book VI, p. 48, ed. 1720, following Walsingham), cited by Percy in his

Essay on the Ancient Minstrels, Reliques, I, xli, lxxxvii, ed. 1794; Warton's History of English Poetry, II, 172, note d, ed. 1840.

The champion of England formerly rode into Westminster Hall in the coronation ceremony, but this part of the spectacle was omitted from the two last coronations.

King Estmere stables his steed at the hall board. Here again the minstrel is within the bounds of custom. "On voyait au moyen âge, dans la salle des chefs gallois, d'énormes crampons de fer, fixés au pavé de distance en distance, qui servaient aux chevaliers pour attacher leurs chevaux, car ils y entraient souvent avec eux; quelques-uns les conduisaient même jusque dans leur chambre à coucher:" Villemarqué, Les Romans de la Table Ronde, etc., 1860, p. 416 (cited by Liebrecht).

For bribing to secrecy with an arm-ring, stanza 47, see, also, Grundtvig, No 82, #A# 14, 15, #B# 20, 21; No 95, #D# 16, 17, Kristensen, I, No 96, 16; Grundtvig, No 233, #A# 18, #B# 12, #D# 13; No 274, #A# 21.

* * * * *

Translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 1; by Bodmer, I, 27; Herder, I, 195; Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, No 14.

1 Hearken to me, gentlemen, Come and you shall heare; Ile tell you of two of the boldest brether That ever borne were.

2 The tone of them was Adler Younge, The tother was Kyng Estmere; The were as bolde men in their deeds As any were, farr and neare.

3 As they were drinking ale and wine Within his brother's hall, 'When will ye marry a wyfe, brother, A wyfe to glad us all?'

4 Then bespake him Kyng Estmere, And answered him hartilye: 'I know not that ladye in any land, That's able to marrye with mee.'

5 'Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother, Men call her bright and sheene; If I were kyng here in your stead, That ladye shold be my queene.'

6 Saies, Reade me, reade me, deare brother, Throughout merry England, Where we might find a messenger Betwixt us towe to sende.

7 Saies, You shal ryde yourselfe, brother, Ile beare you companye; Many a man throughe fals messengers is deceived, And I feare lest soe shold wee.

8 Thus the renisht them to ryde, Of twoe good renisht steeds, And when the came to King Adlands halle, Of redd gold shone their weeds.

9 And when the came to Kyng Adlands hall, Before the goodlye gate, There they found good Kyng Adland Rearing himselfe theratt.

10 'Now Christ thee save, good Kyng Adland; Now Christ you save and see:' Sayd, You be welcome, King Estmere, Right hartilye to mee.

11 'You have a daughter,' said Adler Younge, 'Men call her bright and sheene; My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe, Of Englande to be queene.'

12 'Yesterday was att my deere daughter The king his sonne of Spayn, And then she nicked him of naye, And I doubt sheele do you the same.'

13 'The kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim, And 'leeveth on Mahound, And pitye it were that fayre ladye Shold marrye a heathen hound.'

14 'But grant to me,' sayes Kyng Estmere, 'For my love I you praye, That I may see your daughter deere Before I goe hence awaye.'

15 'Although itt is seven yeers and more Since my daughter was in halle, She shall come once downe for your sake. To glad my guestës alle.'

16 Downe then came that mayden fayre, With ladyes laced in pall, And halfe a hundred of bold knightes, To bring her [from] bowre to hall, And as many gentle squiers, To tend upon them all.

17 The talents of golde were on her head sette Hanged low downe to her knee, And everye ring on her small finger Shone of the chrystall free.

18 Saies, God you save, my deere madam, Saies, God you save and see: Said, You be welcome, Kyng Estmere, Right welcome unto mee.

19 'And, if you love me, as you saye, Soe well and hartilee, All that ever you are comen about Soone sped now itt shal bee.'

20 Then bespake her father deare: My daughter, I saye naye; Remember well the kyng of Spayne, What he sayd yesterdaye.

21 'He wold pull downe my halles and castles, And reave me of my lyfe; I cannot blame him if he doe, If I reave him of his wyfe.

22 'Your castles and your towres, father, Are stronglye built aboute, And therefore of the king his sonne of Spaine Wee neede not stande in doubt.

23 'Plight me your troth, nowe, Kyng Estmere, By heaven and your righte hand, That you will marrye me to your wyfe, And make me queene of your land.'

24 Then Kyng Estmere he plight his troth, By heaven and his righte hand, That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe, And make her queene of his land.

25 And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre, To goe to his owne countree, To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes, That marryed the might bee.

26 They had not ridden scant a myle, A myle forthe of the towne, But in did come the kyng of Spayne, With kempës many one.

27 But in did come the kyng of Spayne, With manye a bold barone, Tone day to marrye Kyng Adlands daughter, Tother daye to carrye her home.

28 Shee sent one after Kyng Estmere, In all the spede might bee, That he must either turne againe and fighte, Or goe home and loose his ladye.

29 One whyle then the page he went, Another while he ranne; Till he had oretaken King Estmere, I-wis he never blanne.

30 'Tydings, tydings, Kyng Estmere!' 'What tydinges nowe, my boye?' 'O tydinges I can tell to you, That will you sore annoye.

31 'You had not ridden scant a mile, A mile out of the towne, But in did come the kyng of Spayne, With kempës many a one.

32 'But in did come the kyng of Spayne, With manye a bold barone, Tone daye to marrye King Adlands daughter, Tother daye to carry her home.

33 'My ladye fayre she greetes you well, And ever-more well by mee; You must either turne againe and fighte, Or goe home and loose your ladye.'

34 Saies, Reade me, reade me, deere brother, My reade shall ryse at thee, Whether it is better to turne and fighte, Or goe home and loose my ladye.

35 'Now hearken to me,' sayes Adler Yonge, 'And your reade must rise at me; I quicklye will devise a waye To sette thy ladye free.

36 'My mother was a westerne woman, And learned in gramarye, And when I learned at the schole, Something shee taught itt mee.

37 'There growes an hearbe within this field, And iff it were but knowne, His color, which is whyte and redd, It will make blacke and browne.

38 'His color, which is browne and blacke, Itt will make redd and whyte; That sworde is not in all Englande Upon his coate will byte.

39 'And you shal be a harper, brother, Out of the north countrye, And Ile be your boy, soe faine of fighte, And beare your harpe by your knee.

40 'And you shal be the best harper That ever tooke harpe in hand, And I wil be the best singer That ever sung in this lande.

41 'Itt shal be written in our forheads, All and in grammarye, That we towe are the boldest men That are in all Christentye.'

42 And thus they renisht them to ryde, Of tow good renisht steedes, And when they came to King Adlands hall, Of redd gold shone their weedes.

43 And whan the came to Kyng Adlands hall Untill the fayre hall-yate, There they found a proud porter, Rearing himselfe thereatt.

44 Sayes, Christ thee save, thou proud porter, Sayes, Christ thee save and see: 'Nowe you be welcome,' sayd the porter, 'Of what land soever ye bee.'

45 'Wee beene harpers,' sayd Adler Younge, 'Come out of the northe countrye; Wee beene come hither untill this place This proud weddinge for to see.'

46 Sayd, And your color were white and redd, As it is blacke and browne, I wold saye King Estmere and his brother Were comen untill this towne.

47 Then they pulled out a ryng of gold, Layd itt on the porters arme: 'And ever we will thee, proud porter, Thow wilt saye us no harme.'

48 Sore he looked on Kyng Estmere, And sore he handled the ryng, Then opened to them the fayre hall-yates, He lett for no kind of thyng.

49 Kyng Estmere he stabled his steede Soe fayre att the hall-bord; The froth that came from his brydle bitte Light in Kyng Bremors beard.

50 Saies, Stable thy steed, thou proud harper, Saies, Stable him in the stalle; It doth not beseeme a proud harper To stable his steed in a kyngs halle.

51 'My ladde he is so lither,' he said, 'He will doe nought that's meete; And is there any man in this hall Were able him to beate?'

52 'Thou speakst proud words,' sayes the king of Spaine, 'Thou harper, here to mee; There is a man within this halle Will beate thy ladd and thee.'

53 'O let that man come downe,' he said, 'A sight of him wold I see; And when hee hath beaten well my ladd, Then he shall beate of mee.'

54 Downe then came the kemperye man, And looked him in the eare; For all the gold that was under heaven, He durst not neigh him neare.

55 'And how nowe, kempe,' said the kyng of Spaine, 'And how, what aileth thee?' He saies, It is writt in his forhead, All and in gramarye, That for all the gold that is under heaven, I dare not neigh him nye.

56 Then Kyng Estmere pulld forth his harpe, And plaid a pretty thinge; The ladye upstart from the borde, And wold have gone from the king.

57 'Stay thy harpe, thou proud harper, For Gods love I pray thee; For and thou playes as thou beginns, Thou'lt till my bryde from mee.'

58 He stroake upon his harpe againe, And playd a pretty thinge; The ladye lough a loud laughter, As shee sate by the king.

59 Saies, Sell me thy harpe, thou proud harper, And thy stringës all; For as many gold nobles thou shalt have As heere bee ringes in the hall.'

60 'What wold ye doe with my harpe,' he sayd, 'If I did sell itt yee?' 'To playe my wiffe and me a fitt, When abed together wee bee.'

61 'Now sell me,' quoth hee, 'thy bryde soe gay, As shee sitts by thy knee; And as many gold nobles I will give As leaves been on a tree.'

62 'And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe gay, Iff I did sell her thee? More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye To lye by mee then thee.'

63 Hee played agayne both loud and shrille, And Adler he did syng, 'O ladye, this is thy owne true love, Noe harper, but a kyng.

64 'O ladye, this is thy owne true love, As playnlye thou mayest see, And Ile rid thee of that foule paynim Who partes thy love and thee.'

65 The ladye looked, the ladye blushte, And blushte and lookt agayne, While Adler he hath drawne his brande, And hath the sowdan slayne.

66 Up then rose the kemperye men, And loud they gan to crye: 'Ah! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng, And therefore yee shall dye.'

67 Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde, And swith he drew his brand, And Estmere he and Adler Yonge Right stiffe in stour can stand.

68 And aye their swordes soe sore can byte, Throughe help of gramarye, That soone they have slayne the kempery men, Or forst them forth to flee.

69 Kyng Estmere tooke that fayre ladye, And marryed her to his wiffe, And brought her home to merry England, With her to leade his life.

* * * * *

#a.#

_Readings of the manuscript, cited in Percy's notes, have been restored._

1^4. _Percy prints_ y-were.

13^2. _misprinted_ 'leeve thon.

34^2. shall ryde; _so_ #b.# _Compare 35^2, where ~rise~ is said to be the reading of the MS._

42^2. On tow good renish. _Compare 8^2._

59^3, _~thou shalt have~,_

60^1, _~he sayd~, are acknowledged changes, or additions, of Percy's._

63. "Some liberties have been taken in the following stanzas; but wherever this edition differs from the preceding, it hath been brought nearer to the folio MS." _Percy's note._

68^1. can fyte.

#b.#

5^4. _Omits_ my.

6^4. Betweene us two.

8^3. they came.

9^2. yate.

10^2. thee save.

10^4. unto.

12^4. _~And~ wanting: ~I feare~._

15^1. yeare.

15^2. Syth.

15^3. downe once.

16^5. eke as.

16^6. To waite.

17^2. Hunge.

18^{1, 2}. Christ you save.

18^3. Sayes.

19^4. may bee.

21^3. And ever I feare that paynim kyng.

22^3. of that foule paynim.

26^4. many a.

27^2, 32^2. grimme barone.

28^1. Then shee sent after.

28^3. returne and.

33^1. That ladye.

34^3. Which waye we best may turne.

34^4. To save this fayre.

37^1. groweth.

42^2. On towe good renish; _so_ #a.#

46^3. Ild saye.

49^1. he light off.

49^2. Up att the fayre hall.

49^4. Light on.

50^1. Stable thou.

50^2. Goe stable.

50^4. To stable him.

51^3. And aye that I cold but find the man.

52^1. sayd the Paynim kyng.

52^4. That will.

55^3. written.

56. Kyng Estmere then pulled forth his harpe, And playd thereon so sweete; Upstarte the ladye from the kynge, As hee sate at the meate.

57. 'Nowe stay thy harpe, thou proud harper, Now stay thy harpe, I say; For an thou playest as thou beginnest, Thou'lt till my bride awaye.'

58. He strucke upon his harpe agayne, And playd both fayre and free; The ladye was so pleasde theratt She laught loud laughters three.

59. 'Nowe sell me thy harpe,' sayd the kyng of Spayne, 'Thy harpe and stryngs eche one, And as many gold nobles thou shalt have As there be stryngs thereon.'

60^1. And what.

61. 'Now sell me,' syr kyng, 'thy bryde soe gay, As shee sitts laced in pall, And as many gold nobles I will give As there be rings in the hall.'

62^2. her yee.

65^4. hath Sir Bremor slayne.

68^1. can byte.

[58] "The editor... must plead guilty to the charge of concealing his own share in the amendments under some such general title as a Modern Copy, or the like:" Reliques, 1794, I, xvii. See, further, 'The Rising in the North' and 'Northumberland betrayed by Douglas,' in the same volume, pp 288, 297.

[59] We have _paynim_ four times in the first edition, and only twice in the fourth. _And ever I feare that paynim king_, #b# 21^3, gives place to _I cannot blame him if he doe_. _Laught loud laughters three_, #b# 58^4, was not (as who needs to be told?) the reading of the folio; but was _lough a loud laughter_ the reading of the folio?

The statement that 'King Estmere' was "unfortunately torn out in sending the... piece to the press" is far from intelligible. Since readings were given from the manuscript in the fourth edition for the first time, one would suppose that the original was still in the editor's hands when that edition was prepared. But the three leaves from the manuscript would have been much less convenient to send to the press than the copy already three times printed in the Reliques; and Percy himself pleads in excuse for his taking out leaves from the manuscript, to save the trouble of transcribing, that he was very young, and "had not then learnt to reverence it." The readings from the manuscript, which first appear in the fourth edition, may possibly be from notes; one would hope that Percy would not trust his memory after the lapse of thirty years. Hales and Furnivall, I, lxxiv, II, 200; also II, 600 ff, where the texts of the first and of the fourth edition are printed in parallel columns.

[60] Grundtvig, No 11, #A-F#, I, 159-69, IV, 715, and Kristensen, I, 246, No 93; Swedish, #A#, Arwidsson, II, 445, #B-E#, Grundtvig, IV, 720-22; Norwegian, Landstad, No 8; Icelandic, 'Ormars rímur,' in an abstract, Grundtvig, III, 775-77.

[61] Derived from the Färöe ballad, 'Arngríms synir,' Hammershaimb, Færöiske Kvæder, p. 15, No 3; Hervarar saga, Örvar-Odds saga, Fornaldar Sögur, I, 411, II, 161, 504; etc. The pertinent chapters of the Hervarar saga are translated by Prior, I, 194, and 'Child Orm and the Berm Giant,' in the same volume, p. 132; the ballad also in the London Magazine, 1821, IV, 415, and by George Borrow, in Targum, or Metrical Translations from Thirty Languages and Dialects, St Petersburg, 1835, p. 59 (Grundtvig).

[62] I, 384; translated by Prior, I, 297.

[63] Grundtvig's Gamle Folkeviser, IV, 704-712.

[64] Esmer, or something similar, is, as Grundtvig remarks, I, 236, a name of rather frequent occurrence. King Esmer is one of King Diderik's champions; Grundtvig, I, 78. Esmère is a name in Le dit de Flourence de Romme, Jubinal, Nouveau Recueil de Contes, etc., I, 93; Esmerés, or Essmer, in the Knight of the Swan, Reiffenberg and Borgnet, Le Chevalier au Cygne, III, 533, Grimm, Deutsche Sagen, II, 302. It may be added, though the fact certainly appears to be of but slight moment, that there is a King Easter, with a King Wester, in the ballad of 'Fause Foodrage,' and these are called in one version (Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. lix) the Eastmure King and the Westmure King. The fifteenth tale enumerated in The Complaint of Scotland is How the King of Estmure land married the King's daughter of Westmure land.

61

SIR CAWLINE

Percy MS., p. 368; Hales and Furnivall, III, 3.

The copy of this ballad in the Percy manuscript, the only one known to exist, shows very great carelessness on the part of the transcriber, or of some predecessor. It begins with these two stanzas, which manifestly belong to an historical ballad, and have only a verbal connection with what follows:

Jesus, lord mickle of might, _Th_at dyed ffor us on the roode, To maintaine vs in all our right[65] _Th_at loues true English blood.

Ffor by a k_nigh_t I say my song, Was bold and ffull hardye; S_i_r Robert Briuse wold fforth to ffight, In-to Ireland ouer the sea.

There is a large omission after the 125th verse (the 28th stanza as here printed), though the writing is continuous. There are also several difficult or unintelligible passages, even more than are usually met with in this manuscript.

As published in the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, I, 35, ed. 1765, I, 41, ed. 1794, 'Sir Cawline' is extended to nearly twice the amount of what is found in the manuscript, and a tragical turn is forced upon the story.

I have said that the copy of 'Sir Cawline' in the Percy manuscript is the only one known. There are nevertheless two Scottish ballads, one hitherto unpublished and one printed by Buchan, which narrate Sir Colvin's winning the king's daughter by vanquishing the elritch knight. These, I conceive, however, to be simple rifacimenti of the ballad in Percy's Reliques. They will be given in an appendix.

'Sir Cawline' may possibly be formed upon a romance in stanzas[66] which itself was composed from earlier ballads. There are two adventures in the ballad, one with an elritch knight, and a second with a five-headed giant who is at the same time a hend soldan, and there seem to be traces of another in the now unintelligible twenty-ninth stanza. The first adventure, though not of the same commonplace description as the second, is still by no means unique. We are immediately reminded of the beautiful romance of Eger, Grime and Gray-Steel: how Gray-Steel kept a forbidden country beyond seven days of wilderness, and how Grime slew the up to that time unmatched Gray-Steel with the sword Erkyin [Egeking], brought from beyond the Greekës sea, and cut off his hand, with fingers thrice a common man's size, and on every finger a gay gold ring.[67] Gray-Steel, to be sure, is pictured rather as a giant than an elf, but still gives the impression of something out of the ordinary, as having perhaps lost an elritch character in the course of tradition. The elritch knight in our ballad haunts the moors, far from any good town, like Grendel, who held the moors and fens, but there is only a hint of that supernatural terror which attends the awful "march-stepper" in Beówulf. Gervase of Tilbury has a story of an ancient entrenchment in the bishopric of Ely, where anybody could have a passage at arms with an unearthly warrior, by moonlight only, by simply calling out, "Come, knight, and meet knight."[68] Scott has introduced a spectral combat of this sort into his Marmion, Canto III, xxiii-xxv, and in a note (4) cites a similar encounter from Heywood's Hierarchy of Blessed Angels. He adds that a forest in the North Highlands is believed to be haunted by a martial spirit called Lham-dearg, or Bloody Hand, who insists on all whom he meets doing battle with him. Villemarqué has a tale like that of Gervasius, Les Romans de la Table Ronde, etc., 1860, p. 392 f (Liebrecht). These combatants and combats are rather shadowy compared with Grendel, Gray-Steel, our Elritch King, and an encounter with them.

'Liden Grimmer og Hjelmer Kamp,' a ballad of the 'Orm Ungersvend' class, Grundtvig, No 26 (I, 352, from manuscripts of the 16th and the 17th century, IV, 762, from recent tradition), has the same remote and general resemblance to 'Sir Cawline' that 'Orm Ungersvend' has to 'King Estmere,' the points of agreement permitting the supposition of a far-off connection, or of no connection at all.[69] In Danish #A#, Grimmer, a young man who never went to a dance except with a drawn sword in his hand or sat down to table out of his corselet, sails to the heathen-king's land and asks him for his daughter. The king tells him that he will not get the fair maid unless he fights with Hjelmer Kamp and wins. The king's daughter, who is as favorably inclined to Grimmer as King Adland's daughter is to Estmere (and King Ardine's daughter to Adler), though in neither case has there been a previous meeting, tells him that no man ever came back from a fight with Hjelmer, and that Grimmer is far from understanding her father, who really wishes his death. Grimmer is not at all daunted, and so the lady gives him a sword with which he is sure to prevail. Thus equipped he makes sail for Hjelmer Kamp, who receives him with contemptuous remarks upon his size, but is presently cut to bits. Stopping only long enough to make boot of Hjelmer's gold, Grimmer returns to the heathen-king's court, and receives the princess in marriage. The resemblance of the Danish ballad is to be found in Cawline's second adventure, that with the giant, where the elritch sword represents the invincible weapon bestowed by the princess. In Danish #B# a coat of mail goes with the sword, "som icke skal suerd paa bide." This coat is like Estmere's after Adler has brought his magic to bear, and Cawline's fight with the giant, Estmere's with Bremor, and Hjelmer's with the kemp have all an obvious similitude.

Two verbal peculiarities in this ballad will not fail to be remarked: a superfluous _and_, 7^4, without and a good leedginge, 8^3, and take you doe and the baken bread, 27^1, and hee tooke then vp and that eldryge sword, 39^1, but take you doo and your lands broad, and again 26^1(?); _for_ used, apparently, in the sense of _but_ (as in "for and a shrouding sheet"), 11^3, ffor if you wold comfort me with a kisse, 13^3, ffor some deeds of armes ffaine wold I doe, 22^5, ffor they tooke and two good swords; in this last we have the superfluous _and_ again. These were, perhaps, only tricks of some ballad-singer, eking out his measure with half-articulated syllables.[70]

* * * * *

Percy's ballad is translated by Bodmer, I, 134, and by Bothe, p. 25; Buchan's by Gerhard, p. 32.

* * * * * * *

1 And in _tha_t land dwells a king W_hi_ch does beare the bell ouer all, And w_i_th him there dwelled a curteous k_nigh_t, S_i_r Cawline men him call.

2 And he hath a ladye to his daughter, Of ffashyon shee hath noe peere; K_night_s and lordes they woed her both, Trusted to haue beene her feere.

3 S_i_r Cawline loues her best of onë, But nothing durst hee say To discreeue his councell to noe man, But deerlye loued this may.

4 Till itt beffell vpon a day, Great dill to him was dight; The maydens loue remoued his mind, To care-bed went the knight.

5 And one while he spread his armes him ffroe, And cryed soe pittyouslye: 'Ffor the maydens loue _tha_t I haue most minde This day may comfort mee, Or else ere noone I shalbe dead!' Thus can S_i_r Cawline say.

6 When our p_ar_ish masse _tha_t itt was done, And our king was bowne to dine, He sayes, Where is S_i_r Cawline, _Tha_t was wont to serue me with ale and wine?

7 But then answered a curteous k_nigh_t, Ffast his hands wringinge: 'S_ir_ Cawline's sicke, and like to be dead W_i_thout and a good leedginge.'

8 'Ffeitch yee downe my daughter deere, Shee is a leeche ffull ffine; I, and take you doe and the baken bread, And drinke he on the wine soe red, And looke no daynti is ffor him to deare, For ffull loth I wold him tine.'

9 This ladye is gone to his chamber, Her maydens ffollowing nye; 'O well,' shee sayth, 'how doth my lord?' 'O sicke!' againe saith hee.

10 'I, but rise vp wightlye, man, for shame! Neuer lye here soe cowardlye! Itt is told in my ffathers hall, Ffor my loue you will dye.'

11 'Itt is ffor yo_u_r loue, ffayre ladye, _Tha_t all this dill I drye; Ffor if you wold comfort me w_i_th a kisse, Then were I brought ffrom bale to blisse, Noe longer here wold I lye.'

12 'Alas! soe well you know, S_i_r k_nigh_t,' . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

13 . . . . . . . I cannott bee yo_u_r peere: 'Ffor some deeds of armes ffaine wold I doe, To be yo_u_r bacheeleere.'

14 'Vpon Eldrige Hill there growes a thorne, Vpon the mores brodinge; And wold you, s_i_r knight, wake there all night To day of the other morninge?

15 'Ffor the eldrige k_ing_, _tha_t is mickle of might, Will examine you beforne; And there was neuer man _tha_t bare his liffe away Since the day _tha_t I was borne.'

16 'But I will ffor yo_u_r sake, ffaire ladye, Walke on the bents [soe] browne, And Ile either bring you a readye token, Or Ile neuer come to you againe.'

17 But this ladye is gone to her chamber, Her maydens ffollowing bright, And S_i_r Cawlin's gone to the mores soe broad, Ffor to wake there all night.

18 Vnto midnight [that] the moone did rise, He walked vp and downe, And a lightsome bugle then heard he blow. Ouer the bents soe browne; Saies hee, And if cryance come vntill my hart, I am ffarr ffrom any good towne.

19 And he spyed, ene a litle him by, A ffuryous king and a ffell, And a ladye bright his brydle led, _Tha_t seemlye itt was to see.

20 And soe fast hee called vpon S_i_r Cawline, Oh man, I redd the fflye! Ffor if cryance come vntill thy hart, I am a-feard least thou mun dye.

21 He sayes, [No] cryance comes to my hart, Nor ifaith I ffeare not thee; Ffor because thou minged not Christ before, Thee lesse me dreadeth thee.

22 But S_i_r Cawline he shooke a speare; The k_ing_ was bold, and abode; And the timber these two children bore Soe soone in sunder slode; Ffor they tooke and two good swords, And they layden on good loade.

23 But the elridge k_ing_ was mickle of might, And stiffly to the ground did stand; But S_i_r Cawline, with an aukeward stroke, He brought ffrom him his hand, I, and fflying ouer his head soe hye, [It] ffell downe of that lay land.

24 And his lady stood a litle thereby, Ffast ringing her hands: 'For the maydens loue _tha_t you haue most minde, Smyte you my lo_r_d no more.

25 'And hees neu_er_ come vpon Eldrige [Hill], Him to sport, gamon, or play, And to meete noe man of middle-earth And _tha_t liues on Christs his lay.'

26 But he then vp and _tha_t eldryge k_ing_, Sett him in his sadle againe, And _tha_t eldryge k_ing_ and his ladye To their castle are they gone.

27 And hee tooke then vp and _tha_t eldryge sword, As hard as any fflynt, And soe he did those ringes fiue, Harder then ffyer, and brent.

28 Ffirst he p_re_sented to the k_ing_s daughter The hand, and then the sword, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

29 'But a serre buffett you haue him giuen, The k_ing_ and the crowne,' shee sayd: 'I, but four and _th_irty stripes Comen beside the rood.'

30 And a gyant that was both stiffe [and] strong, He lope now them amonge, And vpon his squier fiue heads he bare, Vnmackley made was hee.

31 And he dranke then on the k_ing_s wine, And hee put the cup in his sleeue, And all thé trembled and were wan, Ffor feare he shold them greeffe.

32 'Ile tell thee mine arrand, k_ing_,' he sayes, 'Mine errand what I doe heere; Ffor I will bren thy temples hye, Or Ile haue thy daughter deere; I, or else vpon yond more soe brood Thou shalt ffind mee a ppeare.'

33 The k_ing_ he turned him round about, Lo_rd_, in his heart he was woe! Says, Is there noe k_nigh_t of the Round Table This matter will vndergoe?

34 'I, and hee shall haue my broad lands, And keepe them well his liue; I, and soe hee shall my daughter deere, To be his weded wiffe.'

35 And then stood vp S_i_r Cawline, His owne errand ffor to say: 'Ifaith, I wold to God, S_i_r,' sayd S_i_r Cawline, '_Tha_t soldan I will assay.

36 'Goe ffeitch me downe my eldrige sword, Ffor I woone itt att ffray:' 'But away, away!' sayd the hend soldan, 'Thou tarryest mee here all day!'

37 But the hend soldan and S_i_r Cawline Thé ffought a sum_m_ers day; Now has hee slaine _tha_t hend soldan, And brought his fiue heads away.

38 And the k_ing_ has betaken him his broade lands, And all his venison; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

39 'But take you doo and yo_u_r lands [soe] broad, And brooke them well yo_u_r liffe; Ffor you p_ro_mised mee yo_u_r daughter deere, To be my weded wiffe.'

40 'Now by my ffaith,' then sayes our k_ing_, 'Ffor _tha_t wee will not striffe, Ffor thou shalt haue my daughter dere, To be thy weded wiffe.'

41 The other morninge S_i_r Cawline rose By the dawning of the day, And vntill a garden did he goe His mattins ffor to say; And _tha_t bespyed a ffalse steward, A shames death _tha_t he might dye!

42 And he lett a lyon out of a bande, S_i_r Cawline ffor to teare; And he had noe wepon him vpon, Nor noe wepon did weare.

43 But hee tooke then his mantle of greene, Into the lyons mouth itt thrust; He held the lyon soe sore to the wall Till the lyons hart did burst.

44 And the watchmen cryed vpon the walls And sayd, 'S_i_r Cawline's slaine! And with a beast is not ffull litle, A lyon of mickle mayne:' Then the k_ing_s daughter shee ffell downe, 'For peerlesse is my payne!'

45 'O peace, my lady!' sayes S_i_r Cawline, 'I haue bought thy loue ffull deere; O peace, my lady!' sayes S_i_r Cawline, 'Peace, lady, ffor I am heere!'

46 Then he did marry this k_ing_s daughter, W_i_th gold and siluer bright, And fiftene sonnes this ladye beere To S_i_r Cawline the knight.

* * * * *

_The first two stanzas of the MS. have been omitted, as belonging to another ballad._

1^2. ouer all does beare the bell.

1^4. men call him S_i_r Cawline.

2^4. her peere.

3^4. this mayd.

5^5. _Only half the second ~n~ of ~noone~ in the MS. Furnivall._

7^2. wringinge his hands.

8^4. and eene on: _MS. ~edne~? Furnivall. I feel no confidence in the emendation._

8^5. no daytinesse.

8^6. teene.

10^2. lye soe cowardlye here.

11^5. _MS. ~now~? Furnivall._

12^1, 13^{2, 3, 4} _make a stanza in the MS._

18^1. they Moone.

22^{3, 5}. 2.

23^4. him ffrom.

23^6. _There may be a bold ellipsis of_ It.

24^8. for they... most meed: _cf._ 5^3.

25^1. heest.

27^3. 5.

28^2. they hand... they sword.

29^1. serrett buffett.

29^3. 34.

30^3. 5.

32^6. in or.

32^6. mee appeare.

37^4. 5.

39^1. you too.

46^3. 15.

APPENDIX

The first of the following pieces is described as having been learned by Mrs Harris, in Perthshire, about 1790, transmitted by recitation to her daughter, and written down from recollection in 1859. No account is given of the derivation of the other. Both make the princess marry Sir Colvin after his victory on the elritch hill, rejecting Percy's pathetic conclusion. Neither retains much of the phraseology of Percy's manuscript, and neither shows those traces of Percy's phraseology which would demonstrate its parentage. The first, though the style is stale enough, has not the decidedly stall-copy stamp of the other. It undoubtedly has passed through a succession of mouths (as is shown by the change of leech to match in 3^2), but we may doubt whether the other was ever sung or said. 8^4, in the Harris version,

Sin the first nicht that I was born,

is close to the Percy manuscript, 17^4,

Since the day that I was borne,

where Percy's Reliques has,

But he did him scath and scorne.

In the old manuscript, when Sir Cawline cuts off the elritch knight's hand, the hand flies over the knight's head and falls down on that lay land; in Buchan, 25, 26, the hand also flies into the sky and lights on the ground; but Percy says merely that the knight fell on that lay land. So that there is one case in each of agreement with the Percy manuscript where the Reliques depart from it. It may also he urged that Buchan, 22^{1, 2},

To trouble any Christian one Lives in the righteous law,

is nearer to what we find in the manuscript, st. 25,

And to meete noe man of middle-earth And that liues (=='lieves) on Christs his lay,

than Percy's,

That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye, And thereto plight thy hand;

And that thou never on Eldridge come.

Were there anything characteristic or otherwise remarkable in the passages where there is agreement with the Percy manuscript and divergence from the Reliques, even one case of such agreement could not be lightly set aside.[71] But such agreements as these are not significant enough to offset the general character of the Scottish ballads, which is not that of a traditional waif, but of a fabrication of recent times. It is most likely that the Harris ballad was put together by some one who was imperfectly acquainted with the copy in the Reliques. Whether Buchan's ballad was formed upon some copy of the Harris version it is not worth the while to ask.

SIR COLIN

Harris MS., fol. 5b.

1 The king luikit owre his castle wa, To his nobles ane an a'; Says, Whare it is him Sir Colin, I dinna see him amang you a'?

2 Up it spak an eldern knicht, Aye an even up spak he: 'Sir Colin's sick for your dochter Janet, He's very sick, an like to dee.'

3 'Win up, win up, my dochter Janet, I wat ye are a match most fine; Tak the baken bread an wine sae ried, An to Sir Colin ye maun gieng.'

4 Up she rase, that fair Janet, An I wat weel she was na sweer, An up they rase, her merrie maries, An they said a' they wad gae wi her.

5 'No, no,' said fair Janet, 'No, no such thing can be; For a thrang to gae to a sick man's bour, I think it wald be great folie.

6 'How is my knicht, all last nicht?' 'Very sick an like to dee; But if I had a kiss o your sweet lips, I wald lie nae langer here.'

7 She leant her doon on his bed-side, I wat she gae him kisses three; But wi sighen said that fair Janet, 'As for your bride, I daurna be.

8 'Unless you watch the Orlange hill, An at that hill there grows a thorn; There neer cam a liven man frae it, Sin the first nicht that I was born.'

9 'Oh I will watch the Orlange hill, Though I waur thinkin to be slain; But I will gie you some love tokens, In case we never meet again.'

10 He gae her rings to her fingers, Sae did he ribbons to her hair; He gae her a broach to her briest-bane, For fear that they sud neer meet mair.

11 She put her hand in her pocket, An she took out a lang, lang wand; 'As lang's ony man this wand sall keep, There sall not a drap o his blude be drawn.'

12 Whan een was come, an een-bells rung, An a' man boun for bed, There beheld him Sir Colin, Fast to the Orlange hill he rade.

13 The wind blew trees oot at the rutes, Sae did it auld castles doon; 'T was eneuch to fricht ony Christian knicht, To be sae far frae ony toon.

14 He rade up, sae did he doon, He rade even through the loan, Till he spied a knicht, wi a ladie bricht, Wi a bent bow intil his han.

15 She cried afar, ere she cam naur, I warn ye, kind sir, I rede ye flee; That for the love you bear to me, I warn ye, kind sir, that ye flee.

16 They faucht up, sae did they doon, They faucht even through the loan, Till he cut aff the king's richt han, Was set aboot wi chains a' goud.

17 'Haud your hand now, Sir Colin, I wat you've dung my love richt sair; Noo for the love ye bear to me, See that ye ding my love nae mair.'

18 He wooed, he wooed that fair Janet, He wooed her and he brocht her hame; He wooed, he wooed that fair Janet, An ca'd her Dear-Coft till her name.

KING MALCOLM AND SIR COLVIN

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 6; Motherwell's MS., p. 581.

1 There ance livd a king in fair Scotland, King Malcolm called by name, Whom ancient history gives record For valour, worth, and fame.

2 And it fell ance upon a day, The king sat down to dine, And then he missd a favourite knight, Whose name was Sir Colvin.

3 But out it speaks another knight, Ane o Sir Colvin's kin: 'He's lyin in bed, right sick in love, All for your daughter Jean.'

4 'O wae's me,' said the royal king, 'I'm sorry for the same; She maun take bread and wine sae red, Give it to Sir Colvin.'

5 Then gently did she bear the bread, Her page did carry the wine, And set a table at his bed: 'Sir Colvin, rise and dine.'

6 'O well love I the wine, lady, Come frae your lovely hand, But better love I your fair body, Than all fair Scotland's strand.'

7 'O hold your tongue now, Sir Colvin, Let all your folly be; My love must be by honour won, Or nane shall enjoy me.

8 'But on the head o Elrick's hill, Near by yon sharp hawthorn, Where never a man with life eer came, Sin our sweet Christ was born;

9 'O ye'll gang there and walk a' night, And boldly blaw your horn; With honour that ye do return, Ye'll marry me the morn.'

10 Then up it raise him Sir Colvin, And dressd in armour keen, And he is on to Elrick's hill, Without light of the meen.

11 At midnight mark the meen upstarts; The knight walkd up and down, While loudest cracks o thunder roard Out ower the bent sae brown.

12 Then by the twinkling of an ee He spied an armed knight, A fair lady bearing his brand, Wi torches burning bright.

13 Then he cried high, as he came nigh, 'Coward thief, I bid you flee! There is not ane comes to this hill, But must engage wi me.

14 'Ye'll best take road before I come, And best take foot and flee; Here is a sword, baith sharp and broad Will quarter you in three.'

15 Sir Colvin said, I'm not afraid Of any here I see; You hae not taen your God before; Less dread hae I o thee.

16 Sir Colvin then he drew his sword, His foe he drew his brand, And they fought there on Elrick's hill Till they were bluidy men.

17 The first an stroke the knight he strake, Gae Colvin a slight wound; The next an stroke Lord Colvin strake, Brought's foe unto the ground.

18 'I yield, I yield,' the knight he said, 'I fairly yield to thee; Nae ane came eer to Elrick-hill Eer gaind such victorie.

19 'I and my forbears here did haunt Three hundred years and more; I'm safe to swear a solemn oath We were never beat before.'

20 'An asking,' said the lady gay, 'An asking ye'll grant me;' 'Ask on, ask on,' said Sir Colvin, 'What may your asking be?'

21 'Ye'll gie me hame my wounded knight, Let me fare on my way; And I'se neer be seen on Elrick's hill, By night, nor yet by day; And to this place we'll come nae mair, Coud we win safe away.

22 'To trouble any Christian one, Lives in the righteous law, We'll come nae mair unto this place, Coud we win safe awa.'

23 'O yese get hame your wounded knight, Ye shall not gang alane; But I maun hae a wad o him, Before that we twa twine.'

24 Sir Colvin being a book-learnd man, Sae gude in fencing tee, He's drawn a stroke behind his hand, And followed in speedilie.

25 Sae fierce a stroke Sir Colvin's drawn, And followed in speedilie, The knight's brand and sword hand In the air he gard them flee.

26 It flew sae high into the sky, And lighted on the ground; The rings that were on these fingers Were worth five hundred pound.

27 Up he has taen that bluidy hand, Set it before the king, And the morn it was Wednesday, When he married his daughter Jean.

Motherwell, who cites a manuscript of Buchan, prints the first three stanzas and the last with some variations: Introduction, p. lxvi, note **. The ballad is not in Buchan's two manuscript volumes.

[65] So maintaine vs all in our right?

[66] To this suggestion the actual form of stanzas 8, 11 lends a faint plausibility.

[67] Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall, I, 367, 372 f, 389, 391. For the name of the sword see Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 500.

[68] Cited by Scott, Minstrelsy, II, 273, ed. 1833; Otia Imperialia, ed. Liebrecht, LIX, p. 26.

[69] Grundtvig's #A#, #B# are translated by Dr Prior, I, 276. The story is found also in Icelandic rímur of the 15th century printed in Björner's Kämpedater, 1737. Björner was acquainted with an old Swedish ballad on the subject, but this ballad has not been found. The story of these rímur is given by Mallet, Histoire de Dannemarc, II, 312, ed. 1787, and in Percy's translation, Northern Antiquities, II, 248.

[70] So, as to _and_, the German 'Ulinger,' Mittler, p. 68, sts 21, 22, 23; den ersten schrey _und_ den sie thet, etc.

[71] The Percy manuscript was inspected by many persons near the time of the first publication of the Reliques, and again while the fourth edition was going through the press, but it is not for a moment to be suggested or supposed that anything in the Scottish 'Sir Colvin' is to be accounted for in that way.

62

FAIR ANNIE

#A.# 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annie,' Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 102, 1802; 31 stanzas.

#B.# 'Burd Helen,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 376; 26 stanzas.

#C.# 'Fair Annie,' Motherwell's MS., p. 351; 33 stanzas.

#D.# Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 307; 8 stanzas.

#E.# 'Lady Jane,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 20, Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 371; 20 stanzas.

#F.# 'Fair Annie,' Motherwell's MS., p. 385, Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 327; 32 stanzas.

#G.# Communicated by Miss Reburn; 5 stanzas.

#H.# Communicated by Dr Thomas Davidson; 2 stanzas.

#I.# 'Fair Annie,' Kinloch MSS, I, 155; 45 stanzas.

#J.# 'The Fause Lord,' Buchan's MSS, I, 66; 65 stanzas.

The fragment #D#, printed in 1769, antedates the committing to writing of any of the other versions. #E# was taken down as early as 1783. #A# and #B# are from the beginning of this century. #A# was obtained "chiefly from the recitation of an old woman," but we are not informed who supplied the rest. Herd's fragment, #D#, furnished stanzas 2-6, 12, 17, 19. A doubt may be hazarded whether stanzas 8-10 came from the old woman. #I# is a combination of three recited versions, and #J#, perhaps a transcript of a stall-copy, is, like many of Buchan's ballads, extended to twice the length of genuine versions by tedious, sometimes nauseous, amplification and interpolation.

'Lady Jane,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 73, is a combination of #B# and #E#, with a good many bad verses of Jamieson's own. A version in Motherwell's MS., p. 477, "from the recitation of an old maid-servant of Mr Alexander, of Southbar," was, as would be inferred from a memorandum at the end of the transcript, derived from a printed book, and is in fact an imperfect recollection of this compounded ballad of Jamieson's.

Grundtvig has attempted a reconstitution of the ballad from versions #A#, #B#, #D#, #E#, #F#, Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, V, 42.

Annie [Helen, #B#, Ellen, #G#, Jane, #E#] was stolen from home in her childhood, #A# 15, #B# 23, #C# 31, #E# 9, #F# 25, #I# 38, #J# 50, 51, by a knight from over sea, to whom she has borne seven sons, out of wedlock. Her consort bids her prepare to welcome a bride, with whom he shall get gowd and gear; with her he got none. But she must look like a maid, comb down her yellow locks, braid her hair.[72] Annie meekly assents, for love, she says, in #C# 12; in #I# 4, #J# 15, the welcoming goes against her heart; in #F# 9 she is told that she is to do it; in #H# 2 she says the welcome will have to come from him. Annie receives the bride and her train and serves the tables, suppressing her tears and drinking water to keep her cheek from paling. She passes for servant or housekeeper, and in #I# 23, #J# 25, uses the word 'master,' not to anger the bride; in #C# 17 she calls her lord brother, and the knight calls her sister in #C# 18 and (inconsistently) in #J# 38. What 'n a lady's that? asks the bride, #E# 9, #J# 37, and what means all these bonny boys that follow at her heel? #J# 37.

When the married pair have gone to their bed-chamber, Annie, in a room near by, bewails her sad lot in song; to the harp or her virginals, #E#, #F#, #J#, #I#. The bride hears the lament: it is that of a woman who will go mad ere day, #B# 20, #C# 26, #J# 44, 48. The bride goes to Fair Annie's chamber, #A#, #C#? to see what gars her greet, inquires her parentage, and discovers that they are sisters; or learns this fact from the song itself, #B#, #E#; or recognizes her sister's voice, #F#, #I#, #J#. King Henry was their father, #B#, #F#, #I#; King Easter, #C#;[73] the Earl of Wemyss, of Richmond, #A#, #E#. Queen Easter was their mother, #F#; Queen Catherine, Elinor [Orvis], #B#, #I#. The bride, who had come with many well-loaded ships, gives all or most of them to her sister, #A#, #B#, #C#, #F#, #I#, and goes virgin home, #A#, #B#, #F#, #I#, #J#; expecting, as #B#, #J# add, to encounter derision for going away wife and coming back maid.

In #C# 27 the bride suspects that the woman who wails so madly is a leman, and urges her husband to get up and pack her down the stairs, though the woods were ne'er so wild. He refuses. A similar scene is elsewhere put earlier, during the bridal entertainment, #I# 29, 30, #J# 40: see also #G# 2, 3, which are partly explained by these passages, and partly by #J# 36.

There are other variations in the story, and some additional particulars in one or another version: none of these, however, seem to belong to the original ballad. The bride, as soon as she sees Annie, is struck with the resemblance to her lost sister, #A# 14, #E# 9, #J# 29. The bridegroom repents, and rejects the woman he has married, #E# 19, #F# 30, #J# 49. The bridegroom confiscates without ceremony, as tocher for Annie, six of the seven ships which the bride had brought with her, #E#, #J#.[74]

The name Lord Thomas in #A# was probably suggested by 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet.'

* * * * *

A Danish ballad of Fair Annie has been known to the English for fourscore years through Jamieson's translation. The Scandinavian versions are the following.

#Danish.#'Skjön Anna,' Grundtvig, No 258, V, 13, eight versions: #A#, 39 four-line stanzas, #B#, 34 sts, #C#, 45 sts, from manuscripts of the sixteenth century; #D#, 48 sts, #E#, 41 sts, #G#, 32 sts, from seventeenth-century manuscripts; #F#, 41 sts, from broadsides or stall-copies, the earliest dated 1648, from Peder Syv, 1695, and from copies lately taken down which were derived from printed texts; #H#, 43 sts, a version recently obtained from tradition in Norway. Of these, #A#, #B#, #C#, #G# are independent texts; #D#, #E#, #F# are derived from some copy of #C#, or from a version closely akin to #C#; #H# is essentially the broadside copy #F#, but has one stanza of its own. #F#, Syv, No 17, Danske Viser, IV, 59, No 177, the form through which the Danish ballad has been made known by English translations, is unfortunately an impure and sophisticated text.

#Swedish.# #A#, 'Skön Anna,' 19 sts, Arwidsson, I, 291, No 42; #B#, Afzelius, I, 24, No 5, 32 sts; #C#, Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 57, No 28, 37 sts. #C# follows in the main Danish #F#, but with a variation in st. 31 which is of much importance if traditional. A translation of Danish #F# has long circulated in Sweden as a broadside: see, besides Grundtvig, Bergström's Afzelius, II, 30.

The Scandinavian story will, for more brevity, be collected principally from Danish #A#, #B#, #C#, and some variations of the other copies be added.

Fair Annie [Anneck, Annecke, #A#], a king's daughter, is stolen in her early years, and sold to a man of rank, who is in fact heir to a crown. They have seven sons in eight [seven] years, and he then becomes king. Fair Annie begs the queen-mother to intercede with her son now to make her a lawful wife and legitimate his children. The mother loves Annie, and heartily desires that he may. The son refuses; she has great virtues, but he does not know Annie's friends [her forbears, lineage, Danish #F#, Swedish #C#]. He makes suit for a king's daughter in a distant land. Annie's heart all but breaks when the bride comes. The young king asks the bride what gift she will give his _amie_, #A#. I will give her my old shoes, she says, #B#, #D#, #F#. She must give something else if she would get his good will. Then she will give Annie seven mills that lie far over the Rhine and grind nought but cinnamon, #B#, #D#, #F#. Annie is now asked what gift she will make the bride. I will give her _you_, whom I can so ill spare, answers Annie. No, that is not enough; she must give another gift to win the bride's good will. I will give her the seven sons I have borne, says Annie. Neither is that enough; she must give the bride her gold brooch. This Annie will not surrender, for it was his morning-gift. Annie now asks her lord to let her go into the bride-house [hall] and see the bride. He refuses emphatically, but his kind mother says, Yes; she will even go with Annie, though it should cost her her life. Annie goes to the bride-house, preceded by her seven sons, who wear her father's color. She pours wine for the bride, with many tears, #A#, #C#. The bride asks who this fair woman is that weeps so sore. And who are these that wear her father's color?[75] It is the king's sister's daughter, from a foreign land, #C-F#, #H#; his sister, Danish #A#, Swedish #A#, #B#. "It is not your sister's daughter," says the bride; "that I plainly see. I fear it is your leman," #C# 34, #D#, #E#. The king now avows the truth. It is Fair Annie, my leman, Danish #A# 33, Swedish #A# 16 (which adds, "Her father I never knew"); she was stolen from a foreign land in her young days, and has been with me seven years, Danish #B# 31; she was sold to me from a foreign land; these are her seven sons, they will be bastards now, and that is the cause of her grief, #C# 35, 36, #D#, #E#; these are my seven sons, Fair Annie is their mother, Swedish #B# 27. I had a sister, says the bride; she was stolen from my father's land; Fair Annie was her name, this must be she,[76] she shall keep her husband. The king sends the new-come bride home with due ceremony, and keeps Fair Annie for his heart's delight, #C# 37-44, #D#, #E#.

In Danish #G# 7, the king gives as a reason for not espousing Fair Annie that she has no fortune, ingen rente, which is the objection to her in English #A# 1, #C# 2, etc. The oldest [youngest] son of Fair Annie attends his mother's sister to her father's land in Swedish #C#, Danish #F#, #K#, as in English #J# 54. The king promises his brother to Annie's sister in Danish #A# 39 (compare also Swedish #B# 33). In English #I# 26, #J# 30, the bride thinks _her_ brother would be a good match for Annie.

Swedish #C#, though in itself of little authority, has an advantage over the Danish copies and Swedish #B# in making Annie refuse to part with the gold brooch, not because it was a morning-gift, but because she had had it ever since she was a child and was kidnapped from her father's court; and again in making this brooch the means of her recognition as sister by the bride.

The Scandinavian ballad is regarded by Grundtvig as transmitted from Low German. The rhymes are frequently not after the Danish manner (see Grundtvig, V, 46, 7), and the heroine's name has a Low German look.

Dutch and German versions, all ill enough preserved, are:

#Dutch.# #A.# 'Schön Adelheid,' 22 four-line stanzas, Hoffmann, Niederländische Volkslieder, 2d ed., 1856, p. 46, No 11, 'Mooi Aeltje en Koning Alewijn,' Willems, p. 177, No 70; from Den Italiaenschen Quacksalver, Amsterdam, 1708. #B.# 'Madel,' 15 stanzas, Snellaert, Oude en nieuwe Liedjes, p. 70, No 65, 2d ed., 1864.

#German.# #A.# Longard, Altrheinländische Mährlein und Liedlein, 1843, p. 23, No 12; Wilhelm von Zuccalmaglio, Deutsche Volkslieder, 1840, p. 74, No 32,==Mittler, No 333: 21 four-line stanzas. #B.# Montanus (Vincenz von Zuccalmaglio), Die deutschen Volksfeste, 1854, p. 46, 17 stanzas, apparently rewritten.

According to Dutch #A# Aaltje, Ethel, Adeline, a king's daughter, is stolen, and sold for a great sum to King Alewijn. She asks the king's mother, who is quite disposed to have her for a daughter, when her son will marry her, and the mother asks her son how long Maid Aaltje is to live under disgrace. The king objects that Aaltje is a _vondeling_, a waif-woman (English #C# 2, #I# 2); Heaven only knows her friends and kin. He adds that he was over the Rhine yesterday, and that Aaltje will break her heart with sorrow. The young woman asks the mother's permission to go to the bride's house, and is told to go in good style, her seven sons before her and fourteen ladies-in-waiting behind. The king meets Aaltje half-way, and says, If you are going to the bride's house, what gift do you mean to make the bride? The bride will have enough, she replies; I will give her my old stockings and shoes. She must give something better to gain her friendship. Then Aaltje will give her "seven sons of yours and mine" to serve her. She will have your seven sons, says the king, but you must give her your brooch.[77] No, that you will not get, says Aaltje. There were two at my father's court; my sister and I each had one. Are you then of royal birth? says the king. Had you told me that, I would have married _you_. When Aaltje appears at the bride's house, they offer her to drink, and many a tear she drops in the cup. Who is this woman that weeps so piteously? asks the bride. These are some of our nieces and nephews, who have come from foreign parts to bring you presents, is the king's answer. Nieces and nephews! says the bride; it is Maid Aaltje, my youngest sister. She takes the crown from her head: Take it, Aaltje, and keep your husband. Saddle my horse. I came in honor, I must go back in shame. (Cf. English #B# 26, #I# 45.)

#B.# Madel (M'Adel), the oldest of a king's two daughters, is stolen by a king's son to be his leman, and taken to a far country. They have seven sons, and he forsakes her and betroths himself to her sister. He asks his mother what present she will make his bride; she has seven mills which she will give her. Madel, asked in like manner, replies, My old stockings and shoes. Madel asks the queen-mother if she may go to the bridal, for the king is to marry, and is answered as in #A#. When she comes to the bride-loft they pour wine for her, and she drops tears in the cup. The bride asks who this is, and the king replies, One of my nieces from a far country, who came to do me honor, but only puts me to shame. You are not telling me the truth, says the bride. The king owns that it is Madel, his leman, with her seven sons. The bride recognizes a brooch[78] stiff with gold and silk. "There are but two such in all Flanders; I and my sister each had one." She tears the crown from her own head and puts it on her sister, saying, King, marry her in my place. The brooch is distinctly made the means of identification, which it by all likelihood was originally in all the Scandinavian ballads, though only Swedish #C# has retained (or restored) this feature.

The #German# ballad resembles Dutch #A# closely. The queen-mother gives Adelheid permission to go to the wedding, and her seven sons must walk before her. At the feast the king offers her to drink; she cannot drink for the grief he has caused her. The bride sees her weeping, and orders food and drink to be offered her (cf. English #J# 36), but she cannot touch them. The king pretends that she is one of his nieces who has lived with him seven years [is fatigued by her journey, #B#]. The bride exclaims, I see the fore-span (by your fore-span, #A#), you are driving a pair! In #A# she asks the fair woman's name and country. Her country is over the Rhine, and thence she had been stolen. "Then you must be my sister," declares the bride somewhat hastily, gives up her seat and the crown, puts her ring on Adelheid's finger, and bids the news be sent to father and mother.

The lyric beauty of the Scottish version of this ballad, especially conspicuous in #A#, #C#, #E#, has been appreciatingly remarked by Grundtvig.

But Fair Annie's fortunes have not only been charmingly sung, as here; they have also been exquisitely _told_ in a favorite lay of Marie de France, 'Le Lai del Freisne.' This tale, of Breton origin, is three hundred years older than any manuscript of the ballad. Comparison will, however, quickly show that it is not the source either of the English or of the Low German and Scandinavian ballad. The tale and the ballads have a common source, which lies further back, and too far for us to find.

The story of the lay is this.[79] There were two knights in Brittany, living on contiguous estates, and both married. The lady of one of the two gave birth to two boys, and the father sent information of the event to his neighbor and friend. His friend's wife was a scoffing, envious woman, "judging always for the worse," and said,

I marvel much, thou messenger, Who was thy lordës counsellor, That did advise him not to spare This shame to publish everywhere, That his wife hath _two_ children bore: Well may each man know therefore Two men have been with her in bower,[80] Which is to both but small honour.

In the course of the same year the woman that had made this hateful insinuation was brought to bed of twin girls. To save her reputation she was ready even to put one of them to death, but a favorite damsel in her house suggested a better way out of her perplexity, and that was to leave one of the children at the door of a convent. The child, wrapped in a rich pall that had been brought from Constantinople, with a jewelled ring bound to its arm to show that it was well born, was taken away in the night to a considerable distance, and was laid between the branches of a great ash-tree in front of a nunnery. In the morning it was discovered by the porter, who told his adventure to the abbess; and the abbess, having inspected the foundling, resolved to bring it up under the style of her niece. The girl, who received the name La Freisne from the tree in which she had been found, turned out a marvel of beauty and of all good qualities. A gentleman of the vicinity fell in love with her, and made large gifts to the monastery to constitute himself a lay-brother, and so have access to her without exciting suspicion. He obtained her love, and in the end induced her to fly with him to his château. This she did with sufficient deliberation to take with her the robe and ring which were the tokens of her birth; for the abbess had told her how she had been found in the ash, and had committed these objects to her care. She lived a good while with the knight as his mistress, and made herself loved by everybody; but his retainers had repeatedly remonstrated with him for not providing himself with a lawful successor, and at last forced him to marry the daughter and heiress of a gentleman near by. On the day of the nuptials La Freisne let no sign of grief or anger escape her, but devoted herself to the bride so amiably as even to win over the mother, who had accompanied her daughter, and had at first felt much uneasiness at the presence of a possible rival. Finding the marriage bed not decked with sufficient elegance, La Freisne took from a trunk the precious pall from Constantinople, and threw it on for a coverlet. When the bride's mother was about to put her daughter to bed, this robe was of course the first object that met her eyes. Her heart quaked. She sent for the chamberlain, and asked where the cloth came from. The chamberlain explained that "the damsel" had put it on to improve the appearance of the bed. The damsel was summoned, and told what she knew: the abbess who brought her up had given her the robe, and with it a ring, and charged her to take good care of them. A sight of the ring was asked; the lady cried, You are my daughter, and fainted. When she recovered she sent for her husband and confessed everything. The husband was only too happy to find that the damsel tant pruz è sage è bele was his daughter. The story was repeated to La Freisne, and then to the knight and to the archbishop who had performed the marriage ceremony. The marriage was dissolved the next day, and La Freisne formally espoused by the knight, who received with her half her father's heritage. The sister went home and made a rich marriage.

The common ground-work of the ballads and the lay is, that a man who has formed an irregular union with a woman whose family he does not know undertakes matrimony with another person, who is discovered on the day of the nuptials to be sister to his leman. A jewel in the possession of the latter, by itself or together with another token, reveals and proves the kinship in the lay and in the Scandinavian-German ballad, but there is no trace of such an instrumentality in the Scottish.

Single features, or even several features, of the story of Fair Annie or of La Freisne occur in many other ballads and tales, but there is no occasion to go into these resemblances here. A Norse ballad has almost every point in 'Fair Annie' but the sisterly relation of leman and bride: see 'Slegfred og Brud,' Grundtvig, No 255, and 'Thomas o Yonderdale,' an apocryphal ballad of Buchan's, further on. Bare mention may be made of the beautiful Spanish romance 'Las dos Hermanas,' found also in Portuguese, in which the queen of a Moor or Turk discovers her sister in a slave who has been presented to her, or captured at her request.[81]

* * * * *

Translated after #A# by Schubart, p. 115; mainly after #E#, with stanzas from #A# and #C#, by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 28; after #E# by Wolff, Hausschatz, p. 209, Halle der Völker, I, 3; after #D# by Gerhard, p. 77; by Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, No 3, after Allingham.

* * * * *

Danish #F# by Jamieson, Popular Ballads, II, 103; by Prior, III, 300, No 148. Dutch #A# by Prior, III, 484.

A

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 102, 1802, chiefly from the recitation of an old woman residing near Kirkhill, in West Lothian.

1 'It's narrow, narrow, make your bed, And learn to lie your lane; For I'm ga'n oer the sea, Fair Annie, A braw bride to bring hame. Wi her I will get gowd and gear; Wi you I neer got nane.

2 'But wha will bake my bridal bread, Or brew my bridal ale? And wha will welcome my brisk bride, That I bring oer the dale?'

3 'It's I will bake your bridal bread, And brew your bridal ale, And I will welcome your brisk bride, That you bring oer the dale.'

4 'But she that welcomes my brisk bride Maun gang like maiden fair; She maun lace on her robe sae jimp, And braid her yellow hair.'

5 'But how can I gang maiden-like, When maiden I am nane? Have I not born seven sons to thee, And am with child again?'

6 She's taen her young son in her arms, Another in her hand, And she's up to the highest tower, To see him come to land.

7 'Come up, come up, my eldest son, And look oer yon sea-strand, And see your father's new-come bride, Before she come to land.'

8 'Come down, come down, my mother dear, Come frae the castle wa! I fear, if langer ye stand there, Ye'll let yoursell down fa.'

9 And she gaed down, and farther down, Her love's ship for to see, And the topmast and the mainmast Shone like the silver free.

10 And she's gane down, and farther down, The bride's ship to behold, And the topmast and the mainmast They shone just like the gold.

11 She's taen her seven sons in her hand, I wot she didna fail; She met Lord Thomas and his bride, As they came oer the dale.

12 'You're welcome to your house, Lord Thomas, You're welcome to your land; You're welcome with your fair ladye, That you lead by the hand.

13 'You're welcome to your ha's, ladye, Your welcome to your bowers; You're welcome to your hame, ladye, For a' that's here is yours.'

14 'I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie, Sae dearly as I thank thee; You're the likest to my sister Annie, That ever I did see.

15 'There came a knight out oer the sea, And steald my sister away; The shame scoup in his company, And land whereer he gae!'

16 She hang ae napkin at the door, Another in the ha, And a' to wipe the trickling tears, Sae fast as they did fa.

17 And aye she served the lang tables, With white bread and with wine, And aye she drank the wan water, To had her colour fine.

18 And aye she served the lang tables, With white bread and with brown; And ay she turned her round about, Sae fast the tears fell down.

19 And he's taen down the silk napkin, Hung on a silver pin, And aye he wipes the tear trickling A' down her cheek and chin.

20 And aye he turn'd him round about, And smiled amang his men; Says, Like ye best the old ladye, Or her that's new come hame?

21 When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' men bound to bed, Lord Thomas and his new-come bride To their chamber they were gaed.

22 Annie made her bed a little forbye, To hear what they might say; 'And ever alas!' Fair Annie cried, 'That I should see this day!

23 'Gin my seven sons were seven young rats, Running on the castle wa, And I were a grey cat mysell, I soon would worry them a'.

24 'Gin my seven sons were seven young hares, Running oer yon lilly lee, And I were a grew hound mysell, Soon worried they a' should be.'

25 And wae and sad Fair Annie sat, And drearie was her sang, And ever, as she sobbd and grat, 'Wae to the man that did the wrang!'

26 'My gown is on,' said the new-come bride, 'My shoes are on my feet, And I will to Fair Annie's chamber, And see what gars her greet.

27 'What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie, That ye make sic a moan? Has your wine barrels cast the girds, Or is your white bread gone?

28 'O wha was't was your father, Annie, Or wha was't was your mother? And had ye ony sister, Annie, Or had ye ony brother?'

29 'The Earl of Wemyss was my father, The Countess of Wemyss my mother; And a' the folk about the house To me were sister and brother.'

30 'If the Earl of Wemyss was your father, I wot sae was he mine; And it shall not be for lack o gowd That ye your love sall tyne.

31 'For I have seven ships o mine ain, A' loaded to the brim, And I will gie them a' to thee, Wi four to thine eldest son: But thanks to a' the powers in heaven That I gae maiden hame!'

B

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 376, from the recitation of Mrs Arrot, of Aberbrothick.

1 There livd a lord on yon sea-side, And he thought on a wile, How he would go over the saut sea A lady to beguile.

2 'O learn to mak your bed, Helen, And learn to ly your lane, For I'm gaun over the saut seas A bright bride to bring hame.'

3 'How can I mak my bed,' she says, 'Unless I mak it wide, Whan I have seven o your sons To lie down by my side?

4 'And the first o your seven sons, He rides a milk-white steed; The second o your seven sons He wears a milk-white weed.

5 'The third ane o your seven sons, He draws baith ale and wine; The fourth ane o your seven sons, He serves you when you dine.

6 'The fifth ane o your seven sons, He can baith read and write; And the sixth ane o your seven sons, He is a' your heart's delight.

7 'And the youngest o your seven sons, He sleeps on my breast-bane; Whan him and I ly down at night, For him rest get I nane.'

8 'O wha will bake my bridal bread, And brew my bridal ale? And wha will welcome my gae lady, That I bring oer the dale?

9 'And sin ye've taen the turn in hand, See that ye do it right, And ilka chimly o the house, That they be dearly dight.'

10 O a' the day she washd and wrang, And a' the night she buik, And she's awa to her chamber, To gie her young son suck.

11 'Come here, come here, my eldest son, And see what ye may see; For yonder comes your father dear, Your mother-in-law side be.'

12 She's taen a cake o the best bread, A bottle o the best wine, And a' the keys upon her arm, And to the yates she's gaen.

13 'Ye are welcome hame, gay lady,' she said, 'And ay ye are welcome hame; And sae is a' the gentlewomen That's wi you ridden and gane.

14 'You are welcome hame, gay lord' she said, 'And ay ye are welcome hame; And sae is a' the gentlemen That's wi you ridden and gane.'

15 She saird them up, she saird them down, She saird them till and frae; But when she went behind their backs, The tear did blind her ee.

16 Whan day was gane, and night was come, And a' man boun to bed, The bridegroom and the bonny bride In their chamber was laid.

17 Burd Helen and her seven sons Lay in a bower near by; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

18 'If my seven sons were seven grey ratts, To rin frae wa to wa, And I mysel a good grey cat, I would bite their back a-twa.

19 'If my seven sons were seven grey hares, And them to rin a race, And I mysel a good greyhound, I would gie them a chace.'

20 Up and spak the bonny bride, In chamber where she lay: 'There is a lady in this bower, She will gae mad or day.'

21 'Lye still, lye still, my bonny bride, Lye still and tak a sleep; It's but ane o my wine puncheons; Nae langer wad it keep.'

22 'King Henry was my father dear, Queen Catherine was my mother, Lady Anne she was my sister dear, And Frederick was my brother.

23 'And whan I was six years of age, They ca'd me Mary Mild; I was stown frae my father's yate, Whan I was but a child.'

24 Then up and spak the bonny bride, By her lord as she lay: 'Lye down, lye down, my dear sister, There's nae ill done for me.

25 'O seven ships conveyd me here, And seven came oer the main; And four o them shall stay wi you, And three convey me hame.

26 'But when I gae hame to my father's house, They will laugh me to scorn, To come awa a wedded wife, Gae hame a maid the morn.'

C

Motherwell's manuscript, p. 351, from the recitation of Janet Holmes, an old woman in Kilbarchan, who derived the ballad from her mother; July 18, 1825.

1 'Learn to mak your bed, honey, And learn to lye your lane, For I'm gaun owre the salt seas, A fair lady to bring hame.

2 'And with her I'll get gold and gear, With thee I neer got nane; I took you as a waaf woman, I leave you as the same.'

3 'What aileth thee at me, my lord, What aileth thee at me, When seven bonnie sons I have born, All of your fair bodie?

4 'The eldest of your seven sons, He can both read and write; The second of your sons, my lord, Can do it more perfyte.

5 'The third one of your sons, my lord, He waters your milk-white steed; The fourth one of your sons, my lord, With red gold shines his weed.

6 'The fifth one of your sons, my lord, He serves you when you dine; The sixth one now you do behold, How he walks out and in.

7 'The seventh one of your sons, my lord, Sucks hard at my breast-bane; When a' the house they are at rest, For him I can get nane.

8 'And if you leave me thus forlorn, A wainless wife I'll be, For anybody's gold or gear That is beyond the sea.'

9 'O wha will bake my bridal bread, Or wha will brew my ale? Or wha will cook my kitchen neat, Or give my men their meal?'

10 'For love I'll bake your bridal bread, To brew your ale I'm fain, To cook your kitchen, as I have done, Till you return again.'

11 'O wha will bake my bridal bread, Or wha will brew my ale? Or wha will welcome my braw bride, That I bring owre the dale?'

12 'For love I'll bake your bridal bread, For love I'll brew your ale, And I will welcome your braw bride That you bring owre the dale.'

13 Her mind she keeped, but sair she weepd The time that he was gane . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

14 'Go up, go up, my eldest son, Go to the upmost ha, And see if you see your father coming, With your mother-to-be-in-law.'

15 'Put on, put on, O mother dear, Put on your gouns so braw, For yonder is my father coming, With my mother-to-be-in-law.'

16 She's taen the wheat-bread in one hand, The red wines, which plenty were, And she's gane to the outmost gate, And bid them welcome there.

17 'You're welcome here, my brother dear, Ye're welcome, brother John; Ye're welcome a' my brethern dear, That has this journey gone.'

18 'I thank you, sister Annie,' he says, 'And I thank you heartilie, And as you've welcomed home myself, You'll welcome my fair ladye.'

19 'If I had roses to my feet, And ribbons to my gown, And as leal a maid as your braw bride, I would speak without a frown.'

20 He's given her roses to her feet, And ribbons to her gown, And she has welcomed his braw bride, But weel that was her own!

21 'I thank you, sister Annie,' she says, 'I thank you heartilie, And if I be seven years about this place, Rewarded you shall be.'

22 She served them up, she served them down, And she served all their cries, And aye as she came down the stair The tears fell from her eyes.

23 When mass was sung, and all bells rung, And all men boune for bed, The good lord and his fair lady Were in their chamber laid.

24 But poor Annie and her seven sons Was in a room hard by, And as she lay she sighed and wept, And thus began to cry:

25 'O were my sons transformed to cats, To speel this castle wa, And I mysell a red blood-hound That I might worry them a'!'

26 The bride she overhearing all, And sair she rued her fate: 'Awauk, awauk, my lord,' she said, 'Awauk, for well you may; For there's a woman in this gate That will go mad ere day.

27 'I fear she is a leman of thine, And a leman meek and mild; Get up and pack her down the stairs, Tho the woods were neer sae wild.'

28 'O yes, she is a leman of mine, And a leman meek and kind, And I will not pack her down the stairs, For a' the gear that's thine.'

29 'O wha's your father, Ann?' she says, 'Or wha's your mother dear? Or wha's your sister, Ann?' she says, 'Or brother? let me hear.'

30 'King Easter he's my father dear, The Queen my mother was; John Armstrang, in the west-airt lands, My eldest brother is.'

31 'Then I'm your sister, Ann,' she says, 'And I'm a full sister to thee; You were stolen awa when very young, By the same lord's treacherie.

32 'I've seven ships upon the sea, All loaded to the brim, And five of them I'll give to thee, And twa shall carry me hame.

33 'My mother shall mak my tocher up, When I tell her how you thrive; For we never knew where you was gone, Or if you was alive.'

D

Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 307.

1 'Wha will bake my bridal bread, And brew my bridal ale? And wha will welcome my brisk bride, That I bring oer the dale?'

2 'I will bake your bridal bread, And brew your bridal ale, And I will welcome your brisk bride, That you bring oer the dale.'

3 'But she that welcomes my brisk bride Maun gang like maiden fair; She maun lace on her robe sae jimp, And braid her yellow hair.'

4 'But how can I gang maiden-like, When maiden I am nane? Have I not born seven sons to thee, And am with child agen?'

5 She's taen her young son in her arms, Another in her hand, And she's up to the highest tower, To see him come to land.

6 'You're welcome to your house, master, You're welcome to your land; You're welcome with your fair lady, That you lead by the hand.'

* * * * * * *

7 And ay she servd the lang tables, With white bread and with wine, And ay she drank the wan water, To had her colour fine.

8 Now he's taen down a silk napkin, Hung on the silver pin, And ay he wipes the tears trickling Adown her cheek and chin.

E

Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 20; Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 371.

1 'O wha will bake my bridal bread, And brew my bridal ale? Wha will welcome my bright bride, That I bring oer the dale?'

2 'O I will bake your bridal bread, An brew your bridal ale; An I will welcome your bright bride, That you bring oer the dale.

3 'O she that welcomes my bright bride Maun gang like maiden fair; She maun lace her in her green cloathin, An braid her yallow hair.'

4 'O how can I gang maiden like, Whan maiden I am nane? Whan I ha born you seven sons, An am wi bairn again?'

5 The lady stood in her bowr door An lookit oer the lan, An there she saw her ain good lord, Leadin his bride by the han.

6 She's dressd her sons i the scarlet red, Hersel i the dainty green, An tho her cheek lookd pale and wan, She well might ha been a queen.

7 She calld upon her eldest son: 'Look yonder what you see; For yonder comes your father dear, Your step-mother him wi.

8 'O you'r welcome hame, my ain good lord, To your ha's but an your bowrs; You'r welcome hame, my ain good lord, To your castles an your towrs: Sae is your bright bride you beside, She's fairer nor the flowers.'

9 'O whatn a lady's that?' she says, 'That welcoms you an me? If I'm lang lady about this place, Some good I will her dee. She looks sae like my sister Jane, Was stoln i the bowr frae me.'

10 O she has servd the lang tables, Wi the white bread an the wine; But ay she drank the wan water, To keep her colour fine.

11 An she gid by the first table, An leugh amo them a'; But ere she reachd the second table, She let the tears down fa.

12 She's taen a napkin lang an white, An hung't upon a pin; It was to dry her watry eyes, As she went out and in.

13 Whan bells were rung, an mass was sung, An a' man boun to bed, The bride but an the bonny bridegroom In ae chamber was laid.

14 She's taen her harp intill her han, To harp this twa asleep; An ay as she harped an she sang, Full sorely did she weep.

15 'O seven fu fair sons I have born To the good lord o this place, An I wish that they were seven hares, To run the castle race, An I mysel a good gray houn, An I woud gi them chase.

16 'O seven fu fair sons I have born To the good lord o this ha; I wish that they were seven rottons, To rin the castle wa, An I mysell a good gray cat, I wot I woud worry them a'

17 'The earle o Richmond was my father, An the lady was my mother, An a' the bairns bisides mysel Was a sister an a brother.'

18 'Sing on, sing on, ye gay lady, I wot ye hae sung in time; Gin the earle o Richmond was your father, I wot sae was he mine.'

19 'Rise up, rise up, my bierly bride; I think my bed's but caul; I woudna hear my lady lament For your tocher ten times taul.

20 'O seven ships did bring you here, An an sal tak you hame; The leve I'll keep to your sister Jane, For tocher she gat nane.'

F

Motherwell's MS., p. 385; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 327. From the recitation of Mrs Rule, Paisley, August 16, 1825.

1 'Learn to mak your bed, Annie, And learn to lie your lane, For I maun owre the salt seas gang, A brisk bride to bring hame.

2 'Bind up, bind up your yellow hair, And tye it in your neck, And see you look as maiden-like As the first day that we met.'

3 'O how can I look maiden-like, When a maid I'll never be; When seven brave sons I've born to thee, And the eighth is in my bodie?

4 'The eldest of your sons, my lord, Wi red gold shines his weed; The second of your sons, my lord, Rides on a milk-white steed.

5 'And the third of your sons, my lord, He draws your beer and wine, And the fourth of your sons, my lord, Can serve you when you dine.

6 'And the fift of your sons, my lord, He can both read and write, And the sixth of your sons, my lord, Can do it maist perfyte.

7 'And the sevent of your sons, my lord, Sits on the nurse's knee; And how can I look maiden-like, When a maid I'll never be?

8 'But wha will bake your wedding bread, And brew your bridal ale? Or wha will welcome your brisk bride, That you bring owre the dale?'

9 'I'll put cooks in my kitchen, And stewards in my hall, And I'll have bakers for my bread, And brewers for my ale; But you're to welcome my brisk bride, That I bring owre the dale.'

10 He set his fut into his ship, And his cock-boat on the main; He swore it would be year and day Or he returned again.

11 When year and day was past and gane, Fair Annie she thocht lang, And she is up to her bower-head, To behold both sea and land.

12 'Come up, come up, my eldest son, And see now what you see; O yonder comes your father dear, And your stepmother-to-be.'

13 'Cast off your gown of black, mother, Put on your gown of brown, And I'll put off my mourning weeds, And we'll welcome him home.'

14 She's taken wine into her hand, And she has taken bread, And she is down to the water-side To welcome them indeed.

15 'You're welcome, my lord, you're welcome, my lord, You're welcome home to me; So is every lord and gentleman That is in your companie.

16 'You're welcome, my lady, you're welcome, my lady, You're welcome home to me; So is every lady and gentleman That's in your companye.'

17 'I thank you, my girl, I thank you, my girl, I thank you heartilie; If I live seven years about this house, Rewarded you shall be.'

18 She served them up, she served them down, With the wheat bread and the wine; But aye she drank the cold water, To keep her colour fine.

19 She servd them up, she servd them down, With the wheat bread and the beer; But aye she drank the cauld water, To keep her colour clear.

20 When bells were rung and mass was sung, And all were boune for rest, Fair Annie laid her sons in bed, And a sorrowful woman she was.

21 'Will I go to the salt, salt seas, And see the fishes swim? Or will I go to the gay green-wood, And hear the small birds sing?'

22 Out and spoke an aged man, That stood behind the door: 'Ye will not go to the salt, salt seas, To see the fishes swim; Nor will ye go to the gay green-wood, To hear the small birds sing.

23 'But ye'll tak a harp, into your hand, Go to their chamber door, And aye ye'll harp, and aye ye'll murn, With the salt tears falling oer.'

24 She's tane a harp into her hand, Went to their chamber door, And aye she harpd, and aye she murnd, With the salt tears falling oer.

25 Out and spak the brisk young bride, In bride-bed where she lay: 'I think I hear my sister Annie, And I wish weel it may; For a Scotish lord staw her awa, And an ill death may he die!

26 'Wha was your father, my girl,' she says, 'Or wha was your mother? Or had you ever a sister dear, Or had you ever a brother?'

27 'King Henry was my father dear, Queen Easter was my mother, Prince Henry was my brother dear, And Fanny Flower my sister.'

28 'If King Henry was your father dear, And Queen Easter was your mother, And Prince Henry was your brother dear, Then surely I'm your sister.

29 'Come to your bed, my sister dear, It neer was wrangd for me, But an ae kiss of his merry mouth, As we cam owre the sea.'

30 'Awa, awa, ye forenoon bride, Awa, awa frae me! I wudna hear my Annie greet, For a' the gold I got wi thee.'

31 'There was five ships of gay red gold Came owre the seas with me; It's twa o them will take me hame, And three I'll leave wi thee.

32 'Seven ships o white money Came owre the seas wi me; Five o them I'll leave wi thee, And twa'll tak me hame, And my mother will mak my portion up, When I return again.'

G

Communicated by Miss Margaret Reburn, as current in County Meath, Ireland, 1860-70.

1 She served them up, she served them down, She served them up with wine, But still she drank the clear spring water, To keep her color fine.

2 'I must get up, she must sit down, She must sit in my place, Or else be torn by wild horses And thrown over the gates.'

3 'You wont get up, she wont sit down, She wont sit in your place, Nor yet be torn by wild horses. Nor thrown over the gates.'

4 She called up her seven sons, By one, by two, by three: 'I wish you were all seven gray-hounds, This night to worry me.'

5 'What ails you, fair Ellen? what ails you, fair? Or why do you sigh and moan?' 'The hoops are off my wine hogsheads, And my wine is overflown.'

H

From Dr Thomas Davidson. Aberdeenshire.

1 'But wha will bake my bridal bread, An brew my bridal ale, And wha will welcome my bride hame, Is mair than I can tell.'

2 'It's I will bake your bridal bread, And brew your bridal ale, But wha will welcome your bride hame, It'll need tae be yersel.'

3 An she's hung up a silken towel Upon a golden pin, ... tae wipe her een, As she gaed but and ben.

I

Kinloch MSS, I, 155, May, 1827. "Composed of three recited versions obtained in the west of Scotland."

1 'Learn to mak your bed, Annie, And learn to lie your lane; For I am gaing oure the saut seas, A brisk bride to bring hame.

2 'Wi her I will get gowd and gear; Wi thee I neer gat nane; I got thee as a waif woman, I'll leave thee as the same.

3 'O wha will bake my bridal bread, Or brew my bridal ale? Or wha welcome my brisk bride, That I'll bring oure the dale?'

4 'O I will bake your bridal bread, And brew your bridal ale; But I downa welcam your brisk bride That ye'll bring frae the dale.'

5 'She that welcomes my brisk bride, She maun look maiden-like; She maun kaim doun her yellow locks, And lay them in her neck.'

6 'O how can I look maiden-like, Whan maiden I am nane? For seven sons I hae born to thee, And the eighth lies in my wame.

7 'But what aileth thee at me, my lord, What aileth thee at me, Whan seven braw sons I've born to thee, Out of my fair bodie?

8 'The first ane of your sons, my lord, Can baith read and write; And the second of your sons, my lord, Can do it maist perfyte.

9 'The third ane o your sons, my lord, Can water your grey steed; And the fourth ane o your sons, my lord, Can bake your bridal bread.

10 'The fifth ane o your sons, my lord, Can serve ye whan ye dine; And the sixth ane o your sons, my lord, Can brew your bridal wine.

11 'The seventh ane o your sons, my lord, Lies close at my breist-bane; Whan a' the lave are fast asleep, It's rest I can get nane.'

12 He set his foot into the stirrup, His hand upon the mane; Says, It will be year and day, ladie, Ere ye see me again.

13 Whan he had ae foot on the sea, The ither on dry lan, 'It will be year and day, ladie, Till I come back again.'

14 Whan year and day war past and gane, Fair Annie she thought lang; And she went up to her hie tower, Wi a silk seam in her hand.

15 She lookit east, she lookit west, And south, below the sun, And there she spied her ain gude lord, Coming sailing to the lan.

16 She called up her seven braw sons, By ane, twa, and by three: 'See, yonder comes your father, And your mother-for-to-be.'

17 And she called up her servants a': 'O come, behold and see! O yonder comes your master dear, And a new mistress brings he.

18 'Gae doun, gae doun, my eldest son, Into the outmost ha, And if ye welcome ane o them, Be sure to welcome a'.'

19 Some ran east, and some ran west, And some ran to the sea; There was na ane in a' his house To welcome his new ladie.

20 But Annie's to her coffer gane, Tane out a silver kaim, And she's kaimd doun her yellow hair, As she a maid had been.

21 And Annie has kaimd her lang yellow locks, And laid them in her neck; And she's awa to the saut, saut sea, To welcome his lady aff deck.

22 She durst na ca him her ain gude lord, For angering o the bride; But she did ca him master dear, And I wat he was richt glad.

23 'You're welcome, you're welcome, master,' she said, 'To your halls bot an your bouers; And sae are a' thir merry young men That come alang with you.

24 'You're welcome, you're welcome, fair ladie, To your halls but an your bouers; And sae are a' thir gay ladies; For a' that's here is yours.'

25 'I thank ye, I thank ye, fair maiden, I thank ye kindlie; If I be lang about this house, Rewarded ye sall be.

26 'I have a brither o mine ain; He's newly come frae sea; I think it wad be a richt gude match To marry him and thee.'

27 'I thank ye, I thank ye, fair ladie; Gie your brither to whom like ye; But there's never ane in this warld My wedding day sall see: But one word o my master dear In private wad I be.'

* * * * * * *

28 The first dish that fair Annie set doun, She lookit baith pale and wan; The neist dish that fair Annie set doun, She was scarce able to stan.

29 'O is this your mistress, good lord,' she says, 'Although she looks modest and mild? Then we will hunt her frae our house Wi dogs and hawks sae wild.'

30 'She's na my mistress, dear lady,' he says, 'Altho she looks modest and mild; Nor will we hunt her frae our house Wi dogs and hawks sae wild.'

31 Whan bells war rung, and mass was sung, And a' men boun for bed, The bonnie bride and the bridegroom In bride's bed they were laid.

32 Whan dinner was past, and supper was by, And a' were boun for bed, Fair Annie and her seven sons In a puir bye-chamber war laid.

33 Fair Annie took out her virginals, And sadly did she play; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

34 'O gin my sons were yon grey rats, That climb the castle-wa, And I mysel a bloody grey cat, I'd rise and worry them a'.'

35 Then out and spak the bonny bride, In bride's bed whare she lay: 'I think this is like my sister Anne, That doth sae sadly play.'

36 'Lie still, lie still, my gay ladie, Lie still and sleep a wee; It's nathing but an auld servant, That waileth sae for me.'

37 'O gin my seven sons were seven young hares, That rin round the castle wa, And I mysel a bluidy grewhund, I wad rise and worry them a'.'

38 The new bride waukenit in the nicht, And blew upon her horn: 'I think I hear my sister's voice, That was stown frae us a bairn.'

39 'Sleep on, sleep on, dear lady,' he says, 'It's yon maiden in her dream, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

40 'O wha was eer thy father, fair maid, Or wha was eer thy mither? Or wha was eer thy ae sister, Or wha was eer thy brither?'

41 'King Henry was my father,' she said, 'Queen Elinore was my mither; Fair Marion was my ae sister, Earl Robert was my brither.'

42 'Sin King Henry was your father, fair maid, And Queen Elinore your mither, O I am een your ae sister, And ye are just the ither.

43 'Come to your bed, fair Annie,' she said, 'Come to your bed full sune; I may weel say, I daur weel say, There is na evil dune.

44 'Seven ships of gold did bring me here, But ane shall tak me hame; Six I will leave to my sister Anne, To bring up her children young.

45 'But whan I gang to my father's ha, And tirl on the pin, The meanest in a' my father's house Will ca me a forsaken ane.'

J

Buchan's MSS, I, 66.

1 'Learn, O learn, Fair Annie,' he said, 'O learn to lie your lane; For I am going ower the sea, To woo and to bring hame

2 'A brighter and a fairer dame Than ever ye hae been; For I am going ower the sea, To chuse and bring her hame.'

3 'What aileth thee, my ain gude lord, What aileth thee at me? For seven braw sons hae I born Unto your fair bodie.

4 'The eldest o your sons, my lord, Is heir o a' your land; The second o your braw young sons He rises at your right hand.

5 'The third o your braw young sons He serves you when you dine; The fourth o your braw sons, my lord, He brings to you the wine.

6 'The fifth o your braw young sons Right well can use the pen; The sixth o your braw young sons, He's travelling but and ben.

7 'The seventh o your braw young sons, He lies on my breast-bane, The fairest flower amo them a', That lay my sides between.'

8 'But I am going ower the sea, To woo and to bring hame A lady wi some gowd and gear; Wi you I never got nane.'

9 'Ye staw me awa in twall years auld, Ye sought nae gowd wi me; Ye put me to the schools o Ayr For fully years three.

10 'But wha'll be cook in your kitchen, And butler in your ha? And wha will govern your merry young men, When ye are far awa?'

11 'O ye'll be cook in my kitchen, And butler in my ha, And ye'll wait on my merry young men, And serve them ane and a'.'

12 'But wha will bake your bridal bread, And wha will brew your ale? And wha will welcome that lady That ye bring ower the dale?

13 'O ye will bake my bridal bread, And ye will brew my ale, And ye will welcome that lady That I bring ower the dale.

14 'Ye'll bake bread, and ye'll brew ale, For three score knights and ten; That day month I gang awa, The same day I'll come again.'

15 'O I will bake your bridal bread, And I will brew your ale; But oh, to welcome another woman My heart will nae be hale.'

16 'Ye will put roses in your hair, And ribbons in your sheen, And ye will look fair maiden like, Though maiden ye be nane.'

17 'O I'll put roses in my hair, And ribbons in my sheen, And may be look as maiden-like As the bride ye bring hame.'

18 Two of his sons he sent before, And two rade by his side, And three he left at hame wi her, She was the brightest bride.

19 As she was gazing her around, To view the rural plain, And there she saw the bridal folk, Merrily coming hame.

20 'Come here, come here, my boys a', Ye see not what I see; For here I see your fair father, And a step-mother to thee.

21 'O shall I call him honey, Sandy, Husband, or my gude lord? Or shall I call him my gude master, Let well or woe betide?'

22 'Ye winna call him honey, mother, For angering o the bride; But ye'll call him your gude master, Let well or woe betide.'

23 She buskd her bonny boys in black, Herself in simple green, A kaim o gowd upon her hair, As maiden she had been.

24 She's taen the white bread in her lap, The wine glass in her hand, And she's gane out upo the green, To welcome the bride hame.

25 She woudna ca him her ain gude lord, For angering o the bride: 'Ye're welcome hame, my gude master, Your lands lie braid and wide.'

26 'O fair mat fa you, Fair Annie, Sae well's ye've welcomd me; Ye might hae welcomd my new bride; Some gift to you she'll gie.'

27 'Ye're welcome hame, ye new-come bride, To your ha's and your bowers; Ye're welcome hame, my lady gay, Ye're whiter than the flowers.'

28 'O wha is this,' the bride did say, 'Sae well that welcomes me? If I'm lang lady o this place Some gift to her I'll gie.

29 'She's likest to my dear sister That eer my eyes did see; A landit lord staw her awa, An ill death mat he die!

30 'I hae a brother here this day, Fairer ye neer did see; And I woud think nae ill a match Unto this fair ladie.'

31 'Ye'll wed your brother on a stock, Sae do ye on a stane; I'll wed me to the kingdom of heaven, For I'll neer wed a man.'

32 She servd the footmen o the beer, The nobles o the wine; But nane did cross her pale, pale lips, For changing o her min.

33 When she came in unto the room She leuch amo them a', But when she turnd her back about She loot the saut tears fa.

34 She hanged up a silken cloath Upon a siller pin; It was to dry her twa blue eyes, As she went out and in.

35 Her heart wi sorrow sair was filld, Her breast wi milk ran out; She aft went to a quiet chamber, And let her young son suck.

36 'There is a woman in this house This day has served me; But I'll rise up, let her sit down, She's ate, that I may see.

37 'O wha is this,' the bride coud say, 'That serves this day sae well? And what means a' this bonny boys, That follow at her heel?'

38 'This is my sister, Fair Annie, That serves this day sae well, And these are a' her bauld brothers, That follow at her heel.'

39 Then out it speaks the new-come bride, Was full o jealousie: 'I fear there's something new, my lord, Ye mean to hide frae me.

40 'But if she be your light leman Has me sae sair beguild, She shall gae out at my window, And range the woods sae wild.'

41 When day was dane, and night drew on, And a' man bound for bed, The bridegroom and the new-come bride In ae chamber were laid.

42 The lady being left alone, Nursing her fair young son, She has taen up her gude lord's harp, She harped and she sung.

43 'Seven braw sons hae I born To the lord o this place; I wish they were seven hares To run the castle race, And I mysel a gude greyhound, To gie them a' a chace.'

44 'Lie near, lie near, my ain gude lord, Lie near and speak wi me; There is a woman in the house, She will be wild ere day.'

45 'Lie still, lie still, my new-come bride, Lie still and take your rest; The pale's out o my wine-puncheon, And lang it winna rest.'

46 She held the harp still in her hand, To harp them baith asleep, And aye she harped and she sang, And saut tears she did weep.

47 'Seven braw sons hae I born To the gude lord o this ha; I wish that they were seven brown rats, To climb the castle wa, And I mysel a gude grey cat, To take them ane and a'.'

48 'Lie near, lie near, my ain gude lord, Lie near and speak wi me; There is a woman in this house, She will be wild ere day.'

49 'Lie yond, lie yond, my new-come bride, My sheets are wonderous cauld; I woudna hear my love's lament For your gowd ten thousand fauld.'

50 'O wae be to you, ye fause lord, Some ill death mat ye die! For that's the voice o my sister Ann, Was stown frae yont the sea.'

51 'Fair mat fa ye, ye buirdly bride, A gude death mat ye die! For that's the voice o your sister Ann, Was stown frae yont the sea; I came seeking Annie's tocher, I was not seeking thee.'

52 'Seven gude ships I hae brought here, In seven I'se gae hame; And a' the gowd that I brought here, It's a' gang back again.'

53 'Seven ships they brought you here, But ye'll gang hame in ane; Ye'll leave the rest to tocher Ann, For wi her I got nane.'

54 'Seven ships they brought me here, But I'll gang hame in ane; I'll get my sister's eldest son To hae me maiden hame.

55 'My father wants not gowd nor gear, He will get me a man; And happy, happy will he be To hear o his daughter Ann.

56 'I hae my sheen upon my feet, My gloves upon my hand, And ye'll come to your bed, Annie, For I've dane you nae wrang.'

* * * * *

#C.#

'Fair Annie' I took this day from the recitation of Janet Holmes, an old woman in Kilbarchan. It was, as she described it, a "lang rane" of her mother's. July 18, 1825. _Motherwell._

1^1. honey _is probably a corruption of_ Annie.

5^4. his wig.

19^3. I _must be understood_, I as leal, _but does not require to be inserted_.

20^4. _Possibly not correct._ To all _would, no doubt, be an easy reading, but the abrupt exclamation is more like nature_.

29^1. Oh.

#E.#

11^2. laugh.

14^3. harpd.

20^1. you hame.

#F.#

12^3. Oh.

22^3. Ye wilt.

#I.#

28^1. sat.

45^2. tirls.

41 ff. _In one of the Kinloch versions thus:_

'King Henry is my father,' she says, 'Queen Orvis is my mither, And a' the bairns about the house Are just my sister and brither.'

'O if ye be ane o thae, Fair Anne, Sure I'm ane o' the same, And come to your gude lord, Anne, And be ye blythe again.

'For he never wed me for his love, But for my tocher fee, And I am as free o him this day As the bairn on the nurse's knee.'

#J.#

36^2. hae served.

_The following more obvious and entirely superfluous interpolations have been omitted from the text._

_After 9:_

But ye were feard the Duke of York Should come and bide wi me, As he showed kindness and respect, Which greatly grieved thee.

_After 18:_

But it fell ance upon a day, 'T was aye day by it lane, Fair Annie was washing her fingers, Above a marble stane.

_After 28:_

O he that staw my ae sister Did leave my bower full bare; I wish a sharp sword at his breast, Cauld iron be his share!

He looked ower his right shoulder, A light laugh then gie he; Said, Hear na ye my new-come bride, Sae sair as she brands me?

The bride she patted wi her lips, She winked wi her ee, Yet never thought by the words he spake 'T was her sister, Annie.

_After 35:_

When they had eaten and well drunken, And all had fared fine, The knight he called his butlers all, For to serve out the wine.

_After 38:_

Then out it speaks an English lord, A smart young lord was he: 'O if she be a maiden fair, Wi her I'se wedded be.'

The bridegroom gae a laugh at that Amang his merry young men; Says, There's a hynd chiel in the house Runs far nearer her mind.

_After 53:_

O if this be my sister dear, It's welcome news to me; I woud hae gien her thrice as much Her lovely face to see.

[72] #F# 2 reads, "Bind up your hair, and tie it in your neck," which is deceptive. It was an imperative custom, as is well known, that the married woman should bind up her hair or wear it under a cap, while a maid wore it loose or in a braid; a yard long, like Chaucer's Emily, if she had as much. See #D# 3, #E# 3, #I# 5, and Prior's Danish Ballads, II, 180 f.

[73] And John Armstrang her eldest brother, #C# 30: so the Scottish king was right when he weened Johnie was a king as well as he.

[74] "The tradition which commonly accompanies this tale," says Jamieson, Popular Ballads, II, 83, "says that he was aware of his bride's being the sister of his mistress, and that he had courted her, not with a view of retaining her as his wife, but of securing from her father a portion for Lady Jane, whom he intended to marry:" a canny project adopted into the degenerate and interpolated #J# (st. 53), but rather too sharp practice for an old ballad.

[75] The boys are all dressed in scarlet red in Danish #E# 24, #F# 27, #H# 21; so in English #E# 6, but in #J# 23 in black.

[76]

And the young bride throws down a half gold-ring, Fair Annie she throws down the other, And a pair of loving sisters were they, And the rings they ran together.

Swedish #B# 32.

[77] Vorige span, sts 14,15, for which Hoffmann reads voorgespan, meaning a fore-span. A span of horses is as absurd here as possible, but is adopted in the German version, and made to point a gibe at the king. It would seem that the Dutch _voorspan_, brooch or clasp, German spange (see Hexham's Dictionary, 1658), must have been for some time obsolete. In Richthofen's Altfriesisches Wörterbuch we find simply _span, spon_: "verstanden ist darunter ein goldener Schmuck den die friesischen Weiber _vor_ der Brust trugen." Stanza 15 is interpreted accordingly.

[78] "Voorgespan" again.

[79] Roquefort, Poésies de Marie de France, I, 138. There is a highly felicitous old English translation, unfortunately somewhat defective: Weber, Metrical Romances, I, 357, Ellis's Specimens, III, 282, what is missing being supplied in each case from the French.

[80] For this idea see Grimm's Rechtsalterthümer, p. 456 of the 2d ed., and Deutsche Sagen, 515, 534, 571; the English romance of Octavian, Weber, III, 162, vv 127-132, the French, in Conybeare's abridgment, p. 3, reprint of the Aungervyle Society, p. 23; the volksbuch Kaiser Octavianus, Simrock, II, 244; the Spanish ballad 'Espinelo,' Duran, I, 177, No 323, and again a 16th century ballad of Timoneda, II, 392, No 1346. This last may be the foundation of a broadside in the Pepys collection, I, 40, No 18: "The Lamenting Lady, who, for wrongs done by her to a poor woman for having two children at one burthen, was by the hand of God most strangely punished by sending her as many children at one birth as there are days in the year." But we have the same miracle in Grimm's Deutsche Sagen, No 578. Further, Grundtvig, V, 386, 'Grevens Datter af Vendel,' No 258, #E# 1; Li Reali di Francia, l. II, c. 42, p 180 of the edition of Venice, 1821. (Grundtvig.)

[81] 'Las dos Hermanas,' Catalan, Castilian, Asturian. Milá, Observaciones, p. 117, No 19,==Briz, II, 159; p. 124, No 24,==Primavera, II, 38, No 130; Briz, II, 161. Milá, Romancerillo, p. 214, No 242, #A-E#, p. 216, No 242. Amador de los Rios, Historia de la Lit. Esp., VII, 455 f. Portuguese. 'Rainha e Captiva,' Almeida-Garrett, II, 193, No 11, 2d ed.; 'Romance de Branca-Flor,' Braga, Romanceiro Geral, p. 103, No 38; Romanceiro da Madeira, p. 211; Roméro e Braga, Cantos populares do Brazil, I, 41 ff, Nos 22, 23, II, 203. In some of these the queen identifies the captive by overhearing, while she lies in bed, words said or sung by her sister. In Chodzko, Chants de l'Ukraine, p. 88, No 17, the captive sister is replaced by a (Polish) mother in slavery among the Turks.

63

CHILD WATERS

#A.# 'Childe Waters,' Percy MS., p. 274; Hales and Furnival, II, 269.

#B. a.# 'Burd Ellen,' Jamieson's Brown MS., fol. 22. #b.# 'Lord John and Bird Ellen,' A. Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 9.

#C.# 'Lady Margaret,' Kinloch's annotated copy of his Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 180.

#D.# Kinloch MSS, VII, 325.

#E.# 'Fair Margaret,' Harris MS., No 8, p. 12 b.

#F.# Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 114, from Mrs Arrot of Arberbrothick.

#G.# 'Cruel William,' Buchan's MSS, II, 129.

#H.# 'Burd Alone,' Motherwell's MS., p. 277.

#I.# Communicated by Dr Davidson, derived from Old Deer, Aberdeenshire.

#J.# 'Burd Helen,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 30.

#A# was printed in Percy's Reliques, III, 58, ed. 1765, with comparatively few changes. #B a# was published by Jamieson, from Mrs Brown's manuscript, in his Popular Ballads, I, 113, with some slight variation from the text, many acknowledged interpolations, and the addition of three sentimental stanzas to make Burd Ellen die just as her enduring all things is to be rewarded. In this tragic close, Jamieson was anticipated by Mrs Hampden Pye, in her 'Earl Walter,' 1771, Evans's Old Ballads, II, 208, 1777. #C# is given as it appears in Kinloch's annotated copy of his Ancient Scottish Ballads, where ten stanzas are inserted to enlarge and complete the copy published in 1827. This enlarged copy was communicated to Chambers, and seven of the supplementary stanzas were introduced into his compilation, The Scottish Ballads, p. 193. These supplementary stanzas, some of them certainly, and we may suppose all, belonged to a copy of which only the concluding portion, here given as #D#, is elsewhere preserved.

The variations in the several versions of this charming ballad, which has perhaps no superior in English, and if not in English perhaps nowhere,[82] are not material, and the story may therefore be given as it runs in #A#, the oldest copy. Fair Ellen comes to Child Waters, and tells him that her gown, which was too wide, is now too narrow. He bids her be content and take two shires of land; she would rather have one kiss from his mouth than Cheshire and Lancashire both. He must ride far into the North the next day; she asks to be his foot-page. This she may be if she will shorten her gown and clip her locks, so as not to be known for a woman. He rides hard all day, and she keeps up with him barefoot. They come to a broad piece of salt water; he lets her get through as she can, but Our Lady bears up her chin. Then he points out a splendid hall, where are four and twenty ladies, and the fairest is his love and wife. God give both good! is all she says. Arrived there, Ellen takes his horse to the stable. At bed-time he sends her to the town, to bring him the fairest lady that can be found, to sleep in his arms, and to bring this lady in _her_ arms, for filing of her feet. Ellen lies at the foot of the bed, for want of other place, and before dawn is roused by Child Waters to feed his horse. The pains of travail come on her in the stable; Child Waters' mother hears her moans, and bids him get up. He stands at the stable-door and listens. Ellen sings:

Lullaby, dear child, dear! I would thy father were a king, Thy mother laid on a bier!

This moves even his sturdy heart; he tells Ellen to be of good cheer, for the bridal and the churching shall both be on one day.

In #B#, #C#, #E#, #G#, #I#, #J# the man relents so far as, when they are in the water, to ask her to ride. She will not, #C#, #E#, #I#; he takes her on at a stone which stands in the middle of the stream, #B#, #G#, #J#. The stream is Clyde in #B#, #C#, #E#, #G#, #J#; the Tay in #I#. In #C#, #E#, #F#, #H# he tells her after they have passed the water, that it is three and thirty miles to his house; a (poetically) superfluous and meddling parrot says it is but three. In #C#, #G# he tells her that she will have a serving-man for a husband, and in #H# that he has already wife and bairns.

One stroke in #A#, the sending of Ellen to fetch a woman from the town, is wanting in the other versions, decidedly to their advantage. This exaggeration of insult, submitting to which only degrades the woman, is paralleled, though not quite reached, by the paramour in the forest in the otherwise exquisitely refined tale of The Nut-Brown Maid. As for the ballad, the disagreeable passage may be an insertion of some unlucky singer, and the perfect truth to nature and remarkably high taste of The Nut-Brown Maid, in every other particular, would almost drive us to assume an interpolation in this case too.

#E# 1, 2, 16, #F# 2, 3 show contact with the ballad of 'Lizzie Lindsay;' the passing of the water, particularly in #E# 8-12, with 'The Knight and Shepherd's Daughter;' and again, #H# 21.

An exceedingly popular Scandinavian ballad is manifestly of the same source, though the story is told in a very different way, the cruel trials to which the woman's love is put being entirely lacking: #Danish#, 'Jomfru og Stalddreng,' Grundtvig, V, 171, No 267, #A-A#. #Swedish#, #A#, 'Liten Kerstin Stalldräng,' Afzelius, II, 15, No 33; #B#, 'Stolts Botelid Stalldräng,' Afzelius, II, 20, No 34; #C-E#, 'Liten Kerstin Stalldräng,' Arwidsson, II, 179, No 109, Hofberg's Nerikes gamla Minnen, p. 254, Öberg in Aminson, I, 28; #F-I#, from Cavallius and Stephens's manuscript collection, Grundtvig, V, 217 f; #J#, 'Liten Kerstin och Dane-Peter,' Wigström, Folkdiktning, #I#, 66, No 32. #Norwegian#, #A#, 'Liti Kersti som stalldreng,' Landstad, p. 605, No 78; #B-E#, Grundtvig, V, 218-20; #F#, Landstad, p. 605, note. (Several of these are only a verse or two.) Danish #A-F# are from manuscripts of the sixteenth or seventeenth century; #G# was printed at the end of the seventeenth; the other copies are from recent tradition, but nevertheless point to a higher antiquity than those which were taken down earlier. There is naturally much variation in details among so many copies, and it will be sufficient to indicate the general character of the story. A young woman, who may be called Kirstin, clips her hair and puts on man's clothes, seeks service at court, and is taken as stable-boy, at the instance of a man (often the king's son, or of other high rank) who may be called Peter, with whom she, in some copies, seems to have had a previous connection. Peter, as an accommodation, lets the stable-boy sleep with him. In the course of time Kirstin cannot do duty any more, cannot buckle on spurs, is ill and requires woman's assistance, which the queen renders. She gives birth to twins in the stable (among the horses' legs, as in English, #B# 30, #J# 30). A merry wedding follows.[83]

Another Scandinavian ballad has a limited resemblance to 'Child Waters:' #Danish#, 'Den trofaste Jomfru,' Grundtvig, IV, 494, No 249, #A-I#; 'Den fredløse,' Kristensen, II, 191, No 57 (A-C), #J-L#. #Swedish#, #A#, 'De Sju Gullbergen,' Afzelius, III, 71, No 79; #B#, #C#, from Cavallius and Stephens's collection, Grundtvig, IV, 507f. #Norwegian#, #A#, 'Herre Per og stolt Margit,' Landstad, p. 590, No 74; #B#, Herr' Nikelus, Landstad, p. 594, No 75. The ballad begins like Danish 'Ribold og Guldborg' and 'Kvindemorderen.' A knight carries off a maid, making her fine promises, among which gold castles commonly figure. He takes her over a very wide piece of water, an arm of the sea, on his horse in most versions; in Danish #B#, #K# they swim it. When they come to land, she asks Where are the promised castles? Danish #C#, #D#, #J#, #K#, #L#, Norwegian #A#, #B#. He tells her that he is a penniless outlaw (wanting in Swedish #A#, #C#); she offers the gold she has brought with her to buy him his peace (wanting in Swedish #A#, #C#, Norwegian #B#). He tells her he has another love; she is willing to be their servant (wanting in Danish #A#, #B#, #C#, #I#, Norwegian #B#). Here he ceases his trial of her; he is a royal, or very opulent, person, she is to have a troop of servants, the castles are not in the air, and all ends happily.

* * * * *

Percy's edition of #A# is translated (freely) by Bürger, 'Graf Walter,' and Bürger's version is revised, to bring it slightly nearer the original, by Bothe, Volkslieder, p. 199. Percy is translated by Bodmer, I, 41. #I# is translated by Gerhard, p. 117, and Aytoun's compilation, I, 239, by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, p. 11. The Danish ballad is translated by Prior, III, 25, after Danske Viser, IV, 116, Syv, Fourth Part, No 31, Grundtvig's #G c#.

A

Percy MS., p. 274; Hales and Furnivall, II, 269.

1 Childe Watters in his stable stoode, And stroaket his milke-white steede; To him came a ffaire young ladye As ere did weare womans wee[de].

2 Saies, Christ you saue, good Chyld Waters! Sayes, Christ you saue and see! My girdle of gold, _whi_ch was too longe, Is now to short ffor mee.

3 'And all is with one chyld of yours, I ffeele sturre att my side; My gowne of greene, it is to strayght; Before it was to wide.'

4 'If the child be mine, Faire Ellen,' he sayd, 'Be mine, as you tell mee, Take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, Take them yo_u_r owne to bee.

5 'If the child be mine, Ffaire Ellen,' he said, 'Be mine, as you doe sweare, Take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, And make _tha_t child yo_u_r heyre.'

6 Shee saies, I had rather haue one kisse, Child Waters, of thy mouth, Then I wold haue Cheshire and Lancashire both, _Tha_t lyes by north and south.

7 'And I had rather haue a twinkling, Child Waters, of yo_u_r eye, Then I wold haue Cheshire and Lancashire both, To take them mine oune to bee.'

8 'To-morrow, Ellen, I must forth ryde Soe ffarr into the north countrye; The ffairest lady _tha_t I can ffind, Ellen, must goe w_i_th mee.' 'And euer I pray you, Child Watters, Yo_u_r ffootpage let me bee!'

9 'If you will my ffootpage be, Ellen, As you doe tell itt mee, Then you must cutt your gownne of greene An inche aboue yo_u_r knee.

10 'Soe must you doe yo_u_r yellow lockes, Another inch aboue yo_u_r eye; You must tell noe man what is my name; My ffootpage then you shall bee.'

11 All this long day Child Waters rode, Shee ran bare ffoote by his side; Yett was he neu_er_ soe curteous a k_nigh_t To say, Ellen, will you ryde?

12 But all this day Child Waters rode, Shee ran barffoote thorow the broome; Yett he was neu_er_ soe curteous a k_nigh_t As to say, Put on yo_u_r shoone.

13 'Ride softlye,' shee said, 'Child Watters; Why doe you ryde soe ffast? The child w_hi_ch is no mans but yours My bodye itt will burst.'

14 He sayes, Sees thou yonder water, Ellen, _Tha_t fflowes from banke to brim? 'I trust to god, Child Waters,' shee said, 'You will neuer see mee swime.'

15 But when shee came to the waters side, Shee sayled to the chinne: 'Except the lo_rd_ of heauen be my speed, Now must I learne to swime.'

16 The salt waters bare vp Ellens clothes, Our Ladye bare vpp he[r] chinne, And Child Waters was a woe man, good Lo_rd_, To ssee Faire Ellen swime.

17 And when shee ouer the water was, Shee then came to his knee: He said, Come hither, Ffaire Ellen, Loe yonder what I see!

18 'Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen? Of redd gold shine the yates; There's four and twenty ffayre ladyes, The ffairest is my wordlye make.

19 'Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen? Of redd gold shineth the tower; There is four and twenty ffaire ladyes, The fairest is my paramoure.'

20 'I doe see the hall now, Child Waters, _Tha_t of redd gold shineth the yates; God giue good then of yo_u_r selfe, And of yo_u_r wordlye make!

21 'I doe see the hall now, Child Waters, _Tha_t of redd gold shineth the tower; God giue good then of yo_u_r selfe, And of yo_u_r paramoure!'

22 There were four and twenty ladyes, Were playing att the ball, And Ellen, was the ffairest ladye, Must bring his steed to the stall.

23 There were four and twenty faire ladyes Was playing att the chesse; And Ellen, shee was the ffairest ladye, Must bring his horsse to grasse.

24 And then bespake Child Waters sister, And these were the words said shee: You haue the prettyest ffootpage, brother, _Tha_t euer I saw w_i_th mine eye;

25 'But _tha_t his belly it is soe bigg, His girdle goes wonderous hye; And eu_er_ I pray you, Child Waters, Let him goe into the chamber w_i_th mee.'

26 'It is more meete for a little ffootpage, _Tha_t has run through mosse and mire, To take his supper vpon his knee And sitt downe by the kitchin fyer, Then to goe into the chamber w_i_th any ladye That weares soe [rich] attyre.'

27 But when thé had supped euery one, To bedd they took the way; He sayd, Come hither, my little footpage, Harken what I doe say.

28 And goe thee downe into yonder towne, And low into the street; The ffairest ladye _that_ thou can find, Hyer her in mine armes to sleepe, And take her vp in thine armes two, For filinge of her ffeete.

29 Ellen is gone into the towne, And low into the streete; The fairest ladye _tha_t shee cold find Shee hyred in his armes to sleepe, And tooke her in her armes two, For filing of her ffeete.

30 'I pray you now, good Child Waters, _That_ I may creepe in att yo_u_r bedds feete; For there is noe place about this house Where I may say a sleepe.'

31 This [night] and itt droue on affterward Till itt was neere the day: He sayd, Rise vp, my litle ffoote-page, And giue my steed corne and hay; And soe doe thou the good blacke oates, _Tha_t he may carry me the better away.

32 And vp then rose Ffaire Ellen, And gaue his steed corne and hay, And soe shee did and the good blacke oates, _Tha_t he might carry him the better away.

33 Shee layned her backe to the manger side, And greiuouslye did groane; And _tha_t beheard his mother deere, And heard her make her moane.

34 Shee said, Rise vp, thou Child Waters, I thinke thou art a cursed man; For yonder is a ghost in thy stable, _Tha_t greiuouslye doth groane, Or else some woman laboures of child, Shee is soe woe begone.

35 But vp then rose Child Waters, And did on his shirt of silke; Then he put on his other clothes On his body as white as milke.

36 And when he came to the stable-dore, Full still _tha_t hee did stand, _Tha_t hee might heare now Faire Ellen, How shee made her monand.

37 Shee said, Lullabye, my owne deere child! Lullabye, deere child, deere! I wold thy father were a king, Thy mother layd on a beere!

38 'Peace now,' he said, 'good Faire Ellen, And be of good cheere, I thee pray, And the bridall and the churching both, They shall bee vpon one day.'

B

#a.# Jamieson's Brown MS., fol. 22, taken down from Mrs Brown's recitation before 1783. #b.# A. Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 9, as recited by Mrs Brown in 1800.

1 'I warn ye all, ye gay ladies, That wear scarlet an brown, That ye dinna leave your father's house, To follow young men frae town.'

2 'O here am I, a lady gay, That wears scarlet an brown, Yet I will leave my father's house, An follow Lord John frae the town.'

3 Lord John stood in his stable-door, Said he was bound to ride; Burd Ellen stood in her bowr-door, Said she'd rin by his side.

4 He's pitten on his cork-heeld shoone, An fast awa rade he; She's clade hersel in page array, An after him ran she.

5 Till they came till a wan water, An folks do ca it Clyde; Then he's lookit oer his left shoulder, Says, Lady, can ye wide?

6 'O I learnt it i my father house, An I learnt it for my weal, Wenneer I came to a wan water, To swim like ony eel.'

7 But the firstin stap the lady stappit, The water came til her knee; 'Ohon, alas!' said the lady, 'This water's oer deep for me.'

8 The nextin stap the lady stappit, The water came till her middle; An sighin says that gay lady, I've wat my gouden girdle

9 The nextin stap the lady stappit, The water came till her pap; An the bairn that was in her twa sides For caul begane to quake.

10 'Lye still, lye still, my ain dear babe, Ye work your mither wae; Your father rides on high horse-back, Cares little for us twae.'

11 O about the midst o Clyden water There was a yeard-fast stane; He lightly turnd his horse about, An took her on him behin.

12 'O tell me this now, good Lord John, An a word ye dinna lee, How far it is to your lodgin, Whare we this night maun be?'

13 'O see you nae yon castle, Ellen, That shines sae fair to see? There is a lady in it, Ellen, Will sunder you an me.

14 'There is a lady in that castle Will sunder you and I:' 'Betide me well, betide me wae, I sal go there an try.'

15 'O my dogs sal eat the good white bread, An ye sal eat the bran; Then will ye sigh, an say, alas! That ever I was a man!'

16 'O I sal eat the good white bread, An your dogs sal eat the bran; An I hope to live an bless the day, That ever ye was a man.'

17 'O my horse sal eat the good white meal, An ye sal eat the corn; Then will ye curse the heavy hour That ever your love was born.'

18 'O I sal eat the good white meal, An your horse sal eat the corn; An I ay sall bless the happy hour That ever my love was born.'

19 O four an twenty gay ladies Welcomd Lord John to the ha, But a fairer lady then them a' Led his horse to the stable sta.

20 An four an twenty gay ladies Welcomd Lord John to the green, But a fairer lady than them a' At the manger stood alane.

21 Whan bells were rung, an mass was sung, An a' men boun to meat, Burd Ellen at a bye-table Amo the foot-men was set.

22 'O eat an drink, my bonny boy, The white bread an the beer:' 'The never a bit can I eat or drink, My heart's sae full of fear.'

23 'O eat an drink, my bonny boy, The white bread an the wine:' 'O I canna eat nor drink, master, My heart's sae full of pine.'

24 But out it spake Lord John's mother, An a wise woman was she: 'Whare met ye wi that bonny boy, That looks sae sad on thee?

25 'Sometimes his cheek is rosy red, An sometimes deadly wan; He's liker a woman big wi bairn, Than a young lord's serving man.'

26 'O it makes me laugh, my mother dear, Sic words to hear frae thee; He is a squire's ae dearest son, That for love has followd me.

27 'Rise up, rise up, my bonny boy, Gi my horse corn an hay:' 'O that I will, my master dear, As quickly as I may.'

28 She's taen the hay under her arm, The corn intill her han, An she's gane to the great stable, As fast as eer she can.

29 'O room ye roun, my bonny broun steeds, O room ye near the wa; For the pain that strikes me thro my sides Full soon will gar me fa.'

30 She's leand her back against the wa; Strong travail seizd her on; An even amo the great horse feet Burd Ellen brought forth her son.

31 Lord John'[s] mither intill her bowr Was sitting all alone, Whan, i the silence o the night, She heard fair Ellen's moan.

32 'Won up, won up, my son,' she says, 'Go se how a' does fare; For I think I hear a woman's groans, An a bairn greeting sair.'

33 O hastily he gat him up, Stayd neither for hose nor shoone, An he's doen him to the stable-door, Wi the clear light o the moon.

34 He strack the door hard wi his foot, An sae has he wi his knee, An iron locks an iron bars Into the floor flung he: 'Be not afraid, Burd Ellen,' he says, 'Ther's nane come in but me.'

35 Up he has taen his bonny young son, An gard wash him wi the milk; An up has he taen his fair lady, Gard row her in the silk.

36 'Cheer up your heart, Burd Ellen,' he says, 'Look nae mair sad nor wae; For your marriage an your kirkin too Sal baith be in ae day.'

C

Kinloch's annotated copy of his Ancient Scottish Ballads, Kinloch MSS, IV, 180.

1 'The corn is turning ripe, Lord John, The nuts are growing fu, And ye are bound for your ain countrie, Fain wad I go wi you.'

2 'Wi me, Margret, wi me, Margret, What wad ye do wi me? I've mair need o a pretty little boy, To wait upon my steed.'

3 'It's I will be your pretty little boy, To wait upon your steed; And ilka town that we come to, A pack of hounds I'll lead.'

4 'My hounds will eat o the bread o wheat, And ye of the bread of bran; And then you will sit and sigh, That eer ye loed a man.'

5 The first water that they cam to, I think they call it Clyde, He saftly unto her did say, Lady Margret, will ye ride?

6 The first step that she steppit in, She steppit to the knee; Says, Wae be to ye, waefu water, For through ye I maun be.

7 The second step that she steppit in, She steppit to the middle, And sighd, and said, Lady Margaret, 'I've staind my gowden girdle.'

8 The third step that she steppit in, She steppit to the neck; The pretty babe within her sides, The cauld it garrd it squake.

9 'Lie still my babe, lie still my babe, Lie still as lang's ye may, For your father rides on horseback high, Cares little for us twae.'

10 It's whan she cam to the other side, She sat doun on a stane; Says, Them that made me, help me now, For I am far frae hame.

11 'How far is it frae your mither's bouer, Gude Lord John tell to me?' 'It's therty miles, Lady Margaret, It's therty miles and three: And yese be wed to ane o her serving men, For yese get na mair o me.'

12 Then up bespak the wylie parrot, As it sat on the tree, 'Ye lee, ye lee, Lord John,' it said, 'Sae loud as I hear ye lee.

13 'Ye say it's therty miles frae your mither's bouer, Whan it's but barely three; And she'll neer be wed to a serving man, For she'll be your ain ladie.'

14 ['O dinna ye see yon bonnie castle, Lies on yon sunny lea? And yese get ane o my mither's men, For yese get na mair o me.']

15 ['Well see I yon bonnie castle, Lies on yon sunny lea, But Ise neer hae nane o your mither's men, Tho I never gat mair o thee.']

16 [Whan he cam to the porter's yett He tirled at the pin, And wha sae ready as the bauld porter To open and lat him in.]

17 Monie a lord and fair ladie Met Lord John in the closs, But the bonniest face amang them a' Was hauding Lord John's horse.

18 [Monie a lord and lady bricht Met Lord John on the green, But the bonniest boy amang them a' Was standing by, him leen.]

19 Monie a lord and gay ladie Sat dining in the ha, But the bonniest face that was there Was waiting on them a'.

20 O up bespak Lord John's sister, A sweet young maid was she: 'My brither has brought a bonnie young page, His like I neer did see; But the red flits fast frae his cheek, And the tear stands in his ee.'

21 But up bespak Lord John's mither, She spak wi meikle scorn: 'He's liker a woman gret wi bairn, Than onie waiting-man.'

22 'It's ye'll rise up, my bonnie boy, And gie my steed the hay:' 'O that I will, my dear master, As fast as I can gae.'

23 She took the hay aneath her arm, The corn intil her hand, But atween the stable-door and the staw, Lady Margret made a stand.

24 [Whan bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' men boun for bed, Lord John, mither, and sister gay In ae bour they were laid.]

25 [Lord John had na weel gat aff his claise, Nor was he weel laid doun, Till his mither heard a bairn greet, And a woman's heavy moan.]

26 ['Win up, win up, Lord John,' she said, 'Seek neither hose nor shoon; For I've heard a bairn loud greet, And a woman's heavy moan.']

27 [Lord John raise, put on his claise, Sought neither hose nor shoon, Atween the ha and the stable-door He made na a step but ane.]

28 'O open the door, Lady Margaret, O open and let me in; I want to see if my steed be fed, Or my grey-hounds fit to rin.'

29 'I'll na open the door, Lord John,' she said, 'I'll na open it to thee, Till ye grant to me my ae request, And a puir ane it's to me.

30 'Ye'll gie to me a bed in an outhouse, For my young son and me, And the meanest servant in a' the place, To wait on him and me.'

31 [He's tane the door wi his fit, And he keppd it wi his knee, He made the door o double deals In splinders soon to flee.]

32 ['An askin, an askin, grant me, Lord John, An askin ye'll grant me; The meanest maid about the place To bring a glass o water to me.']

33 'I grant, I grant, Lady Margret,' he said, 'A' that, and mair frae me, The very best bed in a' the place To your young son and thee, And my mither, and my sister dear, To wait on him and thee.

34 'And a' thae lands, and a' thae rents, They sall be his and thine; Our wedding and our kirking day, They sall be all in ane.'

35 And he has tane Lady Margaret, And rowd her in the silk, And he has tane his ain young son, And washd him in the milk.

D

Kinloch MSS, VII, 325.

* * * * * * *

24 Lord John rose, put on his clothes, Sought neither stockens nor shoon, An between the ha and the stable He made not a step but one.

25 'O open, open, to me, Burd Ellen, O open an let me in:' 'O yes, O yes, will I, Lord John, But not till I can win; O yes, will I, Lord John,' she says, 'But I'm lyin wi your young son.'

26 He's taen the door wi his foot, An he kepped it wi his knee; He made the door of double deals In splinders soon to flee.

27 'An askin ye'll grant me, Lord John, An askin ye'll grant me; May the meanest maid about the place Bring a glass o water to me?'

28 'O hold your tongue, Burd Ellen,' he said, 'Lat a' your askins be; For the best maid about the house Shall bring a glass o wine to thee.

29 'An the best bed about it a', For my young son an thee; My mother and my ae sister Sal bear you company.

30 'Your marriage an your kirkin day They sal be both in ane, An a' these ha's an bowers, Burd Ellen, They sal be yours an mine.'

E

Harris MS., No 8, fol. 12 b: originally from Jannie Scott, an old nurse in Perthshire, about 1790.

1 'I beg you bide at hame, Margaret, An sew your silken seam; If ye waur in the wide Hielands, Ye wald be owre far frae hame.'

2 'I winna bide at hame,' she said, 'Nor sew my silken seam; For if I waur in the wide Hielands, I wald no be owre far frae hame.'

3 'My steed sall drink the blude-red wine, An you the water wan; I'll mak you sigh, an say, alace, That ever I loed a man!'

4 'Though your steed does drink the blude-red wine, An me the water wan, Yet will I sing, an merry be, That ever I loed a man.'

5 'My hounds shall eat the bread o wheat, An you the bread o bran; I'll mak you sigh, an say, alace, That ever you loed Lord John!'

6 'Though your hounds do eat the bread o wheat, An me the bread o bran, Yet will I sing, an merrie be, That ever I loed Lord John.'

7 He turned aboot his high horse head, An awa he was boun to ride; She kilted up her green clieden, An after him she gaed.

8 Whan they cam to that water Whilk a' man ca the Clyde, He turned aboot his high horse head, Said, Ladie, will you ride?

9 'I learnt it in my mother's bour, I wish I had learnt it weel, That I could swim this wan water As weel as fish or eel.'

10 Whan at the middle o that water, She sat doon on a stone; He turned aboot his high horse head, Says, Ladie, will ye loup on?

11 'I learnt in my mother's bour, I wish I had learnt it better, That I culd swim this wan water As weel as eel or otter.'

12 He has taen the narrow ford, An she has taen the wide; Lang, lang ere he was at the middle, She was sittin at the ither side.

13 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Wi sighen said that Fair Margaret, Alace, I'm far frae hame!

14 'Hoo mony miles is't to your castle? Noo Lord John, tell to me;' 'Hoo mony miles is't to my castle? It's thirty miles an three:' Wi sighen said that Fair Margaret, It'll never be gane by me!

15 But up it spak the wily bird, As it sat on the tree, 'Rin on, rin on noo, Fair Margaret, It scarcely miles is three.'

16 Whan they cam to the wide Hielands, An lichted on the green, Every an spak Erse to anither, But Margaret she spak nane.

17 Whan they waur at table set, An birlin at the best, Margaret set at a bye-table, An fain she wald hain rest.

18 'Oh mither, mither, mak my bed Wi clean blankets an sheets, An lay my futeboy at my feet, The sounder I may sleep.'

19 She has made Lord John his bed, Wi clean blankets an sheets, An laid his futeboy at his feet, But neer a wink culd he sleep.

20 'Win up, win up noo, Fair Margaret, An see that my steed has meat; See that his corn is in his travisse, Nor lyin amang his feet.'

21 Slowly, slowly rase she up, An slowly put she on, An slowly gaed she doon the stair, Aye makin a heavy moan.

* * * * * * *

22 'An asken, an asken, gude Lord John, I pray you grant it me; For the warst bed in a' your hoose, To your young son an me.'

23 'Your asken is but sma, Margaret, Sune grantet it shall be; For the best bed in a' my hoose Is owre little for thee.'

24 'An asken, an asken, gude Lord John, I pray you grant it me; For the warst ale in a' your hoose, That ye wald gie to me.'

25 'Your asken is but sma, Margaret, Sune grantet it sall be; For the best wine in a' my hoose Is owre little for thee.

26 'But cheer up your heart noo, Fair Margaret, For, be it as it may, Your kirken an your fair weddin Sall baith be on one day.'

F

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 114, from Mrs Arrot of Arberbrothick.

1 Lord Thomas stands in his stable-door, Seeing his steeds kaimd down; Lady Ellen sits at her bower-door, Sewing her silver seam.

2 'O will ye stay at hame, Ellen, And sew your silver seam? Or will ye to the rank highlands? For my lands lay far frae hame.'

3 'I winna stay at hame, Lord Thomas, And sew my silver seam; But I'll gae to the rank highlands, Tho your lands lay far frae hame.'

* * * * * * *

4 'An asking, an asking, Lord Thomas, I pray thee grant it me; How many miles into your fair tower, And house where you would be?'

5 'Your asking fair, Lady Ellen,' he says, 'Shall now be granted thee; For to my castle where it stands Is thirty miles and three:' 'O wae is me,' says Lady Ellen, 'It will never be run by me.'

6 But up and spak the wily pyot, That sat upon the tree: 'Sae loud, sae loud, ye fause, fause knight, Sae loud as I hear you lie!

7 'For to your dwelling-house,' it says, 'Of miles it's scantly three:' 'O weel is me,' says Lady Ellen; 'It shall be run by me.'

* * * * * * *

8 'O mither, mither, mak my bed, And mak it braid and wide, And lay my little page at my feet, Whatever may betide.'

* * * * * * *

9 'An asking, an asking, Lord Thomas, I pray thee grant it me; O grant me a cup of cold water, Between my young son and me.'

10 'What you do ask, Lady Ellen, Shall soon be granted thee; The best bread and the best wine, Between my young son and thee.'

11 'I ask again, my good Lord Thomas, I ask again of thee; The poorest cot-house in your land, Between my young son and me.'

12 'Your asking now, dear Lady Ellen, I quickly grant to thee; The best bower about my tower, Between my young son and thee.'

G

Buchan's MSS, II, 129.

1 The knight he stands in stable-door, Says he, I will go ride; The lady's kilted her gay cloathing, And ran low by his side.

2 He has ridden, and she has run, Till they came to yon water wan; He has ridden, and she has run, Like to his waiting man.

3 He has ridden, and she has run, Till they came on to Clyde; The knight he rode on high horseback, But the lady she bot wide.

4 The first step that the lady stepped, She stept into the knee; The bairn that was between her sides There he gied spartles three.

5 'Lie still, lie still, my bonny boy, Ye work your mother woe; Your father rides on high horseback, Cares little for us two.'

6 The nextand step that lady stepped. She stept into the pap; The bairn that was between her sides There spartled and he lap.

7 'Ly still, ly still, my bonny boy, You work your mother's woe; Your father rides on high horseback, Cares little for us two.'

8 In the middle of that water There stands a yird-fast stone; He turnd his horse head back again, Said, Lady, loup ye on.

9 She hadna ridden a mile, a mile, O never a mile but ane, Till she grew sick, and so weary She couldna ride nor gang.

10 'Ride on, ride on, my gay lady, You see not what I see; For yonder is my father's castle, A little beyond the lee, And ye'll get ane of my father's men. But, lady, neer lippen on me.'

11 There were four and twenty bonny ladies Led Willie frae bower to ha, But the bonniest lady among them a' Led his steed to the sta.

12 When they were at the table set, And sitting at their dine, Out it spake his mother dear. And she spake aye in time.

13 'Sometimes your boy's red, Willie, And other times he's wan; He looks like a woman wi bairn, But no ways like a man.'

14 'Win up, win up, my bonny boy, Go look your master's steed; See that his meat be at his head, And not among his feet.'

15 O healy, healy raise she up, And healy gaed she down, And healy opend the stable-door, And as healy gaed she in, And even among that big horse feet She bear her dear young son.

16 As Willie's mother was walking alone, Between the bower and ha, She thought she heard a bairn's greet And lady's moan in the sta.

17 'Gude make ye safe, my ae son Willie, Gude keep ye safe frae harm; Ye might hae chosen a lighter foot-boy Than a women in travilling.'

18 He hit the table wi his foot, He kept it wi his knee, Till silver cups and silver spoons Into the floor did flee.

19 There were fifteen steps into that stair, I wat he made them a' but three; He's to the stable gane in haste, And a' to see his gay lady.

20 'I am not come o sic low kin, Nor yet sic low degree, That you needed to banish me frae your sight, That ye left nae woman wi me.'

21 'I wish I'd drunken the wan water When I did drink the wine, Or when I left my lady gay, And her at sic a time.

22 'But up ye'll take my dear young son, And wash him wi the milk, And up ye'll take my lady gay And row her in the silk; For her kirking and her fair wedding Shall baith stand in ae day.'

H

Motherwell's MS., p. 277, from Marjory Johnston, servant to W. Parker, manufacturer, Paisley.

* * * * * * *

1 'Turn back, turn back, O Burd Alone, For the water's both broad and long:' First she went into the shoulders, And sine unto the chin.

2 'How far is it to your hall, Lord John? How far is it? I pray of thee:' 'The nearest way unto my hall Is thirty miles and three.

3 'Turn back, turn back, O Burd Alone, Ye'll sink before ye win owre:' 'I am too big with bairn,' she says, 'To sink or I win owre.'

4 'Turn back, turn back, O Burd Alone, Turn back, I pray of thee; For I've got a wife and seven bairns, I like far better than thee.'

5 And then spak a wild parrot, Sat high upon the tree: 'Gang on, gang on, O Burd Alone, [He likes nane better nor thee.]

6 'For Lord John has neither wife nor bairns, He likes better than thee, And the nearest way to Lord John's hall Is only short miles three.'

7 When she was come to Lord John's hall, Lords, knights and ladies braw Was there to welcome them hame; But the bravest in the ha, She waited at Lord John's back, Serving the tables a'.

8 When she was laid into her bed, Amang the servants a' ilk ane, The mother heard a babie greet, And a lady make a heavy maen.

9 'Rise up, rise up, Lord John,' she said, 'Bind on thy hose and shoon; Thow might hae got some other lady Than a lady big wi bairn.'

10 Lord John awa to the hay-loft, Where his lady lay; 'O rise, O rise, my love,' he says, 'O rise and let me in; It's I have got no loves without, But I've got one within.'

11 'I ask three favours of you, Lord John, I ask three favours of thee; I ask a bottle of your sma, sma beer, For your old son and me.'

12 'O rise, O rise, my love,' he says, 'O rise and let me in; My wine and gin is at your command, And that of my old son.'

13 'The next favour I ask of you, Lord John, The next favour I ask of thee, Is the meanest room in all your house, For your young son and me.

14 'The next favour I ask of you, Lord John, The next favour I ask of thee, Is the meanest maid in a' your house, To wait on your yong son and me.'

15 'O rise, O rise, my love,' he says, 'O rise and let me in; For thy bridal and thy banquet day Shall both be held in ane.'

I

Communicated by Dr Thomas Davidson, as learned from his aunt at Old Deer, about 185

1 Lord John stands in his stable-door, Just on his way to ride; Lady Ellen stands in her bower-door, Says, Bide, Lord John, abide!

* * * * * * *

2 He did ride, and she did run, A lief-lang simmer's day, Until they came till a wan water, That a' man did ca Tay.

3 The first step that she steppit in, She steppit tae the cweet; An sichan said that gay lady, I fear this water's deep!

4 The next step that she steppit in, She steppit tae the knee; An sichan said that gay lady, This water's deep for me!

5 Lord John hield down his high horse head, Said, Lady, will ye ride? 'O no! O no! kind sir,' she said, 'I'll rather choose tae wide.'

6 The next step that she steppit in, She steppit tae the chin; An sichan said that gay lady, I'll wide nae farrer in.

7 The firsten town that they cam till, She got a leash o huns tae lead, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

8 When bells were rung, and mass was sung, An a' was ready tae dine, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

9 When bells were rung, and mass was sung, An a' were bound for bed, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

J

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 30.

1 The knight stands in his stable-door, Says he, I will gae ride; A lady stands in her bower-door, Says, I'll ride by your side.

2 'Ye shall not follow me, Burd Helen, Except ye do this deed; That is, to saddle to me my horse, And bridle to me my steed, And every town that ye come to, A liesh o hounds to lead.'

3 'I will saddle to you your horse, Sae will I bridle your steed; And every town that we come to, A liesh o hounds I'll lead.'

4 Take warning a', ye maidens fair, That wear scarlet and brown; In virtue leave your lammas beds, To follow knights frae town.

5 'My dogs shall eat the white bread, Helen, And you the dust and bran; And you will sigh, and say, alas! That eer our loves began.'

6 'Your dogs may eat the gude white bread, And I the dust and bran; Yet will I sing, and say, well's me, That eer our loves began.'

7 'My horse shall drink the gude red wine, And you the water wan; And then you'll sigh, and say, alas! That eer our loves began.'

8 'Your horse may drink the gude red wine, And I the water wan; But yet I'll sing, and say, well's me, That eer our loves began.'

9 Then Willie lap on his white steed, And straight awa did ride; Burd Helen, drest in men's array, She walked by his side.

10 But he was neer sae lack a knight As ance woud bid her ride, And she was neer sae mean a may As ance woud bid him bide.

11 Sweet Willie rade, Burd Helen ran, A livelang summer's tide, Until she came to wan water, For a' men ca's it Clyde.

12 The first an step that she wade in, She wadit to the knee; 'Ohon, alas!' said that fair maid, 'This water's nae for me!'

13 The next an step that she wade in, She wadit to the pap; The babe within her sides twa, Cauld water gart it quack.

14 'Lie still, lie still, my bonny bairn, For a' this winna dee; Your father rides on high horseback, Minds neither you nor me.'

15 In the midst of Clyde's water, There stands a yird-fast stone; There he leant him ower his saddle-bow, And set that lady on, And brought her to the other side, Then set her down again.

16 'O see ye not yon goodly towers, And gowd towers stand sae hie? There is a lady in yonder bower Will sinder you and me.'

17 'I wish nae ill to your lady, She neer wishd nane to me; But I wish the maid maist o your love That drees far mair for thee.

18 'I wish nae ill to your lady, She neer comes in my thought; But I wish the maid maist o your love That dearest hae you bought.'

19 Four an twenty gay ladies Led Willie thro bower and ha; But the fairest lady amo them a' Led his horse to the sta.

20 Four an twenty gay ladies Were a' at dinner set; Burd Helen sat at a by-table, A bit she coudna eat.

21 Out it spake her Dow Isbel, A skilly dame was she: 'O whare got ye this fine foot-page Ye've brought alang wi thee?

22 'Sometimes his colour waxes red, Sometimes it waxes wan; He is liker a woman big wi bairn Nor be a waiting man.'

23 'Win up, win up, my boy,' he says, 'At my bidding to be, And gang and supper my gude steed, See he be litterd tee.'

24 Then she is into stable gane, Shut tee the door wi a pin, And even amang Willie's horse feet Brought hame her bonny young son.

25 When day was gane, and night was come, And a' man bound for bed, Sweet Willie and Dow Isbel In ae chamber were laid.

26 They hadna been well lien down, Nor yet well faen asleep, Till up it wakens Sweet Willie, And stood at Dow Isbel's feet.

27 'I dreamd a dreary dream this night, I wish it may be for guid; Some rogue hae broke my stable-door, And stown awa my steed.

28 'Win up, win up now, Dow Isbel, At my bidding to be, And ye'll gae to my stable-door, See that be true or lie.'

29 When she gaed to the stable-door, She heard a grievous groan; She thought she heard a bairn greet, But and a woman's moan.

30 'When I was in my bigly bower, I wore but what I would; This night I'm lighter 'mang Willie's horse feet, I fear I'll die for cold.

31 'When I was in my bigly bower, I wore gold to my tae; This night I'm lighter mang Willie's horse feet, And fear I'll die or day.

32 'When I was in my bigly bower, I wore scarlet and green; This night I'm lighter mang Willie's horse feet, And fear I'll die my lane.'

33 Dow Isbel now came tripping hame, As fast as gang coud she; 'I thought your page was not a man, Ye brought alang wi thee.

34 'As I gaed to your stable, Willie, I heard a grievous groan; I thought I heard a bairn greet, But and a woman's moan.

35 'She said, when in her bigly bower, She wore but what she would; But this night is lighter mang your horse feet, And fears she'll die for cold.

36 'She said, when in her bigly bower, She wore gold to her tae; But this night is lighter mang your horse feet, And fears she'll die or day.

37 'Win up, win up, now Sweet Willie, At my bidding to be, And speak some comfort to the maid, That's dreed sae much for thee.'

38 He is to the stable door gane, As fast as gang coud he; 'O open, O open, Burd Helen,' he says, 'Ye'll open the door to me.'

39 'That was never my mother's custom, And hope it's never be mine, A knight into her companie, When she drees a' her pine.'

40 'O open the door, Burd Helen,' he says, 'O open the door to me; For as my sword hangs by my gair, I'll gar it gang in three.'

41 'How can I open, how shall I open, How can I open to thee, When lying amang your great steed's feet, Your young son on my knee?'

42 He hit the door then wi his foot, Sae did he wi his knee, Till doors o deal, and locks o steel, In splinders gart he flee.

43 'An asking, asking, Sweet Willie, An asking ye'll grant me; The warst in bower in a' your towers, For thy young son and me.'

44 'Your asking's nae sae great, Burd Helen, But granted it shall be; The best in bower in a' my towers, For my young son and thee.'

45 'An asking, asking, sweet Willie, An asking ye'll grant me; The warst an woman about your bowers, To wait on him and me.'

46 'The best an woman about my bowers, To wait on him and thee, And that's my sister Dow Isbel, And a gude woman is she.

47 'Ye will take up my little young son, And wash him wi the milk; And ye'll take up my gay lady, And row her in the silk.

48 'Be favourable to my lady, Be favourable, if ye may; Her kirking and her fair wedding Shall baith stand on ae day.

49 'There is not here a woman living But her shall be my bride, And all is for the fair speeches I got frae her at Clyde.'

* * * * *

#A.#

And _throughout for_ &.

18^3, 19^3, 22^1, 23^1. four and twenty, _MS. has 24._

26^6. [rich]. _Percy._

27^2. they way.

28^1. goe thy.

28^3. ffarest.

28^5, 29^5. armes 2.

31^1. this and itt droue now. _The emendation, made without confidence, assumes, as does that to 32^3, ~and~ to be used as in '~Sir Cawline~.'_

32^3. did on.

#B. a.#

21^2. An a' man.

#b.#

1^1. I forbid you.

1^3. To leave your father's families.

1^4. And follow... frae the.

2^1. I am a gay ladie.

2^2. wear.

2^3. father's castle.

3^{1, 3} stands.

3^2. Says I am boon to ride.

3^4. Says I'll run by your side.

4^1. He has mounted on his berry brown steed.

4^3. She's clad her in a page's weed.

4^4. And ay as fast.

5^2. An folks.

5^3. He's lookd oer.

5^4. Says Ellen will you ride.

6^1. O I learnd it when I was a bairn.

7^1, 8^1, 9^1. that ladie.

7^2. It was aboon her knee.

7^3. Says Bird Ellen.

8^2. It was up till.

8^3. Ohon alas says Bird Ellen.

9^1. The thirden step.

9^2. touched her pap.

9^3. The bairn between her sides twa.

9^4. begood to.

10^2. You gie your mother pain.

10^4. And cares little for us twain.

11^1. O _wanting_. Clyde's.

11^2. There stands.

11^3. He has turnd about his berry brown steed.

11^4. And taen her up him behind.

12^4. Where this night you mean to be.

13^1. Do not ye see.

13^2. so far and hie.

13^3. ladie there, he says.

14. Altho there be a ladie there, Should sunder you and me, Betide my life, betide my death, I will go thither and see.

15^2, 16^2. brown.

15^3. Then you will.

15^4. That ever you lovd a man.

16^1. O 'tis I shall.

16^{3, 4}. But I neer shall live to cry alas, That ever I lovd a man.

17^{1, 2}. My horse shall eat the baken meat, And you shall eat the corn.

17^3. You then will.

18^1. O I shall eat the baken meat.

18^3. And I still shall bless.

20^4. her lane.

21^2. a' were.

22==#a# 23. ^3. O I can neither eat nor drink.

23==#a# 22. ^3. O I can neither eat nor drink.

24^{3, 4}. My son, where gat ye that foot-page You have brought hame to me?

25^1. cheeks look.

25^2. pale and wan.

25^3. He looks mair like a ladie wi bairn.

26. He has looked oer his left shoulder, And a loud laugh laughed he; Says, He's a squire's ae dear son, I got in the north countrie.

27^1. Win up, win up.

27^3. And so.

27^4. As fast as ever I may.

28^{2-4}. And the corn in her right hand, And she's hied her to the stable-door, As fast as she could gang.

29^2. Stand nearer to.

29^3. between my sides.

30^{1, 2}.

She has leand to the manger side And gien a grieveous groan.

30^4. brought home a son.

31==#a# 31, 32.

Then out it spake Lord John's mother, As she stood on the stair, 'I think I hear a woman groan, And a bairn greeting sair.'

32==#a# 33.

^1. O quickly, quickly raise he up.

^3. But hied him to the stable-door.

_33, wanting in_ #a#.

'Now open the door, Bird Ellen,' he says, 'O open and let me in, Or baith the door and the door cheeks Into the floor I'll fling.'

34. He is struck the door wi his right foot And pushed it wi his knee, Till iron bolts and iron bars In flinders he has gard flee: 'Be not afraid, Bird Ellen,' he says, 'For there's nane win in but me.'

_35, wanting in_ #a#.

The never a word spake that ladie, As on the floor she lay, But hushd her young son in her arms And turnd his face away.

36==#a# 35.

'Now up ye take my bonny young son And wash him wi the milk, And up ye take my fair ladie, And row her i the silk.'

_#a# 36 is wanting in #b#._

37. 'And smile on me now, Bird Ellen, And cast awa your care, For I'll make you ladie of a' my lands, And your son shall be my heir.'

38. 'Blessd be the day,' sayd Bird Ellen, 'That I followd you frae the town, For I'd rather far be your foot-page Than the queen that wears the crown.'

#C.#

_The stanzas bracketed are those which Kinloch interpolated in his later copy._

_27, 31, 32, were derived from #D#._

22^1. _In his later copy Kinloch has made the change_, Win up, win up, my bonnie boy.

#E.#

20^4. Or lyin: _see_ #G# 14.

#G.#

22^6. Aye.

#H.#

5^4. _This line is included in () in the MS., and was probably supplied by Motherwell._

#I.#

3^3, 4^3, 6^3. sichan: _MS._ "sich an, perhaps sichin."

#J.#

_4^3 seems to be a corruption of ~I forbid you leave your families~, or something of the kind: cf. #B a# 1^{1, 3}._

10^1. _The knight seems to be ~lack~ (wanting) rather in ~not~ bidding, or letting, her ride; his lack is nothing but his leave; but as the idea may conceivably be that it would be unknightly to ride with a lady behind--all ballads to the contrary--no emendation has been attempted._

21^3. five foot page.

[82] Caution is imperative where so much ground is covered, and no man should be confident that he can do absolute justice to poetry in a tongue that he was not born to; but foreign poetry is as likely to be rated too high as to be undervalued. I will give Grundtvig's impression, at least as competent a judge of popular ballads as ever spoke: "Den Rigdom paa stemningsfuld Lyrik, som i det hele taget hjemler den engelsk-skotske Folkevise den højeste poetiske Rang mellem alle sine Søskende, kommer ogsaa her til Syne, fordelt paa alle Opskrifter." Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, V, 187.

[83] Except in Swedish #A#, where, apparently by a mixture of two stories, the issue is tragic.

64

FAIR JANET

#A.# 'Fair Janet,' Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 1.

#B.# 'Fair Janet and Sweet William,' Motherwell's MS., p. 357.

#C.# 'Willie and Annet,' Herd's Scots Songs, 1769, p. 303.

#D.# 'Lord William,' Motherwell's MS., p. 271.

#E.# 'Willie and Janet,' Kinloch MSS, V, 283, II, 41.

#F.# 'Sweet Willie and Fair Maisry,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 97; Motherwell's MS., p. 606.

#G.# 'Sweet Willie,' Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 61.

#G#, as printed by Finlay, was made up from various fragments. Of his twenty-seven stanzas fourteen were taken from #C#, and these are now omitted. #A# 13, #D# 5, #G# 4, 5, #C# 19, are found also in some copies of 'Fair Annie of Lochroyan;' #C# 19 also in 'Sweet Willie and Fair Annie.' The very inappropriate question in #F# 4, "O will ye gang to the cards, Meggie," occurs in Jamieson's 'Clerk Saunders,' I, 84, st. 5. The inquiry in #G# 1, "Will you _burn_ for Sweet Willie?" may probably have been suggested by the ballad of 'Lady Maisry.' We have the oath by the thorn, #G# 13, in 'Glasgerion.' For the conclusion of #A#, #E#, see No 7, I, 96 ff.

Fair Janet, #A#, #B#, #E# [Annet, Maisry], loving Sweet Willie, and on the point of becoming a mother by him, is destined by her father to marry a French lord, #A#; a Southland lord, #B#, #E#, #G#. She implores Willie to fly with her over sea, #B#, #C#; to good green wood, #F#. They set sail, but her condition obliges her to return, #B#; her time comes before they can get away, #C#. She bears a child.[84] To avoid discovery, the babe is taken to Willie's mother, who very readily assumes charge of it. Scarcely has the child been born, when Janet's father comes with orders to busk the bride, #A#, #B#, #C# (?), #E#, #F#. She begs to be tenderly handled, as not being in good plight. They attire her gayly, and she selects Willie to lead her horse, or ride before her on her horse, to church, #A#, #B#, #E#. Her cheek is pale, her color goes and comes; it is suspected, and even suggested, that she has borne a bairn, or is near to doing so, #A# 22, #C# 14, #D# 10, #E# 11, #F# 25. She seeks to clear herself by an ambiguous oath, #E# 12, #G# 26, 27; Willie does this for her, #G# 11. After dinner, or supper, #A#, #B#, dancing is in order. Janet makes excuses to her brothers, her father, the bridegroom's man, and declines very decidedly the bridegroom's own invitation, with marked asperity in #A#, #B#. But with Willie she will dance though her heart should break in three. She takes three turns, and falls down dead. Willie gives the key of his coffer to his man, and bids him tell his mother that his horse has slain him. He would not survive Janet in any pure and full form of the story, and does not in #A#, #C#, #E#.

'Sweet William,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 307, borrows some stanzas at the beginning from 'Fair Janet.'

There are points of resemblance between 'Fair Janet' and a ballad very popular in Scandinavia and in Germany, which demand notice, though they may not warrant the assumption of community of origin.

The Scandinavian ballad is: #Danish#, 'Kong Valdemar og hans Søster,' Grundtvig, No 126, III, 63 ff, 911 f, #A-I#; #G# from a sixteenth-century manuscript, #A-F# from seventeenth-century manuscripts or print, the two last from recent tradition. #Icelandic#, 'Soffíu kvæði,' Íslenzk Fornkvæði, No 52, II, 152, #A-F#, all of which, according to Grundtvig, must be put, at latest, in the seventeenth century, though some are first met with in the eighteenth. #Färoë#, a single copy, almost Danish, from the beginning of this century, printed by Grundtvig, III, 67 f. #Norwegian#, three copies from recent tradition, Grundtvig, III, 69, 913 f. #Swedish#, all from this century, 'Liten Kerstin och Fru Sofia,' Arwidsson, No 53, I, 335-51, #A-E#; #F#, #G#, in Cavallius and Stephens' collection, Grundtvig, III, 70; #H#, 'Liten Kerstin och drottning Sofia,' Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 79.[85]

The #German# ballad is: #A.# 'Graf Hans von Holstein und seine Schwester Annchristine,' Müllenhoff, p. 492, No 48. #B.# 'Der grobe Bruder,' Wunderhorn, II, 272, 1808, Birlinger und Crecelius, II, 24. #C.# 'Der grausame Bruder,' Parisius, p. 38, No 12, A. #D.# 'Das Lied vom Pfalzgrafen,' Düntzer und Herder, Briefe Goethe's an Herder, I, 154. #E.# 'Der grausame Bruder,' Erk, Liederhort, p. 153, No 45. #F.# 'Christinchen,' Pröhle, p. 4, No 2. #G.# Wunderhorn, Birlinger und Crecelius, II, 247, No 4. #H.# Parisius, No 12, C. #I.# Reifferscheid, p. 107. #J.# 'Der böse Bruder,' Zuccalmaglio, p. 185, No 89. #K.# 'Der Pfalzgraf vom Rhein,' Wunderhorn, I, 259, 1806, Birlinger und Crecelius, II, 24. #L.# 'Der grausame Bruder,' Hoffmann und Richter, Schlesische Volkslieder, p. 49, No 27. #M.# Parisius, No 12, B. A version in broadside style, Erlach, II, 585, Doenniges, p. 217; compounded copies, Simrock, No 16, Scherer, Jungbrunnen, No 35, A.

According to the Scandinavian story, a king is informed by his queen, her inexorable enemy, that Kirstin, his sister, has just borne a child. The king sends for Kirstin, who is at some distance, to come to him immediately. She is obliged to make the journey on horseback. Upon her arrival the king puts her to a variety of tests, among these a long dance. Kirstin comes off so well that her brother says the queen has belied her. The queen then bares Kirstin's breast and makes milk flow from it. The king hereupon sends for heavy whips, and flogs his sister to the point of death. In the Icelandic and Färöe versions Kirstin dies of the dance, in her brother's arms. In the Swedish versions and in Danish #I# the king is Kirstin's father, not her brother. The Norwegian versions and Swedish #F#, #H# have a false conclusion: Kirstin survives, and is united to her lover. In Danish #A# the king had, before he learned the state of things, promised his sister to the son of the King of England, and in Danish #F#, #H#, #I#, Swedish #F#, and the Färöe ballad, Kirstin's lover is an English prince, who, in Danish #H#, comes to claim his mistress, and, finding her dead, kills the king. In Swedish #A# Kirstin dances with four, dances with five, dances with all the men of the court, and in Swedish #C#, #H# she tires out successively all the courtiers, the king, and the queen.

#A#, far the best preserved of the German versions, makes a hunter ask a count for his sister Annchristine. Being refused, as an unequal match, he tells the count that his sister, for all her nobility, has borne a child. The count maintains Annchristine to be a maid. The hunter says, Send for her, and see. The young lady is required to come on horseback. When her brother sees her approaching, with her long hair flowing, his confidence is strengthened. The hunter says, Make her dance. She dances seven hours, and her brother finds reason to continue of the same mind as before. The hunter says, Let us tighten her lacing, and, when that is done, milk springs from her breasts. Her brother gives her the choice between whipping and the sword. She chooses the former. He beats her till liver and lungs spring from her body. She then calls on him to stop; Prince Frederick of England is his brother-in-law. The count is much troubled, and promises everything if she will live. But Annchristine dies, and presently Prince Frederick appears. He has heard of what the count has done, cuts him to bits, and gives him to the crows.

In the other German versions the informant is generally of low rank, and sometimes professes to be father of the child. In #B#, #C#, #G#, #H#, #K# he is a kitchey-boy, a personage who plays no insignificant part in romantic story. The coming on horseback is wanting. The long dance is found in #B-F#. The father of the child is always the English King, who runs the brother through with his sword, #B#, #D#, #E#, #G#, #K#, #L#, or otherwise gives him his due.

The slight resemblance and the great difference of the Scottish story are apparent. Fair Janet has to go a certain distance on horseback, at a time when she is peculiarly ill fitted to do so, like the hapless Kirstin of the Scandinavian ballads and the German #A#, and she dies from dancing in her weak condition, as the lady does in the Icelandic and Färöe ballad. But both the ride and the dance are incidental to her forced marriage, and neither the ride nor the dance is employed as a test, as the dance always is in the other ballad, and as the ride is expressly devised to be in German #A# 6. The Scottish Janet is not constrained to dance, nor does she dance down all the men in the room. She declines every invitation except Willie's, and this, in some cases, she (very naturally and touchingly) encourages or incites; and her vital powers give way after three turns. All the unspeakably ferocious features of the Norse and German ballads are wanting, and the bound which divides the pathetic from the horrible is never passed.

A Breton ballad, 'Ar C'homt Gwillou,' 'Prinses ar Gwillou,' 'Le Comte Guillou,' 'La Princesse Le Guillou,' Luzel, II, 6-15, in three versions, has the probation by dancing. A count or prince, returning to his mistress after a considerable absence, happens to hear a shepherdess singing a song, of which he himself is unfortunately the subject. The lady has had a child. Fearing to encounter her injured lover, she tries to pass off a younger sister for herself, but, as may be imagined, this desperate artifice does not succeed. She is told what is said of her, and hopes she may melt like butter if ever she had daughter or son. The count calls out, Play up, musicians, that we may see how this damsel will step out. The young woman pleads that she is suffering from fever, and cannot dance just now, but the count strikes her on the breast so that milk spurts on her gown, #A#. He kills her.[86]

There is also a Magyar ballad, in which a jealous or offended lover makes his mistress dance till her boots are full of blood, as Kjersti's are in Norwegian #A#, #B#: 'Darvas Kis Clement,' Aigner, p. 110.

One or two correspondences with the Scandinavian-German ballad will require to be noted under 'Lady Maisry,' which immediately follows.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 7; #F# by Gerhard, p. 97; a combination of #A#, #C# and others by Grundtvig, No 39.

A

Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 1, as sung by an old woman in Perthshire.

1 'Ye maun gang to your father, Janet, Ye maun gang to him soon; Ye maun gang to your father, Janet, In case that his days are dune.'

2 Janet's awa to her father, As fast as she could hie: 'O what's your will wi me, father? O what's your will wi me?'

3 'My will wi you, Fair Janet,' he said, 'It is both bed and board; Some say that ye loe Sweet Willie, But ye maun wed a French lord.'

4 'A French lord maun I wed, father? A French lord maun I wed? Then, by my sooth,' quo Fair Janet, 'He's neer enter my bed.'

5 Janet's awa to her chamber, As fast as she could go; Wha's the first ane that tapped there, But Sweet Willie her jo?

6 'O we maun part this love, Willie, That has been lang between; There's a French lord coming oer the sea, To wed me wi a ring; There's a French lord coming oer the sea, To wed and tak me hame.'

7 'If we maun part this love, Janet, It causeth mickle woe; If we maun part this love, Janet, It makes me into mourning go.'

8 'But ye maun gang to your three sisters. Meg, Marion, and Jean; Tell them to come to Fair Janet, In case that her days are dune.'

9 Willie's awa to his three sisters, Meg, Marion, and Jean: 'O haste, and gang to Fair Janet, I fear that her days are dune.'

10 Some drew to them their silken hose, Some drew to them their shoon, Some drew to them their silk manteils, Their coverings to put on, And they're awa to Fair Janet, By the hie light o the moon.

* * * * * * *

11 'O I have born this babe, Willie, Wi mickle toil and pain; Take hame, take hame, your babe, Willie, For nurse I dare be nane.'

12 He's tane his young son in his arms, And kisst him cheek and chin, And he's awa to his mother's bower, By the hie light o the moon.

13 'O open, open, mother,' he says, 'O open, and let me in; The rain rains on my yellow hair, And the dew drops oer my chin, And I hae my young son in my arms, I fear that his days are dune.'

14 With her fingers lang and sma She lifted up the pin, And with her arms lang and sma Received the baby in.

15 'Gae back, gae back now, Sweet Willie, And comfort your fair lady; For where ye had but ae nourice, Your young son shall hae three.'

16 Willie he was scarce awa, And the lady put to bed, Whan in and came her father dear: 'Make haste, and busk the bride.'

17 'There's a sair pain in my head, father, There's a sair pain in my side; And ill, O ill, am I, father, This day for to be a bride.'

18 'O ye maun busk this bonny bride, And put a gay mantle on; For she shall wed this auld French lord, Gin she should die the morn.'

19 Some put on the gay green robes, And some put on the brown; But Janet put on the scarlet robes, To shine foremost throw the town.

20 And some they mounted the black steed, And some mounted the brown; But Janet mounted the milk-white steed, To ride foremost throw the town.

21 'O wha will guide your horse, Janet? O wha will guide him best?' 'O wha but Willie, my true-love? He kens I loe him best.'

22 And when they cam to Marie's kirk, To tye the haly ban, Fair Janet's cheek looked pale and wan, And her colour gaed an cam.

23 When dinner it was past and done, And dancing to begin, 'O we'll go take the bride's maidens. And we'll go fill the ring.'

24 O ben than cam the auld French lord. Saying, Bride, will ye dance with me? 'Awa, awa, ye auld French lord, Your face I downa see.'

25 O ben than cam now Sweet Willie, He cam with ane advance: 'O I'll go tak the bride's maidens, And we'll go tak a dance.'

26 'I've seen ither days wi you, Willie, And so has mony mae, Ye would hae danced wi me mysel, Let a' my maidens gae.'

27 O ben than cam now Sweet Willie, Saying, Bride, will ye dance wi me? 'Aye, by my sooth, and that I will, Gin my back should break in three.'

28 She had nae turned her throw the dance, Throw the dance but thrice, Whan she fell doun at Willie's feet, And up did never rise.

29 Willie's taen the key of his coffer, And gien it to his man: 'Gae hame, and tell my mother dear My horse he has me slain; Bid her be kind to my young son, For father he has nane.'

30 The tane was buried in Marie's kirk, And the tither in Marie's quire; Out of the tane there grew a birk, And the tither a bonny brier.

B

Motherwell's MS., p. 357, from the recitation of Agnes Lyle, Kilbarchan.

1 'If you do love me weel, Willie, Ye'll shew to me truelie; Ye'll build to me a bonnie ship, And set her on the sea.'

2 He did love her very weel, He shewed to her trulie; He builded her a bonnie ship, And set her on the sea.

3 They had not sailed one league, one league, One league but only three, Till sharp, sharp showers fair Janet took, She grew sick and like to die.

4 'If you do love me weel, Willie, Ye'll shew to me trulye; Ye'll tak me to my mother's bower, Whare I was wont to be.'

5 He did love her very weel, He shewed to her trulye; He took her to her mother's bower, Whare she was wont to be.

6 'It's ye'll stand up at my richt side, You will on tiptaes stand, Until you hear your auld son weep, But an your Janet mourn.

7 'Come take your auld son in your arms, He is both large and lang; Come take your auld son in your arms, And for a nourice gang.'

8 He is to his mother's bowers, An hour or it struck nine: 'I have a babe into my arms, He'll die for nouricing.'

9 'Goe home, go home, my son,' she says, 'And mak thy Jenny blythe; If ae nurse winna sere her son, It's I'll provide him five.'

10 Fair Janet was nae weel lichter, Nor weel doun on her side, Till ben and cam her father dear, Saying, Wha will busk our bride?

11 Ben and cam her brethren dear, Saying, Wha will busk our bride? And wha will saddle our bride's horse? Whom ahint will she ride?

12 'Hold your tongue, my brethren dear, And let your folly be, For I'm sae fair and full of hair Sma busking will serve me.

13 'Hold your tongue, my brethren dear, And let your folly be, For I will ride behint William, He will best wait on me.

14 'Willie, lay the saddle saft, And lead the bridle soun, And when we come to Mary's Kirk, Ye'll set me hooly down.'

15 Supper scarslie was owre, Nor musick weel fa'n to, Till ben and cam the bride's brethren, Saying, Bride, ye'll dance wi me: 'Awa, awa, my brethren dear, For dancing's no for me.'

16 Ben and came her ain bridegroom, Saying, Bride, ye'll dance wi me; She says, Awa, awa, ye southland dog, Your face I downa see.

17 Ben and cam then Sweet Willie, Saying, Bride, ye'll dance wi me: 'Oh I will dance the floor once owre, Tho my heart should break in three.'

18 'Oh no, oh no,' said Sweet William, 'Let no such things eer be; But I will cut my glove in two, And I'll dance for thee and me.'

19 She hadna danced the floor once owre, I'm sure she hadna thrice, Till she fell in a deadly swound, And from it neer did rise.

20 Out and spak her ain bridegroom, And an angry man was he: 'This day she has gien me the geeks, Yet she must bear the scorn; There's not a bell in merry Linkum Shall ring for her the morn.'

21 Out and spoke then Sweet William, And a sorry man was he: 'Altho she has gien you the gecks, She will not bear the scorn; There's not a bell in merry Linkum But shall ring for her the morn.'

22 There was not a bell in merry Linkum But they tinkled and they rang, And a' the birds that flew above, They changed their notes and sang.

C

Herd's Scots Songs, 1769, p. 303: I, 162, ed. 1776.

1 Livd ance twa luvers in yon dale, And they luvd ither weel; Frae evning late to morning aire Of luving luvd their fill.

2 'Now, Willie, gif you luve me weel, As sae it seems to me, Gar build, gar build a bonny schip, Gar build it speedilie.

3 'And we will sail the sea sae green, Unto some far countrie, Or we'll sail to some bonie isle, Stands lanely midst the sea.'

4 But lang or ere the schip was built, Or deckd, or rigged out, Came sick a pain in Annet's back That down she coud na lout.

5 'Now, Willie, gif ye luve me weel, As sae it seems to me, O haste, haste, bring me to my bowr, And my bowr-maidens three.'

6 He's taen her in his arms twa, And kissd her, cheik and chin; He's brocht her to her ain sweet bowr, But nae bowr-maid was in.

7 'Now leave my bower, Willie,' she said, 'Now leave me to my lane; Was nevir man in a lady's bower When she was travelling.'

8 He's stepped three steps down the stair, Upon the marble stane; Sae loud's he heard his young son's greet, But and his lady's mane!

9 'Now come, now come, Willie,' she said, 'Tak your young son frae me, And hie him to your mother's bower, With speed and privacie.'

10 He's taen his young son in his arms, He's kissd him, cheik and chin; He's hied him to his mother's bower, By th' ae light of the moon.

11 And with him came the bold barone, And he spake up wi pride: 'Gar seek, gar seek the bower-maidens, Gar busk, gar busk the bryde.'

12 'My maidens, easy with my back, And easy with my side; O set my saddle saft, Willie, I am a tender bryde.'

13 When she came to the burrow-town, They gied her a broch and ring, And when she came to..., They had a fair wedding.

14 O up then spake the norland lord, And blinkit wi his ee: 'I trow this lady's born a bairn,' Then laucht loud lauchters three.

15 And up then spake the brisk bridegroom, And he spake up wi pryde: 'Gin I should pawn my wedding-gloves, I will dance wi the bryde.'

16 'Now had your tongue, my lord,' she said, 'Wi dancing let me be; I am sae thin in flesh and blude, Sma dancing will serve me.'

17 But she's taen Willie be the hand, The tear blinded her ee: 'But I wad dance wi my true-luve, But bursts my heart in three.'

18 She's taen her bracelet frae her arm, Her garter frae her knee: 'Gie that, gie that to my young son, He'll neer his mother see.'

* * * * * * *

19 'Gar deal, gar deal the bread, mother, Gar deal, gar deal the wyne; This day hath seen my true-love's death, This nicht shall witness myne.'

D

Motherwell's MS., p. 271, "from Margery Johnston, who had it of her grand-aunt, a very old woman."

* * * * * * *

1 'It never was my mother's fashion, As little will 't be mine, For to hae gay lords within my room When ladies are travailing.'

2 Lord William was scarsely down the stair, A step but only ane, Till he heard his auld son gie a cry, And his lady a heavy maen.

3 'Turn back, turn back, Lord William,' she says, 'Take thy auld son in thy coat-neuk, And see and reach thy mother's bowers Twa hours before day comes.'

4 He's awa wi his auld son in his coat-neuk, As fast as he can run, And there he's reached his mother's bowers, Twa hours before day came.

5 'O rise, O rise, my mother dear, O rise and let me in, For I've my auld son in my coat-neuk, And he shivers at the chin.'

6 'Ye're welcome hame to me, Lord William, And so is thy auld son; It's where ye had but ae nourice, Thy auld son he'll hae four.'

7 His lady was scarsely in her bed, Nor well faln owre asleep, When four and twenty knights and lords Came for the bride at last.

8 They dressed her up, they dressed her down, They dressed her wondrous fine, And just before her ain bedside She lost her colour clean.

9 'Be hooly wi my head, maidens, Be hooly wi my hair, For it was washen late last night, And now it's very sair.'

10 Out then spoke a southern lord, And oh but he spak bauld: 'She is the likest that bore a child That eer my eyes did see.'

11 Up then spak her auld, auld father, And oh he spoke in time: 'She neer bore a child since her birth Except it was yestreen.'

12 Out then spoke a northern lord: 'It's bride, will ye dance wi me?' 'Oh no, oh no, you northland lord, It's dancing's no for me.'

13 Out then spoke a southland lord: 'It's bride, will ye dance wi me?' 'Oh no, oh no, you southland lord, I would as lief chuse to die.'

14 Out then spoke her ain bridegroom: 'O bride, will ye dance wi me?' 'Oh no, oh no, my ain bridegroom, It's dancing's no for me.'

15 Out then spoke her ain Willy, And oh he spoke fu fine: 'O bride, O bride, will ye dance wi me,' . . . . . . .

16 'Oh yes, oh yes, Willie,' she said, 'It's I will dance with thee; Oh yes, I'll dance, dear Willie,' she said, 'Tho my back it gaes in three.'

17 She leaned her head on Willie's breast, And her back unto the wa: 'O there's the key of my coffer, And pay weel the nouriss fee, And aye when ye look on your auld son, Ye may aye think on me.'

E

Kinloch MSS, V, 283, II, 41, from Mary Barr, Clydesdale.

1 Willie and Fair Janet Sat a' day on yon hill; And Janet she took sair pains, And O but she grew ill.

2 'Fetch a woman to me, Willie, O fetch a woman to me, For without the help of woman, Willie, Surely I will dee.'

3 'O tie a napkin on my face, That naething I may see, And what can a woman do, Janet, But I will do for thee?'

* * * * * * *

4 She was na scarcely brought to bed, Nor yet laid on her side, Till in and cam her father there, Crying, Fy, gae busk the bride.

5 'A wearyed bride am I, father, A wearyed bride am I; Must I gae wed that southlan lord, And let Sweet Willie abe?'

* * * * * * *

6 'Now chuse, now chuse now, Fair Janet, What shall your cleeding be; Now chuse, now chuse now, Fair Janet, And I will gie it to thee.

7 'Whether will you hae it of the berry brown, Or of the holland green; Or will you hae it of the crimson red, Most lovely to be seen?'

8 'I will not hae't of the berry brown, Nor yet o the holly green; But I will hae't of the crimson red, Most lovely to be seen.'

9 'Now chuse, now chuse now, Fair Janet, What man you'll ride behind:' 'O wha sae fitting as Sweet Willie? He'll fit my saddle fine.'

10 O they rode on, and they rode on, Till they cam to Merrytown green; But Sweet Willie and Fair Janet Cam aye hoolie ahin.

11 O whan they cam to Merrytown, And lighted on the green, Monie a bluidy aith was sworn That our bride was wi bairn.

12 Out and spake the bonny bride, And she swore by her fingers ten: 'If eer I was wi bairn in my life, I was lighter sin yestreen.'

13 Up and raise he the bridegroom, Says, Bride, will ye dance wi me? 'Dance on, dance on, bridegroom,' she says, 'For I'll dance nane wi thee.'

14 Up and raise her father then, Says, Bride, will ye dance wi me? 'Dance on, my father,' she replied, 'I pray thee let me be.'

15 Then up and raise he Sweet Willie, And he had meikle pride: 'I'll lay my gloves in the bride's han, And I'll dance for the bride.'

16 'O no, O no, O Sweet Willie, O no, that shall na be; For I will dance wi thee, Willie, Tho my back should fa in three.'

17 She had na run a reel, a reel, A reel but barely three, Till pale and wan grew Fair Janet, And her head took Willie's knee.

18 Out and spake then the bridegroom, And he spake wi great scorn: 'There's not a bell in Merrytown kirk Shall ring for her the morn.'

19 Out and spak he Sweet Willie, And his heart was almost gane: ''Tis a the bells in Merrytown kirk Shall ring for her the morn.'

20 Willie was buried in Mary's kirk, etc., etc., etc.

F

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 97; Motherwell's MS., p. 606.

1 Hey, love Willie, and how, love Willie, And Willie my love shall be; They're thinking to sinder our lang love, Willie; It's mair than man can dee.

2 'Ye'll mount me quickly on a steed, A milk-white steed or gray, And carry me on to gude greenwood, Before that it be day.'

3 He mounted her upon a steed, He chose a steed o gray; He had her on to gude greenwood, Before that it was day.

4 'O will ye gang to the cards, Meggie? Or will ye gang wi me? Or will ye hae a bower-woman, To stay ere it be day?'

5 'I winna gang to the cards,' she said, 'Nor will I gae wi thee, Nor will I hae a bower-woman, To spoil my modestie.

6 'Ye'll gie me a lady at my back, An a lady me beforn, An a midwife at my twa sides, Till your young son be born.

7 'Ye'll do me up, and further up, To the top o yon greenwood tree; For every pain myself shall hae, The same pain ye maun drie.'

8 The first pain that did strike Sweet Willie, It was into the side; Then sighing sair said Sweet Willie, These pains are ill to bide!

9 The nextan pain that strake Sweet Willie, It was into the back; Then sighing sair said Sweet Willie, These pains are women's wreck!

10 The nextan pain that strake Sweet Willie, It was into the head; Then sighing sair said Sweet Willie, I fear my lady's dead!

11 Then he's gane on, and further on, At the foot o yon greenwood tree; There he got his lady lighter, Wi his young son on her knee.

12 Then he's taen up his little young son, And kissd him, cheek and chin, And he is on to his mother, As fast as he could gang.

13 'Ye will take in my son, mother, Gie him to nurses nine; Three to wauk, and three to sleep, And three to gang between.'

14 Then he has left his mother's house, And frae her he has gane, And he is back to his lady, And safely brought her hame.

15 Then in it came her father dear, Was belted in a brand: 'It's nae time for brides to lye in bed, When the bridegroom 's send 's in town.

16 'There are four-and-twenty noble lords A' lighted on the green; The fairest knight amang them a', He must be your bridegroom.'

17 'O wha will shoe my foot, my foot? And wha will glove my hand? And wha will prin my sma middle, Wi the short prin and the lang?'

18 Now out it speaks him Sweet Willie, Who knew her troubles best: 'It is my duty for to serve, As I'm come here as guest.

19 'Now I will shoe your foot, Maisry, And I will glove your hand, And I will prin your sma middle, Wi the sma prin and the lang.'

20 'Wha will saddle my steed,' she says, 'And gar my bridle ring? And wha will hae me to gude church-door, This day I'm ill abound?'

21 'I will saddle your steed, Maisry, And gar your bridle ring, And I'll hae you to gude church-door, And safely set you down.'

22 'O healy, healy take me up, And healy set me down, And set my back until a wa, My foot to yird-fast stane.'

23 He healy took her frae her horse, And healy set her down, And set her back until a wa, Her foot to yird-fast stane.

24 When they had eaten and well drunken, And a' had thornd fine, The bride's father he took the cup, For to serve out the wine.

25 Out it speaks the bridegroom's brother, An ill death mat he die! 'I fear our bride she's born a bairn, Or else has it a dee.'

26 She's taen out a Bible braid, And deeply has she sworn; 'If I hae born a bairn,' she says, 'Sin yesterday at morn,

27 'Or if I've born a bairn,' she says, 'Sin yesterday at noon, There's nae a lady amang you a' That woud been here sae soon.'

28 Then out it spake the bridegroom's man, Mischance come ower his heel! 'Win up, win up, now bride,' he says, 'And dance a shamefu reel.'

29 Then out it speaks the bride hersell, And a sorry heart had she: 'Is there nae ane amang you a' Will dance this dance for me?'

30 Then out it speaks him Sweet Willie, And he spake aye thro pride: 'O draw my boots for me, bridegroom, Or I dance for your bride.'

31 Then out it spake the bride hersell: O na, this maunna be; For I will dance this dance mysell, Tho my back shoud gang in three.

32 She hadna well gane thro the reel, Nor yet well on the green, Till she fell down at Willie's feet As cauld as ony stane.

33 He's taen her in his arms twa, And haed her up the stair; Then up it came her jolly bridegroom, Says, What's your business there?

34 Then Willie lifted up his foot, And dang him down the stair, And brake three ribs o the bridegroom's side, And a word he spake nae mair.

35 Nae meen was made for that lady, When she was lying dead; But a' was for him Sweet Willie, On the fields for he ran mad.

G

Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 61.

1 'Will you marry the southland lord, A queen of fair England to be? Or will you burn for Sweet Willie, The morn upon yon lea?'

2 'I will marry the southland lord, Father, sen it is your will; But I'd rather it were my burial-day, For my grave I'm going till.

3 'O go, O go now, my bower-wife, O go now hastilie, O go now to Sweet Willie's bower, And bid him cum speak to me.'

* * * * * * *

4 And he is to his mother's bower, As fast as he could rin: 'Open, open, my mother dear, Open, and let me in.

5 'For the rain rains on my yellow hair, The dew stands on my chin, And I have something in my lap, And I wad fain be in.'

6 'O go, O go now, Sweet Willie, And make your lady blithe, For wherever you had ae nourice, Your young son shall hae five.'

7 Out spak Annet's mother dear, An she spak a word o' pride; Says, Whare is a' our bride's maidens, They're no busking the bride?

8 'O haud your tongue, my mother dear, Your speaking let it be, For I'm sae fair and full o flesh Little busking will serve me.'

9 Out an spak the bride's maidens, They spak a word o pride; Says, Whare is a' the fine cleiding? It's we maun busk the bride.

10 'Deal hooly wi my head, maidens, Deal hooly wi my hair; For it was washen late yestreen, And it is wonder sair.'

* * * * * * *

11 And Willie swore a great, great oath, And he swore by the thorn, That she was as free o a child that night As the night that she was born.

12 'Ye hae gien me the gowk, Annet, But I'll gie you the scorn; For there's no a bell in a' the town Shall ring for you the morn.'

13 Out and spak then Sweet Willie: Sae loud's I hear you lie! There's no a bell in a' the town But shall ring for Annet and me.

* * * * * * *

* * * * *

#E.#

_The copy in Kinloch MSS, II, 41, has been revised by Mr Kinloch. His more important changes are as follows_:

1^1. Sweet Willie.

1^3. took in labor-pains.

2^1. Gae fetch.

2^3. For but.

2^4. It's surely.

3^3. And what a woman can do, Janet.

3^4. That I.

4^4. Says, Fy.

6^{1, 3}. now chuse thee, Fair Janet.

7^2, 8^2. hollin.

10^2, 11^1, 18^3, 19^3. Marytoun.

10^4. Cam riding.

12^1. Then out.

14^4. ye let me abee.

18^1. the bridegroom then.

19^1. But out.

19^2. His heart.

20. Fair Janet was buried in Mary's kirk, Sweet Willie in Mary's quier, And out o the tane there sprang a rose, Out o the tither a brier.

21. And aye they grew, and aye they threw, Till thae twa they did meet, That ilka ane might plainly see They war twa lovers sweet.

#G.#

1^3. _Var._ mourn for. _11, in Finlay, follows 13. Fourteen stanzas, taken from #C#, have been omitted._

[84] She bids Willie leave her bower while she is in travail, #C# 7; in default of bower-woman, Willie offers to bandage his eyes and do a woman's part, #E# 3, after which a stanza is doubtless lost, in which man's aid would be rejected: cf. No 15, I, 182. #F# has a strange passage, 6-10 (belonging, perhaps, to 'Leesome Brand'), in which the lady, after asking that she may have the attendance of three women, selects the top of a tree for her labor, and informs Willie that he will have to drie every pain that she herself has, which experience duly follows.

[85] Danish #E# is translated by Prior, II, 99.

[86] La Fidanzata Infedele, Nigra, Rivista Contemporanea, XXXI, 21, and 'L'adultera,' Ferraro, Canti p. monferrini, p. 5, are the same ballad as the Breton, but the dance is not proposed in these.

65

LADY MAISRY

#A.# 'Lady Maisry,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 24; Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 73.

#B.# Motherwell's MS., p. 422, communicated by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe.

#C.# 'Janet,' Motherwell's MS., p. 472.

#D.# 'Lady Margery,' Campbell MSS, II, 70.

#E.# 'Lady Marjory,' Motherwell's MS., p. 1; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 234.

#F.# The Scots [Edinburgh] Magazine, 1822, LXXXIX 734.

#G.# Notes and Queries, Second Series, IX, 193.

#H.# 'Young Prince James,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 103.

#I. a.# 'Bonnie Susie Cleland,' Motherwell's MS., p. 235, Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 221. #b.# 'Susie Cleland,' Motherwell's MS., p. 179. #c.# 'Susie Cleland,' Motherwell's MS., p. 181.

#A# was No 12 in William Tytler's Brown manuscript, and stanzas 1, 21, 22, of that copy are cited by Anderson in his letter to Percy, Nichols's Illustrations, VII, 177. Jamieson, who made a few changes in printing from his manuscript, attributes, by an oversight, the ballad to Mrs Arrot: compare Popular Ballads, I, pp 66 and 59. His copy is repeated by Motherwell, p. 71. #C#, of which no account is given by Motherwell, is hardly more than a variety of #B#. There is a copy in the Abbotsford manuscript, "Scottish Songs," which is more considerably tampered with, in the way of change, omission, and insertion.[87]

All the versions are in accord as to the material points of the story. Lady Maisry rejects the suit of all the lords in the north country, #A#; she has given her love to an English lord. Her lover's seat is Strawberry Castle, #D#, #E#, #F#; Adam's Tower, #H#; he lives at London, #G#. Maisry has been at Strawberry Castle for a time, and has there learned some unco lair, #D#, #E#.[88] It is discovered that Maisry goes with bairn. Her brother, #A#, #H#, father, #I#, informed to this effect, requires her to renounce her English lord, but she refuses; her father offers her the choice of marrying an auld man or burning, #D#. In the other versions the family set about preparations for burning her without attempting any arrangement. Maisry, warned of her approaching fate, calls for a boy to carry word to England, and a light-footed and heartily devoted young messenger takes her errand. The English lord asks if his biggins are broken, his towers won, or is his lady lighter, and is told that his lady is to be burnt for him that very day. Horses are instantly saddled: a black, a brown, are foundered, a milk-white [a dapple-gray], fair fall the mare that foaled that foal! holds out, #B#, #C#, #E#, #F#. In #D# fifteen stout steeds are burst, yet the little foot-page runs aye before, crying, Mend your pace an you may! Maisry, in the flames, hears her lover's horn, hears his bridle ring, #A#, #E#, #F#, #H#. "Beet on!" she cries; "I value you not one straw. Mend up the fire, brother; I see him coming that will soon mend it up to thee."[89] In #A#, #H# she cries out, when her lover appears, that if her hands had been free she would have cast out his young son. He leaps into the fire for a last kiss; her body falls apart, #B-G#. He threatens an awful retaliation: he will burn father and mother, and the chief of all her kin (who, no doubt, had been concerned in this auto da fé). Vengeance glutted, he will throw himself into the flames, #A#, #F#; he will take the pilgrim's cloak and staff, #C#. The foot-page shall be heir of his land, #C#; he will remember the bonny boy that ran the errand, #E#.[90]

Maisry, Margery, is the heroine's name in #A#, #D-H#, #J#; Janet in #B#, #C#; Susie Cleland in #I#. The hero has a name only in #A#, Lord William, and in #H#, Prince James.

'Lady Maisry' has a limited, and perhaps quite accidental, resemblance to the Scandinavian-German ballad spoken of in the preface to 'Fair Janet.' The lapse of the heroine is visited with a fearful death at the hand of brother or father, and the lover who was partner to her trespass appears on the scene immediately after, and takes his revenge. A kitchey-boy is informant in #A#, as in some versions of the German story.

The regular penalty for incontinence in an unmarried woman, if we are to trust the authority of romances, is burning. This, according to the well-known passage in Ariosto, Orlando Furioso, IV, 58, 59, was l'aspra legge di Scozia, empia e severa, though it might be as difficult to point out a law to that effect in any European code as a corresponding patria potestas.[91] Some ballad cases are: Scandinavian (Danish, Swedish, Norwegian, Icelandic), 'Ildpröven' and 'Møen paa Baalet,' Grundtvig, Nos 108, 109, II, 577-590, III, 904 f, Eva Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 30, No 13; Spanish and Portuguese, 'De la infanta y don Galvan,' Wolf and Hofmann, Primavera, No 159, II, 92; 'Conde Claros de Montalvan,' Primavera, No 191, II, 374; 'La infanta seducida,' Milá, Romancerillo Catalan, No 258, #A-M#, pp 249-54; 'L'infanta,' Briz, IV, 39; 'Dom Carlos de Montealbar,' etc., Braga, Romanceiro, p. 79 ff, Nos 31, 32, 33, Cantos pop. do Archipelago Açoriano, p. 246, No 25, Almeida-Garrett, II, 203; 'Dona Ausenda,' Almeida-Garrett, II, 177, 'Dona Aldonça,' Estacio da Veiga, p. 75; Hardung, Romanceiro Portuguez, I, 180-204. To these add the prose Merlin, ed. Wheatley, I, 16; L'Histoire plaisante du noble Siperis de Vinevaulx, etc., cited by Liebrecht, Dunlop, p. 467, note 117.[92]

* * * * *

#A# is translated, after Jamieson, I, 73, by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 38; #I, a#, the same, p. 322.

A

Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 24.

1 The young lords o the north country Have all a wooing gone, To win the love of Lady Maisry, But o them she woud hae none.

2 O they hae courted Lady Maisry Wi a' kin kind of things; An they hae sought her Lady Maisry Wi brotches an wi' rings.

3 An they ha sought her Lady Maisry Frae father and frae mother; An they ha sought her Lady Maisry Frae sister an frae brother.

4 An they ha followd her Lady Maisry Thro chamber an thro ha; But a' that they coud say to her, Her answer still was Na.

5 'O had your tongues, young men,' she says, 'An think nae mair o me; For I've gien my love to an English lord, An think nae mair o me.'

6 Her father's kitchy-boy heard that, An ill death may he dee! An he is on to her brother, As fast as gang coud he.

7 'O is my father an my mother well, But an my brothers three? Gin my sister Lady Maisry be well, There's naething can ail me.'

8 'Your father and your mother is well, But an your brothers three; Your sister Lady Maisry's well, So big wi bairn gangs she.'

9 'Gin this be true you tell to me, My mailison light on thee! But gin it be a lie you tell, You sal be hangit hie.'

10 He's done him to his sister's bowr, Wi meikle doole an care; An there he saw her Lady Maisry, Kembing her yallow hair.

11 'O wha is aught that bairn,' he says, 'That ye sae big are wi? And gin ye winna own the truth, This moment ye sall dee.'

12 She turnd her right an roun about, An the kem fell frae her han; A trembling seizd her fair body, An her rosy cheek grew wan.

13 'O pardon me, my brother dear, An the truth I'll tell to thee; My bairn it is to Lord William, An he is betrothd to me.'

14 'O coud na ye gotten dukes, or lords, Intill your ain country, That ye draw up wi an English dog, To bring this shame on me?

15 'But ye maun gi up the English lord, Whan youre young babe is born; For, gin you keep by him an hour langer, Your life sall be forlorn.'

16 'I will gi up this English blood, Till my young babe be born; But the never a day nor hour langer, Tho my life should be forlorn.'

17 'O whare is a' my merry young men, Whom I gi meat and fee, To pu the thistle and the thorn, To burn this wile whore wi?'

18 'O whare will I get a bonny boy, To help me in my need, To rin wi hast to Lord William, And bid him come wi speed?'

19 O out it spake a bonny boy, Stood by her brother's side: 'O I would rin your errand, lady, Oer a' the world wide.

20 'Aft have I run your errands, lady, Whan blawn baith win and weet; But now I'll rin your errand, lady, Wi sat tears on my cheek.'

21 O whan he came to broken briggs, He bent his bow and swam, An whan he came to the green grass growin, He slackd his shoone and ran.

22 O whan he came to Lord William's gates, He baed na to chap or ca, But set his bent bow till his breast, An lightly lap the wa; An, or the porter was at the gate, The boy was i the ha.

23 'O is my biggins broken, boy? Or is my towers won? Or is my lady lighter yet, Of a dear daughter or son?'

24 'Your biggin is na broken, sir, Nor is your towers won; But the fairest lady in a' the lan For you this day maun burn.'

25 'O saddle me the black, the black, Or saddle me the brown; O saddle me the swiftest steed That ever rade frae a town.'

26 Or he was near a mile awa, She heard his wild horse sneeze: 'Mend up the fire, my false brother, It's na come to my knees.'

27 O whan he lighted at the gate, She heard his bridle ring: 'Mend up the fire, my false brother, It's far yet frae my chin.

28 'Mend up the fire to me, brother, Mend up the fire to me; For I see him comin hard an fast Will soon men 't up to thee.

29 'O gin my hands had been loose, Willy, Sae hard as they are boun, I would have turnd me frae the gleed, And castin out your young son.'

30 'O I'll gar burn for you, Maisry, Your father an your mother; An I'll gar burn for you, Maisry, Your sister an your brother.

31 'An I'll gar burn for you, Maisry, The chief of a' your kin; An the last bonfire that I come to, Mysel I will cast in.'

B

Motherwell's MS., p. 422, communicated by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe.

1 In came her sister, Stepping on the floor; Says, It's telling me, my sister Janet, That you're become a whore.

2 'A whore, sister, a whore, sister? That's what I'll never be; I'm no so great a whore, sister, As liars does on me lee.'

3 In came her brother, Stepping on the floor; Says, It's telling me, my sister Janet, That you're become a whore.'

4 'A whore, brother, a whore, brother? A whore I'll never be; I'm no so bad a woman, brother, As liars does on me lee.'

5 In came her mother, Stepping on the floor: 'They are telling me, my daughter, That you're so soon become a whore.'

6 'A whore, mother, a whore, mother? A whore I'll never be; I'm only with child to an English lord, Who promised to marry me.'

7 In came her father, Stepping on the floor; Says, They tell me, my daughter Janet, That you are become a whore.'

8 'A whore, father, a whore, father? A whore I'll never be; I'm but with child to an English lord, Who promisd to marry me.'

9 Then in it came an old woman, The lady's nurse was she, And ere she could get out a word The tear blinded her ee.

10 'Your father's to the fire, Janet, Your brother's to the whin; All for to kindle a bold bonfire, To burn your body in.'

11 'Where will I get a boy,' she said, 'Will gain gold for his fee, That would run unto fair England For my good lord to me?'

12 'O I have here a boy,' she said, 'Will gain gold to his fee, For he will run to fair England For thy good lord to thee.'

13 Now when he found a bridge broken, He bent his bow and swam, And when he got where grass did grow, He slacked it and ran.

14 And when he came to that lord's gate, Stopt not to knock or call, But set his bent bow to his breast And lightly leapt the wall; And ere the porter could open the gate, The boy was in the hall,

15 In presence of that noble lord, And fell down on his knee: 'What is it, my boy,' he cried, 'Have you brought unto me?

16 'Is my building broke into? Or is my towers won? Or is my true-love delivered Of daughter or of son?'

17 'Your building is not broke,' he cried, 'Nor is your towers won, Nor is your true-love delivered Of daughter nor of son; But if you do not come in haste, Be sure she will be gone.

18 'Her father is gone to the fire, Her brother to the whin, To kindle up a bold bonfire, To burn her body in.'

19 'Go saddle to me the black,' he cried, 'And do it very soon; Get unto me the swiftest horse That ever rade from the town.'

20 The first horse that he rade upon, For he was raven black, He bore him far, and very far, But failed in a slack.

21 The next horse that he rode upon, He was a bonny brown; He bore him far, and very far, But did at last fall down.

22 The next horse that he rode upon, He as the milk was white; Fair fall the mare that foaled that foal Took him to Janet's sight!

23 And boots and spurs, all as he was, Into the fire he lap, Got one kiss of her comely mouth, While her body gave a crack.

24 'O who has been so bold,' he says, 'This bonfire to set on? Or who has been so bold,' he says, 'Her body for to burn?'

25 'O here are we,' her brother said, 'This bonfire who set on; And we have been so bold,' he said, 'Her body for to burn.'

26 'O I'll cause burn for you, Janet, Your father and your mother; And I'll cause die for you, Janet, Your sister and your brother.

27 'And I'll cause mony back be bare, And mony shed be thin, And mony wife be made a widow, And mony ane want their son.'

C

Motherwell's MS., p. 472.

1 Ben came to her father dear, Stepping upon the floor; Says, It's told me, my daughter Janet, That you're now become a whore.

2 'A whore, father, a whore, father? That's what I'll never be, Tho I am with bairn to an English lord, That first did marry me.'

3 Soon after spoke her bower-woman, And sorely did she cry: 'Oh woe is me, my lady fair, That ever I saw this day!

4 'For your father's to the fire, Janet, Your brother's to the whin, Even to kindle a bold bonefire, To burn your body in.'

5 'Where will I get a bonnie boy, Will win gold to his fee, That will run on to fair England For my good lord to me?'

6 'Oh here am I, your waiting-boy, Would win gold to my fee, And will carry any message for you, By land or yet by sea.'

7 And when he fand the bridges broke, He bent his bow and swam, But when he fand the grass growing, He slacked it and ran.

8 And when he came to that lord's gate, Stopt not to knock nor call, But set his bent bow to his breast, And lightly lap the wall.

9 And ere the porter was at the gate The boy was in the hall, And in that noble lord's presence He on his knee did fall.

10 'O is my biggins broken?' he said, 'Or is my towers won? Or is my lady lighter yet, Of daughter or of son?'

11 'Your biggins are not broken,' he said, 'Nor is your towers won, Nor is your lady lighter yet, Of daughter or of son; But if you stay a little time Her life it will be gone.

12 'For her father's gone to the fire, Her brother to the whin, Even to kindle a bold bonfire, To burn her body in.'

13 'Go saddle for me in haste,' he cried, 'A brace of horses soon; Go saddle for me the swiftest steeds That ever rode to a town.'

14 The first steed that he rade on, For he was as jet black, He rode him far, and very far, But he fell down in a slack.

15 The next steed that he rode on, He was a berry brown; He bore him far, and very far, But at the last fell down.

16 The next steed that he rode on, He was as milk so white; Fair fall the mare that foaled the foal Took him to Janet's lyke!

17 But boots and spurs, all as he was, Into the fire he lap, Took ae kiss of her comely mouth, While her body gave a crack.

18 'O who has been so bold,' he said, 'This bonfire to set on? Or who has been so bold,' he cried, 'My true-love for to burn?'

19 Her father cried, I've been so bold This bonefire to put on; Her brother cried, We've been so bold Her body for to burn.

20 'Oh I shall hang for you, Janet, Your father and your brother; And I shall burn for you, Janet, Your sister and your mother.

21 'Oh I shall make many bed empty, And many shed be thin, And many a wife to be a widow, And many one want their son.

22 'Then I shall take a cloak of cloth, A staff made of the wand, And the boy who did your errand run Shall be heir of my land.'

D

Campbell MSS, II, 70.

1 Lady Margery was her mother's ain daughter, And her father's only heir, And she's away to Strawberry Castle, To learn some unco lair.

2 She hadna been in Strawberry Castle A year but only three, Till she has proved as big with child, As big as woman could be.

3 Word has to her father gone, As he pat on his shoon, That Lady Margery goes wi child, Unto some English loon.

4 Word has to her mother gane, As she pat on her gown, That Lady Margery goes wi child, Unto some English loon.

5 The father he likes her ill, The mother she likes her waur, But her father he wished her in a fire strang, To burn for ever mair.

* * * * * * *

6 'Will ye hae this auld man, Lady Margery, To be yeer warldly make? Or will ye burn in fire strang, For your true lover's sake?'

7 'I wunna hae that old, old man To be my worldly make, But I will burn in fire strang, For my true lover's sake.'

8 'O who will put of the pot? O who will put of the pan? And who will build a bale-fire, To burn her body in.'

9 The brother took of the pot, The sister took of the pan, And her mother builded a bold bale-fire, To burn her body in.

10 'O where will I get a bony boy That will run my errand soon? That will run to Strawberry Castle, And tell my love to come soon?'

11 But then started up a little boy, Near to that lady's kin: 'Often have I gane your errands, madam, But now it is time to rin.'

12 O when he came to Strawberry Castle, He tirled at the pin; There was nane sae ready as that lord himsell To let the young body in.

13 'O is my towers broken? Or is my castle wone? Or is my lady Margery lighter Of a daughter or a son?'

14 'Your towers are not broken, Nor is your castle wone; But the fairest lady of a' the land For thee this day does burn.'

15 'Go saddle for me the black, black horse, Go saddle to me the brown; Go saddle to me as swift a steed As ever man rade on.'

16 They saddled to him the black horse, They saddled to him the brown; They've saddled to him as swift a steed As ever man rade on.

17 He put his foot into the stirrup, He bounded for to ride; The silver buttons lap of his breast, And his nose began to bleed.

18 He bursted fifteen gude stout steeds, And four o them were dappled gray, And the little foot-page ran aye before, Crying, Mend it, an ye may!

19 When he came to the bale-fire, He lighted wi a glent, Wi black boots and clean spurs, And through the fire he went.

20 He laid ae arm about her neck, And the other beneath her chin; He thought to get a kiss o her, But her middle it gade in twain.

21 'But who has been so false,' he said, 'And who has been sae cruel, To carry the timber from my ain wood To burn my dearest jewel?

22 'But I'll burn for ye, Lady Margery, Yeer father and yeer mother; And I'll burn for ye, Lady Margery, Yeer sister and yeer brother.

23 'I'll do for ye, Lady Margery, What never was done for nane; I'll make many lady lemanless, And many a clothing thin.

24 'And I'll burn for yeer sake, Lady Margery, The town that yeer burnt in, And [make] many a baby fatherless, That's naething o the blame.'

E

Motherwell's MS., p. 1, from the recitation of Mrs Thomson, Kilbarchan, February 25, 1825; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 234.

1 Lady Marjory was her mother's only daughter. Her father's only heir, O And she is awa to Strawberry Castle, To get some unco lair. O

2 She had na been in Strawberry Castle A twelve month and a day, Till Lady Marjory she gaes wi child, As big as she can gae.

3 Word is to her father gone, Before he got on his shoon, That Lady Marjory she gaes wi child, And it is to an Irish groom.

4 But word is to her mother gane, Before that she gat on her gown, That Lady Marjorie she goes wi child, To a lord of high renown.

5 'O wha will put on the pot?' they said, 'Or wha will put on the pan? Or wha will put on a bauld, bauld fire, To burn Lady Marjorie in?'

6 Her father he put on the pot, Her sister put on the pan, And her brother he put on a bauld, bauld fire, To burn Lady Marjorie in; And her mother she sat in a golden chair, To see her daughter burn.

7 'But where will I get a pretty little boy, That will win hose and shoon, That will go quickly to Strawberry Castle And bid my lord come doun?'

8 'O here am I a pretty boy, That'll win hose and shoon, That will rin quickly to Strawberry Castle, And bid thy lord come doun.'

9 O when he came to broken brigs, He bent his bow and swam, And when he came to good dry land, He let down his foot and ran.

10 When he came to Strawberry Castle, He tirled at the pin; None was so ready as the gay lord himsell To open and let him in.

11 'O is there any of my towers burnt? Or any of my castles broken? Or is Lady Marjorie brought to bed, Of a daughter or a son?'

12 'O there is nane of thy towers burnt, Nor nane of thy castles broken, But Lady Marjorie is condemned to die, To be burnt in a fire of oaken.'

13 'O gar saddle to me the black,' he said, 'Gar saddle to me the brown; Gar saddle to me the swiftest steed That eer carried a man from town.'

14 He left the black into the slap, The brown into the brae, But fair fa that bonny apple-gray That carried this gay lord away!

15 He took a little horn out of his pocket, And he blew't both loud and shrill, And the little life that was in her, She hearkend to it full weel.

16 'Beet on, beet on, my brother dear, I value you not one straw, For yonder comes my own true-love, I hear his horn blaw.

17 'Beet on, beet on, my father dear, I value you not a pin, For yonder comes my own true-love, I hear his bridle ring.'

18 But when he came into the place, He lap unto the wa; He thought to get a kiss o her bonny lips, But her body fell in twa.

19 'Oh vow, oh vow, oh vow,' he said, 'Oh vow but ye've been cruel! Ye've taken the timber out of my own wood And burnt my ain dear jewel.

20 'Now for thy sake, Lady Marjorie, I'll burn both father and mother; And for thy sake, Lady Marjorie, I'll burn both sister and brother.

21 'And for thy sake, Lady Marjorie, I'll burn both kith and kin; But I will remember the pretty little boy That did thy errand rin.'

F

The Scots [Edinburgh] Magazine, 1822, LXXXIX, 734, communicated by W. W.

1 Fair Marjory's gaen into the school, Between six and seven, An she's come back richt big wi bairn, Between twalve and eleven.

2 It's out then sprung her mither dear, Stood stately on the flure: 'Ye're welcum back, young Marjory, But ye're sune becum a hure.'

3 'I'm not a hure, mither,' she said, 'Nor ever intend to be; But I'm wi child to a gentleman, An he swears he'll marry me.'

4 [It's out then sprung her father dear, Stood stately on the flure: 'Ye're welcum back, young Marjory, But ye're sune becum a hure.'

5 'I'm not a hure, father,' she said, 'Nor ever intend to be; But I'm wi child to a gentleman, An he swears he will marry me.'

6 It's out then sprung her brother dear, Stood stately on the flure: 'Ye're welcum back, young Marjory, But ye're sune becum a hure.'

7 'I'm not a hure, brother,' she said, 'Nor ever intend to be; But I'm wi child to a gentleman, An he swears he will marry me.'

8 It's out then sprung her sister dear, Stood stately on the flure: 'Ye're welcum back, young Marjory, But ye're sune becum a hure.'

9 'I'm not a hure, sister,' she said, 'Nor ever intend to be;] Ye're but a young woman, sister, An ye shuld speak sparinlie.'

10 Her father's to the grene-wude gaen, Her brither's to the brume; An her mither sits in her gowden chair, To see her dochter burn.

* * * * * * *

11 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . The sister she culd do naething, And she sat down to greet.

12 'Oh whare will I get a bonny boy, That wull win hose an shoon, That wull rin to Strawberry Castle for me, And bid my true-love come?'

13 It's out than spak a bonny boy, That stude richt at her knee: 'It's I wull rin your errand, ladie, Wi the saut tear i my ee.'

14 It's whan he cam to broken brigg, He bent his bow an swam, An whan he cam whare green grass grew, Set doon his feet an ran.

15 An whan he cam to Strawberry Castle, He thirled at the pin, An aye sae ready as the porter was To rise and let him in.

* * * * * * *

16 'Gae saddle to me the black,' he says, 'Gae saddle to me the broun; Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed That eer set fute on grun.'

17 It's first he burst the bonny black, An syne the bonny broun, But the dapple-gray rade still away, Till he cam to the toun.

18 An aye he rade, an aye he rade, An aye away he flew, Till the siller buttons flew off his coat; He took out his horn an blew.

19 An aye he blew, an aye he blew, He blew baith loud an shrill, An the little life that Marjory had, She heard his horn blaw weel.

20 'Beik on, beik on, cruel mither,' she said, 'For I value you not a straw; For if ever I heard my love in my life, He's comin here awa.'

* * * * * * *

21 When he cam unto the flames He jamp in, butes and a'; He thocht to hae kissd her red rosy lips, But her body broke in twa.

* * * * * * *

22 I'll burn for thy sake, Marjory, The toun that thou lies in; An I'll mak the baby fatherless, For I'll throw mysel therein.

G

Notes and Queries, Second Series, IX, 193; communicated by A. J., Edinburgh, as learned by himself and an elder sister from an old washerwoman of East Dereham, Norfolk, in the early part of this century.

* * * * * * *

1 'My father was the first good man Who tied me to a stake; My mother was the first good woman Who did the fire make.

2 'My brother was the next good man Who did the fire fetch; My sister was the next good woman Who lighted it with a match.

3 'They blew the fire, they kindled the fire, Till it did reach my knee: "O mother, mother, quench the fire! The smoke will smother me."

4 'O had I but my little foot-page, My errand he would run; He would run unto gay London, And bid my lord come home.'

5 Then there stood by her sister's child, Her own dear sister's son: 'O many an errand I've run for thee, And but this one I'll run.'

6 He ran, where the bridge was broken down He bent his bow and swam; He swam till he came to the good green turf, He up on his feet and ran.

7 He ran till he came at his uncle's hall; His uncle sat at his meat: 'Good mete, good mete, good uncle, I pray, O if you knew what I'd got to say, How little would you eat!'

8 'O is my castle broken down, Or is my tower won? Or is my gay lady brought o bed, Of a daughter or a son?'

9 'Your castle is not broken down, Your tower it is not won; Your gay lady is not brought to bed, Of a daughter or a son.

10 'But she has sent you a gay gold ring, With a posy round the rim, To know, if you have any love for her, You'll come to her burning.'

11 He called down his merry men all, By one, by two, by three; He mounted on his milk-white steed, To go to Margery.

12 They blew the fire, they kindled the fire, Till it did reach her head: 'O mother, mother, quench the fire! For I am nearly dead.'

13 She turned her head on her left shoulder, Saw her girdle hang on the tree: 'O God bless them that gave me that! They'll never give more to me.'

14 She turned her head on her right shoulder, Saw her lord come riding home: 'O quench the fire, my dear mother! For I am nearly gone.'

15 He mounted off his milk-white steed, And into the fire he ran, Thinking to save his gay ladye, But he had staid too long.

H

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 103.

1 There stands a stane in wan water, It's lang ere it grew green; Lady Maisry sits in her bower door, Sewing at her silken seam.

2 Word's gane to her mother's kitchen, And to her father's ha, That Lady Maisry is big wi bairn-- And her true-love's far awa.

3 When her brother got word of this, Then fiercely looked he: 'Betide me life, betide me death, At Maisry's bower I'se be.

4 'Gae saddle to me the black, the black, Gae saddle to me the brown; Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed, To hae me to the town.'

5 When he came to Maisry's bower, He turnd him round about, And at a little shott-window, He saw her peeping out.

6 'Gude morrow, gude morrow, Lady Maisry, God make you safe and free!' 'Gude morrow, gude morrow, my brother dear, What are your wills wi me?'

7 'What's come o a' your green claithing, Was ance for you too side? And what's become o your lang stays, Was ance for you too wide?'

8 'O he that made my claithing short, I hope he'll make them side; And he that made my stays narrow, I hope he'll make them wide.'

9 'O is it to a lord o might, Or baron o high degree? Or is it to any o your father's boys, Rides in the chase him wi?'

10 'It's no to any Scottish lord, Nor baron o high degree; But English James, that little prince, That has beguiled me.'

11 'O was there not a Scots baron That could hae fitted thee, That thus you've lovd an Englishman, And has affronted me?'

12 She turnd her right and round about, The tear blinded her ee: 'What is the wrang I've done, brother, Ye look sae fierce at me?'

13 'Will ye forsake that English blude, When your young babe is born?' 'I'll nae do that, my brother dear, Tho I shoud be forlorn.'

14 'I'se cause a man put up the fire, Anither ca in the stake, And on the head o yon high hill I'll burn you for his sake.

15 'O where are all my wall-wight men, That I pay meat and fee, For to hew down baith thistle and thorn, To burn that lady wi?'

16 Then he has taen her, Lady Maisry, And fast he has her bound; And he causd the fiercest o his men Drag her frae town to town.

17 Then he has causd ane of his men Hew down baith thistle and thorn; She carried the peats in her petticoat-lap, Her ainsell for to burn.

18 Then ane pat up this big bauld fire, Anither ca'd in the stake; It was to burn her Lady Maisry, All for her true-love's sake.

19 But it fell ance upon a day, Prince James he thought full lang; He minded on the lady gay He left in fair Scotland.

20 'O where will I get a little wee boy, Will win gowd to his fee, That will rin on to Adam's high tower, Bring tidings back to me?'

21 'O here am I, a little wee boy, Will win gowd to my fee, That will rin on to Adam's high tower, Bring tidings back to thee.'

22 Then he is on to Adam's high tower, As fast as gang coud he, And he but only wan in time The fatal sight to see.

23 He sat his bent bow to his breast, And ran right speedilie, And he is back to his master, As fast as gang coud he.

24 'What news, what news, my little wee boy? What news hae ye to me?' 'Bad news, bad news, my master dear, Bad news, as ye will see.'

25 'Are ony o my biggins brunt, my boy? Or ony o my towers won? Or is my lady lighter yet, O dear daughter or son?'

26 'There's nane o your biggins brunt, master, Nor nane o your towers won, Nor is your lady lighter yet, O dear daughter nor son.

27 'There's an has been [put up] a big bauld fire, Anither ca'd in the stake, And on the head o yon high hill, They're to burn her for your sake.'

28 'Gae saddle to me the black, the black, Gae saddle to me the brown; Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed, To hae me to the town.'

29 Ere he was three miles near the town, She heard his horse-foot patt: 'Mend up the fire, my fause brother, It scarce comes to my pap.'

30 Ere he was twa miles near the town, She heard his bridle ring: 'Mend up the fire, my fause brother, It scarce comes to my chin.

31 'But look about, my fause brother, Ye see not what I see; I see them coming here, or lang Will mend the fire for thee.'

32 Then up it comes him little Prince James, And fiercely looked he: 'I'se make my love's words very true She said concerning me.

33 'O wha has been sae bauld,' he said, 'As put this bonfire on? And wha has been sae bauld,' he said, 'As put that lady in?'

34 Then out it spake her brother then, He spoke right furiouslie; Says, I'm the man that put her in: Wha dare hinder me?

35 'If my hands had been loose,' she said, 'As they are fastly bound, I woud hae looted me to the ground, Gien you up your bonny young son.'

36 'I will burn, for my love's sake, Her father and her mother; And I will burn, for my love's sake, Her sister and her brother.

37 'And I will burn, for my love's sake, The whole o a' her kin; And I will burn, for my love's sake, Thro Linkum and thro Lin.

38 'And mony a bed will I make toom, And bower will I make thin; And mony a babe shall thole the fire, For I may enter in.'

39 Great meen was made for Lady Maisry, On that hill whare she was slain; But mair was for her ain true-love, On the fields for he ran brain.

I

#a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 235; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 221. #b.# Motherwell's MS., p. 179, from Mrs Thomson, of Kilbarchan. #c.# Motherwell's MS., p. 181, from Mrs McLean, of Glasgow.

1 There lived a lady in Scotland, Hey my love and ho my joy There lived a lady in Scotland, Who dearly loved me There lived a lady in Scotland, An she's fa'n in love wi an Englishman. And bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt in Dundee

2 The father unto the daughter came, Who dearly loved me Saying, Will you forsake that Englishman?

3 'If you will not that Englishman forsake, Who dearly loved me O I will burn you at a stake.'

4 'I will not that Englishman forsake, Who dearly loved me Tho you should burn me at a stake.

5 'O where will I get a pretty little boy, Who dearly loves me Who will carry tidings to my joy?'

6 'Here am I, a pretty little boy, Who dearly loves thee Who will carry tidings to thy joy.'

7 'Give to him this right-hand glove, Who dearly loves me Tell him to get another love. For, etc.

8 'Give to him this little penknife, Who dearly loves me Tell him to get another wife. For, etc.

9 'Give to him this gay gold ring; Who dearly loves me Tell him I'm going to my burning.' An, etc.

10 The brother did the stake make, Who dearly loved me The father did the fire set. An bonnie Susie Cleland was burnt in Dundee.

* * * * *

#A.#

11^1. she says.

16^1. _~blood~ I was disposed to change to ~lord~: but see #H# 13^1._

21^{3, 4}. _As cited by Anderson from William Tytler's MS.,_

... to green grass growing He took off his sheen.

#B.#

22^4. Janet's exite: _in_ #C# 16^4 Janet's lyke.

#D.#

_Stanzas 8, 9, 21, are the three last of the MS._

8^{1, 2}. _I should read ~put on~, were it not for 9^{1, 2}._

23^3. lady lamentless.

#E.#

3^3. _~If~ for ~that~ in the margin, without explanation._

15-17. _The order in the MS. is 16, 17, 15._

_Motherwell, as often elsewhere, makes slight changes in printing, as: 11^2, ~broken~ to ~won~, though not changed in 12^2; 15^3 [17^3], ~And~ to ~And wi~, unnecessarily, see #F# 19^3._

#F.#

2-9. "Her father, brother, and sister successively address her in the same polite style, and receive the same answer; except that to the latter, instead of the information contained in the last two lines, she addresses a piece of advice." _The phrase ~stood stately~ in 2^2, most appropriate for the mother, was probably varied for father, brother, and sister._

15-16. "He delivers his message in the approved ballad style, and the lover speaks."

20. "The few verses following contain her testamentary bequests to her relatives above mentioned; but the person from whom I got the ballad could not repeat them."

#G.#

6^2. He bend.

#I. a.#

1. _Given in the Appendix to Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. xix, XIV, with this slight difference in the burden_: And she dearly loved me.

3-9. at Dundee _in the burden_.

8^2. _~Penknife~ for ~wife~, in my copy of the MS._

10. _In the Minstrelsy, from #b#:_

Her father he ca'd up the stake, Her brother he the fire did make.

#b.#

1. There lived a lady in Scotland O my love and O my joy Who dearly loved an Englishman. And bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt at Dundee

2. The father to the daughter came: 'Will you forsake your Englishman?' For, etc.

_3 is wanting._

4. 'My Englishman I'll neer forsake, Altho you burn me at your stake. For, etc.

5. 'O where will I get a pretty little boy, That will bring tidings to my joy?' For, etc.

6. 'O here am I, a pretty little boy, And I'll carry tidings to thy joy.' For, etc.

7. 'O take to him this right-hand glove, Tell him to seek another love.' For, etc.

_8 is wanting._

9. 'O bring to him this gay gold ring, And bid him come to my burning.' For, etc.

10. Her father he ca'd up the stake, Her brother he the fire did make. And bonnie Susie Cleland is burnt at Dundee

#c.#

_1-4 are wanting._

5. 'Where will I get a bonny boy, Oh my love and oh my joy Where will I get a bonny boy, That dearly loves me Where will I get a bonny boy, Will carry tidings to my joy?' Bonnie Susie Cleland was burned at Dundee

6. 'Here am I, a little boy, That dearly loves thee Will carry tidings to thy joy.'

7. 'Carry my love this glove, Who dearly loves me Bid him seek another love.

8. 'Carry my love this knife, That dearly loves me Bid him seek another wife.

9. 'Carry my love this ring, That dearly loves me Bid him come to my burning.

_10 is wanting._

[87] The genuineness of #H#, Buchan's version, may be doubted both on general and on particular grounds, and both because of its departures from the common story and because of its repeating some peculiarities of the Jamieson-Brown copy, #A#. If #H# was compiled, as I think it was, largely from #A#, the person that did the work may have seen the manuscript, which is not at all improbable; for the _English blude_ of #H# 13 is found in the MS., #A# 16, and not in the copy printed by Jamieson, and so with the _thistle_ of #H# 15, #A# 17. Buchan, or Buchan's foreman, is entitled to copyright for the invention, in #H# 17, of Maisry's carrying peats in her petticoat, "her ainsell for to burn;" also for English James, that little prince, 10^3, Adam's high tower, 20^3, thro Linkum and thro Lin, 37^4.

[88] Like the Clerk of Oxenford's two sons, and Sweet William, Motherwell, Minstrelsy, p. 307.

[89] There is no word of quailing except in #G#, and in #G# she blesses her lover most touchingly, with almost her last words.

She turned her head on her left shoulder, Saw her girdle hang on the tree: 'O God bless them that gave me that! They'll never give more to me.'

[90] According to Buchan, #H# 39, Maisry's true-love ran brain; so again in Buchan's version of Fair Janet, see #F# 35. This is Maisry's end in several versions of 'Auld Ingram,' and in all, I suppose, a modern substitute for the immediate death of older ballads.

[91] A champion may be offered even in Ariosto's Scotland.

[92] In 'The Infanta and Don Galvan,' the lady, like Fair Janet, calls to Don Galvan to come and take her new-born child and carry it to his mother to nurse. The father superintends in person the preparation of the pile in 'Dona Ausenda.' In the romances of Conde Claros, the infanta, when she learns that she is to be burnt, asks for some one "que haya comido mi pan," to carry a letter to Don Claros, and a page does the errand, just as in the Scottish ballad: Primavera, II, 374, etc. Often a bird, hawk, dove, takes the message, as in 'Sweet William,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 307. Don Claros asks the infanta of her father in marriage, and is refused (because she is promised). He then informs the emperor that the infanta is with child. It is a _hunter_ who informs the father of the love of his daughter and the count in one of the romances, Primavera, II, 362. Compare the German ballad, in 'Fair Janet,' p. 102. When the lover gets his letter, in Briz, IV, 43, he reminds us of Sir Patrick Spens:

Quan D. Cárlos reb la carta, molt content y alegre estava: Al desclohent de la carta, llágrimas de sanch llansava.

66

LORD INGRAM AND CHIEL WYET

#A. a.# 'Lord Ingram and Chiel Wyet,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 173. #b.# 'Child Vyet,' Maidment's North Countrie Garland, p. 24.

#B.# 'Lord Ingram and Gil Viett,' Skene MS., p. 16.

#C.# 'Auld Ingram,' Herd's MSS, I, 169, II, 84; 'Lord Wa'yates and Auld Ingram,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 265.

#D.# 'Lord Ingram and Childe Viat,' Kinloch MSS, V, 323.

#E.# 'Lord Ingram and Childe Vyet,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 234.

#C# was furnished Jamieson from Herd's MSS by Scott, and underwent a few slight changes in publication. Jamieson inquired through the Scots Magazine, October, 1803, p. 699, for the conclusion, which is wanting, but unsuccessfully.

The only variation of much moment in the five versions of this tragedy is that, in #C#, the bridegroom and the lover are not brothers, but uncle and nephew. Some inconsistencies have been created in the course of tradition. The bride's insisting on having twenty men before her and twenty on each side, ere she will go to kirk, not to mention the extravagance of twenty milk-white doves above her head, #C# 22,[93] is incompatible with her aversion to the "weary wedding," and with her language about the bridegroom's gifts in #C# 4, 5, #D# 4-6, #E# 8-10. There is much confusion at the end. After the death of the two rivals the lady, in #E#, imposes on herself the penance of begging her bread as a pilgrim for the rest of her days. This penance we find also in the two last stanzas of #A#, and a trace of it in #B# 20, #D# 10. Another, and probably later, representation is that she went mad, #A# 30, #B# 19, #D# 9. The two are blended in #A#, #B#, #D#; unless we are to suppose that Maisry's adopting a beggar's life was a consequence of her madness, which is not according to the simplicity of old ballads. That something was due the unfortunate Lord Ingram, especially if he was disposed to relinquish his wife to his brother, #B# 17, the modern sense of justice will admit; but that Maisry's remorse on account of the handsome wedding Ingram had given her should exceed her grief for Chiel Wyet, #A# 32, #B# 20, #D# 10, #E# 43, 44, is as little natural as romantic, and is only to be explained as an exhibition of imbecility, whether on her part or on the part of some reciter who gave that turn to the story. #B# confounds confusion by killing Maisry on the top of all.

The sword laid in bed between man and woman, #B# 14, #E# 30, as a sign or pledge of continence, does not occur often in popular ballads. We have it in 'Südeli,' Uhland, I, 275, No 121, st. 11, and in two of the Swedish forms of Grundtvig's 'Brud i Vaande,' Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, V, 345, No. 277, #D#, sts 26, 27, and Arwidsson, II, 248, No 132, sts 21, 22, 'Fru Margaretha.' In popular tales: Grimms, K. u. H. märchen, No 60; Asbjørnsen og Moe, Norske Folkeeventyr, No 3; Il Pentamerone, I, 9; Hahn's Griechische Märchen, I, 171, No 122. In Norse poetry and saga: Völsunga saga, 27, Rafn, Fornaldar Sögur, I, 187; Sæmund's Edda, Sigurðarkviða, III, 65, Lüning, p. 401, Bugge (68), p. 259; Snorri's Edda, Hafniæ, 1848, I, 362, Skáldskaparmál, 41; Saxo Grammaticus, Book 9, p. 162 of the Frankfort edition of 1576; Gaungu-Hrólfs saga, 24, Fornaldar Sögur, III, 303. Further, in Orendel und Bríde, ed. Ettmüller, p. 46, XII, 49, 50; Wolfdietrich, von der Hagen's Heldenbuch, I, 236, st. 592; Tristan, ed. Michel, I, 88, v. 1768 ff, Scott's Sir Tristrem, III, 20; Amis and Amiloun, Weber's Metrical Romances, II, 417, v. 1163 ff; Aladdin in the Arabian Nights, J. Scott, IV 345.[94]

Lord Wayets, in #C# 17, kicks up the table and sends the silver cup into the fire. Young Beichan takes the table with his foot and makes the cups and cans to flee, #B# 18, #D# 23, #F# 28, #J# 5, #N# 42, or makes the table flee, #H# 42; so the knight in 'Child Waters,' #G# 18, the baron in 'Child Maurice,' #E#, #F#, and the mother in 'Fair Mary of Wallington,' #A#, #B#. Kinmont Willie, st. 9, takes the table with his hand and gars the red wine spring on hie. The table, being of boards laid on trestles, would be easy to ding over or make flee. Being also narrow, it might be jumped over, and those in whose way it might be seem to have preferred to clear it in that fashion, at least out of Britain. So the Danish Lord Lovel on hearing of his love's death, spilling the mead or wine, Kristensen, II, No 20, #A# 6, #B# 10, #C# 3, #D# 4; Sir Peter in Afzelius, No 9, I, 50, Grundtvig, No 210, IV, 220, etc. The king in the Icelandic Ribbalds kvæði, to be sure, kicks the table away and spills the mead and wine, Íslenzk Fornkvæði, No 16, #B# 8, #C# 2, so that Lord Wayets, Young Beichan, and others may have taken their cue from that island. But against this we may put Hervarar saga, c. 3, Fornaldar Sögur, I, 516; Olafs saga hins Helga, c. 50, Keyser and Unger, p. 36; Grundtvig, Danmarks Folkeviser, No 11, #A# 23, No 13, #B# 18, #G# 15, #I# 16; etc. In 'Magnus Algotsøn,' Grundtvig, No 181, #D# 18, the bride jumps over the table and goes off with her old love; in Sušil's Bohemian ballads, No 135, p. 131, the bride jumps over four tables and on to a fifth to get at her first betrothed; in the Novella della Figlia del Re di Dacia, ed. Wesselofsky, p. 38, the duke jumps over the table to get to his wife; in a German ballad in Schröer's Ausflug nach Gottschee, p. 210 f, the bridegroom, who has lost the bride, jumps over the table to get out of the room as soon as possible; a French gentleman takes a vault over the table before him, Gautier, Les Épopées Françaises, I, 508, ed. 1865, and a lady in a ludicrous anecdote told in the Zimmerische Chronik, ed. Barack, 1881, II, 132 f. But Torello's wife, on the other hand, Decameron, X, 9, throws down the table which bars her way to her lord, and so does the steward in 'Sir Orfeo,' v. 576, ed. Zielke.[95]

Ebbe Skammelsøn, being obliged to absent himself from his plighted maid for a considerable time, loses her through the artifices of his brother [and mother], who pretends first that Ebbe is unfaithful, and then that he is dead. Ebbe is warned by a dream that his brother is about to wed his mistress, goes home in great haste, and arrives on the wedding-day. He kills the bride, and then his brother, who, at the last moment, offers to cede the bride to him, as Lord Ingram, in #B# 17, says he meant to do. Ebbe after this begs his bread, or goes on a pilgrimage weighted with iron on his hands and loins; wherein his part resembles Maisry's. Danske Viser, III, 75, No 120, translated by Prior, II, 380; Arwidsson, No 33, I, 216, 224, 412; Atterbom's Poetisk Kalender, 1816, p. 55.

It may be worth noting that Maisry's wedding, according to #B# 20, was "in good kirk-door," like the five of The Wife of Bath.

* * * * *

Translated by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 166, No 44, after Allingham, p. 306.

A

#a.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 173, communicated by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe. #b.# Maidment's North Countrie Garland, p. 24, from tradition in Aberdeenshire.

1 Lord Ingram and Chiel Wyet Was baith born in one bower; Laid baith their hearts on one lady, The less was their honour.

2 Chiel Wyet and Lord Ingram Was baith born in one hall; Laid baith their hearts on one lady, The worse did them befall.

3 Lord Ingram wood her Lady Maisery From father and from mother; Lord Ingram wood her Lady Maisery From sister and from brother.

4 Lord Ingram wood her Lady Maisery With leave of a' her kin; And every one gave full consent, But she said no to him.

5 Lord Ingram wood her Lady Maisery Into her father's ha; Chiel Wyet wood her Lady Maisery Amang the sheets so sma.

6 Now it fell out upon a day, She was dressing her head, That ben did come her father dear, Wearing the gold so red.

7 He said, Get up now, Lady Maisery, Put on your wedding gown; For Lord Ingram he will be here, Your wedding must be done.

8 'I'd rather be Chiel Wyet's wife, The white fish for to sell, Before I were Lord Ingram's wife, To wear the silk so well.

9 'I'd rather be Chiel Wyet's wife, With him to beg my bread, Before I were Lord Ingram's wife, To wear the gold so red.

10 'Where will I get a bonny boy, Will win gold to his fee, And will run unto Chiel Wyet's, With this letter from me?'

11 'O here I am, the boy,' says one, 'Will win gold to my fee, And carry away any letter To Chiel Wyet from thee.'

12 And when he found the bridges broke, He bent his bow and swam; And when he found the grass growing, He hastened and he ran.

13 And when he came to Chiel Wyet's castle, He did not knock nor call, But set his bent bow to his breast, And lightly leaped the wall; And ere the porter opend the gate, The boy was in the hall.

14 The first line he looked on, A grieved man was he; The next line he looked on, A tear blinded his ee: Says, I wonder what ails my one brother He'll not let my love be!

15 'But I'll send to my brother's bridal bridal-- The bacon shall be mine-- Full four and twenty buck and roe, And ten tun of the wine; And bid my love be blythe and glad, And I will follow syne.'

16 There was not a groom about that castle But got a gown of green, And all was blythe, and all was glad, But Lady Maisery she was neen.

17 There was no cook about that kitchen But got a gown of gray, And all was blythe, and all was glad, But Lady Maisery was wae.

18 Between Mary Kirk and that castle Was all spread ower with garl, To keep Lady Maisery and her maidens From tramping on the marl.

19 From Mary Kirk to that castle Was spread a cloth of gold, To keep Lady Maisery and her maidens From treading on the mold.

20 When mass was sung, and bells was rung, And all men bound for bed, Then Lord Ingram and Lady Maisery In one bed they were laid.

21 When they were laid into their bed-- It was baith soft and warm-- He laid his hand over her side, Says, I think you are with bairn.

22 'I told you once, so did I twice, When ye came me to woo, That Chiel Wyet, your only brother, One night lay in my bower.

23 'I told you twice, I told you thrice, Ere ye came me to wed, That Chiel Wyet, your one brother, One night lay in my bed.'

24 'O will you father your bairn on me, And on no other man? And I'll give him to his dowry Full fifty ploughs of land.'

25 'I will not father my bairn on you, Nor on no wrongeous man, Though ye would give him to his dowry Five thousand ploughs of land.'

26 Then up did start him Chiel Wyet, Shed by his yellow hair, And gave Lord Ingram to the heart A deep wound and a sair.

27 Then up did start him Lord Ingram, Shed by his yellow hair, And gave Chiel Wyet to the heart A deep wound and a sair.

28 There was no pity for that two lords, Where they were lying slain; But all was for her Lady Maisery, In that bower she gaed brain.

29 There was no pity for that two lords, When they were lying dead; But all was for her Lady Maisery, In that bower she went mad.

30 Said, Get to me a cloak of cloth, A staff of good hard tree; If I have been an evil woman, I shall beg till I dee.

31 'For a bit I'll beg for Chiel Wyet, For Lord Ingram I'll beg three; All for the good and honorable marriage At Mary Kirk he gave me.'

B

Skene MS., p. 16; taken down in the North of Scotland, 1802-1803.

1 Lord Ingram and Gil Viett Were baith born in ae ha; They laid their love on ae lady, An fate they coud na fa.

2 Lord Ingram and Gil Viett Were baith laid in ae wame; They laid their love on ae lady, The greater was their shame.

3 Lord Ingram wood her Lady Masery Frae father and frae mither; Gill Viett wood her Lady Masery Frae sister and frae brither.

4 Lord Ingram courted her Lady Masery Among the company a'; Gill Viett he wood her Lady Masery Among the sheets so sma.

5 'Get up, my daughter dear, Put on your bridal gown; This day's your bridal day Wi Lord Ingram.'

6 'How can I get up, An put on my bridal gown, Or how marry the ae brither, An the tither's babe in my womb?'

* * * * * * *

7 'O laugh you at mysell, brither, Or at my companie? Or laugh ye at my bonnie bride, She wad na laugh at thee?'

8 'I laugh na at yoursel, brither, Nor at your companie; Nor laugh I at your buirlie bride, She wad na laugh at me.

9 'But there's a brotch on a breast-bane, A garlan on ane's hair; Gin ye kend what war under that, Ye wad neer love woman mair.

10 'There is a brotch on a breast-bane, An roses on ane's sheen; Gin ye kend what war under that, Your love wad soon be deen.'

11 Whan bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' man boun to bed, Lord Ingram and Lady Masery In ae chamer were laid.

12 He put his hand out oure his bonnie bride, The babe between her sides did quake: . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

13 'O father your babe on me, Lady Masery, O father your babe on me.' . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

14 'I may father my babe on a stock, Sae may I on a stane, But my babe shall never hae A father but its ain.'

15 He took out a brand, And laid it atween them twa; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

16 Gill Viett took out a long brand, And stroakd it oer a stro, An thro and thro Lord Ingram's bodie He made it come and go.

17 'Wae mat worth ye, Gill Viett, An ill died mat ye die! For I had the cup in my hand To hae drunken her oer to thee.'

18 '[For] ae mile [I wad gae] for Gil Viett, For Lord Ingram I wad hae gaen three; An a' for that in good kirk-door Fair wedding he gave me.'

19 Gil Viett took a long brand, An stroakd it on a stro, An through and thro his own bodie He made it come and go.

20 There was nae mean made for that godd lords, In bowr whar they lay slain, But a' was for that lady, In bowr whar she gaed brain.

21 There was nae mean made for that lady, In bowr whar she lay dead, But a' was for the bonnie babe That lay blabbering in her bleed.

C

Herd's MSS, I, 169, II, 84. Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 265.

1 Lady Maisdry was a lady fair, She maid her mither's bed; Auld Ingram was an aged knight, And hee sought her to wed.

2 ''Tis I forbid ye, Auld Ingram, For to seek me to spouse; For Lord Wayets, your sister's son, Has been into my bowrs.

3 ''T is I forbid ye, Auld Ingram, For to seek me to wed; For Lord Wayets, your sister's son, Has been into my bed.'

4 'T is he has bought to this lady The robes of the brown; 'And ever alas,' says this lady, 'The robs will pit mee down!'

5 And he has bought to this lady The robs of the red; 'And ever alas,' says this lady, 'The robs will be my dead!'

6 And he has bought to this lady The chrystal and the lammer, Sae has hee bought to her mither The curches of the cammer.

7 Every ane o her se'n brethren They had a hawk in hand, And every lady i the place They got a goud garland.

8 Every cuk in that kitchen They gat a noble claith; A' was blyth at Auld Ingram's cuming, But Lady Maisdrey was wraith.

9 'Whare will I get a bonny boy, Wad fain wun hos and shoon, That wud rin on to my Wayets, And quickly cume again?'

10 'Here am I, a bonny boy, Wad fain wun hoes and shoon, Wha wull rin on to your Wayets, And quickly cume again.'

11 'Ye'l bid him, and ye'l pray him baith, Gif ony prayer can dee, To Mary Kirk to cume the morn, My weary wadding to see.'

12 Lord Wayets lay our his castle wa, Beheld baith dale and down, And he beheld a bonny boy Cume rinnen to the town.

13 'What news, what news, ye bonny boy? What news ye hae to mee? . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

14 'O is my ladie's fauldis brunt? Or is her towrs wun? Or is my Maisdrey lighter yet A dear dochter or sun?'

15 'Your ladie's faulds they are not brunt, Nor yet are her towrs wun, Neither is Maisdrey lighter yet A dear dochter or sun.

16 'But she bids ye and she prays ye baith, Gif ony prayer can dee, To Mary Kirk to cume the morn, Her weary wadding to see.'

17 He dung the boord up wi his fit, Sae did he wi his tae; The silver cup that sat upon't I the fire he gard it flee: 'O what na a lord in a' Scotland Dare marry my Maisdrey?'

18 'O 't is but a feeble thought To tell the tane and not the tither; O 't is but a feeble thought To tell't is your mither's brither.'

19 ''T is I wull send to that wadding, And I wul follow syne, The fitches o the fallow deer An the gammons o the swine, An the nine hides o the noble cow; 'T was slain in season time.

20 ''T is I wul send to that wadding Ten ton of the red wyne; Much more I'll send to that wadding, An I wul follow syne.'

21 When he came in unto the ha, Lady Maisdrey she did ween, And twenty times he kist her mou Before Auld Ingram's een.

22 Nor to the kirk she wud ne gae, Nor til't she wudn ride, Till four and twunty men she gat her before, An twunty on ilka side, An four and twunty milk-white dows To flee aboon her head.

23 A loud laughter gae Lord Wayets Mang the mids o his men: 'Marry the lady wham they weel, A maiden she is nane.'

24 'O laugh ye at my men, Wayets? Or di ye laugh at me? Or laugh ye at the beerly bride, That's gane to marry me?'

25 'I laugh na at your men, uncle, Nor yet dive I at thee, Bit I laugh at my lands sae braid, Sae weel's I do them see.'

26 Whan ene was cume, and ene-bells rung, An a' man gane to bed, The bride bit and the silly bridegroom In chambers they were laid.

27 Was na it a fell thing for to see, Twa heads lye on a coad, Lady Maisdrey like the moten goud, Auld Ingram like a toad?

28 He turnd his face unto the stock, And sound he fell asleep; She turnd her fair face unto the wa, An sa't tears she did weep.

29 It fell about the mark midnight, Auld Ingram began to turn him; He pat his hands on's lady's sides, An waly, sair was she murnin.

30 'What aileth thee, my lady dear? Ever alas and wae's me, There is a baube betwixt thy sides! O sae sair's it grieves me.'

31 'Didn I tell ye that, Auld Ingram, Or ye saught me to wed, That Lord Wayets, your sister's son, Had been into my bed?'

32 'O father that bairn on me, Maisdrey, O father it on me, An ye sall hae a rigland shire Your mornin's gift to bee.'

33 'O sarbit,' says the Lady Maisdrey, 'That ever the like me befa, To father my bairn on Auld Ingram, Lord Wayets in my father's ha!

34 'O sarbit,' says the Lady Maisdrey, 'That ever the like me betide, To father my bairn on Auld Ingram, An Lord Wayets beside!'

D

Kinloch MSS, V, 323, in the handwriting of John Hill Burton.

1 Lord Ingram and Childe Viat Were both bred in one ha; They laid their luves on one ladye, And frae her they could na fa.

2 Lord Ingram courted Ladye Maisery, He courted her frae ha to bower; And even sae did Childe Viat, Amang the summer flowers.

3 Lord Ingram courted Ladye Maisery, He courted her frae bower to ha; And even sae did Childe Viat, Among the sheets sae sma.

4 Lord Ingram bought her Ladye Maisery The steed that paid him well; She wads he were ayont the sea, Gin she had her true love.

5 Lord Ingram bought her Lady Maisery The knives hafted wi steel; She wads they were in his heart's bluid, Gin Childe Viat was weel.

6 Lord Ingram bought her Lady Maisery The golden knobbed gloves; She wads they were ayone the sea, Gin she had her true love.

* * * * * * *

7 'There's two swords in one scabbard, They cost me many a pound; Take you tho best, leave me the worst, We's fight till they be done.'

8 The firsten stroke Lord Ingram gae, He wounded Childe Viat nigh; The nexten stroke Childe Viat gae, Lord Ingram's head did flie; And fifty feet oer a burken buss Lord Ingram's head did flee.

9 There was no mane made for these two lords, In bower where they lay slain; But all was for this fair ladie, In bower where she gaed brain.

* * * * * * *

10 'For one word I would gie for Childe Viat, For Lord Ingram I would gie three; And it's a' for the brave wedding That he did to me gie.'

E

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 234.

1 Lord Ingram and Childe Vyet Were baith born in ae bower; They fell in love wi ae lady, Their honour was but poor.

2 Lord Ingram and Childe Vyet Were baith bred in ae ha; They laid their love on Lady Maisry, The waur did them befa.

3 Lord Ingram gained Lady Maisry Frae father and frae mother; Lord Ingram gained Lady Maisry Frae sister and frae brother.

4 Lord Ingram gained Lady Maisry Frae a' her kith and kin; Lord Ingram courted Lady Maisry But she said nay to him.

5 Lord Ingram courted Lady Maisry In the garden amo the flowers; Childe Vyet courted Lady Maisry Amo her ha's and bowers.

6 Lord Ingram sent to Lady Maisry A steed paced fu well; She wishes he were ower the sea, If Childe Vyet were well.

7 Lord Ingram courted Lady Maisry Frae her relations a'; Childe Vyet courted Lady Maisry Amo the sheets sae sma.

8 Lord Ingram bought to Lady Maisry The siller knapped gloves; She wishd his hands might swell in them, Had she her ain true love.

9 Lord Ingram bought to Lady Maisry The brands garnishd wi steel; She wishd the same might pierce his heart, Gin Childe Vyet were weell.

10 Childe Vyet bought to Lady Maisry The fancy ribbons sma; She had mair delight in her sma fancy Than o Lord Ingram, gowd and a'.

11 Lord Ingram's gane to her father, And thus he did complain: 'O am I doomd to die for love, And nae be loved again?

12 'I hae sent to your daughter The steed paced fu well; She wishes I were ower the sea, Gin Childe Vyet were well.

13 'I hae bought to your daughter The siller knapped gloves; She wishd my hands might swell in them, Had she her ain true love.

14 'I hae bought to your daughter The brands garnishd wi steel; She wishd the same might pierce my heart, Gin Childe Vyet were weell.

15 'Childe Vyet bought to your daughter The fancy ribbons sma; She's mair delight in her sma fancy Nor o me, gowd and a'.'

16 Her father turnd him round about, A solemn oath sware he, Saying, She shall be the bride this night, And you bridegroom shall be.

17 'O had your tongue, my father dear, Let a' your passion be; The reason that I love this man, It is unknown to thee.'

18 Sweetly played the merry organs, Intill her mother's bower; But still and dum stood Lady Maisry, And let the tears down pour.

19 Sweetly played the harp sae fine, Intill her fathers ha; But still and dum stood Lady Maisry, And let tears down fa.

20 Tween Marykirk and her mother's bower, Was a' clad ower wi gowd, For keeping o her snaw-white feet Frae treading o the mould.

21 Lord Ingram gaed in at ae church-door, Childe Vyet at another, And lightly leugh him Childe Vyet At Lord Ingram, his brother.

22 'O laugh ye at my men, brother? Or do ye laugh at me? Or laugh ye at young Lady Maisry, This night my bride's to be?'

23 'I laugh na at your men, brother, Nor do I laugh at thee; But I laugh at the knightless sport That I saw wi my ee.

24 'It is a ring on ae finger, A broach on ae breast-bane; And if ye kent what's under that, Your love woud soon be dane.'

25 Lord Ingram and his merry young men Out ower the plains are gane, And pensively walkd him Childe Vyet, Him single self alane.

26 When they had eaten and well drunken, And a' men bound for bed, Lord Ingram and Lady Maisry In ae chamber were laid.

27 He laid his hand upon her breast, And thus pronounced he: 'There is a bairn within your sides, Wha may the father be?

28 'Wha ever be your bairn's father, Ye will father it on me; The fairest castle o Snowdown Your morning gift shall be.'

29 'Wha ever be my bairn's father, I'll neer father it on thee; For better love I my bairn's father Nor ever I'll love thee.'

30 Then he's taen out a trusty brand, Laid it between them tway; Says, Lye ye there, ye ill woman, A maid for me till day.

31 Next morning her father came, Well belted wi a brand; Then up it starts him Lord Ingram, He was an angry man.

32 'If your daughter had been a gude woman, As I thought she had been, Cauld iron shoud hae never lien The lang night us between.'

33 'Ohon, alas! my daughter dear, What's this I hear o thee? I thought ye was a gude woman As in the north countrie.'

34 'O had your tongue, my father dear, Let a' your sorrows be; I never liked Lord Ingram, Ye ken ye forced me.'

35 Then in it came him Childe Vyet, Well belted wi a brand; Then up it raise him Lord Ingram, He was an angry man.

36 'Win up, win up, now Lord Ingram, Rise up immediately, That you and I the quarrel try, Who gains the victory.

37 'I hae twa brands in ae scabbard, That cost me mony pound; Take ye the best, gie me the warst, And I'll fight where I stand.'

38 Then up it starts him Childe Vyet, Shook back his yellow hair; The first an stroke Childe Vyet drew, He wounded Ingram sair.

39 Then up it starts him Lord Ingram, Shed back his coal-black hair; The first an stroke Lord Ingram drew, Childe Vyet needed nae mair.

40 Nae meen was made for these twa knights, Whan they were lying dead, But a' for her Lady Maisry, That gaes in mournfu weed.

41 Says, 'If I hae been an ill woman, Alas and wae is me! And if I've been an ill woman, A gude woman I'll be!

42 'Ye'll take frae me my silk attire, Bring me a palmer's weed, And thro the world, for their sakes, I'll gang and beg my bread.

43 'If I gang a step for Childe Vyet, For Lord Ingram I'll gang three; All for the honour that he paid At Marykirk to me.

44 'I'll gang a step for Childe Vyet, For Lord Ingram I'll gang three; It was into my mother's bower Childe Vyet wronged me.'

* * * * *

#A. a.#

1^4, their bonheur.

8^2. to kill.

11^1. boy _wanting_: see #b#.

11^2. And will.

19^1. and that.

26^1. did stand.

#b.#

1^1. Childe Vyet, _and always_.

1^3, 2^3. Had... loves.

1^4, honour.

3^1, 3^3, 4^1, 5^1, 5^3. the Lady.

7^1. He said _wanting_.

7^3. he _wanting_.

8^2. to sell. 9^3. I'd be.

10^3. Will run.

11^1. I am the boy, says one.

11^2. Will win.

13^1. to Vyet's.

14^1. line that Childe Vyet read.

14^3. line that he.

14^{5, 6}, 15^{1, 2}, _as_ 15.

What ails my one brother, he says, He'll not let my love be? But I'll send to my brother's bridal, The woman shall be free.

15^3. Take four and twenty bucks and ewes.

16^4. was wi wean.

17^1. about the.

18^2. with gold.

18^3, 19^3. keep the lady.

18^4. the mould.

20^1. bells were.

21^1. upon their.

21^4. Says he, You are with bairn.

22^2. came as my wooer.

22^3. your one.

23^1. so did I.

26^1. start him.

28^1, 29^1. for the.

28^3, 29^3. All was for Lady.

30^1. O get to me.

31. For ae.

31^3. All for the honourable marriage that.

#B.#

1^3. Their laid.

2^2. womb.

_12, 13 make one stanza in the MS._

_15, 16 are written together in three long lines._

_18 did not belong where it stands, cf. #A# 31, #E# 43, 44, but as the text now runs, cannot well change place._

#C.#

_Herd's copies differ little except in spelling._

6^4. cannell (_cinnamon_). _I have thought it best to risk ~cammer~, for ~camerik~, ~cambric~, though I have not found the word in English: Danish ~kammer-dug~._

10^3. _second copy omits_ on.

11^2. due (?).

_13, 14 are written in one stanza._

19^5. _second copy_ hidies.

25^1. men, Wayets: uncle _in second copy_.

_26-28 precede 23-25._

#D.#

4^2. that paid: _cf._ #E# 6^2. _10 follows 6 in MS._

#E.#

31^2, 35^2. belted and a brand.

[93] This stanza, which comes in here with flagrant impropriety, is a commonplace, or movable passage. It occurs, as a feature in the ceremony of a brilliant wedding, in 'Fair Mary of Wallington,' #E# 6, 7, and in some copies of 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet:' see that ballad, note to #A#.

[94] These citations, which might easily be extended, are many of them repeated from Grimm's Rechtsalterthümer, pp. 168-70 of the second edition. Sir Walter Scott has pointed out that on the occasion of the marriage of Maria of Burgundy with the Archduke Maximilian, in 1477, the marriage being by proxy, Ludwig, Pfalzgraf of Vendelz, the bridegroom's representative, was formally bedded with the bride, a naked sword being laid between them. Scott also refers to a play called The Jovial Crew, acted in 1641, in which one of the characters, to enrage another, proposes to be his proxy, marry his love for him, and lay a naked cudgel betwixt them: Sir Tristrem, p. 439, ed. 1833. In an Italian ballad the sword is reduced to a straw: Wolf, Volkslieder aus Venetien, No 95, Bolza, No 56, Ferraro, C. p. monferrini, No 76. In the Spanish and Portuguese romances of 'Gerineldo,' the sultan or king, having found the page asleep with the infanta, lays his sword between the two and retires: Duran, Nos 320, 321; Hardung, I, 101.

[95] Some of the Norse examples were derived from notes of Grundtvig, three others from Liebrecht. Grundtvig cites an ordinance of Frederic II of Denmark, dated 1586, to this effect: Whereas a custom has come in of having a dance during a wedding-repast, which dance those that sit behind the tables are asked to as well as others, and therefore are obliged to step on the tables, on which the victuals are still standing, and whereas this, indecorous of itself, might even prove dangerous to women-folk, and others, who should attempt to jump over the tables, now therefore dancing during meal-time is forbidden until dishes and tables shall have been cleared away: IV, 754. The table-jumping above is mostly done under great excitement, and at weddings, in order that the right parties may come together; but nimble young men in England seem to have taken this short way to their places habitually in old times. Liebrecht cites this curious passage from the Jests of Scogin, Hazlitt's Shakespeare Jest-Books, II, 105: "Scogin did mark the fashions of the court, and among all other things he did mark how men did leap over the table in the king's hall to sit down at dinner and supper, which is not used now." The first edition of Scogin's Jests is of 1565.

67

GLASGERION

#A.# 'Glasgerion,' Percy MS., p. 94; Hales and Furnivall, I, 248.

#B.# 'Glenkindie,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 93.

#C.# Kinloch MSS, III, 139.

'Glasgerion' was first printed in Percy's Reliques, III, 43, 1765, and was not thought by the editor to require much correction. Certainly the English ballad is one which it would be hard to mend. Scottish #B# is mainly of good derivation (a poor old woman in Aberdeenshire), and has some good stanzas, but Jamieson unfortunately undertook to improve a copy in which the story was complete, but "the diction much humbled," by combining with it a fragment of another version. Dr John Hill Burton seems, in turn, to have compounded a portion of the ballad as printed by Jamieson with a fragment from tradition (#C#): Kinloch MSS, III, 147.

Cunningham, Songs of Scotland, II, 32, has fused Percy's and Jamieson's copies, as Motherwell remarks, "in a flux of his own which has disfigured and quite changed the features of each."

The grete Glascurion is joined in Chaucer's House of Fame, III, 113-118, with the harpers Orpheus, Orion (Arion), and Chiron, and with Orpheus again by Gavin Douglas, copying Chaucer, in his Palice of Honour, I, 21, vv 15, 16, ed. Small.

Y Bardd Glas Keraint, in English Keraint the Blue Bard (Blue Bard being an appellation of a chief bard, who wore an official robe of blue), is recorded, as Mr Edward Williams informs us, to have been an eminent poet of distinguished birth, son of Owain, Prince of Glamorgan. The English name Glasgerion, Mr Williams further remarks, differs not half so much from Glasgeraint as most Welsh names, as written by Englishmen, do from their true orthography. There is, therefore, at least no absurdity in the suggestion that the Glascurion of Chaucer and the Glasgerion of the ballad may represent the Welsh Glas Keraint.[96]

A peasant lad, tailor's lad, who had overheard the troth-plight of a knight and lady, anticipates the lover in 'Den fule Bondedreng,' Kristensen, II, 25-27; 'Torpardrängen,' Hazelius, Ur de Nordiska Folkens Lif, p. 138; 'Die Betrogene,' Norrenberg, Des dülkener Fiedlers Liederbuch, p. 79. The adventure is jocosely treated in the first two, and does not amount to a tragedy in the other. A groom forestalls Agilulf, King of the Lombards, in the Decameron, III, 2, again without a bloody conclusion.

The marvellous power of the harp in #B# 2, #C# 1 is precisely paralleled in the Scandinavian 'Harpans Kraft,' Arwidsson, No 149, II, 311-17; Afzelius, No 91, III, 144-47; Grundtvig, No 40, II, 65-68; Landstad, No 51, p. 475; Íslenzk Fornkvæði, No 3, p. 18 f. In these the fish is harped out of the water, the young from folk and from fee, the bairn from its mother's womb, the water from the brook, the hind from the wood, the horns from the hart's head, the bark from the tree, the dead out of the mould, etc., etc. These effects are of the same nature as those produced by the harp of Orpheus, and it is to be observed that in the ballad of 'Harpans Kraft' the harper is a bridegroom seeking (successfully) to recover his bride, who has been carried down to the depths of the water by a merman. We have had something like these effects in the 'Twa Brothers,' No 49, #B# 10, I, 439, where Lady Margaret harps the small birds off the briers and her true love out of the grave.[97] There is a fisherman in the Gesta Romanorum who has a harp so sweet that all the fish in the water come to his hand: Oesterley, No 85, p. 413, Madden, No 35, p. 116, No 8, p. 293. Equally potent is pipe, flute, or song in many ballads of various nations; the fish come up from below, the stars are stopped, the brook rises, the pines vail their top, the deer stops in its leap, etc., the musician being sometimes an elf, sometimes an inspired mortal: 'Hr. Tönne af Alsö,' Grundtvig, No 34, II, 15, 19, Afzelius, No 7, I, 33, 128; 'Elvehöj,' Grundtvig, No 46, II, 107-109, Afzelius, No 95, III, 170, Arwidsson, No 147, II, 301; Kudrun, ed. Bartsch, sts 379, 381, 388; the Roumanian 'Salga,' 'Mihu Copilul,' 'Vidra,' Stanley, p. 29, Alecsandri, pp 58, 66, 98 f, the same, Ballades et Chants populaires, pp 118, 168, Murray, pp 44, 53 f, 83; 'El Poder del Canto,' Milá, Romancerillo, No 207, p. 165, Nigra, Rivista Contemporanea, XX, 78; 'Conde Arnaldos,' Wolf and Hofmann, No 153, II, 80. For the soporific effect of such music, as shown in #B# 5, #C# 2, there are parallels in 'Albred Lykke,' who sings a ballad which sets everybody asleep but the young bride who had been stolen from him, Kristensen, I, 281, No 105, sts 11, 12, II, 259 f, No 76, sts 13, 14; 'Den fortryllende Sang,' Grundtvig, No 243, IV, 470, Danish #A# 12, 473, Swedish #G# 25, 26; 'El Rey marinero,' Milá, No 201, p. 151, Briz, I, 117, IV, 15, V, 75; Campbell's West Highland Tales, I, 291 f.

The oath by oak, ash, and thorn, #A# 18, is a relic or trait of high antiquity. We have an oath by the thorn in 'Fair Janet,' #G# 13, 'Young Hunting,' #K# 26; by corn, grass sae green and corn, in 'Young Hunting,' #A# 16, #D# 19, #G# 7. It is to be supposed that the tree, thorn, corn, was touched while swearing, a sod taken up in the hand. See Grimm's Rechtsalterthümer, 2d ed., p. 896 f, p. 117 f.

For drying the sword on the sleeve, #A# 22, see 'Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard.'

Translated by Bodmer, I, 73, after Percy; by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 59, after Allingham, p. 358.

#A#

Percy MS., p. 94; Hales and Furnivall, I, 248.

1 Glasgerion was a kings owne sonne, And a harp_er_ he was good; He harped in the kings chamber, Where cuppe and candle stoode, And soe did hee in the queens chamber, Till ladies waxed wood.

2 And then bespake the k_ing_s daughter, And these words thus sayd shee: . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

3 Saide, Strike on, strike on, Glasgerrion, Of thy striking doe not blinne; There's neuer a stroke comes ou_er_ thin harpe But it glads my hart w_i_thin.

4 'Faire might you fall, lady!' q_uo_th hee; 'Who taught you now to speak? I haue loued you, lady, seuen yeere; My hart I durst neere breake.'

5 'But come to my bower, my Glasgerryon, When all men are att rest; As I am a ladie true of my p_ro_mise, Thou shalt bee a welcome guest.'

6 But hom then came Glasgerryon, A glad man, Lord, was hee: 'And come thou hither, Iacke, my boy, Come hither vnto mee.

7 'For the k_ing_s daughter of Normandye, Her loue is granted mee, And beffore the cocke haue crowen, Att her chamber must I bee.'

8 'But come you hither m_aste_r,' q_uo_th hee, 'Lay yo_u_r head downe on this stone; For I will waken you, m_aste_r deere, Afore it be time to gone.'

9 But vpp then rose _tha_t lither ladd, And did on hose and shoone; A coller he cast vpon his necke, Hee seemed a gentleman.

10 And when he came to _tha_t ladies chamber, He thrild vpon a pinn; The lady was true of her p_ro_mise, Rose vp and lett him in.

11 He did not take the lady gay To boulster nor to bedd, But downe vpon her chamber-flore Full soone he hath her layd.

12 He did not kisse _tha_t lady gay When he came nor when he youd; And sore mistrusted that lady gay He was of some churlës blood.

13 But home then came _tha_t lither ladd, And did of his hose and shoone, And cast _tha_t coller from about his necke; He was but a churlës sonne: 'Awaken,' q_uo_th hee, 'my m_aste_r deere, I hold it time to be gone.

14 'For I haue sadled yo_u_r horsse, m_aste_r, Well bridled I haue yo_u_r steed; Haue not I serued a good breakfast, When time comes I haue need.'

15 But vp then rose good Glasgerryon, And did on both hose and shoone, And cast a coller about his necke; He was a k_ingë_s sonne.

16 And when he came to _tha_t la_dies_ chamber, He thrild vpon a pinn; The la_dy_ was more then true of p_ro_mise, Rose vp and let him in.

17 Saies, Whether haue you left w_i_th me Yo_u_r braclett or yo_u_r gloue? Or are you returned backe againe To know more of my loue?'

18 Glasgerryon swore a full great othe, By oake and ashe and thorne, 'Lady, I was neuer in yo_u_r chamber Sith the time that I was borne.'

19 'O then it was yo_u_r litle foote-page Falsly hath beguiled me:' And then shee pulld forth a litle pen-kniffe, _Tha_t hanged by her knee, Says, There shall neuer noe churlës blood Spring w_i_thin my body.

20 But home then went Glasgerryon, A woe man, good [Lord], was hee; Sayes, Come hither, thou Iacke, my boy, Come thou hither to me.

21 Ffor if I had killed a man to-night, Iacke, I wold tell it thee; But if I haue not killed a man to-night, Iacke, thou hast killed three!

22 And he puld out his bright browne sword, And dryed it on his sleeue, And he smote off that lither ladds head, And asked noe man noe leaue.

23 He sett the swords poynt till his brest, The pumill till a stone; Thorrow _tha_t falsenese of _tha_t lither ladd These three liues werne all gone.

B

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 93, taken from the recitation of an old woman by Professor Scott, of Aberdeen, and "somewhat improved" by a fragment communicated by the Rev. William Gray, of Lincoln.

1 Glenkindie was ance a harper gude, He harped to the king; And Glenkindie was ance the best harper That ever harpd on a string.

2 He'd harpit a fish out o saut water, Or water out o a stane, Or milk out o a maiden's breast, That bairn had never nane.

3 He's taen his harp intil his hand, He harpit and he sang, And ay as he harpit to the king, To haud him unthought lang.

4 'I'll gie you a robe, Glenkindie, A robe o the royal pa, Gin ye will harp i the winter's night Afore my nobles a'.'

* * * * * * *

5 He's taen his harp intill his hand, He's harpit them a' asleep, Except it was the young countess, That love did waukin keep.

6 And first he has harpit a grave tune, And syne he has harpit a gay, And mony a sich atween hands I wat the lady gae.

7 Says, Whan day is dawen, and cocks hae crawen, And wappit their wings sae wide, It's ye may come to my bower-door, And streek you by my side.

8 But look that ye tell na Gib, your man, For naething that ye dee; For, an ye tell him Gib, your man, He'll beguile baith you and me.

9 He's taen his harp intill his hand, He harpit and he sang, And he is hame to Gib, his man, As fast as he could gang.

10 'O mith I tell you, Gib, my man, Gin I a man had slain?' 'O that ye micht, my gude master, Altho ye had slain ten.'

11 'Then tak ye tent now, Gib, my man, My bidden for to dee; And but an ye wauken me in time, Ye sall be hangit hie.

12 'Whan day has dawen, and cocks hae crawen, And wappit their wings sae wide, I'm bidden gang till yon lady's bower, And streek me by her side.'

13 'Gae hame to your bed, my good master; Ye've waukit, I fear, oer lang; For I'll wauken you in as good time As ony cock i the land.'

14 He's taen his harp intill his hand, He harpit and he sang, Until he harpit his master asleep, Syne fast awa did gang.

15 And he is till that lady's bower, As fast as he could rin; When he cam till that lady's bower, He chappit at the chin.

16 'O wha is this,' says that lady, 'That opens nae and comes in?' 'It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true-love, O open and lat me in!'

17 She kent he was nae gentle knicht That she had latten in, For neither when he gaed nor cam, Kist he her cheek or chin.

18 He neither kist her when he cam, Nor clappit her when he gaed, And in and at her bower window, The moon shone like the gleed.

19 'O ragged is your hose, Glenkindie, And riven is your sheen, And reaveld is your yellow hair, That I saw late yestreen.'

20 'The stockings they are Gib, my man's, They came first to my hand, And this is Gib, my man's shoon, At my bed-feet they stand; I've reavelld a' my yellow hair Coming against the wind.'

21 He's taen the harp intill his hand, He harpit and he sang, Until he cam to his master, As fast as he could gang.

22 'Won up, won up, my good master, I fear ye sleep oer lang; There's nae a cock in a' the land But has wappit his wings and crawn.'

23 Glenkindie 's tane his harp in hand, He harpit and he sang, And he has reachd the lady's bower Afore that eer he blan.

24 When he cam to the lady's bower, He chappit at the chin: 'O wha is that at my bower-door, That opens na and comes in?' 'It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true-love, And in I canna win.'

* * * * * * *

25 'Forbid it, forbid it,' says that lady, 'That ever sic shame betide, That I should first be a wild loon's lass, And than a young knight's bride.'

26 He's taen his harp intill his hand, He harpit and he sang, And he is hame to Gib, his man, As fast as he could gang.

27 'Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man, Till I pay you your fee; Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man, Weel payit sall ye be.'

28 And he has taen him Gib, his man, And he has hangd him hie, And he's hangit him oer his ain yate, As high as high could be.

29 There was nae pity for that lady, For she lay cald and dead, But a' was for him, Glenkindie, In bower he must go mad.

C

Kinloch's MSS, III, 139, in the handwriting of John Hill Burton.

1 Glenkinnie was as good a harper As ever harpet tone; He harpet fish out o the sea-flood, And water out of a dry loan, And milk out o the maiden's breast That bairn had never neen.

2 He harpit i the king's palace, He harpit them a' asleep, Unless it were Burd Bell alone, And she stud on her feet.

3 'Ye will do ye home, Glenkinnie, And ye will take a sleep, And ye will come to my bower-door Before the cock's crowing.'

4 He's taen out his milk-white steed, And fast away rode he, Till he came to his ain castle, Where gold glanced never so hie.

5 'Might I tell ye, Jeck, my man, Gin I had slain a man?' 'Deed might [ye], my good master, Altho ye had slain ten.'

6 'I've faun in love wi a gay ladie, She's daughter to the Queen, And I maun be at her bower-door Before the cock's crowing.'

7 He's taen out his master's steed, And fast awa rode he, Until he cam to Burd Bell's door, Where gold glanced never so hie.

8 When he came to Burd Bell's door, He tirled at the pin, And up she rose, away she goes, To let Glenkinnie in.

9 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . That I combed out yestreen.

* * * * * * *

10 She looked out at a shot-window, Atween her and the meen: 'There is twa lovers beguiled the night, And I fear I am ane.

11 'Ye shall na hae to say, Glenkindie, When you sit at the wine, That once you loved a queen's daughter, And she was your footman's quean.'

* * * * * * *

* * * * *

#A.#

1^4. cappe... yoode.

_1^{5, 6}, 2^{1, 2} make a stanza in the MS._

3^3. this harpe.

4^1. him fall?

4^3. 7 yeere.

6^1. whom then.

7^{3, 4}. & at her chamber must I bee beffore the cocke haue crowen.

10^2. pinn: _one stroke of the n is left out, as frequently, in the MS. Furnivall._

11^2. nor noe.

14^4. times.

16^4. him im.

17^1. you you.

17^3. you are.

21^4. killed 3.

22^3. head: _there is a tag to the ~d~ as if for ~s~. Furnivall._

23^4. these 3.

#B.#

_1^{3, 4}, 2 are cited by Jamieson in the Scots Magazine, October, 1803, p. 698, as the beginning of a fragment [Gray's], with only this variation_:

Glenkindie was ance the best harper.

_He has, therefore, combined the two versions here._

_Stanza 4, as published, is the first of_ "another copy [_Scott's_], in which the story is complete, but, it having been written from the recitation of a poor old woman in Aberdeenshire, the diction has been much humbled. It begins:

'I'll gie you a robe, Glenkindy, A robe o the royal pa, Gin ye will harp i the winter's night Afore my nobles a'.'

_(~Robe~ is misprinted ~rolu~)._

_After 4 follows this stanza, which, with but a word or two of difference, is the first of '~Brown Robin~,' where, no doubt, it belongs, but not here_:

And the king but and his nobles a' Sat birling at the wine, And he wad hae but his ae dochter To wait on them at dine.

_10 may not be in the right place, and should, perhaps, be put just before Gib gets his deserts. Some such stanza would come in well between 20 and 21 of #A#._

_After 25 follows 29, manifestly with no right. If this commonplace is retained, it must come at the end._

_After 29 (27 in Jamieson) follow these three stanzas, the first a superfluous and very improbable repetition; the second altered by Jamieson_, "to introduce a little variety, and prevent the monotonous tiresomeness of repetition," _the last as little in traditional style as the second_.

He'd harpit a fish out o saut water, The water out o a stane, The milk out o a maiden's breast That bairn had never nane.

He's taen his harp intill his hand, Sae sweetly as it rang, And wae and weary was to hear Glenkindie's dowie sang.

But cald and dead was that lady, Nor heeds for a' his maen; An he wad harpit till domis day, She'll never speak again.

#C.#

_8 follows 2 in the MS._

_A fragment in Kinloch MSS, III, 147, sixteen stanzas, in the writing of John Hill Burton, is thus made up: #B# 1, 2, #C# 2, #B# 6, 7, #C# 4, 5, #B# 11, #C# 6, #B# 14, #C# 7, 8, #B# 17, 18, #B# 19^{1-3} and #C# 9^4, #B# 20; with the following variations, probably arbitrary._

_Variations from_

#B# 1^1. a gude harper.

1^3, he was the.

1^4. on string.

2^1. o the sea-flood.

2^2. o the.

2^3. And milk.

#C# 2^3. Except it was.

#B# 7^4. streek down.

#C# 4^3. Untill.

#C# 5^1. Now might.

#C# 5^2. a man had slain==#B# 10^2.

#C# 5^3. Indeed ye micht.

#B# 11^1. Jock my man.

11^3. And but ye.

#C# 7^1. And he's.

#C# 8^1. bower-door.

#C# 8^3. and away.

[96] See The Cambrian Journal, September, 1858, pp 192-194, communicated to me by the kind courtesy of Rev. Professor D. Silvan Evans. As to Glasgerion's being a king's son, ballad titles count for little.

[97] In #C# 18, p. 440,

She _wept_ the sma brids frae the tree, She _wept_ the starns adoun frae the lift, She _wept_ the fish out o the sea.

68

YOUNG HUNTING

#A.# 'Young Hunting.' #a.# Herd's MSS, I, 182. #b.# The same, II, 67.

#B.# 'Young Redin,' Kinloch MSS, VII, 7, Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 1.

#C.# 'Young Riedan,' Harris MS., fol. 8.

#D.# Motherwell's MS., p. 377.

#E.# 'Lord William,' Scott's Minstrelsy, III, 265, 1803.

#F.# 'Earl Richard.' #a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 61, Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 218. #b.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xvii, one stanza.

#G.# Herd's MSS, I, 34; Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 148.

#H.# 'Clyde's Water,' Dr Joseph Robertson's Journal of Excursions, No 1, 1829.

#I.# 'Lord John,' Motherwell's MS., p. 189.

#J.# 'Earl Richard,' Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 42, 1802, and III, 184, 1833.

#K.# 'Young Hunting,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 118.

#J#, Scott's version, and naturally the best known, is described by the editor as made up from the best verses of Herd's copies, #A#, #G#, with some trivial alterations adopted from tradition. This account is far from being exact, for there are many lines in the edition of 1802 which are not found in Herd's copies, and in the edition of 1833 four additional stanzas, 11, 12, 13, 28. Such portions of Scott's version as are not found in Herd are here distinguished by a larger type. #K# is perhaps a stall copy, and certainly, where it is not taken from other versions, is to a considerable degree a modern manufacture by a very silly pen.[98]

The copy in Pinkerton's Tragic Ballads, p. 84, is only the first five stanzas of #G#, a little altered.

A Scandinavian ballad begins somewhat like 'Young Hunting,' but ends like 'Elveskud' or 'Clerk Colvil.' A young man who has made up his mind to marry is warned by his mother against the wiles of a former mistress. He rides to his old love's house and is welcomed to beer and wine. He tells her that he is on the way to his bride. She wants a word with him, or a kiss, and as he leans over to her on his horse, stabs him to the heart. He rides home bleeding, pretends that he has hurt himself by running against a tree, asks that his bed may be made and a priest sent for, and dies. #Danish#, 'Frillens Hævn,' Grundtvig, IV, 203 f, No 208, #A-D#, #A# from a manuscript of the 17th century. #Swedish#, #A#, 'Herr Magnus,' Afzelius, No 13, I, 67, an imperfect copy; #B#, from Cavallius and Stephens' manuscript collection, #C-H#, fragments in the same collection, Grundtvig, IV, 203; #I#, 'Herr Samsing,' Eva Wigström, in Hazelius, Ur de nordiska Folkens Lif, p. 124. #Norwegian#, 'Herre Per og Gjöðalin,' a mixed form, Landstad, p. 564, No 68, and the first stanza in Lindeman, No 132, No 178.

The place where the dead body of the knight lies at the bottom of the river is discovered by candles burning bright, #A# 22 f, #C# 19 f, #H# 8, #K# 31, 35. Sir Walter Scott supposed these candles to mean "the corpse-lights... which are sometimes seen to illuminate the spot where a dead body is concealed." He had been informed that the body of a man drowned in the Ettrick had been discovered by means of these candles. Though the language in the ballad is not quite explicit, owing perhaps to the fact that the method of detection practised was more familiar formerly than now, the meaning is as likely to be that a candle, floated on the water, would burn brighter when it came to the spot where the body lay. A candle (a consecrated one in Catholic countries) stuck in a loaf of bread, or supported by cork, is still believed to be efficient for indicating the place of a drowned body; in England, Henderson, Notes on the Folk Lore of the Northern Counties, ed. 1879, p. 60; in Bohemia, Wuttke, Deutscher Volksaberglaube der Gegenwart, ed. 1869, p. 239, No 371; in Brittany, Blätter für literarische Unterhaltung, 1837, p. 892; in Portugal, Vasconcellos, Tradições Populares, p. 80, No 178.[99]

That the body of a murdered man will emit blood upon being touched, or even approached, by the murderer is a belief of ancient standing, and evidence of this character was formerly admitted in judicial investigations. See especially Grimm, Rechtsalterthümer, 1854, p. 930 f, Bahrgericht, who cites from literature the Nibelungenlied (1043-45, Bartsch) Hartmann's Iwein, 1355-64, Shakespeare's Richard III, I, 2, besides instances of legal or historical description; to which may be added others furnished by Sir W. Scott, Minstrelsy III, 190-93, ed. 1833, and Kinloch, Ancient Scottish Ballads, pp 10-12. See further Schmidt, Die Märchen des Straparola, pp 229, 346 ff, Holinshed's Chronicle of Scotland, p. 235, ed. 1808, Matthew Paris, Chronica Majora, ed. Luard, II, 344 f, Brand's Antiquities, ed. Ellis, II, 542-44.[100]

There is a sort of _judicium ignis_ in #A# 26-28, #B# 23 f, #C# 24, #K# 37 f: the fire which does not burn the innocent bower-woman consumes her guilty mistress.

For the oath by corn, #A# 16, #D# 21, grass and corn, #G# 7, thorn, #K# 26, see 'Glasgerion.'

* * * * *

#E# is translated by Schubart, p. 173; #F# by Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 24, Hausschatz, p. 204; #J# by Schubart, p. 86, Gerhard, p. 134; Aytoun's copy by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, p. 46; Allingham's copy by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 42.

A

#a.# Herd's MSS, I, 182; #b.# the same, II, 67.

1 O lady, rock never your young son young One hour longer for me, For I have a sweetheart in Garlick's Wells I love thrice better than thee.

2 'The very sols of my love's feet Is whiter then thy face:' 'But nevertheless na, Young Hunting, Ye'l stay wi me all night.'

3 She has birld in him Young Hunting The good ale and the beer, Till he was as fou drunken As any wild-wood steer.

4 She has birld in him Young Hunting The good ale and the wine, Till he was as fou drunken As any wild-wood swine.

5 Up she has tain him Young Hunting, And she has had him to her bed, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

6 And she has minded her on a little penknife, That hangs low down by her gare, And she has gin him Young Hunting A deep wound and a sare.

7 Out an spake the bonny bird, That flew abon her head: 'Lady, keep well thy green clothing Fra that good lord's blood.'

8 'O better I'll keep my green clothing Fra that good lord's blood Nor thou can keep thy flattering toung, That flatters in thy head.

9 'Light down, light down, my bonny bird, Light down upon my hand, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

10 'O siller, O siller shall be thy hire, An goud shall be thy fee, An every month into the year Thy cage shall changed be.'

11 'I winna light down, I shanna light down, I winna light on thy hand; For soon, soon wad ye do to me As ye done to Young Hunting.'

12 She has booted an spird him Young Hunting As he had been gan to ride, A hunting-horn about his neck, An the sharp sourd by his side.

13 And she has had him to yon wan water, For a' man calls it Clyde, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

14 The deepest pot intill it all She has puten Young Hunting in; A green truff upon his breast, To hold that good lord down.

15 It fell once upon a day The king was going to ride, And he sent for him Young Hunting, To ride on his right side.

16 She has turnd her right and round about, She sware now by the corn, 'I saw na thy son, Young Hunting, Sen yesterday at morn.'

17 She has turnd her right and round about, She swear now by the moon, 'I saw na thy son, Young Hunting, Sen yesterday at noon.

18 'It fears me sair in Clyde Water That he is drownd therein:' O thay ha sent for the king's duckers, To duck for Young Hunting.

19 They ducked in at the tae water-bank, Thay ducked out at the tither: 'We'll duck no more for Young Hunting, All tho he wear our brother.'

20 Out an spake the bonny bird, That flew abon their heads, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

21 'O he's na drownd in Clyde Water, He is slain and put therein; The lady that lives in yon castil Slew him and put him in.

22 'Leave aff your ducking on the day, And duck upon the night; Whear ever that sakeless knight lys slain, The candels will shine bright.'

23 Thay left off their ducking o the day, And ducked upon the night, And where that sakeless knight lay slain, The candles shone full bright.

24 The deepest pot intill it a' Thay got Young Hunting in; A green turff upon his brest, To hold that good lord down.

25 O thay ha sent aff men to the wood To hew down baith thorn an fern, That they might get a great bonefire To burn that lady in. 'Put na the wyte on me,' she says, 'It was her May Catheren.'

26 Whan thay had tane her May Catheren, In the bonefire set her in; It wad na take upon her cheeks, Nor take upon her chin, Nor yet upon her yallow hair, To healle the deadly sin.

27 Out they hae tain her May Catheren, And they hay put that lady in; O it took upon her cheek, her cheek, An it took upon her chin, An it took on her fair body, She burnt like hoky-gren.

B

Kinloch MSS, VII, p. 7, Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 1; "from the recitation of Miss E. Beattie, of Edinburgh, a native of Mearns-shire, who sings it to a plaintive and melancholy, though somewhat monotonous, air of one measure."

1 Young Redin's til the huntin gane, Wi therty lords and three; And he has til his true-love gane, As fast as he could hie.

2 'Ye're welcome here, my Young Redin, For coal and candle-licht; And sae are ye, my Young Redin, To bide wi me the nicht.'

3 'I thank ye for your licht, ladie, Sae do I for your coal; But there's thrice as fair a ladie as thee Meets me at Brandie's Well.'

4 Whan they war at their supper set, And merrily drinking wine, This ladie has tane a sair sickness, And til her bed has gane.

5 Young Redin he has followed her, And a dowie man was he; He fund his true-love in her bouer, And the tear was in her ee.

6 Whan he was in her arms laid, And gieing her kisses sweet, Then out she's tane a little penknife, And woundid him sae deep.

7 'O lang, lang is the winter nicht, And slawly daws the day; There is a slain knicht in my bouer, And I wish he war away.'

8 Then up bespak her bouer-woman, And she spak ae wi spite: 'An there be a slain knicht in your bouer, It's yoursell that has the wyte.'

9 'O heal this deed on me, Meggy, O heal this deed on me; The silks that war shapen for me gen Pasche, They sall be sewed for thee.'

10 'O I hae heald on my mistress A twalmonth and a day, And I hae heald on my mistress Mair than I can say.'

* * * * * * *

11 They've booted him, and they've spurred him, As he was wont to ride, A huntin-horn round his neck, And a sharp sword by his side; In the deepest place o Clyde's Water, It's there they've made his bed.

12 Sine up bespak the wylie parrot, As he sat on the tree: 'And hae ye killd him Young Redin, Wha neer had love but thee?'

13 'Come doun, come doun, ye wylie parrot, Come doun into my hand; Your cage sall be o the beaten gowd, Whan now it's but the wand.'

14 'I winna come doun, I canna come doun, I winna come doun to thee; For as ye've dune to Young Redin, Ye'll do the like to me; Ye'll thraw my head aff my hause-bane, And throw me in the sea.'

15 O there cam seekin Young Redin Mony a lord and knicht, And there cam seekin Young Redin Mony a ladie bricht.

16 And they've til his true-love gane, Thinking he was wi her; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

17 'I hae na seen him Young Redin Sin yesterday at noon; He turnd his stately steed about, And hied him throw the toun.

18 'But ye'll seek Clyde's Water up and doun, Ye'll seek it out and in; I hae na seen him Young Redin Sin yesterday at noon.'

19 Then up bespak Young Redin's mither, And a dowie woman was scho: 'There's na a place in Clyde's Water But my son wad gae throw.'

20 They've sought Clyde's Water up and doun, They've sought it out and in, And the deepest place in Clyde's Water They've fund Young Redin in.

21 O white, white war his wounds washen, As white as a linen clout; But as the traitor she cam near, His wounds they gushit out.

22 'It's surely been my bouer-woman, O ill may her betide! I neer wad slain him Young Redin, And thrown him in the Clyde.'

23 Then they've made a big bane-fire, The bouer-woman to brin; It tuke not on her cheek, her cheek, It tuke not on her chin, But it tuke on the cruel hands That pat Young Redin in.

24 Then they've tane out the bouer-woman, And pat the ladie in; It tuke na on her cheek, her cheek, It tuke na on her chin, But it tuke on the fause, fause arms That Young Redin lay in.

C

Harris MS., fol. 8, from Mrs Harris, Perthshire.

1 The ladie stude in her bour-door, In her bour-door as she stude, She thocht she heard a bridle ring, That did her bodie gude.

2 She thocht it had been her father dear, Come ridin owre the sand; But it was her true-love Riedan, Come hiean to her hand.

3 'You're welcome, you're welcome, Young Riedan,' she said, 'To coal an cannel-licht; You're welcome, you're welcome, Young Riedan, To sleep in my bour this nicht.'

4 'I thank you for your coal, madame, An for your cannel tae; There's a fairer maid at Clyde's Water, I love better than you.'

5 'A fairer maid than me, Riedan? A fairer maid than me? A fairer maid than ten o me You shurely neer did see.'

6 He leant him owre his saddle-bow, To gie her a kiss sae sweet; She keppit him on a little penknife, An gae him a wound sae deep.

7 'Oh hide! oh hide! my bourswoman, Oh hide this deed on me! An the silks that waur shappit for me at Yule At Pasch sall be sewed for thee.'

8 They saidled Young Riedan, they bridled Young Riedan, The way he was wont to ride; Wi a huntin-horn aboot his neck, An a sharp sword by his side.

9 An they are on to Clyde's Water, An they rade it up an doon, An the deepest linn in a' Clyde's Water They flang him Young Riedan [in].

10 'Lie you there, you Young Riedan, Your bed it is fu wan; The [maid] you hae at Clyde's Water, For you she will think lang.'

11 Up it spak the wily bird, As it sat on the tree: 'Oh wae betide you, ill woman, An an ill death may you dee! For he had neer anither love, Anither love but thee.'

12 'Come doon, come doon, my pretty parrot, An pickle wheat aff my glue; An your cage sall be o the beaten goud, Whan it's of the willow tree.'

13 'I winna come doon, I sanna come doon, To siccan a traitor as thee; For as you did to Young Riedan, Sae wald you do to mee.'

14 'Come doon, come doon, my pretty parrot, An pickle wheat aff my hand; An your cage sall be o the beaten goud, Whan it's o the willow wand.'

15 'I winna come doon, I sanna come doon, To siccan a traitor as thee; You wald thraw my head aff my hase-bane, An fling it in the sea.'

16 It fell upon a Lammas-tide The king's court cam ridin bye: 'Oh whare is it him Young Riedan? It's fain I wald him see.'

17 'Oh I hae no seen Young Riedan Sin three lang weeks the morn; It bodes me sair, and drieds me mair, Clyde's Water's him forlorn.'

18 Up it spak the wily bird, As it sat on the tree; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

19 'Leave aff, leave aff your day-seekin, An ye maun seek by nicht; Aboon the place Young Riedan lies, The cannels burn bricht.'

20 They gae up their day-seekin, An they did seek by nicht; An owre the place Young Riedan lay, The cannels burnt bricht.

21 The firsten grip his mother got Was o his yellow hair; An was na that a dowie grip, To get her ae son there!

22 The nexten grip his mother got Was o his milk-white hand; An wasna that a dowie grip, To bring sae far to land!

23 White, white waur his wounds washen, As white as ony lawn; But sune's the traitor stude afore, Then oot the red blude sprang.

* * * * * * *

24 Fire wadna tak on her bourswoman, Niether on cheek nor chin; But it took fast on thae twa hands That flang young Riedan in.

25 'Come oot, come oot, my bourswoman, Come oot, lat me win in; For as I did the deed mysell, Sae man I drie the pine.'

D

Motherwell's MS., p. 377; from Agnes Lyle, Kilbarchan.

1 Earl Richard has a hunting gone, As fast as he can ride; He's a hunting-horn about his neck, And a broadsword by his side.

2 'Licht down, licht down, Earl Richard,' she says, 'O licht down and come in, And thou'll get cheer and charcoal clear, And torches for to burn.'

3 'I winna licht, I canna licht, I winna licht at all; A fairer lady then ten of thee Meets me at Richard's Wall.'

4 He louted owre his saddle-bow, And for to kiss her sweet, But little thocht o that penknife Wherewith she wound him deep.

5 'Why wounds thou me so deep, lady? Why stabs thou me so sore? There's not a lord like Earl Richard Could love false woman more.'

6 She called upon her waiting-maid, Long before it was day: 'I have a dead man in my bower, I wish he were away.'

7 'Keep ye your bower, my lily-flower. Keep it free of all men's blood;' 'Oh I will keep it een as weel As you or any maid.

8 'But siller will be thy wage,' she says, 'And gold will be thy fee, And I mysell will gang alang And bear thee companye.'

9 They booted him, and spurred him, As he was wont to ride, And they're awa to Lorn's Water, To Lorn's Water so wide.

10 They turned down his yellow hair, Turnd up his milk-white feet: 'Lye thou there, Earl Richard,' she said, 'Till the blood seep from thy bane; That fairer maid than ten of me Will look lang or thou come hame.'

11 As they were coming hame again, Upon the road so hie, There they spy'd a small pyet, Was sitting on a tree.

12 'Where has thou been, fair lady?' it says, 'Whare has thou been so soon? Or what did thou wi Earl Richard, Was late wi thee yestreen?'

13 'Come down, come down, my wee pyet; An thou'll come to my knee, I have a cage of beaten gold, And I'll bestow't on thee.'

14 'Keep thou thy cage of beaten gold, And I will keep my tree; For as thou did wi Earl Richard, So wad thou do wi me; Thou wad thraw the wee head aff my bouk, And drown me in the sea.'

15 'Come down, come down, my wee pyet; An thou'll come to my hand, I have a cage of beaten gold, And thou's be put therein.'

16 'Keep thou thy cage o beaten gold, And I will keep my tree; For as thou did wi Earl Richard, So would thou do wi me.'

17 'Oh an I had my bow bendit, And set unto my knee, I wad shoot this wee pyet Sits gabbing on the tree.'

18 'Before thou get thy bow bendit, And set unto thy knee, I'll be at Earl Richard's father, Telling ill tales on thee.'

19 As they were coming hame again, Upon the road so bricht, There they saw Earl Richard's father, Coming marching in their sicht.

20 'Whare has thou been, fair lady?' he says, 'Whare has thou been back sae sune? O what did thou wi my auld son, Was late wi thee yestreen?'

21 She did swear by stars o licht, And grass-green growing corn, That she had not seen Earl Richard's face Since Saturday at morn; 'But in Lorn's Water, indeed,' she says, 'I fear his days are done.'

22 'There was not a ford in Lorn's Water But he could ride it weel; And what did thou wi my auld son, That went with thee afield?'

* * * * * * *

E

Scott's Minstrelsy, III, 265, 1803, communicated by James Hogg, from the recitation of his mother (Motherwell).

1 Lord William was the bravest knight That dwalt in fair Scotland, And, though renowned in France and Spain, Fell by a ladie's hand.

2 As she was walking maid alone, Down by yon shady wood, She heard a smit o bridle reins, She wishd might be for good.

3 'Come to my arms, my dear Willie, You're welcome hame to me; To best o chear and charcoal red, And candle burnin free.'

4 'I winna light, I darena light, Nor come to your arms at a'; A fairer maid than ten o you I'll meet at Castle-law.'

5 'A fairer maid than me, Willie? A fairer maid than me? A fairer maid than ten o me Your eyes did never see.'

6 He louted owr his saddle-lap To kiss her ere they part, And wi a little keen bodkin, She pierced him to the heart.

7 'Ride on, ride on, Lord William now, As fast as ye can dree; Your bonny lass at Castle-law Will weary you to see.'

8 Out up then spake a bonny bird, Sat high upon a tree: 'How could you kill that noble lord? He came to marry thee.'

9 'Come down, come down, my bonny bird, And eat bread aff my hand; Your cage shall be of wiry goud, Whar now it's but the wand.'

10 'Keep ye your cage o goud, lady, And I will keep my tree; As ye hae done to Lord William, Sae wad ye do to me.'

11 She set her foot on her door-step, A bonny marble stane, And carried him to her chamber, Oer him to make her mane.

12 And she has kept that good lord's corpse Three quarters of a year, Until that word began to spread; Then she began to fear.

13 Then she cryed on her waiting-maid, Ay ready at her ca: 'There is a knight into my bower, 'Tis time he were awa.'

14 The ane has taen him by the head, The ither by the feet, And thrown him in the wan water, That ran baith wide and deep.

15 'Look back, look back, now, lady fair, On him that loed ye weel; A better man than that blue corpse Neer drew a sword of steel.'

F

#a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 61, from the recitation of Miss Stevenson of Glasgow, January 22, 1825; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 218. #b.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xvii, VIII, one stanza.

1 Earl Richard is a hunting gone, As fast as he can ride, His hunting-horn hung about his neck, And a small sword by his side.

2 When he came to my lady's gate He tirled at the pin, And wha was sae ready as the lady hersell To open and let him in.

3 'O light, O light, Earl Richard,' she says, 'O light and stay a' night; You shall have cheer wi charcoal clear, And candles burning bright.'

4 'I will not light, I cannot light, I cannot light at all; A fairer lady than ten of thee Is waiting at Richard's Wall.'

5 He stooped from his milk-white steed, To kiss her rosy cheek; She had a pen-knife in her hand, And wounded him so deep.

6 'O lie ye there, Earl Richard,' she says, 'O lie ye there till morn; A fairer lady than ten of me Will think lang of your coming home.'

7 She called her servants ane by ane, She called them twa by twa: 'I have got a dead man in my bower, I wish he were awa.'

8 The one has taen [him] by the hand, And the other by the feet, And they've thrown him in a deep draw-well, Full fifty fathom deep.

9 Then up bespake a little bird, That sat upon a tree: 'Gae hame, gae hame, ye false lady, And pay your maids their fee.'

10 'Come down, come down, my pretty bird, That sits upon the tree; I have a cage of beaten gold, I'll gie it unto thee.'

11 'Gae hame, gae hame, ye fause lady, And pay your maids their fee; As ye have done to Earl Richard, Sae wud ye do to me.'

12 'If I had an arrow in my hand, And a bow bent on a string, I'd shoot a dart at thy proud heart, Amang the leaves sae green.'

G

Herd's MSS, I, 34; Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 148.

1 She has calld to her her bower-maidens, She has calld them one by one: 'There is a dead man in my bower, I wish that he was gone.'

2 They have booted him, and spurred him, As he was wont to ride, A hunting-horn around his waist, A sharp sword by his side.

3 Then up and spake a bonie bird, That sat upon the tree: 'What hae ye done wi Earl Richard? Ye was his gay lady.'

4 'Cum down, cum down, my bonie bird, Cum sit upon my hand; And ye sall hae a cage o the gowd, Where ye hae but the wand.'

5 'Awa, awa, ye ill woman, Nae ill woman for me; What ye hae done to Earl Richard, Sae wad ye do to mee.'

* * * * * * *

6 'O there's a bird intill your bowir That sings sae sad and sweet; O there's a bird intill your bour Kept me frae my nicht's sleep.'

* * * * * * *

7 And she sware by the grass sae greene, Sae did she by the corn, That she had not seen Earl Richard Sen yesterday at morn.

* * * * * * *

H

Dr Joseph Robertson's "Journal of Excursions," No 1, 1829.

* * * * * * *

1 'Hail well, hail well, my little foot-page, Hail well this deed on me, And ever I live my life to brook, I'se pay thee well thy fee.'

2 'It's we'l beet him, and we'l spur him, As gin he had been gain to ride, Put a huntin-horn about his neck, And a small sword by his side.

3 'And we'll carry him to Clyde's Water, And there we'll fling him in, That we may have it to be said In Clyde's Water he drownd.'

4 O they bet him, and they spurrd him, As gin he had been gain to ride, Pat a huntin-horn about his neck, But the sword on his wrang side.

5 And they hae carried him to Clyde's Water, And there they flang him in, That they might have it to be said In Clyde's Water he drowned.

* * * * * * *

6 'It's we'll sen for the king's doukers, And douk it up and doun; It's we'll sen for the king's doukers, And douk it out and in.'

7 Out it spak a little wee birdie, As it sat on yon burn-brae: . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

8 'Ye may lay by your day doukers, And turn you to the night, And where the innocent blood lies slain, The candles will burn fou bricht.'

* * * * * * *

9 O they hae brunt that gay ladie, And blawn her in the air, And nothing o that bower-man would burn But the hands that buskd him rare.

I

Motherwell MS., p. 189.

* * * * * * *

1 'Come down, come down, thou bonnie bird, Sit low upon my hand, And thy cage shall be o the beaten gowd, And not of hazel wand.'

2 'O woe, O woe be to thee, lady, And an ill death may thou die! For the way thou guided good Lord John, Soon, soon would thou guide me.'

3 'Go bend to me my bow,' she said, 'And set it to my ee, And I will gar that bonnie bird Come quickly down to me.'

4 'Before thou bend thy bow, lady, And set it to thy ee, O I will be at yon far forest, Telling ill tales on thee.'

* * * * * * *

J

Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 42, 1802, and III, 184, 1833, from Herd's copies (#A#, #G#), and from tradition.

1 'O lady, rock never your young son young One hour langer for me; For I have a sweetheart in Garlioch Wells I love far better than thee.

2 'The very sole o that ladye's foot Than thy face is far mair white:' 'But, nevertheless, now, Erl Richard, Ye will bide in my bower a' night?'

3 She birled him wi the ale and wine, As they sat down to sup: A living man he laid him down, But I wot he neer rose up.

4 Then up and spake the popinjay, That flew aboun her head: 'Lady, keep weel your green cleiding Frae gude Erl Richard's bleid.'

5 'O better I'll keep my green cleiding Frae gude Erl Richard's bleid, Than thou canst keep thy clattering toung, That trattles in thy head.'

6 She has calld upon her bower-maidens, She has calld them ane by ane: 'There lies a deid man in my bowr, I wish that he were gane.'

7 They hae booted him, and spurred him, As he was wont to ride, A hunting-horn tied round his waist, A sharp sword by his side; And they hae had him to the wan water, For a' men call it Clyde.

8 Then up and spake the popinjay, That sat upon the tree: 'What hae ye done wi Erl Richard? Ye were his gaye ladye.'

9 'Come down, come down, my bonny bird, And sit upon my hand; And thou sall hae a cage o gowd, Where thou hast but the wand.'

10 'Awa, awa, ye ill woman, Nae cage o gowd for me; As ye hae dune to Erl Richard, Sae wad ye do to me.'

11 She hadna crossd a rigg o land, A rigg but barely ane, When she met wi his auld father, Came riding all alane.

12 'Where hae ye been, now, ladye fair, Where hae ye been sae late? We hae been seeking Erl Richard, But him we canna get.'

13 'Erl Richard kens a' the fords in Clyde, He'll ride them ane by ane; And though the night was neer sae mirk, Erl Richard will be hame.'

14 O it fell anes upon a day The king was boun to ride, And he has mist him Erl Richard, Should hae ridden on his right side.

15 The ladye turnd her round about, Wi mickle mournfu din: 'It fears me sair o Clyde water, That he is drownd therein.'

16 'Gar douk, gar douk,' the king he cried, 'Gar douk for gold and fee; O wha will douk for Erl Richard's sake, Or wha will douk for me?'

17 They douked in at ae weil-heid, And out aye at the other: 'We can douk nae mair for Erl Richard, Altho he were our brother.'

18 It fell that in that ladye's castle The king was boun to bed, And up and spake the popinjay, That flew abune his head.

19 'Leave aff your douking on the day, And douk upon the night; And wherever that sackless knight lies slain, The candles will burn bright.'

20 'O there's a bird within this bower, That sings baith sad and sweet; O there's a bird within your bower Keeps me frae my night's sleep.'

21 They left the douking on the day, And douked upon the night, And where that sackless knight lay slain, The candles burned bright.

22 The deepest pot in a' the linn They fand Erl Richard in; A green turf tyed across his breast, To keep that gude lord down.

23 Then up and spake the king himsell, When he saw the deadly wound, 'O wha has slain my right-hand man, That held my hawk and hound?'

24 Then up and spake the popinjay, Says, What needs a' this din? It was his light lemman took his life, And hided him in the linn.

25 She swore her by the grass sae grene, Sae did she by the corn, She had na seen him Erl Richard Since Moninday at morn.

26 'Put na the wyte on me,' she said, 'It was my may, Catherine:' Then they hae cut baith fern and thorn, To burn that maiden in.

27 It wadna take upon her cheik, Nor yet upon her chin, Nor yet upon her yellow hair, To cleanse the deadly sin.

28 The maiden touchd the clay-cauld corpse, A drap it never bled; The ladye laid her hand on him, And soon the ground was red.

29 Out they hae ta'en her May Catherine, And put her mistress in; The flame tuik fast upon her cheik, Tuik fast upon her chin, Tuik fast upon her fair bodye, She burnd like hollins grene.

K

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 118.

1 Lady Maisry forth from her bower came, And stood on her tower-head; She thought she heard a bridle ring, The sound did her heart guid.

2 She thought it was her first true-love, Whom she loved ance in time; But it was her new love, Hunting, Come frae the hunting o the hyn.

3 'Gude morrow, gude morrow, Lady Maisry, God make you safe and free; I'm come to take my last farewell, And pay my last visit to thee.'

4 'O stay, O stay then, Young Hunting, O stay with me this night; Ye shall hae cheer, an charcoal clear, And candles burning bright.'

5 'Have no more cheer, you lady fair, An hour langer for me; I have a lady in Garmouth town I love better than thee.'

6 'O if your love be changed, my love, Since better canno be, Nevertheless, for auld lang syne, Ye'll stay this night wi me.

7 'Silver, silver shall be your wage, And gowd shall be your fee, And nine times nine into the year Your weed shall changed be.

8 'Will ye gae to the cards or dice, Or to a tavern fine? Or will ye gae to a table forebye, And birl baith beer and wine?'

9 'I winna gang to the cards nor dice, Nor to a tavern fine; But I will gang to a table forebye, And birl baith beer and wine.'

10 Then she has drawn for Young Hunting The beer but and the wine, Till she got him as deadly drunk As ony unhallowed swine.

11 Then she's taen out a trusty brand, That hang below her gare, Then she's wounded him Young Hunting, A deep wound and a sair.

12 Then out it speaks her comrade, Being in the companie: 'Alas! this deed that ye hae done Will ruin baith you and me.'

13 'Heal well, heal well, you Lady Katharine, Heal well this deed on me, The robes that were shapen for my bodie, They shall be sewed for thee.'

14 'Tho I woud heal it never sae well, And never sae well,' said she, 'There is a God above us baith That can baith hear and see.'

15 They booted him, and spurred him, As he'd been gaun to ride, A hunting-horn about his neck, A sharp sword by his side.

16 And they rode on, and farther on, All the lang summer's tide, Until they came to wan water, Where a' man ca's it Clyde.

17 And the deepest pot in Clyde's water, And there they flang him in, And put a turf on his breast-bane, To had Young Hunting down.

18 O out it speaks a little wee bird, As she sat on the brier: 'Gae hame, gae hame, ye Lady Maisry, And pay your maiden's hire.'

19 'O I will pay my maiden's hire, And hire I'll gie to thee; If ye'll conceal this fatal deed, Ye's hae gowd for your fee.'

20 Then out it speaks a bonny bird, That flew aboon their head: 'Keep well, keep well your green claithing Frae ae drap o his bluid.'

21 'O I'll keep well my green claithing Frae ae drop o his bluid, Better than I'll do your flattering tongue, That flutters in your head.

22 'Come down, come down, my bonny bird, Light down upon my hand; For ae gowd feather that's in your wing, I woud gie a' my land.'

23 'How shall I come down, how can I come down, How shall I come down to thee? The things ye said to Young Hunting, The same ye're saying to me.'

24 But it fell out on that same day The king was going to ride, And he calld for him Young Hunting, For to ride by his side.

25 Then out it speaks the little young son, Sat on the nurse's knee: 'It fears me sair,' said that young babe, 'He's in bower wi yon ladie.'

26 Then they hae calld her Lady Katharine, And she sware by the thorn That she saw not him Young Hunting Sin yesterday at morn.

27 Then they hae calld her Lady Maisry, And she sware by the moon That she saw not him Young Hunting Sin yesterday at noon.

28 'He was playing him at the Clyde's Water, Perhaps he has fa'en in:' The king he calld his divers all, To dive for his young son.

29 They div'd in thro the wan burn-bank, Sae did they outthro the other: 'We'll dive nae mair,' said these young men, 'Suppose he were our brother.'

30 Then out it spake a little bird, That flew aboon their head: 'Dive on, dive on, ye divers all, For there he lies indeed.

31 'But ye'll leave aff your day diving, And ye'll dive in the night; The pot where Young Hunting lies in, The candles they'll burn bright.

32 'There are twa ladies in yon bower, And even in yon ha, And they hae killd him Young Hunting, And casten him awa.

33 'They booted him, and spurred him, As he'd been gaun to ride, A hunting-horn tied round his neck, A sharp sword by his side

34 'The deepest pot o Clyde's Water, There they flang him in, Laid a turf on his breast-bane, To had Young Hunting down.'

35 Now they left aff their day diving, And they dived on the night; The pot that Young Hunting lay in, The candles were burning bright.

36 The king he calld his hewers all, To hew down wood and thorn, For to put up a strong bale-fire, These ladies for to burn.

37 And they hae taen her Lady Katharine, And they hae pitten her in; But it wadna light upon her cheek, Nor woud it on her chin, But sang the points o her yellow hair, For healing the deadly sin.

38 Then they hae taen her Lady Maisry, And they hae put her in: First it lighted on her cheek, And syne upon her chin, And sang the points o her yellow hair, And she burnt like keckle-pin.

* * * * *

#A. a.#

1^1. than he.

2^1. lover's.

3^3. drucken.

7^3. the green.

10^1. higher.

10^3. On every.

12^2. Or he.

20^{1, 2} _and 21 in one stanza._

21^1. Clyd's. (?)

23^3. lackless.

25^{5, 6} _and 26 in one stanza._

#b.#

_is a revised copy, in which most of the above readings are corrected, with other changes._

1^1. _second ~young~ omitted_.

3^3. love drucken.

4^3. love drunken.

6^1. her of.

13^1. wan _omitted_.

14^1. 24^1. pit.

15^2. gan.

18^1, 21^1. Clyde's.

19^1. tae _omitted_.

27^{1, 2}. hae _omitted_.

27^6. hoky gren _wanting_.

#B.#

6, 7. _These stanzas, with the trivial variation in 6^3 of ~she's taen out~, are given by Chambers, Scottish Ballads, p. 259, note, from his recollection of a recited fragment._

#D.#

"The catastrophe wanting, but the lady's treachery was discovered, and she was burned." _Motherwell's MS._

9^4. so deep.

20^1. hast.

#E.#

"Although much of the language seems somewhat modernized, this must be attributed to its currency, being much liked, and very much sung, in this neighborhood. I can trace it back several generations, but cannot hear of its ever having been in print. I have never heard it with any considerable variation, save that one reciter called the dwelling of the feigned sweetheart Castle-swa." _Hogg._

#G.#

"To a wild melancholy tune." _Herd._

Quhat, ze, _etc._, _are printed_ what, ye, _as usual_.

#H.#

7^{1, 2} _and 8 one stanza._

[98] For utter ineptness 7-9 even go beyond the ordinary Buchan mark.

[99] Other expedients are, a loaf of bread weighted with quicksilver, or without candle or quicksilver, or a chip of wood; Henderson, as above, p. 59, Gregor, Notes on the Folk Lore of the North East of Scotland, p. 208, Choice Notes from Notes and Queries, pp 40-43, and Liebrecht, Volkskunde, p. 344 f, who cites nearly all these places. J. S. C. observes in Notes and Queries: As there are in all running streams deep pools formed by eddies, in which drowned bodies would be likely to be caught and retained, any light substance thrown into the current would consequently be drawn to that part of the surface over the centre of the eddy hole.

[100] Also (not seen by me) Danske Samlingar, II, 274-76, 1867, Norske Magasin, I, 401, 1860, cited by somebody (probably Grundtvig) whom I have neglected to note.

69

CLERK SAUNDERS

#A.# 'Clerk Sanders,' Herd's MSS, I, 177, II, 49.

#B.# 'Clerk Saunders,' Herd's MSS, I, 163, II, 46.

#C.# 'Clerk Saunders,' Kinloch's Scottish Ballads, p. 233.

#D.# 'Lord Saunders,' Motherwell's MS., p. 196.

#E.# 'The Seven Bluidy Brithers,' Motherwell's MS., p. 199.

#F.# 'Clerk Saunders,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 83.

#G.# 'Clerk Sandy,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 160.

'Clerk Saunders' was first given to the world in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 33, 1802, and was there said to be "taken from Mr Herd's MS., with several corrections from a shorter and more imperfect copy in the same volume, and one or two conjectural emendations in the arrangement of the stanzas." Sir Walter arranged his ballad with much good taste, but this account of his dealing with Herd's copies is very far from precisely accurate. #A#, the longer of these, does not end, as here printed, with Margret's refusal to be comforted, a rather unsufficing conclusion it must be owned. The story is continued by annexing the ballad of 'Sweet William's Ghost,' the lack of which in #B# makes Scott call that version imperfect. This sequel, found also in #F#, is omitted here, and will be given in the proper place.[101] Jamieson's, #F#, as well as Scott's, is a made-up copy, "the stanzas where the seven brothers are introduced" having been "enlarged from two fragments, which, although very defective in themselves, furnished lines which, when incorporated with the text, seemed to improve it." About one half of #G# is taken from Herd's MSS, with trivial alterations. The ghostly visitation at the end blends 'Proud Lady Margaret' with 'Sweet William's Ghost,' and this conclusion, not being worth transferring, has been allowed to stand.[102] The dream in #E# 13 may be derived from 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William.'

The austerities vowed in #D# 13-15, #E# 17-20, found also in #A# 20-22, #G# 23-25, make a very satisfactory termination to the tragedy, and supply a want that may be felt in #B#, and in #A# as it stands here. The like are found in 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' 'Bonny Bee Ho'm,' 'Lord Livingston,' 'The Weary Coble o Cargill,' and 'The Lowlands of Holland.' Also in the French ballad of 'La Biche Blanche,' where a brother, having unwittingly been the death of his sister, who was maid by day but hind by night, vows himself to a seven years' penance:

J'en suis au désespoir, j'en ferai pénitence; Serai pendant sept ans sans mettr' chemise blanche, Et coucherai sept ans sous une épine blanche.

or,

Et j'aurai sous l'épin', pour toit, rien qu'une branche.

Vaugeois, Histoire des Antiquités de la Ville de l'Aigle, p. 585, repeated in Bosquet, La Normandie Romanesque, p. 83, Beaurepaire, Poésie p. en Normandie, p. 78; Haupt, Französische Volkslieder, p. 20, Souvestre, in Revue des Deux Mondes, 1849, Avril, p. 106, and Les Derniers Paysans, p. 36, ed. 1871.

The king, in 'Kong Valdemar og hans Søster,' Grundtvig, No 126, #A#, #B#, #C#, will live in a dark house where he shall never see fire nor light, nor shall the sun ever shine on him, till he has expiated his monstrous cruelty to his sister.

So the marquis, in the Romance del Marques de Mántua, swears, till he has avenged the death of Valdovinos,

de nunca peinar mis canas, ni las mis barbas cortar, de no vestir otras ropas, ni renovar mi calzar, etc.

Wolf and Hofmann, Primavera, No 165, II, 192.

#F#, Jamieson's version, connects 'Clerk Saunders' with a Scandinavian ballad,[103] which seems to be preserved in abbreviated and sometimes perverted forms, also by other races. Full forms of this Northern ballad are:

#Icelandic#, 'Ólöfar kvaeði,' eight versions, #A-H#, Íslenzk Fornkvæði, No 34, I, 332.

#Färöe#, 'Faðir og dottir,' communicated by Hammershaimb to the Antiquarisk Tidsskrift, 1849-51, p. 88.

#Norwegian#, 'Far aa dótter,' Bugge, Gamle Norske Folkeviser, p. 115, #A# (with two fragments, #B#, #C#).

A father [king, Icelandic #A-H#] asks his daughter if she is ready to marry. She has no such thought.[104] [She swore by God, by man, that she had never had the thought, had no private connection, was as clear as a nun; but nobody knew what was in her mind: Färöe.] Who, then, he asks, is the fair knight that rode to your bower? No fair knight, but one of her knaves. Whose was that horse I saw at your door? It was no horse, but a hind from the fell. Who was that fair knight you kissed at the spring? It was no knight, but her maid that she kissed. Does her maid wear a sword at her side? It was no sword, but a bunch of keys. Does her maid wear spurs? It was no spurs, but gold on her shoes. Has her maid short hair? Her plaits were coiled on her head. Does she wear short clothes, like men? Maids hold up their coats when there is a dew. What babe was crying in her chamber? It was no babe, but her dog. What was that cradle standing by her bed? It was no cradle, but her little silk-loom.

In the Färöe ballad the father then rides to the wood, meets a knight, cuts him in two, hangs his foot, hand, and head to his saddle, and returns. Do you know this foot? he asks. It has often found the way to her chamber. Do you know this hand? Many a night it has lain on her arm. Do you know this head? Many a kiss have the lips had. In the other versions these bloody tokens are produced on the spot, with a more startling effect. The daughter wishes a fire in her father's house, him in it, and herself looking on. Instantly a blaze bursts forth, the king is burnt up, and all that belongs to him. The daughter sets the fire herself in the Färöe and the Norwegian ballad. She dies of grief in Icelandic #C#, takes to the wood in #E#, #F#,[105] goes into a cloister in #D#, #G# (cf. English #C#).

A briefer form of this same story is 'Den grymma Brodern,' Afzelius, No 86, III, 107. In this a brother takes the place of the father. After several questions he asks his sister if she knows the man's hand that hangs at his saddle. She bursts out into an exclamation of grief. 'Thore och hans Syster,' Arwidsson, No 55, I, 358,[106] has lost its proper conclusion, for we have not come to the conclusion when the brother says that his sister's false inventions will never give out till the sea wants water, a comment which we also find in the Färöe ballad (where, however, it is misplaced). This is the case, also, with 'Det hurtige Svar,' Danske Viser, No 204, IV, 228[106] and 362, but in the Danish ballad a perversion towards the comic has begun, the end being:

'Brother, would you question more, I have answers still in store.'

'When women lack a quick reply, The German Ocean shall be dry.'

In a #Spanish# and #Portuguese# romance a woman has received a lover in the absence of her husband. The husband returns before he is expected, and puts questions similar to those in the ballads already spoken of: whose horse, lance, sword, is this? whose spurs, whose arms are these? and is answered after the same fashion. There is considerable variety in the conclusion; the husband kills his wife, kills the paramour, kills both, both he and his rival lose their lives, the wife dies of fright, or is even pardoned. Spanish: 'De Blanca-Niña,' Wolf and Hofmann, Primavera, No 136, II, 52; 'Romance del Conde Lombardo,' the same, No 136 a, II, 53; 'La adúltera castigada,' Milá, Romancerillo, No 254, #A-M#, pp 241-45; 'Lo retorn soptat,' Briz, IV, 183; Fernan Caballero, La Gaviota, p. 82, ed. Leipzig, 1868.[107]

In an Illyrian ballad, husband, wife, and a young Clerk are the parties. Three watches are set to give notice of the husband's return, one in the field, one in the house-court, one before the chamber. They give due warning, but the woman, like Lady Barnard, in 'Little Musgrave,' will not heed. After some questions and evasions the husband strikes off her head: 'Nevérnost,' Vraz, Narodne Pésni Ilirske, p. 72; 'Bestrafte Untreue,' A. Grün, Volkslieder aus Krain, p. 41.

Nothing could be easier than to give these questions, prevarications, and comments a humorous turn, and this is done in a large number of ballads: see 'Our good man came hame at een.'

The two ballads which immediately follow have connections with 'Clerk Saunders.'

* * * * *

Scott's copy is translated by Schubart, p. 79; Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 45, Hausschatz, p. 202; Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 13. #F#, in Afzelius, III, 110.

A

Herd's MSS, #a#, I, 177; #b#, II, 419.

1 Clark Sanders and May Margret Walkt ower yon graveld green, And sad and heavy was the love, I wat, it fell this twa between.

2 'A bed, a bed,' Clark Sanders said, 'A bed, a bed for you and I;' 'Fye no, fye no,' the lady said, 'Until the day we married be.

3 'For in it will come my seven brothers, And a' their torches burning bright; They'll say, We hae but ae sister, And here her lying wi a knight.'

4 'Ye'l take the sourde fray my scabbord, And lowly, lowly lift the gin, And you may say, your oth to save, You never let Clark Sanders in.

5 'Yele take a napken in your hand, And ye'l ty up baith your een, An ye may say, your oth to save, That ye saw na Sandy sen late yestreen.

6 'Yele take me in your armes twa, Yele carrey me ben into your bed, And ye may say, your oth to save, In your bower-floor I never tread.'

7 She has taen the sourde fray his scabbord, And lowly, lowly lifted the gin; She was to swear, her oth to save, She never let Clerk Sanders in.

8 She has tain a napkin in her hand, And she ty'd up baith her eeen; She was to swear, her oth to save, She saw na him sene late yestreen.

9 She has taen him in her armes twa, And carried him ben into her bed; She was to swear, her oth to save, He never in her bower-floor tread.

10 In and came her seven brothers, And all their torches burning bright; Says thay, We hae but ae sister, And see there her lying wi a knight.

11 Out and speaks the first of them, 'A wat they hay been lovers dear;' Out and speaks the next of them, 'They hay been in love this many a year.'

12 Out an speaks the third of them, 'It wear great sin this twa to twain;' Out an speaks the fourth of them, 'It wear a sin to kill a sleeping man.'

13 Out an speaks the fifth of them, 'A wat they'll near be twaind by me;' Out an speaks the sixt of them, 'We'l tak our leave an gae our way.'

14 Out an speaks the seventh of them, 'Altho there wear no a man but me, . . . . . . . I bear the brand, I'le gar him die.'

15 Out he has taen a bright long brand, And he has striped it throw the straw, And throw and throw Clarke Sanders' body A wat he has gard cold iron gae.

16 Sanders he started, an Margret she lapt, Intill his arms whare she lay, And well and wellsom was the night, A wat it was between these twa.

17 And they lay still, and sleeped sound, Untill the day began to daw; And kindly till him she did say 'It's time, trew-love, ye wear awa.'

18 They lay still, and sleeped sound, Untill the sun began to shine; She lookt between her and the wa, And dull and heavy was his eeen.

19 She thought it had been a loathsome sweat, A wat it had fallen this twa between; But it was the blood of his fair body, A wat his life days wair na lang.

20 'O Sanders, I'le do for your sake What other ladys would na thoule; When seven years is come and gone, There's near a shoe go on my sole.

21 'O Sanders, I'le do for your sake What other ladies would think mare; When seven years is come an gone, Ther's nere a comb go in my hair.

22 'O Sanders, I'le do for your sake What other ladies would think lack; When seven years is come an gone, I'le wear nought but dowy black.'

23 The bells gaed clinking throw the towne, To carry the dead corps to the clay, An sighing says her May Margret, 'A wat I bide a doulfou day.'

24 In an come her father dear, Stout steping on the floor; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

25 'Hold your toung, my doughter dear, Let all your mourning a bee; I'le carry the dead corps to the clay, An I'le come back an comfort thee.'

26 'Comfort well your seven sons, For comforted will I never bee; For it was neither lord nor loune That was in bower last night wi mee.'

B

Herd's MSS, #a#, I, 163; #b#, II, 46.

1 Clerk Saunders and a gay lady Was walking in yonder green, And heavy, heavy was the love That fell this twa lovers between.

2 'A bed, a bed,' Clerk Saunders said, 'And ay a bed for you and me;' 'Never a ane,' said the gay lady, 'Till ance we twa married be.

3 'There would come a' my seven brethern, And a' their torches burning bright, And say, We hae but ae sister, And behad, she's lying wi you the night.'

4 'You'll take a napkain in your hand, And then you will tie up your een; Then you may swear, and safe your aith, You sawna Sandy sin yestreen.

5 'You'll take me up upo your back, And then you'll carry me to your bed; Then you may swear, and save your aith, Your board [-floor] Sandy never tred.'

6 She's taen him upo her back, And she's carried him unto her bed, That she might swear, and safe her aith, Her board-floor Sandy never tread.

7 She's taen a napkin in her hand, And lo she did tie up her een, That she might swear, and safe her aith, She sawna Sandy syne yestreen.

8 They were na weel into the room, Nor yet laid weel into the bed, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

9 When in came a' her seven brethern, And a' their torches burning bright; Says they, We hae but ae sister, And behold, she's lying wi you this night.

10 'I,' bespake the first o them, A wat an ill death mat he die! 'I bear a brand into my hand Shall quickly gar Clerk Saunders die.'

11 'I,' bespake the second of them, A wat a good death mat he die! 'We will gae back, let him alane, His father has nae mair but he.'

12 'I,' bespake the third o them, A wat an ill death mat he die! 'I bear the brand into my hand Shall quickly help to gar him die.'

13 'I,' bespake the fourth o them, A wat a good death mat he die! 'I bear the brand into my hand Shall never help to gar him die.'

14 'I,' bespake the fifth o them, A wat an ill death mat he die! 'Altho his father hae nae mair, I'll quickly help to gar him die.'

15 'I,' bespake the sixth o them, A wat a good death mat he die! 'He's a worthy earl's son, I'll never help to gar him die.'

16 'I,' bespake the seventh of them, A wat an ill death mat he die! 'I bear the brand into my hand Shall quickly gar Clerk Saunders die.'

17 They baith lay still, and sleeped sound, Untill the sun began to sheen; She drew the curtains a wee bit, And dull and drowsie was his een.

18 'This night,' said she, 'the sleepiest man That ever my twa eyes did see Hay lyen by me, and sweat the sheets; A wite they're a great shame to see.'

19 She rowd the claiths a' to the foot, And then she spied his deadly wounds: 'O wae be to my seven brethern, A wat an ill death mat they die!

20 'I'm sure it was neither rogue nor loun I had into my bed wi me; 'T was Clerk Saunders, that good earl's son, That pledgd his faith to marry me.'

C

Kinloch's Scottish Ballads, p. 233, a North Country version.

1 It was a sad and a rainy nicht As ever raind frae toun to toun; Clerk Saunders and his lady gay They were in the fields sae broun.

2 'A bed, a bed,' Clerk Saunders cried, 'A bed, a bed, let me lie doun; For I am sae weet and sae wearie That I canna gae nor ride frae toun.'

3 'A bed, a bed,' his lady cried, 'A bed, a bed, ye'll neer get nane; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

4 'For I hae seven bauld brethren, Bauld are they, and very rude; And if they find ye in bouer wi me, They winna care to spill your blude.'

5 'Ye'll tak a lang claith in your hand, Ye'll haud it up afore your een, That ye may swear, and save your aith, That ye saw na Sandy sin yestreen.

6 'And ye'll tak me in your arms twa, Ye'll carry me into your bed, That ye may swear, and save your aith, That in your bour-floor I never gaed.'

7 She's taen a lang claith in her hand, She's hauden 't up afore her een, That she might swear, and save her aith, That she saw na Sandy sin yestreen.

8 She has taen him in her arms twa, And carried him into her bed, That she might swear, and save her aith, That on her bour-floor he never gaed.

9 Then in there cam her firsten brother, Bauldly he cam steppin in: 'Come here, come here, see what I see! We hae only but ae sister alive, And a knave is in bour her wi.'

10 Then in and cam her second brother, Says, Twa lovers are ill to twin; And in and cam her thirden brother, 'O brother dear, I say the same.'

11 Then in and cam her fourthen brother, 'It's a sin to kill a sleepin man;' And in and cam her fifthen brother, 'O brother dear, I say the same.'

12 Then in and cam her sixthen brother, 'I wat he's neer be steerd by me;' But in and cam her seventhen brother, 'I bear the hand that sall gar him dee.'

13 Then out he drew a nut-brown sword, I wat he stript it to the stroe, And thro and thro Clerk Saunders' body I wat he garrd cauld iron go.

14 Then they lay there in ither's arms Until the day began to daw; Then kindly to him she did say, 'It's time, my dear, ye were awa.

15 'Ye are the sleepiest young man,' she said, 'That ever my twa een did see; Ye've lain a' nicht into my arms, I'm sure it is a shame to be.'

16 She turnd the blankets to the foot, And turnd the sheets unto the wa, And there she saw his bluidy wound, . . . . . . .

17 'O wae be to my seventhen brother, I wat an ill death mot he dee! He's killd Clerk Saunders, an earl's son, I wat he's killd him unto me.'

18 Then in and cam her father dear, Cannie cam he steppin in; Says, Haud your tongue, my dochter dear, What need you mak sic heavy meane?

19 'We'll carry Clerk Saunders to his grave, And syne come back and comfort thee:' 'O comfort weel your seven sons, father, For man sall never comfort me; Ye'll marrie me wi the Queen o Heaven, For man sall never enjoy me.'

D

Motherwell's MS., p. 196, from the recitation of Mrs Thomson.

* * * * * * *

1 'O I have seven bold brethren, And they are all valiant men, If they knew a man that would tread my bower His life should not go along wi him.'

2 'Then take me up into your arms, And lay me low down on your bed, That ye may swear, and keep your oath clear, That your bower-room I did na tread.

3 'Tie a handkerchief round your face, And you must tye it wondrous keen, That you may swear, and keep your oath clear, Ye saw na me since late yestreen.'

4 But they were scarsley gone to bed, Nor scarse fa'n owre asleep, Till up and started her seven brethren, Just at Lord Saunders' feet.

5 Out bespoke the first brither, 'Oh but love be wondrous keen!' Out bespoke the second brither, 'It's ill done to kill a sleeping man.'

6 Out bespoke the third brither, 'We had better gae and let him be;' Out bespoke the fourth brither, 'He'll no be killd this night for me:'

7 Out bespoke the fifth brother, 'This night Lord Saunders he shall die; Tho there were not a man in all Scotland, This night Lord Saunders he shall die.'

8 He took out a rousty rapier, And he drew it three times thro the strae; Between Lord Saunders' short rib and his side He gard the rusty rapier gae.

9 'Awake, awake, Lord Saunders,' she said, 'Awake, awake, for sin and shame! For the day is light, and the sun shines bricht, And I am afraid we will be taen.

10 'Awake, awake, Lord Saunders,' she said, 'Awake, awake, for sin and shame! For the sheets they are asweat,' she said, 'And I am afraid we will be taen.

11 'I dreamed a dreary dream last night, I wish it may be for our good, That I was cutting my yellow hair, And dipping it in the wells o blood.'

12 Aye she waukened at this dead man, Aye she put on him to and fro; Oh aye she waukend at this dead man, But of his death she did not know.

* * * * * * *

13 'It's I will do for my love's sake What many ladies would think lang; Seven years shall come and go Before a glove go on my hand.

14 'And I will do for my love's sake What many ladies would not do; Seven years shall come and go Before I wear stocking or shoe.

15 'Ther'll neer a shirt go on my back, There'll neer a kame go in my hair, There'll never coal nor candle-light Shine in my bower nae mair.'

E

Motherwell MS., p. 199, from Widow Smith, George Street, Paisley.

1 An ensign and a lady gay, As they were walking on a green, The ensign said to the lady gay, Will you tak me to your bower at een?

2 'I have seven bluidy brithers, Och and to you they have nae good will; And if they catch you in my bower, They'll value not your bluid to spill.'

3 'O you may take me on your back, And carry me to your chamber-bed, That I may swear, and avow richt clear, That your flowery bower I did never tread.

4 'O take a napkin from your pocket, And with it blindfold my een, That I may swear, and avow richt clear, That your flowery bower I have never seen.'

5 O she's taen him upon her back, And carried him to her chamber-bed, That he might swear, and avow it clear, That her flowery [bower] he did never tread.

6 O she's taen a napkin from her pocket, And with it blinded baith his een, That he might swear, and avow it clear, That her flowery bower he had never seen.

7 They were not well into their bed, Nor were they scarsely fallen asleep, Till in there came her seven bluidy brithers, And placed themselves at the ensign's feet.

8 Said the first one to the second, 'Och it is long since this love began;' Said the second unto the third, 'It's a sin to kill a sleeping man.'

9 Said the third one to the fourth, 'I will go to yon tavern hie;' Said [the] fourth one to the fifth, 'O if you will go, so will I.'

10 Said the fifth to the sixth, 'Och it's long since this love began;' Said the sixth to the seventh, 'It's a sin to kill a sleeping man.'

11 Out then spoke the seventh bluidy brither, Aye and an angry man was he: 'Altho there was no more men alive, The ensign's butcher I will be.'

12 He's taen out his rusty broad-sword, And ran it three times along his throat, And thro and thro the ensign's body The tempered steel it went thro and thro.

13 'O I have dreamed a dream,' she said, 'And such an dreams cannot be good; I dreamed my bower was full of swine, And the ensign's clothes all dipped in blood.

14 'I have dreamed another dream, And such an dreams are never good; That I was combing down my yellow hair, And dipping it in the ensign's blood.'

15 'O hold your tongue, my sister dear, And of your weeping let a be; For I will get you a better match Than eer the ensign, what was he?'

16 'So woe be to you, my seven bluidy brithers, Aye and an ill death may you die! For you durst not fight him in battle-field, But you killed him sleeping in bed wi me.

17 'I'll do more for my love's sake That other lovers would not incline; Seven years shall come and go Before I wash this face of mine.

18 'I will do for my love's sake What other lovers would not repair; Seven years shall come and go Before I comb down my yellow hair.

19 'I'll do more for my love's sake, What other lovers will not do; Seven years shall come and go Before I cast off stocking and shoe.

20 'I will do for my love's sake What other lovers they will be slack; Seven years shall come and go Before I cast off my robes of black.

21 'Go make to me a high, high tower, Be sure you make it stout and strong, And on the top put an honour's gate, That my love's ghost may go out and in.'

F

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 83, communicated by Mrs Arrot, of Aberbrothick, but enlarged from two fragments.

1 Clerk Saunders was an earl's son, He livd upon sea-sand; May Margaret was a king's daughter, She livd in upper land.

2 Clerk Saunders was an earl's son, Weel learned at the scheel; May Margaret was a king's daughter, They baith loed ither weel.

3 He's throw the dark, and throw the mark, And throw the leaves o green, Till he came to May Margaret's door, And tirled at the pin.

4 'O sleep ye, wake ye, May Margaret, Or are ye the bower within?' 'O wha is that at my bower-door, Sae weel my name does ken?' 'It's I, Clerk Saunders, your true-love, You'll open and lat me in.

5 'O will ye to the cards, Margaret, Or to the table to dine? Or to the bed, that's weel down spread, And sleep when we get time?'

6 'I'll no go to the cards,' she says, 'Nor to the table to dine; But I'll go to a bed, that's weel down spread, And sleep when we get time.'

7 They were not weel lyen down, And no weel fa'en asleep, When up and stood May Margaret's brethren, Just up at their bed-feet.

8 'O tell us, tell us, May Margaret, And dinna to us len, O wha is aught yon noble steed, That stands your stable in?'

9 'The steed is mine, and it may be thine, To ride whan ye ride in hie; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

10 'But awa, awa, my bald brethren, Awa, and mak nae din; For I am as sick a lady the nicht As eèr lay a bower within.'

11 'O tell us, tell us, May Margaret, And dinna to us len, O wha is aught yon noble hawk, That stands your kitchen in?'

12 'The hawk is mine, and it may be thine, To hawk whan ye hawk in hie; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

13 'But awa, awa, my bald brethren, Awa, and mak nae din; For I'm ane o the sickest ladies this nicht That eer lay a bower within.'

14 'O tell us, tell us, May Margaret, And dinna to us len, O wha is that, May Margaret, You and the wa between?'

15 'O it is my bower-maiden,' she says, 'As sick as sick can be; O it is my bower-maiden,' she says, 'And she's thrice as sick as me.'

16 'We hae been east, and we've been west, And low beneath the moon; But a' the bower-women eer we saw Hadna goud buckles in their shoon.'

17 Then up and spak her eldest brither, Ay in ill time spak he: 'It is Clerk Saunders, your true-love, And never mat I the But for this scorn that he has done This moment he sall die.'

18 But up and spak her youngest brother, Ay in good time spak he: 'O but they are a gudelie pair! True lovers an ye be, The sword that hangs at my sword-belt Sall never sinder ye.'

19 Syne up and spak her nexten brother, And the tear stood in his ee: 'You've loed her lang, and loed her weel, And pity it wad be The sword that hangs at my sword-belt Shoud ever sinder ye.'

20 But up and spak her fifthen brother: 'Sleep on your sleep for me; But we baith sall never sleep again, For the tane o us sall die.'

21 And up and spak her thirden brother, Ay in ill time spak he: 'Curse on his love and comeliness! Dishonourd as ye be, The sword that hangs at my sword-belt Sall quickly sinder ye.'

22 The eldest brother has drawn his sword, The second has drawn anither, Between Clerk Saunders' hause and collar-bane The cald iron met thegither.

23 'O wae be to you, my fause brethren, And an ill death mat ye die! Ye mith slain Clerk Saunders in open field, And no in bed wi me.'

G

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 160.

1 Clerk Sandy and a lady gay Where walking in the garden green, And great and heavy was the love That hae befa'en these twa between.

2 'A bed, a bed,' said Clerk Sandy, 'A bed, my love, for you and me;' 'O never a foot,' said the lady gay, 'Till ance that we twa married be.

3 'My seven brithers will come in, And a' their torches burning bright; They'll say, We hae but ae sister, And here she's lying wi a knight.'

4 'Ye'll take my brand I bear in hand, And wi the same ye'll lift the gin; Then ye may swear, and save your oath, That ye neer let Clerk Sandy in.

5 'Ye'll take that kurchie on your head, And wi the same tie up your een; And ye will swear, and save your oath, Ye saw not Sandy sin yestreen.

6 'Ye'll lift me in your arms twa, And carry me unto your bed; Then ye may swear, and save your oath, Clerk Sandy in your bower neer tread.'

7 She's taen the brand he bare in hand, And wi the same lifted the gin; It was to swear, and save her oath, She never loot Clerk Sandy in.

8 She's taen the kurchie frae her head, And wi the same tied up her een; It was to swear, and save her oath, She saw not Sandy sin yestreen.

9 She's taen him in her arms twa, And she's carried him to her bed; It was to swear, and save her oath, Clerk Sandie in her bower neer tread.

10 They hadna kissd, nor love clapped, Like other lovers when they meet, Till in a quarter's space and less These two lovers fell sound asleep.

11 Then in it came her seven brothers, And a' their torches burning bright; They said, We hae but ae sister, And here she's lying wi a knight.

12 O out it speaks the first o them, 'We will awa and lat them be;' Then out it speaks the second o them, 'His father has nae mair but he.'

13 Out it speaks the third o them, For he was standing on the birk: 'Nae sweeter coud twa lovers lye, Tho they'd been married in a kirk.'

14 Then out it speaks the fourth o them, Mair fair and lovely is his buke: 'Our sister dear we cannot blame, Altho in him she pleasure took.'

15 Then out it speaks the fifth o them, 'It were a sin to do them ill;' Then out it spake the sixth o them, 'It's hard a sleeping man to kill.'

16 But out it speaks the seventh o them, I wish an ill death mat he dee! 'I wear the sharp brand by my side That soon shall gar Clerk Sandy die.'

17 Then he's taen out his trusty brand, And he has stroakd it ower a strae; And thro and thro Clerk Sandy's middle I wat he's gart it come and gae.

18 The lady slept by her love's side Until the dawning o the day, But what was dune she naething knew, For when she wak'd these words did say:

19 'Awake, awake, now Clerk Sandy, Awake, and turn you unto me; Ye're nae sae keen's ye were at night, When you and I met on the lee.'

20 O then she calld her chamber-maid To bring her coal and candle seen: 'I fear Clerk Sandy's dead eneuch, I had a living man yestreen.'

21 They hae lifted his body up, They hae searched it round and round, And even anent his bonny heart Discovered the deadly wound.

22 She wrung her hands, and tore her hair, And wrung her hands most bitterlie: 'This is my fause brothers, I fear, This night hae used this crueltie.

23 'But I will do for my love's sake Woud nae be done by ladies rare; For seven years shall hae an end Or eer a kame gang in my hair.

24 'O I will do for my love's sake What other ladies woud think lack; For seven years shall hae an end Or eer I wear but dowie black.

25 'And I will do for my love's sake What other ladies woudna thole; Seven years shall hae an end Or eer a shoe gang on my sole.'

26 In it came her father dear, And he was belted in a brand; Sae softly as he trad the floor, And in her bower did stately stand.

27 Says, Hold your tongue, my daughter dear, And ye'll lat a' your mourning be; I'll wed you to a higher match Or eer his father's son coud be.

28 'Wed well, wed well your seven sons; I wish ill wedded they may be, Sin they hae killd him Clerk Sandy! For wedded shall I never be.'

29 His corpse was laid in the cauld clay, The bells went tinkling thro the town; 'Alas! alas!' said the lady gay, 'That eer I heard that waefu soun!'

30 When she had sitten intill her bower A twalmonth lang and weary day, Even below her bower-window She heard a ghaist to knock an cry.

31 She says, Ye're thief or bauld robber, Or biggin come to burn or brake; Or are you ony masterfu man, That is come seeking ony make?

32 'I am not thief nor bauld robber, Nor bigging come to burn nor brake; Nor am I ony masterfu man, That is come seeking ony make; But I'm Clerk Sandy, your first love, And wants wi you again to speak.

33 'Gin ye're Clerk Sandy, my first love, And wants wi me to speak again, Tell me some o' the love tokens That you and I had last between.'

34 'O mind not ye, ye gay lady, Sin last I was in bower wi thee, That in it came your seven brethren, The youngest gart me sairly dree?' Then sighd and said the gay lady, 'Sae true a tale as ye tell me.'

35 Sae painfully she clam the wa, She clam the wa up after him; 'T was not for want of stockings nor sheen, But hadna time to put them on; And in the midst o gude greenwood, 'T was there she lost the sight o him.

36 The lady sat, and mourning there, Until she coudna weep nae mair; At length the cloks and wanton flies They biggit in her yellow hair.

37 'O had your peace, my dearest dear, For I am come to mak you wise; Or this night nine nights come and gang, We baith shall be in Paradise.'

* * * * *

#A b#, #B b#, Herd II, _seem to be revisions, and to possess no authority._

#A. a.#

3^1. For an.

4^2. _~gin~ has been altered to ~pin~, according to a marginal suggestion, and ~pin~ stands at 7^2 in my copy._

6^1. taw. (?)

14^4. _Perhaps we should read_ brand 'll.

15^2. throi. (?)

18^3. and awa.

23^3. his. (?)

_After 18^4 is written, but struck out_:

O Sandie, ye are the sleepiest man That ever I saw wi mine eeen.

_And above the first verse of 19, also struck out:_

Ye hae spoyled my sheets wi sweat, she said.

_14^{3, 4} stand thus in the second copy:_

I'se bear the brand into my hand Shall quickly gar Clark Sanders die.

_20 is wanting._

_Stanzas 27-41 are transferred to_ 'Sweet William's Ghost.'

#B.#

_#a# is written in long lines, two to a stanza._

#D.#

2^4. my bower-room ye.

#E.#

12. "Recited as here written, but it was not thought to be right."

15^2. And if.

17^3. shall I come.

#F.#

_After 20 Jamieson introduced these two stanzas of his own_, "the idea of the rose being suggested by the gentleman who recited, but who could not recollect the language in which it was expressed:"

But up and spak her midmaist brother, And an angry laugh leugh he: 'The thorn that dabs, I'll cut it down, Though fair the rose may be.

'The flower that smelld sae sweet yestreen Has lost its bloom wi thee; And though I'm wae it should be sae, Clerk Saunders, ye maun die.'

_After 23 follow ten stanzas, which are transferred to_ 'Sweet William's Ghost.'

#G.#

32^6. you to speak again.

[101] But it is, of course, not impossible that there may have been such a conclusion to 'Clerk Saunders.' It may be mentioned, though not as an argument, that there was a ballad in Boccaccio's time (of which he cites the first two lines), on the story of G. iv, N. 5, of the Decamerone; a tale in which three brothers kill their sister's lover, and bury the body in a solitary place, and his ghost appears and informs the sister of what had happened.

[102] Buchan 1, 2==#B# 1, 2; 3-9==#A# 3-9; 11==#A# 10; 12==#B# 11; 15 is made from #A# 12; 16==#B# 16; 17==#A# 15; 23-25==#A# 21, 22, 20; 26-29 are made from #A# 24-26, 23. The fatuity of 13^2, 14^2 is such as is found nowhere out of Buchan.

The stanza given in the Appendix to Motherwell's Minstrelsy, xix, XVI, is Scott's 13.

[103] We may suppose that all the three versions, two of them fragmentary, which Jamieson combined, contained the passage which furnishes the link: but it would be much more satisfactory if Jamieson had given us all three as he received them.

[104] Icelandic #A-C# have an introductory incident not found in #E-H#. There is a trace of this in #D#, and it occurs also in two other ballads, #I#, #K#, of the same series, which lack the feature that #A-H# and English #F# have in common. A king finds a young child that has been left on or in the cleft of a rock, takes it with him, and rides to his daughter's bower. He asks his daughter who the fair swain is that he has found, and how it comes to have her eyes. She feigns ignorance and indifference: many a man is like another. Then come the questions found in the other versions.

[105] "Goes brain," perhaps, as the editors suggest, like Lady Maisry in 'Lord Ingram,' and others in Scottish ballads.

[106] These are translated by Jamieson, Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, p. 424, Prior, II, 378; W. and M. Howitt, Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, I, 261.

[107] Fernan Caballero had another Andalusian version besides this.

70

WILLIE AND LADY MAISRY

#A.# 'Willie, the Widow's Son,' Motherwell's MS., p. 498; 'Sweet Willie and Lady Margerie,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 370.

#B.# 'Willie and Lady Maisry,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I. 155.

'Willie and Lady Maisry' has much in common with 'Clerk Saunders.' The chief point of difference is that of Willie's killing Maisry's brother and the guard, #B# 22-24. Here the ballad has probably been affected by another, now represented in English only by a very corrupt version, 'The Bent sae Brown,' which immediately follows.

A

Motherwell's MS., p. 498; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 370. From the recitation of Mrs Notman, then far advanced in years, with whose grandmother it was a favorite: September 9, 1826.

1 Willie was a widow's son, And he wore a milk-white weed, O And weel could Willie read and write, Far better ride on steed. O

2 Lady Margerie was the first lady That drank to him the wine, And aye as the healths gade round and round, 'Laddy, your love is mine.'

3 Lady Margerie was the first ladye That drank to him the beer, And aye as the healths gade round and round, 'Laddy, you're welcome here.'

4 'You must come into my bower When the evening bells do ring, And you must come into my bower When the evening mass doth sing.'

5 He's taen four and twenty braid arrows, And laced them in a whang, And he's awa to Lady Margerie's bower, As fast as he can gang.

6 He set ae foot on the wall, And the other on a stane, And he's killed a' the king's life-guards, And he's killed them every man.

7 'Oh open, open, Lady Margerie, Open and let me in; The weet weets a' my yellow hair, And the dew draps on my chin.'

8 With her feet as white as sleet She strode her bower within, And with her fingers long and small She's looten Sweet Willie in.

9 She's louten down unto her foot To loose Sweet Willie's shoon; The buckles were sa stiff they wudna lowse, The blood had frozen in.

10 'O Willie, Willie, I fear that thou Has bred me dule and sorrow; The deed that thou has dune this nicht Will kythe upon the morrow.'

11 In then came her father dear, And a broad sword by his gare, And he's gien Willie, the widow's son, A deep wound and a sair.

12 'Lye yont, lye yont, Willie,' she says, 'Your sweat weets a' my side; Lye yont, lie yont, Willie,' she says, 'For your sweat I downa bide.'

13 She turned her back unto the wa, Her face unto the room, And there she saw her auld father, Walking up and down.

14 'Woe be to you, father,' she said, 'And an ill deed may you die! For ye've killd Willie, the widow's son And he would have married me.'

15 She turned her back unto the room, Her face unto the wa, And with a deep and heavy sich Her heart it brak in twa.

B

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 155.

1 Sweet Willie was a widow's son, And milk-white was his weed; It sets him weel to bridle a horse, And better to saddle a steed, my dear, And better to saddle a steed.

2 But he is on to Maisry's bower-door, And tirled at the pin: 'Ye sleep ye, wake ye, Lady Maisry, Ye'll open, let me come in.'

3 'O who is this at my bower-door, Sae well that knows my name?' 'It is your ain true-love, Willie, If ye love me, lat me in.'

4 Then huly, huly raise she up, For fear o making din, Then in her arms lang and bent, She caught sweet Willie in.

5 She leand her low down to her toe, To loose her true-love's sheen, But cauld, cauld were the draps o bleed Fell fae his trusty brand.

6 'What frightfu sight is that, my love? A frightfu sight to see! What bluid is this on your sharp brand? O may ye not tell me?'

7 'As I came thro the woods this night, The wolf maist worried me; O shoud I slain the wolf, Maisry? Or shoud the wolf slain me?'

8 They hadna kissd, nor love clapped, As lovers when they meet, Till up it starts her auld father, Out o his drowsy sleep.

9 'O what's become o my house-cock, Sae crouse at ane did craw? I wonder as much at my bold watch, That's nae shooting ower the wa.

10 'My gude house-cock, my only son, Heir ower my land sae free, If ony ruffian hae him slain, High hanged shall he be.'

11 Then he's on to Maisry's bower-door, And tirled at the pin: 'Ye sleep ye, wake ye, daughter Maisry, Ye'll open, lat me come in.'

12 Between the curtains and the wa She rowd her true-love then, And huly went she to the door, And let her father in.

13 'What's become o your maries, Maisry, Your bower it looks sae teem? What's become o your green claithing, Your beds they are sae thin?'

14 'Gude forgie you, father,' she said, 'I wish ye be't for sin; Sae aft as ye hae dreaded me, But never found me wrang.'

15 He turnd him right and round about, As he'd been gaun awa; But sae nimbly as he slippet in Behind a screen sae sma.

16 Maisry, thinking a' dangers past, She to her love did say, 'Come, love, and take your silent rest; My auld father's away.'

17 Then baith lockd in each other's arms, They fell full fast asleep, When up it starts her auld father, And stood at their bed-feet.

18 'I think I hae the villain now That my dear son did slay; But I shall be revengd on him Before I see the day.'

19 Then he's drawn out a trusty brand, And stroakd it oer a stray, And thro and thro Sweet Willie's middle He's gart cauld iron gae.

20 Then up it wakend Lady Maisry, Out o her drowsy sleep, And when she saw her true-love slain, She straight began to weep.

21 'O gude forgie you now, father,' she said, 'I wish ye be't for sin; For I never lovd a love but ane, In my arms ye've him slain.'

22 'This night he's slain my gude bold watch, Thirty stout men and twa; Likewise he's slain your ae brother, To me was worth them a'.

23 'If he has slain my ae brither, Himsell had a' the blame, For mony a day he plots contriv'd, To hae Sweet Willie slain.

24 'And tho he's slain your gude bold watch, He might hae been forgien; They came on him in armour bright, When he was but alane.'

25 Nae meen was made for this young knight, In bower where he lay slain, But a' was for sweet Maisry bright, In fields where she ran brain.

* * * * *

2^4, 3^4. _~Lady~ in MS., ~Laddy~ in Minstrelsy._

9^1. _~his foot~ in Minstrelsy: ~cf.~ #B# 5^1._

10^3. _~hast~ in both._

_Several slight changes are made by Motherwell in printing._

71

THE BENT SAE BROWN

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 30.

'The Bent sae Brown' combines the story of 'Clerk Saunders' with that of another ballad, not found in an independent form in English, but sufficiently common in Danish and Swedish; whence the non-tragical conclusion, for the killing of a certain number of brothers is not regarded as a very serious matter by the heroine, whether in English or Norse. The introduction and conclusion, and some incidental decorations, of the Scottish ballad will not be found in the Norse, but are an outcome of the invention and the piecing and shaping of that humble but enterprising rhapsodist who has left his trail over so large a part of Buchan's volumes.[108]

Stanzas 21-34 contain the substance of the Norse ballad referred to, which has been printed in the following versions, and exists in others not yet given to the world, Danish, Norwegian, and Icelandic.

#Swedish.# #A.# 'Unger Sven,' Arwidsson, I, 295, No 43. #B.# 'Ung Hillerström,' Afzelius, II, 180, No 55.

#Danish.# #A.# An unpublished version, found in two manuscripts of the 17th century, communicated to me by Grundtvig. #B.# 'Jomfruen i Skoven,' "Tragica, No 15," Danske Viser, III, 99, No 123.[109] #C.# 'Kjærligheds Styrke,' Kristensen, I, 109, No 43. #D#, #E#, #F#. 'Jomfruens Brødre,' Kristensen, II, 276, No 80 A, B, C. #G.# Madsen, Folkeminder fra Hanved Sogn, p. 88, No 5.

A youth has passed the night with his love, either in her bower or in a wood. When they are about to part in the morning, she begs him to be on his guard against her seven brothers, on his way through the wood and over the heath. He makes light of the danger, and in the wood meets the seven brothers. They demand how he comes to be there, and he feigns to have been out with his hawk and hound, to have been coursing hares. No, they say, you were with our sister last night, and asked no read of us. He makes no denial; but her will was as good as his. They ask whether he will fly or fight. He has no thought of flight, kills all seven, and goes back to his love. She will not forsake him for killing her brothers; nor would she, Danish #A#, #C#, #F#, had he killed her father too.[110]

1 'There are sixteen lang miles, I'm sure, Between my love and me; There are eight o them in gude dry land, And other eight by sea.

2 'Betide me life, betide me death, My love I'll gang and see; Altho her friends they do me hate, Her love is great for me.

3 'Of my coat I'll make a boat, And o my sark a sail, And o my cane a gude tapmast, Dry land till I come till.'

4 Then o his coat he's made a boat, And o his sark a sail; And o his cane a gude tapmast, Dry land till he came till.

5 He is on to Annie's bower-door, And tirled at the pin: 'O sleep ye, wake ye, my love, Annie, Ye'll rise, lat me come in.'

6 'O who is this at my bower-door, Sae well that kens my name?' 'It is your true-love, Sweet Willie, For you I've crossd the faem.'

7 'I am deeply sworn, Willie, By father and by mother; At kirk or market where we meet, We darna own each other.

8 'And I am deeply sworn, Willie, By my bauld brothers three; At kirk or market where we meet. I darna speak to thee.'

9 'Ye take your red fan in your hand, Your white fan ower your een, And ye may swear, and save your oath, Ye sawna me come in.

10 'Ye take me in your arms twa, And carry me to your bed; And ye may swear, and save your oath, Your bower I never tread.'

11 She's taen her red fan in her hand, The white fan ower her een; It was to swear, and save her oath, She sawna him come in.

12 She's taen him in her arms twa, And carried him to her bed; It was to swear, and save her oath, Her bower he never tread.

13 They hadna kissd, nor love clapped, As lovers do when they meet, Till up it waukens her mother, Out o her drowsy sleep.

14 'Win up, win up, my three bauld sons, Win up and make ye boun; Your sister's lover's in her bower, And he 's but new come in.'

15 Then up it raise her three bauld sons, And girt to them their brand, And they are to their sister's bower, As fast as they coud gang.

16 When they came to their sister's bower, They sought it up and down; But there was neither man nor boy In her bower to be foun.

17 Then out it speaks the first o them: 'We'll gang and lat her be; For there is neither man nor boy Intill her companie.'

18 Then out it speaks the second son: 'Our travel's a' in vain; But mother dear, nor father dear, Shall break our rest again.'

19 Then out it speaks the third o them, An ill death mat he die! 'We'll lurk amang the bent sae brown, That Willie we may see.'

20 He stood behind his love's curtains, His goud rings showd him light; And by this ye may a' weell guess He was a renowned knight.

21 He's done him to his love's stable, Took out his berry-brown steed; His love stood in her bower-door, Her heart was like to bleed.

22 'O mourn ye for my coming, love? Or for my short staying? Or mourn ye for our safe sindring, Case we never meet again?'

23 'I mourn nae for your here coming, Nor for your staying lang; Nor mourn I for our safe sindring, I hope we'll meet again.

24 'I wish ye may won safe away, And safely frae the town; For ken you not my brothers three Are mang the bent sae brown?'

25 'If I were on my berry-brown steed, And three miles frae the town, I woudna fear your three bauld brothers, Amang the bent sae brown.'

26 He leint him ower his saddle-bow, And kissd her lips sae sweet; The tears that fell between these twa, They wat his great steed's feet.

27 But he wasna on his berry-brown steed, Nor twa miles frae the town, Till up it starts these three fierce men, Amang the bent sae brown.

28 Then up they came like three fierce men, Wi mony shout and cry: 'Bide still, bide still, ye cowardly youth, What makes your haste away?

29 'For I must know before you go, Tell me, and make nae lie; If ye 've been in my sister's bower, My hands shall gar ye die.'

30 'Tho I've been in your sister's bower, I have nae fear o thee; I'll stand my ground, and fiercely fight, Aud shall gain victorie.'

31 'Now I entreat you for to stay, Unto us gie a wad; If ye our words do not obey, I'se gar your body bleed.'

32 'I have nae wad, says Sweet Willie, Unless it be my brand, And that shall guard my fair body, Till I win frae your hand.'

33 Then two o them stept in behind, All in a furious meed; The third o them came him before, And seizd his berry-brown steed.

34 O then he drew his trusty brand, That hang down by his gare, And he has slain these three fierce men, And left them sprawling there.

35 Then word has gane to her mother, In bed where she slept soun, That Willie had killd her three bauld sons, Amang the bent sae brown.

36 Then she has cut the locks that hung Sae low down by her ee, Sae has she kiltit her green claithing A little aboon her knee.

37 And she has on to the king's court, As fast as gang coud she; When Fair Annie got word o that, Was there as soon as she.

38 Her mother, when before the king, Fell low down on her knee; 'Win up, win up, my dame,' he said, 'What is your will wi me?'

39 'My wills they are not sma, my liege, The truth I'll tell to thee; There is ane o your courtly knights Last night hae robbed me.'

40 'And has he broke your bigly bowers? Or has he stole your fee? There is nae knight into my court Last night has been frae me;

41 'Unless 't was Willie o Lauderdale, Forbid that it be he!' 'And by my sooth,' says the auld woman, 'That very man is he.

42 'For he has broke my bigly bowers, And he has stole my fee, And made my daughter Ann a whore, And an ill woman is she.

43 'That was not all he did to me, Ere he went frae the town; My sons sae true he fiercely slew, Amang the bent sae brown.'

44 Then out it spake her daughter Ann, She stood by the king's knee: 'Ye lie, ye lie, my mother dear, Sae loud 's I hear you lie.

45 'He has not broke your bigly bowers, Nor has he stole your fee, Nor made your daughter Ann a whore; A good woman I'll be.

46 'Altho he slew your three bauld sons, He weel might be forgien; They were well clad in armour bright, Whan my love was him lane.'

47 'Well spoke, well spoke,' the king replied, 'This tauking pleases me; For ae kiss o your lovely mouth, I'll set your true-love free.'

48 She 's taen the king in her arms, And kissd him cheek and chin; He then set her behind her love, And they went singing hame.

[108] Several of Buchan's ballads, says Sir Walter Scott, Minstrelsy, I, 87, ed. 1833, "are translated from the Norse, and Mr Buchan is probably unacquainted with the originals." Scott seems to have meant only that the ballads in question had a Norse origin, not that they were deliberately translated within what we may call historical times. In this particular instance the resemblances with the Norse are remarkably close, but the very homeliness of the Scottish ballad precludes any suspicion beyond tampering with tradition. The silliness and fulsome vulgarity of Buchan's versions often enough make one wince or sicken, and many of them came through bad mouths or hands: we have even positive proof in one instance of imposture, though not of Buchan's being a conscious party to the imposture. But such correspondences with foreign ballads as we witness in the present case are evidence of a genuine traditional foundation.

Stanzas 25, 26 are remarkably like #F# 3, 5 of 'Earl Brand,' the Percy copy, and may have served in some Scottish version of the 'Douglas Tragedy.'

Stanzas 36-41 are borrowed from the 'Knight and Shepherd's Daughter.' Folly could not go further than in making the mother clip her locks and kilt her clothes, as in 36: unless it be in making a boat of a coat and a topmast of a cane, as in 3, 4.

[109] Translated by Prior, III, 234.

[110] In Danish #B# the maid has grace enough to weep for her brothers seven: "and almost more for the knight." But this last line is probably taken up from another ballad. In 'Herr Helmer,' a ballad which has some of the traits of 'Ribold,' Afzelius, No 54, II, 178, 226, Arwidsson, No 21, I, 155, Eva Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 25, and the same, Skånska Visor, p. 1, Helmer kills six of his love's seven brothers, and is treacherously slain by the seventh, whom he has spared. The seventh brother cuts off Helmer's head and takes it to his sister. A Danish version of 'Herr Helmer,' Danske Viser, No 209, IV, 251, ends differently: the seventh brother offers his sister to Helmer as ransom for his life.

72

THE CLERK'S TWA SONS O OWSENFORD

#A.# 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' Kinloch MSS, V, 403.

#B.# 'The Clerks o Owsenfoord,' Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, "Adversaria," p. 67.

#C.# 'The Clerks of Oxenford,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 281.

#D.# 'The Clerks Two Sons of Oxenfoord,' Motherwell's MS., p. 433.

#A#, as sung, had a sequel of six stanzas, which is found separately and seems to belong with another ballad, 'The Wife of Usher's Well.' Robert Chambers combined #A# with Buchan's version, #C#, and the six concluding stanzas with 'The Wife of Usher's Well,' and divided his ballad into two parts, "on account of the great superiority of what follows over what goes before, and because the latter portion is in a great measure independent of the other:" The Scottish Ballads, pp 345-50. His second reason for a division is better than his first. It is quite according to precedent for a ballad to end with a vow like that in #A# 17, #D# 14: see 'Clerk Saunders.'

#D# has some amusing dashes of prose, evidently of masculine origin: "They thought their father's service mean, their mother's no great affair," 2; "When he was certain of the fact, an angry man was he," 6; "That I may ride to fair Berwick, and see what can be done," 8. We have here a strong contrast with both the blind-beggar and the housemaid style of corruption; something suggesting the attorney's clerk rather than the clerk of Owsenford, but at least not mawkish.

There are ballads both in Northern and in Southern Europe which have a certain amount of likeness with 'The Clerk's Twa Sons,' but if the story of all derives from one original, time has introduced great and even unusual variations.

In the Scottish ballad two youths go to Paris to study, and have an amour with the mayor's daughters, for which they are thrown into prison and condemned to be hanged. The Clerk, their father, comes to the prison, asks them what is their offence, and learns that it is a little dear bought love. He offers the mayor a ransom for their lives, and is sternly refused. The mayor's two daughters beg for their true-love's lives with the same bad success. The students are hanged, and the father goes home to tell his wife that they are put to a higher school. She, #A# [he, #D#], vows to pass the rest of her days in penance and grief.

A very well known German ballad, found also in the Low Countries and in Scandinavia, has the following story.[111] A youth is lying in a dungeon, condemned to be hanged. His father comes to the town, and they exchange words about the severity of his prison. The father then goes to the lord of the place and offers three hundred florins as a ransom. Ransom is refused: the boy has a gold chain on his neck which will be his death. The father says that the chain was not stolen, but the gift of a young lady, who reared the boy as a page, or what not. There is no dear bought love in the case. The father, standing by the gallows, threatens revenge, but his son deprecates that: he cares not so much for his life as for his mother's grief. Within a bare half year, more than three hundred men pay with their lives for the death of the boy.[112]

A Spanish and Italian ballad has resemblances with the Scottish and the German, and may possibly be a common link: 'Los tres estudiantes,' Milá, Romancerillo, p. 165, No 208, #A-L#, previously, in Observaciones, etc., p. 104, No 6, 'Los estudiantes de Tolosa;' 'Los estudians de Tortosa,' Briz y Candi, I, 101; 'Gli scolari di Tolosa,' Nigra, Rivista Contemporanea, XX, 62. Three students meet three girls, and attempt some little jests with them: ask them for a kiss, Milá, #H#; throw small pebbles at them, Milá, #D#; meet one girl on a bridge and kiss her, Nigra. For this the girls have them arrested by an accommodating catchpoll, and they are hanged by a peremptory judge. The youngest student weeps all the time; the eldest tries to console him; their brother serves a king or duke, and if he hears of what has been done will kill judge, constable, and all their scribes. The brother gets word somehow, and comes with all speed, but the three clerks are hanged before he arrives. He gives the town of Tolosa to the flames, the streets run with the blood of the judge, and horses swim in the blood of the girls, Milá, #C#, Briz; the streets are washed with the blood of women, walls built of the heads of men, Milá, #A#; etc.

In a pretty passage in Buchan's not altogether trustworthy version, #C# 35-38, the clerks ask back their faith and troth before they die. For this ceremony see 'Sweet William's Ghost.'

* * * * *

Aytoun's ballad is translated by Knortz Schottische Balladen, p. 72, No 23.

A

Kinloch MSS, V, 403, in the handwriting of James Chambers, as sung to his maternal grandmother, Janet Grieve, seventy years before, by an old woman, a Miss Ann Gray, of Neidpath Castle, Peeblesshire; January 1, 1829.

1 O I will sing to you a sang, But oh my heart is sair! The clerk's twa sons in Owsenford Has to learn some unco lair.

2 They hadna been in fair Parish A twelvemonth an a day, Till the clerk's twa sons o Owsenford Wi the mayor's twa daughters lay.

3 O word's gaen to the mighty mayor, As he saild on the sea, That the clerk's twa sons o Owsenford Wi his twa daughters lay.

4 'If they hae lain wi my twa daughters, Meg an Marjorie, The morn, or I taste meat or drink, They shall be hangit hie.'

5 O word's gaen to the clerk himself, As he sat drinkin wine, That his twa sons in fair Parish Were bound in prison strong.

6 Then up and spak the clerk's ladye, And she spak powrfully: 'O tak with ye a purse of gold, Or take with ye three, And if ye canna get William, Bring Andrew hame to me.'

* * * * * * *

7 'O lye ye here for owsen, dear sons, Or lie ye here for kye? Or what is it that ye lie for, Sae sair bound as ye lie?'

8 'We lie not here for owsen, dear father, Nor yet lie here for kye, But it's for a little o dear bought love Sae sair bound as we lie.'

9 O he's gane to the mighty mayor, And he spoke powerfully: 'Will ye grant me my twa sons' lives, Either for gold or fee? Or will ye be sae gude a man As grant them baith to me?'

10 'I'll no grant ye yere twa sons' lives, Neither for gold or fee, Nor will I be sae gude a man As gie them back to thee; Before the morn at twelve o'clock Ye'll see them hangit hie.'

11 Up an spak his twa daughters, An they spak powrfully: 'Will ye grant us our twa loves' lives, Either for gold or fee? Or will ye be sae gude a man As grant them baith to me.'

12 'I'll no grant ye yere twa loves' lives, Neither for gold or fee, Nor will I be sae gude a man As grant their lives to thee; Before the morn at twelve o'clock Ye'll see them hangit hie.'

13 O he's taen out these proper youths, And hangd them on a tree, And he's bidden the clerk o Owsenford Gang hame to his ladie.

14 His lady sits on yon castle-wa, Beholding dale an doun, An there she saw her ain gude lord Come walkin to the toun.

15 'Ye're welcome, welcome, my ain gude lord, Ye're welcome hame to me; But where away are my twa sons? Ye should hae brought them wi ye.'

16 'It's I've putten them to a deeper lair, An to a higher schule; Yere ain twa sons ill no be here Till the hallow days o Yule.'

17 'O sorrow, sorrow come mak my bed, An dool come lay me doon! For I'll neither eat nor drink, Nor set a fit on ground.'

B

Noted down from a female servant by Dr Joseph Robertson, July 15, 1829; "Adversaria," p. 67.

* * * * * * *

1 'De weel, de weel, my twa young sons, An learn weel at the squeel; Tak no up wi young women-kin, An learn to act the feel.'

2 But they had na been in Blomsbury A twalmon and a day, Till the twa pretty clerks o Owsenfoord Wi the mayr's dauchters did lay.

3 Word has gaen till the auld base mayr, As he sat at his wine, That the twa pretty clerks o Owsenford Wi his daughters had lien.

4 Then out bespak the auld base mayr, An an angry man was he: 'Tomorrow, before I eat meat or drink, I'll see them hanged hie.'

5 But word has gaen to Owsenfoord . . . . . . . Before the letter was read, She let the tears doun fa.

* * * * * * *

6 'Your sons are weel, an verra weel, An learnin at the squeel; But I fear ye winna see your sons At the holy days o Yeel.'

7 Their father he went to Bloomsbury, He turnit him roun about, An there he saw his twa braw sons, In the prison, leukin out.

8 'O lie ye there for owsen, my sons, Or lie ye there for kye? Or lie ye there for dear fond love, Si closs as ye de lie?'

9 'We lie na here for owsen, father, We lie na here for kye, But we lie here for dear fond love, An we're condemned to die.'

* * * * * * *

10 Then out bespak the clerks' fader, An a sorry man was he: 'Gae till your bowers, ye lillie-flowers, For a' this winna dee.'

11 Then out bespak the aul base mayr, An an angry man was he: 'Gar to your bowers, ye vile base whores, Ye'll see them hanged hie.'

* * * * * * *

C

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 281.

1 I'll tell you a tale, or I'll sing you a song, Will grieve your heart full sair; How the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford Went aff to learn their lear.

2 Their father lovd them very weel, Their mother muckle mair, And sent them on to Billsbury, To learn deeper lear.

3 Then out it spake their mother dear: 'Do weel, my sons, do weel, And haunt not wi the young women, Wi them to play the fiel.'

4 Their father sware them on their souls, Their mother on their life, Never to lie wi the auld mayor's daughters, Nor kiss the young mayor's wife.

5 But they hadna been in Billsbury A twallmonth and a day, Till the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford With the mayor's twa daughters lay.

6 As these twa clerks they sat and wrote, The ladies sewed and sang; There was mair mirth in that chamber Than all fair Ferrol's land.

7 But word's gane to the wicked mayor, As he sat at the wine, That the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford With his twa daughters had lyne.

8 'O have they lain with my daughters dear, Heirs out ower a' my land, The morn, ere I eat or drink, I'll hang them with my hand.'

9 Then he has taen the twa bonny clerks, Bound them frae tap to tae, Till the reddest blood in their body Out ower their nails did gae.

10 'Whare will I get a little wee boy, Will win gowd to his fee, That will rin on to Oxenford, And that right speedilie?'

11 Then up it starts a bonny boy, Gold yellow was his hair; I wish his father and mother joy, His true-love muckle mair.

12 Says, Here am I, a little wee boy, Will win gowd to my fee, That will rin on to Oxenford, And that right speedilie.

13 'Where ye find the grass green growing, Set down your heel and rin, And where ye find the brigs broken, Ye'll bend your bow and swim.

14 'But when ye come to Oxenford, Bide neither to chap nor ca, But set your bent bow to your breast, And lightly loup the wa.'

15 Where he found the grass green growing, He slackt his shoes and ran, And where he found the brigs broken, He bent his bow and swam.

16 And when he came to Oxenford, Did neither chap nor ca, But set his bent bow to his breast, And lightly leapt the wa.

17 'What news, what news, my little wee boy? What news hae ye to me? How are my sons in Billsbury, Since they went far frae me?'

18 'Your sons are well, and learning well, But at a higher school, And ye'll never see your sons again, On the holy days o Yule.'

19 'Wi sorrow now gae make my bed, Wi care and caution lay me down; That man on earth shall neer be born Shall see me mair gang on the groun.

20 'Take twenty pounds in your pocket, And ten and ten to tell them wi, And gin ye getna hynde Henry, Bring ye gay Gilbert hame to me.'

21 Out it speaks old Oxenford, A sorry, sorry man, was he: 'Your strange wish does me surprise, They are baith there alike to me.

22 'Wi sorrow now I'll saddle my horse, And I will gar my bridle ring, And I shall be at Billsbury Before the small birds sweetly sing.'

23 Then sweetly sang the nightingale, As she sat on the wand, But sair, sair, mournd Oxenford, As he gaed in the strand.

24 When he came to Billsbury, He rade it round about, And at a little shott-window His sons were looking out.

25 'O lye ye there, my sons,' he said, 'For oxen, or for kye? Or is it for a little o deep dear love, Sae sair bound as ye lye?'

26 'We lye not here, father,' they said, 'For oxen, nor for kye; It's all for a little o deep dear love, Sae sair bound as we lye.

27 'O borrow's, borrow's, father,' they said, 'For the love we bear to thee!' 'O never fear, my pretty sons, Well borrowed ye shall be.'

28 Then he's gane to the wicked mayor, And hailed him courteouslie: 'Good day, good day, O Billsbury, God make you safe and free!' 'Come sit you down, brave Oxenford, What are your wills with me?'

29 'Will ye gie me my sons again, For gold or yet for fee? Will ye gie me my sons again, For's sake that died on tree?'

30 'I winna gie you your sons again, For gold nor yet for fee; But if ye'll stay a little while, Ye'se see them hanged hie.'

31 Ben it came the mayor's daughters, Wi kirtle, coat alone; Their eyes did sparkle like the gold, As they tript on the stone.

32 'Will ye gie us our loves, father, For gold or yet for fee? Or will ye take our own sweet life, And let our true-loves be?'

33 He's taen a whip into his hand, And lashd them wondrous sair: Gae to your bowers, ye vile rank whores, Ye'se never see them mair.

34 Then out it speaks old Oxenford, A sorry man was he: 'Gang to your bowers, ye lily-flowers, For a' this maunna be.'

35 Out it speaks him hynde Henry: 'Come here, Janet, to me; Will ye gie me my faith and troth, And love, as I gae thee?'

36 'Ye shall hae your faith and troth, Wi God's blessing and mine;' And twenty times she kissd his mouth, Her father looking on.

37 Then out it speaks him gay Gilbert: 'Come here, Margaret, to me; Will ye gie me my faith and troth, And love, as I gae thee?'

38 'Yes, ye shall get your faith and troth, Wi God's blessing and mine;' And twenty times she kissd his mouth, Her father looking on.

39 'Ye'll take aff your twa black hats, Lay them down on a stone, That nane may ken that ye are clerks Till ye are putten down.'

40 The bonny clerks they died that morn, Their loves died lang ere noon; Their father and mother for sorrow died, They all died very soon.

41 These six souls went up to heaven, I wish sae may we a'! The mighty mayor went down to hell, For wrong justice and law.

D

Motherwell's MS., p. 433, from James Nicol, Strichen.

1 Oh I will tell a tale of woe, Which makes my heart richt sair; The Clerk's two sons of Oxenfoord Are too soon gone to lair.

2 They thought their father's service mean, Their mother's no great affair; But they would go to fair Berwick, To learn [some] unco lair.

3 They had not been in fair Berwick A twelve month and a day, Till the clerk's two sons of Oxenfoord With the mayor's two daughters lay.

4 This word came to the mighty mayor, As he hunted the rae, That the clerks two sons of Oxenfoord With his two daughters lay.

5 'If they have lain with my daughters, The heirs of all my land, I make a vow, and will keep it true, To hang them with my hand.'

6 When he was certain of the fact, An angry man was he, And he has taken these two brothers, And hanged them on the tree.

7 Word it has come to Oxenfoord's clerk, Ere it was many day, That his two sons sometime ago With the mayor's two daughters lay.

8 'O saddle a horse to me,' he cried, 'O do it quick and soon, That I may ride to fair Berwick, And see what can be done.'

9 But when he came to fair Berwick A grieved man was he, When that he saw his two bonnie sons Both hanging on the tree.

10 'O woe is me,' the clerk cried out, 'This dismal sight to see, All the whole comfort of my life Dead hanging on the tree!'

11 He turned his horse's head about, Making a piteous moan, And all the way to Oxenfoord Did sad and grievously groan.

12 His wife did hastily cry out, 'You only do I see; What have you done with my two sons, You should have brought to me?'

13 'I put them to some higher lair, And to a deeper scule; You will not see your bonnie sons Till the haly days of Yule.

14 'And I will spend my days in grief, Will never laugh nor sing; There's never a man in Oxenfoord Shall hear my bridle ring.'

* * * * *

#A.#

3^1, 5^1, 6^3, 7^1, 9^1. Oh.

5^3. in Owsenford.

14^2. day an doom.

#B.#

_In the margin as a note_ (_see_ #A# 1):

I will sing a sang to you, But o my heart is sair! The twa pretty clerks o Owsenfoord As they went to their lair.

7^2. twinit, MS.?

8^4. sic loss.

#C.#

28^3. oh.

[111] 'Das Schloss in Oesterreich,' 'Der unschuldige Tod des jungen Knaben.' One stanza in Forsters Frische Liedlein, 1540, II, No 77 (Böhme); broadside of 1606, Erk's Liederhort, p. 15, No 6^a; broadside of 1647, Eschenburg, in Deutsches Museum, 1776, p. 399, and Denkmäler Altdeutscher Dichtkunst, 1799, p. 446,==Uhland, p. 300, No 125; late broadside, Wunderhorn, 1806, I, 220. From oral tradition: Gräter's Bragur, VI, I, 205; Erk, Neue Sammlung, I, 20, No 16; Erk's Liederhort, p. 12, No 6; Hoffmann u. Richter, p. 17, No 8; Fiedler, p. 172, No 12; Jeitteles, in Archiv für Litteraturgeschichte, IX, 362, No 5; Schlossar, Deutsche Volkslieder aus Steiermark, p. 346, No 314; Wittstock, Sagen u. Lieder aus dem Nösner Gelande, p. 44, No 15; Frommann, Deutsche Mundarten, V, 391; Meinert, p. 53. (The last is an independent version; the rest have all one type.) Low-German, Niederdeutsche Volkslieder, herausgegeben vom Vereine für niederdeutsche Sprachforschung, p. 56, No 84. Dutch, Hoffmann, Niederländische Volkslieder, p. 84, No 25. Norse: Afzelius, II, 62, No 40, from a seventeenth century broadside; Atterbom's Poetisk Kalender, 1816, p. 32; Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 64, No 30; Aminson, Bidrag, etc., IV, 4, No 26, A, B, fragments; Nyerup, Udvalg af Danske Viser, I, 57, No 14; Lindeman, Norske Fjeldmelodier, Tekst Bilag, I, 3 f, No 10. There is a Swedish broadside of 1642, a Danish of 1697.

[112] Meinert's ballad, which, though it sometimes betrays artifice, has a fresher tone than the others, makes the chain the young lady's love-token: but this love is no count in the indictment. Uhland, IV, 145, cites from a manuscript chronicle a story of a highwayman, a widow's son, thrice imprisoned and twice ransomed; to no purpose, as far as I can see.

73

LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET

#A.# 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' Percy's Reliques, 1765, II, 293; III, 240, ed. 1767.

#B.# 'The Nut-Brown Bride,' Kinloch MSS, I, 1.

#C.# 'The Brown Bride and Lord Thomas,' Motherwell's MS., p. 157.

#D.# 'Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor.' #a.# Pepys Ballads, III, 316, No 312. #b, c, d#, other broadside copies. #e, f, g, h, i#, recited copies.

#E.# 'Sweet Willie and Fair Annie,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 22.

#F.# 'Sweet Willie and Fair Annie,' Kinloch MSS, III, 127, V, 339.

#G.# Skene MSS, p. 104.

#H.# 'Fair Annie and Sweet Willie,' Gibb MS., p. 64.

The copy of 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet' in Herd, 1769, p. 246, 1776, I, 24, and in the Musical Museum, p. 553, No 535, is Percy's, #A#.

The English version of this ballad, 'Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor,' given, with alterations, in Percy's Reliques, III, 82, 1765,[113] is a broadside of Charles the Second's time, printed for I. Clarke, W. Thackeray, and T. Passenger, and licensed by L'Estrange, who was censor from 1663 to 1685. This copy has become traditional in Scotland and Ireland. The Scottish traditional copy, 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' given by Percy in the Reliques (unfortunately with some corrections, but these cannot have been many), is far superior, and one of the most beautiful of our ballads, and indeed of all ballads. 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William,' "a more pathetic story of the man who loves one woman and marries another," begins in the same way, with the last long talk before parting. The conclusion is that the forsaken maid dies of grief, not by the hand of her incensed rival, and it is most natural that the two stories should be blended in tradition, as they are here in #E-H#, #E# 31 ff, #F# 27 ff, #G# 24 ff, #H# 37 ff belonging to 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William.'

There is a copy of 'Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor,' written over for the ballad-mongers, and of course much less in the popular style, in Pepys, IV, 48, No 45, and Roxburghe, II, 553, with the title 'The Unfortunate Forrester, or, Fair Eleanor's Tragedy.' In this Fair Ellinor stabs herself and Lord Thomas then kills himself with the same dagger.[114]

Norse ballads have the story of 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' coming very close in details. Those forms which are nearest to the English resemble more the mixed versions, #E-H#, than the simple, #A-D#. But in none of the Norse ballads is love thwarted because it stands upon the choice of friends. A man abandons a woman who is in all but the name his wife, and who regards herself, and is evidently regarded by others, as standing in no dishonorable relation to him. There is again a bifurcation in the catastrophe. The forsaken mistress submits and hangs herself in the one case, in the other she takes a fierce revenge. The latter conclusion may well, as Grundtvig holds, be the more original, but the ballads which have the other will here be put first, as being nearer to the English.

(1.) #A.# 'Herr Peder och Liten Kerstin,' Afzelius, I, 49, No 9, Grundtvig, IV, 219, Wigström, Folkdiktning, II, 5, broadsides of the eighteenth century and traditional copies derived therefrom. #B.# 'Herr Peders Slegfred,' broadside of the seventeenth century, Grundtvig, IV, 216, No 210; Danske Viser, III, 365, No 157; Kristensen, II, 177, No 52. #C.# A traditional fragment, Grundtvig, IV, 220, Bilag 2, from Cavallius and Stephens's collection. (2.) #D.# 'Liti Kerstis hevn,' Landstad, p. 559, No 67. #E.# Manuscript of the seventeenth century, Grundtvig, IV, 215. #F.# 'Liten Kerstins Hämd,' c. 1700, Arwidsson, I, 305, No 45.

Sir Peter and Liten Kerstin sit at table talking merrily, #A#, #B#, #E#. Peter informs Kerstin that he is to be married. She says she shall not fail to be present; he, that the wedding will be too far away for anybody to come. She shall come, if asked, though it be in Rome, #B#. If you come, says Peter, you must not wear your gold. She will wear it, for it was got by no dishonor, #B#, #E#. Peter rides off, Kerstin wrings her hands: alack for the maid that trusts a loon! He makes the preparations for his bridal, and she orders her clothes, which are of the richest description, all pearls and gold.[115] She has her horse shod, as in English, #B# 21, #C# 12, #E# 22. When she enters the hall, wives and maids stand up, #B#. She pours wine for the guests. The bride asks who she is, and is told that it is Sir Peter's mistress.[116] She has more gold on her kirtle's hem, says the bride, than all that Sir Peter owns. Why, if he had her, did he come seeking me? After the usual long delay the bride is conducted to the bride-house, Kerstin carrying the torch before her. Kerstin even puts the bride to bed. She leaves the room, saying, #A#, I trow I shall come here no more, goes into the orchard, and hangs herself with her hair. Sir Peter is informed of what has happened, rushes to the orchard, takes Kerstin down, has a grave dug deep and broad, sets his sword against a stone, and runs on it. The next day, as so often, there are three dead, Sir Peter, Kerstin, and the bride, #A#, #B#. In #C#, Peter hangs himself on the same tree.

Not so moving, but considerably more powerful and original, is the other termination of the story. In #E#, after Kerstin has lighted the bride to the bride-house, she draws a knife and kills Peter. She tells the bride that this should have been her death too, had she not spoken her so fair. In #D#, #F#, she sets fire to the house and burns the bride on the bridegroom's arm.

Sir Peter awakes, but he wakes not ere The flame is playing in the young bride's hair.

Sir Peter springs from his bed, oer late; He saw Little Kersti go out through the gate.

'Ah, dear Little Kersti, now help thou me! Another time shall I help thee.'

And it was Little Kersti, her laugh he heard: 'I wot how well you keep your word.'[117]

A Southern ballad has something of the outline of the English and Norse, and sounds like a thin echo of them. #A.# Poésies populaires de la France, MS., III, fol. 158, Burgundy. #B.# Buchon, Noëls et Chants p. de la Franche-Comté, p. 90, No 31, 'J'ai fait un rêve.' #C.# Beaurepaire, La Poésie p. en Normandie, p. 50. #D.# Ampère, Instructions, p. 34, Bretagne. #E.# Guillon, Chansons p. de l'Ain, p. 161, 'Chante, rossignolet.' #F.# Arbaud, Chants p. de la Provence, II, 139, 'Lou premier Jour de Mai.' #G.# Ferraro, Canti p. monferrini, p. 8, No 7, 'Il primo amore.'

A youth is obliged by his father to give up his love for a bride who is less beautiful but richer. He has a dream that his love is dead, and carries her a rose, #B#, #D#. He invites her to the wedding: she will not come to the ceremony, but to the dance. She has three gowns made for the occasion, the third embroidered with gold, or of gold stuff. She falls dead while dancing: she falls on the right, he on the left. In #G#, after his love has died, the bridegroom draws his sword and kills himself. #C# and one copy of #D# have the phenomenon of the sympathetic plants, as in English #A#, #B#, #E#, #F#, #G#.

#E# 3 is a sort of commonplace when unequal matches are in question. So in a fragment in Herd's manuscripts, I, 55, II, 187:

'I hae nae houses, I hae nae lands, I hae nae gowd or fee, Sir; I am oer low to be your bryde, Your loon I'll never be, Sir.'

And again Motherwell's MS., p. 37. It is Lady Grey's answer to King Edward in the Third Part of Henry VI, III, 2:

'I know I am too mean to be your queen, And yet too good to be your concubine.'

So Crescentia, the Koloczaer Codex, Mailáth u. Köffinger, p. 260, v. 565 ff.

With regard to #B# 20, 'I'll na put on the dowie green,' Kinloch remarks that green is considered unfortunate in love matters, the couplet running,

Green is love deen, Yellow's forsaken;

whereas blue is looked upon as a most fortunate color: "blue is love true." "To be married in a green colored dress is ominous of misfortune, for according to the proverb:

They that marry in green, Their sorrow is soon seen.

And no young woman in the North would wear that color on her wedding day. An old lady of my acquaintance, whose marriage had proved unfortunate, used seriously to warn young women to beware of being married in green, for she attributed her own misfortunes solely to her having been married in a green gown, which she had put on contrary to the sage advice of her seniors, in whose minds the belief was more firmly rooted, and who had wished her to wear in its stead a blue dress, as being the more lucky color. To dance in green stockings is a proverbial phrase applied to an elder sister when the younger is first married, intimating that she may mourn her hapless fate, as she has now no chance of being married. To dream of green is believed to be the presage of misfortune." Kinloch MSS, I, 15 f.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Bodmer, II, 44, Doenniges, p. 125. #D#, Percy's copy, by Eschenburg, in Ursinus, Balladen und Lieder, 1777, p. 69; by Bodmer, I, 106; by Talvj, Versuch u. s. w., p. 497; Döring, p. 191; Doenniges, p. 121; Arentsschild, Albion u. Erin, p. 535; von Marées, p. 36; Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 175, No 47; Loève-Veimars, p. 123.

Norse #A# is translated by W. and M. Howitt, Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, I, 258; #B# by Prior, III, 363.

A

Percy's Reliques, 1765, II, 293, "given, with some corrections, from a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland."

1 Lord Thomas and Fair Annet Sate a' day on a hill; Whan night was cum, and sun was sett, They had not talkt their fill.

2 Lord Thomas said a word in jest, Fair Annet took it ill: 'A, I will nevir wed a wife Against my ain friends' will.'

3 'Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife, A wife wull neir wed yee:' Sae he is hame to tell his mither, And knelt upon his knee.

4 'O rede, O rede, mither,' he says, 'A gude rede gie to mee; O sall I tak the nut-browne bride, And let Faire Annet bee?'

5 'The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear, Fair Annet she has gat nane; And the little beauty Fair Annet haes O it wull soon be gane.'

6 And he has till his brother gane: 'Now, brother, rede ye mee; A, sall I marrie the nut-browne bride, And let Fair Annet bee?'

7 'The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother, The nut-browne bride has kye; I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride, And cast Fair Annet bye.'

8 'Her oxen may dye i the house, billie, And her kye into the byre, And I sall hae nothing to mysell Bot a fat fadge by the fyre.'

9 And he has till his sister gane: 'Now, sister, rede ye mee; O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride, And set Fair Annet free?'

10 'I'se rede ye tak Fair Annet, Thomas, And let the browne bride alane; Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace, What is this we brought hame!'

11 'No, I will tak my mither's counsel, And marrie me owt o hand; And I will tak the nut-browne bride, Fair Annet may leive the land.'

12 Up then rose Fair Annet's father, Twa hours or it wer day, And he is gane into the bower Wherein Fair Annet lay.

13 'Rise up, rise up, Fair Annet,' he says, 'Put on your silken sheene; Let us gae to St. Marie's kirke, And see that rich weddeen.'

14 'My maides, gae to my dressing-roome, And dress to me my hair; Whaireir yee laid a plait before, See yee lay ten times mair.

15 'My maids, gae to my dressing-room, And dress to me my smock; The one half is o the holland fine, The other o needle-work.'

16 The horse Fair Annet rade upon, He amblit like the wind; Wi siller he was shod before, Wi burning gowd behind.

17 Four and twanty siller bells Wer a' tyed till his mane, And yae tift o the norland wind, They tinkled ane by ane.

18 Four and twanty gay gude knichts Rade by Fair Annet's side, And four and twanty fair ladies, As gin she had bin a bride.

19 And whan she cam to Marie's kirk, She sat on Marie's stean: The cleading that Fair Annet had on It skinkled in their een.

20 And whan she cam into the kirk, She shimmerd like the sun; The belt that was about her waist Was a' wi pearles bedone.

21 She sat her by the nut-browne bride, And her een they wer sae clear, Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride, Whan Fair Annet drew near.

22 He had a rose into his hand, He gae it kisses three, And reaching by the nut-browne bride, Laid it on Fair Annet's knee.

23 Up than spak the nut-browne bride, She spak wi meikle spite: 'And whair gat ye that rose-water, That does mak yee sae white?'

24 'O I did get the rose-water Whair ye wull neir get nane, For I did get that very rose-water Into my mither's wame.'

25 The bride she drew a long bodkin Frae out her gay head-gear, And strake Fair Annet unto the heart, That word spak nevir mair.

26 Lord Thomas he saw Fair Annet wex pale, And marvelit what mote bee; But whan he saw her dear heart's blude, A' wood-wroth wexed hee.

27 He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp, That was sae sharp and meet, And drave it into the nut-browne bride, That fell deid at his feit.

28 'Now stay for me, dear Annet,' he sed, 'Now stay, my dear,' he cry'd; Then strake the dagger untill his heart, And fell deid by her side.

29 Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa, Fair Annet within the quiere, And o the tane thair grew a birk, The other a bonny briere.

30 And ay they grew, and ay they threw, As they wad faine be neare; And by this ye may ken right weil They were twa luvers deare.

B

Kinloch MSS, I, 1, from the recitation of Mary Barr, Lesmahago.

1 Sweet Willie and Fair Annie Sat a' day on yon hill; Though they had sat til the leventh o June, They wad na got their fill.

2 But Willie spak a word amiss, Fair Annie took it ill: 'I'll neer marry a tocherless lass Agen my ain friends' will.'

3 Then on she lap, and awa she gat, As fast as she could hie: 'Fare ye weel now, Sweet Willie, It's fare ye weel a wee.'

4 Then he is gane to his father's ha, And tirled at the pin; Then up and rase his father proud. And loot Sweet Willie in.

5 'Come riddle us, riddle us, father dear, Yea both of us into ane; Whether sall I marry Fair Annie, Or bring the brown bride hame?'

6 'The brown bride she has houses and land, And Annie she has nane; Sae on my blessing, my auld son, Bring ye Brown Bride hame.'

7 Then he is to his mither's bouer, And tirled at the pin; Then up and rose his mother dear To let Sweet Willie in.

8 'Come riddle us, riddle us, mother dear, Yea baith o us into ane; Whether sall I marry Fair Annie, Or bring the brown bride hame?'

9 'The brown bride she has gowd and gear, Fair Annie she has nane; And for my blessing, my auld son, Bring ye Brown Bride hame.'

10 Then he is to his sister's bouer, And tirled at the pin; And wha sae ready as his sister dear To let her brither in.

11 'Come riddle us, riddle us, sister fair, Us baith yea into ane; Whether sall I marry Fair Annie, Or bring the brown bride hame?'

12 'The brown bride she has horse and kye, And Annie she has nane; But for my love, my brither dear, Bring hame the fair woman.

13 'Your horse may dee into the staw, The kye into the byre, And ye'll hae nocht but a howther o dirt, To feed about your fire.'

14 Then he is to Fair Annie's bouer, And tirled at the pin; And wha sae ready as Fair Annie To let Sweet Willie in.

15 'You're welcome here to me, Willie, You're welcome here to me:' 'I'm na welcome to thee, Annie, I'm na welcome to thee, For I'm come to bid ye to my wedding, It's gey sad news to thee.'

16 'It's gey sad news to me, Willie, The saddest ye could tell; It's gey sad news to me, Willie, That shoud been bride mysel.'

17 Then she is to her father gane, And bowed low on her knee: . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

18 'Come riddle us, riddle us, father dear, Us baith yea into ane; Whether sall I gang to Willie's wedding, Or sall I stay at hame?'

19 'Whare ane will be your frien, Annie, Twenty will be your fae;' 'But prove it gude, or prove it bad, To Willie's wedding I'll gae.

20 'I'll na put on the grisly black, Nor yet the dowie green, But I'll put on a scarlet robe To sheen like onie queen.'

21 She's orderd the smiths to the smithy, To shoe her a riding steed; She has orderd tailors to her bouer, To dress her a riding weed.

22 She has calld her maries to her bour, To lay gowd on her hair: 'Whare e'er ye put ae plait before, See ye lay ten times mair.'

23 The steed Fair Annie rade upon, He bounded like the wind; Wi silver he was shod before, Wi burning gowd behind.

24 And four and twenty siller bells War tiëd til his mane; Wi ae blast o the norland wind They tinkled ane by ane.

25 And whan she cam unto the place, And lichted on the green, Ilka ane that did her see Thought that she was a queen.

26 'Is this your bride, Sweet Willie?' she said, 'I think she's wondrous wan; Ye micht have had as fair a bride As eer the sun sheend on.'

27 'O haud your tongue, Fair Annie,' he said, 'Wi your talk let me abee; For better I loe your little finger Than the brown bride's haill bodie.'

28 Then out and spak the nut-brown bride, And she spak out of spite: 'O whare gat ye the water, Annie, That washd your face sae white?'

29 'O I gat een the water,' quo she, 'Whare ye will neer get nane; It's I gat een the water,' quo she, 'Aneath yon marble stane.'

30 Then out and spake the nut-brown bride, And she spak yet again: 'O whare gat ye the claith, Annie, That dried your face sae clean?'

31 'O I gat een the claith,' quo she, 'Whare ye will neer get nane; It's I gat een the claith,' quo she, 'Aneath yon bouer o bane.'

32 The brown bride had a little penknife, Which she kept secret there; She stabbd Fair Annie to the heart, A deep wound and a sair.

33 It's out and spak he Sweet Willie, And he spak yet again: 'O what's the matter wi thee, Annie, That ye do look sae wan?'

34 'Oh are ye blind, Willie?' she said, 'Or do ye no weel see? I think ye micht see my heart's blude, Come rinning by my knee.'

35 Then Willie took a little sword, Which he kept secret there, And strak the brown bride to the heart, A word she neer spak mair.

36 And after that a' this was dune, He drew it through the strae, And through his ain fair bodie He causd the cauld iron gae.

37 The last words that Sweet Willie spak, His heart was almaist gane; 'May never a young man like me Have sic a sad wedding.

38 'For gear will come, and gear will gang, And gear's ae but a lend, And monie a ane for warld's gear A silly brown bride brings hame.'

39 Sweet Willie was buried in Mary's kirk, And Annie in Mary's quire, And out o the ane there grew a birk, And out o the ither a brier.

40 And ae they grew, and ae they threw, Until the twa did meet, That ilka ane micht plainly see They were true lovers sweet.

C

Motherwell's MS., p. 157, from the recitation of Agnes Laird, Kilbarchan, 1825.

1 'Come read my rede, O mother dear, Come riddle it all in one; O whether will I take Fair Annie, Or bring the brown bride home?'

2 'The brown, brown bride has kye and ewes, Fair Annie she has none; She has nothing but a bonny, bonny face, And that'll soon be gone.'

3 'Where will I get a pretty little boy, That'll rin my errands soon, That will rin to Fair Annie's bower, And bid her to my wedding?'

4 'Here am I, a pretty little boy, That'll rin your errands soon, That will rin to Fair Annie's bower, And bid her to your wedding.'

5 'Forbid her to put on her silks so black, Or yet her silks so brown; But she must put on her suddled silks, That she wears up and down.

6 'Forbid her to put on her silks so green, Or yet her silks so gray; But she must put on her suddled silks, That she wears every day.'

7 When he gade to Fair Annie's bower, He tirled at the pin; So ready was Fair Annie hersell To open and let him in.

8 'What news, what news, my little boy? What news hast thou to me?' 'You must prepare for Lord Thomas' wedding, And that's bad news for thee.'

9 'Good news, good news,' Fair Annie says, 'Good news is it for me, For me to be bride and him bridegroom, And that's good news for me.'

10 'He forbids thee to put on thy silks so black, Or yet thy silks so brown; But thou must put on thy suddled silks, That thou wears up and down.

11 'He forbids you to put on thy silks so green, Or yet thy silks so gray; But thou must on thy suddled silks, That thou wears every day.'

12 'There are smiths into my smiddy-bour That'll dress to me a steed, There are tailors in my tailor-house That'll dress to me a weed.

13 'There are maidens in my maiden-bower That'll lay gold in my hair, And where eer there were ane link before, It shall be nine times mair.'

14 Then Annie got herself attired, In all things very fine, With red ribbons, and silks so fair, That owre her shoulders shine.

15 When she came to Lord Thomas' yett, She shined amang them a', And the buttons on Lord Thomas' coat Brusted and brak in twa.

16 'Brown, brown is your steed,' she says, 'But browner is your bride; But gallant is that handkerchy That hideth her din hide.'

17 'O hold thy peace, Fair Annie,' he says, 'Speak not of that to me, For happy is that bonny, bonny lad That leads his life with thee.'

18 Then out bespoke the brown, brown bride, And she spoke out with spite: 'O whare gets thou that water-cherry, That washes thee so white?'

19 'I got in my father's garden, Below an olive tree, And although thou war to seek long seven years That water thou'll never see.

20 'Tho thou hast got Lord Thomas' hand That water thou'll neer see; For thou's sunbrunt from thy mother's womb, And thou'll never be like me.'

* * * * * * *

D

#a.# Pepys Ballads, III, 316, No 312. #b.# A Collection of Old Ballads, I, 249, 1723. #c.# Ritson, Select Collection of English Songs, II, 187, 1783. #d.# Buchan's Gleanings, p. 86. #e, f, g, h, i#, recited copies.

1 Lord Thomas he was a bold forrester, And a chaser of the king's deer; Faire Ellinor was a fair woman, And Lord Thomas he loved her dear.

2 'Come riddle my riddle, dear mother,' he said, 'And riddle us both as one, Whether I shall marry Fair Ellinor, And let the brown girl alone.'

3 'The brown girl she has got houses and lands, And Fair Ellinor she has got none; Therefore I charge you on my blessing To bring me the brown girl home.'

4 And as it befell on a high holidaye, As many did more beside, Lord Thomas he went to Fair Ellinor, That should have been his bride.

5 But when he came to Fair Ellinor's bower, He knocked there at the ring; But who was so ready as Fair Ellinor For to let Lord Thomas in.

6 'What news, what news, Lord Thomas,' she said, 'What news hast thou brought unto me?' 'I am come to bid thee to my wedding, And that is bad news to thee.'

7 'Oh God forbid, Lord Thomas,' she said, 'That such a thing should be done; I thought to have been thy bride my own self, And you to have been the brid's-groom.

8 'Come riddle my riddle, dear mother,' she sayd, 'And riddle it all in one; Whether I shall go to Lord Thomas's wedding, Or whether I shall tarry at home.'

9 'There's many that are your friends, daughter, And many that are your fo; Therefore I charge you on my blessing, To Lord Thomas's wedding don't go.'

10 'There's many that are my friends, mother, If a thousand more were my foe, Betide my life, betide my death, To Lord Thomas's wedding I'le go.'

11 She cloathed herself in gallant attyre, And her merry men all in green, And as they rid thorough everye towne, They took her to have been a queene.

12 But when she came to Lord Thomas's gate, She knocked there at the ring; But who was so ready as Lord Thomas To lett Fair Ellinor in.

13 'Is this your bride?' Fair Ellin she sayd, 'Methinks she looks wondrous browne; Thou mightest have had as fair a woman As ever trod on the ground.'

14 'Despise her not, Fair Ellin,' he sayd, 'Despise her not now unto mee; For better I love thy little finger Than all her whole body.'

15 This browne bride had a little penknife, That was both long and sharp, And betwixt the short ribs and the long Prickd Fair Ellinor to the heart.

16 'Oh Christ now save thee,' Lord Thomas he said, 'Methinks thou lookst wondrous wan; Thou wast usd for to look with as fresh a colour As ever the sun shin'd on.'

17 'Oh art thou blind, Lord Thomas?' she sayd, 'Or canst thou not very well see? Oh dost thou not see my own heart's blood Runs trickling down my knee?'

18 Lord Thomas he had a sword by his side, As he walked about the hall; He cut off his bride's head from her shoulders, And he threw it against the wall.

19 He set the hilte against the ground, And the point against his heart; There was never three lovers that ever met More sooner they did depart.

E

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 22, from the recitation of Mrs W. Arrot, of Aberbrothick, as learned by her when a child from an elderly maid-servant.

1 Sweet Willie and Fair Annie Sat a' day on a hill, And though they had sitten seven year, They neer wad had their fill.

2 Sweet Willie said a word in haste, And Annie took it ill: 'I winna wed a tocherless maid, Against my parents' will.'

3 'Ye're come o the rich, Willie, And I'm come o the poor; I'm oer laigh to be your bride, And I winna be your whore.'

4 O Annie she's gane till her bower, And Willie down the den, And he's come till his mither's bower, By the lei light o the moon.

5 'O sleep ye, wake ye, mither?' he says, 'Or are ye the bower within?' 'I sleep richt aft, I wake richt aft; What want ye wi me, son?

6 'Whare hae ye been a' night, Willie? O wow, ye've tarried lang!' 'I have been courtin Fair Annie, And she is frae me gane.

7 'There is twa maidens in a bower; Which o them sall I bring hame? The nut-brown maid has sheep and cows, And Fair Annie has nane.'

8 'It's an ye wed the nut-brown maid, I'll heap gold wi my hand; But an ye wed her Fair Annie, I'll straik it wi a wand.

9 'The nut-brown maid has sheep and cows, And Fair Annie has nane; And Willie, for my benison, The nut-brown maid bring hame.'

10 'O I sall wed the nut-brown maid, And I sall bring her hame; But peace nor rest between us twa, Till death sinder's again.

11 'But, alas, alas!' says Sweet Willie, 'O fair is Annie's face!' 'But what's the matter, my son Willie? She has nae ither grace.'

12 'Alas, alas!' says Sweet Willie, 'But white is Annie's hand!' 'But what's the matter, my son Willie? She hasna a fur o land.'

13 'Sheep will die in cots, mither, And owsen die in byre; And what's this warld's wealth to me, An I get na my heart's desire?

14 'Whare will I get a bonny boy, That wad fain win hose and shoon, That will rin to Fair Annie's bower, Wi the lei light o the moon?

15 'Ye'll tell her to come to Willie's weddin, The morn at twal at noon; Ye'll tell her to come to Willie's weddin, The heir o Duplin town.

16 'She manna put on the black, the black, Nor yet the dowie brown, But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae white, And her bonny locks hangin down.'

17 He is on to Annie's bower, And tirled at the pin, And wha was sae ready as Annie hersel To open and let him in.

18 'Ye are bidden come to Willie's weddin, The morn at twal at noon; Ye are bidden come to Willie's weddin, The heir of Duplin town.

19 'Ye manna put on the black, the black, Nor yet the dowie brown, But the scarlet sae red, and the kerches sae white, And your bonny locks hangin down.'

20 'It's I will come to Willie's weddin, The morn at twal at noon; It's I will come to Willie's weddin, But I rather the mass had been mine.

21 'Maidens, to my bower come, And lay gold on my hair; And whare ye laid ae plait before, Ye'll now lay ten times mair.

22 'Taylors, to my bower come, And mak to me a weed; And smiths, unto my stable come, And shoe to me a steed.'

23 At every tate o Annie's horse mane There hang a silver bell, And there came a wind out frae the south, Which made them a' to knell.

24 And whan she came to Mary-kirk, And sat down in the deas, The light that came frae Fair Annie Enlightend a' the place.

25 But up and stands the nut-brown bride, Just at her father's knee: 'O wha is this, my father dear, That blinks in Willie's ee?' 'O this is Willie's first true-love, Before he loved thee.'

26 'If that be Willie's first true-love, He might hae latten me be; She has as much gold on ae finger As I'll wear till I die.

27 'O whare got ye that water, Annie, That washes you sae white?' 'I got it in my mither's wambe, Whare ye'll neer get the like.

28 'For ye've been washd in Dunny's well, And dried on Dunny's dyke, And a' the water in the sea Will never wash ye white.'

29 Willie's taen a rose out o his hat, Laid it in Annie's lap: . . . . . . . 'Hae, wear it for my sake.'

30 'Tak up and wear your rose, Willie, And wear't wi mickle care; For the woman sall never bear a son That will make my heart sae sair.'

31 Whan night was come, and day was gane, And a' man boun to bed, Sweet Willie and the nut-brown bride In their chamber were laid.

32 They werena weel lyen down, And scarcely fa'n asleep, Whan up and stands she Fair Annie, Just up at Willie's feet.

33 'Weel brook ye o your brown, brown bride, Between ye and the wa; And sae will I o my winding sheet, That suits me best ava.

34 'Weel brook ye o your brown, brown bride, Between ye and the stock; And sae will I o my black, black kist, That has neither key nor lock.'

35 Sad Willie raise, put on his claise, Drew till him his hose and shoon, And he is on to Annie's bower, By the lei light o the moon.

36 The firsten bower that he came till, There was right dowie wark; Her mither and her three sisters Were makin to Annie a sark.

37 The nexten bower that he came till, There was right dowie cheir; Her father and her seven brethren Were makin to Annie a bier.

38 The lasten bower that he came till, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . And Fair Annie streekit there.

39 He's lifted up the coverlet, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

40 'It's I will kiss your bonny cheek, And I will kiss your chin, And I will kiss your clay-cald lip, But I'll never kiss woman again.

41 'The day ye deal at Annie's burial The bread but and the wine; Before the morn at twall o'clock, They'll deal the same at mine.'

42 The tane was buried in Mary's kirk, The tither in Mary's quire, And out o the tane there grew a birk, And out o the tither a brier.

43 And ay they grew, and ay they drew, Untill they twa did meet, And every ane that past them by Said, Thae's been lovers sweet!

F

Kinloch MSS, III, 127, stanzas 1-17; the remainder in Dr John Hill Burton's papers. Another copy in Kinloch MSS, V, 339. Both in Dr Burton's handwriting.

1 Sweet Willie and Fair Annie, As they sat on yon hill, If they hed sat frae morn till even, They hed no talked their fill.

* * * * * * *

2 Willie's dune him hame again, As fast as gang could he: 'An askin, an askin, my mother, And I pray ye'll grant it me.

3 'Oh will I merry the nut-brown maid, Wi her oxen and her kye? Or will I merry my Fair Annie, That hes my heart for aye?'

4 'Oh if ye merry your Fair Annie, Your mither's malison you'll wun; But if ye merry the nut-brown may, Ye will get her blessin.'

5 'Oh voe's me, mother,' Willie said, 'For Annie's bonny face!' 'Little metter o that, my son Willie, When Annie hesna grace.'

6 'Oh voe's me, mither,' Willie said, 'For Annie's bonny han!' 'And what's the metter, son Willie, When Annie hesna lan?

7 'But ye will merry the nut-brown may, Wi her oxen and her kye; But ye will merry the nut-brown may, For she hes my hert for aye.'

8 Out and spak his sister Jane, Where she sat be the fire: 'What's the metter, brother Willie? Tack ye your heart's desire.

9 'The oxen may die into the pleuch, The cow drown i the myre; And what's the metter, brother Willie? Tak ye your heart's desire.'

10 'Whare will I get a bonny boy, That will wun hose and shune, That will run on to Anny's bower, And come right sune again?'

11 'Ye'll bid her come to Willie's weddin, The morn is the day; Ye'll bid her come to Willie's weddin, And no make no delay.

12 'Ye'll forbid her to put on the black, the black, Or yet the dowie brown; But the white silk and the reed skarlet, That will shine frae town to town.'

13 He is on to Anie's bower, And tirled at the pin, And wha was sae ready as Annie hersel To let the ladie in.

14 'Ye'r bidden to come to Willie's weddin, The morn is the day; Ye'r bidden come to Willie's weddin, And no mack no delay.

15 'Ye'r forbidden to put on the black, the black, Or yet the dowie brown; But the white silk and the red scarlet, That will shine frae town to town.

16 'Ye'r forbidden to put on the black, the black, Or yet the dowie gray; But the white silk and the red scarlet, That will shine frae brae to brae.'

17 'It's I will come to Willie's weddin, Gif the morn be the day; It's I will come to Willie's weddin, And no mack no delay.'

18 Annie's steed was silver shod, And golden graithed behin; At every teet o her horse mane A silver bell did ring.

19 When Annie was in her sadle set, She glanced like the moon; There was as much gould abov her brow Would buy an earldom.

20 When Annie was on her sadel set, She glanced like the fire; There was as much gould above her brow Was worth a yearl's hire.

21 Annie gaed in the heigh, heigh hill, And Willie the dowie glen; Annie alane shone brighter Than Willie and a' his men.

22 'Oh wha is that, my ane Willie, That glances in your ee?' 'Oh it is Annie, my first fore love, Come till see you and me.'

23 'Oh far got ye that water, Annie, That washes ye so wan?' 'Oh I got it aneth yon marble stane, Where ye will nere get nane.

24 'Ye've been brunt sare anent the sun, And rocket i the reek; And tho ye wad wash till doom's day, Ye wad never be so white.'

25 'If this be Annie, your first fore love, Come our weddin to see, She has by far owr brent a brow To lat ye bide by me.'

26 When bells were rung, and mass was sung, And a' men bun to bed, Sweet Willie and his nut-brown bride In ae chamber were laid.

27 The hedna weel layn down, layn down, But nor hed fallen asleep, When up and started Fair Annie, And stud at Willie's feet.

28 'Vo be to you, nut-brown bride, Wi yer oxen and your sheep! It is Annie, my first fore love, And I fear sair she is dead.

29 'Vo be te you, nut-brown bride, An ill death you betide! For you've parted me and my first fore love, And I fear death is her guide.

30 'You'll seddle to me the black, the black, You'll seddle to me the brown, Till I ride on to Annie's bower And see how she is bune.'

31 When he came to Fair Annie's bower, And lighted and gaed in, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

32 Her father was at her heed, her heed, Her mother at her feet, Her sister she was at her side, Puttin on her winding sheet.

33 'It's kiss will I yer cheek, Annie, And kiss will I your chin, And I will kiss your wan, wan lips, Tho there be no breath within.

34 'Ye birl, ye birle at my luve's wake The white bread and the wine, And or the morn at this same time Ye'll birle the same at mine.'

35 They birled, they birled at Annies wake The white bread and the wine, And ere the morn at that same time At his they birled the same.

36 The one was buried at Mary's kirk, The other at Mary's quire, And throw the one there sprang a birk, And throw the other a brier.

37 And ay at every year's ane They grew them near and near And every one that passed them by Said, They be lovers dear.

G

Skene MS., p. 104; northeast of Scotland, 1802-03.

1 Sweet Willie and Fair Annë, They sat on yon hill, And frae the morning till night This twa neer talked their fill.

2 Willie spak a word in jest, And Annë took it ill: 'We's court na mare maidens, Against our parents' will.'

3 'It's na against our parents' will,' Fair Annie she did say, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

4 Willie is hame to his bower, To his book all alane, And Fair Annie is to her bower, To her book and her seam.

5 Sweet Willie is to his mother dear, Fell low down on his knee: 'An asking, my mother dear, And ye grant it to me; O will I marry the nut-brown may, An lat Fair Annie gae?'

6 'The nut-brown may has ousen, Willie, The nut-brown may has key; An ye will winn my blessing, Willie, And latt Fair Annie be.'

7 He did him to his father dear, Fell low down on his knee: 'An asking, my father, An ye man grant it me.'

8 'Ask on, my ae son Willie, Ye'r sur yer askin's free; Except it is to marry her Fair Annie, And that manna be.'

9 Out spak his little sister, As she [sat] by the fire: 'The ox-leg will brack in the plough, And the cow will drown in the mire.

10 'An Willie will ha nathing But the dam to sitt by the fire; Fair Annie will sit in her beagly bower, An winn a earl's hire.'

11 'Fair faa ye, my little sister, A guid dead mat ye die! An ever I hae goud, Well tochered sall ye be.'

12 He's awa to Fair Annie, As fast as gan could he: 'O will ye come to my marriage? The morn it is to be.'

13 'O I will come to yer marriage, The morn, gin I can win.' . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

14 Annie did her to her father dear, Fell low down on her knee: 'An askin, my father, And ye man grant it me; Lat me to Sweet Willie's marriage, The morn it is to be.'

15 'Yer horse sall be siller shod afore, An guid red goud ahin, An bells in his mane, To ring against the win.'

16 She did her to her mother dear, Fell low down on her knee: 'Will ye lat me to Willie's marriage? The morn it is to be;' 'I'll lat ye to Willie's marriage, An we the morn see.'

17 Whan Annie was in her saddle set She flam'd against the fire; The girdle about her sma middle Wad a won an earl's hire.

18 Whan they came to Mary kirk, And on to Mary quire, 'O far gat ye that watter, Ann, That washes ye sae clear?'

19 'I got it in my father's garden, Aneth a marbell stane; . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

20 'O whar gat ye that water, Annie, That washes ye sae fite?' 'I gat it in my mother's womb, Whar ye['s] never get the like.

21 'For ye ha been christned wi moss-water, An roked in the reak, An ser brunt in yer mither's womb, For I think ye'll neer be fite.'

22 The nut-brown bride pat her hand in ... at Annie['s] left ear, And gin her ... A deep wound and a sare.

23 Than. . Annie ged on her horse back, An fast away did ride, But lang or cock's crowing, Fair Annie was dead.

24 Whan bells were rung, and mess was sung, An a' man boun to bed, Sweet Willie and the nut-brown bride In a chamber were laid.

25 But up und wakend him Sweet Willie Out of his dreary dream: 'I dreamed a dream this night, God read a' dream to guid!

26 'That Fair Annies bowr was full of gentlemen, An herself was dead; But I will on to Fair Annie, An si't if it be guid.'

27 Seven lang mile or he came near, He heard a dolefull chear, Her father and her seven brithern, Walking at her bier; The half of it guid red goud, The other silver clear.

28 'Ye deal at my love's leak The white bread an the wine; But on the morn at this time Ye's dee the like at mine.'

29 The ane was buried at Mary kirk, The ither at Mary quire; Out of the ane grew a birk, Out of the ither a briar.

30 An aye the langer that they grew, They came the ither near, An by that ye might a well kent They were twa lovers dear.

H

Gibb MS., p. 64.

1 Fair Annie and Sweet Willie, As they talked on yon hill, Though they had talked a lang summer day, They wad na hae talked their fill.

2 'If you would be a good woman, Annie, An low leave a' your pride, In spite of a' my friends, Annie, I wad mak you my bride.'

3 'Thick, thick lie your lands, Willie, An thin, thin lie mine; An little wad a' your friends think O sic a kin as mine.

4 'Thick, thick lie your lands, Willie, Down by the coving-tree; An little wad a' your friends think O sic a bride as me.

5 'O Fair Annie, O Fair Annie, This nicht ye've said me no; But lang or ever this day month I'll make your heart as sore.'

6 It's Willie he went home that night, An a sick man lay he down; An ben came Willie's auld mither, An for nae gude she came.

* * * * * * *

7 'It's if ye marry Fair Annie, My malison ye's hae; But if ye marry the nut-brown may, My blessin an ye's hae.'

8 'Mother, for your malison, An mother, for your wis, It's I will marry the nut-brown may, . . . . . . .

9 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . It's up an spak his sister, . . . . . . .

10 'The owsen may hang in the pleugh, The kye drown in the myre, An he'll hae naething but a dirty drab To sit doun by the fire.'

* * * * * * *

11 'Where will I get a bonny boy, That will win hose and shoon, That will rin on to Annie's bower, An haste him back again?'

12 'It's I have run your errands, Willie, An happy hae I been; It's I will rin your errands, Willie, Wi the saut tears in my een.'

13 'When ye come to Annie's bower, She will be at her dine; And bid her come to Willie's weddin, On Monday in good time.

14 'Tell her neither to put on the dowie black, Nor yet the mournfu brown, But the gowd sae reed, and the silver white, An her hair weel combed down.

15 'Tell her to get a tailor to her bower, To shape for her a weed, And a smith to her smithy, To shoe for her a steed.

16 'To be shod wi silver clear afore, An gold graithed behind, An every foot the foal sets down, The gold lie on the ground.'

17 It's when he came to Annie's bower, It's she was at her dine: 'Ye're bidden come to Willie's weddin, On Monday in good time.

18 'You're neither to put on the dowie black, Nor get the mournfu brown, But the gowd sae reid, an the silver white, An yere hair well combed doun.

19 'You're to get a tailor to your bower, To shape for you a weed, And likewise a smith to your smithy, To shoe for you a steed.

20 'To be shod with silver clear afore, An gold graithed behind, An every foot the foal sets down, The gold lie on the ground.'

21 'It's I will come to Willie's weddin, I rather it had been mine; It's I will come to Willie's weddin, On Monday in good time.

22 'It's I'll send to Willie a toweld silk, To hing below his knee. An ilka time he looks on it, He'll hae gude mind o me.

* * * * * * *

23 'An askin, father, an askin, An I hope you will grant me; For it is the last askin That ever I'll ask of thee.'

24 'Ask me, Annie, gold,' he said, 'An ask me, Annie, fee, But dinna ask me Sweet Willie, Your bedfellow to be.'

25 'It's I will ask you gold, father, Sae will I ask you fee, But I needna ask you Sweet Willie, My bedfellow to be.

26 'For I am bidden to Willie's weddin, On Monday in good time, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

27 On every tait o her horse's mane A siller bell did hing, An on every tait o her horse's tail A golden bell did ring.

28 Twal and twal rade her afore, An twal an twal ahind, An twal an twal on every side, To hold her frae the wind.

29 Fair Annie shined mair on the top o the hill Than Willie did in the glen; Fair Annie shined mair on the heid o the hill Than Willie wi a' his men.

30 Whan she came to Mary's kirk, She lighted on the stane; An when she came to the kirk-door, She bade the bride gae in.

31 'Clear, clear is your day, Willie, But brown, brown is your bride; Clear, clear is her lawn curches, But weel dunned is her hide.'

32 'Where got ye yon water, Annie, That has made you so white?' 'I got it in my father's garden, Below yon hollan dyke.

33 'But ye hae been washed i the moss water, An rocked in the reek; Ye hae been brunt in your mither's wame, An ye will neer be white.'

34 'Whatna fool were ye, Willie, To lay your love on me; She's mair gowd on her heid this day Than I'll wear till I die!'

35 'I've laid nae love on you, brown may, I've laid nae love on you; I've mair love for Fair Annie this day Than I'll hae for you till I dee.'

* * * * * * *

36 'If you will neither eat nor drink, You'll see good game an play;' But she turned her horse head to the hill, An swift she rode away.

* * * * * * *

37 When they were all at supper set, . . . . . . . Till he went to Fair Annie's bower, By the ley licht o the mune.

38 An when he came to Annie's bower, Annie was lying deid, An seven o Annie's sisters an sisters' bairns Were sewing at Annie's weed.

39 'It's I will take your hand, Annie, Since ye wald neer take mine; The woman shall never have the hand That I'll touch after thine.

40 'An I will kiss your mouth, Annie, Since ye will never kiss mine; The woman shall never have the lips That I'll kiss after thine.

* * * * * * *

41 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 'As much breid ye deal at Annie's dairgie Tomorrow ye's deal at mine.'

* * * * *

#A.#

"Some traditionary copies of the ballad have this stanza, which is the 19th in order:

And four and twenty milk-white swans, Wi their wings stretchd out wide, To blaw the stour aff the highway, To let Fair Annie ride."

(Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. lxviii, 19.)

_Compare_ 'Lord Ingram and Chiel Wyet,' #C# 22.

#C.#

6^3, 10^3. silk.

13^1. The maidens.

#D. a.#

A Tragical Story of Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor. Together with the downfall of the Brown Girl.

3^4. And bring.

9^1. many of your.

9^4, 12^1. Thomas his.

10^4. Thomas's his.

15^3. But betwixt.

#b.#

A Tragical Ballad on the unfortunate Love of Lord Thomas and fair Ellinor, together with the Downfal of the Brown Girl.

1^3. a fine.

2^3. marry with.

3^1. land.

3^4. Bring me.

4^1. As it.

4^2. many more did.

6^4. for thee.

7^4. bridegroom.

9^1. many that are.

9^4, 10^4, 12^1. Thomas's.

10^2. And if.

11^3. through.

11^4. to be some.

13^1. Ellinor said.

13^2. wonderful.

13^3. mightst.

14^2. now _wanting_.

15^3. And.

16^3. Thou us'd to look.

18^4. he _wanting_.

19^3. There never were three lovers met.

19^4. That sooner did.

#c.#

1^3. a fine.

2^3. marry with.

3^2. And _wanting_.

3^3. thee on.

3^4. To bring.

5^4. For _wanting_.

6^4. for thee.

7^4. bridegroom.

9^1. many that are.

8^3, 9^4, 10^4, 12^1. Thomases.

10^3. or betide.

11^3. through.

13^3. You might.

14^2. now _wanting_.

15^3. And.

15^4. She prickd.

16^2. wain.

#d.#

3^2. she's got land, she says.

4^2. many more do.

5^2. at the pin.

8^4. I shall let it alone.

9^2. foes.

10^2. If a thousand were our foes.

10^3. me life, me death.

10^4. To Lord Thomas's I'll go.

12^2. at the pin.

_After 12_:

He took her by the lily-white hand, And led her through the hall; He set her in the noblest chair, Among the ladies all.

15^2. both keen.

16^1. now save me.

16^3. usest to look as good a colour.

_After 17_:

'O dig my grave,' Lord Thomas replied, 'Dig it both wide and deep, And lay Fair Eleanor by my side And the brown girl at my feet.'

18^4. And flung.

19^{3, 4.}. There never were three lovers sure That sooner did depart.

#e.#

_Motherwell's MS., p. 293, from the recitation of Widow McCormick, February 23, 1825; learned of an old woman in Dumbarton, thirty years before._

1 'Come riddle me, riddle me, mother,' he says, 'Come riddle me all in one, Whether I'll goe to court Fair Helen Or fetch you the brown girl home.'

2 'It's many's the ones your friends,' she says, 'And many's the ones your fone; My blessing be on you, dear son,' she says, 'Go fetch me the brown girl home.'

3 He dressed himself all in green, Thorough the road he went, And every village that he came to, They took him to be a king.

4 Till that he came to Fair Helen's gate; He tinkled low at the ring; Who was so ready as Fair Helen herself To let Lord Thomas in.

5 'You're welcome, you're welcome, Lord Thomas,' she says, 'What news have you brought to me?' 'I've come to bid you to my wedding, And that is bad news to thee.'

6 'It's God forbid, Lord Thomas,' she said, 'That sic an a thing should be, But I for to be the body of the bride, And you to be the bridegroom.

7 'Come riddle me, riddle me, mother,' she says, 'Come riddle me all in one, Whether I'll go to Lord Thomas' wedding, Or mourn all day at home.'

8 'Many's the ones your friend,' she says, 'And many's the ones your fone; 'My blessing be on you, dear daughter,' she says, 'And mourn all day at home.'

9 'Many's the ones my friends, mother,' she says, 'And many's the ones my fae, But I will go to Lord Thomas' wedding Should I lose my life by the way.'

10 She dressed herself all in green, Thorow the road she went, And every village that she came to, They took her for to be a queen.

11 Till that she came to Lord Thomas' gates; She tinkled low at the ring; Who was so ready as Lord Thomas himself To let Fair Helen in.

12 'Where have you got this brown girl?' she says, 'I think she looks wonderful brown; You might have had as pretty a bride As ever the sun shined on.'

13 It's up and starts the brown girl's mother, And an angry woman was she: 'Where have you got the roseberry-water That washes your face so clear?'

14 'It's I have gotten that roseberry-water Where that she could get none; For I have got it in my mother's womb, Where in her mother's womb there was none.'

15 She took up a little pen-knife, That was baith sharp and small, She stuck Fair Helen fornents the heart, And down the blood did fall.

16 'What ailes you, Fair Helen?' he says, 'I think you look wonderful pale: . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

17 'What ailes you, Lord Thomas?' she says, 'Or don't you very well see? O don't you see my very heart's blood Coming trinkling down by my knee?'

18 He took up a little small sword, That hung low by his knee, And he cut off the brown girl's head, And dashed it against the wall.

19 He set the sword all in the ground, And on it he did fall; So there was an end of these three lovers, Thro spite and malice all.

8^2. foe _in the margin_.

19^4. All thro spite and malice _is noted as if it were what was recited_.

#f.#

_From Miss Clara Mackay, Woodstock, New Brunswick, 1881, derived from her great grandmother. The title is '~Lord Thomas~.'_

1^2. The keeper of our king's gear.

4, 7 _are wanting._

11^2. Her merry maids all in green.

_After 12_:

He took her by the lily-white hand, And led her through the hall, And sat her in a chair of gold, Amidst her merry maids all.

15^2. both clean and sharp.

_After 17_:

'No, I am not blind,' Lord Thomas he said, 'But I can plainly see, And I can see your dear heart's blood Runs trickling down your knee.'

18^2. It was both keen and small.

18^4. And flung.

_After 19, as in_ #d#:

'Oh dig me a grave,' Lord Thomas he said, 'And dig it both wide and deep, And lay Fair Ellinor at my side, The brown girl at my feet.'

#g.# _Recited to me by Ellen Healy, 1881, as learned by her of a young girl living near Killarney, Ireland, about 1867._

2^2. come riddle me oer and oer: _so_ 8^2.

2^4, 3^4. the pretty brown girl bring home.

_After 3_:

He dressed himself up in a suit of green, And his merrymen all in white; There was not a town that he rode through But they took him to be a knight.

9 'Lord Thomas has got company enough, Fair Ellinor, you have none; Therefore I charge you with my blessing, Fair Ellinor, stay at home.'

11 She dressed herself up in a suit of white, And her merrymen all in green; There was not a town that she rode through But they took her to be a queen.

_After 12_:

He took her by the lily-white hand, And by the waist so small, And set her at the head of the table, . . . . . . .

_After 13_:

Up spoke the pretty brown girl, She said ... 'Where did you get the water That washed your skin so white?'

'There is a well in my father's land, A place you'll never see, . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

14 _wanting._

19. _Imperfectly remembered._

Lord Thomas he stabbed the pretty brown girl, and then he stabbed himself; and he said, Bury the pretty brown girl at my feet, and Fair Ellinor in my arms.

A red rose grew out of Fair Ellinor, and a sweet briar out of Lord Thomas's grave, and they grew until they met.

#h.# _An Irish version, recited by Ellen Daily, Taunton, Massachusetts._

2^2. Come riddle me all at once.

2^4. Or the bonny brown girl.

4. He dressed himself up in a suit of fine clothes, With merry men all in white; And there was not a town that he rode through But they took him to be a knight.

5^2. very low at her ring.

10^{3, 4}. 'Let the wind blow high or low, To Lord Thomas's wedding I'll go.'

11. She dressed herself up in a suit of fine clothes, With merry maids all in green; And there was not a town that she rode through But they took her to be a queen.

12^2. very low at his ring.

_After_ 12_:

He took her by the lily-white hand, And led her along the hall; He handed her to the head of the table, Among the ladies all.

_After_ 13:

Then out spoke the bonny brown girl some words with spirit, saying:

'Where did you get the water so clear, That washed your face so white?'

'There is a well in my father's yard That is both clear and spring, And if you were to live till the day you die That doon you never shall see.'

14 _is wanting._

_After 19_:

'Bury my mother at my head, Fair Ellenor by my side, And bury the bonny brown girl at the end of the church, Where she will be far from me.'

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . Out of Fair Ellen there grew a red rose, And out of Lord Thomas there grew a sweet-briar.

They grew so tall, they sprung so broad, They grew to a steeple top; Twelve o'clock every night They grew to a true lover's knot.

#i.# _Communicated by Mr W. W. Newell, as recited by an Irish maid-servant in Cambridge, Massachusetts._

1, 4-7, 10 _are wanting_.

_After 12_:

He took her by the lily-white hand, And led her through the hall, Until he put her sitting at the head of the table, Amongst the gentleman all.

13, 14. 'Is this your bride, Lord Thomas?' they said, Or is _this_ your bride?' said they 'O 't is better I love her little finger Than all _her_ whole boday.'

_The stanza which describes Lord Thomas's dress and the effect he produced occurs in #e#, #g#, #h#; that in which Lord Thomas leads Ellinor through the hall and conducts her to her place is found in #d#, #f#, #g#, #h#, #i#; the colloquy about the water which washes Ellinor so white in #e#, #g#, #h#; Lord Thomas's directions about the burial in #d#, #f#, #h#; the plants growing from the grave in #g#, #h#. None of these are in the English broadside._

_A fragment in Pitcairn's MSS, III, 35, is derived from the English broadside._

#F.#

_The copy in Kinloch MSS, V, 339, #b#, seems to be a revision of the other. The two portions of that which is apparently the earlier, #a#, became separated by some accident or oversight. For stanzas 18-37 I have not the original, but a transcript. After 1, #b# inserts Jamieson's second stanza, #E# 2._

4. _~ye merry~ twice._

5^3. _altered to ~What's metter, son Willie~, to conform to 6^3: #b#, ~And what's the matter~._

12^1. Ye'll tell her to come.

12^3. Yer bidden come.

13^1. Yer forbidden. _Anticipating 14, 15. Corrected in #b# as here, and partly in #a#._

18^2. #a#, gold engraved, #b#, golden graved: _cf. #H#, 16, 20._

22^3. Oh is it: _corrected in #b#._

25^3. _~She has by far~ struck out and ~Fair Annie~ written above: #b#, ~Fair Annie hes oer~._

#G.#

_The division of stanzas and of verses has in some cases required regulation. The handwriting is in places difficult, and I cannot be sure that the spelling in every case is what the writer intended._

7^4. mann?

16^5. Willie.

20^2. fett?

21^3. ser brunt (?)

21^4. faett?

23^1. Whan.

25^3. _perhaps ~dreams~._

28^1. _~deal~ illegible, a conjecture._

29^3. grave?

[113] I have been enabled to restore the original readings by the ever ready kindness of Professor Skeat.

[114] London, printed for W. T[hackeray], T. P[assenger], and W. W. [Whitwood?]. This impression is therefore contemporary with the other.

[115] In #D#, #E# she borrows the fine things of her sister. Minute particulars are given in #D#. We all wonder how Fair Annet, whose face should be her fortune, comes by so much. Her horse's shoes and bells would have made her a nice little dowry; and then she has, #F# 20, as much gold above her brow as would buy an earldom, like the oriental Susie Py. This comes of a reckless use of commonplaces, without regard to keeping.

[116] Some of the versions have traits of 'Fair Annie.' In #F# the woman is a king's sister, and is not living with Sir Peter.

[117]

Herre Per vaknað inki för dá at login leikað i Áselitis hár.

Herre Per springe han up af si seng, dá ság han liti Kersti pá gata geng.

'Aa kære liti Kersti, no hjölper du meg! en annen sinn skal eg hjölpe deg.'

Og deð var liti Kersti, sá högt hon lóg: 'eg veit du helde sá vel dit órð!'

Landstad, 33-36.

Upon which the good pastor, who loved the things nevertheless, remarks, What a culpable style of life, what moral depravation, many of these ballads depict!

74

FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM

#A. a.# 'Fair Margaret's Misfortune,' etc., Douce Ballads, I, fol. 72. #b.# 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William,' Ritson, A Select Collection of English Songs, 1783, II, 190. #c.# 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William,' Percy's Reliques, 1765, III, 121. #d.# Percy's Reliques, 1767, III, 119.

#B.# Percy Papers; communicated by the Dean of Derry, February, 1776.

#C.# Percy Papers; communicated by Rev. P. Parsons, April 7, 1770.

#A#, #a#, #b#, #c# are broadside or stall copies, #a# of the end of the seventeenth century, #b# "modern" in Percy's time, and they differ inconsiderably, except that #a# has corrupted an important line.[118] Of #d#, Percy says, Since the first edition some improvements have been inserted, which were communicated by a lady of the first distinction, as she had heard this song repeated in her infancy. Herd, in The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 295, follows Percy. As Percy has remarked, the ballad is twice quoted in Beaumont and Fletcher's 'Knight of the Burning Pestle,' 1611. Stanza 5 runs thus in Act 2,