Volume 4 / Book 4 — BOOK IV. (continued.) (continued 2)
Reading edition
THE LAIRD O'LOGIE.
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, iii. 131.
An edition of this ballad was published in Herd's Scottish Songs, (i. 54,) and there is styled The Young Laird of Ochiltrie. Scott recovered the following copy from recitation, which is to be preferred to the other, as agreeing more closely with the real fact, both in the name and the circumstances.
The incident here celebrated occurred in the year 1592. Francis, Earl Bothwell, being then engaged in a wild conspiracy against James VI., succeeded in obtaining some followers even among the king's personal attendants. Among these was a gentleman named Weymis of Logie. Accused of treasonable converse with Bothwell, he confessed to the charge, and was, of course, in danger of expiating his crime by death. But he was rescued through the address and courage of Margaret Twynstoun, a lady of the court, to whom he was attached. It being her duty to wait on the queen the night of Logie's accusation, she left the royal chamber while the king and queen were asleep, passed to the room where he was kept in custody, and ordered the guard to bring the prisoner into the presence of their majesties. She received her lover at the chamber door, commanding the guard to wait there, and conveyed him to a window, from which he escaped by a long cord. This is the story as related in The Historie of King James the Sext, quoted by Scott.
I will sing, if ye will hearken, If ye will hearken unto me; The king has ta'en a poor prisoner, The wanton laird o' young Logie. Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel,5 Carmichael's the keeper o' the key; And May Margaret's lamenting sair, A' for the love of young Logie. May Margaret sits in the queen's bouir, Knicking her fingers ane by ane,10 Cursing the day that she e'er was born, Or that she e'er heard o' Logie's name. "Lament, lament na, May Margaret, And of your weeping let me be; For ye maun to the king himsell,15 To seek the life o' young Logie." May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding, And she has curl'd back her yellow hair,— "If I canna get young Logie's life, Farewell to Scotland for evermair."20 When she came before the king, She knelit lowly on her knee. "O what's the matter, May Margaret? And what need's a' this courtesie?" "A boon, a boon, my noble liege,25 A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee! And the first boon that I come to crave Is to grant me the life o' young Logie." "O na, O na, May Margaret, Forsooth, and so it mauna be;30 For a' the gowd o' fair Scotland Shall not save the life o' young Logie." But she has stown the king's redding kaim, Likewise the queen her wedding knife; And sent the tokens to Carmichael,35 To cause young Logie get his life. She sent him a purse o' the red gowd, Another o' the white monie; She sent him a pistol for each hand, And bade him shoot when he gat free.40 When he came to the Tolbooth stair, There he let his volley flee; It made the king in his chamber start, E'en in the bed where he might be. "Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a',45 And bid Carmichael come speak to me; For I'll lay my life the pledge o' that, That yon's the shot o' young Logie." When Carmichael came before the king, He fell low down upon his knee;50 The very first word that the king spake Was,—"Where's the laird of young Logie?" Carmichael turn'd him round about, (I wot the tear blinded his e'e,)— "There came a token frae your grace55 Has ta'en away the laird frae me." "Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichael? And hast thou play'd me that?" quoth he; "The morn the Justice Court's to stand, And Logie's place ye maun supplie."60 Carmichael's awa to Margaret's bower, Even as fast as he may drie,— "O if young Logie be within, Tell him to come and speak with me!" May Margaret turn'd her round about,65 (I wot a loud laugh laughed she,)— "The egg is chipp'd, the bird is flown, Ye'll see nae mair of young Logie." The tane is shipped at the pier of Leith, The tother at the Queen's Ferrie;70 And she's gotten a father to her bairn, The wanton laird of young Logie.
v. 9-12. This stanza was obtained by Motherwell from recitation.
THE GYPSIE LADDIE.
This ballad first appeared in print in the Tea-Table Miscellany, (ii. 282,) from which it was adopted into Herd's and Pinkerton's collections, Johnson's Museum, and Ritson's Scottish Songs. The version here selected, that of Finlay, (Scottish Ballads, ii. 39,) is nearly the same, but has two more stanzas, the third and the fourth. Different copies are given in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 360, Smith's Scottish Minstrel, iii. 90, The Songs of England and Scotland, (by Peter Cunningham,) ii. 346, and Sheldon's Minstrelsy of the English Border, p. 329, (see our Appendix;) others, which we have not seen, in Mactaggart's Gallovidian Dictionary, Chambers's Scottish Gypsies, and The Scot's Magazine for November, 1817.
There is a popular tradition, possessing, we believe, no foundation in fact, that the incidents of this ballad belong to the history of the noble family of Cassilis. The Lady Jean Hamilton, daughter of the Earl of Waddington, is said to have been constrained to marry a grim Covenanter, John, Earl of Cassilis, though her affections were already engaged to Sir John Faa of Dunbar. In 1643, several years after their union, when the Countess had given birth to two or three children, her husband being absent from home on a mission to the Assembly of Divines at Westminster, Sir John presented himself at Cassilis Castle, attended by a small band of gypsies, and himself disguised as one. The recollection of her early passion proved stronger than the marriage vow, and the lady eloped with her former lover. But before she had got far from home, the Earl happened to return. Learning what had occurred, he set out in pursuit with a considerable body of followers, and, arresting the fugitives, brought them back to his castle, where he hanged Sir John and his companions on a great tree before the gate. The Countess was obliged to witness the execution from a chamber window, and after a short confinement in the castle, was shut up for the rest of her life in a house at Maybole, four miles distant, which had been fitted up for her, with a staircase on which were carved a set of heads representing her lover and his troop.
Unfortunately for the truth of the story, letters are in existence, written by the Earl of Cassilis to the Lady Jean after the date of these events, which prove the subsistence of a high degree of mutual affection and confidence; and Finlay assures us that after a diligent search, he had been able to discern nothing that in the slightest confirmed the popular tale. The whole story is perhaps the malicious invention of an enemy of the house of Cassilis, and as such would not be unparalleled in the history of ballad poetry. See Dauney's Ancient Scottish Melodies, p. 269, and Chambers's Scottish Ballads, p. 143.
The gypsies came to our good lord's gate, And wow but they sang sweetly; They sang sae sweet and sae very complete, That down came the fair lady. And she came tripping doun the stair,5 And a' her maids before her; As soon as they saw her weel-far'd face, They coost the glamer o'er her. "O come with me," says Johnie Faw, "O come with me, my dearie;10 For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword, That your lord shall nae mair come near ye." Then she gied them the beer and the wine, And they gied her the ginger; But she gied them a far better thing,15 The goud ring aff her finger. "Gae tak frae me this gay mantle, And bring to me a plaidie; For if kith and kin and a' had sworn, I'll follow the gypsie laddie.20 "Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed, Wi' my good lord beside me; But this night I'll lye in a tennant's barn, Whatever shall betide me." "Come to your bed," says Johnie Faw,25 "O come to your bed, my dearie; For I vow and swear by the hilt of my sword, That your lord shall nae mair come near ye." "I'll go to bed to my Johnie Faw, I'll go to bed to my dearie;30 For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand, That my lord shall nae mair come near me. "I'll mak a hap to my Johnie Faw, I'll mak a hap to my dearie; And he's get a' the coat gaes round,35 And my lord shall nae mair come near me." And when our lord came hame at e'en, And spier'd for his fair lady, The tane she cry'd, and the other replied, "She's away wi' the gypsie laddie."40 "Gae saddle to me the black black steed, Gae saddle and make him ready; Before that I either eat or sleep, I'll gae seek my fair lady." And we were fifteen weel-made men,45 Altho' we were na bonny; And we were a' put down but ane, For a fair young wanton lady.
LAIRD OF DRUM.
From Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 200, obtained from recitation. Another copy is furnished by Buchan, Ballads of the North of Scotland, ii. 194, which, with some variations, is printed again in Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, Percy Society, vol. xvii. p. 53.
"This ballad," says Kinloch, was composed on the marriage of Alexander Irvine of Drum to his second wife, Margaret Coutts, a woman of inferior birth and manners, which step gave great offence to his relations. He had previously, in 1643, married Mary, fourth daughter of George, second Marquis of Huntly.
The Laird o' Drum is a wooing gane, It was on a morning early, And he has fawn in wi' a bonnie may A-shearing at her barley. "My bonnie may, my weel-faur'd may,5 O will ye fancy me, O; And gae and be the lady o' Drum, And lat your shearing abee, O?" "It's I canna fancy thee, kind sir, I winna fancy thee, O,10 I winna gae and be Lady o' Drum, And lat my shearing abee, O. "But set your love on anither, kind sir, Set it not on me, O, For I am not fit to be your bride,15 And your hure I'll never be, O. "My father he is a shepherd mean, Keeps sheep on yonder hill, O, And ye may gae and speir at him, For I am at his will, O."20 Drum is to her father gane, Keeping his sheep on yon hill, O; And he has gotten his consent That the may was at his will, O. "But my dochter can neither read nor write,25 She was ne'er brought up at scheel, O; But weel can she milk cow and ewe, And mak a kebbuck weel, O. "She'll win in your barn at bear-seed time, Cast out your muck at Yule, O,30 She'll saddle your steed in time o' need, And draw aff your boots hersell, O." "Have not I no clergymen? Pay I no clergy fee, O? I'll scheel her as I think fit,35 And as I think weel to be, O. "I'll learn your lassie to read and write, And I'll put her to the scheel, O; She'll neither need to saddle my steed, Nor draw aff my boots hersell, O.40 "But wha will bake my bridal bread, Or brew my bridal ale, O; And wha will welcome my bonnie bride, Is mair than I can tell, O." Drum is to the hielands gane,45 For to mak a' ready, And a' the gentry round about, Cried, "Yonder's Drum and his lady! "Peggy Coutts is a very bonnie bride, And Drum is a wealthy laddie,50 But he micht hae chosen a hier match, Than onie shepherd's lassie." Then up bespak his brither John, Says, "Ye've deen us meikle wrang, O; Ye've married een below our degree,55 A lake to a' our kin, O." "Hold your tongue, my brither John, I have deen you na wrang, O; For I've married een to wirk and win, And ye've married een to spend, O.60 "The first time that I had a wife, She was far abeen my degree, O; I durst na come in her presence, But wi' my hat upo' my knee, O. "The first wife that I did wed,65 She was far abeen my degree, O; She wadna hae walk'd to the yetts o' Drum, But the pearls abeen her bree, O. "But an she was ador'd for as much gold, As Peggy's for beautie, O,70 She micht walk to the yetts o' Drum, Amang gueed companie, O." There war four and twenty gentlemen Stood at the yetts o' Drum, O; There was na ane amang them a'75 That welcom'd his lady in, O. He has tane her by the milk-white hand, And led her in himsel, O, And in thro' ha's, and in thro' bouers,— "And ye're welcome, Lady o' Drum, O."80 Thrice he kissed her cherry cheek, And thrice her cherry chin, O; And twenty times her comely mou',— "And ye're welcome, Lady o' Drum, O. "Ye sall be cook in my kitchen,85 Butler in my ha', O; Ye sall be lady in my command, Whan I ride far awa, O."— "But I told ye afore we war wed, I was owre low for thee, O;90 But now we are wed, and in ae bed laid, And ye maun be content wi' me, O. "For an I war dead, and ye war dead, And baith in ae grave laid, O, And ye and I war tane up again,95 Wha could distan your mouls frae mine, O?"
LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.
The unhappy lady into whose mouth some unknown poet has put this lament, is now ascertained to have been Anne, daughter to Bothwell, Bishop of Orkney. Her faithless lover was her cousin, Alexander Erskine, son to the Earl of Mar. Lady Anne is said to have possessed great beauty, and Sir Alexander was reputed the handsomest man of his age. He was first a colonel in the French army, but afterwards engaged in the service of the Covenanters, and came to his death by being blown up, with many other persons of rank, in Douglass Castle, on the 30th of August, 1640. The events which occasioned the ballad seem to have taken place early in the seventeenth century. Of the fate of the lady subsequent to this period nothing is known. See Chambers, Scottish Ballads, p. 150, and The Scots Musical Museum, (1853,) iv. 203*.
In Brome's comedy of The Northern Lass, or the Nest of Fools, acted in 1632, occur the two following stanzas. They are, perhaps, a part of the original Lament, which certainly has undergone great alterations in its progress down to our times.
"Peace, wayward barne! Oh cease thy moan! Thy farre more wayward daddy's gone, And never will recalled be, By cryes of either thee or me: For should wee cry Until we dye, Wee could not scant his cruelty. Ballow, ballow, &c.
"He needs might in himselfe foresee What thou successively might'st be; And could hee then (though me foregoe) His infant leave, ere hee did know How like the dad Would be the lad, In time to make fond maydens glad? Ballow, ballow, &c."
The first professed edition of this piece is in the Third Part of Watson's Collection of Comic and Serious Scots Poems, p. 79; the next in the Tea-Table Miscellany, i. 161. Both of these copies have been modernized, but Ramsay's is the better of the two, and equally authentic. We therefore select Ramsay's, and add to it Percy's, which contains three stanzas not found in the others, and preserves somewhat more of the air of antiquity. There is a version extending to fifteen stanzas, arranged in a very different order, in Evans's Old Ballads, i. 259. Herd, Ritson, &c., have followed Ramsay.
Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep, It grieves me sore to hear thee weep: If thou'lt be silent, I'll be glad, Thy mourning makes my heart full sad. Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy,5 Thy father bred me great annoy. Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep, It grieves me sore to hear thee weep. Balow, my darling, sleep a while, And when thou wak'st, then sweetly smile;10 But smile not as thy father did, To cozen maids, nay, God forbid; For in thine eye his look I see, The tempting look that ruin'd me, Balow, my boy, &c.15 When he began to court my love, And with his sugar'd words to move, His tempting face, and flatt'ring chear In time to me did not appear; But now I see that cruel he20 Cares neither for his babe nor me. Balow, my boy, &c. Fareweel, fareweel, thou falsest youth That ever kist a woman's mouth; Let never any after me25 Submit unto thy courtesy! For, if they do, O! cruel thou Wilt her abuse, and care not how. Balow, my boy, &c. I was too cred'lous at the first,30 To yield thee all a maiden durst; Thou swore for ever true to prove, Thy faith unchang'd, unchang'd thy love; But quick as thought the change is wrought, Thy love's no mair, thy promise nought.35 Balow, my boy, &c. I wish I were a maid again! From young men's flatt'ry I'd refrain; For now unto my grief I find They all are perjur'd and unkind;40 Bewitching charms bred all my harms;— Witness my babe lies in my arms. Balow, my boy, &c. I take my fate from bad to worse, That I must needs be now a nurse,45 And lull my young son on my lap: From me, sweet orphan, take the pap. Balow, my child, thy mother mild Shall wail as from all bliss exil'd. Balow, my boy, &c.50 Balow, my boy, weep not for me, Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee; Nor pity her deserved smart, Who can blame none but her fond heart; For, too soon trusting latest finds55 With fairest tongues are falsest minds. Balow, my boy, &c. Balow, my boy, thy father's fled, When he the thriftless son has played; Of vows and oaths forgetful, he60 Preferr'd the wars to thee and me. But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine Make him eat acorns with the swine. Balow, my boy, &c. But curse not him; perhaps now he,65 Stung with remorse, is blessing thee: Perhaps at death; for who can tell, Whether the judge of heaven or hell, By some proud foe has struck the blow, And laid the dear deceiver low?70 Balow, my boy, &c. I wish I were into the bounds Where he lies smother'd in his wounds, Repeating, as he pants for air, My name, whom once he call'd his fair;75 No woman's yet so fiercely set, But she'll forgive, though not forget. Balow, my boy, &c. If linen lacks, for my love's sake, Then quickly to him would I make80 My smock, once for his body meet, And wrap him in that winding-sheet Ah me! how happy had I been, If he had ne'er been wrapt therein. Balow, my boy, &c. Balow, my boy, I'll weep for thee:85 Too soon, alake, thou'lt weep for me: Thy griefs are growing to a sum, God grant thee patience when they come; Born to sustain thy mother's shame, A hapless fate, a bastard's name.90 Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep, It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.
LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.
From Percy's Reliques, ii. 207.
"From a copy in the Editor's folio MS., corrected by another in Allan Ramsay's Miscellany."
Balow, my babe, lye still and sleipe! It grieves me sair to see thee weipe: If thoust be silent, Ise be glad, Thy maining maks my heart ful sad. Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy,5 Thy father breides me great annoy. Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe, It grieves me sair to see thee weepe. Whan he began to court my luve, And with his sugred wordes to muve,10 His faynings fals and flattering cheire To me that time did not appeire: But now I see, most cruell hee Cares neither for my babe nor mee. Balow, &c.15 Lye still, my darling, sleipe a while, And when thou wakest, sweitly smile: But smile not, as thy father did, To cozen maids; nay, God forbid! But yett I feire, thou wilt gae neire20 Thy fatheris hart and face to beire. Balow, &c. I cannae chuse, but ever will Be luving to thy father still: Whaireir he gae, whaireir he ryde,25 My luve with him doth still abyde: In weil or wae, whaireir he gae, Mine hart can neire depart him frae. Balow, &c. But doe not, doe not, pretty mine,30 To faynings fals thine hart incline; Be loyal to thy luver trew, And nevir change her for a new: If gude or faire, of hir have care, For womens banning 's wonderous sair.35 Balow, &c. Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane, Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine; My babe and I'll together live, He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve: My babe and I right saft will ly,40 And quite forgeit man's cruelty. Balow, &c. Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth, That evir kist a womans mouth!45 I wish all maides be warned by mee Nevir to trust mans curtesy; For if we doe bot chance to bow, They'll use us then they care not how. Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe, It grieves me sair to see thee weipe.50
WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY.
These beautiful verses are thought to be only a part of Lord Jamie Douglas, (see the next piece,) in one copy or another of which, according to Motherwell, nearly all of them are to be found. They were first published in the Tea-Table Miscellany, (i. 231,) and are here given as they there appear, separate from an explicit story. Although in this condition they must be looked upon as a fragment, still, they are too awkwardly introduced in the ballad above mentioned, and too superior to the rest of the composition, to allow of our believing that they have as yet found their proper connection.
In Johnson's Museum, (i. 166,) besides several trifling variations from Ramsay's copy, the fourth is replaced by the following:
When cockle shells turn siller bells, And mussels grow on every tree, When frost and snaw shall warm us a', Then shall my love prove true to me.
The third stanza stands thus in a Christmas medley, quoted by Leyden from a "MS. Cantus of the latter part of the 17th century:"
Hey troly loly, love is joly, A whyle whill it is new; When it is old, it grows full cold,— Woe worth the love untrue! Complaynt of Scotland, i. 278.
O waly, waly up the bank, And waly, waly down the brae, And waly, waly yon burn side, Where I and my love wont to gae. I lean'd my back unto an aik,5 I thought it was a trusty tree; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true love did lightly me! O waly, waly, but love be bonny, A little time while it is new;10 But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld, And fades away like the morning dew. O wherefore should I busk my head? Or wherfore should I kame my hair? For my true love has me forsook,15 And says he'll never love me mair. Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed, The sheets shall ne'er be fyl'd by me: Saint Anton's well shall be my drink, Since my true love has forsaken me.20 Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves off the tree? O gentle death, when wilt thou come? For of my life I'm weary. 'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,25 Nor blawing snaw's inclemency; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town, We were a comely sight to see;30 My love was clad in the black velvet, And I my sell in cramasie. But had I wist, before I kiss'd, That love had been sae ill to win, I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold,35 And pin'd it with a silver pin. Oh, oh, if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse's knee, And I my sell were dead and gane! For a maid again I'll never be.40
LORD JAMIE DOUGLAS.
From the appendix to Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. v. An imperfect copy of this ballad was printed in Finlay's collection, vol. ii. p. 4; another, called the Laird of Blackwood, in Kinloch's, p. 60. Both of them may be seen at the end of this volume. Chambers has compiled a ballad in four parts from these three versions, another in manuscript, furnished by Kinloch, and the verses just given from Ramsay's Miscellany; and Aytoun, more recently, has made up a ballad from two copies obtained from recitation by Kinloch, and called it The Marchioness of Douglas. Ballads of Scotland, 2d ed. i. 135.
The circumstances which gave rise to the ballad are thus stated by Chambers: "James, second Marquis of Douglas, when aged twenty-four, married at Edinburgh, on the 7th of September, 1670, Lady Barbara Erskine, eldest daughter of John, ninth Earl of Mar. This lady is said to have been previously wooed, without success, by a gentleman of the name of Lowrie, who on account of his afterwards marrying Mariotte Weir, heiress of Blackwood, in Lanarkshire, was commonly called, according to the custom of Scotland, the Tutor, and sometimes the Laird, of Blackwood. Lowrie, who seems to have been considerably advanced in life at the time, was chamberlain or factor to the Marquis of Douglas; a circumstance which gave him peculiar facilities for executing an atrocious scheme of vengeance he had projected against the lady. By a train of proceedings somewhat similar to those of Iago, and in particular, by pretending to have discovered a pair of men's shoes underneath the Marchioness's bed, he completely succeeded in breaking up the affection of the unfortunate couple. Lord Douglas, who, though a man of profligate conduct, had hitherto treated his wife with some degree of politeness, now rendered her life so miserable, that she was obliged to seek refuge with her father. The earl came with a large retinue to carry her off, when, according to the ballad, as well as the tradition of the country, a most affecting scene took place. The Marquis himself was so much overcome by the parting of his wife and child—for she had now borne a son—that he expressed, even in that last hour, a desire of being reconciled to her. But the traitorous Lowrie succeeded in preventing him from doing so, by a well-aimed sarcasm at his weakness.... Regarding the ultimate fate of the Marchioness I am altogether ignorant. It is, however, very improbable that any reconciliation ever took place between her and her husband, such as is related in the ballad." Scottish Ballads, p. 150.
O waly, waly up the bank, And waly, waly down the brae, And waly, waly by yon burn side, Where me and my lord was wont to gae. Hey nonny nonnie, but love is bonnie,5 A little while when it is new; But when love grows auld it grows mair cauld, And fades away like the morning dew. I lean'd my back against an aik, I thocht it was a trustie tree;10 But first it bowed, and syne it break, And sae did my fause luve to me. My mother tauld me when I was young, That young man's love was ill to trow; But untill her I would give nae ear,15 And alace my ain wand dings me now! O wherefore need I busk my head? O wherefore should I kaim my hair? For my good lord has me forsook, And says he'll never love me mair.20 Gin I had wist or I had kisst That young man's love was sae ill to win, I would hae lockt my hert wi' a key o' gowd, And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin. An I had kent what I ken now,25 I'd never crosst the water Tay, But stayed still at Athole's gates;— He would have made me his lady gay. When lords and lairds cam to this toun, And gentlemen o' a high degree,30 I took my auld son in my arms, And went to my chamber pleasantlie. But when lords and lairds come through this toun, And gentlemen o' a high degree, I must sit alane intill the dark,35 And the babie on the nurse's knee. I had a nurse, and she was fair; She was a dearly nurse to me; She took my gay lord frae my side, And used him in her companie.40 Awa, awa, thou fause Blackwood, Aye, and an ill death may thou die! Thou wert the first and occasion last Of parting my gay lord and me. When I lay sick, and very sick,45 Sick I was and like to die, A gentleman, a friend of mine, He came on purpose to visit me; But Blackwood whisper'd in my lord's ear He was ower lang in chamber with me.50 When I was sick, and very sick, Sick I was and like to die, I drew me near to my stairhead, And I heard my ain lord lichtly me. "Come down, come down, O Jamie Douglas,55 And drink the orange wine with me; I'll set thee on a chair of gold, And daut thee kindly on my knee." "When sea and sand turn far inland, And mussels grow on ilka tree,60 When cockle shells turn siller bells, I'll drink the orange wine wi' thee." "What ails you at our youngest son, That sits upon the nurse's knee? I'm sure he's never done any harm,65 An it's not to his ain nurse and me." If I had kent what I ken now, That love it was sae ill to win, I should ne'er hae wet my cherry cheek For onie man or woman's son.70 When my father came to hear That my gay lord had forsaken me, He sent five score of his soldiers bright To take me safe to my ain countrie. Up in the mornin' when I arose,75 My bonnie palace for to lea', I whispered in at my lord's window, But the never a word he would answer me. "Fare ye weel, then, Jamie Douglas, I need care as little as ye care for me;80 The Earl of Mar is my father dear, And I soon will see my ain countrie. "Ye thought that I was like yoursell, And loving ilk ane I did see; But here I swear by the heavens clear,85 I never loved a man but thee." Slowly, slowly rose I up, And slowly, slowly I cam down; And when he saw me sit in my coach, He made his drums and trumpets sound.90 When I into my coach was set, My tenants all were with me tane; They set them down upon their knees, And they begg'd me to come back again. It's "fare ye weel, my bonnie palace;95 And fare ye weel, my children three: God grant your father may get mair grace, And love thee better than he has done me." It's "fare ye weel, my servants all; And you, my bonnie children three:100 God grant your father grace to be kind Till I see you safe in my ain countrie. "But wae be to you, fause Blackwood, Aye, and ill death may you die! Ye are the first, and I hope the last,105 That put strife between my good lord and me." When I came in through Edinburgh town, My loving father came to meet me, With trumpets sounding on every side; But it was no comfort at all to me:110 For no mirth nor music sounds in my ear, Since the Earl of March has forsaken me. "Hold your tongue, my daughter dear, And of your weeping pray let abee; For I'll send to him a bill of divorce,115 And I'll get as good a lord to thee." "Hold your tongue, my father dear, And of your scoffing pray let abee; I would rather hae a kiss of my ain lord's mouth As all the lords in the north countrie."120 When she came to her father's land, The tenants a' cam her to see; Never a word she could speak to them, But the buttons aff her clothes did flee. "The linnet is a bonnie bird,125 And aften flees far frae its nest; So all the world may plainly see They 're far awa that I love best!" She looked out at her father's window, To take a view of the countrie;130 Who did she see but Jamie Douglas, And along with him her children three. There came a soldier to the gate, And he did knock right hastilie: "If Lady Douglas be within,135 Bid her come down and speak to me." "O come away, my lady fair, Come away, now, alang with me: For I have hanged fause Blackwood At the very place where he told the lie."140
33, cam.
124. See Andrew Lammie, vol. ii. 191.
THE NUTBROWNE MAIDE.
We owe the preservation of this beautiful old ballad to Arnold's Chronicle, of which the earliest edition is thought to have been printed in 1502. In Laneham's account of Elizabeth's visit to Kenilworth, the Nut-brown Maid is mentioned as a book by itself, and there is said to be at Oxford a list of books offered for sale at that place in 1520, among which is the Not-Broon Mayd, price one penny; still, the ballad is not known to exist at present in any other ancient form than that of the Chronicle. We have no means of determining the date of the composition, but Percy has justly remarked that it is not probable that an antiquary would have inserted a piece in his historical collections which he knew to be modern. The language is that of the time at which it was printed.
The ballad seems to have been long forgotten, when it was revived in The Muse's Mercury for June, 1707, (Percy.) There Prior met with it, and, charmed with its merit, he took the story for the foundation of his Henry and Emma. Capel, in 1760, published a collated text from two different editions of the Chronicle,—we suppose that of 1502, and the second, which was printed in 1521, and exhibits some differences. Percy adopted Capel's text with a few alterations, (Reliques, ii. 30.) The text of the edition of 1502 has been twice reprinted since Percy's time: in the Censura Literaria, vol. i. p. 15, and by Mr. Wright, in a little black-letter volume, London, 1836. We have adopted Mr. Wright's text, not neglecting to compare it with that of Sir Egerton Brydges.
It will be interesting to compare with this matchless poem a ballad in other languages, which has the same drift;—Die Lind im Thale, or Liebesprobe, Erk, Deutscher Liederhort, p. 1, 3; Uhland, No. 116; Hoffmann, Schlesische V. L., No. 22, Niederländische V. L., No. 26; Haupt and Schmaler, V. L. der Wenden, i. 72 (Hoffmann).
In the sixteenth century a ridiculous attempt was made to supplant the popular ballads in the mouths and affections of the people by turning them into pious parodies. The Nut-Brown Maid was treated in this way, and the result may be seen in The New Not-borune Mayd, printed by the Roxburghe Club, and by the Percy Society, vol. vi.
"Be it right or wrong, these men among On women do complaine, Affermyng this, how that it is A labour spent in vaine To love them wele, for never a dele5 They love a man agayne: For lete a man do what he can Ther favour to attayne, Yet yf a newe do them pursue, Ther furst trew lover than10 Laboureth for nought, and from her thought He is a bannished man." "I say not nay, but that all day It is bothe writ and sayde, That womans fayth is, as who sayth,15 All utterly decayed: But nevertheles, right good witnes In this case might be layde, That they love trewe, and contynew,— Recorde THE NUTBROWNE MAIDE;20 Whiche from her love, whan her to prove He cam to make his mone, Wolde not departe, for in her herte She lovyd but hym allone." "Than betwene us lete us discusse25 What was all the manér Betwene them too; we wyl also Telle all the peyne and fere That she was in; nowe I begynne, See that ye me answére:30 Wherfore [all] ye that present be, I pray you geve an eare. I am the knyght, I cum be nyght, As secret as I can, Sayng 'Alas! thus stondyth the case,35 I am a bannisshed man!'" "And I your wylle for to fulfylle In this wyl not refuse, Trusting to shewe, in wordis fewe, That men have an ille use,40 To ther owne shame, wymen to blame, And causeles them accuse: Therfore to you I answere now, Alle wymen to excuse, 'Myn owne hert dere, with you what chiere?45 I prey you telle anoon: For in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you allon.'" "It stondith so: a deed is do Wherof moche harme shal growe.50 My desteny is for to dey A shamful dethe, I trowe, Or ellis to flee,—the ton must be: None other wey I knowe, But to withdrawe as an outlaw,55 And take me to my bowe. Wherfore, adew, my owne hert trewe, None other red I can; For I muste to the grene wode goo, Alone, a bannysshed man."60 "O Lorde, what is this worldis blisse That chaungeth as the mone! My somers day in lusty May Is derked before the none. I here you saye Farwel: nay, nay,65 We departe not soo sone. Why say ye so? Wheder wyl ye goo? Alas, what have ye done? Alle my welfare to sorow and care Shulde chaunge, yf ye were gon:70 For in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone." "I can beleve it shal you greve, And somewhat you distrayne; But aftyrwarde your paynes harde,75 Within a day or tweyne, Shal sone aslake, and ye shal take Confort to you agayne. Why shuld ye nought? for, to make thought Your labur were in vayne:80 And thus I do, and pray you, too, As hertely as I can: For I muste too the grene wode goo, Alone, a banysshed man." "Now syth that ye have shewed to me85 The secret of your mynde, I shal be playne to you agayne, Lyke as ye shal me fynde: Syth it is so that ye wyll goo, I wol not leve behynde;90 Shal never be sayd the Nutbrowne Mayd Was to her love unkind. Make you redy, for soo am I, All though it were anoon; For in my mynde, of all mankynde95 I love but you alone." "Yet I you rede to take good hede What men wyl thinke and sey; Of yonge and olde it shal be told, That ye be gone away100 Your wanton wylle for to fulfylle, In grene wood you to play; And that ye myght from your delyte Noo lenger make delay. Rather than ye shuld thus for me105 Be called an ylle woman, Yet wolde I to the grene wodde goo Alone, a banysshed man." "Though it be songe of olde and yonge That I shuld be to blame,110 Theirs be the charge that speke so large In hurting of my name. For I wyl prove that feythful love It is devoyd of shame, In your distresse and hevynesse,115 To parte wyth you the same; And sure all thoo that doo not so, Trewe lovers ar they noon; But in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone."120 "I counsel yow remembre how It is noo maydens lawe, Nothing to dought, but to renne out To wod with an outlawe. For ye must there in your hande bere125 A bowe to bere and drawe, And as a theef thus must ye lyeve, Ever in drede and awe; By whiche to yow gret harme myght grow;— Yet had I lever than130 That I had too the grenewod goo Alone, a banysshyd man." "I thinke not nay; but, as ye saye, It is noo maydens lore; But love may make me for your sake,135 As ye have said before, To com on fote, to hunte and shote To gete us mete and store; For soo that I your company May have, I aske noo more;140 From whiche to parte, it makith myn herte As colde as ony ston: For in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone." "For an outlawe this is the lawe,145 That men hym take and binde, Without pytee hanged to bee, And waver with the wynde. Yf I had neede, as God forbede, What rescous coude ye finde?150 For sothe, I trowe, you and your bowe Shuld drawe for fere behynde: And noo merveyle; for lytel avayle Were in your councel than; Wherfore I too the woode wyl goo155 Alone, a banysshed man." "Ful wel knowe ye that wymen bee Ful febyl for to fyght; Noo womanhed is it indeede, To bee bolde as a knight.160 Yet in suche fere yf that ye were, Amonge enemys day and nyght, I wolde wythstonde, with bowe in hande, To greeve them as I myght, And you to save, as wymen have,165 From deth many one: For in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone." "Yet take good hede; for ever I drede That ye coude not sustein170 The thorney wayes, the depe valeis, The snowe, the frost, the reyn, The colde, the hete; for, drye or wete, We must lodge on the playn; And us aboove noon other rove175 But a brake bussh or twayne; Whiche sone shulde greve you, I beleve, And ye wolde gladly than That I had too the grenewode goo Alone, a banysshyd man."180 "Syth I have here been partynere With you of joy and blysse, I must also parte of your woo Endure, as reason is; Yet am I sure of oo plesure,185 And shortly, it is this; That where ye bee, mesemeth, perdé, I coude not fare amysse. Wythout more speche, I you beseche That we were soon agone;190 For in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone." "Yf ye goo thedyr, ye must consider, Whan ye have lust to dyne, Ther shel no mete be fore to gete,195 Nor drinke, bere, ale, ne wine; Ne shetis clene to lye betwene, Made of thred and twyne: Noon other house but levys and bowes To kever your hed and myn.200 Loo, myn herte swete, this ylle dyet Shuld make you pale and wan: Wherfore I to the wood wyl goo Alone, a banysshid man." "Amonge the wylde dere suche an archier205 As men say that ye bee Ne may not fayle of good vitayle, Where is so grete plente; And watir cleere of the ryvere Shal be ful swete to me,210 Wyth whiche in hele I shal right wele Endure, as ye shall see: And er we go, a bed or too I can provide anoon; For in my mynde, of all mankynde215 I love but you alone." "Loo, yet before, ye must doo more, Yf ye wyl goo with me, As cutte your here up by your ere, Your kirtel by the knee;220 Wyth bowe in hande, for to withstonde Your enmys, yf nede bee; And this same nyght, before daylight, To woodward wyl I flee; And [if] ye wyl all this fulfylle,225 Doo it shortely as ye can: Ellis wil I to the grene wode goo Alone, a banysshyd man." "I shal as now do more for you Than longeth to womanhede,230 To short my here, a bowe to bere, To shote in tyme of nede: O my swete moder, before all other, For you have I most drede! But now, adiew! I must ensue235 Wher fortune duth me leede. All this make ye; now lete us flee; The day cums fast upon; For in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone."240 "Nay, nay, not soo; ye shal not goo; And I shal telle you why; Your appetyte is to be lyght Of love, I wele aspie: For right as ye have sayd to me,245 In lyke wyse, hardely, Ye wolde answere, who so ever it were, In way of company. It is sayd of olde, sone hote, sone colde, And so is a woman;250 Wherfore I too the woode wyl goo Alone, a banysshid man." "Yef ye take hede, yt is noo nede Suche wordis to say bee me; For ofte ye preyd, and longe assayed,255 Or I you lovid, perdé. And though that I of auncestry A barons doughter bee, Yet have you proved how I you loved, A squyer of lowe degree;260 And ever shal, what so befalle, To dey therfore anoon; For in my mynde, of al mankynde I love but you alone." "A barons childe to be begyled,265 It were a curssed dede! To be felow with an outlawe, Almyghty God forbede! Yet bettyr were the power squyer Alone to forest yede,270 Than ye shal saye another day, That be [my] wyked dede Ye were betrayed; wherfore, good maide, The best red that I can Is that I too the greene wode goo275 Alone, a banysshed man." "Whatsoever befalle, I never shal Of this thing you upbraid; But yf ye goo, and leve me soo, Than have ye me betraied.280 Remembre you wele, how that ye dele, For yf ye, as ye sayde, Be so unkynde to leve behynd Your love, the Notbrowne Maide, Trust me truly, that I shal dey,285 Sone after ye be gone; For in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone." "Yef that ye went, ye shulde repent, For in the forest now290 I have purveid me of a maide, Whom I love more than you: Another fayrer than ever ye were, I dare it wel avowe; And of you bothe eche shulde be wrothe295 With other, as I trowe. It were myn ease to lyve in pease; So wyl I, yf I can; Wherfore I to the wode wyl goo Alone, a banysshid man."300 "Though in the wood I undirstode Ye had a paramour, All this may nought remeve my thought, But that I wil be your; And she shal fynde me softe and kynde,305 And curteis every our, Glad to fulfylle all that she wylle Commaunde me, to my power; For had ye, loo, an hundred moo, Yet wolde I be that one.310 For in my mynde, of all mankynde I love but you alone." "Myn oune dere love, I see the prove That ye be kynde and trewe; Of mayde and wyf, in all my lyf,315 The best that ever I knewe. Be mery and glad, be no more sad, The case is chaunged newe; For it were ruthe that for your trouth You shuld have cause to rewe.320 Be not dismayed: whatsoever I sayd To you whan I began, I wyl not too the grene wod goo; I am noo banysshyd man." "Theis tidingis be more glad to me325 Than to be made a quene, Yf I were sure they shuld endure; But it is often seen, When men wyl breke promyse, they speke The wordis on the splene.330 Ye shape some wyle me to begyle, And stele fro me, I wene; Then were the case wurs than it was, And I more woo-begone; For in my mynde, of all mankynde335 I love but you alone." "Ye shal not nede further to drede: I wyl not disparage You, God defende! sith you descende Of so grete a lynage.340 Nou understonde, to Westmerlande, Which is my herytage, I wyl you bringe, and wyth a rynge, Be wey of maryage, I wyl you take, and lady make,345 As shortly as I can: Thus have ye wone an erles son, And not a banysshyd man." Here may ye see, that wymen be In love meke, kinde, and stable:350 Late never man repreve them than, Or calle them variable; But rather prey God that we may To them be comfortable, Whiche somtyme provyth suche as loveth,355 Yf they be charitable. For sith men wolde that wymen sholde Be meke to them echeon, Moche more ought they to God obey, And serve but hym alone.360
9, to.
28, they.
30, Soe.
35, cause.
50. Wherfore.
v. 98, Whan.
v. 152, Shul.
200, bed, Wright.
v. 230, That, womanhod.
238, cum.
v. 253, yet is.
v. 310, Of them I wolde be one. Percy MS.
THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.
From Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, iii. 177. Another copy is in Ritson's Ancient Songs, ii. 134.
"From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, with some improvements communicated by a lady as she had heard the same recited in her youth. The full title is, True love requited: Or, the Bailiff's daughter of Islington."—Percy.
There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe, And he was a squires son: He loved the bayliffes daughter deare, That lived in Islington. Yet she was coye, and would not believe5 That he did love her soe, Noe nor at any time would she Any countenance to him showe. But when his friendes did understand His fond and foolish minde,10 They sent him up to faire London, An apprentice for to binde. And when he had been seven long yeares, And never his love could see,— "Many a teare have I shed for her sake,15 When she little thought of mee." Then all the maids of Islington Went forth to sport and playe, All but the bayliffes daughter deare; She secretly stole awaye.20 She pulled off her gowne of greene, And put on ragged attire, And to faire London she would go, Her true love to enquire. And as she went along the high road,25 The weather being hot and drye, She sat her downe upon a green bank, And her true love came riding bye. She started up, with a colour soe redd, Catching hold of his bridle-reine;30 "One penny, one penny, kind sir," she sayd, "Will ease me of much paine." "Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart, Praye tell me where you were borne." "At Islington, kind sir," sayd shee,35 "Where I have had many a scorne." "I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee, O tell me, whether you knowe The bayliffes daughter of Islington." "She is dead, sir, long agoe."40 "If she be dead, then take my horse, My saddle and bridle also; For I will into some farr countrye, Where noe man shall me knowe." "O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youthe,45 She standeth by thy side; She is here alive, she is not dead, And readye to be thy bride." "O farewell griefe, and welcome joye, Ten thousand times therefore;50 For nowe I have founde mine owne true love, Whom I thought I should never see more."
THE BLIND BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL GREEN.
The copy here given of this favorite popular ballad is derived from Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England, Percy Society, xvii. 60. It is there printed from a modern broadside, "carefully collated" with a copy in the Bagford collection. In Percy's edition, (Reliques, ii. 171,) besides many trivial emendations, eight modern stanzas (said to be the work of Robert Dodsley) are substituted for the first five of the Beggar's second song, "to remove absurdities and inconsistencies," and to reconcile the story to probability and true history! The copy in A Collection of Old Ballads, ii. 202, is not very different from the present, and the few changes that have been made in the text selected, unless otherwise accounted for, are adopted from that.
"Pepys, in his diary, 25th June, 1663, speaks of going with Sir William and Lady Batten, and Sir J. Minnes, to Sir W. Rider's at Bednall Green, to dinner, 'a fine place;' and adds, 'This very house was built by the Blind Beggar of Bednall Green, so much talked of and sung in ballads; but they say it was only some outhouses of it.'" Chappell, Popular Musk of the Olden Time, p. 159.
This song's of a beggar who long lost his sight, And had a fair daughter, most pleasant and bright; And many a gallant brave suitor had she, And none was so comely as pretty Bessee. And though she was of complexion most fair,5 Yet seeing she was but a beggar his heir, Of ancient housekeepers despised was she, Whose sons came as suitors to pretty Bessee. Wherefore in great sorrow fair Bessee did say, "Good father and mother, let me now go away,10 To seek out my fortune, whatever it be;" This suit then was granted to pretty Bessee. This Bessee, that was of a beauty most bright, They clad in gray russet, and late in the night From father and mother alone parted she,15 Who sighed and sobbed for pretty Bessee. She went till she came to Stratford-at-Bow, Then she knew not whither or which way to go; With tears she lamented her sad destiny, So sad and so heavy was pretty Bessee.20 She kept on her journey until it was day, And went unto Rumford along the highway; And at the King's Arms entertained was she, So fair and well-favoured was pretty Bessee. She had not been there one month at an end,25 But master and mistress and all was her friend; And every brave gallant that once did her see Was straightway in love with pretty Bessee. Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold, And in their songs daily her love they extoll'd;30 Her beauty was blazed in every degree, So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee. The young men of Rumford in her had their joy; She shewed herself courteous, but never too coy, And at their commandment still she would be,35 So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee. Four suitors at once unto her did go, They craved her favour, but still she said no; "I would not have gentlemen marry with me,"— Yet ever they honoured pretty Bessee.40 Now one of them was a gallant young knight, And he came unto her disguised in the night; The second, a gentleman of high degree, Who wooed and sued for pretty Bessee. A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small,45 Was then the third suitor, and proper withal; Her master's own son the fourth man must be, Who swore he would die for pretty Bessee. "If that thou wilt marry with me," quoth the knight, "I'll make thee a lady with joy and delight;50 My heart is enthralled in thy fair beauty, Then grant me thy favour, my pretty Bessee." The gentleman said, "Come marry with me, In silks and in velvets my Bessee shall be; My heart lies distracted, oh hear me!" quoth he,55 "And grant me thy love, my dear pretty Bessee." "Let me be thy husband," the merchant did say, "Thou shalt live in London most gallant and gay; My ships shall bring home rich jewels for thee, And I will for ever love pretty Bessee."60 Then Bessee she sighed, and thus she did say; "My father and mother I mean to obey; First get their goodwill, and be faithful to me, And you shall enjoy your dear pretty Bessee." To every one of them that answer she made;65 Therefore unto her they joyfully said, "This thing to fulfill we all now agree; But where dwells thy father, my pretty Bessee?" "My father," quoth she, "is soon to be seen; The silly blind beggar of Bednall Green,70 That daily sits begging for charity, He is the kind father of pretty Bessee. "His marks and his token are knowen full well; He always is led by a dog and a bell; A poor silly old man, God knoweth, is he,75 Yet he is the true father of pretty Bessee." "Nay, nay," quoth the merchant, "thou art not for me;" "She," quoth the innholder, "my wife shall not be;" "I loathe," said the gentleman, "a beggars degree, Therefore, now farewell, my pretty Bessee."80 "Why then," quoth the knight, "happ better or worse, I weigh not true love by the weight of the purse, And beauty is beauty in every degree; Then welcome to me, my dear pretty Bessee. "With thee to thy father forthwith I will go."85 "Nay, forbear," quoth his kinsman, "it must not be so: A poor beggars daughter a lady sha'nt be; Then take thy adieu of thy pretty Bessee." As soon then as it was break of the day, The knight had from Rumford stole Bessee away;90 The young men of Rumford, so sick as may be, Rode after to fetch again pretty Bessee. As swift as the wind to ride they were seen, Until they came near unto Bednall Green, And as the knight lighted most courteously,95 They fought against him for pretty Bessee. But rescue came presently over the plain, Or else the knight there for his love had been slain; The fray being ended, they straightway did see His kinsman come railing at pretty Bessee.100 Then bespoke the Blind Beggar, "Altho' I be poor, Rail not against my child at my own door; Though she be not decked in velvet and pearl, Yet I will drop angels with thee for my girl; "And then if my gold should better her birth,105 And equal the gold you lay on the earth, Then neither rail you, nor grudge you to see The Blind Beggars daughter a lady to be. "But first, I will hear, and have it well known, The gold that you drop it shall be all you own;"110 "With that," they replied, "contented we be;" "Then heres," quoth the beggar, "for pretty Bessee." With that an angel he dropped on the ground, And dropped, in angels, full three thousand pound; And oftentimes it proved most plain,115 For the gentlemans one, the beggar dropped twain. So that the whole place wherein they did sit With gold was covered every whit; The gentleman having dropt all his store, Said, "Beggar, your hand hold, for I have no more.120 "Thou hast fulfilled thy promise aright;" "Then marry my girl," quoth he to the knight; "And then," quoth he, "I will throw you down, An hundred pound more to buy her a gown." The gentlemen all, who his treasure had seen,125 Admired the Beggar of Bednall Green. And those that had been her suitors before, Their tender flesh for anger they tore. Thus was the fair Bessee matched to a knight, And made a lady in others despite:130 A fairer lady there never was seen Than the Blind Beggars daughter of Bednall Green. But of her sumptuous marriage and feast, And what fine lords and ladies there prest, The second part shall set forth to your sight,135 With marvellous pleasure, and wished for delight.
6. And seeing.
91. Percy has thicke.