Volume 3 / Book 4 — APPENDIX.

Lady Maisry forth from her bower came, And stood on her tower head; She thought she heard a bridle ring, The sound did her heart guid. She thought it was her first true love,5 Whom she loved ance in time; But it was her new love, Hunting, Come frae the hunting o' the hyn'. "Gude morrow, gude morrow, Lady Maisry, God make you safe and free!10 I'm come to take my last farewell, And pay my last visit to thee." "O stay, O stay then, young Hunting, O stay with me this night; Ye shall ha'e cheer, an' charcoal clear,15 And candles burning bright." "Have no more cheer, you lady fair, An hour langer for me; I have a lady in Garmouth town I love better than thee."20 "O if your love be changed, my love, Since better canno' be, Nevertheless, for auld lang syne, Ye'll stay this night wi' me. "Silver, silver shall be your wage,25 And gowd shall be your fee; And nine times nine into the year, Your weed shall changed be. "Will ye gae to the cards or dice, Or to a tavern fine?30 Or will ye gae to a table forebye, And birl baith beer and wine?" "I winna gang to the cards nor dice, Nor to a tavern fine; But I will gang to a table forebye,35 And birl baith beer and wine." Then she has drawn for young Hunting The beer but and the wine, Till she got him as deadly drunk As ony unhallowed swine.40 Then she's ta'en out a trusty brand, That hang below her gare; Then she's wounded him, young Hunting, A deep wound and a sair. Then out it speaks her comrade,45 Being in the companie: "Alas! this deed that ye ha'e done, Will ruin baith you and me." "Heal well, heal well, you Lady Katharine, Heal well this deed on me;50 The robes that were shapen for my bodie, They shall be sewed for thee." "Tho' I wou'd heal it never sae well, And never sae well," said she, "There is a God above us baith,55 That can baith hear and see." They booted him and spurred him, As he'd been gaun to ride; A hunting-horn about his neck, A sharp sword by his side.60 And they rode on, and farther on, All the lang summer's tide, Until they came to wan water, Where a' man ca's it Clyde. The deepest pot in Clyde's water,65 There they flang him in, And put a turf on his breast bane, To had young Hunting down. O out it speaks a little wee bird, As she sat on the brier:70 "Gae hame, gae hame, ye Lady Maisry, And pay your maiden's hire." "O I will pay my maiden's hire, And hire I'll gi'e to thee; If ye'll conceal this fatal deed,75 Ye's ha'e gowd for your fee." Then out it speaks a bonny bird, That flew aboon their head; "Keep well, keep well your green claithing Frae ae drap o' his bluid."80 "O I'll keep well my green claithing Frae ae drap o' his bluid, Better than I'll do your flattering tongue, That flutters in your head. "Come down, come down, my bonny bird,85 Light down upon my hand; For ae gowd feather that's in your wing, I wou'd gi'e a' my land." "How shall I come down, how can I come down, How shall I come down to thee?90 The things ye said to young Hunting, The same ye're saying to me." But it fell out on that same day, The king was going to ride, And he call'd for him, young Hunting,95 For to ride by his side. Then out it speaks the little young son, Sat on the nurse's knee, "It fears me sair," said that young babe, "He's in bower wi' yon ladie."100 Then they ha'e call'd her, Lady Katharine, And she sware by the thorn, That she saw not him, young Hunting, Sin' yesterday at morn. Then they ha'e call'd her, Lady Maisry,105 And she sware by the moon, That she saw not him, young Hunting, Sin' yesterday at noon. "He was playing him at the Clyde's water, Perhaps he has fa'en in:"110 The king he call'd his divers all, To dive for his young son. They div'd in thro' the wan burn-bank, Sae did they out thro' the other: "We'll dive nae mair," said these young men,115 "Suppose he were our brother." Then out it spake a little bird, That flew aboon their head: "Dive on, dive on, ye divers all, For there he lies indeed.120 "But ye'll leave aff your day diving, And ye'll dive in the night; The pot where young Hunting lies in, The candles they'll burn bright. "There are twa ladies in yon bower,125 And even in yon ha', And they ha'e kill'd him, young Hunting, And casten him awa'. "They booted him and spurred him, As he'd been gaun to ride;130 A hunting horn tied round his neck, A sharp sword by his side. "The deepest pot o' Clyde's water, There they flang him in, Laid a turf on his breast bane,135 To had young Hunting down." Now they left aff their day diving, And they dived on the night; The pot that young Hunting lay in, The candles were burning bright.140 The king he call'd his hewers all, To hew down wood and thorn, For to put up a strong bale-fire, These ladies for to burn. And they ha'e ta'en her, Lady Katharine,145 And they ha'e pitten her in; But it wadna light upon her cheek, Nor wou'd it on her chin, But sang the points o' her yellow hair, For healing the deadly sin.150 Then they ha'e ta'en her, Lady Maisry, And they ha'e put her in: First it lighted on her cheek, And syne upon her chin, And sang the points o' her yellow hair,155 And she burnt like keckle-pin.

It fell about the gude Yule time, When caps and stoups gaed roun', Down it came him young Waters, To welcome James, our king. The great, the great, rade a' together,5 The sma' came a' behin'; But wi' young Waters, that brave knight, There came a gay gatherin'. The horse young Waters rade upon, It cost him hunders nine;10 For he was siller shod before, And gowd graith had behin'. At ilka tippit o' his horse mane There hang a siller bell; The wind was loud, the steed was proud,15 And they gae a sindry knell. The king he lay ower's castle wa', Beheld baith dale and down; And he beheld him, young Waters, Come riding to the town.20 He turn'd him right and round about, And to the queen said he,— "Who is the bravest man, my dame, That ever your een did see?" "I've seen lairds, and I've seen lords,25 And knights o' high degree; But a braver man than young Waters My e'en did never see." He turn'd him right and roun' about, And ane angry man was he;30 "O wae to you, my dame, the queen; Ye might ha'e excepted me!" "Ye are nae laird, ye are nae lord, Ye are the king that wears the crown; There's nae a lord in fair Scotland,35 But unto you maun a' bow down." "O lady, for your love choicing, Ye shall win to your will; The morn, or I eat or drink, Young Waters I'll gar kill."40 And nevertheless, the king cou'd say, "Ye might ha'e excepted me; Yea for yea," the king cou'd say, "Young Waters he shall die. "Likewise for your ill-wyled words45 Ye sall ha'e cause to mourn; Gin ye hadna been sae big wi' child, Ye on a hill su'd burn." Young Waters came before the King, Fell low down on his knee;50 "Win up, win up, young Waters, What's this I hear o' thee?" "What ails the king at me," he said, "What ails the king at me?" "It is tauld me the day, sir knight,55 Ye've done me treasonie." "Liars will lie on sell gude men, Sae will they do on me; I wudna wish to be the man That liars on wudna lie."60 Nevertheless, the king cou'd say, "In prison strang gang ye; O yea for yea," the king cou'd say, "Young Waters, ye shall die." Syne they ha'e ta'en him, young Waters,65 Laid him in prison strang, And left him there wi' fetters boun', Making a heavy mane. "Aft ha'e I ridden thro' Striveling town Thro' heavy wind and weet;70 But ne'er rade I thro' Striveling town Wi' fetters on my feet. "Aft ha'e I ridden thro' Striveling town, Thro' heavy wind and rain; But ne'er rade I thro' Striveling town75 But thought to ridden't again." They brought him to the heading-hill, His horse, bot and his saddle; And they brought to the heading-hill His young son in his cradle.80 And they brought to the heading-hill, His hounds intill a leish; And they brought till the heading-hill, His gos-hawk in a jess. King James he then rade up the hill,85 And mony a man him wi', And called on his trusty page, To come right speedilie. "Ye'll do' ye to the Earl o' Mar, For he sits on yon hill;90 Bid him loose the brand frae his bodie, Young Waters for to kill." "O gude forbid," the Earl he said, "The like su'd e'er fa' me, My bodie e'er su'd wear the brand95 That gars young Waters die." Then he has loos'd his trusty brand, And casten't in the sea; Says, "Never lat them get a brand, Till it come back to me."100 The scaffold it prepared was, And he did mount it hie; And a' spectators that were there, The saut tears blint their e'e. "O had your tongues, my brethren dear,105 And mourn nae mair for me; Ye're seeking grace frae a graceless face, For there is nane to gie. "Ye'll tak' a bit o' canvas claith, And pit it ower my ee;110 And Jack, my man, ye'll be at hand, The hour that I su'd die. "Syne aff ye'll tak' my bluidy sark, Gie it fair Margaret Grahame; For she may curse the dowie dell115 That brought King James him hame. "Ye'll bid her mak' her bed narrow, And mak' it naeways wide; For a brawer man than young Waters Will ne'er streek by her side.120 "Bid her do weel to my young son, And gie him nurses three; For gin he live to be a man, King James will gar him die." He call'd upon the headsman then,125 A purse o' gowd him gae; Says, "Do your office, headsman, boy, And mak' nae mair delay." "O head me soon, O head me clean, And pit me out o' pine;130 For it is by the king's command; Gang head me till his min'. "Tho' by him I'm condemn'd to die, I'm lieve to his ain kin; And for the truth, I'll plainly tell,135 I am his sister's son." "Gin ye're my sister's son," he said, "It is unkent to me." "O mindna ye on your sister Bess, That lives in the French countrie?"140 "Gin Bess then be your mither dear, As I trust well she be, Gae hame, gae hame, young Waters, Ye'se ne'er be slain by me." But he lay by his napkin fine,145 Was saft as ony silk, And on the block he laid his neck, Was whiter than the milk. Says, "Strike the blow, ye headsman, boy, And that right speedilie;150 It's never be said here gaes a knight, Was ance condemn'd to die." The head was ta'en frae young Waters, And mony tears for him shed; But mair did mourn for fair Margaret,155 As raving she lyes mad.

Lammikin was as gude a mason As ever hewed a stane; He biggit Lord Weire's castle, But payment gat he nane. "Sen ye winna gie me my guerdon, lord,5 Sen ye winna gie me my hire, This gude castle, sae stately built, I sall gar rock wi' fire. "Sen ye winna gie me my wages, lord, Ye sall hae cause to rue:"10 And syne he brewed a black revenge, And syne he vowed a vow. The Lammikin sair wroth, sair wroth, Returned again to Downe; But or he gaed, he vow'd and vow'd,15 The castle should sweep the ground. "O byde at hame, my gude Lord Weire, I weird ye byde at hame; Gang na to this day's hunting, To leave me a' alane.20 "Yae night, yae night, I dreamt this bower O red, red blude was fu'; Gin ye gang to this black hunting, I sall hae cause to rue." "Wha looks to dreams, my winsome dame?25 Nae cause hae ye to fear:" And syne he kindly kissed her cheek, And syne the starting tear. Now to the gude green-wood he's gane, She to her painted bower;30 But first she closed the windows and doors Of the castle, ha', and tower. They steeked doors, they steeked yetts, Close to the cheek and chin; They steeked them a' but a wee wicket,35 And Lammikin crap in. "Where are the lads o' this castle?" Says the Lammikin; "They are a' wi Lord Weire, hunting," The false nourice did sing.40 "Where are the lasses o' this castle?" Says the Lammikin; "They are a' out at the washing," The false nourice did sing. "But where's the lady o' this castle?"45 Says the Lammikin; "She is in her bower sewing," The false nourice did sing. "Is this the bairn o' this house?" Says the Lammikin;50 "The only bairn Lord Weire aughts," The false nourice did sing. Lammikin nipped the bonnie babe, While loud false nourice sings; Lammikin nipped the bonnie babe,55 Till high the red blude springs. "Still my bairn, nourice, O still him if ye can:" "He will not still, madam, For a' his father's lan'."60 "O gentle nourice, still my bairn, O still him wi' the keys:" "He will not still, fair lady, Let me do what I please." "O still my bairn, kind nourice,65 O still him wi' the ring:" "He will not still, my lady, Let me do any thing." "O still my bairn, gude nourice, O still him wi' the knife:"70 "He will not still, dear mistress mine, Gin I'd lay down my life." "Sweet nourice, loud, loud cries my bairn, O still him wi' the bell:" "He will not still, dear lady,75 Till ye cum down yoursell." The first step she stepped, She stepped on a stane, The next step she stepped, She met the Lammikin.80 And when she saw the red, red blude, A loud skriech skrieched she: "O monster, monster, spare my child, Who never skaithed thee! "O spare, if in your bluidy breast85 Abides not heart of stane! O spare, an' ye sall hae o' gold That ye can carry hame!" "I carena for your gold," he said, "I carena for your fee:90 I hae been wranged by your lord, Black vengeance ye sall drie. "Here are nae serfs to guard your haa's, Nae trusty spearmen here; In yon green wood they sound the horn,95 And chace the doe and deer. "Tho merry sounds the gude green wood Wi' huntsmen, hounds, and horn, Your lord sall rue ere sets yon sun He has done me skaith and scorn."100 "O nourice, wanted ye your meat, Or wanted ye your fee, Or wanted ye for any thing, A fair lady could gie?" "I wanted for nae meat, ladie,105 I wanted for nae fee; But I wanted for a hantle A fair lady could gie." Then Lammikin drew his red, red sword, And sharped it on a stane,110 And through and through this fair ladie, The cauld, cauld steel is gane. Nor lang was't after this foul deed, Till Lord Weire cumin' hame, Thocht he saw his sweet bairn's bluid115 Sprinkled on a stane. "I wish a' may be weel," he says, "Wi' my ladie at hame; For the rings upon my fingers Are bursting in twain."120 But mair he look'd, and dule saw he, On the door at the trance, Spots o' his dear ladys bluid Shining like a lance. "There's bluid in my nursery,125 There's bluid in my ha', There's bluid in my fair lady's bower, An' that's warst of a'." O sweet, sweet sang the birdie, Upon the bough sae hie,130 But little cared false nourice for that, For it was her gallows tree. Then out he set, and his braw men Rode a' the country roun'; Ere lang they faud the Lammikin135 Had sheltered near to Downe. They carried him a' airts o' wind, And mickle pain had he, At last before Lord Weire's gate They hanged him on the tree.140

The lord said to his ladie, As he mounted his horse, "Beware of Long Lonkin That lies in the moss." The lord said to his ladie,5 As he rode away, "Beware of Long Lonkin That lies in the clay." "What care I for Lonkin, Or any of his gang?10 My doors are all shut And my windows penned in." There are six little windows, And they were all shut, But one little window,15 And that was forgot. * * * * * * * * * * * * And at that little window Long Lonkin crept in. "Where's the lord of the hall?" Says the Lonkin;20 "He's gone up to London," Says Orange to him. "Where's the men of the hall?" Says the Lonkin; "They're at the field ploughing,"25 Says Orange to him. "Where's the maids of the hall?" Says the Lonkin; "They're at the well washing," Says Orange to him.30 "Where's the ladies of the hall?" Says the Lonkin; "They're up in their chambers," Says Orange to him. "How shall we get them down?"35 Says the Lonkin; "Prick the babe in the cradle," Says Orange to him. "Rock well my cradle, And bee-ba my son;40 Ye shall have a new gown When the lord he comes home." Still she did prick it, And bee-ba she cried; "Come down, dearest mistress,45 And still your own child." "O still my child, Orange, Still him with a bell;" "I can't still him, ladie, Till you come down yoursell."50 * * * * * * "Hold the gold basin, For your heart's blood to run in," * * * * * * * * * * * * "To hold the gold basin, It grieves me full sore; Oh kill me, dear Lonkin,55 And let my mother go." * * * * * *

My mother was an ill woman, In fifteen years she married me; I hadna wit to guide a man, Alas! ill counsel guided me. O Warriston, O Warriston,5 I wish that ye may sink for sin; I was but bare fifteen years auld, Whan first I enter'd your yates within. I hadna been a month married, Till my gude lord went to the sea;10 I bare a bairn ere he came hame, And set it on the nourice knee. But it fell ance upon a day, That my gude lord return'd from sea; Then I did dress in the best array,15 As blythe as ony bird on tree. I took my young son in my arms, Likewise my nourice me forebye, And I went down to yon shore side, My gude lord's vessel I might spy.20 My lord he stood upon the deck, I wyte he hail'd me courteouslie; "Ye are thrice welcome, my lady gay, Whase aught that bairn on your knee?" She turn'd her right and round about,25 Says, "Why take ye sic dreads o' me? Alas! I was too young married, To love another man but thee." "Now hold your tongue, my lady gay, Nae mair falsehoods ye'll tell to me;30 This bonny bairn is not mine, You've loved another while I was on sea." In discontent then hame she went, And aye the tear did blin' her e'e; Says, "Of this wretch I'll be revenged,35 For these harsh words he's said to me." She's counsell'd wi' her father's steward, What way she cou'd revenged be; Bad was the counsel then he gave,— It was to gar her gude lord dee.40 The nourice took the deed in hand, I wat she was well paid her fee; She kiest the knot, and the loop she ran, Which soon did gar this young lord dee. His brother lay in a room hard by,45 Alas! that night he slept too soun'; But then he waken'd wi a cry, "I fear my brother's putten down. "O get me coal and candle light, And get me some gude companie;"50 But before the light was brought, Warriston he was gart dee. They've ta'en the lady and fause nourice, In prison strong they ha'e them boun'; The nourice she was hard o' heart,55 But the bonny lady fell in swoon. In it came her brother dear, And aye a sorry man was he; "I wou'd gie a' the lands I heir, O bonny Jean, to borrow thee."60 "O borrow me brother, borrow me,— O borrow'd shall I never be; For I gart kill my ain gude lord, And life is nae pleasure to me." In it came her mother dear,65 I wyte a sorry woman was she; "I wou'd gie my white monie and gowd, O bonny Jean, to borrow thee." "Borrow me mother, borrow me,— O borrow'd shall I never be;70 For I gart kill my ain gude lord, And life's now nae pleasure to me." Then in it came her father dear, I wyte a sorry man was he; Says, "Ohon, alas! my bonny Jean,75 If I had you at hame wi' me. "Seven daughters I ha'e left at hame, As fair women as fair can be; But I wou'd gi'e them ane by ane, O bonny Jean, to borrow thee."80 "O borrow me father, borrow me,— O borrow'd shall I never be; I that is worthy o' the death, It is but right that I shou'd dee." Then out it speaks the king himsell,85 And aye as he steps in the fleer; Says, "I grant you your life, lady, Because you are of tender year." "A boon, a boon, my liege the king, The boon I ask, ye'll grant to me:"90 "Ask on, ask on, my bonny Jean, Whate'er ye ask it's granted be." "Cause take me out at night, at night, Lat not the sun upon me shine; And take me to yon heading hill,95 Strike aff this dowie head o' mine. "Ye'll take me out at night, at night, When there are nane to gaze and see; And ha'e me to yon heading hill, And ye'll gar head me speedilie."100 They've ta'en her out at nine at night, Loot not the sun upon her shine; And had her to yon heading hill, And headed her baith neat and fine. Then out it speaks the king himsell,105 I wyte a sorry man was he; "I've travell'd east, I've travell'd west, And sailed far beyond the sea, But I never saw a woman's face I was sae sorry to see dee.110 "But Warriston was sair to blame, For slighting o' his lady so; He had the wyte o' his ain death, And bonny lady's overthrow."

My father is the Duke of Argyle, My mother's a lady gay, And I mysel am a daintie dame, And the king desired me. He shaw'd me up, he shaw'd me doun, He shaw'd me to the ha', He shaw'd me to the low cellars, And that was warst of a'.

"Whan I was a babe, and a very little babe, And stood at my mither's knee, Nae witch nor warlock did unfauld The death I was to dree. "But my mither was a proud woman,5 A proud woman and a bauld; And she hired me to Queen Mary's bouer When scarce eleven years auld. "O happy, happy, is the maid, That's born of beauty free!10 It was my dimpling rosy cheeks That's been the dule o' me; And wae be to that weirdless wicht, And a' his witcherie." Word's gane up and word's gane doun,15 And word's gane to the ha', That Mary Hamilton was wi' bairn, And na body ken'd to wha. But in and cam the Queen hersel, Wi' gowd plait on her hair;—20 Says, "Mary Hamilton, whare is the babe That I heard greet sae sair?" "There is na babe within my bouer, And I hope there ne'er will be; But it's me wi' a sair and sick colic,25 And I'm just like to dee." But they looked up, they looked down, Atween the bowsters and the wa', It's there they got a bonnie lad-bairn, But it's life it was awa'.30 "Rise up, rise up, Mary Hamilton, Rise up, and dress ye fine, For you maun gang to Edinbruch, And stand afore the nine. "Ye'll no put on the dowie black,35 Nor yet the dowie brown; But ye'll put on the robes o' red, To sheen thro' Edinbruch town." "I'll no put on the dowie black, Nor yet the dowie brown;40 But I'll put on the robes o' red, To sheen thro' Edinbruch town." As they gaed thro' Edinbruch town, And down by the Nether-bow, There war monie a lady fair45 Siching and crying, "Och how!" "O weep na mair for me, ladies, Weep na mair for me; Yestreen I killed my ain bairn, The day I deserve to dee.50 "What need ye hech! and how! ladies, What need ye how! for me; Ye never saw grace at a graceless face,— Queen Mary has nane to gie." "Gae forward, gae forward," the Queen she said, "Gae forward, that ye may see;55 For the very same words that ye hae said, Sall hang ye on the gallows tree." As she gaed up the Tolbooth stairs, She gied loud lauchters three;60 But or ever she cam down again, She was condemn'd to dee. "O tak example frae me, Maries, O tak example frae me, Nor gie your luve to courtly lords,65 Nor heed their witchin' ee. "But wae be to the Queen hersel, She micht hae pardon'd me; But sair she's striven for me to hang Upon the gallows tree.70 "Yestreen the Queen had four Maries, The nicht she'll hae but three; There was Mary Beatoun, Mary Seaton, And Mary Carmichael, and me. "Aft hae I set pearls in her hair,75 Aft hae I lac'd her gown, And this is the reward I now get, To be hang'd in Edinbruch town! "O a' ye mariners, far and near, That sail ayont the faem,80 O dinna let my father and mither ken, But what I am coming hame. "O a' ye mariners, far and near, That sail ayont the sea, Let na my father and mither ken,85 The death I am to dee. "Sae, weep na mair for me, ladies, Weep na mair for me, The mither that kills her ain bairn, Deserves weel for to dee."90 * * * * * * * *

Then down cam Queen Marie Wi' gold links in her hair, Saying, "Marie mild, where is the child, That I heard greet sair sair?" "There was nae child wi' me, madam,5 There was nae child wi' me; It was but me in a sair cholic, When I was like to die." "I'm not deceived," Queen Marie said, "No, no, indeed, not I!10 So Marie mild, where is the child? For sure I heard it cry." She turned down the blankets fine, Likewise the Holland sheet, And underneath, there strangled lay15 A lovely baby sweet. "O cruel mother," said the Queen, "Some fiend possessed thee; But I will hang thee for this deed, My Marie tho' thou be!"20 * * * * * * When she cam to the Nether-Bow Port, She laugh't loud laughters three; But when she cam to the gallows foot, The saut tear blinded her ee. "Yestreen the Queen had four Maries,25 The night she'll hae but three; There was Marie Seton, and Marie Beaton, And Marie Carmichael and me. "Ye mariners, ye mariners, That sail upon the sea,30 Let not my father or mother wit The death that I maun die. "I was my parents' only hope, They ne'er had ane but me; They little thought when I left hame,35 They should nae mair me see!"

Yesterday was brave Hallowday, And, above all days of the year, The schoolboys all got leave to play, And little Sir Hugh was there. He kicked the ball with his foot,5 And kepped it with his knee, And even in at the Jew's window He gart the bonnie ba' flee. Out then came the Jew's daughter,— "Will ye come in and dine?"10 "I winna come in and I canna come in Till I get that ball of mine. "Throw down that ball to me, maiden, Throw down the ball to me." "I winna throw down your ball, Sir Hugh,15 Till ye come up to me." She pu'd the apple frae the tree, It was baith red and green, She gave it unto little Sir Hugh, With that his heart did win.20 She wiled him into ae chamber, She wiled him into twa, She wiled him into the third chamber, And that was warst o't a'. She took out a little penknife,25 Hung low down by her spare, She twined this young thing o' his life, And a word he ne'er spak mair. And first came out the thick, thick blood, And syne came out the thin,30 And syne came out the bonnie heart's blood,— There was nae mair within. She laid him on a dressing table, She dress'd him like a swine, Says, "Lie ye there, my bonnie Sir Hugh,35 Wi' ye're apples red and green!" She put him in a case of lead, Says, "Lie ye there and sleep!" She threw him into the deep draw-well Was fifty fathom deep.40 A schoolboy walking in the garden Did grievously hear him moan, He ran away to the deep draw-well And fell down on his knee. Says, "Bonnie Sir Hugh, and pretty Sir Hugh,45 I pray you speak to me; If you speak to any body in this world, I pray you speak to me." When bells were rung and mass was sung, And every body went hame,50 Then every lady had her son, But Lady Helen had nane. She rolled her mantle her about, And sore, sore did she weep; She ran away to the Jew's castle,55 When all were fast asleep. She cries, "Bonnie Sir Hugh, O pretty Sir Hugh, I pray you speak to me; If you speak to any body in this world, I pray you speak to me."60 "Lady Helen, if ye want your son, I'll tell ye where to seek; Lady Helen, if ye want your son, He's in the well sae deep." She ran away to the deep draw-well,65 And she fell down on her knee; Saying, "Bonnie Sir Hugh, O pretty Sir Hugh, I pray ye speak to me; If ye speak to any body in the world, I pray ye speak to me."70 "Oh! the lead it is wondrous heavy, mother, The well it is wondrous deep; The little penknife sticks in my throat, And I downa to ye speak. But lift me out o' this deep draw-well,75 And bury me in yon churchyard; "Put a Bible at my head," he says, "And a testament at my feet, And pen and ink at every side, And I'll lie still and sleep.80 "And go to the back of Maitland town, Bring me my winding sheet; For it's at the back of Maitland town That you and I shall meet." O the broom, the bonny, bonny broom,85 The broom that makes full sore, A woman's mercy is very little, But a man's mercy is more.

'Twas on a summer's morning, Some scholars were playing at ball; When out came the Jew's daughter And lean'd her back against the wall. She said unto the fairest boy,5 "Come here to me, Sir Hugh." "No! I will not," said he, "Without my playfellows too." She took an apple out of her pocket, And trundled it along the plain;10 And who was readiest to lift it, Was little Sir Hugh, again. She took him by the milk-white han', An' led him through many a hall, Until they came to one stone chamber,15 Where no man might hear his call. She sat him in a goolden chair, And jagg'd him with a pin; And called for a goolden cup To houl' his heart's blood in.20 She tuk him by the yellow hair, An' also by the feet; An' she threw him in the deep draw well, It was fifty fadom deep. Day bein' over, the night came on,25 And the scholars all went home; Then every mother had her son, But little Sir Hugh's had none. She put her mantle about her head, Tuk a little rod in her han',30 An' she says, "Sir Hugh, if I fin' you here, I will bate you for stayin' so long." First she went to the Jew's door, But they were fast asleep; An' then she went to the deep draw-well,35 That was fifty fadom deep. She says, "Sir Hugh, if you be here, As I suppose you be, If ever the dead or quick arose, Arise and spake to me."40 Yes, mother dear, I am here, I know I have staid very long; But a little penknife was stuck in my heart, Till the stream ran down full strong. And mother dear, when you go home,45 Tell my playfellows all, That I lost my life by leaving them When playing that game of ball. And ere another day is gone, My winding-sheet prepare,50 And bury me in the green churchyard Where the flowers are bloomin' fair. Lay my Bible at my head, My testament at my feet; The earth and worms shall be my bed,55 Till Christ and I shall meet.

The King sits in Dunfermline town, A-drinking at the wine; Says, "Where will I get a good skipper Will sail the saut seas fine?" Out it speaks an eldren knight5 Amang the companie,— "Young Patrick Spens is the best skipper That ever sail'd the sea." The king he wrote a braid letter, And seal'd it wi' his ring;10 Says, "Ye'll gi'e that to Patrick Spens: See if ye can him find." He sent this, not wi' an auld man, Nor yet a simple boy, But the best o' nobles in his train15 This letter did convoy. When Patrick look'd the letter upon A light laugh then ga'e he; But ere he read it till an end, The tear blinded his e'e.20 "Ye'll eat and drink, my merry men a', An' see ye be weell thorn; For blaw it weet, or blaw it wind, My guid ship sails the morn." Then out it speaks a guid auld man,25 A guid death mat he dee,— "Whatever ye do, my guid master, Tak' God your guide to bee. "For late yestreen I saw the new moon, The auld moon in her arm."30 "Ohon, alas!" says Patrick Spens, "That bodes a deadly storm. "But I maun sail the seas the morn, And likewise sae maun you; To Noroway, wi' our king's daughter,—35 A chosen queen she's now. "But I wonder who has been sae base, As tauld the king o' mee: Even tho' hee ware my ae brither, An ill death mat he dee."40 Now Patrick he rigg'd out his ship, And sailed ower the faem; But mony a dreary thought had hee, While hee was on the main. They hadna sail'd upon the sea45 A day but barely three, Till they came in sight o' Noroway, It's there where they must bee. They hadna stayed into that place A month but and a day,50 Till he caus'd the flip in mugs gae roun', And wine in cans sae gay. The pipe and harp sae sweetly play'd, The trumpets loudly soun'; In every hall where in they stay'd,55 Wi' their mirth did reboun'. Then out it speaks an auld skipper, An inbearing dog was hee,— "Ye've stay'd ower lang in Noroway, Spending your king's monie."60 Then out it speaks Sir Patrick Spens,— "O how can a' this bee? I ha'e a bow o' guid red gowd Into my ship wi' mee. "But betide me well, betide me wae,65 This day I'se leave the shore; And never spend my king's monie 'Mong Noroway dogs no more." Young Patrick hee is on the sea, And even on the faem,70 Wi' five-an-fifty Scots lords' sons, That lang'd to bee at hame. They hadna sail'd upon the sea A day but barely three, Till loud and boistrous grew the wind,75 And stormy grew the sea. "O where will I get a little wee boy Will tak' my helm in hand, Till I gae up to my tapmast, And see for some dry land?"80 He hadna gane to his tapmast A step but barely three; Ere thro' and thro' the bonny ship's side, He saw the green haw sea. "There are five-an-fifty feather beds85 Well packed in ae room; And ye'll get as muckle guid canvas As wrap the ship a' roun'; "Ye'll pict her well, and spare her not, And mak' her hale and soun'."90 But ere he had the word well spoke The bonny ship was down. O laith, laith were our guid lords' sons To weet their milk-white hands; But lang ere a' the play was ower95 They wat their gowden bands. O laith, laith were our Scots lords' sons To weet their coal-black shoon; But lang ere a' the play was ower They wat their hats aboon.100 It's even ower by Aberdour It's fifty fathoms deep, And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spens, And a's men at his feet. It's even ower by Aberdour,105 There's mony a craig and fin, And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spens, Wi' mony a guid lord's son. Lang, lang will the ladyes look Into their morning weed,110 Before they see young Patrick Spens Come sailing ower the fleed. Lang, lang will the ladyes look Wi' their fans in their hand, Before they see him, Patrick Spens,115 Come sailing to dry land.

It fell about the Lammas time, When wightsmen won their hay; A' the squires in merry Linkum, Went a' forth till a play. They play'd until the evening tide,5 The sun was gaeing down; A lady thro' plain fields was bound, A lily leesome thing. Two squires that for this lady pledged, In hopes for a renown;10 The one was call'd the proud Seaton, The other Livingston. "When will ye, Michaell o' Livingston, Wad for this lady gay?" "To-morrow, to-morrow," said Livingston,15 "To-morrow, if you may." Then they hae wadded their wagers, And laid their pledges down; To the high castle o' Edinbro' They made them ready boun'.20 The chamber that they did gang in, There it was daily dight; The kipples were like the gude red gowd, As they stood up in hight; And the roof-tree like the siller white,25 And shin'd like candles bright. The lady fair into that ha' Was comely to be seen; Her kirtle was made o' the pa', Her gowns seem'd o' the green.30 Her gowns seem'd like green, like green, Her kirtle o' the pa'; A siller wand intill her hand, She marshall'd ower them a'. She gae every knight a lady bright,35 And every squire a may; Her own sell chose him, Livingston, They were a comely tway. Then Seaton started till his foot, The fierce flame in his e'e:40 "On the next day, wi' sword in hand, On plain fields, meet ye me." When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' man bound for bed; Lord Livingston and his fair dame45 In bed were sweetly laid. The bed, the bed, where they lay in, Was cover'd wi' the pa'; A covering o' the gude red gowd, Lay nightly ower the twa.50 So they lay there, till on the morn The sun shone on their feet; Then up it raise him, Livingston, To draw to him a weed. The first an' weed that he drew on,55 Was o' the linen clear; The next an' weed that he drew on, It was a weed o' weir. The niest an' weed that he drew on, Was gude iron and steel;60 Twa gloves o' plate, a gowden helmet, Became that hind chiel weel. Then out it speaks that lady gay, A little forbye stood she; "I'll dress mysell in men's array,65 Gae to the fields for thee." "O God forbid," said Livingston, "That e'er I dree the shame; My lady slain in plain fields, And I coward knight at hame!"70 He scarcely travelled frae the town A mile but barely twa, Till he met wi' a witch woman, I pray to send her wae. "This is too gude a day, my lord,75 To gang sae far frae town; This is too gude a day, my lord, On field to make you boun'. "I dream'd a dream concerning thee, O read ill dreams to guid!80 Your bower was full o' milk-white swans, Your bride's bed full o' bluid." "O bluid is gude," said Livingston, "To bide it whoso may; If I be frae yon plain fields,85 Nane knew the plight I lay." Then he rade on to plain fields, As swift's his horse cou'd hie; And there he met the proud Seaton, Come boldly ower the lee.90 "Come on to me now, Livingston, Or then take foot and flee; This is the day that we must try Who gains the victorie." Then they fought with sword in hand,95 Till they were bluidy men; But on the point o' Seaton's sword Brave Livingston was slain. His lady lay ower castle wa', Beholding dale and down,100 When Blenchant brave, his gallant steed, Came prancing to the town. "O where is now my ain gude lord, He stays sae far frae me?" "O dinna ye see your ain gude lord,105 Stand bleeding by your knee?" "O live, O live, Lord Livingston, The space o' ae half hour; There's nae a leech in Edinbro' town But I'll bring to your door."110 "Awa' wi' your leeches, lady," he said, "Of them I'll be the waur; There's nae a leech in Edinbro' town, That can strong death debar. "Ye'll take the lands o' Livingston,115 And deal them liberallie; To the auld that may not, the young that cannot, And blind that does na see; And help young maidens' marriages, That has nae gear to gie."120 "My mother got it in a book, The first night I was born, I wou'd be wedded till a knight, And him slain on the morn. "But I will do for my love's sake125 What ladies woudna thole; Ere seven years shall hae an end, Nae shoe's gang on my sole. "There's never lint gang on my head, Nor kame gang in my hair,130 Nor ever coal nor candle light, Shine in my bower mair." When seven years were near an end, The lady she thought lang; And wi' a crack her heart did brake,135 And sae this ends my sang.

Clerk Tamas lov'd her, fair Annie, As well as Mary lov'd her son; But now he hates her, fair Annie, And hates the lands that she lives in. "Ohon, alas!" said fair Annie,5 "Alas! this day I fear I'll die; But I will on to sweet Tamas, And see gin he will pity me." As Tamas lay ower his shott-window, Just as the sun was gaen down,10 There he beheld her, fair Annie, As she came walking to the town. "O where are a' my well-wight men, I wat that I pay meat and fee, For to lat a' my hounds gang loose,15 To hunt this vile whore to the sea!" The hounds they knew the lady well, And nane o' them they wou'd her bite; Save ane that is ca'd Gaudy-where, I wat he did the lady smite.20 "O wae mat worth ye, Gaudy-where, An ill reward this is to me; For ae bit that I gae the lave, I'm very sure I've gi'en you three. "For me, alas! there's nae remeid,25 Here comes the day that I maun die; I ken ye lov'd your master well, And sae, alas for me, did I!" A captain lay ower his ship window, Just as the sun was gaen down;30 There he beheld her, fair Annie, As she was hunted frae the town. "Gin ye'll forsake father and mither, And sae will ye your friends and kin, Gin ye'll forsake your lands sae broad,35 Then come and I will take you in." "Yes, I'll forsake baith father and mither, And sae will I my friends and kin, Yes, I'll forsake my lands sae broad, And come, gin ye will take me in."40 Then a' thing gaed frae fause Tamas, And there was naething byde him wi'; Then he thought lang for Arrandella, It was fair Annie for to see. "How do ye now, ye sweet Tamas?45 And how gaes a' in your countrie?" "I'll do better to you than ever I've done, Fair Annie, gin ye'll come an' see." "O Guid forbid," said fair Annie, "That e'er the like fa' in my hand;50 Wou'd I forsake my ain gude lord, And follow you, a gae-through-land? "Yet nevertheless now, sweet Tamas, Ye'll drink a cup o' wine wi' me; And nine times in the live lang day,55 Your fair claithing shall changed be." Fair Annie pat it till her cheek, Sae did she till her milk-white chin, Sae did she till her flattering lips, But never a drap o' wine gaed in.60 Tamas pat it till his cheek, Sae did he till his dimpled chin; He pat it till his rosy lips, And then the well o' wine gaed in. "These pains," said he, "are ill to bide;65 Here is the day that I maun die; O take this cup frae me, Annie, For o' the same I am weary." "And sae was I, o' you, Tamas, When I was hunted to the sea;70 But I'se gar bury you in state, Which is mair than ye'd done to me."

John Thomson fought against the Turks Three years, intill a far countrie; And all that time, and something mair, Was absent from his gay ladie. But it fell ance upon a time,5 As this young chieftain sat alane, He spied his lady in rich array, As she walk'd ower a rural plain. "What brought ye here, my lady gay, So far awa from your ain countrie?10 I've thought lang, and very lang, And all for your fair face to see." For some days she did with him stay, Till it fell ance upon a day, "Fareweel, for a time," she said,15 "For now I must boun hame away." He's gi'en to her a jewel fine, Was set with pearl and precious stane; Says, "My love, beware of these savages bold That's in your way as ye gang hame.20 "Ye'll tak the road, my lady fair, That leads you fair across the lea: That keeps you from wild Hind Soldan, And likewise from base Violentrie." Wi' heavy heart thir twa did pairt,25 She mintet as she wuld gae hame; Hind Soldan by the Greeks was slain, But to base Violentrie she's gane. When a twelvemonth had expired, John Thomson he thought wondrous lang,30 And he has written a braid letter, And sealed it weel wi' his ain hand. He sent it with a small vessel That there was quickly gaun to sea; And sent it on to fair Scotland,35 To see about his gay ladie. But the answer he received again,— The lines did grieve his heart right sair: Nane of her friends there had her seen, For a twelvemonth and something mair.40 Then he put on a palmer's weed, And took a pike-staff in his hand; To Violentrie's castell he hied; But slowly, slowly he did gang. When within the hall he came,45 He jooked and couch'd out ower his tree: "If ye be lady of this hall, Some of your good bountith gie me." "What news, what news, palmer," she said, "And from what countrie cam ye?"50 "I'm lately come from Grecian plains, Where lies some of the Scots armie." "If ye be come from Grecian plains, Some mair news I will ask of thee,— Of one of the chieftains that lies there,55 If he has lately seen his gay ladie." "It is twa months, and something mair, Since we did pairt on yonder plain; And now this knight has began to fear One of his foes he has her ta'en."60 "He has not ta'en me by force nor slight; It was a' by my ain free will; He may tarry into the fight, For here I mean to tarry still. "And if John Thomson ye do see,65 Tell him I wish him silent sleep; His head was not so coziely, Nor yet sae weel, as lies at my feet." With that he threw aff his strange disguise, Laid by the mask that he had on;70 Said, "Hide me now, my lady fair, For Violentrie will soon be hame." "For the love I bore thee ance, I'll strive to hide you, if I can:" Then she put him down in a dark cellar75 Where there lay many a new slain man. But he hadna in the cellar been, Not an hour but barely three, Then hideous was the noise he heard, When in at the gate cam Violentrie.80 Says, "I wish you well, my lady fair, It's time for us to sit to dine; Come, serve me with the good white bread, And likewise with the claret wine. "That Scots chieftain, our mortal fae,85 Sae aft frae the field has made us flee, Ten thousand zechins this day I'll give That I his face could only see." "Of that same gift wuld ye give me, If I wuld bring him unto thee?90 I fairly hold you at your word;— Come ben, John Thomson, to my lord." Then from the vault John Thomson came, Wringing his hands most piteouslie: "What would ye do," the Turk he cried,95 "If ye had me as I hae thee?" "If I had you as ye have me, I'll tell ye what I'd do to thee; I'd hang you up in good greenwood, And cause your ain hand wale the tree.100 "I meant to stick you with my knife For kissing my beloved ladie:" "But that same weed ye've shaped for me, It quickly shall be sewed for thee." Then to the wood they baith are gane;105 John Thomson clamb frae tree to tree; And aye he sighed and said, "Och hone! Here comes the day that I must die." He tied a ribbon on every branch, Put up a flag his men might see;110 But little did his false faes ken He meant them any injurie. He set his horn unto his mouth, And he has blawn baith loud and schill: And then three thousand armed men115 Cam tripping all out ower the hill. "Deliver us our chief," they all did cry; "It's by our hand that ye must die;" "Here is your chief," the Turk replied, With that fell on his bended knee.120 "O mercy, mercy, good fellows all, Mercy I pray you'll grant to me;" "Such mercy as ye meant to give, Such mercy we shall give to thee." This Turk they in his castel burnt,125 That stood upon yon hill so hie; John Thomson's gay ladie they took And hanged her on yon greenwood tree.

Thomas Stuart was a lord, A lord of mickle land; He used to wear a coat of gold, But now his grave is green. Now he has wooed the young countess,5 The Countess of Balquhin, An' given her for a morning gift, Strathboggie and Aboyne. But women's wit is aye willful, Alas! that ever it was sae;10 She longed to see the morning gift That her gude lord to her gae. When steeds were saddled an' weel bridled, An' ready for to ride, There came a pain on that gude lord,15 His back, likewise his side. He said, "Ride on, my lady fair, May goodness be your guide; For I'm sae sick an' weary that No farther can I ride."20 Now ben did come his father dear, Wearing a golden band; Says, "Is there nae leech in Edinburgh, Can cure my son from wrang?" "O leech is come, an' leech is gane,25 Yet, father, I'm aye waur; There's not a leech in Edinbro' Can death from me debar. "But be a friend to my wife, father, Restore to her her own;30 Restore to her my morning gift, Strathboggie and Aboyne. "It had been gude for my wife, father, To me she'd born a son; He would have got my land an' rents,35 Where they lie out an' in. "It had been gude for my wife, father, To me she'd born an heir; He would have got my land an' rents, Where they lie fine an' fair."40 The steeds they strave into their stables, The boys could'nt get them bound; The hounds lay howling on the leech, 'Cause their master was behind. "I dreamed a dream since late yestreen,45 I wish it may be good, That our chamber was full of swine, An' our bed full of blood. "I saw a woman come from the West, Full sore wringing her hands,50 And aye she cried, 'Ohon alas! My good lord's broken bands.' "As she came by my good lord's bower, Saw mony black steeds an' brown; I'm feared it be mony unco lords55 Havin' my love from town." As she came by my gude lord's bower, Saw mony black steeds an' grey; "I'm feared its mony unco lords Havin' my love to the clay."60

Oh jealousie! thou art nurst in hell: Depart from hence, and therein dwell."

All tender hearts, that ake to hear Of those that suffer wrong; All you that never shed a tear, Give heed unto my song. Fair Isabella's tragedy5 My tale doth far exceed: Alas, that so much cruelty In female hearts should breed! In Spain a lady liv'd of late, Who was of high degree;10 Whose wayward temper did create Much woe and misery. Strange jealousies so filled her head With many a vain surmize, She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed,15 And did her love despise. A gentlewoman passing fair Did on this lady wait; With bravest dames she might compare; Her beauty was compleat.20 Her lady cast a jealous eye Upon this gentle maid, And taxt her with disloyaltye, And did her oft upbraid. In silence still this maiden meek25 Her bitter taunts would bear, While oft adown her lovely cheek Would steal the falling tear. In vain in humble sort she strove Her fury to disarm;30 As well the meekness of the dove The bloody hawke might charm. Her lord, of humour light and gay, And innocent the while, As oft as she came in his way,35 Would on the damsell smile. And oft before his lady's face, As thinking her her friend, He would the maiden's modest grace And comeliness commend.40 All which incens'd his lady so, She burnt with wrath extreame; At length the fire that long did glow, Burst forth into a flame. For on a day it so befell,45 When he was gone from home, The lady all with rage did swell, And to the damsell come. And charging her with great offence And many a grievous fault,50 She bade her servants drag her thence, Into a dismal vault, That lay beneath the common-shore,— A dungeon dark and deep, Where they were wont, in days of yore,55 Offenders great to keep. There never light of chearful day Dispers'd the hideous gloom; But dank and noisome vapours play Around the wretched room:60 And adders, snakes, and toads therein, As afterwards was known, Long in this loathsome vault had bin, And were to monsters grown. Into this foul and fearful place,65 The fair one innocent Was cast, before her lady's face; Her malice to content. This maid no sooner enter'd is, But strait, alas! she hears70 The toads to croak, and snakes to hiss: Then grievously she fears. Soon from their holes the vipers creep, And fiercely her assail, Which makes the damsel sorely weep,75 And her sad fate bewail. With her fair hands she strives in vain Her body to defend; With shrieks and cries she doth complain, But all is to no end.80 A servant listning near the door, Struck with her doleful noise, Strait ran his lady to implore; But she'll not hear his voice. With bleeding heart he goes agen85 To mark the maiden's groans; And plainly hears, within the den, How she herself bemoans. Again he to his lady hies, With all the haste he may;90 She into furious passion flies, And orders him away. Still back again does he return To hear her tender cries; The virgin now had ceas'd to mourn,95 Which fill'd him with surprize. In grief, and horror, and affright, He listens at the walls But finding all was silent quite, He to his lady calls.100 "Too sure, O lady," now quoth he, "Your cruelty hath sped; Make haste, for shame, and come and see; I fear the virgin's dead." She starts to hear her sudden fate,105 And does with torches run; But all her haste was now too late, For death his worst had done. The door being open'd, strait they found The virgin stretch'd along;110 Two dreadful snakes had wrapt her round, Which her to death had stung. One round her legs, her thighs, her waist, Had twin'd his fatal wreath; The other close her neck embrac'd,115 And stopt her gentle breath. The snakes being from her body thrust, Their bellies were so fill'd, That with excess of blood they burst, Thus with their prey were kill'd.120 The wicked lady, at this sight, With horror strait ran mad; So raving dy'd, as was most right, 'Cause she no pity had. Let me advise you, ladies all,125 Of jealousy beware: It causeth many a one to fall, And is the devil's snare.

There was a lord of worthy fame, And a hunting he would ride, Attended by a noble traine Of gentrye by his side. And while he did in chase remaine,5 To see both sport and playe, His ladye went, as she did feigne, Unto the church to praye. This lord he had a daughter deare, Whose beauty shone so bright,10 She was belov'd, both far and neare, Of many a lord and knight. Fair Isabella was she call'd, A creature faire was shee; She was her fathers only joye;15 As you shall after see. Therefore her cruel step-mother Did envye her so much, That daye by daye she sought her life, Her malice it was such.20 She bargain'd with the master-cook To take her life awaye; And taking of her daughter's book, She thus to her did saye:— "Go home, sweet daughter, I thee praye,25 Go hasten presentlie, And tell unto the master-cook These wordes that I tell thee. "And bid him dresse to dinner streight That faire and milk-white doe30 That in the parke doth shine so bright, There's none so faire to showe." This ladye fearing of no harme, Obey'd her mothers will; And presentlye she hasted home,35 Her pleasure to fulfill. She streight into the kitchen went, Her message for to tell; And there she spied the master-cook, Who did with malice swell.40 "Nowe, master-cook, it must be soe, Do that which I thee tell: You needes must dresse the milk-white doe, Which you do knowe full well." Then streight his cruell bloodye hands,45 He on the ladye layd; Who quivering and shaking stands, While thus to her he sayd: "Thou art the doe that I must dresse; See here, behold my knife;50 For it is pointed presently To ridd thee of thy life." "O then," cried out the scullion-boye, As loud as loud might bee, "O save her life, good master-cook,55 And make your pyes of mee! "For pityes sake do not destroye My ladye with your knife; You know shee is her father's joye; For Christes sake save her life!"60 "I will not save her life," he sayd, "Nor make my pyes of thee; Yet if thou dost this deed bewraye, Thy butcher I will bee." Now when this lord he did come home65 For to sitt down and eat, He called for his daughter deare, To come and carve his meat. "Now sit you downe," his ladye sayd, "O sit you downe to meat;70 Into some nunnery she is gone; Your daughter deare forget." Then solemnlye he made a vowe Before the companie, That he would neither eat nor drinke,75 Until he did her see. O then bespake the scullion-boye. With a loud voice so hye; "If now you will your daughter see, My lord, cut up that pye:80 "Wherein her fleshe is minced small, And parched with the fire; All caused by her step-mother, Who did her death desire. "And cursed bee the master-cook,85 O cursed may he bee! I proffered him my own heart's blood, From death to set her free." Then all in blacke this lord did mourne, And for his daughters sake,90 He judged her cruell step-mother To be burnt at a stake. Likewise he judg'd the master-cook In boiling lead to stand. And made the simple scullion-boye95 The heire of all his land.

In Rome a nobleman did wed A virgin of great fame; A fairer creature never did Dame Nature ever frame: By whom he had two children fair,5 Whose beauty did excel; They were their parents only joy, They lov'd them both so well. The lord he lov'd to hunt the buck, The tiger, and the boar;10 And still for swiftness always took With him a black-a-moor: Which black-a-moor within the wood His lord he did offend, For which he did him then correct,15 In hopes he would amend. The day it grew unto an end; Then homewards he did haste, Where with his lady he did rest, Until the night was past.20 Then in the morning he did rise, And did his servants call; A hunting he provides to go: Straight they were ready all To cause the toyl the lady did25 Intreat him not to go: "Alas, good lady," then quoth he, "Why art thou grieved so? Content thyself, I will return With speed to thee again."30 "Good father," quoth the little babes, "With us here still remain." "Farewel, dear children, I will go A fine thing for to buy;" But they, therewith nothing content,35 Aloud began to cry. The mother takes them by the hand, Saying, "Come, go with me Unto the highest tower, where Your father you shall see."40 The black-a-moor, perceiving now, Who then did stay behind, His lord to be a hunting gone, Began to call to mind: "My master he did me correct,45 My fault not being great; Now of his wife I'll be reveng'd, She shall not me intreat." The place was moated round about; The bridge he up did draw;50 The gates he bolted very fast; Of none he stood in awe. He up into the tower went, The lady being there; Who, when she saw his countenance grim,55 She straight began to fear. But now my trembling heart it quakes To think what I must write; My senses all begin to fail, My soul it doth affright.60 Yet must I make an end of this Which here I have begun, Which will make sad the hardest heart, Before that I have done. This wretch unto the lady went,65 And her with speed did will, His lust forthwith to satisfy, His mind for to fulfil. The lady she amazed was, To hear the villain speak;70 "Alas," quoth she, "what shall I do? With grief my heart will break." With that he took her in his arms; She straight for help did cry; "Content yourself, lady," he said,75 "Your husband is not nigh: The bridge is drawn, the gates are shut, Therefore come lie with me, Or else I do protest and vow, Thy butcher I will be."80 The crystal tears ran down her face, Her children cried amain, And sought to help their mother dear, But all it was in vain; For that egregious filthy rogue85 Her hands behind her bound, And then perforce with all his might, He threw her on the ground. With that she shriek'd, her children cried, And such a noise did make,90 That town-folks, hearing her laments, Did seek their parts to take: But all in vain; no way was found To help the lady's need, Who cried to them most piteously,95 "O help! O help with speed!" Some run into the forest wide, Her lord home for to call; And they that stood still did lament This gallant lady's fall.100 With speed her lord came posting home; He could not enter in; His lady's cries did pierce his heart; To call he did begin: "O hold thy hand, thou savage moor,105 To hurt her do forbear, Or else be sure, if I do live, Wild horses shall thee tear." With that the rogue ran to the wall, He having had his will,110 And brought one child under his arm, His dearest blood to spill. The child, seeing his father there, To him for help did call: "O father! help my mother dear,115 We shall be killed all." Then fell the lord upon his knee, And did the moor intreat, To save the life of this poor child, Whose fear was then so great.120 But this vile wretch the little child By both the heels did take And dash'd his brains against the wall, Whilst parent's hearts did ake: That being done, straightway he ran125 The other child to fetch, And pluck'd it from the mother's breast, Most like a cruel wretch. Within one hand a knife he brought, The child within the other;130 And holding it over the wall, Saying, "Thus shall die thy mother," With that he cut the throat of it; Then to the father he did call, To look how he the head did cut,135 And down the head did fall. This done, he threw it down the wall Into the moat so deep; Which made the father wring his hands, And grievously to weep.140 Then to the lady went this rogue, Who was near dead with fear, Yet this vile wretch most cruelly Did drag her by the hair; And drew her to the very wall,145 Which when her lord did see, Then presently he cried out, And fell upon his knee: Quoth he, "If thou wilt save her life, Whom I do love so dear,150 I will forgive thee all is past, Though they concern me near. "O save her life, I thee beseech; O save her, I thee pray, And I will grant thee what thou wilt155 Demand of me this day." "Well," quoth the moor, "I do regard The moan that thou dost make: If thou wilt grant me what I ask, I'll save her for thy sake."160 "O save her life, and then demand Of me what thing thou wilt." "Cut off thy nose, and not one drop Of her blood shall be spilt." With that the lord presently took165 A knife within his hand, And then his nose he quite cut off, In place where he did stand. "Now I have bought my lady's life," He to the moor did call;170 "Then take her," quoth this wicked rogue, And down he let her fall. Which when her gallant lord did see, His senses all did fail; Yet many sought to save his life,175 But nothing could prevail. When as the moor did see him dead, Then did he laugh amain At them who for their gallant lord And lady did complain:180 Quoth he, "I know you'll torture me, If that you can me get, But all your threats I do not fear, Nor yet regard one whit. "Wild horses shall my body tear,185 I know it to be true, But I prevent you of that pain:" And down himself he threw. Too good a death for such a wretch, A villain void of fear!190 And thus doth end as sad a tale As ever man did hear.