Volume 3 / Book 3 — BOOK III. CONTINUED. (continued 2)
Reading edition
Satisfactorily as the circumstances of Knox's story may agree with those of the ballads, a coincidence no less striking, and extending even to the name, is presented by an incident which occurred at the court of Peter the Great. "During the reign of the Czar Peter," observes Mr. C. K. Sharpe, "one of his Empress's attendants, a Miss Hamilton, was executed for the murder of a natural child,—not her first crime in that way, as was suspected; and the Emperor, whose admiration of her beauty did not preserve her life, stood upon the scaffold till her head was struck off, which he lifted by the ears and kissed on the lips. I cannot help thinking that the two stories have been confused in the ballad; for, if Marie Hamilton was executed in Scotland, it is not likely that her relations resided beyond seas; and we have no proof that Hamilton was really the name of the woman who made the slip with the Queen's apothecary."
Scott's edition of Mary Hamilton, (the first ever published,) was made up by him, from various copies. See Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 294.
Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane, Wi' ribbons in her hair; The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton, Than ony that were there. Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,5 Wi' ribbons on her breast; The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton, Than he listen'd to the priest. Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane, Wi' gloves upon her hands;10 The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton, Than the Queen and a' her lands. She hadna been about the King's court A month, but barely one, Till she was beloved by a' the King's court,15 And the King the only man. She hadna been about the King's court A month, but barely three, Till frae the King's court Marie Hamilton, Marie Hamilton durstna be.20 The King is to the Abbey gane, To pu' the Abbey tree, To scale the babe frae Marie's heart; But the thing it wadna be. O she has row'd it in her apron,25 And set it on the sea,— "Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe, Ye's get nae mair o' me."— Word is to the kitchen gane, And word is to the ha',30 And word is to the noble room, Amang the ladyes a', That Marie Hamilton's brought to bed, And the bonny babe's mist and awa'. Scarcely had she lain down again,35 And scarcely fa'en asleep, When up then started our gude Queen, Just at her bed-feet; Saying—"Marie Hamilton, where's your babe? For I am sure I heard it greet."—40 "O no, O no, my noble Queen! Think no such thing to be; 'Twas but a stitch into my side, And sair it troubles me."— "Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton:45 Get up and follow me; For I am going to Edinburgh town, A rich wedding for to see."— O slowly, slowly raise she up, And slowly put she on;50 And slowly rode she out the way, Wi' mony a weary groan. The Queen was clad in scarlet, Her merry maids all in green; And every town that they cam to,55 They took Marie for the Queen. "Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen, Ride hooly now wi' me! For never, I am sure, a wearier burd Rade in your cumpanie."—60 But little wist Marie Hamilton, When she rade on the brown, That she was ga'en to Edinburgh town, And a' to be put down. "Why weep ye so, ye burgess wives,65 Why look ye so on me? O I am going to Edinburgh town, A rich wedding for to see."— When she gaed up the tolbooth stairs, The corks frae her heels did flee;70 And lang or e'er she cam down again, She was condemn'd to die. When she cam to the Netherbow port, She laughed loud laughters three; But when she cam to the gallows foot,75 The tears blinded her ee. "Yestreen the Queen had four Maries, The night she'll hae but three; There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaton, And Marie Carmichael, and me.80 "O often have I dress'd my Queen, And put gold upon her hair; But now I've gotten for my reward The gallows to be my share. "Often have I dress'd my Queen,85 And often made her bed; But now I've gotten for my reward The gallows tree to tread. "I charge ye all, ye mariners, When ye sail ower the faem,90 Let neither my father nor mother get wit, But that I'm coming hame. "I charge ye all, ye mariners, That sail upon the sea, Let neither my father nor mother get wit95 This dog's death I'm to die. "For if my father and mother got wit, And my bold brethren three, O mickle wad be the gude red blude This day wad be spilt for me!100 "O little did my mother ken, That day she cradled me, The lands I was to travel in, Or the death I was to die!"
73. The Netherbow port was the gate which divided the city of Edinburgh from the suburb, called the Canongate. S.
80. The Queen's Maries were four young ladies of the highest families in Scotland, who were sent to France in her train, and returned with her to Scotland. Keith gives us their names, p. 55. "The young Queen, Mary, embarked at Dunbarton for France, ... and with her went ... and four young virgins, all of the name of Mary, viz. Livingston, Fleming, Seatoun, and Beatoun." Neither Mary Livingston, nor Mary Fleming, are mentioned in the ballad; nor are the Mary Hamilton, and Mary Carmichael, of the ballad, mentioned by Keith. But if this corps continued to consist of young virgins, as when originally raised, it could hardly have subsisted without occasional recruits; especially if we trust our old bard, and John Knox.
The Queen's Maries are mentioned in many ballads, and the name seems to have passed into a general denomination for female attendants.—Scott.
MARY HAMILTON.
From Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 311.
"In this set of the ballad, from its direct allusion to the use of the Savin-tree, a clue is, perhaps, afforded for tracing how the poor mediciner mentioned by Knox should be implicated in the crime of Mary Hamilton. It may also be noted as a feature in this version of the ballad, which does not occur in any heretofore printed, the unfortunate heroine's proud and indignant spurning at life after her character had been tainted by the infamy of a sentence of condemnation. In another copy of the ballad, also obtained from recitation, this sentiment is, perhaps, still more forcibly expressed; at any rate, it is more appropriate as being addressed to the King. The whole concluding verses of this copy, differing as they somewhat do from the version adopted for a text, it has been thought worth while to preserve.
"But bring to me a cup," she says, "A cup bot and a can, And I will drink to all my friends, And they'll drink to me again. Here's to you, all travellers, Who travel by land or sea; Let na wit to my father nor mother The death that I must die. Here's to you, all travellers, That travel on dry land; Let na wit to my father or mother But I am coming hame. O little did my mother think, First time she cradled me, What land I was to travel on, Or what death I would die. O little did my mother think, First time she tied my head, What land I was to tread upon, Or whare I would win my bread. Yestreen Queen Mary had four Maries; This night she'll hae but three; She had Mary Seaton, and Mary Beaton, And Mary Carmichael, and me. Yestreen I wush Queen Mary's feet, And bore her till her bed; This day she's given me my reward, The gallows tree to tread. Cast aff, cast aff my gown," she said, "But let my petticoat be; And tye a napkin on my face, For that gallows I downa see." By and cam the King himsell, Look'd up wi' a pitiful ee: "Come down, come down, Mary Hamilton; This day thou wilt dine with me." "Hold your tongue, my sovereign liege, And let your folly be; An ye had had a mind to save my life, Ye should na hae shamed me here!"
"The copy of the ballad from which the above extract is given, begins with this verse:
"There were three ladies, they lived in a bower, And O but they were fair; The youngest o' them is to the King's court, To learn some unco lair."
"There is another version in which the heroine is named Mary Myles, or Myle; but Myle is probably a corruption of the epithet 'mild,' which occurs in the fragment given in the North Countrie Garland." Motherwell.
There lived a knight into the North, And he had daughters three: The ane of them was a barber's wife, The other a gay ladie; And the youngest o' them to Scotland is gane5 The Queen's Mary to be; And for a' that they could say or do, Forbidden she wouldna be. The prince's bed it was sae saft, The spices they were sae fine,10 That out of it she could not lye While she was scarce fifteen. She's gane to the garden gay To pu' of the savin tree; But for a' that she could say or do,15 The babie it would not die. She's rowed it in her handkerchief, She threw it in the sea: Says,—"Sink ye, swim ye, my bonnie babe, For ye'll get nae mair of me."20 Queen Mary came tripping down the stair, Wi' the gold strings in her hair: "O whare's the little babie," she says, "That I heard greet sae sair?" "O hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame,25 Let all those words go free; It was mysell wi' a fit o' the sair colic, I was sick just like to die." "O hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton, Let all those words go free;30 O where is the little babie That I heard weep by thee?" "I rowed it in my handkerchief, And threw it in the sea; I bade it sink, I bade it swim,35 It would get nae mair o' me." "O wae be to thee, Mary Hamilton, And an ill deid may you die; For if you had saved the babie's life, It might hae been an honour to thee.40 "Busk ye, busk ye, Mary Hamilton, O busk ye to be a bride; For I am going to Edinburgh town Your gay wedding to bide. "You must not put on your robes of black,45 Nor yet your robes of brown; But you must put on your yellow gold stuffs, To shine thro' Edinburgh town." "I will not put on my robes of black, Nor yet my robes of brown;50 But I will put on my yellow gold stuffs, To shine thro' Edinburgh town." As she went up the Parliament Close, A riding on her horse, There she saw many a burgess' lady55 Sit greeting at the cross. "O what means a' this greeting? I'm sure it's nae for me; For I'm come this day to Edinburgh town, Weel wedded for to be."60 When she gade up the Parliament stair, She gied loud lauchters three; But ere that she had come down again, She was condemned to die. "O little did my mother think,65 The day she prinned my gown, That I was to come sae far frae hame To be hanged in Edinburgh town. "O what'll my poor father think, As he comes through the town,70 To see the face of his Molly fair Hanging on the gallows pin? "Here's a health to the mariners That plough the raging main; Let neither my mother nor father ken75 But I'm coming hame again. "Here's a health to the sailors That sail upon the sea; Let neither my mother nor father ken That I came here to die.80 "Yestreen the Queen had four Maries, This night she'll hae but three; There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton, And Mary Carmichael and me." "O hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton,85 Let all those words go free; This night ere ye be hanged Ye shall gang hame wi' me." "O hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame, Let all those words go free;90 Since I have come to Edinburgh town, It's hanged I shall be; For it shall ne'er be said that in your court I was condemned to die."
BESSIE BELL AND MARY GRAY.
From Lyle's Ancient Ballads and Songs, p. 160, where it was printed as collated "from the singing of two aged persons, one of them a native of Perthshire." There are two versions slightly differing from the present;—one in Cunningham's Songs of Scotland, iii. 60, obtained from Sir Walter Scott, and another in Mr. Kirkpatrick Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 62.
Allan Ramsay wrote a song with the same title, beginning with the first stanza of the ballad, (Tea Table Miscellany, i. 70.)
The story of the unfortunate heroines is thus given by Chambers: "Bessie Bell and Mary Gray were the daughters of two country gentlemen in the neighborhood of Perth; and an intimate friendship subsisted between them. Bessie Bell, daughter of the Laird of Kinnaird, happening to be on a visit to Mary Gray, at her father's house of Lynedoch, when the plague of 1666 broke out, to avoid the infection, the two young ladies built themselves a bower in a very retired and romantic spot, called the Burn-braes, about three quarters of a mile westward from Lynedoch House; where they resided for some time, supplied with food, it is said, by a young gentleman of Perth, who was in love with them both. The disease was unfortunately communicated to them by their lover, and proved fatal; when, according to custom in cases of the plague, they were not buried in the ordinary parochial place of sepulture, but in a sequestered spot, called the Dronach Haugh, at the foot of a brae of the same name, upon the banks of the River Almond."
O Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray, They were twa bonnie lassies; They biggit a house on yon burn-brae, An' theekit it o'er wi' rashes. They theekit it o'er wi' birk and brume,5 They theekit it o'er wi' heather, Till the pest cam frae the neib'rin town An' streekit them baith thegither. They were na' buried in Meffen kirk-yard, Amang the rest o' their kin;10 But they were buried by Dornoch haugh, On the bent before the sun. Sing, Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray, They were twa bonnie lasses, Wha' biggit a bower on yon burn-brae,15 An' theekit it o'er wi' thrashes.
THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.
The Children in the Wood is perhaps the most popular of all English ballads. Its merit is attested by the favor it has enjoyed with so many generations, and was vindicated to a cold and artificial age by the kindly pen of Addison. The editor of the Reliques thought that the subject was taken from an old play, published in 1601, "of a young child murthered in a wood by two ruffins, with the consent of his unkle," but Ritson discovered that the ballad was entered in the Stationers' Registers in 1595. The plot of the play was undoubtedly derived from the Italian, and the author of the ballad may have taken a hint from the same source.
Percy's edition, (Reliques, iii. 218,) which we have adopted, was printed from two old copies, one of them in black-letter, in the Pepys collection. The full title is, The Children in the Wood, or, The Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament. To the Tune of Rogero, &c. Copies slightly varying from Percy's may be seen in A Collection of Old Ballads, (1723,) i. 221; Ritson's Ancient Songs, ii. 150; The Book of British Ballads, p. 13; and Moore's Pictorial Book of Ancient Ballad Poetry, p. 263.
Now ponder well, you parents deare, These wordes which I shall write; A doleful story you shall heare, In time brought forth to light. A gentleman of good account5 In Norfolke dwelt of late, Who did in honour far surmount Most men of his estate. Sore sicke he was, and like to dye, No helpe his life could save;10 His wife by him as sicke did lye, And both possest one grave. No love between these two was lost, Each was to other kinde; In love they liv'd, in love they dyed,15 And left two babes behinde: The one a fine and pretty boy, Not passing three yeares olde; The other a girl more young than he, And fram'd in beautyes molde.20 The father left his little son, As plainlye doth appeare, When he to perfect age should come, Three hundred poundes a yeare. And to his little daughter Jane25 Five hundred poundes in gold, To be paid downe on marriage-day, Which might not be controll'd: But if the children chance to dye, Ere they to age should come,30 Their uncle should possesse their wealth; For so the wille did run. "Now, brother," said the dying man, "Look to my children deare; Be good unto my boy and girl,35 No friendes else have they here: To God and you I recommend My children deare this daye; But little while be sure we have Within this world to staye.40 "You must be father and mother both, And uncle all in one; God knowes what will become of them, When I am dead and gone." With that bespake their mother deare,45 "O brother kinde," quoth shee, "You are the man must bring our babes To wealth or miserie: "And if you keep them carefully, Then God will you reward;50 But if you otherwise should deal, God will your deedes regard." With lippes as cold as any stone, They kist their children small: "God bless you both, my children deare;"55 With that the teares did fall. These speeches then their brother spake To this sicke couple there: "The keeping of your little ones, Sweet sister, do not feare.60 God never prosper me nor mine, Nor aught else that I have, If I do wrong your children deare, When you are layd in grave." The parents being dead and gone,65 The children home he takes, And bringes them straite unto his house, Where much of them he makes. He had not kept these pretty babes A twelvemonth and a daye,70 But, for their wealth, he did devise To make them both awaye. He bargain'd with two ruffians strong, Which were of furious mood, That they should take these children young,75 And slaye them in a wood. He told his wife an artful tale. He would the children send To be brought up in faire London, With one that was his friend.80 Away then went those pretty babes, Rejoycing at that tide, Rejoycing with a merry minde, They should on cock-horse ride. They prate and prattle pleasantly,85 As they rode on the waye, To those that should their butchers be, And work their lives decaye: So that the pretty speeche they had, Made Murder's heart relent:90 And they that undertooke the deed, Full sore did now repent. Yet one of them more hard of heart, Did vowe to do his charge, Because the wretch, that hired him,95 Had paid him very large. The other won't agree thereto, So here they fall to strife; With one another they did fight, About the childrens life:100 And he that was of mildest mood, Did slaye the other there, Within an unfrequented wood; The babes did quake for feare! He took the children by the hand,105 Teares standing in their eye, And bad them straitwaye follow him, And look they did not crye: And two long miles he ledd them on, While they for food complaine:110 "Staye here," quoth he, "I'll bring you bread, When I come back againe." These pretty babes, with hand in hand, Went wandering up and downe; But never more could see the man115 Approaching from the towne: Their prettye lippes with blackberries, Were all besmear'd and dyed, And when they sawe the darksome night, They sat them downe and cryed.120 Thus wandered these poor innocents, Till deathe did end their grief, In one anothers armes they died, As wanting due relief: No burial this pretty pair125 Of any man receives, Till Robin-red-breast piously Did cover them with leaves. And now the heavy wrathe of God Upon their uncle fell;130 Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house, His conscience felt an hell; His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd, His landes were barren made, His cattle dyed within the field,135 And nothing with him stayd. And in the voyage of Portugal Two of his sonnes did dye; And to conclude, himselfe was brought To want and miserye:140 He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land Ere seven years came about, And now at length this wicked act Did by this meanes come out: The fellowe, that did take in hand145 These children for to kill, Was for a robbery judg'd to dye, Such was God's blessed will: Who did confess the very truth, As here hath been display'd:150 Their uncle having dyed in gaol, Where he for debt was layd. You that executors be made, And overseers eke Of children that be fatherless,155 And infants mild and meek; Take you example by this thing, And yield to each his right, Lest God with such like miserye Your wicked minds requite.
125, these ... babes, PP.
137. "A. D. 1588. Dr. Percy, not knowing that the text alludes to a particular event, has altered it to a voyage to Portugal." Ritson.
HUGH OF LINCOLN.
In the year 1255, we are told by Matthew Paris, in his account of the reign of Henry III., the Jews of Lincoln stole a boy, named Hugh, of the age of eight years, whom, after torturing for ten days, they crucified before a large council of their people, in contempt of the death of the founder of Christianity. The boy was sought by his mother in the house of a Jew, which he had been seen to enter, and his body was found in a pit. The occupant of the house being seized, acknowledged the crime, and avowed, besides, that the like was committed nearly every year by his nation. Notwithstanding the promise of impunity by which this confession had been obtained, the wretch who made it was tied to the tail of a horse and dragged to the gallows, and after a judicial investigation, eighteen of the richest and most distinguished Jews in Lincoln were hanged for participation in the murder, while many more were detained as prisoners in the Tower of London. On the other hand, the body of the child was buried with the honors of a martyr in Lincoln Cathedral, where a construction, assumed without reason to be his tomb, is still shown. The remains of a young person, found near this spot in 1791, were at once taken for granted to be those of the sainted infant, and drawings were made of the relics, which may be seen among the works of the artist Grimm in the British Museum.
Several stories of the same tenor are reported by the English chroniclers. It may be doubted whether there is a grain of truth in any of them, although it would be no wonder if the atrocious injuries inflicted on the Jews should, in an instance or two, have provoked a bloody retaliation, even from that tribe whose badge has always been sufferance. The annual sacrifice of a Christian child, in mockery of the crucifixion of Jesus, is on a par for credibility with the miracles which are said to have followed the death of those innocents.
The exquisite tale which Chaucer has put into the mouth of the Prioress exhibits nearly the same incidents as the following ballad. The legend of Hugh of Lincoln was widely famous. Michel has published an Anglo-Norman ballad, (Hugo de Lincolnia,) on the subject, which appears to be almost contemporary with the event recorded by Matthew Paris, and is certainly of the times of Henry III. The versions of the English ballad are quite numerous. We give here those of Percy, Herd, and Jamieson, and two others in the Appendix. Besides these, fragments have been printed in Sir Egerton Brydges's Restituta, i. 381, Halliwell's Ballads and Poems respecting Hugh of Lincoln, (1849,) and in Notes and Queries, vol. viii. 614, ix. 320, xii. 496. The most complete of all the versions is to be found in the new edition of the Musical Museum, vol. iv. p. 500; but that copy is evidently made up from others previously published. See, for a collection of most of the poetry, and of much curious information on the imputed cruelties of the Jews, Michel's Hugues de Lincoln, and Hume's Sir Hugh of Lincoln. The whole subject is critically examined in the London Athenæum for Dec. 15, 1849.
"The text of the following edition has been given verbatim, as the editor took it down from Mrs. Brown's recitation; and in it two circumstances are preserved, which are neither to be found in any of the former editions, nor in any of the chronicles in which the transaction is recorded; but which are perfectly in the character of those times, and tend to enhance the miracles to which the discovery is attributed. The first of these is, that, in order that the whole of this infamous sacrifice might be of a piece, and every possible outrage shown to Christianity, the Jews threw the child's body into a well dedicated to the Virgin Mary; and tradition says, that it was 'through the might of Our Ladie,' that the dead body was permitted to speak, and to reveal the horrid story to the disconsolate mother. The other is, the voluntary ringing of the bells, &c., at his funeral. The sound of consecrated bells was supposed to have a powerful effect in driving away evil spirits, appeasing storms, &c., and they were believed to be inspired with sentiments and perceptions which were often manifested in a very miraculous manner." Jamieson's Popular Ballads, i. 139-156.
Four and twenty bonny boys Were playing at the ba'; And by it came him, sweet Sir Hugh, And he play'd o'er them a'. He kick'd the ba' with his right foot,5 And catch'd it wi' his knee; And throuch-and-thro' the Jew's window, He gar'd the bonny ba' flee. He's doen him to the Jew's castell, And walk'd it round about;10 And there he saw the Jew's daughter At the window looking out. "Throw down the ba', ye Jew's daughter, Throw down the ba' to me!" "Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter,15 "Till up to me come ye." "How will I come up? How can I come up? How can I come to thee? For as ye did to my auld father, The same ye'll do to me."20 She's gane till her father's garden, And pu'd an apple, red and green; 'Twas a' to wyle him, sweet Sir Hugh, And to entice him in. She's led him in through ae dark door,25 And sae has she thro' nine; She's laid him on a dressing table, And stickit him like a swine. And first came out the thick, thick blood, And syne came out the thin;30 And syne came out the bonny heart's blood; There was nae mair within. She's row'd him in a cake o' lead, Bade him lie still and sleep; She's thrown him in Our Lady's draw well,35 Was fifty fathom deep. When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' the bairns came hame, When every lady gat hame her son, The Lady Maisry gat nane.40 She's ta'en her mantle her about, Her coffer by the hand; And she's gane out to seek her son, And wander'd o'er the land. She's doen her to the Jew's castell,45 Where a' were fast asleep; "Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh, I pray you to me speak." She's doen her to the Jew's garden, Thought he had been gathering fruit;50 "Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh, I pray you to me speak." She near'd Our Lady's deep draw-well, Was fifty fathom deep; "Whare'er ye be, my sweet Sir Hugh,55 I pray you to me speak." "Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear; Prepare my winding sheet; And, at the back o' merry Lincoln, The morn I will you meet."60 Now Lady Maisry is gane hame; Made him a winding sheet; And, at the back o' merry Lincoln, The dead corpse did her meet. And a' the bells o' merry Lincoln,65 Without men's hands were rung; And a' the books o' merry Lincoln, Were read without man's tongue; And ne'er was such a burial Sin Adam's days begun.70
SIR HUGH.
From Herd's Scottish Songs, i. 157.
A' the boys of merry Linkim War playing at the ba', An up it stands him sweet Sir Hugh, The flower among them a'. He keppit the ba' than wi' his foot,5 And catcht it wi' his knee, And even in at the Jew's window, He gart the bonny ba' flee. "Cast out the ba' to me, fair maid, Cast out the ba' to me."10 "Ah never a bit of it," she says, "Till ye come up to me. "Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh, Come up and get the ba';" "I winna come, I mayna come,15 Without my bonny boys a'." "Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh, Come up and speak to me;" "I mayna come, I winna come, Without my bonny boys three."20 She's taen her to the Jew's garden, Whar the grass grew lang and green, She's pu'd an apple red and white, To wyle the bonny boy in. She's wyled him in through ae chamber,25 She's wyled him in through twa, She's wyled him in till her ain chamber, The flower out owr them a'. She's laid him on a dressin board, Whar she did often dine;30 She stack a penknife to his heart, And dress'd him like a swine. She row'd him in a cake of lead, Bade him ly still and sleep, She threw him i' the Jew's draw-well,35 It was fifty fathom deep. Whan bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' man bound to bed, Every lady got home her son, But sweet Sir Hugh was dead.
THE JEW'S DAUGHTER.
From Percy's Reliques, i. 40; printed from a manuscript copy sent from Scotland.
Mirryland toune is a corruption of Merry Lincoln, and not, as Percy conjectured, of Mailand (Milan) town. In Motherwell's copy we have Maitland town.
The rain rins doun through Mirry-land toune, Sae dois it doune the Pa: Sae dois the lads of Mirry-land toune, Quhan they play at the ba'. Than out and cam the Jewis dochter,5 Said, "Will ye cum in and dine?" "I winnae cum in, I cannae cum in, Without my play-feres nine." Scho powd an apple reid and white, To intice the zong thing in:10 Scho powd an apple white and reid, And that the sweit bairne did win. And scho has taine out a little pen-knife, And low down by her gair; Scho has twin'd the zong thing and his life;15 A word he nevir spak mair. And out and cam the thick thick bluid, And out and cam the thin; And out and cam the bonny herts bluid: Thair was nae life left in.20 Scho laid him on a dressing borde, And drest him like a swine, And laughing said, "Gae nou and pley With zour sweit play-feres nine." Scho rowd him in a cake of lead,25 Bade him lie stil and sleip; Scho cast him in a deip draw-well, Was fifty fadom deip. Quhan bells wer rung, and mass was sung, And every lady went hame,30 Then ilka lady had her zong sonne, Bot Lady Helen had nane. Scho rowd hir mantil hir about, And sair sair gan she weip, And she ran into the Jewis castèl,35 Quhan they wer all asleip. "My bonny Sir Hew, my pretty Sir Hew, I pray thee to me speik:" "O lady, rinn to the deip draw-well, Gin ze zour sonne wad seik."40 Lady Helen ran to the deip draw-well, And knelt upon her kne: "My bonny Sir Hew, and ze be here, I pray thee speik to me." "The lead is wondrous heavy, mither,45 The well is wondrous deip; A keen pen-knife sticks in my hert, A word I dounae speik. "Gae hame, gae hame, my mither deir, Fetch me my windling sheet,50 And at the back o' Mirry-land toun, Its thair we twa sall meet."
SIR PATRICK SPENCE.
From Percy's Reliques, i. 81.
The event upon which this ballad is founded, if it has been rightly ascertained, belongs to a remote period in Scottish history. Margaret, the daughter of Alexander III., was, in the year 1281, betrothed to Eric, prince of Norway. The bride was conducted to her husband by a splendid convoy of knights and nobles, and in the month of August was crowned queen. In returning from the celebration of the nuptials, many of the Scottish escort were lost at sea, and among those who perished was Sir Patrick Spence, we are to suppose.
It is in conformity with this view of the origin of the ballad, (the suggestion of Motherwell,) that in Buchan's version the object of the voyage is said to be to take the king's daughter, now "a chosen queen," to Norway. In Scott's edition, on the other hand, Sir Patrick is deputed to bring home the king of Norway's daughter. To explain this circumstance in the story, Sir Walter is forced to suppose that an unsuccessful and unrecorded embassy was sent, when the death of Alexander III. had left the Scottish throne vacant, to bring the only daughter of Eric and Margaret, styled by historians the Maid of Norway, to the kingdom of which, after her grandfather's demise, she became the heir. That such an embassy, attended with so disastrous consequences to the distinguished persons who would compose it, should be entirely unnoticed by the chroniclers is, to say the least, exceedingly improbable.
The question concerning the historical basis of the ballad would naturally lose much of its interest, were any importance attached to the arguments by which its genuineness has been lately assailed. These are so trivial as hardly to admit of a statement. The claims of the composition to a high antiquity are first disputed, (Musical Museum, new ed., iv. 457*,) on the ground that such a piece was never heard of till it was sent to Percy by some of his correspondents in Scotland, with other ballads of (assumed) questionable authority. But even the ballad of Sir Hugh is liable to any impeachment that can be extracted from these circumstances, since it was first made known by Percy, and was transmitted to him from Scotland, (for aught we know, in suspicious company,) while its story dates also from the 13th century. Then, "an ingenious friend" having remarked to Percy that some of the phrases of Hardyknute seemed to have been borrowed from Sir Patrick Spence and other old Scottish songs, this observation, combined with the fact that the localities of Dunfermline and Aberdour are in the neighborhood of Sir Henry Wardlaw's estate, leads to a conjecture that Lady Wardlaw may have been the author of Sir Patrick Spence, as she is known to have been of Hardyknute. It could never be deemed fair to argue from those resemblances which give plausibility to a counterfeit to the spuriousness of the original, but in fact there is no resemblance in the two pieces. Hardyknute is recognized at once by an ordinary critic to be a modern production, and is, notwithstanding the praise it has received, a tame and tiresome one besides. Sir Patrick Spence, on the other hand, if not ancient, has been always accepted as such by the most skilful judges, and is a solitary instance of a successful imitation, in manner and spirit, of the best specimens of authentic minstrelsy.[1]
It is not denied that this ballad has suffered, like others, by corruption and interpolations, and it is not, therefore, maintained that hats and cork-heeld shoon are of the 13th century.
We have assigned to Percy's copy the first place, because its brevity and directness give it a peculiar vigor. Scott's edition follows, made up from two MS. copies, (one of which has been printed in Jamieson's Popular Ballads, i. 157,) collated with several verses recited by a friend. Buchan's version, obtained from recitation, is in the Appendix. The variations in recited copies are numerous: some specimens are given by Motherwell, p. xlv.
The king sits in Dumferling[2] toune, Drinking the blude-reid wine: "O quhar will I get guid sailor, To sail this schip of mine?" Up and spak an eldern knicht,5 Sat at the kings richt kne: "Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor, That sails upon the se." The king has written a braid letter, And signd it wi' his hand,10 And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence, Was walking on the sand. The first line that Sir Patrick red, A loud lauch lauched he: The next line that Sir Patrick red,15 The teir blinded his ee. "O quha is this has don this deid, This ill deid don to me; To send me out this time o' the zeir, To sail upon the se?20 "Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all, Our guid schip sails the morne." "O say na sae, my master deir, For I feir a deadlie storme. "Late late yestreen I saw the new moone25 Wi' the auld moone in hir arme; And I feir, I feir, my deir master, That we will com to harme." O our Scots nobles wer richt laith To weet their cork-heild schoone;30 Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd, Thair hats they swam aboone. O lang, lang, may their ladies sit Wi' thair fans into their hand, Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence35 Cum sailing to the land. O lang, lang, may the ladies stand Wi' thair gold kems in their hair, Waiting for thair ain deir lords, For they'll se thame na mair.40 Have owre, have owre to Aberdour, It's fiftie fadom deip: And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence, Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.
41-44. "It is true that the name of Sir Patrick Spens is not mentioned in history; but I am able to state that tradition has preserved it. In the little island of Papa Stronsay, one of the Orcadian group, lying over against Norway, there is a large grave or tumulus, which has been known to the inhabitants, from time immemorial, as 'The grave of Sir Patrick Spens.' The Scottish ballads were not early current in Orkney, a Scandinavian country; so it is very unlikely that the poem could have originated the name. The people know nothing beyond the traditional appellation of the spot, and they have no legend to tell." Aytoun, Ballads of Scotland, i. 2.—This passage is cited simply as a piece of external evidence to the antiquity of the legend of Sir Patrick Spens,—supposing the matter of fact to be well established, and the alleged tradition to be of long standing.
SIR PATRICK SPENS.
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, i. 299.
In singing, the interjection O is added to the second and fourth lines.
The king sits in Dunfermline town, Drinking the blude-red wine: "O whare will I get a skeely skipper To sail this new ship of mine?" O up and spake an eldern knight,5 Sat at the king's right knee: "Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor That ever sailed the sea." Our king has written a braid letter, And sealed it with his hand,10 And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens, Was walking on the strand. "To Noroway, to Noroway, To Noroway o'er the faem; The king's daughter of Noroway,15 'Tis thou maun bring her hame!" The first word that Sir Patrick read, Sae loud loud laughed he; The neist word that Sir Patrick read, The tear blindit his e'e.20 "O wha is this has done this deed, And tauld the king o' me, To send us out at this time of the year, To sail upon the sea? "Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet,25 Our ship must sail the faem; The king's daughter of Noroway, 'Tis we must fetch her hame." They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn Wi' a' the speed they may;30 They hae landed in Noroway Upon a Wodensday. They hadna been a week, a week, In Noroway, but twae, When that the lords o' Noroway35 Began aloud to say: "Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud, And a' our queenis fee." "Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud! Fu' loud I hear ye lie!40 "For I brought as much white monie As gane my men and me,— And I brought a half-fou o' gude red goud Out o'er the sea wi' me. "Make ready, make ready, my merrymen a'!45 Our gude ship sails the morn." "Now, ever alake! my master dear, I fear a deadly storm! "I saw the new moon, late yestreen, Wi' the auld moon in her arm;50 And if we gang to sea, master, I fear we'll come to harm." They hadna sailed a league, a league, A league, but barely three, When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,55 And gurly grew the sea. The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap, It was sic a deadly storm; And the waves came o'er the broken ship, Till a' her sides were torn.60 "O where will I get a gude sailor, To take my helm in hand, Till I get up to the tall topmast, To see if I can spy land?" "O here am I, a sailor gude,65 To take the helm in hand, Till you go up to the tall topmast,— But I fear you'll ne'er spy land." He hadna gane a step, a step, A step, but barely ane,70 When a bout flew out of our goodly ship, And the salt sea it came in. "Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith, Another o' the twine, And wap them into our ship's side,75 And letna the sea come in." They fetched a web o' the silken claith, Another o' the twine, And they wapped them roun' that gude ship's side, But still the sea came in.80 "O laith laith were our gude Scots lords To weet their cork-heeled shoon! But lang or a' the play was played, They wat their hats aboon. And mony was the feather-bed85 That flatter'd on the faem; And mony was the gude lord's son That never mair cam hame. The ladyes wrang their fingers white, The maidens tore their hair;90 A' for the sake of their true loves, For them they'll see nae mair. O lang lang may the ladyes sit, Wi' their fans into their hand, Before they see Sir Patrick Spens95 Come sailing to the strand! And lang lang may the maidens sit, Wi' their goud kaims in their hair, A' waiting for their ain dear loves, For them they'll see nae mair.100 O forty miles off Aberdeen 'Tis fifty fathoms deep, And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.