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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Collection of Ballads, by Andrew Lang
+(#6 in our series by Andrew Lang)
+
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+Title: A Collection of Ballads
+
+Author: Andrew Lang
+
+Release Date: September, 1997  [EBook #1054]
+[This file was first posted on August 1, 1997]
+[Most recently updated: June 25, 2003]
+
+Edition: 10
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+Language: English
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+Character set encoding: US-ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A COLLECTION OF BALLADS ***
+
+
+
+
+Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk
+
+
+
+
+A Collection of Ballads
+
+
+
+
+Contents:
+
+Sir Patrick Spens
+Battle Of Otterbourne
+Tam Lin
+Thomas The Rhymer
+"Sir Hugh; Or The Jew's Daughter"
+Son Davie!  Son Davie!
+The Wife Of Usher's Well
+The Twa Corbies
+The Bonnie Earl Moray
+Clerk Saunders
+Waly, Waly
+Love Gregor; Or, The Lass Of Lochroyan
+The Queen's Marie
+Kinmont Willie
+Jamie Telfer
+The Douglas Tragedy
+The Bonny Hind
+Young Bicham
+The Loving Ballad Of Lord Bateman
+The Bonnie House O' Airly
+Rob Roy
+The Battle Of Killie-Crankie
+Annan Water
+The Elphin Nourrice
+Cospatrick
+Johnnie Armstrang
+Edom O' Gordon
+Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament
+Jock O The Side
+Lord Thomas And Fair Annet
+Fair Annie
+The Dowie Dens Of Yarrow
+Sir Roland
+Rose The Red And White Lily
+The Battle Of Harlaw--Evergreen Version
+Traditionary Version
+Dickie Macphalion
+A Lyke-Wake Dirge
+The Laird Of Waristoun
+May Colven
+Johnie Faa
+Hobbie Noble
+The Twa Sisters
+Mary Ambree
+Alison Gross
+The Heir Of Lynne
+Gordon Of Brackley
+Edward, Edward
+Young Benjie
+Auld Maitland
+The Broomfield Hill
+Willie's Ladye
+Robin Hood And The Monk
+Robin Hood And The Potter
+Robin Hood And The Butcher
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+
+When the learned first gave serious attention to popular ballads,
+from the time of Percy to that of Scott, they laboured under
+certain disabilities.  The Comparative Method was scarcely
+understood, and was little practised.  Editors were content to
+study the ballads of their own countryside, or, at most, of Great
+Britain.  Teutonic and Northern parallels to our ballads were then
+adduced, as by Scott and Jamieson.  It was later that the ballads
+of Europe, from the Faroes to Modern Greece, were compared with our
+own, with European Marchen, or children's tales, and with the
+popular songs, dances, and traditions of classical and savage
+peoples.  The results of this more recent comparison may be briefly
+stated.  Poetry begins, as Aristotle says, in improvisation.  Every
+man is his own poet, and, in moments of stronge motion, expresses
+himself in song.  A typical example is the Song of Lamech in
+Genesis--
+
+
+"I have slain a man to my wounding,
+And a young man to my hurt."
+
+
+Instances perpetually occur in the Sagas:  Grettir, Egil,
+Skarphedin, are always singing.  In Kidnapped, Mr. Stevenson
+introduces "The Song of the Sword of Alan," a fine example of
+Celtic practice:  words and air are beaten out together, in the
+heat of victory.  In the same way, the women sang improvised
+dirges, like Helen; lullabies, like the lullaby of Danae in
+Simonides, and flower songs, as in modern Italy.  Every function of
+life, war, agriculture, the chase, had its appropriate magical and
+mimetic dance and song, as in Finland, among Red Indians, and among
+Australian blacks.  "The deeds of men" were chanted by heroes, as
+by Achilles; stories were told in alternate verse and prose; girls,
+like Homer's Nausicaa, accompanied dance and ball play, priests and
+medicine-men accompanied rites and magical ceremonies by songs.
+
+These practices are world-wide, and world-old.  The thoroughly
+popular songs, thus evolved, became the rude material of a
+professional class of minstrels, when these arose, as in the heroic
+age of Greece.  A minstrel might be attached to a Court, or a
+noble; or he might go wandering with song and harp among the
+people.  In either case, this class of men developed more regular
+and ample measures.  They evolved the hexameter; the laisse of the
+Chansons de Geste; the strange technicalities of Scandinavian
+poetry; the metres of Vedic hymns; the choral odes of Greece.  The
+narrative popular chant became in their hands the Epic, or the
+mediaeval rhymed romance.  The metre of improvised verse changed
+into the artistic lyric.  These lyric forms were fixed, in many
+cases, by the art of writing.  But poetry did not remain solely in
+professional and literary hands.  The mediaeval minstrels and
+jongleurs (who may best be studied in Leon Gautier's Introduction
+to his Epopees Francaises) sang in Court and Camp.  The poorer,
+less regular brethren of the art, harped and played conjuring
+tricks, in farm and grange, or at street corners.  The foreign
+newer metres took the place of the old alliterative English verse.
+But unprofessional men and women did not cease to make and sing.
+
+Some writers have decided, among them Mr. Courthope, that our
+traditional ballads are degraded popular survivals of literary
+poetry.  The plots and situations of some ballads are, indeed, the
+same as those of some literary mediaeval romances.  But these plots
+and situations, in Epic and Romance, are themselves the final
+literary form of marchen, myths and inventions originally POPULAR,
+and still, in certain cases, extant in popular form among races
+which have not yet evolved, or borrowed, the ampler and more
+polished and complex genres of literature.  Thus, when a literary
+romance and a ballad have the same theme, the ballad may be a
+popular degradation of the romance; or, it may be the original
+popular shape of it, still surviving in tradition.  A well-known
+case in prose, is that of the French fairy tales.
+
+Perrault, in 1697, borrowed these from tradition and gave them
+literary and courtly shape.  But Cendrillon or Chaperon Rouge in
+the mouth of a French peasant, is apt to be the old traditional
+version, uncontaminated by the refinements of Perrault, despite
+Perrault's immense success and circulation.  Thus tradition
+preserves pre-literary forms, even though, on occasion, it may
+borrow from literature.  Peasant poets have been authors of
+ballads, without being, for all that, professional minstrels.  Many
+such poems survive in our ballad literature.
+
+The material of the ballad may be either romantic or historical.
+The former class is based on one of the primeval invented
+situations, one of the elements of the Marchen in prose.  Such
+tales or myths occur in the stories of savages, in the legends of
+peasants, are interwoven later with the plot in Epic or Romance,
+and may also inspire ballads.  Popular superstitions, the witch,
+metamorphosis, the returning ghost, the fairy, all of them
+survivals of the earliest thought, naturally play a great part.
+The Historical ballad, on the other hand, has a basis of resounding
+fact, murder, battle, or fire-raising, but the facts, being derived
+from popular rumour, are immediately corrupted and distorted,
+sometimes out of all knowledge.  Good examples are the ballads on
+Darnley's murder and the youth of James VI.
+
+In the romantic class, we may take Tamlane.  Here the idea of
+fairies stealing children is thoroughly popular; they also steal
+young men as lovers, and again, men may win fairy brides, by
+clinging to them through all transformations.  A classical example
+is the seizure of Thetis by Peleus, and Child quotes a modern
+Cretan example.  The dipping in milk and water, I may add, has
+precedent in ancient Egypt (in The Two Brothers), and in modern
+Senegambia.  The fairy tax, tithe, or teind, paid to Hell, is
+illustrated by old trials for witchcraft, in Scotland. {1}  Now, in
+literary forms and romance, as in Ogier le Danois, persons are
+carried away by the Fairy King or Queen.  But here the literary
+romance borrows from popular superstition; the ballad has no need
+to borrow a familiar fact from literary romance.  On the whole
+subject the curious may consult "The Secret Commonwealth of Elves,
+Fauns, and Fairies," by the Reverend Robert Kirk of Aberfoyle,
+himself, according to tradition, a victim of the fairies.
+
+Thus, in Tamlane, the whole donnee is popular.  But the current
+version, that of Scott, is contaminated, as Scott knew, by
+incongruous modernisms.  Burns's version, from tradition, already
+localizes the events at Carterhaugh, the junction of Ettrick and
+Yarrow.  But Burns's version does not make the Earl of Murray
+father of the hero, nor the Earl of March father of the heroine.
+Roxburgh is the hero's father in Burns's variant, which is more
+plausible, and the modern verses do not occur.  This ballad
+apparently owes nothing to literary romance.
+
+In Mary Hamilton we have a notable instance of the Historical
+Ballad.  No Marie of Mary Stuart's suffered death for child murder.
+
+She had no Marie Hamilton, no Marie Carmichael among her four
+Maries, though a lady of the latter name was at her court.  But
+early in the reign a Frenchwoman of the queen's was hanged, with
+her paramour, an apothecary, for slaying her infant.  Knox mentions
+the fact, which is also recorded in letters from the English
+ambassador, uncited by Mr. Child.  Knox adds that there were
+ballads against the Maries.  Now, in March 1719, a Mary Hamilton,
+of Scots descent, a maid of honour of Catherine of Russia, was
+hanged for child murder (Child, vi. 383).  It has therefore been
+supposed, first by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe long ago, later by
+Professor Child, and then by Mr. Courthope, that our ballad is of
+1719, or later, and deals with the Russian, not the Scotch,
+tragedy.
+
+To this we may reply (1) that we have no example of such a throwing
+back of a contemporary event, in ballads.  (2) There is a version
+(Child, viii. 507) in which Mary Hamilton's paramour is a
+"pottinger," or apothecary, as in the real old Scotch affair.  (3)
+The number of variants of a ballad is likely to be proportionate to
+its antiquity and wide distribution.  Now only Sir Patrick Spens
+has so many widely different variants as Mary Hamilton.  These
+could hardly have been evolved between 1719 and 1790, when Burns
+quotes the poem as an old ballad.  (4) We have no example of a poem
+so much in the old ballad manner, for perhaps a hundred and fifty
+years before 1719.  The style first degraded and then expired:
+compare Rob Roy and Killiecrankie, in this collection, also the
+ballads of Loudoun Hill, The Battle of Philiphaugh, and others much
+earlier than 1719.  New styles of popular poetry on contemporary
+events as Sherriffmuir and Tranent Brae had arisen.  (5) The
+extreme historic inaccuracy of Mary Hamilton is paralleled by that
+of all the ballads on real events.  The mention of the Pottinger is
+a trace of real history which has no parallel in the Russian
+affair, and there is no room, says Professor Child, for the
+supposition that it was voluntarily inserted by reciter or copyist,
+to tally with the narrative in Knox's History.
+
+On the other side, we have the name of Mary Hamilton occurring in a
+tragic event of 1719, but then the name does not uniformly appear
+in the variants of the ballad.  The lady is there spoken of
+generally as Mary Hamilton, but also as Mary Myle, Lady Maisry, as
+daughter of the Duke of York (Stuart), as Marie Mild, and so forth.
+Though she bids sailors carry the tale of her doom, she is not
+abroad, but in Edinburgh town.  Nothing can be less probable than
+that a Scots popular ballad-maker in 1719, telling the tale of a
+yesterday's tragedy in Russia, should throw the time back by a
+hundred and fifty years, should change the scene to Scotland (the
+heart of the sorrow would be Mary's exile), and, above all, should
+compose a ballad in a style long obsolete.  This is not the method
+of the popular poet, and such imitations of the old ballad as
+Hardyknute show that literary poets of 1719 had not knowledge or
+skill enough to mimic the antique manner with any success.
+
+We may, therefore, even in face of Professor Child, regard Mary
+Hamilton as an old example of popular perversion of history in
+ballad, not as "one of the very latest," and also "one of the very
+best" of Scottish popular ballads.
+
+Rob Roy shows the same power of perversion.  It was not Rob Roy but
+his sons, Robin Oig (who shot Maclaren at the plough-tail), and
+James Mohr (alternately the spy, the Jacobite, and the Hanoverian
+spy once more), who carried off the heiress of Edenbelly.  Indeed a
+kind of added epilogue, in a different measure, proves that a poet
+was aware of the facts, and wished to correct his predecessor.
+
+Such then are ballads, in relation to legend and history.  They
+are, on the whole, with exceptions, absolutely popular in origin,
+composed by men of the people for the people, and then diffused
+among and altered by popular reciters.  In England they soon won
+their way into printed stall copies, and were grievously handled
+and moralized by the hack editors.
+
+No ballad has a stranger history than The Loving Ballad of Lord
+Bateman, illustrated by the pencils of Cruikshank and Thackeray.
+Their form is a ludicrous cockney perversion, but it retains the
+essence.  Bateman, a captive of "this Turk," is beloved by the
+Turk's daughter (a staple incident of old French romance), and by
+her released.  The lady after seven years rejoins Lord Bateman:  he
+has just married a local bride, but "orders another marriage," and
+sends home his bride "in a coach and three."  This incident is
+stereotyped in the ballads and occurs in an example in the Romaic.
+{2}
+
+Now Lord Bateman is Young Bekie in the Scotch ballads, who becomes
+Young Beichan, Young Bichem, and so forth, and has adventures
+identical with those of Lord Bateman, though the proud porter in
+the Scots version is scarcely so prominent and illustrious.  As
+Motherwell saw, Bekie (Beichan, Buchan, Bateman) is really Becket,
+Gilbert Becket, father of Thomas of Canterbury.  Every one has
+heard how HIS Saracen bride sought him in London.  (Robert of
+Gloucester's Life and Martyrdom of Thomas Becket, Percy Society.
+See Child's Introduction, IV., i. 1861, and Motherwell's
+Minstrelsy, p. xv., 1827.)  The legend of the dissolved marriage is
+from the common stock of ballad lore, Motherwell found an example
+in the state of Cantefable, alternate prose and verse, like
+Aucassin and Nicolette.  Thus the cockney rhyme descends from the
+twelfth century.
+
+Such are a few of the curiosities of the ballad.  The examples
+selected are chiefly chosen for their romantic charm, and for the
+spirit of the Border raids which they record.  A few notes are
+added in an appendix.  The text is chosen from among the many
+variants in Child's learned but still unfinished collection, and an
+effort has been made to choose the copies which contain most poetry
+with most signs of uncontaminated originality.  In a few cases Sir
+Walter Scott's versions, though confessedly "made up," are
+preferred.  Perhaps the editor may be allowed to say that he does
+not merely plough with Professor Child's heifer, but has made a
+study of ballads from his boyhood.
+
+This fact may exempt him, even in the eyes of too patriotic
+American critics, from "the common blame of a plagiary."  Indeed,
+as Professor Child has not yet published his general theory of the
+Ballad, the editor does not know whether he agrees with the ideas
+here set forth.
+
+So far the Editor had written, when news came of Professor Child's
+regretted death.  He had lived to finish, it is said, the vast
+collection of all known traditional Scottish and English Ballads,
+with all accessible variants, a work of great labour and research,
+and a distinguished honour to American scholarship.  We are not
+told, however, that he had written a general study of the topic,
+with his conclusions as to the evolution and diffusion of the
+Ballads:  as to the influences which directed the selection of
+certain themes of Marchen for poetic treatment, and the processes
+by which identical ballads were distributed throughout Europe.  No
+one, it is to be feared, is left, in Europe at least, whose
+knowledge of the subject is so wide and scientific as that of
+Professor Child.  It is to be hoped that some pupil of his may
+complete the task in his sense, if, indeed, he has left it
+unfinished.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Sir Patrick Spens
+
+
+
+(Border Minstrelsy.)
+
+The king sits in Dunfermline town,
+Drinking the blude-red wine o:
+"O whare will I get a skeely skipper
+To sail this new ship of mine o?"
+
+O up and spake an eldern-knight,
+Sat at the king's right knee:
+"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
+That ever saild the sea."
+
+Our king has written a braid letter,
+And seald it with his hand,
+And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
+Was walking on the strand.
+
+"To Noroway, to Noroway,
+To Noroway oer the faem;
+The king's daughter of Noroway,
+'Tis thou maun bring her hame."
+
+The first word that Sir Patrick read,
+Sae loud, loud laughed he;
+The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
+The tear blinded his ee.
+
+"O wha is this has done this deed,
+And tauld the king o me,
+To send us out, at this time of the year,
+To sail upon the sea?"
+
+"Be it wind, be it weet, be it hall, be it sleet,
+Our ship must sail the faem;
+The king's daughter of Noroway,
+'Tis we must fetch her hame."
+
+They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn,
+Wi' a' the speed they may;
+They hae landed in Noroway,
+Upon a Wodensday.
+
+They hadna been a week, a week
+In Noroway but twae,
+When that the lords o Noroway
+Began aloud to say:
+
+"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud,
+And a' our queenis fee."
+"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud!
+Fu' loud I hear ye lie!
+
+"For I brought as much white monie
+As gane my men and me,
+And I brought a half-fou' o' gude red goud,
+Out o'er the sea wi' me.
+
+"Make ready, make ready, my merry-men a'!
+Our gude ship sails the morn."
+"Now ever alake, my master dear,
+I fear a deadly storm!
+
+I saw the new moon, late yestreen,
+Wi' the auld moon in her arm;
+And if we gang to sea, master,
+I fear we'll come to harm."
+
+They hadna sail'd a league, a league,
+A league but barely three,
+When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,
+And gurly grew the sea.
+
+The ankers brak, and the top-masts lap,
+It was sic a deadly storm;
+And the waves cam o'er the broken ship,
+Till a' her sides were torn.
+
+"O where will I get a gude sailor,
+To take my helm in hand,
+Till I get up to the tall top-mast;
+To see if I can spy land?"
+
+"O here am I, a sailor gude,
+To take the helm in hand,
+Till you go up to the tall top-mast
+But I fear you'll ne'er spy land."
+
+He hadna gane a step, a step,
+A step but barely ane,
+When a bout flew out of our goodly ship,
+And the salt sea it came in.
+
+"Gae, fetch a web o' the silken claith,
+Another o' the twine,
+And wap them into our ship's side,
+And let na the sea come in."
+
+They fetchd a web o the silken claith,
+Another o the twine,
+And they wapped them roun that gude ship's side
+But still the sea came in.
+
+O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords
+To weet their cork-heel'd shoon!
+But lang or a the play was play'd
+They wat their hats aboon,
+
+And mony was the feather-bed
+That fluttered on the faem,
+And mony was the gude lord's son
+That never mair cam hame.
+
+The ladyes wrang their fingers white,
+The maidens tore their hair,
+A' for the sake of their true loves,
+For them they'll see na mair.
+
+O lang, lang may the ladyes sit,
+Wi' their fans into their hand,
+Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
+Come sailing to the strand!
+
+And lang, lang may the maidens sit,
+Wi' their goud kaims in their hair,
+A' waiting for their ain dear loves!
+For them they'll see na mair.
+
+O forty miles off Aberdeen,
+'Tis fifty fathoms deep,
+And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,
+Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Battle Of Otterbourne
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. vi.)
+
+It fell about the Lammas tide,
+When the muir-men win their hay,
+The doughty Douglas bound him to ride
+Into England, to drive a prey.
+
+He chose the Gordons and the Graemes,
+With them the Lindesays, light and gay;
+But the Jardines wald nor with him ride,
+And they rue it to this day.
+
+And he has burn'd the dales of Tyne,
+And part of Bambrough shire:
+And three good towers on Reidswire fells,
+He left them all on fire.
+
+And he march'd up to Newcastle,
+And rode it round about:
+"O wha's the lord of this castle?
+Or wha's the lady o't ?"
+
+But up spake proud Lord Percy then,
+And O but he spake hie!
+"I am the lord of this castle,
+My wife's the lady gaye."
+
+"If thou'rt the lord of this castle,
+Sae weel it pleases me!
+For, ere I cross the Border fells,
+The tane of us sall die."
+
+He took a lang spear in his hand,
+Shod with the metal free,
+And for to meet the Douglas there,
+He rode right furiouslie.
+
+But O how pale his lady look'd,
+Frae aff the castle wa',
+When down, before the Scottish spear,
+She saw proud Percy fa'.
+
+"Had we twa been upon the green,
+And never an eye to see,
+I wad hae had you, flesh and fell;
+But your sword sall gae wi' mee."
+
+"But gae ye up to Otterbourne,
+And wait there dayis three;
+And, if I come not ere three dayis end,
+A fause knight ca' ye me."
+
+"The Otterbourne's a bonnie burn;
+'Tis pleasant there to be;
+But there is nought at Otterbourne,
+To feed my men and me.
+
+"The deer rins wild on hill and dale,
+The birds fly wild from tree to tree;
+But there is neither bread nor kale,
+To feed my men and me.
+
+"Yet I will stay it Otterbourne,
+Where you shall welcome be;
+And, if ye come not at three dayis end,
+A fause lord I'll ca' thee."
+
+"Thither will I come," proud Percy said,
+"By the might of Our Ladye!"--
+"There will I bide thee," said the Douglas,
+"My troth I plight to thee."
+
+They lighted high on Otterbourne,
+Upon the bent sae brown;
+They lighted high on Otterbourne,
+And threw their pallions down.
+
+And he that had a bonnie boy,
+Sent out his horse to grass,
+And he that had not a bonnie boy,
+His ain servant he was.
+
+But up then spake a little page,
+Before the peep of dawn:
+"O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,
+For Percy's hard at hand."
+
+"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud!
+Sae loud I hear ye lie;
+For Percy had not men yestreen,
+To dight my men and me.
+
+"But I have dream'd a dreary dream,
+Beyond the Isle of Sky;
+I saw a dead man win a fight,
+And I think that man was I."
+
+He belted on his guid braid sword,
+And to the field he ran;
+But he forgot the helmet good,
+That should have kept his brain.
+
+When Percy wi the Douglas met,
+I wat he was fu fain!
+They swakked their swords, till sair they swat,
+And the blood ran down like rain.
+
+But Percy with his good broad sword,
+That could so sharply wound,
+Has wounded Douglas on the brow,
+Till he fell to the ground.
+
+Then he calld on his little foot-page,
+And said--"Run speedilie,
+And fetch my ain dear sister's son,
+Sir Hugh Montgomery.
+
+"My nephew good," the Douglas said,
+"What recks the death of ane!
+Last night I dreamd a dreary dream,
+And I ken the day's thy ain.
+
+"My wound is deep; I fain would sleep;
+Take thou the vanguard of the three,
+And hide me by the braken bush,
+That grows on yonder lilye lee.
+
+"O bury me by the braken-bush,
+Beneath the blooming brier;
+Let never living mortal ken
+That ere a kindly Scot lies here."
+
+He lifted up that noble lord,
+Wi the saut tear in his e'e;
+He hid him in the braken bush,
+That his merrie men might not see.
+
+The moon was clear, the day drew near,
+The spears in flinders flew,
+But mony a gallant Englishman
+Ere day the Scotsmen slew.
+
+The Gordons good, in English blood,
+They steepd their hose and shoon;
+The Lindesays flew like fire about,
+Till all the fray was done.
+
+The Percy and Montgomery met,
+That either of other were fain;
+They swapped swords, and they twa swat,
+And aye the blood ran down between.
+
+"Yield thee, now yield thee, Percy," he said,
+"Or else I vow I'll lay thee low!"
+"To whom must I yield," quoth Earl Percy,
+"Now that I see it must be so ?"
+
+"Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun,
+Nor yet shalt thou yield to me;
+But yield thee to the braken-bush,
+That grows upon yon lilye lee!"
+
+"I will not yield to a braken-bush,
+Nor yet will I yield to a brier;
+But I would yield to Earl Douglas,
+Or Sir Hugh the Montgomery, if he were here."
+
+As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,
+He stuck his sword's point in the gronde;
+The Montgomery was a courteous knight,
+And quickly took him by the honde.
+
+This deed was done at Otterbourne,
+About the breaking of the day;
+Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush,
+And the Percy led captive away.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Tam Lin
+
+
+
+(Child, Part II., p. 340, Burns's Version.)
+
+O I forbid you, maidens a',
+That wear gowd on your hair,
+To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
+For young Tam Lin is there.
+
+There's nane that gaes by Carterhaugh
+But they leave him a wad,
+Either their rings, or green mantles,
+Or else their maidenhead.
+
+Janet has kilted her green kirtle
+A little aboon her knee,
+And she has braided her yellow hair
+A little aboon her bree,
+And she's awa' to Carterhaugh,
+As fast as she can hie.
+
+When she came to Carterhaugh
+Tam Lin was at the well,
+And there she fand his steed standing,
+But away was himsel.
+
+She had na pu'd a double rose,
+A rose but only twa,
+Till up then started young Tam Lin,
+Says, "Lady, thou's pu nae mae.
+
+"Why pu's thou the rose, Janet,
+And why breaks thou the wand?
+Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh
+Withoutten my command?"
+
+"Carterhaugh, it is my ain,
+My daddie gave it me;
+I'll come and gang by Carterhaugh,
+And ask nae leave at thee."
+
+* * * * *
+
+Janet has kilted her green kirtle
+A little aboon her knee,
+And she has snooded her yellow hair
+A little aboon her bree,
+And she is to her father's ha,
+As fast as she can hie.
+
+Four and twenty ladies fair
+Were playing at the ba,
+And out then cam the fair Janet,
+Ance the flower amang them a'.
+
+Four and twenty ladies fair
+Were playing at the chess,
+And out then cam the fair Janet,
+As green as onie grass.
+
+Out then spak an auld grey knight,
+Lay oer the castle wa,
+And says, "Alas, fair Janet, for thee
+But we'll be blamed a'."
+
+"Haud your tongue, ye auld-fac'd knight,
+Some ill death may ye die!
+Father my bairn on whom I will,
+I'll father nane on thee."
+
+Out then spak her father dear,
+And he spak meek and mild;
+"And ever alas, sweet Janet," he says.
+"I think thou gaes wi child."
+
+"If that I gae wi' child, father,
+Mysel maun bear the blame;
+There's neer a laird about your ha
+Shall get the bairn's name.
+
+"If my love were an earthly knight,
+As he's an elfin grey,
+I wad na gie my ain true-love
+For nae lord that ye hae.
+
+"The steed that my true-love rides on
+Is lighter than the wind;
+Wi siller he is shod before
+Wi burning gowd behind."
+
+Janet has kilted her green kirtle
+A little aboon her knee,
+And she has snooded her yellow hair
+A little aboon her bree,
+And she's awa' to Carterhaugh,
+As fast as she can hie.
+
+When she cam to Carterhaugh,
+Tam Lin was at the well,
+And there she fand his steed standing,
+But away was himsel.
+
+She had na pu'd a double rose,
+A rose but only twa,
+Till up then started young Tam Lin,
+Says, "Lady, thou pu's nae mae.
+
+"Why pu's thou the rose, Janet,
+Amang the groves sae green,
+And a' to kill the bonie babe
+That we gat us between?"
+
+"O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin," she says,
+"For's sake that died on tree,
+If eer ye was in holy chapel,
+Or christendom did see?"
+
+"Roxbrugh he was my grandfather,
+Took me with him to bide,
+And ance it fell upon a day
+That wae did me betide.
+
+"And ance it fell upon a day,
+A cauld day and a snell,
+When we were frae the hunting come,
+That frae my horse I fell;
+The Queen o Fairies she caught me,
+In yon green hill to dwell.
+
+"And pleasant is the fairy land,
+But, an eerie tale to tell,
+Ay at the end of seven years
+We pay a tiend to hell;
+I am sae fair and fu' o flesh
+I'm feared it be mysel.
+
+"But the night is Halloween, lady,
+The morn is Hallowday;
+Then win me, win me, an ye will,
+For weel I wat ye may.
+
+"Just at the mirk and midnight hour
+The fairy folk will ride,
+And they that wad their true love win,
+At Miles Cross they maun bide."
+
+"But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lin,
+Or how my true-love know,
+Amang sae mony unco knights
+The like I never saw?"
+
+"O first let pass the black, lady,
+And syne let pass the brown,
+But quickly run to the milk-white steed,
+Pu ye his rider down.
+
+"For I'll ride on the milk-white steed,
+And ay nearest the town;
+Because I was an earthly knight
+They gie me that renown.
+
+"My right hand will be gloyd, lady,
+My left hand will be bare,
+Cockt up shall my bonnet be,
+And kaimd down shall my hair;
+And thae's the takens I gie thee,
+Nae doubt I will be there.
+
+"They'll turn me in your arms, lady,
+Into an esk and adder;
+But hold me fast, and fear me not,
+I am your bairn's father.
+
+"They'll turn me to a bear sae grim,
+And then a lion bold;
+But hold me fast, and fear me not,
+As ye shall love your child.
+
+"Again they'll turn me in your arms
+To a red het gaud of airn;
+But hold me fast, and fear me not,
+I'll do to you nae harm.
+
+"And last they'll turn me in your arms
+Into the burning gleed;
+Then throw me into well water,
+O throw me in wi speed.
+
+"And then I'll be your ain true-love,
+I'll turn a naked knight;
+Then cover me wi your green mantle,
+And cover me out o sight."
+
+Gloomy, gloomy was the night,
+And eerie was the way,
+As fair Jenny in her green mantle
+To Miles Cross she did gae.
+
+About the middle o' the night
+She heard the bridles ring;
+This lady was as glad at that
+As any earthly thing.
+
+First she let the black pass by,
+And syne she let the brown;
+But quickly she ran to the milk-white steed,
+And pu'd the rider down,
+
+Sae weel she minded whae he did say,
+And young Tam Lin did win;
+Syne coverd him wi her green mantle,
+As blythe's a bird in spring.
+
+Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,
+Out of a bush o broom:
+"Them that has gotten young Tam Lin
+Has gotten a stately groom."
+
+Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,
+And an angry woman was she;
+"Shame betide her ill-far'd face,
+And an ill death may she die,
+For she's taen awa the bonniest knight
+In a' my companie.
+
+"But had I kend, Tam Lin," she says,
+"What now this night I see,
+I wad hae taen out thy twa grey e'en,
+And put in twa een o tree."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Thomas The Rhymer
+
+
+
+(Child, Part II., p. 317.)
+
+True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;
+A ferlie he spied wi' his ee;
+And there he saw a lady bright,
+Come riding down by the Eildon Tree.
+
+Her skirt was o the grass-green silk,
+Her mantle o the velvet fyne,
+At ilka tett of her horse's mane
+Hang fifty siller bells and nine.
+
+True Thomas he pulld aff his cap,
+And louted low down to his knee:
+"All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven!
+For thy peer on earth I never did see."
+
+"O no, O no, Thomas," she said,
+"That name does not belang to me;
+I am but the queen of fair Elfland,
+That am hither come to visit thee.
+
+"Harp and carp, Thomas," she said,
+"Harp and carp, along wi' me,
+And if ye dare to kiss my lips,
+Sure of your bodie I will be!"
+
+"Betide me weal, betide me woe,
+That weird sall never daunton me;
+Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,
+All underneath the Eildon Tree.
+
+"Now, ye maun go wi me," she said,
+"True Thomas, ye maun go wi me,
+And ye maun serve me seven years,
+Thro weal or woe as may chance to be."
+
+She mounted on her milk-white steed,
+She's taen True Thomas up behind,
+And aye wheneer her bride rung,
+The steed flew swifter than the wind.
+
+O they rade on, and farther on--
+The steed gaed swifter than the wind--
+Until they reached a desart wide,
+And living land was left behind.
+
+"Light down, light down, now, True Thomas,
+And lean your head upon my knee;
+Abide and rest a little space,
+And I will shew you ferlies three.
+
+"O see ye not yon narrow road,
+So thick beset with thorns and briers?
+That is the path of righteousness,
+Tho after it but few enquires.
+
+"And see ye not that braid braid road,
+That lies across that lily leven?
+That is the path of wickedness,
+Tho some call it the road to heaven.
+
+"And see not ye that bonny road,
+That winds about the fernie brae?
+That is the road to fair Elfland,
+Where thou and I this night maun gae.
+
+"But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue,
+Whatever ye may hear or see,
+For, if you speak word in Elflyn land,
+Ye'll neer get back to your ain countrie."
+
+O they rade on, and farther on,
+And they waded thro rivers aboon the knee,
+And they saw neither sun nor moon,
+But they heard the roaring of the sea.
+
+It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light,
+And they waded thro red blude to the knee;
+For a' the blude that's shed an earth
+Rins thro the springs o that countrie.
+
+Syne they came on to a garden green,
+And she pu'd an apple frae a tree:
+"Take this for thy wages, True Thomas,
+It will give the tongue that can never lie."
+
+"My tongue is mine ain," True Thomas said,
+"A gudely gift ye wad gie me!
+I neither dought to buy nor sell,
+At fair or tryst where I may be.
+
+"I dought neither speak to prince or peer,
+Nor ask of grace from fair ladye:"
+"Now hold thy peace," the lady said,
+"For as I say, so must it be."
+
+He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,
+And a pair of shoes of velvet green,
+And till seven years were gane and past
+True Thomas on earth was never seen.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  "Sir Hugh; Or The Jew's Daughter"
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. v.)
+
+Four-and-twenty bonny boys
+Were playing at the ba,
+And by it came him sweet Sir Hugh,
+And he playd o'er them a'.
+
+He kickd the ba with his right foot
+And catchd it wi his knee,
+And throuch-and-thro the Jew's window
+He gard the bonny ba flee.
+
+He's doen him to the Jew's castell
+And walkd it round about;
+And there he saw the Jew's daughter,
+At the window looking out.
+
+"Throw down the ba, ye Jew's daughter,
+Throw down the ba to me!"
+"Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter,
+"Till up to me come ye."
+
+"How will I come up?  How can I come up?
+How can I come to thee?
+For as ye did to my auld father,
+The same ye'll do to me."
+
+She's gane till her father's garden,
+And pu'd an apple red and green;
+'Twas a' to wyle him sweet Sir Hugh,
+And to entice him in.
+
+She's led him in through ae dark door,
+And sae has she thro nine;
+She's laid him on a dressing-table,
+And stickit him like a swine.
+
+And first came out the thick, thick blood,
+And syne came out the thin;
+And syne came out the bonny heart's blood;
+There was nae mair within.
+
+She's rowd him in a cake o lead,
+Bade him lie still and sleep;
+She's thrown him in Our Lady's draw-well,
+Was fifty fathom deep.
+
+When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
+And a' the bairns came hame,
+When every lady gat hame her son,
+The Lady Maisry gat nane.
+
+She's taen her mantle her about,
+Her coffer by the hand,
+And she's gane out to seek her son,
+And wandered o'er the land.
+
+She's doen her to the Jew's castell,
+Where a' were fast asleep:
+"Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,
+I pray you to me speak."
+
+"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear,
+Prepare my winding-sheet,
+And at the back o merry Lincoln
+The morn I will you meet."
+
+Now Lady Maisry is gane hame,
+Make him a winding-sheet,
+And at the back o merry Lincoln,
+The dead corpse did her meet.
+
+And a the bells o merry Lincoln
+Without men's hands were rung,
+And a' the books o merry Lincoln
+Were read without man's tongue,
+And neer was such a burial
+Sin Adam's days begun.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Son Davie!  Son Davie!
+
+
+
+(Mackay.)
+
+"What bluid's that on thy coat lap?
+Son Davie!  Son Davie!
+What bluid's that on thy coat lap?
+And the truth come tell to me, O."
+
+"It is the bluid of my great hawk,
+Mother lady, Mother lady!
+It is the bluid of my great hawk,
+And the truth I hae tald to thee, O."
+
+"Hawk's bluid was ne'er sae red,
+Son Davie!  Son Davie!
+Hawk's bluid was ne'er sae red,
+And the truth come tell to me, O."
+
+"It is the bluid of my grey hound,
+Mother lady!  Mother lady!
+It is the bluid of my grey hound,
+And it wudna rin for me, O."
+
+"Hound's bluid was ne'er sae red,
+Son Davie!  Son Davie!
+Hound's bluid was ne'er sae red,
+And the truth come tell to me, O."
+
+"It is the bluid o' my brother John,
+Mother lady!  Mother lady!
+It is the bluid o' my brother John,
+And the truth I hae tald to thee, O."
+
+"What about did the plea begin?
+Son Davie!  Son Davie!"
+"It began about the cutting o' a willow wand,
+That would never hae been a tree, O."
+
+"What death dost thou desire to die?
+Son Davie!  Son Davie!
+What death dost thou desire to die?
+And the truth come tell to me, O."
+
+"I'll set my foot in a bottomless ship,
+Mother lady! mother lady!
+I'll set my foot in a bottomless ship,
+And ye'll never see mair o' me, O."
+
+"What wilt thou leave to thy poor wife?
+Son Davie!  Son Davie!"
+"Grief and sorrow all her life,
+And she'll never get mair frae me, O."
+
+"What wilt thou leave to thy young son?
+Son Davie! son Davie!"
+"The weary warld to wander up and down,
+And he'll never get mair o' me, O."
+
+"What wilt thou leave to thy mother dear?
+Son Davie!  Son Davie!"
+"A fire o' coals to burn her wi' hearty cheer,
+And she'll never get mair o' me, O."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Wife Of Usher's Well
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. iii.)
+
+There lived a wife at Usher's Well,
+And a wealthy wife was she;
+She had three stout and stalwart sons,
+And sent them oer the sea,
+
+They hadna been a week from her,
+A week but barely ane,
+When word came to the carline wife
+That her three sons were gane.
+
+They hadna been a week from her,
+A week but barely three,
+Whan word came to the carlin wife
+That her sons she'd never see.
+
+"I wish the wind may never cease,
+Nor fashes in the flood,
+Till my three sons come hame to me,
+In earthly flesh and blood!"
+
+It fell about the Martinmass,
+Whan nights are lang and mirk,
+The carline wife's three sons came hame,
+And their hats were o the birk.
+
+It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
+Nor yet in ony sheugh;
+But at the gates o Paradise
+That birk grew fair eneugh.
+
+* * * * *
+
+"Blow up the fire, my maidens!
+Bring water from the well;
+For a' my house shall feast this night,
+Since my three sons are well."
+
+And she has made to them a bed,
+She's made it large and wide;
+And she's taen her mantle her about,
+Sat down at the bedside.
+
+* * * * *
+
+Up then crew the red, red cock,
+And up and crew the gray;
+The eldest to the youngest said,
+"'Tis time we were away."
+
+The cock he hadna crawd but once,
+And clapp'd his wings at a',
+Whan the youngest to the eldest said,
+"Brother, we must awa.
+
+"The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,
+The channerin worm doth chide;
+Gin we be mist out o our place,
+A sair pain we maun bide.
+
+"Fare ye weel, my mother dear!
+Fareweel to barn and byre!
+And fare ye weel, the bonny lass
+That kindles my mother's fire!"
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Twa Corbies
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. i.)
+
+As I was walking all alane,
+I heard twa corbies making a mane;
+The tane unto the t'other say,
+"Where sall we gang and dine the day?"
+
+"In behint yon auld fail dyke,
+I wot there lies a new-slain knight;
+And naebody kens that he lies there
+But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.
+
+"His hound is to the hunting gane,
+His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
+His lady's ta'en another mate,
+So we may make our dinner sweet.
+
+"Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,
+And I'll pike out his bonny blue een;
+Wi ae lock o his gowden hair
+We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.
+
+"Mony a one for him makes mane,
+But nane sall ken whae he is gane,
+Oer his white banes, when they are bare,
+The wind sall blaw for evermair."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Bonnie Earl Moray
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. vi.)
+
+A.
+
+Ye Highlands, and ye Lawlands
+Oh where have you been?
+They have slain the Earl of Murray,
+And they layd him on the green.
+
+"Now wae be to thee, Huntly!
+And wherefore did you sae?
+I bade you bring him wi you,
+But forbade you him to slay."
+
+He was a braw gallant,
+And he rid at the ring;
+And the bonny Earl of Murray,
+Oh he might have been a King!
+
+He was a braw gallant,
+And he playd at the ba;
+And the bonny Earl of Murray,
+Was the flower amang them a'.
+
+He was a braw gallant,
+And he playd at the glove;
+And the bonny Earl of Murray,
+Oh he was the Queen's love!
+
+Oh lang will his lady
+Look oer the castle Down,
+Eer she see the Earl of Murray
+Come sounding thro the town!
+Eer she, etc.
+
+B.
+
+"Open the gates
+and let him come in;
+He is my brother Huntly,
+he'll do him nae harm."
+
+The gates they were opent,
+they let him come in,
+But fause traitor Huntly,
+he did him great harm.
+
+He's ben and ben,
+and ben to his bed,
+And with a sharp rapier
+he stabbed him dead.
+
+The lady came down the stair,
+wringing her hands:
+"He has slain the Earl o Murray,
+the flower o Scotland."
+
+But Huntly lap on his horse,
+rade to the King:
+"Ye're welcome hame, Huntly,
+and whare hae ye been?
+
+"Where hae ye been?
+and how hae ye sped?"
+"I've killed the Earl o Murray
+dead in his bed."
+
+"Foul fa you, Huntly!
+and why did ye so?
+You might have taen the Earl o Murray,
+and saved his life too."
+
+"Her bread it's to bake,
+her yill is to brew;
+My sister's a widow,
+and sair do I rue.
+
+"Her corn grows ripe,
+her meadows grow green,
+But in bonnie Dinnibristle
+I darena be seen."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Clerk Saunders
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. iii.)
+
+Clerk Saunders and may Margaret
+Walked ower yon garden green;
+And sad and heavy was the love
+That fell thir twa between.
+
+"A bed, a bed," Clerk Saunders said,
+"A bed for you and me!"
+"Fye na, fye na," said may Margaret,
+"'Till anes we married be.
+
+"For in may come my seven bauld brothers,
+Wi' torches burning bright;
+They'll say,--'We hae but ae sister,
+And behold she's wi a knight!'"
+
+"Then take the sword frae my scabbard,
+And slowly lift the pin;
+And you may swear, and save your aith.
+Ye never let Clerk Saunders in.
+
+"And take a napkin in your hand,
+And tie up baith your bonny e'en,
+And you may swear, and save your aith,
+Ye saw me na since late yestreen."
+
+It was about the midnight hour,
+When they asleep were laid,
+When in and came her seven brothers,
+Wi' torches burning red.
+
+When in and came her seven brothers,
+Wi' torches burning bright:
+They said, "We hae but ae sister,
+And behold her lying with a knight!"
+
+Then out and spake the first o' them,
+"I bear the sword shall gar him die!"
+And out and spake the second o' them,
+"His father has nae mair than he!"
+
+And out and spake the third o' them,
+"I wot that they are lovers dear!"
+And out and spake the fourth o' them,
+"They hae been in love this mony a year!"
+
+Then out and spake the fifth o' them,
+"It were great sin true love to twain!"
+And out and spake the sixth o' them,
+"It were shame to slay a sleeping man!"
+
+Then up and gat the seventh o' them,
+And never a word spake he;
+But he has striped his bright brown brand
+Out through Clerk Saunders' fair bodye.
+
+Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turned
+Into his arms as asleep she lay;
+And sad and silent was the night
+That was atween thir twae.
+
+And they lay still and sleeped sound
+Until the day began to daw;
+And kindly to him she did say,
+"It is time, true love, you were awa'."
+
+But he lay still, and sleeped sound,
+Albeit the sun began to sheen;
+She looked atween her and the wa',
+And dull and drowsie were his e'en.
+
+Then in and came her father dear;
+Said,--"Let a' your mourning be:
+I'll carry the dead corpse to the clay,
+And I'll come back and comfort thee."
+
+"Comfort weel your seven sons;
+For comforted will I never be:
+I ween 'twas neither knave nor loon
+Was in the bower last night wi' me."
+
+The clinking bell gaed through the town,
+To carry the dead corse to the clay;
+And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret's window,
+I wot, an hour before the day.
+
+"Are ye sleeping, Margaret?" he says,
+"Or are ye waking presentlie?
+Give me my faith and troth again,
+I wot, true love, I gied to thee."
+
+"Your faith and troth ye sall never get,
+Nor our true love sall never twin,
+Until ye come within my bower,
+And kiss me cheik and chin."
+
+"My mouth it is full cold, Margaret,
+It has the smell, now, of the ground;
+And if I kiss thy comely mouth,
+Thy days of life will not be lang.
+
+"O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
+I wot the wild fowls are boding day;
+Give me my faith and troth again,
+And let me fare me on my way."
+
+"Thy faith and troth thou sall na get,
+And our true love sall never twin,
+Until ye tell what comes of women,
+I wot, who die in strong traivelling?
+
+"Their beds are made in the heavens high,
+Down at the foot of our good lord's knee,
+Weel set about wi' gillyflowers;
+I wot, sweet company for to see.
+
+"O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight,
+I wot the wild fowl are boding day;
+The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,
+And I, ere now, will be missed away."
+
+Then she has ta'en a crystal wand,
+And she has stroken her troth thereon;
+She has given it him out at the shot-window,
+Wi' mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan.
+
+"I thank ye, Marg'ret, I thank ye, Marg'ret;
+And aye I thank ye heartilie;
+Gin ever the dead come for the quick,
+Be sure, Mag'ret, I'll come for thee."
+
+It's hosen and shoon, and gown alone,
+She climb'd the wall, and followed him,
+Until she came to the green forest,
+And there she lost the sight o' him.
+
+"Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?
+Is there ony room at your feet?
+Is there ony room at your side, Saunders,
+Where fain, fain I wad sleep?"
+
+"There's nae room at my head, Marg'ret,
+There's nae room at my feet;
+My bed it is full lowly now,
+Amang the hungry worms I sleep.
+
+"Cauld mould is my covering now,
+But and my winding-sheet;
+The dew it falls nae sooner down
+Than my resting-place is weet.
+
+"But plait a wand o' bonnie birk,
+And lay it on my breast;
+And shed a tear upon my grave,
+And wish my saul gude rest.
+
+"And fair Marg'ret, and rare Marg'ret,
+And Marg'ret, o' veritie,
+Gin ere ye love another man,
+Ne'er love him as ye did me."
+
+Then up and crew the milk-white cock,
+And up and crew the gray;
+Her lover vanish'd in the air,
+And she gaed weeping away.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Waly, Waly
+
+
+
+(Mackay.)
+
+O waly, waly, up the bank,
+O waly, waly, down the brae.
+And waly, waly, yon burn side,
+Where I and my love wont to gae.
+I leaned my back unto an aik,
+An' thocht it was a trustie tree,
+But first it bow'd and syne it brak,
+Sae my true love did lichtly me.
+
+O waly, waly, but love is bonnie
+A little time while it is new,
+But when it's auld it waxes cauld,
+And fades away like morning dew.
+O wherefore should I busk my head,
+O wherefore should I kame my hair,
+For my true love has me forsook,
+And says he'll never love me mair.
+
+Now Arthur's Seat shall be my bed,
+The sheets shall ne'er be pressed by me,
+St. Anton's well shall be my drink,
+Since my true love has forsaken me.
+Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
+And shake the green leaves off the tree!
+O gentle Death, when wilt thou come?
+For of my life I am wearie!
+
+'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
+Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie,
+'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,
+But my love's heart's grown cauld to me.
+When we came in by Glasgow toun
+We were a comely sicht to see;
+My love was clad in the black velvet,
+And I mysel in cramasie.
+
+But had I wist before I kist
+That love had been sae ill to win,
+I'd locked my heart in a case of gold,
+And pinned it wi' a siller pin.
+Oh, oh! if my young babe were born,
+And set upon the nurse's knee;
+And I myself were dead and gane,
+And the green grass growing over me!
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Love Gregor; Or, The Lass Of Lochroyan
+
+
+
+(Child, Part III., p. 220.)
+
+"O wha will shoe my fu' fair foot?
+And wha will glove my hand?
+And wha will lace my middle jimp,
+Wi' the new-made London band?
+
+"And wha will kaim my yellow hair,
+Wi' the new made silver kaim?
+And wha will father my young son,
+Till Love Gregor come hame?"
+
+"Your father will shoe your fu' fair foot,
+Your mother will glove your hand;
+Your sister will lace your middle jimp
+Wi' the new-made London band.
+
+"Your brother will kaim your yellow hair,
+Wi' the new made silver kaim;
+And the king of heaven will father your bairn,
+Till Love Gregor come haim."
+
+"But I will get a bonny boat,
+And I will sail the sea,
+For I maun gang to Love Gregor,
+Since he canno come hame to me."
+
+O she has gotten a bonny boat,
+And sailld the sa't sea fame;
+She langd to see her ain true-love,
+Since he could no come hame.
+
+"O row your boat, my mariners,
+And bring me to the land,
+For yonder I see my love's castle,
+Close by the sa't sea strand."
+
+She has ta'en her young son in her arms,
+And to the door she's gone,
+And lang she's knocked and sair she ca'd,
+But answer got she none.
+
+"O open the door, Love Gregor," she says,
+"O open, and let me in;
+For the wind blaws thro' my yellow hair,
+And the rain draps o'er my chin."
+
+"Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
+You'r nae come here for good;
+You'r but some witch, or wile warlock,
+Or mer-maid of the flood."
+
+"I am neither a witch nor a wile warlock,
+Nor mer-maid of the sea,
+I am Fair Annie of Rough Royal;
+O open the door to me."
+
+"Gin ye be Annie of Rough Royal--
+And I trust ye are not she--
+Now tell me some of the love-tokens
+That past between you and me."
+
+"O dinna you mind now, Love Gregor,
+When we sat at the wine,
+How we changed the rings frae our fingers?
+And I can show thee thine.
+
+"O yours was good, and good enough,
+But ay the best was mine;
+For yours was o' the good red goud,
+But mine o' the diamonds fine.
+
+"But open the door now, Love Gregor,
+O open the door I pray,
+For your young son that is in my arms
+Will be dead ere it be day."
+
+"Awa, awa, ye ill woman,
+For here ye shanno win in;
+Gae drown ye in the raging sea,
+Or hang on the gallows-pin."
+
+When the cock had crawn, and day did dawn,
+And the sun began to peep,
+Then up he rose him, Love Gregor,
+And sair, sair did he weep.
+
+"O I dreamd a dream, my mother dear,
+The thoughts o' it gars me greet,
+That Fair Annie of Rough Royal
+Lay cauld dead at my feet."
+
+"Gin it be for Annie of Rough Royal
+That ye make a' this din,
+She stood a' last night at this door,
+But I trow she wan no in."
+
+"O wae betide ye, ill woman,
+An ill dead may ye die!
+That ye woudno open the door to her,
+Nor yet woud waken me."
+
+O he has gone down to yon shore-side,
+As fast as he could fare;
+He saw Fair Annie in her boat,
+But the wind it tossd her sair.
+
+And "Hey, Annie!" and "How, Annie!
+O Annie, winna ye bide?"
+But ay the mair that he cried "Annie,"
+The braider grew the tide.
+
+And "Hey, Annie!" and "How, Annie!
+Dear Annie, speak to me!"
+But ay the louder he cried "Annie,"
+The louder roard the sea.
+
+The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,
+And dashd the boat on shore;
+Fair Annie floats on the raging sea,
+But her young son rose no more.
+
+Love Gregor tare his yellow hair,
+And made a heavy moan;
+Fair Annie's corpse lay at his feet,
+But his bonny young son was gone.
+
+O cherry, cherry was her cheek,
+And gowden was her hair,
+But clay cold were her rosey lips,
+Nae spark of life was there,
+
+And first he's kissd her cherry cheek,
+And neist he's kissed her chin;
+And saftly pressd her rosey lips,
+But there was nae breath within.
+
+"O wae betide my cruel mother,
+And an ill dead may she die!
+For she turnd my true-love frae my door,
+When she came sae far to me."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Queen's Marie
+
+
+
+(Child, vi., Border Minstrelsy.)
+
+Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,
+Wi ribbons in her hair;
+The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,
+Than ony that were there.
+
+Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,
+Wi ribbons on her breast;
+The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,
+Than he listend to the priest.
+
+Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,
+Wi gloves upon her hands;
+The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,
+Than the queen and a' her lands.
+
+She hadna been about the king's court
+A month, but barely one,
+Till she was beloved by a' the king's court,
+And the king the only man.
+
+She hadna been about the king's court
+A month, but barely three,
+Till frae the king's court Marie Hamilton,
+Marie Hamilton durst na be.
+
+The king is to the Abbey gane,
+To pu the Abbey tree,
+To scale the babe frae Marie's heart;
+But the thing it wadna be.
+
+O she has rowd it in her apron,
+And set it on the sea:
+"Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe,
+Ye's get na mair o me."
+
+Word is to the kitchen gane,
+And word is to the ha,
+And word is to the noble room,
+Amang the ladyes a',
+That Marie Hamilton's brought to bed,
+And the bonny babe's mist and awa.
+
+Scarcely had she lain down again,
+And scarcely faen asleep,
+When up then started our gude queen,
+Just at her bed-feet,
+Saying "Marie Hamilton, where's your babe?
+For I am sure I heard it greet."
+
+"O no, O no, my noble queen!
+Think no such thing to be!
+'Twas but a stitch into my side,
+And sair it troubles me."
+
+"Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton,
+Get up, and follow me,
+For I am going to Edinburgh town,
+A rich wedding for to see."
+
+O slowly, slowly raise she up,
+And slowly put she on;
+And slowly rode she out the way,
+Wi mony a weary groan.
+
+The queen was clad in scarlet,
+Her merry maids all in green;
+And every town that they cam to,
+They took Marie for the queen.
+
+"Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen,
+Ride hooly now wi' me!
+For never, I am sure, a wearier burd
+Rade in your cumpanie."
+
+But little wist Marie Hamilton,
+When she rade on the brown,
+That she was ga'en to Edinburgh town,
+And a' to be put down.
+
+"Why weep ye so, ye burgess-wives,
+Why look ye so on me?
+O, I am going to Edinburgh town,
+A rich wedding for to see!"
+
+When she gaed up the Tolbooth stairs,
+The corks frae her heels did flee;
+And lang or eer she cam down again,
+She was condemned to die.
+
+When she cam to the Netherbow Port,
+She laughed loud laughters three;
+But when she cam to the gallows-foot,
+The tears blinded her ee.
+
+"Yestreen the queen had four Maries,
+The night she'll hae but three;
+There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaten,
+And Marie Carmichael, and me.
+
+"O, often have I dressd my queen,
+And put gold upon her hair;
+But now I've gotten for my reward
+The gallows to be my share.
+
+"Often have I dressd my queen,
+And often made her bed:
+But now I've gotten for my reward
+The gallows-tree to tread.
+
+"I charge ye all, ye mariners,
+When ye sail ower the faem,
+Let neither my father nor mother get wit,
+But that I'm coming hame.
+
+"I charge ye all, ye mariners,
+That sail upon the sea,
+Let neither my father nor mother get wit,
+This dog's death I'm to die.
+
+"For if my father and mother got wit,
+And my bold brethren three,
+O mickle wad be the gude red blude,
+This day wad be spilt for me!
+
+"O little did my mother ken,
+The day she cradled me,
+The lands I was to travel in,
+Or the death I was to die!"
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Kinmont Willie
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. vi.)
+
+O have ye na heard o the fause Sakelde?
+O have ye na heard o the keen Lord Scroop?
+How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie,
+On Hairibee to hang him up?
+
+Had Willie had but twenty men,
+But twenty men as stout as be,
+Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont taen
+Wi eight score in his companie.
+
+They band his legs beneath the steed,
+They tied his hands behind his back;
+They guarded him, fivesome on each side,
+And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.
+
+They led him thro the Liddel-rack.
+And also thro the Carlisle sands;
+They brought him to Carlisle castell.
+To be at my Lord Scroope's commands.
+
+"My hands are tied; but my tongue is free,
+And whae will dare this deed avow?
+Or answer by the border law?
+Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch?"
+
+"Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!
+There's never a Scot shall set ye free:
+Before ye cross my castle-yate,
+I trow ye shall take farewell o me."
+
+"Fear na ye that, my lord," quo Willie:
+"By the faith o my body, Lord Scroope," he said,
+"I never yet lodged in a hostelrie--
+But I paid my lawing before I gaed."
+
+Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper,
+In Branksome Ha where that he lay,
+That Lord Scroope has taen the Kinmont Willie,
+Between the hours of night and day.
+
+He has taen the table wi his hand,
+He garrd the red wine spring on hie;
+"Now Christ's curse on my head," he said,
+"But avenged of Lord Scroope I'll be!
+
+"O is my basnet a widow's curch?
+Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree?
+Or my arm a lady's lilye hand,
+That an English lord should lightly me?
+
+"And have they taen him, Kinmont Willie,
+Against the truce of Border tide?
+And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch
+Is keeper here on the Scottish side?
+
+"And have they een taen him, Kinmont Willie,
+Withouten either dread or fear,
+And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch
+Can back a steed, or shake a spear?
+
+"O were there war between the lands,
+As well I wot that there is none,
+I would slight Carlisle castell high,
+Tho it were builded of marble stone.
+
+"I would set that castell in a low,
+And sloken it with English blood;
+There's nevir a man in Cumberland
+Should ken where Carlisle castell stood.
+
+"But since nae war's between the lands,
+And there is peace, and peace should be;
+I'll neither harm English lad or lass,
+And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!"
+
+He has calld him forty marchmen bauld,
+I trow they were of his ain name,
+Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, calld
+The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same.
+
+He has calld him forty marchmen bauld,
+Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch,
+With spur on heel, and splent on spauld,
+And gleuves of green, and feathers blue.
+
+There were five and five before them a',
+Wi hunting-horns and bugles bright;
+And five and five came wi Buccleuch,
+Like Warden's men, arrayed for fight.
+
+And five and five, like a mason-gang,
+That carried the ladders lang and hie;
+And five and five, like broken men;
+And so they reached the Woodhouselee.
+
+And as we crossd the Bateable Land,
+When to the English side we held,
+The first o men that we met wi,
+Whae sould it be but fause Sakelde!
+
+"Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?"
+Quo fause Sakelde; "come tell to me!"
+"We go to hunt an English stag,
+Has trespassed on the Scots countrie."
+
+"Where be ye gaun, ye marshal-men?"
+Quo fause Sakelde; "come tell me true!"
+"We go to catch a rank reiver,
+Has broken faith wi the bauld Buccleuch."
+
+"Where are ye gaun, ye mason-lads,
+Wi a' your ladders lang and hie?"
+"We gang to herry a corbie's nest,
+That wons not far frae Woodhouselee."
+
+"Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?"
+Quo fause Sakelde; "come tell to me?"
+Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band,
+And the nevir a word o lear had he.
+
+"Why trespass ye on the English side?
+Row-footed outlaws, stand!" quo he;
+The neer a word had Dickie to say,
+Sae he thrust the lance thro his fause bodie.
+
+Then on we held for Carlisle toun,
+And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we crossd;
+The water was great and meikle of spait,
+But the nevir a horse nor man we lost.
+
+And when we reachd the Staneshaw-bank,
+The wind was rising loud and hie;
+And there the laird garrd leave our steeds,
+For fear that they should stamp and nie.
+
+And when we left the Staneshaw-bank,
+The wind began full loud to blaw;
+But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,
+When we came beneath the castell-wa.
+
+We crept on knees, and held our breath,
+Till we placed the ladders against the wa;
+And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell
+To mount she first, before us a'.
+
+He has taen the watchman by the throat,
+He flung him down upon the lead:
+"Had there not been peace between our lands,
+Upon the other side thou hadst gaed.
+
+"Now sound out, trumpets!" quo Buccleuch;
+"Let's waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!"
+Then loud the warden's trumpet blew
+"O whae dare meddle wi me?"
+
+Then speedilie to wark we gaed,
+And raised the slogan ane and a',
+And cut a hole through a sheet of lead,
+And so we wan to the castel-ha.
+
+They thought King James and a' his men
+Had won the house wi bow and speir;
+It was but twenty Scots and ten
+That put a thousand in sic a stear!
+
+Wi coulters, and wi fore-hammers,
+We garrd the bars bang merrilie,
+Until we came to the inner prison,
+Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie.
+
+And when we came to the lower prison,
+Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie,
+"O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie,
+Upon the morn that thou's to die?"
+
+"O I sleep saft, and I wake aft,
+It's lang since sleeping was fley'd frae me;
+Gie my service back to my wyfe and bairns
+And a' gude fellows that speer for me."
+
+Then Red Rowan has hente him up,
+The starkest man in Teviotdale:
+"Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,
+Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.
+
+"Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope!
+My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!" he cried;
+"I'll pay you for my lodging-maill,
+When first we meet on the border-side."
+
+Then shoulder high, with shout and cry,
+We bore him down the ladder lang;
+At every stride Red Rowan made,
+I wot the Kinmont's airms playd clang!
+
+"O mony a time," quo Kinmont Willie.
+"I have ridden horse baith wild and wood;
+But a rougher beast than Red Rowan,
+I ween my legs have neer bestrode.
+
+"And mony a time," quo Kinmont Willie,
+"I've pricked a horse out oure the furs;
+But since the day I backed a steed
+I nevir wore sic cumbrous spurs!"
+
+We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank,
+When a' the Carlisle bells were rung,
+And a thousand men, in horse and foot,
+Cam wi the keen Lord Scroope along.
+
+Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water,
+Even where it flowd frae bank to brim,
+And he has plunged in wi a' his band,
+And safely swam them thro the stream.
+
+He turned him on the other side,
+And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he:
+"If ye like na my visit in merry England,
+In fair Scotland come visit me!"
+
+All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,
+He stood as still as rock of stane;
+He scarcely dared to trew his eyes,
+When thro the water they had gane.
+
+"He is either himsell a devil frae hell,
+Or else his mother a witch maun be;
+I wad na have ridden that wan water
+For a' the gowd in Christentie."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Jamie Telfer
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. vi.  Early Edition.)
+
+It fell about the Martinmas tyde,
+When our Border steeds get corn and hay
+The captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde,
+And he's ower to Tividale to drive a prey.
+
+The first ae guide that they met wi',
+It was high up Hardhaughswire;
+The second guide that we met wi',
+It was laigh down in Borthwick water.
+
+"What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?"
+"Nae tidings, nae tidings, I hae to thee;
+But, gin ye'll gae to the fair Dodhead,
+Mony a cow's cauf I'll let thee see."
+
+And whan they cam to the fair Dodhead,
+Right hastily they clam the peel;
+They loosed the kye out, ane and a',
+And ranshackled the house right weel.
+
+Now Jamie Telfer's heart was sair,
+The tear aye rowing in his e'e;
+He pled wi' the captain to hae his gear,
+Or else revenged he wad be.
+
+The captain turned him round and leugh;
+Said--"Man, there's naething in thy house,
+But ae auld sword without a sheath,
+That hardly now wad fell a mouse!"
+
+The sun was na up, but the moon was down,
+It was the gryming o' a new fa'n snaw,
+Jamie Telfer has run three myles a-foot,
+Between the Dodhead and the Stobs's Ha'
+
+And whan he cam to the fair tower yate,
+He shouted loud, and cried weel hie,
+Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot--
+"Wha's this that brings the fraye to me?"
+
+"It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,
+And a harried man I think I be!
+There's naething left at the fair Dodhead,
+But a waefu' wife and bairnies three.
+
+"Gae seek your succour at Branksome Ha'.
+For succour ye'se get nane frae me!
+Gae seek your succour where ye paid black-mail,
+For, man! ye ne'er paid money to me."
+
+Jamie has turned him round about,
+I wat the tear blinded his e'e--
+"I'll ne'er pay mail to Elliot again,
+And the fair Dodhead I'll never see!
+
+"My hounds may a' rin masterless,
+My hawks may fly frae tree to tree;
+My lord may grip my vassal lands,
+For there again maun I never be."
+
+He has turned him to the Tiviot side,
+E'en as fast as he could drie,
+Till he came to the Coultart Cleugh
+And there he shouted baith loud and hie.
+
+Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve--
+"Wha's this that brings the fray to me?"
+"It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,
+A harried man I trow I be.
+
+"There's naething left in the fair Dodhead,
+But a greeting wife and bairnies three,
+And sax poor ca's stand in the sta',
+A' routing loud for their minnie."
+
+"Alack a wae!" quo' auld Jock Grieve,
+"Alack! my heart is sair for thee!
+For I was married on the elder sister,
+And you on the youngest of a' the three."
+
+Then he has ta'en out a bonny black,
+Was right weel fed wi' corn and hay,
+And he's set Jamie Telfer on his back,
+To the Catslockhill to tak' the fray.
+
+And whan he cam to the Catslockhill,
+He shouted loud and weel cried he,
+Till out and spak him William's Wat--
+"O wha's this brings the fraye to me?"
+
+"It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,
+A harried man I think I be!
+The captain of Bewcastle has driven my gear;
+For God's sake rise, and succour me!"
+
+"Alas for wae!" quo' William's Wat,
+"Alack, for thee my heart is sair!
+I never cam by the fair Dodhead,
+That ever I fand thy basket bare."
+
+He's set his twa sons on coal-black steeds,
+Himsel' upon a freckled gray,
+And they are on wi, Jamie Telfer,
+To Branksome Ha to tak the fray.
+
+And whan they cam to Branksome Ha',
+They shouted a' baith loud and hie,
+Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch,
+Said--"Wha's this brings the fray to me?
+
+"It's I, Jamie Telfer o' the fair Dodhead,
+And a harried man I think I be!
+There's nought left in the fair Dodhead,
+But a greeting wife and bairnies three."
+
+"Alack for wae!" quoth the gude auld lord,
+"And ever my heart is wae for thee!
+But fye gar cry on Willie, my son,
+And see that he come to me speedilie!
+
+"Gar warn the water, braid and wide,
+Gar warn it soon and hastily!
+They that winna ride for Telfer's kye,
+Let them never look in the face o' me!
+
+"Warn Wat o' Harden, and his sons,
+Wi' them will Borthwick water ride;
+Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhaugh,
+And Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside.
+
+"Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire,
+And warn the Currors o' the Lee;
+As ye come down the Hermitage Slack,
+Warn doughty Willie o' Gorrinbery."
+
+The Scots they rade, the Scots they ran,
+Sae starkly and sae steadilie!
+And aye the ower-word o' the thrang,
+Was--"Rise for Branksome readilie!"
+
+The gear was driven the Frostylee up,
+Frae the Frostylee unto the plain,
+Whan Willie has looked his men before,
+And saw the kye right fast driving.
+
+"Wha drives thir kye?" 'gan Willie say,
+"To mak an outspeckle o' me?"
+"It's I, the captain o' Bewcastle, Willie;
+I winna layne my name for thee."
+
+"O will ye let Telfer's kye gae back,
+Or will ye do aught for regard o' me?
+Or, by the faith o' my body," quo' Willie Scott,
+"I se ware my dame's cauf's-skin on thee!"
+
+"I winna let the kye gae back,
+Neither for thy love, nor yet thy fear,
+But I will drive Jamie Telfer's kye,
+In spite of every Scot that's here."
+
+"Set on them, lads!" quo' Willie than,
+"Fye, lads, set on them cruellie!
+For ere they win to the Ritterford,
+Mony a toom saddle there sall be!
+
+But Willie was stricken ower the head,
+And through the knapscap the sword has gane;
+And Harden grat for very rage,
+Whan Willie on the ground lay slain.
+
+But he's ta'en aff his gude steel-cap,
+And thrice he's waved it in the air--
+The Dinlay snaw was ne'er mair white,
+Nor the lyart locks of Harden's hair.
+
+"Revenge! revenge!" auld Wat 'gan cry;
+"Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie!
+We'll ne'er see Tiviotside again,
+Or Willie's death revenged shall be."
+
+O mony a horse ran masterless,
+The splintered lances flew on hie;
+But or they wan to the Kershope ford,
+The Scots had gotten the victory.
+
+John o' Brigham there was slain,
+And John o' Barlow, as I hear say;
+And thirty mae o' the captain's men,
+Lay bleeding on the grund that day.
+
+The captain was run thro' the thick of the thigh--
+And broken was his right leg bane;
+If he had lived this hundred year,
+He had never been loved by woman again.
+
+"Hae back thy kye!" the captain said;
+"Dear kye, I trow, to some they be!
+For gin I suld live a hundred years,
+There will ne'er fair lady smile on me."
+
+Then word is gane to the captain's bride,
+Even in the bower where that she lay,
+That her lord was prisoner in enemy's land,
+Since into Tividale he had led the way.
+
+"I wad lourd have had a winding-sheet,
+And helped to put it ower his head,
+Ere he had been disgraced by the Border Scot,
+When he ower Liddel his men did lead!"
+
+There was a wild gallant amang us a',
+His name was Watty wi' the Wudspurs,
+Cried--"On for his house in Stanegirthside,
+If ony man will ride with us!"
+
+When they cam to the Stanegirthside,
+They dang wi' trees, and burst the door;
+They loosed out a' the captain's kye,
+And set them forth our lads before.
+
+There was an auld wife ayont the fire,
+A wee bit o' the captain's kin--
+"Wha daur loose out the captain's kye,
+Or answer to him and his men?"
+
+"It's I, Watty Wudspurs, loose the kye,
+I winna layne my name frae thee!
+And I will loose out the captain's kye,
+In scorn of a' his men and he."
+
+When they cam to the fair Dodhead,
+They were a wellcum sight to see!
+For instead of his ain ten milk-kye,
+Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three.
+
+And he has paid the rescue shot,
+Baith wi' goud, and white monie;
+And at the burial o' Willie Scott,
+I wot was mony a weeping e'e.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Douglas Tragedy
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. ii.  Early Edition.)
+
+"Rise up, rise up now, Lord Douglas," she says,
+"And put on your armour so bright;
+Let it never be said that a daughter of thine
+Was married to a lord under night.
+
+"Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,
+And put on your armour so bright,
+And take better care of your youngest sister,
+For your eldest's awa the last night."--
+
+He's mounted her on a milk-white steed,
+And himself on a dapple grey,
+With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
+And lightly they rode away.
+
+Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder,
+To see what he could see,
+And there be spy'd her seven brethren bold,
+Come riding o'er the lee.
+
+"Light down, light down, Lady Marg'ret," he said,
+"And hold my steed in your hand,
+Until that against your seven brothers bold,
+And your father I make a stand."--
+
+She held his steed in her milk white hand,
+And never shed one tear,
+Until that she saw her seven brethren fa',
+And her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear.
+
+"O hold your hand, Lord William!" she said,
+"For your strokes they are wondrous sair;
+True lovers I can get many a ane,
+But a father I can never get mair."--
+
+O she's ta'en out her handkerchief,
+It was o' the holland sae fine,
+And aye she dighted her father's bloody wounds,
+That were redder than the wine.
+
+"O chuse, O chuse, Lady Marg'ret," he said,
+"O whether will ye gang or bide?"
+"I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William," she said,
+"For ye have left me no other guide."--
+
+He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
+And himself on a dapple grey.
+With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
+And slowly they baith rade away.
+
+O they rade on, and on they rade,
+And a' by the light of the moon,
+Until they came to yon wan water,
+And there they lighted down.
+
+They lighted down to tak a drink
+Of the spring that ran sae clear:
+And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood,
+And sair she 'gan to fear.
+
+"Hold up, hold up, Lord William," she says,
+"For I fear that you are slain!"
+"'Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak
+That shines in the water sae plain."
+
+O they rade on, and on they rade,
+And a' by the light of the moon,
+Until they cam to his mother's ha' door,
+And there they lighted down.
+
+"Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,
+"Get up, and let me in!--
+Get up, get up, lady mother," he says,
+"For this night my fair ladye I've win.
+
+"O mak my bed, lady mother," he says,
+"O mak it braid and deep!
+And lay Lady Marg'ret close at my back,
+And the sounder I will sleep."--
+
+Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,
+Lady Marg'ret lang ere day--
+And all true lovers that go thegither,
+May they have mair luck than they!
+
+Lord William was buried in St. Marie's kirk,
+Lady Margaret in Marie's quire;
+Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose,
+And out o' the knight's a brier.
+
+And they twa met, and they twa plat,
+And fain they wad be near;
+And a' the warld might ken right weel,
+They were twa lovers dear.
+
+But by and rade the Black Douglas,
+And wow but he was rough!
+For he pull'd up the bonny brier,
+An flang't in St. Marie's Loch.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Bonny Hind
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. ii.)
+
+O May she comes, and may she goes,
+Down by yon gardens green,
+And there she spied a gallant squire
+As squire had ever been.
+
+And may she comes, and may she goes,
+Down by yon hollin tree,
+And there she spied a brisk young squire,
+And a brisk young squire was he.
+
+"Give me your green manteel, fair maid,
+Give me your maidenhead;
+Gif ye winna gie me your green manteel,
+Gi me your maidenhead."
+
+He has taen her by the milk-white hand,
+And softly laid her down,
+And when he's lifted her up again
+Given her a silver kaim.
+
+"Perhaps there may be bairns, kind sir,
+Perhaps there may be nane;
+But if you be a courtier,
+You'll tell to me your name."
+
+"I am na courtier, fair maid,
+But new come frae the sea;
+I am nae courtier, fair maid,
+But when I court'ith thee.
+
+"They call me Jack when I'm abroad,
+Sometimes they call me John;
+But when I'm in my father's bower
+Jock Randal is my name."
+
+"Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny lad,
+Sae loud's I hear ye lee!
+For I'm Lord Randal's yae daughter,
+He has nae mair nor me."
+
+"Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny may,
+Sae loud's I hear ye lee!
+For I'm Lord Randal's yae yae son,
+Just now come oer the sea."
+
+She's putten her hand down by her spare
+And out she's taen a knife,
+And she has putn't in her heart's bluid,
+And taen away her life.
+
+And he's taen up his bonny sister,
+With the big tear in his een,
+And he has buried his bonny sister
+Amang the hollins green.
+
+And syne he's hyed him oer the dale,
+His father dear to see:
+"Sing O and O for my bonny hind,
+Beneath yon hollin tree!"
+
+"What needs you care for your bonny hyn?
+For it you needna care;
+There's aught score hyns in yonder park,
+And five score hyns to spare.
+
+"Fourscore of them are siller-shod,
+Of thae ye may get three;"
+"But O and O for my bonny hyn,
+Beneath yon hollin tree!"
+
+"What needs you care for your bonny hyn?
+For it you needna care;
+Take you the best, gi me the warst,
+Since plenty is to spare."
+
+"I care na for your hyns, my lord,
+I care na for your fee;
+But O and O for my bonny hyn,
+Beneath the hollin tree!"
+
+"O were ye at your sister's bower,
+Your sister fair to see,
+Ye'll think na mair o your bonny hyn
+Beneath the hollin tree."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Young Bicham
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. ii.)
+
+In London city was Bicham born,
+He longd strange countries for to see,
+But he was taen by a savage Moor,
+Who handld him right cruely.
+
+For thro his shoulder he put a bore,
+An thro the bore has pitten a tree,
+And he's gard him draw the carts o wine,
+Where horse and oxen had wont to be.
+
+He's casten [him] in a dungeon deep,
+Where he coud neither hear nor see;
+He's shut him up in a prison strong,
+An he's handld him right cruely.
+
+O this Moor he had but ae daughter,
+I wot her name was Shusy Pye;
+She's doen her to the prison-house,
+And she's calld young Bicham one word by.
+
+"O hae ye ony lands or rents,
+Or citys in your ain country,
+Coud free you out of prison strong,
+An coud maintain a lady free?"
+
+O London city is my own,
+An other citys twa or three,
+Coud loose me out o prison strong,
+An could maintain a lady free."
+
+O she has bribed her father's men
+Wi meikle goud and white money,
+She's gotten the key o the prison doors,
+And she has set Young Bicham free.
+
+She's gi'n him a loaf o good white bread,
+But an a flask o Spanish wine,
+An she bad him mind on the ladie's love
+That sae kindly freed him out o pine.
+
+"Go set your foot on good ship-board,
+An haste you back to your ain country,
+An before that seven years has an end,
+Come back again, love, and marry me."
+
+It was long or seven years had an end
+She longd fu sair her love to see;
+She's set her foot on good ship-board,
+An turnd her back on her ain country.
+
+She's saild up, so has she down,
+Till she came to the other side;
+She's landed at Young Bicham's gates,
+An I hop this day she sal be his bride.
+
+"Is this Young Bicham's gates?" says she.
+"Or is that noble prince within?"
+"He's up the stair wi his bonny bride,
+An monny a lord and lady wi him."
+
+"O has he taen a bonny bride,
+An has he clean forgotten me?"
+An sighing said that gay lady,
+"I wish I were in my ain country!"
+
+She's pitten her ban in her pocket,
+An gin the porter guineas three;
+Says, "Take ye that, ye proud porter,
+An bid the bridegroom speak to me."
+
+O whan the porter came up the stair,
+He's fa'n low down upon his knee:
+"Won up, won up, ye proud porter,
+And what makes a' this courtesy?"
+
+"O I've been porter at your gates
+This mair nor seven years an three,
+But there is a lady at them now
+The like of whom I never did see.
+
+"For on every finger she has a ring,
+An on the mid-finger she has three,
+An there's as meikle goud aboon her brow
+As woud buy an earldom o lan to me."
+
+Then up it started Young Bicham,
+An sware so loud by Our Lady,
+"It can be nane but Shusy Pye
+That has come oor the sea to me."
+
+O quickly ran he down the stair,
+O fifteen steps he has made but three,
+He's tane his bonny love in his arms
+An a wot he kissd her tenderly.
+
+"O hae you tane a bonny bride?
+An hae you quite forsaken me?
+An hae ye quite forgotten her
+That gae you life an liberty?"
+
+She's lookit oer her left shoulder
+To hide the tears stood in her ee;
+"Now fare thee well, Young Bicham," she says,
+"I'll strive to think nae mair on thee."
+
+"Take back your daughter, madam," he says,
+"An a double dowry I'll gie her wi;
+For I maun marry my first true love,
+That's done and suffered so much for me."
+
+He's tak his bonny love by the han,
+And led her to yon fountain stane;
+He's changed her name frae Shusy Pye,
+An he's cald her his bonny love, Lady Jane.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Loving Ballad Of Lord Bateman
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. ii.  Cockney copy.)
+
+Lord Bateman was a noble lord,
+A noble lord of high degree;
+He shipped himself all aboard of a ship,
+Some foreign country for to see.
+
+He sailed east, he sailed west,
+Until he came to famed Turkey,
+Where he was taken and put to prison,
+Until his life was quite weary.
+
+All in this prison there grew a tree,
+O there it grew so stout and strong!
+Where he was chained all by the middle,
+Until his life was almost gone.
+
+This Turk he had one only daughter,
+The fairest my two eyes eer see;
+She steal the keys of her father's prison,
+And swore Lord Bateman she would let go free.
+
+O she took him to her father's cellar,
+And gave to him the best of wine;
+And every health she drank unto him
+Was "I wish, Lord Bateman, as you was mine."
+
+"O have you got houses, have you got land,
+And does Northumberland belong to thee?
+And what would you give to the fair young lady
+As out of prison would let you go free?"
+
+"O I've got houses and I've got land,
+And half Northumberland belongs to me;
+And I will give it all to the fair young lady
+As out of prison would let me go free."
+
+"O in seven long years I'll make a vow
+For seven long years, and keep it strong,
+That if you'll wed no other woman,
+O I will wed no other man."
+
+O she took him to her father's harbor,
+And gave to him a ship of fame,
+Saying, "Farewell, farewell to you, Lord Bateman,
+I fear I shall never see you again."
+
+Now seven long years is gone and past,
+And fourteen days, well known to me;
+She packed up all her gay clothing,
+And swore Lord Bateman she would go see.
+
+O when she arrived at Lord Bateman's castle,
+How boldly then she rang the bell!
+"Who's there? who's there?" cries the proud young porter,
+"O come unto me pray quickly tell."
+
+"O is this here Lord Bateman's castle,
+And is his lordship here within?"
+"O yes, O yes," cries the proud young porter,
+"He's just now taking his young bride in."
+
+"O bid him to send me a slice of bread,
+And a bottle of the very best wine,
+And not forgetting the fair young lady
+As did release him when close confine."
+
+O away and away went this proud young porter,
+O away and away and away went he,
+Until he came to Lord Bateman's chamber,
+Where he went down on his bended knee.
+
+"What news, what news, my proud young porter?
+What news, what news? come tell to me:"
+"O there is the fairest young lady
+As ever my two eyes did see.
+
+"She has got rings on every finger,
+And on one finger she has got three;
+With as much gay gold about her middle
+As would buy half Northumberlee.
+
+"O she bids you to send her a slice of bread,
+And a bottle of the very best wine,
+And not forgetting the fair young lady
+As did release you when close confine."
+
+Lord Bateman then in passion flew,
+And broke his sword in splinters three,
+Saying, "I will give half of my father's land,
+If so be as Sophia has crossed the sea."
+
+Then up and spoke this young bride's mother,
+Who never was heard to speak so free;
+Saying, "You'll not forget my only daughter,
+If so be Sophia has crossed the sea."
+
+"O it's true I made a bride of your daughter,
+But she's neither the better nor the worse for me;
+She came to me with a horse and saddle,
+But she may go home in a coach and three."
+
+Lord Bateman then prepared another marriage,
+With both their hearts so full of glee,
+Saying, "I will roam no more to foreign countries,
+Now that Sophia has crossed the sea."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Bonnie House O' Airly
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. vii.  Early Edition.)
+
+It fell on a day, and a bonnie summer day,
+When the corn grew green and yellow,
+That there fell out a great dispute
+Between Argyle and Airly.
+
+The Duke o' Montrose has written to Argyle
+To come in the morning early,
+An' lead in his men, by the back O' Dunkeld,
+To plunder the bonnie house o' Airly.
+
+The lady look'd o'er her window sae hie,
+And O but she looked weary!
+And there she espied the great Argyle
+Come to plunder the bonnie house o' Airly.
+
+"Come down, come down, Lady Margaret," he says,
+"Come down and kiss me fairly,
+Or before the morning clear daylight,
+I'll no leave a standing stane in Airly."
+
+"I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,
+I wadna kiss thee fairly,
+I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,
+Gin you shouldna leave a standing stane Airly."
+
+He has ta'en her by the middle sae sma',
+Says, "Lady, where is your drury?"
+"It's up and down by the bonnie burn side,
+Amang the planting of Airly."
+
+They sought it up, they sought it down,
+They sought it late and early,
+And found it in the bonnie balm-tree,
+That shines on the bowling-green o' Airly,
+
+He has ta'en her by the left shoulder,
+And O but she grat sairly,
+And led her down to yon green bank,
+Till he plundered the bonnie house o' Airly.
+
+"O it's I hae seven braw sons," she says,
+"And the youngest ne'er saw his daddie,
+And altho' I had as mony mae,
+I wad gie them a' to Charlie.
+
+"But gin my good lord had been at hame,
+As this night he is wi' Charlie,
+There durst na a Campbell in a' the west
+Hae plundered the bonnie house o' Airly.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Rob Roy
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. vi.  Early Edition.)
+
+Rob Roy from the Highlands cam,
+Unto the Lawlan' border,
+To steal awa a gay ladie
+To haud his house in order.
+He cam oure the lock o' Lynn,
+Twenty men his arms did carry;
+Himsel gaed in, an' fand her out,
+Protesting he would many.
+
+"O will ye gae wi' me," he says,
+"Or will ye be my honey?
+Or will ye be my wedded wife?
+For I love you best of any."
+"I winna gae wi' you," she says,
+"Nor will I be your honey,
+Nor will I be your wedded wife;
+You love me for my money."
+
+* * * * *
+
+But he set her on a coal-black steed,
+Himsel lap on behind her,
+An' he's awa to the Highland hills,
+Whare her frien's they canna find her.
+
+* * * * *
+
+"Rob Roy was my father ca'd,
+Macgregor was his name, ladie;
+He led a band o' heroes bauld,
+An' I am here the same, ladie.
+Be content, be content,
+Be content to stay, ladie,
+For thou art my wedded wife
+Until thy dying day, ladie.
+
+"He was a hedge unto his frien's,
+A heckle to his foes, ladie,
+Every one that durst him wrang,
+He took him by the nose, ladie.
+I'm as bold, I'm as bold,
+I'm as bold, an more, ladie;
+He that daurs dispute my word,
+Shall feel my guid claymore, ladie."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Battle Of Killie-Crankie
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. vii.  Early Edition.)
+
+Clavers and his Highlandmen
+Came down upo' the raw, man,
+Who being stout, gave mony a clout;
+The lads began to claw then.
+With sword and terge into their hand,
+Wi which they were nae slaw, man,
+Wi mony a fearful heavy sigh,
+The lads began to claw then.
+
+O'er bush, o'er bank, o'er ditch, o'er stark,
+She flang amang them a', man;
+The butter-box got many knocks,
+Their riggings paid for a' then.
+They got their paiks, wi sudden straiks,
+Which to their grief they saw, man:
+Wi clinkum, clankum o'er their crowns,
+The lads began to fa' then.
+
+Hur skipt about, hur leapt about,
+And flang amang them a', man;
+The English blades got broken beads,
+Their crowns were cleav'd in twa then.
+The durk and door made their last hour,
+And prov'd their final fa', man;
+They thought the devil had been there,
+That play'd them sic a paw then.
+
+The Solemn League and Covenant
+Came whigging up the hills, man;
+Thought Highland trews durst not refuse
+For to subscribe their bills then.
+In Willie's name, they thought nag ane
+Durst stop their course at a', man,
+But hur-nane-sell, wi mony a knock,
+Cry'd, "Furich--Whigs awa'," man.
+
+Sir Evan Du, and his men true,
+Came linking up the brink, man;
+The Hogan Dutch they feared such,
+They bred a horrid stink then.
+The true Maclean and his fierce men
+Came in amang them a', man;
+Nane durst withstand his heavy hand.
+All fled and ran awa' then.
+
+Oh' on a ri, Oh' on a ri,
+Why should she lose King Shames, man?
+Oh' rig in di, Oh' rig in di,
+She shall break a' her banes then;
+With furichinish, an' stay a while,
+And speak a word or twa, man,
+She's gi' a straike, out o'er the neck,
+Before ye win awa' then.
+
+Oh fy for shame, ye're three for ane,
+Hur-nane-sell's won the day, man;
+King Shames' red-coats should be hung up,
+Because they ran awa' then.
+Had bent their brows, like Highland trows,
+And made as lang a stay, man,
+They'd sav'd their king, that sacred thing,
+And Willie'd ran awa' then.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Annan Water
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. ii.  Early Edition.)
+
+"Annan water's wading deep,
+And my love Annie's wondrous bonny;
+And I am laith she suld weet her feet,
+Because I love her best of ony.
+
+"Gar saddle me the bonny black,--
+Gar saddle sune, and make him ready:
+For I will down the Gatehope-Slack,
+And all to see my bonny ladye."--
+
+He has loupen on the bonny black,
+He stirr'd him wi' the spur right sairly;
+But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack,
+I think the steed was wae and weary.
+
+He has loupen on the bonny gray,
+He rade the right gate and the ready;
+I trow he would neither stint nor stay,
+For he was seeking his bonny ladye.
+
+O he has ridden o'er field and fell,
+Through muir and moss, and mony a mire;
+His spurs o' steel were sair to bide,
+And fra her fore-feet flew the fire.
+
+"Now, bonny grey, now play your part!
+Gin ye be the steed that wins my deary,
+Wi' corn and hay ye'se be fed for aye,
+And never spur sall make you wearie."
+
+The gray was a mare, and a right good mare;
+But when she wan the Annan water,
+She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair,
+Had a thousand merks been wadded at her.
+
+"O boatman, boatman, put off your boat!
+Put off your boat for gowden monie!
+I cross the drumly stream the night,
+Or never mair I see my honey."--
+
+"O I was sworn sae late yestreen,
+And not by ae aith, but by many;
+And for a' the gowd in fair Scotland,
+I dare na take ye through to Annie."
+
+The side was stey, and the bottom deep,
+Frae bank to brae the water pouring;
+And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear,
+For she heard the water-kelpy roaring.
+
+O he has pou'd aff his dapperpy coat,
+The silver buttons glanced bonny;
+The waistcoat bursted aff his breast,
+He was sae full of melancholy.
+
+He has ta'en the ford at that stream tail;
+I wot he swam both strong and steady;
+But the stream was broad, and his strength did fail,
+And he never saw his bonny ladye.
+
+"O wae betide the frush saugh wand!
+And wae betide the bush of brier!
+It brake into my true love's hand,
+When his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire.
+
+"And wae betide ye, Annan water,
+This night that ye are a drumlie river!
+For over thee I'll build a bridge,
+That ye never more true love may sever."--
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Elphin Nourrice
+
+
+
+(C. K. Sharpe.)
+
+I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low,
+An' a cow low down in yon glen;
+Lang, lang will my young son greet,
+Or his mither bid him come ben.
+
+I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low,
+An' a cow low down in yon fauld;
+Lang, lang will my young son greet,
+Or is mither take him frae cauld.
+
+Waken, Queen of Elfan,
+An hear your Nourrice moan.
+O moan ye for your meat,
+Or moan ye for your fee,
+Or moan ye for the ither bounties
+That ladies are wont to gie?
+
+I moan na for my meat,
+Nor yet for my fee,
+But I mourn for Christened land--
+It's there I fain would be.
+
+O nurse my bairn, Nourice, she says,
+Till he stan' at your knee,
+An' ye's win hame to Christen land,
+Whar fain it's ye wad be.
+
+O keep my bairn, Nourice,
+Till he gang by the hauld,
+An' ye's win hame to your young son,
+Ye left in four nights auld.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Cospatrick
+
+
+
+(Mackay.)
+
+Cospatrick has sent o'er the faem;
+Cospatrick brought his ladye hame;
+And fourscore ships have come her wi',
+The ladye by the green-wood tree.
+
+There were twal' and twal' wi' baken bread,
+And twal' and twal' wi' gowd sae red,
+And twal' and twal' wi' bouted flour,
+And twal' and twal' wi' the paramour.
+
+Sweet Willy was a widow's son,
+And at her stirrup he did run;
+And she was clad in the finest pall,
+But aye she loot the tears down fall.
+
+"O is your saddle set awrye?
+Or rides your steed for you owre high?
+Or are you mourning, in your tide,
+That you suld be Cospatrick's bride?"
+
+"I am not mourning, at this tide,
+That I suld he Cospatrick's bride;
+But I am sorrowing in my mood,
+That I suld leave my mother good."
+
+"But, gentle boy, come tell to me,
+What is the custom of thy countrie?"
+"The custom thereof, my dame," he says,
+"Will ill a gentle ladye please.
+
+"Seven king's daughters has our lord wedded,
+And seven king's daughters has our lord bedded;
+But he's cutted their breasts frae their breast-bane,
+And sent them mourning hame again.
+
+"Yet, gin you're sure that you're a maid,
+Ye may gae safely to his bed;
+But gif o' that ye be na sure,
+Then hire some damsel o' your bour."
+
+The ladye's called her bour-maiden,
+That waiting was unto her train.
+"Five thousand marks I'll gie to thee,
+To sleep this night with my lord for me."
+
+When bells were rung, and mass was sayne,
+And a' men unto bed were gane,
+Cospatrick and the bonny maid,
+Into ae chamber they were laid.
+
+"Now speak to me, blankets, and speak to me, bed,
+And speak, thou sheet, enchanted web;
+And speak, my sword, that winna lie,
+Is this a true maiden that lies by me?"
+
+"It is not a maid that you hae wedded,
+But it is a maid that you hae bedded;
+It is a leal maiden that lies by thee,
+But not the maiden that it should be."
+
+O wrathfully he left the bed,
+And wrathfully his claes on did;
+And he has ta'en him through the ha',
+And on his mother he did ca'.
+
+"I am the most unhappy man,
+That ever was in Christen land?
+I courted a maiden, meik and mild,
+And I hae gotten naething but a woman wi' child."
+
+"O stay, my son, into this ha',
+And sport ye wi' your merry men a';
+And I will to the secret bour,
+To see how it fares wi' your paramour."
+
+The carline she was stark and stare,
+She aff the hinges dang the dure.
+"O is your bairn to laird or loun,
+Or is it to your father's groom?"
+
+"O hear me, mother, on my knee,
+Till my sad story I tell to thee:
+O we were sisters, sisters seven,
+We were the fairest under heaven.
+
+"It fell on a summer's afternoon,
+When a' our toilsome work was done,
+We coost the kevils us amang,
+To see which suld to the green-wood gang.
+
+"Ohon! alas, for I was youngest,
+And aye my weird it was the strongest!
+The kevil it on me did fa',
+Whilk was the cause of a' my woe.
+
+"For to the green-wood I maun gae,
+To pu' the red rose and the slae;
+To pu' the red rose and the thyme,
+To deck my mother's bour and mine.
+
+"I hadna pu'd a flower but ane,
+When by there came a gallant hinde,
+Wi' high colled hose and laigh colled shoon,
+And he seemed to be some king's son.
+
+"And be I maid, or be I nae,
+He kept me there till the close o' day;
+And be I maid, or be I nane,
+He kept me there till the day was done.
+
+"He gae me a lock o' his yellow hair,
+And bade me keep it ever mair;
+He gae me a carknet o' bonny beads,
+And bade me keep it against my needs.
+
+"He gae to me a gay gold ring,
+And bade me keep it abune a' thing."
+"What did ye wi' the tokens rare,
+That ye gat frae that gallant there?"
+
+"O bring that coffer unto me,
+And a' the tokens ye sall see."
+"Now stay, daughter, your bour within,
+While I gae parley wi' my son."
+
+O she has ta'en her thro' the ha',
+And on her son began to ca':
+"What did ye wi' the bonny beads,
+I bade ye keep against your needs?
+
+"What did you wi' the gay gold ring,
+I bade you keep abune a' thing?"
+"I gae them to a ladye gay,
+I met in green-wood on a day.
+
+"But I wad gie a' my halls and tours,
+I had that ladye within my bours,
+But I wad gie my very life,
+I had that ladye to my wife."
+
+"Now keep, my son, your ha's and tours;
+Ye have that bright burd in your bours;
+And keep, my son, your very life;
+Ye have that ladye to your wife."
+
+Now, or a month was come and gane,
+The ladye bore a bonny son;
+And 'twas written on his breast-bane,
+"Cospatrick is my father's name."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Johnnie Armstrang
+
+
+
+Some speak of lords, some speak of lairds,
+And sic like men of high degree;
+Of a gentleman I sing a sang,
+Some time call'd Laird of Gilnockie.
+
+The king he writes a loving letter,
+With his ain hand sae tenderlie,
+And he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrang,
+To come and speak with him speedilie.
+
+The Elliots and Armstrangs did convene,
+They were a gallant companie:
+"We'll ride and meet our lawful king,
+And bring him safe to Gilnockie.
+
+"Make kinnen {3} and capon ready, then,
+And venison in great plentie;
+We'll welcome here our royal king;
+I hope he'll dine at Gilnockie!"
+
+They ran their horse on the Langholm howm,
+And brake their spears with meikle main;
+The ladies lookit frae their loft windows--
+"God bring our men weel hame again!"
+
+When Johnnie came before the king,
+With all his men sae brave to see,
+The king he moved his bonnet to him;
+He ween'd he was a king as well as he.
+
+"May I find grace, my sovereign liege,
+Grace for my loyal men and me?
+For my name it is Johnnie Armstrang,
+And a subject of yours, my liege," said he.
+
+"Away, away, thou traitor strang!
+Out of my sight soon may'st thou be!
+I granted never a traitor's life,
+And now I'll not begin with thee."
+
+"Grant me my life, my liege, my king!
+And a bonnie gift I'll gi'e to thee;
+Full four-and-twenty milk-white steeds,
+Were all foal'd in ae year to me.
+
+"I'll gi'e thee all these milk-white steeds,
+That prance and nicher {4} at a spear;
+And as meikle gude Inglish gilt, {5}
+As four of their braid backs dow {6} bear."
+
+"Away, away, thou traitor strang!
+Out of my sight soon may'st thou be!
+I granted never a traitor's life,
+And now I'll not begin with thee."
+
+"Grant me my life, my liege, my king!
+And a bonnie gift I'll gi'e to thee:
+Gude four-and-twenty ganging {7} mills,
+That gang thro' all the year to me.
+
+"These four-and-twenty mills complete,
+Shall gang for thee thro' all the year;
+And as meikle of gude red wheat,
+As all their happers dow to bear."
+
+"Away, away, thou traitor strang!
+Out of my sight soon may'st thou be!
+I granted never a traitor's life,
+And now I'll not begin with thee."
+
+"Grant me my life, my liege, my king!
+And a great gift I'll gi'e to thee:
+Bauld four-and-twenty sisters' sons
+Shall for thee fecht, tho' all shou'd flee."
+
+"Away, away, thou traitor strang!
+Out of my sight soon may'st thou be!
+I granted never a traitor's life,
+And now I'll not begin with thee."
+
+"Grant me my life, my liege, my king!
+And a brave gift I'll gi'e to thee:
+All between here and Newcastle town
+Shall pay their yearly rent to thee."
+
+"Away, away, thou traitor strang!
+Out of my sight soon may'st thou be!
+I granted never a traitor's life,
+And now I'll not begin with thee."
+
+"Ye lied, ye lied, now, king," he says,
+"Altho' a king and prince ye be!
+For I've loved naething in my life,
+I weel dare say it, but honestie.
+
+"Save a fat horse, and a fair woman,
+Twa bonnie dogs to kill a deer;
+But England shou'd have found me meal and mault,
+Gif I had lived this hundred year.
+
+"She shou'd have found me meal and mault,
+And beef and mutton in all plentie;
+But never a Scots wife cou'd have said,
+That e'er I skaith'd her a puir flee.
+
+"To seek het water beneath cauld ice,
+Surely it is a great follie:
+I have ask'd grace at a graceless face,
+But there is nane for my men and me.
+
+"But had I kenn'd, ere I came frae hame,
+How unkind thou wou'dst been to me,
+I wou'd ha'e keepit the Border side,
+In spite of all thy force and thee.
+
+"Wist England's king that I was ta'en,
+Oh, gin a blythe man he wou'd be!
+For ance I slew his sister's son,
+And on his breast-bane brak a tree."
+
+John wore a girdle about his middle,
+Embroider'd o'er with burning gold,
+Bespangled with the same metal,
+Maist beautiful was to behold.
+
+There hang nine targats {8} at Johnnie's hat,
+An ilk ane worth three hundred pound:
+"What wants that knave that a king shou'd have,
+But the sword of honour and the crown?
+
+"Oh, where got thee these targats, Johnnie.
+That blink sae brawly {9} aboon thy brie?"
+"I gat them in the field fechting, {10}
+Where, cruel king, thou durst not be.
+
+"Had I my horse and harness gude,
+And riding as I wont to be,
+It shou'd have been tauld this hundred year,
+The meeting of my king and me!
+
+"God be with thee, Kirsty, {11} my brother,
+Lang live thou laird of Mangertoun!
+Lang may'st thou live on the Border side,
+Ere thou see thy brother ride up and down!
+
+"And God he with thee, Kirsty, my son,
+Where thou sits on thy nurse's knee!
+But an thou live this hundred year,
+Thy father's better thou'lt never be.
+
+"Farewell, my bonnie Gilnock hall,
+Where on Esk side thou standest stout!
+Gif I had lived but seven years mair,
+I wou'd ha'e gilt thee round about."
+
+John murder'd was at Carlinrigg,
+And all his gallant companie;
+But Scotland's heart was ne'er sae wae,
+To see sae mony brave men die;
+
+Because they saved their country dear
+Frae Englishmen!  Nane were sae bauld
+While Johnnie lived on the Border side,
+Nane of them durst come near his hauld.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Edom O' Gordon
+
+
+
+It fell about the Martinmas,
+When the wind blew shrill and cauld,
+Said Edom o' Gordon to his men,--
+"We maun draw to a hald. {12}
+
+"And whatna hald shall we draw to,
+My merry men and me?
+We will gae straight to Towie house,
+To see that fair ladye."
+
+[The ladye stood on her castle wall,
+Beheld baith dale and down;
+There she was 'ware of a host of men
+Came riding towards the town.
+
+"Oh, see ye not, my merry men all,
+Oh, see ye not what I see?
+Methinks I see a host of men;
+I marvel who they be."
+
+She thought it had been her own wed lord.
+As he came riding hame;
+It was the traitor, Edom o' Gordon,
+Wha reck'd nae sin nor shame.]
+
+She had nae sooner buskit hersel',
+And putten on her gown,
+Till Edom o' Gordon and his men
+Were round about the town.
+
+They had nae sooner supper set,
+Nae sooner said the grace,
+Till Edom o' Gordon and his men
+Were round about the place.
+
+The ladye ran to her tower head,
+As fast as she cou'd hie,
+To see if, by her fair speeches,
+She cou'd with him agree.
+
+As soon as he saw this ladye fair.
+And her yetts all lockit fast,
+He fell into a rage of wrath,
+And his heart was all aghast.
+
+"Come down to me, ye ladye gay,
+Come down, come down to me;
+This night ye shall lye within my arms,
+The morn my bride shall be."
+
+"I winna come down, ye false Gordon,
+I winna come down to thee;
+I winna forsake my ain dear lord,
+That is sae far frae me."
+
+"Gi'e up your house, ye ladye fair,
+Gi'e up your house to me;
+Or I shall burn yoursel' therein,
+Bot and your babies three."
+
+"I winna gi'e up, ye false Gordon,
+To nae sic traitor as thee;
+Tho' you shou'd burn mysel' therein,
+Bot and my babies three.
+
+["But fetch to me my pistolette,
+And charge to me my gun;
+For, but if I pierce that bluidy butcher,
+My babes we will be undone."
+
+She stiffly stood on her castle wall,
+And let the bullets flee;
+She miss'd that bluidy butcher's heart,
+Tho' she slew other three.]
+
+"Set fire to the house!" quo' the false Gordon,
+"Since better may nae be;
+And I will burn hersel' therein,
+Bot and her babies three."
+
+"Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man,
+I paid ye weel your fee;
+Why pull ye out the grund-wa'-stance,
+Lets in the reek {13} to me?
+
+"And e'en wae worth ye, Jock, my man,
+I paid ye weel your hire;
+Why pull ye out my grund-wa'-stane,
+To me lets in the fire?"
+
+"Ye paid me weel my hire, ladye,
+Ye paid me weel my fee;
+But now I'm Edom o' Gordon's man,
+Maun either do or dee."
+
+Oh, then out spake her youngest son,
+Sat on the nurse's knee:
+Says--"Mither dear, gi'e o'er this house,
+For the reek it smothers me."
+
+["I wou'd gi'e all my gold, my bairn,
+Sae wou'd I all my fee,
+For ae blast of the westlin' wind,
+To blaw the reek frae thee.]
+
+"But I winna gi'e up my house, my dear,
+To nae sic traitor as he;
+Come weal, come woe, my jewels fair,
+Ye maun take share with me."
+
+Oh, then out spake her daughter dear,
+She was baith jimp and small:
+"Oh, row me in a pair of sheets,
+And tow me o'er the wall."
+
+They row'd her in a pair of sheets,
+And tow'd her o'er the wall;
+But on the point of Gordon's spear
+She got a deadly fall.
+
+Oh, bonnie, bonnie was her mouth,
+And cherry were her cheeks;
+And clear, clear was her yellow hair,
+Whereon the red bluid dreeps.
+
+Then with his spear he turn'd her o'er,
+Oh, gin her face was wan!
+He said--"You are the first that e'er
+I wish'd alive again."
+
+He turn'd her o'er and o'er again,
+Oh, gin her skin was white!
+"I might ha'e spared that bonnie face
+To ha'e been some man's delight.
+
+"Busk and boun, my merry men all,
+For ill dooms I do guess;
+I canna look on that bonnie face,
+As it lyes on the grass!"
+
+"Wha looks to freits, {14} my master dear,
+Their freits will follow them;
+Let it ne'er be said brave Edom o' Gordon
+Was daunted with a dame."
+
+[But when the ladye saw the fire
+Come flaming o'er her head,
+She wept, and kissed her children twain;
+Said--"Bairns, we been but dead."
+
+The Gordon then his bugle blew,
+And said--"Away, away!
+The house of Towie is all in a flame,
+I hald it time to gae."]
+
+Oh, then he spied her ain dear lord,
+As he came o'er the lea;
+He saw his castle all in a flame,
+As far as he could see.
+
+Then sair, oh sair his mind misgave,
+And oh, his heart was wae!
+"Put on, put on, my wighty {15} men,
+As fast as ye can gae.
+
+"Put on, put on, my wighty men,
+As fast as ye can drie;
+For he that is hindmost of the thrang
+Shall ne'er get gude of me!"
+
+Then some they rade, and some they ran,
+Full fast out o'er the bent;
+But ere the foremost could win up,
+Baith ladye and babes were brent.
+
+[He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,
+And wept in tearful mood;
+"Ah, traitors! for this cruel deed,
+Ye shall weep tears of bluid."
+
+And after the Gordon he has gane,
+Sae fast as he might drie;
+And soon in the Gordon's foul heart's bluid
+He's wroken {16} his dear layde.]
+
+And mony were the mudie {17} men
+Lay gasping on the green;
+And mony were the fair ladyes
+Lay lemanless at hame.
+
+And mony were the mudie men
+Lay gasping on the green;
+For of fifty men the Gordon brocht,
+There were but five gaed hame.
+
+And round, and round the walls he went,
+Their ashes for to view;
+At last into the flames he flew,
+And bade the world adieu.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. iv.  Early Edition.)
+
+Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep,
+It grieves me sore to hear thee weep,
+If thou'lt be silent, I'll be glad,
+Thy mourning makes my heart full sad.
+Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy,
+Thy father bred one great annoy.
+Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep,
+It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.
+
+Balow, my darling, sleep a while,
+And when thou wak'st then sweetly smile;
+But smile not as thy father did,
+To cozen maids, nay, God forbid;
+For in thine eye his look I see,
+The tempting look that ruin'd me.
+Balow, my boy, etc.
+
+When he began to court my love,
+And with his sugar'd words to move,
+His tempting face, and flatt'ring chear,
+In time to me did not appear;
+But now I see that cruel he
+Cares neither for his babe nor me.
+Balow, my boy, etc.
+
+Fareweel, fareaeel, thou falsest youth
+That ever kist a woman's mouth.
+Let never any after me
+Submit unto thy courtesy!
+For, if hey do, O! cruel thou
+Wilt her abuse and care not how!
+Balow, my boy, etc.
+
+I was too cred'lous at the first,
+To yield thee all a maiden durst.
+Thou swore for ever true to prove,
+Thy faith unchang'd, unchang'd thy love;
+But quick as thought the change is wrought,
+Thy love's no mair, thy promise nought.
+Balow, my boy, etc.
+
+I wish I were a maid again!
+From young men's flatt'ry I'd refrain;
+For now unto my grief I find
+They all are perjur'd and unkind;
+Bewitching charms bred all my harms;--
+Witness my babe lies in my arms.
+Balow, my boy, etc.
+
+I take my fate from bad to worse,
+That I must needs be now a nurse,
+And lull my young son on my lap:
+From me, sweet orphan, take the pap.
+Balow, my child, thy mother mild
+Shall wail as from all bliss exil'd.
+Balow, my boy, etc.
+
+Balow, my boy, weep not for me,
+Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee.
+Nor pity her deserved smart,
+Who can blame none but her fond heart;
+For, too soon tursting latest finds
+With fairest tongues are falsest minds.
+Balow, my boy, etc.
+
+Balow, my boy, thy father's fled,
+When he the thriftless son has played;
+Of vows and oaths forgetful, he
+Preferr'd the wars to thee and me.
+But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine
+Make him eat acorns with the swine.
+Balow, my boy, etc.
+
+But curse not him; perhaps now he,
+Stung with remorse, is blessing thee:
+Perhaps at death; for who can tell
+Whether the judge of heaven or hell,
+By some proud foe has struck the blow,
+And laid the dear deceiver low?
+Balow, my boy, etc.
+
+I wish I were into the bounds
+Where he lies smother'd in his wounds,
+Repeating, as he pants for air,
+My name, whom once he call'd his fair;
+No woman's yet so fiercely set
+But she'll forgive, though not forget.
+Balow, my boy, etc.
+
+If linen lacks, for my love's sake
+Then quickly to him would I make
+My smock, once for his body meet,
+And wrap him in that winding-sheet.
+Ah me! how happy had I been,
+If he had ne'er been wrapt therein.
+Balow, my boy, etc.
+
+Balow, my boy, I'll weep for thee;
+Too soon, alake, thou'lt weep for me:
+Thy griefs are growing to a sum,
+God grant thee patience when they come;
+Born to sustain thy mother's shame,
+A hapless fate, a bastard's name.
+Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep,
+It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Jock O The Side
+
+
+
+(Child, Part VI., p. 479.)
+
+Now Liddisdale has ridden a raid,
+But I wat they had better staid at hame;
+For Mitchell o Winfield he is dead,
+And my son Johnie is prisner tane?
+With my fa ding diddle, la la dew diddle.
+
+For Mangerton house auld Downie is gane,
+Her coats she has kilted up to her knee;
+And down the water wi speed she rins,
+While tears in spaits fa fast frae her eie.
+
+Then up and bespake the lord Mangerton:
+"What news, what news, sister Downie, to me?"
+"Bad news, bad news, my lord Mangerton;
+Mitchel is killd, and tane they hae my son Johnie."
+
+"Neer fear, sister Downie," quo Mangerton;
+"I hae yokes of oxen, four-and-twentie,
+My barns, my byres, and my faulds, a' weel filld,
+And I'll part wi them a' ere Johnie shall die.
+
+"Three men I'll take to set him free,
+Weel harnessd a' wi best of steel;
+The English rogues may hear, and drie
+The weight o their braid swords to feel
+
+"The Laird's Jock ane, the Laird's Wat twa,
+O Hobie Noble, thou ane maun be!
+Thy coat is blue, thou has been true,
+Since England banishd thee, to me."
+
+Now, Hobie was an English man,
+In Bewcastle-dale was bred and born;
+But his misdeeds they were sae great,
+They banished him neer to return.
+
+Lord Mangerton then orders gave,--
+"Your horses the wrang way maun a' be shod;
+Like gentlemen ye must not seem,
+But look like corn-caugers gawn ae road.
+
+"Your armour gude ye maunna shaw,
+Nor ance appear like men o weir;
+As country lads be all arrayd,
+Wi branks and brecham on ilk mare."
+
+Sae now a' their horses are shod the wrang way,
+And Hobie has mounted his grey sae fine,
+Jock his lively bay, Wat's on his white horse behind,
+And on they rode for the water o Tyne.
+
+At the Cholerford they a' light down,
+And there, wi the help o the light o the moon,
+A tree they cut, wi fifteen naggs upon each side,
+To climb up the wall of Newcastle toun.
+
+But when they came to Newcastle toun,
+And were alighted at the wa,
+They fand their tree three ells oer laigh,
+They fand their stick baith short aid sma.
+
+Then up and spake the Laird's ain Jock,
+"There's naething for't; the gates we maun force."
+But when they cam the gate unto,
+A proud porter withstood baith men and horse.
+
+His neck in twa I wat they hae wrung;
+Wi foot or hand he neer play'd paw;
+His life and his keys at anes they hae taen,
+And cast his body ahind the wa.
+
+Now soon they reached Newcastle jail,
+And to the prisner thus they call:
+"Sleips thou, wakes thou, Jock o the Side,
+Or is thou wearied o thy thrall?"
+
+Jock answers thus, wi dolefu tone:
+"Aft, aft I wake, I seldom sleip;
+But wha's this kens my name sae weel,
+And thus to hear my waes does seek?"
+
+Then up and spake the good Laird's Jock:
+"Neer fear ye now, my billie," quo he;
+"For here's the Laird's Jock, the Laird's Wat,
+And Hobie Noble, come to set thee free."
+
+"Oh, had thy tongue, and speak nae mair,
+And o thy talk now let me be!
+For if a' Liddesdale were here the night,
+The morn's the day that I maun die.
+
+"Full fifteen stane o Spanish iron,
+They hae laid a' right sair on me;
+Wi locks and keys I am fast bound
+Into this dungeon mirk and drearie."
+
+"Fear ye no that," quo the Laird's Jock;
+"A faint heart neer wan a fair ladie;
+Work thou within, we'll work without,
+And I'll be sworn we set thee free."
+
+The first strong dore that they came at,
+They loosed it without a key;
+The next chaind dore that they cam at,
+They gard it a' in flinders flee.
+
+The prisner now, upo his back,
+The Laird's Jock's gotten up fu hie;
+And down the stair him, irons and a',
+Wi nae sma speed and joy brings he.
+
+"Now, Jock, I wat," quo Hobie Noble,
+"Part o the weight ye may lay on me,"
+"I wat weel no," quo the Laird's Jock
+"I count him lighter than a flee."
+
+Sae out at the gates they a' are gane,
+The prisner's set on horseback hie;
+And now wi speed they've tane the gate;
+While ilk ane jokes fu wantonlie.
+
+"O Jock, sae winsomely's ye ride,
+Wi baith your feet upo ae side!
+Sae weel's ye're harnessd, and sae trig!
+In troth ye sit like ony bride."
+
+The night, tho wat, they didna mind,
+But hied them on fu mirrilie,
+Until they cam to Cholerford brae,
+Where the water ran like mountains hie.
+
+But when they came to Cholerford,
+There they met with an auld man;
+Says, "Honest man, will the water ride?
+Tell us in haste, if that ye can."
+
+"I wat weel no," quo the good auld man;
+"Here I hae livd this threty yeirs and three,
+And I neer yet saw the Tyne sae big,
+Nor rinning ance sae like a sea."
+
+Then up and spake the Laird's saft Wat,
+The greatest coward in the company;
+"Now halt, now halt, we needna try't;
+The day is comd we a' maun die!"
+
+"Poor faint-hearted thief!" quo the Laird's Jock,
+"There'll nae man die but he that's fie;
+I'll lead ye a' right safely through;
+Lift ye the prisner on ahint me.
+
+Sae now the water they a' hae tane,
+By anes and 'twas they a' swam through
+"Here are we a' safe," says the Laird's Jock,
+"And, poor faint Wat, what think ye now?"
+
+They scarce the ither side had won,
+When twenty men they saw pursue;
+Frae Newcastle town they had been sent,
+A' English lads right good and true.
+
+But when the land-sergeant the water saw,
+"It winna ride, my lads," quo he;
+Then out he cries, "Ye the prisner may take,
+But leave the irons, I pray, to me."
+
+"I wat weel no," cryd the Laird's Jock,
+"I'll keep them a'; shoon to my mare they'll be;
+My good grey mare; for I am sure,
+She's bought them a' fu dear frae thee."
+
+Sae now they're away for Liddisdale,
+Een as fast as they coud them hie;
+The prisner's brought to his ain fireside,
+And there o's airns they make him free.
+
+"Now, Jock, my billie," quo a' the three,
+"The day was comd thou was to die;
+But thou's as weel at thy ain fireside,
+Now sitting, I think, 'tween thee and me."
+
+They hae gard fill up ae punch-bowl,
+And after it they maun hae anither,
+And thus the night they a' hae spent,
+Just as they had been brither and brither.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Lord Thomas And Fair Annet
+
+
+
+(Child, Part III., p. 182.)
+
+Lord Thomas and Fair Annet
+Sate a' day on a hill;
+Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,
+They had not talkt their fill.
+
+Lord Thomas said a word in jest,
+Fair Annet took it ill:
+"A, I will nevir wed a wife
+Against my ain friend's will."
+
+"Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,
+A wife wull neir wed yee;"
+Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
+And knelt upon his knee.
+
+"O rede, O rede, mither," he says,
+"A gude rede gie to mee;
+O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,
+And let Faire Annet bee?"
+
+"The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear,
+Fair Annet she has gat nane;
+And the little beauty Fair Annet haes
+O it wull soon be gane."
+
+And he has till his brother gane:
+"Now, brother, rede ye mee;
+A, sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
+And let Fair Annet bee?"
+
+"The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother,
+The nut-browne bride has kye;
+I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,
+And cast Fair Annet bye."
+
+"Her oxen may dye i' the house, billie,
+And her kye into the byre;
+And I sall hae nothing to mysell
+Bot a fat fadge by the fyre."
+
+And he has till his sister gane:
+"Now, sister, rede ye mee;
+O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
+And set Fair Annet free?"
+
+"I'se rede ye tak Fair Annet, Thomas,
+And let the browne bride alane;
+Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace,
+What is this we brought hame!"
+
+"No, I will tak my mither's counsel,
+And marrie me owt o hand;
+And I will tak the nut-browne bride,
+Fair Annet may leive the land."
+
+Up then rose Fair Annet's father,
+Twa hours or it wer day,
+And he is gane unto the bower
+Wherein Fair Annet lay.
+
+"Rise up, rise up, Fair Annet," he says
+"Put on your silken sheene;
+Let us gae to St. Marie's Kirke,
+And see that rich weddeen."
+
+"My maides, gae to my dressing-roome,
+And dress to me my hair;
+Whaireir yee laid a plait before,
+See yee lay ten times mair.
+
+"My maids, gae to my dressing-room,
+And dress to me my smock;
+The one half is o the holland fine,
+The other o needle-work."
+
+The horse Fair Annet rade upon,
+He amblit like the wind;
+Wi siller he was shod before,
+Wi burning gowd behind.
+
+Four and twanty siller bells
+Wer a' tyed till his mane,
+And yae tift o the norland wind,
+They tinkled ane by ane.
+
+Four and twanty gay gude knichts
+Rade by Fair Annet's side,
+And four and twanty fair ladies,
+As gin she had bin a bride.
+
+And whan she cam to Marie's Kirk,
+She sat on Marie's stean:
+The cleading that Fair Annet had on
+It skinkled in their een.
+
+And whan she cam into the kirk,
+She shimmerd like the sun;
+The belt that was about her waist
+Was a' wi pearles bedone.
+
+She sat her by the nut-browne bride,
+And her een they wer sae clear,
+Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,
+When Fair Annet drew near.
+
+He had a rose into his hand,
+He gae it kisses three,
+And reaching by the nut-browne bride,
+Laid it on Fair Annet's knee.
+
+Up then spak the nut-browne bride,
+She spak wi meikle spite:
+"And whair gat ye that rose-water,
+That does mak yee sae white?"
+
+"O I did get the rose-water
+Whair ye wull neir get nane,
+For I did get that very rose-water
+Into my mither's wame."
+
+The bride she drew a long bodkin
+Frae out her gay head-gear,
+And strake Fair Annet unto the heart,
+That word spak nevir mair.
+
+Lord Thomas he saw Fair Annet wex pale,
+And marvelit what mote bee;
+But when he saw her dear heart's blude,
+A' wood-wroth wexed bee.
+
+He drew his dagger that was sae sharp,
+That was sae sharp and meet,
+And drave it into the nut-browne bride,
+That fell deid at his feit.
+
+"Now stay for me, dear Annet," he sed,
+"Now stay, my dear," he cry'd;
+Then strake the dagger untill his heart,
+And fell deid by her side.
+
+Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa,
+Fair Annet within the quiere,
+And o the ane thair grew a birk,
+The other a bonny briere.
+
+And ay they grew, and ay they threw,
+As they wad faine be neare;
+And by this ye may ken right weil
+They were twa luvers deare.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Fair Annie
+
+
+
+(Child, Part III., p. 69.)
+
+"It's narrow, narrow, make your bed,
+And learn to lie your lane:
+For I'm ga'n oer the sea, Fair Annie,
+A braw bride to bring hame.
+Wi her I will get gowd and gear;
+Wi you I neer got nane.
+
+"But wha will bake my bridal bread,
+Or brew my bridal ale?
+And wha will welcome my brisk bride,
+That I bring oer the dale?"
+
+"It's I will bake your bridal bread,
+And brew your bridal ale,
+And I will welcome your brisk bride,
+That you bring oer the dale."
+
+"But she that welcomes my brisk bride
+Maun gang like maiden fair;
+She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,
+And braid her yellow hair."
+
+"But how can I gang maiden-like,
+When maiden I am nane?
+Have I not born seven sons to thee,
+And am with child again?"
+
+She's taen her young son in her arms,
+Another in her hand,
+And she's up to the highest tower,
+To see him come to land.
+
+"Come up, come up, my eldest son,
+And look oer yon sea-strand,
+And see your father's new-come bride,
+Before she come to land."
+
+"Come down, come down, my mother dear,
+Come frae the castle wa!
+I fear, if langer ye stand there,
+Ye'll let yoursell down fa."
+
+And she gaed down, and farther down,
+Her love's ship for to see,
+And the topmast and the mainmast
+Shone like the silver free.
+
+And she's gane down, and farther down,
+The bride's ship to behold,
+And the topmast and the mainmast
+They shone just like the gold.
+
+She's taen her seven sons in her hand,
+I wot she didna fail;
+She met Lord Thomas and his bride,
+As they came oer the dale.
+
+"You're welcome to your house, Lord Thomas,
+You're welcome to your land;
+You're welcome with your fair ladye,
+That you lead by the hand.
+
+"You're welcome to your ha's, ladye,
+You're welcome to your bowers;
+Your welcome to your hame, ladye,
+For a' that's here is yours."
+
+"I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie,
+Sae dearly as I thank thee;
+You're the likest to my sister Annie,
+That ever I did see.
+
+"There came a knight out oer the sea,
+And steald my sister away;
+The shame scoup in his company,
+And land where'er he gae!"
+
+She hang ae napkin at the door,
+Another in the ha,
+And a' to wipe the trickling tears,
+Sae fast as they did fa.
+
+And aye she served the lang tables
+With white bread and with wine,
+And aye she drank the wan water,
+To had her colour fine.
+
+And aye she served the lang tables,
+With white bread and with brown;
+And aye she turned her round about,
+Sae fast the tears fell down.
+
+And he's taen down the silk napkin,
+Hung on a silver pin,
+And aye he wipes the tear trickling
+A'down her cheek and chin.
+
+And aye he turn'd him round about,
+And smiled amang his men;
+Says, "Like ye best the old ladye,
+Or her that's new come hame?"
+
+When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
+And a' men bound to bed,
+Lord Thomas and his new-come bride
+To their chamber they were gaed.
+
+Annie made her bed a little forbye,
+To hear what they might say;
+"And ever alas!" Fair Annie cried,
+"That I should see this day!
+
+"Gin my seven sons were seven young rats,
+Running on the castle wa,
+And I were a grey cat mysell,
+I soon would worry them a'.
+
+"Gin my young sons were seven young hares,
+Running oer yon lilly lee,
+And I were a grew hound mysell,
+Soon worried they a' should be."
+
+And wae and sad Fair Annie sat,
+And drearie was her sang,
+And ever, as she sobbd and grat,
+"Wae to the man that did the wrang!"
+
+"My gown is on," said the new-come bride,
+"My shoes are on my feet,
+And I will to Fair Annie's chamber,
+And see what gars her greet.
+
+"What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie,
+That ye make sic a moan?
+Has your wine-barrels cast the girds,
+Or is your white bread gone?
+
+"O wha was't was your father, Annie,
+Or wha was't was your mother?
+And had ye ony sister, Annie,
+Or had ye ony brother?"
+
+"The Earl of Wemyss was my father,
+The Countess of Wemyss my mother;
+And a' the folk about the house
+To me were sister and brother."
+
+"If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,
+I wot sae was he mine;
+And it shall not be for lack o gowd
+That ye your love sall fyne.
+
+"For I have seven ships o mine ain,
+A' loaded to the brim,
+And I will gie them a' to thee
+Wi four to thine eldest son:
+But thanks to a' the powers in heaven
+That I gae maiden hame!"
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Dowie Dens Of Yarrow
+
+
+
+(Child, Part III.  Early Edition.)
+
+Late at e'en, drinking the wine,
+And ere they paid the lawing,
+They set a combat them between,
+To fight it in the dawing.
+
+"Oh, stay at hame, my noble lord,
+Oh, stay at hame, my marrow!
+My cruel brother will you betray
+On the dowie houms of Yarrow."
+
+"Oh, fare ye weel, my ladye gaye!
+Oh, fare ye weel, my Sarah!
+For I maun gae, though I ne'er return,
+Frae the dowie banks of Yarrow."
+
+She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,
+As oft she had done before, O;
+She belted him with his noble brand,
+And he's away to Yarrow.
+
+As he gaed up the Tennies bank,
+I wot he gaed wi' sorrow,
+Till, down in a den, he spied nine arm'd men,
+On the dowie houms of Yarrow.
+
+"Oh, come ye here to part your land,
+The bonnie Forest thorough?
+Or come ye here to wield your brand,
+On the dowie houms of Yarrow?"
+
+"I come not here to part my land,
+And neither to beg nor borrow;
+I come to wield my noble brand,
+On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.
+
+"If I see all, ye're nine to ane;
+An that's an unequal marrow:
+Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,
+On the bonnie banks of Yarrow."
+
+Four has he hurt, and five has slain,
+On the bloody braes of Yarrow;
+Till that stubborn knight came him behind,
+And ran his body thorough.
+
+"Gae hame, gae hame, good-brother John,
+And tell your sister Sarah,
+To come and lift her leafu' lord;
+He's sleepin' sound on Yarrow."
+
+"Yestreen I dream'd a dolefu' dream;
+I fear there will be sorrow!
+I dream'd I pu'd the heather green,
+Wi' my true love, on Yarrow.
+
+"O gentle wind, that bloweth south,
+From where my love repaireth,
+Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,
+And tell me how he fareth!
+
+"But in the glen strive armed men;
+They've wrought me dole and sorrow;
+They've slain--the comeliest knight they've slain--
+He bleeding lies on Yarrow."
+
+As she sped down yon high, high hill,
+She gaed wi' dole and sorrow,
+And in the den spied ten slain men,
+On the dowie banks of Yarrow.
+
+She kiss'd his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,
+She search'd his wounds all thorough,
+She kiss'd them, till her lips grew red,
+On the dowie houms of Yarrow.
+
+"Now, haud your tongue, my daughter dear!
+For a' this breeds but sorrow;
+I'll wed ye to a better lord
+Than him ye lost on Yarrow."
+
+"Oh, haud your tongue, my father dear!
+Ye mind me but of sorrow:
+A fairer rose did never bloom
+Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Sir Roland
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. i.  Early Edition.)
+
+Whan he cam to his ain luve's bouir
+He tirled at the pin,
+And sae ready was his fair fause luve
+To rise and let him in.
+
+"O welcome, welcome, Sir Roland," she says,
+"Thrice welcome thou art to me;
+For this night thou wilt feast in my secret bouir,
+And to-morrow we'll wedded be."
+
+"This night is hallow-eve," he said,
+"And to-morrow is hallow-day;
+And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,
+That has made my heart fu' wae.
+
+"I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,
+And I wish it may cum to gude:
+I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound,
+And gied me his lappered blude."
+
+* * * * *
+
+"Unbuckle your belt, Sir Roland," she said,
+And set you safely down."
+O your chamber is very dark, fair maid,
+And the night is wondrous lown."
+
+"Yes, dark, dark is my secret bouir,
+And lown the midnight may be;
+For there is none waking in a' this tower
+But thou, my true love, and me."
+
+* * * * *
+
+She has mounted on her true love's steed,
+By the ae light o' the moon;
+She has whipped him and spurred him,
+And roundly she rade frae the toun.
+
+She hadna ridden a mile o' gate,
+Never a mile but ane,
+When she was aware of a tall young man,
+Slow riding o'er the plain,
+
+She turned her to the right about,
+Then to the left turn'd she;
+But aye, 'tween her and the wan moonlight,
+That tall knight did she see.
+
+And he was riding burd alane,
+On a horse as black as jet,
+But tho' she followed him fast and fell,
+No nearer could she get.
+
+"O stop!  O stop! young man," she said;
+"For I in dule am dight;
+O stop, and win a fair lady's luve,
+If you be a leal true knight."
+
+But nothing did the tall knight say,
+And nothing did he blin;
+Still slowly ride he on before
+And fast she rade behind.
+
+She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed,
+Till his breast was all a foam;
+But nearer unto that tall young knight,
+By Our Ladye she could not come.
+
+"O if you be a gay young knight,
+As well I trow you be,
+Pull tight your bridle reins, and stay
+Till I come up to thee."
+
+But nothing did that tall knight say,
+And no whit did he blin,
+Until he reached a broad river's side
+And there he drew his rein.
+
+"O is this water deep?" he said,
+"As it is wondrous dun?
+Or is it sic as a saikless maid,
+And a leal true knight may swim?"
+
+"The water it is deep," she said,
+"As it is wondrous dun;
+But it is sic as a saikless maid,
+And a leal true knight may swim."
+
+The knight spurred on his tall black steed;
+The lady spurred on her brown;
+And fast they rade unto the flood,
+And fast they baith swam down.
+
+"The water weets my tae," she said;
+"The water weets my knee,
+And hold up my bridle reins, sir knight,
+For the sake of Our Ladye."
+
+"If I would help thee now," he said,
+"It were a deadly sin,
+For I've sworn neir to trust a fair may's word,
+Till the water weets her chin."
+
+"Oh, the water weets my waist," she said,
+"Sae does it weet my skin,
+And my aching heart rins round about,
+The burn maks sic a din.
+
+"The water is waxing deeper still,
+Sae does it wax mair wide;
+And aye the farther that we ride on,
+Farther off is the other side.
+
+"O help me now, thou false, false knight,
+Have pity on my youth,
+For now the water jawes owre my head,
+And it gurgles in my mouth."
+
+The knight turned right and round about,
+All in the middle stream;
+And he stretched out his head to that lady,
+But loudly she did scream.
+
+"O this is hallow-morn," he said,
+"And it is your bridal-day,
+But sad would be that gay wedding,
+If bridegroom and bride were away.
+
+"And ride on, ride on, proud Margaret!
+Till the water comes o'er your bree,
+For the bride maun ride deep, and deeper yet,
+Wha rides this ford wi' me.
+
+"Turn round, turn round, proud Margaret!
+Turn ye round, and look on me,
+Thou hast killed a true knight under trust,
+And his ghost now links on with thee."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Rose The Red And White Lily
+
+
+
+(Child, Part IV.)
+
+O Rose the Red and White Lilly,
+Their mother dear was dead,
+And their father married an ill woman,
+Wishd them twa little guede.
+
+Yet she had twa as fu fair sons
+As eer brake manis bread,
+And the tane of them loed her White Lilly,
+And the tither lood Rose the Red.
+
+O, biggit ha they a bigly bowr,
+And strawn it oer wi san,
+And there was mair mirth i the ladies' bowr
+Than in a' their father's lan.
+
+But out it spake their step-mother,
+Wha stood a little foreby:
+"I hope to live and play the prank
+Sal gar your loud sang ly."
+
+She's calld upon her eldest son:
+"Come here, my son, to me;
+It fears me sair, my eldest son,
+That ye maun sail the sea."
+
+"Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,
+Your bidding I maun dee;
+But be never war to Rose the Red
+Than ye ha been to me."
+
+"O had your tongue, my eldest son,
+For sma sal be her part;
+You'll nae get a kiss o her comely mouth
+Gin your very fair heart should break."
+
+She's calld upon her youngest son:
+"Come here, my son, to me;
+It fears me sair, my youngest son,
+That ye maun sail the sea."
+
+"Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,
+Your bidding I maun dee;
+But be never war to White Lilly
+Than ye ha been to me."
+
+"O haud your tongue, my youngest son,
+For sma sall be her part;
+You'll neer get a kiss o her comely mouth
+Tho your very fair heart should break."
+
+When Rose the Red and White Lilly
+Saw their twa loves were gane,
+Then stopped ha they their loud, loud sang,
+And tane up the still moarnin;
+And their step-mother stood listnin by,
+To hear the ladies' mean.
+
+Then out it spake her, White Lily;
+"My sister, we'll be gane;
+Why shou'd we stay in Barnsdale,
+To waste our youth in pain?"
+
+Then cutted ha they their green cloathing,
+A little below their knee;
+And sae ha they their yallow hair,
+A little aboon there bree;
+And they've doen them to haely chapel
+Was christened by Our Ladye.
+
+There ha they changed their ain twa names,
+Sae far frae ony town;
+And the tane o them hight Sweet Willy,
+And the tither o them Roge the Roun.
+
+Between this twa a vow was made,
+An they sware it to fulfil;
+That at three blasts o a buglehorn,
+She'd come her sister till.
+
+Now Sweet Willy's gane to the kingis court,
+Her true-love for to see,
+And Roge the Roun to good green wood,
+Brown Robin's man to be.
+
+As it fell out upon a day,
+They a did put the stane;
+Full seven foot ayont them a
+She gard the puttin-stane gang.
+
+She leand her back against an oak,
+And gae a loud Ohone!
+Then out it spake him Brown Robin,
+"But that's a woman's moan!"
+
+"Oh, ken ye by my red rose lip?
+Or by my yallow hair;
+Or ken ye by my milk-white breast?
+For ye never saw it bare?"
+
+"I ken no by your red rose lip,
+Nor by your yallow hair;
+Nor ken I by your milk-white breast,
+For I never saw it bare;
+But, come to your bowr whaever sae likes,
+Will find a ladye there."
+
+"Oh, gin ye come to my bowr within,
+Thro fraud, deceit, or guile,
+Wi this same bran that's in my han
+I swear I will thee kill."
+
+"But I will come thy bowr within,
+An spear nae leave," quoth he;
+"An this same bran that's i my ban,
+I sall ware back on the."
+
+About the tenth hour of the night,
+The ladie's bowr door was broken,
+An eer the first hour of the day
+The bonny knave bairn was gotten.
+
+When days were gane and months were run,
+The ladye took travailing,
+And sair she cry'd for a bow'r-woman,
+For to wait her upon.
+
+Then out it spake him, Brown Robin:
+"Now what needs a' this din?
+For what coud any woman do
+But I coud do the same?"
+
+"Twas never my mither's fashion," she says,
+"Nor sall it ever be mine,
+That belted knights shoud eer remain
+Where ladies dreed their pine.
+
+"But ye take up that bugle-horn,
+An blaw a blast for me;
+I ha a brother i the kingis court
+Will come me quickly ti."
+
+"O gin ye ha a brither on earth
+That ye love better nor me,
+Ye blaw the horn yoursel," he says,
+"For ae blast I winna gie."
+
+She's set the horn till her mouth,
+And she's blawn three blasts sae shrill;
+Sweet Willy heard i the kingis court,
+And came her quickly till.
+
+Then up it started Brown Robin,
+An an angry man was he:
+"There comes nae man this bowr within
+But first must fight wi me."
+
+O they hae fought that bowr within
+Till the sun was gaing down,
+Till drops o blude frae Rose the Red
+Cam trailing to the groun.
+
+She leand her back against the wa,
+Says, "Robin, let a' be;
+For it is a lady born and bred
+That's foughten sae well wi thee."
+
+O seven foot he lap a back;
+Says, "Alas, and wae is me!
+I never wisht in a' my life,
+A woman's blude to see;
+An ae for the sake of ae fair maid
+Whose name was White Lilly."
+
+Then out it spake her White Lilly,
+An a hearty laugh laugh she:
+"She's lived wi you this year an mair,
+Tho ye kenntna it was she."
+
+Now word has gane thro a' the lan,
+Before a month was done,
+That Brown Robin's man, in good green wood,
+Had born a bonny young son.
+
+The word has gane to the kingis court,
+An to the king himsel;
+"Now, by my fay," the king could say,
+"The like was never heard tell!"
+
+Then out it spake him Bold Arthur,
+An a hearty laugh laugh he:
+"I trow some may has playd the loun,
+And fled her ain country."
+
+"Bring me my steed," then cry'd the king,
+"My bow and arrows keen;
+I'll ride mysel to good green wood,
+An see what's to be seen."
+
+"An't please your grace," said Bold Arthur,
+"My liege, I'll gang you wi,
+An try to fin a little foot-page,
+That's strayd awa frae me."
+
+O they've hunted i the good green wood
+The buck but an the rae,
+An they drew near Brown Robin's bowr,
+About the close of day.
+
+Then out it spake the king in hast,
+Says, "Arthur look an see
+Gin that be no your little foot-page
+That leans against yon tree."
+
+Then Arthur took his bugle-horn,
+An blew a blast sae shrill;
+Sweet Willy started at the sound,
+An ran him quickly till.
+
+"O wanted ye your meat, Willy?
+Or wanted ye your fee?
+Or gat ye ever an angry word,
+That ye ran awa frae me?"
+
+"I wanted nought, my master dear;
+To me ye ay was good;
+I came but to see my ae brother,
+That wons in this green wood."
+
+Then out it spake the king again,
+Says, "Bonny boy, tell to me,
+Wha lives into yon bigly bowr,
+Stands by yon green oak tree?"
+
+"Oh, pardon me," says Sweet Willie,
+"My liege, I dare no tell;
+An I pray you go no near that bowr,
+For fear they do you fell."
+
+"Oh, haud your tongue, my bonny boy,
+For I winna be said nay;
+But I will gang that bowr within,
+Betide me weal or wae."
+
+They've lighted off their milk-white steeds,
+An saftly enterd in,
+And there they saw her White Lilly,
+Nursing her bonny young son.
+
+"Now, by the rood," the king coud say,
+"This is a comely sight;
+I trow, instead of a forrester's man,
+This is a lady bright!"
+
+Then out it spake her, Rose the Red,
+An fell low down on her knee:
+"Oh, pardon us, my gracious liege,
+An our story I'll tell thee.
+
+"Our father was a wealthy lord,
+That wond in Barnsdale;
+But we had a wicked step-mother,
+That wrought us meickle bale.
+
+"Yet she had twa as fu fair sons
+As ever the sun did see,
+An the tane of them lood my sister dear,
+An the tother said he lood me."
+
+Then out it spake him Bold Arthur,
+As by the king he stood:
+"Now, by the faith o my body,
+This shoud be Rose the Red!"
+
+Then in it came him Brown Robin,
+Frae hunting O the deer;
+But whan he saw the king was there,
+He started back for fear.
+
+The king has taen him by the hand,
+An bide him naithing dread;
+Says, "Ye maun leave the good greenwood,
+Come to the court wi speed."
+
+Then up he took White Lilly's son,
+An set him on his knee;
+Says--"Gin ye live to wield a bran,
+My bowman ye sall bee."
+
+The king he sent for robes of green,
+An girdles o shinning gold;
+He gart the ladies be arrayd
+Most comely to behold.
+
+They've done them unto Mary kirk,
+An there gat fair wedding,
+An fan the news spread oer the lan,
+For joy the bells did ring.
+
+Then out it spake her Rose the Red,
+An a hearty laugh laugh she:
+"I wonder what would our step-dame say,
+Gin she his sight did see!"
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Battle Of Harlaw--Evergreen Version
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. vii.  Early Edition, Appendix.)
+
+Frae Dunidier as I cam throuch,
+Doun by the hill of Banochie,
+Allangst the lands of Garioch.
+Grit pitie was to heir and se
+The noys and dulesum hermonie,
+That evir that dreiry day did daw!
+Cryand the corynoch on hie,
+Alas! alas! for the Harlaw.
+
+I marvlit what the matter meant;
+All folks were in a fiery fariy:
+I wist nocht wha was fae or freind,
+Yet quietly I did me carrie.
+But sen the days of auld King Hairy,
+Sic slauchter was not hard nor sene,
+And thair I had nae tyme to tairy,
+For bissiness in Aberdene.
+
+Thus as I walkit on the way,
+To Inverury as I went,
+I met a man, and bad him stay,
+Requeisting him to mak me quaint
+Of the beginning and the event
+That happenit thair at the Harlaw;
+Then he entreited me to tak tent,
+And he the truth sould to me schaw.
+
+Grit Donald of the Ysles did claim
+Unto the lands of Ross sum richt,
+And to the governour he came,
+Them for to haif, gif that he micht,
+Wha saw his interest was but slicht,
+And thairfore answerit with disdain.
+He hastit hame baith day and nicht,
+And sent nae bodward back again.
+
+But Donald richt impatient
+Of that answer Duke Robert gaif,
+He vow'd to God Omniyotent,
+All the hale lands of Ross to half,
+Or ells be graithed in his graif:
+He wald not quat his richt for nocht,
+Nor be abusit like a slaif;
+That bargin sould be deirly bocht.
+
+Then haistylie he did command
+That all his weir-men should convene;
+Ilk an well harnisit frae hand,
+To melt and heir what he did mein.
+He waxit wrath and vowit tein;
+Sweirand he wald surpryse the North,
+Subdew the brugh of Aberdene,
+Mearns, Angus, and all Fyfe to Forth.
+
+Thus with the weir-men of the yles,
+Wha war ay at his bidding bown,
+With money maid, with forss and wyls,
+Richt far and neir, baith up and doun,
+Throw mount and muir, frae town to town,
+Allangst the lands of Ross he roars,
+And all obey'd at his bandown,
+Evin frae the North to Suthren shoars.
+
+Then all the countrie men did yield;
+For nae resistans durst they mak,
+Nor offer batill in the feild,
+Be forss of arms to beir him bak.
+Syne they resolvit all and spak,
+That best it was for thair behoif,
+They sould him for thair chiftain tak,
+Believing weil he did them luve.
+
+Then he a proclamation maid,
+All men to meet at Inverness,
+Throw Murray land to mak a raid,
+Frae Arthursyre unto Spey-ness.
+And further mair, he sent express,
+To schaw his collours and ensenzie,
+To all and sindry, mair and less,
+Throchout the bounds of Byne and Enzie.
+
+And then throw fair Strathbogie land
+His purpose was for to pursew,
+And whatsoevir durst gainstand,
+That race they should full sairly rew.
+Then he bad all his men be trew,
+And him defend by forss and slicht,
+And promist them rewardis anew,
+And mak them men of mekle micht.
+
+Without resistans, as he said,
+Throw all these parts he stoutly past,
+Where sum war wae, and sum war glaid,
+But Garioch was all agast.
+Throw all these feilds be sped him fast,
+For sic a sicht was never sene;
+And then, forsuith, he langd at last
+To se the bruch of Aberdene.
+
+To hinder this prowd enterprise,
+The stout and michty Erl of Marr
+With all his men in arms did ryse,
+Even frae Curgarf to Craigyvar:
+And down the syde of Don richt far,
+Angus and Mearns did all convene
+To fecht, or Donald came sae nar
+The ryall bruch of Aberdene.
+
+And thus the martial Erle of Marr
+Marcht with his men in richt array;
+Befoir his enemis was aware,
+His banner bauldly did display.
+For weil enewch they kent the way,
+And all their semblance well they saw:
+Without all dangir or delay,
+Come haistily to the Harlaw.
+
+With him the braif Lord Ogilvy,
+Of Angus sheriff principall,
+The constable of gude Dunde,
+The vanguard led before them all.
+Suppose in number they war small,
+Thay first richt bauldlie did pursew,
+And maid thair faes befor them fall,
+Wha then that race did sairly rew.
+
+And then the worthy Lord Salton,
+The strong undoubted Laird of Drum,
+The stalwart Laird of Lawristone,
+With ilk thair forces all and sum.
+Panmuir with all his men, did cum,
+The provost of braif Aberdene,
+With trumpets and with tuick of drum,
+Came schortly in thair armour schene.
+
+These with the Earle of Marr came on,
+In the reir-ward richt orderlie,
+Thair enemies to sett upon;
+In awfull manner hardilie,
+Togither vowit to live and die,
+Since they had marchit mony mylis,
+For to suppress the tyrannie
+Of douted Donald of the Ysles.
+
+But he, in number ten to ane,
+Right subtile alang did ryde,
+With Malcomtosch, and fell Maclean,
+With all thair power at thair syde;
+Presumeand on their strenth and pryde,
+Without all feir or ony aw,
+Richt bauldie battil did abyde,
+Hard by the town of fair Harlaw.
+
+The armies met, the trumpet sounds,
+The dandring drums alloud did touk,
+Baith armies byding on the bounds,
+Till ane of them the feild sould bruik.
+Nae help was thairfor, nane wald jouk,
+Ferss was the fecht on ilka syde,
+And on the ground lay mony a bouk
+Of them that thair did battil byd.
+
+With doutsum victorie they dealt,
+The bludy battil lastit lang;
+Each man fits nibours forss thair felt,
+The weakest aft-tymes gat the wrang:
+Thair was nae mowis thair them amang,
+Naithing was hard but heavy knocks,
+That eccho mad a dulefull sang,
+Thairto resounding frae the rocks.
+
+But Donalds men at last gaif back,
+For they war all out of array:
+The Earl of Marris men throw them brak,
+Pursewing shairply in thair way,
+Thair enemys to tak or slay,
+Be dynt of forss to gar them yield;
+Wha war richt blyth to win away,
+And sae for feirdness tint the feild.
+
+Then Donald fled, and that full fast,
+To mountains hich for all his micht;
+For he and his war all agast,
+And ran till they war out of sicht;
+And sae of Ross he lost his richt,
+Thocht mony men with hem he brocht;
+Towards the yles fled day and nicht,
+And all he wan was deirlie bocht.
+
+This is (quod he) the richt report
+Of all that I did heir and knaw;
+Thocht my discourse be sumthing schort,
+Tak this to be a richt suthe saw:
+Contrairie God and the kings law,
+Thair was spilt mekle Christian blude,
+Into the battil of Harlaw:
+This is the sum, sae I conclude.
+
+But yet a bonnie while abide,
+And I sall mak thee cleirly ken
+What slaughter was on ilkay syde,
+Of Lowland and of Highland men,
+Wha for thair awin haif evir bene;
+These lazie lowns micht weil be spared,
+Chased like deers into their dens,
+And gat their wages for reward.
+
+Malcomtosh, of the clan heid-cheif,
+Macklean with his grit hauchty heid,
+With all thair succour and relief,
+War dulefully dung to the deid;
+And now we are freid of thair feid,
+They will not lang to cum again;
+Thousands with them, without remeid,
+On Donald's syd, that day war slain.
+
+And on the uther syde war lost,
+Into the feild that dismal day,
+Chief men of worth, of mekle cost,
+To be lamentit sair for ay.
+The Lord Saltoun of Rothemay,
+A man of micht and mekle main;
+Grit dolour was for his decay,
+That sae unhappylie was slain.
+
+Of the best men amang them was
+The gracious gude Lord Ogilvy,
+The sheriff-principal of Angus,
+Renownit for truth and equitie,
+For faith and magnanimitie;
+He had few fallows in the field,
+Yet fell by fatall destinie,
+For he naeways wad grant to yield.
+
+Sir James Scrimgeor of Duddap, knicht,
+Grit constabill of fair Dunde,
+Unto the dulefull deith was dicht;
+The kingis cheif bannerman was he,
+A valiant man of chevalrie,
+Whose predecessors wan that place
+At Spey, with gude King William frie
+'Gainst Murray, and Macduncan's race.
+
+Gude Sir Allexander Irving,
+The much renowit laird of Drum,
+Nane in his days was bettir sene
+When they war semblit all and sum.
+To praise him we sould not be dumm,
+For valour, witt, and worthyness;
+To end his days he ther did cum
+Whose ransom is remeidyless.
+
+And thair the knicht of Lawriston
+Was slain into his armour schene,
+And gude Sir Robert Davidson,
+Wha provost was of Aberdene:
+The knicht of Panmure, as was sene,
+A mortall man in armour bricht,
+Sir Thomas Murray, stout and kene,
+Left to the warld thair last gude nicht.
+
+Thair was not sen King Keneths days
+Sic strange intestine crewel stryf
+In Scotland sene, as ilk man says,
+Whare mony liklie lost thair lyfe;
+Whilk maid divorce twene man and wyfe,
+And mony childrene fatherless,
+Whilk in this realme has bene full ryfe:
+Lord help these lands, our wrangs redress.
+
+In July, on Saint James his even,
+That four and twenty dismall day,
+Twelve hundred, ten score and eleven
+Of theirs sen Chryst, the suthe to say,
+Men will remember, as they may,
+When thus the ventie they knaw,
+And mony a ane may murn for ay,
+The brim battil of the Harlaw.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Traditionary Version
+
+
+
+(Child, Part VI.)
+
+As I came in by Dunidier,
+An doun by Netherha,
+There was fifty thousand Hielanmen
+A marching to Harlaw.
+(Chorus) Wi a dree dree dradie drumtie dree.
+
+As I cam on, an farther on,
+An doun an by Balquhain,
+Oh there I met Sir James the Rose,
+Wi him Sir John the Gryme.
+
+"O cam ye frae the Hielans, man?
+And cam ye a' the wey?
+Saw ye Macdonell an his men,
+As they cam frae the Skee?"
+
+"Yes, me cam frae ta Hielans, man,
+An me cam a ta wey,
+An she saw Macdonell an his men,
+As they cam frae ta Skee."
+
+"Oh, was ye near Macdonell's men?
+Did ye their numbers see?
+Come, tell to me, John Hielanman,
+What micht their numbers be?"
+
+"Yes, me was near, an near eneuch,
+An me their numbers saw;
+There was fifty thousand Hielanmen
+A marching to Harlaw."
+
+"Gin that be true," says James the Rose,
+"We'll no come meikle speed;
+We'll cry upo our merry men,
+And lichtly mount our steed."
+
+"Oh no, oh no!" quo' John the Gryme,
+"That thing maun never be;
+The gallant Grymes were never bate,
+We'll try what we can dee."
+
+As I cam on, an farther on,
+An doun an by Harlaw,
+They fell fu close on ilka side;
+Sic fun ye never saw.
+
+They fell fu close on ilka side,
+Sic fun ye never saw;
+For Hielan swords gied clash for clash,
+At the battle o Harlaw.
+
+The Hielanmen, wi their lang swords,
+They laid on us fu sair,
+An they drave back our merry men
+Three acres breadth an mair.
+
+Brave Forbes to his brither did say,
+"Noo brither, dinna ye see?
+They beat us back on ilka side,
+An we'se be forced to flee."
+
+"Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,
+That thing maun never be;
+Tak ye your good sword in your hand,
+An come your wa's wi me."
+
+"Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,
+The clans they are ower strang,
+An they drive back our merry men,
+Wi swords baith sharp an lang."
+
+Brave Forbes drew his men aside,
+Said, "Tak your rest a while,
+Until I to Drumminnor send,
+To fess my coat o mail."
+
+The servan he did ride,
+An his horse it did na fail,
+For in twa hours an a quarter
+He brocht the coat o mail.
+
+Then back to back the brithers twa
+Gaed in amo the thrang,
+An they hewed doun the Hielanmen,
+Wi swords baith sharp an lang.
+
+Macdonell he was young an stout,
+Had on his coat o mail,
+And he has gane oot throw them a'
+To try his han himsell.
+
+The first ae straik that Forbes strack,
+He garrt Macdonell reel;
+An the neist ae straik that Forbes strack,
+The great Macdonell fell.
+
+And siccan a lierachie,
+I'm sure ye never sawe
+As wis amo the Hielanmen,
+When they saw Macdonell fa.
+
+An whan they saw that he was deid,
+They turnd and ran awa,
+An they buried him in Legget's Den,
+A large mile frae Harlaw.
+
+They rade, they ran, an some did gang,
+They were o sma record;
+But Forbes and his merry men,
+They slew them a' the road.
+
+On Monanday, at mornin,
+The battle it began,
+On Saturday at gloamin',
+Ye'd scarce kent wha had wan.
+
+An sic a weary buryin,
+I'm sure ye never saw,
+As wis the Sunday after that,
+On the muirs aneath Harlaw.
+
+Gin anybody speer at ye
+For them ye took awa,
+Ye may tell their wives and bairnies,
+They're sleepin at Harlaw.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Dickie Macphalion
+
+
+
+(Sharpe's Ballad Book, No. XIV.)
+
+I went to the mill, but the miller was gone,
+I sat me down, and cried ochone!
+To think on the days that are past and gone,
+Of Dickie Macphalion that's slain.
+Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,
+To think on the days that are past and gone,
+Of Dickie Macphalion that's slain.
+
+I sold my rock, I sold my reel,
+And sae hae I my spinning wheel,
+And a' to buy a cap of steel
+For Dickie Macphalion that's slain!
+Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,
+And a' to buy a cap of steel
+For Dickie Macphalion that's slain.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  A Lyke-Wake Dirge
+
+
+
+(Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii., p. 357.)
+
+This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
+Every nighte and alle,
+Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte,
+And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+When thou from hence away art paste,
+Every nighte and alle,
+To Whinny-muir thou comest at laste;
+And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,
+Every nighte and alle,
+Sit thee down and put them on;
+And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+If hosen and shoon thou ne'er gavest nane,
+Every nighte and alle,
+The whinnes sall pricke thee to the bare bane;
+And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe,
+Every nighte and alle,
+To Brigg o' Dread thou comest at laste,
+And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+From Brigg o' Dread when thou mayst passe,
+Every nighte and alle,
+To Purgatory fire thou comest at last,
+And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+If ever thou gavest meat or drink,
+Every nighte and alle,
+The fire sall never make thee shrinke;
+And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+If meate or drinke thou never gavest nane,
+Every nighte and alle,
+The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;
+And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
+Every nighte and alle,
+Fire, and sleet, and candle-lighte,
+And Christe receive thye saule.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Laird Of Waristoun
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. iii.  Early Edition.)
+
+Down by yon garden green,
+Sae merrily as she gaes;
+She has twa weel-made feet,
+And she trips upon her taes.
+
+She has twa weel-made feet;
+Far better is her hand;
+She's as jimp in the middle
+As ony willow wand.
+
+"Gif ye will do my bidding,
+At my bidding for to be,
+It's I will make you lady
+Of a' the lands you see."
+
+* * * * *
+
+He spak a word in jest;
+Her answer was na good;
+He threw a plate at her face,
+Made it a' gush out o' blood.
+
+She wasna frae her chamber
+A step but barely three,
+When up and at her richt hand
+There stood Man's Enemy.
+
+"Gif ye will do my bidding,
+At my bidding for to be,
+I'll learn you a wile,
+Avenged for to be."
+
+The foul thief knotted the tether;
+She lifted his head on hie;
+The nourice drew the knot
+That gar'd lord Waristoun die.
+
+Then word is gane to Leith,
+Also to Edinburgh town
+That the lady had kill'd the laird,
+The laird o' Waristoun.
+
+* * * * *
+
+Tak aff, tak aff my hood
+But lat my petticoat be;
+Pat my mantle o'er my head;
+For the fire I downa see.
+
+Now, a' ye gentle maids,
+Tak warning now by me,
+And never marry ane
+But wha pleases your e'e.
+
+"For he married me for love,
+But I married him for fee;
+And sae brak out the feud
+That gar'd my dearie die."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  May Colven
+
+
+
+(Child, Part I., p. 56.)
+
+False Sir John a wooing came
+To a maid of beauty fair;
+May Colven was this lady's name,
+Her father's only heir.
+
+He wood her butt, he wood her ben,
+He wood her in the ha,
+Until he got this lady's consent
+To mount and ride awa.
+
+He went down to her father's bower,
+Where all the steeds did stand,
+And he's taken one of the best steeds
+That was in her father's land.
+
+He's got on and she's got on,
+As fast as they could flee,
+Until they came to a lonesome part,
+A rock by the side of the sea.
+
+"Loup off the steed," says false Sir John,
+"Your bridal bed you see;
+For I have drowned seven young ladies,
+The eighth one you shall be.
+
+"Cast off, cast off, my May Colven,
+All and your silken gown,
+For it's oer good and oer costly
+To rot in the salt sea foam.
+
+"Cast off, cast off, my May Colven.
+All and your embroiderd shoen,
+For oer good and oer costly
+To rot in the salt sea foam."
+
+"O turn you about, O false Sir John,
+And look to the leaf of the tree,
+For it never became a gentleman
+A naked woman to see."
+
+He turned himself straight round about,
+To look to the leaf of the tree,
+So swift as May Colven was
+To throw him in the sea.
+
+"O help, O help, my May Colven,
+O help, or else I'll drown;
+I'll take you home to your father's bower,
+And set you down safe and sound."
+
+"No help, no help, O false Sir John,
+No help, nor pity thee;
+Tho' seven kings' daughters you have drownd,
+But the eighth shall not be me."
+
+So she went on her father's steed,
+As swift as she could flee,
+And she came home to her father's bower
+Before it was break of day.
+
+Up then and spoke the pretty parrot:
+"May Colven, where have you been?
+What has become of false Sir John,
+That woo'd you so late the streen?
+
+"He woo'd you butt, he woo'd you ben,
+He woo'd you in the ha,
+Until he got your own consent
+For to mount and gang awa."
+
+"O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot,
+Lay not the blame upon me;
+Your cup shall be of the flowered gold,
+Your cage of the root of the tree."
+
+Up then spake the king himself,
+In the bed-chamber where he lay:
+"What ails the pretty parrot,
+That prattles so long or day?"
+
+"There came a cat to my cage door,
+It almost a worried me,
+And I was calling on May Colven
+To take the cat from me."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Johnie Faa
+
+
+
+(Child, vol. iv.  Early Edition.)
+
+The gypsies came to our good lord's gate
+And wow but they sang sweetly!
+They sang sae sweet and sae very complete
+That down came the fair lady.
+
+And she came tripping doun the stair,
+And a' her maids before her;
+As soon as they saw her weel-far'd face,
+They coost the glamer o'er her.
+
+"O come with me," says Johnie Faw,
+"O come with me, my dearie;
+For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword,
+That your lord shall nae mair come near ye."
+
+Then she gied them the beer and the wine,
+And they gied her the ginger;
+But she gied them a far better thing,
+The goud ring aff her finger.
+
+"Gae take frae me this yay mantle,
+And bring to me a plaidie;
+For if kith and kin, and a' had sworn,
+I'll follow the gypsy laddie.
+
+"Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed,
+Wi' my good lord beside me;
+But this night I'll lye in a tenant's barn,
+Whatever shall betide me!"
+
+"Come to your bed," says Johnie Faw,
+"Oh, come to your bed, my dearie:
+For I vow and swear by the hilt of my sword,
+Your lord shall nae mair come near ye."
+
+"I'll go to bed to my Johnie Faw,
+I'll go to bed to my dearie;
+For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand,
+My lord shall nae mair come near me.
+
+"I'll mak a hap to my Johnie Faw,
+I'll mak a hap to my dearie;
+And he's get a' the coat gaes round,
+And my lord shall nae mair come near me."
+
+And when our lord came hame at e'en,
+And spier'd for his fair lady,
+The tane she cry'd, and the other reply'd,
+"She's awa' wi' the gypsy laddie!"
+
+"Gae saddle to me the black black steed,
+Gae saddle and make him ready;
+Before that I either eat or sleep,
+I'll gae seek my fair lady."
+
+And we were fifteen weel-made men,
+Altho' we were na bonny;
+And we were a' put down but ane,
+For a fair young wanton lady.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Hobbie Noble
+
+
+
+(Child, vi.  Early Edition.)
+
+Foul fa' the breast first treason bred in!
+That Liddesdale may safely say:
+For in it there was baith meat and drink,
+And corn unto our geldings gay.
+
+We were stout-hearted men and true,
+As England it did often say;
+But now we may turn our backs and fly,
+Since brave Noble is seld away.
+
+Now Hobie he was an English man,
+And born into Bewcastle dale;
+But his misdeeds they were sae great,
+They banish'd him to Liddisdale.
+
+At Kershope foot the tryst was set,
+Kershope of the lilye lee;
+And there was traitour Sim o' the Mains,
+With him a private companie.
+
+Then Hobie has graith'd his body weel,
+I wat it was wi' baith good iron and steel;
+And he has pull'd out his fringed grey,
+And there, brave Noble, he rade him weel.
+
+Then Hobie is down the water gane,
+E'en as fast as he may drie;
+Tho' they shoud a' brusten and broken their hearts,
+Frae that tryst Noble he would na be.
+
+"Weel may ye be, my feiries five!
+And aye, what is your wills wi' me?"
+Then they cry'd a' wi' ae consent,
+"Thou'rt welcome here, brave Noble, to me.
+
+"Wilt thou with us in England ride,
+And thy safe warrand we will be?
+If we get a horse worth a hundred punds,
+Upon his back that thou shalt be."
+
+"I dare not with you into England ride;
+The Land-sergeant has me at feid:
+I know not what evil may betide,
+For Peter of Whitfield, his brother, is dead.
+
+"And Anton Shiel he loves not me,
+For I gat twa drifts o his sheep;
+The great Earl of Whitfield loves me not,
+For nae gear frae me he e'er could keep.
+
+"But will ye stay till the day gae down,
+Until the night come o'er the grund,
+And I'll be a guide worth ony twa,
+That may in Liddesdale be fund?
+
+"Tho' dark the night as pitch and tar,
+I'll guide ye o'er yon hills fu' hie;
+And bring ye a' in safety back,
+If ye'll be true and follow me."
+
+He's guided them o'er moss and muir,
+O'er hill and houp, and mony a down;
+Til they came to the Foulbogshiel,
+And there, brave Noble, he lighted down.
+
+But word is gane to the Land-sergeant,
+In Askirton where that he lay--
+"The deer that ye hae hunted lang,
+Is seen into the Waste this day."
+
+"Then Hobbie Noble is that deer!
+I wat he carries the style fu' hie;
+Aft has he beat your slough-hounds back,
+And set yourselves at little lee.
+
+"Gar warn the bows of Hartlie-burn;
+See they shaft their arrows on the wa'!
+Warn Willeva and Spear Edom,
+And see the morn they meet me a'.
+
+"Gar meet me on the Rodric-haugh,
+And see it be by break o' day;
+And we will on to Conscowthart-Green,
+For there, I think, we'll get our prey."
+
+Then Hobbie Noble has dream'd a dream,
+In the Foulbogshiel, where that he lay;
+He thought his horse was neath him shot,
+And he himself got hard away.
+
+The cocks could crow, the day could dawn,
+And I wot so even down fell the rain;
+If Hobbie had no waken'd at that time,
+In the Foulbogshiel he had been tane or slain.
+
+"Get up, get up, my feiries five!
+For I wot here makes a fu' ill day;
+Yet the warst cloak of this companie,
+I hope, shall cross the Waste this day."
+
+Now Hobie thought the gates were clear;
+But, ever alas! it was not sae:
+They were beset wi' cruel men and keen,
+That away brave Hobbie could not gae.
+
+"Yet follow me, my feiries five,
+And see of me ye keep good ray;
+And the worst cloak o' this companie
+I hope shall cross the Waste this day."
+
+There was heaps of men now Hobbie before,
+And other heaps was him behind,
+That had he wight as Wallace was,
+Away brave Noble he could not win.
+
+Then Hobie he had but a laddies sword;
+But he did more than a laddies deed;
+In the midst of Conscouthart-Green,
+He brake it oer Jersawigham's head.
+
+Now they have tane brave Hobie Noble,
+Wi' his ain bowstring they band him sae;
+And I wat heart was ne'er sae sair,
+As when his ain five band him on the brae.
+
+They have tane him on for West Carlisle;
+They ask'd him if he knew the why?
+Whate'er he thought, yet little he said;
+He knew the way as well as they.
+
+They hae ta'en him up the Ricker gate;
+The wives they cast their windows wide;
+And every wife to anither can say,
+"That's the man loos'd Jock o' the Side!"
+
+"Fye on ye, women! why ca' ye me man?
+For it's nae man that I'm used like;
+I am but like a forfoughen hound,
+Has been fighting in a dirty syke."
+
+Then they hae tane him up thro' Carlisle town,
+And set him by the chimney fire;
+They gave brave Noble a wheat loaf to eat,
+And that was little his desire.
+
+Then they gave him a wheat loaf to eat,
+And after that a can o beer;
+Then they cried a' with ae consent,
+"Eat, brave Noble, and make gude cheer!
+
+"Confess my lord's horse, Hobie," they said,
+"And the morn in Carlisle thou's no die;"
+"How shall I confess them," Hobie says,
+"For I never saw them with mine eye?"
+
+Then Hobie has sworn a fu' great aith,
+By the day that he was gotten and born,
+He never had ony thing o' my lord's,
+That either eat him grass or corn.
+
+"Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton!
+For I think again I'll ne'er thee see:
+I wad betray nae lad alive,
+For a' the goud in Christentie.
+
+"And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale!
+Baith the hie land and the law;
+Keep ye weel frae traitor Mains!
+For goud and gear he'll sell ye a'.
+
+"Yet wad I rather be ca'd Hobie Noble,
+In Carlisle where he suffers for his faut,
+Before I'd be ca'd traitor Mains,
+That eats and drinks of the meal and maut."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Twa Sisters
+
+
+
+(Sharpe's Ballad Book, No. X., p. 30.)
+
+There liv'd twa sisters in a bower,
+Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+There liv'd twa sisters in a bower,
+Stirling for aye:
+The youngest o' them, O, she was a flower!
+Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+There came a squire frae the west,
+Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+There cam a squire frae the west,
+Stirling for aye:
+He lo'ed them baith, but the youngest best,
+Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+He gied the eldest a gay gold ring,
+Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+He gied the eldest a gay gold ring,
+Stirling for aye:
+But he lo'ed the youngest aboon a' thing,
+Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+"Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea?
+Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea?
+Stirling for aye:
+Our father's ships sail bonnilie,
+Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay."
+
+The youngest sat down upon a stane,
+Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+The youngest sat down upon a stane,
+Stirling for aye:
+The eldest shot the youngest in,
+Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+"Oh sister, sister, lend me your hand,
+Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+Oh, sister, sister, lend me your hand,
+Stirling for aye:
+And you shall hae my gouden fan,
+Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+"Oh, sister, sister, save my life,
+Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+Oh sister, sister, save my life,
+Stirling for aye:
+And ye shall be the squire's wife,
+Bonny Sweet Johnstonne that stands upon Tay."
+
+First she sank, and then she swam,
+Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+First she sank, and then she swam,
+Stirling for aye:
+Until she cam to Tweed mill dam,
+Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+The millar's daughter was baking bread,
+Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+The millar's daughter was baking bread,
+Stirling for aye:
+She went for water, as she had need,
+Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+"Oh father, father, in our mill dam,
+Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch,
+Oh father, father, in our mill dam,
+Stirling for aye:
+There's either a lady, or a milk-white swan,
+Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay."
+
+They could nae see her fingers small,
+Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+They could nae see her fingers small,
+Stirling for aye:
+Wi' diamond rings they were cover'd all,
+Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+They could nae see her yellow hair,
+Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+They could nae see her yellow hair,
+Stirling for aye:
+Sae mony knots and platts war there,
+Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+Bye there cam a fiddler fair,
+Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.
+Bye there cam a fiddler fair,
+Stirling for aye:
+And he's ta'en three tails o' her yellow hair,
+Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Mary Ambree
+
+
+
+(Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, vol. ii. p. 230.)
+
+When captaines couragious, whom death cold not daunte,
+Did march to the siege of the citty of Gaunt,
+They mustred their souldiers by two and by three,
+And the formost in battle was Mary Ambree.
+
+When [the] brave sergeant-major was slaine in her sight,
+Who was her true lover, her joy, and delight,
+Because he was slaine most treacherouslie
+Then vowd to revenge him Mary Ambree.
+
+She clothed herselfe from the top to the toe
+In buffe of the bravest, most seemelye to showe;
+A faire shirt of male then slipped on shee:
+Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide,
+A stronge arminge-sword shee girt by her side,
+On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put shee:
+Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett in hand,
+Bidding all such, as wold, [to] bee of her band;
+To wayte on her person came thousand and three:
+Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+"My soldiers," she saith, "soe valliant and bold,
+Nowe followe your captaine, whom you doe beholde;
+Still formost in battell myselfe will I bee:"
+Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+Then cryed out her souldiers, and loude they did say,
+"Soe well thou becomest this gallant array,
+Thy harte and thy weapons so well do agree,
+No mayden was ever like Mary Ambree."
+
+She cheared her souldiers, that foughten for life,
+With ancyent and standard, with drum and with fife,
+With brave clanging trumpetts, that sounded so free;
+Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+"Before I will see the worst of you all
+To come into danger of death or of thrall,
+This hand and this life I will venture so free:"
+Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+Shee ledd upp her souldiers in battaile array,
+Gainst three times theyr number by breake of the daye;
+Seven howers in skirmish continued shee:
+Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+She filled the skyes with the smoke of her shott,
+And her enemyes bodyes with bulletts so hott;
+For one of her own men a score killed shee:
+Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent,
+Away all her pellets and powder had sent,
+Straight with her keen weapon she slasht him in three:
+Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre,
+At length she was forced to make a retyre;
+Then her souldiers into a strong castle drew shee:
+Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?
+
+Her foes they besett her on everye side,
+As thinking close siege shee cold never abide;
+To beate down the walles they all did decree:
+But stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree.
+
+Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in hand,
+And mounting the walls all undaunted did stand,
+There daring their captaines to match any three:
+O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree!
+
+"Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou give
+To ransome thy selfe, which else must not live?
+Come yield thy selfe quicklye, or slaine thou must bee:"
+Then smiled sweetlye brave Mary Ambree.
+
+"Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold,
+Whom thinke you before you now you doe behold?
+"A knight, sir, of England, and captaine soe free,
+Who shortlye with us a prisoner must bee."
+
+"No captaine of England; behold in your sight
+Two brests in my bosome, and therefore no knight:
+Noe knight, sirs, of England, nor captaine you see,
+But a poor simple mayden called Mary Ambree."
+
+"But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare,
+Whose valor hath proved so undaunted in warre?
+If England doth yield such brave maydens as thee,
+Full well mey they conquer, faire Mary Ambree."
+
+The Prince of Great Parma heard of her renowne,
+Who long had advanced for England's fair crowne;
+Hee wooed her and sued her his mistress to bee,
+And offered rich presents to Mary Ambree.
+
+But this virtuous mayden despised them all:
+"'Ile nere sell my honour for purple nor pall;
+A maiden of England, sir, never will bee
+The wench of a monarcke," quoth Mary Ambree.
+
+Then to her owne country shee back did returne,
+Still holding the foes of rare England in scorne!
+Therfore English captaines of every degree
+Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Alison Gross
+
+
+
+O Alison Gross, that lives in yon tow'r,
+The ugliest witch in the north countrie,
+She trysted me ae day up till her bow'r,
+And mony fair speeches she made to me.
+
+She straik'd my head, and she kaim'd my hair,
+And she set me down saftly on her knee;
+Says--"If ye will be my leman sae true,
+Sae mony braw things as I will you gi'e."
+
+She shaw'd me a mantle of red scarlet,
+With gowden flowers and fringes fine;
+Says--"If ye will be my leman sae true,
+This goodly gift it shall be thine."
+
+"Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,
+Hand far awa, and let me be;
+I never will be your leman sae true,
+And I wish I were out of your company."
+
+She neist brocht a sark of the saftest silk,
+Weel wrought with pearls about the band;
+Says--"If ye will be my ain true love,
+This goodly gift ye shall command."
+
+She show'd me a cup of the good red gowd,
+Weel set with jewels sae fair to see;
+Says--"If ye will be my leman sae true,
+This goodly gift I will you gi'e."
+
+"Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,
+Haud far awa, and let me be;
+For I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth,
+For all the gifts that ye cou'd gi'e."
+
+She's turn'd her richt and round about,
+And thrice she blew on a grass-green horn;
+And she sware by the moon and the stars aboon,
+That she'd gar me rue the day I was born.
+
+Then out has she ta'en a silver wand,
+And she turn'd her three times round and round;
+She mutter'd sic words, that my strength it fail'd,
+And I fell down senseless on the ground.
+
+She turn'd me into an ugly worm,
+And gar'd me toddle about the tree;
+And aye on ilka Saturday night,
+Auld Alison Gross she came to me,
+
+With silver basin, and silver kame,
+To kame my headie upon her knee;
+But rather than kiss her ugly mouth,
+I'd ha'e toddled for ever about the tree.
+
+But as it fell out on last Hallow-e'en,
+When the seely court was ridin' by,
+The queen lighted down on a gowan bank,
+Near by the tree where I wont to lye.
+
+She took me up in her milk-white hand,
+And she straik'd me three times o'er her knee;
+She chang'd me again to my ain proper shape,
+And nae mair do I toddle about the tree.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Heir Of Lynne
+
+
+
+Of all the lords in faire Scotland
+A song I will begin:
+Amongst them all dwelled a lord
+Which was the unthrifty Lord of Lynne.
+
+His father and mother were dead him froe,
+And so was the head of all his kinne;
+He did neither cease nor blinne
+To the cards and dice that he did run.
+
+To drinke the wine that was so cleere!
+With every man he would make merry.
+And then bespake him John of the Scales,
+Unto the heire of Lynne say'd hee,
+
+Sayes "how dost thou, Lord of Lynne,
+Doest either want gold or fee?
+Wilt thou not sell thy land so brode
+To such a good fellow as me?
+
+"For . . I . . " he said,
+"My land, take it unto thee;
+I draw you to record, my lords all;"
+With that he cast him a Gods pennie.
+
+He told him the gold upon the bord,
+It wanted never a bare penny.
+"That gold is thine, the land is mine,
+The heire of Lynne I will bee."
+
+"Heeres gold enough," saithe the heire of Lynne,
+"Both for me and my company."
+He drunke the wine that was so cleere,
+And with every man he made merry.
+
+Within three quarters of a yeare
+His gold and fee it waxed thinne,
+His merry men were from him gone,
+And left himselfe all alone.
+
+He had never a penny left in his purse,
+Never a penny but three,
+And one was brasse and another was lead
+And another was white mony.
+
+"Now well-a-day!" said the heire of Lynne,
+"Now well-a-day, and woe is mee!
+For when I was the Lord of Lynne,
+I neither wanted gold nor fee;
+
+"For I have sold my lands so broad,
+And have not left me one penny!
+I must go now and take some read
+Unto Edenborrow and beg my bread."
+
+He had not beene in Edenborrow
+Nor three quarters of a yeare,
+But some did give him and some said nay,
+And some bid "to the deele gang yee!
+
+"For if we should hang some land selfeer,
+The first we would begin with thee."
+"Now well-a-day!" said the heire of Lynne,
+"Now well-a-day, and woe is mee!
+
+"For now I have sold my lands so broad
+That merry man is irke with mee;
+But when that I was the Lord of Lynne
+Then on my land I lived merrily;
+
+"And now I have sold my land so broade
+That I have not left me one pennye!
+God be with my father!" he said,
+"On his land he lived merrily."
+
+Still in a study there as he stood,
+He unbethought him of a bill,
+He unbethought him of a bill
+Which his father had left with him.
+
+Bade him he should never on it looke
+Till he was in extreame neede,
+"And by my faith," said the heire of Lynne,
+"Then now I had never more neede."
+
+He tooke the bill and looked it on,
+Good comfort that he found there;
+It told him of a castle wall
+Where there stood three chests in feare:
+
+Two were full of the beaten gold,
+The third was full of white money.
+He turned then downe his bags of bread
+And filled them full of gold so red.
+
+Then he did never cease nor blinne
+Till John of the Scales house he did winne.
+When that he came John of the Scales,
+Up at the speere he looked then;
+
+There sate three lords upon a rowe,
+And John o' the Scales sate at the bord's head,
+And John o' the Scales sate at the bord's head
+Because he was the lord of Lynne.
+
+And then bespake the heire of Lynne
+To John o' the Scales wife thus sayd hee,
+Sayd "Dame, wilt thou not trust me one shott
+That I may sit downe in this company?"
+
+"Now Christ's curse on my head," she said,
+"If I do trust thee one pennye,"
+Then bespake a good fellowe,
+Which sate by John o' the Scales his knee,
+
+Said "have thou here, thou heire of Lynne,
+Forty-pence I will lend thee,--
+Some time a good fellow thou hast beene
+And other forty if it need bee."
+
+They drunken wine that was so cleere,
+And every man they made merry,
+And then bespake him John o' the Scales
+Unto the Lord of Lynne said hee;
+
+Said "how doest thou heire of Lynne,
+Since I did buy thy lands of thee?
+I will sell it to thee twenty better cheepe,
+Nor ever did I buy it of thee."
+
+"I draw you to recorde, lords all:"
+With that he cast him god's penny;
+Then he tooke to his bags of bread,
+And they were full of the gold so red.
+
+He told him the gold then over the borde
+It wanted never a broad pennye;
+"That gold is thine, the land is mine,
+And the heire of Lynne againe I will bee."
+
+"Now well-a-day!" said John o' the Scales' wife,
+"Well-a-day, and woe is me!
+Yesterday I was the lady of Lynne,
+And now I am but John o' the Scales wife!"
+
+Says "have thou here, thou good fellow,
+Forty pence thou did lend me;
+Forty pence thou did lend me,
+And forty I will give thee,
+I'll make thee keeper of my forrest,
+Both of the wild deere and the tame."
+
+But then bespake the heire of Lynne,
+These were the words and thus spake hee,
+"Christ's curse light upon my crowne
+If ere my land stand in any jeopardye!"
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Gordon Of Brackley
+
+
+
+Down Deeside cam Inveraye
+Whistlin' and playing,
+An' called loud at Brackley gate
+Ere the day dawning--
+"Come, Gordon of Brackley.
+Proud Gordon, come down,
+There's a sword at your threshold
+Mair sharp than your own."
+
+"Arise now, gay Gordon,"
+His lady 'gan cry,
+"Look, here is bold Inveraye
+Driving your kye."
+"How can I go, lady,
+An' win them again,
+When I have but ae sword,
+And Inveraye ten?"
+
+"Arise up, my maidens,
+Wi' roke and wi' fan,
+How blest had I been
+Had I married a man!
+Arise up, my maidens,
+Tak' spear and tak' sword,
+Go milk the ewes, Gordon,
+An' I will be lord."
+
+The Gordon sprung up
+Wi' his helm on his head,
+Laid his hand on his sword,
+An' his thigh on his steed,
+An' he stooped low, and said,
+As he kissed his young dame,
+"There's a Gordon rides out
+That will never ride hame."
+
+There rode with fierce Inveraye
+Thirty and three,
+But wi' Brackley were nane
+But his brother and he;
+Twa gallanter Gordons
+Did never blade draw,
+But against three-and-thirty
+Wae's me! what are twa?
+
+Wi' sword and wi' dagger
+They rushed on him rude;
+The twa gallant Gordons
+Lie bathed in their blude.
+Frae the springs o' the Dee
+To the mouth o' the Tay,
+The Gordons mourn for him,
+And curse Inveraye.
+
+"O were ye at Brackley?
+An' what saw ye there?
+Was his young widow weeping
+An' tearing her hair?"
+"I looked in at Brackley,
+I looked in, and oh!
+There was mirth, there was feasting,
+But naething o' woe.
+
+"As a rose bloomed the lady,
+An' blithe as a bride,
+As a bridegroom bold Inveraye
+Smiled by her side.
+Oh! she feasted him there
+As she ne'er feasted lord,
+While the blood of her husband
+Was moist on his sword.
+
+"In her chamber she kept him
+Till morning grew gray,
+Thro' the dark woods of Brackley
+She shewed him the way.
+'Yon wild hill,' she said,
+'Where the sun's shining on,
+Is the hill of Glentanner,--
+One kiss, and begone!'"
+
+There's grief in the cottage,
+There's grief in the ha',
+For the gude, gallant Gordon
+That's dead an' awa'.
+To the bush comes the bud,
+An' the flower to the plain,
+But the gude and the brave
+They come never again.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Edward, Edward
+
+
+
+"Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude,
+Edward, Edward?
+Why does your brand sae drop wi' blude
+And why sae sad gang ye, O?"
+"O I hae killed my hawk sae gude,
+Mither, mither;
+O I hae killed my hawk sae gude,
+And I hae nae mair but he, O."
+
+"Your hawk's blude was never sae red,
+Edward, Edward;
+Your hawk's blude was never sae red,
+My dear son, I tell thee, O."
+"O I hae killed my red-roan steed,
+Mither, mither;
+O I hae killed my red-roan steed,
+That was sae fair and free, O."
+
+"Your steed was auld, and ye've plenty mair,
+Edward, Edward;
+Your steed was auld, and ye've plenty mair;
+Some ither dule ye dree, O."
+"O I hae killed my father dear,
+Mither, mither;
+O I hae killed my father dear,
+Alas, and wae is me, O!"
+
+"And whatten penance will ye dree for that,
+Edward, Edward?
+Whatten penance will ye dree for that?
+My dear son, now tell me, O."
+"I'll set my feet in yonder boat,
+Mither, mither;
+I'll set my feet in yonder boat,
+And I'll fare over the sea, O."
+
+"And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha',
+Edward, Edward?
+And what will ye do wi' your tow'rs and your ha',
+That were sae fair to see, O?"
+"I'll let them stand till they doun fa',
+Mither, mither;
+I'll let them stand till they doun fa',
+For here never mair maun I be, O."
+
+"And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
+Edward, Edward?
+And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
+When ye gang ower the sea, O?"
+"The warld's room:  let them beg through life,
+Mither, mither;
+The warld's room:  let them beg through life;
+For them never mair will I see, O."
+
+"And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
+Edward, Edward?
+And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
+My dear son, now tell me, O?"
+"The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear,
+Mither, mither;
+The curse of hell frae me sall ye bear:
+Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!"
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Young Benjie
+
+
+
+Of all the maids of fair Scotland,
+The fairest was Marjorie;
+And young Benjie was her ae true love,
+And a dear true love was he.
+
+And wow but they were lovers dear,
+And lov'd full constantlie;
+But aye the mair when they fell out,
+The sairer was their plea.
+
+And they ha'e quarrell'd on a day,
+Till Marjorie's heart grew wae;
+And she said she'd chuse another luve,
+And let young Benjie gae.
+
+And he was stout and proud-hearted,
+And thought o't bitterlie;
+And he's gane by the wan moonlight,
+To meet his Marjorie.
+
+"Oh, open, open, my true love,
+Oh, open and let me in!"
+"I darena open, young Benjie,
+My three brothers are within."
+
+"Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonnie burd,
+Sae loud's I hear ye lee;
+As I came by the Louden banks,
+They bade gude e'en to me.
+
+"But fare ye weel, my ae fause love,
+That I have lov'd sae lang!
+It sets ye chuse another love,
+And let young Benjie gang."
+
+Then Marjorie turn'd her round about,
+The tear blinding her e'e;
+"I darena, darena let thee in,
+But I'll come down to thee."
+
+Then salt she smil'd, and said to him--
+"Oh, what ill ha'e I done?"
+He took her in his arms twa,
+And threw her o'er the linn.
+
+The stream was strong, the maid was stout,
+And laith, laith to be dang;
+But ere she wan the Louden banks,
+Her fair colour was wan.
+
+Then up bespake her eldest brother--
+"Oh, see na ye what I see?"
+And out then spake her second brother--
+"It is our sister Marjorie!"
+
+Out then spake her eldest brother--
+"Oh, how shall we her ken?"
+And out then spake her youngest brother--
+"There's a honey mark on her chin."
+
+Then they've ta'en the comely corpse,
+And laid it on the ground;
+Saying--"Wha has kill'd our ae sister?
+And how can he be found?
+
+"The night it is her low lykewake,
+The morn her burial day;
+And we maun watch at mirk midnight,
+And hear what she will say."
+
+With doors ajar, and candles light,
+And torches burning clear,
+The streekit corpse, till still midnight,
+They waked, but naething hear.
+
+About the middle of the night
+The cocks began to craw;
+And at the dead hour of the night,
+The corpse began to thraw.
+
+"Oh, wha has done thee wrang, sister,
+Or dared the deadly sin?
+Wha was sae stout, and fear'd nae dout,
+As throw ye o'er the linn?"
+
+"Young Benjie was the first ae man
+I laid my love upon;
+He was sae stout and proud-hearted,
+He threw me o'er the linn."
+
+"Shall we young Benjie head, sister?
+Shall we young Benjie hang?
+Or shall we pike out his twa gray een,
+And punish him ere he gang?"
+
+"Ye maunna Benjie head, brothers,
+Ye maunna Benjie hang;
+But ye maun pike out his twa gray een.
+And punish him ere he gang.
+
+"Tie a green gravat round his neck,
+And lead him out and in,
+And the best ae servant about your house
+To wait young Benjie on.
+
+"And aye at every seven years' end,
+Ye'll take him to the linn;
+For that's the penance he maun dree,
+To scug his deadly sin."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Auld Maitland
+
+
+
+There lived a king in southern land,
+King Edward hight his name;
+Unwordily he wore the crown,
+Till fifty years were gane.
+
+He had a sister's son o's ain,
+Was large of blood and bane;
+And afterward, when he came up,
+Young Edward hight his name.
+
+One day he came before the king,
+And kneel'd low on his knee:
+"A boon, a boon, my good uncle,
+I crave to ask of thee!
+
+"At our lang wars, in fair Scotland,
+I fain ha'e wish'd to be,
+If fifteen hundred waled wight men
+You'll grant to ride with me."
+
+"Thou shall ha'e thae, thou shall ha'e mae;
+I say it sickerlie;
+And I myself, an auld gray man,
+Array'd your host shall see."
+
+King Edward rade, King Edward ran--
+I wish him dool and pyne!
+Till he had fifteen hundred men
+Assembled on the Tyne.
+
+And thrice as many at Berwicke
+Were all for battle bound,
+[Who, marching forth with false Dunbar,
+A ready welcome found.]
+
+They lighted on the banks of Tweed,
+And blew their coals sae het,
+And fired the Merse and Teviotdale,
+All in an evening late.
+
+As they fared up o'er Lammermoor,
+They burn'd baith up and down,
+Until they came to a darksome house,
+Some call it Leader-Town.
+
+"Wha hauds this house?" young Edward cried,
+"Or wha gi'est o'er to me?"
+A gray-hair'd knight set up his head,
+And crackit right crousely:
+
+"Of Scotland's king I haud my house;
+He pays me meat and fee;
+And I will keep my gude auld house,
+While my house will keep me."
+
+They laid their sowies to the wall,
+With mony a heavy peal;
+But he threw o'er to them agen
+Baith pitch and tar barrel.
+
+With springalds, stanes, and gads of airn,
+Amang them fast he threw;
+Till mony of the Englishmen
+About the wall he slew.
+
+Full fifteen days that braid host lay,
+Sieging Auld Maitland keen;
+Syne they ha'e left him, hail and feir,
+Within his strength of stane.
+
+Then fifteen barks, all gaily good,
+Met them upon a day,
+Which they did lade with as much spoil
+As they you'd bear away.
+
+"England's our ain by heritage;
+And what can us withstand,
+Now we ha'e conquer'd fair Scotland,
+With buckler, bow, and brand?"
+
+Then they are on to the land of France,
+Where auld king Edward lay,
+Burning baith castle, tower, and town,
+That he met in his way.
+
+Until he came unto that town,
+Which some call Billop-Grace:
+There were Auld Maitland's sons, all three,
+Learning at school, alas!
+
+The eldest to the youngest said,
+"Oh, see ye what I see?
+If all be true yon standard says,
+We're fatherless all three.
+
+"For Scotland's conquer'd up and down;
+Landmen we'll never be!
+Now, will you go, my brethren two,
+And try some jeopardy?"
+
+Then they ha'e saddled twa black horse,
+Twa black horse and a gray;
+And they are on to king Edward's host,
+Before the dawn of day.
+
+When they arrived before the host,
+They hover'd on the lay:
+"Wilt thou lend me our king's standard,
+To bear a little way?"
+
+"Where wast thou bred? where wast thou born?
+Where, or in what countrie?"
+"In north of England I was born;"
+(It needed him to lee.)
+
+"A knight me gat, a ladye bore,
+I am a squire of high renown;
+I well may bear't to any king
+That ever yet wore crown."
+
+"He ne'er came of an Englishman,
+Had sic an e'e or bree;
+But thou art the likest Auld Maitland,
+That ever I did see.
+
+"But sic a gloom on ae browhead,
+Grant I ne'er see again!
+For mony of our men he slew,
+And mony put to pain."
+
+When Maitland heard his father's name,
+An angry man was he;
+Then, lifting up a gilt dagger,
+Hung low down by his knee,
+
+He stabb'd the knight the standard bore,
+He stabb'd him cruellie;
+Then caught the standard by the neuk,
+And fast away rode he.
+
+"Now, is't na time, brothers," he cried,
+"Now, is't na time to flee?"
+"Ay, by my sooth!" they baith replied,
+"We'll bear you companye."
+
+The youngest turn'd him in a path,
+And drew a burnish'd brand,
+And fifteen of the foremost slew,
+Till back the lave did stand.
+
+He spurr'd the gray into the path,
+Till baith his sides they bled:
+"Gray! thou maun carry me away,
+Or my life lies in wad!"
+
+The captain lookit o'er the wall,
+About the break of day;
+There he beheld the three Scots lads
+Pursued along the way.
+
+"Pull up portcullize! down draw-brig!
+My nephews are at hand;
+And they shall lodge with me to-night,
+In spite of all England."
+
+Whene'er they came within the yate,
+They thrust their horse them frae,
+And took three lang spears in their hands,
+Saying--"Here shall come nae me!"
+
+And they shot out, and they shot in,
+Till it was fairly day;
+When mony of the Englishmen
+About the draw-brig lay.
+
+Then they ha'e yoked the carts and wains,
+To ca' their dead away,
+And shot auld dykes abune the lave,
+In gutters where they lay.
+
+The king, at his pavilion door,
+Was heard aloud to say:
+"Last night, three of the lads of France
+My standard stole away.
+
+"With a fause tale, disguised they came,
+And with a fauser trayne;
+And to regain my gaye standard,
+These men where all down slayne."
+
+"It ill befits," the youngest said,
+A crowned king to lee;
+But, or that I taste meat and drink,
+Reproved shall he be."
+
+He went before king Edward straight,
+And kneel'd low on his knee:
+"I wou'd ha'e leave, my lord," he said,
+"To speak a word with thee."
+
+The king he turn'd him round about,
+And wistna what to say:
+Quo' he, "Man, thou's ha'e leave to speak,
+Though thou should speak all day."
+
+"Ye said that three young lads of France
+Your standard stole away,
+With a fause tale and fauser trayne,
+And mony men did slay;
+
+"But we are nane the lads of France,
+Nor e'er pretend to be:
+We are three lads of fair Scotland,--
+Auld Maitland's sons are we.
+
+"Nor is there men in all your host
+Daur fight us three to three."
+"Now, by my sooth," young Edward said,
+"Weel fitted ye shall be!
+
+"Piercy shall with the eldest fight,
+And Ethert Lunn with thee;
+William of Lancaster the third,
+And bring your fourth to me!
+
+"Remember, Piercy, aft the Scot
+Has cower'd beneath thy hand;
+For every drap of Maitland blood,
+I'll gi'e a rig of land."
+
+He clanked Piercy o'er the head
+A deep wound and a sair,
+Till the best blood of his body
+Came running down his hair.
+
+"Now, I've slayne ane; slay ye the twa;
+And that's gude companye;
+And if the twa shou'd slay ye baith,
+Ye'se get nae help frae me."
+
+But Ethert Lunn, a baited bear,
+Had many battles seen;
+He set the youngest wonder sair,
+Till the eldest he grew keen.
+
+"I am nae king, nor nae sic thing:
+My word it shanna stand!
+For Ethert shall a buffet bide,
+Come he beneath my brand."
+
+He clankit Ethert o'er the head
+A deep wound and a sair,
+Till the best blood in his body
+Came running o'er his hair.
+
+"Now, I've slayne twa; slay ye the ane;
+Isna that gude companye?
+And though the ane shou'd slay ye baith.
+Ye'se get nae help of me."
+
+The twa-some they ha'e slayne the ane,
+They maul'd him cruellie;
+Then hung him over the draw-brig,
+That all the host might see.
+
+They rade their horse, they ran their horse,
+Then hover'd on the lee:
+"We be three lads of fair Scotland,
+That fain wou'd fighting see."
+
+This boasting when young Edward heard,
+An angry man was he:
+"I'll take yon lad, I'll bind yon lad,
+And bring him bound to thee!
+
+"Now, God forbid," king Edward said,
+"That ever thou shou'd try!
+Three worthy leaders we ha'e lost,
+And thou the forth wou'd lie.
+
+"If thou shou'dst hang on yon draw-brig,
+Blythe wou'd I never be."
+But, with the poll-axe in his hand,
+Upon the brig sprang be.
+
+The first stroke that young Edward ga'e,
+He struck with might and main;
+He clove the Maitland's helmet stout,
+And bit right nigh the brain.
+
+When Maitland saw his ain blood fall,
+An angry man was he;
+He let his weapon frae him fall,
+And at his throat did flee.
+
+And thrice about he did him swing,
+Till on the ground he light,
+Where he has halden young Edward,
+Tho' he was great in might.
+
+"Now let him up," king Edward cried,
+"And let him come to me;
+And for the deed that thou hast done,
+Thou shalt ha'e earldomes three!"
+
+"It's ne'er be said in France, nor e'er
+In Scotland, when I'm hame,
+That Edward once lay under me,
+And e'er gat up again!"
+
+He pierced him through and through the heart,
+He maul'd him cruellie;
+Then hung him o'er the draw-brig,
+Beside the other three.
+
+"Now take frae me that feather-bed,
+Make me a bed of strae!
+I wish I hadna lived this day,
+To make my heart sae wae.
+
+"If I were ance at London Tow'r,
+Where I was wont to be,
+I never mair shou'd gang frae hame,
+Till borne on a bier-tree."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  The Broomfield Hill
+
+
+
+There was a knight and lady bright
+Set trysts amo the broom,
+The one to come at morning eav,
+The other at afternoon.
+
+"I'll wager a wager wi' you," he said,
+"An hundred marks and ten,
+That ye shall not go to Broomfield Hills,
+Return a maiden again."
+
+"I'll wager a wager wi' you," she said,
+"A hundred pounds and ten,
+That I will gang to Broomfield Hills,
+A maiden return again."
+
+The lady stands in her bower door,
+And thus she made her mane:
+"Oh, shall I gang to Broomfield Hills,
+Or shall I stay at hame?
+
+"If I do gang to Broomfield Hills
+A maid I'll not return;
+But if I stay from Broomfield Hills,
+I'll be a maid mis-sworn."
+
+Then out it speaks an auld witch wife,
+Sat in the bower aboon:
+"O ye shall gang to Broomfield Hills,
+Ye shall not stay at hame.
+
+"But when ye gang to Broomfield Hills,
+Walk nine times round and round;
+Down below a bonny burn bank,
+Ye'll find your love sleeping sound.
+
+"Ye'll pu the bloom frae off the broom,
+Strew't at his head and feet,
+And aye the thicker that ye do strew,
+The sounder he will sleep.
+
+"The broach that is on your napkin,
+Put it on his breast bane,
+To let him know, when he does wake,
+That's true love's come and gane.
+
+"The rings that are on your fingers,
+Lay them down on a stane,
+To let him know, when he does wake,
+That's true love's come and gane.
+
+"And when he hae your work all done,
+Ye'll gang to a bush o' broom,
+And then you'll hear what he will say,
+When he sees ye are gane."
+
+When she came to Broomfield Hills,
+She walked it nine times round,
+And down below yon burn bank,
+She found him sleeping sound.
+
+She pu'd the bloom frae off the broom,
+Strew'd it at 's head and feet,
+And aye the thicker that she strewd,
+The sounder he did sleep.
+
+The broach that was on her napkin,
+She put it on his breast-bane,
+To let him know, when he did wake,
+His love was come and gane.
+
+The rings that were on her fingers,
+She laid upon a stane,
+To let him know, when he did wake,
+His love was come and gane.
+
+Now when she had her work all dune,
+She went to a bush o' broom,
+That she might hear what he did say,
+When he saw that she was gane.
+
+"O where were ye my guid grey hound,
+That I paid for sae dear,
+Ye didna waken me frae my sleep
+When my true love was sae near?"
+
+"I scraped wi' my foot, master,
+Till a' my collars rang,
+But still the mair that I did scrape,
+Waken woud ye nane."
+
+"Where were ye, my bony brown steed,
+That I paid for sae dear,
+That ye woudna waken me out o' my sleep
+When my love was sae near?"
+
+"I patted wi my foot, master,
+Till a' my bridles rang,
+But the mair that I did patt,
+Waken woud ye nane."
+
+"O where were ye, my gay goss-hawk
+That I paid for sae dear,
+That ye woudna waken me out o' my sleep
+When ye saw my love near?"
+
+"I flapped wi my wings, master,
+Till a' my bells they rang,
+But still, the mair that I did flap,
+Waken woud ye nane."
+
+"O where were ye, my merry young men
+That I pay meat and fee,
+That ye woudna waken me out o' my sleep
+When my love ye did see?"
+
+"Ye'll sleep mair on the night, master,
+And wake mair on the day;
+Gae sooner down to Broomfield Hills
+When ye've sic pranks to play.
+
+"If I had seen any armed men
+Come riding over the hill--
+But I saw but a fair lady
+Come quietly you until."
+
+"O wae mat worth yow, my young men,
+That I pay meat and fee,
+That ye woudna waken me frae sleep
+When ye my love did see?
+
+"O had I waked when she was nigh,
+And o her got my will,
+I shoudna cared upon the morn
+The sma birds o her were fill."
+
+When she went out, right bitter she wept,
+But singing came she hame;
+Says, "I hae been at Broomfield Hills,
+And maid returned again."
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Willie's Ladye
+
+
+
+Willie has ta'en him o'er the faem,
+He's wooed a wife, and brought her hame;
+He's wooed her for her yellow hair,
+But his mother wrought her meikle care;
+
+And meikle dolour gar'd her dree,
+For lighter she can never be;
+But in her bow'r she sits with pain,
+And Willie mourns o'er her in vain.
+
+And to his mother he has gane,
+That vile rank witch, of vilest kind!
+He says--"My lady has a cup,
+With gowd and silver set about;
+This gudely gift shall be your ain,
+And let her be lighter of her bairn."
+
+"Of her bairn she's never be lighter,
+Nor in her bow'r to shine the brighter
+But she shall die, and turn to clay,
+And you shall wed another may."
+
+"Another may I'll never wed,
+Another may I'll never bring hame."
+But, sighing, said that weary wight--
+"I wish my life were at an end."
+
+"Yet gae ye to your mother again,
+That vile rank witch, of vilest kind
+And say, your ladye has a steed,
+The like of him's no in the land of Leed.
+
+"For he is silver shod before,
+And he is gowden shod behind;
+At every tuft of that horse mane
+There's a golden chess, and a bell to ring.
+This gudely gift shall be her ain,
+And let me be lighter of my bairn."
+
+"Of her young bairn she's ne'er be lighter,
+Nor in her bow'r to shine the brighter;
+But she shall die, and turn to clay,
+And ye shall wed another may."
+
+"Another may I'll never wed,
+Another may I'll never bring hame."
+But, sighing, said that weary wight--
+I wish my life were at an end!"
+
+"Yet gae ye to your mother again,
+That vile rank witch, of rankest kind!
+And say, your ladye has a girdle,
+It's all red gowd to the middle;
+
+"And aye, at ilka siller hem,
+Hang fifty siller bells and ten;
+This gudely gift shall be her ain,
+And let me be lighter of my bairn."
+
+"Of her young bairn she's ne'er be lighter,
+Nor in your bow'r to shine the brighter;
+For she shall die, and turn to clay,
+And thou shall wed another may."
+
+"Another may I'll never wed,
+Another may I'll never bring hame."
+But, sighing, said that weary wight--
+"I wish my days were at an end!"
+
+Then out and spak the Billy Blind,
+He spak aye in good time [his mind]:-
+"Yet gae ye to the market place,
+And there do buy a loaf of wace;
+Do shape it bairn and bairnly like,
+And in it two glassen een you'll put.
+
+"Oh, wha has loosed the nine witch-knots
+That were amang that ladye's locks?
+And wha's ta'en out the kames of care,
+That were amang that ladye's hair?
+
+"And wha has ta'en down that bush of woodbine
+That hung between her bow'r and mine?
+And wha has kill'd the master kid
+That ran beneath that ladye's bed?
+And wha has loosed her left foot shee,
+And let that ladye lighter be?"
+
+Syne, Willie's loosed the nine witch-knots
+That were amang that ladye's locks;
+And Willie's ta'en out the kames of care
+That were into that ladye's hair;
+And he's ta'en down the bush of woodbine,
+Hung atween her bow'r and the witch carline.
+
+And he has killed the master kid
+That ran beneath that ladye's bed;
+And he has loosed her left foot shee,
+And latten that ladye lighter be;
+And now he has gotten a bonnie son,
+And meikle grace be him upon.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Robin Hood And The Monk
+
+
+
+In somer when the shawes be sheyne,
+And leves be large and longe,
+Hit is full mery in feyre foreste
+To here the foulys song.
+
+To se the dere draw to the dale,
+And leve the hilles hee,
+And shadow hem in the leves grene,
+Vndur the grene-wode tre.
+
+Hit befell on Whitsontide,
+Erly in a may mornyng,
+The son vp fayre can shyne,
+And the briddis mery can syng.
+
+"This is a mery mornyng," seid Litulle Johne,
+"Be hym that dyed on tre;
+A more mery man than I am one
+Lyves not in Cristiante."
+
+"Pluk vp thi hert, my dere mayster,"
+Litulle Johne can sey,
+"And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme
+In a mornynge of may."
+
+"Ze on thynge greves me," seid Robyne,
+"And does my hert mych woo,
+That I may not so solem day
+To mas nor matyns goo.
+
+"Hit is a fourtnet and more," seyd hee,
+"Syn I my Sauyour see;
+To day will I to Notyngham," seid Robyn,
+"With the myght of mylde Mary."
+
+Then spake Moche the mylner sune,
+Euer more wel hym betyde,
+"Take xii thi wyght zemen
+Well weppynd be thei side.
+Such on wolde thi selfe slon
+That xii dar not abyde."
+
+"Off alle my mery men," seid Robyne,
+"Be my feithe I wil non haue;
+But Litulle Johne shall beyre my bow
+Til that me list to drawe."
+
+* * * * *
+
+"Thou shalle beyre thin own," seid Litulle Jon,
+"Maister, and I wil beyre myne,
+And we wille shete a peny," seid Litulle Jon,
+"Vnder the grene wode lyne."
+
+"I wil not shete a peny," seyde Robyn Hode,
+"In feith, Litulle Johne, with thee,
+But euer for on as thou shetes," seid Robyn,
+"In feith I holde the thre."
+
+Thus shet thei forthe, these zemen too,
+Bothe at buske and brome,
+Til Litulle Johne wan of his maister
+V s. to hose and shone.
+
+A ferly strife fel them betwene,
+As they went bi the way;
+Litull Johne seid he had won v shyllyngs,
+And Robyn Hode seid schortly nay.
+
+With that Robyn Hode lyed Litul Jone,
+And smote him with his honde;
+Litul John waxed wroth therwith,
+And pulled out his bright bronde.
+
+"Were thou not my maister," seid Litulle Johne,
+"Thou shuldis by hit ful sore;
+Get the a man where thou wilt, Robyn,
+For thou getes me no more."
+
+Then Robyn goes to Notyngham,
+Hymselfe mornynge allone,
+And Litulle Johne to mery Scherewode,
+The pathes he knowe alkone.
+
+Whan Robyn came to Notyngham,
+Sertenly withoutene layne,
+He prayed to God and myld Mary
+To brynge hym out saue agayne.
+
+He gos into seynt Mary chirche,
+And knelyd downe before the rode;
+Alle that euer were the churche within
+Beheld wel Robyne Hode.
+
+Beside hym stode a gret-hedid munke,
+I pray to God woo he be;
+Full sone he knew gode Robyn
+As sone as he hym se.
+
+Out at the durre he ran
+Ful sone and anon;
+Alle the zatis of Notyngham
+He made to be sparred euerychone.
+
+"Rise vp," he seid, "thou prowde schereff,
+Buske the and make the bowne;
+I haue spyed the kynges felone,
+For sothe he is in this towne.
+
+"I haue spyed the false felone,
+As he stondes at his masse;
+Hit is longe of the," seide the munke,
+"And euer he fro vs passe.
+
+"This traytur[s] name is Robyn Hode;
+Vnder the grene wode lynde,
+He robbyt me onys of a C pound,
+Hit shalle neuer out of my mynde."
+
+Vp then rose this prowd schereff,
+And zade towarde hym zare;
+Many was the modur son
+To the kyrk with him can fare.
+
+In at the durres thei throly thrast
+With staves ful gode ilkone,
+"Alas, alas," seid Robin Hode,
+"Now mysse I Litulle Johne."
+
+But Robyne toke out a too-hond sworde
+That hangit down be his kne;
+Ther as the schereff and his men stode thyckust,
+Thidurward wold he.
+
+Thryes thorow at them he ran,
+Then for sothe as I yow say,
+And woundyt many a modur sone,
+And xii he slew that day.
+
+Hys sworde vpon the schireff hed
+Sertanly he brake in too;
+"The smyth that the made," seid Robyn,
+"I pray God wyrke him woo.
+
+"For now am I weppynlesse," seid Robyne,
+"Alasse, agayn my wylle;
+But if I may fle these traytors fro,
+I wot thei wil me kylle."
+
+Robyns men to the churche ran
+Throout hem euerilkon;
+Sum fel in swonyng as thei were dede,
+And lay still as any stone.
+
+* * * * *
+
+Non of theym were in her mynde
+But only Litulle Jon.
+
+"Let be your dule," seid Litulle Jon,
+"For his luf that dyed on tre;
+Ze that shulde be duzty men,
+Hit is gret shame to se.
+
+"Oure maister has bene hard bystode,
+And zet scapyd away;
+Pluk up your hertes and leve this mone,
+And herkyn what I shal say.
+
+"He has seruyd our lady many a day,
+And zet wil securly;
+Therefore I trust in her specialy
+No wycked deth shal he dye.
+
+"Therfor be glad," seid Litul Johne,
+"And let this mournyng be,
+And I shall be the munkes gyde,
+With the myght of mylde Mary.
+
+"And I mete hym," seid Litull Johne,
+"We will go but we too
+
+* * * * *
+
+"Loke that ze kepe wel our tristil tre
+Vnder the levys smale,
+And spare non of this venyson
+That gose in thys vale."
+
+Forthe thei went these zemen too,
+Litul Johne and Moche onfere,
+And lokid on Moche emys hows
+The hyeway lay fulle nere.
+
+Litul John stode at a window in the mornynge,
+And lokid forth at a stage;
+He was war wher the munke came ridynge,
+And with him a litul page.
+
+"Be my feith," said Litul Johne to Moche,
+"I can the tel tithyngus gode;
+I se wher the munk comys rydyng,
+I know hym be his wyde hode."
+
+Thei went into the way these zemen bothe
+As curtes men and hende,
+Thei spyrred tithyngus at the munke,
+As thei hade bene his frende.
+
+"Fro whens come ze," seid Litul Johne,
+"Tel vs tithyngus, I yow pray,
+Off a false owtlay [called Robyn Hode],
+Was takyn zisturday.
+
+"He robbyt me and my felowes bothe
+Of xx marke in serten;
+If that false owtlay be takyn,
+For sothe we wolde be fayne."
+
+"So did he me," seid the munke,
+"Of a C pound and more;
+I layde furst hande hym apon,
+Ze may thonke me therefore."
+
+"I pray God thanke yow," seid Litulle Johne,
+"And we wil when we may;
+We wil go with yow, with your leve,
+And brynge yow on your way.
+
+"For Robyn Hode hase many a wilde felow,
+I telle yow in certen;
+If thei wist ze rode this way,
+In feith ze shulde be slayn."
+
+As thei went talkyng be the way,
+The munke an Litulle Johne,
+Johne toke the munkes horse be the hede
+Ful sone and anone.
+
+Johne toke the munkes horse be the hed,
+For sothe as I yow say,
+So did Muche the litulle page,
+For he shulde not stirre away.
+
+Be the golett of the hode
+Johne pulled the munke downe;
+Johne was nothynge of hym agast,
+He lete hym falle on his crowne.
+
+Litulle Johne was sore agrevyd,
+And drew out his swerde in hye;
+The munke saw he shulde be ded,
+Lowd mercy can he crye.
+
+"He was my maister," said Litulle Johne,
+"That thou hase browzt in bale;
+Shalle thou neuer cum at our kynge
+For to telle hym tale."
+
+John smote of the munkes hed,
+No longer wolde he dwelle;
+So did Moche the litulle page,
+For ferd lest he wold tell.
+
+Ther thei beryed hem both
+In nouther mosse nor lynge,
+And Litulle Johne and Muche infere
+Bare the letturs to oure kyng.
+
+* * * * *
+
+He kneled down vpon--his kne,
+"God zow sane, my lege lorde,
+Jesus yow saue and se.
+
+"God yow saue, my lege kyng,"
+To speke Johne was fulle bolde;
+He gaf hym tbe letturs in his hond,
+The kyng did hit unfold.
+
+The kyng red the letturs anon,
+And seid, "so met I the,
+Ther was neuer zoman in mery Inglond
+I longut so sore to see.
+
+"Wher is the munke that these shuld haue browzt?"
+Oure kynge gan say;
+"Be my trouthe," seid Litull Jone,
+"He dyed aftur the way."
+
+The kyng gaf Moche and Litul Jon
+xx pound in sertan,
+And made theim zemen of the crowne,
+And bade theim go agayn.
+
+He gaf Johne the seel in hand,
+The scheref for to bere,
+To brynge Robyn hym to,
+And no man do hym dere.
+
+Johne toke his leve at cure kyng,
+The sothe as I yow say;
+The next way to Notyngham
+To take he zede the way.
+
+When Johne came to Notyngham
+The zatis were sparred ychone;
+Johne callid vp the porter,
+He answerid sone anon.
+
+"What is the cause," seid Litul John,
+"Thou sparris the zates so fast?"
+"Because of Robyn Hode," seid [the] porter,
+"In depe prison is cast.
+
+"Johne, and Moche, and Wylle Scathlok,
+For sothe as I yow say,
+Thir slew oure men vpon oure wallis,
+And sawtene vs euery day."
+
+Litulle Johne spyrred aftur the schereff,
+And sone he hym fonde;
+He oppyned the kyngus prive seelle,
+And gaf hyn in his honde.
+
+When the schereft saw the kyngus seelle,
+He did of his hode anon;
+"Wher is the munke that bare the letturs?"
+He said to Litulle Johne.
+
+"He is so fayn of hym," seid Litulle Johne,
+"For sothe as I yow sey,
+He has made hym abot of Westmynster,
+A lorde of that abbay."
+
+The scheref made John gode chere,
+And gaf hym wine of the best;
+At nyzt thei went to her bedde,
+And euery man to his rest.
+
+When the scheref was on-slepe
+Dronken of wine and ale,
+Litul Johne and Moche for sothe
+Toke the way vnto the jale.
+
+Litul Johne callid vp the jayler,
+And bade him ryse anon;
+He seid Robyn Hode had brokyn preson,
+And out of hit was gon.
+
+The portere rose anon sertan,
+As sone as he herd John calle;
+Litul Johne was redy with a swerd,
+And bare hym to the walle.
+
+"Now will I be porter," seid Litul Johne,
+"And take the keyes in honde;"
+He toke the way to Robyn Hode,
+And sone he hym vnbonde.
+
+He gaf hym a gode swerd in his hond,
+His hed with for to kepe,
+And ther as the walle was lowyst
+Anon down can thei lepe.
+
+Be that the cok began to crow,
+The day began to sprynge,
+The scheref fond the jaylier ded,
+The comyn belle made he rynge.
+
+He made a crye thoroowt al the tow[n],
+Whedur he be zoman or knave,
+That cowthe brynge hyrn Robyn Hode,
+His warisone he shuld haue.
+
+"For I dar neuer," said the scheref,
+"Cum before oure kynge,
+For if I do, I wot serten,
+For sothe he wil me henge."
+
+The scheref made to seke Notyngham,
+Bothe be strete and stye,
+And Robyn was in mery Scherwode
+As lizt as lef on lynde.
+
+Then bespake gode Litulle Johne,
+To Robyn Hode can he say,
+"I haue done the a gode turne for an euylle,
+Quyte me whan thou may.
+
+"I haue done the a gode turne," said Litulle Johne,
+"For sothe as I you saie;
+I haue brouzt the vnder grene wode lyne;
+Fare wel, and haue gode day."
+
+"Nay, be my trouthe," seid Robyn Hode,
+"So shalle hit neuer be;
+I make the maister," seid Robyn Hode,
+"Off alle my men and me."
+
+"Nay, be my trouthe," seid Litulle Johne,
+"So shall hit neuer be,
+But lat me be a felow," seid Litulle Johne,
+"Non odur kepe I'll be."
+
+Thus Johne gate Robyn Hode out of prisone,
+Sertan withoutyn layne;
+When his men saw hym hol and sounde,
+For sothe they were ful fayne.
+
+They filled in wyne, and made him glad,
+Vnder the levys smale,
+And zete pastes of venysone,
+That gode was with ale.
+
+Than worde came to oure kynge,
+How Robyn Hode was gone,
+And how the scheref of Notyngham
+Durst neuer loke hyme vpone.
+
+Then bespake oure cumly kynge,
+In an angur hye,
+"Litulle Johne hase begyled the schereff,
+In faith so hase he me.
+
+"Litulle Johne has begyled vs bothe,
+And that fulle wel I se,
+Or ellis the schereff of Notyngham
+Hye hongut shuld he be.
+
+"I made hem zemen of the crowne,
+And gaf hem fee with my hond,
+I gaf hem grithe," seid oure kyng,
+"Thorowout alle mery Inglond.
+
+"I gaf hem grithe," then seide oure kyng,
+"I say, so mot I the,
+For sothe soche a zeman as he is on
+In alle Ingland ar not thre.
+
+"He is trew to his maister," seide oure kynge,
+"I say, be swete seynt Johne;
+He louys bettur Robyn Hode,
+Then he dose vs ychone.
+
+"Robyne Hode is euer bond to him,
+Bothe in strete and stalle;
+Speke no more of this matter," seid oure kynge,
+"But John has begyled vs alle."
+
+Thus endys the talkyng of the munke
+And Robyne Hode i-wysse;
+God, that is euer a crowned kyng,
+Bryng vs alle to his blisse.
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Robin Hood And The Potter
+
+
+
+In schomer, when the leves spryng,
+The bloschems on every bowe,
+So merey doyt the berdys syng
+Yn wodys merey now.
+
+Herkens, god yemen,
+Comley, corteysse, and god,
+On of the best that yever bar bou,
+Hes name was Roben Hode.
+
+Roben Hood was the yemans name,
+That was boyt corteys and fre;
+For the loffe of owr ladey,
+All wemen werschep he.
+
+Bot as the god yemen stod on a day,
+Among hes mery maney,
+He was war of a prowd potter,
+Cam dryfyng owyr the ley.
+
+"Yonder comet a prod potter," seyde Roben,
+"That long hayt hantyd this wey;
+He was never so corteys a man
+On peney of pawage to pay."
+
+"Y met hem bot at Wentbreg," seyde Lytyll John,
+"And therfor yeffell mot he the,
+Seche thre strokes he me gafe,
+Yet they cleffe by my seydys.
+
+"Y ley forty shillings," seyde Lytyll John,
+"To pay het thes same day,
+Ther ys nat a man arnong hus all
+A wed schall make hem ley."
+
+"Her ys forty shillings," seyde Roben,
+"Mor, and thow dar say,
+That y schall make that prowde potter,
+A wed to me schall he ley."
+
+Ther thes money they leyde,
+They toke bot a yeman to kepe;
+Roben befor the potter he breyde,
+And bad hem stond stell.
+
+Handys apon hes horse he leyde,
+And bad the potter stonde foll stell;
+The potter schorteley to hem seyde,
+"Felow, what ys they well?"
+
+"All thes thre yer, and mor, potter," he seyde,
+"Thow hast hantyd thes wey,
+Yet wer tow never so cortys a man
+One peney of pauage to pay."
+
+"What ys they name," seyde the potter,
+"For pauage thow ask of me?"
+"Roben Hod ys mey name,
+A wed schall thow leffe me."
+
+"Well well y non leffe," seyde the potter,
+"Nor pavag well y non pay;
+Away they honde fro mey horse,
+Y well the tene eyls, be me fay."
+
+The potter to hes cart he went,
+He was not to seke;
+A god to-hande staffe therowt he hent,
+Befor Roben he lepe.
+
+Roben howt with a swerd bent,
+A bokeler en hes honde [therto];
+The potter to Roben he went,
+And seyde, "Felow, let mey horse go."
+
+Togeder then went thes two yemen,
+Het was a god seyt to se;
+Therof low Robyn hes men,
+Ther they stod onder a tre.
+
+Leytell John to hes felowhes seyde,
+"Yend potter welle steffeley stonde:"
+The potter, with an acward stroke,
+Smot the bokeler owt of hes honde;
+
+And ar Roben meyt get hem agen
+Hes bokeler at hes fette,
+The potter yn the neke hem toke,
+To the gronde sone he yede.
+
+That saw Roben hes men,
+As they stode ender a bow;
+"Let us helpe owr master," seyed Lytell John,
+"Yonder potter els well hem sclo."
+
+Thes yemen went with a breyde,
+To ther master they cam.
+Leytell John to hes master seyde,
+"He haet the wager won?
+
+"Schall y haff yowr forty shillings," seyde Lytel John,
+"Or ye, master, schall haffe myne?"
+"Yeff they wer a hundred," seyde Roben,
+"Y feythe, they ben all theyne."
+
+"Het ys fol leytell cortesey," seyde the potter,
+"As y haffe harde weyse men saye,
+Yeff a por yeman com drywyng ower the wey,
+To let hem of hes gorney."
+
+"Be mey trowet, thow seys soyt," seyde Roben,
+"Thow seys god yemenrey;
+And thow dreyffe forthe yevery day,
+Thow schalt never be let for me.
+
+"Y well prey the, god potter,
+A felischepe well thow haffe?
+Geffe me they clothyng, and thow schalt hafe myne;
+Y well go to Notynggam."
+
+"Y grant therto," seyde the potter,
+"Thow schalt feynde me a felow gode;
+But thow can sell mey pottes well,
+Come ayen as thow yode."
+
+"Nay, be mey trowt," seyde Roben,
+"And then y bescro mey hede
+Yeffe y bryng eney pottes ayen,
+And eney weyffe well hem chepe."
+
+Than spake Leytell John,
+And all hes felowhes heynd,
+"Master, be well war of the screffe of Notynggam,
+For he ys leytell howr frende."
+
+"Heyt war howte," seyde Roben,
+"Felowhes, let me alone;
+Thorow the helpe of howr ladey,
+To Notynggam well y gon."
+
+Robyn went to Notynggam,
+Thes pottes for to sell;
+The potter abode with Robens men,
+Ther he fered not eylle.
+
+Tho Roben droffe on hes wey,
+So merey ower the londe:
+Heres mor and affter ys to saye,
+The best ys beheynde.
+
+
+[THE SECOND FIT.]
+
+
+When Roben cam to Netynggam,
+The soyt yef y scholde saye,
+He set op hes horse anon,
+And gaffe hem hotys and haye.
+
+Yn the medys of the towne,
+Ther he schowed hes war;
+"Pottys! pottys!" he gan crey foll sone,
+"Haffe hansell for the mar."
+
+Foll effen agenest the screffeys gate
+Schowed he hes chaffar;
+Weyffes and wedowes abowt hem drow,
+And chepyd fast of hes war.
+
+Yet, "Pottys, gret chepe!" creyed Robyn,
+"Y loffe yeffell thes to stonde;"
+And all that saw hem sell,
+Seyde he had be no potter long.
+
+The pottys that wer werthe pens feyffe,
+He sold tham for pens thre;
+Preveley seyde man and weyffe,
+"Ywnder potter schall never the."
+
+Thos Roben solde foll fast,
+Tell he had pottys bot feyffe;
+On he hem toke of his car,
+And sende hem to the screffeys weyffe.
+
+Therof sche was foll fayne,
+"Gramarsey, sir," than seyde sche;
+"When ye com to thes contre ayen,
+Y schall bey of they pottys, so mot y the."
+
+"Ye schall haffe of the best," seyde Roben,
+And swar be the treneyte;
+Foll corteysley she gan hem call,
+"Com deyne with the screfe and me."
+
+"Godamarsey," seyde Roben,
+"Yowr bedyng schalle be doyn;"
+A mayden yn the pottys gan ber,
+Roben and the screffe weyffe folowed anon.
+
+Whan Roben ynto the hall cam,
+The screffe sone he met;
+The potter cowed of corteysey,
+And sone the screffe he gret.
+
+"Loketh what thes potter hayt geffe yow and me;
+Feyffe pottys smalle and grete!"
+"He ys fol wellcom, seyd the screffe,
+"Let os was, and go to mete."
+
+As they sat at her methe,
+With a nobell cher,
+Two of the screffes men gan speke
+Off a gret wager,
+
+Was made the thother daye,
+Off a schotyng was god and feyne,
+Off forty shillings, the soyt to saye,
+Who scholde thes wager wen.
+
+Styll than sat thes prowde po,
+Thos than thowt he;
+"As y am a trow Cerstyn man,
+Thes schotyng well y se."
+
+Whan they had fared of the best,
+With bred and ale and weyne,
+To the bottys they made them prest,
+With bowes and boltys full feyne.
+
+The screffes men schot foll fast,
+As archares that weren godde;
+Ther cam non ner ney the marke
+Bey halfe a god archares bowe.
+
+Stell then stod the prowde potter,
+Thos than seyde he;
+"And y had a bow, be the rode,
+On schot scholde yow se."
+
+"Thow schall haffe a bow," seyde the screffe,
+"The best that thow well cheys of thre;
+Thou semyst a stalward and a stronge,
+Asay schall thow be."
+
+The screffe commandyd a yeman that stod hem bey
+Affter bowhes to wende;
+The best bow that the yeman browthe
+Roben set on a stryng.
+
+"Now schall y wet and thow be god,
+And polle het op to they ner;"
+"So god me helpe," seyde the prowde potter,
+"Thys ys bot rygzt weke ger."
+
+To a quequer Roben went,
+A god bolt owthe he toke;
+So ney on to the marke he went,
+He fayled not a fothe.
+
+All they schot abowthe agen,
+The screffes men and he;
+Off the marke he welde not fayle,
+He cleffed the preke on thre.
+
+The screffes men thowt gret schame,
+The potter the mastry wan;
+The screffe lowe and made god game,
+And seyde, "Potter, thow art a man;
+Thow art worthey to ber a bowe,
+Yn what plas that thow gang."
+
+"Yn mey cart y haffe a bowe,
+Forsoyt," he seyde, "and that a godde;
+Yn mey cart ys the bow
+That I had of Robyn Hode."
+
+"Knowest thow Robyn Hode?" seyde the screffe,
+"Potter, y prey the tell thou me;"
+"A hundred torne y haffe schot with hem,
+Under hes tortyll tree."
+
+"Y had lever nar a hundred ponde," seyde the screffe,
+And swar be the trenite,
+["Y had lever nar a hundred ponde," he seyde,]
+"That the fals owtelawe stod be me.
+
+"And ye well do afftyr mey red," seyde the potter,
+"And boldeley go with me,
+And to morow, or we het bred,
+Roben Hode wel we se."
+
+"Y well queyt the," kod the screffe,
+And swer be god of meythe;
+Schetyng thay left, and hom they went,
+Her scoper was redey deythe.
+
+Upon the morow, when het was day,
+He boskyd hem forthe to reyde;
+The potter hes carte forthe gan ray,
+And wolde not [be] leffe beheynde.
+
+He toke leffe of the screffys wyffe,
+And thankyd her of all thyng:
+"Dam, for mey loffe, and ye well thys wer,
+Y geffe yow her a golde ryng."
+
+"Gramarsey," seyde the weyffe,
+"Sir, god eylde het the;"
+The screffes hart was never so leythe,
+The feyr forest to se.
+
+And when he cam ynto the foreyst,
+Yonder the leffes grene,
+Berdys ther sange on bowhes prest,
+Het was gret joy to sene.
+
+"Her het ys mercy to be," seyde Roben,
+"For a man that had hawt to spende;
+Be mey horne we schall awet
+Yeff Roben Hode be ner hande."
+
+Roben set hes horne to hes mowthe,
+And blow a blast that was full god,
+That herde hes men that ther stode,
+Fer downe yn the wodde;
+"I her mey master," seyde Leytell John;
+They ran as thay wer wode.
+
+Whan thay to thar master cam,
+Leytell John wold not spar;
+"Master, how haffe yow far yn Notynggam?
+How haffe yow solde yowr war?"
+
+"Ye, be mey trowthe, Leytyll John,
+Loke thow take no car;
+Y haffe browt the screffe of Notynggam,
+For all howr chaffar."
+
+"He ys foll wellcom," seyde Lytyll John,
+"Thes tydyng ys foll godde;"
+The screffe had lever nar a hundred ponde
+[He had never sene Roben Hode.]
+
+"Had I west that beforen,
+At Notynggam when we wer,
+Thow scholde not com yn feyr forest
+Of all thes thowsande eyr."
+
+"That wot y well," seyde Roben,
+"Y thanke god that ye be her;
+Therfor schall ye leffe yowr horse with hos,
+And all your hother ger."
+
+"That fend I godys forbode," kod the screffe,
+"So to lese mey godde;"
+"Hether ye cam on horse foll hey,
+And hom schall ye go on fote;
+And gret well they weyffe at home,
+The woman ys foll godde.
+
+"Y schall her sende a wheyt palffrey,
+Het hambellet as the weynde;
+Ner for the loffe of yowr weyffe,
+Off mor sorow scholde yow seyng."
+
+Thes parted Robyn Hode and the screffe,
+To Notynggam he toke the waye;
+Hes weyffe feyr welcomed hem hom,
+And to hem gan sche saye:
+
+"Seyr, how haffe yow fared yn grene foreyst?
+Haffe ye browt Roben hom?"
+"Dam, the deyell spede him, bothe bodey and bon,
+Y haffe hade a foll grete skorne.
+
+"Of all the god that y haffe lade to grene wod,
+He hayt take het fro me,
+All bot this feyr palffrey,
+That he hayt sende to the."
+
+With that sche toke op a lowde lawhyng,
+And swhar be hem that deyed on tre,
+"Now haffe yow payed for all the pottys
+That Roben gaffe to me.
+
+"Now ye be corn hom to Notynggam,
+Ye schall haffe god ynowe;"
+Now speke we of Roben Hode,
+And of the pottyr onder the grene bowhe.
+
+"Potter, what was they pottys worthe
+To Notynggam that y ledde with me?"
+"They wer worth two nobellys," seyd he,
+"So mot y treyffe or the;
+So cowde y had for tham,
+And y had ther be."
+
+"Thow schalt hafe ten ponde," seyde Roben,
+"Of money feyr and fre;
+And yever whan thou comest to grene wod,
+Wellcom, potter to me."
+
+Thes partyd Robyn, the screffe, and the potter,
+Ondernethe the grene-wod tre;
+God haffe mersey on Robyn Hodys solle,
+And saffe all god yemanrey!
+
+
+
+Ballad:  Robin Hood And The Butcher
+
+
+
+Come, all you brave gallants, and listen awhile,
+With hey down, down, an a down,
+That are in the bowers within;
+For of Robin Hood, that archer good,
+A song I intend for to sing.
+
+Upon a time it chanced so,
+Bold Robin in forrest did 'spy
+A jolly butcher, with a bonny fine mare,
+With his flesh to the market did hye.
+
+"Good morrow, good fellow," said jolly Robin,
+"What food hast [thou]? tell unto me;
+Thy trade to me tell, and where thou dost dwell,
+For I like well thy company."
+
+The butcher he answer'd jolly Robin,
+"No matter where I dwell;
+For a butcher I am, and to Nottingham
+I am going, my flesh to sell."
+
+"What's [the] price of thy flesh?" said jolly Robin,
+"Come, tell it soon unto me;
+And the price of thy mare, be she never so dear,
+For a butcher fain would I be."
+
+"The price of my flesh," the butcher repli'd,
+"I soon will tell unto thee;
+With my bonny mare, and they are not too dear,
+Four mark thou must give unto me."
+
+"Four mark I will give thee," saith jolly Robin,
+"Four mark it shall be thy fee;
+The mony come count, and let me mount,
+For a butcher I fain would be."
+
+Now Robin he is to Nottingham gone,
+His butchers trade to begin;
+With good intent to the sheriff he went,
+And there he took up his inn.
+
+When other butchers did open their meat,
+Bold Robin he then begun;
+But how for to sell he knew not well,
+For a butcher he was but young.
+
+When other butchers no meat could sell,
+Robin got both gold and fee;
+For he sold more meat for one peny
+Then others could do for three.
+
+But when he sold his meat so fast,
+No butcher by him could thrive;
+For he sold more meat for one peny
+Than others could do for five.
+
+Which made the butchers of Nottingham
+To study as they did stand,
+Saying, "Surely he 'is' some prodigal,
+That hath sold his fathers land."
+
+The butchers stepped to jolly Robin,
+Acquainted with him for to be;
+"Come, brother," one said, "we be all of one trade,
+Come, will you go dine with me?"
+
+"Accurst of his heart," said jolly Robin,
+"That a butcher doth deny;
+I will go with you, my brethren true,
+As fast as I can hie."
+
+But when to the sheriffs house they came,
+To dinner they hied apace,
+And Robin Hood he the man must be
+Before them all to say grace.
+
+"Pray God bless us all," said jolly Robin,
+"And our meat within this place;
+A cup of sack so good will nourish our blood,
+And so do I end my grace."
+
+"Come fill us more wine," said jolly Robin,
+"Let us be merry while we do stay;
+For wine and good cheer, be it never so dear,
+I vow I the reck'ning will pay.
+
+"Come, 'brothers,' be merry," said jolly Robin,
+"Let us drink, and never give ore;
+For the shot I will pay, ere I go my way,
+If it cost me five pounds and more."
+
+"This is a mad blade," the butchers then said;
+Saies the sheriff, "He is some prodigal,
+That some land has sold for silver and gold,
+And now he doth mean to spend all.
+
+"Hast thou any horn beasts," the sheriff repli'd,
+"Good fellow, to sell unto me?"
+"Yes, that I have, good master sheriff,
+I have hundreds two or three;
+
+"And a hundred aker of good free land,
+If you please it to see:
+And Ile make you as good assurance of it,
+As ever my father made me."
+
+The sheriff he saddled his good palfrey,
+And, with three hundred pound in gold,
+Away he went with bold Robin Hood,
+His horned beasts to behold.
+
+Away then the sheriff and Robin did ride,
+To the forrest of merry Sherwood;
+Then the sheriff did say, "God bless us this day
+From a man they call Robin Hood!"
+
+But when a little farther they came,
+Bold Robin he chanced to spy
+A hundred head of good red deer,
+Come tripping the sheriff full nigh.
+
+"How like you my horn'd beasts, good master sheriff?
+They be fat and fair for to see;"
+"I tell thee, good fellow, I would I were gone,
+For I like not thy company."
+
+Then Robin set his horn to his mouth,
+And blew but blasts three;
+Then quickly anon there came Little John,
+And all his company.
+
+"What is your will, master?" then said Little John,
+"Good master come tell unto me;"
+"I have brought hither the sheriff of Nottingham
+This day to dine with thee."
+
+"He is welcome to me," then said Little John,
+"I hope he will honestly pay;
+I know he has gold, if it be but well told,
+Will serve us to drink a whole day."
+
+Then Robin took his mantle from his back,
+And laid it upon the ground:
+And out of the sheriffs portmantle
+He told three hundred pound.
+
+Then Robin he brought him thorow the wood,
+And set him on his dapple gray;
+"O have me commanded to your wife at home;"
+So Robin went laughing away.
+
+
+
+NOTES
+
+
+
+SIR PATRICK SPENS
+
+
+Mr. Child finds the first published version of "the grand old
+ballad of Sir Patrick Spens," as Coleridge calls it, in Bishop
+Percy's Reliques.  Here the name is "Spence," and the middle rhyme-
+-
+
+"Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour,"
+
+is not of early date.  The "Cork-heeled Shoon," too, cannot be
+early, but ballads are subject, in oral tradition, to such modern
+interpolations.  The verse about the ladies waiting vainly is
+anticipated in a popular song of the fourteenth century, on a
+defeat of the noblesse in Flanders--
+
+"Their ladies them may abide in bower and hall well long!"
+
+If there be historical foundation for the ballad, it is probably a
+blending of the voyage of Margaret, daughter of Alexander III., to
+wed Eric, King of Norway, in 1281 (some of her escort were drowned
+on their way home), with the rather mysterious death, or
+disappearance, of Margaret's daughter, "The Maid of Norway," on her
+voyage to marry the son of Edward I., in 1290.  A woman, who
+alleged that she was the Maid of Norway, was later burned at the
+stake.  The great number and variety of versions sufficiently
+indicate the antiquity of this ballad, wherein exact history is not
+to be expected.
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN
+
+
+From The Border Minstrelsy, Sir Walter Scott's latest edition of
+1833:  the copy in the edition of 1802 is less complete.  The
+gentle and joyous passage of arms here recorded, took place in
+August 1388.  We have an admirable account of Otterburn fight from
+Froissart, who revels in a gallant encounter, fairly fought out
+hand to hand, with no intervention of archery or artillery, and for
+no wretched practical purpose.  In such a combat the Scots, never
+renowned for success at long bowls, and led by a Douglas, were
+likely to prove victorious, even against long odds, and when taken
+by surprise.
+
+Choosing an advantage in the discordant days of Richard II., the
+Scots mustered a very large force near Jedburgh, merely to break
+lances on English ground, and take loot.  Learning that, as they
+advanced by the Carlisle route, the English intended to invade
+Scotland by Berwick and the east coast, the Scots sent three or
+four hundred men-at-arms, with a few thousand mounted archers and
+pikemen, who should harry Northumberland to the walls of Newcastle.
+These were led by James, Earl of Douglas, March, and Murray.  In a
+fight at Newcastle, Douglas took Harry Percy's pennon, which
+Hotspur vowed to recover.  The retreat began, but the Scots waited
+at Otterburn, partly to besiege the castle, partly to abide
+Hotspur's challenge.  He made his attack at moonlight, with
+overwhelming odds, but was hampered by a marsh, and incommoded by a
+flank attach of the Scots.  Then it came to who would pound
+longest, with axe and sword.  Douglas cut his way through the
+English, axe in hand, and was overthrown, but his men protected his
+body.  The Sinclairs and Lindsay raised his banner, with his cry;
+March and Dunbar came up; Hotspur was taken by Montgomery, and the
+English were routed with heavy loss.  Douglas was buried in Melrose
+Abbey; very many years later the English defiled his grave, but
+were punished at Ancram Moor.  There is an English poem on the
+fight of "about 1550"; it has many analogies with our Scottish
+version, and, doubtless, ours descends from a ballad almost
+contemporary.  The ballad was a great favourite of Scott's.  In a
+severe illness, thinking of Lockhart, not yet his son-in-law, he
+quoted--
+
+
+"My wound is deep, I fain would sleep,
+Take thou the vanguard of the three."
+
+
+Mr. Child thinks the command to
+
+
+"yield to the bracken-bush"
+
+
+unmartial.  This does not seem a strong objection, in Froissart's
+time.  It is explained in an oral fragment--
+
+
+"For there lies aneth yon bracken-bush
+Wha aft has conquered mair than thee."
+
+
+Mr. Child also thinks that the "dreamy dream" may be copied from
+Hume of Godscroft.  It is at least as probable that Godscroft
+borrowed from the ballad which he cites.  The embroidered gauntlet
+of the Percy is in the possession of Douglas of Cavers to this day.
+
+
+TAM LIN, OR TAMLANE
+
+
+Burns's version, in Johnson's Museum (1792).  Scott's version is
+made up of this copy, Riddell's, Herd's, and oral recitations, and
+contains feeble literary interpolations, not, of course, by Sir
+Walter.  The Complaint of Scotland (1549) mentions the "Tale of the
+Young Tamlene" as then popular.  It is needless here to enter into
+the subject of Fairyland, and captures of mortals by Fairies:  the
+Editor has said his say in his edition of Kirk's Secret
+Commonwealth.  The Nereids, in Modern Greece, practise fairy
+cantrips, and the same beliefs exist in Samoa and New Caledonia.
+The metamorphoses are found in the Odyssey, Book iv., in the
+winning of Thetis, the Nereid, or Fairy Bride, by Peleus, in a
+modern Cretan fairy tale, and so on.  There is a similar incident
+in Penda Baloa, a Senegambian ballad (Contes Populaires de la
+Senegambie, Berenger Ferand, Paris, 1885).  The dipping of Tamlane
+has precedents in Old Deccan Days, in a Hottentot tale by Bleek,
+and in Les Deux Freres, the Egyptian story, translated by Maspero
+(the Editor has already given these parallels in a note to Border
+Ballads, by Graham R. Thomson).  Mr. Child also cites Mannhardt,
+"Wald und Feldkulte," ii. 64-70.  Carterhaugh, the scene of the
+ballad, is at the junction of Ettrick and Yarrow, between Bowhill
+and Philiphaugh.
+
+
+THOMAS RYMER
+
+
+From The Border Minstrelsy; the original was derived from a lady
+living near Erceldoune (Earlston), and from Mrs. Brown's MSS.  That
+Thomas of Erceldoune had some popular fame as a rhymer and
+soothsayer as early as 1320-1350, seems to be established.  As late
+as the Forty Five, nay, even as late as the expected Napoleonic
+invasion, sayings attributed to Thomas were repeated with some
+measure of belief.  A real Thomas Rymer of Erceldoune witnessed an
+undated deed of Peter de Haga, early in the thirteenth century.
+The de Hagas, or Haigs of Bemersyde, were the subjects of the
+prophecy attributed to Thomas,
+
+
+"Betide, betide, whate'er betide,
+There will aye be a Haig in Bemersyde,"
+
+
+and a Haig still owns that ancient chateau on the Tweed, which has
+a singular set of traditions.  Learmont is usually given as the
+Erceldoune family name; a branch of the family owned Dairsie in
+Fifeshire, and were a kind of hereditary provosts of St. Andrews.
+If Thomas did predict the death of Alexander III., or rather report
+it by dint of clairvoyance, he must have lived till 1285.  The date
+of the poem on the Fairy Queen, attributed to Thomas, is uncertain,
+the story itself is a variant of "Ogier the Dane."  The scene is
+Huntly Bank, under Eildon Hill, and was part of the lands acquired,
+at fantastic prices, by Sir Walter Scott.  His passion for land was
+really part of his passion for collecting antiquities.  The theory
+of Fairyland here (as in many other Scottish legends and witch
+trials) is borrowed from the Pre-Christian Hades, and the Fairy
+Queen is a late refraction from Persephone.  Not to eat, in the
+realm of the dead, is a regular precept of savage belief, all the
+world over.  Mr. Robert Kirk's Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns,
+and Fairies may be consulted, or the Editor's Perrault, p. xxxv.
+(Oxford, 1888).  Of the later legends about Thomas, Scott gives
+plenty, in The Border Minstrelsy.  The long ancient romantic poem
+on the subject is probably the source of the ballad, though a local
+ballad may have preceded the long poem.  Scott named the glen
+through which the Bogle Burn flows to Chiefswood, "The Rhymer's
+Glen."
+
+
+SIR HUGH
+
+
+The date of the Martyrdom of Hugh is attributed by Matthew Paris to
+1225.  Chaucer puts a version in the mouth of his Prioress.  No
+doubt the story must have been a mere excuse for Jew-baiting.  In
+America the Jew becomes "The Duke" in a version picked up by Mr.
+Newells, from the recitation of a street boy in New York.  The
+daughter of a Jew is not more likely than the daughter of a duke to
+have been concerned in the cruel and blasphemous imitation of the
+horrors attributed by Horace to the witch Canidia.  But some such
+survivals of pagan sorcery did exist in the Middle Ages, under the
+influence of "Satanism."
+
+
+SON DAVIE
+
+
+Motherwell's version.  One of many ballads on fratricide,
+instigated by the mother:  or inquired into by her, as the case may
+be.  "Edward" is another example of this gloomy situation.
+
+
+THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL
+
+
+Here
+
+
+"The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,"
+
+
+having a middle rhyme, can scarcely be of extreme antiquity.
+Probably, in the original poem, the dead return to rebuke the
+extreme grief of the Mother, but the poem is perhaps really more
+affecting in the absence of a didactic motive.  Scott obtained it
+from an old woman in West Lothian.  Probably the reading "fashes,"
+(troubles), "in the flood" is correct, not "fishes," or "freshes."
+The mother desires that the sea may never cease to be troubled till
+her sons return (verse 4, line 2).  The peculiar doom of women dead
+in child-bearing occurs even in Aztec mythology.
+
+
+THE TWA CORBIES
+
+
+From the third volume of Border Minstrelsy, derived by Charles
+Kirkpatrick Sharpe from a traditional version.  The English
+version, "Three Ravens," was published in Melismata, by T.
+Ravensworth (1611).  In Scots, the lady "has ta'en another mate"
+his hawk and hound have deserted the dead knight.  In the English
+song, the hounds watch by him, the hawks keep off carrion birds, as
+for the lady--
+
+
+"She buried him before the prime,
+She was dead herselfe ere evensong time."
+
+
+Probably the English is the earlier version.
+
+
+THE BONNIE EARL OF MURRAY
+
+
+Huntly had a commission to apprehend the Earl, who was in the
+disgrace of James VI.  Huntly, as an ally of Bothwell, asked him to
+surrender at Donibristle, in Fife; he would not yield to his
+private enemy, the house was burned, and Murray was slain, Huntly
+gashing his face.  "You have spoiled a better face than your own,"
+said the dying Earl (1592).  James Melville mentions contemporary
+ballads on the murder.  Ramsay published the ballad in his Tea
+Table Miscellany, and it is often sung to this day.
+
+
+CLERK SAUNDERS
+
+
+First known as published in Border Minstrelsy (1802).  The
+apparition of the lover is borrowed from "Sweet Willie's Ghost."
+The evasions practised by the lady, and the austerities vowed by
+her have many Norse, French, and Spanish parallels in folk-poetry.
+Scott's version is "made up" from several sources, but is, in any
+case, verse most satisfactory as poetry.
+
+
+WALY, WALY
+
+
+From Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany, a curiously composite gathering
+of verses.  There is a verse, obviously a variant, in a sixteenth
+century song, cited by Leyden.  St. Anthon's Well is on a hill
+slope of Arthur's Seat, near Holyrood.  Here Jeanie Deans trysted
+with her sister's seducer, in The Heart of Midlothian.  The Cairn
+of Nichol Mushat, the wife-murderer, is not far off.  The ruins of
+Anthony's Chapel are still extant.
+
+
+LOVE GREGOR
+
+
+There are French and Romaic variants of this ballad.  "Lochroyal,"
+where the ballad is localized, is in Wigtownshire, but the
+localization varies.  The "tokens" are as old as the Return of
+Odysseus, in the Odyssey:  his token is the singular construction
+of his bridal bed, attached by him to a living tree-trunk.  A
+similar legend occurs in Chinese.  See Gerland's Alt-Giechische
+Marchen.
+
+
+THE QUEEN'S MARIE--MARY HAMILTON
+
+
+A made-up copy from Scott's edition of 1833.  This ballad has
+caused a great deal of controversy.  Queen Mary had no Mary
+Hamilton among her Four Maries.  No Marie was executed for child-
+murder.  But we know, from Knox, that ballads were recited against
+the Maries, and that one of the Mary's chamberwomen was hanged,
+with her lover, a pottinger, or apothecary, for getting rid of her
+infant.  These last facts were certainly quite basis enough for a
+ballad, the ballad echoing, not history, but rumour, and rumour
+adapted to the popular taste.  Thus the ballad might have passed
+unchallenged, as a survival, more or less modified in time, of
+Queen Mary's period.  But in 1719 a Mary Hamilton, a Maid of
+Honour, of Scottish descent, was executed in Russia, for
+infanticide.  Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe conceived that this affair
+was the origin of the ballad, and is followed by Mr. Child.
+
+We reply (1) The ballad has almost the largest number of variants
+on record.  This is a proof of antiquity.  Variants so many,
+differing in all sorts of points, could not have arisen between
+1719, and the age of Burns, who quotes the poem.
+
+(2)  This is especially improbable, because, in 1719, the old vein
+of ballad poetry had run dry, popular song had chosen other forms,
+and no literary imitator could have written Mary Hamilton in 1719.
+
+(3)  There is no example of a popular ballad in which a
+contemporary event, interesting just because it is contemporary, is
+thrown back into a remote age.
+
+(4)  The name, Mary Hamilton, is often NOT given to the heroine in
+variants of the ballad.  She is of several names and ranks in the
+variants.
+
+(5)  As Mr. Child himself remarked, the "pottinger" of the real
+story of Queen Mary's time occurs in one variant.  There was no
+"pottinger" in the Russian affair.
+
+All these arguments, to which others might be added, seem fatal to
+the late date and modern origin of the ballad, and Mr. Child's own
+faith in the hypothesis was shaken, if not overthrown.
+
+
+KINMONT WILLIE
+
+
+From The Border Minstrelsy.  The account in Satchells has either
+been based on the ballad, or the ballad is based on Satchells.
+After a meeting, on the Border of Salkeld of Corby, and Scott of
+Haining, Kinmont Willie was seized by the English as he rode home
+from the tryst.  Being "wanted," he was lodged in Carlisle Castle,
+and this was a breach of the day's truce.  Buccleugh, as warder,
+tried to obtain Willie's release by peaceful means.  These failing,
+Buccleugh did what the ballad reports, April 13, 1596.  Harden and
+Goudilands were with Buccleugh, being his neighbours near
+Branxholme.  Dicky of Dryhope, with others, Armstrongs, was also
+true to the call of duty.  A few verses in the ballad are clearly
+by aut Gualterus aut diabolus, and none the worse for that.
+Salkeld, of course, was not really slain; and, if the men were
+"left for dead," probably they were not long in that debatable
+condition.  In the rising of 1745 Prince Charlie's men forded Eden
+as boldly as Buccleuch, the Prince saving a drowning Highlander
+with his own hand.
+
+
+JAMIE TELFER
+
+
+Scott, for once, was wrong in his localities.  The Dodhead of the
+poem is NOT that near Singlee, in Ettrick, but a place of the same
+name, near Skelfhill, on the southern side of Teviot, within three
+miles of Stobs, where Telfer vainly seeks help from Elliot.  The
+other Dodhead is at a great distance from Stobs, up Borthwick
+Water, over the tableland, past Clearburn Loch and Buccleugh, and
+so down Ettrick, past Tushielaw.  The Catslockhill is not that on
+Yarrow, near Ladhope, but another near Branxholme, whence it is no
+far cry to Branxholme Hall.  Borthwick Water, Goudilands (below
+Branxholme), Commonside (a little farther up Teviot), Allanhaugh,
+and the other places of the Scotts, were all easily "warned."
+There are traces of a modern hand in this excellent ballad.  The
+topography is here corrected from MS. notes in a first edition of
+the Minstrelsy, in the library of Mr. Charles Grieve at Branxholme'
+Park, a scion of "auld Jock Grieve" of the Coultart Cleugh.  Names
+linger long in pleasant Teviotdale.
+
+
+THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY
+
+
+The ballad has Norse analogues, but is here localized on the
+Douglas Burn, a tributary of Yarrow on the left bank.  The St.
+Mary's Kirk would be that now ruinous, on St. Mary's Loch, the
+chapel burned by the Lady of Branxholme when she
+
+
+"gathered a band
+Of the best that would ride at her command,"
+
+
+in the Lay of the Last Minstrel.  The ancient keep of Blackhouse on
+Douglas Burn may have been the home of the heroine, if we are to
+localize.
+
+
+THE BONNY HIND
+
+
+Herd got this tragic ballad from a milkmaid, in 1771.  Mr. Child
+quotes a verse parallel, preserved in Faroe, and in the Icelandic.
+There is a similar incident in the cycle of Kullervo, in the
+Finnish Kalevala.  Scott says that similar tragedies are common in
+Scotch popular poetry; such cases are "Lizzie Wan," and "The King's
+Dochter, Lady Jean."  A sorrow nearly as bitter occurs in the
+French "Milk White Dove":  a brother kills his sister,
+metamorphosed into a white deer.  "The Bridge of Death" (French)
+seems to hint at something of the same kind; or rather the Editor
+finds that he has arbitrarily read "The Bonny Hind" into "Le Pont
+des Morts," in Puymaigre's Chants Populaires du Pays Messin, p. 60.
+(Ballads and Lyrics of Old France, p. 63)
+
+
+YOUNG BEICHAN, OR YOUNG BICHAM
+
+
+This is the original of the Cockney Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman,
+illustrated by Cruikshank, and by Thackeray.  There is a vast
+number of variants, evidence to the antiquity of the story.  The
+earliest known trace is in the familiar legend of the Saracen lady,
+who sought and found her lover, Gilbert Becket, father of Thomas a
+Becket, in London (see preface to Life of Becket, or Beket), Percy
+Society, 1845.  The date may be circ. 1300.  The kind of story, the
+loving daughter of the cruel captor, is as old as Medea and Jason,
+and her search for her lover comes in such Marchen as "The Black
+Bull o' Norraway."  No story is more widely diffused (see A Far
+Travelled Tale, in the Editor's Custom and Myth).  The appearance
+of the "True Love," just at her lover's wedding, is common in the
+Marchen of the world, and occurs in a Romaic ballad, as well as in
+many from Northern Europe.  The "local colour"--the Moor or
+Saracen--is derived from Crusading times, perhaps.  Motherwell
+found the ballad recited with intervals of prose narrative, as in
+Aucassin and Nicolette.  The notes to Cruikshank's Loving Ballad
+are, obviously, by Thackeray.
+
+
+THE BONNY HOUSE O' AIRLY
+
+
+Lord Airly's houses were destroyed by Argyll, representing the
+Covenanters, and also in pursuance of a private feud, in 1639, or
+1640.  There are erroneous versions of this ballad, in which
+Lochiel appears, and the date is, apparently, transferred to 1745.
+Montrose, in his early Covenanting days, was not actually concerned
+in the burning of the Bonnie House, which he, when a Royalist,
+revenged on the possessions of "gleyed Argyll."  The reference to
+"Charlie" is out of keeping; no one, perhaps, ever called Charles
+I. by that affectionate name.  Lady Ogilvie had not the large
+family attributed to her:  her son, Lord Ogilvie, escaped from
+prison in the Castle of St. Andrews, after Philiphaugh.  A Lord
+Ogilvie was out in 1745; and, later, had a regiment in the French
+Service.  Few families have a record so consistently loyal.
+
+
+ROB ROY
+
+
+The abductors of the widowed young heiress of Edenhelly were Rob's
+sons, Robin Oig, who went through a form of marriage with the girl,
+and James Mohr, a good soldier, but a double-dyed spy and
+scoundrel.  Robin Oig was hanged in 1753.  James Mohr, a detected
+traitor to Prince Charles, died miserably in Paris, in 1754.
+Readers of Mr. Stevenson's Catriona know James well; information as
+to his villanies is extant in Additional MSS. (British Museum).
+This is probably the latest ballad in the collection.  It occurs in
+several variants, some of which, copied out by Burns, derive thence
+a certain accidental interest.  In Mr. Stevenson's Catriona, the
+heroine of that name takes a thoroughly Highland view of the
+abduction.  Robin Oig, in any case, was "nane the waur o' a
+hanging," for he shot a Maclaren at the plough-tail, before the
+Forty-Five.  The trial of these sons of Alpen was published shortly
+after Scott's Rob Roy.
+
+
+KILLIECRANKIE
+
+
+Fought on July 27, 1689.  NOT on the haugh near the modern road by
+the railway, but higher up the hill, in the grounds of Urrard
+House.  Two shelter trenches, whence Dundee's men charged, are
+still visible, high on the hillside above Urrand.  There is said,
+by Mr. Child, to have been a contemporary broadside of the ballad,
+which is an example of the evolution of popular ballads from the
+old traditional model.  There is another song, by, or attributed
+to, Burns, and of remarkable spirit and vigour.
+
+
+ANNAN WATER
+
+
+From The Border Minstrelsy Scott says that these are the original
+words of the tune of "Allan Water," and that he has added two
+verses from a variant with a fortunate conclusion.  "Allan Water"
+is a common river name; the stream so called joins Teviot above
+Branxholme.  Annan is the large stream that flows into the Solway
+Frith.  The Gate-slack, in Annandale, fixes the locality.
+
+
+THE ELPHIN NOURRICE
+
+
+This curious poem is taken from the reprint of Charles Kirkpatrick
+Sharpe's tiny Ballad Book, itself now almost introuvable.  It does
+not, to the Editor's knowledge, occur elsewhere, but is probably
+authentic.  The view of the Faery Queen is more pleasing and
+sympathetic than usual.  Why mortal women were desired as nurses
+(except to attend on stolen mortal children, kept to "pay the Kane
+to hell") is not obvious.  Irish beliefs are precisely similar; in
+England they are of frequent occurrence.
+
+
+JOHNNIE ARMSTRANG
+
+
+Armstrang of Gilnockie was a brother of the laird of Mangertoun.
+He had a kind of Robin Hood reputation on the Scottish Border, as
+one who only robbed the English.  Pitscottie's account of his
+slaying by James V. (1529) reads as if the ballad were his
+authority, and an air for the subject is mentioned in the Complaint
+of Scotland.  In Sir Herbert Maxwell's History of Dumfries and
+Galloway is an excellent account of the historical facts of the
+case.
+
+
+EDOM O' GORDON
+
+
+Founded on an event in the wars between Kingsmen and Queensmen, in
+the minority of James VI., while Queen Mary was imprisoned in
+England.  "Edom" was Adam Gordon of Auchindown, brother of Huntley,
+and a Queen's man.  He, by his retainer, Car, or Ker, burned Towie
+House, a seat of the Forbes's.  Ker recurs in the long and more or
+less literary ballad of The Battle of Balrinnes.  In variants the
+localities are much altered, and, in one version, the scene is
+transferred to Ayrshire, and Loudoun Castle.  All the ballads of
+fire-raising, a very usual practice, have points in common, and
+transference was easy.
+
+
+LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT
+
+
+Tradition has confused the heroine of this piece with the wife of
+Bothwelhaugh, who slew the Regent Murray.  That his motive was not
+mere political assassination, but to avenge the ill-treatment and
+death of his wife, seems to be disproved by Maidment.  The affair,
+however, is still obscure.  This deserted Lady Anne of the ballad
+was, in fact, not the wife of Bothwelhaugh, but the daughter of the
+Bishop of Orkney; her lover is said to have been her cousin,
+Alexander Erskine, son of the Earl of Mar.  Part of the poem (Mr.
+Child points out) occurs in Broome's play, The Northern Lass
+(1632).  Though a popular favourite, the piece is clearly of
+literary origin, and has been severely "edited" by a literary hand.
+This version is Allan Ramsay's.
+
+
+JOCK O' THE SIDE
+
+
+A Liddesdale chant.  Jock flourished about 1550-1570, and is
+commemorated as a receiver by Sir Richard Maitland in a poem often
+quoted.  The analogies of this ballad with that of "Kinmont Willie"
+are very close.  The reference to a punch-bowl sounds modern, and
+the tale is much less plausible than that of "Kinmont Willie,"
+which, however, bears a few obvious marks of Sir Walter's own hand.
+A sceptical editor must choose between two theories:  either Scott
+of Satchells founded his account of the affair of "Kinmont Willie"
+on a pre-existing ballad of that name, or the ballad printed by
+Scott is based on the prose narrative of Scott of Satchells.  The
+former hypothesis, everything considered, is the more probable.
+
+
+LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET
+
+
+Published in Percy's Reliques, from a Scotch manuscript, "with some
+corrections."  The situation, with various differences in detail
+and conclusion, is popular in Norse and Romaic ballads, and also in
+many Marchen of the type of The Black Bull of Norraway.
+
+
+FAIR ANNIE
+
+
+From The Border Minstrelsy.  There are Danish, Swedish, Dutch, and
+German versions, and the theme enters artistic poetry as early as
+Marie de France (Le Lai del Freisne).  In Scotch the Earl of Wemyss
+is a recent importation:  the earldom dates from 1633.  Of course
+this process of attaching a legend or Marchen to a well-known name,
+or place, is one of the most common in mythological evolution, and
+by itself invalidates the theory which would explain myths by a
+philological analysis of the proper names in the tale.  These may
+not be, and probably are not, the original names.
+
+
+THE DOWNIE DENS OF YARROW
+
+
+From The Border Minstrelsy.  Scott thought that the hero was Walter
+Scott, third son of Thirlestane, slain by Scott of Tushielaw.  The
+"monument" (a standing stone near Yarrow) is really of a very
+early, rather Post-Roman date, and refers to no feud of
+Thirlestane, Oakwood, Kirkhope, or Tushielaw.  The stone is not far
+from Yarrow Krik, near a place called Warrior's Rest.  Hamilton of
+Bangour's version is beautiful and well known.  Quite recently a
+very early interment of a corpse, in the curved position, was
+discovered not far from the standing stone with the inscription.
+Ballad, stone, and interment may all be distinct and separate.
+
+
+SIR ROLAND
+
+
+From Motherwell's Minstrelsy.  The authenticity of the ballad is
+dubious, but, if a forgery, it is a very skilled one for the early
+nineteenth century.  Poets like Mr. Swinburne, Mr. Rossetti, and
+Mrs. Marriot Watson have imitated the genuine popular ballad, but
+never so closely as the author of "Sir Roland."
+
+
+ROSE THE RED AND WHITE LILY
+
+
+From the Jamieson-Brown MS., originally written out by Mrs. Brown
+in 1783:  Sir Waiter made changes in The Border Minstrelsy.  The
+ballad is clearly a composite affair.  Robert Chambers regarded
+Mrs. Brown as the Mrs. Harris of ballad lore, but Mr. Norval
+Clyne's reply was absolutely crushing and satisfactory.
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF HARLAW
+
+
+Fought on July 24, 1411.  This fight broke the Highland force in
+Scotland.  The first version is, of course, literary, perhaps a
+composition of 1550, or even earlier.  The second version is
+traditional, and was procured by Aytoun from Lady John Scott,
+herself the author of some beautiful songs.  But the best ballad on
+the Red Harlaw is that placed by Scott in the mouth of Elspeth, in
+The Antiquary.  This, indeed, is beyond all rivalry the most
+splendid modern imitation of the ancient popular Muse.
+
+
+DICKIE MACPHALION
+
+
+A great favourite of Scott's, who heard it sung at Miss
+Edgeworth's, during his tour in Ireland (1825).  One verse recurs
+in a Jacobite chant, probably of 1745-1760, but the bibliography of
+Jacobite songs is especially obscure.
+
+
+A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE
+
+
+From the Border Minstrelsy.  The ideas are mainly pre-Christian;
+the Brig o' Dread occurs in Islamite and Iroquois belief, and in
+almost all mythologies the souls have to cross a River.  Music for
+this dirge is given in Mr. Harold Boulton's and Miss Macleod's
+Songs of the North.
+
+
+THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN
+
+
+This version was taken down by Sir Walter Scott from his mother's
+recitation, for Jamieson's book of ballads.  Jamieson later
+quarrelled bitterly with Sir Walter, as letters at Abbotsford
+prove.  A variant is given by Kinloch, and a longer, less poetical,
+but more historically accurate version is given by Buchan.  The
+House of Waristoun is, or lately was, a melancholy place hanging
+above a narrow lake, in the northern suburbs of Edinburgh, near the
+Water of Leith.  Kincaid was the name of the Laird; according to
+Chambers, the more famous lairds of Covenanting times were
+Johnstons.  Kincaid is said to have treated his wife cruelly,
+wherefore she, or her nurse, engaged one Robert Weir, an old
+servant of her father (Livingstone of Dunipace), to strangle the
+unhappy man in his own bedroom (July 2, 1600).  The lady was
+beheaded, the nurse was burned, and, later, Weir was also executed.
+The line
+
+
+"I wish that ye may sink for sin"
+
+
+occurs in an earlier ballad on Edinburgh Castle--
+
+
+"And that all for the black dinner
+Earl Douglas got therein."
+
+
+MAY COLVEN
+
+
+From Herd's MS.  Versions occur in Polish, German, Magyar,
+Portuguese, Scandinavian, and in French.  The ballad is here
+localised on the Carrick coast, near Girvan.  The lady is called a
+Kennedy of Culzean.  Prof. Bugge regards this widely diffused
+ballad as based on the Apocryphal legend of Judith and Holofernes.
+If so, the legend is diablement change en route.  More probably the
+origin is a Marchen of a kind of Rakshasa fatal to women.  Mr.
+Child has collected a vast mass of erudition on the subject, and by
+no means acquiesces in Prof. Bugge's ingenious hypothesis.
+
+
+JOHNIE FAA
+
+
+From Pinkerton's Scottish Ballads.  The event narrated is a legend
+of the house of Cassilis (Kennedy), but is wholly unhistorical.
+"Sir John Faa," in the fable, is aided by Gypsies, but, apparently,
+is not one of the Earls of Egypt, on whom Mr. Crockett's novel, The
+Raiders, may be consulted.  The ballad was first printed, as far as
+is known, in Ramsay's Tea Table Miscellany.
+
+
+HOBBIE NOBLE
+
+
+The hero recurs in Jock o' the Side, and Jock o' the Mains is an
+historical character, that is, finds mention in authentic records,
+as Scott points out.  The Armstrongs were deported in great
+numbers, as "an ill colony," to Ulster, by James I.  Sir Herbert
+Maxwell's History of Dumfries and Galloway may be consulted for
+these and similar reivers.
+
+
+THE TWA SISTERS
+
+
+A version of "Binnorie."  The ballad here ends abruptly; doubtless
+the fiddler made fiddle-strings of the lady's hair, and a fiddle of
+her breast-bone, while the instrument probably revealed the cruelty
+of the sister.  Other extant versions are composite or
+interpolated, so this fragment (Sharpe's) has been preferred in
+this place.
+
+
+MARY AMBREE
+
+
+Taken by Percy from a piece in the Pepys Collection.  The girl
+warrior is a favourite figure in popular romance.  Often she slays
+a treacherous lover, as in Billy Taylor.  Nothing is known of Mary
+Ambree as an historical personage; she may be as legendary as fair
+maiden Lilias, of Liliarid's Edge, who "fought upon her stumps."
+In that case the local name is demonstrably earlier than the
+mythical Lilias, who fought with such tenacity.
+
+
+ALISON GROSS
+
+
+Jamieson gave this ballad from a manuscript, altering the spelling
+in conformity with Scots orthography.  Mr. Child prints the
+manuscript; here Jamieson's more familiar spelling is retained.
+The idea of the romance occurs in a Romaic Marchen, but, in place
+of the Queen of Faery, a more beautiful girl than the sorceress
+(Nereid in Romaic), restores the youth to his true shape.  Mr.
+Child regarded the tale as "one of the numerous wild growths" from
+Beauty and the Beast.  It would be more correct to say that Beauty
+and the Beast is a late, courtly, French adaptation and
+amplification of the original popular "wild growth" which first
+appears (in literary form) as Cupid and Psyche, in Apuleius.
+Except for the metamorphosis, however, there is little analogy in
+this case.  The friendly act of the Fairy Queen is without parallel
+in British Folklore, but Mr. Child points out that the Nereid
+Queen, in Greece, is still as kind as Thetis of old, not a
+sepulchral siren, the shadow of the pagan "Fairy Queen Proserpina,"
+as Campion calls her.
+
+
+THE HEIR OF LYNNE
+
+
+From Percy's Folio Manuscript.  There is a cognate Greek epigram--
+
+[Greek text which cannot be reproduced]
+
+
+GORDON OF BRACKLEY
+
+
+This, though probably not the most authentic, is decidedly the most
+pleasing version; it is from Mackay's collection, perhaps from his
+pen.
+
+
+EDWARD
+
+
+Percy got this piece from Lord Hailes, with pseudo-antiquated
+spelling.  Mr. Swinburne has published a parallel ballad "From the
+Finnish."  There are a number of parallel ballads on Cruel
+Brothers, and Cruel Sisters, such as Son Davie, which may be
+compared.  Fratricides and unconscious incests were motives dear to
+popular poetry.
+
+
+YOUNG BENJIE
+
+
+From the Border Minstrelsy.  That corpses MIGHT begin to "thraw,"
+if carelessly watched, was a prevalent superstition.  Scott gives
+an example:  the following may be added, as less well known.  The
+watchers had left the corpse alone, and were dining in the
+adjoining room, when a terrible noise was heard in the chamber of
+death.  None dared enter; the minister was sent for, and passed
+into the room.  He emerged, asked for a pair of tongs, and
+returned, bearing in the tongs A BLOODY GLOVE, and the noise
+ceased.  He always declined to say what he had witnessed.
+Ministers were exorcists in the last century, and the father of
+James Thomson, the poet, died suddenly in an interview with a
+guest, in a haunted house.  The house was pulled down, as being
+uninhabitable.
+
+
+AULD MAITLAND
+
+
+From The Border Minstrelsy.  This ballad is inserted, not for its
+merit, still less for its authenticity, but for the problem of its
+puzzling history.  Scott certainly got it from the mother of the
+Ettrick Shepherd, in 1801.  The Shepherd's father had been a grown-
+up man in 1745, and his mother was also of a great age, and
+unlikely to be able to learn a new-forged ballad by heart.  The
+Shepherd himself (then a most unsophisticated person) said, in a
+letter of June 30, 1801, that he was "surprized to hear this song
+is suspected by some to be a modern forgery; the contrary will be
+best proved by most of the old people, here about, having a great
+part of it by heart."  The two last lines of verse seven were,
+confessedly, added by Hogg, to fill a lacuna.  They are especially
+modern in style.  Now thus to fill up sham lacunae in sham ballads
+of his own, with lines manifestly modern, was a favourite trick of
+Surtees of Mainsforth.  He used the device in "Barthram's Dirge,"
+which entirely took in Sir Walter, and was guilty of many other
+supercheries, especially of the "Fray of Suport Mill."  Could the
+unlettered Shepherd, fond of hoaxes as he was, have invented this
+stratagem, sixteen years before he joined the Blackwood set?  And
+is it conceivable that his old mother, entering into the joke,
+would commit her son's fraudulent verses to memory, and recite them
+to Sir Walter as genuine tradition?  She said to Scott, that the
+ballad "never was printed i' the world, for my brothers and me
+learned it and many mae frae auld Andrew Moore, and he learned it
+frae auld Baby Mettlin" (Maitland?) "wha was housekeeper to the
+first laird o' Tushilaw."  (On Ettrick, near Thirlestane.  She
+doubtless meant the first of the Andersons of Tushielaw, who
+succeeded the old lairds, the Scotts.)  "She was said to hae been
+another or a guid ane, and there are many queer stories about
+hersel', but O, she had been a grand singer o' auld songs an'
+ballads."  (Hogg's Domestic Manners of Sir Walter Scott, p. 61,
+1834.)
+
+"Maitland upon auld beird gray" is mentioned by Gawain Douglas, in
+his Palice of Honour, which the Shepherd can hardly have read, and
+Scott identified this Maitland with the ancestor of Lethington; his
+date was 1250-1296.  On the whole, even the astute Shepherd, in his
+early days of authorship, could hardly have laid a plot so
+insidious, and the question of the authenticity and origin of the
+ballad (obvious interpolations apart) remains a mystery.  Who could
+have forged it?  It is, as an exercise in imitation, far beyond
+Hardyknute, and at least on a level with Sir Roland.  The
+possibility of such forgeries is now very slight indeed, but
+vitiates early collections.
+
+If we suspect Leyden, who alone had the necessary knowledge of
+antiquities, we are still met by the improbability of old Mrs. Hogg
+being engaged in the hoax.  Moreover, Leyden was probably too keen
+an antiquary to take part in one of the deceptions which Ritson
+wished to punish so severely.  Mr. Child expresses his strong and
+natural suspicions of the authenticity of the ballad, and Hogg is,
+certainly, a dubious source.  He took in Jeffrey with the song of
+"Donald Macgillavray," and instantly boasted of his triumph.  He
+could not have kept his secret, after the death of Scott.  These
+considerations must not be neglected, however suspicious "Auld,
+Maitland" may appear.
+
+
+THE BROOMFIELD HILL
+
+
+From Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland.  There are
+Elizabethan references to the poem, and a twelfth century romance
+turns on the main idea of sleep magically induced.  The lover
+therein is more fortunate than the hero of the ballad, and,
+finally, overcomes the spell.  The idea recurs in the Norse poetry.
+
+
+WILLIE'S LADYE
+
+
+Scott took this ballad from Mrs. Brown's celebrated Manuscript.
+The kind of spell indicated was practised by Hera upon Alcmena,
+before the birth of Heracles.  Analogous is the spell by binding
+witch-knots, practised by Simaetha on her lover, in the second
+Idyll of Theocritus.  Montaigne has some curious remarks on these
+enchantments, explaining their power by what is now called
+"suggestion."  There is a Danish parallel to "Willie's Ladye,"
+translated by Jamieson.
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD BALLADS
+
+
+There is plentiful "learning" about Robin Hood, but no real
+knowledge.  He is first mentioned in literature, as the subject of
+"rhymes," in Piers Plowman (circ. 1377).  As a topic of ballads he
+must be much older than that date.  In 1439 his name was a synonym
+for a bandit.  Wyntoun, the Scots chronicler, dates the outlaw in
+the time of Edward I.  Major, the Scots philosopher and master of
+John Knox, makes a guess (taken up by Scott in Ivanhoe) as the
+period of Richard I.  Kuhn seeks to show that Hood is a survival of
+Woden, or of his Wooden, "wooden horse" or hobby horse.  The Robin
+Hood play was parallel with the May games, which, as Mr. Frazer
+shows in his Golden Bough, were really survivals of a world-wide
+religious practice.  But Robin Hood need not be confused with the
+legendary May King.  Mr. Child judiciously rejects these
+mythological conjectures, based, as they are, on far-fetched
+etymologies and analogies.  Robin is an idealized bandit, reiver,
+or Klepht, as in modern Romaic ballads, and his adventures are
+precisely such as popular fancy everywhere attaches to such popular
+heroes.  An historical Robin there may have been, but premit nox
+alta.
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD AND THE MONK
+
+
+This copy follows in Mr. Child's early edition, "from the second
+edition of Ritson's Robin Hood, as collated by Sir Frederic
+Madden."  It is conjectured to be "possibly as old as the reign of
+Edward II."  That the murder of a monk should be pardoned in the
+facile way described is manifestly improbable.  Even in the lawless
+Galloway of 1508, McGhie of Phumpton was fined six merks for
+"throwing William Schankis, monk, from his horse."  (History of
+Dumfries and Galloway, by Sir Herbert Maxwell, p. 155.)
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD AND THE POTTER
+
+
+Published by Ritson, from a Cambridge MS., probably of the reign of
+Henry VII.
+
+
+ROBIN HOOD AND THE BUTCHER
+
+
+Published by Ritson, from a Black Letter copy in the collection of
+Anthony Wood, the Oxford antiquary.
+
+
+
+Footnotes:
+
+
+{1}  See Pitcairn, Case of Alison Pearson, 1586.
+
+{2}  Translated in Ballads and Lyrics of Old France.--A. L.
+
+{3}  "Kinnen," rabbits.
+
+{4}  "Nicher," neigh.
+
+{5}  "Gilt," gold.
+
+{6}  "Dow," are able to.
+
+{7}  "Ganging," going.
+
+{8}  "Targats", tassels.
+
+{9}  "Blink sae brawly," glance so bravely.
+
+{10}  "Fechting," fighting.
+
+{11}  "Kirsty," Christopher.
+
+{12}  "Hald," hold.
+
+{13}  "Reek," smoke.
+
+{14}  "Freits," omens.
+
+{15}  "Wighty," valiant.
+
+{16}  "Wroken," revenged.
+
+{17}  "Mudie," bold.
+
+
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A COLLECTION OF BALLADS ***
+
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+<html>
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" />
+<title>A Collection of Ballads</title>
+</head>
+<body>
+<h2>
+<a href="#startoftext">A Collection of Ballads, by Andrew Lang</a>
+</h2>
+<pre>
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Collection of Ballads, by Andrew Lang
+(#6 in our series by Andrew Lang)
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
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+Title: A Collection of Ballads
+
+Author: Andrew Lang
+
+Release Date: September, 1997  [EBook #1054]
+[This file was first posted on August 1, 1997]
+[Most recently updated: June 25, 2003]
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+Language: English
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+Character set encoding: US-ASCII
+</pre>
+<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p>
+<p>Transcribed by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<h1>A Collection of Ballads</h1>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<p>Contents:</p>
+<p>Sir Patrick Spens<br />Battle Of Otterbourne<br />Tam Lin<br />Thomas
+The Rhymer<br />&ldquo;Sir Hugh; Or The Jew&rsquo;s Daughter&rdquo;<br />Son
+Davie!&nbsp; Son Davie!<br />The Wife Of Usher&rsquo;s Well<br />The
+Twa Corbies<br />The Bonnie Earl Moray<br />Clerk Saunders<br />Waly,
+Waly<br />Love Gregor; Or, The Lass Of Lochroyan<br />The Queen&rsquo;s
+Marie<br />Kinmont Willie<br />Jamie Telfer<br />The Douglas Tragedy<br />The
+Bonny Hind<br />Young Bicham<br />The Loving Ballad Of Lord Bateman<br />The
+Bonnie House O&rsquo; Airly<br />Rob Roy<br />The Battle Of Killie-Crankie<br />Annan
+Water<br />The Elphin Nourrice<br />Cospatrick<br />Johnnie Armstrang<br />Edom
+O&rsquo; Gordon<br />Lady Anne Bothwell&rsquo;s Lament<br />Jock O The
+Side<br />Lord Thomas And Fair Annet<br />Fair Annie<br />The Dowie
+Dens Of Yarrow<br />Sir Roland<br />Rose The Red And White Lily<br />The
+Battle Of Harlaw&mdash;Evergreen Version<br />Traditionary Version<br />Dickie
+Macphalion<br />A Lyke-Wake Dirge<br />The Laird Of Waristoun<br />May
+Colven<br />Johnie Faa<br />Hobbie Noble<br />The Twa Sisters<br />Mary
+Ambree<br />Alison Gross<br />The Heir Of Lynne<br />Gordon Of Brackley<br />Edward,
+Edward<br />Young Benjie<br />Auld Maitland<br />The Broomfield Hill<br />Willie&rsquo;s
+Ladye<br />Robin Hood And The Monk<br />Robin Hood And The Potter<br />Robin
+Hood And The Butcher</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>When the learned first gave serious attention to popular ballads,
+from the time of Percy to that of Scott, they laboured under certain
+disabilities.&nbsp; The Comparative Method was scarcely understood,
+and was little practised.&nbsp; Editors were content to study the ballads
+of their own countryside, or, at most, of Great Britain.&nbsp; Teutonic
+and Northern parallels to our ballads were then adduced, as by Scott
+and Jamieson.&nbsp; It was later that the ballads of Europe, from the
+Faroes to Modern Greece, were compared with our own, with European <i>M&auml;rchen</i>,
+or children&rsquo;s tales, and with the popular songs, dances, and traditions
+of classical and savage peoples.&nbsp; The results of this more recent
+comparison may be briefly stated.&nbsp; Poetry begins, as Aristotle
+says, in improvisation.&nbsp; Every man is his own poet, and, in moments
+of stronge motion, expresses himself in song.&nbsp; A typical example
+is the Song of Lamech in Genesis&mdash;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I have slain a man to my wounding,<br />And a young man to
+my hurt.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Instances perpetually occur in the Sagas: Grettir, Egil, Skarphedin,
+are always singing.&nbsp; In <i>Kidnapped</i>, Mr. Stevenson introduces
+&ldquo;The Song of the Sword of Alan,&rdquo; a fine example of Celtic
+practice: words and air are beaten out together, in the heat of victory.&nbsp;
+In the same way, the women sang improvised dirges, like Helen; lullabies,
+like the lullaby of Danae in Simonides, and flower songs, as in modern
+Italy.&nbsp; Every function of life, war, agriculture, the chase, had
+its appropriate magical and mimetic dance and song, as in Finland, among
+Red Indians, and among Australian blacks.&nbsp; &ldquo;The deeds of
+men&rdquo; were chanted by heroes, as by Achilles; stories were told
+in alternate verse and prose; girls, like Homer&rsquo;s Nausicaa, accompanied
+dance and ball play, priests and medicine-men accompanied rites and
+magical ceremonies by songs.</p>
+<p>These practices are world-wide, and world-old.&nbsp; The thoroughly
+popular songs, thus evolved, became the rude material of a professional
+class of minstrels, when these arose, as in the heroic age of Greece.&nbsp;
+A minstrel might be attached to a Court, or a noble; or he might go
+wandering with song and harp among the people.&nbsp; In either case,
+this class of men developed more regular and ample measures.&nbsp; They
+evolved the hexameter; the <i>laisse</i> of the <i>Chansons de Geste</i>;
+the strange technicalities of Scandinavian poetry; the metres of Vedic
+hymns; the choral odes of Greece.&nbsp; The narrative popular chant
+became in their hands the Epic, or the mediaeval rhymed romance.&nbsp;
+The metre of improvised verse changed into the artistic lyric.&nbsp;
+These lyric forms were fixed, in many cases, by the art of writing.&nbsp;
+But poetry did not remain solely in professional and literary hands.&nbsp;
+The mediaeval minstrels and <i>jongleurs</i> (who may best be studied
+in L&eacute;on Gautier&rsquo;s Introduction to his <i>Epop&eacute;es</i>
+<i>Fran&ccedil;aises</i>) sang in Court and Camp.&nbsp; The poorer,
+less regular brethren of the art, harped and played conjuring tricks,
+in farm and grange, or at street corners.&nbsp; The foreign newer metres
+took the place of the old alliterative English verse.&nbsp; But unprofessional
+men and women did not cease to make and sing.</p>
+<p>Some writers have decided, among them Mr. Courthope, that our traditional
+ballads are degraded popular survivals of literary poetry.&nbsp; The
+plots and situations of some ballads are, indeed, the same as those
+of some literary mediaeval romances.&nbsp; But these plots and situations,
+in Epic and Romance, are themselves the final literary form of <i>m&auml;rchen</i>,
+myths and inventions originally <i>popular</i>, and still, in certain
+cases, extant in popular form among races which have not yet evolved,
+or borrowed, the ampler and more polished and complex <i>genres</i>
+of literature.&nbsp; Thus, when a literary romance and a ballad have
+the same theme, the ballad may be a popular degradation of the romance;
+or, it may be the original popular shape of it, still surviving in tradition.&nbsp;
+A well-known case in prose, is that of the French fairy tales.</p>
+<p>Perrault, in 1697, borrowed these from tradition and gave them literary
+and courtly shape.&nbsp; But <i>Cendrillon</i> or <i>Chaperon Rouge</i>
+in the mouth of a French peasant, is apt to be the old traditional version,
+uncontaminated by the refinements of Perrault, despite Perrault&rsquo;s
+immense success and circulation.&nbsp; Thus tradition preserves pre-literary
+forms, even though, on occasion, it may borrow from literature.&nbsp;
+Peasant poets have been authors of ballads, without being, for all that,
+professional minstrels.&nbsp; Many such poems survive in our ballad
+literature.</p>
+<p>The material of the ballad may be either romantic or historical.&nbsp;
+The former class is based on one of the primeval invented situations,
+one of the elements of the <i>M&auml;rchen</i> in prose.&nbsp; Such
+tales or myths occur in the stories of savages, in the legends of peasants,
+are interwoven later with the plot in Epic or Romance, and may also
+inspire ballads.&nbsp; Popular superstitions, the witch, metamorphosis,
+the returning ghost, the fairy, all of them survivals of the earliest
+thought, naturally play a great part.&nbsp; The Historical ballad, on
+the other hand, has a basis of resounding fact, murder, battle, or fire-raising,
+but the facts, being derived from popular rumour, are immediately corrupted
+and distorted, sometimes out of all knowledge.&nbsp; Good examples are
+the ballads on Darnley&rsquo;s murder and the youth of James VI.</p>
+<p>In the romantic class, we may take <i>Tamlane</i>.&nbsp; Here the
+idea of fairies stealing children is thoroughly popular; they also steal
+young men as lovers, and again, men may win fairy brides, by clinging
+to them through all transformations.&nbsp; A classical example is the
+seizure of Thetis by Peleus, and Child quotes a modern Cretan example.&nbsp;
+The dipping in milk and water, I may add, has precedent in ancient Egypt
+(in <i>The Two Brothers</i>), and in modern Senegambia.&nbsp; The fairy
+tax, tithe, or teind, paid to Hell, is illustrated by old trials for
+witchcraft, in Scotland. <a name="citation1"></a><a href="#footnote1">{1}</a>&nbsp;
+Now, in literary forms and romance, as in <i>Ogier le Danois</i>, persons
+are carried away by the Fairy King or Queen.&nbsp; But here the literary
+romance borrows from popular superstition; the ballad has no need to
+borrow a familiar fact from literary romance.&nbsp; On the whole subject
+the curious may consult &ldquo;The Secret Commonwealth of Elves, Fauns,
+and Fairies,&rdquo; by the Reverend Robert Kirk of Aberfoyle, himself,
+according to tradition, a victim of the fairies.</p>
+<p>Thus, in <i>Tamlane</i>, the whole <i>donn&eacute;e</i> is popular.&nbsp;
+But the current version, that of Scott, is contaminated, as Scott knew,
+by incongruous modernisms.&nbsp; Burns&rsquo;s version, from tradition,
+already localizes the events at Carterhaugh, the junction of Ettrick
+and Yarrow.&nbsp; But Burns&rsquo;s version does not make the Earl of
+Murray father of the hero, nor the Earl of March father of the heroine.&nbsp;
+Roxburgh is the hero&rsquo;s father in Burns&rsquo;s variant, which
+is more plausible, and the modern verses do not occur.&nbsp; This ballad
+apparently owes nothing to literary romance.</p>
+<p>In <i>Mary Hamilton</i> we have a notable instance of the Historical
+Ballad.&nbsp; No Marie of Mary Stuart&rsquo;s suffered death for child
+murder.</p>
+<p>She had no Marie Hamilton, no Marie Carmichael among her four Maries,
+though a lady of the latter name was at her court.&nbsp; But early in
+the reign a Frenchwoman of the queen&rsquo;s was hanged, with her paramour,
+an apothecary, for slaying her infant.&nbsp; Knox mentions the fact,
+which is also recorded in letters from the English ambassador, uncited
+by Mr. Child.&nbsp; Knox adds that there were ballads against the Maries.&nbsp;
+Now, in March 1719, a Mary Hamilton, of Scots descent, a maid of honour
+of Catherine of Russia, was hanged for child murder (<i>Child</i>, vi.
+383).&nbsp; It has therefore been supposed, first by Charles Kirkpatrick
+Sharpe long ago, later by Professor Child, and then by Mr. Courthope,
+that our ballad is of 1719, or later, and deals with the Russian, not
+the Scotch, tragedy.</p>
+<p>To this we may reply (1) that we have no example of such a throwing
+back of a contemporary event, in ballads.&nbsp; (2) There is a version
+(<i>Child</i>, viii. 507) in which Mary Hamilton&rsquo;s paramour is
+a &ldquo;pottinger,&rdquo; or apothecary, as in the real old Scotch
+affair.&nbsp; (3) The number of variants of a ballad is likely to be
+proportionate to its antiquity and wide distribution.&nbsp; Now only
+<i>Sir Patrick Spens</i> has so many widely different variants as <i>Mary
+Hamilton</i>.&nbsp; These could hardly have been evolved between 1719
+and 1790, when Burns quotes the poem as an old ballad.&nbsp; (4) We
+have no example of a poem so much in the old ballad manner, for perhaps
+a hundred and fifty years before 1719.&nbsp; The style first degraded
+and then expired: compare <i>Rob Roy</i> and <i>Killiecrankie</i>, in
+this collection, also the ballads of <i>Loudoun Hill</i>,<i> The Battle
+of Philiphaugh</i>, and others much earlier than 1719.&nbsp; New styles
+of popular poetry on contemporary events as <i>Sherriffmuir</i> and
+<i>Tranent Brae</i> had arisen.&nbsp; (5) The extreme historic inaccuracy
+of <i>Mary Hamilton</i> is paralleled by that of all the ballads on
+real events.&nbsp; The mention of the Pottinger is a trace of real history
+which has no parallel in the Russian affair, and there is no room, says
+Professor Child, for the supposition that it was voluntarily inserted
+by reciter or copyist, to tally with the narrative in Knox&rsquo;s History.</p>
+<p>On the other side, we have the name of Mary Hamilton occurring in
+a tragic event of 1719, but then the name does not uniformly appear
+in the variants of the ballad.&nbsp; The lady is there spoken of generally
+as Mary Hamilton, but also as Mary Myle, Lady Maisry, as daughter of
+the Duke of York (Stuart), as Marie Mild, and so forth.&nbsp; Though
+she bids sailors carry the tale of her doom, she is not abroad, but
+in Edinburgh town.&nbsp; Nothing can be less probable than that a Scots
+popular ballad-maker in 1719, telling the tale of a yesterday&rsquo;s
+tragedy in Russia, should throw the time back by a hundred and fifty
+years, should change the scene to Scotland (the heart of the sorrow
+would be Mary&rsquo;s exile), and, above all, should compose a ballad
+in a style long obsolete.&nbsp; This is not the method of the popular
+poet, and such imitations of the old ballad as <i>Hardyknute</i> show
+that literary poets of 1719 had not knowledge or skill enough to mimic
+the antique manner with any success.</p>
+<p>We may, therefore, even in face of Professor Child, regard <i>Mary
+Hamilton</i> as an old example of popular perversion of history in ballad,
+not as &ldquo;one of the very latest,&rdquo; and also &ldquo;one of
+the very best&rdquo; of Scottish popular ballads.</p>
+<p><i>Rob Roy</i> shows the same power of perversion.&nbsp; It was not
+Rob Roy but his sons, Robin Oig (who shot Maclaren at the plough-tail),
+and James Mohr (alternately the spy, the Jacobite, and the Hanoverian
+spy once more), who carried off the heiress of Edenbelly.&nbsp; Indeed
+a kind of added epilogue, in a different measure, proves that a poet
+was aware of the facts, and wished to correct his predecessor.</p>
+<p>Such then are ballads, in relation to legend and history.&nbsp; They
+are, on the whole, with exceptions, absolutely popular in origin, composed
+by men of the people for the people, and then diffused among and altered
+by popular reciters.&nbsp; In England they soon won their way into printed
+stall copies, and were grievously handled and moralized by the hack
+editors.</p>
+<p>No ballad has a stranger history than <i>The Loving Ballad of Lord
+Bateman</i>, illustrated by the pencils of Cruikshank and Thackeray.&nbsp;
+Their form is a ludicrous cockney perversion, but it retains the essence.&nbsp;
+Bateman, a captive of &ldquo;this Turk,&rdquo; is beloved by the Turk&rsquo;s
+daughter (a staple incident of old French romance), and by her released.&nbsp;
+The lady after seven years rejoins Lord Bateman: he has just married
+a local bride, but &ldquo;orders another marriage,&rdquo; and sends
+home his bride &ldquo;in a coach and three.&rdquo;&nbsp; This incident
+is stereotyped in the ballads and occurs in an example in the Romaic.
+<a name="citation2"></a><a href="#footnote2">{2}</a></p>
+<p>Now Lord Bateman is <i>Young Bekie</i> in the Scotch ballads, who
+becomes <i>Young Beichan</i>,<i> Young Bichem</i>, and so forth, and
+has adventures identical with those of Lord Bateman, though the proud
+porter in the Scots version is scarcely so prominent and illustrious.&nbsp;
+As Motherwell saw, Bekie (Beichan, Buchan, Bateman) is really Becket,
+Gilbert Becket, father of Thomas of Canterbury.&nbsp; Every one has
+heard how <i>his</i> Saracen bride sought him in London.&nbsp; (Robert
+of Gloucester&rsquo;s <i>Life and Martyrdom of Thomas Becket</i>, Percy
+Society.&nbsp; See Child&rsquo;s Introduction, IV., i. 1861, and <i>Motherwell&rsquo;s
+Minstrelsy</i>, p. xv., 1827.)&nbsp; The legend of the dissolved marriage
+is from the common stock of ballad lore, Motherwell found an example
+in the state of <i>Cantefable</i>, alternate prose and verse, like <i>Aucassin
+and Nicolette</i>.&nbsp; Thus the cockney rhyme descends from the twelfth
+century.</p>
+<p>Such are a few of the curiosities of the ballad.&nbsp; The examples
+selected are chiefly chosen for their romantic charm, and for the spirit
+of the Border raids which they record.&nbsp; A few notes are added in
+an appendix.&nbsp; The text is chosen from among the many variants in
+Child&rsquo;s learned but still unfinished collection, and an effort
+has been made to choose the copies which contain most poetry with most
+signs of uncontaminated originality.&nbsp; In a few cases Sir Walter
+Scott&rsquo;s versions, though confessedly &ldquo;made up,&rdquo; are
+preferred.&nbsp; Perhaps the editor may be allowed to say that he does
+not merely plough with Professor Child&rsquo;s heifer, but has made
+a study of ballads from his boyhood.</p>
+<p>This fact may exempt him, even in the eyes of too patriotic American
+critics, from &ldquo;the common blame of a plagiary.&rdquo;&nbsp; Indeed,
+as Professor Child has not yet published his general theory of the Ballad,
+the editor does not know whether he agrees with the ideas here set forth.</p>
+<p>So far the Editor had written, when news came of Professor Child&rsquo;s
+regretted death.&nbsp; He had lived to finish, it is said, the vast
+collection of all known traditional Scottish and English Ballads, with
+all accessible variants, a work of great labour and research, and a
+distinguished honour to American scholarship.&nbsp; We are not told,
+however, that he had written a general study of the topic, with his
+conclusions as to the evolution and diffusion of the Ballads: as to
+the influences which directed the selection of certain themes of <i>M&auml;rchen</i>
+for poetic treatment, and the processes by which identical ballads were
+distributed throughout Europe.&nbsp; No one, it is to be feared, is
+left, in Europe at least, whose knowledge of the subject is so wide
+and scientific as that of Professor Child.&nbsp; It is to be hoped that
+some pupil of his may complete the task in his sense, if, indeed, he
+has left it unfinished.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Sir Patrick Spens</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Border Minstrelsy.)</p>
+<p>The king sits in Dunfermline town,<br />Drinking the blude-red wine
+o:<br />&ldquo;O whare will I get a skeely skipper<br />To sail this
+new ship of mine o?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O up and spake an eldern-knight,<br />Sat at the king&rsquo;s right
+knee:<br />&ldquo;Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor<br />That ever
+saild the sea.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Our king has written a braid letter,<br />And seald it with his hand,<br />And
+sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,<br />Was walking on the strand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To Noroway, to Noroway,<br />To Noroway oer the faem;<br />The
+king&rsquo;s daughter of Noroway,<br />&rsquo;Tis thou maun bring her
+hame.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The first word that Sir Patrick read,<br />Sae loud, loud laughed
+he;<br />The neist word that Sir Patrick read,<br />The tear blinded
+his ee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O wha is this has done this deed,<br />And tauld the king
+o me,<br />To send us out, at this time of the year,<br />To sail upon
+the sea?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be it wind, be it weet, be it hall, be it sleet,<br />Our
+ship must sail the faem;<br />The king&rsquo;s daughter of Noroway,<br />&rsquo;Tis
+we must fetch her hame.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn,<br />Wi&rsquo; a&rsquo;
+the speed they may;<br />They hae landed in Noroway,<br />Upon a Wodensday.</p>
+<p>They hadna been a week, a week<br />In Noroway but twae,<br />When
+that the lords o Noroway<br />Began aloud to say:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye Scottishmen spend a&rsquo; our king&rsquo;s goud,<br />And
+a&rsquo; our queenis fee.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars
+loud!<br />Fu&rsquo; loud I hear ye lie!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For I brought as much white monie<br />As gane my men and
+me,<br />And I brought a half-fou&rsquo; o&rsquo; gude red goud,<br />Out
+o&rsquo;er the sea wi&rsquo; me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Make ready, make ready, my merry-men a&rsquo;!<br />Our gude
+ship sails the morn.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Now ever alake, my master dear,<br />I
+fear a deadly storm!</p>
+<p>I saw the new moon, late yestreen,<br />Wi&rsquo; the auld moon in
+her arm;<br />And if we gang to sea, master,<br />I fear we&rsquo;ll
+come to harm.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They hadna sail&rsquo;d a league, a league,<br />A league but barely
+three,<br />When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,<br />And
+gurly grew the sea.</p>
+<p>The ankers brak, and the top-masts lap,<br />It was sic a deadly
+storm;<br />And the waves cam o&rsquo;er the broken ship,<br />Till
+a&rsquo; her sides were torn.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O where will I get a gude sailor,<br />To take my helm in
+hand,<br />Till I get up to the tall top-mast;<br />To see if I can
+spy land?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O here am I, a sailor gude,<br />To take the helm in hand,<br />Till
+you go up to the tall top-mast<br />But I fear you&rsquo;ll ne&rsquo;er
+spy land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He hadna gane a step, a step,<br />A step but barely ane,<br />When
+a bout flew out of our goodly ship,<br />And the salt sea it came in.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gae, fetch a web o&rsquo; the silken claith,<br />Another
+o&rsquo; the twine,<br />And wap them into our ship&rsquo;s side,<br />And
+let na the sea come in.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They fetchd a web o the silken claith,<br />Another o the twine,<br />And
+they wapped them roun that gude ship&rsquo;s side<br />But still the
+sea came in.</p>
+<p>O laith, laith, were our gude Scots lords<br />To weet their cork-heel&rsquo;d
+shoon!<br />But lang or a the play was play&rsquo;d<br />They wat their
+hats aboon,</p>
+<p>And mony was the feather-bed<br />That fluttered on the faem,<br />And
+mony was the gude lord&rsquo;s son<br />That never mair cam hame.</p>
+<p>The ladyes wrang their fingers white,<br />The maidens tore their
+hair,<br />A&rsquo; for the sake of their true loves,<br />For them
+they&rsquo;ll see na mair.</p>
+<p>O lang, lang may the ladyes sit,<br />Wi&rsquo; their fans into their
+hand,<br />Before they see Sir Patrick Spens<br />Come sailing to the
+strand!</p>
+<p>And lang, lang may the maidens sit,<br />Wi&rsquo; their goud kaims
+in their hair,<br />A&rsquo; waiting for their ain dear loves!<br />For
+them they&rsquo;ll see na mair.</p>
+<p>O forty miles off Aberdeen,<br />&rsquo;Tis fifty fathoms deep,<br />And
+there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,<br />Wi&rsquo; the Scots lords at
+his feet.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Battle Of Otterbourne</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. vi.)</p>
+<p>It fell about the Lammas tide,<br />When the muir-men win their hay,<br />The
+doughty Douglas bound him to ride<br />Into England, to drive a prey.</p>
+<p>He chose the Gordons and the Graemes,<br />With them the Lindesays,
+light and gay;<br />But the Jardines wald nor with him ride,<br />And
+they rue it to this day.</p>
+<p>And he has burn&rsquo;d the dales of Tyne,<br />And part of Bambrough
+shire:<br />And three good towers on Reidswire fells,<br />He left them
+all on fire.</p>
+<p>And he march&rsquo;d up to Newcastle,<br />And rode it round about:<br />&ldquo;O
+wha&rsquo;s the lord of this castle?<br />Or wha&rsquo;s the lady o&rsquo;t
+?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But up spake proud Lord Percy then,<br />And O but he spake hie!<br />&ldquo;I
+am the lord of this castle,<br />My wife&rsquo;s the lady gaye.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If thou&rsquo;rt the lord of this castle,<br />Sae weel it
+pleases me!<br />For, ere I cross the Border fells,<br />The tane of
+us sall die.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He took a lang spear in his hand,<br />Shod with the metal free,<br />And
+for to meet the Douglas there,<br />He rode right furiouslie.</p>
+<p>But O how pale his lady look&rsquo;d,<br />Frae aff the castle wa&rsquo;,<br />When
+down, before the Scottish spear,<br />She saw proud Percy fa&rsquo;.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Had we twa been upon the green,<br />And never an eye to see,<br />I
+wad hae had you, flesh and fell;<br />But your sword sall gae wi&rsquo;
+mee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But gae ye up to Otterbourne,<br />And wait there dayis three;<br />And,
+if I come not ere three dayis end,<br />A fause knight ca&rsquo; ye
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Otterbourne&rsquo;s a bonnie burn;<br />&rsquo;Tis pleasant
+there to be;<br />But there is nought at Otterbourne,<br />To feed my
+men and me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The deer rins wild on hill and dale,<br />The birds fly wild
+from tree to tree;<br />But there is neither bread nor kale,<br />To
+feed my men and me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet I will stay it Otterbourne,<br />Where you shall welcome
+be;<br />And, if ye come not at three dayis end,<br />A fause lord I&rsquo;ll
+ca&rsquo; thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thither will I come,&rdquo; proud Percy said,<br />&ldquo;By
+the might of Our Ladye!&rdquo;&mdash;<br />&ldquo;There will I bide
+thee,&rdquo; said the Douglas,<br />&ldquo;My troth I plight to thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They lighted high on Otterbourne,<br />Upon the bent sae brown;<br />They
+lighted high on Otterbourne,<br />And threw their pallions down.</p>
+<p>And he that had a bonnie boy,<br />Sent out his horse to grass,<br />And
+he that had not a bonnie boy,<br />His ain servant he was.</p>
+<p>But up then spake a little page,<br />Before the peep of dawn:<br />&ldquo;O
+waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,<br />For Percy&rsquo;s hard at hand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud!<br />Sae loud I hear ye lie;<br />For
+Percy had not men yestreen,<br />To dight my men and me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I have dream&rsquo;d a dreary dream,<br />Beyond the Isle
+of Sky;<br />I saw a dead man win a fight,<br />And I think that man
+was I.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He belted on his guid braid sword,<br />And to the field he ran;<br />But
+he forgot the helmet good,<br />That should have kept his brain.</p>
+<p>When Percy wi the Douglas met,<br />I wat he was fu fain!<br />They
+swakked their swords, till sair they swat,<br />And the blood ran down
+like rain.</p>
+<p>But Percy with his good broad sword,<br />That could so sharply wound,<br />Has
+wounded Douglas on the brow,<br />Till he fell to the ground.</p>
+<p>Then he calld on his little foot-page,<br />And said&mdash;&ldquo;Run
+speedilie,<br />And fetch my ain dear sister&rsquo;s son,<br />Sir Hugh
+Montgomery.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My nephew good,&rdquo; the Douglas said,<br />&ldquo;What
+recks the death of ane!<br />Last night I dreamd a dreary dream,<br />And
+I ken the day&rsquo;s thy ain.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My wound is deep; I fain would sleep;<br />Take thou the vanguard
+of the three,<br />And hide me by the braken bush,<br />That grows on
+yonder lilye lee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O bury me by the braken-bush,<br />Beneath the blooming brier;<br />Let
+never living mortal ken<br />That ere a kindly Scot lies here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He lifted up that noble lord,<br />Wi the saut tear in his e&rsquo;e;<br />He
+hid him in the braken bush,<br />That his merrie men might not see.</p>
+<p>The moon was clear, the day drew near,<br />The spears in flinders
+flew,<br />But mony a gallant Englishman<br />Ere day the Scotsmen slew.</p>
+<p>The Gordons good, in English blood,<br />They steepd their hose and
+shoon;<br />The Lindesays flew like fire about,<br />Till all the fray
+was done.</p>
+<p>The Percy and Montgomery met,<br />That either of other were fain;<br />They
+swapped swords, and they twa swat,<br />And aye the blood ran down between.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yield thee, now yield thee, Percy,&rdquo; he said,<br />&ldquo;Or
+else I vow I&rsquo;ll lay thee low!&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;To whom must
+I yield,&rdquo; quoth Earl Percy,<br />&ldquo;Now that I see it must
+be so ?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thou shalt not yield to lord nor loun,<br />Nor yet shalt
+thou yield to me;<br />But yield thee to the braken-bush,<br />That
+grows upon yon lilye lee!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I will not yield to a braken-bush,<br />Nor yet will I yield
+to a brier;<br />But I would yield to Earl Douglas,<br />Or Sir Hugh
+the Montgomery, if he were here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,<br />He stuck his sword&rsquo;s
+point in the gronde;<br />The Montgomery was a courteous knight,<br />And
+quickly took him by the honde.</p>
+<p>This deed was done at Otterbourne,<br />About the breaking of the
+day;<br />Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush,<br />And the Percy
+led captive away.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Tam Lin</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, Part II., p. 340, Burns&rsquo;s Version.)</p>
+<p>O I forbid you, maidens a&rsquo;,<br />That wear gowd on your hair,<br />To
+come or gae by Carterhaugh,<br />For young Tam Lin is there.</p>
+<p>There&rsquo;s nane that gaes by Carterhaugh<br />But they leave him
+a wad,<br />Either their rings, or green mantles,<br />Or else their
+maidenhead.</p>
+<p>Janet has kilted her green kirtle<br />A little aboon her knee,<br />And
+she has braided her yellow hair<br />A little aboon her bree,<br />And
+she&rsquo;s awa&rsquo; to Carterhaugh,<br />As fast as she can hie.</p>
+<p>When she came to Carterhaugh<br />Tam Lin was at the well,<br />And
+there she fand his steed standing,<br />But away was himsel.</p>
+<p>She had na pu&rsquo;d a double rose,<br />A rose but only twa,<br />Till
+up then started young Tam Lin,<br />Says, &ldquo;Lady, thou&rsquo;s
+pu nae mae.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why pu&rsquo;s thou the rose, Janet,<br />And why breaks thou
+the wand?<br />Or why comes thou to Carterhaugh<br />Withoutten my command?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Carterhaugh, it is my ain,<br />My daddie gave it me;<br />I&rsquo;ll
+come and gang by Carterhaugh,<br />And ask nae leave at thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>* * * * *</p>
+<p>Janet has kilted her green kirtle<br />A little aboon her knee,<br />And
+she has snooded her yellow hair<br />A little aboon her bree,<br />And
+she is to her father&rsquo;s ha,<br />As fast as she can hie.</p>
+<p>Four and twenty ladies fair<br />Were playing at the ba,<br />And
+out then cam the fair Janet,<br />Ance the flower amang them a&rsquo;.</p>
+<p>Four and twenty ladies fair<br />Were playing at the chess,<br />And
+out then cam the fair Janet,<br />As green as onie grass.</p>
+<p>Out then spak an auld grey knight,<br />Lay oer the castle wa,<br />And
+says, &ldquo;Alas, fair Janet, for thee<br />But we&rsquo;ll be blamed
+a&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Haud your tongue, ye auld-fac&rsquo;d knight,<br />Some ill
+death may ye die!<br />Father my bairn on whom I will,<br />I&rsquo;ll
+father nane on thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Out then spak her father dear,<br />And he spak meek and mild;<br />&ldquo;And
+ever alas, sweet Janet,&rdquo; he says.<br />&ldquo;I think thou gaes
+wi child.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If that I gae wi&rsquo; child, father,<br />Mysel maun bear
+the blame;<br />There&rsquo;s neer a laird about your ha<br />Shall
+get the bairn&rsquo;s name.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If my love were an earthly knight,<br />As he&rsquo;s an elfin
+grey,<br />I wad na gie my ain true-love<br />For nae lord that ye hae.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The steed that my true-love rides on<br />Is lighter than
+the wind;<br />Wi siller he is shod before<br />Wi burning gowd behind.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Janet has kilted her green kirtle<br />A little aboon her knee,<br />And
+she has snooded her yellow hair<br />A little aboon her bree,<br />And
+she&rsquo;s awa&rsquo; to Carterhaugh,<br />As fast as she can hie.</p>
+<p>When she cam to Carterhaugh,<br />Tam Lin was at the well,<br />And
+there she fand his steed standing,<br />But away was himsel.</p>
+<p>She had na pu&rsquo;d a double rose,<br />A rose but only twa,<br />Till
+up then started young Tam Lin,<br />Says, &ldquo;Lady, thou pu&rsquo;s
+nae mae.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why pu&rsquo;s thou the rose, Janet,<br />Amang the groves
+sae green,<br />And a&rsquo; to kill the bonie babe<br />That we gat
+us between?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O tell me, tell me, Tam Lin,&rdquo; she says,<br />&ldquo;For&rsquo;s
+sake that died on tree,<br />If eer ye was in holy chapel,<br />Or christendom
+did see?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Roxbrugh he was my grandfather,<br />Took me with him to bide,<br />And
+ance it fell upon a day<br />That wae did me betide.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And ance it fell upon a day,<br />A cauld day and a snell,<br />When
+we were frae the hunting come,<br />That frae my horse I fell;<br />The
+Queen o Fairies she caught me,<br />In yon green hill to dwell.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And pleasant is the fairy land,<br />But, an eerie tale to
+tell,<br />Ay at the end of seven years<br />We pay a tiend to hell;<br />I
+am sae fair and fu&rsquo; o flesh<br />I&rsquo;m feared it be mysel.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But the night is Halloween, lady,<br />The morn is Hallowday;<br />Then
+win me, win me, an ye will,<br />For weel I wat ye may.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Just at the mirk and midnight hour<br />The fairy folk will
+ride,<br />And they that wad their true love win,<br />At Miles Cross
+they maun bide.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But how shall I thee ken, Tam Lin,<br />Or how my true-love
+know,<br />Amang sae mony unco knights<br />The like I never saw?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O first let pass the black, lady,<br />And syne let pass the
+brown,<br />But quickly run to the milk-white steed,<br />Pu ye his
+rider down.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For I&rsquo;ll ride on the milk-white steed,<br />And ay nearest
+the town;<br />Because I was an earthly knight<br />They gie me that
+renown.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My right hand will be gloyd, lady,<br />My left hand will
+be bare,<br />Cockt up shall my bonnet be,<br />And kaimd down shall
+my hair;<br />And thae&rsquo;s the takens I gie thee,<br />Nae doubt
+I will be there.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ll turn me in your arms, lady,<br />Into an esk
+and adder;<br />But hold me fast, and fear me not,<br />I am your bairn&rsquo;s
+father.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ll turn me to a bear sae grim,<br />And then a
+lion bold;<br />But hold me fast, and fear me not,<br />As ye shall
+love your child.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Again they&rsquo;ll turn me in your arms<br />To a red het
+gaud of airn;<br />But hold me fast, and fear me not,<br />I&rsquo;ll
+do to you nae harm.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And last they&rsquo;ll turn me in your arms<br />Into the
+burning gleed;<br />Then throw me into well water,<br />O throw me in
+wi speed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And then I&rsquo;ll be your ain true-love,<br />I&rsquo;ll
+turn a naked knight;<br />Then cover me wi your green mantle,<br />And
+cover me out o sight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Gloomy, gloomy was the night,<br />And eerie was the way,<br />As
+fair Jenny in her green mantle<br />To Miles Cross she did gae.</p>
+<p>About the middle o&rsquo; the night<br />She heard the bridles ring;<br />This
+lady was as glad at that<br />As any earthly thing.</p>
+<p>First she let the black pass by,<br />And syne she let the brown;<br />But
+quickly she ran to the milk-white steed,<br />And pu&rsquo;d the rider
+down,</p>
+<p>Sae weel she minded whae he did say,<br />And young Tam Lin did win;<br />Syne
+coverd him wi her green mantle,<br />As blythe&rsquo;s a bird in spring.</p>
+<p>Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,<br />Out of a bush o broom:<br />&ldquo;Them
+that has gotten young Tam Lin<br />Has gotten a stately groom.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Out then spak the Queen o Fairies,<br />And an angry woman was she;<br />&ldquo;Shame
+betide her ill-far&rsquo;d face,<br />And an ill death may she die,<br />For
+she&rsquo;s taen awa the bonniest knight<br />In a&rsquo; my companie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But had I kend, Tam Lin,&rdquo; she says,<br />&ldquo;What
+now this night I see,<br />I wad hae taen out thy twa grey e&rsquo;en,<br />And
+put in twa een o tree.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Thomas The Rhymer</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, Part II., p. 317.)</p>
+<p>True Thomas lay on Huntlie bank;<br />A ferlie he spied wi&rsquo;
+his ee;<br />And there he saw a lady bright,<br />Come riding down by
+the Eildon Tree.</p>
+<p>Her skirt was o the grass-green silk,<br />Her mantle o the velvet
+fyne,<br />At ilka tett of her horse&rsquo;s mane<br />Hang fifty siller
+bells and nine.</p>
+<p>True Thomas he pulld aff his cap,<br />And louted low down to his
+knee:<br />&ldquo;All hail, thou mighty Queen of Heaven!<br />For thy
+peer on earth I never did see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O no, O no, Thomas,&rdquo; she said,<br />&ldquo;That name
+does not belang to me;<br />I am but the queen of fair Elfland,<br />That
+am hither come to visit thee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Harp and carp, Thomas,&rdquo; she said,<br />&ldquo;Harp and
+carp, along wi&rsquo; me,<br />And if ye dare to kiss my lips,<br />Sure
+of your bodie I will be!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Betide me weal, betide me woe,<br />That weird sall never
+daunton me;<br />Syne he has kissed her rosy lips,<br />All underneath
+the Eildon Tree.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, ye maun go wi me,&rdquo; she said,<br />&ldquo;True Thomas,
+ye maun go wi me,<br />And ye maun serve me seven years,<br />Thro weal
+or woe as may chance to be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She mounted on her milk-white steed,<br />She&rsquo;s taen True Thomas
+up behind,<br />And aye wheneer her bride rung,<br />The steed flew
+swifter than the wind.</p>
+<p>O they rade on, and farther on&mdash;<br />The steed gaed swifter
+than the wind&mdash;<br />Until they reached a desart wide,<br />And
+living land was left behind.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Light down, light down, now, True Thomas,<br />And lean your
+head upon my knee;<br />Abide and rest a little space,<br />And I will
+shew you ferlies three.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O see ye not yon narrow road,<br />So thick beset with thorns
+and briers?<br />That is the path of righteousness,<br />Tho after it
+but few enquires.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And see ye not that braid braid road,<br />That lies across
+that lily leven?<br />That is the path of wickedness,<br />Tho some
+call it the road to heaven.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And see not ye that bonny road,<br />That winds about the
+fernie brae?<br />That is the road to fair Elfland,<br />Where thou
+and I this night maun gae.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But, Thomas, ye maun hold your tongue,<br />Whatever ye may
+hear or see,<br />For, if you speak word in Elflyn land,<br />Ye&rsquo;ll
+neer get back to your ain countrie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O they rade on, and farther on,<br />And they waded thro rivers aboon
+the knee,<br />And they saw neither sun nor moon,<br />But they heard
+the roaring of the sea.</p>
+<p>It was mirk mirk night, and there was nae stern light,<br />And they
+waded thro red blude to the knee;<br />For a&rsquo; the blude that&rsquo;s
+shed an earth<br />Rins thro the springs o that countrie.</p>
+<p>Syne they came on to a garden green,<br />And she pu&rsquo;d an apple
+frae a tree:<br />&ldquo;Take this for thy wages, True Thomas,<br />It
+will give the tongue that can never lie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My tongue is mine ain,&rdquo; True Thomas said,<br />&ldquo;A
+gudely gift ye wad gie me!<br />I neither dought to buy nor sell,<br />At
+fair or tryst where I may be.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I dought neither speak to prince or peer,<br />Nor ask of
+grace from fair ladye:&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Now hold thy peace,&rdquo;
+the lady said,<br />&ldquo;For as I say, so must it be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He has gotten a coat of the even cloth,<br />And a pair of shoes
+of velvet green,<br />And till seven years were gane and past<br />True
+Thomas on earth was never seen.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: &ldquo;Sir Hugh; Or The Jew&rsquo;s Daughter&rdquo;</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. v.)</p>
+<p>Four-and-twenty bonny boys<br />Were playing at the ba,<br />And
+by it came him sweet Sir Hugh,<br />And he playd o&rsquo;er them a&rsquo;.</p>
+<p>He kickd the ba with his right foot<br />And catchd it wi his knee,<br />And
+throuch-and-thro the Jew&rsquo;s window<br />He gard the bonny ba flee.</p>
+<p>He&rsquo;s doen him to the Jew&rsquo;s castell<br />And walkd it
+round about;<br />And there he saw the Jew&rsquo;s daughter,<br />At
+the window looking out.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Throw down the ba, ye Jew&rsquo;s daughter,<br />Throw down
+the ba to me!&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Never a bit,&rdquo; says the Jew&rsquo;s
+daughter,<br />&ldquo;Till up to me come ye.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How will I come up?&nbsp; How can I come up?<br />How can
+I come to thee?<br />For as ye did to my auld father,<br />The same
+ye&rsquo;ll do to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s gane till her father&rsquo;s garden,<br />And pu&rsquo;d
+an apple red and green;<br />&rsquo;Twas a&rsquo; to wyle him sweet
+Sir Hugh,<br />And to entice him in.</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s led him in through ae dark door,<br />And sae has she
+thro nine;<br />She&rsquo;s laid him on a dressing-table,<br />And stickit
+him like a swine.</p>
+<p>And first came out the thick, thick blood,<br />And syne came out
+the thin;<br />And syne came out the bonny heart&rsquo;s blood;<br />There
+was nae mair within.</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s rowd him in a cake o lead,<br />Bade him lie still and
+sleep;<br />She&rsquo;s thrown him in Our Lady&rsquo;s draw-well,<br />Was
+fifty fathom deep.</p>
+<p>When bells were rung, and mass was sung,<br />And a&rsquo; the bairns
+came hame,<br />When every lady gat hame her son,<br />The Lady Maisry
+gat nane.</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s taen her mantle her about,<br />Her coffer by the hand,<br />And
+she&rsquo;s gane out to seek her son,<br />And wandered o&rsquo;er the
+land.</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s doen her to the Jew&rsquo;s castell,<br />Where a&rsquo;
+were fast asleep:<br />&ldquo;Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,<br />I
+pray you to me speak.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear,<br />Prepare my winding-sheet,<br />And
+at the back o merry Lincoln<br />The morn I will you meet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Now Lady Maisry is gane hame,<br />Make him a winding-sheet,<br />And
+at the back o merry Lincoln,<br />The dead corpse did her meet.</p>
+<p>And a the bells o merry Lincoln<br />Without men&rsquo;s hands were
+rung,<br />And a&rsquo; the books o merry Lincoln<br />Were read without
+man&rsquo;s tongue,<br />And neer was such a burial<br />Sin Adam&rsquo;s
+days begun.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Son Davie!&nbsp; Son Davie!</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Mackay.)</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What bluid&rsquo;s that on thy coat lap?<br />Son Davie!&nbsp;
+Son Davie!<br />What bluid&rsquo;s that on thy coat lap?<br />And the
+truth come tell to me, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is the bluid of my great hawk,<br />Mother lady, Mother
+lady!<br />It is the bluid of my great hawk,<br />And the truth I hae
+tald to thee, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hawk&rsquo;s bluid was ne&rsquo;er sae red,<br />Son Davie!&nbsp;
+Son Davie!<br />Hawk&rsquo;s bluid was ne&rsquo;er sae red,<br />And
+the truth come tell to me, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is the bluid of my grey hound,<br />Mother lady!&nbsp;
+Mother lady!<br />It is the bluid of my grey hound,<br />And it wudna
+rin for me, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hound&rsquo;s bluid was ne&rsquo;er sae red,<br />Son Davie!&nbsp;
+Son Davie!<br />Hound&rsquo;s bluid was ne&rsquo;er sae red,<br />And
+the truth come tell to me, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is the bluid o&rsquo; my brother John,<br />Mother lady!&nbsp;
+Mother lady!<br />It is the bluid o&rsquo; my brother John,<br />And
+the truth I hae tald to thee, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What about did the plea begin?<br />Son Davie!&nbsp; Son Davie!&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;It
+began about the cutting o&rsquo; a willow wand,<br />That would never
+hae been a tree, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What death dost thou desire to die?<br />Son Davie!&nbsp;
+Son Davie!<br />What death dost thou desire to die?<br />And the truth
+come tell to me, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll set my foot in a bottomless ship,<br />Mother lady!
+mother lady!<br />I&rsquo;ll set my foot in a bottomless ship,<br />And
+ye&rsquo;ll never see mair o&rsquo; me, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What wilt thou leave to thy poor wife?<br />Son Davie!&nbsp;
+Son Davie!&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Grief and sorrow all her life,<br />And
+she&rsquo;ll never get mair frae me, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What wilt thou leave to thy young son?<br />Son Davie! son
+Davie!&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;The weary warld to wander up and down,<br />And
+he&rsquo;ll never get mair o&rsquo; me, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What wilt thou leave to thy mother dear?<br />Son Davie!&nbsp;
+Son Davie!&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;A fire o&rsquo; coals to burn her wi&rsquo;
+hearty cheer,<br />And she&rsquo;ll never get mair o&rsquo; me, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Wife Of Usher&rsquo;s Well</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. iii.)</p>
+<p>There lived a wife at Usher&rsquo;s Well,<br />And a wealthy wife
+was she;<br />She had three stout and stalwart sons,<br />And sent them
+oer the sea,</p>
+<p>They hadna been a week from her,<br />A week but barely ane,<br />When
+word came to the carline wife<br />That her three sons were gane.</p>
+<p>They hadna been a week from her,<br />A week but barely three,<br />Whan
+word came to the carlin wife<br />That her sons she&rsquo;d never see.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish the wind may never cease,<br />Nor fashes in the flood,<br />Till
+my three sons come hame to me,<br />In earthly flesh and blood!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It fell about the Martinmass,<br />Whan nights are lang and mirk,<br />The
+carline wife&rsquo;s three sons came hame,<br />And their hats were
+o the birk.</p>
+<p>It neither grew in syke nor ditch,<br />Nor yet in ony sheugh;<br />But
+at the gates o Paradise<br />That birk grew fair eneugh.</p>
+<p>* * * * *</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Blow up the fire, my maidens!<br />Bring water from the well;<br />For
+a&rsquo; my house shall feast this night,<br />Since my three sons are
+well.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And she has made to them a bed,<br />She&rsquo;s made it large and
+wide;<br />And she&rsquo;s taen her mantle her about,<br />Sat down
+at the bedside.</p>
+<p>* * * * *</p>
+<p>Up then crew the red, red cock,<br />And up and crew the gray;<br />The
+eldest to the youngest said,<br />&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis time we were away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The cock he hadna crawd but once,<br />And clapp&rsquo;d his wings
+at a&rsquo;,<br />Whan the youngest to the eldest said,<br />&ldquo;Brother,
+we must awa.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,<br />The channerin worm
+doth chide;<br />Gin we be mist out o our place,<br />A sair pain we
+maun bide.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fare ye weel, my mother dear!<br />Fareweel to barn and byre!<br />And
+fare ye weel, the bonny lass<br />That kindles my mother&rsquo;s fire!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Twa Corbies</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. i.)</p>
+<p>As I was walking all alane,<br />I heard twa corbies making a mane;<br />The
+tane unto the t&rsquo;other say,<br />&ldquo;Where sall we gang and
+dine the day?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In behint yon auld fail dyke,<br />I wot there lies a new-slain
+knight;<br />And naebody kens that he lies there<br />But his hawk,
+his hound, and his lady fair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;His hound is to the hunting gane,<br />His hawk to fetch the
+wild-fowl hame,<br />His lady&rsquo;s ta&rsquo;en another mate,<br />So
+we may make our dinner sweet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye&rsquo;ll sit on his white hause-bane,<br />And I&rsquo;ll
+pike out his bonny blue een;<br />Wi ae lock o his gowden hair<br />We&rsquo;ll
+theek our nest when it grows bare.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Mony a one for him makes mane,<br />But nane sall ken whae
+he is gane,<br />Oer his white banes, when they are bare,<br />The wind
+sall blaw for evermair.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Bonnie Earl Moray</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. vi.)</p>
+<p>A.</p>
+<p>Ye Highlands, and ye Lawlands<br />Oh where have you been?<br />They
+have slain the Earl of Murray,<br />And they layd him on the green.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now wae be to thee, Huntly!<br />And wherefore did you sae?<br />I
+bade you bring him wi you,<br />But forbade you him to slay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He was a braw gallant,<br />And he rid at the ring;<br />And the
+bonny Earl of Murray,<br />Oh he might have been a King!</p>
+<p>He was a braw gallant,<br />And he playd at the ba;<br />And the
+bonny Earl of Murray,<br />Was the flower amang them a&rsquo;.</p>
+<p>He was a braw gallant,<br />And he playd at the glove;<br />And the
+bonny Earl of Murray,<br />Oh he was the Queen&rsquo;s love!</p>
+<p>Oh lang will his lady<br />Look oer the castle Down,<br />Eer she
+see the Earl of Murray<br />Come sounding thro the town!<br />Eer she,
+etc.</p>
+<p>B.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Open the gates<br />and let him come in;<br />He is my brother
+Huntly,<br />he&rsquo;ll do him nae harm.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The gates they were opent,<br />they let him come in,<br />But fause
+traitor Huntly,<br />he did him great harm.</p>
+<p>He&rsquo;s ben and ben,<br />and ben to his bed,<br />And with a
+sharp rapier<br />he stabbed him dead.</p>
+<p>The lady came down the stair,<br />wringing her hands:<br />&ldquo;He
+has slain the Earl o Murray,<br />the flower o Scotland.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Huntly lap on his horse,<br />rade to the King:<br />&ldquo;Ye&rsquo;re
+welcome hame, Huntly,<br />and whare hae ye been?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where hae ye been?<br />and how hae ye sped?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve
+killed the Earl o Murray<br />dead in his bed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Foul fa you, Huntly!<br />and why did ye so?<br />You might
+have taen the Earl o Murray,<br />and saved his life too.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Her bread it&rsquo;s to bake,<br />her yill is to brew;<br />My
+sister&rsquo;s a widow,<br />and sair do I rue.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Her corn grows ripe,<br />her meadows grow green,<br />But
+in bonnie Dinnibristle<br />I darena be seen.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Clerk Saunders</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. iii.)</p>
+<p>Clerk Saunders and may Margaret<br />Walked ower yon garden green;<br />And
+sad and heavy was the love<br />That fell thir twa between.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A bed, a bed,&rdquo; Clerk Saunders said,<br />&ldquo;A bed
+for you and me!&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Fye na, fye na,&rdquo; said may Margaret,<br />&ldquo;&rsquo;Till
+anes we married be.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For in may come my seven bauld brothers,<br />Wi&rsquo; torches
+burning bright;<br />They&rsquo;ll say,&mdash;&lsquo;We hae but ae sister,<br />And
+behold she&rsquo;s wi a knight!&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then take the sword frae my scabbard,<br />And slowly lift
+the pin;<br />And you may swear, and save your aith.<br />Ye never let
+Clerk Saunders in.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And take a napkin in your hand,<br />And tie up baith your
+bonny e&rsquo;en,<br />And you may swear, and save your aith,<br />Ye
+saw me na since late yestreen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was about the midnight hour,<br />When they asleep were laid,<br />When
+in and came her seven brothers,<br />Wi&rsquo; torches burning red.</p>
+<p>When in and came her seven brothers,<br />Wi&rsquo; torches burning
+bright:<br />They said, &ldquo;We hae but ae sister,<br />And behold
+her lying with a knight!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then out and spake the first o&rsquo; them,<br />&ldquo;I bear the
+sword shall gar him die!&rdquo;<br />And out and spake the second o&rsquo;
+them,<br />&ldquo;His father has nae mair than he!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And out and spake the third o&rsquo; them,<br />&ldquo;I wot that
+they are lovers dear!&rdquo;<br />And out and spake the fourth o&rsquo;
+them,<br />&ldquo;They hae been in love this mony a year!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then out and spake the fifth o&rsquo; them,<br />&ldquo;It were great
+sin true love to twain!&rdquo;<br />And out and spake the sixth o&rsquo;
+them,<br />&ldquo;It were shame to slay a sleeping man!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then up and gat the seventh o&rsquo; them,<br />And never a word
+spake he;<br />But he has striped his bright brown brand<br />Out through
+Clerk Saunders&rsquo; fair bodye.</p>
+<p>Clerk Saunders he started, and Margaret she turned<br />Into his
+arms as asleep she lay;<br />And sad and silent was the night<br />That
+was atween thir twae.</p>
+<p>And they lay still and sleeped sound<br />Until the day began to
+daw;<br />And kindly to him she did say,<br />&ldquo;It is time, true
+love, you were awa&rsquo;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But he lay still, and sleeped sound,<br />Albeit the sun began to
+sheen;<br />She looked atween her and the wa&rsquo;,<br />And dull and
+drowsie were his e&rsquo;en.</p>
+<p>Then in and came her father dear;<br />Said,&mdash;&ldquo;Let a&rsquo;
+your mourning be:<br />I&rsquo;ll carry the dead corpse to the clay,<br />And
+I&rsquo;ll come back and comfort thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Comfort weel your seven sons;<br />For comforted will I never
+be:<br />I ween &rsquo;twas neither knave nor loon<br />Was in the bower
+last night wi&rsquo; me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The clinking bell gaed through the town,<br />To carry the dead corse
+to the clay;<br />And Clerk Saunders stood at may Margaret&rsquo;s window,<br />I
+wot, an hour before the day.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Are ye sleeping, Margaret?&rdquo; he says,<br />&ldquo;Or
+are ye waking presentlie?<br />Give me my faith and troth again,<br />I
+wot, true love, I gied to thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your faith and troth ye sall never get,<br />Nor our true
+love sall never twin,<br />Until ye come within my bower,<br />And kiss
+me cheik and chin.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My mouth it is full cold, Margaret,<br />It has the smell,
+now, of the ground;<br />And if I kiss thy comely mouth,<br />Thy days
+of life will not be lang.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight,<br />I wot the wild
+fowls are boding day;<br />Give me my faith and troth again,<br />And
+let me fare me on my way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thy faith and troth thou sall na get,<br />And our true love
+sall never twin,<br />Until ye tell what comes of women,<br />I wot,
+who die in strong traivelling?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Their beds are made in the heavens high,<br />Down at the
+foot of our good lord&rsquo;s knee,<br />Weel set about wi&rsquo; gillyflowers;<br />I
+wot, sweet company for to see.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O, cocks are crowing a merry midnight,<br />I wot the wild
+fowl are boding day;<br />The psalms of heaven will soon be sung,<br />And
+I, ere now, will be missed away.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then she has ta&rsquo;en a crystal wand,<br />And she has stroken
+her troth thereon;<br />She has given it him out at the shot-window,<br />Wi&rsquo;
+mony a sad sigh, and heavy groan.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thank ye, Marg&rsquo;ret, I thank ye, Marg&rsquo;ret;<br />And
+aye I thank ye heartilie;<br />Gin ever the dead come for the quick,<br />Be
+sure, Mag&rsquo;ret, I&rsquo;ll come for thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It&rsquo;s hosen and shoon, and gown alone,<br />She climb&rsquo;d
+the wall, and followed him,<br />Until she came to the green forest,<br />And
+there she lost the sight o&rsquo; him.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is there ony room at your head, Saunders?<br />Is there ony
+room at your feet?<br />Is there ony room at your side, Saunders,<br />Where
+fain, fain I wad sleep?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s nae room at my head, Marg&rsquo;ret,<br />There&rsquo;s
+nae room at my feet;<br />My bed it is full lowly now,<br />Amang the
+hungry worms I sleep.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cauld mould is my covering now,<br />But and my winding-sheet;<br />The
+dew it falls nae sooner down<br />Than my resting-place is weet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But plait a wand o&rsquo; bonnie birk,<br />And lay it on
+my breast;<br />And shed a tear upon my grave,<br />And wish my saul
+gude rest.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And fair Marg&rsquo;ret, and rare Marg&rsquo;ret,<br />And
+Marg&rsquo;ret, o&rsquo; veritie,<br />Gin ere ye love another man,<br />Ne&rsquo;er
+love him as ye did me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then up and crew the milk-white cock,<br />And up and crew the gray;<br />Her
+lover vanish&rsquo;d in the air,<br />And she gaed weeping away.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Waly, Waly</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Mackay.)</p>
+<p>O waly, waly, up the bank,<br />O waly, waly, down the brae.<br />And
+waly, waly, yon burn side,<br />Where I and my love wont to gae.<br />I
+leaned my back unto an aik,<br />An&rsquo; thocht it was a trustie tree,<br />But
+first it bow&rsquo;d and syne it brak,<br />Sae my true love did lichtly
+me.</p>
+<p>O waly, waly, but love is bonnie<br />A little time while it is new,<br />But
+when it&rsquo;s auld it waxes cauld,<br />And fades away like morning
+dew.<br />O wherefore should I busk my head,<br />O wherefore should
+I kame my hair,<br />For my true love has me forsook,<br />And says
+he&rsquo;ll never love me mair.</p>
+<p>Now Arthur&rsquo;s Seat shall be my bed,<br />The sheets shall ne&rsquo;er
+be pressed by me,<br />St. Anton&rsquo;s well shall be my drink,<br />Since
+my true love has forsaken me.<br />Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,<br />And
+shake the green leaves off the tree!<br />O gentle Death, when wilt
+thou come?<br />For of my life I am wearie!</p>
+<p>&rsquo;Tis not the frost that freezes fell,<br />Nor blawing snaw&rsquo;s
+inclemencie,<br />&rsquo;Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,<br />But
+my love&rsquo;s heart&rsquo;s grown cauld to me.<br />When we came in
+by Glasgow toun<br />We were a comely sicht to see;<br />My love was
+clad in the black velvet,<br />And I mysel in cramasie.</p>
+<p>But had I wist before I kist<br />That love had been sae ill to win,<br />I&rsquo;d
+locked my heart in a case of gold,<br />And pinned it wi&rsquo; a siller
+pin.<br />Oh, oh! if my young babe were born,<br />And set upon the
+nurse&rsquo;s knee;<br />And I myself were dead and gane,<br />And the
+green grass growing over me!</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Love Gregor; Or, The Lass Of Lochroyan</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, Part III., p. 220.)</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O wha will shoe my fu&rsquo; fair foot?<br />And wha will
+glove my hand?<br />And wha will lace my middle jimp,<br />Wi&rsquo;
+the new-made London band?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And wha will kaim my yellow hair,<br />Wi&rsquo; the new made
+silver kaim?<br />And wha will father my young son,<br />Till Love Gregor
+come hame?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your father will shoe your fu&rsquo; fair foot,<br />Your
+mother will glove your hand;<br />Your sister will lace your middle
+jimp<br />Wi&rsquo; the new-made London band.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your brother will kaim your yellow hair,<br />Wi&rsquo; the
+new made silver kaim;<br />And the king of heaven will father your bairn,<br />Till
+Love Gregor come haim.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I will get a bonny boat,<br />And I will sail the sea,<br />For
+I maun gang to Love Gregor,<br />Since he canno come hame to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O she has gotten a bonny boat,<br />And sailld the sa&rsquo;t sea
+fame;<br />She langd to see her ain true-love,<br />Since he could no
+come hame.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O row your boat, my mariners,<br />And bring me to the land,<br />For
+yonder I see my love&rsquo;s castle,<br />Close by the sa&rsquo;t sea
+strand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She has ta&rsquo;en her young son in her arms,<br />And to the door
+she&rsquo;s gone,<br />And lang she&rsquo;s knocked and sair she ca&rsquo;d,<br />But
+answer got she none.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O open the door, Love Gregor,&rdquo; she says,<br />&ldquo;O
+open, and let me in;<br />For the wind blaws thro&rsquo; my yellow hair,<br />And
+the rain draps o&rsquo;er my chin.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awa, awa, ye ill woman,<br />You&rsquo;r nae come here for
+good;<br />You&rsquo;r but some witch, or wile warlock,<br />Or mer-maid
+of the flood.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am neither a witch nor a wile warlock,<br />Nor mer-maid
+of the sea,<br />I am Fair Annie of Rough Royal;<br />O open the door
+to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gin ye be Annie of Rough Royal&mdash;<br />And I trust ye
+are not she&mdash;<br />Now tell me some of the love-tokens<br />That
+past between you and me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O dinna you mind now, Love Gregor,<br />When we sat at the
+wine,<br />How we changed the rings frae our fingers?<br />And I can
+show thee thine.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O yours was good, and good enough,<br />But ay the best was
+mine;<br />For yours was o&rsquo; the good red goud,<br />But mine o&rsquo;
+the diamonds fine.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But open the door now, Love Gregor,<br />O open the door I
+pray,<br />For your young son that is in my arms<br />Will be dead ere
+it be day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awa, awa, ye ill woman,<br />For here ye shanno win in;<br />Gae
+drown ye in the raging sea,<br />Or hang on the gallows-pin.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When the cock had crawn, and day did dawn,<br />And the sun began
+to peep,<br />Then up he rose him, Love Gregor,<br />And sair, sair
+did he weep.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O I dreamd a dream, my mother dear,<br />The thoughts o&rsquo;
+it gars me greet,<br />That Fair Annie of Rough Royal<br />Lay cauld
+dead at my feet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gin it be for Annie of Rough Royal<br />That ye make a&rsquo;
+this din,<br />She stood a&rsquo; last night at this door,<br />But
+I trow she wan no in.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O wae betide ye, ill woman,<br />An ill dead may ye die!<br />That
+ye woudno open the door to her,<br />Nor yet woud waken me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O he has gone down to yon shore-side,<br />As fast as he could fare;<br />He
+saw Fair Annie in her boat,<br />But the wind it tossd her sair.</p>
+<p>And &ldquo;Hey, Annie!&rdquo; and &ldquo;How, Annie!<br />O Annie,
+winna ye bide?&rdquo;<br />But ay the mair that he cried &ldquo;Annie,&rdquo;<br />The
+braider grew the tide.</p>
+<p>And &ldquo;Hey, Annie!&rdquo; and &ldquo;How, Annie!<br />Dear Annie,
+speak to me!&rdquo;<br />But ay the louder he cried &ldquo;Annie,&rdquo;<br />The
+louder roard the sea.</p>
+<p>The wind blew loud, the sea grew rough,<br />And dashd the boat on
+shore;<br />Fair Annie floats on the raging sea,<br />But her young
+son rose no more.</p>
+<p>Love Gregor tare his yellow hair,<br />And made a heavy moan;<br />Fair
+Annie&rsquo;s corpse lay at his feet,<br />But his bonny young son was
+gone.</p>
+<p>O cherry, cherry was her cheek,<br />And gowden was her hair,<br />But
+clay cold were her rosey lips,<br />Nae spark of life was there,</p>
+<p>And first he&rsquo;s kissd her cherry cheek,<br />And neist he&rsquo;s
+kissed her chin;<br />And saftly pressd her rosey lips,<br />But there
+was nae breath within.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O wae betide my cruel mother,<br />And an ill dead may she
+die!<br />For she turnd my true-love frae my door,<br />When she came
+sae far to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Queen&rsquo;s Marie</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vi., Border Minstrelsy.)</p>
+<p>Marie Hamilton&rsquo;s to the kirk gane,<br />Wi ribbons in her hair;<br />The
+king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,<br />Than ony that were there.</p>
+<p>Marie Hamilton&rsquo;s to the kirk gane,<br />Wi ribbons on her breast;<br />The
+king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,<br />Than he listend to the priest.</p>
+<p>Marie Hamilton&rsquo;s to the kirk gane,<br />Wi gloves upon her
+hands;<br />The king thought mair o Marie Hamilton,<br />Than the queen
+and a&rsquo; her lands.</p>
+<p>She hadna been about the king&rsquo;s court<br />A month, but barely
+one,<br />Till she was beloved by a&rsquo; the king&rsquo;s court,<br />And
+the king the only man.</p>
+<p>She hadna been about the king&rsquo;s court<br />A month, but barely
+three,<br />Till frae the king&rsquo;s court Marie Hamilton,<br />Marie
+Hamilton durst na be.</p>
+<p>The king is to the Abbey gane,<br />To pu the Abbey tree,<br />To
+scale the babe frae Marie&rsquo;s heart;<br />But the thing it wadna
+be.</p>
+<p>O she has rowd it in her apron,<br />And set it on the sea:<br />&ldquo;Gae
+sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe,<br />Ye&rsquo;s get na mair o me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Word is to the kitchen gane,<br />And word is to the ha,<br />And
+word is to the noble room,<br />Amang the ladyes a&rsquo;,<br />That
+Marie Hamilton&rsquo;s brought to bed,<br />And the bonny babe&rsquo;s
+mist and awa.</p>
+<p>Scarcely had she lain down again,<br />And scarcely faen asleep,<br />When
+up then started our gude queen,<br />Just at her bed-feet,<br />Saying
+&ldquo;Marie Hamilton, where&rsquo;s your babe?<br />For I am sure I
+heard it greet.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O no, O no, my noble queen!<br />Think no such thing to be!<br />&rsquo;Twas
+but a stitch into my side,<br />And sair it troubles me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton,<br />Get up, and follow me,<br />For
+I am going to Edinburgh town,<br />A rich wedding for to see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O slowly, slowly raise she up,<br />And slowly put she on;<br />And
+slowly rode she out the way,<br />Wi mony a weary groan.</p>
+<p>The queen was clad in scarlet,<br />Her merry maids all in green;<br />And
+every town that they cam to,<br />They took Marie for the queen.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen,<br />Ride hooly now wi&rsquo;
+me!<br />For never, I am sure, a wearier burd<br />Rade in your cumpanie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But little wist Marie Hamilton,<br />When she rade on the brown,<br />That
+she was ga&rsquo;en to Edinburgh town,<br />And a&rsquo; to be put down.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why weep ye so, ye burgess-wives,<br />Why look ye so on me?<br />O,
+I am going to Edinburgh town,<br />A rich wedding for to see!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When she gaed up the Tolbooth stairs,<br />The corks frae her heels
+did flee;<br />And lang or eer she cam down again,<br />She was condemned
+to die.</p>
+<p>When she cam to the Netherbow Port,<br />She laughed loud laughters
+three;<br />But when she cam to the gallows-foot,<br />The tears blinded
+her ee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yestreen the queen had four Maries,<br />The night she&rsquo;ll
+hae but three;<br />There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaten,<br />And
+Marie Carmichael, and me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O, often have I dressd my queen,<br />And put gold upon her
+hair;<br />But now I&rsquo;ve gotten for my reward<br />The gallows
+to be my share.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Often have I dressd my queen,<br />And often made her bed:<br />But
+now I&rsquo;ve gotten for my reward<br />The gallows-tree to tread.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I charge ye all, ye mariners,<br />When ye sail ower the faem,<br />Let
+neither my father nor mother get wit,<br />But that I&rsquo;m coming
+hame.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I charge ye all, ye mariners,<br />That sail upon the sea,<br />Let
+neither my father nor mother get wit,<br />This dog&rsquo;s death I&rsquo;m
+to die.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For if my father and mother got wit,<br />And my bold brethren
+three,<br />O mickle wad be the gude red blude,<br />This day wad be
+spilt for me!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O little did my mother ken,<br />The day she cradled me,<br />The
+lands I was to travel in,<br />Or the death I was to die!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Kinmont Willie</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. vi.)</p>
+<p>O have ye na heard o the fause Sakelde?<br />O have ye na heard o
+the keen Lord Scroop?<br />How they hae taen bauld Kinmont Willie,<br />On
+Hairibee to hang him up?</p>
+<p>Had Willie had but twenty men,<br />But twenty men as stout as be,<br />Fause
+Sakelde had never the Kinmont taen<br />Wi eight score in his companie.</p>
+<p>They band his legs beneath the steed,<br />They tied his hands behind
+his back;<br />They guarded him, fivesome on each side,<br />And they
+brought him ower the Liddel-rack.</p>
+<p>They led him thro the Liddel-rack.<br />And also thro the Carlisle
+sands;<br />They brought him to Carlisle castell.<br />To be at my Lord
+Scroope&rsquo;s commands.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My hands are tied; but my tongue is free,<br />And whae will
+dare this deed avow?<br />Or answer by the border law?<br />Or answer
+to the bauld Buccleuch?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!<br />There&rsquo;s
+never a Scot shall set ye free:<br />Before ye cross my castle-yate,<br />I
+trow ye shall take farewell o me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fear na ye that, my lord,&rdquo; quo Willie:<br />&ldquo;By
+the faith o my body, Lord Scroope,&rdquo; he said,<br />&ldquo;I never
+yet lodged in a hostelrie&mdash;<br />But I paid my lawing before I
+gaed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper,<br />In Branksome Ha where
+that he lay,<br />That Lord Scroope has taen the Kinmont Willie,<br />Between
+the hours of night and day.</p>
+<p>He has taen the table wi his hand,<br />He garrd the red wine spring
+on hie;<br />&ldquo;Now Christ&rsquo;s curse on my head,&rdquo; he said,<br />&ldquo;But
+avenged of Lord Scroope I&rsquo;ll be!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O is my basnet a widow&rsquo;s curch?<br />Or my lance a wand
+of the willow-tree?<br />Or my arm a lady&rsquo;s lilye hand,<br />That
+an English lord should lightly me?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And have they taen him, Kinmont Willie,<br />Against the truce
+of Border tide?<br />And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch<br />Is keeper
+here on the Scottish side?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And have they een taen him, Kinmont Willie,<br />Withouten
+either dread or fear,<br />And forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch<br />Can
+back a steed, or shake a spear?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O were there war between the lands,<br />As well I wot that
+there is none,<br />I would slight Carlisle castell high,<br />Tho it
+were builded of marble stone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I would set that castell in a low,<br />And sloken it with
+English blood;<br />There&rsquo;s nevir a man in Cumberland<br />Should
+ken where Carlisle castell stood.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But since nae war&rsquo;s between the lands,<br />And there
+is peace, and peace should be;<br />I&rsquo;ll neither harm English
+lad or lass,<br />And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He has calld him forty marchmen bauld,<br />I trow they were of his
+ain name,<br />Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, calld<br />The Laird of Stobs,
+I mean the same.</p>
+<p>He has calld him forty marchmen bauld,<br />Were kinsmen to the bauld
+Buccleuch,<br />With spur on heel, and splent on spauld,<br />And gleuves
+of green, and feathers blue.</p>
+<p>There were five and five before them a&rsquo;,<br />Wi hunting-horns
+and bugles bright;<br />And five and five came wi Buccleuch,<br />Like
+Warden&rsquo;s men, arrayed for fight.</p>
+<p>And five and five, like a mason-gang,<br />That carried the ladders
+lang and hie;<br />And five and five, like broken men;<br />And so they
+reached the Woodhouselee.</p>
+<p>And as we crossd the Bateable Land,<br />When to the English side
+we held,<br />The first o men that we met wi,<br />Whae sould it be
+but fause Sakelde!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?&rdquo;<br />Quo fause Sakelde;
+&ldquo;come tell to me!&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;We go to hunt an English
+stag,<br />Has trespassed on the Scots countrie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where be ye gaun, ye marshal-men?&rdquo;<br />Quo fause Sakelde;
+&ldquo;come tell me true!&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;We go to catch a rank reiver,<br />Has
+broken faith wi the bauld Buccleuch.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where are ye gaun, ye mason-lads,<br />Wi a&rsquo; your ladders
+lang and hie?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;We gang to herry a corbie&rsquo;s nest,<br />That
+wons not far frae Woodhouselee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?&rdquo;<br />Quo fause Sakelde;
+&ldquo;come tell to me?&rdquo;<br />Now Dickie of Dryhope led that band,<br />And
+the nevir a word o lear had he.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Why trespass ye on the English side?<br />Row-footed outlaws,
+stand!&rdquo; quo he;<br />The neer a word had Dickie to say,<br />Sae
+he thrust the lance thro his fause bodie.</p>
+<p>Then on we held for Carlisle toun,<br />And at Staneshaw-bank the
+Eden we crossd;<br />The water was great and meikle of spait,<br />But
+the nevir a horse nor man we lost.</p>
+<p>And when we reachd the Staneshaw-bank,<br />The wind was rising loud
+and hie;<br />And there the laird garrd leave our steeds,<br />For fear
+that they should stamp and nie.</p>
+<p>And when we left the Staneshaw-bank,<br />The wind began full loud
+to blaw;<br />But &rsquo;twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,<br />When
+we came beneath the castell-wa.</p>
+<p>We crept on knees, and held our breath,<br />Till we placed the ladders
+against the wa;<br />And sae ready was Buccleuch himsell<br />To mount
+she first, before us a&rsquo;.</p>
+<p>He has taen the watchman by the throat,<br />He flung him down upon
+the lead:<br />&ldquo;Had there not been peace between our lands,<br />Upon
+the other side thou hadst gaed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now sound out, trumpets!&rdquo; quo Buccleuch;<br />&ldquo;Let&rsquo;s
+waken Lord Scroope right merrilie!&rdquo;<br />Then loud the warden&rsquo;s
+trumpet blew<br />&ldquo;O whae dare meddle wi me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then speedilie to wark we gaed,<br />And raised the slogan ane and
+a&rsquo;,<br />And cut a hole through a sheet of lead,<br />And so we
+wan to the castel-ha.</p>
+<p>They thought King James and a&rsquo; his men<br />Had won the house
+wi bow and speir;<br />It was but twenty Scots and ten<br />That put
+a thousand in sic a stear!</p>
+<p>Wi coulters, and wi fore-hammers,<br />We garrd the bars bang merrilie,<br />Until
+we came to the inner prison,<br />Where Willie o Kinmont he did lie.</p>
+<p>And when we came to the lower prison,<br />Where Willie o Kinmont
+he did lie,<br />&ldquo;O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie,<br />Upon
+the morn that thou&rsquo;s to die?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O I sleep saft, and I wake aft,<br />It&rsquo;s lang since
+sleeping was fley&rsquo;d frae me;<br />Gie my service back to my wyfe
+and bairns<br />And a&rsquo; gude fellows that speer for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Red Rowan has hente him up,<br />The starkest man in Teviotdale:<br />&ldquo;Abide,
+abide now, Red Rowan,<br />Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope!<br />My gude Lord
+Scroope, farewell!&rdquo; he cried;<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll pay you for
+my lodging-maill,<br />When first we meet on the border-side.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then shoulder high, with shout and cry,<br />We bore him down the
+ladder lang;<br />At every stride Red Rowan made,<br />I wot the Kinmont&rsquo;s
+airms playd clang!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O mony a time,&rdquo; quo Kinmont Willie.<br />&ldquo;I have
+ridden horse baith wild and wood;<br />But a rougher beast than Red
+Rowan,<br />I ween my legs have neer bestrode.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And mony a time,&rdquo; quo Kinmont Willie,<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve
+pricked a horse out oure the furs;<br />But since the day I backed a
+steed<br />I nevir wore sic cumbrous spurs!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank,<br />When a&rsquo; the Carlisle
+bells were rung,<br />And a thousand men, in horse and foot,<br />Cam
+wi the keen Lord Scroope along.</p>
+<p>Buccleuch has turned to Eden Water,<br />Even where it flowd frae
+bank to brim,<br />And he has plunged in wi a&rsquo; his band,<br />And
+safely swam them thro the stream.</p>
+<p>He turned him on the other side,<br />And at Lord Scroope his glove
+flung he:<br />&ldquo;If ye like na my visit in merry England,<br />In
+fair Scotland come visit me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,<br />He stood as still as
+rock of stane;<br />He scarcely dared to trew his eyes,<br />When thro
+the water they had gane.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He is either himsell a devil frae hell,<br />Or else his mother
+a witch maun be;<br />I wad na have ridden that wan water<br />For a&rsquo;
+the gowd in Christentie.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Jamie Telfer</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. vi.&nbsp; Early Edition.)</p>
+<p>It fell about the Martinmas tyde,<br />When our Border steeds get
+corn and hay<br />The captain of Bewcastle hath bound him to ryde,<br />And
+he&rsquo;s ower to Tividale to drive a prey.</p>
+<p>The first ae guide that they met wi&rsquo;,<br />It was high up Hardhaughswire;<br />The
+second guide that we met wi&rsquo;,<br />It was laigh down in Borthwick
+water.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Nae
+tidings, nae tidings, I hae to thee;<br />But, gin ye&rsquo;ll gae to
+the fair Dodhead,<br />Mony a cow&rsquo;s cauf I&rsquo;ll let thee see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And whan they cam to the fair Dodhead,<br />Right hastily they clam
+the peel;<br />They loosed the kye out, ane and a&rsquo;,<br />And ranshackled
+the house right weel.</p>
+<p>Now Jamie Telfer&rsquo;s heart was sair,<br />The tear aye rowing
+in his e&rsquo;e;<br />He pled wi&rsquo; the captain to hae his gear,<br />Or
+else revenged he wad be.</p>
+<p>The captain turned him round and leugh;<br />Said&mdash;&ldquo;Man,
+there&rsquo;s naething in thy house,<br />But ae auld sword without
+a sheath,<br />That hardly now wad fell a mouse!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The sun was na up, but the moon was down,<br />It was the gryming
+o&rsquo; a new fa&rsquo;n snaw,<br />Jamie Telfer has run three myles
+a-foot,<br />Between the Dodhead and the Stobs&rsquo;s Ha&rsquo;</p>
+<p>And whan he cam to the fair tower yate,<br />He shouted loud, and
+cried weel hie,<br />Till out bespak auld Gibby Elliot&mdash;<br />&ldquo;Wha&rsquo;s
+this that brings the fraye to me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s I, Jamie Telfer o&rsquo; the fair Dodhead,<br />And
+a harried man I think I be!<br />There&rsquo;s naething left at the
+fair Dodhead,<br />But a waefu&rsquo; wife and bairnies three.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gae seek your succour at Branksome Ha&rsquo;.<br />For succour
+ye&rsquo;se get nane frae me!<br />Gae seek your succour where ye paid
+black-mail,<br />For, man! ye ne&rsquo;er paid money to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jamie has turned him round about,<br />I wat the tear blinded his
+e&rsquo;e&mdash;<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll ne&rsquo;er pay mail to Elliot
+again,<br />And the fair Dodhead I&rsquo;ll never see!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My hounds may a&rsquo; rin masterless,<br />My hawks may fly
+frae tree to tree;<br />My lord may grip my vassal lands,<br />For there
+again maun I never be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He has turned him to the Tiviot side,<br />E&rsquo;en as fast as
+he could drie,<br />Till he came to the Coultart Cleugh<br />And there
+he shouted baith loud and hie.</p>
+<p>Then up bespak him auld Jock Grieve&mdash;<br />&ldquo;Wha&rsquo;s
+this that brings the fray to me?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;It&rsquo;s I, Jamie
+Telfer o&rsquo; the fair Dodhead,<br />A harried man I trow I be.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There&rsquo;s naething left in the fair Dodhead,<br />But
+a greeting wife and bairnies three,<br />And sax poor c&acirc;&rsquo;s
+stand in the sta&rsquo;,<br />A&rsquo; routing loud for their minnie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alack a wae!&rdquo; quo&rsquo; auld Jock Grieve,<br />&ldquo;Alack!
+my heart is sair for thee!<br />For I was married on the elder sister,<br />And
+you on the youngest of a&rsquo; the three.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then he has ta&rsquo;en out a bonny black,<br />Was right weel fed
+wi&rsquo; corn and hay,<br />And he&rsquo;s set Jamie Telfer on his
+back,<br />To the Catslockhill to tak&rsquo; the fray.</p>
+<p>And whan he cam to the Catslockhill,<br />He shouted loud and weel
+cried he,<br />Till out and spak him William&rsquo;s Wat&mdash;<br />&ldquo;O
+wha&rsquo;s this brings the fraye to me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s I, Jamie Telfer o&rsquo; the fair Dodhead,<br />A
+harried man I think I be!<br />The captain of Bewcastle has driven my
+gear;<br />For God&rsquo;s sake rise, and succour me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alas for wae!&rdquo; quo&rsquo; William&rsquo;s Wat,<br />&ldquo;Alack,
+for thee my heart is sair!<br />I never cam by the fair Dodhead,<br />That
+ever I fand thy basket bare.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He&rsquo;s set his twa sons on coal-black steeds,<br />Himsel&rsquo;
+upon a freckled gray,<br />And they are on wi, Jamie Telfer,<br />To
+Branksome Ha to tak the fray.</p>
+<p>And whan they cam to Branksome Ha&rsquo;,<br />They shouted a&rsquo;
+baith loud and hie,<br />Till up and spak him auld Buccleuch,<br />Said&mdash;&ldquo;Wha&rsquo;s
+this brings the fray to me?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s I, Jamie Telfer o&rsquo; the fair Dodhead,<br />And
+a harried man I think I be!<br />There&rsquo;s nought left in the fair
+Dodhead,<br />But a greeting wife and bairnies three.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Alack for wae!&rdquo; quoth the gude auld lord,<br />&ldquo;And
+ever my heart is wae for thee!<br />But fye gar cry on Willie, my son,<br />And
+see that he come to me speedilie!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gar warn the water, braid and wide,<br />Gar warn it soon
+and hastily!<br />They that winna ride for Telfer&rsquo;s kye,<br />Let
+them never look in the face o&rsquo; me!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Warn Wat o&rsquo; Harden, and his sons,<br />Wi&rsquo; them
+will Borthwick water ride;<br />Warn Gaudilands, and Allanhaugh,<br />And
+Gilmanscleugh, and Commonside.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire,<br />And warn the Currors
+o&rsquo; the Lee;<br />As ye come down the Hermitage Slack,<br />Warn
+doughty Willie o&rsquo; Gorrinbery.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Scots they rade, the Scots they ran,<br />Sae starkly and sae
+steadilie!<br />And aye the ower-word o&rsquo; the thrang,<br />Was&mdash;&ldquo;Rise
+for Branksome readilie!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The gear was driven the Frostylee up,<br />Frae the Frostylee unto
+the plain,<br />Whan Willie has looked his men before,<br />And saw
+the kye right fast driving.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wha drives thir kye?&rdquo; &rsquo;gan Willie say,<br />&ldquo;To
+mak an outspeckle o&rsquo; me?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;It&rsquo;s I, the
+captain o&rsquo; Bewcastle, Willie;<br />I winna layne my name for thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O will ye let Telfer&rsquo;s kye gae back,<br />Or will ye
+do aught for regard o&rsquo; me?<br />Or, by the faith o&rsquo; my body,&rdquo;
+quo&rsquo; Willie Scott,<br />&ldquo;I se ware my dame&rsquo;s cauf&rsquo;s-skin
+on thee!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I winna let the kye gae back,<br />Neither for thy love, nor
+yet thy fear,<br />But I will drive Jamie Telfer&rsquo;s kye,<br />In
+spite of every Scot that&rsquo;s here.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Set on them, lads!&rdquo; quo&rsquo; Willie than,<br />&ldquo;Fye,
+lads, set on them cruellie!<br />For ere they win to the Ritterford,<br />Mony
+a toom saddle there sall be!</p>
+<p>But Willie was stricken ower the head,<br />And through the knapscap
+the sword has gane;<br />And Harden grat for very rage,<br />Whan Willie
+on the ground lay slain.</p>
+<p>But he&rsquo;s ta&rsquo;en aff his gude steel-cap,<br />And thrice
+he&rsquo;s waved it in the air&mdash;<br />The Dinlay snaw was ne&rsquo;er
+mair white,<br />Nor the lyart locks of Harden&rsquo;s hair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Revenge! revenge!&rdquo; auld Wat &rsquo;gan cry;<br />&ldquo;Fye,
+lads, lay on them cruellie!<br />We&rsquo;ll ne&rsquo;er see Tiviotside
+again,<br />Or Willie&rsquo;s death revenged shall be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O mony a horse ran masterless,<br />The splintered lances flew on
+hie;<br />But or they wan to the Kershope ford,<br />The Scots had gotten
+the victory.</p>
+<p>John o&rsquo; Brigham there was slain,<br />And John o&rsquo; Barlow,
+as I hear say;<br />And thirty mae o&rsquo; the captain&rsquo;s men,<br />Lay
+bleeding on the grund that day.</p>
+<p>The captain was run thro&rsquo; the thick of the thigh&mdash;<br />And
+broken was his right leg bane;<br />If he had lived this hundred year,<br />He
+had never been loved by woman again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hae back thy kye!&rdquo; the captain said;<br />&ldquo;Dear
+kye, I trow, to some they be!<br />For gin I suld live a hundred years,<br />There
+will ne&rsquo;er fair lady smile on me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then word is gane to the captain&rsquo;s bride,<br />Even in the
+bower where that she lay,<br />That her lord was prisoner in enemy&rsquo;s
+land,<br />Since into Tividale he had led the way.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wad lourd have had a winding-sheet,<br />And helped to put
+it ower his head,<br />Ere he had been disgraced by the Border Scot,<br />When
+he ower Liddel his men did lead!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was a wild gallant amang us a&rsquo;,<br />His name was Watty
+wi&rsquo; the Wudspurs,<br />Cried&mdash;&ldquo;On for his house in
+Stanegirthside,<br />If ony man will ride with us!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When they cam to the Stanegirthside,<br />They dang wi&rsquo; trees,
+and burst the door;<br />They loosed out a&rsquo; the captain&rsquo;s
+kye,<br />And set them forth our lads before.</p>
+<p>There was an auld wife ayont the fire,<br />A wee bit o&rsquo; the
+captain&rsquo;s kin&mdash;<br />&ldquo;Wha daur loose out the captain&rsquo;s
+kye,<br />Or answer to him and his men?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s I, Watty Wudspurs, loose the kye,<br />I winna
+layne my name frae thee!<br />And I will loose out the captain&rsquo;s
+kye,<br />In scorn of a&rsquo; his men and he.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When they cam to the fair Dodhead,<br />They were a wellcum sight
+to see!<br />For instead of his ain ten milk-kye,<br />Jamie Telfer
+has gotten thirty and three.</p>
+<p>And he has paid the rescue shot,<br />Baith wi&rsquo; goud, and white
+monie;<br />And at the burial o&rsquo; Willie Scott,<br />I wot was
+mony a weeping e&rsquo;e.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Douglas Tragedy</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. ii.&nbsp; Early Edition.)</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rise up, rise up now, Lord Douglas,&rdquo; she says,<br />&ldquo;And
+put on your armour so bright;<br />Let it never be said that a daughter
+of thine<br />Was married to a lord under night.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,<br />And put on your
+armour so bright,<br />And take better care of your youngest sister,<br />For
+your eldest&rsquo;s awa the last night.&rdquo;&mdash;</p>
+<p>He&rsquo;s mounted her on a milk-white steed,<br />And himself on
+a dapple grey,<br />With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,<br />And
+lightly they rode away.</p>
+<p>Lord William lookit o&rsquo;er his left shoulder,<br />To see what
+he could see,<br />And there be spy&rsquo;d her seven brethren bold,<br />Come
+riding o&rsquo;er the lee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Light down, light down, Lady Marg&rsquo;ret,&rdquo; he said,<br />&ldquo;And
+hold my steed in your hand,<br />Until that against your seven brothers
+bold,<br />And your father I make a stand.&rdquo;&mdash;</p>
+<p>She held his steed in her milk white hand,<br />And never shed one
+tear,<br />Until that she saw her seven brethren fa&rsquo;,<br />And
+her father hard fighting, who loved her so dear.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O hold your hand, Lord William!&rdquo; she said,<br />&ldquo;For
+your strokes they are wondrous sair;<br />True lovers I can get many
+a ane,<br />But a father I can never get mair.&rdquo;&mdash;</p>
+<p>O she&rsquo;s ta&rsquo;en out her handkerchief,<br />It was o&rsquo;
+the holland sae fine,<br />And aye she dighted her father&rsquo;s bloody
+wounds,<br />That were redder than the wine.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O chuse, O chuse, Lady Marg&rsquo;ret,&rdquo; he said,<br />&ldquo;O
+whether will ye gang or bide?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll gang, I&rsquo;ll
+gang, Lord William,&rdquo; she said,<br />&ldquo;For ye have left me
+no other guide.&rdquo;&mdash;</p>
+<p>He&rsquo;s lifted her on a milk-white steed,<br />And himself on
+a dapple grey.<br />With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,<br />And
+slowly they baith rade away.</p>
+<p>O they rade on, and on they rade,<br />And a&rsquo; by the light
+of the moon,<br />Until they came to yon wan water,<br />And there they
+lighted down.</p>
+<p>They lighted down to tak a drink<br />Of the spring that ran sae
+clear:<br />And down the stream ran his gude heart&rsquo;s blood,<br />And
+sair she &rsquo;gan to fear.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hold up, hold up, Lord William,&rdquo; she says,<br />&ldquo;For
+I fear that you are slain!&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;&rsquo;Tis naething but
+the shadow of my scarlet cloak<br />That shines in the water sae plain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O they rade on, and on they rade,<br />And a&rsquo; by the light
+of the moon,<br />Until they cam to his mother&rsquo;s ha&rsquo; door,<br />And
+there they lighted down.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get up, get up, lady mother,&rdquo; he says,<br />&ldquo;Get
+up, and let me in!&mdash;<br />Get up, get up, lady mother,&rdquo; he
+says,<br />&ldquo;For this night my fair ladye I&rsquo;ve win.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O mak my bed, lady mother,&rdquo; he says,<br />&ldquo;O mak
+it braid and deep!<br />And lay Lady Marg&rsquo;ret close at my back,<br />And
+the sounder I will sleep.&rdquo;&mdash;</p>
+<p>Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,<br />Lady Marg&rsquo;ret
+lang ere day&mdash;<br />And all true lovers that go thegither,<br />May
+they have mair luck than they!</p>
+<p>Lord William was buried in St. Marie&rsquo;s kirk,<br />Lady Margaret
+in Marie&rsquo;s quire;<br />Out o&rsquo; the lady&rsquo;s grave grew
+a bonny red rose,<br />And out o&rsquo; the knight&rsquo;s a brier.</p>
+<p>And they twa met, and they twa plat,<br />And fain they wad be near;<br />And
+a&rsquo; the warld might ken right weel,<br />They were twa lovers dear.</p>
+<p>But by and rade the Black Douglas,<br />And wow but he was rough!<br />For
+he pull&rsquo;d up the bonny brier,<br />An flang&rsquo;t in St. Marie&rsquo;s
+Loch.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Bonny Hind</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. ii.)</p>
+<p>O May she comes, and may she goes,<br />Down by yon gardens green,<br />And
+there she spied a gallant squire<br />As squire had ever been.</p>
+<p>And may she comes, and may she goes,<br />Down by yon hollin tree,<br />And
+there she spied a brisk young squire,<br />And a brisk young squire
+was he.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Give me your green manteel, fair maid,<br />Give me your maidenhead;<br />Gif
+ye winna gie me your green manteel,<br />Gi me your maidenhead.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He has taen her by the milk-white hand,<br />And softly laid her
+down,<br />And when he&rsquo;s lifted her up again<br />Given her a
+silver kaim.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Perhaps there may be bairns, kind sir,<br />Perhaps there
+may be nane;<br />But if you be a courtier,<br />You&rsquo;ll tell to
+me your name.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am na courtier, fair maid,<br />But new come frae the sea;<br />I
+am nae courtier, fair maid,<br />But when I court&rsquo;ith thee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;They call me Jack when I&rsquo;m abroad,<br />Sometimes they
+call me John;<br />But when I&rsquo;m in my father&rsquo;s bower<br />Jock
+Randal is my name.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny lad,<br />Sae loud&rsquo;s I hear
+ye lee!<br />For I&rsquo;m Lord Randal&rsquo;s yae daughter,<br />He
+has nae mair nor me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonny may,<br />Sae loud&rsquo;s I hear
+ye lee!<br />For I&rsquo;m Lord Randal&rsquo;s yae yae son,<br />Just
+now come oer the sea.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s putten her hand down by her spare<br />And out she&rsquo;s
+taen a knife,<br />And she has putn&rsquo;t in her heart&rsquo;s bluid,<br />And
+taen away her life.</p>
+<p>And he&rsquo;s taen up his bonny sister,<br />With the big tear in
+his een,<br />And he has buried his bonny sister<br />Amang the hollins
+green.</p>
+<p>And syne he&rsquo;s hyed him oer the dale,<br />His father dear to
+see:<br />&ldquo;Sing O and O for my bonny hind,<br />Beneath yon hollin
+tree!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What needs you care for your bonny hyn?<br />For it you needna
+care;<br />There&rsquo;s aught score hyns in yonder park,<br />And five
+score hyns to spare.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fourscore of them are siller-shod,<br />Of thae ye may get
+three;&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;But O and O for my bonny hyn,<br />Beneath
+yon hollin tree!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What needs you care for your bonny hyn?<br />For it you needna
+care;<br />Take you the best, gi me the warst,<br />Since plenty is
+to spare.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I care na for your hyns, my lord,<br />I care na for your
+fee;<br />But O and O for my bonny hyn,<br />Beneath the hollin tree!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O were ye at your sister&rsquo;s bower,<br />Your sister fair
+to see,<br />Ye&rsquo;ll think na mair o your bonny hyn<br />Beneath
+the hollin tree.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Young Bicham</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. ii.)</p>
+<p>In London city was Bicham born,<br />He longd strange countries for
+to see,<br />But he was taen by a savage Moor,<br />Who handld him right
+cruely.</p>
+<p>For thro his shoulder he put a bore,<br />An thro the bore has pitten
+a tree,<br />And he&rsquo;s gard him draw the carts o wine,<br />Where
+horse and oxen had wont to be.</p>
+<p>He&rsquo;s casten [him] in a dungeon deep,<br />Where he coud neither
+hear nor see;<br />He&rsquo;s shut him up in a prison strong,<br />An
+he&rsquo;s handld him right cruely.</p>
+<p>O this Moor he had but ae daughter,<br />I wot her name was Shusy
+Pye;<br />She&rsquo;s doen her to the prison-house,<br />And she&rsquo;s
+calld young Bicham one word by.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O hae ye ony lands or rents,<br />Or citys in your ain country,<br />Coud
+free you out of prison strong,<br />An coud maintain a lady free?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O London city is my own,<br />An other citys twa or three,<br />Coud
+loose me out o prison strong,<br />An could maintain a lady free.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O she has bribed her father&rsquo;s men<br />Wi meikle goud and white
+money,<br />She&rsquo;s gotten the key o the prison doors,<br />And
+she has set Young Bicham free.</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s gi&rsquo;n him a loaf o good white bread,<br />But an
+a flask o Spanish wine,<br />An she bad him mind on the ladie&rsquo;s
+love<br />That sae kindly freed him out o pine.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Go set your foot on good ship-board,<br />An haste you back
+to your ain country,<br />An before that seven years has an end,<br />Come
+back again, love, and marry me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>It was long or seven years had an end<br />She longd fu sair her
+love to see;<br />She&rsquo;s set her foot on good ship-board,<br />An
+turnd her back on her ain country.</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s saild up, so has she down,<br />Till she came to the
+other side;<br />She&rsquo;s landed at Young Bicham&rsquo;s gates,<br />An
+I hop this day she sal be his bride.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Is this Young Bicham&rsquo;s gates?&rdquo; says she.<br />&ldquo;Or
+is that noble prince within?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;He&rsquo;s up the stair
+wi his bonny bride,<br />An monny a lord and lady wi him.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O has he taen a bonny bride,<br />An has he clean forgotten
+me?&rdquo;<br />An sighing said that gay lady,<br />&ldquo;I wish I
+were in my ain country!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s pitten her ban in her pocket,<br />An gin the porter
+guineas three;<br />Says, &ldquo;Take ye that, ye proud porter,<br />An
+bid the bridegroom speak to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O whan the porter came up the stair,<br />He&rsquo;s fa&rsquo;n low
+down upon his knee:<br />&ldquo;Won up, won up, ye proud porter,<br />And
+what makes a&rsquo; this courtesy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O I&rsquo;ve been porter at your gates<br />This mair nor
+seven years an three,<br />But there is a lady at them now<br />The
+like of whom I never did see.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For on every finger she has a ring,<br />An on the mid-finger
+she has three,<br />An there&rsquo;s as meikle goud aboon her brow<br />As
+woud buy an earldom o lan to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then up it started Young Bicham,<br />An sware so loud by Our Lady,<br />&ldquo;It
+can be nane but Shusy Pye<br />That has come oor the sea to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O quickly ran he down the stair,<br />O fifteen steps he has made
+but three,<br />He&rsquo;s tane his bonny love in his arms<br />An a
+wot he kissd her tenderly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O hae you tane a bonny bride?<br />An hae you quite forsaken
+me?<br />An hae ye quite forgotten her<br />That gae you life an liberty?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s lookit oer her left shoulder<br />To hide the tears stood
+in her ee;<br />&ldquo;Now fare thee well, Young Bicham,&rdquo; she
+says,<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll strive to think nae mair on thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Take back your daughter, madam,&rdquo; he says,<br />&ldquo;An
+a double dowry I&rsquo;ll gie her wi;<br />For I maun marry my first
+true love,<br />That&rsquo;s done and suffered so much for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He&rsquo;s tak his bonny love by the han,<br />And led her to yon
+fountain stane;<br />He&rsquo;s changed her name frae Shusy Pye,<br />An
+he&rsquo;s cald her his bonny love, Lady Jane.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Loving Ballad Of Lord Bateman</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. ii.&nbsp; Cockney copy.)</p>
+<p>Lord Bateman was a noble lord,<br />A noble lord of high degree;<br />He
+shipped himself all aboard of a ship,<br />Some foreign country for
+to see.</p>
+<p>He sailed east, he sailed west,<br />Until he came to famed Turkey,<br />Where
+he was taken and put to prison,<br />Until his life was quite weary.</p>
+<p>All in this prison there grew a tree,<br />O there it grew so stout
+and strong!<br />Where he was chained all by the middle,<br />Until
+his life was almost gone.</p>
+<p>This Turk he had one only daughter,<br />The fairest my two eyes
+eer see;<br />She steal the keys of her father&rsquo;s prison,<br />And
+swore Lord Bateman she would let go free.</p>
+<p>O she took him to her father&rsquo;s cellar,<br />And gave to him
+the best of wine;<br />And every health she drank unto him<br />Was
+&ldquo;I wish, Lord Bateman, as you was mine.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O have you got houses, have you got land,<br />And does Northumberland
+belong to thee?<br />And what would you give to the fair young lady<br />As
+out of prison would let you go free?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O I&rsquo;ve got houses and I&rsquo;ve got land,<br />And
+half Northumberland belongs to me;<br />And I will give it all to the
+fair young lady<br />As out of prison would let me go free.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O in seven long years I&rsquo;ll make a vow<br />For seven
+long years, and keep it strong,<br />That if you&rsquo;ll wed no other
+woman,<br />O I will wed no other man.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O she took him to her father&rsquo;s harbor,<br />And gave to him
+a ship of fame,<br />Saying, &ldquo;Farewell, farewell to you, Lord
+Bateman,<br />I fear I shall never see you again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Now seven long years is gone and past,<br />And fourteen days, well
+known to me;<br />She packed up all her gay clothing,<br />And swore
+Lord Bateman she would go see.</p>
+<p>O when she arrived at Lord Bateman&rsquo;s castle,<br />How boldly
+then she rang the bell!<br />&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s there? who&rsquo;s there?&rdquo;
+cries the proud young porter,<br />&ldquo;O come unto me pray quickly
+tell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O is this here Lord Bateman&rsquo;s castle,<br />And is his
+lordship here within?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;O yes, O yes,&rdquo; cries
+the proud young porter,<br />&ldquo;He&rsquo;s just now taking his young
+bride in.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O bid him to send me a slice of bread,<br />And a bottle of
+the very best wine,<br />And not forgetting the fair young lady<br />As
+did release him when close confine.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O away and away went this proud young porter,<br />O away and away
+and away went he,<br />Until he came to Lord Bateman&rsquo;s chamber,<br />Where
+he went down on his bended knee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What news, what news, my proud young porter?<br />What news,
+what news? come tell to me:&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;O there is the fairest
+young lady<br />As ever my two eyes did see.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She has got rings on every finger,<br />And on one finger
+she has got three;<br />With as much gay gold about her middle<br />As
+would buy half Northumberlee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O she bids you to send her a slice of bread,<br />And a bottle
+of the very best wine,<br />And not forgetting the fair young lady<br />As
+did release you when close confine.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lord Bateman then in passion flew,<br />And broke his sword in splinters
+three,<br />Saying, &ldquo;I will give half of my father&rsquo;s land,<br />If
+so be as Sophia has crossed the sea.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then up and spoke this young bride&rsquo;s mother,<br />Who never
+was heard to speak so free;<br />Saying, &ldquo;You&rsquo;ll not forget
+my only daughter,<br />If so be Sophia has crossed the sea.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O it&rsquo;s true I made a bride of your daughter,<br />But
+she&rsquo;s neither the better nor the worse for me;<br />She came to
+me with a horse and saddle,<br />But she may go home in a coach and
+three.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Lord Bateman then prepared another marriage,<br />With both their
+hearts so full of glee,<br />Saying, &ldquo;I will roam no more to foreign
+countries,<br />Now that Sophia has crossed the sea.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Bonnie House O&rsquo; Airly</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. vii.&nbsp; Early Edition.)</p>
+<p>It fell on a day, and a bonnie summer day,<br />When the corn grew
+green and yellow,<br />That there fell out a great dispute<br />Between
+Argyle and Airly.</p>
+<p>The Duke o&rsquo; Montrose has written to Argyle<br />To come in
+the morning early,<br />An&rsquo; lead in his men, by the back O&rsquo;
+Dunkeld,<br />To plunder the bonnie house o&rsquo; Airly.</p>
+<p>The lady look&rsquo;d o&rsquo;er her window sae hie,<br />And O but
+she looked weary!<br />And there she espied the great Argyle<br />Come
+to plunder the bonnie house o&rsquo; Airly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come down, come down, Lady Margaret,&rdquo; he says,<br />&ldquo;Come
+down and kiss me fairly,<br />Or before the morning clear daylight,<br />I&rsquo;ll
+no leave a standing stane in Airly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,<br />I wadna kiss thee fairly,<br />I
+wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,<br />Gin you shouldna leave a standing
+stane Airly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He has ta&rsquo;en her by the middle sae sma&rsquo;,<br />Says, &ldquo;Lady,
+where is your drury?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;It&rsquo;s up and down by the
+bonnie burn side,<br />Amang the planting of Airly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They sought it up, they sought it down,<br />They sought it late
+and early,<br />And found it in the bonnie balm-tree,<br />That shines
+on the bowling-green o&rsquo; Airly,</p>
+<p>He has ta&rsquo;en her by the left shoulder,<br />And O but she grat
+sairly,<br />And led her down to yon green bank,<br />Till he plundered
+the bonnie house o&rsquo; Airly.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O it&rsquo;s I hae seven braw sons,&rdquo; she says,<br />&ldquo;And
+the youngest ne&rsquo;er saw his daddie,<br />And altho&rsquo; I had
+as mony mae,<br />I wad gie them a&rsquo; to Charlie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But gin my good lord had been at hame,<br />As this night
+he is wi&rsquo; Charlie,<br />There durst na a Campbell in a&rsquo;
+the west<br />Hae plundered the bonnie house o&rsquo; Airly.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Rob Roy</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. vi.&nbsp; Early Edition.)</p>
+<p>Rob Roy from the Highlands cam,<br />Unto the Lawlan&rsquo; border,<br />To
+steal awa a gay ladie<br />To haud his house in order.<br />He cam oure
+the lock o&rsquo; Lynn,<br />Twenty men his arms did carry;<br />Himsel
+gaed in, an&rsquo; fand her out,<br />Protesting he would many.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O will ye gae wi&rsquo; me,&rdquo; he says,<br />&ldquo;Or
+will ye be my honey?<br />Or will ye be my wedded wife?<br />For I love
+you best of any.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I winna gae wi&rsquo; you,&rdquo;
+she says,<br />&ldquo;Nor will I be your honey,<br />Nor will I be your
+wedded wife;<br />You love me for my money.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>* * * * *</p>
+<p>But he set her on a coal-black steed,<br />Himsel lap on behind her,<br />An&rsquo;
+he&rsquo;s awa to the Highland hills,<br />Whare her frien&rsquo;s they
+canna find her.</p>
+<p>* * * * *</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rob Roy was my father ca&rsquo;d,<br />Macgregor was his name,
+ladie;<br />He led a band o&rsquo; heroes bauld,<br />An&rsquo; I am
+here the same, ladie.<br />Be content, be content,<br />Be content to
+stay, ladie,<br />For thou art my wedded wife<br />Until thy dying day,
+ladie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He was a hedge unto his frien&rsquo;s,<br />A heckle to his
+foes, ladie,<br />Every one that durst him wrang,<br />He took him by
+the nose, ladie.<br />I&rsquo;m as bold, I&rsquo;m as bold,<br />I&rsquo;m
+as bold, an more, ladie;<br />He that daurs dispute my word,<br />Shall
+feel my guid claymore, ladie.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Battle Of Killie-Crankie</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. vii.&nbsp; Early Edition.)</p>
+<p>Clavers and his Highlandmen<br />Came down upo&rsquo; the raw, man,<br />Who
+being stout, gave mony a clout;<br />The lads began to claw then.<br />With
+sword and terge into their hand,<br />Wi which they were nae slaw, man,<br />Wi
+mony a fearful heavy sigh,<br />The lads began to claw then.</p>
+<p>O&rsquo;er bush, o&rsquo;er bank, o&rsquo;er ditch, o&rsquo;er stark,<br />She
+flang amang them a&rsquo;, man;<br />The butter-box got many knocks,<br />Their
+riggings paid for a&rsquo; then.<br />They got their paiks, wi sudden
+straiks,<br />Which to their grief they saw, man:<br />Wi clinkum, clankum
+o&rsquo;er their crowns,<br />The lads began to fa&rsquo; then.</p>
+<p>Hur skipt about, hur leapt about,<br />And flang amang them a&rsquo;,
+man;<br />The English blades got broken beads,<br />Their crowns were
+cleav&rsquo;d in twa then.<br />The durk and door made their last hour,<br />And
+prov&rsquo;d their final fa&rsquo;, man;<br />They thought the devil
+had been there,<br />That play&rsquo;d them sic a paw then.</p>
+<p>The Solemn League and Covenant<br />Came whigging up the hills, man;<br />Thought
+Highland trews durst not refuse<br />For to subscribe their bills then.<br />In
+Willie&rsquo;s name, they thought nag ane<br />Durst stop their course
+at a&rsquo;, man,<br />But hur-nane-sell, wi mony a knock,<br />Cry&rsquo;d,
+&ldquo;Furich&mdash;Whigs awa&rsquo;,&rdquo; man.</p>
+<p>Sir Evan Du, and his men true,<br />Came linking up the brink, man;<br />The
+Hogan Dutch they feared such,<br />They bred a horrid stink then.<br />The
+true Maclean and his fierce men<br />Came in amang them a&rsquo;, man;<br />Nane
+durst withstand his heavy hand.<br />All fled and ran awa&rsquo; then.</p>
+<p><i>Oh&rsquo; on a ri, Oh&rsquo; on a ri</i>,<br />Why should she
+lose King Shames, man?<br /><i>Oh&rsquo; rig in di, Oh&rsquo; rig in
+di</i>,<br />She shall break a&rsquo; her banes then;<br />With <i>furichinish</i>,
+an&rsquo; stay a while,<br />And speak a word or twa, man,<br />She&rsquo;s
+gi&rsquo; a straike, out o&rsquo;er the neck,<br />Before ye win awa&rsquo;
+then.</p>
+<p>Oh fy for shame, ye&rsquo;re three for ane,<br />Hur-nane-sell&rsquo;s
+won the day, man;<br />King Shames&rsquo; red-coats should be hung up,<br />Because
+they ran awa&rsquo; then.<br />Had bent their brows, like Highland trows,<br />And
+made as lang a stay, man,<br />They&rsquo;d sav&rsquo;d their king,
+that sacred thing,<br />And Willie&rsquo;d ran awa&rsquo; then.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Annan Water</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. ii.&nbsp; Early Edition.)</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Annan water&rsquo;s wading deep,<br />And my love Annie&rsquo;s
+wondrous bonny;<br />And I am laith she suld weet her feet,<br />Because
+I love her best of ony.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gar saddle me the bonny black,&mdash;<br />Gar saddle sune,
+and make him ready:<br />For I will down the Gatehope-Slack,<br />And
+all to see my bonny ladye.&rdquo;&mdash;</p>
+<p>He has loupen on the bonny black,<br />He stirr&rsquo;d him wi&rsquo;
+the spur right sairly;<br />But, or he wan the Gatehope-Slack,<br />I
+think the steed was wae and weary.</p>
+<p>He has loupen on the bonny gray,<br />He rade the right gate and
+the ready;<br />I trow he would neither stint nor stay,<br />For he
+was seeking his bonny ladye.</p>
+<p>O he has ridden o&rsquo;er field and fell,<br />Through muir and
+moss, and mony a mire;<br />His spurs o&rsquo; steel were sair to bide,<br />And
+fra her fore-feet flew the fire.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, bonny grey, now play your part!<br />Gin ye be the steed
+that wins my deary,<br />Wi&rsquo; corn and hay ye&rsquo;se be fed for
+aye,<br />And never spur sall make you wearie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The gray was a mare, and a right good mare;<br />But when she wan
+the Annan water,<br />She couldna hae ridden a furlong mair,<br />Had
+a thousand merks been wadded at her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O boatman, boatman, put off your boat!<br />Put off your boat
+for gowden monie!<br />I cross the drumly stream the night,<br />Or
+never mair I see my honey.&rdquo;&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O I was sworn sae late yestreen,<br />And not by ae aith,
+but by many;<br />And for a&rsquo; the gowd in fair Scotland,<br />I
+dare na take ye through to Annie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The side was stey, and the bottom deep,<br />Frae bank to brae the
+water pouring;<br />And the bonny grey mare did sweat for fear,<br />For
+she heard the water-kelpy roaring.</p>
+<p>O he has pou&rsquo;d aff his dapperpy coat,<br />The silver buttons
+glanc&egrave;d bonny;<br />The waistcoat bursted aff his breast,<br />He
+was sae full of melancholy.</p>
+<p>He has ta&rsquo;en the ford at that stream tail;<br />I wot he swam
+both strong and steady;<br />But the stream was broad, and his strength
+did fail,<br />And he never saw his bonny ladye.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O wae betide the frush saugh wand!<br />And wae betide the
+bush of brier!<br />It brake into my true love&rsquo;s hand,<br />When
+his strength did fail, and his limbs did tire.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And wae betide ye, Annan water,<br />This night that ye are
+a drumlie river!<br />For over thee I&rsquo;ll build a bridge,<br />That
+ye never more true love may sever.&rdquo;&mdash;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Elphin Nourrice</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(C. K. Sharpe.)</p>
+<p>I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low,<br />An&rsquo; a cow low down
+in yon glen;<br />Lang, lang will my young son greet,<br />Or his mither
+bid him come ben.</p>
+<p>I heard a cow low, a bonnie cow low,<br />An&rsquo; a cow low down
+in yon fauld;<br />Lang, lang will my young son greet,<br />Or is mither
+take him frae cauld.</p>
+<p>Waken, Queen of Elfan,<br />An hear your Nourrice moan.<br />O moan
+ye for your meat,<br />Or moan ye for your fee,<br />Or moan ye for
+the ither bounties<br />That ladies are wont to gie?</p>
+<p>I moan na for my meat,<br />Nor yet for my fee,<br />But I mourn
+for Christened land&mdash;<br />It&rsquo;s there I fain would be.</p>
+<p>O nurse my bairn, Nourice, she says,<br />Till he stan&rsquo; at
+your knee,<br />An&rsquo; ye&rsquo;s win hame to Christen land,<br />Whar
+fain it&rsquo;s ye wad be.</p>
+<p>O keep my bairn, Nourice,<br />Till he gang by the hauld,<br />An&rsquo;
+ye&rsquo;s win hame to your young son,<br />Ye left in four nights auld.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Cospatrick</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Mackay.)</p>
+<p>Cospatrick has sent o&rsquo;er the faem;<br />Cospatrick brought
+his ladye hame;<br />And fourscore ships have come her wi&rsquo;,<br />The
+ladye by the green-wood tree.</p>
+<p>There were twal&rsquo; and twal&rsquo; wi&rsquo; baken bread,<br />And
+twal&rsquo; and twal&rsquo; wi&rsquo; gowd sae red,<br />And twal&rsquo;
+and twal&rsquo; wi&rsquo; bouted flour,<br />And twal&rsquo; and twal&rsquo;
+wi&rsquo; the paramour.</p>
+<p>Sweet Willy was a widow&rsquo;s son,<br />And at her stirrup he did
+run;<br />And she was clad in the finest pall,<br />But aye she loot
+the tears down fall.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O is your saddle set awrye?<br />Or rides your steed for you
+owre high?<br />Or are you mourning, in your tide,<br />That you suld
+be Cospatrick&rsquo;s bride?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am not mourning, at this tide,<br />That I suld he Cospatrick&rsquo;s
+bride;<br />But I am sorrowing in my mood,<br />That I suld leave my
+mother good.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But, gentle boy, come tell to me,<br />What is the custom
+of thy countrie?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;The custom thereof, my dame,&rdquo;
+he says,<br />&ldquo;Will ill a gentle ladye please.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Seven king&rsquo;s daughters has our lord wedded,<br />And
+seven king&rsquo;s daughters has our lord bedded;<br />But he&rsquo;s
+cutted their breasts frae their breast-bane,<br />And sent them mourning
+hame again.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet, gin you&rsquo;re sure that you&rsquo;re a maid,<br />Ye
+may gae safely to his bed;<br />But gif o&rsquo; that ye be na sure,<br />Then
+hire some damsel o&rsquo; your bour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The ladye&rsquo;s called her bour-maiden,<br />That waiting was unto
+her train.<br />&ldquo;Five thousand marks I&rsquo;ll gie to thee,<br />To
+sleep this night with my lord for me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When bells were rung, and mass was sayne,<br />And a&rsquo; men unto
+bed were gane,<br />Cospatrick and the bonny maid,<br />Into ae chamber
+they were laid.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now speak to me, blankets, and speak to me, bed,<br />And
+speak, thou sheet, enchanted web;<br />And speak, my sword, that winna
+lie,<br />Is this a true maiden that lies by me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It is not a maid that you hae wedded,<br />But it is a maid
+that you hae bedded;<br />It is a leal maiden that lies by thee,<br />But
+not the maiden that it should be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O wrathfully he left the bed,<br />And wrathfully his claes on did;<br />And
+he has ta&rsquo;en him through the ha&rsquo;,<br />And on his mother
+he did ca&rsquo;.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am the most unhappy man,<br />That ever was in Christen
+land?<br />I courted a maiden, meik and mild,<br />And I hae gotten
+naething but a woman wi&rsquo; child.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O stay, my son, into this ha&rsquo;,<br />And sport ye wi&rsquo;
+your merry men a&rsquo;;<br />And I will to the secret bour,<br />To
+see how it fares wi&rsquo; your paramour.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The carline she was stark and stare,<br />She aff the hinges dang
+the dure.<br />&ldquo;O is your bairn to laird or loun,<br />Or is it
+to your father&rsquo;s groom?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O hear me, mother, on my knee,<br />Till my sad story I tell
+to thee:<br />O we were sisters, sisters seven,<br />We were the fairest
+under heaven.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It fell on a summer&rsquo;s afternoon,<br />When a&rsquo;
+our toilsome work was done,<br />We coost the kevils us amang,<br />To
+see which suld to the green-wood gang.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ohon! alas, for I was youngest,<br />And aye my weird it was
+the strongest!<br />The kevil it on me did fa&rsquo;,<br />Whilk was
+the cause of a&rsquo; my woe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For to the green-wood I maun gae,<br />To pu&rsquo; the red
+rose and the slae;<br />To pu&rsquo; the red rose and the thyme,<br />To
+deck my mother&rsquo;s bour and mine.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I hadna pu&rsquo;d a flower but ane,<br />When by there came
+a gallant hinde,<br />Wi&rsquo; high colled hose and laigh colled shoon,<br />And
+he seemed to be some king&rsquo;s son.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And be I maid, or be I nae,<br />He kept me there till the
+close o&rsquo; day;<br />And be I maid, or be I nane,<br />He kept me
+there till the day was done.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He gae me a lock o&rsquo; his yellow hair,<br />And bade me
+keep it ever mair;<br />He gae me a carknet o&rsquo; bonny beads,<br />And
+bade me keep it against my needs.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He gae to me a gay gold ring,<br />And bade me keep it abune
+a&rsquo; thing.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;What did ye wi&rsquo; the tokens
+rare,<br />That ye gat frae that gallant there?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O bring that coffer unto me,<br />And a&rsquo; the tokens
+ye sall see.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Now stay, daughter, your bour within,<br />While
+I gae parley wi&rsquo; my son.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O she has ta&rsquo;en her thro&rsquo; the ha&rsquo;,<br />And on
+her son began to ca&rsquo;:<br />&ldquo;What did ye wi&rsquo; the bonny
+beads,<br />I bade ye keep against your needs?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What did you wi&rsquo; the gay gold ring,<br />I bade you
+keep abune a&rsquo; thing?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I gae them to a ladye
+gay,<br />I met in green-wood on a day.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I wad gie a&rsquo; my halls and tours,<br />I had that
+ladye within my bours,<br />But I wad gie my very life,<br />I had that
+ladye to my wife.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now keep, my son, your ha&rsquo;s and tours;<br />Ye have
+that bright burd in your bours;<br />And keep, my son, your very life;<br />Ye
+have that ladye to your wife.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Now, or a month was come and gane,<br />The ladye bore a bonny son;<br />And
+&rsquo;twas written on his breast-bane,<br />&ldquo;Cospatrick is my
+father&rsquo;s name.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Johnnie Armstrang</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>Some speak of lords, some speak of lairds,<br />And sic like men
+of high degree;<br />Of a gentleman I sing a sang,<br />Some time call&rsquo;d
+Laird of Gilnockie.</p>
+<p>The king he writes a loving letter,<br />With his ain hand sae tenderlie,<br />And
+he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrang,<br />To come and speak with him
+speedilie.</p>
+<p>The Elliots and Armstrangs did convene,<br />They were a gallant
+companie:<br />&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll ride and meet our lawful king,<br />And
+bring him safe to Gilnockie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Make kinnen <a name="citation3"></a><a href="#footnote3">{3}</a>
+and capon ready, then,<br />And venison in great plentie;<br />We&rsquo;ll
+welcome here our royal king;<br />I hope he&rsquo;ll dine at Gilnockie!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They ran their horse on the Langholm howm,<br />And brake their spears
+with meikle main;<br />The ladies lookit frae their loft windows&mdash;<br />&ldquo;God
+bring our men weel hame again!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When Johnnie came before the king,<br />With all his men sae brave
+to see,<br />The king he moved his bonnet to him;<br />He ween&rsquo;d
+he was a king as well as he.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;May I find grace, my sovereign liege,<br />Grace for my loyal
+men and me?<br />For my name it is Johnnie Armstrang,<br />And a subject
+of yours, my liege,&rdquo; said he.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Away, away, thou traitor strang!<br />Out of my sight soon
+may&rsquo;st thou be!<br />I granted never a traitor&rsquo;s life,<br />And
+now I&rsquo;ll not begin with thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Grant me my life, my liege, my king!<br />And a bonnie gift
+I&rsquo;ll gi&rsquo;e to thee;<br />Full four-and-twenty milk-white
+steeds,<br />Were all foal&rsquo;d in ae year to me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll gi&rsquo;e thee all these milk-white steeds,<br />That
+prance and nicher <a name="citation4"></a><a href="#footnote4">{4}</a>
+at a spear;<br />And as meikle gude Inglish gilt, <a name="citation5"></a><a href="#footnote5">{5}</a><br />As
+four of their braid backs dow <a name="citation6"></a><a href="#footnote6">{6}</a>
+bear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Away, away, thou traitor strang!<br />Out of my sight soon
+may&rsquo;st thou be!<br />I granted never a traitor&rsquo;s life,<br />And
+now I&rsquo;ll not begin with thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Grant me my life, my liege, my king!<br />And a bonnie gift
+I&rsquo;ll gi&rsquo;e to thee:<br />Gude four-and-twenty ganging <a name="citation7"></a><a href="#footnote7">{7}</a>
+mills,<br />That gang thro&rsquo; all the year to me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;These four-and-twenty mills complete,<br />Shall gang for
+thee thro&rsquo; all the year;<br />And as meikle of gude red wheat,<br />As
+all their happers dow to bear.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Away, away, thou traitor strang!<br />Out of my sight soon
+may&rsquo;st thou be!<br />I granted never a traitor&rsquo;s life,<br />And
+now I&rsquo;ll not begin with thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Grant me my life, my liege, my king!<br />And a great gift
+I&rsquo;ll gi&rsquo;e to thee:<br />Bauld four-and-twenty sisters&rsquo;
+sons<br />Shall for thee fecht, tho&rsquo; all shou&rsquo;d flee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Away, away, thou traitor strang!<br />Out of my sight soon
+may&rsquo;st thou be!<br />I granted never a traitor&rsquo;s life,<br />And
+now I&rsquo;ll not begin with thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Grant me my life, my liege, my king!<br />And a brave gift
+I&rsquo;ll gi&rsquo;e to thee:<br />All between here and Newcastle town<br />Shall
+pay their yearly rent to thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Away, away, thou traitor strang!<br />Out of my sight soon
+may&rsquo;st thou be!<br />I granted never a traitor&rsquo;s life,<br />And
+now I&rsquo;ll not begin with thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye lied, ye lied, now, king,&rdquo; he says,<br />&ldquo;Altho&rsquo;
+a king and prince ye be!<br />For I&rsquo;ve loved naething in my life,<br />I
+weel dare say it, but honestie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Save a fat horse, and a fair woman,<br />Twa bonnie dogs to
+kill a deer;<br />But England shou&rsquo;d have found me meal and mault,<br />Gif
+I had lived this hundred year.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;She shou&rsquo;d have found me meal and mault,<br />And beef
+and mutton in all plentie;<br />But never a Scots wife cou&rsquo;d have
+said,<br />That e&rsquo;er I skaith&rsquo;d her a puir flee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;To seek het water beneath cauld ice,<br />Surely it is a great
+follie:<br />I have ask&rsquo;d grace at a graceless face,<br />But
+there is nane for my men and me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But had I kenn&rsquo;d, ere I came frae hame,<br />How unkind
+thou wou&rsquo;dst been to me,<br />I wou&rsquo;d ha&rsquo;e keepit
+the Border side,<br />In spite of all thy force and thee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wist England&rsquo;s king that I was ta&rsquo;en,<br />Oh,
+gin a blythe man he wou&rsquo;d be!<br />For ance I slew his sister&rsquo;s
+son,<br />And on his breast-bane brak a tree.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John wore a girdle about his middle,<br />Embroider&rsquo;d o&rsquo;er
+with burning gold,<br />Bespangled with the same metal,<br />Maist beautiful
+was to behold.</p>
+<p>There hang nine targats <a name="citation8"></a><a href="#footnote8">{8}</a>
+at Johnnie&rsquo;s hat,<br />An ilk ane worth three hundred pound:<br />&ldquo;What
+wants that knave that a king shou&rsquo;d have,<br />But the sword of
+honour and the crown?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, where got thee these targats, Johnnie.<br />That blink
+sae brawly <a name="citation9"></a><a href="#footnote9">{9}</a> aboon
+thy brie?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I gat them in the field fechting, <a name="citation10"></a><a href="#footnote10">{10}</a><br />Where,
+cruel king, thou durst not be.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Had I my horse and harness gude,<br />And riding as I wont
+to be,<br />It shou&rsquo;d have been tauld this hundred year,<br />The
+meeting of my king and me!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God be with thee, Kirsty, <a name="citation11"></a><a href="#footnote11">{11}</a>
+my brother,<br />Lang live thou laird of Mangertoun!<br />Lang may&rsquo;st
+thou live on the Border side,<br />Ere thou see thy brother ride up
+and down!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And God he with thee, Kirsty, my son,<br />Where thou sits
+on thy nurse&rsquo;s knee!<br />But an thou live this hundred year,<br />Thy
+father&rsquo;s better thou&rsquo;lt never be.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Farewell, my bonnie Gilnock hall,<br />Where on Esk side thou
+standest stout!<br />Gif I had lived but seven years mair,<br />I wou&rsquo;d
+ha&rsquo;e gilt thee round about.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John murder&rsquo;d was at Carlinrigg,<br />And all his gallant companie;<br />But
+Scotland&rsquo;s heart was ne&rsquo;er sae wae,<br />To see sae mony
+brave men die;</p>
+<p>Because they saved their country dear<br />Frae Englishmen!&nbsp;
+Nane were sae bauld<br />While Johnnie lived on the Border side,<br />Nane
+of them durst come near his hauld.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Edom O&rsquo; Gordon</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>It fell about the Martinmas,<br />When the wind blew shrill and cauld,<br />Said
+Edom o&rsquo; Gordon to his men,&mdash;<br />&ldquo;We maun draw to
+a hald. <a name="citation12"></a><a href="#footnote12">{12}</a></p>
+<p>&ldquo;And whatna hald shall we draw to,<br />My merry men and me?<br />We
+will gae straight to Towie house,<br />To see that fair ladye.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>[The ladye stood on her castle wall,<br />Beheld baith dale and down;<br />There
+she was &rsquo;ware of a host of men<br />Came riding towards the town.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, see ye not, my merry men all,<br />Oh, see ye not what
+I see?<br />Methinks I see a host of men;<br />I marvel who they be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She thought it had been her own wed lord.<br />As he came riding
+hame;<br />It was the traitor, Edom o&rsquo; Gordon,<br />Wha reck&rsquo;d
+nae sin nor shame.]</p>
+<p>She had nae sooner buskit hersel&rsquo;,<br />And putten on her gown,<br />Till
+Edom o&rsquo; Gordon and his men<br />Were round about the town.</p>
+<p>They had nae sooner supper set,<br />Nae sooner said the grace,<br />Till
+Edom o&rsquo; Gordon and his men<br />Were round about the place.</p>
+<p>The ladye ran to her tower head,<br />As fast as she cou&rsquo;d
+hie,<br />To see if, by her fair speeches,<br />She cou&rsquo;d with
+him agree.</p>
+<p>As soon as he saw this ladye fair.<br />And her yetts all lockit
+fast,<br />He fell into a rage of wrath,<br />And his heart was all
+aghast.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come down to me, ye ladye gay,<br />Come down, come down to
+me;<br />This night ye shall lye within my arms,<br />The morn my bride
+shall be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I winna come down, ye false Gordon,<br />I winna come down
+to thee;<br />I winna forsake my ain dear lord,<br />That is sae far
+frae me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gi&rsquo;e up your house, ye ladye fair,<br />Gi&rsquo;e up
+your house to me;<br />Or I shall burn yoursel&rsquo; therein,<br />Bot
+and your babies three.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I winna gi&rsquo;e up, ye false Gordon,<br />To nae sic traitor
+as thee;<br />Tho&rsquo; you shou&rsquo;d burn mysel&rsquo; therein,<br />Bot
+and my babies three.</p>
+<p>[&ldquo;But fetch to me my pistolette,<br />And charge to me my gun;<br />For,
+but if I pierce that bluidy butcher,<br />My babes we will be undone.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She stiffly stood on her castle wall,<br />And let the bullets flee;<br />She
+miss&rsquo;d that bluidy butcher&rsquo;s heart,<br />Tho&rsquo; she
+slew other three.]</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Set fire to the house!&rdquo; quo&rsquo; the false Gordon,<br />&ldquo;Since
+better may nae be;<br />And I will burn hersel&rsquo; therein,<br />Bot
+and her babies three.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wae worth, wae worth ye, Jock, my man,<br />I paid ye weel
+your fee;<br />Why pull ye out the grund-wa&rsquo;-stance,<br />Lets
+in the reek <a name="citation13"></a><a href="#footnote13">{13}</a>
+to me?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And e&rsquo;en wae worth ye, Jock, my man,<br />I paid ye
+weel your hire;<br />Why pull ye out my grund-wa&rsquo;-stane,<br />To
+me lets in the fire?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye paid me weel my hire, ladye,<br />Ye paid me weel my fee;<br />But
+now I&rsquo;m Edom o&rsquo; Gordon&rsquo;s man,<br />Maun either do
+or dee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Oh, then out spake her youngest son,<br />Sat on the nurse&rsquo;s
+knee:<br />Says&mdash;&ldquo;Mither dear, gi&rsquo;e o&rsquo;er this
+house,<br />For the reek it smothers me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>[&ldquo;I wou&rsquo;d gi&rsquo;e all my gold, my bairn,<br />Sae
+wou&rsquo;d I all my fee,<br />For ae blast of the westlin&rsquo; wind,<br />To
+blaw the reek frae thee.]</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I winna gi&rsquo;e up my house, my dear,<br />To nae sic
+traitor as he;<br />Come weal, come woe, my jewels fair,<br />Ye maun
+take share with me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Oh, then out spake her daughter dear,<br />She was baith jimp and
+small:<br />&ldquo;Oh, row me in a pair of sheets,<br />And tow me o&rsquo;er
+the wall.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They row&rsquo;d her in a pair of sheets,<br />And tow&rsquo;d her
+o&rsquo;er the wall;<br />But on the point of Gordon&rsquo;s spear<br />She
+got a deadly fall.</p>
+<p>Oh, bonnie, bonnie was her mouth,<br />And cherry were her cheeks;<br />And
+clear, clear was her yellow hair,<br />Whereon the red bluid dreeps.</p>
+<p>Then with his spear he turn&rsquo;d her o&rsquo;er,<br />Oh, gin
+her face was wan!<br />He said&mdash;&ldquo;You are the first that e&rsquo;er<br />I
+wish&rsquo;d alive again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He turn&rsquo;d her o&rsquo;er and o&rsquo;er again,<br />Oh, gin
+her skin was white!<br />&ldquo;I might ha&rsquo;e spared that bonnie
+face<br />To ha&rsquo;e been some man&rsquo;s delight.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Busk and boun, my merry men all,<br />For ill dooms I do guess;<br />I
+canna look on that bonnie face,<br />As it lyes on the grass!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wha looks to freits, <a name="citation14"></a><a href="#footnote14">{14}</a>
+my master dear,<br />Their freits will follow them;<br />Let it ne&rsquo;er
+be said brave Edom o&rsquo; Gordon<br />Was daunted with a dame.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>[But when the ladye saw the fire<br />Come flaming o&rsquo;er her
+head,<br />She wept, and kissed her children twain;<br />Said&mdash;&ldquo;Bairns,
+we been but dead.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Gordon then his bugle blew,<br />And said&mdash;&ldquo;Away,
+away!<br />The house of Towie is all in a flame,<br />I hald it time
+to gae.&rdquo;]</p>
+<p>Oh, then he spied her ain dear lord,<br />As he came o&rsquo;er the
+lea;<br />He saw his castle all in a flame,<br />As far as he could
+see.</p>
+<p>Then sair, oh sair his mind misgave,<br />And oh, his heart was wae!<br />&ldquo;Put
+on, put on, my wighty <a name="citation15"></a><a href="#footnote15">{15}</a>
+men,<br />As fast as ye can gae.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Put on, put on, my wighty men,<br />As fast as ye can drie;<br />For
+he that is hindmost of the thrang<br />Shall ne&rsquo;er get gude of
+me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then some they rade, and some they ran,<br />Full fast out o&rsquo;er
+the bent;<br />But ere the foremost could win up,<br />Baith ladye and
+babes were brent.</p>
+<p>[He wrang his hands, he rent his hair,<br />And wept in tearful mood;<br />&ldquo;Ah,
+traitors! for this cruel deed,<br />Ye shall weep tears of bluid.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And after the Gordon he has gane,<br />Sae fast as he might drie;<br />And
+soon in the Gordon&rsquo;s foul heart&rsquo;s bluid<br />He&rsquo;s
+wroken <a name="citation16"></a><a href="#footnote16">{16}</a> his dear
+layde.]</p>
+<p>And mony were the mudie <a name="citation17"></a><a href="#footnote17">{17}</a>
+men<br />Lay gasping on the green;<br />And mony were the fair ladyes<br />Lay
+lemanless at hame.</p>
+<p>And mony were the mudie men<br />Lay gasping on the green;<br />For
+of fifty men the Gordon brocht,<br />There were but five gaed hame.</p>
+<p>And round, and round the walls he went,<br />Their ashes for to view;<br />At
+last into the flames he flew,<br />And bade the world adieu.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Lady Anne Bothwell&rsquo;s Lament</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. iv.&nbsp; Early Edition.)</p>
+<p>Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep,<br />It grieves me sore to hear
+thee weep,<br />If thou&rsquo;lt be silent, I&rsquo;ll be glad,<br />Thy
+mourning makes my heart full sad.<br />Balow, my boy, thy mother&rsquo;s
+joy,<br />Thy father bred one great annoy.<br />Balow, my boy, ly still
+and sleep,<br />It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.</p>
+<p>Balow, my darling, sleep a while,<br />And when thou wak&rsquo;st
+then sweetly smile;<br />But smile not as thy father did,<br />To cozen
+maids, nay, God forbid;<br />For in thine eye his look I see,<br />The
+tempting look that ruin&rsquo;d me.<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p>
+<p>When he began to court my love,<br />And with his sugar&rsquo;d words
+to move,<br />His tempting face, and flatt&rsquo;ring chear,<br />In
+time to me did not appear;<br />But now I see that cruel he<br />Cares
+neither for his babe nor me.<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p>
+<p>Fareweel, fareaeel, thou falsest youth<br />That ever kist a woman&rsquo;s
+mouth.<br />Let never any after me<br />Submit unto thy courtesy!<br />For,
+if hey do, O! cruel thou<br />Wilt her abuse and care not how!<br />Balow,
+my boy, etc.</p>
+<p>I was too cred&rsquo;lous at the first,<br />To yield thee all a
+maiden durst.<br />Thou swore for ever true to prove,<br />Thy faith
+unchang&rsquo;d, unchang&rsquo;d thy love;<br />But quick as thought
+the change is wrought,<br />Thy love&rsquo;s no mair, thy promise nought.<br />Balow,
+my boy, etc.</p>
+<p>I wish I were a maid again!<br />From young men&rsquo;s flatt&rsquo;ry
+I&rsquo;d refrain;<br />For now unto my grief I find<br />They all are
+perjur&rsquo;d and unkind;<br />Bewitching charms bred all my harms;&mdash;<br />Witness
+my babe lies in my arms.<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p>
+<p>I take my fate from bad to worse,<br />That I must needs be now a
+nurse,<br />And lull my young son on my lap:<br />From me, sweet orphan,
+take the pap.<br />Balow, my child, thy mother mild<br />Shall wail
+as from all bliss exil&rsquo;d.<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p>
+<p>Balow, my boy, weep not for me,<br />Whose greatest grief&rsquo;s
+for wronging thee.<br />Nor pity her deserved smart,<br />Who can blame
+none but her fond heart;<br />For, too soon tursting latest finds<br />With
+fairest tongues are falsest minds.<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p>
+<p>Balow, my boy, thy father&rsquo;s fled,<br />When he the thriftless
+son has played;<br />Of vows and oaths forgetful, he<br />Preferr&rsquo;d
+the wars to thee and me.<br />But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine<br />Make
+him eat acorns with the swine.<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p>
+<p>But curse not him; perhaps now he,<br />Stung with remorse, is blessing
+thee:<br />Perhaps at death; for who can tell<br />Whether the judge
+of heaven or hell,<br />By some proud foe has struck the blow,<br />And
+laid the dear deceiver low?<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p>
+<p>I wish I were into the bounds<br />Where he lies smother&rsquo;d
+in his wounds,<br />Repeating, as he pants for air,<br />My name, whom
+once he call&rsquo;d his fair;<br />No woman&rsquo;s yet so fiercely
+set<br />But she&rsquo;ll forgive, though not forget.<br />Balow, my
+boy, etc.</p>
+<p>If linen lacks, for my love&rsquo;s sake<br />Then quickly to him
+would I make<br />My smock, once for his body meet,<br />And wrap him
+in that winding-sheet.<br />Ah me! how happy had I been,<br />If he
+had ne&rsquo;er been wrapt therein.<br />Balow, my boy, etc.</p>
+<p>Balow, my boy, I&rsquo;ll weep for thee;<br />Too soon, alake, thou&rsquo;lt
+weep for me:<br />Thy griefs are growing to a sum,<br />God grant thee
+patience when they come;<br />Born to sustain thy mother&rsquo;s shame,<br />A
+hapless fate, a bastard&rsquo;s name.<br />Balow, my boy, ly still and
+sleep,<br />It grieves me sore to hear thee weep.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Jock O The Side</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, Part VI., p. 479.)</p>
+<p>Now Liddisdale has ridden a raid,<br />But I wat they had better
+staid at hame;<br />For Mitchell o Winfield he is dead,<br />And my
+son Johnie is prisner tane?<br />With my fa ding diddle, la la dew diddle.</p>
+<p>For Mangerton house auld Downie is gane,<br />Her coats she has kilted
+up to her knee;<br />And down the water wi speed she rins,<br />While
+tears in spaits fa fast frae her eie.</p>
+<p>Then up and bespake the lord Mangerton:<br />&ldquo;What news, what
+news, sister Downie, to me?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Bad news, bad news, my
+lord Mangerton;<br />Mitchel is killd, and tane they hae my son Johnie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Neer fear, sister Downie,&rdquo; quo Mangerton;<br />&ldquo;I
+hae yokes of oxen, four-and-twentie,<br />My barns, my byres, and my
+faulds, a&rsquo; weel filld,<br />And I&rsquo;ll part wi them a&rsquo;
+ere Johnie shall die.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Three men I&rsquo;ll take to set him free,<br />Weel harnessd
+a&rsquo; wi best of steel;<br />The English rogues may hear, and drie<br />The
+weight o their braid swords to feel</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Laird&rsquo;s Jock ane, the Laird&rsquo;s Wat twa,<br />O
+Hobie Noble, thou ane maun be!<br />Thy coat is blue, thou has been
+true,<br />Since England banishd thee, to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Now, Hobie was an English man,<br />In Bewcastle-dale was bred and
+born;<br />But his misdeeds they were sae great,<br />They banished
+him neer to return.</p>
+<p>Lord Mangerton then orders gave,&mdash;<br />&ldquo;Your horses the
+wrang way maun a&rsquo; be shod;<br />Like gentlemen ye must not seem,<br />But
+look like corn-caugers gawn ae road.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your armour gude ye maunna shaw,<br />Nor ance appear like
+men o weir;<br />As country lads be all arrayd,<br />Wi branks and brecham
+on ilk mare.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sae now a&rsquo; their horses are shod the wrang way,<br />And Hobie
+has mounted his grey sae fine,<br />Jock his lively bay, Wat&rsquo;s
+on his white horse behind,<br />And on they rode for the water o Tyne.</p>
+<p>At the Cholerford they a&rsquo; light down,<br />And there, wi the
+help o the light o the moon,<br />A tree they cut, wi fifteen naggs
+upon each side,<br />To climb up the wall of Newcastle toun.</p>
+<p>But when they came to Newcastle toun,<br />And were alighted at the
+wa,<br />They fand their tree three ells oer laigh,<br />They fand their
+stick baith short aid sma.</p>
+<p>Then up and spake the Laird&rsquo;s ain Jock,<br />&ldquo;There&rsquo;s
+naething for&rsquo;t; the gates we maun force.&rdquo;<br />But when
+they cam the gate unto,<br />A proud porter withstood baith men and
+horse.</p>
+<p>His neck in twa I wat they hae wrung;<br />Wi foot or hand he neer
+play&rsquo;d paw;<br />His life and his keys at anes they hae taen,<br />And
+cast his body ahind the wa.</p>
+<p>Now soon they reached Newcastle jail,<br />And to the prisner thus
+they call:<br />&ldquo;Sleips thou, wakes thou, Jock o the Side,<br />Or
+is thou wearied o thy thrall?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Jock answers thus, wi dolefu tone:<br />&ldquo;Aft, aft I wake, I
+seldom sleip;<br />But wha&rsquo;s this kens my name sae weel,<br />And
+thus to hear my waes does seek?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then up and spake the good Laird&rsquo;s Jock:<br />&ldquo;Neer fear
+ye now, my billie,&rdquo; quo he;<br />&ldquo;For here&rsquo;s the Laird&rsquo;s
+Jock, the Laird&rsquo;s Wat,<br />And Hobie Noble, come to set thee
+free.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, had thy tongue, and speak nae mair,<br />And o thy talk
+now let me be!<br />For if a&rsquo; Liddesdale were here the night,<br />The
+morn&rsquo;s the day that I maun die.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Full fifteen stane o Spanish iron,<br />They hae laid a&rsquo;
+right sair on me;<br />Wi locks and keys I am fast bound<br />Into this
+dungeon mirk and drearie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fear ye no that,&rdquo; quo the Laird&rsquo;s Jock;<br />&ldquo;A
+faint heart neer wan a fair ladie;<br />Work thou within, we&rsquo;ll
+work without,<br />And I&rsquo;ll be sworn we set thee free.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The first strong dore that they came at,<br />They loosed it without
+a key;<br />The next chaind dore that they cam at,<br />They gard it
+a&rsquo; in flinders flee.</p>
+<p>The prisner now, upo his back,<br />The Laird&rsquo;s Jock&rsquo;s
+gotten up fu hie;<br />And down the stair him, irons and a&rsquo;,<br />Wi
+nae sma speed and joy brings he.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, Jock, I wat,&rdquo; quo Hobie Noble,<br />&ldquo;Part
+o the weight ye may lay on me,&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I wat weel no,&rdquo;
+quo the Laird&rsquo;s Jock<br />&ldquo;I count him lighter than a flee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sae out at the gates they a&rsquo; are gane,<br />The prisner&rsquo;s
+set on horseback hie;<br />And now wi speed they&rsquo;ve tane the gate;<br />While
+ilk ane jokes fu wantonlie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O Jock, sae winsomely&rsquo;s ye ride,<br />Wi baith your
+feet upo ae side!<br />Sae weel&rsquo;s ye&rsquo;re harnessd, and sae
+trig!<br />In troth ye sit like ony bride.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The night, tho wat, they didna mind,<br />But hied them on fu mirrilie,<br />Until
+they cam to Cholerford brae,<br />Where the water ran like mountains
+hie.</p>
+<p>But when they came to Cholerford,<br />There they met with an auld
+man;<br />Says, &ldquo;Honest man, will the water ride?<br />Tell us
+in haste, if that ye can.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wat weel no,&rdquo; quo the good auld man;<br />&ldquo;Here
+I hae livd this threty yeirs and three,<br />And I neer yet saw the
+Tyne sae big,<br />Nor rinning ance sae like a sea.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then up and spake the Laird&rsquo;s saft Wat,<br />The greatest coward
+in the company;<br />&ldquo;Now halt, now halt, we needna try&rsquo;t;<br />The
+day is comd we a&rsquo; maun die!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Poor faint-hearted thief!&rdquo; quo the Laird&rsquo;s Jock,<br />&ldquo;There&rsquo;ll
+nae man die but he that&rsquo;s fie;<br />I&rsquo;ll lead ye a&rsquo;
+right safely through;<br />Lift ye the prisner on ahint me.</p>
+<p>Sae now the water they a&rsquo; hae tane,<br />By anes and &rsquo;twas
+they a&rsquo; swam through<br />&ldquo;Here are we a&rsquo; safe,&rdquo;
+says the Laird&rsquo;s Jock,<br />&ldquo;And, poor faint Wat, what think
+ye now?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They scarce the ither side had won,<br />When twenty men they saw
+pursue;<br />Frae Newcastle town they had been sent,<br />A&rsquo; English
+lads right good and true.</p>
+<p>But when the land-sergeant the water saw,<br />&ldquo;It winna ride,
+my lads,&rdquo; quo he;<br />Then out he cries, &ldquo;Ye the prisner
+may take,<br />But leave the irons, I pray, to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wat weel no,&rdquo; cryd the Laird&rsquo;s Jock,<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+keep them a&rsquo;; shoon to my mare they&rsquo;ll be;<br />My good
+grey mare; for I am sure,<br />She&rsquo;s bought them a&rsquo; fu dear
+frae thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Sae now they&rsquo;re away for Liddisdale,<br />Een as fast as they
+coud them hie;<br />The prisner&rsquo;s brought to his ain fireside,<br />And
+there o&rsquo;s airns they make him free.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, Jock, my billie,&rdquo; quo a&rsquo; the three,<br />&ldquo;The
+day was comd thou was to die;<br />But thou&rsquo;s as weel at thy ain
+fireside,<br />Now sitting, I think, &rsquo;tween thee and me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They hae gard fill up ae punch-bowl,<br />And after it they maun
+hae anither,<br />And thus the night they a&rsquo; hae spent,<br />Just
+as they had been brither and brither.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Lord Thomas And Fair Annet</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, Part III., p. 182.)</p>
+<p>Lord Thomas and Fair Annet<br />Sate a&rsquo; day on a hill;<br />Whan
+night was cum, and sun was sett,<br />They had not talkt their fill.</p>
+<p>Lord Thomas said a word in jest,<br />Fair Annet took it ill:<br />&ldquo;A,
+I will nevir wed a wife<br />Against my ain friend&rsquo;s will.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,<br />A wife wull neir wed yee;&rdquo;<br />Sae
+he is hame to tell his mither,<br />And knelt upon his knee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O rede, O rede, mither,&rdquo; he says,<br />&ldquo;A gude
+rede gie to mee;<br />O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,<br />And let
+Faire Annet bee?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear,<br />Fair Annet she
+has gat nane;<br />And the little beauty Fair Annet haes<br />O it wull
+soon be gane.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And he has till his brother gane:<br />&ldquo;Now, brother, rede
+ye mee;<br />A, sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,<br />And let Fair
+Annet bee?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother,<br />The nut-browne
+bride has kye;<br />I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,<br />And
+cast Fair Annet bye.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Her oxen may dye i&rsquo; the house, billie,<br />And her
+kye into the byre;<br />And I sall hae nothing to mysell<br />Bot a
+fat fadge by the fyre.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And he has till his sister gane:<br />&ldquo;Now, sister, rede ye
+mee;<br />O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,<br />And set Fair Annet
+free?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;se rede ye tak Fair Annet, Thomas,<br />And let the
+browne bride alane;<br />Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace,<br />What
+is this we brought hame!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No, I will tak my mither&rsquo;s counsel,<br />And marrie
+me owt o hand;<br />And I will tak the nut-browne bride,<br />Fair Annet
+may leive the land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Up then rose Fair Annet&rsquo;s father,<br />Twa hours or it wer
+day,<br />And he is gane unto the bower<br />Wherein Fair Annet lay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rise up, rise up, Fair Annet,&rdquo; he says<br />&ldquo;Put
+on your silken sheene;<br />Let us gae to St. Marie&rsquo;s Kirke,<br />And
+see that rich weddeen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My maides, gae to my dressing-roome,<br />And dress to me
+my hair;<br />Whaireir yee laid a plait before,<br />See yee lay ten
+times mair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My maids, gae to my dressing-room,<br />And dress to me my
+smock;<br />The one half is o the holland fine,<br />The other o needle-work.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The horse Fair Annet rade upon,<br />He amblit like the wind;<br />Wi
+siller he was shod before,<br />Wi burning gowd behind.</p>
+<p>Four and twanty siller bells<br />Wer a&rsquo; tyed till his mane,<br />And
+yae tift o the norland wind,<br />They tinkled ane by ane.</p>
+<p>Four and twanty gay gude knichts<br />Rade by Fair Annet&rsquo;s
+side,<br />And four and twanty fair ladies,<br />As gin she had bin
+a bride.</p>
+<p>And whan she cam to Marie&rsquo;s Kirk,<br />She sat on Marie&rsquo;s
+stean:<br />The cleading that Fair Annet had on<br />It skinkled in
+their een.</p>
+<p>And whan she cam into the kirk,<br />She shimmerd like the sun;<br />The
+belt that was about her waist<br />Was a&rsquo; wi pearles bedone.</p>
+<p>She sat her by the nut-browne bride,<br />And her een they wer sae
+clear,<br />Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,<br />When Fair Annet
+drew near.</p>
+<p>He had a rose into his hand,<br />He gae it kisses three,<br />And
+reaching by the nut-browne bride,<br />Laid it on Fair Annet&rsquo;s
+knee.</p>
+<p>Up then spak the nut-browne bride,<br />She spak wi meikle spite:<br />&ldquo;And
+whair gat ye that rose-water,<br />That does mak yee sae white?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O I did get the rose-water<br />Whair ye wull neir get nane,<br />For
+I did get that very rose-water<br />Into my mither&rsquo;s wame.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The bride she drew a long bodkin<br />Frae out her gay head-gear,<br />And
+strake Fair Annet unto the heart,<br />That word spak nevir mair.</p>
+<p>Lord Thomas he saw Fair Annet wex pale,<br />And marvelit what mote
+bee;<br />But when he saw her dear heart&rsquo;s blude,<br />A&rsquo;
+wood-wroth wexed bee.</p>
+<p>He drew his dagger that was sae sharp,<br />That was sae sharp and
+meet,<br />And drave it into the nut-browne bride,<br />That fell deid
+at his feit.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now stay for me, dear Annet,&rdquo; he sed,<br />&ldquo;Now
+stay, my dear,&rdquo; he cry&rsquo;d;<br />Then strake the dagger untill
+his heart,<br />And fell deid by her side.</p>
+<p>Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa,<br />Fair Annet within the
+quiere,<br />And o the ane thair grew a birk,<br />The other a bonny
+briere.</p>
+<p>And ay they grew, and ay they threw,<br />As they wad faine be neare;<br />And
+by this ye may ken right weil<br />They were twa luvers deare.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Fair Annie</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, Part III., p. 69.)</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s narrow, narrow, make your bed,<br />And learn to
+lie your lane:<br />For I&rsquo;m ga&rsquo;n oer the sea, Fair Annie,<br />A
+braw bride to bring hame.<br />Wi her I will get gowd and gear;<br />Wi
+you I neer got nane.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But wha will bake my bridal bread,<br />Or brew my bridal
+ale?<br />And wha will welcome my brisk bride,<br />That I bring oer
+the dale?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s I will bake your bridal bread,<br />And brew your
+bridal ale,<br />And I will welcome your brisk bride,<br />That you
+bring oer the dale.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But she that welcomes my brisk bride<br />Maun gang like maiden
+fair;<br />She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,<br />And braid her yellow
+hair.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But how can I gang maiden-like,<br />When maiden I am nane?<br />Have
+I not born seven sons to thee,<br />And am with child again?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s taen her young son in her arms,<br />Another in her hand,<br />And
+she&rsquo;s up to the highest tower,<br />To see him come to land.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come up, come up, my eldest son,<br />And look oer yon sea-strand,<br />And
+see your father&rsquo;s new-come bride,<br />Before she come to land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come down, come down, my mother dear,<br />Come frae the castle
+wa!<br />I fear, if langer ye stand there,<br />Ye&rsquo;ll let yoursell
+down fa.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And she gaed down, and farther down,<br />Her love&rsquo;s ship for
+to see,<br />And the topmast and the mainmast<br />Shone like the silver
+free.</p>
+<p>And she&rsquo;s gane down, and farther down,<br />The bride&rsquo;s
+ship to behold,<br />And the topmast and the mainmast<br />They shone
+just like the gold.</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s taen her seven sons in her hand,<br />I wot she didna
+fail;<br />She met Lord Thomas and his bride,<br />As they came oer
+the dale.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re welcome to your house, Lord Thomas,<br />You&rsquo;re
+welcome to your land;<br />You&rsquo;re welcome with your fair ladye,<br />That
+you lead by the hand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re welcome to your ha&rsquo;s, ladye,<br />You&rsquo;re
+welcome to your bowers;<br />Your welcome to your hame, ladye,<br />For
+a&rsquo; that&rsquo;s here is yours.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie,<br />Sae dearly
+as I thank thee;<br />You&rsquo;re the likest to my sister Annie,<br />That
+ever I did see.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There came a knight out oer the sea,<br />And steald my sister
+away;<br />The shame scoup in his company,<br />And land where&rsquo;er
+he gae!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She hang ae napkin at the door,<br />Another in the ha,<br />And
+a&rsquo; to wipe the trickling tears,<br />Sae fast as they did fa.</p>
+<p>And aye she served the lang tables<br />With white bread and with
+wine,<br />And aye she drank the wan water,<br />To had her colour fine.</p>
+<p>And aye she served the lang tables,<br />With white bread and with
+brown;<br />And aye she turned her round about,<br />Sae fast the tears
+fell down.</p>
+<p>And he&rsquo;s taen down the silk napkin,<br />Hung on a silver pin,<br />And
+aye he wipes the tear trickling<br />A&rsquo;down her cheek and chin.</p>
+<p>And aye he turn&rsquo;d him round about,<br />And smiled amang his
+men;<br />Says, &ldquo;Like ye best the old ladye,<br />Or her that&rsquo;s
+new come hame?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When bells were rung, and mass was sung,<br />And a&rsquo; men bound
+to bed,<br />Lord Thomas and his new-come bride<br />To their chamber
+they were gaed.</p>
+<p>Annie made her bed a little forbye,<br />To hear what they might
+say;<br />&ldquo;And ever alas!&rdquo; Fair Annie cried,<br />&ldquo;That
+I should see this day!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gin my seven sons were seven young rats,<br />Running on the
+castle wa,<br />And I were a grey cat mysell,<br />I soon would worry
+them a&rsquo;.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gin my young sons were seven young hares,<br />Running oer
+yon lilly lee,<br />And I were a grew hound mysell,<br />Soon worried
+they a&rsquo; should be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And wae and sad Fair Annie sat,<br />And drearie was her sang,<br />And
+ever, as she sobbd and grat,<br />&ldquo;Wae to the man that did the
+wrang!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My gown is on,&rdquo; said the new-come bride,<br />&ldquo;My
+shoes are on my feet,<br />And I will to Fair Annie&rsquo;s chamber,<br />And
+see what gars her greet.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie,<br />That ye make
+sic a moan?<br />Has your wine-barrels cast the girds,<br />Or is your
+white bread gone?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O wha was&rsquo;t was your father, Annie,<br />Or wha was&rsquo;t
+was your mother?<br />And had ye ony sister, Annie,<br />Or had ye ony
+brother?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The Earl of Wemyss was my father,<br />The Countess of Wemyss
+my mother;<br />And a&rsquo; the folk about the house<br />To me were
+sister and brother.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,<br />I wot sae was
+he mine;<br />And it shall not be for lack o gowd<br />That ye your
+love sall fyne.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For I have seven ships o mine ain,<br />A&rsquo; loaded to
+the brim,<br />And I will gie them a&rsquo; to thee<br />Wi four to
+thine eldest son:<br />But thanks to a&rsquo; the powers in heaven<br />That
+I gae maiden hame!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Dowie Dens Of Yarrow</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, Part III.&nbsp; Early Edition.)</p>
+<p>Late at e&rsquo;en, drinking the wine,<br />And ere they paid the
+lawing,<br />They set a combat them between,<br />To fight it in the
+dawing.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, stay at hame, my noble lord,<br />Oh, stay at hame, my
+marrow!<br />My cruel brother will you betray<br />On the dowie houms
+of Yarrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, fare ye weel, my ladye gaye!<br />Oh, fare ye weel, my
+Sarah!<br />For I maun gae, though I ne&rsquo;er return,<br />Frae the
+dowie banks of Yarrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She kiss&rsquo;d his cheek, she kaim&rsquo;d his hair,<br />As oft
+she had done before, O;<br />She belted him with his noble brand,<br />And
+he&rsquo;s away to Yarrow.</p>
+<p>As he gaed up the Tennies bank,<br />I wot he gaed wi&rsquo; sorrow,<br />Till,
+down in a den, he spied nine arm&rsquo;d men,<br />On the dowie houms
+of Yarrow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, come ye here to part your land,<br />The bonnie Forest
+thorough?<br />Or come ye here to wield your brand,<br />On the dowie
+houms of Yarrow?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I come not here to part my land,<br />And neither to beg nor
+borrow;<br />I come to wield my noble brand,<br />On the bonnie banks
+of Yarrow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I see all, ye&rsquo;re nine to ane;<br />An that&rsquo;s
+an unequal marrow:<br />Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,<br />On
+the bonnie banks of Yarrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Four has he hurt, and five has slain,<br />On the bloody braes of
+Yarrow;<br />Till that stubborn knight came him behind,<br />And ran
+his body thorough.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gae hame, gae hame, good-brother John,<br />And tell your
+sister Sarah,<br />To come and lift her leafu&rsquo; lord;<br />He&rsquo;s
+sleepin&rsquo; sound on Yarrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yestreen I dream&rsquo;d a dolefu&rsquo; dream;<br />I fear
+there will be sorrow!<br />I dream&rsquo;d I pu&rsquo;d the heather
+green,<br />Wi&rsquo; my true love, on Yarrow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O gentle wind, that bloweth south,<br />From where my love
+repaireth,<br />Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,<br />And tell me
+how he fareth!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But in the glen strive armed men;<br />They&rsquo;ve wrought
+me dole and sorrow;<br />They&rsquo;ve slain&mdash;the comeliest knight
+they&rsquo;ve slain&mdash;<br />He bleeding lies on Yarrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As she sped down yon high, high hill,<br />She gaed wi&rsquo; dole
+and sorrow,<br />And in the den spied ten slain men,<br />On the dowie
+banks of Yarrow.</p>
+<p>She kiss&rsquo;d his cheek, she kaim&rsquo;d his hair,<br />She search&rsquo;d
+his wounds all thorough,<br />She kiss&rsquo;d them, till her lips grew
+red,<br />On the dowie houms of Yarrow.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, haud your tongue, my daughter dear!<br />For a&rsquo;
+this breeds but sorrow;<br />I&rsquo;ll wed ye to a better lord<br />Than
+him ye lost on Yarrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, haud your tongue, my father dear!<br />Ye mind me but
+of sorrow:<br />A fairer rose did never bloom<br />Than now lies cropp&rsquo;d
+on Yarrow.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Sir Roland</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. i.&nbsp; Early Edition.)</p>
+<p>Whan he cam to his ain luve&rsquo;s bouir<br />He tirled at the pin,<br />And
+sae ready was his fair fause luve<br />To rise and let him in.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O welcome, welcome, Sir Roland,&rdquo; she says,<br />&ldquo;Thrice
+welcome thou art to me;<br />For this night thou wilt feast in my secret
+bouir,<br />And to-morrow we&rsquo;ll wedded be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This night is hallow-eve,&rdquo; he said,<br />&ldquo;And
+to-morrow is hallow-day;<br />And I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,<br />That
+has made my heart fu&rsquo; wae.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I dreamed a drearie dream yestreen,<br />And I wish it may
+cum to gude:<br />I dreamed that ye slew my best grew hound,<br />And
+gied me his lappered blude.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>* * * * *</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Unbuckle your belt, Sir Roland,&rdquo; she said,<br />And
+set you safely down.&rdquo;<br />O your chamber is very dark, fair maid,<br />And
+the night is wondrous lown.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, dark, dark is my secret bouir,<br />And lown the midnight
+may be;<br />For there is none waking in a&rsquo; this tower<br />But
+thou, my true love, and me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>* * * * *</p>
+<p>She has mounted on her true love&rsquo;s steed,<br />By the ae light
+o&rsquo; the moon;<br />She has whipped him and spurred him,<br />And
+roundly she rade frae the toun.</p>
+<p>She hadna ridden a mile o&rsquo; gate,<br />Never a mile but ane,<br />When
+she was aware of a tall young man,<br />Slow riding o&rsquo;er the plain,</p>
+<p>She turned her to the right about,<br />Then to the left turn&rsquo;d
+she;<br />But aye, &rsquo;tween her and the wan moonlight,<br />That
+tall knight did she see.</p>
+<p>And he was riding burd alane,<br />On a horse as black as jet,<br />But
+tho&rsquo; she followed him fast and fell,<br />No nearer could she
+get.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O stop!&nbsp; O stop! young man,&rdquo; she said;<br />&ldquo;For
+I in dule am dight;<br />O stop, and win a fair lady&rsquo;s luve,<br />If
+you be a leal true knight.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But nothing did the tall knight say,<br />And nothing did he blin;<br />Still
+slowly ride he on before<br />And fast she rade behind.</p>
+<p>She whipped her steed, she spurred her steed,<br />Till his breast
+was all a foam;<br />But nearer unto that tall young knight,<br />By
+Our Ladye she could not come.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O if you be a gay young knight,<br />As well I trow you be,<br />Pull
+tight your bridle reins, and stay<br />Till I come up to thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But nothing did that tall knight say,<br />And no whit did he blin,<br />Until
+he reached a broad river&rsquo;s side<br />And there he drew his rein.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O is this water deep?&rdquo; he said,<br />&ldquo;As it is
+wondrous dun?<br />Or is it sic as a saikless maid,<br />And a leal
+true knight may swim?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The water it is deep,&rdquo; she said,<br />&ldquo;As it is
+wondrous dun;<br />But it is sic as a saikless maid,<br />And a leal
+true knight may swim.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The knight spurred on his tall black steed;<br />The lady spurred
+on her brown;<br />And fast they rade unto the flood,<br />And fast
+they baith swam down.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The water weets my tae,&rdquo; she said;<br />&ldquo;The water
+weets my knee,<br />And hold up my bridle reins, sir knight,<br />For
+the sake of Our Ladye.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I would help thee now,&rdquo; he said,<br />&ldquo;It were
+a deadly sin,<br />For I&rsquo;ve sworn neir to trust a fair may&rsquo;s
+word,<br />Till the water weets her chin.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, the water weets my waist,&rdquo; she said,<br />&ldquo;Sae
+does it weet my skin,<br />And my aching heart rins round about,<br />The
+burn maks sic a din.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The water is waxing deeper still,<br />Sae does it wax mair
+wide;<br />And aye the farther that we ride on,<br />Farther off is
+the other side.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O help me now, thou false, false knight,<br />Have pity on
+my youth,<br />For now the water jawes owre my head,<br />And it gurgles
+in my mouth.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The knight turned right and round about,<br />All in the middle stream;<br />And
+he stretched out his head to that lady,<br />But loudly she did scream.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O this is hallow-morn,&rdquo; he said,<br />&ldquo;And it
+is your bridal-day,<br />But sad would be that gay wedding,<br />If
+bridegroom and bride were away.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And ride on, ride on, proud Margaret!<br />Till the water
+comes o&rsquo;er your bree,<br />For the bride maun ride deep, and deeper
+yet,<br />Wha rides this ford wi&rsquo; me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Turn round, turn round, proud Margaret!<br />Turn ye round,
+and look on me,<br />Thou hast killed a true knight under trust,<br />And
+his ghost now links on with thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Rose The Red And White Lily</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, Part IV.)</p>
+<p>O Rose the Red and White Lilly,<br />Their mother dear was dead,<br />And
+their father married an ill woman,<br />Wishd them twa little guede.</p>
+<p>Yet she had twa as fu fair sons<br />As eer brake manis bread,<br />And
+the tane of them loed her White Lilly,<br />And the tither lood Rose
+the Red.</p>
+<p>O, biggit ha they a bigly bowr,<br />And strawn it oer wi san,<br />And
+there was mair mirth i the ladies&rsquo; bowr<br />Than in a&rsquo;
+their father&rsquo;s lan.</p>
+<p>But out it spake their step-mother,<br />Wha stood a little foreby:<br />&ldquo;I
+hope to live and play the prank<br />Sal gar your loud sang ly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s calld upon her eldest son:<br />&ldquo;Come here, my
+son, to me;<br />It fears me sair, my eldest son,<br />That ye maun
+sail the sea.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,<br />Your bidding I
+maun dee;<br />But be never war to Rose the Red<br />Than ye ha been
+to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O had your tongue, my eldest son,<br />For sma sal be her
+part;<br />You&rsquo;ll nae get a kiss o her comely mouth<br />Gin your
+very fair heart should break.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s calld upon her youngest son:<br />&ldquo;Come here, my
+son, to me;<br />It fears me sair, my youngest son,<br />That ye maun
+sail the sea.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,<br />Your bidding I
+maun dee;<br />But be never war to White Lilly<br />Than ye ha been
+to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O haud your tongue, my youngest son,<br />For sma sall be
+her part;<br />You&rsquo;ll neer get a kiss o her comely mouth<br />Tho
+your very fair heart should break.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When Rose the Red and White Lilly<br />Saw their twa loves were gane,<br />Then
+stopped ha they their loud, loud sang,<br />And tane up the still moarnin;<br />And
+their step-mother stood listnin by,<br />To hear the ladies&rsquo; mean.</p>
+<p>Then out it spake her, White Lily;<br />&ldquo;My sister, we&rsquo;ll
+be gane;<br />Why shou&rsquo;d we stay in Barnsdale,<br />To waste our
+youth in pain?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then cutted ha they their green cloathing,<br />A little below their
+knee;<br />And sae ha they their yallow hair,<br />A little aboon there
+bree;<br />And they&rsquo;ve doen them to haely chapel<br />Was christened
+by Our Ladye.</p>
+<p>There ha they changed their ain twa names,<br />Sae far frae ony
+town;<br />And the tane o them hight Sweet Willy,<br />And the tither
+o them Roge the Roun.</p>
+<p>Between this twa a vow was made,<br />An they sware it to fulfil;<br />That
+at three blasts o a buglehorn,<br />She&rsquo;d come her sister till.</p>
+<p>Now Sweet Willy&rsquo;s gane to the kingis court,<br />Her true-love
+for to see,<br />And Roge the Roun to good green wood,<br />Brown Robin&rsquo;s
+man to be.</p>
+<p>As it fell out upon a day,<br />They a did put the stane;<br />Full
+seven foot ayont them a<br />She gard the puttin-stane gang.</p>
+<p>She leand her back against an oak,<br />And gae a loud Ohone!<br />Then
+out it spake him Brown Robin,<br />&ldquo;But that&rsquo;s a woman&rsquo;s
+moan!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, ken ye by my red rose lip?<br />Or by my yallow hair;<br />Or
+ken ye by my milk-white breast?<br />For ye never saw it bare?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I ken no by your red rose lip,<br />Nor by your yallow hair;<br />Nor
+ken I by your milk-white breast,<br />For I never saw it bare;<br />But,
+come to your bowr whaever sae likes,<br />Will find a ladye there.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, gin ye come to my bowr within,<br />Thro fraud, deceit,
+or guile,<br />Wi this same bran that&rsquo;s in my han<br />I swear
+I will thee kill.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But I will come thy bowr within,<br />An spear nae leave,&rdquo;
+quoth he;<br />&ldquo;An this same bran that&rsquo;s i my ban,<br />I
+sall ware back on the.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>About the tenth hour of the night,<br />The ladie&rsquo;s bowr door
+was broken,<br />An eer the first hour of the day<br />The bonny knave
+bairn was gotten.</p>
+<p>When days were gane and months were run,<br />The ladye took travailing,<br />And
+sair she cry&rsquo;d for a bow&rsquo;r-woman,<br />For to wait her upon.</p>
+<p>Then out it spake him, Brown Robin:<br />&ldquo;Now what needs a&rsquo;
+this din?<br />For what coud any woman do<br />But I coud do the same?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Twas never my mither&rsquo;s fashion,&rdquo; she says,<br />&ldquo;Nor
+sall it ever be mine,<br />That belted knights shoud eer remain<br />Where
+ladies dreed their pine.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But ye take up that bugle-horn,<br />An blaw a blast for me;<br />I
+ha a brother i the kingis court<br />Will come me quickly ti.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O gin ye ha a brither on earth<br />That ye love better nor
+me,<br />Ye blaw the horn yoursel,&rdquo; he says,<br />&ldquo;For ae
+blast I winna gie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s set the horn till her mouth,<br />And she&rsquo;s blawn
+three blasts sae shrill;<br />Sweet Willy heard i the kingis court,<br />And
+came her quickly till.</p>
+<p>Then up it started Brown Robin,<br />An an angry man was he:<br />&ldquo;There
+comes nae man this bowr within<br />But first must fight wi me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O they hae fought that bowr within<br />Till the sun was gaing down,<br />Till
+drops o blude frae Rose the Red<br />Cam trailing to the groun.</p>
+<p>She leand her back against the wa,<br />Says, &ldquo;Robin, let a&rsquo;
+be;<br />For it is a lady born and bred<br />That&rsquo;s foughten sae
+well wi thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O seven foot he lap a back;<br />Says, &ldquo;Alas, and wae is me!<br />I
+never wisht in a&rsquo; my life,<br />A woman&rsquo;s blude to see;<br />An
+ae for the sake of ae fair maid<br />Whose name was White Lilly.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then out it spake her White Lilly,<br />An a hearty laugh laugh she:<br />&ldquo;She&rsquo;s
+lived wi you this year an mair,<br />Tho ye kenntna it was she.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Now word has gane thro a&rsquo; the lan,<br />Before a month was
+done,<br />That Brown Robin&rsquo;s man, in good green wood,<br />Had
+born a bonny young son.</p>
+<p>The word has gane to the kingis court,<br />An to the king himsel;<br />&ldquo;Now,
+by my fay,&rdquo; the king could say,<br />&ldquo;The like was never
+heard tell!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then out it spake him Bold Arthur,<br />An a hearty laugh laugh he:<br />&ldquo;I
+trow some may has playd the loun,<br />And fled her ain country.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Bring me my steed,&rdquo; then cry&rsquo;d the king,<br />&ldquo;My
+bow and arrows keen;<br />I&rsquo;ll ride mysel to good green wood,<br />An
+see what&rsquo;s to be seen.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;An&rsquo;t please your grace,&rdquo; said Bold Arthur,<br />&ldquo;My
+liege, I&rsquo;ll gang you wi,<br />An try to fin a little foot-page,<br />That&rsquo;s
+strayd awa frae me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>O they&rsquo;ve hunted i the good green wood<br />The buck but an
+the rae,<br />An they drew near Brown Robin&rsquo;s bowr,<br />About
+the close of day.</p>
+<p>Then out it spake the king in hast,<br />Says, &ldquo;Arthur look
+an see<br />Gin that be no your little foot-page<br />That leans against
+yon tree.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Arthur took his bugle-horn,<br />An blew a blast sae shrill;<br />Sweet
+Willy started at the sound,<br />An ran him quickly till.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O wanted ye your meat, Willy?<br />Or wanted ye your fee?<br />Or
+gat ye ever an angry word,<br />That ye ran awa frae me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wanted nought, my master dear;<br />To me ye ay was good;<br />I
+came but to see my ae brother,<br />That wons in this green wood.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then out it spake the king again,<br />Says, &ldquo;Bonny boy, tell
+to me,<br />Wha lives into yon bigly bowr,<br />Stands by yon green
+oak tree?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, pardon me,&rdquo; says Sweet Willie,<br />&ldquo;My liege,
+I dare no tell;<br />An I pray you go no near that bowr,<br />For fear
+they do you fell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, haud your tongue, my bonny boy,<br />For I winna be said
+nay;<br />But I will gang that bowr within,<br />Betide me weal or wae.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They&rsquo;ve lighted off their milk-white steeds,<br />An saftly
+enterd in,<br />And there they saw her White Lilly,<br />Nursing her
+bonny young son.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, by the rood,&rdquo; the king coud say,<br />&ldquo;This
+is a comely sight;<br />I trow, instead of a forrester&rsquo;s man,<br />This
+is a lady bright!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then out it spake her, Rose the Red,<br />An fell low down on her
+knee:<br />&ldquo;Oh, pardon us, my gracious liege,<br />An our story
+I&rsquo;ll tell thee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Our father was a wealthy lord,<br />That wond in Barnsdale;<br />But
+we had a wicked step-mother,<br />That wrought us meickle bale.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet she had twa as fu fair sons<br />As ever the sun did see,<br />An
+the tane of them lood my sister dear,<br />An the tother said he lood
+me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then out it spake him Bold Arthur,<br />As by the king he stood:<br />&ldquo;Now,
+by the faith o my body,<br />This shoud be Rose the Red!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then in it came him Brown Robin,<br />Frae hunting O the deer;<br />But
+whan he saw the king was there,<br />He started back for fear.</p>
+<p>The king has taen him by the hand,<br />An bide him naithing dread;<br />Says,
+&ldquo;Ye maun leave the good greenwood,<br />Come to the court wi speed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then up he took White Lilly&rsquo;s son,<br />An set him on his knee;<br />Says&mdash;&ldquo;Gin
+ye live to wield a bran,<br />My bowman ye sall bee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The king he sent for robes of green,<br />An girdles o shinning gold;<br />He
+gart the ladies be arrayd<br />Most comely to behold.</p>
+<p>They&rsquo;ve done them unto Mary kirk,<br />An there gat fair wedding,<br />An
+fan the news spread oer the lan,<br />For joy the bells did ring.</p>
+<p>Then out it spake her Rose the Red,<br />An a hearty laugh laugh
+she:<br />&ldquo;I wonder what would our step-dame say,<br />Gin she
+his sight did see!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Battle Of Harlaw&mdash;Evergreen Version</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. vii.&nbsp; Early Edition, Appendix.)</p>
+<p>Frae Dunidier as I cam throuch,<br />Doun by the hill of Banochie,<br />Allangst
+the lands of Garioch.<br />Grit pitie was to heir and se<br />The noys
+and dulesum hermonie,<br />That evir that dreiry day did daw!<br />Cryand
+the corynoch on hie,<br />Alas! alas! for the Harlaw.</p>
+<p>I marvlit what the matter meant;<br />All folks were in a fiery fariy:<br />I
+wist nocht wha was fae or freind,<br />Yet quietly I did me carrie.<br />But
+sen the days of auld King Hairy,<br />Sic slauchter was not hard nor
+sene,<br />And thair I had nae tyme to tairy,<br />For bissiness in
+Aberdene.</p>
+<p>Thus as I walkit on the way,<br />To Inverury as I went,<br />I met
+a man, and bad him stay,<br />Requeisting him to mak me quaint<br />Of
+the beginning and the event<br />That happenit thair at the Harlaw;<br />Then
+he entreited me to tak tent,<br />And he the truth sould to me schaw.</p>
+<p>Grit Donald of the Ysles did claim<br />Unto the lands of Ross sum
+richt,<br />And to the governour he came,<br />Them for to haif, gif
+that he micht,<br />Wha saw his interest was but slicht,<br />And thairfore
+answerit with disdain.<br />He hastit hame baith day and nicht,<br />And
+sent nae bodward back again.</p>
+<p>But Donald richt impatient<br />Of that answer Duke Robert gaif,<br />He
+vow&rsquo;d to God Omniyotent,<br />All the hale lands of Ross to half,<br />Or
+ells be graithed in his graif:<br />He wald not quat his richt for nocht,<br />Nor
+be abusit like a slaif;<br />That bargin sould be deirly bocht.</p>
+<p>Then haistylie he did command<br />That all his weir-men should convene;<br />Ilk
+an well harnisit frae hand,<br />To melt and heir what he did mein.<br />He
+waxit wrath and vowit tein;<br />Sweirand he wald surpryse the North,<br />Subdew
+the brugh of Aberdene,<br />Mearns, Angus, and all Fyfe to Forth.</p>
+<p>Thus with the weir-men of the yles,<br />Wha war ay at his bidding
+bown,<br />With money maid, with forss and wyls,<br />Richt far and
+neir, baith up and doun,<br />Throw mount and muir, frae town to town,<br />Allangst
+the lands of Ross he roars,<br />And all obey&rsquo;d at his bandown,<br />Evin
+frae the North to Suthren shoars.</p>
+<p>Then all the countrie men did yield;<br />For nae resistans durst
+they mak,<br />Nor offer batill in the feild,<br />Be forss of arms
+to beir him bak.<br />Syne they resolvit all and spak,<br />That best
+it was for thair behoif,<br />They sould him for thair chiftain tak,<br />Believing
+weil he did them luve.</p>
+<p>Then he a proclamation maid,<br />All men to meet at Inverness,<br />Throw
+Murray land to mak a raid,<br />Frae Arthursyre unto Spey-ness.<br />And
+further mair, he sent express,<br />To schaw his collours and ensenzie,<br />To
+all and sindry, mair and less,<br />Throchout the bounds of Byne and
+Enzie.</p>
+<p>And then throw fair Strathbogie land<br />His purpose was for to
+pursew,<br />And whatsoevir durst gainstand,<br />That race they should
+full sairly rew.<br />Then he bad all his men be trew,<br />And him
+defend by forss and slicht,<br />And promist them rewardis anew,<br />And
+mak them men of mekle micht.</p>
+<p>Without resistans, as he said,<br />Throw all these parts he stoutly
+past,<br />Where sum war wae, and sum war glaid,<br />But Garioch was
+all agast.<br />Throw all these feilds be sped him fast,<br />For sic
+a sicht was never sene;<br />And then, forsuith, he langd at last<br />To
+se the bruch of Aberdene.</p>
+<p>To hinder this prowd enterprise,<br />The stout and michty Erl of
+Marr<br />With all his men in arms did ryse,<br />Even frae Curgarf
+to Craigyvar:<br />And down the syde of Don richt far,<br />Angus and
+Mearns did all convene<br />To fecht, or Donald came sae nar<br />The
+ryall bruch of Aberdene.</p>
+<p>And thus the martial Erle of Marr<br />Marcht with his men in richt
+array;<br />Befoir his enemis was aware,<br />His banner bauldly did
+display.<br />For weil enewch they kent the way,<br />And all their
+semblance well they saw:<br />Without all dangir or delay,<br />Come
+haistily to the Harlaw.</p>
+<p>With him the braif Lord Ogilvy,<br />Of Angus sheriff principall,<br />The
+constable of gude Dund&egrave;,<br />The vanguard led before them all.<br />Suppose
+in number they war small,<br />Thay first richt bauldlie did pursew,<br />And
+maid thair faes befor them fall,<br />Wha then that race did sairly
+rew.</p>
+<p>And then the worthy Lord Salton,<br />The strong undoubted Laird
+of Drum,<br />The stalwart Laird of Lawristone,<br />With ilk thair
+forces all and sum.<br />Panmuir with all his men, did cum,<br />The
+provost of braif Aberdene,<br />With trumpets and with tuick of drum,<br />Came
+schortly in thair armour schene.</p>
+<p>These with the Earle of Marr came on,<br />In the reir-ward richt
+orderlie,<br />Thair enemies to sett upon;<br />In awfull manner hardilie,<br />Togither
+vowit to live and die,<br />Since they had marchit mony mylis,<br />For
+to suppress the tyrannie<br />Of douted Donald of the Ysles.</p>
+<p>But he, in number ten to ane,<br />Right subtil&egrave; alang did
+ryde,<br />With Malcomtosch, and fell Maclean,<br />With all thair power
+at thair syde;<br />Presumeand on their strenth and pryde,<br />Without
+all feir or ony aw,<br />Richt bauldie battil did abyde,<br />Hard by
+the town of fair Harlaw.</p>
+<p>The armies met, the trumpet sounds,<br />The dandring drums alloud
+did touk,<br />Baith armies byding on the bounds,<br />Till ane of them
+the feild sould bruik.<br />Nae help was thairfor, nane wald jouk,<br />Ferss
+was the fecht on ilka syde,<br />And on the ground lay mony a bouk<br />Of
+them that thair did battil byd.</p>
+<p>With doutsum victorie they dealt,<br />The bludy battil lastit lang;<br />Each
+man fits nibours forss thair felt,<br />The weakest aft-tymes gat the
+wrang:<br />Thair was nae mowis thair them amang,<br />Naithing was
+hard but heavy knocks,<br />That eccho mad a dulefull sang,<br />Thairto
+resounding frae the rocks.</p>
+<p>But Donalds men at last gaif back,<br />For they war all out of array:<br />The
+Earl of Marris men throw them brak,<br />Pursewing shairply in thair
+way,<br />Thair enemys to tak or slay,<br />Be dynt of forss to gar
+them yield;<br />Wha war richt blyth to win away,<br />And sae for feirdness
+tint the feild.</p>
+<p>Then Donald fled, and that full fast,<br />To mountains hich for
+all his micht;<br />For he and his war all agast,<br />And ran till
+they war out of sicht;<br />And sae of Ross he lost his richt,<br />Thocht
+mony men with hem he brocht;<br />Towards the yles fled day and nicht,<br />And
+all he wan was deirlie bocht.</p>
+<p>This is (quod he) the richt report<br />Of all that I did heir and
+knaw;<br />Thocht my discourse be sumthing schort,<br />Tak this to
+be a richt suthe saw:<br />Contrairie God and the kings law,<br />Thair
+was spilt mekle Christian blude,<br />Into the battil of Harlaw:<br />This
+is the sum, sae I conclude.</p>
+<p>But yet a bonnie while abide,<br />And I sall mak thee cleirly ken<br />What
+slaughter was on ilkay syde,<br />Of Lowland and of Highland men,<br />Wha
+for thair awin haif evir bene;<br />These lazie lowns micht weil be
+spared,<br />Chased like deers into their dens,<br />And gat their wages
+for reward.</p>
+<p>Malcomtosh, of the clan heid-cheif,<br />Macklean with his grit hauchty
+heid,<br />With all thair succour and relief,<br />War dulefully dung
+to the deid;<br />And now we are freid of thair feid,<br />They will
+not lang to cum again;<br />Thousands with them, without remeid,<br />On
+Donald&rsquo;s syd, that day war slain.</p>
+<p>And on the uther syde war lost,<br />Into the feild that dismal day,<br />Chief
+men of worth, of mekle cost,<br />To be lamentit sair for ay.<br />The
+Lord Saltoun of Rothemay,<br />A man of micht and mekle main;<br />Grit
+dolour was for his decay,<br />That sae unhappylie was slain.</p>
+<p>Of the best men amang them was<br />The gracious gude Lord Ogilvy,<br />The
+sheriff-principal of Angus,<br />Renownit for truth and equitie,<br />For
+faith and magnanimitie;<br />He had few fallows in the field,<br />Yet
+fell by fatall destinie,<br />For he naeways wad grant to yield.</p>
+<p>Sir James Scrimgeor of Duddap, knicht,<br />Grit constabill of fair
+Dund&egrave;,<br />Unto the dulefull deith was dicht;<br />The kingis
+cheif bannerman was he,<br />A valiant man of chevalrie,<br />Whose
+predecessors wan that place<br />At Spey, with gude King William frie<br />&rsquo;Gainst
+Murray, and Macduncan&rsquo;s race.</p>
+<p>Gude Sir Allexander Irving,<br />The much renowit laird of Drum,<br />Nane
+in his days was bettir sene<br />When they war semblit all and sum.<br />To
+praise him we sould not be dumm,<br />For valour, witt, and worthyness;<br />To
+end his days he ther did cum<br />Whose ransom is remeidyless.</p>
+<p>And thair the knicht of Lawriston<br />Was slain into his armour
+schene,<br />And gude Sir Robert Davidson,<br />Wha provost was of Aberdene:<br />The
+knicht of Panmure, as was sene,<br />A mortall man in armour bricht,<br />Sir
+Thomas Murray, stout and kene,<br />Left to the warld thair last gude
+nicht.</p>
+<p>Thair was not sen King Keneths days<br />Sic strange intestine crewel
+stryf<br />In Scotland sene, as ilk man says,<br />Whare mony liklie
+lost thair lyfe;<br />Whilk maid divorce twene man and wyfe,<br />And
+mony childrene fatherless,<br />Whilk in this realme has bene full ryfe:<br />Lord
+help these lands, our wrangs redress.</p>
+<p>In July, on Saint James his even,<br />That four and twenty dismall
+day,<br />Twelve hundred, ten score and eleven<br />Of theirs sen Chryst,
+the suthe to say,<br />Men will remember, as they may,<br />When thus
+the ventie they knaw,<br />And mony a ane may murn for ay,<br />The
+brim battil of the Harlaw.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Traditionary Version</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, Part VI.)</p>
+<p>As I came in by Dunidier,<br />An doun by Netherha,<br />There was
+fifty thousand Hielanmen<br />A marching to Harlaw.<br />(Chorus) Wi
+a dree dree dradie drumtie dree.</p>
+<p>As I cam on, an farther on,<br />An doun an by Balquhain,<br />Oh
+there I met Sir James the Rose,<br />Wi him Sir John the Gryme.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O cam ye frae the Hielans, man?<br />And cam ye a&rsquo; the
+wey?<br />Saw ye Macdonell an his men,<br />As they cam frae the Skee?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, me cam frae ta Hielans, man,<br />An me cam a ta wey,<br />An
+she saw Macdonell an his men,<br />As they cam frae ta Skee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, was ye near Macdonell&rsquo;s men?<br />Did ye their numbers
+see?<br />Come, tell to me, John Hielanman,<br />What micht their numbers
+be?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yes, me was near, an near eneuch,<br />An me their numbers
+saw;<br />There was fifty thousand Hielanmen<br />A marching to Harlaw.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gin that be true,&rdquo; says James the Rose,<br />&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll
+no come meikle speed;<br />We&rsquo;ll cry upo our merry men,<br />And
+lichtly mount our steed.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh no, oh no!&rdquo; quo&rsquo; John the Gryme,<br />&ldquo;That
+thing maun never be;<br />The gallant Grymes were never bate,<br />We&rsquo;ll
+try what we can dee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As I cam on, an farther on,<br />An doun an by Harlaw,<br />They
+fell fu close on ilka side;<br />Sic fun ye never saw.</p>
+<p>They fell fu close on ilka side,<br />Sic fun ye never saw;<br />For
+Hielan swords gied clash for clash,<br />At the battle o Harlaw.</p>
+<p>The Hielanmen, wi their lang swords,<br />They laid on us fu sair,<br />An
+they drave back our merry men<br />Three acres breadth an mair.</p>
+<p>Brave Forb&euml;s to his brither did say,<br />&ldquo;Noo brither,
+dinna ye see?<br />They beat us back on ilka side,<br />An we&rsquo;se
+be forced to flee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,<br />That thing maun never
+be;<br />Tak ye your good sword in your hand,<br />An come your wa&rsquo;s
+wi me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh no, oh no, my brither dear,<br />The clans they are ower
+strang,<br />An they drive back our merry men,<br />Wi swords baith
+sharp an lang.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Brave Forb&euml;s drew his men aside,<br />Said, &ldquo;Tak your
+rest a while,<br />Until I to Drumminnor send,<br />To fess my coat
+o mail.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The servan he did ride,<br />An his horse it did na fail,<br />For
+in twa hours an a quarter<br />He brocht the coat o mail.</p>
+<p>Then back to back the brithers twa<br />Gaed in amo the thrang,<br />An
+they hewed doun the Hielanmen,<br />Wi swords baith sharp an lang.</p>
+<p>Macdonell he was young an stout,<br />Had on his coat o mail,<br />And
+he has gane oot throw them a&rsquo;<br />To try his han himsell.</p>
+<p>The first ae straik that Forb&euml;s strack,<br />He garrt Macdonell
+reel;<br />An the neist ae straik that Forb&euml;s strack,<br />The
+great Macdonell fell.</p>
+<p>And siccan a lierachie,<br />I&rsquo;m sure ye never sawe<br />As
+wis amo the Hielanmen,<br />When they saw Macdonell fa.</p>
+<p>An whan they saw that he was deid,<br />They turnd and ran awa,<br />An
+they buried him in Legget&rsquo;s Den,<br />A large mile frae Harlaw.</p>
+<p>They rade, they ran, an some did gang,<br />They were o sma record;<br />But
+Forb&euml;s and his merry men,<br />They slew them a&rsquo; the road.</p>
+<p>On Monanday, at mornin,<br />The battle it began,<br />On Saturday
+at gloamin&rsquo;,<br />Ye&rsquo;d scarce kent wha had wan.</p>
+<p>An sic a weary buryin,<br />I&rsquo;m sure ye never saw,<br />As
+wis the Sunday after that,<br />On the muirs aneath Harlaw.</p>
+<p>Gin anybody speer at ye<br />For them ye took awa,<br />Ye may tell
+their wives and bairnies,<br />They&rsquo;re sleepin at Harlaw.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Dickie Macphalion</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Sharpe&rsquo;s Ballad Book, No. XIV.)</p>
+<p>I went to the mill, but the miller was gone,<br />I sat me down,
+and cried ochone!<br />To think on the days that are past and gone,<br />Of
+Dickie Macphalion that&rsquo;s slain.<br />Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,<br />To
+think on the days that are past and gone,<br />Of Dickie Macphalion
+that&rsquo;s slain.</p>
+<p>I sold my rock, I sold my reel,<br />And sae hae I my spinning wheel,<br />And
+a&rsquo; to buy a cap of steel<br />For Dickie Macphalion that&rsquo;s
+slain!<br />Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,<br />And a&rsquo; to buy a cap of
+steel<br />For Dickie Macphalion that&rsquo;s slain.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: A Lyke-Wake Dirge</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii., p. 357.)</p>
+<p>This ae nighte, this ae nighte,<br /><i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br />Fire,
+and sleet, and candle-lighte,<br /><i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p>
+<p>When thou from hence away art paste,<br /><i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br />To
+Whinny-muir thou comest at laste;<br /><i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p>
+<p>If ever thou gavest hosen and shoon,<br /><i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br />Sit
+thee down and put them on;<br /><i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p>
+<p>If hosen and shoon thou ne&rsquo;er gavest nane,<br /><i>Every nighte
+and alle</i>,<br />The whinnes sall pricke thee to the bare bane;<br /><i>And
+Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p>
+<p>From Whinny-muir when thou mayst passe,<br /><i>Every nighte and
+alle</i>,<br />To Brigg o&rsquo; Dread thou comest at laste,<br /><i>And
+Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p>
+<p>From Brigg o&rsquo; Dread when thou mayst passe,<br /><i>Every nighte
+and alle</i>,<br />To Purgatory fire thou comest at last,<br /><i>And
+Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p>
+<p>If ever thou gavest meat or drink,<br /><i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br />The
+fire sall never make thee shrinke;<br /><i>And Christe receive thye
+saule</i>.</p>
+<p>If meate or drinke thou never gavest nane,<br /><i>Every nighte and
+alle</i>,<br />The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;<br /><i>And
+Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p>
+<p>This ae nighte, this ae nighte,<br /><i>Every nighte and alle</i>,<br />Fire,
+and sleet, and candle-lighte,<br /><i>And Christe receive thye saule</i>.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Laird Of Waristoun</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. iii.&nbsp; Early Edition.)</p>
+<p>Down by yon garden green,<br />Sae merrily as she gaes;<br />She
+has twa weel-made feet,<br />And she trips upon her taes.</p>
+<p>She has twa weel-made feet;<br />Far better is her hand;<br />She&rsquo;s
+as jimp in the middle<br />As ony willow wand.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gif ye will do my bidding,<br />At my bidding for to be,<br />It&rsquo;s
+I will make you lady<br />Of a&rsquo; the lands you see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>* * * * *</p>
+<p>He spak a word in jest;<br />Her answer was na good;<br />He threw
+a plate at her face,<br />Made it a&rsquo; gush out o&rsquo; blood.</p>
+<p>She wasna frae her chamber<br />A step but barely three,<br />When
+up and at her richt hand<br />There stood Man&rsquo;s Enemy.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gif ye will do my bidding,<br />At my bidding for to be,<br />I&rsquo;ll
+learn you a wile,<br />Avenged for to be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The foul thief knotted the tether;<br />She lifted his head on hie;<br />The
+nourice drew the knot<br />That gar&rsquo;d lord Waristoun die.</p>
+<p>Then word is gane to Leith,<br />Also to Edinburgh town<br />That
+the lady had kill&rsquo;d the laird,<br />The laird o&rsquo; Waristoun.</p>
+<p>* * * * *</p>
+<p>Tak aff, tak aff my hood<br />But lat my petticoat be;<br />Pat my
+mantle o&rsquo;er my head;<br />For the fire I downa see.</p>
+<p>Now, a&rsquo; ye gentle maids,<br />Tak warning now by me,<br />And
+never marry ane<br />But wha pleases your e&rsquo;e.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For he married me for love,<br />But I married him for fee;<br />And
+sae brak out the feud<br />That gar&rsquo;d my dearie die.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: May Colven</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, Part I., p. 56.)</p>
+<p>False Sir John a wooing came<br />To a maid of beauty fair;<br />May
+Colven was this lady&rsquo;s name,<br />Her father&rsquo;s only heir.</p>
+<p>He wood her butt, he wood her ben,<br />He wood her in the ha,<br />Until
+he got this lady&rsquo;s consent<br />To mount and ride awa.</p>
+<p>He went down to her father&rsquo;s bower,<br />Where all the steeds
+did stand,<br />And he&rsquo;s taken one of the best steeds<br />That
+was in her father&rsquo;s land.</p>
+<p>He&rsquo;s got on and she&rsquo;s got on,<br />As fast as they could
+flee,<br />Until they came to a lonesome part,<br />A rock by the side
+of the sea.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Loup off the steed,&rdquo; says false Sir John,<br />&ldquo;Your
+bridal bed you see;<br />For I have drowned seven young ladies,<br />The
+eighth one you shall be.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cast off, cast off, my May Colven,<br />All and your silken
+gown,<br />For it&rsquo;s oer good and oer costly<br />To rot in the
+salt sea foam.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Cast off, cast off, my May Colven.<br />All and your embroiderd
+shoen,<br />For oer good and oer costly<br />To rot in the salt sea
+foam.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O turn you about, O false Sir John,<br />And look to the leaf
+of the tree,<br />For it never became a gentleman<br />A naked woman
+to see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He turned himself straight round about,<br />To look to the leaf
+of the tree,<br />So swift as May Colven was<br />To throw him in the
+sea.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O help, O help, my May Colven,<br />O help, or else I&rsquo;ll
+drown;<br />I&rsquo;ll take you home to your father&rsquo;s bower,<br />And
+set you down safe and sound.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No help, no help, O false Sir John,<br />No help, nor pity
+thee;<br />Tho&rsquo; seven kings&rsquo; daughters you have drownd,<br />But
+the eighth shall not be me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>So she went on her father&rsquo;s steed,<br />As swift as she could
+flee,<br />And she came home to her father&rsquo;s bower<br />Before
+it was break of day.</p>
+<p>Up then and spoke the pretty parrot:<br />&ldquo;May Colven, where
+have you been?<br />What has become of false Sir John,<br />That woo&rsquo;d
+you so late the streen?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He woo&rsquo;d you butt, he woo&rsquo;d you ben,<br />He woo&rsquo;d
+you in the ha,<br />Until he got your own consent<br />For to mount
+and gang awa.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O hold your tongue, my pretty parrot,<br />Lay not the blame
+upon me;<br />Your cup shall be of the flowered gold,<br />Your cage
+of the root of the tree.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Up then spake the king himself,<br />In the bed-chamber where he
+lay:<br />&ldquo;What ails the pretty parrot,<br />That prattles so
+long or day?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;There came a cat to my cage door,<br />It almost a worried
+me,<br />And I was calling on May Colven<br />To take the cat from me.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Johnie Faa</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vol. iv.&nbsp; Early Edition.)</p>
+<p>The gypsies came to our good lord&rsquo;s gate<br />And wow but they
+sang sweetly!<br />They sang sae sweet and sae very complete<br />That
+down came the fair lady.</p>
+<p>And she came tripping doun the stair,<br />And a&rsquo; her maids
+before her;<br />As soon as they saw her weel-far&rsquo;d face,<br />They
+coost the glamer o&rsquo;er her.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O come with me,&rdquo; says Johnie Faw,<br />&ldquo;O come
+with me, my dearie;<br />For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword,<br />That
+your lord shall nae mair come near ye.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then she gied them the beer and the wine,<br />And they gied her
+the ginger;<br />But she gied them a far better thing,<br />The goud
+ring aff her finger.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gae take frae me this yay mantle,<br />And bring to me a plaidie;<br />For
+if kith and kin, and a&rsquo; had sworn,<br />I&rsquo;ll follow the
+gypsy laddie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed,<br />Wi&rsquo; my good
+lord beside me;<br />But this night I&rsquo;ll lye in a tenant&rsquo;s
+barn,<br />Whatever shall betide me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come to your bed,&rdquo; says Johnie Faw,<br />&ldquo;Oh,
+come to your bed, my dearie:<br />For I vow and swear by the hilt of
+my sword,<br />Your lord shall nae mair come near ye.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll go to bed to my Johnie Faw,<br />I&rsquo;ll go
+to bed to my dearie;<br />For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand,<br />My
+lord shall nae mair come near me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll mak a hap to my Johnie Faw,<br />I&rsquo;ll mak
+a hap to my dearie;<br />And he&rsquo;s get a&rsquo; the coat gaes round,<br />And
+my lord shall nae mair come near me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And when our lord came hame at e&rsquo;en,<br />And spier&rsquo;d
+for his fair lady,<br />The tane she cry&rsquo;d, and the other reply&rsquo;d,<br />&ldquo;She&rsquo;s
+awa&rsquo; wi&rsquo; the gypsy laddie!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gae saddle to me the black black steed,<br />Gae saddle and
+make him ready;<br />Before that I either eat or sleep,<br />I&rsquo;ll
+gae seek my fair lady.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And we were fifteen weel-made men,<br />Altho&rsquo; we were na bonny;<br />And
+we were a&rsquo; put down but ane,<br />For a fair young wanton lady.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Hobbie Noble</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Child, vi.&nbsp; Early Edition.)</p>
+<p>Foul fa&rsquo; the breast first treason bred in!<br />That Liddesdale
+may safely say:<br />For in it there was baith meat and drink,<br />And
+corn unto our geldings gay.</p>
+<p>We were stout-hearted men and true,<br />As England it did often
+say;<br />But now we may turn our backs and fly,<br />Since brave Noble
+is seld away.</p>
+<p>Now Hobie he was an English man,<br />And born into Bewcastle dale;<br />But
+his misdeeds they were sae great,<br />They banish&rsquo;d him to Liddisdale.</p>
+<p>At Kershope foot the tryst was set,<br />Kershope of the lilye lee;<br />And
+there was traitour Sim o&rsquo; the Mains,<br />With him a private companie.</p>
+<p>Then Hobie has graith&rsquo;d his body weel,<br />I wat it was wi&rsquo;
+baith good iron and steel;<br />And he has pull&rsquo;d out his fringed
+grey,<br />And there, brave Noble, he rade him weel.</p>
+<p>Then Hobie is down the water gane,<br />E&rsquo;en as fast as he
+may drie;<br />Tho&rsquo; they shoud a&rsquo; brusten and broken their
+hearts,<br />Frae that tryst Noble he would na be.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Weel may ye be, my feiries five!<br />And aye, what is your
+wills wi&rsquo; me?&rdquo;<br />Then they cry&rsquo;d a&rsquo; wi&rsquo;
+ae consent,<br />&ldquo;Thou&rsquo;rt welcome here, brave Noble, to
+me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wilt thou with us in England ride,<br />And thy safe warrand
+we will be?<br />If we get a horse worth a hundred punds,<br />Upon
+his back that thou shalt be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I dare not with you into England ride;<br />The Land-sergeant
+has me at feid:<br />I know not what evil may betide,<br />For Peter
+of Whitfield, his brother, is dead.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And Anton Shiel he loves not me,<br />For I gat twa drifts
+o his sheep;<br />The great Earl of Whitfield loves me not,<br />For
+nae gear frae me he e&rsquo;er could keep.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But will ye stay till the day gae down,<br />Until the night
+come o&rsquo;er the grund,<br />And I&rsquo;ll be a guide worth ony
+twa,<br />That may in Liddesdale be fund?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tho&rsquo; dark the night as pitch and tar,<br />I&rsquo;ll
+guide ye o&rsquo;er yon hills fu&rsquo; hie;<br />And bring ye a&rsquo;
+in safety back,<br />If ye&rsquo;ll be true and follow me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He&rsquo;s guided them o&rsquo;er moss and muir,<br />O&rsquo;er
+hill and houp, and mony a down;<br />Til they came to the Foulbogshiel,<br />And
+there, brave Noble, he lighted down.</p>
+<p>But word is gane to the Land-sergeant,<br />In Askirton where that
+he lay&mdash;<br />&ldquo;The deer that ye hae hunted lang,<br />Is
+seen into the Waste this day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Then Hobbie Noble is that deer!<br />I wat he carries the
+style fu&rsquo; hie;<br />Aft has he beat your slough-hounds back,<br />And
+set yourselves at little lee.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gar warn the bows of Hartlie-burn;<br />See they shaft their
+arrows on the wa&rsquo;!<br />Warn Willeva and Spear Edom,<br />And
+see the morn they meet me a&rsquo;.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gar meet me on the Rodric-haugh,<br />And see it be by break
+o&rsquo; day;<br />And we will on to Conscowthart-Green,<br />For there,
+I think, we&rsquo;ll get our prey.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Hobbie Noble has dream&rsquo;d a dream,<br />In the Foulbogshiel,
+where that he lay;<br />He thought his horse was neath him shot,<br />And
+he himself got hard away.</p>
+<p>The cocks could crow, the day could dawn,<br />And I wot so even
+down fell the rain;<br />If Hobbie had no waken&rsquo;d at that time,<br />In
+the Foulbogshiel he had been tane or slain.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Get up, get up, my feiries five!<br />For I wot here makes
+a fu&rsquo; ill day;<br />Yet the warst cloak of this companie,<br />I
+hope, shall cross the Waste this day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Now Hobie thought the gates were clear;<br />But, ever alas! it was
+not sae:<br />They were beset wi&rsquo; cruel men and keen,<br />That
+away brave Hobbie could not gae.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet follow me, my feiries five,<br />And see of me ye keep
+good ray;<br />And the worst cloak o&rsquo; this companie<br />I hope
+shall cross the Waste this day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There was heaps of men now Hobbie before,<br />And other heaps was
+him behind,<br />That had he wight as Wallace was,<br />Away brave Noble
+he could not win.</p>
+<p>Then Hobie he had but a laddies sword;<br />But he did more than
+a laddies deed;<br />In the midst of Conscouthart-Green,<br />He brake
+it oer Jersawigham&rsquo;s head.</p>
+<p>Now they have tane brave Hobie Noble,<br />Wi&rsquo; his ain bowstring
+they band him sae;<br />And I wat heart was ne&rsquo;er sae sair,<br />As
+when his ain five band him on the brae.</p>
+<p>They have tane him on for West Carlisle;<br />They ask&rsquo;d him
+if he knew the why?<br />Whate&rsquo;er he thought, yet little he said;<br />He
+knew the way as well as they.</p>
+<p>They hae ta&rsquo;en him up the Ricker gate;<br />The wives they
+cast their windows wide;<br />And every wife to anither can say,<br />&ldquo;That&rsquo;s
+the man loos&rsquo;d Jock o&rsquo; the Side!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fye on ye, women! why ca&rsquo; ye me man?<br />For it&rsquo;s
+nae man that I&rsquo;m used like;<br />I am but like a forfoughen hound,<br />Has
+been fighting in a dirty syke.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then they hae tane him up thro&rsquo; Carlisle town,<br />And set
+him by the chimney fire;<br />They gave brave Noble a wheat loaf to
+eat,<br />And that was little his desire.</p>
+<p>Then they gave him a wheat loaf to eat,<br />And after that a can
+o beer;<br />Then they cried a&rsquo; with ae consent,<br />&ldquo;Eat,
+brave Noble, and make gude cheer!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Confess my lord&rsquo;s horse, Hobie,&rdquo; they said,<br />&ldquo;And
+the morn in Carlisle thou&rsquo;s no die;&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;How shall
+I confess them,&rdquo; Hobie says,<br />&ldquo;For I never saw them
+with mine eye?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Hobie has sworn a fu&rsquo; great aith,<br />By the day that
+he was gotten and born,<br />He never had ony thing o&rsquo; my lord&rsquo;s,<br />That
+either eat him grass or corn.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton!<br />For I think again
+I&rsquo;ll ne&rsquo;er thee see:<br />I wad betray nae lad alive,<br />For
+a&rsquo; the goud in Christentie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And fare thee weel, sweet Liddesdale!<br />Baith the hie land
+and the law;<br />Keep ye weel frae traitor Mains!<br />For goud and
+gear he&rsquo;ll sell ye a&rsquo;.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet wad I rather be ca&rsquo;d Hobie Noble,<br />In Carlisle
+where he suffers for his faut,<br />Before I&rsquo;d be ca&rsquo;d traitor
+Mains,<br />That eats and drinks of the meal and maut.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Twa Sisters</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Sharpe&rsquo;s Ballad Book, No. X., p. 30.)</p>
+<p>There liv&rsquo;d twa sisters in a bower,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how
+Edinbruch.<br />There liv&rsquo;d twa sisters in a bower,<br />Stirling
+for aye:<br />The youngest o&rsquo; them, O, she was a flower!<br />Bonny
+Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p>
+<p>There came a squire frae the west,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br />There
+cam a squire frae the west,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />He lo&rsquo;ed
+them baith, but the youngest best,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that
+stands upon Tay.</p>
+<p>He gied the eldest a gay gold ring,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br />He
+gied the eldest a gay gold ring,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />But he
+lo&rsquo;ed the youngest aboon a&rsquo; thing,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne
+that stands upon Tay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea?<br />Hey Edinbruch,
+how Edinbruch.<br />Oh sister, sister, will ye go to the sea?<br />Stirling
+for aye:<br />Our father&rsquo;s ships sail bonnilie,<br />Bonny Sanct
+Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The youngest sat down upon a stane,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br />The
+youngest sat down upon a stane,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />The eldest
+shot the youngest in,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh sister, sister, lend me your hand,<br />Hey Edinbruch,
+how Edinbruch.<br />Oh, sister, sister, lend me your hand,<br />Stirling
+for aye:<br />And you shall hae my gouden fan,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne
+that stands upon Tay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, sister, sister, save my life,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how
+Edinbruch.<br />Oh sister, sister, save my life,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />And
+ye shall be the squire&rsquo;s wife,<br />Bonny Sweet Johnstonne that
+stands upon Tay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>First she sank, and then she swam,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br />First
+she sank, and then she swam,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />Until she cam
+to Tweed mill dam,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p>
+<p>The millar&rsquo;s daughter was baking bread,<br />Hey Edinbruch,
+how Edinbruch.<br />The millar&rsquo;s daughter was baking bread,<br />Stirling
+for aye:<br />She went for water, as she had need,<br />Bonny Sanct
+Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh father, father, in our mill dam,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how
+Edinbruch,<br />Oh father, father, in our mill dam,<br />Stirling for
+aye:<br />There&rsquo;s either a lady, or a milk-white swan,<br />Bonny
+Sanct Johnstonne that stands upon Tay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They could nae see her fingers small,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br />They
+could nae see her fingers small,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />Wi&rsquo;
+diamond rings they were cover&rsquo;d all,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne
+that stands upon Tay.</p>
+<p>They could nae see her yellow hair,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br />They
+could nae see her yellow hair,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />Sae mony
+knots and platts war there,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne that stands
+upon Tay.</p>
+<p>Bye there cam a fiddler fair,<br />Hey Edinbruch, how Edinbruch.<br />Bye
+there cam a fiddler fair,<br />Stirling for aye:<br />And he&rsquo;s
+ta&rsquo;en three tails o&rsquo; her yellow hair,<br />Bonny Sanct Johnstonne
+that stands upon Tay.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Mary Ambree</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>(Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, vol. ii. p. 230.)</p>
+<p>When captaines couragious, whom death cold not daunte,<br />Did march
+to the siege of the citty of Gaunt,<br />They mustred their souldiers
+by two and by three,<br />And the formost in battle was Mary Ambree.</p>
+<p>When [the] brave sergeant-major was slaine in her sight,<br />Who
+was her true lover, her joy, and delight,<br />Because he was slaine
+most treacherouslie<br />Then vowd to revenge him Mary Ambree.</p>
+<p>She clothed herselfe from the top to the toe<br />In buffe of the
+bravest, most seemelye to showe;<br />A faire shirt of male then slipped
+on shee:<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p>
+<p>A helmett of proofe shee strait did provide,<br />A stronge arminge-sword
+shee girt by her side,<br />On her hand a goodly faire gauntlett put
+shee:<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p>
+<p>Then tooke shee her sworde and her targett in hand,<br />Bidding
+all such, as wold, [to] bee of her band;<br />To wayte on her person
+came thousand and three:<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary
+Ambree?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;My soldiers,&rdquo; she saith, &ldquo;soe valliant and bold,<br />Nowe
+followe your captaine, whom you doe beholde;<br />Still formost in battell
+myselfe will I bee:&rdquo;<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary
+Ambree?</p>
+<p>Then cryed out her souldiers, and loude they did say,<br />&ldquo;Soe
+well thou becomest this gallant array,<br />Thy harte and thy weapons
+so well do agree,<br />No mayden was ever like Mary Ambree.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She cheared her souldiers, that foughten for life,<br />With ancyent
+and standard, with drum and with fife,<br />With brave clanging trumpetts,
+that sounded so free;<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Before I will see the worst of you all<br />To come into danger
+of death or of thrall,<br />This hand and this life I will venture so
+free:&rdquo;<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p>
+<p>Shee ledd upp her souldiers in battaile array,<br />Gainst three
+times theyr number by breake of the daye;<br />Seven howers in skirmish
+continued shee:<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p>
+<p>She filled the skyes with the smoke of her shott,<br />And her enemyes
+bodyes with bulletts so hott;<br />For one of her own men a score killed
+shee:<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p>
+<p>And when her false gunner, to spoyle her intent,<br />Away all her
+pellets and powder had sent,<br />Straight with her keen weapon she
+slasht him in three:<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p>
+<p>Being falselye betrayed for lucre of hyre,<br />At length she was
+forced to make a retyre;<br />Then her souldiers into a strong castle
+drew shee:<br />Was not this a brave bonny lasse, Mary Ambree?</p>
+<p>Her foes they besett her on everye side,<br />As thinking close siege
+shee cold never abide;<br />To beate down the walles they all did decree:<br />But
+stoutlye deffyd them brave Mary Ambree.</p>
+<p>Then tooke shee her sword and her targett in hand,<br />And mounting
+the walls all undaunted did stand,<br />There daring their captaines
+to match any three:<br />O what a brave captaine was Mary Ambree!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now saye, English captaine, what woldest thou give<br />To
+ransome thy selfe, which else must not live?<br />Come yield thy selfe
+quicklye, or slaine thou must bee:&rdquo;<br />Then smiled sweetlye
+brave Mary Ambree.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye captaines couragious, of valour so bold,<br />Whom thinke
+you before you now you doe behold?<br />&ldquo;A knight, sir, of England,
+and captaine soe free,<br />Who shortlye with us a prisoner must bee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;No captaine of England; behold in your sight<br />Two brests
+in my bosome, and therefore no knight:<br />Noe knight, sirs, of England,
+nor captaine you see,<br />But a poor simple mayden called Mary Ambree.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But art thou a woman, as thou dost declare,<br />Whose valor
+hath proved so undaunted in warre?<br />If England doth yield such brave
+maydens as thee,<br />Full well mey they conquer, faire Mary Ambree.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Prince of Great Parma heard of her renowne,<br />Who long had
+advanced for England&rsquo;s fair crowne;<br />Hee wooed her and sued
+her his mistress to bee,<br />And offered rich presents to Mary Ambree.</p>
+<p>But this virtuous mayden despised them all:<br />&ldquo;&rsquo;Ile
+nere sell my honour for purple nor pall;<br />A maiden of England, sir,
+never will bee<br />The wench of a monarcke,&rdquo; quoth Mary Ambree.</p>
+<p>Then to her owne country shee back did returne,<br />Still holding
+the foes of rare England in scorne!<br />Therfore English captaines
+of every degree<br />Sing forth the brave valours of Mary Ambree.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Alison Gross</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>O Alison Gross, that lives in yon tow&rsquo;r,<br />The ugliest witch
+in the north countrie,<br />She trysted me ae day up till her bow&rsquo;r,<br />And
+mony fair speeches she made to me.</p>
+<p>She straik&rsquo;d my head, and she kaim&rsquo;d my hair,<br />And
+she set me down saftly on her knee;<br />Says&mdash;&ldquo;If ye will
+be my leman sae true,<br />Sae mony braw things as I will you gi&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She shaw&rsquo;d me a mantle of red scarlet,<br />With gowden flowers
+and fringes fine;<br />Says&mdash;&ldquo;If ye will be my leman sae
+true,<br />This goodly gift it shall be thine.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,<br />Hand far awa, and let me be;<br />I
+never will be your leman sae true,<br />And I wish I were out of your
+company.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She neist brocht a sark of the saftest silk,<br />Weel wrought with
+pearls about the band;<br />Says&mdash;&ldquo;If ye will be my ain true
+love,<br />This goodly gift ye shall command.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She show&rsquo;d me a cup of the good red gowd,<br />Weel set with
+jewels sae fair to see;<br />Says&mdash;&ldquo;If ye will be my leman
+sae true,<br />This goodly gift I will you gi&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Awa, awa, ye ugly witch,<br />Haud far awa, and let me be;<br />For
+I wadna ance kiss your ugly mouth,<br />For all the gifts that ye cou&rsquo;d
+gi&rsquo;e.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>She&rsquo;s turn&rsquo;d her richt and round about,<br />And thrice
+she blew on a grass-green horn;<br />And she sware by the moon and the
+stars aboon,<br />That she&rsquo;d gar me rue the day I was born.</p>
+<p>Then out has she ta&rsquo;en a silver wand,<br />And she turn&rsquo;d
+her three times round and round;<br />She mutter&rsquo;d sic words,
+that my strength it fail&rsquo;d,<br />And I fell down senseless on
+the ground.</p>
+<p>She turn&rsquo;d me into an ugly worm,<br />And gar&rsquo;d me toddle
+about the tree;<br />And aye on ilka Saturday night,<br />Auld Alison
+Gross she came to me,</p>
+<p>With silver basin, and silver kame,<br />To kame my headie upon her
+knee;<br />But rather than kiss her ugly mouth,<br />I&rsquo;d ha&rsquo;e
+toddled for ever about the tree.</p>
+<p>But as it fell out on last Hallow-e&rsquo;en,<br />When the seely
+court was ridin&rsquo; by,<br />The queen lighted down on a gowan bank,<br />Near
+by the tree where I wont to lye.</p>
+<p>She took me up in her milk-white hand,<br />And she straik&rsquo;d
+me three times o&rsquo;er her knee;<br />She chang&rsquo;d me again
+to my ain proper shape,<br />And nae mair do I toddle about the tree.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Heir Of Lynne</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>Of all the lords in faire Scotland<br />A song I will begin:<br />Amongst
+them all dwelled a lord<br />Which was the unthrifty Lord of Lynne.</p>
+<p>His father and mother were dead him froe,<br />And so was the head
+of all his kinne;<br />He did neither cease nor blinne<br />To the cards
+and dice that he did run.</p>
+<p>To drinke the wine that was so cleere!<br />With every man he would
+make merry.<br />And then bespake him John of the Scales,<br />Unto
+the heire of Lynne say&rsquo;d hee,</p>
+<p>Sayes &ldquo;how dost thou, Lord of Lynne,<br />Doest either want
+gold or fee?<br />Wilt thou not sell thy land so brode<br />To such
+a good fellow as me?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For . . I . . &ldquo; he said,<br />&ldquo;My land, take it
+unto thee;<br />I draw you to record, my lords all;&rdquo;<br />With
+that he cast him a Gods pennie.</p>
+<p>He told him the gold upon the bord,<br />It wanted never a bare penny.<br />&ldquo;That
+gold is thine, the land is mine,<br />The heire of Lynne I will bee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Heeres gold enough,&rdquo; saithe the heire of Lynne,<br />&ldquo;Both
+for me and my company.&rdquo;<br />He drunke the wine that was so cleere,<br />And
+with every man he made merry.</p>
+<p>Within three quarters of a yeare<br />His gold and fee it waxed thinne,<br />His
+merry men were from him gone,<br />And left himselfe all alone.</p>
+<p>He had never a penny left in his purse,<br />Never a penny but three,<br />And
+one was brasse and another was lead<br />And another was white mony.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now well-a-day!&rdquo; said the heire of Lynne,<br />&ldquo;Now
+well-a-day, and woe is mee!<br />For when I was the Lord of Lynne,<br />I
+neither wanted gold nor fee;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For I have sold my lands so broad,<br />And have not left
+me one penny!<br />I must go now and take some read<br />Unto Edenborrow
+and beg my bread.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He had not beene in Edenborrow<br />Nor three quarters of a yeare,<br />But
+some did give him and some said nay,<br />And some bid &ldquo;to the
+deele gang yee!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For if we should hang some land selfeer,<br />The first we
+would begin with thee.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Now well-a-day!&rdquo; said
+the heire of Lynne,<br />&ldquo;Now well-a-day, and woe is mee!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For now I have sold my lands so broad<br />That merry man
+is irke with mee;<br />But when that I was the Lord of Lynne<br />Then
+on my land I lived merrily;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And now I have sold my land so broade<br />That I have not
+left me one pennye!<br />God be with my father!&rdquo; he said,<br />&ldquo;On
+his land he lived merrily.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Still in a study there as he stood,<br />He unbethought him of a
+bill,<br />He unbethought him of a bill<br />Which his father had left
+with him.</p>
+<p>Bade him he should never on it looke<br />Till he was in extreame
+neede,<br />&ldquo;And by my faith,&rdquo; said the heire of Lynne,<br />&ldquo;Then
+now I had never more neede.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He tooke the bill and looked it on,<br />Good comfort that he found
+there;<br />It told him of a castle wall<br />Where there stood three
+chests in feare:</p>
+<p>Two were full of the beaten gold,<br />The third was full of white
+money.<br />He turned then downe his bags of bread<br />And filled them
+full of gold so red.</p>
+<p>Then he did never cease nor blinne<br />Till John of the Scales house
+he did winne.<br />When that he came John of the Scales,<br />Up at
+the speere he looked then;</p>
+<p>There sate three lords upon a rowe,<br />And John o&rsquo; the Scales
+sate at the bord&rsquo;s head,<br />And John o&rsquo; the Scales sate
+at the bord&rsquo;s head<br />Because he was the lord of Lynne.</p>
+<p>And then bespake the heire of Lynne<br />To John o&rsquo; the Scales
+wife thus sayd hee,<br />Sayd &ldquo;Dame, wilt thou not trust me one
+shott<br />That I may sit downe in this company?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now Christ&rsquo;s curse on my head,&rdquo; she said,<br />&ldquo;If
+I do trust thee one pennye,&rdquo;<br />Then bespake a good fellowe,<br />Which
+sate by John o&rsquo; the Scales his knee,</p>
+<p>Said &ldquo;have thou here, thou heire of Lynne,<br />Forty-pence
+I will lend thee,&mdash;<br />Some time a good fellow thou hast beene<br />And
+other forty if it need bee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They drunken wine that was so cleere,<br />And every man they made
+merry,<br />And then bespake him John o&rsquo; the Scales<br />Unto
+the Lord of Lynne said hee;</p>
+<p>Said &ldquo;how doest thou heire of Lynne,<br />Since I did buy thy
+lands of thee?<br />I will sell it to thee twenty better cheepe,<br />Nor
+ever did I buy it of thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I draw you to recorde, lords all:&rdquo;<br />With that he
+cast him god&rsquo;s penny;<br />Then he tooke to his bags of bread,<br />And
+they were full of the gold so red.</p>
+<p>He told him the gold then over the borde<br />It wanted never a broad
+pennye;<br />&ldquo;That gold is thine, the land is mine,<br />And the
+heire of Lynne againe I will bee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now well-a-day!&rdquo; said John o&rsquo; the Scales&rsquo;
+wife,<br />&ldquo;Well-a-day, and woe is me!<br />Yesterday I was the
+lady of Lynne,<br />And now I am but John o&rsquo; the Scales wife!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Says &ldquo;have thou here, thou good fellow,<br />Forty pence thou
+did lend me;<br />Forty pence thou did lend me,<br />And forty I will
+give thee,<br />I&rsquo;ll make thee keeper of my forrest,<br />Both
+of the wild deere and the tame.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But then bespake the heire of Lynne,<br />These were the words and
+thus spake hee,<br />&ldquo;Christ&rsquo;s curse light upon my crowne<br />If
+ere my land stand in any jeopardye!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Gordon Of Brackley</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>Down Deeside cam Inveraye<br />Whistlin&rsquo; and playing,<br />An&rsquo;
+called loud at Brackley gate<br />Ere the day dawning&mdash;<br />&ldquo;Come,
+Gordon of Brackley.<br />Proud Gordon, come down,<br />There&rsquo;s
+a sword at your threshold<br />Mair sharp than your own.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Arise now, gay Gordon,&rdquo;<br />His lady &rsquo;gan cry,<br />&ldquo;Look,
+here is bold Inveraye<br />Driving your kye.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;How
+can I go, lady,<br />An&rsquo; win them again,<br />When I have but
+ae sword,<br />And Inveraye ten?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Arise up, my maidens,<br />Wi&rsquo; roke and wi&rsquo; fan,<br />How
+blest had I been<br />Had I married a man!<br />Arise up, my maidens,<br />Tak&rsquo;
+spear and tak&rsquo; sword,<br />Go milk the ewes, Gordon,<br />An&rsquo;
+I will be lord.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The Gordon sprung up<br />Wi&rsquo; his helm on his head,<br />Laid
+his hand on his sword,<br />An&rsquo; his thigh on his steed,<br />An&rsquo;
+he stooped low, and said,<br />As he kissed his young dame,<br />&ldquo;There&rsquo;s
+a Gordon rides out<br />That will never ride hame.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There rode with fierce Inveraye<br />Thirty and three,<br />But wi&rsquo;
+Brackley were nane<br />But his brother and he;<br />Twa gallanter Gordons<br />Did
+never blade draw,<br />But against three-and-thirty<br />Wae&rsquo;s
+me! what are twa?</p>
+<p>Wi&rsquo; sword and wi&rsquo; dagger<br />They rushed on him rude;<br />The
+twa gallant Gordons<br />Lie bathed in their blude.<br />Frae the springs
+o&rsquo; the Dee<br />To the mouth o&rsquo; the Tay,<br />The Gordons
+mourn for him,<br />And curse Inveraye.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O were ye at Brackley?<br />An&rsquo; what saw ye there?<br />Was
+his young widow weeping<br />An&rsquo; tearing her hair?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I
+looked in at Brackley,<br />I looked in, and oh!<br />There was mirth,
+there was feasting,<br />But naething o&rsquo; woe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;As a rose bloomed the lady,<br />An&rsquo; blithe as a bride,<br />As
+a bridegroom bold Inveraye<br />Smiled by her side.<br />Oh! she feasted
+him there<br />As she ne&rsquo;er feasted lord,<br />While the blood
+of her husband<br />Was moist on his sword.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;In her chamber she kept him<br />Till morning grew gray,<br />Thro&rsquo;
+the dark woods of Brackley<br />She shewed him the way.<br />&lsquo;Yon
+wild hill,&rsquo; she said,<br />&lsquo;Where the sun&rsquo;s shining
+on,<br />Is the hill of Glentanner,&mdash;<br />One kiss, and begone!&rsquo;&rdquo;</p>
+<p>There&rsquo;s grief in the cottage,<br />There&rsquo;s grief in the
+ha&rsquo;,<br />For the gude, gallant Gordon<br />That&rsquo;s dead
+an&rsquo; awa&rsquo;.<br />To the bush comes the bud,<br />An&rsquo;
+the flower to the plain,<br />But the gude and the brave<br />They come
+never again.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Edward, Edward</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Why does your brand sae drop wi&rsquo; blude,<br />Edward,
+Edward?<br />Why does your brand sae drop wi&rsquo; blude<br />And why
+sae sad gang ye, O?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;O I hae killed my hawk sae gude,<br />Mither,
+mither;<br />O I hae killed my hawk sae gude,<br />And I hae nae mair
+but he, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your hawk&rsquo;s blude was never sae red,<br />Edward, Edward;<br />Your
+hawk&rsquo;s blude was never sae red,<br />My dear son, I tell thee,
+O.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;O I hae killed my red-roan steed,<br />Mither,
+mither;<br />O I hae killed my red-roan steed,<br />That was sae fair
+and free, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Your steed was auld, and ye&rsquo;ve plenty mair,<br />Edward,
+Edward;<br />Your steed was auld, and ye&rsquo;ve plenty mair;<br />Some
+ither dule ye dree, O.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;O I hae killed my father dear,<br />Mither,
+mither;<br />O I hae killed my father dear,<br />Alas, and wae is me,
+O!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And whatten penance will ye dree for that,<br />Edward, Edward?<br />Whatten
+penance will ye dree for that?<br />My dear son, now tell me, O.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+set my feet in yonder boat,<br />Mither, mither;<br />I&rsquo;ll set
+my feet in yonder boat,<br />And I&rsquo;ll fare over the sea, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And what will ye do wi&rsquo; your tow&rsquo;rs and your ha&rsquo;,<br />Edward,
+Edward?<br />And what will ye do wi&rsquo; your tow&rsquo;rs and your
+ha&rsquo;,<br />That were sae fair to see, O?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+let them stand till they doun fa&rsquo;,<br />Mither, mither;<br />I&rsquo;ll
+let them stand till they doun fa&rsquo;,<br />For here never mair maun
+I be, O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,<br />Edward,
+Edward?<br />And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,<br />When
+ye gang ower the sea, O?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;The warld&rsquo;s room:
+let them beg through life,<br />Mither, mither;<br />The warld&rsquo;s
+room: let them beg through life;<br />For them never mair will I see,
+O.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,<br />Edward,
+Edward?<br />And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,<br />My
+dear son, now tell me, O?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;The curse of hell frae
+me sall ye bear,<br />Mither, mither;<br />The curse of hell frae me
+sall ye bear:<br />Sic counsels ye gave to me, O!&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Young Benjie</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>Of all the maids of fair Scotland,<br />The fairest was Marjorie;<br />And
+young Benjie was her ae true love,<br />And a dear true love was he.</p>
+<p>And wow but they were lovers dear,<br />And lov&rsquo;d full constantlie;<br />But
+aye the mair when they fell out,<br />The sairer was their plea.</p>
+<p>And they ha&rsquo;e quarrell&rsquo;d on a day,<br />Till Marjorie&rsquo;s
+heart grew wae;<br />And she said she&rsquo;d chuse another luve,<br />And
+let young Benjie gae.</p>
+<p>And he was stout and proud-hearted,<br />And thought o&rsquo;t bitterlie;<br />And
+he&rsquo;s gane by the wan moonlight,<br />To meet his Marjorie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, open, open, my true love,<br />Oh, open and let me in!&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I
+darena open, young Benjie,<br />My three brothers are within.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye lee, ye lee, ye bonnie burd,<br />Sae loud&rsquo;s I hear
+ye lee;<br />As I came by the Louden banks,<br />They bade gude e&rsquo;en
+to me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But fare ye weel, my ae fause love,<br />That I have lov&rsquo;d
+sae lang!<br />It sets ye chuse another love,<br />And let young Benjie
+gang.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Marjorie turn&rsquo;d her round about,<br />The tear blinding
+her e&rsquo;e;<br />&ldquo;I darena, darena let thee in,<br />But I&rsquo;ll
+come down to thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then salt she smil&rsquo;d, and said to him&mdash;<br />&ldquo;Oh,
+what ill ha&rsquo;e I done?&rdquo;<br />He took her in his arms twa,<br />And
+threw her o&rsquo;er the linn.</p>
+<p>The stream was strong, the maid was stout,<br />And laith, laith
+to be dang;<br />But ere she wan the Louden banks,<br />Her fair colour
+was wan.</p>
+<p>Then up bespake her eldest brother&mdash;<br />&ldquo;Oh, see na
+ye what I see?&rdquo;<br />And out then spake her second brother&mdash;<br />&ldquo;It
+is our sister Marjorie!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Out then spake her eldest brother&mdash;<br />&ldquo;Oh, how shall
+we her ken?&rdquo;<br />And out then spake her youngest brother&mdash;<br />&ldquo;There&rsquo;s
+a honey mark on her chin.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then they&rsquo;ve ta&rsquo;en the comely corpse,<br />And laid it
+on the ground;<br />Saying&mdash;&ldquo;Wha has kill&rsquo;d our ae
+sister?<br />And how can he be found?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The night it is her low lykewake,<br />The morn her burial
+day;<br />And we maun watch at mirk midnight,<br />And hear what she
+will say.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>With doors ajar, and candles light,<br />And torches burning clear,<br />The
+streekit corpse, till still midnight,<br />They waked, but naething
+hear.</p>
+<p>About the middle of the night<br />The cocks began to craw;<br />And
+at the dead hour of the night,<br />The corpse began to thraw.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, wha has done thee wrang, sister,<br />Or dared the deadly
+sin?<br />Wha was sae stout, and fear&rsquo;d nae dout,<br />As throw
+ye o&rsquo;er the linn?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Young Benjie was the first ae man<br />I laid my love upon;<br />He
+was sae stout and proud-hearted,<br />He threw me o&rsquo;er the linn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Shall we young Benjie head, sister?<br />Shall we young Benjie
+hang?<br />Or shall we pike out his twa gray een,<br />And punish him
+ere he gang?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye maunna Benjie head, brothers,<br />Ye maunna Benjie hang;<br />But
+ye maun pike out his twa gray een.<br />And punish him ere he gang.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Tie a green gravat round his neck,<br />And lead him out and
+in,<br />And the best ae servant about your house<br />To wait young
+Benjie on.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And aye at every seven years&rsquo; end,<br />Ye&rsquo;ll
+take him to the linn;<br />For that&rsquo;s the penance he maun dree,<br />To
+scug his deadly sin.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Auld Maitland</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>There lived a king in southern land,<br />King Edward hight his name;<br />Unwordily
+he wore the crown,<br />Till fifty years were gane.</p>
+<p>He had a sister&rsquo;s son o&rsquo;s ain,<br />Was large of blood
+and bane;<br />And afterward, when he came up,<br />Young Edward hight
+his name.</p>
+<p>One day he came before the king,<br />And kneel&rsquo;d low on his
+knee:<br />&ldquo;A boon, a boon, my good uncle,<br />I crave to ask
+of thee!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;At our lang wars, in fair Scotland,<br />I fain ha&rsquo;e
+wish&rsquo;d to be,<br />If fifteen hundred waled wight men<br />You&rsquo;ll
+grant to ride with me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thou shall ha&rsquo;e thae, thou shall ha&rsquo;e mae;<br />I
+say it sickerlie;<br />And I myself, an auld gray man,<br />Array&rsquo;d
+your host shall see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>King Edward rade, King Edward ran&mdash;<br />I wish him dool and
+pyne!<br />Till he had fifteen hundred men<br />Assembled on the Tyne.</p>
+<p>And thrice as many at Berwicke<br />Were all for battle bound,<br />[Who,
+marching forth with false Dunbar,<br />A ready welcome found.]</p>
+<p>They lighted on the banks of Tweed,<br />And blew their coals sae
+het,<br />And fired the Merse and Teviotdale,<br />All in an evening
+late.</p>
+<p>As they fared up o&rsquo;er Lammermoor,<br />They burn&rsquo;d baith
+up and down,<br />Until they came to a darksome house,<br />Some call
+it Leader-Town.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wha hauds this house?&rdquo; young Edward cried,<br />&ldquo;Or
+wha gi&rsquo;est o&rsquo;er to me?&rdquo;<br />A gray-hair&rsquo;d knight
+set up his head,<br />And crackit right crousely:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of Scotland&rsquo;s king I haud my house;<br />He pays me
+meat and fee;<br />And I will keep my gude auld house,<br />While my
+house will keep me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>They laid their sowies to the wall,<br />With mony a heavy peal;<br />But
+he threw o&rsquo;er to them agen<br />Baith pitch and tar barrel.</p>
+<p>With springalds, stanes, and gads of airn,<br />Amang them fast he
+threw;<br />Till mony of the Englishmen<br />About the wall he slew.</p>
+<p>Full fifteen days that braid host lay,<br />Sieging Auld Maitland
+keen;<br />Syne they ha&rsquo;e left him, hail and feir,<br />Within
+his strength of stane.</p>
+<p>Then fifteen barks, all gaily good,<br />Met them upon a day,<br />Which
+they did lade with as much spoil<br />As they you&rsquo;d bear away.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;England&rsquo;s our ain by heritage;<br />And what can us
+withstand,<br />Now we ha&rsquo;e conquer&rsquo;d fair Scotland,<br />With
+buckler, bow, and brand?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then they are on to the land of France,<br />Where auld king Edward
+lay,<br />Burning baith castle, tower, and town,<br />That he met in
+his way.</p>
+<p>Until he came unto that town,<br />Which some call Billop-Grace:<br />There
+were Auld Maitland&rsquo;s sons, all three,<br />Learning at school,
+alas!</p>
+<p>The eldest to the youngest said,<br />&ldquo;Oh, see ye what I see?<br />If
+all be true yon standard says,<br />We&rsquo;re fatherless all three.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For Scotland&rsquo;s conquer&rsquo;d up and down;<br />Landmen
+we&rsquo;ll never be!<br />Now, will you go, my brethren two,<br />And
+try some jeopardy?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then they ha&rsquo;e saddled twa black horse,<br />Twa black horse
+and a gray;<br />And they are on to king Edward&rsquo;s host,<br />Before
+the dawn of day.</p>
+<p>When they arrived before the host,<br />They hover&rsquo;d on the
+lay:<br />&ldquo;Wilt thou lend me our king&rsquo;s standard,<br />To
+bear a little way?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where wast thou bred? where wast thou born?<br />Where, or
+in what countrie?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;In north of England I was born;&rdquo;<br />(It
+needed him to lee.)</p>
+<p>&ldquo;A knight me gat, a ladye bore,<br />I am a squire of high
+renown;<br />I well may bear&rsquo;t to any king<br />That ever yet
+wore crown.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He ne&rsquo;er came of an Englishman,<br />Had sic an e&rsquo;e
+or bree;<br />But thou art the likest Auld Maitland,<br />That ever
+I did see.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But sic a gloom on ae browhead,<br />Grant I ne&rsquo;er see
+again!<br />For mony of our men he slew,<br />And mony put to pain.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When Maitland heard his father&rsquo;s name,<br />An angry man was
+he;<br />Then, lifting up a gilt dagger,<br />Hung low down by his knee,</p>
+<p>He stabb&rsquo;d the knight the standard bore,<br />He stabb&rsquo;d
+him cruellie;<br />Then caught the standard by the neuk,<br />And fast
+away rode he.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, is&rsquo;t na time, brothers,&rdquo; he cried,<br />&ldquo;Now,
+is&rsquo;t na time to flee?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Ay, by my sooth!&rdquo;
+they baith replied,<br />&ldquo;We&rsquo;ll bear you companye.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The youngest turn&rsquo;d him in a path,<br />And drew a burnish&rsquo;d
+brand,<br />And fifteen of the foremost slew,<br />Till back the lave
+did stand.</p>
+<p>He spurr&rsquo;d the gray into the path,<br />Till baith his sides
+they bled:<br />&ldquo;Gray! thou maun carry me away,<br />Or my life
+lies in wad!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The captain lookit o&rsquo;er the wall,<br />About the break of day;<br />There
+he beheld the three Scots lads<br />Pursued along the way.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pull up portcullize! down draw-brig!<br />My nephews are at
+hand;<br />And they shall lodge with me to-night,<br />In spite of all
+England.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Whene&rsquo;er they came within the yate,<br />They thrust their
+horse them frae,<br />And took three lang spears in their hands,<br />Saying&mdash;&ldquo;Here
+shall come nae me!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>And they shot out, and they shot in,<br />Till it was fairly day;<br />When
+mony of the Englishmen<br />About the draw-brig lay.</p>
+<p>Then they ha&rsquo;e yoked the carts and wains,<br />To ca&rsquo;
+their dead away,<br />And shot auld dykes abune the lave,<br />In gutters
+where they lay.</p>
+<p>The king, at his pavilion door,<br />Was heard aloud to say:<br />&ldquo;Last
+night, three of the lads of France<br />My standard stole away.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;With a fause tale, disguised they came,<br />And with a fauser
+trayne;<br />And to regain my gaye standard,<br />These men where all
+down slayne.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It ill befits,&rdquo; the youngest said,<br />A crown&egrave;d
+king to lee;<br />But, or that I taste meat and drink,<br />Reprov&egrave;d
+shall he be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He went before king Edward straight,<br />And kneel&rsquo;d low on
+his knee:<br />&ldquo;I wou&rsquo;d ha&rsquo;e leave, my lord,&rdquo;
+he said,<br />&ldquo;To speak a word with thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The king he turn&rsquo;d him round about,<br />And wistna what to
+say:<br />Quo&rsquo; he, &ldquo;Man, thou&rsquo;s ha&rsquo;e leave to
+speak,<br />Though thou should speak all day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye said that three young lads of France<br />Your standard
+stole away,<br />With a fause tale and fauser trayne,<br />And mony
+men did slay;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But we are nane the lads of France,<br />Nor e&rsquo;er pretend
+to be:<br />We are three lads of fair Scotland,&mdash;<br />Auld Maitland&rsquo;s
+sons are we.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nor is there men in all your host<br />Daur fight us three
+to three.&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Now, by my sooth,&rdquo; young Edward said,<br />&ldquo;Weel
+fitted ye shall be!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Piercy shall with the eldest fight,<br />And Ethert Lunn with
+thee;<br />William of Lancaster the third,<br />And bring your fourth
+to me!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Remember, Piercy, aft the Scot<br />Has cower&rsquo;d beneath
+thy hand;<br />For every drap of Maitland blood,<br />I&rsquo;ll gi&rsquo;e
+a rig of land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He clanked Piercy o&rsquo;er the head<br />A deep wound and a sair,<br />Till
+the best blood of his body<br />Came running down his hair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, I&rsquo;ve slayne ane; slay ye the twa;<br />And that&rsquo;s
+gude companye;<br />And if the twa shou&rsquo;d slay ye baith,<br />Ye&rsquo;se
+get nae help frae me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Ethert Lunn, a baited bear,<br />Had many battles seen;<br />He
+set the youngest wonder sair,<br />Till the eldest he grew keen.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I am nae king, nor nae sic thing:<br />My word it shanna stand!<br />For
+Ethert shall a buffet bide,<br />Come he beneath my brand.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He clankit Ethert o&rsquo;er the head<br />A deep wound and a sair,<br />Till
+the best blood in his body<br />Came running o&rsquo;er his hair.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, I&rsquo;ve slayne twa; slay ye the ane;<br />Isna that
+gude companye?<br />And though the ane shou&rsquo;d slay ye baith.<br />Ye&rsquo;se
+get nae help of me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The twa-some they ha&rsquo;e slayne the ane,<br />They maul&rsquo;d
+him cruellie;<br />Then hung him over the draw-brig,<br />That all the
+host might see.</p>
+<p>They rade their horse, they ran their horse,<br />Then hover&rsquo;d
+on the lee:<br />&ldquo;We be three lads of fair Scotland,<br />That
+fain wou&rsquo;d fighting see.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>This boasting when young Edward heard,<br />An angry man was he:<br />&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll
+take yon lad, I&rsquo;ll bind yon lad,<br />And bring him bound to thee!</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now, God forbid,&rdquo; king Edward said,<br />&ldquo;That
+ever thou shou&rsquo;d try!<br />Three worthy leaders we ha&rsquo;e
+lost,<br />And thou the forth wou&rsquo;d lie.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If thou shou&rsquo;dst hang on yon draw-brig,<br />Blythe
+wou&rsquo;d I never be.&rdquo;<br />But, with the poll-axe in his hand,<br />Upon
+the brig sprang be.</p>
+<p>The first stroke that young Edward ga&rsquo;e,<br />He struck with
+might and main;<br />He clove the Maitland&rsquo;s helmet stout,<br />And
+bit right nigh the brain.</p>
+<p>When Maitland saw his ain blood fall,<br />An angry man was he;<br />He
+let his weapon frae him fall,<br />And at his throat did flee.</p>
+<p>And thrice about he did him swing,<br />Till on the ground he light,<br />Where
+he has halden young Edward,<br />Tho&rsquo; he was great in might.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now let him up,&rdquo; king Edward cried,<br />&ldquo;And
+let him come to me;<br />And for the deed that thou hast done,<br />Thou
+shalt ha&rsquo;e earldomes three!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s ne&rsquo;er be said in France, nor e&rsquo;er<br />In
+Scotland, when I&rsquo;m hame,<br />That Edward once lay under me,<br />And
+e&rsquo;er gat up again!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>He pierced him through and through the heart,<br />He maul&rsquo;d
+him cruellie;<br />Then hung him o&rsquo;er the draw-brig,<br />Beside
+the other three.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now take frae me that feather-bed,<br />Make me a bed of strae!<br />I
+wish I hadna lived this day,<br />To make my heart sae wae.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I were ance at London Tow&rsquo;r,<br />Where I was wont
+to be,<br />I never mair shou&rsquo;d gang frae hame,<br />Till borne
+on a bier-tree.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: The Broomfield Hill</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>There was a knight and lady bright<br />Set trysts amo the broom,<br />The
+one to come at morning eav,<br />The other at afternoon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wager a wager wi&rsquo; you,&rdquo; he said,<br />&ldquo;An
+hundred marks and ten,<br />That ye shall not go to Broomfield Hills,<br />Return
+a maiden again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ll wager a wager wi&rsquo; you,&rdquo; she said,<br />&ldquo;A
+hundred pounds and ten,<br />That I will gang to Broomfield Hills,<br />A
+maiden return again.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The lady stands in her bower door,<br />And thus she made her mane:<br />&ldquo;Oh,
+shall I gang to Broomfield Hills,<br />Or shall I stay at hame?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I do gang to Broomfield Hills<br />A maid I&rsquo;ll not
+return;<br />But if I stay from Broomfield Hills,<br />I&rsquo;ll be
+a maid mis-sworn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then out it speaks an auld witch wife,<br />Sat in the bower aboon:<br />&ldquo;O
+ye shall gang to Broomfield Hills,<br />Ye shall not stay at hame.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;But when ye gang to Broomfield Hills,<br />Walk nine times
+round and round;<br />Down below a bonny burn bank,<br />Ye&rsquo;ll
+find your love sleeping sound.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye&rsquo;ll pu the bloom frae off the broom,<br />Strew&rsquo;t
+at his head and feet,<br />And aye the thicker that ye do strew,<br />The
+sounder he will sleep.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The broach that is on your napkin,<br />Put it on his breast
+bane,<br />To let him know, when he does wake,<br />That&rsquo;s true
+love&rsquo;s come and gane.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The rings that are on your fingers,<br />Lay them down on
+a stane,<br />To let him know, when he does wake,<br />That&rsquo;s
+true love&rsquo;s come and gane.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And when he hae your work all done,<br />Ye&rsquo;ll gang
+to a bush o&rsquo; broom,<br />And then you&rsquo;ll hear what he will
+say,<br />When he sees ye are gane.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When she came to Broomfield Hills,<br />She walked it nine times
+round,<br />And down below yon burn bank,<br />She found him sleeping
+sound.</p>
+<p>She pu&rsquo;d the bloom frae off the broom,<br />Strew&rsquo;d it
+at &rsquo;s head and feet,<br />And aye the thicker that she strewd,<br />The
+sounder he did sleep.</p>
+<p>The broach that was on her napkin,<br />She put it on his breast-bane,<br />To
+let him know, when he did wake,<br />His love was come and gane.</p>
+<p>The rings that were on her fingers,<br />She laid upon a stane,<br />To
+let him know, when he did wake,<br />His love was come and gane.</p>
+<p>Now when she had her work all dune,<br />She went to a bush o&rsquo;
+broom,<br />That she might hear what he did say,<br />When he saw that
+she was gane.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O where were ye my guid grey hound,<br />That I paid for sae
+dear,<br />Ye didna waken me frae my sleep<br />When my true love was
+sae near?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I scraped wi&rsquo; my foot, master,<br />Till a&rsquo; my
+collars rang,<br />But still the mair that I did scrape,<br />Waken
+woud ye nane.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Where were ye, my bony brown steed,<br />That I paid for sae
+dear,<br />That ye woudna waken me out o&rsquo; my sleep<br />When my
+love was sae near?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I patted wi my foot, master,<br />Till a&rsquo; my bridles
+rang,<br />But the mair that I did patt,<br />Waken woud ye nane.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O where were ye, my gay goss-hawk<br />That I paid for sae
+dear,<br />That ye woudna waken me out o&rsquo; my sleep<br />When ye
+saw my love near?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I flapped wi my wings, master,<br />Till a&rsquo; my bells
+they rang,<br />But still, the mair that I did flap,<br />Waken woud
+ye nane.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O where were ye, my merry young men<br />That I pay meat and
+fee,<br />That ye woudna waken me out o&rsquo; my sleep<br />When my
+love ye did see?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye&rsquo;ll sleep mair on the night, master,<br />And wake
+mair on the day;<br />Gae sooner down to Broomfield Hills<br />When
+ye&rsquo;ve sic pranks to play.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;If I had seen any arm&egrave;d men<br />Come riding over the
+hill&mdash;<br />But I saw but a fair lady<br />Come quietly you until.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O wae mat worth yow, my young men,<br />That I pay meat and
+fee,<br />That ye woudna waken me frae sleep<br />When ye my love did
+see?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;O had I waked when she was nigh,<br />And o her got my will,<br />I
+shoudna cared upon the morn<br />The sma birds o her were fill.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>When she went out, right bitter she wept,<br />But singing came she
+hame;<br />Says, &ldquo;I hae been at Broomfield Hills,<br />And maid
+returned again.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Willie&rsquo;s Ladye</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>Willie has ta&rsquo;en him o&rsquo;er the faem,<br />He&rsquo;s wooed
+a wife, and brought her hame;<br />He&rsquo;s wooed her for her yellow
+hair,<br />But his mother wrought her meikle care;</p>
+<p>And meikle dolour gar&rsquo;d her dree,<br />For lighter she can
+never be;<br />But in her bow&rsquo;r she sits with pain,<br />And Willie
+mourns o&rsquo;er her in vain.</p>
+<p>And to his mother he has gane,<br />That vile rank witch, of vilest
+kind!<br />He says&mdash;&ldquo;My lady has a cup,<br />With gowd and
+silver set about;<br />This gudely gift shall be your ain,<br />And
+let her be lighter of her bairn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of her bairn she&rsquo;s never be lighter,<br />Nor in her
+bow&rsquo;r to shine the brighter<br />But she shall die, and turn to
+clay,<br />And you shall wed another may.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Another may I&rsquo;ll never wed,<br />Another may I&rsquo;ll
+never bring hame.&rdquo;<br />But, sighing, said that weary wight&mdash;<br />&ldquo;I
+wish my life were at an end.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet gae ye to your mother again,<br />That vile rank witch,
+of vilest kind<br />And say, your ladye has a steed,<br />The like of
+him&rsquo;s no in the land of Leed.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For he is silver shod before,<br />And he is gowden shod behind;<br />At
+every tuft of that horse mane<br />There&rsquo;s a golden chess, and
+a bell to ring.<br />This gudely gift shall be her ain,<br />And let
+me be lighter of my bairn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of her young bairn she&rsquo;s ne&rsquo;er be lighter,<br />Nor
+in her bow&rsquo;r to shine the brighter;<br />But she shall die, and
+turn to clay,<br />And ye shall wed another may.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Another may I&rsquo;ll never wed,<br />Another may I&rsquo;ll
+never bring hame.&rdquo;<br />But, sighing, said that weary wight&mdash;<br />I
+wish my life were at an end!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yet gae ye to your mother again,<br />That vile rank witch,
+of rankest kind!<br />And say, your ladye has a girdle,<br />It&rsquo;s
+all red gowd to the middle;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And aye, at ilka siller hem,<br />Hang fifty siller bells
+and ten;<br />This gudely gift shall be her ain,<br />And let me be
+lighter of my bairn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of her young bairn she&rsquo;s ne&rsquo;er be lighter,<br />Nor
+in your bow&rsquo;r to shine the brighter;<br />For she shall die, and
+turn to clay,<br />And thou shall wed another may.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Another may I&rsquo;ll never wed,<br />Another may I&rsquo;ll
+never bring hame.&rdquo;<br />But, sighing, said that weary wight&mdash;<br />&ldquo;I
+wish my days were at an end!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then out and spak the Billy Blind,<br />He spak aye in good time
+[his mind]:-<br />&ldquo;Yet gae ye to the market place,<br />And there
+do buy a loaf of wace;<br />Do shape it bairn and bairnly like,<br />And
+in it two glassen een you&rsquo;ll put.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oh, wha has loosed the nine witch-knots<br />That were amang
+that ladye&rsquo;s locks?<br />And wha&rsquo;s ta&rsquo;en out the kames
+of care,<br />That were amang that ladye&rsquo;s hair?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And wha has ta&rsquo;en down that bush of woodbine<br />That
+hung between her bow&rsquo;r and mine?<br />And wha has kill&rsquo;d
+the master kid<br />That ran beneath that ladye&rsquo;s bed?<br />And
+wha has loosed her left foot shee,<br />And let that ladye lighter be?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Syne, Willie&rsquo;s loosed the nine witch-knots<br />That were amang
+that ladye&rsquo;s locks;<br />And Willie&rsquo;s ta&rsquo;en out the
+kames of care<br />That were into that ladye&rsquo;s hair;<br />And
+he&rsquo;s ta&rsquo;en down the bush of woodbine,<br />Hung atween her
+bow&rsquo;r and the witch carline.</p>
+<p>And he has killed the master kid<br />That ran beneath that ladye&rsquo;s
+bed;<br />And he has loosed her left foot shee,<br />And latten that
+ladye lighter be;<br />And now he has gotten a bonnie son,<br />And
+meikle grace be him upon.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Robin Hood And The Monk</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>In somer when the shawes be sheyne,<br />And leves be large and longe,<br />Hit
+is full mery in feyre foreste<br />To here the foulys song.</p>
+<p>To se the dere draw to the dale,<br />And leve the hilles hee,<br />And
+shadow hem in the leves grene,<br />Vndur the grene-wode tre.</p>
+<p>Hit befell on Whitsontide,<br />Erly in a may mornyng,<br />The son
+vp fayre can shyne,<br />And the briddis mery can syng.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is a mery mornyng,&rdquo; seid Litulle Johne,<br />&ldquo;Be
+hym that dyed on tre;<br />A more mery man than I am one<br />Lyves
+not in Cristiant&eacute;.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pluk vp thi hert, my dere mayster,&rdquo;<br />Litulle Johne
+can sey,<br />&ldquo;And thynk hit is a fulle fayre tyme<br />In a mornynge
+of may.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ze on thynge greves me,&rdquo; seid Robyne,<br />&ldquo;And
+does my hert mych woo,<br />That I may not so solem day<br />To mas
+nor matyns goo.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hit is a fourtnet and more,&rdquo; seyd hee,<br />&ldquo;Syn
+I my Sauyour see;<br />To day will I to Notyngham,&rdquo; seid Robyn,<br />&ldquo;With
+the myght of mylde Mary.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then spake Moche the mylner sune,<br />Euer more wel hym betyde,<br />&ldquo;Take
+xii thi wyght zemen<br />Well weppynd be thei side.<br />Such on wolde
+thi selfe slon<br />That xii dar not abyde.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Off alle my mery men,&rdquo; seid Robyne,<br />&ldquo;Be my
+feithe I wil non haue;<br />But Litulle Johne shall beyre my bow<br />Til
+that me list to drawe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>* * * * *</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thou shalle beyre thin own,&rdquo; seid Litulle Jon,<br />&ldquo;Maister,
+and I wil beyre myne,<br />And we wille shete a peny,&rdquo; seid Litulle
+Jon,<br />&ldquo;Vnder the grene wode lyne.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I wil not shete a peny,&rdquo; seyde Robyn Hode,<br />&ldquo;In
+feith, Litulle Johne, with thee,<br />But euer for on as thou shetes,&rdquo;
+seid Robyn,<br />&ldquo;In feith I holde the thre.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus shet thei forthe, these zemen too,<br />Bothe at buske and brome,<br />Til
+Litulle Johne wan of his maister<br />V s. to hose and shone.</p>
+<p>A ferly strife fel them betwene,<br />As they went bi the way;<br />Litull
+Johne seid he had won v shyllyngs,<br />And Robyn Hode seid schortly
+nay.</p>
+<p>With that Robyn Hode lyed Litul Jone,<br />And smote him with his
+honde;<br />Litul John waxed wroth therwith,<br />And pulled out his
+bright bronde.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Were thou not my maister,&rdquo; seid Litulle Johne,<br />&ldquo;Thou
+shuldis by hit ful sore;<br />Get the a man where thou wilt, Robyn,<br />For
+thou getes me no more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Robyn goes to Notyngham,<br />Hymselfe mornynge allone,<br />And
+Litulle Johne to mery Scherewode,<br />The pathes he knowe alkone.</p>
+<p>Whan Robyn came to Notyngham,<br />Sertenly withoutene layne,<br />He
+prayed to God and myld Mary<br />To brynge hym out saue agayne.</p>
+<p>He gos into seynt Mary chirche,<br />And knelyd downe before the
+rode;<br />Alle that euer were the churche within<br />Beheld wel Robyne
+Hode.</p>
+<p>Beside hym stode a gret-hedid munke,<br />I pray to God woo he be;<br />Full
+sone he knew gode Robyn<br />As sone as he hym se.</p>
+<p>Out at the durre he ran<br />Ful sone and anon;<br />Alle the zatis
+of Notyngham<br />He made to be sparred euerychone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Rise vp,&rdquo; he seid, &ldquo;thou prowde schereff,<br />Buske
+the and make the bowne;<br />I haue spyed the kynges felone,<br />For
+sothe he is in this towne.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haue spyed the false felone,<br />As he stondes at his masse;<br />Hit
+is longe of the,&rdquo; seide the munke,<br />&ldquo;And euer he fro
+vs passe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This traytur[s] name is Robyn Hode;<br />Vnder the grene wode
+lynde,<br />He robbyt me onys of a C pound,<br />Hit shalle neuer out
+of my mynde.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Vp then rose this prowd schereff,<br />And zade towarde hym zare;<br />Many
+was the modur son<br />To the kyrk with him can fare.</p>
+<p>In at the durres thei throly thrast<br />With staves ful gode ilkone,<br />&ldquo;Alas,
+alas,&rdquo; seid Robin Hode,<br />&ldquo;Now mysse I Litulle Johne.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But Robyne toke out a too-hond sworde<br />That hangit down be his
+kne;<br />Ther as the schereff and his men stode thyckust,<br />Thidurward
+wold he.</p>
+<p>Thryes thorow at them he ran,<br />Then for sothe as I yow say,<br />And
+woundyt many a modur sone,<br />And xii he slew that day.</p>
+<p>Hys sworde vpon the schireff hed<br />Sertanly he brake in too;<br />&ldquo;The
+smyth that the made,&rdquo; seid Robyn,<br />&ldquo;I pray God wyrke
+him woo.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For now am I weppynlesse,&rdquo; seid Robyne,<br />&ldquo;Alasse,
+agayn my wylle;<br />But if I may fle these traytors fro,<br />I wot
+thei wil me kylle.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Robyns men to the churche ran<br />Throout hem euerilkon;<br />Sum
+fel in swonyng as thei were dede,<br />And lay still as any stone.</p>
+<p>* * * * *</p>
+<p>Non of theym were in her mynde<br />But only Litulle Jon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Let be your dule,&rdquo; seid Litulle Jon,<br />&ldquo;For
+his luf that dyed on tre;<br />Ze that shulde be duzty men,<br />Hit
+is gret shame to se.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Oure maister has bene hard bystode,<br />And zet scapyd away;<br />Pluk
+up your hertes and leve this mone,<br />And herkyn what I shal say.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He has seruyd our lady many a day,<br />And zet wil securly;<br />Therefore
+I trust in her specialy<br />No wycked deth shal he dye.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Therfor be glad,&rdquo; seid Litul Johne,<br />&ldquo;And
+let this mournyng be,<br />And I shall be the munkes gyde,<br />With
+the myght of mylde Mary.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And I mete hym,&rdquo; seid Litull Johne,<br />&ldquo;We will
+go but we too</p>
+<p>* * * * *</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Loke that ze kepe wel our tristil tre<br />Vnder the levys
+smale,<br />And spare non of this venyson<br />That gose in thys vale.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Forthe thei went these zemen too,<br />Litul Johne and Moche onfere,<br />And
+lokid on Moche emys hows<br />The hyeway lay fulle nere.</p>
+<p>Litul John stode at a window in the mornynge,<br />And lokid forth
+at a stage;<br />He was war wher the munke came ridynge,<br />And with
+him a litul page.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be my feith,&rdquo; said Litul Johne to Moche,<br />&ldquo;I
+can the tel tithyngus gode;<br />I se wher the munk comys rydyng,<br />I
+know hym be his wyde hode.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thei went into the way these zemen bothe<br />As curtes men and hende,<br />Thei
+spyrred tithyngus at the munke,<br />As thei hade bene his frende.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Fro whens come ze,&rdquo; seid Litul Johne,<br />&ldquo;Tel
+vs tithyngus, I yow pray,<br />Off a false owtlay [called Robyn Hode],<br />Was
+takyn zisturday.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He robbyt me and my felowes bothe<br />Of xx marke in serten;<br />If
+that false owtlay be takyn,<br />For sothe we wolde be fayne.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;So did he me,&rdquo; seid the munke,<br />&ldquo;Of a C pound
+and more;<br />I layde furst hande hym apon,<br />Ze may thonke me therefore.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I pray God thanke yow,&rdquo; seid Litulle Johne,<br />&ldquo;And
+we wil when we may;<br />We wil go with yow, with your leve,<br />And
+brynge yow on your way.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For Robyn Hode hase many a wilde felow,<br />I telle yow in
+certen;<br />If thei wist ze rode this way,<br />In feith ze shulde
+be slayn.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As thei went talkyng be the way,<br />The munke an Litulle Johne,<br />Johne
+toke the munkes horse be the hede<br />Ful sone and anone.</p>
+<p>Johne toke the munkes horse be the hed,<br />For sothe as I yow say,<br />So
+did Muche the litulle page,<br />For he shulde not stirre away.</p>
+<p>Be the golett of the hode<br />Johne pulled the munke downe;<br />Johne
+was nothynge of hym agast,<br />He lete hym falle on his crowne.</p>
+<p>Litulle Johne was sore agrevyd,<br />And drew out his swerde in hye;<br />The
+munke saw he shulde be ded,<br />Lowd mercy can he crye.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He was my maister,&rdquo; said Litulle Johne,<br />&ldquo;That
+thou hase browzt in bale;<br />Shalle thou neuer cum at our kynge<br />For
+to telle hym tale.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>John smote of the munkes hed,<br />No longer wolde he dwelle;<br />So
+did Moche the litulle page,<br />For ferd lest he wold tell.</p>
+<p>Ther thei beryed hem both<br />In nouther mosse nor lynge,<br />And
+Litulle Johne and Muche infere<br />Bare the letturs to oure kyng.</p>
+<p>* * * * *</p>
+<p>He kneled down vpon&mdash;his kne,<br />&ldquo;God zow sane, my lege
+lorde,<br />Jesus yow saue and se.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;God yow saue, my lege kyng,&rdquo;<br />To speke Johne was
+fulle bolde;<br />He gaf hym tbe letturs in his hond,<br />The kyng
+did hit unfold.</p>
+<p>The kyng red the letturs anon,<br />And seid, &ldquo;so met I the,<br />Ther
+was neuer zoman in mery Inglond<br />I longut so sore to see.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Wher is the munke that these shuld haue browzt?&rdquo;<br />Oure
+kynge gan say;<br />&ldquo;Be my trouthe,&rdquo; seid Litull Jone,<br />&ldquo;He
+dyed aftur the way.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The kyng gaf Moche and Litul Jon<br />xx pound in sertan,<br />And
+made theim zemen of the crowne,<br />And bade theim go agayn.</p>
+<p>He gaf Johne the seel in hand,<br />The scheref for to bere,<br />To
+brynge Robyn hym to,<br />And no man do hym dere.</p>
+<p>Johne toke his leve at cure kyng,<br />The sothe as I yow say;<br />The
+next way to Notyngham<br />To take he zede the way.</p>
+<p>When Johne came to Notyngham<br />The zatis were sparred ychone;<br />Johne
+callid vp the porter,<br />He answerid sone anon.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is the cause,&rdquo; seid Litul John,<br />&ldquo;Thou
+sparris the zates so fast?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Because of Robyn Hode,&rdquo;
+seid [the] porter,<br />&ldquo;In depe prison is cast.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Johne, and Moche, and Wylle Scathlok,<br />For sothe as I
+yow say,<br />Thir slew oure men vpon oure wallis,<br />And sawtene
+vs euery day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Litulle Johne spyrred aftur the schereff,<br />And sone he hym fonde;<br />He
+oppyned the kyngus priv&egrave; seelle,<br />And gaf hyn in his honde.</p>
+<p>When the schereft saw the kyngus seelle,<br />He did of his hode
+anon;<br />&ldquo;Wher is the munke that bare the letturs?&rdquo;<br />He
+said to Litulle Johne.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He is so fayn of hym,&rdquo; seid Litulle Johne,<br />&ldquo;For
+sothe as I yow sey,<br />He has made hym abot of Westmynster,<br />A
+lorde of that abbay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The scheref made John gode chere,<br />And gaf hym wine of the best;<br />At
+nyzt thei went to her bedde,<br />And euery man to his rest.</p>
+<p>When the scheref was on-slepe<br />Dronken of wine and ale,<br />Litul
+Johne and Moche for sothe<br />Toke the way vnto the jale.</p>
+<p>Litul Johne callid vp the jayler,<br />And bade him ryse anon;<br />He
+seid Robyn Hode had brokyn preson,<br />And out of hit was gon.</p>
+<p>The portere rose anon sertan,<br />As sone as he herd John calle;<br />Litul
+Johne was redy with a swerd,<br />And bare hym to the walle.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now will I be porter,&rdquo; seid Litul Johne,<br />&ldquo;And
+take the keyes in honde;&rdquo;<br />He toke the way to Robyn Hode,<br />And
+sone he hym vnbonde.</p>
+<p>He gaf hym a gode swerd in his hond,<br />His hed with for to kepe,<br />And
+ther as the walle was lowyst<br />Anon down can thei lepe.</p>
+<p>Be that the cok began to crow,<br />The day began to sprynge,<br />The
+scheref fond the jaylier ded,<br />The comyn belle made he rynge.</p>
+<p>He made a crye thoroowt al the tow[n],<br />Whedur he be zoman or
+knave,<br />That cowthe brynge hyrn Robyn Hode,<br />His warisone he
+shuld haue.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;For I dar neuer,&rdquo; said the scheref,<br />&ldquo;Cum
+before oure kynge,<br />For if I do, I wot serten,<br />For sothe he
+wil me henge.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The scheref made to seke Notyngham,<br />Bothe be strete and stye,<br />And
+Robyn was in mery Scherwode<br />As lizt as lef on lynde.</p>
+<p>Then bespake gode Litulle Johne,<br />To Robyn Hode can he say,<br />&ldquo;I
+haue done the a gode turne for an euylle,<br />Quyte me whan thou may.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I haue done the a gode turne,&rdquo; said Litulle Johne,<br />&ldquo;For
+sothe as I you saie;<br />I haue brouzt the vnder grene wode lyne;<br />Fare
+wel, and haue gode day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nay, be my trouthe,&rdquo; seid Robyn Hode,<br />&ldquo;So
+shalle hit neuer be;<br />I make the maister,&rdquo; seid Robyn Hode,<br />&ldquo;Off
+alle my men and me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nay, be my trouthe,&rdquo; seid Litulle Johne,<br />&ldquo;So
+shall hit neuer be,<br />But lat me be a felow,&rdquo; seid Litulle
+Johne,<br />&ldquo;Non odur kepe I&rsquo;ll be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus Johne gate Robyn Hode out of prisone,<br />Sertan withoutyn
+layne;<br />When his men saw hym hol and sounde,<br />For sothe they
+were ful fayne.</p>
+<p>They filled in wyne, and made him glad,<br />Vnder the levys smale,<br />And
+zete pastes of venysone,<br />That gode was with ale.</p>
+<p>Than worde came to oure kynge,<br />How Robyn Hode was gone,<br />And
+how the scheref of Notyngham<br />Durst neuer loke hyme vpone.</p>
+<p>Then bespake oure cumly kynge,<br />In an angur hye,<br />&ldquo;Litulle
+Johne hase begyled the schereff,<br />In faith so hase he me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Litulle Johne has begyled vs bothe,<br />And that fulle wel
+I se,<br />Or ellis the schereff of Notyngham<br />Hye hongut shuld
+he be.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I made hem zemen of the crowne,<br />And gaf hem fee with
+my hond,<br />I gaf hem grithe,&rdquo; seid oure kyng,<br />&ldquo;Thorowout
+alle mery Inglond.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;I gaf hem grithe,&rdquo; then seide oure kyng,<br />&ldquo;I
+say, so mot I the,<br />For sothe soche a zeman as he is on<br />In
+alle Ingland ar not thre.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He is trew to his maister,&rdquo; seide oure kynge,<br />&ldquo;I
+say, be swete seynt Johne;<br />He louys bettur Robyn Hode,<br />Then
+he dose vs ychone.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Robyne Hode is euer bond to him,<br />Bothe in strete and
+stalle;<br />Speke no more of this matter,&rdquo; seid oure kynge,<br />&ldquo;But
+John has begyled vs alle.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thus endys the talkyng of the munke<br />And Robyne Hode i-wysse;<br />God,
+that is euer a crowned kyng,<br />Bryng vs alle to his blisse.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Robin Hood And The Potter</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>In schomer, when the leves spryng,<br />The bloschems on every bowe,<br />So
+merey doyt the berdys syng<br />Yn wodys merey now.</p>
+<p>Herkens, god yemen,<br />Comley, corteysse, and god,<br />On of the
+best that yever bar bou,<br />Hes name was Roben Hode.</p>
+<p>Roben Hood was the yemans name,<br />That was boyt corteys and fre;<br />For
+the loffe of owr ladey,<br />All wemen werschep he.</p>
+<p>Bot as the god yemen stod on a day,<br />Among hes mery man&egrave;y,<br />He
+was war of a prowd potter,<br />Cam dryfyng owyr the ley.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yonder comet a prod potter,&rdquo; seyde Roben,<br />&ldquo;That
+long hayt hantyd this wey;<br />He was never so corteys a man<br />On
+peney of pawage to pay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Y met hem bot at Wentbreg,&rdquo; seyde Lytyll John,<br />&ldquo;And
+therfor yeffell mot he the,<br />Seche thre strokes he me gafe,<br />Yet
+they cleffe by my seydys.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Y ley forty shillings,&rdquo; seyde Lytyll John,<br />&ldquo;To
+pay het thes same day,<br />Ther ys nat a man arnong hus all<br />A
+wed schall make hem ley.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Her ys forty shillings,&rdquo; seyde Roben,<br />&ldquo;Mor,
+and thow dar say,<br />That y schall make that prowde potter,<br />A
+wed to me schall he ley.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Ther thes money they leyde,<br />They toke bot a yeman to kepe;<br />Roben
+befor the potter he breyde,<br />And bad hem stond stell.</p>
+<p>Handys apon hes horse he leyde,<br />And bad the potter stonde foll
+stell;<br />The potter schorteley to hem seyde,<br />&ldquo;Felow, what
+ys they well?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;All thes thre yer, and mor, potter,&rdquo; he seyde,<br />&ldquo;Thow
+hast hantyd thes wey,<br />Yet wer tow never so cortys a man<br />One
+peney of pauage to pay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What ys they name,&rdquo; seyde the potter,<br />&ldquo;For
+pauage thow ask of me?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Roben Hod ys mey name,<br />A
+wed schall thow leffe me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Well well y non leffe,&rdquo; seyde the potter,<br />&ldquo;Nor
+pavag well y non pay;<br />Away they honde fro mey horse,<br />Y well
+the tene eyls, be me fay.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The potter to hes cart he went,<br />He was not to seke;<br />A god
+to-hande staffe therowt he hent,<br />Befor Roben he lepe.</p>
+<p>Roben howt with a swerd bent,<br />A bokeler en hes honde [therto];<br />The
+potter to Roben he went,<br />And seyde, &ldquo;Felow, let mey horse
+go.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Togeder then went thes two yemen,<br />Het was a god seyt to se;<br />Therof
+low Robyn hes men,<br />Ther they stod onder a tre.</p>
+<p>Leytell John to hes felowhes seyde,<br />&ldquo;Yend potter welle
+steffeley stonde:&rdquo;<br />The potter, with an acward stroke,<br />Smot
+the bokeler owt of hes honde;</p>
+<p>And ar Roben meyt get hem agen<br />Hes bokeler at hes fette,<br />The
+potter yn the neke hem toke,<br />To the gronde sone he yede.</p>
+<p>That saw Roben hes men,<br />As they stode ender a bow;<br />&ldquo;Let
+us helpe owr master,&rdquo; seyed Lytell John,<br />&ldquo;Yonder potter
+els well hem sclo.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thes yemen went with a breyde,<br />To ther master they cam.<br />Leytell
+John to hes master seyde,<br />&ldquo;He haet the wager won?</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Schall y haff yowr forty shillings,&rdquo; seyde Lytel John,<br />&ldquo;Or
+ye, master, schall haffe myne?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Yeff they wer a hundred,&rdquo;
+seyde Roben,<br />&ldquo;Y feythe, they ben all theyne.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Het ys fol leytell cortesey,&rdquo; seyde the potter,<br />&ldquo;As
+y haffe harde weyse men saye,<br />Yeff a por yeman com drywyng ower
+the wey,<br />To let hem of hes gorney.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Be mey trowet, thow seys soyt,&rdquo; seyde Roben,<br />&ldquo;Thow
+seys god yemenrey;<br />And thow dreyffe forthe yevery day,<br />Thow
+schalt never be let for me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Y well prey the, god potter,<br />A felischepe well thow haffe?<br />Geffe
+me they clothyng, and thow schalt hafe myne;<br />Y well go to Notynggam.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Y grant therto,&rdquo; seyde the potter,<br />&ldquo;Thow
+schalt feynde me a felow gode;<br />But thow can sell mey pottes well,<br />Come
+ayen as thow yode.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Nay, be mey trowt,&rdquo; seyde Roben,<br />&ldquo;And then
+y bescro mey hede<br />Yeffe y bryng eney pottes ayen,<br />And eney
+weyffe well hem chepe.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Than spake Leytell John,<br />And all hes felowhes heynd,<br />&ldquo;Master,
+be well war of the screffe of Notynggam,<br />For he ys leytell howr
+frende.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Heyt war howte,&rdquo; seyde Roben,<br />&ldquo;Felowhes,
+let me alone;<br />Thorow the helpe of howr ladey,<br />To Notynggam
+well y gon.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Robyn went to Notynggam,<br />Thes pottes for to sell;<br />The potter
+abode with Robens men,<br />Ther he fered not eylle.</p>
+<p>Tho Roben droffe on hes wey,<br />So merey ower the londe:<br />Heres
+mor and affter ys to saye,<br />The best ys beheynde.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>[THE SECOND FIT.]</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>When Roben cam to Netynggam,<br />The soyt yef y scholde saye,<br />He
+set op hes horse anon,<br />And gaffe hem hotys and haye.</p>
+<p>Yn the medys of the towne,<br />Ther he schowed hes war;<br />&ldquo;Pottys!
+pottys!&rdquo; he gan crey foll sone,<br />&ldquo;Haffe hansell for
+the mar.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Foll effen agenest the screffeys gate<br />Schowed he hes chaffar;<br />Weyffes
+and wedowes abowt hem drow,<br />And chepyd fast of hes war.</p>
+<p>Yet, &ldquo;Pottys, gret chepe!&rdquo; creyed Robyn,<br />&ldquo;Y
+loffe yeffell thes to stonde;&rdquo;<br />And all that saw hem sell,<br />Seyde
+he had be no potter long.</p>
+<p>The pottys that wer werthe pens feyffe,<br />He sold tham for pens
+thre;<br />Preveley seyde man and weyffe,<br />&ldquo;Ywnder potter
+schall never the.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thos Roben solde foll fast,<br />Tell he had pottys bot feyffe;<br />On
+he hem toke of his car,<br />And sende hem to the screffeys weyffe.</p>
+<p>Therof sche was foll fayne,<br />&ldquo;Gramarsey, sir,&rdquo; than
+seyde sche;<br />&ldquo;When ye com to thes contre ayen,<br />Y schall
+bey of they pottys, so mot y the.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye schall haffe of the best,&rdquo; seyde Roben,<br />And
+swar be the treneyt&egrave;;<br />Foll corteysley she gan hem call,<br />&ldquo;Com
+deyne with the screfe and me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Godamarsey,&rdquo; seyde Roben,<br />&ldquo;Yowr bedyng schalle
+be doyn;&rdquo;<br />A mayden yn the pottys gan ber,<br />Roben and
+the screffe weyffe folowed anon.</p>
+<p>Whan Roben ynto the hall cam,<br />The screffe sone he met;<br />The
+potter cowed of corteysey,<br />And sone the screffe he gret.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Loketh what thes potter hayt geffe yow and me;<br />Feyffe
+pottys smalle and grete!&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;He ys fol wellcom, seyd
+the screffe,<br />&ldquo;Let os was, and go to mete.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>As they sat at her methe,<br />With a nobell cher,<br />Two of the
+screffes men gan speke<br />Off a gret wag&egrave;r,</p>
+<p>Was made the thother daye,<br />Off a schotyng was god and feyne,<br />Off
+forty shillings, the soyt to saye,<br />Who scholde thes wager wen.</p>
+<p>Styll than sat thes prowde po,<br />Thos than thowt he;<br />&ldquo;As
+y am a trow Cerstyn man,<br />Thes schotyng well y se.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Whan they had fared of the best,<br />With bred and ale and weyne,<br />To
+the bottys they made them prest,<br />With bowes and boltys full feyne.</p>
+<p>The screffes men schot foll fast,<br />As archares that weren godde;<br />Ther
+cam non ner ney the marke<br />Bey halfe a god archares bowe.</p>
+<p>Stell then stod the prowde potter,<br />Thos than seyde he;<br />&ldquo;And
+y had a bow, be the rode,<br />On schot scholde yow se.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thow schall haffe a bow,&rdquo; seyde the screffe,<br />&ldquo;The
+best that thow well cheys of thre;<br />Thou semyst a stalward and a
+stronge,<br />Asay schall thow be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The screffe commandyd a yeman that stod hem bey<br />Affter bowhes
+to wende;<br />The best bow that the yeman browthe<br />Roben set on
+a stryng.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now schall y wet and thow be god,<br />And polle het op to
+they ner;&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;So god me helpe,&rdquo; seyde the prowde
+potter,<br />&ldquo;Thys ys bot rygzt weke ger.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>To a quequer Roben went,<br />A god bolt owthe he toke;<br />So ney
+on to the marke he went,<br />He fayled not a fothe.</p>
+<p>All they schot abowthe agen,<br />The screffes men and he;<br />Off
+the marke he welde not fayle,<br />He cleffed the preke on thre.</p>
+<p>The screffes men thowt gret schame,<br />The potter the mastry wan;<br />The
+screffe lowe and made god game,<br />And seyde, &ldquo;Potter, thow
+art a man;<br />Thow art worthey to ber a bowe,<br />Yn what plas that
+thow gang.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Yn mey cart y haffe a bowe,<br />Forsoyt,&rdquo; he seyde,
+&ldquo;and that a godde;<br />Yn mey cart ys the bow<br />That I had
+of Robyn Hode.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Knowest thow Robyn Hode?&rdquo; seyde the screffe,<br />&ldquo;Potter,
+y prey the tell thou me;&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;A hundred torne y haffe
+schot with hem,<br />Under hes tortyll tree.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Y had lever nar a hundred ponde,&rdquo; seyde the screffe,<br />And
+swar be the trenit&egrave;,<br />[&ldquo;Y had lever nar a hundred ponde,&rdquo;
+he seyde,]<br />&ldquo;That the fals owtelawe stod be me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And ye well do afftyr mey red,&rdquo; seyde the potter,<br />&ldquo;And
+boldeley go with me,<br />And to morow, or we het bred,<br />Roben Hode
+wel we se.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Y well queyt the,&rdquo; kod the screffe,<br />And swer be
+god of meythe;<br />Schetyng thay left, and hom they went,<br />Her
+scoper was redey deythe.</p>
+<p>Upon the morow, when het was day,<br />He boskyd hem forthe to reyde;<br />The
+potter hes carte forthe gan ray,<br />And wolde not [be] leffe beheynde.</p>
+<p>He toke leffe of the screffys wyffe,<br />And thankyd her of all
+thyng:<br />&ldquo;Dam, for mey loffe, and ye well thys wer,<br />Y
+geffe yow her a golde ryng.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Gramarsey,&rdquo; seyde the weyffe,<br />&ldquo;Sir, god eylde
+het the;&rdquo;<br />The screffes hart was never so leythe,<br />The
+feyr forest to se.</p>
+<p>And when he cam ynto the foreyst,<br />Yonder the leffes grene,<br />Berdys
+ther sange on bowhes prest,<br />Het was gret joy to sene.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Her het ys mercy to be,&rdquo; seyde Roben,<br />&ldquo;For
+a man that had hawt to spende;<br />Be mey horne we schall awet<br />Yeff
+Roben Hode be ner hande.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Roben set hes horne to hes mowthe,<br />And blow a blast that was
+full god,<br />That herde hes men that ther stode,<br />Fer downe yn
+the wodde;<br />&ldquo;I her mey master,&rdquo; seyde Leytell John;<br />They
+ran as thay wer wode.</p>
+<p>Whan thay to thar master cam,<br />Leytell John wold not spar;<br />&ldquo;Master,
+how haffe yow far yn Notynggam?<br />How haffe yow solde yowr war?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Ye, be mey trowthe, Leytyll John,<br />Loke thow take no car;<br />Y
+haffe browt the screffe of Notynggam,<br />For all howr chaffar.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He ys foll wellcom,&rdquo; seyde Lytyll John,<br />&ldquo;Thes
+tydyng ys foll godde;&rdquo;<br />The screffe had lever nar a hundred
+ponde<br />[He had never sene Roben Hode.]</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Had I west that beforen,<br />At Notynggam when we wer,<br />Thow
+scholde not com yn feyr forest<br />Of all thes thowsande eyr.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That wot y well,&rdquo; seyde Roben,<br />&ldquo;Y thanke
+god that ye be her;<br />Therfor schall ye leffe yowr horse with hos,<br />And
+all your hother ger.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;That fend I godys forbode,&rdquo; kod the screffe,<br />&ldquo;So
+to lese mey godde;&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Hether ye cam on horse foll hey,<br />And
+hom schall ye go on fote;<br />And gret well they weyffe at home,<br />The
+woman ys foll godde.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Y schall her sende a wheyt palffrey,<br />Het hambellet as
+the weynde;<br />Ner for the loffe of yowr weyffe,<br />Off mor sorow
+scholde yow seyng.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thes parted Robyn Hode and the screffe,<br />To Notynggam he toke
+the waye;<br />Hes weyffe feyr welcomed hem hom,<br />And to hem gan
+sche saye:</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Seyr, how haffe yow fared yn grene foreyst?<br />Haffe ye
+browt Roben hom?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Dam, the deyell spede him, bothe
+bodey and bon,<br />Y haffe hade a foll grete skorne.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Of all the god that y haffe lade to grene wod,<br />He hayt
+take het fro me,<br />All bot this feyr palffrey,<br />That he hayt
+sende to the.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>With that sche toke op a lowde lawhyng,<br />And swhar be hem that
+deyed on tre,<br />&ldquo;Now haffe yow payed for all the pottys<br />That
+Roben gaffe to me.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Now ye be corn hom to Notynggam,<br />Ye schall haffe god
+ynowe;&rdquo;<br />Now speke we of Roben Hode,<br />And of the pottyr
+onder the grene bowhe.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Potter, what was they pottys worthe<br />To Notynggam that
+y ledde with me?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;They wer worth two nobellys,&rdquo;
+seyd he,<br />&ldquo;So mot y treyffe or the;<br />So cowde y had for
+tham,<br />And y had ther be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Thow schalt hafe ten ponde,&rdquo; seyde Roben,<br />&ldquo;Of
+money feyr and fre;<br />And yever whan thou comest to grene wod,<br />Wellcom,
+potter to me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Thes partyd Robyn, the screffe, and the potter,<br />Ondernethe the
+grene-wod tre;<br />God haffe mersey on Robyn Hodys solle,<br />And
+saffe all god yemanrey!</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>Ballad: Robin Hood And The Butcher</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>Come, all you brave gallants, and listen awhile,<br /><i>With hey
+down, down, an a down</i>,<br />That are in the bowers within;<br />For
+of Robin Hood, that archer good,<br />A song I intend for to sing.</p>
+<p>Upon a time it chanc&egrave;d so,<br />Bold Robin in forrest did
+&rsquo;spy<br />A jolly butcher, with a bonny fine mare,<br />With his
+flesh to the market did hye.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Good morrow, good fellow,&rdquo; said jolly Robin,<br />&ldquo;What
+food hast [thou]? tell unto me;<br />Thy trade to me tell, and where
+thou dost dwell,<br />For I like well thy company.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The butcher he answer&rsquo;d jolly Robin,<br />&ldquo;No matter
+where I dwell;<br />For a butcher I am, and to Nottingham<br />I am
+going, my flesh to sell.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What&rsquo;s [the] price of thy flesh?&rdquo; said jolly Robin,<br />&ldquo;Come,
+tell it soon unto me;<br />And the price of thy mare, be she never so
+dear,<br />For a butcher fain would I be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;The price of my flesh,&rdquo; the butcher repli&rsquo;d,<br />&ldquo;I
+soon will tell unto thee;<br />With my bonny mare, and they are not
+too dear,<br />Four mark thou must give unto me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Four mark I will give thee,&rdquo; saith jolly Robin,<br />&ldquo;Four
+mark it shall be thy fee;<br />The mony come count, and let me mount,<br />For
+a butcher I fain would be.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Now Robin he is to Nottingham gone,<br />His butchers trade to begin;<br />With
+good intent to the sheriff he went,<br />And there he took up his inn.</p>
+<p>When other butchers did open their meat,<br />Bold Robin he then
+begun;<br />But how for to sell he knew not well,<br />For a butcher
+he was but young.</p>
+<p>When other butchers no meat could sell,<br />Robin got both gold
+and fee;<br />For he sold more meat for one peny<br />Then others could
+do for three.</p>
+<p>But when he sold his meat so fast,<br />No butcher by him could thrive;<br />For
+he sold more meat for one peny<br />Than others could do for five.</p>
+<p>Which made the butchers of Nottingham<br />To study as they did stand,<br />Saying,
+&ldquo;Surely he &lsquo;is&rsquo; some prodigal,<br />That hath sold
+his fathers land.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The butchers stepped to jolly Robin,<br />Acquainted with him for
+to be;<br />&ldquo;Come, brother,&rdquo; one said, &ldquo;we be all
+of one trade,<br />Come, will you go dine with me?&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Accurst of his heart,&rdquo; said jolly Robin,<br />&ldquo;That
+a butcher doth deny;<br />I will go with you, my brethren true,<br />As
+fast as I can hie.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But when to the sheriffs house they came,<br />To dinner they hied
+apace,<br />And Robin Hood he the man must be<br />Before them all to
+say grace.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Pray God bless us all,&rdquo; said jolly Robin,<br />&ldquo;And
+our meat within this place;<br />A cup of sack so good will nourish
+our blood,<br />And so do I end my grace.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come fill us more wine,&rdquo; said jolly Robin,<br />&ldquo;Let
+us be merry while we do stay;<br />For wine and good cheer, be it never
+so dear,<br />I vow I the reck&rsquo;ning will pay.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Come, &lsquo;brothers,&rsquo; be merry,&rdquo; said jolly
+Robin,<br />&ldquo;Let us drink, and never give ore;<br />For the shot
+I will pay, ere I go my way,<br />If it cost me five pounds and more.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;This is a mad blade,&rdquo; the butchers then said;<br />Saies
+the sheriff, &ldquo;He is some prodig&agrave;l,<br />That some land
+has sold for silver and gold,<br />And now he doth mean to spend all.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Hast thou any horn beasts,&rdquo; the sheriff repli&rsquo;d,<br />&ldquo;Good
+fellow, to sell unto me?&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;Yes, that I have, good master
+sheriff,<br />I have hundreds two or three;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;And a hundred aker of good free land,<br />If you please it
+to see:<br />And Ile make you as good assurance of it,<br />As ever
+my father made me.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>The sheriff he saddled his good palfr&egrave;y,<br />And, with three
+hundred pound in gold,<br />Away he went with bold Robin Hood,<br />His
+horned beasts to behold.</p>
+<p>Away then the sheriff and Robin did ride,<br />To the forrest of
+merry Sherwood;<br />Then the sheriff did say, &ldquo;God bless us this
+day<br />From a man they call Robin Hood!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>But when a little farther they came,<br />Bold Robin he chanc&egrave;d
+to spy<br />A hundred head of good red deer,<br />Come tripping the
+sheriff full nigh.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;How like you my horn&rsquo;d beasts, good master sheriff?<br />They
+be fat and fair for to see;&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I tell thee, good fellow,
+I would I were gone,<br />For I like not thy company.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Robin set his horn to his mouth,<br />And blew but blasts three;<br />Then
+quickly anon there came Little John,<br />And all his company.</p>
+<p>&ldquo;What is your will, master?&rdquo; then said Little John,<br />&ldquo;Good
+master come tell unto me;&rdquo;<br />&ldquo;I have brought hither the
+sheriff of Nottingham<br />This day to dine with thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;He is welcome to me,&rdquo; then said Little John,<br />&ldquo;I
+hope he will honestly pay;<br />I know he has gold, if it be but well
+told,<br />Will serve us to drink a whole day.&rdquo;</p>
+<p>Then Robin took his mantle from his back,<br />And laid it upon the
+ground:<br />And out of the sheriffs portmantle<br />He told three hundred
+pound.</p>
+<p>Then Robin he brought him thorow the wood,<br />And set him on his
+dapple gray;<br />&ldquo;O have me commanded to your wife at home;&rdquo;<br />So
+Robin went laughing away.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h2>NOTES</h2>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>SIR PATRICK SPENS</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Mr. Child finds the first published version of &ldquo;the grand old
+ballad of Sir Patrick Spens,&rdquo; as Coleridge calls it, in Bishop
+Percy&rsquo;s <i>Reliques</i>.&nbsp; Here the name is &ldquo;Spence,&rdquo;
+and the middle rhyme&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Haf owre, haf owre to Aberdour,&rdquo;</p>
+<p>is not of early date.&nbsp; The &ldquo;Cork-heeled Shoon,&rdquo;
+too, cannot be early, but ballads are subject, in oral tradition, to
+such modern interpolations.&nbsp; The verse about the ladies waiting
+vainly is anticipated in a popular song of the fourteenth century, on
+a defeat of the <i>noblesse</i> in Flanders&mdash;</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Their ladies them may abide in bower and hall well long!&rdquo;</p>
+<p>If there be historical foundation for the ballad, it is probably
+a blending of the voyage of Margaret, daughter of Alexander III., to
+wed Eric, King of Norway, in 1281 (some of her escort were drowned on
+their way home), with the rather mysterious death, or disappearance,
+of Margaret&rsquo;s daughter, &ldquo;The Maid of Norway,&rdquo; on her
+voyage to marry the son of Edward I., in 1290.&nbsp; A woman, who alleged
+that she was the Maid of Norway, was later burned at the stake.&nbsp;
+The great number and variety of versions sufficiently indicate the antiquity
+of this ballad, wherein exact history is not to be expected.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>, Sir Walter Scott&rsquo;s latest
+edition of 1833: the copy in the edition of 1802 is less complete.&nbsp;
+The gentle and joyous passage of arms here recorded, took place in August
+1388.&nbsp; We have an admirable account of Otterburn fight from Froissart,
+who revels in a gallant encounter, fairly fought out hand to hand, with
+no intervention of archery or artillery, and for no wretched practical
+purpose.&nbsp; In such a combat the Scots, never renowned for success
+at long bowls, and led by a Douglas, were likely to prove victorious,
+even against long odds, and when taken by surprise.</p>
+<p>Choosing an advantage in the discordant days of Richard II., the
+Scots mustered a very large force near Jedburgh, merely to break lances
+on English ground, and take loot.&nbsp; Learning that, as they advanced
+by the Carlisle route, the English intended to invade Scotland by Berwick
+and the east coast, the Scots sent three or four hundred men-at-arms,
+with a few thousand mounted archers and pikemen, who should harry Northumberland
+to the walls of Newcastle.&nbsp; These were led by James, Earl of Douglas,
+March, and Murray.&nbsp; In a fight at Newcastle, Douglas took Harry
+Percy&rsquo;s pennon, which Hotspur vowed to recover.&nbsp; The retreat
+began, but the Scots waited at Otterburn, partly to besiege the castle,
+partly to abide Hotspur&rsquo;s challenge.&nbsp; He made his attack
+at moonlight, with overwhelming odds, but was hampered by a marsh, and
+incommoded by a flank attach of the Scots.&nbsp; Then it came to who
+would pound longest, with axe and sword.&nbsp; Douglas cut his way through
+the English, axe in hand, and was overthrown, but his men protected
+his body.&nbsp; The Sinclairs and Lindsay raised his banner, with his
+cry; March and Dunbar came up; Hotspur was taken by Montgomery, and
+the English were routed with heavy loss.&nbsp; Douglas was buried in
+Melrose Abbey; very many years later the English defiled his grave,
+but were punished at Ancram Moor.&nbsp; There is an English poem on
+the fight of &ldquo;about 1550&rdquo;; it has many analogies with our
+Scottish version, and, doubtless, ours descends from a ballad almost
+contemporary.&nbsp; The ballad was a great favourite of Scott&rsquo;s.&nbsp;
+In a severe illness, thinking of Lockhart, not yet his son-in-law, he
+quoted&mdash;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>&ldquo;My wound is deep, I fain would sleep,<br />Take thou the vanguard
+of the three.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Mr. Child thinks the command to</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>&ldquo;yield to the bracken-bush&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>unmartial.&nbsp; This does not seem a strong objection, in Froissart&rsquo;s
+time.&nbsp; It is explained in an oral fragment&mdash;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>&ldquo;For there lies aneth yon bracken-bush<br />Wha aft has conquered
+mair than thee.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Mr. Child also thinks that the &ldquo;dreamy dream&rdquo; may be
+copied from Hume of Godscroft.&nbsp; It is at least as probable that
+Godscroft borrowed from the ballad which he cites.&nbsp; The embroidered
+gauntlet of the Percy is in the possession of Douglas of Cavers to this
+day.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>TAM LIN, OR TAMLANE</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Burns&rsquo;s version, in Johnson&rsquo;s <i>Museum</i> (1792).&nbsp;
+Scott&rsquo;s version is made up of this copy, Riddell&rsquo;s, Herd&rsquo;s,
+and oral recitations, and contains feeble literary interpolations, not,
+of course, by Sir Walter.&nbsp; <i>The Complaint of Scotland</i> (1549)
+mentions the &ldquo;Tale of the Young Tamlene&rdquo; as then popular.&nbsp;
+It is needless here to enter into the subject of Fairyland, and captures
+of mortals by Fairies: the Editor has said his say in his edition of
+Kirk&rsquo;s <i>Secret Commonwealth</i>.&nbsp; The Nereids, in Modern
+Greece, practise fairy cantrips, and the same beliefs exist in Samoa
+and New Caledonia.&nbsp; The metamorphoses are found in the <i>Odyssey</i>,
+Book iv., in the winning of Thetis, the <i>Nereid, or Fairy Bride</i>,
+by Peleus, in a modern Cretan fairy tale, and so on.&nbsp; There is
+a similar incident in <i>Penda Baloa</i>, a Senegambian ballad (<i>Contes
+Populaires de la S&eacute;n&eacute;gambie</i>, Berenger Ferand, Paris,
+1885).&nbsp; The dipping of Tamlane has precedents in <i>Old Deccan
+Days</i>, in a Hottentot tale by Bleek, and in <i>Les Deux Fr&egrave;res</i>,
+the Egyptian story, translated by Maspero (the Editor has already given
+these parallels in a note to <i>Border Ballads</i>, by Graham R. Thomson).&nbsp;
+Mr. Child also cites Mannhardt, &ldquo;Wald und Feldkulte,&rdquo; ii.
+64-70.&nbsp; Carterhaugh, the scene of the ballad, is at the junction
+of Ettrick and Yarrow, between Bowhill and Philiphaugh.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THOMAS RYMER</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>; the original was derived from
+a lady living near Erceldoune (Earlston), and from Mrs. Brown&rsquo;s
+MSS.&nbsp; That Thomas of Erceldoune had some popular fame as a rhymer
+and soothsayer as early as 1320-1350, seems to be established.&nbsp;
+As late as the Forty Five, nay, even as late as the expected Napoleonic
+invasion, sayings attributed to Thomas were repeated with some measure
+of belief.&nbsp; A real Thomas Rymer of Erceldoune witnessed an undated
+deed of Peter de Haga, early in the thirteenth century.&nbsp; The de
+Hagas, or Haigs of Bemersyde, were the subjects of the prophecy attributed
+to Thomas,</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>&ldquo;Betide, betide, whate&rsquo;er betide,<br />There will aye
+be a Haig in Bemersyde,&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>and a Haig still owns that ancient <i>ch&acirc;teau</i> on the Tweed,
+which has a singular set of traditions.&nbsp; Learmont is usually given
+as the Erceldoune family name; a branch of the family owned Dairsie
+in Fifeshire, and were a kind of hereditary provosts of St. Andrews.&nbsp;
+If Thomas did predict the death of Alexander III., or rather report
+it by dint of clairvoyance, he must have lived till 1285.&nbsp; The
+date of the poem on the Fairy Queen, attributed to Thomas, is uncertain,
+the story itself is a variant of &ldquo;Ogier the Dane.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+The scene is Huntly Bank, under Eildon Hill, and was part of the lands
+acquired, at fantastic prices, by Sir Walter Scott.&nbsp; His passion
+for land was really part of his passion for collecting antiquities.&nbsp;
+The theory of Fairyland here (as in many other Scottish legends and
+witch trials) is borrowed from the Pre-Christian Hades, and the Fairy
+Queen is a late refraction from Persephone.&nbsp; Not to eat, in the
+realm of the dead, is a regular precept of savage belief, all the world
+over.&nbsp; Mr. Robert Kirk&rsquo;s <i>Secret Commonwealth of Elves,
+Fauns, and Fairies</i> may be consulted, or the Editor&rsquo;s <i>Perrault</i>,
+p. xxxv. (Oxford, 1888).&nbsp; Of the later legends about Thomas, Scott
+gives plenty, in <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>.&nbsp; The long ancient
+romantic poem on the subject is probably the source of the ballad, though
+a local ballad may have preceded the long poem.&nbsp; Scott named the
+glen through which the Bogle Burn flows to Chiefswood, &ldquo;The Rhymer&rsquo;s
+Glen.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>SIR HUGH</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>The date of the Martyrdom of Hugh is attributed by Matthew Paris
+to 1225.&nbsp; Chaucer puts a version in the mouth of his Prioress.&nbsp;
+No doubt the story must have been a mere excuse for Jew-baiting.&nbsp;
+In America the Jew becomes &ldquo;The Duke&rdquo; in a version picked
+up by Mr. Newells, from the recitation of a street boy in New York.&nbsp;
+The daughter of a Jew is not more likely than the daughter of a duke
+to have been concerned in the cruel and blasphemous imitation of the
+horrors attributed by Horace to the witch Canidia.&nbsp; But some such
+survivals of pagan sorcery did exist in the Middle Ages, under the influence
+of &ldquo;Satanism.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>SON DAVIE</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Motherwell&rsquo;s version.&nbsp; One of many ballads on fratricide,
+instigated by the mother: or inquired into by her, as the case may be.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Edward&rdquo; is another example of this gloomy situation.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THE WIFE OF USHER&rsquo;S WELL</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Here</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>&ldquo;The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>having a middle rhyme, can scarcely be of extreme antiquity.&nbsp;
+Probably, in the original poem, the dead return to rebuke the extreme
+grief of the Mother, but the poem is perhaps really more affecting in
+the absence of a didactic motive.&nbsp; Scott obtained it from an old
+woman in West Lothian.&nbsp; Probably the reading &ldquo;fashes,&rdquo;
+(troubles), &ldquo;in the flood&rdquo; is correct, not &ldquo;fishes,&rdquo;
+or &ldquo;freshes.&rdquo;&nbsp; The mother desires that the sea may
+never cease to be troubled till her sons return (verse 4, line 2).&nbsp;
+The peculiar doom of women dead in child-bearing occurs even in Aztec
+mythology.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THE TWA CORBIES</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From the third volume of <i>Border Minstrelsy</i>, derived by Charles
+Kirkpatrick Sharpe from a traditional version.&nbsp; The English version,
+&ldquo;Three Ravens,&rdquo; was published in <i>Melismata</i>, by T.
+Ravensworth (1611).&nbsp; In Scots, the lady &ldquo;has ta&rsquo;en
+another mate&rdquo; his hawk and hound have deserted the dead knight.&nbsp;
+In the English song, the hounds watch by him, the hawks keep off carrion
+birds, as for the lady&mdash;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>&ldquo;She buried him before the prime,<br />She was dead herselfe
+ere evensong time.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Probably the English is the earlier version.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THE BONNIE EARL OF MURRAY</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Huntly had a commission to apprehend the Earl, who was in the disgrace
+of James VI.&nbsp; Huntly, as an ally of Bothwell, asked him to surrender
+at Donibristle, in Fife; he would not yield to his private enemy, the
+house was burned, and Murray was slain, Huntly gashing his face.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;You have spoiled a better face than your own,&rdquo; said the
+dying Earl (1592).&nbsp; James Melville mentions contemporary ballads
+on the murder.&nbsp; Ramsay published the ballad in his <i>Tea Table
+Miscellany</i>, and it is often sung to this day.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>CLERK SAUNDERS</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>First known as published in <i>Border Minstrelsy</i> (1802).&nbsp;
+The apparition of the lover is borrowed from &ldquo;Sweet Willie&rsquo;s
+Ghost.&rdquo;&nbsp; The evasions practised by the lady, and the austerities
+vowed by her have many Norse, French, and Spanish parallels in folk-poetry.&nbsp;
+Scott&rsquo;s version is &ldquo;made up&rdquo; from several sources,
+but is, in any case, verse most satisfactory as poetry.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>WALY, WALY</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From Ramsay&rsquo;s <i>Tea Table Miscellany</i>, a curiously composite
+gathering of verses.&nbsp; There is a verse, obviously a variant, in
+a sixteenth century song, cited by Leyden.&nbsp; St. Anthon&rsquo;s
+Well is on a hill slope of Arthur&rsquo;s Seat, near Holyrood.&nbsp;
+Here Jeanie Deans trysted with her sister&rsquo;s seducer, in <i>The
+Heart of Midlothian</i>.&nbsp; The Cairn of Nichol Mushat, the wife-murderer,
+is not far off.&nbsp; The ruins of Anthony&rsquo;s Chapel are still
+extant.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>LOVE GREGOR</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>There are French and Romaic variants of this ballad.&nbsp; &ldquo;Lochroyal,&rdquo;
+where the ballad is localized, is in Wigtownshire, but the localization
+varies.&nbsp; The &ldquo;tokens&rdquo; are as old as the Return of Odysseus,
+in the <i>Odyssey</i>: his token is the singular construction of his
+bridal bed, attached by him to a living tree-trunk.&nbsp; A similar
+legend occurs in Chinese.&nbsp; See Gerland&rsquo;s <i>Alt-Giechische
+M&auml;rchen</i>.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THE QUEEN&rsquo;S MARIE&mdash;MARY HAMILTON</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>A made-up copy from Scott&rsquo;s edition of 1833.&nbsp; This ballad
+has caused a great deal of controversy.&nbsp; Queen Mary had no Mary
+Hamilton among her Four Maries.&nbsp; No Marie was executed for child-murder.&nbsp;
+But we know, from Knox, that ballads were recited against the Maries,
+and that one of the Mary&rsquo;s chamberwomen was hanged, with her lover,
+a pottinger, or apothecary, for getting rid of her infant.&nbsp; These
+last facts were certainly quite basis enough for a ballad, the ballad
+echoing, not history, but rumour, and rumour adapted to the popular
+taste.&nbsp; Thus the ballad might have passed unchallenged, as a survival,
+more or less modified in time, of Queen Mary&rsquo;s period.&nbsp; But
+in 1719 a Mary Hamilton, a Maid of Honour, of Scottish descent, was
+executed in Russia, for infanticide.&nbsp; Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe
+conceived that this affair was the origin of the ballad, and is followed
+by Mr. Child.</p>
+<p>We reply (1) The ballad has almost the largest number of variants
+on record.&nbsp; This is a proof of antiquity.&nbsp; Variants so many,
+differing in all sorts of points, could not have arisen between 1719,
+and the age of Burns, who quotes the poem.</p>
+<p>(2)&nbsp; This is especially improbable, because, in 1719, the old
+vein of ballad poetry had run dry, popular song had chosen other forms,
+and no literary imitator could have written Mary Hamilton in 1719.</p>
+<p>(3)&nbsp; There is no example of a popular ballad in which a contemporary
+event, interesting just because it is contemporary, is thrown back into
+a remote age.</p>
+<p>(4)&nbsp; The name, Mary Hamilton, is often <i>not</i> given to the
+heroine in variants of the ballad.&nbsp; She is of several names and
+ranks in the variants.</p>
+<p>(5)&nbsp; As Mr. Child himself remarked, the &ldquo;pottinger&rdquo;
+of the real story of Queen Mary&rsquo;s time occurs in one variant.&nbsp;
+There was no &ldquo;pottinger&rdquo; in the Russian affair.</p>
+<p>All these arguments, to which others might be added, seem fatal to
+the late date and modern origin of the ballad, and Mr. Child&rsquo;s
+own faith in the hypothesis was shaken, if not overthrown.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>KINMONT WILLIE</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>.&nbsp; The account in Satchells
+has either been based on the ballad, or the ballad is based on Satchells.&nbsp;
+After a meeting, on the Border of Salkeld of Corby, and Scott of Haining,
+Kinmont Willie was seized by the English as he rode home from the tryst.&nbsp;
+Being &ldquo;wanted,&rdquo; he was lodged in Carlisle Castle, and this
+was a breach of the day&rsquo;s truce.&nbsp; Buccleugh, as warder, tried
+to obtain Willie&rsquo;s release by peaceful means.&nbsp; These failing,
+Buccleugh did what the ballad reports, April 13, 1596.&nbsp; Harden
+and Goudilands were with Buccleugh, being his neighbours near Branxholme.&nbsp;
+Dicky of Dryhope, with others, Armstrongs, was also true to the call
+of duty.&nbsp; A few verses in the ballad are clearly by <i>aut</i>
+<i>Gualterus aut diabolus</i>, and none the worse for that.&nbsp; Salkeld,
+of course, was not really slain; and, if the men were &ldquo;left for
+dead,&rdquo; probably they were not long in that debatable condition.&nbsp;
+In the rising of 1745 Prince Charlie&rsquo;s men forded Eden as boldly
+as Buccleuch, the Prince saving a drowning Highlander with his own hand.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>JAMIE TELFER</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Scott, for once, was wrong in his localities.&nbsp; The Dodhead of
+the poem is <i>not</i> that near Singlee, in Ettrick, but a place of
+the same name, near Skelfhill, on the southern side of Teviot, within
+three miles of Stobs, where Telfer vainly seeks help from Elliot.&nbsp;
+The other Dodhead is at a great distance from Stobs, up Borthwick Water,
+over the tableland, past Clearburn Loch and Buccleugh, and so down Ettrick,
+past Tushielaw.&nbsp; The Catslockhill is not that on Yarrow, near Ladhope,
+but another near Branxholme, whence it is no far cry to Branxholme Hall.&nbsp;
+Borthwick Water, Goudilands (below Branxholme), Commonside (a little
+farther up Teviot), Allanhaugh, and the other places of the Scotts,
+were all easily &ldquo;warned.&rdquo;&nbsp; There are traces of a modern
+hand in this excellent ballad.&nbsp; The topography is here corrected
+from MS. notes in a first edition of the <i>Minstrelsy</i>, in the library
+of Mr. Charles Grieve at Branxholme&rsquo; Park, a scion of &ldquo;auld
+Jock Grieve&rdquo; of the Coultart Cleugh.&nbsp; Names linger long in
+pleasant Teviotdale.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>The ballad has Norse analogues, but is here localized on the Douglas
+Burn, a tributary of Yarrow on the left bank.&nbsp; The St. Mary&rsquo;s
+Kirk would be that now ruinous, on St. Mary&rsquo;s Loch, the chapel
+burned by the Lady of Branxholme when she</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>&ldquo;gathered a band<br />Of the best that would ride at her command,&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>in the <i>Lay of the Last Minstrel</i>.&nbsp; The ancient keep of
+Blackhouse on Douglas Burn may have been the home of the heroine, if
+we are to localize.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THE BONNY HIND</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Herd got this tragic ballad from a milkmaid, in 1771.&nbsp; Mr. Child
+quotes a verse parallel, preserved in Faroe, and in the Icelandic.&nbsp;
+There is a similar incident in the cycle of Kullervo, in the Finnish
+<i>Kalevala</i>.&nbsp; Scott says that similar tragedies are common
+in Scotch popular poetry; such cases are &ldquo;Lizzie Wan,&rdquo; and
+&ldquo;The King&rsquo;s Dochter, Lady Jean.&rdquo;&nbsp; A sorrow nearly
+as bitter occurs in the French &ldquo;Milk White Dove&rdquo;: a brother
+kills his sister, metamorphosed into a white deer.&nbsp; &ldquo;The
+Bridge of Death&rdquo; (French) seems to hint at something of the same
+kind; or rather the Editor finds that he has arbitrarily read &ldquo;The
+Bonny Hind&rdquo; into &ldquo;Le Pont des Morts,&rdquo; in Puymaigre&rsquo;s
+<i>Chants Populaires du Pays</i> <i>Messin</i>, p. 60.&nbsp; (<i>Ballads
+and Lyrics of Old France</i>, p. 63)</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>YOUNG BEICHAN, OR YOUNG BICHAM</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>This is the original of the Cockney <i>Loving Ballad of Lord Bateman</i>,
+illustrated by Cruikshank, and by Thackeray.&nbsp; There is a vast number
+of variants, evidence to the antiquity of the story.&nbsp; The earliest
+known trace is in the familiar legend of the Saracen lady, who sought
+and found her lover, Gilbert Becket, father of Thomas &agrave; Becket,
+in London (see preface to <i>Life of Becket</i>, or Beket), Percy Society,
+1845.&nbsp; The date may be <i>circ</i>. 1300.&nbsp; The kind of story,
+the loving daughter of the cruel captor, is as old as Medea and Jason,
+and her search for her lover comes in such <i>M&auml;rchen</i> as &ldquo;The
+Black Bull o&rsquo; Norraway.&rdquo;&nbsp; No story is more widely diffused
+(see <i>A Far Travelled Tale</i>, in the Editor&rsquo;s <i>Custom and
+Myth</i>).&nbsp; The appearance of the &ldquo;True Love,&rdquo; just
+at her lover&rsquo;s wedding, is common in the <i>M&auml;rchen</i> of
+the world, and occurs in a Romaic ballad, as well as in many from Northern
+Europe.&nbsp; The &ldquo;local colour&rdquo;&mdash;the Moor or Saracen&mdash;is
+derived from Crusading times, perhaps.&nbsp; Motherwell found the ballad
+recited with intervals of prose narrative, as in <i>Aucassin and Nicolette</i>.&nbsp;
+The notes to Cruikshank&rsquo;s <i>Loving Ballad</i> are, obviously,
+by Thackeray.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THE BONNY HOUSE O&rsquo; AIRLY</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Lord Airly&rsquo;s houses were destroyed by Argyll, representing
+the Covenanters, and also in pursuance of a private feud, in 1639, or
+1640.&nbsp; There are erroneous versions of this ballad, in which Lochiel
+appears, and the date is, apparently, transferred to 1745.&nbsp; Montrose,
+in his early Covenanting days, was not actually concerned in the burning
+of the Bonnie House, which he, when a Royalist, revenged on the possessions
+of &ldquo;gleyed Argyll.&rdquo;&nbsp; The reference to &ldquo;Charlie&rdquo;
+is out of keeping; no one, perhaps, ever called Charles I. by that affectionate
+name.&nbsp; Lady Ogilvie had not the large family attributed to her:
+her son, Lord Ogilvie, escaped from prison in the Castle of St. Andrews,
+after Philiphaugh.&nbsp; A Lord Ogilvie was out in 1745; and, later,
+had a regiment in the French Service.&nbsp; Few families have a record
+so consistently loyal.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>ROB ROY</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>The abductors of the widowed young heiress of Edenhelly were Rob&rsquo;s
+sons, Robin Oig, who went through a form of marriage with the girl,
+and James Mohr, a good soldier, but a double-dyed spy and scoundrel.&nbsp;
+Robin Oig was hanged in 1753.&nbsp; James Mohr, a detected traitor to
+Prince Charles, died miserably in Paris, in 1754.&nbsp; Readers of Mr.
+Stevenson&rsquo;s <i>Catriona</i> know James well; information as to
+his villanies is extant in Additional MSS. (British Museum).&nbsp; This
+is probably the latest ballad in the collection.&nbsp; It occurs in
+several variants, some of which, copied out by Burns, derive thence
+a certain accidental interest.&nbsp; In Mr. Stevenson&rsquo;s <i>Catriona</i>,
+the heroine of that name takes a thoroughly Highland view of the abduction.&nbsp;
+Robin Oig, in any case, was &ldquo;nane the waur o&rsquo; a hanging,&rdquo;
+for he shot a Maclaren at the plough-tail, before the Forty-Five.&nbsp;
+The trial of these sons of Alpen was published shortly after Scott&rsquo;s
+<i>Rob Roy</i>.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>KILLIECRANKIE</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Fought on July 27, 1689.&nbsp; <i>Not</i> on the haugh near the modern
+road by the railway, but higher up the hill, in the grounds of Urrard
+House.&nbsp; Two shelter trenches, whence Dundee&rsquo;s men charged,
+are still visible, high on the hillside above Urrand.&nbsp; There is
+said, by Mr. Child, to have been a contemporary broadside of the ballad,
+which is an example of the evolution of popular ballads from the old
+traditional model.&nbsp; There is another song, by, or attributed to,
+Burns, and of remarkable spirit and vigour.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>ANNAN WATER</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i> Scott says that these are the original
+words of the tune of &ldquo;Allan Water,&rdquo; and that he has added
+two verses from a variant with a fortunate conclusion.&nbsp; &ldquo;Allan
+Water&rdquo; is a common river name; the stream so called joins Teviot
+above Branxholme.&nbsp; Annan is the large stream that flows into the
+Solway Frith.&nbsp; The Gate-slack, in Annandale, fixes the locality.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THE ELPHIN NOURRICE</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>This curious poem is taken from the reprint of Charles Kirkpatrick
+Sharpe&rsquo;s tiny <i>Ballad Book</i>, itself now almost <i>introuvable</i>.&nbsp;
+It does not, to the Editor&rsquo;s knowledge, occur elsewhere, but is
+probably authentic.&nbsp; The view of the Faery Queen is more pleasing
+and sympathetic than usual.&nbsp; Why mortal women were desired as nurses
+(except to attend on stolen mortal children, kept to &ldquo;pay the
+Kane to hell&rdquo;) is not obvious.&nbsp; Irish beliefs are precisely
+similar; in England they are of frequent occurrence.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>JOHNNIE ARMSTRANG</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Armstrang of Gilnockie was a brother of the laird of Mangertoun.&nbsp;
+He had a kind of Robin Hood reputation on the Scottish Border, as one
+who only robbed the English.&nbsp; Pitscottie&rsquo;s account of his
+slaying by James V. (1529) reads as if the ballad were his authority,
+and an air for the subject is mentioned in the <i>Complaint of Scotland</i>.&nbsp;
+In Sir Herbert Maxwell&rsquo;s <i>History of Dumfries and Galloway</i>
+is an excellent account of the historical facts of the case.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>EDOM O&rsquo; GORDON</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Founded on an event in the wars between Kingsmen and Queensmen, in
+the minority of James VI., while Queen Mary was imprisoned in England.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Edom&rdquo; was Adam Gordon of Auchindown, brother of Huntley,
+and a Queen&rsquo;s man.&nbsp; He, by his retainer, Car, or Ker, burned
+Towie House, a seat of the Forbes&rsquo;s.&nbsp; Ker recurs in the long
+and more or less literary ballad of <i>The Battle of Balrinnes</i>.&nbsp;
+In variants the localities are much altered, and, in one version, the
+scene is transferred to Ayrshire, and Loudoun Castle.&nbsp; All the
+ballads of fire-raising, a very usual practice, have points in common,
+and transference was easy.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>LADY ANNE BOTHWELL&rsquo;S LAMENT</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Tradition has confused the heroine of this piece with the wife of
+Bothwelhaugh, who slew the Regent Murray.&nbsp; That his motive was
+not mere political assassination, but to avenge the ill-treatment and
+death of his wife, seems to be disproved by Maidment.&nbsp; The affair,
+however, is still obscure.&nbsp; This deserted Lady Anne of the ballad
+was, in fact, not the wife of Bothwelhaugh, but the daughter of the
+Bishop of Orkney; her lover is said to have been her cousin, Alexander
+Erskine, son of the Earl of Mar.&nbsp; Part of the poem (Mr. Child points
+out) occurs in Broome&rsquo;s play, <i>The Northern Lass</i> (1632).&nbsp;
+Though a popular favourite, the piece is clearly of literary origin,
+and has been severely &ldquo;edited&rdquo; by a literary hand.&nbsp;
+This version is Allan Ramsay&rsquo;s.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>JOCK O&rsquo; THE SIDE</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>A Liddesdale chant.&nbsp; Jock flourished about 1550-1570, and is
+commemorated as a receiver by Sir Richard Maitland in a poem often quoted.&nbsp;
+The analogies of this ballad with that of &ldquo;Kinmont Willie&rdquo;
+are very close.&nbsp; The reference to a punch-bowl sounds modern, and
+the tale is much less plausible than that of &ldquo;Kinmont Willie,&rdquo;
+which, however, bears a few obvious marks of Sir Walter&rsquo;s own
+hand.&nbsp; A sceptical editor must choose between two theories: either
+Scott of Satchells founded his account of the affair of &ldquo;Kinmont
+Willie&rdquo; on a pre-existing ballad of that name, or the ballad printed
+by Scott is based on the prose narrative of Scott of Satchells.&nbsp;
+The former hypothesis, everything considered, is the more probable.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Published in Percy&rsquo;s <i>Reliques</i>, from a Scotch manuscript,
+&ldquo;with some corrections.&rdquo;&nbsp; The situation, with various
+differences in detail and conclusion, is popular in Norse and Romaic
+ballads, and also in many <i>M&auml;rchen</i> of the type of <i>The
+Black Bull of Norraway</i>.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>FAIR ANNIE</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>.&nbsp; There are Danish, Swedish,
+Dutch, and German versions, and the theme enters artistic poetry as
+early as Marie de France (<i>Le Lai del Freisne</i>).&nbsp; In Scotch
+the Earl of Wemyss is a recent importation: the earldom dates from 1633.&nbsp;
+Of course this process of attaching a legend or <i>M&auml;rchen</i>
+to a well-known name, or place, is one of the most common in mythological
+evolution, and by itself invalidates the theory which would explain
+myths by a philological analysis of the proper names in the tale.&nbsp;
+These may not be, and probably are not, the original names.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THE DOWNIE DENS OF YARROW</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>.&nbsp; Scott thought that the hero
+was Walter Scott, third son of Thirlestane, slain by Scott of Tushielaw.&nbsp;
+The &ldquo;monument&rdquo; (a standing stone near Yarrow) is really
+of a very early, rather Post-Roman date, and refers to no feud of Thirlestane,
+Oakwood, Kirkhope, or Tushielaw.&nbsp; The stone is not far from Yarrow
+Krik, near a place called Warrior&rsquo;s Rest.&nbsp; Hamilton of Bangour&rsquo;s
+version is beautiful and well known.&nbsp; Quite recently a very early
+interment of a corpse, in the curved position, was discovered not far
+from the standing stone with the inscription.&nbsp; Ballad, stone, and
+interment may all be distinct and separate.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>SIR ROLAND</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From Motherwell&rsquo;s <i>Minstrelsy</i>.&nbsp; The authenticity
+of the ballad is dubious, but, if a forgery, it is a very skilled one
+for the early nineteenth century.&nbsp; Poets like Mr. Swinburne, Mr.
+Rossetti, and Mrs. Marriot Watson have imitated the genuine popular
+ballad, but never so closely as the author of &ldquo;Sir Roland.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>ROSE THE RED AND WHITE LILY</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From the Jamieson-Brown MS., originally written out by Mrs. Brown
+in 1783: Sir Waiter made changes in <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>.&nbsp;
+The ballad is clearly a composite affair.&nbsp; Robert Chambers regarded
+Mrs. Brown as the Mrs. Harris of ballad lore, but Mr. Norval Clyne&rsquo;s
+reply was absolutely crushing and satisfactory.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THE BATTLE OF HARLAW</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Fought on July 24, 1411.&nbsp; This fight broke the Highland force
+in Scotland.&nbsp; The first version is, of course, literary, perhaps
+a composition of 1550, or even earlier.&nbsp; The second version is
+traditional, and was procured by Aytoun from Lady John Scott, herself
+the author of some beautiful songs.&nbsp; But the best ballad on the
+Red Harlaw is that placed by Scott in the mouth of Elspeth, in <i>The
+Antiquary</i>.&nbsp; This, indeed, is beyond all rivalry the most splendid
+modern imitation of the ancient popular Muse.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>DICKIE MACPHALION</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>A great favourite of Scott&rsquo;s, who heard it sung at Miss Edgeworth&rsquo;s,
+during his tour in Ireland (1825).&nbsp; One verse recurs in a Jacobite
+chant, probably of 1745-1760, but the bibliography of Jacobite songs
+is especially obscure.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>A LYKE-WAKE DIRGE</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From the <i>Border Minstrelsy</i>.&nbsp; The ideas are mainly pre-Christian;
+the Brig o&rsquo; Dread occurs in Islamite and Iroquois belief, and
+in almost all mythologies the souls have to cross a River.&nbsp; Music
+for this dirge is given in Mr. Harold Boulton&rsquo;s and Miss Macleod&rsquo;s
+<i>Songs of the North</i>.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>This version was taken down by Sir Walter Scott from his mother&rsquo;s
+recitation, for Jamieson&rsquo;s book of ballads.&nbsp; Jamieson later
+quarrelled bitterly with Sir Walter, as letters at Abbotsford prove.&nbsp;
+A variant is given by Kinloch, and a longer, less poetical, but more
+historically accurate version is given by Buchan.&nbsp; The House of
+Waristoun is, or lately was, a melancholy place hanging above a narrow
+lake, in the northern suburbs of Edinburgh, near the Water of Leith.&nbsp;
+Kincaid was the name of the Laird; according to Chambers, the more famous
+lairds of Covenanting times were Johnstons.&nbsp; Kincaid is said to
+have treated his wife cruelly, wherefore she, or her nurse, engaged
+one Robert Weir, an old servant of her father (Livingstone of Dunipace),
+to strangle the unhappy man in his own bedroom (July 2, 1600).&nbsp;
+The lady was beheaded, the nurse was burned, and, later, Weir was also
+executed.&nbsp; The line</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>&ldquo;I wish that ye may sink for sin&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>occurs in an earlier ballad on Edinburgh Castle&mdash;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>&ldquo;And that all for the black dinner<br />Earl Douglas got therein.&rdquo;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>MAY COLVEN</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From Herd&rsquo;s MS.&nbsp; Versions occur in Polish, German, Magyar,
+Portuguese, Scandinavian, and in French.&nbsp; The ballad is here localised
+on the Carrick coast, near Girvan.&nbsp; The lady is called a Kennedy
+of Culzean.&nbsp; Prof. Bugge regards this widely diffused ballad as
+based on the Apocryphal legend of Judith and Holofernes.&nbsp; If so,
+the legend is <i>diablement chang&eacute; en route</i>.&nbsp; More probably
+the origin is a <i>M&auml;rchen</i> of a kind of <i>Rakshasa</i> fatal
+to women.&nbsp; Mr. Child has collected a vast mass of erudition on
+the subject, and by no means acquiesces in Prof. Bugge&rsquo;s ingenious
+hypothesis.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>JOHNIE FAA</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From Pinkerton&rsquo;s Scottish Ballads.&nbsp; The event narrated
+is a legend of the house of Cassilis (Kennedy), but is wholly unhistorical.&nbsp;
+&ldquo;Sir John Faa,&rdquo; in the fable, is aided by Gypsies, but,
+apparently, is not one of the Earls of Egypt, on whom Mr. Crockett&rsquo;s
+novel, <i>The Raiders</i>, may be consulted.&nbsp; The ballad was first
+printed, as far as is known, in Ramsay&rsquo;s <i>Tea Table Miscellany</i>.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>HOBBIE NOBLE</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>The hero recurs in <i>Jock o&rsquo; the Side</i>, and Jock o&rsquo;
+the Mains is an historical character, that is, finds mention in authentic
+records, as Scott points out.&nbsp; The Armstrongs were deported in
+great numbers, as &ldquo;an ill colony,&rdquo; to Ulster, by James I.&nbsp;
+Sir Herbert Maxwell&rsquo;s <i>History of Dumfries and Galloway</i>
+may be consulted for these and similar reivers.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THE TWA SISTERS</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>A version of &ldquo;Binnorie.&rdquo;&nbsp; The ballad here ends abruptly;
+doubtless the fiddler made fiddle-strings of the lady&rsquo;s hair,
+and a fiddle of her breast-bone, while the instrument probably revealed
+the cruelty of the sister.&nbsp; Other extant versions are composite
+or interpolated, so this fragment (Sharpe&rsquo;s) has been preferred
+in this place.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>MARY AMBREE</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Taken by Percy from a piece in the Pepys Collection.&nbsp; The girl
+warrior is a favourite figure in popular romance.&nbsp; Often she slays
+a treacherous lover, as in <i>Billy Taylor</i>.&nbsp; Nothing is known
+of Mary Ambree as an historical personage; she may be as legendary as
+fair maiden Lilias, of Liliarid&rsquo;s Edge, who &ldquo;fought upon
+her stumps.&rdquo;&nbsp; In that case the local name is demonstrably
+earlier than the mythical Lilias, who fought with such tenacity.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>ALISON GROSS</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Jamieson gave this ballad from a manuscript, altering the spelling
+in conformity with Scots orthography.&nbsp; Mr. Child prints the manuscript;
+here Jamieson&rsquo;s more familiar spelling is retained.&nbsp; The
+idea of the romance occurs in a Romaic <i>M&auml;rchen</i>, but, in
+place of the Queen of Faery, a more beautiful girl than the sorceress
+(Nereid in Romaic), restores the youth to his true shape.&nbsp; Mr.
+Child regarded the tale as &ldquo;one of the numerous wild growths&rdquo;
+from <i>Beauty and the Beast</i>.&nbsp; It would be more correct to
+say that <i>Beauty and the Beast</i> is a late, courtly, French adaptation
+and amplification of the original popular &ldquo;wild growth&rdquo;
+which first appears (in literary form) as <i>Cupid and Psyche</i>, in
+Apuleius.&nbsp; Except for the metamorphosis, however, there is little
+analogy in this case.&nbsp; The friendly act of the Fairy Queen is without
+parallel in British Folklore, but Mr. Child points out that the Nereid
+Queen, in Greece, is still as kind as Thetis of old, not a sepulchral
+siren, the shadow of the pagan &ldquo;Fairy Queen Proserpina,&rdquo;
+as Campion calls her.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THE HEIR OF LYNNE</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From Percy&rsquo;s Folio Manuscript.&nbsp; There is a cognate Greek
+epigram&mdash;</p>
+<p>&Chi;&rho;&upsilon;&sigma;&omicron;&nu; &alpha;&nu;&eta;&rho; &epsilon;&upsilon;&rho;&omega;&nu;
+&epsilon;&lambda;&iota;&pi;&epsilon; &beta;&rho;&omicron;&chi;&omicron;&nu;
+&alpha;&upsilon;&tau;&alpha;&rho; &omicron; &chi;&rho;&upsilon;&sigma;&omicron;&nu;<br />&Omicron;&nu;
+&lambda;&iota;&pi;&epsilon;&nu;, &omicron;&upsilon;&chi; &epsilon;&upsilon;&rho;&omega;&nu;,
+&eta;&phi;&epsilon;&nu; &tau;&omicron;&nu; &epsilon;&upsilon;&rho;&epsilon;
+&beta;&rho;&omicron;&chi;&omicron;&nu;</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<h3>GORDON OF BRACKLEY</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>This, though probably not the most authentic, is decidedly the most
+pleasing version; it is from Mackay&rsquo;s collection, perhaps from
+his pen.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>EDWARD</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Percy got this piece from Lord Hailes, with pseudo-antiquated spelling.&nbsp;
+Mr. Swinburne has published a parallel ballad &ldquo;From the Finnish.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+There are a number of parallel ballads on Cruel Brothers, and Cruel
+Sisters, such as <i>Son Davie</i>, which may be compared.&nbsp; Fratricides
+and unconscious incests were motives dear to popular poetry.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>YOUNG BENJIE</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From the <i>Border Minstrelsy</i>.&nbsp; That corpses <i>might</i>
+begin to &ldquo;thraw,&rdquo; if carelessly watched, was a prevalent
+superstition.&nbsp; Scott gives an example: the following may be added,
+as less well known.&nbsp; The watchers had left the corpse alone, and
+were dining in the adjoining room, when a terrible noise was heard in
+the chamber of death.&nbsp; None dared enter; the minister was sent
+for, and passed into the room.&nbsp; He emerged, asked for a pair of
+tongs, and returned, bearing in the tongs <i>a bloody glove</i>, and
+the noise ceased.&nbsp; He always declined to say what he had witnessed.&nbsp;
+Ministers were exorcists in the last century, and the father of James
+Thomson, the poet, died suddenly in an interview with a guest, in a
+haunted house.&nbsp; The house was pulled down, as being uninhabitable.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>AULD MAITLAND</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From <i>The Border Minstrelsy</i>.&nbsp; This ballad is inserted,
+not for its merit, still less for its authenticity, but for the problem
+of its puzzling history.&nbsp; Scott certainly got it from the mother
+of the Ettrick Shepherd, in 1801.&nbsp; The Shepherd&rsquo;s father
+had been a grown-up man in 1745, and his mother was also of a great
+age, and unlikely to be able to learn a new-forged ballad by heart.&nbsp;
+The Shepherd himself (then a most unsophisticated person) said, in a
+letter of June 30, 1801, that he was &ldquo;surprized to hear this song
+is suspected by some to be a modern forgery; the contrary will be best
+proved by most of the old people, here about, having a great part of
+it by heart.&rdquo;&nbsp; The two last lines of verse seven were, confessedly,
+added by Hogg, to fill a <i>lacuna</i>.&nbsp; They are especially modern
+in style.&nbsp; Now thus to fill up sham <i>lacunae</i> in sham ballads
+of his own, with lines manifestly modern, was a favourite trick of Surtees
+of Mainsforth.&nbsp; He used the device in &ldquo;Barthram&rsquo;s Dirge,&rdquo;
+which entirely took in Sir Walter, and was guilty of many other <i>supercheries</i>,
+especially of the &ldquo;Fray of Suport Mill.&rdquo;&nbsp; Could the
+unlettered Shepherd, fond of hoaxes as he was, have invented this stratagem,
+sixteen years before he joined the <i>Blackwood</i> set?&nbsp; And is
+it conceivable that his old mother, entering into the joke, would commit
+her son&rsquo;s fraudulent verses to memory, and recite them to Sir
+Walter as genuine tradition?&nbsp; She said to Scott, that the ballad
+&ldquo;never was printed i&rsquo; the world, for my brothers and me
+learned it and many mae frae auld Andrew Moore, and he learned it frae
+auld Baby Mettlin&rdquo; (Maitland?) &ldquo;wha was housekeeper to the
+first laird o&rsquo; Tushilaw.&rdquo;&nbsp; (On Ettrick, near Thirlestane.&nbsp;
+She doubtless meant the first of the Andersons of Tushielaw, who succeeded
+the old lairds, the Scotts.)&nbsp; &ldquo;She was said to hae been another
+or a guid ane, and there are many queer stories about hersel&rsquo;,
+but O, she had been a grand singer o&rsquo; auld songs an&rsquo; ballads.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+(Hogg&rsquo;s <i>Domestic Manners of Sir Walter Scott</i>, p. 61, 1834.)</p>
+<p>&ldquo;Maitland upon auld beird gray&rdquo; is mentioned by Gawain
+Douglas, in his <i>Palice of Honour</i>, which the Shepherd can hardly
+have read, and Scott identified this Maitland with the ancestor of Lethington;
+his date was 1250-1296.&nbsp; On the whole, even the astute Shepherd,
+in his early days of authorship, could hardly have laid a plot so insidious,
+and the question of the authenticity and origin of the ballad (obvious
+interpolations apart) remains a mystery.&nbsp; Who could have forged
+it?&nbsp; It is, as an exercise in imitation, far beyond <i>Hardyknute</i>,
+and at least on a level with <i>Sir Roland</i>.&nbsp; The possibility
+of such forgeries is now very slight indeed, but vitiates early collections.</p>
+<p>If we suspect Leyden, who alone had the necessary knowledge of antiquities,
+we are still met by the improbability of old Mrs. Hogg being engaged
+in the hoax.&nbsp; Moreover, Leyden was probably too keen an antiquary
+to take part in one of the deceptions which Ritson wished to punish
+so severely.&nbsp; Mr. Child expresses his strong and natural suspicions
+of the authenticity of the ballad, and Hogg is, certainly, a dubious
+source.&nbsp; He took in Jeffrey with the song of &ldquo;Donald Macgillavray,&rdquo;
+and instantly boasted of his triumph.&nbsp; He could not have kept his
+secret, after the death of Scott.&nbsp; These considerations must not
+be neglected, however suspicious &ldquo;Auld, Maitland&rdquo; may appear.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>THE BROOMFIELD HILL</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>From Buchan&rsquo;s <i>Ballads of the North of Scotland</i>.&nbsp;
+There are Elizabethan references to the poem, and a twelfth century
+romance turns on the main idea of sleep magically induced.&nbsp; The
+lover therein is more fortunate than the hero of the ballad, and, finally,
+overcomes the spell.&nbsp; The idea recurs in the Norse poetry.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>WILLIE&rsquo;S LADYE</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Scott took this ballad from Mrs. Brown&rsquo;s celebrated Manuscript.&nbsp;
+The kind of spell indicated was practised by Hera upon Alcmena, before
+the birth of Heracles.&nbsp; Analogous is the spell by binding witch-knots,
+practised by Simaetha on her lover, in the second Idyll of Theocritus.&nbsp;
+Montaigne has some curious remarks on these enchantments, explaining
+their power by what is now called &ldquo;suggestion.&rdquo;&nbsp; There
+is a Danish parallel to &ldquo;Willie&rsquo;s Ladye,&rdquo; translated
+by Jamieson.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>ROBIN HOOD BALLADS</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>There is plentiful &ldquo;learning&rdquo; about Robin Hood, but no
+real knowledge.&nbsp; He is first mentioned in literature, as the subject
+of &ldquo;rhymes,&rdquo; in <i>Piers Plowman</i> (<i>circ</i>. 1377).&nbsp;
+As a topic of ballads he must be much older than that date.&nbsp; In
+1439 his name was a synonym for a bandit.&nbsp; Wyntoun, the Scots chronicler,
+dates the outlaw in the time of Edward I.&nbsp; Major, the Scots philosopher
+and master of John Knox, makes a guess (taken up by Scott in <i>Ivanhoe</i>)
+as the period of Richard I.&nbsp; Kuhn seeks to show that Hood is a
+survival of Woden, or of his <i>Wooden</i>, &ldquo;wooden horse&rdquo;
+or hobby horse.&nbsp; The Robin Hood play was parallel with the May
+games, which, as Mr. Frazer shows in his <i>Golden Bough</i>, were really
+survivals of a world-wide religious practice.&nbsp; But Robin Hood need
+not be confused with the legendary May King.&nbsp; Mr. Child judiciously
+rejects these mythological conjectures, based, as they are, on far-fetched
+etymologies and analogies.&nbsp; Robin is an idealized bandit, reiver,
+or Klepht, as in modern Romaic ballads, and his adventures are precisely
+such as popular fancy everywhere attaches to such popular heroes.&nbsp;
+An historical Robin there may have been, but <i>premit nox alta</i>.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>ROBIN HOOD AND THE MONK</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>This copy follows in Mr. Child&rsquo;s early edition, &ldquo;from
+the second edition of Ritson&rsquo;s <i>Robin Hood</i>, as collated
+by Sir Frederic Madden.&rdquo;&nbsp; It is conjectured to be &ldquo;possibly
+as old as the reign of Edward II.&rdquo;&nbsp; That the murder of a
+monk should be pardoned in the facile way described is manifestly improbable.&nbsp;
+Even in the lawless Galloway of 1508, McGhie of Phumpton was fined six
+merks for &ldquo;throwing William Schankis, monk, from his horse.&rdquo;&nbsp;
+(History of Dumfries and Galloway, by Sir Herbert Maxwell, p. 155.)</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>ROBIN HOOD AND THE POTTER</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Published by Ritson, from a Cambridge MS., probably of the reign
+of Henry VII.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<h3>ROBIN HOOD AND THE BUTCHER</h3>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>Published by Ritson, from a Black Letter copy in the collection of
+Anthony Wood, the Oxford antiquary.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines2"><br /><br /></div>
+<p>Footnotes:</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p><a name="footnote1"></a><a href="#citation1">{1}</a>&nbsp; See Pitcairn,
+Case of Alison Pearson, 1586.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote2"></a><a href="#citation2">{2}</a>&nbsp; Translated
+in <i>Ballads and Lyrics of Old France</i>.&mdash;A. L.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote3"></a><a href="#citation3">{3}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Kinnen,&rdquo;
+rabbits.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote4"></a><a href="#citation4">{4}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Nicher,&rdquo;
+neigh.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote5"></a><a href="#citation5">{5}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Gilt,&rdquo;
+gold.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote6"></a><a href="#citation6">{6}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Dow,&rdquo;
+are able to.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote7"></a><a href="#citation7">{7}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Ganging,&rdquo;
+going.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote8"></a><a href="#citation8">{8}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Targats&rdquo;,
+tassels.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote9"></a><a href="#citation9">{9}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Blink
+sae brawly,&rdquo; glance so bravely.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote10"></a><a href="#citation10">{10}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Fechting,&rdquo;
+fighting.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote11"></a><a href="#citation11">{11}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Kirsty,&rdquo;
+Christopher.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote12"></a><a href="#citation12">{12}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Hald,&rdquo;
+hold.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote13"></a><a href="#citation13">{13}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Reek,&rdquo;
+smoke.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote14"></a><a href="#citation14">{14}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Freits,&rdquo;
+omens.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote15"></a><a href="#citation15">{15}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Wighty,&rdquo;
+valiant.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote16"></a><a href="#citation16">{16}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Wroken,&rdquo;
+revenged.</p>
+<p><a name="footnote17"></a><a href="#citation17">{17}</a>&nbsp; &ldquo;Mudie,&rdquo;
+bold.</p>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines3"><br /><br /><br /></div>
+<div class="GutenbergBlankLines1"><br /></div>
+<p>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, A COLLECTION OF BALLADS ***</p>
+<pre>
+
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