Chapter 6

Thomas took aff baith cloak and cap, For to salute this gay lady: "O save ye, save ye, fair Queen o Heavn, And ay weel met ye save and see!"

"I'm no the Queen o Heavn, Thomas; I never carried my head sae hee; For I am but a lady gay, Come out to hunt in my follee.

"Now gin ye kiss my mouth, Thomas, Ye mauna miss my fair bodee; Then ye may een gang hame and tell That ye've lain wi a gay ladee."

"O gin I loe a lady fair, Nae ill tales o her wad I tell, And it's wi thee I fain wad gae, Tho it were een to heavn or hell."

"Then harp and carp, Thomas," she said, "Then harp and carp alang wi me; But it will be seven years and a day Till ye win back to yere ain countrie."

The lady rade, True Thomas ran, Until they cam to a water wan; O it was night, and nae delight, And Thomas wade aboon the knee.

It was dark night, and nae starn-light, And on they waded lang days three, And they heard the roaring o a flood, And Thomas a waefou man was he.

Then they rade on, and farther on, Untill they came to a garden green; To pu an apple he put up his hand, For the lack o food he was like to tyne.

"O haud yere hand, Thomas," she cried, "And let that green flourishing be; For it's the very fruit o hell, Beguiles baith man and woman o yere countrie.

"But look afore ye, True Thomas, And I shall show ye ferlies three; Yon is the gate leads to our land, Where thou and I sae soon shall be.

"And dinna ye see yon road, Thomas, That lies out-owr yon lilly lee? Weel is the man yon gate may gang, For it leads him straight to the heavens hie.

"But do you see yon road, Thomas, That lies out-owr yon frosty fell? Ill is the man yon gate may gang, For it leads him straight to the pit o hell.

"Now when ye come to our court, Thomas, See that a weel-learned man ye be; For they will ask ye, one and all, But ye maun answer nane but me.

"And when nae answer they obtain, Then will they come and question me, And I will answer them again That I gat yere aith at the Eildon tree.

* * * * *

"Ilka seven years, Thomas, We pay our teindings unto hell, And ye're sae leesome and sae strang That I fear, Thomas, it will be yeresell."

YOUNG BEICHAN

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, An 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

"O hae ye ony lands or rents, Or citys in your ain country, Coud free you out of prison strong, An coud mantain a lady free?"

"O London city is my own, An other citys twa or three, Coud loose me out o prison strong, An coud mantain 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, An she has set Young Bicham free.

She's g'in 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, And turnd her back on her ain country.

She's saild up, so has she doun, 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 stairs 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!

But she's pitten her han 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, An 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 a meikle goud aboon her brow As woud buy an earldome 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 oer 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 gi her wi; For I maun marry my first true love, That's done and suffered so much for me."

He's take his bonny love by the ban, And led her to yon fountain stane; He's changd her name frae Shusy Pye, An he's cald her his bonny love, Lady Jane.

BRAVE LORD WILLOUGHBEY

The fifteenth day of July, With glistering spear and shield, A famous fight in Flanders Was foughten in the field: The most couragious officers Were English captains three; But the bravest man in battel Was brave Lord Willoughbèy.

The next was Captain Norris, A valiant man was hee: The other Captain Turner, From field would never flee. With fifteen hundred fighting men, Alas! there were no more, They fought with fourteen thousand then, Upon the bloody shore.

Stand to it, noble pikemen, And look you round about: And shoot you right, you bow-men, And we will keep them out: You musquet and callìver men, Do you prove true to me, I'le be the formost man in fight, Says brave Lord Willoughbèy.

And then the bloody enemy They fiercely did assail, And fought it out most furiously, Not doubting to prevail: The wounded men on both sides fell Most pitious for to see, Yet nothing could the courage quell Of brave Lord Willoughbèy.

For seven hours to all mens view This fight endured sore, Until our men so feeble grew That they could fight no more; And then upon dead horses Full savourly they eat, And drank the puddle water, They could no better get.

When they had fed so freely, They kneeled on the ground, And praised God devoutly For the favour they had found; And beating up their colours, The fight they did renew, And turning tow'rds the Spaniard, A thousand more they slew.

The sharp steel-pointed arrows, And bullets thick did fly, Then did our valiant soldiers Charge on most furiously; Which made the Spaniards waver, They thought it best to flee, They fear'd the stout behaviour Of brave Lord Willoughbey.

Then quoth the Spanish general, Come let us march away, I fear we shall be spoiled all If here we longer stay; For yonder comes Lord Willoughbey With courage fierce and fell, He will not give one inch of way For all the devils in hell.

And then the fearful enemy Was quickly put to flight, Our men persued couragiously, And caught their forces quite; But at last they gave a shout, Which ecchoed through the sky, God, and St. George for England! The conquerors did cry.

This news was brought to England With all the speed might be, And soon our gracious queen was told Of this same victory. O this is brave Lord Willoughbey, My love that ever won, Of all the lords of honour 'Tis he great deeds hath done.

To the souldiers that were maimed, And wounded in the fray, The queen allowed a pension Of fifteen pence a day; And from all costs and charges She quit and set them free: And this she did all for the sake Of brave Lord Willoughbey.

Then courage, noble Englishmen, And never be dismaid; If that we be but one to ten, We will not be afraid To fight with foraign enemies, And set our nation free. And thus I end the bloody bout Of brave Lord Willoughbey.

THE SPANISH LADY'S LOVE

Will you hear a Spanish lady, How shed wooed an English man? Garments gay and rich as may be Decked with jewels she had on. Of a comely countenance and grace was she, And by birth and parentage of high degree.

As his prisoner there he kept her, In his hands her life did lye! Cupid's bands did tye them faster By the liking of an eye. In his courteous company was all her joy, To favour him in any thing she was not coy.

But at last there came commandment For to set the ladies free, With their jewels still adorned, None to do them injury. Then said this lady mild, Full woe is me; O let me still sustain this kind captivity!

Gallant captain, shew some pity To a ladye in distresse; Leave me not within this city, For to dye in heavinesse: Thou hast this present day my body free, But my heart in prison still remains with thee.

"How should'st thou, fair lady, love me, Whom thou knowest thy country's foe? Thy fair wordes make me suspect thee: Serpents lie where flowers grow." All the harme I wishe to thee, most courteous knight, God grant the same upon my head may fully light. Blessed be the time and season, That you came on Spanish ground; If our foes you may be termed, Gentle foes we have you found: With our city, you have won our hearts eche one, Then to your country bear away, that is your owne.

"Rest you still, most gallant lady; Rest you still, and weep no more; Of fair lovers there is plenty, Spain doth yield a wonderous store." Spaniards fraught with jealousy we often find, But Englishmen through all the world are counted kind.

Leave me not unto a Spaniard, You alone enjoy my heart: I am lovely, young, and tender, Love is likewise my desert: Still to serve thee day and night my mind is prest; The wife of every Englishman is counted blest. "It wold be a shame, fair lady, For to bear a woman hence; English soldiers never carry Any such without offence." I'll quickly change myself, if it be so, And like a page He follow thee, where'er thou go.

"I have neither gold nor silver To maintain thee in this case, And to travel is great charges, As you know in every place." My chains and jewels every one shal be thy own, And eke five hundred pounds in gold that lies unknown.

"On the seas are many dangers, Many storms do there arise, Which wil be to ladies dreadful, And force tears from watery eyes." Well in troth I shall endure extremity, For I could find in heart to lose my life for thee.

"Courteous ladye, leave this fancy, Here comes all that breeds the strife; I in England have already A sweet woman to my wife: I will not falsify my vow for gold nor gain, Nor yet for all the fairest dames that live in Spain."

O how happy is that woman That enjoys so true a friend! Many happy days God send her; Of my suit I make an end: On my knees I pardon crave for my offence, Which did from love and true affection first commence.

Commend me to thy lovely lady, Bear to her this chain of gold; And these bracelets for a token; Grieving that I was so bold: All my jewels in like sort take thou with thee, For they are fitting for thy wife, but not for me.

I will spend my days in prayer, Love and all her laws defye; In a nunnery will I shroud mee Far from any companye: But ere my prayers have an end, be sure of this, To pray for thee and for thy love I will not miss.

Thus farewell, most gallant captain! Farewell too my heart's content! Count not Spanish ladies wanton, Though to thee my love was bent: Joy and true prosperity goe still with thee! "The like fall ever to thy share, most fair ladie."

THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY

It was a friar of orders gray Walkt forth to tell his beades; And he met with a lady faire, Clad in a pilgrime's weedes.

Now Christ thee save, thou reverend friar, I pray thee tell to me, If ever at yon holy shrine My true love thou didst see.

And how should I know your true love From many another one? O by his cockle hat, and staff, And by his sandal shoone.

But chiefly by his face and mien, That were so fair to view; His flaxen locks that sweetly curl'd, And eyne of lovely blue.

O lady, he is dead and gone! Lady, he's dead and gone! And at his head a green grass turfe, And at his heels a stone.

Within these holy cloysters long He languisht, and he dyed, Lamenting of a ladyes love, And 'playning of her pride.

Here bore him barefac'd on his bier Six proper youths and tall, And many a tear bedew'd his grave Within yon kirk-yard wall.

And art thou dead, thou gentle youth! And art thou dead and gone! And didst thou die for love of me! Break, cruel heart of stone!

O weep not, lady, weep not soe; Some ghostly comfort seek: Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart, Ne teares bedew thy cheek.

O do not, do not, holy friar, My sorrow now reprove; For I have lost the sweetest youth, That e'er wan ladyes love.

And nowe, alas! for thy sad losse, I'll evermore weep and sigh; For thee I only wisht to live, For thee I wish to dye.

Weep no more, lady, weep no more, Thy sorrowe is in vaine: For violets pluckt the sweetest showers Will ne'er make grow againe.

Our joys as winged dreams doe flye, Why then should sorrow last? Since grief but aggravates thy losse, Grieve not for what is past.

O say not soe, thou holy friar; I pray thee, say not soe: For since my true-love dyed for mee, 'Tis meet my tears should flow.

And will he ne'er come again? Will he ne'er come again? Ah! no, he is dead and laid in his grave, For ever to remain.

His cheek was redder than the rose; The comliest youth was he! But he is dead and laid in his grave: Alas, and woe is me!

Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more, Men were deceivers ever: One foot on sea and one on land, To one thing constant never.

Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, And left thee sad and heavy; For young men ever were fickle found, Since summer trees were leafy.

Now say not so, thou holy friar, I pray thee say not soe; My love he had the truest heart: O he was ever true!

And art thou dead, thou much-lov'd youth, And didst thou dye for mee? Then farewell home; for ever-more A pilgrim I will bee.

But first upon my true-loves grave My weary limbs I'll lay, And thrice I'll kiss the green-grass turf, That wraps his breathless clay.

Yet stay, fair lady; rest awhile Beneath this cloyster wall: See through the hawthorn blows the cold wind, And drizzly rain doth fall.

O stay me not, thou holy friar; O stay me not, I pray; No drizzly rain that falls on me, Can wash my fault away.

Yet stay, fair lady, turn again, And dry those pearly tears; For see beneath this gown of gray Thy own true-love appears.

Here forc'd by grief, and hopeless love, These holy weeds I sought; And here amid these lonely walls To end my days I thought.

But haply for my year of grace Is not yet past away, Might I still hope to win thy love, No longer would I stay.

Now farewell grief, and welcome joy Once more unto my heart; For since I have found thee, lovely youth, We never more will part.

CLERK COLVILL

Clerk Colvill and his lusty dame Were walking in the garden green; The belt around her stately waist Cost Clerk Colvill of pounds fifteen.

"O promise me now, Clerk Colvill, Or it will cost ye muckle strife, Ride never by the wells of Slane, If ye wad live and brook your life."

"Now speak nae mair, my lusty dame, Now speak nae mair of that to me; Did I neer see a fair woman, But I wad sin with her body?"

He's taen leave o his gay lady, Nought minding what his lady said, And he's rode by the wells of Slane, Where washing was a bonny maid.

"Wash on, wash on, my bonny maid, That wash sae clean your sark of silk;" "And weel fa you, fair gentleman, Your body whiter than the milk."

* * * * *

Then loud, loud cry'd the Clerk Colvill, "O my head it pains me sair;" "Then take, then take," the maiden said, "And frae my sark you'll cut a gare."

Then she's gied him a little bane-knife, And frae her sark he cut a share; She's ty'd it round his whey-white face, But ay his head it aked mair.

Then louder cry'd the Clerk Colville, "O sairer, sairer akes my head;" "And sairer, sairer ever will," The maiden crys, "till you be dead."

Out then he drew his shining blade, Thinking to stick her where she stood, But she was vanished to a fish, And swam far off, a fair mermaid.

"O mother, mother, braid my hair; My lusty lady, make my bed; O brother, take my sword and spear, For I have seen the false mermaid."

SIR ALDINGAR

Our king he kept a false stewàrde, Sir Aldingar they him call; A falser steward than he was one, Servde not in bower nor hall.

He wolde have layne by our comelye queene, Her deere worshippe to betraye: Our queene she was a good womàn, And evermore said him naye.

Sir Aldingar was wrothe in his mind, With her hee was never content, Till traiterous meanes he colde devyse, In a fyer to have her brent.

There came a lazar to the kings gate, A lazar both blinde and lame: He tooke the lazar upon his backe, Him on the queenes bed has layne.

"Lye still, lazar, whereas thou lyest, Looke thou goe not hence away; He make thee a whole man and a sound In two howers of the day."

Then went him forth Sir Aldingar, And hyed him to our king: "If I might have grace, as I have space, Sad tydings I could bring."

Say on, say on, Sir Aldingar, Saye on the soothe to mee. "Our queene hath chosen a new new love, And shee will have none of thee.

"If shee had chosen a right good knight, The lesse had beene her shame; But she hath chose her a lazar man, A lazar both blinde and lame."

If this be true, thou Aldingar, The tyding thou tellest to me, Then will I make thee a rich rich knight, Rich both of golde and fee.

But if it be false, Sir Aldingar, As God nowe grant it bee! Thy body, I sweare by the holye rood, Shall hang on the gallows tree.

He brought our king to the queenes chambèr, And opend to him the dore. A lodlye love, King Harry says, For our queene dame Elinore!

If thou were a man, as thou art none, Here on my sword thoust dye; But a payre of new gallowes shall be built, And there shalt thou hang on hye.

Forth then hyed our king, I wysse, And an angry man was hee; And soone he found Queen Elinore, That bride so bright of blee.

Now God you save, our queene, madame, And Christ you save and see; Heere you have chosen a newe newe love, And you will have none of mee.

If you had chosen a right good knight, The lesse had been your shame; But you have chose you a lazar man, A lazar both blinde and lame.

Therfore a fyer there shalt be built, And brent all shalt thou bee.-- Now out alacke! said our comly queene, Sir Aldingar's false to mee.

Now out alacke! sayd our comlye queene, My heart with griefe will brast. I had thought swevens had never been true; I have proved them true at last.

I dreamt in my sweven on Thursday eve, In my bed whereas I laye. I dreamt a grype and a grimlie beast Had carryed my crowne awaye;

My gorgett and my kirtle of golde, And all my faire head-geere: And he wold worrye me with his tush And to his nest y-beare:

Saving there came a little 'gray' hawke, A merlin him they call, Which untill the grounde did strike the grype, That dead he downe did fall.

Giffe I were a man, as now I am none, A battell wold I prove, To fight with that traitor Aldingar, Att him I cast my glove.

But seeing Ime able noe battell to make, My liege, grant me a knight To fight with that traitor Sir Aldingar, To maintaine me in my right.

"Now forty dayes I will give thee To seeke thee a knight therein: If thou find not a knight in forty dayes Thy bodye it must brenn."

Then shee sent east, and shee sent west, By north and south bedeene: But never a champion colde she find, Wolde fight with that knight soe keene.

Now twenty dayes were spent and gone, Noe helpe there might be had; Many a teare shed our comelye queene And aye her hart was sad.

Then came one of the queenes damsèlles, And knelt upon her knee, "Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame, I trust yet helpe may be:

And here I will make mine avowe, And with the same me binde; That never will I return to thee, Till I some helpe may finde."

Then forth she rode on a faire palfràye Oer hill and dale about: But never a champion colde she finde, Wolde fighte with that knight so stout.

And nowe the daye drewe on a pace, When our good queene must dye; All woe-begone was that faire damsèlle, When she found no helpe was nye.

All woe-begone was that faire damsèlle, And the salt teares fell from her eye: When lo! as she rode by a rivers side, She met with a tinye boye.

A tinye boye she mette, God wot, All clad in mantle of golde; He seemed noe more in mans likenèsse, Then a childe of four yeere old.

Why grieve you, damselle faire, he sayd, And what doth cause you moane? The damsell scant wolde deigne a looke, But fast she pricked on.

Yet turne againe, thou faire damsèlle And greete thy queene from mee: When bale is att hyest, boote is nyest, Nowe helpe enoughe may bee.

Bid her remember what she dreamt In her bedd, wheras shee laye; How when the grype and grimly beast Wolde have carried her crowne awaye,

Even then there came the little gray hawke, And saved her from his clawes: Then bidd the queene be merry at hart, For heaven will fende her cause.

Back then rode that faire damsèlle, And her hart it lept for glee: And when she told her gracious dame A gladd woman then was shee:

But when the appointed day was come, No helpe appeared nye: Then woeful, woeful was her hart, And the teares stood in her eye.

And nowe a fyer was built of wood; And a stake was made of tree; And now Queene Elinor forth was led, A sorrowful sight to see.

Three times the herault he waved his hand, And three times spake on hye: Giff any good knight will fende this dame, Come forth, or shee must dye.

No knight stood forth, no knight there came, No helpe appeared nye: And now the fyer was lighted up, Queen Elinor she must dye.

And now the fyer was lighted up, As hot as hot might bee; When riding upon a little white steed, The tinye boy they see.