for the same thou needest must die; For except thou canst answer me questions three. Thy head shall be smitten from thy bodie. " And first," quo' the king, "when I'm in this stead. With my crown of gold so fair on my head Among all my liege-men so noble of birth. Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worth. " Secondlie, tell me, without any doubt, How soon I may ride the whole world about ; And at the third question thou must not shrink. But tell me here truly what I do think." * Harm; wrong. KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. 39 " O these are hard questions for my shallow wit, Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet : But if you will give me but three weeks space, I'll do my endeavour to answer your grace." " Now three weeks space to thee will I give. And that is the longest time thou hast to live; For if thou dost not answer my questions three. Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to me." Away rode the abbot all sad at that word. And he rode to Cambridge and Oxenford But never a doctor there was so wise, That could with his learning an answer devise. Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold. And he met his shepherd a going to fold ; " How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home ; What news do you bring us from good King John '" " Sad news, sad news, shepherd, I must give. That I have but three days more to live ; For if I do not answer him questions three. My head will be smitten from my bodie. ' The first is to tell him there in that stead. With his crown of gold so fair on his head. Among all his liege men so noble of birth. To within one penny of what he is worth. " The second, to tell him, without any doubt. How soon he may ride this whole world about : And at the third question I must not shrink, But tell him there truly what he does think.' " Now cheer up, sir abbot, did you never hear yet, That a fool he may learn a wise man wit ? Lend me horse and serving men, and your apparell, And I'll ride to London to answer your quarrel. " Nay, frown not, if it hath been told unto me, I am like your lordship, as ever may be ; And if you will but lend me your gown. There is none shall know us at fair London town. ' 40 KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT OF CANTERBURY. " Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have. With sumptuous array most gallant and brave. With crozier and mitre, aiid rochet, and cope. Fit to appear 'fore our father the pope." " Now, welcome, sir abbot," the king he did say, "Tis well thou'rt come back to keep thy day: For and if thou canst answer my questions three. Thy life and thy living both saved shall be. " And first, when thou seest me here in this stead, With my crown of gold so fair on my head. Among all my liege men so noble of birth. Tell me to one penny what I am worth." " For thirty pence our Saviour was sold Among the false Jews, as I have been told : And twenty-nine is the worth of thee. For I thinke thou art one penny worser than he." The king he laughed, and swore by St. Bittel,* " I did not think I had been worth so little ! — Now secondly tell me, without any doubt. How soon I may ride this whole world abouL" " You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same Until the next morning he rises again ; And then your grace need not make any doubt But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about." The king he laughed, and swore by St. John, " I did not think it could be gone so soon ! — Now from the third question tliou must not shrink. But tell me here truly what I do think." "Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry; You think I'm the abbot of Canterbiiry ; But I'm his poor shepherd, as plain you may see. That am come to beg pardon for him and for me." The king he laughed, and swore by the mass, " I'll make thee lord abbot this day in his place !" " Now nay, my liege, be not in such speed. For alacke I can neither write nor read." * Meaning probably St. Botolph. LADY ANNE BOTHWELLS LAMENT. 41 " Four nobles a week then, I will give thee. For tliis merry jest thou hast shown unto me; And tell the old abbot when thou coniest home. Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John." LADY ANNE BOTHWELUS LAMENT. [Lady Anne Bothwell, of this pathetic ballad, was the Honourable Anne Bothwell, daughter of Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney, who performed the marriage ceremony between Queen Mary and the Earl of Bothwell. This lady, who is said to have been very beautiful, had an intrigue with Colonel Sir Alexander Erskine, son of the Earl of Mar, who deserted her. Sir Alexander Erskine, who was considered the handsomest man of his age, was killed by the explosion of a powder magazine at Dunglass, Berwick- shire, the Earl of Haddington, and about eighty other persons of note sharing his fate. The magazine had been ignited by a menial boy, out of revenge against his master ; and It was the general sentiment of the time, and it was long a traditionary belief in his family, that he came to his end on account of his cruel treatment of Anne Bothwell. I have reprinted Ramsay's version with emendations from Percy's, and incorporated with it the three verses which occur in Percy and are not in Ramsay.] Balow, my babe, lie .still and sleep ! It grieves me sair to hear thee weep ! If thou'st be silent, I'se be glad, Thy maiming* maks my heart full sad. Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy. Thy father breeds me great annoy, Balow, my babe, lie still and sleep, It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. When he began to court my love. And with his sugared words to move. His fainings false and flattering chere. To me that time did not appere ; But now I see most cruel he Cares neither for my babe nor me. Balow, my boy, lie still and sleep, It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. Lie still, my darling, sleep awhile. And when thou wakest sweetly smile; But smile not as thy father did To cozen maids ; nay, God forbid ! * Moaning. 42 LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT. But yet I fear thou wilt go near Thy father's heart and face to bear. Balow, my bo3% lie still and sleep. It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. But do not, do not, prettie mine. To fainings false thine heart incline. Be loyal to thy lover true. And never change her for a new If gude or fair of her hae care, For woman's banning's wonderpus sair. Balow, my boy, lie still and sleep. It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. I was too simple at the first. To yield thee all a maiden durst. Thou swore for ever true to prove. Thy faith unchang'd, unchang'd thy love; But quick as thought the change is wrought. Thy love nae mair, thy promise nought. Balow, my boy, lie still and sleep. It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. I wish I were a maid again. From young men's flattery I'd refrain. For now unto my grief I find. They all are perjured aud unkind . Bewitching charms bred ail my harms. Witness my babe lies in my arms. Balow, my boy, lie still and sleep. It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. I tak my fate from bad to worse. That I must needs be now a nurse. And lull my young son on my lap : From me, sweet infant, take the pap. Balow, my child, thy mother mild. Shall wail, as from all bliss exiled. Balow, my boy, lie still and sleep. It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. Balow, my boy, weep not for me. Whose greatest griet's for wranging thee. Nor pity her deserved smart. Who can blame none but her fond heart. LADY ANNE BOTHWELVS LAMENT. 43 For too soon trasting latest finds. With fairest hearts are falsest minds. Balow, my boy, lie still and sleep. It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. Balow, my boy, thy father's fled. When he the thriftless son had play'd ; Of vows and oaths forgetful, he Preferred the wars to thee and me. But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine Make him eat acorns with the swine. Balow, my boy, lie still and sleep. It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. But curse not him ; perhaps now he. Stung with remorse, is blessing thee - Perhaps at death ; for who can tell. Whether the Judge of heaven and hell. By some proud foe has struck the blow. And laid the dear deceivir low ? Balow, my boy, lie still and sleep. It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. I wish I were into the bounds. Where he lies smothered in his wounds. Repeating, as he pants for air, My name, whom once he called his fair. No woman's )'et so fiercely set. But she'll forgive, though not forget. Balow, my boy, lie still and sleep. It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. If linen lacks, for my love's sake. Then quickly to him would I take My smock, once for his body meet. And wrap him in that winding-sheet. Oh me ! how happy had I been If he had ne'er been wrapt therein. Balow, my boy, lie still and sleep. It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. I canna choose, but ever will Be loving to thy father still : Whaur-e'er he gae, whaur-e'er he ride My love with him doth still abide ; 44 GEORDIE. In weel or woe, whaur-e'er he gae. Mine heart can ne'er depart him frae. Balow, my boy, he still and sleep. It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. Balow, my boy, I'll weep for thee ; Too soon, alake, thou'lt weep for me ! Thy griefs are growing to a sum, God grant tliee patience when they come ; Born to sustain thy mother's shame, A hapless fate, a bastard's name. Balow, my boy, lie still and sleep, It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. Fareweel, fareweel, thou falsest youth That ever kist a woman's mouth. I wish all maids be warned by me. Never to trust man's courtesie ; For if we do but chance to bow, They'll use us then they care not how ! Balow, my bo}', lie still and sleep. It grieves me sair to hear thee weep. Bairn, sin thy cruel father's gane. Thy winsome smiles maun ease my pain ; My babe and I'll together live; He'll comfort me when cares do grieve ; My babe and I richt safe will lie. And quite forget man's cruelty. Balow, my bo}', lay still and sleep, It grieves my heart to hear tliee weep. GEORDIE. [The following ballad was communicated by Burns, who took it down from recita- tion, to Johnson's " iVIuseum." It is supposed to refer to the temporary disgrace of George Gordon, Earl of Huntly, in 1554, during the regency of IVIary of Guise. Mr. Buchan publishes a lengthy version under the title of " Gight's Lady." According to him, the hero, George Gordon of Gight, was imprisoned on account of an intrigue with the Laird of Bignet's lady. Mr. Buchan's version has a very unpleasant ending : after his wife has ransomed him from the scaffold, in the manner set forth in the following ballad, Geordie kills her in a cruel and brutal manner. I hope 1 may be pardoned for introducing three stanzas from Mr. Buchan's version. The twc referring to Lord Montague's wish and the wife's answer are so racy I could not resist their introduction, although thev are in no wise required to help out the story.] GEORDIE. 4,; There was a battle in the north. It wasna' far frae Fordie, And they hae killed Sir Charlie Hay, And they laid the wyte* on Geordie. O, he has written a lang letter. He sent it to his lady ; " It's ye maun come up to E'nbrugh town,. To see what word's o' Geordie." When first she look'd the letter on. She was baith red and rosy ; But she hadna' read a word but twa. Till she wallow'tf like a lily. " Gar get to me my gude grey steed ; My menziej: a' gae «'i' me; For I shall neither eat nor drink. Till E'ubrugh town shall see me." And she has mountit her gude grey steed, Her menzie a' gaed wi' her ; And she did neither eat nor drink. Till E'nbrugh toun did see her. And first appear'd the fatal block. And syne the axe to heid him ; And Geordie com in' down the stair, And bands o' airn upon him. But tho' he was chain'd wi' fetters Strang, O' airn and steel sae heavy. There wasna ane in a' the court, Sae braw a man as Geordie. O she's doun on her bendit knee, I wat she's pale and wearie ; " O pardon, pardon, noble king. And gie me back my dearie ! " I hae born seven sons to my Geordie dear. The seventh ne'er saw his daddie ; O pardon, pardon, noble king. Pity a waefu' lady !" * Blame. f Withered; faded. + Men; retinue. 46 GEORDIE. " Gar bid the heiding-man mak' haste !" The king replied fu" lordly; " O noble king, tak' a' that's mine. But gie me back my Geordie !" The Gordons cam', and the Gordons ran, And they were stark and steady ; And aye the word amang them a". Was, " Gordons, keep you ready !" An auld lord at the king's right hand, Says, " Noble king, but hear me ; Gar her tell down five thousand pound. And gie her back her dearie." Then out and speaks the King again, but he spak' bonnie : " If ye' 11 tell doun five thousand pounds, Ye'U buy the life o' Geordie!" Some gae* her merks, some gae her crouns. Some gae her dollars many. And she's tell'd doun five thousand pound. And she's gotten again her dearie. Then out and speaks Lord Montague, Wae be to his body : " I wish that Geordie wantit the head, 1 might enjoyed his lady." Out and speaks the lady hersel, " Ye need ne'er wish my body ; O ! ill befa' your wizzened snout. Wad ye compare wi' Geordie !" She blinkjt blythe in her Geordie's face. Says, " Dear hae I bought thee, Geordie, But there sud hae been bluidy boukst on the green. Or I had ymX.% my lordie!" He claspit her by the middle sma'. And he kiss'd her lips sae rosy ; "The fairest flower o' womankind Is my sweet bonnie lady !" * Gave. f Trunks; bodies- J Lost. THE CLERKS OF OWSENFORD. 47 THE CLERKS OF OWSENFORD. [No trace of any foundation in fact for the following ballad can be found. Owsen- ford (Oxenford) is a seat of the Earl of Stair's, in the county of Mid-Lothian. The following version is principally compiled from those of Mr. Buchan and Mr. Cham- bers: — ] Oh ! I will sing to you a sang Will grieve your heart full sair. How the twa bonny clerks o' Owsenford Went afF to learn their lear. They hadna been in fair Pans A twelvemonth and a day. Till the twa bonny clerks o' Owsenford Wi' the mayor's twa dauchters lay. And aye as the twa clerks sat and wrote. The ladies sewed and sang ; There was mair mirth in that chamber Than in all Ferrol's land. But w^ord has gane to the michty mayor. As he sat at the wine. That the twa bonny clerks o' Owsenford Wi' his twa dauchters had lain. " Oh have they lain wi' my dauchters dear. The heirs out owre my land ? The morn, ere I eat or drink, I'll hang them wi' my hand !" Then he has ta'en the twa bonny clerks. Bound them frae tap to tae. Till the reddest blude in a' their veins Out owre their nails did gae. And word has gane to Owsenford, 111 news bides never lang, , That his twa sons at fair Paris, Were bound in prison Strang. Then up spak Lady Owsenford, And she spak tenderlie, " Oh tak wi' you a purse o' gowd. Or even tak ye three ; And gin ye borrow na hjtide Henrie, Bring Gilbert back to me !" 48 THE CLERKS OF OWSENFORD. Out and spak auld Owsenford, A waefu* man was he — " Your strange wish does me surprise ; They are baith alike to me."' Oh sweetly sang the nichtiugale. As she sat on the wand : But sair, sair mourned Owsenford, As he gaed to the strand. When he cam to the prison Strang, He rade it round about. And at a little shot-window His sons were looking out. " Oh lie ye there, my sons," he said, " For owsen* or for kye ? Or is 't for a cast o' dear-bocht love Sae sair bound as ye lie?" "We lie not here, father," they said, " For owsen or for kye ; But it 's for a cast o' dear-bocht love Sae sair bound as we lie "Oh borrow us, borrow us, father," they said, " For the love we bear to thee !" " Fear ye na that, my bonny sons ; Weel borrowed ye shall be." Then he has gane to the michty mayor, And he spak richt courteously — " Now will ye gie me my sons again. For gowd or yet for fee ? Or will ye be sae gude a man As grant them baitli to me ?" " I winna gie ye your sons again. For gowd nor yet for fee, Nor will I be sae gude a man As gie them baith to thee : But gin ye bide till twal the morn. You'll see them hangit hie !" * Oxen. THE CLERKS OF OWSENFORD. 49 In then cam the mayors dauchters, Wi' kirtle, coat alone ; Their eyes they sparkled like the gowd As they tript o'er the stone. " Oh, will you gie us our loves, father! For gowd or yet for fee ; Or will you tak our ain twa lives, And let our true loves be ?" He's ta'en a whip into his hand. And lashed tliem wondrous sairj " Gae to your bowers, ye vile lemans. Ye se never see them mair !" Then out and speaks auld Owsenford, A waefu' man was he — " Gang to your bowers, ye lily flowers. For a' this maunna be." Then out and speaks him, hynde* Henrie, "Come here, Janet, to me; ■Will ye gie me my faith and troth. And love, as I gave thee ?" ' Oh, ye shall hae your faith and troth, Wi" God's blessing and mine !" And twenty times she kissed his mouth. Her father looking on. Then out and speaks him, gay Gilbert, " Come here, Margaret, to me ; Will ye gie me my faith and troth. And love, as I gave tliee ?" " Yes, ye shall get your faith and troth, Wi' God's blessing and mine!" And twenty times she kissed his mouth. Her father looking on. " Ye'U take affyour twa black hats. And lay them on that stane. That nane may ken that ye are clerks, Till that ye' re putten down.'t ■* Youth; stripling. f The phrase refers to death by hanging E 50 GUDE WALLACE. GUDE WALLACE. [There are several versions of this ballad, some of them giving Lochmaben in Dum- friesshire as the scene where the incidents occurred, which is the same as that given by Bhnd Harry. The following, with some slight emendations and ailditions, is from Mr. Motherwell's collection, the scene bemglaid at Perth, or St. Johnstoun's as it was then called.] Wallace in the hie Highlands, Neither meat nor drink gat he; Said, " Fa'* me Hfe, or fa' me death, Now to some town I maun be." He's put on his short cleiding,t And on his short cleiding put he ; Says, " Fa' me life, or fa' me death. To Saint Johnstoun's:}: I maun be." He steppit owre the river Tay, On the North Inch steppit he. And he was 'ware o' a well-faured maid Was washing aneath a tree. " What news, what news, ye weel-faured maid. What news hae ye to me ?" " Nae news, nae news, ye gentle knight, Nae news hae I to thee; But fifteen lords in the hostler-house Awaiting Wallace for to see." " If I had but in my pocket. The worth of one single pennie, I would go to the hostler-house. And there the Englishmen wad see." She put her hand in her pocket, And she has pulled out half-a-croun ; Says, "Tak ye that, ye belted knight, 'Twill pay your way till ye come doun." As he went frae the weel-faured maid, A beggar bauld I wat met he, Was covered wi' a clouted§ cloak. And in his hand a trustie tree. * Befall. f Clothing. X The town of Perth. § Patched ; repaired. GUDE WALLACE. e^i " What news, what news, ye silly auld man. What news hae ye to gie ?" " Nac news, nae news, ye belted knight, Nac news hae I to thee ; But there's fifteen lords in the hostler-house Waiting Wallace for to see." " Ye'll lend to me your clou'.ed cloak. That covers you frae head to tliic,* And rU gang to the hostler-house. To ask there for some supplie." Now he's gane to the West-muir wood. And there he pulled a trusty tree. And then he's on lo the hostler-house. Asking there for charitie. Down the stair the captain comes. Aye the puir man for to see; " If ye be a captain as gude as ye look, Ye'll gie a puir man some supplie. " " Whaur were ye born, j-e cniiket carle ? + Whaur were ye born, in what countrie?" " In fair Scotland I was born, Cruiket carle as ye ca' me." " I wad gie you fifty pounds. Of gold and of the white monie, I wad gie you fifty pounds, If the traitor Wallace ye'd let me see." "Tell doun your monie," said Willie Wallace, "Tell doun your monie, if it be gude; For I'm sure I hae it in my power And I never had a better bodc^: "Tell doun your monie, if it be gude. And let me see if it be fine; I'm sure I hae it in my power To bring the traitor Wallace in." Thigli. t Crooked old fellow. : Offer. E 2 52, GUDE WALLACE. The monie was lold on the table. Silver bright of poands fiftie; "Now here I -.taiid," said Willie Wallace, And his cloak frae him garred* flee. He felled the captain where he stood, Wi" a downright straikt upon the floor. He slew the rest around the room. Syne speiredj gin§ there were ony more. "Come, cover the table," said Willie Wallace, " Come, cover the table, now mak haste. For it will sune be three lang days Sin' I a bit o' meat did taste." The table was not well covered. Nor yet had he sat down to dine. Till fifteen mair o" the English lords Cam round the house where he was in. " Come out, come out, thou traitor, Wallace, This is the day that ye maun dee;"" " I Iippen nae sae little to God,"" he says, " Altho" I be but little wordie." The gudewife she ran butt the floor, And aye the gudeman he ran ben;|i From eight o'clock till four at noon, Wallace has killed full thirty men. He put his faes in sic a swither,^ That five o" them he stickit dead ; Five o' them he drowned in the river, And five he hung in the West-muir wood. Now he is on to the North-Inch gane. Where the maid was washin' tenderlie; " Now, by my sooth,"" said Willie Wallace, " It's been a sair day's wark to me !" He's put his hand into his pocket. And he has pu'd out twenty poun" ; Says, "Tak ye that, ye weel-faured maid. For the gude luck o" your half-croun \" * Made. t Stroke. J Then aske