Volume 7 / Book 7 — APPENDIX. (continued 2)
Reading edition
67. By Flanderkins are meant Lieutenant-General Fanderbeck and Colonels Rantzaw and Cromstrom.—Hogg.
UP AND WAR THEM A', WILLIE. See p. 156.
From Herd's Scotish Songs, ii. 234. The same in Ritson's Scotish Songs, ii. 73. Burns furnished a somewhat different version to Johnson's Museum (p. 195, also in Cromek's Select Scotish Songs, ii. 29), which he obtained from one Tom Neil, a carpenter in Edinburgh, who was famous for his singing of Scottish songs. The title and burden to this version is Up and warn a', Willie, an allusion, says Burns, to the crantara, or warning of a Highland clan to arms, which the Lowlanders, not understanding, have corrupted. There is another copy in Hogg's Jacobite Relics, ii. 18, which is nearly the same as the following.
When the Earl of Mar first raised his standard, and proclaimed the Chevalier, the ornamental ball on the top of the staff fell off, and the superstitious Highlanders interpreted the circumstance as ominous of ill for their cause. This is the incident referred to in the third stanza.
When we went to the field of war, And to the weapon-shaw, Willie, With true design to stand our ground, And chace our faes awa', Willie, Lairds and lords came there bedeen,5 And vow gin they were pra', Willie: Up and war 'em a', Willie, War 'em, war 'em a', Willie. And when our army was drawn up, The bravest e'er I saw, Willie,10 We did not doubt to rax the rout, And win the day and a', Willie; Pipers play'd frae right to left, "Fy, fourugh Whigs awa'," Willie. Up and war, &c.15 But when our standard was set up, So fierce the wind did bla', Willie, The golden knop down from the top Unto ground did fa', Willie: Then second-sighted Sandy said,20 "We'll do nae good at a', Willie." Up and war, &c. When bra'ly they attack'd our left, Our front, and flank, and a', Willie, Our bald commander on the green, Our faes their left did ca', Willie,25 And there the greatest slaughter made That e'er poor Tonald saw, Willie. Up and war, &c. First when they saw our Highland mob, They swore they'd slay us a', Willie; And yet ane fyl'd his breiks for fear,30 And so did rin awa', Willie: We drave him back to Bonnybrigs, Dragoons, and foot, and a', Willie. Up and war, &c. But when their gen'ral view'd our lines, And them in order saw, Willie,35 He straight did march into the town, And back his left did draw, Willie: Thus we taught them the better gate, To get a better fa', Willie. Up and war, &c. And then we rally'd on the hills,40 And bravely up did draw, Willie; But gin ye spear wha wan the day, I'll tell you what I saw, Willie: We baith did fight, and baith were beat, And baith did run awa', Willie.45 So there's my canty Highland sang About the thing I saw, Willie.
THE MARQUIS OF HUNTLEY'S RETREAT FROM THE BATTLE OF SHERIFFMUIR.
See p. 156. From A New Book of Old Ballads, p. 30.
Hogg inserted this ballad in the Jacobite Relics, ii. 13, using, says Maidment, the editor of the publication cited above, a very imperfect manuscript copy. The following version was taken from the original broad-side, supposed to be unique. There are very considerable variations in the language of the two copies, and the order of the stanzas is quite different. This says Hogg, "is exclusively a party song, made by some of the Grants, or their adherents, in obloquy of their more potent neighbours, the Gordons. It is in a great measure untrue; for, though the Marquis of Huntley was on the left wing at the head of a body of horse, and among the gentlemen that fled, yet two battalions of Gordons, or at least of Gordon's vassals, perhaps mostly of the Clan Chattan, behaved themselves as well as any on the field, and were particularly instrumental in breaking the Whig cavalry, or the left wing of their army, and driving them back among their foot. On this account, as well as that of the bitter personalities that it contains, the "song is only curious as an inveterate party song, and not as a genuine humorous description of the fight that the Marquis and his friends were in. The latter part of the [third] stanza seems to allude to an engagement that took place at Dollar, on the 24th October, a fortnight previous to the battle of Sheriffmuir. Mar had despatched a small body of cavalry to force an assessment from the town of Dunfermline, of which Argyle getting notice, sent out a stronger party, who surprised them early in the morning before daylight, and arrested them, killing some and taking seventeen prisoners, several of whom were Gordons. The last stanza [but one] evidently alludes to the final submission of the Marquis and the rest of the Gordons to King George's government, which they did to the Grants and the Earl of Sutherland. The former had previously taken possession of Castle Gordon; of course, the malicious bard of the Grants, with his ill-scraped pen, was not to let that instance of the humiliation of his illustrious neighbours pass unnoticed.—Jacobite Relics, vol. ii. p. 255.
From Bogie side to Bogie Gight, The Gordons all conveen'd, man, With all their might, to battle wight, Together close they join'd, man, To set their king upon the throne,5 And to protect the church, man; But fy for shame! they soon ran hame, And left him in the lurch, man. Vow as the Marquis ran, Coming from Dumblane, man! Strabogie did b—t itself, And Enzie was not clean, man. Their chieftain was a man of fame, And doughty deeds had wrought, man,10 Which future ages still shall name, And tell how well he fought, man. For when the battle did begin, Immediately his Grace, man, Put spurs to Florance, and so ran15 By all, and wan the race, man. Vow, &c. The Marquis' horse was first sent forth, Glenbucket's foot to back them, To give a proof what they were worth, If rebels durst attack them.20 With loud huzzas to Huntly's praise, They near'd Dumfermling Green, man, But fifty horse, and de'il ane mair, Turn'd many a Highland clan, man. Vow, &c. The second chieftain of that clan,25 For fear that he should die, man, To gain the honour of his name, Rais'd first the mutinie, man. And then he wrote unto his Grace, The great Duke of Argyle, man,30 And swore, if he would grant him peace, The Tories he'd beguile, man. Vow, &c. The Master with the bullie's face, And with the coward's heart, man, Who never fails, to his disgrace,35 To act a traitor's part, man, He join'd Drumboig, the greatest knave In all the shire of Fife, man. He was the first the cause did leave, By council of his wife, man.40 Vow, &c. A member of the tricking trade, An Ogilvie by name, man, Consulter of the grumbling club, To his eternal shame, man, Who would have thought, when he came out,45 That ever he would fail, man? And like a fool, did eat the cow, And worried on the tail, man. Vow, &c. Meffan Smith, at Sheriff Muir, Gart folk believe he fought, man;50 But well it's known, that all he did, That day it serv'd for nought, man. For towards night, when Mar march'd off, Smith was put in the rere, man; He curs'd, he swore, he baul[lè]d out,55 He would not stay for fear, man. Vow, &c. But at the first he seem'd to be A man of good renown, man; But when the grumbling work began, He prov'd an arrant lown, man.60 Against Mar, and a royal war, A letter he did forge, man; Against his Prince, he wrote nonsense, And swore by Royal George, man. Vow, &c. At Poineth boat, Mr. Francis Stewart,65 A valiant hero stood, man, In acting of a royal part, Cause of the royal blood, man. But when at Sheriff Moor he found That bolting would not do it,70 He, brother like, did quite his ground, And ne're came back unto it. Vow, &c. Brunstane said it was not fear That made him stay behind, man; But that he had resolv'd that day75 To sleep in a whole skin, man. The gout, he said, made him take [bed], When battle first began, man; But when he heard his Marquis fled, He took his heels and ran, man.80 Vow, &c. Sir James of Park, he left his horse In the middle of a wall, man; And durst not stay to take him out, For fear a knight should fall, man; And Maien he let such a crack,85 And shewed a pantick fear, man; And Craigieheads swore he was shot, And curs'd the chance of wear, man. Vow, &c. When they march'd on the Sheriff Moor, With courage stout and keen, man;90 Who would have thought the Gordons gay That day should quite the green, man? Auchleacher and Auchanachie, And all the Gordon tribe, man, Like their great Marquis, they could not95 The smell of powder bide, man. Vow, &c. Glenbuicket cryed, "Plague on you all, For Gordons do no good, man; For all that fled this day, it is Them of the Seaton blood, man."100 Clashtirim said it was not so, And that he'd make appear, man; For he, a Seaton, stood that day, When Gordons ran for fear, man. Vow, &c. The Gordons they are kittle flaws,105 They'll fight with heart and hand, man; When they met in Strathbogie raws On Thursday afternoon, man; But when the Grants came doun the brae, Their Enzie shook for fear, man;110 And all the lairds rode up themselves, With horse and riding gear, man. Vow, &c. Cluny plays his game of chess, As sure as any thing, man; And like the royal Gordons race,115 Gave check unto the king, man. Without a queen, its clearly seen, This game cannot recover; I'd do my best, then in great haste Play up the rook Hanover.120 Vow, &c.
3. weight.
4. closs.
15. His horse, so called from having been a present from the Grand Duke of Tuscany.—M.
33. Master of Sinclair, whose Court-Martial has been printed with an exceedingly interesting preface by Sir Walter Scott, as his contribution to the Roxburgh Club.
49. David Smith was then proprietor of Methven, an estate in Perthshire. He died in 1735. Douglas, in his Baronage, terms him, "a man of good parts, great sagacity, and economy."—M.
64. Altered in MS. to "German George."—M.
65. Brother to Charles, 5th Earl of Moray. Upon his brother's death, 7th October, 1735, he became the 6th Earl. He died in the 66th year of his age, on the 11th December, 1739.—M.
113. This seems rather Gordon of Cluny than Cluny Macpherson. The estate of Cluny has passed from the ancient race, though still possessed by a Gordon.—M.
JOHNIE COPE. See p. 168.
Johnson's Museum (1853), vol. iv. p. 220, Ritson's Scottish Songs, ii. 84.
Cope sent a challenge frae Dunbar, "Charlie meet me, an ye daur, And I'll learn you the airt of war, If you'll meet wi' me in the morning." Hey, Johnie Cope! are ye waking yet? Or are your drums a-beating yet? If ye were waking, I would wait To gang to the coals i' the morning. When Charlie looked the letter upon,5 He drew his sword the scabbard from, "Come, follow me, my merry men, And we'll meet Johnie Cope i' the morning." Hey, Johnie Cope! &c. "Now, Johnie, be as good as your word, Come let us try baith fire and sword,10 And dinna flee like a frighted bird, That's chased frae its nest i' the morning." Hey, Johnie Cope! &c. When Johnie Cope he heard of this, He thought it wadna be amiss To hae a horse in readiness,15 To flee awa i' the morning. Hey, Johnie Cope! &c. "Fye now, Johnie, get up and rin, The Highland bagpipes mak a din; It's best to sleep in a hale skin, For 'twill be a bluddie morning."20 Hey, Johnie Cope! &c. When Johnie Cope to Dunbar came They spear'd at him, "Where's a' your men?" "The deil confound me gin I ken, For I left them a' i' the morning." Hey, Johnie Cope! &c. "Now Johnie, troth, ye were na blate25 To come wi' the news o' your ain defeat, And leave your men in sic a strait, So early in the morning." Hey, Johnie Cope! &c. "In faith," quo Johnie, "I got sic flegs Wi' their claymores and filabegs,30 If I face them [again], deil break my legs, So I wish you a' good morning." Hey, Johnie Cope! &c.
KING LEIR AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS.
From A Collection of Old Ballads, ii. 8. The same, with one or two trifling verbal differences, in Percy's Reliques, i. 246.
This story was originally told by Geoffrey of Monmouth, Historia Britonum, lib. ii. c. 2. It occurs in two forms in the Gesta Romanorum: see Madden's Old English Versions, p. 44, p. 450.
Shakespeare's King Lear was first printed in 1608, and is supposed to have been written between 1603 and 1605. Another drama on the subject was printed in 1605, called The true Chronicle History of King Leir and his Three Daughters, Gonorill, Ragan, and Cordella. This was probably only a new impression of a piece entered in the Stationers' Registers as early as 1594. The ballad which follows agrees with Shakespeare's play in several particulars in which Shakespeare varies from the older drama and from Holinshed, the authority of both dramas. The name Cordelia is also found in place of the Cordella of the Chronicle History; but, on the other hand, we have Ragan instead of Shakespeare's Regan. In the absence of a date, we are unable to determine whether the ballad was written prior to the play of King Lear, or was founded upon it.
King Leir once ruléd in this land With princely power and peace, And had all things, with hearts content, That might his joys increase. Amongst those things that nature gave,5 Three daughters fair had he, So princely seeming beautiful, As fairer could not be. So on a time it pleas'd the king A question thus to move,10 Which of his daughters to his grace Could shew the dearest love: "For to my age you bring content," Quoth he, "then let me hear, Which of you three in plighted troth15 The kindest will appear." To whom the eldest thus began: "Dear father, mind," quoth she, "Before your face, to do you good, My blood shall rendred be.20 And for your sake my bleeding heart Shall here be cut in twain, Ere that I see your reverend age The smallest grief sustain." "And so will I," the second said;25 "Dear father, for your sake, The worst of all extremities I'll gently undertake: And serve your highness night and day With diligence and love;30 That sweet content and quietness Discomforts may remove." "In doing so, you glad my soul," The aged king reply'd; "But what say'st thou, my youngest girl?35 How is thy love ally'd?" "My love," quoth young Cordelia then, "Which to your grace I owe, Shall be the duty of a child, And that is all I'll show."40 "And wilt thou shew no more," quoth he, "Than doth thy duty bind? I well perceive thy love is small, When as no more I find. Henceforth I banish thee my court;45 Thou art no child of mine; Nor any part of this my realm By favour shall be thine. "Thy elder sisters' loves are more Than well I can demand;50 To whom I equally bestow My kingdom and my land, My pompous state and all my goods, That lovingly I may With those thy sisters be maintain'd55 Until my dying day." Thus flattering speeches won renown, By these two sisters here; The third had causeless banishment, Yet was her love more dear.60 For poor Cordelia patiently Went wandring up and down, Unhelp'd, unpitied, gentle maid, Through many an English town. Until at last in famous France65 She gentler fortunes found; Though poor and bare, yet she was deem'd The fairest on the ground: Where when the king her virtues heard, And this fair lady seen,70 With full consent of all his court He made his wife and queen. Her father, old King Leir, this while With his two daughters staid; Forgetful of their promis'd loves,75 Full soon the same decay'd; And living in Queen Ragan's court, The eldest of the twain, She took from him his chiefest means, And most of all his train.80 For whereas twenty men were wont To wait with bended knee, She gave allowance but to ten, And after scarce to three, Nay, one she thought too much for him;85 So took she all away, In hope that in her court, good king, He would no longer stay. "Am I rewarded thus," quoth he, "In giving all I have90 Unto my children, and to beg For what I lately gave? I'll go unto my Gonorel: My second child, I know, Will be more kind and pitiful,95 And will relieve my woe." Full fast he hies then to her court; Where, when she hears his moan, Return'd him answer, that she griev'd That all his means were gone;100 But no way could relieve his wants; Yet if that he would stay Within her kitchen, he should have What scullions gave away. When he had heard, with bitter tears,105 He made his answer then; "In what I did, let me be made Example to all men. I will return again," quoth he, "Unto my Ragan's court;110 She will not use me thus, I hope, But in a kinder sort." Where when he came, she gave command To drive him thence away: When he was well within her court,115 She said, he would not stay. Then back again to Gonorell The woeful king did hie, That in her kitchen he might have What scullion boys set by.120 But there of that he was deny'd Which she had promis'd late: For once refusing, he should not Come after to her gate. Thus twixt his daughters for relief125 He wandred up and down, Being glad to feed on beggars food, That lately wore a crown. And calling to remembrance then His youngest daughter's words,130 That said, the duty of a child Was all that love affords— But doubting to repair to her, Whom he had banish'd so, Grew frantick mad; for in his mind135 He bore the wounds of woe. Which made him rend his milk-white locks And tresses from his head, And all with blood bestain his cheeks, With age and honour spread.140 To hills and woods and watry founts He made his hourly moan, Till hills and woods and senseless things Did seem to sigh and groan. Ev'n thus posses'd with discontents,145 He passed o'er to France, In hopes from fair Cordelia there To find some gentler chance. Most virtuous dame! which, when she heard Of this her father's grief,150 As duty bound, she quickly sent Him comfort and relief. And by a train of noble peers, In brave and gallant sort, She gave in charge he should be brought155 To Aganippus' court; Whose royal king, with noble mind, So freely gave consent To muster up his knights at arms, To fame and courage bent.160 And so to England came with speed, To repossess King Leir, And drive his daughters from their thrones By his Cordelia dear. Where she, true-hearted, noble queen,165 Was in the battel slain; Yet he, good king, in his old days, Possess'd his crown again. But when he heard Cordelia's death, Who died indeed for love170 Of her dear father, in whose cause She did this battel move, He swooning fell upon her breast, From whence he never parted; But on her bosom left his life175 That was so truly hearted. The lords and nobles, when they saw The end of these events, The other sisters unto death They doomed by consents;180 And being dead, their crowns they left Unto the next of kin: Thus have you seen the fall of pride, And disobedient sin.
76 deny'd.
157. whose noble.
FAIR ROSAMOND.
The celebrated mistress of Henry the Second was daughter to Walter Clifford, a baron of Herefordshire. She bore the king two sons, one of them while he was still Duke of Normandy. Before her death she retired to the convent of Godstow, and there she was buried; but Hugh, Bishop of Lincoln, not courtly enough to distinguish between royal and vulgar immoralities, caused her body to be removed, and interred in the common cemetery, "lest Christian religion should grow in contempt."
The story of Queen Eleanor's poisoning her rival is not confirmed by the old writers, though they mention the labyrinth. All the romance in Rosamond's history appears to be the offspring of popular fancy. Percy has collected the principal passages from the chronicles in his preface to the ballad.
Fair Rosamond is the work of Thomas Deloney, a well-known ballad-maker who died about 1600. Our copy is the earliest that is known, and is taken from Deloney's Strange Histories, ed. of 1607, as reprinted by the Percy Society, vol. iii. p. 54. The same is found in the Crown Garland of Golden Roses, ed. 1659 (Per. Soc. vol. vi. p. 12), and in the Garland of Good Will, ed. 1678 (Per. Soc. vol. xxx. p. 1.): and besides, with trifling variations, in A Collection of Old Ballads, i. 11, Percy's Reliques, ii. 151, and Ritson's Ancient Songs, ii. 120, from black-letter copies.
Another ballad with the title of the Unfortunate Concubine, or, Rosamond's Overthrow, is given in the collection of 1723, vol. i. p. 1. The story is also treated in the forty-first chapter of Warner's Albion's England. Warner has at least one good stanza,[3] which is more than can be said of this wretched, but very popular, production.
Some corrections have been adopted from the Crown Garland of Golden Roses.
When as King Henrie rul'd this land, The second of that name, Beside the Queene, he dearly loved A faire and princely dame. Most peerelesse was her beautie found,5 Her favour, and her face; A sweeter creature in this world Did never prince imbrace. Her crisped locks like threades of gold Appeared to each mans sight;10 Her comely eyes, like orient pearles, Did cast a heavenly light. The blood within her cristall cheekes Did such a cullour drive, As though the lilly and the rose15 For maistership did strive. Yea Rosamond, fair Rosamond, Her name was called so, To whome dame Elinor, our queene, Was knowne a cruell foe.20 The king therefore, for her defence Against the furious queene, At Woodstocke buylded such a bower, The like was never seene. Most curiously that bower was buylt,25 Of stone and timber strong; A hundred and fiftie doores Did to that bower belong: And they so cunningly contriv'd, With turning round about,30 That none but by a clew of thread Could enter in or out. And for his love and ladyes sake, That was so fair and bright, The keeping of this bower he gave35 Unto a valiant knight. But fortune, that doth often frowne Where she before did smile, The kinges delight, the ladyes joy Full soone she did beguile.40 For why, the kings ungracious sonne, Whom he did high advance, Against his father raised warres Within the realme of France. But yet before our comely king45 The English land forsooke, Of Rosamond, his ladye faire, His farewell thus he tooke: "My Rosamond, my onely Rose, That pleaseth best mine eye,50 The fairest Rose in all the world To feed my fantasie,— "The flower of my affected heart, Whose sweetness doth excell, My royall Rose, a hundred times55 I bid thee now farewell! "For I must leave my fairest flower, My sweetest Rose, a space, And crosse the seas to famous France, Proude rebels to abace.60 "But yet, my Rose, be sure thou shalt My comming shortly see, And in my heart, while hence I am, Ile beare my Rose with mee." When Rosamond, that lady bright,65 Did heare the king say so, The sorrow of her greeved heart Her outward lookes did show. And from her cleare and cristall eyes The teares gusht out apace,70 Which, like the silver-pearled deaw, Ran downe her comely face. Her lippes, like to a corrall red, Did waxe both wan and pale, And for the sorrow she conceived75 Her vitall spirits did fayle. And falling downe all in a swound Before King Henries face, Full oft betweene his princely armes Her corpes he did imbrace.80 And twenty times, with waterie eyes, He kist her tender cheeke, Untill she had received againe Her senses milde and meeke. "Why grieves my Rose, my sweetest Rose?"85 The king did ever say: "Because," quoth she, "to bloody warres My lord must part away. "But sithe your Grace in forraine coastes, Among your foes unkind,90 Must go to hazard life and limme, Why should I stay behind? "Nay, rather let me, like a page, Your sword and target beare; That on my breast the blow may light,95 Which should annoy you there. "O let me, in your royall tent, Prepare your bed at night, And with sweet baths refresh your grace, At your returne from fight.100 "So I your presence may enjoy, No toyle I will refuse; But wanting you, my life is death: Which doth true love abuse." "Content thy selfe, my dearest friend,105 Thy rest at home shall bee, In England's sweete and pleasant soyle; For travaile fits not thee. "Faire ladyes brooke not bloody warres; Sweete peace their pleasures breede,110 The nourisher of hearts content, Which fancie first doth feede. "My Rose shall rest in Woodstocke bower, With musickes sweete delight, While I among the pierceing pikes115 Against my foes do fight. "My Rose in robes of pearl and gold, With diamonds richly dight, Shall daunce the galliards of my love, While I my foes do smite.120 "And you, Sir Thomas, whom I trust To be my loves defence, Be carefull of my gallant Rose When I am parted hence." And therewithall he fetcht a sigh,125 As though his heart would breake: And Rosamond, for inward griefe, Not one plaine word could speake. And at their parting well they might In heart be grieved sore:130 After that day, faire Rosamond The King did see no more. For when his Grace had past the seas, And into France was gone, Queene Elinor, with envious heart,135 To Woodstocke came anone. And foorth she cald this trusty knight Which kept the curious bower, Who, with his clew of twined threed, Came from that famous flower.140 And when that they had wounded him, The queene his threed did get, And went where lady Rosamond Was like an angell set. And when the queene with stedfast eye145 Beheld her heavenly face, She was amazed in her minde At her exceeding grace. "Cast off from thee thy robes," she sayd, "That rich and costly be;150 And drinke thou up this deadly draught, Which I have brought for thee." But presently upon her knees Sweet Rosamond did fall; And pardon of the queene she crav'd155 For her offences all. "Take pittie on my youthfull yeares," Faire Rosamond did cry; "And let me not with poyson strong Inforcèd be to die.160 "I will renounce this sinfull life, And in a cloyster bide; Or else be banisht, if you please, To range the world so wide. "And for the fault which I have done,165 Though I was forst thereto, Preserve my life, and punish me As you thinke good to do." And with these words, her lilly hands She wrang full often there;170 And downe along her lovely cheekes Proceeded many a teare. But nothing could this furious queene Therewith appeased bee; The cup of deadly poyson filld,175 As she sat on her knee, She gave the comely dame to drinke; Who tooke it in her hand, And from her bended knee arose, And on her feet did stand.180 And casting up her eyes to heaven, She did for mercy call; And drinking up the poyson then, Her life she lost withall. And when that death through every lim185 Had done his greatest spite, Her chiefest foes did plaine confesse She was a glorious wight. Her body then they did intombe, When life was fled away,190 At Godstow, neere [to] Oxford towne, As may be seene this day.
77. sound.
83. he had reviv'd.—C. G.
94. shield: sword, Garl. G. W.
102. must refuse.
107. England.
117. robes and pearls of gold.
122. beare.
QUEEN ELEANOR'S FALL.
A Collection of Old Ballads, i. 97.
"I never was more surprised," says the editor of the Collection of 1723, "than at the sight of the following ballad; little expecting to see pride and wickedness laid to the charge of the most affable and most virtuous of women: whose glorious actions are not recorded by our historians only; for no foreign writers, who have touched upon those early times, have in silence passed over this illustrious princess, and every nation rings with the praise of Eleonora Isabella of Castile, King Edward's Queen. Father Le Monie, who (in his Gallérie des Femmes Fortes) has searched all Christendom round, from its very infancy to the last age, for five heroines, very partially bestows the first place upon one of his own country-women, but gives the second, with a far superior character, to this queen."
In this absurdly false and ignorant production, the well-beloved Eleonora of Castile is no doubt confounded with her most unpopular mother-in-law, Eleanor of Provence, the wife of Henry the Third, whose luxurious habits, and quarrels with the city of London, might afford some shadow of a basis for the impossible slanders of the ballad-singer. Queenhithe was a quay, the tolls of which formed part of the revenue of the Queen, and Eleanor of Provence rendered herself extremely odious by compelling vessels, for the sake of her fees, to unlade there. Charing-cross was one of thirteen monuments raised by Edward the First at the stages, where his queen's body rested, on its progress from the place of her decease to Westminster. In the connection of both these places with the name of a Queen Eleanor may be found (as Miss Strickland suggests in her Lives of the Queens) the germ of the marvellous story of the disappearance at Charing-cross and the resurrection at Queenhithe.
That portion of the story which relates to the cruelty exercised by the queen towards the Lord Mayor's wife is borrowed from the Gesta Romanorum. See Madden's Old English Versions, &c. p. 226, Olimpus the Emperour. Peele's Chronicle History of Edward the First exhibits the same misrepresentations of Eleanor of Castile. See what is said of this play in connection with the ballad of Queen Eleanor's Confession, vol. vi. p. 209. The whole title of the ballad is:—
A Warning Piece to England against Pride and Wickedness:
Being the Fall of Queen Eleanor, Wife to Edward the First, King of England; who, for her pride, by God's Judgments, sunk into the Ground at Charing-cross and rose at Queenhithe.
When Edward was in England king, The first of all that name, Proud Ellinor he made his queen, A stately Spanish dame: Whose wicked life, and sinful pride,5 Thro' England did excel: To dainty dames, and gallant maids, This queen was known full well. She was the first that did invent In coaches brave to ride;10 She was the first that brought this land To deadly sin of pride. No English taylor here could serve To make her rich attire; But sent for taylors into Spain,15 To feed her vain desire. They brought in fashions strange and new, With golden garments bright; The farthingale, and mighty ruff, With gowns of rich delight:20 The London dames, in Spanish pride, Did flourish every where; Our English men, like women then, Did wear long locks of hair. Both man and child, both maid and wife,25 Were drown'd in pride of Spain: And thought the Spanish taylors then Our English men did stain: Whereat the queen did much despite, To see our English men30 In vestures clad, as brave to see As any Spaniard then. She crav'd the king, that ev'ry man That wore long locks of hair, Might then be cut and polled all,35 Or shaved very near. Whereat the king did seem content, And soon thereto agreed; And first commanded, that his own Should then be cut with speed:40 And after that, to please his queen, Proclaimed thro' the land, That ev'ry man that wore long hair Should poll him out of hand. But yet this Spaniard, not content,45 To women bore a spite, And then requested of the king, Against all law and right, That ev'ry womankind should have Their right breast cut away;50 And then with burning irons sear'd, The blood to stanch and stay! King Edward then, perceiving well Her spite to womankind, Devised soon by policy55 To turn her bloody mind. He sent for burning irons straight, All sparkling hot to see; And said, "O queen, come on thy way; "I will begin with thee."60 Which words did much displease the queen, That penance to begin; But ask'd him pardon on her knees; Who gave her grace therein. But afterwards she chanc'd to pass65 Along brave London streets, Whereas the mayor of London's wife In stately sort she meets; With music, mirth, and melody, Unto the church they went,70 To give God thanks, that to th' lord mayor A noble son had sent. It grieved much this spiteful queen, To see that any one Should so exceed in mirth and joy,75 Except herself alone: For which, she after did devise Within her bloody mind, And practis'd still more secretly, To kill this lady kind.80 Unto the mayor of London then She sent her letters straight, To send his lady to the court, Upon her grace to wait. But when the London lady came85 Before proud El'nor's face, She stript her from her rich array, And kept her vile and base. She sent her into Wales with speed, And kept her secret there,90 And us'd her still more cruelly Than ever man did hear. She made her wash, she made her starch, She made her drudge alway; She made her nurse up children small,95 And labour night and day. But this contented not the queen, But shew'd her most despite; She bound this lady to a post, At twelve a clock at night;100 And as, poor lady, she stood bound, The queen, in angry mood, Bid set two snakes unto her breast, That suck'd away her blood. Thus died the mayor of London's wife,105 Most grievous for to hear; Which made the Spaniard grow more proud, As after shall appear. The wheat that daily made her bread Was bolted twenty times;110 The food that fed this stately dame, Was boil'd in costly wines. The water that did spring from ground, She would not touch at all; But wash'd her hands with the dew of heav'n,115 That on sweet roses fall. She bath'd her body many a time In fountains fill'd with milk; And ev'ry day did change attire, In costly Median silk.120 But coming then to London back, Within her coach of gold, A tempest strange within the skies This queen did there behold: Out of which storm she could not go,125 But there remain'd a space; Four horses could not stir the coach A foot out of the place. A judgment lately sent from heav'n, For shedding guiltless blood,130 Upon this sinful queen, that slew The London lady good! King Edward then, as wisdom will'd, Accus'd her of that deed; But she denied, and wish'd that God135 Would send his wrath with speed,— If that upon so vile a thing Her heart did ever think, She wish'd the ground might open wide, And she therein might sink!140 With that, at Charing-cross she sunk Into the ground alive, And after rose with life again, In London, at Queenhithe. When, after that, she languish'd sore145 Full twenty days in pain, At last confess'd the lady's blood Her guilty hand had slain: And likewise, how that by a fryar She had a base-born child;150 Whose sinful lusts and wickedness Her marriage bed defil'd. Thus have you heard the fall of pride, A just reward of sin; For those who will forswear themselves,155 God's vengeance daily win. Beware of pride, ye courtly dames, Both wives and maidens all; Bear this imprinted on your mind, That pride must have a fall.160
THE DUCHESS OF SUFFOLK'S CALAMITY.
From Strange Histories, p. 17 (Percy Society, vol. iii). Other copies, with variations, are in The Crown-Garland of Golden Roses, Part II. p. 20 (Percy Society, vol. xv.), and A Collection of Old Ballads, iii. 91. The editor of Strange Histories informs us that a play on the same subject as the ballad was written by Thomas Drew, or Drue, early in the reign of James I., and printed in 1631, under the title of The Duchess of Suffolk, her Life. He remarks further that both play and ballad was founded upon the narrative of Fox, anno 1558 [Acts and Monuments, iii. 926, ed. 1641]; but the differences between Fox's account and the story which follows are altogether too great for this supposition to be true.
Katharine, daughter of Lord Willoughby of Eresby, was first married to Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, and after his death to Richard Bertie, Esq., with whom she was forced to fly from persecution in 1553, taking refuge first in the Low Countries, and afterwards in Poland.
When God had taken for our sinne That prudent prince, King Edward, away, Then bloudy Bonner did begin His raging mallice to bewray; All those that did the Gospell professe5 He persecuted more or lesse. Thus, when the Lord on us did lower, Many in pryson did he throw, Tormenting them in Lollards tower, Whereby they might the trueth forgoe:10 Then Cranmer, Ridley, and the rest, Were burnt in fire, that Christ profest. Smithfield was then with faggots fild, And many places more beside; At Coventry was Sanders kild,15 At Glocester eke good Hooper dyde; And to escape this bloudy day, Beyond-seas many fled away. Among the rest that sought reliefe And for their faith in daunger stood,20 Lady Elizabeth was chiefe, King Henries daughter of royall blood; Which in the Tower prisoner did lie, Looking each day when she should die. The Dutchesse of Suffolke, seeing this,25 Whose life likewise the tyrant sought, Who in the hope of heavenly blisse Within God's word her comfort wrought, For feare of death was faine to flie, And leave her house most secretly.30 That for the love of Christ alone, Her lands and goods she left behind, Seeking still for that pretious stone, The worde of trueth, so rare to find: She with her nurse, her husband, and child,35 In poor array their sights beguild. Thus through London they passed along, Each one did passe a severall streete; Thus all unknowne, escaping wrong, At Billings-gate they all did meete:40 Like people poore, in Gravesend barge, They simply went with all their charge. And all along from Gravesend towne With easie journeyes on foote they went; Unto the sea-coast they came downe,45 To passe the seas was their intent; And God provided so that day, That they tooke shippe and sayld away. And with a prosperous gale of wind In Flanders safe they did arive;50 This was to their great ease of minde, Which from their hearts much woe did drive; And so with thanks to God on hie, They tooke their way to Germanie. Thus as they traveld, thus disguisde,55 Upon the high way sodainely By cruell theeves they were surprisde, Assaulting their small companie; And all their treasure and their store They tooke away, and beate them sore.60 The nurse in middest of their fight Laid downe the child upon the ground; She ran away out of their sight, And never after that was found: Then did the Dutchesse make great mone65 With her good husband all alone. The theeves had there their horses kilde, And all their money quite had tooke; The pretty babie, almost spild, Was by their nurse likewise forsooke,70 And they farre from their friends did stand, All succourlesse in a strange land. The skies likewise began to scowle; It hayld and raind in pittious sort; The way was long and wonderous foule;75 Then may I now full well report Their griefe and sorrow was not small, When this unhappy chaunce did fall. Sometime the Dutchesse bore the child, As wet as ever she could be,80 And when the lady kind and mild Was wearie, then the child bore hee; And thus they one another easde, And with their fortunes were well pleasde. And after many wearied steppes,85 All wet-shod both in durt and myre, After much griefe, their hearts yet leapes, (For labour doth some rest require); A towne before them they did see, But lodgd therein they could not bee.90 From house to house they both did goe, Seeking where they that night might lie, But want of money was their woe, And still the babe with cold did crie; With capp and knee they courtsey make,95 But none on them would pittie take. Loe here a princesse of great blood Did pray a peasant for reliefe, With tears bedewed as she stood! Yet few or none regardes her griefe;100 Her speech they could not understand, But gave her a pennie in her hand. When all in vaine the paines was spent, And that they could not house-roome get, Into a church-porch then they went,105 To stand out of the raine and wet: Then said the Dutchesse to her deare, "O that we had some fier heere!" Then did her husband so provide That fire and coales he got with speede;110 She sate downe by the fiers side, To dresse her daughter, that had neede; And while she drest it in her lapp, Her husband made the infant papp. Anone the sexton thither came,115 And finding them there by the fire, The drunken knave, all voyde of shame, To drive them out was his desire: And spurning forth this noble dame, Her husbands wrath it did inflame.120 And all in furie as he stood, He wroung the church-keies out of his hand, And strooke him so, that all of blood His head ran downe where he did stand; Wherefor the sexton presently125 For helpe and ayde aloude did cry. Then came the officers in hast, And tooke the Dutchesse and her child, And with her husband thus they past, Like lambes beset with tygers wild,130 And to the governour were they brought, Who understood them not in ought. Then Maister Bartue, brave and bold, In Latine made a gallant speech, Which all their miserie did unfold,135 And their high favour did beseech: With that, a doctor sitting by Did know the Dutchesse presently. And thereupon arising straight, With minde abashed at their sight,140 Unto them all that there did waight, He thus brake forth, in wordes aright: "Behold within your sight," quoth hee, "A princesse of most high degree." With that the governour and the rest145 Were all amazde the same to heare, And welcomméd these new-come guestes With reverence great and princely cheare; And afterward conveyd they were Unto their friend Prince Cassemere.150 A sonne she had in Germanie, Peregrine Bartue cald by name, Surnamde The Good Lord Willobie, Of courage great and worthie fame. Her daughter young, which with her went,155 Was afterward Countesse of Kent. For when Queene Mary was deceast, The Dutchesse home returnde againe, Who was of sorrow quite releast By Queene Elizabeth's happie raigne:160 For whose life and prosperitie We may prayse God continually.
9. There is said to be a place so called in the archiepiscopal palace at Lambeth.
28. So, C. G. G. R., for which in.
THE LIFE AND DEATH OF FAMOUS THO. STUKELY, AN ENGLISH GALLANT IN THE TIME OF QUEENE ELIZABETH, WHO ENDED HIS DAYES IN A BATTAILE OF KINGS IN BARBARIE.
Thomas Stuckley, says Fuller, "was a younger brother, of an ancient, wealthy, and worshipful family, nigh Ilfracombe in this county [Devon], being one of good parts; but valued the less by others, because overprized by himself. Having prodigally mis-spent his patrimony, he entered on several projects (the issue general of all decayed estates); and first pitched on the peopling of Florida, then newly found out, in the West Indies. So confident his ambition, that he blushed not to tell Queen Elizabeth, 'that he preferred rather to be sovereign of a mole-hill, than the highest subject to the greatest king in Christendom;' adding, moreover, 'that he was assured he should be a prince before his death.' 'I hope,' said Queen Elizabeth, 'I shall hear from you, when you are stated in your principality.' 'I will write unto you,' quoth Stuckley. 'In what language?' said the Queen. He returned, 'In the style of princes: To our dear sister.'
"His fair project of Florida being blasted for lack of money to pursue it, he went over into Ireland, where he was frustrated of the preferment he expected, and met such physic that turned his fever into frenzy; for hereafter resolving treacherously to attempt what he could not loyally achieve, he went over into Italy.
"It is incredible how quickly he wrought himself through the notice into the favour, through the court into the chamber, yea closet, yea bosom of Pope Pius Quintus; so that some wise men thought his Holiness did forfeit a parcel of his infallibility in giving credit to such a glorioso, vaunting that with three thousand soldiers he would beat all the English out of Ireland.
"The Pope finding it cheaper to fill Stuckley's swelling sails with airy titles than real gifts, created him Baron of Ross, Viscount Murrough, Earl of Wexford, Marquis of Leinster; and then furnished this title-top-heavy general with eight hundred soldiers, paid by the King of Spain, for the Irish expedition.
"In passage thereunto, Stuckley lands at Portugal, just when Sebastian, the king thereof, with two Moorish kings, were undertaking a voyage into Africa. Stuckley, scorning to attend, is persuaded to accompany them. Some thought he wholly quitted his Irish design, partly because loath to be pent up in an island (the continent of Africa affording more elbow-room for his achievements); partly because so mutable his mind, he ever loved the last project (as mothers the youngest child) best. Others conceive he took this African in order to his Irish design; such his confidence of conquest, that his breakfast on the Turks would the better enable him to dine on the English in Ireland.
"Landing in Africa, Stuckley gave council which was safe, seasonable, and necessary; namely, that for two or three days they should refresh their land soldiers; whereof some were sick, and some were weak, by reason of their tempestuous passage. This would not be heard; so furious was Don Sebastian to engage; as if he would pluck up the bays of victory out of the ground, before they were grown up; and so, in the battle of Alcaser, their army was wholly defeated: where Stuckley lost his life.
'A fatal fight, where in one day was slain, Three kings that were, and one that would be fain!'
"This battle was fought anno 1578, where Stuckley, with his eight hundred men, behaved himself most valiantly, till overpowered with multitude." Worthies of England, by Nuttall, i. 414.
Mr. Dyce, in his prefatory note to Peele's Battle of Alcazar, having cited the above extract with several poetical notices of Stukeley, mentions another play founded on this adventurer's exploits (The Famous Historye of the Life and Death of Captaine Thomas Stukely), acted in 1596, and printed in 1605 (Peele's Works, ii. 85).
The ballad is from The Crown-Garland of Golden Roses (Percy Society, vol. vi.) p. 33. There are some verses on Stukeley's projected voyage to Florida in Mr. Collier's Old Ballads, in the first volume of the Percy Society, p. 73.
In the west of England Borne there was, I understand, A famous gallant in his dayes, By birth a wealthy clothier's sonne; Deeds of wonder he hath done,5 To purchase him a long and lasting praise. If I should tell his story, Pride was all his glory, And lusty Stukely he was call'd in court; He serv'd a bishop of the west,10 And did accompany the best, Maintaining still himselfe in gallant sort. Being thus esteemed, And every where well deemed, He gain'd the favour of a London dame,15 Daughter to an alderman, Curtis he was called then, To whom a sutor gallantly he came. When she his person spied, He could not be denied,20 So brave a gentleman he was to see; She was quickly made his wife, In weale or woe to lead her life, Her father willingly did so agree. Thus, in state and pleasure,25 Full many daies they measure; Till cruell death, with his regardles spight, Bore old Curtis to his grave, A thing which Stukely wisht to have, That he might revell all in gold so bright.30 He was no sooner tombed, But Stukely presumed To spend a hundred pound that day in waste: The bravest gallants of the land Had Stukelies purse at their command;35 Thus merrily the time away he pass'd. Taverns and ordinaries Were his cheefest braveries, Goulden angells flew there up and downe; Riots were his best delight,40 With stately feastings day and night; In court and citty thus he won renowne. Thus wasting land and living By this lawlesse giving, At last he sold the pavements of his yard,45 Which covered were with blocks of tin; Old Curtis left the same to him, Which he consumed vainely, as you heard. Whereat his wife sore greeved, Desir'd to be releeved;50 "Make much of me, dear husband," she did say: "I'll make much more of thee," quoth he, "Than any one shall, verily: I'll sell thy clothes, and so will go away." Cruelly thus hearted,55 Away from her he parted, And travelled into Italy with speed: There he flourisht many a day In his silkes and rich array, And did the pleasures of a lady feed.60 It was the ladies pleasure To give him gold and treasure, And to maintaine him in great pomp and fame; At last came newes assuredly Of a battaile fought in Barbary,65 And he would valiantly go see the same. Many a noble gallant Sold both land and talent To follow Stukely in this famous fight; Whereas three kings in person would70 Adventurously, with courage bould, Within the battaile shew themselves in sight. Stukely and his followers all, Of the king of Portugall Had entertainement like to gentlemen:75 The king affected Stukely so, That he his secrets all did know, And bore his royall standard now and then. Upon this day of honour Each king did shew his banner;80 Morocco, and the King of Barbery, Portugall, with all his train, Bravely glister'd in the plain, And gave the onset there most valiantly. The cannons they resounded,85 Thund'ring drums rebounded, "Kill, kill!" as then was all the soldiers cry; Mangled men lay on the ground, And with blood the earth was dround, The sun was likewise darken'd in the skye.90 Heaven was sore displeased, And would not be appeased, But tokens of God's heavy wrath did show That he was angry at this war; He sent a fearfull blazing star,95 Whereby these kings might their misfortunes know. Bloody was this slaughter, Or rather wilfull murther, Where six score thousand fighting men were slain; Three kings within this battaile died,100 With forty dukes and earles beside, The like will never more be fought again. With woful armes enfoulding, Stukely stood beholding This bloody sacrifice of soules that day:105 He, sighing, said, "I, wofull wight, Against my conscience heere did fight, And brought my followers all unto decay." Being thus molested, And with greefes oppressed,110 Those brave Italians that did sell their lands, With Stukely thus to travel forth, And venture life for little worth, Upon him all did lay their murthering hands. Unto death thus wounded,115 His heart with sorrow swounded, And to them all he made this heavy mone: "Thus have I left my country deere, To be so vilely murthered heere, Even in this place whereas I am not known.120 "My life I have much wronged; Of what to her belonged I vainely spent in idle course of life. What I have done is past, I see, And bringeth nought but greef to me,125 Therefore grant now thy pardon, gentle wife! "Life, I see, consumeth, And death, I feel, presumeth To change this life of mine into a new: Yet this me greatest comfort brings,130 I liv'd and died in love of kings, And so brave Stukely bids the world adew." Stukelys life thus ended, Was after death befrended, And like a soldier buried gallantly;135 Where now there stands upon his grave A stately temple, builded brave, With golden turrets piercing in the skye.
38, 40 where.
72. fight.
LORD DELAWARE.
No plausible foundation for this ballad has as yet been found in history. It has been suggested that Delaware is a corruption of De la Mare, a speaker of the House of Commons, and a great advocate of popular rights, in the reign of Edward the Third! But there is no accounting for the Dutch lord and the Welsh Duke of Devonshire on this or any other supposition.
The ballad is given from Lyle's Ancient Ballads and Songs, p. 135, as "noted down from the singing of a gentleman," and then "remodelled and smoothed down" by the editor. The same copy is printed in Dixon's Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs (Percy Society, vol. xvii.), p. 80, and in Bell's volume with the same title, p. 66.
In the Parliament House, A great rout has been there, Betwixt our good king And the Lord Delaware: Says Lord Delaware5 To his Majesty full soon, "Will it please you, my Liege, To grant me a boon?" "What's your boon?" says the King, "Now let me understand."10 "It's, give me all the poor men We've starving in this land; And without delay, I'll hie me To Lincolnshire, To sow hemp-seed and flax-seed,15 And hang them all there. "For with hempen cord it's better To stop each poor man's breath, Than with famine you should see Your subjects starve to death."20 Up starts a Dutch lord, Who to Delaware did say, "Thou deservest to be stabb'd!" Then he turned himself away: "Thou deservest to be stabb'd,25 And the dogs have thine ears, For insulting our king In this parliament of peers." Up sprang a Welsh lord, The brave Duke of Devonshire,30 "In young Delaware's defence, I'll fight This Dutch lord, my Sire. "For he is in the right, And I'll make it so appear: Him I dare to single combat,35 For insulting Delaware." A stage was soon erected, And to combat they went, For to kill, or to be kill'd, It was either's full intent.40 But the very first flourish, When the heralds gave command, The sword of brave Devonshire Bent backward on his hand; In suspense he paused awhile,45 Scann'd his foe before he strake, Then against the king's armour, His bent sword he brake. Then he sprang from the stage, To a soldier in the ring,50 Saying, "Lend your sword, that to an end This tragedy we bring: Though he's fighting me in armour, While I am fighting bare, Even more than this I'd venture55 For young Lord Delaware." Leaping back on the stage, Sword to buckler now resounds, Till he left the Dutch lord A bleeding in his wounds:60 This seeing, cries the King To his guards without delay, "Call Devonshire down,— Take the dead man away!" "No," says brave Devonshire,65 "I've fought him as a man; Since he's dead, I will keep The trophies I have won. For he fought me in your armour, While I fought him bare,70 And the same you must win back, my Liege, If ever you them wear." God bless the Church of England, May it prosper on each hand, And also every poor man75 Now starving in this land; And while I pray success may crown Our king upon his throne, I'll wish that every poor man May long enjoy his own.80
THE BATTLE OF HARLAW. (See p. 180.)
Traditionary Version, from Aytoun's Scottish Ballads, i. 75.
"I am indebted to the kindness of Lady John Scott for the following extremely spirited ballad, which was taken down some years ago in Aberdeenshire, where it is still very popular. It is sung to a beautiful air, with the following refrain to each stanza:—
"Wi' a drie, drie, dredidronilie drie."
As I cam in by Garioch land, And doun by Netherha', There was fifty thousand Hielandmen, A' marching to Harlaw. As I cam on, and further on,5 And doun and by Balquhaim, O there I met Sir James the Ross, Wi' him Sir John the Græme. "O cam ye frae the Highlands, man? O cam ye a' the way?10 Saw ye Mac Donnell and his men, As they cam frae the Skye?" "Yes, we cam frae the Highlands, man, And we cam a' the way, And we saw Mac Donnell and his men,15 As they cam in frae Skye." "O was ye near Mac Donnell's men? Did ye their number see? Come, tell to me, John Hielandman, What might their numbers be?"20 "Yes, we was near, and near eneugh, And we their number saw; There was fifty thousand Hielandmen, A' marching to Harlaw." "Gin that be true," said James the Ross,25 "We'll no come meikle speed; We'll cry upon our merry men, And turn our horses' head." "O na, O na!" says John the Græme, "That thing maun never be;30 The gallant Græmes were never beat, We'll try what we can dee." As I cam on, and further on, And doun and by Harlaw, They fell fu' close on ilka side,35 Sic straiks ye never saw. They fell fu' close on ilka side, Sic straiks ye never saw; For ilka sword gaed clash for clash, At the battle o' Harlaw.40 The Hielandmen wi' their lang swords, They laid on as fu' sair, And they drave back our merry men, Three acres breadth and mair. Brave Forbés to his brother did say,45 "O brother, dinna ye see? They beat us back on ilka side, And we'll be forced to flee." "O na! O na! my brother dear, O na! that mauna be!50 You'll tak your gude sword in your hand, And ye'll gang in wi' me." Then back to back the brothers brave Gaed in amang the thrang, And they swept doun the Hielandmen,55 Wi' swords baith sharp and lang. The first ae straik that Forbés strack, He gar'd Mac Donnell reel; And the neist ae straik that Forbés strack, The brave Mac Donnell fell.60 And siccan a Pitlarichie I'm sure ye never saw, As was amang the Hielandmen, When they saw Mac Donnell fa'. And when they saw that he was dead,65 They turn'd and ran awa', And they buried him in Legate's Den, A large mile frae Harlaw. Some rade, some ran, and some did gang, They were o' sma' record,70 But Forbés and his merry men They slew them a' the road. On Mononday at morning, The battle it began; On Saturday at gloamin',75 Ye'd scarce ken'd wha had wan. And sic a weary buryin' I'm sure ye never saw, As was the Sunday after that, On the muirs aneath Harlaw.80 Gin onybody speer at ye For them we took awa', Ye may tell them plain, and very plain, They're sleeping at Harlaw.