Part I_The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 5 (of 5)

THE ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH

POPULAR BALLADS

THE

ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH

POPULAR BALLADS

EDITED BY

FRANCIS JAMES CHILD

IN FIVE VOLUMES

VOLUME V

NEW YORK

DOVER PUBLICATIONS, INC.

This Dover edition, first published in 1965, is an unabridged and

unaltered republication of the work originally published by Houghton,

Mifflin and Company, as follows:

Vol. I--Part I, 1882; Part II, 1884

Vol. II--Part III, 1885; Part IV, 1886

Vol. III--Part V, 1888; Part VI, 1889

Vol. IV--Part VII, 1890; Part VIII, 1892

Vol. V--Part IX, 1894; Part X, 1898.

This edition also contains as an appendix to Part X an essay by Walter

Morris Hart entitled “Professor Child and the Ballad,” reprinted _in

toto_ from Vol. XXI, No. 4, 1906 [New Series Vol. XIV, No. 4] of the

_Publications of the Modern Language Association of America_.

_Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 65-24347_

Manufactured in the United States of America

Dover Publications, Inc.

180 Varick Street

New York, N.Y. 10014

ADVERTISEMENT TO PART IX

NUMBERS 266-305

The delay of the publication of this Ninth Part of the English and

Scottish Ballads has been occasioned partly by disturbances of health,

but principally by the necessity of waiting for texts. It was notorious

that there was a considerable number of ballads among the papers of

Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe, and it was an important object to get

possession of these, the only one of the older collections (with a

slight exception) which I had not had in my hands. An unexpected

opportunity occurred upon the sale of Sharpe’s manuscripts last year.

All the ballads, including, besides loose sheets, several sets of

pieces, were secured by Mr Macmath, and turned over to me (mostly in

transcripts made by his own hand) with that entire devotion to the

interests of this undertaking which I have had so frequent occasion

to signalize. A particularly valuable acquisition was the “old lady’s

complete set of ballads,” mentioned by Scott in his correspondence with

Sharpe, which was the original of most of the pieces in the Skene MS.

This Ninth Part completes the collection of English and Scottish

ballads to the extent of my knowledge of sources, saving that William

Tytler’s Brown-MS. has not been recovered. Copies, from Mrs Brown’s

recitation, of all the pieces in this MS. are, however, elsewhere to be

found, excepting in a single instance, and that of a ballad which is

probably a variety of one or another here given in several forms (No 99

or No 158).

I have to thank Mr Macmath once more for his energetic and untiring

co-operation; the Rev. William Findlay, of Sabine, for permission to

make use of his ballad-gatherings; the Rev. S. Baring-Gould, Mr P.

Z. Round, Mr William Walker, and Mr R. Brinley Johnson, for texts;

Professor Wollner, of Leipzig, for the most liberal assistance in

Slavic matters; Mr Kaarle Krohn, of the University of Helsingfors, for

a minute and comprehensive study of the Esthonian and Finnish forms of

No 95; Dr Axel Olrik for Scandinavian texts and information relating

thereto; Professor Kittredge for notes; and Mr R. B. Armstrong, of

Edinburgh, Dr Åke W:son Munthe, of Upsala, Miss M. H. Mason, of London,

Mr Alfred Rogers, of the Library of the University of Cambridge, Mr H.

L. Koopman, late of Harvard College, and Mrs Maria Ellery MacKaye, for

kind help of various descriptions.

It is intended that Part X (completing the work) shall contain a list

of sources, a full and careful glossary, an index of titles and matters

and other indexes, and a general preface.

F. J. C.

April, 1894.

ADVERTISEMENT TO PART X

For texts, information, or correction of errors, I have the pleasure

of expressing my indebtedness to the following gentlemen in Europe:

Mr Andrew Lang; Mr J. K. Hudson of Manchester; Professor J. Estlin

Carpenter of Oxford; Messrs W. Macmath and David MacRitchie of

Edinburgh; Mr W. Walker of Aberdeen; Dr Axel Olrik of Copenhagen;

and in America to the following ladies and gentlemen: Miss Mary

C. Burleigh of Massachusetts; Miss Louise Porter Haskell of South

Carolina; Professor Kittredge, Dr W. H. Schofield, Dr W. P. Few and

Mr E. E. Griffith of Harvard College; Professor W. U. Richardson of

the Harvard Medical School; Dr F. A. Morrison of Indiana, and Mr W. W.

Newell, editor of the Journal of American Folk-Lore. The services of Mr

Leo Wiener of Harvard College have been at my full command in Slavic

matters, and had time been at my disposal would have been employed for

a much wider examination of the very numerous collections of Slavic

popular songs. Mr G. F. Arnold, late of Harvard College Library,

obligingly undertook the general bibliographical index at the end of

this volume; but the labor proving too great for his delicate health,

this index was completed by my friend Miss Catharine Innes Ireland, who

besides has generously devoted a great deal of time to the compilation

or correction of all the other indexes and the preparation of them

for the press. Still further favors are acknowledged elsewhere. In

conclusion I would recognize with thanks and admiration the patience,

liberality and consideration shown me by my publishers from beginning

to end.

F. J. C.

[The manuscript of this Tenth and final Part of the English and

Scottish Ballads (including the Advertisement), was left by Professor

Child substantially complete, with the exception of the Bibliography,

and nearly ready for the press. The Bibliography, which Miss Ireland

had in hand at the time of Professor Child’s death, has been completed

by her, with some assistance. In accordance with Professor Child’s

desire, and at the request of his family, I have seen the present

Part through the press. My own notes, except in the Indexes and

Bibliography, are enclosed within brackets, and have been confined, in

the main, to entries in the Additions and Corrections. Acknowledgments

are due to Mr Macmath, Professor Lanman, and Dr F. N. Robinson for

Various contributions, and to Mr W. R. Spalding for Reading the

Proof-sheets of the Music. Mr Leo Wiener, Instructor in Slavic

Languages in Harvard University, has had the great kindness to revise

the Slavic titles in the List of Ballads, the List of Collections

of Ballads, and the Bibliography. To Miss Ireland I am especially

indebted for material assistance of various kinds, especially in the

proofreading.

G. L. K.]

January, 1898.

CONTENTS OF VOLUME V

BALLAD PAGE

266. John Thomson and the Turk 1

(Additions and Corrections: V, 279.)

267. The Heir of Linne 11

268. The Twa Knights 21

269. Lady Diamond 29

(Additions and Corrections: V, 303.)

270. The Earl of Mar’s Daughter 38

271. The Lord of Lorn and the False Steward 42

(Additions and Corrections: V, 280.)

272. The Suffolk Miracle 58

(Additions and Corrections: V, 303.)

273. King Edward the Fourth and a Tanner of Tamworth 67

(Additions and Corrections: V, 303.)

274. Our Goodman 88

(Additions and Corrections: V, 281, 303.)

275. Get up and bar the Door 96

(Additions and Corrections: V, 281, 304.)

276. The Friar in the Well 100

277. The Wife Wrapt in Wether’s Skin 104

(Additions and Corrections: V, 304.)

278. The Farmer’s Curst Wife 107

(Additions and Corrections: V, 305.)

279. The Jolly Beggar 109

280. The Beggar-Laddie 116

(Additions and Corrections: V, 305.)

281. The Keach i the Creel 121

282. Jock the Leg and the Merry Merchant 126

283. The Crafty Farmer 128

284. John Dory 131

285. The George Aloe and the Sweepstake 133

286. The Sweet Trinity (The Golden Vanity) 135

(Additions and Corrections: V, 305.)

287. Captain Ward and the Rainbow 143

(Additions and Corrections: V, 305.)

288. The Young Earl of Essex’s Victory over the Emperor of Germany 145

289. The Mermaid 148

290. The Wylie Wife of the Hie Toun Hie 153

291. Child Owlet 156

(Additions and Corrections: V, 305.)

292. The West-Country Damosel’s Complaint 157

293. John of Hazelgreen 159

294. Dugall Quin 165

(Additions and Corrections: V, 305.)

295. The Brown Girl 166

296. Walter Lesly 168

297. Earl Rothes 170

298. Young Peggy 171

299. Trooper and Maid 172

(Additions and Corrections: V, 306.)

300. Blancheflour and Jellyflorice 175

301. The Queen of Scotland 176

302. Young Bearwell 178

303. The Holy Nunnery 179

304. Young Ronald 181

305. The Outlaw Murray 185

(Additions and Corrections: V, 307.)

Fragments 201

(Additions and Corrections: V, 307.)

Additions and Corrections 205

Additions and Corrections 283

Glossary 309

Sources of the Texts 397

Index of Published Airs 405

Ballad Airs from Manuscript:

3. The Fause Knight upon the Road 411

9. The Fair Flower of Northumberland 411

10. The Twa Sisters 411

11. The Cruel Brother 412

12. Lord Randal 412

17. Hind Horn 413

20. The Cruel Mother 413

40. The Queen of Elfan’s Nourice 413

42. Clerk Colvill 414

46. Captain Wedderburn’s Courtship 414

47. Proud Lady Margaret 414

53. Young Beichan 415

58. Sir Patrick Spens 415

61. Sir Colin 415

63. Child Waters 415

68. Young Hunting 416

75. Lord Lovel 416

77. Sweet William’s Ghost 416

84. Bonny Barbara Allan 416

89. Fause Foodrage 416

95. The Maid freed from the Gallows 417

97. Brown Robin 417

98. Brown Adam 417

99. Johnie Scot 418

100. Willie o Winsbury 418

106. The Famous Flower of Serving-Men 418

144. Johnie Cock 419

157. Gude Wallace 419

161. The Battle of Otterburn 419

163. The Battle of Harlaw 419

164. King Henry Fifth’s Conquest of France 420

169. Johnie Armstrong 420

173. Mary Hamilton 421

182. The Laird o Logie 421

222. Bonny Baby Livingston 421

226. Lizie Lindsay 421

228. Glasgow Peggie 422

235. The Earl of Aboyne 422

247. Lady Elspat 422

250. Andrew Bartin 423

256. Alison and Willie 423

258. Broughty Wa’s 423

278. The Farmer’s Curst Wife 423

281. The Keach i the Creel 424

286. The Sweet Trinity 424

299. Trooper and Maid 424

Index of Ballad Titles 425

Titles of Collections of Ballads, or Books containing Ballads,

which are very briefly cited in this work 455

Index of Matters and Literature 469

Bibliography 503

Corrections to be made in the Print 567

Appendix: Professor Child and the Ballad 571

266

JOHN THOMSON AND THE TURK

=A.= ‘John Thomson and the Turk,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of

Scotland, II, 159; Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. ix. ‘John

Tamson,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 615.

=B.= Leyden’s Glossary to The Complaynt of Scotland, p. 371, four

stanzas.

* * * * *

Leyden (1801) says that he had “heard the whole song when very

young.”[1] Motherwell’s copy was probably given him by Buchan.

John Thomson has been fighting against the Turks for more than three

years, when he is surprised by receiving a visit from his wife, who

walks up to him in a rich dress, as if Scotland were just round the

corner. The lady stays several days, and then gives her husband to

understand that she is going home. He recommends her to take a road

across the lea, for by doing this she will escape wild Hind Soldan and

base Violentrie. It is not so much an object with the lady to avoid

these Turks as John Thomson supposes. The Soldan, it turns out, has

been slain; but she goes straight to Violentrie. After a twelvemonth

John Thomson sends a letter to Scotland, “to see about his gay lady.”

An answer is returned that her friends have not laid eyes on her in

all that time. John Thomson disguises himself as a palmer and hies to

Violentrie’s castle, where he finds his lady established. Learning that

the palmer has come from the Scots’ army in Greece, she asks whether

one of the chieftains has seen his wife lately, and is told that it is

long since the knight in question parted with his wife, and that he has

some fear lest the lady should have been captured by his foes. The lady

declares that she is where she is by her own will, and means to stay.

The palmer throws off his disguise, begs to be hidden from Violentrie,

and is put down in a dark cellar. Violentrie soon arrives and calls for

his dinner, casually remarking that he would give ten thousand sequins

for a sight of the Scot who has so often put him to flight. The lady

takes him at his word, and calls up John Thomson. The Turk demands what

he would do if their positions were exchanged. “Hang you up,” the Scot

replies, with spirit, “and make you wale your tree.” Violentrie takes

his captive to the wood. John Thomson climbs tree after tree, ties a

ribbon to every branch, and puts up a flag as a sign to his men: all

which the Turk thinks no harm. Then John Thomson blows his horn. Three

thousand men come tripping over the hill and demand their chief. The

Turk begs for mercy, and gets such as he would have given: they burn

him in his castle, and hang the lady.

This ridiculous ballad is a seedling from an ancient and very notable

story, which has an extensive literature, and has of late been

subjected to learned and acute investigation.[2] It may be assumed with

confidence that the story was originally one of King Solomon and his

queen, of whom it is related in Russian, Servian, and German. In the

course of transmission, as ever has been the wont, names were changed,

and also some subordinate circumstances; in Portuguese, Solomon is

replaced by Ramiro II, king of Leon; in a French romance by the Bastard

of Bouillon. It is, however, certain that the Solomon story was well

known to the French, and as early as the twelfth century.[3] Something

of the same story, again, is found in König Rother and in the Cligès of

Crestien de Troies, both works of the twelfth century, and in various

other poems and tales.

The tale of the rape of Solomon’s wife and of the revenge taken by

Solomon is extant in Russian in three _byliny_ (or, we may say,

ballads), taken down from recitation in this century, and in three

prose versions preserved in MSS of the sixteenth, seventeenth, and

eighteenth centuries. The _byliny_[4] relate that Tsar Vasily of

Constantinople (or Novgorod), while feasting with his nobles, demands

of them to find him a wife who shall be his fair match in stature,

beauty, wit, and birth. One of the company undertakes to get for his

master Salamanija (Salomonida), the beautiful wife of Salomon, Tsar

of Jerusalem (or of Constantinople), and effects the business by

enticing her on board of a ship to see fine things, an artifice of

frequent occurrence in ballads. Salomon sets out to retrieve his wife,

attended by a large army (which he conceals in a grove), presents

himself at Vasily’s palace as a pilgrim (or other humble personage), is

recognized by his wife, and shut up in a box. When Vasily comes back

from hunting, Salamanija tells him what has chanced, and advises the

instant execution of Salomon, which is resolved on. Salomon is to be

beheaded, but he begs that he may be hanged, and that three nooses, of

rope, bast, and silk, may be provided. Under the gallows Salomon asks

to be allowed to sound his horn. Salamanija objects, but is overruled.

He blows thrice; his army comes at the third sounding. Vasily is hanged

in the silken noose, Salamanija in the rope, and the man that carried

her off in the bast.

One of the prose tales narrates these transactions as follows. The

wife of Solomon, king of Jerusalem, is stolen from him by his brother

Kitovras, through the agency of a magician, who, in the character of a

merchant, excites Solomon’s admiration for a magnificent purple robe.

Solomon buys the robe, and invites the seeming merchant to his table.

During the repast the magician envelops the king and his people in

darkness, brings a heavy slumber upon the queen and her people, and

carries her off in his arms to his ship. Solomon, learning that his

wife is in the possession of Kitovras, proceeds against him with an

army, which he orders to come to his help when they shall hear his

horn sound the third time. Clad as an old pilgrim or beggar, he enters

Kitovras’s garden, where he comes upon a girl with a gold cup, who is

about to draw water. He asks to drink from the king’s cup. The girl

objects, for, if reported to the king, such a thing would be the death

of both of them; but the gift of a gold ring induces her to consent.

The queen sees the ring on the girl’s hand, and asks who gave it to

her. An old pilgrim, she replies. No pilgrim, says the queen, but my

husband, Solomon. Solomon is brought before the queen, and asked what

he has come for. To take off your head, he answers. To your own death,

rejoins the queen; you shall be hanged. Kitovras is sent for, and

pronounces this doom. Solomon reminds Kitovras that they are brothers,

and asks that he may die in regal style; that Kitovras and the queen

shall attend the execution, with all the people of the city; and that

there shall be ample provision of food and drink: all which is granted.

At the gallows he finds a noose of bast; he begs that two other nooses

may be provided, one of red silk, one of yellow, so that he may

have a choice, and this whim is complied with. Always urging their

brotherhood, Solomon, at three successive stages, asks the privilege

of blowing his horn. The army is at hand upon the third blast, and is

ordered to kill everybody. Kitovras and the queen are hanged in the

silken nooses, the magician in the bast.[5]

The variations of the other versions are mostly not material to our

purpose. In one, King Por takes the place of Kitovras; in the third,

the king of Cyprus. In the latter, Solomon asks to be hanged upon a

tree, a great oak. The king of Cyprus begs for a gentle death, and his

veins are opened. The queen is dismembered by horses.

A Servian popular tale runs thus. Solomon’s wife fell in love with

another king, and not being able to escape to him on account of the

strict watch which was kept over her, made an arrangement with him

that he should send her a drink which should make her seem to be dead.

Solomon, to test the reality of her death, cut off her little finger,

and seeing no sign of feeling, had her buried. The other king sent his

people to dig her up, restored animation, and took her to wife. When

Solomon found out what had been done, he set out for the king’s palace

with a body of armed men, whom he left in a wood, under orders to

hasten to his relief when they heard the blast of a trumpet, each man

with a green bough in his hand. The king was out a-hunting, the queen

at home. She wiled Solomon into a chamber and locked him up, and when

the king came back from the chase told him to go into the room and cut

Solomon down, but to enter into no talk, since in that case he would

certainly be outwitted. Solomon laughed at the king and his sword:

that was not the way for a king to dispose of a king. He should take

him to a field outside the city, and let a trumpet sound thrice, so

that everybody that wished might witness the spectacle; then he would

find that the very greenwood would come to see one king put another

to death. The king was curious to know whether the wood would come,

and adopted Solomon’s suggestion. At the first sound of the trumpet,

Solomon’s men set forward; at the second they were near at hand, but

could not be distinguished because of the green boughs which they

bore.[6] The king, convinced that the wood was coming, ordered a third

blast. Solomon was rescued; the king and his court were put to the

sword.[7]

A Little Russian story of Solomon and his wife is given by Dragomanof,

Popular Traditions and Tales, 1876, p. 103, translated in Revue des

Traditions Populaires, II, 518, by E. Hins. Solomon takes a wife from

the family of a heathen tsar. She hates him, and concerts an elopement

with a heathen tsarevitch. She pretends to be dead. Solomon burns her

hands through and through with a red-hot iron. She utters no sound, is

buried in the evening, and immediately disinterred and carried off by

her paramour. Solomon goes to the tsarevitch’s house, attended by three

armies, a black, a white, and a red (which are, of course, kept out of

sight), and furnished with three pipes. The tsarevitch has a gallows

set up, and Solomon is taken out to be hanged. He obtains liberty first

to play on his pipes. The sound of the first brings the white army,

that of the second the red, that of the third the black. The tsarevitch

is hanged, the tsaritsa dragged at a horse’s tail.

A like story is narrated in German in a passage of about two hundred

and fifty verses, which is appended to the Wit-Combat, or Dialogue, of

Solomon and Morolf; and again, with much interpolation and repetition,

in a later strophic poem of more than four thousand lines. Both pieces

are extant in manuscripts and print of the fifteenth century, but their

original is considerably earlier.

In the briefer and earlier of the two German versions, Solomon’s wife

has bestowed her love on a nameless heathen king, and wishes to escape

to him, but cannot bring this about. She feigns to be sick, and the

heathen (with whom she has been in correspondence) sends two minstrels

to her, who pretend to be able to cure sick folk with their music. They

obtain admission to the queen, give her an herb which throws her into

a death-like sleep, and carry her off to their master. Morolf, at King

Solomon’s entreaty, sets forth to find the queen, and, after traversing

many strange lands, succeeds. Solomon, under his guidance and advice,

and properly supported by an armed force, goes to the castle where the

queen is living; leaves his men in an adjoining wood, under command to

come to him when they hear his horn blow; and, disguised as a pilgrim,

begs food at the castle. His wife knows him the moment she lays eyes on

him, and tells the heathen that it is Solomon. The heathen, overjoyed,

says to Solomon, If I were in your hands, what should be my death?

Would God it were so! answers the king. I would take you to the biggest

wood, let you choose your tree, and hang you. So shall it be, says the

heathen, calls his people, takes Solomon to the wood, and bids him

choose his tree. I shall not be long about that, says Solomon; but,

seeing that I am of kingly strain, grant me, as a boon, to blow my horn

three times. The queen objects; the heathen says, Blow away. At the

third blast Morolf arrives with Solomon’s men. The heathen and all his

people are slain; the queen is taken back to Jewry, and put to death by

opening her veins in a bath.[8]

The longer poem has several additional incidents which recur in our

ballad, and others which link it with other forms of the story. Salme,

Solomon’s wife, is daughter of an Indian king (Cyprian, cf. the third

Russian prose tale), and has been stolen from her father by Solomon.

Fore, a heathen king, in turn steals Salme from the king of Jerusalem.

Morolf is not the sharp-witted boor of the other piece, but Solomon’s

brother. When Solomon goes to Fore’s castle, he is kindly received by

that king’s sister, and she remains his fast friend throughout. He

tells her that he is a sinful man, upon whom has been imposed a penance

of perpetual pilgrimage. Brought before the queen, Solomon tries to

make Salme come back to him. She lets him know that she loves Fore

three times as well as him, and to Fore will she stick. Solomon is put

into some side room. Fore comes home and sits down to table with Salme,

and she informs him that Solomon is in his power. The army consists of

three divisions, a black, a white, and a wan (bleich), nearly as in the

Little Russian tale. The reason which Solomon alleges for wishing to

blow his horn is to give notice to St Michael and the angels to come

and take his soul in charge. Fore is hanged. Salme is disposed of as

before, but not until after she has eloped with another king. Solomon

marries Fore’s sister after Salme’s death.[9]

The adventure of Solomon will be recognized in what is recounted in

Portuguese genealogies of the fourteenth century concerning King

Ramiro Second of Leon († 950).[10] King Ramiro, smitten with passion

for a beautiful Moorish lady, got himself invited to the castle of her

brother Alboazar, at Gaya, and plumply asked for her. He would make

her a Christian and marry her. Alboazar replied that Ramiro had a wife

and children already. Ramiro could not deny this, but his queen was,

it seems, conveniently near of kin to him, and Holy Church would allow

a separation. The Moor swore that he never would give his sister to

Ramiro. Ramiro, under cover of a darkness produced by an astrologer

in his service, carried her off to Leon and had her baptized with the

name Artiga. Alboazar, in revenge, availed himself of a favorable

opportunity to lay hands on Aldora, Ramiro’s queen, and took her to his

castle of Gaya. Ramiro, with five galleys crowded with his vassals,

ran in at San João de Foz, near Gaya. He had taken the precaution to

cover his galleys with green cloth, and he laid them under the boughs

of trees with which the place was covered, so that they were not to

be seen. Having landed his men, he left them under the command of his

son, D. Ordonho, with directions that they should keep well hidden and

not stir from the spot till they should hear his horn, but then come

with all speed, and himself putting on mean clothes (panos de tacanho,

de veleto) over sword, mail, and horn, went and lay down at a spring

near the castle. One of the queen’s women came out to fetch water for

her mistress. Ramiro, feigning to be unable to rise, asked her for a

drink, which she offered him. He put into his mouth the half of a ring

which he had divided with his queen, and dropped it into the vessel.

The queen saw the half-ring and knew it, and elicited from her maid

that she had met a sick beggar, who had asked for a drink. The man was

sent for. ‘What brings you here, King Ramiro?’ demanded the queen.

‘Love for you,’ said he. ‘No love for me; you care more for Artiga,’

she retorted. Ramiro was put into a back room, and the door was locked.

Presently Alboazar came into the queen’s chamber. The queen said to

him, What would you do to Ramiro if you had him here? Put him to death

cruelly (What he would do to me, kill him), responded the Moor. He is

locked up in that room, said the queen, and you can proceed at your

will.

Ramiro heard all this, and saw that he had never had more need to

use his wits. He called in a loud voice to Alboazar: I wronged you

by carrying off your sister. I confessed my sin to my priest, and he

required of me as penance to go to you in this vile garb, and put

myself in your power; and if you wished to take my life, I was to

submit to death in a shameful place, and the fact and cause of my death

were to be proclaimed by a horn to all your people. Now I have to ask

that you would collect your sons, your daughters, your kinsfolk, and

the people of this town, in a cattle-yard (curral), put me up high, and

let me blow this horn that I wear, until breath and life fail. So you

will have your revenge, and I shall save my soul. Alboazar began to

feel compassion for Ramiro. Aldora exclaimed at his weakness and folly.

Ramiro, she said, was revengeful and cunning, and sparing him was

rushing into destruction; whereby the Moor was brought to say, You know

that if you had me in your hands, I should not escape. I will do what

you ask, for the salvation of your soul. So Alboazar took Ramiro to the

yard, which had high walls and but one gate, and the queen, her dames

and damsels, the Moor’s sons and kinsfolk, and the town’s people, were

there. Ramiro was put on a pillar, and told to blow till life left his

body; and he blew with all his might. D. Ordonho came with the king’s

vassals and beset the gate. Ramiro drew his sword and split Alboazar’s

head. The queen and her ladies were spared, but every other creature

in the yard was slain, including four sons and three daughters of

Alboazar, and no stone was left standing in Gaya. Ramiro put the queen

and her women aboard the galleys. Aldora was found weeping. Ramiro

asked the cause. Because you have killed the Moor, a better man than

yourself, was her answer. This was thought too much to be borne. The

queen was tied to a millstone and thrown into the sea. Ramiro married

Artiga.[11]

There is a poem on this theme by João Vaz (Lisbon, 1630, reprinted by

Braga, 1868), which points to a different source than the genealogies.

Ramiro takes the sister of King Almanzor captive in war, and becomes

enamored of her, in consequence of which Gaya, Ramiro’s wife, elopes

with Almanzor. Gaya receives Ramiro with feigned kindness when he

comes to the castle, then betrays him (as in the French romance).[12]

Almeida-Garrett composed a little romance out of the story as here

given, with the name Zahara for Alboazar’s sister, and Gaia for

Ramiro’s wife, and making Ramiro cut off Gaia’s head before he throws

her into the water: ‘Miragaia,’ Romanceiro, I, 181, ed. 1863. He

informs us that he has interwoven in his poem some verses from popular

tradition. A ballad of Ramiro, or at least some remnant of one, appears

still to be in existence. Madame de Vasconcellos (1880) had heard two

lines of it.

Li Bastars de Buillon, a romance of the fourteenth century, repeats

the chief incidents of the foregoing accounts, agreeing in details

sometimes with one, sometimes with another.[13] Ludie, daughter of the

emir of Orbrie, is to marry Corsabrin, king of Mont Oscur. The Bastard

of Bouillon, who has heard of the beauty of the Saracen princess,

conceives a sudden fancy for her. He besieges and takes the city of

Orbrie, kills the emir, and compels Ludie to submit to baptism and to

marriage with himself. She takes advantage of an absence of the Bastard

to escape to Corsabrin, who makes her his queen. The Bastard, bent on

vengeance, sails to Mont Oscur, and in the adjacent woods lights on a

charcoal-man who is going to the castle in the way of his business. He

kills the charcoal-man and puts on his clothes, and in this habit, with

a well-blackened face, has no difficulty in obtaining entrance to the

residence of Corsabrin. His men he has left in the wood under command

of his counsellor and lieutenant, Hugh. Corsabrin is hawking, but the

Bastard falls in with Ludie, who affects to be glad of his coming, and

offers to go off with him if he will forgive her and do her no harm. A

bath would seem to be in order. Ludie has one prepared for the Bastard,

and while he is engaged in taking it, sends for Corsabrin, who comes in

upon the young Frank with sixty men. Ludie enjoins her rightful husband

to show no mercy. The Saracen will not do so infamous a thing as to put

his enemy to death in a bath, but assures his wife that the Bastard

shall die _à guise de martir_. A rich dress is furnished the Bastard,

and Corsabrin then says, On your oath, now, what death should I die,

were I in your power? Sire, says the Bastard, why should I dissemble?

I promise you, I would take you to a wood, and I would hang you to the

highest tree I could find. By Mahound! says the king, so will I do

with you. The Bastard is taken to a wood, with a rope round his neck.

Corsabrin’s people look out the highest tree. The Bastard is made to go

up, higher and higher, the hangman drawing the rope all too tight the

while, till the king says, Now. At the last moment the Bastard calls

out to Corsabrin that he is a knight of high birth, and ought not to

die like a rogue, but as a man of mark dies among the Franks. And how

is that? asks the Saracen. They give him a horn, and he blows four or

five times to summon the angels to come for his soul. Then he says a

prayer. Then they strangle him or behead him. A horn is sent up to the

Bastard, and he blows lustily. Hugh hears, and rides in hot haste to

the call. The Bastard makes the most of his grace; his prayer is very

long. He sees that a fight is going on below, and knocks the hangman

dead from the tree with his fist, then comes down from the tree and

joins in the fray. Hugh runs Corsabrin through with a lance, Ludie is

taken captive, and every other living being in the castle is slain.

Hugh begs as a reward for his services that he may have the disposal of

Ludie. The Bastard accords the boon, with a recommendation to mercy:

‘arse fu li royne c’on appella Ludie.’

The escaping to a lover by taking a drug which causes apparent death,

and the test of molten lead or gold, in the German poems, and in

Cligès, 6000 ff., are found in ‘The Gay Goshawk,’ No 96, II, 355 ff.

The test is also employed in one form of the Russian prose narratives:

Vesselofsky, in the Slavic Archiv, VI, 409.

A portion of the story is preserved in Scandinavian ballads, with very

distinct marks of Russian origin.

=Swedish.= ‘Jungfru Solfager,’ Arwidsson, I, 177, No 25: =A= from a MS.

of the sixteenth century, =B= from recitation.

=A.= Solfager is a handsome woman, so handsome as to endanger her

husband Sir David’s life. Fearing that she may be carried off, David in

some way marks or stamps her hand with a gold cross, that she may be

known thereby. As Solfager is standing at the castle gate, Novgorod’s

(Nougård’s) king comes riding up. He asks if her husband is at home;

Sir David went away the day before, and will not come back for a year.

The king tells her that if she will plight herself to him she shall

always wear gold shoes; Solfager answers that she loves David dearly.

The king gives her a drink, two drinks; she swoons, and falls to the

ground; she is laid on a bier, taken to the kirk-yard, and buried. The

king (David in the text, absurdly) has kept his eye on their doings;

he digs her up, and carries her out of the land. David, disguised as a

pilgrim, goes to the king of Novgorod’s palace, and asks to be housed

as a poor pilgrim. The king invites him in. David takes his place with

other pilgrims; Solfager breaks bread for them. [Her hand is gloved.]

David asks why she does not break bread with a bare hand; she calls him

an old fool, and bids him eat or go. The king, from his bed, inquires

what the pilgrim is saying. ‘Lie down, my lord,’ answers Solfager;

‘what a fool says is no matter.’ They all fall asleep in their places;

Solfager follows Sir David home.

=B.= Solfot looks at her face in the water. ‘God help me for my

beauty!’ she exclaims, ‘surely I shall come to a strange land.’ Her

husband, the Danish king, tells her that he shall write a cross in her

right hand, by which he shall find her again. While Solfot is combing

her hair out of doors, the Ormeking asks her if she has a golden crown

to put on it; she has four and five, all the gift of the king of the

Danes. Ormeking gives her a drink which turns her black and blue;

Solfot is laid in the ground; Ormeking knows well where, takes her

up, carries her off to his own place, and gives her seven drinks; she

stands up as good as ever. Daneking dons pilgrim’s clothes and goes

to Ormeking’s. Solfot, as northern ladies wont, is combing her hair

out of doors. Daneking asks for a pilgrim’s house; there is one on the

premises, where poor pilgrims use (like King Claudius) to take their

rouse. The pilgrims stand in a ring; Solfot is to dispense mead to them

in turn. Daneking dashes his gloves on the board: ‘Is it not the way

here that ladies deal mead with bare hands?’ Ormeking dashes his gloves

on the board: ‘That was a bold word for a pilgrim!’ ‘If that was a bold

word for a pilgrim,’ says Daneking, ‘it was bolder yet to dig Solfot

out of the ground.’ Then he puts Solfot on his horse and rides away.

There are also two unprinted nineteenth-century copies in Professor G.

Stephens’s collection.

=Norwegian.= ‘Sólfager og Ormekongin,’ Landstad, p. 503, No 56, from a

woman’s singing. They stamp a gold cross on (or into? the process is

not clear) Sólfager’s hand, that she may be recognized in a strange

country. The Ormeking (or King Orm) comes riding while Sólfager is

sunning her hair. ‘Trick King David,’ he says, ‘and bind yourself to

me.’ ‘Never shall it be,’ she replies, ‘that I give myself to two

brothers.’ He administers to her three potions, she swoons; word comes

to King David that she is dead; they bury her. Ormeking does not fail

to carry off the body. King David goes to Ormeking’s land in pilgrim’s

garb, with pilgrim’s staff; as he enters the court Sólfager is undoing

her hair. [Then there is a gap, which may be easily filled up from

the Swedish story.] ‘Is it the custom here to cut bread with gloved

hand?’ She takes off his pilgrim’s hat, and takes his yellow locks in

her hand. ‘When you say you are a pilgrim, you must be lying to me.’

‘Even so,’ he answers, ‘but I am your dear husband, as you easily may

see. Will you go home with me?’ ‘Gladly,’ she says, ‘but I am afraid of

Ormeking.’ King David takes Ormeking’s horse and rides home with his

wife. When Ormeking comes back, Sólfager is away. (A final stanza does

not belong to the story.)

There are other unprinted copies which will appear in a contemplated

edition of Norwegian ballads by Sophus Bugge and Moltke Moe.

=Danish.= Eight unprinted MS. copies of the seventeenth century and a

flying sheet of the date 1719. The ballad will be No 472 of Danmarks

gamle Folkeviser.[14] A fragment of five stanzas (of dialogue relative

to the gloved hand) is given by Kristensen, Jyske Folkeminder, X, 331,

No 82.

It will be observed that the ravisher is king of Novgorod in Swedish

=A=, as in one of the Russian epics, and that he is the brother of King

David in the Norwegian ballad as he is of King Solomon in the Russian

prose tale. The sleeping-draught, burial, and digging up are in the

Servian tale, and something of them in the Little Russian tale, as also

in the earlier German poem.

For the boon of blowing the horn see No 123, ‘Robin Hood and the Curtal

Friar,’ and No 140, ‘Robin Hood rescuing Three Squires,’ III, 122, 177,

ff.; also Heiðreks Saga, Rafn, Fornaldar Sögur, I, 458-61 (14), 529 f.

(9); Vesselofsky, in the Slavic Archiv, VI, 404 f.; and Wollner’s note,

Abschiedblasen, Brugman’s Litauische Märchen, p. 552.

August 1, 1586, there was allowed to Yarrat James as one of six ballads

‘A merrie jest of John Tomson and Jakaman his wife,’ Arber, Stationers’

Registers, II, 450. This ballad is preserved in the Roxburghe

collection, I, 254, 255, Ballad Society’s edition, II, 136, and, so far

as I have observed, there only. It is subscribed M. L., initials which

Mr Chappell was unable to identify, and it was imprinted at London for

Edward Wright. The Roxburghe copy was reprinted by R. H. Evans, Old

Ballads, 1810, I, 187. The title is

‘A merry Iest of Iohn Tomson and Jakaman his wife,

Whose jealousie was justly the cause of all their strife.’

It is dated in the Museum catalogue 1635?. This is an extremely vapid

piece, and has no manner of connection with ‘John Thomson and the

Turk.’ In Halliwell’s Notices of Popular English Histories, p. 91,

Percy Society, vol. xxiii, there is one, No 108, of ‘John Thompson’s

Man, or a short survey of the difficulties and disturbances that may

attend a married life,’ etc., 24 pp., 12°. There is a copy in the

Abbotsford Library.

‘To be John Thomson’s man’[15] is a Scottish proverb signifying to be

submissive to a wife, or, more generally, to be complaisant. “John

Thomson’s men” are “still ruled by their wives:” Colville’s Whig’s

Supplication, or, The Scotch Hudibras, cited by Motherwell. “Samson was

the greatest fool that ever was born, for he revealed his secrets to a

daft hussie. Samson, you may well call him Fool Thompson, for of all

the John Thomson’s men that ever was he was the foolest:” The Scotch

Presbyterian Eloquence, etc., London, 1692 (cited by Motherwell, from

the edition of 1768, in a MS. note, Appendix, p. x, in a copy of the

Minstrelsy which belonged to Mr R. A. Ramsay.) Some begging verses of

Dunbar to the King have the refrain, ‘God gif ye war Johne Thomsoneis

man.’ (Other quotations in Leyden, p. 370, Motherwell, Appendix, p.

ix.)[16]

Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 159; Motherwell’s MS.,

p. 615; Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. ix.

John Thomson fought against the Turks

Three years into a far country,

And all that time, and something more,

Was absent from his gay lady.

But it fell ance upon a time,

As this young chieftain sat alane,

He spied his lady in rich array,

As she walkd oer a rural plain.

‘What brought you here, my lady gay,

So far awa from your own country?

I’ve thought lang, and very lang,

And all for your fair face to see.’

For some days she did with him stay,

Till it fell ance upon a day,

‘Farewell for a time,’ she said,

‘For now I must bound home away.’

He’s gien to her a jewel fine,

Was set with pearl and precious stone;

Says, My love, beware of these savages bold,

That’s on your way as ye go home.

Ye’ll take the road, my lady fair,

That leads you fair across the lee;

That keeps you from wild Hind Soldan,

And likewise from base Violentrie.

With heavy heart these two did part,

And minted as she would go home;

Hind Soldan by the Greeks was slain,

But to base Violentrie she’s gone.

When a twelvemonth had expired,

John Thomson he thought wondrous lang,

And he has written a broad letter,

And seald it well with his own hand.

He sent it along with a small vessel

That there was quickly going to sea,

And sent it on to fair Scotland,

To see about his gay ladie.

But the answer he received again,

The lines did grieve his heart right sair;

None of her friends there had her seen

For a twelvemonth and something mair.

Then he put on a palmer’s weed,

And took a pikestaff in his hand;

To Violentrie’s castle he hied,

But slowly, slowly he did gang.

When within the hall he came,

He joukd and couchd out-oer his tree:

‘If ye be lady of this hall,

Some of your good bountieth give me.’

‘What news, what news, palmer?’ she said,

‘And from what countrie came ye?’

‘I’m lately come from Grecian plains,

Where lys some of the Scots army.’

‘If ye be come from Grecian plains,

Some more news I will ask of thee;

Of one of the chieftains that lies there,

If he have lately seen his gay ladie.’

‘It is twelve months and something more

Since we did part in yonder plain;

And now this knight has begun to fear

One of his foes he has her taen.’

‘He has not taen me by force nor might,

It was all by my own free will;

He may tarry in the fight,

For here I mean to tarry still.

‘And if John Thomson ye do see,

Tell him I wish him silent sleep;

His head was not so cozelie

Nor yet so well as lies at my feet.’

With that he threw [aff] his strange disguise,

Laid by the mask that he had on;

Said, Hide me now, my ladie fair,

For Violentrie will soon be home.

‘For the love I bare thee once,

I’ll strive to hide you if I can;’

Then put him down to a dark cellar,

Where there lay mony a new slain man.

But he hadna in the cellar been

Not an hour but barely three,

Till hideous was the sound he heard;

Then in at the gates came Violentrie.

Says, I wish you well, my lady fair,

It’s time for us to sit and dine;

Come, serve me with the good white bread,

And likewise with the claret wine.

‘That Scots chieftain, our mortal foe,

So oft from field has made us flee,

Ten thousand sequins this day I’d give

That I his face could only see.’

‘Of that same gift would ye give me,

If I could bring him unto thee?

I fairly hold you at your word;

Come ben, John Thomson, to my lord.’

Then from the vault John Thomson came,

Wringing his hands most piteouslie;

‘What would ye do,’ the Turk he cried,

‘If ye had me, as I have thee?’

‘If I had you, as ye have me,

I’ll tell you what I’d do to thee;

I’d hang you up in good greenwood,

And cause your own hand wile the tree.

‘I meant to stick you with my knife,

For kissing my beloved wife;’

‘But that same weed ye’ve shaped for me,

It quickly shall be sewed for thee.’

Then to the wood they both are gone,

John Thomson clamb from tree to tree;

And aye he sighd, and said, Ohon!

Here comes the day that I must die!

He tied a ribbon on every branch,

Put up a flag his men might see;

But little did his false foe ken

He meant them any injurie.

He set his horn to his mouth,

And he has blawn baith loud and shrill;

And then three thousand armed men

Came tripping all out-oer the hill.

‘Deliver us our chief!’ they all did cry,

‘It’s by our hand that ye must die!’

‘Here is your chief,’ the Turk replied,

With that fell on his bended knee.

‘O mercy, mercy, good fellows all,

Mercy I pray you’ll grant to me!’

‘Such mercy as ye meant to give,

Such mercy we shall give to thee.’

This Turk they in his castle burnt,

That stood upon yon hill so hie;

John Thomson’s gay lady they took,

And hangd her on yon greenwood tree.

Leyden’s Glossary to The Complaynt of Scotland, p. 371.

O Cam ye in by the House o Rodes,

Or cam ye there away?

Or have [ye] seen Johne Tamson?

They say his wife has run away.

* * * * * * *

‘O what wad ye do, Johne Tamson,

Gin ye had me as I hae thee?’

‘I wad tak ye to the gude green-wood,

And gar your ain hand weil the tree.’

* * * * * * *

Johne Tamson peeped and poorly spake

Untill he did his ain men see;

‘O by my sooth,’ quo Johne Tamson,

‘Methinks I see a coming tree.’

* * * * * * *

And they hae hanged that grim Soudan,

For a’ his mirth and meikle pride,

And sae hae they that ill woman,

Upon a scrogg-bush him beside.

* * * * *

15^1. two months _in all the copies_; _cf._ 8^1.

19^4. lye.

_Motherwell’s MS. has a few variations, but these may be attributed to

Motherwell. All excepting one, which is an error of the pen, appear in

the Minstrelsy._

5^4. in your.

14^4. has.

15^2. part on.

16^3. into the.

19^4. lay.

20^3. Then.

(20^4. _Minstrelsy_, When.)

20^4. gate.

21^2. sit to.

22^3. I’ll.

25^1. have, _error of the pen_.

25^4. wale.

26^2. ladie _for_ wife, _to avoid couplets_.

28^3. foes.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] He has introduced the main points of the story (in fact =B= 2, 3)

into his ballad of ‘Lord Soulis,’ Scott’s Minstrelsy, 1833, IV, 244.

[2] Especially by A. Vesselofsky, Slavic Tales concerning Solomon and

Kitovras, etc., St Petersburg, 1872 (in Russian); Neue Beiträge zur

Geschichte der Salomonssage, Archiv für Slavische Philologie, VI, 393

ff., 548 ff., 1882; V. Jagić, Archiv, etc., I, 103 ff., 1876; F. Vogt,

Salman und Morolf, 1880, Zur Salman-Morolfsage, Paul und Braune’s

Beiträge, VIII, 313 ff., 1882. See these for tales containing portions

of the same matter in various combinations, and for a discussion of an

Oriental derivation.

[3] G. Paris, in Romania, VII, 462, IX, 436; Cligès, ed. Foerster, p.

xix.

[4] Rybnikof, II, Nos 52, 53, III, No 56. See Jagić, as above, pp.

103-6; Miss I. F. Hapgood, Epic Songs of Russia, p. 282, who combines

the three texts.

[5] Jagić, Archiv, I, 107 f.; Vesselofsky, the same, VI, 406.

[6] Cf. =B= 3^4. Methinks I see a coming tree.

[7] Karadschitsch, Volksmärchen der Serben, 1854, No 42, p. 233.

[8] Von der Hagen u. Büsching, Deutsche Gedichte des Mittelalters,

1808, I, 62, vv. 1605-1848.

[9] Vogt, Salman und Marolf.

[10] Os livros de Linhagens, in Portugaliæ Monumenta Historica,

Scriptores, 1856, I, 180 f., 274-7. The latter account was printed by

Southey in the preface to his ballad ‘King Ramiro’ (1802), Poetical

Works, 1853, VI, 122, and a passage from the other.

Kemble, Salomon & Saturnus, p. 19, 1848, remarks on the resemblance of

the story of Ramiro to that of Solomon. For historical names and facts

in the Portuguese _sage_, see Baist in Zs. f. romanische Philologie, V,

173.

[11] There is nothing about the fair Moor in the first and briefer

account, or of the penance given Ramiro. Ortiga is there the name of

the servant who comes to fetch water. Ramiro is brought before the Moor

and told that he is to die. But I should like to ask you, says the

Moor, what manner of death mine should be if you had me in your hands.

The king was very hungry, and he answered, I would give you a stewed

capon and a loaf, and make you eat them, and then wine and make you

drink, and then open the gates of my cattle-yard and have all my people

called to see you die, and make you mount on a pillar and blow your

horn till your breath was gone.

[12] Madame Michaëlis de Vasconcellos, in Paul u. Braune’s Beiträge,

VIII, 315 f.

[13] Ed. Scheler, Bruxelles, 1877; vv. 4503-6253.

[14] I am indebted to Dr Axel Olrik for information concerning the

Solfager ballads, and for transcripts of Danish and Swedish versions

not received in time for notice here. See p. 280.

[15] Originally, no doubt, as Motherwell suggests, Joan Thomson’s man,

or husband.

[16] “One John Thomson is mentioned as an officer in the army

of Edward Bruce in Ireland. After Bruce’s death, he led back to

Scotland the remnant of his army. In 1333, he held for David Bruce

the castle of Lochdoun in Carrick. Sir W. Scott thus characterizes

him: ‘John Thomson, a man of obscure birth and dauntless valor, the

same apparently who led back from Ireland the shattered remainder of

Edward Bruce’s army, held out for his rightful sovereign.’ History

of Scotland, I, 181.” Note by Motherwell in Mr Ramsay’s copy of the

Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. ix.

267

THE HEIR OF LINNE

=A.= ‘The Heir of Lin,’ Percy MS., p. 71; Hales and Furnivall, I, 174.

=B. a.= ‘The Heir of Linne,’ Buchan’s MSS, I, 40; Motherwell’s MS.,

p. 630; Dixon, Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, p.

30, Percy Society, vol. xvii. =b.= ‘The Weary Heir of Linne,’ Buchan’s

MSS, II, 114. =c.= ‘The Laird o Linne,’ Christie’s Traditional Ballad

Airs, I, 112.

The three stanzas cited by Motherwell, Minstrelsy, Introduction, p.

lxviii, note 15 (wrongly as to 2^4), and repeated from Motherwell by

Chambers, p. 310, Whitelaw, p. 81, Aytoun, II, 342, are from =B a=.

=A.= The heir of Linne, a Scots lord, took to cards, dice, and wine,

sold his lands to John o the Scales, and went on in dissolute ways for

three fourths of a year longer; then he was forced to go to Edinburgh

and beg his bread. Some gave him, some refused him, some bade him go to

the devil. Brooding over his destitution, he remembered that his father

had left him a paper which he was not to look into till he should be

in extreme need. This paper told him of a castle wall in which stood

three chests of money. Filling three bags with gold, he went to John o

Scales’s house. John’s wife wished herself a curse if she trusted him a

penny. One good fellow in the company offered to lend him forty pence,

and forty more, if wanted. John o Scales tendered him his lands back

for twenty pounds less than they had been sold for. The heir of Linne

called the lords present to witness, threw John a penny to bind the

bargain, and counted out the money from his bags. Then he gave the good

fellow forty pounds, and made him keeper of his forest, and beshrewed

himself if ever he put his lands in jeopardy again.

=B.= The heir of Linne stands at his father’s gates, and nobody

asks him in. He is hungry, wet, and cold. As he goes down the town,

gentlemen are drinking. Some say, Give him a glass; some say, Give him

none. As he goes up the town, fishermen are sitting. Some say, Give

him a fish; some say, Give him a fin. He takes the road to Linne,[17]

and on the way begs of his nurse a slice of bread and a bottle of

wine, promising to pay them back when he is laird of Linne; which he

will never be, she says. A score of nobles are dining at Linne. Some

say, Give him beef, some say, Give him the bone; some say, Give him

nothing at all. The new laird will let him have a sip, and then he may

go his gate. At his wits’ end, he now recalls a little key given him

by his mother before she died, which he was to keep till he was in his

greatest need. This key fits a little door somewhere in the castle.

He gets gold enough to free his lands. He returns to the company of

nobles. The new laird offers him Linne back for a third of what had

been paid for it. He takes the guests to witness, and tells the money

down on a table. He pays the nurse for her bread and wine. His hose had

been down at his ankles; now he has fifteen lords to escort him.[18]

Percy, Reliques, 1765, II, 309, 1794, II, 128 (with some readings

of his manuscript restored in the later edition), as he puts it,

revised and completed =A= by “the insertion of supplemental stanzas,”

“suggested by a modern ballad on a similar subject.” In fact, Percy

made a new ballad,[19] and a very good one, which, since his day, has

passed for ‘The Heir of Linne.’ (Herd, 1769, p. 227, but afterwards

dropped; Ritson, Scotish Songs, II, 129; Ritson, Ancient Songs and

Ballads, 1829, II, 81, with a protest; even Chambers, p. 310, Aytoun,

II, 342; for the Scottish version had not been printed when these

collections appeared.)

The modern ballad on a similar subject used by Percy was ‘The

Drunkard’s Legacy,’[20] an inexpressibly pitiable ditty, from which

Percy did not and could not take a line, but only, as he says, a

suggestion for the improvement of the story. In this, a gentleman has

a thriftless son given over to gaming and drunkenness. The father,

foreseeing his ruin, builds a cottage on a waste plat of land, with

one door, fastened by a spring-lock. On his death-bed he sends for

his son, tells him of the cottage, and directs him, after he has lost

all his friends and pawned his lands, to break open the door, for he

shall find something within to end his troubles. After the father’s

death the son spent all his ready money, and then pawned his lands

to the keeper of a tavern which he had frequented, who, in the end,

kicked him out of doors. Recalling now his father’s injunction, the son

broke open the cottage, hoping to find money. He saw only ‘a gibbet

and a rope,’ and a stool under the rope. He mounted the stool, put

the rope round his neck, and jumped off. The ‘gibbet’ broke, and a

thousand pound in gold came tumbling about his ears. The young man,

with a blessing on his father, vowed to give up drinking. He went to

the vintner’s, and getting a rough reception, complained of his so

treating a man who had pawned to him for three hundred pounds lands

bringing in eight score pounds’ rent, and besides had spent the money

in that shop. The vintner told him to bring a hundred pounds the next

day and take the lands back. The young man asked a note to this effect,

which was unsuspectingly given. He then went and fetched the money,

bringing with him a comrade, ‘who had made him drink when moneyless.’

The vintner declared that he had spoken in jest, but ‘this young man’s

friend’ urged that the written agreement would ‘cast’ him in law; so

the vintner had to take the hundred pounds and give up the deeds, and

he cut his throat for mortification. From that time the prodigal lived

a sober, charitable life.

Percy’s introduction of the lonesome lodge, the hanging, the bursting

ceiling, and the father’s double admonition, is an improvement too

striking to require or bear much comment. It is very far from certain

that a young reprobate, who has spent everything in riotous living,

will be turned into better courses by simply coming upon more money, as

in the traditional ballad; whereas there is a very fair chance that the

moral shock received in the other might be efficacious.

There are several Oriental stories which closely resemble that of ‘The

Drunkard’s Legacy,’ or of Percy’s ‘Heir of Linne.’

(1.) Sinadab was left by his father’s will free to dispose of a large

property, with the exception of a diminutive garden, at the end of

which was a small house. This he was on no account to part with. He

indulged in reckless profusion, and in about two years everything

was spent. The friends of his affluent days abandoned him,--all but

one, who gave him ten sequins. With only this in hand he set out on a

voyage which led to adventures which may be passed over. They ended

in his coming again to extreme poverty. He then remembered the little

garden which he had been forbidden to sell. He found a small box in the

house, and eagerly broke it open. There was nothing in it but a rope,

with a writing in his father’s hand, rebuking him for his dissipation,

and suggesting that, if he had sufficient resolution, he might put

an end to his troubles by use of the rope. Sinadab accordingly got

up on a stool, fastened the rope to the ceiling, adjusted a noose

about his neck, and pushed back the stool. The ceiling gave way, and

he was covered with a shower of gold pieces, which proved to be only

a trifling part of riches concealed above. His career after this was

serious and prudent. Gueulette, ‘Les mille et un quart d’heure,’ Contes

Tartares, Cabinet des Fées, XXI, 66-70, 89-93.

(2.) =Turkish.= A merchant took his son to a certain house, and said,

If you waste the wealth I leave, do not beg, but get a rope and hang

yourself from this ring. The son squandered his inheritance with

sycophants, who reviled him after he was stripped. He got a rope, went

to the house, mounted a stool, fastened one end of the rope to the

ring, the other about his neck, and threw himself from the stool. A

board in which the ring was fastened gave way, the young man fell to

the ground, and gold and jewels came pouring upon him. He repented of

his profligacy, and reformed his ways. ‘The Forty Vezirs,’ Gibb, p.

244; Behrnauer, p. 253.

(3.) =Arabic.= A man charged his son not to beg if he should come to

want, for he had hidden a treasure in his house, which, however, he was

not to resort to until compelled by dire necessity. After his father’s

death, the son, without delay, broke into the place where the treasure

had been said to be concealed, but found only an empty room, with a

rope hanging from the ceiling. Under the rope was a pile of bricks,

and a paper recommending him to get up on the bricks and hang himself.

The young man went off, and with the assistance of parasites, was soon

rid of all his wealth. After a taste of the sharpness of poverty and

of the baseness of summer friends, he went to the room where he had

expected to find the treasure, stepped on the pile of bricks, tied the

rope round his neck, and kicked away the bricks. The rope parted, and

a quantity of precious things tumbled from overhead. His false friends

promptly returned with prosperity, but were put to shame. Tausend und

eine Nacht, Deutsch von Habicht, v. d. Hagen u. Schall, 1840, XIV,

65-68.

(4.) The same story, with some of the details of both 2 and 3, in

Pauli’s Schimpf und Ernst, Oesterley, p. 400, from the edition of 1533.

In Pauli’s tale, the young man, after a year of exemplary life in the

world, gives all his goods to the poor and turns hermit.

(5.) =Persian.= Atalmulc’s extravagances cause his father great

anxiety. The father, when near his end, charges his son, if he should

be so unhappy as to dissipate the fortune he will receive, to hang

himself to a branch of a tree in the middle of the garden. The bough

breaks, and the trunk is found to be full of precious stones. Petis de

la Croix, Les Mille et un Jour, Cabinet des Fées, XIV, 457.

There is another and seemingly an independent story, summarized in two

distichs in the Greek Anthology (IX, 44, 45, translated by Ausonius,

Epigrammata, 22, 23), how a man, who was about to hang himself, found

some money, and left his rope behind, and how the owner of the money,

coming for it and not finding it, hanged himself with the rope.[21]

La Fontaine’s fable, ‘Le Trésor et les deux Hommes,’ IX, 16, is this

story, with a wall falling, not by precontrivance, but from its ruinous

condition.

The eighth tale in the ninth decade of Giraldi Cinthio’s Hecatommithi,

1565, II, 563, is a modification of what may be called the Greek story.

“Chera hid a treasure. Elisa, going about to hang herself, and tying

the halter about a beam, found that treasure, and in place thereof left

the halter. Philene, the daughter of Chera, going for that treasure,

and busily searching for the same, found the halter, wherewithal, in

despair, she would have hanged herself, but,” etc. (Painter’s argument

to his translation of Cinthio’s tale in the Palace of Pleasure, 2d Tome

(1567), 11th novel, ed. Jacobs, II, 264.)

The Greek Syntipas has another variety. A man, reduced to want, takes

a sword and goes to a lonely place to end his misery. He finds in a

deep hole or fosse a quantity of gold which has been hidden there by a

cyclops, takes it, and goes back to his house very happy. The cyclops,

coming to the spot and not finding his gold, but seeing the sword lying

about, slays himself. Matthæi, Syntipæ Fabulæ, 1781, p. 38, μη; Coray,

Æsop, p. 246, No 384.[22]

A tale in Anvár-i Suhailí has been cited in connection with the

foregoing, which has only a general and remote resemblance to ‘The Heir

of Linne.’ A wise king, perceiving that his two unpromising sons would

misuse his treasures, buries them in a hermitage. After his death, his

sons quarrel about the succession. The younger is worsted, and brought

so low that he abandons the world, and selects this hermitage for his

retirement. Here he learns wisdom that is better than riches, and

also discovers the buried treasure. Both the elder brother and a king

with whom he is at variance are killed in a fight, and the younger is

offered a double kingdom. (Chapter I, story II, Eastwick, p. 74; also,

Contes et Fables Indiennes de Bidpaï et de Lokman (Galland), Cabinet

des Fées, XVII, 122; The Fables of Pilpay, London, 1818, p. 51.)

* * * * *

Percy’s ballad is translated by Bodmer, II, 117, and by Knortz, Lieder

und Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 78.

Percy MS., p. 71; Hales and Furnivall, I, 174.

Off all the lords in faire Scottland

A song I will begin;

Amongst them all there dweld a lo_rd_

W_hi_ch was the vnthrifty lo_rd_ of Linne.

His father and mother were dead him froe,

And soe was the head of all his kinne;

To the cards and dice _tha_t he did run

He did neither cease nor bl[i]nne.

To drinke the wine that was soe cleere,

W_i_th euery man he wold make merry;

And then bespake him Iohn of the Scales,

Vnto the heire of Linne sayd hee.

Sayes, How dost thou, Lo_rd_ of Linne?

Doest either want gold or fee?

Wilt thou not sell thy lands soe brode

To such a good fellow as me?

‘Ffor. . I. .’ he said,

‘My land, take it vnto thee;’

‘I draw you to record, my lord[ë]s all;’

W_i_th _tha_t he cast him a god’s peny.

He told him the gold vpon the bord,

It wanted neuer a bare penny:

‘_Tha_t gold is thine, the land is mine,

The heire of Linne I wilbee.’

‘Heere’s gold inoughe,’ saithe the heire of Linne,

‘Both for me and my company:’

He drunke the wine _tha_t was soe cleere,

And w_i_th euery man he made merry.

W_i_th-in three quarters of a yeere

His gold and fee it waxed thinne,

His merry men were from him gone,

And left him himselfe all alone.

He had neuer a penny left in his pursse,

Neuer a penny [left] but three,

And one was brasse, and another was lead,

And another was white mony.

‘Now well-aday!’ said the heire of Linne,

‘Now welladay, and woe is mee!

For when I was the lord of Linne,

I neither wanted gold nor fee.

‘For I haue sold my lands soe broad,

And haue not left me one penny;

I must goe now and take some read

Vnto Edenborrow, and begg my bread.’

He had not beene in Edenborrow

Not three qwarters of a yeere,

But some did giue him, and some said nay,

And some bid ‘to the deele gang yee!

‘For if we shold hang any landles feer,

The first we wold begin w_i_th thee.’

‘Now welladay!’ said the heire of Linne,

‘No[w] welladay, and woe is mee!

‘For now I have sold my lands soe broad,

_Tha_t mery man is irke w_i_th mee;

But when _tha_t I was the lo_rd_ of Linne,

Then on my land I liued merrily.

‘And now I have sold my land soe broade

_Tha_t I haue not left me one pennye!

God be w_i_th my father!’ he said,

‘On his land he liued merrily.’

Still in a study there as he stood,

He vnbethought him of [a] bill;

He vnbethought him of [a] bill

W_hi_ch his father had left w_i_th him.

Bade him he shold neuer on it looke

Till he was in extreame neede,

‘And by my faith,’ said the heire of Linne,

‘Then now I had neuer more neede.’

He tooke the bill, and looked it on,

Good comfort _tha_t he found there;

Itt told him of a castle wall

Where there stood three chests in feare.

Two were full of the beaten gold,

The third was full of white mony;

He turned then downe his baggs of bread,

And filled them full of gold soe red.

Then he did neuer cease nor blinne

Till Iohn of the Scales house he did winne.

When _tha_t he came to Iohn of the Scales,

Vpp at the speere he looked then.

There sate three lords vpon a rowe,

And Iohn o the Scales sate at the bord’s head,

Because he was the lo_rd_ of Linne.

And then bespake the heire of Linne,

To Iohn o the Scales’ wiffe thus sayd hee:

Sayd, Dame, wilt thou not trust me one shott

_Tha_t I may sitt downe in this company?

‘Now, Christ’s curse on my head,’ shee said,

‘If I doe trust thee one pennye;’

Then be-spake a good fellowe,

W_hi_ch sate by Iohn o the Scales his knee.

Said, Haue thou here, thou heire of Linne,

Forty pence I will lend thee;

Some time a good fellow thou hast beene;

And other forty if neede bee.

Thé dru[n]ken wine _tha_t was soe cleere,

And euery man thé made merry;

And then bespake him Iohn o the Scales,

Vnto the lo_rd_ of Linne said hee.

Said, How doest thou, heire of Linne,

Since I did buy thy lands of thee?

I will sell it to thee twenty pound better cheepe

Nor euer I did buy it of thee.

‘I draw you to recorde, lord[ë]s all,’

W_i_th that he cast him [a] god’s penny;

Then he tooke to his baggs of bread,

And they were full of the gold soe redd.

He told him the gold then over the borde,

It wanted neuer a broad pennye:

‘_Tha_t gold is thine, the land is mine,

And the heire of Linne againe I wilbee.’

‘Now welladay!’ said Iohn o the Scales’ wife,

‘Welladay, and woe is me!

Yesterday I was the lady of Linne,

And now I am but Iohn o the Scales’ wiffe!’

Saies, Haue thou heere, thou good fellow,

Forty pence thou did lend me,

And forty pound I will giue thee.

‘Ile make thee keep_er_ of my forrest

Both of the wild deere and the tame,’

. . . . . . . .

But then bespake the heire of Linne,

These were the words, and thus said hee,

Christs curse light vpon my crowne

If ere my land stand in any ieopardye!

=a.= Buchan’s MSS, I, 40. =b.= Buchan’s MSS, II, 114. =c.= Christie’s

Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 112.

‘The bonny heir, and the well-faird heir,

And the weary heir o Linne,

Yonder he stands at his father’s yetts,

And naebody bids him come in.

‘O see for he gangs, an see for he stands,

The weary heir o Linne!

O see for he stands on the cauld casey,

And nae an bids him come in!

‘But if he had been his father’s heir,

Or yet the heir o Linne,

He wadna stand on the cauld casey,

Some an woud taen him in.’

‘Sing ower again that sang, nourice,

The sang ye sung just now;’

‘I never sung a sang in my life

But I woud sing ower to you.

‘O see for he gangs, an see for he stands,

The weary heir o Linne!

O see for he stands on the cauld casey,

An nae an bids him come in!

‘But if he had been his father’s heir,

Or yet the heir o Linne,

He woudna stand on the cauld casye,

Some an woud taen him in.

‘When his father’s lands a selling were,

His claise lay well in fauld,

But now he wanders on the shore,

Baith hungry, weet, and cauld.’

As Willie he gaed down the town,

The gentlemen were drinking;

Some bade gie Willie a glass, a glass,

And some bade him gie nane,

Some bade gie Willie a glass, a glass,

The weary heir o Linne.

As Willie he came up the town,

The fishers were a’ sitting;

Some bade gie Willie a fish, a fish,

Some bade gie him a fin,

Some bade gie him a fish, a fish,

And lat the palmer gang.

He turned him right and round about,

As will as a woman’s son,

And taen his cane into his hand,

And on his way to Linne.

His nourice at her window lookd,

Beholding dale and down,

And she beheld this distressd young man

Come walking to the town.

‘Come here, come here, Willie,’ she said,

‘And rest yoursel wi me;

I hae seen you in better days,

And in jovial companie.’

‘Gie me a sheave o your bread, nourice,

And a bottle o your wine,

And I’ll pay you it a’ ower again,

When I’m the laird o Linne.’

‘Ye’se get a sheave o my bread, Willie,

And a bottle o my wine,

But ye’ll pay me when the seas gang dry,

For ye’ll neer be heir o Linne.’

Then he turnd him right and round about,

As will as woman’s son,

And aff he set, and bent his way,

And straightway came to Linne.

But when he came to that castle,

They were set down to dine;

A score o nobles there he saw,

Sat drinking at the wine.

Then some bade gie him beef, the beef,

And some bade gie him the bane;

And some bade gie him naething at a’,

But lat the palmer gang.

Then out it speaks the new-come laird,

A saucy word spake hee;

‘Put round the cup, gie my rival a sup,

Let him fare on his way.’

Then out it speaks Sir Ned Magnew,

Ane o young Willie’s kin;

‘This youth was ance a sprightly boy

As ever lived in Linne.’

He turned him right and round about,

As will as woman’s son,

Then minded him on a little wee key,

That his mother left to him.

His mother left [him] this little wee key

A little before she died;

And bade him keep this little wee key

Till he was in maist need.

Then forth he went, these nobles left,

All drinkin’ in the room,

Wi walking rod intill his hand,

He walked the castle roun.

There he found out a little door,

For there the key slipped in,

And there [he] got as muckle red gowd

As freed the lands o Linne.

Back through the nobles then he went,

A saucy man was then:

‘I’ll take the cup frae this new-come laird,

For he neer bade me sit down.’

Then out it speaks the new-come laird,

He spake wi mock an jeer;

‘I’d gie a seat to the laird o Linne,

Sae be that he were here.

‘When the lands o Linne a selling were,

A’ men said they were free;

This lad shall hae them frae me this day,

If he’ll gie the third pennie.’

‘I take ye witness, nobles a’,

Guide witnesses ye’ll be;

I’m promisd the lands o Linne this day,

If I gie the third pennie.’

‘Ye’ve taen us witness, Willie,’ they said,

‘Guide witnesses we’ll be;’

‘Buy the lands o Linne who likes,

They’ll neer be bought by thee.’

He’s done him to a gaming-table,

For it stood fair and clean;

There he tauld down as much rich gowd

As freed the lands o Linne.

Thus having done, he turnd about,

A saucy man was he;

‘Take up your monie, my lad,’ he says,

‘Take up your third pennie.

‘Aft hae I gane wi barefeet cauld,

Likewise wi legs full bare,

An mony days walkd at these yetts

Wi muckle dool and care.

‘But now my sorrow’s past and gane,

And joy’s returned to me,

And here I’ve gowd enough forbye,

Ahin this third pennie.’

As Willie he gaed down the town,

There he crawd wonderous crouse;

He calld the may afore them a’,

The nourice o the house.

‘Come here, come here, my nurse,’ he says,

‘I’ll pay your bread and wine;

Seas ebb and flow [as] they wont to do,

Yet I’m the laird o Linne.’

As he gaed up the Gallowgate port,

His hose abeen his sheen;

But lang ere he came down again

Was convoyed by lords fifeteen.

* * * * *

=A.=

_2. The third and fourth lines are fourth and third._

_3. There is probably a gap after the second line._

5^1. Ffor _wanting_: _supplied from the bottom of the preceding page_.

5^4. a good-se.

7^1. Lime.

8^1, 9^2, 12^2, 18^4, 19^2, 21^1. 3.

13^1. Land selfeer.

16^2 _has_ bis _prefixed_ to it.

19^1. 2.

20^1. blime.

20^3. Scalels: _misprint_?

21^2 _has_ bis _prefixed_.

20, 21, _are written together._

24^{2,4}, 30^{2,3}. 40.

26^3. 20^{li}_{:}.

28^4, 32^1. Lime.

30^2 _marked_ bis.

30^4. 40^1.

=B.= =a.=

9^2. a; =b=, all.

14^2. o your.

14^4. But ye’ll: _cf._ =b.=

23^2. For there; _perhaps simply_ For (==Where).

=b.=

_1 wanting._

2^3. on that.

2^3, 3^3, 5^3, 6^3, causey.

4^1. that sang again.

6^1. if ye, _wrongly_.

_13, 14 follow 6._

_7 wanting._

9^2. were all.

9^5. And some: gie ’m.

_10-12 wanting._

13^1. twa sheaves.

13^2. And ae glass.

13^3. And I will pay you them back again.

13^4. The day I’m heir of.

14^1. get three sheaves.

14^2. And twa glass.

14^3. But I’ll be paid: sea gangs.

14^4. For ye’ll.

_15-19 wanting._

20^{1,2}.

As Willie was sitting one day alane,

And nae body him wi.

20^3. He minded on.

20^4. That’s mither to him did gie.

20^{5, 6}.

Bade him never open a lock wi it

Ere the greatest strait he could see.

_21, 22 wanting._

23.

Then he did spy a little wee lock,

And the key gied linking in,

And he got goud and money therein

To pay the lands o Linne.

_24-32 wanting._

_35, 33, 34, for 33-35._

33^{1, 2}.

When Willie he came to the ha,

There he cried out wonderous crouse.

34^1. Come down, come down, nourice, he said.

34^2. Ere I pay you your.

34^3. For ye will be paid ere the seas gang dry.

34^4. For this day I’m heir.

35^1. As Willie he gied down the town.

35^3. But when that he came up again.

_Both Motherwell in copying the ballad (which he in all likelihood

received from Buchan), and Dixon in printing it, made a few changes:

as (Motherwell) the northern_ for _in_ 2^{1, 3}, _to_ whare, _but not

in_ 29^2, _where_ for _also_==where.

=C.=

“The editor can trace the air and ballad here given as far back as

1775, through an aged relative who died in 1842 in her eightieth

year, and who had it from her mother.” _Christie neither professed

nor practised a rigid fidelity to texts, and this copy, at best not a

valuable one, is given for the little it may be worth._

O yonder he stands, and there he gangs,

The weary heir o Linne,

Yonder he stands on the cauld causey,

And nane bids him come in.

But it fell ance upon a day

The sheets were laid in fauld,

And poor Willie found he had nae friends,

And it was wondrous cauld.

‘Oh, one sheave o your bread, nourice,

And one glass o your wine,

And I will pay you oer again

When I am laird o Linne.’

‘Oh, one sheave o my bread, Willie,

And one glass o my wine,

But the seas will be dry ere ye pay me again,

For ye’ll never be laird o Linne.’

But he mind’t him up, and he mind’t him down,

And he mind’t him oer again,

And he mind’t him on a little wee key

That his mother gae to him.

He did him to the house o Linne,

He sought it up and down,

And there he found a little wee door,

And the key gaed slippin in.

And he got gowd, and he got gear,

He got gowd stord within,

And he got gowd, and he got gear,

Thrice worth the lands o Linne.

He did him to the tavern straight,

Where nobles were drinking therein;

The greatest noble among them a’

Was near to Willie o kin.

And some of them bade him fish to eat,

And some of them bade him a fin,

And some of them bade him nothing at a’,

For he’d never be father’s son.

But out it spake an aged knicht,

And vow but he spake slie!

‘I’ll sell you your father’s land back again

All for the third pennie.’

‘I take witness upon you here,’ he says,

‘I take witness upon thee,

That you will sell me my father’s land again

All for the third pennie.’

Then he took out a little wee coffer,

And he set it on his knee,

And he told the goud down on the table roun,

Says, Tak up your third pennie.

‘Come ben, come ben, my good nourice,

I’ll pay you when you come ben;

For the seas are not dry, and I’ll pay you back again,

For I’m again the laird o Linne.’

Poor Willie that night at eight o’clock

Had his stockings abeen his sheen,

But ere the morrow at twelve o’clock

He was convoyd by lords sixteen.

APPENDIX

(From a Broadside among Percy’s Papers.)

THE DRUNKARD’S LEGACY

IN THREE PARTS

Part I

Young people all I pray draw near,

And listen to my ditty here,

Which subject shews that drunkenness

Brings many mortals to distress.

As for example now I can

Tell you of one, a gentleman,

Who had a very good estate;

His earthly travels they were great.

We understand he had a son

Who a lewd wicked race did run;

He daily spent his father’s store,

When moneyless he came for more.

The father oftentimes with tears

Would sound this alarm in his ears:

‘Son, thou dost all thy comforts blast,

And thou wilt come to want at last.’

The son these words did little mind;

To cards and dice he was inclind,

Feeding his drunken appetite

In taverns, which was his delight.

The father, ere it was too late,

He had a project in his pate,

Before his aged days were gone

To make provision for his son.

Near to his house, we understand,

He had a waste plat of land,

Which did but little profit yield,

On which he had a cottage built.

‘The Wise-Man’s Project’ was its name;

There was few windows in the same;

Only one door, substanti[a]l thing,

Shut by a lock went by a spring.

Soon after he had playd this trick,

It was his lot for to fall sick;

As on his bed he did lament,

Then for his drunken son he sent.

Who, sent for, came to his bed-side;

Seeing his son, he then reply’d,

‘I sent for you to make my will,

Which do you faithfully fulfil.

‘To such one cottage is one door;

Neer open it, do thou be sure,

Until thou art so poor that all

Do then despise you, great and small.

‘For to my grief I do perceive

When I am dead this life you live

Will soon melt all thou hast away:

Do not forget these words, I pray.

‘When thou hast made thy friends thy foes,

Pawnd all thy lands, and sold thy cloaths,

Break ope the door, and there depend

To find something thy grief to end.’

Thus being spoke, the son did say,

Your dying words I will obey;

Soon after this his father dear

Did die and buried was, we hear.