=B.= No ship has been taken by an enemy._The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 5 (of 5)

Victorie, =e=, falls in with a French galley, which a cabin-boy

undertakes to sink for a reward. The reward is to be, =a=, =b=, an

estate in the North Country; =c=, half the captain’s lands in the South

Country, meat and fee, and the captain’s eldest daughter; =e=, gold and

fee, and the captain’s daughter. The boy is rolled up in a bull-skin

and thrown over the deck-board (a corruption, see =C=). He takes out

an instrument, and bores thirty holes at twice, =a=; a gimlet, and

bores sixty holes and thrice, =b=; he struck her with an instrument,

bored thirty holes at twice, =c=; threescore holes he scuttled in a

trice, =d=; struck her wi an auger, thirty three and thrice, =e=. After

sinking the galley he calls to the Golden Vanity to throw him a rope,

take him on board, and be as good as their word, all which is refused.

He threatens to serve them as he has the galley, =a=, =b=, =d=; they

take him up and prove better than their word, =a=, =d=, or as good,

=b=. (Of =f= very little was remembered by Scott, and the ballad was

besides confounded with ‘The George Aloe.’[102])

=C.= The distinguishing feature is that the boy dies after he is

taken up from the water, and is sewed up in a cow’s hide and thrown

overboard, ‘to go down with the tide.’ The Golden Vanity, =a-d=, The

Gold Pinnatree, =e=, The Golden Trinitie, =g=, is in danger from a

Turkish galleon, =a=, =f=, =g=, a Spanish, =b=, =c= (pirate Targalley),

=d=, French, =e=. The captain of the English ship promises the

cabin-boy gold, fee, and daughter, if he will sink the enemy. The boy

has, and uses, an auger, to bore two holes at twice, =a=, that bores

twenty holes in twice, =b=, to bore two holes at once, =c=; a case

of instruments, ca’s fifty holes and drives them a’ at once, =e=; an

instrument, and bores nine holes in her water-sluice, =f=; an auger

fitted for the use, and bores in her bottom a watery sluice, =g=. The

master will not take him on board, will kill him, shoot him, sink him,

=a-d=; will not keep his bargain, ‘for as you’ve done to her, so would

you do to me,’ =e= (compare the threat in =B= 13). The boy is taken up

by his mess-mates and dies on the deck, =a=, =c=, =d=; is sewed in a

cow-hide and thrown overboard, =a=, =c-g=; in =b= sinks from exhaustion

and drowns.

Pepys Ballads, IV, 196, No 189.

Sir Walter Rawleigh has built a ship,

In the Neatherlands

Sir Walter Rawleigh has built a ship,

In the Neather-lands

And it is called The Sweet Trinity,

And was taken by the false gallaly.

Sailing in the Low-lands

‘Is there never a seaman bold

In the Neather-lands

Is there never a seaman bold

In the Neather-lands

That will go take this false gallaly,

And to redeem The Sweet Trinity?’

Sailing, etc.

Then spoke the little ship-boy;

In the Neather-lands

Then spoke the little ship-boy;

In the Neather-lands

‘Master, master, what will you give me

And I will take this false gallaly,

And release The Sweet Trinity?’

Sailing, etc.

‘I’ll give thee gold, and I’le give thee fee,

In the Neather-lands

I’ll give thee gold and I’le give thee fee,

In the Neather-lands

And my eldest daughter thy wife shall be.’

Sailing, etc.

He set his breast, and away he did swim,

Until he came to the false gallaly.

He had an augor fit for the [n]once,

The which will bore fifteen good holes at once.

Some ware at cards, and some at dice,

Until the salt water flashd in their eyes.

Some cut their hats, and some cut their caps,

For to stop the salt-water gaps.

He set his breast, and away did swim,

Until he came to his own ship again.

‘I have done the work I promised to do,

For I have sunk the false gallaly,

And released The Sweet Trinity.

‘You promised me gold, and you promised me fee,

Your eldest daughter my wife she must be.’

‘You shall have gold, and you shall have fee,

But my eldest daughter your wife shall never be.’

For sailing, etc.

‘Then fare you well, you cozening lord,

Seeing you are not so good as your word.’

For sailing, etc.

And thus I shall conclude my song,

Of the sailing in the Low-lands

Wishing all happiness to all seamen both old and young.

In their sailing in the Low-lands

=a.= Logan’s Pedlar’s Pack, p. 42, as sung about 1840 by Mr P. S.

Fraser, of Edinburgh, and obtained by him orally. =b.= As sung by Mr

George Du Maurier to Mr J. R. Lowell, 1884. =c.= Motherwell’s MS., p.

420; from Mr John Cleland, marble-cutter, Glasgow, who had it of Mr

Forrester, Stirling. =d.= Communicated by Mrs Moncrieff, as taught to

a relative of hers by an old Scottish lady about 1830. =e.= Findlay

MSS, I, 161, “from Strang, Divinity Student, 1868.” =f.= Sharpe’s

Ballad Book, 1880, p. 160, note by Sir Walter Scott.

There was a gallant ship, and a gallant ship was she

Eck iddle du, and the Lowlands low

And she was called The Goulden Vanitie.

As she sailed to the Lowlands low

She had not sailed a league, a league but only three,

Eck, etc.

When she came up with a French gallee.

As she sailed, etc.

Out spoke the little cabin-boy, out spoke he;

‘What will you give me if I sink that French gallee?’

As ye sail, etc.

Out spoke the captain, out spoke he;

‘We’ll gie ye an estate in the North Countrie.’

As we sail, etc.

‘Then row me up ticht in a black bull’s skin,

And throw me oer deck-buird, sink I or swim.’

As ye sail, etc.

So they’ve rowed him up ticht in a black bull’s skin,

And have thrown him oer deck-buird, sink he or soom.

As they sail, etc.

About, and about, and about went he,

Until he cam up with the French gallee.

As they sailed, etc.

O some were playing cards, and some were playing dice,

When he took out an instrument, bored thirty holes at twice.

As they sailed, etc.

Then some they ran with cloaks, and some they ran with caps,

To try if they could stap the saut-water draps.

As they sailed, etc.

About, and about, and about went he,

Until he cam back to The Goulden Vanitie.

As they sailed, etc.

‘Now throw me oer a rope and pu me up on buird,

And prove unto me as guid as your word.’

As ye sail, etc.

‘We’ll no throw you oer a rope, nor pu you up on buird,

Nor prove unto you as guid as our word.’

As we sail, etc.

Out spoke the little cabin-boy, out spoke he;

Then hang me, I’ll sink ye as I sunk the French gallee.

As ye sail, etc.

But they’ve thrown him oer a rope, and have pu’d him up on buird,

And have proved unto him far better than their word.

As they sailed, etc.

=a.= Stall-copy, Pitts, Seven Dials, Logan’s Pedlar’s Pack, p. 45.

=b.= Long’s Dictionary of the Isle of Wight Dialect, p. 145. =c.=

Christie, Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 238, compounded from the

recitation of an old woman of Buckie, Banffshire, and a chap-book

copy. =d.= Baring-Gould and Sheppard, Songs of the West, No 64,

Part III, p. 24, Part IV, p. xxxi, taken down from James Olver,

Launceston (an improved copy). =e.= Buchan’s MSS, II, 390, 414. =f.=

Motherwell’s MS., p. 392, and Note-Book, p. 50, from the recitation

of Agnes Lyle, 24th August, 1825. =g.= Macmath MS., p. 80, from the

recitation of Miss Agnes Macmath, 1893; learned at Airds of Kells,

Kirkcudbrightshire.

‘I have a ship in the North Countrie,

And she goes by the name of The Golden Vanity;

I’m afraid she will be taken by some Turkish gallee,

As she sails on the Low Lands Low.’

Then up starts our little cabin-boy,

Saying, Master, what will you give me if I do them destroy?

‘I will give you gold, I will give you store,

You shall have my daughter when I return on shore,

If ye sink them in the Low Lands Low.’

The boy bent his breast and away he jumpt in;

He swam till he came to this Turkish galleon,

As she laid on the Low Lands Low.

The boy he had an auger to bore holes two at twice;

While some were playing cards, and some were playing dice,

He let the water in, and it dazzled in their eyes,

And he sunk them in the Low Lands Low.

The boy he bent his breast and away he swam back again,

Saying, Master take me up, or I shall be slain,

For I have sunk them in the Low Lands Low.

‘I’ll not take you up,’ the master he cried;

‘I’ll not take you up,’ the master replied;

‘I will kill you, I will shoot you, I will send you with the tide,

I will sink you in the Low Lands Low.’

The boy he swam round all by the starboard-side;

They laid him on the deck, and it’s there he soon died;

Then they sewed him up in an old cow’s-hide,

And they threw him overboard, to go down with the tide,

And they sunk him in the Low Lands Low.

* * * * *

=A.=

Sir Walter Raleigh sailing in the Low-lands: Shewing how the famous

ship called The Sweet Trinity was taken by a false gally, and how it

was again restored by the craft of a little sea-boy, who sunk the

galley: as the following song will declare. To the tune of The Sailing

of the Low-land.

(End.) This may be printed. R. L. S. (Sir R. L’Estrange was licenser

from 1663 to 1685.)

Printed for J. Conyers at the Black-Raven, the first shop in

Fetter-Lane next Holborn. (J. Conyers, 1682-91. Chappell.)

=a.=

7^1. at somt dice.

=B. a.=

8^1. Oh.

=b.=

_The variations are but trifling._

And awa, and awa, and awa swam he,

Till he swam up to.

8^2. He just took out a gimlet and bored sixty holes and thrice.

9^2. But they couldna run awa from the saltwater drops.

10.

Then awa, and awa, and awa swam he,

Till he swam back to.

12^1. I’ll na: rope, I’ll na.

12^2. I’ll na: unto thee: my word.

13.

An ye na throw me oer a rope an ye na pull me up aboard,

I’ll just sink ye.

14^2. And they proved unto him as good as their word.

=c.=

There was an auncient ship, and an auncient ship was she,

Eee eedle ee, in the Lowlands so low

And the name of the ship was The Golden Vanitie.

As she sailed from the Lowlands so low

She had not sailed a league, no, not a league but three,

Until that shee spied a French galley.

‘It’s master, O master, what’ll ye gie me,

If I go and sink yon French galley?’

O then said the master, I will gie till ye

The half of my lands in the South Countrie.

‘It’s I’ll gie ye meat, and I’ll gie ye fee,

And my eldest daughter your bride for to be.’

‘It’s wrap me up tight in a gude bull’s-skin,

And throw me over deck-board, sink I or swim.’

So they wrapt him tight in a gude bull’s-skin,

And they’ve thrown him over deck-board, sink he or swim.

And about, and about, and about went he,

Until that he came to the French galley.

It’s some were playing at cards, and some were playing at dice,

But he struck her with an instrument, bored thirty holes at twice.

Some ran wi hats, and some ran wi caps,

All for to stop the salt-waters draps.

As they, etc.

3^1, 4^1. oh, Oh.

=d.=

There was an ancient ship, and an ancient ship was she,

Italy and the Lowlands low

And her name it was The Golden Vanity.

As she sailed for the Lowlands low

She had not sailed a mile, a mile but barely three,

When she hove in sight of a French galley.

Up spak the prentice-boy; What’ll ye gie me,

If I gang and sink yon French galley?

As she sails, etc.

Up spak the captain; What’ll I gie ye,

. . . . . . . .

As she sails, etc.

_5 forgotten._

‘It’s row me up in a tough bull’s-skin,

And throw me overboard, let me sink or swim.’

As we sail, etc.

They’ve rowed him up tight in a tough bull’s-skin,

And they’ve thrown him overboard, let him sink or swim.

As they sailed, etc.

Then about, and about, and about went he,

Until that he reached that French galley.

As she sailed, etc.

. . . . . . . . .

And three-score holes he scuttled in a trice.

As she sailed, etc.

‘Now throw me owre a rope and pull me up on board,

And prove unto me as gude as yere word.’

As we sail, etc.

‘I’ll not throw ye owre a rope, nor pull ye up on board,

Nor prove unto ye as guid as my word.’

As we sail, etc.

‘Throw me owre a rope and pull me up on board,

Or I’ll do to ye as I did the French galley.’

As she sailed, etc.

Then they threw him owre a rope and pulled him up on board,

And proved unto him far better than their word.

As they sailed, etc.

=e.=

O she was an English ship, an an English ship was she,

Hey diddie dee for the Lowlands low

And her name it was The Golden Victorie.

As she sailed for the Lowlands low.

. . . . . . . .

And she fell in wi a French galee.

As she sailed, etc.

‘O what’ll ye gie me, captain, what’ll ye gie me,

If I go an sink yon French galee?’

As she sails, etc.

‘O I’ll gie thee goud, an I’ll gie thee fee,

An my eldest daughter your wife shall be.’

As we sail, etc.

‘Then wrap me up tight in tough bull-hide,

An to sink or swim ye’ll pitch me ower the side.’

As we sail, etc.

They wrapt him up tight in tough bull-hide,

An to sink or swim they pitchd him ower the side,

As they sailed, etc.

He swam, an he swam, an he better swam,

Until he to the French galley cam.

As she sailed, etc.

O some were playin cards, an some were playin dice,

But he struck her wi an auger thirty three and thrice.

As she sailed, etc.

Aboot, an aboot, an aboot went she,

Until she cam to the bottom of the sea.

As she sailed, etc.

=f.=

_Sir Walter Scott’s recollections here seem not trustworthy, and of

this he was himself aware._

The George-a-Low eame down the strait,

Hey low and the Lowlands so low

And she will be lost, both vessel and freight,

For the chasing of a French galerie O

‘Row me in a good bull-skin,

And fling me overboard, for to sink or to swim,’

For the sinking of yon French galerie O

They row him, etc.

Some were playing at cards and dice,

When the sea came gushing in a trice.

For the sinking, etc.

=C.= =b.=

Our ship she was called The Golden Vanitie;

We had sailed from our port about miles fifty-three,

When up came with us a Spanish gallee,

To sink us in the Lowlands low.

Our master wrung his hands, but our little cabin-boy

Said, What will you give me, master, if I do them destroy?

‘Oh I will give you gold, and my daughter too, with joy,

If you sink them,’ etc.

The boy gave a nod, and then jumped into the sea,

And he swam till he came to the Spanish gallee;

He climbed up aboard, and below to work went he,

To sink them, etc.

For this boy he had an auger that bored twenty holes in twice,

And while some were playing cards, and some were playing dice,

Through the bottom of the ship he bored it in a trice,

And he sunk them, etc.

The galley she went down, but the boy swam back again,

Crying, Master, pick me up, or I shall soon be slain;

Pray heave to me a rope, or I shall sink in the main;

For I’ve sunk them, etc.

‘I will not pick you up,’ the master loudly cried,

‘I will not heave a rope,’ the master he replied;

‘I will kill you, I will sink you, I will leave you in the tide,

I will sink you,’ etc.

The boy he swam around the ship from side to side,

But he could not get aboard, so he sank, and he died,

And they left him where he was, to go down with the tide;

So they sunk him, etc.

=c.=

There was a good ship from the North Countrie,

Sailing low in the Lowlands low

There was, etc.

And that ship’s name was The Golden Vanity.

Sailing low in the Lowlands, low in the sea,

Sailing low in the Lowlands low

The master said, I fear for my good ship Vanity,

Oh, I fear for my good ship, The Golden Vanity,

That she will be taken by the pirate Targalley,

As she sails in, etc.

2^2

‘Oh, master, good master, what will you give me

If I sink yon Targalley low in the sea?’

10 _stanzas_.

=d.=

A ship I have got in the North Country,

And she goes by the name of The Golden Vanity;

O I fear she’ll be taken by a Spanish Galalie,

As she sails by the Lowlands low.

8 _stanzas_.

=e.= Buchan; MSS, II, 390.

Our ship sailed to the North Country,

Sing, How the Lowlands lo[w]

Our ship sailed on to the North Countrie,

And the name o her was The Gold Pinnatree,

She was as fine a vessel as ever sailed the sea,

And she sails by the Lowlands lo[w]

We hadna sailed leagues but only three,

Till the captain from the maindeck fixed an ee;

He spied a lofty frigate was sailing closely tee,

And her name was The French Gallio.

Then out it speaks the pilot, by the mainyard did stand,

Says, O my pretty boys, we are all undone;

We must prepare to fight or be sunk to the sand,

For yonder comes the French gallio.

Then spoke the little cabin-boy, [where stood he,]

Said, O my loving master, what will ye gie me

And I will sink this proud Gallio in the sea,

And I will sink the French gallio?

‘I will gie you gold, boy, and I will gie you fee,

Besides a rarer gift that I will give thee;

Ye’se have my eldest daughter your wedded wife to be,

If ye will sink the French gallio.’

The boy bent his breast, and away swam he,

And took a bold venture thro the stormy sea,

And cam close by his enemy, as sly as he could be,

It was to sink the French gallio.

Some there were at cards, and some there were at dice,

But the little cabin-boy was at the best device,

He was sinking the French gallio in the sea,

He was sinking the French gallio.

This boy had a case o fine instruments,

He ca’d fifty holes, and drove them a’ at once,

And he soon sank the French gallio in the sea,

And he soon sank the French gallio.

Then the boy bent his breast, and back swam he,

Till that he cam to The Gold Pinnatree;

Says, Now, my loving master, what will ye gie me?

For I have sunk the French gallio.

‘Now give to me my gold, master, [give to me my fee,]

Or give to me the other rare gifts ye promised me;

It was your eldest daughter, my wedded wife to be;

For the sinking o the French gallio.’

‘Ye shall have no gold, boy, ye shall have no fee;

I wadna ware my daughter on ony such as thee;

For as you’ve done to her, boy, so wad you do to me,

By the sinking o the French [gallio].’

Then they put out their long-boat and catched him by the side,

And rowed him into ane auld cow’s-hide,

And tossed him overboard, to float on the tide,

For sinking the French gallio.

Gallio _may be surmised to be properly_ galley O.

_The other copy in Buchan’s MSS_, II, 414, _is only the foregoing a

little retouched or regulated_. _It has throughout_ Gallolee _for_

Gallio. _The first line of the burden is_, Sing, Low, the Lowlands low.

4^1. where stood he.

6^3. could dee.

10^1. give to me my fee.

=f.=

I spied a ship, and a ship was she,

Sing, Oh, the low and the Lowlands low

And she was called the Turkish Galley,

She was sailing in the Lowlands, low, low, low,

She was sailing in the Lowlands low.

‘Master, master, what wud ye gie me

Gin I wud sink yon Turkish galley?

She’s sailing, etc.’

‘I’ll gie you gold, I’ll gie you fee,

Gin ye wud sink yon Turkish galley,

That is sailing,’ etc.

He bent his breast, and awa swam he,

Till he cam to yon Turkish galley,

That’s sailing, etc.

He had an instrument, made for the use,

He bored nine holes in her water-sluice,

Left her sinking, etc.

Some took their hats, and some took their caps,

All for to stop her watery leaks.

She was sinking, etc.

They took him up by their ship-side,

They sewed him in an auld cow’s-hide,

Left him sinking, etc.

_Motherwell sent this copy to C. K. Sharpe in a letter dated October

8, 1825, in which he says_: I also send rather a curious song, which

perchance you may have seen, entitled ‘The Turkish Galley,’ the air of

which pleased me much. But as I learn there are two other different

sets of the words more complete than my copy, and with different airs,

I shall defer sending the musick till I can send also that which

belongs to the other copies.

=g.=

There was a ship of the North Countrie,

And the name of the ship was The Golden Trinitie.

She was sailing in the Lowlands low, low, low,

She was sailing in the Lowlands low.

. . . . . . . . . .

And the name of the ship was The Turkish Gallee,

And she was sailing in the Lowlands low, low, low,

She was sailing, etc.

‘O captain, O captain,’ said the young cabin-boy,

‘What will you give me if yon ship I do destroy?

And sink her in,’ etc.

‘I’ll give you gold, and I’ll give you fee,

And my eldest daughter your wedded wife shall be,

If you sink her in,’ etc.

The boy bent his bow, and away swam he,

Until that he came to the Turkish gallee.

She was sailing in, etc.

The boy had an auger, right fitted for the use,

And into her bottom he bored a watery sluice.

She is sinking in, etc.

The boy bent his bow, and back swam he,

Until that he came to the Golden Trinitie.

She is sailing in, etc.

‘O captain, O captain, take me on board,

And O be as good, as good as your word,

For I’ve sunk her in the Lowlands low, low, low,

I’ve sunk,’ etc.

They threw him a rope oer the larboard side,

And sewed him up in an auld cow’s-hide,

And threw him out to a fair wind and tide,

And sunk him in, etc.

FOOTNOTES:

[102] Scott says at the end, “I will not swear to the accuracy of the

above.”

287

CAPTAIN WARD AND THE RAINBOW

Bagford Ballads, I, 65.

Other black-letter copies are Pepys, IV, 202, No 195; Roxburghe,

III, 56; Euing, No 108; British Museum, 112. f. 44 (19). This copy

is printed in Halliwell’s Early Naval Ballads, p. 59, Bell’s Early

Ballads, p. 167, Ebsworth’s Roxburghe Ballads, VI, 426.

There are Aldermary Churchyard copies, as Roxburghe Ballads, III,

652, 861; Scottish stall-copies, as Greenock, W. Scott, Stirling, M.

Randall; English, by Pitts, Seven Dials, one of which is printed in

Logan’s Pedlar’s Pack, p. 1.

A copy in Buchan’s MSS, II, 245, is nearly the old broadside; another,

II, 417, is the stall-copy. Kinloch, MSS, V, 109, II, 265, has the

stall-copy from oral transmission (with Weir for Ward). Rev. S.

Baring-Gould has recently taken down this ballad (much changed by

tradition) in the west of England.

Captain Ward, a famous rover, wishes to make his peace with the king,

and offers thirty ton of gold as “ransom” for himself and his men. The

king will not trust a man who has proved false to France and to Spain,

and sends the Rainbow, with five hundred men, against Ward. The Rainbow

has easy work with Dutch, Spaniards, and French, but her fifty brass

pieces have no effect on Ward; though the Rainbow is brass without, he

is steel within, 8^2 (suggested by ‘Sir Andrew Barton,’ =A= 27^1, =B=

25^1, ‘He is brass within and steel without).’ The Rainbow retires,

and reports to the king that Ward is too strong to be taken. The king

laments that he has lost three captains, any one of whom would have

brought Ward in: George Clifford, Earl of Cumberland, †1605, Charles

Blount, Lord Mountjoy, †1606 (both of whom had a part in the defeat of

the Armada), and Robert Devereux, Earl of Essex, †1601.

The Rainbow was the name of one of Drake’s four ships in his expedition

against Cadiz in 1587. The Rainbow is mentioned very often from 1589;

as in The Manuscripts of the Earl Cowper, vol. i, Hist. MSS Commission,

XIIth Report, Appendix, Part I; Index in Part III of the same, p. 296.

John Ward, an Englishman of Kent, is said to have commenced ‘rover’

about 1604, by inducing the crew of a king’s ship in which he had some

place to turn pirates under his command. His race, though eventful,

was, naturally enough, not long. He seems not to be heard of after

1609, in which year Ward and his colleague, Dansekar, are spoken of as

the “two late famous pirates.” See Mr Ebsworth’s preface to the ballad,

VI, 423 ff., founded on Andrew Barker’s book about Ward and Dansekar,

published in the year last named.

Two other ballad-histories, ‘The Seamen’s Song of Captain Ward’ and

‘The Seamen’s Song of Dansekar’ (i. e. Dansekar and Ward), entered in

the Stationers’ Registers July 3, 1609, are given by Mr Ebsworth, VI,

784, 423.

Strike up, you lusty gallants, with musick and sound of drum,

For we have descryed a rover, upon the sea is come;

His name is Captain Ward, right well it doth appear,

There has not been such a rover found out this thousand year.

For he hath sent unto our king, the sixth of January,

Desiring that he might come in, with all his company:

‘And if your king will let me come till I my tale have told,

I will bestow for my ransome full thirty tun of gold.’

‘O nay! O nay!’ then said our king, ‘O nay! this may not be,

To yield to such a rover my self will not agree;

He hath deceivd the French-man, likewise the King of Spain,

And how can he be true to me that hath been false to twain?’

With that our king provided a ship of worthy fame,

Rainbow she is called, if you would know her name;

Now the gallant Rainbow she rowes upon the sea,

Five hundred gallant seamen to bear her company.

The Dutch-man and the Spaniard she made them for to flye,

Also the bonny French-man, as she met him on the sea:

When as this gallant Rainbow did come where Ward did lye,

‘Where is the captain of this ship?’ this gallant Rainbow did cry.

‘O that am I,’ says Captain Ward, ‘there’s no man bids me lye,

And if thou art the king’s fair ship, thou art welcome unto me:’

‘I’le tell thee what,’ says Rainbow, ‘our king is in great grief

That thou shouldst lye upon the sea and play the arrant thief,

‘And will not let our merchants ships pass as they did before;

Such tydings to our king is come, which grieves his heart full sore.’

With that this gallant Rainbow she shot, out of her pride,

Full fifty gallant brass pieces, charged on every side.

And yet these gallant shooters prevailed not a pin,

Though they were brass on the out-side, brave Ward was steel within;

‘Shoot on, shoot on,’ says Captain Ward, ‘your sport well pleaseth me,

And he that first gives over shall yield unto the sea.

‘I never wrongd an English ship, but Turk and King of Spain,

For and the jovial Dutch-man as I met on the main.

If I had known your king but one two years before,

I would have savd brave Essex life, whose death did grieve me sore.

‘Go tell the King of England, go tell him thus from me,

If he reign king of all the land, I will reign king at sea.’

With that the gallant Rainbow shot, and shot, and shot in vain,

And left the rover’s company, and returnd home again.

‘Our royal king of England, your ship’s returnd again,

For Ward’s ship is so strong it never will be tane:’

‘O everlasting!’ says our king, ‘I have lost jewels three,

Which would have gone unto the seas and brought proud Ward to me.

‘The first was Lord Clifford, Earl of Cumberland;

The second was the Lord Mountjoy, as you shall understand;

The third was brave Essex, from field would never flee;

Which would a gone unto the seas and brought proud Ward to me.’

* * * * *

The Famous Sea-Fight between Captain Ward and the Rainbow. To the tune

of Captain Ward, etc. Licensed and entered.

London, Printed by and for W. Onley, and are to be sold by the

Booksellers of Pye-corner and London-bridge. _Dated at the British

Museum 1680 at the earliest._

11^3. Everlasting shame, _in the Scottish stall-copies_.

_A collation of Roxburghe_, III, 56, _shows only variations too

trivial to note_.

288

THE YOUNG EARL OF ESSEX’S VICTORY OVER THE EMPEROR OF GERMANY

=A.= ‘Queen Elizabeth’s Champion, or, Great Britain’s Glory,’ etc.

=a.= Douce Ballads, III, fol. 80 b. =b.= Roxburghe, III, 416, in

Ebsworth’s Roxburghe Ballads, VI, 405.

=B.= ‘Earl of Essex’, Kinloch MSS, I, 113.

=A= is printed also in Evans’s Old Ballads, 1777, II, 110, with slight

variations from both Douce and Roxburghe.

No printer’s name is given in either copy of =A=. From the use of a

peculiar ornament between the columns in =a= (and perhaps in =b=), such

as occurs in ballads printed at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, by John White, the

broadside may plausibly be attributed to him. White died in 1769.

=A.= Queen Elizabeth fits out a powerful fleet to go in search of

a vast navy under command of the emperor of Germany. The fleets

sight each other after a week or ten days. The emperor, amazed at

the splendid show made by the English, asks his officers who this

can be that is sailing toward him, and is told that it is the young

Earl (third earl) of Essex, the queen’s lieutenant. The emperor has

heard enough of the father to make him fear a fight with the son, and

proposes to tack and sail away; but the son asks his father to put the

ships into his hands and let him fight with Essex. The emperor consents

with a warning; if the young Essex shall prove like his father,

farewell to their honor. Young Essex takes the emperor’s son prisoner;

the emperor offers as a ransom three keys of gold, one of which shall

be the key of High Germany. Essex cares not for the three keys; the

emperor’s son must go to England and be exhibited to the queen. The

emperor declares that, if it must be so, his fifty good ships shall go

as well for company.

All this is, no doubt, as foolish as it is fictitious, but the

ballad-maker’s independence, in fact unconsciousness, of history and

common sense, beginning with the title, in which young Essex is made

Queen Elizabeth’s champion, is amusing and not unpleasing. The ballad

belongs undoubtedly to the eighteenth century, when High Germany had

become familiar to the humble English.

=B.= The traditional copy begins with a prologue of half a dozen

stanzas in the form of a colloquy between Billy, who is to be of the

expedition, and Nelly, his sweetheart. This prologue must be derived

from some other ballad or song. Nelly reminds her lover of the fate of

old Benbow, who lost at least one of his legs in a fight with a French

fleet in 1702, and died of the consequences, and of that of “proud

Shawfield, that honoured knight,” under which name is disguised Sir

Cloudesley Shovell, “who came with his navy to the Spanish shore” in

1705, and whose ship went on the rocks off the Scilly Isles (‘Salem’),

and sank with all on board, some eight hundred men, in 1707. We then

make connection with the broadside.

=a.= Douce Ballads, III, fol. 80 b. =b.= Roxburghe, III, 416, in

Ebsworth’s Roxburghe Ballads, VI, 405.

Come, sound up your trumpets and beat up your drums,

And let’s go to sea with a valiant good cheer,

In search of a mighty vast navy of ships,

The like has not been for these fifty long year.

Raderer two, tandaro te,

Raderer, tandorer, tan do re.

The queen she provided a navy of ships,

With sweet flying streamers, so glorious to see,

Rich top and top-gallants, captains and lieutenants,

Some forty, some fifty, brass-pieces and three.

They had not saild past a week on the seas,

Not passing a week and days two or three,

But they were aware of the proud emperor,

Both him and all his proud company.

When he beheld our powerful fleet,

Sailing along in their glory and pride,

He was amazed at their valour and fame,

Then to his warlike command[er]s he cry’d.

These were the words of the old emperor:

Pray who is this that is sailing to me?

If he be king that weareth a crown,

Yet I am a better man than he.

‘It is not a king, nor lord of a crown,

Which now to the seas with his navy is come,

But the young Earl of Essex, the Queen’s lieutenant,

Who fears no foes in Christendom.’

‘Oh! is that lord then come to the seas?

Let us tack about and be steering away;

I have heard so much of his father before

That I will not fight with young Essex today.’

O then bespoke the emperor’s son,

As they were tacking and steering away,

‘Give me, royal father, this navy of s[h]ips,

And I will go fight with Essex today.’

‘Take them with all my heart, loving son,

Most of them are of a capital size;

But should he do as his father has done,

Farewel thine honour and mine likewise.’

With cannons hot and thundering shot,

These two gallants fought on the main,

And as it was young Essex’s lot,

The emperor’s son by him was taen.

‘Give me my son,’ the emperor cry’d,

‘Who you this day have taken from me,

And I’ll give to the[e] three keys of gold,

The one shall be of High Germany.’

‘I care not for thy three keys of gold,

Which thou hast profferd to set him free,

But thy son he shall to England sail,

And go before the queen with me.’

‘Then have I fifty good ships of the best,

As good as ever were sent to the sea,

And eer my son into England sail,

They shall go all for good company.’

They had not fought this famous battle,

They had not fought it hours three,

But some lost legs, and some lost arms,

And some lay tumbling in the sea.

Essex he got this battle likewise,

Tho’t was the hotest that ever was seen;

Home he returnd with a wonderful prize,

And brought the emperor’s son to the queen.

O then bespoke the prentices all,

Living in London, both proper and tall,

In a kind letter, sent straight to the queen,

For Essex’s sake they would fight all.

Kinloch MSS, I, 113. From Mary Barr, June, 1827.

‘’Tis, old England, old England, I bid thee adieu,

The drums and the trumpets command me frae shore;

And you lusty fellows, both valiant and true,

Will you venture with me where loud cannons roar?’

‘O Billy, O Billy, talk not of the seas,

But stay at home with me on the shore;

I’ll do my endeavour thy fancy to please,

And there’s others to go where loud cannons roar.’

‘O Nelly, O Nelly, I must to the seas,

For there is no gold to be had upon shore;

There’s honour, and gold, and riches likewise,

To the man that doth die where loud cannons roar.’

‘Remember the winds, love, remember the waves,

Remember the dangers that are upon seas;

Remember there is neither coffin nor grave

To the man that doth die where loud cannons roar.’

‘Remember old Benbow, and think on his blows;

Remember the dangers he felt upon seas;

He lost both his legs by one shot of his foes;

He lost his sweet life, yet his honour’s the more.’

‘Remember proud Shawfield, that honoured knight,

Who came with his navy to the Spanish shore;

At the rock of Salem his life took a flight,

And with him there died some hundreds more.’

‘Our queen she has builded a navy of ships,

And they are arrayed all right gloriously;

With top and top-gallant, with captain, lieutenant,

Some fifty, some sixty, brass pieces and three.’

‘Well, since you’ll go, may my blessing advance,

And carry you safely from Flanders to Spain;

And when you’ve conquered that tyrant in France,

Then my blessing return you to old England again.’

They had not sailed one hour upon sea,

Not one hour passing days two or three,

Till up came the bold emperour,

The bold emperour of High Germanie.

‘O who is this?’ the bold emperour cries,

‘Who is this that comes sailing to me?

I’m sure he’s a knight, or a king of crown,

Or I’m sure I am a far better fellow than he.’

‘I am neither a knight, nor a king of a crown,

But here, with my navy, on board I am come;

For I am Lord Essex, the Queen’s lieutenant,

Who never feard foe in all Christendom.’

Out and spoke the bold emperour’s son,

All as they were mounting and hyeing away;

‘O father, lend me your navy of ships,

And I’ll go fight with Lord Essex today.’

‘O son, I’ll lend thee my navy of ships,

And they are all of a capable size;

But if he be as good as his old father was,

Adieu to your honour, and mine likewise.’

O they have fought on at a terrible rate,

Until it drew nigh to the cool of the day,

And as it fell in young Essex’s lot,

The bold emperour’s son he’s taen prisoner away.

‘O give me my son,’ the bold emperour cried,

‘O give me my son thou hast taken from me,

And you shall have three keys of gold,

And one of them opens High Germanie.’

‘What value I thy three keys of gold,

Or any proud offer thou canst give to me?

For up to old England thy son he must go,

And stand before our queen’s high majesty.’

‘’T is I have fifteen ships of the best,

And other fifteen distant on sea;

Since up to old England my son he must go,

Then we’ll all go together for good companie.’

=A.= =a.=

Queen Elizabeth’s Champion, or, Great Britain’s Glory, Being a victory

obtained by the young Earl of Essex over the old emperor of Germany by

a fight at sea in which he took the emperor’s son and brought him a

prisoner to Queen Elizabeth.

=b.=

_omits_ Being _after_ Glory _and_ a _before_ prisoner.

=a.=

_Burden_ ran do re _in second line after stanza_ 1. tandato _in first

line after stanza_ 2. Rederer, _after_ 7. Raderer two _for_ Raderer

_in second line after_ 9.

1^4. years.

8^1. Oh.

=b.=

1^2. gallant good.

1^4. for this.

4^4. commanders.

5^2. Praying.

5^3. be a.

14^2. hours but.

289

THE MERMAID

=A.= ‘The Seamen’s Distress,’ the second piece in The Glasgow Lasses

Garland, British Museum, 11621. c. 3 (68). “Newcastle, 1765?”

=B. a.= ‘The stormy winds do blow,’ Chappell’s Popular Music of the

Olden Time, p. 742. =b.= The same, p. 743. =c.= Notes and Queries, 6th

Series, VII, 276.

=C.= Communicated by Mr Chappell. Now printed in Old English Ditties,

Oxenford and Macfarren, ‘The Mermaid,’ I, 206.

=D.= ‘The Mermaid.’ =a.= Long, Dictionary of the Isle of Wight

Dialect, 1886, p. 42. =b.= Broadside, H. Such, 177 Union St., Boro’.

=E. a.= Motherwell’s MS., p. 145. =b.= ‘The Bonnie Mermaid,’

Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xxiii, No XXX, one stanza.

=F.= ‘Greenland,’ Kinloch MSS, VII, 245.

This is the ballad referred to under ‘Sir Patrick Spens,’ II, 19. It is

still common as a broadside.

=E a= 6 has taken a burlesque turn. It is scarcely worth while to

attempt to account for the vagaries of =F=, in which ‘the kemp o the

ship’ takes the place of the mermaid, and the kaim and glass are

exchanged for the bottle and glass. The first stanza of =F= may not

belong here, or possibly (but not probably) a voyage to Greenland may

have been lost from the other copies.

In =B=, =C=, =D=, the ship sails on Friday, against all good rules.

‘The Sailor’s Caution,’ the third piece in The Sailing Trade, Glasgow,

Printed by J. and M. Robertson, Saltmarket, 1801, begins like =A=, has

a stanza (the fifth) representing =A= 4, 5, and concludes thus, after a

stanza (the sixth) resembling =A= 3:

The mermaid on the rock doth sit,

With comb and glass in hand:

‘Cheer up, cheer up, bold mariners,

You are not far from land.

‘So now cheer up, bold mariners,

Or smother in the deep;

All this I do for a sailor’s sake,

Whilst losing of my sleep.

‘Here is a token, bold mariners,

A token of good will,

And if ever that you come this way,

’Tis here you’ll find me still.’

British Museum, 11621. b. 13 (15).

The Glasgow Lasses Garland, the second piece, British Museum, 11621.

c. 3 (68). “Newcastle, 1765?”

As we lay musing in our beds,

So well and so warm at ease,

I thought upon those lodging-beds

Poor seamen have at seas.

Last Easter day, in the morning fair,

We was not far from land,

Where we spied a mermaid on the rock,

With comb and glass in hand.

The first came up the mate of our ship,

With lead and line in hand,

To sound and see how deep we was

From any rock or sand.

The next came up the boatswain of our ship,

With courage stout and bold:

‘Stand fast, stand fast, my brave lively lads,

Stand fast, my brave hearts of gold!’

Our gallant ship is gone to wreck,

Which was so lately trimmd;

The raging seas has sprung a leak,

And the salt water does run in.

Our gold and silver, and all our cloths,

And all that ever we had,

We forced was to heave them overboard,

Thinking our lives to save.

In all, the number that was on board

Was five hundred and sixty-four,

And all that ever came alive on shore

There was but poor ninety-five.

The first bespoke the captain of our ship,

And a well-spoke man was he;

‘I have a wife in fair Plymouth town,

And a widow I fear she must be.’

The next bespoke the mate of our ship,

And a well-bespoke man was he;

‘I have a wife in fair Portsmouth,

And a widow I fear she must be.’

The next bespoke the boatswain of our ship,

And a well-bespoke man was he;

‘I have a wife in fair Exeter,

And a widow I fear she must be.’

The next bespoke the little cabbin-boy,

And a well-bespoke boy was he;

‘I am as sorry for my mother dear

As you are for your wives all three.

‘Last night, when the moon shin’d bright,

My mother had sons five,

But now she may look in the salt seas

And find but one alive.’

‘Call a boat, call a boat, you little Plymouth boys,

Don’t you hear how the trumpet[s] sound?

[For] the want of our boat our gallant ship is lost,

And the most of our merry men is drownd.’

Whilst the raging seas do roar,

And the lofty winds do blow,

And we poor seamen do lie on the top,

Whilst the landmen lies below.

=a.= Chappell’s Popular Music of the Olden Time, p. 742. =b.= The

same, p. 743, one stanza and the burden, contributed by Mr Charles

Sloman, in 1840. =c.= Notes and Queries, 6th Series, VII, 276,

communicated from memory by Mr Thomas Bayne, Helensburgh, N. B.,

stanzas 1, 6.

One Friday morn when we set sail,

Not very far from land,

We there did espy a fair pretty maid

With a comb and a glass in her hand, her hand, her hand,

With a comb and a glass in her hand.

While the raging seas did roar,

And the stormy winds did blow,

While we jolly sailor-boys were up into the top,

And the land-lubbers lying down below, below, below,

And the land-lubbers lying down below.

Then up starts the captain of our gallant ship,

And a brave young man was he:

‘I’ve a wife and a child in fair Bristol town,

But a widow I fear she will be.’

For the raging seas, etc.

Then up starts the mate of our gallant ship,

And a bold young man was he:

‘Oh! I have a wife in fair Portsmouth town,

But a widow I fear she will be.’

For the raging seas, etc.

Then up starts the cook of our gallant ship,

And a gruff old soul was he:

‘Oh! I have a wife in fair Plymouth town,

But a widow I fear she will be.’

And then up spoke the little cabin-boy,

And a pretty little boy was he;

‘Oh! I am more grievd for my daddy and my mammy

Than you for your wives all three.’

Then three times round went our gallant ship,

And three times round went she;

For the want of a life-boat they all went down,

And she sank to the bottom of the sea.

Communicated by Mr W. Chappell, as noted down by him from the singing

of men dressed as sailors, on Tower Hill. Subsequently printed, with a

few variations, in Old English Ditties, Oxenford and Macfarren, I, 206.

One Friday morn as we’d set sail,

And our ship not far from land,

We there did espy a fair mermaid,

With a comb and a glass in her hand, her hand, her hand,

With a comb and a glass in her hand.

While the raging seas did roar,

And the stormy winds did blow,

And we jolly sailor-boys were up, up aloft,

And the landsmen were lying down below,

And the landlubbers all down below, below, below,

And the landlubbers all down below.

Then up spoke the captain of our gallant ship,

Who at once did our peril see;

I have married a wife in fair London town,

And tonight she a widow will be.’

And then up spoke the litel cabin-boy,

And a fair-haired boy was he;

‘I’ve a father and mother in fair Portsmouth town,

And this night she will weep for me.’

Now three times round goes our gallant ship,

And three times round went she;

For the want of a life-boat they all were drownd,

As she went to the bottom of the sea.

=a.= Long, A Dictionary of the Isle of Wight Dialect, London, 1886, p.

142. =b.= H. Such, 177 Union St., Boro’.

’Twas a Friday morning when we set sail,

And our ship was not far from land,

When there we spied a fair pretty maid,

With a comb and a glass in her hand.

Oh, the raging seas they did roar,

And the stormy winds they did blow,

While we poor sailor-boys were all up aloft,

And the land-lubbers lying down below, below, below,

And the land-lubbers lying down below.

Then up spoke the captain of our gallant ship,

And a mariner good was he;

‘I have married a wife in fair London town,

And this night a widow she will be.’

Then up spoke the cabin-boy of our gallant ship,

And a brave little boy was he;

‘I’ve a father and a mother in old Portsmouth town,

And this night they will both weep for me.’

Then up spoke a seaman of our gallant ship,

And a well-spoken man was he;

‘For want of a long-boat we shall all be drowned,

And shall sink to the bottom of the sea.’

Then three times round went that gallant ship,

And down like a stone sank she;

The moon shone bright, and the stars gave their light,

But they were all at the bottom of the sea.

=a.= Motherwell’s MS., p. 145. =b.= Motherwell’s Minstrelsy, Appendix,

p. xxiii, No XXX, the first stanza.

Up and spoke the bonny mermaid,

Wi the comb and the glass in her hand;

Says, Cheer up your hearts, my mariners all,

You are not very far from the land.

And the raging seas do foam, foam,

And the stormy winds do blow,

While we poor sailors must mount to the top,

When the landsmen they lye low.

Out and spoke the captain of our ship,

And a fine little man was he;

‘O I’ve a wife in fair London town,

And a widow this night she shall be.’

Out and spoke the mate of our ship,

And a tight little man was he;

‘O I’ve a wife in Dublin city,

And a widow this night she shall be.’

Out and spoke our second mate,

And a clever little man was he;

‘Oh I have a wife in Greenock town,

And a widow this night she shall be.’

Out and spoke our little prentice boy,

And a fine little boy was he;

‘Oh I am sorry for my mother,’ he said,

‘As you are for your wives all three.’

Out and spoke the cook of our ship,

And a rusty old dog was he;

Says, I am as sorry for my pats and my pans

As you are for your wives all three.

Kinloch MSS, VII, 245. From the recitation of a little boy from

Glasgow, who sang it in Grove St., Edinburgh, July, 1826.

Greenland, Greenland, is a bonny, bonny place,

Whare there’s neither grief nor flowr,

Whare there’s neither grief nor tier to be seen,

But hills and frost and snow.

Up starts the kemp o the ship,

Wi a psalm-book in his hand:

‘Swoom away, swoom away, my merry old boys,

For you’ll never see dry land.’

Up starts the gaucy cook,

And a weil gaucy cook was he;

‘I wad na gie aw my pans and my kettles

For aw the lords in the sea.’

Up starts the kemp o the ship,

Wi a bottle and a glass intil his hand;

‘Swoom away, swoom away, my merry old sailors,

For you’ll never see dry land.’

O the raging seas they row, row, row,

The stormy winds do blow,

As sune as he had gane up to the tap,

As. .. .. low.

* * * * *

=A.=

6^2. _Qy_, that ever we did have?

7^{3,4}.

_Qy_, And in all, there was but poor ninety-five

That ever came alive on shore.?

14^1. Whilst we in the raging seas do blow.

14^2. And there lofty minds.

=B. b.=

2^1. Then up spoke.

2^{3,4}.

I have sixty gallant seamen aboard of my ship,

But none half so gallant as he, as he, as he,

But there’s none half so gallant as he.

_Burden_:

While the vivid lightnings flash,

And the stormy winds do blow,

While we poor seamen are up, up aloft,

And the landsmen are all down below, below, below,

And the landsmen are all down below.

=c.=

1^2. And our ship not far.

6^3. we all.

6^4. And sank.

=C.=

1^3. _Var._, a fair pretty maid.

_In_ Old English Ditties, _etc._ (_perhaps Oxenford’s changes_):

1^1. when we set.

1^3. a fair pretty maid.

2^4. this night.

3^4. they will.

4^1. Then three times round went.

4^3. they both went down.

4^4. As she sunk to.

_Burden_:

4. And the land-lubbers lying down below, below, below.

5. And the landsmen were all down below.

_6. Wanting._

=D. b.=

On Friday morning as we set sail,

It was not far from land,

O there I espy’d a fair pretty girl,

With the comb and the glass in her hand.

O the stormy winds they did blow,

And the raging seas did roar,

While we poor sailors go up to the top,

And the land-lubbers lie down below.

Then up spoke a boy of our gallant ship,

And a well-spoken boy was he;

‘I’ve a father and mother in fair Portsmouth town,

And this night they will weep for me.’

Then up spoke a man of our gallant ship,

And a well-spoken man was he;

‘I have married a wife in fair London town,

And this night a widow she shall be.’

Then up spoke the captain of our gallant ship,

And a valiant man was he;

‘For want of a long-boat we shall all be drowned,’

So she sunk to the bottom of the sea.

The moon shone bright, and the stars gave light,

And my mother is looking for me;

She might look, she might weep, with watery eyes,

She might look to the bottom of the sea.

_A broadside by Birt, otherwise like Such’s, adds_:

Three times round went our gallant ship,

And three times round went she;

Three times round went our gallant ship,

Then she sunk to the bottom of the sea.

British Museum, 11621. k. 5 (167).

=E. b.=

O up and spak the bonnie mermaid,

Wi the glass and the kaim in her hand;

‘Reek about, reek about, ye mariners all,

For ye’re not very far from the land.’

=F.=

3^2. was she.

290

THE WYLIE WIFE OF THE HIE TOUN HIE

=A.= ‘My lady ye shall be,’ “Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border

Minstrelsy,” Thomas Wilkie’s MS., p. 74, Abbotsford.

=B.= John Struthers, The British Minstrel, 1821, I, XXV.

=C.= ‘The Bonnie Lass o the Hie Toun End.’ Communicated by Mr David

Louden, of Morham, Haddington, 1873.

=D.= ‘The Flowers of Edinburgh,’ Gibb MS., No 14, p. 57.

This ballad, which Motherwell pronounces to be “of some antiquity and

of considerable popularity,” is of the same pernicious tenor as ‘The

Broom o Cowdenknows,’ with the aggravation of treachery. The dénoûment

is similar in ‘The Dainty Downby,’ Herd’s MSS, I, 45, printed in his

Scottish Songs, 1776, II, 232, ‘The Laird o the Dainty Downby,’ Kinloch

MSS, V, 145, and in ‘The Laird o Keltie,’ Kinloch MSS, I, 363, ‘The

Young Laird o Keltie,’ III, 107, Motherwell MS., p. 21, both of one

pattern, and that quite trashy.

“Scotch Ballads, Materials for Border Minstrelsy,” No 72, Thomas

Wilkie’s MS., 1813-15, p. 74, Abbotsford; taken down from the

recitation of a female friend, who sang it to a lively air.

It fell about the Martinmas,

When the gentlemen were drinking there wine,

And a’ the discourse that they had

Was about the ladies they gude fine.

It’s up an spake a tall young man,

The tallest o the companie;

‘The bonniest lass that I ken off

She lives into the hee toun hee.

‘O I would give a guinea of gold,

A guinea and a pint of wine,

I would give it to the hostler’s wife,

For to wile that bonny lassie in.’

The hostler’s wife gaed down the stair,

And she’s looked hersell round near by,

And there she spied the bonny handsom girl,

Coming walking down the hee town high.

‘Come in, come in, my bonny handsom girl,

Come speak one word with me;

Come taste a little of our wine,

For it’s new come out of Italie.’

So willillie she wil’d her up,

And so willillie she wil’d her in,

And so cunningly she’s locked the door,

And she’s comd down the stair again.

One of them took her by the milk-white hand,

And he’s laid her body on the ground,

And aye she sightd, and said, Alass,

’Tis a sin to do me wrong!

‘But since ye hae done sae muckle to me,

And brought me to so muckle shame,

O wad ye be so kind to me

As to tell to me your name.’

‘O if I tell to you my name,

It’s a thing I never did to none;

But I will tell to the, my dear;

I am the Earl of Beaton’s son.’

When two years were past and gone,

This gentleman came walking by,

And there he spied the bonny handsome girl,

Coming walking down the hie town high.

‘To whom belongs that pretty child,

That blinks with its pretty eye?’

‘His father’s from home and has left me alone,

And I have been at the fold milking my ky.’

‘You lie, you lie, my bonny handsome girl,

So loudlie I hear you lie;

O do not you mind that happie day

When ye was drinking the wine wi me?’

He’s lighted off his milk-white steed,

He’s kissd her both cheeck and chin;

He’s made a’ the servants in Beaton castle

To welcome this fair lady in.

Struthers’s British Minstrel, I, XXV., from recitation.

It fell about the Martinmas time,

When the nobles were drinking wine,

And the matter of their discourse it was,

‘O the ladies they go fine:’

Up then spake a brave gentleman,

The best in the companie;

‘The bonniest lass that eer I saw,

She dwells in the hie town hie.

‘I wad give a guinea of red gold,

Sae wad I a pint of wine,

To onie of the hostler-wives

That wad wyle to me the bonnie lassie in.’

Up then spake the hostler’s wife,

And an ill death may she die!

‘An ye’ll gie me a guinea of gold,

I will wyle the bonnie lassie in to thee.’

The hostler’s wife stood on the stair-head,

To see what she could see,

And there she saw this fair creature,

Coming down frae the hie town hie.

‘Come in, come in, my bonnie, bonnie lass,

Come in and speak with me;

Come in and drink a glass of wine,

That’s new come aff the raging sea.’

‘My father’s out upon the plain,

And I am waiting his incoming;

And I’m a girl so neat and trim

That I’m afraid of your merry men.’

‘My merry men are all gone out,

And they will not be in till nine,

And, if ye would my favour win,

Come in and drink a glass of wine.’

Sae cunningly she wyld her in,

And sae cunningly she led her round,

Till she wyld her to the room where he was,

And she locked the door the bonnie lass behind.

First he kissd her cherry cheeks,

And than he kissd her cherry chin,

And than he kissd her ruby lips,

Saying, Indeed ye’re a weel-faurd thing.

* * * * * * * *

‘O since ye’ve got your will o me,

And brought me unto public shame,

I pray, kind sir, ye’ll marry me,

Or that ye’ll tell me what’s your name.’

‘If I tell my name to you, bonnie lassie,

It’s mair than ever I telld ane;

But I will tell to you, bonnie lassie;

I am an earl’s second son.

‘I am an earl’s second son,

My father has more children than me;

My eldest brother he heirs the land,

And my father he sent me to the sea.’

He put his hand into his pocket,

And he gave her sixty guineas and three,

Saying, Fare thee weel, my lovely young creature,

Ye’ll never get mair of me.

As she went down through Edinburgh streets,

The bonnie bells as they did ring,

‘Farewell, fareweel, my bonnie, bonnie lassie,

Ye’ve got the clod that winna cling.’

* * * * * * * *

He hadna been ae week at the sea,

Not a week but only five,

Till the king made him a captain sae brave,

And he made the bonnie lassie his wife.

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

Haddington, as recited by Mrs Richard Dodds, Morham, Loanhead, “aged

over seventy.”

In Edinburgh, on a summer evening,

Our gentlemen sat drinking wine,

And every one to the window went,

To view the ladies, they went so fine.

They drank the wine, and they spilt the beer,

So merrily as the reel went round,

And a’ the healths that was drucken there

Was to the bonnie lass o the hie toun end.

Up then spoke a young squire’s son,

And as he spoke it all alone;

‘Oh, I would give a guinea of gold,

And so would I a pint of wine,

And I would make them their licence free

That would welcome this bonnie lassie in.’

The ostler’s wife, on hearin this,

So nimbly down the stairs she ran,

And the first toun’s-body that she met

Was the bonnie lass o the hie toun end.

‘Mistress, ye maun gang wi me

And get a cup o oor claret wine;

It’s new come oer the ragin sea,

Awat it is baith gude and fine.’

‘To gang wi you I daurna stay,

My mither’s wearyin for me in;

I am so beautiful and fine

I am a prey to all young men.’

Wi sattin slippers on her feet,

So nimbly up the stair she ran,

And wha so ready as this young squire

To welcome the bonny lassie in.

He[’s] taen her by the milk-white hand,

He’s gently led her through the room,

And aye she sighed, and aye she said,

It would be a pity to do me wrong.

‘Now, since you’ve taken your will o me,

I pray, kind sir, tell me your name;’

‘Oh yes, my dear, indeed,’ he said

‘But it’s more than I ever did to one.

‘I am a squire and a squire’s son,

My faither has fifty ploughs o land,

And I’m a man in the militrie,

And I must away and rank up my men.

‘And Jamie Lumsdaine is my name,

From the North Countrie, love, I really came.’

About a twelvemonth after that,

He sent a letter owre the main,

And muckle writin was therein,

To the bonnie lass o the hie toun end.

About a twelvemonth after that,

He himsel cam owre the main;

He made her Duchess o Douglas Dale,

And to him she’s had a fine young son.

Gibb MS., No 14, p. 57. From the recitation of Eppie Fraser, daughter

of a tramp, and unable to read, about 1840.

All the soldiers in Edinburgh town

Were sitting drinking at the wine,

An all the toasts that were among them

Was a health to the lassie that goes sae fine.

Up then spake an officier,

The bravest in the company;

‘To every one I will give a guinea,

A guinea and a pint of wine,

To the ostler’s wife I wald double it a’,

If she’d entice that young lassie in.’

The old wife tripped down the stair,

And aye she said, ‘A good morrow, dame!’

And aye she said, an the maid replied,

‘What is your will wi me, madam?’

‘It’s not to do you any harm,

Or yet your body any ill,

But, if you would my favour gain,

Come up an taste one glass of wine.’

‘My father stands on the stair-head,

Just lookin for me to come in;

I am so proper and so tall

I’m much afraid of your merry men.’

‘My merry men, they are all gone out,

An they will not be in till dine;

So, if you would my favour gain,

Come up an taste a glass of wine.’

The fair maid tripped up the stair,

The old wife bolted the door behind;

He’s tane her in his arms twa,

Says, O but ye are a bonny thing!

Twenty times he kissed her cheek,

An twenty times her bonny chin,

An twenty times her ruby lips:

‘O but ye are a bonny thing!’

* * * * * * * *

‘Noo, since ye’ve got your wills o me,

What is your name, I pray you tell;

. . . . . . . .

. . . . where you dwell.’

. . . . . . . .

‘My eldest brother, he heirs the land;

I was forced to be a highwayman,

Or else a soldier, as I am.’

An aye the lassie she sat an grat,

An aye thae words spak them atween,

An aye the lassie she sat an grat,

And cursed the auld wife that brocht her in.

They had na been in Edinburgh

A month, a month but only nine,

When they have got the royal commission

For to march to Aberdeen.

An aye the lassie she sat an grat,

An aye thae words spak them atween,

An aye the lassie she sat an grat,

And cursed the auld wife that brocht her in.

They had na been in Aberdeen

A month, a month but only one,

When he got on the captain’s coat,

An made her lady o his land.

An aye the lassie she sat an sang,

An aye thae words spak them atween,

An aye the lassie she sat an sang,

An hersed the auld wife that brocht her in.

* * * * *

=A.=

1^4. _Qy_, gade?

3^1. _Written_ and af pint gold, _with_ pint _struck out (anticipation

of the next line)_.

5^4. now come.

=B.=

_Motherwell, Minstrelsy_, p. xci, _supplies, from a recited version,

after 15:_

Aye she sat, and aye she grat,

And kaimd her yellow hair,

And aye she cursd the hostler’s wife,

That wysit her in at the door.

_And after 16:_

Aye she sat, and aye she sang,

And kaimd her yellow hair,

And aye she blessd the hostler’s wife,

That wysit her in at the door.

_Compare_ =D= 13, 15.

291

CHILD OWLET

‘Childe Owlet,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 27;

Motherwell’s MS., p. 572.

Lady Erskine invites Child Owlet to be her paramour. Child Owlet

revolts at the suggestion; he is sister’s son to Lord Ronald. The lady

cuts herself with a penknife sufficiently to draw blood; Lord Ronald

hears her moaning, comes in, and asks what blood this is; his wife

gives him to understand that Child Owlet has offered her violence. A

council is held upon the case, and the youth is condemned to be torn by

four horses. There was not a twig or a rush on the moor that was not

dropping with his blood.

The chain of gold in the first stanza and the penknife below the bed

in the fourth have a false ring, and the story is of the tritest. The

ballad seems at best to be a late one, and is perhaps mere imitation,

but, for an imitation, the last two stanzas are unusually successful.

Lady Erskine sits in her chamber,

Sewing at her silken seam,

A chain of gold for Childe Owlet,

As he goes out and in.

But it fell ance upon a day

She unto him did say,

Ye must cuckold Lord Ronald,

For a’ his lands and ley.

‘O cease! forbid, madam,’ he says,

‘That this shoud eer be done!

How would I cuckold Lord Ronald,

And me his sister’s son?’

Then she’s ta’en out a little penknife,

That lay below her bed,

Put it below her green stay’s cord,

Which made her body bleed.

Then in it came him Lord Ronald,

Hearing his lady’s moan;

‘What blood is this, my dear,’ he says,

‘That sparks on the fire-stone?’

‘Young Childe Owlet, your sister’s son,

Is now gane frae my bower;

If I hadna been a good woman,

I’d been Childe Owlet’s whore.’

Then he has taen him Childe Owlet,

Laid him in prison strong,

And all his men a council held

How they woud work him wrong.

Some said they woud Childe Owlet hang,

Some said they woud him burn;

Some said they woud have Childe Owlet

Between wild horses torn.

‘There are horses in your stables stand

Can run right speedilie,

And ye will to your stable go,

And wile out four for me.’

They put a foal to ilka foot,

And are to ilka hand,

And sent them down to Darling muir,

As fast as they coud gang.

There was not a kow in Darling muir,

Nor ae piece o a rind,

But drappit o Childe Owlet’s blude

And pieces o his skin.

There was not a kow in Darling muir,

Nor ae piece o a rash,

But drappit o Childe Owlet’s blude

And pieces o his flesh.

292

THE WEST-COUNTRY DAMOSEL’S COMPLAINT

=a.= Douce Ballads, II, fol. 254 b; Roxburghe Ballads, II, 499,

Ebsworth, VI, 635. =b.= Douce Ballads, II, 245 b.

Also, Crawford Ballads, No 1331, Euing, 384. All the five: Printed

for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball in West-Smithfield, neer the

Hospital-gate. (1672-95.)

A maid entreats her lover, William, to marry her or put an end to her

life. He unfeelingly bids her go to the wood and live on hips and

haws. She leads this life for three months; then, exhausted with the

hardship, goes to her sister’s house and begs an alms of food. The

sister (who is her rival, st. 18) orders her men to hunt away the wild

doe, and they drive her back to the forest, where she lies down and

dies. Sweet William comes, stands at her head and her feet, kisses her,

gives vent to his repentance and admiration in intense and elaborate

expressions, then lies down by her side and dies.

The first eleven stanzas are in a fairly popular tone. It will be

observed that the first and third verses rhyme in 12-24, but not in

1-11. The whole may be one man’s work, who may have thought that an

elegy should properly be more artificial, both in form and in style,

than a story, but I incline to think that the lament is a later

attachment.

‘When will you marry me, William,

And make me your wedded wife?

Or take you your keen bright sword

And rid me out of my life.’

‘Say no more so then, lady,

Say you no more then so,

For you shall into the wild forrest,

And amongst the buck and doe.

‘Where thou shalt eat of the hips and haws,

And the roots that are so sweet,

And thou shalt drink of the cold water,

That runs underneath [thy] feet.’

Now she had not been in the wild forrest

Passing three months and a day,

But with hunger and cold she had her fill,

Till she was quite worn away.

At last she saw a fair tyl’d-house,

And there she swore by the rood

That she would to that fair tyl’d-house,

There for to get her some food.

But when she came unto the gates,

Aloud, aloud she cry’d,

An alms, an alms, my own sister!

I ask you for no pride.

Her sister calld up her merry men all,

By one, by two, and by three,

And bid them hunt away that wild doe,

As far as ere they could see.

They hunted her ore hill and dale,

And they hunted her so sore

That they hunted her into the forrest,

Where her sorrows grew more and more.

She laid a stone all at her head,

And another all at her feet,

And down she lay between these two,

Till death had lulld her asleep.

When sweet Will came and stood at her head,

And likewise stood at her feet,

A thousand times he kist he[r] cold lips,

Her body being fast asleep.

Yea, seaven times he stood at her feet,

And seaven times at her head,

A thousand times he shook her hand,

Although her body was dead.

‘Ah wretched me!’ he loudly cry’d,

‘What is it that I have done?

O woud to the powers above I’de dy’d,

When thus I left her alone!

‘Come, come, you gentle red-breast now,

And prepare for us a tomb,

Whilst unto cruel Death I bow,

And sing like a swan my doom.

‘Why could I ever cruel be

Unto so fair a creature?

Alas! she dy’d for love of me,

The loveliest she in nature!

‘For me she left her home so fair

To wander in this wild grove,

And there with sighs and pensive care

She ended her life for love.

‘O constancy, in her thou’rt lost!

Now let women boast no more;

She’s fled unto the Elizium coast,

And with her carryd the store.

‘O break, my heart, with sorrow filld,

Come, swell, you strong tides of grief!

You that my dear love have killd,

Come, yield in death to me relief.

‘Cruel her sister, was’t for me

That to her she was unkind?

Her husband I will never be,

But with this my love be joynd.

‘Grim Death shall tye the marriage-bands,

Which jealousie shan’t divide;

Together shall tye our cold hands,

Whilst here we lye side by side.

‘Witness, ye groves, and chrystial streams,

How faithless I late have been,

But do repent with dying leaves

Of that my ungrateful sin;

‘And wish a thousand times that I

Had been but to her more kind,

And not have let a virgin dye

Whose equal there’s none can find.

‘Now heaps of sorrow press my soul;

Now, now’t is she takes her way;

I come, my love, without controule,

Nor from thee will longer stay.’

With that he fetchd a heavy groar

Which rent his tender breast,

And then by her he laid him down,

When as death did give him rest.

Whilst mournful birds, with leavy boughs,

To them a kind burial gave,

And warbled out their love-sick vows,

Whilst they both slept in their grave.

* * * * *

The West-Country Damosels Complaint,

or,

The Faithful Lovers Last Farewel.

Being the relation of a young maid who pined herself to death for the

love of a young man, who, after he had notice of it, dyed likewise for

grief.

Careless young men, by this a warning take

How you kind virgins, when they love, forsake;

Least the same fate oretake you, and you dye

For breach of vows and infidelity.

Be kind, but swear not more then what you mean,

Least comick jests become a trajeck scean.

To the tune of Johnny Armstrong.

* * * * *

=a.=

20^3. leaves _(so in all) seems doubtful, but I can conjecture nothing

better_. gleams _is just possible_.

=b.=

2^3. thou shalt unto.

3^4. runs beneath thy.

11^2. times stood.

20^4. that _wanting_.

22^4. will no longer.

293

JOHN OF HAZELGREEN

=A.= Elizabeth Cochrane’s MS., p. 126.

=B.= ‘Jock o Hazelgreen,’ Kinloch MSS, VII, 135; Kinloch’s Ancient

Scottish Ballads, p. 206.

=C.= ‘John o Hazelgreen,’ Kinloch MSS, I, 319.

=D. a.= ‘John o Hazelgreen,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of

Scotland, II, 253. =b.= ‘Jock of Hazelgreen,’ Chambers, Scottish

Ballads, p. 319.

=E. a.= Fragmentary verses obtained by Mr Pringle, Kinloch MSS, I,

321. =b.= Kinloch MSS, VII, 2, one stanza.

=A= is found, with the doubtless accidental variation of three words,

in a folio volume at Abbotsford labelled Miscellanies, article 43,

having been transcribed by C. K. Sharpe for Sir W. Scott “from a 4to

MS., in a female hand, written probably about one hundred years ago,

sold at one Inglis’s roup at the West Port, Edinburgh, now in the

possession of David Laing” (that is, Elizabeth Cochrane’s MS.). =D b=

was compounded from =D a= and =B=, “omitting,” says Chambers, “many of

the coarser stanzas of both, and improving a few by collation with a

third version which I took down from recitation, and another which has

been shown to me in manuscript by Mr Kinloch” (=C=). =D b= is, after

all, mainly =D a= with omissions; the improvements from the recited

copy (or the variations from Buchan and Kinloch) are not remarkable

in amount or quality. =E= is given on Kinloch’s authority. Alexander

Campbell, when on a tour on the borders of Scotland to collect Scottish

airs, is said to have received the first stanza from Mr Thomas Pringle,

who derived it from his mother’s singing. (Chappell, Popular Music,

p. 575.) Upon this traditional stanza was built Scott’s ‘Jock of

Hazeldean,’ first printed in Campbell’s Albyn’s Anthology, I, 18, 1816.

=A.= A gentleman overhears a damsel making a moan for Sir John of

Hazelgreen. After some compliment on his part, and some slight

information on hers, he tells her that Hazelgreen is married; then

there is nothing for her to do, she says, but to hold her peace and

die for him. The gentleman proposes that she shall let Hazelgreen go,

marry his eldest son, and be made a gay lady; she is too mean a maid

for that, and, anyway, had rather die for the object of her affection.

Still she allows the gentleman to take her up behind him on his horse,

and to buy clothes for her at Biggar, though all the time dropping

tears for Hazelgreen. After the shopping they mount again, and at last

they come to the gentleman’s place, when the son runs out to welcome

his father. The son is young Hazelgreen, who takes the maid in his arms

and kisses off the still-falling tears. The father declares that the

two shall be married the next day, and the young man have the family

lands.

The other versions have the same story, but the clothes are bought at

Edinburgh, and the Hazelgreen estate seems to be in the neighborhood.

In a preface to =C=, Kinloch, following either =D= 5 or some foolish

popular gloss, remarks that the lady is presumed to have seen young

Hazelgreen only in a dream, which left so deep an impression on her

mind as to cause her to fall in love with his image. To improve upon

this, =D= 15 makes the young man also to have seen the maid in a dream.

Elizabeth Cochrane’s MS., p. 126.

Into a sweet May morning,

As the sun clearly shone,

I heard a propper damsell

Making a heavy moan;

Making a heavy moan,

I marvelled what she did mean,

And it was for a gentleman,

Sir John of Hasillgreen.

‘What aileth thee now, bony maid,

To mourn so sore into the tide?

O happy were the man,’ he sayes,

‘That had thee to his bride,

To ly down by his side;

Then he were not to mean;’

But still she let the tears down fall

For pleasant Hasilgreen.

‘Oh what for a man is Hasillgreen?

Sweet heart, pray tell to me.’

‘He is a propper gentleman,

Dwels in the South Countrie;

With shoulders broad and arms long,

And comely to be seen;

His hairs are like the threeds of gold,

My pleasant Hasilgreen.’

‘Now Hasilgreen is married,

Let all this talking be.’

‘If Hasilgreen be married,

This day then woe to me;

For I may sigh and sob no more,

But close my weeping een,

And hold my peace and cry no more,

But dy for Hasilgreen.’

‘Will you let Hasilgreen alone,

And go along with me?

I’ll marry you on my eldest son,

Make you a gay lady.’

‘Make me a gay lady?’ she sayes,

‘I am a maid too mean;

I’ll rather stay at home,’ she cries,

‘And dy for Hasilgreen.’

He takes this pretty maid him behind

And fast he spurred the horse,

And they’re away to Bigger toun,

Then in to Biggar Cross.

Their lodging was far sought,

And so was it foreseen;

But still she let the tears doun fall

For pleasant Hasillgreen.

He’s ta’en this pretty maid by the hand,

And he is doun the toun;

He bought for her a pettycoat,

Yea, and a trailing goun;

A silken kell fitt for her head,

Laid oer with silver sheen;

But still she let the tears doun fall

For pleasant Hasilgreen.

He’s taen this bony mey him behind,

And he is to the Place,

Where there was mirth and merryness,

And ladyes fair of face;

And ladyes fair of face,

Right seemly to be seen,

But still she let the tears doun fall

For pleasant Hasilgreen.

Young Hasilgreen ran hastilie

To welcome his father dear;

He’s ta’en that pretty maid in his arms,

And kist off her falling tear:

‘O bony mey, now for thy sake

I would be rent and rien;

I would give all my father’s lands

To have thee in Hasilgreen.’

‘O hold your tongue now, son,’ he sayes,

‘Let no more talking be;

This maid has come right far from home

This day to visit thee.

This day should been your wedding-day,

It shall be thy bridall-een,

And thou’s get all thy father’s lands,

And dwell in Hasillgreen.’

Kinloch’s MSS, VII, 135; from the recitation of Jenny Watson, Lanark,

24 April, 1826.

It was on a morning early,

Before day-licht did appear,

I heard a pretty damsel

Making a heavy bier;

Making a heavy bier,

I wonderd what she did mean;

But ay the tears they rappit doun,

Crying, O Jock o Hazelgreen!

‘O whare is this Hazelgreen, maid?

That I may him see.’

‘He is a ticht and a proper man,

Lives in the South Cuntree.

His shoulders broad, his arms lang,

O he’s comely to be seen!’--

But ay the tears they drappit doun

For Jock o Hazelgreen.

‘Will ye gang wi me, fair maid?

. . . . . . .

And I’ll marry ye on my son,’

. . . . . . .

‘Afore I’d go along wi you,

To be married on your son,

I’d rather choose to stay at hame,

And die for Hazelgreen.’

But he has tane her up behind,

And spurred on his horse,

Till ance he cam to Embro toun,

And lichted at the corss.

He bought to her a petticoat,

Besides a handsome goun;

He tied a silver belt about her waist,

Worth thrice three hunder pund.

And whan he cam to Hazelyetts,

He lichted doun therein;

Monie war the brave ladies there,

Monie ane to be seen.

She lichted doun amang them aw,

She seemed to be the queen;

But ay the tears they rappit doun

For Jock o Hazelgreen.

Young Hazelgreen took her by the hand

And led her out and in:

Said, Bonnie lady, for your sake,

I could be baith rent and rien;

I wad gie aw my lands and rents,

Tho I had kingdoms three,

If I could hae the great pleasure

To enjoy thy fair bodie.

‘No more of this,’ his father said,

‘Of your mourning let abee;

I brought the damsel far frae hame,

She’s thrice as wae for thee.

The morn is your bridal-day,

The nicht is your bridal-een,

And I’ll gie you aw my lands and rents,

My pleasing son, Hazelgreen.’

Kinloch MSS, I, 319.

As I gaed out in a May morning,

Afore that I could see,

And there I heard a pretty fair may

Making sweet melodie.

She was making sic melodie,

I wonderd what she could mean;

But ay she sang and sang about

Sweet John o Hazelgreen.

‘O what na man is Hazelgreen?

Fair may, pray tell to me.’

‘He is a stout and a tall young man

As in a’ the South Countrie.

He is a stout and a tall young man,

And comely to be seen;

But still O I maun weep and wail

For John o Hazelgreen.’

‘Hold your tongue, fair maid,’ he says,

‘And let your weeping alane;

I’ll marry you to my eldest son,

And you shall be ca’d my dame.’

He has tane her on ahint him,

And fast he spurred the steed;

For Edinbro town he there was bound,

Where they soon came wi speed.

He’s tane her to the Luckenbooths,

Coft her a braw new gown,

A handsome feather for her hat,

And a pair o silken shoon.

He has tane the fair may up again,

And fast awa rode he;

For Hazelgreen now he was bound,

Her lodging there to be.

She jumped aff frae ahint him,

As fair as any queen;

‘Come down, come down, Lord John,’ he says,

‘And welcome your lady hame.

‘It is the tall and comely youth,

Sweet John o Hazelgreen;

If we canna see it bridal-day,

It shall be bridal-een.’

=a.= Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 253. =b.=

Chambers, Scottish Ballads, p. 319.

As I went forth to take the air

Intill an evening clear,

And there I spied a lady fair,

Making a heavy bier;

Making a heavy bier, I say,

But and a piteous meen,

And aye she sighd, and said, Alas,

For John o Hazelgreen!

The sun was sinking in the west,

The stars were shining clear,

When thro the thickets o the wood,

A gentleman did appear.

Says, Who has done you the wrong, fair maid,

And left you here alane?

Or who has kissd your lovely lips,

That ye ca Hazelgreen?

‘Hold your tongue, kind sir,’ she said,

‘And do not banter so;

How will ye add affliction

Unto a lover’s woe?

For none’s done me the wrong,’ she said,

‘Nor left me here alane;

Nor none has kissd my lovely lips,

That I ca Hazelgreen.’

‘Why weep ye by the tide, lady?

Why weep ye by the tide?

How blythe and happy might he be

Gets you to be his bride!

Gets you to be his bride, fair maid,

And him I’ll no bemean;

But when I take my words again,

Whom call ye Hazelgreen?

‘What like a man was Hazelgreen?

Will ye show him to me?’

‘He is a comely, proper youth

I in my sleep did see;

Wi arms tall, and fingers small,

He’s comely to be seen;’

And aye she loot the tears down fall

For John o Hazelgreen.

‘If ye’ll forsake young Hazelgreen,

And go along with me,

I’ll wed you to my eldest son,

Make you a lady free.’

‘It’s for to wed your eldest son

I am a maid oer mean;

I’ll rather stay at home,’ she says

‘And die for Hazelgreen.’

‘If ye’ll forsake young Hazelgreen,

And go along with me,

I’ll wed you to my second son,

And your weight o gowd I’ll gie.’

‘It’s for to wed your second son

I am a maid oer mean;

I’ll rather stay at home,’ she says,

‘And die for Hazelgreen.’

Then he’s taen out a siller comb,

Combd down her yellow hair;

And lookëd in a diamond bright,

To see if she were fair.

‘My girl, ye do all maids surpass

That ever I have seen;

Cheer up your heart, my lovely lass,

And hate young Hazelgreen.’

‘Young Hazelgreen he is my love,

And ever mair shall be;

I’ll nae forsake young Hazelgreen

For a’ the gowd ye’ll gie.’

But aye she sighd, and said, Alas!

And made a piteous meen,

And aye she loot the tears down fa

For John o Hazelgreen.

He lookëd high, and lighted low,

Set her upon his horse;

And they rode on to Edinburgh,

To Edinburgh’s own cross.

And when she in that city was,

She lookd like ony queen:

‘’Tis a pity such a lovely lass

Shoud love young Hazelgreen.’

‘Young Hazelgreen, he is my love,

And ever mair shall be;

I’ll nae forsake young Hazelgreen

For a’ the gowd ye’ll gie.’

And aye she sighd, and said, Alas!

And made a piteous meen,

And aye she loot the tears down fa

For John o Hazelgreen.

‘Now hold your tongue, my well-fard maid,

Lat a’ your mourning be,

And a’ endeavours I shall try

To bring that youth to thee,

If ye’ll tell me where your love stays,

His stile and proper name.’

‘He’s laird o Taperbank,’ she says,

‘His stile, Young Hazelgreen.’

Then he has coft for that lady

A fine silk riding-gown,

Likewise he coft for that lady

A steed, and set her on;

Wi menji feathers in her hat,

Silk stockings and siller sheen,

And they are on to Taperbank,

Seeking young Hazelgreen.

They nimbly rode along the way,

And gently spurrd their horse,

Till they rode on to Hazelgreen,

To Hazelgreen’s own close.

Then forth he came, young Hazelgreen,

To welcome his father free:

‘You’re welcome here, my father dear,

And a’ your companie.’

But when he lookd oer his shoulder,

A light laugh then gae he;

Says, If I getna this lady,

It’s for her I must die.

I must confess this is the maid

I ance saw in a dream,

A walking thro a pleasant shade,

As fair’s a cypress queen.

‘Now hold your tongue, young Hazelgreen,

Lat a’ your folly be;

If ye be wae for that lady,

She’s thrice as wae for thee.

She’s thrice as wae for thee, my son,

As bitter doth complain;

Well is she worthy o the rigs

That lie on Hazelgreen.’

He’s taen her in his arms twa,

Led her thro bower and ha:

‘Cheer up your heart, my dearest dear,

Ye’re flower out-oer them a’.

This night shall be our wedding-een,

The morn we’ll say, Amen;

Ye’se never mair hae cause to mourn,

Ye’re lady o Hazelgreen.’

=a.= “Got in the South County by Mr Pringle:” Kinloch’s MSS, I, 321.

=b.= Kinloch’s MSS, VII, 2.

‘Why weep ye by the tide, ladye?

Why weep ye by the tide?

I’ll wed ye to my youngest son,

And ye sall be his bride.

And ye sall be his bride, ladye,

Sae comely to be seen;’

But aye she loot the tears down fa

For John o Hazelgreen.

‘O whaten a man is Hazelgreen?

I pray thee tell to me.’

‘O there’s not a handsomer gentleman

In a’ the South Countrie.

His arms are long, his shoulders broad,

Sae comely to be seen!’

And aye she loot the tears down fa

For John o Hazelgreen.

* * * * *

=A.=

1^5. she meant.

_Sharpe’s transcript reads_:

1^1. In _for_ Into.

5^2. come _for_ go.

8^6. Most _for_ Right.

=B.=

5^2. thereat; _changed to_ therein _in printing_. _The line is run

through in pencil._

6^4. raving. _Cf._ =A= 9^6.

_Kinloch made some changes in printing._

=C.=

_Written throughout in stanzas of four verses._

=D. b.=

_Since Chambers in some measure adjusted phraseology with a view

to “literary” effect, it is impossible to make out which of the

variations in his ballad came from the copy which he took down from

recitation. Upon extracting all his variations, they have not turned

out to be important. A few, which seem the most likely to have

belonged to his recited copy, are subjoined._

1^3. I spied a lady in a wood.

2^4. An auld knicht.

7^{3,5}. youngest _for_ second.

10^{5-8}.

And he has coft her silken claes

Garred her look like a queen:

‘Ye surely now will sick nae mair

For Jock o Hazelgreen.’

13^7. And they have ridden far athort.

_After 15._

For her sake I did vow a vow

I neer should wed but she;

Should this fair lady cruel prove,

I’ll lay me doun and dee.

16^{3,4,5}. sick _for_ wae.

16^{7,8}.

And a’ she wants to heal her woe

Is Jock o Hazelgreen.

17^4. Ye’re lady ower.

=E. b.=

‘What like a man is Haselgreen?

Lady, tell to me.’

‘He’s a handsome, proper youth

As ever my eyes did see.

With shoulders broad and arms long,

Most comely to be seen;’

And still she lout the tears doun fa

For Jock of Haselgreen.

294

DUGALL QUIN

‘Dugall Quin,’ The Old Lady’s MS. Collection, No 27.

In this little ballad, which has barely story enough to be so called,

Dugald Quin, a Highlander, who seems to give himself out as a man in

very humble circumstances, induces Lizzie Menzies, a young lady who

appears to have nine maids at her command, to follow him, regardless

of her father’s opposition. She cannot resist his merry winking eyes.

After she has cast in her lot with his, he promises her nine mills (to

match the nine maids), and to make her lady of Garlogie. The old lady

minutes at the end of her copy that “it was the Marquis of Huntly.”

One version of ‘Rob Roy,’ No 225, I, 8, has a stanza like 2.

‘What think ye o my coal-black hair,

But and my twinkling een, lady,

A little bonnet on my head,

And cocket up aboon, lady?’

I suppose the Farie of 6^2, 9^2, to stand for a locality on the

way north to Boggie (Strathbogie); I cannot, however, identify the

place. ‘Tempeng chiss of farie,’ 6^4, 9^4, 10^4, may be a tempting

fairy treasure. ‘Chis’ is Gaelic for _tribute_, but I am at present

unable, making whatever allowance for the capricious spelling of the

manuscript, to suggest any satisfying explanation of this important

phrase.

Sir Walter Scott makes this note: “How the devil came Dugald Gunn [so

he chooses to read Quin] to be identified with the Marquis of Huntly?

I never saw the song before; it has some spunk in it.” Sharpe’s Ballad

Book, ed. 1880, p. 154.

Dugall Quin came to the toun,

An he’s ben lang awaa,

An he is one to Lissie’s bed,

Tartan, trues, an a’.

‘Hou wad ye leak me, Lisie,’ he says,

‘Gin that I war yer ain,

We raged cot apon my back,

An singel-soled sheen,

A littel we bonnet on my head,

An tua merry wenking ean?’

‘Well wad I leak ye, Dugall,’ she says,

‘Gin that ye war my ain,

We ragged coat upon yer back,

An singel-soled sheen,

A littel we bonnet on yer head,

An tua merry wenking eyn.

‘Hou wad ye leak me, Dugall,’ she says,

‘Gin I wer yer ain,

We silken sneed upon my head,

An gold fann in my hand,

An madins ning, a’ clead in green,

To be att my comand?’

‘Well wad I leak ye, Lisie,’ he says,

‘Gin ye wer my ain,

We silken sneed upon yer head,

An a goud fan in yer hand,

An madins nine, a’ clad in green,

To be att yer command.

‘Follou me nou, Lisie,’ he says,

‘Follou me throu Farie,

An reap the boddoms of my pakets,

An ye’ll gett tempeng chiss of farei.’

Outspak her father, says,

Lissie, I widna wish ye,

For gin ye gay we this young man

They will say I ha bat lost ye.

‘O had yer toung, my father dear,

For a’ that winne brake me;

For I will gaa we this young man,

Since it’s his will to take me.’

‘Follou me nou, Lissë,’ he says,

‘An follou me throu Farie,

An reap the boddom of my poket,

An ye’ll gett tempeng chess of farie.’

‘Wea matt worth yer well-fared face,

Alas that ever I saa ye!

The first an thing that ever ye gaa to me

Was the tempen chess of farie.’

Dugall Quin read doun the toun,

Upon Dumfarling’s horses,

An Lisie Meanes folloued him,

For a’ her father’s forces.

‘Follou me nou, Lisie,’ he says,

‘An follou me our Boggie;

I ill make ye lady of ning mills,

An lady of bonny Garlogë.’

She has folloued her trou-love

[An folloued him] our Boggie,

An she has marred Dugall Quin,

An lives belou Strathbogy.

* * * * *

2^5. bomnet.

4^5, 12^3. ning: _a frequent spelling of the old lady’s, conceived,

perhaps, as_ nign. _We have_ nine _in_ 5^5.

12^3. ill; _MS._ aill.

_Note at the end_: it was the markes of Huntly.

295

THE BROWN GIRL

=A.= ‘The bonny Brown Girl,’ ‘The Brown Girl,’ The Brown Girl’s

Garland, British Museum, 11621. c. 3 (10).

=B.= As lately taken down in Devon by Rev. S. Baring-Gould.

A young man who has been attached to a girl sends her word by letter

that he cannot fancy her because she is so brown (he has left her for

another maid in =B=). She sends a disdainful reply. He writes again

that he is dangerously ill (he is love-sick in =B=), and begs her come

to him quickly and give him back his faith. She takes her time in

going, and when she comes to the sick man’s bedside, cannot stand for

laughing. She has, however, brought a white wand with her, which she

strokes on his breast, in sign that she gives him back the faith which

he had given her. But as to forgetting and forgiving, that she will

never do; she will dance upon his grave.

This little ballad recalls ‘Lord Thomas and Fair Annet’ (‘Lord Thomas

and Fair Ellinor, with the downfall of the Brown Girl’), ‘Sweet

William’s Ghost,’ ‘Clerk Saunders,’ ‘The Unquiet Grave,’ ‘Bonny Barbara

Allan,’ and has something of all of them. Compare No 73; No 77, =A= 4,

=B= 2, 9, =C= 6, 14, =D= 4, 13, =E= 6, 14; No 84 (for the laughing, =B=

12); No 69, =A= 20-22, =D= 11, 14, =E= 17-20, =G= 23-25; No 78, =B= 2,

=E= 2, =F= 2. Still it is not deliberately and mechanically patched

together (as are some pieces in Part VIII), and in the point of the

proud and unrelenting character of the Brown Girl it is original.

The Brown Girl’s Garland, British Museum, 11621. c. 3 (10), n. d.,

before 1788.

‘I am as brown as brown can be,

My eyes as black as a sloe;

I am as brisk as a nightingale,

And as wilde as any doe.

‘My love has sent me a love-letter,

Not far from yonder town,

That he could not fancy me,

Because I was so brown.

‘I sent him his letter back again,

For his love I valu’d not,

Whether that he could fancy me

Or whether he could not.

‘He sent me his letter back again,

That he lay dangerous sick,

That I might then go speedily

To give him up his faith.’

Now you shall hear what love she had

Then for this love-sick man;

She was a whole long summer’s day

In a mile a going on.

When she came to her love’s bed-side,

Where he lay dangerous sick,

She could not for laughing stand

Upright upon her feet.

She had a white wand all in her hand,

And smoothd it all on his breast;

‘In faith and troth come pardon me,

I hope your soul’s at rest.

‘I’ll do as much for my true-love

As other maidens may;

I’ll dance and sing on my love’s grave

A whole twelvemonth and a day.’

Taken down lately by Rev. S. Baring-Gould from a blacksmith, parish of

Thrushleton, Devon.

‘I am as brown as brown can be,

And my eyes as black as sloe;

I am as brisk as brisk can be,

And wild as forest doe.

‘My love he was so high and proud,

His fortune too so high,

He for another fair pretty maid

Me left and passed me by.

‘Me did he send a love-letter,

He sent it from the town,

Saying no more he loved me,

For that I was so brown.

‘I sent his letter back again,

Saying his love I valued not,

Whether that he would fancy me,

Whether that he would not.

‘When that six months were overpassd,

Were overpassd and gone,

Then did my lover, once so bold,

Lie on his bed and groan.

‘When that six months were overpassd,

Were gone and overpassd,

O then my lover, once so bold,

With love was sick at last.

‘First sent he for the doctor-man:

‘You, doctor, me must cure;

The pains that now do torture me

I can not long endure.’

‘Next did he send from out the town,

O next did send for me;

He sent for me, the brown, brown girl

Who once his wife should be.

‘O neer a bit the doctor-man

His sufferings could relieve;

O never an one but the brown, brown girl

Who could his life reprieve.’

Now you shall hear what love she had

For this poor love-sick man,

How all one day, a summer’s day,

She walked and never ran.

When that she came to his bedside,

Where he lay sick and weak,

O then for laughing she could not stand

Upright upon her feet.

‘You flouted me, you scouted me,

And many another one;

Now the reward is come at last,

For all that you have done.’

The rings she took from off her hands,

The rings by two and three:

‘O take, O take these golden rings,

By them remember me.’

She had a white wand in her hand,

She strake him on the breast:

‘My faith and troth I give back to thee,

So may thy soul have rest.’

‘Prithee,’ said he, ‘forget, forget,

Prithee forget, forgive;

O grant me yet a little space,

That I may be well and live.’

‘O never will I forget, forgive,

So long as I have breath;

I’ll dance above your green, green grave

Where you do lie beneath.’

* * * * *

=A.=

_Heading._ The Brown Girl; to an excellent tune.

=B.=

_From_ A right merry book of Garlands. Collected by J. Bell, on the

Quay, Newcastle upon Tyne. _A slip inserted after the 6th Garland

bears these words_: The old garlands in these volumes [11621. c. 3,

c. 4] are printed by J. White, who died in 1769, and by T. Saint, who

died in 1788.... Letter of J. Bell.

The Brown Girl’s Garland, composed of four extraordinary new songs.

The bonny Brown Girl, etc., etc.

4^4. his Eilk.

296

WALTER LESLY

‘Walter Lesly,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 139.

A late, but life-like and spirited ballad.

Walter Lesly steals a girl, not for her beauty or blood, but for her

mother’s dollars, of which he has need. She is tied on to a horse,

taken to an ale-house, and put to bed. Lesly, weary with hard riding,

falls asleep; the girl gets up and runs over moss, moor, hill and dale,

barefoot. Lesly’s men pursue, but the road is full of pools and tires

the men out. The girl effects her escape.

On the second of October, a Monday at noon,

In came Walter Lesly, to see his proper one;

He set a chair down by her side, and gently sat her by,

Says, Will ye go to Conland, this winter-time to lye?

He’s taen a glass into his hand, inviting her to drink,

But little knew she his meaning, or what the rogue did think;

Nor what the rogue did think, to steal the maid away;

‘Will ye go to Conland, this winter-time to lye?’

When they had taen a glass or two, and all were making merry,

In came Geordy Lesly, and forth he did her carry;

Then upon high horseback sae hard’s he did her tye,

‘Will ye go to Conland, this winter-time to lye?’

Her mother she came to the door, the saut tears on her cheek,

She coudna see her daughter, it was for dust and reek;

It was for dust and reek, the swords they glancd sae high;

‘And will ye go to Conland, this winter-time to lye?’

When they came to the ale-house, the people there were busy;

A bridal-bed it was well made, and supper well made ready;

When the supper down was set, baith plum-pudding and pie,

‘And will ye go to Conland, this winter-time to lye?’

When they had eaten and well drunken, and a’ man bound for bed,

The laddie and the lassie in ae chamber were laid;

He quickly stript her to the smock, and gently laid her bye,

Says, Will ye go to Conland, this winter-time to lye?

But Walter being weary, he fell fast asleep,

And then the lassie thought it fit to start up till her feet;

To start up till her feet, and her petticoats to tye,

‘We’ll go no more to Conland, the winter-time to lye.’

Then over moss and over muir sae cleverly she ran,

And over hill and over dale, without stockings or shoon;

The men pursued her full fast, wi mony shout and cry,

Says, Will ye go to Conland, the winter-time to lye.

‘Wae to the dubs o Duffus land, that eer they were sae deep;

They’ve trachled a’ our horsemen and gart our captain sleep;

And gart our captain sleep, and the lassie win away,

And she’ll go no more to Conland, the winter-time to lye.’

‘I’d rather be in Duffus land, selling at the ale,

Before I was wi Lesly, for a’ his auld meal;

For a’ his auld meal, and sae mony comes to buy;

I’ll go no more to Conland the winter-time to lye.

‘I’d rather be in Duffus land, dragging at the ware,

Before I was wi Lesly, for a’ his yellow hair;

For a’ his yellow hair, and sae well’s he can it tye;

I’ll go no more to Conland, this winter-time to lye.’

It was not for her beauty, nor yet her gentle bluid,

But for her mither’s dollars, of them he had great need;

Of them he had great need, now he maun do them by,

For she’ll go no more to Conland, this winter-time to lye.

* * * * *

_Printed in stanzas of eight short lines._

297

EARL ROTHES

‘Earl Rothes,’ Kinloch MSS, I, 333.

Lady Ann has an adulterous connection with Earl Rothes, and her

youthful brother seeks to sunder it. He offers to pay a tocher for

her if she will forsake the earl’s company; to keep her in his castle

till she is safely brought to bed, and make her a marquis’s lady; she

rejects all his offers with scorn. The boy declares that when he is old

enough to wear a sword he will thrust it through Earl Rothes for using

his sister so badly.

‘O Earl Rothes, an thou wert mine,

And I were to be thy ladie,

I wad drink at the beer, and tipple at the wine,

And be my bottle with any.’

‘Hold thy tongue, sister Ann,’ he says,

‘Thy words they are too many;

What wad ye do wi sae noble a lord,

When he has so noble a ladie?

‘O I’ll pay you your tocher, Lady Ann,

Both in gear and money,

If ye’ll forsake Earl Rothes’s companie,

And mind that he has a ladie.’

‘I do not value your gold,’ she says,

‘Your gear it’s no sae readie;

I’ll neer forsake Earl Rothes’s companie,

And I don’t gie a fig for his ladie.’

‘I’ll keep ye i the castle, Lady Ann,

O servants ye shall hae monie;

I’ll keep ye till ye’re safely brocht to bed,

And I’ll mak you a marquis’s ladie.’

‘I do not value your castle,’ she says,

‘Your servants are no sae readie;

Earl Rothes will keep me till I’m brocht to bed,

And he’ll mak me a marquis’s ladie.’

‘Woe be to thee, Earl Rothes,’ he says,

‘And the mark o the judge be upon thee,

For the using o this poor thing sae,

For the using my sister so badly.

‘When I’m come to the years of a man,

And able a sword to carry,

I’ll thrust it thro Earl Rothes’ bodie

For the using my sister sae basely.

‘Fare thee well, Lady Ann,’ he says,

‘No longer will I tarry;

You and I will never meet again,

Till we meet at the bonny town o Torry.’

298

YOUNG PEGGY

‘Young Peggy,’ Kinloch’s Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 153.

Peggy has been seen in the garden with Jamie late in the night, for

which her mother calls her to account. She does not deny the fact; she

takes the blame on herself; the thing will happen again. But going to

her bower, where Jamie is attending her, she tells him they must meet

no more. He makes a tryst with her in the greenwood at midnight, she

keeps it and goes off with her lover. Her father pursues them, but they

are married before he gets to the top of the hill.

‘O whare hae ye been, Peggy?

O whare hae ye been?’

‘I the garden amang the gilly-flowrs,

Atween twal hours and een.’

‘Ye’ve na been there your leen, Peggy,

Ye’ve na been there your leen;

Your father saw you in Jamie’s arms,

Atween twal hours and een.’

‘Tho my father saw me in Jamie’s arms,

He’ll see me there again;

For I will sleep in Jamie’s arms

When his grave’s growin green.’

‘Your Jamie is a rogue, Peggy,

Your Jamie is a loun,

For trysting out our ae dochter,

And her sae very young.’

‘Lay no the wyte on Jamie, mither,

The blame a’ lies on me;

For I will sleep in Jamie’s arms

When your een winna see.’

Now she has to her ain bouer gane;

He was waiting there him leen:

‘I’m blythe to see ye, Jamie, here,

For we maunna meet again.’

She’s tane the wine-glass in her hand,

Pourd out the wine sae clear;

Says, Here’s your health and mine, Jamie,

And we maun meet na mair.

She has tane him in her arms twa,

And gien him kisses five;

Says, Here’s your health and mine, Jamie,

I wish weel mote ye thrive.

‘Your father has a bonnie cock,

Divides the nicht and day,

And at the middle watch o the nicht

In greenwud ye’ll meet me.’

Whan bells war rung, and mass was sung,

And a’ men boun for bed,

She’s kilted up her green claithing,

And met Jamie in the wud.

Whan bells war rung, and mass was sung,

About the hour o twa,

It’s up bespak her auld father,

Says, Peggy is awa!

‘Ga saddle to me the black, the black,

Ga saddle to me the grey;’

But ere they wan to the tap o the hill

The wedding was a’ bye.

299

TROOPER AND MAID

=A.= ‘The Trooper and Fair Maid,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of

Scotland, I, 230.

=B.= ‘The Trooper,’ Motherwell’s MS., p. 27.

=C.= Jamieson’s Scottish Ballads, II, 158.

A trooper comes to the house of his mistress in the evening and is

kindly received. They pass the night together and are wakened by the

trumpet. He must leave her; she follows him some way, he begging her

to turn back. She asks him repeatedly when they are to meet again and

marry. He answers, when cockle shells grow siller bells, when fishes

fly and seas gang dry, etc.: see I, 168, 437.

There are several other ballads of a trooper and a maid (Peggy).

In ‘The Bonnie Lass o Fyvie,’ Christie, I, 276, Murison MS., p.

50, Kinloch MSS, VII, 339, Buchan MSS, II, 270, ‘Irish Dragoons,’

Motherwell’s MSS, p. 428, a captain falls in love with a Peggy and

dies thereof; but in another copy, ‘Pretty Peggy,’ Gibb MS., No 13, p.

53, all is made to end well. A dragoon very constant and liberal to

Peggy, and she very fond to him, are happily married in ‘The Dragoon

and Peggy,’ Maidment, Scotish. Ballads and Songs, 1859, p. 98, from a

Glasgow copy of the date 1800. The first half of this ballad is found

under the title of ‘The Laird of Kellary’ in Kinloch MSS, I, 359. In an

English broadside which is perhaps of the first half of the seventeenth

century, a married Peggy leaves her husband to follow a soldier over

sea, but returns and is forgiven: ‘The Soldier and Peggy,’ Roxburghe

collection, I, 370 (also Pepys, Euing, Douce), Chappell, The Roxburghe

Ballads, II, 475. ‘Peggie is over the sie with the souldier’ is the

title of a tune (No 95) in the Skene MSS, which date from the first

quarter of the seventeenth century. A correspondent of C. K. Sharpe

sent him one stanza of a Scottish ballad upon this theme:

Peggie’s gane oer the seas, a’ dressed in red,

An Peggie’s come back again, beggin her bread.

The landladie looked wi the tail o her ee:

‘O foul fa ye, Peggie, for leaving o me.’

There is also a ballad of a valiant trooper and a pretty Peggy who, at

first inconstant, turns out a loving wife, in Pepys, IV, 40, No 37.

=A= is translated by Gerhard, p. 189.

One evening as a maid did walk,

The moon was shining clearly,

She heard a trooper at the gates,

She thought it was her dearie.

She’s taen his horse then by the head,

And led him to the stable,

And gien to him baith corn and hay,

To eat what he was able.

Bonny lass, gin I come near you,

I’ll gar a’ your ribbons reel,

Bonny lass, or eer I lea you.

She’s taen the trooper by the hand,

And led him to the table,

And furnishd him wi bread and cheese,

To eat what he was able.

She’s taen the wine-glass in her hand,

Poured out the wine sae clearly;

‘Here is your health an mine,’ she cried,

‘And ye’re welcome hame, my deary!

‘A glass o wine for gentlemen,

And bonny lads for lasses,

And bread and cheese for cavaliers,

And corn and hay for asses.’

Then she went but and made his bed,

She made it like a lady,

And she coost aff her mankie gown,

Says, Laddie, are you ready?

Then he coost aff his big watch-coat,

But and his silken beaver,

A pair o pistols frae his side,

And he lay down beside her.

‘Bonny lassie, I am wi you now,

Bonny lassie I am wi you,

But I’ll gar a’ your ribbons reel,

Bonny lassie, ere I lea you.’

The trumpet sounds thro Birldale,

Says, Men and horse, make ready;

The drums do beat at Staneman hill,

‘Lads, leave your mam and daddie.’

The fifes did play at Cromley banks,

‘Lads, leave the lewes o Fyvie;’

And then the trooper he got up,

Says, Lassie, I must lea you.

‘Bonny lassie, I maun lea you now,

Bonny lassie, I maun lea you;

But if ever I come this road again,

I will come in and see you.’

She’s taen her gown out-ower her arms,

And followed him to Stirling,

And aye the trooper he did say,

O turn ye back, my darling.