Part 6

An' the nextin town that they came till,

They gar'd the mass be sung.

The thirdin town that they came till,

They gar'd the drums beat round,

The king but an' his nobles a'

Was startled at the sound.

When they came to the king's palace,

They rade it round about;

An' there they saw the king himsel',

At the window looking out.

"Is this the Duke o' Albany,

Or James, the Scottish king?

Or are ye some great foreign lord,

That's come a visiting?"

"I'm na the Duke of Albany,

Nor James, the Scottish king;

But I'm a valiant Scottish knight;

Pitnachton is my name."

"O if Pitnachton be your name,

As I trust well it be;

The morn, or I taste meat or drink,

You shall be hanged hi'."

Then out it spake the valiant knight,

That came brave Johnny wi':

"Behold five hunder bowmen bold,

Will die to set him free."

Then out it spake the king again,

An' a scornfu' laugh laugh he:

"I have an Italian i' my house,

Will fight you three by three."

"O grant me a boon," brave Johnny cried,

"Bring your Italian here;

Then if he fall beneath my sword,

I've won your daughter dear."

Then out it came, that Italian,

An' a curious ghost was he;

Upon the point o' Johnny's sword,

This Italian did die.

Out has he drawn his lang, lang bran',

Struck it across the plain:

"Is there any more o' your English dogs,

That you want to be slain?"

"A clerk, a clerk," the king then cried,

"To write her tocher free;"

"A priest, a priest," says love Johnny,

"To marry my love and me.

"I'm seeking nane o' your gold," he says,

"Nor of your silver clear;

I only seek your daughter fair,

Whose love hast cost her dear."

KEMP OWYNE

|Her mother died when she was young,

Which gave her cause to make great moan;

Her father married the worst woman

That ever lived in Christendom.

She served her with foot and hand,

In every thing that she could dee;

Till once, in an unlucky time,

She threw her in ower Craigy's sea.

Says, "Lie you there, dove Isabel,

And all my sorrows lie with thee;

Till Kemp Owyne come ower the sea,

And borrow you with kisses three,

Let all the world do what they will,

Oh borrowed shall you never be."

Her breath grew strang, her hair grew lang,

And twisted thrice about the tree,

And all the people, far and near,

Thought that a savage beast was she;

(_borrow,_ redeem.)

This news did come to Kemp Owyne,

Where he lived far beyond the sea.

He hasted him to Craigy's sea,

And on the savage beast look'd he;

Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,

And twisted was about the tree,

And with a swing she came about:

"Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me."

"Here is a royal belt," she cried,

"That I have found in the green sea:

And while your body it is on,

Drawn shall your blood never be;

But if you touch me, tail or fin,

I vow my belt your death shall be."

He stepped in, gave her a kiss,

The royal belt he brought him wi';

Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,

And twisted twice about the tree,

And with a swing she came about:

"Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me."

"Here is a royal ring," she said,

"That I have found in the green sea;

And while your finger it is on,

Drawn shall your blood never be;

But if you touch me, tail or fin,

I swear my ring your death shall be."

He stepped in, gave her a kiss,

The royal ring he brought him wi';

Her breath was strang, her hair was lang,

And twisted aince around the tree,

And with a swing she came about:

"Come to Craigy's sea, and kiss with me."

"Here is a royal brand," she said,

"That I have found in the green sea;

And while your body it is on,

Drawn shall your blood never be:

But if you touch me, tail or fin,

I swear my brand your death shall be."

He stepped in, gave her a kiss,

The royal brand he brought him wi';

Her breath was sweet, her hair grew short,

And twisted nane about the tree;

And smilingly she came about'

As fair a woman as fair could be.

THE WEARY COBLE O' CARGILL

|David Drummonds destiny,

Gude man o' appearance o' Cargill;

I wot his blude rins in the flude,

Sae sair against his parents' will.

She was the lass o' Balathy toun,

And he the butler o' Stobhall;

And mony a time she walked late,

To bore the coble o' Cargill.

His bed was made in Kercock ha',

Of gude clean sheets and of the hay;

He wadna rest ae night therein,

But on the proud waters he wad gae.

His bed was made in Balathy toun,

Of the clean sheets and of the strae;

But I wot it was far better made,

Into the bottom o' bonny Tay.

She bored the coble in seven parts,

I wot her heart might hae been fu' sair;

For there she got the bonny lad lost,

Wi' the curly locks and the yellow hair.

He put his foot into the boat,

He little thought o' ony ill:

But before that he was mid-waters,

The weary coble began to fill.

"Woe be to the lass o' Balathy toun,

I wot an ill death may she die;

For she bored the coble in seven parts,

And let the waters perish me!

(_strae_, straw.)

"O help, O help I can get nane,

Nae help o' man can to me come!"

This was about his dying words,

When he was choked up to the chin.

"Gae tell my father and my mother,

It was naebody did me this ill;

I was a-going my ain errands,

Lost at the coble o' bonny Cargill."

She bored the boat in seven parts,

I wot she bored it wi' gude will;

And there they got the bonny lad's corpse,

In the kirk-shot o' bonny Cargill.

O a' the keys of bonny Stobha',

I wot they at his belt did hing;

But a the keys of bonny Stobha,

They now lie low into the stream.

A braver page into his age

Ne er set a foot upon the plain;

His' father to his mother said,

"O sae soon as we've wanted him!"

I wot they had mair love than this,

When they were young and at the school;

But for his sake she walked late,

And bored the coble o' bonny Cargill.

(_shot_, plot of land.)

"There's ne'er a clean sark gae on my back,

Nor yet a kame gae in my hair;

There's neither coal nor candle light

Shall shine in my bower for ever mair.

"At kirk nor market I'se ne'er be at,

Nor yet a blithe blink in my ee;

There's ne'er a ane shall say to another,

That's the lassie gar'd the young man die."

Between the yetts o' bonny Stobha',

And the kirkstyle o' bonny Cargill,

There is mony a man and mother's son

That was at my love's burial.

JOHN THOMSON AND THE TURK

|John Thomson fought against the Turks

Three years, intill a far country;

And all that time, and something mair,

Was absent from his gay lady.

But it fell aince upon a time,

As this young chieftain sat alane,

He spied his lady in rich array,

As she walk'd ower a rural plain.

"What brought ye here, my lady gay,

So far awa' from your ain country?

I've thought lang, and very lang,

And all for your fair face to see."

For some days she did with him stay,

Till it fell aince upon a day,

"Fareweel, for a time," she said,

"For now I must boun hame away."

He's gi en to her a jewel fine,

Was set with pearl and precious stane;

Says, "My love, beware of these savages bold

That's in your way as ye gang hame.

"Ye'll take the road, my lady fair,

That leads you fair across the lea:

That keeps you from wild Hind Soldan,

And likewise from base Violentrie."

Wi' heavy heart they twa did part,

She mintet as she would gae hame;

Hind Soldan by the Greeks was slain,

But to base Violentrie she's gane.

When a twelvemonth had expired,

John Thomson he thought wondrous lang,

And he has written a braid letter,

And sealed it weel wi' his ain hand.

(_mintet_, started off.)

He sent it with a small vessel

That there was quickly ga en to sea;

And sent it on to fair Scotland,

To see about his gay lady.

But the answer he received again,--

The lines did grieve his heart right sair:

Nane of her friends there had her seen,

For a twelvemonth and something mair.

Then he put on a palmers weed,

And took a pike-staff in his hand;

To Violentrie's castle he hied;

But slowly, slowly he did gang.

When within the hall he came,

He jooked and couch'd out ower his tree:

"If ye be lady of this hall,

Some of your good bountith gie me."

"What news, what news, palmer," she said,

"And from what country came ye?"

"I'm lately come from Grecian plains,

Where lies some of the Scots army."

"If ye be come from Grecian plains,

Some mair news I will ask of thee,--

Of one of the chieftains that lies there,

If he has lately seen his gay lady."

(_jooked,_ bowed. _tree_, staff.)

"It is twa months, and something mair,

Since we did part on yonder plain;

And now this knight has began to fear

One of his foes he has her ta en."

"He has not ta'en me by force nor slight;

It was a' by my ain free will;

He may tarry into the fight,

For here I mean to tarry still.

"And if John Thomson ye do see,

Tell him I wish him silent sleep;

His head was not so cosily,

Nor yet sae weel, as lies at my feet."

With that he threw off his strange disguise,

Laid by the mask that he had on;

Said, "Hide me now, my lady fair,

For Violentrie will soon be hame."

"For the love I bore thee aince,

I'll strive to hide you, if I can:"

Then she put him down in a dark cellar

Where there lay many a new slain man.

But he hadna in the cellar been,

Not an hour but barely three,

Then hideous was the noise he heard,

When in at the gate came Violentrie.

Says, "I wish you well, my lady fair,

It's time for us to sit to dine;

Come, serve me with the good white bread

And likewise with the claret wine.

"That Scots chieftain, our mortal foe,

Sae oft frae the field has made us flee,

Ten thousand zechins this day I'll give

That I his face could only see."

"Of that same gift would ye give me,

If I would bring him unto thee?

I fairly hold you at your word;--

Come ben, John Thomson, to my lord."

Then from the vault John Thomson came,

Wringing his hands most piteously:

"What would ye do," the Turk he cried,

"If ye had me as I hae thee?"

"If I had you as ye have me,

I'll tell ye what I'd do to thee;

I'd hang you up in good greenwood,

And cause your ain hand wale the tree.

"I meant to stick you with my knife

For kissing my beloved lady:"

"But that same weed ye've shaped for me,

It quickly shall be sewed for thee."

(_wald_, choose. _weed_, dress.)

I

Then to the wood they baith are gane;

John Thomson clomb frae tree to tree;

And aye he sighed and said, "Ochone!

Here comes the day that I must die,"

He tied a ribbon on every branch,

Put up a flag his men might see;

But little did his false foes ken

He meant them any injury.

He set his horn unto his mouth,

And he has blawn baith loud and shrill:

And then three thousand armed men

Came tripping all out ower the hill.

"Deliver us our chief," they all did cry;

"It s by our hand that ye must die;" -

"Here is your chief," the Turk replied,

With that fell on his bended knee.

"O mercy, mercy, good fellows all,

Mercy I pray you'll grant to me;"

"Such mercy as ye meant to give,

Such mercy we shall give to thee."

This Turk they in his castle burnt,

That stood upon yon hill so high;

John Thomson's gay lady they took

And hanged her on yon greenwood tree.

LORD DERWENTWATER

|Our King has wrote a lang letter

And sealed it ower with gold;

He sent it to my lord Dunwaters,

To read it if he could.

He has not sent it with a boy, with a boy,

Nor with any Scotch lord;

But hes sent it with the noblest knight

E er Scotland could afford.

The very first line that my lord did read,

He gave a smirkling smile;

Before he had the half of it read,

The tears from his eyes did fall.

"Come saddle to me my horse," he said,

"Come saddle to me with speed;

For I must away to fair London town,

For me there was neer more need."

Out and spoke his lady gay,

In child-bed where she lay:

"I would have you make your will, my lord

Dunwaters,

Before you go away."

"I leave to you, my eldest son,

My houses and my land;

I leave to you, my youngest son,

Ten thousand pounds in hand.

"I leave to you, my lady gay,--

You are my wedded wife,--

I leave to you, the third of my estate,

That'll keep you in a ladys life."

They had not rode a mile but one,

Till his horse fell ower a stane:

"Its a warning good enough," my lord Dunwaters said,

"Alive I'll ne'er come hame."

When they came to fair London town,

Into the courtiers' hall,

The lords and knights in fair London town

Did him a traitor call.

"A traitor! a traitor!" says my lord,

"A traitor! how can that be?

An' it was na for the keeping of five thousand men,

To fight for King Jamie.

"O all you lords and knights in fair London town,

Come out and see me die:

The Twa Magicians s'

181

O all you lords and knights in fair Londo town,

Be kind to my lady.

"Theres fifty pounds in my right pocket,

Divide it to the poor;

There's other fifty in my left pocket,

Divide it from door to door."

THE TWA MAGICIANS

|The lady stands in her bower door,

As straight as willow wand;

The blacksmith stood a little forbye,

Wi' hammer in his hand.

"Weel may ye dress ye, lady fair,

Into your robes o' red;

Before the morn at this same time,

I'll gain your maidenhead!"

"Awa', awa', ye coal-black smith,

Would ye do me the wrang,

To think to gain my maidenhead,

That I hae kept sae lang?"

(_forbye_, on one side.)

Then she has hadden up her hand,

And she sware by the mould,

"I wadna be a blacksmith's wife,

For the full o' a chest o' gold.

"I'd rather I were dead and gone,

And my body laid in grave,

Ere a rusty stock o' coal-black smith,

My maidenhead should have."

But he has hadden up his hand,

And he sware by the mass,

"I'll cause ye be my light leman,

For the half o' that and less."

O bide, lady, bide,

And aye he bade her bide,

The rusty smith your leman shall be,

For a' your muckle pride.

Then she became a turtle dow,

To fly up in the air,

And he became another dow,

And they flew pair and pair,

O bide, lady, bide, &c.

She turned hersel' into an eel,

To swim into yon burn,

And he became a speckled trout,

To gie the eel a turn.

O bide, lady, bide, &c.

(_turn_, trick.)

Then she became a duck, a duck,

To puddle in a peel,

And he became a rose-kaimed drake,

To gie the duck a dreel.

O bide, lady, bide, &c.

She turned hersel' into a hare,

To rin upon yon hill,

And he became a gude grey-hound,

And boldly he did fill.

O bide, lady, bide, &c.

Then she became a gay gray mare,

And stood in yonder slack,

And he became a gilt saddle,

And sat upon her back.

Was she wae, he held her sae,

And still he bade her bide;

The rusty smith her leman was,

For a' her muckle pride.

Then she became a hot girdle,

And he became a cake,

And a' the ways she turn'd hersel',

The blacksmith was her make.

Was she wae, &c.

She turn'd hersel' into a ship,

To sail out ower the flood;

(_peel_, pool. _dreel_, rush (?). _slack_, dell. _make_, mate.

He ca'ed a nail intill her tail,

And syne the ship she stood.

Was she wae, &c.

Then she became a silken plaid,

And stretch'd upon a bed,

And he became a green covering,

And gain'd her maidenhead.

Was she wae, &c.

BROWN ROBIN

|The king but an his nobles a'

Sat birling at the wine;

He would ha' nane but his ae daughter

To wait on them at dine.

(_ca'ed_, drove. _birling_, drinking.)

She's serv'd them but, she's serv'd them ben,

Intill a gown of green,

But her ee was aye on Brown Robin

That stood low under the rain.

She's do'en her to her bigly bower,

As fast as she could gang,

An' there she's drawn her shot-window,

An' she's harped an' she's sang.

"There sits a bird i' my father's garden,

An O but she sings sweet!

I hope to live and see the day

When wi' my love I'll meet."

"O gin that ye like me as well

As your tongue tells to me,

What hour o' the night, my lady bright,

At your bower shall I be?"

"When my father and gay Gilbert

Are baith set at the wine,

O ready, ready I will be

To let my true-love in."

O she has birled her father's porter

Wi' strong beer an' wi' wine,

Until he was as beastly drunk

As ony wild-wood swine;

She's stown the keys o' her father's gates

An letten her true-love in.

(_bigly_, pleasant. _shot_, projecting.)

Whan night was gane, and day was come,

An the sun shone on their feet,

Then out it spake him Brown Robin:

"I'll be discovered yet."

Then out it spake that gay lady:

"My love, ye needna doubt;

For wi' ae wile I've got you in,

Wi' anither I'll bring you out."

She's taen her to her father's cellar,

As fast as she can fare;

She's drawn a cup o' the guid red wine,

Hung't low down by her gare;

An' she met wi' her father dear

Just coming down the stair.

"I wouldna gie that cup, daughter,

That ye hold i' your hand

For a' the wines in my cellar,

An' gauntrees where they stand."

'O wae be to your wine, father,

That ever't came o'er the sea;

'Tis putten my head in sick a steer

I' my bower I canna be."

"Gang out, gang out, my daughter dear,

Gang out an' take the air;

Gang out an' walk i' the good green wood,

An' a your marys fair."

(_gare,_ skirt. _steer,_ stir.)

Then out it spake the proud porter--

Our lady wished him shame--

"Well send the marys to the wood,

But well keep our lady at hame."

"Theres thirty marys i' my bower,

There's thirty o' them an' three;

But there's na ane among them a'

Kens what flower gains for me."

She's do'en her to her bigly bower,

As fast as she could bang,

An' she has dressed him, Brown Robin,

Like ony bower-woman.

The gown she put upon her love

Was o' the dainty green,

His hose was o' the saft, saft silk,

His shoon o' the cordwain fine.

She's putten his bow in her bosom,

His arrow in her sleeve,

His sturdy bran' her body next,

Because he was her love.

Then she is unto her bower-door,

As fast as she could gang;

But out it spake the proud porter--

Our lady wished him shame--

"Well count our marys to the wood,

An well count them back again."

(_cordwain_, leather.)

The firsten mary she sent out

Was Brown Robin by name;

Then out it spake the king himsel',

"This is a sturdy dame."

O she went out in a May morning,

In a May morning so gay,

But she came never back again,

Her auld father to see.

BLANCHEFLOUR AND JELLYFLORICE

|There was a maid, richly array'd,

In robes were rare to see;

For seven years and something mair,

She serv'd a gay lady.

But being fond o' a higher place,

In service she thought lang;

She took her mantle her about,

Her coffer by the band.

And as she walk'd by the shore side,

As blithe's a bird on tree,

Yet still she gaz'd her round about,

To see what she could see.

(_coffer_, cap.)

At last she spied a little castle,

That stood near by the sea;

She spied it far, and drew it near,

To that castle went she.

And when she came to that castle,

She tirled at the pin '

And ready stood a little wee boy

To let this fair maid in.

"O who's the owner of this place,

O porter boy, tell me?"

"This place belongs unto a queen

O' birth and high degree."

She put her hand in her pocket,

And gae him shillings three;

"O porter, bear my message well,

Unto the queen frae me."

The porter's gane before the queen,

Fell low down on his knee;

"Win up, win up, my porter boy,

What makes this courtesy?"

"I hae been porter at your yetts,

My dame, these years full three,

But see a lady at your yetts,

The fairest my eyes did see."

"Cast up my yetts baith wide and braid,

Let her come in to me;

And I'll know by her courtesy,

Lord's daughter if she be."

When she came in before the queen,

Fell low down on her knee;

"Service frae you, my dame, the queen,

I pray you grant it me."

"If that service ye now do want,

What station will ye be?

Can ye card wool, or spin, fair maid,

Or milk the cows to me?"

"No, I can neither card nor spin,

Nor cows I canna milk;

But sit into a lady's bower,

And sew the seams o' silk."

"What is your name, ye comely dame?

Pray tell this unto me:"

"O Blancheflour, that is my name,

Born in a strange country."

"O keep ye well frae Jellyflorice;

My ain dear son is he;

When other ladies get a gift,

O' that ye shall get three."

It wasna told into the bower,

Till it went thro' the ha',

That Jellyflorice and Blancheflour

Were grown ower great witha'.

When the queen's maids their visits paid,

Upo' the gude Yule day,

When other ladies got horse to ride,

She boud take foot and gae.

The queen she call'd her stable groom,

To come to her right seen;

Says, "Ye'll take out yon wild waith steed,

And bring him to the green.

"Ye'll take the bridle frae his head,

The lighters frae his e'en;

Ere she ride three times roun' the cross,

Her weel days will be dune."

Jellyflorice his true love spy'd,

As she rade roun' the cross,

And thrice he kiss'd her lovely lips,

And took her frae her horse.

"Gang to your bower, my lily flower,

For a' my mother's spite;

There's nae other amang her maids,

In whom I take delight.

(_boud_, was bound (?). _seen_, soon. _waith_, wandering. _lighters_, blinkers.)

"Ye are my jewel, and only ane,

Nane's do you injury;

For ere this-day-month come and gang,

My wedded wife ye'se be."

THE EARL OF MAR'S DAUGHTER

|It was intill a pleasant time,

Upon a simmer's day;

The noble Earl of Mar's daughter

Went forth to sport and play.

As thus she did amuse hersel',

Below a green aik tree,

There she saw a sprightly doo

Set on a tower sae high.

"O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true,

If ye'll come down to me,

Ye'se hae a cage o' guid red gowd

Instead o' simple tree:

"I'll put gowd hingers roun' your cage,

And siller roun' your wa';

I'll gar ye shine as fair a bird

As ony o' them a'."

(_tree_, wood. _hingers_, hangings.)

But she had na these words well spoke,

Nor yet these words well said,

Till Cow-me-doo flew frae the tower,

And lighted on her head.

Then she has brought this pretty bird

Hame to her bowers and ha';

And made him shine as fair a bird

As ony o' them a.

When day was gane, and night was come,

About the evening tide,

This lady spied a sprightly youth

Stand straight up by her side.

"From whence came ye, young man?"

she said,

"That does surprise me sair;

My door was bolted right secure;

What way hae ye come here?"

"O hold your tongue, ye lady fair,

Let a' your folly be;

Mind ye not on your turtle doo

Last day ye brought wi' thee?"

"O tell me mair, young man," she said,

"This does surprise me now;

What country hae ye come frae?

What pedigree are you?"

"My mither lives on foreign isles,

She has nae mair but me;

She is a queen o' wealth and state,

And birth and high degree;

"Likewise well skill'd in magic spells,

As ye may plainly see;

And she transform'd me to yon shape,

To charm such maids as thee.

"l ma doo the live lang day,

A sprightly youth at night;

This aye gars me appear mair fair

In a fair maiden's sight.

"And it was but this verra day

That I came ower the sea;

Your lovely face did me enchant,--

I'll live and die wi' thee."

"O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true,

Nae mair frae me ye'se gae."

"That's never my intent, my love,

As ye said, it shall be sae."

"O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true,

It's time to gae to bed."

"Wi' a' my heart, my dear marrow,

It's be as ye hae said."

Then he has staid in bower wi' her

For sax lang years and ane,

Till sax young sons to him she bare,

And the seventh she's brought hame.

But aye as ever a child was born,

He carried them away,

And brought them to his mither's care,

As fast as he could fly.

Thus he has staid in bower wi' her

For twenty years and three;

There came a lord o' high renown

To court this fair lady.

But still his proffer she refused,

And a' his presents too;

Says, "Im content to live alane

Wi' my bird, Cow-me-doo."

Her father sware a solemn oath

Amang the nobles all,

"The morn, or ere I eat or drink,

This bird I will gar kill."

The bird was sitting in his cage,

And heard what they did say;

And when he found they were dismissed,

Says, "Wae's me for this day!

"Before that I do langer stay,

And thus to be forlorn,