BOOK VII.

QUEEN ELEANOR'S CONFESSION.

Eleanor of Aquitaine was divorced from her first husband, Louis VII. of France, on account of misbehavior at Antioch, during the Second Crusade. Her conduct after her second marriage, with Henry II. of England, is agreed to have been irreproachable on the score of chastity. It is rather hard, therefore, that her reputation should be assailed as it is here; but if we complain of this injustice, what shall we say when we find, further on, the same story, with others even more ridiculous, told of the virtuous Eleanor of Castile, wife of Edward I.? See Peele's _Chronicle History of Edward I._, Dyce's ed. i. 185, 188, _seq._, and the ballad in vol. vii., 291. Both of these ballads are indeed pretty specimens of the historical value of popular traditions. The idea of the unlucky shrift is borrowed from some old story-teller. It occurs in the _fabliau Du Chevalier qui fist sa Fame confesse_, Barbazan, ed. M['e]on, iii. 229, in Boccaccio G. vii. 5, Bandello, Malespini, &c.; also in La Fontaine's _Le Mari Confesseur_.

The following ballad is from the _Collection_ of 1723, vol. i. p. 18. There are several other versions: Percy's _Reliques_, ii. 165 (with corrections); Buchan's _Gleanings_, p. 77; Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 1 (_Earl Marshal_, from recitation); Aytoun's _Ballads of Scotland_, new ed. i. 196; Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_, p. 247.

Queen Eleanor was a sick woman, And afraid that she should dye; Then she sent for two fryars of France, To speak with her speedily.

The King call'd down his nobles all, 5 By one, by two, by three, And sent away for Earl Marshal, To speak with him speedily.

When that he came before the King, He fell on his bended knee; 10 "A boon, a boon, our gracious king, That you sent so hastily."

"I'll pawn my lands," the King then cry'd, "My sceptre and my crown, That whatsoe're Queen Eleanor says, 15 I will not write it down.

"Do you put on a fryar's coat, And I'll put on another; And we will to Queen Eleanor go, Like fryar and his brother." 20

Thus both attired then they go: When they came to Whitehall, The bells did ring, and the choristers sing, And the torches did light them all.

When that they came before the Queen, 25 They fell on their bended knee; "A boon, a boon, our gracious queen, That you sent so hastily."

"Are you two fryars of France," she said, "As I suppose you be? 30 But if you are two English fryars, Then hanged you shall be."

"We are two fryars of France," they said, "As you suppose we be; We have not been at any mass 35 Since we came from the sea."

"The first vile thing that e're I did, I will to you unfold; Earl Marshal had my maidenhead, Beneath this cloth of gold." 40

"That's a vile sin," then said the King; "God may forgive it thee!" "Amen, amen!" quoth Earl Marshal; With a heavy heart spoke he.

"The next vile thing that e're I did, 45 To you I'll not deny; I made a box of poyson strong, To poyson King Henry."

"That's a vile sin," then said the King, "God may forgive it thee!" 50 "Amen, amen!" quoth Earl Marshal; "And I wish it so may be."

"The next vile thing that e're I did, To you I will discover; I poysoned fair Rosamond, 55 All in fair Woodstock bow'r."

"That's a vile sin," then said the King; "God may forgive it thee!" "Amen, amen!" quoth Earl Marshal; "And I wish it so may be." 60

"Do you see yonder's [a] little boy, A tossing of the ball? That is Earl Marshal's eldest son, I love him the best of all.

"Do you see yonder's [a] little boy, 65 A catching of the ball? That is King Henry's son," she said; "I love him the worst of all.

"His head is like unto a bull, His nose is like a boar,"-- 70 "No matter for that," King Henry cry'd, "I love him the better therefore."

The king pull'd off his fryar's coat, And appeared all in red; She shriek'd, she cry'd, and wrung her hands, 75 And said she was betray'd.

The King look'd over his left shoulder, And a grim look looked he; And said, "Earl Marshal, but for my oath, Or hanged shouldst thou be." 80

From Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_, 247.

The Queen fell sick, and very, very sick, She was sick, and like to dee, And she sent for a friar oure frae France, Her c['o]nfessour to be.

King Henry, when he heard o' that, 5 An angry man was he; And he sent to the Earl Marshall, Attendance for to gie.

"The Queen is sick," King Henry cried, "And wants to be beshriven; 10 She has sent for a friar oure frae France; By the rude, he were better in heaven!

"But tak you now a friar's guise, The voice and gesture feign, And when she has the pardon crav'd, 15 Respond to her, Amen!

"And I will be a prelate old, And sit in a corner dark, To hear the adventures of my spouse, My spouse, and her holy spark." 20

"My liege, my liege, how can I betray My mistress and my queen! O swear by the rude, that no damage From this shall be gotten or gien!"

"I swear by the rude," quoth King Henry, 25 "No damage shall be gotten or gien, Come, let us spare no cure nor care For the conscience o' the Queen."

* * * * *

"O fathers, O fathers, I'm very, very sick, I'm sick, and like to dee; 30 Some ghostly comfort to my poor soul O tell if ye can gie!"

"Confess, confess," Earl Marshall cried, "And ye shall pardoned be:" "Confess, confess," the King replied, 35 "And we shall comfort gie."

"O how shall I tell the sorry, sorry tale! How can the tale be told! I play'd the harlot wi' the Earl Marshall Beneath yon cloth of gold. 40

"O wasna that a sin, and a very great sin! But I hope it will pardoned be:" "Amen! Amen!" quoth the Earl Marshall, And a very fear't heart had he.

"O down i' the forest, in a bower, 45 Beyond yon dark oak tree, I drew a penknife frae my pocket To kill King Henerie.

"O wasna that a sin, and a very great sin! But I hope it will pardoned be:" 50 "Amen! Amen!" quoth the Earl Marshall, And a very fear't heart had he.

"O do you see yon pretty little boy, That's playing at the ba'? He is the Earl Marshall's only son, 55 And I loved him best of a'.

"O wasna that a sin, and a very great sin! But I hope it will pardoned be:" "Amen! Amen!" quoth the Earl Marshall, And a very fear't heart had he. 60

"And do you see yon pretty little girl, That's a' beclad in green? She's a friar's daughter, oure in France, And I hoped to see her a queen.

"O wasna that a sin, and a very great sin! 65 But I hope it will pardoned be:" "Amen! Amen!" quoth the Earl Marshall, And a fear't heart still had he.

"O do you see yon other little boy, That's playing at the ba'? 70 He is King Henry's only son, And I like him warst of a'.

"He's headed like a buck," she said, "And backed like a bear,"-- "Amen!" quoth the King, in the King's ain voice, 75 "He shall be my only heir."

The King look'd over his left shoulder, An angry man was he: "An it werna for the oath I sware, Earl Marshall, thou shouldst dee." 80

AULD MAITLAND.

From _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, i. 306.

"This ballad, notwithstanding its present appearance, has a claim to very high antiquity. It has been preserved by tradition; and is, perhaps, the most authentic instance of a long and very old poem, exclusively thus preserved. It is only known to a few old people upon the sequestered banks of the Ettrick, and is published, as written down from the recitation of the mother of Mr. James Hogg, who sings, or rather chants it, with great animation. She learned the ballad from a blind man, who died at the advanced age of ninety, and is said to have been possessed of much traditionary knowledge. Although the language of this poem is much modernized, yet many words, which the reciters have retained without understanding them, still preserve traces of its antiquity. Such are the words _springals_ (corruptedly pronounced _springwalls_), _sowies_, _portcullize_, and many other appropriate terms of war and chivalry, which could never have been introduced by a modern ballad-maker[?]. The incidents are striking and well managed; and they are in strict conformity with the manners of the age in which they are placed.

"The date of the ballad cannot be ascertained with any degree of accuracy. Sir Richard Maitland, the hero of the poem, seems to have been in possession of his estate about 1250; so that, as he survived the commencement of the wars betwixt England and Scotland, in 1296, his prowess against the English, in defence of his castle of Lauder or Thirlestane, must have been exerted during his extreme old age.

"The castle of Thirlestane is situated upon the Leader, near the town of Lauder. Whether the present building, which was erected by Chancellor Maitland, and improved by the duke of Lauderdale, occupies the site of the ancient castle, I do not know; but it still merits the epithet of a "_darksome house_." I find no notice of the siege in history; but there is nothing improbable in supposing, that the castle, during the stormy period of the Baliol wars, may have held out against the English. The creation of a nephew of Edward I., for the pleasure of slaying him by the hand of young Maitland, is a poetical license;[1] and may induce us to place the date of the composition about the reign of David II., or of his successor, when the real exploits of Maitland and his sons were in some degree obscured, as well as magnified, by the lapse of time. The inveterate hatred against the English, founded upon the usurpation of Edward I., glows in every line of the ballad.

"Auld Maitland is placed, by Gawain Douglas, Bishop of Dunkeld, among the popular heroes of romance, in his allegorical Palice of Honour.

"I saw Raf Coilyear with his thrawin brow, Crabit John the Reif, and auld Cowkilbeis Sow; And how the wran cam out of Ailesay, And Piers Plowman, that meid his workmen fow: Gret Gowmacmorne, and Fin Mac Cowl, and how They suld be goddis in Ireland, as they say. _Thair saw I Maitland upon auld beird gray_, Robin Hude, and Gilbert with the quhite hand, How Hay of Nauchton flew in Madin land."

"It is a curious circumstance that this interesting tale, so often referred to by ancient authors, should be now recovered in so perfect a state; and many readers may be pleased to see the following sensible observations, made by a person born in Ettrick Forest, in the humble situation of a shepherd: 'I am surprised to hear that this song is suspected by some to be a modern forgery; the contrary will be best proved, by most of the old people, hereabouts, having a great part of it by heart. Many, indeed, are not aware of the manners of this country; till this present age, the poor illiterate people, in these glens, knew of no other entertainment, in the long winter nights, than repeating, and listening to, the feats of their ancestors, recorded in songs, which I believe to be handed down, from father to son, for many generations, although, no doubt, had a copy been taken, at the end of every fifty years, there must have been some difference, occasioned by the gradual change of language. I believe it is thus that many very ancient songs have been gradually modernized, to the common ear; while, to the connoisseur, they present marks of their genuine antiquity.'--_Letter to the Editor_, _from_ Mr. JAMES HOGG. [June 30, 1801.] To the observations of my ingenious correspondent I have nothing to add, but that, in this, and a thousand other instances, they accurately coincide with my personal knowledge."--SCOTT.

Notwithstanding the authority of Scott and Leyden, I am inclined to agree with Mr. Aytoun, (_Ballads of Scotland_, ii. 1,) that this ballad is a modern imitation, or if not that, a comparatively recent composition. It is with reluctance that I make for it the room it requires.

[1] Such liberties with the genealogy of monarchs were common to romancers. Henry the Minstrel makes Wallace slay more than one of King Edward's nephews; and Johnie Armstrong claims the merit of slaying a sister's son of Henry VIII.--S. (See p. 49.)

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, 5 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-- 10 "A boon, a boon, my good uncle, I crave to ask of thee!

"At our lang wars, in fair Scotland, I fain hae wish'd to be; If fifteen hundred waled wight men 15 You'll grant to ride wi' me."

"Thou sall hae thae, thou sall hae mae; I say it sickerlie; And I mysell, an auld gray man, Array'd your host sall see." 20

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[L25] 25 Were all for battle bound, [Who, marching forth with false Dunbar,[L27] A ready welcome found.]

They lighted on the banks of Tweed, And blew their coals sae het, 30 And fired the Merse and Teviotdale, All in an evening late.

As they fared up o'er Lammermore, They burn'd baith up and down, Until they came to a darksome house, 35 Some call it Leader-Town.

"Wha hauds this house?" young Edward cry'd, "Or wha gies't ower to me?" A gray-hair'd knight set up his head, And crackit richt crousely: 40

"Of Scotland's king I haud my house; He pays me meat and fee; And I will keep my guid auld house, While my house will keep me."

They laid their sowies to the wall, 45 Wi' mony a heavy peal; But he threw ower to them agen Baith pitch and tar barrel.

With springalds, stanes, and gads of airn, Amang them fast he threw; 50 Till mony of the Englishmen About the wall he slew.

Full fifteen days that braid host lay, Sieging Auld Maitland keen; Syne they hae left him, hail and feir, 55 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 could bear away. 60

"England's our ain by heritage; And what can us withstand, Now we hae conquer'd fair Scotland, With buckler, bow, and brand?"

Then they are on to the land o' France, 65 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;[L70] 70 There were Auld Maitland's sons, a' three, Learning at school, alas!

The eldest to the youngest said, "O see ye what I see? Gin a' be trew yon standard says,[L75] 75 We're fatherless a' 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?" 80

Then they hae 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, 85 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?" 90 "In north of England I was born:" (It needed him to lie.)

"A knight me gat, a lady bore, I am a squire of high renowne; I well may bear't to any king, 95 That ever yet wore crowne."

"He ne'er came of an Englishman, Had sic an ee or bree; But thou art the likest Auld Maitland, That ever I did see. 100

"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, 105 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; 110 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, 115 "We'll bear you company."

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. 120

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 ower the wa', 125 About the break o' day; There he beheld the three Scots lads, Pursued along the way.

"Pull up portcullize! down draw-brigg! My nephews are at hand; 130 And they sall lodge wi' 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, 135 Saying, "Here sall come nae mae!"

And they shot out, and they shot in, Till it was fairly day; When mony of the Englishmen About the draw-brigg lay. 140

Then they hae yoked 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, 145 Was heard aloud to say, "Last night, three o' the lads o' France My standard stole away.

"Wi' a fause tale, disguised, they came, And wi' a fauser trayne; 150 And to regain my gaye standard, These men were a' down slayne."

"It ill befits," the youngest said, "A crowned king to lie; But, or that I taste meat and drink, 155 Reproved sall he be."

He went before King Edward straight, And kneel'd low on his knee; "I wad hae leave, my lord," he said, "To speak a word wi' thee." 160

The king he turn'd him round about, And wistna what to say-- Quo' he, "Man, thou's hae leave to speak, Though thou should speak a' day."

"Ye said that three young lads o' France 165 Your standard stole away, Wi' a fause tale, and a fauser trayne, And mony men did slay.

"But we are nane the lads o' France, Nor e'er pretend to be; 170 We are three lads o' fair Scotland, Auld Maitland's sons are we;

"Nor is there men, in a' your host, Daur fight us three to three." "Now, by my sooth," young Edward said, 175 "Weel fitted ye sall be!

"Piercy sall with the eldest fight, And Ethert Lunn wi' thee: William of Lancaster the third, And bring your fourth to me!" 180

["Remember, Piercy, aft the Scot[L181] Has cower'd beneath thy hand:] For every drap of Maitland blood, I'll gie a rig of land."

He clanked Piercy ower the head, 185 A deep wound and a sair, Till the best blood o' his bodie Came rinning down his hair.

"Now, I've slayne ane; slay ye the twa; And that's gude companye; 190 And if the twa suld slay ye baith, Ye'se get na help frae me."

But Ethert Lunn, a baited bear, Had many battles seen; He set the youngest wonder sair, 195 Till the eldest he grew keen.

"I am nae king, nor nae sic thing: My word it shanna stand! For Ethert sall a buffet bide, Come he beneath my brand." 200

He clankit Ethert ower the head, A deep wound and a sair, Till the best blood of his bodie Came rinning ower his hair.

"Now I've slayne twa; slaye ye the ane; 205 Isna that gude companye? And tho' the ane suld slaye ye baith, Ye'se get nae help o' me."

The twa-some they hae slayne the ane; They maul'd him cruellie; 210 Then hung them over the draw-brigg, That all the host might see.

They rade their horse, they ran their horse, Then hover'd on the lee: "We be three lads o' fair Scotland, 215 That fain would fighting see."

This boasting when young Edward heard, An angry man was he: "I'll tak yon lad, I'll bind yon lad, And bring him bound to thee!" 220

"Now God forbid," King Edward said, "That ever thou suld try! Three worthy leaders we hae lost, And thou the fourth wad lie.

"If thou shouldst hang on yon draw-brigg, 225 Blythe wad I never be:" But, wi' the poll-axe in his hand, Upon the brigg sprang he.

The first stroke that young Edward gae, He struck wi' might and mayn; 230 He clove the Maitland's helmet stout, And bit right nigh the brayn.

When Maitland saw his ain blood fa', An angry man was he: He let his weapon frae him fa', 235 And at his throat did flee.

And thrice about he did him swing, Till on the grund he light, Where he has halden young Edward, Tho' he was great in might. 240

"Now let him up," King Edward cried, "And let him come to me: And for the deed that thou hast done, Thou shalt hae erldomes three."

"It's ne'er be said in France, nor e'er 245 In Scotland, when I'm hame, That Edward once lay under me,[L247] And e'er gat up again!"

He pierced him through and through the heart, He maul'd him cruellie; 250 Then hung him ower the draw-brigg, Beside the other three.

"Now take frae me that feather-bed, Make me a bed o' strae! I wish I hadna lived this day, 255 To mak my heart sae wae.

"If I were ance at London Tower, Where I was wont to be, I never mair suld gang frae hame, Till borne on a bier-tree." 260

25. North-Berwick, according to some reciters.--S.

27, 28. These two lines have been inserted by Mr. Hogg, to complete the verse. Dunbar, the fortress of Patrick, Earl of March, was too often opened to the English, by the treachery of that baron, during the reign of Edward I.--S.

70. If this be a Flemish or Scottish corruption for Ville de Grace, in Normandy, that town was never besieged by Edward I., whose wars in France were confined to the province of Gascony. The rapid change of scene, from Scotland to France, excites a suspicion that some verses may have been lost in this place.--S.

75. Edward had quartered the arms of Scotland with his own.--S.

181, 182, supplied by Hogg.

247. Some reciters repeat it thus:--

"That _Englishman_ lay under me,"

which is in the true spirit of Blind Harry, who makes Wallace say,

"I better like to see the Southeron die, Than gold or land, that they can gie to me."--S.

WILLIE WALLACE.

After the battle of Roslin, we are informed by Bower, the continuator of Fordun's _Scotichronicon_, Wallace took ship for France, and various songs, both in that kingdom and in Scotland, he goes on to say, bear witness to the courage with which he encountered the attacks of pirates on the ocean, and of the English on the continent. Whatever we may think of Wallace's expedition to France, there can be no doubt that the hero's exploits were at an early date celebrated in popular song. Still, the ballads which are preserved relate to only one of Wallace's adventures, and are of doubtful antiquity.

Burns communicated to Johnson's _Museum_ (p. 498) a defective ballad called _Gude Wallace_. A better copy of this, from tradition, is here given. It is taken from Buchan's _Gleanings_ (p. 114), and was derived by the editor from a wandering gipsy tinker. Mr. Laing has inserted in the notes to the new edition of Johnson's _Museum_ (iv. 458*) what may perhaps be the original of both these recited ballads, though inferior to either. This copy appeared in a chap-book with some Jacobite ballads, about the year 1750. There are two other versions of this same story, in which Wallace's mistress is induced to betray him to the English, but repents in time to save her lover. The best of these is annexed to the present ballad. The other, which is but a fragment, is printed in Buchan's larger collection, ii. 226, _Wallace and his Leman_.

The principal incidents of this story are to be found in the Fifth Book of Blind Harry's Metrical _Life of Wallace_.

Jamieson, in _Popular Ballads_, ii. 166, and Cunningham, in _The Songs of Scotland_, i. 262, have taken the stanzas in Johnson's _Museum_ as the basis of ballads of their own.

Wallace in the high highlans, Neither meat nor drink got he; Said, "Fa' me life, or fa' me death, Now to some town I maun be."

He's put on his short claiding, 5 And on his short claiding put he; Says, "Fa' me life, or fa' me death, Now to Perth-town I maun be."

He stepped o'er the river Tay, I wat he stepped on dry land; 10 He wasna aware of a well-fared maid Was washing there her lilie hands.

"What news, what news, ye well-fared maid? What news hae ye this day to me?" "No news, no news, ye gentle knight, 15 No news hae I this day to thee, But fifteen lords in the hostage house Waiting Wallace for to see."

"If I had but in my pocket The worth of one single pennie, 20 I would go to the hostage house, And there the gentlemen to see."

She put her hand in her pocket, And she has pull'd out half-a-crown; Says, "Take ye that, ye belted knight, 25 'Twill pay your way till ye come down."

As he went from the well-fared maid, A beggar bold I wat met he, Was cover'd wi' a clouted cloak, And in his hand a trusty tree. 30

"What news, what news, ye silly auld man? What news hae ye this day to gie?" "No news, no news, ye belted knight, No news hae I this day to thee, But fifteen lords in the hostage house 35 Waiting Wallace for to see."

"Ye'll lend me your clouted cloak, That covers you frae head to shie, And I'll go to the hostage house, Asking there for some supplie." 40

Now he's gone to the West-muir wood, And there he's pull'd a trusty tree; And then he's on to the hostage gone, Asking there for charitie.

Down the stair the captain comes, 45 Aye the poor man for to see: "If ye be a captain as good as ye look, Ye'll give a poor man some supplie; If ye be a captain as good as ye look, A guinea this day ye'll gie to me." 50

"Where were ye born, ye crooked carle? Where were ye born, in what countrie?" "In fair Scotland I was born, Crooked carle that I be."

"I would give you fifty pounds, 55 Of gold and white monie, I would give you fifty pounds, If the traitor Wallace ye'd let me see."

"Tell down your money," said Willie Wallace, "Tell down your money, if it be good; 60 I'm sure I have it in my power, And never had a better bode.

"Tell down your money, if it be good, And let me see if it be fine; I'm sure I have it in my power 65 To bring the traitor Wallace in."

The money was told on the table, Silver bright of pounds fiftie: "Now here I stand," said Willie Wallace, "And what hae ye to say to me?" 70

He slew the captain where he stood, The rest they did quack an' roar; He slew the rest around the room, And ask'd if there were any more.

"Come, cover the table," said Willie Wallace, 75 "Come, cover the table now, make haste; For it will soon be three lang days Sin I a bit o' meat did taste."

The table was not well covered, Nor yet was he set down to dine, 80 Till fifteen more of the English lords Surrounded the house where he was in.

The guidwife she ran but the floor, And aye the guidman he ran ben; From eight o'clock till four at noon 85 He had kill'd full thirty men.

He put the house in sic a swither That five o' them he sticket dead, Five o' them he drown'd in the river, And five hung in the West-muir wood. 90

Now he is on to the North-Inch gone,[L91] Where the maid was washing tenderlie; "Now by my sooth," said Willie Wallace, "It's been a sair day's wark to me."

He's put his hand in his pocket, 95 And he has pull'd out twenty pounds; Says, "Take ye that, ye weel-fared maid For the gude luck of your half-crown."

91. A beautiful plain, or common, lying along the Tay near Perth.--CHAMBERS.

SIR WILLIAM WALLACE.

From _The Thistle of Scotland_, p. 100.

The editor states that he took the ballad down from the recitation of an old gentlewoman in Aberdeenshire.

Wou'd ye hear of William Wallace, An' sek him as he goes, Into the lan' of Lanark, Amang his mortel faes?

There was fyften English sogers 5 Unto his ladie cam, Said "Gie us William Wallace, That we may have him slain.

"Wou'd ye gie William Wallace, That we may have him slain, 10 And ye's be wedded to a lord, The best in Christendeem."

"This verra nicht at seven, Brave Wallace will come in, And he'll come to my chamber door, 15 Without or dread or din."

The fyften English sogers Around the house did wait, And four brave Southron foragers, Stood hie upon the gait. 20

That verra nicht at seven Brave Wallace he came in, And he came to his ladies bouir, Withouten dread or din.

When she beheld him Wallace, 25 She star'd him in the face; "Ohon, alas!" said that ladie, "This is a woful case.

"For I this nicht have sold you, This nicht you must be taen, 30 And I'm to be wedded to a lord, The best in Christendeem."

"Do you repent," said Wallace, "The ill you've dane to me?" "Ay, that I do," said that ladie, 35 "And will do till I die.

"Ay, that I do," said that ladie, "And will do ever still, And for the ill I've dane to you, Let me burn upon a hill." 40

"Now God forfend," says brave Wallace, "I shou'd be so unkind; Whatever I am to Scotland's faes, I'm aye a woman's friend.

"Will ye gie me your gown, your gown, 45 Your gown but and your kirtle, Your petticoat of bonny brown, And belt about my middle?

"I'll take a pitcher in ilka hand, And do me to the well, 50 They'll think I'm one of your maidens, Or think it is your sell."

She has gien him her gown, her gown, Her petticoat and kirtle, Her broadest belt wi' silver clasp, 55 To bind about his middle.

He's taen a pitcher in ilka hand, And dane him to the well, They thought him one of her maidens, They ken'd it was nae hersell. 60

Said one of the Southron foragers, "See ye yon lusty dame? I wou'd nae gie muckle to thee, neebor, To bring her back agen."

Then all the Southrons follow'd him, 65 And sure they were but four; But he has drawn his trusty brand, And slew them pair by pair.

He threw the pitchers frae his hands, And to the hills fled he, 70 Until he cam to a fair may, Was washin' on yon lea.

"What news, what news, ye weel far'd may? What news hae ye to gie?" "Ill news, ill news," the fair may said, 75 "Ill news I hae to thee.

"There is fyften English sogers Into that thatched inn, Seeking Sir William Wallace; I fear that he is slain." 80

"Have ye any money in your pocket? Pray lend it unto me, And when I come this way again, Repaid ye weel shall be."

She['s] put her hand in her pocket, 85 And taen out shillings three; He turn'd him right and round about, And thank'd the weel far'd may.

He had not gone a long rig length, A rig length and a span, 90 Until he met a bold beggar, As sturdy as cou'd gang.

"What news, what news, ye bold beggar? What news hae ye to gie?" "O heavy news," the beggar said, 95 "I hae to tell to thee.

"There is fyften English sogers, I heard them in yon inn, Vowing to kill him Wallace; I fear the chief is slain." 100

"Will ye change apparell wi' me, auld man? Change your apparell for mine? And when I come this way again, Ye'll be my ain poor man."

When he got on the beggar's coat, 105 The pike staff in his hand, He's dane him down to yon tavern, Where they were drinking wine.

"What news, what news, ye staff beggar? What news hae ye to gie?" 110 "I hae nae news, I heard nae news, As few I'll hae frae thee."

"I think your coat is ragged, auld man, But wou'd you wages win, And tell where William Wallace is, 115 We'll lay gold in your hand."

"Tell down, tell down your good red gold, Upon the table head, And ye sall William Wallace see, Wi' the down-come of Robin Hood." 120

They had nae tauld the money down, And laid it on his knee, When candles, lamps, and candlesticks, He on the floor gar'd flee.

And he has drawn his trusty brand, 125 And slew them one by one, Then sat down at the table head, And call[e']d for some wine.

The goodwife she ran but, ran but, The goodman he ran ben, 130 The verra bairns about the fire Were a' like to gang brain.

"Now if there be a Scotsman here, He'll come and drink wi' me; And if there be an English loun, 135 It is his time to flee."

The goodman was an Englishman, And to the hills he ran, The goodwife was a Scots woman, And she came to his hand. 140

APPENDIX.

JOHNNY COCK. (See p. 11.)

From Fry's _Pieces of Ancient Poetry, from unpublished Manuscripts and scarce Books_ (p. 51). Bristol, 1814.

"This ballad is taken from a modern quarto manuscript purchased at Glasgow of Messrs. Smith and Son in the year 1810, and containing several others, but written so corruptly as to be of little or no authority; appearing to be the text-book of some illiterate drummer, from its comprising the music of several regimental marches."

Fry did not observe that he was printing fragments of two different versions as one ballad. They are here separated.

I.

Johnny Cock, in a May morning, Sought water to wash his hands; And he is awa to louse his dogs, That's tied wi iron bans, _That's tied wi iron bans_.

His coat it is of the light Lincum green, 5 And his breiks are of the same; His shoes are of the American leather, Silver buckles tying them. _Silver buckles, &c._

'He' hunted up, and so did 'he' down, Till 'he' came to yon bush of scrogs, 10 And then to yon wan water, Where he slept among his dogs.

* * * * *

Johnny Cock out-shot a' the foresters, And out-shot a' the three; Out shot a' the foresters, 15 Wounded Johnny aboun the bree.

"Woe be to you, foresters, And an ill death may you die![L18] For there would not a wolf in a' the wood, Have done the like to me. 20

"For ''twould ha' put its foot in the coll water, And ha strinkled it on my bree; And gin [it] that would not have done, Would have gane and lett me be.

"I often took to my mother 25 The dandoo and the roe; But now I'l take to my mother Much sorrow and much woe.

"I often took to my mother The dandoo and the hare; 30 But now I'l take to my mother Much sorrow and much care."

18-24. Finlay furnishes one beautiful stanza which belongs to this portion of the story, and, as that editor remarks, describes expressively the languor of approaching death.

There's no a bird in a' this foreste Will do as meikle for me, As dip its wing in the wan water An straik it on my ee-bree.

_Scottish Ballads_, I. xxxi.

II.

Fifteen foresters in the braid alow, And they are wondrous fell; To get a drop of Johnny's heart bluid, They would sink a' their souls to hell.

Johnny Cock has gotten word of this, 5 And he is wondrous keen; He['s] custan aff the red scarlet, And on 'wi' the Linkum green.

And he is ridden oer muir and muss, And over mountains high, 10 Till he came to yon wan water; And there Johnny Cock did lie.

He's taen out a horn from his side, And he blew both loud and shrill, Till a' the fifteen foresters 15 Heard Johnny Cock blaw his horn.

They have sworn a bluidy oath, And they swore all in one, That there was not a man among them a', Would blaw such a blast as yon. 20

And they have ridden oer muir and muss, And over mountains high, Till they came to yon wan water, Where Johnny Cock did lie.

They have shotten little Johnny Cock, 25 A little above the ee; * * * * * For doing the like to me.

"There's not a wolf in a' the wood[L29] Woud 'ha' done the like to me: 30 'She'd ha' dipped her foot in coll water, And strinkled above my ee, And if I would have waked for that, 'She'd ha' gane and let me be.

"But fingers five, come here, [come here,] 35 And faint heart fail me nought![L36] And silver strings, value me sma' things, Till I get all this vengeance rowght!"

He ha[s] shot a' the fifteen foresters, Left never a one but one; 40 And he broke the ribs a that anes side, And let him take tiding home.

They have ridden oer muir and muss, And over mountains high, Till they met wi 'an' old palmer, 45 Was walking along the way.

"What news, what news, old palmer, What news have you to me?" "Yonder is one of the proudest wed sons That ever my eyes did see. 50 * * * * *

"* * a bird in a' the wood Could sing as I could say; It would go in to my mothers bower,[L53] And bid her kiss me, and take me away."

29. word.

36. faint hearted.

53. bows.

THE LIFE AND DEATH OF SIR HUGH OF THE GRIME. (See p. 51.)

From Durfey's _Pills to purge Melancholy_, vi. 289.

The same is printed in Ritson's _Ancient Songs_ (ed. 1790), p. 192, from a collation of two blackletter copies, one in the collection of the Duke of Roxburgh, and "another in the hands of John Baynes, Esq." Several stanzas are corrupted, and the names are greatly disfigured. Ritson mentions in a note a somewhat different ballad on the same subject, beginning:--

"Good Lord John is a hunting gone."

* * * * *

As it befel upon one time, About mid-summer of the year, Every man was taxt of his crime, For stealing the good Lord Bishop's mare.

The good Lord Screw sadled a horse, 5 And rid after the same serime; Before he did get over the moss, There was he aware of Sir Hugh of the Grime.

"Turn, O turn, thou false traytor, Turn, and yield thyself unto me: 10 Thou hast stol'n the Lord Bishop's mare, And now thinkest away to flee."

"No, soft, Lord Screw, that may not be; Here is a broad sword by my side, And if that thou canst conquer me, 15 The victory will soon be try'd."

"I ne'er was afraid of a traytor bold, Altho' thy name be Hugh in the Grime; I'll make thee repent thy speeches foul, If day and life but give me time." 20

"Then do thy worst, good Lord Screw, And deal your blows as fast as you can; It will be try'd between me and you Which of us two shall be the best man."

Thus as they dealt their blows so free, 25 And both so bloody at that time, Over the moss ten yeomen they see, Come for to take Sir Hugh in the Grime.

Sir Hugh set his back again[st] a tree, And then the men compast him round; 30 His mickle sword from his hand did flee, And then they brought Sir Hugh to the ground.

Sir Hugh of the Grime now taken is And brought back to Garland town; Then cry'd the good wives all in Garland town, 35 "Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou'st ne'er gang down."

The good Lord Bishop is come to town, And on the bench is set so high; And every man was tax'd to his crime, At length he called Sir Hugh in the Grime. 40

"Here am I, thou false Bishop, Thy humours all to fulfil; I do not think my fact so great But thou mayst put [it] into thy own will."

The quest of jury-men was call'd, 45 The best that was in Garland town; Eleven of them spoke all in a breast, "Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou'st ne'er gang down."

Then other questry-men was call'd, The best that was in Rumary; 50 Twelve of them spoke all in a breast, "Sir Hugh in the Grime, thou'st now guilty."

Then came down my good Lord Boles, Falling down upon his knee; "Five hundred pieces of gold will I give, 55 To grant Sir Hugh in the Grime to me."

"Peace, peace, my good Lord Boles, And of your speeches set them by; If there be eleven Grimes all of a name, Then by my own honour they all should dye." 60

Then came down my good Lady Ward, Falling low upon her knee; "Five hundred measures of gold I'll give, To grant Sir Hugh of the Grime to me."

"Peace, peace, my good Lady Ward, 65 None of your proffers shall him buy; For if there be twelve Grimes all of a name, By my own honour [they] all should dye."

Sir Hugh of the Grime's condemn'd to dye, And of his friends he had no lack; 70 Fourteen foot he leapt in his ward, His hands bound fast upon his back.

Then he look'd over his left shoulder, To see whom he could see or 'spye; Then was he aware of his father dear, 75 Came tearing his hair most pitifully.

"Peace, peace, my father dear, And of your speeches set them by; Tho' they have bereav'd me of my life, They cannot bereave me of heaven so high." 80

He look'd over his right shoulder, To see whom he could see or 'spye; There was he aware of his mother dear, Came tearing her hair most pitifully.

"Pray have me remember'd to Peggy my wife, 85 As she and I walk'd over the moor, She was the cause of the loss of my life, And with the old bishop she play'd the whore.

"Here, Johnny Armstrong, take thou my sword, That is made of the metal so fine, 90 And when thou com'st to the Border side, Remember the death of Sir Hugh of the Grime."

[JOHNIE ARMSTRANG, OR,] A NORTHERN BALLET.

From _Wit Restor'd_, p. 132.

There dwelt a man in faire Westmerland, Jonne Armestrong men did him call, He had nither lands nor rents coming in, Yet he kept eight score men in his hall.

He had horse and harness for them all, 5 Goodly steeds were all milke white, O the golden bands an about their necks, And their weapons they were all alike.

Newes then was brought unto the king, That there was sicke a won as hee, 10 That lived lyke a bold out-law,[L11] And robbed all the north country.

The king he writt an a letter then A letter which was large and long, He signed it with his owne hand, 15 And he promised to doe him no wrong.

When this letter came Jonne untill, His heart it was as blythe as birds on the tree; "Never was I sent for before any king, My father, my grandfather, nor none but mee. 20

"And if wee goe the king before, I would we went most orderly; Every man of you shall have his scarlet cloak, Laced with silver laces three.

"Every won of you shall have his velvett coat, 25 Laced with sillver lace so white; O the golden bands an about your necks, Black hatts, white feathers, all alyke."

By the morrow morninge at ten of the clock, Towards Edenburough gon was hee, 30 And with him all his eight score men, Good lord, it was a goodly sight for to see!

When Jonne came befower the king, He fell downe on his knee; "O pardon my soveraine leige," he said, 35 "O pardon my eight score men and mee!"

"Thou shalt have no pardon, thou traytor strong, For thy eight score men nor thee; For to-morrow morning by ten of the clock, Both thou and them shall hang on the gallow tree." 40

But Jonne looked over his left shoulder, Good Lord, what a grevious look looked hee! Saying, "Asking grace of a graceles face-- Why there is none for you nor me."

But Jonne had a bright sword by his side, 45 And it was made of the mettle so free, That had not the king stept his foot aside, He had smitten his head from his fair bodd['e].

Saying, "Fight on, my merry men all, And see that none of you be taine; 50 For rather then men shall say we were hanged, Let them report how we were slaine."

Then, God wott, faire Eddenburrough rose, And so besett poore Jonne [a] rounde, That fowerscore and tenn of Jonnes best men, 55 Lay gasping all upon the ground.

Then like a mad man Jonne laide about, And like a mad man then fought hee, Untill a falce Scot came Jonne behinde, And runn him through the faire boddee. 60

Saying, "Fight on, my merry men all, And see that none of you be taine; For I will stand by and bleed but a while, And then will I come and fight againe."

Newes then was brought to young Jonne Armestrong, 65 As he stood by his nurses knee, Who vowed if er'e he lived for to be a man, O th' the treacherous Scots reveng'd hee'd be.

11. syke.

LOUDOUN CASTLE. (See p. 149.)

From _The Ballads and Songs of Ayrshire_, First Series, p. 74, where it is taken from a _Statistical Account of the Parish of Loudoun_. The writer of the _Statistical Account_ states that the old castle of Loudoun is supposed to have been destroyed by fire about 350 years ago. "The current tradition," he adds, "ascribes that event to the Clan Kennedy, and the remains of an old tower at Auchruglen, on the Galston side of the valley, is still pointed out as having been their residence."

It fell about the Martinmas time, When the wind blew snell and cauld, That Adam o' Gordon said to his men, "When will we get a hold?

"See [ye] not where yonder fair castle 5 Stands on yon lily lee? The laird and I hae a deadly feud, The lady fain would I see."

As she was up on the househead, Behold, on looking down, 10 She saw Adam o' Gordon and his men, Coming riding to the town.

The dinner was not well set down, Nor the grace was scarcely said, Till Adam o' Gordon and his men 15 About the walls were laid.

"It's fause now fa' thee, Jock my man, Thou might a let me be; Yon man has lifted the pavement stone, An' let in the loun to me." 20

"Seven years I served thee, fair ladie, You gave me meat and fee; But now I am Adam o' Gordon's man, An' maun either do it or die."

"Come down, come down, my Lady Loudoun, 25 Come thou down unto me;[L26] I'll wrap thee on a feather bed, Thy warrand I shall be."

"I'll no come down, I'll no come down, For neither laird nor loun, 30 Nor yet for any bloody butcher That lives in Altringham town.

"I would give the black," she says, "And so would I the brown, If that Thomas, my only son, 35 Could charge to me a gun."

Out then spake the Lady Margaret, As she stood on the stair,-- The fire was at her goud garters, The lowe was at her hair. 40

"I would give the black," she says, "And so would I the brown, For a drink of yon water, That rins by Galston Town."

Out then spake fair Anne, 45 She was baith jimp and sma', "O row me in a pair o' sheets, And tow me down the wa'."

"O hold thy tongue, thou fair Anne, And let thy talkin' be, 50 For thou must stay in this fair castle, And bear thy death with me."

"O mother," spoke the Lord Thomas, As he sat on the nurse's knee, "O mother, give up this fair castle, 55 Or the reek will worrie me."

"I would rather be burnt to ashes sma', And be cast on yon sea foam, Before I'd give up this fair castle, And my lord so far from home. 60

"My good lord has an army strong, He's now gone o'er the sea; He bade me keep this gay castle, As long as it would keep me.

"I've four-and-twenty brave milk kye 65 Gangs on yon lily lee, I'd give them a' for a blast of wind, To blaw the reek from me."

O pitie on yon fair castle, That's built with stone and lime, 70 But far mair pitie on Lady Loudoun, And all her children nine.

26. down thou.

ROB ROY. (See p. 203.)

From _Select Scottish Songs, Ancient and Modern_, by Robert Burns, edited by Cromek, ii. 199.

Rob Roy from the Highlands cam, Unto the Lawlan' border, To steal awa a gay ladie To haud his house in order. He cam owre the lock o' Lynn, 5 Twenty men his arms did carry; Himsel gaed in, an' fand her out, Protesting he would marry.

"O will ye gae wi' me," he says, "Or will ye be my honey? 10 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; 15 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. 20 * * * * *

"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, 25 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, 30 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, 35 Shall feel my guid claymore, ladie."

II.

From Maidment's _North Countrie Garland_, p. 44.

Rob Roy from the Highlands cam, Unto our Scottish border, And he has stow'n a lady fair, To haud his house in order.

And when he cam, he surrounded the house, 5 Twenty men their arms did carry, And he has stow'n this lady fair, On purpose her to marry.

And when he cam, he surrounded the house; No tidings there cam before him, 10 Or else the lady would have been gone, For still she did abhor him.

Wi' murnfu' cries, and wat'ry eyes, Fast hauding by her mother, Wi' murnfu' cries, and wat'ry eyes, 15 They are parted frae each other.

Nae time he gied her to be dress'd, As ladies do when they're bride O, But he hastened and hurried her awa', And he row'd her in his plaid O. 20

They rade till they cam to Ballyshine, At Ballyshine they tarried; He bought to her a cotton gown, Yet ne'er would she be married.

Three held her up before the priest, 25 Four carried her to bed O, Wi' wat'ry eyes, and murnfu' sighs, When she behind was laid O. * * * * *

"O be content, be content, Be content to stay, lady, 30 For ye are my wedded wife Unto my dying day, lady.

CHORUS.

_Be content, be content, Be content to stay, lady, For ye are my wedded wife Unto my dying day, lady._

"My father is Rob Roy called, M'Gregor is his name, lady, In all the country where he dwells, 35 He does succeed the fame, lady.

"My father he has cows and ewes, And goats he has eneuch, lady, And you, and twenty thousand merks, Will make me a man complete, lady." 40

EPPIE MORRIE.

From Maidment's _North Countrie Garland_, p. 40.

"This ballad is probably much more than a century old, though the circumstances which have given rise to it were fortunately too common to preclude the possibility of its being of a later date. Although evidently founded on fact, the editor has not hitherto discovered the particular circumstances out of which it has originated."

Four and twenty Highland men Came a' from Carrie side, To steal awa' Eppie Morrie, 'Cause she would not be a bride.

Out it's cam her mother, 5 It was a moonlight night, She could not see her daughter. The sands they shin'd so bright.

"Haud far awa' frae me, mother, Haud far awa' frae me; 10 There's not a man in a' Strathdon Shall wedded be with me."

They have taken Eppie Morrie, And horseback bound her on, And then awa' to the minister, 15 As fast as horse could gang.

He's taken out a pistol, And set it to the minister's breast; "Marry me, marry me, minister, Or else I'll be your priest." 20

"Haud far awa' frae me, good sir, Haud far awa' frae me; For there's not a man in a' Strathdon That shall married be with me."

"Haud far awa' frae me, Willie, 25 Haud far awa' frae me; For I darna avow to marry you, Except she's as willing as ye."

They have taken Eppie Morrie, Since better could nae be, 30 And they're awa' to Carrie side, As fast as horse could flee.

Then mass was sung, and bells were rung, And all were bound for bed, Then Willie an' Eppie Morrie 35 In one bed they were laid.

"Haud far awa' frae me, Willie, Haud far awa' frae me; Before I'll lose my maidenhead, I'll try my strength with thee." 40

She took the cap from off her head, And threw it to the way; Said, "Ere I lose my maidenhead, I'll fight with you till day."

Then early in the morning, 45 Before her clothes were on, In came the maiden of Scalletter, Gown and shirt alone.

"Get up, get up, young woman, And drink the wine wi' me;" 50 "You might have called me maiden, I'm sure as leal as thee."

"Wally fa' you, Willie, That ye could nae prove a man, And taen the lassie's maidenhead; 55 She would have hired your han'."

"Haud far awa' frae me, lady, Haud far awa' frae me; There's not a man in a' Strathdon, The day shall wed wi' me." 60

Soon in there came Belbordlane, With a pistol on every side; "Come awa' hame, Eppie Morrie, And there you'll be my bride."

"Go get to me a horse, Willie, 65 And get it like a man, And send me back to my mother, A maiden as I cam.

"The sun shines o'er the westlin hills, By the light lamp of the moon, 70 Just saddle your horse, young John Forsyth, And whistle, and I'll come soon."

MACPHERSON'S RANT.

This ballad, worthy of a hangman's pen, was first printed in Herd's _Scottish Songs_, i. 161. It is found, mutilated and altered, with the title of _Macpherson's Lament_, in the _Thistle of Scotland_, p. 52.

The story of Macpherson is given as follows by a writer in the _New Monthly Magazine_, vol. i. p. 142, cited by Chambers, _Scottish Songs_, i. 84.

"James Macpherson was born of a beautiful gipsy, who, at a great wedding, attracted the notice of a half-intoxicated Highland gentleman. He acknowledged the child, and had him reared in his house, until he lost his life in bravely pursuing a hostile clan, to recover a spreach of cattle taken from Badenoch. The gipsy woman, hearing of this disaster, in her rambles the following summer, came and took away her boy; but she often returned with him, to wait upon his relations and clansmen, who never failed to clothe him well, besides giving money to his mother. He grew up to beauty, strength, and stature, rarely equalled. His sword is still preserved at Duff House, a residence of the Earl of Fife, and few men of our day could carry, far less wield it, as a weapon of war; and if it must be owned that his prowess was debased by the exploits of a free-booter, it is certain, no act of cruelty, no robbery of the widow, the fatherless, or distressed, and no murder, were ever perpetrated under his command. He often gave the spoils of the rich to relieve the poor; and all his tribe were restrained from many atrocities of rapine by the awe of his mighty arm. Indeed, it is said that a dispute with an aspiring and savage man of his tribe, who wished to rob a gentleman's house while his wife and two children lay on the bier for interment, was the cause of his being betrayed to the vengeance of the law. The magistrates of Aberdeen were exasperated at Macpherson's escape, and bribed a girl in that city to allure and deliver him into their hands. There is a platform before the jail, at the top of a stair, and a door below. When Macpherson's capture was made known to his comrades by the frantic girl, who had been so credulous as to believe the magistrates only wanted to hear the wonderful performer on the violin, his cousin, Donald Macpherson, a gentleman of Herculean powers, did not disdain to come from Badenoch, and to join a gipsy, Peter Brown, in liberating the prisoner. On a market-day they brought several assistants; and swift horses were stationed at a convenient distance. Donald Macpherson and Peter Brown forced the jail; and while Peter Brown went to help the heavily-fettered James Macpherson in moving away, Donald Macpherson guarded the jail-door with a drawn sword. Many persons assembled at the market had experienced James Macpherson's humanity, or had shared his bounty; and they crowded round the jail as in mere curiosity, but, in fact, to obstruct the civil authorities in their attempts to prevent a rescue. A butcher, however, was resolved to detain Macpherson, expecting a large recompense from the magistrates; he sprung up the stairs, and leaped from the platform upon Donald Macpherson, whom he dashed to the ground by the force and weight of his body. Donald Macpherson soon recovered, to make a desperate resistance; and the combatants tore off each other's clothes. The butcher got a glimpse of his dog upon the platform, and called him to his aid; but Macpherson, with admirable presence of mind, snatched up his own plaid, which lay near, and threw it over the butcher, thus misleading the instinct of his canine adversary. The dog darted with fury upon the plaid, and terribly lacerated his master's thigh. In the mean time, James Macpherson had been carried out by Peter Brown, and was soon joined by Donald Macpherson, who was quickly covered by some friendly spectator with a hat and great coat. The magistrates ordered webs from the shops to be drawn across the Gallowgate; but Donald Macpherson cut them asunder with his sword, and James, the late prisoner, got off on horseback. He was, some time after, betrayed by a man of his own tribe: and was the last person executed at Banff, previous to the abolition of hereditable jurisdiction. He was an admirable performer on the violin; and his talent for composition is still evidenced by Macpherson's Rant, and Macpherson's Pibroch. He performed these tunes at the foot of the fatal tree; and then asked if he had any friend in the crowd to whom a last gift of his instrument would be acceptable. No man had hardihood to claim friendship with a delinquent, in whose crimes the acknowledgment might implicate an avowed acquaintance. As no friend came forward, Macpherson said, the companion of so many gloomy hours should perish with him; and, breaking the violin over his knees, he threw away the fragments. Donald Macpherson picked up the neck of the violin, which to this day is preserved, as a valuable memento, by the family of Cluny, chieftain of the Macphersons."

Burns's magnificent death-song, _McPherson's Farewell_, is too well known to require more than an allusion.

I've spent my time in rioting, Debauch'd my health and strength; I've pillag'd, plunder'd, murdered, But now, alas! at length, I'm brought to punishment direct, 5 Pale death draws near to me; This end I never did project, To hang upon a tree.

To hang upon a tree! a tree! That curs'd unhappy death! 10 Like to a wolf to worried be, And choaked in the breath. My very heart would surely break, When this I think upon, Did not my courage singular 15 Bid pensive thoughts begone.

No man on earth that draweth breath, More courage had than I; I dar'd my foes unto their face, And would not from them fly. 20 This grandeur stout, I did keep out, Like Hector, manfullie: Then wonder one like me, so stout, Should hang upon a tree!

Th' Egyptian band I did command, 25 With courage more by far, Than ever did a general His soldiers in the war. Being fear'd by all, both great and small, I liv'd most joyfullie: 30 O! curse upon this fate of mine, To hang upon a tree!

As for my life, I do not care, If justice would take place, And bring my fellow plunderers 35 Unto this same disgrace. For Peter Brown, that notour loon, Escap'd and was made free; O! curse upon this fate of mine, To hang upon a tree! 40

Both law and justice buried are, And fraud and guile succeed; The guilty pass unpunished, If money intercede. The Laird of Grant, that Highland saint, 45 His mighty majestie, He pleads the cause of Peter Brown, And lets Macpherson die.

The destiny of my life, contriv'd By those whom I oblig'd, 50 Rewarded me much ill for good, And left me no refuge. For Braco Duff, in rage enough, He first laid hands on me; And if that death would not prevent, 55 Avenged would I be.

As for my life, it is but short, When I shall be no more; To part with life I am content, As any heretofore. 60 Therefore, good people all, take heed, This warning take by me, According to the lives you lead, Rewarded you shall be.