Transcriber's Notes
This book contains material in multiple languages, and numerous examples of archaic, non-standard and dialect forms of English. Therefore no attempts to standardize spelling would be appropriate. The only changes made to the text are to correct typographical errors etc. which are listed at the end of the book. Minor corrections to format or punctuation have been made without comment.
Footnotes have been numbered sequentially throughout the book but are presented at the end of each section or ballad to which they refer.
Special characters:
[asterism] represents an asterism of 3 stars
THE ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH
POPULAR BALLADS
THE
ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH
POPULAR BALLADS
EDITED BY
FRANCIS JAMES CHILD
IN FIVE VOLUMES
VOLUME II
NEW YORK
DOVER PUBLICATIONS, INC.
This Dover edition, first published in 1965, is an unabridged and unaltered republication of the work originally published by Houghton, Mifflin and Company, as follows:
- Vol. I—Part I, 1882; Part II, 1884
- Vol. II—Part III, 1885; Part IV, 1886
- Vol. III—Part V, 1888; Part VI, 1889
- Vol. IV—Part VII, 1890; Part VIII, 1892
- Vol. V—Part IX, 1894; Part X, 1898.
This edition also contains as an appendix to Part X an essay by Walter Morris Hart entitled "Professor Child and the Ballad," reprinted in toto from Vol. XXI, No. 4, 1906 [New Series Vol. XIV, No. 4] of the Publications of the Modern Language Association of America.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 65-24347
Manufactured in the United States of America
Dover Publications, Inc. 180 Varick Street New York, N.Y. 10014
ADVERTISEMENT TO PART IV
NUMBERS 83-113
Upon concluding this Fourth Part, I have to express warm thanks to Mr James Barclay Murdoch for a punctilious recollation of Motherwell's manuscript, and to Mr Malcolm Colquhoun Thomson for again granting the use of the volume. Miss Mary Fraser Tytler, to remove a doubt about a few readings, has generously taken the trouble to make a fac-simile copy of Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown manuscript. Mr Macmath, whose accuracy is not surpassed by photographic reproduction, has done me favors of a like kind, and of many kinds. Rev. Professor Skeat, with all his engagements, has been prompt to render his peculiarly valuable help at the libraries of Cambridge; and Mr F. H. Stoddard, late of Oxford, now of the University of California, has allowed me to call upon him freely for copies and collations at the Bodleian Library. The notes which Dr Reinhold Köhler, Professor Felix Liebricht, Professor C. R. Lanman, and Mr George Lyman Kittredge have contributed, in the way of Additions and Corrections, will speak for themselves. Miss Isabel Florence Hapgood, translator of the Epic Songs of Russia, has given me much assistance in Slavic popular poetry, and Lieutenant-Colonel W. F. Prideaux, of Calcutta, Mr Frank Kidson, of Leeds, and Mr P. Z. Round, of London, have made obliging communications as to English ballads.
F. J. C.
November, 1886.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME II
| BALLAD | PAGE | |
| 54. | The Cherry-Tree Carol | 1 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 509; V, 220.) | ||
| 55. | The Carnal and the Crane | 7 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 509; III, 507; IV, 462; V, 220.) | ||
| 56. | Dives and Lazarus | 10 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 510; III, 507; IV, 462; V, 220, 292.) | ||
| 57. | Brown Robyn's Confession | 13 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 510; III, 508; IV, 462; V, 220, 292.) | ||
| 58. | Sir Patrick Spens | 17 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 510; V, 220.) | ||
| 59. | Sir Aldingar | 33 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 510; III, 508; IV, 463; V, 292.) | ||
| 60. | King Estmere | 49 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 510; III, 508; IV, 463.) | ||
| 61. | Sir Cawline | 56 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 511; III, 508; IV, 463.) | ||
| 62. | Fair Annie | 63 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 511; IV, 463; V, 220.) | ||
| 63. | Child Waters | 83 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 511; III, 508; IV, 463; V, 220.) | ||
| 64. | Fair Janet | 100 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 508; IV, 464; V, 222, 292.) | ||
| 65. | Lady Maisry | 112 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 508; IV, 466; V, 222, 292.) | ||
| 66. | Lord Ingram and Chiel Wyet | 126 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 511; III, 508; V, 223, 292.) | ||
| 67. | Glasgerion | 136 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 511; III, 509; IV, 468; V, 293.) | ||
| 68. | Young Hunting | 142 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 512; III, 509; IV, 468; V, 223.) | ||
| 69. | Clerk Saunders | 156 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 512; III, 509; IV, 468; V, 223, 293.) | ||
| 70. | Willie and Lady Maisry | 167 |
| 71. | The Bent Sae Brown | 170 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 509; IV, 469; V, 223.) | ||
| 72. | The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford | 173 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 512; III, 509; IV, 469; V, 293.) | ||
| 73. | Lord Thomas and Fair Annet | 179 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 512; III, 509; IV, 469; V, 223, 293.) | ||
| 74. | Fair Margaret and Sweet William | 199 |
| (Additions and Corrections: V, 224, 293.)[Pg viii] | ||
| 75. | Lord Lovel | 204 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 512; III, 510; IV, 471; V, 225, 294.) | ||
| 76. | The Lass of Roch Royal | 213 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 510; IV, 471; V, 225, 294.) | ||
| 77. | Sweet William's Ghost | 226 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 512; IV, 474; V, 225, 294.) | ||
| 78. | The Unquiet Grave | 234 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 512; III, 512; IV, 474; V, 225, 294.) | ||
| 79. | The Wife of Usher's Well | 238 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 513; V, 294.) | ||
| 80. | Old Robin of Portingale | 240 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 513; III, 514; IV, 476; V, 225, 295.) | ||
| 81. | Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard | 242 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 513; IV, 476; V, 225.) | ||
| 82. | The Bonny Birdy | 260 |
| 83. | Child Maurice | 263 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 514; IV, 478.) | ||
| 84. | Bonny Barbara Allan | 276 |
| (additions and Corrections: III, 514.) | ||
| 85. | Lady Alice | 279 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 514; V, 225.) | ||
| 86. | Young Benjie | 281 |
| (Additions and Corrections: IV, 478.) | ||
| 87. | Prince Robert | 284 |
| (Additions and Corrections: V, 295.) | ||
| 88. | Young Johnstone | 288 |
| 89. | Fause Foodrage | 296 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 513; III, 515; IV, 479.) | ||
| 90. | Jellon Grame | 302 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 513; III, 515; IV, 479; V, 226, 295.) | ||
| 91. | Fair Mary of Wallington | 309 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 513; III, 515; IV, 479; V, 227.) | ||
| 92. | Bonny Bee Hom | 317 |
| (Additions and Corrections: V, 229.) | ||
| 93. | Lamkin | 320 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 513; III, 515; IV, 480; V, 229, 295.) | ||
| 94. | Young Waters | 342 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 516.) | ||
| 95. | The Maid Freed from the Gallows | 346 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 514; III, 516; IV, 481; V, 231, 296.) | ||
| 96. | The Gay Goshawk | 355 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 517; IV, 482; V, 234, 296.) | ||
| 97. | Brown Robin | 368 |
| 98. | Brown Adam | 373 |
| 99. | Johnie Scot | 377 |
| (Additions and Corrections: IV, 486; V, 234.) | ||
| 100. | Willie o Winsbury | 398 |
| (Additions and Corrections: II, 514; III, 517; IV, 491; V, 296.) | ||
| 101. | Willie o Douglas Dale | 406 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 517; V, 235.)[Pg ix] | ||
| 102. | Willie and Earl Richard's Daughter | 412 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 518.) | ||
| 103. | Rose the Red and White Lily | 415 |
| 104. | Prince Heathen | 424 |
| (Additions and Corrections: V, 296.) | ||
| 105. | The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington | 426 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 518; V, 237.) | ||
| 106. | The Famous Flower of Serving-Men | 428 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 518; IV, 492.) | ||
| 107. | Will Stewart and John | 432 |
| (Additions and Corrections: V, 237.) | ||
| 108. | Christopher White | 439 |
| 109. | Tom Potts | 441 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 518.) | ||
| 110. | The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter | 457 |
| (Additions and Corrections: IV, 492; V, 237.) | ||
| 111. | Crow and Pie | 478 |
| 112. | The Baffled Knight | 479 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 518; IV, 495; V, 239, 296.) | ||
| 113. | The Great Silkie of Sule Skerry | 494 |
| (Additions and Corrections: III, 518; IV, 495.) | ||
| Additions and Corrections | 495 | |
54
THE CHERRY-TREE CAROL
A. a. 'Joseph was an old man,' Sandys, Christmas Carols, p. 123. b. Sandys, Christmastide, p. 241.
B. a. 'The Cherry-Tree Carol,' Husk, Songs of the Nativity, p. 59. b. Hone's Ancient Mysteries, p. 90. c. 'The Cherry-Tree Carol,' Sylvester, A Garland of Christmas Carols, p. 45. d. 'The Cherry-Tree,' Birmingham chap-book, of about 1843, in B. Harris Cowper's Apocryphal Gospels, p. xxxviii.
C. 'The Cherry-Tree Carol,' Bramley and Stainer, Christmas Carols, p. 60.
D. Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, XII, 461.
The proper story of this highly popular carol is derived from the Pseudo-Matthew's gospel, chapter xx; Tischendorf, Evangelia Apocrypha, p. 82; Thilo, Codex Apocryphus Novi Testamenti, Historia de Nativitate Mariæ et de Infantia Salvatoris, p. 395. What succeeds, after A 9, B 8, C 7, D 6, is probably founded on the angel's words to the shepherds in Luke ii, and on Jesus's predictions in the authentic gospels. This latter portion is sometimes printed as an independent carol, under the title of 'Joseph and the Angel.'[1]
On the third day of the flight into Egypt, Mary, feeling the heat to be oppressive, tells Joseph that she will rest for a while under a palm-tree. Joseph helps her to light from her beast, and Mary, looking up from under the tree, and seeing it full of fruit, asks for some. Joseph somewhat testily expresses his surprise that she should think of such a thing, considering the height of the tree: he is much more concerned to get a supply of water. Then Jesus, sitting on his mother's lap, bids the palm to bow down and refresh his mother with its fruit. The palm instantly bends its top to Mary's feet.
The truly popular carol would be sure to adapt the fruit to its own soil. In English the tree is always a cherry. We have the story also in the fifteenth of the Coventry Mysteries, ed. Halliwell, p. 146 (not omitting Joseph's quip in A 5, etc.), with the addition of a little more miracle: for it is not the season for cherries, and Mary's wish is anticipated by the tree's blooming before she has uttered it. In Catalan and Provençal the tree is an apple. On the way from Bethlehem to Nazareth, Mary and Joseph come upon a gardener who is climbing an apple-tree, and Mary asks for an apple. He politely gives her leave to pluck for herself. Joseph, who this time has not been disobliging, tries, but the branches go up; Mary tries, and the branches come to her:[2] Milá, Romancerillo, p. 3, No 4. Also p. 63, No 55, where again Joseph is molt felló, very crusty; further, Briz, III, 228; Arbaud, Chants populaires de la Provence, 'Lou premier Miracle,' I, 23, and 'La Fuito en Egypto,' II, 237 f. In other legendary ballads, not so entirely popular, the palm-tree is preserved: Meinert, p. 262; Böhme, p. 628, No 523=Weinhold, Weihnachtspiele, p. 385; Lexer, Kärntisches Wörterbuch, p. 310; Feifalik, Die Kindheit Jesu, pp 101, 106=Pailler, Weihnachtlieder aus Oberösterreich, No 314, p 338 f; Pailler, p. 332, No 310; Hoffmann, Horæ Belgicæ, Part Ten, p. 59; Alberdingk Thijm, I, 212. In Schmitz, Sitten und Sagen des Eifler Volkes, I, 116, and Pailler, as above, No 311, we have a fig-tree.[Pg 2] Some of these are very imperfect, or have even lost chief points in the story.
There are many narratives of the childhood of Jesus, based on the apocryphal gospels, in which this legend must needs be found: as, Cursor Mundi, ed. Morris, II, 668 f, v. 11,657 ff; Horstmann, Altenglische Legenden, 1875, p. 6, 1878, pp 102, 112; Stephens, Fornsvenskt Legendarium, p. 71; Pitré, Canti popolari siciliani, II, 333.[3]
A
a. Sandys, Christmas Carols, p. 123, West of England. b. Sandys, Christmastide, p. 241.
and an old man was he,
When he wedded Mary,
in the land of Galilee.
through an orchard good,
Where was cherries and berries,
so red as any blood.
through an orchard green,
Where was berries and cherries,
as thick as might be seen.
so meek and so mild:
'Pluck me one cherry, Joseph,
for I am with child.'
with words most unkind:
'Let him pluck thee a cherry
that brought thee with child.'
within his mother's womb:
'Bow down then the tallest tree,
for my mother to have some.'
unto his mother's hand;
Then she cried, See, Joseph,
I have cherries at command.
'I have done Mary wrong;
But cheer up, my dearest,
and be not cast down.'
as red as the blood,
Then Mary went home
with her heavy load.
and sat him on her knee,
Saying, My dear son, tell me
what this world will be.
as the stones in the wall;
O the stones in the streets, mother,
shall mourn for me all.
my uprising shall be;
O the sun and the moon, mother,
shall both rise with me.'
B
a. Husk, Songs of the Nativity, p. 59, from a Worcester broadside of the last century. b. Hone's Ancient Mysteries, p. 90, from various copies, c. Sylvester, A Garland of Christmas Carols, p. 45. d. Birmingham chap-book, of about 1843, in B. Harris Cowper's Apocryphal Gospels, p. xxxviii.
and an old man was he,
And he married Mary,
the Queen of Galilee.
and Mary home had brought,
[Pg 3] Mary proved with child,
and Joseph knew it not.
through a garden gay,
Where the cherries they grew
upon every tree.
with words both meek and mild:
'O gather me cherries, Joseph,
they run so in my mind.'
with words so unkind:
'Let him gather thee cherries
that got thee with child.'
all in his mother's womb:
'Bow down, good cherry-tree,
to my mother's hand.'
bowed down to Mary's knee:
'Thus you may see, Joseph,
these cherries are for me.'
O eat your cherries now;
O eat your cherries, Mary,
that grow upon the bough.'
he heard an angel sing:
'This night shall be born
our heavenly king.
in housen nor in hall,
Nor in the place of Paradise,
but in an ox's stall.
in purple nor in pall,
But all in fair linen,
as were babies all.
in silver nor in gold,
But in a wooden cradle,
that rocks on the mould.
in white wine nor red,
But with fair spring water,
with which we were christened.'
and set him on her knee:
'I pray thee now, dear child,
tell how this world shall be.'
as the stones in the wall;
O the stones in the street, mother,
shall mourn for me all.
my vow I will make,
And upon Good Friday
my death I will take.
my rising shall be;
O the sun and the moon
shall uprise with me.
and the birds they shall sing,
To see the uprising
of the heavenly king.'
C
Bramley and Stainer, Christmas Carols, p. 60.
an old man was he,
He married sweet Mary,
the Queen of Galilee.
in the garden so gay,
Maid Mary spied cherries,
hanging over yon tree.
with her sweet lips so mild,
[Pg 4] 'Pluck those cherries, Joseph,
for to give to my child.'
with words so unkind,
'I will pluck no cherries
for to give to thy child.'
'Bow down to my knee,
That I may pluck cherries,
by one, two, and three.'
bowed down to her knee:
'Thus you may see, Joseph,
these cherries are for me.'
O eat your cherries now,
O eat your cherries, Mary,
that grow upon the bough.'
he heard angels sing,
'This night there shall be born
our heavenly king.
in house nor in hall,
Nor in the place of Paradise,
but in an ox-stall.
in purple nor pall,
But all in fair linen,
as wear babies all.
in silver nor gold,
But in a wooden cradle,
that rocks on the mould.
in milk nor in wine,
But in pure spring-well water,
fresh sprung from Bethine.'
she dressed him so sweet;
She laid him in a manger,
all there for to sleep.
she heard angels sing,
'Oh bless our dear Saviour,
our heavenly king.'
D
Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, XII, 461; taken from the mouth of a wandering gypsy girl in Berkshire.
and an old man was he,
And he married Mary,
from the land of Galilee.
how warm he were abroad,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
walkd down to the gardens cool;
Then Mary spied a cherry,
as red as any blood.
for I am with child:'
'Let him pluck the cherry, Mary,
as is father to the child.'
from his mother's womb:
'Mary shall have cherries,
and Joseph shall have none.'
bowd down to Mary's knee;
Then Mary pluckt the cherry,
by one, two, and three.
and heard a great din:
'God bless our sweet Saviour,
our heaven's love in.'
[Pg 5]
in silver or in gold,
But in a wooden cradle,
like other babes all.
in white wine or red,
But in some spring water,
like other babes all.
A. b.
When Joseph and Mary
walked in the garden good,
There was cherries and berries,
as red as the blood.
3 is wanting.
43. some cherries.
52. so unkind.
53. the cherries.
61,2. bespoke Jesus in.
64. that my mother may.
71,2. tallest tree, it bent to Mary's.
After 8:
did to Bethlehem go,
And with travels were weary,
walking to and fro.
but the inns were filld all,
They, alas! could not have it,
but in an ox's stall.
our Saviour was born,
In the month of December,
Christmas Day in the morn.
9-12 are wanting.
B. b.
22. and his cousin Mary got.
24. by whom Joseph knew not.
31. As Joseph.
32. the garden.
43. Gather me some.
for I am with child.
51. O then bespoke.
52. with words most.
all in his mother's womb:
Go to the tree, Mary,
and it shall bow down.
and it shall bow to thee,
And the highest branch of all
shall bow down to Mary's knee.
by one, by two, by three:
Now you may see, Joseph,
those cherries were for me.
133. with the spring.
the stones in the street,
For the sun and the moon
shall bow down at thy feet.
(my feet in a Warwickshire broadside: Sylvester.)
my uprising shall be,
And the sun and the moon
shall rise up with me.
18 is wanting.
For 9-13 we have, as a separate carol, in Chappell's Christmas Carols, edited by Dr E. F. Rimbault, p. 22, the following verses, traditional in Somersetshire:[4]
As Joseph was a walking
he heard an angel sing:
'This night shall be the birth-time
of Christ, the heavnly king.
in housen nor in hall,
Nor in the place of Paradise,
but in an ox's stall.
in purple nor in pall,
But in the fair white linen
that usen babies all.
in silver nor in gold,
[Pg 6] But in a wooden manger,
that resteth on the mould.'
there did an angel sing,
And Mary's child at midnight
was born to be our king.
this night of all the year,
And light ye up your candles,
for his star it shineth clear.
c.
13. When he.
2 is omitted.
After 3:
through an orchard good,
Where were cherries and berries,
as red as any blood.
5 is omitted.
Go to the tree, Mary,
and it shall bow to thee,
And the highest branch of all
shall bow down to Mary's knee.
and it shall bow to thee,
And you shall gather cherries,
by one, by two, and three.
unto his mother's hand:
See, Mary cried, see, Joseph,
I have cherries at command.
172. my uprising.
173. moon, mother.
174. shall both rise.
18 is wanting, and is suspiciously modern.
d.
11. When Joseph.
12. and wanting.
his cousin Mary got.
24. by whom Joseph knew not.
31. As Joseph.
32. the garden gay.
upon every spray.
for I am with child.
they run so in my mind.
Then bespoke Joseph,
with wordes so unkind,
Then said Mary, You shall see,
By what will happen,
these cherries were for me.
61. Then bespoke Jesus.
and it shall bow down.
shall bow to Mary's knee,
And she shall gather cherries,
by one, two, and three.
8 wanting.
10 wanting.
113. But in fine.
white wine and bread.
133. But cold spring.
13 precedes 12.
143, 4. Come tell me, dear child, how.
like the stones in the street,
For the sun and the moon
shall bow down at my feet.
The rest is wanting.
D.
32. to the garden school.
The first stanza is said to have this variation in Worcestershire:
and a hoary man was he.
Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, III, 75.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] A copy of the Cherry-Tree carol in The Guardian, Dec. 27, 1871, is partly compiled "from several ancient sources," and partly composed by the contributor: see Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, X, 73.
[2] Cf. the very naive D 5: 'Mary shall have cherries, and Joseph shall have none.'
[3] Liber de Infantia Mariæ et Christi Salvatoris, O. Schade, 1869, p. 38 f, follows almost word for word the Pseudo-Matthew. In note 234 the editor points out passages where the story occurs in Hróthsvítha, and other mediæval poetry. See, also, Schade, Narrationes de vita et conversatione beatæ Mariæ Virginis, 1870, pp 16, 24.
[4] The same in Christmas and Christmas Carols [by J. F. Russell], p. 26, with an additional modern-sounding stanza.
55
THE CARNAL AND THE CRANE
'The Carnal and the Crane.' a. Sandys, Christmas Carols, p. 152, Christmastide, p. 246, from a broadside. b. Husk, Songs of the Nativity, p. 97, apparently from a Worcester broadside, c. Birmingham chap-book, of about 1843, in B. Harris Cowper's Apocryphal Gospels, p. xli.
Mr Husk, who had access to a remarkably good collection of carols, afterwards unfortunately dispersed, had met with no copy of 'The Carnal and the Crane' of earlier date than the middle of the last century. Internal evidence points us much further back. The carol had obviously been transmitted from mouth to mouth before it was fixed in its present incoherent and corrupted form by print.[5]
The well-informed Crane instructs his catechumen, the Crow, in several matters pertaining to the birth and earliest days of Jesus: the Immaculate Conception; the Nativity; the conference of Herod with the Wise Men, including the miracle of the roasted cock; the Flight into Egypt, with the Adoration of the Beasts and the Instantaneous Harvest; the Massacre of the Innocents. Of the apocryphal incidents, the miracle of the cock, sts 10, 11, has been spoken of under No 22. The adoration of the beasts, sts 15, 16, is derived from the Historia de Nativitate Mariæ, etc. (Pseudo-Matthæi Evangelium), c. 19, Thilo, p. 394, Tischendorf, p. 81, and is of course frequent in legendaries of the infancy of the Saviour,[6] but is not remarkable enough to be popular in carols. The miraculous harvest, by which the Holy Family evade Herod's pursuit, is, on the contrary, a favorite subject with popular poetry, as also, like the bowing of the palm-tree, with pictorial art. I do not know where and when this pretty and clever legend was invented. In the Greek Gospel of Thomas, ch. 12, Jesus sows one grain of wheat, in the Latin Gospel of Thomas, ch. 10, and ch. 34 of the Pseudo-Matthew, a very little, and reaps an immense crop at harvest time; Tischendorf, pp 143 f, 165 f, 97: but this passage would hardly even suggest the miracle in question.[7] In a Swedish carol, 'Staffans-Visan,' reprinted from a recent broadside, in Dansk Kirketidende, 1861, cols 35, 36, by Professor George Stephens, and afterwards by Grundtvig, Danmarks Folkeviser, III, 882, the legend of the Cock and that of the Sower are combined, as here. The legend of the Sower is followed by that of the Palm-tree, and others, in La Fuito en Egypto, Arbaud, Chants p. de la Provence, II, 235. Another Provençal version of the Sower is given by Briz, IV, 70; a Catalan at pp 65 and 68, 'Lo rey Herodes;' ten Catalan versions by Milá, 'Herodes,' Romancerillo, pp 6-9, No 10. To these add: 'La Fuite en Égypte,' Poésies p. de la France, MS., I, fol. 226, 'Le roi Hérode,' VI, 192; 'De Vlucht naar Egypten,' Lootens et Feys, p. 32, No 20, Hoffmann von Fallersleben, Horæ Belgicæ, Part Ten, p. 22, No 4; 'Die Flucht Maria's,' Haupt und Schmaler, Volkslieder der Wenden, I, 275, No 283; Bezsonof, Kalyeki Perekhozhie, II, 116, No 319. The legend of the Sower occurs also in Le Geu des Trois Roys,[Pg 8] Jubinal, Mystères inédits du 15e Siècle, II, 117-131.
It is ordinarily Mary, and not Jesus, who operates the miracle; in the French mystery it is perhaps Joseph.[8] In the Provençal and Catalan ballads the Virgin commonly hides behind a sheaf or a stack, and does not pass on.[9]
And there as I did reign,
In argument I chanced to hear
A Carnal and a Crane.
If all the world should turn,
Before we had the Father,
But now we have the Son!
From where and from what place?'
He said, In a manger,
Between an ox and ass.
'Tell me before thou go,
Was not the mother of Jesus
Conceivd by the Holy Ghost?'
And the cleanest from sin;
She was the handmaid of our Lord
And mother of our king.
That Christ was rocked in?
Where are the silken sheets
That Jesus was wrapt in?'
That Christ was rocked in:
The provender the asses left
So sweetly he slept on.
So bright it did appear,
Into King Herod's chamber,
And where King Herod were.
And told the king on high
A princely babe was born that night
No king could eer destroy.
'As thou tellest unto me,
This roasted cock that lies in the dish
Shall crow full fences three.'
By the work of God's own hand,
And then three fences crowed he,
In the dish where he did stand.
See that you ready be;
All children under two years old
Now slain they all shall be.'
And Mary, that was so pure,
They travelld into Egypt,
As you shall find it sure.
Amongst those fierce wild beasts,
Mary, she being weary,
Must needs sit down to rest.
[Pg 9]
'Come sit thee down by me,
And thou shalt see how these wild beasts
Do come and worship me.'
Which Jesus's grace did bring,
And of the wild beasts in the field
The lion shall be king.
Of birth and high degree,
In every sundry nation,
Whereer we come and see.
And Mary, that was unknown,
They travelled by a husbandman,
Just while his seed was sown.
'Go fetch thy ox and wain,
And carry home thy corn again
Which thou this day hast sown.'
Even upon his face:
'Long time hast thou been looked for,
But now thou art come at last.
Thy name is Jesus called;
Redeemer of mankind thou art,
Though undeserving all.'
Of it thou mayst be sure,
For I must lose my precious blood
For thee and thousands more.
And enquire for me alone,
Tell them that Jesus passed by
As thou thy seed did sow.'
With his train so furiously,
Enquiring of the husbandman
Whether Jesus passed by.
And the truth it must be known;
For Jesus passed by this way
When my seed was sown.
And some laid on my wain,
Ready to fetch and carry
Into my barn again.'
'Your labor and mine's in vain;
It's full three quarters of a year
Since he his seed has sown.'
By the work of God's own hand,
And further he proceeded
Into the Holy Land.
Which for his sake did die;
Do not forbid those little ones,
And do not them deny.
And the truth now I have shown;
Even the Blessed Virgin
She's now brought forth a son.
a.
81. West land.
162. spring; perhaps a preposition has been dropped.
b.
12. did rein.
22. Sure all the world will turn.
31. Whence does the Son come from.
33. Out of the land of Egypt.
42. goest.
52. all sin.
53. of the.
74. slept in.
81. East land.
94. No prince should.
102. tellest me.
124. Now slaughtered shall be.
131. aye and.
133. Egypt land.
134. find most.
141. Egypt.
142. Among some.
143. Mary grown quite.
153. see that these.
154. Will come.
162. did bring.
164. be king.
173. every nation of the world.
181. aye and.
183. passed by.
184. As he his seed had.
194. hath sown.
But now thou art come at last;
And I myself do now believe
Thy name is Jesus called.
223. must shed.
234. seed had sown.
242. train most.
251. spoken.
254. As I my seed had sown.
261. And now.
263. The other you see is fit to carry.
264. barns.
271. said the Captain of the guard.
291. There were.
292. Who for.
293. these little.
303. Thus the.
304. Brought forth our Lord the Son.
c.
1-7. not given.
Which shed a cheerful ray
Into King Herod's chamber,
And where King Herod lay.
124. Now shall destroyed be.
21, 22. not given.
254. When I my seed had sown.
29, 30. not given.
FOOTNOTES:
[5] Carnal, cornicula, corneille, might be thought to have been long obsolete from the word not occurring in ordinary dictionaries, if in any: but it is hazardous to build conclusions on the omissions of dictionaries.
[6] As, Horstmann, Altenglische Legenden, 1875, p. 4, 1878, pp 101, 112; Cursor Mundi, 11, 629 ff, Morris, II, 660; Fornsvenskt Legendarium, p. 71; Feifalik, Kindheit Jesu, p. 103; Schade, Liber de Infantia, etc., p. 38, and note 226; etc.
[7] In Cursor Mundi, v. 12, 323 ff, II, 707, the sowing is according to the Apocrypha. In Luzel's Breton Ballads, I, 80/81, the Virgin, to keep a poor widow from killing one of her children to feed two others, makes corn sown at Christmas in early morning ripen before day.
[8] Joseph stops a moment to speak to the sower, asks the direct road to Egypt, and begs that if any inquiry is made he will say that nobody has passed that way. The sower is not punctilious, and answers, Je le feray très volontiers, que je voy bien qu'estez prodoms. The Swede is scrupulous. When the Virgin says, If anybody asks after us, say that you have seen nobody, he replies, I have promised my God never to tell a lie, "thinking she was only a lady." In the Wendish ballad the Virgin's demand is simply, If the Jews pass, conceal me not, reveal me not.
[9] In one Provençal version, Arbaud, II, 245 f, Joseph and Mary ask a man at work in the fields to save them from Herod, and he tells them to hide under mint. The mint depresses its leaves so as to afford no concealment. For this the mint is cursed; though it flower, it shall not seed. The good man then tells them to hide under sage; the sage stretches itself out to cover them. The mint betrays the Virgin in many of the Catalan ballads: She is under the stack! The salvia answers in Milá, C, 'ment la menta y mentirá.' In D parsley is the good plant: the mint is cursed with barrenness as before. In Milá, J, the partridge (one symbol of the devil) sings: Catxacatatxá! Sota la garbera la Mare de Deu está! for which its head is cursed, never to be eaten. So Briz, IV, 69.
56
DIVES AND LAZARUS
A. 'Dives and Lazarus.' a. Sylvester's Christmas Carols, p. 50. b. Husk, Songs of the Nativity, p. 94.
B. 'Diverus and Lazarus,' F. S. L., in Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, III, 76.
A ballet "of the Ryche man and poor Lazarus" was licensed to Master John Wallye and Mistress Toye, 19 July, 1557-9 July, 1558. W. Pekerynge pays his license for printing "of a ballett, Dyves and Lazarus," 22 July, 1570-22 July, 1571. Arber, Registers of the Company of Stationers, I, 76, 436. A fiddler in Fletcher's Monsieur Thomas, printed 1639, says he can sing The merry ballad of Diverus and Lazarus: Act 3, Scene 3, Dyce, VII, 364. The name Diverus is preserved in C, and F. S. L., who contributed this copy to Notes and Queries, had heard only Diverus, never Dives. Dr Rimbault, Notes and Queries, as above, p. 157, had never met with Diverus. Hone cites two stanzas, a 10, b 11, nearly, in his Ancient Mysteries, p. 95, and Sandys the last three stanzas, nearly as in a, in Notes and Queries, p. 157, as above. A copy in Bramley and Stainer's Christmas Carols, p. 85, seems to have been made up from Sylvester's and another copy. The few variations are probably arbitrary.
The subject could not escape the popular muse: e. g., Socard, Noëls et Cantiques imprimés à Troyes, Histoire de Lazare et du Mauvais Riche, p. 118 ff; 'El mal rico,' Milá, Romancerillo, p. 16, No 16, A-F; 'Lazarus,' Des Dülkener Fiedlers Liederbuch, p. 53, No 63; 'Lazar a bohatec,' Sušil, Moravské Národní Písnĕ, p. 19, No 18, Wenzig, Bibliothek Slavischer Poesien, p. 114; Bezsonof, Kalyeki Perekhozhie, I, 43-97, Nos 19-27.
There is a very beautiful ballad, in which the Madonna takes the place of Lazarus, in Roadside Songs of Tuscany, Francesca Alexander and John Ruskin, 'La Madonna e il Riccone,' p. 82.
A
a. Sylvester, A Garland of Christmas Carols, p. 50, from an old Birmingham broadside. b. Husk, Songs of the Nativity, p. 94, from a Worcestershire broadside of the last century.
Rich Dives he made a feast,
And he invited all his friends,
And gentry of the best.
And down at Dives' door:
'Some meat, some drink, brother Dives,
Bestow upon the poor.'
That lies begging at my door;
No meat nor drink will I give thee,
Nor bestow upon the poor.'
And down at Dives's wall:
'Some meat, some drink, brother Dives,
Or with hunger starve I shall.'
That lies begging at my wall;
No meat nor drink will I give thee,
But with hunger starve you shall.'
And down at Dives's gate:
'Some meat, some drink, brother Dives,
For Jesus Christ his sake.'
That lies begging at my gate;
No meat nor drink will I give thee,
For Jesus Christ his sake.'
To whip poor Lazarus away;
They had no power to strike a stroke,
But flung their whips away.
To bite him as he lay;
They had no power to bite at all,
But licked his sores away.
Poor Lazarus sickened and died;
Then came two angels out of heaven
His soul therein to guide.
And go along with me;
For you've a place prepared in heaven,
To sit on an angel's knee.'
Rich Dives sickened and died;
Then came two serpents out of hell,
His soul therein to guide.
And go with us to see
A dismal place, prepared in hell,
From which thou canst not flee.'
And saw poor Lazarus blest:
'Give me one drop of water, brother Lazarus,
To quench my flaming thirst.
As there are blades of grass,
Then there would be an end, but now
Hell's pains will ne'er be past.
The space of one half hour!
Oh that I had my peace secure!
Then the devil should have no power.'
B
From memory, as sung by carol-singers at Christmas, in Worcestershire, at Hagley and Hartlebury, 1829-39: F. S. L., in Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, III, 76.
Rich Diverus he made a feast,
And he invited all his friends,
And gentry of the best.
Poor Lazarus he was so poor,
He came and laid him down and down,
Evn down at Diverus' door.
[Pg 12]
Even down at Diverus' door:
'Some meat, some drink, brother Diverus,
Do bestow upon the poor.'
Lying begging at my door:
No meat, no drink will I give thee,
Nor bestow upon the poor.'
Even down at Diverus' wall:
'Some meat, some drink, brother Diverus,
Or surely starve I shall.
Lying begging at my wall;
No meat, no drink will I give thee,
And therefore starve thou shall.'
Even down at Diverus' gate:
'Some meat, some drink, brother Diverus,
For Jesus Christ his sake.'
Lying begging at my gate;
No meat, no drink will I give thee,
For Jesus Christ his sake.
To whip poor Lazarus away;
They had not power to whip one whip,
But threw their whips away.
To bite poor Lazarus away;
They had not power to bite one bite,
But licked his sores away.
Poor Lazarus he sickened and died;
There came two angels out of heaven,
His soul thereto to guide.
And come along with me;
There is a place prepared in heaven,
For to sit upon an angel's knee.'
Rich Diverus he sickened and died;
There came two serpents out of hell,
His soul thereto to guide.
And come along with me;
There is a place prepared in hell,
For to sit upon a serpent's knee.'
A. a.
14-16. There are only these trifling variations in the stanzas cited by Sandys:
162. of an.
163. I'd made my peace.
b.
13. his guests.
73. I'll give to thee.
83. But they.
84. And flung.
93. But they.
94. So licked.
103. came an angel.
104. there for.
112. come along.
113. For there's a place in heaven provided.
123. There came a serpent.
124. there for.
And come along with me,
For there's a place in hell provided
To sit on a serpent's knee.
141. lifting his eyes to heaven.
142. And seeing.
But in hell I must ever last.
That the.
B.
13, 14 differ but slightly in Hone:
131. As it.
132. Rich Dives.
134. therein.
141. Dives.
143. For you've a place provided.
144. To sit.
57
BROWN ROBYN´S CONFESSION
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 110. Motherwell's MS., p. 580.
The only known version of 'Brown Robyn's Confession' is the one printed in Ballads of the North of Scotland, the copy in Motherwell's MS. having been derived from Buchan.
The ballad, as we have it in English, celebrates a miracle of the Virgin, and is our only example of that extensive class of legends, unless we choose to include 'The Jew's Daughter,' and to take Robin Hood's view of the restoration of his loan, in the fourth Fit of the Little Gest. Of rescues on the sea, by which Mary "vere maris stella indiciis evidentissimis comprobatur," we have two in most of the collections of the Virgin's miracles, e. g., Vincent of Beauvais, 1. VII, cc 88,89, Gautier de Coincy, ed. Poquet, pp 515, 605. The deliverance, however, is for honor done to Mary, and not for a fair confession.
A fine ballad, very common in Sweden, and preserved by tradition also in Denmark and Norway, has the same story with a tragical termination for the hero, saving a single instance, in which there is also a supernatural interference in his behalf.
Swedish. 'Herr Peders Sjöresa.' A, Afzelius, II, 31, No 36, new ed. No 30, from oral traditions, compared with a printed copy of the date 1787. B, Atterbom's Poetisk Kalender, 1816, p. 52, apparently from Gyllenmärs' Visbok, after which it is given by Bergström, Afzelius, II, 158. C, Arwidsson, II, 5, No 67, one of three closely resembling copies. D, 'Herr Peder,' Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 43, No 21. E, Fagerlund, p. 194, No 4. F, G, Aminson, IV, 20, 22.
Norwegian. 'Unge herr Peder pá sjöen,' Landstad, p. 617, No 82.
Danish. A, manuscript of the fifteenth century, in a copy communicated by Professor Grundtvig. B, 'Jon Rimaardssøns Skriftemaal,' Vedel, 1591, It Hundrede udvaalde Danske Viser, p. 3, No 2 (Bergström); Danske Viser, II, 220, No 92. C, 'Lodkastningen,' Kristensen, I, 16, No 6. D, 'Sejladsen,' the same, p. 322, No 119.
Swedish C-E, the Norwegian version, Danish C, D, are all from recent oral tradition.
With a partial exception of Danish A, B,[10] the story of these ballads is this. Sir Peter asks his foster-mother what death he shall die. You are not to die in your bed, she says, and not in fight, but beware of the waves. Peter cares not for the waves, and builds a splendid ship, the hulk and masts of whalebone (elm, Swedish D; walnut, Norwegian, Danish D), the flags of gold (oars, Danish A). Let us drink to-day, while we have ale, says Peter; to-morrow we will sail where gain shall guide. The skipper and helmsman push off, forgetful of God the Father, God's Son, and the Holy Ghost. They sail a year or two on the boiling sea, and when they come where water is deepest the masts begin to go, Swedish A; the ship stops, Swedish C, D, F, Norwegian, Danish A, C, D;[11] will not mind her helm, Danish B. They cast lots to see who is the[Pg 14] sinner; the skipper and captain do this while Peter is in his cabin sleeping,[12] in Swedish D, Norwegian, Danish C, D. The lot falls on Peter. He makes his shrift, since there is no priest, before the mast (which, with the yard, forms a cross), Swedish A, B, Norwegian, Danish B, C; before an oar, on which Our Lord stands written, Danish A. "Churches have I plundered, and convents have I burned, and stained the honor of many a noble maid. I have roamed the woods and done both robbery and murder, and many an honest peasant's son buried alive in the earth:" Swedish A. He then says his last words, Danish C, D, and nearly all.
And my foster-mother ask for me,
Tell her I'm serving in the king's court,
And living right merrily.
And my true-love ask for me,
Bid her to marry another man,
For I am under the sea.'[13]
In Swedish C, D, Danish C, they throw Peter over, on the larboard in the first, and the ship resumes her course; in Swedish D, F, he wraps a cloak round him and jumps in himself; in Swedish A the ship goes down. In Danish B Jon Rimaardssøn binds three bags about him, saying, He shall never die poor that will bury my body.[14] It was a sad sight to see when he made a cross on the blue wave, and so took the wild path that lay to the sea's deep bottom. Sir Peter, in Danish A, made this cross and was ready to take this path; but when he reached the water the wild sea turned to green earth.
So glad they coasted the strand;
And very glad was his true-love too
That he had come to land.[15]
No explanation is offered of this marvel. In the light of the Scottish ballad, we should suppose that Sir Peter's deliverance in Danish A was all for the fair confession he made upon the sea.[16]
Saxo relates that, in the earlier part of Thorkill's marvellous voyage, the crews of his three ships, when reduced almost to starving, coming upon an island well stocked with herds, would not heed the warning of their commander, that if they took more than sufficed to mitigate their immediate sufferings they might be estopped from proceeding by the local divinities, but loaded the vessels with carcasses. During the night which followed,[Pg 15] the ships were beset by a crowd of monsters, the biggest of whom advanced into the water, armed with a huge club, and called out to the seafarers that they would not be allowed to sail off till they had expiated the offence they had committed by delivering up one man for each ship. Thorkill, for the general safety, surrendered three men, selected by lot, after which they had a good wind and sailed on. Book VIII; p. 161, ed. 1644.
King Half on his way home from a warlike expedition encountered so violent a storm that his ship was nigh to foundering. A resolution was taken that lots should be cast to determine who should jump overboard. But no lots were needed, says the saga (implying, by the way, that a vicarious atonement was sufficient), for the men vied with one another who should go overboard for his comrade. Fornaldar Sögur, Rafn, II, 37 f.[17]
A very pretty Little-Russian duma, or ballad, also shows the efficacy of confession in such a crisis: 'The Storm on the Black Sea,' Maksimovitch, Songs of Ukraine, p. 14, Moscow, 1834, p. 48, Kief, 1849; translated by Bodenstedt, Die poetische Ukraine, p. 118. The Cossack flotilla has been divided by a storm on the Black Sea, and two portions of it have gone to wreck. In the third sails the hetman. He walks his deck in sombre composure, and says to the sailors, Some offence has been done, and this makes the sea so wild: confess then your sins to God, to the Black Sea, and to me your hetman; the guilty man shall die, and the fleet of the Cossacks not perish. The Cossacks stand silent, for no one knows who is guilty, when lo, Alexis, son of the priest of Piriatin, steps forth and says, Let me be the sacrifice; bind a cloth round my eyes, a stone about my neck, and throw me in; so shall the fleet of the Cossacks not perish. The men are astounded: how can a heavy sin be resting on Alexis, who reads them the sacred books, whose example has kept them from wickedness! Alexis left home, he says, without asking his father's and mother's blessing, and with an angry threat against his brother; he wrenched the last crust of bread from his neighbors; he rode along the street wantonly spurning the breasts of women and the foreheads of children; he passed churches without uncovering, without crossing himself: and now he must die for his sins. As he makes this shrift the storm begins to abate; to the amazement of the Cossacks, the fleet is saved, and not one man drowned.
The rich merchant Sadko, the very entertaining hero of several Russian popular epics, is nowhere more entertaining than when, during one of his voyages, his ship comes to a stop in the sea. He thinks he has run upon a rock or sand-bank, and tries to push off, but the vessel is immovable. Twelve years we have been sailing, says Sadko, and never paid tribute to the king of the sea. A box of gold is thrown in as a peace-offering, but floats like a duck. It is clear that the sea-king wants no toll; he requires a man. Every man is ordered to make a lot from pine-wood and write his name on it. These lots are thrown into the sea. Every one of them swims like a duck but Sadko's, and his goes down like a stone. That is not the proper wood for a lot, says Sadko: make lots of fir-wood. Fir lots are tried: Sadko's goes down like a stone, the rest swim like ducks. Fir is not right, either; alder, oak, are tried with the same result. We are quite wrong, says Sadko; we must take cypress, for cypress was the wood of the cross. They try cypress, and still Sadko's lot sinks, while all the others float. I am the man, says Sadko. He orders his men to get for him an oblation of silver, gold, and pearls, and with this, taking an image of St Nicholas in one hand and his gusli in the other, commits himself to the sea, and goes down like a stone. But not to drown. It was quite worth his while for the rare adventures that followed.[18]
The casting of lots to find out the guilty man who causes trouble to a ship occurs in William Guiseman, Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 156, Kinloch MSS, V, 43, a copy, improved by tradition, of the "lament" in 'William Grismond's Downfal,' a broadside of 1650, which is transcribed among the Percy papers, from Ballard's collection.
Captain Glen is thrown overboard without a lot, on the accusation of the boatswain, and with the happiest effect; broadside in the Roxburghe collection, Logan's Pedlar's Pack, p. 47, Kinloch MSS, V, 278.
Translated by Gerhard, p. 66, Knortz, L. u. R. Altenglands, p. 155, No 40. Swedish A by the Howitts, Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, I, 276; Danish B by Prior, II, 227.
Brown Robyn's men went to sea,
But they saw neither moon nor sun,
Nor starlight wi their ee.
See wha the unhappy man may be;'
The kevel fell on Brown Robyn,
The master-man was he.
'Altho I dinna thrive,
For wi my mither I had twa bairns,
And wi my sister five.
And throw me in the sea;
And if I sink, ye may bid me sink,
But if I swim, just lat me bee.'
And thrown him in the sea;
He didna sink, tho they bade him sink;
He swimd, and they bade lat him bee.
An hour but barely three,
Till by it came Our Blessed Lady,
Her dear young son her wi.
Or will ye gang wi me?
Will ye gang to the high heavens,
Wi my dear son and me?'
For they would be feared at mee;
But I woud gang to the high heavens,
Wi thy dear son and thee.'
It's for nae guid ye did to mee;
But a' is for your fair confession
You've made upon the sea.'
44. if I sink.
FOOTNOTES:
[10] Danish B begins very like 'Sir Patrick Spens.' A skeely skipper Haagen eyes the sky and tells his master that any one who sails to-day will never come back alive, etc.
[11] In Danish A the ship is stopped by a sea-troll that lay on the bottom. The helmsman crying out, Why does not the ship sail? the troll replies, You have a sinful man among you; throw him over. It certainly looks officious of a heathen troll to be arresting sinners. See also 'Germand Gladensvend, Grundtvig, No 33, and the corresponding 'Sætrölls kvæði,' Íslenzk fornkvæði, No 5.
Hysmine is selected by lot and thrown over, in a storm, "according to sailor's custom," in the Greek romance of Hysmine and Hysminias, VII, 12, 15.
Serpents (nâgas) stop a ship in mid ocean and demand that a certain holy man whose instructions they desire shall be delivered to them; when the holy man has thrown himself in, the vessel is free to move: Burnouf, Introduction à l'Histoire du Buddhisme indien, p. 316 f. (Rambaud, La Russie Épique, pp 175 f, 178 f.)
[12] A resemblance to Jonah, but a circumstance not unlikely to be found in any such story. In Danish C, Kristensen, I, 16, after the skipper and steersman have informed Peter that he is to be thrown overboard, they suggest the confession which he elsewhere makes unprompted. So Joshua to Achan, Joshua vii, 19, and Saul to Jonathan, 1 Samuel xiv, 43, in a similar emergency.
[13] These touching verses, which are of a kind found elsewhere in ballads (see 'The Twa Brothers,' I, 436 f), are preceded by a vow in Swedish A, and the same vow ends Swedish E:
That I might come to some land,
So surely would I build a church
All on the snow-white sand.
And God would so much stead,
So surely would I build a church,
And roof it over with lead.'
Slavic examples of these affecting messages are found in Roger, No 141, p. 80=Konopka, No 14, p. 114; Woicicki, Pieśńi, I, 76, II, 328, W. z Oleska, p. 507, No 27; Zegota Pauli, P. l. polskiego, p. 97, No 9, Lipiński, p. 90, No 47; Kolberg, No 16, pp 196-205, c, d, l, m, p, s, x; Kozlowski, p. 43, No 8; Sakarof, Pyesni, IV, 8. See also 'Mary Hamilton,' further on.
[14] Lord Howard throws Sir Andrew Barton's body over the hatchbord into the sea,
'Wherever thou land, this will bury thee!'
De fulgte så glade hit strand;
Så glad da var hans fæstemø
At han var kommen til land.
[16] The importance of confession for the soul's welfare is recognized by Jon Rimaardssøn.
To bountiful Christ in heaven,
For in great peril my soul had been
Had I gone hence unshriven.'
[17] Cited by Dr Prior, Ancient Danish Ballads, II, 227, as also Saxo.
[18] Rybnikof, Pěsni, III, 241-48, No 41, reprinted in Kiryeevski, V, 34-41. Other versions in Rybnikof, I, 363-80, Nos 61-64, III, 248 f, No 42; Hilferding, Onezhskiya Byliny, No 70, coll 384-99, No 146, coll 738-40, No 174, coll 877-80; Kirsha Danilof, ed. Kalaidovitch, 1878, No 26, pp 182-87, Kiryeevski, V, 47-55, and No 44, pp 234-39, Kiryeevski, V, 41-47. (I owe this note to Dr Theodor Vetter.) There is much variety in the details, as might be expected. In Kirsha Danilof, No 44, Sadko's lot is a feather, the others of cork. He whose lot floats is a righteous soul; he whose lot sinks is to be thrown overboard. All the lots swim like ducks but Sadko's. Now make lots out of twigs, says Sadko, and he whose lot sinks is a righteous soul. Sadko's lot is some forty pounds of metal, and his the only one that floats.
58
SIR PATRICK SPENS
A. a. 'Sir Patrick Spence,' Percy's Reliques, 1765, I, 71. b. 'Sir Andrew Wood,' Herd's Scots Songs, 1769, p. 243. 11 stanzas.
B. 'Sir Patrick Spence,' Herd's MSS, II, 27, I, 49. 16 stanzas.
C. 'Sir Patrick Spens,' Motherwell's MS., p. 493. 20 stanzas.
D. 'Sir Andro Wood,' Motherwell's MS., p. 496. 8 stanzas.
E. 'Young Patrick,' Motherwell's MS., p. 348. 16 stanzas.
F. 'Skipper Patrick,' Motherwell's MS., p. 153. 14 stanzas.
G. 'Sir Patrick Spence,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 157. 17 stanzas.
H. 'Sir Patrick Spens,' Scott's Minstrelsy, III, 64, ed. 1803. 29 stanzas.
I. 'Sir Patrick Spens,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 1; Motherwell's MS., p. 550. 29 stanzas.
J. 'Sir Patrick Spens,' Harris MS., fol. 4. 24 stanzas.
K. 'Sir Patrick Spens,' communicated by Mr Murison. 14 stanzas.
L. 'Sir Patrick,' Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 6, Motherwell's MS., p. 156. 5 stanzas.
M. Buchan's Gleanings, p. 196. 4 stanzas.
N. 'Earl Patricke Spensse,' Dr J. Robertson's Adversaria, p. 67. 4 stanzas.
O. 'Sir Patrick Spens,' Gibb MS., p. 63. 3 stanzas.
P. 'Earl Patrick Graham,' Kinloch MSS, I, 281. 4 stanzas.
Q. Finlay's Scottish Ballads, I, xiv. 2 stanzas.
R. 'Sir Patrick Spence,' communicated by Mr Macmath. 1 stanza.
Stanzas of E and of L, a little altered, are given by Motherwell in his Introduction, pp xlv, xlvi. The ballad in the Border Minstrelsy, H, was made up from two versions, the better of which was G, and five stanzas, 16-20, recited by Mr Hamilton, sheriff of Lanarkshire. Mr Hamilton is said to have got his fragment "from an old nurse, a retainer of the Gilkerscleugh family," when himself a boy, about the middle of the last century.[19] The copy in Finlay's Scottish Ballads, I, 49, is Scott's, with the last stanza exchanged for the last of A, and one or two trifling changes. The imperfect copies K, stanzas 6-10, M 1, 3, show admixture with the more modern ballad of 'Young Allan.' L 1, with variations, is found in 'Fair Annie of Lochroyan,' Herd, 1776, I, 150, and may not belong here. But ballad-ships are wont to be of equal splendor with Cleopatra's galley: see, for a first-rate, the Scandinavian 'Sir Peter's Voyage,' cited in the preface to 'Brown Robyn's Confession.'[20]
This admired and most admirable ballad is[Pg 18] one of many which were first made known to the world through Percy's Reliques. Percy's version remains, poetically, the best. It may be a fragment, but the imagination easily supplies all that may be wanting; and if more of the story, or the whole, be told in H, the half is better than the whole.
The short and simple story in A-F is that the king wants a good sailor to take command of a ship or ships ready for sea. Sir Patrick Spens[21] is recommended, and the king sends him a commission. This good sailor is much elated by receiving a letter from the king, but the contents prove very unwelcome.[22] He would hang the man that praised his seamanship, if he knew him, B; though it had been the queen herself, she might have let it be, F; had he been a better man, he might ha tauld a lee, D. The objection, as we learn from A 5, C 5, is the bad time of year. Percy cites a law of James III, forbidding ships to be freighted out of the realm with staple goods between the feast of Simon and Jude and Candlemas, October 28-February 2. There is neither choice nor thought, but prompt obedience to orders. The ship must sail the morn, and this without regard to the fearful portent of the new moon having been seen late yestreen with the auld moon in her arm. They are only a few leagues out when a furious storm sets in. The captain calls for a boy to take the steer in hand while he goes to the topmast to spy land, B; or, more sensibly, sends up the boy, and sticks to the rudder, C, E. The report is not encouraging, or is not waited for, for the sea has everything its own way, and now the nobles, who were loath to wet their shoes, are overhead in water, and now fifty fathoms under. It would be hard to point out in ballad poetry, or other, happier and more refined touches than the two stanzas in A which portray the bootless waiting of the ladies for the return of the seafarers.[23]
In G-J we meet with additional circumstances. The destination of the ship is Norway. The object of the voyage is not told in G; in H it is to bring home the king of Norway's daughter; in J to bring home the Scottish king's daughter; in I to take out the Scottish king's daughter to Norway, where she is to be queen. The Scots make the passage in two days, or three, G, H, I. After a time the Norwegians begin to complain of the expense caused by their guests, G, H; or reproach the Scots with staying too long, to their own king's cost, I. Sir Patrick tells them that he brought money enough to pay for himself and his men, and says that nothing shall induce him to stay another day in the country. It is now that we have the omen of the new moon with the old moon in her arm, in G, H. In I this comes before the voyage to Norway,[24] and in G the stanza expressing apprehension of a storm, without the reason, occurs twice,[25] before the voyage out as well as before the return voyage. In J, as in A-F, the ship is lost on the voyage out. In G, therefore, and I as well, two different accounts may have been blended.
Whether there is an historical basis for the shipwreck of Scottish nobles which this ballad sings, and, if so, where it is to be found,[Pg 19] are questions that have been considerably discussed. A strict accordance with history should not be expected, and indeed would be almost a ground of suspicion.[26] Ballad singers and their hearers would be as indifferent to the facts as the readers of ballads are now; it is only editors who feel bound to look closely into such matters. Motherwell has suggested a sufficiently plausible foundation. Margaret, daughter of Alexander III, was married, in 1281, to Eric, King of Norway. She was conducted to her husband, "brought home," in August of that year, by many knights and nobles. Many of these were drowned on the return voyage,[27] as Sir Patrick Spens is in G, H, I.
Margaret, Eric's queen, died in 1283, leaving a newly born daughter; and Alexander III, having been killed by being thrown from his horse, in 1286, the crown fell to the granddaughter. A match was proposed between the infant Margaret, called the Maid of Norway, and the eldest son of Edward I of England. A deputation, not so splendid as the train which accompanied the little maid's mother to Norway, was sent, in 1290, to bring the Princess Margaret over, but she died on the way before reaching Scotland. The Scalacronica speaks of only a single envoy, Master Weland, a Scottish clerk. If "the chronicle will not lie," the Maid of Norway and the Scottish clerk perished, we must suppose in a storm, on the coasts of Boghan[28] (Buchan?). This is not quite enough to make the ballad out of, and there is still less material in the marriage of James III with the daughter of the king of Norway in 1469, and no shipwreck chronicled at all.
No such name as Patrick Spens is historically connected with any of these occurrences. Spens has even been said not to be an early Scottish name. Aytoun, however, points to a notable exploit by one Spens as early as 1336, and Mr Macmath has shown me that the name occurred in five charters of David II, therefore between 1329 and 1370. We might allege that Spens, though called Sir Patrick in later days, was in reality only a skeely skipper,[29] and that historians do not trouble themselves much about skippers. But this would be avoiding the proper issue. The actual name of the hero of a ballad affords hardly a presumption as to who was originally the hero. This ballad may be historical, or it may not. It might be substantially historical though the command of the ship were invariably given to Sir Andrew Wood, a distinguished admiral, who was born a couple of centuries after the supposed event; and it might be substantially historical though we could prove that Patrick Spens was only a shipmaster, of purely local fame, who was lost off Aberdour a couple of hundred years ago. For one, I do not feel compelled to regard the ballad as historical.
A mermaid appears to the navigators in J, L, P, Q, and informs them, J, that they will never see dry land, or are not far from land, L, P, Q, which, coming from a mermaid, they are good seamen enough to know means the same thing. The appearance of a mermaid to seamen is a signal for despair in a brief little ballad, of no great antiquity to all seeming, given further on under the title of 'The Mermaid.' If nothing worse, mermaids at least bode rough weather, and sailors do not like to see them: Faye, Norske Folke-Sagn, ed. 1844, p. 55 (Prior). They have a reputation for treachery: there is in a Danish ballad, Grundtvig, II, 91, No 42, B 14, one who has betrayed seven ships.
The place where the ship went down was half owre to Aberdour, A, C, F?; ower by Aberdour, I, J, N; forty miles off Aberdeen, G, H (H may only repeat G); nore-east, nore-[Pg 20]west frae Aberdeen, D; between Leith and Aberdeen, K. B and E transfer the scene to St Johnston (Perth), and P to the Clyde, down below Dumbarton Castle. We may fairly say, somewhere off the coast of Aberdeenshire, for the southern Aberdour, in the Firth of Forth, cannot be meant.
The island of Papa Stronsay is said to be about half way between Aberdour in Buchan and the coast of Norway, half owre to Aberdour; and on this island there is a tumulus, which Mr Maidment informs us is known now, and has always been known, as the grave of Sir Patrick Spens. Nothing more has been transmitted, we are assured, but only the name as that of a man buried there: Maidment, Scotish Ballads and Songs, Historical and Traditionary, I, 31 f. "The Scottish ballads were not early current in Orkney, a Scandinavian country," says Aytoun, "so it is very unlikely that the poem could have originated the name." With regard to this Orcadian grave of Patrick Spens, it may first be remarked that Barry, who, in 1808, speaks of the Earl's Knowe in Papa Stronsay, says not a word of the tradition now affirmed to be of indefinite long-standing (neither does Tudor in 1883). The ballad has been in print for a hundred and twenty years. There are Scots in the island now, and perhaps there "always" have been; at any rate, a generation or two is time enough for a story to strike root and establish itself as tradition.[30]
A a is translated by Herder, Volkslieder, I, 89, Bodmer, I, 56, Döring, p. 157, Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 16, 1; G, by Loève-Veimars, p. 340; H, by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 2, Schubart, p. 203, Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 60, Fiedler, Geschichte der schottischen Liederdichtung, I, 13; I, by Gerhard, p. 1. Aytoun's ballad, by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 16, 2.
A
a. Percy's Reliques, 1765, I, 71: "given from two MS. copies, transmitted from Scotland." b. Herd's Scots Songs, 1769, p. 243.
Drinking the blude-reid wine:
'O whar will I get guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?'
Sat at the kings richt kne:
'Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor
That sails upon the se.'
And signd it wi his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Was walking on the sand.
A loud lauch lauched he;
The next line that Sir Patrick red,
The teir blinded his ee.
This ill deid don to me,
To send me out this time o' the yeir,
To sail upon the se!
Our guid schip sails the morne:'
'O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.
Wi the auld moone in hir arme,
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,
That we will cum to harme.'
To weet their cork-heild schoone;
Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd,
Thair hats they swam aboone.
[Pg 21]
Wi thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence
Cum sailing to the land.
Wi thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they'll se thame na mair.
It's fiftie fadom deip,
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,
Wi the Scots lords at his feit.
B
Herd's MSS., II, 27, I, 49.
Drinking the blude reid wine: O
'O where will I get a gude sailor,
That'l sail the ships o mine?' O
Just be the kings right knee:
'Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor
That ever saild the see.'
And sealld it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
That was lyand at Leith Sands.
He gae loud laughters three;
But afore he wan to the end of it
The teir blindit his ee.
Has tald the king o me?
Gif I but wist the man it war,
Hanged should he be.
For our ships maun sail the morn;
Bla'd wind, bla'd weet, bla'd sna or sleet,
Our ships maun sail the morn.'
For I fear a deidly storm;
For I saw the new moon late yestreen,
And the auld moon in her arms.'
A league but merely three,
When ugly, ugly were the jaws
That rowd unto their knee.
A league but merely nine,
When wind and weit and snaw and sleit
Came blawing them behind.
Will take my steer in hand,
Till I go up to my tap-mast,
And see gif I see dry land?'
That'l take your steir in hand,
Till you go up to your tap-mast,
And see an you see the land.'
To weit their coal-black shoon;
But yet ere a' the play was playd,
They wat their hats aboon.
To weit their coal-black hair;
But yet ere a' the play was playd,
They wat it every hair.
Was fifty fathom deep,
And there ly a' our Scottish lords,
Sir Patrick at their feet.
Wi the tear blinding their ee,
Afore they see Sir Patrick's ships
Come sailing oer the sea.
Wi their babies in their hands,
Afore they see Sir Patrick Spence
Come sailing to Leith Sands.
C
Motherwell's MS., p. 493, "from the recitation of —— Buchanan, alias Mrs Notman, 9 September, 1826."
Drinking the blude red wine:
'Where will I get a bold sailor,
To sail this ship o mine?'
Was nigh the king akin:
'Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sailed the main.'
Sealed it with his own hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on dry land.
The tears did blind his ee;
The neist three lines he looked on
Not one word could he see.
'That's tauld the king o me,
To set me out this time o the year
To sail upon the sea!
And the auld mune in her arm;
And that is the sign since we were born
Even of a deadly storm.
For we maun sail the morn;
Be it wind, or be it weet,
Or be it deadly storm.'
A league but only ane,
Till cauld and watry grew the wind,
And stormy grew the main.
A league but only twa,
Till cauld and watry grew the wind,
Come hailing owre them a'.
A league but only three,
Till cold and watry grew the wind,
And grumly grew the sea.
'And take my helm in hand?
Or wha'll gae up to my topmast,
And look for some dry land?
See what you can spy;
Mount up, mount up, my pretty boy,
See if any land we're nigh.'
And fifty banks of sand;
And we have all that for to sail
Or we come to dry land.'
I think you tarry lang;
For the saut sea's in at our coat-neck
And out at our left arm.
I fear we here maun die;
For thro and thro my goodly ship
I see the green-waved sea.'
To weet their cork-heeled shoon;
But lang or a' the play was played,
Their hats they swam abune.
It took him to the knee,
And the next step that the captain stepped
They were a' drownd in the sea.
It's fifty fadoms deep,
And there lay good Sir Patrick Spens,
And the Scotch lords at his feet.
And sew their silken seam,
Before they see their good Scotch lords
Come sailing owre the main.
Sit rocking her auld son,
Before she sees Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing owre the main.
D
Motherwell's MS., p. 496, communicated by Kirkpatrick Sharpe.
Drinking the blood red wine: O
'Where will I get a good skipper,
To sail seven ships o mine?' O
Where will, etc.
And a bra young man was he:
'Sir Andrew Wood is the best skipper
That ever saild the sea.'
And seald it wi his hand,
And ordered Sir Andrew Wood
To come at his command.
Has tauld the king o me?
For had he been a better man,
He might ha tauld a lee.'
I heard an auld man weep:
'Sir Andrew Wood and a' his men
Are drowned in the deep!'
Their fans into their hands,
Before they see Sir Andrew Wood
Come sailing to dry land.
To weit their cork-heeld shoon;
But ere that a' the play was plaid,
They wat their heads aboon.
Is fifty fathom deep,
And there lies good Sir Andrew Wood,
And a' the Scottish fleet.
E
Motherwell's MS., p. 348.
Sae merrilie drinking wine; O
Says, Whare will I get a fine skipper,
Wud sail these ships of mine? O
And an ill death may he die!
Says, Young Patrick is the best skipper
That ever set sail on sea.
Sealed it with his own hand,
And he sent it to Young Patrick,
To come at his command.
The tear blindit his ee;
Says Wha is this, or wha is that,
That's tauld the king of me?
Altho he had been better than what he is,
He micht hae askt leave of me.
O busk and mak you braw,
For blaw the wind what airt it will,
Our ship she must awa.
Drink o the beer and wine,
For gin Wedensday by twal o'clock
We'll a' be in our lang hame.'
'I fear a deadlie storm;
For I saw the new mune late yestreen,
And the old ane in her arm,
And readilie, maister,' said he,
'That's the sign of a deadly storm.'
They drank of the beer and wine,
And gin Wedensday gin ten o'clock,
Their hair was wat abune.
That wants to win hose and shoon,
[Pg 24] Wuld up to the top of my mainmast go,
See if he could spy land?'
Wants to win hose and shoon;
I'll up to the top of your mainmast go,
Though I should neer come doun.'
I think thou tarries lang;
For the jawe is coming in at my coat-neck,
Going out at my richt hand.'
Of dreidfu hail and rain,
It made Young Patrick and his men
A' flat wi the sea faem.
To see feather-beds on the main?
But it is a greater pitye, I think,
To see men doing the same.
It's fifty fadom deep,
And there lies a' our brau Scots lords,
Young Patrick's at their feet.
She's sewing her silken seam;
And aye when she looks to the salt sea waves,
'I fear he'll neer return.'
Rocking her oldest son;
And aye when she looks to the salt sea waves,
'I'm feared he'll neer come hame.'
F
Motherwell's MS., p. 153, from the recitation of Mrs Thomson.
Drinking baith beer and wine; O
Says, Whare shall I get a good skipper,
That will sail the salt sea fine? O
Sat by the king's right knee:
'Skipper Patrick is the best skipper
That ever my eyes did see.'
And sealed it wi his hand,
And sent it to Skipper Patrick,
As he walked alang the sand.
That's tauld the king of me?
For tho it had been the queen hersell,
She might hae let it be.
Sae merrily busk and boune,
For blaw the wind where eer it will,
Our gude ship sails the morn.'
It will be a deidly storm;
For yestreen I saw the new new mune,
Wi the auld mune in her arm;
It's a token, maister, or ye were born,
It will be a deadly storm.'
Our gude ship sails the morn,
For blow the wind whereer it will,
Our gude ship sails the morn.'
A day but scarsely five,
Till Skipper Patrick's bonny ship
Began to crack and rive.
That swimmed alang the main,
But bonnier was our braw Scots lords,
They neer returned again.
To weet their coal black shoon;
But I trow or a' the play was played,
They wat their hair abune.
[Pg 25]
Kembing down their yellow hair,
But they will neer see Skipper Patrick's ship
Come sailing in nae mair.
Wi gloves upon their hand,
But they will never see Skipper Patrick's ship
Come sailing into the land.
It's fifty fadoms deep;
There you will find young Patrick lye,
Wi his Scots lords at his head.
It's fifty fadom deep;
And there lies Earl Patrick Spens,
His men all at his feet.
G
Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 157, communicated by Scott.
Sae merrily drinkin the wine:
'Whare will I get a mariner,
Will sail this ship o mine?'
Sat just at the king's knee:
'Sir Patrick Spence is the best seaman,
That eer set foot on sea.'
Seald it wi his ain hand;
He has sent word to Sir Patrick,
To come at his command.
Has tald the king o me?
For I was never a good seaman,
Nor ever intend to be.'
Wi a' the haste they may,
And they hae landed in Norraway,
Upon the Wednesday.
In Norraway but three,
Till lads o Norraway began to say,
Ye spend a' our white monie.
But and our queenis fee:'
'Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud,
Sae weel's I hear you lie.
As will gain my men and me;
I brought half a fou o good red goud
Out oer the sea with me.
Our ships maun sail the morn:'
'O ever alack! my master dear,
I fear a deadly storm.
Wi the auld moon in her arm;
And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we'll suffer harm.'
A league but barely ane,
Till anchors brak, and tap-masts lap;
There came a deadly storm.
Will tak thir sails in hand,
That will gang up to the tap-mast,
See an he ken dry land?'
To weet their leathern shoon;
But or the morn at fair day-light,
Their hats were wat aboon.
That flotterd on the faem,
And mony was the good Scots lord
Gaed awa that neer cam hame,
And mony was the fatherless bairn
That lay at hame greetin.
[Pg 26]
And fifty fathoms deep;
And there lyes a' our good Scots lords,
Wi Sir Patrick at their feet.
The maidens tore their hair,
A' for the sake o their true loves,
For them they neer saw mair.
Wi their fans in their hand,
Ere they see Sir Patrick and his men
Come sailing to the land.
H
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 64, ed. 1803; I, 299, ed. 1833; "taken from two MS. copies, collated with several verses recited by the editor's friend, Robert Hamilton, Esq., Advocate."
Drinking the blude-red wine: O
'O whare will I get a skeely skipper,
To sail this new ship of mine?' O
Sat at the king's right knee:
'Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever saild the sea.'
And seald it with his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the strand.
To Noroway oer the faem;
The king's daughter of Noroway,
'T is thou maun bring her hame.'
Sae loud, loud laughed he;
The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blinded his ee.
And tauld the king o me,
To send us out at this time of the year
To sail upon the sea?
Our ship must sail the faem;
The king's daughter of Noroway,
'T is we must fetch her hame.'
Wi a' the speed they may;
They hae landed in Noroway,
Upon a Wodensday.
In Noroway but twae,
When that the lords o Noroway
Began aloud to say:
And a' our queenis fee!'
'Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud,
Fu loud I hear ye lie!
As gane my men and me,
And I brought a half-fou o gude red goud
Out oer the sea wi me.
Our gude ship sails the morn:'
'Now, ever alake! my master dear,
I fear a deadly storm!
Wi the auld moon in her arm;
And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harm.'
A league but barely three,
When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,
And gurly grew the sea.
It was sic a deadly storm,
And the waves came oer the broken ship,
Till a' her sides were torn.
To take my helm in hand,
Till I get up to the tall topmast,
To see if I can spy land?'
To take the helm in hand,
Till you go up to the tall topmast;
But I fear you'll neer spy land.'
[Pg 27]
A step but barely ane,
When a bout flew out of our goodly ship,
And the salt sea it came in.
Another o the twine,
And wap them into our ship's side,
And letna the sea come in.'
Another o the twine,
And they wapped them roun that gude ship's side,
But still the sea came in.
To weet their cork-heeld shoon;
But lang or a' the play was playd,
They wat their hats aboon.
That flattered on the faem,
And mony was the gude lord's son
That never mair cam hame.
The maidens tore their hair,
A' for the sake of their true loves,
For them they'll see na mair.
Wi their fans into their hand,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand.
Wi their goud kaims in their hair,
A' waiting for their ain dear loves,
For them they'll see na mair.
'T is fifty fathoms deep,
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,
Wi the Scots lords at his feet.
I
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 1; Motherwell's MS., p. 550.
A-drinking at the wine;
Says, Where will I get a good skipper,
Will sail the saut seas fine?
Amang the companie:
'Young Patrick Spens is the best skipper
That ever saild the sea.'
And seald it wi his ring;
Says, Ye'll gie that to Patrick Spens,
See if ye can him find.
Nor yet a simple boy,
But the best o nobles in his train
This letter did convoy.
A light laugh then gae he;
But ere he read it till an end,
The tear blinded his ee.
An see ye be weell thorn;
For blaw it weet, or blaw it wind,
My guid ship sails the morn.'
A guid death mat he dee!
'Whatever ye do, my guid master,
Tak God your guide to bee.
The auld moon in her arm:'
'Ohon, alas!' says Patrick Spens,
'That bodes a deadly storm.
And likewise sae maun you;
To Noroway, wi our king's daughter,
A chosen queen she's now.
As tauld the king o mee;
Even tho he ware my ae brither,
An ill death mat he dee!'
And sailed ower the faem,
But mony a dreary thought had hee,
While hee was on the main.
A day but barely three,
[Pg 28] Till they came in sight o Noroway,
It's there where they must bee.
A month but and a day,
Till he causd the flip in mugs gae roun,
And wine in cans sae gay.
The trumpets loudly soun;
In every hall where in they stayd,
Wi their mirth did reboun.
An inbearing dog was hee:
'Ye've stayd ower lang in Noroway,
Spending your king's monie.'
'O how can a' this bee?
I hae a bow o guid red gowd
Into my ship wi mee.
This day I'se leave the shore,
And never spend my king's monie
Mong Noroway dogs no more.'
And even on the faem,
Wi five-an-fifty Scots lords' sons,
That langd to bee at hame.
A day but barely three,
Till loud and boistrous grew the wind,
And stormy grew the sea.
Will tak my helm in hand,
Till I gae up to my tapmast,
And see for some dry land?'
A step but barely three,
Ere thro and thro the bonny ship's side
He saw the green haw sea.
Well packed in ae room;
And ye'll get as muckle guid canvas
As wrap the ship a' roun.
And mak her hale and soun:'
But ere he had the word well spoke
The bonny ship was down.
To weet their milk-white hands;
But lang ere a' the play was ower,
They wat their gowden bands.
To weet their coal-black shoon;
But lang ere a' the play was ower,
They wat their hats aboon.
It's fifty fathoms deep,
And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spens,
And a's men at his feet.
There's mony a craig and fin,
And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spens,
Wi mony a guid lord's son.
Into their morning weed,
Before they see young Patrick Spens
Come sailing ower the fleed.
Wi their fans in their hand,
Before they see him Patrick Spens
Come sailing to dry land.
J
Miss Harris's MS., fol. 4, from the singing of her mother.
Sits birlin at the wine;
Says, Whare will I get a bonnie boy
That will sail the saut seas fine?
That will hie owre to Norraway,
To bring my dear dochter hame?
Sat by the king's ain knie:
'Sir Patrick Spens is as gude a skipper
As ever sailed the sea.'
And signed it wi his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
To read it gif he can.
[Pg 29]
A licht lauchter gae he;
But ere he read it to the end,
The tear blindit his ee.
Has tauld oor king o me?
I wad hae gien him twice as muckle thank
To latten that abee!
Eat, an be weel forn;
For blaw it wind, or blaw it weet,
Oor gude ship sails the morn.'
Sat by Sir Patrick's knie:
'I beg you bide at hame, father,
An I pray be ruled by me.
Wi the auld mune in her arms;
An ever an alake, my father dear,
It's a token o diedly storms.'
Eat, an be weel forn;
For blaw it wind, or blaw it weet,
Oor gude ship sails the morn.'
A league but only three,
When the whirlin wind an the ugly jaws
Cam drivin to their knie.
A league but only five,
When the whirlin wind an the ugly jaws
Their gude ship began to rive.
A league but only nine,
When the whirlin wind an the ugly jaws
Cam drivin to their chin.
Will tak the steer in hand,
Till I mount up to oor tapmast,
To luik oot for dry land?'
Will tak the steer in hand,
Till you mount up to oor tapmast,
To luik oot for dry land.'
To the tapmast sae hie;
He luikit around on every side,
But dry land he couldna see.
An the tear blindit his ee;
Says, I wish you had been in your mother's bowr,
But there you'll never be.
Pray for yoursels an me,
For the first landen that we will land
Will be in the boddam o the sea.'
Wi the comb an glass in her hand:
'Here's a health to you, my merrie young men,
For you never will see dry land.'
To weet their cork-heeled shoon;
But lang, lang ere the play was played,
Their yellow locks soomed aboun.
An Monnonday at morn,
That feather-beds an silken sheets
Cam floatin to Kinghorn.
It's fifty faddoms deep;
An there lie a' oor gude Scots lords,
Wi Sir Patrick Spens at their feet.
Wi the fan into her hand,
Until she see her ain dear lord
Come sailin to dry land.
Wi the tear into her ee,
Afore she see her ain dear lord
Come hieing to Dundee.
Wi the black shoon on her feet,
Afore she see Sir Patrick Spens
Come drivin up the street.
K
Communicated by Mr Murison, as taken down from recitation in Old Deer by Mrs Murison.
A licht lauch then leuch he;
But lang ere he wan the end o it
The saut tear filled his ee.
'That's tauld the king o me;
Altho he be my ain brither,
Some ill death mat he dee!
. . . . . . .
'For be it weet, or be it win,
My bonnie ship sails the morn.'
Bit an the auld ane tee,
An it fears me sair, my good maister,
For a tempest in the sea.'
. . . . . . .
Till up it rase the win an storm,
An a tempest i the sea.
. . . . . . .
It's throch an throu the comely cog
There comes the green raw sea.
An dinna call on me,
For ye drank them weel ere ye tuke the gate,
But O nane gae ye me.
When I socht hose an sheen;
So call upo your men, maister,
As they lie drunk wi wine.'
An tak my helm in han;
Gin ever we live to gae to lan,
I'll wed ye wi my daughter Ann.'
When we was on the lan,
But nevertheless, my gude maister,
I'll tak your helm in han.'
To weet their cork-heeled shoes;
But lang ere a' the play was played,
They wat their yallow broos.
To weet their cork-heeled sheen;
But lang ere a' the play was played,
They wat their hair abeen.
Wi the lantern in her han,
Afore she see my bonnie ship
Come sailin to dry lan.'
Lies mony a craig an sea,
An there it lies young Patrick Spens,
An mony bonnie boys him wi.
L
Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 6, Motherwell's MS., p. 156, from Mrs Gentles, Paisley, February 1825.
Its topmast was of gold,
And at every tack of needlework
There hung a silver bell.
Wi the glass and the comb in her hand:
'Reek about, reek about, my merrie men,
Ye are not far from land.'
Sae loud as I hear you lie;
For since I have seen your face this nicht,
The land I will never see.'
[Pg 31]
A league but barely three,
Till all we and our goodly ship
Was all drowned in the sea.
Wi their seams into their hand,
Looking for Sir Patrick's ship,
That will never come to land.
M
Buchan's Gleaning, p. 196, "from a very intelligent old man."
Till I say mass and dine,
And take my leave of my lady;
Go to my bonny ship syne.
Around could naething see,
But terrible storm in the air aboon,
And below the roaring sea.
You see not what I see;
For thro an thro your bonny ship's side
I see the green salt sea.'
Wi their gown-tails owre their crown,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Sailing to Dunferline town.
N
Noted down from a female servant, by Joseph Robertson, July 15, 1829, Adversaria, p. 67.
There's mony a cloudy stone,
And there is mony a gude lord's son
I fear will never come home.
Wi her baby in her arms,
But she'll never see Earl Patrick Spens
Com walkin up the stran.
It cost me guineas nine;
I wad sink it in the sea
For ae sight o dry lan.
I got it for my fee;
But tho I wad gie ten thousan punds,
Dry land I will never see.'
O
Gibb MS., p. 63.
Cam sailin ower the faem,
But bonnier was the sixteen lords
Gaed out and neer cam hame.
Wi the bonny babe on her knee,
Ere ever she see her good lord come,
To pay to her her fee.
Wi the gowd fan in her hand,
Ere ever she see her ain gude lord
Come skipping to dry land.
P
Kinloch MSS, I, 281.
To weet their coal black shoon;
But ere the battle a' was foucht,
Their hats war weet aboun.
Wi a fan into her hand:
'Keep up your hearts, my merry men a',
For ye're near the dry land.'
Wi the saut tear in his ee:
'Now sin we've seen the mermaiden,
Dry land we'll never see.'
Full fifty fathoms deep,
There lies a' our braw Scots men,
Earl Patrick at their feet.
Q
Finlay's Scottish Ballads, I, xiv, from a recited copy.
Wi a siller cup in her han:
'Sail on, sail on, my gude Scotch lords,
For ye sune will see dry lan.'
An let your fleechin be;
For sen your face we've seen the day,
Dry lan we'll never see.'
R
Communicated by Mr Macmath, from Mr William Traquair, S. S. C., Edinburgh; obtained originally in Perthshire.
And early on a Sunday morn,
That robes of silk and feather beds
Came floating to Kean-Gorn.
A. a.
13. quhar.
51. quha.
53. zeir.
111. have owre, have owr.
b.
In this copy Sir Andrew Wood replaces Sir Patrick Spens throughout.
84. They wat thair heads aboone.
At the end of version B Herd says: The foundation of the preceding song seems to have been the same story with that under the title of 'Sir Andrew Wood' in the former volume [of 1769]. In the Relicks of Antient Poetry is a copy somewhat different from either. We cannot suppose, after this, that Herd took his copy from Percy and altered it, and yet, excepting the variations noted above, and haff for have in 111, the copies are the same to a letter. If Herd's copy was one of the two used by Percy, what was the other? Was there, after all, but one copy again, as in the case of 'King Estmere'?
B.
O is added, in singing, to every second and fourth verse. Also in D, E, F, H.
C.
142. I thing.
F.
14. In a smaller hand, and detached from the preceding, as if added later.
G.
After 4 occurs this stanza, almost verbally repeated in 9, and improperly anticipating matters, according to the arrangement of the story in this version:
Our ships maun sail the morn:
Ever alack! my master dear,
For I fear a deadly storm.
H.
244. perhaps driven.
K.
'Spendin the queen's meat an her fee' was said by the reciter to belong to the ballad, though the connection was not remembered.
132. Var.: An langer will she stan.
L.
1 is 5 and 5 is 1 in the MS.
FOOTNOTES:
[19] Scott's Minstrelsy, ed. 1833, I, 295; Notes and Queries, Second Series, X, 237.
[20] Christie, I, 7, makes up a copy from Scott and Buchan, "with some alterations from the way the editor has heard" the ballad "sung." I have not felt called upon always to register Christie's cursory variations, but the fourth stanza may be given as he prints it:
A licht licht laugh gae he;
But ere he read it to an end
The saut tear blint his ee.
'Sir Patrick Spens,' Aberdeen, printed by John Duffus, 1866, is composed from several versions, as Scott's, Buchan's, Aytoun's.
[21] Sir Patrick Spens, or Spence, A, B, C, G, H, J, M; Young Patrick, E; Skipper Patrick, F; Young Patrick Spens, I, K; Sir Patrick, L; Earl Patrick Spens, N; Sir Andrew Wood, A b, D; Earl Patrick Graham, P.
[22] It is so with the Conde Dirlos, when he receives a letter from the emperor:
de las palabras pesar;
que lo que las cartas dicen
á él parece muy mal.
(Wolf y Hofmann, Primavera, II, 129.)
[23] There is a falling off in C, E, with the wives sewing their silken seams and rocking the cradle, and in B, waiting with their babies in their hands, till in M the ladies, still so called, are reduced to fishers' wives, "wi their gown-tails owre their crown!"
[24] The reading in I 9, "To Noroway, wi our king's daughter," has been treated as if important. This version, says Buchan, was taken down from the recitation of "'a wight of Homer's craft,' who, as a wandering minstrel, blind from his infancy, has been travelling in the North as a mendicant for these last fifty years. He learned it in his youth from a very old person." The mendicant was, no doubt, James Rankin, "the blind beggar whom I kept travelling through Scotland, collecting ballads for me, at a heavy expense" (frontispiece to Buchan's MSS, vol. i.). A large part of Buchan's ballads have the mint-mark of this minstrel beggar and beggarly minstrel, who collected for pay. No confidence can be placed in any of his readings: his personal inspiration was too decided to make him a safe reporter.
[25] For consistency's sake, it has here been dropped from the place where it first occurs, after stanza 4.
[26] Or a pure accident. Wyntoun says that Margaret sailed the 12th of August. Motherwell found, "from a laborious calculation," that the 12th of August, 1282 (a misprint, I suppose, for 1281), was a Monday, the sailing day in G 5. The account in H is probably taken from G.
[27] Fordun, ed. Skene, I, 307.
[28] Scalacronica, ed. Stevenson, p. 110. Fordun mentions Michael of Wemyss and Michael Scot as the envoys, I, 311.
[29] He was not even that, according to G 4, which has the silly reading,
Nor ever intend to be.
So in a mixed ballad which will be put with 'Young Allan.'
[30] I have not felt called upon to say anything of the attempt of the late Mr Robert Chambers to prove 'Sir Patrick Spens', a piece of literary work of the last century, by arguments which would make Lady Wardlaw author not only of most of the romantic Scottish ballads, but also of a good part of the ballads of Europe. The flimsy plea of Mr Chambers has been effectually disposed of by Mr Norval Clyne, The Romantic Scottish Ballads and the Lady Wardlaw Heresy, Aberdeen, 1859, and by Mr James Hutton Watkins, Early Scottish Ballads, Glasgow, 1867.
59
SIR ALDINGAR
A. 'Sir Aldingar,' Percy MS., p. 68; Hales and Furnivall, I, 166.
B. 'Sir Hugh le Blond,' Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 51, 1803.
C. 'Sir Hugh le Blond,' Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, January 1, 1830, p. 6.
This ballad, one of the most important of all that the Percy manuscript has saved from oblivion, was first given to the world in the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, II, 48, ed. 1765, II, 49, ed. 1767, with conjectural emendations by the editor, and the insertion of some stanzas to complete the story. A second version, very much humbled in diction, and otherwise corrupted, but of indubitable antiquity, as Scott remarks, was published in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border in 1803, as communicated by Mr Williamson Burnet, of Monboddo, from the recitation of an old woman. The story which this version relates was then, we are informed, universally current in the Mearns, and was supposed to be authenticated by the sword of the hero, preserved nearly down to that time by his reputed descendants.
Tales of the same general description—of a noble lady accused to her husband of infidelity, believed by him to be guilty, and in process of time demonstrated to have been faultless, to his entire conviction—are, as might be expected, extremely often to be met with in ballad, romance, chronicle, or saga; nor is the number small of those which have the special traits that the accusation is made by a trusted officer of the husband, who has attempted to seduce the lady, and has failed, and that the wife is cleared by a judgment of God. Our ballad belongs with a very distinct Scandinavian variety of these last, but has adopted one characteristic trait from another source.
The English version, as written down about the middle of the seventeenth century, narrates that Sir Aldingar, steward of King Henry, repulsed by the queen whom he has sought to make his paramour, cannot rest till he has revenge. He takes a lazar that happens to come to the king's gates, and lays him in the queen's bed, promising that in two hours the blind and lame shall be whole and sound; he then goes to fetch the king. The king, convinced by his eyes, says he will hang the lazar and burn his wife, and immediately proceeds to tell the queen his discovery. The queen sees the hand of Aldingar in this, and also the meaning of a dream she has had: how a vulture, or griffin, had carried her crown away, and would have taken her to his nest[31] had it not been for a merlin, a little hawk, that came flying from the east and struck the big bird down. She claims the right to maintain her innocence by battle, and the king gives her forty days to provide herself with a champion, which failing she shall be burnt. No man in all the south country will undertake her cause, but a messenger who rides into the east meets what seems to be a child, who interrogates him, and, getting a slow answer, bids the queen by him to remember her dream and be of good cheer, for when bale is highest boot shall be nighest. The days of grace being out, and no champion found, the queen is put into a tun to burn, and looks only for death. At this moment a child is seen riding from the east, who, when he comes to the fire, or[Pg 34]ders the brands to be withdrawn and Aldingar to be produced. Aldingar, a very large man, would not have minded fifty such. The child claims the first stroke, and if Aldingar can give a second he need not spare him. Aldingar's legs are cut off at the knee with this stroke. Aldingar asks for a priest to shrive him, confesses everything, and begs the queen's forgiveness. The child enjoins King Harry to take back his wife and love her, for she is true as stone; the lazar under the gallows becomes a sound man at the same instant, and is made steward in Aldingar's place.
The Scottish ballad repeats the main part of this story, dropping all that is miraculous save the simple judgment of God. Rodingham, who represents Aldingar, does not cajole the leper with the promise of being restored to health, but intoxicates him with sweet liquors, and lays him asleep in the queen's bed. The king wishes to believe the queen guiltless, and proposes that she shall find a champion. The champion is an ordinary knight; the leper is neither better nor worse for the part he is made to play; and the knight is rewarded with a gift of lands. That the Scottish ballad is the original of the English is a singularly unhappy idea of Sir Walter Scott's, and it is hard to conceive what suggested such a notion, unless it were the allegation that the sword with which Sir Hugh defended the queen's honor was until a late day producible by his posterity, whereas no one pretends to have the other. But Sir Walter could not seriously have credited this tradition, for he himself observes that there is no instance in history in which the honor of a queen of Scotland was committed to the chance of a duel.
Cousin to the English ballad is the Scandinavian 'Ravengaard og Memering,' Grundtvig, No 13, I, 177-213, 426 f, II, 640-45, III, 779-82, IV, 722-31. There are eleven versions in all, besides a Norwegian copy, extant at the end of the last century, of which now only the story is at our command. Eight of the eleven texts are Danish, A-C, G-L. A is from a manuscript of the middle of the sixteenth century, and so a hundred years older than 'Sir Aldingar.' The other Danish copies are from recent tradition,[32] and so are Färöe D, E. An Icelandic version, F, is from a seventeenth-century manuscript.
The old Danish ballad affords the following story. Gunild [Gunder] lives at Spire, and many nobles from all quarters of the compass sue for her hand, which Henry, Duke of Brunswick and Schleswig, obtains. Henry, going to the wars, commits to Ravengaard the protection of his land, and especially of his wife. But no sooner is the duke fairly away than Ravengaard goes to "the queen," and demands of her the sword Adelring, which she has in keeping. This being refused, Ravengaard threatens that he will tell false tales of her, but the lady is not intimidated. The duke comes home, and asks Ravengaard how things are. The country remains as it was, but Gunild has been acting ill. The duke will not believe anything wrong of Gunild; but Ravengaard affirms that he has seen the archbishop with her with his own eyes. Henry, after repeating this charge to Gunild, beats her severely, and nobody dares come to the rescue, or to speak for her, save two ladies of the court, who maintain that Ravengaard has lied. Then let her find a man who will fight with him, says the duke. Bare-headed and bare-foot Gunild goes to the hall where the knights are drinking. They all rise; but when she asks, Is there anybody here who will fight for a woman? there is no response except from Memering. He had served her father fifteen years; never had he seen her so wretched, bare-shouldered, bare-foot. Ravengaard had had more of her father's bounty than anybody, and he has been the first to betray her. Memering had always been last when gifts were giving; but he will go into the lists for her if he can have the sword Adelring, and this Gunild promises him. A ring[Pg 35] is marked on the ground for the fight. Ravengaard requires Memering to swear that he knows not of the sword Adelring. Memering (who has thrust the blade into the earth) swears that he does not know of more than the hilt being above ground, and exacts in turn that Ravengaard shall swear that he has no knowledge of the sword Sudevind [Saadering], to which Ravengaard makes oath without qualification. With the first blow Ravengaard cuts Memering's sword in two. This shows, says the duke, what deeds you have been doing. Memering strikes, and cuts Ravengaard's sword in two. Ravengaard asks his adversary to wait a moment till he can tie his shoe, stoops, and picks up the sword Sudevind; for which perjury, says Memering, thy foul soul is lost. Ravengaard now cuts a second sword of Memering's in two. Memering asks for time to tie his shoe, stoops down, and produces the sword Adelring; for which perjury, says Ravengaard, thy foul soul is lost. But Memering had been careful to swear with circumstance: he had sworn that he knew of nothing but the hilt being above ground. With one stroke he cuts Sudevind in two, and with a second Ravengaard's neck. And now Gunild may say to the duke, You see Ravengaard lied. Henry begs forgiveness. Memering, who has a broken head and leg, demands nothing more than bread the rest of his days, but Gunild says she will herself be his leech, and he shall have both bread to eat and scarlet to wear.
The trick of reserving a peculiarly formidable sword is a commonplace in northern sagas,[33] and we are not obliged to suppose that it belonged to the ballad from the beginning. No trace of it is found in the other Scandinavian versions.
The Danish versions from recent oral tradition, B, C, G-L, relate that Henry, going off on an expedition, commits Gunild to the care of Ravnlil, who forthwith demands that she shall do his will, otherwise he will tell a great lie about her. She trusts in the triumph of honesty, and defies him. Henry comes back, and inquires of Ravnlil about his wife, and Ravnlil tells his great lie: Gunild spares neither monk nor priest; he has seen the archbishop with her, C. Henry seizes Gunild by the hair, throws her to the ground and beats her; thus shall she be served till she find a kemp that will fight for her. Gunild goes to the kemp-house, and asks if there is any man that will fight for a woman. None who will fight for a whore, H, K. Memering jumps over the table, B, G, I, and offers to be her champion. At the first shock in the lists Memering's horse is brought to his knees; in the second encounter Memering takes off Ravnlil's head. Henry offers tons of gold to redeem Gunild. Shame befall him that sells her, says Memering, and rides off with Gunild, leaving Henry wringing his hands.
K, like A, represents that Gunild was wooed from all quarters before she was won by Henry. Memering, who sits lowest at the board, says to Gunild, as in A 20-23, that he had served her father eleven years, and never seen her with bare feet. In C Memering finds Gunild weeping, and, learning the reason, asks the loan of her father's horse, receives horse and armor of proof, goes where the kemps are drinking, and challenges the slanderer. The burly villain says he will take him in his left hand and chuck him out of the country, crush all his limbs with his little finger. After the fight, Memering presents Gunild with "the head that has belied her," and she carries it to Henry, who asks in wonder, Who in all my land has hewn down a man so big? Memering, the least of men, she says. Henry offers him his Sudselille, his Strudselille, his[Pg 36] Spire, but will have Gunild for his own. Memering bids him keep his gifts; he will not resign Gunild, whom he has won. The diminutive size of Memering is noted also in B, H, I, K, and the hugeness of Ravnlil in B, G, I. In H Memering knocks off his opponent's hat in the first bout, and the head follows in the second. Now we will ride off, says Memering to Gunild; but Gunild will not budge till she has had vengeance on Henry.
The Norwegian story has lost the beginning, but agrees well with the Danish so far as it goes. Gunild goes into the kemps' hall, and asks if any man dare fight for a woman against huge Ronnegaar. All are silent but Mimmer, smallest of Christian men, who offers himself. Gunild holds him cheap for his low stature, and says he had better stay at home and keep his sheep; but he, not rebuffed, mounts his horse, seeks out Ronnegaar, and, after a three days' fight, vanquishes him and cuts off his head, which he ties to his saddle-bow and brings back in triumph.
The Icelandic ballad is in accord with the Danish until we come to the judicium dei, and then an ordeal by hot iron takes the place of the combat. So with the two Färöe copies, which, however, mix both forms, and inconsistently bring in Memering, with nothing for him to do. King Diderik replaces Henry in all three, but Spire remains the place of the action. When the returning king asks after Gunild, he is told that the archbishop has been seen lying with her, or the bishop's brother, and others besides. He seizes her by the hair and drags her from her bed, F, beats her for two days, E, F, and a third, and no one dares interfere. At last two of his children beg him to stop, D, E; ask what their mother has done, F. She has been untrue. Then let her carry iron and walk on steel. Nine times she carries iron and ten times she walks on steel, F. The conclusion is very much injured in all these copies. In the Icelandic, F, "all her iron bands fall off;" her accuser goes to infernal punishment, and she to heaven. In D, E, after the children have asked for the ordeal by fire, Gunild goes to the strand, or along the street, and meets Mimmering, smallest of Christian men, E, who says he has served her father eight years, and never saw her in such wretched plight. She then goes to another land, D; Mimmering takes her from heathen land (which at least makes him of some use), E; when she enters a church her iron bands burst. She is making gifts of a Yule day, and gives her traducer a red ring, meaning a rope round his neck.
The names of the four actors in the Scandinavian versions are: Henry, as in English, in all the Danish copies,[34] replaced by King Diderik in Färöe D, E, Icelandic F; Gunild, or Gunder, Gunni, Gunde, in all copies, including the Norwegian; Memering, Mimmering, in all but the Norwegian and Danish H, which have the slight modifications Mimmer, Nimmering, these last, as also Färöe D, E, adding the suffix Tand. There is considerable variety, always with some likeness, in the fourth name: Raffuengaard, Danish A; Röngård, H; Ronnegaar, the Norwegian; Ravnlil, B, G, K, L, Ravnhild, I; Rundkrud Hagensgaard, C; Roysningur, Färöe D, E; Rögnvaldr, Icelandic F. Ravengaard, Röngård, Ronnegaar, with the Anglo-Latin Rodingar, presently to be mentioned, are evidently the forerunners of the English Aldingar (Sir Raldingar) and Rodingham.[35] The English Eleanor is probably a later substitution for Gunild, become unfamiliar. Eleanor may have been meant or understood for Henry Second's queen (less likely for Henry Third's, though she went into a monastery), but considering how freely the name is dealt with in English ballads, the question is hardly worth raising, and assuredly it never was raised except by editors.[36]
Memering is of diminutive size in B-E,[Pg 37] H-K, the smallest of Christian men in E, and also in the Norwegian copy.[37] The large size of his antagonist is noted in B, C, G, I, and the Norwegian copy. His representative in English A seems no more in a man's likeness than a child of four years old. Aldingar would not have recked had there been half a hundred such; and Aldingar is as big as a fooder, "a tun of man," like Falstaff, though not so unwieldy.
Gunhild, daughter of Cnut the Great and Emma, was married in 1036 to King Henry, afterwards the Emperor Henry III, and died of the plague at Ravenna two years later, never having had any trouble with her husband. William of Malmesbury, who died only a little more than a hundred years after Gunhild, 1142 or 1143, writes of her as follows: She was a girl of extraordinary beauty, and had been sighed for in vain by many suitors before her hand was bestowed upon Henry. She was attended to the ship which was to take her to her husband by a procession so splendid that it was still in William's day the theme of popular song. After many years of married life she was denounced for adultery, and offered as her champion against her accuser (who was a man of gigantic bulk), others refusing, a mere boy that she had brought with her from England, who by miracle hamstrung her defamer. Gunhild then could not be induced by threats or blandishments to live longer with her husband, but took the veil, and passed the remainder of a long life in the service of God.[38]
It will be recognized that we have in this narrative many points of the English and Danish ballad: the beauty of the queen, English A 2; her numerous suitors, Danish A, K; the youth or under size of the queen's champion, who had previously been in the service of her family, and the huge dimensions of the other party; the triumph of weakness and innocence, and Gunhild's separating herself from Henry, Danish B, C, G-L. Nor can we well doubt that William of Malmesbury was citing a ballad, for the queen's wonderful deliverance in so desperate an extremity would be even more likely to be celebrated in popular song than her magnificent wedding, and a ballad is known to have been made upon a similar and equally fabulous adventure which is alleged in chronicle to have occurred to Gunhild's mother.
Malmesbury does not mention the names of the combatants, though he may very well have known them. These names are supplied by a French metrical life of Edward the Confessor, "translatée du Latin," of which the manuscript must have been written before 1272, and may, perhaps, be dated as early as 1245. In this poem we are told that Gunhild, having been calumniated to her husband, the Emperor Henry, was obliged by the custom of the empire to purge herself by battle, and with difficulty could find a champion, because her accuser was of gigantic size. But a dwarf, whom she had brought up, by name Mimecan,[39] undertook to fight for her, hamstrung the giant at the first blow, and at the second cut off his feet, "as the history says." The lady, thus acquitted, declined to have the emperor for her lord. The other name is given in verses describing a picture of the combat, one of many illustrations which adorn the manuscript: How the dwarf Mimecan, to redeem the honor of his mistress, fights with the huge old Rodegan, and cuts off his feet; where Rodegan is, perhaps, an adaptation of Rodingar, for rhyme's sake;[40] but we have Rodyngham in English B.
In The Chronica Majora of Matthew Paris, I, 515, ed. Luard, manuscript of the beginning of the fourteenth century, the passage in Malmesbury is repeated, with additions from other sources. The name of Gunhild's cham[Pg 38]pion is given as Mimecan, and the dwarf is further said to have cut off the giant's head, as in the Norwegian version of the ballad and Danish C, and to have presented it to his mistress, as in Danish C. Brompton's Chronicle, of the second half of the fourteenth century, reiterates the story of the duel, giving the names of both combatants, Mimecan (misprinted or misread Municon) and Roddyngar.[41]
It is highly probable that this story became connected with Gunhild, wife of Henry III, in consequence of her bearing the name Cunigund after her marriage, owing to which circumstance she might become confused with the consort of the Emperor St Henry II, St Cunigund, in whose legendary history there is a passage essentially similar. St Cunigund's married life extended from 1002 to 1024. After Henry's death she retired to a nunnery, and she died "in the service of God," 1033, which corresponds with what Malmesbury says of Gunhild. Notwithstanding the mutual asceticism of the imperial pair, reports obtained, instigated by the devil, that Cunigund had doubly broken her vows, nor did these fail to make an impression on her husband's mind. To justify herself, Cunigund offered to walk barefoot over red-hot ploughshares, or, according to another account, to carry red-hot iron in her hands, and she went through the test without injury.[42] This form of ordeal is of the nature of what is suggested in the Färöe and the Icelandic ballad, and executed in the latter, where Gunild both walks over hot steel and carries hot iron in her hands.
Emma, Gunhild's mother, had the misfortune to be subjected to the same aspersions as her daughter and the Empress Cunigund, and was favored with the like glorious vindication. Accused of having a bishop for her lover, she asked to be submitted to the ordeal of hot iron, and walked over nine glowing ploughshares, in the church of St Swithin, Winchester, not only without injury, but even without the consciousness of what she had done.[43] We are expressly informed that a ballad on the subject was sung by a minstrel in the hall of the prior of St Swithin on the occasion of a visit of the Bishop of Winchester in 1338, in conjunction with another about the giant Colbrand.[44]
Earlier instances of a miraculous exoneration, under similar circumstances, are those of Richarda, or Richardis, wife of the Emperor Charles III, 887, and of Gundeberg, wife of the Lombard king Arioald, c. 630.
Richarda, accused of adultery with a bishop, protests, like Cunigund, not only her innocence of crime, but her intact virginity after a marriage of ten or twelve years, and offers herself to the judgment of God, either by duel or hot ploughshares; or actually proves her integrity by some form of ordeal, divino [aquino] judicio, or by passing through fire in[Pg 39] a waxed shift, or donning a wax shift, which is set on fire at her hands and feet. Disculpated thus, she goes, like Cunigund, into a monastery for the rest of her days.[45]
Gundeberg happening to praise a certain nobleman's figure, he solicited her in shameless style, and was most contemptuously rejected. Upon this he tells the king that Gundeberg means to poison her husband and take another man, and the queen is put under confinement. Remonstrance is made by the king of the Franks, to which race Gundberg belongs, and Arioald consents to allow her to clear herself by a champion. One Pitto (otherwise Carellus) fights with the accuser and kills him.[46] If Pitto, as Bugge has suggested, and as seems more than plausible, be Little (old Italian pitetto, etc.), then the root of the Scandinavian-English story is found in the early part of the seventh century. The name Carellus may also be a significant diminutive.
Henry, in the Scandinavian ballad, accepts the testimony of the man in whose charge he had left Gunild, without asking for proof. Circumstantial evidence is offered in the English ballad; the false steward shows the king a leper lying in the queen's bed. Aldingar induces the leper to conform to his orders by promising that he shall be a sound man in two hours. Rodyngham gives the leper a drink, and lays him in the bed asleep. The queen, to the advantage of good taste, but to the detriment of the proof, is not there in either case.
We have here a link with the story of Oliva, or Sibilla, in the Charlemagne cycle of fictions. We may begin with the second section of the Karlamagnus saga, because we know that it was translated from an English copy brought home by a Norseman resident in Scotland in 1287.
Olif is here sister to Charles, and married to King Hugo. Going to the chase, Hugo leaves his wife in the care of his steward, Milon, who had long had a passion for her, and takes advantage of this occasion to declare it. The queen threatens to have him hanged. Milon goes home, puts a potion in a mazer, returns to the queen, and, pretending that what he had said was only a jest and meant to try her virtue, asks her, in token of reconciliation, to drink the cup with him. He feigns to begin; the queen follows in earnest, and falls into a dead sleep. He lays her in her bed, administers the same drink to a black beggar, and, when it has had its effect, lays him by the queen, putting the arms of each about the other's neck. When the king comes back he wonders that his wife does not come to meet him, and asks where she is. The steward answers, as in A 8, that the queen has taken a new love, and conducts the king to his chamber. Hugo cuts off the black man's head. Every drop of his blood turns to a burning candle, which makes the king think that he has killed a holy man. But the steward says, Not so; rather she is a witch, that can make stones float and feathers sink, and urges the king, now that his sword is out, to take off the queen's head, too. The king refuses. Olif wakes, and is astounded at what her eyes behold. What means this black man in her bed! God wot, says Milon, he has long been your leman. The queen demands an ordeal, according to the law of the land; and successively proposes that she shall be put naked into a copper over a hot fire, or be thrown from a high tower on sword and spear points, or be taken in a boat out of sight of land and thrown into the water. The king is each time disposed to let her have her way, but is always dissuaded by Milon, who tells him that no such trial would signify anything with a witch of her powers. Hereupon a knight leaps up and knocks Milon down for a liar, and offers to fight him on these terms: Milon to be fully armed and on his best horse,[Pg 40] and the challenger to have no armor, a mule for a steed, and a wooden wand for a weapon. Milon is immediately thrown, but the king is still induced to think this to be more of his wife's magic, calls his best men to council, and bids them determine what death she shall die. There is no further resemblance to our ballad. Karlamagnus Saga, Af Fru Olif ok Landres, Unger, p. 51.
A Färöe ballad, 'Óluvu kvæði,' Hammershaimb, in Antiquarisk Tidsskrift, 1846-48, p. 281, repeats this story with variations, and as we are informed by Grundtvig, I, 201, so do Icelandic rimes, 'Landres rímur,' as yet unprinted. In the Färöe ballad, after Óluva's champion (who had come with her from home, like Memering) has unhorsed her accuser, she passes the ordeal of water and fire triumphantly, and still another.
In the Spanish prose romance of Oliva (printed in 1498) and the French chanson de geste of Doon l'Alemanz (fifteenth-century manuscript), the heroine, who is now Pepin's sister, becomes the victim of slander, not in consequence of her having rebuffed an overweening lover, but because the father or uncle of the arch-traitor Ganelon had been thwarted in his plan to match his daughter or sister with the nobleman upon whom Pepin has bestowed Oliva. It is an ordinary young lad who is put into the lady's bed, and no loathsome leper or beggar. The injured woman asks for the ordeal of fire or of water, and, in the Spanish romance, when these are refused her, to be thrown from a tower. After much difficulty this right is conceded in the latter, and, like Richardis,[47] she walks through a blazing fire, in simple shift, without singeing hair or thread. But all this helps her not. F. Wolf, Ueber die neuesten Leistungen der Franzosen, u. s. w., p. 98 ff; C. Sachs Beiträge, u. s. w., p. 2 ff.
According to other forms of the same story, it is Sibilla, wife of Charles the Great, that is temporarily repudiated by her husband, owing to a false suspicion of unfaithfulness, seemingly justified by an ugly dwarf being found in bed with her. A French romance, which narrated this story, is described in the Chronicle of Alberich, a monk of the cloister of Trois Fontaines, in the diocese of Liége, writing in the first half of the thirteenth century.[48] A fragment of the latter half of such a romance, and of the same age, is preserved. A complete tale is extant in a variety of forms: Hystoria de la reyna Sebílla, in Spanish prose, French by origin, of which a full analysis is given by Ferdinand Wolf, Ueber die neuesten Leistungen, u. s. w., p. 124 ff, from a printed copy dated 1532;[49] a Dutch volksbuch, also from the French, printed not far from the same time, of which an ample account is also given by Wolf in Denkschriften der kaiserlichen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Phil. Hist. Classe, VIII, 180 ff; Macaire, a French romance in verse, of the thirteenth or fourteenth century, Mussafia, Altfranzösische Gedichte aus venezianischen Handschriften, II, Guessard, Les Anciens Poëtes de la France; a German metrical tale of uncertain date, 'Diu Künigin von Frankrich und der ungetriuwe Marschalk,' found in many manuscripts, von der Hagen, Gesammtabenteuer, I, 169, Meyer und Mooyer, Altdeutsche Dichtungen, p. 52; a meisterlied, 'Die Kunigin von Frankreich, dy der marschalk gegen dem Kunig versagen wart,' u. s. w., printed in the fifteenth century, and lately in Wolff's Halle der Völker, II, 255.[50] The king and queen are nameless in the last two, and the queen bears the name of Blançiflor in 'Macaire.' In the two German versions the false marshal repeats the part of the false steward in the English and Norse story; having failed with the queen, he[Pg 41] lays a sleeping dwarf in her bed. The dwarf is principal in the Spanish and Dutch story, and after a discomfiture in which he loses some of his teeth at the vigorous hand of the queen, creeps into her bed while she is asleep. He does the same in the Venetian-French romance, thinking to get vengeance for rough handling from his mistress when acting as Pandarus for Macaire, of whose spite against the queen for rebuking his inordinate passion he is all the while the tool.
Sibilla appears again as Sisibe, daughter of a Spanish king, married to Sigmundr, father of Sigurðr Fáfnisbani. The king, summoned to arms, entrusts her to two of his nobles, one of whom, Hartvin, proposes that she shall accept him as a husband, and is threatened with the gallows. The two represent to the king, on his return, that the queen has had a handsome thrall for her partner during his absence. Hartvin advises that she be relegated to a desolate forest and have her tongue cut out, to which Sigmundr assents. Þiðriks Saga, Unger, p. 159 ff, cc 156-59; Hyltén-Cavallius, p. 115, cc 149-51.
The first part of the English romance of Sir Triamour, or a little more than 600 verses, is derived from some French form of Sibilla. A king going on a crusade to the holy land commits his queen to the care of his steward; the steward sues the queen to accept him as a paramour, and is threatened with hanging; the steward pretends that he has only been proving her, but when the king comes home tells him that he has seen a man lying with the queen, and has slain the traitor; the king is minded to burn his wife, but is advised by the steward rather to banish her; three days are allowed the queen to quit the country, and if found after that she is to die in the fire. Percy Society, vol. XVI, ed. Halliwell; Percy MS., ed. Hales and Furnivall, II, 78; Utterson, Select Pieces of Early Popular Poetry, I, 5.
In like manner, Genoveva's husband is persuaded by the false Golo, who has been charged with the care of her and has abused his trust, that his wife has admitted a cook to her favor; and Octavian's mother, in the English romance, excites her son's resentment against his innocent queen by inducing a scullion, "lothly of face," to get into the empress's bed: Weber, III, 163, v. 153 ff.[51]
Another series of tales, that has likeness in parts with the story of Gunhild and of Sibilla, is represented in English by the pleasing romance of The Erl of Tolous,[52] dating from about 1400.
We read in this lay of Britain, as it is called in the last stanza, that Barnard, Earl of Toulouse, has become enamored of the Empress of Germany, with whose lord he is at strife, and has excited a certain interest in the mind of the lady. The emperor selects two knights to guard his wife; these conceive a violent passion for her, and declare it, one after the other, after having obtained from her a promise of secrecy. She tells the first that he is a traitor and deserves to be hanged, and the second that he should be hanged had she not hight to hold counsel. These knights, who have been in collusion from the first, think themselves unsafe, notwithstanding the empress's promise, and conspire to be her ruin. They induce a young gentleman, for a jest, to strip himself all but bare, and hide behind a curtain in her chamber while she is sleeping; then summon "lords of bed" to help take a traitor who is with their lady in her bower, find the young man where they had put him, and bear him through the body. The lady is cast into prison. Her husband, who is far off, has a dream of two wild bears tearing his wife to pieces, and returns home with all haste. The knights tell their story. A council is called the next day, and it is decided that the empress must die (be burned). An old knight calls attention to the circumstance that the young man's tongue is stopped, and that none ever found a fault in the lady before; he advises that proclamation be made for a champion, to which the king, who loves his wife[Pg 42] tenderly, gladly assents. The Earl of Toulouse hears of the lady's peril, and resolves to go to Germany and fight for her. This, as being on hostile terms with the emperor, he must do in disguise. By the help of an abbot, who is the empress's uncle, he obtains admission to the lady in a monk's dress, hears her shrift, and assures himself of her innocence; and then, monk as he seems, offers to do battle with the accusers. One is run through, the other yields as recreant and confesses the plot, and both are burned. The monk is revealed by the abbot, under a pledge that he shall receive no injury, to be Sir Barnard of Toulouse. The emperor treats his late foe graciously, and rewards him, even to the extent of dying in three years, when the earl is chosen his successor and weds the empress.
Of this story the following are repetitions, with variations: (1) Miracle de la Marquise de Gaudine, MS. of about 1400, Paris et Robert, Miracles de Notre Dame, II, 121 ff; (2) the German Volksbuch, Eine schöne und liebliche History vom edlen und theuren Ritter Galmien, printed 1539 or earlier, upon which Hans Sachs founded his play Der Ritter Galmi mit der Hertzogin auss Britanien, Keller, VIII, 261; (3) the Danish poem Den kydske Dronning, by Jeppe Jensen, 1483, Brandt, Romantisk Digtning, II, 89 ff; (4) a tale of Bandello, Second Part, No 44, Amore di Don Giovanni di Mendozza e della Duchessa di Savoia, printed 1554; (5) the French prose-romance L'Histoire de Palanus, Comte de Lyon, ed. A. de Terrebasse, 1833, put before 1539. In (1) a dwarf is made to conceal himself in the lady's chamber; in (2) a scullion to boast that he is the object of her passion; in (3) a servitor is the instrument of treachery; in (4) a young gentleman; in (5) this machinery is dropped, and a slanderous letter does the mischief. In none of these is the lady a German empress; in (5) she is an English queen; in (2) of British birth. In all there is a reciprocal predilection on the part of the lady and her champion.
Spanish and Provençal chroniclers and a Spanish ballad relate a story substantially according with what we find in The Earl of Toulouse, the injured heroine being an empress of Germany, and her champion a count, in all cases but one Count Ramon of Barcelona.
In the Spanish ballad 'Romance de cómo el conde don Ramon de Barcelona libró á la emperatriz de Alemaña que la tenian para quemar,' Duran, Romancero, II, 210, No 1228, Wolf y Hofmann, Primavera, II, 102, from the Silva de Romances of 1550, two knights, with no motive given but their own wickedness, tell the emperor that they have seen the empress toying with her chamberlain. The empress is imprisoned, and casts about for two knights to defend her life against the accusers. In all the chivalry of the court there is none that will venture against appellants so redoubtable, and she is to be burned in three days. The Count of Barcelona hears the distressing intelligence, and sets out to the rescue. No one being admitted to the lady except her confessor, the count makes known to the holy father that he has come for the defence, and begs, if possible, that he may first have a word with her majesty. He has an interview, in the guise of a monk, and is properly welcomed by the empress, who expresses her confidence that he will succeed in establishing her innocence, but will not permit him even to kiss hands. Asking only to take his adversaries one at a time, the count speedily disposes of the first, when the other surrenders. The emperor, delighted with the result, wishes to show due honor to the champion, who, however, is not to be found, having returned to his estates immediately after the fight; nor is the empress at liberty to tell who he is until the third day. He is then revealed to be the flower of chivalry, the lord of Catalonia. The empress, with the approval of her husband, goes to Barcelona, attended by a magnificent train and under conduct of two cardinals, to express her gratitude in person, and is very splendidly received and entertained.
The oldest of the chroniclers, the Catalan Bernart Desclot, writing about 1300, ascribes the misfortune of the empress to a harmless partiality for a young nobleman, which was misrepresented to the emperor by two of his[Pg 43] councillors, out of envy and spite.[53] The empress is allowed a year and a day to find a champion, in default of which she is to be burned. None of the knights to whom she has shown kindness dare offer themselves in her cause, on account of the high favor in which her accusers, who engage to make good their charge by battle, stand with their master. But a minstrel attached to the court takes it in hand to find her a defender, goes to Barcelona, and so interests the count in the case that he sets out immediately for Germany. Carbonell, c. 1500, Beuter, c. 1530, and Pujades, † 1635, all of whom rely in part on popular tradition, make the count to be Ramon Berengar III, and Beuter says that, according to the Catalans, the empress was Matilda, daughter of Henry I of England, who was married to the emperor Henry V in 1114.[54]
Provençal chronicles, Cæsar de Nostradamus's Histoire et chronique de Provence, 1614, and La Royalle Couronne des Roys d'Arles, 1641, return to the baffled steward or maître d'hôtel and his revenge. The empress is Matilda in Nostradamus, as in Beuter, and the steward simply accuses her of adultery, and offers to sustain the charge by battle. No one dares to defend the lady, because the accuser is un fort rude et dangereux champion. The steward is hanged after his defeat. In La Royalle Couronne des Roys d'Arles the emperor is said to be Henry III and the empress Matilde, fille de Camet, qui avoit esté roy de Dannemarc et estoit roy d'Angleterre. The emperor Henry V was as king of Arles Henry III. Camet, whether miswritten or not, can mean only Canut, and there is an obvious confusion between Gunild, daughter of Cnut, wife of Henry III of Germany, and Matilda, daughter of Henry I of England, wife of Henry III of Arles and V of Germany.[55] This may be an historical blunder, pure and simple, or may have been occasioned by a knowledge of the tradition concerning Gunild.
There is little or nothing in all these tales that can be historically authenticated, and much that is in plain contradiction with history.[56] Putting history out of the question, there is no footing firmer than air for him who would essay to trace the order of the development. Even if we exaggerate the poverty of[Pg 44] human invention so far as to assume that there must have been a single source for stories so numerous and so diversified in the details, a simple exposition of the subject-matter, with subordinate connections, seems all that it is safe, at present, to attempt.[57]
A is translated, according to Percy's Reliques, by Bothe, p. 175, and by Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Altenglands, No 68; B by Gerhard, p. 71. The old Danish ballad, Grundtvig's A, by Dr Prior, I, 151.
A
Percy MS., p. 68; Hales and Furnivall, I, 166.
Men called him Sir Aldingar,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Her deere worshipp to haue betraide;
Our queene shee was a good woman,
And euer more said him nay.
With her hee was neuer content,
But he sought what meanes he cold find out,
In a fyer to haue her brent.
A lazar was blind and lame;
He tooke the lazar vpon his backe,
Vpon the queenes bed he did him lay.
Looke thou goe not away;
Ile make thee a whole man and a sound
In two howres of a day.
Our queene for to betray,
And then he mett with our comlye king,
Saies, God you saue and see!
A message I wold say to thee.'
'Say on, say on, Sir Aldingar,
Say thou on and vnto me.'
That euer Christen king did see;
Our queene hath chosen a new, new loue,
She will haue none of thee.
The lesse had beene her shame;
But she hath chosen a lazar man,
Which is both blinde and lame.'
That thou dost tell to me,
Then will I make thee a rich knight
Both of gold and fee.
That thou doest tell to me,
Then looke for noe other death
But to be hangd on a tree.
Goe with me,' saide our comly king,
'This lazar for to see.'
Standing her bed befor,
'There is a lodly lome,' says Harry King,
'For our dame Queene Elinor!
Here thou sholdest be slaine;
But a paire of new gallowes shall be built,
Thoust hang on them soe hye.
And brent our queene shalbee:'
Fforth then walked our comlye king,
And mett with our comly queene.
And Christ you saue and see!
Heere you [haue] chosen a new, new loue,
And you will haue none of mee.
The lesse had beene your shame;
[Pg 45] But you haue chosen a lazar man,
That is both blind and lame.'
'Sir Aldingar is false to mee;
But euer alacke!' said our comly queene,
'Euer alas, and woe is mee!
I haue prooued them true at the last;
I dreamed in my sweauen on Thursday at eueninge,
In my bed wheras I lay,
Had carryed my crowne away,
My gorgett and my kirtle of golde,
And all my faire heade-geere.
And borne me into his nest,
Saving there came a little hawk,
Flying out of the east.
Which men call a merlion;
Vntill the ground he stroke him downe,
That dead he did fall downe.
A battell I would proue;
I wold fight with that false traitor;
Att him I cast my gloue!
You must grant me, my leege, a knight,
To fight with that traitor, Sir Aldingar,
To maintaine me in my right.'
'To seeke thee a man therin;
If thou find not a man in forty dayes,
In a hott fyer thou shall brenn.'
He rode fast into the south;
He rode the countryes through and through,
Soe ffar vnto Portsmouth.
. . . . . . .
He cold find never a man in the south country
That wold fight with the knight soe keene.
Rode far into the east;
But, blessed be God made sunn and moone!
He sped then all of the best.
There he mett with a little child;
He seemed noe more in a mans likenesse
Then a child of four yeeres old.
Loth he was him to tell;
The little one was offended att him,
Bid him adew, farwell.
Greete our queene well from me;
When bale is att hyest, boote is att next;
Helpe enough there may bee.
In her bedd wheras shee lay;
Shee dreamed the grype and the grimly beast
Had carryed her crowne away;
Alsoe her faire head-geere;
He wold haue werryed her with his tushe,
And borne her into his nest.
Men call him a merlyon;
Vntill the ground he did strike him downe,
That dead he did ffall downe.
Euermore light and glad;
When bale is att hyest, boote is at next,
Helpe enoughe there shalbe.'
A gladed man then was hee;
When he came before our queene,
A gladd woman then was shee.
O lord, in gold and ffee;
Saies, Spend and spare not while this doth last,
Then feitch thou more of me.
[Pg 46]
She thought no thing but death;
Thé were ware of the little one
Came ryding forth of the east.
A louelie child was hee;
When he came to that fier,
He light the queene full nigh.
Lie burning before our queene,
And feitch me hither Sir Aldingar,
That is a knight soe keene.
Ffull litle of him hee thought;
If there had beene halfe a hundred such,
Of them he wold not haue wrought.
Thou seemust as bigge as a ffooder;
I trust to God, ere I haue done with thee,
God will send to vs [an] auger.
I will giue vnto thee,
And if the second giue thou may,
Looke then thou spare not mee.
I-wis itt was all of guilt;
It cast light there over that feild,
It shone soe all of guilt.
He stroke away his leggs by his knee;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
And fight vpon thy feete;
For and thou thriue as thou begins,
Of a height wee shalbe meete.
'Me for to houzle and shriue!
A preist, a preist,' sayes Aldingar,
'While I am a man liuing a-liue!
To it shee wold neuer consent;
I thought to haue betrayd her to our king,
In a fyer to haue had her brent.
A lazar both blind and lame;
I tooke the lazar vpon my backe,
In the Queenes bed I did him lay.
Looke he went not away;
I wold make him a whole man and a sound
In two houres of a day.
. . . . . . .
'Euer alacke!' sayes Sir Aldingar,
'Falsing neuer doth well;
For Christs loue forgiue me!'
'God forgaue his death, Aldingar,
And freely I forgiue thee.'
And loue her as thou shold;
Thy wiffe shee is as true to thee
As stone that lies on the castle wall.'
Was a pretty man and small;
The lazar vnder the gallow tree
Was made steward in King Henerys hall.
B
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 51, 1803. Communicated to Scott by K. Williamson Burnet, of Monboddo, as written down from the recitation of an old woman, long in the service of the Arbuthnot family.
The world had not their make;
The queen she's gone to her chamber,
With Rodingham to talk.
Bove land and rents so clear,
And for the love of you, my queen,
Would thole pain most severe.'
[Pg 47]
I'm sure so do I thee;
I love you well as any man,
Save the king's fair bodye.'
'T is truth that I do tell;
And for to lye a night with you,
The salt seas I would sail.'
You are both stark and stoor;
Would you defile the king's own bed,
And make his queen a whore?
And like a traitor slain,
And I'd be burned at a stake,
Altho I be the queen.'
All in an angry mood,
Untill he met a leper-man,
Just by the hard way-side.
With liquors very sweet,
And gave him more and more to drink,
Until he fell asleep.
And carried him along,
Till he came to the queen's own bed,
And there he laid him down.
As swift as any roe,
Till he came to the very place
Where the king himself did go.
What news have you to me?
He said, Your queen's a false woman,
As I did plainly see.
So costly and so fine,
Until he came to the queen's own bed,
Where the leper-man was lain.
Who lay on his queen's bed;
He lifted up the snaw-white sheets,
And thus he to him said.
And plooky is your chin,
And plooky are your armis twa,
My bonny queen's layne in.
She shall not lye in mine;
Since she has kissd your ugsome mouth,
She never shall kiss mine.'
Who fell upon her knee;
He said, You false, unchaste woman,
What's this you've done to me?
The tear blinded her ee:
'There's not a knight in a' your court
Dare give that name to me.'
For I a proof did make;
You shall be taken from my bower,
And burned at a stake.
And may repent the same,
If that you'll get a Christian man
To fight that Rodingham.'
'Alas, and woe to me!
There's not a man in all Scotland
Will fight with him for me.'
Sent them south, east, and west;
They could find none to fight with him,
Nor enter the contest.
She sent them to the north;
And there they found Sir Hugh le Blond,
To fight him he came forth.
The circumstance all right,
He bade them go and tell the queen
That for her he would fight.
That dreadful tragedy;
Sir Hugh le Blond was not come up,
To fight for our lady.
[Pg 48]
'It is twelve on the bell;'
''T is scarcely ten, now,' said the king,
'I heard the clock mysell.'
The burning to proceed;
In a black velvet chair she's set,
A token for the dead.
The tears blinded her ee:
'Where is the worthy knight,' she said,
'Who is to fight for me?'
'My dearest, have no doubt,
For yonder comes the man himsel,
As bold as eer set out.'
With swords of temperd steel;
Till down the blood of Rodingham
Came running to his heel.
'T was of the metal clear,
And he has pierced Rodingham
Till's heart-blood did appear.
'This day before you die;'
'I do confess my treachery,
I shall no longer lye.
This day I shall be slain:'
The queen was brought to her chamber,
A good woman again.
Arbattle's near the sea;
Give it unto the northern knight,
That this day fought for me.
And drink a glass of wine,
And, if Arbattle's not enough,
To it we'll Fordoun join.
C
Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, January 1, 1830, p. 6.
A twalmon lang and mair,
Until the mice and wild rattens
Did tear her yallow hair.
'One shak o your han gie me:'
'I cam na here for shaking hans,
But to fight maist desperatelie.'
Nor eleven on the bell:'
'We'll doe ill deeds anew ere night,
Tho it were strucken twall.'
A.
22. Perhaps we should read to betray.
42. was lind.
54. in 2.
133. be bul: t torn off, and one stroke of the u dotted. Furnivall.
174. Sr before Euer crossed out. Furnivall.
191. dreamed the grype.
241, 3. 40.
284. 4.
303, 343. next should, perhaps, be nyest.
321. kirt e.
324. her nest.
361. 20li:.
381. The rest of the line is cut away.
403. 100.
453. thriue: one stroke of the u is left out. Furnivall.
494. 2.
521. thou K.
523. is a.
B.
284. as ere.
FOOTNOTES:
[31] Such dreams are not unusual in this connection: the empress has a like one in Octavian, Weber, Metrical Romances, III, 165, v. 195 ff; the emperor in The Erl of Tolous, Lüdtke, st. 68; the duke in the German Hirlanda.
[32] All these Scandinavian versions were printed for the first time by Grundtvig, save two out of eleven copies of K: these two in Kristensen, I, 124, No 49, 'Mimering,' and II, 306, No 87, 'Fru Gunder i Spire.' F was subsequently printed in Íslenzk Fornkvæði, No 12, I, 78, 'Gunnhildar kvæði.' Grundtvig devoted particular attention to this ballad, and has elucidated the history of the subject in a masterly way.
[33] See Flóamannasaga, Vigfússon and Möbius, Fornsögur, p. 134 f, where the whole sword is hid in the sand; Svarfdælasaga, Íslendínga Sögur, 1830, II, 132-134; Gunnlaugs saga ormstúngu, Ísl. Sög., 1847, II, 225 f; Þiðriks saga, Unger, p. 206, c. 222; Sturlaugs saga starfsama, c. 10, Rafn, Fornaldar Sögur, III, 608 f; and cf. 'Orm Ungersvend og Bermer Rise,' Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, No 11: Grundtvig and Bugge. Besides the oath customary in judicial combats, that the parties believe in the justice of their cause, the old Frisian and Lombard laws require champions to swear that they will fight fairly and honestly, and that they have no charm concealed about them, "ne forte carminibus, vel machinis diabolicis, vel magicis artibus insidientur:" Grundtvig, I, 194 note *. Jove seems to be expected to laugh at a qualified perjury in some of the above cases.
[34] Hans Hendrik in H; clearly, as Grundtvig says, a modern misunderstanding of Han Hendrik.
[35] The name Raadengaard occurs in Grundtvig, No 7, A, G, H, No 12, C; Ravengaard also in No 7, D, No 12, A; Raanegaard, Ronegaard, in No 12, B.
[36] Percy says that it had been suggested to him that the author of 'Sir Aldingar' "had in his eye the story of Gunhilda, who was sometimes called Eleanor, and was married to the Emperor (here called King) Henry." I have not found that Gunhilda was ever called Eleanor.
[37] Little Mimmering Tand is found in several ballads. He is one of King Diderik's kemps in Grundtvig, No 7, A, and appears again in his No 16, C. Mimering is the smallest of men in Grundtvig, No 14.
[38] De Gestis Regum Anglorum, l. ii, c. 12.
[39] Danish and Norwegian Mimecan, Mimmering, Memering, English mimicking, mimocking, and probably minnikin, Scottish memerkyn, mynmerkin, all denote a man or object of small size, and point to Icelandic minni=minor, minnkan, a minishing, etc.; as Bugge remarks.
[40] Lives of Edward the Confessor, edited by Henry Richards Luard, p. 39 f, vv 506-531, p. 3, VII.
[41] Twysden, Historiæ Anglicanæ Scriptores Decem, col. 933. In MS. A of the Abbreviationes of Ralph de Diceto, ed. Stubbs, I, 174, this note is inserted in the margin (at Gunnildam imperatori Romano cum ineffabilibus divitiis maritavit): Quam Rodingarus Alemannicus impetivit de adulterio, sed Mimekinus eam defendit et Rodingarum interfecit. The Abbreviationes were written before 1200, but the date of the insertion is of course uncertain.
[42] The second account in Alberti Krantzii Saxonia, lib. IV, c. 32, p. 97, ed. 1621: Grundtvig. Cunigund having publicly protested that she had never known man (not even her husband), Henry, who wished the secret kept, according to one account struck her lightly in the face, according to another squeezed her mouth together so roughly as to draw blood. Grundtvig sees in this story a correspondence with the severe beating that Henry is said, in some of the ballads, to have inflicted on Gunild.
[43] The trial is described with every detail in the Annals of Winchester, which may be of Henry II's time: Luard, Annales Monastici, II, 20-25. See, also, Brompton's Chronicle, Hist. Angl. Scriptores X, col. 941 f; Eulogium Historiarum, ed. Haydon, II, 184, c. 184; Rudbourn, in Wharton's Anglia Sacra, I, 233-35; etc.
[44] Et cantabat joculator quidam, nomine Herebertus, canticum Colbrandi, necnon gestum Emme regine a judicio ignis liberate, in aula prioris: Registrum prioratus S. Swithini Wintoniensis, cited by Warton, History of English Poetry, I, 81, ed. 1840. While the ordeal was in process, we are told, the spectators were weeping "intolerably" and crying with one voice, St Swithin, help her! now or never! Deus vim patitur. Regina sine clamore faciebat orationem: Deus, qui liberasti Susannam, tu me liberare digneris! It may be the same or another ballad on the deliverance of Queen Emma which Langland refers to at the end of the Prologue to Piers Plowman, as sung by lazy dykers and delvers, "that drive forth the long day with Dieu vous saue, Dame Emme."
[45] Regino, † 915, in Pertz, I, 597; Hermannus Contractus, † 1054, and Compendium ex codice Bernoldi, Migne, Patrologia, CXLIII, col. 201; Massmann, Kaiserchronik, twelfth century, II, 415-22; Jac. von Königshofen's Chronicle, end of fourteenth century, ed. Schilter, p. 105, cited by Grimm, Rechtsalterthümer, p. 912, Grundtvig, I, 190. In the Kaiserchronik the emperor gives his wife a blow with his fist.
[46] Fredegarius, Chronicon, c. 51, in Du Chesne, I, 755; Aimoinus, c. 1000, Historia Francorum, lib. IV, c. 10, in Du Chesne, III, 103. Paulus Diaconus, lib. IV, c. 47, has wrongly made Gundeberg wife of Rodoald, putting the event at 652.
[47] In Königshofen's Chronicle.
[48] Edited by Leibnitz in Accessiones Historicæ, tom. II, Pars I, p. 105 f. The passage relating to this romance is cited from Leibnitz by Wolf, Ueber die neuesten Leistungen, u. s. w., p. 156f, and from a manuscript by Guessard, Macaire, p. xii f. All that is said of the dwarf is: de quodam nano turpissimo, cujus occasione dicta regina fuit expulsa.
[49] This tale apparently exists also in a manuscript of the end of the fourteenth century: Gayangos in Rivadeneyra's Biblioteca, Libros de Caballerias, p. lxxxiii, 'Sebilla.' Cited by Wolf.
[50] See, for the last, and generally for the related literature, von Tettau, Ueber einige bis jetzt unbekannte Erfurter Drucke aus dem 15. Jahrhundert, pp 8-65. Hans Sachs has dramatized the story of the false marshal, VIII, 54, ed. Keller.
[51] For Genoveva see Seuffert, Die Legende von der Pfalzgräfin Genovefa, Würzburg, 1877.
[52] Ritson, A. E. Metrical Romanceës, III, 93; newly and admirably edited, Berlin, 1881, by Gustav Lüdtke, with a thorough investigation of the related literature, the more material part of which is furnished in appendixes.
[53] This recalls Morant in Karl Meinet, Keller, 219 ff, and in La gran conquista de ultramar, Wolf, Denkschriften der kais. Akad., as before, VIII, 280. Olive, in the German volksbuch Hirlanda, seems to be patterned after Morant. Hirlanda is charged with an intrigue with Olive by a graceless nobleman, and is to be burned unless vindicated by battle. Everybody is afraid of the impeacher's strength and skill in fight, but he is vanquished by a mere boy (divinely assisted) and confesses his villainy. The boy is Hirlanda's long-lost son. This is a stale paraphrase of an old story.
[54] Diago in his history of the counts of Barcelona contends for Ramon Berengar IV and the wife of Alfonso VII, who was crowned Emperor of Spain in 1135: Wolf, Lüdtke.
[55] For these chronicles and for Palanus, see F. Wolf in Jahrbücher für wissenschaftliche Kritik, 1835, 945-56, and Lüdtke, 78 ff. In the Arles chronicle, as also in Desclot, Carbonell, Beuter, etc., the empress gives the count a ring when he visits her in prison, and the same is done earlier in The Erl of Tolous; see Lüdtke, pp 80,171,181,183,191,201, and vv 392, 1076 of the English romance. It may be noted, without the intention of suggesting any particular inference, that Arthur's queen in Le lai du Corn, v. 325 ff, to clear herself from the suspicion of loving amiss, professes herself ready to be thrown into a fire of thorns, and, should a hair of her head or any of her dress be burned, then to be dragged at a horse's heels. She owns that she had given a ring to a young donzel, who had killed a giant that had slandered Gawain, and then wished modestly to withdraw.
[56] Lüdtke has endeavored, by a very carefully conducted comparison, to show the probability of an historical foundation for The Erl of Tolous in the relations of Bernard I, Count of Barcelona, with the Empress Judith, second wife of Louis le Débonnaire. By the influence of this beautiful and clever woman, Bernard, son of the William of Orange of romance, and later in his life Count or Duke of Toulouse, as his father had been, was made imperial chamberlain or prime minister, with the object of forwarding the aspirations which the empress entertained for her son Karl. Hugo, Count of Tours, and Matfrid, Count of Orleans, partisans of Lothair, stand for the empress's two lovers and enemies. Judith was accused of adultery with Bernard, and shut up in a monastery. At an assembly of the estates of the empire in 831, she declared herself prepared to refute the charge against her, and no accuser appearing, did so, when required, by an oath, after which she was restored to her rights as wife and empress. Bernard, though already incidentally purged by the empress's oath, some months subsequently asked the privilege of a duel with anybody that was disposed to inculpate him, and, no such person offering, in turn cleared himself by an oath. See Lüdtke, p. 98 ff, p. 209 ff. Hildegard, Louis's mother, according to tradition, labored under the same imputation as Judith, his wife; a parallel to the case of Gunild and her mother Emma. The story of Hildegard (Grimms, Deutsche Sagen, II, 102) has some resemblance to that of Repsima, Les Mille et un Jours, p. 265, Paris, 1840, and Jonathan Scott's Arabian Nights, VI, 396, 'Adventures of the Cauzce,' etc.
[57] Grundtvig, admitting that the time has not come for anything more, sketches an hypothesis of the evolution and transmission of the story, "as a mere experiment," I, 203 f.
60
KING ESTMERE
a. Percy's Reliques, edition of 1794, I, 64.
b. Reliques, edition of 1765, I, 58.
'King Estmere' occurred at page 249 of Percy's folio manuscript, but the three leaves on which it was written were "unfortunately torn out" by Percy to send to the press, and the genuine form of the ballad thereby put beyond recovery. In the second and later editions of the Reliques the editor professes to give the ballad from two copies ("containing very great variations," 1794), one of them being that of the folio. But here and elsewhere Percy employs a singular periphrasis, as he has explained to us in the preface to the Reliques, and means only that he has amended his original more or less. Notwithstanding the seemingly explicit language, there is no second copy at all.[58]
We are told by Percy, in a note to stanza 63, that though liberties have been taken with that portion of the ballad which follows, yet wherever the fourth edition differs from the preceding ones it has been brought nearer to the folio.[59] Some notes of readings of the folio are also furnished in the fourth edition (and are here restored), which were not given in the others. While we cannot but be vexed that so distinguished a ballad, not injured much, so far as we can see, by time, should not come down to us as it came to Percy, our loss must not be exaggerated. The changes made by the editor, numerous enough, no doubt, cannot be very material until we approach the end. Stanzas 63-66 are entirely suspicious, and it may even be questioned whether the manuscript contained a word that is in them.
The name of Bremor, son of the king of Spain, and "a heathen hound" (if this be not Percy's interpolation), taken with certain resemblances in the story, very naturally suggested to Professor Sophus Bugge (Grundtvig, IV, 704) a connection between this ballad and 'Young Orm and Bermer-Giant,' 'Orm Ungersvend og Bermer-Rise.'[60] The giant, who is described as a rabid berserker, presents himself at the Danish court (Grundtvig, A), and demands that the king shall give him his daughter and half his land, or find a man who will fight in the ring with him. The king refuses daughter and land, and says he will find a champion. He offers the chance of winning so fair a may to his men, and no one dares say a word except Young Orm, who sits low[Pg 50]est at the board: he will be the man. But first Orm provides himself with an irresistible sword, which is buried in his father's tomb, and is yielded by the dead man only upon the condition that his son shall take the revenge due for his death. With this sword Orm, like the child in 'Sir Aldingar,' cuts the giant through at the knees, being, he says, not tall enough to strike higher. He then goes to Iceland, and fights three days with the men who had slain his father, but without prevailing. A mermaid, from the sea-bottom, cries out to him that his sword is under a spell, and that he must whirl it three times round his head and then stick the point in the ground. This done, he has no difficulty in despatching his foes. He returns to the Danish court, and marries the princess.
The likeness between the English ballad and the Danish (which represents well enough the other Norse poems) is that a youthful champion wins a king's daughter by killing a truculent competitor, who has nearly the same name in both (Bremor, Bermer).
Further consideration led Bugge to maintain that the proper subject of 'King Estmere' is rather the story of Hjalmar, Odd and Anganty, and that the English ballad is better represented by the tragic Färöe ballad of 'Arngrim's Sons' than by 'Orm and Bermer-Giant,' which last he regards as a free reconstruction of an earlier and fuller form of 'Arngrim's Sons' than has come down to us. The points in which the story of Hjalmar, Odd and Anganty[61] is like 'King Estmere,' in contrast with the Orm ballad, are that the hero does not fight single-handed with the giant, but has the help of Odd (Adler); that the king's daughter chooses her husband for herself; that the bride is not won by a sword taken from a father's grave. The argument is, however, much too intricate and too long to be repeated here, even had the subtle and accomplished advocate shown full confidence in the conclusion.
But this confidence he does not feel, for, as he conceives, King Estmere again exhibits resemblances to 'Ogier le Danois,' the basis of the Danish ballad 'Holger Danske og Burmand,' Grundtvig, No 30.[62] The name Adler, says Bugge, is about as near to Ogier, Oddgeir, as to Oddr. Adler's brother, Estmere, might be the chivalrous paynim Karaheus, despite the unlike name, and King Adland's daughter the amiral's daughter Gloriande, the beloved of Karaheus. Brunamons of Majorca, to whom the amiral offers his daughter after the defection of Karaheus, may be Bremer of Spain. Ogier, like Adler (in Percy's edition), kills the hateful interloper, and Karaheus, like Estmere, gets the lady, but without taking part in the fight. If this hypothesis is not quite so satisfactory as the other, we may combine both. The English ballad may have been derived from some form of 'Arngrim's Sons,' but have been modified under the influence of 'Ogier le Danois.'[63]
A brief statement of these speculations may suffice in view of their inconclusiveness, which is the greater by reason of our not knowing to what extent Percy interfered with his manuscript.
The names Adler and Estmere appear again in a short romance in the Percy manuscript, Hales and Furnivall, II, 296. The story is that of Hugdietrich in the Heldenbuch: von der Hagen, I, 169, ed. 1855, Amelung and Jänicke, I, 167; given by Weber in Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, p. 63. Adler is a king, and, like Estmere in the ballad, is exacting in the matter of a wife. In the Heldenbuch it is not the young man who is so difficult to suit, but his guardian. Estmere (v. 11, where there is corruption or defect) appears to be Adler's messenger to King Ardine, the father of a lady who answers all require[Pg 51]ments, and who, as it turns out, likes Adler, but is not to be had on easy terms.[64]
'King Estmere' begins very much like the Danish ballad, 'Den farlige Jomfru,' Grundtvig, No 184, and especially like version D.
der druck kiemper snile.
och ryder och her Rosenns-wannd.
vilttu icki gifftis ennd?'
der yeg lader were minn lige.'
For knights and others to ride into hall, and up to the high board, is quite according to use. Every one will remember the passage in Chaucer's Squire's Tale, vv 30 ff. So again in Sir Perceval, Thornton Romances, p. 19, xxxi; Sir Degrevant, the same, p. 227, lxxvi; Libius Disconius, Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall, II, 486, v. 1951 (Skeat); Madden's Syr Gawayne, p. 8 ff, p. 111, v. 332; Perceval le Gallois, ed. Potvin, II, 125, vv 12,640-50; Messire Gauvain, p. 27, p. 146; Mabinogion, I, 70, 303 f, II, 257; Stowe's Survey of London (vol. II, book VI, p. 48, ed. 1720, following Walsingham), cited by Percy in his Essay on the Ancient Minstrels, Reliques, I, xli, lxxxvii, ed. 1794; Warton's History of English Poetry, II, 172, note d, ed. 1840.
The champion of England formerly rode into Westminster Hall in the coronation ceremony, but this part of the spectacle was omitted from the two last coronations.
King Estmere stables his steed at the hall board. Here again the minstrel is within the bounds of custom. "On voyait au moyen âge, dans la salle des chefs gallois, d'énormes crampons de fer, fixés au pavé de distance en distance, qui servaient aux chevaliers pour attacher leurs chevaux, car ils y entraient souvent avec eux; quelques-uns les conduisaient même jusque dans leur chambre à coucher:" Villemarqué, Les Romans de la Table Ronde, etc., 1860, p. 416 (cited by Liebrecht).
For bribing to secrecy with an arm-ring, stanza 47, see, also, Grundtvig, No 82, A 14, 15, B 20, 21; No 95, D 16, 17, Kristensen, I, No 96, 16; Grundtvig, No 233, A 18, B 12, D 13; No 274, A 21.
Translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 1; by Bodmer, I, 27; Herder, I, 195; Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, No 14.
Come and you shall heare;
Ile tell you of two of the boldest brether
That ever borne were.
The tother was Kyng Estmere;
The were as bolde men in their deeds
As any were, farr and neare.
Within his brother's hall,
'When will ye marry a wyfe, brother,
A wyfe to glad us all?'
And answered him hartilye:
'I know not that ladye in any land,
That's able to marrye with mee.'
[Pg 52]
Men call her bright and sheene;
If I were kyng here in your stead,
That ladye shold be my queene.'
Throughout merry England,
Where we might find a messenger
Betwixt us towe to sende.
Ile beare you companye;
Many a man throughe fals messengers is deceived,
And I feare lest soe shold wee.
Of twoe good renisht steeds,
And when the came to King Adlands halle,
Of redd gold shone their weeds.
Before the goodlye gate,
There they found good Kyng Adland
Rearing himselfe theratt.
Now Christ you save and see:'
Sayd, You be welcome, King Estmere,
Right hartilye to mee.
'Men call her bright and sheene;
My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe,
Of Englande to be queene.'
The king his sonne of Spayn,
And then she nicked him of naye,
And I doubt sheele do you the same.'
And 'leeveth on Mahound,
And pitye it were that fayre ladye
Shold marrye a heathen hound.'
'For my love I you praye,
That I may see your daughter deere
Before I goe hence awaye.'
Since my daughter was in halle,
She shall come once downe for your sake.
To glad my guestës alle.'
With ladyes laced in pall,
And halfe a hundred of bold knightes,
To bring her [from] bowre to hall,
And as many gentle squiers,
To tend upon them all.
Hanged low downe to her knee,
And everye ring on her small finger
Shone of the chrystall free.
Saies, God you save and see:
Said, You be welcome, Kyng Estmere,
Right welcome unto mee.
Soe well and hartilee,
All that ever you are comen about
Soone sped now itt shal bee.'
My daughter, I saye naye;
Remember well the kyng of Spayne,
What he sayd yesterdaye.
And reave me of my lyfe;
I cannot blame him if he doe,
If I reave him of his wyfe.
Are stronglye built aboute,
And therefore of the king his sonne of Spaine
Wee neede not stande in doubt.
By heaven and your righte hand,
That you will marrye me to your wyfe,
And make me queene of your land.'
By heaven and his righte hand,
That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe,
And make her queene of his land.
To goe to his owne countree,
[Pg 53] To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes,
That marryed the might bee.
A myle forthe of the towne,
But in did come the kyng of Spayne,
With kempës many one.
With manye a bold barone,
Tone day to marrye Kyng Adlands daughter,
Tother daye to carrye her home.
In all the spede might bee,
That he must either turne againe and fighte,
Or goe home and loose his ladye.
Another while he ranne;
Till he had oretaken King Estmere,
I-wis he never blanne.
'What tydinges nowe, my boye?'
'O tydinges I can tell to you,
That will you sore annoye.
A mile out of the towne,
But in did come the kyng of Spayne,
With kempës many a one.
With manye a bold barone,
Tone daye to marrye King Adlands daughter,
Tother daye to carry her home.
And ever-more well by mee;
You must either turne againe and fighte,
Or goe home and loose your ladye.'
My reade shall ryse at thee,
Whether it is better to turne and fighte,
Or goe home and loose my ladye.
'And your reade must rise at me;
I quicklye will devise a waye
To sette thy ladye free.
And learned in gramarye,
And when I learned at the schole,
Something shee taught itt mee.
And iff it were but knowne,
His color, which is whyte and redd,
It will make blacke and browne.
Itt will make redd and whyte;
That sworde is not in all Englande
Upon his coate will byte.
Out of the north countrye,
And Ile be your boy, soe faine of fighte,
And beare your harpe by your knee.
That ever tooke harpe in hand,
And I wil be the best singer
That ever sung in this lande.
All and in grammarye,
That we towe are the boldest men
That are in all Christentye.'
Of tow good renisht steedes,
And when they came to King Adlands hall,
Of redd gold shone their weedes.
Untill the fayre hall-yate,
There they found a proud porter,
Rearing himselfe thereatt.
Sayes, Christ thee save and see:
'Nowe you be welcome,' sayd the porter,
'Of what land soever ye bee.'
'Come out of the northe countrye;
Wee beene come hither untill this place
This proud weddinge for to see.'
As it is blacke and browne,
[Pg 54] I wold saye King Estmere and his brother
Were comen untill this towne.
Layd itt on the porters arme:
'And ever we will thee, proud porter,
Thow wilt saye us no harme.'
And sore he handled the ryng,
Then opened to them the fayre hall-yates,
He lett for no kind of thyng.
Soe fayre att the hall-bord;
The froth that came from his brydle bitte
Light in Kyng Bremors beard.
Saies, Stable him in the stalle;
It doth not beseeme a proud harper
To stable his steed in a kyngs halle.
'He will doe nought that's meete;
And is there any man in this hall
Were able him to beate?'
'Thou harper, here to mee;
There is a man within this halle
Will beate thy ladd and thee.'
'A sight of him wold I see;
And when hee hath beaten well my ladd,
Then he shall beate of mee.'
And looked him in the eare;
For all the gold that was under heaven,
He durst not neigh him neare.
'And how, what aileth thee?'
He saies, It is writt in his forhead,
All and in gramarye,
That for all the gold that is under heaven,
I dare not neigh him nye.
And plaid a pretty thinge;
The ladye upstart from the borde,
And wold have gone from the king.
For Gods love I pray thee;
For and thou playes as thou beginns,
Thou'lt till my bryde from mee.'
And playd a pretty thinge;
The ladye lough a loud laughter,
As shee sate by the king.
And thy stringës all;
For as many gold nobles thou shalt have
As heere bee ringes in the hall.'
'If I did sell itt yee?'
'To playe my wiffe and me a fitt,
When abed together wee bee.'
As shee sitts by thy knee;
And as many gold nobles I will give
As leaves been on a tree.'
Iff I did sell her thee?
More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye
To lye by mee then thee.'
And Adler he did syng,
'O ladye, this is thy owne true love,
Noe harper, but a kyng.
As playnlye thou mayest see,
And Ile rid thee of that foule paynim
Who partes thy love and thee.'
And blushte and lookt agayne,
While Adler he hath drawne his brande,
And hath the sowdan slayne.
And loud they gan to crye:
'Ah! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng,
And therefore yee shall dye.'
[Pg 55]
And swith he drew his brand,
And Estmere he and Adler Yonge
Right stiffe in stour can stand.
Throughe help of gramarye,
That soone they have slayne the kempery men,
Or forst them forth to flee.
And marryed her to his wiffe,
And brought her home to merry England,
With her to leade his life.
a.
Readings of the manuscript, cited in Percy's notes, have been restored.
14. Percy prints y-were.
132. misprinted 'leeve thon.
342. shall ryde; so b. Compare 352, where rise is said to be the reading of the MS.
422. On tow good renish. Compare 82.
593, thou shalt have,
601, he sayd, are acknowledged changes, or additions, of Percy's.
63. "Some liberties have been taken in the following stanzas; but wherever this edition differs from the preceding, it hath been brought nearer to the folio MS." Percy's note.
681. can fyte.
b.
54. Omits my.
64. Betweene us two.
83. they came.
92. yate.
102. thee save.
104. unto.
124. And wanting: I feare.
151. yeare.
152. Syth.
153. downe once.
165. eke as.
166. To waite.
172. Hunge.
181, 2. Christ you save.
183. Sayes.
194. may bee.
213. And ever I feare that paynim kyng.
223. of that foule paynim.
264. many a.
272, 322. grimme barone.
281. Then shee sent after.
283. returne and.
331. That ladye.
343. Which waye we best may turne.
344. To save this fayre.
371. groweth.
422. On towe good renish; so a.
463. Ild saye.
491. he light off.
492. Up att the fayre hall.
494. Light on.
501. Stable thou.
502. Goe stable.
504. To stable him.
513. And aye that I cold but find the man.
521. sayd the Paynim kyng.
524. That will.
553. written.
Kyng Estmere then pulled forth his harpe,
And playd thereon so sweete;
Upstarte the ladye from the kynge,
As hee sate at the meate.
Now stay thy harpe, I say;
For an thou playest as thou beginnest,
Thou'lt till my bride awaye.'
And playd both fayre and free;
The ladye was so pleasde theratt
She laught loud laughters three.
'Thy harpe and stryngs eche one,
And as many gold nobles thou shalt have
As there be stryngs thereon.'
601. And what.
As shee sitts laced in pall,
And as many gold nobles I will give
As there be rings in the hall.'
622. her yee.
654. hath Sir Bremor slayne.
681. can byte.
FOOTNOTES:
[58] "The editor... must plead guilty to the charge of concealing his own share in the amendments under some such general title as a Modern Copy, or the like:" Reliques, 1794, I, xvii. See, further, 'The Rising in the North' and 'Northumberland betrayed by Douglas,' in the same volume, pp 288, 297.
[59] We have paynim four times in the first edition, and only twice in the fourth. And ever I feare that paynim king, b 213, gives place to I cannot blame him if he doe. Laught loud laughters three, b 584, was not (as who needs to be told?) the reading of the folio; but was lough a loud laughter the reading of the folio?
The statement that 'King Estmere' was "unfortunately torn out in sending the... piece to the press" is far from intelligible. Since readings were given from the manuscript in the fourth edition for the first time, one would suppose that the original was still in the editor's hands when that edition was prepared. But the three leaves from the manuscript would have been much less convenient to send to the press than the copy already three times printed in the Reliques; and Percy himself pleads in excuse for his taking out leaves from the manuscript, to save the trouble of transcribing, that he was very young, and "had not then learnt to reverence it." The readings from the manuscript, which first appear in the fourth edition, may possibly be from notes; one would hope that Percy would not trust his memory after the lapse of thirty years. Hales and Furnivall, I, lxxiv, II, 200; also II, 600 ff, where the texts of the first and of the fourth edition are printed in parallel columns.
[60] Grundtvig, No 11, A-F, I, 159-69, IV, 715, and Kristensen, I, 246, No 93; Swedish, A, Arwidsson, II, 445, B-E, Grundtvig, IV, 720-22; Norwegian, Landstad, No 8; Icelandic, 'Ormars rímur,' in an abstract, Grundtvig, III, 775-77.
[61] Derived from the Färöe ballad, 'Arngríms synir,' Hammershaimb, Færöiske Kvæder, p. 15, No 3; Hervarar saga, Örvar-Odds saga, Fornaldar Sögur, I, 411, II, 161, 504; etc. The pertinent chapters of the Hervarar saga are translated by Prior, I, 194, and 'Child Orm and the Berm Giant,' in the same volume, p. 132; the ballad also in the London Magazine, 1821, IV, 415, and by George Borrow, in Targum, or Metrical Translations from Thirty Languages and Dialects, St Petersburg, 1835, p. 59 (Grundtvig).
[62] I, 384; translated by Prior, I, 297.
[63] Grundtvig's Gamle Folkeviser, IV, 704-712.
[64] Esmer, or something similar, is, as Grundtvig remarks, I, 236, a name of rather frequent occurrence. King Esmer is one of King Diderik's champions; Grundtvig, I, 78. Esmère is a name in Le dit de Flourence de Romme, Jubinal, Nouveau Recueil de Contes, etc., I, 93; Esmerés, or Essmer, in the Knight of the Swan, Reiffenberg and Borgnet, Le Chevalier au Cygne, III, 533, Grimm, Deutsche Sagen, II, 302. It may be added, though the fact certainly appears to be of but slight moment, that there is a King Easter, with a King Wester, in the ballad of 'Fause Foodrage,' and these are called in one version (Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. lix) the Eastmure King and the Westmure King. The fifteenth tale enumerated in The Complaint of Scotland is How the King of Estmure land married the King's daughter of Westmure land.
61
SIR CAWLINE
Percy MS., p. 368; Hales and Furnivall, III, 3.
The copy of this ballad in the Percy manuscript, the only one known to exist, shows very great carelessness on the part of the transcriber, or of some predecessor. It begins with these two stanzas, which manifestly belong to an historical ballad, and have only a verbal connection with what follows:
That dyed ffor us on the roode,
To maintaine vs in all our right[65]
That loues true English blood.
Was bold and ffull hardye;
Sir Robert Briuse wold fforth to ffight,
In-to Ireland ouer the sea.
There is a large omission after the 125th verse (the 28th stanza as here printed), though the writing is continuous. There are also several difficult or unintelligible passages, even more than are usually met with in this manuscript.
As published in the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, I, 35, ed. 1765, I, 41, ed. 1794, 'Sir Cawline' is extended to nearly twice the amount of what is found in the manuscript, and a tragical turn is forced upon the story.
I have said that the copy of 'Sir Cawline' in the Percy manuscript is the only one known. There are nevertheless two Scottish ballads, one hitherto unpublished and one printed by Buchan, which narrate Sir Colvin's winning the king's daughter by vanquishing the elritch knight. These, I conceive, however, to be simple rifacimenti of the ballad in Percy's Reliques. They will be given in an appendix.
'Sir Cawline' may possibly be formed upon a romance in stanzas[66] which itself was composed from earlier ballads. There are two adventures in the ballad, one with an elritch knight, and a second with a five-headed giant who is at the same time a hend soldan, and there seem to be traces of another in the now unintelligible twenty-ninth stanza. The first adventure, though not of the same commonplace description as the second, is still by no means unique. We are immediately reminded of the beautiful romance of Eger, Grime and Gray-Steel: how Gray-Steel kept a forbidden country beyond seven days of wilderness, and how Grime slew the up to that time unmatched Gray-Steel with the sword Erkyin [Egeking], brought from beyond the Greekës sea, and cut off his hand, with fingers thrice a common man's size, and on every finger a gay gold ring.[67] Gray-Steel, to be sure, is pictured rather as a giant than an elf, but still gives the impression of something out of the ordinary, as having perhaps lost an elritch character in the course of tradition. The elritch knight in our ballad haunts the moors, far from any good town, like Grendel, who held the moors and fens, but there is only a hint of that supernatural terror which attends the awful "march-stepper" in Beówulf. Gervase of Tilbury has a story of an ancient entrenchment in the bishopric of Ely, where anybody could have a passage at arms with an unearthly warrior, by moonlight only, by simply calling out, "Come,[Pg 57] knight, and meet knight."[68] Scott has introduced a spectral combat of this sort into his Marmion, Canto III, xxiii-xxv, and in a note (4) cites a similar encounter from Heywood's Hierarchy of Blessed Angels. He adds that a forest in the North Highlands is believed to be haunted by a martial spirit called Lham-dearg, or Bloody Hand, who insists on all whom he meets doing battle with him. Villemarqué has a tale like that of Gervasius, Les Romans de la Table Ronde, etc., 1860, p. 392 f (Liebrecht). These combatants and combats are rather shadowy compared with Grendel, Gray-Steel, our Elritch King, and an encounter with them.
'Liden Grimmer og Hjelmer Kamp,' a ballad of the 'Orm Ungersvend' class, Grundtvig, No 26 (I, 352, from manuscripts of the 16th and the 17th century, IV, 762, from recent tradition), has the same remote and general resemblance to 'Sir Cawline' that 'Orm Ungersvend' has to 'King Estmere,' the points of agreement permitting the supposition of a far-off connection, or of no connection at all.[69] In Danish A, Grimmer, a young man who never went to a dance except with a drawn sword in his hand or sat down to table out of his corselet, sails to the heathen-king's land and asks him for his daughter. The king tells him that he will not get the fair maid unless he fights with Hjelmer Kamp and wins. The king's daughter, who is as favorably inclined to Grimmer as King Adland's daughter is to Estmere (and King Ardine's daughter to Adler), though in neither case has there been a previous meeting, tells him that no man ever came back from a fight with Hjelmer, and that Grimmer is far from understanding her father, who really wishes his death. Grimmer is not at all daunted, and so the lady gives him a sword with which he is sure to prevail. Thus equipped he makes sail for Hjelmer Kamp, who receives him with contemptuous remarks upon his size, but is presently cut to bits. Stopping only long enough to make boot of Hjelmer's gold, Grimmer returns to the heathen-king's court, and receives the princess in marriage. The resemblance of the Danish ballad is to be found in Cawline's second adventure, that with the giant, where the elritch sword represents the invincible weapon bestowed by the princess. In Danish B a coat of mail goes with the sword, "som icke skal suerd paa bide." This coat is like Estmere's after Adler has brought his magic to bear, and Cawline's fight with the giant, Estmere's with Bremor, and Hjelmer's with the kemp have all an obvious similitude.
Two verbal peculiarities in this ballad will not fail to be remarked: a superfluous and, 74, without and a good leedginge, 83, and take you doe and the baken bread, 271, and hee tooke then vp and that eldryge sword, 391, but take you doo and your lands broad, and again 261(?); for used, apparently, in the sense of but (as in "for and a shrouding sheet"), 113, ffor if you wold comfort me with a kisse, 133, ffor some deeds of armes ffaine wold I doe, 225, ffor they tooke and two good swords; in this last we have the superfluous and again. These were, perhaps, only tricks of some ballad-singer, eking out his measure with half-articulated syllables.[70]
Percy's ballad is translated by Bodmer, I, 134, and by Bothe, p. 25; Buchan's by Gerhard, p. 32.
Which does beare the bell ouer all,
And with him there dwelled a curteous knight,
Sir Cawline men him call.
Of ffashyon shee hath noe peere;
Knights and lordes they woed her both,
Trusted to haue beene her feere.
But nothing durst hee say
To discreeue his councell to noe man,
But deerlye loued this may.
Great dill to him was dight;
The maydens loue remoued his mind,
To care-bed went the knight.
And cryed soe pittyouslye:
'Ffor the maydens loue that I haue most minde
This day may comfort mee,
Or else ere noone I shalbe dead!'
Thus can Sir Cawline say.
And our king was bowne to dine,
He sayes, Where is Sir Cawline,
That was wont to serue me with ale and wine?
Ffast his hands wringinge:
'Sir Cawline's sicke, and like to be dead
Without and a good leedginge.'
Shee is a leeche ffull ffine;
I, and take you doe and the baken bread,
And drinke he on the wine soe red,
And looke no daynti is ffor him to deare,
For ffull loth I wold him tine.'
Her maydens ffollowing nye;
'O well,' shee sayth, 'how doth my lord?'
'O sicke!' againe saith hee.
Neuer lye here soe cowardlye!
Itt is told in my ffathers hall,
Ffor my loue you will dye.'
That all this dill I drye;
Ffor if you wold comfort me with a kisse,
Then were I brought ffrom bale to blisse,
Noe longer here wold I lye.'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
I cannott bee your peere:
'Ffor some deeds of armes ffaine wold I doe,
To be your bacheeleere.'
Vpon the mores brodinge;
And wold you, sir knight, wake there all night
To day of the other morninge?
Will examine you beforne;
And there was neuer man that bare his liffe away
Since the day that I was borne.'
Walke on the bents [soe] browne,
And Ile either bring you a readye token,
Or Ile neuer come to you againe.'
Her maydens ffollowing bright,
And Sir Cawlin's gone to the mores soe broad,
Ffor to wake there all night.
He walked vp and downe,
And a lightsome bugle then heard he blow.
Ouer the bents soe browne;
Saies hee, And if cryance come vntill my hart,
I am ffarr ffrom any good towne.
A ffuryous king and a ffell,
And a ladye bright his brydle led,
That seemlye itt was to see.
[Pg 59]
Oh man, I redd the fflye!
Ffor if cryance come vntill thy hart,
I am a-feard least thou mun dye.
Nor ifaith I ffeare not thee;
Ffor because thou minged not Christ before,
Thee lesse me dreadeth thee.
The king was bold, and abode;
And the timber these two children bore
Soe soone in sunder slode;
Ffor they tooke and two good swords,
And they layden on good loade.
And stiffly to the ground did stand;
But Sir Cawline, with an aukeward stroke,
He brought ffrom him his hand,
I, and fflying ouer his head soe hye,
[It] ffell downe of that lay land.
Ffast ringing her hands:
'For the maydens loue that you haue most minde,
Smyte you my lord no more.
Him to sport, gamon, or play,
And to meete noe man of middle-earth
And that liues on Christs his lay.'
Sett him in his sadle againe,
And that eldryge king and his ladye
To their castle are they gone.
As hard as any fflynt,
And soe he did those ringes fiue,
Harder then ffyer, and brent.
The hand, and then the sword,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
The king and the crowne,' shee sayd:
'I, but four and thirty stripes
Comen beside the rood.'
He lope now them amonge,
And vpon his squier fiue heads he bare,
Vnmackley made was hee.
And hee put the cup in his sleeue,
And all thé trembled and were wan,
Ffor feare he shold them greeffe.
'Mine errand what I doe heere;
Ffor I will bren thy temples hye,
Or Ile haue thy daughter deere;
I, or else vpon yond more soe brood
Thou shalt ffind mee a ppeare.'
Lord, in his heart he was woe!
Says, Is there noe knight of the Round Table
This matter will vndergoe?
And keepe them well his liue;
I, and soe hee shall my daughter deere,
To be his weded wiffe.'
His owne errand ffor to say:
'Ifaith, I wold to God, Sir,' sayd Sir Cawline,
'That soldan I will assay.
Ffor I woone itt att ffray:'
'But away, away!' sayd the hend soldan,
'Thou tarryest mee here all day!'
Thé ffought a summers day;
Now has hee slaine that hend soldan,
And brought his fiue heads away.
And all his venison;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
[Pg 60]
And brooke them well your liffe;
Ffor you promised mee your daughter deere,
To be my weded wiffe.'
'Ffor that wee will not striffe,
Ffor thou shalt haue my daughter dere,
To be thy weded wiffe.'
By the dawning of the day,
And vntill a garden did he goe
His mattins ffor to say;
And that bespyed a ffalse steward,
A shames death that he might dye!
Sir Cawline ffor to teare;
And he had noe wepon him vpon,
Nor noe wepon did weare.
Into the lyons mouth itt thrust;
He held the lyon soe sore to the wall
Till the lyons hart did burst.
And sayd, 'Sir Cawline's slaine!
And with a beast is not ffull litle,
A lyon of mickle mayne:'
Then the kings daughter shee ffell downe,
'For peerlesse is my payne!'
'I haue bought thy loue ffull deere;
O peace, my lady!' sayes Sir Cawline,
'Peace, lady, ffor I am heere!'
With gold and siluer bright,
And fiftene sonnes this ladye beere
To Sir Cawline the knight.
The first two stanzas of the MS. have been omitted, as belonging to another ballad.
12. ouer all does beare the bell.
14. men call him Sir Cawline.
24. her peere.
34. this mayd.
55. Only half the second n of noone in the MS. Furnivall.
72. wringinge his hands.
84. and eene on: MS. edne? Furnivall. I feel no confidence in the emendation.
85. no daytinesse.
86. teene.
102. lye soe cowardlye here.
115. MS. now? Furnivall.
121, 132, 3, 4 make a stanza in the MS.
181. they Moone.
223, 5. 2.
234. him ffrom.
236. There may be a bold ellipsis of It.
248. for they... most meed: cf. 53.
251. heest.
273. 5.
282. they hand... they sword.
291. serrett buffett.
293. 34.
303. 5.
326. in or.
326. mee appeare.
374. 5.
391. you too.
463. 15.
APPENDIX
The first of the following pieces is described as having been learned by Mrs Harris, in Perthshire, about 1790, transmitted by recitation to her daughter, and written down from recollection in 1859. No account is given of the derivation of the other. Both make the princess marry Sir Colvin after his victory on the elritch hill, rejecting Percy's pathetic conclusion. Neither retains much of the phraseology of Percy's manuscript, and neither shows those traces of Percy's phraseology which would demonstrate its parentage. The first, though the style is stale enough, has not the decidedly stall-copy stamp of the other. It undoubtedly has passed through a succession of mouths (as is shown by the change of leech to match in 32), but we may doubt whether the other was ever sung or said. 84, in the Harris version,
is close to the Percy manuscript, 174,
where Percy's Reliques has,
In the old manuscript, when Sir Cawline cuts off the elritch knight's hand, the hand flies over the knight's head and falls down on that lay land; in Buchan, 25, 26, the hand also flies into the sky and lights on the ground; but Percy says merely that the knight fell on that lay land. So that there is one case in each of agreement with the Percy manuscript where the Reliques depart from it. It may also he urged that Buchan, 221, 2,
Lives in the righteous law,
is nearer to what we find in the manuscript, st. 25,
And that liues (='lieves) on Christs his lay,
than Percy's,
And thereto plight thy hand;
Were there anything characteristic or otherwise remarkable in the passages where there is agreement with the Percy manuscript and divergence from the Reliques, even one case of such agreement could not be lightly set aside.[71] But such agreements as these are not significant enough to offset the general character of the Scottish ballads, which is not that of a traditional waif, but of a fabrication of recent times. It is most likely that the Harris ballad was put together by some one who was imperfectly acquainted with the copy in the Reliques. Whether Buchan's ballad was formed upon some copy of the Harris version it is not worth the while to ask.
SIR COLIN
Harris MS., fol. 5b.
To his nobles ane an a';
Says, Whare it is him Sir Colin,
I dinna see him amang you a'?
Aye an even up spak he:
'Sir Colin's sick for your dochter Janet,
He's very sick, an like to dee.'
I wat ye are a match most fine;
Tak the baken bread an wine sae ried,
An to Sir Colin ye maun gieng.'
An I wat weel she was na sweer,
An up they rase, her merrie maries,
An they said a' they wad gae wi her.
'No, no such thing can be;
For a thrang to gae to a sick man's bour,
I think it wald be great folie.
'Very sick an like to dee;
But if I had a kiss o your sweet lips,
I wald lie nae langer here.'
I wat she gae him kisses three;
But wi sighen said that fair Janet,
'As for your bride, I daurna be.
An at that hill there grows a thorn;
There neer cam a liven man frae it,
Sin the first nicht that I was born.'
Though I waur thinkin to be slain;
But I will gie you some love tokens,
In case we never meet again.'
Sae did he ribbons to her hair;
He gae her a broach to her briest-bane,
For fear that they sud neer meet mair.
An she took out a lang, lang wand;
'As lang's ony man this wand sall keep,
There sall not a drap o his blude be drawn.'
An a' man boun for bed,
There beheld him Sir Colin,
Fast to the Orlange hill he rade.
Sae did it auld castles doon;
'T was eneuch to fricht ony Christian knicht,
To be sae far frae ony toon.
[Pg 62]
He rade even through the loan,
Till he spied a knicht, wi a ladie bricht,
Wi a bent bow intil his han.
I warn ye, kind sir, I rede ye flee;
That for the love you bear to me,
I warn ye, kind sir, that ye flee.
They faucht even through the loan,
Till he cut aff the king's richt han,
Was set aboot wi chains a' goud.
I wat you've dung my love richt sair;
Noo for the love ye bear to me,
See that ye ding my love nae mair.'
He wooed her and he brocht her hame;
He wooed, he wooed that fair Janet,
An ca'd her Dear-Coft till her name.
KING MALCOLM AND SIR COLVIN
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 6; Motherwell's MS., p. 581.
King Malcolm called by name,
Whom ancient history gives record
For valour, worth, and fame.
The king sat down to dine,
And then he missd a favourite knight,
Whose name was Sir Colvin.
Ane o Sir Colvin's kin:
'He's lyin in bed, right sick in love,
All for your daughter Jean.'
'I'm sorry for the same;
She maun take bread and wine sae red,
Give it to Sir Colvin.'
Her page did carry the wine,
And set a table at his bed:
'Sir Colvin, rise and dine.'
Come frae your lovely hand,
But better love I your fair body,
Than all fair Scotland's strand.'
Let all your folly be;
My love must be by honour won,
Or nane shall enjoy me.
Near by yon sharp hawthorn,
Where never a man with life eer came,
Sin our sweet Christ was born;
And boldly blaw your horn;
With honour that ye do return,
Ye'll marry me the morn.'
And dressd in armour keen,
And he is on to Elrick's hill,
Without light of the meen.
The knight walkd up and down,
While loudest cracks o thunder roard
Out ower the bent sae brown.
He spied an armed knight,
A fair lady bearing his brand,
Wi torches burning bright.
'Coward thief, I bid you flee!
There is not ane comes to this hill,
But must engage wi me.
And best take foot and flee;
Here is a sword, baith sharp and broad
Will quarter you in three.'
Of any here I see;
You hae not taen your God before;
Less dread hae I o thee.
His foe he drew his brand,
And they fought there on Elrick's hill
Till they were bluidy men.
Gae Colvin a slight wound;
The next an stroke Lord Colvin strake,
Brought's foe unto the ground.
[Pg 63]
'I fairly yield to thee;
Nae ane came eer to Elrick-hill
Eer gaind such victorie.
Three hundred years and more;
I'm safe to swear a solemn oath
We were never beat before.'
'An asking ye'll grant me;'
'Ask on, ask on,' said Sir Colvin,
'What may your asking be?'
Let me fare on my way;
And I'se neer be seen on Elrick's hill,
By night, nor yet by day;
And to this place we'll come nae mair,
Coud we win safe away.
Lives in the righteous law,
We'll come nae mair unto this place,
Coud we win safe awa.'
Ye shall not gang alane;
But I maun hae a wad o him,
Before that we twa twine.'
Sae gude in fencing tee,
He's drawn a stroke behind his hand,
And followed in speedilie.
And followed in speedilie,
The knight's brand and sword hand
In the air he gard them flee.
And lighted on the ground;
The rings that were on these fingers
Were worth five hundred pound.
Set it before the king,
And the morn it was Wednesday,
When he married his daughter Jean.
Motherwell, who cites a manuscript of Buchan, prints the first three stanzas and the last with some variations: Introduction, p. lxvi, note **. The ballad is not in Buchan's two manuscript volumes.
FOOTNOTES:
[65] So maintaine vs all in our right?
[66] To this suggestion the actual form of stanzas 8, 11 lends a faint plausibility.
[67] Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall, I, 367, 372 f, 389, 391. For the name of the sword see Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 500.
[68] Cited by Scott, Minstrelsy, II, 273, ed. 1833; Otia Imperialia, ed. Liebrecht, LIX, p. 26.
[69] Grundtvig's A, B are translated by Dr Prior, I, 276. The story is found also in Icelandic rímur of the 15th century printed in Björner's Kämpedater, 1737. Björner was acquainted with an old Swedish ballad on the subject, but this ballad has not been found. The story of these rímur is given by Mallet, Histoire de Dannemarc, II, 312, ed. 1787, and in Percy's translation, Northern Antiquities, II, 248.
[70] So, as to and, the German 'Ulinger,' Mittler, p. 68, sts 21, 22, 23; den ersten schrey und den sie thet, etc.
[71] The Percy manuscript was inspected by many persons near the time of the first publication of the Reliques, and again while the fourth edition was going through the press, but it is not for a moment to be suggested or supposed that anything in the Scottish 'Sir Colvin' is to be accounted for in that way.
62
FAIR ANNIE
A. 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annie,' Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 102, 1802; 31 stanzas.
B. 'Burd Helen,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 376; 26 stanzas.
C. 'Fair Annie,' Motherwell's MS., p. 351; 33 stanzas.
D. Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 307; 8 stanzas.
E. 'Lady Jane,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 20, Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 371; 20 stanzas.
F. 'Fair Annie,' Motherwell's MS., p. 385, Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 327; 32 stanzas.
G. Communicated by Miss Reburn; 5 stanzas.
H. Communicated by Dr Thomas Davidson; 2 stanzas.
I. 'Fair Annie,' Kinloch MSS, I, 155; 45 stanzas.
J. 'The Fause Lord,' Buchan's MSS, I, 66; 65 stanzas.
The fragment D, printed in 1769, antedates the committing to writing of any of the other versions. E was taken down as early as 1783. A and B are from the beginning of this century. A was obtained "chiefly from the recitation of an old woman," but we are not[Pg 64] informed who supplied the rest. Herd's fragment, D, furnished stanzas 2-6, 12, 17, 19. A doubt may be hazarded whether stanzas 8-10 came from the old woman. I is a combination of three recited versions, and J, perhaps a transcript of a stall-copy, is, like many of Buchan's ballads, extended to twice the length of genuine versions by tedious, sometimes nauseous, amplification and interpolation.
'Lady Jane,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 73, is a combination of B and E, with a good many bad verses of Jamieson's own. A version in Motherwell's MS., p. 477, "from the recitation of an old maid-servant of Mr Alexander, of Southbar," was, as would be inferred from a memorandum at the end of the transcript, derived from a printed book, and is in fact an imperfect recollection of this compounded ballad of Jamieson's.
Grundtvig has attempted a reconstitution of the ballad from versions A, B, D, E, F, Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, V, 42.
Annie [Helen, B, Ellen, G, Jane, E] was stolen from home in her childhood, A 15, B 23, C 31, E 9, F 25, I 38, J 50, 51, by a knight from over sea, to whom she has borne seven sons, out of wedlock. Her consort bids her prepare to welcome a bride, with whom he shall get gowd and gear; with her he got none. But she must look like a maid, comb down her yellow locks, braid her hair.[72] Annie meekly assents, for love, she says, in C 12; in I 4, J 15, the welcoming goes against her heart; in F 9 she is told that she is to do it; in H 2 she says the welcome will have to come from him. Annie receives the bride and her train and serves the tables, suppressing her tears and drinking water to keep her cheek from paling. She passes for servant or housekeeper, and in I 23, J 25, uses the word 'master,' not to anger the bride; in C 17 she calls her lord brother, and the knight calls her sister in C 18 and (inconsistently) in J 38. What 'n a lady's that? asks the bride, E 9, J 37, and what means all these bonny boys that follow at her heel? J 37.
When the married pair have gone to their bed-chamber, Annie, in a room near by, bewails her sad lot in song; to the harp or her virginals, E, F, J, I. The bride hears the lament: it is that of a woman who will go mad ere day, B 20, C 26, J 44, 48. The bride goes to Fair Annie's chamber, A, C? to see what gars her greet, inquires her parentage, and discovers that they are sisters; or learns this fact from the song itself, B, E; or recognizes her sister's voice, F, I, J. King Henry was their father, B, F, I; King Easter, C;[73] the Earl of Wemyss, of Richmond, A, E. Queen Easter was their mother, F; Queen Catherine, Elinor [Orvis], B, I. The bride, who had come with many well-loaded ships, gives all or most of them to her sister, A, B, C, F, I, and goes virgin home, A, B, F, I, J; expecting, as B, J add, to encounter derision for going away wife and coming back maid.
In C 27 the bride suspects that the woman who wails so madly is a leman, and urges her husband to get up and pack her down the stairs, though the woods were ne'er so wild. He refuses. A similar scene is elsewhere put earlier, during the bridal entertainment, I 29, 30, J 40: see also G 2, 3, which are partly explained by these passages, and partly by J 36.
There are other variations in the story, and some additional particulars in one or another version: none of these, however, seem to belong to the original ballad. The bride, as soon as she sees Annie, is struck with the resemblance to her lost sister, A 14, E 9, J 29. The bridegroom repents, and rejects the woman he has married, E 19, F 30, J 49. The bridegroom confiscates without ceremony, as tocher for Annie, six of the seven ships which the bride had brought with her, E, J.[74]
The name Lord Thomas in A was prob[Pg 65]ably suggested by 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet.'
A Danish ballad of Fair Annie has been known to the English for fourscore years through Jamieson's translation. The Scandinavian versions are the following.
Danish.'Skjön Anna,' Grundtvig, No 258, V, 13, eight versions: A, 39 four-line stanzas, B, 34 sts, C, 45 sts, from manuscripts of the sixteenth century; D, 48 sts, E, 41 sts, G, 32 sts, from seventeenth-century manuscripts; F, 41 sts, from broadsides or stall-copies, the earliest dated 1648, from Peder Syv, 1695, and from copies lately taken down which were derived from printed texts; H, 43 sts, a version recently obtained from tradition in Norway. Of these, A, B, C, G are independent texts; D, E, F are derived from some copy of C, or from a version closely akin to C; H is essentially the broadside copy F, but has one stanza of its own. F, Syv, No 17, Danske Viser, IV, 59, No 177, the form through which the Danish ballad has been made known by English translations, is unfortunately an impure and sophisticated text.
Swedish. A, 'Skön Anna,' 19 sts, Arwidsson, I, 291, No 42; B, Afzelius, I, 24, No 5, 32 sts; C, Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 57, No 28, 37 sts. C follows in the main Danish F, but with a variation in st. 31 which is of much importance if traditional. A translation of Danish F has long circulated in Sweden as a broadside: see, besides Grundtvig, Bergström's Afzelius, II, 30.
The Scandinavian story will, for more brevity, be collected principally from Danish A, B, C, and some variations of the other copies be added.
Fair Annie [Anneck, Annecke, A], a king's daughter, is stolen in her early years, and sold to a man of rank, who is in fact heir to a crown. They have seven sons in eight [seven] years, and he then becomes king. Fair Annie begs the queen-mother to intercede with her son now to make her a lawful wife and legitimate his children. The mother loves Annie, and heartily desires that he may. The son refuses; she has great virtues, but he does not know Annie's friends [her forbears, lineage, Danish F, Swedish C]. He makes suit for a king's daughter in a distant land. Annie's heart all but breaks when the bride comes. The young king asks the bride what gift she will give his amie, A. I will give her my old shoes, she says, B, D, F. She must give something else if she would get his good will. Then she will give Annie seven mills that lie far over the Rhine and grind nought but cinnamon, B, D, F. Annie is now asked what gift she will make the bride. I will give her you, whom I can so ill spare, answers Annie. No, that is not enough; she must give another gift to win the bride's good will. I will give her the seven sons I have borne, says Annie. Neither is that enough; she must give the bride her gold brooch. This Annie will not surrender, for it was his morning-gift. Annie now asks her lord to let her go into the bride-house [hall] and see the bride. He refuses emphatically, but his kind mother says, Yes; she will even go with Annie, though it should cost her her life. Annie goes to the bride-house, preceded by her seven sons, who wear her father's color. She pours wine for the bride, with many tears, A, C. The bride asks who this fair woman is that weeps so sore. And who are these that wear her father's color?[75] It is the king's sister's daughter, from a foreign land, C-F, H; his sister, Danish A, Swedish A, B. "It is not your sister's daughter," says the bride; "that I plainly see. I fear it is your leman," C 34, D, E. The king now avows the truth. It is Fair Annie, my leman, Danish A 33, Swedish A 16 (which adds, "Her father I never knew"); she was stolen from a foreign land in her young days, and has been with me seven years, Danish B 31; she was sold to me from a foreign land; these are her seven sons, they will be bastards now, and that is the cause of her grief, C 35, 36, D, E; these are my seven sons, Fair[Pg 66] Annie is their mother, Swedish B 27. I had a sister, says the bride; she was stolen from my father's land; Fair Annie was her name, this must be she,[76] she shall keep her husband. The king sends the new-come bride home with due ceremony, and keeps Fair Annie for his heart's delight, C 37-44, D, E.
In Danish G 7, the king gives as a reason for not espousing Fair Annie that she has no fortune, ingen rente, which is the objection to her in English A 1, C 2, etc. The oldest [youngest] son of Fair Annie attends his mother's sister to her father's land in Swedish C, Danish F, K, as in English J 54. The king promises his brother to Annie's sister in Danish A 39 (compare also Swedish B 33). In English I 26, J 30, the bride thinks her brother would be a good match for Annie.
Swedish C, though in itself of little authority, has an advantage over the Danish copies and Swedish B in making Annie refuse to part with the gold brooch, not because it was a morning-gift, but because she had had it ever since she was a child and was kidnapped from her father's court; and again in making this brooch the means of her recognition as sister by the bride.
The Scandinavian ballad is regarded by Grundtvig as transmitted from Low German. The rhymes are frequently not after the Danish manner (see Grundtvig, V, 46, 7), and the heroine's name has a Low German look.
Dutch and German versions, all ill enough preserved, are:
Dutch. A. 'Schön Adelheid,' 22 four-line stanzas, Hoffmann, Niederländische Volkslieder, 2d ed., 1856, p. 46, No 11, 'Mooi Aeltje en Koning Alewijn,' Willems, p. 177, No 70; from Den Italiaenschen Quacksalver, Amsterdam, 1708. B. 'Madel,' 15 stanzas, Snellaert, Oude en nieuwe Liedjes, p. 70, No 65, 2d ed., 1864.
German. A. Longard, Altrheinländische Mährlein und Liedlein, 1843, p. 23, No 12; Wilhelm von Zuccalmaglio, Deutsche Volkslieder, 1840, p. 74, No 32,=Mittler, No 333: 21 four-line stanzas. B. Montanus (Vincenz von Zuccalmaglio), Die deutschen Volksfeste, 1854, p. 46, 17 stanzas, apparently rewritten.
According to Dutch A Aaltje, Ethel, Adeline, a king's daughter, is stolen, and sold for a great sum to King Alewijn. She asks the king's mother, who is quite disposed to have her for a daughter, when her son will marry her, and the mother asks her son how long Maid Aaltje is to live under disgrace. The king objects that Aaltje is a vondeling, a waif-woman (English C 2, I 2); Heaven only knows her friends and kin. He adds that he was over the Rhine yesterday, and that Aaltje will break her heart with sorrow. The young woman asks the mother's permission to go to the bride's house, and is told to go in good style, her seven sons before her and fourteen ladies-in-waiting behind. The king meets Aaltje half-way, and says, If you are going to the bride's house, what gift do you mean to make the bride? The bride will have enough, she replies; I will give her my old stockings and shoes. She must give something better to gain her friendship. Then Aaltje will give her "seven sons of yours and mine" to serve her. She will have your seven sons, says the king, but you must give her your brooch.[77] No, that you will not get, says Aaltje. There were two at my father's court; my sister and I each had one. Are you then of royal birth? says the king. Had you told me that, I would have married you. When Aaltje appears at the bride's house, they offer her to drink, and many a tear she drops in the cup. Who is this woman that weeps so piteously? asks the bride. These are some of our nieces and nephews, who have come from foreign parts[Pg 67] to bring you presents, is the king's answer. Nieces and nephews! says the bride; it is Maid Aaltje, my youngest sister. She takes the crown from her head: Take it, Aaltje, and keep your husband. Saddle my horse. I came in honor, I must go back in shame. (Cf. English B 26, I 45.)
B. Madel (M'Adel), the oldest of a king's two daughters, is stolen by a king's son to be his leman, and taken to a far country. They have seven sons, and he forsakes her and betroths himself to her sister. He asks his mother what present she will make his bride; she has seven mills which she will give her. Madel, asked in like manner, replies, My old stockings and shoes. Madel asks the queen-mother if she may go to the bridal, for the king is to marry, and is answered as in A. When she comes to the bride-loft they pour wine for her, and she drops tears in the cup. The bride asks who this is, and the king replies, One of my nieces from a far country, who came to do me honor, but only puts me to shame. You are not telling me the truth, says the bride. The king owns that it is Madel, his leman, with her seven sons. The bride recognizes a brooch[78] stiff with gold and silk. "There are but two such in all Flanders; I and my sister each had one." She tears the crown from her own head and puts it on her sister, saying, King, marry her in my place. The brooch is distinctly made the means of identification, which it by all likelihood was originally in all the Scandinavian ballads, though only Swedish C has retained (or restored) this feature.
The German ballad resembles Dutch A closely. The queen-mother gives Adelheid permission to go to the wedding, and her seven sons must walk before her. At the feast the king offers her to drink; she cannot drink for the grief he has caused her. The bride sees her weeping, and orders food and drink to be offered her (cf. English J 36), but she cannot touch them. The king pretends that she is one of his nieces who has lived with him seven years [is fatigued by her journey, B]. The bride exclaims, I see the fore-span (by your fore-span, A), you are driving a pair! In A she asks the fair woman's name and country. Her country is over the Rhine, and thence she had been stolen. "Then you must be my sister," declares the bride somewhat hastily, gives up her seat and the crown, puts her ring on Adelheid's finger, and bids the news be sent to father and mother.
The lyric beauty of the Scottish version of this ballad, especially conspicuous in A, C, E, has been appreciatingly remarked by Grundtvig.
But Fair Annie's fortunes have not only been charmingly sung, as here; they have also been exquisitely told in a favorite lay of Marie de France, 'Le Lai del Freisne.' This tale, of Breton origin, is three hundred years older than any manuscript of the ballad. Comparison will, however, quickly show that it is not the source either of the English or of the Low German and Scandinavian ballad. The tale and the ballads have a common source, which lies further back, and too far for us to find.
The story of the lay is this.[79] There were two knights in Brittany, living on contiguous estates, and both married. The lady of one of the two gave birth to two boys, and the father sent information of the event to his neighbor and friend. His friend's wife was a scoffing, envious woman, "judging always for the worse," and said,
Who was thy lordës counsellor,
That did advise him not to spare
This shame to publish everywhere,
That his wife hath two children bore:
Well may each man know therefore
Two men have been with her in bower,[80]
Which is to both but small honour.
In the course of the same year the woman that had made this hateful insinuation was brought to bed of twin girls. To save her reputation she was ready even to put one of them to death, but a favorite damsel in her house suggested a better way out of her perplexity, and that was to leave one of the children at the door of a convent. The child, wrapped in a rich pall that had been brought from Constantinople, with a jewelled ring bound to its arm to show that it was well born, was taken away in the night to a considerable distance, and was laid between the branches of a great ash-tree in front of a nunnery. In the morning it was discovered by the porter, who told his adventure to the abbess; and the abbess, having inspected the foundling, resolved to bring it up under the style of her niece. The girl, who received the name La Freisne from the tree in which she had been found, turned out a marvel of beauty and of all good qualities. A gentleman of the vicinity fell in love with her, and made large gifts to the monastery to constitute himself a lay-brother, and so have access to her without exciting suspicion. He obtained her love, and in the end induced her to fly with him to his château. This she did with sufficient deliberation to take with her the robe and ring which were the tokens of her birth; for the abbess had told her how she had been found in the ash, and had committed these objects to her care. She lived a good while with the knight as his mistress, and made herself loved by everybody; but his retainers had repeatedly remonstrated with him for not providing himself with a lawful successor, and at last forced him to marry the daughter and heiress of a gentleman near by. On the day of the nuptials La Freisne let no sign of grief or anger escape her, but devoted herself to the bride so amiably as even to win over the mother, who had accompanied her daughter, and had at first felt much uneasiness at the presence of a possible rival. Finding the marriage bed not decked with sufficient elegance, La Freisne took from a trunk the precious pall from Constantinople, and threw it on for a coverlet. When the bride's mother was about to put her daughter to bed, this robe was of course the first object that met her eyes. Her heart quaked. She sent for the chamberlain, and asked where the cloth came from. The chamberlain explained that "the damsel" had put it on to improve the appearance of the bed. The damsel was summoned, and told what she knew: the abbess who brought her up had given her the robe, and with it a ring, and charged her to take good care of them. A sight of the ring was asked; the lady cried, You are my daughter, and fainted. When she recovered she sent for her husband and confessed everything. The husband was only too happy to find that the damsel tant pruz è sage è bele was his daughter. The story was repeated to La Freisne, and then to the knight and to the archbishop who had performed the marriage ceremony. The marriage was dissolved the next day, and La Freisne formally espoused by the knight, who received with her half her father's heritage. The sister went home and made a rich marriage.
The common ground-work of the ballads and the lay is, that a man who has formed an irregular union with a woman whose family he does not know undertakes matrimony with another person, who is discovered on the day of the nuptials to be sister to his leman. A jewel in the possession of the latter, by itself or together with another token, reveals and proves the kinship in the lay and in the Scandinavian-German ballad, but there is no trace of such an instrumentality in the Scottish.
Single features, or even several features, of the story of Fair Annie or of La Freisne occur in many other ballads and tales, but there is no occasion to go into these resemblances here.[Pg 69] A Norse ballad has almost every point in 'Fair Annie' but the sisterly relation of leman and bride: see 'Slegfred og Brud,' Grundtvig, No 255, and 'Thomas o Yonderdale,' an apocryphal ballad of Buchan's, further on. Bare mention may be made of the beautiful Spanish romance 'Las dos Hermanas,' found also in Portuguese, in which the queen of a Moor or Turk discovers her sister in a slave who has been presented to her, or captured at her request.[81]
Translated after A by Schubart, p. 115; mainly after E, with stanzas from A and C, by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 28; after E by Wolff, Hausschatz, p. 209, Halle der Völker, I, 3; after D by Gerhard, p. 77; by Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, No 3, after Allingham.
Danish F by Jamieson, Popular Ballads, II, 103; by Prior, III, 300, No 148. Dutch A by Prior, III, 484.
A
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 102, 1802, chiefly from the recitation of an old woman residing near Kirkhill, in West Lothian.
And learn to lie your lane;
For I'm ga'n oer the sea, Fair Annie,
A braw bride to bring hame.
Wi her I will get gowd and gear;
Wi you I neer got nane.
Or brew my bridal ale?
And wha will welcome my brisk bride,
That I bring oer the dale?'
And brew your bridal ale,
And I will welcome your brisk bride,
That you bring oer the dale.'
Maun gang like maiden fair;
She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,
And braid her yellow hair.'
When maiden I am nane?
Have I not born seven sons to thee,
And am with child again?'
Another in her hand,
And she's up to the highest tower,
To see him come to land.
And look oer yon sea-strand,
And see your father's new-come bride,
Before she come to land.'
Come frae the castle wa!
I fear, if langer ye stand there,
Ye'll let yoursell down fa.'
Her love's ship for to see,
And the topmast and the mainmast
Shone like the silver free.
The bride's ship to behold,
And the topmast and the mainmast
They shone just like the gold.
I wot she didna fail;
She met Lord Thomas and his bride,
As they came oer the dale.
[Pg 70]
You're welcome to your land;
You're welcome with your fair ladye,
That you lead by the hand.
Your welcome to your bowers;
You're welcome to your hame, ladye,
For a' that's here is yours.'
Sae dearly as I thank thee;
You're the likest to my sister Annie,
That ever I did see.
And steald my sister away;
The shame scoup in his company,
And land whereer he gae!'
Another in the ha,
And a' to wipe the trickling tears,
Sae fast as they did fa.
With white bread and with wine,
And aye she drank the wan water,
To had her colour fine.
With white bread and with brown;
And ay she turned her round about,
Sae fast the tears fell down.
Hung on a silver pin,
And aye he wipes the tear trickling
A' down her cheek and chin.
And smiled amang his men;
Says, Like ye best the old ladye,
Or her that's new come hame?
And a' men bound to bed,
Lord Thomas and his new-come bride
To their chamber they were gaed.
To hear what they might say;
'And ever alas!' Fair Annie cried,
'That I should see this day!
Running on the castle wa,
And I were a grey cat mysell,
I soon would worry them a'.
Running oer yon lilly lee,
And I were a grew hound mysell,
Soon worried they a' should be.'
And drearie was her sang,
And ever, as she sobbd and grat,
'Wae to the man that did the wrang!'
'My shoes are on my feet,
And I will to Fair Annie's chamber,
And see what gars her greet.
That ye make sic a moan?
Has your wine barrels cast the girds,
Or is your white bread gone?
Or wha was't was your mother?
And had ye ony sister, Annie,
Or had ye ony brother?'
The Countess of Wemyss my mother;
And a' the folk about the house
To me were sister and brother.'
I wot sae was he mine;
And it shall not be for lack o gowd
That ye your love sall tyne.
A' loaded to the brim,
And I will gie them a' to thee,
Wi four to thine eldest son:
But thanks to a' the powers in heaven
That I gae maiden hame!'
B
Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 376, from the recitation of Mrs Arrot, of Aberbrothick.
And he thought on a wile,
How he would go over the saut sea
A lady to beguile.
And learn to ly your lane,
For I'm gaun over the saut seas
A bright bride to bring hame.'
'Unless I mak it wide,
Whan I have seven o your sons
To lie down by my side?
He rides a milk-white steed;
The second o your seven sons
He wears a milk-white weed.
He draws baith ale and wine;
The fourth ane o your seven sons,
He serves you when you dine.
He can baith read and write;
And the sixth ane o your seven sons,
He is a' your heart's delight.
He sleeps on my breast-bane;
Whan him and I ly down at night,
For him rest get I nane.'
And brew my bridal ale?
And wha will welcome my gae lady,
That I bring oer the dale?
See that ye do it right,
And ilka chimly o the house,
That they be dearly dight.'
And a' the night she buik,
And she's awa to her chamber,
To gie her young son suck.
And see what ye may see;
For yonder comes your father dear,
Your mother-in-law side be.'
A bottle o the best wine,
And a' the keys upon her arm,
And to the yates she's gaen.
'And ay ye are welcome hame;
And sae is a' the gentlewomen
That's wi you ridden and gane.
'And ay ye are welcome hame;
And sae is a' the gentlemen
That's wi you ridden and gane.'
She saird them till and frae;
But when she went behind their backs,
The tear did blind her ee.
And a' man boun to bed,
The bridegroom and the bonny bride
In their chamber was laid.
Lay in a bower near by;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
To rin frae wa to wa,
And I mysel a good grey cat,
I would bite their back a-twa.
And them to rin a race,
And I mysel a good greyhound,
I would gie them a chace.'
In chamber where she lay:
'There is a lady in this bower,
She will gae mad or day.'
Lye still and tak a sleep;
It's but ane o my wine puncheons;
Nae langer wad it keep.'
[Pg 72]
Queen Catherine was my mother,
Lady Anne she was my sister dear,
And Frederick was my brother.
They ca'd me Mary Mild;
I was stown frae my father's yate,
Whan I was but a child.'
By her lord as she lay:
'Lye down, lye down, my dear sister,
There's nae ill done for me.
And seven came oer the main;
And four o them shall stay wi you,
And three convey me hame.
They will laugh me to scorn,
To come awa a wedded wife,
Gae hame a maid the morn.'
C
Motherwell's manuscript, p. 351, from the recitation of Janet Holmes, an old woman in Kilbarchan, who derived the ballad from her mother; July 18, 1825.
And learn to lye your lane,
For I'm gaun owre the salt seas,
A fair lady to bring hame.
With thee I neer got nane;
I took you as a waaf woman,
I leave you as the same.'
What aileth thee at me,
When seven bonnie sons I have born,
All of your fair bodie?
He can both read and write;
The second of your sons, my lord,
Can do it more perfyte.
He waters your milk-white steed;
The fourth one of your sons, my lord,
With red gold shines his weed.
He serves you when you dine;
The sixth one now you do behold,
How he walks out and in.
Sucks hard at my breast-bane;
When a' the house they are at rest,
For him I can get nane.
A wainless wife I'll be,
For anybody's gold or gear
That is beyond the sea.'
Or wha will brew my ale?
Or wha will cook my kitchen neat,
Or give my men their meal?'
To brew your ale I'm fain,
To cook your kitchen, as I have done,
Till you return again.'
Or wha will brew my ale?
Or wha will welcome my braw bride,
That I bring owre the dale?'
For love I'll brew your ale,
And I will welcome your braw bride
That you bring owre the dale.'
The time that he was gane
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Go to the upmost ha,
And see if you see your father coming,
With your mother-to-be-in-law.'
[Pg 73]
Put on your gouns so braw,
For yonder is my father coming,
With my mother-to-be-in-law.'
The red wines, which plenty were,
And she's gane to the outmost gate,
And bid them welcome there.
Ye're welcome, brother John;
Ye're welcome a' my brethern dear,
That has this journey gone.'
'And I thank you heartilie,
And as you've welcomed home myself,
You'll welcome my fair ladye.'
And ribbons to my gown,
And as leal a maid as your braw bride,
I would speak without a frown.'
And ribbons to her gown,
And she has welcomed his braw bride,
But weel that was her own!
'I thank you heartilie,
And if I be seven years about this place,
Rewarded you shall be.'
And she served all their cries,
And aye as she came down the stair
The tears fell from her eyes.
And all men boune for bed,
The good lord and his fair lady
Were in their chamber laid.
Was in a room hard by,
And as she lay she sighed and wept,
And thus began to cry:
To speel this castle wa,
And I mysell a red blood-hound
That I might worry them a'!'
And sair she rued her fate:
'Awauk, awauk, my lord,' she said,
'Awauk, for well you may;
For there's a woman in this gate
That will go mad ere day.
And a leman meek and mild;
Get up and pack her down the stairs,
Tho the woods were neer sae wild.'
And a leman meek and kind,
And I will not pack her down the stairs,
For a' the gear that's thine.'
'Or wha's your mother dear?
Or wha's your sister, Ann?' she says,
'Or brother? let me hear.'
The Queen my mother was;
John Armstrang, in the west-airt lands,
My eldest brother is.'
'And I'm a full sister to thee;
You were stolen awa when very young,
By the same lord's treacherie.
All loaded to the brim,
And five of them I'll give to thee,
And twa shall carry me hame.
When I tell her how you thrive;
For we never knew where you was gone,
Or if you was alive.'
D
Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 307.
And brew my bridal ale?
And wha will welcome my brisk bride,
That I bring oer the dale?'
And brew your bridal ale,
And I will welcome your brisk bride,
That you bring oer the dale.'
Maun gang like maiden fair;
She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,
And braid her yellow hair.'
When maiden I am nane?
Have I not born seven sons to thee,
And am with child agen?'
Another in her hand,
And she's up to the highest tower,
To see him come to land.
You're welcome to your land;
You're welcome with your fair lady,
That you lead by the hand.'
With white bread and with wine,
And ay she drank the wan water,
To had her colour fine.
Hung on the silver pin,
And ay he wipes the tears trickling
Adown her cheek and chin.
E
Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 20; Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 371.
And brew my bridal ale?
Wha will welcome my bright bride,
That I bring oer the dale?'
An brew your bridal ale;
An I will welcome your bright bride,
That you bring oer the dale.
Maun gang like maiden fair;
She maun lace her in her green cloathin,
An braid her yallow hair.'
Whan maiden I am nane?
Whan I ha born you seven sons,
An am wi bairn again?'
An lookit oer the lan,
An there she saw her ain good lord,
Leadin his bride by the han.
Hersel i the dainty green,
An tho her cheek lookd pale and wan,
She well might ha been a queen.
'Look yonder what you see;
For yonder comes your father dear,
Your step-mother him wi.
To your ha's but an your bowrs;
You'r welcome hame, my ain good lord,
To your castles an your towrs:
Sae is your bright bride you beside,
She's fairer nor the flowers.'
'That welcoms you an me?
If I'm lang lady about this place,
Some good I will her dee.
She looks sae like my sister Jane,
Was stoln i the bowr frae me.'
[Pg 75]
Wi the white bread an the wine;
But ay she drank the wan water,
To keep her colour fine.
An leugh amo them a';
But ere she reachd the second table,
She let the tears down fa.
An hung't upon a pin;
It was to dry her watry eyes,
As she went out and in.
An a' man boun to bed,
The bride but an the bonny bridegroom
In ae chamber was laid.
To harp this twa asleep;
An ay as she harped an she sang,
Full sorely did she weep.
To the good lord o this place,
An I wish that they were seven hares,
To run the castle race,
An I mysel a good gray houn,
An I woud gi them chase.
To the good lord o this ha;
I wish that they were seven rottons,
To rin the castle wa,
An I mysell a good gray cat,
I wot I woud worry them a'
An the lady was my mother,
An a' the bairns bisides mysel
Was a sister an a brother.'
I wot ye hae sung in time;
Gin the earle o Richmond was your father,
I wot sae was he mine.'
I think my bed's but caul;
I woudna hear my lady lament
For your tocher ten times taul.
An an sal tak you hame;
The leve I'll keep to your sister Jane,
For tocher she gat nane.'
F
Motherwell's MS., p. 385; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 327. From the recitation of Mrs Rule, Paisley, August 16, 1825.
And learn to lie your lane,
For I maun owre the salt seas gang,
A brisk bride to bring hame.
And tye it in your neck,
And see you look as maiden-like
As the first day that we met.'
When a maid I'll never be;
When seven brave sons I've born to thee,
And the eighth is in my bodie?
Wi red gold shines his weed;
The second of your sons, my lord,
Rides on a milk-white steed.
He draws your beer and wine,
And the fourth of your sons, my lord,
Can serve you when you dine.
He can both read and write,
And the sixth of your sons, my lord,
Can do it maist perfyte.
Sits on the nurse's knee;
And how can I look maiden-like,
When a maid I'll never be?
[Pg 76]
And brew your bridal ale?
Or wha will welcome your brisk bride,
That you bring owre the dale?'
And stewards in my hall,
And I'll have bakers for my bread,
And brewers for my ale;
But you're to welcome my brisk bride,
That I bring owre the dale.'
And his cock-boat on the main;
He swore it would be year and day
Or he returned again.
Fair Annie she thocht lang,
And she is up to her bower-head,
To behold both sea and land.
And see now what you see;
O yonder comes your father dear,
And your stepmother-to-be.'
Put on your gown of brown,
And I'll put off my mourning weeds,
And we'll welcome him home.'
And she has taken bread,
And she is down to the water-side
To welcome them indeed.
You're welcome home to me;
So is every lord and gentleman
That is in your companie.
You're welcome home to me;
So is every lady and gentleman
That's in your companye.'
I thank you heartilie;
If I live seven years about this house,
Rewarded you shall be.'
With the wheat bread and the wine;
But aye she drank the cold water,
To keep her colour fine.
With the wheat bread and the beer;
But aye she drank the cauld water,
To keep her colour clear.
And all were boune for rest,
Fair Annie laid her sons in bed,
And a sorrowful woman she was.
And see the fishes swim?
Or will I go to the gay green-wood,
And hear the small birds sing?'
That stood behind the door:
'Ye will not go to the salt, salt seas,
To see the fishes swim;
Nor will ye go to the gay green-wood,
To hear the small birds sing.
Go to their chamber door,
And aye ye'll harp, and aye ye'll murn,
With the salt tears falling oer.'
Went to their chamber door,
And aye she harpd, and aye she murnd,
With the salt tears falling oer.
In bride-bed where she lay:
'I think I hear my sister Annie,
And I wish weel it may;
For a Scotish lord staw her awa,
And an ill death may he die!
'Or wha was your mother?
Or had you ever a sister dear,
Or had you ever a brother?'
Queen Easter was my mother,
Prince Henry was my brother dear,
And Fanny Flower my sister.'
[Pg 77]
And Queen Easter was your mother,
And Prince Henry was your brother dear,
Then surely I'm your sister.
It neer was wrangd for me,
But an ae kiss of his merry mouth,
As we cam owre the sea.'
Awa, awa frae me!
I wudna hear my Annie greet,
For a' the gold I got wi thee.'
Came owre the seas with me;
It's twa o them will take me hame,
And three I'll leave wi thee.
Came owre the seas wi me;
Five o them I'll leave wi thee,
And twa'll tak me hame,
And my mother will mak my portion up,
When I return again.'
G
Communicated by Miss Margaret Reburn, as current in County Meath, Ireland, 1860-70.
She served them up with wine,
But still she drank the clear spring water,
To keep her color fine.
She must sit in my place,
Or else be torn by wild horses
And thrown over the gates.'
She wont sit in your place,
Nor yet be torn by wild horses.
Nor thrown over the gates.'
By one, by two, by three:
'I wish you were all seven gray-hounds,
This night to worry me.'
Or why do you sigh and moan?'
'The hoops are off my wine hogsheads,
And my wine is overflown.'
H
From Dr Thomas Davidson. Aberdeenshire.
An brew my bridal ale,
And wha will welcome my bride hame,
Is mair than I can tell.'
And brew your bridal ale,
But wha will welcome your bride hame,
It'll need tae be yersel.'
Upon a golden pin,
... tae wipe her een,
As she gaed but and ben.
I
Kinloch MSS, I, 155, May, 1827. "Composed of three recited versions obtained in the west of Scotland."
And learn to lie your lane;
For I am gaing oure the saut seas,
A brisk bride to bring hame.
Wi thee I neer gat nane;
I got thee as a waif woman,
I'll leave thee as the same.
[Pg 78]
Or brew my bridal ale?
Or wha welcome my brisk bride,
That I'll bring oure the dale?'
And brew your bridal ale;
But I downa welcam your brisk bride
That ye'll bring frae the dale.'
She maun look maiden-like;
She maun kaim doun her yellow locks,
And lay them in her neck.'
Whan maiden I am nane?
For seven sons I hae born to thee,
And the eighth lies in my wame.
What aileth thee at me,
Whan seven braw sons I've born to thee,
Out of my fair bodie?
Can baith read and write;
And the second of your sons, my lord,
Can do it maist perfyte.
Can water your grey steed;
And the fourth ane o your sons, my lord,
Can bake your bridal bread.
Can serve ye whan ye dine;
And the sixth ane o your sons, my lord,
Can brew your bridal wine.
Lies close at my breist-bane;
Whan a' the lave are fast asleep,
It's rest I can get nane.'
His hand upon the mane;
Says, It will be year and day, ladie,
Ere ye see me again.
The ither on dry lan,
'It will be year and day, ladie,
Till I come back again.'
Fair Annie she thought lang;
And she went up to her hie tower,
Wi a silk seam in her hand.
And south, below the sun,
And there she spied her ain gude lord,
Coming sailing to the lan.
By ane, twa, and by three:
'See, yonder comes your father,
And your mother-for-to-be.'
'O come, behold and see!
O yonder comes your master dear,
And a new mistress brings he.
Into the outmost ha,
And if ye welcome ane o them,
Be sure to welcome a'.'
And some ran to the sea;
There was na ane in a' his house
To welcome his new ladie.
Tane out a silver kaim,
And she's kaimd doun her yellow hair,
As she a maid had been.
And laid them in her neck;
And she's awa to the saut, saut sea,
To welcome his lady aff deck.
For angering o the bride;
But she did ca him master dear,
And I wat he was richt glad.
'To your halls bot an your bouers;
And sae are a' thir merry young men
That come alang with you.
To your halls but an your bouers;
And sae are a' thir gay ladies;
For a' that's here is yours.'
I thank ye kindlie;
If I be lang about this house,
Rewarded ye sall be.
He's newly come frae sea;
[Pg 79] I think it wad be a richt gude match
To marry him and thee.'
Gie your brither to whom like ye;
But there's never ane in this warld
My wedding day sall see:
But one word o my master dear
In private wad I be.'
She lookit baith pale and wan;
The neist dish that fair Annie set doun,
She was scarce able to stan.
'Although she looks modest and mild?
Then we will hunt her frae our house
Wi dogs and hawks sae wild.'
'Altho she looks modest and mild;
Nor will we hunt her frae our house
Wi dogs and hawks sae wild.'
And a' men boun for bed,
The bonnie bride and the bridegroom
In bride's bed they were laid.
And a' were boun for bed,
Fair Annie and her seven sons
In a puir bye-chamber war laid.
And sadly did she play;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
That climb the castle-wa,
And I mysel a bloody grey cat,
I'd rise and worry them a'.'
In bride's bed whare she lay:
'I think this is like my sister Anne,
That doth sae sadly play.'
Lie still and sleep a wee;
It's nathing but an auld servant,
That waileth sae for me.'
That rin round the castle wa,
And I mysel a bluidy grewhund,
I wad rise and worry them a'.'
And blew upon her horn:
'I think I hear my sister's voice,
That was stown frae us a bairn.'
'It's yon maiden in her dream,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Or wha was eer thy mither?
Or wha was eer thy ae sister,
Or wha was eer thy brither?'
'Queen Elinore was my mither;
Fair Marion was my ae sister,
Earl Robert was my brither.'
And Queen Elinore your mither,
O I am een your ae sister,
And ye are just the ither.
'Come to your bed full sune;
I may weel say, I daur weel say,
There is na evil dune.
But ane shall tak me hame;
Six I will leave to my sister Anne,
To bring up her children young.
And tirl on the pin,
The meanest in a' my father's house
Will ca me a forsaken ane.'
J
Buchan's MSS, I, 66.
'O learn to lie your lane;
For I am going ower the sea,
To woo and to bring hame
Than ever ye hae been;
[Pg 80] For I am going ower the sea,
To chuse and bring her hame.'
What aileth thee at me?
For seven braw sons hae I born
Unto your fair bodie.
Is heir o a' your land;
The second o your braw young sons
He rises at your right hand.
He serves you when you dine;
The fourth o your braw sons, my lord,
He brings to you the wine.
Right well can use the pen;
The sixth o your braw young sons,
He's travelling but and ben.
He lies on my breast-bane,
The fairest flower amo them a',
That lay my sides between.'
To woo and to bring hame
A lady wi some gowd and gear;
Wi you I never got nane.'
Ye sought nae gowd wi me;
Ye put me to the schools o Ayr
For fully years three.
And butler in your ha?
And wha will govern your merry young men,
When ye are far awa?'
And butler in my ha,
And ye'll wait on my merry young men,
And serve them ane and a'.'
And wha will brew your ale?
And wha will welcome that lady
That ye bring ower the dale?
And ye will brew my ale,
And ye will welcome that lady
That I bring ower the dale.
For three score knights and ten;
That day month I gang awa,
The same day I'll come again.'
And I will brew your ale;
But oh, to welcome another woman
My heart will nae be hale.'
And ribbons in your sheen,
And ye will look fair maiden like,
Though maiden ye be nane.'
And ribbons in my sheen,
And may be look as maiden-like
As the bride ye bring hame.'
And two rade by his side,
And three he left at hame wi her,
She was the brightest bride.
To view the rural plain,
And there she saw the bridal folk,
Merrily coming hame.
Ye see not what I see;
For here I see your fair father,
And a step-mother to thee.
Husband, or my gude lord?
Or shall I call him my gude master,
Let well or woe betide?'
For angering o the bride;
But ye'll call him your gude master,
Let well or woe betide.'
Herself in simple green,
A kaim o gowd upon her hair,
As maiden she had been.
The wine glass in her hand,
And she's gane out upo the green,
To welcome the bride hame.
For angering o the bride:
'Ye're welcome hame, my gude master,
Your lands lie braid and wide.'
Sae well's ye've welcomd me;
[Pg 81] Ye might hae welcomd my new bride;
Some gift to you she'll gie.'
To your ha's and your bowers;
Ye're welcome hame, my lady gay,
Ye're whiter than the flowers.'
'Sae well that welcomes me?
If I'm lang lady o this place
Some gift to her I'll gie.
That eer my eyes did see;
A landit lord staw her awa,
An ill death mat he die!
Fairer ye neer did see;
And I woud think nae ill a match
Unto this fair ladie.'
Sae do ye on a stane;
I'll wed me to the kingdom of heaven,
For I'll neer wed a man.'
The nobles o the wine;
But nane did cross her pale, pale lips,
For changing o her min.
She leuch amo them a',
But when she turnd her back about
She loot the saut tears fa.
Upon a siller pin;
It was to dry her twa blue eyes,
As she went out and in.
Her breast wi milk ran out;
She aft went to a quiet chamber,
And let her young son suck.
This day has served me;
But I'll rise up, let her sit down,
She's ate, that I may see.
'That serves this day sae well?
And what means a' this bonny boys,
That follow at her heel?'
That serves this day sae well,
And these are a' her bauld brothers,
That follow at her heel.'
Was full o jealousie:
'I fear there's something new, my lord,
Ye mean to hide frae me.
Has me sae sair beguild,
She shall gae out at my window,
And range the woods sae wild.'
And a' man bound for bed,
The bridegroom and the new-come bride
In ae chamber were laid.
Nursing her fair young son,
She has taen up her gude lord's harp,
She harped and she sung.
To the lord o this place;
I wish they were seven hares
To run the castle race,
And I mysel a gude greyhound,
To gie them a' a chace.'
Lie near and speak wi me;
There is a woman in the house,
She will be wild ere day.'
Lie still and take your rest;
The pale's out o my wine-puncheon,
And lang it winna rest.'
To harp them baith asleep,
And aye she harped and she sang,
And saut tears she did weep.
To the gude lord o this ha;
I wish that they were seven brown rats,
To climb the castle wa,
And I mysel a gude grey cat,
To take them ane and a'.'
Lie near and speak wi me;
There is a woman in this house,
She will be wild ere day.'
[Pg 82]
My sheets are wonderous cauld;
I woudna hear my love's lament
For your gowd ten thousand fauld.'
Some ill death mat ye die!
For that's the voice o my sister Ann,
Was stown frae yont the sea.'
A gude death mat ye die!
For that's the voice o your sister Ann,
Was stown frae yont the sea;
I came seeking Annie's tocher,
I was not seeking thee.'
In seven I'se gae hame;
And a' the gowd that I brought here,
It's a' gang back again.'
But ye'll gang hame in ane;
Ye'll leave the rest to tocher Ann,
For wi her I got nane.'
But I'll gang hame in ane;
I'll get my sister's eldest son
To hae me maiden hame.
He will get me a man;
And happy, happy will he be
To hear o his daughter Ann.
My gloves upon my hand,
And ye'll come to your bed, Annie,
For I've dane you nae wrang.'
C.
'Fair Annie' I took this day from the recitation of Janet Holmes, an old woman in Kilbarchan. It was, as she described it, a "lang rane" of her mother's. July 18, 1825. Motherwell.
11. honey is probably a corruption of Annie.
54. his wig.
193. I must be understood, I as leal, but does not require to be inserted.
204. Possibly not correct. To all would, no doubt, be an easy reading, but the abrupt exclamation is more like nature.
291. Oh.
E.
112. laugh.
143. harpd.
201. you hame.
F.
123. Oh.
223. Ye wilt.
I.
281. sat.
452. tirls.
41 ff. In one of the Kinloch versions thus:
'Queen Orris is my mither,
And a' the bairns about the house
Are just my sister and brither.'
Sure I'm ane o' the same,
And come to your gude lord, Anne,
And be ye blythe again.
But for my tocher fee,
And I am as free o him this day
As the bairn on the nurse's knee.'
J.
362. hae served.
The following more obvious and entirely superfluous interpolations have been omitted from the text.
After 9:
Should come and bide wi me,
As he showed kindness and respect,
Which greatly grieved thee.
After 18:
'T was aye day by it lane,
Fair Annie was washing her fingers,
Above a marble stane.
After 28:
Did leave my bower full bare;
I wish a sharp sword at his breast,
Cauld iron be his share!
A light laugh then gie he;
[Pg 83] Said, Hear na ye my new-come bride,
Sae sair as she brands me?
She winked wi her ee,
Yet never thought by the words he spake
'T was her sister, Annie.
After 35:
And all had fared fine,
The knight he called his butlers all,
For to serve out the wine.
After 38:
A smart young lord was he:
'O if she be a maiden fair,
Wi her I'se wedded be.'
Amang his merry young men;
Says, There's a hynd chiel in the house
Runs far nearer her mind.
After 53:
It's welcome news to me;
I woud hae gien her thrice as much
Her lovely face to see.
FOOTNOTES:
[72] F 2 reads, "Bind up your hair, and tie it in your neck," which is deceptive. It was an imperative custom, as is well known, that the married woman should bind up her hair or wear it under a cap, while a maid wore it loose or in a braid; a yard long, like Chaucer's Emily, if she had as much. See D 3, E 3, I 5, and Prior's Danish Ballads, II, 180 f.
[73] And John Armstrang her eldest brother, C 30: so the Scottish king was right when he weened Johnie was a king as well as he.
[74] "The tradition which commonly accompanies this tale," says Jamieson, Popular Ballads, II, 83, "says that he was aware of his bride's being the sister of his mistress, and that he had courted her, not with a view of retaining her as his wife, but of securing from her father a portion for Lady Jane, whom he intended to marry:" a canny project adopted into the degenerate and interpolated J (st. 53), but rather too sharp practice for an old ballad.
[75] The boys are all dressed in scarlet red in Danish E 24, F 27, H 21; so in English E 6, but in J 23 in black.
Fair Annie she throws down the other,
And a pair of loving sisters were they,
And the rings they ran together.
Swedish B 32.
[77] Vorige span, sts 14,15, for which Hoffmann reads voorgespan, meaning a fore-span. A span of horses is as absurd here as possible, but is adopted in the German version, and made to point a gibe at the king. It would seem that the Dutch voorspan, brooch or clasp, German spange (see Hexham's Dictionary, 1658), must have been for some time obsolete. In Richthofen's Altfriesisches Wörterbuch we find simply span, spon: "verstanden ist darunter ein goldener Schmuck den die friesischen Weiber vor der Brust trugen." Stanza 15 is interpreted accordingly.
[78] "Voorgespan" again.
[79] Roquefort, Poésies de Marie de France, I, 138. There is a highly felicitous old English translation, unfortunately somewhat defective: Weber, Metrical Romances, I, 357, Ellis's Specimens, III, 282, what is missing being supplied in each case from the French.
[80] For this idea see Grimm's Rechtsalterthümer, p. 456 of the 2d ed., and Deutsche Sagen, 515, 534, 571; the English romance of Octavian, Weber, III, 162, vv 127-132, the French, in Conybeare's abridgment, p. 3, reprint of the Aungervyle Society, p. 23; the volksbuch Kaiser Octavianus, Simrock, II, 244; the Spanish ballad 'Espinelo,' Duran, I, 177, No 323, and again a 16th century ballad of Timoneda, II, 392, No 1346. This last may be the foundation of a broadside in the Pepys collection, I, 40, No 18: "The Lamenting Lady, who, for wrongs done by her to a poor woman for having two children at one burthen, was by the hand of God most strangely punished by sending her as many children at one birth as there are days in the year." But we have the same miracle in Grimm's Deutsche Sagen, No 578. Further, Grundtvig, V, 386, 'Grevens Datter af Vendel,' No 258, E 1; Li Reali di Francia, l. II, c. 42, p 180 of the edition of Venice, 1821. (Grundtvig.)
[81] 'Las dos Hermanas,' Catalan, Castilian, Asturian. Milá, Observaciones, p. 117, No 19,=Briz, II, 159; p. 124, No 24,=Primavera, II, 38, No 130; Briz, II, 161. Milá, Romancerillo, p. 214, No 242, A-E, p. 216, No 242. Amador de los Rios, Historia de la Lit. Esp., VII, 455 f. Portuguese. 'Rainha e Captiva,' Almeida-Garrett, II, 193, No 11, 2d ed.; 'Romance de Branca-Flor,' Braga, Romanceiro Geral, p. 103, No 38; Romanceiro da Madeira, p. 211; Roméro e Braga, Cantos populares do Brazil, I, 41 ff, Nos 22, 23, II, 203. In some of these the queen identifies the captive by overhearing, while she lies in bed, words said or sung by her sister. In Chodzko, Chants de l'Ukraine, p. 88, No 17, the captive sister is replaced by a (Polish) mother in slavery among the Turks.
63
CHILD WATERS
A. 'Childe Waters,' Percy MS., p. 274; Hales and Furnival, II, 269.
B. a. 'Burd Ellen,' Jamieson's Brown MS., fol. 22. b. 'Lord John and Bird Ellen,' A. Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 9.
C. 'Lady Margaret,' Kinloch's annotated copy of his Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 180.
D. Kinloch MSS, VII, 325.
E. 'Fair Margaret,' Harris MS., No 8, p. 12 b.
F. Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 114, from Mrs Arrot of Arberbrothick.
G. 'Cruel William,' Buchan's MSS, II, 129.
H. 'Burd Alone,' Motherwell's MS., p. 277.
I. Communicated by Dr Davidson, derived from Old Deer, Aberdeenshire.
J. 'Burd Helen,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 30.
A was printed in Percy's Reliques, III, 58, ed. 1765, with comparatively few changes. B a was published by Jamieson, from Mrs Brown's manuscript, in his Popular Ballads, I, 113, with some slight variation from the text, many acknowledged interpolations, and the addition of three sentimental stanzas to make Burd Ellen die just as her enduring all things is to be rewarded. In this tragic close, Jamieson was anticipated by Mrs Hampden Pye, in her 'Earl Walter,' 1771, Evans's Old Ballads, II, 208, 1777. C is given as it appears in Kinloch's annotated copy of his Ancient Scottish Ballads, where ten stanzas are inserted to enlarge and complete the copy published in 1827. This enlarged copy was communicated to Chambers, and seven of the supplementary stanzas were introduced into his compilation, The Scottish Ballads, p. 193. These supplementary stanzas, some of them certainly, and[Pg 84] we may suppose all, belonged to a copy of which only the concluding portion, here given as D, is elsewhere preserved.
The variations in the several versions of this charming ballad, which has perhaps no superior in English, and if not in English perhaps nowhere,[82] are not material, and the story may therefore be given as it runs in A, the oldest copy. Fair Ellen comes to Child Waters, and tells him that her gown, which was too wide, is now too narrow. He bids her be content and take two shires of land; she would rather have one kiss from his mouth than Cheshire and Lancashire both. He must ride far into the North the next day; she asks to be his foot-page. This she may be if she will shorten her gown and clip her locks, so as not to be known for a woman. He rides hard all day, and she keeps up with him barefoot. They come to a broad piece of salt water; he lets her get through as she can, but Our Lady bears up her chin. Then he points out a splendid hall, where are four and twenty ladies, and the fairest is his love and wife. God give both good! is all she says. Arrived there, Ellen takes his horse to the stable. At bed-time he sends her to the town, to bring him the fairest lady that can be found, to sleep in his arms, and to bring this lady in her arms, for filing of her feet. Ellen lies at the foot of the bed, for want of other place, and before dawn is roused by Child Waters to feed his horse. The pains of travail come on her in the stable; Child Waters' mother hears her moans, and bids him get up. He stands at the stable-door and listens. Ellen sings:
I would thy father were a king,
Thy mother laid on a bier!
This moves even his sturdy heart; he tells Ellen to be of good cheer, for the bridal and the churching shall both be on one day.
In B, C, E, G, I, J the man relents so far as, when they are in the water, to ask her to ride. She will not, C, E, I; he takes her on at a stone which stands in the middle of the stream, B, G, J. The stream is Clyde in B, C, E, G, J; the Tay in I. In C, E, F, H he tells her after they have passed the water, that it is three and thirty miles to his house; a (poetically) superfluous and meddling parrot says it is but three. In C, G he tells her that she will have a serving-man for a husband, and in H that he has already wife and bairns.
One stroke in A, the sending of Ellen to fetch a woman from the town, is wanting in the other versions, decidedly to their advantage. This exaggeration of insult, submitting to which only degrades the woman, is paralleled, though not quite reached, by the paramour in the forest in the otherwise exquisitely refined tale of The Nut-Brown Maid. As for the ballad, the disagreeable passage may be an insertion of some unlucky singer, and the perfect truth to nature and remarkably high taste of The Nut-Brown Maid, in every other particular, would almost drive us to assume an interpolation in this case too.
E 1, 2, 16, F 2, 3 show contact with the ballad of 'Lizzie Lindsay;' the passing of the water, particularly in E 8-12, with 'The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter;' and again, H 21.
An exceedingly popular Scandinavian ballad is manifestly of the same source, though the story is told in a very different way, the cruel trials to which the woman's love is put being entirely lacking: Danish, 'Jomfru og Stalddreng,' Grundtvig, V, 171, No 267, A-A. Swedish, A, 'Liten Kerstin Stalldräng,' Afzelius, II, 15, No 33; B, 'Stolts Botelid Stalldräng,' Afzelius, II, 20, No 34; C-E, 'Liten Kerstin Stalldräng,' Arwidsson, II, 179, No 109, Hofberg's Nerikes gamla Minnen, p. 254, Öberg in Aminson, I, 28; F-I, from Cavallius and Stephens's manuscript collection, Grundt[Pg 85]vig, V, 217 f; J, 'Liten Kerstin och Dane-Peter,' Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 66, No 32. Norwegian, A, 'Liti Kersti som stalldreng,' Landstad, p. 605, No 78; B-E, Grundtvig, V, 218-20; F, Landstad, p. 605, note. (Several of these are only a verse or two.) Danish A-F are from manuscripts of the sixteenth or seventeenth century; G was printed at the end of the seventeenth; the other copies are from recent tradition, but nevertheless point to a higher antiquity than those which were taken down earlier. There is naturally much variation in details among so many copies, and it will be sufficient to indicate the general character of the story. A young woman, who may be called Kirstin, clips her hair and puts on man's clothes, seeks service at court, and is taken as stable-boy, at the instance of a man (often the king's son, or of other high rank) who may be called Peter, with whom she, in some copies, seems to have had a previous connection. Peter, as an accommodation, lets the stable-boy sleep with him. In the course of time Kirstin cannot do duty any more, cannot buckle on spurs, is ill and requires woman's assistance, which the queen renders. She gives birth to twins in the stable (among the horses' legs, as in English, B 30, J 30). A merry wedding follows.[83]
Another Scandinavian ballad has a limited resemblance to 'Child Waters:' Danish, 'Den trofaste Jomfru,' Grundtvig, IV, 494, No 249, A-I; 'Den fredløse,' Kristensen, II, 191, No 57 (A-C), J-L. Swedish, A, 'De Sju Gullbergen,' Afzelius, III, 71, No 79; B, C, from Cavallius and Stephens's collection, Grundtvig, IV, 507f. Norwegian, A, 'Herre Per og stolt Margit,' Landstad, p. 590, No 74; B, Herr' Nikelus, Landstad, p. 594, No 75. The ballad begins like Danish 'Ribold og Guldborg' and 'Kvindemorderen.' A knight carries off a maid, making her fine promises, among which gold castles commonly figure. He takes her over a very wide piece of water, an arm of the sea, on his horse in most versions; in Danish B, K they swim it. When they come to land, she asks Where are the promised castles? Danish C, D, J, K, L, Norwegian A, B. He tells her that he is a penniless outlaw (wanting in Swedish A, C); she offers the gold she has brought with her to buy him his peace (wanting in Swedish A, C, Norwegian B). He tells her he has another love; she is willing to be their servant (wanting in Danish A, B, C, I, Norwegian B). Here he ceases his trial of her; he is a royal, or very opulent, person, she is to have a troop of servants, the castles are not in the air, and all ends happily.
Percy's edition of A is translated (freely) by Bürger, 'Graf Walter,' and Bürger's version is revised, to bring it slightly nearer the original, by Bothe, Volkslieder, p. 199. Percy is translated by Bodmer, I, 41. I is translated by Gerhard, p. 117, and Aytoun's compilation, I, 239, by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, p. 11. The Danish ballad is translated by Prior, III, 25, after Danske Viser, IV, 116, Syv, Fourth Part, No 31, Grundtvig's G c.
A
Percy MS., p. 274; Hales and Furnivall, II, 269.
And stroaket his milke-white steede;
To him came a ffaire young ladye
As ere did weare womans wee[de].
Sayes, Christ you saue and see!
My girdle of gold, which was too longe,
Is now to short ffor mee.
I ffeele sturre att my side;
My gowne of greene, it is to strayght;
Before it was to wide.'
[Pg 86]
'Be mine, as you tell mee,
Take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
Take them your owne to bee.
'Be mine, as you doe sweare,
Take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
And make that child your heyre.'
Child Waters, of thy mouth,
Then I wold haue Cheshire and Lancashire both,
That lyes by north and south.
Child Waters, of your eye,
Then I wold haue Cheshire and Lancashire both,
To take them mine oune to bee.'
Soe ffarr into the north countrye;
The ffairest lady that I can ffind,
Ellen, must goe with mee.'
'And euer I pray you, Child Watters,
Your ffootpage let me bee!'
As you doe tell itt mee,
Then you must cutt your gownne of greene
An inche aboue your knee.
Another inch aboue your eye;
You must tell noe man what is my name;
My ffootpage then you shall bee.'
Shee ran bare ffoote by his side;
Yett was he neuer soe curteous a knight
To say, Ellen, will you ryde?
Shee ran barffoote thorow the broome;
Yett he was neuer soe curteous a knight
As to say, Put on your shoone.
Why doe you ryde soe ffast?
The child which is no mans but yours
My bodye itt will burst.'
That fflowes from banke to brim?
'I trust to god, Child Waters,' shee said,
'You will neuer see mee swime.'
Shee sayled to the chinne:
'Except the lord of heauen be my speed,
Now must I learne to swime.'
Our Ladye bare vpp he[r] chinne,
And Child Waters was a woe man, good Lord,
To ssee Faire Ellen swime.
Shee then came to his knee:
He said, Come hither, Ffaire Ellen,
Loe yonder what I see!
Of redd gold shine the yates;
There's four and twenty ffayre ladyes,
The ffairest is my wordlye make.
Of redd gold shineth the tower;
There is four and twenty ffaire ladyes,
The fairest is my paramoure.'
That of redd gold shineth the yates;
God giue good then of your selfe,
And of your wordlye make!
That of redd gold shineth the tower;
God giue good then of your selfe,
And of your paramoure!'
Were playing att the ball,
And Ellen, was the ffairest ladye,
Must bring his steed to the stall.
Was playing att the chesse;
And Ellen, shee was the ffairest ladye,
Must bring his horsse to grasse.
And these were the words said shee:
[Pg 87] You haue the prettyest ffootpage, brother,
That euer I saw with mine eye;
His girdle goes wonderous hye;
And euer I pray you, Child Waters,
Let him goe into the chamber with mee.'
That has run through mosse and mire,
To take his supper vpon his knee
And sitt downe by the kitchin fyer,
Then to goe into the chamber with any ladye
That weares soe [rich] attyre.'
To bedd they took the way;
He sayd, Come hither, my little footpage,
Harken what I doe say.
And low into the street;
The ffairest ladye that thou can find,
Hyer her in mine armes to sleepe,
And take her vp in thine armes two,
For filinge of her ffeete.
And low into the streete;
The fairest ladye that shee cold find
Shee hyred in his armes to sleepe,
And tooke her in her armes two,
For filing of her ffeete.
That I may creepe in att your bedds feete;
For there is noe place about this house
Where I may say a sleepe.'
Till itt was neere the day:
He sayd, Rise vp, my litle ffoote-page,
And giue my steed corne and hay;
And soe doe thou the good blacke oates,
That he may carry me the better away.
And gaue his steed corne and hay,
And soe shee did and the good blacke oates,
That he might carry him the better away.
And greiuouslye did groane;
And that beheard his mother deere,
And heard her make her moane.
I thinke thou art a cursed man;
For yonder is a ghost in thy stable,
That greiuouslye doth groane,
Or else some woman laboures of child,
Shee is soe woe begone.
And did on his shirt of silke;
Then he put on his other clothes
On his body as white as milke.
Full still that hee did stand,
That hee might heare now Faire Ellen,
How shee made her monand.
Lullabye, deere child, deere!
I wold thy father were a king,
Thy mother layd on a beere!
And be of good cheere, I thee pray,
And the bridall and the churching both,
They shall bee vpon one day.'
B
a. Jamieson's Brown MS., fol. 22, taken down from Mrs Brown's recitation before 1783. b. A. Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 9, as recited by Mrs Brown in 1800.
That wear scarlet an brown,
That ye dinna leave your father's house,
To follow young men frae town.'
That wears scarlet an brown,
Yet I will leave my father's house,
An follow Lord John frae the town.'
Said he was bound to ride;
Burd Ellen stood in her bowr-door,
Said she'd rin by his side.
[Pg 88]
An fast awa rade he;
She's clade hersel in page array,
An after him ran she.
An folks do ca it Clyde;
Then he's lookit oer his left shoulder,
Says, Lady, can ye wide?
An I learnt it for my weal,
Wenneer I came to a wan water,
To swim like ony eel.'
The water came til her knee;
'Ohon, alas!' said the lady,
'This water's oer deep for me.'
The water came till her middle;
An sighin says that gay lady,
I've wat my gouden girdle
The water came till her pap;
An the bairn that was in her twa sides
For caul begane to quake.
Ye work your mither wae;
Your father rides on high horse-back,
Cares little for us twae.'
There was a yeard-fast stane;
He lightly turnd his horse about,
An took her on him behin.
An a word ye dinna lee,
How far it is to your lodgin,
Whare we this night maun be?'
That shines sae fair to see?
There is a lady in it, Ellen,
Will sunder you an me.
Will sunder you and I:'
'Betide me well, betide me wae,
I sal go there an try.'
An ye sal eat the bran;
Then will ye sigh, an say, alas!
That ever I was a man!'
An your dogs sal eat the bran;
An I hope to live an bless the day,
That ever ye was a man.'
An ye sal eat the corn;
Then will ye curse the heavy hour
That ever your love was born.'
An your horse sal eat the corn;
An I ay sall bless the happy hour
That ever my love was born.'
Welcomd Lord John to the ha,
But a fairer lady then them a'
Led his horse to the stable sta.
Welcomd Lord John to the green,
But a fairer lady than them a'
At the manger stood alane.
An a' men boun to meat,
Burd Ellen at a bye-table
Amo the foot-men was set.
The white bread an the beer:'
'The never a bit can I eat or drink,
My heart's sae full of fear.'
The white bread an the wine:'
'O I canna eat nor drink, master,
My heart's sae full of pine.'
An a wise woman was she:
'Whare met ye wi that bonny boy,
That looks sae sad on thee?
An sometimes deadly wan;
He's liker a woman big wi bairn,
Than a young lord's serving man.'
[Pg 89]
Sic words to hear frae thee;
He is a squire's ae dearest son,
That for love has followd me.
Gi my horse corn an hay:'
'O that I will, my master dear,
As quickly as I may.'
The corn intill her han,
An she's gane to the great stable,
As fast as eer she can.
O room ye near the wa;
For the pain that strikes me thro my sides
Full soon will gar me fa.'
Strong travail seizd her on;
An even amo the great horse feet
Burd Ellen brought forth her son.
Was sitting all alone,
Whan, i the silence o the night,
She heard fair Ellen's moan.
'Go se how a' does fare;
For I think I hear a woman's groans,
An a bairn greeting sair.'
Stayd neither for hose nor shoone,
An he's doen him to the stable-door,
Wi the clear light o the moon.
An sae has he wi his knee,
An iron locks an iron bars
Into the floor flung he:
'Be not afraid, Burd Ellen,' he says,
'Ther's nane come in but me.'
An gard wash him wi the milk;
An up has he taen his fair lady,
Gard row her in the silk.
'Look nae mair sad nor wae;
For your marriage an your kirkin too
Sal baith be in ae day.'
C
Kinloch's annotated copy of his Ancient Scottish Ballads, Kinloch MSS, IV, 180.
The nuts are growing fu,
And ye are bound for your ain countrie,
Fain wad I go wi you.'
What wad ye do wi me?
I've mair need o a pretty little boy,
To wait upon my steed.'
To wait upon your steed;
And ilka town that we come to,
A pack of hounds I'll lead.'
And ye of the bread of bran;
And then you will sit and sigh,
That eer ye loed a man.'
I think they call it Clyde,
He saftly unto her did say,
Lady Margret, will ye ride?
She steppit to the knee;
Says, Wae be to ye, waefu water,
For through ye I maun be.
She steppit to the middle,
And sighd, and said, Lady Margaret,
'I've staind my gowden girdle.'
[Pg 90]
She steppit to the neck;
The pretty babe within her sides,
The cauld it garrd it squake.
Lie still as lang's ye may,
For your father rides on horseback high,
Cares little for us twae.'
She sat doun on a stane;
Says, Them that made me, help me now,
For I am far frae hame.
Gude Lord John tell to me?'
'It's therty miles, Lady Margaret,
It's therty miles and three:
And yese be wed to ane o her serving men,
For yese get na mair o me.'
As it sat on the tree,
'Ye lee, ye lee, Lord John,' it said,
'Sae loud as I hear ye lee.
Whan it's but barely three;
And she'll neer be wed to a serving man,
For she'll be your ain ladie.'
Lies on yon sunny lea?
And yese get ane o my mither's men,
For yese get na mair o me.']
Lies on yon sunny lea,
But Ise neer hae nane o your mither's men,
Tho I never gat mair o thee.']
He tirled at the pin,
And wha sae ready as the bauld porter
To open and lat him in.]
Met Lord John in the closs,
But the bonniest face amang them a'
Was hauding Lord John's horse.
Met Lord John on the green,
But the bonniest boy amang them a'
Was standing by, him leen.]
Sat dining in the ha,
But the bonniest face that was there
Was waiting on them a'.
A sweet young maid was she:
'My brither has brought a bonnie young page,
His like I neer did see;
But the red flits fast frae his cheek,
And the tear stands in his ee.'
She spak wi meikle scorn:
'He's liker a woman gret wi bairn,
Than onie waiting-man.'
And gie my steed the hay:'
'O that I will, my dear master,
As fast as I can gae.'
The corn intil her hand,
But atween the stable-door and the staw,
Lady Margret made a stand.
And a' men boun for bed,
Lord John, mither, and sister gay
In ae bour they were laid.]
Nor was he weel laid doun,
Till his mither heard a bairn greet,
And a woman's heavy moan.]
'Seek neither hose nor shoon;
For I've heard a bairn loud greet,
And a woman's heavy moan.']
Sought neither hose nor shoon,
Atween the ha and the stable-door
He made na a step but ane.]
[Pg 91]
O open and let me in;
I want to see if my steed be fed,
Or my grey-hounds fit to rin.'
'I'll na open it to thee,
Till ye grant to me my ae request,
And a puir ane it's to me.
For my young son and me,
And the meanest servant in a' the place,
To wait on him and me.'
And he keppd it wi his knee,
He made the door o double deals
In splinders soon to flee.]
An askin ye'll grant me;
The meanest maid about the place
To bring a glass o water to me.']
'A' that, and mair frae me,
The very best bed in a' the place
To your young son and thee,
And my mither, and my sister dear,
To wait on him and thee.
They sall be his and thine;
Our wedding and our kirking day,
They sall be all in ane.'
And rowd her in the silk,
And he has tane his ain young son,
And washd him in the milk.
D
Kinloch MSS, VII, 325.
Sought neither stockens nor shoon,
An between the ha and the stable
He made not a step but one.
O open an let me in:'
'O yes, O yes, will I, Lord John,
But not till I can win;
O yes, will I, Lord John,' she says,
'But I'm lyin wi your young son.'
An he kepped it wi his knee;
He made the door of double deals
In splinders soon to flee.
An askin ye'll grant me;
May the meanest maid about the place
Bring a glass o water to me?'
'Lat a' your askins be;
For the best maid about the house
Shall bring a glass o wine to thee.
For my young son an thee;
My mother and my ae sister
Sal bear you company.
They sal be both in ane,
An a' these ha's an bowers, Burd Ellen,
They sal be yours an mine.'
E
Harris MS., No 8, fol. 12 b: originally from Jannie Scott, an old nurse in Perthshire, about 1790.
An sew your silken seam;
If ye waur in the wide Hielands,
Ye wald be owre far frae hame.'
'Nor sew my silken seam;
[Pg 92] For if I waur in the wide Hielands,
I wald no be owre far frae hame.'
An you the water wan;
I'll mak you sigh, an say, alace,
That ever I loed a man!'
An me the water wan,
Yet will I sing, an merry be,
That ever I loed a man.'
An you the bread o bran;
I'll mak you sigh, an say, alace,
That ever you loed Lord John!'
An me the bread o bran,
Yet will I sing, an merrie be,
That ever I loed Lord John.'
An awa he was boun to ride;
She kilted up her green clieden,
An after him she gaed.
Whilk a' man ca the Clyde,
He turned aboot his high horse head,
Said, Ladie, will you ride?
I wish I had learnt it weel,
That I could swim this wan water
As weel as fish or eel.'
She sat doon on a stone;
He turned aboot his high horse head,
Says, Ladie, will ye loup on?
I wish I had learnt it better,
That I culd swim this wan water
As weel as eel or otter.'
An she has taen the wide;
Lang, lang ere he was at the middle,
She was sittin at the ither side.
. . . . . . .
Wi sighen said that Fair Margaret,
Alace, I'm far frae hame!
Noo Lord John, tell to me;'
'Hoo mony miles is't to my castle?
It's thirty miles an three:'
Wi sighen said that Fair Margaret,
It'll never be gane by me!
As it sat on the tree,
'Rin on, rin on noo, Fair Margaret,
It scarcely miles is three.'
An lichted on the green,
Every an spak Erse to anither,
But Margaret she spak nane.
An birlin at the best,
Margaret set at a bye-table,
An fain she wald hain rest.
Wi clean blankets an sheets,
An lay my futeboy at my feet,
The sounder I may sleep.'
Wi clean blankets an sheets,
An laid his futeboy at his feet,
But neer a wink culd he sleep.
An see that my steed has meat;
See that his corn is in his travisse,
Nor lyin amang his feet.'
An slowly put she on,
An slowly gaed she doon the stair,
Aye makin a heavy moan.
I pray you grant it me;
For the warst bed in a' your hoose,
To your young son an me.'
[Pg 93]
Sune grantet it shall be;
For the best bed in a' my hoose
Is owre little for thee.'
I pray you grant it me;
For the warst ale in a' your hoose,
That ye wald gie to me.'
Sune grantet it sall be;
For the best wine in a' my hoose
Is owre little for thee.
For, be it as it may,
Your kirken an your fair weddin
Sall baith be on one day.'
F
Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 114, from Mrs Arrot of Arberbrothick.
Seeing his steeds kaimd down;
Lady Ellen sits at her bower-door,
Sewing her silver seam.
And sew your silver seam?
Or will ye to the rank highlands?
For my lands lay far frae hame.'
And sew my silver seam;
But I'll gae to the rank highlands,
Tho your lands lay far frae hame.'
I pray thee grant it me;
How many miles into your fair tower,
And house where you would be?'
'Shall now be granted thee;
For to my castle where it stands
Is thirty miles and three:'
'O wae is me,' says Lady Ellen,
'It will never be run by me.'
That sat upon the tree:
'Sae loud, sae loud, ye fause, fause knight,
Sae loud as I hear you lie!
'Of miles it's scantly three:'
'O weel is me,' says Lady Ellen;
'It shall be run by me.'
And mak it braid and wide,
And lay my little page at my feet,
Whatever may betide.'
I pray thee grant it me;
O grant me a cup of cold water,
Between my young son and me.'
Shall soon be granted thee;
The best bread and the best wine,
Between my young son and thee.'
I ask again of thee;
The poorest cot-house in your land,
Between my young son and me.'
I quickly grant to thee;
The best bower about my tower,
Between my young son and thee.'
G
Buchan's MSS, II, 129.
Says he, I will go ride;
The lady's kilted her gay cloathing,
And ran low by his side.
Till they came to yon water wan;
He has ridden, and she has run,
Like to his waiting man.
Till they came on to Clyde;
The knight he rode on high horseback,
But the lady she bot wide.
She stept into the knee;
The bairn that was between her sides
There he gied spartles three.
Ye work your mother woe;
Your father rides on high horseback,
Cares little for us two.'
She stept into the pap;
The bairn that was between her sides
There spartled and he lap.
You work your mother's woe;
Your father rides on high horseback,
Cares little for us two.'
There stands a yird-fast stone;
He turnd his horse head back again,
Said, Lady, loup ye on.
O never a mile but ane,
Till she grew sick, and so weary
She couldna ride nor gang.
You see not what I see;
For yonder is my father's castle,
A little beyond the lee,
And ye'll get ane of my father's men.
But, lady, neer lippen on me.'
Led Willie frae bower to ha,
But the bonniest lady among them a'
Led his steed to the sta.
And sitting at their dine,
Out it spake his mother dear.
And she spake aye in time.
And other times he's wan;
He looks like a woman wi bairn,
But no ways like a man.'
Go look your master's steed;
See that his meat be at his head,
And not among his feet.'
And healy gaed she down,
And healy opend the stable-door,
And as healy gaed she in,
And even among that big horse feet
She bear her dear young son.
Between the bower and ha,
She thought she heard a bairn's greet
And lady's moan in the sta.
Gude keep ye safe frae harm;
Ye might hae chosen a lighter foot-boy
Than a women in travilling.'
He kept it wi his knee,
Till silver cups and silver spoons
Into the floor did flee.
I wat he made them a' but three;
He's to the stable gane in haste,
And a' to see his gay lady.
Nor yet sic low degree,
That you needed to banish me frae your sight,
That ye left nae woman wi me.'
When I did drink the wine,
[Pg 95] Or when I left my lady gay,
And her at sic a time.
And wash him wi the milk,
And up ye'll take my lady gay
And row her in the silk;
For her kirking and her fair wedding
Shall baith stand in ae day.'
H
Motherwell's MS., p. 277, from Marjory Johnston, servant to W. Parker, manufacturer, Paisley.
* * * * *
For the water's both broad and long:'
First she went into the shoulders,
And sine unto the chin.
How far is it? I pray of thee:'
'The nearest way unto my hall
Is thirty miles and three.
Ye'll sink before ye win owre:'
'I am too big with bairn,' she says,
'To sink or I win owre.'
Turn back, I pray of thee;
For I've got a wife and seven bairns,
I like far better than thee.'
Sat high upon the tree:
'Gang on, gang on, O Burd Alone,
[He likes nane better nor thee.]
He likes better than thee,
And the nearest way to Lord John's hall
Is only short miles three.'
Lords, knights and ladies braw
Was there to welcome them hame;
But the bravest in the ha,
She waited at Lord John's back,
Serving the tables a'.
Amang the servants a' ilk ane,
The mother heard a babie greet,
And a lady make a heavy maen.
'Bind on thy hose and shoon;
Thow might hae got some other lady
Than a lady big wi bairn.'
Where his lady lay;
'O rise, O rise, my love,' he says,
'O rise and let me in;
It's I have got no loves without,
But I've got one within.'
I ask three favours of thee;
I ask a bottle of your sma, sma beer,
For your old son and me.'
'O rise and let me in;
My wine and gin is at your command,
And that of my old son.'
The next favour I ask of thee,
Is the meanest room in all your house,
For your young son and me.
The next favour I ask of thee,
Is the meanest maid in a' your house,
To wait on your yong son and me.'
'O rise and let me in;
For thy bridal and thy banquet day
Shall both be held in ane.'
I
Communicated by Dr Thomas Davidson, as learned from his aunt at Old Deer, about 185
Just on his way to ride;
Lady Ellen stands in her bower-door,
Says, Bide, Lord John, abide!
A lief-lang simmer's day,
Until they came till a wan water,
That a' man did ca Tay.
She steppit tae the cweet;
An sichan said that gay lady,
I fear this water's deep!
She steppit tae the knee;
An sichan said that gay lady,
This water's deep for me!
Said, Lady, will ye ride?
'O no! O no! kind sir,' she said,
'I'll rather choose tae wide.'
She steppit tae the chin;
An sichan said that gay lady,
I'll wide nae farrer in.
She got a leash o huns tae lead,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
An a' was ready tae dine,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
An a' were bound for bed,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
J
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 30.
Says he, I will gae ride;
A lady stands in her bower-door,
Says, I'll ride by your side.
Except ye do this deed;
That is, to saddle to me my horse,
And bridle to me my steed,
And every town that ye come to,
A liesh o hounds to lead.'
Sae will I bridle your steed;
And every town that we come to,
A liesh o hounds I'll lead.'
That wear scarlet and brown;
In virtue leave your lammas beds,
To follow knights frae town.
And you the dust and bran;
And you will sigh, and say, alas!
That eer our loves began.'
And I the dust and bran;
Yet will I sing, and say, well's me,
That eer our loves began.'
And you the water wan;
And then you'll sigh, and say, alas!
That eer our loves began.'
And I the water wan;
But yet I'll sing, and say, well's me,
That eer our loves began.'
[Pg 97]
And straight awa did ride;
Burd Helen, drest in men's array,
She walked by his side.
As ance woud bid her ride,
And she was neer sae mean a may
As ance woud bid him bide.
A livelang summer's tide,
Until she came to wan water,
For a' men ca's it Clyde.
She wadit to the knee;
'Ohon, alas!' said that fair maid,
'This water's nae for me!'
She wadit to the pap;
The babe within her sides twa,
Cauld water gart it quack.
For a' this winna dee;
Your father rides on high horseback,
Minds neither you nor me.'
There stands a yird-fast stone;
There he leant him ower his saddle-bow,
And set that lady on,
And brought her to the other side,
Then set her down again.
And gowd towers stand sae hie?
There is a lady in yonder bower
Will sinder you and me.'
She neer wishd nane to me;
But I wish the maid maist o your love
That drees far mair for thee.
She neer comes in my thought;
But I wish the maid maist o your love
That dearest hae you bought.'
Led Willie thro bower and ha;
But the fairest lady amo them a'
Led his horse to the sta.
Were a' at dinner set;
Burd Helen sat at a by-table,
A bit she coudna eat.
A skilly dame was she:
'O whare got ye this fine foot-page
Ye've brought alang wi thee?
Sometimes it waxes wan;
He is liker a woman big wi bairn
Nor be a waiting man.'
'At my bidding to be,
And gang and supper my gude steed,
See he be litterd tee.'
Shut tee the door wi a pin,
And even amang Willie's horse feet
Brought hame her bonny young son.
And a' man bound for bed,
Sweet Willie and Dow Isbel
In ae chamber were laid.
Nor yet well faen asleep,
Till up it wakens Sweet Willie,
And stood at Dow Isbel's feet.
I wish it may be for guid;
Some rogue hae broke my stable-door,
And stown awa my steed.
At my bidding to be,
And ye'll gae to my stable-door,
See that be true or lie.'
[Pg 98]
She heard a grievous groan;
She thought she heard a bairn greet,
But and a woman's moan.
I wore but what I would;
This night I'm lighter 'mang Willie's horse feet,
I fear I'll die for cold.
I wore gold to my tae;
This night I'm lighter mang Willie's horse feet,
And fear I'll die or day.
I wore scarlet and green;
This night I'm lighter mang Willie's horse feet,
And fear I'll die my lane.'
As fast as gang coud she;
'I thought your page was not a man,
Ye brought alang wi thee.
I heard a grievous groan;
I thought I heard a bairn greet,
But and a woman's moan.
She wore but what she would;
But this night is lighter mang your horse feet,
And fears she'll die for cold.
She wore gold to her tae;
But this night is lighter mang your horse feet,
And fears she'll die or day.
At my bidding to be,
And speak some comfort to the maid,
That's dreed sae much for thee.'
As fast as gang coud he;
'O open, O open, Burd Helen,' he says,
'Ye'll open the door to me.'
And hope it's never be mine,
A knight into her companie,
When she drees a' her pine.'
'O open the door to me;
For as my sword hangs by my gair,
I'll gar it gang in three.'
How can I open to thee,
When lying amang your great steed's feet,
Your young son on my knee?'
Sae did he wi his knee,
Till doors o deal, and locks o steel,
In splinders gart he flee.
An asking ye'll grant me;
The warst in bower in a' your towers,
For thy young son and me.'
But granted it shall be;
The best in bower in a' my towers,
For my young son and thee.'
An asking ye'll grant me;
The warst an woman about your bowers,
To wait on him and me.'
To wait on him and thee,
And that's my sister Dow Isbel,
And a gude woman is she.
And wash him wi the milk;
And ye'll take up my gay lady,
And row her in the silk.
Be favourable, if ye may;
Her kirking and her fair wedding
Shall baith stand on ae day.
But her shall be my bride,
And all is for the fair speeches
I got frae her at Clyde.'
A.
And throughout for &.
183, 193, 221, 231. four and twenty, MS. has 24.
266. [rich]. Percy.
272. they way.
281. goe thy.
283. ffarest.
285, 295. armes 2.
311. this and itt droue now. The emendation, made without confidence, assumes, as does that to 313, and to be used as in 'Sir Cawline.'
323. did on.
B. a.
212. An a' man.
b.
11. I forbid you.
13. To leave your father's families.
14. And follow... frae the.
21. I am a gay ladie.
22. wear.
23. father's castle.
31, 3 stands.
32. Says I am boon to ride.
34. Says I'll run by your side.
41. He has mounted on his berry brown steed.
43. She's clad her in a page's weed.
44. And ay as fast.
52. An folks.
53. He's lookd oer.
54. Says Ellen will you ride.
61. O I learnd it when I was a bairn.
71, 81, 91. that ladie.
72. It was aboon her knee.
73. Says Bird Ellen.
82. It was up till.
83. Ohon alas says Bird Ellen.
91. The thirden step.
92. touched her pap.
93. The bairn between her sides twa.
94. begood to.
102. You gie your mother pain.
104. And cares little for us twain.
111. O wanting. Clyde's.
112. There stands.
113. He has turnd about his berry brown steed.
114. And taen her up him behind.
124. Where this night you mean to be.
131. Do not ye see.
132. so far and hie.
133. ladie there, he says.
Should sunder you and me,
Betide my life, betide my death,
I will go thither and see.
152, 162. brown.
153. Then you will.
154. That ever you lovd a man.
161. O 'tis I shall.
That ever I lovd a man.
And you shall eat the corn.
173. You then will.
181. O I shall eat the baken meat.
183. And I still shall bless.
204. her lane.
212. a' were.
22=a 23. 3. O I can neither eat nor drink.
23=a 22. 3. O I can neither eat nor drink.
You have brought hame to me?
251. cheeks look.
252. pale and wan.
253. He looks mair like a ladie wi bairn.
And a loud laugh laughed he;
Says, He's a squire's ae dear son,
I got in the north countrie.
271. Win up, win up.
273. And so.
274. As fast as ever I may.
And the corn in her right hand,
And she's hied her to the stable-door,
As fast as she could gang.
292. Stand nearer to.
293. between my sides.
301, 2.
And gien a grieveous groan.
304. brought home a son.
31=a 31, 32.
As she stood on the stair,
'I think I hear a woman groan,
And a bairn greeting sair.'
32=a 33.
1. O quickly, quickly raise he up.
3. But hied him to the stable-door.
33, wanting in a.
'O open and let me in,
Or baith the door and the door cheeks
Into the floor I'll fling.'
And pushed it wi his knee,
Till iron bolts and iron bars
In flinders he has gard flee:
'Be not afraid, Bird Ellen,' he says,
'For there's nane win in but me.'
35, wanting in a.
As on the floor she lay,
But hushd her young son in her arms
And turnd his face away.
36=a 35.
And wash him wi the milk,
And up ye take my fair ladie,
And row her i the silk.'
a 36 is wanting in b.
And cast awa your care,
For I'll make you ladie of a' my lands,
And your son shall be my heir.'
'That I followd you frae the town,
For I'd rather far be your foot-page
Than the queen that wears the crown.'
C.
The stanzas bracketed are those which Kinloch interpolated in his later copy.
27, 31, 32, were derived from D.
221. In his later copy Kinloch has made the change, Win up, win up, my bonnie boy.
E.
204. Or lyin: see G 14.
G.
226. Aye.
H.
54. This line is included in () in the MS., and was probably supplied by Motherwell.
I.
33, 43, 63. sichan: MS. "sich an, perhaps sichin."
J.
43 seems to be a corruption of I forbid you leave your families, or something of the kind: cf. B a 11, 3.
101. The knight seems to be lack (wanting) rather in not bidding, or letting, her ride; his lack is nothing but his leave; but as the idea may conceivably be that it would be unknightly to ride with a lady behind—all ballads to the contrary—no emendation has been attempted.
213. five foot page.
FOOTNOTES:
[82] Caution is imperative where so much ground is covered, and no man should be confident that he can do absolute justice to poetry in a tongue that he was not born to; but foreign poetry is as likely to be rated too high as to be undervalued. I will give Grundtvig's impression, at least as competent a judge of popular ballads as ever spoke: "Den Rigdom paa stemningsfuld Lyrik, som i det hele taget hjemler den engelsk-skotske Folkevise den højeste poetiske Rang mellem alle sine Søskende, kommer ogsaa her til Syne, fordelt paa alle Opskrifter." Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, V, 187.
[83] Except in Swedish A, where, apparently by a mixture of two stories, the issue is tragic.
64
FAIR JANET
A. 'Fair Janet,' Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 1.
B. 'Fair Janet and Sweet William,' Motherwell's MS., p. 357.
C. 'Willie and Annet,' Herd's Scots Songs, 1769, p. 303.
D. 'Lord William,' Motherwell's MS., p. 271.
E. 'Willie and Janet,' Kinloch MSS, V, 283, II, 41.
F. 'Sweet Willie and Fair Maisry,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 97; Motherwell's MS., p. 606.
G. 'Sweet Willie,' Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 61.
G, as printed by Finlay, was made up from various fragments. Of his twenty-seven stanzas fourteen were taken from C, and these are now omitted. A 13, D 5, G 4, 5, C 19, are found also in some copies of 'Fair Annie of Lochroyan;' C 19 also in 'Sweet Willie and Fair Annie.' The very inappropriate question in F 4, "O will ye gang to the cards, Meggie," occurs in Jamieson's 'Clerk Saunders,' I, 84, st. 5. The inquiry in G 1, "Will you burn for Sweet Willie?" may probably have been suggested by the ballad of 'Lady Maisry.' We[Pg 101] have the oath by the thorn, G 13, in 'Glasgerion.' For the conclusion of A, E, see No 7, I, 96 ff.
Fair Janet, A, B, E [Annet, Maisry], loving Sweet Willie, and on the point of becoming a mother by him, is destined by her father to marry a French lord, A; a Southland lord, B, E, G. She implores Willie to fly with her over sea, B, C; to good green wood, F. They set sail, but her condition obliges her to return, B; her time comes before they can get away, C. She bears a child.[84] To avoid discovery, the babe is taken to Willie's mother, who very readily assumes charge of it. Scarcely has the child been born, when Janet's father comes with orders to busk the bride, A, B, C (?), E, F. She begs to be tenderly handled, as not being in good plight. They attire her gayly, and she selects Willie to lead her horse, or ride before her on her horse, to church, A, B, E. Her cheek is pale, her color goes and comes; it is suspected, and even suggested, that she has borne a bairn, or is near to doing so, A 22, C 14, D 10, E 11, F 25. She seeks to clear herself by an ambiguous oath, E 12, G 26, 27; Willie does this for her, G 11. After dinner, or supper, A, B, dancing is in order. Janet makes excuses to her brothers, her father, the bridegroom's man, and declines very decidedly the bridegroom's own invitation, with marked asperity in A, B. But with Willie she will dance though her heart should break in three. She takes three turns, and falls down dead. Willie gives the key of his coffer to his man, and bids him tell his mother that his horse has slain him. He would not survive Janet in any pure and full form of the story, and does not in A, C, E.
'Sweet William,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 307, borrows some stanzas at the beginning from 'Fair Janet.'
There are points of resemblance between 'Fair Janet' and a ballad very popular in Scandinavia and in Germany, which demand notice, though they may not warrant the assumption of community of origin.
The Scandinavian ballad is: Danish, 'Kong Valdemar og hans Søster,' Grundtvig, No 126, III, 63 ff, 911 f, A-I; G from a sixteenth-century manuscript, A-F from seventeenth-century manuscripts or print, the two last from recent tradition. Icelandic, 'Soffíu kvæði,' Íslenzk Fornkvæði, No 52, II, 152, A-F, all of which, according to Grundtvig, must be put, at latest, in the seventeenth century, though some are first met with in the eighteenth. Färoë, a single copy, almost Danish, from the beginning of this century, printed by Grundtvig, III, 67 f. Norwegian, three copies from recent tradition, Grundtvig, III, 69, 913 f. Swedish, all from this century, 'Liten Kerstin och Fru Sofia,' Arwidsson, No 53, I, 335-51, A-E; F, G, in Cavallius and Stephens' collection, Grundtvig, III, 70; H, 'Liten Kerstin och drottning Sofia,' Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 79.[85]
The German ballad is: A. 'Graf Hans von Holstein und seine Schwester Annchristine,' Müllenhoff, p. 492, No 48. B. 'Der grobe Bruder,' Wunderhorn, II, 272, 1808, Birlinger und Crecelius, II, 24. C. 'Der grausame Bruder,' Parisius, p. 38, No 12, A. D. 'Das Lied vom Pfalzgrafen,' Düntzer und Herder, Briefe Goethe's an Herder, I, 154. E. 'Der grausame Bruder,' Erk, Liederhort, p. 153, No 45. F. 'Christinchen,' Pröhle, p. 4, No 2. G. Wunderhorn, Birlinger und Crecelius, II, 247, No 4. H. Parisius, No 12, C. I. Reifferscheid, p. 107. J. 'Der böse Bruder,' Zuccalmaglio, p. 185, No 89. K. 'Der Pfalzgraf vom Rhein,' Wunderhorn, I, 259, 1806, Birlinger und Crecelius, II, 24. L. 'Der grausame Bruder,' Hoffmann und Richter, Schlesische Volkslieder, p. 49, No 27. M. Parisius, No 12, B. A version in broadside style, Erlach, II, 585, Doenniges, p. 217; compounded copies,[Pg 102] Simrock, No 16, Scherer, Jungbrunnen, No 35, A.
According to the Scandinavian story, a king is informed by his queen, her inexorable enemy, that Kirstin, his sister, has just borne a child. The king sends for Kirstin, who is at some distance, to come to him immediately. She is obliged to make the journey on horseback. Upon her arrival the king puts her to a variety of tests, among these a long dance. Kirstin comes off so well that her brother says the queen has belied her. The queen then bares Kirstin's breast and makes milk flow from it. The king hereupon sends for heavy whips, and flogs his sister to the point of death. In the Icelandic and Färöe versions Kirstin dies of the dance, in her brother's arms. In the Swedish versions and in Danish I the king is Kirstin's father, not her brother. The Norwegian versions and Swedish F, H have a false conclusion: Kirstin survives, and is united to her lover. In Danish A the king had, before he learned the state of things, promised his sister to the son of the King of England, and in Danish F, H, I, Swedish F, and the Färöe ballad, Kirstin's lover is an English prince, who, in Danish H, comes to claim his mistress, and, finding her dead, kills the king. In Swedish A Kirstin dances with four, dances with five, dances with all the men of the court, and in Swedish C, H she tires out successively all the courtiers, the king, and the queen.
A, far the best preserved of the German versions, makes a hunter ask a count for his sister Annchristine. Being refused, as an unequal match, he tells the count that his sister, for all her nobility, has borne a child. The count maintains Annchristine to be a maid. The hunter says, Send for her, and see. The young lady is required to come on horseback. When her brother sees her approaching, with her long hair flowing, his confidence is strengthened. The hunter says, Make her dance. She dances seven hours, and her brother finds reason to continue of the same mind as before. The hunter says, Let us tighten her lacing, and, when that is done, milk springs from her breasts. Her brother gives her the choice between whipping and the sword. She chooses the former. He beats her till liver and lungs spring from her body. She then calls on him to stop; Prince Frederick of England is his brother-in-law. The count is much troubled, and promises everything if she will live. But Annchristine dies, and presently Prince Frederick appears. He has heard of what the count has done, cuts him to bits, and gives him to the crows.
In the other German versions the informant is generally of low rank, and sometimes professes to be father of the child. In B, C, G, H, K he is a kitchey-boy, a personage who plays no insignificant part in romantic story. The coming on horseback is wanting. The long dance is found in B-F. The father of the child is always the English King, who runs the brother through with his sword, B, D, E, G, K, L, or otherwise gives him his due.
The slight resemblance and the great difference of the Scottish story are apparent. Fair Janet has to go a certain distance on horseback, at a time when she is peculiarly ill fitted to do so, like the hapless Kirstin of the Scandinavian ballads and the German A, and she dies from dancing in her weak condition, as the lady does in the Icelandic and Färöe ballad. But both the ride and the dance are incidental to her forced marriage, and neither the ride nor the dance is employed as a test, as the dance always is in the other ballad, and as the ride is expressly devised to be in German A 6. The Scottish Janet is not constrained to dance, nor does she dance down all the men in the room. She declines every invitation except Willie's, and this, in some cases, she (very naturally and touchingly) encourages or incites; and her vital powers give way after three turns. All the unspeakably ferocious features of the Norse and German ballads are wanting, and the bound which divides the pathetic from the horrible is never passed.
A Breton ballad, 'Ar C'homt Gwillou,' 'Prinses ar Gwillou,' 'Le Comte Guillou,' 'La Princesse Le Guillou,' Luzel, II, 6-15, in three versions, has the probation by dancing. A count or prince, returning to his mistress after a considerable absence, happens to hear a shep[Pg 103]herdess singing a song, of which he himself is unfortunately the subject. The lady has had a child. Fearing to encounter her injured lover, she tries to pass off a younger sister for herself, but, as may be imagined, this desperate artifice does not succeed. She is told what is said of her, and hopes she may melt like butter if ever she had daughter or son. The count calls out, Play up, musicians, that we may see how this damsel will step out. The young woman pleads that she is suffering from fever, and cannot dance just now, but the count strikes her on the breast so that milk spurts on her gown, A. He kills her.[86]
There is also a Magyar ballad, in which a jealous or offended lover makes his mistress dance till her boots are full of blood, as Kjersti's are in Norwegian A, B: 'Darvas Kis Clement,' Aigner, p. 110.
One or two correspondences with the Scandinavian-German ballad will require to be noted under 'Lady Maisry,' which immediately follows.
A is translated by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 7; F by Gerhard, p. 97; a combination of A, C and others by Grundtvig, No 39.
A
Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 1, as sung by an old woman in Perthshire.
Ye maun gang to him soon;
Ye maun gang to your father, Janet,
In case that his days are dune.'
As fast as she could hie:
'O what's your will wi me, father?
O what's your will wi me?'
'It is both bed and board;
Some say that ye loe Sweet Willie,
But ye maun wed a French lord.'
A French lord maun I wed?
Then, by my sooth,' quo Fair Janet,
'He's neer enter my bed.'
As fast as she could go;
Wha's the first ane that tapped there,
But Sweet Willie her jo?
That has been lang between;
There's a French lord coming oer the sea,
To wed me wi a ring;
There's a French lord coming oer the sea,
To wed and tak me hame.'
It causeth mickle woe;
If we maun part this love, Janet,
It makes me into mourning go.'
Meg, Marion, and Jean;
Tell them to come to Fair Janet,
In case that her days are dune.'
Meg, Marion, and Jean:
'O haste, and gang to Fair Janet,
I fear that her days are dune.'
Some drew to them their shoon,
Some drew to them their silk manteils,
Their coverings to put on,
And they're awa to Fair Janet,
By the hie light o the moon.
Wi mickle toil and pain;
[Pg 104] Take hame, take hame, your babe, Willie,
For nurse I dare be nane.'
And kisst him cheek and chin,
And he's awa to his mother's bower,
By the hie light o the moon.
'O open, and let me in;
The rain rains on my yellow hair,
And the dew drops oer my chin,
And I hae my young son in my arms,
I fear that his days are dune.'
She lifted up the pin,
And with her arms lang and sma
Received the baby in.
And comfort your fair lady;
For where ye had but ae nourice,
Your young son shall hae three.'
And the lady put to bed,
Whan in and came her father dear:
'Make haste, and busk the bride.'
There's a sair pain in my side;
And ill, O ill, am I, father,
This day for to be a bride.'
And put a gay mantle on;
For she shall wed this auld French lord,
Gin she should die the morn.'
And some put on the brown;
But Janet put on the scarlet robes,
To shine foremost throw the town.
And some mounted the brown;
But Janet mounted the milk-white steed,
To ride foremost throw the town.
O wha will guide him best?'
'O wha but Willie, my true-love?
He kens I loe him best.'
To tye the haly ban,
Fair Janet's cheek looked pale and wan,
And her colour gaed an cam.
And dancing to begin,
'O we'll go take the bride's maidens.
And we'll go fill the ring.'
Saying, Bride, will ye dance with me?
'Awa, awa, ye auld French lord,
Your face I downa see.'
He cam with ane advance:
'O I'll go tak the bride's maidens,
And we'll go tak a dance.'
And so has mony mae,
Ye would hae danced wi me mysel,
Let a' my maidens gae.'
Saying, Bride, will ye dance wi me?
'Aye, by my sooth, and that I will,
Gin my back should break in three.'
Throw the dance but thrice,
Whan she fell doun at Willie's feet,
And up did never rise.
And gien it to his man:
'Gae hame, and tell my mother dear
My horse he has me slain;
Bid her be kind to my young son,
For father he has nane.'
And the tither in Marie's quire;
Out of the tane there grew a birk,
And the tither a bonny brier.
B
Motherwell's MS., p. 357, from the recitation of Agnes Lyle, Kilbarchan.
Ye'll shew to me truelie;
Ye'll build to me a bonnie ship,
And set her on the sea.'
He shewed to her trulie;
He builded her a bonnie ship,
And set her on the sea.
One league but only three,
Till sharp, sharp showers fair Janet took,
She grew sick and like to die.
Ye'll shew to me trulye;
Ye'll tak me to my mother's bower,
Whare I was wont to be.'
He shewed to her trulye;
He took her to her mother's bower,
Whare she was wont to be.
You will on tiptaes stand,
Until you hear your auld son weep,
But an your Janet mourn.
He is both large and lang;
Come take your auld son in your arms,
And for a nourice gang.'
An hour or it struck nine:
'I have a babe into my arms,
He'll die for nouricing.'
'And mak thy Jenny blythe;
If ae nurse winna sere her son,
It's I'll provide him five.'
Nor weel doun on her side,
Till ben and cam her father dear,
Saying, Wha will busk our bride?
Saying, Wha will busk our bride?
And wha will saddle our bride's horse?
Whom ahint will she ride?
And let your folly be,
For I'm sae fair and full of hair
Sma busking will serve me.
And let your folly be,
For I will ride behint William,
He will best wait on me.
And lead the bridle soun,
And when we come to Mary's Kirk,
Ye'll set me hooly down.'
Nor musick weel fa'n to,
Till ben and cam the bride's brethren,
Saying, Bride, ye'll dance wi me:
'Awa, awa, my brethren dear,
For dancing's no for me.'
Saying, Bride, ye'll dance wi me;
She says, Awa, awa, ye southland dog,
Your face I downa see.
Saying, Bride, ye'll dance wi me:
'Oh I will dance the floor once owre,
Tho my heart should break in three.'
'Let no such things eer be;
But I will cut my glove in two,
And I'll dance for thee and me.'
I'm sure she hadna thrice,
Till she fell in a deadly swound,
And from it neer did rise.
And an angry man was he:
'This day she has gien me the geeks,
Yet she must bear the scorn;
There's not a bell in merry Linkum
Shall ring for her the morn.'
[Pg 106]
And a sorry man was he:
'Altho she has gien you the gecks,
She will not bear the scorn;
There's not a bell in merry Linkum
But shall ring for her the morn.'
But they tinkled and they rang,
And a' the birds that flew above,
They changed their notes and sang.
C
Herd's Scots Songs, 1769, p. 303: I, 162, ed. 1776.
And they luvd ither weel;
Frae evning late to morning aire
Of luving luvd their fill.
As sae it seems to me,
Gar build, gar build a bonny schip,
Gar build it speedilie.
Unto some far countrie,
Or we'll sail to some bonie isle,
Stands lanely midst the sea.'
Or deckd, or rigged out,
Came sick a pain in Annet's back
That down she coud na lout.
As sae it seems to me,
O haste, haste, bring me to my bowr,
And my bowr-maidens three.'
And kissd her, cheik and chin;
He's brocht her to her ain sweet bowr,
But nae bowr-maid was in.
'Now leave me to my lane;
Was nevir man in a lady's bower
When she was travelling.'
Upon the marble stane;
Sae loud's he heard his young son's greet,
But and his lady's mane!
'Tak your young son frae me,
And hie him to your mother's bower,
With speed and privacie.'
He's kissd him, cheik and chin;
He's hied him to his mother's bower,
By th' ae light of the moon.
And he spake up wi pride:
'Gar seek, gar seek the bower-maidens,
Gar busk, gar busk the bryde.'
And easy with my side;
O set my saddle saft, Willie,
I am a tender bryde.'
They gied her a broch and ring,
And when she came to...,
They had a fair wedding.
And blinkit wi his ee:
'I trow this lady's born a bairn,'
Then laucht loud lauchters three.
And he spake up wi pryde:
'Gin I should pawn my wedding-gloves,
I will dance wi the bryde.'
'Wi dancing let me be;
I am sae thin in flesh and blude,
Sma dancing will serve me.'
The tear blinded her ee:
'But I wad dance wi my true-luve,
But bursts my heart in three.'
Her garter frae her knee:
[Pg 107] 'Gie that, gie that to my young son,
He'll neer his mother see.'
Gar deal, gar deal the wyne;
This day hath seen my true-love's death,
This nicht shall witness myne.'
D
Motherwell's MS., p. 271, "from Margery Johnston, who had it of her grand-aunt, a very old woman."
As little will 't be mine,
For to hae gay lords within my room
When ladies are travailing.'
A step but only ane,
Till he heard his auld son gie a cry,
And his lady a heavy maen.
'Take thy auld son in thy coat-neuk,
And see and reach thy mother's bowers
Twa hours before day comes.'
As fast as he can run,
And there he's reached his mother's bowers,
Twa hours before day came.
O rise and let me in,
For I've my auld son in my coat-neuk,
And he shivers at the chin.'
And so is thy auld son;
It's where ye had but ae nourice,
Thy auld son he'll hae four.'
Nor well faln owre asleep,
When four and twenty knights and lords
Came for the bride at last.
They dressed her wondrous fine,
And just before her ain bedside
She lost her colour clean.
Be hooly wi my hair,
For it was washen late last night,
And now it's very sair.'
And oh but he spak bauld:
'She is the likest that bore a child
That eer my eyes did see.'
And oh he spoke in time:
'She neer bore a child since her birth
Except it was yestreen.'
'It's bride, will ye dance wi me?'
'Oh no, oh no, you northland lord,
It's dancing's no for me.'
'It's bride, will ye dance wi me?'
'Oh no, oh no, you southland lord,
I would as lief chuse to die.'
'O bride, will ye dance wi me?'
'Oh no, oh no, my ain bridegroom,
It's dancing's no for me.'
And oh he spoke fu fine:
'O bride, O bride, will ye dance wi me,'
. . . . . . .
'It's I will dance with thee;
Oh yes, I'll dance, dear Willie,' she said,
'Tho my back it gaes in three.'
And her back unto the wa:
'O there's the key of my coffer,
And pay weel the nouriss fee,
And aye when ye look on your auld son,
Ye may aye think on me.'
E
Kinloch MSS, V, 283, II, 41, from Mary Barr, Clydesdale.
Sat a' day on yon hill;
And Janet she took sair pains,
And O but she grew ill.
O fetch a woman to me,
For without the help of woman, Willie,
Surely I will dee.'
That naething I may see,
And what can a woman do, Janet,
But I will do for thee?'
Nor yet laid on her side,
Till in and cam her father there,
Crying, Fy, gae busk the bride.
A wearyed bride am I;
Must I gae wed that southlan lord,
And let Sweet Willie abe?'
What shall your cleeding be;
Now chuse, now chuse now, Fair Janet,
And I will gie it to thee.
Or of the holland green;
Or will you hae it of the crimson red,
Most lovely to be seen?'
Nor yet o the holly green;
But I will hae't of the crimson red,
Most lovely to be seen.'
What man you'll ride behind:'
'O wha sae fitting as Sweet Willie?
He'll fit my saddle fine.'
Till they cam to Merrytown green;
But Sweet Willie and Fair Janet
Cam aye hoolie ahin.
And lighted on the green,
Monie a bluidy aith was sworn
That our bride was wi bairn.
And she swore by her fingers ten:
'If eer I was wi bairn in my life,
I was lighter sin yestreen.'
Says, Bride, will ye dance wi me?
'Dance on, dance on, bridegroom,' she says,
'For I'll dance nane wi thee.'
Says, Bride, will ye dance wi me?
'Dance on, my father,' she replied,
'I pray thee let me be.'
And he had meikle pride:
'I'll lay my gloves in the bride's han,
And I'll dance for the bride.'
O no, that shall na be;
For I will dance wi thee, Willie,
Tho my back should fa in three.'
A reel but barely three,
Till pale and wan grew Fair Janet,
And her head took Willie's knee.
And he spake wi great scorn:
'There's not a bell in Merrytown kirk
Shall ring for her the morn.'
And his heart was almost gane:
''Tis a the bells in Merrytown kirk
Shall ring for her the morn.'
etc., etc., etc.
F
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 97; Motherwell's MS., p. 606.
And Willie my love shall be;
They're thinking to sinder our lang love, Willie;
It's mair than man can dee.
A milk-white steed or gray,
And carry me on to gude greenwood,
Before that it be day.'
He chose a steed o gray;
He had her on to gude greenwood,
Before that it was day.
Or will ye gang wi me?
Or will ye hae a bower-woman,
To stay ere it be day?'
'Nor will I gae wi thee,
Nor will I hae a bower-woman,
To spoil my modestie.
An a lady me beforn,
An a midwife at my twa sides,
Till your young son be born.
To the top o yon greenwood tree;
For every pain myself shall hae,
The same pain ye maun drie.'
It was into the side;
Then sighing sair said Sweet Willie,
These pains are ill to bide!
It was into the back;
Then sighing sair said Sweet Willie,
These pains are women's wreck!
It was into the head;
Then sighing sair said Sweet Willie,
I fear my lady's dead!
At the foot o yon greenwood tree;
There he got his lady lighter,
Wi his young son on her knee.
And kissd him, cheek and chin,
And he is on to his mother,
As fast as he could gang.
Gie him to nurses nine;
Three to wauk, and three to sleep,
And three to gang between.'
And frae her he has gane,
And he is back to his lady,
And safely brought her hame.
Was belted in a brand:
'It's nae time for brides to lye in bed,
When the bridegroom 's send 's in town.
A' lighted on the green;
The fairest knight amang them a',
He must be your bridegroom.'
And wha will glove my hand?
And wha will prin my sma middle,
Wi the short prin and the lang?'
Who knew her troubles best:
'It is my duty for to serve,
As I'm come here as guest.
And I will glove your hand,
And I will prin your sma middle,
Wi the sma prin and the lang.'
'And gar my bridle ring?
And wha will hae me to gude church-door,
This day I'm ill abound?'
And gar your bridle ring,
And I'll hae you to gude church-door,
And safely set you down.'
[Pg 110]
And healy set me down,
And set my back until a wa,
My foot to yird-fast stane.'
And healy set her down,
And set her back until a wa,
Her foot to yird-fast stane.
And a' had thornd fine,
The bride's father he took the cup,
For to serve out the wine.
An ill death mat he die!
'I fear our bride she's born a bairn,
Or else has it a dee.'
And deeply has she sworn;
'If I hae born a bairn,' she says,
'Sin yesterday at morn,
'Sin yesterday at noon,
There's nae a lady amang you a'
That woud been here sae soon.'
Mischance come ower his heel!
'Win up, win up, now bride,' he says,
'And dance a shamefu reel.'
And a sorry heart had she:
'Is there nae ane amang you a'
Will dance this dance for me?'
And he spake aye thro pride:
'O draw my boots for me, bridegroom,
Or I dance for your bride.'
O na, this maunna be;
For I will dance this dance mysell,
Tho my back shoud gang in three.
Nor yet well on the green,
Till she fell down at Willie's feet
As cauld as ony stane.
And haed her up the stair;
Then up it came her jolly bridegroom,
Says, What's your business there?
And dang him down the stair,
And brake three ribs o the bridegroom's side,
And a word he spake nae mair.
When she was lying dead;
But a' was for him Sweet Willie,
On the fields for he ran mad.
G
Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 61.
A queen of fair England to be?
Or will you burn for Sweet Willie,
The morn upon yon lea?'
Father, sen it is your will;
But I'd rather it were my burial-day,
For my grave I'm going till.
O go now hastilie,
O go now to Sweet Willie's bower,
And bid him cum speak to me.'
As fast as he could rin:
'Open, open, my mother dear,
Open, and let me in.
The dew stands on my chin,
And I have something in my lap,
And I wad fain be in.'
[Pg 111]
And make your lady blithe,
For wherever you had ae nourice,
Your young son shall hae five.'
An she spak a word o' pride;
Says, Whare is a' our bride's maidens,
They're no busking the bride?
Your speaking let it be,
For I'm sae fair and full o flesh
Little busking will serve me.'
They spak a word o pride;
Says, Whare is a' the fine cleiding?
It's we maun busk the bride.
Deal hooly wi my hair;
For it was washen late yestreen,
And it is wonder sair.'
And he swore by the thorn,
That she was as free o a child that night
As the night that she was born.
But I'll gie you the scorn;
For there's no a bell in a' the town
Shall ring for you the morn.'
Sae loud's I hear you lie!
There's no a bell in a' the town
But shall ring for Annet and me.
E.
The copy in Kinloch MSS, II, 41, has been revised by Mr Kinloch. His more important changes are as follows:
11. Sweet Willie.
13. took in labor-pains.
21. Gae fetch.
23. For but.
24. It's surely.
33. And what a woman can do, Janet.
34. That I.
44. Says, Fy.
61, 3. now chuse thee, Fair Janet.
72, 82. hollin.
102, 111, 183, 193. Marytoun.
104. Cam riding.
121. Then out.
144. ye let me abee.
181. the bridegroom then.
191. But out.
192. His heart.
Sweet Willie in Mary's quier,
And out o the tane there sprang a rose,
Out o the tither a brier.
Till thae twa they did meet,
That ilka ane might plainly see
They war twa lovers sweet.
G.
13. Var. mourn for. 11, in Finlay, follows 13. Fourteen stanzas, taken from C, have been omitted.
FOOTNOTES:
[84] She bids Willie leave her bower while she is in travail, C 7; in default of bower-woman, Willie offers to bandage his eyes and do a woman's part, E 3, after which a stanza is doubtless lost, in which man's aid would be rejected: cf. No 15, I, 182. F has a strange passage, 6-10 (belonging, perhaps, to 'Leesome Brand'), in which the lady, after asking that she may have the attendance of three women, selects the top of a tree for her labor, and informs Willie that he will have to drie every pain that she herself has, which experience duly follows.
[85] Danish E is translated by Prior, II, 99.
[86] La Fidanzata Infedele, Nigra, Rivista Contemporanea, XXXI, 21, and 'L'adultera,' Ferraro, Canti p. monferrini, p. 5, are the same ballad as the Breton, but the dance is not proposed in these.
65
LADY MAISRY
A. 'Lady Maisry,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 24; Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 73.
B. Motherwell's MS., p. 422, communicated by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe.
C. 'Janet,' Motherwell's MS., p. 472.
D. 'Lady Margery,' Campbell MSS, II, 70.
E. 'Lady Marjory,' Motherwell's MS., p. 1; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 234.
F. The Scots [Edinburgh] Magazine, 1822, LXXXIX 734.
G. Notes and Queries, Second Series, IX, 193.
H. 'Young Prince James,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 103.
I. a. 'Bonnie Susie Cleland,' Motherwell's MS., p. 235, Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 221. b. 'Susie Cleland,' Motherwell's MS., p. 179. c. 'Susie Cleland,' Motherwell's MS., p. 181.
A was No 12 in William Tytler's Brown manuscript, and stanzas 1, 21, 22, of that copy are cited by Anderson in his letter to Percy, Nichols's Illustrations, VII, 177. Jamieson, who made a few changes in printing from his manuscript, attributes, by an oversight, the ballad to Mrs Arrot: compare Popular Ballads, I, pp 66 and 59. His copy is repeated by Motherwell, p. 71. C, of which no account is given by Motherwell, is hardly more than a variety of B. There is a copy in the Abbotsford manuscript, "Scottish Songs," which is more considerably tampered with, in the way of change, omission, and insertion.[87]
All the versions are in accord as to the material points of the story. Lady Maisry rejects the suit of all the lords in the north country, A; she has given her love to an English lord. Her lover's seat is Strawberry Castle, D, E, F; Adam's Tower, H; he lives at London, G. Maisry has been at Strawberry Castle for a time, and has there learned some unco lair, D, E.[88] It is discovered that Maisry goes with bairn. Her brother, A, H, father, I, informed to this effect, requires her to renounce her English lord, but she refuses; her father offers her the choice of marrying an auld man or burning, D. In the other versions the family set about preparations for burning her without attempting any arrangement. Maisry, warned of her approaching fate, calls for a boy to carry word to England, and a light-footed and heartily devoted young messenger takes her errand. The English lord asks if his biggins are broken, his towers won, or is his lady lighter, and is told that his lady is to be burnt for him that very day. Horses are instantly saddled: a black, a brown, are foundered, a milk-white [a dapple-gray], fair fall the mare that foaled that foal! holds out, B, C, E, F. In D fifteen stout steeds are burst, yet the little foot-page runs aye before, crying, Mend your pace an you may! Maisry, in the flames, hears her lover's horn, hears his bridle ring, A, E, F, H. "Beet on!" she cries; "I value you not one straw. Mend up[Pg 113] the fire, brother; I see him coming that will soon mend it up to thee."[89] In A, H she cries out, when her lover appears, that if her hands had been free she would have cast out his young son. He leaps into the fire for a last kiss; her body falls apart, B-G. He threatens an awful retaliation: he will burn father and mother, and the chief of all her kin (who, no doubt, had been concerned in this auto da fé). Vengeance glutted, he will throw himself into the flames, A, F; he will take the pilgrim's cloak and staff, C. The foot-page shall be heir of his land, C; he will remember the bonny boy that ran the errand, E.[90]
Maisry, Margery, is the heroine's name in A, D-H, J; Janet in B, C; Susie Cleland in I. The hero has a name only in A, Lord William, and in H, Prince James.
'Lady Maisry' has a limited, and perhaps quite accidental, resemblance to the Scandinavian-German ballad spoken of in the preface to 'Fair Janet.' The lapse of the heroine is visited with a fearful death at the hand of brother or father, and the lover who was partner to her trespass appears on the scene immediately after, and takes his revenge. A kitchey-boy is informant in A, as in some versions of the German story.
The regular penalty for incontinence in an unmarried woman, if we are to trust the authority of romances, is burning. This, according to the well-known passage in Ariosto, Orlando Furioso, IV, 58, 59, was l'aspra legge di Scozia, empia e severa, though it might be as difficult to point out a law to that effect in any European code as a corresponding patria potestas.[91] Some ballad cases are: Scandinavian (Danish, Swedish, Norwegian, Icelandic), 'Ildpröven' and 'Møen paa Baalet,' Grundtvig, Nos 108, 109, II, 577-590, III, 904 f, Eva Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 30, No 13; Spanish and Portuguese, 'De la infanta y don Galvan,' Wolf and Hofmann, Primavera, No 159, II, 92; 'Conde Claros de Montalvan,' Primavera, No 191, II, 374; 'La infanta seducida,' Milá, Romancerillo Catalan, No 258, A-M, pp 249-54; 'L'infanta,' Briz, IV, 39; 'Dom Carlos de Montealbar,' etc., Braga, Romanceiro, p. 79 ff, Nos 31, 32, 33, Cantos pop. do Archipelago Açoriano, p. 246, No 25, Almeida-Garrett, II, 203; 'Dona Ausenda,' Almeida-Garrett, II, 177, 'Dona Aldonça,' Estacio da Veiga, p. 75; Hardung, Romanceiro Portuguez, I, 180-204. To these add the prose Merlin, ed. Wheatley, I, 16; L'Histoire plaisante du noble Siperis de Vinevaulx, etc., cited by Liebrecht, Dunlop, p. 467, note 117.[92]
A is translated, after Jamieson, I, 73, by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 38; I, a, the same, p. 322.
A
Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 24.
Have all a wooing gone,
To win the love of Lady Maisry,
But o them she woud hae none.
Wi a' kin kind of things;
An they hae sought her Lady Maisry
Wi brotches an wi' rings.
Frae father and frae mother;
An they ha sought her Lady Maisry
Frae sister an frae brother.
Thro chamber an thro ha;
But a' that they coud say to her,
Her answer still was Na.
'An think nae mair o me;
For I've gien my love to an English lord,
An think nae mair o me.'
An ill death may he dee!
An he is on to her brother,
As fast as gang coud he.
But an my brothers three?
Gin my sister Lady Maisry be well,
There's naething can ail me.'
But an your brothers three;
Your sister Lady Maisry's well,
So big wi bairn gangs she.'
My mailison light on thee!
But gin it be a lie you tell,
You sal be hangit hie.'
Wi meikle doole an care;
An there he saw her Lady Maisry,
Kembing her yallow hair.
'That ye sae big are wi?
And gin ye winna own the truth,
This moment ye sall dee.'
An the kem fell frae her han;
A trembling seizd her fair body,
An her rosy cheek grew wan.
An the truth I'll tell to thee;
My bairn it is to Lord William,
An he is betrothd to me.'
Intill your ain country,
That ye draw up wi an English dog,
To bring this shame on me?
Whan youre young babe is born;
For, gin you keep by him an hour langer,
Your life sall be forlorn.'
Till my young babe be born;
But the never a day nor hour langer,
Tho my life should be forlorn.'
Whom I gi meat and fee,
To pu the thistle and the thorn,
To burn this wile whore wi?'
To help me in my need,
To rin wi hast to Lord William,
And bid him come wi speed?'
Stood by her brother's side:
'O I would rin your errand, lady,
Oer a' the world wide.
Whan blawn baith win and weet;
But now I'll rin your errand, lady,
Wi sat tears on my cheek.'
He bent his bow and swam,
[Pg 115] An whan he came to the green grass growin,
He slackd his shoone and ran.
He baed na to chap or ca,
But set his bent bow till his breast,
An lightly lap the wa;
An, or the porter was at the gate,
The boy was i the ha.
Or is my towers won?
Or is my lady lighter yet,
Of a dear daughter or son?'
Nor is your towers won;
But the fairest lady in a' the lan
For you this day maun burn.'
Or saddle me the brown;
O saddle me the swiftest steed
That ever rade frae a town.'
She heard his wild horse sneeze:
'Mend up the fire, my false brother,
It's na come to my knees.'
She heard his bridle ring:
'Mend up the fire, my false brother,
It's far yet frae my chin.
Mend up the fire to me;
For I see him comin hard an fast
Will soon men 't up to thee.
Sae hard as they are boun,
I would have turnd me frae the gleed,
And castin out your young son.'
Your father an your mother;
An I'll gar burn for you, Maisry,
Your sister an your brother.
The chief of a' your kin;
An the last bonfire that I come to,
Mysel I will cast in.'
B
Motherwell's MS., p. 422, communicated by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe.
Stepping on the floor;
Says, It's telling me, my sister Janet,
That you're become a whore.
That's what I'll never be;
I'm no so great a whore, sister,
As liars does on me lee.'
Stepping on the floor;
Says, It's telling me, my sister Janet,
That you're become a whore.'
A whore I'll never be;
I'm no so bad a woman, brother,
As liars does on me lee.'
Stepping on the floor:
'They are telling me, my daughter,
That you're so soon become a whore.'
A whore I'll never be;
I'm only with child to an English lord,
Who promised to marry me.'
Stepping on the floor;
Says, They tell me, my daughter Janet,
That you are become a whore.'
A whore I'll never be;
I'm but with child to an English lord,
Who promisd to marry me.'
The lady's nurse was she,
[Pg 116] And ere she could get out a word
The tear blinded her ee.
Your brother's to the whin;
All for to kindle a bold bonfire,
To burn your body in.'
'Will gain gold for his fee,
That would run unto fair England
For my good lord to me?'
'Will gain gold to his fee,
For he will run to fair England
For thy good lord to thee.'
He bent his bow and swam,
And when he got where grass did grow,
He slacked it and ran.
Stopt not to knock or call,
But set his bent bow to his breast
And lightly leapt the wall;
And ere the porter could open the gate,
The boy was in the hall,
And fell down on his knee:
'What is it, my boy,' he cried,
'Have you brought unto me?
Or is my towers won?
Or is my true-love delivered
Of daughter or of son?'
'Nor is your towers won,
Nor is your true-love delivered
Of daughter nor of son;
But if you do not come in haste,
Be sure she will be gone.
Her brother to the whin,
To kindle up a bold bonfire,
To burn her body in.'
'And do it very soon;
Get unto me the swiftest horse
That ever rade from the town.'
For he was raven black,
He bore him far, and very far,
But failed in a slack.
He was a bonny brown;
He bore him far, and very far,
But did at last fall down.
He as the milk was white;
Fair fall the mare that foaled that foal
Took him to Janet's sight!
Into the fire he lap,
Got one kiss of her comely mouth,
While her body gave a crack.
'This bonfire to set on?
Or who has been so bold,' he says,
'Her body for to burn?'
'This bonfire who set on;
And we have been so bold,' he said,
'Her body for to burn.'
Your father and your mother;
And I'll cause die for you, Janet,
Your sister and your brother.
And mony shed be thin,
And mony wife be made a widow,
And mony ane want their son.'
C
Motherwell's MS., p. 472.
Stepping upon the floor;
Says, It's told me, my daughter Janet,
That you're now become a whore.
That's what I'll never be,
Tho I am with bairn to an English lord,
That first did marry me.'
And sorely did she cry:
'Oh woe is me, my lady fair,
That ever I saw this day!
Your brother's to the whin,
Even to kindle a bold bonefire,
To burn your body in.'
Will win gold to his fee,
That will run on to fair England
For my good lord to me?'
Would win gold to my fee,
And will carry any message for you,
By land or yet by sea.'
He bent his bow and swam,
But when he fand the grass growing,
He slacked it and ran.
Stopt not to knock nor call,
But set his bent bow to his breast,
And lightly lap the wall.
The boy was in the hall,
And in that noble lord's presence
He on his knee did fall.
'Or is my towers won?
Or is my lady lighter yet,
Of daughter or of son?'
'Nor is your towers won,
Nor is your lady lighter yet,
Of daughter or of son;
But if you stay a little time
Her life it will be gone.
Her brother to the whin,
Even to kindle a bold bonfire,
To burn her body in.'
'A brace of horses soon;
Go saddle for me the swiftest steeds
That ever rode to a town.'
For he was as jet black,
He rode him far, and very far,
But he fell down in a slack.
He was a berry brown;
He bore him far, and very far,
But at the last fell down.
He was as milk so white;
Fair fall the mare that foaled the foal
Took him to Janet's lyke!
Into the fire he lap,
Took ae kiss of her comely mouth,
While her body gave a crack.
'This bonfire to set on?
Or who has been so bold,' he cried,
'My true-love for to burn?'
This bonefire to put on;
Her brother cried, We've been so bold
Her body for to burn.
Your father and your brother;
And I shall burn for you, Janet,
Your sister and your mother.
[Pg 118]
And many shed be thin,
And many a wife to be a widow,
And many one want their son.
A staff made of the wand,
And the boy who did your errand run
Shall be heir of my land.'
D
Campbell MSS, II, 70.
And her father's only heir,
And she's away to Strawberry Castle,
To learn some unco lair.
A year but only three,
Till she has proved as big with child,
As big as woman could be.
As he pat on his shoon,
That Lady Margery goes wi child,
Unto some English loon.
As she pat on her gown,
That Lady Margery goes wi child,
Unto some English loon.
The mother she likes her waur,
But her father he wished her in a fire strang,
To burn for ever mair.
To be yeer warldly make?
Or will ye burn in fire strang,
For your true lover's sake?'
To be my worldly make,
But I will burn in fire strang,
For my true lover's sake.'
O who will put of the pan?
And who will build a bale-fire,
To burn her body in.'
The sister took of the pan,
And her mother builded a bold bale-fire,
To burn her body in.
That will run my errand soon?
That will run to Strawberry Castle,
And tell my love to come soon?'
Near to that lady's kin:
'Often have I gane your errands, madam,
But now it is time to rin.'
He tirled at the pin;
There was nane sae ready as that lord himsell
To let the young body in.
Or is my castle wone?
Or is my lady Margery lighter
Of a daughter or a son?'
Nor is your castle wone;
But the fairest lady of a' the land
For thee this day does burn.'
Go saddle to me the brown;
Go saddle to me as swift a steed
As ever man rade on.'
They saddled to him the brown;
They've saddled to him as swift a steed
As ever man rade on.
He bounded for to ride;
The silver buttons lap of his breast,
And his nose began to bleed.
[Pg 119]
And four o them were dappled gray,
And the little foot-page ran aye before,
Crying, Mend it, an ye may!
He lighted wi a glent,
Wi black boots and clean spurs,
And through the fire he went.
And the other beneath her chin;
He thought to get a kiss o her,
But her middle it gade in twain.
'And who has been sae cruel,
To carry the timber from my ain wood
To burn my dearest jewel?
Yeer father and yeer mother;
And I'll burn for ye, Lady Margery,
Yeer sister and yeer brother.
What never was done for nane;
I'll make many lady lemanless,
And many a clothing thin.
The town that yeer burnt in,
And [make] many a baby fatherless,
That's naething o the blame.'
E
Motherwell's MS., p. 1, from the recitation of Mrs Thomson, Kilbarchan, February 25, 1825; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 234.
Her father's only heir, O
And she is awa to Strawberry Castle,
To get some unco lair. O
A twelve month and a day,
Till Lady Marjory she gaes wi child,
As big as she can gae.
Before he got on his shoon,
That Lady Marjory she gaes wi child,
And it is to an Irish groom.
Before that she gat on her gown,
That Lady Marjorie she goes wi child,
To a lord of high renown.
'Or wha will put on the pan?
Or wha will put on a bauld, bauld fire,
To burn Lady Marjorie in?'
Her sister put on the pan,
And her brother he put on a bauld, bauld fire,
To burn Lady Marjorie in;
And her mother she sat in a golden chair,
To see her daughter burn.
That will win hose and shoon,
That will go quickly to Strawberry Castle
And bid my lord come doun?'
That'll win hose and shoon,
That will rin quickly to Strawberry Castle,
And bid thy lord come doun.'
He bent his bow and swam,
And when he came to good dry land,
He let down his foot and ran.
He tirled at the pin;
None was so ready as the gay lord himsell
To open and let him in.
Or any of my castles broken?
Or is Lady Marjorie brought to bed,
Of a daughter or a son?'
Nor nane of thy castles broken,
[Pg 120] But Lady Marjorie is condemned to die,
To be burnt in a fire of oaken.'
'Gar saddle to me the brown;
Gar saddle to me the swiftest steed
That eer carried a man from town.'
The brown into the brae,
But fair fa that bonny apple-gray
That carried this gay lord away!
And he blew't both loud and shrill,
And the little life that was in her,
She hearkend to it full weel.
I value you not one straw,
For yonder comes my own true-love,
I hear his horn blaw.
I value you not a pin,
For yonder comes my own true-love,
I hear his bridle ring.'
He lap unto the wa;
He thought to get a kiss o her bonny lips,
But her body fell in twa.
'Oh vow but ye've been cruel!
Ye've taken the timber out of my own wood
And burnt my ain dear jewel.
I'll burn both father and mother;
And for thy sake, Lady Marjorie,
I'll burn both sister and brother.
I'll burn both kith and kin;
But I will remember the pretty little boy
That did thy errand rin.'
F
The Scots [Edinburgh] Magazine, 1822, LXXXIX, 734, communicated by W. W.
Between six and seven,
An she's come back richt big wi bairn,
Between twalve and eleven.
Stood stately on the flure:
'Ye're welcum back, young Marjory,
But ye're sune becum a hure.'
'Nor ever intend to be;
But I'm wi child to a gentleman,
An he swears he'll marry me.'
Stood stately on the flure:
'Ye're welcum back, young Marjory,
But ye're sune becum a hure.'
'Nor ever intend to be;
But I'm wi child to a gentleman,
An he swears he will marry me.'
Stood stately on the flure:
'Ye're welcum back, young Marjory,
But ye're sune becum a hure.'
'Nor ever intend to be;
But I'm wi child to a gentleman,
An he swears he will marry me.'
Stood stately on the flure:
'Ye're welcum back, young Marjory,
But ye're sune becum a hure.'
'Nor ever intend to be;]
Ye're but a young woman, sister,
An ye shuld speak sparinlie.'
Her brither's to the brume;
[Pg 121] An her mither sits in her gowden chair,
To see her dochter burn.
. . . . . . .
The sister she culd do naething,
And she sat down to greet.
That wull win hose an shoon,
That wull rin to Strawberry Castle for me,
And bid my true-love come?'
That stude richt at her knee:
'It's I wull rin your errand, ladie,
Wi the saut tear i my ee.'
He bent his bow an swam,
An whan he cam whare green grass grew,
Set doon his feet an ran.
He thirled at the pin,
An aye sae ready as the porter was
To rise and let him in.
'Gae saddle to me the broun;
Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed
That eer set fute on grun.'
An syne the bonny broun,
But the dapple-gray rade still away,
Till he cam to the toun.
An aye away he flew,
Till the siller buttons flew off his coat;
He took out his horn an blew.
He blew baith loud an shrill,
An the little life that Marjory had,
She heard his horn blaw weel.
'For I value you not a straw;
For if ever I heard my love in my life,
He's comin here awa.'
He jamp in, butes and a';
He thocht to hae kissd her red rosy lips,
But her body broke in twa.
The toun that thou lies in;
An I'll mak the baby fatherless,
For I'll throw mysel therein.
G
Notes and Queries, Second Series, IX, 193; communicated by A. J., Edinburgh, as learned by himself and an elder sister from an old washerwoman of East Dereham, Norfolk, in the early part of this century.
Who tied me to a stake;
My mother was the first good woman
Who did the fire make.
Who did the fire fetch;
My sister was the next good woman
Who lighted it with a match.
Till it did reach my knee:
"O mother, mother, quench the fire!
The smoke will smother me."
My errand he would run;
He would run unto gay London,
And bid my lord come home.'
Her own dear sister's son:
[Pg 122] 'O many an errand I've run for thee,
And but this one I'll run.'
He bent his bow and swam;
He swam till he came to the good green turf,
He up on his feet and ran.
His uncle sat at his meat:
'Good mete, good mete, good uncle, I pray,
O if you knew what I'd got to say,
How little would you eat!'
Or is my tower won?
Or is my gay lady brought o bed,
Of a daughter or a son?'
Your tower it is not won;
Your gay lady is not brought to bed,
Of a daughter or a son.
With a posy round the rim,
To know, if you have any love for her,
You'll come to her burning.'
By one, by two, by three;
He mounted on his milk-white steed,
To go to Margery.
Till it did reach her head:
'O mother, mother, quench the fire!
For I am nearly dead.'
Saw her girdle hang on the tree:
'O God bless them that gave me that!
They'll never give more to me.'
Saw her lord come riding home:
'O quench the fire, my dear mother!
For I am nearly gone.'
And into the fire he ran,
Thinking to save his gay ladye,
But he had staid too long.
H
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 103.
It's lang ere it grew green;
Lady Maisry sits in her bower door,
Sewing at her silken seam.
And to her father's ha,
That Lady Maisry is big wi bairn—
And her true-love's far awa.
Then fiercely looked he:
'Betide me life, betide me death,
At Maisry's bower I'se be.
Gae saddle to me the brown;
Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed,
To hae me to the town.'
He turnd him round about,
And at a little shott-window,
He saw her peeping out.
God make you safe and free!'
'Gude morrow, gude morrow, my brother dear,
What are your wills wi me?'
Was ance for you too side?
And what's become o your lang stays,
Was ance for you too wide?'
I hope he'll make them side;
And he that made my stays narrow,
I hope he'll make them wide.'
Or baron o high degree?
[Pg 123] Or is it to any o your father's boys,
Rides in the chase him wi?'
Nor baron o high degree;
But English James, that little prince,
That has beguiled me.'
That could hae fitted thee,
That thus you've lovd an Englishman,
And has affronted me?'
The tear blinded her ee:
'What is the wrang I've done, brother,
Ye look sae fierce at me?'
When your young babe is born?'
'I'll nae do that, my brother dear,
Tho I shoud be forlorn.'
Anither ca in the stake,
And on the head o yon high hill
I'll burn you for his sake.
That I pay meat and fee,
For to hew down baith thistle and thorn,
To burn that lady wi?'
And fast he has her bound;
And he causd the fiercest o his men
Drag her frae town to town.
Hew down baith thistle and thorn;
She carried the peats in her petticoat-lap,
Her ainsell for to burn.
Anither ca'd in the stake;
It was to burn her Lady Maisry,
All for her true-love's sake.
Prince James he thought full lang;
He minded on the lady gay
He left in fair Scotland.
Will win gowd to his fee,
That will rin on to Adam's high tower,
Bring tidings back to me?'
Will win gowd to my fee,
That will rin on to Adam's high tower,
Bring tidings back to thee.'
As fast as gang coud he,
And he but only wan in time
The fatal sight to see.
And ran right speedilie,
And he is back to his master,
As fast as gang coud he.
What news hae ye to me?'
'Bad news, bad news, my master dear,
Bad news, as ye will see.'
Or ony o my towers won?
Or is my lady lighter yet,
O dear daughter or son?'
Nor nane o your towers won,
Nor is your lady lighter yet,
O dear daughter nor son.
Anither ca'd in the stake,
And on the head o yon high hill,
They're to burn her for your sake.'
Gae saddle to me the brown;
Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed,
To hae me to the town.'
She heard his horse-foot patt:
'Mend up the fire, my fause brother,
It scarce comes to my pap.'
She heard his bridle ring:
[Pg 124] 'Mend up the fire, my fause brother,
It scarce comes to my chin.
Ye see not what I see;
I see them coming here, or lang
Will mend the fire for thee.'
And fiercely looked he:
'I'se make my love's words very true
She said concerning me.
'As put this bonfire on?
And wha has been sae bauld,' he said,
'As put that lady in?'
He spoke right furiouslie;
Says, I'm the man that put her in:
Wha dare hinder me?
'As they are fastly bound,
I woud hae looted me to the ground,
Gien you up your bonny young son.'
Her father and her mother;
And I will burn, for my love's sake,
Her sister and her brother.
The whole o a' her kin;
And I will burn, for my love's sake,
Thro Linkum and thro Lin.
And bower will I make thin;
And mony a babe shall thole the fire,
For I may enter in.'
On that hill whare she was slain;
But mair was for her ain true-love,
On the fields for he ran brain.
I
a. Motherwell's MS., p. 235; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 221. b. Motherwell's MS., p. 179, from Mrs Thomson, of Kilbarchan. c. Motherwell's MS., p. 181, from Mrs McLean, of Glasgow.
Hey my love and ho my joy
There lived a lady in Scotland,
Who dearly loved me
There lived a lady in Scotland,
An she's fa'n in love wi an Englishman.
And bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt in Dundee
Who dearly loved me
Saying, Will you forsake that Englishman?
Who dearly loved me
O I will burn you at a stake.'
Who dearly loved me
Tho you should burn me at a stake.
Who dearly loves me
Who will carry tidings to my joy?'
Who dearly loves thee
Who will carry tidings to thy joy.'
Who dearly loves me
Tell him to get another love.
For, etc.
Who dearly loves me
Tell him to get another wife.
For, etc.
[Pg 125]
Who dearly loves me
Tell him I'm going to my burning.'
An, etc.
Who dearly loved me
The father did the fire set.
An bonnie Susie Cleland was burnt in Dundee.
A.
111. she says.
161. blood I was disposed to change to lord: but see H 131.
213, 4. As cited by Anderson from William Tytler's MS.,
He took off his sheen.
B.
224. Janet's exite: in C 164 Janet's lyke.
D.
Stanzas 8, 9, 21, are the three last of the MS.
81, 2. I should read put on, were it not for 91, 2.
233. lady lamentless.
E.
33. If for that in the margin, without explanation.
15-17. The order in the MS. is 16, 17, 15.
Motherwell, as often elsewhere, makes slight changes in printing, as: 112, broken to won, though not changed in 122; 153 [173], And to And wi, unnecessarily, see F 193.
F.
2-9. "Her father, brother, and sister successively address her in the same polite style, and receive the same answer; except that to the latter, instead of the information contained in the last two lines, she addresses a piece of advice." The phrase stood stately in 22, most appropriate for the mother, was probably varied for father, brother, and sister.
15-16. "He delivers his message in the approved ballad style, and the lover speaks."
20. "The few verses following contain her testamentary bequests to her relatives above mentioned; but the person from whom I got the ballad could not repeat them."
G.
62. He bend.
I. a.
1. Given in the Appendix to Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. xix, XIV, with this slight difference in the burden: And she dearly loved me.
3-9. at Dundee in the burden.
82. Penknife for wife, in my copy of the MS.
10. In the Minstrelsy, from b:
Her brother he the fire did make.
b.
O my love and O my joy
Who dearly loved an Englishman.
And bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt at Dundee
'Will you forsake your Englishman?'
For, etc.
3 is wanting.
Altho you burn me at your stake.
For, etc.
That will bring tidings to my joy?'
For, etc.
And I'll carry tidings to thy joy.'
For, etc.
Tell him to seek another love.'
For, etc.
8 is wanting.
And bid him come to my burning.'
For, etc.
Her brother he the fire did make.
And bonnie Susie Cleland is burnt at Dundee
c.
1-4 are wanting.
Oh my love and oh my joy
Where will I get a bonny boy,
That dearly loves me
Where will I get a bonny boy,
Will carry tidings to my joy?'
Bonnie Susie Cleland was burned at Dundee
That dearly loves thee
Will carry tidings to thy joy.'
Who dearly loves me
Bid him seek another love.
That dearly loves me
Bid him seek another wife.
That dearly loves me
Bid him come to my burning.
10 is wanting.
FOOTNOTES:
[87] The genuineness of H, Buchan's version, may be doubted both on general and on particular grounds, and both because of its departures from the common story and because of its repeating some peculiarities of the Jamieson-Brown copy, A. If H was compiled, as I think it was, largely from A, the person that did the work may have seen the manuscript, which is not at all improbable; for the English blude of H 13 is found in the MS., A 16, and not in the copy printed by Jamieson, and so with the thistle of H 15, A 17. Buchan, or Buchan's foreman, is entitled to copyright for the invention, in H 17, of Maisry's carrying peats in her petticoat, "her ainsell for to burn;" also for English James, that little prince, 103, Adam's high tower, 203, thro Linkum and thro Lin, 374.
[88] Like the Clerk of Oxenford's two sons, and Sweet William, Motherwell, Minstrelsy, p. 307.
[89] There is no word of quailing except in G, and in G she blesses her lover most touchingly, with almost her last words.
Saw her girdle hang on the tree:
'O God bless them that gave me that!
They'll never give more to me.'
[90] According to Buchan, H 39, Maisry's true-love ran brain; so again in Buchan's version of Fair Janet, see F 35. This is Maisry's end in several versions of 'Auld Ingram,' and in all, I suppose, a modern substitute for the immediate death of older ballads.
[91] A champion may be offered even in Ariosto's Scotland.
[92] In 'The Infanta and Don Galvan,' the lady, like Fair Janet, calls to Don Galvan to come and take her new-born child and carry it to his mother to nurse. The father superintends in person the preparation of the pile in 'Dona Ausenda.' In the romances of Conde Claros, the infanta, when she learns that she is to be burnt, asks for some one "que haya comido mi pan," to carry a letter to Don Claros, and a page does the errand, just as in the Scottish ballad: Primavera, II, 374, etc. Often a bird, hawk, dove, takes the message, as in 'Sweet William,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 307. Don Claros asks the infanta of her father in marriage, and is refused (because she is promised). He then informs the emperor that the infanta is with child. It is a hunter who informs the father of the love of his daughter and the count in one of the romances, Primavera, II, 362. Compare the German ballad, in 'Fair Janet,' p. 102. When the lover gets his letter, in Briz, IV, 43, he reminds us of Sir Patrick Spens:
Al desclohent de la carta, llágrimas de sanch llansava.
66
LORD INGRAM AND CHIEL WYET
A. a. 'Lord Ingram and Chiel Wyet,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 173. b. 'Child Vyet,' Maidment's North Countrie Garland, p. 24.
B. 'Lord Ingram and Gil Viett,' Skene MS., p. 16.
C. 'Auld Ingram,' Herd's MSS, I, 169, II, 84; 'Lord Wa'yates and Auld Ingram,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 265.
D. 'Lord Ingram and Childe Viat,' Kinloch MSS, V, 323.
E. 'Lord Ingram and Childe Vyet,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 234.
C was furnished Jamieson from Herd's MSS by Scott, and underwent a few slight changes in publication. Jamieson inquired through the Scots Magazine, October, 1803, p. 699, for the conclusion, which is wanting, but unsuccessfully.
The only variation of much moment in the five versions of this tragedy is that, in C, the bridegroom and the lover are not brothers, but uncle and nephew. Some inconsistencies have been created in the course of tradition. The bride's insisting on having twenty men before her and twenty on each side, ere she will go to kirk, not to mention the extravagance of twenty milk-white doves above her head, C 22,[93] is incompatible with her aversion to the "weary wedding," and with her language about the bridegroom's gifts in C 4, 5, D 4-6, E 8-10. There is much confusion at the end. After the death of the two rivals the lady, in E, imposes on herself the penance of begging her bread as a pilgrim for the rest of her days. This penance we find also in the two last stanzas of A, and a trace of it in B 20, D 10. Another, and probably later, representation is that she went mad, A 30, B 19, D 9. The two are blended in A, B, D; unless we are to suppose that Maisry's adopting[Pg 127] a beggar's life was a consequence of her madness, which is not according to the simplicity of old ballads. That something was due the unfortunate Lord Ingram, especially if he was disposed to relinquish his wife to his brother, B 17, the modern sense of justice will admit; but that Maisry's remorse on account of the handsome wedding Ingram had given her should exceed her grief for Chiel Wyet, A 32, B 20, D 10, E 43, 44, is as little natural as romantic, and is only to be explained as an exhibition of imbecility, whether on her part or on the part of some reciter who gave that turn to the story. B confounds confusion by killing Maisry on the top of all.
The sword laid in bed between man and woman, B 14, E 30, as a sign or pledge of continence, does not occur often in popular ballads. We have it in 'Südeli,' Uhland, I, 275, No 121, st. 11, and in two of the Swedish forms of Grundtvig's 'Brud i Vaande,' Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, V, 345, No. 277, D, sts 26, 27, and Arwidsson, II, 248, No 132, sts 21, 22, 'Fru Margaretha.' In popular tales: Grimms, K. u. H. märchen, No 60; Asbjørnsen og Moe, Norske Folkeeventyr, No 3; Il Pentamerone, I, 9; Hahn's Griechische Märchen, I, 171, No 122. In Norse poetry and saga: Völsunga saga, 27, Rafn, Fornaldar Sögur, I, 187; Sæmund's Edda, Sigurðarkviða, III, 65, Lüning, p. 401, Bugge (68), p. 259; Snorri's Edda, Hafniæ, 1848, I, 362, Skáldskaparmál, 41; Saxo Grammaticus, Book 9, p. 162 of the Frankfort edition of 1576; Gaungu-Hrólfs saga, 24, Fornaldar Sögur, III, 303. Further, in Orendel und Bríde, ed. Ettmüller, p. 46, XII, 49, 50; Wolfdietrich, von der Hagen's Heldenbuch, I, 236, st. 592; Tristan, ed. Michel, I, 88, v. 1768 ff, Scott's Sir Tristrem, III, 20; Amis and Amiloun, Weber's Metrical Romances, II, 417, v. 1163 ff; Aladdin in the Arabian Nights, J. Scott, IV 345.[94]
Lord Wayets, in C 17, kicks up the table and sends the silver cup into the fire. Young Beichan takes the table with his foot and makes the cups and cans to flee, B 18, D 23, F 28, J 5, N 42, or makes the table flee, H 42; so the knight in 'Child Waters,' G 18, the baron in 'Child Maurice,' E, F, and the mother in 'Fair Mary of Wallington,' A, B. Kinmont Willie, st. 9, takes the table with his hand and gars the red wine spring on hie. The table, being of boards laid on trestles, would be easy to ding over or make flee. Being also narrow, it might be jumped over, and those in whose way it might be seem to have preferred to clear it in that fashion, at least out of Britain. So the Danish Lord Lovel on hearing of his love's death, spilling the mead or wine, Kristensen, II, No 20, A 6, B 10, C 3, D 4; Sir Peter in Afzelius, No 9, I, 50, Grundtvig, No 210, IV, 220, etc. The king in the Icelandic Ribbalds kvæði, to be sure, kicks the table away and spills the mead and wine, Íslenzk Fornkvæði, No 16, B 8, C 2, so that Lord Wayets, Young Beichan, and others may have taken their cue from that island. But against this we may put Hervarar saga, c. 3, Fornaldar Sögur, I, 516; Olafs saga hins Helga, c. 50, Keyser and Unger, p. 36; Grundtvig, Danmarks Folkeviser, No 11, A 23, No 13, B 18, G 15, I 16; etc. In 'Magnus Algotsøn,' Grundtvig, No 181, D 18, the bride jumps over the table and goes off with her old love; in Sušil's Bohemian ballads, No 135, p. 131, the bride jumps over four tables and on to a fifth to get at her first betrothed; in the Novella della Figlia del Re di Dacia, ed. Wesselofsky, p. 38, the duke jumps over the table to get to his wife; in a German ballad in Schröer's Ausflug nach Gottschee, p. 210 f,[Pg 128] the bridegroom, who has lost the bride, jumps over the table to get out of the room as soon as possible; a French gentleman takes a vault over the table before him, Gautier, Les Épopées Françaises, I, 508, ed. 1865, and a lady in a ludicrous anecdote told in the Zimmerische Chronik, ed. Barack, 1881, II, 132 f. But Torello's wife, on the other hand, Decameron, X, 9, throws down the table which bars her way to her lord, and so does the steward in 'Sir Orfeo,' v. 576, ed. Zielke.[95]
Ebbe Skammelsøn, being obliged to absent himself from his plighted maid for a considerable time, loses her through the artifices of his brother [and mother], who pretends first that Ebbe is unfaithful, and then that he is dead. Ebbe is warned by a dream that his brother is about to wed his mistress, goes home in great haste, and arrives on the wedding-day. He kills the bride, and then his brother, who, at the last moment, offers to cede the bride to him, as Lord Ingram, in B 17, says he meant to do. Ebbe after this begs his bread, or goes on a pilgrimage weighted with iron on his hands and loins; wherein his part resembles Maisry's. Danske Viser, III, 75, No 120, translated by Prior, II, 380; Arwidsson, No 33, I, 216, 224, 412; Atterbom's Poetisk Kalender, 1816, p. 55.
It may be worth noting that Maisry's wedding, according to B 20, was "in good kirk-door," like the five of The Wife of Bath.
Translated by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 166, No 44, after Allingham, p. 306.
A
a. Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 173, communicated by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe. b. Maidment's North Countrie Garland, p. 24, from tradition in Aberdeenshire.
Was baith born in one bower;
Laid baith their hearts on one lady,
The less was their honour.
Was baith born in one hall;
Laid baith their hearts on one lady,
The worse did them befall.
From father and from mother;
Lord Ingram wood her Lady Maisery
From sister and from brother.
With leave of a' her kin;
And every one gave full consent,
But she said no to him.
Into her father's ha;
Chiel Wyet wood her Lady Maisery
Amang the sheets so sma.
She was dressing her head,
That ben did come her father dear,
Wearing the gold so red.
Put on your wedding gown;
For Lord Ingram he will be here,
Your wedding must be done.
[Pg 129]
The white fish for to sell,
Before I were Lord Ingram's wife,
To wear the silk so well.
With him to beg my bread,
Before I were Lord Ingram's wife,
To wear the gold so red.
Will win gold to his fee,
And will run unto Chiel Wyet's,
With this letter from me?'
'Will win gold to my fee,
And carry away any letter
To Chiel Wyet from thee.'
He bent his bow and swam;
And when he found the grass growing,
He hastened and he ran.
He did not knock nor call,
But set his bent bow to his breast,
And lightly leaped the wall;
And ere the porter opend the gate,
The boy was in the hall.
A grieved man was he;
The next line he looked on,
A tear blinded his ee:
Says, I wonder what ails my one brother
He'll not let my love be!
The bacon shall be mine—
Full four and twenty buck and roe,
And ten tun of the wine;
And bid my love be blythe and glad,
And I will follow syne.'
But got a gown of green,
And all was blythe, and all was glad,
But Lady Maisery she was neen.
But got a gown of gray,
And all was blythe, and all was glad,
But Lady Maisery was wae.
Was all spread ower with garl,
To keep Lady Maisery and her maidens
From tramping on the marl.
Was spread a cloth of gold,
To keep Lady Maisery and her maidens
From treading on the mold.
And all men bound for bed,
Then Lord Ingram and Lady Maisery
In one bed they were laid.
It was baith soft and warm—
He laid his hand over her side,
Says, I think you are with bairn.
When ye came me to woo,
That Chiel Wyet, your only brother,
One night lay in my bower.
Ere ye came me to wed,
That Chiel Wyet, your one brother,
One night lay in my bed.'
And on no other man?
And I'll give him to his dowry
Full fifty ploughs of land.'
Nor on no wrongeous man,
Though ye would give him to his dowry
Five thousand ploughs of land.'
Shed by his yellow hair,
And gave Lord Ingram to the heart
A deep wound and a sair.
Shed by his yellow hair,
And gave Chiel Wyet to the heart
A deep wound and a sair.
[Pg 130]
Where they were lying slain;
But all was for her Lady Maisery,
In that bower she gaed brain.
When they were lying dead;
But all was for her Lady Maisery,
In that bower she went mad.
A staff of good hard tree;
If I have been an evil woman,
I shall beg till I dee.
For Lord Ingram I'll beg three;
All for the good and honorable marriage
At Mary Kirk he gave me.'
B
Skene MS., p. 16; taken down in the North of Scotland, 1802-1803.
Were baith born in ae ha;
They laid their love on ae lady,
An fate they coud na fa.
Were baith laid in ae wame;
They laid their love on ae lady,
The greater was their shame.
Frae father and frae mither;
Gill Viett wood her Lady Masery
Frae sister and frae brither.
Among the company a';
Gill Viett he wood her Lady Masery
Among the sheets so sma.
Put on your bridal gown;
This day's your bridal day
Wi Lord Ingram.'
An put on my bridal gown,
Or how marry the ae brither,
An the tither's babe in my womb?'
Or at my companie?
Or laugh ye at my bonnie bride,
She wad na laugh at thee?'
Nor at your companie;
Nor laugh I at your buirlie bride,
She wad na laugh at me.
A garlan on ane's hair;
Gin ye kend what war under that,
Ye wad neer love woman mair.
An roses on ane's sheen;
Gin ye kend what war under that,
Your love wad soon be deen.'
And a' man boun to bed,
Lord Ingram and Lady Masery
In ae chamer were laid.
The babe between her sides did quake:
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
O father your babe on me.'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Sae may I on a stane,
But my babe shall never hae
A father but its ain.'
And stroakd it oer a stro,
An thro and thro Lord Ingram's bodie
He made it come and go.
An ill died mat ye die!
For I had the cup in my hand
To hae drunken her oer to thee.'
For Lord Ingram I wad hae gaen three;
An a' for that in good kirk-door
Fair wedding he gave me.'
An stroakd it on a stro,
An through and thro his own bodie
He made it come and go.
In bowr whar they lay slain,
But a' was for that lady,
In bowr whar she gaed brain.
In bowr whar she lay dead,
But a' was for the bonnie babe
That lay blabbering in her bleed.
C
Herd's MSS, I, 169, II, 84. Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 265.
She maid her mither's bed;
Auld Ingram was an aged knight,
And hee sought her to wed.
For to seek me to spouse;
For Lord Wayets, your sister's son,
Has been into my bowrs.
For to seek me to wed;
For Lord Wayets, your sister's son,
Has been into my bed.'
The robes of the brown;
'And ever alas,' says this lady,
'The robs will pit mee down!'
The robs of the red;
'And ever alas,' says this lady,
'The robs will be my dead!'
The chrystal and the lammer,
Sae has hee bought to her mither
The curches of the cammer.
They had a hawk in hand,
And every lady i the place
They got a goud garland.
They gat a noble claith;
A' was blyth at Auld Ingram's cuming,
But Lady Maisdrey was wraith.
Wad fain wun hos and shoon,
That wud rin on to my Wayets,
And quickly cume again?'
Wad fain wun hoes and shoon,
Wha wull rin on to your Wayets,
And quickly cume again.'
Gif ony prayer can dee,
To Mary Kirk to cume the morn,
My weary wadding to see.'
Beheld baith dale and down,
And he beheld a bonny boy
Cume rinnen to the town.
What news ye hae to mee?
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Or is her towrs wun?
[Pg 132] Or is my Maisdrey lighter yet
A dear dochter or sun?'
Nor yet are her towrs wun,
Neither is Maisdrey lighter yet
A dear dochter or sun.
Gif ony prayer can dee,
To Mary Kirk to cume the morn,
Her weary wadding to see.'
Sae did he wi his tae;
The silver cup that sat upon't
I the fire he gard it flee:
'O what na a lord in a' Scotland
Dare marry my Maisdrey?'
To tell the tane and not the tither;
O 't is but a feeble thought
To tell't is your mither's brither.'
And I wul follow syne,
The fitches o the fallow deer
An the gammons o the swine,
An the nine hides o the noble cow;
'T was slain in season time.
Ten ton of the red wyne;
Much more I'll send to that wadding,
An I wul follow syne.'
Lady Maisdrey she did ween,
And twenty times he kist her mou
Before Auld Ingram's een.
Nor til't she wudn ride,
Till four and twunty men she gat her before,
An twunty on ilka side,
An four and twunty milk-white dows
To flee aboon her head.
Mang the mids o his men:
'Marry the lady wham they weel,
A maiden she is nane.'
Or di ye laugh at me?
Or laugh ye at the beerly bride,
That's gane to marry me?'
Nor yet dive I at thee,
Bit I laugh at my lands sae braid,
Sae weel's I do them see.'
An a' man gane to bed,
The bride bit and the silly bridegroom
In chambers they were laid.
Twa heads lye on a coad,
Lady Maisdrey like the moten goud,
Auld Ingram like a toad?
And sound he fell asleep;
She turnd her fair face unto the wa,
An sa't tears she did weep.
Auld Ingram began to turn him;
He pat his hands on's lady's sides,
An waly, sair was she murnin.
Ever alas and wae's me,
There is a baube betwixt thy sides!
O sae sair's it grieves me.'
Or ye saught me to wed,
That Lord Wayets, your sister's son,
Had been into my bed?'
O father it on me,
An ye sall hae a rigland shire
Your mornin's gift to bee.'
'That ever the like me befa,
To father my bairn on Auld Ingram,
Lord Wayets in my father's ha!
'That ever the like me betide,
To father my bairn on Auld Ingram,
An Lord Wayets beside!'
D
Kinloch MSS, V, 323, in the handwriting of John Hill Burton.
Were both bred in one ha;
They laid their luves on one ladye,
And frae her they could na fa.
He courted her frae ha to bower;
And even sae did Childe Viat,
Amang the summer flowers.
He courted her frae bower to ha;
And even sae did Childe Viat,
Among the sheets sae sma.
The steed that paid him well;
She wads he were ayont the sea,
Gin she had her true love.
The knives hafted wi steel;
She wads they were in his heart's bluid,
Gin Childe Viat was weel.
The golden knobbed gloves;
She wads they were ayone the sea,
Gin she had her true love.
They cost me many a pound;
Take you tho best, leave me the worst,
We's fight till they be done.'
He wounded Childe Viat nigh;
The nexten stroke Childe Viat gae,
Lord Ingram's head did flie;
And fifty feet oer a burken buss
Lord Ingram's head did flee.
In bower where they lay slain;
But all was for this fair ladie,
In bower where she gaed brain.
For Lord Ingram I would gie three;
And it's a' for the brave wedding
That he did to me gie.'
E
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 234.
Were baith born in ae bower;
They fell in love wi ae lady,
Their honour was but poor.
Were baith bred in ae ha;
They laid their love on Lady Maisry,
The waur did them befa.
Frae father and frae mother;
Lord Ingram gained Lady Maisry
Frae sister and frae brother.
Frae a' her kith and kin;
Lord Ingram courted Lady Maisry
But she said nay to him.
In the garden amo the flowers;
Childe Vyet courted Lady Maisry
Amo her ha's and bowers.
A steed paced fu well;
She wishes he were ower the sea,
If Childe Vyet were well.
Frae her relations a';
[Pg 134] Childe Vyet courted Lady Maisry
Amo the sheets sae sma.
The siller knapped gloves;
She wishd his hands might swell in them,
Had she her ain true love.
The brands garnishd wi steel;
She wishd the same might pierce his heart,
Gin Childe Vyet were weell.
The fancy ribbons sma;
She had mair delight in her sma fancy
Than o Lord Ingram, gowd and a'.
And thus he did complain:
'O am I doomd to die for love,
And nae be loved again?
The steed paced fu well;
She wishes I were ower the sea,
Gin Childe Vyet were well.
The siller knapped gloves;
She wishd my hands might swell in them,
Had she her ain true love.
The brands garnishd wi steel;
She wishd the same might pierce my heart,
Gin Childe Vyet were weell.
The fancy ribbons sma;
She's mair delight in her sma fancy
Nor o me, gowd and a'.'
A solemn oath sware he,
Saying, She shall be the bride this night,
And you bridegroom shall be.
Let a' your passion be;
The reason that I love this man,
It is unknown to thee.'
Intill her mother's bower;
But still and dum stood Lady Maisry,
And let the tears down pour.
Intill her fathers ha;
But still and dum stood Lady Maisry,
And let tears down fa.
Was a' clad ower wi gowd,
For keeping o her snaw-white feet
Frae treading o the mould.
Childe Vyet at another,
And lightly leugh him Childe Vyet
At Lord Ingram, his brother.
Or do ye laugh at me?
Or laugh ye at young Lady Maisry,
This night my bride's to be?'
Nor do I laugh at thee;
But I laugh at the knightless sport
That I saw wi my ee.
A broach on ae breast-bane;
And if ye kent what's under that,
Your love woud soon be dane.'
Out ower the plains are gane,
And pensively walkd him Childe Vyet,
Him single self alane.
And a' men bound for bed,
Lord Ingram and Lady Maisry
In ae chamber were laid.
And thus pronounced he:
'There is a bairn within your sides,
Wha may the father be?
Ye will father it on me;
[Pg 135] The fairest castle o Snowdown
Your morning gift shall be.'
I'll neer father it on thee;
For better love I my bairn's father
Nor ever I'll love thee.'
Laid it between them tway;
Says, Lye ye there, ye ill woman,
A maid for me till day.
Well belted wi a brand;
Then up it starts him Lord Ingram,
He was an angry man.
As I thought she had been,
Cauld iron shoud hae never lien
The lang night us between.'
What's this I hear o thee?
I thought ye was a gude woman
As in the north countrie.'
Let a' your sorrows be;
I never liked Lord Ingram,
Ye ken ye forced me.'
Well belted wi a brand;
Then up it raise him Lord Ingram,
He was an angry man.
Rise up immediately,
That you and I the quarrel try,
Who gains the victory.
That cost me mony pound;
Take ye the best, gie me the warst,
And I'll fight where I stand.'
Shook back his yellow hair;
The first an stroke Childe Vyet drew,
He wounded Ingram sair.
Shed back his coal-black hair;
The first an stroke Lord Ingram drew,
Childe Vyet needed nae mair.
Whan they were lying dead,
But a' for her Lady Maisry,
That gaes in mournfu weed.
Alas and wae is me!
And if I've been an ill woman,
A gude woman I'll be!
Bring me a palmer's weed,
And thro the world, for their sakes,
I'll gang and beg my bread.
For Lord Ingram I'll gang three;
All for the honour that he paid
At Marykirk to me.
For Lord Ingram I'll gang three;
It was into my mother's bower
Childe Vyet wronged me.'
A. a.
14, their bonheur.
82. to kill.
111. boy wanting: see b.
112. And will.
191. and that.
261. did stand.
b.
11. Childe Vyet, and always.
13, 23. Had... loves.
14, honour.
31, 33, 41, 51, 53. the Lady.
71. He said wanting.
73. he wanting.
82. to sell. 93. I'd be.
103. Will run.
111. I am the boy, says one.
112. Will win.
131. to Vyet's.
141. line that Childe Vyet read.
143. line that he.
145, 6, 151, 2, as 15.
He'll not let my love be?
But I'll send to my brother's bridal,
The woman shall be free.
153. Take four and twenty bucks and ewes.
164. was wi wean.
171. about the.
182. with gold.
183, 193. keep the lady.
184. the mould.
201. bells were.
211. upon their.
214. Says he, You are with bairn.
222. came as my wooer.
223. your one.
231. so did I.
261. start him.
281, 291. for the.
283, 293. All was for Lady.
301. O get to me.
31. For ae.
313. All for the honourable marriage that.
B.
13. Their laid.
22. womb.
12, 13 make one stanza in the MS.
15, 16 are written together in three long lines.
18 did not belong where it stands, cf. A 31, E 43, 44, but as the text now runs, cannot well change place.
C.
Herd's copies differ little except in spelling.
64. cannell (cinnamon). I have thought it best to risk cammer, for camerik, cambric, though I have not found the word in English: Danish kammer-dug.
103. second copy omits on.
112. due (?).
13, 14 are written in one stanza.
195. second copy hidies.
251. men, Wayets: uncle in second copy.
26-28 precede 23-25.
D.
42. that paid: cf. E 62. 10 follows 6 in MS.
E.
312, 352. belted and a brand.
FOOTNOTES:
[93] This stanza, which comes in here with flagrant impropriety, is a commonplace, or movable passage. It occurs, as a feature in the ceremony of a brilliant wedding, in 'Fair Mary of Wallington,' E 6, 7, and in some copies of 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet:' see that ballad, note to A.
[94] These citations, which might easily be extended, are many of them repeated from Grimm's Rechtsalterthümer, pp. 168-70 of the second edition. Sir Walter Scott has pointed out that on the occasion of the marriage of Maria of Burgundy with the Archduke Maximilian, in 1477, the marriage being by proxy, Ludwig, Pfalzgraf of Vendelz, the bridegroom's representative, was formally bedded with the bride, a naked sword being laid between them. Scott also refers to a play called The Jovial Crew, acted in 1641, in which one of the characters, to enrage another, proposes to be his proxy, marry his love for him, and lay a naked cudgel betwixt them: Sir Tristrem, p. 439, ed. 1833. In an Italian ballad the sword is reduced to a straw: Wolf, Volkslieder aus Venetien, No 95, Bolza, No 56, Ferraro, C. p. monferrini, No 76. In the Spanish and Portuguese romances of 'Gerineldo,' the sultan or king, having found the page asleep with the infanta, lays his sword between the two and retires: Duran, Nos 320, 321; Hardung, I, 101.
[95] Some of the Norse examples were derived from notes of Grundtvig, three others from Liebrecht. Grundtvig cites an ordinance of Frederic II of Denmark, dated 1586, to this effect: Whereas a custom has come in of having a dance during a wedding-repast, which dance those that sit behind the tables are asked to as well as others, and therefore are obliged to step on the tables, on which the victuals are still standing, and whereas this, indecorous of itself, might even prove dangerous to women-folk, and others, who should attempt to jump over the tables, now therefore dancing during meal-time is forbidden until dishes and tables shall have been cleared away: IV, 754. The table-jumping above is mostly done under great excitement, and at weddings, in order that the right parties may come together; but nimble young men in England seem to have taken this short way to their places habitually in old times. Liebrecht cites this curious passage from the Jests of Scogin, Hazlitt's Shakespeare Jest-Books, II, 105: "Scogin did mark the fashions of the court, and among all other things he did mark how men did leap over the table in the king's hall to sit down at dinner and supper, which is not used now." The first edition of Scogin's Jests is of 1565.
67
GLASGERION
A. 'Glasgerion,' Percy MS., p. 94; Hales and Furnivall, I, 248.
B. 'Glenkindie,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 93.
C. Kinloch MSS, III, 139.
'Glasgerion' was first printed in Percy's Reliques, III, 43, 1765, and was not thought by the editor to require much correction. Certainly the English ballad is one which it would be hard to mend. Scottish B is mainly of good derivation (a poor old woman in Aberdeenshire), and has some good stanzas, but Jamieson unfortunately undertook to improve a copy in which the story was complete, but "the diction much humbled," by combining with it a fragment of another version. Dr John Hill Burton seems, in turn, to have compounded a portion of the ballad as printed by Jamieson with a fragment from tradition (C): Kinloch MSS, III, 147.
Cunningham, Songs of Scotland, II, 32, has fused Percy's and Jamieson's copies, as Motherwell remarks, "in a flux of his own which has disfigured and quite changed the features of each."
The grete Glascurion is joined in Chaucer's House of Fame, III, 113-118, with the harpers Orpheus, Orion (Arion), and Chiron, and with Orpheus again by Gavin Douglas, copying Chaucer, in his Palice of Honour, I, 21, vv 15, 16, ed. Small.
Y Bardd Glas Keraint, in English Keraint the Blue Bard (Blue Bard being an appellation of a chief bard, who wore an official robe of blue), is recorded, as Mr Edward Williams informs us, to have been an eminent poet of distinguished birth, son of Owain, Prince of Glamorgan. The English name Glasgerion, Mr Williams further remarks, differs not half[Pg 137] so much from Glasgeraint as most Welsh names, as written by Englishmen, do from their true orthography. There is, therefore, at least no absurdity in the suggestion that the Glascurion of Chaucer and the Glasgerion of the ballad may represent the Welsh Glas Keraint.[96]
A peasant lad, tailor's lad, who had overheard the troth-plight of a knight and lady, anticipates the lover in 'Den fule Bondedreng,' Kristensen, II, 25-27; 'Torpardrängen,' Hazelius, Ur de Nordiska Folkens Lif, p. 138; 'Die Betrogene,' Norrenberg, Des dülkener Fiedlers Liederbuch, p. 79. The adventure is jocosely treated in the first two, and does not amount to a tragedy in the other. A groom forestalls Agilulf, King of the Lombards, in the Decameron, III, 2, again without a bloody conclusion.
The marvellous power of the harp in B 2, C 1 is precisely paralleled in the Scandinavian 'Harpans Kraft,' Arwidsson, No 149, II, 311-17; Afzelius, No 91, III, 144-47; Grundtvig, No 40, II, 65-68; Landstad, No 51, p. 475; Íslenzk Fornkvæði, No 3, p. 18 f. In these the fish is harped out of the water, the young from folk and from fee, the bairn from its mother's womb, the water from the brook, the hind from the wood, the horns from the hart's head, the bark from the tree, the dead out of the mould, etc., etc. These effects are of the same nature as those produced by the harp of Orpheus, and it is to be observed that in the ballad of 'Harpans Kraft' the harper is a bridegroom seeking (successfully) to recover his bride, who has been carried down to the depths of the water by a merman. We have had something like these effects in the 'Twa Brothers,' No 49, B 10, I, 439, where Lady Margaret harps the small birds off the briers and her true love out of the grave.[97] There is a fisherman in the Gesta Romanorum who has a harp so sweet that all the fish in the water come to his hand: Oesterley, No 85, p. 413, Madden, No 35, p. 116, No 8, p. 293. Equally potent is pipe, flute, or song in many ballads of various nations; the fish come up from below, the stars are stopped, the brook rises, the pines vail their top, the deer stops in its leap, etc., the musician being sometimes an elf, sometimes an inspired mortal: 'Hr. Tönne af Alsö,' Grundtvig, No 34, II, 15, 19, Afzelius, No 7, I, 33, 128; 'Elvehöj,' Grundtvig, No 46, II, 107-109, Afzelius, No 95, III, 170, Arwidsson, No 147, II, 301; Kudrun, ed. Bartsch, sts 379, 381, 388; the Roumanian 'Salga,' 'Mihu Copilul,' 'Vidra,' Stanley, p. 29, Alecsandri, pp 58, 66, 98 f, the same, Ballades et Chants populaires, pp 118, 168, Murray, pp 44, 53 f, 83; 'El Poder del Canto,' Milá, Romancerillo, No 207, p. 165, Nigra, Rivista Contemporanea, XX, 78; 'Conde Arnaldos,' Wolf and Hofmann, No 153, II, 80. For the soporific effect of such music, as shown in B 5, C 2, there are parallels in 'Albred Lykke,' who sings a ballad which sets everybody asleep but the young bride who had been stolen from him, Kristensen, I, 281, No 105, sts 11, 12, II, 259 f, No 76, sts 13, 14; 'Den fortryllende Sang,' Grundtvig, No 243, IV, 470, Danish A 12, 473, Swedish G 25, 26; 'El Rey marinero,' Milá, No 201, p. 151, Briz, I, 117, IV, 15, V, 75; Campbell's West Highland Tales, I, 291 f.
The oath by oak, ash, and thorn, A 18, is a relic or trait of high antiquity. We have an oath by the thorn in 'Fair Janet,' G 13, 'Young Hunting,' K 26; by corn, grass sae green and corn, in 'Young Hunting,' A 16, D 19, G 7. It is to be supposed that the tree, thorn, corn, was touched while swearing, a sod taken up in the hand. See Grimm's Rechtsalterthümer, 2d ed., p. 896 f, p. 117 f.
For drying the sword on the sleeve, A 22, see 'Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard.'
Translated by Bodmer, I, 73, after Percy; by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 59, after Allingham, p. 358.
A
Percy MS., p. 94; Hales and Furnivall, I, 248.
And a harper he was good;
He harped in the kings chamber,
Where cuppe and candle stoode,
And soe did hee in the queens chamber,
Till ladies waxed wood.
And these words thus sayd shee:
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Of thy striking doe not blinne;
There's neuer a stroke comes ouer thin harpe
But it glads my hart within.
'Who taught you now to speak?
I haue loued you, lady, seuen yeere;
My hart I durst neere breake.'
When all men are att rest;
As I am a ladie true of my promise,
Thou shalt bee a welcome guest.'
A glad man, Lord, was hee:
'And come thou hither, Iacke, my boy,
Come hither vnto mee.
Her loue is granted mee,
And beffore the cocke haue crowen,
Att her chamber must I bee.'
'Lay your head downe on this stone;
For I will waken you, master deere,
Afore it be time to gone.'
And did on hose and shoone;
A coller he cast vpon his necke,
Hee seemed a gentleman.
He thrild vpon a pinn;
The lady was true of her promise,
Rose vp and lett him in.
To boulster nor to bedd,
But downe vpon her chamber-flore
Full soone he hath her layd.
When he came nor when he youd;
And sore mistrusted that lady gay
He was of some churlës blood.
And did of his hose and shoone,
And cast that coller from about his necke;
He was but a churlës sonne:
'Awaken,' quoth hee, 'my master deere,
I hold it time to be gone.
Well bridled I haue your steed;
Haue not I serued a good breakfast,
When time comes I haue need.'
And did on both hose and shoone,
And cast a coller about his necke;
He was a kingës sonne.
He thrild vpon a pinn;
The lady was more then true of promise,
Rose vp and let him in.
Your braclett or your gloue?
Or are you returned backe againe
To know more of my loue?'
By oake and ashe and thorne,
'Lady, I was neuer in your chamber
Sith the time that I was borne.'
Falsly hath beguiled me:'
And then shee pulld forth a litle pen-kniffe,
That hanged by her knee,
Says, There shall neuer noe churlës blood
Spring within my body.
[Pg 139]
A woe man, good [Lord], was hee;
Sayes, Come hither, thou Iacke, my boy,
Come thou hither to me.
Iacke, I wold tell it thee;
But if I haue not killed a man to-night,
Iacke, thou hast killed three!
And dryed it on his sleeue,
And he smote off that lither ladds head,
And asked noe man noe leaue.
The pumill till a stone;
Thorrow that falsenese of that lither ladd
These three liues werne all gone.
B
Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 93, taken from the recitation of an old woman by Professor Scott, of Aberdeen, and "somewhat improved" by a fragment communicated by the Rev. William Gray, of Lincoln.
He harped to the king;
And Glenkindie was ance the best harper
That ever harpd on a string.
Or water out o a stane,
Or milk out o a maiden's breast,
That bairn had never nane.
He harpit and he sang,
And ay as he harpit to the king,
To haud him unthought lang.
A robe o the royal pa,
Gin ye will harp i the winter's night
Afore my nobles a'.'
He's harpit them a' asleep,
Except it was the young countess,
That love did waukin keep.
And syne he has harpit a gay,
And mony a sich atween hands
I wat the lady gae.
And wappit their wings sae wide,
It's ye may come to my bower-door,
And streek you by my side.
For naething that ye dee;
For, an ye tell him Gib, your man,
He'll beguile baith you and me.
He harpit and he sang,
And he is hame to Gib, his man,
As fast as he could gang.
Gin I a man had slain?'
'O that ye micht, my gude master,
Altho ye had slain ten.'
My bidden for to dee;
And but an ye wauken me in time,
Ye sall be hangit hie.
And wappit their wings sae wide,
I'm bidden gang till yon lady's bower,
And streek me by her side.'
Ye've waukit, I fear, oer lang;
For I'll wauken you in as good time
As ony cock i the land.'
He harpit and he sang,
Until he harpit his master asleep,
Syne fast awa did gang.
As fast as he could rin;
[Pg 140] When he cam till that lady's bower,
He chappit at the chin.
'That opens nae and comes in?'
'It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true-love,
O open and lat me in!'
That she had latten in,
For neither when he gaed nor cam,
Kist he her cheek or chin.
Nor clappit her when he gaed,
And in and at her bower window,
The moon shone like the gleed.
And riven is your sheen,
And reaveld is your yellow hair,
That I saw late yestreen.'
They came first to my hand,
And this is Gib, my man's shoon,
At my bed-feet they stand;
I've reavelld a' my yellow hair
Coming against the wind.'
He harpit and he sang,
Until he cam to his master,
As fast as he could gang.
I fear ye sleep oer lang;
There's nae a cock in a' the land
But has wappit his wings and crawn.'
He harpit and he sang,
And he has reachd the lady's bower
Afore that eer he blan.
He chappit at the chin:
'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 canna win.'
'That ever sic shame betide,
That I should first be a wild loon's lass,
And than a young knight's bride.'
He harpit and he sang,
And he is hame to Gib, his man,
As fast as he could gang.
Till I pay you your fee;
Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man,
Weel payit sall ye be.'
And he has hangd him hie,
And he's hangit him oer his ain yate,
As high as high could be.
For she lay cald and dead,
But a' was for him, Glenkindie,
In bower he must go mad.
C
Kinloch's MSS, III, 139, in the handwriting of John Hill Burton.
As ever harpet tone;
He harpet fish out o the sea-flood,
And water out of a dry loan,
And milk out o the maiden's breast
That bairn had never neen.
He harpit them a' asleep,
Unless it were Burd Bell alone,
And she stud on her feet.
And ye will take a sleep,
And ye will come to my bower-door
Before the cock's crowing.'
[Pg 141]
And fast away rode he,
Till he came to his ain castle,
Where gold glanced never so hie.
Gin I had slain a man?'
'Deed might [ye], my good master,
Altho ye had slain ten.'
She's daughter to the Queen,
And I maun be at her bower-door
Before the cock's crowing.'
And fast awa rode he,
Until he cam to Burd Bell's door,
Where gold glanced never so hie.
He tirled at the pin,
And up she rose, away she goes,
To let Glenkinnie in.
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
That I combed out yestreen.
Atween her and the meen:
'There is twa lovers beguiled the night,
And I fear I am ane.
When you sit at the wine,
That once you loved a queen's daughter,
And she was your footman's quean.'
A.
14. cappe... yoode.
15, 6, 21, 2 make a stanza in the MS.
33. this harpe.
41. him fall?
43. 7 yeere.
61. whom then.
beffore the cocke haue crowen.
102. pinn: one stroke of the n is left out, as frequently, in the MS. Furnivall.
112. nor noe.
144. times.
164. him im.
171. you you.
173. you are.
214. killed 3.
223. head: there is a tag to the d as if for s. Furnivall.
234. these 3.
B.
13, 4, 2 are cited by Jamieson in the Scots Magazine, October, 1803, p. 698, as the beginning of a fragment [Gray's], with only this variation:
He has, therefore, combined the two versions here.
Stanza 4, as published, is the first of "another copy [Scott's], in which the story is complete, but, it having been written from the recitation of a poor old woman in Aberdeenshire, the diction has been much humbled. It begins:
A robe o the royal pa,
Gin ye will harp i the winter's night
Afore my nobles a'.'
(Robe is misprinted rolu).
After 4 follows this stanza, which, with but a word or two of difference, is the first of 'Brown Robin,' where, no doubt, it belongs, but not here:
Sat birling at the wine,
And he wad hae but his ae dochter
To wait on them at dine.
10 may not be in the right place, and should, perhaps, be put just before Gib gets his deserts. Some such stanza would come in well between 20 and 21 of A.
After 25 follows 29, manifestly with no right. If this commonplace is retained, it must come at the end.
After 29 (27 in Jamieson) follow these three stanzas, the first a superfluous and very improbable repetition; the second altered by Jamieson, "to intro[Pg 142]duce a little variety, and prevent the monotonous tiresomeness of repetition," the last as little in traditional style as the second.
The water out o a stane,
The milk out o a maiden's breast
That bairn had never nane.
Sae sweetly as it rang,
And wae and weary was to hear
Glenkindie's dowie sang.
Nor heeds for a' his maen;
An he wad harpit till domis day,
She'll never speak again.
C.
8 follows 2 in the MS.
A fragment in Kinloch MSS, III, 147, sixteen stanzas, in the writing of John Hill Burton, is thus made up: B 1, 2, C 2, B 6, 7, C 4, 5, B 11, C 6, B 14, C 7, 8, B 17, 18, B 191-3 and C 94, B 20; with the following variations, probably arbitrary.
Variations from
B 11. a gude harper.
13, he was the.
14. on string.
21. o the sea-flood.
22. o the.
23. And milk.
C 23. Except it was.
B 74. streek down.
C 43. Untill.
C 51. Now might.
C 52. a man had slain=B 102.
C 53. Indeed ye micht.
B 111. Jock my man.
113. And but ye.
C 71. And he's.
C 81. bower-door.
C 83. and away.
FOOTNOTES:
[96] See The Cambrian Journal, September, 1858, pp 192-194, communicated to me by the kind courtesy of Rev. Professor D. Silvan Evans. As to Glasgerion's being a king's son, ballad titles count for little.
[97] In C 18, p. 440,
She wept the starns adoun frae the lift,
She wept the fish out o the sea.
68
YOUNG HUNTING
A. 'Young Hunting.' a. Herd's MSS, I, 182. b. The same, II, 67.
B. 'Young Redin,' Kinloch MSS, VII, 7, Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 1.
C. 'Young Riedan,' Harris MS., fol. 8.
D. Motherwell's MS., p. 377.
E. 'Lord William,' Scott's Minstrelsy, III, 265, 1803.
F. 'Earl Richard.' a. Motherwell's MS., p. 61, Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 218. b. Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xvii, one stanza.
G. Herd's MSS, I, 34; Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 148.
H. 'Clyde's Water,' Dr Joseph Robertson's Journal of Excursions, No 1, 1829.
I. 'Lord John,' Motherwell's MS., p. 189.
J. 'Earl Richard,' Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 42, 1802, and III, 184, 1833.
K. 'Young Hunting,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 118.
J, Scott's version, and naturally the best known, is described by the editor as made up from the best verses of Herd's copies, A, G, with some trivial alterations adopted from tradition. This account is far from being exact, for there are many lines in the edition of 1802 which are not found in Herd's copies, and in the edition of 1833 four additional stanzas, 11, 12, 13, 28. Such portions of Scott's version as are not found in Herd are here distinguished by a larger type. K is perhaps a stall copy, and certainly, where it is not taken from[Pg 143] other versions, is to a considerable degree a modern manufacture by a very silly pen.[98]
The copy in Pinkerton's Tragic Ballads, p. 84, is only the first five stanzas of G, a little altered.
A Scandinavian ballad begins somewhat like 'Young Hunting,' but ends like 'Elveskud' or 'Clerk Colvil.' A young man who has made up his mind to marry is warned by his mother against the wiles of a former mistress. He rides to his old love's house and is welcomed to beer and wine. He tells her that he is on the way to his bride. She wants a word with him, or a kiss, and as he leans over to her on his horse, stabs him to the heart. He rides home bleeding, pretends that he has hurt himself by running against a tree, asks that his bed may be made and a priest sent for, and dies. Danish, 'Frillens Hævn,' Grundtvig, IV, 203 f, No 208, A-D, A from a manuscript of the 17th century. Swedish, A, 'Herr Magnus,' Afzelius, No 13, I, 67, an imperfect copy; B, from Cavallius and Stephens' manuscript collection, C-H, fragments in the same collection, Grundtvig, IV, 203; I, 'Herr Samsing,' Eva Wigström, in Hazelius, Ur de nordiska Folkens Lif, p. 124. Norwegian, 'Herre Per og Gjöðalin,' a mixed form, Landstad, p. 564, No 68, and the first stanza in Lindeman, No 132, No 178.
The place where the dead body of the knight lies at the bottom of the river is discovered by candles burning bright, A 22 f, C 19 f, H 8, K 31, 35. Sir Walter Scott supposed these candles to mean "the corpse-lights... which are sometimes seen to illuminate the spot where a dead body is concealed." He had been informed that the body of a man drowned in the Ettrick had been discovered by means of these candles. Though the language in the ballad is not quite explicit, owing perhaps to the fact that the method of detection practised was more familiar formerly than now, the meaning is as likely to be that a candle, floated on the water, would burn brighter when it came to the spot where the body lay. A candle (a consecrated one in Catholic countries) stuck in a loaf of bread, or supported by cork, is still believed to be efficient for indicating the place of a drowned body; in England, Henderson, Notes on the Folk Lore of the Northern Counties, ed. 1879, p. 60; in Bohemia, Wuttke, Deutscher Volksaberglaube der Gegenwart, ed. 1869, p. 239, No 371; in Brittany, Blätter für literarische Unterhaltung, 1837, p. 892; in Portugal, Vasconcellos, Tradições Populares, p. 80, No 178.[99]
That the body of a murdered man will emit blood upon being touched, or even approached, by the murderer is a belief of ancient standing, and evidence of this character was formerly admitted in judicial investigations. See especially Grimm, Rechtsalterthümer, 1854, p. 930 f, Bahrgericht, who cites from literature the Nibelungenlied (1043-45, Bartsch) Hartmann's Iwein, 1355-64, Shakespeare's Richard III, I, 2, besides instances of legal or historical description; to which may be added others furnished by Sir W. Scott, Minstrelsy III, 190-93, ed. 1833, and Kinloch, Ancient Scottish Ballads, pp 10-12. See further Schmidt, Die Märchen des Straparola, pp 229, 346 ff, Holinshed's Chronicle of Scotland, p. 235, ed. 1808, Matthew Paris, Chronica Majora, ed. Luard, II, 344 f, Brand's Antiquities, ed. Ellis, II, 542-44.[100]
There is a sort of judicium ignis in A 26-28, B 23 f, C 24, K 37 f: the fire which does not burn the innocent bower-woman consumes her guilty mistress.
For the oath by corn, A 16, D 21, grass[Pg 144] and corn, G 7, thorn, K 26, see 'Glasgerion.'
E is translated by Schubart, p. 173; F by Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 24, Hausschatz, p. 204; J by Schubart, p. 86, Gerhard, p. 134; Aytoun's copy by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, p. 46; Allingham's copy by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 42.
A
a. Herd's MSS, I, 182; b. the same, II, 67.
One hour longer for me,
For I have a sweetheart in Garlick's Wells
I love thrice better than thee.
Is whiter then thy face:'
'But nevertheless na, Young Hunting,
Ye'l stay wi me all night.'
The good ale and the beer,
Till he was as fou drunken
As any wild-wood steer.
The good ale and the wine,
Till he was as fou drunken
As any wild-wood swine.
And she has had him to her bed,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
That hangs low down by her gare,
And she has gin him Young Hunting
A deep wound and a sare.
That flew abon her head:
'Lady, keep well thy green clothing
Fra that good lord's blood.'
Fra that good lord's blood
Nor thou can keep thy flattering toung,
That flatters in thy head.
Light down upon my hand,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
An goud shall be thy fee,
An every month into the year
Thy cage shall changed be.'
I winna light on thy hand;
For soon, soon wad ye do to me
As ye done to Young Hunting.'
As he had been gan to ride,
A hunting-horn about his neck,
An the sharp sourd by his side.
For a' man calls it Clyde,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
She has puten Young Hunting in;
A green truff upon his breast,
To hold that good lord down.
The king was going to ride,
And he sent for him Young Hunting,
To ride on his right side.
She sware now by the corn,
'I saw na thy son, Young Hunting,
Sen yesterday at morn.'
She swear now by the moon,
[Pg 145] 'I saw na thy son, Young Hunting,
Sen yesterday at noon.
That he is drownd therein:'
O thay ha sent for the king's duckers,
To duck for Young Hunting.
Thay ducked out at the tither:
'We'll duck no more for Young Hunting,
All tho he wear our brother.'
That flew abon their heads,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
He is slain and put therein;
The lady that lives in yon castil
Slew him and put him in.
And duck upon the night;
Whear ever that sakeless knight lys slain,
The candels will shine bright.'
And ducked upon the night,
And where that sakeless knight lay slain,
The candles shone full bright.
Thay got Young Hunting in;
A green turff upon his brest,
To hold that good lord down.
To hew down baith thorn an fern,
That they might get a great bonefire
To burn that lady in.
'Put na the wyte on me,' she says,
'It was her May Catheren.'
In the bonefire set her in;
It wad na take upon her cheeks,
Nor take upon her chin,
Nor yet upon her yallow hair,
To healle the deadly sin.
And they hay put that lady in;
O it took upon her cheek, her cheek,
An it took upon her chin,
An it took on her fair body,
She burnt like hoky-gren.
B
Kinloch MSS, VII, p. 7, Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 1; "from the recitation of Miss E. Beattie, of Edinburgh, a native of Mearns-shire, who sings it to a plaintive and melancholy, though somewhat monotonous, air of one measure."
Wi therty lords and three;
And he has til his true-love gane,
As fast as he could hie.
For coal and candle-licht;
And sae are ye, my Young Redin,
To bide wi me the nicht.'
Sae do I for your coal;
But there's thrice as fair a ladie as thee
Meets me at Brandie's Well.'
And merrily drinking wine,
This ladie has tane a sair sickness,
And til her bed has gane.
And a dowie man was he;
He fund his true-love in her bouer,
And the tear was in her ee.
And gieing her kisses sweet,
Then out she's tane a little penknife,
And woundid him sae deep.
[Pg 146]
And slawly daws the day;
There is a slain knicht in my bouer,
And I wish he war away.'
And she spak ae wi spite:
'An there be a slain knicht in your bouer,
It's yoursell that has the wyte.'
O heal this deed on me;
The silks that war shapen for me gen Pasche,
They sall be sewed for thee.'
A twalmonth and a day,
And I hae heald on my mistress
Mair than I can say.'
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,
It's there they've made his bed.
As he sat on the tree:
'And hae ye killd him Young Redin,
Wha neer had love but thee?'
Come doun into my hand;
Your cage sall be o the beaten gowd,
Whan now it's but the wand.'
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.'
Mony a lord and knicht,
And there cam seekin Young Redin
Mony a ladie bricht.
Thinking he was wi her;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Sin yesterday at noon;
He turnd his stately steed about,
And hied him throw the toun.
Ye'll seek it out and in;
I hae na seen him Young Redin
Sin yesterday at noon.'
And a dowie woman was scho:
'There's na a place in Clyde's Water
But my son wad gae throw.'
They've sought it out and in,
And the deepest place in Clyde's Water
They've fund Young Redin in.
As white as a linen clout;
But as the traitor she cam near,
His wounds they gushit out.
O ill may her betide!
I neer wad slain him Young Redin,
And thrown him in the Clyde.'
The bouer-woman to brin;
It tuke not on her cheek, her cheek,
It tuke not on her chin,
But it tuke on the cruel hands
That pat Young Redin in.
And pat the ladie in;
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.
C
Harris MS., fol. 8, from Mrs Harris, Perthshire.
In her bour-door as she stude,
She thocht she heard a bridle ring,
That did her bodie gude.
Come ridin owre the sand;
But it was her true-love Riedan,
Come hiean to her hand.
'To coal an cannel-licht;
You're welcome, you're welcome, Young Riedan,
To sleep in my bour this nicht.'
An for your cannel tae;
There's a fairer maid at Clyde's Water,
I love better than you.'
A fairer maid than me?
A fairer maid than ten o me
You shurely neer did see.'
To gie her a kiss sae sweet;
She keppit him on a little penknife,
An gae him a wound sae deep.
Oh hide this deed on me!
An the silks that waur shappit for me at Yule
At Pasch sall be sewed for thee.'
The way he was wont to ride;
Wi a huntin-horn aboot his neck,
An a sharp sword by his side.
An they rade it up an doon,
An the deepest linn in a' Clyde's Water
They flang him Young Riedan [in].
Your bed it is fu wan;
The [maid] you hae at Clyde's Water,
For you she will think lang.'
As it sat on the tree:
'Oh wae betide you, ill woman,
An an ill death may you dee!
For he had neer anither love,
Anither love but thee.'
An pickle wheat aff my glue;
An your cage sall be o the beaten goud,
Whan it's of the willow tree.'
To siccan a traitor as thee;
For as you did to Young Riedan,
Sae wald you do to mee.'
An pickle wheat aff my hand;
An your cage sall be o the beaten goud,
Whan it's o the willow wand.'
To siccan a traitor as thee;
You wald thraw my head aff my hase-bane,
An fling it in the sea.'
The king's court cam ridin bye:
'Oh whare is it him Young Riedan?
It's fain I wald him see.'
Sin three lang weeks the morn;
It bodes me sair, and drieds me mair,
Clyde's Water's him forlorn.'
As it sat on the tree;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
An ye maun seek by nicht;
Aboon the place Young Riedan lies,
The cannels burn bricht.'
An they did seek by nicht;
[Pg 148] An owre the place Young Riedan lay,
The cannels burnt bricht.
Was o his yellow hair;
An was na that a dowie grip,
To get her ae son there!
Was o his milk-white hand;
An wasna that a dowie grip,
To bring sae far to land!
As white as ony lawn;
But sune's the traitor stude afore,
Then oot the red blude sprang.
Niether on cheek nor chin;
But it took fast on thae twa hands
That flang young Riedan in.
Come oot, lat me win in;
For as I did the deed mysell,
Sae man I drie the pine.'
D
Motherwell's MS., p. 377; from Agnes Lyle, Kilbarchan.
As fast as he can ride;
He's a hunting-horn about his neck,
And a broadsword by his side.
'O licht down and come in,
And thou'll get cheer and charcoal clear,
And torches for to burn.'
I winna licht at all;
A fairer lady then ten of thee
Meets me at Richard's Wall.'
And for to kiss her sweet,
But little thocht o that penknife
Wherewith she wound him deep.
Why stabs thou me so sore?
There's not a lord like Earl Richard
Could love false woman more.'
Long before it was day:
'I have a dead man in my bower,
I wish he were away.'
Keep it free of all men's blood;'
'Oh I will keep it een as weel
As you or any maid.
'And gold will be thy fee,
And I mysell will gang alang
And bear thee companye.'
As he was wont to ride,
And they're awa to Lorn's Water,
To Lorn's Water so wide.
Turnd up his milk-white feet:
'Lye thou there, Earl Richard,' she said,
'Till the blood seep from thy bane;
That fairer maid than ten of me
Will look lang or thou come hame.'
Upon the road so hie,
There they spy'd a small pyet,
Was sitting on a tree.
'Whare has thou been so soon?
Or what did thou wi Earl Richard,
Was late wi thee yestreen?'
An thou'll come to my knee,
[Pg 149] I have a cage of beaten gold,
And I'll bestow't on thee.'
And I will keep my tree;
For as thou did wi Earl Richard,
So wad thou do wi me;
Thou wad thraw the wee head aff my bouk,
And drown me in the sea.'
An thou'll come to my hand,
I have a cage of beaten gold,
And thou's be put therein.'
And I will keep my tree;
For as thou did wi Earl Richard,
So would thou do wi me.'
And set unto my knee,
I wad shoot this wee pyet
Sits gabbing on the tree.'
And set unto thy knee,
I'll be at Earl Richard's father,
Telling ill tales on thee.'
Upon the road so bricht,
There they saw Earl Richard's father,
Coming marching in their sicht.
'Whare has thou been back sae sune?
O what did thou wi my auld son,
Was late wi thee yestreen?'
And grass-green growing corn,
That she had not seen Earl Richard's face
Since Saturday at morn;
'But in Lorn's Water, indeed,' she says,
'I fear his days are done.'
But he could ride it weel;
And what did thou wi my auld son,
That went with thee afield?'
E
Scott's Minstrelsy, III, 265, 1803, communicated by James Hogg, from the recitation of his mother (Motherwell).
That dwalt in fair Scotland,
And, though renowned in France and Spain,
Fell by a ladie's hand.
Down by yon shady wood,
She heard a smit o bridle reins,
She wishd might be for good.
You're welcome hame to me;
To best o chear and charcoal red,
And candle burnin free.'
Nor come to your arms at a';
A fairer maid than ten o you
I'll meet at Castle-law.'
A fairer maid than me?
A fairer maid than ten o me
Your eyes did never see.'
To kiss her ere they part,
And wi a little keen bodkin,
She pierced him to the heart.
As fast as ye can dree;
Your bonny lass at Castle-law
Will weary you to see.'
Sat high upon a tree:
'How could you kill that noble lord?
He came to marry thee.'
And eat bread aff my hand;
[Pg 150] Your cage shall be of wiry goud,
Whar now it's but the wand.'
And I will keep my tree;
As ye hae done to Lord William,
Sae wad ye do to me.'
A bonny marble stane,
And carried him to her chamber,
Oer him to make her mane.
Three quarters of a year,
Until that word began to spread;
Then she began to fear.
Ay ready at her ca:
'There is a knight into my bower,
'Tis time he were awa.'
The ither by the feet,
And thrown him in the wan water,
That ran baith wide and deep.
On him that loed ye weel;
A better man than that blue corpse
Neer drew a sword of steel.'
F
a. Motherwell's MS., p. 61, from the recitation of Miss Stevenson of Glasgow, January 22, 1825; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 218. b. Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xvii, VIII, one stanza.
As fast as he can ride,
His hunting-horn hung about his neck,
And a small sword by his side.
He tirled at the pin,
And wha was sae ready as the lady hersell
To open and let him in.
'O light and stay a' night;
You shall have cheer wi charcoal clear,
And candles burning bright.'
I cannot light at all;
A fairer lady than ten of thee
Is waiting at Richard's Wall.'
To kiss her rosy cheek;
She had a pen-knife in her hand,
And wounded him so deep.
'O lie ye there till morn;
A fairer lady than ten of me
Will think lang of your coming home.'
She called them twa by twa:
'I have got a dead man in my bower,
I wish he were awa.'
And the other by the feet,
And they've thrown him in a deep draw-well,
Full fifty fathom deep.
That sat upon a tree:
'Gae hame, gae hame, ye false lady,
And pay your maids their fee.'
That sits upon the tree;
I have a cage of beaten gold,
I'll gie it unto thee.'
And pay your maids their fee;
As ye have done to Earl Richard,
Sae wud ye do to me.'
And a bow bent on a string,
I'd shoot a dart at thy proud heart,
Amang the leaves sae green.'
G
Herd's MSS, I, 34; Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 148.
She has calld them one by one:
'There is a dead man in my bower,
I wish that he was gone.'
As he was wont to ride,
A hunting-horn around his waist,
A sharp sword by his side.
That sat upon the tree:
'What hae ye done wi Earl Richard?
Ye was his gay lady.'
Cum sit upon my hand;
And ye sall hae a cage o the gowd,
Where ye hae but the wand.'
Nae ill woman for me;
What ye hae done to Earl Richard,
Sae wad ye do to mee.'
That sings sae sad and sweet;
O there's a bird intill your bour
Kept me frae my nicht's sleep.'
Sae did she by the corn,
That she had not seen Earl Richard
Sen yesterday at morn.
* * * * *
H
Dr Joseph Robertson's "Journal of Excursions," No 1, 1829.
* * * * *
Hail well this deed on me,
And ever I live my life to brook,
I'se pay thee well thy fee.'
As gin he had been gain to ride,
Put a huntin-horn about his neck,
And a small sword by his side.
And there we'll fling him in,
That we may have it to be said
In Clyde's Water he drownd.'
As gin he had been gain to ride,
Pat a huntin-horn about his neck,
But the sword on his wrang side.
And there they flang him in,
That they might have it to be said
In Clyde's Water he drowned.
And douk it up and doun;
It's we'll sen for the king's doukers,
And douk it out and in.'
As it sat on yon burn-brae:
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
And turn you to the night,
And where the innocent blood lies slain,
The candles will burn fou bricht.'
And blawn her in the air,
And nothing o that bower-man would burn
But the hands that buskd him rare.
I
Motherwell MS., p. 189.
Sit low upon my hand,
And thy cage shall be o the beaten gowd,
And not of hazel wand.'
And an ill death may thou die!
For the way thou guided good Lord John,
Soon, soon would thou guide me.'
'And set it to my ee,
And I will gar that bonnie bird
Come quickly down to me.'
And set it to thy ee,
O I will be at yon far forest,
Telling ill tales on thee.'
J
Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 42, 1802, and III, 184, 1833, from Herd's copies (A, G), and from tradition.
One hour langer for me;
For I have a sweetheart in Garlioch Wells
I love far better than thee.
Than thy face is far mair white:'
'But, nevertheless, now, Erl Richard,
Ye will bide in my bower a' night?'
As they sat down to sup:
A living man he laid him down,
But I wot he neer rose up.
That flew aboun her head:
'Lady, keep weel your green cleiding
Frae gude Erl Richard's bleid.'
Frae gude Erl Richard's bleid,
Than thou canst keep thy clattering toung,
That trattles in thy head.'
She has calld them ane by ane:
'There lies a deid man in my bowr,
I wish that he were gane.'
As he was wont to ride,
A hunting-horn tied round his waist,
A sharp sword by his side;
And they hae had him to the wan water,
For a' men call it Clyde.
That sat upon the tree:
'What hae ye done wi Erl Richard?
Ye were his gaye ladye.'
And sit upon my hand;
And thou sall hae a cage o gowd,
Where thou hast but the wand.'
Nae cage o gowd for me;
As ye hae dune to Erl Richard,
Sae wad ye do to me.'
A rigg but barely ane,
When she met wi his auld father,
Came riding all alane.
Where hae ye been sae late?
We hae been seeking Erl Richard,
But him we canna get.'
He'll ride them ane by ane;
And though the night was neer sae mirk,
Erl Richard will be hame.'
[Pg 153]
The king was boun to ride,
And he has mist him Erl Richard,
Should hae ridden on his right side.
Wi mickle mournfu din:
'It fears me sair o Clyde water,
That he is drownd therein.'
'Gar douk for gold and fee;
O wha will douk for Erl Richard's sake,
Or wha will douk for me?'
And out aye at the other:
'We can douk nae mair for Erl Richard,
Altho he were our brother.'
The king was boun to bed,
And up and spake the popinjay,
That flew abune his head.
And douk upon the night;
And wherever that sackless knight lies slain,
The candles will burn bright.'
That sings baith sad and sweet;
O there's a bird within your bower
Keeps me frae my night's sleep.'
And douked upon the night,
And where that sackless knight lay slain,
The candles burned bright.
They fand Erl Richard in;
A green turf tyed across his breast,
To keep that gude lord down.
When he saw the deadly wound,
'O wha has slain my right-hand man,
That held my hawk and hound?'
Says, What needs a' this din?
It was his light lemman took his life,
And hided him in the linn.
Sae did she by the corn,
She had na seen him Erl Richard
Since Moninday at morn.
'It was my may, Catherine:'
Then they hae cut baith fern and thorn,
To burn that maiden in.
Nor yet upon her chin,
Nor yet upon her yellow hair,
To cleanse the deadly sin.
A drap it never bled;
The ladye laid her hand on him,
And soon the ground was red.
And put her mistress in;
The flame tuik fast upon her cheik,
Tuik fast upon her chin,
Tuik fast upon her fair bodye,
She burnd like hollins grene.
K
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 118.
And stood on her tower-head;
She thought she heard a bridle ring,
The sound did her heart guid.
Whom she loved ance in time;
But it was her new love, Hunting,
Come frae the hunting o the hyn.
God make you safe and free;
I'm come to take my last farewell,
And pay my last visit to thee.'
O stay with me this night;
[Pg 154] Ye shall hae cheer, an charcoal clear,
And candles burning bright.'
An hour langer for me;
I have a lady in Garmouth town
I love better than thee.'
Since better canno be,
Nevertheless, for auld lang syne,
Ye'll stay this night wi me.
And gowd shall be your fee,
And nine times nine into the year
Your weed shall changed be.
Or to a tavern fine?
Or will ye gae to a table forebye,
And birl baith beer and wine?'
Nor to a tavern fine;
But I will gang to a table forebye,
And birl baith beer and wine.'
The beer but and the wine,
Till she got him as deadly drunk
As ony unhallowed swine.
That hang below her gare,
Then she's wounded him Young Hunting,
A deep wound and a sair.
Being in the companie:
'Alas! this deed that ye hae done
Will ruin baith you and me.'
Heal well this deed on me,
The robes that were shapen for my bodie,
They shall be sewed for thee.'
And never sae well,' said she,
'There is a God above us baith
That can baith hear and see.'
As he'd been gaun to ride,
A hunting-horn about his neck,
A sharp sword by his side.
All the lang summer's tide,
Until they came to wan water,
Where a' man ca's it Clyde.
And there they flang him in,
And put a turf on his breast-bane,
To had Young Hunting down.
As she sat on the brier:
'Gae hame, gae hame, ye Lady Maisry,
And pay your maiden's hire.'
And hire I'll gie to thee;
If ye'll conceal this fatal deed,
Ye's hae gowd for your fee.'
That flew aboon their head:
'Keep well, keep well your green claithing
Frae ae drap o his bluid.'
Frae ae drop o his bluid,
Better than I'll do your flattering tongue,
That flutters in your head.
Light down upon my hand;
For ae gowd feather that's in your wing,
I woud gie a' my land.'
How shall I come down to thee?
The things ye said to Young Hunting,
The same ye're saying to me.'
The king was going to ride,
And he calld for him Young Hunting,
For to ride by his side.
Sat on the nurse's knee:
'It fears me sair,' said that young babe,
'He's in bower wi yon ladie.'
And she sware by the thorn
That she saw not him Young Hunting
Sin yesterday at morn.
And she sware by the moon
That she saw not him Young Hunting
Sin yesterday at noon.
Perhaps he has fa'en in:'
[Pg 155] The king he calld his divers all,
To dive for his young son.
Sae did they outthro the other:
'We'll dive nae mair,' said these young men,
'Suppose he were our brother.'
That flew aboon their head:
'Dive on, dive on, ye divers all,
For there he lies indeed.
And ye'll dive in the night;
The pot where Young Hunting lies in,
The candles they'll burn bright.
And even in yon ha,
And they hae killd him Young Hunting,
And casten him awa.
As he'd been gaun to ride,
A hunting-horn tied round his neck,
A sharp sword by his side
There they flang him in,
Laid a turf on his breast-bane,
To had Young Hunting down.'
And they dived on the night;
The pot that Young Hunting lay in,
The candles were burning bright.
To hew down wood and thorn,
For to put up a strong bale-fire,
These ladies for to burn.
And they hae pitten her in;
But it wadna light upon her cheek,
Nor woud it on her chin,
But sang the points o her yellow hair,
For healing the deadly sin.
And they hae put her in:
First it lighted on her cheek,
And syne upon her chin,
And sang the points o her yellow hair,
And she burnt like keckle-pin.
A. a.
11. than he.
21. lover's.
33. drucken.
73. the green.
101. higher.
103. On every.
122. Or he.
201, 2 and 21 in one stanza.
211. Clyd's. (?)
233. lackless.
255, 6 and 26 in one stanza.
b.
is a revised copy, in which most of the above readings are corrected, with other changes.
11. second young omitted.
33. love drucken.
43. love drunken.
61. her of.
131. wan omitted.
141. 241. pit.
152. gan.
181, 211. Clyde's.
191. tae omitted.
271, 2. hae omitted.
276. hoky gren wanting.
B.
6, 7. These stanzas, with the trivial variation in 63 of she's taen out, are given by Chambers, Scottish Ballads, p. 259, note, from his recollection of a recited fragment.
D.
"The catastrophe wanting, but the lady's treachery was discovered, and she was burned." Motherwell's MS.
94. so deep.
201. hast.
E.
"Although much of the language seems somewhat modernized, this must be attributed to its currency, being much liked, and very much sung, in this neighborhood. 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 sweetheart Castle-swa." Hogg.
G.
"To a wild melancholy tune." Herd.
Quhat, ze, etc., are printed what, ye, as usual.
H.
71, 2 and 8 one stanza.
FOOTNOTES:
[98] For utter ineptness 7-9 even go beyond the ordinary Buchan mark.
[99] Other expedients are, a loaf of bread weighted with quicksilver, or without candle or quicksilver, or a chip of wood; Henderson, as above, p. 59, Gregor, Notes on the Folk Lore of the North East of Scotland, p. 208, Choice Notes from Notes and Queries, pp 40-43, and Liebrecht, Volkskunde, p. 344 f, who cites nearly all these places. J. S. C. observes in Notes and Queries: As there are in all running streams deep pools formed by eddies, in which drowned bodies would be likely to be caught and retained, any light substance thrown into the current would consequently be drawn to that part of the surface over the centre of the eddy hole.
[100] Also (not seen by me) Danske Samlinger, II, 274-76, 1867, Norske Magasin, I, 401, 1860, cited by somebody (probably Grundtvig) whom I have neglected to note.
69
CLERK SAUNDERS
A. 'Clerk Sanders,' Herd's MSS, I, 177, II, 49.
B. 'Clerk Saunders,' Herd's MSS, I, 163, II, 46.
C. 'Clerk Saunders,' Kinloch's Scottish Ballads, p. 233.
D. 'Lord Saunders,' Motherwell's MS., p. 196.
E. 'The Seven Bluidy Brithers,' Motherwell's MS., p. 199.
F. 'Clerk Saunders,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 83.
G. 'Clerk Sandy,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 160.
'Clerk Saunders' was first given to the world in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 33, 1802, and was there said to be "taken from Mr Herd's MS., with several corrections from a shorter and more imperfect copy in the same volume, and one or two conjectural emendations in the arrangement of the stanzas." Sir Walter arranged his ballad with much good taste, but this account of his dealing with Herd's copies is very far from precisely accurate. A, the longer of these, does not end, as here printed, with Margret's refusal to be comforted, a rather unsufficing conclusion it must be owned. The story is continued by annexing the ballad of 'Sweet William's Ghost,' the lack of which in B makes Scott call that version imperfect. This sequel, found also in F, is omitted here, and will be given in the proper place.[101] Jamieson's, F, as well as Scott's, is a made-up copy, "the stanzas where the seven brothers are introduced" having been "enlarged from two fragments, which, although very defective in themselves, furnished lines which, when incorporated with the text, seemed to improve it." About one half of G is taken from Herd's MSS, with trivial alterations. The ghostly visitation at the end blends 'Proud Lady Margaret' with 'Sweet William's Ghost,' and this conclusion, not being worth transferring, has been allowed to stand.[102] The dream in E 13 may be derived from 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William.'
The austerities vowed in D 13-15, E 17-20, found also in A 20-22, G 23-25, make a very satisfactory termination to the tragedy, and supply a want that may be felt in B, and in A as it stands here. The like are found in 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' 'Bonny Bee Ho'm,' 'Lord Livingston,' 'The Weary Coble o Cargill,' and 'The Lowlands of Holland.' Also in the French ballad of 'La Biche Blanche,' where a brother, having unwittingly been the death of his sister, who was maid by day but hind by night, vows himself to a seven years' penance:
Serai pendant sept ans sans mettr' chemise blanche,
Et coucherai sept ans sous une épine blanche.
or,
Vaugeois, Histoire des Antiquités de la Ville de l'Aigle, p. 585, repeated in Bosquet, La Normandie Romanesque, p. 83, Beaurepaire, Poésie p. en Normandie, p. 78; Haupt, Französische Volkslieder, p. 20, Souvestre, in Revue des Deux Mondes, 1849, Avril, p. 106, and Les Derniers Paysans, p. 36, ed. 1871.
The king, in 'Kong Valdemar og hans Søster,' Grundtvig, No 126, A, B, C, will live in a dark house where he shall never see fire nor light, nor shall the sun ever shine on him, till he has expiated his monstrous cruelty to his sister.
So the marquis, in the Romance del Marques de Mántua, swears, till he has avenged the death of Valdovinos,
ni las mis barbas cortar,
de no vestir otras ropas,
ni renovar mi calzar, etc.
Wolf and Hofmann, Primavera, No 165, II, 192.
F, Jamieson's version, connects 'Clerk Saunders' with a Scandinavian ballad,[103] which seems to be preserved in abbreviated and sometimes perverted forms, also by other races. Full forms of this Northern ballad are:
Icelandic, 'Ólöfar kvaeði,' eight versions, A-H, Íslenzk Fornkvæði, No 34, I, 332.
Färöe, 'Faðir og dottir,' communicated by Hammershaimb to the Antiquarisk Tidsskrift, 1849-51, p. 88.
Norwegian, 'Far aa dótter,' Bugge, Gamle Norske Folkeviser, p. 115, A (with two fragments, B, C).
A father [king, Icelandic A-H] asks his daughter if she is ready to marry. She has no such thought.[104] [She swore by God, by man, that she had never had the thought, had no private connection, was as clear as a nun; but nobody knew what was in her mind: Färöe.] Who, then, he asks, is the fair knight that rode to your bower? No fair knight, but one of her knaves. Whose was that horse I saw at your door? It was no horse, but a hind from the fell. Who was that fair knight you kissed at the spring? It was no knight, but her maid that she kissed. Does her maid wear a sword at her side? It was no sword, but a bunch of keys. Does her maid wear spurs? It was no spurs, but gold on her shoes. Has her maid short hair? Her plaits were coiled on her head. Does she wear short clothes, like men? Maids hold up their coats when there is a dew. What babe was crying in her chamber? It was no babe, but her dog. What was that cradle standing by her bed? It was no cradle, but her little silk-loom.
In the Färöe ballad the father then rides to the wood, meets a knight, cuts him in two, hangs his foot, hand, and head to his saddle, and returns. Do you know this foot? he asks. It has often found the way to her chamber. Do you know this hand? Many a night it has lain on her arm. Do you know this head? Many a kiss have the lips had. In the other versions these bloody tokens are produced on the spot, with a more startling effect. The daughter wishes a fire in her father's house, him in it, and herself looking on. Instantly a blaze bursts forth, the king is burnt up, and all that belongs to him. The daughter sets the fire herself in the Färöe and the Norwegian ballad. She dies of grief in Icelandic C, takes to the wood in E, F,[105] goes into a cloister in D, G (cf. English C).
A briefer form of this same story is 'Den grymma Brodern,' Afzelius, No 86, III, 107. In this a brother takes the place of the father. After several questions he asks his sister if she knows the man's hand that hangs at his saddle. She bursts out into an exclamation of[Pg 158] grief. 'Thore och hans Syster,' Arwidsson, No 55, I, 358,[106] has lost its proper conclusion, for we have not come to the conclusion when the brother says that his sister's false inventions will never give out till the sea wants water, a comment which we also find in the Färöe ballad (where, however, it is misplaced). This is the case, also, with 'Det hurtige Svar,' Danske Viser, No 204, IV, 228[106] and 362, but in the Danish ballad a perversion towards the comic has begun, the end being:
I have answers still in store.'
The German Ocean shall be dry.'
In a Spanish and Portuguese romance a woman has received a lover in the absence of her husband. The husband returns before he is expected, and puts questions similar to those in the ballads already spoken of: whose horse, lance, sword, is this? whose spurs, whose arms are these? and is answered after the same fashion. There is considerable variety in the conclusion; the husband kills his wife, kills the paramour, kills both, both he and his rival lose their lives, the wife dies of fright, or is even pardoned. Spanish: 'De Blanca-Niña,' Wolf and Hofmann, Primavera, No 136, II, 52; 'Romance del Conde Lombardo,' the same, No 136 a, II, 53; 'La adúltera castigada,' Milá, Romancerillo, No 254, A-M, pp 241-45; 'Lo retorn soptat,' Briz, IV, 183; Fernan Caballero, La Gaviota, p. 82, ed. Leipzig, 1868.[107]
In an Illyrian ballad, husband, wife, and a young Clerk are the parties. Three watches are set to give notice of the husband's return, one in the field, one in the house-court, one before the chamber. They give due warning, but the woman, like Lady Barnard, in 'Little Musgrave,' will not heed. After some questions and evasions the husband strikes off her head: 'Nevérnost,' Vraz, Narodne Pésni Ilirske, p. 72; 'Bestrafte Untreue,' A. Grün, Volkslieder aus Krain, p. 41.
Nothing could be easier than to give these questions, prevarications, and comments a humorous turn, and this is done in a large number of ballads: see 'Our good man came hame at een.'
The two ballads which immediately follow have connections with 'Clerk Saunders.'
Scott's copy is translated by Schubart, p. 79; Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 45, Hausschatz, p. 202; Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 13. F, in Afzelius, III, 110.
A
Herd's MSS, a, I, 177; b, II, 419.
Walkt ower yon graveld green,
And sad and heavy was the love,
I wat, it fell this twa between.
'A bed, a bed for you and I;'
'Fye no, fye no,' the lady said,
'Until the day we married be.
And a' their torches burning bright;
They'll say, We hae but ae sister,
And here her lying wi a knight.'
And lowly, lowly lift the gin,
And you may say, your oth to save,
You never let Clark Sanders in.
And ye'l ty up baith your een,
[Pg 159] An ye may say, your oth to save,
That ye saw na Sandy sen late yestreen.
Yele carrey me ben into your bed,
And ye may say, your oth to save,
In your bower-floor I never tread.'
And lowly, lowly lifted the gin;
She was to swear, her oth to save,
She never let Clerk Sanders in.
And she ty'd up baith her eeen;
She was to swear, her oth to save,
She saw na him sene late yestreen.
And carried him ben into her bed;
She was to swear, her oth to save,
He never in her bower-floor tread.
And all their torches burning bright;
Says thay, We hae but ae sister,
And see there her lying wi a knight.
'A wat they hay been lovers dear;'
Out and speaks the next of them,
'They hay been in love this many a year.'
'It wear great sin this twa to twain;'
Out an speaks the fourth of them,
'It wear a sin to kill a sleeping man.'
'A wat they'll near be twaind by me;'
Out an speaks the sixt of them,
'We'l tak our leave an gae our way.'
'Altho there wear no a man but me,
. . . . . . .
I bear the brand, I'le gar him die.'
And he has striped it throw the straw,
And throw and throw Clarke Sanders' body
A wat he has gard cold iron gae.
Intill his arms whare she lay,
And well and wellsom was the night,
A wat it was between these twa.
Untill the day began to daw;
And kindly till him she did say
'It's time, trew-love, ye wear awa.'
Untill the sun began to shine;
She lookt between her and the wa,
And dull and heavy was his eeen.
A wat it had fallen this twa between;
But it was the blood of his fair body,
A wat his life days wair na lang.
What other ladys would na thoule;
When seven years is come and gone,
There's near a shoe go on my sole.
What other ladies would think mare;
When seven years is come an gone,
Ther's nere a comb go in my hair.
What other ladies would think lack;
When seven years is come an gone,
I'le wear nought but dowy black.'
To carry the dead corps to the clay,
An sighing says her May Margret,
'A wat I bide a doulfou day.'
Stout steping on the floor;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Let all your mourning a bee;
I'le carry the dead corps to the clay,
An I'le come back an comfort thee.'
For comforted will I never bee;
For it was neither lord nor loune
That was in bower last night wi mee.'
B
Herd's MSS, a, I, 163; b, II, 46.
Was walking in yonder green,
And heavy, heavy was the love
That fell this twa lovers between.
'And ay a bed for you and me;'
'Never a ane,' said the gay lady,
'Till ance we twa married be.
And a' their torches burning bright,
And say, We hae but ae sister,
And behad, she's lying wi you the night.'
And then you will tie up your een;
Then you may swear, and safe your aith,
You sawna Sandy sin yestreen.
And then you'll carry me to your bed;
Then you may swear, and save your aith,
Your board [-floor] Sandy never tred.'
And she's carried him unto her bed,
That she might swear, and safe her aith,
Her board-floor Sandy never tread.
And lo she did tie up her een,
That she might swear, and safe her aith,
She sawna Sandy syne yestreen.
Nor yet laid weel into the bed,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
And a' their torches burning bright;
Says they, We hae but ae sister,
And behold, she's lying wi you this night.
A wat an ill death mat he die!
'I bear a brand into my hand
Shall quickly gar Clerk Saunders die.'
A wat a good death mat he die!
'We will gae back, let him alane,
His father has nae mair but he.'
A wat an ill death mat he die!
'I bear the brand into my hand
Shall quickly help to gar him die.'
A wat a good death mat he die!
'I bear the brand into my hand
Shall never help to gar him die.'
A wat an ill death mat he die!
'Altho his father hae nae mair,
I'll quickly help to gar him die.'
A wat a good death mat he die!
'He's a worthy earl's son,
I'll never help to gar him die.'
A wat an ill death mat he die!
'I bear the brand into my hand
Shall quickly gar Clerk Saunders die.'
Untill the sun began to sheen;
She drew the curtains a wee bit,
And dull and drowsie was his een.
That ever my twa eyes did see
Hay lyen by me, and sweat the sheets;
A wite they're a great shame to see.'
And then she spied his deadly wounds:
'O wae be to my seven brethern,
A wat an ill death mat they die!
I had into my bed wi me;
'T was Clerk Saunders, that good earl's son,
That pledgd his faith to marry me.'
C
Kinloch's Scottish Ballads, p. 233, a North Country version.
As ever raind frae toun to toun;
Clerk Saunders and his lady gay
They were in the fields sae broun.
'A bed, a bed, let me lie doun;
For I am sae weet and sae wearie
That I canna gae nor ride frae toun.'
'A bed, a bed, ye'll neer get nane;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Bauld are they, and very rude;
And if they find ye in bouer wi me,
They winna care to spill your blude.'
Ye'll haud it up afore your een,
That ye may swear, and save your aith,
That ye saw na Sandy sin yestreen.
Ye'll carry me into your bed,
That ye may swear, and save your aith,
That in your bour-floor I never gaed.'
She's hauden 't up afore her een,
That she might swear, and save her aith,
That she saw na Sandy sin yestreen.
And carried him into her bed,
That she might swear, and save her aith,
That on her bour-floor he never gaed.
Bauldly he cam steppin in:
'Come here, come here, see what I see!
We hae only but ae sister alive,
And a knave is in bour her wi.'
Says, Twa lovers are ill to twin;
And in and cam her thirden brother,
'O brother dear, I say the same.'
'It's a sin to kill a sleepin man;'
And in and cam her fifthen brother,
'O brother dear, I say the same.'
'I wat he's neer be steerd by me;'
But in and cam her seventhen brother,
'I bear the hand that sall gar him dee.'
I wat he stript it to the stroe,
And thro and thro Clerk Saunders' body
I wat he garrd cauld iron go.
Until the day began to daw;
Then kindly to him she did say,
'It's time, my dear, ye were awa.
'That ever my twa een did see;
Ye've lain a' nicht into my arms,
I'm sure it is a shame to be.'
And turnd the sheets unto the wa,
And there she saw his bluidy wound,
. . . . . . .
I wat an ill death mot he dee!
He's killd Clerk Saunders, an earl's son,
I wat he's killd him unto me.'
Cannie cam he steppin in;
Says, Haud your tongue, my dochter dear,
What need you mak sic heavy meane?
And syne come back and comfort thee:'
'O comfort weel your seven sons, father,
For man sall never comfort me;
Ye'll marrie me wi the Queen o Heaven,
For man sall never enjoy me.'
D
Motherwell's MS., p. 196, from the recitation of Mrs Thomson.
And they are all valiant men,
If they knew a man that would tread my bower
His life should not go along wi him.'
And lay me low down on your bed,
That ye may swear, and keep your oath clear,
That your bower-room I did na tread.
And you must tye it wondrous keen,
That you may swear, and keep your oath clear,
Ye saw na me since late yestreen.'
Nor scarse fa'n owre asleep,
Till up and started her seven brethren,
Just at Lord Saunders' feet.
'Oh but love be wondrous keen!'
Out bespoke the second brither,
'It's ill done to kill a sleeping man.'
'We had better gae and let him be;'
Out bespoke the fourth brither,
'He'll no be killd this night for me:'
'This night Lord Saunders he shall die;
Tho there were not a man in all Scotland,
This night Lord Saunders he shall die.'
And he drew it three times thro the strae;
Between Lord Saunders' short rib and his side
He gard the rusty rapier gae.
'Awake, awake, for sin and shame!
For the day is light, and the sun shines bricht,
And I am afraid we will be taen.
'Awake, awake, for sin and shame!
For the sheets they are asweat,' she said,
'And I am afraid we will be taen.
I wish it may be for our good,
That I was cutting my yellow hair,
And dipping it in the wells o blood.'
Aye she put on him to and fro;
Oh aye she waukend at this dead man,
But of his death she did not know.
What many ladies would think lang;
Seven years shall come and go
Before a glove go on my hand.
What many ladies would not do;
Seven years shall come and go
Before I wear stocking or shoe.
There'll neer a kame go in my hair,
There'll never coal nor candle-light
Shine in my bower nae mair.'
E
Motherwell MS., p. 199, from Widow Smith, George Street, Paisley.
As they were walking on a green,
The ensign said to the lady gay,
Will you tak me to your bower at een?
Och and to you they have nae good will;
And if they catch you in my bower,
They'll value not your bluid to spill.'
And carry me to your chamber-bed,
[Pg 163] That I may swear, and avow richt clear,
That your flowery bower I did never tread.
And with it blindfold my een,
That I may swear, and avow richt clear,
That your flowery bower I have never seen.'
And carried him to her chamber-bed,
That he might swear, and avow it clear,
That her flowery [bower] he did never tread.
And with it blinded baith his een,
That he might swear, and avow it clear,
That her flowery bower he had never seen.
Nor were they scarsely fallen asleep,
Till in there came her seven bluidy brithers,
And placed themselves at the ensign's feet.
'Och it is long since this love began;'
Said the second unto the third,
'It's a sin to kill a sleeping man.'
'I will go to yon tavern hie;'
Said [the] fourth one to the fifth,
'O if you will go, so will I.'
'Och it's long since this love began;'
Said the sixth to the seventh,
'It's a sin to kill a sleeping man.'
Aye and an angry man was he:
'Altho there was no more men alive,
The ensign's butcher I will be.'
And ran it three times along his throat,
And thro and thro the ensign's body
The tempered steel it went thro and thro.
'And such an dreams cannot be good;
I dreamed my bower was full of swine,
And the ensign's clothes all dipped in blood.
And such an dreams are never good;
That I was combing down my yellow hair,
And dipping it in the ensign's blood.'
And of your weeping let a be;
For I will get you a better match
Than eer the ensign, what was he?'
Aye and an ill death may you die!
For you durst not fight him in battle-field,
But you killed him sleeping in bed wi me.
That other lovers would not incline;
Seven years shall come and go
Before I wash this face of mine.
What other lovers would not repair;
Seven years shall come and go
Before I comb down my yellow hair.
What other lovers will not do;
Seven years shall come and go
Before I cast off stocking and shoe.
What other lovers they will be slack;
Seven years shall come and go
Before I cast off my robes of black.
Be sure you make it stout and strong,
And on the top put an honour's gate,
That my love's ghost may go out and in.'
F
Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 83, communicated by Mrs Arrot, of Aberbrothick, but enlarged from two fragments.
He livd upon sea-sand;
May Margaret was a king's daughter,
She livd in upper land.
Weel learned at the scheel;
May Margaret was a king's daughter,
They baith loed ither weel.
And throw the leaves o green,
Till he came to May Margaret's door,
And tirled at the pin.
Or are ye the bower within?'
'O wha is that at my bower-door,
Sae weel my name does ken?'
'It's I, Clerk Saunders, your true-love,
You'll open and lat me in.
Or to the table to dine?
Or to the bed, that's weel down spread,
And sleep when we get time?'
'Nor to the table to dine;
But I'll go to a bed, that's weel down spread,
And sleep when we get time.'
And no weel fa'en asleep,
When up and stood May Margaret's brethren,
Just up at their bed-feet.
And dinna to us len,
O wha is aught yon noble steed,
That stands your stable in?'
To ride whan ye ride in hie;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Awa, and mak nae din;
For I am as sick a lady the nicht
As eèr lay a bower within.'
And dinna to us len,
O wha is aught yon noble hawk,
That stands your kitchen in?'
To hawk whan ye hawk in hie;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Awa, and mak nae din;
For I'm ane o the sickest ladies this nicht
That eer lay a bower within.'
And dinna to us len,
O wha is that, May Margaret,
You and the wa between?'
'As sick as sick can be;
O it is my bower-maiden,' she says,
'And she's thrice as sick as me.'
And low beneath the moon;
But a' the bower-women eer we saw
Hadna goud buckles in their shoon.'
Ay in ill time spak he:
'It is Clerk Saunders, your true-love,
And never mat I the
But for this scorn that he has done
This moment he sall die.'
Ay in good time spak he:
'O but they are a gudelie pair!
True lovers an ye be,
The sword that hangs at my sword-belt
Sall never sinder ye.'
And the tear stood in his ee:
'You've loed her lang, and loed her weel,
And pity it wad be
The sword that hangs at my sword-belt
Shoud ever sinder ye.'
[Pg 165]
'Sleep on your sleep for me;
But we baith sall never sleep again,
For the tane o us sall die.'
Ay in ill time spak he:
'Curse on his love and comeliness!
Dishonourd as ye be,
The sword that hangs at my sword-belt
Sall quickly sinder ye.'
The second has drawn anither,
Between Clerk Saunders' hause and collar-bane
The cald iron met thegither.
And an ill death mat ye die!
Ye mith slain Clerk Saunders in open field,
And no in bed wi me.'
G
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 160.
Where walking in the garden green,
And great and heavy was the love
That hae befa'en these twa between.
'A bed, my love, for you and me;'
'O never a foot,' said the lady gay,
'Till ance that we twa married be.
And a' their torches burning bright;
They'll say, We hae but ae sister,
And here she's lying wi a knight.'
And wi the same ye'll lift the gin;
Then ye may swear, and save your oath,
That ye neer let Clerk Sandy in.
And wi the same tie up your een;
And ye will swear, and save your oath,
Ye saw not Sandy sin yestreen.
And carry me unto your bed;
Then ye may swear, and save your oath,
Clerk Sandy in your bower neer tread.'
And wi the same lifted the gin;
It was to swear, and save her oath,
She never loot Clerk Sandy in.
And wi the same tied up her een;
It was to swear, and save her oath,
She saw not Sandy sin yestreen.
And she's carried him to her bed;
It was to swear, and save her oath,
Clerk Sandie in her bower neer tread.
Like other lovers when they meet,
Till in a quarter's space and less
These two lovers fell sound asleep.
And a' their torches burning bright;
They said, We hae but ae sister,
And here she's lying wi a knight.
'We will awa and lat them be;'
Then out it speaks the second o them,
'His father has nae mair but he.'
For he was standing on the birk:
'Nae sweeter coud twa lovers lye,
Tho they'd been married in a kirk.'
Mair fair and lovely is his buke:
'Our sister dear we cannot blame,
Altho in him she pleasure took.'
'It were a sin to do them ill;'
Then out it spake the sixth o them,
'It's hard a sleeping man to kill.'
I wish an ill death mat he dee!
'I wear the sharp brand by my side
That soon shall gar Clerk Sandy die.'
[Pg 166]
And he has stroakd it ower a strae;
And thro and thro Clerk Sandy's middle
I wat he's gart it come and gae.
Until the dawning o the day,
But what was dune she naething knew,
For when she wak'd these words did say:
Awake, and turn you unto me;
Ye're nae sae keen's ye were at night,
When you and I met on the lee.'
To bring her coal and candle seen:
'I fear Clerk Sandy's dead eneuch,
I had a living man yestreen.'
They hae searched it round and round,
And even anent his bonny heart
Discovered the deadly wound.
And wrung her hands most bitterlie:
'This is my fause brothers, I fear,
This night hae used this crueltie.
Woud nae be done by ladies rare;
For seven years shall hae an end
Or eer a kame gang in my hair.
What other ladies woud think lack;
For seven years shall hae an end
Or eer I wear but dowie black.
What other ladies woudna thole;
Seven years shall hae an end
Or eer a shoe gang on my sole.'
And he was belted in a brand;
Sae softly as he trad the floor,
And in her bower did stately stand.
And ye'll lat a' your mourning be;
I'll wed you to a higher match
Or eer his father's son coud be.
I wish ill wedded they may be,
Sin they hae killd him Clerk Sandy!
For wedded shall I never be.'
The bells went tinkling thro the town;
'Alas! alas!' said the lady gay,
'That eer I heard that waefu soun!'
A twalmonth lang and weary day,
Even below her bower-window
She heard a ghaist to knock an cry.
Or biggin come to burn or brake;
Or are you ony masterfu man,
That is come seeking ony make?
Nor bigging come to burn nor brake;
Nor am I ony masterfu man,
That is come seeking ony make;
But I'm Clerk Sandy, your first love,
And wants wi you again to speak.
And wants wi me to speak again,
Tell me some o' the love tokens
That you and I had last between.'
Sin last I was in bower wi thee,
That in it came your seven brethren,
The youngest gart me sairly dree?'
Then sighd and said the gay lady,
'Sae true a tale as ye tell me.'
She clam the wa up after him;
'T was not for want of stockings nor sheen,
But hadna time to put them on;
And in the midst o gude greenwood,
'T was there she lost the sight o him.
Until she coudna weep nae mair;
At length the cloks and wanton flies
They biggit in her yellow hair.
For I am come to mak you wise;
Or this night nine nights come and gang,
We baith shall be in Paradise.'
A b, B b, Herd II, seem to be revisions, and to possess no authority.
A. a.
31. For an.
42. gin has been altered to pin, according to a marginal suggestion, and pin stands at 72 in my copy.
61. taw. (?)
144. Perhaps we should read brand 'll.
152. throi. (?)
183. and awa.
233. his. (?)
After 184 is written, but struck out:
That ever I saw wi mine eeen.
And above the first verse of 19, also struck out:
143, 4 stand thus in the second copy:
Shall quickly gar Clark Sanders die.
20 is wanting.
Stanzas 27-41 are transferred to 'Sweet William's Ghost.'
B.
a is written in long lines, two to a stanza.
D.
24. my bower-room ye.
E.
12. "Recited as here written, but it was not thought to be right."
152. And if.
173. shall I come.
F.
After 20 Jamieson introduced these two stanzas of his own, "the idea of the rose being suggested by the gentleman who recited, but who could not recollect the language in which it was expressed:"
And an angry laugh leugh he:
'The thorn that dabs, I'll cut it down,
Though fair the rose may be.
Has lost its bloom wi thee;
And though I'm wae it should be sae,
Clerk Saunders, ye maun die.'
After 23 follow ten stanzas, which are transferred to 'Sweet William's Ghost.'
G.
326. you to speak again.
FOOTNOTES:
[101] But it is, of course, not impossible that there may have been such a conclusion to 'Clerk Saunders.' It may be mentioned, though not as an argument, that there was a ballad in Boccaccio's time (of which he cites the first two lines), on the story of G. iv, N. 5, of the Decamerone; a tale in which three brothers kill their sister's lover, and bury the body in a solitary place, and his ghost appears and informs the sister of what had happened.
[102] Buchan 1, 2=B 1, 2; 3-9=A 3-9; 11=A 10; 12=B 11; 15 is made from A 12; 16=B 16; 17=A 15; 23-25=A 21, 22, 20; 26-29 are made from A 24-26, 23. The fatuity of 132, 142 is such as is found nowhere out of Buchan.
The stanza given in the Appendix to Motherwell's Minstrelsy, xix, XVI, is Scott's 13.
[103] We may suppose that all the three versions, two of them fragmentary, which Jamieson combined, contained the passage which furnishes the link: but it would be much more satisfactory if Jamieson had given us all three as he received them.
[104] Icelandic A-C have an introductory incident not found in E-H. There is a trace of this in D, and it occurs also in two other ballads, I, K, of the same series, which lack the feature that A-H and English F have in common. A king finds a young child that has been left on or in the cleft of a rock, takes it with him, and rides to his daughter's bower. He asks his daughter who the fair swain is that he has found, and how it comes to have her eyes. She feigns ignorance and indifference: many a man is like another. Then come the questions found in the other versions.
[105] "Goes brain," perhaps, as the editors suggest, like Lady Maisry in 'Lord Ingram,' and others in Scottish ballads.
[106] These are translated by Jamieson, Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, p. 424, Prior, II, 378; W. and M. Howitt, Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, I, 261.
[107] Fernan Caballero had another Andalusian version besides this.
70
WILLIE AND LADY MAISRY
A. 'Willie, the Widow's Son,' Motherwell's MS., p. 498; 'Sweet Willie and Lady Margerie,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 370.
B. 'Willie and Lady Maisry,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I. 155.
'Willie and Lady Maisry' has much in common with 'Clerk Saunders.' The chief point of difference is that of Willie's killing Maisry's brother and the guard, B 22-24. Here the ballad has probably been affected by another, now represented in English only by a very corrupt version, 'The Bent sae Brown,' which immediately follows.
A
Motherwell's MS., p. 498; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 370. From the recitation of Mrs Notman, then far advanced in years, with whose grandmother it was a favorite: September 9, 1826.
And he wore a milk-white weed, O
And weel could Willie read and write,
Far better ride on steed. O
[Pg 168]
That drank to him the wine,
And aye as the healths gade round and round,
'Laddy, your love is mine.'
That drank to him the beer,
And aye as the healths gade round and round,
'Laddy, you're welcome here.'
When the evening bells do ring,
And you must come into my bower
When the evening mass doth sing.'
And laced them in a whang,
And he's awa to Lady Margerie's bower,
As fast as he can gang.
And the other on a stane,
And he's killed a' the king's life-guards,
And he's killed them every man.
Open and let me in;
The weet weets a' my yellow hair,
And the dew draps on my chin.'
She strode her bower within,
And with her fingers long and small
She's looten Sweet Willie in.
To loose Sweet Willie's shoon;
The buckles were sa stiff they wudna lowse,
The blood had frozen in.
Has bred me dule and sorrow;
The deed that thou has dune this nicht
Will kythe upon the morrow.'
And a broad sword by his gare,
And he's gien Willie, the widow's son,
A deep wound and a sair.
'Your sweat weets a' my side;
Lye yont, lie yont, Willie,' she says,
'For your sweat I downa bide.'
Her face unto the room,
And there she saw her auld father,
Walking up and down.
'And an ill deed may you die!
For ye've killd Willie, the widow's son
And he would have married me.'
Her face unto the wa,
And with a deep and heavy sich
Her heart it brak in twa.
B
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 155.
And milk-white was his weed;
It sets him weel to bridle a horse,
And better to saddle a steed, my dear,
And better to saddle a steed.
And tirled at the pin:
'Ye sleep ye, wake ye, Lady Maisry,
Ye'll open, let me come in.'
Sae well that knows my name?'
'It is your ain true-love, Willie,
If ye love me, lat me in.'
For fear o making din,
Then in her arms lang and bent,
She caught sweet Willie in.
To loose her true-love's sheen,
But cauld, cauld were the draps o bleed
Fell fae his trusty brand.
A frightfu sight to see!
[Pg 169] What bluid is this on your sharp brand?
O may ye not tell me?'
The wolf maist worried me;
O shoud I slain the wolf, Maisry?
Or shoud the wolf slain me?'
As lovers when they meet,
Till up it starts her auld father,
Out o his drowsy sleep.
Sae crouse at ane did craw?
I wonder as much at my bold watch,
That's nae shooting ower the wa.
Heir ower my land sae free,
If ony ruffian hae him slain,
High hanged shall he be.'
And tirled at the pin:
'Ye sleep ye, wake ye, daughter Maisry,
Ye'll open, lat me come in.'
She rowd her true-love then,
And huly went she to the door,
And let her father in.
Your bower it looks sae teem?
What's become o your green claithing,
Your beds they are sae thin?'
'I wish ye be't for sin;
Sae aft as ye hae dreaded me,
But never found me wrang.'
As he'd been gaun awa;
But sae nimbly as he slippet in
Behind a screen sae sma.
She to her love did say,
'Come, love, and take your silent rest;
My auld father's away.'
They fell full fast asleep,
When up it starts her auld father,
And stood at their bed-feet.
That my dear son did slay;
But I shall be revengd on him
Before I see the day.'
And stroakd it oer a stray,
And thro and thro Sweet Willie's middle
He's gart cauld iron gae.
Out o her drowsy sleep,
And when she saw her true-love slain,
She straight began to weep.
'I wish ye be't for sin;
For I never lovd a love but ane,
In my arms ye've him slain.'
Thirty stout men and twa;
Likewise he's slain your ae brother,
To me was worth them a'.
Himsell had a' the blame,
For mony a day he plots contriv'd,
To hae Sweet Willie slain.
He might hae been forgien;
They came on him in armour bright,
When he was but alane.'
In bower where he lay slain,
But a' was for sweet Maisry bright,
In fields where she ran brain.
24, 34. Lady in MS., Laddy in Minstrelsy.
91. his foot in Minstrelsy: cf. B 51.
103. hast in both.
Several slight changes are made by Motherwell in printing.
71
THE BENT SAE BROWN
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 30.
'The Bent sae Brown' combines the story of 'Clerk Saunders' with that of another ballad, not found in an independent form in English, but sufficiently common in Danish and Swedish; whence the non-tragical conclusion, for the killing of a certain number of brothers is not regarded as a very serious matter by the heroine, whether in English or Norse. The introduction and conclusion, and some incidental decorations, of the Scottish ballad will not be found in the Norse, but are an outcome of the invention and the piecing and shaping of that humble but enterprising rhapsodist who has left his trail over so large a part of Buchan's volumes.[108]
Stanzas 21-34 contain the substance of the Norse ballad referred to, which has been printed in the following versions, and exists in others not yet given to the world, Danish, Norwegian, and Icelandic.
Swedish. A. 'Unger Sven,' Arwidsson, I, 295, No 43. B. 'Ung Hillerström,' Afzelius, II, 180, No 55.
Danish. A. An unpublished version, found in two manuscripts of the 17th century, communicated to me by Grundtvig. B. 'Jomfruen i Skoven,' "Tragica, No 15," Danske Viser, III, 99, No 123.[109] C. 'Kjærligheds Styrke,' Kristensen, I, 109, No 43. D, E, F. 'Jomfruens Brødre,' Kristensen, II, 276, No 80 A, B, C. G. Madsen, Folkeminder fra Hanved Sogn, p. 88, No 5.
A youth has passed the night with his love, either in her bower or in a wood. When they are about to part in the morning, she begs him to be on his guard against her seven brothers, on his way through the wood and over the heath. He makes light of the danger, and in the wood meets the seven brothers. They demand how he comes to be there, and he feigns to have been out with his hawk and hound, to have been coursing hares. No, they say, you were with our sister last night, and asked no read of us. He makes no denial; but her will was as good as his. They ask whether he will fly or fight. He has no thought of flight, kills all seven, and goes back to his love. She will not forsake him for killing her brothers; nor would she, Danish A, C, F, had he killed her father too.[110]
Between my love and me;
There are eight o them in gude dry land,
And other eight by sea.
My love I'll gang and see;
Altho her friends they do me hate,
Her love is great for me.
And o my sark a sail,
And o my cane a gude tapmast,
Dry land till I come till.'
And o his sark a sail;
And o his cane a gude tapmast,
Dry land till he came till.
And tirled at the pin:
'O sleep ye, wake ye, my love, Annie,
Ye'll rise, lat me come in.'
Sae well that kens my name?'
'It is your true-love, Sweet Willie,
For you I've crossd the faem.'
By father and by mother;
At kirk or market where we meet,
We darna own each other.
By my bauld brothers three;
At kirk or market where we meet.
I darna speak to thee.'
Your white fan ower your een,
And ye may swear, and save your oath,
Ye sawna me come in.
And carry me to your bed;
And ye may swear, and save your oath,
Your bower I never tread.'
The white fan ower her een;
It was to swear, and save her oath,
She sawna him come in.
And carried him to her bed;
It was to swear, and save her oath,
Her bower he never tread.
As lovers do when they meet,
Till up it waukens her mother,
Out o her drowsy sleep.
Win up and make ye boun;
Your sister's lover's in her bower,
And he 's but new come in.'
And girt to them their brand,
And they are to their sister's bower,
As fast as they coud gang.
They sought it up and down;
But there was neither man nor boy
In her bower to be foun.
'We'll gang and lat her be;
For there is neither man nor boy
Intill her companie.'
'Our travel's a' in vain;
But mother dear, nor father dear,
Shall break our rest again.'
An ill death mat he die!
'We'll lurk amang the bent sae brown,
That Willie we may see.'
His goud rings showd him light;
And by this ye may a' weell guess
He was a renowned knight.
Took out his berry-brown steed;
His love stood in her bower-door,
Her heart was like to bleed.
Or for my short staying?
Or mourn ye for our safe sindring,
Case we never meet again?'
[Pg 172]
Nor for your staying lang;
Nor mourn I for our safe sindring,
I hope we'll meet again.
And safely frae the town;
For ken you not my brothers three
Are mang the bent sae brown?'
And three miles frae the town,
I woudna fear your three bauld brothers,
Amang the bent sae brown.'
And kissd her lips sae sweet;
The tears that fell between these twa,
They wat his great steed's feet.
Nor twa miles frae the town,
Till up it starts these three fierce men,
Amang the bent sae brown.
Wi mony shout and cry:
'Bide still, bide still, ye cowardly youth,
What makes your haste away?
Tell me, and make nae lie;
If ye 've been in my sister's bower,
My hands shall gar ye die.'
I have nae fear o thee;
I'll stand my ground, and fiercely fight,
Aud shall gain victorie.'
Unto us gie a wad;
If ye our words do not obey,
I'se gar your body bleed.'
Unless it be my brand,
And that shall guard my fair body,
Till I win frae your hand.'
All in a furious meed;
The third o them came him before,
And seizd his berry-brown steed.
That hang down by his gare,
And he has slain these three fierce men,
And left them sprawling there.
In bed where she slept soun,
That Willie had killd her three bauld sons,
Amang the bent sae brown.
Sae low down by her ee,
Sae has she kiltit her green claithing
A little aboon her knee.
As fast as gang coud she;
When Fair Annie got word o that,
Was there as soon as she.
Fell low down on her knee;
'Win up, win up, my dame,' he said,
'What is your will wi me?'
The truth I'll tell to thee;
There is ane o your courtly knights
Last night hae robbed me.'
Or has he stole your fee?
There is nae knight into my court
Last night has been frae me;
Forbid that it be he!'
'And by my sooth,' says the auld woman,
'That very man is he.
And he has stole my fee,
And made my daughter Ann a whore,
And an ill woman is she.
Ere he went frae the town;
My sons sae true he fiercely slew,
Amang the bent sae brown.'
She stood by the king's knee:
'Ye lie, ye lie, my mother dear,
Sae loud 's I hear you lie.
[Pg 173]
Nor has he stole your fee,
Nor made your daughter Ann a whore;
A good woman I'll be.
He weel might be forgien;
They were well clad in armour bright,
Whan my love was him lane.'
'This tauking pleases me;
For ae kiss o your lovely mouth,
I'll set your true-love free.'
And kissd him cheek and chin;
He then set her behind her love,
And they went singing hame.
FOOTNOTES:
[108] Several of Buchan's ballads, says Sir Walter Scott, Minstrelsy, I, 87, ed. 1833, "are translated from the Norse, and Mr Buchan is probably unacquainted with the originals." Scott seems to have meant only that the ballads in question had a Norse origin, not that they were deliberately translated within what we may call historical times. In this particular instance the resemblances with the Norse are remarkably close, but the very homeliness of the Scottish ballad precludes any suspicion beyond tampering with tradition. The silliness and fulsome vulgarity of Buchan's versions often enough make one wince or sicken, and many of them came through bad mouths or hands: we have even positive proof in one instance of imposture, though not of Buchan's being a conscious party to the imposture. But such correspondences with foreign ballads as we witness in the present case are evidence of a genuine traditional foundation.
Stanzas 25, 26 are remarkably like F 3, 5 of 'Earl Brand,' the Percy copy, and may have served in some Scottish version of the 'Douglas Tragedy.'
Stanzas 36-41 are borrowed from the 'Knight and Shepherd's Daughter.' Folly could not go further than in making the mother clip her locks and kilt her clothes, as in 36: unless it be in making a boat of a coat and a topmast of a cane, as in 3, 4.
[109] Translated by Prior, III, 234.
[110] In Danish B the maid has grace enough to weep for her brothers seven: "and almost more for the knight." But this last line is probably taken up from another ballad. In 'Herr Helmer,' a ballad which has some of the traits of 'Ribold,' Afzelius, No 54, II, 178, 226, Arwidsson, No 21, I, 155, Eva Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 25, and the same, Skånska Visor, p. 1, Helmer kills six of his love's seven brothers, and is treacherously slain by the seventh, whom he has spared. The seventh brother cuts off Helmer's head and takes it to his sister. A Danish version of 'Herr Helmer,' Danske Viser, No 209, IV, 251, ends differently: the seventh brother offers his sister to Helmer as ransom for his life.
72
THE CLERK'S TWA SONS O OWSENFORD
A. 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' Kinloch MSS, V, 403.
B. 'The Clerks o Owsenfoord,' Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, "Adversaria," p. 67.
C. 'The Clerks of Oxenford,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 281.
D. 'The Clerks Two Sons of Oxenfoord,' Motherwell's MS., p. 433.
A, as sung, had a sequel of six stanzas, which is found separately and seems to belong with another ballad, 'The Wife of Usher's Well.' Robert Chambers combined A with Buchan's version, C, and the six concluding stanzas with 'The Wife of Usher's Well,' and divided his ballad into two parts, "on account of the great superiority of what follows over what goes before, and because the latter portion is in a great measure independent of the other:" The Scottish Ballads, pp 345-50. His second reason for a division is better than his first. It is quite according to precedent for a ballad to end with a vow like that in A 17, D 14: see 'Clerk Saunders.'
D has some amusing dashes of prose, evidently of masculine origin: "They thought their father's service mean, their mother's no great affair," 2; "When he was certain of the fact, an angry man was he," 6; "That I may ride to fair Berwick, and see what can be done," 8. We have here a strong contrast with both the blind-beggar and the housemaid style of corruption; something suggesting the attorney's clerk rather than the clerk of Owsenford, but at least not mawkish.
There are ballads both in Northern and in Southern Europe which have a certain amount of likeness with 'The Clerk's Twa Sons,' but if the story of all derives from one original, time has introduced great and even unusual variations.
In the Scottish ballad two youths go to Paris to study, and have an amour with the mayor's daughters, for which they are thrown into prison and condemned to be hanged. The Clerk, their father, comes to the prison, asks them what is their offence, and learns that it is a little dear bought love. He offers the mayor a ransom for their lives, and is sternly refused. The mayor's two daughters beg for their true-love's lives with the same bad success. The students are hanged, and the father goes home to tell his wife that they are put to a higher school. She, A [he, D], vows to pass the rest of her days in penance and grief.
A very well known German ballad, found[Pg 174] also in the Low Countries and in Scandinavia, has the following story.[111] A youth is lying in a dungeon, condemned to be hanged. His father comes to the town, and they exchange words about the severity of his prison. The father then goes to the lord of the place and offers three hundred florins as a ransom. Ransom is refused: the boy has a gold chain on his neck which will be his death. The father says that the chain was not stolen, but the gift of a young lady, who reared the boy as a page, or what not. There is no dear bought love in the case. The father, standing by the gallows, threatens revenge, but his son deprecates that: he cares not so much for his life as for his mother's grief. Within a bare half year, more than three hundred men pay with their lives for the death of the boy.[112]
A Spanish and Italian ballad has resemblances with the Scottish and the German, and may possibly be a common link: 'Los tres estudiantes,' Milá, Romancerillo, p. 165, No 208, A-L, previously, in Observaciones, etc., p. 104, No 6, 'Los estudiantes de Tolosa;' 'Los estudians de Tortosa,' Briz y Candi, I, 101; 'Gli scolari di Tolosa,' Nigra, Rivista Contemporanea, XX, 62. Three students meet three girls, and attempt some little jests with them: ask them for a kiss, Milá, H; throw small pebbles at them, Milá, D; meet one girl on a bridge and kiss her, Nigra. For this the girls have them arrested by an accommodating catchpoll, and they are hanged by a peremptory judge. The youngest student weeps all the time; the eldest tries to console him; their brother serves a king or duke, and if he hears of what has been done will kill judge, constable, and all their scribes. The brother gets word somehow, and comes with all speed, but the three clerks are hanged before he arrives. He gives the town of Tolosa to the flames, the streets run with the blood of the judge, and horses swim in the blood of the girls, Milá, C, Briz; the streets are washed with the blood of women, walls built of the heads of men, Milá, A; etc.
In a pretty passage in Buchan's not altogether trustworthy version, C 35-38, the clerks ask back their faith and troth before they die. For this ceremony see 'Sweet William's Ghost.'
Aytoun's ballad is translated by Knortz Schottische Balladen, p. 72, No 23.
A
Kinloch MSS, V, 403, in the handwriting of James Chambers, as sung to his maternal grandmother, Janet Grieve, seventy years before, by an old woman, a Miss Ann Gray, of Neidpath Castle, Peeblesshire; January 1, 1829.
But oh my heart is sair!
The clerk's twa sons in Owsenford
Has to learn some unco lair.
[Pg 175]
A twelvemonth an a day,
Till the clerk's twa sons o Owsenford
Wi the mayor's twa daughters lay.
As he saild on the sea,
That the clerk's twa sons o Owsenford
Wi his twa daughters lay.
Meg an Marjorie,
The morn, or I taste meat or drink,
They shall be hangit hie.'
As he sat drinkin wine,
That his twa sons in fair Parish
Were bound in prison strong.
And she spak powrfully:
'O tak with ye a purse of gold,
Or take with ye three,
And if ye canna get William,
Bring Andrew hame to me.'
Or lie ye here for kye?
Or what is it that ye lie for,
Sae sair bound as ye lie?'
Nor yet lie here for kye,
But it's for a little o dear bought love
Sae sair bound as we lie.'
And he spoke powerfully:
'Will ye grant me my twa sons' lives,
Either for gold or fee?
Or will ye be sae gude a man
As grant them baith to me?'
Neither for gold or fee,
Nor will I be sae gude a man
As gie them back to thee;
Before the morn at twelve o'clock
Ye'll see them hangit hie.'
An they spak powrfully:
'Will ye grant us our twa loves' lives,
Either for gold or fee?
Or will ye be sae gude a man
As grant them baith to me.'
Neither for gold or fee,
Nor will I be sae gude a man
As grant their lives to thee;
Before the morn at twelve o'clock
Ye'll see them hangit hie.'
And hangd them on a tree,
And he's bidden the clerk o Owsenford
Gang hame to his ladie.
Beholding dale an doun,
An there she saw her ain gude lord
Come walkin to the toun.
Ye're welcome hame to me;
But where away are my twa sons?
Ye should hae brought them wi ye.'
An to a higher schule;
Yere ain twa sons ill no be here
Till the hallow days o Yule.'
An dool come lay me doon!
For I'll neither eat nor drink,
Nor set a fit on ground.'
B
Noted down from a female servant by Dr Joseph Robertson, July 15, 1829; "Adversaria," p. 67.
* * * * *
An learn weel at the squeel;
Tak no up wi young women-kin,
An learn to act the feel.'
[Pg 176]
A twalmon and a day,
Till the twa pretty clerks o Owsenfoord
Wi the mayr's dauchters did lay.
As he sat at his wine,
That the twa pretty clerks o Owsenford
Wi his daughters had lien.
An an angry man was he:
'Tomorrow, before I eat meat or drink,
I'll see them hanged hie.'
. . . . . . .
Before the letter was read,
She let the tears doun fa.
An learnin at the squeel;
But I fear ye winna see your sons
At the holy days o Yeel.'
He turnit him roun about,
An there he saw his twa braw sons,
In the prison, leukin out.
Or lie ye there for kye?
Or lie ye there for dear fond love,
Si closs as ye de lie?'
We lie na here for kye,
But we lie here for dear fond love,
An we're condemned to die.'
An a sorry man was he:
'Gae till your bowers, ye lillie-flowers,
For a' this winna dee.'
An an angry man was he:
'Gar to your bowers, ye vile base whores,
Ye'll see them hanged hie.'
C
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 281.
Will grieve your heart full sair;
How the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford
Went aff to learn their lear.
Their mother muckle mair,
And sent them on to Billsbury,
To learn deeper lear.
'Do weel, my sons, do weel,
And haunt not wi the young women,
Wi them to play the fiel.'
Their mother on their life,
Never to lie wi the auld mayor's daughters,
Nor kiss the young mayor's wife.
A twallmonth and a day,
Till the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford
With the mayor's twa daughters lay.
The ladies sewed and sang;
There was mair mirth in that chamber
Than all fair Ferrol's land.
As he sat at the wine,
That the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford
With his twa daughters had lyne.
Heirs out ower a' my land,
[Pg 177] The morn, ere I eat or drink,
I'll hang them with my hand.'
Bound them frae tap to tae,
Till the reddest blood in their body
Out ower their nails did gae.
Will win gowd to his fee,
That will rin on to Oxenford,
And that right speedilie?'
Gold yellow was his hair;
I wish his father and mother joy,
His true-love muckle mair.
Will win gowd to my fee,
That will rin on to Oxenford,
And that right speedilie.
Set down your heel and rin,
And where ye find the brigs broken,
Ye'll bend your bow and swim.
Bide neither to chap nor ca,
But set your bent bow to your breast,
And lightly loup the wa.'
He slackt his shoes and ran,
And where he found the brigs broken,
He bent his bow and swam.
Did neither chap nor ca,
But set his bent bow to his breast,
And lightly leapt the wa.
What news hae ye to me?
How are my sons in Billsbury,
Since they went far frae me?'
But at a higher school,
And ye'll never see your sons again,
On the holy days o Yule.'
Wi care and caution lay me down;
That man on earth shall neer be born
Shall see me mair gang on the groun.
And ten and ten to tell them wi,
And gin ye getna hynde Henry,
Bring ye gay Gilbert hame to me.'
A sorry, sorry man, was he:
'Your strange wish does me surprise,
They are baith there alike to me.
And I will gar my bridle ring,
And I shall be at Billsbury
Before the small birds sweetly sing.'
As she sat on the wand,
But sair, sair, mournd Oxenford,
As he gaed in the strand.
He rade it round about,
And at a little shott-window
His sons were looking out.
'For oxen, or for kye?
Or is it for a little o deep dear love,
Sae sair bound as ye lye?'
'For oxen, nor for kye;
It's all for a little o deep dear love,
Sae sair bound as we lye.
'For the love we bear to thee!'
'O never fear, my pretty sons,
Well borrowed ye shall be.'
And hailed him courteouslie:
'Good day, good day, O Billsbury,
God make you safe and free!'
'Come sit you down, brave Oxenford,
What are your wills with me?'
[Pg 178]
For gold or yet for fee?
Will ye gie me my sons again,
For's sake that died on tree?'
For gold nor yet for fee;
But if ye'll stay a little while,
Ye'se see them hanged hie.'
Wi kirtle, coat alone;
Their eyes did sparkle like the gold,
As they tript on the stone.
For gold or yet for fee?
Or will ye take our own sweet life,
And let our true-loves be?'
And lashd them wondrous sair:
Gae to your bowers, ye vile rank whores,
Ye'se never see them mair.
A sorry man was he:
'Gang to your bowers, ye lily-flowers,
For a' this maunna be.'
'Come here, Janet, to me;
Will ye gie me my faith and troth,
And love, as I gae thee?'
Wi God's blessing and mine;'
And twenty times she kissd his mouth,
Her father looking on.
'Come here, Margaret, to me;
Will ye gie me my faith and troth,
And love, as I gae thee?'
Wi God's blessing and mine;'
And twenty times she kissd his mouth,
Her father looking on.
Lay them down on a stone,
That nane may ken that ye are clerks
Till ye are putten down.'
Their loves died lang ere noon;
Their father and mother for sorrow died,
They all died very soon.
I wish sae may we a'!
The mighty mayor went down to hell,
For wrong justice and law.
D
Motherwell's MS., p. 433, from James Nicol, Strichen.
Which makes my heart richt sair;
The Clerk's two sons of Oxenfoord
Are too soon gone to lair.
Their mother's no great affair;
But they would go to fair Berwick,
To learn [some] unco lair.
A twelve month and a day,
Till the clerk's two sons of Oxenfoord
With the mayor's two daughters lay.
As he hunted the rae,
That the clerks two sons of Oxenfoord
With his two daughters lay.
The heirs of all my land,
I make a vow, and will keep it true,
To hang them with my hand.'
An angry man was he,
And he has taken these two brothers,
And hanged them on the tree.
Ere it was many day,
[Pg 179] That his two sons sometime ago
With the mayor's two daughters lay.
'O do it quick and soon,
That I may ride to fair Berwick,
And see what can be done.'
A grieved man was he,
When that he saw his two bonnie sons
Both hanging on the tree.
'This dismal sight to see,
All the whole comfort of my life
Dead hanging on the tree!'
Making a piteous moan,
And all the way to Oxenfoord
Did sad and grievously groan.
'You only do I see;
What have you done with my two sons,
You should have brought to me?'
And to a deeper scule;
You will not see your bonnie sons
Till the haly days of Yule.
Will never laugh nor sing;
There's never a man in Oxenfoord
Shall hear my bridle ring.'
A.
31, 51, 63, 71, 91. Oh.
53. in Owsenford.
142. day an doom.
B.
In the margin as a note (see A 1):
But o my heart is sair!
The twa pretty clerks o Owsenfoord
As they went to their lair.
72. twinit, MS.?
84. sic loss.
C.
283. oh.
FOOTNOTES:
[111] 'Das Schloss in Oesterreich,' 'Der unschuldige Tod des jungen Knaben.' One stanza in Forsters Frische Liedlein, 1540, II, No 77 (Böhme); broadside of 1606, Erk's Liederhort, p. 15, No 6a; broadside of 1647, Eschenburg, in Deutsches Museum, 1776, p. 399, and Denkmäler Altdeutscher Dichtkunst, 1799, p. 446,=Uhland, p. 300, No 125; late broadside, Wunderhorn, 1806, I, 220. From oral tradition: Gräter's Bragur, VI, I, 205; Erk, Neue Sammlung, I, 20, No 16; Erk's Liederhort, p. 12, No 6; Hoffmann u. Richter, p. 17, No 8; Fiedler, p. 172, No 12; Jeitteles, in Archiv für Litteraturgeschichte, IX, 362, No 5; Schlossar, Deutsche Volkslieder aus Steiermark, p. 346, No 314; Wittstock, Sagen u. Lieder aus dem Nösner Gelande, p. 44, No 15; Frommann, Deutsche Mundarten, V, 391; Meinert, p. 53. (The last is an independent version; the rest have all one type.) Low-German, Niederdeutsche Volkslieder, herausgegeben vom Vereine für niederdeutsche Sprachforschung, p. 56, No 84. Dutch, Hoffmann, Niederländische Volkslieder, p. 84, No 25. Norse: Afzelius, II, 62, No 40, from a seventeenth century broadside; Atterbom's Poetisk Kalender, 1816, p. 32; Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 64, No 30; Aminson, Bidrag, etc., IV, 4, No 26, A, B, fragments; Nyerup, Udvalg af Danske Viser, I, 57, No 14; Lindeman, Norske Fjeldmelodier, Tekst Bilag, I, 3 f, No 10. There is a Swedish broadside of 1642, a Danish of 1697.
[112] Meinert's ballad, which, though it sometimes betrays artifice, has a fresher tone than the others, makes the chain the young lady's love-token: but this love is no count in the indictment. Uhland, IV, 145, cites from a manuscript chronicle a story of a highwayman, a widow's son, thrice imprisoned and twice ransomed; to no purpose, as far as I can see.
73
LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET
A. 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' Percy's Reliques, 1765, II, 293; III, 240, ed. 1767.
B. 'The Nut-Brown Bride,' Kinloch MSS, I, 1.
C. 'The Brown Bride and Lord Thomas,' Motherwell's MS., p. 157.
D. 'Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor.' a. Pepys Ballads, III, 316, No 312. b, c, d, other broadside copies. e, f, g, h, i, recited copies.
E. 'Sweet Willie and Fair Annie,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 22.
F. 'Sweet Willie and Fair Annie,' Kinloch MSS, III, 127, V, 339.
G. Skene MSS, p. 104.
H. 'Fair Annie and Sweet Willie,' Gibb MS., p. 64.
The copy of 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet' in Herd, 1769, p. 246, 1776, I, 24, and in the Musical Museum, p. 553, No 535, is Percy's, A.
The English version of this ballad, 'Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor,' given, with alterations, in Percy's Reliques, III, 82, 1765,[113] is a broadside of Charles the Second's time, printed for I. Clarke, W. Thackeray, and T. Passenger, and licensed by L'Estrange, who was censor from 1663 to 1685. This copy has become traditional in Scotland and Ireland. The Scottish traditional copy, 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' given by Percy in the Reliques (unfortunately with some corrections, but these cannot have been many), is far superior, and one of the most beautiful of our ballads, and indeed of all ballads. 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William,' "a more pathetic story of the man who loves one woman and marries another," begins in the same way, with the last long talk before parting. The conclusion is that the forsaken maid dies of grief, not by the hand of her incensed rival, and it is most natural that the two stories should be blended in tradition, as they are here in E-H, E 31 ff, F 27 ff, G 24 ff, H 37 ff belonging to 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William.'
There is a copy of 'Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor,' written over for the ballad-mongers, and of course much less in the popular style, in Pepys, IV, 48, No 45, and Roxburghe, II, 553, with the title 'The Unfortunate Forrester, or, Fair Eleanor's Tragedy.' In this Fair Ellinor stabs herself and Lord Thomas then kills himself with the same dagger.[114]
Norse ballads have the story of 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' coming very close in details. Those forms which are nearest to the English resemble more the mixed versions, E-H, than the simple, A-D. But in none of the Norse ballads is love thwarted because it stands upon the choice of friends. A man abandons a woman who is in all but the name his wife, and who regards herself, and is evidently regarded by others, as standing in no dishonorable relation to him. There is again a bifurcation in the catastrophe. The forsaken mistress submits and hangs herself in the one case, in the other she takes a fierce revenge. The latter conclusion may well, as Grundtvig holds, be the more original, but the ballads which have the other will here be put first, as being nearer to the English.
(1.) A. 'Herr Peder och Liten Kerstin,' Afzelius, I, 49, No 9, Grundtvig, IV, 219, Wigström, Folkdiktning, II, 5, broadsides of the eighteenth century and traditional copies derived therefrom. B. 'Herr Peders Slegfred,' broadside of the seventeenth century, Grundtvig, IV, 216, No 210; Danske Viser, III, 365, No 157; Kristensen, II, 177, No 52. C. A traditional fragment, Grundtvig, IV, 220, Bilag 2, from Cavallius and Stephens's collection. (2.) D. 'Liti Kerstis hevn,' Landstad, p. 559, No 67. E. Manuscript of the seventeenth century, Grundtvig, IV, 215. F. 'Liten Kerstins Hämd,' c. 1700, Arwidsson, I, 305, No 45.
Sir Peter and Liten Kerstin sit at table talking merrily, A, B, E. Peter informs Kerstin that he is to be married. She says she shall not fail to be present; he, that the wedding will be too far away for anybody to come. She shall come, if asked, though it be in Rome, B. If you come, says Peter, you must not wear your gold. She will wear it, for it was got by no dishonor, B, E. Peter rides off, Kerstin wrings her hands: alack for the maid that trusts a loon! He makes the preparations for his bridal, and she orders her clothes, which are of the richest description, all pearls and gold.[115] She has her horse shod, as in English, B 21, C 12, E 22. When she enters the hall, wives and maids stand up, B. She pours wine for the guests. The bride asks who she is, and is told that it is Sir Peter's mistress.[116] She has more gold on her[Pg 181] kirtle's hem, says the bride, than all that Sir Peter owns. Why, if he had her, did he come seeking me? After the usual long delay the bride is conducted to the bride-house, Kerstin carrying the torch before her. Kerstin even puts the bride to bed. She leaves the room, saying, A, I trow I shall come here no more, goes into the orchard, and hangs herself with her hair. Sir Peter is informed of what has happened, rushes to the orchard, takes Kerstin down, has a grave dug deep and broad, sets his sword against a stone, and runs on it. The next day, as so often, there are three dead, Sir Peter, Kerstin, and the bride, A, B. In C, Peter hangs himself on the same tree.
Not so moving, but considerably more powerful and original, is the other termination of the story. In E, after Kerstin has lighted the bride to the bride-house, she draws a knife and kills Peter. She tells the bride that this should have been her death too, had she not spoken her so fair. In D, F, she sets fire to the house and burns the bride on the bridegroom's arm.
The flame is playing in the young bride's hair.
He saw Little Kersti go out through the gate.
Another time shall I help thee.'
'I wot how well you keep your word.'[117]
A Southern ballad has something of the outline of the English and Norse, and sounds like a thin echo of them. A. Poésies populaires de la France, MS., III, fol. 158, Burgundy. B. Buchon, Noëls et Chants p. de la Franche-Comté, p. 90, No 31, 'J'ai fait un rêve.' C. Beaurepaire, La Poésie p. en Normandie, p. 50. D. Ampère, Instructions, p. 34, Bretagne. E. Guillon, Chansons p. de l'Ain, p. 161, 'Chante, rossignolet.' F. Arbaud, Chants p. de la Provence, II, 139, 'Lou premier Jour de Mai.' G. Ferraro, Canti p. monferrini, p. 8, No 7, 'Il primo amore.'
A youth is obliged by his father to give up his love for a bride who is less beautiful but richer. He has a dream that his love is dead, and carries her a rose, B, D. He invites her to the wedding: she will not come to the ceremony, but to the dance. She has three gowns made for the occasion, the third embroidered with gold, or of gold stuff. She falls dead while dancing: she falls on the right, he on the left. In G, after his love has died, the bridegroom draws his sword and kills himself. C and one copy of D have the phenomenon of the sympathetic plants, as in English A, B, E, F, G.
E 3 is a sort of commonplace when unequal matches are in question. So in a fragment in Herd's manuscripts, I, 55, II, 187:
I hae nae gowd or fee, Sir;
I am oer low to be your bryde,
Your loon I'll never be, Sir.'
And again Motherwell's MS., p. 37. It is Lady Grey's answer to King Edward in the Third Part of Henry VI, III, 2:
And yet too good to be your concubine.'
So Crescentia, the Koloczaer Codex, Mailáth u. Köffinger, p. 260, v. 565 ff.
With regard to B 20, 'I'll na put on the dowie green,' Kinloch remarks that green is considered unfortunate in love matters, the couplet running,
Yellow's forsaken;
whereas blue is looked upon as a most fortunate color: "blue is love true." "To be married in a green colored dress is ominous of misfortune, for according to the proverb:
Their sorrow is soon seen.
And no young woman in the North would wear that color on her wedding day. An old lady of my acquaintance, whose marriage had proved unfortunate, used seriously to warn young women to beware of being married in green, for she attributed her own misfortunes solely to her having been married in a green gown, which she had put on contrary to the sage advice of her seniors, in whose minds the belief was more firmly rooted, and who had wished her to wear in its stead a blue dress, as being the more lucky color. To dance in green stockings is a proverbial phrase applied to an elder sister when the younger is first married, intimating that she may mourn her hapless fate, as she has now no chance of being married. To dream of green is believed to be the presage of misfortune." Kinloch MSS, I, 15 f.
A is translated by Bodmer, II, 44, Doenniges, p. 125. D, Percy's copy, by Eschenburg, in Ursinus, Balladen und Lieder, 1777, p. 69; by Bodmer, I, 106; by Talvj, Versuch u. s. w., p. 497; Döring, p. 191; Doenniges, p. 121; Arentsschild, Albion u. Erin, p. 535; von Marées, p. 36; Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 175, No 47; Loève-Veimars, p. 123.
Norse A is translated by W. and M. Howitt, Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, I, 258; B by Prior, III, 363.
A
Percy's Reliques, 1765, II, 293, "given, with some corrections, from a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland."
Sate a' day on a hill;
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,
They had not talkt their fill.
Fair Annet took it ill:
'A, I will nevir wed a wife
Against my ain friends' will.'
A wife wull neir wed yee:'
Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
And knelt upon his knee.
'A gude rede gie to mee;
O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,
And let Faire Annet bee?'
Fair Annet she has gat nane;
And the little beauty Fair Annet haes
O it wull soon be gane.'
'Now, brother, rede ye mee;
A, sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And let Fair Annet bee?'
The nut-browne bride has kye;
I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,
And cast Fair Annet bye.'
And her kye into the byre,
And I sall hae nothing to mysell
Bot a fat fadge by the fyre.'
'Now, sister, rede ye mee;
O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And set Fair Annet free?'
And let the browne bride alane;
[Pg 183] Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace,
What is this we brought hame!'
And marrie me owt o hand;
And I will tak the nut-browne bride,
Fair Annet may leive the land.'
Twa hours or it wer day,
And he is gane into the bower
Wherein Fair Annet lay.
'Put on your silken sheene;
Let us gae to St. Marie's kirke,
And see that rich weddeen.'
And dress to me my hair;
Whaireir yee laid a plait before,
See yee lay ten times mair.
And dress to me my smock;
The one half is o the holland fine,
The other o needle-work.'
He amblit like the wind;
Wi siller he was shod before,
Wi burning gowd behind.
Wer a' tyed till his mane,
And yae tift o the norland wind,
They tinkled ane by ane.
Rade by Fair Annet's side,
And four and twanty fair ladies,
As gin she had bin a bride.
She sat on Marie's stean:
The cleading that Fair Annet had on
It skinkled in their een.
She shimmerd like the sun;
The belt that was about her waist
Was a' wi pearles bedone.
And her een they wer sae clear,
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,
Whan Fair Annet drew near.
He gae it kisses three,
And reaching by the nut-browne bride,
Laid it on Fair Annet's knee.
She spak wi meikle spite:
'And whair gat ye that rose-water,
That does mak yee sae white?'
Whair ye wull neir get nane,
For I did get that very rose-water
Into my mither's wame.'
Frae out her gay head-gear,
And strake Fair Annet unto the heart,
That word spak nevir mair.
And marvelit what mote bee;
But whan he saw her dear heart's blude,
A' wood-wroth wexed hee.
That was sae sharp and meet,
And drave it into the nut-browne bride,
That fell deid at his feit.
'Now stay, my dear,' he cry'd;
Then strake the dagger untill his heart,
And fell deid by her side.
Fair Annet within the quiere,
And o the tane thair grew a birk,
The other a bonny briere.
As they wad faine be neare;
And by this ye may ken right weil
They were twa luvers deare.
B
Kinloch MSS, I, 1, from the recitation of Mary Barr, Lesmahago.
Sat a' day on yon hill;
Though they had sat til the leventh o June,
They wad na got their fill.
Fair Annie took it ill:
'I'll neer marry a tocherless lass
Agen my ain friends' will.'
As fast as she could hie:
'Fare ye weel now, Sweet Willie,
It's fare ye weel a wee.'
And tirled at the pin;
Then up and rase his father proud.
And loot Sweet Willie in.
Yea both of us into ane;
Whether sall I marry Fair Annie,
Or bring the brown bride hame?'
And Annie she has nane;
Sae on my blessing, my auld son,
Bring ye Brown Bride hame.'
And tirled at the pin;
Then up and rose his mother dear
To let Sweet Willie in.
Yea baith o us into ane;
Whether sall I marry Fair Annie,
Or bring the brown bride hame?'
Fair Annie she has nane;
And for my blessing, my auld son,
Bring ye Brown Bride hame.'
And tirled at the pin;
And wha sae ready as his sister dear
To let her brither in.
Us baith yea into ane;
Whether sall I marry Fair Annie,
Or bring the brown bride hame?'
And Annie she has nane;
But for my love, my brither dear,
Bring hame the fair woman.
The kye into the byre,
And ye'll hae nocht but a howther o dirt,
To feed about your fire.'
And tirled at the pin;
And wha sae ready as Fair Annie
To let Sweet Willie in.
You're welcome here to me:'
'I'm na welcome to thee, Annie,
I'm na welcome to thee,
For I'm come to bid ye to my wedding,
It's gey sad news to thee.'
The saddest ye could tell;
It's gey sad news to me, Willie,
That shoud been bride mysel.'
And bowed low on her knee:
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Us baith yea into ane;
Whether sall I gang to Willie's wedding,
Or sall I stay at hame?'
Twenty will be your fae;'
'But prove it gude, or prove it bad,
To Willie's wedding I'll gae.
Nor yet the dowie green,
But I'll put on a scarlet robe
To sheen like onie queen.'
[Pg 185]
To shoe her a riding steed;
She has orderd tailors to her bouer,
To dress her a riding weed.
To lay gowd on her hair:
'Whare e'er ye put ae plait before,
See ye lay ten times mair.'
He bounded like the wind;
Wi silver he was shod before,
Wi burning gowd behind.
War tiëd til his mane;
Wi ae blast o the norland wind
They tinkled ane by ane.
And lichted on the green,
Ilka ane that did her see
Thought that she was a queen.
'I think she's wondrous wan;
Ye micht have had as fair a bride
As eer the sun sheend on.'
'Wi your talk let me abee;
For better I loe your little finger
Than the brown bride's haill bodie.'
And she spak out of spite:
'O whare gat ye the water, Annie,
That washd your face sae white?'
'Whare ye will neer get nane;
It's I gat een the water,' quo she,
'Aneath yon marble stane.'
And she spak yet again:
'O whare gat ye the claith, Annie,
That dried your face sae clean?'
'Whare ye will neer get nane;
It's I gat een the claith,' quo she,
'Aneath yon bouer o bane.'
Which she kept secret there;
She stabbd Fair Annie to the heart,
A deep wound and a sair.
And he spak yet again:
'O what's the matter wi thee, Annie,
That ye do look sae wan?'
'Or do ye no weel see?
I think ye micht see my heart's blude,
Come rinning by my knee.'
Which he kept secret there,
And strak the brown bride to the heart,
A word she neer spak mair.
He drew it through the strae,
And through his ain fair bodie
He causd the cauld iron gae.
His heart was almaist gane;
'May never a young man like me
Have sic a sad wedding.
And gear's ae but a lend,
And monie a ane for warld's gear
A silly brown bride brings hame.'
And Annie in Mary's quire,
And out o the ane there grew a birk,
And out o the ither a brier.
Until the twa did meet,
That ilka ane micht plainly see
They were true lovers sweet.
C
Motherwell's MS., p. 157, from the recitation of Agnes Laird, Kilbarchan, 1825.
Come riddle it all in one;
O whether will I take Fair Annie,
Or bring the brown bride home?'
Fair Annie she has none;
She has nothing but a bonny, bonny face,
And that'll soon be gone.'
That'll rin my errands soon,
That will rin to Fair Annie's bower,
And bid her to my wedding?'
That'll rin your errands soon,
That will rin to Fair Annie's bower,
And bid her to your wedding.'
Or yet her silks so brown;
But she must put on her suddled silks,
That she wears up and down.
Or yet her silks so gray;
But she must put on her suddled silks,
That she wears every day.'
He tirled at the pin;
So ready was Fair Annie hersell
To open and let him in.
What news hast thou to me?'
'You must prepare for Lord Thomas' wedding,
And that's bad news for thee.'
'Good news is it for me,
For me to be bride and him bridegroom,
And that's good news for me.'
Or yet thy silks so brown;
But thou must put on thy suddled silks,
That thou wears up and down.
Or yet thy silks so gray;
But thou must on thy suddled silks,
That thou wears every day.'
That'll dress to me a steed,
There are tailors in my tailor-house
That'll dress to me a weed.
That'll lay gold in my hair,
And where eer there were ane link before,
It shall be nine times mair.'
In all things very fine,
With red ribbons, and silks so fair,
That owre her shoulders shine.
She shined amang them a',
And the buttons on Lord Thomas' coat
Brusted and brak in twa.
'But browner is your bride;
But gallant is that handkerchy
That hideth her din hide.'
'Speak not of that to me,
For happy is that bonny, bonny lad
That leads his life with thee.'
And she spoke out with spite:
'O whare gets thou that water-cherry,
That washes thee so white?'
Below an olive tree,
And although thou war to seek long seven years
That water thou'll never see.
That water thou'll neer see;
For thou's sunbrunt from thy mother's womb,
And thou'll never be like me.'
D
a. Pepys Ballads, III, 316, No 312. b. A Collection of Old Ballads, I, 249, 1723. c. Ritson, Select Collection of English Songs, II, 187, 1783. d. Buchan's Gleanings, p. 86. e, f, g, h, i, recited copies.
And a chaser of the king's deer;
Faire Ellinor was a fair woman,
And Lord Thomas he loved her dear.
'And riddle us both as one,
Whether I shall marry Fair Ellinor,
And let the brown girl alone.'
And Fair Ellinor she has got none;
Therefore I charge you on my blessing
To bring me the brown girl home.'
As many did more beside,
Lord Thomas he went to Fair Ellinor,
That should have been his bride.
He knocked there at the ring;
But who was so ready as Fair Ellinor
For to let Lord Thomas in.
'What news hast thou brought unto me?'
'I am come to bid thee to my wedding,
And that is bad news to thee.'
'That such a thing should be done;
I thought to have been thy bride my own self,
And you to have been the brid's-groom.
'And riddle it all in one;
Whether I shall go to Lord Thomas's wedding,
Or whether I shall tarry at home.'
And many that are your fo;
Therefore I charge you on my blessing,
To Lord Thomas's wedding don't go.'
If a thousand more were my foe,
Betide my life, betide my death,
To Lord Thomas's wedding I'le go.'
And her merry men all in green,
And as they rid thorough everye towne,
They took her to have been a queene.
She knocked there at the ring;
But who was so ready as Lord Thomas
To lett Fair Ellinor in.
'Methinks she looks wondrous browne;
Thou mightest have had as fair a woman
As ever trod on the ground.'
'Despise her not now unto mee;
For better I love thy little finger
Than all her whole body.'
That was both long and sharp,
And betwixt the short ribs and the long
Prickd Fair Ellinor to the heart.
'Methinks thou lookst wondrous wan;
Thou wast usd for to look with as fresh a colour
As ever the sun shin'd on.'
'Or canst thou not very well see?
Oh dost thou not see my own heart's blood
Runs trickling down my knee?'
As he walked about the hall;
He cut off his bride's head from her shoulders,
And he threw it against the wall.
And the point against his heart;
There was never three lovers that ever met
More sooner they did depart.
E
Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 22, from the recitation of Mrs W. Arrot, of Aberbrothick, as learned by her when a child from an elderly maid-servant.
Sat a' day on a hill,
And though they had sitten seven year,
They neer wad had their fill.
And Annie took it ill:
'I winna wed a tocherless maid,
Against my parents' will.'
And I'm come o the poor;
I'm oer laigh to be your bride,
And I winna be your whore.'
And Willie down the den,
And he's come till his mither's bower,
By the lei light o the moon.
'Or are ye the bower within?'
'I sleep richt aft, I wake richt aft;
What want ye wi me, son?
O wow, ye've tarried lang!'
'I have been courtin Fair Annie,
And she is frae me gane.
Which o them sall I bring hame?
The nut-brown maid has sheep and cows,
And Fair Annie has nane.'
I'll heap gold wi my hand;
But an ye wed her Fair Annie,
I'll straik it wi a wand.
And Fair Annie has nane;
And Willie, for my benison,
The nut-brown maid bring hame.'
And I sall bring her hame;
But peace nor rest between us twa,
Till death sinder's again.
'O fair is Annie's face!'
'But what's the matter, my son Willie?
She has nae ither grace.'
'But white is Annie's hand!'
'But what's the matter, my son Willie?
She hasna a fur o land.'
And owsen die in byre;
And what's this warld's wealth to me,
An I get na my heart's desire?
That wad fain win hose and shoon,
That will rin to Fair Annie's bower,
Wi the lei light o the moon?
The morn at twal at noon;
Ye'll tell her to come to Willie's weddin,
The heir o Duplin town.
Nor yet the dowie brown,
But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae white,
And her bonny locks hangin down.'
And tirled at the pin,
And wha was sae ready as Annie hersel
To open and let him in.
The morn at twal at noon;
Ye are bidden come to Willie's weddin,
The heir of Duplin town.
Nor yet the dowie brown,
But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae white,
And your bonny locks hangin down.'
The morn at twal at noon;
[Pg 189] It's I will come to Willie's weddin,
But I rather the mass had been mine.
And lay gold on my hair;
And whare ye laid ae plait before,
Ye'll now lay ten times mair.
And mak to me a weed;
And smiths, unto my stable come,
And shoe to me a steed.'
There hang a silver bell,
And there came a wind out frae the south,
Which made them a' to knell.
And sat down in the deas,
The light that came frae Fair Annie
Enlightend a' the place.
Just at her father's knee:
'O wha is this, my father dear,
That blinks in Willie's ee?'
'O this is Willie's first true-love,
Before he loved thee.'
He might hae latten me be;
She has as much gold on ae finger
As I'll wear till I die.
That washes you sae white?'
'I got it in my mither's wambe,
Whare ye'll neer get the like.
And dried on Dunny's dyke,
And a' the water in the sea
Will never wash ye white.'
Laid it in Annie's lap:
. . . . . . .
'Hae, wear it for my sake.'
And wear't wi mickle care;
For the woman sall never bear a son
That will make my heart sae sair.'
And a' man boun to bed,
Sweet Willie and the nut-brown bride
In their chamber were laid.
And scarcely fa'n asleep,
Whan up and stands she Fair Annie,
Just up at Willie's feet.
Between ye and the wa;
And sae will I o my winding sheet,
That suits me best ava.
Between ye and the stock;
And sae will I o my black, black kist,
That has neither key nor lock.'
Drew till him his hose and shoon,
And he is on to Annie's bower,
By the lei light o the moon.
There was right dowie wark;
Her mither and her three sisters
Were makin to Annie a sark.
There was right dowie cheir;
Her father and her seven brethren
Were makin to Annie a bier.
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
And Fair Annie streekit there.
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
And I will kiss your chin,
And I will kiss your clay-cald lip,
But I'll never kiss woman again.
[Pg 190]
The bread but and the wine;
Before the morn at twall o'clock,
They'll deal the same at mine.'
The tither in Mary's quire,
And out o the tane there grew a birk,
And out o the tither a brier.
Untill they twa did meet,
And every ane that past them by
Said, Thae's been lovers sweet!
F
Kinloch MSS, III, 127, stanzas 1-17; the remainder in Dr John Hill Burton's papers. Another copy in Kinloch MSS, V, 339. Both in Dr Burton's handwriting.
As they sat on yon hill,
If they hed sat frae morn till even,
They hed no talked their fill.
As fast as gang could he:
'An askin, an askin, my mother,
And I pray ye'll grant it me.
Wi her oxen and her kye?
Or will I merry my Fair Annie,
That hes my heart for aye?'
Your mither's malison you'll wun;
But if ye merry the nut-brown may,
Ye will get her blessin.'
'For Annie's bonny face!'
'Little metter o that, my son Willie,
When Annie hesna grace.'
'For Annie's bonny han!'
'And what's the metter, son Willie,
When Annie hesna lan?
Wi her oxen and her kye;
But ye will merry the nut-brown may,
For she hes my hert for aye.'
Where she sat be the fire:
'What's the metter, brother Willie?
Tack ye your heart's desire.
The cow drown i the myre;
And what's the metter, brother Willie?
Tak ye your heart's desire.'
That will wun hose and shune,
That will run on to Anny's bower,
And come right sune again?'
The morn is the day;
Ye'll bid her come to Willie's weddin,
And no make no delay.
Or yet the dowie brown;
But the white silk and the reed skarlet,
That will shine frae town to town.'
And tirled at the pin,
And wha was sae ready as Annie hersel
To let the ladie in.
The morn is the day;
Ye'r bidden come to Willie's weddin,
And no mack no delay.
Or yet the dowie brown;
But the white silk and the red scarlet,
That will shine frae town to town.
[Pg 191]
Or yet the dowie gray;
But the white silk and the red scarlet,
That will shine frae brae to brae.'
Gif the morn be the day;
It's I will come to Willie's weddin,
And no mack no delay.'
And golden graithed behin;
At every teet o her horse mane
A silver bell did ring.
She glanced like the moon;
There was as much gould abov her brow
Would buy an earldom.
She glanced like the fire;
There was as much gould above her brow
Was worth a yearl's hire.
And Willie the dowie glen;
Annie alane shone brighter
Than Willie and a' his men.
That glances in your ee?'
'Oh it is Annie, my first fore love,
Come till see you and me.'
That washes ye so wan?'
'Oh I got it aneth yon marble stane,
Where ye will nere get nane.
And rocket i the reek;
And tho ye wad wash till doom's day,
Ye wad never be so white.'
Come our weddin to see,
She has by far owr brent a brow
To lat ye bide by me.'
And a' men bun to bed,
Sweet Willie and his nut-brown bride
In ae chamber were laid.
But nor hed fallen asleep,
When up and started Fair Annie,
And stud at Willie's feet.
Wi yer oxen and your sheep!
It is Annie, my first fore love,
And I fear sair she is dead.
An ill death you betide!
For you've parted me and my first fore love,
And I fear death is her guide.
You'll seddle to me the brown,
Till I ride on to Annie's bower
And see how she is bune.'
And lighted and gaed in,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Her mother at her feet,
Her sister she was at her side,
Puttin on her winding sheet.
And kiss will I your chin,
And I will kiss your wan, wan lips,
Tho there be no breath within.
The white bread and the wine,
And or the morn at this same time
Ye'll birle the same at mine.'
The white bread and the wine,
And ere the morn at that same time
At his they birled the same.
The other at Mary's quire,
And throw the one there sprang a birk,
And throw the other a brier.
They grew them near and near
And every one that passed them by
Said, They be lovers dear.
G
Skene MS., p. 104; northeast of Scotland, 1802-03.
They sat on yon hill,
And frae the morning till night
This twa neer talked their fill.
And Annë took it ill:
'We's court na mare maidens,
Against our parents' will.'
Fair Annie she did say,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
To his book all alane,
And Fair Annie is to her bower,
To her book and her seam.
Fell low down on his knee:
'An asking, my mother dear,
And ye grant it to me;
O will I marry the nut-brown may,
An lat Fair Annie gae?'
The nut-brown may has key;
An ye will winn my blessing, Willie,
And latt Fair Annie be.'
Fell low down on his knee:
'An asking, my father,
An ye man grant it me.'
Ye'r sur yer askin's free;
Except it is to marry her Fair Annie,
And that manna be.'
As she [sat] by the fire:
'The ox-leg will brack in the plough,
And the cow will drown in the mire.
But the dam to sitt by the fire;
Fair Annie will sit in her beagly bower,
An winn a earl's hire.'
A guid dead mat ye die!
An ever I hae goud,
Well tochered sall ye be.'
As fast as gan could he:
'O will ye come to my marriage?
The morn it is to be.'
The morn, gin I can win.'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Fell low down on her knee:
'An askin, my father,
And ye man grant it me;
Lat me to Sweet Willie's marriage,
The morn it is to be.'
An guid red goud ahin,
An bells in his mane,
To ring against the win.'
Fell low down on her knee:
'Will ye lat me to Willie's marriage?
The morn it is to be;'
'I'll lat ye to Willie's marriage,
An we the morn see.'
She flam'd against the fire;
The girdle about her sma middle
Wad a won an earl's hire.
And on to Mary quire,
'O far gat ye that watter, Ann,
That washes ye sae clear?'
That washes ye sae fite?'
'I gat it in my mother's womb,
Whar ye['s] never get the like.
An roked in the reak,
An ser brunt in yer mither's womb,
For I think ye'll neer be fite.'
... at Annie['s] left ear,
And gin her ...
A deep wound and a sare.
An fast away did ride,
But lang or cock's crowing,
Fair Annie was dead.
An a' man boun to bed,
Sweet Willie and the nut-brown bride
In a chamber were laid.
Out of his dreary dream:
'I dreamed a dream this night,
God read a' dream to guid!
An herself was dead;
But I will on to Fair Annie,
An si't if it be guid.'
He heard a dolefull chear,
Her father and her seven brithern,
Walking at her bier;
The half of it guid red goud,
The other silver clear.
The white bread an the wine;
But on the morn at this time
Ye's dee the like at mine.'
The ither at Mary quire;
Out of the ane grew a birk,
Out of the ither a briar.
They came the ither near,
An by that ye might a well kent
They were twa lovers dear.
H
Gibb MS., p. 64.
As they talked on yon hill,
Though they had talked a lang summer day,
They wad na hae talked their fill.
An low leave a' your pride,
In spite of a' my friends, Annie,
I wad mak you my bride.'
An thin, thin lie mine;
An little wad a' your friends think
O sic a kin as mine.
Down by the coving-tree;
An little wad a' your friends think
O sic a bride as me.
This nicht ye've said me no;
But lang or ever this day month
I'll make your heart as sore.'
An a sick man lay he down;
An ben came Willie's auld mither,
An for nae gude she came.
My malison ye's hae;
But if ye marry the nut-brown may,
My blessin an ye's hae.'
[Pg 194]
An mother, for your wis,
It's I will marry the nut-brown may,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
It's up an spak his sister,
. . . . . . .
The kye drown in the myre,
An he'll hae naething but a dirty drab
To sit doun by the fire.'
That will win hose and shoon,
That will rin on to Annie's bower,
An haste him back again?'
An happy hae I been;
It's I will rin your errands, Willie,
Wi the saut tears in my een.'
She will be at her dine;
And bid her come to Willie's weddin,
On Monday in good time.
Nor yet the mournfu brown,
But the gowd sae reed, and the silver white,
An her hair weel combed down.
To shape for her a weed,
And a smith to her smithy,
To shoe for her a steed.
An gold graithed behind,
An every foot the foal sets down,
The gold lie on the ground.'
It's she was at her dine:
'Ye're bidden come to Willie's weddin,
On Monday in good time.
Nor get the mournfu brown,
But the gowd sae reid, an the silver white,
An yere hair well combed doun.
To shape for you a weed,
And likewise a smith to your smithy,
To shoe for you a steed.
An gold graithed behind,
An every foot the foal sets down,
The gold lie on the ground.'
I rather it had been mine;
It's I will come to Willie's weddin,
On Monday in good time.
To hing below his knee.
An ilka time he looks on it,
He'll hae gude mind o me.
An I hope you will grant me;
For it is the last askin
That ever I'll ask of thee.'
'An ask me, Annie, fee,
But dinna ask me Sweet Willie,
Your bedfellow to be.'
Sae will I ask you fee,
But I needna ask you Sweet Willie,
My bedfellow to be.
On Monday in good time,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
A siller bell did hing,
An on every tait o her horse's tail
A golden bell did ring.
An twal an twal ahind,
[Pg 195] An twal an twal on every side,
To hold her frae the wind.
Than Willie did in the glen;
Fair Annie shined mair on the heid o the hill
Than Willie wi a' his men.
She lighted on the stane;
An when she came to the kirk-door,
She bade the bride gae in.
But brown, brown is your bride;
Clear, clear is her lawn curches,
But weel dunned is her hide.'
That has made you so white?'
'I got it in my father's garden,
Below yon hollan dyke.
An rocked in the reek;
Ye hae been brunt in your mither's wame,
An ye will neer be white.'
To lay your love on me;
She's mair gowd on her heid this day
Than I'll wear till I die!'
I've laid nae love on you;
I've mair love for Fair Annie this day
Than I'll hae for you till I dee.'
You'll see good game an play;'
But she turned her horse head to the hill,
An swift she rode away.
. . . . . . .
Till he went to Fair Annie's bower,
By the ley licht o the mune.
Annie was lying deid,
An seven o Annie's sisters an sisters' bairns
Were sewing at Annie's weed.
Since ye wald neer take mine;
The woman shall never have the hand
That I'll touch after thine.
Since ye will never kiss mine;
The woman shall never have the lips
That I'll kiss after thine.
. . . . . . .
'As much breid ye deal at Annie's dairgie
Tomorrow ye's deal at mine.'
A.
"Some traditionary copies of the ballad have this stanza, which is the 19th in order:
Wi their wings stretchd out wide,
To blaw the stour aff the highway,
To let Fair Annie ride."
(Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. lxviii, 19.)
Compare 'Lord Ingram and Chiel Wyet,' C 22.
C.
63, 103. silk.
131. The maidens.
D. a.
A Tragical Story of Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor. Together with the downfall of the Brown Girl.
34. And bring.
91. many of your.
94, 121. Thomas his.
104. Thomas's his.
153. But betwixt.
b.
A Tragical Ballad on the unfortunate Love of Lord Thomas and fair Ellinor, together with the Downfal of the Brown Girl.
13. a fine.
23. marry with.
31. land.
34. Bring me.
41. As it.
42. many more did.
64. for thee.
74. bridegroom.
[Pg 196]91. many that are.
94, 104, 121. Thomas's.
102. And if.
113. through.
114. to be some.
131. Ellinor said.
132. wonderful.
133. mightst.
142. now wanting.
153. And.
163. Thou us'd to look.
184. he wanting.
193. There never were three lovers met.
194. That sooner did.
c.
13. a fine.
23. marry with.
32. And wanting.
33. thee on.
34. To bring.
54. For wanting.
64. for thee.
74. bridegroom.
91. many that are.
83, 94, 104, 121. Thomases.
103. or betide.
113. through.
133. You might.
142. now wanting.
153. And.
154. She prickd.
162. wain.
d.
32. she's got land, she says.
42. many more do.
52. at the pin.
84. I shall let it alone.
92. foes.
102. If a thousand were our foes.
103. me life, me death.
104. To Lord Thomas's I'll go.
122. at the pin.
After 12:
And led her through the hall;
He set her in the noblest chair,
Among the ladies all.
152. both keen.
161. now save me.
163. usest to look as good a colour.
After 17:
'Dig it both wide and deep,
And lay Fair Eleanor by my side
And the brown girl at my feet.'
184. And flung.
193, 4..
That sooner did depart.
e.
Motherwell's MS., p. 293, from the recitation of Widow McCormick, February 23, 1825; learned of an old woman in Dumbarton, thirty years before.
'Come riddle me all in one,
Whether I'll goe to court Fair Helen
Or fetch you the brown girl home.'
'And many's the ones your fone;
My blessing be on you, dear son,' she says,
'Go fetch me the brown girl home.'
Thorough the road he went,
And every village that he came to,
They took him to be a king.
He tinkled low at the ring;
Who was so ready as Fair Helen herself
To let Lord Thomas in.
'What news have you brought to me?'
'I've come to bid you to my wedding,
And that is bad news to thee.'
'That sic an a thing should be,
But I for to be the body of the bride,
And you to be the bridegroom.
'Come riddle me all in one,
Whether I'll go to Lord Thomas' wedding,
Or mourn all day at home.'
'And many's the ones your fone;
'My blessing be on you, dear daughter,' she says,
'And mourn all day at home.'
'And many's the ones my fae,
But I will go to Lord Thomas' wedding
Should I lose my life by the way.'
Thorow the road she went,
And every village that she came to,
They took her for to be a queen.
She tinkled low at the ring;
Who was so ready as Lord Thomas himself
To let Fair Helen in.
'I think she looks wonderful brown;
You might have had as pretty a bride
As ever the sun shined on.'
[Pg 197]
And an angry woman was she:
'Where have you got the roseberry-water
That washes your face so clear?'
Where that she could get none;
For I have got it in my mother's womb,
Where in her mother's womb there was none.'
That was baith sharp and small,
She stuck Fair Helen fornents the heart,
And down the blood did fall.
'I think you look wonderful pale:
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
'Or don't you very well see?
O don't you see my very heart's blood
Coming trinkling down by my knee?'
That hung low by his knee,
And he cut off the brown girl's head,
And dashed it against the wall.
And on it he did fall;
So there was an end of these three lovers,
Thro spite and malice all.
82. foe in the margin.
194. All thro spite and malice is noted as if it were what was recited.
f.
From Miss Clara Mackay, Woodstock, New Brunswick, 1881, derived from her great grandmother. The title is 'Lord Thomas.'
12. The keeper of our king's gear.
4, 7 are wanting.
112. Her merry maids all in green.
After 12:
And led her through the hall,
And sat her in a chair of gold,
Amidst her merry maids all.
152. both clean and sharp.
After 17:
'But I can plainly see,
And I can see your dear heart's blood
Runs trickling down your knee.'
182. It was both keen and small.
184. And flung.
After 19, as in d:
'And dig it both wide and deep,
And lay Fair Ellinor at my side,
The brown girl at my feet.'
g. Recited to me by Ellen Healy, 1881, as learned by her of a young girl living near Killarney, Ireland, about 1867.
22. come riddle me oer and oer: so 82.
24, 34. the pretty brown girl bring home.
After 3:
And his merrymen all in white;
There was not a town that he rode through
But they took him to be a knight.
Fair Ellinor, you have none;
Therefore I charge you with my blessing,
Fair Ellinor, stay at home.'
And her merrymen all in green;
There was not a town that she rode through
But they took her to be a queen.
After 12:
And by the waist so small,
And set her at the head of the table,
. . . . . . .
After 13:
She said ...
'Where did you get the water
That washed your skin so white?'
14 wanting.
19. Imperfectly remembered.
Lord Thomas he stabbed the pretty brown girl, and then he stabbed himself; and he said, Bury the pretty brown girl at my feet, and Fair Ellinor in my arms.
A red rose grew out of Fair Ellinor, and a sweet briar out of Lord Thomas's grave, and they grew until they met.
h. An Irish version, recited by Ellen Daily, Taunton, Massachusetts.
22. Come riddle me all at once.
24. Or the bonny brown girl.
With merry men all in white;
And there was not a town that he rode through
But they took him to be a knight.
52. very low at her ring.
To Lord Thomas's wedding I'll go.'
With merry maids all in green;
And there was not a town that she rode through
But they took her to be a queen.
122. very low at his ring.
After 12:
And led her along the hall;
He handed her to the head of the table,
Among the ladies all.
After 13:
Then out spoke the bonny brown girl some words with spirit, saying:
That washed your face so white?'
That is both clear and spring,
And if you were to live till the day you die
That doon you never shall see.'
14 is wanting.
After 19:
Fair Ellenor by my side,
And bury the bonny brown girl at the end of the church,
Where she will be far from me.'
. . . . . . .
Out of Fair Ellen there grew a red rose,
And out of Lord Thomas there grew a sweet-briar.
They grew to a steeple top;
Twelve o'clock every night
They grew to a true lover's knot.
i. Communicated by Mr W. W. Newell, as recited by an Irish maid-servant in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
1, 4-7, 10 are wanting.
After 12:
And led her through the hall,
Until he put her sitting at the head of the table,
Amongst the gentleman all.
'Is this your bride, Lord Thomas?' they said,
Or is this your bride?' said they
'O 't is better I love her little finger
Than all her whole boday.'
The stanza which describes Lord Thomas's dress and the effect he produced occurs in e, g, h; that in which Lord Thomas leads Ellinor through the hall and conducts her to her place is found in d, f, g, h, i; the colloquy about the water which washes Ellinor so white in e, g, h; Lord Thomas's directions about the burial in d, f, h; the plants growing from the grave in g, h. None of these are in the English broadside.
A fragment in Pitcairn's MSS, III, 35, is derived from the English broadside.
F.
The copy in Kinloch MSS, V, 339, b, seems to be a revision of the other. The two portions of that which is apparently the earlier, a, became separated by some accident or oversight. For stanzas 18-37 I have not the original, but a transcript. After 1, b inserts Jamieson's second stanza, E 2.
4. ye merry twice.
53. altered to What's metter, son Willie, to conform to 63: b, And what's the matter.
121. Ye'll tell her to come.
123. Yer bidden come.
131. Yer forbidden. Anticipating 14, 15. Corrected in b as here, and partly in a.
182. a, gold engraved, b, golden graved: cf. H, 16, 20.
223. Oh is it: corrected in b.
253. She has by far struck out and Fair Annie written above: b, Fair Annie hes oer.
G.
The division of stanzas and of verses has in some cases required regulation. The handwriting is in places difficult, and I cannot be sure that the spelling in every case is what the writer intended.
74. mann?
165. Willie.
202. fett?
213. ser brunt (?)
214. faett?
231. Whan.
253. perhaps dreams.
281. deal illegible, a conjecture.
293. grave?
FOOTNOTES:
[113] I have been enabled to restore the original readings by the ever ready kindness of Professor Skeat.
[114] London, printed for W. T[hackeray], T. P[assenger], and W. W. [Whitwood?]. This impression is therefore contemporary with the other.
[115] In D, E she borrows the fine things of her sister. Minute particulars are given in D. We all wonder how Fair Annet, whose face should be her fortune, comes by so much. Her horse's shoes and bells would have made her a nice little dowry; and then she has, F 20, as much gold above her brow as would buy an earldom, like the oriental Susie Py. This comes of a reckless use of commonplaces, without regard to keeping.
[116] Some of the versions have traits of 'Fair Annie.' In F the woman is a king's sister, and is not living with Sir Peter.
at login leikað i Áselitis hár.
dá ság han liti Kersti pá gata geng.
en annen sinn skal eg hjölpe deg.'
'eg veit du helde sá vel dit órð!'
Landstad, 33-36.
Upon which the good pastor, who loved the things nevertheless, remarks, What a culpable style of life, what moral depravation, many of these ballads depict!
74
FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM
A. a. 'Fair Margaret's Misfortune,' etc., Douce Ballads, I, fol. 72. b. 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William,' Ritson, A Select Collection of English Songs, 1783, II, 190. c. 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William,' Percy's Reliques, 1765, III, 121. d. Percy's Reliques, 1767, III, 119.
B. Percy Papers; communicated by the Dean of Derry, February, 1776.
C. Percy Papers; communicated by Rev. P. Parsons, April 7, 1770.
A, a, b, c are broadside or stall copies, a of the end of the seventeenth century, b "modern" in Percy's time, and they differ inconsiderably, except that a has corrupted an important line.[118] Of d, Percy says, Since the first edition some improvements have been inserted, which were communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she had heard this song repeated in her infancy. Herd, in The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 295, follows Percy. As Percy has remarked, the ballad is twice quoted in Beaumont and Fletcher's 'Knight of the Burning Pestle,' 1611. Stanza 5 runs thus in Act 2, Scene 8, Dyce, II, 170:
And all were fast asleep,
In came Margaret's grimly ghost,
And stood at William's feet.
The first half of stanza 2 is given, in Act 3, Scene 5, Dyce, p. 196, with more propriety than in the broadsides, thus:
I am no love for you.
The fifth stanza of the ballad, as cited in 'The Knight of the Burning Pestle,' says the editor of the Reliques, has "acquired an importance by giving birth to one of the most beautiful ballads in our own or any language" [that is, 'Margaret's Ghost'], "the elegant production of David Mallet, Esq., who, in the last edition of his poems, 3 vols, 1759, informs us that the plan was suggested by the four verses quoted above, which he supposed to be the beginning of some ballad now lost."[119] The ballad supposed to be lost has been lately re[Pg 200]covered, in a copy of the date 1711, with the title 'William and Margaret, an Old Ballad,' and turns out to be substantially the piece which Mallet published as his own in 1724, Mallet's changes being comparatively slight. 'William and Margaret' is simply 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William' rewritten in what used to be called an elegant style. Nine of the seventeen stanzas are taken up with a rhetorical address of Margaret to false William, who then leaves his bed, raving, stretches himself on Margaret's grave, thrice calls her name, thrice weeps full sore, and dies. See The Roxburghe Ballads, in the Ballad Society's reprint, III, 671, with Mr Chappell's remarks there, and in the Antiquary, January, 1880. The ballad of 1711 seems to have been founded upon some copy of the popular form earlier than any we now possess, or than any known to me, for the last half of stanza 5 runs nearly as it occurs in Beaumont and Fletcher (see also B 7), thus:
And stood at William's feet.
'Fair Margaret and Sweet William' begins like 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' and from the fifth stanza on is blended with a form of that ballad represented by versions E-H. The brown girl, characteristic of 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' has slipped into A 14, 15, B 8, of 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William.' The catastrophe of 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William' is repeated in 'Lord Lovel,' and it will be convenient to notice under the head of the latter, which immediately follows, some ballads out of English which resemble both, especially in the conclusion.
A c is translated by Bodmer, II, 31, Döring, p. 199; A d by Herder, 1778, I, 124, von Marées, p. 40, Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 61.
A
a. Douce Ballads, I, fol. 72. b. Ritson, A Select Collection of English Songs, 1783, II, 190. c. Percy's Reliques, 1765, III, 121. d. Percy's Reliques, 1767, III, 119.
Two lovers they sat on a hill;
They sat together that long summer's day,
And could not talk their fill.
Nor you see none by me;
Before tomorrow eight a clock
A rich wedding shall you see.'
A combing of her hair,
And there she spy'd Sweet William and his bride,
As they were riding near.
And up she bound her hair;
She went her way forth of her bower,
But never more did come there.
And all men fast asleep,
Then came the spirit of Fair Margaret,
And stood at William's feet.
In bride-bed fast asleep;
Loe I am going to my green grass grave,
And am in my winding-sheet.'
And all men wak'd from sleep,
Sweet William to his lady said,
My dear, I have cause to weep.
Such dreams are never good;
I dreamd my bower was full of red swine,
And my bride-bed full of blood.'
They never do prove good,
To dream thy bower was full of swine,
And [thy] bride-bed full of blood.'
[Pg 201]
By one, by two, and by three,
Saying, I'll away to Fair Margaret's bower,
By the leave of my lady.
He knocked at the ring;
So ready was her seven brethren
To let Sweet William in.
'Pray let me see the dead;
Methinks she does look pale and wan,
She has lost her cherry red.
Than any of thy kin;
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
Tho a smile I cannot win.'
Making most pitious moan:
'You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,
And let our sister alone.'
I do but what is right;
For I made no vow to your sister dear,
By day or yet by night.
Of your white bread and your wine;
So much as is dealt at her funeral today
Tomorrow shall be dealt at mine.'
Sweet William he dy'd the morrow;
Fair Margaret dy'd for pure true love,
Sweet William he dy'd for sorrow.
Sweet William in the higher;
Out of her breast there sprung a rose,
And out of his a brier.
Till they could grow no higher,
And then they grew in a true lover's knot,
Which made all people admire.
As you this truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there.
B
Communicated to Percy by the Dean of Derry, as written down from memory by his mother, Mrs Bernard; February, 1776.
His steed was lovely brown;
A fairer creature than Lady Margaret
Sweet William could find none.
And knocked at the ring,
And who so ready as Lady Margaret
To rise and to let him in.
Clothed all in blue:
'I pray, Sweet William, tell to me
What love's between my daughter and you?'
'And she knows none by me;
Before tomorrow at this time
Another bride you shall see.'
Combing of her hair,
She saw Sweet William and his brown bride
Unto the church repair.
And up she tossd her hair,
She went out from her bowr alive,
But never so more came there.
All people were asleep,
In glided Margaret's grimly ghost,
And stood at William's feet.
[Pg 202]
How d'ye like your sheet?
And how d'ye like that brown lady,
That lies in your arms asleep?'
And well I like my sheet;
But better I like that fair lady
That stands at my bed's feet.'
All people were awake,
The lady waket out of her sleep,
And thus to her lord she spake.
That seldom comes to good;
I dreamd that our bowr was lin'd with white swine,
And our brid-chamber full of blood.'
By one, by two, by three,
'We will go to Lady Margaret's bower,
With the leave of my wedded lady.'
He knocked at the ring,
And who were so ready as her brethren
To rise and let him in.
'Or is she in the hall?
Or is she in the long chamber,
Amongst her merry maids all?'
'Nor is she in the hall;
But she is in the long chamber,
Laid out against the wall.'
'That I may kiss the dead;
That I may kiss her pale and wan
Whose lips used to look so red.'
Sweet William died on the morrow;
Lady Margaret died for pure, pure love,
Sweet William died for sorrow.
On Sweet William's grew a briar;
They grew till they joind in a true lover's knot,
And then they died both together.
C
Communicated to Percy by Rev. P. Parsons, of Wye, April 7, 1770.
A combing back her hair,
She saw Sweet William and his gay bride
Unto the church draw near.
She turned back her hair;
There was a fair maid at that window,
She's gone, she'll come no more there.
When all men were asleep,
There walkd a ghost, Fair Margaret's ghost,
And stood at his bed's feet.
'I wish it prove for good;
My chamber was full of wild men's wine,
And my bride-bed stood in blood.'
To saddle his nag with speed:
'This night will I ride to Fair Margaret's bowr,
With the leave of my lady.
Or is she in the hall?
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
'Nor is she in the hall;
But she is in the long chamber,
Laid up against the wall.'
And come with your left side home,
There you will see those two lovers
Lie printed on one stone.
A. a.
Fair Margaret's Misfortune, or, Sweet William's Frightful Dreams on his Wedding Night. With the Sudden Death and Burial of those Noble Lovers.... Printed for S. Bates, at the Sun and Bible, in Gilt-Spur Street. Sarah Bates published about 1685. Chappell.
31. set.
41. lay.
54. Which causd him for to weep: caught probably from 74. See the quotation in Beaumont and Fletcher, and the other broadside copies.
132. my kin.
181. channel.
b. 11. out upon a day.
13. a long.
24. you shall.
34. a riding.
43. went away first from the.
44. more came.
54. And stood at William's bed-feet.
61. you true.
63. grass green.
64. I am.
94. thy bride-bed.
101. called his.
121. Then he.
123. she looks both.
141. the seven.
143, 151. brown dame.
162. Of white.
182. And William.
193. there they.
194. all the.
201. Then.
c. 23. at eight.
24. you shall.
33. She spyed.
34. a riding.
44. more came.
53. There came.
54. And stood at William's feet.
61. you lovers true.
64. I'm.
94. And they.
121. Then he.
141. the seven.
17. William dyed.
182. And William.
193. there they.
194. Made all the folke.
201. Then.
d.
Variations not found in c: "Communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she had heard this song repeated in her infancy."
32. Combing her yellow hair.
33. There she spyed.
And braided her hair in twain;
She went alive out of her bower,
But neer came alive in't again.
'Or, Sweet William, are you asleep?
God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,
And me of my winding-sheet.'
113. And who so ready as her.
153. I neer made a vow to yonder poor corpse.
Deal on your cake and your wine;
For whatever is dealt at her funeral today
Shall be dealt tomorrow at mine.'
191. They grew till they grew unto the.
192. And then they.
193. they tyed.
194. the people.
C.
"The ballad of Sweet William," writes Parsons to Percy, "was the same as yours in the stanzas I have omitted.... The person from whom I took the thirty-fifth line [thirty-first, here 43] sang it thus:
which is absolute nonsense, yet, if altered to 'wild men and swine,' is perfect sense."
FOOTNOTES:
[118] "The common title of this ballad, which is a favorite of the stalls, is 'Fair Margaret's Misfortunes:'" Motherwell, Minstrelsy, p. lxviii, note 18.
[119] Reliques, 1765, III, 121, 310.
75
LORD LOVEL
A. 'Lady Ouncebell,' communicated to Bishop Percy by the Rev. P. Parsons, of Wye, 1770 and 1775.
B. 'Lord Lavel,' Kinloch MSS, I, 45.
C. 'Lord Travell,' communicated by Mr Alexander Laing, of Newburgh-on-Tay.
D. 'Lord Lovel,' Kinloch MSS, VII, 83; Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 31.
E. Communicated by Mr J. F. Campbell, of Islay, as learned about 1850.
F. 'Lord Lovel,' communicated by Mr Robert White, of Newcastle-on-Tyne.
G. 'Lord Revel,' Harris MS., fol. 28b.
H. 'Lord Lovel.' a. Broadside in Dixon's Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 78, Percy Society, vol. XIX. b. Davidson's Universal Melodist, I, 148.
I. Percy Papers, communicated by Principal Robertson.
I is made up of portions of several ballads. The first stanza is derived from 'Sweet William's Ghost,' the second and third possibly from some form of 'Death and the Lady,' 4-11 from 'Lady Maisry.' The eighth stanza of E should, perhaps, be considered as taken from 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' since in no other copy of 'Lord Lovel' and in none of 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William' does the hero die by his own hand.
In 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William,' as also in 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' a lover sacrifices his inclination to make a marriage of interest. In 'Lord Lovel' the woman dies, not of affection betrayed, but of hope too long deferred, and her laggard but not unfaithful lover sinks under his remorse and grief. 'Lord Lovel' is peculiarly such a ballad as Orsino likes and praises: it is silly sooth, like the old age. Therefore a gross taste has taken pleasure in parodying it, and the same with 'Young Beichan.' But there are people in this world who are amused even with a burlesque of Othello.[120]
There are several sets of ballads, very common in Germany and in Scandinavia, which, whether they are or are not variations of the same original, at least have a great deal in common with 'Lord Lovel' and 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William.'
Of these, one which more closely resembles the English is 'Der Ritter und die Maid,' of German origin, but found also further north.[121]
A knight and maid have been together till[Pg 205] morning. She weeps; he tells her that he will pay for her honor, will give her an underling and money. She will have none but him, and will go home to her mother. The mother, on seeing her, asks why her gown is long behind and short before, and offers her meat and drink. The daughter refuses them, goes to bed, and dies. So far there is no dallying with the innocence of love, as in the English ballad; the German knight is simply a brutal man of pleasure. But now the knight has a dream, as in 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William;' it is that his love has died. He bids his squire or groom to saddle, and rides to find out what has happened. On his way he hears an ominous bell; further on he sees a grave digging; then he meets men carrying a bier. Set down the bier, he cries, that I may see my love. He turns back the cloth and looks at the dead. She has suffered for him, he will suffer for her. He draws his sword and runs it through his heart. They are buried in one coffin, or in the same grave. In some of the ballads lilies rise from the grave; in a Swedish version ('Jungfruns död'), a linden, the leaves of which intermingle.
Next to this we may put a Norwegian and a Swedish ballad, which, having perhaps lost something at the beginning, cannot safely be classed: 'Maarstíg aa hass möy,' Bugge, p. 127, No 26, A, B; 'Herr Malmstens dröm,' Afzelius, III, 104, No 85. Maarstíg dreams that his love's gold ring has got upon another finger, that her gold belt is off her lithe waist, her cloak or her hair is cut to bits, her shoes are full of blood; Malmsten that his love's heart breaks. The pages are ordered to saddle, and Maarstíg, or Malmsten, rides to find what there is in the dream. Maarstíg encounters two maids, who are just from a wake. "Who is dead?" "Maalfrí, thy sweet love." He rides on, meets the bier, bids the bearers set it down, and looks at the dead. Let them dig the grave, he cries, wide and deep, it shall be his bride-house; let them dig the grave deep and long, that is where bride and bridegroom shall go. He sets his sword against a stone, and falls on it. With slight variations, the course of the story is the same for Malmsten. Another Swedish ballad, 'Den sörjande,' Djurklou, p. 106, No 7, lacks even so much introduction as the dream. The lover orders his horse, hears the funeral bell, sees the grave-digging, meets the bier, looks at his dead mistress, and kills himself. A fragment in Dybeck's Runa, 1845, p. 15, begins with the ride and stops short of the death.
These last ballads apparently give us the middle and end of a story which has also some sort of beginning in the following: Danish, 'Den elskedes Død,' Kristensen, II, 39, No 20, A-D, and in many unprinted copies from oral tradition, besides two from MSS of the sixteenth century, communicated to me by Grundtvig; Swedish, 'Hertig Nils,' Arwidsson, II, 21, No 72, 'Peder Palleson,' Arwidsson, No 71, II, 18, 437; Norwegian, 'Herr Stragi,' Landstad, p. 537, No 61.[122] A lover and his mistress have parted, have been long parted. She is sick, dying, or even dead. In the Danish manuscript copies we are distinctly told that she has grieved herself to death on his account. Word is sent him by carrier-pigeons, a bird, a page; or he is informed by a spae-wife (Landstad). He leaps over the table, spilling mead and wine (Kristensen), and rides faster than the doves fly. The rest[Pg 206] of the tale is much as before, with those minor diversities that are to be expected. The lover commonly kills himself, but dies of heart-break in 'Peder Palleson' and one of the sixteenth century Danish copies. In the latter he hears the bells, says he shall never arrive alive, dies without the house and she within; in the former the maid dies in the upper room, the swain on the wild moor. In the Danish manuscript copies the man is laid south in the churchyard, the maid north [west, east], two roses spring from their breasts and span the church-roof, and there they shall stay till doom; in Kristensen it is two lilies, in Arwidsson a linden.
With these last may belong a German ballad of a young Markgraf, who marries a very young wife, goes for her mother upon the approach of a threatening childbirth, and, returning, has encounters similar to those in 'Der Ritter und die Maid.' In some instances it is a Reiter, or Jäger, "wohlgemuth," not married, or in secret relations with his love, who, coming to a wood or heath, hears a bell that alarms him; etc. In the end he generally kills himself, sometimes dies of a broken heart. Lilies in several cases rise from the young woman's grave, or their grave.[123]
A Romaic ballad has the characteristic features of the English, German, and Scandinavian stories, with a beginning of its own, as these also have: ' Ἡ Ευγενουλα,' 'Ὁ Χαρος και ἑ Κορη,' etc. (1) Zambelios, p. 715, 2=Passow, No 415; (2) Passow, No 418; (3) Fauriel, p. 112, No 6=Passow, No 417; (4) Marcellus, II, 72=Passow, No 414; (5) Chasiotis, p. 169, No 5; (6) Passow, No 416; (7) Aravandinos, p. 285, No 472; (8) Tommaseo, III, 307 f; (9) Jeannaraki, p. 239, No 301; and no doubt elsewhere, for the ballad is a favorite. A young girl, who has nine brothers and is betrothed (or perhaps newly married) to a rich pallikar, professes not to fear Death. Death immediately shows his power over her. Her lover, coming with a splendid train to celebrate his nuptials, sees a cross on her mother's gate, a sign that some one has died. In (2) he lifts a gold handkerchief from the face of the dead, and sees that it is his beloved. Or he finds a man digging a grave, and asks for whom the grave is, and is told. "Make the grave deep and broad," he cries; "make it for two," and stabs himself with his dagger. A clump of reeds springs from one of the lovers, a cypress [lemon-tree] from the other, which bend one towards the other and kiss whenever a strong breeze blows.[124]
In a Catalan ballad, a young man hears funeral bells, asks for whom they ring, is told that it is for his love, rides to her house, finds the balcony hung with black, kneels at the feet of the dead, and uncovers her face. She speaks and tells him where his gifts to her may be found, then bids him order the carpenter to make a coffin large enough for two. He draws his dagger and stabs himself; there are two dead in one house! 'La mort de la Nuvia,' Briz y Candi, I, 135, Milá, Romancerillo, p. 321 f, No 337 All, Bll; found also in Majorca.
As will readily be supposed, some of the incidents of this series of ballads are found in traditional song in various connections.
D is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 194, No 29; by Rose Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder der Vorzeit, p. 115, No 25.
A
Percy Papers, communicated by the Rev. P. Parsons, of Wye, from singing; May 22, 1770, and April 19, 1775.
For I must needs be gone,
And this time two year I'll meet you again,
To finish the loves we begun.'
'To live in fair Scotland;'
'And so it is, Lady Ouncebell,
To leave a fair lady alone.'
Not half above half a year,
But a longin mind came into his head,
Lady Ouncebell he woud go see her.
To sadle his milk-white stead;
Dey down, dey down, dey down dery down,
I wish Lord Lovill good speed.
Not half above half a day,
But he heard the bells of the high chapel ring,
They rang with a ceserera.
That set there all alone,
What made the bells of the high chapel ring,
The ladys make all their moan.
'Lady Ouncebell was her name;
She died for love of a courtous young night,
Lord Lovill he was the same.'
And her winding sheet undone,
And he made a vow before them all
He'd never kiss wowman again.
Lord Lovill on the morrow;
Lady Ouncebell died for pure true love,
Lord Lovill died for sorrow.
Lord Lovill in the choir;
Lady Ouncebell's breast sprung out a sweet rose,
Lord Lovill's a bunch of sweet brier.
And then they could grow no higher;
They grew till they grew to a true-lover's not,
And then they tyed both together.
And a blessing she did crave,
To cut off a bunch of that true-lover's not,
And buried them both in one grave.
B
Kinloch MSS, I, 45, from the recitation of Mary Barr, of Lesmahago, "aged upwards of 70," May, 1827.
Kaiming his milk-white steed;
And by and cam Fair Nancybelle,
And wished Lord Lavel good speed.
'I pray ye tell to me:'
'O I am going to merry England,
To win your love aff me.'
'Lord Lavel, pray tell to me:'
'Whan seven lang years are past and gane,
Fair Nancybelle, I'll return to thee.'
''T is too lang for me;
'T is too long, Lord Lavel,' she said,
'A true lover for to see.'
A month but barely three,
Till languishing thoughts cam into his mind,
And Nancybelle fain wad he see.
[Pg 208]
Till he cam to yonder toun;
He heard the sound o a fine chapel-bell,
And the ladies were mourning roun.
Till he cam to yonder hall;
He heard the sound o a fine chapel-bell,
And the ladies were mourning all.
The ladies did him tell:
They said, It is the king's daughter,
Her name is Fair Nancybelle;
She died for the love of a courteous young knicht,
His name is Lord Lavel.
O hast thou died for me!
O hast thou died, Fair Nancybelle!
Then I will die for thee.'
Lord Lavel he died tomorrow;
Fair Nancybelle died with pure, pure love,
Lord Lavel he died with sorrow.
Nancybelle in Mary's quire;
And out o the ane there grew a birk,
Out the other a bonny brier.
Until they twa did meet,
That ilka ane might plainly see
They war twa lovers sweet.
C
Communicated by Mr Alexander Laing, 1873, as taken down from the recitation of Miss Fanny Walker, of Mount Pleasant, near Newburgh-on-Tay.
Dressing his milk-white steed,
An bye comes Lady Ounceville:
'I wish you muckle speed.
'Whar are gaun frae me?'
'I am gaun to London town,
Some strange things for to see.'
'Whan will ye be back to me?'
'I will be back in seven lang years,
To wed my gay ladie.'
'Oh that is too lang for me;
Oh that is too lang for me,' she says,
'To wed thy gay ladie.'
A week but only three,
Whan a boding voice thirld in his ear,
That Scotland he maun see.
Till he cam to yon little town:
'Oh is there ony body dead?
The bells they mak sic a sound.'
Till he cam to yon little town:
'Oh is there ony body dead?
The folk gae mournin round.'
Her name is Ounceville;
An she has died for a courteous knicht,
His name is Lord Travell.'
The white bread an the wine,
For the morn's nicht aboot this time
Ye'll do the same for mine!'
D
Kinloch MSS, VII, 83, from the recitation of a lady of Roxburghshire; Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 31.
Mounted upon a grey steed,
And bye cam Ladie Nanciebel,
And wishd Lord Lovel much speed.
My dearest, tell unto me:'
'I am going a far journey,
Some strange countrey to see.
Lady Nanciebel to see:'
'Oh seven, seven, seven long years,
They are much too long for me.'
A year but barely ane,
Whan a strange fancy cam intil his head
That faire Nanciebel was gane.
Untill he cam to the toun,
And there he heard a dismal noise,
For the church bells au did soun.
They said, It's for Nanciebel;
She died for a discourteous squire,
And his name is Lord Lovel.
The linens he faulded doun,
And ae he kissd her pale, pale lips,
And the tears cam trinkling doun.
For they will never kiss me;
I'll mak a vow, and I'll keep it true,
That I'll neer kiss ane but thee.'
Lord Lovel upon the niest day;
Lady Nancie died for pure, pure love,
Lord Lovel for deep sorraye.
E
Communicated by J. F. Campbell, Esq., as learned from the singing of an English gentleman, about 1850.
For I must needs be gone,
To visit the king of fair Scotland,
Oh I must be up and ride.'
To saddle his milk-white steed;
Hey down, hey down, hey derry, hey down,
How I wish my Lord Lovel good speed!
Not passing half a year,
When a lover-like thought came into his head,
Lady Oonzabel he would go see her.
To saddle his milk-white steed;
Hey down, hey down, hey derry, hey down,
How I wish my Lord Lovel good speed.
Not passing half a day,
When the bells of the high chappel did ring,
And they made a loud sassaray.
Who was sitting there all alone,
Why the bells of the high chappel did ring,
And the ladies were making a moan.
'Her name's Lady Oonzabel;
And she died for the love of a courteous young knight,
And his name it is Lord Lovel.'
The winding sheet undone,
And drawing forth his rapier bright,
Through his own true heart did it run.
[Pg 210]
Lord Lovel he lies in the quier;
And out of the one there grew up a white rose,
And out of the other a brier.
They could not well grow any higher;
And they twined into a true lover's knot,
So in death they are joined together.
F
Communicated by Mr Robert White, of Newcastle-on-Tyne.
Mounting his milk-white steed,
Who came by but poor Nancy Bell,
And she wished Lovel good speed.
'How long to tarry from me?'
'Before six months are past and gone,
Again I'll return to thee.'
A twelvemonth and a day,
Till Nancy Bell grew sick and sad,
She pined and witherd away.
He heard the death-bell knell;
The very next town that he came to,
They said it was Nancy Bell.
The sheet to be turned down,
And then he kissd her cold pale lips,
Till the tears ran tricklin down.
The other in the choir;
From Nancy Bell sprang a bonny red rose,
From Lord Lovel a bonny briar.
To they met from either side,
And at the top a true lover's knot
Shows that one for the other had died.
G
Harris MS., fol. 28 b, from the recitation of Mrs Molison, Dunlappie.
He was dressing a milk-white steed;
A lady she stands in her bour-door,
A dressin with haste an speed.
'Where are you going from me?'
'It's I am going to Lonnon toun,
That fair city for to see.'
'When will you be back to me?'
'I will be back in the space of three years,
To wed you, my gey ladie.'
'That's too long a time for me;
For I'll be dead long time ere that,
For want of your sweet companie.'
A month but barely three,
When word was brought that Isabell
Was sick, an like to dee.
A year but barely ane,
When word was brought from Lonnon toun
That Isabell was gane.
Till he came to Edenborrow toon:
Is there any fair lady dead,' said he,
'That the bells gie such a tone?'
[Pg 211]
Her name it is Isabell;
She died for the sake of a young Scottish knight,
His name it is Lord Revel.'
The biscuit and the beer,
An gainst the morrow at this same time
You'll aye deal mair and mair.
The white bread and the wine,
An gainst the morn at this same time
You'll deal the same at mine.'
The biscuit an the beer,
And gainst the morn at that same time
They dealt them mair an mair.
The white bread an the wine,
An gainst the morn at that same time
They dealt the same again.
H
a. London broadside of 1846, in Dixon's Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 78, Percy Society, vol. XIX. b. Davidson's Universal Melodist, I, 148.
Combing his milk-white steed,
When up came Lady Nancy Belle,
To wish her lover good speed, speed,
To wish her lover good speed.
'Oh where are you going?' said she;
'I'm going, my Lady Nancy Belle,
Strange countries for to see.'
'Oh when will you come back?' said she;
'In a year or two, or three, at the most,
I'll return to my fair Nancy.'
Strange countries for to see,
When languishing thoughts came into his head,
Lady Nancy Belle he would go see.
Till he came to London town,
And there he heard St Pancras bells,
And the people all mourning round.
'Oh what is the matter?' said he;
'A lord's lady is dead,' a woman replied,
'And some call her Lady Nancy.'
And the shroud he turned down,
And there he kissed her clay-cold lips,
Till the tears came trickling down.
Lord Lovel he died as tomorrow;
Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief,
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow.
Lord Lovel was laid in the choir;
And out of her bosom there grew a red rose,
And out of her lover's a briar.
And then they could grow no higher;
So there they entwined in a true-lover's knot,
For all lovers true to admire.
I
Percy Papers, communicated by Principal Robertson, the historian.
Wi monny a sigh and groan:
'O make yourself ready, at Wednesday at een,
Fair Helen, you must be gone.'
Will you spare my life sae lang
Untill I send to merry Primrose,
Bid my dear lord come hame?'
I winna spare you sae lang;
But make yoursell ready, again Wednesday at een,
Fair Helen, you must be gane.'
That would win hose and shoon,
That will rin fast to merry Primrose,
Bid my dear lord come soon?'
That would win hose and shoon:
'Aft have I gane your errants, lady,
But by my suth I'll rin.'
He bent his bow and swam,
And when he came to grass growing
He cast off his shoon and ran.
His lord he was at meat:
'O my lord, kend ye what I ken,
Right little wad ye eat.'
Or onny of my towers won?
Or is Fair Helen brought to bed
Of a doughter or a son?'
Nor nane of your towers won,
Nor is Fair Helen brought to bed
Of a doghter or a son.'
Gar sadle me the brown;
Gar sadle me the swiftest horse
Eer carried man to town.'
And then he bursted the brown,
And then he bursted the swiftest steed
Eer carried man to town.
A mile but barelins ten,
When he met four and twenty gallant knights,
Carrying a dead coffin.
Let me look on the dead;'
And out he took a little pen-knife,
And he screeded the winding-sheet.
And then he kist her chin,
And then he kist her coral lips,
But there's nae life in within.
'The bread bat an the wine,
And at the morn at twelve o'clock
Ye's gain as much at mine.'
The tother in Mary's choir,
And out of the tane there sprang a birch,
And out of the tother a briar.
But the roots of them grew neer,
And ye may easy ken by that
They were twa lovers dear.
A.
The copy sent Percy in 1770 was slightly revised by Parsons; the original was communicated in 1775.
33. along in.
44. coud speed.
63. make.
64. their mourn.
104. Parsons corrects bunch to branch.
G.
74. bell.
H. a.
101. church-steeple too, perhaps a misprint for top.
b.
This is an attempt to burlesque the broadside by vulgarizing two or three words, as lovier, buzzum, and inserting one stanza.
24, 42. Foreign countries.
33. In a year, or two or three, or four.
41. twelve months and a day.
63. dead, the people all said.
72. to be turned.
74. Whilst.
After 7:
With a shivering gulp and a guggle;
Gave two hops, three kicks, heavd a sigh, blew his nose,
Sung a song, and then died in the struggle.
101. church-steeple top.
103. they twin'd themselves into.
I.
32. 'you,' as if changed or supplied.
52. Crossed out. In a different hand, Just at the lady's chin.
74. would wad ye.
113. swifted.
134. Perhaps scrieded.
FOOTNOTES:
[120] It can scarcely be too often repeated that such ballads as this were meant only to be sung, not at all to be recited. As has been well remarked of a corresponding Norwegian ballad, 'Lord Lovel' is especially one of those which, for their due effect, require the support of a melody, and almost equally the comment of a burden. No burden is preserved in the case of 'Lord Lovel,' but we are not to infer that there never was one. The burden, which is at least as important as the instrumental accompaniment of modern songs, sometimes, in these little tragedies, foreshadows calamity from the outset, sometimes, as in the Norwegian ballad referred to, is a cheerful-sounding formula, which in the upshot enhances by contrast the gloom of the conclusion. "A simple but life-like story, supported by the burden and the air, these are the means by which such old romances seek to produce an impression:" Landstad, to 'Herr Stragi,' p. 541.
[121] (1), 'Das Lied vom Herren und der Magd,' 1771, Düntzer u. Herder, Briefe Goethe's an Herder, I, 157. (2), 'Eyn klegliche Mordgeschicht, von ey'm Graven vnnde eyner Meyd,' Nicolai, Eyn feyner kleyner Almanach, 1777, I, 39, No 2; with variations, Kretzschmer, I, 89, No 54, Uhland, p. 220, No 97 A. (3), 'Der Ritter und das Mägdlein,' Erk, Liederhort, p. 81, No 26, a traditional variety of (2). (4), Wunderhorn, 1806, I, 50=Erlach, II, 531, Mittler, No 91. (5), 'Des Prinzen Reue,' Meinert, p. 218, 1817. (6), Alemannia, II, 185, after a manuscript of von Arnim. (7), Erk's edition of the Wunderhorn, IV, 304. (8), Hoffmann u. Richter, Schlesische Volkslieder, p. 9, No 4. (9), Erk u. Irmer, IV, 62, No 56. (10), 'Zu späte Reue,' Fiedler, p. 161. (11), 'Der Erbgraf,' Simrock, p. 33, No 12, compounded, but partly oral. (12), 'Der Ritter und seine Dame,' Pröhle, p. 19, No 13. (13), Meier, p. 316, No 177. (14-16), Ditfurth, II, 4-8, Nos 6, 7, 8. (17-22), Wagner, in Deutsches Museum, 1862, II, 758-68. (23), 'Der Herr und seine Dame,' Peter, I, 193, No 10. (24), Parisius, p. 33, No 10. (25), Adam Wolf, p. 11, No 6. (26), Alfred Müller, p. 98. (27), 'Die traurige Begegnung,' Paudler, p. 21, No 13.
Scandinavian, from the German: 'Ungersvennens Dröm,' Fagerlund, Anteckningar, p. 196; 'Jungfruns död,' Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 52; and besides these Swedish copies, a Danish broadside, from the beginning of this century, which is very common. 'Stolten Hellelille,' "Tragica, No 22," 1657, Danske Viser, III, 184, No 130 (translated by Prior, III, 214), a somewhat artificial piece, has the outline of 'Der Ritter u. die Maid,' and is a hundred years older than any known copy of the German ballad.
A Wendish ballad, founded on the German, is very like (4): Haupt and Schmaler, I, 139, No 136.
A Dutch ballad, in the Antwerpener Liederbuch, No 45, Hoffmann, Niederländische Volkslieder, p. 61, No 15, Willems, p. 154, No 60, Uhland, No 97 B, has some points of the above, but is a very different story.
[122] There is a Finnish form of this ballad, probably derived from the Swedish; also another Swedish version in Westergötlands Fornminnesförenings Tidskrift, 1869, häfte 1, which I have not yet seen.
[123] (1), "Bothe, Frühlings-Almanach," p. 132, 1806; 'Hans Markgraf,' Büsching u. von der Hagen, p. 30; Erlach, II, 136; Mittler, No 133. (2), 'Alle bei Gott die sich lieben,' Wunderhorn, II, 250, 1808, Mittler, No 128. (3), 'Alle bei Gott die sich lieben,' Hoffmann u. Richter, p. 12, No 5, Mittler, No 132. (4), 'Der Graf u. die Bauerntochter,' Ditfurth, II, 8, No 9. (5), 'Vom jungen Markgrafen,' Pogatschnigg u. Hermann, II, 179, No 595. (6), 'Die junge Mutter,' Paudler, p. 22, No 14.
(7), 'Jungfer Dörtchen ist todt,' Parisius, p. 36, No 10. (8), 'Liebchens Tod,' Erk u. Irmer, VI, 4, No 2; Mittler, No 130. (9), 'Jägers Trauer,' Pröhle, p. 86, No 57; Mittler, No 129. (10), 'Das unverdiente Kränzlein,' Meinert, p. 32; Mittler, No 131. For plants springing from lovers' graves, as here and in Nos 73, 74, see vol. i, 96 ff.
[124] In (2) the lover is warned of mishap by a bird, and the bird is a nightingale, as in Kristensen, II, No 20 A. A bird of some sort figures in all the Danish ballads referred to, printed and unprinted, and in the Swedish 'Hertig Nils;' also in the corresponding Finnish ballad. The nightingale warns to the same effect in a French ballad, Beaurepaire, p. 52. The lover goes straight to his mistress's house, and learns that they are burying her; then makes for the cemetery, hears the bells, the priests chanting, etc., and approaches the bier. The dead gives him some information, followed by some admonition.
76
THE LASS OF ROCH ROYAL
A. 'Fair Isabell of Rochroyall,' Elizabeth Cochrane's Song-Book, p. 151, No 114.
B. 'The Bonny Lass of Lochroyan, or Lochroyen,' Herd's MSS, I, 144, II, 60; Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 149.
C. 'Lord Gregory,' Pitcairn's MSS, III, 1.
D. 'Fair Anny,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 27; 'Fair Annie of Lochroyan,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 36.
E. a. 'Love Gregor,' Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 2. b. 'The Lass of Lochroyan,' Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 49, 1802.
F. Herd's MSS, I, 31, II, 65.
G. 'Love Gregory,' Buchan's MSS, II, 149; Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 198; Dixon, Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, Percy Society, vol. xvii, p. 60.
H. 'The Lass of Aughrim,' an Irish version, communicated by Mr G. C. Mahon, of Ann Arbor, Michigan.
I. 'Oh open the door, Lord Gregory,' Johnson's Museum, I, 5, No 5, four stanzas.
J. Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 12, two stanzas.
K. Stenhouse's Johnson's Museum, IV, *107, one stanza.
A, never as yet published, is from a manuscript of the first half of the last century. B, the earliest printed copy, was given by Herd, from his manuscript, in 1776, with his usual fidelity. Scott followed, in 1802, with a copy obtained from Mrs Brown by Alexander Fraser Tytler in 1800, introducing six stanzas from B and five from F, and a few readings from two recited copies. This compounded copy is the one that is most generally known. Jamieson printed, in 1806, D, a version written down from Mrs Brown's recitation in 1783, giving it not quite verbatim, as he says (he changes, for instance, Rochroyal to Lochroyan), but in general adhering to his text. E a, the copy principally used by Scott, is, to a considerable extent, a repetition of D, but is by no means an imperfectly remembered version of its predecessor (which was written down seventeen years earlier), filled out by Mrs Brown's improvised inventions. E a has stanzas not found in D, two of which occur in B, and is to be regarded as a blending of two independent versions known to[Pg 214] Mrs Brown, which no doubt had much in common, though not so much as D and E a. The whole of the fragment F has not been published hitherto, but five of the eight stanzas are interpolated into Scott's copy, including the two last, which are shown by the very style to be spurious. Fairy charms have been exercised on Lord Gregory, according to the final stanza of F, and Lord Gregory calls his dame "witch mother" in C 10. But there appears to be no call for magic or witchcraft in the case. A man who is asleep is simply not informed by an ill disposed mother that a woman whom he would like to see is at the door; that is all.[125]
A, the oldest copy, has a preliminary history wanting in the others. Isabel of Rochroyal has a dream about her lover. She orders her horse, to ride till she comes to some hold. She meets a company, who ask her questions about a first and a second young may, which she seems to understand, but which are not made intelligible to us. They then ask whether she be Isabel of Rochroyal, and she answers that she is that same lady, banished from kith and kin; why, we are not informed, but we might conjecture that it would be on account of her relations with Love Gregory. She is directed to Gregory's castle, tirls at the pin, and begs admission. Gregory's mother answers as and for her son, and demands proofs of her being the lass of Rochroyal. These are given, and the mother says that Gregory is gone to sea. Hereupon Isabel breaks out into exclamations as to her helpless condition; who will take care of her? who will be the bairn's father till Gregory come home? The mother replies that she will do all that is necessary for her, but there is none to be her bairn's father till Gregory return. This is in itself unnatural, since the mother is hostile to her son's love, and it is counter to what we read in the other versions. In B as in A, to be sure, the lass is said to be banished from her kin, but her kin nevertheless show a disposition to do all that is in their power in the way of kind attentions. The other copies say nothing of her family being alienated. The father in D even furnishes his daughter with a bonny ship, to go to her true-love. If we seek to reconcile these accounts, we must take the banishment as a separation for which only the fates are responsible, and suppose that verses are lost in A after 17 which narrated Annie's return to her own family. The lass says, st. 22, that she will set her foot on ship-board, having been told by the mother, st. 17, that Gregory is on the sea. Gregory, in turn, has his dream, that his love has been knocking at the door, and his mother tells him that she has not been gone half an hour, and gets his curses for not informing him. Gregory orders his swiftest horse, to ride till he comes to some hold, and presently meets a funeral train who are carrying his love to burial. This conclusion, found also in B, C, is that of 'Lord Lovel' and 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William,' and must perhaps be set aside as not the original one. In B Gregory kills himself, as Lord Lovel does in one copy, E.
The whole story as A actually stands, notwithstanding that the lass says she will take ship, seems to pass on land. Two different relations may have been confounded. In the other versions Love Gregory is somewhere over sea, and in B, F his lass is indebted for his direction, not to a company who are raking over the lea, but to a sea-rover, who shows a consideration not to be looked for from his class.[126] The maid, repulsed by Gregory's mother, and supposing herself to be cast off by Gregory himself, sails away from his castle, and in D, E encounters a storm, and is wrecked. In D Gregory rushes to the strand near which his castle lies, sees Annie sailing away, witnesses the wreck of her vessel, plunges into the sea and brings her body to land, and dies of heartbreak. So in E, with the difference that Annie's body is thrown ashore by the waves, and that the tale does not finish with the death of Gregory, which we know must have followed.
Why the lovers are parted, why Gregory winna come to the lass, and she must go to him, is not accounted for in C-G. We may deduce from A and B, though the story in these versions as we have it is not altogether consistent, that the lass was banished from kith and kin on account of her connection with Gregory (which in B 16 and H 9 is said to have been irregular) and flying to her lover, found no acceptance with his mother.
Cunningham has rewritten this ballad, Scottish Songs, I, 298, and several songs have been composed on the story: by Burns and Dr Wolcott (Peter Pindar), Thomson's Select Melodies of Scotland, I, 37, ed. 1822; Jamieson, Popular Ballads, I, 46; and by an anonymous writer in a London periodical, cited by Dixon, Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p. 99.
Roch- or Rough-royal, A, D, E, F, Ruchlawhill, C, I have not found, but there is a Rough castle in Stirlingshire. Loch Ryan runs up into the north-west corner of Wigtown, a shire at the south-west extremity of Scotland. Aughrim is in the county of Roscommon, Ireland.
As the mother in this ballad, feigning to be her son, requires the lady at the gate to legitimate herself by mentioning some of the tokens which have been exchanged between her and her lover, so in other ballads a wife demands conclusive proofs that a man claiming to be her long absent husband is what he pretends to be. E. g., some forms of the French ballad of 'Germaine:'
'Donnez-moi des indic's de la première nuit,
Et par là je croirai que vous êt's mon mari.'
Où tu étais monté' sur un beau cheval gris,
Placée entre tes frèr's et moi ton favori?'
Et par là je croirai que vous êt's mon mari,
Et par là je croirai que vous êt's mon mari.'
En te serrant les doigts ton anneau y cassa,
Tu en as la moitié, et l'autre la voilà.'
Champfleury, Chansons populaires des Provinces, p. 196.
Cf. Poésies pop. de la France, MS., IV, fol. 189; Puymaigre, p. 11, 2d ed., I, 50 f; Beaurepaire, p. 76; Fleury, p. 267; Rathery, in Le Moniteur, Aug. 26, 1853, p. 945 f, 'Le Sire de Créqui;' Wolf, Volkslieder aus Venetien, No 81, p. 59; Ferraro, Canti p. monferrini, No 26, p. 33. And again in Romaic: Hê Ἡ Αναγνωρισις, etc.; Fauriel, II, 422-25; Tommaseo, III, 141-44, 148-50; Marcellus, Chants du Peuple en Grèce, I, 328; Schmidt, Griechische Märchen, u. s. w., p. 192, No 57; Chasiotis, p. 29, No 28; Zambelios, p. 718, No 5; Jeannaraki, p. 237, No 300; Aravandinos, pp 209, 211, Nos 347, 348; Passow, pp 321-28, Nos 441-446; Manousos, p. 103=Fauriel, II, 423. Several of the ballads in Passow are of course repetitions.[127]
D is translated, after Jamieson, by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 16; E b, Scott's compounded version, by Schubart, p. 93, Doenniges, p. 33, Gerhard, p. 21, Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 52, and by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder der Vorzeit, No 39, with a change or two from Aytoun; Allingham's compounded version by Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 63.
A
E. Cochrane's Songbook, p. 151, No 114.
She dreamed where she lay,
She dreamd a dream of her love Gregory,
A litle before the day.
[Pg 216]
And huly she put on,
And huly, huly she put on
The silks of crimsion.
'Gar sadle me the broun;
Gar sadle me the swiftest steed
That ever rode the toun.
And grind him with the gold;
Gar put two bells on every side,
Till I come to some hold.'
A mile but barely three,
Till that she spyed a companie
Come rakeing oere the lee.
That lighted and gaed in;
Or is this the second young may,
That neer the sun shined on?
Or is this Fair Isabell of Roch Royall,
Banisht from kyth and kin.'
That lighted and gaed in;
Nor neither am I the second young may,
That neer the sun shone on;
Banisht from kyth and kin;
I'm seeking my true-love Gregory,
And I woud I had him in.'
And ride it round about,
And there you'll find Love Gregory;
He's within, without any doubt.'
She's tirled at the pin:
'O open, open, Love Gregory,
And let your true-love in.'
As I trow not you be,
You will tell me some of our love-tokens,
That was betwixt you and me.'
Since we sat at the wine;
When we changed the rings off our fingers,
And ay the worst fell mine?
And thine was of the tin;
Mine was true and trusty both,
And thine was false within.'
As I trow not you be,
You will tell me some other love-token
That was betwixt you and me.'
Since we sat at the wine,
We changed the smocks off our two backs,
And ay the worst fell mine?
And thine was course and thin;
So many blocks have we two made,
And ay the worst was mine.'
But he is to the sea;
If you have any word to him,
I pray you leave 't with me.'
Or who will glove my hand?
Or who will bind my midle jimp
With the broad lilly band?
With the red river comb?
Or who will be my bairn's father
Ere Gregory he come home?'
And I's gar glove thy hand,
And I's gar bind thy midle jimp
With the broad lilly band.
With the red river comb;
But there is none to be thy bairn's father
Till Love Gregory he come home.
God send me wind and more!
For there's never a woman shall bear a son
Shall make my heart so sore.'
[Pg 217]
That I never dreamed before;
I dreamd that the lass of the Rochroyall
Was knocking at the door.'
Ly still, and take a sleep;
For it's neither ane hour, nor yet a half,
Since she went from the gate.'
And ane ill death mott you die!
For you might have come to my bed-side,
And then have wakened me.
'Gar sadle me the broun;
Gar sadle me the swiftest steed
That ever rode the toun.
Gar grind him with the gold;
Cause put two bells on every side,
Till I come to some hold.'
So did they him the broun;
So did they him the swiftest steed
That ever rode to toun.
They grind him with the gold;
They put two bells on every side,
Till he came to some hold.
A mile but barely three,
Till that he spyed her comely corps
Come raking oere the lee.
Let me look on the dead:'
And out he's ta'en his little pen-knife,
And slitted her winding sheet.
And then he kist her chin;
And then he kist her rosy lips,
But there was no breath within.
The spiced bread and the wine;
For ere the morn at this time
So shall you deall for mine.
The pennys that are so small;
For ere the morn at this time,
So shall you deall for all.'
The other in Mary quire;
Out of the one there sprung a birk,
Out of the other a bryar;
So thus you may well know by that
They were two lovers dear.
B
Herd's MS, I, 144; II, 60, the first ten lines; Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 149.
Or wha will glove thy hand?
Or wha will lace thy midle jimp,
With a lang, lang London whang?
With a tabean brirben kame?
And wha will be my bairn's father,
Till Love Gregory come hame?'
Thy mither'll glove his hand;
Thy brither will lace his middle jimp,
With a lang, lang London whang.
With a tabean brirben kame;
And the Lord will be the bairn's father,
Till Love Gregory come hame.'
It's a' cored oer with pearl,
And at every needle-tack was in't
There hang a siller bell.
To sail upon the sea;
[Pg 218] She's gane to seek Love Gregory,
In lands whereer he be.
O scantly had she three,
Till she met with a rude rover,
Was sailing on the sea.
Or ane o her maries three?
Or is thou the lass of Lochroyan,
Seeking Love Gregory?'
Nor ane o her maries three;
But I am the lass o Lochroyan,
Seeking Love Gregory.
It's a' cored oer with tin;
When thou hast saild it round about,
Love Gregory is within.'
She tirled at the pin:
'O open, open, Love Gregory,
Open, and let me in!
For I am the lass of Lochroyan,
Banisht frae a' my kin.'
As I know no thou be,
Tell me some of the true tokens
That past between me and thee.'
As we sat at the wine,
We changed the rings aff ither's hands,
And ay the best was mine?
But thine was o the tin;
And mine was true and trusty baith,
But thine was fa'se within.
As I know na thou be,
Tell me some mair o the true tokens
Past between me and thee.'
As we sat on yon hill,
Thou twin'd me of my [maidenhead,]
Right sair against my will?
Open, and let me in!
For the rain rains on my gude cleading,
And the dew stands on my chin.'
'Well, since that it be sae,
Let never woman that has born a son
Hae a heart sae full of wae.
Set up a mast of tree;
For it dinna become a forsaken lady
To sail so royallie.'
I wish it may prove true,
That the bonny lass of Lochroyan
Was at the gate just now.'
And sound sleep mayst thou get,
For it's but an hour or little mair
Since she was at the gate.'
And an ill dead may ye die!
Ye might have ither letten her in,
Or else have wakened me.
'Gar saddle to me the brown;
Gar saddle to me the swiftest steed
That is in a' the town.'
The bells were ringing there;
And the neist toun that he cam to,
Her corps was coming there.
Set down, and let me see
Gin that be the lass of Lochroyan,
That died for love o me.'
That hang down by his gare,
And he's rippd up her winding-sheet,
A lang claith-yard and mair.
[Pg 219]
And syne he kist her chin,
And neist he kist her rosy lips;
There was nae breath within.
With a heart that was fou sair,
He has given himself a deadly wound,
And word spake never mair.
C
Pitcairn's MSS, III, 1, from the singing of Widow Stevenson.
* * * * *
She sailed mony a mile,
Until she cam to Lord Gregor's yett,
And she tirled at the pin.
Open, and let me in;
For the rain drops on my gouden hair,
And drops upon your son.'
Or one of the marys three?
Or are you the lass of Ruchlaw hill,
Seeking Lord Gregory?'
Nor one of the marys three;
But I am the bonny lass of Ruchlawhill,
Seeking Lord Gregory.'
I will not open to thee
Till you tell me the first token
That was tween you and me.'
When we birled at the wine,
We changed the rings of our fingers,
And ay the best was mine?
But yours it was of tin;
Mine was of the true and trusty goud,
But yours was fause within.'
Awa then did she sail:
'The sun shall never shine on man
That made my heart so sare.'
And wakened Lord Gregory:
'Awa, awa, ye fause gudeson,
A limmer was seeking thee.'
An ill death may you die!
For you might hae set the yet open,
And then hae wakened me.'
And to the yet he ran;
The first sight of the ship he saw,
He whistled and he sang.
He clapped his hands and ran,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
He heard the death-bell ring,
The second kirktoun he cam to,
He saw her corpse come in.
That I may look upon;
If she died late for me last night,
I'll die for her the morn.
Be merry at the bread and wine;
For by the morn at this time o day
You'll drink as much at mine.'
The other in Mary's quire;
Out of the one there grew a thorn,
And out of the other a brier.
Till their twa taps did meet;
And every one that passed thereby
Might see they were lovers sweet.
D
Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 27; Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 36.
An wha will glove my han?
An wha will lace my middle gimp
Wi the new made London ban?
Wi the new made silver kemb?
Or wha'll be father to my young bairn,
Till Love Gregor come hame?'
Her mother glovd her han;
Her sister lac'd her middle gimp
Wi the new made London ban.
Wi the new made silver kemb,
But the king o heaven maun father her bairn,
Till Love Gregor come hame.
An men to sail wi me,
It's I would gang to my true-love,
Since he winna come to me.'
An sent her to the stran;
She's tane her young son in her arms,
An turnd her back to the lan.
About a month or more,
Till landed has she her bonny ship
Near her true-love's door.
An her love was fast asleep,
An the bairn that was in her twa arms
Fu sair began to weep.
An lang tirld at the pin;
At length up gat his fa'se mither,
Says, Wha's that woud be in?
Your love, come oer the sea,
But an your young son in her arms;
So open the door to me.'
You've na come here for gude,
You're but a witch, or wile warlock,
Or mermaid o the flude.'
Nor mermaiden,' said she;
'I'm but Fair Anny o Roch-royal;
O open the door to me.'
As [I] trust not ye be,
What taiken can ye gie that ever
I kept your company?'
'Whan we sat at the wine,
How we changed the napkins frae our necks,
It's na sae lang sin syne?
But nae sae good as mine;
For yours was o the cumbruk clear,
But mine was silk sae fine.
'As we twa sat at dine,
How we changed the rings frae our fingers,
But ay the best was mine?
Yet nae sae good as mine;
For yours was of the good red gold,
But mine o the diamonds fine.
An open it wi speed,
Or your young son that is in my arms
For cauld will soon be dead.'
Gae frae my door for shame;
For I hae gotten another fair love,
Sae ye may hye you hame.'
For a' the oaths you sware?
Then fair you well now, fa'se Gregor,
For me you's never see mair.'
As the day began to peep;
[Pg 221] She set her foot on good ship-board,
An sair, sair did she weep.
An to his mither did say,
I dreamd a dream this night, mither,
That maks my heart right wae.
The flowr o a' her kin,
Was standin mournin at my door,
But nane would lat her in.'
Wi a bairn intill her arms,
But I woud na lat her within the bowr,
For fear she had done you harm.'
An fast ran to the stran,
An there he saw her Fair Anny,
Was sailin frae the lan.
O Anny, speak to me!'
But ay the louder that he cried Anny,
The louder roard the sea.
O Anny, winna you bide?'
But ay the langer that he cried Anny,
The higher roard the tide.
An the ship was rent in twain,
An soon he saw her Fair Anny
Come floating oer the main.
Baith tossd aboon the tide;
He wrang his hands, than fast he ran,
An plung'd i the sea sae wide.
An drew her to the strand,
But cauld an stiff was every limb
Before he reachd the land.
An then he kissd her chin;
An sair he kissd her ruby lips,
But there was nae breath within.
Till the sun was gaing down,
Then wi a sigh his heart it brast,
An his soul to heaven has flown.
E
a. Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 2, written down from Mrs Brown's recitation in 1800. b. Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 49, 1802.
And wha will glove my hand?
And wha will lace my middle jimp,
Wi the new made London band?
Wi the new made silver kaim?
And wha will father my young son,
Till Love Gregor come hame?'
Your mother will glove your hand;
Your sister will lace your middle jimp
Wi the new made London band.
Wi the new made silver kaim;
And the king of heaven will father your bairn,
Till Love Gregor come haim.'
And I will sail the sea,
For I maun gang to Love Gregor,
Since he canno come hame to me.'
And sailld the sa't sea fame;
She langd to see her ain true-love,
Since he could no come hame.
And bring me to the land,
For yonder I see my love's castle,
Closs by the sa't sea strand.'
[Pg 222]
And to the door she's gone,
And lang she's knocked and sair she ca'd,
But answer got she none.
'O open, and let me in;
For the wind blaws thro my yellow hair,
And the rain draps oer my chin.'
You'r nae come here for good;
You'r but some witch, or wile warlock,
Or mer-maid of the flood.'
Nor mer-maid of the sea,
I am Fair Annie of Rough Royal;
O open the door to me.'
And I trust ye are not she—
Now tell me some of the love-tokens
That past between you and me.'
When we sat at the wine,
How we changed the rings frae our fingers?
And I can show thee thine.
But ay the best was mine;
For yours was o the good red goud,
But mine o the dimonds fine.
O open the door I pray,
For your young son that is in my arms
Will be dead ere it be day.'
For here ye shanno win in;
Gae drown ye in the raging sea,
Or hang on the gallows-pin.'
And the sun began to peep,
Then it raise him Love Gregor,
And sair, sair did he weep.
The thoughts o it gars me greet,
That Fair Annie of Rough Royal
Lay cauld dead at my feet.'
That ye make a' this din,
She stood a' last night at this door,
But I trow she wan no in.'
An ill dead may ye die!
That ye woudno open the door to her,
Nor yet woud waken me.'
As fast as he could fare;
He saw Fair Annie in her boat,
But the wind it tossd her sair.
O Annie, winna ye bide?'
But ay the mair that he cried Annie,
The braider grew the tide.
Dear Annie, speak to me!'
But ay the louder he cried Annie,
The louder roard the sea.
And dashd the boat on shore;
Fair Annie floats on the raging sea,
But her young son raise no more.
And made a heavy moan;
Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet,
But his bonny young son was gone.
And gowden was her hair,
But clay cold were her rosey lips,
Nae spark of life was there.
And neist he's kissed her chin;
And saftly pressd her rosey lips,
But there was nae breath within.
And an ill dead may she die!
For she turnd my true-love frae my door,
When she came sae far to me.'
F
Herd MS., I, 31, II, 65.
O wha will gluve my hand?
O wha will be my bairn's father,
While my luve cums to land?'
O sall I gluve your hand;
And God will be your bairn's father,
While your luve cums to land.'
Forbidden she wad nae be;
She's gane wi four score mariners,
Sailand the salt, salt sea.
Bot twenty legues and three,
When they met wi the ranke robers,
And a' their companie.
For so ye weel micht bee,
Or are ye the lass o the Ruch Royal,
Seekand Lord Gregorie?'
'Nor sick I seem to be;
But I am the lass o the Ruch Royal,
Seekand Lord Gregorie.'
Shynand sae cleere and bricht,
Whilk proud defies the jawing wave,
Built on a rock a hicht,
And loud, loud cried she,
'Now break, now break, ye fairy charms,
And let the prisoner free.'
G
Buchan's MSS. II, 149; Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 198.
Love Gregory's taen the sea,
And he has left his lady Janet,
And a weary woman was she.
A day but barely three,
Till word has come to Lady Janet
Love Gregory she would never see.
Her cane into her hand,
And she's awa to the salt-sea side,
As fast as she could gang.
Will make a boat to me?
I'm going to seek him Love Gregory,
In's lands where eer he be.'
Will make a boat for thee,
And ye may seek him Love Gregory,
But him ye'll never see.'
Thro many a pretty stream,
Till she came to that stately castle,
Where Love Gregory lay in.
O open, and lat me in;
Your young son is in my arms,
And shivering cheek and chin.'
Had far awa frae me;
Ye're but some witch, or some warlock,
Or the mermaid, troubling me.
Down by Lochlearn's green;
This day she wadna sail the sea,
For goud nor warld's gain.
As I trust not well ye be,
Come tell me oer some love-token
That past 'tween thee an me.'
Since we sat at the wine;
[Pg 224] The rings that were on your fingers,
I gied thee mine for thine.
Yours o the silly tin,
And mine's been true, and very true,
But yours had a fause lynin.
Open, and let me in;
Your young son is in my arms,
He'll be dead ere I win in.'
Had far awa frae me;
Ye're but some witch, or some warlock,
Or the mermaid, troubling me.
As I trust not well ye be;
Come tell me o'er some love-token
That past tween thee and me.'
Since we sat at the wine;
The shifts that were upon your back,
I gave thee mine for thine.
And yours o the silly twine,
And mine's been true, and very true,
But yours had fause lynin.'
H
Communicated by Mr G. C. Mahon, of Ann Arbor, Michigan, as sung by a laborer, at Tyrrelspass, West Meath, Ireland, about 1830.
With the brown berry comb?
And who'll be the child's father,
Until Gregory comes home?'
. . . . . . .
And God will be the child's father,
Until Gregory comes home.'
The rain wets my skin,
The babe's cold in my arms,
Oh Gregory, let me in!'
As I suppose you not to be,
Come tell me the last token
Between you and me.'
The dew wets, etc.
One night on the hill,
When we swapped rings off each other's hands,
Sorely against my will?'
Mine was of the beaten gold,
Yours was but black tin.'
The dew wets, etc.
As I suppose you not to be,
Come tell me the last token
Between you and me.'
The dew wets, etc.
One night on the hill,
When we swapped smocks off each other's backs,
Sorely against my will?
Mine was of the holland fine,
Yours was but Scotch cloth.'
The dew wets, etc.
As I suppose you not to be,
Come tell me the last token
Between you and me.'
The dew wets, etc.
In my father's hall,
When you had your will of me?
And that was worse than all.'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
The dew wets, etc.
I
Johnson's Museum, I, 5, No 5, 1787.
Oh open, and let me in;
The rain rains on my scarlet robes,
The dew drops oer my chin.'
As I true you are not she,
Come give me some of the tokens
That past between you and me.'
An ill death may you die!
You will not be the death of one,
But you'll be the death of three.
'Twas down at yon burn-side
We changd the ring of our fingers,
And I put mine on thine?'
J
Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 12.
And wha will glove my hand?
And who will lace my middle jimp
Wi this lang London whang?
Wi this fine rispen kame?
And wha will be my bairn's father,
Till Lord Gregory come hame?'
K
Stenhouse's Johnson's Museum, IV, *107, communicated by Kirkpatrick Sharpe, "as generally sung by the people of Galloway and Dumfriesshire."
O open, and let me in;
The wind blows through my yellow hair,
And the dew draps oer my chin.'
A.
82. kine.
11. His mother: margin of the MS.
20. Mother: margin.
22. Lady.
23. Gregory: margin.
24. Mother: margin.
B.
13. who.
22, 42. Herd prints Tabean birben.
12. His mother speaks to her from the house and she thinks it him: margin of the MS.
141. has (?).
15 follows 17 in the MS.
163. Herd prints maidenhead.
20. The son speaks: margin.
251. corp(?).
C.
After 2. Then Lord Gregory's mother answers, counterfeiting her son.
After 4. The mother, still counterfeiting her son, says.
The old woman who sang the ballad, says Pitcairn, murmured over these words as a sort of recitative, and then resumed the song, with a slight variation of voice.
D.
34. linnen; probably a way of pronouncing London.
Jamieson adopts several readings from E a, besides making some slight alterations of his own, and inserts these two stanzas, "from memory," between 21 and 22:
Set up the mast o tree;
Ill sets it a forsaken lady
To sail sae gallantlie.
Set up the sails o skin;
Ill sets the outside to be gay
Whan there's sic grief within.
For the first of these see B 19.
E. a.
quha, ze, etc., of the MS. are printed wha, ye, etc.
b.
Scott's version, described as composed from B, E a, F, and two recited copies, is rather E a, excepting 63, 4 and 16, interpolated with six stanzas from B, five from F, and two lines from other sources, with a few verbal changes. It is, neglecting these verbal changes (also in part derived from B, E a, F), made up thus:
1-5=E a 1-5; 6=F 31 + F 34 + two lines from other sources; 7-9=F 4-6; 10=B 10; 11=F 7; 12=E a 7; 13=F 8; 14-20=E a 8-14; 21=B 16; 22=E a 15; 23-25=B 15, 18, 19; 26=E a 17; 27=B 20; 28-38=E a 18-28; 39=E a 281-3 + B 254.
Scott has Lord Gregory for Love Gregor, or Love Gregory, throughout, and Lochroyan for Rough (Roch) Royal.
34. Till Lord Gregory come to land.
63, 4.
The tows o taffety.
But the babie raise no more.
G.
44. Ands lands: Buchan prints In's.
62. For mony: Buchan prints Thro mony.
124. fause reason: Buchan prints fause lynin.
143. Buchan prints or vile warlock.
H.
"I find myself quite unable to arrange the fragments of the 'Lass of Aughrim' in anything like decent symmetry. The idea that I have of the arrangement is that the Lass begins with a sort of soliloquy, lamenting her condition; that she sings this at the door of a castle, shut against her; that she hears Gregory's voice within, and then appeals to him for admittance; and then comes the dialogue between them.
"The [third] stanza, as I heard the thing sung, was repeated as a burden after all the succeeding stanzas, even when the Lad and not the Lass speaks; but I do not think it followed the [first two] stanzas; they were a sort of introduction." Mr Mahon, December, 1884, May, 1885.
FOOTNOTES:
[125] Jamieson tells us, p. 44, that when a boy he had frequently heard the ballad chanted in Morayshire, and no mention was ever made of "fairy charms."
[126] C 3, 4 are evidently misplaced, and belong in that part of the story where B 8, 9 occur.
[127] Liebrecht has noted many of the above in his 'Volkskunde.' A man requires identification of a woman in a very ill preserved ballad in Motherwell's MS., p. 320.
77
SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST
A. 'Sweet William's Ghost,' Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, "4th volume, 1740;" here from the London edition of 1763, p. 324.
B. Herd's MSS, I, 177, II, 49, stanzas 27 ff.
C. 'Marjorie and William,' Motherwell's MS., p. 262, 'William and Marjorie,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 186.
D. Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, 'Adversaria,' p. 86.
E. 'Sweet William and May Margaret,' Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 241.
F. Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 83, stanzas 26 ff.
G. Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 183, ed. 1833.
Ramsay's copy, A, was reprinted by Percy, Reliques, 1765, III, 128, and by Herd, 1769, p. 194, 1776, I, 76. Percy remarks that the concluding stanza seems modern. There can be no doubt that both that and the one before it are modern; but, to the extent of Margaret's dying on her lover's grave, they are very likely to represent original verses not remembered in form. B constitutes, in Herd's MSS, and F, in Jamieson's Popular Ballads, the termination of a copy of 'Clerk Saunders.' Scott appended the three stanzas given as G to the later edition of his rifacimento of the copies of 'Clerk Saunders' in Herd's MSS, and says[Pg 227] of them: "I am informed by the reciter that it was usual to separate from the rest that part of the ballad which follows the death of the lovers, as belonging to another story." The first part of F was evidently derived from 'Proud Lady Margaret,' No. 47.
Motherwell notes, Minstrelsy, p. lxiii, 6, that in recited copies he had heard this stanza repeated, "which does not occur in printed copies" (and can easily be spared), after A 14.[128]
My nose is my roof-tree,
My ribs are kebars to my house,
And there is nae room for thee.
The story of this ballad seems to have become disordered in most of the versions. A alone, the first published, has perhaps retained the original form. The principal idea is, however, preserved in all the full versions, A-E; the dead lover returns to ask back his unfulfilled troth-plight. His mistress, not knowing that he is dead, demands that he shall first come within her bower and kiss her, A, B, C. He answers that if he does this her days will not be long. She persists; he shall take her to kirk,[129] and wed her with a ring, A, E. He then tells her distinctly that he is dead, and she returns to him his faith and troth. She streaks her troth on a long wand and gives it to him through a window, B. In A she stretches out her white hand, "to do her best;" in C "takes up" her white hand, and strikes him on the breast; in E takes her white hand and smooths it on his breast; all of which are possibly corruptions of the ceremony performed in B. In D she takes a silver key and strikes him three times on the breast. She follows the dead till he comes to his grave, A, B, C, D (?) F, which is wrongly said in A, E to be far beyond the sea. She asks if there is room for her in his grave, and is told there is not, A, F [there is room, B, D]. She dies at his grave, A; is told that her days will not be long, F; in G, goes weeping away.
Margaret will not give William back his faith and troth, in B, D, E, unless he resolves certain questions about the state of the dead; what becomes of women that die in travail; where the women go who hang themselves for sin; where unbaptized children. Mere curiosity does not sort well with this very seriously conceived ballad, and these passages have probably grown out of a not unnatural inquiry on the part of Margaret as to her lover's personal state, extended in E 12 to "tell me the pleasures o heaven, and pains o hell how they be." The scene at the grave in C 11-13 may be judged grotesque, but is not trivial or unimpressive. These verses may be supposed not to have belonged to the earliest form of the ballad, and one does not miss them from A, but they cannot be an accretion of modern date.
Sir Walter Scott informs us, in the Advertisement to The Pirate, that the lady whose affections had been engaged by Goff, the historical prototype of Cleveland, "went up to London to see him before his death, and that, arriving too late, she had the courage to request a sight of his body; and then touching the hand of the corpse, she formally resumed the troth-plight which she had bestowed." "Without going through this ceremony," Scott goes on to say, "she could not, according to the superstition of the country, have escaped a visit from the ghost of her departed lover, in the event of her bestowing upon any living suitor the faith which she had plighted to the dead."[130]
'Sweet William's Ghost' has much in common with one of the most beautiful and celebrated of the Scandinavian ballads, and may well be a different development of the same story:
Danish. 'Fæstemanden i Graven' ('Aage og Else'), Grundtvig, No 90, II, 492-97, III, 870-74, A from a manuscript of the seventeenth century, B from about 1700, C from recent tradition. Swedish. 'Sorgens Magt,' A, B, Afzelius, No 6, I, 29, II, 204; C, Ar[Pg 228]widsson, No 91, II, 103; D, Wigström, Skånska Visor, No 8, the same, Folkdiktning, I, 17, No 6, 'Den döde brudgummen:' all from recent tradition.
According to the oldest version, Danish A,[131] from which the others do not materially vary, a man dies just as he is to be married. His love grieves for him passionately. The dead hears her under the ground, comes to her bower with his coffin on his back, and knocks. She lets him in after he has proved himself to be "a spirit of health" by uttering the name of Jesus, combs his hair, and asks him how it is under the black earth (cf. English, E 12). It is like the bliss of heaven. May she follow him into his grave? It is like blackest hell. Every time she weeps for him his coffin is filled with lappered blood. But when she sings and is happy, his grave is all hung with rose-leaves. The cock crows, the white, the red, the black; he takes up his coffin and goes wearily back to the graveyard. His love follows through the mirk wood (so Swedish A 9, cf. English B 11), to the churchyard, and into the church. Then his yellow hair falls away, his rosy color wans. He bids her go home and never weep for him more. "Look up at the sky, the night is going;" and as she looks he slips into his grave. She goes sadly home, prays God that she may not live out a year and a day, falls sick, and dies within a month.
The Scandinavian ballad agrees in many particulars with the conclusion of the second lay of Helgi Hundingsbani in the older Edda. Helgi, having been slain by Sigrún's brother, is bitterly bewailed by Sigrún. He quits his barrow to come to her. Sigrún will kiss him, but his hair is thick with hoar-frost, he is drenched in blood, and how is this? These are the grim tears that Sigrún has shed, every one of which falls on his breast. Sigrún says she will sleep in his arms as though he were alive, and goes into the barrow with him. The end of the story is lost; according to a prose tradition which professes to supply the close, Sigrún soon died of grief. The source of the later ballads is perceptible here.
In the English ballad the dead lover returns of his own motion, simply to ask back his troth; in the Scandinavian, his betrothed grieves him out of his grave, "hon sörjer sin fästeman ur graf," and the object of his visit is to admonish her to restrain her tears, which prevent his happy repose. A fragmentary story with this turn, which perhaps may even have been a variety of 'Sweet William's Ghost,' will be found in the ballad which follows this.
In a somewhat popular German ballad, 'Der todte Freier,' a dead man comes to the window of his betrothed in the night and calls her. She does not recognize him; says he smells of the ground. He has been eight years in the ground, and that may be. He bids her summon father, mother, and friends, for her bridegroom has come. She is decked as for her wedding; at the first sound of the bell makes her will or receives the sacrament, and dies at the second.[132]
A young man goes to the grave of his betrothed and asks his love-tokens back; she refers him to her mother, and tells him she will join him in a year: Haupt u. Schmaler, I, 88, No 55. This returning of gifts by the dead is not an infrequent phenomenon: Čelakowský, i, 4, No 2=Wenzig, Slawische Volkslieder, p. 57, and III, 16, No 6; Beaurepaire, p. 53, Le Héricher, Lit. pop. de Normandie, p. 160 f; Briz y Candi, I, 140, Milá, Observaciones, p. 155, No 50, Milá, Romancerillo, pp 320-22, No 337, D, E, A11, B11.
A is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 34, No 4; by Herder, Book III, No 8; Bodmer, II, 36; Wacker[Pg 229]nagel, Altdeutsche Blätter, I, 189; Döring, p. 391; Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 86, No 23; von Marées, p. 24. C by Grundtvig, p. 319, No 90; Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 30, Hausschatz, p. 205; Knortz, as above, p. 179, No 49. A compound of D, C, A, by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, p. 53, No 12.
A
Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, "4th volume, 1740;" here from the London edition of 1763, p. 324.
With many a grievous groan,
And ay he tirled at the pin,
But answer made she none.
Or is't my brother John?
Or is't my true-love, Willy,
From Scotland new come home?'
Nor yet thy brother John;
But 'tis thy true-love, Willy,
From Scotland new come home.
I pray thee speak to me;
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.'
Nor yet will I thee lend,
Till that thou come within my bower,
And kiss my cheek and chin.'
I am no earthly man;
And shoud I kiss thy rosy lips,
Thy days will not be lang.
I pray thee speak to me;
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.'
Nor yet will I thee lend,
Till you take me to yon kirk,
And wed me with a ring.'
Afar beyond the sea,
And it is but my spirit, Margret,
That's now speaking to thee.'
And, for to do her best,
'Hae, there's your faith and troth, Willy,
God send your soul good rest.'
A piece below her knee,
And a' the live-lang winter night
The dead corp followed she.
Or any room at your feet?
Or any room at your side, Willy,
Wherein that I may creep?'
There's no room at my feet;
There's no room at my side, Margret,
My coffin's made so meet.'
And up then crew the gray:
'Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret,
That you were going away.'
But, with a grievous groan,
Evanishd in a cloud of mist,
And left her all alone.
The constant Margret cry'd;
Wan grew her cheeks, she closd her een,
Stretchd her soft limbs, and dy'd.
B
Herd's MSS, I, 177, II, 49, stanzas 27 ff.
A wat a' man to bed were gone,
Clark Sanders came to Margret's window,
With mony a sad sigh and groan.
'Or are ye waking, presentlie?
Give me my faith and trouthe again,
A wat, trew-love, I gied to thee.'
Nor our trew love shall never twain,
Till ye come with me in my bower,
And kiss me both cheek and chin.'
It has the smell now of the ground;
And if I kiss thy comely mouth,
Thy life-days will not be long.
I wat the wild fule boded day;
Gie me my faith and trouthe again,
And let me fare me on my way.'
Nor our trew love shall never twin,
Till ye tell me what comes of women
Awat that dy's in strong traveling.'
Down at the foot of our good Lord's knee,
Well set about wi gilly-flowers,
A wat sweet company for to see.
A wat the wilde foule boded day;
The salms of Heaven will be sung,
And ere now I'le be misst away.'
And she has straked her trouth thereon;
She has given [it] him out at the shot-window,
Wi many a sad sigh and heavy groan.
And I thank you hartilie;
Gine ever the dead come for the quick,
Be sure, Margret, I'll come again for thee.'
She clame the wall and followed him,
Untill she came to a green forest,
On this she lost the sight of him.
Is their any room at your feet?
Or any room at your twa sides?
Whare fain, fain woud I sleep.'
Their is na room at my feet;
There is room at my twa sides,
For ladys for to sleep.
But an my winding sheet;
My bed it is full low, I say,
Down among the hongerey worms I sleep.
But an my winding sheet;
The dew it falls na sooner down
Then ay it is full weet.'
C
Motherwell's MS., p. 262, Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 186, from the recitation of Mrs McCormick, and learned by her in Dumbarton, from an old woman, thirty years before: January 19, 1825.
Sat sewing her silken seam;
By her came a pale, pale ghost,
With many a sich and mane.
'Or are ye my brother John?
Or are you my true-love, Sweet William,
From England newly come?'
'No, no, nor your brother John;
But I'm your true love, Sweet William,
From England that's newly come.'
[Pg 231]
Or any silks so fine?
Or have ye brought me any precious things,
That merchants have for sale?'
No, no, nor the silks so fine;
But I have brought you my winding-sheet,
Oer many's the rock and hill.
For faith and charitie,
Will you give to me my faith and troth,
That I gave once to thee?'
No, no, that will not I,
Until I get one kiss of your ruby lips,
And in my arms you come [lye].'
'My breath it is so strong,
If you get one kiss of my ruby lips,
Your days will not be long.
'The cocks they are crawing again;
It's time the deid should part the quick,
Marjorie, I must be gane.'
Till she came to yon church-yard;
O there the grave did open up,
And young William he lay down.
'That stands here at your head?'
'It's three maidens, Marjorie,' he says,
'That I promised once to wed.'
'That stands here at your side?'
'It is three babes, Marjorie,' he says,
'That these three maidens had.'
'That stands here at your feet?'
'It is three hell-hounds, Marjorie,' he says,
'That's waiting my soul to keep.'
And she struck him in the breast,
Saying, Have there again your faith and troth,
And I wish your soul good rest.
D
From tradition: Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, "Adversaria," p. 86.
Sewin her silken seam,
And in cam Willie, her true-love,
Frae Lundin new come hame.
Or are ye my brither John?
Or are ye my true-love, Willie,
Frae London new come home?'
Nor am I your brother John;
But I am your true-love, Willie,
An I'm nae a levin man.
An let me pass on my way;
For the bells o heaven will be rung,
An I'll be mist away.'
Till ye tell me this ane;
Till ye tell me where the women go
That hang themsell for sin.'
Just by the devil's knee;
It's a' clad ower wi burnin pitch,
A dreadfu sicht to see.'
Till you tell me again;
Till you tell me where the children go
That die without a name.'
Just by our Saviour's knee,
[Pg 232] An it's a' clad ower wi roses red,
A lovelie sicht to see.
And let me pass on my way;
For the psalms o heaven will be sung,
An I'll be mist away.'
Till ye tell me again;
Till ye tell me where the women go
That die in child-beddin.'
Just by our Saviour's knee,
And every day at twal o clock
They're dipped oer the head.
And let me pass on my way;
For the gates o heaven will be shut,
And I'll be mist away.'
Gien him three times on the breast;
Says, There's your faith and troth, Willie,
I hope your soul will rest.
Or is there room at your feet?
Or is there room at any o your sides,
To let in a lover sweet?'
There's nae room at my feet,
But there is room at baith my sides,
To lat in a lover sweet.'
E
Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 241.
In her bouer all alone,
At the very parting o midnicht
She heard a mournfu moan.
Or is it my brother John?
Or is it Sweet William, my ain true-love,
To Scotland new come home?'
It is na your brother John;
But it is Sweet William, your ain true-love,
To Scotland new come home.'
Onie new thing for to wear?
Or hae ye brought me a braid o lace,
To snood up my gowden hair?'
Nor onie new thing to wear,
Nor hae I brought ye a braid of lace,
To snood up your gowden hair.
I pray ye speak to me;
O gie me back my faith and troth,
As dear as I gied it thee.'
Nor will I wi ye twin,
Till ye come within my bouer,
And kiss me, cheek and chin.'
I am na earthly man;
If I should kiss your red, red lips,
Your days wad na be lang.
I pray ye speak to me;
O gie me back my faith and troth,
As dear as I gied it thee.'
Nor will I wi ye twin,
Till ye tak me to yonder kirk,
And wed me wi a ring.'
It's far ayont the sea;
And it is my spirit, Margaret,
That's speaking unto thee.'
Nor will I twin wi thee,
[Pg 233] Till ye tell me the pleasures o heaven,
And pains of hell how they be.'
But the pains of hell I dree;
There some are hie hangd for huring,
And some for adulterie.'
And smoothd it on his breast:
'Tak your faith and troth, William,
God send your soul good rest!'
F
Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 83, stanzas 26 ff.
Lady Margaret she thought lang;
And she is up to the hichest tower,
By the lee licht o the moon.
To see what she might fa,
And there she saw a grieved ghost,
Comin waukin oer the wa.
'Seekin ony o my meat?
Or are you a rank robber,
Come in my bower to break?'
Behold, Margaret, and see,
And mind, for a' your meikle pride,
Sae will become of thee.'
This meikle marvels me;
O wherein is your bonny arms,
That wont to embrace me?'
Behold, Margaret, and see,
And mind, for a' your mickle pride,
Sae will become o thee.'
Sat on the coil o hay;
But dowie, dowie was the maid
That followd the corpse o clay.
Is there ony room at your feet?
Is there ony room at your twa sides,
For a lady to lie and sleep?'
As little at my feet;
There is nae room at my twa sides,
For a lady to lie and sleep.
Gae hame and sew your seam;
For if ye were laid in your weel made bed,
Your days will nae be lang.'
G
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 183, ed. 1833, the last three stanzas.
And lay it on my breast,
And shed a tear upon my grave,
And wish my saul gude rest.
And Margret o veritie,
Gin eer ye love another man,
Neer love him as ye did me.'
And up and crew the grey;
The lover vanishd in the air,
And she gaed weeping away.
A.
83. yon kirk-yard.
B.
12, And every one is substituted for A wat a' man, no doubt by a reviser.
14, 94. grown.
51, 81. mid larf, midd larf I retain, though I do not understand larf.
92. on it struck out at the end of the line, and thereon written over. Qy it on?
144. A line is drawn through Down and the.
151. is my bed, written after weet, is struck out.
The copy in Herd's second volume is a transcript of the other, and its variations have no apparent authority.
C.
74. MS. come (lye).
94. away written over be gane.
102. Motherwell prints churchyard green.
141. white thrice.
Motherwell makes not a few slight changes in printing.
D.
151. at my head, Willie.
E.
8 follows 10 in Kinloch.
FOOTNOTES:
[128] Motherwell probably meant 13.
[129] So E 10; A 9 has, in Ramsay, kirk-yard, which obviously requires to be corrected.
[130] In a note in the Kinloch MSS, VII, 277, Kinloch says that Sir Walter Scott told him that he had received this story from an old woman in Shetland.
[131] The ballad has been often translated, mostly after the compounded form in the Danske Viser, No 29: Prior, III, 76 (Danish A), 81; "London Magazine, 1820, I, 152;" Borrow, Foreign Quarterly Review, 1830, VI, 62, and p. 47 of his Romantic Ballads; Buchanan, p. 112.
[132] Hoffmann von Fallersleben in Deutsches Museum, 1852, II, 162=Erk's Wunderhorn, IV, 73, and Liederhort, p. 75, No 24a, Mittler, No 545; Wagner in Deutsches Museum, 1862, II, 802, 803; Liederhort, No 24, p. 74; Ditfurth, II, 1, No 2; Meier, p. 355, No 201; Peter, I, 199, No 14; A. Müller, p. 95; Meinert, p. 3=Erlach, IV, 196, Erk's Wunderhorn, IV, 74, Liederhort, p. 76, No 24b, Zuccalmaglio, p. 130, No 60, Mittler, No 544; Schleicher, Volkstümliches aus Sonneberg, p. 112, No 22.
78
THE UNQUIET GRAVE
A. 'The Unquiet Grave,' Folk-Lore Record, I, 60, 1868.
B. Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 486.
C. Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 387.
D. 'The Ghost and Sailor,' Buchan's MSS, I, 268.
The vow in the second stanza of all the copies is such as we find in 'Bonny Bee-Ho'm,' and elsewhere (see p. 156f of this volume), and A, B, D 4, 5, C 3, 4 are nearly a repetition of 'Sweet William's Ghost,' A 5, 6, B 3, 4, C 7, 8, D 7, 10. This may suggest a suspicion that this brief little piece is an aggregation of scraps. But these repetitions would not strike so much if the ballad were longer, and we must suppose that we have it only in an imperfect form. Even such as it is, however, this fragment has a character of its own. It exhibits the universal popular belief that excessive grieving for the dead interferes with their repose. We have all but had 'The Unquiet Grave' before, as the conclusion of two versions of 'The Twa Brothers:'
She wept the sma brids frae the tree,
She wept the starns adown frae the lift,
She wept the fish out o the sea.
Ye but disturb my rest;'
'Is that my ain true lover, John,
The man that I loe best?'
'That's sent to comfort thee;
O cease your weeping, my true-love,
And 'twill gie peace to me.'
(I, 440, C 18-20.)
And she harped both far and near,
Till she harped the small birds off the briers,
And her true-love out of the grave.
'What's this you want of me?'
'One sweet kiss of your ruby lips,
That's all I want of thee.'
'My breath it is so strong,
If you get one kiss of my ruby lips,
Your days will not be long.'
(I, 439, B 10-12.)
Sir Walter Scott has remarked that the belief that excessive grieving over lost friends destroyed their peace was general throughout Scotland: Redgauntlet, Note 2 to Letter XI. See also Gregor's Notes on the Folk-Lore of[Pg 235] the North-East of Scotland, p. 69. We have recent testimony that this belief survives in England (1868), Folk Lore Record, I, 60. It was held in Ireland that inordinate tears would pierce a hole in the dead: Killinger, Erin, VI, 65, 449 (quoting a writer that I have not identified).
The common notion is that tears wet the shroud or grave-clothes. Scott relates a story of a Highlander who was constrained to come back and say to a kinswoman: My rest is disturbed by your unnecessary lamentation; your tears scald me in my shroud.
Mrs Grant of Laggan tells a similar story. An only sister had lost an only brother. Night after night she sat up, weeping incessantly and calling upon his name. At length her brother appeared to her in his shroud, and seemed wet and shivering. "Why," said he, "am I disturbed with the extravagance of thy sorrow? Till thou art humble and penitent for this rebellion against the decrees of Providence, every tear thou sheddest falls on this dark shroud without drying, and every night thy tears still more chill and encumber me." Essays on the Superstitions of the Highlanders of Scotland, ed. New York, 1813, p. 95 f.
A dead boy appears to his mother, and begs her to cease weeping, for all her tears fall upon his shirt and wet it so that he cannot sleep. The mother gives heed, her child comes again and says, Now my shirt is dry, and I have peace. Grimms, K. u. H. märchen, No 109.
In another form of this tradition a child has to carry all its mother's tears in a large pitcher, and cannot keep up with a happy little band to which it would belong, 'Die Macht der Thränen,' Erk, Neue Sammlung, III, I, No 35=Wunderhorn, IV, 95, Liederhort, p. 8, No 3, Mittler, No 557; Hoffmann u. Richter, p. 341, No 290; Börner, Volkssagen aus dem Orlagau, pp 142, 152; or lags behind because its clothes are heavy with these tears, Geiler von Kaisersberg's Trostspiegel, 1510, cited by Rochholz in Wolf's Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie, II, 252; Thomas Cantipratensis, Bonum Universale, "l. ii, c. 53, § 17," about 1250; or the child collects its mother's tears in its hands, Müllenhoff, No 196.
A wife's tears wet her dead husband's shirt in the German ballad 'Der Vorwirth:' Meinert, p. 13=Erk's Wunderhorn, IV, 96, Erk's Liederhort, p. 160, No 46a, Mittler, No 555; Hoffmann in Deutsches Museum, 1852, II, 161=Wunderhorn, IV, 98, Liederhort, p. 158, No 46, Mittler, No 556; Peter, I, 200, No 15.
Saint Johannes Eleemosynarius and a couple of his bishops are fain to rise from their graves because their stoles are wet through with a woman's tears, Legenda Aurea, c. 27, § 12, Grässe, p. 132, last half of the thirteenth century (cited by Liebrecht); and Saint Vicelin, because his robes are drenched with the tears of his friend Eppo, Helmold, Chronica Slavorum, l. i, 78, p. 15, ed. Lappenberg, last half of the twelfth century (cited by Müllenhoff).
Sigrún weeps bitter tears for Helgi's death every night ere she sleeps. The hero comes out of his mound to comfort her, but also to tell her how she discommodes him. He is otherwise well off, but every drop pierces, cold and bloody, to his breast: Helgakviða Hundingsbana II, 45. So in some of the ballads which apparently derive from this lay, the tears of Else or Kerstin fill her lover's coffin with blood: Grundtvig, II, 495, 497, No 90, A 17, B 8; Afzelius, I, 31, No 6, st. 14, Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 18, st. 9.
Almost the very words of the Highland apparition in Scott's tale are used by an Indian sage to a king who is inconsolable for the loss of his wife; "the incessant tears of kinsfolk burn the dead, so it is said:" Kâlidâsas, Raghuvansa, VIII, 85, ed. Stenzler, p. 61 of his translation. Another representation is that the dead have to swallow the rheum and tears of their mourning relations, and therefore weeping must be abstained from: Yâjnavalkya's Gesetzbuch, Sanskrit u. Deutsch, Stenzler, III, 11, p. 89.
The ancient Persians also held that immoderate grief on the part of survivors was detrimental to the happiness of the dead. Weeping for the departed is forbidden, because the water so shed forms an impediment before the bridge Tchînavar (over which souls pass to heaven). Sad-der, Porta XCVII, Hyde, Vete[Pg 236]rum Persarum et Parthorum Religionis Historia, p. 486, ed. Oxford, 1700. Again, Ardai Viraf, seeing a deep and fetid river, which is carrying away a multitude of souls in all the agony of drowning, and asking what this is, is told: The river that you see before you is composed of the tears of mankind, tears shed, against the express command of the Almighty, for the departed; therefore, when you return again to the earth inculcate this to mankind, that to grieve immoderately is in the sight of God a most heinous sin; and the river is constantly increased by this folly, every tear making the poor wretches who float on it more distant from ease and relief. The Ardai Viraf Nameh, translated from the Persian, by J. A. Pope, London, 1816, p. 53 f.[133]
The Greeks and Romans also reprehend obstinate condolement as troubling the dead, and perhaps, if we had the popular views on the subject, these might be found to have taken an expression like some of the above. In Lucian De Luctu, c. 16, the ghost of a son who had died in the bloom of youth is made to reproach the disconsolate father in these words: ὁ κακοδαιμον ανθρωπε, τι κεκραγας; τι δε μοι παραχεις πραγματα;[134]
See, also, Maurer, Isländische Volkssagen, p. 312 f, No 9; Luzel, I, 65, 'La jeune fille et l'âme de sa mère;' Karadshitch, I, 272, No 368, Talvj, I, 84, ed. 1853; Kapper, Gesänge der Serben, II, 116; Nibelungen, 2302, ed. Bartsch; Blaas, in Germania, XXV, 429, No 34; Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie, III, 447, No 397; Müllenhoff, No 195; Wunderhorn, IV, 94, last stanza; Wolf, Beiträge zur deutschen Mythologie, I, 215, No 149.
A
Communicated to the Folk Lore Record, I, 60, by Miss Charlotte Latham, as written down from the lips of a girl in Sussex.
And a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true-love,
In cold grave she was lain.
As any young man may;
I'll sit and mourn all at her grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.'
The dead began to speak:
'Oh who sits weeping on my grave,
And will not let me sleep?'
And will not let you sleep;
For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips,
And that is all I seek.'
But my breath smells earthy strong;
If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,
Your time will not be long.
Love, where we used to walk,
The finest flower that ere was seen
Is withered to a stalk.
So will our hearts decay;
So make yourself content, my love,
Till God calls you away.'
B
Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 436, cited by W. R. S. R., from the Ipswich Journal, 1877: from memory, after more than seventy years.
And see the drops of rain!
I never had but one true-love,
In the green wood he was slain.
As in my power doth lay;
I would sit and mourn all on his grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.'
His ghost did rise and speak:
'What makes you mourn all on my grave?
For you will not let me sleep.'
Nor yet your wealth I crave;
But one kiss from your lily-white lips
Is all I wish to have.
Your breath doth smell so strong;'
'I am afraid, my pretty, pretty maid,
Your time will not be long.'
C
"From a yeoman in Suffolk, who got it from his nurse;" B. Montgomerie Ranking, in Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 387.
Cold blow the drops of rain;
I never, never had but one sweetheart,
In the greenwood he was slain.
As ever did any maid;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
One kiss is all I pray,
And I'll sit and weep all over your grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.'
My breath is earthy and strong;
And if I should kiss your lips, true-love,
Your life would not be long.'
D
Buchan's MSS, I, 268.
Loud roars the fatal fleed;
I loved never a love but one,
In church-yard she lies dead.
What other young men may;
I'll sit and mourn upon her grave,
A twelvemonth and a day.'
The ghost began to speak:
'Why sit ye here upon my grave,
And will not let me sleep?'
Is all that I do crave;
And one kiss of your lily-white lips
Is all that I would have.'
Mine as the sulphur strong;
If you get one kiss of my lips,
Your days would not be long.
Sin you and I did walk?
The firstand flower that we did pu
Was witherd on the stalk.'
[Pg 238]
Aye as the tears will turn;
And since I've lost my own sweet-heart,
I'll never cease but mourn.'
The powers we must obey;
But hoist up one sail to the wind,
Your ship must sail away.'
FOOTNOTES:
[133] Rochholz has cited the Raghuvansa in Deutscher Unsterblichkeits Glaube, p. 208; the other oriental citations are made by Kuhn, Wolf's Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie, I, 62 f.
[134] Schenkl, in Germania, XI, 451 f; who also cites Tibullus, I, 1, 67, Propertius, IV, 11, 1, and inscriptions, as Gruter, p. 1127, 8.
79
THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL
A. 'The Wife of Usher's Well,' Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 111, ed. 1802.
B. 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' stanzas 18-23, Kinloch MSS, V, 403.
B forms the conclusion, as already said, to a beautiful copy of 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' recited by the grandmother of Robert Chambers.
A motive for the return of the wife's three sons is not found in the fragments which remain to us. The mother had cursed the sea when she first heard they were lost, and can only go mad when she finds that after all she has not recovered them; nor will a little wee while, B 5, make any difference. There is no indication that the sons come back to forbid obstinate grief, as the dead often do. But supplying a motive would add nothing to the impressiveness of these verses. Nothing that we have is more profoundly affecting.
A is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 14; by Freiligrath, Zwischen den Garben, II, 227, ed. Stuttgart, 1877; by Doenniges, p. 61; by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 9, with insertion of B 5, 6; and by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 227, after Allingham.
A
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 111, 1802, from the recitation of an old woman residing near Kirkhill, in West Lothian.
And a wealthy wife was she;
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them oer the sea.
A week but barely ane,
Whan word came to the carline wife
That her three sons were gane.
A week but barely three,
Whan word came to the carlin wife
That her sons she'd never see.
Nor fashes in the flood,
Till my three sons come hame to me,
In earthly flesh and blood.'
When nights are lang and mirk,
The carlin wife's three sons came hame,
And their hats were o the birk.
Nor yet in ony sheugh;
But at the gates o Paradise,
That birk grew fair eneugh.
Bring water from the well;
[Pg 239] For a' my house shall feast this night,
Since my three sons are well.'
She's made it large and wide,
And she's taen her mantle her about,
Sat down at the bed-side.
And up and crew the gray;
The eldest to the youngest said,
'Tis time we were away.
And clappd his wings at a',
When the youngest to the eldest said,
Brother, we must awa.
The channerin worm doth chide;
Gin we be mist out o our place,
A sair pain we maun bide.
Fareweel to barn and byre!
And fare ye weel, the bonny lass
That kindles my mother's fire!'
B
Kinloch MSS, V, 403, stanzas 18-23. In the handwriting of James Chambers, as sung to his maternal grandmother, Janet Grieve, seventy years before, by an old woman, a Miss Ann Gray, of the Neidpath Castle, Peeblesshire: January 1, 1829.
The nights are lang an dark,
An in an cam her ain twa sons,
Wi their hats made o the bark.
The better shall ye fare,
For my twa sons the are come hame
To me for evermair.'
An she's made it saft an fine,
An she's happit them wi her gay mantel,
Because they were her ain.
An the wild fowl chirpd for day;
The aulder to the younger did say,
Dear brother, we maun away.
Lie still but if we may;
For gin my mother miss us away
She'll gae mad or it be day.'
An they've hangd it on the pin:
'O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantel,
Or ye hap us again!'
A.
42. fishes. The correction is suggested in ed. 1833 of the Border Minstrelsy. Aytoun reads freshes.
80
OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE
Percy MS., p. 90; Hales and Furnivall, I, 235.
This fine ballad was printed in the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, III, 48, ed. of 1765, "with considerable corrections." The information given by a page, the reward promised and the alternative punishment threatened him, the savage vengeance taken on the lady and the immediate remorse, are repeated in 'Little Musgrave,' No 81. So the "Sleep you, wake you" of 41, a frequent formula for such occasions,[135] which we find in 'Earl Brand,' No 7, D 1, 'King Arthur and King Cornwall,' No 30, st. 493; 'Clerk Saunders,' No 69, F 4; 'Willie and Lady Maisry,' No 70, B 2, 11; 'The Bent sae Brown,' No 71, st. 5; 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' No 73, E 5; 'Sweet William's Ghost,' No 77, B 2; 'Jellon Grame,' A 4; 'The Drowned Lovers,' Buchan, I, 140, st. 11; 'Jock o the Side,' Caw's Museum, st. 16; 'Kinmont Willie,' Scott, st. 35; 'The Baron of Brackley,' Scarce Ancient Ballads, st. 2; the song or ballad in 'King Lear,' III, 6, 40; Ravenscroft's Pammelia, 1609, No 30; the interlude of 'The Four Elements' (Steevens); Íslenzk Fornkvæði, II, 115, st. 26, 27; 'Der todte Freier,' Erk's Liederhort, p. 75, No 24a, Deutsches Museum, 1852, II, 167=Mittler No 545, Wunderhorn, IV, 73, etc., and Deutsches Museum, 1862, II, 803, No 10; Ampère, Instructions, p. 36; Coussemaker, No 48, st. 5; Kolberg, Pieśni ludu Polskiego, No 7e, st. 8; etc.
Old Robin, instead of attaching a cross of red cloth to the right shoulder of his coat or cloak, shapes the cross in his shoulder "of white flesh and of red," st. 32; that is, burns the cross in with a hot iron, as was done sometimes by the unusually devout or superstitious, or for a pious fraud: Mabillon, Annales, ad annum 1095, cited by Michaud, Histoire des Croisades, I, 110, note, ed. 1825.
Translated by Bodmer, I, 153; by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 66.
Marry soe yonge a wiffe
As did Old Robin of Portingale;
He may rue all the dayes of his liffe.
He chose her to his wife,
And thought to haue liued in quiettnesse
With her all the dayes of his liffe.
Scarcly were both on sleepe,
But vpp shee rose, and forth shee goes
To Sir Gyles, and fast can weepe.
Or be not you within?
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
'Lady, what is your will?'
'I haue vnbethought me of a wile,
How my wed lord we shall spill.
'That dwells about this towne,
Eene four and twenty of my next cozens,
Will helpe to dinge him downe.'
As he was watering his masters steed;
[Pg 241] Soe s ...
His verry heart did bleed.
I sweare by the holy roode,
The teares he for his master wept
Were blend water and bloude.
As [he] in his garden sate;
Says, Euer alacke, my litle page,
What causes thee to weepe?
Any of thy fellowes here?
Or is any of thy good friends dead,
Which makes thee shed such teares?
Greiued againe he shalbe,
Nor noe man within my howse
Shall doe wrong vnto thee.'
Nor none of his degree;
But [f]or to morrow, ere it be noone,
You are deemed to die.
And after, your gay ladie:'
'If it be true, my litle foote-page,
Ile make thee heyre of all my land.'
God let me neuer thye:'
'If it be not true, thou litle foot-page,
A dead corse shalt thou be.'
Cooke in kitchen super to dresse:
'All and anon, my deare master,
Anon att your request.'
. . . . . . .
'And call you downe my faire lady,
This night to supp with mee.'
Was cladd all in purple and palle;
The rings that were vpon her fingers
Cast light thorrow the hall.
What is your will with mee?'
'I am sicke, fayre lady,
Sore sicke, and like to dye.'
Soe sore it greiueth mee;
But my fiue maydens and my selfe
Will goe and make your bedd.
You shall haue a hott drinke made,
And at the wakening of your next sleepe
Your sorrowes will haue a slake.'
Was thirteen inches folde,
And put a steele cap vpon his head,
Was gilded with good red gold.
And another att his ffeete,
And full well knew Old Robin then
Whether he shold wake or sleepe.
Came twenty four good knights in;
Sir Gyles he was the formost man,
Soe well he knew that ginne.
Sir Gyles head he did winne;
Soe did he all those twenty four,
Neuer a one went quicke out [agen].
Crept forth at a window of stone,
And he had two armes when he came in,
And [when he went out he had none].
With torches burning bright;
Shee thought to haue brought Sir Gyles a drinke,
But shee found her owne wedd knight.
Was of Sir Gyles his ffoote;
Sayes, Euer alacke, and woe is me,
Here lyes my sweete hart-roote!
[Pg 242]
Was of Sir Gyles his head;
Sayes, Euer alacke, and woe is me,
Heere lyes my true-loue deade!
And bad her wish her will;
And he cutt the eares beside her heade,
And bade her wish on still.
To doe thee and me some good;'
Sayes, Euer alacke, my fayre lady,
I thinke that I was woode!
And made him heyre of all his land,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Of the white flesh and the redd,
And he went him into the holy land,
Wheras Christ was quicke and dead.
61, 3, 232, 243. 24.
81. sist.
111, 121. bookes man: cf. 151.
142. never dye.
152. Cooke seems to be wrongly repeated.
193. 5.
203. first sleep.
212. 13.
253. 2.
254. So Hales and Furnivall.
261. ladie bright. Qy fayre?
262. burning light.
281. 2d.
302. thee & and.
323. sent him.
And always for &.
FOOTNOTES:
[135] As Sir Frederick Madden has observed, who cites some of the instances given.
81
LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD
A. 'Little Musgrave and the Lady Barnard.' a. Wit Restord, 1658, in the reprint "Facetiæ," London, 1817, I, 293. b. Wit and Drollery, 1682, p. 81.
B. Percy MS., p. 53; Hales and Furnivall, I, 119.
C. a. 'Little Mousgrove and the Lady Barnet,' Pepys Ballads, I, 364. b. Pepys Ballads, III, 314. c. Roxburghe Ballads, III, 146. d. Roxburghe Ballads, III, 340. e. Bagford Ballads, I, 36.
D. 'Lord Barnard,' Kinloch MSS, I, 287.
E. 'Young Musgrave,' Campbell MSS, II, 43.
F. 'Lord Barnaby,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 170.
G. 'Wee Messgrove,' Motherwell's MS., p. 643.
H. 'Little Musgrave,' Motherwell's MS., p. 120.
I. 'Little Sir Grove,' Motherwell's MS., p. 305.
J. 'Lord Barnabas' Lady,' Motherwell's MS., p. 371.
K. Dr Joseph Robertson's Journal of Excursions, No 5.
L. 'Lord Barnett and Little Munsgrove,' Buchan's MSS, I, 27: Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, Percy Society, XVII, 21.
M. 'Little Mushiegrove,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xx, XXI, one stanza.
N. 'Little Massgrove,' communicated by Miss Reburn, as learned in County Meath, Ireland, two stanzas.
A copy of this ballad in Dryden's Miscellany, III, 312, 1716, agrees with the one in Wit and Drollery. That in Ritson's Select Collection of English Songs, II, 215, 1783, agrees with Dryden's save in two or three words. The broadside C a was printed for[Pg 243] Henry Gosson, who is said by Chappell to have published from 1607 to 1641. If the lower limit be correct, this is the earliest impression known.[136] The other broadsides, C b-e, are later, but all of the seventeenth century. Percy inserted the ballad in his Reliques, III, 67, 1765, making a broadside in the British Museum his basis, and correcting as usual.
Percy remarks: This ballad is ancient, and has been popular; we find it quoted in many old plays. Cases cited by him are: Beaumont and Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, v, 3, Dyce II, 223, of about 1611:
Hey down, down
And some did loudly say,
Ever as the lord Barnet's horn blew,
Away, Musgrave, away!
Again, Sir William Davenant's play 'The Wits,' where Sir Thwack boasts, "I sing Musgrove, and for the Chevy Chase no lark comes near me," Act III, p. 194, of ed. 1672; and 'The Varietie,' a comedy, Act IV, 1649. In Beaumont and Fletcher's 'Bonduca,' V, 2, Dyce, V, 88, dating before March, 1619, we find this stanza, which is perhaps A 26, loosely remembered:
Great pity it was to see
That three drops of her life-warm blood
Run trickling down her knee.
And two stanzas in Fletcher's 'Monsieur Thomas,' IV, 11, Dyce VII, 375, earlier than 1639, may well be A 11, 12 parodied:
This tale that thou tellst me,
Then on thy back will I presently hang
A handsome new livery.
As false it well may be,
Then with a cudgel of four foot long
I'll beat thee from head to toe.
Jamieson says, in a prefatory note to F, that he had heard 'Little Musgrave' repeated, with very little variation, both in Morayshire and the southern counties of Scotland. All the Scottish versions are late, and to all seeming derived, indirectly or immediately, from print.[137] As a recompense we have a fine ballad upon the same theme, 'The Bonny Birdy,' which is not represented in England.
In the English broadside and most of the northern versions the lovers try a bribe, a threat, or both, to make the page keep counsel. In some of these Musgrave, when detected, ejaculates a craven imprecation of woe to the fair woman that lies in his arms asleep, G 23, H 16, I 14, J 20, L 37. In I the men are brothers; in E, F Musgrave has a wife of his own; in C, G Lord Barnard kills himself; in E he is hanged! None of these divergences from the story as we have it in A are improvements, but it is an improvement that the lady should die by stroke of steel as in C, E, H, J, K, L, in exchange for the barbarity of A. The penance in L is a natural and common way of ending such a tragedy. The collecting of the lady's heart's blood in a basin of pure silver, G 28-30, is probably borrowed from 'Lammikin,' where this trait is very effective.
The heathen child, B 131, is a child unchristened. An unbaptized child seems still to be called so in Norway, and so is a woman between childbirth and churching. In modern Icelandic usage a boy or girl before confirmation is called heathen, from confusion between baptism and confirmation: Ivar Aasen, at the word heiden; Vigfusson, at the word heiðinn.[138]
K 12,
And stripped it athwart the straw,
explains a corruption in E 182, where the manuscript reads, He's struck her in the straw, and another in J 9. The sword is[Pg 244] wiped or whetted on straw in 'Clerk Saunders,' A 15, C 13, D 8, G 17; 'Willie and Lady Maisry,' B 19; 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' B 36; 'Lady Diamond,' Buchan, II, 206, st. 8. Child Maurice dries his sword on the grass, John Steward dries his on his sleeve, A 27, 28; Glasgerion dries his sword on his sleeve, A 22; Horn wipes his sword on his arm, King Horn, ed. Wissmann, 622 f.
A
a. Wit Restord, 1658, in the reprint 'Facetiæ,' London, 1817, I, 293. b. Wit and Drollery, 1682, p. 81.
Hay downe
As many be in the yeare,
When young men and maids together did goe,
Their mattins and masse to heare,
The preist was at private masse;
But he had more minde of the faire women
Then he had of our lady['s] grace.
Another was clad in pall,
And then came in my lord Bernard's wife,
The fairest amonst them all.
As bright as the summer sun;
And then bethought this Little Musgrave,
This lady's heart have I woonn.
Full long and many a day;
'So have I loved you, fair lady,
Yet never word durst I say.'
Full daintyly it is deight;
If thou wilt wend thither, thou Little Musgrave,
Thou 's lig in mine armes all night.'
This kindnes thou showest to me;
But whether it be to my weal or woe,
This night I will lig with thee.
By his ladye's coach as he ran:
'All though I am my ladye's foot-page,
Yet I am Lord Barnard's man.
Whether I sink or swim;'
And ever where the bridges were broake
He laid him downe to swimme.
As thou art a man of life,
For Little Musgrave is at Bucklesfordbery,
A bed with thy own wedded wife.'
This thing thou tellest to me,
Then all the land in Bucklesfordbery
I freely will give to thee.
This thing thou tellest to me,
On the hyest tree in Bucklesfordbery
Then hanged shalt thou be.'
'Come saddle me my steed;
This night must I to Buckellsfordbery,
For I never had greater need.'
And some these words did say,
And ever when my lord Barnard's horn blew,
'Away, Musgrave, away!'
Methinks I hear the jaye;
Methinks I hear my lord Barnard,
And I would I were away.'
And huggell me from the cold;
'Tis nothing but a shephard's boy,
A driving his sheep to the fold.
[Pg 245]
Thy steed eats oats and hay;
And thou a fair lady in thine armes,
And wouldst thou bee away?'
And lit a stone upon;
He plucked out three silver keys,
And he opend the dores each one.
He lifted up the sheet:
'How now, how now, thou Littell Musgrave,
Doest thou find my lady sweet?'
'The more 'tis to my paine;
I would gladly give three hundred pounds
That I were on yonder plaine.'
And put thy clothës on;
It shall nere be said in my country
I have killed a naked man.
Full deere they cost my purse;
And thou shalt have the best of them,
And I will have the worse.'
He hurt Lord Barnard sore;
The next stroke that Lord Barnard stroke,
Little Musgrave nere struck more.
In bed whereas she lay:
'Although thou'rt dead, thou Little Musgrave,
Yet I for thee will pray.
So long as I have life;
So will I not for thee, Barnard,
Although I am thy wedded wife.'
Great pitty it was to see
That some drops of this ladie's heart's blood
Ran trickling downe her knee.
You were nere borne for my good;
Why did you not offer to stay my hand,
When you see me wax so wood?
That ever rode on steed;
So have I done the fairest lady
That ever did woman's deed.
'To put these lovers in;
But lay my lady on the upper hand,
For she came of the better kin.'
B
Percy MS., p. 53, Hales and Furnivall, I, 119.
. . . . . . .
'Ffor this same night att [Bucklesfeildberry]
Litle Musgreue is in bed with thy wife.'
This tale thou hast told to mee,
Then all my lands in Buckle[s]feildberry
I'le freely giue to thee.
This tale thou hast told to mee,
Then on the highest tree in Bucklesfeildberry
All hanged that thou shalt bee.'
And saddle me my good steede,
For I must ride to Bucklesfeildberry;
God wott I had neuer more need!
And some they thus cold say,
When euer as Lord Barnetts horne blowes,
'Away, Musgreue, away!'
Me thinkes I heare the iay,
Me thinkes I heare Lord Barnetts horne,
Away, Musgreue, away!'
[Pg 246]
And huddle me from the cold,
For it is but some sheaperds boy,
Is whistling sheepe ore the mold.
Thy horsse eating corne and hay?
And thou, a gay lady in thine armes,
And yett thou wold goe away!'
And light vpon a stone,
And he pulled out three silver kayes,
And opened the dores euery one.
And then puld downe the sheete;
Saies, How now? How now, Litle Musgreue?
Dost find my gay lady sweet?
'The more is my greefe and paine;'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
'Soe haue I done the fairest lady
That euer wore womans weede.
Which ffull sore greiueth mee,
For which Ile repent all the dayes of my life,
And god be with them all three!'
C
a. Pepys Ballads, I, 364, No 187. b. Pepys Ballads, III, 314, No 310. c. Roxburghe Ballads, III, 146. d. Roxburghe Ballads, III, 340. e. Bagford Ballads, I, 36.
As many more does in the yeere,
Little Mousgrove would to the church and pray,
To see the faire ladyes there.
For beauty exceeding faire,
Most wonderous lovely to the eie,
That did to that church repaire.
And others came downe in pall,
But next came downe my Lady Barnet,
The fairest amongst them all.
As bright as the summer's sunne;
Full well perceived then Little Mousgrove
Lady Barnet's love he had wonne.
Saluted this Little Mousgrove,
Who did repay her kinde courtesie
With favour and gentle love.
Bestrowed with cowslips sweet;
If that it please you, Little Mousgrove,
In love me there to meete,
For you my heart have wonne,
You need not feare my suspicious lord,
For he from home is gone.'
This night I will sleepe with thee,
And for thy sake I'le hazzard my breath,
So deare is thy love to me.'
Our counsell for to keepe,
And watch for feare Lord Barnet comes,
Whilest wee together doe sleepe?'
'And silver shall be his fee,
If he our counsell safely doe keepe,
That I may sleepe with thee.'
'Nor none of your silver fee;
If I should keepe your counsell, sir,
'Twere great disloyaltie.
[Pg 247]
For house nor yet for land;
But if my lady doe prove untrue,
Lord Barnet shall understand.'
Unto his lord with speed,
Who then was feasting with his deare friends,
Not dreaming of this ill deede.
Most swiftly did he runne,
And when he came to the broken bridge
He lay on his brest and swumme.
But went to his lord with speed,
That he the truth might say to him
Concerning this wicked deed.
Great merriment there they did keepe:
'My lord,' quoth he, 'this night, on my word,
Mousgrove with your lady does sleepe.'
And true as thou tellest to me,
My eldest daughter I'le give to thee,
And wedded thou shalt be.
And a lye as thou tellest to mee,
A new paire of gallowes shall straight be set,
And hanged shalt thou be.'
'A lye that you heare from me,
Then never stay a gallowes to make,
But hang me up on the next tree.'
Away with speed he would goe;
His heart was so perplext with griefe,
The truth of this he must know.
'And saddle me my white steed;
If this be true as the page hath said,
Mousgrove shall repent this deed.'
As they rode all along on the way;
'Nor winde no hornes,' quoth he, 'on your life,
Lest our comming it should betray.'
And respected his friendship most deare,
To give him knowledge Lord Barnet was neere,
Did winde his bugle most cleere.
'Away, Mousgrove, and away;
For if I take thee with my lady,
Then slaine thou shalt be this day.'
I heare his little horne blow;
And if he finde me in your armes thus,
Then slaine I shall be, I know.'
And keepe my backe from the cold;
I know it is my father's shepheard,
Driving sheepe to the pinfold.'
Sweete slumber his eyes did greet;
When he did wake, he then espied
Lord Barnet at his bed's feete.
And put thy clothës on;
It shall never be said in faire England
I slew a naked man.
'Thy choice, Mousgrove, thou shalt make;
The best of them thy selfe shalt have,
And I the worst will take.'
He wounded Lord Barnet sore;
The second blow that Lord Barnet gave,
Mousgrove could strike no more.
All love to rage did convert,
That with his sword, in most furious sort,
He pierst her tender heart.
'Prepare to lay us in;
My lady shall lie on the upper side,
Cause she's of the better kin.'
[Pg 248]
Which grieves his friends full sore;
The deaths of these thra worthy wights
With teares they did deplore.
Then let us call for grace,
That we may shun this wicked vice,
And mend our lives apace.
D
Kinloch MSS, I, 287.
A playing at the ba,
And lusty Lady Livingstone
Cuist her ee out oure them a'.
He was baith black and broun;
She cuist her ee on Little Musgrave,
As bricht as the morning sun.
. . . . . . .
'What'll I gie ye, my Little Musgrave,
Ae nicht wi me to sleep?'
'O that wad breed meikle strife;
For the ring on your white finger
Shows you Lord Barnard's wife.'
He'll na return the day;
He has tane wi him a purse o goud,
For he's gane hind away.'
. . . . . . .
'What will ye gie to me,' he said,
'Your council for to keep?'
And silver sall be his hire;
But an I hear a word mair o this,
He sall burn in charcoal fire.'
Took out a milk-white steed,
And away, away, and away he rade,
Away wi meikle speed.
He smoothd his breist and swam,
And whan he cam to gerss growing,
He set down his feet and ran.
Lord Barnard was at meat;
He said, 'If ye kend as meikle as me,
It's little wad ye eat.'
'Or onie my towrs won?
Or is my gay ladie broucht to bed,
Of a dochter or a son?'
Nor nane o your towrs won;
Nor is your gay ladie broucht to bed,
Of a dochter or a son.
Is in bed wi your ladie,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
It's goud sall be your fee;
But if it be fause ye tell to me,
I'se hang ye on a tree.'
They smoothd their breists and swam;
And whan they cam to gerss growing,
They set doun their feet and ran.
'How do ye like my bed?
And how do ye like my gay ladie,
Wha's lying at your side?'
'Sae do I like your bed;
But mair do I like your gay ladie,
Wha's lying at my side.'
'Get up as swith 's ye can;
Let it never be said that Lord Barnard
Slew in bed a nakit man.'
[Pg 249]
Or how do ye like me?'
'It's weill do I like his bluidy cheeks,
Mair than your haill bodie.'
It's oure and oure again.'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
E
Campbell MSS, II, 43.
Were playing at the ba,
And [out] came Lord Barnaby's lady,
The fairest o them a'.
And he on her again;
She coost her eyes on Little Musgrave,
As they twa lovers had been.
It stands baith strong and tight;
If you will go to there with me,
I'll lye with you all night.'
'Will breed both sturt and strife;
I see by the rings on your fingers
You are Lord Barnaby's wife.'
And far out oer the hill,
And he will not return again
Till the evening tide untill.'
Nor yet well fallen asleep,
Till up started Lord Barnaby's boy,
Just up at their bed-feet.
Which hung down low by her gair:
'If you do not my secret keep,
A word ye's neer speak mair.'
A blythe leer look gave he,
And he's away to Lord Barnaby,
As fast as he can hie.
These tidings ye tell to me,
A gallows-tree I'll gar be made
And hanged ye shall be.
These tidings ye tell me,
The fairest lady in a' my court
I'll gar her marry thee.'
He blew baith loud and sma,
And aye the turning o the tune
'Away, Musgrave, awa!'
Nor yet well fallen asleep,
Till up started Lord Barnaby,
Just up at their bed-feet.
And how like ye my sheets?
And how like ye my gay lady,
So sound in your arms that sleeps?'
And far better yere sheets;
And better far yere gay lady,
So sound in my arms that sleeps.'
And draw to hose and sheen;
It's neer be said in my country
I'd fight a naked man.
And they cost me right dear;
Take you the best, and I the worst,
I'll fight the battle here.'
It was baith deep and sore;
The next stroke that Lord Barnaby gave,
A word he never spoke more.
He's struck it in the straw,
And thro and thro his lady's sides
He gard the cauld steel gae.
As he lys cauld and dead;
But I'm right wae for his lady,
For she'll gae witless wud.
[Pg 250]
For she lies cauld and dead;
But I'm right wae for my young son,
Lies sprawling in her blood.'
And next crew the sparrow;
And what the better was Lord Barnaby?
He was hanged on the morrow.
F
Jamieson's Popular Ballads and Songs, I, 170.
Which now is dearly dight,
And I will gie it to Young Musgrave,
To lodge wi me a' night.'
Wad breed baith sorrow and strife;
For I see by the rings on your fingers
You're good Lord Barnaby's wife.'
Yet what is that to thee?
For we'll beguile him for this ae night,
He's on to fair Dundee.
This gold I will give thee,
If ye will keep thir secrets close
'Tween Young Musgrave and me.
Hings low down by my gare;
Gin ye winna keep thir secrets close,
Ye'll find it wonder sair.'
And down in her arms lay he;
The boy coost aff his hose and shoon,
And ran to fair Dundee.
He slackd his bow and swam,
And when he cam to growin grass,
Set down his feet and ran.
Wad neither chap nor ca,
But set his braid bow to his breast,
And merrily jumpd the wa.
Waken, and come away!'
'What ails, what ails my wee foot-page,
He cries sae lang ere day?
Or is my castle won?
Or has the lady that I loe best
Brought me a daughter or son?'
And free frae all alarms,
But, oh! the lady that ye loe best
Lies sound in Musgrave's arms.'
'Gae saddle to me the gray;
Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed,
To hie me on my way.'
And it blew wonder clear;
And ay the turning o the note,
Was, Barnaby will be here!
And it blew loud and high;
And ay at ilka turn it said,
Away, Musgrave, away!'
Ye keep me frae the cold;
For it is but my father's shepherds,
Driving their flocks to the fold.'
And they're fa'en sound asleep;
Till up stood good Lord Barnaby,
Just close at their bed-feet.
And how like ye my sheets?
And how like ye my fair lady,
Lies in your arms and sleeps?'
And weel like I your sheets,
But ill like I your fair lady,
Lies in my arms and sleeps.
And I got mine o five;
Sae tak ye mine, and I's tak thine,
And we nae mair sall strive.'
That ever brak world's bread,
[Pg 251] And your woman's the worst woman
That ever drew coat oer head.
They are baith sharp and clear;
Tak ye the best, and I the warst,
And we'll end the matter here.
We'll try it han to han;
It's neer be said o Lord Barnaby,
He strack at a naked man.'
It was baith deep and sair,
And down he fell at Barnaby's feet,
And word spak never mair.
'A grave to lay them in;
My lady shall lie on the sunny side,
Because of her noble kin.'
For a' his angry mood,
Whan he beheld his ain young son
All weltring in his blood!
G
Motherwell's MS., p. 643, from the recitation of Mrs McConechie, Kilmarnock.
To hunt the fallow deer;
His vassals a' are gane wi him,
His companie to bear.
And seald it wi her hand,
And sent it aff to Wee Messgrove,
To come at her command.
A waefu man was he;
Sayin, Gin I'm gript wi Lord Barnard's wife,
Sure hanged I will be.
He tinklit at the ring,
And nane was so ready as the lady hersell
To let Wee Messgrove in.
'You're welcome here to me;
Lang hae I loed your bonnie face,
And lang hae ye loed me.
I hope he'll neer return,
And ye sall sleep into his bed,
And keep his lady warm.'
'I ween it cannot be;
Gin Lord Barnard suld come hame this nicht,
What wuld he do to me?'
Ye naething hae to fear;
I'll set my page without the gate,
To watch till morning clear.'
And an ill death mat he die!
For he's awa to the green wood,
As hard as he can flee.
'Twas dark as dark could bee,
And he fand his maister and his men
Asleep aneth a tree.
'Rise up, and speak to me;
Your wife's in bed wi Wee Messgrove,
Rise up richt speedilie.'
A lord I will mak thee;
But gin it chance to be a lie,
Sure hanged ye sall be.'
'As ever ye were born;
Messgrove's asleep in your lady's bed,
All for to keep her warm.'
He was ane angry man;
And he reachd his stately castell gate
Just as the day did dawn.
And he blew strong blasts three;
Sayin, He that's in bed with anither man's wife,
He suld be gaun awa.
A frichtit man was he;
[Pg 252] 'I hear Lord Barnard's horn,' he said,
'It blaws baith loud and hie.'
And keep me frae the cauld;
'Tis but my father's shepherd's horn,
A sounding in the fauld.'
And he blew loud blasts three;
Saying, He that's in bed wi anither man's wife,
'Tis time he was awa.
A frichtit man was he:
'Yon surely is Lord Barnard's horn,
And I maun een gae flee.'
'And keep me frae the cauld;
'Tis but my father's shepherd's horn,
A sounding in the fauld.'
Till he was quite wearie;
Syne he threw down his bugle horn,
And up the stair ran he.
How do you like my sheets?
How do ye like my gay ladie,
That lies in your arms asleep?'
And weel I like your sheet;
But wae be to your gay ladie,
That lyes in my arms asleep!'
And I will take anither;
What fairer can I do, Messgrove,
Altho ye war my brither?'
It woundit him richt sair;
And the second wound that Messgrove gat,
A word he neer spak mair.
Or how do ye like his chin?
Or how do ye like his fair bodie,
That there's nae life within?'
'And weel I like his chin;
And weel I like his fair bodie,
That there's nae life within.'
Repeat them ower agane,
And into a basin of pure silver
I'll gar your heart's bluid rin.'
'And weel I like his chin;
And better I like his fair bodie
Than a' your kith and kin.'
That was baith sharp and fine,
And into a basin of pure silver
Her heart's bluid he gart rin.
And wae be to my page,
That they didna hald my cursed hands
When I was in a rage!'
The point o 't to his breast,
Saying, Here are three sauls gaun to heaven,
I hope they'll a' get rest.
H
Motherwell's MS., p. 120.
Some ladies for to sply;
Doun came one drest in black,
And one came drest in brown,
And down and came Lord Barlibas' lady,
The fairest in a' the town.
That you'r my Lord Barlibas' lady:'
'Indeed I am the Lord Barlibas' lady,
And what altho I bee?'
And gold shall be your fee;
You must not tell the secrets
That's between Musgrove and me.'
'Nor gold shall be my fee;
[Pg 253] But I'll awa to my own liege lord,
With the tidings you've told to me.'
He coost aff his clothes and he swimd,
And when he cam to Lord Barlibas' yett,
He tirled at the pin.
What news have ye brocht to me?
Is my castle burnt?' he said,
'Or is my tower tane?
Or is my lady lighter yet,
Of a daughter or son?'
'Nor yet is your tower tane,
Nor yet is your lady brocht to bed,
Of a daughter or a son;
But Little Musgrove is lying wi her,
Till he thinks it is time to be gane.'
'That you do tell unto me,
I'll ca up a gallows to my yard-yett,
And hangd on it thou shallt be.
'That you do tell unto me,
I have a young fair dochter at hame,
Weel wedded on her you shall be.'
By thirties and by three:
'Put aff the warst, put on the best,
And come along with me.'
And this he gard it say:
'The man that's in bed wi Lord Barlibas' lady,
It's time he were up and away.'
'Or what does yon trumpet say?
I think it says, the man that's in bed wi Lord Barlibas' lady,
It's time he were up and away.'
And cover me from the cold,
For it is but my father's sheepherd,
That's driving his sheep to the fold.'
In a little while after that,
Up started good Lord Barlibas,
At Little Musgrove his feet.
'Or how do you like my sheets?
Or how do you like mine own fair lady,
That lies in your arms and sleeps?'
And far better your sheets;
But woe be to this wicked woman,
That lies in my arms and sleeps!'
Rise up, and put your clothes on;
It's neer be said on no other day
That I killed a naked man.
I wot they cost me dear;
Take you the best, give me the warst,
We'll red the question here.'
He dang Little Musgrove to the ground;
The second stroke that Lord Barlibas gave
Dang his lady in a deadly swound.
'Gar mak it wide and long,
And lay my lady at the right hand,
For she's come of the noblest kin.'
I
Motherwell's MS., p. 305, from the recitation of Rebecca Dunse, 4th May, 1825: one of her mother's songs, an old woman.
'And silver shall be your fee,
If you will keep the secrets
Between Little Sir Grove and me.'
'And silver should be my fee,
It's I'll not keep the secret
Betwixt Little Sir Grove and thee.'
And along the plain he ran,
And when he came to Lord Bengwill's castle,
He tinkled at the pin;
And who was sae ready as Lord Bengwill himsell
To let this little page in.
[Pg 254]
'Or any of my castles taen?
Or is Lady Bengwill brought to bed,
Of a daughter or a son?'
'Nor nane of your castles taen;
But Lady Bengwill and Little Sir Grove
To merry bed they are gane.'
Rewarded you shall be;
And if it's a lie that you tell me,
You shall be hanged before your ladie's ee.
'Get saddled to me the brown;
Get saddled to me the swiftest steed
That ever man rode on.'
He blew baith loud and schill,
And aye the owre-word o the tune
Was, 'Sir Grove, I wish you well.'
He blew baith loud and long,
And aye the owre-word of the tune
Was 'Sir Grove, it is time to be gone.'
'Or is yon the sound of the deer?
But I think it's the sound of my brother's horn,
That sounds sae schill in my ear.'
'And keep a fair lady from cold;
It's but the sound of my father's herd-boys,
As they're driving the sheep to the fold.'
And they fell fast asleep,
And neer a one of them did wake
Till Lord Bengwill stood at their feet.
Or how do you love my sheets?
Or how do you love my fair lady,
That lies in your arms and sleeps?'
Far better I love your sheets;
But woe be to your fair lady,
That lies in my arms and sleeps!'
'Some clothes there put you upon;
Let it never be said in fair England
I fought with a naked man.'
Or where shall I run for my life?
For you've got two broadswords into your hand,
And I have never a knife.'
'And I shall take the other,
And that is as fair I'm sure to day
As that you are my born brother.'
You've wounded me full sore;
You may get a mistress in every town,
But a brother you'll never get more.'
He wounded him full sore;
The very next stroke that Lord Bengwill gave him,
A word he never spoke more.
And set her on his knee,
Saying, Whether do you love Little Sir Grove
Better than you do me?
Full well I love your chin,
But better I love Little Sir Grove, where he lies,
Than you and all your kin.'
'To put these lovers in,
And put Lady Bengwill uppermost,
For she's come of the noblest kin.'
J
Motherwell's MS., p. 371, from the recitation of Agnes Lyle, Kilbarchan.
Was playing at the ba,
And out cam the lady, Barnabas' lady,
The flower amang them a'.
As brisk as any sun,
And he coost anither on her again,
And they thocht the play was won.
[Pg 255]
To lye wi me this nicht?
Good beds I hae in Barnabey,
If they were ordered richt.'
'For that would cause much strife;
For I see by the rings on your fingers
That you're Lord Barnabas' wife.'
And that I'll let you ken,
But he's awa to the king's court,
And I hope he'll neer come hame.'
Till they fell both asleep,
When up and starts Barnabas' boy,
And stood at their bed-feet.
Or how likes thou the sheets?
Or how likes thou my master's lady,
Lyes in thy arms and sleeps?'
'And far better the sheets;
But foul may fa your master's lady,
Lies in my arms and sleeps!'
Was sticking by the stroe;
Says, Tell no tidings of me, my boy,
Or thou'll neer tell no moe.
As fast as he can dree;
He's awa to the king's court,
For to tell Barnaby.
Or any of my young men slain?
Or is my lady brocht to bed,
Of a dochter or a son?'
There's none of your young men slain;
But Little Mossgrey and your lady
They are both in a bed within.'
Thou tellest unto me,
I have not a dochter but only one,
And married ye shall be.
You're telling unto me,
On the highest tree of Bailsberry,
Thereon I'll gar hang thee.'
Had a love to Little Mossgrey;
He took a horn out of his pocket,
And blew both loud and hie:
'He that's in bed wi Barnabas' lady,
It's time he were away!'
Ere lay in a woman's bed!
I think I hear his bridle ring,
But and his horse feet tread.'
And keep me from the cold;
It's but my father's small sheep-herd,
Calling his sheep to the fold.'
Till they fell both asleep,
Till up and darts Barnabas himsell,
And stood at their bed-fit.
And how loves thou the sheets?
And how loves thou my lady fair,
Lyes in your arms and sleeps?'
'And far better your sheets;
But foul may fa your lady fair,
Lyes in my arms and sleeps!'
Put on your hose and shoon;
I'll neer hae't said in a far countrie
I killed a naked man.'
And slowly put he on,
And slowly down the stairs he goes,
And thinking to be slain.
'I wad they cost me dear;
Tak thou the best, I'll tak the warst,
We'll try the battle here.'
It was baith sharp and sore;
And the next stroke his lady got,
One word she neer spak more.
And lay this couple in;
And lay her head on his right hand,
She's come o the highest kin.'
K
Dr Joseph Robertson's Journal of Excursions, No 5, taken down from a man in the parish of Leochel, Aberdeenshire, February 12, 1829.
Were playin at the ba,
And out it cums Lord Barnet's ladie,
And playit out ower them a'.
As clear as any sun:
'O what wad ye gie, it's Little Mousgray,
It's in o my arms to won?'
For no, that maunna be;
For well ken I by the rings on your fingers,
Lord Barnet's ladie are ye.'
And a' man boun for bed,
It's Little Mousgray and that lady
In ae chamber was laid.
Just up at her bed-feet:
'Hail weel, hail weel, my little foot-page,
Hail well this deed on me,
An ever I lee my life to brook,
I 'se pay you well your fee.'
'I think I hear a horn blaw;
She blaws baith loud and shill at ilka turning of the tune,
Mousgray, gae ye your wa!'
Had the caul win frae my back;
It's bat my father's proud shepherds,
The're huntin their hogs to the fauld.'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Draw ti your stockins and sheen;
I winna have it for to be said
I killed a naked man.
They cost me many a pun;
Tak ye the best, and I the warst,
And we sall to the green.'
He wound Mousgray very sore;
The nexten stroke Lord Barnet strak,
Mousgray spak never more.
And stripped it athwart the straw,
And throch and throu his ain ladie
And he's gart it cum and ga.
In bower whar she lay dead!
But a' was for her bonny young son,
Lay blobberin amang the bluid.
L
Buchan's MSS, I, 27; Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, Percy Society, XVII, 21.
Were a' playing at the ba,
When forth it came him Little Munsgrove,
The flower out ower them a'.
Till the noon-tide o the day,
And four an twenty gay ladies
Went out to view the play.
And other some in green;
Lord Burnett's lady in red scarlet,
And shin'd like ony queen.
And other some in pale;
Lord Burnett's lady in red scarlet,
Whose beauty did excell.
As beams dart frae the sun;
She fixed her eyes on Little Munsgrove,
For him her love lay on.
God make ye safe and free;
What woud ye gie this day, Munsgrove,
For ae night in bower wi me?'
I darena for my life;
[Pg 257] I ken by the rings on your fingers
Ye are Lord Burnett's wife.'
Nae mair than 't woud my tae,
To see as much o his heart's blood
As twa brands coud let gae.
And pictures round it sett,
And I hae ordered thee, Munsgrove,
In fair Strathdon to sleep.'
They were for him too strong,
And she's prevailed on Little Munsgrove
With her to gang along.
And a' man bound for bed,
Little Munsgrove and that lady
In ae chamber were laid.
If he the watch will keep,
In case that your gude lord come hame
When we're fair fast asleep?'
And gowd shall be his hire;
But if he speak ae word o this,
He'll die in a burning fire.'
I will stand to the same;
I winna heal it an hour langer
Than my master comes hame.'
Being in the tidive hour;
He ran between her and the door,
She never saw him more.
He slacked his shoes an ran,
And where he found the brigs broken,
He bent his bow an swam.
Beheld baith dale and down;
And he beheld his ain foot-page
Come hastening to the town.
Ye bring sae hastilie?'
'Bad news, bad news, my master,' he says,
'As ye will plainly see.'
Or are my woods hewed down?
Or is my dear lady lighter yet,
O dear daughter or son?'
Nor are your woods hewn down;
Nor is your lady lighter yet,
O dear daughter nor son.
And pictures round it sett,
Where your lady and Little Munsgrove
In fair Strathdon do sleep.'
About my gay ladye?
She is a gude and chaste woman
As in the North Countrie.'
A word I dinna lie;
And if ye winna believe my word,
Your ain twa een shall see.'
That ye have tauld to me,
I'll wed you to my eldest daughter,
And married you shall be.
That ye hae tauld to me,
A high gallows I'll gar be built,
And hanged shall ye be.'
The reckoning for to pay,
And pulled out twa hands fou o gowd;
Says, We'll reckon anither day.
To saddle for him his steed,
And trampled ower yon rocky hills
Till his horse hoofs did bleed.
Was ane o Munsgrove's kin,
And aye as fast as the horsemen rade,
Sae nimbly 's he did rin.
And he blew loud and sma,
And aye at every sounding's end,
'Awa, Munsgrove, awa!'
And drew to him his sheen;
'Lye still, lye still,' the lady she cried,
'Why get ye up sae seen?'
[Pg 258]
And it blaws loud and sma;
And aye at every sounding's end,
Awa, Munsgrove, awa!'
Had my back frae the wind;
It's but my father's proud shepherd,
Caing his hogs to town.'
And it blaws loud and shrill,
And aye at every sounding's end
Bids Munsgrove take the hill.'
Had my back frae the cauld;
It's but the sugh o the westlin wind,
Blawing ower the birks sae bauld.'
And he fell fast asleep;
When up it started Lord Burnett,
And stood at their bed-feet.
Or is't for love o my sheets?
Or is't for love o my gay lady?
Sae soun in your arms she sleeps!'
Nor yet for love o your sheets;
But wae be to your gay ladye,
Sae soun in my arms she sleeps!'
Put all your armour an;
It's never be said anither day
I killed a naked man.
Cost me merks twenty-nine;
Take ye the best, gie me the warst,
For ye're the weakest man.'
Wounded Lord Burnett sair;
The next an stroke Lord Burnett drew,
Munsgrove he spake nae mair.
And thus to her said he:
'All the time we've led our life
I neer thought this o thee.
That stands straight by your side?
Or will ye hate this ill-faird face,
Lyes weltering in his blude?'
Lyes weltering in his blude,
Then eer I'll do this ill-faird face,
That stands straight by my side.'
It was baith keen and smart,
And he has wounded that gay ladye
A deep wound to the heart.
'To bury these two in,
And lay my ladye in the highest flat,
She's chiefest o the kin.
'To bury these two in;
Lay Munsgrove in the lowest flat,
He's deepest in the sin.
Wi staunchions round about,
And there is not a living man
Shall eer see me walk out.
Nor kame gang in my hair,
Nor burning coal nor candle light
Shine in my bower mair.'
M
Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xx, XXI.
When the nobles were a' drinking wine,
That Little Mushiegrove to the kirk he did go,
For to see the ladies come in.
N
Communicated by Miss Margaret Reburn, as heard in County Meath, Ireland, about 1860.
'And how do you like my sheets?
And how do you like my false ladie,
That lies in your arms asleep?'
And well I like your sheets;
But better than all your fair ladie,
That lies in my arms asleep.'
A. a.
32. in pale.
62. geight.
63. wilt wed.
92. or sinn.
173. thou fair.
293. on upper.
b.
14. Their masses and mattins.
22. omits private.
32. pale.
34. among.
44. I have.
54. Yet word I never durst.
62. daintily bedight.
71. lady fair.
72. you shew.
74. will I.
81. All this was heard by.
83. Quo he, though I am my ladies page.
84. my lord.
92. Although I lose a limb.
93. whereas.
104. thy none.
114. omits will.
143. when as the.
144. Away, thou little Musgrave.
153. Bernards horn.
164. to fold.
171. the perch.
173. thy fair.
182. lighted upon a stone.
194. Doest find my lady so sweet.
203. hunder'd pound.
214. That I killed.
253. not do.
254. Though I.
261. omits That: heart.
272. ne're were.
282. on a.
B.
54. Musgerue.
6 is written in the MS. after 8, but a marginal note by the scribe directs this stanza to be put two higher than it is written. Furnivall.
84. awaw.
93. out 3.
112. Between here and 123 half a page is gone.
134. all 3.
C.
a. The lamentable Ditty of Little Mousgrove and the Lady Barnet... London, printed for H. Gosson. Stanzas of eight lines.
b. London: printed for J. Clark, W. Thackeray, and T. Passenger.
c. A Lamentable Ballad of the Little Musgrove and the Lady Barnet... London, printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, and J. Clarke.
e. London: printed by and for W. O., and are to be sold by the Booksellers.
a.
153. might lay.
After 16: The second part.
b., c.
Musgrove throughout.
11. light wanting.
12. more be.
24. which did to the.
32. some came. c. pale.
33. The next: the lady.
34. c. among.
41. upon.
43. well thou perceived.
51. The: most wanting.
53. b. reply.
63. that you please.
72. my love.
81. b. my life: my death.
82. will lye.
84. c. my love to thee.
93. come.
94. While: doe wanting.
103. So he: doe wanting.
111. he said.
131. ran this.
133. b. He then.
133. his own.
142. c. he did.
144. bent his.
152. to the.
153. b. my say. c. may say.
162. there wanting. c. did make.
163. upon.
164. doth.
172. that thou. b. telst.
172. to wanting.
182. as wanting. b. to wanting.
183. shall be set up.
184. thou shalt.
192. thou hearest of. c. And a.
193. Never stay a pair of gallows to make. b. to wanting.
194. me on.
201. Lord Barnet calld his merry men all.
203. was so.
211. he said.
214. b. his deed.
221. to make no noise.
222. all... on wanting.
223. horn.
231. c. of them that.
233. him notice: was come.
234. wind the.
241. did sound.
243. if he.
264. into the.
273. awake: did espy. b. then he.
274. the beds.
282. cloathing.
283. c. never shall.
283. England fair.
284. That I.
291. b. Here is two swords.
292. c. The choice: Musgrove shall.
293. shall.
301. good wanting.
301, 3. that wanting.
312. did wanting.
313. And with: furious wise.
[Pg 260]324. she's the better skin: c. she is.
332. b. grieved. c. grievd.
333. c. death of these worthy.
341. c. mischief.
343. b. shun the.
344. And fly from sin.
d.
11. a high.
91. with this.
113. counsel, Madam.
212. my milk-white.
234. wind his bugle horn clear.
333. these three lovely.
e.
11. a high.
13. Little wanting.
33. Then next.
81. my life: my death.
133. He then.
153. might tell to.
192. that wanting.
264. unto the.
282. an for on.
291. Here is two.
292. Musgrove thy choice now make.
313. most wanting.
343. shun the.
E.
101. this tidings.
123. Banburry.
153. It neer.
182. struck her.
194. wud: (with it) in margin.
G.
101. (cam) to the green wood cam.
H.
131. Oh.
I.
93. old word.
K.
21. Corrupt: cf. A4, C4, D2, etc.
132. lay slain.
L.
94 On.
481. decks.
FOOTNOTES:
[136] C a was most obligingly copied, and C b collated, for me by Professor Skeat with his own hand.
[137] L, one of two copies in Buchan's MSS, would certainly have been but the slightest loss if omitted, as another, MSS II, 152, being a broadside made over for the stalls, has been.
[138] Pagani appellati interdum infantes quorum certis ex causis differebatur baptismus; Ducange, s. v. Pagani, who cites, Infans infirmus et paganus commendatus presbytero, etc. Ethnicus was used in the same way.
82
THE BONNY BIRDY
Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 42; Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 162.
Jamieson, in printing this ballad, gave the husband the name Lord Randal, made many changes, and introduced several stanzas, "to fill up chasms." But the chasms, such as they are, are easily leapt by the imagination, and Jamieson's interpolations are mere bridges of carpenter's work. The admirably effective burden is taken into the story at stanza 11. As Jamieson remoulds the ballad, it is no burden, but a part of the dialogue throughout.
The main part of the action is the same as in 'Little Musgrave.' The superior lyrical quality of the Scottish ballad makes up for its inferiority as a story, so that on the whole it cannot be prized much lower than the noble English ballad.
Cunningham has rewritten the ballad in his own style, pretending, as often, to have known another recited copy: 'Sir Hugh,' Songs of Scotland, II, 130.
Was riding oer the lee, diddle
An there he saw a bonny birdy,
Was singing upon a tree. diddle
O wow for day! diddle
An dear gin it were day! diddle
Gin it were day, an gin I were away!
For I ha na lang time to stay. diddle
What keeps you here so late?
Gin ye kent what was doing at hame,
I fear you woud look blate.'
My fair body to kill,
Whan I hae knights at my comman,
An ladys at my will?'
Sa loud's I hear you lee;
Your lady's a knight in her arms twa
That she lees far better nor the.'
How you lee upo my sweet!
[Pg 261] I will tak out my bonny bow,
An in troth I will you sheet.'
An a' your arrows yare,
I will flee till another tree,
Whare I can better fare.'
My bonny birdy, tell me:'
'O I was clecked in good green wood,
Intill a holly tree;
A gentleman my nest herryed,
An ga me to his lady.
He bade her feed me aft,
An ga her a little wee simmer-dale wanny,
To ding me sindle and saft.
I wot she fed me nought,
But wi a little wee simmer-dale wanny
She dang me sair an aft:
Gin she had deen as ye her bade,
I woudna tell how she has wrought.'
The live-lang simmer's night,
Till he came till his lady's bowr-door,
Then even down he did light:
The birdy sat on the crap of a tree,
An I wot it sang fu dight.
An dear gin it were day! diddle
Gin it were day, an gin I were away!
For I ha na lang time to stay.' diddle
An wish that you were away? diddle
Is no your hounds i my cellar,
Eating white meal an gray?' diddle
O wow, etc.
Eating good corn an hay?
An is nae your hawk i my perch-tree,
Just perching for his prey?
An is nae yoursel i my arms twa?
Then how can ye lang for day?'
An dear gin it were day! diddle
For he that's in bed wi anither man's wife
Has never lang time to stay.' diddle
An straiked it oer a strae,
An thro and thro the fa'se knight's waste
He gard cauld iron gae:
An I hope ilk ane sal sae be servd
That treats ane honest man sae.
The burden stands thus in the manuscript after the first stanza:
An dear gin it were day, diddle
Gin it were day, diddle
I were away,
For I ha na lang time to stay. diddle
131. nae you. (?)
83
CHILD MAURICE
A. 'Childe Maurice,' Percy MS., p. 346; Hales and Furnivall, II, 502.
B. 'Child Noryce,' Motherwell's MS., p. 255; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 282.
C. 'Bob Norice,' Motherwell's MS., p. 510.
D. 'Gill Morice,' Motherwell's MS., p. 480.
E. 'Chield Morice,' Motherwell's MS., p. 165; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 269.
F. a. 'Gil Morrice,' Percy's Reliques, III, 93, 1765. b. Letter of T. Gray, June, 1757 (?).
G. Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 18, three stanzas; Jamieson, in The Scots Magazine, 1803, LXV, 698, two stanzas.
A was printed from the Percy manuscript by Jamieson, in his Popular Ballads, I, 8. Of B Motherwell says, 1827: "By testimony of a most unexceptionable description, but which it would be tedious here to detail, the editor can distinctly trace this ballad as existing in its present shape at least a century ago."
In his preface to the copy of the ballad in the Reliques of Ancient Poetry (F), Percy remarks: "The following piece has lately run through two editions in Scotland, the second printed at Glasgow in 1755, 8vo. Prefixed to them both is an advertisement, setting forth that the preservation of this poem was owing 'to a lady, who favored the printers with a copy as it was carefully collected from the mouths of old women and nurses;' and 'any reader that can render it more correct or complete' is desired to oblige the public with such improvements. In consequence of this advertisement sixteen additional verses have been produced and handed about in manuscript, which are here inserted in their proper places." The copy printed in 1755[139] and earlier had already "received very considerable modern improvements," as Percy goes on to say, the most noticeable of which is a conclusion of eight stanzas, in the taste of the middle of the last century. These, as also the four stanzas which had been handed about in manuscript, are omitted from this reprint.
Home's tragedy of Douglas, produced in Edinburgh in 1756, was founded upon the story of Gil Morice, and the popularity of the play seems to have given vogue to the ballad.[140] The sophisticated copy passed into recitation, and may very likely have more or less infected those which were repeated from ear[Pg 264]lier tradition. An old woman (Mrs Thomson, the reciter of E), who was born about the time when the ballad was printed, told Motherwell that she had learned 'Chield Morice' in her infancy from her grandmother, but at a later period of her life committed to memory 'Gil Morice,' "which began, with young lasses like her, to be a greater favorite and more fashionable than the set which her grandmother and old folks used to sing."[141]
Gray writes to Mason, June, 1757 (?): "I have got the old Scotch ballad on which Douglas was founded; it is divine, and as long as from hence [Cambridge] to Aston."[142] He cites the first fifteen lines.
The copy in Smith's Scottish Minstrel, III, 106, is Herd's (Percy's), with omissions and changes. 'Child Nourice,' a fragment, in Buchan's MSS, I, 143, is of recent make.
The name of Barnard, a name, says Aytoun, quite foreign to Scotland, may have been adopted from 'Little Musgrave.' There is a marked similarity in the conclusion of the two ballads.
Aytoun, in his compilation, I, 147, 149, rejects the two stanzas, F 13, 14, beginning, "And when he came to broken brigue," as taken from 'Lady Maisry.' These stanzas are the most favorite of all commonplaces, and belong as much to one ballad as another. They occur in one version or another of 'Lord Ingram,' 'Little Musgrave,' 'The Clerk's Twa Sons,' etc., and wearisomely often in the ballads in Buchan's collection.
The popularity of 'Gil Morice' since the middle of the last century has caused the story to be localized. The green wood, says Motherwell, was believed to be "the ancient forest of Dundaff, in Stirlingshire, and Lord Barnard's castle to have occupied a precipitous cliff overhanging the Water of Carron, on the lands of Halbertshire." Gil Morice, "according to the unvarying traditions of the country, was remarkable for the extreme length and loveliness of his yellow hair." Motherwell considers that the embellishments of the ballad may have been suggested by these traditions. But why should not these traditions have been derived from the embellished ballad? There had already been nearly fourscore years for them to grow up at the date of the publication of his Minstrelsy.
B is translated by Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 11, Hausschatz, p. 222; F by Loève-Veimars, p. 316, with some retrenchment; Allingham's copy by Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 31.
A
Percy MS., p. 346; Hales and Furnivall, II, 502.
He hunted itt round about,
And noebodye that he ffound therin,
Nor none there was with-out.
. . . . . . .
And he tooke his siluer combe in his hand,
To kembe his yellow lockes.
That runneth lowlye by my knee,
Ffor thou shalt goe to Iohn Stewards wiffe
And pray her speake with mee.
. . . . . . .
I, and greete thou doe that ladye well,
Euer soe well ffroe mee.
As knotts beene knitt on a kell,
[Pg 265] Or marchant men gone to leeue London,
Either to buy ware or sell.
As any hart can thinke,
Or schoole-masters are in any schoole-house,
Writting with pen and inke:
Ffor if I might, as well as shee may,
This night I wold with her speake.
As greene as any grasse,
And bidd her come to the siluer wood,
To hunt with Child Maurice.
A ring of precyous stone,
And bidd her come to the siluer wood,
Let ffor no kind of man.'
Another while he ran,
Vntill he came to Iohn Stewards hall,
I-wis he neuer blan.
Hee ran vp hall and bower ffree,
And when he came to this lady ffaire,
Sayes, God you saue and see!
A message vnto thee;
And Child Maurice, he greetes you well,
And euer soe well ffrom mee.
As knotts beene knitt on a kell,
Or marchant-men gone to leeue London,
Either ffor to buy ware or sell.
As any hart can thinke,
Or schoolemasters [are] in any schoole,
Wryting with pen and inke.
As greene as any grasse,
And he bidds you come to the siluer wood,
To hunt with Child Maurice.
A ring of the precyous stone;
He prayes you to come to the siluer wood,
Let ffor no kind of man.'
Ffor Christes sake, I pray thee!
Ffor if my lord heare one of these words,
Thou must be hanged hye!'
And he wrote the words euerye one,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
'Make readye you my steede!'
I, and soe hee did to his chamberlaine,
'Make readye thou my weede!'
And he rode to the siluer wood,
And there he sought all about,
About the siluer wood.
Sitting vpon a blocke,
With a siluer combe in his hand,
Kembing his yellow locke[s.]
And sayd these words trulye:
'I doe not know your ladye,' he said,
'If that I doe her see.'
Alacke, how may this bee?
Ffor thou hast sent her loue-tokens,
More now then two or three.
As greene as any grasse,
And bade her come to the siluer woode,
To hunt with Child Maurice.
A ring of precyous stone,
And bade her come to the siluer wood,
Let ffor noe kind of man.
The tone of vs shall dye!'
[Pg 266] 'Now be my troth,' sayd Child Maurice,
'And that shall not be I.'
And dryed itt on the grasse,
And soe ffast he smote att Iohn Steward,
I-wisse he neuer [did] rest.
And dryed itt on his sleeue,
And the ffirst good stroke Iohn Stewart stroke,
Child Maurice head he did cleeue.
Went singing there beside,
And he rode till he came to that ladye ffaire,
Wheras this ladye lyed.
If that thou dost itt see?
And lapp itt soft, and kisse itt offt,
Ffor thou louedst him better than mee.'
Shee neuer spake words but three:
'I neuer beare no child but one,
And you haue slaine him trulye.'
I gaue meate, drinke, and clothe!
But cold they not haue holden me
When I was in all that wrath!
That euer bestrode a steed,
Soe haue I done one [of] the fairest ladyes
That euer ware womans weede!'
B
Motherwell's MS., p. 255; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 282. From the singing of Widow McCormick, Paisley, January 19, 1825. Learned by her of an old woman in Dumbarton: Motherwell's Note Book, fol. 4.
He wavers wi the wind;
His horse was silver-shod before,
With the beaten gold behind.
Saying, You don't see what I see;
For O yonder I see the very first woman
That ever loved me.
'Lined with the silver grey;
You may tell her to come to the merry green-wood,
To speak to Child Nory.
'It's all gold but the stane;
You may tell her to come to the merry green-wood,
And ask the leave o nane.'
But far better do I love my life;
O would ye have me go to Lord Barnard's castle,
To betray away his wife?'
'And don't I pay you fee?
How dare you stop my errand?' he says;
'My orders you must obey.'
He tinkled at the ring;
Who was as ready as Lord Barnard himself
To let this little boy in?
'Lined with the silver grey;
You are bidden to come to the merry green-wood,
To speak to Child Nory.
'It's all gold but the stane;
You are bidden to come to the merry green-wood,
And ask the leave o nane.'
[Pg 267]
And an angry man was he:
'O little did I think there was a lord in the world
My lady loved but me!'
And garments that was gay,
And he is away to the merry green-wood,
To speak to Child Nory.
He whistles and he sings:
'O wae be to me,' says Child Noryce,
'Yonder my mother comes!'
His mother to take off the horse:
'Och alace, alace,' says Child Noryce,
'My mother was neer so gross!'
That hung low down by his knee;
He cut the head off Child Noryce,
And put the body on a tree.
And to his ladie's hall,
He threw the head into her lap,
Saying, Lady, there's a ball!
She kissed it frae cheek to chin:
'Far better do I love this bloody head
Than all my royal kin.
In my virginity,
There came a lord into the North,
Gat Child Noryce with me.'
'And an ill death may you die;
For if you had told me he was your son,
He had neer been slain by me.'
C
Motherwell's MS., p. 510, from the singing of Mrs Storie, wife of William Storie, laborer, Lochwinnoch. A song of Mrs Storie's grandmother.
He is awa wi the wind;
His horse is siller-shod afore,
In the shynand gowd ahind.
I sie what ye dinna sie;
I see the [first] woman that I eer luvit,
Or ever luvit me.
They're o the siller-gray,
And tell her to cum to the merrie grein-wud
An speik to Bob Norice.
And it's aw gowd but the stane,
And tell her to cum to the merrie grein-wud,
And ask the leive o nane.
It's a' silk but the sleive,
And tell her to cum to the merrie green-wud,
And ax nae bauld Barnet's leive.'
I daurna gang for my lyfe;
I daurna gang to Lord Barnet's castell,
To twyne him o his wife.'
'Do I nae pay you fee?
How daur you stand my bidding, Sir,
Whan I bid you to flee?'
Sae sair agane my will,
I vow a vow, and I do protest,
It sall be dune for ill.'
He tinklet at the ring;
Tha war nane sae ready as Lord Barnet himsell
To let the wee calland in.
What news hae ye to me?'
'Nae news, nae news, Lord Barnet,' he said,
'But your ladie I fain would see.
[Pg 268]
Thay'r o the silver gray;
And tell her to cum to the merrie green-wud,
And speik to Bob Norice.
It's aw gowd but the stane;
And she maun cum to the merrie green-wud,
And speir the leive o nane.
It's aw silk but the sleive;
And she maun cum to the merrie grein-wud,
And ask not bauld Barnet's leive.'
Wi the babie on her knee,
Sayand, Gif thay be cum frae Bob Norice,
They are welcum to me.
Aloud an I heir ye lie;
For they're to Lord Barnet's lady,
I trew that this be she.'
And buskt him in woman's array,
And he's awa to the merrie green-wud,
To speik to Bob Norrice.
He is whissland and singand;
Says, Merrie, merrie may my hert be,
I see my mither cumand.
To help his mother to licht fra her horss;
'Och alace, alace,' says Bob Norice,
'My mither was neer sae gross!'
That hung down by his knee,
And he has cut Bob Norice heid
Aff frae his fair bodie.
And he brocht it to the ha,
And flang it into his lady's lap,
Sayand, Lady, there is a ba!
And kisst it frae cheik to chin,
Sayand, Better I lyke that well faurit face
Nor aw my royal kin.
A' in my dignity,
An Englis lord a visit came,
Gat Bob Norice wi me.'
And a wae, wae man was he,
Sayand, Gif I had kent he was your son,
He wuld neer been killit be me.
D
Motherwell's MS., p. 480, from the recitation of Widow Michael, a very old woman, as learned by her in Banffshire seventy years before. August, 1826.
With red gold shined his weed;
A bonnie boy him behind,
Dressing a milk-white steed.
Your name it waxes wide;
It is not for your rich, rich robes,
Nor for your meikle pride,
But all is for yon lord's ladie,
She lives on Ithan side.'
That I pay meat and fee;
You will run on to Ithan side
An errand unto me.'
Sae sair against my will,
I'll make a vow, and keep it true,
I'll do your errand ill.'
I fear nae ill of thee;
I fearna ill of my bonnie boy,
My sister's son are ye.
It's lined with the frieze;
[Pg 269] Ye'll bid her come to gude green-wood,
To talk with Gill Morice.
Her ain hand sewed the sleeve;
Ye'll bid her come to gude green-wood,
And ask not Burnard's leave.'
They were hailing at the ba,
And four and twenty gay ladyes
They lookd ower castle wa.
God mak you safe and sure;
But Burnard's lady amang you all,
My errand is to her.
It's a' lined wi the frieze;
Ye're bidden come to gude green-wood
And speak to Gill Morice.
Your ain hand sewed the sleeve;
Ye're bidden come to gude green-wood,
And ask not Burnard's leave.'
She winked with her ee:
'Welcome, welcome, bonnie boy,
With luve-tidings to me.
Sae loud's I hear ye lie;
It's to the lady of the house,
I'm sure ye are not shee.'
Behind the door stood he:
'I'll go unto gude green-wood,
And see what he may be.
Your petticoats so small,
And I'll go on to gude green-wood,
I'll try with him a fall.'
He whistled and he sang:
'I think I see the woman come
That I have loved lang.'
What now, and how do ye?
How lang hae ye my lady luved?
This day come tell to me.'
In green-wood amang the thyme,
I wot she was my first fair love
Or ever she was thine.
In green-wood amang the flouirs,
I wot she was my first fair love
Or ever she was yours.'
That he was used to wear,
And he's taen aff Gill Morice head,
And put it on a spear:
The soberest boy in a' the court
Gill Morice head did bear.
And brocht it in the ha,
And laid it in his lady's lap;
Said, Lady, tak a ba!
'Play ye frae ha to bower;
Play ye wi Gill Morice head,
He was your paramour.'
He was my son indeed;
I got him in my mother's bower,
And in my maiden-weed.
Wi meikle sin and shame;
I brocht him up in good green-wood,
Got mony a shower o rain.
And I will clap his chin;
I'll make a vow, and keep it true,
I'll never kiss man again.
And fond to see him sleep;
But I may walk about his grave,
The saut tears for to weep.'
[Pg 270]
Her heart is full of wae;'
'None of your cods, Burnet,' she says,
'But lay me on the strae.'
That wudna telled it me;
If I had known he was your son,
He had not been slain by me;
And for ae penny ye wud hae gien
I wud hae gien him three.'
'Your land and white monie;
There's land eneuch in Norroway
Lies heirless I wot the day.'
His mother died at een,
And or the mornin bells was rung
The threesome were a' gane.
E
Motherwell's MS., p. 165; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 269. From the recitation of Mrs Thomson, Kilbarchan, seventy years of age, as learned from her mother at the Water of Leven, Dumbarton, when she was ten years old. March, 1825.
His name it waxed wide;
It was nae for his parentage,
Nor yet his meikle pride,
But it was for a lady gay,
That lived on Carron side.
And you maun rin wi speed;
When other boys run on their feet,
On horseback ye shall ride.
And I love you as my life,
But I will not go to Lord Barnard's ha,
For to tryst forth his wife.
He neer could bide a taunt,
And ye shall see or it be late
How meikle ye'll hae to vaunt.'
And you must rin wi speed,
And if you don't obey my high command
I'll gar your body bleed.
It's a' gowd but the hem;
Bid her come speak to Chield Morice,
Bring naebody but her lane.
Her own hand sewed the sleeve;
Bid her come speak to Chield Morice,
Ask not the baron's leave.'
So sore against my will,
I've made a vow, and I'll keep it true,
It shall be done for ill.'
Tho he stood at the gate,
But straight he ran to the big hall,
Where great folk sat at meat.
My errand canna wait;
Dame, ye must go speak to Chield Morice,
Before it be too late.
It's a' goud but the hem;
Ye must come speak to Child Morice,
Bring nae body but your lane.
Your ain hand sewed the sleeve;
You must come speak to Chield Morice,
Ask not the baron's leave.'
And winked wi her ee,
But a' that she could say or do,
Forbidden he wad na be.
It canna be to me:'
'I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady,
And I trow that thou art she.'
Wi the bairn just on her knee:
[Pg 271] 'If this be come fra Chield Morice,
It's dear welcome to me.'
Sae loud's I hear thee lie;
I brought it to Lord Barnard's lady,
And I trow thou binna she.'
And an angry man was he;
He took the table wi his foot,
And keppd it wi his knee,
Till silver cup and ezar dish
In flinders they did flee.
That hings upon the pin,
And I'll awa to the good green-wood,
And crack wi your leman.'
I would have you stay at home;
Never wyte a man for violence douce
That never thought you wrong.'
No body saw he there
But Chield Morice, on a milk-white steed,
Combing down his yellow hair.
He whistled and he sang:
'O what means a' thir folks coming?
My mother tarries lang.'
'My lady loved thee weel;
For the whitest bit of my body
Is blacker than thy heel.
For a' thy gay beautie,
O nevertheless, Chield Morice,
Thy head shall go with me.'
Hung low down by his knee;
He struck Chield Morrice on the neck,
Till aff his head did flee.
And stuck it on a spear,
And the meanest man in a' his train
Gat Chield Morice head to bear.
Wi meikle dool and down,
And there she saw Chield Morice head,
Coming trailing to the town.
And dashed it gainst the wa:
'Come down, come down, you ladies fair,
And play at this foot-ba.'
And she kissed it both cheek and chin:
'I would rather hae a kiss o that bluidy head
Than a' thy earldom.
Wi meikle sin and shame,
And I brought him up in gay green-wood,
Beneath the heavy rain.
And fondly seen thee sleep,
But now I'll go about thy grave,
And sore, sore will I weep.'
And an ill deid may thou die!
For if ye had tauld me he was your son,
He should hae ridden and gane wi me.'
And an ill death may ye die!
He had lands and rents enew of his ain,
He needed nane fra thee.'
The heart that thought him ill,
The feet that carried me speedilie
This comely youth to kill.'
Lord Barnard died gin twall,
And bonnie boy now, Sweet Willie,
What's come o him I canna tell.
F
a. Percy's Reliques, III, 93, 1765. b. Letter of T. Gray to Mason, June, 1757 (?): Gray's Works, ed. Gosse, II, 316.
His name it waxed wide;
It was nae for his great riches,
Nor yet his mickle pride,
Bot it was for a lady gay,
That livd on Carron side.
That will win hose and shoen,
That will gae to Lord Barnard's ha,
And bid his lady cum?
And ye may rin wi pride;
When other boys gae on their foot,
On horseback ye sall ride.'
I dare nae for my life;
I'll no gae to the bauld baron's,
For to triest furth his wife.'
My dear Willie,' he sayd,
'How can ye strive against the stream?
For I sall be obeyd.'
'In grene-wod ye're your lain;
Gi owre sic thochts, I walde ye rede,
For fear ye should be tain.'
Bid hir cum here wi speid;
If ye refuse my heigh command,
I'll gar your body bleid.
'Tis a' gowd but the hem;
Bid hir cum to the gude grene-wode,
And bring nane bot hir lain.
Hir ain hand sewd the sleive;
And bid hir cum to Gill Morice,
Speir nae bauld baron's leave.'
Though it be to your cost;
Sen ye by me will nae be warnd,
In it ye sall find frost.
He neir could bide to taunt;
As ye will see, before it's nicht,
How sma ye hae to vaunt.
Sae sair against my will,
I'se mak a vow, and keip it trow,
It sall be done for ill.'
He bent his bow and swam;
And when [he] came to grass growing,
Set down his feet and ran.
Would neither chap nor ca,
Bot set his bent bow to his breist,
And lichtly lap the wa.
Though he stude at the gait;
Bot straiht into the ha he cam,
Whair they were set at meit.
My message winna waite;
Dame, ye maun to the gude grene-wod,
Before that it be late.
'Tis a' gowd bot the hem;
You maun gae to the gude grene-wode,
Evn by your sel alane.
Your ain hand sewd the sleive;
Ye maun gae speik to Gill Morice,
Speir nae bauld baron's leave.'
And winked wi hir ee;
But a' that she coud say or do,
Forbidden he wad nae bee.
It neir could be to me:'
'I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady;
I trow that ye be she.'
[Pg 273]
The bairn upon hir knee:
'If it be cum frae Gill Morice,
It's deir welcum to mee.'
Sae loud's I heire ye lee;
I brocht it to Lord Barnard's lady;
I trow ye be nae shee.'
An angry man was hee;
He's tain the table wi his foot,
Sae has he wi his knee,
Till siller cup and ezar dish
In flinders he gard flee.
That hings upon the pin,
And I'll gae to the gude grene-wode,
And speik wi your lemman.'
I warde ye bide at hame;
Neir wyte a man for violence
That neir wate ye wi nane.'
He whistled and he sang:
'O what mean a' the folk coming?
My mother tarries lang.'
Wi mickle dule and care,
And there he first spied Gill Morice,
Kameing his yellow hair.
My lady loed thee weel;
The fairest part of my body
Is blacker than thy heel.
For a' thy great bewty,
Ye's rew the day ye eir was born;
That head sall gae wi me.'
And slaited on the strae,
And thro Gill Morice fair body
He's gard cauld iron gae.
And set it on a speir;
The meanest man in a' his train
Has gotten that head to bear.
Laid him across his steid,
And brocht him to his painted bowr,
And laid him on a bed.
Beheld baith dale and doun,
And there she saw Gill Morice head
Cum trailing to the toun.
Bot and that yellow hair,
Than Lord Barnard, and a' his lands,
As they lig here and thair.'
And kissd baith mouth and chin:
'I was once as fow of Gill Morice
As the hip is o the stean.
Wi mickle sin and shame;
I brocht thee up in gude green-wode,
Under the heavy rain.
And fondly seen thee sleip;
Bot now I gae about thy grave,
The saut tears for to weip.'
And syne his bluidy chin:
'O better I loe my Gill Morice
Than a' my kith and kin!'
And an il deith mait ye dee!
Gin I had kend he'd bin your son,
He'd neir bin slain for mee.'
G
Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 18; Jamieson, in The Scots Magazine, 1803, LXV, 698, stanzas 1, 3.
He whistled and he sang:
'Whar sall I get a bonny boy
My errand for to gang?'
'Come, win ye hose and shoon,
And gae unto Lord Barnard's ha,
And bid his lady come.'
And cast it i the brim,
Syne gathered up her robes o green,
And fast she followed him.
A.
11. siluen: compare 73, 83, 143, 153, etc.
23, 4. In the MS., these go with 3: compare 20.
32. rumeth.
43, 4. These precede what is printed as 6.
51, 61, 121. out many.
63. as schoole masters: compare 133.
65, 6. These lines may be the last half of a stanza. There is nothing corresponding in the page's repetition of his master's message.
171, 2. Joined in the MS. with 18.
184. then my.
21. At least one stanza must be lost after 20.
221, 2 precede 21, and 223, 4 make a stanza with 213, 4: the order being 221, 2, 21, 223, 4.
224. 2 or 3.
261. Only half the n in the MS. Furnivall.
302. but 3.
321. curteouset.
And for & throughout.
B.
23. For is a later insertion.
23, 61. Oh.
61, 2. Originally, O do I not, And do I not.
93. to go to: come written over go.
132, 143. of.
142. That is a later insertion.
182. And is a later insertion.
184. Originally, He should neer have been.
C.
"This ballad was forwarded to me by my good friend Andrew Crawfurd, of John's Hill, Lochwinnoch. He wrote it from the recitation of Mrs Storie, wife of William Storie, laborer, in Lochwinnoch. It was a song of Mrs Storie's grandmother. It is queried if this should not be Babe Norice.... The interlineary corrections were made in consequence of Mrs Storie singing the ballad over to myself." Motherwell. The interlineary corrections have been adopted. The earlier readings follow.
Barnard for Barnet.
54. speir nae bauld baron's.
61. Barnard's ha.
83. and I doubly vow.
101. wee lad.
121. gay wanting.
131. braw manteil.
134. nae bauld baron's.
161. to a busking gane.
162. drest him.
191. Barnard liftit his.
193. has sneddit.
194. And aff frae his bodie.
204. lady wanting.
The affected spelling I suppose to be Crawfurd's.
74, 91. quhan.
In the Appendix to his Minstrelsy, p. xvii, Motherwell adopts the reading Babe Norice in 11, and prints burning gowd in 14.
D.
"This copy is from the recitation of Margaret Paterson, alias widow Michael, a very old woman residing at Dovecote Ha, Barhead. She is a native of Banffshire, and learned the ballad there in her infancy. She mentions that she has heard it sung with many variations, but this copy was considered to be the right way. It is seventy years since she committed it to her memory. 4th August, 1826." Motherwell.
E.
In his Minstrelsy, p. 269, Motherwell says that the reciter learned the ballad from her grandmother. He goes on to say: She mentions that at a later period of her life she also committed to memory 'Gill Morice,' which began with young lasses like her to be a greater favorite and more fashionable than the set which her grandmother and other old folks used to sing, under the title of 'Chield Morice.'
175. Written and dezar dish, the d of and being carried on to the word following.
193. douce makes no apparent sense. Motherwell prints done.
201. Stood originally And when he came to the green wood.
262. No doubt a corruption of the familiar Beheld baith dale and down.
294. heaviy, perhaps representing the actual sound. Motherwell prints heavy.
F. a.
In eight-line stanzas. Wh and y are substituted for the initial quh and z cherished by ballad imitators.
54. shall.
304. He's gar.
b.
12. fame it wexed.
14. Nae for.
16. Carron's.
31. Ye maun rin this.
32. maun rin.
33. feet.
41. Ah na, ah na.
The four stanzas which follow, "produced and handed about in manuscript," in consequence of an advertisement, were introduced into his copy by Percy.
After 26:
Drawne frae Minerva's loome;
His lipps like roses drapping dew,
His breath was a' perfume.
Gilt by the morning beam;
His cheeks like living roses glow,
His een like azure stream.
Sweete as the infant spring,
And like the mavis on the bush
He gart the vallies ring.
After 27:
That face beyond compare;
He sang sae sweet, it might dispel
A' rage but fell dispair.
The following stanzas were appended to the ballad in the edition reprinted by Percy:
Obraid me not for shame!
With that saim speir O pierce my heart,
And put me out o pain.
Thy jelous rage could quell,
Let that saim hand now tak hir life
That neir to thee did ill.
Will eir be saft or kind;
I'll fill the air with heavy sighs,
And greet till I am blind.'
Seek not your death frae mee;
I rather lourd it had been my sel
Than eather him or thee.
Sair, sair I rew the deid,
That eir this cursed hand of mine
Had gard his body bleid.
Ye neir can heal the wound;
Ye see his head upon the speir,
His heart's blude on the ground.
The heart that thocht the ill,
The feet that bore me wi sik speid
The comely youth to kill.
As gin he were my ain;
I'll neir forget the dreiry day
On which the youth was slain.'
The copy lent me by Mr Macmath lacks the four stanzas inserted by Percy, but has the eight given immediately above. The following are the variations from F.
21. will I.
74. thy body.
102. thy cost.
183. maun cum.
261. sits.
263. means a' these folks.
264. she tarrys.
271. And whan he cam to guid.
273. first saw.
274. Kemeing down.
282. Than my, misprint.
304. gard.
344. they lay.
354. hip was.
The eight stanzas follow which are printed immediately above.
FOOTNOTES:
[139] The edition of 1755 is not known now to exist. Mr David Laing showed Motherwell a copy, without place or date, with the title: Gill Morice, An Ancient Scots Poem. The foundation of the tragedy called Douglas, as it is now acted in the Concert-Hall, Canongate. There was no material difference between this edition and that which was reprinted in the Reliques, except that it lacked the four stanzas which Percy introduced. Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 259, note.
In Herd's MSS, I, 7, II, 70, there are half a dozen more stanzas, from The Weekly Magazine, August 13, 1772, which continue the story still further. My lady flings herself over a craig, my lord seeks death in battle. But, as Sir Walter Scott notes in the margin, these verses are "formed on the conclusion of Douglas, which tragedy is founded on the original ballad." These stanzas are printed by Jamieson, I, 21.
Mr Macmath has communicated to me an early copy of 'Gil Morice,' without place or date, in conjunction with a parody, entitled The Seven Champions of the Stage, printed in 1757, which satirizes Parson Home's efforts to get his Agis and his Douglas acted by Garrick. This copy of 'Gil Morice' might be another edition of that which Mr Laing possessed. Its variations, which are of slight consequence, will be given in the notes to F.
[140] The name of the heroine in the tragedy of Douglas was originally Lady Barnard, as in the ballad; it was altered to Lady Randolph when the play was produced in London. Motherwell, p. 257, note.
[141] Minstrelsy, p. 269, note. Mr Aytoun considers that E is only the copy printed in the middle of the last century purged, in the process of oral transmission, of what was not to the popular taste, "and altered more." There is no doubt that a copy learned from print may be transformed in this way, but it is certain that old tradition does not come to a stop when a ballad gets into print. Mrs Thomson's account of the matter Aytoun does not heed. It is difficult to understand why Aytoun printed the stanzas from Percy's Reliques, at I, 149 f, 2d ed., except as a simple courtesy to his correspondent.
[142] Already cited in The Ballad Minstrelsy of Scotland, Glasgow, 1871, p. 316.
84
BONNY BARBARA ALLAN
A. a. 'Bonny Barbara Allan,' Tea-Table Miscellany, IV, 46, ed. 1740; here from the edition of London, 1763, p. 343. b. 'Sir John Grehme and Barbara Allan,' Percy's Reliques, 1765, III, 131.
B. a. 'Barbara Allen's Cruelty,' etc., Roxburghe Ballads, II, 25; reprint of the Ballad Society, III, 433. b. Roxburghe Ballads, III, 522. c. Broadside formerly belonging to Percy. d. Percy's Reliques, 1765, III, 125.
C. 'Barbara Allan,' Motherwell's MS., p. 288, from recitation.
A a is wrongly said by Stenhouse, The Scots Musical Museum, IV, 213, to have appeared in Ramsay's Miscellany in 1724. It is not even in the edition of 1733, but, according to Mr Chappell, was first inserted in that of 1740. Ramsay's copy is repeated in Herd, 1769, p. 29, 1776, I, 19, Johnson's Museum, p. 230, No 221, and Ritson's Scotish Song, II, 196. C was perhaps derived from Ramsay, but possibly may have come down by purely oral tradition. Some later copies of B have Reading Town for Scarlet Town (Chappell).
The Scottish ballad is extended in Buchan's MSS, I, 90, Motherwell's MS., p. 671, to forty-one stanzas. In this amplified copy, which has no claim to be admitted here, the dying lover leaves his watch and gold ring, his Bible and penknife, a mill and thirty ploughs, nine meal-mills and the freights of nine ships, all to tocher Barbara Allan. This is the ballad referred to by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe in Stenhouse's edition of the Museum, IV, 300*, as sung by the peasantry of Allandale. Doubtless it was learned by them from some stall-print.
Pepys makes this entry in his Diary, January 2, 1666: "In perfect pleasure I was to hear her [Mrs Knipp, an actress] sing, and especially her little Scotch song of Barbary Allen." Goldsmith, in his third essay, 1765, p. 14, writes: The music of the finest singer is dissonance to what I felt when an old dairy-maid sung me into tears with 'Johnny Armstrong's Last Good-night,' or 'The Cruelty of Barbara Allen.'[143]
A b is translated by Loève-Veimars, p. 379, von Marées, p. 34; B d by Bodmer, I, 85.
A
a. The Tea-Table Miscellany, IV, 46, ed. 1740; here from the London edition of 1763, p. 343. b. Percy's Reliques, III, 131, ed. 1765, "with a few conjectural emendations from a written copy."
When the green leaves were a falling,
That Sir John Græme, in the West Country,
Fell in love with Barbara Allan.
To the place where she was dwelling:
'O haste and come to my master dear,
Gin ye be Barbara Allan.'
To the place where he was lying,
[Pg 277] And when she drew the curtain by,
'Young man, I think you're dying.'
And 'tis a' for Barbara Allan:'
'O the better for me ye's never be,
Tho your heart's blood were a spilling.
'When ye was in the tavern a drinking,
That ye made the healths gae round and round,
And slighted Barbara Allan?'
And death was with him dealing:
'Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,
And be kind to Barbara Allan.'
And slowly, slowly left him,
And sighing said, she coud not stay,
Since death of life had reft him.
When she heard the dead-bell ringing,
And every jow that the dead-bell geid,
It cry'd, Woe to Barbara Allan!
O make it saft and narrow!
Since my love died for me to-day,
I'll die for him to-morrow.'
B
a. Roxburghe Ballads, II, 25; reprint of the Ballad Society, III, 433. b. Roxburghe Ballads, III, 522. c. A broadside formerly belonging to Bishop Percy, d. Percy's Reliques, 1765, III, 125.
There was a fair maid dwelling,
Whom I had chosen to be my own,
And her name it was Barbara Allen.
When green leaves they was springing,
This young man on his death-bed lay,
For the love of Barbara Allen.
To the town where she was dwelling:
'You must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen.
And sorrow's in him dwelling,
And you must come to my master dear,
If your name be Barbara Allen.'
And sorrow's in him dwelling,
Then little better shall he be
For bonny Barbara Allen.'
And so slowly she came to him,
And all she said when she came there,
Young man, I think you are a dying.
'If you be Barbara Allen,
My dear,' said he, 'come pitty me,
As on my death-bed I am lying.'
What is that to Barbara Allen?
I cannot keep you from [your] death;
So farewell,' said Barbara Allen.
And death came creeping to him:
'Then adieu, adieu, and adieu to all,
And adieu to Barbara Allen!'
She heard the bell a ringing,
And it did seem to ring to her
'Unworthy Barbara Allen.'
And she spy'd the corps a coming:
'Lay down, lay down the corps of clay,
That I may look upon him.'
So loudly she lay laughing,
While all her friends cry'd [out] amain,
'Unworthy Barbara Allen!'
[Pg 278]
Then death came creeping to she:
'O mother, mother, make my bed,
For his death hath quite undone me.
To slight one that lovd me so dearly;
I wish I had been more kinder to him,
The time of his life when he was near me.'
And desired to be buried by him,
And repented her self before she dy'd,
That ever she did deny him.
C
Motherwell's MS., p. 288; from Mrs Duff, Kilbirnie, February 9, 1825.
When the woods grow green and yellow,
There came a wooer out of the West
A wooing to Barbara Allan.
Nor for your beauty bonny,
But it is all for your tocher good
I come so far about ye.'
Nor for my beauty bonnie,
My tocher good ye'll never get paid
Down on the board before ye.'
To see my white corn growing?
Or will ye go to the river-side,
To see my boats a rowing?'
And death's within him dealing,
And it is all for the sake of her,
His bonnie Barbara Allan.
Where that she was a dwelling:
'O you must come my master to see,
If you be Barbara Allan.'
And so stoutly as she gaed till him,
And so slowly as she could say,
'I think, young man, you're lying.'
And death within me dwelling;
And it is all for the love of thee,
My bonny Barbara Allan.'
Till she heard the dead-bell ringing:
'Och hone, oh hone, he's dead and gone,
For the love of Barbara Allan!'
A. b.
13. o the.
44. a wanting.
51. Remember ye nat in the tavern, sir.
52. Whan ye the cups wer fillan.
53. How ye.
64. And wanting.
71. Then hooly, hooly.
72. And hooly, hooly.
82. deid-bell knellan.
83. that wanting.
84. It wanting.
94. I 'se.
B. a.
Barbara Allen's Cruelty, or, The Youngman's Tragedy. With Barbara Allen's Lamentation for her Unkindness to her Lover and her Self.... Printed for P. Brooksby, J. Deacon, J. Blare, J. Back. Black Letter.
134. undone we.
b.
Barbara Allen's Cruelty, or, The Young Man's Tragedy. No name of printer.
13. for my own.
22. they were.
24. the sake of.
34. name is.
44. thy name is.
53. Then wanting.
61. she came to him.
63. came to him.
64. a wanting.
72. you are.
74. As I am on my death-bed lying.
81. If you are on your death-bed lying.
83. from your.
84. Then farewell: said wanting.
92. on him.
93. and wanting: to you all.
101. And wanting: out one day.
102. bells.
103. And they.
112. And saw.
113. corps said she.
123. cry'd out.
131. in his.
134. will quite undo me.
141. A wanting.
143. more kind.
144. In time of life.
153. eer.
A sad feud she fell in;
She said, I pray take warning by
Hard-hearted Barbara Allen.
c.
Title the same as in a. Printed and sold at the Printing-office in Bow-Church-Yard, London.
13. for my own.
22. they wore.
34. name is.
43. And thou.
44. thy name is.
53. O little.
61. she came to him.
63. came to him.
64. a wanting.
72. you are.
74. As I am on my death-bed lying.
83. from your.
84. Then farewell: said wanting.
92. on him.
93. to you all.
101. And wanting: out one day.
102. bells.
103. And they.
112. And espy'd.
113. corps said she.
123. cry'd out.
134. will quite undo me.
141. A wanting.
143. more kind.
144. In time of life.
154. eer.
16 as in b.
d was "given, with some corrections, from an old printed copy in the editor's possession." That these corrections were considerable, we know from the [asterism] at the end. The old printed copy is very likely to have been c, and, if so, the ballad was simply written over. It does not seem necessary to give the variations under the circumstances. In 23 Percy has Yong Jemmye Grove.
C.
21. bonny should perhaps be comely, as in 31.
42. Originally written To see my white... courting.
52. Originally dwelling.
53. Originally it's.
54. The is written over His, probably as a conjecture.
72. After stoutly, slowly? as a conjectural emendation.
74. lying. 'An ingenious friend' of Percy's suggested the transposition of lying and dying in A 32, 4.
FOOTNOTES:
[143] Pepys is cited by James Farquhar Graham, The Scottish Songs, II, 157, and Goldsmith by Chappell, The Roxburghe Ballads, III, 433.
85
LADY ALICE
A. 'Lady Alice.' a. Bell's Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 127. b. Notes and Queries, Second Series, I, 418. c. Notes and Queries, Second Series, I, 354.
B. 'Giles Collins and Proud Lady Anna,' Gammer Gurton's Garland, p. 38, ed. 1810.
This little ballad, which is said to be still of the regular stock of the stalls, is a sort of counterpart to 'Lord Lovel.' A writer in Notes and Queries, Second Series, I, 418, says: This old song was refined and modernized by the late Richard Westall, R. A.
A
a. Bell's Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 127, a stall copy. b. Edward Hawkins, in Notes and Queries, Second Series, I, 418. c. Notes and Queries, Second Series, I, 354, as heard sung forty years before 1856, "Uneda," Philadelphia.
Mending her midnight quoif,
And there she saw as fine a corpse
As ever she saw in her life.
What bear ye on your shoulders?'
'We bear the corpse of Giles Collins,
An old and true lover of yours.'
[Pg 280]
All on the grass so green,
And tomorrow, when the sun goes down,
Lady Alice a corpse shall be seen.
All for my love so true,
And make me a garland of marjoram,
And of lemon-thyme, and rue.'
Lady Alice all in the west,
And the roses that grew on Giles Collins's grave,
They reached Lady Alice's breast.
And he severed those roses in twain;
Sure never were seen such true lovers before,
Nor eer will there be again.
B
Gammer Gurton's Garland, p. 38, ed. 1810.
Mother, come bind up my head,
And send to the parson of our parish,
For tomorrow I shall be dead. dead,
For tomorrow I shall be dead.
And stirrd it round with a spoon;
Giles Collins he ate up his water-gruel,
And died before 't was noon.
Mending her night-robe and coif;
She saw the very prettiest corpse
She'd seen in all her life.
Upon your shoulders so high?'
'We bear the body of Giles Collins,
Who for love of you did die.'
'On the grass that grows so green;
Tomorrow, before the clock strikes ten,
My body shall lye by hisn.'
Giles Collins was buried in the west;
There grew a lilly from Giles Collins
That touchd Lady Anna's breast.
And cut this lilly in twain,
Which never there was seen before,
And it never will again.
A. a.
12. At midnight mending her quoif.
b.
12. Mending her midnight coif.
33. before the sun.
4. wanting.
53. grow, misprinted.
61. pass by.
62. And severd these.
64. ever there will.
c.
11. at her.
12. A mending her midnight coif.
13. the finest corpse.
14. That ever.
22. Upon your shoulders strong.
23. Sir Giles.
3, 4. wanting.
51. Lady Alice was.
52. Giles Collins all.
53. A lily grew out of.
54. And touched.
6. wanting.
86
YOUNG BENJIE
A. 'Young Benjie,' Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 251, ed. 1803; III, 10, ed. 1833.
B. 'Bondsey and Maisry,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 265.
'Verkel Vejemandsøn,' Grundtvig, IV, 151, No 198, invites a comparison with 'Young Benjie,' although the ballads, in the form in which they are now extant, are widely divergent. Verkel Vejemandsøn, seeing maid Gundelild shining in her virgin crown, makes a fiendish vow to rob her of it. He rides up to her house and asks where her father and mother are. They are away from home. He carries her off on his horse into the thickest of a wood, and bids her hold the beast while he makes a bed of leaves. He loses her in the thicket, and cannot find her, though he looks for her a day and two days. She goes to the strand and throws herself into the sea, saying, It was a very different bride-bed that my mother meant me to have. She is drawn out in a fisherman's net. Verkel swears that he has not seen her for eight years, but he is convicted of his crime, on evidence not given, and "clothes three stakes;" that is, he is hanged, and parts of his body are exposed on the wheels which crown the three posts of a gallows.
Sir Walter Scott's observations on the passage in which the drowned maid reveals the author of her death are too interesting to be spared:
"In this ballad the reader will find traces of a singular superstition, not yet altogether discredited in the wilder parts of Scotland. The lykewake, or watching a dead body, in itself a melancholy office, is rendered, in the idea of the assistants, more dismally awful by the mysterious horrors of superstition. In the interval betwixt death and interment, the disembodied spirit is supposed to hover round its mortal habitation, and, if invoked by certain rites, retains the power of communicating, through its organs, the cause of its dissolution. Such inquiries, however, are always dangerous, and never to be resorted to unless the deceased is suspected to have suffered foul play, as it is called. It is the more unsafe to tamper with this charm in an unauthorized manner, because the inhabitants of the infernal regions are, at such periods, peculiarly active. One of the most potent ceremonies in the charm, for causing the dead body to speak, is setting the door ajar, or half open. On this account the peasants of Scotland sedulously avoid leaving the door ajar while a corpse lies in the house. The door must either be left wide open or quite shut; but the first is always preferred, on account of the exercise of hospitality usual on such occasions. The attendants must be likewise careful never to leave the corpse for a moment alone, or, if it is left alone, to avoid, with a degree of superstitious horror, the first sight of it.
"The following story, which is frequently related by the peasants of Scotland, will illustrate the imaginary danger of leaving the door ajar. In former times a man and his wife lived in a solitary cottage on one of the extensive Border fells. One day the husband died suddenly, and his wife, who was equally afraid of staying alone by the corpse, or leaving the dead body by itself, repeatedly went to the door, and looked anxiously over the lonely moor for the sight of some person approaching. In her confusion and alarm she accidentally left the door ajar, when the corpse suddenly started up and sat in the bed, frowning and grinning at her frightfully. She sat alone, crying bitterly, unable to avoid the fascination[Pg 282] of the dead man's eye, and too much terrified to break the sullen silence, till a Catholic priest, passing over the wild, entered the cottage. He first set the door quite open, then put his little finger in his mouth, and said the paternoster backwards; when the horrid look of the corpse relaxed, it fell back on the bed, and behaved itself as a dead man ought to do.
"The ballad is given from tradition. I have been informed by a lady of the highest literary eminence [Miss Joanna Baillie], that she has heard a ballad on the same subject, in which the scene was laid upon the banks of the Clyde. The chorus was,
and the watching of the dead corpse was said to have taken place in Bothwell church."
A is translated by Schubart, p. 164; by Gerhard, p. 88; by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 31.
A
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, III, 251, ed. 1803; III, 10, ed. 1833. From tradition.
The fairest was Marjorie,
And Young Benjie was her ae true-love,
And a dear true-love was he.
And loved fu constantlie;
But ay the mair, when they fell out,
The sairer was their plea.
Till Marjorie's heart grew wae,
And she said she'd chuse another luve,
And let Young Benjie gae.
And thought o't bitterlie,
And he's gaen by the wan moon-light
To meet his Marjorie.
O open, and let me in!'
'I dare na open, Young Benjie,
My three brothers are within.'
Sae loud 's I hear ye lie;
As I came by the Lowden banks,
They bade gude een to me.
That I hae loved sae lang!
It sets ye chuse another love,
And let Young Benjie gang.'
The tear blinding her ee:
'I darena, darena let thee in,
But I'll come down to thee.'
O what ill hae I done?
He took her in his armis twa,
And threw her oer the linn.
And laith, laith to be dang,
But ere she wan the Lowden banks
Her fair colour was wan.
'O see na ye what I see?'
And out then spak her second brother,
'It's our sister Marjorie!'
'O how shall we her ken?'
And out then spak her youngest brother,
'There's a honey-mark on her chin.'
And laid it on the grund:
'O wha has killed our ae sister,
And how can he be found?
The morn her burial day,
And we maun watch at mirk midnight,
And hear what she will say.'
And torches burning clear,
[Pg 283] The streikit corpse, till still midnight,
They waked, but naething hear.
The cocks began to craw,
And at the dead hour o the night
The corpse began to thraw.
Or dared the deadly sin?
Wha was sae stout, and feared nae dout,
As thraw ye oer the linn?'
I laid my love upon;
He was sae stout and proud-hearted,
He threw me oer the linn.'
Sall we Young Benjie hang?
Or sall we pike out his twa gray een,
And punish him ere he gang?'
Ye mauna Benjie hang,
But ye maun pike out his twa gray een,
And punish him ere he gang.
And lead him out and in,
And the best ae servant about your house
To wait Young Benjie on.
Ye'll tak him to the linn;
For that's the penance he maun drie,
To scug his deadly sin.'
B
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 265.
Now come along wi me;
And we'll gae seek our sister Maisry,
Into the water o Dee.'
He stepped to the knee;
Then out he jumpd upo the bank,
Says, This water's nae for me.
He stepped to the quit;
Then out he jumpd upo the bank,
Says, This water's wondrous deep.
He stepped to the chin;
Out he got, and forward wade,
For fear o drowning him.
Took's sister by the hand;
Said, Here she is, my sister Maisry,
Wi the hinny-draps on her chin.
And in some strange countrie,
For to find out some conjurer,
To gar Maisry speak to me!'
As she was passing by:
'Ask of your sister what you want,
And she will speak to thee.'
That did your body win?
And who is the wretch, tell me, likewise,
That threw you in the lin?'
That did my body win;
And likewise Bondsey was the man
That threw me in the lin.'
Or will we Bondsey hang?
Or will we set him at our bow-end,
Lat arrows at him gang?'
Nor will ye Bondsey hang;
But ye'll take out his twa grey een,
Make Bondsey blind to gang.
A rose garland gar make,
And ye'll put that in Bondsey's head,
A' for your sister's sake.'
87
PRINCE ROBERT
A. 'Prince Robert,' Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 124, ed. 1802; III, 269, ed. 1833.
B. 'Earl Robert,' Motherwell's MS., p. 149; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 200.
C. 'Lord Robert and Mary Florence,' Motherwell's MS., p. 321.
D. 'Prince Robert,' Harris MS., fol. 29.
Prince Robert's mother poisons him because he has married against her will. He sends for his bride to come, but she is in time only for the funeral. The mother will give her nothing of her son's, not even the ring on his finger, all that she asks for. The bride's heart breaks before the mother's face.
There are other ballad-stories of a mother's poisoning because of displeasure at a son's match, but I know of none which demands comparison with this very slender tale.
A is translated by Schubart, p. 122; by Doenniges, p. 57; A and B combined by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 36.
A
Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 124, ed. 1802; III, 269, ed. 1833: from the recitation of Miss Christian Rutherford.
He has wedded her with a ring;
Prince Robert has wedded a gay ladye,
But he daur na bring her hame.
Your blessing now grant to me!'
'Instead of a blessing ye sall have my curse,
And you'll get nae blessing frae me.'
To fill a glass of wine;
She has called upon her fause steward,
To put rank poison in.
And to her roudes chin;
She has put it to her fause, fause mouth,
But the never a drop gaed in.
And to his bonny chin,
He's put it to his cherry lip,
And sae fast the rank poison ran in.
Your ae son and your heir;
O ye hae poisoned your ae son, mother,
And sons you'll never hae mair.
That will win hose and shoon,
To rin sae fast to Darlinton,
And bid Fair Eleanor come?'
That wad win hose and shoon,
'O I'll away to Darlinton,
And bid Fair Eleanor come.'
And tirled at the pin;
And wha was sae ready as Eleanor's sell
To let the bonny boy in?
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.'
The langest that ever were gane;
[Pg 285] But the steed it was wight, and the ladye was light,
And she cam linkin in.
And into Sillertoun ha,
The torches were burning, the ladies were mourning,
And they were weeping a'.
And where now can he be?
O where is now my wedded lord?
For him I canna see.'
'And just gane to be laid in the clay;
Your wedded lord is dead,' she says,
'And just gane to be buried the day.
Ye'se get nae thing frae me;
Ye'se na get an inch o his gude broad land,
Tho your heart suld burst in three.'
I want nae land frae thee;
But I'll hae the ring that's on his finger,
For them he did promise to me.'
Ye'se na get them frae me;
Ye'se na get the ring that's on his finger,
An your heart suld burst in three.'
And her face unto a rock,
And there, before the mother's face,
Her very heart it broke.
The tother in Marie's quair,
And out o the tane there sprang a birk,
And out o the tother a brier.
The birk but and the brier,
And by that ye may very weel ken
They were twa lovers dear.
B
Motherwell's MS. p. 149; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 200; from the recitation of Mrs Thomson, Kilbarchan, a native of Bonhill, Dumbartonshire, aged betwixt sixty and seventy.
As eer 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,
But he dare na bring her hame.
To bring her a pint o wine:
'For I dinna weel ken what hour of the day
That my son Earl Robert shall dine.'
But an her fause, fause chin;
She's put it to her fause, fause lips,
But never a drap went in.
Aye and his bonny chin;
He's put it to his red rosy lips,
And the poison went merrily doun.
That will win hose and shoon,
That will gang quickly to Sittingen's Rocks,
And bid my lady come?'
To Earl Robert was something akin:
'Many a time have I ran thy errand,
But this day wi the tears I'll rin.'
To the middle of a' the ha,
There were bells a ringing, and music playing,
And ladies dancing a'.
What news have ye to me?
Is Earl Robert in very good health,
And the ladies of your countrie?'
And as weel as a man can be;
But his mother this night has a drink to be druken,
And at it you must be.'
[Pg 286]
To bring her a riding-weed,
And she called to her stable-groom,
To saddle her milk-white steed.
To the middle of a' the ha,
There were bells a ringing, and sheets doun hinging,
And ladies mourning a'.
'Nor none of his white monie,
Excepting a ring of his smallest finger,
If that you will grant me.'
'Nor none of his white monie;
Thou'll not get a ring of his smallest finger,
Tho thy heart should break in three.'
Her back unto a tree;
She set her foot unto a stane,
And her heart did break in three.
The other in Mary's quire;
Out of the one there grew a birk,
From the other a bonnie brier.
Till their twa craps drew near;
So all the warld may plainly see
That they loved each other dear.
C
Motherwell's MS., p. 321, from Agnes Laird, Kilbarchan, June 21, 1825.
They were twa children young;
They were scarse seven years of age
Till love began to spring.
And she lovd him above power;
But he durst not for his cruel mother
Bring her unto his bower.
As good as ever was rode or gane,
But the lord being light, and the steed being swift,
Lord Robert was hame gin noon.
'A blessing I do crave!'
'A blessing, a blessing, my son Lord Robert,
And a blessing thou shalt have.'
To fill up a glass of wine,
And so clever was her cursed fingers
To put the rank poison in.
'For working such a wae;
For poisoning of your son Lord Robert,
And children you have nae mae.
That'll rin him my errands sune?
That will rin unto Strawberry Castle,
And tell Mary Florence to cum?'
Your eldest sister's son,
That will rin unto Strawberry Castle,
And tell Mary Florence to come.'
He tirled at the pin,
And so ready was Mary Florence hersell
To open and let him in.
What news hast thou brocht here?'
With sichin and sabbin and wringing his hands,
No message he could refer.
'I cannot weel declair;
But my grandmother has prepard a feast,
And fain she would hae thee thair.'
To dress her swiftest steed;
[Pg 287] For she knew very weel by this pretty little boy
That Lord Robert was dead.
She tirled at the pin,
And so ready was Lord Robert's mother
To open and let her in.
'What news has thou to me?'
'I came to see your son Lord Robert,
And fain would I him see.
Nor for his white monie,
But for the ring on his wee finger,
And fain would I it see.'
That ring thou'll never see;
For death was so strong in Lord Robert's breast
That the gold ring burst in three.'
Her back unto a tree;
Before she left Knotingale Castle
Her heart it brak in three.
D
Harris MS., fol. 29, from the recitation of Mrs Molison.
An he daurna bring her hame;
The queen ...
His mither was much to blame.
I dinna ken what it is here,
To like your wife better than your mither,
That... bought you sae dear.'
An tippet her wi a ring,
To bring to her the rank poison,
To gie Prince Robert a dram.
She put it to her chin;
She put it to her fause, fause lips,
But neer a drap gaed in.
She put it to his chin;
She put it to his rosy lips,
An the rank poison gaed in.
Wha will win meat an fee,
Wha will rin on to... bower,
Bring my gude ladie to me?'
Willin to win meat an fee,
Wha will rin on to... bower,
An bring your gude ladie.'
Tak aff your coat an swim;
An whan you come to grass growin,
Tak aff your shoon an rin.'
He coost his coat an swam,
An whan he cam to grass growin,
Set doon his feet an ran.
He fand her a' her lane,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
A.
131, 133. Oh.
163, 171, 173. ring, ed. 1802; rings, ed. 1833.
B.
22. Changed in the MS. to O bring me.
72, 112. a' added later.
92. a added later.
153. grew an; the next word looks like buk, but is erased, and birk substituted. Motherwell printed bush.
88
YOUNG JOHNSTONE
A. 'The Cruel Knight,' Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 305; I, 165, ed. 1776.
B. a. 'Young Johnstone,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 193. b. 'The Young Johnstone,' Finlay's Scottish Historical and Romantic Ballads, II, 71.
C. 'Sweet William and the Young Colonel,' Motherwell's MS., p. 310.
D. 'Johnston Hey and Young Caldwell,' Motherwell's MS., p. 639.
E. 'Lord John's Murder,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 20.
F. 'Young Johnston,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xx, XVIII, one stanza.
Pinkerton inserted Herd's 'Cruel Knight,' A, in his Select Scotish Ballads, I, 69, with alterations and omissions. Motherwell enters in his Note-Book, p. 6, that he had received from Mrs Gentles, Paisley, 'The Young Johnstone,' "different in some measure from the copy in Finlay's Ballads." Of the version printed in his Minstrelsy (B a), undoubtedly that which was derived from Mrs Gentles, he says, "for a few verbal emendations recourse has been had to Mr Finlay's copy (B b)." These versions should therefore not have differed considerably, Finlay suppressed "Young Johnstone's reason for being sae late a coming in," "as well as a concluding stanza of inferior merit;" in this rejection he was not followed by Motherwell. Christie, I, 156, gives E "with some alterations from the way it was sung" by an old woman; petty variations, such as one must think could not have impressed themselves upon a memory unapt to retain things of more importance. 'Young Johnstone' in Chambers's Twelve Romantic Scottish Ballads, p. 19, is made up mostly from B a, B b, E, like the copy in the same editor's Scottish Ballads, p. 293, but handles tradition very freely.
E seems to be A altered, or imperfectly remembered, with the addition of a few stanzas. Motherwell remarks of his version, what is true of all the others but E, that the ballad throws no light on Young Johnstone's motive for stabbing his lady. An explanation was afforded by the reciter: "The barbarous act was committed unwittingly, through Young Johnstone's suddenly waking from sleep, and, in that moment of confusion and alarm, unhappily mistaking his mistress for one of his pursuers." And this is the turn which is given to the act in E 13:
To come sae hastilie!
I thought it was my deadly foe,
Ye had trysted into me.'
The apology may go for what it is worth. Awake or waking, Young Johnstone's first instinct is as duly to stab as a bull-dog's is to bite.
C 5, 9, 13 are taken from 'The Lass of Roch Royal:' cf. No 76, B 17, C 2, E 9, H 3. D 6 recalls 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William,' No 74, A 8, B 11; A 13, B 25, C 26, D 30, E 15, 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' No 73, B 34, D 17; D 31, 32, 'The Twa Brothers,' No 49, B 4, C 4, 5, D 5, 7, E 6, 7, F 5, 6, G 4, 5.
A, with the last two stanzas of B a, is translated by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 27; E by Gerhard, p. 157; Aytoun, II, 110 by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 30, p. 94, with abridgment; Pinkerton's copy by Grundtvig, No 20, p. 136.
A
Herd's Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 305.
As he was for to ryde,
When out then came his fair lady,
Desiring him to byde.
How can I byde with thee?
Have I not killd thy ae brother?
Thou hadst nae mair but he.'
Alas, and woe is me!
But if I save your fair body,
The better you'll like me.'
Pinnd with a siller pin,
And she's up to her highest tower,
To watch that none come in.
And entered in her tower,
When four and twenty armed knights
Came riding to the door.
I pray you tell to me,
Saw you not a wounded knight
Come riding by this way?'
And bloody were his hands;
But if the steed he rides be good,
He's past fair Scotland's strands.
And take some bread and wine;
The better you will him pursue
When you shall lightly dine.'
We thank you for your wine;
I would gie thrice three thousand pounds
Your fair body was mine.'
Her husband dear to meet;
But he drew out his bloody sword,
And wounded her sae deep.
What aileth thee at me?
Have you not got my father's gold,
But and my mother's fee?'
O live but half an hour,
There's neer a leech in fair Scotland
But shall be at thy bower.'
How can I live for thee?
See you not where my red heart's blood
Runs trickling down my knee?'
B
a. Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 193, from the recitation of Mrs Gentles, Paisley, b. Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 71, from two recited copies.
Sat drinking at the wine:
'O gin ye wad marry my sister,
It's I wad marry thine.'
For a' your houses and land;
But I'll keep her for my leman,
When I come oer the strand.
For a' your gowd so gay;
But I'll keep her for my leman,
When I come by the way.'
Hung low down by his gair,
And he stabbed it through the young Colnel,
That word he neer spak mair.
He's tirled at the pin:
'Whare hae ye been, my dear brither,
Sae late a coming in?'
[Pg 290] 'I hae been at the school, sister,
Learning young clerks to sing.'
I wish it may be for good;
They were seeking you with hawks and hounds,
And the young Colnel was dead.'
As I trow well they be;
For I have killed the young Colnel,
And thy own true-love was he.'
O dule and wae is me!
But I wish ye may be hanged on a hie gallows,
And hae nae power to flee.'
He's tirled at the pin:
'Whar hae ye been, my dear Johnstone,
Sae late a coming in?'
'It's I hae been at the school,' he says,
'Learning young clerks to sing.'
'I wish it may be for good;
They were seeking you with hawks and hounds,
And the young Colnel was dead.'
As I trow well they be;
For I hae killed the young Colnel,
And thy ae brother was he.'
O dule and wae is me!
But I care the less for the young Colnel,
If thy ain body be free.
Come in and take a sleep;
And I will go to my casement,
And carefully I will thee keep.'
No not for half an hour,
When four and twenty belted knights
Came riding to the bower.
Well may you sit and say;
Did you not see a bloody squire
Come riding by this way?'
'What colour were his hounds?
What colour was the gallant steed,
That bore him from the bounds?'
And bloody were his hounds;
But milk-white was the gallant steed,
That bore him from the bounds.'
And bloody were his hounds;
And milk-white was the gallant steed,
That bore him from the bounds.
And take some bread and wine;
And the steed be swift that he rides on,
He's past the brig o Lyne.'
We thank you for your wine;
But I wad gie thrice three thousand pound
That bloody knight was taen.'
Lie still and take a sleep;
For thy enemies are past and gone,
And carefully I will thee keep.'
Hung low down by his gair,
And he stabbed it in fair Annet's breast,
A deep wound and a sair.
What aileth thee at me?
Hast thou not got my father's gold,
Bot and my mither's fee?'
Now live but half an hour,
And there's no a leech in a' Scotland
But shall be in thy bower.'
Young Johnstone, do not you see
The red, red drops o my bonny heart's blood
Rin trinkling down my knee?
[Pg 291]
And harp out owre yon plain,
And neer think mair on thy true-love
Than if she had never been.'
And on his saddle set,
Till four and twenty broad arrows
Were thrilling in his heart.
C
Motherwell's MS., p. 310, from the recitation of Jeanie Nicol, May 4, 1825.
One day was drinking wine:
'It's I will marry your sister,
If ye will marry mine.'
Altho her hair he brown;
But I'll keep her for my liberty-wife,
As I ride thro the town.'
He leaned quite low to the ground,
And he has given the young Colnel
A deep and a deadly wound.
Till he came to his mother's bower;
'O open, open, mother,' he says,
'And let your auld son in.
And the dew draps on my chin,
And trembling stands the gallant steed
That carries me from the ground.'
'What harm now hast thou done?'
'Oh I hae killed the young Colnel,
And his heart's blood sair does run.'
Nae shelter ye'll get frae me;
May the two-edged sword be upon your heart,
That never hath power to flee!'
Till he came to his sister's bower;
'Oh open, open, sister,' he says,
'And let your brother in.
And the dew draps on my chin,
And trembling stands the gallant steed
That carries me from the ground.'
'What harm now hast thou done?'
'Oh I have killed the young Colnel,
And his heart's blood sair doth run.'
Nae shelter ye'll get frae me;
May the two-edged sword be upon your heart,
That never hath power to flee!'
Till he came to his true-love's bower;
'Oh open, oh open, my true-love,' he says,
'And let your sweetheart in.
And the dew draps on my chin,
And trembling stands the gallant steed
That carries me from the ground.'
'What harm now hast thou done?'
'Oh I hae killed thy brother dear,
And his heart's blood sair doth run.'
It's oh and alace for me!
But between the blankets and the sheets
It's there I will hide thee!'
She's led him thro chambers three,
Until she came to her own chamber:
'It's there I will hide thee.
'Lye down and take a sleep;
It's owre the chamber I will watch,
Thy fair bodie to keep.'
[Pg 292]
An hour but only three,
Till four and twenty belted knichts
Did seek his fair bodie.
'Or did you see the hounds?
Or did you see that gallant steed,
That last rade thro the town?'
'What colour was the hounds?
What colour was the gallant steed,
That's far yont London toun?'
'And light grey was the hounds,
But milk-white was the gallant steed
That's far yont London town.'
'Rise up, and go away;
For four and twenty belted knights
Were seeking thy bodye.'
He leaned it quite low to the ground,
And he has given his own true-love
A deep and a deadly wound.
'What harm now have I done?
I never harmed a hair of your head
Since ever this love began.'
Oh live but half an hour,
And the best doctor in London town
Shall come within thy bower.'
How can I live half an hour?
For don't you see my very heart's blood
All sprinkled on the floor?'
He leaned it quite low to the ground,
And he has given his own bodie
A deep and a deadly wound.
D
Motherwell's MS., p. 639, from the recitation of an Irishwoman, wife of John French, a porter at the quay of Ayr.
Were drinking o the wine:
'O will ye marry my sister?
And I will marry thine.'
Altho her locks are broun;
But I'll make her my concubine,
As I ride through the toun.'
That hang down by his knee,
And he has run the Young Caldwell
Out through the fair bodie.
By the clear light o the moon,
Until he came to his mother's door,
And there he lichtit doun.
'Sae late and far in the night?'
'O I hae been at yon new slate house,
Hearing the clergy speak.'
'I doubt it bodes nae gude;
That your ain room was fu o red swine,
And your bride's bed daubd wi blude.'
'It bodeth meikle ill;
And I hae slain a Young Caldwell,
And they're seeking me to kill.'
Alace and wae is me!
But gin your fair body's free frae skaith,
The easier I will be.'
By the clear licht o the mune,
Until he cam to his sister's bower,
And there he lichtit doun.
[Pg 293]
'Sae late and far in the night?'
'O I hae been in yon new slate house,
Hearing the clergy speak.'
'I doubt it bodes nae gude;
I dreamd the ravens eat your flesh,
And the lions drank your blude.'
'It bodeth meikle ill;
And I hae slain a Young Caldwell,
And they're seeking me to kill.'
Alace and wae is me!
To be torn at the tail o wild horses
Is the death I weet ye'll die.'
By the clear light o the mune,
Untill he cam to his true-love's bower,
And there he lichtit doun.
'Sae late and far in the night?'
'O I hae been in yon new sklate house,
Hearing the clergy speak.'
'I doubt it bodes nae gude;
I dreamd the ravens ate your flesh,
And the lions drank your blude.'
'Is the loss o a near friend;
And I hae killd your brither dear,
And for it I'll be slain.'
Alace and wae is me!
But gin your fair body's free frae skaith,
The easier I will be.
'Lye doun and tak a sleep;
And I will walk the castel wa,
Your fair bodie to keep.'
She happit him wi her plaid,
And she's awa to the castle-wa,
To see what would betide.
A time but only three,
Till four and twenty beltit knichts
Cam riding ower the lea.
They stude and thus did say:
'O did ye see yon bludie knicht,
As he rade out this way?'
'What colour was his hound?
What colour was the gudely steed
The bludie knicht rade on?'
'And yellow-fit was his hound,
And milk-white was the goodly steed
The bluidie knicht rade on.'
'And yellow-fit was his hound,
And milk-white was the gudely steed,
He's up to London gone.'
They being void o fear;
Syne up she gat, and awa she gade,
Wi tidings to her dear.
'Lye still and tak your sleep;'
Syne he took up his good braid sword,
And wounded her fu deep.
'And an ill death may ye die!
For first ye slew my ae brither,
And now ye hae killd me.'
'Oh live but ae half hour,
And there's not a docter in a' London
But sall be in your bower.'
'For the space of half an hour?
Dinnae ye see my clear heart's blood
A rinnin down the floor?
[Pg 294]
And rive't frae gare to gair,
And stap it in my bleeding wounds;
They'll may be bleed nae mair.'
And rave't frae gare to gair,
And stappit it in her bleeding wounds,
But aye they bled the mair.
'And gae whistling out the way,
And mourn nae mair for your true-love
When she's laid in the clay.'
The point o't to his breast,
Saying, Here three sauls ['s] gaun to heaven;
I hope they'll a' get rest.
E
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 20.
Says he, I will gae ride,
His lady, in her bigly bower?
Desired him to bide.
How shall I bide wi thee?
When I hae killd your ae brother;
You hae nae mair but he.'
Alas, and wae is me!
If ye be well yoursell, my love,
The less matter will be.
And take a silent sleep,
And I'll watch in my highest tower,
Your fair body to keep.'
All wi a silver pin,
And done her to the highest tower,
To watch that nane come in.
To see what she could see,
There she saw nine armed knights
Come riding oer the lea.
God make you safe and free!
Did you see a bludy knight
Come riding oer the lea?'
And what like was his hound?
If his steed has ridden well,
He's passd fair Scotland's strand.
And take white bread and wine;
And aye the better ye'll pursue,
The lighter that ye dine.'
We thank you for the wine,
And I woud gie my lands sae broad
Your fair body were mine.'
Her ain gude lord to meet;
A trusty brand he quickly drew,
Gae her a wound sae deep.
To wreak itself on me,
When thus I strove to save thy life,
Yet served for sic a fee?'
To come sae hastilie!
I thought it was my deadly foe,
Ye had trysted into me.
The space o ae half hour,
And nae a leech in a' the land
But I'se bring to your bower.'
How can I live for thee?
Ye see my blude rin on the ground,
My heart's blude by your knee.
O take to flight, and flee!
I woudna wish your fair body
For to get harm for me.'
Ae foot I winna flee;
[Pg 295] I've dune the crime worthy o death,
It's right that I shoud die.
The beer but an the wine;
For ere the morn, at this same time,
Ye'll deal the same at mine.'
F
Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xx, XVIII.
Were drinking at the wine,
'O will ye marry my sister?' says Will,
'And I will marry thine.'
A.
104. very deep, in the edition of 1776.
B. a.
41. Motherwell informs us, p. 200, that the original reading was little small sword; also he stabbed in 43.
b.
Finlay's version is compounded from two, and Motherwell's, since it adopts readings from Finlay's, is compounded from three; but Motherwell's has nevertheless been preferred, on account of its retaining stanzas which Finlay omitted. Besides, Motherwell gives us to understand that his changes are few.
32. gowd and fee.
34. come oer the sea.
41. nut-brown sword.
43. he ritted.
52. And he's.
53. dear Johnstone.
55, 6. wanting.
61, 101. dreamed a dream this night, she says.
62, 102. be good.
71, 111. They are seeking me with hawks and hounds.
82, 122. A dule.
91. his lover's.
95, 6. wanting.
123. But I gie na sae much for.
124. is free.
134. I'll thee.
And entered in her tower.
143. Till.
144. the door.
A bloody squire was he.
153. O did you see.
154. riding oer the lea.
161. she cried.
173. And.
191. But light ye down now.
193. be good he rides upon.
194. of Tyne.
201. bread, ladie.
203. But wanting: pounds.
204. Your fair bodie was mine.
Just gone out at the gate.
221. had a wee penknife.
And he ritted it through his dear ladie,
And wounded her sae sair.
How can I live for thee?
O do ye na see my red heart's blood
Run trickling down my knee?
And ride along the plain,
And think no more of thy true love
Than she had never been.
27. wanting.
C.
191. Oh.
251. O: the first.
D.
13, 53, 153. Oh.
151. he been.
181. ae corrected from ain.
193. wa corrected from round.
241. she said.
291. O: the first.
Caldwell is an obvious corruption of Colonel.
E.
The alterations according to the singing of Christie's old woman are, as usual with him in such cases, utterly insignificant.
21. How can I bide, how shall.
22. How can.
34. will it.
63. she did see.
102. for your.
153. rins.
89
FAUSE FOODRAGE
A. 'Fa'se Footrage,' Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 3.
B. 'The Eastmure King and the Westmure King, Motherwell's MS., p. 341.
C. 'Eastmuir King,' Harris MS., No 18, fol. 22.
A was printed in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 73, 1802, "chiefly" from Mrs Brown's MS.; in fact, with not quite forty petty alterations. Scott remarks that the ballad has been popular in many parts of Scotland. Christie, I, 172, had heard it sung by an old Banffshire woman, who died in 1866, at the age of nearly eighty, with very little difference from Scott's copy.[144]
The resemblance of the verse in A 31, 'The boy stared wild like a gray gose-hawke,' to one in 'Hardyknute,' 'Norse een like gray goss-hawk stared wild,' struck Sir Walter Scott as suspicious, and led him "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 [Lady Douglas of Douglas, sister to Henry, Duke of Buccleuch, as we are informed in the edition of 1833], who not only recollected the ballad as having amused her infancy, but could repeat many of the verses." It is quite possible that Mrs Brown may unconsciously have adopted this verse from the tiresome and affected Hardyknute, so much esteemed in her day. One would be only too glad were this the only corruption which the ballad had undergone. On the contrary, while not calling in question the substantial genuineness of the ballad, we must admit that the form in which we have received it is an enfeebled one, without much flavor or color; and some such feeling no doubt affected Sir Walter's mind, more than the reminiscence of 'Hardyknute,' which, of itself, is of slight account.
A tale 'How the king of Estmure Land married the king's daughter of Westmure Land' is mentioned in "The Complaint of Scotland," and there has been considerable speculation as to what this tale might be, and also as to what localities Estmure Land and Westmure Land might signify. Seeing no clue to a settlement of these questions, I pass them by, with the simple comment that no king of Estmure Land marries the king of Westmure Land's daughter in this ballad or any other.
Three kings (King Easter and King Wester, A, the Eastmure king and the Westmure king, B, C, and King Honor, A, the king of Onorie, B, King Luve, C), court a lady, and the third, who woos for womanhood and beauty, B, wins her. The Eastmure king, B, the Westmure, C, kills his successful rival on his wedding-day. According to the prosaic, not at all ballad-like, and evidently corrupted account in A, there is a rebellion of nobles four months after the marriage, and a certain False Foodrage takes it upon himself to kill the king. The murderer spares the queen, and if she gives birth to a girl will spare her child also, but if she bears a boy the boy is to die.
In A the queen escapes from custody before her time comes, and gives birth to a boy in the swines' sty. Lots are cast to see who shall go find the queen (the narrative is very vague here), and the lot falls on Wise William, who sends his wife in his stead. The queen induces this woman to exchange children with her, Wise William's wife having a girl. After some years Wise William reveals to the boy that he is rightful lord of the castle (and we may suppose royal dignity) which False Foodrage has usurped. The boy kills False Foodrage and marries Wise William's daughter. Some of these incidents are wanting in B. For Wise William's wife we have simply a poor woman in the town.
'Fause Foodrage' is closely related to a Scandinavian ballad, especially popular in Denmark, where it is found in not less than twenty-three manuscripts:
Danish. A, 'Ung Villum,' Danske Viser, No 126, III, 135, 66 stanzas; B, 'Vold og Mord,' Levninger, II, 64, No 12, 64 stanzas; C, 'Lille Villum,' Kristensen, I, 305, No 111, 15 stanzas; also, Tragica, No 18, not seen. Icelandic. 'Kvæði af Loga í Vallarhlíð,' Íslenzk fornkvæði, I, 235, No 28, 55 stanzas. Swedish. 'Helleman Unge,' Arwidsson, I, 132, No 15, 13 stanzas (imperfect). Färöe, in unprinted copies. There are more incidents in the Danish ballad, and too many, but something, without doubt, has been lost from the English, which, however, preserves these essential points: A man that has wedded a woman who had another lover is killed by his competitor shortly after his marriage; a boy is born, who is passed off as a girl; this boy, before he has attained manhood, slays his father's murderer.
In the Danish 'Young William,' A, Svend of Voldesløv, rich in gold, woos Lisbet, who prefers William for his good qualities. Svend shuts himself up in his room, sick with grief. His mother and sister come and go. The mother will get him a fairer maid, and gives him the good rede not to distress himself about a girl that is plighted to another man. The sister gives a bad rede, to kill William, and so get the bride. The mother remarks that a son is coming into being who would revenge his father's death. The business can be done, says Svend, before that son is born, and immediately after takes occasion to meet William as he is passing through a wood, and kills him. Forty weeks gone, Lisbet gives birth to a son, but Svend is told that she has borne a daughter. Young William attains to the age of eighteen, and is a stalwart youth, given to games of strength. One day when he is putting the stone with a peasant, the two fall out, and the peasant, being roughly treated, calls out, You had better avenge your father's death. Young William hastens to his mother, and asks whether his father's death had been by violence, and, if so, who killed him. The mother thinks him too young to wield a sword: he must summon Svend to a court. This is done. Svend informs his uncle that he is summoned to court by William, and asks what he is to do. The uncle had always been told that Lisbet's child was a girl. I shall never live to see the day, says Svend, when I shall beat a woman at tricks. Svend goes to the court, attended by many of his uncle's men. William charges him with the murder of his father, for which no compensation has been offered. Svend says not a penny will be paid, and William draws his sword and cuts him down. For killing Svend William is summoned to court by Svend's brother, Nilus. Nilus demands amends. William says they are quit, with brother against father, and he will marry Nilus's sister (whom he has already carried off). Never, says Nilus, for which William finds it necessary to kill him. He then rides to his mother, who asks what amends have been offered for his father's death, and, on hearing that William has killed both the murderer and his brother, clasps him to her heart, for all her grief is now over.
No other Scandinavian copy besides Danish A has the killing of Nilus, which may be regarded as an aftergrowth. In the Icelandic version, the sister, so far from putting her brother up to the murder, bursts into tears when her brother tells what he has done, because she knows that revenge will follow. The murderer offers himself to his former love in[Pg 298] place of her husband, at the very moment when she is bowed in anguish over the dead body. She replies significantly, He is not far from me that shall revenge him. All the Scandinavian copies have the three chief points of the story except the Swedish, which lacks the first half.
Another Scandinavian ballad has many of the features of 'Young William:' Danish, 'Liden Engel,' A, Danske Viser, No 127, III, 147; B, Levninger, II, 82, No 13; C, Kristensen, I, 254, No 97, a fragment. Norwegian, 'Unge Ingelbrett,' Bugge, p. 110, No 23, derived from the Danish. According to Danish A, and for the most part B, Liden Engel (who, by the way, is of Westerris) carries off a bride by force. Her brother burns him and all his people in a church in which they have taken refuge, the lady being saved by lifting her on shields up to a window, whence she is taken by her natural friends. It is the mother that suggests the setting of the church on fire, and the first act of the daughter, after getting out of the church with singed hair, is to fall on her bare knees and pray that she may have a son who will take vengeance on her brother. A son is born, and called after his father, but his existence is as far as possible kept secret. As he grows up his mother is always saying to him, Thine uncle was the death of thy father. The boy wishes to serve the king; the mother says, Go, but remember thy father's death. The king observes that the youth has always a weight on his mind, and on his asking the cause Little Engel answers that his uncle had slain his father and paid no boot. The king says, If you wish to revenge his death, as it is quite proper you should, I will lend you three hundred men. When the uncle is informed that Little Engel is coming against him he declares that he had never heard of such a person before: so the secret has been well kept. Little Engel burns his uncle and all his people in a stone chamber in which they had shut themselves up.
In the Norwegian-Danish ballad Engel, or Ingelbrett, the second simply kills his uncle with a sword. The offence given in this case is not the carrying off a bride by force, but the omitting to ask the brother's consent to the marriage, though that of all the rest of the family had been obtained: another instance of the danger of such neglect in addition to those already mentioned in the preface to 'The Cruel Brother,' I, 142.
'Fause Foodrage' has some affinity with 'Jellon Grame.'
Scott's copy is translated by Schubart, p. 102; Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 33, and Hausschatz, p. 211; Doenniges, p. 51; Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 28.
'Ung Villum' is translated by Prior, III, 422, No 170; 'Liden Engel' by the same, III, 379, No 164.
A
Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 3.
King Wester for her fee,
King Honor for her lands sae braid,
And for her fair body.
As I have heard them tell,
Until the nobles of the land
Against them did rebel.
And kaivles them between,
And they cast kaivles them amang
Wha shoud gae kill the king.
Their words did not agree;
Till up it gat him Fa'se Footrage,
And sware it shoud be he.
And a' man boon to bed,
[Pg 299] King Honor and his gay ladie
In a hie chamer were laid.
While a' were fast asleep,
And slew the porter in his lodge,
That watch and ward did keep.
Hang hie upon a pin,
And ay as a door he did unlock,
He has fastend it him behind.
Says, What means a' this din!
Now what's the matter, Fa'se Footrage?
O wha was't loot you in?
Before that I depart;'
Then drew a knife baith lang and sharp
And pierced him thro the heart.
And fell low down on her knee:
'O spare my life now, Fa'se Footrage!
For I never injured thee.
Until I lighter be,
And see gin it be lad or lass
King Honor has left me wi.'
'Well nursed she shall be;
But gin it be a lad-bairn,
He shall be hanged hie.
Nor yet his hie, hie kin;
But as soon as eer he born is,
He shall mount the gallows-pin.'
Were set the Queen to guard,
And four stood ay at her bower-door,
To keep baith watch and ward.
That she should lighter be,
She cast about to find a wile
To set her body free.
Wi strong beer and wi wine,
Until she made them a' as drunk
As any wallwood swine.
And big, big am I grown!'
Yet thro the might of Our Ladie
Out at it she has won.
She wanderd out and in,
And at last, into the very swines' stye,
The Queen brought forth a son.
Wha should gae seek the Queen,
And the kaivle fell upon Wise William,
And he's sent his wife for him.
The Queen fell on her knee;
'Win up, win up, madame,' she says,
'What means this courtesie?'
Till a boon ye grant to me,
To change your lass for this lad-bairn
King Honor left me wi.
Well how to breast a steed,
And I shall learn your turtle-dow
As well to write and read.
To wield baith bow and brand,
And I shall learn your turtle-dow
To lay gowd wi her hand.
We dare nae mair avow
But, Dame how does my gay gose-hawk?
Madame, how does my dow?'
Wise William he thought long;
Out has he taen King Honor's son,
A hunting for to gang.
Upon a summer's day,
[Pg 300] That they cam by a fair castle,
Stood on a sunny brae.
Wi wa's and towers sae fair?
Gin ilka man had back his ain,
Of it you shoud be heir.'
In sooth I canna see,
When it belongs to Fa'se Footrage,
And he's nae kin to me.'
You woud do what is right;
For I wot he killd your father dear,
Ere ever you saw the light.
There is nae man durst you blame;
For he keeps your mother a prisoner,
And she dares no take you hame.'
Says, What may a' this mean!
'My boy, you are King Honor's son,
And your mother's our lawful queen.'
By Our Ladie I swear,
This day I will that traytour slay,
And relieve my mother dear.'
And lap the castle-wa,
And soon he's siesed on Fa'se Footrage,
Wha loud for help gan ca.
Frae me you shanno flee;'
Syne pierced him through the foul fa'se heart,
And set his mother free.
Wi the best half of his land,
And sae has he the turtle-dow
Wi the truth of his right hand.
B
Motherwell's MS., p. 341.
And the king of Onorie,
They have all courted a pretty maid,
And guess wha she micht be.
And the Westmure king for fee,
The king of Onore for womanheid,
And for her fair beautie.
He would keep it till May,
That he would murder the king of Onore,
Upon his wedding day.
And all men boune for sleep,
Up and started the Eastmure king
At the king of Onore's head.
Their sheets was made of dorn—
And he has murdered the king of Onore,
As innocent as he was born.
Was in a drowsy dream;
She found her bride's-bed swim with blood,
Bot and her good lord slain.
What will they say to me?
What will the court and council say
But this night I've murderd thee?'
'Hold your tongue, my pretty may,
And come along with me, my dear,
And that court ye'll never see.'
Himself upon a gray;
She turnd her back against the court,
And weeping rode away.
'As I trew well you be,
[Pg 301] If it be of a lassie-bairn,
I'll give her nurses three.
If you please she'll get five;
But if it be a bonnie boy,
I will not let him live.'
And word is to the town,
And word is to the city gone,
She's delivered of a son.
In the same case does lye,
Wha gived to her her woman-child,
Took awa her bonnie boy.
They never durst avow,
But 'Thou be kind to my boy,' she says,
'I'll be kind to your bonnie dow.'
But he was nae seventeen,
When he is to the garden gone,
To slay that Eastmure king.
Be aware this day of me;
For I do swear and do declare
Thy botcher I will be.'
What aileth thee at me?
I'm sure I never did thee wrang;
Thy face I neer did see.'
When scarse conceived was I;
Thou murdered my father dear,
When scarse conceived was me:'
So then he slew that Eastmure king,
Beneath that garden tree.
C
Harris MS., No 18, fol. 22: derived from Jannie Scott, an old Perthshire nurse, about 1790.
And king o Luve, a' three,
It's they coost kevils them amang,
Aboot a gay ladie.
An Wastmuir king the fee,
But king o Luve, wi his lands sae broad,
He's won the fair ladie.
That, be it as it may,
They wad slay him king o Luve,
Upon his waddin day.
An sair penance did he;
But Wastmuir king he made it oot,
An an ill deid mat he dee!
B.
44. Onore's feet originally.
53. Onores.
FOOTNOTES:
[144] "As far as he can remember, the old woman gave the story in fewer verses." Christie gives the ballad from Scott (omitting stanzas 10-18), "with slight alterations from the way she sung it." These alterations are: 11, has omitted. 41, Then some for O some. 263, fair castle for bonny castle (bonny in Scott, 1833; fair in Scott, 1802). 292, is right for was right. 294. Ere ever you for Or ever ye. Dean Christie's memory, it seems, retains the most inconsiderable variations, while it is not so good for larger things. See the note at Christie, I, 128, 'Willie and Earl Richard's Daughter,' in this volume, and other ballads.
90
JELLON GRAME.
A. a. 'Jellon Grame and Lillie Flower,' A. Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 4. b. 'Jellon Grame,' Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 20, 1802.
B. 'Hind Henry,' Motherwell's MS., p. 443.
C. 'May-a-Row,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 231.
D. 'Lady Margerie,' Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, p. 222.
'Jellon Grame' was first given to the world in Scott's Minstrelsy, in 1802. The editor says of this copy, A b, "This ballad is published from tradition, with some conjectural emendations. It is corrected by a copy in Mrs Brown's MS. [A a], from which it differs in the concluding stanzas. Some verses are apparently modernized." The only very important difference between Scott's version and Mrs Brown's is its having four stanzas of its own, the four before the last two, which are evidently not simply modernized, but modern.
There is a material difference between the story furnished by A and what we learn from the three other copies. Jellon Grame sends for his love Lillie Flower to come to the wood. She is very eager to go, though warned by the messenger that she may never come back. Jellon Grame, who has already dug her grave, kills her because her father will hang him when it is discovered that she has had a child by him. He brings up the child as his sister's son. One day, when the boy asks why his mother does not take him home, Jellon Grame (very unnaturally) answers, I slew her, and there she lies: upon which the boy sends an arrow through him.
In B, C, D, the man is Henry, Hind Henry, B, C; the maid is May Margerie, B, May-a-Roe, C, Margerie, D. Margerie, in B, receives a message to come to the wood to make her love a shirt, which surprises her, for no month had passed in the year that she had not made him three. Nevertheless, she goes, though warned by her mother that there is a plot against her life. She is stopped in the wood by Hind Henry, who kills her because she loves Brown Robin. Word is carried that Margerie has been slain; her sister hastens to the wood, takes under her care the child which Margerie was going with, and calls him Brown Robin, after his father. The lad goes to the wood one day after school to pull a hollin wand, and meets Hind Henry at the place where the mother had been killed. No grass is growing just there, and the boy asks Hind Henry why this is so. Hind Henry, not less frank than Jellon Grame, says, That is the very spot where I killed your mother. The boy catches at Henry's sword and runs him through.
C has nearly the same incidents as B, diluted and vulgarized in almost twice as many verses. Brown Robin is made to be Hind Henry's brother. The sister does not appear in the action, and the child is brought up by the murderer, as in A, but is named Robin Hood, after that bold robber. On hearing from Hind Henry how his mother had come to her death, young Robin sends an arrow to his heart.
A story is supplied from the "traditions of Galloway" for the fragmentary, and perhaps heterogeneous, verses called D; I suppose by Allan Cunningham. Margerie was beloved by two brothers, and preferred the elder. Henry, the younger, forged a billet to her by which he obtained a meeting in a wood, when he reproached her for not returning his feelings: sts 1, 2. "She expostulated with him on the impropriety of bringing her into an unfrequented place for the purpose of winning affec[Pg 303]tions which, she observed, were not hers to bestow;" but expostulations as to improprieties producing but slight effect in "those rude times," told him plainly that she was with child by his brother. Henry drew his sword and killed Margerie. The elder brother, who was hunting, was apprised of mischief by the omens in stanza 4. "Astonished at this singular phenomenon, he immediately flew to the bower of his mistress, where a page informed him she was gone to the 'silver wood,' agreeably to his desire. Thither he spurred his horse, and, meeting Henry with his bloody sword still in his hand, inquired what he had been killing." The other replied as in stanza 5. "A mutual explanation took place, and Henry fell by the sword of his unhappy brother."
The resemblance of this ballad at the beginning to 'Child Maurice' will not escape notice. Silver Wood, or the silver wood, is found in 'Child Maurice,' A 1, G 1. A 14, B 10, C 15, is a commonplace: see No 66, A 28, 29, B 20, 21, D 9, E 40; No 70, B 25; No 81, K 13. B 13 is found in 'Willie and Earl Richard's Daughter,' B 24: cf. A 15. The phenomenon in D 4 we have had in No 65, D 17.
'Jellon Grame,' and particularly versions B, C, D, may be regarded as a counterpart to 'Fause Foodrage,' and especially to versions B, C, of that ballad. In 'Fause Foodrage,' B, C, and 'Jellon Grame,' B, C, D, a woman has two lovers. The one who is preferred is killed by the other in 'Fause Foodrage;' in 'Jellon Grame' the woman herself is killed by the lover she has rejected. This kind of interchange is familiar in ballads. In both 'Fause Foodrage' and 'Jellon Grame' the son of the woman, before he comes to manhood, takes vengeance on the murderer.
'Jellon Grame,' as well as 'Fause Foodrage,' has certainly suffered very much in transmission. It is interesting to find an ancient and original trait preserved even in so extremely corrupted a version as C of the present ballad, a circumstance very far from unexampled. In stanza 18 we read that the child who is to avenge his mother "grew as big in ae year auld as some boys woud in three," and we have a faint trace of the same extraordinary thriving in B 15: "Of all the youths was at that school none could with him compare." So in one of the Scandinavian ballads akin to 'Fause Foodrage,' and more remotely to 'Jellon Grame,' the corresponding child grows more in two months than other boys in eight years:
í dei maanar tvaa
hell híne smaabonni
vokse paa aatte aar.
Bugge, Norske Folkeviser, No 23, st. 17, p. 113.
This is a commonplace: so again Bugge, No 5, sts 7, 8, p. 23. Compare Robert le Diable, and Sir Gowther.
In B 14 we are told that the boy was called by his father's name (C 17 is corrupted). This is a point in the corresponding Scandinavian ballads: Danske Viser, No 126, st. 21, No 127, st. 34; Levninger, No 12, st. 26, No 13, st. 18; Íslenzk fornkvæði, No 28, st. 33b; Bugge, No 23, st. 16; Kristensen, I, No 97, sts 7, 11, No 111, st. 9.
A b is translated by Schubart, p. 69; by Arndt, Blütenlese, p. 234.
A
a. A. Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 4. b. Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 20, 1802.
He whistled and he sang,
And he has calld his little foot-page,
His errand for to gang.
'As quick as eer you may;
For ye maun gang for Lillie Flower,
Before the break of day.'
[Pg 304]
And thro the green-wood ran,
And he came to the ladie's bower-door,
Before the day did dawn.
The red run's i the rain:'
'I sleep not aft, I wake right aft;
Wha's that that kens my name?'
But I fear you'll never win hame;
Ye are bidden come to Silver Wood,
And speak wi Jellon Grame.'
Though I shoud never win hame;
For the thing I most desire on earth
Is to speak wi Jellon Grame.'
A mile but barely three,
Ere she came to a new made grave,
Beneath a green oak tree.
Out of a bush hard bye:
'Light down, light down now, Lillie Flower,
For it's here that ye maun ly.'
And knelt upon her knee:
'O mercy, mercy, Jellon Grame!
For I'm nae prepar'd to die.
Maun shortly see the light;
But to see it weltring in my blude
Woud be a piteous sight.'
'Until that bairn be born,
I ken fu well your stern father
Woud hang me on the morn.'
My father ye neer need dread;
I'll keep my bairn i the good green wood,
Or wi it I'll beg my bread.'
Tho she for life did pray;
But pierced her thro the fair body,
As at his feet she lay.
Tho she was lying dead;
But he felt some for the bonny boy,
Lay weltring in her blude.
Gien him to nurices nine,
Three to wake, and three to sleep,
And three to go between.
Calld him his sister's son;
He thought nae man would eer find out
The deed that he had done.
As a hunting they did gay,
That they rested them in Silver Wood,
Upon a summer-day.
While the tear stood in his eye,
'O tell me this now, Jellon Grame,
And I pray you dinna lie.
Does never take me hame?
To keep me still in banishment
Is baith a sin and shame.'
Does never send for thee;
Lo, there's the place I slew thy mother,
Beneath that green oak tree.'
It was baith stout and lang,
And through and thro him Jellon Grame
He's gard an arrow gang.
My mellison you wi;
The place my mother lies buried in
Is far too good for thee.
B
Motherwell's MS., p. 443.
In her bower where she sat:
'You are bid come to good green-wood,
To make your love a shirt.'
'At this message to me;
There is not a month gone of this year
But I have made him three.'
A wise woman was she;
Said, Stay at home, my daughter May,
They seek to murder thee.
And hang them up, I say;
If I come never back again,
They will mind you on May.
'It's quick as ever you may,
And we will ride to good green-wood;
It is a pleasant day.'
It's through it they did ride;
Then up did start him Hind Henry,
Just at the lady's side.
Just stop I say to thee;
The boy that leads your bridle reins
Shall see you red and blue.
And stroked it ower a strae,
And through and through that lady's sides
He made the cauld weapon gae.
Just take you that from me,
Because you love Brown Robin,
And never would love me.
When she was lying dead,
As was for her bony infant boy,
Lay swathed amang her bleed.
The tear into his ee:
'They have slain my lady in the wood,
With fear I'm like to die.'
With greater grief and care,
Sighing and sobbing all the way,
Tearing her cloaths and hair.
And lull him on my sleeve;
Altho his father should wish me woe,
His mother to me was leeve.
And she has brought him hame,
And she has called him Brown Robin,
That was his father's name.
She put him to the lair,
And of all the youths was at that school
None could with him compare.
A playtime it was come,
And when the rest went from the school,
Each one to their own home,
And leapt from tree to tree;
It was to pull a hollin wand,
To play his ownself wi.
To go home he was fain,
He chanced to meet him Hind Henry,
Where his mother was slain.
'If it to you is known,
How all this wood is growing grass,
And on that small spot grows none?'
I shall tell you anon;
That is indeed the very spot
I killed your mother in.'
And stroked it ower a strae,
[Pg 306] And thro and thro Hind Henry's sides
He made the cauld metal gae.
O take you that from me,
For killing of my mother dear,
And her not hurting thee.
C
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 231.
And flowers grew fresh and green,
As May-a-Roe she set her down,
To lay gowd on her seam.
At evening when 't was dark,
To meet her love in gude greenwood,
And bring to him a sark.
'For how can a' this be?
A month or twa is scarcely past
Sin I sent my lovie three.'
And quickly rade away;
She hadna ridden but hauf a mile,
Till she heard a voice to say:
Nae farther must ye go;
For the boy that leads your bridle rein
Leads you to your overthrow.'
But fast awa did ride;
And up it starts him Hynde Henry,
Just fair by her right side.
For by my hand ye 'se dee;
Ye married my brother, Brown Robin,
Whan ye shoud hae married me.'
O mercy have on me!
For I am eight months gane wi child,
Therefore ye'll lat me be.'
Nae mercy is for thee;
You married my brother, Brown Robin,
Whan ye shoud hae married me.'
And I will bring the wine,
And ye will drink to your ain love,
And I will drink to mine.'
Nor yet shall ye the wine,
Nor will I drink to my ain love,
Nor yet shall ye to thine.'
Until I lighter be!
Hae mercy on your brother's bairn,
Tho ye hae nane for me.'
Nae mercy is for thee;
Such mercy unto you I'll gie
As what ye gae to me.'
And stroakd it ower a strae,
And thro and thro her fair body
He's gart cauld iron gae.
For she was lying dead;
But a' was for her bonny bairn,
Lay spartling by her side.
Handled him tenderlie,
And said, Ye are o my ain kin,
Tho your mother ill used me.
And rowd him in a weed,
And namd him after a bold robber
Who was calld Robin Hood.
And gae him nurses three;
He grew as big in ae year auld
As some boys woud in three.
To learn how to thrive;
He learnd as muckle in ae year's time
As some boys would in five.
[Pg 307]
'Gin eer a woman bare me;
For mony a lady spiers for the rest,
But nae ane spiers for me.
'Were I of woman born;
Whan ladies my comrades do caress,
They look at me wi scorn.'
Was ae night by it lane,
Whan a' the boys frae guid squeel-house
Were merrily coming hame,
He wishd to be alane;
And when his comrades he dismist,
To guid greenwood he's gane.
He clamb frae tree to tree,
To pou some o the finest leaves,
For to divert him wi.
Nor brake a branch but ane,
Till by it came him Hynde Henry,
And bade him lat alane.
'Sae impudent you be,
As pu the leaves that's nae your ain,
Or yet to touch the tree.'
O mercy hae on me!
For if that I offence hae done,
It was unknown to me.'
But pays a fine to me;
Your velvet coat, or shooting-bow,
Which o them will ye gie?'
Wi it I canno part;
Lest wer't to send a sharp arrow
To pierce you to the heart.'
His countenance did change:
'Ye seem to be a boy right bauld;
Why can ye talk sae strange?
That ever I talkd wi;
As for your mother, May-a-Roe,
She was neer sae bauld to me.'
'That's very strange to me;
And if that ye my mother knew,
It's mair than I coud dee.'
Ance my sweet-heart was she;
Because to me she broke her vow,
This maid was slain by me.'
As I trust ye make nae lie,
I wyte ye never did the deed
That better paid shall be.'
O mercy hae on me!'
'Sic mercy as ye pae my mother,
Sic mercy I'll gie thee.
For by my hand ye 'se dee;
Now come's that bluidy butcher's end
Took my mother frae me.'
That was baith keen and smart,
And let it fly at Hynde Henry,
And piercd him to the heart.
Likewise thro Hunting-ha;
At last it reachd the king's own court,
Amang the nobles a'.
A light laugh then gae he,
And he's sent for him little Robin,
To come right speedilie.
A ribbon and gowden crown,
And made him ane o's finest knights,
For the valour he had done.
D
Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song, p. 222.
When we handed round the beer?
Seven times I fainted for your sake,
And you never dropt a tear.
When we handed round the wine?
Seven times I fainted for your sake,
And you never fainted once for mine.'
And thrown it upon a thorn:
'Let the wind blow east, let the wind blow west,
The cradle will rock its lone.'
Had done the bloody deed,
The silver-buttons flew off his coat,
And his nose began to bleed.
What will breed mickle woe;
I have been killing in the silver wood
A dawdy and a doe.'
A. a.
104. piteouus.
b.
12. he sharpd his broad-sword lang.
14. An errand.
22. quickly as ye.
31. boy has.
33. ladye's bower.
41. or omitted.
42. red sun's on.
43, 4. wanting.
51, 2. as 43, 4: I doubt ye'll.
53, 4. wanting.
6. wanting.
71. had na.
82. there bye.
94. no.
112. were born.
113. Full weel I ken your auld.
122. ye need na.
123. babe in gude.
131. on Lillie Flower.
141. for Lillie Flower.
142. Where she.
143. bonny bairn.
144. That lay.
153. Three to sleep and three to wake.
161. he bred.
163. And he thought no eye could ever see.
171. O so it fell upon a day.
172. When hunting they might be.
173. That omitted.
174. Beneath that green aik tree.
And mony were the green wood flowers
Upon the grave that grew,
And marvelld much that bonny boy
To see their lovely hue.
What's redder than the rose?
What's fairer than the lilye flower
On this wee know that grows?'
And he spake hastilie;
'Your mother was a fairer flower,
And lies beneath this tree.
Than prymrose pale and wan,
And redder than rose her ruddy heart's blood,
That down my broad-sword ran.'
221. Lie ye.
222. gang you wi.
B.
121. sisters ran: into altered to unto.
91
FAIR MARY OF WALLINGTON
A. 'Fair Mary of Wellington,' Lovely Jenny's Garland, three copies, as early as 1775.
B. 'Lady Mazery,' Herd's MSS: a, I, 186; b, II, 89.
C. 'The Bonny Earl of Livingston,' Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 5.
D. 'The Laird o Livingstone,' Dr John Hill Burton's MS., No 2.
E. 'Mild Mary,' Motherwell's MS., p. 123.
F. 'Lord Darlington.' a. Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 183. b. The Borderer's Table Book, VII, 178.
'Fair Mary of Wallington' was communicated to Bishop Percy, with other "old Scots Songs," in 1775, by Roger Halt, and presumably in a copy of the garland from which it is here printed. A was given by Ritson, from an inferior edition, with corrections, and the title changed to 'Fair Mabel of Wallington,' in The Northumberland Garland, 1793, p. 38 of the reprint of Northern Garlands, 1809. Ritson's copy is repeated in Bell's Rhymes of Northern Bards, 1812, p. 147, and in Richardson's Borderer's Table Book, VI, 141.
The story is very well preserved and very well told in A. All the seven sisters of a family are destined to die of their first child. Five having so died already, one of the remaining two expresses a resolution never to marry, since she is sure that she will go the way of the others. She is told that a knight has been there, asking for her hand. Then in three quarters of a year they may come to her burial. When her husband's mother welcomes her to her castle and bowers, the bride responds, under the operation of her melancholy conviction, I think they 'll soon be yours. At the end of three quarters of a year she sends messages to her family: to her mother to come to her sickening or her wake;[145] to her sister to remain in maidenhood, and escape the doom of the family. When the mother arrives the young wife is in extremities.[146] She gives rings to her mother, who is all to blame, gives rings to her husband, and with a razor opens her side, and takes out an heir for the house. In D we are told that five boys had been cut from their mothers, Mary's sisters, before. In B the remaining sister declares that no man shall ever lie by her side; but her mother says she shall marry though she live but three quarters of a year: so, nearly, in C.
A Breton ballad, 'Pontplancoat,' A, Luzel, I, 382, B, p. 386, exhibits such correspondences with the English and Scottish that we cannot hesitate to assume that it has the same source.
In the first version Pontplancoat marries Marguerite for his third wife. He is obliged by affairs to leave her, and has a dream which disturbs him so much that he returns home the same night. This dream is that his wife has been three days in travail, and it proves true. A spoon is put in the lady's mouth, an incision made in her right side, and a son taken out. This is Pontplancoat's third son, and each of them has been extracted from his mother's side. He has had three wives of the[Pg 310] name of Marguerite, and they have all died in this way.
Marguerite, in the other version, is told by her mother that she is to marry Pontplancoat. Marguerite signifies her obedience, but Pontplancoat has already had four wives of her name, all of whom "had been opened," and she shall be the fifth. As before, Pontplancoat is obliged to go away, and during his absence he receives letters which inform him that his wife is in labor and that the chances are against a normal delivery. He returns instantly. The lady has been three days in labor. A silver ball is put into her mouth, her right side opened with a knife, and a son extracted. Pontplancoat has four sons besides, all of whom have been brought into the world in this way.
English A is localized in Northumberland, and Mary made the wife of a Sir William Fenwick of Wellington. According to notes of Percy, he had not been able to find a Sir William Fenwick, lord of Wallington, with a wife of the name of Mary. Were a Sir William and Lady Mary Fenwick authenticable, a nice historical question would arise between them and some baron and baroness of the family Pontplancoat in Finistère, Brittany.
An extensively disseminated Scandinavian ballad has been assumed to be of kin with 'Mary of Wallington,' and in one version or another has resemblances which may possibly come from unity of origin, but the general likeness is certainly not striking. The published texts are: Norwegian, 'Maalfrí,' Bugge, Gamle norske Folkeviser, p. 122, No 25, A, B. Icelandic, 'Málfríðar kvæði,' Íslenzk fornkvæði, I, 208, No 24, A-D. Swedish, 'Herr Peder och Malfred,' Afzelius, I, 70, No 14. Danish, A, 'Esben og Malfred,' "Tragica, No 26," Danske Viser, III, 208, No 133; B, C, Kristensen, I, 232, No 87, A, B; D, E, 'Malfreds Død,' Kristensen, II, 232, No 69, A, B; F, 'Liden Malfreds Vise,' Feilberg, Fra Heden, p. 119; G, 'Herr Peder og Liden Malfred,' Berggreen's Danske Folkesange, 3d ed., p. 172, No 88. The Danish ballad is preserved in ten manuscripts, and Grundtvig possessed not less than twenty-two traditionary Danish versions and two Swedish, which he did not live to print.
The Norwegian ballad is most like, or least unlike, the English. Maalfrí, a king's only daughter, is married to Karl, king of England. It was spaed to her when she was yet a maid that she should die of her twelfth lying in; she has already born eleven children. The king purposing to leave her for a time, she reminds him of the prophecy. He defies spaewives and goes, but after three days dreams that Maalfrí's cloak is cut in two, that her hair is cut to bits, etc.; and this sends him home, when he learns that two sons have been cut from her side. He throws himself on his sword. Maalfrí, Malfred, is, in the other Norse ballads, also an only daughter, and dies in her twelfth child-birth, in all but Icelandic B, C, D, where the first is fatal to her. There are no other important diversities, and the resemblances in the details of the Norse and the English ballads are these two: the wife being fated to die of her first child in Icelandic B, C, D, and the Cæsarean operation in the Norwegian versions.
It is barely worth mentioning that there is also a German ballad, in which a maid (only eleven years old in most of the versions) begs her mother not to give her to a husband, because she will not live more than a year if married, and dies accordingly in child-birth: 'Hans Markgraf,' "Bothe, Frühlings-Almanach, 1806, p. 132," reprinted in Büsching und von der Hagen's Volkslieder, p. 30, Erlach, II, 136, Mittler, No 133; "Alle bei Gott die sich lieben," Wunderhorn, 1808, II, 250, Erlach, IV, 127, Mittler, No 128; Hoffmann und Richter, Schlesische Volkslieder, p. 12, No 5, Mittler, No 132. To these may be added 'Der Graf und die Bauerntochter,' Ditfurth, II, 8, No 9; 'Der Mutter Fluch,' Meinert, p. 246. In these last it is the mother who objects to the marriage, on account of her daughter's extreme youth.[147]
A
Lovely Jenny's Garland, three copies, as early as 1775, but without place or date.
sisters were so fair,
Five of us were brave knights' wives,
and died in childbed lair.
marry woud she nane;
If ever she came in man's bed,
the same gate wad she gang.
for fear they broken be;
Here's been the Knight of Wallington,
asking good will of thee.'
asking good will of me,
Within three quarters of a year
you may come bury me.'
and into Wallington hall,
There she spy'd her mother dear,
walking about the wall.
to thy castle and thy bowers;'
'I thank you kindly, mother,
I hope they'll soon be yours.'
three quarters and a day,
Till upon the ground she could not walk,
she was a weary prey.
three quarters and a night,
Till on the ground she coud not walk,
she was a weary wight.
who'll win hose and shun,
That will run to fair Pudlington,
and bid my mother come?'
near unto a-kin;
'Full oft I have your errands gone,
but now I will it run.'
to bring up bread and wine:
'Eat and drink, my bonny boy,
thou'll neer eat more of mine.
[as] she sits in her chair of stone,
And ask her how she likes the news,
of seven to have but one.
as she sits in her chair of oak,
And bid her come to my sickening,
or my merry lake-wake.]
William, Ralph, and John,
And to my sister Betty fair,
and to her white as bone.
be sure make much on 't,
For if eer she come in man's bed,
the same gate will she gang.'
as fast as he could run;
When he came where brigs were broke,
he lay down and swum.
Lord may your keeper be!
'What news, my pretty boy,
hast thou to tell to me?'
as you sit in a chair of stone,
To ask you how you like the news,
of seven to have but one.
as you sit in a chair of oak,
And bids you come to her sickening,
or her merry lake-wake.
William, Ralph, and John,
[And] to her sister Betty fair,
and to her white as bone.
be sure make much on 't,
[Pg 312] For if eer she came in man's bed,
the same gate woud she gang.'
she kickt it with her knee,
The silver plate into the fire,
so far she made it flee.
to bring her riding-hood,
So did she on her stable-groom
to bring her riding-steed.
go saddle to me the brown,
Go saddle to me the swiftest steed
that eer rid [to] Wallington.'
and into Wallington hall,
There she spy'd her son Fenwick,
walking about the wall.
Lord may your keeper be!
Where is my daughter fair,
that used to walk with thee?'
the tears did fill his ee:
''T is a month,' he said, 'since she
took her chambers from me.'
and there were in the hall
Four and twenty ladies,
letting the tears down fall.
into her cheek and into her chin,
All to keep her life
till her dear mother came.
the skin it is so white,
And give them to my mother dear,
for she was all the wite.
the veins they are so red,
Give them to Sir William Fenwick,
I'm sure his heart will bleed.'
that was both sharp and fine,
And out of her left side has taken
the heir of Wallington.
and that I rue full sare;
Tho the cradle it be full spread up,
the bride-bed is left bare.
B
Herd's MSS: a, I, 186; b, II, 89.
An five of us deyd wi child,
And there is nane but you and I, Mazery,
And we'll go madens mild.'
An knights of high degree;
She pleasd hersel in Levieston,
Thay wear a comly twa.
And garlands for her hair,
The broochis till her bosome braid;
What wad my love ha mair?
And he has brought her on to Livingston,
And made her lady thear.
A twelvemonth and a day,
Till she was as big wi bairn
As ony lady could gae.
The goude rings flew in twa:
'Halls and bowers they shall go wast
Ere my bonny love gie awa!'
The goude rings flew in foure:
'Halls and bowers they shall go waste
Eren my bonny lady gie it ore!'
[Pg 313]
The lady[s] sewed and sung;
It was to comfort Lady Mazery,
But her life-days wear na long.
That will win both hoos and shoon,
That will win his way to Little Snoddown,
To my mother, the Queen?'
Goude yellow was his hair;
I wish his mother mickle grace at him,
And his trew-love mickle mare.
That will win baith hoos an shoon,
That will win my way to Little Snoddown,
To thy mother, the Queen.'
The garlonds frae my hair,
The broches fray my bosom braid;
Fray me she'll nere get mare.
It is a' goude but the hem;
Gi it to my sister Allen,
For she is left now bird her lane.
Ye'l bent your bow and swim;
An when ye come whare green grass grows,
Ye'l slack your shoon and run.
Bide neither to chap nor ca,
But you'l set your bent bow to your breast,
And lightly loup the wa,
And gin the porter be half-gate,
Ye'll be ben throw the ha.'
He bent his bow and swam;
An when he came where green grass grows,
He slackd his shoon an ran.
He stayed neither to chap no ca'l,
But bent his bow unto his breast,
And lightly lap the wa'l;
And gin the porter was hafe-gate,
He was ben throw the ha'l.
As ye sit at your dine
Ye ha little word of Lady Mazerë,
For she drees mickel pine.
The garlands frae her hair,
The broches frae her bosome brade;
Fray her ye'l nere get mare.
It is a' goude but the hem;
Ye'll ge it to her sister Allen,
For she is left bird her lane.'
And coped it wi her tae,
Till siller cups an siller cans
Unto the floor did gae.
Ye wash, and come to dine;
It does not fit a bonny boy
His errant for to tine.
Ge saddle to me the brown,
Ge saddle to me the swiftest steed
That ever rid frae a town.'
He was the bonny black;
He was a good steed, an a very good steed,
But he tiyrd eer he wan the slack.
He was the bonny brown;
He was a good steed, an a very good steed,
But he tiyird ere he wan the town.
He was the bonny white;
Fair fa the mair that fo'd the fole
That carried her to Mazeree['s] lear!
Thair was na mickel pride;
The scobs was in her lovely mouth,
And the razer in her side.
I think them but a foole;
A married man at Martimass,
An a widdow the next Yule!'
[Pg 314]
Let all your folly abee;
I bear the burden in my breast,
Mun suffer them to dee.'
For she spake ay through pride;
'That man shall near be born,' she says,
'That shall ly down by my side.'
Let all your folly abee;
For you shall marry a man,' she says,
'Tho ye shoud live but rathes three.'
C
Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 5.
And five are dead wi child;
There is nane but you and I, Maisry,
And we'll go maidens mild.'
And turnd her round about,
When the bonny Earl of Livingston
Was calling Maisry out.
That drank out of the Tyne,
And a' was for her Ladie Maisry,
To take her hyne and hyne.
That drank out o the Tay,
And a' was for her Lady Maisry,
To carry her away.
A twelve month and a day,
Until she was as big wi bairn
As any ladie coud gae.
Says, Ye maun run wi speed,
And bid my mother come to me,
For of her I'll soon have need.
It is of gowd sae ried;
Gin she winna come when I'm alive,
Bid her come when I am dead.'
As fast as she coud ride,
The gaggs they were in Maisry's mouth,
And the sharp sheers in her side.
Till the gowd rings flaw in three:
'Let ha's and bowers and a' gae waste,
My bonny love's taen frae me!'
Let a' your mourning be;
For I bare the bird between my sides,
Yet I maun thole her to die.'
As she sat at her head:
'That man is not in Christendoom
Shall gar me die sicken dead.'
Let a' your folly be,
For ye shall be married ere this day week
Tho the same death you should die.'
D
Dr John Hill Burton's MS., No 2.
And five is died with child;
Was non but you and I, Hellen,
And we'se be maidens mild.'
A twalvemonth and a day,
When lairds and lords a courting came,
Seeking Mary away.
He liket Mary best;
He gae her a ring, a royal ring,
And he wedded her at last.
[Pg 315]
A twalvemonth and a day,
When she did go as big wi bairn
As iver a woman could be.
And the ladys wer tearin their hair;
It was a' for the lady o Livingstone,
For a word she never spake mare.
Where she sat by her side;
'The man shall never be born,' she said,
'Shall ever make me his bride.
I'de count him but a feel,
To merry me at Whitsunday,
And bury me at Yele.'
Whare she sat by the fire:
'I bare this babe now from my side,
Maun suffer her to die.
And none of them were born,
But a hole cut in their mother's side,
And they from it were shorne.'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
E
Motherwell's MS., p. 123, from the recitation of Mrs Macqueen, Lochwinnoch.
'My bidding to obey;
The bravest lord in all Scotland
This night asked you of me.'
'These words they do me wrang;
For gin I lye in a man's bed,
My days will no be lang.
We were a' clad in white;
And five of them were married,
And in child-bed they died.'
Nor sall ye be in broun;
But ye'se be drest in shining gowd,
To gae glittering thro the town.
'And your brother sall ride ahin;
Your horses fore-feet siller shod,
And his hind anes wi gowd shall shine.
Atween ye and the wun,
And four and twenty bonnie mays
Atween ye and the sun.
Stretching their wings sae wide,
Blawing the dust aff the high-way,
That Mild Mary may ride.'
Set her upon a grey,
And wi a napkin in her hand
Weeping she rade away.
And part o the neist day also,
And syne she saw her auld good mother
Stand in the gates below.
'To your biggins and your bowers;'
'I thank ye kindly, mither,' she said,
'But I doubt they'll sune be yours.'
F
a. Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 183. b. The Borderer's Table Book, VII, 178, communicated by J. H. Dixon; "transcribed from a MS. copy in possession of an antiquarian friend," collated with a.
Five of us died wi child,
And nane but you and I, Maisry,
So we'll gae maidens mild.'
Let a' your folly be;
I'll gar you keep your true promise
To the lad ayont the sea.'
My love shall ever won,
Except it be Lord Darlington,
And here he winna come.'
And near the hour o one,
Lord Darlington came to the yetts,
Wi thirty knights and ten.
And brought her oer the sea,
And there was nane that lived on earth
Sae happy as was she.
Strong travailling took she,
And nae physician in the land
Could ease her maladie.
Will won baith meat and fee,
That will gae on to Seaton's yetts,
Bring my mother to me?'
That will won meat and fee,
That will gae on to Seaton's yetts,
And bring your mother to thee.'
As fast as gang could he;
Says, Ye must come to Darlington,
Your daughter for to see.
Where there was little pride,
The scobbs were in the lady's mouth,
The sharp sheer in her side.
And gart the gowd rings flee:
'My ha's and bowers and a' shall gae waste,
If my bonny love die for me.'
Let a' your folly be;
I boor the bird within my sides,
I'll suffer her to die.
I think he is a fool;
If he marries her at Candlemas,
She'll be frae him ere Yule.
This night I go my lane;
And when I come to Clyde's water,
I wish that I may drown.'
A.
The copy of the garland here used is much more correct than the other two, but still not carefully printed. The garland gives the ballad in eight stanzas of eight verses.
11. so were sisters.
62. bower: perhaps we should read towers.
82. weight, which makes sense, but, taking rhyme into account, the change seems requisite: cf. 302.
152. came: come in the other copies.
162. swim.
191. of aik?
192. weary lake-wake? if so, also 132.
271. his eyes.
282. downfal.
301. finger.
302. weight.
311. of: veine.
B. a.
Stanzas 5-7 should come after 26, but the changes which have been traditionally made in 7, to adapt the passage to its actual position, render the restoration of the right order impracticable. 71 is not comforting.
22. An lords?
33. brooch is.
124. now to bird: cf. 194.
[Pg 317]132. bent: so the other copy.
134. Ye.
142. clap nor cae': cf. 162.
151. come.
162. war (?).
171. al.
193. to my.
202. coped: caped?
21. After this these lines are struck out:
Her errant for to set (let?).
221. Ga.
234. stack (?).
292. throught.
304. luve, in my copy.
The spelling is in several places doubtful.
b appears to be a transcript of a: the spelling is somewhat regulated.
33. broatch is.
62. in twa.
82. wun.
83. will rin.
83, 103. Little Snod Down.
93. of him.
124. bird her lane.
163. into.
183. broch is.
202. caped it.
211, 2. Gae wash.
221, 2, 3. Go, Go, Gae.
234. slack.
254. lear wanting.
263. scobs wanting.
304. live: rather.
C.
104. here: e added in different ink.
D.
14. maiden.
71. ringin.
91. that wd.
103. I hear.
E.
62. the win' originally: i seems to have been changed to u.
F. a.
131. But her.
b.
24. the lord.
32. my true love eer shall be.
34. And he winna come here to me.
51. It's he.
63. And neer a leech in a'.
72. That will win meat.
74. And bring your.
And knelt on bended knee:
O here, etc.
82. will win both.
111. Lord Darlington.
123. side.
131. He that marries a daughter o mine.
132. I wot.
133. Candemas tide.
134. at Yule.
143. When I come to the salt water.
FOOTNOTES:
[145] The stanza which should convey this part of the message is wanting, but may be confidently supplied from the errand-boy's repetition.
[146] The three steeds in B 23-25, the tiring out of the black and of the brown, and the endurance of the white, are found in 'Lady Maisry,' No 65, B, C, E, F, and this passage perhaps belongs to that ballad. It may, however, have been a commonplace. There is something similar in Bugge, p. 130, No 26 B, 6-8, and Landstad, p. 512, No 57, 24-27. For the milk-white geese, E 7, see No 66, C 22, No 73, A, note.
[147] Uhland, Schriften zur Geschichte der Dichtung und Sage, IV, 107, cites the chair of stone in English A 12, 18, as bringing to mind Bothe, st. 14, Wunderhorn, st. 12, where the mother sits down auf einen breiten Stein, an ein harten Stein, and breaks her heart. The chair of stone in the English ballad, like the chair of oak, is a customary seat of the mother's, and she is very far from breaking her heart. Nothing can be built on such accidents.
92
BONNY BEE HOM
A. 'Bonny Bee Ho'm,' Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 6; Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 185.
B. 'The Enchanted Ring,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 169.
A was given from the manuscript by Jamieson "verbatim," that is, with a few slight variations; the first stanza earlier, in the Scots Magazine, October, 1803, p. 700.
For the ring (chain, A 7) that makes a man invulnerable, and that which indicates by the discoloration of the stone that his love is dead or untrue, see 'Hind Horn,' I, 200 f; for the vows in A 3, 4, B 3, 'Clerk Saunders,' at p. 156 f of this volume.[148] The like vows are adopted into a song called 'The Lowlands of Holland,' found in Herd's MSS, I, 97, and inserted in his Scottish Songs, 1776, II, 2; a fragment, but all that concerns us.[149]
With seven score good mariners to bear her company;
There's three score is sunk, and three score dead at sea,
And the Lowlands of Holland has twin'd my love and me.
And nane but twenty mariners for to bring her hame;
But the weary wind began to rise, and the sea began to rout,
My love then and his bonny ship turnd withershins about.
There shall neither coal nor candle-light shine in my bower mair;
Nor will I love another one until the day I die,
For I never lovd a love but one, and he's drowned in the sea.'
There are mair lads in Galloway, ye neen nae sair lament:'
'O there is none in Gallow, there's none at a' for me,
For I never lovd a love but one, and he's drowned in the sea.'
A
Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 6.
I heard a heavy moan;
I heard a ladie lammenting sair,
And ay she cried Ohone!
Tormented night and day!
I never loved a love but ane,
And now he's gone away.
What ladies woud think sair;
For seven year shall come and go
Ere a kaim gang in my hair.
Nor a kaim gang in my hair,
Nor eer a coal nor candle-light
Shine in my bower nae mair.'
Fast sailling to Bee Hom;
But he was in a quiet chamer,
Hearing his ladie's moan.
I pray thee mourn not so;
For I am deep sworn on a book
To Bee Hom for to go.'
And a ring with a ruby stone:
'As lang as this chain your body binds,
Your blude can never be drawn.
Or the stone shoud change its hue,
Be sure your love is dead and gone,
Or she has proved untrue.'
A twelve month and a day,
Till, looking on his gay gowd ring,
The stone grew dark and gray.
And deal them presentlie,
To the young that canna, the auld that maunna,
And the blind that does not see.'
And split his heart in twain;
So their twa souls flew up to heaven,
And there shall ever remain.
B
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 169.
And heard a lady's moan,
Lamenting for her dearest dear,
And aye she cried, Ohon!
Had harder fate than me;
I'd never a lad but one on earth,
They forc'd him to the sea.
Neither by sea nor land,
That ever mair shall cross my hause,
Till my love comes to hand.
Gold yellow was his hair;
None of our Scottish youths on earth
That with him could compare.'
And landed in Bahome;
But he was in a quiet chamber,
Hearing his lady's moan.
Why make ye all this moan?
For I'm deep sworn on a book,
I must go to Bahome.
Oer seas I'll make me boun,
That have trepand our kind Scotchmen,
Like dogs to ding them down.'
Whose virtue is unknown;
As lang's this ring's your body on,
Your blood shall neer be drawn.
Or change to other hue,
Come never mair to fair Scotland,
If ye're a lover true.'
With a sad heavy moan;
The wind was fair, the ship was rare,
They landed in Bahome.
A month but barely one,
Till he lookd on his gay gold ring,
And riven was the stone.
A month but scarcely three,
Till black and ugly was the ring,
And the stone was burst in three.
With you I'll fight no more;
I will gang to some holy place,
Pray to the King of Glore.'
And knelt most piteouslie,
For seven days and seven nights,
Till blood ran frae his knee.
And deal them liberallie,
To young that cannot, and old that mannot,
The blind that does not see.
Can neither fecht nor flee;
I hope she's in the heavens high,
That died for love of me.'
The ladies tore their hair;
The women that neer had children born,
In swoon they down fell there.
No tongue will eer declare;
So this doth end my mournful song,
From me ye'll get nae mair.
A.
The auld that that maunna.
B.
113. Till they.
124. And stone.
FOOTNOTES:
[148] Also 'Bonny Molly Stewart,' Maidment's Scotish Ballads and Songs, 1859, p. 128, and the Reply to 'Cromlet's Lilt,' Maidment's Scotish Ballads and Songs, Historical and Traditionary, 1868, II, 59.
[149] There are six double stanzas in Johnson's Museum, p. 118, to which Stenhouse, IV, 115, adds a concluding one, the fourth of Herd's. "This ballad," Stenhouse was informed, "was composed about the beginning of the last century by a young widow in Galloway, whose husband was drowned on a voyage to Holland." His authority was probably traditional, and all the information except the date, and, to be accurate, the widowhood, is found in the song itself. Motherwell, Minstrelsy, Introduction, p. lxxii, note 37, observes that neither Herd's nor Johnson's copy is so full "as one which may occasionally be met with in stall editions published about sixty years ago:" 1827. Logan, who prints two vulgar versions, or rather perversions, in which a bridegroom is pressed into the king's sea-service on the night of his marriage, Pedlar's Pack, p. 22, says: "A more lengthened version of the same ballad in the Scotch dialect will be found in Book First of A Selection of Scots Songs, Harmonised.... By Peter Urbani, Professor of Music, Edinburgh, circa 1794." Christie, I, 236, says that 'The Lowlands of Holland' was sung in his father's family, in Aberdeenshire, as far back as the middle of the last century. Herd's copy is translated by Talvj, Charakeristik, p. 594.
93
LAMKIN
A. 'Lamkin,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 176.
B. 'Lambert Linkin,' Motherwell's MS., p. 15; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 290.
C. 'Lamerlinkin,' Motherwell's MS., p. 9.
D. 'Bold Rankin,' Maidment's New Book of Old Ballads, p. 73; Whitelaw's Book of Scottish Ballads, p. 246, V.
E. 'Lambkin,' Kinloch MSS, V, 246; retouched by Kinloch, II, 27.
F. 'Long Lankyn.' a. Notes and Queries, Second Series, II, 324. b. Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, II, 281.
G. 'Long Lonkin,' Richardson's Borderer's Table Book, 1846, VIII, 410; Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1835, p. 11.
H. 'Bauld Rankin,' Kinloch MSS, I, 306.
I. Skene MSS, p. 75.
J. 'Lammikin,' Kinloch MSS, V, 371.
K. 'Long Longkin,' Percy Papers, communicated by Rev. P. Parsons, 1775.
L. 'Lamkin,' Motherwell's MS., p. 14.
M. 'Cruel Lammikin.' a. Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, Adversaria, p. 60. b. Kinloch MSS, VI, 31.
N. 'Lamkin,' Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, Journal of Excursions, No 2.
O. 'Lammikin,' Kinloch MSS, V, 375.
P. 'Lammikin,' Herd's MSS, I, 25; Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 145.
Q. 'Lammikin,' Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 45.
R. 'Lammikin,' Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 55.
S. 'Lambkin,' Motherwell's Note-Book, fol. 13.
T. Recited by Ellen Healy, as sung by a woman living near Killarney.
U. 'Lamkin.' a. Allingham's Ballad Book, p. xxxiii. b. The same, p. 297, No 56.
V. Harris MS., No 28, fol. 27b.
'Lammikin: an Old Scotch Ballad,' Aberdeen, Lewis and James Smith, 1862, said to be edited by the Rev. Dr John Burnett Pratt, Episcopal minister at Cruden, Aberdeenshire, is made up of A, B, P, Q, R, with such alterations as seemed good to the editor, and a few interpolated stanzas.
'Long Lonkin,' edited by A. O. Bell, C. E., York, 1846 (Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, III, 93), I have not seen, but presume it to be a compounded copy.
The story is told without material variation in all the numerous versions. A mason has built a castle for a nobleman, cannot get his pay, and therefore seeks revenge. The name given the builder is Lamkin, A, C, E, L, M, N, S, U; Lammikin, J, O, P, Q; Lankin, Lonkin, F b, G, I; Lantin, T; Long Lankyn, or Long Longkin, F a, G, K; Rankin, D, H; Balankin, or Lambert Linkin, B; Balcanqual, R. That of the nobleman is Lord Wearie, Weire, A, M, P, Q, U b; Lord Earie, N; Erley, Earley, J; Murray, I; Arran, C; Montgomery, E; Cassilis, S; he is lord of Prime Castle, B. The lord, having occasion to leave his family, fears mischief from the man whom he has wronged, and enjoins his wife to keep the castle well fastened. Precautions are taken, but nevertheless his enemy effects an entrance through some aperture that has not been secured, B, C,[Pg 321] F, G, H, P, R, U b, or by connivance with a nurse, A, D, E, I. Most of the servants are away. To get at the lady, Lamkin, as we may call him, by advice of the nurse inflicts some hurt on the babe in the cradle, stabbing it, or "nipping" it, and its cries bring the mother down. The lady proffers large sums of gold to save her life, but Lamkin does not care for gold now. He gloats over his opportunity, and bids the nurse, or a maid-servant, or even one of the daughters of the house, to scour a silver bason to hold the lady's noble blood. The lord has a presentiment of calamity at home, and, returning, finds his house red with the blood of his wife and child. Lamkin is hanged, B, F, I, or burned, C, H, or boiled in a pot full of lead, D. The nurse is burned, A, B, D, F, H, or hanged, C, Q, or boiled in a caldron, I.[150]
In K, the oldest version, except perhaps P, which is greatly inferior, Lady Betty is called down by Longkin to see her mother's blood running, then Lady Nelly to see her sister's blood running, Lady Jenny to see Lady Nelly's, etc. In F, T, the mother, very unnaturally, offers Lamkin her daughter as wife, in ransom of her own life. In C, D, a servant offers her life for her lady; in D, G, K, a daughter for her mother.
Motherwell remarks, p. lxx of his Minstrelsy, note 27: "There is a 'Lambirkyns wod' near Dupplin, in Perthshire. Can this have got its name from the cruel mason who the ballad assures us 'lived in the wode'? If so, it must be very ancient. It is localized, too, I believe, at Balwearie, in Fifeshire; but there are few places where the ballad is remembered but which have also some ancient edifice in the neighborhood reared by the hands of Lammikin.[151] Indeed, it seems questionable how some Scottish lairds could well afford to get themselves seated in the large castles they once occupied unless they occasionally treated the mason after the fashion adopted in this ballad." And again, at p. 291: "There can be little doubt that the epithet Linkin Mr Lambert acquired from the secrecy and address with which he insinuated him into that notable strength [Prime Castle]. Indeed, all the names of Lammerlinkin, Lammikin, Lamkin, Lankin, Linkin, Belinkin, can easily be traced out as abbreviations of Lambert Linkin." It might be inferred, however, from the mason's seemingly resentful inquiry in A 8-11, J 3-6, Where's the men, women, bairns, lady, that call me Lamkin? that the view in these particular versions was that Lamkin was a sobriquet applied in derision of the meekness with which the builder had submitted to his injury. Linkin, it will be observed, occurs only in B, and it is far more likely that Lamkin, or Lammikin, which is found in a full dozen copies, is a simply ironical designation for the bloody mason, the terror of countless nurseries.[152]
A is translated by Talvj, Versuch, etc., p. 571; Allingham's ballad by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 162.
A
Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 176, communicated by Mrs Brown.
as ever built wi stane;
He built Lord Wearie's castle,
but payment got he nane.
come, pay me my fee:'
'I canna pay you, Lamkin,
for I maun gang oer the sea.'
come, pay me out o hand:'
[Pg 322] 'I canna pay you, Lamkin,
unless I sell my land.'
I here sall mak a vow,
Before that ye come hame again,
ye sall hae cause to rue.'
to sail the saut sea faem;
Bade his lady weel the castle keep,
ay till he should come hame.
as eer hung on a tree;
She laid a plot wi Lamkin,
whan her lord was oer the sea.
when the servants were awa,
Loot him in at a little shot-window,
and brought him to the ha.
that ca me Lamkin?'
'They're at the barn-well thrashing;
'twill be lang ere they come in.'
that ca me Lamkin?'
'They're at the far well washing;
'twill be lang ere they come in.'
that ca me Lamkin?'
'They're at the school reading;
'twill be night or they come hame.'
that ca's me Lamkin?'
'She's up in her bower sewing,
but we soon can bring her down.'
that hang down by his gaire,
And he has gien the bonny babe
a deep wound and a sair.
and the fause nourice sang,
Till frae ilkae bore o the cradle
the red blood out sprang.
as she stood on the stair:
'What ails my bairn, nourice,
that he's greeting sae sair?
O still him wi the pap!'
'He winna still, lady,
for this nor for that.'
O still him wi the wand!'
'He winna still, lady,
for a' his father's land.'
O still him wi the bell!'
'He winna still, lady,
till ye come down yoursel.'
she steppit on a stane;
But the neisten step she steppit,
she met him Lamkin.
hae mercy upon me!
Though you've taen my young son's life,
ye may let mysel be.'
or sall I lat her be?'
'O kill her, kill her, Lamkin,
for she neer was good to me.'
and mak it fair and clean,
For to keep this lady's heart's blood,
for she's come o noble kin.'
lat it run through the floor;
What better is the heart's blood
o the rich than o the poor?'
Lord Wearie came again;
But dowie, dowie was his heart
when first he came hame.
'that lies in the chamer?'
[Pg 323] 'It is your lady's heart's blood;
'tis as clear as the lamer.'
'that lies in my ha?'
'It is your young son's heart's blood;
'tis the clearest ava.'
that sat upon the tree;
But sairer grat Lamkin,
when he was condemnd to die.
out o the thorny brake;
But sairer grat the nourice,
when she was tied to the stake.
B
Motherwell's MS., p. 15; from the recitation of Mrs Thomson, Kilbarchan, February 25, 1825.
as eer picked a stane;
He built up Prime Castle,
but payment gat nane.
when he was going abroad,
O beware of Balankin,
for he lyes in the wood.
baith outside and in;
At the sma peep of a window
Balankin crap in.
said Lambert Linkin:
'Good morrow to yoursell, sir,'
said the false nurse to him.
said Lambert Linkin:
'He's awa to New England,
to meet with his king.'
said Lambert Linkin:
'He's awa to buy pearlings,
gin our lady lye in.'
said Lambert Linkin:
'And that is nae pity,'
said the false nurse to him.
said Lambert Linkin:
'She's in her bower sleeping,'
said the false nurse to him.
said Lambert Linkin:
'Stab the babe to the heart,
wi a silver bokin.'
said Lambert Linkin:
'No pity, no pity,'
said the false nurse to him.
and the false nurse she sang,
Till all the tores of the cradle
wi the red blood down ran.
O still him wi the knife!'
'He'll no be still, lady,
tho I lay doun my life.'
O still him wi the kame!'
'He'll no be still, lady,
till his daddy come hame.'
O still him wi the bell!'
'He'll no be still, lady,
till ye come doun yoursell.'
this cauld winter nicht,
Without eer a coal,
or a clear candle-licht?'
as white as a swan;
Put one of them about you,
it will shew you licht down.'
[Pg 324]
and came tripping doun;
But as soon as she viewed,
Balankin was in.
said Lambert Linkin:
'Good morrow to yoursell, sir,'
said the lady to him.
till my husband come back,
And I'll gie you as much red gold
as you'll hold in your hat.'
till your husband come back,
Tho you would give me as much red gold
as I could hold in a sack.
'will I kill her, or let her be?'
'You may kill her,' said the false nurse,
'she was neer good to me;
And ye'll be laird of the castle,
and I'll be ladie.'
fram her lily breast-bane,
And he hung't up in the kitchen,
it made a' the ha shine.
a drinking the wine:
'I wish a' may be weel
with my lady at hame;
For the rings of my fingers
the're now burst in twain!'
and he came riding doun,
But as soon as he viewed,
Balankin was in.
twa steps up the stair,
Till he saw his pretty young son
lying dead on the floor.
other twa up the stair,
Till he saw his pretty lady
lying dead in despair.
out over the gate,
And he burnt the fause nurice,
being under the grate.
C
Motherwell's MS., p. 9: from Edward King, weaver, Kilbarchan, taken from the recitation of his mother, an old woman.
as eer laid a stane,
Built a house to Lord Arran,
but entrance had nane.
when going abroad,
Take care of Lamerlinkin,
wha bides in the wood.
nor none of his kin;
My house is plastered outside,
and bolted within.'
baith outside and in,
But there was a wee hole
that let Lamkin creep in.
said Lamerlinkin:
'Good woman, good woman,'
said the fause nurse to him.
is he not within?'
'He's up in Old England,
he's dining wi the king.'
or is she not within?'
'She's up in her high room,
and cannot come down.'
[Pg 325]
or are they not within?'
'They are at the well washing,
and cannot get in.'
or are they not within?'
'They are at the barn threshing,
and cannot win hame.'
to mak her come doun?'
'We'll kill her auld son,
to mak her come doun.'
baith pointed and sharp,
And he stabbed the babie
three times in the heart.
and the fause nurse did sing;
Ower the four-cornered cradle
the red blood did spring.
O please him wi wands!'
'He'll no be pleased, madam,
for a' his father's lands.'
O please him wi keys!'
'He'll no be pleased, madam,
let me do what I please.'
O please him with bells!'
'He'll no be pleased, madam,
till you come down yoursell.
this cold frosty night,
Without coal or candle
for to shew me light?'
are bright as the sun;
You may see to cum doun the stair
with the light o them.'
stepping step by step;
So ready was Lamkin
to grip her in his lap.
till five minutes break,
And I'll give thee gold,
the fu o a peck.'
till five minutes break,
Tho thou should give me gold,
the fu of a sack.'
O scour the bason clean,
That your lady's noble blood
may be kepped clean.'
my heart will be sare;
O take my life, Lambkin,
let my lady go.'
to give her her fee;
All the fee that he gave her
was to hang her on a tree.
to give him his hire;
All the hire that he gave him
was to burn him in the fire.
D
Maidment's New Book of Old Ballads, p. 73, No XX; Whitelaw's Book of Scottish Ballads, p. 246, No V: from a manuscript copy, in the possession of W. H. Logan, Edinburgh, derived from oral tradition.
Beware of Rankin;
For I am going to England,
to wait on the king.
said the lady, said she,
'For the doors shall be bolted,
and the windows pindee.
both outside and in;
Don't leave a window open,
to let Bold Rankin in.'
both outside and in;
But she left one of them open,
to let Bold Rankin in.
said Bold Rankin;
'He's up in Old England,'
said the false nurse to him.
said Bold Rankin;
'She's up in the chamber sleeping,'
said the false nurse to him.
said Bold Rankin;
'By piercing the baby,'
said the false nurse to him.
O go please it with a bell;'
'It will not be pleased, madam,
till you come down yoursel.'
so late into the night,
Without coal or candle,
to shew me the light?
lies on the chest-head;
Give it to the baby,
give it sweet milk and bread.'
up the baby's nose,
Till the blood it came trinkling
down the baby's fine clothes.
go please it with the bell:'
'It will not please, madam,
till you come down yoursel.
nor yet with pap;
But I pray, loving lady,
Come and roll it in your lap.'
she steppit on a stone;
And the next step she stepit,
she met Bold Rankin.
spare me till twelve o'clock,
And I will give you as many guineas
as you can carry on your back.'
as seeds into a sack,
When I cannot keep my hands off
your lily-white neck?'
or let her abee?'
'O kill her,' said the false nurse,
'she was never good to me.'
both outside and in,
To hold your mother's heart's blood,
sprung from a noble kin.'
would make my heart full woe;
O rather kill me, Rankin,
and let my mother go.'
both outside and in,
To hold your lady's heart's blood,
sprung from a noble kin.'
[Pg 327]
would make my heart full woe;
O rather kill me, Rankin,
and let my lady go.'
both outside and in,
To hold your lady's heart's blood,
sprung from a noble kin.'
would make my heart full glad;
Ram in the knife, Bold Rankin,
and gar the blood to shed.
she's none of my kin;
Ram in the knife, Bold Rankin,
and gar the blood rin.'
or let her abee?'
'O kill her,' said the false nurse,
'she was never good to me.'
may be all well at home;
For the silver buttons of my coat
they will not stay on.'
oer her window so high,
She saw her dear father
come riding by.
don't put the blame on me
It was false nurse and Rankin
that killed your lady.'
when he came to the stair,
To see his fairest lady
lie bleeding there!
on the mountain hill-head,
And Rankin was boiled
in a pot full of lead.
E
Kinloch MSS, V, 246, from Mary Barr.
as ever laid stone;
He builded Lord Montgomery's castle,
but payment got none.
without and within;
But he left an open wake
for himself to get in.
when he went abroad,
Take care of Bold Lambkin,
for he is in the wood.
without and within,
Leave not the wake open,
to let Bold Lambkin in.'
without and within,
But she left the wake open,
to let Bold Lambkin in.
says Bold Lambkin then;
'Gude morrow, gude morrow,'
says the false nurse to him.
or where is he gone?'
'He is gone up to England,
to wait on the king.'
and where are they gone?'
'They are all up to England,
to wait upon him.'
or where is she gone?'
'She is in her bower sitting,
and sewing her seam.'
[Pg 328]
for to make her come down?'
'We'll kill the pretty baby,
that's sleeping so sound.'
and the false nurse she sung,
And she stabbed the babe to the heart
with a silver bodkin.
O still him with the pap:'
'He'll no be stilled, madam,
for this nor for that.'
go still him with the keys:'
'He'll no be stilled, madam,
let me do what I please.'
go still him with the bell:'
'He'll no be stilled, madam,
till you come down yoursel.'
this cold winter night,
When there's neither coal burning,
nor yet candle-light?'
is whiter than the swan;
Come down the stair, lady,
by the light of your hand.'
the stair trip for trap;
Who so ready as Bold Lambkin
to meet her in the dark?
said Bold Lambkin then;
'Gude morrow, gude morrow,'
said the lady to him.
or where is he gone?'
'O he is up to England,
to wait on the king.'
or where are they gone?'
'They are all up to England,
to wait upon him.
as you'll put in a peck,
If you'll spare my life
till my lord comes back.'
as I could put in a sack,
I would not spare thy life
till thy lord comes back.'
drinking with the king;
The buttons flew off his coat,
all in a ring.
my lady and son!
For before I get home
they will all be undone.'
F
a. Notes and Queries, Second Series, II, 324, as sung by a nurse nearly a century ago [1856] in Northumberland. b. Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, II, p. 281, from Northamptonshire, communicated by Mr B. H. Cowper.
as he mounted his horse, (bis)
Take care of Long Lankyn,
who lies in the moss. (bis)
as he rode away,
Take care of Long Lankyn,
who lies in the clay.
and the windows all pinned,
And leave not a hole
for a mouse to creep in.
and he rode away;
He must be in London
before break of day.
[Pg 329]
and the windows were pinned,
All but one little window,
where Long Lankyn crept in.
said Long Lankyn:
'He is gone to fair London,'
said the false nurse to him.
said Long Lankyn:
'She's asleep in her chamber,'
said the false nurse to him.
said Long Lankyn:
'He's asleep in his cradle,'
said the false nurse to him.
all over with a pin,
And that will make your ladye
to come down to him.'
all over with a pin,
And the nurse held a basin
for the blood to run in.
Oh nurse, how you snore!'
And you leave my little son Johnstone
to cry and to roar.'
and I've tried him with pap;
So come down, my fair ladye,
and nurse him in your lap.'
Oh nurse, how you snore!
And you leave my little son Johnstone
to cry and to roar.'
I've tried him with pears;
So come down, my fair ladye,
and rock him in your chair.'
'tis so late in the night,
When there's no candle burning,
nor fire to give light?'
as bright as the sun;
So come down, my fair ladye,
by the light of one.'
oh spare me till twelve o'clock,
You shall have as much gold
as you can carry on your back.'
as would build me a tower,'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
oh spare me one hour,
You shall have my daughter Betsy,
she is a sweet flower.'
she may do some good;
She can hold the silver basin,
to catch your heart's blood.'
in her window so high,
And she saw her father,
as he was riding by.
don't lay the blame on me;
'Twas the false nurse and Long Lankyn
that killed your ladye.'
on a gallows so high,
And the false nurse was burnt
in a fire just by.
G
Richardson's Borderer's Table Book, VIII, 410, 1846, communicated by Mrs Blackett, Newcastle, as taken down from the recitation of an old woman of Ovington, Northumberland, "several years ago;" previously in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1835, p. 11.
as he mounted his horse,
Beware of Long Lonkin,
that lies in the moss.
as he rode away,
Beware of Long Lonkin,
that lies in the clay.
or any of his gang?
My doors are all shut,
and my windows penned in.'
and they were all shut,
But one little window,
and that was forgot.
. . . . . . .
And at that little window
long Lonkin crept in.
says the Lonkin:
'He's gone up to London,'
says Orange to him.
says the Lonkin:
'They're at the field ploughing,'
says Orange to him.
says the Lonkin:
'They're at the well washing,'
says Orange to him.
says the Lonkin:
'They're up in their chambers,'
says Orange to him.
says the Lonkin:
'Prick the babe in the cradle,'
says Orange to him.
and bee-ba my son;
You shall have a new gown
when the lord he comes home.'
and bee-ba she cried:
'Come down, dearest mistress,
and still your own child.'
still him with a bell:'
'I can't still him, ladie,
till you come down yoursell.'
for your heart's blood to run in,'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
it grieves me full sore;
Oh kill me, dear Lonkin,
and let my mother go.'
H
Kinloch MSS, I, 306.
as eer biggit wi stane;
He has biggit a bonny castle,
but siller he gat nane.
'gae bar them out and in;
Leave not a door open,
lest Rankin should come in.'
sae hae they on the in;
But left the cellar-door open,
and Bauld Rankin crap in.
[Pg 331]
says Bauld Rankin:
'They're at the well washing,'
says the fause nurse to him.
says the Bauld Rankin:
'They are at the barn thrashing,'
says the fause nurse to him.
says the Bauld Rankin:
'She's in the chamber, sleeping,'
says the fause nurse to him.
how will we get her down?'
'We'll pierce the baby's heart's blood,'
says the fause nurse to him.
come please it wi the keys:'
'It'll no be pleased, madam,
tho I'll down on my knees.'
come, please it wi the knife:'
'It'll no be pleased, madam,
should I lay down my life.'
come, please it wi the bell:'
'It'll no be pleased, madam,
till ye come down yoursel.'
sae late in the night,
And neither coal nor candle,
for to shew me light?'
she steppit on a stane;
The next step she steppit,
she met the Bauld Rankin.
O spare it most dear!
I'll gie you as monie guineas
as birds in the air.
O save it most sweet!
I'll gie you as monie guineas
as there's stanes in the street.'
may be all well at hame;
For the buttons on my waistcoat
they winna bide on.
may be all well at home;
For the rings upon my fingers
they winna bide on.'
in the middle o the closs,
And he has burned Bauld Rankin,
likewise the fause nurse.
I
Skene MSS, p. 75, North of Scotland, 1802-03.
as ever did use stane;
He biggit Lord Murray's house,
an payment neer got nane.
Lord Murray went frae hame,
An Lankin came to the fause nourice,
. . . . . . .
still him wi the knife:'
'He winna still, lady,
Tho I should lay down my life.'
still him wi the bell:'
'He winna still, lady,
till ye come down yersel.'
[Pg 332]
she came on the marble stane;
The next step [she steppit],
she met him Lankin.
an I'll gie ye a peck o goud;
An that dinna please ye,
I'll heap it wi my hand.'
or will I lat her be?'
'O kill her, Lankin,
she was never guid to me.'
or wanted ye yer fee?
Or wanted ye the othir bounties
ladys are wont to gie?'
. . . . . . .
'O kill her, Lankin,
she was never guid to me.'
an ye wash it clean,
To cape this ladie's blood;
she is come o high kine.'
nor will I wash it clean,
To cape this ladie's blood,
tho she's come o high kine.'
as he sat upon the tree,
But sare grat Lankin,
for he was hangit hie.
that sat upon the hill,
But sare grat the nurice,
whan the caudron gan to boil.
Lankin was hangit hie,
And the fause nourice burnt
in the caudron was she.
J
Kinloch MSS, V, 371, in the handwriting of Dr John Hill Burton.
as ever bigget stane;
He's bigget Lord Erley's castle,
but money he got nane.
Lord Earley went from home;
He left his lady in his castle,
but and his young son.
that calls me Lammikin?'
'He's on the sea sailing,
he will not come home.'
that call me Lammikin?'
'They are at the barn threshing,
they will not come in.'
that call me Lammikin?'
'They are at the well washing,
they will not come in.'
that calls me Lammikin?'
'She's in her room shewing,
she will not come down.'
for to make her come down?'
'We'll stick her dear infant,
and make her come down.'
and the fause nurice sung,
While out o the cradle
the infant's blude sprung.
the lady did cry:
'He will not still, lady,
for you nor for I.'
[Pg 333]
still him wi the wan:'
'He will not still, lady,
for a' his father's lan.'
still him wi the keys:'
'Oh he winna still, lady,
for a' his father's leys.'
still him wi the bell:'
'Oh he winna still, lady,
till ye come down yersell.'
it was upon a stone;
The nexten step that lady stepped,
she saw him Lammikin.
was in her own child's blood,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
or will I let her be?'
'Kill her, dear Lammikin,
she was never gude to me.'
or wanted you fee?
Or wanted you anything
that a lady can gie?'
nor wanted I fee,
But I wanted mony a thing
that a lady could gie.'
K
Communicated to Percy by Rev. P. Parsons, of Wye, near Ashford, Kent, April 19, 1775.
when he went from home,
Take care of Long Longkin,
he lies in the lone.
when he went abroad,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
nor none of his kin,
For my gate 's fast barrd,
and my windows shut in.'
many miles from the place,
Untill the false Longkin
came straight to the place.
pinch it very sore,
Untill the mother
shall come down below.'
still it with the pap:'
'It wont be stilld, madam,
with neither this nor that.'
still it with a bell:'
'It wont be stilld, madam,
till you cum down yoursell.'
the flower of all your kin,
And see your mother's heart's blood,
so freely running.
her heart full of woe:
'Oh take my life, Longkin,
and let my mother go.'
[Pg 334]
the flower of all your kin,
And see your sister's heart's blood,
so freely running.'
her heart full of woe:
'Oh take my life, Longkin,
and let my sister go.'
L
Motherwell's MS., p. 14, from Mr W. Steele, Greenock.
quo the Lamkin:
'They're in the barn threshing,'
quo the false nurse within.
quo the Lamkin:
'They're at the well washing,'
quo the false nurse within.
quo the Lamkin:
'He's in the wood hunting,'
quo the false nurse within.
quo the Lamkin:
'She's in her bower dressing,'
quo the false nurse within.
O please him with the keys:'
'He'll no be pleased, madam,
let me do what I please.'
O please him with the bell:'
'He'll no be pleased, madam,
till ye come down yoursell.'
and blood in the ha,
And blood in his ladie's room,
which he liked warst of a'.
M
a. Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, Adversaria, p. 60, from tradition. b. Kinloch MSS, VI, 31, in Dr Robertson's handwriting.
Lord Wearie was to gae frae hame,
And he has left his lady gay
In his castell to stay her lane.
and fausse nourice sang,
And a' the four tors o the cradle
red blood sprang.
O still him wi the wan:
'He winna still, lady,
for a' his father's lan.'
O still him wi the keys:
'He winna still, lady,
for a' his father's leys.'
O still him wi the pap:'
'He winna still, lady,
for this nor for that.'
O still him wi the bell:'
[Pg 335] 'He winna still, lady,
untill ye cum down yersell.'
she stepped on a stane,
And the nexten step she stepped,
she keppit him fause Lamkin.
she saw her young son's red blood run on,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
but lat mysell be;
Ye'se be as weel payit a mason
as was ever payd a fee.'
N
Dr Joseph Robertson's Journal of Excursions, 1828-29, No 2.
as ever biggit stone;
He biggit Laird Earie's house,
and payment he got none.
Laird Earie went from home,
And Lamkin came cravin
his lady alone.
O neerice, tell me:'
'He's on the sea sailin,
O Lamkin,' said she.
neerice, tell me:'
'She's up the stair dressin,
O Lamkin,' said she.
neerice, tell me:'
'The're at the scheel...
O Lamkin,' said she.
'O will I get a word o her,
neerice?' said he.
she steppd on a stone;
The next step that lady stept
she met wi Lamkin.
or haf made clean,
The ladie's heart-bleed
was rinnin in the reem.
O
Kinloch MSS, V, 375, from Mrs Forbes, Milne's Court, Edinburgh, in the handwriting of Robert Chambers.
as bright as the stars,
Put one on each finger,
they'll show you doun stairs.'
she dreaded no harm;
But the second step this lady took,
she was in Lammikin's arms.
or will I let her be?'
'Oh yes, kill her, Lammikin,
she was never gude to me.'
how can ye say so?
For your head neer did ache
but my heart it was sore.
oh spare my life, spare;
Ye'll have as mony gowd guineas
as there's birds in the air.
[Pg 336]
till my lord comes back;
Ye'll have as mony gowd guineas
as the fou of a sack.'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
go scour it fine,
For our lady's heart's blude
is gentle to tine.
oh scour it richt fine,
For our lady's heart's blude
is gentle to tine.'
P
Herd's MSS, I, 25.
nevir builded wi the stane,
Wha builded Lord Weire's castill,
but wages nevir gat nane.
close to the cheik and the chin;
They stecked them a' but a little wickit,
and Lammikin crap in.
nurse, tell to Lammikin:'
'She's sewing up intill her bowir,'
the fals nourrice she sung.
to gar her cum there down?'
'We'll nip the baby in the cradle,'
the fals nourrice she sung.
while loud fals nourice sings;
Lammikin nipped the bony babe,
while hich the red blude springs.
O please him wi the keys:'
'He'll no be pleased, gay lady,
gin I'd sit on my knees.'
O please him wi a knife:'
'He winna be pleased, mistress myne,
gin I wad lay down my lyfe.'
O please him wi the bell:'
'He winna be pleased, gay lady,
till ye cum down yoursell.'
Q
Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 45.
as ever hewed a stane;
He biggit Lord Weire's castle,
but payment gat he nane.
says the Lammikin:
'They are a' wi Lord Weire, hunting,'
the false nourice did sing.
says the Lammikin:
'They are a' out at the washing,'
the false nourice did sing.
says the Lammikin:
'She is in her bower sewing,'
the false nourice did sing.
says the Lammikin:
'The only bairn Lord Weire aughts,'
the false nourice did sing.
[Pg 337]
O still him if ye can:'
'He will not still, madam,
for a' his father's lan.'
O still him wi the keys:'
'He will not still, fair lady,
let me do what I please.'
O still him wi the ring:'
'He will not still, my lady,
let me do any thing.'
she stepped on a stane;
The next step she stepped,
she met the Lammikin.
or wanted ye your fee?
Or wanted ye for any thing
a fair lady could gie?'
I wanted for nae fee;
But I wanted for a hantle
a fair lady could gie.'
'wi my ladie at hame;
For the rings upon my fingers
are bursting in twain.'
there's bluid in my ha,
There's bluid in my fair lady's bower,
an that's warst of a'.'
upon the bough sae hie,
But little cared false nourice for that,
for it was her gallows-tree.
R
Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 55, "from a manuscript formerly written by an old lady."
gaed to hunt the wild boar,
He gard bar up his castle,
behind and before.
guard weel her young son,
For wicked Balcanqual
great mischief had done.
without and within,
But forgot the wee wicket,
and Balcanqual crap in.
and fause nourice sang,
Till through a' the cradle
the baby's blood sprang.
and please him wi the keys:'
'He'll no be pleased, madam,
for a' that he sees.'
while fause nourice sang,
And through a' the cradle
the baby's blood ran.
and please him wi the knife:'
'He'll no be pleased, madam,
tho I'd gie my life.'
and fause nourice sang,
While through a' the cradle
the baby's blood ran.
[Pg 338]
and please him wi the bell:'
'He'll no be pleased, madam,
till ye come yoursell.'
tripping down the stair,
To see her sick bairn,
but returned never mair.
and scour 't very clean,
To haad this lady's blood,
for she's of noble kin.'
S
Motherwell's Note-Book, fol. 13.
as eer built a stane,
And he built Lord Cassillis house,
an for payment he gat nane.
when he went abroad,
Tak care o fause Lamkin,
for he sleeps in the wood.
T
Recited to me by Ellen Healy, January 14, 1881, as sung by Moll Lochnie, a woman of about seventy, at a place near Killarney, before 1867.
or is he within?'
'He's gone to New England,
to dine with the king.'
or where is his men?'
'They're gone to New England,
to wait upon him.'
or is she within?'
'She's in her bedchamber,
all in her lying in.'
with thousands of lands?
Can I get at her,
to make her understand?'
with thousands of lands;
You cannot get at her,
to make her understand.'
and please your child,'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
with white bread and breast-wine?'
'O lady, come down,
and please him awhile.'
this cold winter's night,
Without a fire in the kitchen,
or candle to light?'
just as bright as the king;
Lady, come down,
and light one of them.'
. . . . . . .
False Lantin he took her
so brave in his arms.
or where is your foe,
That will hold the gold basin,
your heart's blood to flow?
my nurse is my foe;
She'll hold the gold basin,
my heart's blood to flow.
[Pg 339]
for one summer's day,
And I'll give you as much money
as there's sand in the sea.'
for one summer's day,
And I wont have as much money
as there's sand in the sea.'
until one o'clock,
And I'll give you Queen Betsie,
the flower of the flock.'
then please him awhile;
My dada is coming,
he's dressed in great style.'
the words from the high,
Saying, Your mama is dead,
and away I will fly.
do not blame me,
'Tis nurse and false Lantin
betrayed your ladie.'
against the wall,
And I'll bury my baba,
white all, white all.'
U
a. The Ballad Book, by William Allingham, p. xxxiii, part of a version sung by a nurse in the family of a relative in Ireland. b. The same, p. 297, No 56, a compounded version.
were out walking one day,
Says my lord to my lady,
Beware of Lamkin.
or any such man,
When my doors are well barrd,
and my windows well pinnd?'
it will do you some good;
It will buy you a coffin,
when you are dead.'
and blood in the hall,
And the young Mayor of England
lies dead by the wall.
V
Harris MS., No 28, fol. 27 b, Miss Seymour, Lethnot.
to wash a basin clean,
To haud my mither's heart's blude,
that's comin, an I ken.
C.
212, 222. Motherwell suggests mother for lady.
After 22, "a stanza, forgotten by the reciter, which purported that on the night his lady was murdered, the ring on Lord Arran's finger broke."
F. b.
11. he got on.
12, 22. who lives.
31. The doors are... windows are.
32. There is not... where a mouse can.
42. For he.
51. the windows all pinned.
52. But one: Lankin.
72. she's in her high chamber.
81. young heir.
91. we'll prick him, we'll.
101. They pricked him, they.
102. false nurse... drop in.
112. my son Johnson.
[Pg 340]122, 142, 162. Come down.
13. wanting.
142. and nurse.
152. And there 's no fire burning, nor lamp.
162. all by.
172. much money.
18. wanting.
19, 20, 21. Nancy.
202. golden basin.
222, 231. Long wanting.
232. close by.
G.
"A friend of the lady who contributed our copy of this ballad gave a transcript to Miss Landon, who published it in the Drawing Room Scrap Book for 1835, in which, without any authority, she lays the scene of the murder in Cumberland."
Variations in the Drawing Boom Scrap Book: 71, 81, 91. Where are.
11, 13 are given in Halliwell's Nursery Rhymes of England, ed. 1874, p. 212, No 403, with only this variation: 112, when ye lord.
I.
51. marble stane, indistinct in the MS.
71. O... her gang.
K.
After 4. He was in league with the nurse, who let him in to one of the low rooms.
After 12. Whilst he and the nurse are plundering the house, the lord comes home, and avenges himself upon these wicked villains.
L.
21. woman.
M. a.
After 1. And a' the servants were frae hame; Lamkin made up wi the fauss norice.
2 follows 8.
b.
Begins with a stanza very near to N 1:
As ever laid a stane,
And he has built Lord Wearie a castle.
But payment he got nane.
11. once upon: Wearie went frae.
2 follows 6.
21. Lamkin he rockit and the.
22. Till to the four tors o the cradle the.
31. a wand.
8 is omitted.
92. as eer was paid.
N.
61. first steppd.
P.
Eleven of the nineteen stanzas of Herd's version are spurious, and many of the others have been tampered with. The metre is disturbed or changed.
Stanza 4 is omitted in Herd's printed copy.
After 1 follow:
Sen ye winnae gie me my hyre,
Yon proud castle, sae stately built,
I sall gar reck wi the fyre.
Ye sall hae caus to rue:'
And syne he brewed a black revenge,
And syne he vowed a vow.
I warde ye byde at hame;
Oh gang nae to this day's hunting,
To leave me a' my lane.
Of red, red blude was fu;
Gin ye gang to this black hunting,
I sall hae caus to rue.'
Ye hae nae caus to feare:'
And syne he's kist her comely cheik,
And syne the starting teare.
And she to her painted bowir,
And she's gard steck doors, windows, yates,
Of castle, ha and tower.
After 8 follow these five stanzas, found also in Herd's MSS, II, 97:
A loud scrich scriched she:
'O monster, monster, spare the child
Wha never skaithed thee.
Albergs not heart of stane;
O spare, and ye sall hae of gould
What ye can carry hame.'
'Dame, I want not your fee;
I hae been wronged by your lord,
Ye sall black vengence drie.
Nae trusty spearsmen here;
They sound the horn in good greene wode,
And chase the doe and deer.
Wi huntsmen hounds and horn,
Your lord sall rue eer sets yon sun
He hes done me skaith and scorn.'
For quha, ze, etc., wha, ye are printed.
Q.
Of the thirty-five stanzas printed by Finlay, seventeen, or 2, 3, 5-9, 12 (?), 14, 16 (?), 18, 19, 21-25, are derived from Herd's version, P, all his spurious verses being retained. There are some variations, due to imperfect recollection. Of the remaining eighteen, 4, 28, 29, 31, 34 are clearly by a modern pen. There are some twelve genuine stanzas, 1, 10, 11, 13, 15, 17, 20, 26, 27, 30, 32, 33, which are independent of Herd. Two more, Finlay's 12, 16, have been left with these because they vary considerably from Herd, and may possibly be traditional. So may the following be, Finlay's 35 and last; but I think it is not.
And mickle pain had he;
At last before Lord Weire's gate
They hanged him on the tree.
R.
This second version of Finlay's has been written over. His fourth stanza and his last six owe nothing to tradition. Finlay himself "restored" the name of Balwearie from a recited copy "in preference to that of Sr. Guy, or Gray, which the MS. bears, as it makes the ballad appear more decidedly local."
After 3:
'haste up to the tower,
Somebody knocks at the gate,
bauldly and dowr.'
After 11:
and kissed cheek and chin,
And his ance rosy lips,
but nae breath was within.
ye've left me alane;
But I see my death coming,
I needna make mane.'
and tied her wi bands,
And in her sweet heart's blood
they've dipped their hands.
had vowd her to slae,
Because their ill deeds
made Balwearie their fae.
cam hame weary at een,
Nae voice gied them welcome,
nae light could be seen.
my castle to me:'
Nae voice gied an answer,
nae voice was to gie.
S.
"Lambkin.... 27 stanzas."
T.
After 5: "The nurse said this, and the false Lantin stabbed the baby. He bribed the nurse to make the lady come down and please the child. It told how he stabbed the baby, what kind of knife he had, and how he put it through the baby."
U. b.
Allingham's copy is principally composed of 14 stanzas of A, 9 of G, 5 of Q, 1 of B. So much of the following stanzas as is in larger type may be regarded as derived, partially or wholly, from the "copy taken down from the mouth of an Irish nurse in the family of a relative of the editor."
or any of his gang?
I'll keep my doors weel guarded,
my windows all pennd in.'
and all the windows shut,
There was still one little window,
and that one was forgot.
says the Lamkin:
'Pinch the babe in the cradle here,'
says the fause nourice to him.
she stepped on a stane;
The last step the lady stepped,
there she met Lamkin.
have mercy upon me!
O harm ye not my little son,
I pray you let him be.'
[Pg 342]
a drinking o the wine;
He felt his heart fu heavy
at this very same time.
upon the saut sea-faem;
He leapd up on his horse
and swiftly he rade hame.
'that lies in the bower?'
'It is your lady's heart's blude,
where Lamkin he slew her.'
FOOTNOTES:
[150] Of boiling to death see Ducange, Caldariis decoquere, and other places cited by Robertson, Materials for the History of Thomas Becket, I, xxxii, note, and 128. This was especially a punishment for coiners, and was sanctioned as the penalty for poisoners by a statute of 22 Henry VIII, c. 29, repealed 1 Edward VI.
[151] More about the locality in Notes and Queries, First Series, II, 270.
[152] "Balcanquel is an ancient Scottish surname, and is sometimes corrupted, for the more agreeable sound, into Beluncan. All reciters agree that Lammikin, or Lambkin, is not the name of the hero, but merely an epithet." Finlay, Scottish Ballads, II. 56.
94
YOUNG WATERS
Percy's Reliques, 1765, II, 172.
Percy took this ballad "from a copy printed not long since at Glasgow, in one sheet 8vo," and he informs us that the world was indebted for its publication to the Lady Jean Hume, sister to the Earl of Hume. Maidment, Scotish Ballads and Songs, Historical and Traditionary, II, 62, gives the title of the first edition as follows: Young Waters, an Ancient Scotish Poem, never before printed. Glasgow: printed and sold by Robert and Andrew Foulis. MDCCLV. Small 4to, pp. 8. He does not say whether he prints from the original edition. The ballad was repeated in Herd's Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 238; in Ritson's Scotish Song, 1794, II, 181, with the variation of a word or two; and in Pinkerton's Select Scotish Ballads, 1783, I, 72, with arbitrary changes.
Motherwell, Minstrelsy, Introduction, p. lxviii, note 16, says he had never met with any traditionary version of this ballad. There is a copy in the Skene MSS, p. 23, which in all likelihood was learned by the writer from print. Buchan, who may generally be relied upon to produce a longer ballad than anybody else, has 'Young Waters' in thirty-nine stanzas, "the only complete version which he had ever met." Of this copy I will only say that everything which is not in the edition of 1755 (itself a little the worse for editing) is a counterfeit of the lowest description. Nevertheless it is given in an appendix; for much the same reason that thieves are photographed.
It is possible, and Aytoun, I, 93, thinks highly probable, that this ballad may have been founded on some real event in Scottish history; but Aytoun shows a commendable discretion in his conclusion that, "though various conjectures have been hazarded as to its origin, none appear sufficiently plausible to warrant their adoption," an opinion in which Maidment fully concurs. Chambers, who unhesitatingly accepted Buchan's ballad, did not, in 1829, entertain the least doubt that Young Waters was one of the Scottish nobles executed by James I after his return from his captivity in England, and very probably Walter Stuart, second son of the Duke of Albany: The Scottish Ballads, p. 34. Thirty years later he had no more doubt that the ballad was composed by Lady Wardlaw.
A Scandinavian ballad, historical to the extent that one version has historical names, exhibits the principal incidents of the short story of 'Young Waters.' Danish. 'Folke Lovmandsøn og Dronning Helvig,' texts of the 16th century, Grundtvig, III, 691, No 178, A-D.[153] Swedish. A, 'Falkvard Lagermanson,' tradition of this century, Arwidsson, II,[Pg 343] 62, No 80. B, manuscript of the last century, Grundtvig, III, 697. The king and queen, Danish B, are Magnus I of Sweden and his wife Helvig (died 1290, 1325). Folke Lovmandsøn is in high favor with dames and maids, but especially with the queen, to whose service he is devoted. A little wee page plays the part of the wily lord of 'Young Waters' in exciting the king's jealousy. The innocent young knight is rolled down hill in a tun set with knives.
Translated by Grundtvig, No 7, p. 48; Herder, II, 68; Döring, p. 383; Allingham's copy by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 8, p. 33; Buchan's by Gerhard, p. 8.
And the round tables began,
A there is cum to our king's court
Mony a well-favourd man.
Beheld baith dale and down,
And then she saw Young Waters
Cum riding to the town.
His horsemen rade behind;
Ane mantel of the burning gowd
Did keip him frae the wind.
And siller-shod behind;
The horse Young Waters rade upon
Was fleeter than the wind.
Unto the queen said he,
'O tell me wha's the fairest face
Rides in the company?'
And knights of high degree,
But a fairer face than Young Waters
Mine eyne did never see.'
And an angry man was he:
'O if he had been twice as fair,
You micht have excepted me.'
'Bot the king that wears the crown;
There is not a knight in fair Scotland
But to thee maun bow down.'
Appeasd he wad nae bee,
Bot for the words which she had said,
Young Waters he maun dee.
And put fetters to his feet;
They hae taen Young Waters,
And thrown him in dungeon deep.
In the wind bot and the weit;
Bot I neir rade thro Stirling town
Wi fetters at my feet.
In the wind bot and the rain;
Bot I neir rade thro Stirling town
Neir to return again.'
His young son in his craddle,
And they hae taen to the heiding-hill
His horse bot and his saddle.
His lady fair to see,
And for the words the queen had spoke
Young Waters he did dee.
Quhen, zoung, etc., are printed when, young.
33. And corrected to Ane in the second edition of the Reliques.
51. But. Ritson, Maidment, Out.
101, 3. Waters and: and is carried on to the following line.
APPENDIX.
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 15.
When caps and stoups gaed roun,
Down it came him Young Waters,
To welcome James, our king.
The sma came a' behin,
But wi Young Waters, that brave knight,
There came a gay gatherin.
It cost him hunders nine;
For he was siller-shod before,
And gowd-graith had behin.
There hang a siller bell;
The wind was loud, the steed was proud,
And they gae a sindry knell.
Beheld baith dale and down,
And he beheld him Young Waters,
Come riding to the town.
And to the queen said he,
Who is the bravest man, my dame,
That ever your een did see?
And knights o high degree,
But a braver man than Young Waters
My een did never see.'
And ane angry man was he:
'O wae to you, my dame, the queen,
Ye might hae excepted me!'
Ye are the king that wears the crown;
There's nae a lord in fair Scotland
But unto you maun a' bow down.'
Ye shall win to your will;
The morn, or I eat or drink,
Young Waters I'll gar kill.'
'Ye might hae excepted me;
Yea for yea,' the king coud say,
'Young Waters he shall die.
Ye sall hae cause to mourn;
Gin ye hadna been sae big wi child,
Ye on a hill sud burn.'
Fell low down on his knee:
'Win up, win up, Young Waters,
What 's this I hear o thee?'
'What ails the king at me?'
'It is tauld me the day, sir knight,
Ye 've done me treasonie.'
Sae will they do on me;
I wudna wish to be the man
That liars on wudna lie.'
'In prison strang gang ye;
O yea for yea,' the king coud say,
'Young Waters, ye shall die.'
Laid him in prison strang,
And left him there wi fetters boun,
Making a heavy mane.
Thro heavy wind and weet;
But neer rade I thro Striveling town
Wi fetters on my feet.
Thro heavy wind and rain;
But neer rade I thro Striveling town
But thought to ridden't again.'
His horse bot and his saddle;
And they brought to the heading-hill
His young son in his cradle.
His hounds intill a leish;
And they brought till the heading-hill
His gos-hawk in a jess.
And mony a man him wi,
And called on his trusty page
To come right speedilie.
For he sits on yon hill;
Bid him to loose the brand frae his bodie,
Young Waters for to kill.'
[Pg 345]
'The like sud eer fa me,
My bodie eer sud wear the brand
That gars Young Waters die.'
And casten't in the sea;
Says, Never lat them get a brand
Till it come back to me.
And he did mount it hie,
And a' spectators that were there,
The saut tears blint their ee.
And mourn nae mair for me;
Ye're seeking grace frae a graceless face,
For there is nane to gie.
And pit it ower my ee;
And Jack, my man, ye'll be at hand
The hour that I sud die.
Gie it fair Margaret Grahame;
For she may curse the dowie dell
That brought King James him hame.
And mak it naeways wide;
For a brawer man than Young Waters
Will neer streek by her side.
And gie him nurses three;
For gin he live to be a man,
King James will gar him die.'
A purse o gowd him gae;
Says, Do your office, headsman, boy,
And mak nae mair delay.
And pit me out o pine;
For it is by the king's command;
Gang head me till his min.
I'm lieve to his ain kin;
And for the truth, I'll plainly tell,
I am his sister's son.
'It is unkent to me;'
'O mindna ye on your sister Bess,
That lives in the French countrie?'
As I trust well she be,
Gae hame, gae hame, Young Waters,
Ye'se neer be slain by me.'
Was saft as ony silk,
And on the block he laid his neck,
Was whiter than the milk.
And that right speedilie;
It's never be said, Here gaes a knight
Was ance condemnd to die.
And mony tears for him shed;
But mair did mourn for fair Margaret,
As raving she lyes mad.
FOOTNOTES:
[153] D, which is made up from the three others, is translated by Prior, II, 160, No 65.
95
THE MAID FREED FROM THE GALLOWS
A. Communicated to Bishop Percy, 1770.
B. 'The Broom o the Cathery Knowes,' Motherwell's MS., p. 290.
C. Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, VII, 275, 1883.
D. Skene MSS, p. 61, stanzas 19-24: 1802-03.
E. 'Lady Maisry,' Buchan's MSS, II, 186; 'Warenston and the Duke of York's Daughter,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 190, stanzas 16-22.
F. Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, VI, 476, 1882.
G. a. 'The Golden Key,' Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, VI, 415. b. The same, p. 269.
H. 'The Golden Ball.' a. Baring-Gould's Appendix to Henderson's Notes on the Folk Lore of the Northern Counties of England and the Borders, 1866, p. 333. b. Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, X, 354, 1884.
D, E form the conclusion of a ballad which belongs to the series of 'Mary Hamilton,' or 'The Queen's Mary,' and give an entirely wrong turn to that distressful tragedy.
F had become a children's game, the last stage of many old ballads: see the notes. In G and H the verses are set in a popular tale, and a characteristic explanation is furnished of the danger which the heroine has incurred: she has lost a golden key, or a golden ball, which had been entrusted to her. See, again, the notes.
All the English versions are defective and distorted, as comparison will show. In many others, both from northern and southern Europe, a young woman has fallen into the hands of corsairs; father, mother, brother, sister, refuse to pay ransom, but her lover, in one case husband, stickles at no price which may be necessary to retrieve her.
We will begin with the best ballad of the cycle, the Sicilian 'Scibilia Nobili,' communicated to Nuove Effemeridi Siciliane, Nuova Serie, I, 528, 1874, by Salvatore Struppa, as sung by a peasant woman in the neighborhood of Marsala, 151 verses.[154] Tunisian corsairs, learning of the marriage of the king's daughter, fit out a strong force, and when they are near port change caps, to pass for Christians. They knock at Scibilia's door, and, on her refusing to open, her husband being a-hunting, burst the door in, and carry her on board ship. Her husband goes to the shore weeping, and offers her captors her weight in gold; they will not give her up for a shipful. He begs to be allowed a word with her: why has she let herself be carried off, and who will nurse her boy? She refuses to eat, drink, or sleep. The sailors fall asleep, and Scibilia drops into the sea. They take silk ladders to recover her; she weeps always. (It would be superfluous to do more than point to the fact that the story is not well compacted, or altogether rational, as we have it.) The lady, turning to a sailor, says, Can you tell me how the wind is? If north or south, I will go to my father. No opposition is made by the pirates, who had but just now refused a shipful of gold for her. "My dear father, will you ransom me?" "For how much, my dear daughter?" "Three lions, three falcons, and four pillars of gold." "I cannot lose so[Pg 347] much money: how much better lose you!" She is urged by her captors to eat and drink, but will not eat, drink, or sleep, for her boy is starving. She again makes for the coast, weeping ever, and the foregoing scene, from the inquiry as to the wind, is repeated with mother, brother, sister. All say it is better to lose her than so much money. She finally tries her husband, who answers, Better lose all this gold; it is enough if you are not lost. And after three days the father died. "And let him die; I will dress all in red." And after three days the mother died. "And let her die; I will dress all in yellow." And after three days the brother died. "And let him die; I will dress all in green." And after three days the sister died. "And let her die; I will dress all in white. And if my dear husband dies, I will dress in black."
Spanish. A. a, 'La Donzella,' Die Balearen in Wort und Bild geschildert, II, 263 (privately printed by the Archduke Ludwig Salvator, Leipzig, 1871, a book which I have not been able to obtain), Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 231; b, Briz, Cansons de la Terra, IV, 15, from a Majorcan revista. B. 'Lo Rescat,' Briz, IV, 13. C. 'La Cautiva,' Milá, Romancerillo, p. 257, No 261. In A a maid, who is embroidering a handkerchief by the seashore, lacking silk, hails a vessel, and asks if they have any. She is invited to come aboard and see if they have what she requires. She falls asleep, and the sailors put off. This beginning is like that of another very common ballad. The maid is wakened by the singing of the sailors, and asks them to put into the port where her father is. What follows corresponds to the English ballad. "Father, will you ransom me? The Moors offer me for sale." "Dear daughter, how much do they ask?" "I am yours for a hundred crowns." "Daughter, I will not pay a penny for you." The scene is repeated with mother, brother, and sister, all of whom make the same answer as the father, and then with the lover; but his reply is, I would not give you up for all the world.
The first five stanzas of A are wanting in B, which begins, accordingly, at the point where the maid asks to have the ship put about. The sister is omitted in B, as also in A b. C is shortened still further, beginning with the appeal to the father, and omitting both sister and brother.
Färöe. 'Frísa Vísa,' communicated by Hammershaimb, with other ballads, to the Antiquarisk Tidsskrift, 1849-51, p. 95. Frisian pirates are carrying away a maid. She weeps and beats her hands, and cries, Wait, my father will ransom me; he will ransom me with his castles; he will not let me perish in Friesland. The father answers, I have only two castles; neither of them can I give up for thee; indeed thou mayst perish in Friesland. The Frisians are starting off again. The maid begs them to stop; her mother will redeem her with her kirtles. But the mother says, I have but two kirtles, and neither of them can I give up for thee; indeed thou mayst perish in Friesland. Once more the Frisians are about to put off. The maid says her lover will redeem her with his ships. The lover loyally responds, I have only two ships; both will I gladly part with for thee; thou shalt not perish in Friesland. It appears from a note of Hammershaimb that the ballad might be extended indefinitely by the maid's calling upon brother, sister, and friends to redeem her with their respective valuables.[155]
Icelandic. A ballad briefly mentioned at p. 20 f of the volume of the Antiquarisk Tidsskrift, before cited. The Frisians call out, Bear the Danish maid to the ships! 'Bide, Frisians, bide; my kinsfolk will redeem me.' Upon the sixth appeal, to her lover, the maid is ransomed.
Swedish. 'Den Bortsålda,' the same ballad as the Färöe and the Icelandic, with an absurd introductory stanza, in which the maid is said to have been sold into the heathen land by her parents for a bit of bread; whence the title. A. a, Afzelius, No 15, I, 73;[156] b, Hofberg, Nerikes Gamla Minnen, p. 256, No 5. B. Afzelius, I, 134. C. Rancken, Nå[Pg 348]gra prof af folksång, p. 6, No 2, with collation of three other copies. D. Eva Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 62, No 29. E. Öberg, in Aminson, Bidrag, I, 23. F. Axelson, Vesterdalarne, p. 174, No 2, three stanzas, the rest said to be "entirely like" the Afzelius copies, which differ considerably. A maid is in the hands of sea-rovers, and they are on the point of rowing off with her. She wrings her hands, and calls to them to wait a while. She sees her father coming, who will redeem her with his oxen, and so she shall escape going to the heathen land to pine away. The father says he has but oxen two: the one he shall be using, the other he shall keep—låta stå; and she will not scape going to the heathen land. The sailors lower their oars. The maid wrings her hands, and calls to them again to wait; she sees her mother coming, who will redeem her with her gold caskets. The mother says she has of gold caskets but two: the one she shall be using, the other shall let stay. The maid sees her sister, who will redeem her with her gold crowns. The sister has but two gold crowns, one of which she shall be using, the other will let be. The maid sees her brother, who will redeem her with his foals. The brother has but two foals: the one he shall be using, the other he will let be, and she will not scape from going to the heathen land to pine away. Then the maid sees her true-love coming, and calls to him to redeem her with his gold rings. "Of gold rings," he says, "I have no more than twelve: with six I shall redeem thee, six thou shalt have thyself; so thou scapest going to the heathen land to pine away."
This is the story in A, and the chief variations of the other copies are in the things which the maid proposes to her kindred and her lover to redeem her with, and the number of these which they profess to have. The spuriousness of the introductory stanza, in which the girl is said to have been sold into the heathen land for dire need, is evident. The family have two oxen, two gold caskets, two gold crowns, two foals; or even houses, gold caskets, gold chains, mills, more than five, B, and no doubt everything handsome about them. In D the father is even a king. E, F lack this beginning. C concludes with a permissible imprecation on the part of the lover:
Cursed be thy sister, and even so thy brother!'
In Danish the ballad occurs in manuscripts, and has been printed as a broadside: Bergström's Afzelius, II, 63.
German. A. Gräter's Idunna und Hermode, 1814, p. 76, communicated by Abrahamson, one of the editors of the Danske Viser, as learned by him from a maid-servant of his mother, in Sleswig, not long after 1750. B. 'Liebesprobe,' Kretzschmer-Zuccalmaglio, II, 54, No 22, "from North Germany," apparently a little retouched. C. 'Des Liebsten Liebe die grösste Liebe,' Hoffmann und Richter, p. 43, No 23, Silesia. D. 'Loskauf,' Erk's Liederhort, p. 136, No 40, Saxony. E. 'Das losgekaufte Mädchen,' Erk und Irmer, II, 52, No 53, Saxony. F. 'Loskauf,' Erk's Liederhort, p. 138, No 40a, Brandenburg. G. 'O Schipmann,' Reiffenberg, p. 138, Westphalia. H. 'O Schipmann,' Reiffenberg, p. 10, No 5, Westphalia. I. 'Loskauf,' Uhland, p. 267, No 117, Westphalia. J. Köhler, in Anzeiger für deutsches Alterthum, VI, 268, from Friedrich Kind in "Abend-Zeitung, 1819, No 164, Kind's Erzählungen, 1822, p. 77," Auserwählte Unterhaltungen, Wien, 1827, I, 20. 'Die Losgekaufte,' in Kretzschmer, I, 181, is rewritten; 'Loskauf,' in Simrock, No 39, p. 90, is made up from a variety of copies. Several of the versions come very near to one another, especially C-F, nor is there any noteworthy difference in the story of the whole series, save a single point in the last three. A maid whom seamen are carrying off begs them to stop or put back to land; she has a father who will not abandon her. She begs her father to part with coat, house, hat, watch, or bull, to save her from drowning; the father refuses. Then, as before, she successively and vainly entreats her mother to redeem her with gold chain, ring, apron, gown, or silver trinkets; her brother with silver buckles, hat, horse, sword, or coat; her sister with apron, dress, shoes,[Pg 349] green wreath, or pearl wreath. Two of the four relatives are wanting in H, I, J. All of her blood refusing to ransom the maid, she calls upon her lover to sacrifice sword, horse, ring, golden hill, to save her, or, in H, I, J, to sell himself to the oar, and the lover is ready in every case. The redemption is not from slavery in a foreign land, but from drowning.
Esthonian. The ballad is known all over Esthonia, and a copy composed of two closely resembling versions is given by Neus, Ehstnische Volkslieder, p. 109, 'Die Ausgelöste.' A girl, taken captive in war, asks that the boats may put in, in order that she may find some one to buy her off. She appeals first to her mother, who might redeem her with the best of three aprons which she possesses, one of which is of gold web, another of silver, another of brass. A daughter, answers the mother, is a thing of to-day and to-morrow; my aprons are for life. Her father is next asked to ransom her with the best of three bulls which he owns, which have a horn of gold, silver, and brass respectively. His daughter is his for two days, his bulls for life. The brother is entreated to save her by the sacrifice of the best of his three horses, which have severally manes of gold, silver, and brass. His sister is his for two days, his horse for life. The sister is asked to part with the best of her three wreaths, which are of gold, silver, brass, for an only sister's sake. A sister is hers for a month or two, her wreath for life. Finally the maid turns to her true-love, who has three hats, one of brass, one of silver, one of gold, and entreats him to devote the best to her redemption. How long lasts a hat? he exclaims. A couple of days; but my betrothed for life! Another copy of the same ballad is given by Neus in Dorpater Jahrbücher, V, 228.
The ballad is equally popular in Finland: 'Lunastettava neiti,' Kanteletar, 1864, p. 283, No 26, p. 285, No 27, ed. 1840, III, 131, 137, 273 f; Rancken, Några prof, p. 9.
In various Slavic ballads the man and maid change parts, and the man is ransomed by the generosity of his mistress when his kinsfolk have failed him.
Two Wendish ballads, Haupt and Schmaler, A, No 74, B, No 75, I, 107 ff, begin, like the popular German ballad 'Der Schäfer und der Edelmann,' with a shepherd's being thrown into prison by a nobleman for wearing a costume beyond his rank, and proud words besides. He sees his father coming, A, and asks him to pawn half a hundred sheep and get him out. The father prefers his half hundred sheep. He sees his mother coming, and asks her to pawn two cows and release him. She prefers her cows. He sees his brother coming, and asks him to pawn his horse. His brother prefers his horse. He sees his sister coming, and asks her to pawn a fine gown, but the gown again is much dearer in his sister's eyes. He sees his love coming, and asks her to pawn her coral necklace for his ransom, which she does, and he is released. In B he writes to father, mother, and sister to ransom him; they all tell him that if he were good for anything he would not be in prison. His love flies to him and ransoms him.[157]
Russian. Čelakowský, II, 106,[158] Sakharof, IV, 171, No 13. A young man in prison writes to father and mother for ransom; the whole family will have nothing to do with malefactors and robbers. His love, when written to, calls to her women to get her gold together, all that shall be needed to free him.
Little-Russian. Golovatsky, I, 48, No 8. An imprisoned youth writes to his father, Wilt thou ransom me, or shall I perish? How much must he give? Forty saddled horses. Better he should perish. He writes to his mother; she must give forty oxen with their yokes. She declines. He writes to his love;[Pg 350] she must furnish forty geese with their goslings. I will spin, she says, spin lustily, buy geese, and ransom thee. No 7, I, 46, is to the same effect, but lacks the close.
Slovenian. 'Rodbina,' 'Kinship,' Vraz, Narodne Pěsni ilirske, p. 141.[159] A hero in prison asks his father to release him; the three horses he must give are too much. He asks his mother; the three castles she must give are too much. He asks his brother; the three rifles he must give are too much. He asks his sister; the three fair tresses she must sacrifice are too much. He asks his love; she must give her white hand. Not too much is my white hand, she says; easy to give for thee hand and life besides.
A Little-Russian ballad in Waclaw z Oleska, p. 226, and a Polish in Waldbrühl's Balalaika, p. 504, have the same theme, Love stronger than Blood (woman's love here), but do not belong with the pieces already cited as to form.
A
Communicated to Percy, April 7, 1770, by the Rev. P. Parsons, of Wey, from oral tradition.
Peace for a little while!
Methinks I see my own father,
Come riding by the stile.
And likewise of your fee!
To keep my body from yonder grave,
And my neck from the gallows-tree.'
Nor likewise of my fee;
For I am come to see you hangd,
And hanged you shall be.'
Peace for a little while!
Methinks I see my own mother,
Come riding by the stile.
And likewise of your fee,
To keep my body from yonder grave,
And my neck from the gallows-tree!'
Nor likewise of my fee;
For I am come to see you hangd,
And hanged you shall be.'
Peace for a little while!
Methinks I see my own brother,
Come riding by the stile.
And likewise of your fee,
To keep my body from yonder grave,
And my neck from the gallows-tree!'
Nor likewise of my fee;
For I am come to see you hangd,
And hanged you shall be.'
Peace for a little while!
Methinks I see my own sister,
Come riding by the stile.
And likewise of your fee,
To keep my body from yonder grave,
And my neck from the gallows-tree!'
Nor likewise of my fee;
For I am come to see you hangd,
And hanged you shall be.'
Peace for a little while!
Methinks I see my own true-love,
Come riding by the stile.
And likewise of your fee,
[Pg 351] To save my body from yonder grave,
And my neck from the gallows-tree.'
And likewise of my fee,
For I am come to see you saved,
And saved you shall be.'
B
Motherwell MS., p. 290, from the recitation of Widow McCormick; learned in Dumbarton.
'O hold your hand for a while!
For yonder I see my father a coming,
Riding many's the mile.
'Or have you any fee?
Or did you come to see your own daughter a hanging,
Like a dog, upon a tree?'
'Neither have I any fee;
But I am come to see my ain daughter hanged,
And hanged she shall be.'
The broom o the Cauthery Knowes!
I wish I were at hame again,
Milking my ain daddie's ewes.
'O hold your hand for a while!
For yonder I see my own mother coming,
Riding full many a mile.
'Or have you any fee?
Or did you come to see your own daughter hanged,
Like a dog, upon a tree?'
'Neither have I any fee;
But I am come to see my own daughter hanged,
And hanged she shall be.'
The broom o the Cauthery Knowes!
I wish I were at hame again,
Milking my ain daddie's ewes.
'O hold your hand for a while!
For yonder I see my ae brother a coming,
Riding many's the mile.
'Or have you any fee?
Or did you come to see your ain sister a hanging,
Like a dog, upon a tree?'
'Nor have I any fee;
But I am come to see my ain sister hanged,
And hanged she shall be.'
The broom o the Cathery Knowes!
I wish I were at hame again,
Milking my ain daddie's ewes.
'O hold your hand for a while!
For yonder I see my own true-love coming,
Riding full many a mile.
'Or have you any fee?
Or have you come to see your own love hanged,
Like a dog, upon a tree?'
C
Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, VII, 275, 1883: communicated by the Rev. E. Venables, Precentor of Lincoln, as sung by a nurse-maid from Woburn, near High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire, "between fifty and sixty years ago."
Hold up thy hand a while!
For here I see my own dear father,
Come tumbling over the stile.
Or jewels, to set me free?
Or hast thou come to see me hung?
For hanged I shall be.
That prickles my heart so sore,
If I could get out of this prickly bush,
I'd never get in it no more.'
Nor jewels, to set thee free;
But I have come to see thee hung,
For hanged thou shall be.
And jewels, to set thee free;
I have not come to see thee hung,
For hanged thou shall not be.'
That prickled my heart so sore,
And I have got out of this prickly bush,
I'll never get in it no more.'
D
Skene MSS, p. 61, stanzas 19-24: taken down in the north or northeast of Scotland, 1802-03.
'O had your hand a while!
For yonder comes my father,
I'm sure he'l borrow me.
An of your well won fee!
To save me [frae the high hill],
[And] frae the gallow-tree.'
Nor of my well won fee,
For I would gie five hundred poun
To see ye hangit hie.'
'O had yer hand a while!
Yonder is my love Willie,
Sure he will borrow me.
An some o yer well won fee!
To save me frae the high hill,
And frae the gallow-tree.'
And a' my well won fee,
To save ye fra the headin-hill,
And frae the gallow-tree.'
E
Buchan's MSS, II, 186, stanzas 16-22.
Hold them a little while!
For yonder comes my father and mother,
That 's travelld mony a mile.
Some o your white monie,
To save me frae the head o yon hill,
Yon greenwood gallows-tree.'
Nor nane o our white monie,
For we have travelld mony a mile,
This day to see you die.'
Hold them a little while!
For yonder comes him Warenston,
The father of my chile.
Some o your white monie,
[Pg 353] To save me frae the head o yon hill,
Yon greenwood gallows-tree.'
And nurse it carefullie,
And gowd shoud been your hire, Maisry,
And my body your fee.'
Another o white monie,
And he's tauld down ten thousand crowns,
Says, True-love, gang wi me.
F
Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, VI, 476, 1882: "sung in Forfarshire, forty years ago."
. . . . . . .
I think I see my father coming,
. . . . . . .
Or my golden key?
Or hae ye come to see me hanged,
On this green gallows-tree?'
Nor your golden key,
But I have come to see you hanged,
On this green gallows-tree.'
Nor your golden key,
But I am come to set you free
From this green gallows-tree.'
G
a. Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, VI, 415, 1882. b. The same, p. 269.
. . . . . . .
I think I see my father coming,
. . . . . . .
And have you come to set me free?
Or have you come to see me hanged,
Upon this gallows-tree?'
Upon the gallows-tree,
For I have found the golden key,'
. . . . . . .
H
a. Baring-Gould's Appendix to Henderson's Notes on the Folk Lore of the Northern Counties of England and the Borders, 1866, p. 333, Yorkshire. b. Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, X, 354, 1884.
. . . . . . .
I think I see my mother coming,
. . . . . . .
And come to set me free?
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Nor come to set thee free,
But I have come to see thee hung,
Upon this gallows-tree.'
. . . . . . .
I think I see my father coming,
. . . . . . .
And come to set me free?
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
[Pg 354]
Nor come to set thee free,
But I have come to see thee hung,
Upon this gallows-tree.'
. . . . . . .
I see my sweet-heart coming,
. . . . . . .
And come to set me free?
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
And come to set thee free;
I have not come to see thee hung,
Upon this gallows-tree.'
B.
The title, 'The Broom o the Cathery Knowes,' is not prefixed to the ballad, but is given in the Index.
54. Changed by Motherwell to many's the mile, as in 1.
12. Hey the broom, &c.
C.
This version, which the Rev. E. Venables has also communicated to me in manuscript, was tagged on to a fragment of 'Hugh of Lincoln.'
After 4: "Mother, brother, sister, uncle, aunt, etc., succeed. At last comes the own true love, who replies."
D.
23, 4. Restored from stanza 5.
F.
"It was sung in Forfarshire forty years ago by girls during the progress of some game, which I do not now distinctly recollect. A lady, at the point of being executed, cries Stop, stop! I think I see my father coming. Then, addressing her father, she asks," as in stanza 2; "to which the father replies," as in stanza 3. "Mother, brother, sister, are each addressed in turn, and give the same answer. Last of all the fair sinner sees her lover coming, and on putting the question to him is answered thus," as in stanza 4; "whereupon the game ends." W. F. (2), Saline Manse, Fife.
G. a.
Before stanza 1: "I think the title of this ballad is 'The Golden Key.' The substance of it is that a woman has lost a gold key, and is about to be hung, when she exclaims, as in stanza 1. Then follows" stanza 2. After 2: "Father, mother, brother, sister, all in turn come up, and have not found the lost key. At last the sweet-heart appears, who exclaims triumphantly," as in stanza 3. "I write this from memory. I never saw it in print." H. Fishwick.
b.
"A lady writes to me, My mother used to hear, in Lancashire and Cheshire, a ballad of which she only recollects three lines:
But I am come to see you hanged,
All under the gallows-tree.
The last line was repeated, I believe, in every verse." William Andrews.
H. a.
The verses form part of a Yorkshire story called The Golden Ball. A man gives a golden ball to each of two lasses, and if either loses the ball she is to be hanged. The younger, while playing with her ball, tosses it over a park-paling; the ball runs away over the grass into a house, and is seen no more.
"Now t' lass was taken to York to be hanged. She was brought out on t' scaffold, and t' hangman said, Now, lass, tha must hang by t' neck till tha be'st dead. But she cried out, Stop, stop," etc., stanzas 1-3.
"Then the hangman said. Now, lass, say thy prayers, for tha must dee." Stanzas 4-6 follow. The maid thinks she sees her brother coming, her sister, uncle, aunt, cousin. The hangman then says, "I wee-nt stop no longer, tha's making gam of me. Tha must be hung at once. But now she saw her sweetheart coming through the crowd, and he had over head i t' air her own golden ball. So she said," as in stanzas 7-9.
b.
Miss Kate Thompson, of Newcastle-on-Tyne, had when a child frequently been told the story of The Golden Ball by a woman who was a native of the Borderland. A rich lady possessed a golden[Pg 355] ball, which she held in high esteem. A poor girl, her servant, had to clean this ball every day, and it was death to lose it. One day when she was cleaning the ball near a stream it disappeared. The girl was condemned to die, and had mounted the scaffold. The story was all in prose up to the execution, when the narrator broke into rhyme:
For here I see my mother coming.
And come to set me free?
Or are you only here to see me die,
Upon the high, high gallows-tree?'
The mother answers that she has only come to see her die. Other relatives follow, and last of all comes the lover, who produces the ball, and the execution is stopped. Miss Thompson adds that two Northumbrian servants in her house remember the story so.
FOOTNOTES:
[154] Liebrecht was the first to call attention to this ballad-cycle, Zur Volkskunde, p. 222, repeating, with enlargement, an article in Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie, IX, 53. He gives the Sicilian text, and a Balearic and a Färöe, presently to be noticed, with translations, and points out other parallels. Reifferscheid made additions in his Westfälische Volkslieder, p. 10, p. 138 ff. I have not at hand the Effemeridi for 1874.
[155] "Legen kan nu fortsættes videre" might imply that the ballad was used as a game; but it is presumable that the author would have been explicit, had he meant this.
[156] Translated by George Stephens in the Foreign Quarterly Review, XXVI, 31.
[157] In the same collection, No 297, I, 297, there is no refusal on the part of the kindred, but what they offer is insufficient, and the maid succeeds by outbidding them. So in some of the corresponding German ballads, as Hoffmann und Richter, Nos 9, 10; Erk's Liederhort, Nos 51, 51a, 51b; Elwert, Ungedruckte Reste alten Gesangs, p. 43,=Liederhort, 51c; Longard, p. 22, No 11; Fiedler, p. 141. In Ulmann's Lettische Volkslieder, 1874, p. 168 (cited by Reiffenberg), 'Der losgekaufte Soldat,' a conscript writes to father, mother, brother, sister, to buy him off, and they devote horses, cows, lands, dowry, to this object, but do not succeed. His mistress sells her wreath and frees him.
[158] Goetze, Stimmen des russischen Volks, p. 150; Wenzig, Slawische Volkslieder, p. 151.
[159] Translated by Anastasius Grün, Volkslieder aus Krain, p. 30.
96
THE GAY GOSHAWK
A. 'The Gay Goss Hawk,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 15, No 6.
B. Motherwell's MS., p. 230.
C. 'The Jolly Goshawk,' Motherwell's MS., p. 435; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 353.
D. 'The Gay Goss-hawk,' Motherwell's Note-Book, 27; Motherwell's MS., p. 415.
E. 'The Gay Goss-hawk,' Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 7, 1802.
F. Communicated by Miss Reburn, as sung in County Meath, Ireland.
G. 'The Scottish Squire,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 245.
The 'Gay Goshawk' first appeared in print in the second volume of Scott's Minstrelsy, in 1802. Scott's copy was formed partly from Mrs Brown's version, A, "and partly from a MS. of some antiquity penes Edit." This compounded copy is now given, E, with those portions which are contained in the Brown MS. printed in smaller type, in order that what is peculiar to the other manuscript may be distinguished. A second copy of A was made for William Tytler under the direction of the reciter in 1783, but has not been recovered. There were 28 stanzas, as in A, and the first stanza has been given by Anderson in Nichols's Illustrations, VII, 176. C was furnished Motherwell by Buchan from a manuscript sent him, and Buchan says that he himself took down from recitation the vilely dilated and debased G: Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 340.
A ballad widely known in France has the central idea of the Gay Goshawk, a maid's feigning death to escape from a father to a lover whom she is not permitted to marry, but in the development of the story there is no likeness. A version of this ballad, 'Belle Isambourg,' was printed as early as 1607 in a collection with the title Airs de Cour, p. 40, and was republished by Rathery in the Moniteur of August 26, 1853, p. 946, afterwards in Haupt's Französische Volkslieder, p. 92. The king wishes to give Fair Isam[Pg 356]bourg a husband, but her heart is fixed on a handsome knight, whom she loves more than all her kin together, though he is poor. The king shuts her up in a dark tower, thinking that this treatment will bring about a change, but it does not. Isambourg sees her lover riding towards or by the tower at full speed. She calls to him to stop, and says:
Porter en terre m'y lairray,
Pourtant morte je ne seray.
Qu'à ma chapelle a Sainct-Denis
Ne m'y laissez pas enfouir.
Isambourg is now proclaimed to be dead, and is carried to burial by three princes and a knight. Her lover, hearing the knelling and chanting, puts himself in the way and bids the bearers stop. Since she has died for loving him too well, he wishes to say a De profundis. He rips open a little of the shroud, and she darts a loving smile at him. Everybody is astonished.
Other versions, derived from oral tradition, have a more popular stamp: (1.) Poésies populaires de la France, MS., III, 54, 'La fille du roi et le Prince de Guise,' learned at Maubeuge, about 1760. (2.) III, 47, 'Le beau Déon,' Auvergne. (3.) III, 49, 'La princesse de la Grand' Tour,' Berry. (4.) III, 50 (the hero being Léon), Berry. (5.) III, 53, Caudebec. (6.) III, 56, Pamiers, Languedoc. (7.) III, 57, and II, 52, Orléans. (8.) 'La fille d'un prince,' Buchon, Noëls et chants p. de la Franche-Comté, p. 82, No 16. (9.) 'La fille d'un prince,' Rondes et Chansons p. illustrées, Paris, 1876, p. 286. (10.) 'La princesse,' Guillon, Chansons p. de l'Ain, p. 87. (11.) 'La maîtresse captive,' Puymaigre, Chants p. messins, I, 87. (12.) Le Héricher, Littérature p. de Normandie, p. 153 f. (13.) 'De Dion et de la fille du roi,' Ampère, Instructions, p. 38, the first fourteen stanzas; Auvergne. (14.) G. de Nerval, La Bohème Galante, ed. 1866, p. 70, and Les Faux Saulniers, ed. 1868, p. 346, the story completed in Les Filles du Feu, ed. 1868, p. 132; or, in the collection lately made from his works, Chansons et Ballades p. du Valois, p. 16, VIII. The last two have a false termination, as already remarked under No 4, I, 42.
In these traditional versions, the father pays a visit to the princess after she has been confined seven years, and asks how she is. One side is eaten away by worms, her feet are rotting in the irons. She begs a few sous to give the jailer to loosen her fetters. Millions are at her disposal if she will give up her lover. Rather rot, is her reply. Rot, then, says her father. The lover comes by and throws a few words of writing into the tower, directing her to counterfeit death. The rest is much the same. In several versions the king yields.
There are many other ballads in which a girl, for one reason or another, feigns death. In 'Les trois capitaines,' or 'La jolie fille de la Garde,' etc., Arbaud, I, 143, Decombe, Ch. p. d'Ille-et-Vilaine, p. 150, No 51, Champfleury, Ch. p. des Provinces, p. 95, Bujeaud, II, 174, 'La Bohème Galante,' ed. 1866, p. 71 f, Chansons du Valois, p. 19, IX, Puymaigre, Vieux Auteurs, II, 478, E. Legrand, Romania, X, 369, No 6, the object is to save her honor;[160] so in Marcoaldi, p. 162, No 10, Ferraro, C. p. monferrini, p. 41, No 31. The well-disposed hostess of an inn administers a sleeping-draught, in Arbaud's ballad and in Decombe's. The object is to avoid becoming a king's mistress, in 'Kvindelist,' Grundtvig, IV, 394, No 235, 'Hertig Hillebrand och hans Syster,' Arwidsson, I, 380 No 61; in a Bohemian ballad, to avoid marrying a Turk, 'Oklamaný Turek,' 'The Turk duped,' Ćelakovský, III, 11 (translated in Bowring's Cheskian Anthology, p. 129) Erben, p. 485, etc., etc.; to move a lover who is on the point of deserting, Hoffmann, Niederländische Volkslieder, p. 61, No 15, Willems, No 60, Uhland, No 97 B.
In 'Willie's Lyke-Wake,' No 25, I, 247, a man feigns death in order to capture a coy maid, or a maid refused him by her parents.
Birds are not seldom employed as posts in ballads: see 'Sweet William,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 307, Milá, Romancerillo, No 258; Hartung, Romanceiro, I, 193 (dove).[Pg 357] A falcon carries a letter, in Afzelius, III, 116, No 87, and Milá, No 258 K, and Marko Kraljevitch sends a letter by a falcon from his prison, Karadshitch, II, 383. For a love-message of a general sort, not involving business, the nightingale is usually and rightly selected. On the other hand, a nightingale first orders a ring of a goldsmith, and afterwards delivers it to a lady, in Uhland, No 15.[161] In this ballad the goshawk is endowed with the nightingale's voice. The substitution of a parrot in G, a bird that we all know can talk, testifies to the advances made by reason among the humblest in the later generations.[162] A parrot, says Buchan, "is by far a more likely messenger to carry a love-letter or deliver a verbal message," II, 341. The parrot goes well with the heroine swooning on a sofa (stanza 33) and the step-dame sitting on the sofa's end (stanza 36).
Thieves drop three drops of wax on the breast of a servant-girl who is feigning sleep, and she shows no sign of feeling, in a Catalan ballad, Milá, Romancerillo, p. 104, No 114, vv 13-16, Observaciones, p. 147, No 43, Briz, I, 147.[163]
Translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 32, after E, C, G. After D by Talvj, Versuch, u. s. w., p. 560; Schubart, p. 57; Doenniges, p. 19; Gerhard, p. 37; Loève-Veimars, p. 264. By Knortz, Lieder Alt-Englands, No 2, after C; by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 38, after C and E, sometimes following Aytoun, I, 178.
A
Jamieson-Brown MS., No 6, pt 15.
That he can speak and flee;
He'll carry a letter to my love,
Bring back another to me.'
Or how can I her know?
Whan frae her mouth I never heard couth,
Nor wi my eyes her saw.'
As soon as you her see;
For, of a' the flowrs in fair Englan,
The fairest flowr is she.
There grows a bowing birk,
An sit ye down and sing thereon,
As she gangs to the kirk.
Will wash and go to kirk,
But well shall ye my true-love ken,
For she wears goud on her skirt.
Will to the mass repair,
But well sal ye my true-love ken,
For she wears goud on her hair.'
There grows a bowin birk,
An she set down and sang thereon,
As she ged to the kirk.
The wine flows you among,
Till I gang to my shot-window,
An hear yon bonny bird's song.
The song ye sang the streen,
For I ken by your sweet singin
You 're frae my true-love sen.'
[Pg 358]
An then he sang a grave,
An then he peckd his feathers gray,
To her the letter gave.
He says he sent you three;
He canna wait your love langer,
But for your sake he'll die.
He says he's sent you five;
He canna wait your love langer,
Tho you 're the fairest woman alive.'
And brew his bridal-ale,
An I 'll meet him in fair Scotlan
Lang, lang or it be stale.'
Fa'n low down on her knee:
'A boon, a boon, my father dear,
I pray you, grant it me.'
An granted it sal be;
Except ae squire in fair Scotlan,
An him you sall never see.'
That I do crave of the,
Is, gin I die in southin lands,
In Scotland to bury me.
Ye gar the bells be rung,
An the nextin kirk that ye come till,
Ye gar the mess be sung.
You deal gold for my sake,
An the fourthin kirk that ye come till,
You tarry there till night.'
As fast as she coud fare,
An she has tane a sleepy draught,
That she had mixed wi care.
An soon she's fa'n asleep,
And soon oer every tender limb
Cauld death began to creep.
Nae ane that did her see
But thought she was as surely dead
As ony lady coud be.
Gard make to her a bier;
The tae half was o guide red gold,
The tither o silver clear.
Gard work for her a sark;
The tae half was o cambrick fine,
The tither o needle wark.
They gard the bells be rung,
An the nextin kirk that they came till,
They gard the mess be sung.
They dealt gold for her sake,
An the fourthin kirk that they came till,
Lo, there they met her make!
Lat me the dead look on;'
Wi cherry cheeks and ruby lips
She lay an smil'd on him.
An ae glass o your wine,
For I hae fasted for your sake
These fully days is nine.
Gang hame and sound your horn;
An ye may boast in southin lans
Your sister's playd you scorn.'
B
Motherwell's MS., p. 230: from the recitation of Mrs Bell, of Paisley, and of Miss Montgomerie, of Edinburgh, her sister.
And he spak wondrous clear:
Where will I get a boy, and a pretty little boy,
That will my tidings bear?
As it sat on a brier:
What will ye gie me, king of Scotland, he said,
If I your tidings will bear?
And another of the silver clear;
It's all unto thee, my pretty little bird,
If thou my tidings will bear.'
This bird flew to and fro,
Until that he came to the king of England's dochter,
Who was sitting in her bower-window.
And the king has sent you three;
He says if your father and mother winna let,
You may come privately.
The king has sent you five;
He says he will not wait any longer on you,
If there be another woman alive.'
Made a low beck on her knee:
'What is your asking of me, daughter?
Queen of Scotland you never shall be.'
That's not my asking of thee;
But that if I die in merry England,
In Scotland you will bury me.'
Made a low beck on her knee:
'What is your asking of me, daughter?
Queen of Scotland you never shall be.'
That's not my asking of thee;
But that if I die in merry England,
In Scotland you will bury me.'
She walked up and down,
But ye wud na spoken three words to an end
Till she was in a deep swoon.
And she spoke random indeed:
Honoured madam, I would have you to try
Three drops of the burning lead.
She dropped one on her chin;
'Och and alace,' her mother did say,
'There is no breath within!'
She dropt one on her briest;
'Och and alace,' her mother did cry,
'For she's died without a priest!'
She dropped one on her toe;
'Och and alace,' her mother did cry,
'To Scotland she must goe!
To make to her a smock;
The one side of the bonny beaten gold,
And the other of the needle-work.
To make for her a bier;
The one side of the bonny beaten gold,
And the other of the silver clear.'
And many a league by sea,
Until that they came to the king of Scotland,
Who was walking in his own valley.
And you to have made her your own;
But now she is dead, and she's new come from her steed,
And she's ready to lay in the ground.'
And likewise the winding sheet,
[Pg 360] And thrice he has kissed her cherry, cherry cheek,
And she smiled on him full sweet.
'And one glass of your wine;
It's all for you and your sake
I've fasted long days nine.
'And one bit of your bread;
For it 's all for you and for your sake
I suffered the burning lead.
You may go blow your horn;
And you may tell it in merry England
That your sister has given you the scorn.
Tell my sisters to sew their seam;
And you may tell it in merry England
That your sister she is queen.'
C
Motherwell's MS., p. 435; communicated by Peter Buchan, from a MS. which had been sent him.
That ye can speak and flee,
For ye can carry a love-letter
To my true-love from me.'
When her I do not knaw?
I bear the lips to her never spake,
And the eyes that her never saw.'
It's that of dove or maw;
The thing of my love's face that's red
Is like blood shed on snaw.
Light on the bush of ash,
And sit you there and sing our loves,
As she comes from the mass.
Sit ye upon the whin;
And sit you there and sing our loves,
As she goes out and in.'
He lighted on the ash;
And there he sat and sang their loves,
As she came from the mass.
He flew unto the whin;
And there he sat and sang their loves,
As she went out and in.
And sip red wine anon,
Till I go to my west window,
And hear a birdie's moan.'
And fainly aye it drew,
And soon into her white silk lap
The bird the letter threw.
For he has sent you twa;
And tell him where he can see you,
Or he cannot live ava.'
The garlands off my hair;
I send him the heart that's in my breast:
What would my love have mair?
And at the fourth kirk in fair Scotland,
Ye'll bid him meet me there.'
As fast as gang could she:
'An asking, an asking, my father dear,
An asking ye grant me;
That, if I die in fair England,
In Scotland bury me.
You cause the bells be rung;
At the second kirk of fair Scotland,
You cause the mass be sung.
You deal gold for my sake;
And the fourth kirk of fair Scotland,
O there you'll bury me at.
[Pg 361]
This asking grant you me;'
'Your asking is but small,' he said,
'Weel granted it shall be.'
As fast as gang could she:
'An asking, an asking, my mother dear,
An asking ye grant me;
That if I die in fair England
In Scotland bury me.
This asking grant you me;'
'Your asking is but small,' she said,
'Weel granted it shall be.'
As fast as gang could she:
'An asking, an asking, my sister dear,
An asking ye grant me;
That if I die in fair England,
In Scotland bury me.
This asking grant you me:'
'Your asking is but small,' she said,
'Weel granted it shall be.'
As fast as gang could she:
'An asking, an asking, my brothers seven,
An asking ye grant me;
That if I die in fair England,
In Scotland ye bury me.
This asking grant you me:'
'Your asking is but small,' they said,
'Weel granted it shall be.'
Beside her mother's knee;
Then out it spoke an auld witch-wife,
By the fire-side sat she.
And drop it on her chin,
And drop it on her rose-red lips,
And she will speak again:
For much a lady young will do,
To her true-love to win.
So did they on her chin;
They drapt it on her red-rose lips,
But they breathed none again.
To make to her a bier;
The boards of it was cedar wood,
And the plates ow it gold so clear.
To make to her a sark;
The cloth of it was satin fine,
And the steeking silken wark.
That ye can speak and flee;
Come shew to me any love-tokens
That you have brought to me.'
The garlands from her hair;
She sends you the heart within her breast;
And what would you have mair?
And at the fourth kirk of fair Scotland,
She bids you meet her there.'
And drink the good red wine;
For we must on to fair Scotland,
To free my love frae pine.'
They gart the bells be rung;
At the second kirk of fair Scotland,
They gart the mass be sung.
They dealt gold for her sake;
And the fourth kirk of fair Scotland
Her true-love met them at.
'Till I look on the dead;
The last time that I saw her face,
She ruddy was and red;
But now, alas, and woe is me!
She's wallowit like a weed.'
A little above her chin;
With lily-white cheeks, and lemin een,
She lookt and laughd to him.
[Pg 362]
A bottle of your wine;
For I have fasted for your love
These long days nine;
There's not a steed in your stable
But would have been dead ere syne.
Go home and blow the horn;
For you can say in the south of England
Your sister gave you a scorn.
To lye amang the meal;
But I came here to fair Scotland
To wear the silks so weel.
To ly amang the dead;
But I came here to fair Scotland
To wear the gold so red.'
D
Motherwell's Note-Book, pp 27-30, Motherwell's MS., pp 415-17; from Agnes Laird, Kilbarchan, August 24, 1825.
That'll go my errand soon,
That will fly to the Queen of England's dochter,
And bid my trew-luve come?'
That'll go your errands soon,
That will fly to the Queen of England's daughter,
And bid your trew-luve come.'
And it's flown owre the sea,
Until it cam to the Queen of England's daughter;
She's sitting in her bower-windie.
As they sat in a ring:
'O we'll awa to the west window,
To hear this birdie sing.'
And it's flown owre them a',
And at the lady's left shoulder
It loot a letter fa.
And read it speedilie:
'O mother, the queen, O mother, the queen,
Grant this request to me;
Whenever I do chance for to die,
In Scotland gar bury me.'
And rub it on her chin;
It's Oh and alace for my dochter Janet!
But there is not a breath within.
And rub it on her toe;
It's Oh and alace for my daughter Janet!
To Scotland she must go.'
And make her winding sheet,
With the one side of the beaten gold,
And the other o the needle-wark.
And make her carriage-bier,
With the one side of the beaten gold,
And the other o the silver clear.'
They've carried her high and low,
Until that they came to the king of Scotland,
Was sitting in his bower-window.
And here is a token come down,
For she is dead, and she's ready to be buried,
And she wants to be laid in your ground.'
And tore her winding sheet,
And there she lay like the crimson red,
And she smiled in his face so sweet.
[Pg 363]
Go home and saw your corn,
For she is fit for the queen of Scotland now,
And she's gien you the scorn.
Go home and sew your seam,
For she is fit for the queen of Scotland now,
And she's ready to be my queen.'
E
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 7, 1802; III, 151, 1833.
Gin your feathering be sheen!'
'And waly, waly, my master dear,
Gin ye look pale and lean!
Your sword, or yet your spear?
Or mourn ye for the southern lass,
Whom you may not win near?'
My sword, nor yet my spear,
But sair I mourn for my true-love,
Wi mony a bitter tear.
Ye can baith speak and flee;
Ye sall carry a letter to my love,
Bring an answer back to me.'
Or how suld I her know?
I bear a tongue neer wi her spake,
An eye that neer her saw.'
Sae sune as ye her see,
For of a' the flowers of fair England,
The fairest flower is she.
Is like blood-drops on the snaw;
The white that is on her breast bare
Like the down o the white sea-maw.
There grows a flowering birk,
And ye maun sit and sing thereon,
As she gangs to the kirk.
Will to the mass repair,
But weel may ye my ladye ken,
The fairest ladye there.'
Put it under his pinion gray,
And he is awa to southern land,
As fast as wings can gae.
There grew a flowering birk,
And he sat down and sang thereon,
As she gaed to the kirk.
Amang her maidens free,
For the flower that springs in May morning
Was not sae sweet as she.
And sat him on a pin,
And sang fu sweet the notes o love,
Till a' was cosh within.]
And syne he sang a clear,
And aye the oerword of the sang
Was, Your love can no win here.
The wine flows you amang,
While I gang to my shot-window,
And hear yon bonny bird's sang.
The sang ye sung yestreen;
For weel I ken by your sweet singing
Ye are frae my true-love sen.'
And syne he sang a grave,
And syne he peckd his feathers gray,
To her the letter gave.
He says he's sent ye three;
[Pg 364] He canna wait your love langer,
But for your sake he 'll die.'
And brew his bridal ale,
And I sall meet him at Mary's kirk,
Lang, lang-ere it be stale.'
And a moanfu woman was she,
As gin she had taen a sudden brash,
And were about to die.
A boon I beg of thee!'
'Ask not that paughty Scotish lord,
For him you neer shall see.
Weel granted it shall be:'
'Then, gin I die in southern land,
In Scotland gar bury me.
Ye's gar the mass be sung,
And the next kirk that ye come to,
Ye's gar the bells be rung.
Ye's tarry there till night:'
And so her father pledged his word,
And so his promise plight.
As fast as she could fare,
And she has drank a sleepy draught,
That she had mixed wi care.
That was sae bright of blee,
And she seemed to be as surely dead
As any one could be.
They drapt it on her chin;
'And ever alas,' her mother cried,
'There is nae life within!'
They drapt it on her breast-bane;
'Alas,' her seven bauld brothers said,
'Our sister's dead and gane!'
And hewd to her a bier;
They hewd it frae the solid aik,
Laid it oer wi silver clear.
And sewed to her a kell,
And every steek that they pat in
Sewd to a siller bell.
They gard the bells be rung;
The next Scots kirk that they cam to,
They gard the mass be sung.
There stude spearmen all on raw,
And up and started Lord William,
The chieftane amang them a'.
'Let me looke her upon:'
But as soon as Lord William touched her hand,
Her colour began to come.
Till her pale colour was gone;
With rosy cheek, and ruby lip,
She smiled her love upon.
And one glass of your wine,
For I hae fasted these three lang days,
All for your sake and mine.
Gae hame and blaw your horn;
I trow you wad hae gien me the skaith,
But I've gien you the scorn.
An ill death may you die!
For we left father and mother at hame
Breaking their hearts for thee.'
F
From Miss Margaret Reburn, as sung in County Meath, Ireland, about 1860.
And dropped them on her hand:
'Oh and alas, my daughter dear,
I'd rather all my land!'
And dropped them on her chin:
'Oh and alas, my daughter dear,
There is no life within!'
And dropped them on her toe:
'Oh and alas, my daughter dear,
To fair Scotland you must go!'
And a cup of the new made wine,
For for your sake, Lord Thomas,' she said,
'I fasted those days nine.'
G
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 245, "from recitation."
And fruit and flowers did spring,
A Scottish squire in cheerfu strains,
Sae merrily thus did sing:
That he can speak and flee;
For he will carry love-letters
Between my love and me.
He can baith speak and gang;
And he will carry love-letters
To the maid in South England.'
Or how shall I her know?
When my tongue with her never spake,
Nor my eyes her ever saw.'
As blude drappd on the snaw;
And what is white o her is white
As milk, or the sea-maw.
You'll find a bowing birk;
And there ye'll sit, and sing thereon,
Till she gaes to the kirk.
You'll find a bowing ash;
And ye may sit and sing thereon,
Till she comes frae the mass.
You'll find a bed o tyme;
And ye may sit and sing thereon,
Till she sits down to dine.
There's fixd a siller pin;
And a' these words that I tell you,
Ye'll sit and sing therein.
For he has sent her five;
And he'll never send anither ane,
To nae woman alive.
For he has sent her seven;
And he'll never send anither send,
To nae maid under heaven.'
Beyond the raging sea,
And lighted at that lady's yetts,
On tower o gowd sae hie.
He found a bowing birk;
And there he sat, and sang thereon,
Till she went to the kirk.
He found a bowing ash;
And then he sat and sang thereon,
Till she came frae the mass.
He found a bed o tyme;
And then he sat and sang thereon,
Till she sat down to dine.
[Pg 366]
Was fixd a siller pin;
And a' the words that were tauld him,
He sat and sang them in.
For he has sent you five;
Or he'll never send anither send,
To nae woman alive.
For he has sent you seven;
And he'll never send anither send,
To nae maid under heaven.'
And drink the wine sae red,
And I will to yon small window,
And hear yon birdie's leed.
The sang ye sung just now;'
'I'll sing nae mair, ye lady fair,
My errand is to you.'
Sae well's I will you ken;
You will gae in at my gown-sleeve,
Come out at my gown-hem.'
You soon shall see right plain;
And read these lines below my wing,
That I hae brought frae him.'
She read them, and she leuch:
'O well fails me, my true-love, now,
O this I hae eneuch.
The garlings frae my hair,
Likewise the heart that is within;
What woud my love hae mair?
Ye'll bid him meet me there:'
She has gane to her dear father,
Wi heart perplexd and sair.
Fell low down on her knee:
'An asking, asking, father dear,
I pray you grant it me.'
And I will grant it thee;
Unless to marry yon Scottish squire;
That's what shall never be.'
'That I'll neer ask of thee;
But if I die in South England,
In Scotland ye'll bury me.'
But granted it shall be;
And tho ye die in South England,
In Scotland we'll bury thee.'
Fell low down on her knee:
'An asking, asking, mother dear,
I pray you grant it me.'
And granted it shall be:'
'If I do die in South England,
In Scotland bury me.'
I woud not granted thee;
You hae a love in fair Scotland,
Sae fain's you woud be tee.'
Nor yet was well set down,
Till on the sofa where she sat
Fell in a deadly swoon.
They made for her a bier;
The one half o't was gude red gowd,
The other siller clear.
In making her a sark;
The one half o't was cambric fine,
The other needle-wark.
Sat on the sofa's end:
Ye'll drap the het lead on her cheek,
Sae do you on her chin;
For women will use mony a wile
Their true-loves for to win.
Into her bower he's gane;
Then in it came her youngest brither,
The het leed to drap on.
Sae did he by her chin;
Sae did he by her comely hause;
He knew life was therein.
Sae curious round about;
[Pg 367] A private entrance there contriv'd,
That her breath might win out.
They gard the bells be rung;
The niest an kirk in fair Scotland,
They causd the mass be sung.
They passd it quietly by;
The fourth an kirk in fair Scotland,
Clerk Sandy did them spy.
Lat me look on the dead;
For I may sigh, and say, alas!
For death has nae remeid.'
A little below her chin,
And wi her sweet and ruby lips
She sweetly smil'd on him.
A bottle o your wine;
For I hae fasted for your sake
Fully these lang days nine.
Gae hame and blaw your trumpet;
And ye may tell to your step-dame
This day she is affronted.
To lye amo the dead;
But came to be Clerk Sandy's wife,
And lay gowd on my head.
Gae hame and blaw your horn;
And ye may tell in fair England
In Scotland ye got the scorn.
To mix amang the clay;
But came to be Clerk Sandy's wife,
And wear gowd to my tae.'
We shall gie you anither;
Ye shall hae naething to live upon
But the bier that brought you hither.'
A.
Written in stanzas of two long lines.
1. In the Tytler-Brown MS.
That he can speake and flee,
Will carry a letter to my love,
Bring another back to me.
B.
201. Oh.
241. by brothers.
C.
21. Oh.
122. shee.
After 16: etc., repeated as above.
After 182: etc., as above.
After 20: etc., as to father, mother, etc. The verses not written out (and not printed in the Minstrelsy) have been supplied accordingly.
302. bells altered in the MS. from mass.
263. clothe.
293. In the Minstrelsy Motherwell has substituted England for Scotland.
346. Motherwell prints dead ere syne.
D.
In his Note-Book, p. 27, Motherwell says that he got this copy of the ballad from Agnes Laird; in the MS., p. 415, from Agnes Lyle. Page 26 of the Note-Book shows that Laird is right.
E.
The edition of 1833 inserts stanza 13, and substitutes for 27, 28 the following:
'Tak ye the burning lead,
And drap a drap on her bosome,
To try if she be dead.'
They drappd it on her breast;
'Alas, alas,' her father cried,
'She's dead without the priest!'
Nor shiverd with her chin;
'Alas, alas,' her father cried,
'There is nae breath within!'
After 36 is inserted:
That wished my saul gude rest,
But wae be to my cruel step-dame,
Garrd burn me on the breast.'
And mother, 373, is changed to sisters. The step-mother clearly does not belong to this ballad.
FOOTNOTES:
[160] Or her soul, in a copy which terminates with a miracle, Victor Smith, Chansons du Velay, etc., Romania, IV, 114: where see note 2.
[161] See Uhland, III, 109 f, 171.
[162] The contrast presented by darker ages, when cheap literature was unknown, may be seen from these verses:
Par l'alouette des champs;
Elle m'envoie les siennes
Par le rossignol chantant.
Nous lisons ce qui est dedans;
Il y a dedans ces lettres,
'Aime moi, je t'aime tant.'
(Le Moniteur, May 27, 1853.)
[163] The "red, red lead" of D 7, 8 I had at first supposed to show a carelessness about epithets, like the "roses blue" of a Danish ballad. But considering that the red lead is to be rubbed on, one may ask whether some occult property of minium may have been known to the mother.
97
BROWN ROBIN
A. 'Brown Robin.' a. Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 37. b. Abbotsford MS., "Scottish Songs."
B. 'Love Robbie,' Christie's Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 136.
C. 'Brown Robyn and Mally,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 299.
'Brown Robin' was No 7 in William Tytler's Brown MS. The first stanza is cited by Anderson, Nichols's Literary Illustrations, VII, 177, and there were twenty-one stanzas, as in A a. A b may have been a copy of the Tytler-Brown version. It does not seem to have been tampered with so much as other ballads in the same manuscript. The story undoubtedly stops at the right point in A, with the escape of the two lovers to the wood. The sequel in C is not at all beyond the inventive ability of Buchan's blind beggar, and some other blind beggar may have contrived the cane and the whale, the shooting and the hanging, in B.
Brown Robin is lover or husband of May Margerie, or May a Roe=Lillie Flower, in 'Jellon Grame,' No 90, B 14, C 7, and again of White Lilly in 'Rose the Red and White Lilly,' No 103, A 7 ff.
We have money given over the wall by an eloping lady, as in B 4, 5, C 5, also in 'Willie o Douglas Dale,' No 101, C 4, 5.
A 1, nearly, is stanza 5 in Jamieson's 'Glenkindie;' see p. 141 of this volume, note to B.
C is translated by Gerhard, p. 175.
A
a. Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 37. b. Abbotsford MS., "Scottish Songs."
Sat birling at the wine;}
He would ha nane but his ae daughter
To wait on them at dine.
Intill a gown of green,
But her ee was ay on Brown Robin,
That stood low under the rain.
As fast as she coud gang,
An there she's drawn her shot-window,
An she's harped an she sang.
An O but she sings sweet!
I hope to live an see the day
Whan wi my love I'll meet.'
As your tongue tells to me,
What hour o the night, my lady bright,
At your bowr sal I be?'
Are baith set at the wine,
O ready, ready I will be
To lat my true-love in.'
Wi strong beer an wi wine,
Untill he was as beastly drunk
As ony wild-wood swine:
She's stown the keys o her father's yates
An latten her true-love in.
[Pg 369]
An the sun shone on their feet,
Then out it spake him Brown Robin,
I'll be discoverd yet.
My love, ye need na doubt;
For wi ae wile I've got you in,
Wi anither I'll bring you out.
As fast as she can fare;
She's drawn a cup o the gude red wine,
Hung't low down by her gare;
An she met wi her father dear
Just coming down the stair.
That ye hold i your han
For a' the wines in my cellar,
An gantrees whare the stan.'
That ever't came oer the sea;
'T'is pitten my head in sick a steer
I my bowr I canna be.'
Gang out an tack the air;
Gang out an walk i the good green wood,
An a' your marys fair.'
Our lady wishd him shame—
We'll send the marys to the wood,
But we'll keep our lady at hame.'
There's thirty o them an three;
But there's nae ane amo them a'
Kens what flowr gains for me.'
As fast as she could gang,
An she has dresst him Brown Robin
Like ony bowr-woman.
Was o the dainty green,
His hose was o the saft, saft silk,
His shoon o the cordwain fine.
His arrow in her sleeve,
His sturdy bran her body next,
Because he was her love.
As fast as she coud gang;
But out it spake the proud porter—
Our lady wishd him shame—
We'll count our marys to the wood,
An we'll count them back again.'
Was Brown Robin by name;
Then out it spake the king himsel,
'This is a sturdy dame.'
In a May morning so gay,
But she came never back again,
Her auld father to see.
B
Christie's Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 136, from the recitation of an old woman in Buckie, Enzie, Banffshire.
O dear, but it sings sweet!
What would I give, my father dear,
That bonnie bird to meet!'
What would I give, etc.
Let a' your folly be;
There's six Scots lords tomorrow, child,
That will a' dine wi me,
And ye maun serve them a', Mary,
As't were for meat and fee.'
The footmen a' the same,
But her mind was aye on Love Robbie,
Stood out below the rain.
Tied in a towel so sma,
She has gien to him Love Robbie,
Out oer the castle-wa;
Says, Tak ye that, my love Robbie.
And mysel ye may hae.
[Pg 370]
Tied in a napkin white,
She has gien to him Love Robbie,
Out oer the garden-dyke;
Says, Tak ye that, my Love Robbie,
And mysel gin ye like.
As your tongue woudna lee,
I shall be in your bigly bower
Before the clock strike three;
I shall be in your bigly bower,
Dressd like a gay ladye.'
And all men bound for bed,
Love Robbie came to Mary's bower,
Dressd like a comely maid.
As lovers when they meet,
Till sighing said he Love Robbie,
My life, my life I doubt.
Your life you needna doubt;
For it was wiles brought in Robbie,
And wiles will lat him out.'
And stood upon the floor,
And she filld the cup of good red wine,
Said, Father, will ye drink more?
The cup that's in your hand,
Than all my barrels full of wine,
On the gantrees where they stand.'
It eer came oer the sea!
If I getna the air o good greenwood
O I will surely dee.'
There's seven o them and three,
And I'll send them to good greenwood,
For flowers to shortsome thee.'
There's seven o them and three,
But there's nae a mary mang them a'
Can pu flowers to shortsome me:'
'Then by my sooth,' said her father dear,
'Let yoursel gang them wi.'
Love Robbie was in dainty green;
Love Robbie's brand was about his middle,
And he shone like ony queen.
Love Robbie was that ane:
'Now by my sooth,' said the proud porter,
'She is a sonsie dame;
I would not care now very much
To turn her in again.'
Of high or low degree,
Would turn a mary in again
That once came out with me.'
Pu'd a flower but only three,
Till the porter stood behind a bush,
And shot him Love Robbie.
In the chamber where he lay,
Lady Mary's sick in good greenwood,
And cannot come away.
His cane into his han,
And he is on to good greenwood,
As fast as he could gang.
Or whale out o the sea?
Or is there any one alive
This day has angerd thee?'
Nor whale out o the sea;
But woe be to your proud porter,
Sae sair's he's angerd me!
He's shot the fairest flower this day,
That would hae comfort me.'
Let a' your folly be;
Tomorrow ere I eat or drink
High hangëd shall he be.'
C
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 299.
And dear, but it sings sweet!
I hope to live to see the day
This bird and I will meet.'
Let a' your folly be;
What bird is that in my orchard
Sae shortsome is to thee?
The morn shoud dine wi me;
And ye maun serve them a', Mally,
Like one for meat and fee.'
The horsemen much the same;
But her mind was aye to Brown Robyn,
Beneath the heavy rain.
Intil a servit white,
And she gae that to Brown Robyn,
Out ower the garden-dyke:
Says, Take ye that, my love Robyn,
And mysell gin ye like.
'That ye hae tauld to me,
About the hour o twall at night,
At your bower-door I'll be.'
And lang ere it was ten,
She had hersell there right and ready
To lat Brown Robyn in.
Till the birds sang on the ha;
'O,' sighing says him Brown Robyn,
'I wish I were awa!'
Till the guards shot ower the way;
Then sighing says him Brown Robyn,
'I fear my life this day.'
Of this take ye nae doubt;
It was by wiles I brought you in,
By wiles I'll bring you out.'
To her father went she;
'O drink the wine, father,' she said,
'O drink the wine wi me.'
But better love I the wine;
And better love I your fair body
Than a' the gowd in Spain.'
That last came ower the sea;
Without the air o gude greenwood,
There's nae remeid for me.'
Ye've thirty and hae three;
Send ane o them to pu a flower,
Stay ye at hame wi me.'
I've thirty o them and nine;
But there's nae a marie amo them a'
That kens my grief and mind.
And sae may they the slae,
But there's nane amo them a' that kens
The herb that I woud hae.'
Come shortly back again;
Ye are sae fair and are sae rare,
Your body may get harm.'
Brown Robyn all in green,
And put his brand across his middle,
He was a stately dame.
It was him Brown Robyn;
'By my sooth,' said the proud porter,
'This is a stately dame.
'And leave o a' your kin,
I woudna think it a great sin
To turn that marie in.'
Let a' your folly be;
Ye darena turn a marie in
That ance came forth wi me.'
[Pg 372]
And as well shall I in;
For I am safe to gie my oath
That marie is a man.'
And soon came back again;
'Gude sooth,' replied the proud porter,
'We've lost our stately dame.'
And sick and liken to die;
The morn before the cocks do craw,
That marie I maun see.'
Says, Porter, let me know
If I will cause her stay at hame,
Or shall I let her go?
And sick and like to die;
I really think she is too gude
Nor ever woud make a lie.'
As she was passing by,
'What will ye say if I reveal
What I saw wi my eye?'
O heal that well on me,
And if I live or brook my life,
Rewarded ye shall be.'
To gude greenwood again,
And she is gane wi Brown Robyn,
But't was lang ere she came hame.
And thus lamented he:
'O I woud gie ten thousand pounds
My daughter for to see.'
'To do nae injury,
I will find out your daughter dear,
And them that's gane her wi.'
By a' his gowd and land,
Nae injury to them's be dune,
Whether it be maid or man.
And seald it wi his hand,
And sent it to that lady fair,
For to return hame.
He received her joyfullie,
And married her to Brown Robyn;
Now a happy man was he.
A day but barely three,
Till she settled the porter well for life,
Wi gowd and white monie.
A. a.
Written in stanzas of two long lines. The first stanza, as given by Anderson, is:
Sat drinking at the wine;
He woud ha nane but his ae daughter
To wait on them at dine.
181. boson: the king's daughter must have been "a sturdy dame" too.
212. so gray. The sun was up: see stanza 8.
b.
12. Were drinking.
21. She served them butt.
22. Baith knights and gallants sheen.
23. was still.
32. might gang.
33. And she has.
41. in yonder tree.
42. vow but he.
44. my love and I shall.
51. Gin ye luve me as weel, fair maid.
61. my auld father.
62. Sit drinking.
63. will I.
71. has hired the proud porter.
72. Wi the ale but and the.
And saftly trippd she down;
She's stown the key o hir father's yate,
And let hir true love in.
82. shined.
[Pg 373]83. out and spake.
91. O out and spake.
93. As wi ae wile I hae brought.
101, 2. wanting.
105. she has met her auld.
106. Came creeping up.
11. wanting.
122. ever it crossd.
123. It has put.
124. canna stay.
134. Wi a'
141. and spake.
142. send him.
144. But keep the princess.
154. flowr's gude.
161. hied her.
162. Sae fast as she might.
Was of the dainty green.
Wi gowd and silver shone.
173. His stockings o.
174. And his shune o the cordovan.
181. She put.
182. up her.
183. her fair side next.
19. wanting.
203. By the faith o my body, then said the king.
204. a lusty.
211. gaed out.
212. sae gay.
98
BROWN ADAM
A. 'Brown Adam,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 17.
B. 'Broun Edom,' Harris MS., fol. 27 b, No 26.
C. 'Brown Adam the Smith,' Buchan MSS, I, 46.
'Brown Adam' was No 14 of the fifteen ballads furnished William Tytler by Mrs Brown in 1783: Anderson, in Nichols's Illustrations, VII, 178. The ballad was first printed in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 16, 1802, with the omission of Mrs Brown's second stanza, and some changes. Scott remarks that he had seen a copy printed on a single sheet.
C 1, 3, 6, 7 are very close to A 1, 2, 3, 4. A 2 was not printed by Scott, and if these stanzas were borrowed, A 2 must have been taken from the Jamieson MS., to which other cases of correspondence warrant a suspicion that one of Buchan's contributors had access. C has the usual marks of Buchan's copies, great length, vulgarity, and such extravagance and absurdity as are found in stanzas 23, 26, 29.
A Danish ballad, from manuscripts of the sixteenth century and later, has a remote likeness to 'Brown Adam:' 'Den afhugne Haand,' Grundtvig, No 199, IV, 153. Lawi Pedersøn, who has shown bad faith to women, makes love to Lutzelil, who knows his ways, and rejects him summarily. Lawi rides off in wrath, saying that she shall be sorry for it. The maid is afraid to go to church for nine months, but ventures at Easter. Lawi stops her in a wood. She begs him to do her no harm, feigns to be amenable, and gives him an assignation at an off-lying apartment in which she sleeps with her maids; then rides away, laughing over her successful evasion. She tells her father how she has met Lawi, and begs him to be on the watch. Lawi comes at night, knocks, and is answered, according to the formula of Danish ballads, that she has made no appointment and he cannot come in. Lawi threatens to take off the door, and does so. Lutzelil's father is standing ready with his sword, and cuts off Lawi's hand.
The copy in Scott's Minstrelsy is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 45, p. 291; by Schubart, p. 65; Arndt, Blütenlese, p. 231; Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 29, p. 130; Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 2, p. 5.
A
Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 17.
Or the green leaves fa therewith?
Or wha wad wish a leeler love
Than Brown Adam the Smith?
His study's o the steel,
His fingers white are my delite,
He blows his bellows well.
Frae father and frae mither,
An they ha banishd him Brown Adam
Frae sister and frae brither.
Frae the flowr o a' his kin;
An he's biggit a bowr i the good green wood
Betwen his lady an him.
Brown Adam he thought lang,
An he woud to the green wood gang,
To hunt some venison.
His bran intill his han,
And he is to the good green wood,
As fast as he coud gang.
The bird upo the briar,
An he's sent it hame to his lady,
Bade her be of good cheer.
The bird upo the thorn,
And sent it hame to his lady,
And hee'd be hame the morn.
He stood a little foreby,
And there he heard a fu fa'se knight
Temptin his gay lady.
Had cost him mony a poun:
'O grant me love for love, lady,
An this sal be your own.'
'I wot sae does he me;
An I woud na gi Brown Adam's love
For nae fa'se knight I see.'
Was a' fu to the string:
'Grant me but love for love, lady,
An a' this sal be thine.'
'An I ken sae does he me;
An I woudna be your light leman
For mair nor ye coud gie.'
And he's flashd it in her een:
'Now grant me love for love, lady,
Or thro you this sal gang!'
'Brown Adam tarrys lang!'
Then up it starts Brown Adam,
Says, I'm just at your han.
He's gard him leave his bran;
He's gard him leave a better pledge,
Four fingers o his right han.
B
Harris MS., fol. 27 b, No 26.
. . . . . . .
For wha ere had a lealer luve
Than Broun Edom the smith?
His hammer o the pith;
His cords waur o the gude green silk,
That blew his bellows with.
Broun Edom he thoucht lang,
That he wald gae to see his luve,
By the le licht o the mune.
C
Buchan MSS, I, 46.
The green leaves fa therewith?
O wha would wish a leeler luve
Than Brown Adam the Smith?
And knights and lords sae gude,
And he is to the black smithy,
To learn to shoe a steed.
His studdy o the steel,
His fingers whyte, and maids' delight,
And blaws his bellows weel.
Caused him get mony a fae,
And sae their plots they did contrive
To work him grief and wae.
By his fause enemie,
Which caused the king to make a vow
That banishd he shoud be.
Frae father and frae mither,
And banishd hae they him Brown Adam
Frae sister and frae brither.
The flower o a' his kin;
He built a bower in gude green wood,
For his true love and him.
The king's young son thought lang,
And minded him on Brown Adam,
Oft rade on his right han.
To shoe his milk-white steed,
That he might see him ance in court,
Mang knights o noble bleed.
A light laugh then gae hee:
'What's this that's made their hearts to fa,
They lang sae sair for mee?'
Brown Adam, bide wi mee;
For if ye gang to court, I fear
Your face I'll never see.
Let naething cause your grief;
Though I be absent for some days,
Ye seen will get relief.'
And rade alang the lay,
And hunted a' the wild birds there,
As he rade on the way.
The linnet o the brier,
And sent them on to gude green wood,
His ladye's heart to cheer.
The linnet o the wand,
And sent them on to his ladye,
Forbade her to think lang.
The linnet o the thorn,
And sent them on to his ladye,
Said he'd be hame the morn.
As he rade on the way,
Some evil in his absence might
Befa his ladye gay.
And bound again to ryde,
He turned his horse to Ringlewood;
Some days he meant to byde.
Ae foot's horse woudna ryde;
Whan he turned to his luver's bower,
He flew like ony glyde.
There he alighted down,
For the hearing o his great horse tramp
Ere he wan to the town.
He heard a dolefu din;
He wasna aware o a fu fause knight,
His true-love's bower within.
And gae him corn and hay,
And listened at a shott-window,
To hear what he would say.
It was a coffer fine;
It was as fu o gude black silk,
Make ladyes for to shine.
[Pg 376]
And that's a hatefu thing;
Luve me, and lat Brown Adam be,
And a' this shall be thine.'
'I wyte hee hates nae mee;
I winna forsake him Brown Adam
For a' your gifts an thee.'
It was a coffer small;
It was as fou o shambo gluves,
Woud had her hands frae caul.
An that's a hatefu thing;
Luve me, an lat Brown Adam be,
An a' this shall be thine.'
'I'm sure he hates nae me;
I winna forsake him Brown Adam
For a' your gifts an thee.'
It was a coffer fine;
It was as fu of gude red gowd
As a guinea coud get in.
And that's a hatefu thing;
Luve me, and lat Brown Adam be,
And a' this shall be thine.'
'I'm sure hee hates nae mee;
I winna forsake him Brown Adam
For a' the gowd ye 'll gie.'
And grew mair fierce and cruel,
And then drew out a trusty brand,
Which made her heart to pruel.
Since I frae you maun part,
I swear a vow before I gae,
That this shall pierce your heart.'
'I wat hee hates nae mee;
And if he knew my troubles now
At my call woud hee be.
He'd seen be at my han;
But wae is me, sae may I say,
Brown Adam tarries lang!'
Made a' the bands to flee:
'Cheer up your heart, my luve Janet,
Your love's nae far frae thee.'
And chassd him thro the ha;
The knight jumpd to a shott-window,
And woud hae been awa.
'Make nae sic haste frae mee;
You or I maun rue the race
That I came ower the lee.'
His mantle and his brand;
Likewise he's taen anither wad,
His sword and his sword-hand.
Bade him lie there wi care,
And never come back to gude green wood
To marr fair ladies mair.
'And I was never whyte;
But my love has robes o different hues,
To wear at her delyght.
Wi gowd pinnd to the chin;
Her robes shall be o the scarlet hue
She shall gang daily in.'
A.
Anderson cites the first stanza, in exact agreement with the Jamieson MS., except that the third line begins with O.
32. mother (?).
74. Beede (?).
152. long.
99
JOHNIE SCOT
A. 'Jack, the Little Scot,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 5.
B. 'McNaughtan,' Glenriddell MSS, XI, 78.
C. 'Johnie Scot,' Motherwell's MS., p. 213.
D. 'Johnnie Scot,' Motherwell's MS., p. 205.
E. 'McNachton,' Motherwell's MS., p. 113.
F. 'Bonnie Johnie Scot,' Motherwell's MS., p. 211.
G. 'Johnie Scott,' Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 35; Motherwell's MS., p. 394.
H. 'Love Johny,' Kinloch MSS, VI, 53.
I. 'Johnie Buneftan,' Kinloch MSS, VII, 39, 41, 43, 45, 47, 49.
J. Kinloch MSS, VII, 40, 42, 46, 49.
K. 'Johnie, the Little Scot,' Kinloch MSS, I, 311.
L. 'Johnnie Scott,' Campbell MSS, I, 57.
M. 'Lord Johnnie Scott,' Campbell MSS, II, 335.
N. 'Lord John,' Buchan's Gleanings, p. 122.
O. 'Johnie Scot,' communicated by Mr Macmath.
P. Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 11.
A was No 2 of the fifteen ballads in William Tytler's lost Brown MS.: Nichols's Illustrations, VII, 176. There is a copy of A in the Abbotsford MS., "Scottish Songs," fol. 24, with many wilful alterations and a few readings from tradition. The ballad printed in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 204, is a compound of C, D, E, and the one in Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 77, is made up from I, J, "recited versions obtained in the north and west" of Scotland, with some slight changes.
The story of 'Willie o Winsbury,' No 100, has considerable resemblance to that of 'Johnie Scot,' but Willie's extreme beauty moves the king, the lady's father, to offer his daughter to him in marriage, without a combat. Mrs Brown's version of 'Willie o Douglas Dale,' No 101, A, begins with the first stanza of her version of 'Johnie Scot,' A. So does 'Young Betrice,' another ballad of hers, No 5 of William Tytler's MS.:
As ever saild the sea,
And he's taen him to the court of France,
To serve for meat and fee.
Anderson, who cites this stanza, Nichols's Illustrations, as above, remarks: "The conduct of the story is different from that of No 2 ['Jack, the Little Scot'], which it resembles. Some of the lines are in 'Gil Morrice.'" 'Young Betrice' may possibly be a variety of 'Hugh Spencer:' see 'Hugh Spencer,' C.
There is resemblance to 'Child Maurice,' No 83, besides the commonplace of the messenger-boy, in the sending of a token to the lady, A 12, 13, D 6, E 2, H 4, 5, J 4, M 8, N 11, 12; 'Child Maurice,' A 7, 8, B 3, 4, C 3, 4, 5, D, E 6, 7, F 17, 18. In the present ballad the token is a sark of silk (M 8, simply shirt); so in 'Child Maurice,' D 7, F 18. The blessing on the errand-boy, A 8, is found in 'Fair Mary of Wallington,' No 91, B 9.
While John, the Scot, is in service at the English court, the king's daughter becomes with child to him. She is thrown into prison. Johnie, who has fled to Scotland, sends a messenger to her with a token which she will recognize, urging her to come to him. An answer is returned that she is in chains. Johnie resolves to go to the rescue. He is warned of the danger, but a body of Scots at[Pg 378]tends him, five hundred men, A-D, O, twenty-four, E, G, I; all unmarried, B, D, E, G, H, I, O. When he arrives at the English court, the king asks his name. His name is Pitnachton, A 26; McNaughtan, B 17, E 14, cf. C 16; Auchney, H 21; Buneftan, I 14; Johnie Scot, Love John, C 17, K 12, L 13, N 26; Earl Hector, D 18. The king will hang the Scot on his daughter's account. Resistance is threatened by Johnie's friends. The king has a champion who will fight them three by three, A 29, B 20, E 18, F 17, N 30. This champion is an Italian, A 29, I 17, L 16, N 31, O 8; an Itilian, H 27; Talliant, Tailliant, C 22, D 23, F 17, G 16. The Scot kills the Italian in a duel. In C 24, D 25, F 19, G 18, the Italian jumps over Johnie's head, skims over it like a swallow, and is apparently run through while so doing. Johnie calls for a priest to marry his love and him, the king for a clerk to write the tocher. But tocher is refused by the Scot, who wants only his dearly won lady.
The champion is described in A 31 as a gurious (grugous, gruous?) ghost; in H 27 as a greecy (frightful) ghost; in L 18 he is a fearsome sight, with three women's-spans between his brows and three yards between his shoulders; in the Abbotsford copy of A, 29, 30, a grisly sight, with a span between his eyes, between his shoulders three and three, and Johnie scarcely reaching his knee. These points are probably taken from another and a later ballad, which is perhaps an imitation, and might almost be called a parody, of Johnie Scot, 'Lang Johnny Moir:' see Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 248.
The process of striping a sword oer a stane or to the stran, N 28, H 28, striking it across the plain, A 32, K 14, is that of whetting or wiping, already noted under No 81, II, 243 f. To the places cited there may be added 'Child Maurice,' F 30, 'Jellon Grame,' No 90, B 8, 21, C 14, 'The Baffled Knight,' No 112, A 10. G 202 is a manifest corruption, a repetition of 172; K 14 has been corrected, in conformity with A 32.
The Rev. Andrew Hall, in his Interesting Roman Antiquities recently discovered in Fife, 1823, p. 216, relates the following story, on traditional authority.[164] James Macgill, of Lindores, had killed Sir Robert Balfour, of Denmiln, in a duel which he had wished to avoid, about the year 1679. Macgill "immediately went up to London in order to procure his pardon, which it seems the king, Charles the Second, offered to grant him upon condition of his fighting an Italian gladiator or bravo, or, as he was then called, a bully; which, it is said, none could be found to do.... Accordingly a large stage was erected for the exhibition before the king and court.... Sir James, it is said, stood on the defensive till the bully had spent himself a little, being a taller man than Sir James. In his mighty gasconading and bravadoing he actually leaped over the knight as if he would swallow him alive, but in attempting to do this a second time Sir James run his sword up through him, and then called out, 'I have spitted him; let them roast him who will.' This not only procured his pardon, but he was also knighted on the spot."
The exploit of Johnie Scot, and, if you please, of Sir James Macgill, has been achieved as well on the south side of the English Channel. The Breton seigneur Les Aubrays, or Lizandré, of St Brieux, is ordered by the French king to undertake a combat with his wild Moor. Les Aubrays asks a page, who brings the king's command, about the Moor's fashion of fighting. The Moor is master of devilish magic, and has herbs about him by virtue of which any wounds he may get are soon healed. The Breton is told, among other things, that he must throw holy water at the Moor the moment the savage draws, and when the Moor makes a leap in the air he must receive him on the point of his sword. These instructions are followed with perfect success. When the Moor is "swimming" in the air, Lizandré so disposes his sword as to take him on it. Luzel, 'Lezobre,' etc., 'Les Aubrays et le More du Roi,' second and third versions, I, 300-03, 294, 295; 'Le Géant[Pg 379] Lizandré II, 568-71, 'Le Géant Les Aubrays,' 576-79; Poésies populaires de la France, MS., vol. i, near the beginning. Though the brave Breton is called giant in the title of Luzel's last two versions, nothing is said in the ballads of his being of unusual proportions. He is victorious in nineteen fights, but it is because of his profuse liberality to St Anne; it borders on the irreligious, therefore, to call him a giant.[165]
The copy in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 204, is translated by Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 15, Hausschatz, p. 210.
A
Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 5.
As ever saild the sea,
An he's done him to the English court,
To serve for meat and fee.
But yet a little while,
Untill the kingis ae daughter
To Johney proves wi chil.
In his chair where he sat,
That his ae daughter was wi bairn
To Jack, the Little Scott.
As I trust well it be,
Ye pit her into prison strong,
An starve her till she die.'
A wot he went wi speed,
An he has left the kingis court,
A wot good was his need.
That Johney he thought lang,
An he's gane to the good green wood,
As fast as he coud gang.
To rin my errand soon,
That will rin into fair England,
An haste him back again?'
Gold yallow was his hair,
I wish his mither meickle joy,
His bonny love mieckle mair.
Will rin your errand soon;
I will gang into fair England,
An come right soon again.'
He bent his bow and swam;
An whan he came to the green grass growan,
He slaikid his shoone an ran.
He ran it roun about,
An there he saw the king's daughter,
At the window looking out.
Your ain han sewd the sleeve;
You'r bidden come to fair Scotlan,
Speer nane o your parents leave.
Your ain han sewd the gare;
You're bidden come to good green wood,
Love Johney waits you there.'
The tear was in her ee:
'How can I come to my true-love,
Except I had wings to flee?
Most grievous to behold;
[Pg 380] My breast-plate's o the sturdy steel,
Instead of the beaten gold.
Ye well deserve a fee,
An bear this letter to my love,
An tell him what you see.'
Again to Scotlan fair,
An soon he reachd Pitnachton's towrs,
An soon found Johney there.
An taul him what he sa,
But eer he half the letter read,
He loote the tears doun fa.
Tho death shoud me betide,
An I will relieve the damesel
That lay last by my side.'
My son, you are to blame;
An gin you'r catchd on English groun,
I fear you'll neer win hame.
Johny's best friend was he;
I can commaun five hunder men,
An I'll his surety be.
They gard the bells be rung;
An the nextin town that they came till,
They gard the mess be sung.
They gard the drums beat roun;
The king but an his nobles a'
Was startld at the soun.
They rade it roun about,
An there they saw the king himsel,
At the window looking out.
Or James, the Scottish king?
Or are ye some great foreign lord,
That's come a visiting?'
Nor James, the Scottish king;
But I'm a valiant Scottish knight,
Pitnachton is my name.'
As I trust well it be,
The morn, or I tast meat or drink,
You shall be hanged hi.'
That came brave Johney wi;
Behold five hunder bowmen bold,
Will die to set him free.
An a scornfu laugh laugh he;
I have an Italian i my house
Will fight you three by three.
'Bring your Italian here;
Then if he fall beneath my sword,
I've won your daughter dear.'
An a gurious ghost was he;
Upo the point o Johney's sword
This Italian did die.
Struck it across the plain:
'Is there any more o your English dogs
That you want to be slain?'
'To write her tocher free;'
'A priest, a priest,' says Love Johney,
'To marry my love and me.
'Nor of your silver clear;
I only seek your daughter fair,
Whose love has cost her dear.'
B
Glenriddell MSS, XI, 78: 1791.
Three quarters of a year;
Johnny's into England gane,
The king's banner to bear.
But and a little while,
Untill the king's daughter
To Johnny gaes wi child.
And word is to the ha,
And word is to the king's palace,
Amang the nobles a'.
The palace where she sat,
That his ae daughter gaes wi child
To Jock, the Little Scot.
'As I trow well she be,
I'll put her into strang prison,
And hang her till she die.'
And O he spake in time:
Is there never a bony boy here
Will rin my errand soon?
And look it round about?
And there he'll see a fair lady,
The window looking out.
And a bony boy was he:
I'll run thy errand, Johnny, he said,
Untill the day I die.
And on your hand a glove,
And gang into the good green-wood,
To Johnny, your true-love.'
And O but they are cauld!
My bracelets they are sturdy steel,
Instead of beaten gold.
And seal it tenderlie,
And I will send to my true-love,
Before that I do die.'
A loud laughter gae he;
But the next look that Johnny gae,
The tear blinded his ee.
Whatever may betide,
And a' to seek a fair woman
That sud hae been my bride.
And O he spak in time:
If that ye into England gae,
I'm feerd ye neer come hame.
And a brisk young man was he:
He's hae five hunder o my life-guard,
To bear him companie.
And seemly for to see,
There was not a married man
Into his companie.
And seemly to behold,
The hair that hang on Johnny's head
Was like the threads o gold.
He gard the bells a' ring,
Untill the king and a' his court
Did marvel at the thing.
'That's landed and come hame?
Is this the brave Argyle,' he said,
'Or James, our Scottish king?'
'That's landed and come hame;
But it is a brave young Scottish knight,
McNaughtan is his name.'
'As I trow weel it be,
[Pg 382] The fairest lady in a' my court
Gangs wi child to thee.'
'As I wat weel she be,
I'll mak it lord o a' my land,
And her my gay lady.'
Will fight you a' by three;'
But up then speaks a brisk young man,
And a brisk young man was he:
I will fight to my life's end,
Before poor Johnny die.
Went out into the plain,
The queen but and her maidens a',
To see young Johnny slain.
Was a deep wound and sair;
The next wound that he gae the champion,
He never spak mair.
'To wed me and my love;'
'A clerk, a clerk,' the king he cries,
'To sign her tocher gude.'
'I'll hae nane o your gear,
But a' I want is my true-love,
For I hae bought her dear.'
And blew baith loud and shill;
The victry's into Scotland gane,
Tho sair against their will.
C
Motherwell's MS., p. 213: from the recitation of Mrs Thomson, Kilbarchan.
Unto the woods sae wild,
And Earl Percy's old daughter
To Johnie goes with child.
And word is to the ha,
And word is to the highest towers,
Amang the nobles a'.
'As woe forbid it be,
I'll put her into a prison strong,
And try the veritie.'
'As woe forbid it be,
I'll put her intil a dungeon dark,
And hunger her till she die.'
And sealed it wi her hand,
And sent it to the merry green wood,
Wi her own boy at command.
His heart was full of joy;
But he had not read a line past two
Till the salt tears blind his eye.
What ever me betide,
For to relieve that fair ladie
That lay last by my side.'
And he spak all in time:
Johnie, if ye to England go,
I fear ye'll neer return.
And he spak bitterlie:
Five hundred of my good life-guards
Shall go along with thee.
They were comely to behold;
The hair that hung owre Johnie's shoulders
Was like the yellow gold.
They made the bells to ring;
And when they rode the town all owre,
They made the trumpets sound.
[Pg 383]
They rode them round about,
And who saw he but his own true-love,
At a window looking out!
The windows round about;
My feet they are in fetters strong;
And how can I get out?
And oh but they be cold!
My breast-plate's of the beaten steel,
Instead of beaten gold.'
They tirled at the pin;
None was so ready as Earl Percy
To open and let them in.
Or art thou the King of Spain?
Or art thou one of our gay Scots lords,
McNachtan by thy name?'
Nor yet the King of Spain;
But I am one of our gay Scots lords,
Johnie Scot I am called by name.'
'As I trow weel it be,
The fairest lady in a' our court
Gaes big with child to thee.'
'As I trow weel she be,
I'll make it heir owre a' my land,
And her my gay ladie.'
'As I trow weel she be,
Tomorrow morn again eight o clock
High hanged thou shalt be.'
And he spak bitterlie:
Before that we see Johnie Scot slain,
We'll a' fight till we die.
That will fight duels three?
Before that I be hanged or slain,
On the Tailliant's sword I'll die.'
And some is to the plain,
Either to see fair Johnie hanged,
Or else to see him slain.
And they fought on till three,
Till the Tailliant, like a swallow swift,
Owre Johnie's head did flee.
He wheeled him round about,
And on the point of Johnie's broad sword
The Tailliant he slew out.
'To wed my love and me;'
'A clerk, a clerk,' her father cried,
'To sum the tocher free.'
'Nor none of your white monie;
But I will have my own fair bride,
For I vow that I've bought her dear.'
He led her up the plain:
'Have you any more of your English dogs
You want for to have slain?'
He blew it baith loud and shill,
And honour's into Scotland gone,
In spite of England's skill.
D
Motherwell MS., p. 205: a, "words and tune from Mrs McNiccol," of Paisley, native of the parish of Houston; b, variations from "John Lindsay, cowfeeder, Wallace Street, Paisley."
Among the woods sae wild;
Who but the Earl of Percy's ae daughter
To him goes big with child!
And word's gone to the hall,
And word is to King Henry gane,
And amongst his nobles all.
His name was Germanie:
'O thou must to fair England go,
Bring me that fair ladie.'
He tirled at the pin;
'O who is there?' said the proud porter,
'But I daurna let thee in.'
Till he rode it round about;
Then he saw her at a wee window,
Where she was looking out.
Unto the woods so green,
In token of thy silken shirt,
Thine own hand sewed the seam.'
Or how can I get out?
My breast plate's o the hard, hard iron,
With fetters round about.
And give it unto thee,
And thou must take that to Johnnie Scot,
See what answer he sends to me.'
A sorry man was he;
He had not read one line but two
Till the saut tear did blind his ee.
Whatever me betide,
All for to fight for that gay ladie
That last lay by my side.'
And he spoke well in time:
O if you to fair England go,
I doubt your coming home.
'Before such a thing shall be,
I'll send five hundred of my life-guards,
To bear Johnnie company.'
Most pleasant to behold,
The hair that hung over Johnnie's neck
Was like the links of gold.
Most beautiful to see,
There was not so much as a married man
In Johnnie's company.
In the company that did ride;
King James he was the second man,
Wi his rapier by his side.
They tirled at the pin:
'O who is there?' said the proud porter;
'But I daurnot let thee in.
'Or James, our Scotish king?
Or is it one of the Scotish lords,
From hunting new come home?'
'Nor James, our Scotish king;
But it is one of the Scotish lords,
Earl Hector is my name.'
He fell low down on his knee:
'O the brawest lady in a' my court
With child goes big to thee.'
'As I trew well she be,
I will make it heir of all my land,
And her my gay ladie.'
'As I trew well she be,
Before the morn at ten o clock
High hanged thou shalt be.'
[Pg 385]
'Before such a thing shall be,
Before that Johnnie Scot be hanged,
We'll a' fight till we die.'
Of men he will fight five;
Go bring them out to the green wood,
See wha will gain the prize.'
They flocked all amain,
They flocked all to the green wood,
To see poor Johnnie slain.
To be poor Johnnie's dead,
But, like unto a swallow swift,
He jumped oer Johnnie's head.
Cunning and crafty withal,
And up on the top of his braid sword
He made this Talliant fall.
'To marry my love and me;'
'A clerk, a clerk,' her father cried,
'To sum the tocher free.'
'Nor none of your other gear,
But I'll just have my own true-love,
This day I've won her dear.'
E
Motherwell's MS., p. 113; from the recitation of T. Risk.
The king's banner to bear:
'O do you see yon castle, boy?
It's walled round about;
There you will spy a fair ladye,
In the window looking out.'
Thine own hand sewed the sleeve,
And thou must go to yon green wood,
To Johnnie thy true-love.'
And walled round about;
My feet are in the fetters strong,
And how can I get out?
And they are very cold;
My breast plate's of the sturdy steel,
Instead of beaten gold.
And candle at my command,
It's I would write a lang letter
To John in fair Scotland.'
A loud, loud lauch leuch he;
The second line that Johnnie looked on,
The tear did blind his ee.
Whatever me betide,
For to relieve my own fair lady,
That lay last by my side.
A well spoke woman was she:
If you do go to England, Johnnie,
I may take farewell o thee.
A well spoke man was he:
It's twenty-four of my gay troop
Shall go along with thee.
Right comely to be seen,
There was not so much as a married man
In Johnie's companie;
There was not so much as a married man,
Not a one only but ane.
He made the bells be rung;
The next gude toun that Johnie came to,
He made the psalms be sung.
He made the drums beat round,
[Pg 386] Till the king and all his merry men
A-marvelled at the sound.
Or James, our Scotish king?
Are you the Duke of Mulberry,
From Scotland new come home?'
Nor James, our Scotish king;
But I am a true Scotishman,
McNaughtoun is my name.'
'As I trew well it be,
The fairest lady in a' my court
She goes with child to thee.
'As I trew well it be,
Tomorrow morn by eight o clock
O hanged you shall be.'
His name was Germany:
'Before that we be all hanged, my sovereign,
We'll fight you till we die.'
It is well spoken of thee,
For there is a campioun in my court
Shall fight you three by three.'
The king and his merry men,
The queen and all her maidens fair,
Came whistling down the green,
To see the cruel fight begin,
And see poor Johnnie slain.
Wi swords of tempered steel,
Until the drops of red, red blood
Ran prinkling down the field.
They fought so manfullie
They left not a man alive in all the king's court,
Not a man only but three.
'To wed my love and me;'
'A clerk, a clerk,' the king did cry,
'To write her portion free.'
'Nor none of your white money,
But I will have mine own fair lady,
Who has been dear to me.'
He blew it wondrous schill;
The sound is unto Scotland gane,
Sair against all their will.
He blew it ower again,
And aye the sound the horn cried,
'McNaughtoun's cure to them!'
F
Motherwell's MS., p. 211; from the recitation of Agnes Laird, Kilbarchan, 21 June, 1825.
And word has to the ha,
And word has to the king himsell,
In the chamber where he sat,
That his ae daughter gaes wi bairn
To bonnie Johnie Scot.
And word has to the ha,
And word has to the queen hersell,
In the chamber where she sat,
That her ae dochter gaes wi bairn
To bonnie Johnie Scot.
'As I trew well she be,
We'll put her in a prison strang,
And try her verity.'
'As I trew weel she be,
We'll put her in a dungeon dark,
And hunger her till she die.'
And sealed it with her hand,
[Pg 387] And sent it unto Johnie Scot,
To come at her command.
He laughed at the same;
The neist lang line that he did read,
The tears did blin his een.
May God be my sure guide!
And all to see that lady fair
That last lay by my side.'
And he spoke manfullie:
I and three thousand of my guards
Will bear you companye.
So gallantly they rode;
The hair that hung owre Johnie's shoulders
Was like the links of goud.
They knocked at the pin;
So ready was the king himsell
To open and let them in.
'Or are ye the King of Spain?
Or are ye some of the gay Scots boys,
From hunting now come hame?'
'Nor yet the King of Spain;
But I am one of the gay Scots boys,
From hunting just come hame.'
As I trew weel you be,
The fairest lady in my hall
Gaes big wi child to thee.'
'As I trew weel she be,
I'll make him heir of a' my gear,
And her my fair ladye.'
'As I trew weel she be,
Before the morn at ten o'clock
High hanged thou shall be.'
And he spoke manfullie:
Before that Johnie Scott be slain,
We'll all fight till we die.
We'll fight your men by three;'
'Bring out your trooper,' Johnie says,
'For fain I would him see.'
Some gade unto the plain,
Some at high windows looked out,
To see poor Johnie slain.
Thinking Johnie would retire,
And then he, like a swallow swifte,
Owre Johnie's head did flee.
And turned about with speed,
And on the edge of his broadsword
He slew the Talliant dead.
And sat her on a dapple-gray,
And being mounted on before,
They briskly rode away.
In spite of England's skill;
The honour unto Scotland came
In spite of England's will.
G
Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 35, Motherwell MS., p. 394; from the singing of Agnes Lyle, of Kilbarchan, 24 August, 1825.
To England woods so wild,
Until the king's old dochter dear
She goes to him with child.
'As I trew weel she be,
We'll put her in a dark dungeon,
And hunger her till she die.'
[Pg 388]
'As oh forbid she be!
We'll put her in a prison strong,
And try the veritie.'
Sealed it with his own hand,
And he sent it to Johnie Scot,
To speak at his command.
The tear blindit his ee:
'I must away to Old England;
King Edward writes for me.'
She spoke aye in time:
Son, if thou go to Old England,
I fear thou'll neer come hame.
And a weel spoke man was he:
Here's four and twenty o my braw troops,
To bear thee companie.
Away they rade so slie;
There was not a maried man that day
In Johnie's companie.
They made their bells to ring;
The next good town that they passed thro,
They made their music sing.
They made their drums beat round,
The king and a' his gay armies
Admiring at the sound.
They travelled round about,
And there he spied his own true-love,
At a window looking out.
'Of that ye needna dout;
But my garters they're of cauld, cauld iron,
And I can no win out.
And it is very cold;
My breast-plate is of sturdy steel,
Instead o beaten gold.'
And an angry man was he:
The fairest lady in a' my court,
She goes with child to thee.
As I trew weel she be,
I'le make it heir of a' my land,
And her my gay lady.'
This day he's killed three;
And gin the morn by ten o'clock
He'll kill thy men and thee.'
And walked cross the plain;
There was many a weeping lady there,
To see young Johnie slain.
Now he'll be Johnie's dead,
But, like unto a swallow swift,
He flew out owre his head.
Weel taught in war was he,
And on the point of his broad sword
The Talliant stickit he.
And walked cross the plain:
'Are there here any more of your English dogs
That's wanting to be slain?
'To wed my bride and me;'
'A clerk, a clerk,' her father cries,
'To tell her tocher wi.'
'As little of your gear;
But give me just mine own true-love,
I think I've won her dear.'
And he blew loud and schrill;
The honour it's to Scotland come,
Sore against England's will.
H
Kinloch MSS, VI, 53, in an unknown hand.
That would fain win hose and shoon,
That will go on to yon palace,
Aud haste him back again?'
That would fain win hose and shoon,
That will go on to yon palace,
And haste me back again.'
You'l run it round about;
There you'l see a gay lady,
At the window looking out.
Hir own hand sewed the slive,
And bid her come to good green woods,
Spear no hir parents' leave.
Hir own hand sewed the gare;
You'l bid her come to good green woods,
Love Johny, I'll meet hir there.'
He ran it round about,
And there he saw a gay lady,
At the window looking out.
Your own hand sewed the slive;
You're biden come to good green woods,
Spire no your parents' leave.
Your own hand sewed the gare;
You're biden come to good green woods,
Love Johny'll meet you there.'
Dear, vow but they are stout!
My feet they are in strong fetters,
And how shall I win out?
Dear, vow but they are cold!
And three splits of the sturdy steel,
Instead of beaten goold.
And sign it with my hand,
And I will send it to Love Johny,
Weel may he understand.'
And signd it with hir hand,
And sent it on to Love Jony,
Weel did he understand.
A light laugh did he gie;
But or he read it half down through,
The salt tears blinded 's ee.
What ever may betide,
And all is for the fair lady
That lay close by my side.
And she spoke ay through pride;
Says, If ye go to fair England,
Sir, better to you bide.
And seemly to behold,
Every tet o Love Jony's hair
Was like the threads of goold.
And seemly for to see,
There was not a maried man
In a' Jony's company.
They gard the bells be rung;
The next town that they came till,
They gard the mess bee sung.
The drums they did beat round,
And the quien and her marys all
Amased at the sound.
Or James, our Scottish king?
Or is it any noble lord
That's going a visiting?'
Nor James, our Scottish king;
[Pg 390] But it is Jack, the Little Scot,
And Auchney is his name.'
'As I trust weel it be,
The fairest lady in all my court
She goes with bairn to the.'
'As I doubt not nor she be,
I will make it heir oer all my land,
And hir my gay lady.'
And a solemn oath swore he,
'The morn, before I eat or drink,
High hanged he shall be!'
Went out into the plain,
And the quen and hir marys all,
To see Love Johny slain.
With swords of temperd steel,
But not a drop of Johny's blood
In that day he did spill.
And a greecy ghost was he,
But by the edge o Love Johny's sword
That Itilian did die.
And stript it to the stran:
'Is there any more of your English dogs
That wants for to be slain?'
'To sign her tocher free;'
'A priest, a priest,' said Love Johny,
'To mary my dear and me.
I fought not for your gear,
But I fought for my rose Mary,
And vow! I've bought hir dear.'
I
Kinloch MSS, VII, 39, 41, 43, 45, 47, 49.
Three quarters o the year,
And he is up to London gane,
The king's banner for to bear.
A twalmonth and a day,
Till the king's ae daughter
To Johnie gangs wi child.
And word is to the ha,
And word is to the king himsel
Amang his nobles a'.
She has wrote it tenderly,
And she's wrote a braid letter,
To lat her Johnie see
It's aw weel walled about;
Her feet are in the fetters strang,
Her body looking out.
And they are very cold;
Her breist-plate is o the sturdy steel,
Instead o the beaten gold.
A licht lauch gaed he;
But eer he read it til an end,
The tear blindit his ee.
Whatever me betide,
And louse that lady out o prison strang;
She lay last by my side.'
That stood by Johnie's knie:
Ye'll get twenty four o my best men,
To bear ye companie.
[Pg 391]
A pleasant sicht to see,
There was na ae married man
In Johnie's companie.
He made the mass be sung;
The niest toun that he cam till,
He made the bells be rung.
He made the drums gae round;
The king and his nobles aw
They marvelld at the sound.
Or James, the Scotish king?
Or is it a young gentleman,
That wants for to be in?'
Nor James, the Scotish king;
But it is a young gentleman,
Buneftan is his name.'
An angry man was he:
The morn eer I eat or drink
Hie hangit sall he be.
That stood by Johnie's knie:
Afore our master he be slain
We'll aw fecht till we die.
And up spak he:
I have an Italian in my court
That will fecht ye manifullie.
Fu fain wad I him see;
If ye hae an Italian in your court,
Ye may bring him here to me.'
Went tripping doun the plain,
Wi the queen and her maries aw,
To see fair Johnie slain.
The battle did begin;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Wi swerds o tempered steel,
Til Johnie wi his gude braidswerd
Made the Italian for to yield.
And he has kickd him oure the plain;
'Onie mair Italians in your court
Ye want for to be slain?'
'To sign her tocher-fee;'
'A priest, a priest,' young Johnie said,
'To marry her and me.
Nor nane o your weel won fee;
I only want your fair dochter,
I have won her mannfullie.'
J
Kinloch MSS, VII, 40, 42, 46, 49.
In parlour whare she sat,
That the king's dochter goes wi child
To Jock, that little Scot.
And an angry man was he;
Says, I will put her in cold prison,
And hunger her till she dee.
By the king, a grievous man;
And up and starts a little boy,
Upon her window-stane.
Your ane hand sewed the sleeve,
And ye maun gang to yon greenwud,
And of your freends speir na leave.
'And it's wondrous hie round about;
[Pg 392] My feet are lockit in the iron fetters,
And how can I get out?
And seal it tenderlie,
And send it to yon greenwud,
And let young Johnie see.'
And til him did say,
O I maun up to London, father,
And fecht for that lady gay.
Says, I speak it in time;
For an ye gang to London, Johnie,
I fear your coming hame.
And a pretty youth was he:
Afore I see young Johnie dung
I'll fecht for him till I dee.
He's wallowd it again;
Cries, Onie mae o your English dogs
That wants for to be slain?
And he has blawn baith loud and shill;
The victor's doun to Scotland gane,
Richt sair against their will.
K
Kinloch MSS, I, 311.
Three quarters o a year;
Johnie's up to England gane,
The king's banner to bear.
A month 'twas barely ane,
When the fairest lady o the court
To Johnie wi child is gane.
And word's gane to the ha;
Word's gane to the high, high rooms,
Among the nobles a'.
In the chamber where he sat,
His only daughter goes wi child
To Johnie, the Little Scot.
'As I trow weel she be,
I'll lock her up in strong prison,
And punish her till she dee.'
And seald it without a blot,
And she has sent it to fair Scotland,
To Johnie, the Little Scot.
In laughter loud was he;
But or he gat the hindmost read
The tear blindit his ee.
Get ready for me the brown,
And saddle to me the swiftest horse
Eer carried man to town.'
He made the bells to ring,
And when he cam to merry Carlisle,
He made the monks to sing.
He made his drums beat round;
The king bot and his nobles a'
They wonderd at the sound.
'Or is't the King of Spain?
Or is it Johnie, the Little Scot,
That's wanting to be slain?'
'Nor is't the King of Spain;
But it is Johnie, the Little Scot,
That's come to claim his ain.'
[Pg 393]
They foucht it oure again,
Till draps o blood, like draps o rain,
War rinning to the plain.
And strook it oure the plain,
Saying, Are there onie mae o your Englishmen
That's wanting to be slain?
'To sign her tocher-fee;'
'A priest, a priest,' then Johnie cried,
'To marry my love and me.
'As little o your gear;
But I'll hae her, my ain true-love,
For I'm sure I've coft her dear.'
L
Campbell MSS, I, 57.
To England's woods sae wild;
The fairest flower of all England
To Johnnie provd big with child.
Going to the king's bower,
That his dear daughter was with child,
That was his daily flower.
As I suppose she be,
I'll put her into prison strong,
And hunger her till she die.'
And sealed it with his hands,
And sent it down to Johnnie Scott,
In Scotland where he stands.
A merry man was he;
The next line that he lookd on,
The salt tears blinded his eye.
Who neer spoke out of time:
And if you go to England, son,
I doubt your coming home.
Sitting low by Johnnie's knee:
Fifteen score of my life-guards
Shall ride in your company.
He rode it round about,
And there he spied his own true-love,
From the jail-window looking out.
'And now you'll ride behind me;
Before I leave fair England
Some life shall die for thee.'
I'm belted round about;
My breastplate is of the stubborn steel,
Instead of beaten gold.'
He tinkled at the ring;
Who was so ready as the king himself
To let proud Johnnie in!
'Or James, our Scottish king?
Or are you my bastard son,
From Scotland new come home?'
'Nor James, our Scottish king;
But I am just a good Scotch lad,
And Johnnie Scott's my name.'
'As I suppose you be,
The fairest flower in all England
Is big with child by thee.'
'As I hope her to be,
I'll make it heir of all my lands,
And she my gay lady.'
'There's no such thing will be;
[Pg 394] There is an Italian in my court,
And by his hands ye'll die.'
'I'll stand it till I die;
I'll stand my ground,' says Johnnie Scott,
'One foot I'd scorn to fly.'
A fearsome sight was he;
Between his brows three women's spang,
His shoulders was yards three.
Well tried at the sword was he,
Upon the point of his broad sword
He made the Italian die.
M
Campbell MSS, II, 335.
Three quarters of an year;
Lord Johnnie's up to England gone,
The king's banner to bear.
Three quarters he was not,
Till the king's eldest daughter
Goes with child to Lord Johnnie Scott.
And word's gone to the hall,
And word's gone to the high, high room,
Among the nobles all.
In his chamber where he sat,
That his eldest daughter goes wi child
To good Lord Johnnie Scott.
'As I suppose it be,
I'll put her in a prison strong,
And starve her till she die.'
That will win baith hose and shoon,
And run into fair Scotland,
And tell my love to come?'
What news hae ye brought to me?'
'Bad news, bad news, my master dear,
The king's daughter maun die.
Her ain hand sewd the sleeve;
She bad me run and tell ye this,
And ask nae person's leave.
And in a dungeon deep;
Her feet are in the fetters strong,
And they've left her to weep.
Instead of beaten gold;
Her garters are of the cauld, cauld iron,
And O but they are cold!'
'To cry the toucher-fee;'
'A priest, a priest,' Lord Johnnie cry'd,
'To join my love and me.
'Nor as little want I a fee;
But I do want your daughter dear,
My wedded wife to be.'
N
Buchan's Gleanings, p. 122.
To England gone is he;
Love John he's on to England gone,
The king's banneret to be.
O but a little while,
Till faen in love wi the king's daughter,
And to him she's with chile.
And word is to the ha,
And word is to the king's high court,
And that was warst of a'.
An angry man was he:
I'll put her into prison strong,
And starve her till she die.
I wat he's on wi speed;
Love John he's on to Scotland gone,
And as good was his need.
But a very short tide,
Till he minded on the damsel
That lay last by his side.
Will win baith meat and fee,
That will run on to fair England,
And haste him back to me?'
Will win baith meat and fee,
That will run on to fair England,
And haste him back to thee.'
Ye'll slack your shoes and rin;
And when ye find the brigs broken,
Ye'll bend your bow and swim.
Ye'll rin it round about,
And there ye'll see a lady gay,
At a window looking out.
Her ain hand sewed the sleeve;
Bid her come to good green-wood,
At her parents spier nae leave.
Her ain hand sewed the gair;
Bid her come to good green-wood,
Love John he waits her there.'
He slackd his shoes and ran;
Where he fan the brigs broken,
He bent his bow and swam.
He ran it round about;
And there he saw the lady gay,
At the window looking out.
Yere ain hand sewed the sleeve;
Ye're bidden come to good green-wood,
At your parents spier nae leave.
Yere ain hand sewed the gair;
Ye're bidden come to good green-wood,
Love John he waits you there.'
Instead of silken sheen;
My breast-plate's of the cold iron,
Instead of gold so fine.
And seal it with my hand,
And send it off to my Love Johnny,
And let him understand.'
A loud laughter laught he;
But ere he read it to the end,
The tear blinded his ee.
Whatever me betide,
For to relieve the damsel
That lay last by my side.'
A noble lord was he:
[Pg 396] If ye gang to England, Johnny,
Ye'll neer come back to me.
A noble lord, I wat, was he:
Fifteen of our Scottish lords
Will bear his honour companie.
They gart the bells be rung;
The next town that they came till,
They gart the mass be sung.
They gart the trumpet soun,
Till the king and all his merry young men
Did marvel at the tune.
Or James, the Scottish king?
Or is it else some Scottish lord,
Come here a visiting?'
Nor James, the Scottish king:
It is Love John of fair Scotland,
Come here a visiting.'
He's dearly welcome to me;
The morn ere he eat or drink,
High hanged he shall be.'
And stripd it oer a stane;
Then thro and thro the king's high court
With broadsword now is gane.
Till they were weary men,
When the blood, like drops of rain,
Came trickling down the plain.
Ane angry man was he:
I have ane Italian within my court
Will fight ye three and three.
As pale as death was he,
And on the point of Johnny's sword
That ae Italian did die.
'And seal her tocher wi;'
'A priest, a priest,' Lord John he cried,
'That we may married be.
'Nor do I want your gear;
But I do want my ain true-love,
For I have bought her dear.'
O
Communicated by Mr William Macmath, of Edinburgh, from his aunt, Miss Jane Webster, formerly of Airds of Kells, now (December, 1882) of Dalry, Kirkcudbrightshire, who learned it from the late Miss Jane Hannay, Newton Stewart.
And a blythe auld man was he,
Saying, I'll send five hunner o my brisk young men,
To bear Johnie companie.
They were a pleasant sight for to see,
For there was na ae married man
In a' Johnie's companie.
They were a pleasant sight to behold,
For the hair that hung down Johnie's back
Was like the links of gold.
They reined their horses about;
Wha did he see but his ain Jeanie,
At a window looking out!
'Come doun, come doun to me;'
'I canna come doun, Johnie,' she says,
'For King Edward has bolted me.
I feel them very cold;
And my breast-plate's o the sturdy steel,
Instead of beaten gold.'
[Pg 397]
. . . . . . .
'I'll make it heir o a' my lands,
And her my gay lady.'
This day he has slain knights three;
And before tomorrow at eight o'clock
The Italian will slay thee.'
P
Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 11.
Three quarters of a year;
Johnie's up to England gone,
The king's banner to bear.
A month but only three,
The king he had but one dochter,
And she fell in love with he.
And word is to the ha,
And word is to the king's court gane,
Amang the nobles a'.
On throne where he did sit,
That his ae dochter goes wi child
To John that little Scot.
A.
Written in stanzas of two long lines in the Jamieson MS.
42, 272. MS. will?
83. I wist.
153. plates.
The first stanza is given thus by Anderson in Nichols's Illustrations:
As ever sailed the sea,
And he is to the English court,
To serve for meat and fee.
The Abbotsford copy omits stanzas 4, 9, 34. Most of the many changes are, beyond doubt, arbitrary, but the following are more or less countenanced by other versions.
The king's braid banner to bear.
Cf. B, E, I, K, M, N, P.
194. That should have been my bride. Cf. B 10.
A grisly sight to see;
Between his een there was a span,
Between his shoulders three and three.
He scarcely reachd his knee;
Yet on the point of Johny's brand
The Italian knight did die.
Cf. L 18.
B.
Written in stanzas of two lines.
163. And there.
C.
32. forgid.
143. plates.
164. be thy.
233. Johnie slain.
244. Johnie's dread.
264. free changed in MS. to fee. Cf. A 332, D 274, E 224, H 292; fee, I 232, K 152, M 112.
D. a.
The last two lines of each stanza are repeated in singing.
84. Originally to thee.
252. dead changed to deid.
b.
Title, Lord Johnnie Scot.
The variations are generally written above the readings of a, or otherwise distinctly indicated.
11. It's Johnnie.
13. And who.
33. It's thou.
34. gay ladie.
41. rode till her father's gate.
51. It's he.
61. to the green woods.
62. To Johnnie Scot thy luve.
64. the sleeve.
71. to the green woods.
103. ladie gay.
111. out then... father dear.
112. spoke out.
113. If thou unto.
114. doubt thy.
121. Out then spoke our.
[Pg 398]122. And he spoke manfullie.
13, 14. These stanzas are often transposed.
134. the yellow gold.
142. Most pleasant for to.
181. I'm not.
182. James your.
183. But I'm.
201. he said.
211. he said.
221. Out then spoke our.
234. the day.
241. all did flock.
242. In coaches all amain.
243. all did flock.
254. oer his head.
263. on the point.
The reciter had heard another ballad which detailed the same events, and but little differing in any respect, which went under the name of 'McNaughton's Valour,' or, 'Naughton's Valour.'
E.
134. Originally now come, altered to new come.
172. Var. And a well spoke boy was he.
183. Var. champion.
193. Originally written Likewise the queen and her maidens fair.
204. trinkling down? Motherwell.
254. Var. McNaughton and his men! "McNaughtoun's cure to ye!" is Devil relieve ye! Motherwell.
F.
31, 41. Oh.
G.
82. the rade.
83. Theyre.
The second copy has these few differences, attributable to Motherwell:
12. England's.
21, 31. said.
74. bear him.
231. set unto.
232. schill.
233. Scotland gone.
H.
84. Johny I'll
192. They drums.
201. muberry.
263. Johny.
273. But but.
26, 27 should, perhaps, be transposed; but compare N 29-31.
I.
22. Kinloch corrects day to while.
After 3. A verse a-wanting. It is about the king putting his daughter in prison.
K.
142. shook: cf. A 322.
L.
34. dies (?).
173. say.
P.
24. Var. goes with child to: perhaps a change of Motherwell's.
FOOTNOTES:
[164] Pointed out to Motherwell by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe.
[165] "Les Aubrays est le nom d'une seigneurie du pays de Retz, apportée en mariage, en 1455, à Rolland de Lannion, par Guyonne de Grezy, dame des Aubrays. La ballade ne peut pas, par conséquent, être antérieure à cette époque, et nous la croyons bien plus moderne." M. Pol de Courcy, Luzel, I, 306. The ballad can be no older, unless the Seigneur Les Aubrays has displaced an earlier hero; but what means have we of deciding that question?
100
WILLIE O WINSBURY
A. 'Willie o Winsbury,' Campbell MSS, II, 38.
B. Herd's MSS, I, 29; II, 98.
C. 'Lord Thomas of Winsbury,' Kinloch MSS, I, 315.
D. Percy Papers, communicated by the Rev. P. Parsons, about 1775.
E. 'Johnnie Barbour,' Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 387.
F. 'Willie of Winsberye,' Motherwell's MS., p. 404.
G. 'Lord Thomas o Winsbury,' Buchan's MSS, II, 174; 'Lord Thomas of Winesberry and the King's Daughter,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 212.
H. 'Lord Thomas of Winesberrie,' Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 92.
I. 'Lord Thomas of Winsberry,' a, b, stall copies; c, Buchan's Gleanings, p. 127.
The main points of the story of this ballad are the same in all the copies. The king of Scotland, C, F, of France, H, I, has been away from home a considerable time, in Spain, A, C, F, G, a prisoner, A, F, a-hunting, C, H, I, and during his absence his daughter has become with child by William or Thomas of Winsbury. The father threatens to hang the young man, but on seeing him is so struck with his beauty that he exonerates his daughter, and offers her in marriage to her lover, with a large dowry. Winsbury accepts the lady, but declines gold and land, having enough of his own. In H he says he shall be king when he goes back to Scotland; in the other copies he appears to be only a man of very good estate.
From the hero turning out to be a royal person from Scotland, in H, Kinloch, Ancient Scot[Pg 399]tish Ballads, p. 89, is led to imagine that the ballad may relate to James V of Scotland, who married a daughter of Francis I. His reasons are, first, that James disguised himself when he went to inspect the Duke of Vendôme's daughter (to whom he was in a way betrothed), so as not to be known to her or to her parents. Secondly, that when James, not fancying this lady, passed on, it was at a hunting-party that he met the French princess, who became so enamored of him that she would have no other husband. That the poor princess had long been sick, and "was not able to travel out of the realm to no other countrie" (on a milk-white steed, C 13), and that she died about six months after her marriage, does not come into the ballad.[166] Buchan thinks Winsbury's rank to be fixed by his version, G, as that of a chamberlain, and therefore cannot admit the plausibility of a disguised James V.
The two English copies, D, E, both imperfect, change the hero's name to Johnnie Barbary ('lately come from Spain,' cf. B 5) or Johnnie Barbour. Motherwell, in a manuscript annotation to Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, mentions that he had obtained from recitation a copy in which the name was Sweet Willie of Salisbury. The change from a king to a lady neat and trim in D 1 is a corruption that one would have hardly looked for "from the spinning-wheel."
The stanza which notes the reluctance of the young man to come at call, C 9, D 6, F 12, occurs in all copies of 'The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter.'
A
Campbell MSS, II, 38.
A prisoner lang in Spain, O
And Willie o the Winsbury
Has lain lang wi his daughter at hame. O
Ye look so pale and wan?
Have ye had any sore sickness,
Or have ye been lying wi a man?
Or is it for me, your father dear,
And biding sae lang in Spain?'
Nor yet been lying wi a man;
But it is for you, my father dear,
In biding sae lang in Spain.'
Stand straight upon the stone,
That I may ken ye by yere shape,
Whether ye be a maiden or none.'
Stooden straight upo yon stone;
Her apron was short, and her haunches were round,
Her face it was pale and wan.
Or is it to a man of fame?
Or is it to any of the rank robbers
That's lately come out o Spain?'
'Nor is it to a man of fame;
But it is to William of Winsburry;
I could lye nae langer my lane.'
By thirty and by three:
'Go fetch me William of Winsburry,
For hanged he shall be.'
He was clad o the red silk;
His hair was like to threeds o gold,
And his skin was as white as milk.
[Pg 400]
'That my daughter's love ye did win;
Had I been a woman, as I am a man,
My bedfellow ye should hae been.
By the truth of thy right hand?
I'll gie ye gold, I'll gie ye money,
And I'll gie ye an earldom o land.'
By the truth of my right hand;
But I'll hae nane o yer gold, I'll hae nane o yer money,
Nor I winna hae an earldom o land.
Runs all in water clear,
And there's as much corn in each o them
As they can grind in a year.'
B
Herd's MSS, I, 29; II, 98.
Ye look sae pale and wan?
Hae ye had ony sair sickness,
Or ill luve wi a man?
And lay't down on the stane,
And I sall tell ye ay or no
Ye hae layn wi a man.'
She has laid it on the stane;
Her waist was big, her side was round,
Her fair colour was gane.
Or to a man of mean?
Or is it to the ranke robber
That robs upon the main?'
Nor to a man of mean;
But it's to Willie Winchberrie,
That came frae France and Spain.'
An angry man was he:
'Gar bring to me your fals leman,
Wha sall high hanged be.'
The tear blinded her ee:
'Gin ye begin to hang, father,
Ye maun begin wi mee.'
His coat was o the silk;
His hair was like the thread o gowd,
His skin white as the milk.
'My dochter shoud like ye;
Gin ye were a woman, as ye're a man,
My bedfellow ye sould be.
By the truth o your right hand?
Now will ye marry my dochter Dysmill,
And be a lord o the land?'
C
Kinloch MSS, I, 315.
Long seven years away frae hame;
Our king has been long seven years away,
A hunting oer in Spain.
Thou lookst so pale and wan?
Hast thou had any sore sickness,
Or hast thou loved man?'
To make me look sae wan;
But it is for your own majestie,
You staid sae lang in Spain.'
[Pg 401]
And lay it on yon stane,
And I'll tell to thee if with child you be,
Or if ye be with nane.'
That's made o the silk sae fine;
Her stays were sae strait she could na loot,
And her fair colour was wan.
Or any lord of fame?
Or is it to the rank robbers
That I sent out o Spain?'
That you sent out o Spain;
But it is to Thomas of Winsbury,
For I dought na lie my lane.'
'It's hanged shall he be:'
'If you hang Thomas of Winsbury,
You'll get na mair gude o me.'
By one, by two, and three;
Lord Thomas should hae been the foremost man,
But the hindmost man was he.
'My daughter loved thee;
For wert thou a woman, as thou art a man,
My bedfellow thou shouldst be.
By the faith of thy right hand?
And thou shalt reign, when I am dead,
The king over my whole land.'
With my heart, yea and my hand;
But it never shall be that Lord Winsbury
Shall rule oer fair Scotland.'
Himself on a dapple-grey,
And made her a lady of as much land
She could ride in a whole summer day.
D
Communicated to Percy by the Rev. P. Parsons, of Wey, apparently in 1775. "This I had from the spinning-wheel."
She was so neat and trim;
She went unto her own garden-wall,
To see her own ships come in.
Who lookd so pale and wan:
'What, have you had some long sickness,
Or lain with some young man?'
Nor lain with no young man:'
Her petticoats they were so short,
She was full nine months gone.
Or by some man of fame?
Or is it by Johnny Barbary,
That's lately come from Spain?'
Nor by no man of fame;
But it is by Johnny Barbary,
That's lately come from Spain.'
By one, by two, by three;
Johnny Barbary used to be the first,
But now the last came he.
And wed her out of hand?
And you shall dine and sup with me,
And be heir of my land.'
And wed her out of hand;
And I will dine and sup with you,
But I do not want your land.'
With a shrill and a pleasant voice:
'Come, let us all now mery be,
Since she has made such a happy choice.'
E
Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 387, 1877: communicated by B. Montgomerie Ranking, as "heard sung years ago by a West Country fisherman."
'What makes you look so pale?
. . . . . . .
Or are you in love with any man?'
. . . . . . .
'But if it be one of my own sailor lads,
High hanged he shall be.'
His shirt was of the silk;
His two bonnie black een were rolling in his head,
And his skin was as white as milk.
And take her by the hand,
And to eat and drink with me at the table,
And be heir of all my land?'
And take her by the hand,
And to eat and drink with her at the table,
And to fight for all your land.'
F
Motherwell's MS., p. 404; from the recitation of Agnes Laird, of Kilbarchan, August 24, 1825.
And a poor prisoner in Spain; O
When seven long years was past and gone,
Our Scotish king came hame. O
He met with his dear dochter:
'What ails thee, what ails thee, my dochter dear,
Thou looks so pale and wan?
Or have ye lovd a man?
Or is it for me, my dochter dear,
I have been so long in Spain?'
Nor yet have I loved a man;
But it is for you, my father dear,
Thou've been so long in Spain.'
And spread it on yonder stone,
And I will tell you by and by
Whether thou art a maid or none.'
And spread it on yonder stone,
And her belly was big, and her face pale and wan,
And she was about half gone.
Or to a man of fame?
Or is it to one of the rank rebels
That I sent out of Spain?'
Nor to a man of fame,
Nor yet to one of the rank rebels
That ye sent out o Spain;
But it is to Willie o Winsberry,
Thy very own serving-man.'
As I trew well it be,
Gin the morn at ten o the clock
It's hanged shall he be.'
He met Willie clothed in scarlet red,
And his hair was as yellow as the beam, beam gold,
And his breast as white as milk.
'My dochter luvit thee;
For if thou was a woman, as thou'rt a man,
My bedfellow thou should be.'
[Pg 403]
By one, by two, and by three;
Sweet Willie should ha been the foremost man,
But the hindmost man drew he.
By the faith of her richt hand?
And you shall sup and dine with me,
And heir the third part of my land.'
By the faith of her richt hand,
And I will sup and dine with you,
But a fig for all your land;
For I've as much land in Winsberry
As we'll ride in a long summer's day.'
G
Buchan's MSS, II, 174; Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 212.
Into the land of Spain,
And seven years True Thomas was
His daughter's chamberlain.
The king he did come home;
She baked and she benjed ben,
And did him there welcome.
You look sae pale and wan?
There is a dreder in your heart,
Or else you love a man.'
Nor do I love a man;
But it is for your lang byding
Into the land of Spain.'
And lay it on a stone,
And I'll tell you, my jelly Janet,
If ever ye lovd a man.'
And laid it on a stone;
Her belly was big, her twa sides high,
Her colour it was quite gane.
Or is it till a man o the main?
Or is it to one o my poor soldiers,
That I brought hame frae Spain?'
'Nor yet to a man o the main;
But it's to Thomas o Winsbury,
That cannot longer len.'
That I pay meat and fee,
That will go for him True Thomas,
And bring him in to me?
For the morn, ere I eat or drink,
High hanged shall he be.'
The tear blinded her ee:
'If ye do any ill to True Thomas,
Ye's never get gude o me.'
He glanced like the fire;
His hair was like the threads o gold,
His eyes like crystal clear.
Altho ye loved this man;
If he were a woman, as he is a man,
My bed-fellow he would been.
The truth's in your right hand;
Ye's hae some o my gold, and some o my gear,
And the twalt part o my land.'
The truth's in my right hand;
I'll hae nane o your gold, nor nane o your gear,
I've enough in my own land.
With thirty ploughs and three,
And four and twenty bonny breast-mills,
And a' on the water o Dee.'
H
Kinloch's Scottish Ballads, p. 92.
Went a hunting for five months and more,
That his dochter fell in love with Thomas of Winesberrie,
From Scotland newly come oer.
And his dochter before him cam,
Her belly it was big, and her twa sides round,
And her fair colour was wan.
What maks thee to look sae wan?
Ye've either been sick, and very, very sick,
Or else ye hae lain wi a man.'
'Ye're welcome hame to your ain,
For I hae been sick, and very, very sick,
Thinking lang for your coming hame.
'A pardon ye'll grant me:'
'Na pardon, na pardon, my dochter,' he says,
'Na pardon I'll grant thee.
Or to a man of mean?
Or is it to onie of thae rank robbers
That I sent hame frae Spain?'
Nor to a man of mean;
But it is to Thomas o Winesberrie,
And for him I suffer pain.'
As I trust well it be,
Before I either eat or drink,
Hie hangit sall he be.'
His claithing was o the silk,
His fine yellow hair hang dangling doun,
And his skin was like the milk.
'My dochter fell in love wi thee,
For if I war a woman, as I am a man,
My bed-fellow ye shoud be.
To be heir to a' my land?
O will ye marry my dochter Janet,
Wi the truth o your richt hand?'
Wi the truth o my richt hand;
I'll hae nane o your gowd, nor yet o your gear,
I've eneuch in fair Scotland.
I care na for your land,
For she's be a queen, and I a king,
Whan we come to fair Scotland.'
I
a. A stall copy printed by M. Randall, Stirling, b. A stall copy by C. Randall, Stirling. c. Buchan's Gleanings, p. 127.
Went a hunting for five months and more;
His daughter fell in love with Lord Winsberry,
Who from Scotland was newly come oer.
'You're welcome again to your own;
For I have been sick, and very, very sick,
Thinking long for your coming home.'
'And spread it on yonder green,
And tell them from me that in mourning you are,
Or that ye have lain with a man.'
[Pg 405]
And spread it on the strand;
Her haunches were round, and her belly was big,
From her face the colour is gone.
'Or is it to a man that's mean?
Or is it to one of those rank rebels,
That lately from Scotland came?'
'It is not to one that is mean;
It is to Lord Thomas of Winsberry,
And for him I must suffer pain.'
By one, by two, and by three:
'Go fetch me Lord Thomas of Winsberry,
For tomorrow he shall die.'
As fast as fast could be;
There they found Lord Thomas of Winsberry,
Sitting under an orange tree.
'Get up, and bound your way;
For the king has sworn by his honoured crown
That tomorrow is thy dying-day.'
Or what have I killed or slain,
That I should be afraid to speak to your king?
For I have done him no wrong.'
His cloathing was of the silk;
His fine yellow hair hung dangling down,
His skin was white as the milk.
He kneeled down on his knee;
Says, What is your will with me, my liege,
What is your will with me?
'That my daughter fell in love with thee;
If thou wert a woman, as thou art a man,
My bed-fellow thou wouldst be.
By the faith of thy right hand?
Thou'se have part of my gold, part of my gear,
And a third part of my land.'
By the faith of my right hand;
I'll have none of your gold, none of your gear;
I have enough in fair Scotland.'
Himself on a dapple-grey;
He's got as much land in fair Scotland
As they can ride in a summer's day.
A.
O is added, in singing, to every second and fourth verse.
12. oh.
93. the reeds of, in my copy.
112. of my.
B.
Quhat, ze, etc., are printed what, ye.
C.
9. Given thus in Kinloch's annotated copy of his Ancient Scottish Ballads; derived, from Motherwell:
By thirties and by three;
Lord Thomas, that used to be the first.
The hindmost man was he.
D.
32. altered, wrongly, to But lain with a.
92. shrrill.
F.
O is added, in singing, to every second and fourth verse.
13, 4. Thus in Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 27:
When our Scotish king came home. O
16. Given thus in Kinloch's annotated copy of his Ancient Scottish Ballads, as the concluding verse of Mr Motherwell's copies and that of Buchan:
Himself on a dapple-grey,
And they've as muckle land in braid Scotland
As can be rode in a lang simmer's day.
G. Some trifling changes are made by Buchan in printing.
84. ben, printed by Buchan len.
I. a.
142. of my: so b.
161. her wanting.
b.
23. and very sick.
41, 2. wanting.
52. that is.
53. these.
82. As fast as they.
93. his wanting.
113. hang.
134. should be.
c.
22. You are.
31. Put off your.
52. that is.
53. these.
74. Sitting under an orange tree.
8. wanting.
142. of my.
143. Thou'llt.
FOOTNOTES:
[166] "A William Wynnesbury, who was yeoman of the Guard at the time of Henry VIII, used generally to act as Lord of Misrule in the years 1508-19, and he was Friar Tuck at Greenwich in May, 1515 (see Collier's Annals of the Stage, and J. S. Brewer's Letters and Papers of Henry VIII), and this, no doubt, made the name popular with the ballad-makers." Ward, Catalogue of Romances, etc., I, 532. Undeniably the Lord Winsbury of our ballad might be said to have acted as a lord of misrule, but it was hardly an English (or Scots) ballad-maker of the sixteenth century that made this ballad; and Mr. Ward, probably, did not intend so to be understood.
101
WILLIE O DOUGLAS DALE
A. 'Willy o Douglass-dale,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 8.
B. a. 'Dame Oliphant, or, Willie o Douglass Dale,' Buchan MSS, II, 117. b. 'The Earl of Douglas and Dame Oliphant,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 181; 'Lord Willie Douglas,' Motherwell's MS., p. 619.
C. 'Douglass Dale,' Kinloch MSS, V, 327.
A was among the fifteen ballads furnished by Mrs Brown to William Tytler in 1783, No 8. The first stanza is cited by Dr Anderson in Nichols's Illustrations, VII, 177. There is a copy in the Abbotsford MS. "Scottish Songs," fol. 16, in which the text is considerably altered; stanzas 7, 12, 19, 22-24 are omitted, and 25 is inserted between 30 and 31. B b inserts two stanzas after B a 15, and adds one at the end. The copy in Christie's Traditional Ballad Airs, II, 32, is an abridgment of B b as made over in The Ballad Minstrelsy of Scotland, Glasgow, 1871, p. 63. C has an appendage of two stanzas which belong to another ballad, and are transferred accordingly.
The first part of the story of this ballad, or down to the birth of the boy, is repeated in 'Willie and Earl Richard's Daughter' (hitherto called 'The Birth of Robin Hood'), which immediately follows. This portion of the ballad has resemblances to 'Leesome Brand,' No 15.[167]
A 9, B 15, is a popular passage the like of which is found in many ballads: as 'Child Waters,' A 2, 3; 'Lady Maisry,' H 7, 8; 'Willie o Winsbury,' A 5, C 5, D 3; 'Willie and Earl Richard's Daughter,' A 4; 'Der Ritter und die Magd,' Düntzer u. Herder, Briefe Goethe's, I, 157, st. 6; Nicolai, I, 40, No 2, st. 6; Wunderhorn, 1806, I, 50, st. 11, Erk, IV, 304, st. 5; Erk's Liederhort, p. 81, st. 10; Hoffmann u. Richter, No. 4, st. 4; Meier, Schwäbische Volkslieder, No 177, st. 9; Ditfurth, II, Nos 6, 7, 8, st. 5; Uhland, No 97 A, st. 5; Mittler, No 91, st. 6; 'Schön Elselein,' 'Das Schwabentöchterlein,' Böhme, No 51a, st. 11, No 51b, st. 8 (=Mittler, No 218; Uhland, No 257); 'Þiðriks kvæði konúngs,' Íslenzk fornkvæði, II, 218, No 57, st. 6; Haupt u. Schmaler, V. l. der Wenden, I, 160, No 136, st. 7; Sakellarios, Τα Κυπριακα, III, 52, No 20, vv 5-9; Guillon, Ch. p. de l'Ain, 'La Fille d'un Boulanger,' p. 201, sts 1, 2; Milá, Romancerillo, 'La infanta seducida,' p. 249, No 258, l. 4; 'De la infanta y el hijo del rey de Francia,' Wolf y Hofmann, Primavera, II, 91, No 158, verses 5, 6; Aigner, Ungarische Volksdichtungen, p. 86, st. 1, p. 215, st. 2.
The very ill-timed question in B 20 occurs in 'Young Hunting,' No 68, K 8, 'Clerk Saunders,' No 69, F 5, Buchan, Ballads of the North of Scotland, 'Auld Matrons,' II, 238, st. 4, and 'Willie's Fatal Visit,' II, 260, st. 7.[Pg 407] For others in this passage see 'Rose the Red and White Lily.' The bribe of gowns in B 29 is found in 'Young Hunting,' B 9, C 7, K 13.
The historical foundation for this ballad suggested in The Ballad Minstrelsy of Scotland, Glasgow, 1871, p. 63, cannot be seriously entertained.
A
Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 8.
As ever saild the sea,
And he has gane to the English court,
To serve for meat and fee.
A twelvemonth and a day,
Till he longd for a sight o the king's daughter,
But ane he coud never see.
To the green wood she has gane,
An Willy he has followd her,
With the clear light o the moon.
Wi his hat intill his hand:
'O what's your will wi me, Sir Knight?
I pray keep your hat on.'
Nor never thinks to be;
For I am Willy o Douglassdale,
An I serve for meat and fee.'
'An sigh baith even an morn
That ever I saw your face, Willy,
Or that ever ye was born.
'An I'll pray baith night an day,
To keep me frae your tempting looks,
An frae your great beauty.'
He keepit Dame Oliphant's bowr,
An the love that passd between this twa,
It was like paramour.
That wont to be sae wide;
An short, short is my coats, Willy,
That wont to be sae side;
An gane is a' my fair colour,
An low laid is my pride.
He'll never drink again;
An gin my mother get word of this,
In her ain bowr she'll go brain;
An gin my bold brothers get word this,
I fear, Willy, you'll be slain.'
An go along wi me?
I'll carry you unto fair Scotland,
And mak you a lady free.'
An gae him five hunder poun:
'An take you that now, Squire Willy,
Till awa that we do won.'
She lap the castle-wa;
But Willy kepit his gay lady,
He was laith to let her fa.
An lions gaed to their dens,
An ay the lady followd him,
An the tears came hailing down.
Or roses to your shoone?
Or want ye as meickle dear bought love
As your ain heart can contain?'
Nor roses till my shoone;
An Ohone, alas, for dear bought love!
I have mair nor I can contain.'
An he's made to her a fire;
[Pg 408] He coverd it oer wi withred leaves,
An gard it burn thro ire.
An he's laid his lady down,
An he's coverd her oer wi fig-tree leaves,
But an his ain night-gown.
That grows in yonder wood,
But an a drink o water clear,
I think it woud do me good.'
That grew beside yon thorn,
But an a drink o water clear,
Intill his hunting-horn.
An thro the green wood gane,
An ere that he came back again
His lady took travailing.
'An ye blaw a blast for me;
Gin my father be in good green wood,
Sae seen's he'll come me ti.'
That ye loo better nor me,
Ye blaw the horn yoursel,' he says,
'For it's never be blawn by me.'
An thro the green wood has he gane,
An lang or he came back again
His lady bare him a son.
An washn him wi the milk,
An up has he tane his gay lady,
An rowd her i the silk.
An thro the green wood has he gane,
Till he met wi a well-fard may,
Her father's flock feeding.
An go along wi me;
I'll carry you to a lady fair,
Will gi you both meat and fee.'
She's fa'n down on her knee:
'O what's your will wi me, my dame?
An a dame you seem to be.'
Nae doubt but ye've heard o me;
Will you leave your father's flock feeding,
An go to Scotlan wi me?
Intill an earldome,
An I will gar provide for the
To marry some brave Scotsman.'
An Willy led his lady,
Untill they took their fair shippin,
Then quikly hame came they.
An they a' wan safe to lan;
He's haild her lady of Douglassdale,
Himsel the lord within.
B
a. Buchan MSS, II, 117. b. Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 181; Motherwell's MS., p. 619.
And an earl's ae son was he,
But he thought his father lack to sair,
And his mother of low degree.
To sair for meat an fee,
And all was for Dame Oliphant,
A woman of great beauty.
A month but barely ane,
Ere he dreamd that fair Dame Oliphant
Gied him a gay gold ring.
A month but barely four,
[Pg 409] Ere he dreamd that fair Dame Oliphant
Gied him a red rose flower,
Well set about with white lilies,
Like to the paramour.
Dame Oliphant thought lang,
And she gaed on to good green wood,
As fast as she could gang.
And as he thought it good,
There he beheld Dame Oliphant,
As she came thro the wood.
His sword into his hand,
And he is on to good green wood,
As fast as he could gang.
Was lying sound asleep,
And aye the sounder she did sleep
The nearer he did creep.
An angry maid was she,
Crying, Had far away frae me, young man,
Had far away frae me!
For I fear ye are the Scottish knight
That beguiles young ladies free.
Nor ever thinks to be;
I am but Willie o Douglass Dale,
That serves for meat an fee.'
Ye're dearly welcome to me;
For oft in my sleep have I thought on
You and your merry winking ee.'
And the lions took the hill,
And Willie he gaed hame again,
To his hard task and till;
And likewise did Dame Oliphant,
To her book and her seam.
Dame Oliphant thought lang,
And she went on to Willie's bower-yates,
As fast as she could gang.
O are you asleep?' said she;
O waken, waken, Squire Willie,
O waken, and speak to me.
They winna meet on me,
And the coats that were oer side, Willie,
They winna come to my knee;
And if the knights of my father's court get word,
I'm sure they'll gar you die.'
And she tare it fine an sma,
And even into Willie's arms
She leapt the castle-wa;
And Willie was wight and well able,
And he keept her frae a fa.
And the lions took the hill,
And Willie's ladie followed him,
And the tears did twinkle still.
Or roses to your sheen?
Or want ye chains about your neck?
Ye'se get mair ere that be deen.'
Nor roses to my sheen,
And there's mair chains about my neck
Nor ever I'll see deen;
But I have as much dear bought love
As my heart can contain.'
Or to the table ee?
Or to a bed, so well down spread,
And sleep till it be day?'
That grow on yonder thorn;
Likewise a drink o Marywell water,
Out of your grass-green horn.
To had me frae the cauld;
Likewise a glass of your red wine,
Ere I bring my son to the fauld.'
[Pg 410]
That grows on yonder thorn;
Likewise a drink o Marywell water,
Out of his grass-green horn.
That kindled to her the fire,
Well set about wi oaken spells,
That learnd oer Lincolnshire.
The white bread and the wine;
And the milk he milked from the goats,
He fed his young son on.
Dame Oliphant thought lang:
'O gin ye hae a being, Willie,
I pray ye hae me hame.'
His lady by the hand,
And they're down thro good green wood,
As fast as they could gang.
Was feeding her flocks alone;
Said, Will ye gae alang wi me,
And carry my bonny young son?
They shall be sewd for thine;
And likewise I'll gar Squire Willie
Gie you a braw Scotsman.
And far beyont the sea,
She was haild the lady o Douglass Dale,
And Willie an earl to be:
Likewise the maid they brought awa,
She got a braw Scotsman.
C
Kinloch MSS, V, 327, in the handwriting of Dr John Hill Burton.
A knight's ae son was he;
He dreamed of dear Dame Oliphant,
Lang ere he did her see.
Gave him a red rose flower,
Well busket about wi the lillies white,
Just like the paramour.
A knight's ae son was he,
And he is on to the king's high court,
To serve for meat and fee.
Tied in a towal so white,
And that she has given her Lord William,
Out oer the castle-dyke.
Tied in a towel sae sma,
And that she has given her own true-love,
Out ore the castle-wa.
To loup the castle-wa;
He ceppet her in his armes twa,
And he let not her get a fa.
And the wild fowl bodes on hill;
The lassie she followed her Sweet William,
And let the tears down fall.
Or roses to your sheen?
Or want ye as much of feel daft love
As your heart can contain?'
Nor roses to my sheen;
I've got as much o dear bought love
As my heart can contain.'
[Pg 411]
And he strack to her a fire,
And he buskit it roun wi the leaves o oak,
And gart it burn wi ire.
And his gun into his hand,
And he has gone to good green wood,
To kill some venison.
And his gun into his han,
But lang ere he came back again
She bare his dear young son.
But in his good night-gown,
And he fed her wi the good goat-milk,
Till she was well able to gang.
His lady in his hand,
And they are down thro good green wood,
As fast as they can gang.
Was feeding at her sheep;
Says, Will ye go to Douglass Dale,
Wi my yong son to keep?
And I will gee you fee,
Gin ye will go to Douglas Dale,
Wi my yong son and me.
And kissed baith cheek and chin;
Says, I will go to Douglas Dale,
As fast as I can win.
And his lady in his hand,
And they are off to Douglas Dale,
As fast as they can gang.
A happy man was he,
For his lady, and his young son,
And his nurse, a' three.
A.
The stanzas are written in the MS. in two long lines. The first stanza, as given by Anderson, is:
As ever saild the sea,
And he's gone to the English court,
To serve for meat and fee.
13. Enlish.
62, 72, 141, 241. & for an.
224. tie(?).
241. the bow.
B. a.
273. And there.
b.
151. Omits For.
After 15, inserts:
A king's daughter are ye;
But woud ye leave your father and mother,
And gang awa wi me?'
And the nearest that eer betide,
And I woud nae be feard to gang,
Gin ye war by my side.
174. trinkle.
193. there are.
194. Then ever.
202. table play.
232. grow.
264. pray you.
After 30, inserts:
But now their days are deen,
And in the kirk o sweet Saint Bride
Their graves are growing green.
Motherwell makes some alterations in his copy: as 13, laigh to sair; 124, and toil; whateer, in the second line of the second inserted stanza, above; besides others which are purely arbitrary. He has table eye in 202, where Buchan prints table play, and living, with being written over, in 263.
C.
31, 81, 161. Oh.
63. ceppit?
161, 2. gie?
There are appended to this version two stanzas of which Burton says: The reciter of this ballad is obstinate in persisting that the last two stanzas belong to it. They are evidently taken from 'The Birth of Robin Hood,' and have no connection with this ballad. See the following ballad.
FOOTNOTES:
[167] For the five hundred pounds in A 12, C 4, 5, cf. 'Leesome Brand,' A 12, 18, and the corresponding Scandinavian ballads.
102
WILLIE AND EARL RICHARD'S DAUGHTER
A. 'The Birth of Robin Hood,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 44.
B. 'The Birth of Robin Hood,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 1.
C. Kinloch's MSS, V, 330 f, two stanzas.
A was taken down from Mrs Brown's recitation by Jamieson in 1800, and published in his collection in 1806, "without the alteration of a single word." C wrongly forms the conclusion of 'Willie o Douglas Dale,' the preceding ballad. The copy in Christie's Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 128, is an abridgment of B, with a very few trivial changes.
The first half of the story in A, 1-9, is that of 'Willie of Douglas Dale,' A, 1-24, and there is a partial verbal correspondence.[168] In the latter a shepherd's daughter is engaged as nurse to the boy born in the wood, and Dame Oliphant is taken home by her lover and made lady of Douglas Dale. In the present ballad the lady's father tracks his daughter to the wood, finds the new-born child, adopts him as his grandson, and gives him the name Robin Hood, Willie [Archibald] disappearing from the scene.
The first part of B 4-18 is a variety of the wide-spread tragic ballad of 'Leesome Brand,' No 15. So, also, is the larger part of 'Willie o Douglas Dale,' with the tragic features dropped.
This ballad certainly does not belong to the cycle of Robin Hood, and for this reason the title hitherto borne by it could not be retained. The connection with Robin Hood was in all probability mediated by the name Brown Robin. Brown Robin plays the part of Willie [Archibald] in 'Rose the Red and White Lily,' A 25-29. Brown Robin's son, in 'Jellon Grame,' is called Robin after Robin Hood, B 14, C 7, 17. Brown Robin carries off his love to the wood in the ballad of the same name. The Earl of Huntingdon, B 3, 21, has no place in the ancient traditional ballads of Robin Hood, but is of later literary invention. A 17, B 1, C 1, may, however, very well have belonged to some Robin Hood ballad.
A is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 22, No 3.
A
Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 44, from Mrs Brown's recitation.
And come o high degree,
And he is gane to Earl Richard,
To serve for meat and fee.
Fair as a lily-flower,
And they made up their love-contract
Like proper paramour.
Whan the leaves were fair and green,
[Pg 413] That Willie met his gay ladie
Intil the wood alane.
That wont to be sae wide;
And gane is a' my fair colour,
That wont to be my pride.
What's past between us twa,
Before that he should eat or drink,
He'd hang you oer that wa.
Just as the sun gaes down,
And kep me in your arms twa,
And latna me fa down.'
He's doen him till her bower,
And there, by the lee licht o the moon,
Her window she lookit oer.
She lap, fearless o harm;
And Willie was large o lith and limb,
And keppit her in his arm.
And, ere the night was deen,
She's born to him a bonny young son,
Amang the leaves sae green.
And the sun began to peep,
Up and raise the Earl Richard
Out o his drowsy sleep.
By ane, by twa, and by three:
'O what's come o my daughter dear,
That she's nae come to me?
God grant it come to gude!
I dreamt I saw my daughter dear
Drown in the saut sea flood.
Or yet be stown awa,
I mak a vow, and I'll keep it true,
I'll hang ye ane and a'!'
They sought her up and down;
They got her in the gude green wood,
Nursing her bonny young son.
And kist him tenderlie;
Says, Though I would your father hang,
Your mother's dear to me.
'My grandson I thee claim,
And Robin Hood in gude green wood,
And that shall be your name.'
And mony ane sings o corn,
And mony ane sings o Robin Hood
Kens little whare he was born.
Nor in the painted bower,
But it was in the gude green wood,
Amang the lily-flower.
B
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 1.
And mony ane o the corn,
And mony ane talks o gude Robin Hood
Kens little whar he was born.
And in a lady's bower,
And born into gude greenwood,
Thro mony cauld winter's shower.
Sprung frae sma pedigree;
His mother, Earl Huntingdon's ae daughter,
For he had nane else but she.
And eight months they were gone,
[Pg 414] The lady's cheeks wi tears were wet,
And thus she made her moan:
This day for you and me?
I will be laid in cauld irons,
And ye'll be hanged on tree.'
What gars you mourn sae sair?'
'You know,' said she, 'I'm with child to thee,
These eight lang months and mair.'
Stands on yon stately green?
Or will ye gae to the gude greenwood,
Where ye will not be seen?'
Stands on yon stately green;
But I will on to gude greenwood,
For I will not be seen.'
Took his lady by the hand,
And they are on thro gude greenwood,
As fast as they could gang.
About miles scarcely three.
When this lady, being sair wearied out,
Lay down beneath a tree.
To cheer my heart again,
And likewise for a gude midwife,
To ease me of my pain!'
To cheer your heart again,
And I'll be to you a gude midwife,
To ease you of your pain.'
For this will never dee;
That's nae the fashion o our land,
And it's nae be used by me.
Your buckler and your bow,
And ye'll gae down thro gude greenwood,
And hunt the deer and roe.
And with the chase go on,
Until yon white hind pass you by,
Then straight to me ye'll come.'
His buckler and his bow,
And he is on thro gude greenwood,
To hunt the deer and roe.
And with the chase gaed on,
Until the white hind passd him by,
Then to his love he came.
Fast thro greenwood went he,
And there he found his love lie dead,
Beneath the green oak tree.
Right lively seemed to be;
'Ohon, alas!' said young Archibald,
'A mournful scene to me!
This does increase my woe;
How to nourish a motherless babe
Is mair than I do know.'
To see what he could see,
Then spied the Earl o Huntingdon,
And mony a man him wi.
Among the leaves sae green,
That he might hear what might be said,
And see, and nae be seen.
Unto the green oak tree,
And there he saw his daughter dead,
Her living child her wi.
Rowed him in his gown-sleeve;
Said, Tho your father's to my loss,
Your mother's to me leave.
My bowers and lands ye'se heir;
[Pg 415] You are my only daughter's child;
But her I never had mair.
And likewise nurses three;
If I knew where the fause knave were,
High hanged should he be.
All in a mournful mood,
And brought the boy to church that day,
And christend him Robin Hood.
Till he became a man,
But loved to hunt in gude greenwood,
To raise his noble fame.
C
Kinloch MSS, V, 330 f, the last two stanzas of 'Douglass Dale.'
And mony mare o corn,
And mony ane sings o Robin Heed
Kens little whare he was born.
At the fut o yon olive tree;
His father was a knight's ae son,
And his mother a lady free.
B.
Christie says of his copy that the words sung by his maternal grandfather "were somewhat, as far as the Editor can remember, like those given by Buchan, and that some slight alterations were made by him from the way the Editor heard the ballad sung."
The alterations in Christie's eighteen stanzas are:
13. mony talk.
14. That kenna.
84. Whare I will.
151. in the.
153. a white.
182. gaed he.
254. I neer.
281. The.
FOOTNOTES:
[168] Compare No 102, A 13, 4, and No 101, A 13, 4; 23, 4 and 83, 4; 3 and 3; 4 and 91, 2, 5, 6; 5 and 101, 2, 5, 6; 71, 82-4 and 13; 93 and 244. Also No 102, A 3, and No 101, B 13; 41, 2, 51, 4 and 151, 2, 5, 6; 8 and 16. Also, No 102, A 1, and No 101, C 3; 8 and 6.
103
ROSE THE RED AND WHITE LILY
A. 'Rose the Red and White Lilly,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 1.
B. 'Rose the Red and White Lillie,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 67.
C. 'The Wedding of Robin Hood and Little John,' Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 69.
A was No 6 of the fifteen ballads written down by Mrs Brown for William Tytler in 1783: Anderson, in Nichols's Illustrations, VII, 176. This copy was printed by Scott in his Minstrelsy, II, 60, 1802, "chiefly from Mrs Brown's MS.," but with numerous alterations. Kinloch's annotated copy of his Ancient Scottish Ballads supplies an additional stanza of C; the 17th.
The story in A is that Rose the Red and[Pg 416] White Lily have a bad step-mother, who, however, has two good sons that love these maids: Brown Robin, Lily, and Arthur, Rose. The maids build a bower, in which the young people make very merry, and the step-mother, to spoil sport, tells her sons that they must sail the sea. Brown Robin goes to the wood, and Arthur to the king's court. The maids disguise themselves as men, and take service with their lovers: White Lily under the name of Roge the Round, and Rose the Red under that of Sweet Willy. Before they part they make a mutual vow that at three blasts of a horn the one shall come to the other's help. Once upon a time, when Robin and his men are putting the stone, Roge sets it seven foot beyond all the rest, but, having exerted herself too much in so doing, is fain to lean her back against an oak and utters a moan, by which Brown Robin perceives that Roge is a woman. Forty weeks after this Roge has occasion for the aid of a bower-wife. Brown Robin proffers his help, but it is declined; nevertheless, with an apparent but not a real inconsistency, the lady asks him to blow her horn, for she has a brother at the court who will come to her upon the sound. Robin replies that if she has a brother whom she loves better than him she may blow the horn herself. This she does, and Sweet Willy comes at once. Brown Robin will let no man enter the bower without a fight. Rose the Red is wounded, and avows herself to be a woman. Brown Robin is distressed: he wished never to see a woman's blood, for the sake of a maid named White Lily. Roge the Round reveals herself as that same. Word comes to the king's court that Brown Robin's man has borne a son, and the king declares that he will go to the wood to inquire into this marvel. Arthur will go with him, to find a foot-page who had left him. Arrived at the wood, Arthur blows his horn, and Sweet Willy comes running to him. Arthur asks the page why he had run away, and is told that it was to see a brother that lives in the wood. The king enters the bower, and finds White Lily nursing her son. This leads to an explanation on the part of Rose the Red. Brown Robin, coming in from hunting, starts to see the king. The king bids him have no fear, but quit the wood and come to court. Brown Robin and White Lily, Arthur and Rose the Red, go to church and are married.
In B the two maids, ill-treated by their step-mother, betake themselves to the wood, where they meet, not Brown Robin, but Robin Hood, and take service with him. Rose and Lily change parts; Rose, under the name of Nicholas, consorting with Robin Hood, and Lily, alias Roger Brown, with Little John. It is not, however, Robin Hood and Little John who turn out to be their lovers, but "a lad in the company," and "another youth among the company," stanzas 30, 51. Nothing is said of the king.
In the fragmentary C the maids are daughters of a king. Their proper names are not given, and we do not learn that the stepmother has a pair of sons. In consequence of the harshness of their step-mother, these king's daughters go to the wood as Nicholas and Rogee Roun, to seek Robin Hood, and they are discovered to be maids by a song which Rogee sings. Rogee is wedded to Robin Hood, and Nicholas to Little John.
It is easy to see that the Robin Hood of B, C, was suggested by the Brown Robin of A. The name Barnsdale in A 12, 51 has certainly been adopted from the Robin Hood cycle, but in the present ballad is the residence of the father of Rose and Lily, not that of Robin Hood.
The only part of the ballad which has the stamp of indubitably ancient tradition is the child-birth in the wood, and this scene is the rightful, and perhaps exclusive, property of 'Leesome Brand,' No 15: see I, 182. A 24-29, B 40-47, are found again in 'Willie o Douglas Dale,' A 15-17, 22, 23, B 18, 19, 22, 24, C 8-10, and the first part of 'Willie o Douglas Dale,' as well as of the ballad which immediately precedes the present, commonly called 'The Birth of Robin Hood,' is a variation of 'Leesome Brand.'
Robin Hood has no love-story in any ancient ballad, though his name has been foisted into modern love-ballads, as in 'Robin Hood and[Pg 417] the Tanner's Daughter,' No 8 C. Maid Marian is a late accretion. There is a piteously vulgar broadside, in which Maid Marian, being parted from Robin Hood, dresses herself "like a page" (but armed fully), meets Robin Hood, also under disguise, and has an hour's fight with him. There is so far a resemblance in this to A 30 ff, B 49, that a woman disguised as a page fights with Robin Hood. I suppose the resemblance to be accidental, but whether it be or not, the question of 'Rose the Red and White Lily' being originally a Robin Hood ballad is not affected.
A 3, B 5, is like C 6 of 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' No 72.
Scott's copy is translated by Doenniges, p. 40.
A
Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 1.
Their mother dear was dead,
And their father married an ill woman,
Wishd them twa little guede.
As eer brake manis bread,
And the tane of them loed her White Lilly,
An the tither lood Rose the Red.
And strawn it oer wi san,
And there was mair mirth i the ladies' bowr
Than in a' their father's lan.
Wha stood a little foreby:
I hope to live and play the prank
Sal gar your loud sang ly.
Come here, my son, to me;
It fears me sair, my eldest son,
That ye maun sail the sea.
Your bidding I maun dee;
But be never war to Rose the Red
Than ye ha been to me.'
For sma sal be her part;
You'll nae get a kiss o her comely mouth
Gin your very fair heart should break.'
Come here, my son, to me;
It fears me sair, my youngest son,
That ye maun sail the sea.
Your bidding I maun dee;
But be never war to White Lilly
Than ye ha been to me.'
For sma sall be her part;
You'll neer get a kiss o her comely mouth
Tho your very fair heart should break.'
Saw their twa loves were gane,
Then stopped ha they their loud, loud sang,
And tane up the still mournin;
And their step-mother stood listnin by,
To hear the ladies' mean.
My sister, we'll be gane;
Why should we stay in Barnsdale,
To waste our youth in pain?
A little below their knee,
An sae ha they there yallow hair,
A little aboon there bree;
An they've doen them to haely chapel,
Was christened by Our Lady.
Sae far frae ony town,
An the tane o them hight Sweet Willy,
An the tither o them Roge the Roun.
[Pg 418]
An they sware it to fulfil;
That at three blasts o a bugle-horn,
She'd come her sister till.
Her true-love for to see,
An Roge the Roun to good green wood,
Brown Robin's man to be.
They a' did put the stane,
Full seven foot ayont them a'
She gard the puttin-stane gang.
And gae a loud Ohone!
Then out it spake him Brown Robin,
But that's a woman's moan!
Or by my yallow hair?
Or ken ye by my milk-white breast?
For ye never saw it bare?'
Nor by your yallow hair;
Nor ken I by your milk-white breast,
For I never saw it bare;
But come to your bowr whaever sae likes,
Will find a lady there.'
Thro fraud, deceit, or guile,
Wi this same bran that's in my han,
I swear I will the kill.'
An spear nae leave,' quoth he;
'An this same bran that's i my han
I sall ware back on the.'
The ladie's bower-door was broken,
An eer the first hour of the day
The bonny knave-bairn was gotten.
The lady took travailing,
And sair she cry'd for a bowr-woman,
For to wait her upon.
Now what needs a' this din?
For what coud any woman do
But I coud do the same?
'Nor sall it ever be mine,
That belted knights shoud eer remain
Where ladies dreed their pine.
An blaw a blast for me;
I ha a brother i the kingis court
Will come me quickly ti.'
That ye love better nor me,
Te blaw the horn yoursel,' he says,
'For ae blast I winna gie.'
And she's blawn three blasts sae shrill;
Sweet Willy heard i the kingis court,
And came her quickly till.
An an angry man was he:
'There comes nae man this bowr within
But first must fight wi me.'
Till the sun was gaing down,
Till drops o blude frae Rose the Red
Came hailing to the groun.
Says, Robin, let a' be;
For it is a lady born and bred
That's foughten sae well wi thee.
Says, Alas, and wae is me!
I never wisht in a' my life,
A woman's blude to see;
An a' for the sake of ae fair maid
Whose name was White Lilly.
An a hearty laugh laugh she:
She's lived wi you this year an mair,
Tho ye kentna it was she.
Before a month was done,
That Brown Robin's man, in good green wood,
Had born a bonny young son.
[Pg 419]
An to the king himsel;
'Now, by my fay,' the king could say,
'The like was never heard tell!'
An a hearty laugh laugh he:
I trow some may has playd the loun,
And fled her ain country.
'My bow and arrows keen;
I'l ride mysel to good green wood,
An see what's to be seen.'
'My liege, I'll gang you wi,
An try to fin a little foot-page,
That's strayd awa frae me.'
The buck but an the rae,
An they drew near Brown Robin's bowr,
About the close of day.
Says, Arthur, look an see
Gin that be no your little foot-page
That leans against yon tree.
An blew a blast sae shrill;
Sweet Willy started at the sound,
An ran him quickly till.
Or wanted ye your fee?
Or gat ye ever an angry word,
That ye ran awa frae me?'
To me ye ay was good;
I came but to see my ae brother,
That wons in this green wood.'
Says, Bonny boy, tell to me
Wha lives into yon bigly bowr,
Stands by yon green oak tree?
'My liege, I dare no tell;
An I pray you go no near that bowr,
For fear they do you fell.'
For I winna be said nay;
But I will gang that bowr within,
Betide me weel or wae.'
An saftly enterd in,
An there they saw her White Lilly,
Nursing her bonny yong son.
This is a comely sight;
I trow, instead of a forrester's man,
This is a lady bright!'
An fell low down on her knee:
O pardon us, my gracious liege,
An our story I'll tell thee.
That wond in Barnsdale;
But we had a wicked step-mother,
That wrought us meickle bale.
As ever the sun did see,
An the tane o them lood my sister dear,
An the tither sayd he lood me.
As by the king he stood:
Now, by the faith o my body,
This shoud be Rose the Red!
Frae hunting o the deer,
But whan he saw the king was there,
He started back for fear.
An bade him naithing dread;
Says, Ye maun leave the good green wood,
Come to the court wi speed.
An set him on his knee;
Says, Gin ye live to wiald a bran,
My bowman ye sall bee.
An girdles o shinning gold;
He gart the ladies be arrayd
Most comely to behold.
[Pg 420]
An there gat fair wedding,
An fan the news spread oer the lan,
For joy the bells did ring.
An a hearty laugh laugh she:
I wonder what would our step-dame say,
Gin she this sight did see!
B
Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 67.
Gude seal that it sae spread!
To Rose the Red and White Lillie,
Their mither dear was dead.
And brought her ower the sea,
Twa sprightly youths, her ain young sons,
Intill her companie.
On shipboard as they stood,
And sware, if ever they wan to land,
These ladies they woud wed.
A quarter past but three,
Till these young luvers a' were fond
O other's companie.
The ladies sewd and sang;
There was mair mirth in that chamer
Than a' their father's lan.
At the stair-foot stood she:
I'm plagued wi your troublesome noise!
What makes your melodie?
White Lillie, your voice is strang;
But gin I live and brook my life,
I'se gar you change your sang.
For nae duke's son ye'll bear;
We winna change our loud, loud song,
But aye we'll sing the mair.
But we'll sing ower again;
We'll take our harps into our hands,
And we'll harp, and we'll sing.'
Says, Boun ye for the sea;
Let Rose the Red and White Lillie
Stay in their bower wi me.
'Nor lat it ever be,
Unless ye were as kind to our luves
As gin we were them wi.'
Ye'll boun you for the faem;
Let Rose the Red and White Lillie
Stay in their bowers at hame.'
We felt the stormy sea,
And where we go, ye neer shall know,
Nor shall be known by thee.'
She forc'd these lads away,
While Rose the Red and White Lillie
Still in their bowers did stay.
A quarter past but ane,
Till Rose the Red in rags she gaed,
White Lillie's claithing grew thin.
The ladies they thought lang;
'Ohon, alas!' said Rose the Red,
'She's gard us change our sang.
And we'll gang frae the town,
Frae Rose the Red and White Lillie
To Nicholas and Roger Brown.
A little aboon our knee,
[Pg 421] And we will on to gude greenwood,
Twa bauld bowmen to be.'
'My fingers are but sma,
And tho my hands woud wield the bow,
They winna yield at a'.'
And lat these fears a' be;
There's naething that ye're awkward in
But I will learn thee.'
As fast as gang coud they;
O then they spied him Robin Hood,
Below a green aik tree.
'God make you safe and free:'
'Gude day, gude day,' said Robin Hood,
'What is your wills wi me?'
Come frae our native hame;
We're come to crave o thee service,
Our king will gie us nane.'
Tell me frae what countrie:'
'Frae Anster town into Fifeshire;
Ye know it as well as we.'
And tauld just now to me,
Ye're welcome, welcome, every one;
Your master I will be.
And lye as I do lye;
Ye salna wear nae waur claithing
Nor my young men and I.'
And there they enterd in,
And Nicholas fed wi Robin Hood,
And Roger wi Little John.
They were at the putting-stane,
Whan Rose the Red she viewd them a',
As they stood on the green.
And kepd it wi her knee,
And spaces three aboon them a'
I wyte she gard it flee.
And gae a loud Ohon!
A lad spak in the companie,
I hear a woman's moan.
'How know you that o me?
Did eer ye see me in that place
Ae foot my ground to flee?
Or by my yellow hair?
Or by the paps on my breast-bane?
Ye never saw them bare.'
Nor by your yellow hair;
But I know by your milk-white chin,
On it there grows nae hair.
Ae foot your ground to flee;
I've seen you stan wi sword in han
Mang men's blood to the knee.
By night, or yet by day,
I shall know before I go
If ye be man or may.'
By night, or yet by day,
As soon's I draw my trusty brand,
Nae lang ye'll wi me stay.'
Her bigly bower o stane,
Till he has got her big wi bairn,
And near sax months she's gane.
They gaed to hunt the hynde;
She wont to be the foremost ane,
But now stayd far behynd.
And thus to her said he;
[Pg 422] I think your cheeks are pale and wan;
Pray, what gaes warst wi thee?
Or ribbons to your sheen?
Or want ye as muckle o dear bought luve
As your heart can conteen?
Nae ribbons to my sheen;
Nor want I as muckle dear bought luve
As my heart can conteen.
Anither me before,
A gude midwife at my right side,
Till my young babe be bore.'
Bring wine in a green horn;
I'll be midwife at your right side,
Till your young babe be born.'
Forbid that it be mine!
A knight stan by a lady bright
Whan she drees a' her pine.
If that he kent o me,
Thro stock and stane and the hawthorn
Sae soon's he woud come me tee.'
Ye like better than me,
If ance he come your bower within,
Ane o us twa shall dee.'
And she blew loud and shrill;
Thro stock and stane and the hawthorn
Brave Roger came her till.
'Thus to encroach on me?'
'O here I am,' the knight replied,
'Hae as much right as thee.'
Sae did they down the plain;
They niddart ither wi lang braid-swords,
Till they were bleedy men.
Sat under the greenwood tree;
O had your han, young man, she said,
She's a woman as well as me.
Amang the companie;
Gin I had kent what I ken now,
'T is for her I woud dee.
An ill death mat ye dee!
Altho ye tauld upo yoursell,
Ye might hae heald on me.'
For to gae ower the sea;
For her I left my mither's ha,
Tho she proves fause to me.'
They sung right joyfullie,
Nae blyther was the nightingale,
Nor bird that sat on tree.
Brought them to bower and ha;
And now a happy life they lead;
I wish sae may we a'.
C
Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, annotated by the editor, p. 69.
Into some foreign land;
His daughters twa, that stood in awe,
They bravely sat and sang.
Sae stately steppin ben:
'O gin I live and bruik my life,
I'll gar ye change your tune.'
But we will sing again;
[Pg 423] And ye neer boor that son, ladie,
We wad lay our love on.
A little abune our bree,
And we will on to gude greenwud,
And serve for meat and fee.
A little below the knee,
And we will on to gude greenwud,
Gif Robin Hood we see.
When we gae frae the toun;
The tane we will call Nicholas,
The tither Rogee Roun.'
A little abune their bree,
And they are on to gude greenwud,
To serve for meat and fee.
A little below their knee,
And they are on to gud greenwud,
Gif Robin Hood they see.
Whan they gaed frae the toun;
The tane they've called Nicholas,
The tither Rogee Roun.
And never a day thoucht lang,
Till it fell ance upon a day
That Rogee sang a sang.
We sewd the silken seam;
But now we walk the gude greenwud,
And bear anither name.
We wore the beaten gold;
But now we wear the shield sae sharp;
Alas, we'll die with cold!'
As he to them drew near:
'Instead of boys to carry the bow,
Two ladies we've got here'
A twalmonth and a day,
Till Rogee Roun was as big wi bairn
As onie lady could gae.
That garrd me leave my hame!
For I'm wi bairn to Robin Hood,
And near nine month is gane.
Na bouer-woman is here;
O wha will be my bouer-woman,
Whan that sad time draws near?'
At the foot o yon greenwud tree:
O hold your tongue, fair Rogee Roun,
For married ye sall be.
And the tither to Little John;
And it was a' owing to their stepmother,
That garrd them leave their hame.
A.
Written, like all the ballads in the MS., in stanzas of two long lines.
1. Anderson cites this stanza, giving the last line, Wist them twa little quee'd.
81. younges.
83. youngst.
131. greed.
214. sear.
263. beltest kights.
474. well?
491. the the king.
Scott's variations, the contrary not being alleged, must be supposed to be his own. Scott inserts after 10:
His hie chamberlain to be;
But Brown Robin he has slain a knight,
And to grene wood he did flee.
115, 6 are 121, 2 in the MS., making a stanza with 121, 2; 123, 4 make an eight-line stanza with 13. 115, 6 are omitted by Scott.
135, 6 make the last half of a stanza in Scott, which begins:
To cross the raging sea.
203, 4 are omitted by Scott.
335, 6 make the last half of a stanza in Scott, which runs:
I swore to Our Ladye,
But mair, etc.
57 follows 53 in Scott, and 59 is omitted.
B.
72. While Lillie.
432. horn green.
104
PRINCE HEATHEN
A. 'The Disconsolate Lady,' The Jovial Rake's Garland, n. d., p. 6, No 4.
B. 'Prince Heathen,' Buchan's MSS, I, 97; Motherwell's MS., p. 665.
The fragment A (pointed out to me by Svend Grundtvig) is partly explained by B, which is no doubt some stall-copy, reshaped from tradition. Motherwell's copy was derived from Buchan.
The story, which reads like an old one extremely corrupted, is none too intelligible even in the longer form. Lady Margery is sitting in her bower-door. Prince Heathen comes by and gives her a ring. She refuses him her love. He swears that he will make her greet; she swears that he shall not. He takes her maidenhead: still she will not greet. He tells her that he has killed her father, mother, and seven brothers: still she will not greet. He puts her in a vault of stone, fastened with five and thirty locks: she will not greet [go, A], but rues. He comes back from the mountains, and asks her how she is faring. Dying, she says. He takes her out upon the green, allowing her no female service, and she brings forth a son. How is it with her now? Dying. She asks for a drink of water: he will not give her a drop until she wraps up her young son. She has nothing to wrap the babe in; he gives her his horse-sheet; her tears fall fast. "Bonny may, now you greet!" he exclaims ["will you go now?" A]. But she greets not for him; it is for her young son, wrapped so roughly. Prince Heathen, satisfied, as far as we can see, now that he has subdued her proud will, orders his son to be rolled in silk and washed in milk, according to the usage of Scottish nursery: see No 5, B 61, C 82, 83, E 32, F 57, G 33; No 20, C 8; No 63, B 35, C 35, F 22, J 47; No 101, A 25. Having broken her spirit, he loves her well.
A
The Jovial Rake's Garland, n. d., p. 6, No 4, Bodleian Library, Douce PP, 164.
Sewing at her seem;
By there comes a heathen knight,
From her her maidenhead has tane.
With double locks on fifty doors:
'Lady Margery May, will you ga now?'
'O ye heathen knight, not yet for you.
What I am asking will you grant to me?
Will ye let one of your waitmen
A drink of your well bring to me?'
Nor out of that shall you never come,
[Pg 425] Meat nor drink shall you never get,
Until you bear to me daughter or son.'
For travail came this young lady to;
She travailed up, so did she down,
But lighter could she never be.
An asking will you grant to me?
Will you give me a scread of silk,
For to row your young son wi?'
The tears came twinkling down:
'Lady Margaret May, will ye ga now?'
'O ye heathen knight, not yet for you.'
I will dry my young son with the silk;
For hearts will break, and bands will bow;
So dear will I love my lady now!'
B
Buchan's MSS, I, 97; Motherwell's MS., p. 665.
Sewing at her silken seem,
When by it came Prince Heathen then,
An gae to her a gay gold ring.
She said, Begone, I love na you;
When he sware by his yellow hair
That he woud gar her greet fu sair.
Prince Heathen shoud gar her greet nane:
'O bonny may, winna ye greet now?'
'Ye heathenish dog, nae yet for you.'
Laid her between him an the wa,
An ere he let her free again,
Her maidenhead frae her he's taen.
'O bonny may, winna ye greet now?'
'Ye heathenish dog, nae yet for you.'
And your gay mother by his side,
And your seven brothers, ane by ane,
And they were seven pretty men.
O bonny may, winna ye greet now?'
'Ye heathenish dog, nae yet for you.'
Where five an thirty locks hing on;
Naebody there then shall you see,
For I will keep the keys wi me.
O bonny may, winna ye greet now?'
'Ye heathenish dog, nae yet for you.'
Where five an thirty locks hing on;
Naebody there coud eer her see,
Prince Heathen kept the keys him wi.
But ae she cried, What shall I do!
The heathenish dog has gart me rue.
Attended by his armed men,
And he's gane to the bonny may,
And to the prison where she lay:
'O bonny may, what do you now?'
'Ye heathenish dog, dying for you.'
Where women ye shall neer see ane,
But only me and my young men,
Till ye bring daughter hame or son.
O bonny may, what do you now?'
'Ye heathenish dog, dying for you.'
Where she saw women never ane,
But only him and 's merry young men,
Till she brought hame a bonny young son.
'O bonny may, what do you now?'
'Ye heathenish dog, dying for you.
Though it were frae yon cauld well strong!'
'O neer a drap, Prince Heathen,' said one,
'Till ye row up your bonny young son.'
'How can I row up my bonny young son,
When I hae naething to row him in?'
That will row him baith head and feet.'
As soon's she took it in her han,
[Pg 426] Tears oer her cheeks down rapping ran.
'O bonny may, ye do greet now:'
'Ye heathenish dog, but nae for you.
Your sheets are rough to row him in;
Ohon, alas, sair may I rue
That eer I saw such rogues as you!'
An ye will wash him wi the milk,
An lay my lady very saft,
That I may see her very aft.'
When hearts are broken, bands will bow;
Sae well's he loved his lady now!
A.
33. writmen.
52. too.
B.
112. wells. Motherwell MS. well.
There are some trifling deviations in Motherwell's copy.
105
THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON
a. Printed for P. Brooksby, Boxburghe Ballads, II, 457. b. Printed for J. Walter, Douce Ballads, II, fol. 229. c. Printed for P. Brooksby, Pepys Ballads, III, 258, No 256. d. Printed for P. Brooksby, Roxburghe Ballads, IV, 56. e. Printed for P. Brooksby, Douce Ballads, II, fol. 230. f. An Aldermary Churchyard copy.
Reprinted in Percy's Reliques, III, 133, 1765, from the Pepys copy, c, but "with some improvements, communicated by a lady as she heard the same repeated in her youth;" that is, in fact, a few casual verbal variations, attributable to imperfect recollection of a broadside. There are much better in a copy which I have received from an Irish lady, partly made over by secondary tradition. Reprinted also by Ritson, A Select Collection of English Songs, II, 234, 1783, apparently from a, with an arbitrary change in st. 82, and one or two other variations. Mr F. H. Stoddard informs me that 'The Bailiff's Daughter' is still very much sung, and may be heard any day at a country cricket-match.
A fond youth and a coy maid, a bailiff's daughter, having been parted seven years, the maid disguises herself to go in quest of her lover, and meets him on her way. He asks her whether she knows the bailiff's daughter. The bailiff's daughter is dead long ago, she replies. Then he will go into a far country. The maid, assured of his faith, reveals herself, and is ready to be his bride.
This is the counterpart of a ballad found in other languages (and represented in English by Percy's cento 'The Friar of Orders Gray,' Reliques, I, 225, 1765), in which a man tells a woman that the object of her affection, lover, or more commonly husband, is dead. So runs the story in the following:
Italian. Marcoaldi, Canti popolari umbri, etc., p. 151, 'La prova d'amore,' Piedmontese; Gianandrea, C. p. marchigiani, p. 270, No 7, 'La prova d'amore;' Ferraro, C. p. monferrini, p. 60, No 41, 'Il ritorno,' and C. p. di Ferrara, Cento e Pontelagoscuro, p. 16, No 4, p. 105, No 18; Bernoni, C. p. veneziani, Punt. IX, No 1, 'Il ritorno dalla guerra;' Wolf, Volkslieder aus Venetien, No 91, 'La ragazza ed i soldati;' Bolza, Canzoni p. comasche, No 53, 'Il riconoscimento;' Finamore, Storie p. abruzzesi, Archivio, I, 91, No 6, 'Rusine e Ddiamóre;' Kestner, in Reifferscheid, Westfälische V. 1., p. 156, Roman.
Spanish. 'Caballero de lejas tierras,' Juan de Ribera, Nueve Romances, 1605, in Duran, I, 175, No 318, Wolf y Hofmann, Primavera, II, 88, No 156, and a traditional version in a note of Duran, as above, repeated in Primavera. Catalan. 'La vuelta del peregrino,' Milá, Observaciones, p. 111, No 12, 'El peregrino,' Romancerillo, p. 154, No 203; 'La tornada del pelegrí,' Briz, V, 65.
Portuguese. 'Bella Infanta,' Almeida-Garrett, II, 7; Bellermann, p. 100, No 12; Braga, C. p. do Archipelago açoriano, p. 298, No 41, Romanceiro Geral, p. 1, 'Dona Infanta,' p. 4, 'Dona Catherina;' Coelho, in Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie, III, 63, 1879 (imperfect).
Romaic. 'Ἡ αναγνωρισις,' Zambelios, p. 718, No 5, Kind, Anthologie, 1861, p. 126, No 5, Passow, No 442: 'Ἡ πιστη συζυγος,' Evlambios, p. 58, Marcellus, I, 332, Passow, No 444; Tommaseo, III, 148, Passow, No 445, and III, 150, Passow, No 446; Schmidt, Griechische M., S., u. V. 1., p. 192, No 57 (see note, p. 272); Marcellus, I, 328, Passow, No 441; 'Αναγνωρισμος,' Chasiotis, p. 89, No 28; Aravandinos, Nos 347-349, pp. 209-211; 'Το γυρισμα,' Oikonomides, p. 132; Jeannaraki, p. 237, No 300, with perverted conclusion; Fauriel, II, 396, Passow, No 447 (fragment). Aravandinos, No 348, is translated by Miss Garnett, Greek Folk Songs, p. 163.
Translated by Bodmer, I, 82; Döring, p. 85; Arndt, p. 193; Von Marées, p. 45; Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 64.
And he was a esquire's son,
He loved the bayliff's daughter dear,
That lived in Islington.
That he did love her so,
No, nor at any time she would
Any countenance to him show.
His fond and foolish mind,
They sent him up to fair London,
An apprentice for to bind.
And his love he had not seen,
'Many a tear have I shed for her sake
When she little thought of me.'
Went forth to sport and play;
All but the bayliff's daughter dear;
She secretly stole away.
And put on her puggish attire;
She's up to fair London gone,
Her true-love to require.
The weather being hot and dry,
There was she aware of her true-love,
At length came riding by.
And took him by the bridle-ring:
'I pray you, kind sir, give me one penny,
To ease my weary limb.'
Where that thou wast born?'
'At Islington, kind sir,' said she,
'Where I have had many a scorn.'
Whether thou dost know
The bailiff's daughter of Islington?'
'She's dead, sir, long ago.'
My saddle and my bow;
I will into some far countrey,
Where no man doth me know.'
She's alive, she is not dead;
Here she standeth by thy side,
And is ready to be thy bride.'
[Pg 428]
Ten thousand times and more!
For now I have seen my own true-love,
That I thought I should have seen no more.'
a-f.
True Love Requited, or, The Bayliff's Daughter of Islington.
Cause she was poor, and left forlorn;
They sent the esquire to London fair,
To be an apprentice seven year.
And when he out on 's time was come,
He met his love, a going home,
And then, to end all further strife,
He took the maid to be his wife.
To a North Countrey Tune, or, I have a good old mother at home.
e, f have of's, of his, in verse 5.
a.
82. bridal ring, and so all but f.
At the end: Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden Ball in Pye-Corner. Brooksby printed 1672-95: Chappell.
b.
12, a squire's.
Printed for J. Walter, at the Golden Bal[l] in Pye-Corner. J. Walter's time is 1690-1720: Chappell.
c.
12, a wanting.
62. her wanting.
Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden Ball in Py-Corner.
d.
34. a apprentice.
62. her wanting.
92. was.
121. thou well belovd.
Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden Ball in West Smithfield.
e.
31. a apprentice.
62. her wanting.
64. inquire.
82. a penny.
92. was.
111. I sell wanting.
121. thou well belovd.
Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golde[n] Ball, near the Bear Tavern, in Pye Corner.
f.
11. was was youth.
12. a squire's.
21. He was.
23. would she.
51. When all... of fair.
62. her ragged.
63. And she is.
64. After her... enquire.
71. And as.
81. a rose.
82. bridle.
84. For to.
92. Whereat.
102. Whether that.
111. I will.
113. And travel into.
133. I see.
134. should neer see more.
Printed and sold in Aldermary Churchyard, Bow Lane, London. "1700, or a little later."
106
THE FAMOUS FLOWER OF SERVING-MEN
a. Wood, E. 25, fol. 75, Bodleian Library. b. Pepys, III, 142, No 140, Magdalen College Library, Cambridge. c. A Collection of Old Ballads, I, 216, 1723.
This ballad was given in Percy's Reliques, III, 87, 1765, "from a written copy, containing some improvements (perhaps modern ones)." These improvements are execrable in style and in matter, so far as there is new matter, but not in so glaring contrast with the groundwork as literary emendations of traditional ballads. Ritson reprinted in A Select Collection of English Songs, II, 244, 1783, some broadside like that which was followed by c.[169]
'Sweet Willie' in Kinloch MSS, V, 407 and VII, 197 (the latter printed in Kinloch's[Pg 429] Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 96), and also a fragment with the same title in the Harris MS., fol. 20 f, No 15, are derived from the broadside through recitation. A copy in Buchan's MSS, I, 150, is taken directly from print.
In other cases portions of the broadside appear to have entered into combination with traditional verses belonging to some other story, or possibly to some older form of this.
The Dean of Derry communicated to Percy in 1776 the following stanzas, which he wrote down from the recitation of his mother, Mrs Barnard, wife of the Bishop of Derry.[170]
She sent three thieves at darksome night;
They put my servants all to flight,
They robd my bower, and they slew my knight.
But they slew my baby on my arm;
They left me nothing to wrap it in
But the bloody, bloody sheet that it lay in.
But the bloody sword that slew my babe;
All alone the grave I made,
And all alone salt tears I shed.
And all alone sweet psalms I sung;
I leant my head against a block,
And there I cut my lovely locks.
From Fair Eleanore to Sweet William.
Scott inserted in his Border Minstrelsy, III, 83, 1803, seven stanzas under the title of 'The Lament of the Border Widow,' which show broader traces of the sheet-ballad (1-3), and also, as Aytoun has remarked, agreements with 'The Three Ravens' and with 'Fair Helen of Kirconnell' (5-7). 'The Lament of the Border Widow,' "obtained from recitation in the Forest of Ettrick," has been thought to relate to the execution of Cokburne, a border-freebooter, by James V. Those who are interested in such random inventions (as, under pardon, they must be called) will find particulars in Scott's introduction, and a repetition of the same in Maidment's Scotish Ballads and Songs, Historical and Traditionary, II, 170.[171]
And clad it a' wi lilye-flour;
A brawer bower ye neer did see
Than my true-love he built for me.
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, and poind his gear;
My servants all for life did flee,
And left me in extremitie.
I watched the corpse, myself alane;
I watched his body, night and day;
No living creature came that way.
And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sate;
I diggd a grave, and laid him in,
And happd him with the sod sae green.
When I laid the moul on his yellow hair?
O think na ye my heart was wae,
When I turnd about, away to gae?
Since that my lovely knight is slain;
[Pg 430] Wi ae lock of his yellow hair
I'll chain my heart for evermair.
Again, there are six couplets in Johnson's Museum, p. 90, No 89, called, from the burden, 'Oh ono chrio,' which have a little of The Border Widow, and incidentally of The Flower of Serving-Men, winding up with sentiments of transcendent elegance.
Maid, wife and widow in one night!
When most I thought him free from harms,
They broke my bower, and slew my knight.
I'll tye my heart for ever mair.
Shall eer untye this knott again.
Nor pant for aught save heaven and thee.
"Dr Blacklock informed Burns that this song... was composed on the horrid massacre at Glencoe": Stenhouse's note, IV, 92.
The English broadside, which may reasonably be believed to be formed upon a predecessor in the popular style, has been held to have a common origin with the Scandinavian ballad 'Maid and Stable Boy,' already spoken of under 'Child Waters' at p. 84f of this volume. The points of resemblance are that a maid cuts her hair, dons man's clothes, and seeks service with a king. In the end she is married to the king's son, or to a nobleman of his court. The differences, in other respects, are considerable.
Percy's ballad is translated by Bodmer, I, 160; by Merk, Ursinus, p. 79, and Bothe, p. 307; by Döring, p. 329.
I write unto you one and all,
Whereby that you may understand
What I have suffered in this land.
My father's chief and onely heir,
But when my good old father dy'd,
Then was I made a young knight's bride.
Bedeckt with many a fragrant flower;
A braver bower you never did see
Then my true-love did build for me.
They rob'd my bower, and slew my knight,
And after that my knight was slain,
I could no longer there remain.
In the midst of my extremity,
And left me by my self alone,
With a heart more cold then any stone.
Heaven would not suffer me to despair;
Wherefore in hast I chang'd my name
From Fair Elise to Sweet William.
And drest my self in man's attire,
My doublet, hose, and bever-hat,
And a golden band about my neck.
So like a gallant I did ride;
The thing that I delighted on,
Was for to be a serving-man.
I bravely rode along the way;
And at the last it chanced so
That I unto the king's court did go.
My love and duty for to show,
And so much favour I did crave
That I a serving-man's place might have.
[Pg 431]
'Thy service shall not be denyd;
But tell me first what thou canst do;
Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.
To wait upon my nobles all?
Or wilt thou be taster of my wine,
To wait on me when I shall dine?
To make my bed both soft and fine?
Or wilt thou be one of my guard?
And I will give thee thy reward.'
Said to the king, If't please your grace
To show such favour unto me,
Your chamberlain I fain would be.
To ask the counsel of them all,
Who gave consent Sweet William he
The king's own chamberlain should be.
As the king one day a hunting was,
With all his lords and noble train,
Sweet William did at home remain.
With him at home but an old man;
And when he saw the coast was clear,
He took a lute which he had there.
And to the same he sung and said,
With a pleasant and most noble voice,
Which made the old man to rejoyce:
As ever Europe did afford;
My mother was a lady bright,
My husband was a valiant knight.
Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array;
The bravest lady in the land
Had not more pleasures to command.
Harmonious lessons for to play;
I had my virgins fair and free,
Continually to wait on me.
And all my friends are from me fled;
My former joys are past and gone,
For now I am a serving-man.'
And presently upon the same
He called for the good old man,
And thus to speak the king began.
'What news hast thou to tell to me?'
'Brave news,' the old man he did say;
'Sweet William is a lady gay.'
I'le make thee a lord of high degree;
But if thy words do prove a lye,
Thou shalt be hanged up presently.'
His joys did more and more abound;
According as the old man did say,
Sweet William was a lady gay.
Put on her glorious rich array,
And upon her head a crown of gold,
Which was most famous to behold.
He took Sweet William for his wife;
The like before was never seen,
A serving-man to be a queen.
a.
Printed for J. Hose, next door but one to the Rose Inn, near Holbourn-bridge. John Hose, over against Staples-Inn, near Gray's Inn Lane, printed, according to Chappell, 1660-1675.
b.
Printed for W. Thackeray and T. Passinger. W. Thackeray's date, Chappell, is 1660-1689; T. Passinger's, 1670-1682.
a, b have for title and preface:
The Famous Flower of Serving-men, or, The Lady turnd Serving-man.
Her bower robd, her servants fled,
She drest her self in mans attire,
She trim'd her locks, she cut her hair,
And therupon she changde her name
From Fair Elise to Sweet William.
To a dainty tune, or Flora Farewel, Summer-Time, or Love's Tide.
Before 19: Sweet William's Song.
After 22: The end of Sweet William's Song.
a.
After 8: The Second Part, to the same tune.
b.
84. It was to.
124. I do.
204. pleasure.
c.
24. I was.
84. It was to.
94. I to.
124. I do.
161. thing.
173. the house.
183. a sweet and noble voice.
204. pleasure.
233. this good.
251. tellst to.
FOOTNOTES:
[169] Heber had a copy printed by J. Andrews, who flourished 1655-60.
[170] Mrs Barnard makes this note: I remember to have seen a printed ballad, at least seventy years since, in which this was containd, as sung by a youth, overheard by a king he servd, and exalted to become his queen. I fancy these scenes were in Germany, by the names.—Percy regards the verses as a "fragment of an older copy than that printed of 'The Lady turnd Serving-Man.'"
[171] The Border Widow's Lament has received extraordinary favor. It has been translated by Schubart, p. 209; Talvj, Charakteristik, p. 570; Fiedler, Geschichte der schottischen Liederdichtung, p. 29; Freiligrath, Zwischen den Garben, II, 229, Stuttgart, 1877; Doenniges, p. 77; Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, p. 195, No 58. Cunningham furbished up the verses a little in The Songs of Scotland, II, 97. The copy in Chambers's Scottish Songs, I, 174, is Cunningham's, all but the sixth stanza, which is from Scott.—A great deal of nonsense passes in ballads, but I am impelled to ask just here how a lover would go about to clothe a bower with lily-flower. Is the ballad lily a climbing plant?
107
WILL STEWART AND JOHN
A. 'Will Stewart and John,' Percy Manuscript, p. 428; Hales and Furnivall, III, 216.
B. 'Tring Dilly,' Campbell's MSS, II, 30.
The fragment B is disordered as well as mutilated. B 1 corresponds to A 18, 13; 2 to 14; 3 to 19, 40; 4 to 41, 42; 5 to 43; 6 to 35, 36; 7 to 17. It is simply a confused recollection of some parts of the ballad.
The first stanza furnishes a sort of general lyrical introduction, and does not belong to the story, to which, as I conceive, the circumstance that Adlatts Park is wide and broad is of no more special pertinence than the other which follows, that grass grows green in our countrye. See I, 7, note.
Will Stewart, of Argyle Castle, languishes with love for the Earl of Mar's daughter, and lies in care-bed. His younger brother, John, a wiser man, offers to go a-wooing for his brother, and to forward his object takes service with the Earl of Mar as chamberlain to his daughter. One Sunday, as John is conveying the lady home from church, he makes known to her that he is a messenger. The lady at first, like Shakspere's Olivia, would rather he should speak for himself, but upon hearing what John has to say for his brother is ready to love Will heartily. She bids her lover come with a hundred men to a foot-ball match on Sunday after St Andrew's day. He must play sixteen games, and if he win the greater part she shall love him the more. This tidings makes Will Stewart leap from care-bed. He chooses a hundred men from eleven score and three, dresses them in green, himself in scarlet (about which the lady had been particular), meets his mistress at the rendezvous, gives her a kiss of courtesy, and wins twelve of the sixteen games. The Earl of Mar invites Will to his house, where the Stewart avows his love for his daughter; he knows not whether the lady loves him. "God forbid!" exclaims the earl. "I would rather thou wert hanged or burned. To thy chamber, lady, or I will beat thee before the Stewart's eye." Will, with John, who renounces Mar's service, returns to Argyle Castle, and Will leaps into care-bed again. A parliament is held at Edinburgh, to which both brothers are summoned. Mar discovers that Will is an earl's son, and even the king's cousin, but this discovery has no effect to change the mind of the peremptory nobleman. Will and John go back to Argyle Castle when the parliament is done, and Will once more leaps into care-bed. John, in great concern for his brother, offers to go a-wooing for[Pg 433] him again. He disguises himself as a beggar, comes to Mar's house on a dole-day, makes his way to the lady and sticks by her till all the beggars are gone, and then tells her that he is no beggar, but a messenger. The lady, reproached for her cruelty, says the blame is not hers, and appoints Will to meet her within three days at Martinsdale with a hundred men, they and he dressed as before. Will leaps out of care-bed, chooses a hundred of the best out of eleven score men and three, rides to Martinsdale, and finds the true lady waiting for him. They send for priest and clerk and are married, and she goes home with Will. A twelvemonth after, John is despatched to bid the Earl of Mar to a christening. John frightens the earl with an intimation that his daughter will now be returned on his hands. This brings the wilful father round. The marriage ceremony is performed over again, and Will made Earl of Mar.
As Mr Hales has remarked, Bishop Percy's Folio Manuscript, III, 215, the allusions to manners and customs are highly interesting: as, to foot-ball matches, 27; to the kiss of courtesy, 353; to the beating of daughters, 424, 433; to the dole-day, 662; to the beggar's dress and equipment, 61, 783.
The superfluous that in 34, 163, 184, 381, 681, 892, is common in the ballads of the Percy manuscript.
A
Percy MS., p. 428; Hales and Furnivall, III, 216.
And grasse growes greene in our countrye;
Eche man can gett the loue of his ladye,
But alas, I can gett none of mine!
Their names is "William Stewart and Iohn;
William he is the elder brother,
But Iohn hee is the wiser man.
And for the loue of a ffaire ladye;
If he haue not the loue of the Erle of Mar's daughter,
In ffaith ffor loue that he must dye.
To see him lye and languish soe:
'What doe you mourne for, brother?' he saies,
'I pray you tell to me your woe.
'Or doe you mourne ffor ffee?
Or doe you mourne for a likesome ladye,
You neuer saw her with your eye?'
'Nor I doe not mourne for any ffee;
But I doe mourne for a likesome ladye,
I neere blinke on her with mine eye.'
All this is true that I tell thee—
Gentlemen, they loue hunting well,
And giue wight-men their cloth and ffee.
In all the speed that I can gone,
And for to see this likesome ladye,
And hope to send thee good tydings home.'
Soe ffarr into ffaire Scottland,
And left his brother in mikle ffeare,
Vntill he heard the good tydand.
Soe well he could his curtesye,
And when he came before the erle,
He kneeled low downe vpon his knee.
Rise vp, now, I doe bidd thee;
How doth thy ffather, Iohn Stewart,
And all the lords in his countrye?'
[Pg 434]
My brother and I cannott agree;
My brother and I am ffallen att discord,
And I am come to craue a service of thee.'
A welcome man thou art to me;
I'le make thee chamberlaine to my daughter,
And ffor to tend of that ladye soe ffree.
Aske, and thou shall haue itt of mee;
And where I giue other men a penny of wage,
Inffaith, Iohn, thou shalt haue three.'
And these were the words said hee:
There is no office in your court
This day that better pleaseth mee.
All this is true that I doe say—
And to the church that they be gone,
Iohn Stewart and the lady gay.
I-wis itt was a meeten mile—
Iohn Stewart and the lady gay,
They thought itt but a [little] while.
'I am a messenger to thee:'
'O speake ffor thy selfe, Iohn Stewart,' shee saies,
'A welcome man that thou shalt bee.'
'Which euer, alas, that may not bee!
He hath a higher degree in honour,
Allas, ladye, then euer I!
And an erle affter his ffather doth dye;
His haire is yellow, his eyes beene gray;
All this is true that I tell yee.
And pleasant in a woman's eye;
And more nor this, he dyes for your loue,
Therefore, lady, show some pittye.'
'If this be true that thou tells mee,
By my ffaith then, Iohn Stewart,
I can loue him hartilye.
On Sunday after St Andrew's day;
The fflower of Scottland will be there,
And then begins our summer's play.
And rawnke ryders lett them bee,
And lett them bee of the rankest ryders
That be to be ffound in that countrye.
Bidd him cloth them in one liuerye;
And ffor his men, greene is the best,
And greene now lett their liueryes bee.
That is soe seemlye ffor to see;
Ffor scarlett is a ffaire coulour,
And pleasant allwayes in a woman's eye.
Against the men of this countrye,
And if he winn the greater part,
Then I shall love him more tenderlye.'
And to Argyle Castle sent it hee;
And [when] Willie Steward saw the letter,
Fforth of care-bed then lope hee.
Hee mustered them soe louelilye;
Hee thought hee had had scarson halfe a hundred,
Then had hee eleuen score and three.
That were to be ffound in that countrye,
He cladd them all in one coulour,
And greene i-wis their liueryes bee.
That is soe seemelye ffor to see;
Ffor scarlett is a ffaire coulor,
And seemlye in a woman's eye.
[Pg 435]
With all his men in braue array,
To gett a sight, if he might,
And speake with his lady gay.
Shee kneeled downe by her mother trulye:
'O mother, if itt please you to glue me leaue,
The Stewart's horsse ffaine wold I see.'
And I and my maide will goe with yee:'
The lady had rather haue gone her selfe
Then haue had her mother's companye.
Soe well hee cold his curtesye:
'I wold kisse your daughter, ladye,' he said,
'And if your will that soe itt bee.'
To doe a straunger that curtesye;
And when Willie had gotten a kisse,
I-wis shee might haue teemed him three.
This is the truth as I doe say—
Willie Stewart and his merry men,
Thé carryed twelue of them away.
And all they ffolkes away were gone
But the Erle of Marr and William Stewart,
The erle wold needs haue William home.
They walked to a garden greene;
Ffor to confferr of their bussines,
Into the garden they be gone.
'But I cannott tell whether she loueth mee:'
'Marry, God defend,' saies the Erle of Mar,
'That euer soe that itt shold bee!
And hange thee ffor my daughter's sake;
I had rather a ffyer were made att a stake,
And burne thee ffor my daughter's sake!
'In the deuill's name now I bidd thee!
And thou gett thee not to the chamber soone,
I'le beate thee before the Stewart's eye.'
These were the words said hee:
'If thou beate thy daughter for my sake,
Thou'st beate a hundred men and mee.'
Lord! an angry man was hee—
'O churle, if thou wouldest not haue macht with my brother,
Thou might haue answerd him curteouslye.'
And chamber thy words now, I bidd thee;
If thou chamber not thy words soone,
Thou'st loose a good service; soe shalt thou doe me.'
'Either ffor thy service or ffor thee;
Services can I haue enoughe,
But brethren wee must euer bee.'
To Argyle Castle gon they bee;
And when Willye came to Argyle Castle,
Into care-bedd then lope hee.
The king and his nobles all mett there;
Thé sent ffor William Stewart and Iohn,
To come amongst the other peeres.
That was soe seemelye ffor to see;
Blacke hatts, white ffeathers plewed with gold,
And sett all on their heads trulye.
With garters ffringed about with gold;
Their shoes were of the cordevine,
And all was comelye to behold.
They called ffor Iohn Stewart and Willie:
'I answer in a lord's roome,' saies Will Stewart,
'But an erle I hope to bee.'
[Pg 436]
'I knew not what was thy degree:'
'O churle, if I might not haue macht with thy daughter,
Itt had not beene long of my degree.
And then the king is vnckle to me;
O churle, if I might not haue macht with thy daughter,
Itt had not beene long of my degree.'
'Cozen William, I doe bidd thee;
Infaith, cozen William, he loues you the worsse
Because you are a-kinn to mee.
And adde more honors still to thee;
Thy brother Iohn shall be a lord,
Of the best att home in his countrye.
Lands and liuings I will him giue,
And still hee shall liue in court with mee,
And I'le maintaine him whilest he doth liue.'
And all the ffolkes away were gone,
Willye Stewart and Iohn his brother,
To Argyle Castle they be gone.
That was soe ffarr in that countrye,
He thought soe much then of his loue
That into care-bedd then lope hee.
Lord, in his heart that hee was woe!
'I will goe wooing for thy sake
Againe yonder gay ladye to.
In a beggar's habbitt I will goe,
That when I come before the Erle of Marr
My clothing strange he shall not knowe.'
Soe meete and low then by his knee,
With four garters vpon one legg,
Two aboue, and towe below trulye.
Thou art a beggar that is vnknowne;
Ffor thou art one of the stoutest beggars
That euer I saw since I was borne.
A token to her that well is knowne;
And if shee but aduise itt well,
Shee'le know some time itt was her owne.'
Iohn Stewart he can replye;
'I'le haue my bottle ffull of beere,
The best that is in thy butterye.
I am sure, brother, [it] will doe noe harme;
Ffor, before I come to the Erle of Marr's his house,
My lipps, I am sure, they wilbe warme.'
By chance itt was of the dole-day;
But Iohn cold ffind no place to stand,
Vntill he came to the ladye gaye.
And made them all with weeping say,
He is the devill, hee is no beggar,
That is come fforth of some strange countrye.
And all the beggars be gon away,
Sauing Iohn Stewart, that seemed a beggar,
And the ladye that was soe gay.
As by my clothes you may thinke that I bee;
I am your servant, Iohn Stewart,
And I am sent a messenger to thee.'
As I doe thinke that thou bee,
Avayle thy capp, avayle thy hoode,
And I will stand and speake to thee.
And all the lords in his countrye?'
[Pg 437] 'O ffye vpon thee, wicked woman!
My brother he doth the worsse ffor thee.'
O lord, shee wept soe tenderlye!
Sais, Ligg the blame vnto my ffather;
I pray you, Iohn Stewart, lay itt not to mee.
That liues soe farr in the North countrye,
And bidd him meete me att Martingsdale,
Ffullye w[i]thin these dayes three.
That letts their ffather witting bee!
I'le proue a ladye ffull of loue,
And be there by the sunn be a quarter highe.
And ranke riders lett them bee;
Lett them be of the rankest ryders
That be to be ffound in that countrye.
Bidd him clothe them in one liuerye;
And for his men, greene is the best,
And greene now lett their lyueryes bee.
That is soe seemelye for to see;
For scarlett is a ffaire coulor,
And pleasant in a woman's eye.
To Argyle Castle sent itt hee;
His bagg and his dish and showing horne,
Unto three beggars he gaue them all three.
Fforth of care-bed then lope hee;
He thought himselfe as lustye and sound
As any man in that countrye.
He mustered them soe louinglye;
He thought he had had scarce halfe a hundred,
Then had hee eleuen score and three.
That were to be found in that companye,
And presentlye they tooke their horsse,
And to Martingsdale posted hee.
He found his loue staying there trulye,
For shee was a lady true of loue,
And was there by [the] sunn was a qwarter highe.
Soe did shee part of his merry men:
'If the churle, thy ffather, hee were here,
He shold not haue thee backe againe.'
And they were marryed there with speede;
William tooke the lady home with him,
And they liued together long time indeed.
The lady shee was great with childe;
The sent Iohn Stewart to the Erle off Marre,
To come and christen the barne soe milde.
'Iohn Stewart, as thou tells mee,
I hope in God you haue marryed my daughter,
And put her bodye to honestye.'
'Ffor euer alas that shall not bee;
Ffor now wee haue put her body to shame,
Thou 'st haue her againe hame to thee.'
And marry my daughter vnto thee;
For by my ffaith,' sais the Erle of Marr,
'Her marryage is marrd in our countrye.'
'A marryage soone that thou shalt see;
Ffor my brother William, my ffather's heyre,
Shall marry thy daughter before thine eye.'
And marryed there they were with speed;
And William Stewart is Erle of Marr,
And his ffather-in-law dwells with him indeed.
B
Campbell MSS, II, 30.
'Speak for yoursell, John Stewart,' he did say,
'Speak for yoursell, John Stewart,' he did say,
'And soon an answer I will gie to thee;
The highest service I can give thee
Is to wait on my daughter Ailly.
. . . . . . .
I'm sure, John Stewart, ye shall hae three.'
'I speak for a lord of a higher degree;
The message is from my brother William,
Your loving daughter's husband to be.'
. . . . . . .
I'll rather beat fair Ailly in my leather bang,
As lang as she can either stand or gang.'
. . . . . . .
'Ye hadna beat her before my face
Or ye'll beat three hundred men and me.'
He kissd the ladies one and all;
But when he cam to fair Ailly,
She thought he might hae gaen her twa or three.
It is calld a measured mile;
That lady and that lord fell into discourse,
And they thought they rode it in a short while.
Tring dilly, tring dilly, tring ding dido,
Tring dilly, tring dilly, dolo dee.
A.
21. by 2.
144. haue 3.
241. a 100.
274. love is written in the MS. by a later hand between then and I. Furnivall.
293. a 100d.
294. 11 score.
301. a 100.
364. him 3.
371. 16 games.
374. 12 of.
383. Marrs.
384. & the Erle.
403. March.
434. a 100d: men and nee.
444. might has two strokes for the i in the MS. Furnivall.
484. amongst has four strokes for the m in the MS. Furnivall.
513. in L, MS. Furnivall.
521. Mars.
603. March.
613. 4 garters.
614. 2 aboue.
734. dayes 3.
751. a 100d. Gunners has m in place of nn. Furnivall.
753. Two or three letters appear one over the other for the s in ryders. Furnivall.
784. vnto 3, all 3.
803. a 100 d.
804. 11 score.
811. a 100d.
843. n instead of m in home. Furnivall.
851. in 12.
854. chrsten.
And throughout for &.
108
CHRISTOPHER WHITE
'Christopher White,' Percy MS., p. 513; Hales and Furnivall, III, 494.
A rich merchant, burgess of Edinburgh, overhears a lady making moan for Christopher White, who is banished from England. He makes her great offers to abandon Christopher and lay her love on him. She resists these offers at first, and tells him that if she is false to Christopher she cannot be true to him. But silver and gold makes her heart turn and makes her leave good company. After she has been married two or three months tidings come to Edinburgh that all the merchants must to sea; it is for service against Spain, 174. The lady takes advantage of her husband's absence to write to Christopher; she sends him a hundred pound and bids him come to Edinburgh. Christopher first goes to London and obtains pardon of the king of England, then makes for Edinburgh. The lady tells him that she is a merchant's wife, and he shall have enough of the merchant's gold. Christopher, who seems not till then to have known of her marriage, begins an indignant answer, but the lady cuts him short with an offer to go to England with him. They pack up silver and gold and make off to Little England, whatever that may be (perhaps a Percy MS. phrase: see 'Hugh Spencer,' st. 34). The merchant comes back, and is told that his wife has fled with Christopher. He does not care for the loss of silver and gold, but mourns for the lady, who, he frankly owns, had given him due warning of what he might look for.
By one place that pleased mee,
Wherin I heard a wandering wight,
Sais, Christopher White is good companye.
Till I was as neere as neere cold bee;
Loth I was her councell to discreene,
Because I wanted companye.
Why makest thou moane soe heauilye?'
Sais, All is ffor one wandering wight,
Is banished fforth of his owne countrye.
Soe am I more of townes three;
I haue money and gold great store,
Come, sweet wench, and ligg thy loue on mee.'
Which had hundreds two or three;
Sais, Euery day throughout the weeke
I'le comt as much downe on thy knee.
A good liuing 't will purchase thee;
If I be ffalse to Christopher White,
Merchant, I cannott be true to thee.'
Sais, I haue shipps sayling on the sea;
I ame the burgess of Edenburrowe;
Come, sweete wench, ligge thy loue on mee.
Of our matters lett vs goe throughe,
For to-morrowe I 'le marry thee,
And thy dwelling shalbe in Edenburrough.
[Pg 440]
The teares thé ffell ffast ffrom her eye;
Sais, Siluer and gold makes my hart to turne,
And makes me leaue good companye.
Not ouer monthes two or three,
But tydings came to Edenburrowe
That all the merchants must to the sea.
Shee made a loue-letter ffull round;
She mad a lettre to Christopher White,
And in itt shee put a hundred pound.
And mony good store in itt was found;
Shee sent itt to Christopher White,
That was soe ffar in the Scotts ground.
And looke that hee shold merry bee,
And bid him come to Edenburrowe,
Now all the merchants be to the sea.
And there he kneeled lowly downe,
And there hee begd his pardon then,
Of our noble king that ware the crowne.
Which was made both of lime and stone,
Shee tooke him by the lily-white hand,
Sais, True-loue, you are welcome home!
Welcome, my true-loue; home to mee!
Ffor thou art hee that will lengthen my dayes,
And I know thou art good companye.
Christopher, the more shall be your gaine;
Siluer and gold you shall haue enough,
Of the merchant's gold that is in Spaine.
Something tó much you are to blame;
I will thee reade a loue-letter
Shall sture thy stumpes, thou noble dame.
... shall ... mine
... and g ...
Into England I'le goe with the.'
Siluer and gold soe great plentye,
And they be gon into Litle England,
And the marchant must them neuer see.
Their wiues to eche other can say,
Heere hath beene good Christopher White,
And he hath tane thy wiffe away.
Siluer and gold great plenty,
And they be gon into Litle England,
And them againe thow must neuer see.
Nor for my plate soe great plentye,
But I mourne for that like-some ladye
That Christopher White hath tane ffrom mee.
This lady shee did say to me,
If shee were ffalse to Christopher White,
Shee cold neuer be true to mee.
A warning, looke, you take by mee;
Looke that you loue your old loues best,
For infaith they are best companye.'
11. mornige.
23. discreeme.
32. thom.
42. townes 3.
52. 2 or.
92. eyes.
102. 2 or 3.
114. 100li:.
154. yor are.
163. lenghen.
183. lerter.
184. stue thy.
192, 3. The MS. is pared away at the bottom of p. 513, and the writing has perished and part of the paper is broken away at the top of p. 514. Furnivall.
201. siluer & plate: see 221.
And for &, throughout.
109
TOM POTTS
A. 'Thomas of Potte,' Percy MS., p. 409; Hales and Furnivall, III, 135.
B. 'The Lovers Quarrel, or, Cupid's Triumph,' etc. a. London, printed for F. Coles, and others, 1677, b. Pepys Merriments, I, 189; Ritson, Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry, p. 115, 1791.
C. 'The Two Constant Lovers in Scotland,' etc., broadside of 1657; Ritson's Ancient Songs, 1790, p. 248.
All the copies here printed are of the seventeenth century, and the ballad need not be put much beyond that date. Modernized editions, differing much, were issued in the century following, perhaps earlier, some of which have a Second Part, narrating the happy married life of Tom Potts, Lord Arundel, and Fair Rosamund. See Halliwell's Descriptive Notices of Popular English Histories, p. 17, No 15, Percy Society, vol. xxiii, and the notes to B.
Unequal matches are common enough in ballads and romances, and very naturally, since they are an easy expedient for exciting interest, at least with those who belong to the humbler party. We have other ballad-examples of disparagement on the female side in 'The Bonny Foot-Boy' and 'Ritchie Storie.' No offence seems to be given when King Cophetua weds the Beggar-Maid, but when the Lady of the Strachy marries the Yeoman of the Wardrobe good taste is shocked. Such events would be celebrated only by fellows of the yeoman or of the foot-boy, and surely in the present case the minstrel was not much above the estate of the serving-man. Lord Jockey's reckless liberality throughout, and Lord Phenix's in the end, is a mark of the serving-man's ideal nobleman.
Tom Potts stanches his blood with a charm in A 754, B 824, just as the sons of Autolycus do that of Ulysses in Odyssey XIX, 457 f. His rejecting of his master's thirty fine horses in favor of the old white cut-tail is a ludicrous repetition of Hugh Spencer's preference of the hack he had brought over sea, and Walter of Aquitaine's predilection for his worn-out charger. See, further on, 'Hugh Spencer's Feats in France.'
There is a Lord Phenix in a sufficiently absurd ballad in Motherwell's MS., 'Jamie o Lee,' p. 654; an English nobleman who steals the Queen of Scotland's jewels and lays the blame on Jamie o Lee, a page of fifteen years, being himself, for rhyme's sake, thretty three. The page worsts his accuser in a duel and makes him confess.
Mr Macmath notes for me that Swift, in The Tale of a Tub (written about 1696), having associated Dryden's Hind and Panther with Tom Thumb, Whittington and his Cat, and other "prime productions of our society," adduces Tommy Potts as "another piece, supposed by the same hand, by way of supplement to the former:" Scott's edition, XI, 72.
The message to Strawberry Castle occurs also in No 65, D, E, F, and No 87 C.
B is translated by Bothe, p. 315.
A
Percy MS., p. 409; Hales and Furnivall, III, 135.
And ladyes alsoe, bright of blee,
There is a ladye amongst them all,
Of her report you shall heare of me.
And of her colour soe bright of blee;
Shee is daughter to the Lord Arrndell,
His heyre apparrant ffor to bee.
'That is a ladye of hye degree,
And iff I like her countenance well,
The heyre of all my land shee'st bee.'
And to that like-some dame said hee,
Now God thee saue, my ladye ffaire,
The heyre of all my land tho'st bee.
'You are a lord of honor ffree;
You may gett ladyes enowe att home,
And I haue a loue in mine owne countrye.
A servinge-man of a small degree;
Thomas a Pott, itt is his name,
He is the ffirst loue that euer I had, and the last that hee shalbee.'
I wott I ken him soe readilye;
I can spend forty pounds by weeke,
And hee cannott spend pounds three.'
'And alsoe, sir, of your ffee!
Hee was the ffirst loue that euer I had,
And the last, sir, shall hee bee.'
Vnto her ffather then went hee;
Hee told her ffather how itt was proued,
How that his daughter's mind was sett.
'The heyre of all my land to bee;
Thou 'st be bryde to the Lord Phenix,
Daughter, giue thou'le be heyre to mee.'
Her foolish wooing lay all aside;
The day is appoynted, and ffreinds are agreede;
Shee is fforcte to be the Lord Phenix bryde.
A greeued woman, God wott, was shee—
How shee might Lord Phenix beguile,
And scape vnmarryed ffrom him that day.
To Iacke her boy, soe tenderlye;
Sayes, Come thou hither, thou litle ffoote-page,
For indeed I dare trust none but thee.
To Thomas Pott there as hee can bee,
And giue him here this letter ffaire,
And on Guilford Greene bidd him meete me.
And his colour tell to mee;
And hye thee ffast, and come againe,
And forty shillings I will giue thee.
Then in his hart hee'se sorry bee;
Then lett my ffather say what hee will,
For false to Potts I'le neuer bee.
Then in his heart hee'le merry be;
Then may hee gett him a loue where-euer he can,
For small of his companye my part shalbe.
Another while, God wott, rann hee,
And when hee came to Strawberry Castle,
There Thomas Potts hee see.
And when he began then for to reade,
They boy had told him by word of mouth
His loue must be the Lord Phenix bryde.
The teares trickeled in his eye:
'Indeed this letter I cannot reede,
Nor neuer a word to see or spye.
[Pg 443]
And heer 's fiue marke I will giue thee;
And all these words thou must peruse,
And tell thy lady this ffrom mee.
By some part of promise, and soe itt's be found;
Lord Phenix shall neuer marry her, by night nor day,
Without he can winn her with his hand.
And bidd that ladye ffor mee pray;
For there I'le loose my liffe soe sweete,
Or else the wedding I will stay.'
As ffast againe as he cold hye;
The ladye mett him fiue mile on the way:
'Why hast thou stayd soe long?' saies shee.
To please my mind thou 'le mocke and scorne;
I will not beleeue thee on word of mouth,
Vnlesse on this booke thou wilt be sworne.'
'As Christ himselfe be true to mee,
Thomas Pott cold not his letter reade
For teares trickling in his eye.'
'Thou bonny boy, thou tells to mee,
Forty shillings I did thee promise,
But heere's ten pounds I'le giue itt thee.
'That this day doe waite on mee,
Wee will ffall downe vpon our knees,
For Thomas Pott now pray will wee.
Wee will pray to Christ in Trinytye—
I'le make him the fflower of all his kinn,
Ffor they Lord of Arrundale he shalbe.'
In her prayer good where shee can bee;
And I'le tell you hou Thomas Pott
For ayd to his lord and master came hee.
He kneeled him low downe on his knee;
Saies, Thou art welcome, Thomas Pott,
Thou art allwayes full of thy curtesye.
Or hast thou wrought me some villanye?
'Sir, none of my ffellowes I haue slaine,
Nor I haue wrought you noe villanye.
I doubt I must lose her through pouertye;
If you will not beleeue me by word of mouth,
Behold the letter shee writt vnto mee.'
The tender words in itt cold bee,
'Thomas Pott, take thou no care,
Thou 'st neuer loose her throughe pouertye.
In gold and siluer thou shalt rowe,
And Harbye towne I will thee allowe
As longe as thou dost meane to wooe.
And forty horsse to goe with thee,
And forty speares of the best I haue,
And I my-selfe in thy companye.'
'Neither man nor boy shall goe with mee;
I wold not ffor a thousand pounds
Take one man in my companye.'
Thou art well knowen and proued for a man;
Looke thou shedd no guiltlesse bloode,
Nor neuer confound no gentlman.
Apoint a place of lybertye;
Lett him provide as well as hee cann,
And as well provided thou shalt bee.'
And walked there a litle beside,
Then was hee ware of the Lord Phenix,
And with him Ladye Rozamund his bryde.
[Pg 444]
But noe word to her that he did say;
But when he came Lord Phenix before,
He gaue him the right time of the day.
Thou serving-man, welcome to mee!
How ffares they lord and master att home,
And all the ladyes in thy cuntrye?'
I wott I ken itt soe readylye;
I pray you, will you ryde to one outsyde,
A word or towe to talke with mee.
'Yee are a borne lord in Scottland ffree;
You may gett ladyes enowe att home;
You shall neuer take my loue ffrom mee.'
Thou seruing-man, stand thou a-side!
I wott there's not a serving-man this day,
I know, can hinder mee of my bryde.'
'And you are a lord of honor ffree,
A speare or two I'le with you runn,
Before I'le loose her thus cowardlye.'
Neither man nor boy shall come hither with mee;'
'And as I am a man,' said Thomas a Pott,
'I'le haue as ffew in my companye.'
The bryde went vnmarryed home againe;
Then to her maydens ffast shee loughe,
And in her hart shee was ffull ffaine.
'That this day doe waite on mee,
Wee will ffall downe againe vpon our knees,
For Thomas a Potts now pray will wee.
Wee'le pray to Christ in Trynitye—
I'le make him the fflower of all his kinn,
For the Lord of Arrundale he shalbe.'
In her prayers good where shee can bee;
I'le tell you the troth how Thomas a Potts
For aide to his lord againe came hee.
To try ffor his ladye he had but one weeke;
Alacke, ffor sorrow hee cannott fforbeare,
For four dayes then he ffell sicke.
Sayes, I pray thee, Thomas, tell mee without all doubt,
Whether hast thou gotten the bonny ladye,
Or thou man gange the ladye withoute.
Within two dayes tryed itt must bee;
He is a lord, and I am but a seruing-man,
I doubt I must loose her through pouertye.'
'Why, Thomas a Pott, take thou no care;
Thou'st neuer loose her through pouertye.
And that will raise thee many a pound;
Before thou shalt loose thy bonny ladye,
Thou shalt drop angells with him to the ground.
And forty horsses to goe with thee,
And forty speres of the best I haue,
And I my-selfe in thy companye.'
'But of one thinge, sir, I wold be ffaine;
If I shold loose my bonny ladye,
How shall I increase your goods againe?'
Thou maye well fforth for to pay mee;
If thou loose thy lady, thou hast losse enoughe;
Not one penny I will aske thee.'
You keepe them ranke and royallye;
There's an old horsse,—for him you doe not care—
This day wold sett my lady ffree.
Ffull sixteen yeeres of age is hee;
[Pg 445] Giffe you wold lend me that old horsse,
Then I shold gett her easilye.'
'And a ffoolish part thou takes on thee;
Thou shalt haue a better then euer he was,
That forty pounds cost more nor hee.'
And litle they can skill of the old traine;
Giffe I be out of my saddle cast,
They beene soe wild they'le neuer be tane againe.
Itt is a part of wisdome, you know itt plaine;
If I be out of my sadle cast,
Hee'le either stand still or turne againe.'
And my cote-plate of siluer ffree,
And a hundred men att thy backe,
For to fight if neede shalbee.'
'Neither man nor boy shall goe with mee;
As you are a lord off honor borne,
Let none of my ffellowes know this of mee.
I wott behind me they will not bee;
Without you keepe them vnder a locke,
Vppon that greene I shall them see.'
And walked there some houres three,
Then was he ware of the Lord Phenix,
And four men in his companye.
'Your vowe that you made vnto mee;
You said you wold come your selfe alone,
And you haue brought more then two or three.'
'That euery day doe waite on mee;
Giffe any of these shold att vs stirr,
My speare shold runn throwe his bodye.'
'Till that this othe heere made may bee:
If the one of vs be slaine,
The other fforgiuen that hee may bee.'
'My men shall beare wittnesse with thee,
Giffe thou slay mee att this time,
Neuer the worsse beloued in Scottland thou shalt bee.'
To run the race more egarlye;
Lord Phenix he was stiffe and stout,
He has runn Thomas quite thorrow the thye.
Vpon the ground there did hee lye;
He saies, For my liffe I doe not care,
But ffor the loue of my ladye.
I thought shee shold haue beene my wiffe;
I pray thee, Lord Phenix, ryde not away,
For with thee I will loose my liffe.
He was alsoe a phisityan good;
He clapt his hand vpon his wound,
With some kind of words he stauncht the blood.
The blood in his body began to warme;
He mist Lord Phenix bodye there,
But he run him quite throw the brawne of the arme.
Vpon the ground there did he lye;
He said, I pray thee, Lord Phenix, rise and ffight,
Or else yeeld this ladye sweete to mee.
Nor ffor to ffight, I cannott, sure;
Thou hast run me through the brawne of the arme;
Noe longer of thy spere I cannott endure.
Sith itt was like neuer better to proue.
[Pg 446] Nor neuer a noble-man this day,
That will seeke to take a pore man's loue.'
'Indeed your bucher I'le neuer bee,
For I'le come and stanche your bloode,
Giff any thankes you'le giue to mee.'
These words Thomas a Pott cann to him proue:
'I'le neuer take a ladye of you thus,
But here I'le giue you another choice.
Att either end sett wee will bee;
The ladye shall sitt vs betweene,
And soe will wee sett this ladye ffree.'
'Thomas a Pott, as thou dost tell mee,
Whether I gett her or goe without her,
Heere's forty pounds I'le giue itt thee.'
A woman's mind that day to proue,
'Now, by my ffaith,' said this ladye ffaire,
'This day Thomas a Pott shall haue his owne loue.'
To leape behind him hastilye;
'Nay, abyde a while,' sayd Lord Phenix,
'Ffor better yett proued thou shalt bee.
In number with thee thou hast but three—
Thomas a Pott and I'le goe beyond yonder wall,
There the one of vs shall dye.'
The one wold not the other nye;
Lord Phenix he had giuen his word
With Thomas a Pott neuer to ffight.
'Thomas a Pott, I doe pray thee;
Lett mee goe to yonder ladye ffaire,
To see whether shee be true to thee.'
Vnto that likesome dame sayd hee,
Now God thee saue, thou ladye ffaire,
The heyre of all my land thou'st bee.
He hath more then deadlye wounds two or three;
Thou art mine owne ladye, he sayd,
And marryed together wee will bee.
Thou hast slaine a better man than euer was thee;
And I'le sell all the state of my lande
But thou'st be hanged on a gallow-tree.
A greeued woman, I wott, was shee;
Lord Phenix hee was readye there,
Tooke her in his armes most hastilye.
This day Thomas a Pott aliue can bee;
I'le send ffor thy father, the Lord of Arrundale,
And marryed together I will you see:
Giffe hee will not maintaine you well,
Both gold and land you shall haue from me.'
'Of my daughter's loue that is soe ffaire;
And sith itt will no better be,
Of all my land Thomas a Pott shall be my heyre.'
'And ladyes of England, faire and ffree,
Looke you neuer change your old loue for no new,
Nor neuer change for no pouertye.
A seruing-man of a small degree;
Ffrom Thomas a Pott I'le turne his name,
And the Lord of Arrundale hee shall bee.'
B
a. London, printed for F. Coles, and others, 1677, Bodleian Library, Wood, 259. b. Pepys Penny Merriments, I, 189, Magdalen College Library, Cambridge.
And ladies that been so bright of blee,
There is a noble lady among them all,
And report of her you shall hear by me.
And of her colour very fair;
She's daughter to Lord Arundel,
Approvd his parand and his heir.
'That lady of so bright a blee,
And if I like her countenance well,
The heir of all my lands she'st be.'
Before this comely maid came he,
'O God thee save, thou lady sweet,
My heir and parand thou shalt be.'
'As you are a lord of high degree;
You may have ladies enough at home,
And I have a lord in mine own country.
A serving-man of low degree,
One Tommy Pots it is his name,
My first love and last that ever shall be.'
I do ken him right verily;
I am able to spend fourty pounds a week,
Where he is not able to spend pounds three.'
'And ever God give you good of your fee;
Tom Pots was the first love that ever I had,
And I do mean him the last to be.'
Towards the lady did he threat;
He told her father, and so it was provd,
How his daughter's mind was set.
The heir of all my lands to be;
Thou shalt be bride to the Lord Phenix,
If that thou mean to be heir to me.'
And at your command I needs must be;
But bind my body to whom you please,
My heart, Tom Pots, shall go with thee.'
And all her foolish wooing lay aside;
The time is come, her friends have appointed,
That she must be Lord Phenix bride.
She knew not well then what to say,
How she might Lord Phenix deny,
And escape from marriage quite away.
Saying, I can trust none but thee;
Go carry Tom Pots this letter fair,
And bid him on Guilford Green meet me.
Or in faith well proved it shall be;
And tell to him I am loving and kind,
And wishes him this wedding to see.
And his colour, and shew it to me;
And go thy way and hie thee again,
And forty shillings I will give thee.
His stomach will give him to laugh at the heart;
Then may I seek another true-love,
For of Tom Pots small is my part.
Then in his heart he will sorry be;
Then to his vow he hath some grace,
And false to him I will never be.
And a full speed forsooth went he,
Till he came to Strawberry Castle,
And there Tom Pots came he to see.
Before that he began to read,
He told him plainly by word of mouth,
His love was forc'd to be Lord Phenix bride.
The salt tears blemished his eye;
[Pg 448] Says, I cannot read this letter fair,
Nor never a word to see or spy.
Here is five marks I will give thee;
And all these words I must peruse,
And tell my lady this from me.
By some part of promise, so it's to be found;
Lord Phoenix shall not have her night nor day,
Except he can win her with his own hand.
Say that I wish her for me to pray;
For there I'le lose my life so sweet,
Or else the wedding I mean to stay.
Even as fast as he could hie;
The lady she met him two miles of the way;
Says, Why hast thou staid so long, my boy?
It gives me at heart thou'l mock and scorn;
I'le not believe thee by word of mouth,
Unless on this book thou wilt be sworn.
'And Jesus Christ be as true to me,
Tom Pots could not read the letter fair,
Nor never a word to spy or see.
By some part of promise, so it's to be found;
Lord Phenix shall not have you night nor day,
Except he win you with his own hand.
He wishes you for him to pray;
For there he'l lose his life so sweet,
Or else the wedding he means to stay.'
These tidings which thou tellest to me,
Forty shillings I did thee promise,
Here is ten pounds I will give thee.
'That ever wish me well to prove,
Now let us all kneel down and pray
That Tommy Pots may win his love.
As I pray to Christ in Trinity,
I'le make him the flower of all his kin,
For the young Lord Arundel he shall be.'
In prayers full good where she may be;
Now let us talk of Tommy Pots;
To his lord and master for aid went he.
He kneeled lowly on his knee:
'What news, what news, thou Tommy Pots,
Thou art so full of courtesie?
Thou art so full of courtesie?
Thou hast slain some of thy fellows fair,
Or wrought to me some villany.'
Nor wrought to you no villany,
But I have a love in Scotland fair,
And I fear I shall lose her with poverty.
But read this letter, and you shall see,
Here by all these suspitious words
That she her own self hath sent to me.'
Of all the suspitious words in it might be,
'O Tommy Pots, take thou no care,
Thou'st never lose her with poverty.
In gold and silver thou shalt row,
And Harvy Town I will give thee
As long as thou intendst to wooe.
And forty horses to go with thee,
Forty of the best spears I have,
And I my self in thy company.'
'That proffer is too good for me;
But, if Jesus Christ stand on my side,
My own hands shall set her free.
[Pg 449]
'Now Jesus Christ you save and see;
If ever I come alive again,
Staid the wedding it shall be.'
Thou art well proved for a man;
See never a drop of blood thou spil,
Nor yonder gentleman confound.
And appoint a place of liberty;
Let him provide him as well as he can,
As well provided thou shalt be.'
And there had walkt a little aside,
There was he ware of Lord Phenix come,
And Lady Rosamond his bride.
But never a word to her did say,
Till he the Lord Phenix came before;
He gave him the right time of the day.
Thou serving-man of low degree;
How doth thy lord and master at home,
And all the ladies in that countrey?'
I trust since that I did him see;
Will you walk with me to an out-side,
Two or three words to talk with me?
'And born a lord in Scotland free;
You may have ladies enough at home,
And never take my love from me.'
Thou serving-man, stand thou aside;
It is not a serving-man this day
That can hinder me of my bride.'
'And you a lord of high degree,
A spear or two with you I'le run,
Before I'le lose her cowardly.
Appoint a place of liberty;
For there I'le lose my life so sweet,
Or else my lady I'le set free.'
No man nor boy shall come with me:'
'As I am a man,' said Tommy Pots,
'I'le have as few in my company.'
The bride unmarried went home again;
Then to her maids fast did she laugh,
And in her heart she was full fain.
'That ever wait on me this day,
Now let us all kneel down,
And for Tommy Pots let us all pray.
As I trust to God in Trinity,
I'le make him the flower of all his kin,
For the young Lord Arundel he shall be.'
To try for his love he had but a week;
For sorrow, God wot, he need not care,
For four days that he fel sick.
Says, Pray thee, Tom Pots, tell me if tho doubt
Whether thou hast gotten thy gay lady,
Or thou must go thy love without.
Within these two days well try'd it must be;
He is a lord, I am but a serving-man,
I fear I shall lose her with poverty.'
My former promises kept shall be;
As I am a lord in Scotland fair,
Thou'st never lose her with poverty.
And that will raise thee many a pound;
Before thou shalt out-braved be,
Thou shalt drop angels with him on the ground.'
'Yet there is one thing of you I would fain;
If that I lose my lady sweet,
How I'st restore your goods again?'
Thou mayst well forth, thou shalt pay me;
[Pg 450] If thou loosest thy lady, thou losest enough;
Thou shalt not pay me one penny.'
You keep them all both frank and free;
Amongst them all there's an old white horse
This day would set my lady free.
Full sixteen years of age is he;
If thou wilt lend me that old horse,
Then could I win her easily.'
'And a foolish opinion thou tak'st to thee;
Thou'st have a better then ever he was,
Though forty pounds more it cost me.'
And little they can skill of their train;
If I be out of my saddle cast,
They are so wild they'l ner be tain.'
'If that one thing thou wilt tell me;
Why that horse is better than any other,
I pray thee, Tom Pots, shew thou to me.'
And well can he skill of his train;
If I be out of my saddle cast,
He'l either stand still or turn again.'
And my plate-coat of silver free;
An hundred men to stand at thy back,
To fight if he thy master be.'
'That proffer is too good for me;
I would not, for ten thousand pounds,
Have man or boy in my company.
'Now, as you are a man of law,
One thing let me crave at your hand;
Let never a one of my fellows know.
Or ken of my extremity,
Except you keep them under a lock,
Behind me I am sure they would not be.'
He waited hours two or three;
There he was ware of Lord Phenix come,
And four men in his company.
'The vow which you did make to me;
You said you would bring neither man nor boy,
And now has brought more than two or three.'
'Which every day do wait on me;
[If] any of these dare proffer to strike,
I'le run my spear through his body.'
'Except now this may be;
If either of us be slain this day,
The other shall forgiven be.'
My men shall bear witness with me;
And if thou slay me here this day,
In Scotland worse belovd thou never shalt be.'
To run the race so eagerly;
Lord Phenix he was fierce and stout,
And ran Tom Pots through the thick o th' thigh.
Down to the ground so sorrowfully:
'For the loss of my life I do not care,
But for the loss of my fair lady.
Which once I thought to have been my wife,
I pray thee, Lord Phenix, ride not away,
For with thee I would end my life.'
But yet he was a doctor good;
He bound his handkerchief on his wound,
And with some kind of words he stancht his blood.
[Pg 451]
The blood in his body began to warm;
He mist Lord Phenix body fair,
And ran him through the brawn of the arm.
Down to the ground most sorrowfully;
Says, Prethee, Lord Phenix, rise up and fight,
Or yield my lady unto me.
And for to fight I am not sure;
Thou hast run me throw the brawn o th' arm,
That with a spear I may not endure.
It was never likely better to prove
With me, or any nobleman else,
That would hinder a poor man of his love.'
'I will not seem your butcher to be;
But I will come and stanch your blood,
If any thing you will give me.'
Lord, in his heart he did rejoyce!
'I'le not take the lady from you thus,
But of her you'st have another choice.
At either end we set will be;
The lady shall stand us among,
Her own choice shall set her free.'
'To lose her by her own choice it's honesty;
Chuse whether I get her or go her without,
Forty pounds I will give thee.'
The wit of a woman for to prove,
'By the faith of my body,' the lady said,
'Then Tom Pots must needs have his love.'
To get on behind him hastily;
'Nay stay, nay stay,' Lord Phenix said,
'Better proved it shall be.
In number fair they are but three—
Tom Pots and I will go behind yonder wall,
That one of us two be proved to dye.'
The one came not the other nigh;
For the Lord Phenix had made a vow,
That with Tom Pots he would never fight.
'To prove whether true or false she be,
And I will go to the lady fair,
And tell her Tom Pots slain is he.'
With his face all bloody as it might be,
'O lady sweet, thou art my own,
For Tom Pots slain have I.
And given him death's wounds two or three;
O lady sweet, thou art my own;
Of all loves, wilt thou live with me?'
And given him death's wounds two or three,
I'le sell the state of my father's lands
But hanged shall Lord Phenix be.'
For a grieved woman, God wot, was she;
Lord Phenix he was ready then
To take her up so hastily.
Tom Pots alive this day may be;
I'le send for thy father, Lord Arundel,
And he and I the wedding will see.
And he and I the wedding will see;
If he will not maintain you well,
Both lands and livings you'st have of me.'
'Of my daughter's luck that is so fair;
Seeing the matter will be no better,
Of all my lands Tom Pots shall be the heir.'
For a glad woman, God wot, was she;
'Now all my maids,' the lady said,
'Example you may take by me.
[Pg 452]
And lasses of England that well would prove,
Neither marry for gold nor goods,
Nor marry for nothing but only love.
A serving-man of low degree;
Now from Tom Pots I'le change his name,
For the young Lord Arundel he shall be.'
C
A white letter sheet in five columns, "published May 29, 1657," The King's Pamphlets, British Museum, 669, f. 20, 55.
There's ladies of honor and high degree,
Hey down, down a down derry
But one excels above all the rest,
And the Earl of Arundel's daughter is she.
With hey down, derry down,
Lang derry down derry
Comes thither a wooing for this ladie's sake:
It fell on a day that Earl Arundell said,
Daughter, which of these lords will you take?
Speak truth to me, but do not lie;
Speak truth to me, and do not jest,
Who must heir my livings when as I die?
And hath both lands and livings free;
I tell thee, daughter, thou shalt him have,
If thou wilt take any counsell at me.
And trickling tears ran down her eye:
'As you are my father, and loves me dear,
My heart is set where it must be.
For all he hath is but pounds three;
He was the first lover that ere I had,
And the last I mean him for to be.'
And fast he rode at that same tide,
Untill he to the Lord Fenix came,
And said, Take thee my daughter for thy bride.
'I dare trust no man alive but thee;
Thou must go my earand to Strawbery Castle,
To the place where Tomy o'th Potts doth lye.
That I have sealed with mine own hand;
And when Tomey looks this letter upon,
Be sure his countenance thou understand.
He is not sorry at his heart;
I must seek a new love where I will,
For small of Tomey must be my part.
And tricling tears fall from his eyes,
Then let my father say what he will,
For true to Tomey I'le be always.
If this letter cannot be read at that tyde,
That this day sennight, and no longer hence,
I must be Lord William Fenix bride.'
And to Strawbery Castle he did him fast hie;
A serving-man did guide him the way
To the place where Tomey o'th Pots did lie.
And Christ thee save as I thee see;
Come read this letter, Tomey o'th Potts,
As thy true-love hath sent to thee.'
And trickling tears ran down his eyes;
But never a letter could he read,
If he should be hanged on th' gallow-tree.
If this letter could not be read at this tide,
[Pg 453] That this day sennight, and no longer hence,
She must be Lord William Fenix bride.'
As all hereafter shall understand;
Lord Fenix shall not marry her, by night or day,
Unless he win her by his own hand.
And if she love me, bid her for me pray;
And there I will lose my life so sweet,
Or else her wedding I will stay.'
Think whether he loved this lady gay!
He gave him forty shilling for his message,
And all he had was but pounds three.
Fearing that he had staid too late;
The young lady did wait of his comming,
And met him five miles out of the gate.
Therefore thou canst both mock and scorn;
I will not beleeve what my love hath said,
Unlesse thou on this book be sworn.'
And kist the book full soon did he:
'One letter he could not read at that time,
If he should have been hangd at gallo-tree.
As all hereafter shall understand;
Lord Fenix shall not marry you by night or day,
Unlesse he winn you with his own hand.
And if you love him, you must for him pray;
And there he will lose his life so sweet,
Or else your wedding he will stay.'
That with his gay lady is turned home;
Now let us go talk of Tomey o'th Potts,
And how to his master he is gone.
He kneeled down upon his knee:
'What tidings hast thou brought, my man,
As that thou makes such courtesie?'
'And Christ you save as I you see;
For God's love, master, come read me this letter,
Which my true love hath sent to me.'
And looked ore it with his eye;
'In faith, I am fain, my man,' he said,
'As thou hast a lady so true to thee.'
And false to her I'le never be;
But ere this day sennight, and no longer hence,
I must lose my love through povertie.
Because he hath more wealth then I:'
'Now hold thy tongue, my man,' he said,
'For before that day many a one shall die.
And something for thee I will doo;
For Strawbery Castle shall be thine own
So long as thou dost mean to woo.
The which will raise thee many a pound;
Before that thou lose thy bonny sweet-hart,
Thou shalt drop angels with him to the ground.
Which any of them is good indeed,
And a bunch of spears hangs them among,
And a nag to carry thee swift with speed.
So well it becomes thy fair body—
And when thou comst on Gilford Green
Thou'll look more like a lord then he.
And I my self with thee will ride;
And many a bloody wound will we make
Before that thou shalt lose thy bride.'
'For the good will you bear to me;
[Pg 454] But I trust to God, in a little space,
With my own hands to set her free.
'For they cannot well skill of their trade;
None but your gray nag that hath a cut tail,
For hee'll either stand or turn again.
No more with me that I will take,
And if that spear it will not serve my turn,
I'le suffer death for my true-love's sake.'
On Gilforth Green betime was he;
There did he espie Lord Fenix comming,
And with him a royall company.
Full well might seem fine lords to ride;
The young lady followed far behind,
Sore against her will that she was a bride.
But never a word to her did say;
Then straight to Lord Fenix he is gone,
And gives him the right time of the day.
'And Christ you save as I you see;'
'Thou art welcome, Tomey o'th Potts,' he said,
'A serving-man into our company.
Tell me the truth and do not lye;'
'My master is well,' then Tomey replide,
'I thank my lord, and I thank not thee.
'And Christ you save as I you see;
You may have choyce of ladies enough,
And not take my true-love from me.'
And fast away he rode at that tide;
'God forbid,' Lord Fenix he said,
'A serving-man should hold me from my bride!'
As one that came not thither to flye,
And said, Lord Fenix, take thou my love,
For I will not lose her cowardly.
'As thou art a man, come but thy sell;
And if that I come [with] any more,
The divell fetch my soul to hell.'
The lady and lords they turned home;
The lady made merry her maidens among,
And said, Tomey I wish thou may win thy own.
On Gilforth Green betime was he;
He waited long for Lord Fenix comming,
But Lord William Fenix he could not see.
Untill the sun waxed very high;
There was he ware of Lord Fenix coming,
And with him other men three.
'Because thou breakst thy promise with me;
Thou promisedst me to come by thy self,
And thou hast brought other men three.
Because thou hast broken promise with me,
I vow, and you were as many more,
Forsaken sure you should not be.'
'That every day do wait on me;
If any of them do strike a stroke,
In faith then hanged he shall be.'
And then they met full eagerly;
Lord Fenix away by Tomey's body glowd,
And he ran him quite thorow the thigh.
And laid his body on the ground;
His spear he ran thorow Tomey's thigh,
In which he made a grievous wound.
For as he was a physitian good,
He laid his hand upon the wound,
And quickly he did stanch the blood.
Forth of it long he did not stay;
[Pg 455] For he weighed more of the ladie's love
Then of any life he had that day.
The blood in Tomey's body began to warm;
He away by Lord Fenix body glowde,
And he ran him quite through the arm.
Of from his steed that mounted so high;
'Now rise and fight, Lord Fenix,' he said,
'Or else yeeld the lady unto me.'
My arm no more my spear will guide;
It was never better likely to prove,
To hold a poor serving-man from his bride.'
Lest of this matter should rise any voice,
That I have gotten the victory,
Then thou shalt have another choice.
At either end then stand will we;
Wee 'l set the lady in the midst,
And whether she come to, take her, for me.'
'Thou 'll save my credit and honor high;
And whether I win her, or go without her,
I'le be willing to give ten pounds to thee.'
The lady was set in the middle that tide;
She laught and made merry her maids among,
And said, Tomey o'th Pots, now I 'le be thy bride.
And maides that married yet would be,
Marry no man for goods or lands,
Unlesse you love him faithfully.
At Strawberrie Castle there lived he;
I'le change his name from Tomey o'th Pots,
And the yong Earl of Arundell now he shall be.
A.
61. of nine.
63. at the end of the stanza.
73. spend 40li:.
74. pounds 3.
113. There is a mark like an undotted i, in the MS., before the y of appoynted. Furnivall.
154. 40.
203. camot.
212, 243. 5.
213. must pursue.
273. 40s..
274. 10li..
291. wim.
332, 333. Stanza 35 is written between these lines, "but marked by a bracket, and by Percy, to go in its proper place." Furnivall.
351. 40li..
361. 40tye..
362, 3. 40.
364. Only half the n of companye in the MS. Furnivall.
373. 1000li:.
463. or 2.
51, 52 are bracketed as beginning the 2d: parte.
514. cane.
524. for 4.
542. 2.
561, 2, 3. 40.
573. bomy.
591. 30.
602. 16.
613. the euer.
614. 40li..
643. 100d..
672. 3.
674. 4.
684. 2 or 3.
722. rum.
751. Then.
811. stamching.
812. him praie, perhaps.
821. 2.
834. 40li:.
862. 3.
902. 2 or 3.
935. you maintaine.
961. owme.
And for & throughout.
B.
The Lovers Quarrel, or, Cupids Triumph, being the Pleasant History of Fair Rosamond of Scotland: being daughter to the Lord Arundel, whose love was obtained by the valour of Tommy Pots, who conquered the Lord Phenix, and wounded him, and after obtained her to be his wife.
a.
London, printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright and J. Clarke. 1677.
163. high thee.
304. then pounds.
482. since is torn.
682. me tell.
754. or 3.
And for & throughout.
After 32: The Second Part.
After 56: The Third Part.
b.
71. it is.
134. quite wanting.
151. my will.
153. to wanting.
161. see you.
162. hye thee.
172. give me.
182. merry be.
184. I will.
191. run.
242. So that.
253. three miles.
262. thoult.
273. this letter.
274. see or spy.
292. to stay.
331. leaving.
384, 604, 784. ne'r.
422. Christ Jesus.
441. him you make.
462. A serving-man of low degree.
484. to speak.
531. will you.
554. Tom.
582. prithee.
583. lady gay.
593. am wanting.
601. stand thou on.
611. the wanting.
632. mayst forthwith.
643. there is.
662. takest.
663. than.
664. pound.
691. of courage.
692. he can.
701. that horse.
731. that wanting.
733. kept.
744. in their.
754. then.
772. now that this.
814. would I.
824. kind of wanting.
854. I cannot.
871. thou say'st.
894. And her.
901. thoult.
902. loose: 't is.
914. needs must.
922. get behind him so.
933. I'le.
934. the one.
944. never try: right?
964. Ritson prints slain is he.
983. estate.
1014. thou'st have.
1031. for wanting.
1041. ladies in.
1042. ladies of.
A copy in "Northern Penny Histories," Bodleian Library, Douce, p. p. 172, London, William Dicey, which may date about 1725, is somewhat modernized and has not a few petty variations. Only the following readings seem worth the noting.
92. fast he did.
151. my will.
193. Salisbury Castle.
441. you make.
601. stand on.
851. How for.
944. never try.
964. have I.
This copy has an additional stanza:
As many do in Scotland know,
And how they spent their days in love
The Second Book shall plainly show.
C.
The two constant Lovers in Scotland, or, A pattern of true Love, expressed in this ensuing Dialogue between an Earls daughter in Scotland and a poor Serving-man; she refusing to marry the Lord Fenix, which her father would force her to take, but clave to her first Love, Tomey o'th Pots.
And for &.
293. senninght.
472. self.
After 38: The Second Part.
110
THE KNIGHT AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER
A. 'The Beautifull Shepherdesse of Arcadia.' a. Roxburghe Ballads, III, 160, 161. b. Roxburghe Ballads, II, 30, 31. 27 stanzas.
B. 'Shepherd's Dochter,' Kinloch MSS, V, 255. 33 stanzas.
C. 'Earl Richard,' Kinloch MSS, VII, 69. 30 stanzas.
D. Kinloch MSS, VII, 68, fragments. 16 stanzas.
E. 'Earl Richard, the Queen's Brother.' a. Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 81. b. Motherwell's MS., p. 459; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 377. 60 stanzas.
F. 'Earl Lithgow.' a. Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 91. 63 stanzas. b. Christie's Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 184. 22 stanzas.
G. 'Jo Janet,' Gibb MS., No 1. 34 stanzas.
H. 'The Shepherd's Daughter,' Kinloch MSS, V, 20; also, Kinloch MSS, VII, 61, and Kinloch's Scottish Ballads, p. 25. 19 stanzas.
I. Communicated by Dr Thomas Davidson, from his own recollection. 11 stanzas.
J. 'Earl Richard,' Dr J. Robertson's Journal of Excursions, No 7. 17(?) stanzas.
K. 'The Knight and the Shepherd's Daughter,' Motherwell's MS., p. 226. 18 stanzas.
L. Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 1. 3 stanzas.
The only English version of this ballad is a broadside, found in the Roxburghe Collection.[172] It was given from a black-letter copy, with changes and the omission of stanza 4, in the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, 1765, III, 75. Hearne, in his preface to Guilielmi Neubrigensis Historia, I, lxx (cited by Percy), remarks that some impressions were adorned with the picture of a queen, meant, as he maintains, to be Elizabeth, and quotes the first stanza.[173] From this Percy infers that the ballad was popular in Elizabeth's time, a supposition probable enough in itself, and confirmed by the fifteenth stanza occurring (as Percy notes) in Fletcher's comedy of 'The Pilgrim,' 1621.[174]
Motherwell, Minstrelsy, Introduction, p. lxvi, says that the ballad was current in Scotland in many shapes (1827).
The copy in Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 13, is C, with the stanzas given here as D incorporated into it from another version.
Kinloch is fully justified in claiming for the Scottish ballad a decided superiority. The humorous artifices which the lady practises to maintain the character of a beggar's brat are,[Pg 458] as he says, kept up with great spirit and fancy, and, as far as we know, are entirely of Scottish invention. It might perhaps be objected that in the course of tradition they have been exaggerated in later copies to a point threatening weariness.
The passage in which the knight rides off and is followed so closely by the maid, through river and all, A 6-8, B 5-10, etc., is found also in 'Child Waters,' A 11-16, B 4-11, etc., and suits both ballads perhaps equally well.
Parts of this ballad inevitably suggest a parallel with the tales belonging to the class of the 'Marriage of Sir Gawain.'[175] In the Wife of Bath's Tale, a lusty bachelor who has been out hawking meets a maid walking, and forces her to yield to his will. The offence is brought before King Arthur,[176] and the knight, as he is also called, is condemned to death. The alternative of marrying is so distasteful to him that he tries every means to avoid it. 'Take all my good,' he says to the woman, 'but let my body go.' But all for naught. Dame Ragnell makes a point of being wedded in high style; so does our shepherd's daughter in E 37, 38, F 38, 39. In Gower, the knight takes the woman on his horse and rides away sighing; and they also have a cauld and eerie ride in E 39. The bride becomes, if possible, more and more repulsive in the Gawain tales, and endeavors to make herself so in the ballad. As in the tales, so in the ballad, the bridegroom will not turn about and make much of her, C 29, E 56, G 30. The ugly woman turns out to be a king's daughter in Gower's tale, a most desirable wife in all the others; and the shepherdess is a king's daughter in B, E, F, K, and at least an excellent match in other copies. The knight is nephew to a king or emperor in three of the tales, and the queen's brother or the king's in nearly all the ballads.[177] Even the Billy Blin in F 60-63, G 31, 32, cf. D 15,16, looks like a remnant of the fairy machinery of the Gawain tales.
The tragic ballad of 'Ebbe Galt,' Danske Viser, II, 47, No 63, has several features in common with 'The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter.' Ebbe Galt has been drinking heavily with the king's men. Riding home through a wood, he meets in an evil hour a farmer's pretty wife, and offers her presents to show him the way to the town. She undertakes to do so, though much afraid. They come to the farmer's house. Ebbe Galt begins to ban and beat, and in the end ravishes the woman, using extreme cruelty. She says, Now you have had your will of me, with little good to either of us, for God's sake tell me your name.[178] He declares himself to be Ebbe Galt. The farmer comes home and is told all. He comforts his wife and goes to make his plaint to the king. If any man in the court has done this, says the king, it shall cost him his life. When he learns that the man is his nephew, he would rather than half Denmark not have pronounced so harsh a doom. Ebbe Galt is summoned to answer for himself. He is not much better sober than drunk, though the ballad lays the fault on ale. He tells the farmer to produce his wife; she will make no complaint. The woman gives her evidence. She had treated Ebbe Galt with all hospitality as her husband's guest. He had broken in the doors of the room where she was with her children, beaten five maids and killed three swains. Ebbe's father offers his horse and a thousand mark as ransom. The king says that he himself, if it lay in him, would have redeemed the youth with three thousand; Ebbe Galt shall die. While they are taking him off, Ebbe is flippant: he would not mind losing his life had the woman been prettier.
There is a very favorite Scandinavian ballad, see 'Tærningspillet,' Grundtvig, IV, 402, No[Pg 459] 238, in which a fair lady challenges a young horse-boy, or boatswain, to play tables with her, and after having won from him all he has, stakes herself against his shoes or the like. The youth now wins; she makes him handsome offers, rising constantly in value, to let her off, but he will not. God pity me! she says; but he reveals to her that her case is not a bad one, for he is the best king's son in the world.[179]
An imitation of the English ballad by Laplace, 'Lise et Mainfroi,' 1740, terminates more sentimentally. The shepherdess persists that she will have the hand which the king has awarded her, until she stands before the altar. She then declares that her sense of honor has been satisfied, and resigns a very advantageous match (for she is not a princess in disguise), with "Puisses-tu du moins quelquefois te souvenir de ta bergère!" Mainfroi exclaims in a transport, Stay, deign to be my wife! the king and all the court unite in the entreaty, and Lise yields. She certainly is entitled to a statuette in porcelain. See Charles Malo, Les Chansons d'Autrefois, pp. 124-128.
The copy in Percy's Reliques is translated by Bodmer, I, 88.
A
a. Roxburghe Ballads, III, 160, 161. b. The same, II, 30, 31.
Came triping on the way,
And there she met a courteous knight,
Which caused her to stay.
Sing trang dil do lee
These words pronounced he;
'O I shall dye this day,' he said,
'If I have not my will of thee.'
'That such a thing should be,
That ever such a courteous yong knight
Should dye for love of me.'
And laid her down on the plain,
And after he had had his will,
He took her up again.
And put my body thus to shame,
Even as you are a courteous knight,
Tel me what is your name.'
And some do call me John,
But when I come to the king's [fair] court,
They call me Sweet William.'
And away then did he ride;
She tuckt her kirtle about her middle,
And run close by his side.
She set her brest and swom,
And when she was got out again,
She took her heels and run.
To say, Fair maid, will you ride?
Nor she never was so loving a maid
To say, Sir Knight, abide.
She knocked at the ring;
So ready was the king himself
To let this fair maid in.
Your body Christ save and see!
You have got a knight within your court
This day hath robbed me.
Of purple or of pall?
[Pg 460] Or hath he took thy gay gold ring,
From off thy finger small?'
Of purple nor of pall;
But he hath got my maidenhead,
Which grieves me worst of all.'
His body I'le give to thee;
But if he be a married man,
High hanged shall he be.'
By one, by two, and by three;
Sweet William was us'd to be the first,
But now the last comes hee.
Ty'd up with[in] a glove:
'Fair maid, I give the same to the,
And seek another love.'
'Nor I'le have none of your fee;
But I must have your fair body
The king hath given me.'
Five hundred pound in gold,
Saying, Fair maid, take this unto thee;
Thy fault will never be told.
These words then answered she,
'But I must have your own body;
So the king hath granted me.'
When I did drink the wine,
That ever any shepherd's daughter
Should be a fair lady of mine!
When I did drink the ale,
That ever any shepherd's daughter
Should have told me such a tale!'
You might have let me be;
I'd never come to the king's fair court
To have craved any love of thee.'
And himselfe upon a gray;
He hung a bugle about his neck,
And so they rode away.
Where marriage rites were done,
She provd her self a duke's daughter,
And he but a squire's son.
Your pleasures may be free;
If you make me lady of one good town,
I'le make you lord of three.'
'If thou hadst not bin true,
That should have parted thee from me,
To have chang'd thee for a new.'
And joyning hand in hand,
He had both purse and person too,
And all at his command.
B
Kinloch MSS, V, 255, in the handwriting of Mr Kinloch.
Kept sheep upon yon hill,
And by cam a gay braw gentleman,
And wad hae had his will.
And laid her on the ground,
And whan he got his will o her
He lift her up again.
Your will o me ye've taen,
'T is all I ask o you, kind sir,
Is to tell to me your name.'
'Sometimes they call me John,
[Pg 461] But whan I am in the king's court,
My name is Wilfu Will.'
And straught away he rade,
And she did kilt her petticoats,
And after him she gaed.
O lassie, will ye ride?
Nor ever had she the courage to say,
O laddie, will ye bide!
Which was called Clyde,
And then he turned about his horse,
Said, Lassie, will ye ride?
I learned it for my weel,
That whan I come to deep water,
I can swim as it were an eel.
I learned it for my better,
That whan I come to broad water,
I can swim like ony otter.'
And straught way thro he rade,
And she set in her lilly feet,
And thro the water wade.
She tirled on the pin,
And wha sae ready's the king himsel
To let the fair maid in?
What is your will wi me?'
'There is a man into your court
This day has robbed me.'
'Or has he taen your fee?
Or has he stown your maidenhead,
The flower of your bodye?'
Nor as little has he taen my fee,
But he has taen my maidenhead,
The flower of my bodye.'
High hangit shall he be,
But gif he be a bachelor,
His body I'll grant thee.'
'Sometimes they call him John,
But whan he's in the king's court,
His name is Sweet William.'
Never a one but three,
And one of them is the Queen's brother;
I wad laugh gif it war he.'
By thirty and by three;
Sweet Willie, wha used to be foremost man,
Was the hindmost a' but three.
Cam twa-fald oer a tree:
'O be he cripple, or be he blind,
This very same man is he.'
Or hang on the gallows-tree?'
'O I will rather marry the bonny may,
Afore that I do die.'
Weel locked in a glove:
'O tak ye that, my bonny may,
And seek anither love.'
'Nor as little ony of your fee,
But I will hae your ain body,
The king has granted me.'
A purse of gold and store;
'O tak ye that, fair may,' he said,
'Frae me ye'll neer get mair.'
'And I pray you let me be;
For I will hae your ain body,
The king has granted me.'
Himsel on the silver grey;
[Pg 462] He drew his bonnet out oer his een,
He whipt and rade away.
The nettles they war spread:
'O an my mither war but here,' she says,
'These nettles she wad sued.'
Whan I did drink the wine,
That eer a shepherd's dochter
Should hae been a love o mine!'
And may be I am nane;
But you might hae ridden on your ways,
And hae let me alane.'
She heard the mill clap:
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Weel may thou, I say,
For mony a time thou's filled my pock
Wi baith oat-meal and grey.'
Whan I did drink the wine,
That eer a shepherd's dochter
Should hae been a love o mine!'
And may be I am nane;
But you might hae ridden on your ways,
And hae let me alane.
Could scarcely gang thegither
Than the King of France's auld dochter
And the Queen of Scotland's brither.'
C
Kinloch's MSS, VII, 69; apparently from the recitation of Mrs Charles of Torry, Aberdeen, born in Mearnshire.
Kept sheep on yonder hill;
Bye cam a knicht frae the High College,
And he wad hae his will.
His will as he has taen:
'Wad ye be sae gude and kind
As tell to me your name?'
Some disna ken my name,
But whan I'm into the king's court,
Mitchcock is my name.'
And spelt it oure again;
'If that 's your name in the Latin tongue,
Earl Richard is your name!'
And said he wad go ride;
Kilted she her green claithing,
And said she wad na bide.
A live-lang simmer's day,
Till they cam to a wan water
Was calld the river Tay.
Or do ye chuse to ride?'
'No, thank ye, sir,' the lady said,
'I rather chuse to wade;'
And afore that he was mid-water,
She was at the ither side.
My heart will brak in three:'
'And sae did mine in yon bonny hill-side,
Whan ye wad [na] lat me be.'
This day I see on thee?'
'My mither was a gude milk-nurse,
And a gude nourice was she;
She nursd the Earl of Stockford's daughter,
And gat aw this to me.'
She rappit wi a ring;
Sae ready as the king himsel
Was to let the lady in!
[Pg 463]
This day has robbed me:'
'O has he taen your gowd,' he says,
'Or has he taen your fee?'
'Nor yet has he my fee;
But he has taen my maiden-head,
The flowr o my fair bodie.'
Wha sat by the king's knee:
There's na a knicht in aw our court
Wad hae dune that to thee,
Unless it war my brither, Earl Richard,
And forbid it it war he!
Amang a hunder men?
'I wad,' said the bonnie ladie,
'Amang five hunder and ten.'
By ane, by twa, and three;
Earl Richard us'd to be the first man,
But he was hinmost man that day.
And winking with ae ee;
But 'Ha! ha!' said the bonnie ladie,
'That same young man are ye.'
And offerd her hunder punds in a glove:
'Gin ye be a courteous maid,
Ye'll choice anither love.'
Na mair than ye wad for mine;
What's a hunder pund to me,
To a marriage wi a king!'
And ilk ane took them horse,
'It never set a beggar's brat
At nae knicht's back to be.'
And gied her half o crown:
'Tell aw your neebours, whan ye gang hame,
That Earl Richard's your gude-son.'
My heart will brak in three;'
'And sae did mine on yon bonny hill-side,
Whan ye wad na let me be.'
. . . . . . .
'An my auld mither she was here,
Sae weill as she wad ye pu.
And sup till she war fu,
And lay her head upon her dish-doup,
And sleep like onie sow.'
The sheets war holland fine:
'O haud awa thae linen sheets,
And bring to me the linsey clouts
I hae been best used in.'
Haud them awa frae me;
It would set me better to feed my flocks
Wi the brose-cap on my knee:
Sae bring to me the gude ram's horn,
The spoons I've been used wi.']
My heart will brak in three;'
'And sae did mine on yon bonnie hill-side,
Whan ye wadna lat me be.'
Whan first I drank the wine!
Never a shepherd's dochter
Wad hae been a love o mine.
Whan first I drank the beer,
That ever a shepherd's dochter
Shoud hae been my only dear!'
And mak some mair o me;
An ye mak me lady o ae puir plow,
I can mak ye laird o three.'
As I've taen some thouchts ye be,
Aft hae I waited at your father's yett,
But your face I coud never see.'
D
Kinloch's MSS, VII, 68; apparently from the recitation of Jenny Watson of Lanark, aged seventy-three. Only such portions of this version were preserved as differed considerably from C.
As bid her loup on and ride,
And she was neer sae meanly bred
As for to bid him bide.
It was running like a flude:
'I've learned it in my mither's bouer,
I've learned it for my gude,
That I can soum this wan water
Like a fish in a flude.
I've learned it for my better,
And I will soum this wan water
As tho I was ane otter.'
Gude day, gude day, to thee;'
'Gude day,' quo he, 'my lady fair,
What want ye wi me?'
His bodie I'll gie thee;
But gin he be a married man,
I'll hang him on a tree.'
Weel lockit in a glove;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
'Nor either o your fee;
But I will hae your ain bodie
The king has granted me.'
Or was ye gentle born?
Or hae ye onie gerss growing?
Or hae ye onie corn?
Lying at libertie?
Or hae ye onie education,
To dance alang wi me?'
Nor was I gentle born;
Neither hae I gerss growing,
Nor hae I onie corn.
Lying at libertie;
Nor hae I onie education,
To dance alang wi thee.'
And she lap on anither,
And then the twa rade out the way
Like sister and like brither.
She wililie did say,
Fareweil, ye mills o Tyne's water,
With thee I bid gude-day.
To you I bid gud-een,
Whare monie a day I hae filld my pock,
Baith at midnicht and at een.
She tirled on the pin;
And an auld belly-blind man was sitting there,
As they war entering in.
'Atween the ane and the ither,
Atween the Earl of Stockford's dochter
And the Queen o England's brither.'
E
a. Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 81, from Mr Nicol of Strichen, as learned in his youth from old people. b. Motherwell's MS., p. 459, derived, no doubt, from Buchan.
And all his valiant men so wight,
He did him down to Barnisdale,
Where all the land is fair and light.
I wot fast on she did her bound—
With towers of gold upon her head,
As fair a woman as could be found.
The white flowers and the red;
For I would give my bonnie ship
To get your maidenhead.
And drown you in the sea;
For all this would not mend the miss
That ye would do to me.'
'The miss is not so great, ladye;
Soon mended it might be.
Stands on the water of Tay;
You'll have them, and as much flour
As they'll grind in a day.'
And drown you in the sea;
For all that would not mend the miss
That ye would do to me.'
'The miss is not so great, ladye;
Soon mended it will be.
All calved in a day;
You'll have them, and as much haind grass
As they all on can gae.'
And drown you in the sea;
For all that would not mend the miss
That ye would do to me.'
'The miss is not so great, ladye;
Soon mended it might be.
All foaled in one year;
You'll have them, and as much red gold
As all their backs can bear.'
And she swore by the mold;
'I would not be your love,' said she,
'For that church full of gold.'
And he swore by the mess;
Says, Ladye, ye my love shall be,
And gold ye shall have less.
And she swore by the moon;
'I would not be your love,' says she,
'For all the gold in Rome.'
And he swore by the moon;
Says, Ladye, ye my love shall be,
And gold ye shall have none.
And by the grass-green sleeve,
And there has taken his will of her,
Wholly without her leave.
And oh, but she thought shame!
Says, If you are a knight at all,
You surely will tell me your name.
In other some they call me John;
But when into the queen's court,
O then Lithcock it is my name!'
And oft she spelt it ower again;
'Lithcock! it's Latin,' the ladye said,
'Richard's the English of that name.'
A live-long summer's day.
Till they came to the wan water
That all men do call Tay.
Just thro it for to ride,
And the ladye was as ready as him
The waters for to wade.
[Pg 466]
As to bid the ladye ride,
And she had never been so low-hearted
As for to bid him bide.
There stands a great big stone;
He turned his wight horse head about,
Said, Ladye fair, will ye loup on?
And struck it on the faem,
And before he got the middle-stream
The ladye was on dry land:
'By help of God and our Lady,
My help lyes not in your hand!
Few are there that have learned better,
When I come to deep water,
I can swim thro like ony otter.
I find I learnd it for my weel,
When I come to a deep water,
I can swim thro like ony eel.'
You know not what I see;
There is a ladye in that castle
That will burn you and me.'
'Betide me weel, betide me wae,
That ladye I will see.'
And gave it the porter for his fee;
Says, Take you that, my good porter,
And bid the queen speak to me.
There she fell low down on her knee;
Says, There is a knight into your court
This day has robbed me.
Or has he robbed you of your fee?'
'He has not robbed me of my gold,
He has not robbed me of my fee;
He has robbed me of my maidenhead,
The fairest flower of my bodie.'
That thus has robbed thee,
But you'll have the truth of his right hand,
Or else for your sake he'll die:
And, Oh, forbid that it be!'
Then sighing said the ladye fair,
I wot the same man is he.
Even fifty men and three;
Earl Richard used to be the first man,
But now the hindmost man was he.
And told it in his glove;
Says, Take you that, my ladye fair,
And seek another love.
'That's what shall never be;
I'll have the truth of your right hand,
The queen it gave to me.'
When I did drink thus of your ale,
That for a carl's fair daughter
It does me gar dree all this bale!]
When I did drink your wine,
That for a carle's fair daughter
It does gar me dree all this pine!'
And may be never nane;
When ye met me in the greenwood,
Why did you not let me alane?'
Or will you wear the side?
Or will you walk to your wedding,
Or will you till it ride?'
But I will wear the side;
I will not walk to my wedding,
But I to it will ride.'
The lady him behin,
Then cauld and eerie were the words
The twa had them between.
[Pg 467]
Just there where ye grow at the dyke;
If the auld carline my mother were here,
Sae weel's she would your pates pyke!
I wot at that she wadna fail—
And boil ye in her auld brass pan,
And of ye make right good kail!
That she gathers at the mill,
And make you thick as ony daigh:
And when the pan was brimful,
Syne bid us sup till we were fou,
Lay down her head upon a poke,
Then sleep and snore like ony sow.
For all your vile words grieveth me;
When you hide so little for yourself,
I'm sure ye'll hide far less for me.
When that I did drink of your wine,
Since for a carle's fair daughter,
It aye gars me dree all this pine.'
And may be never nane;
When ye met me in the good greenwood,
Why did you not let me alane?
As ye're growing on yon hill;
If the auld carline and her bags were here,
I wot she would get meat her fill.
With even four an twenty knots;
And in the morn at breakfast time
I'll carry the keys of an earl's locks.
With even four an twenty strings;
And if you look to my white fingers,
They have as many gay gold rings.'
So sore your vile words grieveth me;
When you hide so little for yourself,
I'm sure ye'll hide far less for me.
As I take you to be,
How did you get the gay cloathing
In greenwood ye had on thee?'
She nursed earl's children three,
And I got them from a foster-sister,
For to beguile such sparks as thee.'
As I believe you be,
How did you learn the good Latin
In greenwood ye spoke to me?'
She nursd earl's children three;
I learnt it from their chaplain,
To beguile such sparks as ye.'
And all men bound for bed,
Then Earl Richard and this ladye
In ae bed they were laid.
And she her's to the stane,
And cauld and dreary was the love
That was these twa between.
Likewise intill the ha,
But in his bed lay Earl Richard,
Wiping the tears awa.
Then slept till light was come;
Then he did hear the gentlemen
That talked in the room:
Betwixt the ane and ither,
The king of Scotland's fair dochter
And the queen of England's brither?
This day, O weel is me!
For seven times has my steed been saddled,
To come to court with thee;
And with this witty lady fair,
How happy must I be!'
F
a. Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 91; from the recitation of an old person. b. Christie's Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 184.
Upon a summer's day,
And he's fa'en in with a weel-far'd maid,
Was gathering at the slaes.
And by the grass-green sleeve;
He led her to the foot of a tree,
At her he spierd nae leave.
She turned her right around;
Says, Will ye be as good, kind sir,
As tell to me your name?
'And whiles they call me John;
But when I'm in the queen's high court,
Earl Litchcock is my name.'
She spelld it ower again;
Says, Litchcock is a Latin word,
But Lithgow is your name.
She spelld it ower again;
Says, Lithgow is a gentle word,
But Richard is your name.
A little abeen her knee;
The gentleman rode, and the lassie ran,
Till at the water o Dee.
And at the narrow side,
He turned about his high horse head,
Says, Lassie, will ye ride?
I wish I had learned it better,
When I came to this wan water,
To swim like ony otter.
I wish I had learned it weel,
That when I came to a wan water,
To swim like ony eel.'
A little abeen her knee;
The gentleman rode, the lassie swam,
Thro the water o Dee:
Before he was at the middle o the water,
At the other side was she.
And sat upon a stone;
There she sat to rest hersell,
And see how he'd come on.
How mony hae I to gang?'
'I've thirty miles to ride,' he says,
'And ye've as mony to gang.'
'And I've as mony to gae,
Ye'll get leave to gang yoursell;
It will never be gane by me.'
And knocked at the pin;
Who was sae ready as the proud porter,
To let this lady in!
And gien him guineas three:
'Ye will gang to the queen hersell,
And tell her this frae me.
Can neither card nor spin;
But she can sit in a lady's bower,
And lay gold on a seam.'
And he's gane ben thro twa,
Till he came to a lang, lang trance,
And then came to the ha.
Sat low down on his knee:
'Win up, win up, my proud porter,
What makes this courtesie?'
Can neither card nor spin;
But she can sit in a lady's bower,
And lay gold on a seam.'
That cannot card nor spin,
[Pg 469] Ye'll open my yetts baith wide and braid,
And let this lady in.'
And she's gane ben thro twa,
And she gaed ben a lang, lang trance,
Till she came to the ha.
Sat low down on her knee:
'Win up, win up, my fair woman,
What makes such courtesie?'
My errand it's to thee;
There is a man within your courts
This day has robbed me.'
Or taen your penny-fee?
Or has he taen your maidenhead,
The flower of your bodie?'
Nor yet my penny-fee,
But he has taen my maidenhead,
The flower of my bodi'
Your husband he shall be;
But if he be a married man,
High hanged he shall be.
I hinna will it be he;'
Sighd and said that gay lady,
That very man is he.
By ane, by twa, by three;
Earl Litchcock used to be the first,
But the hindmost man was he.
Stane blind upon an ee;
And sighd and said Earl Richard,
I doubt this calls for me.
And next laid down a ring;
It's thrice she minted to the brand,
But she's taen up the ring:
There's not a knight in a' the court,
But calld her a wise woman.
And tauld it on a stane;
Says, Take ye that, my fair woman,
And ye'll frae me be gane.
That ye tell on a stane;
But I will hae yoursell,' she says,
'Another I'll hae nane.'
And tauld it in a glove;
Says, Take ye that, my fair woman,
And choice another love.
That ye tell in a glove;
But I will hae yoursell,' she says,
'I'll hae nae ither love.'
And tauld it on his knee;
Said, Take ye that, ye fair woman,
Ye'll get nae mair frae me.
That ye tell on your knee;
But I will hae yoursell,' she says,
'The queen has granted it me.'
Or will ye hae the side?
Or will ye gang to your wedding,
Or will ye to it ride?'
But I will hae the side;
I winna gang to my wedding,
But to it I will ride.'
They made the mass be sung,
And the next town that they came till
They made the bells be rung.
He bought her gay claithing,
And the next town that they came till
They held a fair wedding.
The nettles grew on the dyke:
'If my auld mither, the carlin, were here,
Sae well's she would you pyke.
[Pg 470]
'She woud you pyke and pou,
And wi the dust lyes in the mill
Sae woud she mingle you.
And sup ere she be fou,
Syne lay her head upon a sod,
And snore like ony sow.'
Says, Weel may ye clap;
I wyte my minnie neer gaed by you
Wanting mony a lick.
Muckle shame thought he;
She's driven her cap out ower her locks,
And a light laugh gae she.
And hame at dinner set,
Then out it spake our bride hersell,
And she spake never blate.
Put them far awa frae me,
And bring to me my humble gockies,
That I was best used wi.
Had them far awa frae me,
And bring to me my horn cutties,
That I was best used wi.
And to their dancing set,
Out it spake our bride again,
For she spake never blate.
As I trust she will be,
She'll fear the dancing frae us a',
And gar her meal-bags flee.
And a' men bound for rest,
Earl Richard and the beggar's daughter
In ae chamber were placed.
Had them far awa frae me,
And bring to me my fleachy clouts,
That I was best used wi.
Had them far awa frae me,
And bring to me my canvas clouts,
That I was best used wi.
Another aneath my feet,
A pock o seeds beneath my knees,
And soundly will I sleep.'
Had far awa frae me;
It disna set a carlin's get
My bed-fellow to be.'
And may be I am nane;
But when ye got me in good greenwood,
How letna you me alane?'
As I trust well ye be,
Where got ye all the gay claithing
You brought to greenwood with thee?'
She nursed bairns three;
And whiles she got, and whiles she staw,
And she kept them a' for me;
And I put them on in good greenwood,
To beguile fause squires like thee.'
Says, I speak nane out of time;
If ye make her lady o nine cities,
She'll make you lord o ten.
Says, The one may serve the other;
The King of Gosford's ae daughter,
And the Queen of Scotland's brother.
An ill death may ye die!
My bed-fellow he'd been for seven years
Or he'd kend sae muckle frae me.'
And well may ye aye be!
In my stable is the ninth horse I've killd,
Seeking this fair ladie:
Now we're married, and now we're bedded,
And in each other's arms shall lie.'
G
Gibb MS., No 1. From recitation; traced to Mrs E. Lindsay, about 1800.
Wi a' her maidens free,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Some ca me Jing-ga-lee,
But when I am in the queen's court
Earl Hitchcock they ca me.'
An spelled it ower agane,
'Hitchcock it's a Latin word;
Earl Richard is your name.'
Fast to his horse hied he;
But she kilted up her gay claithing,
An fast, fast followed she.
The live-lang simmer's day,
Till they came to the wan water,
An a' men call it Tay.
An he has tane the wide,
An ere he was in the middle-water,
Jo Janet was at the ither side.
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
As swift as eel or otter.
She tirled at the pin,
An wha sae ready as the queen hersel
To let Jo Janet in!
. . . . . . .
'There is a knicht into your court
This day has robbed me.'
Or robbed you o your fee?
Or robbed you o your maidenhead,
The flower o your bodie?'
'Nor o my weel won fee,
But he has robbed me o my maidenhead,
The flower o my bodie.'
It's hanged he shall be;
But if he be a single knight,
It's married ye sall be.
This day hae been frae me,
An ane is Earl Richard, my brither,
An I hope it is na he:'
Then sichin said Jo Janet,
The very same man is he.
By thirty and by three;
He wont to be the foremost man,
But hinmost in cam he.
Is this your tricks abroad,
Wheneer ye meet a bonny may
To lay her on the road?'
. . . . . . .
Says, Tak you that, my bonny may,
An seek nae mair o me.
'I winna hae your fee;
I'll hae the troth o your right hand
The queen has promised me.'
Sae fair's the nettles grew;
Quoth she, If my auld mither were here,
Sae finely's she wad you pu.
Sae finely's she wad you pu,
An pit you on in a wee, wee pat,
An sup till she were fu,
[Pg 472] Syne rowe her heid in her gown-tail,
An sleep like ony soo.
An a doon look gae he,
But she threw her locks out ower her cocks,
An nae ways dung was she.
As I dout na but ye be,
It's where gat ye the gay claithing
That hings down to your knee?'
An a fine lady is she,
An aye when she gets new claithing
She casts the auld to me:'
An sichin said Earl Richard,
My ain true-love is she!
As I doutna but ye be,
Where got ye the Latin words
Ye said in greenwood to me?
She served sic men as thee,
An a' the gear at ever she got
She waired it a' on me,
An learned me weel the Latin tongue,
To beguile sic sparks as thee.'
An ill death mat ye dee!
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
An siller spoons gaen roun,
It's, 'Haud awa yer siller spoons,
Haud them far awa frae me,
An bring to me a guid ramshorn,
The thing I'm best used wi.'
An the ale-caup gaen about,
She took it in her arms twa,
An sae clean's she lickit it oot.
An a doun look gae he,
But she threw her locks out ower her cocks,
An nae ways dung was she.
An a' men boun to bed,
Earl Richard an Jo Janet
In ae bed they were laid.
An sair, sair did he weep;
She turned her face unto the wa,
An sound she fell asleep.
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
The Billie Blin stood up at their bed-feet.
Atween the tane and the tither,
The Earl Marshall['s] ae dother
An the Queen o Scotland's brither?
An ill death mat ye dee!
For mony's the mare and mare's foal
I've bursten seekin thee.'
Quoth, Here's to thee and me!
If ye mak me lady o ae puir pleugh,
I'll mak ye lord o three.
H
Kinloch's MSS, V, 20, in the handwriting of Mr James Beattie, 1820, and from the recitation of one of the Miss Beatties, his aunts, native in The Mearns: also Kinloch MS., VII, 61, and Kinloch's Scottish Ballads, p. 25.
Kept sheep on yonder hill;
There came a knight o courage bright,
And he wad have his will. Diddle, &c.
Gien her a gown o green;
'O take you that, fair may,' he says,
'There's nae mair o me to be seen.'
[Pg 473]
Your wills o me you've taen,
Since ye have taen your wills o me,
Pray tell to me your name.'
And others call me John;
But when I'm in the king's court,
Sweet William is my name.'
A little below her knee,
And she is to the king's court,
As fast as she could gae.
She knelt low on her knee:
'There is a man into your court
This day has robbed me.'
'Or of your white monie?
Or robbd you of the flowery branch,
The flower of your bodie?'
'Nor of my white monie,
But he's robbd me of the flowery branch,
The flower of my bodie.'
High hanged shall he be;
But if he be a free man,
He'se well provide for thee.'
By thirty and by three;
Sweet William should have been the foremost man,
But the hindmost man was he.
You met on yonder hill?
When a' her flocks were feeding round,
Of her you took your will.'
And tied up in a glove;
'Take you that, fair may,' he says,
'And choice for you a love.'
Tied up in a purse;
'See, take you that, fair may,' he says,
'And that will pay the nurse.'
'Nor yet your white monie,
But I will have the king's grant,
That he has granted me.'
Himsell upon another,
And to his castle they have rode,
Like sister and like brother.
'O well mote you grow!
For mony a day's my minny and me
Pilkit at your pow.'
'O well mote you clack!
For monie a day's my minnie and me
Buckled up our lap.'
I trust well that you be;
I'm the Earl of Stampford's ae daughter,
And he has nae mair but me.'
Between the one and the other,
The Earl of Stampford's ae daughter,
And the King of England's brother!
I
Communicated by Dr Thomas Davidson, from his own recollection; Aberdeenshire.
Kept flocks on yonder hill,
And by there cam a courteous knight,
Wud fain and hae his will.
'And some do ca me John,
But when I do ride i the king's high court,
Gulelmus is my name.'
She tirled at the pin,
And wha was there but the king himsel,
To lat this fair maid in!
'Now Christ you save and see;
There is a knicht into your court
This day has robbed me.
Nor o my white money,
But he's robbed me o my maidenheid,
The flower o my bodie.'
Weel married sall ye be,
But an he be a married man,
He's hang upon a tree.'
By one, by two, and by three,
And William should a been the first,
But the hindmost man was he.
And blin upon an ee,
But sighand said that gay ladie,
That same man robbed me.
When I did drink the wine,
A cairdman's daughter
Should never be a true-love o mine.'
And maybe I am nane;
But when ye did come to good green wood,
Ye sud hae latten me alane.'
An himsel on a dapple grey,
An she had as much lan in fair Scotlan
'S ye cud ride in a lang simmer's day.
J
Dr Joseph Robertson's Journal of Excursions, No 7. Taken down from a man in the parish of Leochel, Aberdeenshire, February 12, 1829.
I carena what they ca me,
But when I [am] at hame in my ain country,
It's Lispcock that they ca me.'
She spelled it ower again;
Says, Lispcock in a Latin beuk
Spells Erl Richard in plain.
. . . . . . .
The lassie kilted up her green claithing,
And fast, fast followed on.
. . . . . . .
He's turned his hie horse head about,
Says, Lassie will ye ride?
I wish I'd learned it better,
Whanever I cam to any wide water,
To soum like ony otter.'
The ladie the pot to swim,
[Pg 475] And or the laird was half water,
The ladie was on dry lan.
He rade it richt and roun about;
The laird gaed in at ae back-door,
But the ladie beet to knock.
Wi his hat into his han,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Pulld out guineas three,
And that she's given to the proud porter,
To cause her to get entrance there.
O fifteen steps he made but three:
'The prettiest lady stands at yer yetts
That ever my een did see.'
. . . . . . .
'Goe doun, goe doun, you proud porter,
Cause her to cum up to me.'
She fell low down on her knee:
'There is a man into your courts
This day has robbed me.'
Or o your white monie?
Or taen frae you your maidenhead,
The flower o your bodie?'
Nor o my white monie,
But he's taen frae me my maidenhead,
The flower o my bodie.'
High hanged sall he be;
And gin he be a batchelere,
Well wedded shall ye be.'
By thirties and by threes;
Earl Richard should hae been the foremost man,
But the hindmost man was he.
And blinkin on an ee,
And sichand says that gay ladie,
That samen man is he.
K
Motherwell's MS., p. 226. From the recitation of Widow McCormick, Westbrae, Paisley, 1825; learned of an old woman in Dumbarton, thirty or forty years before.
Kept sheep on yonder hill;
O by comes a courtier,
And fain wud hae his will.
We'll go no more a roving,
A roving in the night,
We'll go no more a roving,
Let the moon shine neer so bright.
O we'll go [no] more a roving.
And by the grass-green sleeve;
He bended her body unto the ground,
And of her parents he askd no leave.
And brought my fair bodie to shame,
All the request I ask of you is,
Pray tell me what's your name.'
'And some do call me John,
But when I am in the king's court,
My name is Sweet William.'
Her mantle oer her arm,
And she's awa to the king's court,
As fast as she could run.
She tinkled at the ring;
Who was so ready as the king himsel
To let this fair maid in!
[Pg 476]
She kneeled low by his knee;
'What's this? what's this, fair maid,' he says,
'What's this you ask of me?'
. . . . . . .
'There is a knight into your court
This day has robbed me.'
'It's hanged he must be;
If he's robbed you of your maidenhead,
His body I grant to thee.'
'Nor of my white money,
But he's robbed me of my maidenhead,
The flower of my bodie.'
By one, by two, by three;
John used to be the foremost man,
But the hindmost man was he.
And wrapped it in a glove:
'Here's to thee, my dearest dear,
Go seek some other love.'
'Nor any of your white money,
But I'll just have your own bodie
The king has granted to me.'
When I drank of the ale,
Before a shepherd's daughter
Would tell me such a tale.'
Himself upon a grey,
Then on a day ...
This couple rode away.
She said, So well may you grow!
For many a day my mammy and me
Hae pickled at your pow.
So well may you clatter!
For many a day my mammy and me
Pickled at your happer.
They reckoned up their kin;
She was a king's one dochter,
And he but a blacksmith's son.
L
Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 1, recited by Miss Brown, of Glasgow, after a blind aunt.
And I learned it for the better,
That every water I coudna wade,
I swam it like an otter.
With my low silver ee.
And I learned it for my weel,
That every water I coudna wade,
I swam it like an eel.'
And leaning on a tree:
'Be he cripple, or be he blind,
The same man is he.'
A. a.
The beautifull Shepherdesse of Arcadia. A new pastorell Song of a courteous young Knight and a supposed Shepheard's Daughter. To a gallant tune, called the Shepheards Delight... London, Printed for William Gilbertson. Gilbertson published 1640-63: Chappell. Dated 1655 in the Museum Catalogue.
4, 6. Burden Trang dang.
73. abeut.
101. cour.
[Pg 477]124. fingets.
184. faults.
242. rights.
271. Perhaps to linked.
Some trivial errors of the press have been corrected.
b.
The Beautiful Shepherdess of Arcadia: A new Pastoral Song of a courteous young Knight and a supposed Shepherd's Daughter of Arcadia, in Peloponnesus. To the Tune of The Shepherd's Daughter, &c. London: Printed for A. M., W. O., and T. Thackeray, at the sign of the Angel in Duck [Lane]. Dated 1680? in the Catalogue.
33. yong wanting.
41. about the middle.
42. down wanting.
43. had got.
51. kind sir.
52. thus wanting.
61. men wanting.
63. fair court.
71. into the.
72. he did.
73. her girdle.
93. was never.
101. But wanting.
111. save you.
113. got wanting.
121. of, sweet-heart.
124. finger.
132. or of.
134. most of.
153. was wanting.
162. within.
183. to thee.
184. fault.
19. not thy.
22. wanting, in my transcript.
242. rites was.
252. will be.
254. make thee.
263. should a.
271. being linked so.
272. joyned.
B.
233. tak he.
C.
C and D were derived from the recitation of Jenny Watson of Lanark and Mrs Charles of Torry, but which from which we are not distinctly told. An incidental expression of Kinloch's, MSS, VII, 59, may warrant the assigning of C to Mrs Charles. C is written on the right hand of the MS. and D on the left, except that the last two stanzas of D are written on the right, and a few readings of D are written above those of C. (The ink of D is blacker.)
6. omitted by Kinloch in printing.
74. wade altered to wyde, according to the pronunciation.
84, 214. na is wanting.
141. Kinloch prints your fause love: in MS. [fause].
25. inserted at p. 23 of Kinloch's interleaved copy of his Ancient Scottish Ballads.
D.
13. frae the king's court.
34. Earl Richard is my name.
111. anie.
144. Altered to At midday and.
163. cried the.
171. He powd out a hundred punds.
172. Weel lockit in a glove.
271. Hoch! had I drank the wan water.
273. That... a mill-capon.
E. a.
64. for me: see 44, 84.
164. Oh.
34. wanting, supplied from the MS.
443, 4, 503, 4. unless hide is for heed, read heed, as in b.
b.
11. on a.
133. ye shall be.
184. does.
221. wand she had in.
224. on the.
226. help does not lye.
231. omits it.
232. is there that has.
233. to a.
243. came.
256. will I.
262. omits it.
304. samen.
311. men all.
314. omits man.
34. omitted in a.
432. we be.
I'm sure ye'll heed far less nor me.
I wot he would get meat his fill.
481, 491. last night.
How sore your vile words grieve me!
When you heed so little on yourself,
I know you will heed less on me.
524. as ye.
531. you are.
551. was rung.
553. the ladye.
554. In one.
561. face to.
564. thir twa.
571. Great was the mirth.
572. into.
574. And wiping.
604. at thee.
The variations in b are probably Motherwell's improvements. He does not adopt all of them in printing, but makes still other slight changes.
F. b.
"An epitome (eleven eight-line stanzas) of Buchan's version, with some slight alterations from the way the editor has heard the ballad sung."
151. The lady to the queen's court gaed.
153. And ready was.
162. And gae him gowd sae free.
192. He lout doun.
232. She lout doun.
302. And blind.
331, 371. I will not hae your purse o gowd.
334. And other.
392. Nor will I hae.
413. And when they came to St. Mary's kirk.
623. My husband.
I.
12. Var. Kept hogs.
83. sigh and.
J.
33. in, perhaps, for on.
3, 4; 8, 9; 11, 12. Written without division in the MS.
173. sich &.
K.
41. Oh.
174. Hae added later; pickled altered from pircled.
FOOTNOTES:
[172] And Douce, says Mr Chappell. A Tewkesbury copy, not dated, is mentioned by Halliwell, Notes on Fugitive Tracts, etc., Percy Society, vol. xxix, p. 16, No 9.
Came triping on the way,
And there she met a courteous knight,
Which caused her to stay.
Sing trang dil do lee
By one, by two, by three;
William would fain have been the first,
But now the last is he.
Act IV, Sc. 2, Dyce, VIII, 66.
In Beaumont and Fletcher's 'Knight of the Burning Pestle,' we have the following stanza, which resembles A 23, but may equally well belong to 'The Douglas Tragedy:' see No 7, B 10, C 9, D 9:
And himself upon a grey;
He never turned his face again,
But he bore her quite away.
Act II, Sc. 8, Dyce, II, 172.
[175] Already remarked by Motherwell, Minstrelsy, p. 378.
[176] A queen is arbiter in Gower and Chaucer; so here in versions E, F, G, J.
[177] In K, a vulgar copy, the man is absurdly made a blacksmith's son, though a courtier. Similarly in an old stall copy of which the last stanza is cited by Buchan, II, 318:
Where she did reckon kin,
She was the queen of fair Scotland,
And he but a goldsmith's son.
[178] This is a commonplace, as observed already, I, 446. It occurs also in 'Malfred og Sadelmand,' st. 8, Kristensen, I, 259, No. 99. Ebbe Galt is translated by Prior, II, 87.
[179] Danske Viser, No 186, Grundtvig's A, is translated by Dr Prior, who notes the resemblance and the contrast to our ballad, III, 144.
111
CROW AND PIE
MS. Rawlinson, C. 813, fol. 27 b, beginning of the sixteenth century. Halliwell's Nugæ Poeticæ, p. 42.
This is not a purely popular ballad, but rather of that kind which, for convenience, may be called the minstrel-ballad. It has, however, popular features, and markedly in stanzas 13, 14; for which see pp. 444, 446 of the first volume, and the ballad preceding this, A 5, 6, B 3, 4, etc.; also Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 144, 'The Baron o Leys.'
To take my sporte yn an mornyng,
I cast my eye on euery syde,
I was ware of a bryde syngynge.
I speke to hur of loue, I trowe;
She answered me all yn scornyng,
And sayd, The crowe shall byte yow.
To wyn your loue ytt ys my wyll;
For your loue I haue dere bought,
And I wyll take good hede thertyll.'
I tell the, Jenken, as I trowe,
Thow shalt nott fynde me suche a gyll;
Therfore the crowe shall byte yow.'
A purse of velweytt, that was soo fyne:
'Haue ye thys, my dere swetyng,
With that ye wylbe lemman myn.'
To dele with hym þat I doo nott knowe;
For soo I myght dyspyse my name;
Therfore the crow shall byte yow.'
That was soo faire of hyde and hewe;
He kyssed hur cheke as whyte as whall,
And prayed hur þat she wolde vpon hym rewe.
His loue was as a paynted blowe:
'To-day me, to-morowe a newe;
Therfore the crow shall byte yow.'
And layd hur downe vpon the grene;
Twys or thrys he served hur soo withall,
He wolde nott stynt yet, as I wene.
Ye wyll wedde me now, as I trowe:'
'I wyll be aduysed, Gyll,' sayd he,
'For now the pye hathe peckyd yow.'
And brought my body vnto shame,
Some of your good ye wyll part with me,
Or elles, be Cryst, ye be to blame.'
'Þe wynde ys wast Þat thow doyst blowe;
I haue a-noder þat most be payde;
Therfore the pye hathe pecked yow.'
A lyttle thyng ye wyll tell;
[Pg 479] In case that I with chylde be,
What ys your name? Wher doo ye dwell?'
At Leycester, Cambryge, at myrye Brystowe;
Some call me Rychard, Robart, Jacke, and Wyll;
For now the pye hathe peckyd yow.
And lett no man downe yow throwe;
For and yow doo, ye wyll ytt rewe,
For then Þe pye wyll pecke yow.'
Pluke vp your helys, I yow beshrew!
Your trace, wher so euer ye ryde or goo,
Crystes curse goo wythe yow!
Yet am I noder dede nor slowe;
I trust to recouer my harte agayne,
And Crystes curse goo wythe yow!'
14. bryde: qy, bryd?
82. blewe.
162. be shrew yow.
172. nor sleyne.
And for &. Final double 1, though crossed, has been printed without adding e.
112
THE BAFFLED KNIGHT
A. a. Ravenscroft's Deuteromelia, or, The Second Part of Musicks Melodie, or Melodious Musicke, London, 1609. 'The Over Courteous Knight,' Ritson's Ancient Songs, 1790, p. 159. b. Pills to Purge Melancholy, III, 37, 1719.
B. Pills to Purge Melancholy, V, 112, 1719.
C. a. 'The Baffled Knight, or, The Lady's Policy.' A Collection of Old Ballads, III, 178, 1725. b. 'The Lady's Policy, or, The Baffled Knight,' Three Parts (the first fifty stanzas), Pepys Ballads, V, Nos 162-164. c. Douce Ballads, III, fol. 52b. d. 'The Baffled Knight, or, The Lady's Policy,' Roxburghe Ballads, III, 674.
D. a. 'The Shepherd's Son,' Herd's Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, p. 328, 1769. b. 'Blow the Winds, Heigh ho!' Dixon, Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 123, Percy Society, vol. xvii; Bell, p. 80.
E. 'The Knight and Lady,' Motherwell's MS., p. 410.
A b is in the first volume of the editions of 1698, 1707: Chappell, Popular Music, p. 62. B is in the third volume of the edition of 1707, and is also printed in A Complete Collection of Old and New English and Scotch Songs, 8vo, 1735, which I have not seen: Chappell, p. 520.
The original story, represented by A, B, and C 1-17, appears to have been revived at the end of the seventeenth century, and to have been so much relished as to encourage the addition of a Second, Third, and Fourth Part, all of which were afterwards combined, as in C a, c, d.[180]
Percy inserted a version of C, abridged to forty-five stanzas, in his Reliques, 1765, III, 238, 1767, II, 339, which was "given, with some corrections,[181] from a MS. copy, and collated with two printed ones in Roman character in the Pepys collection." Although "MS. copy" in Percy's case may mean nothing, while "some corrections" may signify much, it has been thought best to reprint Percy's ballad in an Appendix.
D is repeated in Johnson's Museum, p. 490, No 477, with a slight change in the first line. It probably belongs to the first half of the eighteenth century.
E is, in all probability, a broadside copy modified by tradition. In E, as in two stanzas appended to B (see notes), and in a rifacimento immediately to be mentioned, the all but too politic maid would certainly seem to be encouraging the knight at first.[182]
'The Politick Maid,' Roxburghe Ballads, I, 306 f, Ballad Society reprint, II, 281, is an edition, after Percy's fashion, of some old form of the ballad, by Richard Climsell (Chappell). It was printed for Thomas Lambert, whose date, according to Mr. Chappell, is 1636-41, and is, therefore, considerably earlier than any known copy of the First Part of C. For the sake of such portions of the original as it preserves, it is given in an Appendix.
There is a Scottish ballad in which the tables are turned upon the maid in the conclusion. This, as being of comparatively recent, and not of popular, but of low literary origin, cannot be admitted here. It can be found in Kinloch's Ballad Book, 'Jock Sheep,' p. 16, and the Kinloch MSS, I, 229, communicated by James Beattie as taken down from the recitation of Miss E. Beattie, Mearnsshire. Other versions are, in the Campbell MSS, 'Dernie Hughie,' II, 233; 'Jock Sheep, or, The Maiden Outwitted,' Buchan MSS, 1, 155. Another ballad, brief and silly, in which a maid ties a gentleman's hands with her apron strings, 'The Abashed Knight,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 131, is rejected on similar grounds.
The important points in A, B, and the first part of C are that a knight, coming upon a damsel at a distance from her home, desires to have his will of her. She asks him to take her to her father's hall, where he shall be gratified. Reaching the house, she slips in and leaves the knight without. She jeers at him for not using his opportunity.
A similar story occurs in many European ballads.
Spanish. A. 'De Francia partió la niña,' "Cancionero de Romances, s. a., fol. 259, Can. de Rom. 1550, fol. 274, Silva de 1550, I, fol. 184;" 'La Infantina,' Duran, I, 152, No 284, Wolf y Hofmann, Primavera, II, 82, No 154. A damsel on the way to Paris has lost the road, and is waiting under a tree for an escort. A knight rides by, and she asks him to take her along. He puts her on the crupper, and, when midway, asks for amores. The damsel tells him that she is a leper (hija de un malato y de una malatía), which frightens the knight to silence. As they are entering Paris the damsel laughs, and the knight asks why; she laughs at the knight's want of spirit. He proposes to go back for something which he has forgotten. She will not turn back; she is daughter to the king of France, and any man who should touch her would pay dearly for it. B. Another copy, from a broadside of the sixteenth century, Duran, I, 152, No 285, Primavera, II, 83, No 154 a, blends the story with that of a princess who has been made to pass seven years in a wood by a fairy's spell, 'A cazar va el caballero,' 'La Infanta encantada,' Duran, I, 159, No 295, Primavera, II, 74, No 151. C. 'El Caballero burlado,' from Asturian tradition, Amador de los Rios, Historia de la Litteratura española, VII, 442.
Portuguese. A. 'A Infeitiçada,' Almeida-Garrett, II, 31. B, C, D. Romances da filha do rei de França, 'O caçador e á donzilla,' 'Donzella encantada,' Braga, Cantos p. do Archipelago açoriano, Nos 1, 2, 3, pp. 183-191. E, F. Romances da Infanta de França, 'A Encantada,' Braga, Romanceiro Geral, Nos 10, 11, pp. 26-29. G. 'Infantina' (defective), Coelho, Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie, III, 62.[183] In all the Portuguese versions the proper story is mixed with that of the Hunter and the Enchanted Princess ('O Caçador,' Almeida-Garrett, II, 17), and in all but F the lady is discovered to be the sister of the knight, a frequent catastrophe in ballads,[184] certainly a false one in the present instance. In A the damsel represents herself as having been bewitched before baptism, and any man who should come near her would become malato.[185] In B, C, D she says she is daughter of a malato, and any man approaching her would become malato.[186] This feature is wanting in E, F, G.
French. A. Gasté, Chansons normandes du XVe siècle, p. 72, No 43, 'Et qui vous passera le bois?' Vaux-de-vire d'Olivier Basselin, etc., Du Bois, p. 190, No 30, Le Bibliophile Jacob, p. 225; Wolff, Altfranzösische Volkslieder, p. 81. B. a. 'La Filho doou Ladre,' Arbaud, II, 90. b. 'La Fille du Lepreux,' Poésies pop. de la France, MS., III, fol. 261. C. 'En allant au bois,' Bujeaud, I, 244. D. 'En revenant de Saint-François,' Guillon, p. 103. E. 'Margueridette,' Bladé, Poésies pop. de l'Armagnac, etc., p. 76. A damsel who is afraid to pass a wood is taken through by a knight, B. Midway he makes love to her; she advises him to keep off; she is the daughter of a leper. When out of the wood she laughs, and, the man asking why, says, because she has come out a maid. He proposes to return, which she will not hear of; he should have plucked his bird while he had it in hand. She declares herself daughter of the king, D; of the seigneur, E; of the chief burgher of the city, A. The knight of B is an officer in E, who takes the maid up on his horse, and in E she feigns to be the hangman's daughter, not a leper's. Inferior copies of the same type are given by Legrand, Romania, X, 392, No 43, Lovell, Chansons Canadiennes, p. 30, Gagnon, p. 92 (much corrupted).
In a variation of this story an orange-girl delivers herself from her predicament by feigning an ague-fit: 'La Marchande d'Oranges,' Rolland, p. 258, No 127, d; Poésies pop. de la France, IV, fol. 166, fol. 213 (a fragment at fol. 286 is the latter half of the same copy); Bujeaud, I, 249, and 251 (marchande de pommes). Other copies give the story a different turn.
In another version the man yields to the girl's tears, and is laughed at in the conclusion: 'Le galant maladroit,' Poésies pop. de la France, MS., III, fol. 139, fol. 141; 'La fille bien avisée,' fol. 524; IV, fol. 350, 'Il était un chasseur;' VI, 119=Rolland, I, 23, No 4, c; Gerard de Nerval, La Bohème Galante, p. 96, ed. 1866=Les Faux Saulniers, Œuvres complètes, 1868, IV, 398; Buchon, p. 76, No 2; Beaurepaire, p. 33 f; Guillon, p. 101; Tarbé, 'L'honnête Garçon,' II, 137; Rolland, 'L'Occasion manquée,' I, 23, No 4 b; Puymaigre, 'La Rencontre,' p. 113, 2d ed. I, 154. The "moral" is wanting in very few of these.
Still other varieties, with omissions, additions, or changes which need not be particularized, are: 'L'Amant discret,' Puymaigre, p. 112, I, 153; Guillon, pp. 29, 273; 'L'autre jour,' Bladé, P. p. de l'Armagnac, p. 114; 'Praube Moussu,' Bladé, Poésies pop. de la Gascogne, II, 66, Moncaut, p. 356; Rolland, I, 23, No 4, a; 'Lou Pastre,' Bladé, II, 114;[Pg 482] Bujeaud, I, 254; 'Lou Pastour et la Pastouro,' Daymard, Collection de vieilles chansons recueillies à Serignac, p. 16, which last I have not seen.
Italian. 'La figlia del re,' Ferraro, Canti p. monferrini, p. 76, No 55. A damsel lost in a wood asks a cavalier to show her the way. He takes her on his horse. She, for a reason not given, but to be gathered from the other southern ballads, tells him that she is daughter of a poor man who has had seven years of sickness. Get down from the horse, he says, and I will show you the way. At the end of the wood she tells him she is daughter of a rich merchant, proprietor of many farms. He solicits her to mount again. No; he has had the quail and let it fly; yonder is the castle of her father the king.
Danish. 'I Rosenslund,' Grundtvig, IV, 357, No 230, four copies: A, previously in Levninger, II, 51, No 9, C, "Tragica, No 14," 1657, Danske Viser, III, 94, No 122. D has a false conclusion. In A, the best copy, from MSS of the seventeenth century, a knight who is hawking and hunting finds a damsel in a wood. She has been there all night, she says, listening to the birds. He says, Not so, it is a tryst with a knight; and she owns that this is the case. He proposes that she shall throw over this lover and accept him. She will not give her faith to two, and asks him for his honor's sake to convey her to her bower. She rides, he walks; and when they come to the bower she locks him out, wishing him ill night and laughing as he rides away.
'Den dyre Kaabe,' Grundtvig, IV, 362, No 231, two copies, from MSS of the seventeenth century. A maid and a young man meet in a wood or mead. She invites him to spread both of their cloaks on the ground for a bed. His new scarlet cloak cost him fifteen mark in Stockholm, and he will not spoil it by laying it in the dew. If he will wait, she will go home to her mother's, not far, and bring a bolster. She goes off laughing and leaves him expecting her all that day and the next, but she does not come back. Eight weeks after he meets her at the church door and asks an explanation. He may thank his cloak of scarlet new for his disappointment; had she been a young man and met a maid, she would not have spared her cloak though it were cloth of gold. The reference to Stockholm points to a Swedish origin for this ballad, but it is not, says Grundtvig, extant in Swedish.
German. 'Das Mäntelein,' "Frankfurter Liederbuch 1584, No 150," Uhland, p. 245, No 106, Mittler, No 32. A young man and maid go out into the green three hours before day. After rebuffing him, she strangely asks him, as if she knew that he would not consent, to spread his cloak on the grass. His cloak cost him fifty pound, and would be spoiled. In the evening, as she stands in her tower, the young man passes and greets her. She answers, The angels above will requite your cloak for my coming off a maid.
The artifice by which the lady disembarrasses herself in the Third Part of the broadside ballad, by pulling off the knight's boots half-way, is a very familiar story, found also in a modern German ballad, Walter, p. 94, No 64. See Les cent nouvelles Nouvelles, 1432 and earlier, No 24, ed. Wright, Paris, 1858, I, 128; Hondorff, Promptuarium Exemplorum, "1572, fol. 310," 1586, 362 b; Kirchhof, Wendunmuth, 1562, ed. Oesterley, III, 228, and other places, besides these, cited by Oesterley, IV, 101.
A modern French ballad, attributed to Favart, which may very probably have had a basis in popular tradition, celebrates the fille d'honneur who escapes from the importunity of her seigneur by distracting his attention (as the lady does in the second adventure in English C), and leaping on to the horse from which he had dismounted to make love to her, in some versions taking his valise with her: 'La villageoise avisée,' from Recueil de romances historiques, tendres et burlesques, tant anciennes et modernes, par M. D. L**, 1767, I, 299, in Hoffmann und Richter, Schlesische Volkslieder, p. 354; 'La Bergère rusée,' Puymaigre, pp. 119, 121, or I, 160, 162; Poésies pop. de la France, MS., III, fol. 37, 284, 294, 522, VI, 472; Wolff, Altfranzösische Volkslieder, p. 142; Tarbé, 'La Fille d'Honneur,' II, 147; 'Le Cavalier,' Guillon, p. 175. On[Pg 483] this French ballad is founded 'Junkernlust und Mädchenlist,' Hoffmann u. Richter, p. 156, No 132, 'Der Junker und das Mädchen,' Erk u. Irmer, iv, 66, No 60, 'Die Verschmitzte,' Zuccalmaglio, p. 195, No 93. Somewhat similar are 'List der Bedrukte,' Willems, Oude vlaemsche Liederen, p. 215, No 88; 'The Scotchman Outwitted,' Old Ballads, 1723, I, 211, and Ritson's Select Collection of English Songs, 1783, II, 286; 'The Courtier and Country Maid,' Pills to Purge Melancholy, I, 128, ed. 1719.
In a Romaic ballad a maid makes a youngster who solicits her carry her over a river, then holds him off by promises while they cross field and meadow, and when they reach a hamlet sets the dogs at him: Ἡ Απατη, "Xanthopoulos, Trapezountia, in Φιλολογικος Συνεκδημος, 1849, p. 436;" Kind, Anthologie, 1861, p. 86, Passow, No 481. (Without the dogs, in Ioannidis, p. 276, No 4.)
There is a French ballad in which a maid who is rowing a man over a piece of water receives amorous proposals from him, exacts a large sum of money, lands the gallant, and pushes off: 'La Batelière,' 'La jolie Batelière,' 'La Batelière rusée,' Puymaigre, p. 145, or I, 186, p. 147; Fleury, Littérature orale de la Basse-Normandie, p. 308; Poésies pop. de la France, MS., III, 137; Bujeaud, II, 307; Decombe, p. 323.
Percy's copy is translated by Bodmer, I, 94; by Bothe, 425.
A
a. Ravenscroft's Deuteromelia, or, The Second Part of Musick's Melodie, or Melodious Musicke, etc., E 4, London, 1609. Ritson's Ancient Songs, 1790, p. 159. b. Pills to Purge Melancholy, III, 37, 1719.
Lustely raking ouer the lay;
He was well ware of a bonny lasse,
As she came wandring ouer the way.
Then she sang downe a downe, hey downe derry (bis)
'Among the leaues that be so greene;
If I were a king, and wore a crowne,
Full soone, fair lady, shouldst thou be a queen.
Among the roses that be so red;
If I haue not my will of you,
Full soone, faire lady, shall I be dead.'
Hee lookt north, so did he south;
He could not finde a priuy place,
For all lay in the diuel's mouth.
A mayde vnto my father's hall,
Then you shall haue your will of me,
Vnder purple and vnder paule.'
And him selfe vpon another,
And all the day he rode her by,
As though they had been sister and brother.
It was well walled round about;
She yode in at the wicket-gate,
And shut the foure-eard foole without.
Among the corne, amidst the hay,
Where you might had your will of mee,
For, in good faith, sir, I neuer said nay.
Among the rushes that were so browne,
Where you might had your will of me,
But you had not the face to lay me downe.'
And wipt the rust off with his sleeue,
And said, Ioue's curse come to his heart
That any woman would beleeue!
A mile or twaine out of the towne,
Spare not for her gay clothing,
But lay her body flat on the ground.
B
Pills to Purge Melancholy, V, 112, 1719.
A riding along the way, sir,
And there he met a lady fair,
Among the cocks of hay, sir.
Among the grass lye down a?
And I will have a special care
Of rumpling of your gown a.
Unto my father's hall, sir,
You shall enjoy my maidenhead,
And my estate and all, sir.'
Himself upon another,
And then they rid upon the road,
Like sister and like brother.
Which was moated round about, sir,
She stepped streight within the gate,
And shut this young knight out, sir.
'Take it for your pains, sir;
And I will send my father's man
To go home with you again, sir.
As you go thro the next town, sir,
You must not fear the dew of the grass,
Nor the rumpling of her gown, sir.
As you go by the hill, sir,
If you will not when you may,
You shall not when you will, sir.'
C
a. A Collection of Old Ballads, III, 178, 1725. b. Pepys Ballads, V, 169ff, Nos 162-164, end of the 17th century, the first fifty stanzas. c. Douce Ballads, III, fol. 52b, Durham: Printed and sold by I. Lane. d. Roxburghe Ballads, III, 674, 1750 (?).
A riding along the way, sir,
And there he did meet with a lady fine,
And among the cocks of hay, sir.
And askd her to lay her down, sir,
But he had neither cloth nor sheet,
To keep her from the ground, sir.
And if you shoud lay me down, sir,
You would spoil my gay clothing,
That has cost me many a pound, sir.'
I'll lay it under you, love,
So you will grant me my request
That I shall ask of you, love.'
That is moated all round about, sir,
There you shall have your will of me,
Within, sir, and without, sir.
And among the cocks of hay, sir;
If the king's pinner should chance to come,
He'll take my steed away, sir.'
It's made of the finest gold, love,
And it shall serve to fetch your steed
Out of the pinner's fold, love.'
Round which there's many a tree, sir,
There you shall have your chamber free,
And your chamberlain I'll be, sir.'
Himself upon another,
And then they rid along the way,
Like sister and like brother.
Which was moated all round about, sir,
She slipd herself within the gate,
And she lockd the knight without, sir.
[Pg 485]
And bringing me home a maiden, sir,
But you shall have two of my father's men
For to set you as far back again, sir.'
And whet it upon his sleeve, sir,
Saying, Cursed be to evry man
That will a maid believe, sir!
And threw it upon the ground, sir,
Saying, Thrice cursed be to evry maid
That will believe a man, sir!
Some call it of rosemary, sir;
There's crowing-cocks in our town,
That will make a capon of you, sir.
Some call it a marygold, sir,
And he that would not when he might,
He shall not when he would, sir.
A little below the town, sir,
You must not fear her gay cloathing,
Nor the wrinkling of her gown, sir.
A little below the hill, sir,
You need not fear her screeking out,
For she quickly will lye still, sir.
Ingeniously outwitted,
And since that time it came to pass
He was again well fitted.
In boots, spurs, hat and feather,
He met that lady fair again;
They talkd a while together.
And cunningly decoy me,
Yet now, before you further go,
I must and will enjoy thee.
Where rushes green were growing,
And Neptune's silver streams did glide,
Four fathom waters flowing.
And trembled at this stranger:
'How shall I guard my maidenhead
From this approaching danger!'
To dye I now am ready;
Must this dishonour fall on me?
A most unhappy lady!
In gaudy rich attire,
And cried, I am a noble knight,
Who do your charms admire.
Who seemingly consented,
And woud no more disputing stand:
She had a plot invented
With much delight and pleasure,
And eke unspotted still remain,
With her pure virgin treasure.
Methinks I do discover,
Well mounted on a dapple-grey,
My true, entire lover.'
Of the deep floating river,
Thought she, Thou now shalt swim or sink;
Choose which you fancy rather.
The waters strait he sounded;
He cry'd out, Love, what have you done!
Help! help! or I am drowned.
You see what comes of fooling;
That is the fittest place for you,
Whose courage wanted cooling.
This fault which you've committed;'
'No, no,' says she, 'sir, as I live,
I think you're finely fitted.'
[Pg 486]
For speedy expedition,
While the gay knight was soakd like souce,
In a sad wet condition.
He was in rich attire,
Yet when he back returnd again
He was all muck and mire.
Just as he came from swiming,
He'd love no lady, for her sake,
Nor any other women.
You'll find by this pleasant ditty,
For she whose charms he did adore
Was wonderful sharp and witty.
Just close by a summer bower,
She chanc'd to meet her angry spark,
Who gave her a frowning lower.
Did cause him to draw his rapier,
And at the lady then he run,
And thus he began to vapour:
Then tumbld me into the river;
I seek for satisfaction straight;
Shall I be a fool forever?'
That evening to enjoy her,
And if she did not give consent,
That minute he would destroy her.
Against a young silly woman?
Such crimes as these might be forgot;
For merry intrigues are common.'
'To tumble me in and leave me?
What if I drowned there had dy'd?
A dangerous jest, believe me.
Those injuries out of measure,
It is because without delay
I mean to enjoy the pleasure.'
But think of your boots of leather,
And let me pull them off,' she cry'd,
'Before we lye down together.'
And violets so sweet and tender;
Now by this means it came to pass
That she did his purpose hinder.
She cry'd, I am now your betters;
You shall not make of me your prey;
Sit there, like a thief in fetters.
He rose and began to grumble;
Yet he could neither stand nor go,
But did like a cripple tumble.
His folly she soon did mention,
And laughing said, I pray, kind sir,
How like you my new invention?
You are but a stingless nettle;
You'd neer a stood for boots or shooes,
Had you been a man of mettle.
I fear neither wind nor weather;
I'll send my father's serving-men
To pull off your boots of leather.
With merry conceits of scorning,
And left him there to sit all night,
Untill the approaching morning.
The lady hath fairly acted;
She did his love and kindness slight,
Which made him almost distracted.
Where nothing but deer could hear him;
While he lay rouling in the dark,
There's never a soul came near him.
And being warm summer weather,
A shepherd chanc'd to come that way,
Who pulld on his boots of leather.
[Pg 487]
He, shaking his ears, was ready,
And whip and spur he rid with speed
To find out this crafty lady.
She shall be releasd by no man:
Why shoud so brave a knight as I
Be foold by a silly woman!
In crimes which I cannot pardon;
But if I an't revengd,' said he,
'Let me not be worth a farthing.
Tho once I did dote upon her;
This trusty sword shall now repair
My baffled, blasted honour.'
Which every side was moated;
The fair sweet youthful charming dame,
His angry brows she noted.
And tumble him in the river;
And let the Devil help him out,
Or there he shall soak for ever.
Although I have often foild him;
Therefore once more, I do protest,
With flattering I'll beguile him.
So that he could no ways enter;
She smil'd to him, and cry'd at last,
Sir knight, if you please to venture,
Full seventeen foot in measure;
There's no body now at home but I;
Therefore we'll take our pleasure.
But straight he was tripping over;
The plank was sawd, and snapping broke;
He provd an unhappy lover.
D
a. Herd's Ancient and Modern Scots, p. 328, 1769. b. Dixon, Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 123, Percy Society, vol. xvii; Bell, p. 80.
Kept sheep upon a hill;
He laid his pipe and crook aside,
And there he slept his fill.
Sing, Fal deral, etc.
Then gave an under-look,
And there he spyed a lady fair,
Swimming in a brook.
And then approachd the maid;
'Put on your claiths, my dear,' he says,
'And be ye not afraid.
To sew her silken seam
Than to get up in a May morning
And strive against the stream.'
And let my claiths alane,
Then I'll give you as much money
As you can carry hame.'
And I'll let your claiths alane;
But I'll tak you out of the clear water,
My dear, to be my ain.'
He took her in his arms:
'Put on your claiths, my dear,' he says,
'And hide those lovely charms.'
Himself upon anither,
And all along the way they rode,
Like sister and like brither.
She tirled at the pin,
And ready stood the porter there,
To let this fair maid in.
[Pg 488]
So nimbly's she whipt in;
'Pough! you're a fool without,' she says,
'And I'm a maid within.
I thank you for your care;
But had you done what you should do,
I neer had left you there.'
And let my feet gae bare,
And gin I meet a bonny lass,
Hang me if her I spare.'
'But you shall never more
Have the same opportunity;'
With that she shut the door.
I've often heard it told,
He that would not when he might,
He should not when he would.
E
Motherwell's MS., p. 410: from the singing of Agnes Lyle, Kilbarchan, September, 1825.
Came riding along the way, sir;
He would have had a lady gay
Amang the quiles of hay, sir.
Amang the quiles of hay, maid?
Sheets nor blankets have I none,
To keep thy cloathing clean, maid.'
The wind blaws owre yon thorn, sir;
Weel may I wash my cloathing clear,
And dry them on the morn, sir.'
Amang the rigs of corn, maid?
Then the king's life-guard will come,
And steal our steeds away, maid.'
They're all gold but the stone, sir;
I'll give them to the king's life-guard,
If he'll let our steeds alone, sir.
Over yon lily lea, sir,
Where you and I may crack a while,
And never one may see, sir?'
And she was on another,
And all the live-long winter night
They rode like sister and brother.
He began to lay her down, sir;
'O no, O no, kind sir,' she says,
'Ye'll ruffle all my gown, sir.
'T was many a mark and pound, sir;
And if that ye do lay me down,
Ye'll ruffle all my gown, sir.
Over yon lily lea, sir,
Where you and I may crack a while,
And never one may see, sir?'
And she was on another,
And all the live-long winter night
They rode like sister and brother.
She was at her father's yet, sir;
She jumped in at her father's door,
And left this knight without, sir.
You're but a knave without, sir;
There were neer a butcher's son
Put me in so much doubt, sir.
'But two miles from the town, maid,
I would lay thee down,' he said,
'And never mind thy gown, maid.'
The name o't marigold, sir,
And he that would not when he might,
He shall not when he wold, sir.
And two miles from a town, sir,
Ye may lay her down,' she says,
'And never mind her gown, sir.
[Pg 489]
He's standing in the lone, sir;
He hings his head above the sheaf,
But daur not venture on, sir.
And two miles from the town, sir,
Ye may lay her down,' she says,
'And never mind her gown, sir.
He wears a double comb, sir,
He claps his wings, but craweth not;
I fear you be like him, sir.
And two miles from a town, sir,
You may lay her down,' she said,
'And never mind her gown, sir.'
A. b.
12. the hay.
24. should.
61. up wanting.
73. rode in.
B.
In eight-line stanzas.
After 8 follow these two stanzas, which belong to a different version of the ballad, and near the beginning, not at the end.
Will spoil your damask gown a,
Which has cost your father dear
Many shilling and crown a.'
Soon will dry the ground a,
And I will have a special care
Of the rumpling of my gown a.'
C. a.
42. under thee: cf. b.
222. trembling: cf. b.
284. thou fancy: cf. b.
b.
13. did he.
14. amongst.
21. One question.
42. under you.
64. sir wanting.
73. it will.
82. That's moated all round about, sir.
102. all wanting.
112. me a maiden-head, sir.
114. For wanting.
133. to wanting.
171. for wanting.
173. screeping.
18. An Answer, etc., begins here.
191. cross the.
193. met with.
222. trembled.
244. Who doth.
283. shall.
284. you fancy.
313. said.
314. you are well.
323. the old.
344. woman.
35. The Third Part begins here.
354. Is.
384. Or I'll be.
402. Again.
403. must be.
441. sat.
442. so wanting.
444. That wanting.
461. that she.
462. rise.
463. For he.
481. laughing, sir.
491. it's.
50. End of Part III.
c.
11. got drunk.
12. he met.
14. And wanting: amongst.
21. One question.
23. nor shoes.
34. has wanting.
43, 4. wanting.
64. sir wanting.
82. That is moated all round about, sir.
91. set.
93. And so.
101. he came.
104. she wanting.
112. my maiden-head home, sir.
114. For wanting.
122. wet.
123. a curse be.
13. wanting.
142. it a.
144. We ll make.
161. for wanting.
163. not mind.
171. for wanting.
173. squeaking.
18. Part II.
191. a cross the.
193. met with.
202. did decoy.
204. enjoy you.
214. water.
222. trembling.
223. I guide.
232. I vow I.
244. Who does.
254. While she a.
271. sir, good knight.
281. than standing.
282. a deep flowing.
283. shall.
284. thou fancest.
293. out wanting.
301. farewel, sir knight.
312. the fault that.
313. said.
314. you are well.
323. Whilst the knight.
344. woman.
35. Part III.
351. baffld wanting.
362. close wanting.
373. than be.
384. Or I'll be.
394. he'd.
403. must be.
422. These.
432. on your.
434. down wanting.
441. sat.
442. so wanting.
444. That wanting.
461. that she.
463. For he.
481. laughing, sir.
483. never have: boots nor.
491. it's almost dark.
493. servant man.
51. Part IV.
512. has.
513. and service.
514. him quite.
532. summer's.
564. worth one.
581. he went.
582. on every.
[Pg 490]592. into.
594. Or he shall lye.
601. not leave me at.
604. flattery.
612. no way.
613. on him and said.
624. So that you may use your.
634. sawn.
d.
14. cooks.
33. gay wanting.
44. of thee.
84. I will.
91. sat
104. she wanting.
114. as far wanting.
123. curses.
133. to wanting.
142. of wanting.
144. of thee.
152. calls: a wanting.
161. for wanting.
164. wrinking.
171. for wanting.
173. shrieking.
213. slide.
222. trembled.
253. discoursing.
281. knight was.
282. Or.
284. which you.
292. water.
304. wanting.
313. sir wanting.
321. father.
373. did run.
374. he wanting.
382. in the.
394. he'd.
402. young foolish.
422. These.
452. now I'm.
483. have stood: nor.
494. To help off thy.
503. stay all.
522. none but.
534. off his.
543. rode.
561. has she.
563. ar'n't.
582. on every.
583. charming youthful.
622. feet.
D. b.
Burden:
Sing blow the winds, heigh ho!
Clear away the morning dew,
And blow the winds, heigho!
12. He kept sheep on yonder hill.
13. and his.
21. and he.
22. He took an other look.
23. lady gay.
24. Was dipping.
3, 4 are wanting.
51. She said, sir, don't touch my mantle.
52. Come, let.
53. I will give you.
61. I will not.
62. And wanting.
63. I'll... water clear.
He let her clothes alone,
But he took her from the clear water,
And all to be his own.
81. He set her.
83. And there they rode along the road.
After 8:
They spied some cocks of hay;
'Yonder,' he says, 'is a lovely place
For men and maids to play.'
91. And when they came.
92. She pulled at a ring.
93. ready was the proud porter.
94. For to let the lady.
101. gates were open.
102. This lady jumped in.
103. She says, You are a fool without.
111. Good morrow to you, modest.
118. If you had been what you should have been.
114. I would not have.
For 12-14:
He stands beyond the thorn;
He shakes his head above the trough,
But dares not prey the corn.
A double comb he wears;
He flaps his wings, and crows full loud,
But a capon's crest he bears.
They call it marygold;
The fool that will not when he may,
He shall not when he wold.'
My feet they shall run bare,
And if ever I meet another maid,
I rede that maid beware.
APPENDIX.
Roxburghe Ballads, I, 306 f; Ballad Society's reprint, II, 281.
The Politick Maid,
or,
A dainty new ditty,
Both pleasant and witty,
Wherein you may see
The maide's policie.
As he rode on the way,
And there he spide a bonny lasse,
Among the cocks of hay.
Sing loud, whistle in the winde,
Blow merry, merry,
Up and down in yonder dale,
With hey tro, nonney, nonney.
Did present take his way,
But it seemd he had a shame-face,
He did not court and play.
He found she was not coy;
His courtesie she did imbrace,
And did not say him nay.
Upon the grasse so greene,
Here's neither sheet nor covering,
To keep our cloathing cleane.
'Among the cockes of hay,
Then would come forth the king's pinder,
And take our steedes away.'
Made of the purest gold,
That will release our steedes againe
Out of the king's pinfold.
Into my father's bowers,
There you may sit and talke with me
This three or foure houres.'
They were moted round about;
Then she slipt in at a wicket,
And left sir knight without.
And you, sir knight, without;
You may lay straw under your feete,
To keepe you from the gout.
A mile out of the towne,
Sir knight, you must not be affraid
Of soyling of her gowne.
Amongst the cockes of hay,
Sir knight, you must not be affraid
With her to court, and say
Sing loud, etc.
And truth it is in tryall,
He that will not when as he may
Shall after have denyall.
To you I bid adieu;
And you hereafterwards may tell
How I have servëd you.'
R. C.
Printed at London for Thomas Lambert, at the signe of the Hors-shoo in Smithfield.
Percy's Reliques, III, 238, 1765.
A riding along the way, sir,
And there he met with a lady fine,
Among the cocks of hay, sir.
Among the grass lye downe-a?
And I will have a special care
Of rumpling of your gowne-a.'
Will spoil my damaske gowne, sir;
My gown and kirtle they are newe,
And cost me many a crowne, sir.'
Upon the ground I'll throwe it;
Then, lady faire, come lay thy head;
We'll play, and none shall knowe it.'
Among the cocks of hay, sir,
And if the pinner should chance to see,
He'll take my steed away, sir.'
[Pg 492]
It's made of finest gold-a,
And, lady, it thy steed shall bring
Out of the pinner's fold-a.'
Fair chambers there are three, sir;
And you shall have the best of all,
And I'll your chamberlain bee, sir.'
And her on her dapple-grey, sir,
And then they rode to her father's hall,
Fast pricking along the way, sir.
'T was moated round about-a;
She slipped herself within the gate,
And lockt the knight without-a.
And take it for your pain, sir;
And two of my father's men I'll send,
To wait on you back again, sir.'
And whet it upon his sleeve-a,
And 'Cursed,' he said, 'be every man
That will a maid believe-a!'
And whipd it upon her gown-a:
'And curst be every maiden faire
That will with men lye down-a!
And some do call it rue, sir;
The smallest dunghill cock that crows
Would make a capon of you, sir.
Some call it marygold-a;
He that wold not when he might,
He shall not when he wold-a.'
With cloak and hat and feather;
He met again with that lady gay,
Who was angling in the river.
You shall no more escape me;
Remember how not long agoe
You falsely did intrap me.'
And trembled at the stranger:
'How shall I guard my maidenhead
From this approaching danger!'
In all his riche attyer,
And cryed, As I am a noble knight,
I do thy charms admyer.
Who seemingly consented,
And would no more disputing stand;
She had a plot invented.
Methinks I now discover,
A riding upon his dapple-grey,
My former constant lover.'
Fast by the river brink-a;
The lady pusht with all her might:
'Sir knight, now swim or sink-a!'
The bottom faire he sounded;
Then rising up he cried amain,
Help, helpe, or else I'm drowned!
You see what comes of fooling;
That is the fittest place for you;
Your courage wanted cooling.'
Just at the close of eve-a,
Again she met with her angry sparke,
Which made this lady grieve-a.
And no one now can hear thee;
And thou shalt sorely rue the hour
That eer thou dar'dst to jeer me.'
With a young silly maid-a;
I vow and swear I thought no harm;
'Twas a gentle jest I playd-a.'
'To tumble me in and leave me!
What if I had in the river dy'd?
That fetch will not deceive me.
Tho injurd out of measure;
But then prepare without delay
To yield thee to my pleasure.'
Yet think of your boots and spurs, sir;
Let me pull off both spur and boot,
Or else you cannot stir, sir.'
[Pg 493]
And begd her kind assistance;
'Now,' smiling thought this lovely lass,
'I'll make you keep your distance.'
'Sir knight, now I'm your betters;
You shall not make of me your prey;
Sit there like a knave in fetters.'
He fretted, fum'd and grumbled;
For he could neither stand nor goe,
But like a cripple tumbled.
Yet do not move nor stir, sir;
I'll send you my father's serving-men,
To pull off your boots and spurs, sir.
You are but a stingless nettle;
You 'd never have stood for boots or shoes
Had you been a man of mettle.'
Rolling upon the plain-a;
Next morning a shepherd past that way,
Who set him right again-a.
By hill and dale he swore-a,
'I'll ride at once to her father's hall;
She shall escape no more-a.
I'll challenge all her kindred;
Each dastard soul shall stand affeard;
My wrath shall no more be hindred.'
Which every side was moated;
The lady heard his furious vows,
And all his vengeance noted.
Once more I will endeavor;
This water shall your fury swage,
Or else it shall burn forever.
She did invite a parley:
'Sir knight, if you'll forgive me heare,
Henceforth I'll love you dearly.
And I am all alone, sir;
Therefore across the water come,
And I am all your own, sir.'
I scorn the treacherous bait-a;
If thou wouldst have me thee believe,
Now open me the gate-a.'
My father has the keys, sir;
But I have for my love prepar'd
A shorter way and easier.
Full seventeen feet in measure;
Then step across to the other bank,
And there we'll take our pleasure.'
But strait he came tripping over;
The plank was sawd, it snapping broke,
And sousd the unhappy lover.
FOOTNOTES:
[180] Pepys, V, 169, No 162. An Excellent New Song, calld The Lady's Policy, or, The Baffled Knight. London, printed and sold by T. Moore, 1693. T. Moore printed 1689-93: Chappell.
Pepys, V, 170, No 163. An Answer to The Baffld Knight, or, The beautiful Lady's Second piece of policy, by which she preserved her Virginity and left the brisk Knight in Pickle. Printed for C. Bate, next the Crown Tavern in West Smithfield. C. Bates printed 1690-1702: Chappell.
Pepys, V, 171, No 164. The Third Part of the Baffld Knight, or, The Witty Lady's new Intreague, by which she left him fetterd in his Boots. Where he lay all Night in her Father's Park, Cursing his woful Misfortune. Printed for I. Deacon, at the Angel in Guilt Spur Street, without Newgate. Jonah Deacon printed 1684-95: Chappell.
I do not know that the Fourth Part was ever separately printed.
The Pepys copy is not at my disposal except for collation.
[181] "Bishop Percy found the subject worthy of his best improvements," says Ritson, for once with French neatness: Ancient Songs, p. 159.
[182] See, further on, the second Danish and the German ballad.
[183] A, E, F in Hardung's Romanceiro, I, 49-55, B, C, D, the same, pp. 59-67.
[184] As in 'Don Bueso,' Duran, I, lxv, A. de los Rios, in Jahrbuch für romanische u. englische Literatur, III, 282, two copies.
[185] "Curse women, and still more him that trusts them," says the knight at the end of Portuguese A, and so in English A.
[186] It has been contended that malato signifies a peasant of low condition: see Braga, C. p. do Arch. açor., p. 399; but, on the other hand, Amador de los Rios, as above, VII, 433. Sense requires, if not the specific meaning leprous, at least something contagious, and sufficiently serious to make the knight tremble in his saddle, as he does in Portuguese A. Hardung aptly cites from Spanish B: "Fija soy de un malato que tiene la malatia." Compare the French ballads.
113
THE GREAT SILKIE OF SULE SKERRY
Proceedings of The Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, I, 86, 1852. Communicated by the late Captain F. W. L. Thomas, R. N.; written down by him from the dictation of a venerable lady of Snarra Voe, Shetland.
This Shetland ballad[187] was reprinted in Colburn's New Monthly Magazine, April, 1864, with spelling Scotticized, and two or three other uncalled-for changes.
"Finns," as they are for the most part called, denizens of a region below the depths of the ocean, are able to ascend to the land above by donning a seal-skin, which then they are wont to lay off, and, having divested themselves of it, they "act just like men and women." If this integument be taken away from them, they cannot pass through the sea again and return to their proper abode, and they become subject to the power of man, like the swan-maidens and mer-wives of Scandinavian and German tradition: Grimm's Mythologie, I, 354f. Female Finns, under these circumstances, have been fain to accept of human partners. The Great Selchie, or Big Seal, of Shul Skerry, had had commerce with a woman during an excursion to the upper world. See Hibbert's Description of the Shetland Islands, pp. 566-571, and Karl Blind in the Contemporary Review, XL, 404, 1881. A correspondent of Blind gives stanza 3 with a slight variation, thus:
I am a selkie i da sea;
An whin I'm far fa every strand
My dwelling is in Shöol Skerry.
And aye she sings, Ba, lily wean!
Little ken I my bairnis father,
Far less the land that he staps in.
An a grumly guest I'm sure was he:
'Here am I, thy bairnis father,
Although that I be not comelie.
An I am a silkie in the sea;
And when I'm far and far frae lan,
My dwelling is in Sule Skerrie.'
'It was na weel, indeed,' quo she,
'That the Great Silkie of Sule Skerrie
Suld hae come and aught a bairn to me.'
And he has pat it upo her knee,
Sayin, Gie to me my little young son,
An tak thee up thy nourris-fee.
When the sin shines het on evera stane,
That I will tak my little young son,
An teach him for to swim the faem.
An a proud gunner I'm sure he'll be,
An the very first schot that ere he schoots,
He'll schoot baith my young son and me.
62. Quhen.
FOOTNOTES:
[187] The ballad was pointed out to me by Mr Macmath, and would have followed No 40 had I known of it earlier.
ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS
VOL. I.
1. Riddles Wisely Expounded.
I, 2 b. Russian riddle-songs: Trudy, III, 314, No 44; V, 1073, No 208, 1190, No 6.
The Russian riddle-ballad of the merchant's son. Add: Shein, Russkiya Narodnuiya Pyesni, Plyasovuiya, Dance Songs, Nos 88, 87, 89, p. 233 f.
2. The Elfin Knight.
P. 8 a, second paragraph. Russian ballad of Impossibilities propounded reciprocally by youth and maid (including a shirt): Shein, Russkiya N. P., Plyasovuiya, Nos 85, 86, p. 231 f.
13. Another Clever Wench, in Hurwitz's Hebrew Tales, New York, 1847, p. 154, Nos 61, 62; or Sagen der Hebräer aus dem Englischen, u. s. w., Leipzig, 1828, p. 129, Nos 56, 57.
14 a, line 16. The Rusalka ballad, also in Trudy, III, 190, No 7.
14 a, the first paragraph. In the third or "Forest" book of the Mahā-bhārata, chapters 311-313, is a story that bears marks of being an ancient part of the compilation. Yudhishthira and his four younger brothers are distressed with thirst. The eldest sends these one after another in quest of water. Each reaches a lake and hears a voice of a sprite in the air, "I have the first claim on this lake. Do not drink till you have answered my questions," drinks notwithstanding, and falls as if dead. At last Yudhishthira goes himself, answers the questions, and is offered boons by the sprite. He is very modest, and asks the life of one of his two half-brothers only, not that of either of his full brothers. Whereupon the sprite rewards his virtue by bringing all four to life.
The riddles and questions are spun out at great length, and many are palpable interpolations. A few examples may be given. What is weightier (more reverend) than the earth? One's mother. What is loftier than the heavens? One's father. What is fleeter than the wind? The mind. What are more numerous than the blades of grass? Thoughts. What does not close its eyes while asleep? A fish. What is that which does not move after birth? An egg. What is that which is without heart? A stone. And so on. A paraphrase of parts of these chapters is given by Ed. Arnold, Indian Idylls, Boston, 1883, pp. 212-235.
Similarly, in the Kathā-sarit-sāgara, chapter v, a man escapes death by resolving an ogre's riddle. See Tawney's translation, I, 26, and especially the note, where Benfey is cited as comparing Mahā-bhārata, XIII, 5883 ff.
14 b. Legend of St Andrew: Horstmann, Altenglische Legenden, Neue Folge, 1881, p. 8.
18. A variety of F, G, Bruce and Stokoe, Northumbrian Minstrelsy, p. 79. 'Whittingham Fair,' popular in the north and west of the county of Northumberland; usually sung as a nursery-ballad.
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
Remember me to one who lives there;
For once she was a true-love of mine.
Without any seam or needlework.
Where never spring-water nor rain ever fell.
Which never bore blossom since Adam was born.'
Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme
I hope he will answer as many for me;
For once he was a true-love of mine.
Betwixt the salt water and the sea-sand.
And sow it all over with one pepper-corn.
And bind it up with a peacock's feather.
O tell him to come, and he 'll have his shirt.'
Another variety of F, G, communicated by Mr Frank Kidson, Leeds, 1884; from tradition.
Savoury, sage, rosemary and thyme
'Remember me to a lass who lives there;
For once she was a true lover of mine.
Without a needle or thread or ought else;
And then she shall be a true lover of mine.
Where water neer sprung nor a drop of rain fell;
And then, etc.
Where moss never grew since Adam was born.
She can come unto me and married we'll be.'
'Remember me to a lad who lives there;
For once he was a true lover of mine.
Between the wide ocean and the sea-sand;
And then he, etc.
And sow it all over with one pepper-corn.
And bind it up with a peacock's feather.
He can come unto me for his cambric shirt.'
Variations in a fragment of the same, remembered by another person: F. Kidson.
Sow it all over with sand.
And tie it ...
And then she shall be ...
Where no water sprung nor a drop of rain fell,
And tell her to wash it in yonder dry well,
Or never be a true lover of mine.
3. The Fause Knight upon the Road.
P. 21, note, and p. 485. "Die Windsbraut soil man brav schelten, sich selber aber bekreuzigen, dann weicht sie. Sie ist des Teufels Braut. Wo eine Windsbraut auffährt, ist eine Hexe aufgesprungen." Birlinger u. Buck, Volksthümliches aus Schwaben, I, 192, No 304. G. L. K.
21. Finnur is a trold in a corresponding Icelandic story, Árnason, Íslenzkar Þjóðsögur, I, 58. G. L. K.
See, for Finn and Finns, Karl Blind in The Contemporary Review, XL, 402ff., 1881; also, 'The Great Silkie of Sule Skerry,' No 113, II, 494.
4. Lady Isabel and the Elf-Knight.
P. 24. May Colvin in Ireland. According to a Connemara story given briefly in Once a Week, II, 53 f, July 2, 1864, one Captain Webb was wont to ill-use young women, and then strip them and throw them into the Murthering Hole, not far from Maarn. At last a girl induced him to turn his back, and then thrust him into the Hole. P. Z. Round.
24 b. The Flemish ballad is given by Fétis, Histoire Générale de la Musique, V, 59, "d'après un texte ancien qui a deux strophes de plus que celui de Willems." G. L. K.
28 b. 'Ásu kvaeði' in Íslenzk fornkvæði, II, 226, No 60, A-M: this copy D (E-M). Published in 1885.
41, and p. 487 f. Russian form, corrupted.
On the oaken bridge stood Galya, there Galya stood and drew water, she drew water and spoke with Marko. "O Marko mine, what dost thou say to me? Come wander with me, youth; let us wander on foot through the dark night." One field traversed, a second they crossed, and in the third lay down on the grass to sleep. The rain began to sprinkle, the fierce rain to fall, and Marko began to slumber. "O Marko mine, sleep not while with me; bare your sword and fight with me." Young Galya vanquished Marko; she conquered Marko, and rode, she mounted and rode over the level field. Galya arrives at the new gate; there stands Marko's mother, more beautiful than gold. "Young Galya, what can I say? Have you seen Marko near my house?" "Oh, hush, mother; weep not, mourn not. Thy Marko has married in the field; he has taken to himself a fine young lady, a grave in the meadow." Trudy, V, 425, No 816.
A man beguiles a girl with tales of a land where the rivers are of honey, where pears grow on willows, and maidens are clothed in gold. Trudy, V, 335, No 660.
In one version of this ballad a cuckoo flies up and[Pg 497] bids the maid not listen to the Cossack's tales: "I have flown all over the world, and I have never seen golden mountains, nor eaten pears from willow-trees, nor beheld maidens clad in gold."
41 a, and 487 a. A maid going to the ford for water meets Marko, and suggests that he should propose for her; if her mother will not consent, they will roam. They cross one field and two, and lie down on the grass in a third. He is falling asleep, when she wakes him with a cry that they are pursued. Marko is overtaken and his head cut off. Trudy, V, 226, No 454. No 548, p. 278, is nearly the same. No 690, p. 352, resembles in part No 454, and partly Golovatsky, I, 116.
42 a and 488 a, A. A lover takes his love by her white hands, leads her to the Danube, seizes her by the white sides, and flings her in. She asks whether she is ugly, or whether it is her ill fate. Trudy, V, 166, No 339.
In Poésies pop. de la France, MS., VI, 278, Poésies pop. de la Corrèze, a ballad called 'Chanson du brave Altizar' is mentioned as a variant of 'Dion et la Fille du Roi,' and, fol. 321 of the same volume, a version from Mortain, Basse Normandie, is said to have been communicated, which, however, I have not found. These may both belong with the French ballads at II, 356.
43 a. E. Another copy in Guillon, Chansons pop. de l'Ain, p. 85.
Add I: 'Monsieur de Savigna,' Decombe, Chansons pop. d'Ille-et-Vilaine, p. 264, No 92. The ballad begins like A, B, but the conclusion is inverted. The fair one is thrown into a pond; M. Savigna cuts away with his sword the plant she seizes when she comes up from the bottom the fourth time; she asks, If you ever go back, where will you say you left me? and he answers, In the big wood full of robbers.
59. F. In the catalogue of the British Museum, "London? 1710?"
60.
G
British Museum, MS. Addit. 20094. 'The Knight and the Chief's Daughter,' communicated to Mr T. Crofton Croker in 1829, as remembered by Mr W. Pigott Rogers, and believed by Mr Rogers to have been learned by him from an Irish nursery-maid.
And some of your mother's fee,
And steal the best steed in your father's stable,
Where there lie thirty three.'
And some of her mother's fee,
And she stole the best steed from her father's stable,
Where there lay thirty three.
And he on the barb so grey,
Until they came to the green, green wood,
Three hours before it was day.
Alight immediately,
For six knight's daughters I drowned here,
And thou the seventh shall be.'
Oh hold your tongue,' said she;
''T was you that promised to marry me,
For some of my father's fee.'
And give them all to me;
I think them too rich and too costly by far
To rot in the sand with thee.'
Oh turn away from me;
Oh turn away, with your back to the cliff,
And your face to the willow-tree.'
And his face to the willow-tree;
So sudden she took him up in her arms,
And threw him into the sea.
Lie there instead of me;
'T was you that promised to marry me,
For some of my father's fee.'
And hold me by the hand,
And you shall be my gay lady,
And the queen of all Scotland.'
Nor hold you by the hand;
And I won't be your gay lady,
And the queen of all Scotland.'
And led the barb so grey,
Until she came back to her father's castle,
One hour before it was day.
From the cage wherein she lay:
Where have you now been, my pretty colleen,
This long, long summer's day?
[Pg 498]
And tell no tales on me;
Your cage I will make of the beaten gold,
And hang in the willow-tree.'
From the chamber where he lay:
Oh what hath befallen my favourite bird,
That she calls so loud for day?
''T is nothing at all indeed;
It was only the cat came to my cage-door,
And I called my pretty colleen.'
5. Gil Brenton.
P. 67 a, line 14. Add the Icelandic versions of 'Torkild Trundesøn' recently printed: Íslenzk fornkvæði, II, 281, No 62, A 42 f, B 42, C 29.
6. Willie's Lady.
P. 85 b, the third paragraph. "Bei der Entbindung... muss man alle Schlösser im Hause an Thüren und Kisten aufmachen: so gebiert die Frau leichter." Wuttke, Der deutsche Volksaberglaube, p. 355, No 574, ed. 1869. G. L. K.
7. Earl Brand.
P. 96 b, line 1. In England the north side of the burial-ground is appropriated to unbaptized children, suicides, etc. Brand's Antiquities, ed. Hazlitt, II, 214-218.
97 b. Add: Portuguese. Roméro, Cantos pop. do Brazil, No 4, 'D. Duarte e Donzilha,' I, 9: sicupira and collar.
Romaic. Chasiotis, p. 169, No 5, lemon and cypress; Aravandinos, p. 284 f, Nos 471, 472, cypress and reed.
97 b, and 489 b. Russian. Bezsonof, Kalyeki Perekhozhie, I, 697-700, Nos 167, 168 (Ruibnikof): Vasily is laid on the right, Sophia on the left; golden willow and cypress. The hostile mother pulls up, breaks down, the willow; cuts down, pulls up, the cypress.
Trudy, V, 711, No 309, A, man buried under church, wife under belfry; green maple and white birch. B-J, other copies with variations. V, 1208, No 50, a Cossack blossoms into a thorn, a maid into an elder; his mother goes to pull up the thorn, hers to pluck up the elder. "Lo, this is no thorn! it is my son!" "Lo, this is no elder! it is my daughter!"
489 b, eighth line from below, read, for laburnum, silver willow, and golden willow in the next line but one; and also for No 285.
98 a. Magyar. In Ungarische Revue, 1883, pp. 756-59, these three and one more.
Chinese. Hanpang has a young and pretty wife named Ho, whom he tenderly loves. The king, becoming enamored of her, puts her husband in prison, where he kills himself. Ho throws herself from a high place, leaving a letter to the king, in which she begs that she may be buried in the same tomb as her husband; but the king orders them to be put in separate graves. In the night cedars spring up from their tombs, which thrive so extraordinarily that in ten days their branches and their roots are interlocked. A. de Gubernatis, La Mythologie des Plantes, II, 53, from Schlegel, Uranographie chinoise, p. 679. (Already cited by Braga.)
9. The Fair Flower of Northumberland.
P. 116 a, C 51. Bed-head should certainly be bed-stock: cf. B 31.
10. The Twa Sisters.
P. 119 b. Färöe versions. Seven are now known, and one is printed, from the manuscript collection of Färöe ballads made by Svend Grundtvig and Jørgen Bloch, in Hammershaimb, Færøsk Anthologi, No 7, p. 23, 'Harpu rima.'
124 b. Waldau, Böhmische Granaten, II, 97. R. Köhler. (I have never been able to get the second volume.)
125 a.
Mon frère m'a tué sous les bois d'Altumène,
Pour la rose de ma mère, que j'avais trouvée,' etc.
Poésies pop. de la France, MS., VI, 193 bis; popular in Champagne: Mélusine, I, col. 424.
125 b, second paragraph. (7), also in Rochholz, Schweizersagen aus dem Aargau, II, 126, No 353. Add to stories of this group, 'La Flute,' Bladé, Contes pop. de la Gascogne, II, 100-102. G. L. K.
The last paragraph. De Gubernatis, Zoölogical Mythology, I, 195, cites other similar stories: Afanasief, Skazki, V, 71, No 17, and two varieties, VI, 133, No 25; the twentieth story of Santo Stefano di Calcinaia, II, 325. G. L. K.
11. The Cruel Brother.
P. 143 b, line 27. Add D 3, and the Swedish ballad at p. 203, stanzas 14-17.
12. Lord Randal.
P. 151 a. Lt.-Col. W. F. Prideaux, of Calcutta, has kindly informed me that E was printed in The Universal Magazine, 1804. It is there said to have been sung, to a very simple and very ancient Scotch tune,[Pg 499] by a peasant-girl at the village of Randcallas, Perthshire. See, also, Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, XII, 134.
152 b. Italian A is translated in the Countess Evelyn Martinengo-Cesaresco's Essays in the Study of Folk-Songs, p. 219.
156 b, at the end of the second paragraph. The Čelakovský and the Sakharof ballad are the same. Add: Trudy, V, 432, No 822; p. 915, No 481.
13. Edward.
P. 168 b. B is translated also in Seckendorf's Musenalmanach für das Jahr 1808, p. 7, and by Du Méril, Histoire de la Poésie scandinave, p. 467.
14. Babylon, or, The Bonnie Banks o Fordie.
P. 172 b. Färöe. Four versions are known; Lyngbye's is repeated in Hammershaimb's Færøsk Anthologi, No 13, p. 45, 'Torkils døtur.'
173. 'La Fille d'un Cabaretier,' Guillon, Chansons pop. de l'Ain, p. 165, has some of the circumstances of No 14. A girl is stopped by three "libertins" in a wood. She gives them her ring and her chain, to ransom her person. They say they will have that too, and kill her when she resists. They then go for breakfast to her father's tavern, and while they are paying their scot the ring falls and is recognized by her mother. The youngest confesses, and they are taken to the forest and burned.
In a Russian ballad the only sister of nine [seven] brothers is given in marriage to a rich merchant, who lives at a distance from her home. After three years the married pair undertake a journey to her native place. On their way they are attacked by nine robbers, who kill her husband, throw her child into the sea, and act their pleasure with her. One of the nine, entering into talk with the woman, discovers that she is his sister. Sakharof, translated in Ralston's Songs of the Russian People, p. 49 f; Ruibnikof, Part III, p. 340, No 62, Part IV, p. 99, No 19; Hilferding, col. 149, No 28, col. 844, No 167, col. 1154, No 248, col. 1265, No 294; Trudy, V, 910, No 479, A-H.
15. Leesome Brand.
P. 181 b, line 12. Montanus is Vincenz von Zuccalmaglio; the ballad-editor is Wilhelm.
French. Add C, Decombe, No 96, p. 275, 'Le fils du roi d'Espagne.'
182 a, second paragraph, line 6 ff. Say: No 102, 'Willie and Earl Richard's Daughter;' No 103, 'Rose the Red and White Lily;' No 64, 'Fair Janet',' C 7, D 1; No 63, 'Child Waters,' J 39; No 24, 'Bonnie Annie,' A 10, B 6, 7.
A man's help refused in travail. Add: Sir Beues of Hamtoun, p. 132, v. 3449 ff (Maitland Club).
To helpe hire at the nede.
'For Godes loue,' she seide, 'nai!
Leue sire, thow go the wai;
For forbede, for is pite,
That no wimmanis priuite
To no man thourgh me be kouthe,'
16. Sheath and Knife.
P. 185. As an arrow-shot is to fix the place for a grave here and in 'Robin Hood's Death,' so, in many popular tales, arrows are shot to determine where a wife is to be sought: see a Hindoo tale, Asiatic Journal, 1833, XI, 207, Benfey, Pantschatantra, I, 261; Hahn, Griechische Märchen, No 67, II, 31, 285; Afanasief, I, 346, No 23, cited by Ralston, The Nineteenth Century, IV, 1004, 1878; Jagić, in Archiv für slavische Philologie, II, 619, and R. Köhler's notes at p. 620.
17. Hind Horn.
P. 194. The warning by a dream, the preternaturally rapid transportation, and the arrival in time to prevent a second marriage taking effect are found in the story of Aboulfaouaris, Cabinet des Fées, XV, 336 ff, Les Mille et un Jours, Paris, 1840, 228 ff. Rohde, Der griechische Roman, p. 182: F. Liebrecht.
196. Recognition by a ring dropped into a drinking-vessel. See Nigra, Romania, XIV, 255 f, note 2: but Willems and Coussemaker are cited in this book, I, 195 a (3).
197 b, second paragraph. Wernhart von Strätlingen: see the note to I, 350, of Birlinger and Buck, Volksthümliches aus Schwaben.
198 a. The story of the return, by marvellous means, of the seven years abroad husband, in Leskien u. Brugman, Litauische Volkslieder u. Märchen, No 22, p. 437 f: Wollner's notes, p. 571. G. L. K.
198 b, third paragraph. Add: Victor Smith, 'Le Retour du Mari,' Chants pop. du Velay et du Forez, in Romania, IX, 289; Tarbé, Romancero de Champagne, II, 122: "E. Muller, Chansons de mon village, journal Le Mémorial de la Loire du 19 septembre, 1867; Daymard, Collection de vieilles chansons, p. 220 du Bulletin de la Société des éludes du Lot, 1879" (V. Smith). Imperfect copies of this ballad in Guillon, Chansons pop. de l'Ain, p. 95, 'Les deux Maris,' p. 39, 'Ma pauvre Elise.'
As a tale in Bladé, Contes pop. de la Gascogne, I, 43. The seigneur is conveyed from the Holy Land by the devil, appears as a beggar, and produces one half of his marriage contract, which fits the half left with his wife. G. L. K.
200 a, second paragraph. Say, in the fourth line, three, six, or twelve. Dobrynya and Nastasya in Hil[Pg 500]ferding, Nos 23, 26, 33, 38, 43, columns 131, 144, 160, 176, 211, and twenty other places; Ruibnikof, I, 169, No 27, III, 90, No 18; Miss Hapgood's Epic Songs of Russia, Dobrynya and Alyosha, p. 253.
18. Sir Lionel.
P. 209 a. A king's daughter is to be given to the man that rids the country of a boar: Diarmaid and the Magic Boar, Campbell, Tales of the West Highlands, III, 81.
19. King Orfeo.
P. 216 a, first paragraph. The Bodleian copy, B, also refers to the lay of Orpheus at the end. G. L. K. So the Lai de l'Espine, Roquefort, Poésies de Marie de France, I, 556, v. 185, and Floire et Blanceflor, ed. Du Méril, p. 231, v. 71: Zielke, Sir Orfeo, p. 131.
For correspondences between Sir Orfeo and the Irish epic tale of the Wooing of Etain, see Kittredge, in The American Journal of Philology, VII, 191 ff.
20. The Cruel Mother.
P. 219 b. Add to the German versions: M, O. Knoop, Volkssagen, Erzählungen, u. s. w., aus dem östlichen Hinterpommern, Posen, 1885, pp. x, xi: 'Es trieb ein Schäfer mit Lämmlein raus.' Fr. Schönwerth, Aus der Oberpfalz, I, 234, gives a prose tale which is evidently founded on the ballad of 'The Cruel Mother' (three children, one in the water, one in dung, one in the wood). R. Köhler.
225.
N
Percy Papers, with no account of the derivation.
All alone and alone a
And she fell in love with her father's clarke.
Down by the greenwood side a, side a,
Down, etc.
Till at last she came big-bellied away.
And there she had two pretty babes born.
And she pierc'd these pretty babes to the tender heart.
She saw three pretty babes playing at ball.
And the other was cloathed in no cloths at all.
You shall be clothed in scarlet so fine,
And ye shall drink ale, beer and wine.'
And the hotest place in hell is reserved for thee.'
O
Pepys Ballads, V, 4, No 2, from a transcript in the Percy Papers.
Come bend and bear away the bows of yew
So secretly she loved her father's clark.
Gentle hearts, be to me true.
Till big with child she went away.
Poor she was to be pitied for heaviness.
And there she endurd much misery.
With bitter sighs these words she spoke.
And there she had two pretty babes born.
And there she ty'd them hand and leg.
And there she stuck them to the heart.
And there she laid them in to sleep.
The green grass was their coverlid.
She see three children a playing at ball.
I wold dress them [in] scarlet fine.'
You did not dress [us] in scarlet fine.
And there you endured great misery.
And there you had us pritty babes born.
And there you bound us, hand to leg.
And there you stuck us to the heart.
And there you laid us in to sleep.
The green grass was our coverlid.
Heaven-gate you shall not enter in.
Hell-gates stands open to let you in.'
'Alass I,' said she, 'what have I done!'
And dy'd away in sad despair.
Take warning by her last good-night.
The Duke's Daughter's Cruelty, or, The Wonderful Apparition of two Infants who she murtherd and buried in a Forrest for to hide her Shame. Printed for J. Deacon at the Sign of the Angel in Guil[t]-spur Street.
Either the printer or the transcriber was careless.
52. sights.
111. gowing.
122. was naked inserted by Percy.
161. you foot; throne, and perhaps also in 61.
201. coldeth.
231. wand.
252. waring.
After 10 is introduced, absurdly, this stanza, derived from 'The Famous Flower of Serving-Men:'
From Fair Elinor to Sweet William.
21. The Maid and the Palmer.
P. 228 a. The Färöe version, 'Mariu visa,' is No 9 of Hammershaimb's Færøsk Anthologi, p. 35.
22. St Stephen and Herod.
P. 234. The Färöe 'Rudisar vísa' is No 11 of Hammershaimb's Færøsk Anthologi, p. 39. Three copies are now known.
238 b. A description of San Domingo de la Calzada, with a narration of the miracle of St James, is cited by Birlinger from a manuscript of travels by a young German, 1587-93, in Alemannia, XIII, 42-44. The traveller had heard "the fable" in Italy, too, and had seen a painting of it at Savona. R. Köhler.
De Gubernatis, Zoölogical Mythology, II, 283 f, note 2, after citing the legend of San Domingo de la Calzada, adds: A similar wonder is said, by Sigonio, to have taken place in the eleventh century in the Bolognese; but instead of St James, Christ and St Peter appear to perform miracles. G. L. K.
239. In The Ely Volume, or, The Contributions of our Foreign Missions to Science, etc., 2d ed., Boston, 1885, the editor, Dr Laurie, discoursing of the Yezidees, says they speak of Satan as Melek Taoos, King Peacock, and the cawals (a sort of circuit-riders), "carry round with them brazen images of a bird on a sort of Oriental candlestick, as vouchers for their mission, and a means of blessing to their followers. One of them gave Dr Lobdell the following account of the origin of this name [Melek Taoos]. In the absence of his disciples, Satan, in the form of a dervish, took Christ down from the cross and carried him to heaven. Soon after the Marys came and asked the dervish where Christ was. They would not believe his reply, but promised to do so if he would restore the chicken he was eating to life. He did so, and when he told them who he was they adored him. When he left them he promised always to appear to them as a beautiful bird, and so the peacock became his symbol." P. 315. G. L. K.
241 a and 505.
Meio da noite chegado,
Um anjo ia no ar
A dizer: Elle é já nado.
Pergunta lo boi: Aonde?
La mula pergunta: Quem?
Canta lo gallo: Jesus.
Diz la ovelha: Bethlem.
Azevedo, Romanceiro do Archipelago da Madeira, p. 3. R. Köhler.
The Taking of Stamboul, in Bezsonof, Kalyeki Perekhozhie, I, 617, No 138.
25. Willie's Lyke-Wake.
P. 249 f. The story of A, B, C in a tale, 'La Furnarella,' A. de Nino, Usi e Costumi abruzzesi, III, 198, No 37. R. Köhler.
C. Russian, in Trudy, V, 113, No 249.
29. The Boy and the Mantle.
P. 269 b. Stones. Add the Magnet, Orpheus de Lapidibus, Leipsic, 1764, Hamberger, p. 318, translated by Erox, De Gemmis, cap. 25; and the Agate, "Albertus Magnus, De Mineralibus, 1. II, sect, ii, c. 7:" cited by Du Méril, Floire et Blanceflor, p. clxvi. G. L. K.
269 b, third paragraph. See the English Flor and Blancheflor, ed. Hausknecht, 1885, p. 189, vv. 715-20.
270 b, the first paragraph. Add: Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie, p. 931, ed. 1876. "Ebenso trägt die indische Mariatale, so lang ihre Gedanken rein sind, ohne Gefäss das zu Kugeln geballte Wasser:" Kinderund Hausmärchen, III, 264, 9, ed. 1856. See Benfey, Orient und Occident, I, 719 ff, II, 97. F. Liebrecht. For the Mariatale story (from P. Sonnerat, Voyage aux Indes Orientales, etc.), see 'Paria,' in Goethes lyrische Gedichte, erläutert von H. Düntzer, II, 449 ff, ed. 1875.
The dragon kept by the priests of Lanuvian Juno ate honey-cakes from the hands of pure maids who went down into its cave, but twined round the unchaste and bit them: Aelian, Hist. An., xi, 6, Propertius, IV (V), 8. See Die Jungfernprobe in der Drachenhöhle zu Lanuvium, C. A. Böttiger's Kleine Schriften, I, 178 ff. G. L. K.
Note [254]. In the English 'Virgilius' it is a brass serpent with the same property: Thoms, A Collection of Early Prose Romances, II, p. 34 of Virgilius, ed. 1827: cited by Sir Walter Scott, 'Sir Tristrem,' p. 432, ed. 1833, apropos of the trick of the shameless Ysonde. G. L. K.
271 a. Aqua potationis domini: see, also, Konrad von Fussesbrunnen, Die Kindheit Jesu, ed. Kochen-dörffer, Quellen u. Forschungen, XLIII, p. 81 f, vv. 573-88, 617-21, 673 ff. G. L. K.
A stunned white elephant will be resuscitated if touched by the hand of a chaste woman. A king's eighty thousand wives, and subsequently all the women in his capital, touch the elephant without effect. A serving-woman, devoted to her husband, touches the elephant, and it rises in sound health and begins to eat. Kathā-sarit-sāgara, Book VII, ch. 36, Tawney's translation, p. 329 f: H. H. Wilson's Essays, II, 129 f. ("In the 115th Tale of the Gesta Romanorum, we read that two chaste virgins were able to lull to sleep and kill an elephant that no one else could approach." Tawney's note.) C. R. Lanman.
30. King Arthur and King Cornwall.
P. 277 a, second paragraph. Brags: see Miss Hapgood's Epic Songs of Russia, p. 300; also pp. 48, 50, 61, 65, 161, etc.
280 b, the last paragraph. Färöe A is printed by Hammershaimb in Færøsk Anthologi, p. 139, No 20.
31. The Marriage of Sir Gawain.
P. 289. Miss Martha Carey Thomas, in her Dissertation on Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, etc., Zürich, 1883, pp. 62-64, has shown that the ugly woman in the English romances is probably derived from 'La damoisele hydeuse,' in the Perceval of Chrestien de Troyes, vv. 5996-6015.
32. King Henry.
P. 298, note. So of a frog, Colshorns, p. 139, No 42.
298 b, second paragraph. "In an unpublished story of the Monferrato, communicated to me by Dr Ferraro, a beautiful girl, when plucking up a cabbage, sees under its roots a large room, goes down into it, and finds a serpent there, who promises to make her fortune if she will kiss him and sleep with him. The girl consents. After three months the serpent begins to assume the legs of a man, then a man's body, and finally the face of a handsome youth, the son of a king, and marries his young deliverer." De Gubernatis, Zoölogical Mythology, II, 418. G. L. K.
34. Kemp Owyne.
P. 307 f. Caspar Decurtius, Märchen aus dem Bündner Oberlande, nach dem Räto-Romanischen erzählt, Jecklin, Volksthümliches aus Graubünden, Zürich, 1874, p. 126, has a tale of a Schlangenjungfrau who is a maid by day and a serpent by night, and is disenchanted by three kisses. G. L. K.
311. The Rev. Robert Lambe sent Percy, under date of January 29, 1768, "the best copy of 'The Laidley Worm' that he could procure from many incorrect, imperfect, and nonsensical ones." There are differences between this and the copy printed in Hutchinson,[188] but one is about as good as the other. In this earlier copy 2 follows 3 and 37 is wanting. 6 and 7 read:
Who's this that welcoms me?
A lord replied, The king's daughter,
The flower of the North Country.
Thou mightst have excepted me;
Before the morn at this same time
I'll bring her to low degree.'
And 17, 22:
And set her on the sea;
Her sails were made of silk so fine,
Her masts of rowan-tree.
Most powerfully withstood;
For warlocks, witches, cannot work
Where there is rowan-tree wood.
Duncan Frasier does not appear in the last stanza:
For their good sung in rhime,
Lest they should some important part
Forget of it in time.
Along with this earlier copy of Lambe's is found another, undescribed, which shows both agreements and variations: 2 follows 3, and 6, 7 and the final stanza are the same. 17 and 22 are wanting, and there are, therefore, no witches and no rowan-tree. Instead of 21-23, we have this very bad stanza:
Aboard yon ship so tall,
And bid them drown the Child of Wind;
But he soon slew them all.'
In the same parcel there is a copy of 'The Laidley Worm' which is somewhat more in the popular tone than the one already printed. It was sent in an undated letter [1775?] to J. Bulman, Esq., of Sheepwash, Morpeth, by E. G., that is, Captain E. Grow. "The above," says E. G., "is the Haggworm as I collected it from an old woman. I wrote to the Revrd Mr Lamb for his ballad, and directed him to send to you.... I think the inclosed more original then his, for Mr Lamb, tho a good antiquarian, is but a bad poet, and above the one half is his own composing." Mr J. Bulman appears to have transmitted this version to Percy, to whom, upon another occasion, May 25, 1775, he sends "a bold imitation of the song, now lost, of the Laidler Worm (written by Duncan Frazier, the monk on Cheviot, in 1270), by a lady, Miss Graham of Gloriorum, in Northumberland:" of which nothing need be said.
'The Hagg Worm,' obtained from an old woman by Captain E. Grow.
Built on a marble stone,
But long, long did the lady look
Eer her father came home.
And with her she has them taen;
She cast them oer her left shoulder,
And to the gates she is gaen.
Brought his new lady home,
And all the lordling[s] in his realm
To welcome them did come.
'To your halls and your towers,
And so are you, good queen,' said she,
'For all that's here is yours.'
'That welcomes me so high?'
Up then spake a greyhaird man,
An ill dead may he dee!
'Tis the kinges aie daughter,
The flower of the North Country.
An ill dead may thou dee!
Had she been fairer then she is,
You might have excepted me.
That warps about the stone,
And not till Child of Wynd comes back
Shall she again be wonne.'
A loud laughter took she:
'I hope your prayers will have no pith;
You took not God with ye.'
They calld her Dorothy—
The coffer that my gold lies in,
I leave to thee the key.
And quick will alter me;
For eer the seting sun is down
A laidler worm I'll be.'
And word's gone oer the sea,
There's a laidler worm in Spindlestone Heughs
Will destroy the North Countree.
And seven miles north and south,
Nea blade of grass or corn will grow,
For the venom of her mouth.
This monsterous worm embowered,
And the stone trough where seven cows' milk
She every day devoured.
Word oer the sea did go;
[Pg 504] The Child of Wynd got wit of it,
Which filld his heart with woe.
I fear fair Margery!
I wish I was at Spindlestone Heughs,
This laidler worm to see.'
An angry man was he:
O thou art young, far over young,
To sail the stormy sea.
'Dear brother, let me be;
For when we come to danger dire,
I must fight when you will flee.
And set her in the sea;
The sails shall be of silken twine,
The masts of rowon-tree.'
Drave them along the deep;
At last they saw a stately tower,
On the rock high and steep.
As they approached nigher,
King Ida's castle well they knew,
And the banks of Balmburghshire.
To see what she coud see,
And she espied a gallant ship
Come sailing along the sea.
To sink them in the main;
They hoisted up their silken sails,
And to Warren bridge they gane.
She plaited round the stane,
And as the ship came to the land
She banged them off again.
That flows oer Budle sand,
And when he drew his berry-brown sword
She suffered them to land.
They tirled at the ring;
'Who 's that,' said the proud porter,
'That woud so fain be in?'
Who have long been oer the sea;
We come to see our sister dear,
The peirless Margery.'
A ween, a woe-ses me!
She 's a laidler worm at Spindlestone Heughs,
These seven years and three.'
Grief added to their speed—
Where out she came a laidler worm,
And strack their hearts with dread.
And waved it oer her head,
And cried, If thou. .
. . . . . . .
And give me kisses three;
For if I am not wonne eer the sun goes down,
Wonne will I never be.'
He gave her kisses three;
She threw out her fireballs,
And fiercely made them flee.
A laidley ask was she:
'Oh, tho I am a laidley ask,
No harm I'll do to thee.
And give me kisses three;
For if I am not wonne eer the sun goes down,
Wonne will I never be.'
And gave her kisses three;
But she threw out her fireballs,
And fiercely made them flee.
A laidley adder was she;
['Oh, tho I am a laidley adder,
No harm I'll do to thee.]
And give me kisses three;
[For if I am not wonne eer the sun goes down,
Wonne will I never be.']
He gave her kisses three;
She crept into the cave a snake,
But stept out a lady.
[Pg 505]
And give me kisses three;
For tho I am a lady fair,
I am. . to modesty.'
And wrapd his sister in,
And thei'r away to Bamburg Castle,
As fast as they coud winne.
The king had long deplored,
But now rejoiced to see them both
Again to him restored.
All quailed and sore affraid,
Because she knew her power must yield
To Child of Wynd, who said:
An ill deed may thou dee!
As thou my sister likened,
So likened thou shalt be.
That on the earth doth wend,
And wonne, wonne shalt thou never be
Untill the world doth end!'
She crawls a loathsome toad,
And venom spits on every maid
She meets upon the road.
83. with have.
272. The correction to woe is is obvious, but, not knowing that there may not have been some such popular interjection as woe-ses, I leave it.
324. to three.
A laidley adder was she:
'Oh quit thy sword, and bend thy bow,
And give me kisses three.'
She t[h]rew out her fire-balls, etc., is written between the second and third lines. There seems to be no occasion for a third discharge of fireballs; but indeed the fireballs should come before the kisses, anyway.
422. deed did thou.
37. Thomas Rymer.
P. 322, second paragraph and note. Examples are too numerous to require mention, but it may be noticed that in The Turke and Gowin, Percy MS., ed. Hales and Furnivall, I, 93 f, vv 83-101, the Turk will not let Gawain touch any of the viands set forth in the underground castle, but brings in safe victual for him. G. L. K.
39. Tam Lin.
P. 335. F was learned by Widow McCormick from an old woman in Dumbarton: Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 4.
I. "The variations in the tale of Tamlane" were derived "from the recitation of an old woman residing near Kirkhill, in West Lothian:" Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 102, 1802.
336 b, third paragraph. Add: Aminson, IV, 6, No 27.
338. King Bean, in the form of a flying thing, turns into a handsome youth after bathing in three vessels successively, one of milk and water, one of milk, one of rose-water: Bernoni, Fiabe pop. veneziane, p. 87, No 17, translated by Crane, Italian Popular Tales, p. 12. A green bird bathes in a pan of milk, and becomes a handsome youth, and, bathing in gold basins full of water, this youth turns into a bird again: Pitré, Fiabe, Novelle e Racconti, I, 163, No 18, translated by Crane, p. 2, and note, p. 321. A prince and his two servants, transformed into pigeons, resume their proper shape on plunging into basins of gold, silver, and bronze respectively: a Tuscan story in De Gubernatis, Zoölogical Mythology, II, 299 f, note. G. L. K.
339 b, line 9 ff, Fairy Salve. This feature, in one form or another, occurs in nearly all the stories of mortal women who have helped elf-women in travail that are reported by Árnason, Íslenzkar þjóðsögur, I, 15 ff. G. L. K.
For fairy salve and indiscreet users of it, see, also, J. O'Hanlon, Irish Folk-Lore, Gentleman's Magazine, 1865, Pt II, in the Gentleman's Magazine Library, ed. Gomme, English Traditional Lore, p. 12. G. L. K.
340 a, third line of the second paragraph. Add to Zielke, v. 68: vv. 399-405.
340 a, second paragraph, Ympe-tree. In the lay de Tydorel, published by Gaston Paris in Romania, VIII, 67, a queen goes to sleep, v. 30, soz une ente, with strange results. G. L. K.
40. The Queen of Elfin's Nourice.
P. 358 f. Add: Hunt, Popular Romances of the West of England, ed. 1881, p. 83; P. I. Begbie, Supernatural Illusions, London, 1851, I, 44-47; Bartsch, Sagen, u. s. w., aus Meklenburg, I, 85, No 95; Kuhn, Märkische Sagen, p. 82, No 81, and Sagen, u. s. w., aus Westfalen, I, 285 f, No 331, and note; Grässe, Sagen des Königreichs Sachsen, 2d ed., I, 73, No 69, I, 395, No 455; Peter, Volksthümliches aus Österreichisch-Schlesien, II, 16; Lütolf, Sagen, u. s. w., aus Lucern, u. s. w., p. 476, No 478; Rochholz, Naturmythen, p. 113 f, No 9, and note, and especially the[Pg 506] same author's Schweizersagen aus dem Aargau, I, 339: Wolf, Niederländische Sagen, p. 501, No 417; Árnason, Íslenzkar þjóðsögur, I, 13-22 (eight). G. L. K.
41. Hind Etin.
P. 365. Add to the German ballad: I, Birlinger u. Crecelius, Deutsche Lieder, Festgruss an L. Erk, No 1, 3 stanzas. R. Köhler.
42. Clerk Colvill.
P 374 b. Swedish. 'Prins Olof,' Wigström, Folkdiktning, II, 16, is rationalized; the elf is simply a frilla, mistress.
379 a. Add: Breton G, 'Le Sône de la Fiancée,' Revue des Provinces, III, 3e livraison; Bladé, not seen by me.
380 a. French C. Say 'Le Fils Arnaud,' Noëlas, Essai d'un Romancero forézien, 68 verses.
380 b. Add: HH, II, 'Jean Renaud,' Decombe, Chansons pop. d'Ille-et-Vilaine, Nos 89, 90, pp. 253, 256; JJ, Le Limousin. KK, Le Loiret, LL, La Vendée, in Mélusine, II, cols 302-305: the last from "Revue de la Province de l'Ouest, 1856-57, IV, 50."
The first stanza, and four of the concluding, in Poésies pop. de la France, MS., VI, 491 and 491 bis.
382 a. Italian B also in Rivista di letteratura popolare, p. 56, 1877.
43. The Broomfield Hill.
P. 391. Josyan, in Sir Bevis of Hamptoun, preserves her chastity by the use of a rune.
Thorough a clerk wise of wit,
That there shall no man have grace,
While that letter is in place,
Against my will to lie me by,
Nor do me shame nor villany.'
She did that letter soon be wrought
On the manner as she had thought;
About her neck she hanged it.
Ellis's English Metrical Romances, London, 1848, p. 256.
391 b, note [369] The text of Harleian MS., 2270, compared with another copy in Harleian MS., No 5259, is given in Wright's Latin Stories, p. 114, No 126, Percy Society, vol. viii. R. Köhler.
In the Lai de Doon, ed. G. Paris, Romania, VIII, 61 ff, those who sleep in the bed are found dead in the morning, and Doon simply sits up all night. R. Köhler.
393 b, last line but one. Uhland, No 104, in Niederdeutsche Volkslieder, herausgegeben vom Verein für niederdeutsche Sprachforschung, p. 40, No 63.
44. The Twa Magicians.
P. 400 a. Add to the French ballads: P, 'Mignonne,' Guillon, p. 248, Ain; Q, Mélusine, I, 338 f, Carcasonne.
401. Persian. Chodzko, Specimens of the Popular Poetry of Persia, p. 487, No 61, Songs of the Ghilanis. This and French Q are noted by Hasdek in the Roumanian periodical Columna lui Traian, 1876, p. 44, 1877, p. 301, apropos of 'Cucul si Turturica.' Dalmatian. Francesco Carrara, Canti del popolo dalmata, Zara, 1849, p. ix. Revue des Traditions populaires, I, 98. R. Köhler.
402 a, last paragraph. The Welsh text, with an English translation, is given by Stephens, Literature of the Kymry, p. 170: cf. pp. 174, 175. G. L. K.
401. In the Kalevala, Ilmarinen, after the death of his first wife, steals her younger sister, who is very unwilling to accompany him. She threatens to break his sledge to pieces, but it is made of iron. She will turn into a salmon (Schnäpel) in the sea; he will give chase in the form of a pike. She will become an ermine; he an otter, and pursue her. She will fly off as a lark; he will follow as an eagle. Here the talk of transformation ends: Rune 37, vv. 148-178. The next morning Ilmarinen in his wrath turns the maid into a gull. Kalewala, übertragen von Schiefner, pp. 226-228. G. L. K.
45. King John and the Bishop.
P. 404 a. The Two Noble Kinsmen, V, ii, 67, 68,
Daughter. How far is 't now to the end o the world, my masters?
Doctor. Why, a day's journey, wench.
G. L. K.
404 b. Death the penalty for not guessing riddles. There is no occasion to accumulate examples, but this Oriental one is worth mentioning. In the tale of Gôsht-i Fryânô, Akht, the sorcerer, will give three and thirty riddles to Gôsht, and if Gôsht shall give no answer, or say, I know not, he will slay him. After answering all the riddles, Gôsht says he will give Akht three on the same terms, and the sorcerer, failing to solve them, is slain. Arḍâ-Vîrâf, Pahlavî text, etc., Haug and West, Bombay and London, 1872, pp. 250, 263 f. This tale Köhler has shown to be one with that of the fine Kirghish lay 'Die Lerche,' in Radloff, Proben der Volkslitteratur der türkischen Stamme Süd-Sibiriens, III, 780: see Zeitschrift der deutschen morgenländischen Gesellschaft, XIX, 633 ff.
Additions to the literature, by Dr R. Köhler.
405 b. The tale cited by Vincent of Beauvais is told by Étienne de Bourbon, A. Lecoy de la Marche, Anecdotes historiques, légendes et apologues, tirés du recueil inédit d'Étienne de Bourbon, No 86.
In an as yet unprinted fifteenth-century Low German poem on the Seven Deadly Sins (Josefs Gedicht von den sieben Todsünden... nach der Handschrift bekannt gemacht von Dr Babucke, Oster-Programm des Progymnasiums zu Norden, 1874, p. 18), a king puts an abbot four questions:
Unn were hoghest, eft he dat kende;
De ander, wor dat unghelucke queme
Unn bleve, wan dat eyn ende neme;
Dat drudde, wo gud de konig were na rade
Wan he stunde in synem besten wade;
De verde, we syner eldermoder beneme
De maghedom unn dar wedder in greme.
The abbot's swineherd, named Reyneke, answers:
Reyneke sede: In deme hemmel kommet, here,
By dem vadere Cristus syn vordere hant,
Dar is de hoghe unn keret de erde bekant.
De andere, wor dat lucke ghinghe an,
Dar moste dat ungelucke wenden unn stan,
Unn kende nerghen vorder komen.
Dat hebbe ik by my sulven vornomen:
Ghisterne was ik eyn sweyn, nu bin ik beschoren,
Unde byn to eyneme heren koren.
The replies to the third and fourth questions are wanting through the loss of some leaves of the MS. As to the first question, compare the legend of St Andrew, Legenda Aurea, ed. Grässe, p. 21, ubi terra sit altior omni coelo; to which the answer is made, in coelo empyreo, ubi residet corpus Christi. See, also, Gering, Íslendzk Æventýri, No 24, I, 95, II, 77, and note. For the fourth question see Kemble's Salomon and Saturn, p. 295, and Köhler in Germania, VII, 476.
408 b. Other repetitions of the popular tale, many of them with the monk or miller sans souci. Bartsch, Sagen, Märchen u. Gebräuche aus Meklenburg, I, 496 (Pater ohne Sorgen); Asbjørnsen, Norske Folke-Eventyr, Ny Samling, 1876, p. 128, No 26; Bondeson, Halländske Sagor, p. 103, No 27; the same, Svenska Folksagor, p. 24, No 7 (utan all sorg), cf. p. 22, No 6; Wigström, Sagor och Äfventyr upptecknade i Skåne, p. 109, in Nyare bidrag till kännedom om de svenska landsmålen och svenskt folklif, V, 1; Lespy, Proverbes du Pays de Béarn, p. 102; Bladé, Contes pop. de la Gascogne, III, 297; Moisant de Brieux, Origines de quelques coutumes anciennes, etc., Caen, 1874, I, 147, II, 100; Armana prouvençau, 1874, p. 33 (parson, bishop, gardener, middle of the earth, weight of the moon, what is my valuation? what am I thinking?); Pitré, Fiabe, Novelle, etc., II, 323, No 97 (senza pinseri); Imbriani, La novellaja fiorentina, etc., p. 621, V (Milanese, senza pensà); Braga, Contos tradicionaes do povo portuguez, I, 157, No 71, previously in Era Nova, 1881, p. 244 (sem cuidados), and No 160; Krauss, Sagen u. Märchen der Südslaven, II, 252, No 112 (ohne Sorgen); Erman, Archiv für die wissenschaftliche Kunde von Russland, XXIV, 146 (Czar Peter, kummerloses Kloster); Vinson, Le Folk-Lore du Pays basque, p. 106; Cerquand, Légendes et recits pop. du Pays basque, No 108.
Unterhaltende Räthsel-Spiele in Fragen u. Antworten, gesammelt von C. H. W., Merseburg, 1824, has the story of king, abbot, and shepherd, with the three riddles, How far is it to heaven? How deep is the sea? What is better than a gold coach? The shepherd prompts the abbot, and the abbot answers the king in person. The answer to the third is, the rain that falls between Whitsuntide and St John's. For this reply compare Archiv für slavische Philologie, V, 56, lines 25-36.
408 note [386]. Add the Æsopian tale, P. Syrku, Zur mittelalterlichen Erzählungsliteratur aus dem Bulgarischen, Archiv für slavische Philologie, VII, 94-97.
410 a. The Jewish-German story is given in Grünbaum's Jüdischdeutsche Chrestomathie, 1882, pp. 440-43. The third question is, What am I thinking? with the usual answer.
410 b. Some additions to the literature in Keller, Fastnachtspiele, Nachlese, p. 338, note to 199.
46. Captain Wedderburn's Courtship.
P. 415 a. Ein taub hat kein lungen: R. Köhler, in Weimarisches Jahrbuch, V, 344, 22.
416 a, second paragraph. Liebrecht's Abstract of Sakellarios's ballad is repeated in Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 162 ff.
416, note [393]. See R. Köhler, Die Pehlevi-Erzählung von Gôsht-i Fryânô, etc., in Zeitschrift der deutschen morgenländischen Gesellschaft, XXIX, 634-36.
417, note [396] The one stake with no head on it occurs in the Kalevala. Lemminkäinen, going to the Northland, is warned by his mother that he will find a courtyard planted with stakes, with a head on every stake but one, on which his head will be stuck. Schiefner, Rune 26, vv. 315-22, p. 163. G. L. K.
417 b. Similar are 'Las tres adivinanzas,' Marin, Cantos pop. españoles, I, 395; 'Soldatino,' Archivio per Tradizioni popolari, I, 57.
418 a. Drolleries. See R. Köhler's article on Hagen, No 63, in Germania, XIV, 269, written in 1868, to which, Dr K. informs me, he could now make numerous additions.
49. The Twa Brothers.
P. 437 b. Add, though perhaps superfluous: Passow, p. 316, No 437, vv. 37, 38; Legrand, Recueil de Chansons pop. grecques, p. 220, v. 24 ff, p. 330, v. 17 ff; Aravandinos, No 435, v. 7 ff.
53. Young Beichan.
P. 463 a, first paragraph. The French ballad in Poésies pop. de la France, MS., IV, fol. 404; printed in Mélusine, II, col. 44. Another copy in Mélusine, I, col. 123.
476. Substitute for L this broadside: 'Lord Bateman.'
A noble lord of high degree;
He shipped himself on board a ship,
Some foreign country he would go see.
Until he came to proud Turkey,
When he was taken and put to prison,
Until his life was almost gone.
It grew so stout and strong,
Where he was chained by the middle,
Until his life was almost gone.
The fairest creature my eyes did see;
She stole the keys of her father's prison,
And swore Lord Bateman she would set free.
Or does Northumberland belong to thee?
What would you give to the fair young lady
That out of prison would set you free?'
And half Northumberland belongs to me;
I'll give it all to the fair young lady
That out of prison would set me free.'
And gave to me the best of wine,
And every health she drank unto him,
'I wish, Lord Bateman, that you were mine!
And seven years I'll keep it strong,
If you'll wed with no other woman,
I will wed with no other man.'
And gave to him a ship of fame:
'Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman,
I'm afraid I neer shall see you again.'
And fourteen days, well known to thee;
She packed up all her gay clothing,
And swore Lord Bateman she would go see.
So boldly she did ring the bell;
'Who's there, who's there?' cried the proud porter,
'Who's there? come unto me tell.'
Or is his Lordship here within?'
'O yes, O yes,' cried the young porter,
'He's just now taken his new bride in.'
And a bottle of the best wine,
And not forgetting the fair young lady
Who did release him when close confined.'
Away, away, and away went he,
Until he came to Lord Bateman's chamber;
Down on his bended knees fell he.
What news hast thou brought unto me?'
'There is the fairest of all young creatures
That eer my two eyes did see.
And round one of them she has got three,
And as much gay clothing round her
As would buy all Northumberland free.
And a bottle of the best wine,
And not forgetting the fair young lady
Who did release you when close confined.'
And broke his sword in splinters three,
Saying, I will give all my father's riches,
That if Sophia has crossed the sea.
Who never was heard to speak so free:
You'll not forget my only daughter,
That if Sophia has crossed the sea.
[Pg 509]
She's neither the better or worse for me;
She came to me with her horse and saddle,
She may go back in her coach and three.'
With both their hearts so full of glee:
'I'll range no more in foreign countries,
Now since Sophia has crossed the sea.'
Pitts, Seven Dials.
P. 485 a, and p. 21, note. See, further, on reproaching or insulting elves and the like, Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, pp. 54-56: Cassel, Der Schwan, 1863, p. 14. F. Liebrecht.
Bladé, Contes populaires de la Gascogne, II, 8, 9. G. L. K.
485 b. C. The second stanza was accidentally omitted. It is:
'It's my dinner and my book.'
487, note. The scene between St George and the maiden is woven into a Greek tale, 'Der Goldäpfelbaum und die Höllenfahrt,' Hahn, No 70, II, 55. See, also, George's legend in Bezsonof, Kalyeki Perekhozhie, I, 506, 509, 520, Nos 117, 118, 120.
496 a. This copy of 'The Twa Sisters,' Z, a variety of R, was derived from ladies in New York, and by them from a cousin.
Sing bow down, bow down
There was a man lived in the West,
The bow was bent to me
There was a man lived in the West,
He loved his youngest daughter best;
So you be true to your own true-love
And I'll be true to thee.
The eldest she was mad at that.
The eldest she had nothing.
The eldest pushed the youngest in.
And I'll give you my house and land.
And you shall have my own true-love.'
She swam into the miller's dam.
He caught her by the petticoat.
And then he threw her back again.
The eldest sister fared the same.
503 a, fourth paragraph. Add: Bellermann, p. 100, No 12.
VOL. II.
54. The Cherry-Tree Carol.
P. 1. Printed in Bullen's Carols and Poems, 1886, p. 29, with the stanzas in this order: A 1-8, B 8, A 9, B 9-15, B 17. Bullen remarks, As regards the text of this carol, no two copies are found to agree, and one is obliged to adopt an eclectic method: p. 252.
A Dutch carol, keeping the palms, J. A. and L. J. Alberdingk-Thijm, Oude en nieuwere Kerstliederen, p. 174, No 87.
55. The Carnal and the Crane.
P. 7. Printed in Bullen's Carols and Poems, 1886, p. 49, with Sandys's text, a.
Legend of the Sower. I omitted to mention 'La Fuito en Egypto,' in Arbaud, I, 33 ff. The legend of the sower is the subject of a carol in the Bible des Noëls, printed at Caen: Beaurepaire in Le Héricher, Littérature pop. de Normandie, p. 81 f. Also, of a Dutch carol, J. A. and L. J. Alberdingk-Thijm, Oude en nieuwere Kerstliederen, p. 138, No 70.
Victor Smith gives two copies in Noëls du Velay et du Forez, Romania, VIII, 420 f. R. Köhler. In the second the quail plays the part of the partridge, the swallow befriends the Virgin. V. Smith refers also to Eugène Muller, Chansons de mon Village, journal Le Mémorial de la Loire du 23 septembre, 1867.
Dr R. Köhler has furnished me with these additional references.
A French Life of the Virgin, cited from a MS. of the thirteenth century, by Reinsch, Pseudo-Evangelien, pp. 60-64.
Ferdinand Wolf, Jahrbuch für romanische und englische Literatur, III, 73, cites from Didron, Annales Archéologiques, XVI, 315, 1856, a mystery of The Flight into Egypt, which has the legend of the Sower, in Noëls dramatiques des Flamands de France, publiés[Pg 510] par l'abbé Carnel. This mystery was apparently written in the eighteenth century, for representation by a charity-school.
The legend is popularly preserved in Ireland, and a species of beetle is the Virgin's enemy, in place of the partridge or quail (p. 8, note [9]): E. Adams in Transactions of the London Philological Society, cited by Rolland, Faune populaire de la France, III, 326. The same story in Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, X, 183.
The miraculous harvest is the subject of a Catalan popular tale, 'La Menta y'l Gaitx,' Maspons y Labrós, Lo Rondallayre, II, 28. A hawk seconds the mint in calling out, Under the sheaf! Again, simply, without the trait of the malicious plant or bird, in Leite de Vasconcellos, Tradições pop. de Portugal, p. 106. (Juniper, according to Italian tradition, saves the Virgin during her flight, when broom and chick-pea are on the point of revealing her whereabouts by their noise: De Gubernatis, Mythologie des Plantes, II, 153.)
The legend has been transferred by tradition to St Radegund, Acta Sanctorum Augusti, III, 66; to St Macrina, pursued by Gargantua, Sébillot, Gargantua dans les Traditions populaires, p. 173; and even to Luther, von Schulenburg, Wendische Volkssagen, p. 47. It is cited from the 145th book of the works of Bernard de Bluet d'Arberes, by P. L. Jacob, Dissertations Bibliographiques, p. 195.
56. Dives and Lazarus.
P. 10. Printed in A. H. Bullen's Carols and Poems, 1886, p. xviii, from a Birmingham broadside of the last century, differing only in a few words from A.
57. Brown Robyn's Confession.
P. 13. I neglected to refer to the throwing over of Bonnie Annie in No 24, I, 244. Add: 'Les Pèlerins de Saint-Jacques,' Decombe, Chansons pop. d'Ille-et-Vilaine, p. 284, No 98.
As to detention of ships by submarine people, see R. Köhler, in Zeitschrift für deutsches Alterthum, XXIX, 456-458.
15. For other cases of guilty men who endanger ships being ascertained by lot and thrown into the sea, see R. Köhler's Vergleichende Anmerkungen, prefixed to Karl Warnke's edition of the Lais of Marie de France, p. C, Eliduc, I. Köhler cites 'Tristan le Léonois,' in which Sadoc, a nephew of Joseph of Arimathea, is the offender who is thus disposed of. Wesselofsky, Archiv für slavische Philologie, IX, 288 ff (as pointed out to me by Dr Köhler), makes the admirable suggestion that Sadok (in Hebrew, The Just) is the original of the Russian Sadko.
The story of Sadko, in Miss Hapgood's Epic Songs of Russia, p. 313.
19 b. Mermaids boding storms: Hunt, Popular Romances of the West of England, ed. 1881, p. 15. G. L. K.
58. Sir Patrick Spens.
P. 20 b. A a is translated in Seckendorf's Musenalmanach für das Jahr 1808, p. 9.
59. Sir Aldingar.
P. 33, note[31]. Octavian, ed. Sarrazin, p. 8, 195 ff, p. 72, 157 ff.
40 a, the second paragraph. There are five copies of the Färöe ballad. The copy in the Antiquarisk Tidsskrift was made up from four. A fifth, printed by Hammershaimb in Færøsk Anthologi, p. 188, No 25, has a widely divergent and very inferior story. There is no ordeal by battle. Óluva asks to be subjected to three probations, sea, fire, and a snake-house, and comes off triumphantly. Mýlint, her slanderer, is so absurd as to propose to try the snake-house, and is torn to pieces ere he is half in. Óluva goes into a cloister.
60. King Estmere.
P. 49, note[59]. "Was lough a loud laughter the reading of the folio?" "A loud laughter the ladie lought," Percy Folio, I, 190, 'The Lord of Learne,' v. 215. G. L. K.
51, and 54, stanza 49. Riding into Hall. Sir Percival rides so close to King Arthur that his mare kisses Arthur's forehead, v. 494 ff; knocks off the king's hat, Chrestien de Troyes, 2125 ff (the kissing is a mistranslation); he binds his mare in the hall, v. 599, Thornton Romances. Lancelot rides into hall in Morte Arthur, v. 1555, p. 60, ed. Furnivall. Dame Tryamour rides into hall in the English Launfal, v. 973 ff, Ritson, Met. Rom., I, 212; Lanval, v. 617 ff, Warnke, Lais der Marie de France, p. 111.
Floris ende Blancefloer, ed. Moltzer, p. 29, v. 1055: F. Liebrecht.
Floire et Blanceflor, ed. Du Méril, v. 665 f, p. 28. Torrent of Portugal, ed. Halliwell, v. 1143 ff, p. 49: Torrent and others ride into the king's hall during meat, Torrent even 'up to the lady.' Le Bel Inconnu, ed. Hippeau, vv. 71-89, p. 4. Ipomydon, ed. Weber, vv. 1651 ff, III, 341: Ipomydon, disguised as a fool, goes to the king's court on a rouncy, and when told to go to meat ties his horse 'fast him by;' into the hall came riding a may. G. L. K.
51 b, the third paragraph. "En ces temps-là, dit la Chronique Générale d'Espagne, les rois, comtes, nobles, et tous les chevaliers, afin d'être prêts à toute heure, tenaient leurs chevaux dans la salle où ils couchaient avec leurs femmes: Taine, Les Origines de la France contemporaine, I, 10 f." F. Liebrecht. "E[Pg 511] assy los reyes e condes e los altos omes e todos los otros caualleros que se presçiauan de armas, todos parauan los cauallos dentro en las camaras donde tenien sus lechos donde dormian con sus mugeres, porque, luego que oyan dar el apellido, touiessen prestos sus cauallos e sus armas, e que caualgassen luego sin otra tardança ninguna." Crónica de España, ed. 1541, Third Part, fol. cclxxv.
61. Sir Cawline.
P. 56. I have omitted to refer to the close resemblance to Sir Eglamour, Thornton Romances, p. 121, Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall, II, 341. See 'Sir Lionel,' I, 209.
56 b, line 19 f. Compare the sword given by Cristabelle to Sir Eglamour, v. 265 f:
57 a. In the Lai de l'Espine, erroneously ascribed by Roquefort to Marie de France, the hero, holding watch for the sake of adventure at the Gué de l'Espine, en la nuit de la Saint Jéhan, tilts with eldritch knights and wins a horse from one of them. The horse disappears, much as in the story in Gervase of Tilbury. G. L. K.
62. Fair Annie.
P. 67, note[79]. More cases in Dr R. Köhler's annotation to 'Le Fraisne,' Warnke, Lais der Marie de France, p. LXIV ff. See, also, Liebrecht, Germania, XXVIII, 114 f. [The passage concerning Guinea negroes, Köhler, p. LXXIV, occurs also, perhaps originally, in Astley's Voyages, III, 83, whence it is cited by Sir John Lubbock, Mental and Social Condition of Savages, p. 36, ed. 1882. G. L. K.]
63. Child Waters.
P. 85 b. Percy's ballad is translated in Seckendorf's Musenalmanach für das Jahr 1808, p. 120.
66. Lord Ingram and Chiel Wyet.
P. 127 a. Sword in bed.
Add the following references, communicated by Dr R. Köhler. Gonzenbach, Sicilianische Märchen, Nos 39, 40, I, 272, 279; Bladé, Contes p. de la Gascogne, I, 284; Leskien u. Brugman, Litauische Volkslieder u. Märchen, p. 394, Märchen 11, and Wollner's note, p. 548; Pio, Νεοελληνικα Παραμυθια, No 10, p. 174; a Latin tale in Jahrbuch für romanische u. englische Literatur, XI, 231; Prym u. Socin, Syrische Sagen u. Märchen, No 7, p. 25; Gaster, Beiträge zur vergleichenden Sagen- u. Märchenkunde, p. 28; Generides, ed. Furnivall, p. 202, v. 6511 ff, ed. Wright, 3921 ff; the French Bevis of Hampton, and (through Amis and Amiloun) one version of the Seven Sages, epitomized in Loiseleur des Longchamps, Essai sur les Fables indiennes, Rajna, Ricerchi intorno ai Reali di Francia, p. 121, and Origini dell' Epopea francese, p. 406; Lane, Thousand and One Nights, III, 346, Story of Seyf El-Mulook (A. Weber); Weber, Ueber eine Episode im Jaimini-Bhârata, Monatsberichte der Berliner Akademie, 1869, p. 40; Reinisch, Die Nuba-Sprache, I, 190; Consiglieri Pedroso, Portuguese Folk-Tales, Folk-Lore Society, No 25, p. 100 (lance for sword).
The King of the Crows (a man by night) puts a naked sword between himself and his wife. Bladé, Contes pop. de la Gascogne, I, 21. G. L. K.
127 b. Jumping over tables. See, also, I, 502 a, note to p. 194, and 502 b, note to 198 b. Add to the Polish ballads in the last, Roger, p. 13, Nos 25, 26: in 25 the bride jumps three, in 26 she jumps four and knocks over a fifth with her foot. R. Köhler notes a Slavic ballad of the same set, translated by Max Waldau, Deutsches Museum, 1851, I, 134. Nastasya (see I, 200) jumps over a table to get to Dobrynya, Hilferding, col. 810, No 157; Miss I. F. Hapgood's Epic Songs of Russia, p. 267.
Herr Lave, in the favorite and excellent Scandinavian ballad, 'Herr Lave og Herr Jon,' jumps over the table when he is told "nu sover Hr. Jon hos unge Bruddin," Kristensen, II, 304, No 86, C 13: so Kristensen, I, 172, No 62, A 5; Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 71, No 34, stanza 15; Öberg, Filikromen, III, 32, 35, stanza 15; Grundtvig, No 275, 'Hr. Find og Vendel rod,' stanza 12. Liebrecht, Englische Studien, IX, 447, adds E. Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 14, 'Agneta och bergamannen,' stanza 18.
Alexander, in disguise, jumps over Darius's table, Kyng Alisaunder, 4236-39, Weber, I, 174; Garadue jumps the table in the Lai du Corn, Wolf, Ueber die Lais, vv. 551-54, p. 340. The Soudan of Dammas, Kyng of Tars, vv. 97 ff, Ritson, II, 160, and King Richard, Richard Coer de Lion, vv. 1795-98, Weber, II, 71, smite the table down. G. L. K.
67. Glasgerion.
P. 137 a, second paragraph. Landau notes various unpleasant stories resembling Boccaccio's, Quellen des Dekameron, pp. 70 f, 74 ff, ed. 1884.
137 a, note[96]. The comparison between Chaucer's Glascurion and the Welsh Geraint had already been made by Price, Essay on the Remains of Ancient Lit. in the Welsh, etc., 1845, Literary Remains of the Rev. Thomas Price, 1854, I, 152. G. L. K.
137 b, line 18. Insert: Briz, V, 73.
Line 20. Add: the harping of Wäinämöinen, Kalevala, Rune 41, v. 31 ff, Schiefner, p. 240. Daghda, the Druid, performs in the hall of his enemies the three feats which give distinction to a harper: makes the women cry tears, the women and youth burst into[Pg 512] laughter, and the entire host fall asleep. O'Curry, Manners and Customs of the Ancient Irish, III, 214: cf. D'Arbois de Jubainville, Cours de la Litt. Celtique, II, 190 f. G. L. K.
68. Young Hunting.
P. 143, note[100]. Danske Samlinger, Norske Magasin, are cited by Grundtvig, IV, 151.
143. Discovery of drowned bodies. See, further, Dennys, The Folk-Lore of China, p. 64; Liebrecht, Volkskunde, p. 332, No 169, and Englische Studien, IX, 447; Mélusine, II, cols 252, 253.
69. Clerk Saunders.
P. 158 b, at the end of the first paragraph. Supply the Portuguese versions, accidentally omitted: 'Dona Branca,' Braga, Cantos pop. do Archipelago açoriano, p. 233; 'Dom Alberto,' p. 236, 'Flor de Marilia,' p. 237.
72. The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford.
P. 174. Add to the Spanish and Italian ballad: 'Les trois Clercs,' Decombe, as above, p. 267, No 93; 'Les trois Écoliers,' Mélusine, I, col. 243 f; 'La Légende de Pontoise' (corrupted), Poésies p. de la France, MS., I, fol. 82, Mélusine, II, 18 f.
73. Lord Thomas and Fair Annet.
P. 179 b. F. After Kinloch MSS, III, 127, insert: and Dr John Hill Burton's papers.
182. Green and blue.
And yellow's forsworn,
And blue's the sweetest
Color that's worn."
This is given (apropos of an emerald engagement-ring) as a popular rhyme in William Black's Three Feathers, chap. ix. The scene is in Cornwall.
In token ye shall be trewe,"
says the king's daughter of Hungary in the Squyr of Lowe Degre, vv. 205, 206, Ritson, III, 153. See Rochholz, Altdeutsches Bürgerleben, pp. 277, 278. G. L. K.
75. Lord Lovel.
J
Communicated by Mr Macmath, as derived from his aunt, Miss Jane Webster, who learned it from her mother, Janet Spark, Kirkcudbrightshire.
Kaiming down his milk-white steed,
When by came Lady Anzibel,
Was wishing Lord Lovel good speed, good speed,
Was wishing Lord Lovel good speed.
'O where are you going?' said she:
'I'm going unto England,
And there a fair lady to see.'
'How long will you stay?' says she:
'O three short years will soon go by,
And then I'll come back to thee.'
P. 205 a, note[121]. Add: (28) a copy in B. Seuffert, Maler Müller, Berlin, 1877, p. 455f: R. Köhler. (Dropped in the second edition, 1881.)
205 b, note[122]. The Finnish version is 'Morsiamen kuolo,' Kanteletar, 1864, p. viii.
P. 206. Add: Decombe, 'Derrièr' la Trinité,' p. 210, No 75, 'En chevauchant mon cheval rouge,' p. 212, No 76; Ampère, Instructions, p. 36, Bulletin du Comité, etc., I, 252, 'Les chevaux rouges.'
77. Sweet William's Ghost.
P. 227, note[130]. Sir Walter Scott, in his Introduction to The Pirate, ed. 1846, p. viii, and note, p. 136, informs us that the old woman was Bessie Millie, living at Stromness, Pomona, Orkney (not Shetland). W. Macmath.
227 b. Asking back troth. The Child of Bristow's father, who has been charged by his son to come back from purgatory at intervals of a fortnight, asks back his troth three times, and gets it after he is ransomed by his son: Hazlitt, Early Popular Poetry, I, 120, 124, 128.
78. The Unquiet Grave.
P. 235 a. Add these versions of the tale of the child that is obliged to carry its mother's tears in a pitcher, or whose clothes are wet with its mother's tears: 'Das Thränenkrüglein,' Bechstein, Märchenbuch, 1845, p. 109, 1879, p. 110; Wucke, Sagen der mittleren Werra, 1864, I, 133; also, II, 31; Krainz, Mythen u. Sagen[Pg 513] aus dem steirischen Hochlande, p. 405, No 309 [and Sagen aus Steirmark, p. 50, No 44]; Jäcklin, Volksthümliches aus Graubünden, Cur, 1878, p. 18, versified by the editor; Friedrich Müller, Siebenbürgische Sagen, 1857, p. 47, No 64, and Wien, 1885, No 87; von Shulenburg, Wendische Volkssagen, p. 238; Krauss, Sagen u. Märchen der Südslaven, II, 307, No 132. J. W. Wolf, Deutsche Märchen u. Sagen, p. 162, No 42, gives the story from Thomas Cantipratensis, and in a note, at p. 595, says, dieselbe Sage ist auch muhammedanisch, doch muss ich leider die nähere Nachweise darüber für ein anderes Mal ersparen. R. Köhler.
Schambach u. Müller, Niedersächsische Sagen, No 233, p. 220, and note at p. 364; Lütolf, Sagen aus Lucern, p. 515. G. L. K.
236 a. Better in the Pahlavî text, Arḍâ-Vîrâf, Haug and West, Bombay and London, 1872, ch. 16, p. 165. Srôsh, the pious, and Âtarô, the angel, said thus. This river is the many tears which men shed from the eyes as they make lamentation and weeping for the departed. They shed those tears unlawfully, and they swell to this river. Those who are not able to cross over are those for whom, after their departure, much lamentation and weeping were made, and those who cross more easily are those for whom less was made. Speak forth to the world thus: When you are in the world, make no lamentation and weeping unlawfully; for so, much harm and difficulty may happen to the souls of your departed.
236 b. Add: the legend Santo Antonio e a Princeza, Estacio da Veiga, Romanceiro do Algarve, p. 178, Hardung, Romanceiro Portuguez, II, 151 f; and to note [134]., Jacobs, Anthologia Græca, II, 799, Appendix Epigrammatum, 125, ed. 1814. F. Liebrecht.
80. Old Robin of Portingale.
P. 240 a. Add: 'Willie's Fatal Visit,' Buchan, II, 259 f, stanza 5; 'Wallace and his Leman,' p. 226, stanza 2.
240 b, second paragraph, fourth line. Say: burns or cuts.
A crose appone his schuldir bare.
Sir Isumbras, Thornton Romances, ed. Halliwell, p. 94, v. 135 f.
King Richard, in Richard Coer de Lion, v. 1726, Weber, II, 68, says: "Upon my flesch I bare the croys." Certain young men who had refused to take the cross, having got worsted in a fight with robbers, condignly, three days afterwards, crucem quem antea spreverant in carne sibi invicem ultronei affixerunt. Giraldus Cambrensis, Itinerarium Cambriæ, ii, 7, Opera, ed. Dimock, VI, 126. G. L. K.
81. Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard.
P. 243 b, third paragraph. Heathen child: so Sir Beues of Hamtoun, v. 3558, p. 136 (Maitland Club).
244. For wiping or whetting the sword, see further under No 99, p. 378.
89. Fause Foodrage.
P. 297 a, third paragraph. A Färöe version, 'Sveinur í Vallalíð,' one of five known, is printed by Hammershaimb, Færøsk Anthologi, No 19, p. 124.
90. Jellon Grame.
P. 303 b, the first paragraph. Add to Bugge, No 5, Landstad's version, No 18, stanzas 6, 7, p. 224. The trait of the extraordinary growth of the boy who is to avenge his father is preserved also in the Färöe 'Sveinur í Vallalíð' (a variety of 'Ung Villum,' II, 297 a), Hammershaimb, Færøsk Anthologi, p. 131, stanzas 44, 45. Again in 'Ivar Erlingen og Riddarsonen,' Landstad, No 13, stanzas 22, 23, p. 161. Sigurd grows more in one month than other bairns in six in some Färöe versions of 'Regin Smith,' as Lyngbye, p. 58, stanzas 33, 34; the verses having, perhaps, been adopted from other ballads: see Hammershaimb, Sjúrðar kvæði, p. 6, note 2. This marvellous growth occurs in some popular tales, as 'Der Grindkopf (Italian), Köhler, in Jahrbuch fur rom. u. eng. Literatur, VIII, 253, Gonzenbach, Sicilianische Volksmärchen, I, 158, No 26.
91. Fair Mary of Wallington.
P. 310 b, last paragraph, eleventh line. After Wunderhorn, etc., insert: 'Von der jungen Markgräfin,' Seckendorf's Musenalmanach für das Jahr 1808, p. 23.
93. Lamkin.
W
'Bloody Lambkin,' communicated by Mr Macmath ea derived from his aunt, Miss Jane Webster, who learned it from her aunt, Minnie Spark, Kirkcudbrightshire.
without and within,
Except a little hole,
to let Bloody Lambkin come in.
wi the silver bodkin,
Till oot o the cradle
the reed blude did rin.
[Pg 514]
still him wi the keys:'
'He'll no be still, madam,
let me do what I please.'
still him wi the knife:'
'He'll no be still, madam,
na, no for my life.'
still him wi the bell:'
'He'll no be still, madam,
till ye come down yoursel.'
this cold frosty night?
I have neither coal nor candle,
for to show me light!'
sae loud as ye lee;
Ye'd neer a cut finger
but I pitied thee.'
95. Maid Freed from the Gallows.
P. 349 b. Add: Antonovitch and Dragomanof, Historical Songs of the Little-Russian People, Kief, 1874, I, 102, No 34; Chodzko, Les Chants historiques de l'Ukraine, p. 72. A Cossack writes to his father from prison, begging to be ransomed. 'How much?' asks the father. 'Eight oxen to every house, with their plows.' If he must give so much, the son will have to die. The son writes to his mother. 'How much do they ask?' 'Eight milch-cows, with their calves.' At that rate he will have to die. He writes to his love. 'How much must be paid?' 'Seven hundred ducks from each house.' She would rather part with all she has than let him die.
100. Willie o Winsbury.
P. 398. This copy, J, which resembles D, was communicated by Mr Macmath as derived, September 13, 1886, from his aunt, Miss Jane Webster, who learned it above fifty years ago at Airds of Kells, Kirkcudbrightshire, from the singing of Samuel Galloway. "Barborough may be spelt Barburgh, Barbara, or even, perhaps, Barbary."
And her clothing it was the green,
And she's looked ower her father's castle-wa,
For to see her father's ships sail in, in,
For to see her father's ships on sea.
'What makes thee so pale and wan?
I'm afraid you've got some sore sickness,
Or have lain wi some young man, man,
Or have lain wi some young man.'
Nor I've lain with no young man;
But the thing that grieves me to the heart
Is my true-love is staying too long.'
That my true-love, etc.
Or a man of birth or fame?
Or is he one of my own servant-men,
That is lately come from Spain?'
Nor a man of birth or fame;
But he is one of your own servant-men,
That is lately come from Spain.'
O call him down to me,
For before eight o'clock next morning
Hanged he shall be, be,
Aye, hanged on a tree.'
'That anything there should be,
For if that you hang John Barborough,
You'll get nae mair good o me.'
By one and by two and by three;
John Barborough was to be the first,
But the last man down came he.
. . . . . . .
For every pound that he laid down,
John Barborough laid down three.
Dr Davidson has given me a stanza, derived from Aberdeenshire, which is close to G 10.
Wi the saut tear in her ee:
[Pg 515] 'O gin ye hang my True Tammas,
Ye'se never see guid o me.'
To be Corrected in the Print.
I, 67 a, line 15. Read Trundesøn.
279 b, note §, first citation. Read 312 for 292.
319, note [308], second line. Read later for Latin.
322, note [318], last line but one. Read baciata.
392 b, third line. O has dropt out of Oesterley.
392 b, third paragraph, second line. Read husband's sons are.
400 b, first line. Read şi.
400 b, sixth line from the bottom. Read Ćelakovský.
407 b, second paragraph, last line but one. Read abbot be cook.
486 a, CC, first line, and 504 a, 219 b, fifth line. Read Schlossar.
II, 10 b, second paragraph, last line. Read 97 for 47.
78 b, stanza 262. Read frae for from.
82 a, third stanza from the bottom, second verse. Read Orris.
85 a, first paragraph, last line. Read J 30 for F 30.
99 a, A 311, third line. Read 323 for 311.
133, D 41. Read Lord Ingram.
136 b, second paragraph, second line. Read III, 113-118.
137 b, third paragraph, second line. Read Barnard.
143, note[100]. Read Samlinger... Norske Magasin.
185 a, stanza 213. Drop the.
206 a, third paragraph (7), and 215 b, second paragraph, last line but four. Read Aravandinos.
215 b, second paragraph, last line but five. Read 89 for 29.
256, K 24. Read in o my arms.
326, stanza 82. Read O go please it.
352, stanza 202. Read No tho (No having been arbitrarily struck out).
It is intended to follow the spelling of sources or to note departures from it. The following undesigned variations from the spelling of the texts have been observed. Undoubtedly there are others. All that shall be detected will be registered, and literal conformity restored if the opportunity shall offer.
I, 145 b, 212. Read silver-shode.
II, 48 a, C 13. Read rottens.
78, 43. Read welcome.
78, 222. Read angring.
78, 242. Read bot.
91, D 243. Read ha an.
91, D 271-2. Read ye'el.
91, D 293. Read mether an.
107, D 152. Read spak.
108, E 24. Read die.
111, notes, E 13. Read labour.
190, F 134. Read Te.
207, B 31. Read whan. 43. Read lang.
209, D 44. Read fair. 54. Read aw.
248, D 18. Read Levingstone.
248, D 53, 71, 142. Read gowd.
326, 121, 171. Read nursy.
Transcriber's Notes
Page 20, Footnote [30]: added missing closing quote and comma ('Sir Patrick Spens', a piece of literary work of the last century,...)
Page 26, stanza 131 changed "moo" to "moon" ('I saw the new moon late yestreen,)
Page 43: changed comma to period (et estoit roy d'Angleterre.)
Page 75, stanza 111: deleted erroneous comma at beginning of line (An she gid by the first table,)
Page 96, heading to ballad version I: note that the balance of the date is missing in the original (learned from his aunt at Old Deer, about 185)
Page 147, ballad version C, stanza 14: added missing open quote ('Come doon, come doon, my pretty parrot,)
Page 164, ballad version F, stanza 4: added missing open quote ('O wha is that at my bower-door,)
Page 206: initial rough breathings before Greek capitals appear to have been interpreted as opening single quotes, and the printer has supplied matching close quotes. Both quotes and rough breathing are retained (... these also have: 'Ἡ Ευγενουλα,' 'Ὁ Χαρος και ἡ Κορη,' etc.)
Page 228: changed "be wailed" to "bewailed" (is bitterly bewailed by Sigrún.)
Page 228: changed closing single quote to double quote ("hon sörjer sin fästeman ur graf,")
Page 231, ballad version C, stanza 13: added missing open quote ('It is three hell-hounds, Marjorie,' he says,)
Page 240: corrected reference "42" to "41" (So the "Sleep you, wake you" of 41,...)
Page 240, Footnote [135]: changed "Madder" to "Madden" (As Sir Frederick Madden has observed,...)
Page 246, heading to ballad version C changed "Roxburge" to "Roxburghe" (d. Roxburghe Ballads, III, 340.)
Page 284, stanza 7: added missing close single quote (And bid Fair Eleanor come?')
Page 285, heading to ballad version B: deleted comma preceding semicolon (Motherwell's MS. p. 149;)
Page 294, ballad version E, stanza 13: suspect question mark may be a printer's error, but is retained (His lady, in her bigly bower?)
Page 295: corrected stanza reference from "4" to "14" (144. the door.)
Page 366, ballad version P, stanza 43: added missing close single quote ('We'll nip the baby in the cradle,')
Page 346, changed "Series" to "eries" (C. Notes and Queries, Sixth Series,...)
Page 405, note to ballad version B: changed "are" to italic (Quhat, ze, etc., are printed what, ye.)
Page 405, note on ballad version F stanza 16: italics extended to whole paragraph (16. Given thus in Kinloch's annotated copy... ... and that of Buchan:)
Page 406 changed "Islenzk" to "Íslenzk" ('Þiðriks kvæði konúngs,' Íslenzk fornkvæði, II, 218, No 57, st. 6;)
Page 436, stanza 553: changed "Ihon" to "Iohn" (Thy brother Iohn shall be a lord,)
Page 440: changed "p:" to "plate:" (201. siluer & plate: see 221.)
Page 485, stanza 312: added missing close single quote (This fault which you've committed;')
Page 494, Footnote [187]: changed "ould" to "would" (and would have followed No 40 had I known)
Page 513, under notes on Ballad 78: original footnote reference, using "double dagger" symbol, does not exist on page 236. The inference from context is that the reference should be to Footnote [134] which originally had "dagger" symbol (236 b.... and to note [134]., Jacobs, Anthologia Græca, II,...)
Page 515: changed "81" to "82" (326, stanza 82. _Read_ O go please it.)
Page 515, under To be Corrected in the Print for Volume II, no instance in the text could be found corresponding to the correction for Page 352, stanza 202.