Chapter 1

Produced by David Widger, Juliet Sutherland, Phil McLaury, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. Text version by Al Haines.

`

A BOOK OF OLD BALLADS

Selected and with an Introduction

by

BEVERLEY NICHOLS

CONTENTS

CLERK COLVILL SIR ALDINGAR EDOM O' GORDON CHEVY CHACE SIR LANCELOT DU LAKE GIL MORRICE THE CHILD OF ELLE CHILD WATERS KING EDWARD IV AND THE TANNER OF TAMWORTH SIR PATRICK SPENS THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER

LIST OF COLOUR PLATES

CLERK COLVILL GIL MORRICE CHILD WATERS THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER

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.

"Away with that stake, away with those brands, And loose our comelye queene: I am come to fight with Sir Aldingar, And prove him a traitor keene."

Forthe then stood Sir Aldingar, But when he saw the chylde, He laughed, and scoffed, and turned his backe, And weened he had been beguylde.

"Now turne, now turne thee, Aldingar, And eyther fighte or flee; I trust that I shall avenge the wronge, Thoughe I am so small to see."

The boy pulld forth a well good sworde So gilt it dazzled the ee; The first stroke stricken at Aldingar, Smote off his leggs by the knee.

"Stand up, stand up, thou false traitòr, And fight upon thy feete, For and thou thrive, as thou begin'st, Of height wee shall be meete."

A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingàr, While I am a man alive. A priest, a priest, sayes Aldingàr, Me for to houzle and shrive.

I wolde have laine by our comlie queene, Bot shee wolde never consent; Then I thought to betraye her unto our kinge In a fyer to have her brent.

There came a lazar to the kings gates, A lazar both blind and lame: I tooke the lazar upon my backe, And on her bedd had him layne.

Then ranne I to our comlye king, These tidings sore to tell. But ever alacke! sayes Aldingar, Falsing never doth well.

Forgive, forgive me, queene, madame, The short time I must live. "Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar, As freely I forgive."

Here take thy queene, our king Harryè, And love her as thy life, For never had a king in Christentye. A truer and fairer wife.

King Henrye ran to claspe his queene, And loosed her full sone: Then turned to look for the tinye boye; --The boye was vanisht and gone.

But first he had touched the lazar man, And stroakt him with his hand: The lazar under the gallowes tree All whole and sounde did stand.

The lazar under the gallowes tree Was comelye, straight and tall; King Henrye made him his head stewàrde To wayte withinn his hall.

EDOM O' GORDON

It fell about the Martinmas, Quhen the wind blew shril and cauld, Said Edom o' Gordon to his men, We maun draw till a hauld.

And quhat a hauld sall we draw till, My mirry men and me? We wul gae to the house o' the Rodes, To see that fair ladie.

The lady stude on her castle wa', Beheld baith dale and down: There she was ware of a host of men Cum ryding towards the toun.

O see ze nat, my mirry men a'? O see za nat quhat I see? Methinks I see a host of men: I marveil quha they be.

She weend it had been hir luvely lord, As he cam ryding hame; It was the traitor Edom o' Gordon, Quha reckt nae sin nor shame.

She had nae sooner buskit hirsel, And putten on hir goun, But Edom o' Gordon and his men Were round about the toun.

They had nae sooner supper sett, Nae sooner said the grace, But Edom o' Gordon and his men Were light about the place.

The lady ran up to hir towir head, Sa fast as she could hie, To see if by hir fair speechès She could wi' him agree.

But quhan he see this lady saif, And hir yates all locked fast, He fell into a rage of wrath, And his look was all aghast.

Cum doun to me, ze lady gay, Cum doun, cum doun to me: This night sall ye lig within mine armes, To-morrow my bride sall be.

I winnae cum doun ze fals Gordòn, I winnae cum doun to thee; I winna forsake my ain dear lord, That is sae far frae me.

Give owre zour house, ze lady fair, Give owre zour house to me, Or I sall brenn yoursel therein, Bot and zour babies three.

I winnae give owre, ze false Gordòn, To nae sik traitor as zee; And if ze brenn my ain dear babes, My lord sall make ze drie.

But reach my pistoll, Glaud my man, And charge ze weil my gun: For, but an I pierce that bluidy butcher, My babes we been undone.

She stude upon hir castle wa', And let twa bullets flee: She mist that bluidy butchers hart, And only raz'd his knee.

Set fire to the house, quo' fals Gordòn, All wood wi' dule and ire: Fals lady, ze sall rue this deid, As ze bren in the fire.

Wae worth, wae worth ze, Jock my man, I paid ze weil zour fee; Quhy pu' ze out the ground-wa' stane, Lets in the reek to me?

And ein wae worth ze, Jock my man, I paid ze weil zour hire; Quhy pu' ze out the ground-wa' stane, To me lets in the fire?

Ze paid me weil my hire, lady; Ze paid me weil my fee: But now I'm Edom o' Gordons man, Maun either doe or die.

O than bespaik hir little son, Sate on the nurses knee: Sayes, Mither deare, gi' owre this house, For the reek it smithers me.

I wad gie a' my gowd, my childe, Say wald I a' my fee, For ane blast o' the western wind, To blaw the reek frae thee.

O then bespaik hir dochter dear, She was baith jimp and sma; O row me in a pair o' sheits, And tow me owre the wa.

They rowd hir in a pair o' sheits, And towd hir owre the wa: But on the point of Gordons spear She gat a deadly fa.

O bonnie bonnie was hir mouth, And cherry were her cheiks, And clear clear was hir zellow hair, Whereon the reid bluid dreips.

Then wi' his spear he turnd hir owre, O gin hir face was wan! He sayd, Ze are the first that eir I wisht alive again.

He turnd hir owre and owre againe, O gin hir skin was whyte! I might ha spared that bonnie face To hae been sum mans delyte.

Busk and boun, my merry men a', For ill dooms I doe guess; I cannae luik in that bonnie face, As it lyes on the grass.

Thame, luiks to freits, my master deir, Then freits wil follow thame: Let neir be said brave Edom o' Gordon Was daunted by a dame.

But quhen the ladye see the fire Cum flaming owre hir head, She wept and kist her children twain, Sayd, Bairns, we been but dead.

The Gordon then his bougill blew, And said, Awa', awa'; This house o' the Rodes is a' in flame, I hauld it time to ga'.

O then bespyed hir ain dear lord, As hee cam owr the lee; He sied his castle all in blaze Sa far as he could see.

Then sair, O sair his mind misgave, And all his hart was wae; Put on, put on, my wighty men, So fast as ze can gae.

Put on, put on, my wighty men, Sa fast as ze can drie; For he that is hindmost of the thrang Sall neir get guid o' me.

Than sum they rade, and sum they rin, Fou fast out-owr the bent; But eir the foremost could get up, Baith lady and babes were brent.

He wrang his hands, he rent his hair, And wept in teenefu' muid: O traitors, for this cruel deid Ze sall weep tiers o' bluid.

And after the Gordon he is gane, Sa fast as he might drie. And soon i' the Gordon's foul hartis bluid He's wroken his dear ladie.

CHEVY CHACE

God prosper long our noble king, Our lives and safetyes all; A woefull hunting once there did In Chevy-Chace befall;

To drive the deere with hound and horne, Erle Percy took his way, The child may rue that is unborne, The hunting of that day.

The stout Erle of Northumberland A vow to God did make, His pleasure in the Scottish woods Three summers days to take;

The cheefest harts in Chevy-chace To kill and beare away. These tydings to Erle Douglas came, In Scotland where he lay:

Who sent Erle Percy present word, He wold prevent his sport. The English erle, not fearing that, Did to the woods resort

With fifteen hundred bow-men bold; All chosen men of might, Who knew full well in time of neede To ayme their shafts arright.

The galland greyhounds swiftly ran, To chase the fallow deere: On munday they began to hunt, Ere day-light did appeare;

And long before high noone they had An hundred fat buckes slaine; Then having dined, the drovyers went To rouze the deare againe.

The bow-men mustered on the hills, Well able to endure; Theire backsides all, with speciall care, That day were guarded sure.

The hounds ran swiftly through the woods, The nimble deere to take, That with their cryes the hills and dales An eccho shrill did make.

Lord Percy to the quarry went, To view the slaughter'd deere; Quoth he, Erle Douglas promised This day to meet me heere:

But if I thought he wold not come, Noe longer wold I stay. With that, a brave younge gentleman Thus to the Erle did say:

Loe, yonder doth Erle Douglas come, His men in armour bright; Full twenty hundred Scottish speres All marching in our sight;

All men of pleasant Tivydale, Fast by the river Tweede: O cease your sports, Erle Percy said, And take your bowes with speede:

And now with me, my countrymen, Your courage forth advance; For there was never champion yett, In Scotland nor in France,

That ever did on horsebacke come, But if my hap it were, I durst encounter man for man, With him to break a spere.

Erle Douglas on his milke-white steede, Most like a baron bolde, Rode foremost of his company, Whose armour shone like gold.

Show me, sayd hee, whose men you bee, That hunt soe boldly heere, That, without my consent, doe chase And kill my fallow-deere.

The first man that did answer make Was noble Percy hee; Who sayd, Wee list not to declare, Nor shew whose men wee bee:

Yet wee will spend our deerest blood, Thy cheefest harts to slay. Then Douglas swore a solempne oathe, And thus in rage did say,

Ere thus I will out-braved bee, One of us two shall dye: I know thee well, an erle thou art; Lord Percy, soe am I.

But trust me, Percy, pittye it were, And great offence to kill Any of these our guiltlesse men, For they have done no ill.

Let thou and I the battell trye, And set our men aside. Accurst bee he, Erle Percy sayd, By whome this is denyed.

Then stept a gallant squier forth, Witherington was his name, Who said, I wold not have it told To Henry our king for shame,

That ere my captaine fought on foote, And I stood looking on. You be two erles, sayd Witherington, And I a squier alone:

He doe the best that doe I may, While I have power to stand: While I have power to weeld my sword He fight with hart and hand.

Our English archers bent their bowes, Their harts were good and trew; Att the first flight of arrowes sent, Full four-score Scots they slew.

Yet bides Earl Douglas on the bent, As Chieftain stout and good. As valiant Captain, all unmov'd The shock he firmly stood.

His host he parted had in three, As Leader ware and try'd, And soon his spearmen on their foes Bare down on every side.

To drive the deere with hound and horne, Douglas bade on the bent Two captaines moved with mickle might Their speres to shivers went.

Throughout the English archery They dealt full many a wound: But still our valiant Englishmen All firmly kept their ground:

And throwing strait their bows away, They grasp'd their swords so bright: And now sharp blows, a heavy shower, On shields and helmets light.

They closed full fast on every side, Noe slackness there was found: And many a gallant gentleman Lay gasping on the ground.

O Christ! it was a griefe to see; And likewise for to heare, The cries of men lying in their gore, And scattered here and there.

At last these two stout erles did meet, Like captaines of great might: Like lyons wood, they layd on lode, And made a cruell fight:

They fought untill they both did sweat, With swords of tempered steele; Untill the blood, like drops of rain, They tricklin downe did feele.

Yeeld thee, Lord Percy, Douglas sayd In faith I will thee bringe, Where thou shalt high advanced bee By James our Scottish king:

Thy ransome I will freely give, And this report of thee, Thou art the most couragious knight, That ever I did see.

Noe, Douglas, quoth Erle Percy then, Thy proffer I doe scorne; I will not yeelde to any Scott, That ever yett was borne.

With that, there came an arrow keene Out of an English bow, Which struck Erle Douglas to the heart, A deepe and deadlye blow:

Who never spake more words than these, Fight on, my merry men all; For why, my life is at an end; Lord Percy sees my fall.

Then leaving liffe, Erie Percy tooke The dead man by the hand; And said, Erle Douglas, for thy life Wold I had lost my land.

O Christ! my verry hart doth bleed With sorrow for thy sake; For sure, a more redoubted knight Mischance cold never take.

A knight amongst the Scotts there was Which saw Erle Douglas dye, Who streight in wrath did vow revenge Upon the Lord Percye:

Sir Hugh Mountgomery was he call'd, Who, with a spere most bright, Well-mounted on a gallant steed, Ran fiercely through the fight;

And past the English archers all, Without all dread or feare; And through Earl Percyes body then He thrust his hatefull spere;

With such a vehement force and might He did his body gore, The staff ran through the other side A large cloth-yard and more.

So thus did both these nobles dye, Whose courage none could staine: An English archer then perceiv'd The noble erle was slaine;

He had a bow bent in his hand, Made of a trusty tree; An arrow of a cloth-yard long Up to the head drew hee:

Against Sir Hugh Mountgomerye, So right the shaft he sett, The grey goose-winge that was thereon, In his harts bloode was wette.

This fight did last from breake of day, Till setting of the sun; For when they rang the evening-bell, The battel scarce was done.

With stout Erle Percy there was slaine Sir John of Egerton, Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, Sir James that bold barròn:

And with Sir George and stout Sir James, Both knights of good account, Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slaine, Whose prowesse did surmount.

For Witherington needs must I wayle, As one in doleful dumpes; For when his leggs were smitten off, He fought upon his stumpes.

And with Erle Douglas, there was slaine Sir Hugh Montgomerye, Sir Charles Murray, that from the feeld One foote wold never flee.

Sir Charles Murray, of Ratcliff, too, His sisters sonne was hee; Sir David Lamb, so well esteem'd, Yet saved cold not bee.

And the Lord Maxwell in like case Did with Erle Douglas dye: Of twenty hundred Scottish speres, Scarce fifty-five did flye.

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, Went home but fifty-three; The rest were slaine in Chevy-Chace, Under the greene woode tree.

Next day did many widowes come, Their husbands to bewayle; They washt their wounds in brinish teares, But all wold not prevayle.

Theyr bodyes, bathed in purple gore, They bare with them away: They kist them dead a thousand times, Ere they were cladd in clay.

The news was brought to Eddenborrow, Where Scottlands king did raigne, That brave Erle Douglas suddenlye Was with an arrow slaine:

O heavy newes, King James did say, Scotland may witnesse bee, I have not any captaine more Of such account as hee.

Like tydings to King Henry came, Within as short a space, That Percy of Northumberland Was slaine in Chevy-Chace:

Now God be with him, said our king, Sith it will noe better bee; I trust I have, within my realme, Five hundred as good as hee: