The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 4 (of 5)

Volume 4 — ADDITIONS AND CORRECTIONS (continued 2)

Reading edition

56. Dives and Lazarus.

P. 10, III, 507 b. ‘Le mauvais riche,’ Daymard, Vieux Chants p. rec. en Quercy, p. 282.

57. Brown Robyn’s Confession.

P. 13. Swedish. ‘Herr Päders Sjöresa,’ Lagus, Nyländska Folkvisor, I, 56, No 14, a, b.

463Danish. ‘Jon Rimaardsens Sejlads,’ Kristensen, Jyske Folkeminder, X, 296, No 73, A-D.

13 ff., II, 510, also No 20, I, 244. While Prince Lundarasena is on a voyage, a great hurricane arises. An offering of jewels is made to the sea, but does not quiet it. Lundarasena says: “It is through my demerits in former births that this day of doom has suddenly come upon you.” He flings himself into the water; the wind falls immediately and the sea becomes calm. (He is not drowned.) Kathá Sarit Ságara, Tawney’s translation, II, 375.

A ship stopped. Cf. the story told by Henry of Huntingdon, viii, 22, of one Reiner, a follower of Geoffrey Mandeville (Gaufridus de Magna Villa).

“Princeps autem peditum suorum, Reinerus nomine, cujus officium fuerat ecclesias frangere vel incendere, dum mare cum uxore sua transiret, ut multi perhibuerunt, navis immobilis facta est. Quod monstrum nautis stupentibus, sorte data rei causam inquirentibus, sors cecidit super Reinerum. Quod cum ille nimirum totis contradiceret nisibus, secundo et tertio sors jacta in eum devenit. Positus igitur in scapha est, et uxor ejus, et pecunia scelestissime adquisita, et statim navis cursu velocissimo ut prius fecerat pelagus sulcat, scapha vero cum nequissimis subita voragine circumducta in æternum absorpta est.” This was in the year 1144. Henrici Archidiaconi Huntendunensis Historia Anglorum, ed. Arnold, Rolls Series, 1879, p. 278. (G. L. K.)

“Audivi a fratre Galtero de Leus quod, cum quedam mulier, mare transiens, pulcritudine sua omnes qui erant in navi ita attraxisset ut omnes qui erant ibi fere cum ea peccassent vel per actum aut consensum, et non evitaret patrem aut filium, sed indifferenter omnibus, licet occulte, se exponeret, facta in mari tempestate et navi periclitante, cepit clamare coram omnibus omnia peccata sua et confiteri ea, credens quod alii propter ea deberent periclitari. Tunc, aliis confitentibus, cessavit mare a furore suo. Facta tranquillitate, nullus potuit scire que esset illa mulier aut cognoscere eam.” Anecdotes historiques, Légendes et Apologues tirés du Recueil inédit d’Étienne de Bourbon, ed. Lecoy de la Marche, 1877, p. 160. (G. L. K.)

A merchant is making a voyage to Mount Athos with a cargo of wax and incense. St Nicolas freezes the ship in, and will not thaw it out until the master makes a vow to present the cargo to the monastery there. Bulgarian, Miladinof, p. 56, No 50. A ship in which Milica is captive is stopped by her tears and plaints until she and her brother are released. Servian, Karadžić, I, 556, No 729. (W. W.)

16. ‘Captain Glen.’ Christie’s Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 241, from recitation. As Christie remarks, some verses of the ballad are introduced into Scott’s Pirate, ch. 36.

59. Sir Aldingar.

P. 33 f. The child champion in A. (Compare also the notes to No 90, II, 513 b, III, 515 b.) Children who distinguish themselves by valorous exploits, and even get the better of heroes, are especially common in Bulgarian epos. A child of three days kills a monster that stops the way of a marriage-train, and then requires the guests to come to its baptism: Miladinof, p. 79, No 59. Marko Kraljević is vanquished by one of these, seven years old: Miladinof, p. 173, No 121; Kačanofskij, pp. 341–55, Nos 151–55. In Kačanofskij, p. 355, No 156, the child is but seven months old. More of this extravagance in Miladinof, p. 266, No 173; Sbornik of the Ministry of Instruction, I, 59, No 4. (W. W.)

35, note. In The Order of Combats for Life in Scotland, Spalding Club Misc., II, 387 (of uncertain date), the second oath to be proposed to the parties is, that they have not brought into the lists other armor or weapons than was allowed, neither any engine, charm, herb, or enchantment, etc.

60. King Estmere.

P. 50 b, the last paragraph. It might have been remarked that ‘King Estmere’ resembles in a general way a series of German poems of adventure, in which a young king (or his guardians) is nice about a wife, and the princess proposed to him is won only with great difficulty: König Rother (ed. Rückert, v. 13 ff.); Ortnit (Ortnit und die Wolfdietriche, ed. Amelung und Jänicke, I, 4, st. 8 ff.); Hugdietrich (the same, p. 168, st. 9 ff.); Oswald (Sant Oswaldes Leben, ed. Ettmüller, p. 6, v. 140 ff); Orendel (ed. Berger, p. 8, v. 192 ff.); Dietwart (Dietrichs Flucht, ed. Martin, Heldenbuch, II^r Teil, p. 68, v. 785 ff.). To which may be added Fore, in Salman und Marolf (ed. Vogt, p. 5, str. 24 ff.), and Tsar Vasily, in Russian byliny (see Vogt, p. XLII).

61. Sir Cawline.

P. 60, III, 508 b. Cucúlin pulls liver and lights out of the throats of two lions: Curtin, Myths and Folk-Lore of Ireland, p. 317.

62. Fair Annie.

P. 65 a. Swedish. ‘Skön Anna,’ ‘Skön Anna och Herr Peder,’ Lagus, Nyländska Folkvisor, I, 13, No 4, a, b. The bride throws down one half of a gold ring, Fair Annie the other; the parts run together: a 23, b 16.

67. The romance of Galerent follows the story of Marie’s lai, and is thought to be founded on it: Le Roman de Galerent, Comte de Bretagne, par le trouvère Renaut, A. Boucherie, 1888. (G. L. K.)

68, note. The story is in Coryat’s Crudities, 1611, p. 646 f.; III, 81 f., of the ed. of 1776. (G. L. K.)

63. Child Waters.

P. 84 b, III, 508 b. Add: Skattegraveren, 1888, II, 135, Nos 408–11.

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64. Fair Janet.

P. 101 b. Danish. ‘Kong Valdemar og hans Søster,’ Kristensen, Jyske Folkeminder, X, 75, 378, No 23.

102 b. Breton ballad. After Luzel, II, 6–15, add 558, the page of the third ballad.

Quellien, Chansons et Danses des Bretons, p. 73, is a fourth version. This ballad, says Quellien, is widely spread, and has various titles, one of which is ‘Le Comte de Poitou.’

103 ff. “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” Abbotsford, No 25. In the handwriting of William Laidlaw; “from Jean Scott.”

Young Janet sits in her garden,

Makin a heavie maen,

Whan by cam her father dear,

Walkin himself alane.

‘It’s telld me in my bower, Janet,

It’s telld me in my bed,

That ye’re in love wi Sweet Willie;

But a French lord ye maun wed.’

‘In it be telld ye in yer bower, father,

In it be telld ye in your bed,

That me an Willie bears a love,

Yet a French lord I maun wed,

But here I mak a leel, leel vow

He’s neer come in my bed.

‘An for to please my father dear

A French lord I will wed;

But I hae sworn a solemn oth

He’s neer come in my bed.’

Young Janet’s away to her bower-door,

As fast as she can hie,

An Willie he has followd her,

He’s followd speedilie.

An whan he cam to her bowr-door

He tirlt at the pin:

‘O open, open, Janet love,

Open an let me in.’

‘It was never my mother’s custm, Willie,

It never sal be mine,

For a man to come the bower within

When a woman’s travelin.

‘Gae yer ways to my sisters’ bower,

Crie, Meg, Marion an Jean,

Ye maun come to yer sister Janet,

For fear that she be gane.’

Sae he gaed to her sisters’ bower,

Cry’d, Meg, Marion an Jean,

Ye maun come to yer sister Janet,

For fear that she be gane.

Some drew to their silk stokins,

An some drew to their shoon,

An some drew to their silk cleadin,

For fear she had been gane.

When they cam to her bower-door

They tirlt at the pin;

For as sick a woman as she was,

She raise an loot them in.

They had na the babie weel buskit,

Nor her laid in her bed,

Untill her cruel father cam,

Cried, Fye, gar busk the bride!

‘There a sair pain in my back, father,

There a sair pain in my head,

An sair, sair is my sidies to;

This day I downa ride.’

‘But I hae sorn a solemn oath,

Afore a companie,

That ye sal ride this day, Janet,

This day an ye soud die.

‘Whae’ll horse ye to the kirk, Janet?

An whae will horse ye best?’

‘Whae but Willie, my true-love?

He kens my mister best.’

‘Whae’ll horse ye to the kirk, Janet?

An whae will horse ye there?’

‘Whae but Willie, my true-love?

He neer will doo ‘d nae maer.

‘Ye may saddle a steed, Willie,

An see that ye saddle ‘t soft;

Ye may saddle a steed, Willie,

For ye winna saddle ‘t oft.

‘Ye may saddle a steed, Willie,

An see that ye saddle ‘t side;

Ye may saddle a steed, Willie;

But I thought to have been yer bride.’

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When they war a’ on horse-back set,

On horse-back set sae hie,

Then up spak the bold bridegroom,

An he spak boustresslie.

Up then spak the bold bridegroom,

An he spak loud an thrawn;

‘I think the bride she be wi bairn,

She looks sae pale an wan.’

Then she took out her bible-book,

Swoor by her fingers five

That she was neither wi lad nor lass

To no man was alive.

Then she took out her bible-book,

Swoor by her fingers ten

An ever she had born a bairn in her days

She had born ‘d sin yestreen:

Then a’ the ladies round about

Said, That’s a loud leesin.

Atween the kitchin an the kirk

It was a weel-met mile;

It was a stra’d i the red roses,

But than the camomile.

When the war a’ at dener set,

Drinkin at the wine,

Janet could neither eat nor drink

But the water that ran so fine.

Up spak the bride’s father,

Said, Bride, will ye dance wi me?

‘Away, away, my cruel father!

There nae dancin wi me.’

Up then spak the bride’s mother,

Said, Bride, will ye dance wi me?

‘Away, away, my mother dear!

There nae dancin wi me.’

Up then spak the bride’s sisters, etc.

Up then spak the bride’s brother, etc.

Then up spak the bold bridegroom, [etc.]

Up then spak the Sweet Willie,

An he spak wi a vance;

‘An ye’ll draw of my boots, Janet,

I’ll gie a’ yer lassies a dance.’

‘I seen ‘t other ways, Willie,

An sae has mae than me,

When ye wad hae danced wi my fair body,

An leten a’ my maidens be.’

He took her by the milk-white hand,

An led her wi mickle care,

But she drapit down just at his feet,

And word spak little mair.

‘Ye may gae hire a nurse, Willie,

An take yer young son hame;

Ye may gae hire a nurse, Willie,

For bairn’s nurse I’ll be nane.’

She’s pu’d out the keys o her coffer,

Hung leugh down by her gair;

She said, Gie thae to my young son,

Thrae me he’ll neer get mair.’

Up then spak the bold bridegroom,

An he spak bousterouslie;

‘I’ve gien you the skaeth, Willie,

But ye’ve gien me the scorn;

Sae there’s no a bell i St Mary’s kirk

Sall ring for her the morn.’

‘Ye’ve gien me the skaeth, bridegroom,

But I’ll gee you the scorn;

For there’s no a bell i St Marie’s kirk

But sal ring for her the morn.

‘Gar deal, gar deal at my love’s burial

The wheat-bread an the wine,

For or the morn at ten o clock

Ye’ll deal ‘d as fast at mine.’

Then he’s drawn out a nut-brown sword,

Hang leugh down by his gair,

He’s thrust it in just at his heart,

An word spak never mair.

The taen was buried i St Mary’s kirk,

The tother i St Mary’s queer,

An throw the taen there sprang a birk,

Throw the tother a bonnie brier.

Thae twae met, an thae twae plaet,

An ay they knitit near,

An ilka ane that cam thereby

Said, There lies twa lovers dear.

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Till by there came an ill French lord,

An ill death may he die!

For he pu’d up the bonnie brier,

. . . . . . . .

5¹. Away struck out, and on written over.

9¹. An at the beginning struck out.

10^1,2,3. drew to them their? Cf. A 10.

11⁴. The fourth verse is written as the second (it for in), but struck out.

12¹. bukit.

13³. Changed, by striking out, to An sair, sair my side. An sair, sair is my side should probably be the second line.

Cf. A 17, C 12.

15². An whae I will.

16⁴. He’ll neer will.

18⁴. But struck out.

23⁴. But an?

30¹. he Sweet Willie?

34². Hang? Cf. 38².

39². MS. queer Choir.

40⁴. twa struck out.

65. Lady Maisry.

P. 112 b. I. “Mrs Baird says that this ballad was printed in the Saltmarket [Glasgow] by the Robertsons about seventy years ago.” Note by Motherwell in a copy of his Minstrelsy.

113, note §. ‘Galancina’ also in Munthe, Folkpoesi från Asturien, No 3, Upsala Universitets Årsskrift, 1887.

J

‘Lady Margery,’ “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 71, MS. of Thomas Wilkie, p. 71, Abbotsford. “From the recitation of Janet Scott, Bowden, who sung a dysmal air, as she called it, to the words.”

This version resembles D. 12, 13, may be caught from ‘Lord Derwentwater:’ see No 208, E 8, 9, F 9, 10. Omens are not in place after the positive information given in 11.

Lady Margery was the king’s ae daughter,

But an the prince’s heir; O

She’s away to Strawberry Castle,

To learn some English lair. O

She had not been in Strawberry Castle

A twelvemonth and a day

Till she’s even as big wi child

As ever a lady could gae.

Her father’s to the cutting o the birks,

Her mother to the broom,

And a’ for to get a bundle o sticks

To burn that fair lady in.

‘O hold your hand now, father dear,

O hold a little while,

For if my true-love be yet alive

I’ll hear his bridle ring.

‘Where will I get a bonny boy,

That will win hoes and shoon,

That will run to Strawberry Castle

And tell my love to come?’

She’s called on her waiting-maid

To bring out bread and wine:

‘Now eat and drink, my bonny boy,

Ye’ll neer eat mair o mine.’

Away that bonny boy he’s gaen,

As fast as he could rin;

When he cam where grass grew green

Set down his feet and ran.

And when he cam where brigs were broken

He bent his bow and swam;

. . . . . . .

When he came to Strawberry Castle,

He lighted on the green;

Who was so ready as the noble lord

To rise and let the boy in!

‘What news? what news, my pretty page?

What tydings do ye bring?

Is my lady lighter yet

Of a daughter or a son?’

‘Bad news, bad news, my noble lord,

Bad tydings have I brung;

The fairest lady in a’ Scotland

This day for you does burn.’

He has mounted a stately steed

And he was bound to ride;

The silver buttons flew off his coat

And his nose began to bleed.

The second steed that lord mounted

Stumbled at a stone;

‘Alass! alass!’ he cried with grief,

‘My lady will be gone.’

When he came from Strawberry Castle

He lighted boots and a’;

He thought to have goten a kiss from her,

But her body fell in twa.

For the sake o Lady Margery

He’s cursed her father and mother,

For the sake o Lady Margery

He’s cursed her sister and brother.

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And for the sake o Lady Margery

He’s cursed all her kin;

He cried, Scotland is the ae warst place

That ever my fit was in!

O, added in singing to the second and fourth lines of each stanza, is sometimes not written in the MS.

9 is written as the third and fourth lines of 8.

15 and 16 are written as one stanza of four long lines.

K

“Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 22 f; in the handwriting of William Laidlaw. “From Jean Scott.” This version resembles E.

Marjorie was her father’s dear,

Her mother’s only heir,

An she’s away to Strawberry Castle,

To learn some unco lear.

She had na been i Strawberry Castle

A year but barely three

Till Marjorie turnd big wi child,

As big as big could be.

* * * * * *

‘Will ye hae that old, old man

To be yer daily mate,

Or will ye burn in fire strong

For your true lover’s sake?’

‘I winna marry that old, old man

To be my daily mate;

I’ll rather burn i fire strong

For my true lover’s sake.

* * * * * *

‘O where will I get a bonnie boy

That will win hose an shoon

An will gae rin to Strawberry Castle,

To gar my good lord come soon?’

‘Here am I, a bonnie boy

That will win hose an shoon,

An I’ll gae rin to Strawberry Castle,

And gar your lord come soon.’

‘Should ye come to a brocken brig,

Than bend your bow an swim;

An whan ye com to garse growin

Set down yer feet an rin.’

When eer he came to brigs broken,

He bent his bow an swam,

And whan he cam to grass growin

He set down his feet an ran.

When eer he cam to Strawberry Castle

He tirlt at the pin;

There was nane sae ready as that young lord

To open an let him in.

‘Is there ony o my brigs broken?

Or ony o my castles win?

Or is my lady brought to bed

Of a daughter or a son?’

‘There’s nane o a’ yer brigs broken,

Ther’s nane of your castles win;

But the fairest lady in a’ your land

This day for you will burn.’

‘Gar saddle me the black, black horse,

Gar saddle me the brown,

Gar saddle me the swiftest stead

That eer carried man to town.’

He’s burstit the black unto the slack,

The grey unto the brae,

An ay the page that ran afore

Cried, Ride, sir, an ye may.

Her father kindlet the bale-fire,

Her brother set the stake,

Her mother sat an saw her burn,

An never cried Alack!

‘Beet on, beet [on], my cruel father,

For you I cound nae friend;

But for fifteen well mete mile

I’ll hear my love’s bridle ring.’

When he cam to the bonnie Dundee,

He lightit wi a glent;

Wi jet-black boots an glittrin spurs

Through that bale-fire he went.

He thought his love wad hae datit him,

But she was dead an gane;

He was na sae wae for that lady

As he was for her yong son.

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‘But I’ll gar burn for you, Marjorie,

Yer father an yer mother,

An I’ll gar burn for you, Marjorie,

Your sister an your brother.

‘An I will burn for you, Marjorie,

The town that ye’r brunt in,

An monie ane’s be fatherless

That has but little sin.’

4³. But at the beginning struck out.

10. grey is written over brown in the second line (perhaps because of grey in 11²), and to town is struck out in the fourth line, but nothing supplied.

67. Glasgerion.

P. 136. “Glen Kindy, or rather Glen Skeeny, I have heard, and there is a ballad in Percy’s collection that is very much the same.” Mrs Brown, in a letter to Jamieson, June 18, 1801, Jamieson-Brown MS., Appendix, p. x.

137 a, second paragraph. ‘Riddaren och torpar-drängen,’ Lagus, Nyländska Folkvisor, I, 133, No 43.

68. Young Hunting.

P. 142 b. The four additional stanzas in J first appeared in the second edition of the Minstrelsy, 1803, II, 44.

143 b, 512 a, III, 509 a. Discovery of drowned bodies. Add: La Tradition, IV, 236.

143 b, second paragraph. Many cases in Pitcairn’s Criminal Trials, III, 182–99.

69. Clerk Saunders.

P. 157 f. Scandinavian ballads. See Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, now edited by Axel Olrik, V, II, 210, No 304, ‘De hurtige Svar.’ There are two Färöe versions, A a, A b, B, now No 124 of the MS. Føroyjakvæði. Hammershaimb’s ballad is a compound of A a, B. There is a Norwegian copy, which I failed to note, in Danske Viser, IV, 363 f, and there are others in the hands of Professor Bugge. There are two Swedish unprinted copies in Arwidsson’s collection, and others are referred to by Afzelius. Danish, A-D : A a and B c are the copies referred to at p. 158, C, D were published in 1889, in Kristensen’s Jyske Folkeminder, X, 210 ff., No 51. For the Icelandic ballads see Olrik, No 294, p. 69 ff. A tendency to the comic is to be remarked in the Swedish and Danish group, in which (with one exception) a brother takes the place of the father.

158 a, III, 509 a. Spanish, add: ‘Mañanita, mañanita,’ El Folk-Lore Frexnense y Bético-Extremeño, Fregenal, 1883–84, p. 171.

158 ff. ‘Clerk Sandy,’ “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 22 c; in the handwriting of Richard Heber.

Clerk Sandy an his true-love

Came oer the bent so brown,

There was never sic a word between them tua

Till the bells rang in the toun.

‘Ye maun take out your pocket-napkin

An put it on my een,

That safely I may say the morn

I saw na yow yestreen.

‘Take me on your back, lady,

An carry me to your bed,

That safely I may say the morn

Yere bouer’s floor I never tread.’

She’s taen him in her armeys tua,

An carried him to her bed,

That safely he may say the morn

Her bouer’s floor he never tread.

‘I have seven brethren,’ she says,

‘An bold young men they be;

If they see me an you thegether,

Yere butcher they will be.’

They had na sutten as lang, as lang

As other lovers when they meet,

Till Clerk Sandy an his true-love

They fell baith sound asleep.

In an came her seven brethren,

An bold young men they’ve been:

‘We have only ae sister in a’ the world,

An wi Clerk Sandy she’s lein.’

Out an spake her second brother:

‘I’m sure it’s nae injury;

If there was na another man in a’ the world.

His butcher I will be.’

He’s taen out a little pen-knife,

Hang low doun by his gaer,

An thro an thro Clerk Sandy’s middle;

A word spake he never mair.

They lay lang, an lang they lay,

Till the bird in its cage did sing;

She softly unto him did say,

I wonder ye sleep sae soun.

46911

They lay lang, an lang they lay,

Till the sun shane on their feet;

She softly unto him did say,

Ye ly too sound asleep.

She softly turnd her round about,

An wondred he slept sae soun;

An she lookd ovr her left shoulder,

An the blood about them ran.

1². bents o Broun.

71. The Bent Sae Brown.

P. 170 a, III, 509 a, IV, 164 b. Danish. ‘Jomfruens Brødre,’ ‘Hr. Hjælm,’ Kristensen, Jyske Folkeminder, X, 266, 269, No 65, A, B, No 66.

72. The Clerk’s Twa Sons o Owsenford.

P. 174, 512 a, III, 509 a. M. Gaston Paris has made it strongly probable that Pontoise, and not Toulouse, was originally the scene of the French-Catalan-Italian ballad. Three students had inadvertently trespassed on the hunting-grounds of Enguerrand de Couci; the baron had them arrested by his foresters and hanged from the battlements of his castle; for which St Louis made him pay a heavy fine, and with the money founded a hospital at Pontoise. Journal des Savants, Sept.-Nov., 1889, p. 614.

73. Lord Thomas and Fair Annet.

P. 180. Norse (1). ‘Peder och liten Stina,’ Lagus, Nyländska Folkvisor, I, 18, No 5. Stina hangs herself in the orchard. Peder runs on his spear.

181, III, 510 b. French ballads. ‘La Délaissée,’ Daymard, Vieux Chants p. rec. en Quercy, p. 50. ‘Le Rossignolet,’ Revue des Traditions pop., V, 144, 205.

I

P. 182 f. “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 22 h; in the handwriting of William Laidlaw. From Jean Scott.

Fair Annie an Sweet Willie

Sat a’ day on yon hill;

Whan day was gane an night was comd,

They hadna said their fill.

Willie spak but ae wrang word,

An Annie took it ill:

‘I’ll never marry a fair woman

Against my friends’s will.’

Annie spak but ae wrang word,

An Willy lookit down:

‘If I binna gude eneugh for yer wife,

I’m our-gude for yer loun.’

Willie’s turnd his horse’s head about,

He’s turnd it to the broom,

An he’s away to his father’s bower,

I the ae light o the moon.

Whan he cam to his father’s bower,

[He tirlt at the pin;

Nane was sae ready as his father

To rise an let him in.]

‘An askin, an askin, dear father,

An askin I’ll ask thee;’

‘Say on, say on, my son Willie,

Whatever your askin be.’

‘O sall I marry the nit-brown bride,

Has corn, caitle an kye,

Or sall I marry Fair Annie,

Has nought but fair beauty?’

‘Ye ma sit a gude sate, Willy,

Wi corn, caitle an kye;

But ye’ll but sit a silly sate

Wi nought but fair beauty.’

Up than spak his sister’s son,

Sat on the nurse’s knee,

Sun-bruist in his mother’s wame,

Sun-brunt on his nurse’s knee:

‘O yer hogs will die out i the field,

Yer kye ill die i the byre;

An than, whan a’ yer gear is gane,

A fusom fag by yer fire!

But a’ will thrive at is wi you

An ye get yer heart’s desire.’

Willie’s turnd his horse’s head about,

He’s away to his mother’s bour, etc.

‘O my hogs ill die out i the field,

My kye die i the byre,

An than, whan a’ my gear is gane,

A fusom fag bi my fire!

But a’ will thrive at is wi me

Gin I get my heart’s desire.’

Willie’s, etc.,

He’s awae to his brother’s bower, etc.

“ ” “ ” sister’s bower, etc.@

47015

Than Willie has set his wadin-day

Within thirty days an three,

An he has sent to Fair Annie

His waddin to come an see.

The man that gade to Fair Annie

Sae weel his errant coud tell:

‘The morn it’s Willie’s wadin-day,

Ye maun be there yer sell.’

’Twas up an spak her aged father,

He spak wi muckle care;

‘An the morn be Willie’s wadin-day,

I wate she maun be there.

‘Gar take a steed to the smiddie,

Caw on o it four shoon;

Gar take her to a merchant’s shop,

Cut off for her a gown.’

She wadna ha’t o the red sae red,

Nor yet o the grey sae grey,

But she wad ha’t o the sky couler

That she woor ilka day.

* * * * * *

There war four-an-twontie gray goss-hawks

A flaffin their wings sae wide,

To flaff the stour thra off the road

That Fair Annie did ride.

The[re] war four-a-twontie milk-white dows

A fleein aboon her head,

An four-an-twontie milk-white swans

Her out the gate to lead.

Whan she cam to St Marie’s kirk,

She lightit on a stane;

The beauty o that fair creature

Shone oer mony ane.

’Twas than out cam the nit-brown bride,

She spak wi muckle spite;

‘O where gat ye the water, Annie,

That washes you sae white?’

‘I gat my beauty

Where ye was no to see;

I gat it i my father’s garden,

Aneath an apple tree.

‘Ye ma wash i dubs,’ she said,

‘An ye ma wash i syke,

But an ye wad wash till doomsday

Ye neer will be as white.

‘Ye ma wash i dubs,’ she said,

‘An ye ma wash i the sea,

But an ye soud wash till doomsday

Ye’ll neer be as white as me.

‘For I gat a’ this fair beauty

Where ye gat never none,

For I gat a’ this fair beauty

Or ever I was born.’

It was than out cam Willie,

Wi hats o silks and flowers;

He said, Keep ye thae, my Fair Annie,

An brook them weel for yours.’

‘Na, keep ye thae, Willie,’ she said,

‘Gie them to yer nit-brown bride;

Bid her wear them wi mukle care,

For woman has na born a son

Sal mak my heart as sair.’

Annie’s luppen on her steed

An she has ridden hame,

Than Annie’s luppen of her steed

An her bed she has taen.

When mass was sung, an bells war rung,

An a’ man bound to bed,

An Willie an his nit-brown bride

I their chamber war laid.

They war na weel laid in their bed,

Nor yet weel faen asleep,

Till up an startit Fair Annie,

Just up at Willie’s feet.

‘How like ye yer bed, Willie?

An how like ye yer sheets?

An how like ye yer nut-brown bride,

Lies in yer arms an sleeps?’

‘Weel eneugh I like my bed, Annie,

Weel eneugh I like my sheets;

But wae be to the nit-brown bride

Lies in my arms an sleeps!’

Willie’s ca’d on his merry men a’

To rise an pit on their shoon;

‘An we’ll awae to Annie’s bower,

Wi the ae light o the moon.’

47136

An whan he cam to Annie’s bower,

He tirlt at the pin;

Nane was sae ready as her father

To rise an let him in.

There was her father a[n] her se’en brethren

A makin to her a bier,

Wi ae stamp o the melten goud,

Another o siller clear.

When he cam to the chamber-door

Where that the dead lay in,

There was her mother an six sisters

A makin to her a sheet,

Wi ae drap o . . . .

Another o silk sae white.

‘Stand by, stand by now, ladies a’,

Let me look on the dead;

The last time that I kiss[t] her lips

They war mair bonny red.’

‘Stand by, stand by now, Willie,’ they said,

‘An let ye her alane;

Gin ye had done as ye soud done,

She wad na there ha lien.’

‘Gar deal, gar deal at Annie’s burrial

The wheat bread an the wine,

For or the morn at ten o clock

Ye’s deal’d as fast at mine.’

5. Whan he cam to his father’s bower, etc. Completed from 36.

7². caitle written under cattle.

8⁴. Annie written over nought.

11. 4–8 are intended to be repeated, with mother substituted for father.

13, 14. 4–8, 12, are intended to be repeated, with the proper substitutions for brother, sister.

After 19: Something about her sadle and steed.

20², 37², 38⁴. A’; which may be intended.

29. Compare E 30: but I am unable to suggest a satisfactory restoration of the stanza.

After 41: etc. See Sweet Willie an Janet. What should follow is probably, Sweet Willie was buried, etc.

There are six stanzas of ‘Lord Thomas and Fair Elenor,’ from Mrs Gammell’s recitation, in Pitcairn’s MSS, III, 35. They are of no value.

75. Lord Lovel.

P. 204 f., note †, 512 b. Add: Hruschka u. Toischer, Deutsche V. l. aus Böhmen, p. 108, No 20, a-f.

205 a, note, III, 510 b. For ‘Stolten Hellelille, see Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, V, II, 352, No 312, ‘Gøde og Hillelille.’ Add: ‘Greven og lille Lise,’ Kristensen, Jyske Folkeminder, X, 319, No 79, A-E.

205 b, III, 510 b. ‘Den elskedes Død:’ the same volume of Kristensen, ‘Herr Peders Kjæreste,’ p. 327, No 80.

206, 512 b, III, 510 b. ‘Lou Fil del Rey et sa Mio morto,’ Daymard, Vieux Chants p. rec. en Quercy, p. 82.

There is a similar ballad, ending with admonition from the dead mistress, in Luzel, Soniou, I, 324, 25, ‘Cloaregic ar Stanc.’

76. The Lass of Roch Royal.

213 a. Title of B. Not Lochroyan in Herd, I, 144, but, both in title and text, Lochvoyan. In Herd, II, 60, the title has Lochroyan; the word does not occur in so much of the text as remains. Printed Lochroyan by Herd, and probably Lochroyan was intended in I, 144, as the alternative, though the last letter but one is indistinctly written, and may be read e. B came to Herd “by post from a lady in Ayrshire (?), name unknown.” Also, No 38, A a, No 51, A a; No 161, B a; No 220, A. Note (in pencil, and indistinct as to the place), Herd’s MSS, I, 143.

215 a. A part of this ballad is introduced into two versions of ‘The Mother’s Malison,’ No 216; see IV, 186. See also ‘Fair Janet,’ No 64, A 13, D 5, G 5.

217. B. Lochvoyan everywhere, not Lochroyan.

221. E 2². Finlay, in a letter to Scott, March 27, 1803 (Letters, I, No 87), says, “in a copy which I have seen, with the music, it is a birchen, instead of a silver, kame.”

‘The Lass of Lochroyan,’ “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 82, Abbotsford. Communicated to Scott by Major Henry Hutton, Royal Artillery, 24th December, 1802 (Letters I, No 77), as recollected by his father and the family.

Some ten stanzas of this version (16–19, 25–27, 30, 32, 34) appear to have been used by Scott in compiling the copy printed in his Minstrelsy, E b. (The note on E b, p. 226, requires correction.) There is much in common with B, E a, F.

‘O wha will shoe my bonny foot?

And wha will glove my hand?

And wha will bind my middle jimp

Wi a lang, lang linen band?

‘O wha will kame my yellow hair,

With a haw bayberry kame?

And wha will be my babe’s father

Till Gregory come hame?’

4723

‘Thy father, he will shoe thy foot,

Thy brother will glove thy hand,

Thy mither will bind thy middle jimp

Wi a lang, lang linen band.

‘Thy sister will kame thy yellow hair,

Wi a haw bayberry kame;

The Almighty will be thy babe’s father

Till Gregory come hame.’

‘And wha will build a bonny ship,

And set it on the sea?

For I will go to seek my love,

My ain love Gregory.’

Up then spak her father dear,

A wafu man was he;

‘And I will build a bonny ship,

And set her on the sea.

‘And I will build a bonny ship,

And set her on the sea,

And ye sal gae and seek your love,

Your ain love Gregory.’

Then he’s gard build a bonny ship,

And set it on the sea,

Wi four-and-twenty mariners,

To bear her company.

O he’s gart build a bonny ship,

To sail on the salt sea;

The mast was o the beaten gold,

The sails [o] cramoisie.

The sides were o the gude stout aik,

The deck o mountain pine,

The anchor o the silver shene,

The ropes o silken twine.

She had na saild but twenty leagues,

But twenty leagues and three,

When she met wi a rank rever,

And a’ his companie.

‘Now are ye queen of heaven hie,

Come to pardon a’ our sin?

Or are ye Mary Magdalane,

Was born at Bethlam?’

‘I’m no the queen of heaven hie,

Come to pardon ye your sin,

Nor am I Mary Magdalane,

Was born in Bethlam.

‘But I’m the lass of Lochroyan,

That’s sailing on the sea

To see if I can find my love,

My ain love Gregory.’

‘O see na ye yon bonny bower?

It’s a’ covered oer wi tin;

When thou hast saild it round about,

Lord Gregory is within.’

And when she saw the stately tower,

Shining both clear and bright,

Whilk stood aboon the jawing wave,

Built on a rock of height,

Says, Row the boat, my mariners,

And bring me to the land,

For yonder I see my love’s castle,

Close by the salt sea strand.

She saild it round, and saild it round,

And loud and loud cried she

‘Now break, now break your fairy charms,

And set my true-love free.’

She’s taen her young son in her arms

And to the door she’s gane,

And long she knockd, and sair she ca’d,

But answer got she nane.

‘O open, open, Gregory!

O open! if ye be within;

For here’s the lass of Lochroyan,

Come far fra kith and kin.

‘O open the door, Lord Gregory!

O open and let me in!

The wind blows loud and cauld, Gregory,

The rain drops fra my chin.

‘The shoe is frozen to my foot,

The glove unto my hand,

The wet drops fra my yellow hair,

Na langer dow I stand.’

O up then spak his ill mither,

An ill death may she die!

‘Y’re no the lass of Lochroyan,

She’s far out-our the sea.

‘Awa, awa, ye ill woman,

Ye’re no come here for gude;

Ye’re but some witch or wil warlock,

Or mermaid o the flood.’

47325

‘I am neither witch nor wil warlock,

Nor mermaid o the sea,

But I am Annie of Lochroyan,

O open the door to me!’

‘Gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan,

As I trow thou binna she,

Now tell me of some love-tokens

That past tween thee and me.’

‘O dinna ye mind, love Gregory,

As we sat at the wine,

We chang’d the rings frae our fingers?

And I can shew thee thine.

‘O yours was gude, and gude enough,

But ay the best was mine,

For yours was o the gude red gowd,

But mine o the diamond fine.

‘Yours was o the gude red gowd,

Mine o the diamond fine;

Mine was o the purest troth,

But thine was false within.’

‘If ye be the lass of Lochroyan,

As I kenna thou be,

Tell me some mair o the love-tokens

Past between thee and me.’

‘And dinna ye mind, love Gregory,

As we sat on the hill,

Thou twin’d me o my maidenheid,

Right sair against my will?

‘Now open the door, love Gregory!

Open the door! I pray;

For thy young son is in my arms,

And will be dead ere day.’

‘Ye lie, ye lie, ye ill woman,

So loud I hear ye lie;

For Annie of the Lochroyan

Is far out-our the sea.’

Fair Annie turnd her round about:

‘Weel, sine that it be sae,

May neer woman that has borne a son

Hae a heart sae fu o wae!

‘Take down, take down that mast o gowd,

Set up a mast of tree;

It disna become a forsaken lady

To sail sae royallie.’

When the cock had crawn, and the day did dawn,

And the sun began to peep,

Up then raise Lord Gregory,

And sair, sair did he weep.

‘O I hae dreamd a dream, mither,

I wish it may bring good!

That the bonny lass of Lochroyan

At my bower-window stood.

‘O I hae dreamd a dream, mither,

The thought o’t gars me greet!

That fair Annie of Lochroyan

Lay dead at my bed-feet.’

‘Gin it be for Annie of Lochroyan

That ye make a’ this main,

She stood last night at your bower-door,

But I hae sent her hame.’

‘O wae betide ye, ill woman,

An ill death may ye die!

That wadna open the door yoursell

Nor yet wad waken me.’

O he’s gane down to yon shore-side,

As fast as he coud dree,

And there he saw fair Annie’s bark

A rowing our the sea.

‘O Annie, Annie,’ loud he cried,

‘O Annie, O Annie, bide!’

But ay the mair he cried Annie

The braider grew the tide.

‘O Annie, Annie, dear Annie,

Dear Annie, speak to me!’

But ay the louder he gan call

The louder roard the sea.

The wind blew loud, the waves rose hie

And dashd the boat on shore;

Fair Annie’s corpse was in the feume,

The babe rose never more.

Lord Gregory tore his gowden locks

And made a wafu moan;

Fair Annie’s corpse lay at his feet,

His bonny son was gone.

‘O cherry, cherry was her cheek,

And gowden was her hair,

474And coral, coral was her lips,

Nane might with her compare.’

Then first he kissd her pale, pale cheek,

And syne he kissd her chin,

And syne he kissd her wane, wane lips,

There was na breath within.

‘O wae betide my ill mither,

An ill death may she die!

She turnd my true-love frae my door,

Who came so far to me.

‘O wae betide my ill mither,

An ill death may she die!

She has no been the deid o ane,

But she’s been the deid of three.’

Then he’s taen out a little dart,

Hung low down by his gore,

He thrust it through and through his heart,

And words spak never more.

1¹, 43¹. Oh.

77. Sweet William’s Ghost.

P. 233. G. These three stanzas, which Scott annexed to ‘Clerk Saunders’ in the second edition of the Minstrelsy, 1803, II, 41, were contributed by the Ettrick Shepherd, who writes, not quite lucidly: “Altho this ballad [Clerk Saunders] is mixed with another, according to my mother’s edition, in favour of whose originality I am strongly prepossessed, yet, as the one does in no sense disgrace the other in their present form, according to her it ends thus.”

“Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 141, Abbotsford; in the handwriting of James Hogg.

‘But plett a wand o bonnie birk

An lay it on my breast,

An drap a tear upon my grave,

An wiss my saul gude rest.

‘But fair Marget, an rare Marget,

An Marget, o verity,

If eer ye loe another man,

Neer loe him as ye did me.’

But up then crew the milk-white cock,

An up then crew the grey;

Her lover vanishd in the air,

An she gaed weepin away.

78. The Unquiet Grave.

P. 236 b. Add: Waldau’s Böhmische Granaten, II, 121, No 176.

236 f., III, 512 f. The Rev. S. Baring-Gould has recovered several copies of ‘The Unquiet Grave’ in the West Country. It will be observed that the variations in this ballad do not take a wide range. The verses are not always sung in the same order; there is not story enough to keep them in place. Mr Baring-Gould informs me that there is a Devon popular tale which is very similar (possibly a prose version of the ballad). In this, a bramble-leaf comes between the lips of the maiden and her dead lover, and her life is saved thereby. This tale is utilized in the ballad as printed in Songs of the West, No 6, ‘Cold blows the wind, sweetheart!’

H

a. Sent Rev. S. Baring-Gould by Mrs Gibbons, daughter of the late Sir W. L. Trelawney, as she remembered it sung by her nurse, Elizabeth Doidge, a woman of the neighborhood of Brentor, about 1828. b. Obtained by the same from John Woodrich, blacksmith, parish of Thrustleton, as heard from his grandmother about 1848. c. By the same, from Anne Roberts, Scobbeter.

‘Cold blows the wind tonight, sweet-heart,

Cold are the drops of rain;

The very first love that ever I had

In greenwood he was slain.

‘I’ll do as much for my sweet-heart

As any young woman may;

I’ll sit and mourn on his grave-side

A twelve-month and a day.’

A twelve-month and a day being up,

The ghost began to speak:

‘Why sit you here by my grave-side

And will not let me sleep?

‘What is it that you want of me,

Or what of me would have?’

‘A kiss from off your lily-white lips,

And that is all I crave!’

‘Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart,

My breath is earthy strong;

To gain a kiss of my cold lips,

Your time would not be long.

‘If you were not my own sweet-heart,

As now I know you be,

I’d tear you as the withered leaves

That grew on yonder tree.’

4757

‘O don’t you mind the garden, love,

Where you and I did walk?

The fairest flower that blossomd there

Is withered on the stalk.

* * * * * *

‘And now I’ve mourned upon his grave

A twelvemonth and a day,

We’ll set our sails before the wind

And so we’ll sail away.’

Cold blows the wind to-night, my love,

Cold are the drops of rain;

The very first love that ever I had

In greenwood he was slain.

‘I’ll do as much for my true-love

As any young woman may;

I’ll sit and mourn upon his grave

A twelve-month and a day.’

When a twelve-month and a day were up,

His body straight arose:

‘What brings you weeping oer my grave

That I get no repose?’

‘O think upon the garden, love,

Where you and I did walk;

The fairest flower that blossomd there

Is withered on the stalk.

‘The stalk will bear no leaves, sweet-heart.

The flower will neer return,

And my true-love is dead, is dead,

And I do naught but mourn.’

‘What is it that you want of me

And will not let me sleep?

Your salten tears they trickle down

And wet my winding-sheet.’

‘What is it that I want of thee,

O what of thee in grave?

A kiss from off your lily-white lips,

And that is all I crave.’

‘Cold are my lips in death, sweet-heart,

My breath is earthy strong;

If you do touch my clay-cold lips,

Your time will not be long.’

‘Cold though your lips in death, sweet-heart,

One kiss is all I crave;

I care not, if I kiss but thee,

That I should share thy grave.’

‘Go fetch me a light from dungeon deep,

Wring water from a stone,

And likewise milk from a maiden’s breast

That never maid hath none. (Read babe had.)

* * * * * *

‘Now if you were not true in word,

As now I know you be,

I’d tear you as the withered leaves

Are torn from off the tree.’

‘It’s for to meet the falling drops,

Cold fall the drops of rain;

The last true-love, etc.

‘I’ll do as much for my fair love

As any,’ etc.

The rest “almost exactly” as b.

‘Charles Graeme,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 89, Motherwell’s MS., p. 624, begins with stanzas which belong to this ballad. What follows after the third, or just possibly the sixth, stanza reads as if some contributor had been diverting himself with an imposition on the editor’s simplicity. Buchan himself remarks in a note, p. 299: “There seems to be a very great inconsistency manifested throughout the whole of this ballad in the lady’s behavior towards the ghost of her departed lover. Perhaps she wished to sit and sigh alone, undisturbed with visits from the inhabitants of the grave.” (Translated by Gerhard, p. 63.)

‘Cauld, cauld blaws the winter night,

Sair beats the heavy rain;

Young Charles Graeme’s the lad I love,

In greenwood he lies slain.

‘But I will do for Charles Graeme

What other maidens may;

I’ll sit and harp upon his grave

A twelvemonth and a day.’

She harped a’ the live-lang night,

The saut tears she did weep,

Till at the hour o one o’clock

His ghost began to peep.

Pale and deadly was his cheek,

And pale, pale was his chin;

476And how and hollow were his een,

No light appeard therein.

‘Why sit ye here, ye maiden fair,

To mourn sae sair for me?’

‘I am sae sick, and very love-sick,

Aye foot I cannot jee.

‘Sae well’s I loved young Charles Graeme,

I kent he loved me;

My very heart’s now like to break

For his sweet companie.’

‘Will ye hae an apple, lady,

And I will sheave it sma?’

‘I am sae sick, and very love-sick,

I cannot eat at a’.’

‘Will ye hae the wine, lady,

And I will drain it sma?’

‘I am sae sick, and very love-sick,

I cannot drink at a’.

‘See ye not my father’s castle,

Well covered ower wi tin?

There’s nane has sic an anxious wish

As I hae to be in.’

‘O hame, fair maid, ye’se quickly won,

But this request grant me;

When ye are safe in downbed laid,

That I may sleep wi thee.’

‘If hame again, sir, I could win,

I’ll this request grant thee;

When I am safe in downbed laid,

This night ye’se sleep wi me.’

Then he poud up a birken bow,

Pat it in her right han,

And they are to yon castle fair,

As fast as they coud gang.

When they came to yon castle fair,

It was piled round about;

She slipped in and bolted the yetts,

Says, Ghaists may stand thereout.

Then he vanishd frae her sight

In the twinkling o an ee;

Says, Let never ane a woman trust

Sae much as I’ve done thee.

80. Old Robin of Portingale.

P. 240, 513 a, III, 514. Mabillon cites Balderic’s history of the first crusade, whose words are: “Multi etiam de gente plebeia crucem sibi divinitus innatam jactando ostentabant, quod et idem quædam ex mulierculis præsumpserunt; hoc enim falsum deprehensum est omnino. Multi vero ferrum callidum instar crucis sibi adhibuerunt, vel peste jactantiæ, vel bonæ suæ voluntatis ostentatione.” Migne, Patrologiæ Curs. Compl., tom. clxvi, col. 1070.

A man who is looking forward to a pilgrimage to the Holy Land wishes to have the cross burned into his right shoulder, since then, though he should be stript of his clothes, the cross would remain: Miracula S. Thomæ, Auctore Benedicto, Robertson, Materials for the History of Thomas Becket, II, 175. The branding of the cross in the flesh must have become common, since it was forbidden by the canon law. In some editions of the Sarum Missal, a warning is inserted in the Servitium Peregrinorum: “Combustio crucis in carne peregrinis euntibus Hierusalem prohibitum est in lege, secundum jura canonica, sub pœna excommunicationis majoris.” Sarum Missal, Burntisland, 1867, col. 856*. (Cited by Cutts, Scenes and Characters of the Middle Ages, p. 167.)

81. Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard.

P. 242 ff. F, which Jamieson says he received from Scotland, happens to have been preserved at Abbotsford. Since Jamieson made a considerable number of small changes, the original text is now given here.

“Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 133 c, Abbotsford; in the handwriting of James Hogg.

‘I have a towr in Dalesberry,

Whilk now is dearly dight,

And I will gie it to young Musgrave,

To lodge wi me a night.’

‘To lodge wi thee a night, fair lady,

Wad breed baith sorrow and strife;

For I see by the rings on your fingers

Ye’re good Lord Barnaby’s wife.’

‘Lord Barnaby’s wife although I be,

Yet what is that to thee?

For we’l beguile him for this ae night;

He’s on to fair Dundee.

‘Come here, come here, my little foot-page,

This guinea I will give thee,

If ye will keep thir secrets closs

Tween young Musgrave an me.

‘But here hae I a little pen-knife,

Hings low down by my gare;

If ye dinna keep thir secrets closs,

Ye’l find it wonder sair.’

Then she’s taen him to her chamber,

An down in her arms lay he;

477The boy koost off his hose an shoon

An ran for fair Dundee.

When he came to the wan water,

He slackd his bow an swam,

An when he wan to growan gress

Set down his feet an ran.

And whan he came to fair Dundee,

Could nouther rap nor ca,

But set his braid bow to his breast

An merrily jumpd the wa.

‘O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,

Waken, an come away!’

‘What ails, what ails my wee foot-page

He cry’s sae lang or day?

‘O is my towers burnt, my boy?

Or is my castle won?

Or has the lady that I loe best

Brought me a daughter or son?’

‘Your halls are safe, your towers are safe

An free frae all alarms;

But oh, the lady that ye loe best

Lyes sound i Musgrave’s arms.’

‘Gae saddle me the black,’ he cry’d,

‘Gae saddle me the gray;

Gae saddle me the milk-white steed,

To hie me out the way.’

‘O lady, I heard a wee horn tout,

An it blew wonder clear,

An ay the turnin o the note

Was, Barnaby will be here!

‘I thought I heard a wee horn blaw,

An it blew loud an hie,

An ay at ilka turn it said,

Away, Musgrave, away!’

‘Lye still, my dear, lye still, my dear,

Ye keep me frae the cold!

For it is but my father’s shepherds,

Drivin there flocks to the fold.’

Up they lookit, an down they lay,

An they’re fa’n sound asleep;

Till up start good Lord Barnaby,

Just closs at their bed-feet.

‘How do ye like my bed, Musgrave?

An how like ye my sheets?

An how like ye my fair lady,

Lyes in your arms an sleeps?’

‘Weel I like your bed, my lord,

An weel I like your sheets;

But ill like I your fair lady,

Lyes in my arms an sleeps.

‘You got your wale o se’en sisters,

An I got mine o five;

So take ye mine, an I’s take thine,

An we nae mair shall strive.’

‘O my woman’s the best woman

That ever brake world’s bread,

But your woman’s the worst woman

That ever drew coat oer head.

‘I have two swords in my scabbart,

They are baith sharp an clear;

Take ye the best, and I the worst,

An we’l end the matter here.

‘But up an arm thee, young Musgrave,

We’l try it hand to hand;

It’s neer be said o Lord Barnaby

He struck at a naked man.’

The first stroke that young Musgrave got,

It was baith deep an sair,

An down he fell at Barnaby’s feet,

An word spak never mair.

‘A grave! a grave!’ Lord Barnaby cry’d,

‘A grave to lay them in!

My lady shall lye on the sunny side,

Because of her noble kin.’

But O how sorry was that good lord,

For a’ his angry mood,

When he espy’d his ain young son

All weltering in his blood!

The following copy was kindly communicated to me by Mr David MacRitchie, Honorary Secretary of the Gypsy Lore Society, in advance of its publication in the Journal of the society. While it preserves the framework of the story, it differs very considerably in details from all the printed copies. It is evidently of the same origin as some of the Scottish versions (all of which seem to derive from print), though it has no marked resemblance to the actual form of any particular one of these. Some peculiarities are plausibly attributable to dim or imperfect recollection. Thus, the ball-play of D, E, etc., is turned into a ball. Lord Barnard is made a king, and the page the king’s brother (neither of which changes is an improvement). We may observe that in J Lord Barnabas is at the king’s court, and in I Sir Grove is Lord Bengwill’s brother; but these points are not decisive, and the changes may be purely arbitrary. 4 shows traces of E 5 and F 3; 8 may have been suggested by something like G 4; and the last line of 14 looks like a corruption of G 29. This involves the supposition that the source of the ballad was a version somewhat different from any hitherto 478recovered; but ‘Little Musgrave’ is one of the best known of all ballads, and the variants must have been innumerable. On the whole, 1–8, 14, present a free treatment of ill-remembered matter; 9–13 are fairly well preserved; compare E 13–17.

O

‘Moss Groves,’ taken down in 1891 by Mr John Sampson, Liverpool, from Philip Murray, an old tinker, who learned the ballad in his boyhood from an old gypsy named Amos Rice.

There was four-and-twenty ladies

Assembled at a ball,

And who being there but the king’s wife,

The fairest of them all.

She put her eye on the Moss Groves,

Moss Groves put his eye upon she:

‘How would you like, my little Moss Groves,

One night to tarry with me?’

‘To sleep one night with you, fair lady,

It would cause a wonderful sight;

For I know by the ring upon your hand

You are the king’s wife.’

‘If I am the king’s wife,

I mean him to beguile;

For he has gone on a long distance,

And won’t be back for a while.’

Up spoke his brother,

An angry man was he;

‘Another night I’ll not stop in the castle

Till my brother I’ll go see.’

When he come to his brother,

He was in a hell of a fright:

‘Get up, get up, brother dear!

There’s a man in bed with your wife.’

‘If it’s true you tell unto me,

A man I’ll make of thee;

If it’s a lie you tell unto me,

It’s slain thou shalt be.’

When he came to his hall,

The bells begun to ring,

And all the birds upon the bush

They begun to sing.

‘How do you like my covering-cloths?

And how do you like my sheets?

How do you like my lady fair,

All night in her arms to sleep?’

‘Your covering-cloths I like right well,

Far better than your sheets;

Far better than all your lady fair,

All night in her arms to sleep.’

‘Get up, get up now, little Moss Groves,

Your clothing do put on;

It shall never be said in all England

That I drew on a naked man.

‘There is two swords all in the castle

That cost me very dear;

You take the best, and I the worst,

And let’s decide it here.’

The very first blow Moss Groves he gave,

He wounded the king most sore;

The very first blow the king gave him,

Moss Groves he struck no more.

She lifted up his dying head

And kissed his cheek and chin:

‘I’d sooner have you now, little Moss Groves,

Than all their castles or kings.’

259 a. Insert under C: d. Printed and sold in Aldermary Church-yard, Bow Lane, London.

83. Child Maurice.

P. 266. B. Motherwell sent ‘Child Noryce’ to Sir Walter Scott in a letter dated 28 April, 1825 (Letters, XIV, No 94, Abbotsford). He changed several readings (as, orders to errand, in 6⁴), and in three cases went back to original readings which he has altered in his manuscript. I am now convinced that the alterations made in the manuscript are not in general, if ever, corrections derived from the reciters, but Motherwell’s own improvements, and that the original readings should be adhered to.

86. Young Benjie.

P. 281. “From Jean Scott.” In the handwriting of William Laidlaw. “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 29, Abbotsford.

Excepting the first stanza, the whole of this fragment (with slight changes) is found in the ballad in Scott’s Minstrelsy. That ballad has about twice as many verses, and the other half might easily have been supplied by the editor.

Fair Marjorie sat i her bower-door,

Sewin her silken seam,

When by then cam her false true-love,

Gard a’ his bridles ring.

‘Open, open, my true-love,

Open an let me in;’

‘I dare na, I dare na, my true-love,

My brethren are within.’

4793

‘Ye lee, ye lee, my ain true-love,

Sae loud I hear ye lee!

For or I cam thrae Lothian banks

They took fare-weel o me.’

The wind was loud, that maid was proud,

An leath, leath to be dung,

But or she wan the Lothian banks

Her fair coulour was gane.

He took her up in his armis,

An threw her in the lynn.

Up then spak her eldest brother,

Said, What is yon I see?

Sure, youn is either a drowned ladie

Or my sister Marjorie.

Up then spak her second brother,

Said, How will wi her ken?

Up then spak her . . . brother,

There a hinnie-mark on her chin.

About the midle o the night

The cock began to craw;

About the middle o the night

The corpse began to thraw.

‘O whae has doon ye wrang, sister?

O whae has doon ye wrang?’

‘Young Boonjie was the ae first man

I laid my love upon;

He was sae proud an hardie

He threw me oer the lynne.’

‘O shall we Boonjie head, sister?

Or shall we Boonjie hang?

Or shall we pyke out his twa grey eyes,

An punish him or he gang?’

‘O ye sanna Boonjie head, brother,

Ye sana Boonjie hang;

But ye maun pyke out his twa grey eyes,

An punish him or he gang.’

‘The ae best man about your house

Maun wait young Boonjie on.’

3³. thare.

4 should probably follow 5.

6³. either a substituted for some.

7³. her second: second struck out. youngest?

8². The corpse: corpse struck out.

89. Fause Foodrage.

P. 297. Danish. Now printed as No 298 of Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, by Axel Olrik, the continuator of that noble collection, with the title ‘Svend af Vollersløv.’ There are fifteen old versions besides Tragica 18 (which is a compounded and partly ungenuine text) and the one recently printed by Kristensen, the basis of which is the copy in Tragica. ‘Ung Villum’ is Tragica 18 with two stanzas omitted.

298, III, 515 b. ‘Liden Engel’ is No 297 of Danmarks gamle Folkeviser. There are eight old copies, and Kristensen has added five from recent tradition: the two here noted and three in Jyske Folkeminder, No 49, A-C, 201 ff. There is also a Swedish copy of 1693, printed in Dybeck’s Runa, 1844, p. 98, which I had not observed.

90. Jellon Grame.

P. 303 b, 513 b, III, 515 b. Robert le Diable in Luzel’s ballad, II, 24 f, when one year old, was as big as a child of five.

At the age of five, Cuchulinn sets out for his uncle’s court, where he performs prodigies of strength. In his seventh year he is received among the heroes, etc.: Zimmer, Göttingische Gelehrte Anzeigen, 1890, pp. 519–20. Merlin, when two years old, “speaks and goes,” and defends his mother before the justice: Arthour and Merlin, vv. 1069–70, ed. Turnbull for the Abbotsford Club, p. 41. Ögmundr when seven years old was as strong as a full-grown man: Örvar-Odds Saga, c. 19, Rafn, Fornaldar Sögur, II, 241. The three-nights-old son of Thórr and Járnsaxa removes the foot of Hrungnir from the neck of his father when all the gods have tried in vain. He also speaks. Skáldskaparmál, c. 17. “The Shee an Gannon was born in the morning, named at noon, and went in the evening to ask his daughter of the king of Erin:” Curtin, Myths and Folk-Lore of Ireland, p. 114. Cf. p. 223, where a champion jumps out of the cradle. (G. L. K.)

91. Fair Mary of Wallington.

P. 309. B. “The ballad about Lady Livingston appears to be founded on a truth; her fate is mentioned by Sir R. Gordon. Only her mother, Lady Huntley, is made a queen; which it was natural enough in a Highland poet to do.” Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe to Sir Walter Scott, Letters, XV, No 231, Abbotsford, 1825 or 26.

What Sir Robert Gordon says is: “In July 1616 yeirs, Elizabeth Gordoun, Ladie of Livingstoun (wyff to the Lord Livingstoun, now Earle of Lithgow), daughter to the Marquis of Huntly, died in chyld-bed, at Edinburgh, of a son called George, who is now Lord Livingstoun.” (Genealogy of the Earls of Sutherland, p. 335.) The characteristic particulars are wanting.

480D is also in Kinloch MSS, V, 363, in the youthful handwriting of J. H. Burton, and is probably the original copy. The differences from the text of D, p. 314, except spellings, are these:

1¹, it was. 1³, and me.

93. Lamkin.

P. 321, note *. See further in Notes and Queries, First Series, II, 519; V, 32, 112, 184, 355.

321 ff., 513.

X

‘Lamkin,’ “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 133, Abbotsford; in the handwriting of James Hogg.

Lamkin was as good a mason

As ever liftit stane;

He built to the laird o Lariston,

But payment gat he nane.

Oft he came, an ay he came,

To that good lord’s yett,

But neither at dor nor window

Ony entrance could get.

Till ae wae an weary day

Early he came,

An it fell out on that day

That good lord was frae hame.

He bade steek dor an window,

An prick them to the gin,

Nor leave a little wee hole,

Else Lamkin wad be in.

Noorice steekit dor an window,

She steekit them to the gin;

But she left a little wee hole

That Lamkin might win in.

‘O where’s the lady o this house?’

Said cruel Lamkin;

‘She’s up the stair sleepin,’

Said fause noorice then.

‘How will we get her down the stair?’

Said cruel Lamkin;

‘We’l stogg the baby i the cradle,’

Said fause noorice then.

He stoggit, and she rockit,

Till a’ the floor swam,

An a’ the tors o the cradle

Red wi blude ran.

‘O still my son, noorise,

O still him wi the kane;’

‘He winna still, madam,

Till Lariston come hame.’

‘O still my son, noorice,

O still him wi the knife;’

‘I canna still him, madam,

If ye sude tak my life.’

‘O still my soon, noorice,

O still him wi the bell;’

‘He winna still, madam,

Come see him yoursel.’

Wae an weary rase she up,

Slowly pat her on

Her green claethin o the silk,

An slowly came she down.

The first step she steppit,

It was on a stone;

The first body she saw

Was cruel Lamkin.

‘O pity, pity, Lamkin,

Hae pity on me!’

‘Just as meikle pity, madam,

As ye paid me o my fee.’

‘I’ll g’ye a peck o good red goud,

Streekit wi the wand;

An if that winna please ye,

I’ll heap it wi my hand.

‘An if that winna please ye,

O goud an o fee,

I’ll g’ye my eldest daughter,

Your wedded wife to be.’

‘Gae wash the bason, lady,

Gae wash’t an mak it clean,

To kep your mother’s heart’s-blude,

For she’s of noble kin.’

‘To kep my mother’s heart’s-blude

I wad be right wae;

O tak mysel, Lamkin,

An let my mother gae.’

48119

‘Gae wash the bason, noorice,

Gae wash’t an mak it clean,

To kep your lady’s heart’s-blude,

For she’s o noble kin.’

‘To wash the bason, Lamkin,

I will be right glad,

For mony, mony bursen day

About her house I’ve had.’

But oh, what dule an sorrow

Was about that lord’s ha,

When he fand his lady lyin

As white as driven snaw!

O what dule an sorrow

Whan that good lord cam in,

An fand his young son murderd,

I the chimley lyin!

9². kane. kame, B 13². But cf. wand, A 16² J 10², M 3².

95. The Maid freed from the Gallows.

P. 346, III, 516 a. Add ‘Leggenda Napitina’ (still sung by the sailors of Pizzo); communicated to La Calabria, June 15, 1889, p. 74, by Salvatore Mele; Canto Marinaresco di Nicotera, the same, September 15, 1890. A wife is rescued by her husband.

347 b. Swedish. ‘Den bortsålda,’ Lagus, Nyländska Folkvisor, I, 22, No 6, a, b, c.

349 b, 514 a, III, 516 b, and especially 517 a. A wounded soldier calls to mother, sister, father, brother for a drink of water, and gets none; calls to his love, and she brings it: Waldau, Böhmische Granaten, II, 57, No 81.

I

“Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 127, Abbotsford. Sent to John Leyden, by whom and when does not appear.

‘Hold your tongue, Lord Judge,’ she says,

‘Yet hold it a little while;

Methinks I see my ain dear father

Coming wandering many a mile.

‘O have you brought me gold, father?

Or have you brought me fee?

Or are you come to save my life

From off this gallows-tree?’

‘I have not brought you gold, daughter,

Nor have I brought you fee,

But I am come to see you hangd,

As you this day shall be.’

[“The verses run thus untill she has seen her mother, her brother, and her sister likewise arrive, and then

Methinks I see my ain dear lover, etc.”]

‘I have not brought you gold, true-love,

Nor yet have I brought fee,

But I am come to save thy life

From off this gallows-tree.’

‘Gae hame, gae hame, father,’ she says,

‘Gae hame and saw yer seed;

And I wish not a pickle of it may grow up,

But the thistle and the weed.

‘Gae hame, gae hame, gae hame, mother,

Gae hame and brew yer yill;

And I wish the girds may a’ loup off,

And the Deil spill a’ yer yill.

‘Gae hame, gae hame, gae hame, brother,

Gae hame and lie with yer wife;

And I wish that the first news I may hear

That she has tane your life.

‘Gae hame, gae hame, sister,’ she says,

‘Gae hame and sew yer seam;

I wish that the needle-point may break,

And the craws pyke out yer een.’

J

Communicated by Dr George Birkbeck Hill, May 10, 1890, as learned forty years before from a schoolfellow, who came from the north of Somersetshire and sang it in the dialect of that region. Given from memory.

‘Hold up, hold up your hands so high!

Hold up your hands so high!

For I think I see my own father

Coming over yonder stile to me.

‘Oh father, have you got any gold for me?

Any money for to pay me free?

To keep my body from the cold clay ground,

And my neck from the gallows-tree?’

‘Oh no, I’ve got no gold for thee,

No money for to pay thee free,

For I’ve come to see thee hangd this day,

And hangëd thou shalt be.’

4824

‘Oh the briers, prickly briers,

Come prick my heart so sore;

If ever I get from the gallows-tree,

I’ll never get there any more.’

[“The same verses are repeated, with mother, brother, and sister substituted for father. At last the sweetheart comes. The two first verses are the same, and the third and fourth as follows.”]

‘Oh yes, I’ve got some gold for thee,

Some money for to pay thee free;

I’ll save thy body from the cold clay ground,

And thy neck from the gallows-tree.’

‘Oh the briers, prickly briers,

Don’t prick my heart any more;

For now I’ve got from the gallows-tree

I’ll never get there any more.’

[“I do not know any title to this song except ‘Hold up, hold up your hands so high!’ It was by that title that we called for it.”]

Julius Krohn has lately made an important contribution to our knowledge of this ballad in an article in Virittäjä, II, 36–50, translated into German under the title ‘Das Lied vom Mädchen welches erlöst werden soll,’ Helsingfors, 1891. Professor Estlander had previously discussed the ballad in Finsk Tidskrift, X, 1881 (which I have not yet seen), and had sought to show that it was of Finnish origin, a view which Krohn disputes and refutes. There are nearly fifty Finnish versions. The curse with which I ends, and which is noted as occurring in Swedish C (compare also the Sicilian ballad), is never wanting in the Finnish, and is found also in the Esthonian copies.

96. The Gay Goshawk.

P. 356 a, III, 517 a. Add: (18) ‘La Fille dans la Tour,’ Daymard, Vieux Chants p. rec. en Quercy, p. 174 ; (19) ‘La belle dans la Tour,’ Pas de Calais, communicated by M. G. Doncieux to Revue des Traditions populaires, VI, 603 ; (20) ‘Belle Idoine,’ Questionnaire de Folklore, publié par la Société du Folklore Wallon, p. 79.

M. Doucieux has attempted a reconstruction of the text in Mélusine, V, 265 ff. He cites M. Gaston Paris as having lately pointed out a striking similitude between the first half of the French popular ballad and that of a little romance of Bele Ydoine composed in the twelfth century by Audefrois le Bastars (Bartsch, Altfranzösische Romanzen und Pastourellen, p. 59, No 57). This resemblance has, I suppose, occasioned the title of ‘Belle Idoine’ to be given editorially to No 20 above, for the name does not occur in the ballad.

356 b, III, 517 a. Add: ‘Au Jardin des Olives,’ Guillon, p. 83, ‘Dessous le Rosier blanc,’ Daymard, p. 171 (Les trois Capitaines). A girl feigns death to avoid becoming a king’s mistress, ‘Hertig Henrik och Konungen,’ Lagus, Nyländska Folkvisor, I, 117, No 37.

363. E. The following is the MS. copy, “of some antiquity,” from which E was in part constructed. (Whether it be the original or a transcript cannot be determined, but Mr Macmath informs me that the paper on which it is written “seems about the oldest sheet in the volume.”) The text was freely handled. ‘Lord William’ does not occur in it, but the name is found in another version which follows this.

“Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 146 a, Abbotsford.

‘O waly, waly, my gay goss-hawk,

Gin your feathering be sheen!’

‘O waly, waly, my master dear,

Gin ye look pale and lean!

‘Whether is it for the gold sae rid,

Or is it for the silver clear?

Or is it for the lass in southen land,

That she cannot win here.’

‘It is not for the gold sae rid,

Nor is it for the silver clear,

But it is for the lass in southen land,

That she cannot win her[e].’

‘Sit down, sit down, my master dear,

Write a love-letter hastily,

And put it in under my feathern gray,

And I’ll away to southen land as fast as I can flee.

‘But how shall I your true-love ken?

Or how shall I her know?

I bear the tongue never wi her spake,

The eye that never her saw.’

‘The red that is in my love’s cheek

Is like blood spilt amang the snaw;

The white that is on her breast-bone

Is like the down on the white sea-maw.

‘There’s one that stands at my love’s gate

And opens the silver pin,

And there ye may safely set ye on

And sing a lovely song.

‘First ye may sing it loud, loud, loud,

And then ye may sing it clear,

And ay the oerword of the tune

Is, Your love cannot win here.’

4839

He has written a love-letter,

Put it under his feathern gray,

And he’s awa to southen land,

As fast as ever he may.

When he came to the lady’s gate,

There he lighted down,

And there he sat him on the pin

And sang a lovely song.

First he sang it loud, loud, loud,

And then he sang it clear,

And ay the oerword of the tune

Was, Your love cannot win here.

‘Hold your tongues, my merry maids all,

And hold them a little while;

I hear some word from my true-love,

That lives in Scotland’s isle.’

Up she rose, to the door she goes,

To hear what the bird woud say,

And he’s let the love-letter fall

From under his feathern gray.

When she looked the letter on,

The tear blinded her eye,

And when she read it oer and oer

A loud laughter took she.

‘Go hame, go hame, my bonny bird,

And to your master tell,

If I be nae wi him at Martinmass,

I shall be wi him at Yule.’

The lady’s to her chamber gane,

And a sick woman grew she;

The lady’s taen a sudden brash,

And nathing she’ll do but die.

‘An asking, an asking, my father dear,

An asking grant to me!

If that I die in southen land,

In Scotland bury me.’

‘Ask on, ask on, my daughter dear,

That asking is granted thee;

If that you die in southen land,

In Scotland I’ll bury thee.’

‘Gar call to me my seven bretheren,

To hew to me my bier,

The one half of the beaten gold,

The other of the silver clear.

‘Go call to me my seven sisters,

To sew to me my caul;

Every needle-steik that they put in

Put by a silver bell.’

The first Scots kirk that they came to,

They heard the mavis sing;

The next Scots kirk that they came to,

They heard the dead-bell ring.

The next Scots kirk that they came to,

They were playing at the foot-ball,

And her true-love was them among,

The chieftian amangst them all.

‘Set down, set down these corps,’ said he,

‘Let me look them upon;’

As soon as he lookd the lady on,

The blood sprang in her chin.

‘One bite of your bread, my love,

And one glass of your wine!

For I have fasted these five long days,

All for your sake and mine.

‘Go hame, go hame, my seven brothers,

Go hame and blaw your horn,

And ye may tell thro southen land

How I playd you the scorn.’

‘Woe to you, my sister dear,

And ane ill death may you die!

For we left father and mother at hame

Breaking their heart for thee.’

The Ettrick Shepherd sent Scott the following stanzas to be inserted in the first edition at places indicated. Most of them are either absolutely base metal or very much worn by circulation. The clever contrivance for breathing (found also in G 39, H 19) and the bribing of the surgeon provoke scorn and resentment.

‘Gay Gos Hawk,’ “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 143, No 133 a, Abbotsford; in the handwriting of James Hogg.

After 12 of ed. 1802 (E 13):

He happit off the flowry birk,

Sat down on the yett-pin,

And sang sae sweet the notes o love

Till a’ was coush within.

After 15 (E 16):

‘O ye maun send your love a kiss,

For he has sent you three;

484O ye maun send your love a kiss,

And ye maun send it wi me.’

‘He has the rings off my fingers,

The garland off my hair;

He has the heart out o my bouk,

What can I send him mair?’

After 22:

‘The third Scotts kirk that ye gang to

Ye’s gar them blaw the horn,

That a’ the lords o fair Scotland

May hear afore the morn.’

After 23:

She wyld a wright to bore her chest,

For caller air she’d need;

She brib’d her surgeon wi the goud

To say that she was dead.

After 25:

‘What ails, what ails my daughter dear

Her colour bides sae fine?’

The surgeon-lad reply’d again,

She’s nouther pin’d nor lien.

After 30:

The third Scotts kirk that they cam to,

Sae loud they blew the horn,

An a’ the lads on yon water

Was warnd afore the morn.

After 31:

‘Set down, set down the bier,’ he said,

‘These comely corps I’ll see;’

‘Away, away,’ her brothers said,

‘For nae sick thing shall be.

‘Her een are sunk, her lips are cold,

Her rosy colour gane;

‘T is nine lang nights an nine lang days

Sin she deceasd at hame.’

‘Wer’t nine times nine an nine times nine,

My true-love’s face I’ll see;

Set down the bier, or here I swear

My prisners you shall be.’

He drew the nails frae the coffin,

An liftit up the cone,

An for a’ sae lang as she’d been dead

She smil’d her love upon.

After 35:

‘And tell my father he sent me

To rot in Scotland’s clay;

But he sent me to my Willie,

To be his lady gay.’

H

“Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 28 b, Abbotsford; in the handwriting of William Laidlaw.

Lord William was walkin i the garden green,

Viewin the roses red,

An there he spyed his bonnie spier-hawk,

Was fleein aboon his head.

‘O could ye speak, my bonnie spier-hawk,

As ye hae wings to flee,

Then ye wad carry a luve-letter

Atween my love an me.’

‘But how can I your true-love ken?

Or how can I her know?

Or how can I your true-love ken,

The face I never saw?’

‘Ye may esily my love ken

Amang them ye never saw;

The red that’s on o my love’s cheek

Is like bluid drapt on the snaw.’

* * * * * *

‘O what will be my meat, master?

An what’ll be my fee?

An what will be the love-tokens

That ye will send wi me?’

‘Ye may tell my love I’ll send her a kiss,

A kiss, aye, will I three;

If ever she come [to] fair Scotland,

My wedded wife she’s be.

‘Ye may tell my love I’ll send her a kiss,

A kiss, aye, will I twae;

An ever she come to fair Scotland,

I the red gold she sall gae.’

* * * * * *

The hawk flew high, an she flew leugh,

An south aneath the sun,

Untill it cam, etc.

4859

‘Sit still, sit still, my six sisters,

An sew your silken seam,

Till I gae to my bower-window

An hear yon Scottish bird sing.’

Than she flew high, an she flew leugh,

An’ far aboon the wa;

She drapit to that ladie’s side,

An loot the letter fa.

‘What news, what news, my bonnie burd?

An what word carry ye?

An what are a’ the love-tokens

My love has sent to me?’

‘O ye may send your love a kiss,

For he has sent ye three;

Ye hae the heart within his buik,

What mair can he send thee?’

‘O I will send my love a kiss,

A kiss, I, will I three;

If I can win to fair Scotland,

His wedded wife I’ll be.

‘O I will send my love a kiss,

An the caim out o my hair;

He has the heart that’s in my buik,

What can I send him mair?

‘An gae yer ways, my bonnie burd,

An tell my love frae me,

If [I] be na there gin Martinmas,

Gin Yool I there will be.’

* * * * * *

’Twas up an spak her ill step-minnie,

An ill deed may she die!

‘Yer daughter Janet’s taen her bed,

An she’ll do nought but die.’

‘An askin, an askin, dear father,

An askin I crave o thee;

If I should die just at this time,

In Scotland burry me.’

‘There’s room enough in wide England

To burry thee an me;

But sould ye die, my dear daughter,

I Scotland I’ll burry thee.’

She’s warnd the wrights in lilly Londeen,

She’s warnd them ane an a’,

To mak a kist wi three windows,

The cauler air to blaw.

‘O will ye gae, my six sisters,

An sew to me a sheet,

The tae half o the silk sae fine,

The tother o cambric white.’

Then they hae askit the surgeon at, etc.

Then said her cruel step-minnie,

Take ye the boilin lead

An some o ‘t drap on her bosom;

We’ll see gif she be dead.

Then boilin lead than they hae taen

An drappit on her breast;

‘Alas! alas!’ than her father he cried,

‘For she’s dead without the priest!’

She neither chatterd in her teeth

Nor shivert wi her chin;

‘Alas! alas!’ her father cried,

‘For there nae life within!’

* * * * * *

‘It’s nine lang days, an nine lang nights,

She’s wantit meat for me;

But for nine days, nine langer nights,

Her face ye salna see.’

He’s taen the coffin wi his fit,

Gard it in flinders flie, etc.

‘Fetch me,’ she said, ‘a cake o yer bread

An a wi drap o your wine,

For luve o you an for your sake

I’ve fastit lang nights nine.’

’Twas up then spak an eldrin knight,

A grey-haird knight was he;

‘Now ye hae left yer auld father,

For you he’s like to die.

‘An ye hae left yer sax sisters

Lamentin a’ for you;

I wiss that this, my dear ladie,

Ye near may hae to rue.’

‘Commend me to my auld father,

If eer ye come him niest;

But nought say to my ill step-minnie.

Gard burn me on the breist.

48631

‘Commend me to my six sisters,

If ye gang bak again;

But nought say to my ill step-minnie,

Gard burn me on the chin.

‘Commend me to my brethren bald,

An ever ye them see;

If ever they come to fair Scotland

They’s fare nae war than me.

‘For I cam na to fair Scotland

To lie amang the dead,

But I cam down to fair Scotland

To wear goud on my head.

‘Nor did I come to fair Scotland

To rot amang the clay,

But I cam to fair Scotland

To wear goud ilka day.’

10². Var. aboon them a’.

367 b. The second edition of the Minstrelsy, 1803, II, 6, inserted 13, from Hogg’s communication, substituted 22, 23, 24 of Laidlaw’s (H) for 27, 28, introduced 30 of Laidlaw after 36 (all with changes), and made the consequently necessary alteration in 37.

99. Johnie Scot.

P. 378 b. Another copy of the Breton ballad, ‘Lézobré,’ in Quellien, Chansons et Danses des Bretons, 1889, p. 65.

379 ff.

Q

“Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 4 a, Abbotsford; in the handwriting of William Laidlaw.

Young Johnie’s up to England gane

Three quarters of a year;

Young Johnie’s up to England gane,

The king’s banner for to bear.

But he had not in England been

The one half of the time

Till the fairest laidy in all the court

Was going with child to him.

Word unto the kitchen’s gane,

And word’s to the hall,

And word unto the court has gane,

Among the nobles all.

And word unto the chamber’s gane,

The place where the king sat,

That his only daughter is with child

To Johnie, the little Scott.

‘If this be true,’ then sais the king,

‘As I true well it be,

I’ll put hir in a strong castle,

And hungre hir till she dee.’

Hir breast-plate was made of iron,

In place of the beaten gold,

A belt of steel about hir waist,

And O but she was cold!

‘O where will I get a pritty little boy,

That will win hoes and shoon,

That will go doun to yonder lee

And tell my Johnie to come?’

‘Here am I, a pritty little boy,

That will win hoes and shoon,

And I’ll go doun to yonder lee

And tell young Johnie to come.’

She has wrote a brod letter,

And seald it tenderly,

And she has sent it to Johnie the Scott,

That lay on yonder lee.

When Johnie first the letter got,

A blith, blith man was he;

But or he read the half of it

The salt teer blind Johnie’s ee.

‘I will go to fair England,’ says he,

‘What ever may betide,

For to releave that gay laidy

Who last lay by my side.’

Up then spoke his old mother,

A sorrifull woman was she;

‘If you go to England, John,

I’ll never see you mare.’

Up then spoke Johnie’s father,

His head was growing gray;

‘If you go to England, John,

O fair you well for me!’

Up then spoke Johnie’s uncle,

Our Scottish king was he;

487‘Five hundred of my merry men

Shall bear you company.’

When Johnie was mounted on his steed

He looked wondorous bold,

The hair that oer his shouldiers hang

Like threeds of yellow gold.

‘Now come along with me, my men,

O come along with me,

We’l blow thier castles in the air,

And set free my gay laidy.’

The first gay town that they came to,

Made mass for to be sung;

The nixt gay town that they came to,

Made bells for to be rung.

But when they came to London town,

They made the drums beat round,

Who made the king and all his court

To wonder at the sound.

‘Is this the Duke of Mulberry,

Or James the Scottish king?

Or is it a young gentleman

To England new come home?’

‘It is not the Duke of Mulberry,

Nor James the Scottish [king];

But it is a young gentleman,

MacNaughten is his name.’

‘If MacNaughten be your name,’ says the king,

‘As I true well it be,

Before the morn at eight o clock

Dead hanged you shall be.’

Up bespoke one of Johnie’s little boys,

And a well-spoke boy was he;

‘Before we see our master hangd,

We’l all fight till we dee.’

‘Well spoke, well spoke, my little boy,

That is well spoke of thee;

But I have a champian in my bower

That will fight you three by three.’

Up then spoke Johnie himself,

And he spoke manfully;

‘If it please your Majesty,

May I this champian see?’

The king and all his nobles then

Rode down unto the plain,

The queen and all [her] gay marries,

To see young Johnie slain.

When the champian came out of the bower,

He looked at Johnie with disdain;

But upon the tope of Johnie’s brodsword

This champian soon was slain.

He fought on, and Johnie fought on,

With swords of tempered steel,

And ay the blood like dropes of rain

Came trinkling down thier hiel.

The very nixt stroke that Johnie gave,

He brought him till his knee;

The nixt stroke that Johnie gave,

He clove his head in twa.

He swapt his sword on every side,

And turned him on the plain:

‘Have you any more of your English dogs

That wants for to be slain?’

‘A clerk, a clerk!’ the king he crys,

‘I’ll seal her taucher free;’

‘A priest, a priest!’ the queen she crys,

‘For weded they shall be.’

‘I’ll have none of your [gold],’ say[s] he,

‘Nor any of your white money;

But I will have my ain true-love;

This day she has cost me dear.’

27⁴. hill.

29⁴. two.

R

“Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 37, Abbotsford, MS. of Thomas Wilkie, p. 11; from Miss Nancy Brockie, Bemerside. Another copy, “Scotch Ballads,” etc., No 139, in the handwriting of T. Wilkie, and somewhat retouched by him.

Lord Jonnie’s up to England gone

Three quarters of an year;

Lord Jonnie’s up to England gone,

The king’s banner to bear.

He had not been in fair England,

Three quarters he was not,

488Till the king’s eldest daughter

Goes with child to Lord Jonnie Scott.

Word is to the kitchen gone,

And word’s gone to the hall,

And word’s gone to the high, high room,

Among the nobles all.

Word’s gone to the king himsel,

In the chamber where he sat,

That his eldest daughter goes with child

To Lord Jonnie Scott.

‘If that be true,’ the king replied,

‘As I suppose it be,

I’ll put her in a prison strong,

And starve her till she die.’

‘O where will I get a little boy,

That has baith hose and shoon,

That will run into fair Scotland,

And tell my love to come?’

‘O here is a shirt, little boy,

Her own hand sewed the sleeve;

Tell her to come to good greenwood,

Not ask her father’s leave.’

‘What news, what news, my little boy?

What news have ye brought to me?’

‘No news, no news, my master dear,

But what I will tell thee.

‘O here is a shirt, madam,

Your awn hand sewed the sleeve;

You must gang to good greenwood,

Not ask your parents’ leave.’

‘My doors they are all shut, little boy,

My windows round about;

My feet is in the fetters strong,

And I cannot get out.

‘My garters are of the black, black iron,

And O but they are cold!

My breast-plate’s o the strong, strong steel,

Instead of beaten gold.

‘But tell him for to bide away,

And not come near to me,

For there’s a champion in my father’s ha

Will fight him till he dee.’

‘What news, what news, my little boy?

What news have ye to me?’

‘No news, no news, my master dear,

But what I will tell thee.

‘Her doors they are all shut, kind sir,

Her windows round about;

Her feet are in the fetters strong,

And she cannot get out.

‘Her garters are of the black, black iron,

And O but they are cold!

Her breast-plate’s of the strong, strong steel,

Instead of beaten gold.

‘She bids you for to bide away,

And not go near to see,

For there’s a champion in her father’s house

Will fight you till you die.’

Then up and spoke Lord Jonnie’s mother,

But she spoke out of time;

‘O if you go to fair England

I fear you will be slain.’

But up and spoke a little boy,

Just at Lord Jonnie’s knee,

‘Before you lose your ain true-love,

We’ll a’ fight till we die.’

The first church-town that they came to,

They made the bells be rung;

The next church-town that they came to,

The[y] gard the mass be sung.

The next church-town that they came to,

They made the drums go through;

The king and all his nobles stood

Amazing for to view.

‘Is this any English gentleman,

Or James our Scottish king?

Or is it a Scottish gentleman,

To England new come in?’

‘No, ‘t is no English gentleman,

Nor James the Scottish king;

But it is a Scottish gentleman,