Chapter 8
"Your head will na be touched, Etin, Nor sall you hang on tree; Your lady's in her father's court, And all he wants is thee."
When he cam' in before the Earl, He louted on his knee: "Win up, win up now, Hynd Etin; This day ye'se dine wi' me."
As they were at their dinner set, The boy he asked a boon: "I wold we were in haly kirk, To get our christendoun.
"For we hae lived in gude greenwood These twelve lang years and ane; But a' this time since e'er I mind Was never a kirk within."
"Your asking's na sae great, my boy, But granted it sall be: This day to haly kirk sall ye gang, And your mither sall gang you wi'."
When she cam' to the haly kirk, She at the door did stan'; She was sae sunken doun wi' shame, She couldna come farther ben.
Then out it spak' the haly priest, Wi' a kindly word spak' he: "Come ben, come ben, my lily-flower, And bring your babes to me."
* * * * *
LAMKIN.
It's Lamkin was a mason good As ever built wi' stane; He built Lord Wearie's castle, But payment gat he nane.
"O pay me, Lord Wearie, Come, pay me my fee:" "I canna pay you, Lamkin, For I maun gang o'er the sea."
"O pay me now, Lord Wearie, Come, pay me out o' hand:" "I canna pay you, Lamkin, Unless I sell my land."
"O gin ye winna pay me, I here sall mak' a vow, Before that ye come hame again, Ye sall hae cause to rue."
Lord Wearie got a bonny ship, To sail the saut sea faem; Bade his lady weel the castle keep, Ay till he should come hame.
But the nourice was a fause limmer As e'er hung on a tree; She laid a plot wi' Lamkin, Whan her lord was o'er the sea.
She laid a plot wi' Lamkin, When the servants were awa', Loot him in at a little shot-window, And brought him to the ha'.
"O where's a' the men o' this house, That ca' me Lamkin?" "They're at the barn-well thrashing; 'Twill be lang ere they come in."
"And where's the women o' this house, That ca' me Lamkin?" "They're at the far well washing; 'Twill be lang ere they come in."
"And where's the bairns o' this house, That ca' me Lamkin?" "They're at the school reading; 'Twill be night or they come hame."
"O where's the lady o' this house, That ca's me Lamkin?" "She's up in her bower sewing, But we soon can bring her down."
Then Lamkin's tane a sharp knife, That hang down by his gaire, And he has gi'en the bonny babe A deep wound and a sair.
Then Lamkin he rocked, And the fause nourice she sang, Till frae ilka bore o' the cradle The red blood out sprang.
Then out it spak' the lady, As she stood on the stair: "What ails my bairn, nourice, That he's greeting sae sair?
"O still my bairn, nourice, O still him wi' the pap!" "He winna still, lady, For this nor for that."
"O still my bairn, nourice, O still him wi' the wand!" "He winna still, lady, For a' his father's land."
"O still my bairn, nourice, O still him wi' the bell!" "He winna still, lady, Till you come down yoursel."
O the firsten step she steppit, She steppit on a stane; But the neisten step she steppit, She met him Lamkin.
"O mercy, mercy, Lamkin, Hae mercy upon me! Though you've ta'en my young son's life, Ye may let mysel be."
"O sall I kill her, nourice, Or sall I lat her be?" "O kill her, kill her, Lamkin, For she ne'er was good to me."
"O scour the bason, nourice, And mak' it fair and clean, For to keep this lady's heart's blood, For she's come o' noble kin."
"There need nae bason, Lamkin, Lat it run through the floor; What better is the heart's blood O' the rich than o' the poor?"
But ere three months were at an end, Lord Wearie cam' again; But dowie, dowie was his heart When first he cam' hame.
"O wha's blood is this," he says, "That lies in the chamer?" "It is your lady's heart's blood; 'Tis as clear as the lamer."
"And wha's blood is this," he says, "That lies in my ha'?" "It is your young son's heart's blood; 'Tis the clearest ava."
O sweetly sang the black-bird That sat upon the tree; But sairer grat Lamkin, When he was condemnd to die.
And bonny sang the mavis, Out o' the thorny brake; But sairer grat the nourice, When she was tied to the stake.
* * * * *
HUGH OF LINCOLN.
Four and twenty bonny boys Were playing at the ba', And up it stands him sweet Sir Hugh, The flower amang them a'.
He kicked the ba' there wi' his foot, And keppit it wi' his knee, Till even in at the Jew's window He gart the bonny ba' flee.
"Cast out the ba' to me, fair maid, Cast out that ba' o' mine." "Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter, "Till ye come up an' dine.
"Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh, Come up and get the ba'." "I winna come, I mayna come, Without my bonny boys a'."
She's ta'en her to the Jew's garden, Where the grass grew lang and green, She's pu'd an apple red and white, To wyle the bonny boy in.
She's wyled him in through ae chamber, She's wyled him in through twa, She's wyled him into the third chamber, And that was the warst o' a'.
She's tied the little boy, hands and feet, She's pierced him wi' a knife, She's caught his heart's blood in a golden cup, And twinn'd him o' his life.
She row'd him in a cake o' lead, Bade him lie still and sleep, She cast him into a deep draw-well, Was fifty fathom deep.
When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And every bairn went hame, Then ilka lady had her young son, But Lady Helen had nane.
She's row'd her mantle her about, And sair, sair 'gan she weep; And she ran unto the Jew's house, When they were all asleep.
"My bonny Sir Hugh, my pretty Sir Hugh, I pray thee to me speak!" "Lady Helen, come to the deep draw-well Gin ye your son wad seek."
Lady Helen ran to the deep draw-well, And knelt upon her knee: "My bonny Sir Hugh, an ye be here, I pray thee speak to me!"
"The lead is wondrous heavy, mither, The well is wondrous deep; A keen penknife sticks in my heart, It is hard for me to speak.
"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear, Fetch me my winding-sheet; And at the back o' merry Lincoln, It's there we twa sall meet."
Now Lady Helen she's gane hame, Made 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 men's tongue: Never was such a burial Sin' Adam's days begun.
* * * * *
FAIR ANNIE.
Learn to mak' your bed, Annie, And learn to lie your lane; For I am going ayont the sea, A braw bride to bring hame.
"Wi' her I'll get baith gowd and gear, Wi' thee I ne'er gat nane; I got thee as a waif woman, I'll leave thee as the same.
"But wha will bake my bridal bread, And brew my bridal ale, And wha will welcome my bright bride, That I bring owre the dale?"
"It's I will bake your bridal bread, And brew your bridal ale; And I will welcome your bright bride, When she comes owre the dale."
He set his foot into the stirrup, His hand upon the mane; Says, "It will be a year and a day, Ere ye see me again."
Fair Annie stood in her bower door, And looked out o'er the lan', And there she saw her ain gude lord Leading his bride by the han'.
She's drest her sons i' the scarlet red, Hersel i' the dainty green; And tho' her cheek look'd pale and wan, She weel might hae been a queen.
She called upon her eldest son; "Look yonder what ye see, For yonder comes your father dear, Your stepmither him wi'.
"Ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord, To your halls but and your bowers; Ye're welcome hame, my ain gude lord, To your castles and your towers; Sae is your bright bride you beside, She's fairer than the flowers!"
"I thank ye, I thank ye, fair maiden, That speaks sae courteouslie; If I be lang about this house, Rewarded ye sall be.
"O what'n a maiden's that," she says, "That welcomes you and me? She is sae like my sister Annie, Was stown i' the bower frae me."
O she has served the lang tables, Wi' the white bread and the wine; But ay she drank the wan water, To keep her colour fine.
And as she gaed by the first table, She leugh amang them a'; But ere she reach'd the second table, She loot the tears doun fa'.
She's ta'en a napkin lang and white, And hung it on a pin; And it was a' to dry her e'en, As she ga'ed out and in.
When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' men boun to bed, The bride but and the bonny bridegroom, In ae chamber were laid.
She's ta'en her harp intill her hand, To harp this twa asleep; And ay as she harped and as she sang, Full sairly did she weep.
"O seven full fair sons hae I born, To the gude lord o' this place; And O that they were seven young hares, And them to rin a race, And I mysel a gude greyhound, And I wad gie them chase!
"O seven full fair sons hae I born To the gude lord o' this ha'; And O that they were seven rattons To rin frae wa' to wa', And I mysel a gude grey cat, And I wad worry them a'!"
"My goun is on," said the new-come bride, "My shoon are on my feet; And I will to fair Annie's chamber, And see what gars her greet.
"O wha was't was your father, Annie, And wha was't was your mither? And had ye ony sister, Annie, Or had ye ony brither?"
"The Earl o' Richmond was my father, His lady was my mither, And a' the bairns beside mysel, Was a sister and a brither."
"O weel befa' your sang, Annie, I wat ye hae sung in time; Gin the Earl o' Richmond was your father, I wat sae was he mine.
"O keep your lord, my sister dear, Ye never were wranged by me; I had but ae kiss o' his merry mouth, As we cam' owre the sea.
There were five ships o' gude red gold Cam' owre the seas wi' me, It's twa o' them will tak' me home, And three I'll leave wi' thee."
* * * * *
THE LAIRD O' DRUM.
The Laird o' Drum is a-hunting gane, All in a morning early, And he has spied a weel-faur'd May, A-shearing at her barley.
"My bonny May, my weel-faur'd May, O will ye fancy me, O? Wilt gae and be the Leddy o' Drum, And let your shearing a-be, O?"
"It's I winna fancy you, kind sir, Nor let my shearing a-be, O; For I'm ower low to be Leddy Drum, And your light love I'll never be, O."
"Gin ye'll cast aff that goun o' gray, Put on the silk for me, O, I'll mak' a vow, and keep it true, A light love you'll never be, O."
"My father lie is a shepherd mean, Keeps sheep on yonder hill, O, And ye may gae and speer at him, For I am at his will, O."
Drum is to her father gane, Keeping his sheep on yon hill, O: "I am come to marry your ae daughter, If ye'll gie me your good-will, O."
"My dochter can naether read nor write, She ne'er was brocht up at scheel, O; But weel can she milk baith cow and ewe, And mak' a kebbuck weel, O.
"She'll shake your barn, and win your corn, And gang to kiln and mill, O; She'll saddle your steed in time o' need, And draw aff your boots hersell, O."
"I'll learn your lassie to read and write, And I'll put her to the scheel, O; She shall neither need to saddle my steed, Nor draw aff my boots hersell, O.
"But wha will bake my bridal bread, Or brew my bridal ale, O; And wha will welcome my bonnie bride Is mair than I can tell, O."
Four-and-twenty gentlemen Gaed in at the yetts of Drum, O: But no a man has lifted his hat, When the Leddy o' Drum cam' in, O.
"Peggy Coutts is a very bonny bride, And Drum is big and gawsy; But he might hae chosen a higher match Than ony shepherd's lassie!"
Then up bespak his brither John, Says, "Ye've done us meikle wrang, O; Ye've married ane far below our degree, A mock to a' our kin, O."
"Now haud your tongue, my brither John; What needs it thee offend, O? I've married a wife to work and win, And ye've married ane to spend, O.
"The first time that I married a wife, She was far abune my degree, O; She wadna hae walked thro' the yetts o' Drum, But the pearlin' abune her bree, O, And I durstna gang in the room where she was, But my hat below my knee, O!"
He has ta'en her by the milk-white hand, And led her in himsell, O; And in through ha's and in through bowers,-- "And ye're welcome, Leddy Drum, O."
When they had eaten and well drunken, And a' men boun for bed, O, The Laird of Drum and his Leddy fair, In ae bed they were laid, O.
"Gin ye had been o' high renown, As ye're o' low degree, O, We might hae baith gane doun the street Amang gude companie, O."
"I tauld ye weel ere we were wed, Ye were far abune my degree, O; But now I'm married, in your bed laid, And just as gude as ye, O.
"For an I were dead, and ye were dead, And baith in ae grave had lain, O; Ere seven years were come and gane, They'd no ken your dust frae mine, O."
* * * * *
LIZIE LINDSAY.
"Will ye gae to the Hielands, Lizie Lindsay, Will ye gae to the Hielands wi' me? Will ye gae to the Hielands, Lizie Lindsay, And dine on fresh curds and green whey?"
Then out it spak' Lizie's mither, An' a gude auld leddy was she: "Gin ye say sic a word to my daughter, I'll gar ye be hangit hie!"
"Keep weel your daughter for me, madam; Keep weel your daughter for me. I care as leetle for your daughter As ye can care for me!"
Then out spak' Lizie's ain maiden, An' a bonnie young lassie was she; "Now gin I were heir to a kingdom, Awa' wi' young Donald I'd be."
"O say ye sae to me, Nelly? And does my Nelly say sae? Maun I leave my father and mither, Awa' wi' young Donald to gae?"
And Lizie's ta'en till her her stockings, And Lizie's taen till her her shoon, And kilted up her green claithing, And awa' wi' young Donald she's gane.
The road it was lang and was weary; The braes they were ill for to climb; Bonnie Lizie was weary wi' travelling, A fit further couldna she win.
"O are we near hame yet, dear Donald? O are we near hame yet, I pray?" "We're naething near hame, bonnie Lizie, Nor yet the half o' the way."
Sair, O sair was she sighing, And the saut tear blindit her e'e: "Gin this be the pleasures o' luving, They never will do wi' me!"
"Now haud your tongue, bonnie Lizie; Ye never sall rue for me; Gie me but your luve for my ain luve, It is a' that your tocher will be.
"O haud your tongue, bonnie Lizie, Altho' that the gait seem lang; And you's hae the wale o' gude living When to Kincaussie we gang.
"My father he is an auld shepherd, My mither she is an auld dey; And we'll sleep on a bed o' green rashes, And dine on fresh curds and green whey."
They cam' to a hamely puir cottage; The auld woman 'gan for to say: "O ye're welcome hame, Sir Donald, It's yoursell has been lang away."
"Ye mustna ca' me Sir Donald, But ca' me young Donald your son; For I hae a bonnie young leddy Behind me, that's coming alang.
"Come in, come in, bonnie Lizie, Come hither, come hither," said he; "Altho' that our cottage be leetle, I hope we'll the better agree.
"O mak' us a supper, dear mither, And mak' it o' curds and green whey; And mak' us a bed o' green rashes, And cover it o'er wi' fresh hay."
She's made them a bed o' green rashes, And covered it o'er wi' fresh hay. Bonnie Lizie was weary wi' travelling, And lay till 'twas lang o' the day.
"The sun looks in o'er the hill-head, An' the laverock is liltin' sae gay; Get up, get up, bonnie Lizie, Ye've lain till it's lang o' the day.
"Ye might hae been out at the shealin', Instead o' sae lang to lie; And up and helping my mither To milk her gaits and her kye."
Then sadly spak' out Lizie Lindsay, She spak' it wi' mony a sigh: "The leddies o' Edinbro' city They milk neither gaits nor kye."
"Rise up, rise up, bonnie Lizie, Rise up and mak' yoursel' fine; For we maun be at Kincaussie, Before that the clock strikes nine."
But when they cam' to Kincaussie, The porter he loudly doth say, "O ye're welcome hame, Sir Donald; It's yoursell has been lang away!"
It's doun then cam' his auld mither, Wi' a' the keys in her han'; Saying, "Tak' ye these, bonnie Lizie, For a' is at your comman'."
* * * * *
KATHARINE JANFARIE.
There was a may, and a weel-faur'd may. Lived high up in yon glen: Her name was Katharine Janfarie, She was courted by mony men.
Doun cam' the Laird o' Lamington, Doun frae the South Countrie; And he is for this bonny lass, Her bridegroom for to be.
He asked na her father, he asked na her mither, He asked na ane o' her kin; But he whispered the bonny lassie hersel', And did her favor win.
Doun cam' an English gentleman, Doun frae the English border; And he is for this bonnie lass, To keep his house in order.
He asked her father, he asked her mither, And a' the lave o' her kin; But he never asked the lassie hersel' Till on her wedding-e'en.
But she has wrote a lang letter, And sealed it wi' her han'; And sent it away to Lamington, To gar him understan'.
The first line o' the letter he read, He was baith fain and glad; But or he has read the letter o'er, He's turned baith wan and sad.
Then he has sent a messenger, To rin through a' his land; And four and twenty armed men Were sune at his command.
But he has left his merry men all, Left them on the lee; And he's awa' to the wedding-house, To see what he could see.
They all rase up to honor him, For he was of high renown; They all rase up to welcome him, And bade him to sit down.
O meikle was the gude red wine In silver cups did flow; But aye she drank to Lamington, And fain with him wad go.
"O come ye here to fight, young lord? Or come ye here to play? Or come ye here to drink gude wine Upon the wedding-day?"
"I come na here to fight," he said, "I come na here to play; I'll but lead a dance wi' the bonny bride, And mount and go my way."
He's caught her by the milk-white hand, And by the grass-green sleeve; He's mounted her hie behind himsel', At her kinsfolk spier'd na leave.
It's up, it's up the Couden bank, It's doun the Couden brae; And aye they made the trumpet soun, "It's a' fair play!"
Now a' ye lords and gentlemen That be of England born, Come ye na doun to Scotland thus, For fear ye get the scorn!
They'll feed ye up wi' flattering words, And play ye foul play; They'll dress you frogs instead of fish Upon your wedding-day!
* * * * *
GLENLOGIE.
Threescore o' nobles rade to the king's ha', But bonnie Glenlogie's the flower o' them a'; Wi' his milk-white steed and his bonny black e'e, "Glenlogie, dear mither, Glenlogie for me!"
"O haud your tongue, dochter, ye'll get better than he." "O say na sae, mither, for that canna be; Though Drumlie is richer, and greater than he, Yet if I maun lo'e him, I'll certainly dee.
"Where will I get a bonny boy, to win hose and shoon, Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon?" "O here am I, a bonny boy, to win hose and shoon, Will gae to Glenlogie, and come again soon."
When he gaed to Glenlogie, 'twas "Wash and go dine," 'Twas "Wash ye, my pretty boy, wash and go dine." "O 'twas ne'er my father's fashion, and it ne'er shall be mine, To gar a lady's errand wait till I dine.
"But there is, Glenlogie, a letter for thee." The first line he read, a low smile ga'e he; The next line he read, the tear blindit his e'e; But the last line he read, he gart the table flee.
"Gar saddle the black horse, gar saddle the brown; Gar saddle the swiftest steed e'er rade frae the town;" But lang ere the horse was brought round to the green, O bonnie Glenlogie was twa mile his lane.
When he cam' to Glenfeldy's door, sma' mirth was there; Bonnie Jean's mother was tearing her hair; "Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, ye're welcome," said she "Ye're welcome, Glenlogie, your Jeanie to see."
Pale and wan was she, when Glenlogie gaed ben, But red rosy grew she whene'er he sat down; She turned awa' her head, but the smile was in her e'e; "O binna feared, mither, I'll maybe no dee."
* * * * *
GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR
It fell about the Martinmas time, And a gay time it was than, That our gudewife had puddings to mak' And she boil'd them in the pan.
The wind blew cauld frae east and north, And blew intil the floor; Quoth our gudeman to our gudewife, "Get up and bar the door."
"My hand is in my hussyskep, Gudeman, as ye may see; An it shou'dna be barr'd this hunder year, It's ne'er be barr'd by me."
They made a paction 'tween them twa, They made it firm and sure, That the first word whaever spak, Should rise and bar the door.
Than by there came twa gentlemen, At twelve o'clock at night, Whan they can see na ither house, And at the door they light.
"Now whether is this a rich man's house, Or whether is it a poor?" But ne'er a word wad ane o' them speak, For barring of the door.
And first they ate the white puddings, And syne they ate the black: Muckle thought the gudewife to hersell, Yet ne'er a word she spak.
Then ane unto the ither said, "Here, man, tak ye my knife; Do ye tak aff the auld man's beard, And I'll kiss the gudewife."
"But there's na water in the house, And what shall we do than?" "What ails ye at the pudding bree That boils into the pan?"
O up then started our gudeman, An angry man was he; "Will ye kiss my wife before my een, And scaud me wi' pudding bree?"
O up then started our gudewife, Gied three skips on the floor; "Gudeman, ye've spak the foremost word; Get up and bar the door."
* * * * *
THE LAWLANDS O' HOLLAND.
"The luve that I hae chosen, I'll therewith be content; The saut sea sail be frozen Before that I repent. Repent it sall I never Until the day I dee; But the Lawlands o' Holland Hae twinned my luve and me.
"My luve he built a bonny ship, And set her to the main, Wi' twenty-four brave mariners To sail her out and hame. But the weary wind began to rise, The sea began to rout, And my luve and his bonny ship Turned withershins about.
"There sall nae mantle cross my back, No kaim gae in my hair, Sall neither coal nor candle-light Shine in my bower mair; Nor sall I choose anither luve Until the day I dee, Sin' the Lawlands o' Holland Hae twinned my luve and me."
"Noo haud your tongue, my daughter dear, Be still, and bide content; There are mair lads in Galloway; Ye needna sair lament." "O there is nane in Galloway, There's nane at a' for me. I never lo'ed a lad but ane, And he's drowned i' the sea."
* * * * *
THE TWA CORBIES.
As I was walking all alane, I heard twa corbies making a maen; The tane into the t'ither did say, "Whaur shall we gang and dine the day?"
"O doun beside yon auld fail dyke, I wot there lies a new-slain knight; Nae living 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 wildfowl hame, His lady's ta'en another mate, Sae we may mak' our dinner sweet.
"O we'll sit on his white hause bane, And I'll pyke out his bonny blue e'en, Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair, We'll theek our nest when it blaws bare.
"Mony a ane for him makes maen, But nane shall ken whaur he is gane; Over his banes when they are bare, The wind shall blaw for evermair."
* * * * *
HELEN OF KIRCONNELL.
I wad I were where Helen lies; Night and day on me she cries; O that I were where Helen lies On fair Kirconnell lea!
Curst be the heart that thought the thought, And curst the hand that fired the shot, When in my arms burd Helen dropt, And died to succor me!
O think na but my heart was sair When my Love dropt down and spak nae mair! I laid her down wi' meikle care On fair Kirconnell lea.
As I went down the water-side, Nane but my foe to be my guide, Nane but my foe to be my guide, On fair Kirconnell lea;