UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 popular 3§allat>0 
 
 AND 
 
 FROM 
 
 TRADITION, MANUSCRIPTS, 
 
 AND 
 
 SCARCE EDITIONS; 
 
 with 
 
 TRANSLATIONS OF SIMILAR PIECES 
 
 FROM THK 
 
 Ancient £Dam0& language, 
 
 AX1) 
 
 A FEW ORIGINALS BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT JAMIESON 
 
 A. M. & F. A. S. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 EDINBURGH: 
 
 RINTED FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO. 
 
 E 1) I N B U UG U ; C A D E I. L A N I) 1) A V I ES, A N D 
 
 JOHN .MURRAY, LONDON. 
 
 1 806*.
 
 
 TO 
 
 HER GRACE 
 
 THE 
 
 DUCHESS OF GORDON, 
 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 THESE 
 
 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT SCOTISH POETRY 
 
 ARE INSCRIBED 
 
 THE EDITOR; 
 
 BECAUSE 
 HEP. GRACE'S TASTE WILL DISCOVER 
 
 rnriR merit through the rust of time; 
 
 HER PATRIOTISM WILL APPLAUD 
 THEIR PRESERVATION" J 
 
 AND 
 
 HFR ELEVATED RANK AND 
 
 DISTINGUISHED CHARACTER WILL EXTEND TO TIIT'M 
 
 THAT PROTECTION WHICH THEY MAY JUSTLY 
 
 CLAIM FROM THE EMINENT AMONG OU R 
 
 <COTISH MATRON'S.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 TRAGIC. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Childe Maurice, 3 
 
 Sweet Willie and Fair Annie, 22 
 
 Fair Annie of Lochroyan, 36 
 
 Fair Annie's Complaint, 45 
 
 The Twa Sisters, > 48 
 
 The Twa Brothers, 59 
 
 The Cruel Brother, or the Bride's Testament, . . . 66 
 
 Lady Maisry, 73 
 
 Clerk Saunders, SO 
 
 Glenkindy, <jl 
 
 The Baron of Brackley, 102 
 
 The Laird of Waristoun, ■ 109 
 
 Burd Ellen, 113 
 
 The Trumpeter of Fy vie, J 26" 
 
 Willie and May Margaret, 135 
 
 Hugh of Lincoln, , 139 
 
 Sir Patrick Spence, 157 
 
 Lord Randal, , \6'Z
 
 11 
 
 Page. 
 Lamkin, 176 
 
 On the Death of Queen Jane of England, 182 
 
 Bonny Bee-Ho'm, 185 
 
 Lord Kenneth and Fair Ellinour, 193 
 
 Fair Ellen of Kirkconnell-lee 200 
 
 Fair Ellen of Kirkconnell-lee, by the Editor, . . . 205 
 
 The Mer-man, 208 
 
 Sir Oluf and the Elf-King's Daughter, 219 
 
 Elfer Hill, 225 
 
 The Water-Woman, 229 
 
 Donul and Evir, 232 
 
 HUMOROUS. 
 
 The Pryorys and her Three Wooyrs, 249 
 
 London Lyckpeny, ♦ 266 
 
 The Enchanted Basyn, 272 
 
 Jhone and Elspat, , . . 283 
 
 The Bogle-Bo, 290 
 
 The Beggar, 301 
 
 The Carl of Kellyburnbraes, 305 
 
 Patie's Courtship, 309 
 
 The Miller and the King's Daughter, 315 
 
 Sweet Robin, 319 
 
 Robin's Courtship, from Herd's Collection, .... 326 
 
 Robin's Courtship, from Wit Restored, 330 
 
 Shepheard Tom, 335 
 
 SONGS. 
 
 I. Bachelor's Song, 341 
 
 II. Thair furc ane man to the holt, &c 3i3 
 
 III. Auld Beard New shaven, 347 
 
 IV. I wish my love were in a mire, . . . , 350 
 
 V. Bobbing John, 351
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 In 1799* the editor of the following work, being- 
 then a classical assistant in the school of Maccles- 
 field in Cheshire, and wishing to employ his leisure 
 hours occasionally in some undertaking, such as 
 might be pursued at intervals, in a manufacturing 
 country town, where neither books nor literary so- 
 ciety were to be met with, and which might, at 
 the same time, serve as an agreeable relaxation 
 from the more laborious avocations of his profes- 
 sion, projected the compilation which is now given 
 to the world. Having been a lover of poetry from 
 his childhood, and excluded during the first nine- 
 teen years of his life, by his situation and circum- 
 ^irtnecs, from the more refined production-: of the 
 VOL. i. \
 
 11 
 
 British muse, ho naturally became fond of popular 
 ballads and songs; such as arc sung by the rustic 
 maiden at her spinning-wheel, or may be purcha- 
 sed of apedling pamphlet-seller for a penny. The 
 recollection of the scenes of rural gaiety and unso- 
 phisticated nature, in which he fust became ac- 
 quainted with these ditties, has endeared them ex- 
 ceedingly to his imagination, and given them an 
 importance in his eyes, which he can hardly expect 
 the world, in general, to allow them. Yet he 
 doubts not but many of his expatriated countrymen, 
 for whom chiefly this collection was first intended, 
 will, from a similarity of circumstances, readily re- 
 cognise his feelings in their own, and in distant 
 countries, where men and manners arc different, 
 teel a satisfaction in returning with him, on the pe- 
 rusal of these tales of other times, the 
 
 Gmomha /ait he. nam bliadhna dh'aom *, 
 
 to the scenes of youthful pleasure, which are even 
 now changing their character so fast, that in a few 
 years no trace of the manners, with which we were 
 acquainted in our earlier days, will be to be found 
 
 (Hsi w. Corlfton, I. '.'
 
 Ill 
 
 It is a certain consequence of the extension of 
 commerce and manufactures among a people like 
 the Scots, that they learn to disregard and discon- 
 tinue the habits, usages, and amusements of their 
 less enlightened and refined, bnt nol less virtuou.- 
 and praiseworthy predecessors. This disregard par- 
 ticularly affects the superstitions, the fabida aniles. 
 and the popular songs and tales of an antient race 
 of men, whose character cannot be perfectly un- 
 derstood, if no traces are retained of their private 
 history as individuals, as well as of their public histo- 
 ry as a people. And it is to be regretted, that those, 
 who have handed down to posterity the annals of 
 their own times, have, in general, contented them- 
 selves with drawing a bold outline of the picture 
 which they intended to exhibit, without marking 
 the subordinate features which give to the whole 
 a symmetry, consistency, and uniformity, without 
 which the likeness cannot be perfect. 
 
 It was with a view of doing somewhat towards 
 this desirable end, and more especially of throwing 
 some additional light upon the history and nature 
 of traditional poctrv, that, a few years ago, the pre- 
 sent writer set about collecting, in the exact slate
 
 IV 
 
 in which they are now recited in the country, such 
 popular ballads and songs as were still deemed to 
 merit preservation, but had escaped the researches 
 of former compilers. 
 
 At that time, and for upwards of a year after, lie 
 knew nothing at all of Mr Scott's intended publi- 
 cation ; and from what he recollected of the slate 
 of ballad poetry in Scotland, he knew that there 
 still remained materials sufficiently ample and in- 
 teresting for a curious and entertaining collection, 
 such as had not before been presented to the pub- 
 lic. The elegant and excellent publication of Mr 
 Scott, and the variety and extent of the present 
 work, shew that he did not over-rate his resources. 
 
 In March, 17W, I, — a man, that acknowledges fa- 
 vours may be allowed to bean egotist,— communi- 
 cated my design to the Rev. DrGerrard, professor 
 of theology in King's College, Aberdeen, who, with 
 his usual zeal, where the promotion of liberal pur- 
 suits is concerned, entered warmly into my views, 
 and not. only himself did every thing he could, but 
 obtained of professor Scott of the same college, a 
 transcript of a large collection of upw aids of twenty 
 pieces, which that gentleman had written down a
 
 good many years ago, when he was very young, 
 from the recitation of his aunt, Mrs Brown of 
 Falkland. 
 
 These, being almost all new to me, and none of 
 them having ever been printed, encouraged me to 
 proceed with spirit and confidence ; and [ was much 
 gratified to find, that the kind zeal and industry of 
 my friends, and the obliging politeness of every per- 
 son to whom I applied, or to whom the subject was 
 introduced, was likely to enable me, in a consider- 
 able degree, to surmount the disadvantages and 
 difficulties I laboured under, from having resided 
 very little in the lowlands of Scotland since 1 was 
 turned of fifteen, and from my being confined by 
 a laborious employment, and very limited circum- 
 stances, to an inland manufacturing town in Eng- 
 land. Anxious, however, to do the utmost in my 
 power for my work, in the summer of 1800, 1 took 
 a journey to the north of Scotland, and, stopping 
 at Edinburgh in my way, was not a little mortified 
 io find, that Mr Scott was engaged in an underta- 
 king of the saini; kind, in which be had made nearly 
 the same progress; and that the greater part of the 
 materials collected for both works was the same.
 
 VI 
 
 Oil reluming lo Edinburgh, the editor had the 
 good fortune to meet with Mr Scott, and his appre- 
 hensions of being crushed in his first literary at- 
 tempt, by so powerful a rival, soon gave place to the 
 satisfaction he felt, at seeing these pieces, for which, 
 from regarding them in some measure as his own, 
 he had contracted a degree of affection, fall into 
 the hands of one, who, botli from his superior abi- 
 lities, and local situation, was likely to do them 
 much more justice as an editor. As Mr Scott, at 
 that time, intended to confine his work, with very 
 few exceptions, to the Border Raid ballad-, it was 
 hoped, that the two publications would interfere very 
 little with each other. Had the present writer, 
 when at Edinburgh, anticipated the subsequent ex- 
 tension of Mr Scull's work, he would most eh ear- 
 ful iy have given up all his materials, and rejoiced 
 to see them fall into such good hands ; bui this not 
 having been the case, he could not decently with- 
 draw - , after having committed himself so far, bv 
 giving trouble on the subject to many literary men 
 of the: highest respectability. 
 
 Of the pieces, thai were common property at the 
 iinie of comparing notes in 1800, the following
 
 VII 
 
 will be found in the second volume of the Border 
 Minstrelsy : The Gay Goss Hawk, Brown Alain, 
 Jellon Grame, Willie's Ladye, Rose the Red and 
 While Lilly, Fause Foodrage, Kempion, Cospa- 
 trick, under the title of Gil Brenton ; and a par- 
 cel of raid ballads of the Border, in the possession 
 of the late excellent and able antiquary,, the Rev. 
 Jonathan Boucher, vicar of Epsom in Surrey, which 
 had been originally procured for the history of 
 Cumberland, but were not adopted. 
 
 In 1800, the two publications were nearly in an 
 equal state of forwardness; but untowardly cir- 
 cumstances, and various disappointments and dis- 
 couragements, which are very little interesting to 
 the public, although of great importance to the in- 
 dividual, have palsied the hands of the compiler, 
 and retarded this publication long behind that of 
 his more happily situated fellow-labourer. \ et, 
 it is hoped, that this delay has, upon the whole, 
 been rather advantageous to the merit of the work, 
 as it has enabled the collector gradually to increase 
 and diversify his materials, till his resources an 
 iiow, he believes, pretty uearlv exhausted.
 
 via 
 
 The conduct of Mr Scott, throughout, lias been 
 such as that of a gentleman, a scholar, and a man of 
 genius, ought to be ; and such as every one who has 
 the happiness of knowing Mr Scott would expect 
 from him. The particular pieces, which L owe to his 
 friendship, will be found acknowledged in their 
 proper places; and for private and personal obli- 
 gations, with which ballads were no wise concern- 
 ed, my gratitude is perhaps better felt than public- 
 ly expressed. 
 
 For the ground-work of this collection, and for 
 the greater and more valuable part of the popular 
 and romantic tales which it contains, the public arc- 
 indebted to Mrs Brown of Falkland. Besides the 
 large supply of ballads, taken down from her rccita- 
 tionmanv vearsago, by professor Scott of Aberdeen ; 
 in 1800, ] paid an unexpected visit to Mrs Brown 
 at Dvsart, where she then happened to be for her 
 health, and wrote down from her unpremeditated 
 repetition about ;i dozen pieces more, most of which 
 will be found in this work. Several others, which 
 f had not time to take down, were afterwards trans- 
 mitted to me by Mrs Brown herself, and by hei 
 late highly respectable and worthy husband, the
 
 IX 
 
 llev. Dr Brown. Every person, who peruses the 
 following sheets, will see how much [ owe to Mrs 
 Brown, and to her nephew, my much-esteemed 
 
 friend, professor Scott; and it rests with me to 
 feel, that I owe them much more for the zeal and 
 spirit which they have manifested, than even for 
 the valuable communications which they have 
 made. 
 
 As to the authenticity of the pieces themselves, 
 they are as authentic as traditionary poetry can be 
 expected to be ; and their being more entire than 
 most other such pieces are found to be, may be easily 
 accounted for, from the circumstance that there 
 are very few persons of Mrs Brown's abilities and 
 education, that repeat popular ballads from me- 
 mory. She learnt most of them before she was 
 twelve years old, from old women and maid-ser- 
 vants ; what she once learnt, she never forgot ; and 
 such were her curiosity and industry, that she was 
 not contented with merely knowing the story, ac- 
 cording to one way of telling, but studied to acquire 
 all the varieties of the same tale which she could 
 meet with. In some instances, these different rea- 
 dings may have insensibly mixed with each other,
 
 and produced, from various disjointed fragments, 
 a whole, such as reciters, whose memories and 
 judgments are less perfect, can seldom produce. 
 But this must be the case in all poetry, which de- 
 pends for its authenticity upon oral tradition alone. 
 
 At Aberbrothick, I had the good fortune to be- 
 come acquainted with Mrs W. Arrot, to whom I was 
 introduced by my very learned and worthy name- 
 sake, the Rev. Dr Jamicson of Edinburgh ; and 
 who furnished me with a number of pieces, several 
 of which will be found in this collection ; and the 
 others, for which I am indebted to her politeness, 
 have been omitted only, because their publication 
 has been anticipated. 
 
 To the original editor of the Reliques of An- 
 lient English poetry, I owe the very curious copy of 
 Child Maurice, and the fragment of Robin Hood, 
 and the Old Man. Nothing could be more liberal 
 than the conduct of the present possessor of the 
 folio MS. from which these fragments are extract- 
 ed; and il this miscellanv has been enriched will] 
 fewer pieces from that valuable repository than 
 was at first expected, the world have no reason to 
 be sorrv for it, as the Uev. Dr Perc\ of Si John's
 
 XI 
 
 college, Oxford, the editor of the last edition of 
 the Lieliques, is collecting for a fourth volume to 
 that work. 
 
 To Dr Kobert Anderson of Edinburgh, Dr John 
 Levden, now in the East Indies, the llcv. Mr Nares 
 of the British Museum, the Rev. Mr Brand, secre- 
 tary to the society of Antiquaries, Somerset-house, 
 Messrs Nicol, booksellers, Pali-Mall, who have the 
 care of the library of the late duke of lloxburghe, 
 and to all the gentlemen connected Avith the diffe- 
 rent libraries in Oxford and Cambridge, which J 
 have visited, I return my most hearty thanks for 
 the civilities which 1 have received from them du- 
 ring the progress of this work, and for their obli- 
 U'inir readiness in forwarding and i'acilitatinff mv 
 researches after old poetry. 
 
 The Rev. William Gray of Lincoln deserves my 
 most particular acknowledgments. Without ha- 
 ving ever seen or heard of me, upon my first appli- 
 cation to him by letter, and mentioning to him the 
 nature of my undertaking, lie immediately entered 
 into my project with all the ardour of an old friend, 
 and all the zeal of a scholar, m\(\ an antiquary. 
 Several of my obligations to him will be found ac-
 
 Xll 
 
 knowledged in their proper places; and from his 
 early attachment to the popular songs of his coun- 
 try among the IIozcs o Biahan, and his extensive 
 acquaintance with that kind of lore, this work 
 might have been greatly improved through his 
 means, if circumstances could have admitted of my 
 visiting Lincoln as I intended, and carrying my 
 papers with me. 
 
 But the great encourager and promoter of 
 these studies, as of all liberal studies and virtuous 
 pursuits, was the late Rev. Jonathan Boucher, vicar 
 of Epsom. He cannot now receive my thanks ; 
 his very numerous and highly respectable acquain- 
 tance need not to be told of his learning and 
 his worth ; or how much reason I have to regret 
 the loss of such a man, who had been my most 
 constant and zealous friend during a period of 
 nine years, and of his learning, abilities, and li- 
 terary industry, he has left behind him ample 
 evidence, which may one; day be laid before the 
 public, to claim from posterity some share of thai 
 tribute to Ins memory, which all who knew him 
 paid to his merits while he lived. 
 And now I have particular acknowledgments lo 
 7
 
 Xlll 
 
 make to only two gentlemen more, sir Frederick 
 Morton, hart, and William Smith, esq. of St Peter's 
 college, Cambridge. For many years, they have 
 never remitted their exertions to befriend me, not 
 only in this undertaking, but in every thing else 
 where my welfare seemed concerned ; and had my 
 acknowledgments kept pace with their good offi- 
 ces, I must long since have exhausted all the vari- 
 eties of expression belonging to gratitude and 
 thankfulness. If their success has not been pro- 
 portioned to their zeal, perhaps the satisfaction 
 which I have derived, from the continued evidence 
 which ray failures have afforded, of the interest 
 which such men took in my affairs, has sometimes 
 been little inferior to what I should have derived 
 from the attainment of the objects I have at differ- 
 ent times hud in view. 
 
 In order that the reader may have a fair criterion 
 by which to judge of the merits of this work, so far 
 as depends upon the editor, it is right that he should 
 know what end was proposed to be attained; v. hat
 
 XIV 
 
 moans there were tor the attainment of that end, and 
 how far the compiler deserves praise or blame, for 
 the manner in which he has availed himself of 
 those means. 
 
 Many of those, who had gone before in the same 
 walk, had done so much, and so well, that there 
 was little room left for an obscure individual, so dis- 
 advantageouslv situated, to flatter himself that he 
 could excel or even rival them. But raanv of the 
 best ears of corn are lopt off by the sickle; and 
 where the opulent husbandman has reaped a plen- 
 tiful harvest, the humble gleaner retires from the 
 field with heart no less grateful and satistied ; and, 
 although his sheaf is but small, it consists of the 
 choicest produce of the field. Such, it was tin wish 
 of the present collector to make these his gleanings, 
 and, above all, to keep them free from cockles and 
 tares, and all the spurious imitations of grain with 
 which enemies in the night have sown tin se un- 
 inclosed fields of Parnassus. 
 
 The first, and bv far the best, publication of this 
 kind, was the lle/iques of Antietit English Poetry, 
 a work in which the splendour of genius, and the 
 delicacy of taste, have diffused such a light over the
 
 XV 
 
 dustv, sombre, and uninviting path of the scholai 
 and the antiquary, as has endeared to the most re- 
 fined readers a kind of study which was before sup- 
 posed to have no charms, but for nurses and old 
 women. To blame the editor of that excellent 
 work for not doing what he never purposed to do, 
 and what, if he had done it, no one, at that time, 
 Would have applauded him for, is equally unjust 
 and ungenerous; and it was to the allurements of 
 that delightful miscellany, and of the charming 
 pages of Mr Warton, to whom he has been 
 equally invidious and ungrateful, that Mr Hit- 
 son owed not only his own taste (if taste that 
 may be called which taste had none,) for antient 
 minstrelsy ; but also the public taste, which led 
 people to purchase his compilations and repub- 
 lications from the lieliques, and other such po- 
 pular works. That Mr Jiitson was most scrupu- 
 Jouslv honest, according to the strict letter of the 
 law, I am very ready to grant ; but I can see no 
 extraordinary merit in that, any more than in his 
 atrabilious, furious, and obstreperous abhorrence 
 of forgery of every kind. No man will be a ihicl, 
 who dare> neither use the stolon tjoods himself, nor
 
 XVI 
 
 hopes Lo meet with a receiver; and as every pro- 
 duction of his must inevitably have borne Mister 
 Ritson, his mark, upon it, there was no danger of 
 Mr Ritson being guilty of forgery. 
 
 Of Mr Pinkerton and his ballads, I shall say no- 
 thing. It is mortifying in the extreme to the ad- 
 mirers of genius and learning, to find them in such 
 bad company, as the genius and learning of Mr 
 Pinkerton always appear in, both in public and pri- 
 vate. 
 
 The Edinburgh collection of ballads and songs 
 has considerable merit ; but the editor has with- 
 held both his name and his authorities; and pieces 
 of every description, antient and modern, tradition- 
 ary, and original, are all given promiscuously, and 
 without any attempt at distinction. The same may 
 he said of Evan's collection in four volumes ; and 
 of the collection published in 1723, in three vo- 
 lumes. 
 
 xSow, as the editor was altogether unacquainted 
 with Mr Scott's intended publication, it appeared 
 to him, that the nature of traditional poetry might. 
 he still further illustrated, and that considerable 
 materials for that purpose were still to be found.
 
 XV11 
 
 In prosecuting his undertaking, lie has always kepi 
 this object in view. He has almost always given 
 entire, and in the exact state in which it came into 
 his hands, the text of some one copy, the authenti- 
 city of which he can vouch for ; where interpola- 
 tions arc introduced, they have always been mark- 
 ed ; and he has studiously avoided every kind of 
 imposition. 
 
 In collecting from MSS. and scarce editions, he 
 has employed his best industry, and the utmost 
 extent of his slender means; and he has never 
 trusted that to another, which he had it in his 
 power to do for himself. 
 
 For the original pieces which have been inserted 
 in this collection, he has no apology to offer, as to 
 their general character and merit ; but although 
 time and circumstances have not admitted of his 
 correcting and polishing them to his own standard 
 of propriety, the prematureness of their publication 
 is not owing to vanity, but to the absolute necessity 
 he is under of publishing them in their present. 
 state, or relinquishing the design for ever. In 
 choosing and rejecting, he has exercised his judge- 
 ment, such as it is, upon his own productions, in 
 
 VOL. T. M ( 2
 
 XV111 
 
 the same manner as he has done upon every thing 
 else which he has admitted into this work ; and 
 had he not supposed that they might properly 
 enough hold a place in such a compilation as this, 
 he would never have attempted to introduce them 
 to the notice of the world. At the same time, he 
 can form so just an estimate of their merits, that 
 he should never have thought of publishing them 
 by themselves; and one great reason for inserting 
 them here is to shew, that, although but an indif- 
 ferent poet, he has a sufficient knowledge of his 
 subject to be duly qualified to be an Editor of Old 
 Ballads. This credit, at least, he hopes his bal- 
 lads and songs will procure him ; and he is the 
 more anxious to obtain it, because he has been 
 prevented, by unforeseen circumstances, from pre- 
 paring them for the press, and furnishing them 
 with a preface, dissertations, notes, and a glossary, 
 such as he had at iirst intended. 
 
 Being obliged to go, at a few weeks warning, 
 to a distant part of the world, and to seek, on the 
 shores of the frozen Baltic, for (what his own coun- 
 try seems to deny him) the means of employing 
 his talents and industry in some such manner as
 
 XIX 
 
 mav enable him to preserve (for a time at least) 
 his respectability, and a partial independence in 
 
 the world ; the following sheets have been pre- 
 pared for the press, amidst all the anxiety and 
 bustle of getting ready and packing up for a voy- 
 age. At the moment when he writes this, every- 
 thing but these papers is sent on board, and he has 
 not leisure even to read over what he has written. 
 To the humane and benevolent reader, no farther 
 apology needs be offered for the unfinished and un- 
 digested state in which they may be found. Not 
 to have published them at all, would have been, not 
 only to throw away all the labour and expence 
 which they have cost the compiler, but also to dis- 
 appoint the expectations of many persons of the 
 greatest respectability, who have assisted him in 
 his undertaking; and if the publication had been 
 deferred, the opportunity would have been lost for 
 ever. The voice of the Seotish Muse will never 
 be heard on the banks of the Dwina; and should 
 the editor return again to his country, dejected, 
 unpatronised, and unprovided for — 
 
 " In faith, sma' heart he'll hae to sing." 
 
 London,, August 9, 1805.
 
 SONGS 
 
 AND 
 
 BALLADS, 
 
 TRAGIC, HUMOROUS,. 
 
 AND 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 PART FIRST. 
 
 Cragm 
 
 VOL. !
 
 CHILDE MAURICE 
 
 It having been one of the chief purposes of the compiler, 
 in making the following collection, to throw as much light 
 as possible upon the state of traditionary Ballad Poetry in 
 this country, both in former times and at present ; he has 
 thought it advisable to admit into his miscellany several 
 pieces that have little to recommend them, any farther 
 than as, by contributing towards the illustration of this 
 subject, they may be objects of interest to the curious 
 antiquary, and the philosophical inquirer into the history 
 of men and manners. With this class of ballads the fol- 
 lowing imperfect legend may be ranked. For, although 
 this seemingly true and domestic story, even in the muti- 
 lated state in which it now appears, and divested as it is
 
 of all poetical and rhetorical embellishment, could hardly 
 fail, from its affecting incidents and situations, to fix the 
 attention, and interest the heart; yet, as it has now been 
 many years before the public, with every advantage which 
 it could derive from the best exertions of genius and 
 taste, it has no longer the charm of novelty to recom- 
 mend it. 
 
 Before it was first printed in Scotland, very consider- 
 able liberties were taken with the text, as must be evident 
 to every person of taste and judgment, who is conversant 
 in these matters, and has attended to the real state of 
 traditionary poetry, as it is still preserved in that country. 
 There is the most striking inequality, in style and man- 
 ner, between the interpolated stanzas and those that are 
 genuine; and the structure of the language, the senti- 
 ments, and the orthography, which have been assumed, 
 are continually at variance with each other, as well as 
 with propriety and truth. 
 
 Induced by these considerations, I intended here to have 
 given as much of the already-published ballad as I had 
 good grounds for believing to be genuine; or, to speak 
 more correctly, as much of it as had not been composed 
 for the nonce by the Scotish editors; for, as to the ge- 
 nuineness of any traditionary poetry whatsoever, I hold 
 it extremely difficult to be ascertained : 
 
 Jr«.<> yx^ ■jic-v r^xns, u?,>. x'aujij.s^x. 
 Ku-yu h-^r.sr,- ru$ Wi^lyr;/ ko:u. — Sop/iuc. ///. 1. Co.
 
 This design, however, I was led to give up, for reasons 
 which shall be assigned in the annotations annexed to this 
 piece. 
 
 But the anonymous editors of the ballad of" Gil Mor- 
 ris" are not the only persons who have studied to adorn 
 and improve this inteiesting story. In " OwenofCar- 
 ron," it has received from the chaste, elegant, and pathe- 
 tic, but diffuse, pen of Langhorne, every embellishment 
 which that species of composition seems to admit of. 
 Home has made it the ground-work of the tragedy of 
 " Douglas," one of the most pleasingly-interesting dra- 
 matic poems, which modern times have produced ; and it 
 has moreover been made the subject of a dramatic enter- 
 tainment, with songs, by Mr Rannie of Aberdeen, who is 
 well known in the musical world as the author of several 
 very elegant and popular lyrical compositions. 
 
 For the mere reader of taste, who has perused the 
 more refined productions of these authors, the following 
 rude strains are not intended. After admiring the highly 
 polished effusions of a Home and a Langhorne, such a 
 reader, 
 
 " Deeming his prattle to be tedious/' 
 
 will naturally turn with fastidious contempt from the un- 
 couth rhapsody of an illiterate minstrel; and feel but 
 little respect tor the still more uncouth rhapsodies of old 
 nurses and grandmothers;, who, in the garrulity of age.
 
 () 
 
 repeat, from imperfect recollection, what they imperfectly 
 learned when children. 
 
 Yet, defective as the following copy is, it deserves, on 
 various accounts, to be preserved. The lovers of ballad 
 lore are indebted, for its present appearance, to the libe- 
 rality and politeness of the learned and elegant (original) 
 editor of the " Reliques of Ancient English Poetry." It 
 is a transcript, taken with the most minute and scrupu- 
 lous exactness, from the folio MS. still in his possession, 
 which is so often referred to in the Reliques; and is the 
 same that is mentioned in Ed. 4. vol. iii. p. 90. of that 
 work. 
 
 As this 
 
 sgeula nam blianai a threig 
 
 Air bhurraibh an sgenhe dorchat, 
 
 has come down to our times, preserved by tradition alone; 
 and as poetry so transmitted, from one ignorant reciter 
 to another, naturally changes its dress almost as often as 
 the snake changes her skin, with this disadvantage, that 
 the colours of its new attire are seldom so brilliant or so 
 regular as those of the old; it therefore becomes an ob- 
 ject neither incurious nor uninteresting, to discover in 
 what garb it appeared some two bundled years ago. And 
 as the highly and justly esteemed writer, by whose kind 
 
 t " Talc of the years that have passed away 011 the points ol 
 their dusky wings."— See Dr Smith's bean Dana, 12niv. p. 244.
 
 condescension I have been enabled to furnish ray readers 
 with an opportunity of making such an investigation, has 
 met with much illiberal and ungentleman-like abuse, for 
 not having given all the treasures of his MS. collection to 
 the world in a state in which I doubt much whether the 
 world would, fifty years ago, have received or read them; 
 I am happy in having it in my power to lay before my 
 readers one of the most popular and most noticed of our 
 ballads, in the exact state in which it is found in that 
 very curious and valuable repository.
 
 CHILDE MAURICE. 
 
 Childe Maurice hunted ithe silven wood* 
 
 lie hunted it round about 
 
 8c noebody y l he found theren 
 
 nor noebody without 
 
 and tooke his silver combe in his hand 
 to kembe Ins yellow lockes 
 
 he saves come hither thou litle footpage 
 y* runneth lowly by my knee 
 fFor thou shah goe to John Steward's wifl'c 
 8c pray her speak e w th mec 
 
 ;i: Siltcn. sic in MS
 
 9 
 
 & as it flails out out many times 
 
 as knotts been knitt on a kell 
 
 or merchant men gone to leeve London 
 
 either to buy ware or sell 
 
 and grete thou doe y l ladye well 
 ever soe well fi'roe mee 
 
 and as it ffalls out many times 
 
 as any harte can thinke 
 
 as schoole masters are in any schoole house 
 
 writting with pen and hike 
 
 ffor if I might as well as slice may 
 this night I wold w th her speake 
 
 &, heere I send a mantle of greene 
 as greene as any grasse 
 and bid her come to the silver wood* 
 to hunt A\ th Child Maurice 
 
 * Silver wood. Sic in MS. The same appellation is found in 
 other popular ballads in Scotland.
 
 10 
 
 & there I send her a ring of gold 
 a ring of precyous stone 
 and bid he<- come to the silver wood 
 let for no kind of man 
 
 one while this litle hoy he yode 
 another while he ran 
 until he came to John Stewards hall 
 I wis he never blan 
 
 and of nurture the child had good 
 he ran up hall Sc bower ffree 
 and when he came to this lady ffaire 
 saves God you save and see 
 
 I am come flrom Childe Maurice 
 
 a message unto thee 
 
 Sc Childe Maurice he greetes you well 
 
 Sc ever sue well ilVom me 
 
 and as it mills out oftentimes 
 
 as knotts been knitt on a kell 
 
 or merchant men gone to leeve London 
 
 either to buy or sell
 
 11 
 
 & as oftentimes he greetes you well 
 as any hart can thmke 
 or schooleinastcr in any schoole. 
 wry ting w th pen and hike 
 
 & heere he sends a mantle of greene, 
 as greenc as an}' grasse 
 & he bidds you come to the silver wood 
 to hunt \v th child Maurice 
 
 & heere he sends you a ring of gold 
 a ring of precyous stone 
 he prayes you to come to the silver wood 
 let for no kind of man 
 
 now peace now peace thou litle fotpage 
 ffor Christe's sake I pray thee 
 ffor if my Lo heare one of those words 
 thou must be handed live 
 
 John Steward stood under the Castle wall 
 & he wrote the words every one
 
 12 
 
 & he called unto his horssekeeper 
 make ready you my steede 
 and soe he did to his Cbamberlaine 
 make readye then my weed 
 
 & he cast a lease upon his backe 
 Sc he rode to the silver wood 
 8c there he sought all about 
 about the silver wood 
 
 5c there he found him Childe Maurice 
 sitting upon a bloeke 
 w th a silver combe in his hand 
 kembing his yellow loeke 
 
 he sayes how now how now Childe Mamie 
 
 alaeke how may this bee 
 
 but then stood by him Childe Maurice 
 
 Sc savd these words trulve 
 
 1 do not know your ladyc he said 
 if that I doe her sc<: 
 ffor thou hast sent her love token 1 - 
 more now then 2 or 3
 
 1; 
 
 tor thou hast sent her a mantle of greene 
 
 as greene as any grasse 
 
 & bade her come to the silver wood 
 
 to hunt w th Cliiide Maurice 
 
 and by my faith now Childe Maurice 
 the tane of us shall dye 
 now by my troth sayd Childe Maurice 
 & that shall not be I 
 
 but he pulled out a bright browne sword 
 & dryed it on the grasse * 
 & soe fast he smote at John Steward 
 [ wis he never rest 
 
 * This shuiu'ar and unaccountable act of cool revengeful 
 malignity occurs in almost every one of our tragic ballads. 
 This I know not well how to account for, as it seems far from 
 natural, that a jealous rival, or injured husband, should, in the 
 very heat and fury of passion, and when on the very point of 
 committing an act of' the most intemperate violence, delibe- 
 rately draw out his sword, and fall a whetting it, as Shylock, in 
 the play, docs his knife. Yet we have very old minstrel au- 
 thority for the legitimacy of this curious prelude to deeds of 
 death, in the tactics of the P'reux Chevaliers : 
 
 " Horn gun his sword gripe, 
 Ant on Ins arm hit wipe, 
 1 lie Sarazyn he hit so, 
 That is Led Id U, ys to." 
 
 IiItson's Met, Ih'in. vol. ii. p. 116'.
 
 14 
 
 then bee pulled forth his bright browne sword 
 Sc dryed itt on his sleeve 
 & the ffirst good stroke John Steward stroke 
 Child Maurice head he did cleeve 
 
 £c he pricked it on his sword's poynt 
 went sinffina; there beside 
 and he rode till he came to the ladye ffaire 
 whereas his ladye lycd 
 
 and saves dost thou know Child Maurice head 
 
 iff that thou dost it see 
 
 and llap it soft, and kisse itt offt 
 
 tlbr thou lovedst him better than mee 
 
 but when shee looked on Child Maurice head 
 slice never spake words but three 
 1 never beare noe eliild but one 
 and you have slain him trulye 
 
 saves wicked be my merry men all*f* 
 I gave tneate drinke and clothe 
 
 t A\ oe worth you, woe worth my merry men all. 
 You were nei'c borne lor mv good : 
 Why did you not oiler to stay my hand, 
 When you see me v. ax so wood i
 
 15 
 
 but cold they not have holdcn me 
 when I was in all that wrath 
 
 ifor I have slaine one of the courteousest knights 
 
 that ever bestrode a steede 
 
 soe have I done one of the fairest ladyes 
 
 that ever ware woman's weede 
 
 " For I have slaine the bravest sir knight, 
 That ever rode on sieed. 
 So have I done the fairest lady, 
 That ever did woman's deed." 
 Ballad of Little Musgrave and Lord Bernard, from Wit 
 Restored, London, 16.38, p. 179. 
 The same kind of remonstrance, with those ahout him, oc- 
 curs in Lee's tragedy of " Alexander the Great," after the mur- 
 der of Clitus.
 
 16 
 
 NOTES 
 
 CIIILDE MAURICE. 
 
 The reader will have seen, that, in tiic foregoing fragment,, 
 although the outline of the picture is preserved, the colouring 
 is so much debased, as to be altogether unworthy of the sub- 
 ject. It has e\identlv been taken down, and that not very cor- 
 rectly, from the recitation of some ignorant person, who had 
 either learned it very imperfectly, or had afterwards forgot it; 
 for professional reciters generally endeavoured to make out the 
 text to the best of then ability, in such a manner as to preserve 
 the integrity of the fable, however bald and destitute the lan- 
 guage may have been rendered through then - ignorance, dull- 
 ness, or forgetful ness. This opinion the present editor has been 
 led to cni ei tain, from the experience he has had in collecting 
 and collating different copies of the same ballad-, found in dif- 
 ferent parts of Scothu, d. at a considerable distance from each 
 other. These, though the same in their elements, he has fre- 
 quently found so different in their superstructure, that no two 
 copies ha;! a whole stanza m common; sometime 1 not. a single 
 verse; the fable, in tin.-, resembling a stream, thai (lows uni- 
 formly clear, pure and salutary over its native bed, but after- 
 wards branches off into several ramifications, each of wlm's
 
 17 
 
 contains a part of the original body of water, but assumes new 
 and different qualities and characteristics, from the nature of 
 the soil through which it passes. 
 
 The ballad of " Childe Maurice" has all the appearance of 
 being a true narrative of some incident that had really taken 
 place. Xor is it any objection to this supposition, that in dif- 
 ferent copies the names of the persons differ. I have often, in 
 the course of collecting for this work, had occasion to observe, 
 that, as proper nanus are much more difficult to be remem- 
 bered than the language of sentiment and passion, which is ne- 
 cessarily connected with the general conduct of the piece, and 
 more particularly in ca^es where the tales are of foreign ex- 
 traction, the outlandish names are generally so altered and dis- 
 figured as not to be recognisable; or such others are substituted 
 in their room bv the reciter--, as arc most familiar, or most dis- 
 tinguished in their own immediate neighbourhood. Thus, in 
 the Scotish fragment of " The Jew's Daughter," in the " lle- 
 liques of Ancient English Poetry," Merry Lmcolne is chan- 
 ged into Merry-land-toune ; in the same work, the celebrated 
 Cambrian bard, Glaskirion, or Kirion the Sallow, becomes 
 Glasgeriun; and in the ballad on the same subject, in this 
 collection, he assumes the Scotish appellation of Glenkindi/. 
 In the romance of" The Laidly Worm of Spindlestand lleugh," 
 dutd Owen, or Ezcen, is converted into Childy Wind; and in 
 the beautiful ballad of " Sweet Willie and Fair Annie," which 
 I wrote down from the recitation of a lady in Angus-shire, who 
 had learned it, when a child, from an old woman, the hero of 
 the piece is made the heir of Duplin town. 
 
 I believe there is still preserved in Scotland a ballad on the 
 story of " Gil Morris," or rt Childe Maurice," which differs 
 considerably from any copy heretofore published. I have used 
 in v utmost endeavours to recover it, but hitherto without suc- 
 cess. I have met with several persons who remembered ba- 
 vin" heard it; but nunc that could repeat, more than the three 
 following stanzas, which are said to be the beginning and end 
 of the piece. 
 
 vol., [. <:
 
 18 
 
 " Gil Morris sat in silver wood, 
 He whistled and he sang ; 
 
 ' Whare sail I get a bonny boy 
 My errand for to gang.-' 
 
 " He's ca'd his foster-brither Willie 
 ' Come, win ye hose and shoon, 
 
 And gae unto lord Barnard's ha', 
 And bid his ladv come.' 
 
 " And 'he has ta'en the bloody head, 
 
 And cast, it i' the brim ; 
 Syne gathered up her robes o' green, 
 
 And last she followed him." 
 
 By the concluding stanza, it would seem as if this had been the 
 ballad from which the author of the tragedy of " Douglas" has 
 taken the plot of his drama, as the catastrophe is the same. In the 
 first copies, moreover, of that poem, the names of Gil Morris and 
 lord Barnard were preserved, though they afterward? cave place 
 to the more popular ones of Douglas and lord Randolph. These 
 considerations, when I was last in Edinburgh, made me feel a 
 strong desire to see the venerable author of the tragedy of 
 " Douglas," and to endeavour to obtain from him some infor- 
 mation, whi< i'i might lead to the discovery of a really and purely 
 traditionary ballad of" Oil Morns." Hut 1 was sorry to learn, 
 that neither Mr Home's health nor spirits were such as to jus- 
 tify i n v troubling him with any application upon a subject of 
 that hind. 
 
 Disappointed, however, as \ was, of being able to give a 
 eopv of the ballad which could be depended upon, I once in- 
 tended, r< vmi» solely upon mv own nietnon and judgment, to 
 insert in this collection all the already-published stan/as which 
 [ consid* red as purely traditional. I >ul no editor ha* a right to ex- 
 pect to be indulged in so m hii : arv an ( \it iision of Ins privileges. 
 Vet, as I have had some experience, having been attentive to
 
 19 
 
 all tlie proceedings in most of the trials at the bar of ballad 
 criticism, 1 may venture to hazard an opinion, that the genuine 
 text ends with stanza xxxix of the Scotish edition : 
 
 " Awa, awa, yc ill woman, 
 
 An ill deatli may ye die ! 
 Gin I had ken'd he was your son, 
 
 lie had ne'er been slain by me." 
 
 The sixteen additional verses inserted in the " Reliqucs of An- 
 cient English Poetry," and pointed out in the introduction to 
 the piece, beginning, 
 
 " His hair was like the threads of gold. 
 Drawn frae Minerva's loorne," tkc. 
 
 are in quite a different style of composition, and evidently no- 
 wise a-kin to the rest of the piece. They even seem to be out 
 of their place. But, although the ideas have nothing new in 
 them, as the picture which they exhibit is certainly eminently 
 rich and beautiful, it was not on account of any supposed de- 
 merit attached to them, but because, the verses were too fine 
 and finished, that I presumed, instead of them, after st. xxvii. 
 of the Scotish edition, ending, 
 
 " And there he first spyed Gil Morris 
 Kaming his yellow hair;" 
 
 to substitute, 
 
 " In simmer green the boy was clad., 
 As hunters wont to gang; 
 
 And, like the mavis on the bush, 
 Jle whistled and he sang. 
 
 " His reed was like the cherry red, 
 His ecu were blvlhe and blue; 
 
 And bonny glist the gonden lock. 
 That curled o'er his brow .
 
 20 
 
 " Nae wonder, nae wonder/' &c. 
 After st. xxxiii. ending, 
 
 " And there she saw Child Maurice Jieid 
 Cum trailing to the toun," 
 
 it was also thought that some such verses as the following 
 might have been inserted : 
 
 " Come down, come down, my dame sae chaste, 
 
 And tak' this dear propine, 
 The true-love wad your lemman gay 
 
 Has sent to mees your pine. 
 
 " lie's sent to you what ye lo'ed maist, 
 
 A ilaught o' his yellow hair; 
 And he lias sent his lips sae sweet, 
 
 A lover's kiss to bear.'' 
 
 But neither these interpolations, nor indeed any of the others. 
 are at all necessary, as the narrative is complete, and the inte- 
 grity of the text better preserved without them. 
 
 Beside the above scraps which have been connected with 
 this ballad, the following concluding stanzas, evidently com- 
 posed by some very unskilful hand, posterior to the appear- 
 ance of the tragedy of" Douglas," have been transmitted from 
 Edinburgh by the able and elegant editor of the " Minstrelsy 
 of the Scottish Border;" his many obligations to whom, the pre- 
 sent writer will often have occasion to acknowledge in the course 
 of this work. They had been handed about in that part of the 
 country, and found their wav into Mr Herd's M.S. collection, 
 from whence they were extracted bv Mr Scott, As the verses 
 are in themselvc vcrv poor, thev an uiven here merely to shew 
 what dispositions my go-id countrymen, who can forge with ad- 
 dress, and who cannot, have manifested respecting this ballad.
 
 21 
 
 She heard him speak, but fell despair 
 
 Sat ro:;ted in her heart ; 
 She heard him, and she heard nae mair. 
 
 Though sair she rued the smart. 
 
 Fast to the steep hieh craig she ran, 
 
 That'> o'er the water hung; 
 " J come, I come, dear Gil Morris !" 
 And down herself she flung. 
 
 Svne word came to lord Barnard's ha' ; 
 
 " Fye, )ve ! :;ar rin wi' speed ; 
 My huh o'er the craig did fa'; 
 
 I fear ere this she's dead. 
 
 " 'Twa^ me, 'twas me that killed the dame 
 
 'Twas me Gil Morris slew : 
 how I've blasted a' my fame, 
 And a' my honour true ! 
 
 " But soon, soon will I make amends : 
 
 My horse gar saddle swift; 
 Farewell, farewell, my merry men !' ; 
 
 And aft' he flew like drift. 
 
 He came where Scotland's valiant son. 
 
 Their fierce invaders fought ; 
 Among the thickest fight he runs, 
 
 And meets the death he ioueht.
 
 SWEET MILLIE, AND FAIR ANNIE. 
 
 J hree ballads, all of them of considerable merit, on the 
 same subject as the following, are to be found in vol. iii. of 
 the " Reliques of Antient English Poetry," under the titles 
 of Lord Thomas and Fair Elinor, Fair Margaret and 
 Sweet William, and Lord Thomas and Fair Annet; the 
 latter of which is in that work given with some corrections 
 "from a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland," and suppo- 
 sed to be composed, not without improvements, out of the 
 two former antient English ones. 
 
 At this distance of time, it would be in vain to attempt 
 to ascertain which was the original, and which the imita- 
 tion ; and, 1 think it extremely probable, that, in their 
 origin, lho\ were perfectly independent oi each oilier, ami 
 both derived from some one of those tableaux, romances, 
 ~r tides, which, about tour or live hundred \ears ago, w*< i ■
 
 !3 
 
 so familiarly known, in various forms, over a great part of 
 Europe, that it would even then have been difficult to say 
 to what country, or language, they owed their birth. 
 
 The text of Lord Thomas and Fair Annet seems to have 
 been adjusted, previous to its leaving Scotland, by some 
 one who was more of a scholar than the reciters oi ballads 
 generally are ; and, in attempting to give it an antique cast, 
 it lias been deprived of somewhat of that easy facility which 
 is the distinguished characteristic of the traditionary ballad 
 narrative. With the text of the following ditty, no such 
 experiment has been made. It is here given pure and en- 
 tire, as it was taken down by the editor, from the recita- 
 tion of a lady in Aberbrothick, (Mrs W. Arrot,) to whose 
 politeness and friendship this collection is under considera- 
 ble obligations. She had no previous intimation of the 
 compiler's visit, or of his undertaking ; and the few hours 
 he spent at her friendly lire-side were very busily employed 
 in writing. .\s she had, when a child, learnt the ballad 
 from an elderly maid-servant, and probably had not repeat- 
 ed it for a dozen years before I had the irood fortune to be 
 introduced to her; it may be depended upon, that every 
 line was recited to me as nearly as possible in the exact 
 form in which she learnt it. 
 
 Although the story is already well known to most rea- 
 ders of compositions of this kind, there are in the narrative 
 of the following simple and affecting tale, so man)' bea 
 and so exquisite in their kind, that I make no apology for 
 nsertiny it in this collection.
 
 SWEET WILLIE AND FAIR ANNIE. 
 
 Sweet Willie and fair Annie 
 
 Sat a' day on a bill ; 
 And though they had sitten seven year. 
 
 They ne'er wad had their fill. 
 
 Sweet Willie said a word in haste 
 
 And Annie took it ill : 
 " 1 winna wed a toeherless maid, 
 
 Against my parent's will." 
 
 " Ye're come o' the rich, Willie,, 
 And I'm come o' the poor; 
 
 I'm o'er laigh to he your bride, 
 And 1 winna be your whore."
 
 25 
 
 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. 
 
 " O sleep ye, wake ye, mither ?" he says. 
 
 <c Or are ye the bower within ?" 
 "' I sleep richt aft, I wake richt aft *f- ; 
 
 What want ye wi' me, son? 
 
 " Whare hae ye been a' night, Willie ; 
 
 O wow ! ye've tarried lang !" 
 cc I have been courtin' fair Annie, 
 
 And she is frae me gane. 
 
 " There is twa maidens in a bower, 
 Which o' them sail L bring hame ? 
 
 The nut-brown maid has sheep and cows, 
 And fair Annie has nane." 
 
 f That is, mv slumbers arc short, broken, and interrupted ; 
 haracteristic of aire : — 
 
 Mx'/.cc to yyece thjj.ov uuTTyov, 
 Kxt i7r GtpbxXy.Qtc; o|u Trupzaru'. 
 
 Eurip, Jp/i, in Aid, I. 4.
 
 2t> 
 
 ** It's an ye wed the nut-brown maid, 
 l'J] heap gold vvi' my hand ; 
 
 But an ye wed her, fair Annie, 
 I'll straik it wi' a wand. 
 
 " Tlie nut-brown maid has sheep and cows, 
 
 And fair Annie has nane ; 
 And Willie, for my benison, 
 
 The nut-brown maid bring hame." 
 
 " O I sail wed the nut-brown maid, 
 And I sail bring her hame ; 
 
 But peace nor rest between us twa, 
 Till death binder's again. 
 
 '•' But, alas, alas!" says sweet Willie,, 
 
 " O fair is Annie's i'aee !" 
 " But what's the matter, my son Willie, 
 
 She has nae ilher grace." 
 
 " Alas, alas !" savs sweet Willie ; 
 
 " Bui while is Annie's hand !" 
 "Bui what's the matter, my sou Willie, 
 
 She hasna a fur o' land."
 
 - / 
 
 " Sheep will die in cots, mither, 
 
 And owsen die in byre ; 
 And what's this warkl's wealth to me, 
 
 An 1 s;et na my heart's desire ? 
 
 " Whare will I get a bonny boy, 
 That wad fain win hose and shoon, 
 
 That will rin to fair Annie's bower, 
 YYT the lei lijjht o' tiie moon ? 
 
 " 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 townf. 
 
 " She manna put on the black, the black, 
 
 Nor yet the dowie brown ; 
 But the scarlet sacred, and the kerches sac white, 
 
 And her bonnv locks haimin' down." 
 
 o 
 
 t Duplin town. Duplin is the scut of the earl of Kinnoul, 
 from which lie derives his title of viscount. It is in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Perth. This copy of the ballad was taken from 
 the current traditionary manner of reciting it in thai parr of the 
 country ; and it is observable, that ballads are very frequently 
 adapted In the meridian of the place where they are found ; so 
 that the same parts and characW is are given to persons ot dif- 
 ferent names and ranks in life in different parts of the country.
 
 £8 
 
 He is on to Annie's bower, 
 
 And tilled at the pin ; 
 And wha was sac ready as Annie hersel, 
 
 To open and let him in. 
 
 " Ye are bidden come to Willie's weddin', 
 
 Tiie morn at twal at noon ; 
 Ye are bidden come to Willie's wedding 
 
 The heir of Duplin town. 
 
 " Ye manna put on the black, the black, 
 
 Nor yet the dowie brown ; 
 But the scarlet saered, and the kerches sae white 
 
 And your bonny locks hangin' down." 
 
 " Its I will come to Willie's wed din', 
 
 The morn at twal at noon ; 
 lis I will come to Willie's weddin', 
 
 But 1 rather the mass had been mine. 
 
 " Maidens, to my bower come. 
 And lav gold on mv hair; 
 
 And whare ye laid at plait be fore. 
 ^ e'il now lav ten times, mair.
 
 " Taylors, to my bower come, 
 And mak to me a weed ; 
 
 And smiths unto my stable come, 
 And shoe to me a steed," 
 
 At every tate o' Annie's horse' mane 
 
 There hang a silver bell ; 
 And there came a wind out irae the souths 
 
 Which made them a' to knell. 
 
 And whan she came to Mary-kirk. 
 
 And sat down in the deas, 
 The light, that came frae fair Annie, 
 
 Enlighten' d a' the place. 
 
 But up and stands the nut-brown bride, 
 
 Just at her lather's knee ; 
 " O wha is this, my father dear, 
 
 That blinks in Willie's e'e :" 
 " O this is Willie's first true low. 
 
 Be- tore he loved thee." 
 
 ' e H that be Willie's first true love, 
 H< might ha' e latten me be ; 
 
 She has as much gold on ae ling"' 
 As Til wear till i.die.
 
 50 
 
 " O whare got ye that water, Annie, 
 That washes you sae white r" 
 
 " I got it in my mither's warn be, 
 Whare ye'ii ne'er get the like. 
 
 i: For ye've hern wash'd in Dunny's well, 
 And dried on Dunny's dyke ; 
 
 And a' the water in the sea 
 Will never wash vc white." 
 
 Willie's ta'en a rose out o' his hat. 
 
 Laid it in Annie's lap ; 
 " The bonniest to the bonniest fa's 
 
 liae, wear it for my sake." 
 
 '•' Tak up and wear your rose, Willie, 
 
 As Jang as it will last ; 
 For, like your love, its sweetness a" 
 
 Will soon l)e gane and past. 
 
 " Wear ye the rose o' love, Willie, 
 
 And I the thorn o' care ; 
 For the woman sail never bear a sou, 
 
 That will mak 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. 
 
 Thev werena weel lyen down, 
 
 And scarcely fa'n asleep, 
 Whan up and stands she, fair Annie, 
 
 Just up at Willie's i'eet. 
 
 " 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. 
 
 " Weel brook ye o' your brown brown bride, 
 
 Between ye and the stock ; 
 And sae will I o' mv black Mack kist, 
 
 That has neither key nor lock. 
 
 <: Weel brook ve o' vour brown brown bride. 
 
 And o' vour bridal bed ; 
 ■Aii'l sae will 1 o' the cald eald mools. 
 That, soon will hap my head."
 
 32 
 
 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. 
 
 The fnsten bower that he came till. 
 
 There was right dowie wark ; 
 Her mither and her three sisters 
 
 Were makin' to Annie a sark, 
 
 The nexten bower thaVhe came til 
 There was right dowie cheir ; 
 
 Her father and her seven brethren 
 Were makin' to Annie a bier. 
 
 The laslen bower, that lie came till, 
 
 O, heavy was his care ! 
 Tiie waxen lights were burning brighl 
 
 Ami fair Annie streekit there. 
 
 lie's lifted up the coverlet, 
 
 Where she, fair Annie, lay ; 
 tc Sweet was her smile, but wan her ehec 
 
 Oh, wan, and eald as elay !"
 
 j,J 
 
 Pale Willie grew; wae was his hearty 
 And sair he sigh'd \vi' teen : 
 
 •• Oh, Annie! had I kertt thy worth, 
 Ere it o'er late had been I 
 
 •• It's i will kiss your bonny cheek, 
 
 And I will kiss your chin ; 
 And 1 will kiss your clay-cald lip; 
 
 But I'll never kiss woman auain. 
 
 ''And that I was in love out-done. 
 Sail ne'er be said o' me ; 
 
 For, as ye've died lor me, Annie. 
 Sac will 1 do tor thee. 
 
 •' The day ye deal at Annie's burial 
 
 The bread hut and the wine ; 
 Before the morn at twail (/clock, 
 They'll deal the same ;tt mine.' 
 
 The tane was buried in Mary's kirk, 
 The tither in Marv's quire ; 
 
 And out o' the lane there t^rcw ;i hirl 
 And out o' the tither a brier. 
 
 VOL, I. I)
 
 And ay they grew, and ay they drew, 
 Until) they twa did meet; 
 
 And every ane that past them by, 
 Said, " Thae's been lovers sweet!''
 
 
 NOTES 
 
 oy 
 
 SWEET WILLIE AND FAIR ANNIE 
 
 As the lady, to whom I am indebted for the foregoing ballad, 
 was unexpectedly called upon, and had no time for recollection, 
 nor made any attempt to supply by ingenuity the deficiencies 
 of memory; there were several lines which she could not at 
 the moment repeat, and whose places I have taken the liberty 
 of supplying, as follows : 
 
 Line oil of stanza 29, is an interpolation. Instead of stanzas 
 30 and .51, Mrs Arrot recited : 
 
 " Tak up and wear your rose, Willie, 
 
 And wear't wi' mickle cure ; 
 For the woman sail never bear a son, 
 
 That will make my heart sae sair." 
 
 The whole of stanza 36 — the second and third lines of stanza 
 40 — stanza 41, except the first line- — and the whole of stanza 
 ■iJ and 4 1, were supplied by the editor. In every otherinstar.ee, 
 th< purity and integrity of the text has been most scrupulously 
 
 preserved.
 
 36 
 
 FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN. 
 
 1 ins beautiful piece was adopted into this collection, 
 and " Fair Annie's Complaint" written to accompany it, 
 long before the editor knew any thing of Mr Scott's in- 
 tended publication. It is here given rerbati?n from the 
 large MS. collection (see Preface), transmitted from Aber- 
 deen, by my zealous and industrious friend, Professor Ro- 
 bert Scott of that university. I have every reason to be- 
 lieve, that no liberty whatever has been taken witli the 
 lext, which is certainly more uniform than any copy here- 
 tofore published. It was first written down many years 
 ago, with no view towards being committed to the press; 
 and is now given from the copy then taken, with the addi- 
 tion onl) of stanzas 22. and 2.5. which the editor has in- 
 serted from memory.
 
 FAIR ANNIE OF LOCHROYAN 
 
 O wha will shoe my i'air foot. 
 And wha will glove my han'r 
 And wha will lace my middle gimp 
 Wf a new-made London ban' ? 
 
 **' Or wha will kemb my yellow liair 
 \\ i' a new-made silver kemh? 
 
 Or wha'll be father to mv young bairn 
 Till love («re'_rnr come hanie f" 
 
 ' N our falher'll shoe sour fair foot. 
 Your mother glove your ban'; 
 
 N our sister laee your middle jimp 
 W i a new-made. Loudon ban";
 
 " Your brethren will kemb your yellow hair 
 
 Wi' a new-made silver kemb; 
 And the King o' Heaven will father your bairn. 
 
 Till love Gregor come hame." 
 
 " O uin I had a bonny ship, 
 And men to sail wi' me, 
 
 It's I wad gang to my true love, 
 Sin he winna come to me!" 
 
 Her father's gien her a bonny ship, 
 And sent her to the stran'; 
 
 She's tacn her young son in her arms. 
 And turn'tl her back to the Ian'. 
 
 She hadna been o' the sea sailin* 
 About a month or more, 
 
 Till landed has she her bonny ship 
 Near her true-love's door. 
 
 The nicht was dark, and the wind blew cald. 
 
 And her love was last asleep, 
 And the bairn that was in her twa arms 
 
 J'V sair betran to greet.
 
 39 
 
 Lang stood she at her true love's door, 
 And lang tirl'd at the pin ; 
 
 At length up gat his fause mother, 
 Says, « Wha's that wad he in r" 
 
 " O, it is Annie of Lochrovan, 
 Your love, come o'er the sea. 
 
 But and your young son in her arms; 
 So open the door to me." 
 
 " Aw a, uwa, ye ill woman, 
 
 You're nae come here for gude; 
 
 \ ou're hut a witch, or a vile warlock, 
 Or mermaid o' the flude." 
 
 " I'm nae a witch or vile warlock, 
 Or mermaiden," said she;— 
 
 " I'm but your Annie of Lochroyan;- 
 O open the door to me !" 
 
 " O gin ye be Annie of Lochroyan, 
 
 As L trust not ye be, 
 \\ hat taiken can ye gie that e'er 
 
 f kept your com panic ; '"
 
 40 
 
 "' O dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she says, 
 
 " Whan we sat at the wine, 
 How we changed the napkins frae our neeks, 
 
 It's nae sac Jang sinsyne? 
 
 " And yours was gude, and gude enough ; 
 
 But nae sae gude as mine ; 
 For yours was o' the cambrick clear, 
 
 But mine o' the silk sae fine. 
 
 " And dinna ye mind, love Gregor," she says, 
 
 " As wc twa sat at dine, 
 How we chang'd the rings frae our lingers, 
 
 And I can shew thee thine : 
 
 '' And yours was gude, and gude enough. 
 
 Yet nae sae gude as mine ; 
 For yours was o' the gude red gold, 
 
 But mine o' the diamonds fine. 
 
 :: Sae open the door, now, love Gregor, 
 
 And open it wi' speed ; 
 Or your young son, that is in my arms, 
 
 For eald will aoon be dead.''
 
 41 
 
 " Awa, awa, ye ill woman ; 
 
 Gae frae my door for shame, 
 lor I hae gotten anither fair love, 
 
 Sue ye may hie you luune." 
 
 " O hae ye gotten anither fair love, 
 
 For a' the oaths ye svvare r 
 Then fare ye weel, now, fanse Gregor; 
 
 For me ye's never see mair !" 
 
 O, hooly hooly gaed she hack, 
 A- the day began to peep; 
 
 She set her foot on good ship board. 
 And sair suh did she weep. 
 
 "' Tak down, tak down the mast o' goad ; 
 
 Set up the mast o' tree ; 
 111 sets it a forsaken lady 
 
 To sail sue trnilantiie. 
 
 " Tak down, tak down the sails o' silk : 
 
 Set up the sails o' skin ; 
 lil sets the outside to be gay, 
 
 Whan there's sie <n - ief within !"
 
 4^ 
 
 Love Gregor started frae his sleep, 
 And to his mother did say, 
 
 " I dreamt a dream this night, uiither 
 That maks my heart richt wae ; 
 
 " I dreamt that Annie of Loehroyan. 
 
 The flower o' a' iier kin, 
 Was standin' mournin' at iny door, 
 
 But nane wad lat her in." 
 
 (C O there was a woman stood at the door. 
 
 Wi' a bairn intill her arms; 
 But I wudna let her within the bower, 
 
 For fear she had done you harm." 
 
 O quickly, quickly raise he up. 
 And fast ran to the strand ; 
 
 And there he saw her, fair Annii 
 Was sailing frae the land. 
 
 And " heigh, Annie," and " how, Annie ! 
 
 O, Annie, winna ye hide;?" 
 Hut ay the louder tiiat he cried ' ( Annie," 
 
 The higher rair'd the tide. 
 
 1-
 
 43 
 
 And " heigh, Annie!" and " how, Annie! 
 
 < ), Annie, speak to me !" 
 IniL ay the louder that he cried " Annie," 
 
 The louder rair'd the sea. 
 
 The wind grew loud, and the sea grew rough, 
 And the ship was rent in twain ; 
 
 And soon he saw her, fair Annie, 
 Come floating o'er the main. 
 
 lie saw his young son in her arms, 
 Baith toss'd ahoon the tide; 
 
 He wrang his hands, and fast he ran, 
 And plunged in the sea sae wide. 
 
 : !c catch' d her by the yellow hair, 
 And drew her to liie strand; 
 
 I'lii cald and stiff was every limb, 
 lufore he reach' d the land. 
 
 O fust he kist her cherrv cheek, 
 And syne he kist her chin, 
 
 \ud -air he kist her ruby lips; 
 Hut there was nae breath within.
 
 44 
 
 O he has mourn'd o'er fair Annie, 
 Till the sun was ganging down ; 
 
 Syne \vi' a sich his heart it brast, 
 And his saul to heaven has flown. 
 
 *%,* The editor has frequently, when a boy, heard the fore- 
 ^tiuvi ballad chaunted in Moray-shire; but no mention was ever 
 made of enchantment, or " fairy charms." Indeed the three 
 stanzas on that subject, beginning, " And when she saw the 
 stately tower," cvc. in the Border Minstrelsy, vol. ii. p. 53. are 
 in a stvle of composition very peculiar, and different from the 
 rest of the piece, and strongly remind us of the interpolations 
 in the ballad of " Gil Morris." This is by no means intended 
 to throw any reflection on Mr Scott, in whose fidelity as an 
 editor I have the greatest confidence ; and I have not the least 
 doubt but lie gave his pieces to the world in the exact state i:; 
 which thev came into his hands.
 
 4.5 
 
 FAIR ANNIE's COMPLAINT. 
 
 i r may be deemed presumption in the editor, after the 
 publication of Burns's beautiful song on this subject, to of- 
 fer the following attempt to the public. But beautiful and 
 poetical as the elegy of Burns certainly is, it was imagined 
 thai something might still be produced, which, although of 
 less intrinsic merit, might, without being contemptible as a 
 composition, be mure in unison with the general simplicity 
 of the ancient ballad. Add to this, that Burns seems to 
 have been guilty of an oversight in giving his characters 
 the name- oi Annie of Iriciu-sidc and lor:/ Gregory, in- 
 stead ol Annie of J .ochroyan and her lore drcgor. 
 
 Tin' song of DrWolcott is a puerile and very mean pro- 
 duction; and tin- approbation with which it has been ho- 
 noured by Bun;-, should be put to the account of his po- 
 liteness ai d general admiration of the doctor's talents, ra- 
 ther than of bis ::ood taste ai d judgment.
 
 FAIR ANNIFs COMPLAINT 
 
 () open the door, my love Gregor: 
 
 O open the door to me , 
 Dark, wild, and bitter is the night, 
 
 And rough has been the sea. 
 
 And I'm your Annie of Lochroyan, 
 Turn'd out frae house and bald, 
 
 Wi' our sweet babie in my arms, 
 That dies for weet and eald. 
 
 Sae open the door, my love Gregor; 
 
 O open and let me in ; 
 For llie sea-surf freezes on my hair, 
 
 The eald sleet on my chin.
 
 47 
 
 And eald, my love, is now that lip, 
 YVhase smile yc aft hae blest; 
 
 Vnd eald the bosoine that your cheek 
 Has at't sac fondly prest. 
 
 And eald cald soon will be that heart, 
 That ay was warm to thee; 
 
 Nor ever mair your babie's smile 
 Delidit his father's e'e. 
 
 Then open the door, my love Gregor ; 
 
 For, an we twa should tine, 
 \ e never niair frae womankind 
 
 Can hope sir love as mine.
 
 48 
 
 THE TWA SISTERS. 
 
 Or this piece, the whole text is given verbatim, as it was 
 taken from the recitation of the lady in Fifeshire, to whom 
 this publication, as well as Mr Scott's, is so much indebted. 
 Another copy was transmitted to the editor, by MrsArrott 
 of Aberbrothick ; but as it furnished no readings by which 
 the text could have been materially improved, it has not 
 been used. In both these, the burden was the same as is 
 specified by Mr Scott, (" Border Minstrelsy," vol. ii. 
 p. 144.) which seems to have belonged to some other ditty; 
 and indeed it is sung with several different burdens. 
 
 From the parody, inserted among the humorous ballads 
 in this collection, it appears, that this romantic tale was 
 popular in England before the year loot)'. Mr Pinker ton 
 published, among his tragic ballads, a piece on the same 
 subject, into which he lias introduced a few mutilat'd 
 -•craps of the original, declaring, thai he could not tell
 
 49 
 
 which lines were genuine, and which were not. The fol- 
 lowing copy, in the exact state in which it now appears, 
 was shewn by the editor to Mr Scott, some years before 
 the publication of the Minstrelsy, and before he had any 
 thoughts of adopting it. 
 
 The interpolations are, stanzas 19. 20. 27. 28. 29. 31. 
 3.5. e\*c. to the end, which were all introduced where they 
 were supposed to he either necessary or proper, without 
 interfering at all with the integrity of the text, which is 
 given, for the scrupulous antiquary, exactly as I found it. 
 These stanzas are. included within brackets. 
 
 vol, :
 
 50 
 
 THE TWA SISTERS. 
 
 I here was twa sisters liv'd in a bower, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie* !) 
 There came a knight to be their wooer, 
 
 Bv the bonnv mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 He courted the eldest wi' glove and ring, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 But he loved the youngest aboon a' thing, 
 
 Bv the bonnv mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 * It may 1><3 necessary cuphonirc gratia to caution the Kng- 
 Jifc.li reader, that the burden i- pruiiounc* (I Bunionc, and nor 
 Binnorie, as it is accented in a beautiful little i lodcni ballad 
 bearing that name, which appeared in the Morning Chronicle 
 some tunc ago.
 
 51 
 
 He courted the eldest \vi' broach and knife, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie !) 
 But he loved the youngest as his life. 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 The eldest she was vexed sair, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie !) 
 And sair envied her sister fair, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 In till her bower she coudna rest, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie !) 
 Wi' grief and spite she maistly brast, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 Upon a morning fair and clear, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 She cried upon her sister dear, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 " O sister, come to yon sea strand, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 And seerfeur lather's ships come to land, 
 
 \jy the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie."
 
 52 
 
 She's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie !) 
 And led her down to von sea strand, 
 
 Bv the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 The youngest stood upon a stane, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 The eldest came and threw her in, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 She took her by the middle sum', 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 And dashed her bonny back to the jaw, 
 
 Bv the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 " O sister, sister, tak my hand, 
 
 (Binnorie, () Binnorie!) 
 And I'sc mak ye heir to a' my land, 
 
 By the bonnv mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 " () sister, sister, tak my middle, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 And ye's gel mv goud and my gouden girdle, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
 
 53 
 
 " O sister, sister, save my life, 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 
 And I swear I'se never be nae man's wife, 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie." 
 
 " Foul fa' the hand that I should tak, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie !) 
 It twin'd nie o' my wardles male, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 " Your cherry cheeks and yellow hair 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 Gars me gang maiden for evermair, 
 
 By tiie bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 Sometimes she sank, sometimes she swam, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 Till she came to the mouth o' von mill-dam 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 O nut it came the miller's son, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 And saw the fair maid soummin in, 
 
 Bv the bonny mill-dams <>' Binnorie.
 
 54 
 
 " O father, father, draw your dam, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie !) 
 There's either a mermaid or a swan, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie." 
 
 [The miller quickly drew the dam, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 And there he found a drown' d woman, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.] 
 
 [" Sair will they be, whae'er they be, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie !) 
 Their hearts that live to weep for thee, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.] 
 
 " And sair and lang mat their teen last, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 That wrought thee sic a dowie cast, 
 
 By the bonnv mill-dams o' Binnorie!" 
 
 You coudna see her yellow hair 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie !) 
 For .on i and pearl that was sae rare, 
 
 By Uie bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.
 
 55 
 
 You coudna see her middle sma 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie !) 
 For gouden girdle that was sae braw, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 You coudna see her fingers white 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 For gouden rings that were sae grvte, 
 
 Bv the bonnv mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 And by there came a harper fine, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 That harped to the king at dine, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie ! 
 
 Whan he did look that lady upon, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 He sigh'd and made a heavy moan, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 [< c O wha sail tell to thy father dear 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 The s;id and waefu' sicht is here, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.]
 
 56 
 
 [" And wha in thy mither's bower sail tell 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie !) 
 The weird her dearest bairn befell 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.] 
 
 [ ,<r And wha to thy luckless love sail speak, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie !) 
 The tidings will do his heart to break. 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie."] 
 
 He's ta'en three locks o' her yellow hair, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 And wi' them strung his harp sae fair, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie. 
 
 [And the harp untouched to the windis rang, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie !) 
 And heavy, and dulefu' was the sang, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.] 
 
 The first tune it did play and sing, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 Was, " Fareweel to my father the kin: 
 
 B\ tiie bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie 
 7
 
 0/ 
 
 The nexten tune that it play'd seen 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie !) 
 Was, " Fareweel to my mither the queen,, 
 
 By the bonny in ill-clams o' Binnorie." 
 
 The thirclen tune that it play'd then, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 Was, " Wao to my sister, fair Ellen, 
 
 Bv the bonnv mill-dams o' Binnorie!" 
 
 [But the lasten tune it play'd sae smn' 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 Was saft, and sadly sweet o'er a', 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie.] 
 
 [The hardest heart wad bled to hear; 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 It mae.n'd wi' sie a dowic cheir, 
 
 By the bonnv mill-dam- o' Binnorie.] 
 
 [" And fareweel, O fareweel to thee, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie!) 
 The dearest youtti on life to me, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams <>' Binnorie.]
 
 58 
 
 [" Sin I maun bless thy heart nae mair, 
 
 (Binnorie, O Binnorie !) 
 May ruing Heaven mees thy care, 
 
 By the bonny mill-dams o' Binnorie."]
 
 59 
 
 THE TWA BROTHERS. 
 
 1 he common title of this ballad is, "The Twa Brothers," 
 or, " The Wood o' Warslin;" but the words d Warslin 
 appearing to the editor, as will be seen in the text, to be a 
 mistake for a -re rest ling, he took the liberty of altering it 
 accordingly. After all, perhaps, the title may be right; 
 and the wood may afterwards have obtained its denomina- 
 tion from the tragical event here celebrated. A very few 
 lines inserted by the editor to fill up chasms are inclosed 
 in brackets; the text, in other respects, is given genuine, 
 as it was taken down from the recitation of Mrs Arrott.
 
 60 
 
 THE TWA BROTHERS. 
 
 O will ye gae to the school, brother r 
 
 Or will ye gae to the ba ? 
 
 Or will ye gae to the wood a-warslin. 
 To see vvhilk o's maun fa' r" 
 
 " It's I winna gae to the school, brother ; 
 
 ]Sor will I gae to the ba ; 
 But I will gae to the wood a-warslin ; 
 
 And it is you maun fa." 
 
 They warslled up, they warstled down. 
 The lee-lang simmer's day ; 
 
 [And nane was near to part the strife 
 That raise atween them tway, 
 
 Till out and Willie's drawn his sword, 
 And did his brother slay.]
 
 61 
 
 ,f O lift me up upon your back ; 
 
 Tak me to yon wall fair ; 
 You'll wash my bluidy wounds o'er and o'er, 
 
 And see an they'll bleed nae mair -f. 
 
 " And ye'll tak aff my Hollin sark, 
 And riv't f'rae gair to gair ; 
 
 Ye'll stap it in my bluidy wounds, 
 And see an' they'll bleed nae mair." 
 
 He's liftit his brother upon his back ; 
 
 Ta'en him to yon wall fair ; 
 He's washed his bluidy wounds o'er and o'er. 
 
 But ay they bled mair and mair. 
 
 And he's ta'en aff his Hollin sark., 
 And riven't 1'rac gair to gair; 
 
 He's stappit it in his bluidy wounds ; 
 But av they bled mair and mair. 
 
 fFor syne, which was the original reading, I have ventured to 
 substitute see an, us the more probable and preferable reading.
 
 62 
 
 " Ye'll lift me up upon your back ; 
 Tak me to Kirkland fair f; 
 
 Yc'Jl mak my great' baith braid and lang,, 
 And lay my body there. 
 
 " Ye'll lay my arrows at my head ; 
 
 My bent bow at my feet ; 
 My sword and buckler at my side, 
 
 As I was wont to sleep. 
 
 " Whan ye gae hame to your father, 
 He'll speer for his son John : — 
 
 Say, ye left him into Kirkland fair, 
 Learning the school alone. 
 
 " When, ye gae hame to my sister, 
 She'll speer for her brother John : — 
 
 Ye'll say, ye left him in Kirkland fair. 
 The green grass grow in aboon. 
 
 t '' The house of Inchmurry, formerly called Kirkland, wa3 
 built of old by the abbot of Ilolyrood-house, for his accommo- 
 dation when lie came to that country, ami was formerly the mi- 
 nister'.-, manse." 
 
 Stat, Ac. of Scotland, vol. xiii. p. 0O6.
 
 65 
 
 " Whan ye gae hame to my true love, 
 She'll speer for her lord John : — 
 
 Ye'll say, ye left him in Kirklan<! fair, 
 But hame ye fear he'll never come." — 
 
 He's gane hame to his father ; 
 
 He speered for his son John : 
 « It's I left him into Kirkland fair, 
 
 Learning the school alone." 
 
 And whan he gaed hame to his sister, 
 Siie speered for her brother John : — 
 
 " It's I left him into Kirkland fair, 
 The green grass growin ahoon. 
 
 And whan he gaed hame to his true love, 
 She speer'd for her lord John : 
 
 " It's i left him into Kirkland fair, 
 And hame, I fear, he'll never come. 
 
 [" Why bides he in Kirkland fair, Willie, 
 And winna conic hame to me r" 
 
 " His bed is the ground, but bis sleep is sound, 
 And a better hame has he."
 
 64, 
 
 <e O why is your cheek sac wan, Willie, 
 
 Sae red that wont to be r" 
 " It's I hae been huntin the deer and dae, 
 
 And that has wearied me."] 
 
 But whaten bluid's that on your sword, Willie r 
 Sweet Willie, tell to me/' 
 O, it is the bluid o' my grey hounds ; 
 They wadna rin for me." 
 
 " It's nae the bluid o' your hounds, Willie 
 Their bluid was never so red ; 
 
 But it is the bluid o' my true love, 
 That ye hae slain indeed." 
 
 That fair may wept, that fair may mourn'd ; 
 
 That fair may mourn'd and pin'd ; 
 " W hen every lady looks for her love, 
 
 I ne'er need look for mine." 
 
 " O whaten a death will ye die, Willie ? 
 
 Now, Willie, tell to me?" 
 a Ye'il put me in a bottomless boat. 
 
 And I'll gae sail the sea."
 
 65 
 
 " Wlian will ye come hame again, Willie ? 
 
 Now, Willie, tell to me ?" 
 " Whan the sun and moon dances on the green, 
 And that will never be." 
 
 VOL. !,
 
 66 
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER, 
 
 on, 
 
 THE BRIDE'S TESTAMENT. 
 
 This ballad, and that -which follows it, are given verbatim, 
 
 npu/i the same authority as the preceding. It is very 
 popular in Scot/and ; and an edition of it, differing 
 materially from that here given, has appeared in the 
 Edinburgh Collection, in two volumes. 
 
 I. here was three ladies play'd at the ha', 
 \\ itli a heigh-ho ! and a lilv gav ; 
 
 There earn*' a knight, and plav'd o'er them a', 
 .As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 
 
 The eldest was hailh tall and (air, 
 With a heigh-ho ! and a lilv gav ; 
 
 But tlm youngest was hevond eompare, 
 \s the primrose spreads so sweetlv.
 
 07 
 
 The midmost had a gracefu' mien, 
 
 With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay; 
 But the youngest look'd like Beauty's queen, 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 
 
 The knight bow'd low to a' the three, 
 Willi a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 
 
 But to the youngest he bent his knee, 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 
 
 The lady turned her head aside, 
 \\ ith a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 
 
 The knight he woo'd her to be his bride, 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 
 
 The lady blush' d a rosy red, 
 
 \\ ith a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 
 
 And said, "Sir knight, I'm o'er young to wed, 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetly/' 
 
 " ( ), lady lair, give me your hand, 
 \\ ilh a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay; 
 
 And I'il mak you ladie of a' my land, 
 Ab the primrose spreads so sweetly."
 
 58 
 
 ,k Sir knight, ere you my favour win, 
 With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gav ; 
 
 Ye maun get consent frae a' my kin, 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 
 
 He has got consent frae her |>arents dear. 
 
 Willi a heigh-ho! and a lily gay ; 
 And likewise frae her sillers fair, 
 
 i\s tin: primrose spreads so sweetly. 
 
 Ue has got consent frae her kin each one, 
 With a heigh-ho! and a lily gav; 
 
 Rut forgot to spear at her brother John, 
 A.s the primrose spreads so sweetly. 
 
 Now, when the wedding (lay was conn. 
 
 W ilh ;i heigh-ho ! and a lilv gav ; 
 T he knight would lake his bonnv bride home, 
 
 As the primrose spreads m> sweetlv. 
 
 And many a lord and manv ;i knigliL 
 \\ iin a heigh-ho ! and a lilv gav, 
 
 Came to behold that ladv bright, 
 ; \s the primrose spreads so *wccllv.
 
 69 
 
 And there was nae man that did her sec, 
 With a heigh-ho! and a lily gay, 
 
 But wished himself bridegroom to he, 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 
 
 Her father dear led her down the stair, 
 With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay; 
 
 And her sisters twain they kiss'd her there 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetly. 
 
 Her mother dear led her through the close. 
 With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ; 
 
 And her brother John set her on her horse, 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetlv. 
 
 She lean'd her o'er the saddle-bow, 
 With a heigh-ho ! and a lilv gav, 
 
 To Lrive him a kiss ere she did go, 
 A- tin- primrose spreads .-<> sweetlv. 
 
 lb' has taY'ii a knife, haith lang and sharp, 
 
 \\ ilh a hei^li-lio ! and a lilv gav, 
 \nd slahb'd the hoimy bride to the heart 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetlv.
 
 
 
 She hadna ridden half thro' the town, 
 
 With a heigh-ho! and a lily gay, 
 Until her heart's blood stained her sjown, 
 
 As tiie primrose spreads so sweetly. 
 
 " Hide saftly on/' said the best young man, 
 " With a heigh-ho! and a lily gay; 
 
 For 1 think our bonny bride looks pale and warn 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 
 
 " O, lead me gently up von hill, 
 
 ^ ith a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay, 
 And I'll there sit down, and make my will, 
 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 
 
 " O, what will you leave to your iatii< r dear, 
 \\ ith a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ':"' 
 
 " The silver-shod steed that brought me here, 
 As the primrose spreads so sweet Iv." 
 
 ••' What will you leave to voiir mother dear. 
 With a heigh-ho! and a lily t>av r" 
 
 i( My velvet pall and silken gear, 
 As the primrose spread- so sweetlv."
 
 71 
 
 '• And what will ye leave to your sister Ann. 
 
 With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay?" 
 " My silken scarf, and my golden fan, 
 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 
 
 " What will ye leave to your sister Grace, 
 With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay r" 
 
 " My bloody cloaths to wash and dress. 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 
 
 " What will ye leave to your brother John,, 
 \\ ilii a heigh ho ! and a lily gay r" 
 
 "The gallows-tree to hang him on, 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 
 
 1 What will ye leave to your brother John's wile, 
 With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay ?" 
 
 '■' The wilderness to end her life, 
 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetly." 
 
 This fair lady in her grave was laid, 
 AY ith a heigh-ho ! and a lily gav ; 
 
 And a mass was o'er her said. 
 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetlv.
 
 72 
 
 But il would have made your heart right sair, 
 With a heigh-ho ! and a lily gay, 
 
 To see the bridegroom rive his hair, 
 As the primrose spreads so sweetly.
 
 73 
 
 LADY MAI :.SIl Y 
 
 The young lords o' the north eountn 
 
 Have all a-wooing gane, 
 To win the love of lady Maisry; 
 
 But o' them she wou'd hae nane. 
 
 O, thae hae sought her, lady Maisry, 
 Wi' broaches, and wi' rings; 
 
 And they hae courted her, lady Maisry, 
 \\ i' a' kin kind ot thinus. 
 
 And lliev hae sought her, ladv Maisrv, 
 Frae rather and frae mither ; 
 
 And they hae sought her, ladv Maisry, 
 Friie -d^ler and frae brither.
 
 Ana they hae follow' d her, lady Maisry, 
 Thro' chamber, anil through lia' ; 
 
 But a' that they could say to her, 
 Her answer still was " Xa." 
 
 " O, hand your tongues, young men," she said, 
 
 "And think nae mair on me; 
 For I've gi'en my love to an English lord. 
 
 Sae think nae mair on me." 
 
 Her father's kitchey-boy heard that, 
 (An ill death mot he die !) 
 
 .And lie is in to her brother. 
 As last as gang cou'd he. 
 
 " O, is my lather and my mother wet 
 But, and my brothers three r 
 
 Ciin inv sister lady Maisry be wee), 
 There - naethin<>' can ail me." 
 
 • ; ^ our father and your mother is wee 
 But and your brothers three ; 
 
 \ our sister, lady Maisry s, wen' ; 
 Sac biu: wi' bairn is >\\<. .
 
 75 
 
 " A malison light on the tongue, 
 Sic tidings tells to me ! — 
 
 But gin it be a lie you tell, 
 You shall be handed hie." 
 
 He's doen him to his sister's bovver, 
 \\ i' mickle dool and care ; 
 
 And there he saw her, lady Maisry, 
 Kembing her yellow hair. 
 
 "' (), wha is audit that bairn," he says, 
 
 " That ye sac big are \vi' ? 
 And gin ye winna own the truth, 
 
 This moment ve sail die." 
 
 Sbe's turned her richt and round about, 
 And the kembe fell t'rae her ban' ; 
 
 A trembling seized her fair bodie, 
 And her rosy check crew wan. 
 
 " O pardon me, my brother dear, 
 And the truth I'll tell to thee; 
 
 My bairn it is to Lord William, 
 And he is betrothed to me."
 
 76 
 
 u O cou'dna ye gotten dukes, or lords, 
 
 Intill your ain countrie, 
 That ye drew up wi' an English dog, 
 
 To bring this shame on me r 
 
 '•'• But ye maun gi'e up your English lord. 
 
 W ban your voung babe is born ; 
 For, gin ye keep by him an hour langer, 
 
 ^ our lite shall be forlorn." 
 
 " I will gi'e up this English lord, 
 Till my voung babe be born ; 
 
 But the never a day nor hour langer. 
 Though mv life should be forlorn.' 
 
 " O wharc is a' mv merry voung men 
 W hcim I gi'e meat and fee, 
 
 To pu' the bracken i\n<.\ the thorn. 
 To burn tbi^ vile whore wi'" 
 
 '•' () whare will I get a bonny boy, 
 To help me in mv need, 
 
 To rin wi' haste to Lord William, 
 A\x\ bid him come wi' speed r
 
 / ( 
 
 O out it >pak a bonny boy, 
 Stood bv her brother's side; 
 
 " It's i. wad rin your errand, lady, 
 O'er a' the warld wide. 
 
 f ' All lia'e 1 run your errands, lady, 
 A\ nen blawin baith wind and weet 
 
 But now I'll rin your errand, lady, 
 Witii sunt tears on my cheek." 
 
 () whan he came to broken briggs, 
 
 IK- bent his bow and swam; 
 And whan he came to the green grass growin', 
 
 He -lack'd his shoon and ran. 
 
 \u(\ whan he came to Lord William's yeats, 
 
 1 le badena to chap or ca' ; 
 But set hi> bent how to his breast, 
 
 And lightly lap the wa' ; 
 And, or the porter was at the veat, 
 
 The boy was in the ha'. 
 
 u O is mv biggins broken, bov f 
 
 ( )r is mv tow ers won ? 
 ( )r in mv lad v lighter yet, 
 
 ( )' a dear daughter or son :
 
 78 
 
 " Your biggin isna broken, sir, 
 Nor is your towers won ; 
 
 But the fairest lady in a' the land 
 This day tor you maun burn." 
 
 " O saddle to me the black, the black, 
 Or saddle to me the brown ; 
 
 Or saddle to me the swiftest steed 
 That ever rade frae a town." 
 
 Or he was near a mile awa', 
 
 She heard his weir-horse sneeze ; 
 
 " Mend up the lire, my fause brother, 
 It's nae come to my knees." 
 
 O, whan he lighted at the yeat, 
 
 She heard his bridle ring : 
 " Mend up the fire, my t'ause brother ; 
 
 It's tar yet frae my chin. 
 
 " Mend up the fire to me, brother, 
 Mend up the lire to me ; 
 
 Fur L see him eomin' hard and fast, 
 Will soon inen't up for thee.
 
 19 
 
 " O gin my hands had been loose, Willy, 
 
 Sac hard as they are boun', 
 I wadd liae turn'd me frae the gleed, 
 
 And casten out vour young son." 
 
 " O I'll gar hum for you, Maisry, 
 Your father and vour mother; 
 
 And 1'Jl gar burn for you, Maisry, 
 Your sister and your brother; 
 
 " And I'll gar burn for you, Maisry, 
 The chief o' a' your kin; 
 
 Vnd the last bonfire that [ come to, 
 Mv-ell I will east in."
 
 80 
 
 CLERK SAUNDERS. 
 
 It having been the original design of the editor, in making 
 this compilation, to select not onlv such hitherto unpub- 
 lished pieces as were entitled, by their own intrinsic merit, 
 independent of other considerations, to the notice of the pub- 
 lic ; but such also as, by differing materially from the copies 
 al reads given to thewoi hi, (even when that difference exhi- 
 bited no examples of superior excellence,) contributed to il- 
 lustrate thestate of traditionary poetry in general, and of bal- 
 lad poetr) in Scotland in particular ; there will be found in 
 this work several popular ditties, the stories of which are 
 already known to the admirers of such things, although 
 th<y here appear in a dress entirely new to the mere read- 
 er- of ancient minstrelsy. Of this description is the ballad 
 o( " Clerk Saunders," which has already appeared in the 
 f ' Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border." Had the edito? been
 
 81 
 
 aware, in time, of the superiority in contrivance and effect 
 of Mr Scott's copy, he would most cheerfully have given 
 up his own for its farther improvement-, but that not ha- 
 ving been the case, as he is of opinion, that the following 
 variety of this affecting tale is still sufficiently curious to 
 merit preservation, he has thought proper to adopt it, more 
 from a hope of gratifying the curious antiquary, than ol 
 presenting the mere belles Icttres critic witli an)- thing de- 
 serving of Ins notice or approbation. 
 
 Nothing could have been better imagined than the cir- 
 cumstance, in Mr Scott's copy, of killing Clerk Saunders 
 while his mistress was asleep ; nor can any thing be more 
 natural or pathetic than the three stanzas that follow. 
 Thev miiilit have charmed a whole volume of bad poetry 
 against the ravages of time; in Mr Scott's volumes they 
 shine but like pearls among diamonds. 
 
 " Clerk Saunders hi started, and Margaret -lie turn'd 
 
 Into his arms, as a s 1 «.' o j i >iie lay ; 
 And sad and silent was the night 
 
 lhat was alween llnr tuae. 
 
 " And thev lay still and sleeped sound, 
 
 1 'ntil llie day hegau to d. w , 
 And kindh to him -he 1 did say, 
 
 ' It's time, irue Io\e, you were awa'.' 
 
 " But he lay still and ■deeped -omul, 
 
 AUieit llie urn htiiaii u> sheen ; 
 She looked at .-.ecu her and the wa', 
 
 And dull mid drowsie were his ecu,' 
 
 VOL. T. a
 
 82 
 
 The following copy was transmitted by Mrs Arrott of 
 Aberbrothick. The stanzas, where the Seven Brothers are 
 introduced, have been enlarged from two fragments, which, 
 although very defective in themselves, furnished lines which, 
 when incorporated with the text, seemed to improve it. 
 Stanzas 2 J. and 22. were written by the editor; the idea 
 of the rose being suggested by the gentleman who recited, 
 but who could not recollect the language in which it was 
 expressed.
 
 83 
 
 CLERK SAUNDERS. 
 
 Clerk Saunrlers was an carl's son., 
 
 He liv'd upon sea-sand; 
 May Margaret was a king's daughter, 
 
 She liv'd in upper land. 
 
 Clerk Saunders was an carl's son, 
 
 Weel learned at the schcel ; 
 Mav Margaret was a king's daughter;— 
 
 They baith lo'ed ither weel. 
 
 He's throw the dark, and throw the mark. 
 
 Aud throw the leaves o' green; 
 Till he came to Mav Margaret's door, 
 
 And tided at the pin.
 
 84 
 
 •• O sleep ye, wake ye, May Margaret, 
 Or are ye the bower within :" 
 
 " O wha is that at my bower floor, 
 Sae weel my name does ken ?" 
 
 " It's I, Clerk Saunders, your true love 
 You'll open and lat me in." 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " 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." 
 
 They were not weel hen down, 
 
 And no weel fa'en asleep, 
 When up and stood May Margaret's brethren, 
 
 Jusl up at their bed feet. 
 
 " O tell us, tell us, May Margaret, 
 
 And (linna to us leu, 
 O wha is aught von noble -Iced, 
 
 That stands your stable in :
 
 85 
 
 (( The steed is mine, and it may be thine, 
 To ride whan ye ride in hie 
 
 ^ ^ vP * *& 
 
 " But awa', awa ? , my bald brethren, 
 
 Awa', and male nae din ; 
 For I am as sick a lady the nicht 
 
 As e'er lav a bower within." 
 
 " O tell us, tell us, May Margaret, 
 
 And dinna to us len # , 
 O wha is aught yon noble hawk, 
 
 That stands vour kitchen in r" 
 
 The hawk is mine, and it may be thine, 
 
 To hawk whan ye hawk in hie 
 
 # # # * # 
 
 * The term len, in this sense, is, so far as I know, now obso- 
 lete in Scotland. It here means to stop, or hesitate, and is used 
 in the same sense by Browne, in his " Brittania's Pastorals," 
 B. 2. song 3. 
 
 " Here have I heard a sweet bird never liu 
 To chide the river lor his clam'rous din." 
 
 It seems to be the same with the old English and Scottish Win, 
 to cease, or stop.
 
 86 
 
 " Bui awa' ; awa', my bald brethren! 
 
 Awa', and mak nae din ; 
 For I'm ane o' the sickest ladies this nicht 
 
 That e'er lay a bovver within." 
 
 " O tell us, tell us, May Margaret, 
 
 And dinna to us len, 
 O wha is that, May Margaret, 
 
 You and the wa' between ?" 
 
 Cl O, it is my bower-maiden," she says, 
 
 " As sick as sick can be; 
 O, it is my bovver maiden," she says, 
 
 " And she's thrice as sick as me." 
 
 " We hae been east, and we've been west, 
 
 And low beneath the moon; 
 But a' the bovver-vvonien e'er we saw 
 
 Iladna croud buckles in their shoon." 
 
 Then up and spak her eldest brithcr, 
 
 Ay in ill time spak he ; 
 " It is Clerk Saunders, your .true love, 
 
 And never mat L the, 
 But Cor this scorn that he has done, 
 
 This moment he sail die."
 
 87 
 
 But up and spak her youngest brother; 
 
 Av 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 
 
 Sail never sinder ye !" 
 
 Syne \.p and spak her nexten brother, 
 
 And the tear stood in his ce, 
 " \ ou've lo'ed her lang, and lo'ed her weel. 
 
 And pity it wad be, 
 The sword that hangs at my sword-belt 
 
 Shoucl ever sinder ye !" 
 
 But ii]) and spak her fifthen brother; 
 
 " Sleep on your sleep for me; 
 But we baith sail never sleep again, 
 
 For the tane o' us sail die !" 
 
 But ii]* and spak her mitlmaist brother 
 And an angry laugh leiigh he ; 
 
 (C The thorn that dabs I'll out it down. 
 Though fair the rose may be."
 
 88 
 
 " The flower that smell'd sae sweet yestreen 
 
 Has lost its hlooiit wi' thee; 
 And though I'm wae it should be sae, 
 
 Clerk Saunders, ye maun die." 
 
 And up and spak her thirden brother. 
 
 Ay in ill time spak he ; 
 " Curse on his love and comeliness! — 
 
 Dishonour'd as ye be, 
 The sword that hangs at my sword-belt 
 
 Sail quickly sinder ye !" 
 
 Her eldest brother has drawn his sword; 
 
 Her second has drawn anither; 
 Between Clerk Saunders' liause and collar bane 
 
 The cald iron met thearither. 
 
 " O wae be to you, my fause brethren, 
 
 And an ill death mat ye die ! 
 ^ e mith slain Clerk Saunders in open field, 
 
 And no in the bed wi' me." 
 
 W lien seven years were come and gane, 
 Lady Margaret she ihoimht lam*; 
 
 And she is up to the Inchest tower, 
 By the Ice iicht o' the moon.
 
 89 
 
 She was lookin o'er her castle high, 
 To see what she might fa' ; 
 
 And there she saw a grieved ghost 
 Comin waukin o'er tlie wa' *. 
 
 " O, are ye a man of mean/' she says, 
 
 Seek in ony o' my meat? 
 Or are von a rank robber, 
 
 Come in mv bovver to break ?" 
 
 " O, I'm Clerk Saunders, your true love ; 
 
 Behold, Margaret, and see, 
 And mind, for a' your meikle pride, 
 
 Sae will become of thee." 
 
 " Gin ye be Clerk Saunders, my true love, 
 
 This meikle marvels me— 
 O wherein is your bonny arms 
 
 Thiil wont to embrace me f" 
 
 iC By worms they're eaten; in mools they're rotten 
 
 Heboid, Margaret, and see; 
 Atul mind, for a' your mickle pride, 
 
 Sae w ill become o' thee !" 
 
 * 'l'lit' an' here i.-, supposed to menu the wall, which, in sonic 
 old t-ablks, bunounded llic court.
 
 90 
 
 (), bonny, bonny sang the bird, 
 
 Sat on the coil o' hay ; 
 But dowie dowie was the maid, 
 
 That t'ollow'd the corpse o' clay. 
 
 " Is there ony room at your head, Saunders, 
 
 Is there ony room at your i'cet? 
 Is there ony room at your twa sides 
 
 For a lady to lie and sleep r" 
 
 " There is nae room at my head, Margaret; 
 
 As little at my i'eet; 
 There is nae room at my twa sides 
 
 For a lady to lie and sleep. 
 
 " But gae haine, gae hame, now, May Margaret; 
 
 Gae haiiie and sew your seam; 
 For if' ye were laid in your weel-made bed, 
 
 "N our davs will nae be Ian jr."
 
 91 
 
 GLENKINDIE. 
 
 Iiie hero of tliis talc: socins to be the celebrated Welsh 
 bard, Glaskirion, or Kirion the Sallow, of whom some 
 notice will be found in Owen's " Cambrian Biography." 
 
 In Chaucer's " House of Fame," he is classed with Or- 
 pheus, Anon, and Chiron. 
 
 " Tlicrc herde I j>lay on a harpe, 
 That sovvned both well and sliarpe, 
 
 Ilym Orpheus lull craftily; 
 And on (his side fast by 
 Sate the harper Orion ; 
 Ami Kacides ( 'liirion ; 
 And tltc Union Gtaslcyrion." 
 
 The Scottish writers, adapting the name to their own me- 
 ridian, call him Glenkindy, Glenskeenie, &c. The copy
 
 92 
 
 here "iven was taken from the recitation of an old woman, 
 by Professor Scott of Aberdeen, and has been somewhat 
 improved by a fragment communicated by the Rev. Wil- 
 liam Gray of Lincoln. Still it must be confessed, that the 
 garb of this " harper gude, that harped to the king," seems 
 very unworthy of the rank he once deservedly held. For 
 another ballad on this subject, see the " Reliques of An- 
 cient English Poetry," edit. 4. vol. iii. p. 43.
 
 93 
 
 GLENKINDIE. 
 
 Olenkindie* was ance a harper gude, 
 
 He harped to the king ; 
 And Glenkindie was ance the best harper 
 
 That ever harp'd on a string. 
 
 He'd harpit a fish out o' saut water. 
 
 Or water out o' a stane; 
 Or milk out o 1 a maiden's breast, 
 
 That bairn had never nane. 
 
 * Gl< nkindie (qu.? GlcnkcnnedyV) is a beautiful valley, wa* 
 tered by the river Don, in the neighbourhood of Gknbunket, 
 and belongs to the carl of life.
 
 94 
 
 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. 
 
 " I'll gie you a robe, Glenkindie, 
 
 A robe o' the royal pa 5 , 
 Gin ye will harp i' the winter's night 
 
 Afore my nobles a'." 
 
 And the king but and his nobles a' 
 
 Sat birling at the wine; 
 And he wad hae but his ae doe-liter, 
 
 To wait on them at dine*. 
 
 * This stanza is found in the opening of " Brown Robin," 
 which commences thus : 
 
 " The kiiiLT but and his nobles a' 
 
 Sat birling at the wine, [bW] 
 He would hae nane but his ae daughter 
 
 To wail on them at dine. 
 
 " She served them but, she served them ben, 
 
 Int ill a tro\vn o' green ; 
 But her e'e was ay on Brown Robin, 
 
 That stood low under the rain," 6cc.
 
 9$ 
 
 He's taen his harp iritill his hand. 
 He's liarpit them a' asleep, 
 
 Except it was the young countess, 
 That love did waukin keep. 
 
 And first he has harpit a grave tune,, 
 Ami sync he has harpit a gay; 
 
 And inony a sich atween hands 
 I wat the lady gae *. 
 
 Says, "Whan day is dawen, and cocks hae crawen. 
 
 And wappit their wings sac wide, 
 It's ye may come to my bower door, 
 
 And streek you by my side. 
 
 Bui look that ye tell na Gib vour man, 
 
 For naething that ye dee; 
 For, an ye tell him, (.Jib your man, 
 
 He'll beguile baith you and me." 
 
 The following stanza occurs in one of the editor's copies 
 of " The Gay Gosshawk :" 
 
 " O first lie sang a merry song, 
 
 And then he sang a grave ; 
 And then lie pecked liis feathers gray, 
 
 'Jo her the letter ; avc."
 
 96 
 
 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 nans:. 
 
 " O mith I tell you,, Gib, my man, 
 
 Gin L a man had slain r" 
 " O that ve micht, my e;udc master, 
 
 Altho' ye had slain ten." 
 
 " Then tak ye tent now, Gib, my man, 
 
 My bidden for to dee ; 
 And, but an ye wauken me in time, 
 
 ^ e sail be hangit hie. 
 
 " Whan day has dawen, and rocks hae crawen, 
 And wappit their wings sae wide, 
 
 I'm bidden gang till yon lady's bower, 
 And streek jne bv her side/' 
 
 " Gae hame to your bed, my good master: 
 \ e've waukit, J fear, o'er lang; 
 
 Tor I'll wauken you in as good time, 
 As ony cock i' the land."
 
 97 
 
 He's taen his harp intill his hand, 
 He harpit and he sang, 
 
 Until he harpit his master asleep, 
 Syne last awa did gang. 
 
 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. 
 
 " O wha is this," says that lady, 
 " That opens nae and comes in r" 
 
 " It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true love, 
 O, open and lat me in !" 
 
 She kent he was nae gentle knicht 
 
 That she had latten in ; 
 For neither whan he gaetl nor cam, 
 
 Kist he her cheek or chin. 
 
 He neither kist her whan he cam, 
 Nor clappit her when he gaed ; 
 
 And in and at her bower window, 
 The moon shone like the gleed, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 
 
 " O, ragged is your hose, Glenkindie, 
 
 And riven is your sheen, 
 And reavcl'd is your yellow hair 
 
 That 1 saw late yestreen." 
 
 •' The stockings they are Gib my mail's^ 
 They came first to my hand ; 
 
 And this is Gib my man's shoon ; 
 At my bed feet they stand. 
 
 I've reavell'd a' my yellow hair 
 Coming against the wind." 
 
 lie's taen the harp intill his hand.. 
 He harpit and he sang, 
 
 Until he cam to his master, 
 As fast as he could gang. 
 
 '"' Won up, won up, my good master ; 
 
 1 fear ye sleep o'er lang; 
 There's nae a cock in a' the land 
 
 But has vvappit his wings ami craw n. 
 
 Glenkindie's tane his harp in hand ; 
 
 1 le harpit and he sang, 
 And he has reaeh'd the lady's bower, 
 Afore that e'er he Wan.
 
 99 
 
 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 conies in r" 
 " It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true love, 
 
 And in I canna win." 
 
 " 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 youns; knierht's bride." 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 \t t.lic chin.'" .'''■
 
 100 
 
 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 eald and dead was that lady. 
 Nor heeds for a' his maen ; 
 
 An he wad harpit till domisday, 
 She'il never speak again. 
 
 He's taen his harp intill his hand ; 
 
 He harpit and he sang; 
 And he is hame to Gib his man 
 
 As last as he could gang. 
 
 <f Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man. 
 
 Till 1 pay you your fee ; 
 Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man; 
 
 Weel payit sail ye be !" 
 
 * This stanza has been altered, to introduce a little varietv. 
 and prevent the monotonous tiresomeness of repetition.
 
 101 
 
 And he has taen him, Gib, his man, 
 And he has hang'd him hie ; 
 
 And he's h an git him o'er his ain yate, 
 As high as high could be.
 
 102 
 
 THE BARON OF BRACKLEY. 
 
 I he occurrence, of which the following ballad seems to 
 be a true narrative, took place about the end of the seven- 
 teenth, or the beginning of the eighteenth century. 
 
 John Gordon of Iirackley, commonly called Baron of 
 llruckku, was a petty baron, of the family of Aboyne ; and 
 is represented by tradition as having been a gentleman of 
 the most amiable and respectable character. Indeed, 
 nothing but such a character could have preserved, for 
 upwards of an hundred years, among rude peasants, the 
 beautiful and pathetic lines, which hold him up, in the last 
 unfortunate scene of his life, in so interesting and affecting 
 a point of view. 
 
 Farquharson of Invcrey, a renowned freebooter on Dec- 
 side, was his relation, and in habits of friendly intercourse 
 with him. Farquharson was fierce, daring and active, ex- 
 hibiting all the worst characteristics of a free-booter, with 
 nothing of that blunt, and partially just and manly gene
 
 o: 
 
 rosifv, which were then not uncommonly met with among 
 that description of men. The common people supposed 
 him (as they did Dundee, and others of the same cast, who 
 were remarkable for their fortunate intrepidity and mira- 
 culous escapes,) to be a War-luck, and proof against steel 
 and lead. lie is said to have been buried on the north 
 side of a hill, which the sun could never shine upon; and 
 " Deil scoup \vi' Fuddle* !" is a proverbial form of exe- 
 cration still in use in the Mearns; Fuddic being the nick- 
 name by which he was usually known. 
 
 A somewhat different account of the affray which this 
 ballad commemorates, is given by the descendants of In- 
 verev, who are naturally willing to believe, that the seeds 
 of those virtues which they themselves possess, however 
 obscured by the habits and manners of the times, did exist 
 in the character u\ their ancestor. They say, that some 
 cattle and poneys belonging to Farquharson had strayed 
 
 * Thii denomination he seems to have derived from his alertness 
 and activity, and the elastic hounding step in which he walked, and 
 ■which i> peculiar to mountaineers. A ichid (in the north-east of 
 Scotland pronounced f"d 3 ) is the scut oi a rabbit, hare, deer, tkc. , 
 and to fad or uhid, in the Scottish dialect, has the same meaning, 
 and is of the same origin, with the English term (.1 scud, and means, 
 to skip along in the manner of scuttcd animals. When Fnddie and 
 his Catherine went upon a marauding expedition, for " toomiiig 
 faulds, or scouring of a glen,"' their vi-its were so sudden, that thev 
 were generally gone before the poor sufferers hail warning to guard 
 against them. The exclamation of " Deil scoup hi' fuddic !" was 
 natural enough from those who were -en-sihlc of their 1c-- when ti « 
 late.
 
 104 
 
 down into Brackley's grounds, where they were pounded ; 
 and Inverey, with his followers, coming to relieve them, 
 an altercation ensued, which was followed by a sudden dis- 
 charge of fire-arms on both sides, by which Gordon and 
 three of his followers fell. Inverey was outlawed, but was 
 afterwards permitted to return. 
 
 Some fragments of the ruins of Brackley castle still re- 
 main ; and they shew the gate through which he rode out, 
 and a hollow way between two little knolls, where the Far- 
 quharsons fell upon him. 
 
 Tor the copy of the ballad here given, I am indebted to 
 Mrs Brown. I have also collated it with another less per- 
 fect, but not materially different, so far as it goes, with 
 which I was favoured by the editor of the " Border Min 
 strelsy," who took it down from the recitation of two la- 
 dies, great-grandchildren of Farquharson of Inverey ; so 
 that the ballad, and the notices that accompany it, are 
 given upon the authority of a Gordon and a Farquharson. 
 
 Poetical justice requires, that I should subjoin the con- 
 cluding stanza of the fragment, which could not be intro- 
 duced into the tex.t ; as the reader cannot be displeased to 
 learn, that the unworthy spouse of the amiable, affection- 
 ate, and spirited baron of Brackley, was treated by her un- 
 principled gallant as she deserved, and might have ex 
 pected : 
 
 " Inverey spak a word, lie spak it wrung, 
 ' My wife and my bairns will be thinking lang*— 
 ■' O wae fa' ye, Inverey ! ill mat ye die ! 
 Virst to kill Brackley, and then to slight me.' :
 
 105 
 
 THE BARON OF BRACKLEY. 
 
 FROM TRADITION, 
 
 Down Dec side came Inverey whistling and playing; 
 He's lighted at Brackley yates at the day dawing. 
 
 Says, " Baron o' Brackley, O are ye within ? 
 
 There's sharp swords at the yate will gar your blood spin. 
 
 The lady raise up, to the window she went; 
 She heard her kye lowing o'er hill and o'er bent. 
 
 " O rise up, ye baron, and turn back your kye; 
 For the lads o' Druinwharran are driving them bye." 
 
 <( How can I rise, lady, or turn them again ! 
 Whare'er 1 have ae man, I wat thev hac ten."
 
 10b 
 
 " Then rise up, my lasses, tak rocks in your hand, 
 And turn back the kye ; — I ha'e you at command. 
 
 " Gin 1 had a husband, as I hac nanc. 
 
 He wadna lye in his bower,. .see his kye tact 1 ..' 
 
 Then up got the baron, and cried for his grail!! ; 
 S;ivs, " Lady, I'll gang, tho' to leave you I'm laitii. 
 
 •• Come, kiss me, then, Peggy, and gic me my speir: 
 I av was for peace, tho' I never f'ear'd weir. 
 
 [" My glaive might hac hung in the ha 1 fill my death, 
 Or e'er f. had drawn it, a kinsman to skaith.] 
 
 " Come kiss me, then, Peggy, nor think I'm to blame: 
 1 weel may gac out, but I'll never win in 1" 
 
 \\ hen Brack ley was busked, and radc o'er the elos>, 
 A gallanter baron ne'er lap to a horse. 
 
 When Brackley \\a> mounted, and radc o'er the green. 
 He was as bald a baron as ever was seen. 
 
 Tho' there cam' wi' fnverev thirty and three, 
 
 There was mine \\i' bonny Braekle\ but his brother and In
 
 107 
 
 Twa gallanter Gordons did never sword draw : 
 But against tour and thirty, wae's me, what is twa ? 
 
 Wi' swords and wi' daggers they did him surround ; 
 And they've pierced bonny' Brackley wi' many a wound 
 
 Frae the head o' the Dee to the banks o' the Spey, 
 The Gordons may mourn him, and bann Inverey. 
 
 " O came ye by Brackley yates, was ye in there" 
 Or saw ye his Peggy dear riving her hair r" 
 
 " O, I came by Brackley yates, T was in there. 
 And 1 saw his Peggy a-making good cheer." 
 
 That lady she feasted them, carried them ben; 
 She laugh' d wi' the men that her baron had slain, 
 
 " O fve on you, lady ! how could you do sae ? 
 You open'd your yates to the fausc Inverey." 
 
 She ale wi' him, drank wi' him, welcom'd him in; 
 Slie welcom'd the villain that slew her baron! 
 
 She kept him till morning, syne hade him be ganc, 
 And shaw'd him the road that he shou'dua he taen.
 
 108 
 
 " Thro' Birss and Aboyne," she says, " lyin in a tour- 
 O'er the hills o' Glentanar you'll skip in an hour." — 
 
 ■ — There's grief in the kitchen, and mirth in the ha' : 
 But the Baron o' Bracklev is dead and awa. 
 
 %* There is an account of this affair in a genealogical history of 
 the family of Mackintosh, which fixes the date of the slaughter to 
 the 16th of September 16(36. .According to the statement there 
 given, Bracklev had seized the horses of some dependants of In- 
 verey, to recover the fines due by them for having fished salmon in 
 the river Dee during the prohibited season. Inverey is said to have 
 demanded from Gordon the restitution of these horses, as not being 
 the property of the real offenders, whom he offered to produce and 
 deliver up. Finally, he offered to refer the matter to mutual friends. 
 But, according to this statement, Gordon not only rejected these 
 pacitic overtures, but, with bis cousin Alexander Gordon ofAber- 
 geldy, began the affray, and killed two of Inverey 's followers; upon 
 which the Farquharsons, in their own defence, slew John Gordon 
 of Brackley himself, his brother William, and James Gordon of 
 Cults. It may be noticed, that the author of this account is ob- 
 viously partial to Inverey, as leader of a branch of the Clan-Chat- 
 tan, of which Mackintosh was the chief. He says, that by the in- 
 terference of Mackintosh, the proceedings against Inverey in the 
 Court of Justiciary, which the Gordons had commenced, were tra- 
 versed, and put a stop to, for which interference he afterwards ex- 
 perienced the enmity of the Gordon family. — M'Farlane's Genealo- 
 gical Collections, MS. in the Advocates' Library, vol. i. p. 299.
 
 loy 
 
 THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN. 
 
 \\ aristoun is situated betwixt Leith and Edinburgh. 
 The event, upon which the ballad is founded, is stated to 
 have happened as follows. 
 
 " l6o(), July 2. — The same 2 day, John Kinland of 
 Waristone murderet be his awin wyff and servant man, 
 and her nurische being also upon the conspiracy. The 
 said gentilwoman being apprehendit, scho was tane to the 
 Girth crosse upon the 5 day of Julii, and her heid struck 
 fra her bodie at the Cannagait tit, quha diet verie patiently. 
 Her nurische was brunt at the same time, at 4 hours in the 
 morticing, the 5 of Julii." — Birrel's Diary, p. 49. 
 
 " The 16" of Junii (1003) Robert Weir broken on ane 
 cart wheel with ane coulter of ane pleuche, in the hand of 
 the hangman, for murdering the gudemau of Warristone, 
 quhilk he did 2 Julii l600."— Ibid, p. 6'l. 
 
 The ballad is given here as it was taken down by the 
 editor of the " Border Minstrelsy," from the recitation of 
 hi-, mother.
 
 110 
 
 THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN 
 
 Down by von garden green 
 
 Sac merrily as she gaes ; 
 She has twa weel-made feet, 
 
 And she trips upon her taes. 
 
 She has twa weel-made feet 
 Far better is her hand ; 
 
 She's as jimp in the middle 
 As onv willow-wand. 
 
 "' Gif ye will do my bidding, 
 
 At my bidding for to be, 
 It's 1 will make you lady 
 Of a' the lands you see."
 
 Ill 
 
 He spak a word in jest; 
 
 Her answer wasna good ; 
 He threw a plate at her face, 
 
 Made it a' gush out o' blood. 
 
 She wasna frae her chamber 
 A step but barely three, 
 
 When up and at her richt hand 
 There stood Man's Enemy. 
 
 " Gif ye will do my bidding, 
 At my bidding for to be ; 
 
 I'll learn you a wile 
 Avenged lor to be." 
 
 — The Foul Thief knotted the tether; 
 
 She lii'ted his head on hie ; 
 The nourice drew the knot 
 
 That uar'd lord \\ aristoun die. 
 
 Then word is gane to Leith, 
 Also to Edinburgh town, 
 
 That the lady had kill'd the laird, 
 The laird o' Waristoun.
 
 112 
 
 " Tak aff, tak aff my hood, 
 But lat my petticoat be ; 
 
 Put my mantle o'er my head , 
 For the fire I downa see. 
 
 " Now, a' ye gentle maids, 
 Tak warning now by me. 
 
 And never marry ane 
 
 But wha pleases your e'e. 
 
 u For he married me for love, 
 But I married him for fee ; 
 
 And sae brak out the feud 
 That gar'd my dearie die n
 
 113 
 
 BURD ELLEN 
 
 A ballad on this story has been published under the 
 name of " Child Waters," in the " Reliques of Ancient 
 English Poetry," edit. 4. vol. iii. p. 54. a copy of which, 
 modernised by Mrs West, may be found in Evans's col- 
 lection of Ballads, in 4 vols. " Burd Ellen" is here given 
 from Mrs Brown's recitation, as it was taken down many 
 years ago, without any view of ever being laid before the 
 public. As it is very popular all over the lowlands of 
 Scotland, I have preserved the integrity of the text with 
 scrupulous exactness, except where the variations are 
 pointed out in the margin. The few interpolations which 
 1 have ventured to introduce are inclosed within brackets, 
 a- usual. Whether the catastrophe is rendered more af- 
 fecting by the three stanzas which I have added at the 
 end; or whether I may expect praise or blame for having 
 voi.-. i. I
 
 114 
 
 sacrificed poetical justice to what appeared to me to be 
 natuial probability, is what I cannot determine: different 
 readers will probably be of different opinions ; and such as 
 prefer the piece in its original state, may have their full 
 gratification in this, as in every other case in this miscel- 
 lany, by passing over such lines as are marked not authen- 
 tic. 
 
 An imperfect copy, for which I am indebted to the 
 friendship of Mrs Arrot of Arbroath, although it could 
 not be incorporated with the text, as it is curious, I have 
 here subjoined. 
 
 Lord Thomas stands in his stable-door, 
 
 Seeing his steeds kaim'd down ; 
 Lady Ellen sits at her bower door, 
 
 Sewing her silver scam. 
 
 " O will ye stay at hame, Ellen, 
 
 And sew your silver seam? 
 Or will ve to the rank highlands, 
 
 For my lands lay far frae hame?" 
 
 " I winna stay at hame, lord Thomas, 
 
 And sew my silver seam ; 
 liut I'll gae to the rank highlands, 
 
 Tho' vour lands lav far frae hame.' 
 
 ; - An asking, an asking, lord Thomas: 
 
 I pray thee grant it me : 
 [low many iiiilc- into vour fair tower, 
 
 And house where you would be?"
 
 115 
 
 " 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." 
 
 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; 
 
 " For to your dwelling-house," it says, 
 
 " Of miles its scantly three." 
 " O weel is me," says lady Ellen, 
 
 It shall be run by me." 
 
 " O, mither, mither, mak my bed, 
 
 And mak it braid and wide; 
 And lay my little page at my feet, 
 
 Whatever may betide." 
 
 " 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." 
 
 " What you do ask, lady Ellen, 
 .Shall soon be granted thee; 
 
 The best bread, and the best wine, 
 Between my young son and thee." 
 
 " I ask again, my good lord Thomas, 
 
 I ask again of thee, 
 The poorest cot-house in your land 
 Between mv vouti'j =011 and mi'.''
 
 116 
 
 " Your asking, now, dear lady Ellen, 
 
 I quickly grant to thee; 
 The best bower about ray tower, 
 
 Between my young son and thee." 
 
 In Mrs Brown's copy I have omitted two stanzas at thf 
 beginning, which run thus: 
 
 " I wain ■ e a', ye »;ay ladies, 
 
 That '-ear scarlet and brown, 
 That ye dinin leave your father's house, 
 
 To follow young men frae town. 
 
 " here am 1 a lady gay, 
 
 Thai <u urs scarlet and brown. 
 Yet I will leave my father's house, 
 
 And follow lord .lohu frae the town,"
 
 117 
 
 BURD ELLEN. 
 
 Lord John stood in his stable door, 
 
 Said he was bona to ride; 
 Burd Ellen stood in her bower door, 
 
 Said, she'd rin by his side. 
 
 He's pitten on his cork-heel'd shoon, 
 
 And fast awa rade he ; 
 She's elad hersel in page array, 
 
 And after him ran she, 
 
 Till they came till a wan water, 
 And folks do call it Clyde; 
 
 Then he's lookit o'er his left shoulder. 
 Says, " Lady, will ye rider"
 
 US 
 
 ■' O, L learnt it wi' my bower woman, 
 And I learnt it for my weal, 
 
 Whanever I earn to wan water, 
 To swim like ony eel." 
 
 But the firsten stap the lady stappit, 
 The water came till her knee ; 
 
 " Ochon, alas !" said the lady, 
 This water's o'er deep for me." 
 
 The nexten stap the lady stappit, 
 The water came till her middle; 
 
 And, sighin, says that gay lady, 
 " I've wat my gouden girdle." 
 
 The thirden stap the lady stappit, 
 The water came till her pap; 
 
 And the bairn that was in her tvva sides 
 Tor cauld began to (make. 
 
 " Lie still, lie still, my ain dear babe; 
 
 ^ e work your mother wae, 
 Your father rides on high horse back, 
 
 Cares little for us twae."
 
 119 
 
 O, about the midst o' Clyde's water 
 There was a yeard-fast stane ; 
 
 He lightly turn'd his horse about, 
 And took her on him behin. 
 
 " O, tell me this now, good lord John, 
 
 In pity tell to me*, 
 How tar it is to your lodgin, 
 
 Whare we this nischt maun be ?" 
 
 " O see na ye yon castell, Ellen, 
 That shines sae fair to see? 
 
 There is a lady in it, Ellen, 
 Will sinder you and me." 
 
 There is a lady in that castell 
 Will sinder you and L" — 
 Betide me weal, betide me wae, 
 I sail gang there and try." 
 
 [" The heart that lo'es as I lo'e thee, 
 
 Can ne'er its love forgae; 
 And ae kind blink frae thee could mak 
 
 Amends for years o' wae." 
 
 * " In pity tell to rue," stood originally, "«Aiid tv word v< 
 tliimu Ik ."
 
 120 
 
 - O kindly will I blink, forsooth, 
 
 But never blink on thee ; 
 For the love that does o' lichtness come, 
 
 Ay lichtlied should be. 
 
 " And dearly will I lo'e my dame, 
 Sae noble, chaste, and fair ; 
 
 But ye, that play'd a wanton's part, 
 A wanton's scorn shall bear;] 
 
 ["■■ And] my dogs shall eat the good white bread, 
 
 Ami ye shall eat the bran ; 
 Then will ye sigh, and say, alas ! 
 
 That ever I was a man !" 
 
 [" Licht is the love o' lichtness comes, 
 
 And liehtly will it gang; 
 But, leal's the heart that silently 
 
 Bleeds at a lover's wrang ; 
 
 " And meek her love, and true, that can 
 
 But weej) his scorn to dree, 
 To wham she vail'd her virgin pride, 
 
 And uae what love could gie.
 
 121 
 
 u The food sic love is fed upon* 
 Is neither bread nor bran;] 
 
 And I hope to live to bless the da}-, 
 That ever ye was a man." 
 
 " O, my horse shall cat the good white meal, 
 
 And ye sail eat the corn; 
 Then will ye curse the heavy hour 
 
 That ever your love was born." 
 
 " O nay, O nay, lord John, whate'er 
 
 I eat, or meal or corn, 
 I ay sail bless the happy hour 
 
 That ever my love was born." 
 
 O, four and twenty gay ladies 
 Welcom'd lord John to the ha', 
 
 But a fairer lady than them a' 
 Led his horse to the stable sta'. 
 
 '-» 
 
 * " 'I'lie food," eVr. originally, 
 
 " (), f shall eat the good white bread, 
 And your dogs shall eat the bran," &c. 
 
 1'heac lines are again repeated in the beginning of stanza 21. 
 
 7
 
 122 
 
 O, four and twenty gay ladies 
 
 Welcom'd lord John to the green 
 
 But a fairer lady than them a' 
 At the man tier stood alane. 
 
 When bells were rung, and mass was sung, 
 
 And a' men boun to meat, 
 Burd Ellen was at the bye-table 
 
 Amang the pages set. 
 
 " O, eat and drink, my bonny boy, 
 The white bread and the beer." — 
 
 " The never a bit can I eat or drink. 
 My heart's sae fu' o' fear." 
 
 " O, eat and drink, my bonny boy, 
 The white bread and the wine." — 
 
 ' ( O, how sail I eat or drink, master, 
 YVi' heart sac fu' o' pine r" 
 
 But out and spak lord John's mother. 
 
 And a wise woman was she; 
 te Whare met ye wi' that bonny boy. 
 
 That looks sae sad on thee ?
 
 123 
 
 '" Sometimes his cheek is rosy red, 
 And sometimes deadly wan ; 
 
 He's liker a woman big wi' bairn, 
 Than a young lord's serving man." 
 
 <e 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 followed me. 
 
 « Rise up, rise up, my bonny boy, 
 Gi'e my horse corn and hay." — 
 
 " O, that I will, my master dear, 
 As quickly as I may." 
 
 She's ta'en the hay under her arm, 
 The corn intill her hand ; 
 
 And she's gane to the great stable, 
 As fast as e'er she can. 
 
 (< O room ye round, my bonny brown steeds, 
 
 O, room ye near the wa' ; 
 For the pain that strikes me through my sidr^ 
 
 Full i»oon will <xax me fa'."
 
 124 
 
 She lean'd her back against the wa'; 
 
 Strong travel came her on ; 
 And e'en amang the great horse feet 
 
 Burd Ellen brought forth her son. 
 
 Lord Johnis mither intill her bower 
 
 Was sitting all alane, 
 When, in the silence o' the nieht, 
 
 She heard Burd Ellen's mane. 
 
 " Won up, won up, my son," she says 
 " Gae see how a' does fare ; 
 
 For I think I hear a woman's groans, 
 And a bairnie ereetin' sair." 
 
 O, hastily he gat him up, 
 
 Staid neither for hose nor shoon. 
 And he's doen him to the stable door 
 
 WT the clear licrht o' the moon. 
 
 lie strack the door hard wi' his foot, 
 
 Sac has he wi' his knee, 
 And iron locks and iron bars 
 
 Into the floor flung he. 
 i! Be not afraid, Burd Ellen," he says, 
 
 " There's nane come in but me.
 
 125 
 
 i( Tak up, tak up my bonny young son 
 Gar wash him \vi' the milk; 
 
 Tak up, tak up my fair lady, 
 Gar row her in the silk. 
 
 " And cheer thee up, Burd Ellen," he says, 
 " Look nae mair sad nor wae ; 
 
 For your marriage and your kirkin too 
 Sail baith be in ae day." 
 
 [She heaved up her droopin head;— 
 O, but her face was wan ! 
 
 And the smile upon her wallowed lip 
 Wad melted heart o' stane. 
 
 " O, blessins on thy couth, lord John 
 Weel's me to see this day ; 
 
 For mickle hae J done and dreed: 
 But weel does this repay! 
 
 :< And, oh ! he to my bairnie kind, 
 
 A^ i hae loved thee'' — 
 Bacl< in his trembling arms she sank, 
 
 And eald death closed her ee.l
 
 126 
 
 THE TRUMPETER OF FYVIE. 
 
 Of the poetry, or the pathos of this piece, the editor has 
 little to say. Those, who, like him, have often, in their 
 earlier years, heard it sung by the simple country maiden 
 at her wheel, when they recollect the sympathies which it 
 then created, and the interest with which it was listened to 
 by the untutored circle around the rural fire-side, will be 
 disposed to treat it with a degree of indulgence and even 
 approbation, which is not to be expected from readers of 
 a different description. Yet, it is presumed, that even 
 those to whom its rude simplicity, as a composition, may 
 have no charm-, will not be displeased to see it preserved 
 here on another account. It is almost entirely without, 
 rhymes; as cadence in the measure is ail that seems aimed 
 at, and the few instances of rhyme that occur, appear to 
 be rather casual than intentional.
 
 li>7 
 
 This peculiarity must render it an object of considera- 
 ble curiosity to such as wish to investigate the history of 
 traditionary poetry ; and as, in making this collection, the 
 compiler has endeavoured to keep the illustration of this 
 subject constantly in view, he is particularly pleased at 
 being able to furnish the curious inquirer with another 
 copy of this artless tale of unfortunate love, differing in al- 
 most every line from the following, and which will be 
 found printed in the appendix. 
 
 The copy, here given, was transmitted to the present 
 writer by Dr Leyden, whom the Muses and the Graces have 
 taught with so happy a hand to 
 
 " crop from Tcviotdale each Ivric flower*/' 
 
 and who is now employed in the plains of Hindostan, as he 
 lately was in the Vale of Teviot. 
 
 o c -£7r«r> jj.tv 
 
 y.'jfifsc: a;ira) onto ~a.cuv J. 
 
 It is an east coast ditty : and the " Wood of Vy vie" has 
 been rendered vocal by strains of a much livelier charac- 
 ter than those that have been married to the sad tale of 
 " Til tie's Annie." 
 
 The ballad was taken down by Dr Leyden from the 
 recitation of a young lady (Miss Robson) of Edinburgh, 
 who learned it in Tcviotdale. It was current in the Bor- 
 
 * Sec " Collins'.- Ode on the Supcrstitiuns of the Highlands vi Scot- 
 land." 
 
 t " Pindar'- First Olviumc Ode."
 
 128 
 
 <rler counties within these few years, as it still is in the north- 
 east of Scotland, where the scene is laid. 
 
 It has been supposed to be at least as ancient as the 
 days of Allan Ramsay, whu seems, in his continuation of 
 " Christ's Kirk on the Green," cant. iii. 1. 6'9- to allude 
 to it as a popular air : 
 
 " I'se warrant! ye have a' heard tell 
 Of Bonny Andrew Lainmie,, &c." 
 
 The music, by which it is usually accompanied, is of that 
 class which, in Teviotdale, they term a Northern Draxcl ; 
 and a Perthshire set of it, but two notes lower than it is 
 commonly sung, is to be found in Johnson's " Scots Mu- 
 sical Museum," to the song 
 
 " How lang and drearie is the night, &c."
 
 129 
 
 THE TRUMPETER OF FYVIE. 
 
 At Fyvie's yetts there grows a flower, 
 It grows baith braid and bonny; 
 
 There's a daisie in the midst o' it, 
 And it's ca'd by Andrew Lammie, 
 
 " O gin that flower war in my breast, 
 For the love I hear the laddie; 
 
 1 wad kiss it, and 1 wad clap it, 
 And daut it tor Andrew Lammie. 
 
 The first time me and my love met, 
 Was in the woods of Fyvie; 
 
 "He kissed my lips five thousand times. 
 
 And ay he ca'd me bonny; 
 And a' the answer he gat 1'rae me, 
 Was, My bonny Andrew Lammie!" 
 VOL. J. i
 
 130 
 
 " Love, I maun gang to Edinburgh ; 
 
 Love, I maun gang and leave thee." 
 " I sighed right sair, and said nae mair, 
 
 But, O gin I were wi' ye !" 
 
 if But true and trusty will I be, 
 As I am Andrew Lammie, 
 
 I'll never kiss a woman's mouth, 
 Till I come back and see thee/' 
 
 "' And true and trusty will I be, 
 As I am Tiftie's Annie ; 
 
 I'll never kiss a man again, 
 Till ye come back and see mc, 
 
 Syne he's come baek frae Edinbui; 
 
 To the bonny hows o' Fyvie ; 
 And ay his face to the nor-cast, 
 
 To look lor Tiftie's Annie, 
 
 " I ha'e a love in Edinburgh, 
 Sac ha'e I intill Leith, man ; 
 
 I hae a love intill Montrose, 
 'Nic ha'e I in Dalkeith, man
 
 131 
 
 " And east and west where'er I go.. 
 
 My love she's always wi' me ; 
 For east and west where'er I go, 
 
 My love she dwells in Fyvie. 
 
 " My love possesses a' my heart, 
 Nae pen can e'er indite her ; 
 
 She's ay sae stately as she goes, 
 That I see nae mae like her, 
 
 '* But Tiftie winna gi'e consent 
 His dochter me to marry, 
 
 Because she has rive thousand marks, 
 And I have not a penny. 
 
 " Love pines away, love dwines away, 
 Love, love, decays the body ; 
 
 For love o' thee, oh I must die : 
 Adieu, my bonny Annie !'' 
 
 Her mither raise out o' her bed, 
 And c;t'd on baith her women : 
 
 " What ails ye, Annie, my dochter dear 
 O Annie, was ve dream in' '
 
 132 
 
 "What dule disturb' d my dochter's sleep 
 
 O tell to me, my Annie !" 
 She sighed right sair, and said nae mair, 
 
 But, " O for Andrew Lam mi e !" 
 
 Her father beat her cruellie, 
 Sac also did her mother; 
 
 Her sisters sair did scoff at her; 
 But wae betide her brother ! 
 
 Her brother beat her cruellie, 
 
 Till his straiks they werena canny f ; 
 
 lie brak her back, and he beat her sides, 
 For the sake o' Andrew Lammie. 
 
 " O lie, O fie, my brother dear, 
 The gentlemen 'II shame ye ; 
 
 The laird o' Fyvie he's gaun by, 
 And he'll come in and see me. 
 
 " And he'll kiss me, and he'll clap me, 
 And he will speer what ails me; 
 
 Am] ! will answer him again, 
 it's a' for Andrew Laminie." 
 
 I Werena caimv, i, c. were dangrrous
 
 133 
 
 Her sisters they stood in the door, 
 Sail- griev'd her \vi' their folly; 
 
 "' O sister dear, come to the door, 
 Your cow is lowin on you." 
 
 " O tic, O fie, my sister dear, 
 Grieve me not \vi s your folly; 
 
 I'd rather hear the trumpet sound, 
 Than a' the kyc o' Fyvie. 
 
 " Love pines away, love dwincs away. 
 Love, love decays the body ; 
 
 For love o' thee now I maun die — ■ 
 Adit u to Andrew Lammie!" 
 
 ButTiftie's wrote a braid letter, 
 
 And sent it into Tyvie, 
 Saying, his daughter was bewiteh'd, 
 
 By bonny Andrew Lammie. 
 
 " Now, Tit'tie, ye maun gi'e consent, 
 And lat the lassie marry." 
 
 " I'll never, never gi'e consent 
 To the Trumpeter of Fyvie. '
 
 1: 
 
 When Fyvie looked the letter on, 
 
 He was baith sad and sorry: 
 Says — " The bonniest lass o' the country-side 
 
 Has died for Andrew Lammie." 
 
 O Andrew's gane to the house-top, 
 O' the bonny house o' Fyvie ; 
 
 He's blawn his horn baith loud and shili 
 O'er the lawland leas o' Fvvie. 
 
 " Mony a time ha'e I walk'd a' night, 
 And never yet was weary ; 
 
 But now I may walk wae my lane, 
 For I'll never see my deary. 
 
 " Love pines away, love d wines away, 
 Love, love, decays the body : 
 
 For the love o' thee, now I maun die- 
 I come, my bonny Annie !"
 
 135 
 
 WILLIE AND MAY MARGARET 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 FROM MttS BROWN'S RF.CfTATION . 
 
 Gik corn to my horse, mither; 
 Gi'c meat unto my man ; 
 For I maun gang to Margaret's bower, 
 Before the nieht comes on." 
 
 " O stay at hame now, my son Willie 
 The wind blaws cald and sour; 
 
 The nieht will be baith mirk and late, 
 Before ye reach her bower." 
 
 " O tho' the nieht were ever sac dark. 
 
 Or the wind blew never sae cald, 
 [ will be in my Margaret's bower 
 
 Before twa hours be tald."
 
 136 
 
 " O gin ye gang to may Margaret, 
 
 Without the leave of me, 
 Clyde's waters wide and deep enough ; 
 
 My malison drown thee !" 
 
 He mounted on his coal-black steed, 
 
 And fast he rade awa' ; 
 But ere he came to Clyde's water, 
 
 Fu' loud the wind did hlaw. * 
 
 As he rode o'er yon Inch hich hill, 
 And down yon dowie den, 
 
 There was a roar in Clyde's water, 
 Wad fear'd a huuder men. 
 
 His heart was warm, his pride was up ; 
 
 Sweet Willie kentna fear ; 
 But yet his mitlier's malison 
 
 Ay sounded in his ear. 
 
 (J he has swam through Clyde's water, 
 Tho' it was wide and deep; 
 
 And he came to may Margaret's door, 
 When a' were fast asleep.
 
 137 
 
 O he's gane round and round about, 
 
 And tirled at the pin ; 
 But doors were steek'd, and windows barr'd, 
 
 And nane wad let him in. 
 
 a O open the door to me, Margaret, 
 
 O open and lat me in ! 
 For my boots are full o' Clyde's water, 
 
 And frozen to the brim."' 
 
 " I darena open the door to you, 
 IS or darena lat yen in ; 
 
 For my mither she is fast asleep, 
 And I darena mak nae din. 
 
 " O gin ye winna open the door, 
 
 ISor yet be kind to me, 
 Now tell me n' some out-chamber, 
 
 Where 1 ibis nicht may be." 
 
 " Ye canna win in this nicht, Willie, 
 
 ISor iiere ye canna be; 
 Tor I've nae chambers on I nor in, 
 
 INac ane but barely three.
 
 138 
 
 <: The tane o' them is fu' o' corn, 
 
 The tither is fu' o' hay ; 
 The tither is fu' o' merry young men : 
 
 They winna remove till day." 
 
 te O fare ye weel, then, may Margaret. 
 
 Sin better manna be ; 
 I've win my mither's malison, 
 
 Coming this nicht to thee," 
 
 He's mounted on his coal-black steed, 
 
 O, but his heart was wae ! 
 But ere he came to Clyde's water. 
 
 Twas half up o'er the brae. 
 
 # # # # # 
 * * he plunged in, 
 But never raise again.
 
 139 
 
 HUGH OF LINCOLN. 
 
 Iwo ballads, on this subject, have already been publish' 
 ed ; one in the " Relique of Ancient English poetry/' vol. 
 i. p. 39. edit. 4. in which the Scottish reciter seems, from 
 ignorance, to have substituted Mirry-land tonne for merry 
 Li/icuine, and another under the same name as has been 
 adopted here. 
 
 The text of the following edition has been given verbatim, 
 as the editor took it down from Mrs Brown's recitation; 
 and in it two circumstances are preserved, which are nei- 
 ther to be found in any of the former editions, nor in any 
 of the chronicles in which the transaction is recorded ; but 
 which arc perfectly in the character of those times, and 
 tend to enhance the miracles to which the discovery is at- 
 tributed. The first of these is, that, in order that tiie whole 
 of this infamous sacrifice might be of a piece, and every pos-
 
 140 
 
 bible outrage shewn to Christianity, the Jews threw the 
 child's body into a well dedicated to the Virgin Mary ; and 
 tradition says, that it was " through the might of Our Ladie," 
 that the dead body was permitted to speak, and to reveal 
 the horrid story to the disconsolate mother. The other is, 
 the voluntary ringing of the bells, &c, at his funeral. The 
 sound of consecrated bells was supposed to have a power- 
 ful effect in driving away evil spirits, appeasing storms, OvC 
 and they were believed to be inspired with sentiments and 
 perceptions which were often manifested in a very miracu- 
 lous manner. Of this we find a very striking instance re- 
 corded in Blind Harry's account of the death of Sir Wil- 
 liam Wallace ; and in Ritson's " .Metrical Romances,''" 
 vol. iii. p. 80, when Le Bone Florence of Rome approach- 
 ed the church of Ilillarius, we are told, that; 
 
 " Y\ hen that schc came :icre tne placv; 
 The bellys rai;g" ihorow Gody's sirace, 
 Wythoivton helpe of hande." 
 
 Stories of church bells, on momentous occasions, ring- 
 ing " untouched by mortal hand," are still commonly told 
 and believed in Scotland, and perhaps in evcr\ other Chris- 
 tian country. The editor remembers a clergyman in the 
 north ot Scotland, holding a kirk, the stipend annexed to 
 wluea was bv no means adequate to the decent support of 
 his numerous and promising family. The kirk of the 
 neighbouring parish, which was also very small, becoming 
 vacant, he got (hen. united. Immediately there was a ge- 
 ii"ra! out-crs among tin oeasaulrv nil over the country,
 
 141 
 
 and the curses denounced against such as "join house to 
 house, and field to field, till there be no place," were re- 
 echoed far and wide. The old kirk, now forsaken, mani- 
 fested its indignation in various wonderful ways; and 
 among others, the bell was nffinnerl and believed to have 
 rung of its own accord, at the usual hour of going to church. 
 That a church bell may in this, and in all the other in- 
 stances here referred to, have been heard to ring, may 
 readily be admitted, without any supposed interposition of 
 a miracle. Net many years back, one very calm and 
 dark night, the inhabitants of a country parish in the 
 north east of Scotland, were thrown into the utmost con- 
 sternation, by hearing the kirk bell ring at a very unsea- 
 sonable hour, and in a very strange and unusual manner. 
 Their honor was inconceivable ; for they were prepared 
 to look for some dreadful catastrophe either to the minis- 
 ter or the precentor, as some verses of the KKHh psalm had 
 been sung in the kirk the Sundav before. No one dared 
 to approach the place to inquire into the cause of such an 
 unaccountable pheenomenon ; but, in the morning, the poor 
 minister was found dead, hanging from the bell-rope f ! 
 
 + As he is mi the subject of kirk bells, the editor hopes to lie 
 pardoned here lor attempting to relieve these annals of human weak- 
 ness and superstition, by mi anecdote of a very different kind, al- 
 though not immediately to the purpose : 
 
 " A g< utienian in Aberdeenshire, in other respects a good-natured 
 and well hi ha\ed man, was so tncessanl a ralki r, that no other per- 
 son, ii: his company, could find an opportunity of uttering a word.
 
 14i2 
 
 Or the transaction, which is the subject of the ballad of 
 " Hugh of Lincoln," a detailed account is given by Ma- 
 thew Paris, in his History of England, under the reign of 
 Henry the Third, p. 912. John Foxe, in his " Actes and 
 
 Another facetious gentleman, who was on a visit in the neighbour- 
 hood, was to meet this man of many words in a large company ; and 
 being informed of his unlucky loquacity, gave a hint to his friends, 
 that he would endeavour to afford them some amusement by talking 
 him down, and thus, at once depriving him lor ever of a privikge, 
 which none had hitherto dared to dispute. The stranger watched 
 Ills opportunity, contradicted him, got the start of him, and ran on 
 with inconceivable volubility, and an uncxhaustible fund of words 
 and wind. The other sat, gasping with impatience, and made many- 
 fruitless attempts to interrupt the torrent by which he was overwhelm- 
 ed. At last, being himself a man of humour, seeing his own foible so 
 glaringly exposed in another, and guessing by the looks and gestures 
 of the company how the case stood, he started up, ran to the speaker, 
 seized him by the button, and roared out in his ear, ' Stop, stop ! 
 for God's sake, stop ! Hear me but tell one short story, and then you 
 may run on till doomsday, before I ever interrupt you, or any other 
 person, again !' 
 
 " The people of our parish lately caught a thief ; a notorious and 
 enterprising old offender It was too late to carry him to Aber- 
 deen ; there was no prison nearer ; and, as they did not wish to have 
 the trouble of sitting up ail night to watch him, they locked him up 
 in the kirk, as the safest place of confinement. In looking about at 
 his leisure lor the means of escaping, the thief observed that the 
 hell-rope was passed from the outside through a small window in the 
 gable end, and was hanging in the gallery. When night came, and 
 he thought all was safe and quiet, he laid hold of the rope, and began 
 to climb. The bell rang, and he mounted ; and just as he had got 
 half out ot the window, he observed the rustics with clubs and pitch- 
 forks assembled to receive him on the out-Mde. Looking up with an 
 acrimonious grai at the invidious tell-tale above him, he cried out, 
 " O d°il mole iliee for a bell ! For thy toom (empty) head, and thy 
 lung tongue, will be the death of me !"
 
 145 
 
 Monumentes of Christian Martyrs, &c." vol. i. p. 327. edit. 
 1583, has also mentioned it, with a reference to the "long 
 5torie" of Mathew Paris, to which he adds: " The same, 
 or like fact was also intended by the like Jewes of Nor- 
 wich 20 yeres before upon a certaine childe, whom they 
 first circumcised, and detained a whole yere in custo- 
 dier intending to crucille him, for the which the Jewes 
 were sent up to the Tower of London, of whom IS were 
 hanged, and the rest remained long in prison." 
 
 A? the fact has been generally disbelieved, and but 
 slightly noticed by our later historians; and as the narra- 
 tive -of Mathew Paris is in itself curiously circumstantial, 
 and characteristic of the manners of those times, I have 
 adopted it. The learned reader will require no apology 
 for inserting so long an extract ; and I hope the unlearned 
 reader will admit that length as a sufficient apology for my 
 not havingsubjoined a translation, from a fear of incurring 
 the imputation of having swelled out my pages with unne- 
 cessary repetitions, in order to make a book. 
 
 " Anno (juoque sub eodem, circa festum Apostolorum Petri 
 et Pauli, Judcri Lincolniccfurati sunt unum pucrum, Hugo- 
 NEM nomine, hubentcm cctate octo (innos. Et quum ipsum 
 in fjuodam conclavi sccretissimo, lacte et aliis puerilibus ali- 
 nicntis nutrirent, miserunt adomncs fere Ang/ia: ciiitatcs in 
 quibus Judcci degebant, et comocarunt de unaquaquc chi- 
 tatc aliquot Judceorum, vt in eontumeliam tt opprobrium 
 Jesu C/'iristi, interessent sacrijicio sua Lineolnin. Habc- 
 l-unt enim, ul dicebant, quendam pucrum iibsconditum ad era-
 
 144 
 
 ajigendum.' Et convenerunt mvlti Lincolnicz, et convenientes 
 const ituerunt vnam Jndveum Lincolniensem pro Judice, tan- 
 tjuam pro Pilato. Cujusjudicio, et omnium favor e, affectus 
 est puer dixersis torment is. Verberatus est usque ad cruo- 
 rem et litorem, spinis coronatus, sputis et cachinnis lacessi- 
 lits. Et insuper a singulis punctus cultellis, y/ui dicuntur 
 Anlatii, pot atus fell c, derisus probris et blasp/temiis, et crc- 
 hrb a!> cisdem , frendentibus dentibus, Jesus Eseudopropheta 
 rocatus. Et postquam diversimodo illuserant ei, crucifixe- 
 runt, et lanced ad cor pupugerunt. Et cum expirasset puer, 
 deposuerunt corpus dc cruce, et nescitur qua ratione exisce- 
 rarunt corpusculum ; dicitur autem ad magicas artes exer- 
 cendas. 
 
 Mater autem puerifdium suum absentcm per aliquot dies 
 qu&sfcit, diet unique ei a xicinis, quod ultimo xidcrunt pue- 
 rum quern quuesixit ludentem cum pueris Judxorum ccetancis, 
 ct domum Judati cujusdam intrantem. Intraxit igitur tnu- 
 lier subitb domum ilium, et xidit corpus pucri in quendam 
 puteum precipitation. Et caute conxocatis Cixitatis Balli- 
 I'is, inxentvm est corpus, et extraction, ct factum est mira- 
 bih spectaculum in populo. Mulier autem mater pucri, 
 qiifviula et clamusa, omnes cixes uno conxenientes, ad lachry- 
 7nas et suspiria proxocaxit. Erat autem ibidem Dominvs 
 Johanna, <!■' Lexintond, xir quidem circunapcctus ct discre- 
 txts, insuper clcganter literal us, qui ait, " Audiximus quan- 
 doqve quod talia Judai in opprobrium J am Cliristi Domini 
 nostri crucijixi nun sunt xvriti attemptarc. Et capto una 
 Judao, in cujus domum scilicet intraxit puer ludens, ct idea
 
 145 
 
 aliis suspectior, ait il/i, ' Miser, nescis quod te festimis ma- 
 net interitusi Totuni aunun An^liw non sufliceret ad erep- 
 tiunem tuam et redemptioncm. V eruntauten dicatn tibi licet 
 indigno, qualiter potcs vitam tuam reservare, et membra ne 
 mutileris. Utrumque tibi salvabo, si quaicunque in hoc casu 
 aguntur sine falsi st amine mini pandere non Jormides.' 
 Judtxus igiiar ilk, cui numen Copinus, sic crcdens viam in- 
 venisse exasionis, rcspondit dicens : ' Dominus Johannes, si 
 dietis facta compensas. pandam tibi mirabilia.' Et annua' 
 vit ad hoc Domini Johannis industria ; et aii Judatus: 
 ' Vera sunt qua* dicunt Christiani ! Judwijere quotibet anno 
 unum puerum in injuria))! et opprobrium Jcsu crucijigunt ; 
 sed non quolibet anno cemperitur ; occult e, eiiini, hoc fact- 
 tint, ct /oris absconditis et secretissimis. llunc auteru pue- 
 rum (jut m llugoncm vocunt, immisericorditer nostri Judcei 
 cruet fixer unt, et can/ obiisset, et mortuum xellent abscondere, 
 non potuit ubrui in lard, nee abscondi. Inutile enim repu- 
 tabatur corpus insontis augttrio : ad hoc enim eviscerabatur, 
 Et cum mane putatur absconditum, edidit itlud terra et 
 eiwuuit, et apparuit corpus aliquoties inhumutum supra ter- 
 rain, untie nbhorrucriint J udai. Tandem in puteum preci- 
 pit.it um est ; nee adhttc lumen potuit occulturi. Mater 
 enim improba omnia perscrutando, tandem corpus invert turn 
 Hal/ivis intimavit.' 
 
 Domains utitern Johannes tenuit Judwum vinculis manci- 
 pahim ; t'l cum lore canonicisi Ecclesiw Lincolniensis Cathe- 
 dra/is innotuissent, ptti' erunt corpuscu/uw sibi dari ; et 
 concessit)/) est i/li. Et cum ah in/iuttm salts cuusidcrarctur, 
 
 VOL, I. K
 
 146 
 
 honorifice in Eccksid Lincolniensi, tanquam preciosi marly- 
 ris, humabatur. Sciendum, quod Judcei tenuerunt puerum 
 vivum per decern dies, ut tot diebus pastus lacte tormenta Vi- 
 tus multiformia tolerat. 
 
 Cum Hex redisset de partibus Borealihus Anglice, et cer- 
 tijicarctur de prccmissis, increpavit Dominion Johunnem, 
 quod tarn jlagitioso xitam et membra polliceretur , quod dari 
 neauiverat ; dignus enim est blasphc?nus ilk et homicida 
 mortis pcena multiformis Et cum judicium reo immineret 
 irremediabile, ait, " Imminet mihi mors mea, nee potest Do- 
 minus Johannes perituro sufragari. Nunc dieo xobis om- 
 nibus zeritatem : Hujus pucri de quo calumniantur Judcei 
 morti consent iebant fere omnes Judcei Anglice. Et cujusli- 
 bet fere civitatis Anglice in qua Judcei habitant, quidam lecti 
 conrocabantur ad illius pueri immolationem, quasi ad Pas- 
 chalc sacriftcium." Et cum hece dixisset, simul cum aliis 
 deliramentis, ligatus ad caudam equinam, et tractus ad pa- 
 tibulum, cereis cacodernonibus in corporc et animd prccsen- 
 taretur ; et alii Judcei, hujus facinoris participes, quater 
 visinti et undecim, in bigis Londinum ducti, career ali custo- 
 dier maneipantur. Qui si forte ab aliquibus Christ ianis 
 plangerentur, ab cemulis eorum Caursinis f siccis laehripnis 
 deplurabantur." 
 
 t The Caursint were Italian inei chants, v, lw> were emnloved by 
 tin: Pope as his agents in carrying on the infamous tralne ot usury, 
 in wine!: ;he Jew- were his must foriiiidable rivals; so that from the 
 ■nijuHifiable wants and unbounded extortions of the king, the blind
 
 147 
 
 Such is the authority upon which the credit of this sin- 
 gular story is to be established. Of the honesty of Ma- 
 thew Paris the editor entertains no suspicion ; nor would 
 he despise the understanding of any historian, who, during 
 the first three hundred and fifty years after the event is 
 supposed to have taken place, had considered such evidence 
 as sufficient to establish beyond a doubt any historical fact 
 whatsoever. The enquiry, to which it gave rise, was car- 
 ried on by the justiciaries of the king, and by his especial 
 commission ; and nothing could be more public and noto- 
 rious than the trials and the executions that followed. 
 Yet we ought not to forget the motives of Henry the Third 
 in persecuting the Jews ; the profits arising from putting 
 them in fear, and finding them guilty ; and. how far it was 
 in the power of the king to obtain what decisions he pleased 
 against persons, whom riches, usury, and a blind and into- 
 lerant superstition had rendered so odious to his subjects. 
 Add to this, that among the deliramenta of poor Copin, 
 the Jew, (whose weakness, alter submitting to be tampered 
 with, seems afterwards to have degenerated into mental 
 derangement) good sense must reject the circumstance of 
 taking out the entrails of the child for purposes of incan- 
 
 eredulity and furious Mgotry of the people, and ihe envious rival-hip 
 of the Pojic and the Caursini, the poor Jews had little' mercy to look 
 for, ar.d i'lie slightest hint of culpability was erjual to a dcinoustra-
 
 148 
 
 tution, and oi their inefficacy, because the subject, al- 
 though accursed by crucifixion, was innocent. For al- 
 though a belief in witchcraft was then general, we can 
 hardly imagine that the individual Jews, who were accused 
 of this atrocious deed, conceived themselves to be possessed 
 of the power of working by any such supernatural means. 
 But witchcraft then made part of almost every accusation, 
 in which, from want of substantial evidence, it was neces- 
 sary to influence the prejudices of the people against some 
 devoted object of public vengeance, or of private malice. 
 Such an evident flaw in the indictment may well justify us in 
 thinking less highly than Mathew Paris seems to have done, 
 of the circumspect, discreet, elegant and learned Master 
 John of hcxinton. 
 
 Yet a learned and reputable author f, who has well con- 
 sidered the subject, and certainly deserves a respectful 
 hearing, after giving an abstract of the story, to which he 
 has subjoined copies of the king's commission for the trial of 
 the fact, and the warrant to sell the goods of the several 
 Jews, who were found guilt}-, adds, " Surely, these two 
 records must make this matter no longer disputable. It, 
 wa 1 - wronsj, therefore, in the Rev. l)r Fuller to say in his 
 Ecclesiastical History, 1>. iii. p. 87, 'How sufficiently 
 these crimes were witnessed against, them I know not.' In 
 such cases weak proofs are qj proof' against rich offenders; 
 
 f Dr Tovey, in his very carious iurk in (juarto, eutitulcd " A: 
 ;Ua Jutlaica," p. 137-
 
 14<) 
 
 and we may well believe, that if their persons were guilty 
 of some of these faults, their estate* were guilty of all the 
 rest." 
 
 Without attempting to settle the dispute between Dr 
 Tovey and those historians from whom he differs in senti- 
 ment, we may be permitted to hazard an opinion, that the 
 crucifixion of Hugh of Lincoln was not a mere groundless 
 calumny against the Jews. 
 
 'I hat which seems to have had most weight with those 
 who disbelieve the story is, the inadequateness of the mo- 
 tive, the great risque at which such cruelties were perpe- 
 trated, and the smallness of the gratification which could 
 ari>e from them. But when we consider the barbarous 
 manners of the age, the enormities to which men have been 
 led by misguided zeal, the vindictive spirit of retribution, 
 which a misapplication of historical precedents among that 
 unfortunate and interdicted people was calculated to in- 
 spire, the contumely, the injustice, and the cruelty with 
 which they were, at that lime, persecuted all over Europe, 
 and the pleasure which the minds of such men, irritated 
 and exasperated by continual wrongs, are sometimes found 
 to derive from revenge ; it seems exceedingly probable, 
 that they occasionally laid hold of such means of retalia- 
 tion as were in their power. In the following copy of the 
 ballad, moreover, it is insinuated, that those very Jews had 
 been suspected, or accused, and probably punished, for 
 -ome aliened outrage upon the father of the boy ; so that
 
 150 
 
 in this instance, there was a private and particular reason 
 for their visiting the sins of the father upon the son. 
 
 Whether the Shrine of Saint Hugo in the Cathedral of. 
 Lincoln was erected for the Bishop of that name, or for the 
 reputed martyr, it is not here of much importance to en- 
 quire. The virtues, piety, and munificence of the good 
 prelate arc now but very partially known ; while a common 
 ballad has preserved, for live centuries and a half, the me- 
 mory of the boy, for merits which he probably never pos- 
 seted .
 
 151 
 
 HUGH OF LINCOLN. 
 
 i our and twenty bonny boys 
 
 Were playing at the ba' ; 
 And by it came him, sweet sir Hugh, 
 
 And he play'd o'er them a'. 
 
 He kiek'd the ba' with his right foot, 
 
 And catch'd it wi' his knee ; 
 And throueh-und-thro' the Jew's window,. 
 
 He gar'd the bonny ba' rlee. 
 
 He's doen him to the Jew's castell, 
 And walk'd it round about; 
 
 And there he s;iw the Jew's daughter 
 At the window looking out.
 
 152 
 
 Throw down the ha', ye Jew's daughter, 
 Throw down the ba' to me!" 
 JNcver a bit/' says the Jew's daughter, 
 Till up to me come ye." 
 
 " How will I come up ? How can I come up 
 
 How can 1 come to thee ? 
 For us vc did to my auld lather, 
 
 The same ye'll do to me." 
 
 She's gane till her father's garden, 
 And pu'd an apple, red and green } 
 
 Tvvas a' to wyle him, sweet sir Hugh, 
 And to entice him in. 
 
 She's led him in through ae dark door, 
 And sae has she thro' nine; 
 
 She's laid him on a dressing table, 
 And stickit him like a swine. 
 
 And first came out the thick thick blood, 
 
 And syne came out the thin ; 
 And syne came out the bonny heart's blood 
 
 There was nae mair within.
 
 153 
 
 She's row'd him in a cake o' lead, 
 
 Bade him lie still and sleep; 
 She's thrown him in Our Lady's draw well, 
 
 Was nfty fathom deep. 
 
 When bells were runs:, and mass was sung. 
 And a' the bairns came hame, 
 
 When every lady gat hame her son, 
 The Lady Maisry gat nane. 
 
 She's ta'en her mantle her about, 
 Her corl'er by the hand ; 
 
 And she's ganc out to seek her son, 
 And wander' d o'er the land. 
 
 She's doen her to the Jew's castell, 
 
 Where a' were last asleep; 
 " Gin ye be there, my sweet sir Hugh, 
 
 I pray you to me speak." 
 
 She's doen her to the Jew's garden, 
 Thought he had been gathering fruit 
 
 " Gin ye be there, my sweet sir Hugh, 
 1 pray you to me speak."
 
 154 
 
 She near'd Our Lady's deep draw-well, 
 
 Was fifty fathom deep ; 
 •'•' Whare'er ye be, my sweet sir Hugh, 
 
 I pray you to me speak." 
 
 ■• Gae harne, gac hame, my mither dear 
 Prepare my winding sheet ; 
 
 And, at the baek o' merry Lincoln, 
 The morn I will you meet." 
 
 Now lady Maisry is gane hame ; 
 
 Made him a winding sheet ; 
 And, at the back o' merry Lincoln, 
 
 The dead corpse did her meet. 
 
 And a' the bells o' merry Lincoln, 
 Without men's hands were rung : 
 
 And a' the books o' merry Lincoln, 
 Were read without man's tongue 
 
 And ne'er was such a burial 
 Sin Adam's days begun.
 
 155 
 
 NOTE 
 
 HUGH OF LINCOLN. 
 
 For instances of the unparalleled outrages committed upon 
 the Jews, c ec the histories of the reign of Henry the Third, &c. 
 passim, and Dr Tovey's " Anglia .Tudaica ;'' also the " Modern 
 Universal History," vol. >:xix. p. 312. where, in the account of 
 the massacre of Alsace in Germany, under pretext of revenging 
 the death of Jesus Christ, it is stated, that ■• the Jews them- 
 selves, driven to dc.-pair, augmented the horrour of the scone; 
 for, rather than fall into the hands of such inhuman enemies, 
 thev made away with themselves, after having murdered their 
 own wives and children, and concealed their ri< he-, which they 
 justlv supposed had contributed to their disaster." In 131", a 
 dreadful plague, that ravaged the coasts of the Mediterranean, 
 was imputed to the Jews. "At this juncture they were said 
 to have poisoned the wells and fountains; and this extrava- 
 gant notion prevailed to such a degree, that the Jews were put 
 to the torture in Bonn and several other cities; and, though 
 they still refused to own the imputed crime, a great number of 
 those unfortunate wretches were poniarded, burnt, and drown- 
 ed by 'he incensed populace; nor was it in the power of tin 
 -ivil magistrates to prevent such cruel sacrifices, At Stnis-
 
 156 
 
 bin rh, the common people, under the conduct of a butcher, de- 
 posed the magistracy; and, investing their chief with absolute 
 power, he ordered two thousand Jews to be burnt alive, con- 
 fiscated their effects, and decreed, that no individual of that 
 nation should be admitted into Strasburg for the term of one 
 hundred years. 
 
 " Though the populace were the perpetrators of this inhuman 
 tragedy, they were instigated and abetted by the bishop and se- 
 veral other noblemen, who owed considerable sums to the Jews, 
 and took this method of discharging their debts; nor would 
 they listen to any pacific terms, untill the emperour promised, 
 in behalf of the sufferers, that the sums due to them should ne- 
 ver be demanded." Mod. Un. Hist. vol. n\'i\. p. 331. 
 
 In (I have forgot what) country town in England, a poor Jew 
 had fallen into a common sewer, and refused to be taken out be- 
 cause it was the sabbath-day; on which orders were given 
 that he should not be suffered to come out next day, because it 
 was .Sunday ; so he was suffocated to death ! 
 
 Such treatment may easily enough account for, though it can- 
 not justify, any enormity which persons, so outraged, might be 
 "uiltv of.
 
 157 
 
 SIR PATRICK SPENCE. 
 
 from a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland, for ufrich I av. 
 indebted to the editor of the " Border Minstrelsy." 
 
 I hk king sits in Dunfermlin town, 
 Sac merrily drinkin' the wine; 
 
 " Wlmre will I get a mariner, 
 Will sail this ship o' mine ?" 
 
 Then,, up bespak a bonny boy, 
 
 Sat just at the king's knee, 
 iC Sir Patrick Spence is tne I >est sea-man, 
 
 That e'er set foot on sea." 
 
 The king has written a braid letter, 
 Seal'd it vvi' his ain hand ; 
 
 lie has scut word to sir Patrick, 
 To come at his command.
 
 158 
 
 " O wha is this, or wha is that, 
 Has laid the king o' me ? 
 
 For I was never a good seaman,. 
 Nor ever intend to be." 
 
 " Be't wind, be't weet, be't snavv, be't sleet. 
 
 Our ships maun sail the morn." 
 " Ever alack ! my master dear, 
 
 For I fear a deadly storm *." 
 
 They mounted sail on Mimenday morn, 
 
 W i' a' the haste they may ; 
 And they hae landed in Norraway, 
 
 I [>on the Wednesday. 
 
 They hadna been a month, a month 
 
 In Norraway but three, 
 Till lads o' Norraway began to say, 
 
 " Ye spend a' our white monic.' 
 
 u \ e spend a' our good kingis goud, 
 But and our queenis i'< e." 
 
 " Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud,. 
 Sac weel's I hear von lie; 
 
 This staij/.a seems to have no business hw<
 
 159 
 
 ci For I brought as much white money 
 As will gain my men and me ; 
 
 I brought hair" a foil o' good red goud 
 Out o'er the sea with me." 
 
 " Be't wind or weet, be't snaw or sleety 
 Our ships maun sail the morn." 
 
 " O over alack ! 1113' master dear,, 
 1 tear a deadlv storm. 
 
 " I saw the new moon late yestreen, 
 Wi' the auld moon in her arm; 
 
 And it" we gang to sea, master, 
 I fear we'il suffer harm." 
 
 They hadna sailed a league on sea, 
 
 A league hut barely ane, 
 'fill anchors hrak, and tap-masts lap ; 
 
 There came a deadly slorm. 
 
 " Whare will I get a bonny boy 
 W ill tak tliir sails in hand ; 
 
 That will gang up to the tap-mast, 
 Sec an he ken dry land ?"
 
 160 
 
 Laith, laith were our good Scots lords 
 To weet their leather shoon ; 
 
 But or the morn, at fair day-light, 
 Their hats were wat aboon. 
 
 Mony was the feather bed, 
 That flotter'd on the faem ; 
 
 And mony was the good Scots lord 
 Gaed awa that ne'er cam hame ; 
 
 And mony was the fatherless bairn,, 
 That lay at hame greetin'. 
 
 It's forty miles to Aberdeen, 
 
 And fifty fathoms deep; 
 And there lyes a' our good Scots lords,, 
 
 VYT sir Patrick at their feet. 
 
 The ladies wrang their hands sac white, 
 The maidens tore their hair, 
 
 A' for the sake o' their true lovesj 
 Tor them they ne'er saw mair. 
 
 St. 17. 1. 1. ran thus: 
 
 " Tli'' liidies crack't tli'-;r finders while,''
 
 161 
 
 Lang lang may our ladies stand 
 Wi' their fans in their hand, 
 
 Ere they see sir Patrick and his men 
 Come sailing to the land. 
 
 VOL. i.
 
 \6Q 
 
 LORD RANDAL. 
 
 I he story of this ballad very much resembles that oi 
 " Little Musgrave and Lord Barnard." The common 
 title is, " The Bonny Birdy." The first stanza is sung 
 thus : 
 
 " There was a knight, on a summer's night, 
 
 Was riding o'er the ]ee, diddle ; 
 And there he saw a bonny birdy 
 Was singing on a tree, diddle : 
 O wow for day, diddle ! 
 
 .And dear gin it were day ! 
 Gin it were day, and T were away, 
 For I ha'ena lang time to stav." 
 
 In the text, the burden of diddle has been omitted ; and the 
 name of Lord Randal introduced, for the sake of distinc- 
 tion, and to prevent the ambiguity arising from " the 
 knight," which is equally applicable to both. 
 
 The lines supplied to till up chasms are inclosed within 
 brackets.
 
 165 
 
 LORD RANDAL 
 
 Lord Randal wight, on a summer's night, 
 
 Was riding o'er the lee, 
 And there he saw a bonny birdie 
 
 Was singin' on a tree 
 
 " O wow for day ! 
 
 And dear gin it were day ! 
 Gin it were day, and I were away, 
 
 For I ha'ena lang time to stay ! 
 
 " Mak haste, mak haste, ye vvicht baron ; 
 
 What keeps ye here sae late? 
 Gin ye kent what was doing at hame, 
 
 I trow ye wad look blate.
 
 164 
 
 "And O wow for day ! 
 
 And dear gin it were day! 
 Gin it were day, and ye were away ; 
 
 For ye ha'ena lang time to stay !" 
 
 il O, what needs I toil day and night, 
 
 My fair body to spill, 
 When I ha'e knichts at my command, 
 
 And ladies at mv will?" 
 
 lt O weel is he, ye wight baron, 
 Has the blear drawn o'er his e'e ; 
 
 But your lady has a knight in her arms twa, 
 That she lo'es far better nor thee. 
 
 " And O wow for day ! 
 
 And dear gin it were day ! 
 Gin it were day, and ye were away; 
 
 For ye ha'ena lantr time to stay!" 
 
 "Ye lie, ye lie, ye bonny birdie; 
 
 How you lie upon my sweet; 
 I will tak out my bonny bow, 
 
 And in troth I will you sheet."
 
 165 
 
 " But afore ye ha'e your bow weel bent, 
 
 And a' your arrows yare, 
 I will rlee till anither tree, 
 
 Whare I can better fare. 
 
 " And O wow for day, 
 
 And dear gin it were day ! 
 
 Gin it were day, and I were away ; 
 For I ha'ena lang time to stay !" 
 
 " O whare was ye gotten, and where was ye decked, 
 
 My bonny birdie, tell me r" 
 " O, 1 was decked in good green wood, 
 
 In till a holly tree ; 
 A baron sac bald my nest berried, 
 
 And <i'a'e me to his ladie. 
 
 " WY good white bread, and farrow-cow milk, 
 
 He bade her iced me aft; 
 And ga'e her a little wee summer-dale wandie, 
 
 To ding me sindie and saft.
 
 166 
 
 " Wi' good white bread, and farrow-cow milk, 
 
 I wat she fed me nought ; 
 But wi' a little wee summer-dale wandie, 
 
 She clang me sair and oft : — 
 Gin she had done as ye her hade, 
 
 I wadna tell how she has wrought. 
 
 " And O wow for day ! 
 
 And dear gin it were day ! 
 Gin it were day, and ye were away ; 
 
 For ye ha'ena lang time to stay." 
 
 Lord Randal rade, and the birdie flew, 
 The live-lang summer's night, 
 
 Till he cam till his lady's bovver-door, 
 Then even down he did light. 
 
 The birdie sat on the crap o' a tree. 
 And I wat it sang fu' dight : 
 
 " O wow for day ! 
 
 And dear gin it were day ! 
 Gin it were day, and I were away; 
 For I ha'ena lang time to stay !"
 
 167 
 
 [The knight he lay in the lady's bower ; 
 
 I ween he thoughtna lang, 
 Until gailie past the night, until 
 
 He heard the birdie's sang.] 
 
 " O wow for day ! 
 
 And dear gin it were day ! 
 Gin it were day, and ye were away ; 
 
 For ye ha'ena lang time to stay I" 
 
 " Now Christ assoile me o' my sin/' 
 
 The fause knight he could say ; 
 " It's nae for nought that the hawk whistles * 
 
 And I wish that I were away ! 
 
 "And O wow for day ! 
 
 And dear gin it were day ! 
 Gin it were day, and I were away ; 
 
 For I ha'ena lang time to stay !" 
 
 " What needs ye lang for day, 
 And wish that ye were away? 
 
 Is na your hounds in my cellar 
 Eating white meal and gray ?" 
 
 * This is a proverbial saying in Scotland.
 
 168 
 
 " Yet, O wow for day ! 
 
 And dear gin it were day ! 
 Gin it were day, and I were away, 
 
 For I ha'ena lang time to stay !" 
 
 " Is na your horse in my stable, 
 Eating good corn and hay ? 
 
 Is na your hawk on my perch tree, 
 Just perching for his prey? 
 
 And isna yoursel in my arms twa; 
 Then how can ye lang for day ?" 
 
 [" Hark, hark ! his prancing at the yate ! 
 
 Lord Randal's steed 1 hear !" — 
 " It is but the butting of the red deer 
 
 Intill the park you fear."] 
 
 « Yet, O wow for day ! 
 
 And dear gin it were day ! 
 Gin it were day, and I were away, 
 
 For I ha'ena lang time to stay. 
 
 " Yet, O wow for day ! 
 
 And dear gin it were day ! 
 For he that's in bed wi' anither mail's wife, 
 
 Has never lang time to stay."
 
 169 
 
 [Lord Randal's steed he nicher'd loud, 
 
 And loud the birdie sang; 
 Swyth lap the knight frae the lady's arms, 
 
 And through the oriel sprang.] 
 
 Then out Lord Randal drew his brand, 
 
 And straiked it o'er a strae; 
 And through and through the fause knight's waste 
 
 He gar'd cald iron gae ; 
 And 1 hope ilk ane sail sae be serv'd, 
 
 That treats an honest man sae !
 
 170 
 
 NOTES 
 
 LORD RANDAL. 
 
 Since transcribing the above for tbe press, the following 
 copy of the popular ballad of " Little Musgrave and Lord 
 Barnard" has been received from Scotland. The editor has 
 heard it repeated, with very little variation, both in Moray- 
 shire and in the southern counties. 
 
 LORD BAR NAB Y. 
 
 " I have a tower in Dalisberry, * 
 
 Which now is dearly flight, 
 And I will gie it to young Musgrave 
 
 To lodge \vi' mc a' night." 
 
 " To lodge wi' thee a' night, fair lady. 
 Wad breed baith sorrow and strife; 
 
 For I >ee by the rin;:s on your fingers, 
 You're good lord Barnaby's wife." 
 
 * Bucklcsfordburv.
 
 17J 
 
 " Lord Barnaby's wife although I be. 
 
 Yet what is that to tliee? 
 For we'll beguile him for this ae night — 
 
 lie's on to fair Dundee. 
 
 " Come here, come here, my little foot-page, 
 
 This gold I will give thee, 
 If ye will keep thir secrets close 
 
 Tween young Musgrave and me. 
 
 i( But here I hae a little pen-knife, 
 
 Hings low down by my gare; 
 Gin ye winna keep thir secrets close, 
 
 Ye'll find it wonder sair." 
 
 Then she's ta'en him to her chamber, 
 
 And down in her arms lay he : 
 The boy coost aff his hose and shoon, 
 
 And ran to fair Dundee. 
 
 When he cam to the wan water, 
 lie slack'df his bow and swam; 
 
 And when he cam to growin grass, 
 Set down his feet and ran. 
 
 And when he cam to fair Dundee, 
 
 Wad neither chap nor ca' ; 
 But set his brent bow to his breast, 
 
 And merrily jump'd the wa\ 
 
 u O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord, 
 
 Waken, and come away !" — 
 " What ails, what ails my wee foot page, 
 
 He cries sae lang ere day. 
 
 t For sluck'd read bent.
 
 172 
 
 " O, is my bowers brent, my boy ? 
 
 Or is my castle won? 
 Or lias the lady that I lo'e best 
 
 Brought me a daughter or son?" 
 
 " Your lia's are safe, your bowers are safe, 
 
 And free frae all alarms; 
 But, oh ! the lady that ye lo'e best 
 
 Lies sound in Musgrave's arms." 
 
 " Gac saddle to me the black," he cried; 
 
 " Gae saddle to me the gray; 
 Gac saddle to me the swiftest steed, 
 
 To hie me on my way." 
 
 " O lady, I beard a wee horn toot, 
 
 And it blew wonder clear; 
 And ay the turning o' the note, 
 
 Was, ' Barnaby will be here !' 
 
 " I thought I heard a wee horn blavv. 
 
 And it blew loud and high ; 
 And ay at ilka turn it said, 
 
 ' Away, Musgrave, away !' 
 
 " Lie still, my dear ; lie still, my dear; 
 
 Ye keep me frae the cold; 
 lor it is but my father's shepherds 
 
 Driving their docks to the fold." 
 
 Up they lookit, and down they lay, 
 And they're fa'en sound asleep; 
 
 Till up stood good lord Barnaby, 
 Just close at their bed feet. 
 
 '•' How do you like my bed, Musgrave r 
 
 And how like ye my sheets? 
 And how like ye my fair lady, 
 
 Lies in your arms and sleeps ?"
 
 173 
 
 " Wed like I your bed, my lord, 
 And weel like 1 your sheets; 
 
 But ill like I your fair lady, 
 Lies in my arms and sleeps. 
 
 c< You got your wale o' se'en sisters, 
 
 And [ got mine o' live ; 
 Sae tak ye mine, and Fs tak thine, 
 
 And we nae mair sail strive." 
 
 " O, my woman's the best woman 
 That ever brak world's bread; 
 
 And your woman's the worst woman 
 That ever drew coat o'er head. 
 
 " I hac twa swords in ae scabbert, 
 They are baith sharp and clear ; 
 
 Tak ye the best, and I the warst, 
 And we'll end the matter here. 
 
 ' ; Hut up, and arm thee, young Musgrave, 
 
 We'll try it han' to han'; 
 It's ne'er be said o' lord Barnaby, 
 
 lie strack at a naked man." 
 
 The first straik that young Musgrave got. 
 
 It was baith deep and sair ; 
 And down he fell at Barnaby's feet, 
 
 And word spak never mair. 
 
 (i A grave, a grave !" lord Barnaby cried, 
 
 " A grave to lay them in; 
 My lady shall lie on the sunny side. 
 
 Because of her noble kin."
 
 174 
 
 But oh, how sorry was that good lord, 
 
 For a' his angry mood, 
 Whan he heheld his ain young son 
 
 All vvelt'ring in his blood ! 
 
 Of all the editions, both black-letter and modern, of this 
 piece, which the editor has met with, the best (with the excep- 
 tion of a few typographical errors) seems to be that which is 
 found in " Wit Restored," p. 174, where it is called, " The Old 
 Ballad of Little Musgrave," &c. In that collection, which was 
 printed in 1658, it begins thus : 
 
 " As it fell, one holy day, hay downe, 
 
 As many be in the yeare, 
 When young men and maids together did goe, 
 Their mattins and masses to heare," &c. 
 
 From that Miscellany it seems to have been adopted, along with 
 one or two others, but without much scrupulous exactness, into 
 Dryden's Miscellanies. 
 
 In the Scotish copy, the stanza that describes the manner of 
 the lady's death seems to have been left out through mistake 
 by the transcriber ; as it is hardly probable that the reciter had 
 forgot so material a part of the tragedy, the effect of which is 
 very much heightened by the pitiable circumstance alluded to 
 in the last stanza, and which the reader is prepared to expect 
 by the question of lord Barnaby, in stanza 10. : 
 
 " Or has the lady that I lo'e best, 
 Brought me a daughter or son r" 
 
 In stanza 8. line 3. the term " braid bow" has been altered 
 by the editor into " brent bow," i. c. straight, or unbent bow. 
 In most of the old ballad-,, where a page is employed as the 
 bearer of a message, we arc told, that, 
 
 " When he came to wan water, 
 He bent his bow aud swam;''
 
 175 
 
 And 
 
 " He set his bent bow to his breast^ 
 And lightly lap the way ike. 
 
 The application of the term bent, in the latter instance, does 
 not seem correct, and is probably substituted for brent. 
 
 In the establishment of a feudal baron, every thing wore a 
 military aspect; he was a warrior by profession ; every man at- 
 tached to him, particularly those employed about his person, 
 was a soldier ; and his little foot-page was very appropriately 
 equipped in the light accoutrements of an archer. His bow, in 
 the old ballad, seems as inseparable from his character as the 
 bow of Cupid or of Apollo, or the caduceus of his celestial pro- 
 totype Mercury. This bozo, which he carried unbent, he seems 
 to have bent when he had occasion to swim, in order that he 
 might the more easily carry it in his teeth, to prevent the string 
 from being injured, by getting wet. At other times, he availed 
 himself of its length and elasticity in the brent, or straight state, 
 and used it (as hunters do a leaping pole) in vaulting over the 
 wall of the outer court of a castle, when his business would not 
 admit of the tedious formality of blowing a horn, or ringing a> 
 bell, and holding a long parley with the porter at the gate, be- 
 fore he could gain admission. This at least, appears to the 
 editor to be the meaning of these passages in the old ballads.
 
 176 
 
 LAMKIN.* 
 
 It's Lamkin was a mason good, 
 As ever built wi' stane ; 
 
 He built lord Wearie's castle. 
 But payment got he nane. 
 
 11 O pay me, lord Wearie \ 
 Come, pay me my fee." 
 
 <( I canna pay you, Lamkin, 
 For I maun sano: o'er the sea." 
 
 pay me now, lord Wearie ; 
 Come, pay me out o' hand." 
 
 1 canna pay you, Lamkin, 
 Unless I sell mv land." 
 
 * This piece was transmitted to the editor by Mrs Brown ; 
 and is much more perfect and uniform than the copy printed 
 in the Edinburgh Collection, edited by Mr Herd.
 
 177 
 
 " O, gin ye winna pay me, 
 
 I here sail mak a vow, 
 Before that ye come hame again, 
 
 Ye sail ha'e cause to rue." 
 
 Lord Wearie got a bonny ship, 
 To sail the saut sea faem ; 
 
 Bade his lady weel the castle keep, 
 Ay till he should come hame. 
 
 But the nourice was a fause limmer 
 
 As e'er hung on a tree ; 
 She laid a plot wi' Lamkin, 
 
 Whan her lord was o'er the sea. 
 
 She laid a plot wi' Lamkin, 
 When the servants were awa'; 
 
 Loot him in at a little shot window, 
 And brought him to the ha'. 
 
 " O, whare's a' the men o' this house, 
 
 That ca' me Lamkin?" 
 " They're at the barnwell thrashing, 
 
 'Twill be king ere they come in." 
 
 vol. i. . M
 
 178 
 
 u And whare's the women o' this house. 
 
 That ca' me Lamkin :" 
 " They're at the far well washing ; 
 
 'Twill he lang ere they come in." 
 
 " And whare's the hairns o' this houses 
 
 That ca' me Lamkin ?" 
 • c They're at the school reading; 
 
 'Twill he night or they come hame." 
 
 •' O, whare's the lady o' this house,, 
 
 That ca's me Lamkin r" 
 " She's up in her bovver sewing, 
 
 But we soon can brine: her down." 
 
 Then Lamkin's tane a sharp knife, 
 That hang down by his gaire, 
 
 And he has gi'en the bonny babe 
 A deep wound and a sair. 
 
 Then Lamkin he rocked, 
 And the fause nourice sang, 
 
 Till frae ilkae bore o' the cradle 
 The red blood out sprang.
 
 179 
 
 Then out it spak the lady, 
 As she stood on the stair, 
 
 <c What ails my bairn, nourice, 
 That he's greeting sae sair ? 
 
 " O still my bairn, nourice ; 
 
 O still him vvi' the pap !" 
 " He winna still, lady, 
 
 For this, nor for that." 
 
 <c O, still my bairn, nourice ; 
 
 O, still him wi* the wand !" 
 " He winna still, lady, 
 
 For a' his father's land." 
 
 " O, still my bairn, nourice ; 
 
 O, still him wi' the bell !" 
 " He winna still, lady, 
 
 Till ye come down yoursel." 
 
 O, the firsten step she steppit, 
 She steppit on a stane ; 
 
 But the neisten step she steppit, 
 She met him, Lamkin. 
 
 i
 
 180 
 
 ** O mercy, mercy, Lamkin ! 
 
 Ha'c mercy upon me ! 
 Though you've ta'en my young son's life, 
 
 \ e mav let mvsel be." 
 
 " O, sail I kill her, nourice ? 
 
 Or sail I lather be:" 
 "' O, kill her, kill her, Lamkin, 
 
 For she ne'er was good to me." 
 
 " O scour the bason, nourice, 
 And mak it fair and clean, 
 
 For to keep this lady's heart's blood, 
 For she's come o' noble kin." 
 
 u There need nae bason, Lamkin ; 
 
 Lat it run through the floor; 
 What better is the heart's blood 
 
 O' the rich than o' the poor." 
 
 Bnt ere three months were at an end 
 Lord Wearie came again; 
 
 But dowie dowie was his heart 
 When lirst lie came haine.
 
 181 
 
 " O, wha's blood is this/' lie says, 
 " That lies in the chamer :" 
 
 i! It is your lady's heart's blood ; 
 'Tis as clear as the lamer." 
 
 " And wha's blood is this," he says^ 
 
 " That lies in my ha' r" 
 " It is your young son's heart's blood 
 
 'Tis the clearest ava." 
 
 O, sweetly sang the black-bird 
 
 That sat upon the tree; 
 But sairer grat Lam kin, 
 
 When he was condemn'd to die. 
 
 And bonny sang the mavis 
 Out o' the thorny brake ; 
 
 But sairer grat the nourice, 
 
 When she was tied to the stake.
 
 BALLAD 
 
 ON 
 
 THE DEATH OF QUEEN JANE. 
 
 MOTHER TO 
 
 EDWARD VI. OF ENGLAND. 
 
 from two Fragments ; one transmitted from Arbroath, and 
 another from Edinburgh. 
 
 Queen Jeany has travel'd for three days and more, 
 Till the ladies were weary, and quite gave her o'er. 
 " O ladies, O ladies, do this thing for me, 
 To send for king Henry to come and see me." 
 
 King Henry was sent for, and sat by her bed-side : 
 " Why weep you, queen Jeany, your eyes are so red ?'* 
 " O Henry, O Henry, do this one thing for me; 
 Let my side straight be open'd, and save my babie."
 
 183 
 
 (< O Jeany, O Jeany, this never will do ; 
 It will leese thy sweet life, and thy young babic too.' 1 
 She wept and she wailed, till she fell in a swoon : 
 Her side it was opened, the babie was found. 
 
 Prince Edward was christened with joy and with 
 
 mirth ; 
 But the flower of fair England lies cold in the earth. 
 O black was king Henry, and black were his men, 
 And black was the steed that king Henry rode on. 
 
 And black were the ladies, and black were their fans, 
 And black were the gloves that they wore on their 
 
 hands, 
 And black were the ribbands they wore on their heads, 
 And black were the pages, and black were the maids. 
 
 The trumpets they sounded, the cannons did roar; 
 But the flower of fair England shall flourish no more.,
 
 184 
 
 %* Among the miscellanies of queen Elizabeth, James I. and 
 Charles I. (F. 20 — 13), in the Antiquaries' Library, is " An epi- 
 taph upon the Deth of Kyng Edward," which begins thus : 
 
 A newe pleasure, 
 
 Gone is our treasure, 
 
 Morning mai be our mirth ; 
 For Edward, our King, 
 That rose did spring, 
 
 Is vaded, and lyeth in earth. 
 
 Therefore morne we may, 
 Both night and day, 
 
 And in hart we may be ful sad ; 
 Sence Brute came in, 
 Or at any time sence [sin ?] 
 
 The like treasure we never had. 
 
 But Death, with his darte, 
 Hath pcarced the harte 
 
 Of that prince most excellent : 
 The childe new borne- 
 May lament and inorne, 
 
 And for the death of him repent. 
 
 Gone is our joy, 
 
 Our sport, and our play ; 
 
 Our comfort is turned to care; 
 To Er.glandes great cost, 
 The jewel we have lost, 
 
 That with all Christendom might compare. 
 &C. &C. &c.
 
 BONNY BEE-HO'M. 
 
 Ihis fragment is given verbatim from Mrs Brown's MS. 
 The title of Bonny Bee-Ho'm, and the enchanted ring and 
 girdle, struck the editor's fancy; and he immediately set 
 about tilling up the chasms, with an intention of finishing 
 the piece in the same style. But cares, of a very different 
 nature, interrupted him, and he has never since felt any in- 
 clination to resume the subject. 
 
 The circumstance of the ring has been finely imitated 
 by Dr Leyden, in his exquisite tale of the " Maid of Co- 
 lonsay," in the third volume of the Border Minstrelsy. 
 Such devices frequently occur in the old romances, and 
 seem to be of oriental derivation. Of many examples, 
 which might be adduced, take the following from the 
 " Geste of Kyng Horn," 1. 55<).
 
 186* 
 
 Knyght, y may yleve the, 
 
 Why ant thou trewe be ', 
 
 Have her this gold ring, 
 
 Hit is ful god to thi dobbyng, 
 
 Ygraved is on the rynge 
 
 Rymenild thy luef the ynge; 
 
 Nis no betere under sonne, 
 
 That eny mon of conne ; 
 
 For mi love thou hit were, 
 
 And on thi fynger thou hit bere . 
 
 The ston haveth suche grace 
 
 ]\~e shalt thou in non place 
 
 Deth underfonge, 
 
 Ne buen yslaye with wronge, 
 
 Yef thou lokest theran, 
 
 And thenchest o' thi lemman : 
 
 And sire Athulf, thi brother, 
 
 He shal han en other. 
 
 J-'rom stanza 7 to stanza 17 inclusive, is an interpolation 
 by the editor. They are included within brackets.
 
 187 
 
 BONNY BEE-HO'M. 
 
 c By Arthur's dale as late I went, 
 
 I heard a heavy moan ; 
 I heard a lady lamenting sair, 
 
 And ay she cried, ' Ohon !' 
 
 <( Ohon, alas ! what shall I do, 
 Tormented night and day ? 
 
 I never loved a love but ane, 
 And now he's s;one avvav. 
 
 " But I will do for my true love 
 What ladies would think sair ; 
 
 For seven years shall come and gae, 
 Ere a kaime t^ac in niv hair.
 
 188 
 
 ••' There shall neither a shoe gae on m} r foot 
 
 Nor a kaime gae in my hair, 
 Nor ever a eoal or candle light 
 
 Shine in my bovver nae niair # . : 
 
 She thought her love had been on sea, 
 
 Fast sailing to Bee-Ho'm ; 
 But he was still in a quiet chamber 
 
 Hearing his lady's moan. 
 
 " Be hush'd, be hush'd, my lady dear ; 
 I pray thee moan not so ; 
 
 .For I am deep sworn on a book- 
 To Bee-Ho'm for to go. 
 
 * In a fragment in Mr Herd's Collection, vol. li. p. 2. the fol- 
 lowing stanza occurs: 
 
 " There shall neither coif come on mv head 
 
 Nor comb come m mv hair ; 
 There shall neither coal nor candle light 
 
 Shine in my bower nae niair. 
 
 " Nor will 1 love another love, 
 
 I; nil II the day L die ; 
 For I never loved a love but one, 
 
 And he's drowned in the sey."
 
 m 
 
 [" But be I here, or be I there, 
 
 A landwart, or at sea, 
 By Arthur Bank, and Arthur Burn, 
 
 My heart's true hanie shall be. 
 
 :f For thou, my early, only love, 
 
 My latest, dearest care, 
 Frae my leal heart shall never part, 
 
 Whereso that 1 may fare." 
 
 rf But oh ! Bee-llo'm is bonny," she says, 
 
 "And ladies fair and free, 
 Are there fu' moiiy a ane, to win 
 
 Thv dear lo'e'd heart frae me. 
 
 " Bee-Ho'm is bonny, bonny, my love,, 
 Whan the sun shines on the tree; 
 
 And jcllilv dance the damsels, 
 Blvthe-blinkin' in vour ee. 
 
 ■ % And Bee-Ho'm is merry and gay, my love 
 When the lights shine in Hie ha' ; 
 
 And love's sweet wiles ami ladies' smiles 
 Drive the dull hours awn'.
 
 190 
 
 " But oh ! in the weary winter, than 
 
 I'll be far distant here ; 
 And ye will need their winsome blinks 
 
 The langsome night to chear." 
 
 " O fearna, fearna, dearest mine. 
 Nor mak sic dowie chear ; 
 
 By Arthur Bank my heart shall bide, 
 And Arthur Burn sae clear. 
 
 " The beauties of my Arthur Bank 
 
 I'll fancy in Bee-Ho'm ; 
 And whan the bonniest maiden smiles, 
 
 Thou to my thought will come. 
 
 " And ever to my wakerife sense 
 Thy form will present be ; 
 
 And ever when I sleep, my saul 
 Flee to the bower to thee. 
 
 " And chear thee up, my love sae leal, 
 (And kist her cheek and chin) 
 
 Whare'er I fare, or here or there, 
 My heart wi' thee shall win."
 
 191 
 
 " O blissins on my ain clear lord, 
 
 Was ay sae kind to me ; 
 Though sair my heart, ski we maun part, 
 
 My blissin' gang 30U wi'."] 
 
 She's gien him a chain o' the beaten goud, 
 And a ring with a ruby stone ; 
 
 '' As lang as this chain your body binds, 
 Your blood can never be drawn. 
 
 " But gin this ring should fade or fail, 
 Or the stone should ehange its hue, 
 
 Be sure vour love is dead and gone, 
 Or siie has proved untrue. 
 
 # * * # # 
 
 He had not been at bonny Bee-Ho'm 
 A twelvemonth and a day, 
 
 Till, looking on his gay gold ring, 
 The stone grew dark and gniy. 
 
 c< O, ye tak my riehes to Bee-Ho'm, 
 
 And deal them presentlie, 
 To the young that canna, the aid that manna. 
 
 The blind that dovvna sec
 
 192 
 
 Now Death has come intill his bower, 
 And split his heart in twain ; 
 
 Sae their twa sauls flew up to heaven, 
 And there shall ever remain.
 
 193 
 
 LORD KENNETH 
 
 FAIR ELLINOUR. 
 
 Ik August, 1799) the editor, to save the trouble of tran- 
 scribing, and, at the same time, shew a few of his literary 
 correspondents how he was employing his leisure hours, 
 got a few copies of this little piece printed along with 
 " Donul and Evir," on a sheet of letter-paper, for the 
 convenience of being sent by the post. To that copy was 
 prefixed this short notice : iC The author remembers ha- 
 ving, when a child, heard a silly ditty of a young man, 
 who, returning homeward from shooting with his gun, saw 
 his sweetheart, and skot her for a swan. This is all he 
 remembers of this piece, of which he has not been able to 
 procure a copy." A considerable time after, he was fa- 
 voured with the rude original of " Peggy Baun," (i. c. 
 fair-haired Peggy) by his much-valued friend, professor 
 Scott, of King's College, Aberdeen, to whose zeal, industry, 
 and politeness, he owes, either directly or indirectly, the 
 greater part of the best traditionary ballads in this col lee- 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 
 
 tion. It was taken from the recitation of one of his maid- 
 servants ; and, indeed, it is fit only for the nursery. In 
 it, the unlucky sportsman runs home to his father, and 
 tells him what he has done, and that he will "run his coun- 
 try." 
 
 Out spak his old father, 
 
 (His head it was grey) 
 " O, keep your ain country, 
 
 My son," he did say. 
 
 " O, keep your ain country ; 
 Let your trial conic on, &c. 
 
 She appeared to her uncle, 
 
 And to him said she, 
 " O uncle, dear uncle, 
 
 Jamie Warick is free. 
 
 " Ye'll neither hang him nor head him, 
 
 Nor do him any wrong ; 
 Be kind to my darling, 
 
 Now since I am gone. 
 
 " For once as I was walking, 
 
 It fell a shower of rain ; 
 I went under the hedging, 
 
 The rain for to shun. 
 
 " As he was a-huntirvg, 
 
 With his dog and his gun, 
 By my white apron, 
 
 He took me for a swan." 
 
 This seems to be one of the very lowest description of 
 vulgar modern English ballads, which are sung about the 
 
 streets in country towns, and sold, four or five for a half- 
 
 1
 
 195 
 
 penny, to maid-servants and children ; and I owe an apo- 
 logy to my readers for attempting to introduce such paltry 
 stuff to their notice ; but one of my classical friends, on 
 reading " Lord Kenneth," asked me whether I had not 
 Ovid's beautiful and romantic story of Procris and Aura 
 in my eye, when I wrote it. Had that been the case, I 
 ought certainly to have made something better of it than I 
 have done ; but I most assuredly thought as little of Pro- 
 cris and Aura, when I was writing " Lord Kenneth," as 
 did the great author of " Peggy Baun." A lover killing 
 his mistress, a grey-headed old father, and a ghost, seemed 
 very fine things to a child of five or six years old ; and I re- 
 membered the story long after I had forgot the terms in 
 which it was conveyed.
 
 196 
 
 LORD KENNETH 
 
 FAIR ELLINOUR. 
 
 Lord Kenneth, in a gay morning 
 Pat on the <i;oud and ";reen ; 
 
 And never had a cornlier youth 
 Don, Spey, or Lossie seen. 
 
 He's i>reathit him fu' ijallantlie, 
 
 Wi' a' his tackle yare ; 
 Syne, like a baron bauld and free, 
 
 To gude green wood can fare. 
 
 The rae-bnck startit frac his lair 
 The girsie hows amang; 
 
 But ne'er his sleekie marrow faad, 
 An Kenneth's bow mat twang.
 
 197 
 
 Frae out the haslie holt the deer 
 Sprang glancing thro' the schaw ; 
 
 But little did their light feet boot, 
 An he his bow mat draw. 
 
 The caiper-caillie and tarmachin 
 Craw'd crouse on hill and rauir ; 
 
 But mony a gorie wing or e'en 
 Shaw'd Kenneth's flane was sure. 
 
 He shot them east, he shot them west, 
 The black cock and the brown ; 
 
 He shot them on hill, moss, and muir, 
 Till the sun was gangin' down. 
 
 He shot them up, he shot them down, 
 
 The deer but and the rae ; 
 And he has scour'd the gude green wood 
 
 Till to-fall o' the day. 
 
 The quarry till his menyie he 
 Has gie'n herewith to bear ; 
 
 Syne, lanelie by the lover's lamp, 
 Thro' frith and fell can fare.
 
 198 
 
 And blythe he fure, and merrilie ; 
 
 I wate he thocht na lang, 
 While o' his winsome Ellinour 
 
 With lightsome heart he sang. 
 
 And wee! he mat, for Ellinour 
 
 Had set the bride-ale dav; 
 And Ellinour had ne'er a feer 
 
 In Bad'nach or Strathspey. 
 
 And as he near'd her bigly bower, 
 
 The fainer ay he grew ; 
 The primrose bank, the burn, the bield, 
 
 Whare they had been to view. 
 
 And he had passed the birken heugh. 
 And clipt and kist the tree, 
 
 That heard the blushing Ellinour 
 Consent his bride to be. 
 
 And now he raught the glassie lin, 
 And thro' the saughs sae grey j 
 
 He saw what kithed a milk-white swan, 
 That there did sport and play.
 
 199 
 
 Fair swell' d her bosom o'er the broo, 
 
 As driven snaw to see ; — 
 He shot — o'er true to Kenneth's hand, 
 
 The deadly rlane did flee ! 
 
 A shriek he heard ; and swithe a graen 
 
 Sank gugglin in the wave ! 
 Aghast, he ran, he sprang, he wist 
 
 Nor what nor wha to save ! 
 
 But oh ! the teen o' Kenneth's heart, 
 What tongue can mind to tell ? 
 
 He drew the dead corse to the strand ; 
 'Twas Ellinour hersell !
 
 200 
 
 FAIR HELEN 
 
 OF 
 
 KIRKCONNEL-LEE. 
 
 J- he romantic and affecting story of Fair Helen of Kirk- 
 connel, may be found detailed at large in " Pennant's Tour 
 in Scotland," vol. ii. p, 101 ; in Sir John Sinclair's "Statis- 
 tical Account of Scotland," vol. xiii. p. Q~o ', in Ritson's 
 " Scotish Songs," vol. i. p. 145 ; and in the " Minstrelsy 
 of the Scottish Border," vol. i. p. S9- These publications 
 deserve so well to be known, and are so well known, that 
 it were needless to repeat any more of the tradition here 
 than is hinted in the text of the ballad. 
 
 The copy, now presented to the reader, is from the Sta- 
 tistical Account above referred to, which was the first that 
 fell into the editor's hands, and of which alone lie availed 
 himself in an attempt to embellish this story, which he 
 made a good many years ago, and has now subjoined.
 
 £01 
 
 After the beautiful and pathetic song by Mr Pinkerton,f 
 (0, si sic omnia ! ) some apology may be deemed necessary 
 for thus presuming to solicit the attention of the public to 
 a subsequent production on the subject. 
 
 It never was the intention of the present writer to enter 
 the lists as a poetical competitor with Mr Pinkerton. The 
 merit to which he aspired was of a different kind ; and if he 
 has at all attained what he aimed at, it were invidious to 
 weigh him in a balance not adjusted according to his own 
 standard. Mr Pinkerton's song, although exquisite in itself, 
 is neither Scotish, nor adapted to the legitimate air, which is 
 very pathetic ; and, notwithstanding it is said to be from tra- 
 dition, it contains only two lines of those which have been 
 handed down to us as original ; nor is the most interesting 
 circumstance, that of Helen having been killed in attempt- 
 ing to save her lover, at all hinted at. The original owes 
 its pathos and effect chiefly to the subject, and in no small 
 degree to its natural simplicity and want of variety. In 
 real grief, such as that which is there described, there is a 
 monotony, which poets, who write at their leisure and at 
 their case, are too apt to endeavour to avoid, instead ot 
 imitating ; but nothing can be more affecting, than the 
 strong impression which remains upon the imagination of 
 the unfortunate lover, of the last fatal scene, with all its 
 horrid circumstances, which are ever before his eyes ; and 
 his ardent aspirations after that peace which she now en- 
 
 t Se« "Tragic Ballads," p. 109.
 
 202 
 
 joys, and which he can hope for only with her in the 
 tomb. 
 
 Yet with all these advantages, the composition is cer- 
 tainly in some instances mean, and unworthy both of the 
 subject and of the air to which it has given name and cele- 
 brity. It was therefore imagined, that it might not be un- 
 acceptable to the lovers of Scotish melody and song, to have 
 an elegy in the Scotish dialect, as nearly as might be in 
 the manner of the original, and containing every line that 
 was worth preserving, and as little as possible of what was 
 exceptionable. How far that, which is now to be produ- 
 ced, may be found to answer this description, every one 
 will decide for himself; that it was well meant, few, it is 
 hoped, will question.
 
 SOS 
 
 FAIR HELEN 
 
 OF 
 
 KIRKCONNEL-LEE. 
 
 Curst be the hand that shot the shot, 
 Likewise the <j - un that crave the craek : 
 Into my arms bird Helen lap, 
 
 And died for sake of me. 
 O thinkna ye my heart was sair! 
 My love sunk down, and spak nae mair; 
 There did she swoon wi' miekle care, 
 
 On fair Kirconnel-lee. 
 
 I lighted down, my sword did draw, 
 I cutted him in pieces sma' ; 
 I cutted him in pieces sma' 
 
 On fair Kirconnel-lee. 
 O Helen chaste, thou wert modest, 
 Were I with thee, I would be blest, 
 Where thou liest low, and art at rest, 
 
 On fair Kirconnel-lee.
 
 204 
 
 Helen, fair without compare ! 
 I'll wear a garland of thy hair 
 Shall cover me for evermair, 
 
 Until the day I die. 
 
 1 wish I were where I have been, 
 Embracing of my love Helen : 
 
 At Venus' games we've been right keen 
 On fair Kirkconnel-lee. 
 
 I wish my grave were growing green, 
 A winding sheet put o'er my een, 
 And I in Helen's arms lyin' 
 
 On fair Kirkconnel-lee! 
 I wish I were where Helen lies, 
 Where night and day on me she cries ; 
 I wish I were where Helen lies 
 
 On fair Kirkconnel-lee !
 
 C 20S 
 
 FAIR HELEN 
 
 or 
 
 KIRKCONNEL-LEE. 
 
 BY THE ED1TOK. 
 
 I wish I were where Helen lies; 
 Night and day on me she cries ; 
 O, gin I were where Helen lies, 
 
 In fair Kirkconnel-lee ! 
 Tho' past five years o' heavy care 
 Sin' she was lost for evermair, 
 Her image in this breast I bear, 
 
 And will do till 1 die. 
 
 The flowery bank, the burn, the shaw, 
 What heart-felt bliss they umwhile saw, 
 Whan love to love, and faith, ga'e a' 
 
 The tender heart could gi'e ! 
 O, were in that ance happy shade 
 This aching head again but laid, 
 Where now she's lown aiming the dead, 
 
 In fair Kirkconnel-lee !
 
 e 206 
 
 Curst was the hand that wrought the ill, 
 Arid curst was he her blood did spill ; 
 My arms bird Helen lap in till, 
 
 And died for sake o' me. 
 O, thinkna but my heart was sair ! 
 Whan I should been the victim there, 
 My love fell down, and spak nae mail* 
 
 On fair Kirkconnel-lee. 
 
 I started up, my 'glaive I drew, 
 
 The felon I in pieces hew; — 
 
 But oh ! tho' it was revenge for you, 
 
 'Twas sma' solace to me ; 
 For, Helen, thou'rt for ever gaue, 
 And in this warld I stand alane, 
 And maun be, till to thee I'm ta'en 
 
 In fair Kirkconnel-lee. 
 
 Calm is thy breast, O Helen chaste ! 
 Gin I were with thee, I were blest, 
 Where thou Jiest laigh, and art at rest 
 
 In fair Kirkconncl-lce ! 
 But rest or joy for me is nane, 
 While far awa' 1 sicli and mane, 
 Till laid by thy dear side again 
 
 In fair Kirkconnel-lee.
 
 207 
 
 " O gin wi' thee, regretted maid ! 
 I in the mools at saught were laid, 
 And the green truff closed o'er my head, 
 
 On fair Kirkconnel-lee ! 
 I wish I were where Helen lies, 
 Night and day on me she cries ; — 
 O, gin I were where Helen lies, 
 
 In fair Kirkconnel-lee !
 
 208 
 
 THE 
 
 MER-MAN, 
 
 AND 
 
 MARSTIG'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 Translated from the Danish.— See Kccmpe Viscr. ed. l(>95, 
 p. 759. 
 
 In the translations of " The Mer-man," " Sir Oluf," 
 and " Elfer Hill," I have shewn no ambition to rival Mr 
 Lewis. The branch of the Tree of Knowledge, with which 
 that gentleman has presented his readers, bears aurca, non 
 sua, pom a. It is my purpose to offer it to my countrymen 
 as nearly as possible in the exact state in which it grew 
 amid the rocks of Norway, and in the vallies of Jutland. 
 I have therefore, endeavoured to do for these ballads no 
 more than seems to have been done in " The North Coun- 
 trie'' for such tales as the Cimbrileft behind them, or com- 
 posed, in that quarter. I have merely adapted their dia- 
 lect to the usage of the day. This seems to me to be the
 
 L 209 
 
 proper manner of Albinizing Scandinavian poetry. Let 
 Reiner Lodbrog still drink his ale, to sued his liaise, out of 
 ahum-shell; for a goblet of cut glass would be out of 
 character in so robust a hand. 
 
 So scrupulous have I been in faithfully rendering these 
 pieces, that I have commonly preserved most of the origi- 
 nal words, with only a slight alteration of the orthography, 
 and sometimes of the arrangement; so that my version 
 may be nearly as intelligible to a Dane or Swede, as to a 
 Scotsman. Nor have I the least apprehension, that this af- 
 firmation will provoke any judicious and liberal critic to 
 be witty at the expence of my perspicuity. No one, that 
 has not a radical knowledge of the. Scotish dialect, can be a 
 fair and competent judge in this case ; and those who have, 
 will, 1 flatter myself, easily comprehend all I have writ- 
 ten ; and. if they have never made the Cambric language 
 the subject of particular attention, they will be surprised 
 to find, that, after such a series of years and of events, it 
 has undergone so little change as it has done in Scotland. 
 
 I am sensible that some little stiffness may be observed 
 in the translations; but that was unavoidable, as I studied 
 to illustrate, and not to embellish. As the occasional irre- 
 gularities of the measure, and inaccuracies of the rhymes, 
 are studiously copied from the originals, I hope they will 
 bring no unfavourable imputation upon my taste, judge- 
 ment, or industry. 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 210 
 
 MER-MAN, 
 
 MARSTIG'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 J\ ow rede me, dear mither, a sonsy rede ; 
 A sonsy rede swythe rede to me ; 
 How Marstig's daughter I may fa', 
 My love and leminan gay to be." 
 
 She's made him a steed o' the clear water 
 A saddle and bridle o' sand made she ; 
 
 She's shap'd him into a knight sae fair, 
 Syne into Mary's kirk-yard rade lie. 
 
 He's tied his steed to the kirk-stile, 
 
 Syne wrang-gaites round the kirk gacd he ; 
 
 When the Mer-Man entered the kirk-door, 
 Awa the sma' images turned their e'e.
 
 211 
 
 The priest afore the altar stood : 
 
 " O what for a gude knight may this be:' ; 
 The may leugh till hersell, and said, 
 
 (i God gif that gude knight were for me !" 
 
 The Mer-man he stept o'er ae deas, 
 And he has steppit over three : 
 
 <{ O maiden, pledge me faith and troth ! 
 O Mars tig's daughter, gang wi' me !" 
 
 And she raught out her lily hand, 
 
 And pledged it to the knight sae free: 
 
 " Hue ; there's my faith and troth, sir knight. 
 And willingly I'll gang wi' thee." 
 
 Out frae the kirk gaed the bridal train, 
 And on they danced wi' fearless glee : 
 
 And down they danced unto the strand, 
 Till twasome now alane they be: 
 
 " O Marstig's daughter, hand my steed, 
 And the bonniest ship I'll bigg for thee. 
 
 And whan they came to the white sand, 
 To shore the stria' hoats turning came : 
 
 And whan they came to the deep water, 
 The maiden sank in ihc saut sea iaem.
 
 212 
 
 The shriek she shriek'd amang the waves 
 Was heard far up upo' the land : 
 
 " I rede gude ladies, ane and a', 
 They dance wi' nae sic unca man."
 
 •21 
 
 XOTES 
 
 THE MER-MAN. 
 
 P. 210. v. 3. " urang gaites ;" in the Dan. avet om, i. c. rvrong- 
 zcai/s about. This may signify either backward, or what the 
 Scots call uiddershins, in a direction contrary to the apparent 
 motion ot" the sun ; a kind of motion of mighty efficacy in all in- 
 cantations, 
 
 P. 211. v. 1. " leugh till hcrsel ;" in the oris:, smiler under 
 skind, i.e. smiled under In r covering, or dress; a form of 
 speech constantly occurring in the Danish ballads, as does wi- 
 ther weed, ami anther At//, ike. in the old English romances. 
 
 P. 211. v. 2. " Deas;"in the Dan. stole, which, among other 
 things, denominates a pew in church, which, in the north of 
 Scotland, is still called a dens; as is also the long nettle, or sit- 
 ter, commonly met with in old farm-houses in England and 
 Scotland. J)eas was, perhaps, at first, only a corruption of the 
 Latin series, a seat. 
 
 1 remember having seen in the hall of the ruined castle of 
 Elan Stalker, in the district of Appin, an old oaken (leas, which 
 was so contrived as to 'ervc for a sittcc ; at meal-tune.-' the
 
 214 
 
 back was turned over, rested upon the arms, and became a 
 table ; and at night the seat was raised up, and displayed a 
 commodious bed for four persons, two and two, feet to feet, to 
 sleep in. 
 
 I was told, that this kind of deas was formerly common in 
 the hails of great houses, where such ceconomy, with respect to 
 bed-room, was very necessary. 
 
 I' 2\Q. v. 1. "They dance,'' ecc. in the orisz. "They dance not 
 with much pride;" i. e. be not so fond of shewing off their tine 
 dancing, as to let their heels run away with their heads, and get 
 beyond their depth, as rMarstig's daughter did. — " I rede ^udt 
 ladies, ane and a," not to forget this ! 
 
 " These mer-inen," says the editor of the K. Viser, " who 
 were formerly said to carry off people and drown them, were 
 called Nyckcr. But, through the knowledge of the Gospel, such 
 goblins disappear ay more and more, so that people now heai 
 nothing of them." 
 
 This mer-man, who so slyly nick'd Marstig's daughter, can- 
 not, with propriety, be deemed a water-king, water-sprite, or 
 water-fiend. Although an inhabitant of the waters, he was not 
 the sole lord of the element ; and although mer-men and mer- 
 women were endowed with long life and supernatural powers, 
 their substance was neither aerial nor aqueous. Their power 
 of assuming different forms, was no more than is enjoyed by 
 every old woman, who can turn herself into a cat or a magpie. 
 Danish ballad authority is all that we are concerned with at 
 present ; and if that may be admitted, they were of flesh and 
 blood like men, with human feelings and affections; and their 
 maligmtv was chiefly experienced by those, who cither slight- 
 ed their love, or provoked their resentment. That they were 
 often friendly to mankind, and that, even when grossly in- 
 jured, they were not always, in the opinion of their historians, 
 destitute of principle and honour, will appear from the follow- 
 ing legends. 
 
 The Hero Hogen, (" K. Viser," p. .3.3.) setting out on an ex- 
 pedition, as he is about to step on board, finds a mer-maid
 
 21. 
 
 sleeping on the beech. He wakes her, flatters her, calls her a 
 fair and lovely female, and sooth-saying woman ; and requests 
 her to spae his fortune. She gives him very sensible and 
 friendly advice to avoid his fate, but dissuades him from his 
 intended expedition, d'tra canensjata, if he persists. Enraged 
 and disappointed, he draws his sword, and strikes off her head. 
 The bloody head rolls into the water, the body crawls after, 
 and they are united again at the bottom of the sea. The event 
 verities her predictions. 
 
 Proud Kllen-liilc, (" K. Viser," p. 101.) the king of Iceland's 
 daughter, was stolen awav from her mother. A ship was built, 
 and Young Roland, her youngest brother, sets out in search oi 
 hev. After sailing eight years, the ship founders in a storm, 
 and all are drowned except Young Roland, who lands on a 
 green island, where was a castle, in which he tinds his sister. 
 She tells him, if he had a hundred and a thousand lives, they 
 will all 'be lost when the mer-man Rosmer comes in. Young 
 Roland hides himself in a corner. 
 
 Ftosnier lmme frae Zealand came, 
 
 And he took on to bann ; 
 " I smell in' well, by ray right hand, 
 
 lii.it here is a Christian man '." 
 
 " There flew a craw out o'er the house. 
 
 YVi' a man's leg in his mouth ; 
 lit co'i-t ii in, and J co.ist il out, 
 
 As fast as e'er 1 couth." 
 
 But wiiylv she can Rosmar win, 
 
 Anil chipping linn teiulei^e : 
 " It's I, ere is come my sister's son ; 
 
 Gm I lose him, I'll die ! 
 
 " It's here is ci uy -.-: er's • n, 
 
 F c l-..rii ur : in r'- ' i:d : 
 My lord, 1 \e gi'( n him I'.ot!) and i. ••!>. 
 That ve will not liiiii hann."
 
 216 
 
 " And is lie come, thy' sister- son, 
 
 Frae thy lather's land to thee r 
 Then I will swear ray highest aith, 
 
 He's dree nae skaith trae nie." 
 
 Kosnicr takes the poor shivering shipwrecked Roland on hk< 
 knee, dandles him like a baby before the tire, and chips him till 
 lie is black and blue. Fear keeps Young Roland quiet ; but 
 Ellen interferes to prevent the consequences of such clumsy 
 kindness, and tells Rosmer to " remember that lie has not 
 small ringers, to clap so little a child." Rosmer desists ; and 
 Young Roland lives very happily in the castle during two years, 
 at the end of winch Proud Ellen finds herself with child by 
 him. It would seem that no sexual intercourse subsisted be- 
 tween Ellen and the gigantic mer-man with the great fingers, 
 or that such intercourse could not be productive; for she en- 
 tertains the most terrible apprehensions from Rosmer's wrath 
 when her situation is discovered. To avoid this, she tells the 
 mer-man, (who appears to have been an unsuspecting, good-na- 
 tured sort of a devil, and much the best Christian of the three.) 
 that her nephew is tired of living so long in the sea, and longs 
 to return to his country; and persuades the complaisant II;; f— 
 mand to give him a chest full of gold, in which she afterwards 
 secrets herself, and carry him to the land. Rosmer Hafmand 
 takes " young Roland under his arm, and the chest in his mouth," 
 and ^ets them flown on their native coast. Vomit: Roland 
 now tells him, that, as he is such a good fellow, and has given 
 him a chest of gold, and carried him back to his country, he 
 will tell him as a piece of news, that Proud Ellen is with bairn. 
 Rosmer is furiously enraged, and swears, that it' he had not 
 pledged his oath for his safety, he would drown him. " Ros- 
 mer sprang into the sea, and dashed the water up to the sky." 
 When he returned to his castle, and found that Ellen was gone, 
 " the tears ran, like a stream, down his cheeks;" and. through 
 grief and amazement, be became- {poetically, I suppose,) "a 
 whin-stane grey, and stood an insensible object." 
 
 Such is the outline' of the- story of three different ballads in the. 
 "' Krcmpc Viser," on the subject of Rosmer llafnuincl. which I in-
 
 <1\7 
 
 tend to translate ; as well as three concerning Hero Ilogen, and 
 the Mer-woman ; and two or three in which the Gain, A alrafn, 
 and Vomer Rafn, are introduced. Of these I mean t>"> set a 
 few copies printed for the curious, with such illustrations as I 
 can procure. 
 
 It may he observed, that there is a striking resemblance be- 
 tween the story of Rosmer Ilafnumd, and the romance of Child 
 Rowland (not vet entirely lost in Scotland), which is quoted by 
 j\Iad Tom in Shakespeare : 
 
 " Child Rowland to the dark tower came — 
 
 [_The Fair}/ comes in. 
 With fi, fi, lb, and fiuu ! 
 
 I smell the blood of a British man ! 
 Be lie dead, be he living, wi' my brand 
 
 I'll clash his hams l'rae his harn-pan I" 
 
 The British story is much liner, in every respect, than the 
 Danish; and the conduct of Child Rowland (the youngest son 
 of Kins Arthur of merry Carlisle,) much more honourable and 
 manlv than that of his Icelandic namesake. Instead of creep- 
 ins into a corner to hide himself, he starts upon his less, draws 
 bis father's good sword Excalibar, (or, as the Scots not very im- 
 properly recite it, his father's sude clavmorc;. anil exclaims, 
 " Strike then, bogle of hell, if thou darest !" A short, but fu- 
 rious combat ensues, and the elf-kins; is felled to the ground. 
 Child Rowland spares him, on condition that he will liberate 
 his sister, Fair Ellen, and restore to life his two elder brothers, 
 who lie dead in a corner of the hall : so thev all four return in 
 triumph to merry Carlisle. The failure of the two elder bro- 
 thers was owing to their not bavins strictly observed the in- 
 struction given them by Msnhliu Wyldt, whom they had con- 
 sulted. 
 
 Rut of this romance I shall speak more at large, when I set 
 about i! lu-t rating the story of Ro.->nicr Hafmand. 
 
 \- t i tin Danish term i\i/cl:c, I have ions been of opinion, 
 tha* both the Scotish and Danish j\'i:l; was orisinnilv no more 
 than; 1 phivtid abbreviation of the Latin A7»r/', which ha- tor
 
 218 
 
 many ages been understood all over Europe to mean, a black. 
 Ainsworth has derived the Latin, in his usual way, from the Greek 
 >c*-o;, mgrtuus ; mortui enim ?tigrescu?it : but this seems to bo 
 iregov 77£ot££oi<, putting the cart before the horse. The Greek 
 is more likely to have been derived from m«»), strife, war , and 
 vikvi; and v£xgo?,like the Latin necalus, most probably at first sig- 
 nified a person that had died by violence. Be this as it may, it 
 appears that the appellation of Nick, applied indiscriminately 
 by the Scots to Black Sancttis, the Prince of Darkness and Father 
 of Necromancy, is by the Danes appropriated exclusively to that 
 description of demi-gods of the waters, who, in many particu- 
 lars, approach very near to the character of the Water Kelpie. 
 Yet it may be observed, that although the Water Kelpie is ne- 
 ver called Nick ; the term Auld Nick is generally applied with 
 some allusion to such whimsical pranks and merry mischief 
 as the Kelpie also, when in good humour, is fond of indulging 
 in.
 
 219 
 
 SIR OLUF, 
 
 A\D T II E 
 
 ELF-KINGS DAUGHTER. 
 
 Translated from the Danish. — See " Kampc Viser," \r. 7-t-S. 
 
 Sir Oi.uf the hend has ridden sue wide, 
 All unto his bridal least to bid. 
 
 And lightly the elves, sae teat and free, 
 They dance all under the greenwood tree! 
 
 And there danced four, and there danced five ; 
 The Elf-King's daughter she reekit biiive. 
 
 Her hand to sir Oluf sae fair and free: 
 
 " O welcome, Mr Oluf, come dance \vi' me! 
 
 u O welcome, sir Oluf! now lat thv iov< gay 
 And. tread wi' me in the dance &ae Lniy."
 
 220 
 
 " To dance wi' thee ne dare I, ne may ; 
 The morn it is my bridal day." 
 
 " O come, sir Oluf, and dance \vi' me ; 
 Twa buckskin boots I'll give to thee ; 
 
 "Twa buckskin boots, that sit sae fair, 
 Wi' gilded spurs sae rich and rare. 
 
 " And hear ye, sir Oluf! come dance wi' me ; 
 And a silken sark I'll give to thee ; 
 
 " A silken sark sae white and fine, 
 
 That my mother bleached in the moonshine." 
 
 " I darena, I maunna come dance wi' thee ; 
 Tor the morn my bridal day maun be." 
 
 " O hear ye, sir Oluf! come dance wi' me, 
 And a helmet o' goud I'll give to thee." 
 
 " A helmet o' goud I well may ha'e ; 
 But dance wi' thee ne dare I, ne may." 
 
 " And winna thou dance, sir Oluf, wi' me r 
 Then sickness and pain shall follow thee !" 
 
 She's smitten sir Oluf — it strak to his heart : 
 He never before had kent sic a smart ;
 
 221 
 
 Then lifted him up on his ambler red ; 
 
 " And now, sir Oluf, ride hame to thy bride.'" 
 
 And whan he came till the castell yett, 
 His mither she stood and leant thereat. 
 
 " O hear ye, sir Oluf, my ain dear son, 
 Whareto is your lire sae blae and wan r" 
 
 " O well may my lire be wan and blae, 
 For ,1 ha'e been in the elf-womens' play." 
 
 <c O hear ye, sir Oluf, my son, my pride, 
 And what shall I say to thy young bride ?" 
 
 " Ye'll say, that I've ridden but into the wood, 
 To prieve gin my horse and hounds are good." 
 
 Ear on the morn, whan night was gane, 
 The bride she cam wi' the bridal train. 
 
 They skinked the mead, and they skinked the wine 
 " O whare is sir Oluf, bridegroom miner" 
 
 " Sir Oluf has ridden but into the wood, 
 
 To prieve gin his horse and hounds are good. 
 
 And she took up the scarlet red, 
 
 And there lay sir Oluf, and he was dead !
 
 222 
 
 Ear on the morn, whan it was day, 
 
 Three likes were ta'en frae the castle away ; 
 
 Sir Oluf the leal, and his bride sae fair, 
 
 And his mither, that died wi' sorrow and care, 
 
 And lightly the elves sae feat and free, 
 They dance all under the greenwood tree !
 
 223 
 
 NOTES 
 
 SIR OLUF AND THE ELF-KING'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 P. 219. v. 2. " And lightly, cv'c." In the original this burden 
 seems to ha\e belonged to some elder ballad, which was sung to 
 the same tune ; but as it makes something like a connection be- 
 tween the first and second coupler, I have introduced it as cha- 
 racteristically as I could. The greater part of the ballads in 
 the " K. Viser," as well as many of the traditionary Scotish ones, 
 have burdens of this kind, which have no relation to the sense 
 of the stanzas to which they are annexed ; although they are 
 such as may be supposed to have continued the sense, as well 
 as the sound, in the pieces to which they originally belonged, 
 
 P. '221. v. 0. " To prieve, <kc." At prave min hest, fyc. 
 
 P. 2 21. v. 10. " Hun tog op del skttrlagen reed, 
 ])<:?■ laa Her Oluf, og rar dad. 
 1'. 222. \. 1. " Aarlc <>/// morgen, dag dct rar, 
 
 Dcr kommc tre Lig af Her Dies guard!' 
 
 I have used the Scotish term like in its true sense, tor ? 
 cnr/isi laid nut. The Scotish tikc-nakt:, (curjts-v al:e, or the 
 ceremony still observed, of watching by a corpse j ha-, in t\.< : 
 north of I'.ni'land. been corrupted into latt-'wakt .
 
 " It was formerly held," says the reverend editor of 1695, 
 " and is still believed by the lower class of people, that there 
 was an elf-king in Stevens, and that there might no other king 
 come therein. But Frederick V. &c. ecc. have been here, and 
 brought that opinion to nought." 
 
 The ingenious commentator here presents us with a sonnet 
 on the subject, which he made in 1685 to his " Most Gracious 
 Lord Christian the Fifth, when, after his northern pi ogress, 
 over Dovrefield, where whilom the inhospitable Giant Dufra 
 lay, he made his entry into Stevens." 
 
 The sonnet is no worse than most other sonnets; but for 
 Andrew Say's credit, as well as my own, \ shall leave it for 
 those who wish to read the " K. V'Uer" m the original. 
 
 " The elf-king's daughter," says the commentator, •' and the 
 elf-ladies, and elf-women, as they are called, who betray man- 
 folks; and the Ellen, or Elven, who betray women-folks, are 
 goblins, who were formerly much talked ot ; out of whom, in 
 this clear light of the Gospel, one hears very little. 
 
 "They toil stories also about ell-bonks, which they used for- 
 merly to give to their favourites, by which they could spae anout 
 all manner of things to come. 
 
 " Those, who were carried away by them, were called Rile- 
 vild; and it is said of them, that Ellen lay with them, but this 
 Sir Oluf is here ill handled and elf-shot, (cl/eskudl), because he 
 would not be in the elvedance with the ellej'olk,"
 
 225 
 
 ELFER HILL, 
 
 Translated from the Danish.— See " Ktempe Viscr," p. 1. 70. 
 
 Teg lagde >nit Itofvet III Elver Hay, &-c. 
 
 I laid my haffet on Elfer Hill; 
 
 Salt -dooming cios'd my ee ; 
 And there twa selcouth* ladies came, 
 
 .Sac tain to speak to me. 
 
 Ane clappit me then, vvi' check sae white, 
 
 Atie rown'd intill mine car: 
 li Rise up, fair youth, and join our dance ; 
 
 Rise up, but doubt or tear! 
 
 Sj (eouflt, i. c. sckl-coutli, seldom known, strange, uncommon. 
 VOL- I. I'
 
 226 
 
 " Wake up, fair youth, and join the dance, 
 
 And we will tread the ring, 
 While mair nor eardly melody 
 
 My ladies for thee sin£." 
 
 Syne ane, the fairest may on mold, 
 
 Sae sweet a sang began ; 
 The hurling stream was still'd therewi' 
 
 Sae fast afore that ran. 
 
 The striving stream was still'd therewi', 
 
 Sae fast that wont to rin ; 
 The sma' fish, in the flood that swam, 
 
 Amo' their faes now blin.' 
 
 T1k j fishes a' in flood that were. 
 
 Lay still, baith fin and tail ; 
 The sma' fowls in the shaw began 
 
 To whitter * in the dale. 
 
 * To whitter, i. e. to warble in a low voice, as singing birds 
 always do at first, when they set about imitating any sweet 
 music, which particularly attracts their attention. The original 
 is : 
 
 Allc smaafule i Skofvcn Tare 
 Begynte at avidre i dale. 
 5
 
 u O hear, thou fair, thou vounff swain. 
 
 And thou wi' us will dwell ; 
 Then will we teach thee book and rune. 
 
 To read and write sac well. 
 
 " I'll lear thee how the bear to bind, 
 
 And fasten to the aik tree; 
 The dragon, that lio^s on miekle t>oud. 
 
 A tore thee fast shall flee." 
 
 They danced out, and they danced in. 
 In ihe Elfer ring sae green; 
 
 All silent sat the fair young swain, 
 And on his sword did lean. * 
 
 " Now bear, thou fair, thou young swain, 
 
 But and thou till us speak, 
 Then shall on sword and sharp knife 
 
 Thy dearest heart-blood reek." 
 
 * Og static sig paa nil sverd. 
 In the north of Scotland, lu sttct still signifies to prop, and a 
 itcct, a prop.
 
 228 
 
 Had God nae made my luck sae gudc 
 That the cock did \vap his wing, 
 
 I boot lia'e bidden on Elfer Hill, 
 In the Elf-ladies' ring. 
 
 " I rede the Danish young swains, 
 That to the court will ride, 
 
 That they ne'er ride to Elfer Hill, 
 Nor sleep upon its side."
 
 -29 
 
 THE WATER-WOMAN. 
 
 THE EDITOR, FROM THE GERMAN OF GOETHt,. 
 
 I he water roared, the water swelled ; 
 
 A fisherman sat by ; 
 And calm and cool at heart, he watch'd 
 
 His line with steady eye. 
 
 And while he sat, and while he look'd, 
 The heaving waves unclose ; 
 
 And out a humid female from 
 The troubled water rose. 
 
 She san»; to him — she said to him, 
 " Why dost thou wyle my brood 
 
 For your thin element of death 
 To quit the genial flood r"
 
 230 
 
 {t O knewst thou but how happy here 
 
 The little fishes dwell. 
 Thou wouldst come down e'en as thou art, 
 
 And then wouldst first be well ! 
 
 u Do not the sun and moon delight 
 Their beauties here to lave i 
 
 Seem not their beauties doubly fresh 
 Enliven' d bv the wave i 
 
 •' Does not the sky, within the deep, 
 More lovely tempt thy view ? 
 
 And thy own shade, that woo's thee in 
 To the everlasting; dew r" 
 
 The water roar'd, the water swell'd ; 
 
 It bathed his naked feet ; 
 His heart did yearn as it had ycarn'd 
 
 His love's embrace to meet. 
 
 She spoke to him, she sang to liim ; 
 
 Sae ley he grew, bedcen, 
 That half she drew him, half he sank, 
 
 And never more was seen.
 
 <231 
 
 *'^* An embellished paraphrase or' this ballad, by Mr Lewis, 
 lias been inserted in the " Talcs of Wonder," which would cer- 
 tainlv have superseded any attempt of the present editor to re- 
 commend it to English readers; but he considered it, from the 
 nature of the fable, as a proper companion for " Donul and 
 Evir," and '' The Wells of Slaines," several copies of wliich 
 he had procured from Scotland for collation, before he ex- 
 pected its publication to be anticipated by another. To at- 
 tempt to improve by amplification after Mr Lewis would be 
 presumptuous; and, in order to avoid all appearance of rival- 
 ship, and save himself from an invidious comparison so much 
 to his disadvantage, the editor has endeavoured to render the 
 simple and unadorned tale of Goethe into English, almost word 
 for word. In doing this, he is aware, that he has preserved 
 more of the German costume than will perhaps be agreeable to 
 all his English readers; but some, who do not understand Ger- 
 man, will not be displeased with the imitation for being so 
 close. It is singular, that a gentleman of Mr Lewis' abilities 
 should omit the ideas of the penultimate quatrain entirely.
 
 232 
 
 DONUL AND EVIR. 
 
 BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 Sud sgeula nam blianai a threig 
 
 Air bharraibk an sgcitlte dorcha. 
 
 Scan Dana, 12mo, p. 244. 
 
 Mark wull and goustie was the nicht, 
 And dreich the gaite to gae ; 
 
 And sair did Evir's heart misgi'e, 
 And heavy waxt and wae. 
 
 The storm was loud : in Oran-kirk 
 The bells they jow'd and rang; 
 
 The arms frae out the midnieht ha' 
 Sent up a deadly elang.
 
 •233 
 
 iC Ochon ! it is a fearfu' nicht 
 Sic saw I ne'er before; 
 
 And fearfu' will it be to me, 
 I'm erch, or a' be o'er. 
 
 " O Jesu, grant it turn to gude ! 
 
 My heart it quells \vi' fear, 
 Tlie siehts to see, the yowts to hear 
 
 That stound upon mine ear. 
 
 " Howe gusts o' wind, wi' mutter'd sounds, 
 A\ hisk round the rockin' tower; 
 
 Strange looks athort my winnock pass, 
 And dimly on me glowr. 
 
 ■'•' And hark ! what capul nicker'd proud r 
 Whase bugil gae that blast? 
 
 "YVas't he r" — -'Twas but the souchin wind 
 Through the lang ha' that past. 
 
 " That horn again! I come, I come ! 
 
 () God ! he'll Mire be ta'en!" — 
 Deep throuuh the busteous bubs o' niclit 
 
 Brak forth a stiuuulin grant.
 
 c 234> 
 
 Wi' felter'd tongue, and flichterin heart, 
 
 She to Sanct Oran prav'd ; 
 And fast, as down the stair she flew, 
 
 Her pater-noster said. 
 
 Swithe, sneck and bar and bowt she drew, 
 
 Wi' tentie hand and sure; 
 And past the moat, and through the schaw 
 
 And to the glen she fure. 
 
 And stintin thrice, she Donul * ca'd, 
 Weenin he had been near ; 
 
 But only the rouch and angry blast, 
 And howlet, could she hear. 
 
 And rouch was the blast, and dismal yowt* 
 
 Atwcen the howlet ga'e ; 
 And the wolf wow'd hideous on the hill, 
 
 Yowlin' frae slack to brae. 
 
 And on it cam frae the castle hyne, 
 The low sae dim and blue; 
 
 It glade on the richt, whare Lora ran, 
 And aghast to Evir's view. 
 
 * Don-uil, brown eve.
 
 235 
 
 Wi' hacfsit ee. and haw as death. 
 
 The auld spae-man # did stand ; 
 '' O Christ !" lie cried, whan, by the blink, 
 
 He saw the maid at hand — 
 
 iC O Christ thee save, dear lady mine; 
 
 O Christ thee save and see! 
 In the wild wood, at this fearfu' hour, 
 
 What can thy errand be ? 
 
 C( It's mony a fearfu' sicht I've seen, 
 And mony an elrich hour; 
 
 But siccan sicht^and sic a nicht, 
 Saw I never nane before. 
 
 " O hie, O hie thee to thy bower; 
 
 Hie thee, sweet lady, hame ; 
 For the Kelpie brim is out, and ley 
 
 Are some I darena name. 
 
 " And steek it weel, thy biglie bower, 
 And by the rood thee sain; 
 
 And tell thy bodes in haly guise, 
 Till this ae nicht is t>aue !" 
 
 '* Spcll-inaij ; prophet.
 
 236' 
 
 " O gentle Skuler ! * up the glen. 
 Hast thou a knicht or seen, 
 
 Or heard a hunter's bugle blaw 
 By Corrisicha's linn:"f 
 
 " Aye, lady, sooth, I knichts hae seen— 
 My limbs yet quak wi' tear ; 
 
 And sie a bugil blast I've heard 
 As quell'd my heart to hear. 
 
 " But eardly knicht was nane, nor breath 
 
 O' mortal blew that blast — 
 O save thee, save thee, gedftle may. 
 
 Till this sad nicht be past." 
 
 " The morn I wad a carlish knicht, 
 Or a haly cell maun drie ; 
 
 And to Corrisicha now I wend, 
 Whare mv true love waits tor me.' 
 
 * Sgeul 'cr, tlie man of tales. 
 
 f- Curri Sit/ichu, the round hollow valley of the Fairies, oi 
 Peaceable People, whom the Lowlanders call Sec It/ Wights.
 
 l 2S7 
 
 " O gangna, lady, gangna there! 
 
 I wierd ye, gangna there! 
 For, hut and this black hour he past, 
 
 I rede ve'll rue it sair. 
 
 " For they are oat ; — this is the hour — 
 
 Nae mail I dare to tell ; 
 But O, dear lady, gangna there 
 
 Till lilies the matin hell."* 
 
 " But he'll be there, my ain true love, 
 
 My Donul will he there; 
 And wha, come wee), come wae, hut I 
 
 My Donul's hap should share ? 
 
 " Yet say, O Skuler — for my heart 
 
 Within me dies \vi' fear; 
 And irie is, and sair forfairn 
 
 Thy bodin' dark to hear; 
 
 No evil spirit can continue within the sound of a roust 
 crated bell.
 
 238 
 
 " Say, for his sake that died on rood, 
 What fear sae troubleth thee ; 
 
 And what the doom sae dire, that thou 
 Poest wierd to mine or me r" 
 
 " Dire is the doom/' the wierd-man said ; 
 
 " Nae mair, O lady, speir ! 
 'Tis death to me their doom to tell ; 
 
 'Twcre death to thee to hear! 
 
 u I saw the sieht — the voice I heard — 
 
 This is the fatal hour ; 
 And there they in their blood will lie, 
 
 Maugre all human power !" 
 
 "'' O wha will lye," the maiden said ; 
 
 " O wha will lye, and whare ?" 
 " 'Tis death to me their names to tell 
 
 'Twere death to thee to hear. 
 
 <c But in their gore will in that den 
 This nicht the youths be laid ; 
 
 And thine will he the sairest heart 
 That ever mortal had.
 
 239 
 
 " And Oh, dear lady, gangna there,''' — 
 "A\v;i!" she cried," awa'! 
 
 I see, [ see the dread decree, 
 I hear the lethal ca' ! 
 
 " She that has lo'ed as Evir lo'es, 
 
 Nac widow's heart can bear; 
 
 Whate'er the danger ye ibrhodc, 
 
 Wi' them I'll meet it there." 
 
 The wierd-man sich'd. His widdert hands 
 
 He heaved in the air: 
 " Sin' Heaven will have it sae, in vain 
 
 A\ ere succour, rede, or prayer!" 
 
 A strange unsonsy tear wrochl down 
 
 The aged's furrovvy cheek ; 
 He hent the maiden by the hand, 
 
 And thus bespak her meek : 
 
 a Lady, I'm auld and -air forfairn, 
 
 A melancholy wicht ; 
 And thou, that wont to cheer mv eild 
 
 Wi' cordial kindness' light ;
 
 240 
 
 " Gin thy dear life wi' skaith now meet, 
 
 Sae dark my days wad be, 
 Wi' thee I'll gang, by thee I'll bide, 
 
 Whatso that I may dree."
 
 <U1 
 
 THE SECOND FIT. 
 
 Mark vvull and goustie was the nicht, 
 And dreich the gate to gae ; 
 
 And sair did Evir's heart misgi'e, 
 And heavy was, and wae. 
 
 Loud rair'd the wind frae rock to cave, 
 Sad vovvts the howlate sja'e ; 
 
 And the wood-wolf wow'd upon the hill, 
 \ owlin frae "lack to brae. 
 
 And fey and weary waxt the maid; 
 
 Cald sweat hang on her brow ; 
 Her rlouchtrous heart near brast wi' teen; 
 
 Her limbs fordweblit grew. 
 
 A\ han shook the card, and all about 
 A goustie murmur spread ; 
 
 And Lora, loud aboon the blast, 
 Rair'd o'er her rocky bed. 
 
 01.. I. Q
 
 *i42 
 
 And, tall as watch-tower's dubious bowk, 
 
 On Ardven* far and high, 
 Whan hunters on the rayless moon 
 
 Look through the misty sky; 
 
 Up-raise frae Corri-Linn the fiend, 
 
 Like ghaist of Fianf brim, 
 That strides frae craig to cleuch, hung round 
 
 Wi' gloamiu vapours dim. 
 
 Like moonshine on the icy loch, 
 Thin, cauld, and haw to see; 
 
 Braid as the warrior's buckler, glist 
 The Kelpie's glassy e'e. 
 
 In his richt hand a lichted brand 
 Did flicker in the gale, 
 
 That aft the wull nicht- wanderer 
 Has fleeched to his bale. 
 
 * Ard bhcin, high mountain. 
 
 + Fian, an hero of Fingal's days.
 
 i>43 
 
 A hugeous conch he in his left 
 
 Held, like a bugil horn, 
 Wi' whilk, frae some hie cleuch he ca's 
 The demons o' the storm. 
 
 Lurid and black, his giant steed 
 Scowl'd like a thunder-cloud ; 
 
 Blae as the levin glanst his mane ; 
 His een like aumers glow'd. 
 
 And the Kelpie swang his lowin brand, 
 And he blew his bugil horn, 
 
 Till, far and near, wood, rock, and cave, 
 The thunderin' reird return. 
 
 And up they raise, twa shadowes brim, 
 
 Frae tumblin Lora's bed, 
 Ilk horsed on a flaucht o' fire, 
 
 Dull, dismal, dark, and red. 
 
 And up o'er the Castell Keep they mount. 
 
 And hung o'er the barmkin high; 
 Like distant larum-lires, that glare 
 
 Through autumn's mirky sky.
 
 <244 
 
 And swithe, twa knichts and a maiden fair 
 
 Behind them Skuler suWj 
 As up the glen, to the dowie den, 
 
 They by him sailed slaw; 
 
 Till o'er the linn in ae wide blaze, 
 
 Confoundit, in a stound, 
 They vanish' d wi' an elrich yowt, 
 
 That did to quak the ground. 
 
 Vet but the hoverin flaughts o' fire 
 
 Did kythe to Evir then ; 
 Nor heard she but the yell, that shook 
 
 The Corri's dreary den. 
 
 i( O stint thee, lady; lady, stay !" 
 The tremblin' Skuler cried : 
 
 " O gangna to the Corri yet ; 
 Yet but a little bide. 
 
 • My horn I'll blaw; an' lie be there, 
 Thy love will bear the sound.'' — 
 
 He blew, till a' the wullsome waste 
 llebellowin' echoed round.
 
 245 
 
 The tod ran yowlin' frae the brae, 
 The wood-wolf frae the hill ; 
 
 And nickerin up the glen they hear 
 A wier-horse loud and shill. 
 
 Bilivc young Donul wound his horn; — 
 But scant the blast they knew, 
 
 When threatenin' loud ayont the know, 
 Anither biujil blew. 
 
 And clatterin hooves and busteous taunts 
 
 Brast on their startit ear; 
 And dushes, swithe, wi' heavy shog 
 
 O' bargane fierce they hear. 
 
 Like levin Evir ran — she flew — 
 The moon glent o'er Slia-mo'r; — 
 
 Lo ! Donul and sir Allan laid 
 In dead-thraw in their core! 
 
 Their valiant hearts were thirlit through 
 
 Athir wi' uthir's spear; 
 Graenin in mortal agony, 
 
 Their steeds were thratchin near.
 
 246 
 
 Laich lowtit Evir o'er her love, 
 Bestreekit on the ground ; 
 
 She saw death settle in his e'e, 
 The gory steel she found. 
 
 « O Allan, O my billy ! how 
 
 Could thou wirk us sik wae ?" 
 She, turning took her brithcr's hand ; — 
 
 'Twas damp, and dead as clay! 
 
 " Dead — they are dead, my love, my billy ! 
 
 " Sail Evir switherin stand r" — 
 She said, and drew her Donul's dirk — 
 
 The weird-man held her hand. 
 
 Up the high craig like wood she flew — 
 
 The feet o' eld were sla' ; — 
 He claucht to save, and down the clench 
 
 To endless nicht they fa*.
 
 SONGS 
 
 AND 
 
 BALLADS, 
 
 TRAGIC, HUMOROUS, 
 
 AND 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 PART SECOND.
 
 249 
 
 THE PRYORYS 
 
 HER THRE WOOYRS. 
 
 x\ " Tale of drewrie," from the patient, laborious, and 
 very productive pen of the good monk of Bury, whatever 
 its intrinsic merits ma} 1 be, must be an object of consider- 
 able curiosity to such as have paid attention to the rise and 
 progress of literature in England. But, independent of 
 its claims, from being the production of a man who has 
 deserved so well of his country, as an improver and polisher 
 of our language ; the following piece has in it so much of 
 character, as certainly justifies my attempting to preserve 
 it. It is full of incident and action, well contrived, and 
 carried on with great decorum and good humour, for the 
 attainment of a very laudable end. It may lie said, thai 
 the humour is low; but the refined wit of modern lime> 
 wa- nukii .v. n in i In: davs of Lyddite ; and it is quite in the.
 
 250 
 
 manner of the fabliaux of the French and Provencal poets, 
 which were then current all over Europe, and to which 
 the labours of Le Grand have of late imparted a second 
 existence, and given new celebrity. 
 
 That " The Pryorys" is the production of John Lyd- 
 gate, I have no better evidence than that of the old MS. 
 in the British Museum, (Harl. MS. 78.) from which I 
 copied it some years ago ; an authority, however, which I 
 feel not the least inclination to question. 
 
 In the conduct of the fable, it may be observed, that the 
 good monk has expressed against the wooers of the band- 
 some, sensible, and good-humoured prioress, nothing of 
 the stern, unfeeling, and uncharitable indignation and ab- 
 horrence, which is peculiar to those who have outlived 
 their better affections, or who never had them ; in whom 
 the stronger impulses of nature have diverged into a dif- 
 ferent channel ; or in whose hearts, the milk of human 
 kindness, being forbid to flow for its proper objects, has 
 become sour, rancorous, and corroding. The prioress, 
 conscious of her own charms, is neither surprised nor en- 
 raged, as many a prude would have affected to be, at find- 
 ing them produce their natural effects. She knew that 
 beauty raises admiration, admiration softens and ripens 
 into love, and love, in its very nature, includes the desire 
 of union with its object. It is true, the means which they 
 pursued for the attainment of this, were such as good sense 
 and virtue must disapprove of; and accordingly, we find 
 her punishing their forward libertinism in a manner the
 
 151 
 
 most effectual, at the same time that the ludicrous distress 
 into which she throws them, however mortifying it may be, 
 leaves them uninjured in their persons and in their for- 
 tunes, and much wiser and better, from the lesson they 
 have received. 
 
 Indeed the good-natured poet seems to have, at all times 1 ; 
 had much charity for those, whose aberrations from the nar- 
 row and thorny path that leads to perfection, are owing ra- 
 ther to weakness and irresolution, than to any positive, vici- 
 ousnessof disposition. Dan John, like the monk of his friend 
 and master Chaucer, was " ay kind to the wyftis," although 
 in a different way; and he seems to have had great respect 
 for their liner feelings, and many allowances to make for 
 the strong influence and effects of amorous attraction. 
 This is no more than is to be expected from a humane and 
 amiable poet, who had (probably before he well knew his 
 own heart) taken a vow of celibacy; and, feeling in himself 
 the irksomeness of restraint, was the more disposed to sym- 
 pathise with cithers. Thus, we find his compassion for 
 youth and beauty, condemned to the loathed embraces of 
 surliness and deformity, and enamoured of valour and dig- 
 nity, induces him to step out of his way, and quit the text 
 of the author whom he is translating, in his Book of Troy, 
 in order to express his indignation at the " high malice, 
 and cruel false envy" of " the smotry smith, the swart 
 Vulcanus," when that god found his wife Venus "lying 
 a-bed with .Mars her own kniizht :"
 
 -• And God forbid that any man accuse 
 For so little any woman ever ! 
 Where love is set, hard is it to dissever ! 
 For though they do such thing of gentleness, 
 Pass over lightly, and bear none heaviness. 
 Lest that thou be to woman odious ! 
 And yet this smith, this false Vulcanus, 
 Albe that he had them thus espied, 
 Among Paynims yet was he deified ! 
 And for that he so falsely them awoke, 
 I have him set last in all my boke, 
 Among the goddes of false mawmentry," 
 
 There is something ludicrous enough in the poetical ven- 
 geance which the good Dan John takes upon poor Vulcan, 
 " for that he so falsely them awoke ;" as well as in the 
 surprise and indignation he expresses against the Paynims 
 for making a god of him, notwithstanding he had had the 
 impertinence to pry into the secrets, and intermeddle with 
 the private pleasures, of his frail spouse. We may take it 
 for granted, that a consistory of Christian monks of Lyd- 
 gate's days would have been little disposed to canonize a 
 smotry smith, who had shewn propensities so inimical to 
 the principles and practices of their order.
 
 '<:>J 
 
 THE PItYORYS 
 
 HER THRE WOOYRS. 
 
 >ROM HAUL. MS. 78.) 
 
 O glorious God, oure governor, glad in all thys gestyng, 
 And gyfe them joy that wyll here whatt I shall saye or syng: 
 Me were loth to be under nam of them thatbyn notconnyng; 
 Manymanerof nien there bethatwyllmeddylof every thyng, 
 Of persons x or xii. 
 Dvverse men fawts wyll fele, 
 That knowyth no more than dovth my heir ; 
 Yet they thynke nothyng is well. 
 But yt do move of them scire.
 
 154 
 
 For soth they thynke it ryght nowght; 
 Many men ys so used, their term is soon tonght ; 
 Sympyll of there consayt when yt ys forth brought; — 
 To move then of a matter for soth I am to be thought, 
 And declare }<ou of a case. 
 Make you merry all and som ; 
 And I shall tell you of a noone, 
 The fayrest creator under the son, 
 The pryorys of a plase. 
 
 The lady that was lovely, a lordes dowter she was ; 
 Full pewer and full precyous provid in every plase, 
 [More curteis and hende lady non never nas ;] 
 Lords and laymen, and spyrytual her gann chase. 
 Hyr love for to wynne. 
 Grett gyfts to here they browgtb ; 
 Many men low} T th here thowgth. — 
 How here selfe myght thame wrowth. 
 She wyst not how to begyen. 
 
 There wooyd a young knyght, a fressc lord and a faycr 
 And person of a paryche, a prelet wythoutten pyre ; 
 And a burger of a borrow. — Lyst, and ye shall here 
 How they had layed ther love apon the lady dcre;
 
 255 
 
 And never of other wyst, 
 They goo and com, 
 Desyryd of her lourF soonn ; 
 They sware by son and mono 
 
 Of here to have there lvste 
 
 The young knyght for the lad vs love narrow tornyd and went : 
 Many bokks and dooys he sent: 
 
 The person present her pronely, hys matters to amend ; 
 Bedds, brochys, and botclls of wven he to the lady sent; 
 The burges to her broght * * * 
 Thus they trobylyd thorow tene * * # 
 She wyst not how here self to mene, 
 For tc) kepe her soule clcne, 
 
 Tell she hvr be thought * * * 
 
 The young knyght be thought him marvelously with the 
 
 lady for to null, 
 lie llattery'd her with many a fabyll : fast his tong gan tell 
 Lesyngs, lepyd out among as sound of a bell : 
 "Madam, but I havemv wlvst of you, L shall myseli (juell. 
 [IK- live to londe of Termagaunt*] 
 In batyll bolde there abyde, 
 To inaki- the Jues there hedd hvde, 
 AA ith grel strokes, and bloddv <\d, 
 And sic niaiiv a great <rvatmt. 
 
 This line is supplied by the- editor, to fill up an evident 
 hasm.
 
 25b 
 
 " All ys for your love, madame, my lyfe wold 1 venter, 
 So that ye wyll graunt me I have desyryd many a wyntter, 
 Under neth your comly cowle to have myn intent." 
 " Syr/' she sayd, " ye he ower lord, ower patron, and ower 
 precedent : 
 Your wyl must neds be do ; 
 So that ye wyll goe thys tyde 
 Dovven to the chapell under the wood syde_, 
 And be revvlyd as I wyll ye gyde." — 
 " All redy !" sayde he thoo. 
 
 " Dowen in the wode there is a chapell ryght as I you hyght ; 
 There in must ye ly all nyght, my love and ye wyll gett. 
 Ly there lyke a ded body sowyd in a shett; 
 Than shall ye have my love, my nawen hony swett, 
 Unto morow that yt be lyght." 
 <c Madame/' he saved, " for your love 
 Yt shall be done, be God above !" 
 He sayeth [ (f for soth] here is me glove, 
 In that quarrell for to fyght. 
 
 That knyght kyssyd the lady gent; the bargen was made. 
 Of no bargen syght he was borne was he never half so gladde. 
 lie went to the chapell as the lady liym had ; 
 He sowyd hym selfe in a shett; he was nothyng adred;
 
 157 
 
 He thought apon no sorrow. 
 \V hen he com there, lie layed up rvghtj 
 Wyth a taper bornyng bryght. 
 There he thought to ly all nyght, 
 
 To kys the lady on the morrow. 
 
 As soou as the knvght was go, she scut for sir John. — 
 
 Well 1 wot he was not long; he com to her anon. 
 
 " Madam/' he sayd, " What shall I do ?" She ansvveryd to 
 
 him than, 
 [_" Now helpe me in my needes grete, so warelv as you can:] 
 Blowen it is so brode, 
 I have a cosyn of my blode 
 Lycth ded in the chapell wood; 
 For owviiff of a som of irood 
 His bervntr is forbode. 
 
 " We be not able to pay the good that men do crave; 
 Therfor we scud for you our worshype for to save; 
 [And you shal of my love, as gode you semcth, have.] 
 Say hys derge and masse, and lave hvm in hys grave, 
 And truly kepe counsell." 
 Hys hartle hoppvd ; hvs vvvtt to oke;* 
 
 Oki:. Sic in MS.— The margin lias to unrki. I he mi-aniii'.: mi in- 
 to In-, /lis uit (ifcakt li ; lo woke. I j i \\w: the ancient, and iv tnih 
 
 English form ul" u-n ukr. 
 
 VOL. I. If
 
 258 
 
 To do all thys he under toke ; 
 To say his servys apon a boke, 
 He sware be hewn and hell. 
 
 " Do thy dever," the lady sayd, " as farforth as thou may; 
 Then shall thou have thy wyll of me." And, serten to the 
 
 I save, 
 Sir John was as glad of this as ever was fowle of daye. 
 Wyth a mattoke and a shawyll, to the chapyll he takyth 
 the vvaye, 
 Where he lay in his shett. 
 When he cam there, he made hys pett, 
 And saved his derge at his fett. 
 The knyght lyeth styll, and dremyd yt 
 That my losse whas hys swett. 
 
 As soon as the pryst was gon the yong knyght for to bery. 
 She sent after the marchaunt. To her he came full mery. 
 " Dowen in the wode ther is a chapell is fayer under a pcre; 
 Ther in lyeth a ded corse ; therefore must ye stere ye 
 To help us in ower ryght, 
 He owyth us a som of golde ; 
 To for byd his beryng I am bolde. 
 A pryst is theder as yt ys me tolde. 
 To bery hym thys nyght.
 
 toy 
 
 " Yf the corse beryd be, and ower inony not payed, 
 Yt were a fowle shame for us so for to be bytrayed. 
 And yf ye wyll do after me, the pryst shall be afrayed. 
 In a devell's garment ye shall be arrayed ; 
 And stalke ye theder full styll : 
 When ye see the pryst stvre 
 To bery hym that lyeth on here, 
 Lepe in at the quyer 
 
 Dore, lyk a fend of hell." 
 
 " Madam, for your love soen I shall tryed, 
 So that ye wyll graunt me that I have long desyred." 
 " Sir," she sayd, " ye shall y t have ; but fyrst I wyll be sewry d 
 That ower counsell ye wyll kepe that they be not descryed, 
 Tell to-morrow that yt be day : 
 If thou voyeds or ells flee, 
 For ever thou leayst the love of me." 
 u I graunt, madam syth," sade he — 
 And on wyth his araye. 
 
 He dyght hym in a dyvell's garment; furth gau he goo; 
 He cam in at the chyrch dore as the dyrge was doo, 
 Rynnyng, roaryng, wyth his rakyls as dcvylls semid to doo. 
 The pryst brayed up a boke, hys hart was all most goo;
 
 260 
 
 He demyd hym selfe but tied ; 
 He was aferd he was to slowe. 
 He rose up lie wyst not howe, 
 And brake out at a wyndowe, 
 
 And brake fowle vs heed. 
 
 But he that bod all the brunt, how sherwly he was egged_, 
 
 For to here his dyrge do, and see hys pet deggyd ! 
 
 " I trow I had my damys curse; 1 might have been bett 
 
 beddyd ; 
 For now am 1 but lost, the lyghter but I be legged." 
 And up rose he then. — 
 The devyll see the body rise, 
 Then hys hart be gan to gryse : 
 " I trow we be not all wyse !" 
 And he be gan to ryen. 
 
 Hys rages and hys rattells then he had for gelt; 
 
 So had the young knyght, that sowyd was in the shell. 
 
 The pryst demyd them devylls, both wyth them he wolde 
 
 not mett. 
 He sparyd nother hyll nor holt, busches gryen nor grell. 
 Lordj he was fowle scrapyd ! 
 The other twayen was ell aferd ; 
 They sparyd neither sty 11 nor sherd : 
 They lint! lever than ineddyll erd 
 Ayther from other leave scapyd.
 
 2()1 
 
 The pryst loke a by pathe, wyth them he wolde not met. 
 Yt ys hed was fowle brokyn ; the blud ran dowen to ys fett. 
 He ran in a fyryd gowen; all his body gan to rcke. 
 He cast off all hys clothys to the bare breke, 
 Be cause he wolde goo lyght. 
 He thought he harde the dcvyll leushe. 
 He start in to a bryer bouschc, 
 That all hvs skyen gan rousche 
 Of livs body sniyt. 
 
 The knygbt he ran in to a wood, as fast as he might weend : 
 He fell upon a stake, and fowle hys lege gan rentt. 
 Therefore he toke no care ; he was aferd of the fend. 
 He thought yt was a longe wave to the pathes end. 
 But then cam all hvs care! 
 In at the gape as he glent, 
 By the medyll he was hent ; 
 In a tie tape he went, 
 In a boks snarre. 
 
 The marchaunt ran upon the laund there where growyth 
 
 no thorenti ; 
 lie fell upon a bollys bake; — he east hym upon his horyn ; 
 i( Out, alas!" he sayd, " that, ever I was boron; 
 For now I goo to the devyil be cause I Oyd him scoren,
 
 262 
 
 Unto the pytt of hell !" 
 The boll ran in to a my re ; 
 There he layed owre fayer syer ; 
 For all the world he durst not sterc 
 
 Tyll that he herde a bell.* 
 
 On the morrow he was glad that he was so scapyd ; 
 So was the pryst also, thoo he was body nakyde ; 
 The knyght was in the tie tope ; for dred sore he quaked ; 
 The best jowcl that he had fayne he wolde for saked 
 For to com dowen. 
 He caught the tre by the tope, 
 Ye, and eke the catt trope ; 
 He fell, and brake hys fore tope 
 Apon the bare growend. 
 
 Thus they went from the game begylyd and be glued, 
 Nether on other wyst how that they went be shrewyd ; 
 The persone tolde the ladye on the morrow what myschyf 
 
 there was shewed ; 
 How that he had ronne for her love, hys merthes were but 
 
 lewed, 
 
 * While he heard a consecrated bell ring, he was perfectly scenic 
 as no devil could continue within hearing of it.
 
 <J(>3 
 
 " He was so sore dred of deth : 
 When I shuld have beryed the corse, 
 The devyll cam in ; the body rose ; 
 To see all thys my hart grel'e (worse \) 
 
 A lyffl scapyd unneth. 
 
 "' Remember/' the lady sayth, " what mysschyfe her on 
 
 goyth ! 
 Had I never lover yet that dyed ever good deth." 
 " Be that Lord/' sayd the pryst, " that schope ale and mette, 
 Thou shalte never be wooed by me whylyst I have speche 
 or breth, 
 Whyle I may se or here." 
 Thus they to made ther bost. 
 Ffurthe he went wyth out thi corse. 
 Then com thy knyght for hys purpos,, 
 And told her of hys fare. 
 
 " Now I hope to have your love, that I have served youie , 
 For bought I never love so dere sythe I was man i-bore." 
 " Hold thy pese/' the lady sayd ; " there of speke thou no 
 
 more ; 
 Tor by the newc bargcn^ my love thou hast for lore,
 
 264 
 
 All this hundryth wynter" 
 She answered hym ; he went his way 
 The marehaunt cam the same day: 
 He told her of hys grett affray, 
 
 And of his hyeht aventure. 
 
 " Tyll the corse shulde be beryd he the bargen 1 abode ; 
 When the body dyd ryse, a grymly goste agleed,* 
 Then was tyme me to stere. Many a foyle I bestrood 
 There was no hegge for me to hey, nor no watter to brode, 
 Of you to have my wyll." 
 The lady said, " Pese, full bleth : f 
 Near/' she said, " whyle thou art man on lyffe; 
 For 1 shall shew yt to thy wyfe, 
 And all contre yt tyll; 
 
 "And proclamytte in the marky t towen, thy care to encrease." 
 Ther w vth he gave her xx marke that she shold hold her pese. 
 Thus the burger of the borrow after hys dyses 
 He endevved into the place wyth deds of good reles, 
 
 * " Agleed," qu. a-glode, or glode, for glided? In Chaucer's rhyme 
 of Sir Topas we have 
 
 " His goode stede he al bestrode, 
 And ibrth upon his way he glode 
 As sparcle out of brode." 
 f " Rleth," qu. hhjffe, i. e. belyve, immediately, quickly ; in a lively 
 or quick manner.
 
 265 
 
 In tee for evermore. 
 Tims the lady ded ire : 
 She kepyth her vergenyte, 
 And endewed the place vvyth fee, 
 
 And salvvd them of ther soore.
 
 266 
 
 LONDON LYCKPENY. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN LYDGATE. 
 
 From Andrews's " History of Great Britain" Appendix 
 to B. iv. and v. p. 350. The editor is sorry, he had it 
 not in his power to give the text upon better authority ; as 
 Mr Andrews's transcripts are ?wt always made with the 
 exactness and accuracy of an antiquary. 
 
 To London once my steps I bent, 
 Where trouth in no wyse should be faynt , 
 To Westmynster I forthwith went, 
 To a man of law to make complaynt ; 
 I said, a for Marie's love, that holy saynt, 
 Pity the pore that wolde procede !" 
 But for lacke of money 1 could not spede.
 
 2ti7 
 
 And, as 1 thrust the presse anionge, 
 By froward chance, my hood was gone ; 
 Yet, for all that, I stayd not longe, 
 
 Till att the Kynge Benche I was one : 
 
 Before the judge I kneel'd anone, 
 And prayed hymni for Goddes sake to take hede 
 But, for laeke of mony 1 might not spede. 
 
 Benytlie them satte clerkes, a grot rout, 
 Which faste did wrvte by one assente, 
 
 There stood up one, and cryde about, 
 
 " Richarde ! Koberte! and John of Kent!" 
 1 wyst not well what thys man ment; 
 
 He cryed out thryse there indede : 
 
 But he that lacked mony myght not spede. 
 
 Unto the common plase I yode thro, 
 Whare sate one with a sylken liode ; 
 
 I dyde him reverence, I ought to do so, 
 I told my case there as well as J colde ; 
 How my goodes were defrauded me by falshood 
 
 I gat not a move of his mouth for my mede ; 
 
 And for the hicke of mony I cold not spede.
 
 268 
 
 Unto the Rolls I gat me from thence, 
 Before the clerks of the chancerye, 
 
 Where many J found earnynge of pence, 
 But none at all once regarded me. 
 I gave them my playnte uppon my knee ; 
 
 They liked it well when had it rede ; 
 
 But for lackynge of mony I could not spede. 
 
 In Westmynster Hall, T found out owne 
 Which went in a longe gown of save; 
 
 I crowchedj I kneeled before hym anon, 
 For Marye's love, of help I him praye; 
 " I wot not what thou meanest," gan he saye : 
 
 To get me thence he dyd me bede. 
 
 For lack of mony L could not spede. 
 
 Within the Hall neyther rychc nor yet pore 
 Would forme oughte, although I shoulde dye; 
 
 Which seing, I gat me oute of the doore, 
 Where Flemyngs began on me for to crye; 
 " Master, what will you chepen or bye ? 
 
 Fine felt hattes, or spectacles to rede r 
 
 Lay down your sylver, and here you may spede."
 
 259 
 
 Then to Westmynster gate I presently went, 
 When the soun it was at high prime; 
 
 And cokes to me they tooke good extent, 
 
 And protered me hread with ale and wynne ; 
 Rybbys of bete, both tat and ful fyne; 
 
 A t'avre cloth they gan for to sprede ; 
 
 But, wanting mony, I might not spede. 
 
 Then unto London I dyde me hie, 
 Of all the land it beareth the pryse ; 
 
 " Code Pescode!" owne began to crye; 
 
 " Strabery rype !" and " Cherrys in the ryse !'' 
 Owne bad me drawe nere, and by some spyce, 
 
 Pepper, and saforne, they gan mc bede: 
 
 And for the lack of mony I might not spede. 
 
 Then to the Chepe 1 gane me drawue, 
 
 \\ here mutch people I sawe for to stande : 
 
 One otl'rid me velvet, sylke, and lawne ; 
 Another, he takes me by the hande ; 
 " Here is Pans thread, the fynest in the lande.'* 
 
 T never was used to such thinges, indede; 
 
 And, wanting money, I might not spede.
 
 270 
 
 Then went I forth by London Stone, 
 
 Throughout all Danwick-streete ; 
 Drapers much cloth ofred me anone, 
 
 Then comes in one cryed " Hot shepes' feet!" — 
 One cryed " Makerel !" " Pezen grene," another gan grete , 
 An bad me by a hoode to cover my heade ; 
 But, for want of mony, I might not spede. 
 
 Then I hyd me to Estchepe ; 
 
 One cryes " Rybbes of befe, and many a pye ;" 
 Pewter pottes they scattered in a hepe : 
 
 There was harpe, pype, and mynstrelsye. 
 
 " Yea, by cock ! Nay, by cock !" some began crve 
 Some songs of Jenken and Julian for there mede. 
 But, for lack of mony, I might not spede. 
 
 Then unto Cornhill anon I yode, 
 
 Where was much stolen £>ire amonsie ; 
 
 I saw there honge myne owne hoode, 
 That I had lost amongfe the throncre. 
 To by my own hoode I thought it wrong*-. 
 
 I knew r it well, as I dyde my erede ; 
 
 But, for lack of mony, I could not spede.
 
 271 
 
 The taverner toake me by the sleeve, 
 
 " Sir/' saith lie, " will you our wyne essay f 
 
 I answered, " That cannot mutch me greve; 
 A peny can do no more than yt maye." 
 I dranke a pint, and for yt did paye, 
 
 Yet sore a hungered from thence I yide, 
 
 And, wanting mony, I could not spede. 
 
 Then hyd I to Belynsgate, 
 
 And owne cryed " Hoo ! go wee hence ?° 
 I prayd a Bargeman for God's sake, 
 
 That he would spare me my expence. 
 
 " Thou scapst not here," quoth he, " under two pence 
 I list not yet bestowe my alines dede." 
 Thus, lacking mony, I could not spede. 
 
 Thus, I convayed me into Kent; 
 
 For of the law would I medle no more, 
 Because no man to me took entent; 
 
 I dyght me to do as I dyd before. 
 Now Jesus, that in Bethleham was born, 
 Save London, and send true lawyers there mede ; 
 For whoso wanting mony, with them shall not spede,
 
 w 
 
 THE ENCHANTED BASYN. 
 
 'ROM A MS. SAID TO BE OF THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY, 
 IN THE PUBLIC LIBRARY AT CAMBRIDGE, MARKED 
 E.^\ V. 48. 11. 
 
 This piece is much in the manner of the foregoing, and they 
 seem both to belong to the same age. Both are written 
 inthestanza of the " Tournament of Tottenham," a copy 
 of which is also found in the same curious MS. with the 
 "Basyn," " True Thomas," and the "Queenof Elfland," 
 Spc. None of the pieces in that collection hare any titles. 
 
 Off talys and trifulles many man tellys; 
 Same byn trew, and sum byn ellis. 
 A man may dryfe forth the day that long tyine dwells 
 With harpyng, and other mery spellis, 
 With gle and with game. 
 Off a person ze mowe here, 
 In case that hit sothe were ; 
 And of his brother that was hym dere., 
 And lovyd well same.
 
 ii?3 
 
 Tlie tone was his fadres eyre of hows and of lande 
 The tother was a person as 1 understand^ 
 A riche man wex he and agode husbande, 
 And knowen for agode clerke thoro goddis sande, 
 And wv.se was holde : 
 The tother had littal thozt ; 
 Off husbandry covvth lie nozt; 
 But all his wyves will he wrozt 
 [Syinpulle as he colde.] 
 
 A febull husbande was he on as many ar on lyvc ; 
 All his wyves biddyng he did it full ryve. 
 Hit is an olde seid saw, I swere be seynt Tvve, — 
 "Hit shalbe at the wyves will if the husband thiyve. 
 Both with in and with owte, 
 A wytc that lias an yvell tacli, 
 Ther of the husband shalle have a smache : 
 [The devoll mot hvm beter each,] 
 But tiit' he loke well abowte. 
 
 Oft* that zong gentilman was a ojet disese ; 
 
 Alter ;i zere or two his wyfe he tnyzt not nlecse. 
 
 Mycull of his lande lay to the preest's esc, 
 
 1'ehe tauift hvm ever anionic how the kuttc did sue
 
 274 
 
 Rigt at hir owne wille. 
 He, that hade bene a lorde, 
 Was nouther at bedde ne at borde, 
 Ne durst onys speke a worde, 
 
 When she bade be stille. 
 
 Litull of husbondry the godeman con thynke ; 
 And his wyfe lovyd well gode mete and gode drynke 
 She wolde nouther ther fore swete ne swynkc ; 
 But, when the baly was full lye downe and wynke, 
 And rest hir neder ende. 
 Soo longe this life thei ladde, 
 That spende was that thei hadde ; 
 The wife hir husbande badde 
 Be life soeth to wende. 
 
 " To the person tin broder, that is so rich awreeh, 
 And pray him of tin sorow sum del he wold sleeh, 
 Ffourtv pounds other fyfty loke of hym thu fech ; 
 So thai thu hit brynge, litull will 1 reeh 
 Never for to white." 
 To his brother forth he went, 
 And mveuil money to hym he lent. 
 - And also sone hit was spent ; 
 Ther of they had but lyte.
 
 Z75 
 
 Mycull mony of liis brother he fette ; 
 Ffor alle that he brozt, he fenl never the bette. 
 This persone wex wery, and thozt he wolde hym lette 
 " And he tare long thus, he fallis in my dette; 
 And zet he may not the : 
 The twene hym and his wife I wvsse 
 A drawzt that is drawen amysse. 
 T will wete, soo have I blisse, 
 How that hit myzt be." 
 
 Zet on a day after wards to the person he zede, 
 To borow mone, and he ne myzt spede : 
 " Brother/' quoth the person, " thu takis litull hede 
 How thu fallis in my dett, (ther of is all my drede,) 
 And zet thu may not the : 
 Perdy thu was my faders eyre, 
 And ever thu Ivves in dispayre ; 
 [Of Isolde and fe and comfurt bare;] 
 What dcvoll ! how may this be r" 
 
 "" I ne wot how it faris, but ever I will be hynde ; 
 Ffor to lilfe manly hit come me be kynde ; 
 I shall truly sey what i thynke in my inynde; 
 [My gotle thurgh som hoi, that 1 se. no/.t ys tynde.]'
 
 %76 
 
 The person seyd, " Thu me telle." 
 " Brother/' he seid, " be seynt Albon,* 
 Hit is a preest men eallis sir John ; 
 Sich a fellow know I non ; 
 
 Of felawes he bervs the bell. 
 
 " Hym gode and curtesse I fynd ever moo ; 
 He harpys and gytryns, and syngth ther too ; 
 He wrestels and lepis, and castis the ston also.'" 
 " Brother/' quoth the person, "belife hame thu goo, 
 So as I thee say : 
 Zif thu mizt with any gynne 
 The vessel owt of the chamer wynne, 
 The same that thei make water in, 
 And bryng hit me, I the pray." 
 
 " Brother," he seid, " blithly your will shalbe wrozi : 
 It is a pownde basyn, I have hit in my thozt," 
 
 * Seynt Alton. — In the library of Bennet College, Cam- 
 bridge, No. c. 0. p. 3G.j, there is a MS. legend, in five pages, of 
 a St Alban, the offspring of an incestuous intercourse, who was 
 carried into Hungarv, exposed, brought to the king, and by him 
 adopted as his son. He afterwards, unknowingly, married his 
 own mother; on the discovery of which, he renounced the 
 world and all its pleasures, withdrew himself from society, and 
 'urned hermit.
 
 Til 
 
 " As prcvely as thu may, that hit he hider brozt, 
 Hye the fast on thi way ; loke thu tary uozt, 
 And come agayne anone." 
 Homewards con he ride ; 
 Ther no longer wolde lie byde ; 
 And then his wife began to chide, 
 Because he come so sone. 
 
 He hent up the basyn, and forth can he fare ; 
 Till he came to his brother wolde he not spare : 
 The person toke the basyn, and to his chamer it bare,. 
 And a preve experiment sone he wroght thare ; 
 And to his brother he seyde ful blithe, 
 " Loke thu where the basyn fette, 
 And in the place thu hit sett, 
 And than," he seyd, " with owtyn letle 
 Conic agayne right swythe." 
 
 He toke the basyn, and forth went : 
 When his wife hym saw, her bromes she up heui 
 " Why base thi brother so sone the home sent ? 
 Hit mvzt never he; for gode, I know it veramenl, 
 " That thu conies home so swythe !" 
 " Nay," he seid, " my swetyng, 
 I moste take a lutill thviigc, 
 And to my brother hvt brynge ; 
 l ; for sum it shall make blithe'
 
 278 
 
 In to his chamer prively went he that tyde, 
 And sett down the basyn be the bedde side. 
 He toke his leve at his wyfe, and forth can he ride : 
 She was glad that he went, and bade hym not abyde. 
 Hir hert began to glade; 
 She anon rizt thoo, 
 Slew a capon or twoo, 
 And other gode mete ther too 
 Hastely she made. 
 
 When alle thyng was redy, she sent after Sir John, 
 Prively at a postern zate, as stille as any ston. 
 They eten and dronken as thei were wonte to done, 
 Till that thayme list to bedde for to gon, 
 Softly and stille. 
 With in a lutill while Sir John con wake. 
 And nedis water he most make. 
 He wist wher he shulde the basyn take 
 Rigt at his own wille. 
 
 He toke the basyn to make water in, 
 
 He mygt not get his hondis awey ; all this worlde to wyn 
 
 His hondis fro this basyn myzt he not twyn : 
 
 " Alas !" seid Sir John, " how shall I now begynne c 1
 
 279 
 
 •• Here is sum wychecrafte." 
 Ffaste the basyn con he holde, 
 And alle his body tremeld for colde; 
 Lever than a C pounde he wolde 
 
 That hit were fro him rat'te. 
 
 Uizt as a chapmon shuldc sell his ware, 
 The basyn in the chaumber betwixt his liondis be bare. 
 The wife was agrevyd he stode so longe tliare, 
 And askid why so hit was a nyte fare 
 So stille ther to stonde. 
 " W hat, woman !" lie seid, " in gode lay, 
 Thu must helpe, gif thu may, 
 That this basyn were awev ; 
 Hit will not fro my bonde.' 
 
 Lpstert this godewyfe for nothynge wolde shee lette, 
 And bothe liir hondis on the basyn she sette. 
 Tim- soue were thai bothe fast, and he never the bette 
 Hit was amvsse felisshippc anian lo have lmetle 
 Vn dav or he uizt. 
 Tliev began clepe anil crye, 
 To awench that lav thaim n\e, 
 That >lie shulde come on bye. 
 To help, gif sho mizt.
 
 280 
 
 Upstert the wench, er she was halfe waked, 
 And ran to hir maystrys, all baly naked : 
 "Alas !" seid hir maistrys, "whohase this sorrow maked ? 
 Helpe this basyn were awey, that oure sorow were slaked ; 
 Here is a sory ehaunce !" 
 To the basyn the wenehe she paste ; 
 Ff'or to helpe hade she caste. 
 Thus were they sone all thre fast : 
 Hit was a nyee daunce ! 
 
 Ther thei dauncyd al the nyzt till the sun con rise : 
 The clerke rang the daybell as hit was hisgyse; 
 He knew his maisters councell, and his avyse ; 
 He thozt he was to longe to sey his servyse, 
 His matyns be the morow. 
 Softly and stille thider he zede, 
 When he come thider he toke gode hedc, 
 How that his mayster was in grett drede, 
 And brought in gret sorow . 
 
 Anon, as Sir John can sec, he began to call. 
 
 Be that worde thei come downe in to the hall : 
 
 " Why goo ze soo r" quoth the clerke, " hit is shame lor 
 
 you alle ! 
 VVliy goo ze so nakyd : loule mot yovv falle !
 
 281 
 
 The basyn shalle vow froo." 
 To the basyn lie made abrayde, 
 And bothe his hondis ther on he leyde 
 The furst worde that the clerke seyde, 
 
 "Alas! what shall I doo ?" 
 
 The carter fro the halle dur erth can he throwe, 
 With a shevell in his honde, to make it dene, I trowe. 
 When he saw thayra go rounde upon a row, 
 He wende hit hade bene folys of the fayr[ie] ; he told 
 hit in his saw ; 
 He seid he wold assay, I vvysse; 
 [Jnneth he durst go in for fere: 
 Alio save the clerke nakyd were. — 
 When he saw the wench go there, 
 Him thozt hit went amisse. 
 
 The wench was his speciall that lioppid on the route 
 " Lctte go the basyn, or thu shall have a clowte." 
 H<- hit the wench with a shevell above on the towte. 
 The shevell stieked ther last, with ovvte any dowte, 
 Awd he heniictt on the ende. 
 The carter, with a sory chauncc, 
 Among thaiin ;ille lie led the dawnee. 
 In Knglonde, in Scotlonde, ne in I'raunee. 
 Ainan shulde non such l'vnde.
 
 28^ 
 
 The godeman and the person came in the stounde ; 
 All that fayre feliship dawnsyng thei founde; 
 The godeman seid to Sir John, " be cocks swete wounde, 
 Thu shall lese thine harnesse, or a C pounde ; 
 Truly thu shalle not chese." 
 Sir John seid, " in gode fay, 
 Help this basyn were awey, 
 And that mone will I pay, 
 Or I this harnes lese. 5 ' 
 
 The person charmyd the basyn that it fell thaim fro ; 
 Every man than hastely on thair way can goo. 
 The preest went out of contre, for shame he hide thoo : 
 And then thai levyd thairelewtnesse, and did no more soo . 
 But wex wise and ware. 
 Thus this godeman and his wyfe, 
 Levyd to geder with owt stryfe. 
 Mary, for hir joyes ryfe, 
 Shelde us alle fro care !
 
 ^85 
 
 JHONE AND ELSPAT. 
 
 •jome years ago, while the editor was reading the carlici 
 poets of his country, lie wrote the following jeu d'esprit, 
 and sent it, with the title which it here bears, and the sub- 
 scription, " Quod Dudbar, oil' Johne and Elspat," to a 
 much-valued friend, now no more, an eminent antiquary, 
 and a man equally distinguished for his learning and 
 worth. No imposition was intended, nor was his friend a 
 man likely to be imposed upon in a thing of which he was so 
 able a judge. It met with his warmest approbation ; and 
 the approbation of a man of so much true Christian piety and 
 manly virtue, renders any apology for publishing it here un- 
 necessary. No particular imitation of Dunbar was intend- 
 ed, and his name was pitched upon merely as being the 
 most iikely man to have written such a thing. It is hoped, 
 that there will be found in it something more of the style 
 and manner of Dunbar's times, than a mere tissue of old 
 words awkwardly put together, and disfigured by a quaint 
 orthography. The scene is laid near the abbey ol King- 
 loss, m Morayshire; within four miles of which, on the bor- 
 der of the Spindle Muir, the editor was born — it that were 
 ot any consequence to the reader.
 
 £84 
 
 ANE BALLADE 
 
 MIRRIE AND PLEASAUNT 
 
 or 
 
 JHONE AND ELSPAT; 
 
 *ND HOW JHONE DISCOUVERIT ANE CERTANE RE- 
 MEID FOR ANE MAEADIE VERY COMMOUN AMANG 
 THE WYFFIS. 
 
 Omnia pcrversas possunt corrumpere mentcs : 
 Slant tamcn ilia suis omnia tufa locis. 
 
 Ovid. Trist. lib. 2. el. I. 
 
 lliLsPAT wes fresche and bryght off blei, 
 And blyith ids burd is on anc trci. 
 And quik and vertie als ane bei 
 
 To walkc at morrow tyde ; 
 And pawkie inowis couth sclio mak; 
 And clap hir spoui.s baith brest and bak, 
 And blenk sa winsumlie. Alack ! 
 
 Mocht Johne ilk svith abvdc t
 
 285 
 
 It fell uppon ane morrow gay, 
 The luifsumest in month of May, 
 .Ihone keikit up at screik of day, 
 
 And fand hir sowehand sound. 
 He sainit himsel than be the rude : 
 And (for he luifit hir as his blude,) 
 Xocht wald he troublit sleip sa glide, 
 
 Na for ane styrling pownd ! 
 
 Sa, sainand hir, J hone tentie rais, 
 And saft and sleilie dond his elais ; 
 Bot stent or din syn faith he gais, 
 
 Tor scho mocht sleip hir fill : 
 The sone wes up, the lift wes clair; 
 Hcalsum and sueit the purit air; 
 And all wes blyitlmes heir and tliair, 
 
 Be medow, holm, and hill. 
 
 Nature had dieht for haliday 
 Hir bairnis in ther best aray ; 
 And Flora, Zephyrus, and May, 
 
 Buskit the lustie yeir; 
 Kinglossis bcllis seilful rang; 
 With mirric clicir the laverack sang 
 The d<»\v, the h vis grein aiming, 
 
 ( YtAY'lit untill his leir.
 
 286 
 
 Luikand about, and at the sone, 
 
 Ha, benedicite, anone, 
 
 a This is an luifsum day !" quod Jhone, 
 
 And furth he fure in hie ; 
 And round the fenn takis the gait, 
 livke husband gude, off his estait, 
 That all is richt and ticht, I wait, 
 
 That curis av to sei. 
 
 Swyth fuir he till the holtis hair, 
 To prieve the caler quicknand air; 
 And O, the sounds and sichtis thair 
 
 Na phantasie can fenyie ! 
 The kiddis warp in faerie roundis ; 
 The lanimie lieht jenkis and boundis 
 The fei, be f'eirand feir, y-foundis, 
 
 Moupand in social glie. 
 
 Syn torn and till the flourie how ;— 
 The caure did haig, the queis low 
 And ilka bull lies got his cow, 
 
 And staggis all ther meiris : 
 And all wes lyff be lea and woud, 
 Whare lytel burdis in ther mudc, 
 With luif-mowis and liltis loud 
 
 War fclherand ther deiris.
 
 l 28? 
 
 It is inkynd to tak corage, 
 
 Quhasa behaldis utheris rage : 
 
 And J hone did wex als kneir", I gage, 
 
 Als grome in May mocht be: 
 And " Od" quod he, " war Eispat heir 
 Scho is min luif and iionie deir; 
 And snith scho hath hot dowie eheir, 
 
 Albe scho Juivith me!" 
 
 Sa, mirrilie in our the bent 
 Jhone takis, c rouse in his entent ; 
 Sair re wand he fra hame had went 
 
 Sa crawdoun-like that morn: 
 Yet eke his hart wes glad that syith 
 To thynk quhat svveiting Epp wald kyitb, 
 And welcum with luife-blenkis blyith 
 
 Sa eovlic his retorn. 
 
 The Muekil-man wes at Blar-monc; 
 The Dey and llird war at the lone; 
 And in his thoeht sair r'erlyit Jhone, 
 
 Als he his bald drew neir, 
 To sei Ira out the luni na reik, 
 Doris an. I vvinnoekis asteik, 
 Awd sound nor sicht olVthyng weis quik 
 
 A bou! the hous asteir.
 
 288 
 
 He stennet in ; hys hart did quaik : 
 For ilka thyng lay in the draik ; 
 And duilful crune Elspat did maik 
 
 Alane intill her bed : 
 "Wow! willawins! my Eppie deir, 
 Quhatwirkis you sie dowie eheir?" 
 (c Och, J hone, weils me that thou art heir. 
 
 For suith 1 am bot ded!" 
 
 " Na, Chryst defend, mie lyf, sic wrang ! 
 Or thou shold tyne, mocht feind me fang, 
 Bot gude, quhateir I ha, sail gang, 
 
 Be Sanct Andro, sauns fayle ! 
 lie smyl on mie last doit that gais, 
 (Sa thram mie saul!) to bryng the aise : 
 Quhat, than, thi dollour may appaise !" 
 
 " Och, J hone, I canna tell !" 
 
 " We haif, mie bord, four bossis fyne ; 
 Thre Burdous, ane off Mavvmsie wvne; — 
 (And suith, mie dovv, to meis thi pyne 
 
 Mie hart l>luid vvald I spill :) 
 Wyll thou, mie sweit, ane lass oll'lha? 
 Or ane gude queeh off Uiskeba ? 
 Or mulse r or ale r" — " Och-oehan, na ' 
 
 .) hone, man, I'm ill, ill, ill!"
 
 ^8y 
 
 u I land sax pertrick eggs yestrein, 
 
 Wyll mak ane curand stoip bedein ;" 
 
 f< Och na," scho say is, and steikis hir ein, 
 
 And J bonis band scbo past 
 Atbort hir brest, als swannis rieht, 
 Saft als the down, and cleir als licht; 
 li Och-och, mie luif, its in sic flicht, 
 
 I trow mie bait wyll brast!" 
 
 " Qubat than, sweit bonie min, and dow, 
 
 Can I sumdele to confurt you ? 
 
 Wyll you ane geste of Chabner glew r 
 
 He do it, be Sanct Pole !" 
 " Te-hei !" quod Elspat, blenkand soil, 
 " J hone, thou art sic ane oncouth cheil, 
 Thou garris me lauch, and me na weil. 
 
 Thou art sae queint and drole !'' 
 
 VOL l.
 
 £90 
 
 THE BOGLE-BO. 
 
 Ihis tale was written when the author was a mere boy. 
 He had heard that there existed a rustic ballad on a simi- 
 lar subject; but he has never been able to procure a copy 
 of it, nor has he ever heard a single line of it repeated. It 
 is certainly such an argument as he would not now sit down 
 to embellish ; but, at the time when it was written, his know- 
 ledge of Scotish poetry, and indeed of English poetry also, 
 was entirely confined to traditionary ballads and songs, and 
 penny pamphlets. Had he abilities to distinguish himself 
 among his countrymen as a poet, his readers would not be 
 displeased to see what kind of verses he was likely to have, 
 written, had he remained illiterate and uninformed in his 
 native cottage. As to the propriety of publishing, in his 
 matnrer years, a piece of this kind, he must confess, that, 
 although no man living has a higher respect lor virtue.
 
 191 
 
 decvrurn, and true refinement and delicacy, he is not so 
 fastidious in this respect as many affect to be ; he can still 
 read " I've let us a' to the Bridal," and pieces of that cast, 
 with considerable pleasure, and is no enemy to rustic gaiety 
 and good humour, so long as it is harmless, and none of the 
 social virtues, or moral duties, are in danger of being vio- 
 lated bv it,
 
 292 
 
 THE BOGLE-BO. 
 
 Whare Don frae the Highlands comes hurlin' 
 
 In mony a willsome roun', 
 Ay twining and wimplin'j and swirlin', 
 
 To blyth Balgounie town; 
 In a lythc cantie hauch, in a cottage 
 
 Fu' bien vvi' aid vvarldly store, 
 Whare never lack'd rowth o' good potage, 
 
 And batter and cheese gilore ; 
 
 There, couthie, and pensie, and sicker, 
 
 Wonn'd honest young llab o' the Ileiieh, 
 As good a chiel's ever toom'd bicker, 
 
 Or whistled at cart or pleuch. 
 His gransher, his gutshcr, his daddie, 
 
 And mony ane mair o's fbrbeers, 
 Had rented the farm already, 
 
 For <j;ood kens what hunners o' year?.
 
 c 293 
 
 His pantry was never ill-boden ; 
 
 The spence was ay couthie an' clean , 
 The gantry was ay keepit loaden 
 
 Wi' bowies o' nappie bedeen : 
 The bucht, and the byre, and the stable, 
 
 Shaw'd plenty and thrift to be there; 
 And there was few mail-payers able 
 
 To shine sae at kirk or at fair. 
 
 And now a' their gear and aid rottackss 
 
 Had faun to young Hab o' the Heucb, 
 And Habbie was nae gi'en to proticks. 
 
 But guided it weel eneueh; 
 And naething was Habbie now scant in,. 
 
 To mak him as cothie's you like; 
 Tor nocht but a house-wife was wantin' 
 
 To pleuish his weel-foggit byke. 
 
 And he had been lookin about him 
 
 For twa good towmons and mair, 
 For some couthie lass, that niith suit him 
 
 in Ihrif'tyness, prudence, and gear. 
 And a' t:u: voung hizzies were, walchni', 
 
 A' i ound aboul that gale en', 
 Ni»r woudor, in hopes lh<"\ mitli eaten bin 
 
 '! hov a' w ere iiduin lain '
 
 5294 
 
 But Bess o' the Mil] was the lassie 
 
 Allanerly took his e'e ; 
 And sonsie, and cantie, and gawsie, 
 
 But eelist or flaw was she. 
 Young Hess was her mammie's ae dother, 
 
 Though neither a dilp nor a da, 
 Nor was in the parish another 
 
 Sae tocher'd, sae winsome, and braw. 
 
 Her daddie, a cannie aid earl, 
 
 Had shucken and mouter a fouth ; 
 Her minnie had hain'd the war], 
 
 And the whitrack-skin had routh. 
 And Bess was a braw thumpin kittie, 
 
 For Habbie just feer for leer; 
 But she was (and wasna't a pity ?) 
 
 As skittish and scare as a deer. 
 
 And Habbie had now been a-wooin' 
 
 A lee-lang tovvmon and mair; 
 And hafiins to let her be doin', 
 
 He now had resolved in despair. 
 He'd spent mair in brogues gaun about her 
 
 Nor hardly was wee] worth to waur; 
 For mony a foul weary plouter 
 
 She'd cost him through gutters and glaiu\
 
 '295 
 
 <\nd mony a cald hurloch eenin, 
 
 Through weet and through snaw had hegane 
 While Bessie, to slocken his greenin, 
 
 A prieve o' her mou' hardly gae'm. 
 At langrin, wi' coaxin' and rleechin,' 
 
 And sonic bonnie-vvallies frae Hab, 
 And mammie and dadie's beseeching 
 
 She knit up her thrum to his wab. 
 
 Twere o'er lang a tale to be speakin' 
 
 O' a' the braw duddies were bought; 
 For ilka thing till Bessie's likin' 
 
 Auld Aberdeen's shops were a' sought: 
 And Bessie, nae doubt o't, geckit, 
 
 And lookit down pauchty eneuch, 
 To think, while the lave were negleckit, 
 
 That she wad net Hab o' the Heuch. 
 
 And now cam the nicht o' feet- wash in', 
 
 And Bessie look'd mini and scare, 
 ■\n ■ I gossips, and bet pints) and clashing 
 
 And mony a lie was there; 
 And mony an ili-tar'd tale, too, 
 
 That I to rnowband wad biush, 
 Whan tiie titthn aid -ni( k -drawers fell to, 
 
 And they wi' the creature were iiusli.
 
 296 
 
 The drinking and dancing and eatin', 
 
 The rantin' and roarin' whan fu', 
 The courtin', and brulzies, and beatin', 
 
 W i' back o' dyke trysts enew ; 
 "W i' a' the bravv fun o' the weddin', 
 
 It a' may be guest to a hair; 
 Sae hap we o'er thae to the bedding 
 
 And see what diversion was there 
 
 The cathel cam in in a bicker; 
 
 Wi' cutties they sluggied it roun'; 
 And tlie bride's sweetie bun, and good liquor, 
 
 Wi' gawfin and jeerin' gaed down. 
 And Bess, wi' lang priggin and bothering 
 
 Her left-hough stockin' had flung; 
 It hat Willie Mil] o' the shouther, and 
 
 Poor Willie by this time was bung. 
 
 c< Hcch !" quo' Will, " lat there never waur happen!" 
 
 And smurtled at Dory Maclean; 
 And Dorothy ween'd she mith lippen, 
 
 And flicker' d at Willie again. 
 Wi' winkin', and blethering and jokin'. 
 
 And mony miickle joys, I wyte, 
 They left, skittish Bessie her smock in. 
 
 And Habbie as keen as a kvte.
 
 '191 
 
 But ah! (\vi' dry e'en wha could tell it!) 
 
 The wearifu' pickle he was in ! 
 The mishaps and mishanters that fell out, 
 
 Ere Bessie's good will he could win! 
 O'er sooth ly she took minnie's caution, 
 
 And i'aucht like a cat on a mow;— 
 Dogs hunt the first bride set the fashion! 
 
 Short while stick they to it, 1 trow. 
 
 Frae nicht till the dawin they battled ; 
 
 Whan day through the winnock did peep, 
 Bess out in a widden-dreain brattled; 
 
 And llab looked as blate as a sheep. 
 Three nichts i' this drearifu manner 
 
 Frae Habbie she keepit abeieh, 
 Nor wist the poor wicht how to tame her, 
 
 She was sac camsterie and skeich. 
 
 At last to Tarn Tod, the town t ay lor, 
 
 He hied him, to speer his advice ; 
 Still wondrin what devil could ail her, 
 
 That she was sac dorty and nice. 
 lam Tod was an ald-farran birkie, 
 
 W eel versed i' the gawds o' the sex; 
 .'-■'ice, snackie, and wilie, and quirkie, 
 
 And famous [\)\- nliskics and tricks.
 
 ^98 . 
 
 Quo Tammie, " Hab, never lat o' ye, 
 
 But lea' a' the business to me; 
 Gin she binna fain to creep to yc, 
 
 Then I sail say, fause tongue, I lie." if 
 And sooth as he said it, he did it, 
 
 And followt the ca,uk wi' the sheer; 
 For Hab and Bess hardly were beddit, 
 
 Whan Tammie belive did appear. 
 
 In a brannit owse hide he was buskit, 
 
 Wi' muckle main horns bedight ; 
 And ay wi' his lang tail he whiskit, 
 
 And drumm'd on an aid corn weight. 
 And ay he bullied and routed, 
 
 And O, as he rattled and roar'd, 
 And graen'd, and mutter'd, and crouted, 
 
 And Bessie to tak awa shor'd ! 
 
 * In some parts of Scotland, this kind of penance is still in 
 use. A person that lias slandered or belied another, to the in- 
 jury of his character or credit, is obliged to stand in a white 
 sheet, or in the joitgs (pillory), or in some other conspicuous 
 manner, at the kirk-door, while the congregation are coming 
 out, and to say aloud, 
 
 First, I ca'd him honest man ; 
 
 It was true indeed ; 
 Neist, I ca'd htm thief-face, 
 Fause tongue, I lied. 
 
 the expressions vary according to the pcfiui) and the cmw 
 to be confessed.
 
 299 
 
 Poor Bessie, that yond to the hallan' 
 
 Had eroppen as far's she could win, 
 Whan she heard a' the dirdum and squallin", 
 
 Cried, — " Good he ahout us ! what's yon r" 
 And belly-rlaught o'er the bed lap she, 
 
 And claucht Hab wi' might and wi' main — 
 " Hech ! liusto !" quo' Habbie, " I chaps ye ; 
 
 I thocht whare your tantrums wad en'. 
 
 "' But gae your wa's, Bessie, tak on ye. 
 
 And see wha'll tak care o' ye now ; 
 E'en gae wi' the Bogle, my bounie— — 
 
 It's a brovvst your ain daffery did brew." 
 "" O dear, dear Habby, my jewel ! 
 
 Keep me trae the Bogle-bo, 
 And what trae this hour," quo' she, " you will 
 
 Command me, I'll never say no." 
 
 '•' Now, lasses, (gin lasses there be ane. 
 
 Will hear out my tale loan en'), 
 Slicht nae the protection that ye ken, 
 
 Ye canna do by frae the men. 
 And whan they their services lender. 
 
 And ye wad s;iv yes, say na ?>o ; 
 VVY frankness and caution surrender. 
 
 For fear o' the Boom. -Bo.
 
 300 
 
 :c And lads, gin your lasses grow dorty, 
 
 Let never their gees mak ye wae, 
 Nor the foul fiend, Despair, come athort ye 
 
 Put ye but a Bo in the way : 
 And whan they tak scoug in your arms, 
 
 Be honest and kindly, and so 
 Fend the sweet little dears frae a' harms, 
 
 Till ye baith bless the Bogle-Bo."
 
 301 
 
 THE BEGGAR. 
 
 I'rom the " Scots Musical Museum," corrected by two MS. 
 copies, transmittal from Scotland. The four stanzas in- 
 closed within brackets, are interpolations. 
 
 Is Scotland there liv'd an humble beggar, 
 Had never a house, nor bald, nor hame; 
 
 But he was weel likit by ilka bode, 
 
 And they trae him sunkets to rax his wame 
 
 Tin- hecigar he was a mensefu' beggar ; 
 
 The fient a pride ne pride had he; 
 But he wad hue ta'eu his alms in a bicker. 
 
 Trae gentleman, or poor body. 
 
 A nievefV o' meal, or a gowpen o' aits, 
 
 A dad o' a bannock, or tadge to pric ; 
 Cald kail, f>r parritch, or lickins o' plates, 
 
 ^ ad hue made him as biyihe as a beggar could he
 
 i02 
 
 Mis wallets a-hin and afore him hang, 
 In as good order as wallets could be ; 
 
 A Jang kail-gully hang down by his side, 
 
 And a muckle nowt-horn* to row t on had he. 
 
 [He ay was welcome where'er he gaed ; 
 
 And ilk ane was glad the beggar to see ; 
 And cadgilie eraekit the earl, I wat. 
 
 Whan set by the ingle l'u' cozilic 
 
 Auld farran and gneigie was he ay, 
 As travelt folk are wont tol)C; 
 
 And a' the ferlies he ever could deck, 
 He sei them afFwi' unco glee. 
 
 * The sword, dagger, and horn, were the distinguishing bad- 
 ges of men of rank, and their military followers; and till ver\ 
 lately were worn in the Highlands of Scotland, by c\cry Mum thai 
 could afford to have such things, when he appeared abroad. 
 This merry inume of a beggar (who i.^ an excellent represi illative 
 ot a character formerly very common, though now seldom met 
 with) accouters himself with a long kail-gully tor ;i sword, a 
 nowt-horn, of the largest si/e he could g< t, for a bugle, eve. of 
 which, al merrv meetings, he made good use in the jests and 
 antiijues with which he entertained and recommended hiinselt 
 to the guests. The editor, when very youi» v , lias seen such a 
 mendicant divle in the north of Scotland, al a penny wedding. 
 
 " W allop out a dam i , 
 
 Or tell some uicrrv tale, 
 
 J ill some glide fellow in his dish 
 "i uni'd oV-r the stoup and \ ■ .
 
 303 
 
 And ay the bairuies wad round him thrang, 
 And ilka ane liad suukets to gie ; 
 
 While r'ainly they Hdgit at ilka tale, 
 And blythely blinkit ilk' ane's e'e.] 
 
 But it happen' d ill, and it happen'd warse, 
 
 Ami it happen'd sae the body did die ; 
 And wha do ye think was at his like-wake, 
 But lad, and lasses ol' high decree: 
 
 And some were blythe, and some were sad ; 
 
 A-hin backs some plav'd Blind Harrie; 
 Then swi])j)ertly started up a earl — 
 
 " My younkers, I rede ye, tak' tent o' me !' 
 
 I p gat Kate, that sat i' the neuk ; 
 
 "Ye cankert earl, what deil ail's ye :" 
 O'er he lap, and he ea'd her limmer, 
 
 And tutigit and niuu'iL her cockemonn . 
 
 [SyiH' -lie o'er him, and he o'er \\cv. 
 
 \\ T eolivshan^v riti'lit rare to see, 
 Until the\ baith were onto' breath, 
 
 S\ nc o'er a liet .-lonp they did 'gree.
 
 S04 
 
 They howkit the greaf in Dukit's kirk-yard ; 
 
 Its e'en fair fa' the companie ; 
 But whan they were layin the beggar in yerd, 
 
 The fient a dead nor dead was he. 
 
 And whan they had him in Dukit's kirk-yard. 
 
 He dunted o' the kist, the buirds did flee; 
 " The Lord be here !" cried ilka ane ; 
 
 In fell the kist, and out lap he ! 
 
 He cried, " I'm cald, I'm unco cald !" 
 Fu' fast ran the folk, and fu' fast ran he ; 
 
 But he was first hame at the aid ingle-side. 
 And helnit to drink his ain dirs;ie.
 
 305 
 
 T H L 
 
 CARL OF KELLYBURNBRAES. 
 
 From the " Scots Musical Museum." 
 
 There lived a carl in Kellyburnbraes, 
 
 (Hey and the rue grows bonny \vi' thyme) 
 And he hud a wife was the plague o' his days; 
 
 And the thyme it iswither'd, and the rue is in prime 
 
 Ae dav as the earl gaed up the lang glen, 
 (Hey and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme) 
 
 He rnetwi' the devil ; says, " How do you fen r" 
 And the thyme itis withcr'd, and the rue is in prime 
 
 '"' I've got a bad wife, >ir; that's a' my complaint: 
 (Hey and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme) 
 
 Lor, saving your presence, to her ye' re a saint, 
 
 And the thyme it i- u ithcr'd, and the rue is in prime.' 
 
 VOL, I, 1
 
 306 
 
 " Its neither your stot nor your staig I shall crave ; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme) 
 But gie me your wife, man, for her I must have ; 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in prime." 
 
 " O welcome, most kindly," the blythe carl said, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme) 
 
 But if ye can match her, ye're waur nor ye're ca'd; 
 And the thyme it is withered, and the rue is in prime." 
 
 The devil has got the auld wife on his back; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme) 
 And, like a poor pedlar, he's carried his pack; 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in prime. 
 
 lie's carried her hame to his ain hallan-door ; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme) 
 Syne bad her go in, for a bitch and a whore, 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in prime 
 
 Then straight he makes fifty, the pick o' his band, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme) 
 
 Turn out on her guard in the clap of a hand; 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in prime
 
 30? 
 
 The cariin gaed through them like ony wood bear ; 
 
 (Hey,, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme) 
 Whae'er she gat hands on came near lier nae mair ; 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in prime. 
 
 A reck it wee devil looks over the wa' ; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme;) 
 " O help, master, help! or she'll ruin us a'; 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in prime." 
 
 The devil he swore by the edge o' his knife, 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme) 
 
 He pilied the man, that was tied to a wife; 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in prime. 
 
 The devil he swore by the kirk and the bell; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme) 
 He was not in wedlock, thank heaven, but in hell; 
 
 And liie thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in prime. 
 
 Then Satan has travell'd again wi' his pack ; 
 
 (ll'-v, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme) 
 And lo her auld husband he's carried her lock ; 
 
 And I lie 1 1) yiiii; it i^ wither'd, and the rue is «n prime
 
 308 
 
 •• I liae been a devil the feck o' my life; 
 
 (Hey, and the rue grows bonny wi' thyme ;) 
 Hut ne'er was in hell, till I met wi' a wife ; 
 
 And the thyme it is wither'd, and the rue is in prime.'
 
 309 
 
 PATIE's COURTSHIP. 
 
 From Mr Herd's MS. transmitted by Mr IV. Scott. Thi 
 copy uill be found much more perfect than that published 
 in the Edinburgh Collection. 
 
 1 atie came in frae the dale, 
 A-driving his vvedders afore him , 
 
 lie met bonny Meg gangin' name, 
 
 And her beauty was like for to smore hiin, 
 
 •' O Maggie, lass, dinna ye ken, 
 
 That you and l'sc gawn to be married; 
 
 I'd rather liae broken my leg, 
 
 As had sic a bargain miscarried." 
 
 " O, Patie, lad, wha tcll'd ye that ? 
 
 1 trow o' news they've been scanty; 
 I'm nae to be married the year, 
 
 Though 1 saould be courted bv twenty.
 
 310 
 
 u Now, Maggie, what gars ye to taunt? 
 
 Is't cause that I haena a mailin ? 
 The lad, that has gear, needsna want. 
 
 For neither a half nor a hail ane. 
 
 ec My father has an auld mare, 
 And yours has a cow and a filly ; 
 
 We canna want plenty o' gear; 
 Then, Maggie, bena sae ill-willy.' 
 
 " Weel, Palie, lad, I dinna ken ; 
 
 But first ye maun spear at my daddie, 
 For we are weel-boden there ben ; 
 
 And I winna say but I'm ready. 
 
 cc We hae wealth o' yarn in clues, 
 To mak me a coat and a jimpey ; 
 
 And plaiding weel seour'd for trews ; 
 Gin ye get it, I shanna scrimp ye." 
 
 " Now fare fa ye, Maggie, for that, 
 I se e'en lat a smackie gae wi' ye ; 
 
 May my neck be as lang as my \c^. 
 If 1 be an ill husband unto ye.
 
 311 
 
 '• Haste ye, mak ready your claiths, 
 And busk ye 'gainst this day fifteen days 
 
 And tell your father frae me, 
 
 I'll be his nude son in threat kindness." 
 
 Maggie's as blythe as a wran, 
 Bodin' the blast o' ill weather; 
 
 And a' the tjaite singin' she ran, 
 To tell the news to her father. 
 
 But ay the auld man cried out, 
 
 " He'll no be o' that mind on Sunday.' 
 " There's nae fear o' that," quo' Meg ; 
 
 For I gat a kiss on the bounty." 
 
 " And what was the matter o' that? 
 
 It was nacthing out o' his pocket : 
 f wish the news were true, 
 
 And we hail him fairly hookit. 
 
 ■ For Patio' s a very good lad, 
 And weathers has little fra twenty, 
 
 \\\(\ inoiiy good trifles beside; 
 He's no to Hing at, lmu he want ye.'
 
 312 
 
 A very wee while after that, 
 
 Wha cam to our bigging but Patie, 
 
 Dress' d up in a braw new coat, 
 
 And he tiiocht himsel wondrous neatie. 
 
 His bonnet was little frae new, 
 And in it a loop and a slittie ; 
 
 To draw in a ribbon sae blue, 
 To bab at the neck o' his coatie. 
 
 Then Patie cam in wi' a stend ; 
 
 Cried, " Peace be under the biggin !" 
 " You're welcome," quo' William, " come ben, 
 
 Or I wish it may rive to the riggin. 
 
 " Come in your wa's, Pate, and sit down, 
 And tell us your news in a hurry,- — 
 
 And, Meggie, gang you in the while, 
 And put on the pat wi' the puny." 
 
 Says Patie, " My news is but sraa; 
 
 Yestreen I was wi' his honour, 
 And took three rigs o' braw land, 
 
 And put myself under a bonnar.
 
 313 
 
 "' And now my errand's to you, 
 For Maggie to help me to labour; 
 
 But I'm r'ear'd we'll need your best cow, 
 Because that our hauding's but sober." 
 
 Quo' William, " To harl ye thro', 
 l'se be at the cost o' the bridal; 
 
 I'll cut the craig o' the ewe, 
 
 That had amaist died of the side-ill. 
 
 "And there will be plenty o' broo, 
 Sac lang as our wall is na reested, 
 
 To a' the neighbours and you; 
 
 Sae I think we'll be nae that ill feasted. 
 
 Blind Robin the piper did play ; 
 
 And ilka ane danced that was willing ; 
 And the rest they a ranked thro', 
 
 And held the wee stoupie a-filling. 
 
 The auld wives sat and they chewed; 
 
 And whan that the carles grew nappy, 
 They danced as wee] as they dow'd, 
 
 YVi' ;i knack o' their thumbs and a happic
 
 314 
 
 The lad that wore the white band, 
 
 I think they ca'd him Andrew Mather, 
 
 And he took the bride by the hand, 
 And cried to play up Maggy Lauder.
 
 315 
 
 THE MILLEK 
 
 THE KINGS DAUGHTER.* 
 
 There were two sisters, they went a-playing, 
 \\ ith a hie downe, downe, a dowiie a; 
 
 To see their lather's ships sailing in, 
 \\ ith a hie downe, downe, a dovvne a. 
 
 And when they came into the sea brim, 
 With a hie downe, downe, a downe a, 
 
 The elder did push the younger in, 
 A\ ith a hie downe, downe, a downe a. 
 
 * From " Tilumrum Dcliciic, or the Muse's recreation, con- 
 taining several pieces of I'oetique Wit, the second edit. hv sir 
 J. M. and \. S. ltioG." It is also found in " Wit Restored, by 
 J.S.London, 16\j<5;" and in Drvden's Miscellanies; and i> >a!<' 
 *o be l.v Mr Smith.
 
 316 
 
 '- O sister, sister, take me by the gown, 
 With a hie downe, downe, a downe a', 
 
 And draw me up on the dry ground, 
 With a hie downe, downe, a downe a'." 
 
 •' O sister, O sister, that may not be, 
 With a hie downe, downe, a downe a. 
 
 Till salt and oatmeal grow both of a tree, 
 With a hie downe, downe, a downe a." 
 
 Somtymes she sank, sometimes she swam, 
 With a hie downe, downe, a downe a', 
 
 Untill she came unto the milldam, 
 
 With a hie downe, downe, a downe a'. 
 
 The miller run hastily down the clille, 
 With a hie downe, downe, a downe a, 
 
 And up he betouk her withouten lite, 
 With a hie downe, downe, a downe a. 
 
 What did he doc with her brest bone, 
 With a hie downe, downe, a downe a 
 
 Me made him a violl to play thereupon, 
 With a hie downe, downe, a downe a,
 
 317 
 
 What did he doc with her lingers so small. 
 
 With a hie dovvne, downc, a dovvne a' ? 
 He made him peggs to his viol withall, 
 
 With a hie downe, dovvne, a downe a. 
 
 What did he doe with her nose-ridge, 
 With a hie downe, downe, a downe a; 
 
 Into his violl he made him a bridge, 
 With a hie downe, downe, a downe a'. 
 
 What did he with her veynes so blew, 
 \\ ith a hie downc, downe, a downe a: 
 
 He made him strings to his violc thereto, 
 With a hie downc, dovvne, a downc a. 
 
 What did he doc with her eves so bright, 
 With a hie dovvne, downe, a downe a : 
 
 Upon his violl he [day'd at first sight, 
 \\ ith a hie dovvne, downe, ;i downe a'. 
 
 W hat did he doc with her tongue so ronghj 
 With a hie downe, downc, a downc a." 
 
 Unto the violl it -poke enough, 
 
 With a hie downe, downc, a downe a.
 
 318 
 
 What did he doe with her two shinnes, 
 With a hie downe, dovvne, a dovvne a ? 
 
 Unto the violl they danct Moll Syms, 
 With a hie dovvne, dovvne, a downe a. 
 
 Then bespake the treble string, 
 
 With a hie downe, dovvne, a downe a, 
 
 " O yonder is my father the king, 
 
 With a hie dovvne, dovvne, a dovvne a.' 
 
 Then bespake the second string, 
 
 With a hie dovvne, dovvne, a dovvne a. 
 
 iC O yonder sits my mother the queen, 
 With a hie downe, dovvne, a dovvne a." 
 
 And then bespake the strings all three, 
 With a hie dovvne, dovvne, a dovvne a. 
 
 i( O yonder is my sister that drowned mee, 
 With a hie downe, downe, a downe a." 
 
 •"' Now pay the miller lor his payne, 
 With a hie dovvne, dovvne, a downe a ; 
 
 And let him begone in the devil's name, 
 With a hie dovvne, dovvne, a dovvne a.'
 
 319 
 
 SWEET ROBIN 
 
 1 his little piece, which is very popular all over Scotland, 
 is given from the recitation of a friend of the editor's in 
 Morayshire. As it is commonly sung in that part of the 
 country, the stanza runs thus : 
 
 " She wadna bake, she wadna brew, 
 
 (Ilollm, green hoilin !) 
 For spoiling o her comely line. 
 
 QBend your bow, Robin !") 
 
 This burden seems to have belonged to some son^ of a 
 very different description, which is probably now lost, al- 
 though the air is preserved. In the little variation which 
 the editor has presumed to introduce, he has endeavoured to 
 preserve the chaiacter of the original burden, at the same 
 time that he has made il somewhat more ot a piece with 
 the verses to which it is appended. 
 
 Another copy of thi> soul', which lias Come to the edi- 
 tor's hands, is denominated " The life Laird," and begine 
 in this manner :
 
 520 
 
 ■' There liv'd a landart laird in File, 
 
 Jtiftly, raftly, now, now, now ; 
 And he lias married a dandily wife; 
 
 Hey, Joek Simpleton, Jenny's white petticoat 
 Robin a rashes, now, now, now. 
 
 " He courted her, and he brought her ham: , 
 
 Riftly, raftly, &c. 
 And thought she wad prove a thrifty dame, 
 
 Hey, Jock Simpleton, &c. 
 
 " She cou'd neither spin nor caird, 
 
 Riftly, raftly, &c. 
 But sit her chair, and dawt wi' the laird. 
 
 Hey, Jock Simpleton, ixc. 
 
 " She wadna hake, and she wadna brew. 
 " Riftly, raftly, 6cc." 
 
 The editor, ambitious of shewing himself " ay kind (o 
 tJicwyffis" has added Hvc stanzas at the end, for the en- 
 couragement of all good ladies, who may have prudence 
 enough, like the heroine of this little tale, to take the first 
 warning ; and as an admonition to every brave and fortu- 
 nate hero of matrimonial enterprize, who may succeed in 
 the difficult and dangerous attempt at taming a shrew, or 
 reforming a bad wife.
 
 32] 
 
 SWEET ROBIN. 
 
 .^he wadna bake, she wadna brew, 
 
 (Lady, tine lady !) 
 For spoiling o' her comely hue; 
 
 (Sic a line lady !) 
 
 She wadna wash, she wadna wring, 
 
 (Lady, fine lady!) 
 For spoiling o' her gay goud ring; 
 
 (Sic a fine lady!) 
 
 Robin he'sgane to the f'ald, 
 
 (Robin, sweet Robin !) 
 \nd (Pitched a weather by the spauld 
 (Fair la thee, Robin !) 
 f) i., i. x
 
 322 
 
 And he has killed his weather black, 
 
 (Robin, sweet Robin !) 
 And laid the skin upon her back; 
 
 (Fair fa' thee, Robin !) 
 
 " I darena pay you for your kin, 
 
 Lady, fine lady; 
 But I can pay my weather's skin 
 
 Husto! fine lady! 
 
 <e I darena pay my lady's back, 
 
 Lady, fine lady ! 
 But I can pay my weather black 
 
 Husto ! fine lady !" 
 
 ee O Robin, Robin, lat me be, 
 
 Robin, sweet Robin ; 
 And I'll a good wife be to thee 
 
 Fair fa' my Robin ! 
 
 " Its I will wash, and I will wring, 
 
 Robin, sweet Robin ; 
 And never mind my gay goud ring; 
 
 Fair fa' my Robin !
 
 " Its L will bake, and I will brew, 
 
 Robin, sweet Robin, 
 And never mind my comely hue ; 
 
 Fair fa' my Robin ! 
 
 " And gin ye thinkna that eneugh, 
 
 Robin, sweet Robin ; 
 Fse tak the goad, and I'se ca' the pleugh, 
 
 Mv ain sweet Robin ! 
 
 " Gin ye ca' for mair whan that is doon, 
 
 Robin, sweet Robin; 
 I'll sit i' the neuk and I'll dight your shoon, 
 
 My ain sweet Robin." 
 
 :( O blessings on your bonny mou, 
 
 Peggie, dear Peggie ; 
 It never sinaek'd sae sweet as now; 
 
 Fair la' thee, Peggie ! 
 
 cc Then do your part, and do it weel, 
 
 Peggie, dear Peggie, 
 And kindness soon your dool will heal 
 
 My bonny Peggie '
 
 324 
 
 " Haud your house and bairnies clean, 
 
 Peggie, dear Peggie ; 
 And chear your Robin morn and een, 
 
 My bonny Peggie ! 
 
 " And ne'er anither Scotsman's wife, 
 
 Peggie, dear Peggie, 
 Sail be mair dauted for her life, 
 
 My bonny Peggie ! 
 
 e * For Robin's dearest wish was still, 
 
 Pesreie, dear Peargie ! 
 To rule your heart, but nae your will, 
 
 My bonny Peggie." # 
 
 * The following fragment is better, so far as it goes, than 
 any of the others : 
 
 There lives a landart laird in Fife, 
 And he has married a dandily wife; 
 She wadna shape, nor yet wad she sew, 
 But sit wi' her cummers, and fill hersell fu'. 
 
 She wadna spin, nor yet wad she card, 
 But she wjkI sit, and crack wi' the laird. 
 lie is down to his sheep laid, 
 ^nd cleck.it a weather by the back spald
 
 325 
 
 He's whirled affthe gude weathers' ski n ? 
 And wrappit the dandily lady therein; 
 " I dare mi pay you for your gentle kin, 
 Rut weel may I skelp my weathers skm,"
 
 3 C 26 
 
 ROBINS COURTSHIP. 
 
 From Mr Herd's Collection, published at Edinburgh, in. 
 two volumes 12mo. 
 
 Flow lang have I a bachelor been, 
 This twa and twenty year! 
 How aft have I a wooing gane, 
 Though I cam never the near ! 
 
 "For Nannie she says, she winna hae me, 
 
 1 look so like a clown ; 
 But, by my sooth ! I'm as good as herscl ; 
 
 Sae I'se ne'er lash my thumb. 
 
 " She says, if I could loup and dance 
 
 As Tain the miller can, 
 Or cut a caper like the t ay lor, 
 
 She would like me than.
 
 327 
 
 • ( By my word, it's daffin to lie ; 
 
 My joints were ne'er so nimble; 
 The taylor he lias naething to mind, 
 
 But his bodkin, shears, and thimble. 
 
 " Am] how do you do, my little wee Nan, 
 My lamb and slibberkin mouse i 
 
 And how does your father and mother do. 
 And a' the 2,'ood folks i' the house ? 
 
 11 I think nae shame to shaw my shapes : 
 Fse warrand ye'll guess my errand; 
 
 You maun gang wi' me, fair maid." 
 " To marry you, sir, 1'se warrand. 
 
 " But maun belangs to the king himsel, 
 
 But no to a country clown ; 
 Ye might have said, ' UY your leave, fair maid 
 
 And kitten your maun alane." 
 
 " O sec but how she mocks me now ; 
 
 She scofls mc, and does scorn ; 
 The man that marrn - yon, fail maid. 
 
 Maun rise riirhi soon i' the morn.
 
 328 
 
 " But fare ye weel, and e'ens you like, 
 
 For 1 can get anither." 
 He lap on his horse at the back o' the dyke, 
 
 And gaed hame to tell his mither. 
 
 When Nan saw that, she wadna wait, 
 But she has ta'en the taylor ; 
 
 For, whan a lass gets the lad she likes, 
 'Tis better far than siller. 
 
 But whan he heard that Nansy was tint, 
 
 As he sat on yon know ; 
 He ruggit his hair, he blubbert and grat, 
 
 And to a stane daddit his pow. 
 
 His mither came out, and wi' the dishclout 
 
 She daddit about his mow ; 
 "The deil's i' the chield ! I think he's gane daft ; 
 
 " Get up, ye blubbring sow !" * 
 
 * Here this rustic ballad breaks off very abruptly. The fol- 
 lowing stanzas, which are added in Mr Herd's collection, seem 
 to belong to some other ditty, on this or ;i similar subject, and 
 to be best adapted to the tailor, as interlocutor :
 
 S29 
 
 u If ever there was an ili wife i' the warld, 
 
 It was my hap to get licr; 
 And by my hap, and by my luck, 
 
 I had been better but her. 
 
 " I wish I had lain i' my grave, 
 
 When I got her to marriage; 
 For the very first night the strife began, 
 
 And she gave me my carriage. 
 
 " I scour'd awa' to Edinborow town, 
 
 And my cutty brown together ; 
 And there 1 bought her a braw new gown ; 
 
 I'm sure it cost some siller. 
 
 -' Ilka ell o't was a crown ; 
 
 'Twas better than her marriage ; 
 But because it was black, and it wasna brown, 
 
 For that I got my carriage. 
 
 " Whan I saw nacthing wad her mend, 
 
 I took her to the forest ; 
 The very first wood that 1 came to, 
 
 Green hollin was the nearest; 
 
 " There I paid her baith back and side, 
 
 Till a' her banes play'd clatter ; 
 And a' the bairns gathered round about, 
 
 Cry'd) " Fy, goodman, have at her !"
 
 330 
 
 ROBIN'S COURTSHIP.* 
 
 To the Time of—-" The Beginning of the World. 
 
 O mother, chave bin a batchelour 
 
 This twelve and twanty yeare ; 
 And I'ze have often beene a wowing, 
 
 And yet cham never the neare. 
 Jone Gromball cheel ha none o' race, 
 
 I'ze look so like a lowt ; 
 But I vaith cham as propper a man as zhe, 
 
 Zhee need not be zo stout. 
 
 * From " Wit Restored," by J. S. London, 1658. It ha? 
 ^Iso been inserted in Dryden's Miscellanies.
 
 331 
 
 " She zaies, it' Ize cond daunce and zing 
 
 As Tliomas Miller con, 
 Or cut a cauper as little Jack Taylor, 
 
 O, how cheed love me thon ! 
 But zoit and faire, chil none or* that; 
 
 I vaith chain not zo nimble ; 
 The tailor hath nought to trouble his thought, 
 
 But his needle and his thimble." 
 
 "' O zon, th' art of a lawful age, 
 
 And a jolly tidy boy; 
 Ide have thee try her once agane, 
 
 She can but say thee nay." 
 t( Then O, gramercy, mother, 
 
 Chill zet a good vace o' the matter, 
 Chill dress up my zon as fine as a dog, 
 
 And chill have a fresh bout at her. 
 
 " And first chill put on my Zunday parrel, 
 
 That's lac't about the quarters; 
 With a paire of buckram slops, 
 
 And a slanting paire of garters. 
 With my sword tide vast to my zide, 
 
 And my grandvather's dug'en and dagger, 
 And a peacock's veather in my capp, 
 
 Then oh ! how 1'ch shall swauuer."
 
 332 
 
 " Nay, tak thee a lockrum napkin, son, 
 
 To wipe thy snotty nose." 
 " 'Tis noe matter vor that, chill snort it out. 
 
 And vlurt it athart my cloths." 
 " Ods bodikins ! nay, fy, away ! 
 
 I prethee, son, do not so ; 
 Be mannerly, son, till thou canst tell 
 
 Whether she'll hae thee or noe. 
 
 " But, zirrah !" — <e Mother, hark a while, 
 
 Who's that, that comes so near?" 
 'Tis Jone Grumball, hold thy peace, 
 
 For feare that shee doe heare." 
 " Nay, on't be she, chill dresse my words 
 
 In zuch a scholard's grace ; 
 But virst of all, chall take my bonds, 
 
 And lay them athwart her vace. 
 
 " Good-morrow, my honey, my sugger-candy, 
 
 My little pretty mouse; 
 Cha hopes thy vather and mother be well, 
 
 At home at thine own house. 
 Feb. am zhame vac't to show my mind, 
 
 Cham zure thou knowst my arrant; 
 r /.un\ zen, Jug, that I mun a thee." — 
 
 (l At leisure, sir, I warrant.
 
 333 
 
 " You must, sir clowne, is for the king, 
 
 And not for such a mome ; 
 You might have said, by leave, /aire maid, 
 
 And let your must alone." 
 f( I'ch am noc more nor clowne, that's vlat ; 
 
 Chain in my Zunday parrel ; 
 Fch came vor love, and, I pray, so tak't; 
 
 Che hopes che will not quarrel." 
 
 " O Robin, dost thou love me so well ?'"' 
 
 " I'vaith, abommination !" 
 " Why, then, you should have framed your word- 
 
 Into a finer fashion." 
 " Vine vashions, and vine speeches, too, 
 
 As schollards volks eon utter, — 
 Chad wrather speak but tvva words plaine, 
 
 Thon hauli'e a score, and stutter. 
 
 " Chave land, chave houss, chave twa vat beasts, 
 
 That's better than vine speeches." 
 '' 'Tis a sign that fortune favours foolcs, 
 
 She lets them have such riches/' 
 cc Hark, how she comes upon me now! 
 
 I'd wish it he a good zine." 
 " lie thai will steal any wit from thee, 
 
 Had need to rise betime."
 
 334 
 
 * # * In Major Pearson's Collection of Ballads, in the library 
 of the late Duke of Roxburghe, vol. ii. p. 343, is a copy of this 
 ballad in black letter, intitled " The Merry Wooing of Robin 
 and Joane, the west country lovers," in which the amorous 
 parley ends somewhat more favourably for Robin, although 
 perhaps not quite so naturally. The two concluding stanzas 
 are as follows : 
 
 " I'se, vaith I'se am no vool Use zay; 
 
 I'se think you zud know better ; 
 Dost thou think I'se not know, I pray, 
 Good speech and manners better r" 
 " Tis sure you know not ; if you did, 
 
 You'd ne'er have been a lover," 
 " Nay, nay, my dear ; nay, nay, udzlid ! 
 Why inun not I discover — 
 
 u What long in secret I'se ha kept, 
 
 And woud ha longer done it, 
 Had not my passion been zo heap'd, 
 
 I'se had no room for it." 
 " And are you in love, as you zay r" 
 
 " Yes, vaith and troth I zvvare it !" 
 " And, prithee, Robin, set the day, 
 
 And wees e'en both be married '
 
 335 
 
 THE 
 
 OLD BALLET 
 
 OF 
 
 SHEPHEARD TOM. 
 
 From " Wit Restored," by J. S. London. 16\5S. 
 
 As I late wand red over a plaine, 
 
 Upon a hill, piping, I spidc a shephard's swaine: 
 
 His slops were of green, his coat was of gray, 
 
 And on his head a wreath of willow and of bay. 
 
 He sigh'd and he pip't; 
 
 His eyes he often wip't; 
 
 He curst and hand the hoy, 
 
 That first brought his annoy, 
 
 Who, with the fire of desire so inflamde hisminde, 
 
 To doate upon a lasse so various and unkinde.
 
 580 
 
 Then, howling, he threw his whistle away, 
 
 And beat his heeles agen the ground whereon he lav. 
 
 J le swore and he star'd ; he was quite bereft of hope, 
 
 And out of his scrip he pulled a rope. 
 
 Quoth he, " The man that wooes 
 
 With me, prepare the noose; 
 
 For, rather than I'll fly, 
 
 By hemp I'll choose to dy." 
 
 Then up he rose, and he goes streight unto a tree, 
 
 There he thus complaines of his lasses cruelty. 
 
 " A pox upon the divell, that ever 'twas my lot, 
 
 To set my love upon so wooddish a trot. 
 
 Had not I been better tooke J one of the mill, 
 
 Kate of the crcame house, or bonny bouncing Nell. 
 
 A proud word I speak, 
 
 I had them at my beck ; 
 
 And they on holydayes 
 
 Would give me pick and praise : 
 
 But Phillis she was to me dearer than my eyes, 
 
 For whom I now indure these plaguy miserves. 
 
 " Oft have I wood her with many a tearo, 
 
 V\ i tli ribband for her head tire and laces from the fayre, 
 
 With bone-lace and with shoone, with bracelets and with 
 
 pinns, 
 And many a toy besides — good God forgive my sins!
 
 337 
 
 And yet this plaguy flirt 
 
 Would ding ine in the dirte, 
 
 And smile to see mee tear 
 
 The locks from my haire, 
 
 To scratch my chops, rend my slops, and at wakes to sit 
 
 Like to a sol bereft both of reason, sense, and wit. 
 
 " Therefore from this bough Tom bids a dew 
 
 To the shepherds of the valley, and all the jovial crew. 
 
 Farewell, Thump ray ram, and Cut my bobtail curre ; 
 
 Behold your master proves Ids ovvne murtherer. 
 
 Goe to my Philis, goe, 
 
 Tell her this tale of woe; 
 
 Tell her where .-die may undo 
 
 Ale tottering in the winde: 
 
 Say. on a tree she may see her Tom rid from all care, 
 
 Where she may take him, napping, as Moss took his mare,' 
 
 His Philis by chance stood close in a bush, 
 
 And as the clovvne did sprawle, she streiglit to him did rush. 
 
 She cut in two the rope, and thus to him she said, — 
 
 " Despairing Tom, my Tom, thou hast undone a maid." 
 
 'I hen, us one amaz'd, 
 
 I pen her face he ga/.'d ; 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 338 
 
 And, in his woeful case, 
 
 She kist his pallid face; 
 
 He whoopt amaine, swore, no swaine ever more should be 
 
 Sae happy in his love, nor halfe so sweet as she.
 
 SONGS.
 
 341 
 
 SONG I. 
 BACHELOR'S SONG. 
 
 FroJii " Wit and Drollery," London, lOSC, p. 157- 
 
 Like a dogu', with a bottle tied fast to bis tayle. 
 Or vermin in a trap, or their' inajaykv, 
 
 Or like a tory in a bog, 
 
 Or an ape with a clog ; 
 Such is the man, who, when he might go free, 
 
 Does his liberty loose, 
 
 For a matrimony noose, 
 And sells himself into captivity. 
 
 The dog lie docs howle, when his bottle does jog; 
 The vermin, the theif, and the l.orv, in vum 
 Of the trap, of the javic, or the quagmire complainc ; 
 But well fair [fare] poor pug, for he plays with his clog, 
 And, though he would be rid on't, rather than lbs life, 
 ^i et h'' liners it, and he lug-s it, as a man doth his wife, 
 
 7
 
 42 
 
 * 1 * In the same Collection follows a reply, against libertines, 
 of very inferior merit ; which is succeeded by a rejoinder, that 
 begins promisingly enough : 
 
 " Like a cat, with his tail fast held by a pegg ; 
 
 Like a hogg, that gruntles when he's ty'd by the legg ; 
 
 Like a gall horse in a pound, 
 
 Or a ship run a-ground ; 
 Such is the man, who, ty'd in nuptial nooze, 
 
 With the proud store braggs 
 
 Of his patches and his raggs, 
 And rails at looseness, yet fain would get loose."
 
 >A3 
 
 SONG II. 
 
 BY THE EHITOJt 
 
 Ane zoung man stcrt into that steid, 
 
 Als cant as ony colt, 
 Ane birkin hat upon /lis held, 
 
 117/// ane bore and ane bolt : 
 Said, " Mirry maidnis, think nocht fang : 
 
 The uedder is fair and smolt ,-" 
 He cleikit up an mr. r.ur Sang, 
 
 "Thair fure ane man to tlie holt, Ike." 
 
 Peblis to the Play, St. 
 
 Xhair lure ane man lo the holt, 
 
 And wow gif he was lane ! 
 He brankit like ane colt; 
 
 For vvowand lie was bane; 
 And " Hey, cum up, cum up!" 
 
 And " hey cum up!" quod lie; 
 " And quhair is ane ireik on ground, 
 
 Harris cry Bo ! to me r"
 
 344 
 
 The cummer tuik hir mantel, 
 
 Bot and hir goldin fan ; 
 And farrand till the fell, 
 
 Scho met hir awin guid man ; 
 And " Hey, cum up, cum up!" 
 
 And <c hey cum up!" quod he; 
 iC And quhair is my cummer gane 
 
 In al this bravourie ?" 
 
 '•' I cum so buskit here 
 
 For the, my (low, to luik; 
 And, bot thy herte to chore, 
 
 Na uthir kepe I tuik." 
 Then " Hey, cum up, cum up !" 
 
 And " hey cum up !" quod he ; 
 " And quhair is ane vvyiVon ground 
 
 Sa leal a!s Margerie r" 
 
 Up spak his suster than, 
 
 ((jiod gif hir mikei cair!) 
 " Ane tryst with hir lemman, 
 
 Scho hais in holtis hair;" 
 And " Hey, cum up, cud; up!' 
 
 And " hey, cum up!" quod scho 
 " And quhair is my lady now 
 
 Wald stawin f'ra mc my jo ?''*
 
 345 
 
 ,v Gif me that gay mantel, 
 
 Bot and that golclin fan, 
 And 1 sail ouir the fell 
 
 To speik with zour iemman;" 
 And " Hey, cum up, cum up!" 
 
 And " hey, cum up/' quod he; 
 •'' Se now quhiik dourest is, 
 
 His riggand or this trc r" 
 
 The wowar be hymsel, 
 
 A!? cant als ony cone, 
 Saw quhair the gay mantel 
 
 Was skinkland in the sone ; 
 And " Hey, cum up, cum up !" 
 
 Ami " hey cum up !" quod he 
 ce Here is my leal Iemman 
 
 Cum to the holt to me." 
 
 \\ el helit in aue Imde, 
 Bos und ane wympil clere, 
 
 Cude-inan in i'elloun mude 
 J ; ui tentillich drench nere; 
 
 Then l< Hey, cum up, cum up !" 
 And " hey cum up !" quod he ; 
 
 f Hail' at ilif, loun, lhat svald 
 John Cjolkslon mak oJi mc !"
 
 346 
 
 Syne lent him sic ane rout 
 
 Gart al his banis crak ; 
 And round and round about 
 
 Dushit him coist and bak ; 
 And " Hey, cum up, cum up !" 
 
 And " hey, cum up !" quod he 
 " Ga, voist now till thy feris 
 
 Quhat golk zu makis me !"
 
 347 
 
 SONG III 
 
 BY THE EDITOft. 
 
 The first Stanza is current in Scotland. 
 
 Ihe doitit aid carl cam o'er the craft, 
 
 Wi' his aid beard newiin shaven ; 
 Tie srlowrt at me as he had been daft: 
 The carl trow'd that I wad hae him. 
 Chorus. Hunt avva, I winna hae him ! 
 
 Na, na, I winna hae him ; 
 The carl's fey to think that I 
 
 For a' his croud and irear wad hae him ! 
 
 He whaislcd an' hostit as he cam in, 
 A\ i* his aid beard newlin shaven; 
 
 Sync wytit the reek an' the frosty win', 
 -An' alowit at mc as I wad hae him. 
 Ilout nwa, &.C.
 
 548 
 
 Wi' welcome my minnie bad him come ben, 
 Wi' his aid beard newlin shaven ; 
 
 He hunkert him down like a clockin hen, 
 An' flyret at me as I wad hae him. 
 Hout awa, Sec. 
 
 He steer' d the ingle, and dichtit his beik, 
 An' his aid beard newlin shaven ; 
 
 Says, — " Lassie, wad ye a good-man like, 
 That lues ye leal, gin ye wad hae him. 
 Hout aw a, &c. 
 
 (< Wi' horses an' sheep, an' owsen an' ky, 
 An' cottar folk mail an' kain to pay him, 
 
 An' fouth an' routh, an' a heart, for by, 
 As canty's a crick, gin ye wad hae him. 
 Hout awa, &c. 
 
 " Wi' a gude stane house, an' a pantry bien, 
 An' chic! nor chare to want them frae him 
 
 An' hiinsel baith feirie an' crouse at e'en, 
 To cuddle wi' you gin ye wad hae him.''" 
 Hout awa, &c.
 
 349 
 
 " Gac Va, ye dozent poor body, gac \va, 
 Wi' your aid beard aevvlin shaven ; 
 
 Blear' d, fusionless, fitless, and fey v.itha, 
 How can the daft carl bid me hae him! 
 Hout aw a, &.c. 
 
 " For sooth, three score winna do wi' me, 
 \\ i' his aid beard newlin shaven ; 
 
 Aid gerrons they downa to labour lee, 
 And a chiel maun be stark or I hae him. 
 Hout awa, Sec.
 
 350 
 
 SONG IV. 
 I WISH MY LOVE WERE IN A MIRE. 
 
 1 he warld has cross eneuch o' will ; 
 
 What d needs love to male it mair 
 
 To gnaw an' pine, an' plague folk still, 
 
 An' wear their lives out till a hair! 
 Sin I loed, black has been my la' ; 
 
 But sooth its time to smore the fire, 
 Whan love remains, an' hope's awa — 
 
 I wish my love were in a mire ! 
 
 To sich an' graen the lee-lang day, 
 
 To toss an' tumble out the night ; 
 To grow as weak's a windle-strae, 
 
 As green as whey, as thin's a weight ; 
 To lo'e till a' life's spunk is out, 
 
 Syne get the fewel, butt the fire ; — 
 Shame fa' his silly head wad do't ; 
 
 I loor my love were in a mire !
 
 351 
 
 SONG V. 
 BOBBING JOHN. 
 
 Hey for Bobbin Jolm! 
 
 Kittle up the chanter ! 
 Bang up a Strathspey, 
 
 To fling wi' John the Ranter. 
 Johnie's stout an' bald, 
 
 Ne'er could thole a banter; 
 Bien in byre an' fald, 
 
 An', lasses, he's a wanter. 
 
 Back as braid's a door; 
 
 Bow-hough'd like a felly; 
 Thick about the brands, 
 
 An' o'er the breast an' belly. 
 Hey for Bobbin John ! 
 
 Kittle up the chanter ! 
 Queans are a' gane gyte 
 
 To flint: wi' John the Ranter.
 
 352 
 
 Bonny's his black e'e, 
 
 Blinking blythe, an' vogie, 
 Wi' lassie on his knee, 
 
 In bis nieve a cogie ; 
 Syne tbe lad will kiss, 
 
 Sweetly kiss an' cuddle ; 
 Cald wad be her heart, 
 
 That coud wi' Johnie widdle. 
 
 Sonse fa' Bobbin John ; 
 Want an' wae gae by him; 
 
 There's in town or land 
 
 Nae chiel doesna envy him. 
 
 Flingi !i to the pipe, 
 Bobbin to tbe fiddle, 
 
 Kneif was ilka lass, 
 
 That coud wi' Johnie meddle. 
 
 THE END OF VOLUME FIRST, 
 
 Edinburgh, 
 Printed by James Ballantync & Co.
 
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