=C.= In =C= man and wife are in bed, and_The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 5 (of 5)

out and lay her on the floor: this makes the husband give tongue.

Stenhouse notes that this ballad furnished Prince Hoare with the

principal scene in his musical entertainment of “No Song, no Supper,”

produced in 1790, and long a favorite on the stage. (Musical Museum,

1853, IV, 292.)

This tale is one of a group which may or may not have had a single

archetype. Of the varieties, that which comes nearest is the first

story in Straparola’s Eighth Day. Husband and wife are sitting near

the entrance of their house one night; the husband says, It is time

to go to bed, shut the door; she says, Shut it yourself. They make

a compact that the one who speaks first shall shut the door. The

wife, tired of silence and growing sleepy, goes to bed; the husband

stretches himself on a bench. A gentleman’s servant, whose lantern

has been put out by the wind, seeing the door open, asks for a light.

There is no reply. Advancing a little way into the house, he finds the

man lying on the bench with his eyes open, but can get no word from

him though he shakes him. Looking round, he sees the woman in bed and

addresses her, but she is as dumb as her husband; he gets into the

bed. The woman says nothing till the intruder goes away; then calls

out, A pretty man you, to leave the door open all night and let people

get into your bed. Fool, he says, now go shut the door. The same, with

insignificant divergences, in L’Élite des Contes du Sieur d’Ouville,

Rouen, 1699, I, 159.

A wedding-feast over, neither bridegroom nor bride will consent to

shut the street-door; the lady proposes that the one who speaks

first shall do this, to which the bridegroom agrees. They sit looking

at each other in silence for two hours. Thieves, seeing the door

open, come in, pillage the house, and even strip the young pair of

everything valuable that they have on them, but neither says a word.

In the morning a patrol of police find the house door open, enter,

and make an inspection. The chief demands an explanation of the state

of things; neither man nor woman vouchsafes a response, and he orders

their heads off. The executioner is beginning with the husband; the

wife cries out, Spare him! the husband exclaims, You have lost,

go shut the door. (The Arabian tale of Sulayman Bey and the Three

Story-Tellers, cited by Clouston, Popular Tales and Fictions, II, 29.)

Hemp-eaters, who have found a sequin and bought a mass of food,

quarrel about fastening the gate of a tomb to which they have retired,

to gorge unmolested. They come to an agreement that the man who first

speaks shall close the gate. They let the victuals stand and sit mute.

A troop of dogs rush in and eat all up clean. One of the party had

secured some of the provender in advance of the rest, and bits are

sticking to his mouth. A dog licks them away, and in so doing bites

the lip of the fellow, who, in his pain, raps out a curse on the dog.

The rest shout, Get up and shut the gate! (Turkish, Behrnauer, Die

vierzig Veziere, p. 175 f.; Gibb, The History of the Forty Vezirs, p.

171 f.)

In the second Pickelheringsspiel, in the first part of Engelische

Comedien und Tragedien, 1620, a married pair contend again about the

shutting of a door. (R. Köhler; not seen by me.)

In other cases, speaking first entails a penalty different from

shutting a door.

A young pair, lying in bed the first night after marriage, engage

that whichever of the two gets up first or speaks first shall wash

the dishes for a week. The husband, pretending to make his will by

the process of expressing by signs his acceptance or rejection of

the suggestions of a friend, bequeaths away from his wife a handsome

article of dress belonging to her. The wife utters a protest, and has

to wash the dishes. (Novelle di Sercambi, ed. d’Ancona, p. 16, No 3,

‘De simplicitate viri et uxoris.’)

A man complains of dry bread which his wife has given him for his

supper. She tells him to get up and moisten it; he bids her do this,

but she refuses. It is finally settled that the one that speaks

first shall moisten the bread. A visitor comes in and can make

neither of them say a word. He kisses the wife, gives the husband a

blow on the cheek; no word from either. He makes complaint to the

kází; the husband will say nothing when brought before the kází,

and is condemned to be hanged. At the moment of execution the wife

ejaculates, Alas, my unfortunate husband! You devil, says he, go

home and moisten the bread! (An Arabian story in Beloe’s Oriental

Apologues, cited by Clouston, II, 21.)

A shoemaker and his wife agree that the one who speaks first shall

carry back a frying-pan that they have borrowed. A soldier who

requires a girth for his horse asks the shoemaker to cut him one,

but gets no answer, though he threatens to take off the man’s head.

Enraged at last, he seizes the shoemaker by the head to do what he

had menaced, when the wife cries out, For mercy’s sake, don’t! Well

done! says the husband, now carry back the pan. (Bernoni, Fiabe pop.

veneziane, p. 67, No 13, ‘La Scomessa;’ Crane, Italian Popular Tales,

p. 284.)

John makes terms with his wife that which of the two eats first of a

soup which she has brought in, or speaks the first word, shall have

a beating. William, of whom the husband is jealous, comes to offer

his company to go to a fight which is to come off. Man and wife will

neither eat nor speak, and he thinks them possessed. He takes the

woman by the hand, and she goes with him. John cries out, Let my wife

be! She says, John, you have spoken and lost. (Ayrers Dramen, ed. von

Keller, III, 2006-08.)

A man who has been taunting his wife as a cackler is challenged by her

to a trial at silence. A tinker comes in asking for kettles to mend.

He can make neither of them open their mouth, and, as a last resource,

offers to kiss the woman. The husband cannot contain himself; the wife

says, You have lost! and remains mistress of the house, as she had

been before. (Farce d’un Chauldronnier, Viollet Le Duc, Ancien Théâtre

François, II, 109 ff.)[87]

* * * * *

=a.= Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 330. =b.=

[Pinkerton], Select Scotish Ballads, 1783, II, 150.

It fell about the Martinmas time,

And a gay time it was then,

When our goodwife got puddings to make,

And she’s boild them in the pan.

The wind sae cauld blew south and north,

And blew into the floor;

Quoth our goodman to our goodwife,

‘Gae out and bar the door.’

‘My hand is in my hussyfskap,

Goodman, as ye may see;

An it shoud nae be barrd this hundred year,

It’s no be barrd for me.’

They made a paction tween them twa,

They made it firm and sure,

That the first word whaeer shoud speak,

Shoud rise and bar the door.

Then by there came two gentlemen,

At twelve o clock at night,

And they could neither see house nor hall,

Nor coal nor candle-light.

‘Now whether is this a rich man’s house,

Or whether is it a poor?’

But neer a word wad ane o them speak,

For barring of the door.

And first they ate the white puddings,

And then they ate the black;

Tho muckle thought the goodwife to hersel,

Yet neer a word she spake.

Then said the one unto the other,

‘Here, man, tak ye my knife;

Do ye tak aff the auld man’s beard,

And I’ll kiss the goodwife.’

‘But there’s nae water in the house,

And what shall we do than?’

‘What ails ye at the pudding-broo,

That boils into the pan?’

O up then started our goodman,

An angry man was he:

‘Will ye kiss my wife before my een,

And scad me wi pudding-bree?’

Then up and started our goodwife,

Gied three skips on the floor:

‘Goodman, you’ve spoken the foremost word,

Get up and bar the door.’

Macmath MS. p. 74. “From the singing of Miss Jane Webster, 15th

October, 1886, and 26th August, 1887, who learned it at Airds of

Kells, Kirkcudbrightshire, many years ago, from James McJannet.”

There leeved a wee man at the fit o yon hill,

John Blunt it was his name, O

And he selld liquor and ale o the best,

And bears a wondrous fame. O

Tal lara ta lilt, tal lare a lilt,

Tal lara ta lilt, tal lara

The wind it blew frae north to south,

It blew into the floor;

Says auld John Blunt to Janet the wife,

Ye maun rise up and bar the door.

‘My hans are in my husseyskep,

I canna weel get them free,

And if ye dinna bar it yersel

It’ll never be barred by me.’

They made it up atween them twa,

They made it unco sure,

That the ane that spoke the foremost word

Was to rise and bar the door.

There was twa travellers travelling late,

Was travelling cross the muir,

And they cam unto wee John Blunt’s,

Just by the light o the door.

‘O whether is this a rich man’s house,

Or whether is it a puir?’

But never a word would the auld bodies speak,

For the barring o the door.

First they bad good een to them,

And syne they bad good morrow;

But never a word would the auld bodies speak,

For the barring o the door, O.

First they ate the white puddin,

And syne they ate the black,

And aye the auld wife said to hersel,

May the deil slip down wi that!

And next they drank o the liquor sae strong,

And syne they drank o the yill:

‘And since we hae got a house o our ain

I’m sure we may tak our fill.’

It’s says the ane unto the ither,

Here, man, tak ye my knife,

An ye’ll scrape aff the auld man’s beard,

While I kiss the gudewife.

‘Ye hae eaten my meat, ye hae drucken my drink,

Ye’d make my auld wife a whore!’

‘John Blunt, ye hae spoken the foremost word,

Ye maun rise up and bar the door.’

Johnson’s Museum, IV, 376, No 365, 1792. Contributed by Robert Burns.

There livd a man in yonder glen,

And John Blunt was his name; O

He maks gude maut and he brews gude ale,

And he bears a wondrous fame. O

The wind blew in the hallan ae night,

Fu snell out oer the moor;

‘Rise up, rise up, auld Luckie,’ he says,

‘Rise up, and bar the door.’

They made a paction tween them twa,

They made it firm and sure,

Whaeer sud speak the foremost word

Should rise and bar the door.

Three travellers that had tint their gate,

As thro the hills they foor,

They airted by the line o light

Fu straught to Johnie Blunt’s door.

They haurld auld Luckie out o her bed

And laid her on the floor,

But never a word auld Luckie wad say,

For barrin o the door.

‘Ye’ve eaten my bread, ye hae druken my ale,

And ye’ll mak my auld wife a whore!’

‘A ha, Johnie Blunt! ye hae spoke the first word,

Get up and bar the door.’

* * * * *

=A. a.=

_Johnson’s Museum has these variations_:

2^4. Gat up and.

4^3. first who should speak the foremost word.

=b.=

1^3. That our gudewife had.

1^4. she boild.

2^1. wind blew cauld frae east.

2^4. Get up and.

3^3. hunder.

3^4. Its neer be barrd by.

4^2. word whaever spak.

5^1. come.

5^3. Whan they can see na ither house.

5^4. And at the door they light.

7^2. And syne.

7^3. Tho _wanting_.

8^1. Then ane unto the ither said.

9^3. bree.

11^1. O up then started.

11^3. you have spak the first word.

O _is added to the second and fourth lines for singing, in both of

the Museum copies and in_ =B=.

FOOTNOTES:

[87] All the above have been cited by Reinhold Köhler, Jahrbuch für

romanische u. englische Literatur, XII, 348 f., or by Clouston, Popular

Tales and Fictions, II, 15 ff.

276

THE FRIAR IN THE WELL

=A. a.= ‘The Fryer well fitted,’ etc., Rawlinson Ballads, 566, fol.

63, 4°. =b.= ‘The Fryer well fitted,’ etc., Roxburghe Ballads, II,

172; Ebsworth, Roxburghe Ballads, VII, 222. =c.= ‘The Fryer and the

Maid,’ Wit and Mirth, or, Pills to purge Melancholy, “I, 340, 1707,”

III, 325, 1719.

=B. a.= ‘The Friar and Fair Maid,’ Buchan’s MSS, II, 351. =b.= ‘The

Friar,’ Kinloch MSS, VI, 97. =c.= Kinloch MSS, V, 60.

The broadside, =A a=, =b=, is found in many other collections: Pepys,

III, 145, No 143; Crawford, No 94, etc. (see Ebsworth). =B=, the

Scottish ballad (an improvement on the English), is without doubt

derived from print, but not directly from =A a=, =b=. In =B= the maid

feigns to be afraid of her master, as in =A c=, not of her father.

From Halliwell’s Notices of Fugitive Tracts, p. 37, No 49, Percy

Society, vol. xxix, we learn that The Royal Garland of Protestant

Delight, London, 1689, has a ballad with the title ‘The witty lass of

Somersetshire, or the fryer servd in his kind,’ with an “answer,” in

the last stanza of which ‘the inn-keeper, her master,’ laughs at the

fryer’s disaster.

The tune of ‘The Friar in the Well’ occurs in The Dancing Master,

from 1650 to 1686: Chappell’s Popular Music, p. 274. Munday, in his

‘Downfall of Robert, Earl of Huntington,’ Act iv, Scene 2, 1598,

refers to the ‘merry jest ... how the friar fell into the well, for

love of Jenny, that fair bonny belle.’ A reference of Skelton’s in his

Colyn Cloute[88] carries the story, and almost certainly the ballad,

back to the first quarter of the sixteenth century.

The copy in Kinloch’s Ballad Book, p. 25, was compounded by the editor

from =B b=, =c=.

A maid, solicited by a friar, says that she fears hell-fire; the

friar reminds her that if she were in hell he could sing her out. She

stipulates for money in advance; while the friar is gone to fetch

some, she hangs (spreads) a cloth before (over) a well. The money in

band, she calls out that her father (master) is coming; the friar runs

to hide behind the cloth (a screen), and falls into the well. The

friar cries for help; he is left to sing himself out. Extricated after

a sufficient cooling, he asks his money back, but is told that he must

pay for fouling the water.

This story, one might safely say, is not beyond the “imaginary forces”

of any Western people, but an open well inside of an English house is

at least of unusual occurrence, and if we find something of the kind

to our hand in an Eastern tale of similar character, a borrowing seems

more plausible than an invention. There is a considerable class of

tales, mostly Oriental, in which a chaste wife discomfits two or three

would-be seducers, bringing them to shame and ridicule in the end. In

some, she exacts or receives money from her suitors at the outset;

in some, an allegation that her husband is coming is the pretext for

her concealing them. An example in English is ‘The Wright’s Chaste

Wife,’ by Adam of Cobsam, edited for the Early English Text Society,

in 1865, by Dr Furnivall. In this, three men successively are tumbled

through a trap door into an underground room. But in the Persian Tútí

Náma, or Book of the Parrot, of Nakhshabí, the wife lays a bed over a

dry well, her suitors are invited to sit on it, and they fall in; and

here, it is not extravagant to suppose, we may have the remote source

of the trick in our ballad.[89]

There is a French ballad of the same general type: ‘Le lourdaud

moine,’ Tarbé, Romancero de Champagne, II, 135; ‘Le moine Nicolas,’

Bujeaud, II, 284. A monk, enamored of a married woman, is appointed

to come to her while her husband is away; he is told to lay off his

frock, which she secures, and she takes money which he has brought.

He is then sent to the door to see if the husband be coming, and is

locked out. He asks to have his frock and money returned; she will

keep them for her husband. The convent jeer at him when he comes back:

‘Dieu bénisse la commère qui t’a joué ce tour-là!’

‘Munken i Vaande,’ a rather flat Danish ballad from a MS. of the 16th

century, tells of a monk who knocks at the door of a woman whom he

has been courting, and calls to her to keep her word; she tells her

husband to slip under the bed, and lets the monk in; the monk hands

the woman gold rings which he had promised; the goodman comes out and

gives him a beating; the monk leaps out of the window and goes to his

cloister; his superior asks why he has been away; he has been shriving

the farmer’s wife, and it has nearly cost him his life.

* * * * *

=a.= Rawlinson, 566, fol. 63, 4^o. =b.= Roxburghe, II, 172;

Ebsworth, Roxburghe Ballads, VII, 222. =c.= D’Urfey’s Pills to purge

Melancholy, ed. 1719, III, 325.

As I lay musing all alone,

fa, la, la, la, la

A pretty jeast I thought upon;

fa, la, la, la, la

Then listen a while, and I will you tell

Of a fryer that loved a bonny lass well.

fa, la, la, la, la

fa, la, la, lang-tre-down-dilly

He came to the maid when she went to bed,

Desiring to have her maidenhead,

But she denyëd his desire,

And told him that she feard hell-fire.

‘Tush,’ quoth the fryer, ‘thou needst not doubt

If thou wert in hell I could sing thee out:’

‘Then,’ quoth the maid, ‘thou shalt have thy request;’

The fryer was glad as a fox in his nest.

‘But one thing,’ quoth she, ‘I do desire,

Before you have what you require;

Before that you shall do the thing,

An angel of mony thou shalt me bring.’

‘Tush,’ quoth the fryer, ‘we shall agree,

No mony shall part my love and me;

Before that I will see thee lack,

I’le pawn the grey gown from my back.’

The maid bethought her of a wile

How she the fryer might beguile;

While he was gone, the truth to tell,

She hung a cloth before the well.

The fryer came, as his covenant was,

With money to his bonny lass;

‘Good morrow, fair maid!’ ‘Good morrow!’ quoth she.

‘Here is the mony I promised thee.’

She thankt the man, and she took his mony:

‘Now let us go to ’t,’ quoth he, ‘sweet hony:’

‘O stay,’ quoth she, ‘some respite make,

My father comes, he will me take.’

‘Alas!’ quoth the fryer, ‘where shall I run,

To hide me till that he be gone?’

‘Behinde the cloath run thou,’ quoth she,

‘And there my father cannot thee see.’

Behind the cloath the fryer crept,

And into the well on the sudden he leapt;

‘Alas,’ quoth he, ‘I am in the well!’

‘No matter,’ quoth she,’ if thou wert in hell.

‘Thou sayst thou couldst sing me out of hell,

Now prithee sing thy self out of the well:’

The fryer sung with a pittiful sound,

Oh help me out, or I shall be dround!

‘I trow,’ quoth she, ‘your courage is coold.’

Quoth the fryer, I was never so foold,

I never was served so before.

‘Then take heed,’ quoth she, ‘thou comst there no more.’

Quoth he, For sweet Saint Francis sake

On his disciple some pitty take:

Quoth she, Saint Francis never taught

His scholars to tempt young maids to naught.

The fryer did entreat her still

That she should help him out of the well;

She heard him make such pittious moan

She helpd him out, and bid him be gone.

Quoth he, Shall I have my mony again,

Which thou from me hast beforehand tane?

‘Good sir,’ said she, ‘there’s no such matter;

I’le make you pay for fouling my water.’

The fryer went all along the street,

Droping wet, like a new-washd sheep;

Both old and young commended the maid

That such a witty prank had plaid.

=a.= Buchan’s MSS, II 351. =b.= Kinloch MSS, VI, 97, in Kinloch’s

handwriting. =c.= Kinloch MSS, V, 60, in the handwriting of James

Beattie.

O hearken and hear, and I will you tell

Sing, Faldidae, faldidadi

Of a friar that loved a fair maiden well.

Sing, Faldi dadi di di (_bis_)

The friar he came to this maiden’s bedside,

And asking for her maidenhead.

‘O I would grant you your desire,

If ’t werena for fear o hell’s burning fire.’

‘O hell’s burning fire ye need have no doubt;

Altho you were in, I could whistle you out.’

‘O if I grant to you this thing,

Some money you unto me must bring.’

He brought her the money, and did it down tell;

She had a white cloth spread over the well.

Then the fair maid cried out that her master was come;

‘O,’ said the friar, ‘then where shall I run?’

‘O ye will go in behind yon screen,

And then by my master ye winna be seen.’

Then in behind the screen she him sent,

But he fell into the well by accident.

Then the friar cried out with a piteous moan,

O help! O help me! or else I am gone.

‘Ye said ye wad whistle me out o hell;

Now whistle your ain sel out o the well.’

She helped him out and bade him be gone;

The friar he asked his money again.

‘As for your money, there is no much matter

To make you pay more for jumbling our water.’

Then all who hear it commend this fair maid

For the nimble trick to the friar she played.

The friar he walked on the street,

And shaking his lugs like a well-washen sheep.

* * * * *

=A.= =a=, =b=.

The Fryer well fitted, or,

A pretty jest that once befell,

How a Maid put a Fryer to cool in the well.

To a merry tune.

=a.= London. Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, and J. Wright.

=b.= Printed for W. Thackeray and T. Passinger.

=a.=

3^{1,3}, 7^3, 8^2, 3, 9^{1,3}, 10^4, 12^4, qd. _for_ quoth.

7^3. qd. he.

8^2. too’t.

8^3. Oh.

10^1. did crept.

16^2. Drooping.

=b.=

5^4. my grey.

7^3. quoth she.

10^1. fryer crept.

10^2. on a.

11^3. sung on.

12^2. never was.

14^2. she would.

15^2. Which from me thou.

16^2. Dropping.

=c.= _The variations are insignificant until we come to 8^3; from that

point this copy (which is abridged) runs as follows_:

8^3.

‘Nay, stay a while, some respite make;

If my master should come he would us take.

‘Alas,’ quoth the maid, ‘my master doth come!’

‘Alas!’ quoth the fryer, ‘where shall I run?’

‘Behind yon cloth run thou,’ quoth she,

‘For there my master cannot see.’

10.

Behind the cloth the fryer went,

And was in the well incontinent.

‘Alas,’ quoth he, ‘I’m in the well!’

‘No matter,’ quoth she, ‘if thou wert in hell.

11^{1,2}.

‘Thou saidst thou could sing me out of hell,

I prithee sing thy self out of the well.

Sing out,’ quoth she, ‘with all thy might,

Or else thou’rt like to sing there all night.’

11^{3,4}.

The fryer sang out with a pitiful sound,

Oh help me out, or I shall be drownd!

14^{3,4}.

She heard him make such pitiful moan

She hope [=holp] him out and bid him go home.

12^{3,4}.

Quoth the fryer, I never was servd so before:

‘Away,’ quoth the wench, ‘come here no more.’

16^{1,2}.

The fryer he walkd along the street

As if he had been a new-washd sheep.

Sing, hey down a derry, and let’s be merry,

And from such sin ever keep.

_The_ fa la _burden is not given_.

=B. b.= _Apparently_ =a= _revised by Kinloch_.

4^2. sing _for_ whistle.

7^2. then _wanting_.

10^1. a _wanting_.

15^2. sheet _for_ sheep.

=c.=

Listen and I will you tell

Wi a falaldirry, falaldirry

How a friar in love wi a lassie fell.

Wi a falee and latee and a lee-tiddle-tiddle-tee

The lassie cries, My master comes!

The friar cries, Where shall I run?

‘O you’ll do you in below this cloth;

That you be seen I wad be loth.’

10.

The friar cries, I’m in the well!

‘I care na tho you were in hell.

11.

‘You said you w[a]d sing me out of hell;

Sing yoursell out o the well.’

12.

‘If you’ll help me out, I will be gone,

Back to you I’ll neuer come.’

She helped him out, and he was begone;

Back to her he never came.

15.

The frier he gaed up the street,

Hanging his lugs like a washen sheet.

2-6, 9, 13, 14, _wanting_.

FOOTNOTES:

[88]

But when the freare fell in the well He coud not syng himselfe therout

But by the helpe of Christyan Clout.

(vv. 879-91.)

[89] For the class of tales referred to, see von der Hagen,

Gesammtabenteuer, III, XXXV f., LXXXIII f.; Reinhold Köhler, in

Jahrbuch für romanische und englische Literatur, VIII, 44-65; Clouston,

Popular Tales and Fictions, II, 289-310.

277

THE WIFE WRAPT IN WETHER’S SKIN

=A. a.= ‘Sweet Robin,’ Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 319. =b.=

Macmath MS., p. 100, three stanzas.

=B.= ‘Robin he’s gane to the wude,’ Harris MS., fol. 26 =b.=

=C.= ‘The Cooper of Fife,’ Whitelaw, The Book of Scottish Song, p.

333.

=D.= Jamieson-Brown MS., Appendix, p. iii.

=E.= Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 324.

Jamieson cites the first two stanzas of =A a= in a letter of inquiry

to The Scots Magazine, October, 1803, p. 700, and the first half of

=D= (with alterations) in his preface, Popular Ballads, I, 320. The

ballad, he says, is very popular all over Scotland.

Robin has married a wife of too high kin to bake or brew, wash or

wring. He strips off a wether’s skin and lays it on her back, or prins

her in it. He dares not beat her, for her proud kin, but he may beat

the wether’s skin, and does. This makes an ill wife good.

A fragment in Herd’s MSS, I, 105, II, 161, belongs, if not to this

ballad, at least to one in which an attempt is made to tame a shrew by

castigation.

‘Now tak a cud in ilka hand

And bace[90] her up and doun, man,

And she’ll be an o the best wives

That ever took the town, man.’

* * * * *

And Jammie’s turnd him round about,

He’s done a manly feat:

‘Get up, get up, ye dirty slut,

And gie to me my meat.’

* * * * *

‘Say’t oer again, say’t oer again,

Ye thief, that I may hear ye;

I’se gar ye dance upon a peat,

Gin I sall cum but near ye.’

The story of the ballad was in all likelihood traditionally derived

from the good old tale of the wife lapped in Morrel’s skin.[91] Here a

husband, who has put up with a great deal from an excessively restive

wife, flays his old horse Morrell and salts the hide, takes the shrew

down cellar, and, after a sharp contest for mastery, beats her with

birchen rods till she swoons, then wraps her in the salted hide: by

which process the woman is perfectly reformed.[92]

Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 319. “From the recitation of a friend

of the editor’s in Morayshire.”

She wadna bake, she wadna brew,

Hollin, green hollin

For spoiling o her comely hue.

Bend your bow, Robin

She wadna wash, she wadna wring,

For spoiling o her gay goud ring.

Robin he’s gane to the fald

And catched a weather by the spauld.

And he has killed his weather black

And laid the skin upon her back.

‘I darena pay you, for your kin,

But I can pay my weather’s skin.

‘I darena pay my lady’s back,

But I can pay my weather black.’

‘O Robin, Robin, lat me be,

And I’ll a good wife be to thee.

‘It’s I will wash, and I will wring,

And never mind my gay goud ring.

‘It’s I will bake, and I will brew,

And never mind my comely hue.

‘And gin ye thinkna that eneugh,

I’se tak the goad and I’se ca the pleugh.

‘Gin ye ca for mair whan that is doon,

I’ll sit i the neuk and I’ll dight your shoon.’

Harris MS., fol. 26 b, No 25, from Miss Harris.

Robin he’s gane to the wast,

Hollin, green hollin

He’s waled a wife amang the warst.

Bend your bows, Robin

She could neither bake nor brew,

For spoilin o her bonnie hue.

She could neither spin nor caird,

But fill the cup, an sair the laird.

She could neither wash nor wring,

For spoilin o her gay goud ring.

Robin’s sworn by the rude

That he wald mak an ill wife gude.

Robin he’s gaun to the fauld,

An taen his blaik [wither] by the spauld.

He’s taen aff his wither’s skin

An he has preened his ain wife in.

‘I daurna beat my wife, for a’ her kin,

But I may beat my wither’s skin.’

‘I can baith bake an brew;

What care I for my bonnie hue?

‘I can baith wash an wring;

What care I for my gay gowd ring?

‘I can baith spin an caird;

Lat onybodie sair the laird.’

Robin’s sworn by the rude

That he has made an ill wife gude.

Whitelaw’s Book of Scottish Song, p. 333.

There was a wee cooper who lived in Fife,

Nickity, nackity, noo, noo, noo

And he has gotten a gentle wife.

Hey Willie Wallacky, how John Dougall,

Alane, quo Rushety, roue, roue, roue

She wadna bake, nor she wadna brew,

For the spoiling o her comely hue.

She wadna card, nor she wadna spin,

For the shaming o her gentle kin.

She wadna wash, nor she wadna wring,

For the spoiling o her gouden ring.

The cooper’s awa to his woo-pack

And has laid a sheep-skin on his wife’s back.

‘It’s I’ll no thrash ye, for your proud kin,

But I will thrash my ain sheep-skin.’

‘Oh, I will bake, and I will brew,

And never mair think on my comely hue.

‘Oh, I will card, and I will spin,

And never mair think on my gentle kin.

‘Oh, I will wash, and I will wring,

And never mair think on my gouden ring.’

A’ ye wha hae gotten a gentle wife

Send ye for the wee cooper o Fife.

Jamieson-Brown MS., Appendix, p. iii, letter of R. Scott to Jamieson,

June 9, 1805.

There livd a laird down into Fife,

Riftly, raftly, now, now, now

An he has married a bonny young wife.

Hey Jock Simpleton, Jenny[’s] white petticoat,

Robin a Rashes, now, now, now

He courted her and he brought her hame,

An thought she would prove a thrifty dame.

She could neither spin nor caird,

But sit in her chair and dawt the laird.

She wadna bake and she wadna brew,

An a’ was for spoiling her delicate hue.

She wadna wash nor wad she wring,

For spoiling o her gay goud ring.

But he has taen him to his sheep-fauld,

An taen the best weather by the spauld.

Aff o the weather he took the skin,

An rowt his bonny lady in.

‘I dare na thump you, for your proud kin,

But well sall I lay to my ain weather’s skin.’

* * * * *

Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 324.

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 wad sit and crack wi the laird.

He is down to his sheep-fald

And cleckit a weather by the back-spald.

He’s whirpled aff the gude weather’s-skin

And wrappit the dandily lady therein.

‘I darena pay you, for your gentle kin,

But weel I may skelp my weather’s-skin.’

* * * * *

=A.=

=a.= _The refrain, altered by Jamieson, has been restored from his

preface. Five stanzas added by him at the end have been dropped._

=b.= From the recitation of Miss Agnes Macmath, 29th April, 1893;

learned by her from her mother, who had it from _her_ mother, Janet

Spark, Kirkcudbrightshire.

She could na wash and she could na wring,

Hey, Wullie Wyliecot, noo, noo, noo

For the spoiling o her gay gold ring.

Wi my Hey, Wullie Wyliecot, tangie dooble,

That robes in the rassiecot, noo, noo, noo

(_Refrain perhaps corrupt._)

He’s gane oot unto the fauld,

He’s catched a wather by the spaul.

‘I darena thrash ye, for yer kin,

But I may thrash my ain wather-skin.’

FOOTNOTES:

[90] _Bace_ in the second copy, rightly, that is, _bash_, beat; _bare_

in the first (probably mistranscribed).

[91] A merry jeste of a shrewde and curste wyfe lapped in Morrelles

skin for her good behauyour. Imprinted at London in Fleetestreete,

beneath the Conduite, at the signe of Saint John Euangelist, by H.

Jackson; without date, but earlier than 1575, since the book was in

Captain Cox’s library. Reprinted in Utterson’s Select Pieces of Early

Popular Poetry, 1825, II, 169; The Old Taming of the Shrew, edited by

T. Amyot for the Shakespeare Society, 1844, p. 53; W. C. Hazlitt’s

Early Popular Poetry, IV, 179.

[92] These passages are worth noting:

She can carde, she can spin, She can thresh and she can fan. (v. 419 f.)

In euery hand a rod he gate And layd vpon her a right good pace. (v.

955 f.)

Where art thou, wife? shall I haue any meate? (v. 839.)

(Compare Herd’s fragments with the last two, and with 903-10.)

278

THE FARMER’S CURST WIFE

=A.= ‘The Farmer’s Old Wife,’ Dixon, Ancient Poems, Ballads, and

Songs of the Peasantry of England, p. 210, Percy Society, vol. xvii.

The same in Bell, p. 204.

=B.= Macmath MS., p. 96.

The devil comes for a farmer’s wife and is made welcome to her by the

husband. The woman proves to be no more controllable in hell than she

had been at home; she kicks the imps about, and even brains a set

of them with her pattens or a maul. For safety’s sake, the devil is

constrained to take her back to her husband.

=B.= The ballad of ‘Kellyburnbraes,’ Johnson’s Museum, No 379, p.

392, was composed by Burns, as he has himself informed us, “from

the old traditional version.” “The original ballad, still preserved

by tradition,” says David Laing, “was much improved in passing

through Burns’s hands:” Museum, IV, *389, 1853. Cromek, Remains of

Nithsdale and Galloway Song, p. 83, 1810, gives us what he calls the

“Original of Burns’s Carle of Kelly-Burn Braes,” remarking, with some

effrontery, that there is reason to believe that Burns had not seen

the whole of the verses which constitute this copy. Allan Cunningham,

Songs of Scotland, II, 199, undertook “to make a more complete

version than has hitherto appeared” out of Burns, Cromek, and some

“fugitive copies.” So we get the original from none of them, but

are, rather, further from it at each step. Whether =B= has come down

pure, unaffected by Burns and Cromek, it is impossible to say. That

it shows resemblances to both copies is not against its genuineness,

if there was a fair leaven of the popular ballad in each of these

reconstructions; and it is probable that there would be, at least in

Burns’s.

A curst wife who was a terror to demons is a feature in a widely

spread and highly humorous tale, Oriental and European. See Benfey,

Pantschatantra, I, 519-34; and, for a variety which is, at the

beginning, quite close to our ballad, Ralston, Russian Folk-Tales, p.

39 (Afanasief, I, No 9).

* * * * *

Cromek’s ballad is translated by Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 93,

Hausschatz, p. 230.

Dixon, Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs, p. 210, Percy Society, vol.

xvii.

There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell,

(_Chorus of whistlers_)

There was an old farmer in Sussex did dwell,

And he had a bad wife, as many knew well.

(_Chorus of whistlers_)

Then Satan came to the old man at the plough:

‘One of your family I must have now.

‘It is not your eldest son that I crave,

But it is your old wife, and she I will have.’

‘O welcome, good Satan, with all my heart!

I hope you and she will never more part.’

Now Satan has got the old wife on his back,

And he lugged her along, like a pedlar’s pack.

He trudged away till they came to his hall-gate;

Says he, Here, take in an old Sussex chap’s mate.

O then she did kick the young imps about;

Says one to the other, Let’s try turn her out.

She spied thirteen imps all dancing in chains,

She up with her pattens and beat out their brains.

She knocked the old Satan against the wall:

‘Let’s turn her out, or she’ll murder us all.’

Now he’s bundled her up on his back amain,

And to her old husband he took her again.

‘I have been a tormentor the whole of my life,

But I neer was tormented so as with your wife.’

Macmath MS., p. 96. Taken down by Mr Macmath from the recitation of

his aunt, Miss Jane Webster, Crossmichael, Kirkcudbrightshire, August

27th, 1892; learned many years ago, at Airds of Kells, from the

singing of Samuel Galloway.

The auld Deil cam to the man at the pleugh,

Rumchy ae de aidie

Saying, I wish ye gude luck at the making o yer sheugh.

Mushy toorin an ant tan aira.

‘It’s neither your oxen nor you that I crave;

It’s that old scolding woman, it’s her I must have.’

‘Ye’re welcome to her wi a’ my gude heart;

I wish you and her it’s never may part.’

She jumped on to the auld Deil’s back,

And he carried her awa like a pedlar’s pack.

He carried her on till he cam to hell’s door,

He gaed her a kick till she landed in the floor.

She saw seven wee deils a sitting in a raw,

She took up a mell and she murdered them a’.

A wee reekit deil lookit owre the wa:

‘O tak her awa, or she’ll ruin us a’.’

‘O what to do wi her I canna weel tell;

She’s no fit for heaven, and she’ll no bide in hell.’

* * * * *

She jumpit on to the auld Deil’s back,

And he carried her back like a pedlar’s pack.

* * * * *

She was seven years gaun, and seven years comin,

And she cried for the sowens she left in the pot.

279

THE JOLLY BEGGAR

=A.= ‘Ther was a wife in yon toun,’ “Old Lady’s Collection,” No. 36.

=B.= =a.= ‘The Jolly Beggar,’ Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots

Songs, 1769, p. 46; ed. 1776, II, 26. =b.= ‘The Jolly Beggars,’

Curious Tracts, Scotland, British Museum, 1078. m. 24. No 30 (a

collection made by James Mitchell at Aberdeen in 1828). =c.= ‘The

Jolly Beggar-Man,’ Macmath MS., p. 103, a fragment. =d.= The same, a

fragment.

I have not found this piece in any printed collection older than Herd,

1769, but it is cited in the second edition of Percy’s Reliques,

1767, II, 59 (preface to ‘The Gaberlunyie-Man’) and was known before

that to Horace Walpole, who, as Percy remarks, confounds it with ‘The

Gaberlunyie-Man,’ or gives it that title: Catalogue of Royal and Noble

Authors, II, 202 f., second edition, 1759 (not mentioned in the first

edition). It was probably in circulation as a flying-sheet.[93]

We are regularly informed by editors that tradition imputes the

authorship of both ‘The Jolly Beggar’ and ‘The Gaberlunyie-Man’ to

James Fifth of Scotland. ‘The Gaberlunyie-Man’ was, so far as can be

ascertained, first printed in the Tea-Table Miscellany (in 1724), and

I am not aware that it is mentioned anywhere before that date. Ramsay

speaks of it as an old piece, but says nothing about the authorship.

The tradition as to James Fifth is, perhaps, not much older than the

publication in either case, and has no more plausibility than it has

authority.

The copies in Pinkerton’s Select Scotish Ballads, II, 35, 1783,

Johnson’s Museum, p. 274, No 266, 1790, Ritson’s Scotish Songs, I,

168, 1794, etc., are all from Herd’s second edition, 1776. In this we

have, instead of the Fa la la burden, the following, presumably later

(see Herd’s MSS, I, 5):

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving,

Sae late into the night,

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving, boys,

Let the moon shine neer sae bright,

And we’ll gang nae mair a roving.

Motherwell’s MS., p. 124, has a recited copy which seems to be =B

a= as in Herd, 1776, corrupted by oral transmission. It does not

seriously differ from the original until we come to the end, where we

find an absurd stanza which is derived from =B b=.

The variations of =B b= are not the accidents of tradition, but

deliberate alterations. ‘The Jovial Beggarman,’ in The Forsaken

Lover’s Garland, No 15 of a collection of garlands, British Museum,

11621. e. 1 (“Newcastle? 1750?”), is a _rifacimento_, and a very

inferior piece. Of this Rev. S. Baring-Gould took down a copy from the

singing of a laborer on Dartmoor, in 1889.[94]

‘The Jovial Tinker and Farmer’s Daughter,’ British Museum, 1346.

m. 7 (31), ‘The Tinker and Farmer’s Daughter’s Garland,’ British

Museum, 11621. a. 6 (34), is another _rifacimento_, with less of the

original in it. The tinker, we are told at the outset, is a noble lord

disguised.

An English broadside ballad of the second half of the seventeenth

century, Pepys, III, 73, No 71, has the same story as the Scottish

popular ballad, and may have been the foundation of it, but the

Scottish ballad is a far superior piece of work. The English broadside

is given, substantially, in the notes.

‘Der Bettelman,’ Hoffmann u. Richter, Schlesische Volkslieder,

p. 45, No 24, has a generic resemblance to this ballad.[95] So,

more remotely, a Flemish ballad, ‘Ein schöner Krüppel,’ Hoffmann,

Niederländische Volkslieder, p. 129 and elsewhere. Again, a very

pretty and innocent Portuguese ballad, ‘O Cego,’ Almeida-Garrett, III,

191, No 35, Braga, Romanceiro Geral, p. 147, No 55, and Cantos pop.

do Archipelago Açoriano, p. 372, No 76 (all in Hartung, II, 103 ff.),

which Almeida-Garrett, quite extravagantly, supposed might be derived

from ‘The Gaberlunyie-Man,’ brought home from Scotland by Portuguese

sailors. There is an accidental similarity in one or two points with

the Spanish ballad ‘Tiempo es, el caballero,’ Duran, I, 163, No 307,

Primavera, II, 91, No 158.

‘The Gaberlunyie-Man’ is given in an appendix.

* * * * *

“Old Lady’s Collection,” No 36.

‘Ther is a wife in yone toun-end, an she has dothers three,

An I wad be a beager for ony of a’ the three.’

He touk his clouty clok him about, his peak-staff in his hand,

An he is awa to yon toun-end, leak ony peare man.

‘I ha ben about this fish-toun this years tua or three,

Ha ye ony quarters, deam, that ye coud gie me?’

‘Awa, ye pear carl, ye dinne kean my name;

Ye sudd ha caed me mistress fan ye called me bat deam.’

He tuke his hat in his hand an gied her juks three:

‘An ye want manners, misstres, quarters ye’ll gie me.’

‘Awa, ye pear carle, in ayont the fire,

An sing to our Lord Gray’s men to their hearts’ disire.’

Some lowked to his goudie lowks, some to his milk-whit skine,

Some to his ruffled shirt, the gued read gold hang in.

Out spak our madin, an she was ay shay,

Fatt will the jolly beager gett afore he gaa to lay?

Out spak our goudwife, an she was not sae shay,

He’se gett a dish of lang kell, besids a puss pay.

Out spak the jolly beager, That dish I dou denay;

I canne sup yer lang kell nor yet yer puss pay.

Bat ye gett to my supper a capon of the best,

Tuo or three bottels of yer wine, an bear,

an we sall ha a merry feast.

‘Ha ye ony siler, carll, to bint the bear an wine?’

‘O never a peney, misstress, had I lang sine.’

The beager wadne lay in the barn, nor yett in the bayr,

Bat in ahind the haa-dor, or att the kitchen-fire.

The beager’s bed was well [made] of gued clean stray an hay,

. . . . . . . . .

The madin she rose up to bar the dor,

An ther she spayed a naked man, was rinen throu the flour.

He tuke her in his arms an to his bed he ran;

‘Hollie we me, sir,’ she says, ‘or ye’ll waken our pear man.’

The begger was a cuning carle, an never a word he spake

Till he got his turn dean, an sayn began to crak.

‘Is ther ony dogs about this toun? madin, tell me nou:’

‘Fatt wad ye dee we them, my hony an my dou?’

‘They wad ravie a’ my meall-poks an die me mukell wrang:’

‘O doll for the deaing o it! are ye the pear man?

‘I thought ye had ben some gentelman, just leak the leard of Brody!

I am sorry for the doing o itt! are ye the pore boddie?’

She tuke the meall-poks by the strings an thrue them our the waa:

‘Doll gaa we meall-poks, madinhead an a’!’

She tuke him to her press, gave him a glass of wine;

He tuke her in his arms, says, Honey, ye’ss be mine.

He tuke a horn fra his side an he blue loud an shill,

An four-an-tuenty belted knights came att the beager’s will.

He tuke out a pean-kniff, lute a’ his dudes faa,

An he was the braest gentelman that was among them a’.

He patt his hand in his poket an gaa her ginnes three,

An four-an-tuenty hunder mark, to pay the nires feea.

‘Gin ye had ben a gued woman, as I thought ye had ben,

I wad haa made ye lady of castels eaght or nine.’

=a.= Herd, The Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 46. =b.=

Curious Tracts, Scotland, British Museum, 1078, m. 24, No 30.

There was a jolly beggar, and a begging he was bound,

And he took up his quarters into a landart town.

Fa la la, etc.

He wad neither ly in barn, nor yet wad he in byre,

But in ahint the ha-door, or else afore the fire.

The beggar’s bed was made at een wi good clean straw and hay,

And in ahint the ha-door, and there the beggar lay.

Up raise the goodman’s dochter, and for to bar the door,

And there she saw the beggar standin i the floor.

He took the lassie in his arms and to the bed he ran,

‘O hooly, hooly wi me, sir! ye’ll waken our goodman.’

The beggar was a cunnin loon, and neer a word he spake

Until he got his turn done, syne he began to crack.

‘Is there ony dogs into this town? maiden, tell me true.’

‘And what wad ye do wi them, my hinny and my dow?’

‘They’ll rive a’ my mealpocks, and do me meikle wrang.’

‘O dool for the doing o’t! are ye the poor man?’

Then she took up the mealpocks and flang them oer the wa:

‘The d--l gae wi the mealpocks, my maidenhead and a’!

‘I took ye for some gentleman, at least the Laird of Brodie;

O dool for the doing o’t! are ye the poor bodie?’

He took the lassie in his arms and gae her kisses three,

And four-and-twenty hunder merk to pay the nurice-fee.

He took a horn frae his side and blew baith loud and shrill,

And four-and-twenty belted knights came skipping oer the hill.

And he took out his little knife, loot a’ his duddies fa,

And he was the brawest gentleman that was amang them a’.

The beggar was a cliver loon and he lap shoulder height:

‘O ay for sicken quarters as I gat yester-night!’

=A.=

6^2. disere.

9^2. puss _might be_ russ _here, but is unquestionable in the next

stanza_.

24^2. blaest _for_ braest. 26^2. ninge (nigne _may be what was

intended_).

=B. b.= _A slip with no imprint. Dated in the Museum catalogue 1800?_

There was a jolly beggar, and a begging he had been,

With his fal de diddle de dal dal

And he took up his quarters in a house in Aberdeen.

With his toran oran ad de odi

This beggar would not lye in barn nor yet would he in byre,

But he would lye into the ha, or beyond the kitchen-fire.

The beggar’s bed it was well made, with clean straw and hay,

And beyond the kitchen-fire, there the jolly beggar lay.

The lassie then she did get up to bar the kitchen-door,

An there she met the jolly beggar, standing naked on the floor.

He gript the lassie by the middle jimp, laid her against the wa,

‘O kind sir,’ she said, ‘be civil, for ye will wake my dadda.’

He never minded what she said, but carried on his stroke,

Till he got his job done, then he began to joke.

‘Have you got any dogs about the house, or any cats ava?

For I’m feared she’ll cut my mealpocks before I gang awa.’

The lassie took up the mealpocks, threw them against the wa,

‘O deil tak your mealpocks! my maidenhead’s awa.’

The lassie she got up again the hour before ’twas day,

For to gie the beggar hansel before he went away.

She went into the cellar, to draw a pot of ale,

The beggar followed after, and did the job again.

He laid her on the ringle-tree, and gave her kisses three,

And he gave her twenty guineas, to pay the nurse’s fee.

‘Had you been an honest lass, as I took you to be,

You might have rode in your carriage and gone along with me.’

The beggar he took a horn and blew it wondrous shrill;

There was four-and-twenty belted knights came riding oer the hill.

‘Now if you are afraid you should miscall your child,

You may call him for the daddy o’t, the great Duke of Argyle.’

1^1, jelly: _but_

3^2, 4^2, jolly.

3^1. hay and straw.

9^1. hours.

13^2. kinpa _for_ knights.

_There are many other misprints; some, perhaps, which are not

corrected, as_ she’ll cut, 7^2.

_The copy in Motherwell’s MS, p. 124, ends_:

He louted oure the saddle to her and gave her kisses three,

And he gave her fifty guineas, to pay the nourice-fee.

‘Oh had you been an honest maid, as I thocht ye wud hae been,

I would have made you lady of a’ the land,

and then the Scotish queen.’

=B. c.=

From the recitation of Miss Jane Webster, Crossmichael, August 8,

1893; learned by her many years ago from her mother, Janet Spark.

There was a jolly beggar, as mony a ane has been,

An he’s taen up his lodging in a house near Aberdeen.

Wi his yi yi yanti O, his eerie eerie an

Wi his fine tan taraira, the jolly beggar-man

He wadna lie in barn, nor he wadna lie in byre,

But he wad lie at the ha-door or the back o the kitchen-fire.

=B. d.=

From the recitation of the same, on the same occasion; learned in

youth at Airds of Kells, from the singing of Thomas Duffy, joiner,

Parton.

_Refrain_:

Wi his long staff, and ragged coat, and breeches to his knee,

And he was the bauldest beggar-man that eer my eyes did see.

=a.=

Up rose the farmer’s daughter, for to bar the door,

There she beheld a naked man, was standing on the floor.

* * * * *

‘Hae ye ony cats or dogs, or hae ye eer a grew?

I’m feared they rive my meal-pokes, when I am kissing you.’

She’s taen up his meal-pokes an thrown them owre the wa:

‘O the deil gang wi your meal-pokes! for my maidenhead’s awa.’

* * * * *

‘It’s fare ye weel, gudewife, an it’s fare ye weel, gudeman,

Ye hae a gude fat doughter, an I rattled on her pan.

=b.=

‘If she had been an honest lass, as I took her to be,

She micht hae ridden in her coach-an-four this day along wi me.’

=a.=

Then he took oot a whistle, an he’s blawn baith loud and shrill,

There was four-an-twenty foresters cam at their master’s will.

Then he took oot a wee pen-knife, an let his duddies fa,

And he was the brawest gentleman that was amang them a’.

The English broadside, Pepys Ballads, III, 73, No 71.

THE POLLITICK BEGGER-MAN.

Who got the love of a pretty maid

And on her cittern sweetly plaid;

At last she slung her milk-pail over the wall,

And bid the De’l take milk-pail, maidenhead and all.

Tune is, There was a jovial begger.[96]

Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J. Wright, and J. Clarke.

There was a jovial begger-man,

a begging he was bound,

And he did seek his living

in country and in town.

With a long staff and a patcht coat,

he prancd along the pad,

And by report of many a one

he was a proper lad.

His cheeks were like the crimson rose,

his forehead smooth and high,

And he was the bravest begger-man

that ever I saw with eye.

He came unto a farmer’s gate

and for an alms did crave;

The maid did like the begger-man

and good relief she gave.

She took him by the lilly hand

and set him to the fire,

Which was as well as tongue could tell

Or heart of man desire.

A curious mess of firmaty

for him she did provide,

With a lovely cup of nut-brown

and sugar sops beside.

. . . . . . . .

. . . . . . .

‘Sweet-heart, give me some lodging,

that I all night may stay,

Or else give me my answer,

that I may go away.’

The maid went to the hay-mow

and fetcht a bottle of hay,

And laid it behind the parlor-door,

On which the begger-man lay.

‘Resolve me,’ said the maiden,

‘if that you will or can,

For I do verily believe

thou art a gentleman.’

‘In truth then,’ said the begger,

‘my parents they are poor,

And I do seek my living

each day from door to door.’

‘’Tis pity,’ said this maiden fair,

‘that such a lively lad

Should be a begger’s only heir,

a fortune poor and bad.

I wish that my condition

were of the same degree,

Then hand in hand I’de quickly wend

throughout the world with thee.’

When he perceivd the maiden’s mind,

and that her heart was his,

He did embrace her in his arms

And sweetly did her kiss.

. . . . . .

In lovely sport and merriment

the night away they spent

In Venus game, for their delight

and both their hearts content:

. . . . . .

Betimes in the morning then,

as soon as it was day,

He left the damosel fast asleep

and nimbly budgd away.

When he from her an hour was gone

the damosel she did wake,

And seeing the begger-man not there

her heart began to ake.

Then did she sigh and wring her hands,

the tears did trickling pour,

For loosing her virginity

and virgins maiden flower.

When twenty weeks were come and gone

her heart was something sad,

Because she found herself with barn,

and does not know the dad.

‘There is, I see, no remedy

for what is past and gone,

And many a one that laughs at me

may do as I have done.’

Then did she take her milk-pail,

and flung it over the wall:

‘O the Devil go with my milk-pail,

my maidenhead and all!’

You maidens fair, where ere you are,

Keep up your store and goods,

For when that some have got their wills

They’l leave you in the suds.

Let no man tempt you nor entice,

be not too fond and coy,

But soon agree to loyalty,

Your freedom to enjoy.

4^4. go that way.

APPENDIX

THE GABERLUNYIE-MAN

Printed in the first volume of Ramsay’s Tea-Table Miscellany, 1724,

from which it was repeated in Thomson’s Orpheus Caledonius, 1725, fol.

43, and Old Ballads, III, 259, the same year; in the Dublin reprint of

the Miscellany, 1729, I, 96, the “fifth edition,” London, 1730, and

the ninth edition, London, 1733, I. 84. The first edition, 1724, being

of extreme rarity, if anywhere now to be found, the piece is given

here from Old Ballads, which agrees with Orpheus Caledonius except as

to the spelling of a single word.

The Gaberlunyie-Man is one of the pieces which were subjected to

revision in the Miscellany; “such old verses as have been done

time out of mind, and only wanted to be cleared from the dross of

blundering transcribers and printers, such as ‘The Gaberlunzie-man,’

‘Muirland Willy,’” etc. (Ramsay’s preface.)

In recited copies, as the “Old Lady’s Collection,” No 13 (Skene MS.,

p. 65), and Motherwell’s MS., p. 31, the girl is made to come back

again to see her mother (or the gaberlunyie-man brings her) ‘wi a

bairn in her arms and ane in her wame;’ but for all that a fine lady,

‘wi men- and maid-servants at her command.’

* * * * *

Translated by Herder, II, 264; Bodmer, I, 68; Fiedler, p. 23;

Loeve-Veimars, p. 356.

The pauky auld carle came oer the lee,

Wi many good eens and days to me,

Saying, Goodwife, for your courtesie,

Will ye lodge a silly poor man?

The night was cauld, the carle was wat,

And down ayont the ingle he sat;

My daughter’s shoulders he gan to clap,

And cadgily ranted and sang.

‘O wow!’ quo he, ‘were I as free

As first when I saw this country,

How blyth and merry wad I be!

And I wad never think lang.’

He grew canty, and she grew fain,

But little did her auld minny ken

What thir slee twa togither were sayn,

When wooing they were sa[e] thrang.

‘And O!’ quo he, ‘ann ye were as black,

As eer the crown of your dady’s hat,

’Tis I wad lay thee by my back,

And awa wi me thou shoud gang.’

‘And O!’ quoth she, ‘ann I were as white

As eer the snaw lay on the dike,

I’d clead me braw, and lady-like,

And awa with thee I’d gang.’

Between the twa was made a plot;

They raise a wee before the cock,

And wyliely they shot the lock,

And fast to the bent are they gane.

Up the morn the auld wife raise,

And at her leasure pat on her claiths;

Syne to the servants bed she gaes,

To speer for the silly poor man.

She gaed to the bed where the beggar lay,

The strae was cauld, he was away;

She clapt her hands, cry’d, Waladay!

For some of our gear will be gane.

Some ran to coffers, and some to kists,

But nought was stown that coud be mist;

She danc’d her lane, cry’d, Praise be blest,

I have lodg’d a leal poor man!

‘Since nathing’s awa, as we can learn,

The kirn’s to kirn and milk to earn;

Gae butt the house, lass, and waken my bairn,

And bid her come quickly ben.’

The servant gade where the daughter lay,

The sheets was cauld, she was away;

And fast to her goodwife can say,

She’s aff with the gaberlunyie-man.

‘O fy, gar ride, and fy, gar rin,

And hast ye find these traitors again;

For she’s be burnt, and he’s be slain,

The wearifu gaberlunyie-man.’

Some rade upo horse, some ran a-fit,

The wife was wood and out o’er wit;

She coud na gang, nor yet coud she sit,

But ay she cursd and she band.

Mean time far hind outoer the lee,

Fou snug in a glen, where nane coud see,

The twa, with kindly sport and glee,

Cut frae a new cheese a whang.

The priving was good, it pleasd them baith,

To loe her for ay he gae her his aith;

Quo she, To leave thee, I will be laith,

My winsome gaberlunyie-man.

‘O kend my minny I were wi you,

Illfardly wad she crook her mou;

Sic a poor man she’d never trow,

After the gaberlunyie-man.’

‘My dear,’ quo he, ‘ye’r yet oer young,

And ha na learnd the beggar’s tongue,

To follow me frae town to town,

And carry the gaberlunyie on.

‘Wi kauk and keel, I’ll win your bread,

And spindles and whorles for them wha need,

Whilk is a gentil trade indeed,

To carry the gaberlunyie, O.

I’ll bow my leg, and crook my knee,

And draw a black clout oer my eye;

A criple or blind they will ca me,

While we shall be merry and sing.’

3^2. my dady’s, Dublin, 1729, London, 1730, 1733.

FOOTNOTES:

[93] And may have been omitted by Ramsay because he “kept out all

ribaldry” from the Tea-Table Miscellany. This is not a Tea-Table

Miscellany, and I have no discretion.

[94] I owe my knowledge of all of these three copies to Mr

Baring-Gould. He informs me that the ballad which he took down is sung

throughout Cornwall and Devon.

[95] Other copies, which are rather numerous, much less: Norrenberg,

Des dülkener Fiedlers Liederbuch, p. 10, No 13; Peter I, 182; Uhland,

No 285, p. 737; Haupt u. Schmaler, I, 102, No 67; etc. See Hoffmann’s

notes, pp. 46, 47; Barack, Zimmerische Chronik, 2d ed., II, 111, and

Liebrecht’s note, Germania, XIV, 38; Schade, Weimarisches Jahrbuch,

III, 259 ff., 465 ff.

[96] For this older piece, see Ebsworth, Bagford Ballads, I, 216. There

is no adventure; the subject is the beggar’s way of life.

280

THE BEGGAR-LADDIE

=A.= ‘The Shipherd Boy,’ “Old Lady’s Collection,” No 35.

=B.= ‘The Beggar’s Dawtie,’ Murison MS., p. 85.

=C.= ‘The Beggar-Laddie,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 249.

=D.= ‘The Gaberlunzie Laddie, or, The Beggar’s Bride,’ Christie,

Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 100.

=E.= ‘The Shepherd’s Bonny Lassy,’ Kinloch MSS, V, 249, II, 17.

This is a sort of ‘Gaberlunyie-Man’ with a romantic conclusion,

resembling that of ‘Lizie Lindsay.’ A pretended beggar, who is for the

time acting as shepherd’s swain, induces a young lady, or young woman

of good standing, to follow him as his beggar-lassie. They come to a

hall (his father’s, =A=, =D=, =E=, brother’s, =C=), he knocks loudly,

four and twenty gentlemen welcome him in, and as many ladies the

lassie, and she is thenceforth a knight’s or squire’s lady.

There is corruption in all the copies,[97] and the rhyme is frequently

lost. =A= 2 (=B= 3, =C= 3, =D= 7, =E= 5) is taken almost bodily from

‘The Gaberlunyie-Man,’ 10. =D= is not the better for being a mixture of

three copies. =D= 4 anticipates the conclusion, and it is inconceivable

that any meddler should not have seen this. =D= 14 is caught from ‘The

Jolly Beggar.’

The “Old Lady’s Collection,” No 35; north of Scotland.

Shiperd-boy, what is yer trade?

Or what way do ye wine yer bread?

Or what way do ye wine yer bread,

Fan the kipeng nout gies over?

‘Spindels an forls it is my trade,

An bits o sticks to them who need,

Whilk is a gentell trade indeed;

Bony lassie, cane ye lea me?’

‘I lea you as I supos

Rachell loved Jacob of old,

As Jason loied his flice of gould,

Sae dearly do I lea ye.

‘Ye cast off yer clouty coat,

An ye pitt one my scarlett cloke,

An I will follou you just att the back,

Becass ye are a bonny laddie.’

He cust off his cloutty coat,

An he patt on her scarlet cloke,

An she folloued him just att the back,

Becaus he was a bonny laddie.

They gaed on, an forder on,

Till they came to yon borrous-toun;

She bought a loaf an they both satt doun,

Bat she ate no we her laddie.

They gaed on, an forder one,

Till they came to the nest borrous-toun;

I wat the lassie louked doun,

For the following of her laddie.

‘O if I wer on the head of yon hill,

Ther I wad greet my fill,

For the follouing of my laddie.’

‘O had yer toung, my dearest dear,

I ill ha ye back as I brought ye hear,

For I canna bear yer morning.’

‘O had yer toung, my dearest dear,

I will gae throu the warld baith far an near,

Becaus ye’r a bonny ladie.’

They gad on, an forder on,

Till they came to his father’s haa,

An he knoked ther fue loudly.

‘O had yer hand, my dear[est] dear,

An dou not knoke sae loudly,

For fear they sud be angry.’

Four-an-tuenty gentelmen

They conved the beager ben,

An as mony gay ladës

Conved the beager’s lassie.

His brother lead her throu the haa:

‘I wis, brother, we had beagged a’,

For sick a bonny lassie.’

That same night she was bedded,

An the nist morning she was wedded;

She came to gued by grait misgiding,

By the follouing of her laddie.

Murison MS., p. 85; from Aberdeenshire.

’Twas on a day in the month o June

. . . . . . .

. . . . . . . .

When Phoebus shines sae clearly.

. . . . . . . .

. . . . . . .

She says, My dear, what is your trade

When thiggin ye give over?

‘Spinls and forls is my trade,

Wi bits o sticks I win my bread,

An O it is a winnin trade;

Bonnie lassie, can ye loo me?’

An O it is, etc.

‘O I can love ye manyfold,

As Jacob loved Rachel of old,

And as Jessie loved the cups o gold;

My dear, can ye believe me?’

As Jessie, etc.

‘It’s ye’ll tak aff the robes o red,

An ye’ll pit on the beggin-weed,

An ye’ll gang wi me an ye’ll beg your bread,

An ye’ll be the beggar’s dawtie.’

When they cam to yon borough-toon,

They bocht a loaf an they baith sat doon,

An the lassie ate wi her laddie.

When they cam to yon grassy hill,

Where spotted flocks do feed their fill,

‘I’ll sit me doon an I’ll greet a while,

For the followin o my laddie.’

‘It’s ye’ll tak aff yer beggin-weed,

An ye’ll pit on the goons o red,

An ye’ll gang ye back the road ye cam,

For I canna bide yer greetin.’

‘Betide me weel, betide me woe,

It’s wi the beggar an I’ll go,

An I’ll follow him through frost an snow,

An I’ll be the beggar’s dawtie.’

When they cam to yonder ha,

He knockit loud an sair did ca;

She says, My dear, we’ll be foun in fa

For knockin here sae loudly.

Four-an-twenty gentlemen

Cam a’ to welcome the beggar in,

An as monie fair ladies gay

To welcome’s bonnie lassie.

When at he gied through the ha,

They a’ did laugh, they were like to fa,

Sayin, Brither, I wish we had beggit a’,

For sic a bonnie lassie.

‘The streen ye was the beggar’s bride,

An noo this nicht ye’ll lie by my side,

Come weel, come woe, whateer betide,

An ye’ll be aye my dawtie.’

Motherwell’s MS., p. 249; from the recitation of Miss Ann Wilson, of

the Tontine Inn, Paisley, who learned it from the cook in her father’s

house.

Down in yonder garden gay,

Where many a ladie does repair,

Puing of flowers sae bonnie.

‘O do you see yon shepherd’s son,

Feeding his flocks in yonder loan,

Feeding his flocks in yonder loan?

Vow but he feeds them bonnie!’

‘O laddie, laddie, what is your trade?

Or by what means do you win your bread?

O laddie, tell unto me.’

By making spindles is my trade,

Or whorles in the time o need,

And by which ways I do win my bread:

O lady, do you love me?’

‘As Judas loved a piece of gold,

As Jacob loved Rachel of old,

O laddie, I do love thee.’

‘You must put off your robes of silk,

You must put on my cloutit claes,

And follow me hard at my back,

And ye’ll be my beggar-lassie.’

She’s put aff her robes of silk,

And she’s put on his cloutit claes,

And she’s followed him hard at his back,

And she’s been his beggar-lassie.

O when they cam to [the] borrowstoun,

Vow but the lassie lookit doun!

Following her beggar-laddie.

O when they cam to Stirling toun,

He coft a loaf and they baith sat doun,

And she’s eaten wi her beggar-laddie.

‘O do you see yon hie, hie hill,

Where the corn grows baith rank and tall?

If I was there, I would greet my fill,

Where naebody wuld see me.’

When they came to his brother’s hall,

Vow but he chappit loud and schill!

‘Don’t chap sae loud,’ the lassie said,

‘For we may be fund faut wi.’

Four-and-twenty gentlemen,

And twice as many gay ladies,

Came to welcome in the lassie.

His brother led her thro the hall,

With laughter he was like to fall;

He said, I think we should beg it all,

For she is a bonnie lassie.

‘You must put aff your cloutit claes,

You must put on your robes of silk,

For ye are a young knicht’s ladye.’

Christie’s Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 100; from three copies, two in

Banffshire, and one in Aberdeenshire.

’Twas in the pleasant month of June,

When woods and valleys a’ grow green,

And valiant ladies walk alane,

While Phoebus shines soe clearly.

And valiant ladies, etc.

Out-ower yon den I spied a swain,

Wi a shepherd’s club into his han;

He was driving ewes out-ower yon knowes,

And said, Lassie, I could love you.

He was driving ewes, etc.

‘Oh, I could love you manifold,

As Jacob lovd Rachel of old,

As Jesse lovd the fields of gold,

So dearly could I love you.

‘In ha’s and chambers ye’se be laid,

In silks and cambrics ye’se be clade,

An wi the finest ye’se be fed,

My dear, gin ye would believe me.’

‘Your ha’s and chambers ye’ll soon sweep clean,

Wi your flattering tongue now let me alane;

You are designd to do me wrang,

Awa, young man, and leave me.

‘But tell me now what is your trade,

When you’ve given over sheep and club?’

. . . . . . . .

‘By making besoms I win my bread,

And spindles and whorles in time o need;

Isn’t that a gentle trade indeed?

Bonnie lassie, can you loe me?

‘Will ye cast aff your mantle black

And put on you a clouty cloak,

And follow me close at the back,

The gaberlunyie-laddie?’

Then she coost aff her mantle black,

And she put on a clouty cloak,

And she followd him close at the back,

Her gaberlunyie-laddie.

As they gaed through yon borough-town,

For shame the lassie lookit down;

But they bought a loaf and they both sat down,

And the lassie ate wi her laddie.

When they came to his father’s gate,

Sae loudly as he rappd thereat;

‘My dear,’ said she, ‘ye’ll be found in faut

For rapping there sae loudly.’

Then four-and-twenty gentlemen

Convoyd the gentle beggar ben,

And aye as mony gay ladies

Convoyd the bonny lassie.

When they were come into the ha,

Wi laughter a’ were like to fa:

‘I wish, dear brother, we had beggëd a’,

For sic a bonnie lassie.’

Then as he stood amang them a’,

He let his meal-pocks a’ down fa,

And in red gowd he shone oer them a’,

And she was a young knight’s lady.

Yestreen she was the begger’s bride,

As his wife she now stood by his side,

And for a’ the lassie’s ill misguide,

She’s now the young knight’s lady.

Kinloch MSS, V, 249. As recited by John Laurie, Abbeygreen.

’Twas in the merry month of June,

When woods and gardens were all in bloom,

And Phœbus shining clearly.

Did you not see your shepherd-swain,

Feeding his flocks upon the plain,

Feeding his flocks all one by one,

And keeping them together?

Did you not see yon bonny green,

Where dukes and lords and my love hath been,

And Phœbus shining clearly?

‘O shepherd, shepherd, tell me indeed

Which is the way you dou win your bread,

When feeding you give over?’

‘By making spindles I win my bread,

By turning whorles in time of need,

Say, lassy, can you love me?’

‘I could love you manifold,

As Jacob loved Rachel of old,

So dearly could I love you.’

‘You must cast off these robes of silk,

And put about my shepherd’s cloak,

And you must walk down at my back,

Like a shepherd’s bonny lassie.’

She has cast off her robes of silk,

And put about his shepherd’s cloak,

And she has walkd down at his back,

Like a shepherd’s bonny lassie.

O they walked up, and they walked down,

Till this fair maiden she’s wearyed grown;

Says she, My dear, we’ll go to some town,

And there tak up our lodgings.

O whan they cam to his father’s gate,

Sae loudly, loudly as he did rap;

Says she, My dear, we’ll be found in fault

For rapping here sae boldly.

But whan they cam to his father’s hall,

O loud, loud laughter they laughed all,

Saying, Brother, I wish we had herded all,

Ye’ve got sic an a bonny lassie.

Now this young couple they were wed,

And all the way the flowers were spread,

For in disguise they were married;

She’s now the young squire’s lady.

* * * * *

=A.=

2^2. who wad. _Cf._ ‘Gaberlunyie-Man,’ 10^2. =C=, =D=, =E=, time o

need.

4^1. clouty clok. _Cf._ 5^1.

4, 5. _In the other copies, the lady casts off her better clothes,

and puts on_ the beggin-weed, his cloutit claes, a clouty cloak, his

shepherd’s cloak, _and this disposition is no doubt the right one_.

6^3. She bought. He, =C=, They, =B=, =D=, _either of which is

preferable_.

15^2. wouded.

=C.=

8^1, 9^1; 10^1. Oh.

8^1. Borrowstoun.

=D.=

6, 7 _are printed together_.

FOOTNOTES:

[97]

=B= 4^3, As Jessie loved the cups o gold,

=C= 5^1, As Judas loved a piece of gold,

=D= 3^3, As Jesse lovd the fields of gold; the original reading being

as in

=A= 3^3, As Jason loied his flice of gould.

281

THE KEACH I THE CREEL

=A.= ‘The Keach i the Creel,’ Alexander Whitelaw, The Book of Scottish

Ballads, p. 35, 1845; Dixon, Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs, p.

112, Percy Society, vol. xvii, 1846.

=B.= ‘The Creel, or, Bonnie May.’ Communicated by Mr David Louden,

Morham, Haddington, 1873.

=C.= ‘The Cunning Clerk,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland,

I, 278, 1828.

=D.= ‘The Covering Blue,’ Kinloch MSS, I, 276; Kinloch’s Ballad Book,

p. 61, 1827.

A few copies of =A= were printed about 1845 by a Northumbrian gentleman

for private distribution. One of these came into Whitelaw’s hands,

another into Dixon’s. Dixon made some changes in reprinting. Bell,

Ancient Poems, etc., p. 75, 1857, and Bruce and Stokoe, Northumbrian

Minstrelsy, p. 82, 1882, repeat Dixon. This last remarks that “this old

and very humorous ballad has long been a favorite on both sides of the

Border.”

James Telfer, writing to Sir W. Scott, May 12, 1824 [Letters, XIII, No

73], says: “I have an humorous ballad sung by a few of the old people

on this side of the Border. It is entitled The Keach in the Creel. It

begins thus:@

A bonny may went up the street

Some whitewish (_sic_) for to buy,

And a bonny clerk’s faen in love with her,

And he’s followed her by and by, by,

And he’s followed her by and by.”@

Buchan notes, I, 319, that Motherwell had sent him a ballad “somewhat

similar in incident,” taken down from the recitation of an old woman in

or near Paisley.

This was perhaps a copy of which the first stanza is entered in

Motherwell’s Note-Book, p. 55:

When I gade doun to Colliestoun,

Some white-fish for to buy, buy,

The cannie clarkie follows me,

And he follows me spedily, -ly.

Or the ballad called ‘Ricadoo’ in the Appendix to Motherwell’s

Minstrelsy, p. xxiii, No 29, where this first stanza is given:

The farmer’s daughter gade to the market,

Some white-fish for to buy;

The young squire followed after her,

As fast as he could hie. Ricadoo,

Tunaway, ricadoo a doo a day,

Raddle ricadoo,

Tunaway

Though occurring only in a late Scottish ballad, the story is somewhat

old. In Gasté, Chansons normandes du XV^e siècle, MS. de Vire, No 19,

p. 15, a gentleman of Orleans causes his servants to let him down a

chimney in a basket, and conceals himself under a lady’s bed. She, made

aware of his presence, sends her husband off to the barn, where, she

says, he will find the curé, who has made love to her. On returning,

the husband gets his feet into the basket, and the servants without

draw the basket up. The man cries out to his wife that the devil is

making away with him.

Again, in a fabliau considerably older: ‘Du chevalier à la corbeille,’

MS. of the end of the fourteenth century, F. Michel, Gautier d’Aupais,

Le chevalier à la Corbeille, Fabliaux du XIII^e siècle, p. 35;

Montaiglon et Raynaud, Recueil général des Fabliaux, etc., II, 183. A

gentleman makes appointment to visit a lady one night when her husband

is away. An old woman, the husband’s mother, sleeps in a bed beside

the lady’s, and keeps strict watch over her. The gentleman’s squires

hoist him in a basket over the wall of the house, so that he obtains

entrance into the hall, whence he passes into the lady’s chamber. The

old woman observes a disturbance, and gets up, pretending that she is

going to the kitchen. In the hall she goes astray and falls into the

basket. The squires, noticing a movement of the cords, pull at the

basket. The old woman is ‘towed’ up and down, and knocked about, much

as in the ballad. She thinks that devils have carried her off. Finally

the squires let the cords go, and the basket comes flat to the ground.

The story is also told in Henri Estienne’s Apologie pour Hérodote,

1566; here, of a girl and her lover, and it is the girl’s father that

gets his feet into the basket. Ed. Ristelhuber, 1879, I, 282 f.

No one looks for decorum in pieces of this description, but a passage

in this ballad, which need not be particularized, is brutal and

shameless almost beyond example.

* * * * *

=C= is translated by Gerhard, p. 192.

Whitelaw’s Book of Scottish Ballads, p. 35; “taken down from the

recitation of a gentleman in Liddesdale.”

A fair young may went up the street,

Some white-fish for to buy,

And a bonnie clerk’s faen in love wi her,

And he’s followed her by and by, by,

And he’s followed her by and by.

‘O where live ye, my bonnie lass,

I pray thee tell to me;

For gin the nicht were ever sae mirk

I wad come and visit thee.’

‘O my father he aye locks the door,

My mither keeps the key;

And gin ye were ever sic a wily wight

Ye canna win in to me.’

But the clerk he had ae true brother,

And a wily wight was he;

And he has made a lang ladder,

Was thirty steps and three.

He has made a cleek but and a creel,

A creel but and a pin;

And he’s away to the chimley-top,

And he’s letten the bonnie clerk in.

The auld wife, being not asleep,

Heard something that was said;

‘I’ll lay my life,’ quo the silly auld wife,

‘There’s a man i our dochter’s bed.’

The auld man he gat owre the bed,

To see if the thing was true;

But she’s ta’en the bonny clerk in her arms,

And coverd him owre wi blue.

‘O where are ye gaun now, father?’ she says,

‘And where are ye gaun sae late?

Ye’ve disturbd me in my evening prayers,

And O but they were sweet!’

‘O ill betide ye, silly auld wife,

And an ill death may ye die!

She has the muckle buik in her arms,

And she’s prayin for you and me.’

The auld wife being not asleep,

Then something mair was said;

‘I’ll lay my life,’ quo the silly auld wife,

‘There’s a man i our dochter’s bed.’

The auld wife she got owre the bed,

To see if the thing was true;

But what the wrack took the auld wife’s fit?

For into the creel she flew.

The man that was at the chimley-top,

Finding the creel was fu,

He wrappit the rape round his left shouther,

And fast to him he drew.

‘O help! O help! O hinny, now, help!

O help, O hinny, now!

For him that ye aye wished me to

He’s carryin me off just now.’

‘O if the foul thief’s gotten ye,

I wish he may keep his haud;

For a’ the lee lang winter nicht

Ye’ll never lie in your bed.’

He’s towed her up, he’s towed her down,

He’s towed her through an through;

‘O Gude assist!’ quo the silly auld wife,

For I’m just departin now.’

He’s towed her up, he’s towed her down,

He’s gien her a richt down-fa,

Till every rib i the auld wife’s side

Playd nick-nack on the wa.

O the blue, the bonnie, bonnie blue,

And I wish the blue may do weel!

And every auld wife that’s sae jealous o her dochter,

May she get a good keach i the creel!

Communicated February, 1873, by Mr David Louden, of Morham,

Haddington, N. B., as derived from Andrew Hastie, Rentonhall.

As bonnie may went up the street,

Some sweetmeats for to buy,

There was a young clerk followed after her,

And followed her by and by, by,

And followed her by and by.

‘It’s bonnie may, where do you stay?

Or where is’t that you be?

Oh if the night be neer so dark,

Awat I’ll come and visit thee.’

‘My father locks the door at een,

My mother keeps the key;

Gin ye were neer sic a rovin blade,

Ye canna win in to me.’

The young clerk has a young brither,

And a wily wag was he;

He’s made to him a long ladder,

Wi thirty steps and three.

And he’s put it to the chimney-top,

And the creel he’s put on a pin,

And he’s put it to the chimney-top,

And he’s let the young clerk in.

The auld wife she was standing by,

She heard a word was said;

‘I could lay my life,’ said the silly auld wife,

There’s a man in oor dochter’s bed.’

The auld man he cam doun the stairs

To see if it were true;

The young clerk was lying in bonnie may’s arms,

And she’s covered him oer wi blue.

‘Where are you going, dear father?’ she says,

‘Where are you going so late?

You stopped me of my evening prayers,

And oh, but they were sweet!’

‘The deil tak you, ye silly auld wife,

And an ill death may ye dee!

For your dochter was lyin wi the book in her arms,

And she’s prayin for you and me.’

The auld wife still standin no far by,

Still hearin a word, she said,

‘Ye may say as ye like, ye silly auld man,

There’s a man in oor dochter’s bed.’

I dinna ken what’s taen the auld wife’s fit,

But into the creel she flew;

The young clerk[‘s brither] being at the chimney-top,

He found the creel was fu.

He’s thrown the rope out-owre his shouther,

And to him he did draw;

He’s drawn her up, he’s drawn her doun,

He’s drawn her through and through.

Till the auld wife she began to cry,

I’m just departin noo!

But aye he drew her up and doun,

And drew her through and through.

He’s drawn her up, he’s let her doun,

He’s gien her evendoun fall,

Till every rib on the auld wife’s side

Played nick-nack on the wall.

It’s O the blue, the bonnie, bonnie blue,

I wish the blue may do weel!

For every auld wife that is jealous o her dochter

May be rockit to the d----l in a creel!

Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 278.

As I gaed down to Collistown,

Some white-fish for to buy, buy,

The cunning clerk he followed me,

And he followed me speedily, ly,

And he followed me speedily.

Says, Faur ye gaun, my dearest dear?

O faur ye gaun, my dow?

There’s naebody comes to my bedside,

And naebody wins to you.

‘Your brother is a gallant square-wright,

A gallant square-wright is he;

Ye’ll gar him make a lang ladder,

Wi thirty steps and three.

‘And gar him big a deep, deep creel,

A deep creel and a string,

And ye’ll come up to my bedside,

And come bonnily linken in.’

The auld gudeman and auld gudewife,

To bed they went, to sleep;

But wae mat worth the auld gudewife!

A wink she coudna get.

‘I dreamd a dreary dream this night,

I wish it binna true,

That the rottens had come thro the wa,

And cutted the coverin blue.’

Then up it raise the auld gudeman,

To see gin it was true;

And he’s gane to his daughter dear,

Says, What are ye doing, my dow?

‘What are ye doing, my daughter dear?

What are ye doing, my dow?’

‘The prayer book’s in my hand, father,

Praying for my auld minnie and you.’

The auld gudeman and auld gudewife,

To bed they went, to sleep;

But wae mat worth the auld gudewife!

But aye she wakend yet.

‘I dreamd a dreary dream this night,

I wish it binna true,

That the cunning clerk and your ae daughter

Were aneath the coverin blue.’

‘O rise yoursell, gudewife,’ he says,

‘The diel may had you fast!

Atween you and your ae daughter

I canno get ae night’s rest.’

Up then raise the auld gudewife,

To see gin it was true,

And she fell arselins in the creel,

And up the string they drew.

‘Win up, win up, gudeman,’ she says,

‘Win up and help me now!

For he that ye gae me to last night,

I think he’s catchd me now.’

‘Gin Auld Nick he has catchd you now,

I wish he may had you fast;

As for you and your ae daughter,

I ever get kindly rest.’

They howded her, and they showded her,

Till the auld wife gat a fa,

And three ribs o the auld wife’s side

Gaed knip-knap ower in twa.

Kinloch MSS, I, 276; from Alexander Kinnear, of Stonehaven.

‘My father he locks the doors at nicht,

My mither the keys carries ben, ben;

There’s naebody dare gae out,’ she says,

‘And as few dare come in, in,

And as few dare come in.’

‘I will mak a lang ladder,

Wi fifty steps and three,

I will mak a lang ladder,

And lichtly come doun to thee.’

He has made a lang ladder,

Wi fifty steps and three,

He has made a lang ladder,

And lichtly come doun the lum.

They had na kissd nor lang clappit,

As lovers do whan they meet,

Till the auld wife says to the auld man,

I hear somebody speak.

‘I dreamed a dreem sin late yestreen,

And I’m feard my dream be true;

I dreamd that the rottens cam thro the wa,

And cuttit the covering blue.

‘Ye’ll rise, ye’ll rise, my auld gudeman,

And see gin this be true;’

‘If ye’re wanting rising, rise yoursel,

For I wish the auld chiel had you.’

‘I dreamed a dream sin late yestreen,

And I’m feard my dream be true;

I dreamd that the clerk and our ae dother

War rowed in the covering blue.

‘Ye’ll rise, ye’ll rise, my auld gudeman,

And see gin this be true:’

‘If ye’re wanting rising, rise yoursel,

For I wish the auld chiel had you.’

But up she raise, and but she gaes,

And she fell into the gin;

He gied the tow a clever tit,

That brought her out at the lum.

‘Ye’ll rise, ye’ll rise, my auld gudeman,

Ye’ll rise and come to me now,

For him that ye’ve gien me sae lang till,

I fear he has gotten me now.’

‘The grip that he’s gotten, I wish he may haud,

And never let it gae,

For atween you and your ae dother

I rest neither nicht nor day.’

* * * * *

=A.=

1^1. May (_not_ may).

_Dixon says_: In the present impression some trifling typographical

mistakes are corrected, and the phraseology has been rendered uniform

throughout.

_In 6^2, he prints_, Tho late, late was the hour; 6^4, dochter’s

bower; 10^4, by our; 13^2, hinny, do; 13^3, wished me at.

=B.=

1^1, 2^1, 7^3. May (_not_ may).

1^4. by and bye.

15^1. She cries aye, It’s oh.

282

JOCK THE LEG AND THE MERRY MERCHANT

Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 165.

Jock the Leg and a merchant (packman, pedlar) put up at the same

tavern. Jock makes free to order a good supper at the merchant’s

expense; the packman gives notice that he will not pay a penny beyond

his own shot. They go to bed in rooms separated by a locked door,

but before the merchant is well asleep Jock appears at his feet and

rouses him; it is more than time that they were on their road. The

merchant will not stir a foot till daylight; he cannot go by Barnisdale

or Coventry for fear that Jock the Leg should take his pack. His

self-imposed comrade promises to see him safely through these places,

but when they come to dangerous ground avows himself as Jock the Leg,

and demands the pack. The merchant puts his pack under a tree, and

says he will fight for it till daylight; they fight; the robber finds

a more than equal match, cries Hold! and begs the boon of a blast on

his horn, to which the merchant contemptuously accedes. Four-and-twenty

bowmen come to Jock’s help. The merchant offers to give up his pack if

the six best of these, and Jock, the seventh, can drive him one foot

from it. The seven make the attempt and fail. The merchant, holding his

pack in one hand, slays five of the six with his broadsword, and knocks

over the other. Jock declares him to be the boldest swordsman he has

ever fought with; if he were equally good with the bow, he should have

service with Jock’s master in the greenwood. The merchant would not

join a robber-band. Jock proposes a barter of deerskins for fine linen.

The merchant wants no stolen deerskins. ‘Take your pack,’ says Jock,

‘and wherever we meet we shall be good comrades.’ ‘I’ll take my pack,’

says the uncompromising merchant, ‘and wherever we meet I’ll call thee

a rank thief.’

This piece, but for names (and Jock the Leg is only a thin shrouding

for Little John), might have gone with the Robin Hood ballads. It was

composed, probably, in the last half of the eighteenth century, and for

hawkers’ purposes, but it is a better ballad, imitation as it is, than

some of the seventeenth-century broadsides of the same class (which

is indeed saying very little). The fight for the pack, 13, 14, 20, we

have in ‘The Bold Pedlar and Robin Hood’ (also a late ballad), No 132,

6, 7, 10; the “asking” of a blast on the horn and the scornful reply,

16, 17, in ‘Robin Hood and the Shepherd,’ No 135, 15, 16, with verbal

similarity in the first case. (17 is all but a repetition of No 123,

=B= 26, and No 140, =B= 25.)

As Jock the Leg and the merry merchant

Came from yon borrow’s town,

They took their budgets on their backs,

And fieldert they were boun.

But they came to a tavern-house,

Where chapmen used to be:

‘Provide, provide,’ said Jock the Leg,

‘A good supper for me.

‘For the merry merchant shall pay it a’,

Tho it were good merks three;’

‘But never a penny,’ said the merry merchant,

‘But shot, as it fa’s me.

‘A bed, a bed,’ said the merry merchant,

‘It’s time to go to rest;’

‘And that ye shall,’ said the good goodwife,

‘And your covrings o the best.’

Then Jock the Leg in one chamber was laid,

The merchant in another,

And lockfast door atween them twa,

That the one might not see the other.

But the merchant was not well lain down,

Nor yet well fa’en asleep,

Till up it starts him Jock the Leg,

Just at the merchant’s feet.

‘Win up, win up,’ said Jock the Leg,

‘We might hae been miles three;’

‘But never a foot,’ said the merry merchant,

‘Till day that I do see.

‘For I cannot go by Barnisdale,

Nor yet by Coventry;

For Jock the Leg, that common thief,

Would take my pack from me.’

‘I’ll hae you in by Barnisdale,

And down by Coventry,

And I’ll guard you frae Jock the Leg

Till day that ye do see.’

When they were in by Barnisdale,

And in by Coventry,

‘Repeat, repeat,’ said Jock the Leg,

‘The words ye ance tauld me.’

‘I never said aught behind your back

But what I’ll say to thee;

Are ye that robber, Jock the Leg,

Will take my pack frae me?’

‘O by my sooth,’ said Jock the Leg,

‘You’ll find that man I be;

Surrender that pack that’s on your back,

Or then be slain by me.’

He’s ta’en his pack down frae his back,

Set it below yon tree;

Says, I will fight for my good pack

Till day that I may see.

Then they fought there in good greenwood

Till they were bloody men;

The robber on his knees did fall,

Said, Merchant, hold your hand.

‘An asking, asking,’ said Jock the Leg,

‘An asking ye’ll grant me;’

‘Ask on, ask on,’ said the merry merchant,

‘For men to asking are free.’

‘I’ve dune little harm to you,’ he said,

‘More than you’d been my brother;

Give me a blast o my little wee horn,

And I’ll give you another.’

‘A blast o your little wee horn,’ he said,

‘Of this I take no doubt;

I hope you will take such a blast

Ere both your eyes fly out.’

He set his horn to his mouth,

And he blew loud and shrill,

And four-and-twenty bauld bowmen

Came Jock the Leg until.

‘Ohon, alas!’ said the merry merchant,

‘Alas! and woe is me!

Sae many, a party o common thiefs,

But nane to party me!

‘Ye’ll wile out six o your best bowmen,

Yourself the seventh to be,

And, put me one foot frae my pack,

My pack ye shall have free.’

He wiled six o his best bowmen,

Himself the seventh to be,

But [him] frae his pack they couldna get,

For all that they could dee.

He’s taen his pack into one hand,

His broadsword in the other,

And he slew five o the best bowmen,

And the sixth he has dung over.

Then all the rest they gae a shout,

As they stood by the tree;

Some said they would this merchant head,

Some said they’d let him be.

But Jock the Leg he then replied,

To this I’ll not agree;

He is the boldest broadsword-man

That ever I fought wi.

‘If ye could wield the bow, the bow

As ye can do the brand,

I would hae you to good greenwood,

To be my master’s man.’

‘Tho I could wield the bow, the bow

As I can do the brand,

I would not gang to good greenwood,

To join a robber-band.’

‘O give me some of your fine linen,

To cleathe my men and me,

And ye’se hae some of my dun deers’ skins,

Below yon greenwood-tree.’

‘Ye’se hae nane o my fine linen,

To cleathe your men and thee,

And I’ll hae nane o your stown deers’ skins,

Below yon greenwood-tree.’

‘Ye’ll take your pack upon your back,

And travel by land or sea;

In brough or land, wherever we meet,

Good billies we shall be.’

‘I’ll take my pack upon my back,

And go by land or sea;

In brough or land, wherever we meet,

A rank thief I’ll call thee.’

283

THE CRAFTY FARMER

=a.= ‘The Crafty Farmer,’ Logan, A Pedlar’s Pack, p. 126, from a

chap-book of 1796; ‘The Crafty Miller,’ Maidment, Scotish Ballads and

Songs, 1859, p. 208, from a Glasgow stall-copy; a stall-copy, printed

by M. Randall, Stirling.

=b.= ‘The Yorkshire Farmer,’ Kidson, Traditional Tunes, p. 140, from

The Manchester Songster, 1792.

=c.= ‘Saddle to Rags,’ Dixon, Ancient Poems, etc., p. 126, Percy

Society, vol. xvii., taken down from the recitation of a Yorkshire

yeoman in 1845.

=d.= ‘The Thief Outwitted,’ Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, XI, 112,

1873, taken down by E. McC., Guernsey, “from the recitation of an old

woman now in her eighty-second year, who learnt it in her childhood

from her father, a laborer from the neighborhood of Yeovil.”

=e.= ‘The Silly Old Man,’ Baring-Gould and Sheppard, Songs and Ballads

of the West, 3d ed., No 18, Part I, p. 38, as sung by the Rev. E.

Luscombe, a Devonshire man, about 1850 (Part IV, p. xviii).

=f.= ‘The Silly Old Man,’ Miss M. H. Mason’s Nursery Rhymes and

Country Songs, p. 43, as sung in Devonshire.

An old farmer who is on his way to pay his rent imparts the fact to a

gentlemanlike highwayman who overtakes him. The highwayman cautions him

not to be too communicative, since there are many thieves on the roads.

The old man has no fear; his money is safe in his saddle-bags. At the

right time and place the thief bids him stand and deliver. The farmer

throws his saddle over a hedge; the thief dismounts to fetch it, and

gives his horse to the farmer to hold; the farmer mounts the thief’s

horse and rides off. The thief hacks the saddle to pieces to get at

the bags. Arrived at his landlord’s, the farmer opens the thief’s

portmanteau, and finds in it six hundred pounds. The farmer’s wife

is made very happy by her husband’s report of his performances; the

thief’s money will help to enlarge her daughter’s marriage portion.

This very ordinary ballad has enjoyed great popularity, and is given

for that reason and as a specimen of its class. There is an entirely

similar one, in which a Norfolk (Rygate, Cheshire) farmer’s daughter

going to market to sell corn is substituted for the farmer going to pay

his rent: ‘The Norfolk Maiden,’ in The Longing Maid’s Garland, of the

last century, without place or date;[98] ‘The Maid of Rygate,’ Logan’s

Pedlar’s Pack, p. 133; ‘The Highwayman Outwitted,’ Leigh’s Ballads and

Legends of Cheshire, p. 267. Another variety is of a Yorkshire boy

sent to a fair to sell a cow: ‘Yorkshire Bite,’ etc., The Turnip-Sack

Garland (like The Longing Maid’s Garland, one of a collection of

Heber’s);[98] ‘The Yorkshire Bite,’ “from a collection of ballads

_circa_ 1782,” Logan’s Pedlar’s Pack, p. 131; ‘The Crafty Ploughboy,’

Ingledew’s Ballads and Songs of Yorkshire, p. 209.

For certain ballads in which a country girl, beset by an amorous

gentleman, mounts his horse and makes off with his valise or the like,

see II, 483, and the page preceding.

‘The Politick Squire, or, The Highwaymen catch’d in their own play,’ is

a ballad of a gentleman who, having been robbed by five highwaymen that

then purpose to shoot him, tells them that he is the Pretender, and is

taken by them as such to a justice. The squire makes explanations, four

of the thieves are hanged, and the fifth, who had shown some mercy, is

transported.[99]

* * * * *

The song that I’m going to sing,

I hope it will give you content,

Concerning a silly old man,

That was going to pay his rent.

As he was riding along,

Along all on the highway,

A gentleman-thief overtook him,

And thus to him did say.

‘Well overtaken!’ said the thief,

‘Well overtaken!’ said he;

And ‘Well overtaken!’ said the old man,

‘If thou be good company.’

‘How far are you going this way?’

Which made the old man for to smile;

‘By my faith,’ said the old man,

‘I’m just going two mile.

‘I am a poor farmer,’ he said,

‘And I farm a piece of ground,

And my half-year’s rent, kind sir,

Just comes to forty pound.

‘And my landlord has not been at home,

I’ve not seen him this twelvemonth or more,

Which makes my rent be large;

I’ve to pay him just fourscore.’

‘Thou shouldst not have told any body,

For thieves there’s ganging many;

If any should light on thee,

They’ll rob thee of thy money.’

‘O never mind,’ said the old man,

‘Thieves I fear on no side,

For the money is safe in my bags,

On the saddle on which I ride.’

As they were riding along,

The old man was thinking no ill,

The thief he pulled out a pistol

And bid the old man stand still.

But the old man provd crafty,

As in the world there’s many;

He threw his saddle oer the hedge,

Saying, Fetch it, if thou’lt have any.

The thief got off his horse,

With courage stout and bold,

To search for the old man’s bag,

And gave him his horse to hold.

The old man put’s foot i the stirrup

And he got on astride;

To its side he clapt his spur up,

You need not bid the old man ride.

‘O stay!’ said the thief, ‘O stay!

And half the share thou shalt have;’

‘Nay, by my faith,’ said the old man,

‘For once I have bitten a knave.’

The thief he was not content,

But he thought there must be bags;

He out with his rusty old sword

And chopt the old saddle in rags.

When he came to the landlord’s house,

This old man he was almost spent;

Saying, Come, show me a private room

And I’ll pay you a whole year’s rent.

‘I’ve met a fond fool by the way,

I swapt horses and gave him no boot;

But never mind,’ said the old man,

‘For I got the fond fool by the foot.’

He opend this rogue’s portmantle,

It was glorious to behold;

There were three hundred pounds in silver,

And three hundred pounds in gold.

And as he was riding home,

And down a narrow lane,

He espied his mare tied to a hedge,

Saying, Prithee, Tib, wilt thou gang hame?

When he got home to his wife

And told her what he had done,

Up she rose and put on her clothes,

And about the house did run.

She sung, and she sung, and she sung,

She sung with a merry devotion,

Saying, If ever our daughter gets wed,

It will help to enlarge her portion.

* * * * *

=a.=

_There are some slight verbal differences in the three copies, but

none worthy of notice._

=b.=

A song I will sing unto you,

A song of a merry intent,

It is of a silly old man

That went to pay his rent,

That went to pay his rent.

And as he was riding along,

A riding along the highway,

A gentleman-thief steps before the old man

And thus unto him he did say.

‘My friend, how dare you ride alone?

For so many thieves there now be;

If any should but light on you,

They’d rob you of all your money.’

‘If that they should light upon me,

I’m sure they’d be very ill-sped,

For, to tell you the truth, my kind sir,

In my saddle my money I’ve hid.’

So as they were riding along,

And going down a steep hill,

The gentleman-thief slipped before the old man

And quickly he bid him stand still.

The old man, however, being cunning,

As in this world there are many,

He threw the saddle right over the hedge,

Saying, Fetch it if thou wouldst have any.

The thief being so greedy of money--

He thought that of it there’d been bags--

Whipt out a rusty old sword

And chopped the saddle to rags.

The old man put his foot in the stirrup

And presently he got astride;

He put the thief’s horse to the gallop,

You need not bid the old man ride.

‘Nay, stay! nay, stay!’ says the thief,

‘And half the money thou shalt have;’

‘Nay, by my troth,’ says the old man,

‘For once I have cheated a knave.’

And so the old man rode along,

And went with a merry devotion,

Saying, If ever I live to get home,

‘Twill enlarge my daughter’s portion.

And having arrived at home,

And got there with merry intent,

Says he, Landlord, show me a room,

And I’ll pay you your half-year’s rent.

They opened the thief’s portmanteau,

And from it they took out so bold

A hundred pounds in silver

And a hundred pounds in gold.

=c-f=, _the traditional copies, were beyond doubt all derived

originally from print_. =c= _is from_ =a=; =d-f= _are from another

edition, not recovered, resembling_ =b=. _This had variations,

especially at the beginning and end, of which some specimens will

suffice._

=d.=

Oh ’tis I that will sing you a song,

A song of merry intent;

’Tis about a silly old man

That was going to pay his rent.

And as he was riding along,

Along and alone in a lane,

A gentleman-thief overtook him,

And said, Well overtaken, old man!

‘You’re well overtaken, old man,

You’re well overtaken by me;’

‘Nay, further go,’ said the old man,

‘I’m not for thy company.’

4, 6 _are wanting, as also in_ =e=, =f=, (_and in_ =b=).

8^{2-4}

‘He shall but poorly speed,

For all the money I have

In my old saddle ’tis hid.’

19, 20

Oh, when that he came home,

His daughter she looked like a duchess,

And his old woman capered for joy,

And danced him a gig on her crutches.

=e.=

Aw come now, I’ll sing you a song,

’Tis a song of right merry intent,

Concerning a silly old man

Who went for to pay his rent.

And as this here silly old man

Was riding along the lane,

A gentleman-thief overtook him,

Saying, Well overtaken, old man!

‘What, well overtaken, do’y say?’

‘Yes, well overtaken,’ quoth he;

‘No, no,’ said the silly old man,

‘I don’t want thy company.’

8^{2-4}

‘Why, badly the thief would be sped,

For the money I carry about me

In the quilt o my saddle is hid.’

19, 20

Aw, when to his home he were come,

His daughter he dressd like a duchess,

And his ol woman kicked and she capered for joy,

And at Christmas danced jigs on her crutches.

=f.= _Resembles_ =d=, =e= _in the passages cited_.

FOOTNOTES:

[98] Also among the garlands collected by J. Bell, Newcastle, British

Museum: the first, 11621. c. 2 (36), and 4 (13); the other, c. 2 (70).

The garlands in 4 were printed, according to Bell, by J. White, †1769,

or by T. Saint, †1788.

[99] Douce Ballads, III, fol. 78 b., London, Printed and sold at

Sympson’s Warehouse, in Stonecutter-Street, Fleet-Market.

284

JOHN DORY

Ravenscroft’s Deuteromelia, London, 1609; No 1 of Freemen’s Songs, sig.

John Dory goes to Paris and offers King John, in return for a pardon

asked for himself and his men, to bring the French king all the churls

in England in bonds. Nicholl, a Cornish man, fits out a good bark, has

an encounter with John Dory, and after a smart fight takes him prisoner.

This ballad had a remarkable popularity in the seventeenth century, as

is evinced by the numerous cases of its being cited which Chappell has

collected, Popular Music, p. 67 f.[100]

As to the history of the transactions set forth in the ballad, I am not

aware that anything has been added to the account given by Carew in his

Survey of Cornwall, 1602, p. 135, which Ritson has quoted in the second

edition of his Ancient Songs, II, 57, an account which is likely to

have been taken from the ballad, with the specification from tradition

that Nicholl was “son to a widow near Foy.”

“Moreover, the prowess of one Nicholas, son to a widow near Foy, is

descanted upon in an old three-man’s song, namely, how he fought

bravely at sea with John Dory (a Genowey, as I conjecture), set forth

by John, the French king, and, after much bloodshed on both sides,

took, and slew him, in revenge of the great ravine and cruelty which he

had fore committed upon the Englishmen’s goods and bodies.” (Page 316

of the edition of 1813.)

The king in the ballad would be John II, the Good, who was taken

prisoner at Poitiers, and died in 1364. No John Doria is mentioned as

being in his service.

As it fell on a holy-day,

And vpon an holy-tide-a,

Iohn Dory bought him an ambling nag,

To Paris for to ride-a.

And when John Dory to Paris was come,

A little before the gate-a,

John Dory was fitted, the porter was witted

To let him in thereat-a.

The first man that John Dory did meet

Was good king John of France-a;

John Dory could well of his courtesie,

But fell downe in a trance-a.

‘A pardon, a pardon, my liege and my king,

For my merie men and for me-a,

And all the churles in merie England,

I’le bring them all bound to thee-a.’

And Nicholl was then a Cornish man,

A little beside Bohide-a,

And he mande forth a good blacke barke,

With fiftie good oares on a side-a.

‘Run vp, my boy, vnto the maine top,

And looke what thou canst spie-a:’

‘Who ho! who ho! a goodly ship I do see,

I trow it be John Dory[-a.’]

They hoist their sailes, both top and top,

The meisseine and all was tride-a,

And euery man stood to his lot,

What euer should betide-a.

The roring cannons then were plide,

And dub-a-dub went the drumme-a;

The braying trumpets lowde they cride

To courage both all and some-a.

The grappling-hooks were brought at length,

The browne bill and the sword-a,

John Dory at length, for all his strength,

Was clapt fast vnder board-a.

FOOTNOTES:

[100] The song “I cannot eat but little meat,” introduced into Gammer

Gurton’s Needle, which was acted in 1566, was sung to ‘John Dory,’ says

Mr Chappell, as above; but there is nothing to show that this was the

original tune.

285

THE GEORGE ALOE AND THE SWEEPSTAKE

=a.= Percy Papers, “from an ancient black-letter copy in Ballard’s

collection.”

=b.= Rawlinson, 566, fol. 183, 4^o.

=c.= Roxburghe, III, 204, in Ebsworth, Roxburghe Ballads, VI, 408.

March 19, 1611, there were entered to Richard Jones, “Captayne

Jenninges his songe, whiche he made in the Marshalsey,” etc., and

“the second parte of the George Aloo and the Swiftestake, beinge both

ballades:” Arber, III, 456. The second part of the George Aloo must

needs mean a second ballad, not the printers’ second half (which begins

in =c= at the stanza here numbered 14). In ‘The Two Noble Kinsmen,’

printed in 1634, and perhaps earlier, the Jailer’s Daughter sings the

two following stanzas (Dyce, XI, 386):

The George Alow came from the south,

From the coast of Barbary-a,

And there he met with brave gallants of war,

By one, by two, by three-a.

Well haild, well haild, you jolly gallants,

And whither now are you bound-a?

Oh, let me have your company

Till [I] come to the sound-a.

These verses, whether accurately reported or not, certainly seem to

belong to another ballad. Whether they are from the first part or

the second part, we have no means of assuring ourselves. It is to

be observed that in the ballad before us the George Aloe and the

Sweepstake are sailing _for_ Safee, and in the other case the George

Aloe is coming _from_ the south, from the coast of Barbary, so that the

adventure, whatever it was, may have occurred in the homeward voyage;

but the circumstance is not decisive.[101]

The George Aloe and the Sweepstake, merchantmen, are bound for Safee.

The George Aloe anchors, the Sweepstake keeps on, is taken by a French

rover, and her crew thrown overboard. The George Aloe hears of this,

and sets out to take the Frenchman. Her second shot carries away the

enemy’s mainmast; the Frenchmen cry for mercy. The English ask what

they did with the crew of the Sweepstake; the Frenchmen confess that

they threw them into the sea. Such mercy as you shewed such mercy shall

you have, say the English, and deal with the French accordingly.

‘Aboard,’ 6^2, 16^2, I suppose to mean alongside. ‘Amain,’ 7^1, 16^1,

is strike (sails) in sign of surrender. The French use the word derived

from their own language; the English say, strike. ‘Gallant’ Englishmen

in 7^1, after ‘English dogs’ in 6^1, is unlikely courtesy, and is not

found in 16^1.

‘The Swepstacke’ is a king’s ship in 1545, and ‘The Sweepstakes’

apparently again in 1666: Historical MSS Commission, 12th Report,

Appendix, Part VII, pp. 8, 45.

The George Aloe and the Sweepstakes too,

With hey, with ho, for and a nony no

They were two merchant-men, a sailing for Safee.

And along the course of Barbary

[The George Aloe to anchor came,

But the jolly Sweepstake kept on her way.]

They had not sayled leagues two or three

Before they spyed a sail upon the sea.

‘O hail, O hail, you lusty gallants,

From whence is your good ship, and whither is she bound?’

‘O we are some merchant-men, sailing for Safee:’

‘And we be French rebels, a roving on the sea.

‘O hail, O hail, you English dogs, [hail!]’

‘The[n] come aboard, you French dogs, and strike down your sail!’

‘Amain, amain, you gallant Englishmen!’

‘Come, you French swades, and strike down your sails!’

They laid us aboard on the starboard side,

And they overthrew us into the sea so wide.

When tidings to the George Aloe came

That the jolly Sweepstakes by a Frenchman was tane,

‘To top, to top, thou little ship-boy,

And see if this French man-of-war thou canst descry.’

‘A sail, a sail, under your lee,

Yea, and another under her bough.’

‘Weigh anchor, weigh anchor, O jolly boatswain,

We will take this Frenchman if we can.’

We had not sailed leagues two or three

But we met the French man-of-war upon the sea.

‘All hail, all hail, you lusty gallants,

Of whence is your fair ship, and whither is she bound?’

‘O we are merchant-men, and bound for Safee;’

‘And we are Frenchmen, roving upon the sea.

‘Amain, amain, you English dogs!’

‘Come aboard, you French rogues, and strike your sails!’

The first good shot the George Aloe shot,

It made the Frenchmen’s hearts sore afraid.

The second shot the George Aloe did afford,

He struck the main-mast over the board.

‘Have mercy, have mercy, you brave English[men].’

‘O what have you done with our brethren on [shore]?’

As they sail[ed].

‘We laid them aboard on the starboard side,

And we threw them into the sea so wide.’

‘Such mercy as you have shewed unto them,

Even the like mercy shall you have again.’

We laid them aboard on the larboard side,

And we threw them into the sea so wide.

Lord, how it grieved our hearts full sore

To see the drowned Frenchmen float along the shore!

Now, gallant seamen all, adieu,

With hey, with ho, for and a nony no

This is the last news that I can write to you.

To England’s coast from Barbary

* * * * *

=a.= The Seamans only Delight: Shewing the brave fight between the

George Aloe, the Sweepstakes, and certain French Men at sea. Tune, The

Sailor’s Joy, etc. (_No printers given in the transcript._)

=b.= The Saylors only Delight: Shewing the brave fight between the

George-Aloe, the Sweepstake, and certain Frenchmen at sea. To the

tune of The Saylors Joy. London, Printed for F. Coles, T. Vere and J.

[Wright] (_torn_). 1655-80, Chappell.

=c.= The Sailors onely Delight: Shewing the brave fight between

George-Aloe, the Sweep-stakes, and certain French-men at sea. To the

tune of The Saylor’s Joy. Printed for F. Coles, J. Wright, Tho. Vere,

and W. Gilbertson. The earliest known ballad by the four together is

dated 1655, Chappell. (See No 273, Appendix, III, =b=.)

=a.=

1, 24. _Burden^1._ anony.

1. _Burden^2._ course _should probably be_ coast.

2. _Wanting; supplied from_ =b=, =c=.

4^1. O hail, oh.

5^1, 6^1, 15^1. Oh.

10^2. Frenchman of war.

13^2. French Men of War.

17^2. French Mens.

19. _Ends torn away. Percy gives, after_ english, =A=, _which may be

the first half of an_ =M=; _after_ on, fl, _which may possibly be a

wrong reading of_ sh. Shore _is not what we should expect. Defects

supplied from_ =b=, =c=.

23^2. French Men.

=b.=

1. _Burden^1._ a nony. _Burden^2._ alongst the cost.

1^1, 9^2. Sweepstake.

1^2. O they were marchant men and bound.

3^2. But they met with a Frenchman of war upon.

4^1. All hayl, all hayl.

4^2. Of whence is your fair ship, whether are you bound.

5^1. We are Englishmen and bound.

5^2. Of whence is your fair ship, or whether are you bound.

6. _Wanting._

7^2. swads.

10^2. Frenchman.

11^1. our lee.

11^2. under her obey.

13^2. Frenchman.

14^2. is it.

15^2. I, and we are Frenchmen and war.

16^2. strike down.

17^2. He made: heart.

18^2. strook.

19^1. brave Englishmen.

19^2. brethen on shore.

_Burden^2._ As they sayled into Barbary.

23^1. greives.

23^2. swim along.

=c.=

4^2. or whither.

7^1. Englishman.

7^2. sayle.

14^2. whither are you.

16^2. rogue.

17^2. hearts.

18^2. struck their.

19^2. brethren on shore. _Burden^2._ sayled in.

21^2. Then the. _Variations otherwise as in_ =b=.

FOOTNOTES:

[101] There is an entry, July 31, 1590, of A Ditty of the fight upon

the seas the fourth of June last in the Straits of Gibraltar between

the George and the Thomas Bonaventure and eight galleys with three

frigates (Arber, II, 557), but it is likely that there were Georges

many, and only one George Aloe.

Mr Ebsworth has pointed out that a ballad called The Sailor’s Joy, the

name of the tune to which ‘The George Aloe and the Sweepstake’ was to

be sung, was entered in the Stationers’ Registers, January 14, 1595:

Arber, II, 669.

286

THE SWEET TRINITY (THE GOLDEN VANITY)

=A.= ‘Sir Walter Raleigh sailing in the Low-lands,’ etc., Pepys

Ballads, IV, 196, No 189 (1682-85).

=B. a.= ‘The Goulden Vanitie,’ Logan’s Pedlar’s Pack, p. 42; Mrs

Gordon’s Memoir of John Wilson, II, 317. =b.= As sung by Mr G.

Du Maurier, sent me by J. R. Lowell, =c.= ‘The French Galley,’

Motherwell’s MS., p. 420. =d.= Communicated by Mrs Moncrieff, of

London, Ontario. =e.= ‘The Lowlands Low,’ Findlay MSS, I, 161. =f.=

Sharpe’s Ballad Book, 1880, p. 160, notes of Sir Walter Scott.

=C. a.= ‘Golden Vanity, or, The Low Lands Low,’ Pitts, Seven Dials,

in Logan’s Pedlar’s Pack, p. 45; Ebsworth, Roxburghe Ballads, VI,

419. =b.= ‘The Lowlands Low,’ Long, Dictionary of the Isle of Wight

Dialect, p. 145. =c.= ‘Low in the Lowlands Low,’ Christie, I, 238.

=d.= ‘The Golden Vanity,’ Baring-Gould and Sheppard,’Songs of the

West,’ No 64. =e.= ‘The French Gallio,’ ‘The French Gallolee,’ Buchan

MSS, II, 390, 414. =f.= ‘The Turkish Galley,’ Motherwell’s MS., p.

392, and Note-Book, p. 50. =g.= ‘The Lowlands Low,’ Macmath MS., p. 80.

=A= also in Euing, No 334, Crawford, No 1073, Huth, II, No 134; all by

the same printer, 1682-85.

Motherwell enters the first stanza of another copy of ‘The Turkish

Galley’ in his Note-Book, p. 10, and refers to three copies more,

besides =B d=, at p. 51.

There is a retouched copy of =C= in English County Songs, Lucy E.

Broadwood and J. A. Fuller Maitland, p. 182.

=B=, =C=, are probably traditional variations of the broadside =A=.

The conclusion of the broadside is sufficiently inadequate to impel

almost any singer to attempt an improvement, and a rather more

effective catastrophe is the only signal difference besides names.

It is, however, not quite impossible that the ultimate source of the

traditional copies may be as old as the broadside.

=A.= ‘The Sweet Trinity,’ a ship built by Sir Walter Raleigh, has been

taken by a galley of a nationality not specified. The master of some

English ship asks what seaman will take the galley and redeem The Sweet

Trinity. A ship-boy asks what the reward shall be; the reward shall be

gold and fee, and the master’s eldest daughter. The ship-boy, who is

possessed of an auger which bores fifteen holes at once, swims to the

galley, sinks her, and releases The Sweet Trinity; then swims back to

his ship and demands his pay. The master will give gold and fee, but

not his daughter to wife. The ship-boy says, Farewell, since you are

not so good as your word.

=C.= In =C= man and wife are in bed, and the travellers haul the woman