"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 45

I am a maid o'er mean;

I'll rather stay at home," she says,

"And die for Hazelgreen."

"If ye'll forsake young Hazelgreen,

And go along with me, 50

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 o'er mean;

I'll rather stay at home," she says, 55

"And die for Hazelgreen."

Then he's taen out a siller comb,

Comb'd down her yellow hair;

And looked in a diamond bright,

To see if she were fair. 60

"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, 65

And ever mair shall be;

I'll nae forsake young Hazelgreen

For a' the gowd ye'll gie."

But aye she sigh'd, and said, alas!

And made a piteous meen; 70

And aye she loot the tears down fa',

For John o' Hazelgreen.

He looked high, and lighted low,

Set her upon his horse;

And they rode on to Edinburgh, 75

To Edinburgh's own cross.

And when she in that city was,

She look'd like ony queen;

"'Tis a pity such a lovely lass

Shou'd love young Hazelgreen." 80

"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 sigh'd, and said, alas! 85

And made a piteous meen;

And aye she loot the tears down fa',

For John o' Hazelgreen.

"Now hold your tongue, my well-far'd maid,

Lat a' your mourning be, 90

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, 95

"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; 100

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, 105

And gently spurr'd their horse,

Till they rode on to Hazelgreen,

To Hazelgreen's own close.

Then forth he came, young Hazelgreen,

To welcome his father free; 110

"You're welcome here, my father dear,

And a' your companie."

But when he look'd o'er his shoulder,

A light laugh then gae he;

Says, "If I getna this lady, 115

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." 120

"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; 125

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'; 130

"Cheer up your heart, my dearest dear,

Ye're flower out o'er them a'.

This night shall be our wedding e'en,

The morn we'll say, Amen;

Ye'se never mair hae cause to mourn,-- 135

Ye're lady o' Hazelgreen."

THE FAUSE LOVER.

From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 268. The fourth

and fifth stanzas are found as a fragment in Herd's _Scottish Songs_,

ii. 6, (ed. 1776,) thus:

"False luve, and hae ze played me this,

In the simmer, mid the flowers?

I sall repay ze back again,

In the winter mid the showers.

"Bot again, dear luve, and again, dear luve,

Will ze not turn again?

As ze look to ither women

Shall I to ither men."

Sir Walter Scott, also, as Chambers has pointed out, has, in

_Waverley_, put two similar stanzas into the mouth of Davie Gellatley.

"False love, and hast thou played me this,

In summer, among the flowers?

I will repay thee back again,

In winter, amid the showers.

"Unless again, again, my love,

Unless ye turn again,

As you with other maidens rove,

I'll smile on other men."

A fair maid sat in her bower door,

Wringing her lily hands;

And by it came a sprightly youth,

Fast tripping o'er the strands.

"Where gang ye, young John," she says, 5

"Sae early in the day?

It gars me think, by your fast trip,

Your journey's far away."

He turn'd about wi' surly look,

And said, "What's that to thee? 10

I'm gaen to see a lovely maid,

Mair fairer far than ye."

"Now hae ye play'd me this, fause love,

In simmer, 'mid the flowers?

I sall repay ye back again, 15

In winter, 'mid the showers.

"But again, dear love, and again, dear love,

Will ye not turn again?

For as ye look to ither women,

Shall I to ither men." 20

"Make your choose o' whom you please,

For I my choice will have;

I've chosen a maid mair fair than thee,

I never will deceive."

But she's kilt up her claithing fine, 25

And after him gaed she;

But aye he said, "ye'll turn back,

Nae farder gang wi' me."

"But again, dear love, and again, dear love,

Will ye never love me again? 30

Alas! for loving you sae well,

And you nae me again."

The first an' town that they came till,

He bought her brooch and ring;

But aye he bade her turn again, 35

And gang nae farder wi' him.

"But again, dear love, and again, dear love,

Will ye never love me again?

Alas! for loving you sae well,

And you nae me again." 40

The niest an' town that they came till,

His heart it grew mair fain;

And he was deep in love wi' her,

As she was ower again.

The niest an' town that they came till, 45

He bought her wedding gown;

And made her lady o' ha's and bowers,

In bonny Berwick town.

THE GARDENER.

From Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_, p. 74. The last stanza but

one is found in the preceding ballad. Another copy is given by Buchan,

_Ballads of the North of Scotland_, ii. 187.

The gard'ner stands in his bouer door,

Wi' a primrose in his hand,

And bye there cam a leal maiden,

As jimp as a willow wand;

And bye there cam a leal maiden,

As jimp as a willow wand.

"O ladie can ye fancy me, 5

For to be my bride;

Ye'se get a' the flowers in my garden,

To be to you a weed.

"The lily white sall be your smock;

It becomes your body best; 10

Your head sall be buskt wi' gelly-flower,

Wi' the primrose in your breist.

"Your goun sall be the Sweet William;

Your coat the camovine;

Your apron o' the sallads neat, 15

That taste baith sweet and fine.

"Your hose sall be the brade kail-blade,

That is baith brade and lang;

Narrow, narrow, at the cute,

And brade, brade at the brawn. 20

"Your gloves sall be the marigold,

All glittering to your hand,

Weel spread owre wi' the blue blaewort,

That grows amang corn-land."

"O fare ye weil, young man," she says, 25

"Fareweil, and I bid adieu;

Sin ye've provided a weed for me

Amang the simmer flowers,

It's I'se provide anither for you,

Amang the winter-showers: 30

"The new fawn snaw to be your smock;

It becomes your bodie best;

Your head sall be wrapt wi' the eastern wind,

And the cauld rain on your breist."

THE DUKE OF ATHOL.

"Taken down from the recitation of an idiot boy in Wishaw." Kinloch's

_Ancient Scottish Ballads_, p. 170.

"I am gaing awa, Jeanie,

I am gaing awa,

I am gaing ayont the saut seas,

I'm gaing sae far awa."

"What will ye buy to me, Jamie, 5

What will ye buy to me?"

"I'll buy to you a silken plaid,

And send it wi' vanitie."

"That's na love at a', Jamie,

That's na love at a'; 10

All I want is love for love,

And that's the best ava.

"Whan will ye marry me, Jamie,

Whan will ye marry me?

Will ye tak me to your countrie,-- 15

Or will ye marry me?"

"How can I marry thee, Jeanie,

How can I marry thee?

Whan I've a wife and bairns three,--

Twa wad na weill agree." 20

"Wae be to your fause tongue, Jamie,

Wae be to your fause tongue;

Ye promised for to marry me,

And has a wife at hame!

"But if your wife wad dee, Jamie, 25

And sae your bairns three,

Wad ye tak me to your countrie,--

Or wad ye marry me?

"But sin they're all alive, Jamie,

But sin they're all alive, 30

We'll tak a glass in ilka hand,

And drink, 'Weill may they thrive.'"

"If my wife wad dee, Jeanie,

And sae my bairns three,

I wad tak ye to my ain countrie, 35

And married we wad be."

"O an your head war sair, Jamie,

O an your head war sair,

I'd tak the napkin frae my neck,

And tie doun your yellow hair." 40

"I hae na wife at a', Jeanie,

I hae na wife at a',

I hae neither wife nor bairns three;

I said it to try thee."

"Licht are ye to loup, Jamie, 45

Licht are ye to loup,

Licht are ye to loup the dyke,

Whan I maun wale a slap."

"Licht am I to loup, Jeanie,

Licht am I to loup; 50

But the hiest dyke that we come to,

I'll turn and tak you up.

"Blair in Athol is mine, Jeanie,

Blair in Athol is mine;

Bonnie Dunkel is whare I dwell, 55

And the boats o' Garry's mine.

"Huntingtower is mine, Jeanie,

Huntingtower is mine,

Huntingtower, and bonnie Belford,

And a' Balquhither's mine." 60

THE RANTIN' LADDIE.

An imperfect copy of this ballad was printed in Johnson's _Museum_,

(p. 474,) contributed, Mr. Stenhouse informs us, by Burns. The present

copy is from the _Thistle of Scotland_, p. 7. Another, shorter than

either, is given in Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, ii.

66, _Lord Aboyne_. (Also in Smith's _Scottish Minstrel_, iv. 6.)

"Aft hae I playd at cards and dice

For the love o' a bonny rantin' laddie,

But now I maun sit i' my father's kitchen nook,

And sing, 'Hush, balow, my baby.'

"If I had been wise, and had ta'en advice, 5

And dane as my bonny love bade me,

I would hae been married at Martinmas,

And been wi' my rantin' laddie.

"But I was na wise, I took nae advice,

Did not as my bonny love bade me, 10

And now I maun sit by mysel' i' the nook,

And rock my bastard baby.

"If I had horse at my command,

As often I had many,

I would ride on to the Castle o' Aboyne, 15

Wi' a letter to my rantin' laddie."

Down the stair her father came,

And looked proud and saucy;

"Who is the man, and what is his name,

That ye ca' your rantin' laddie? 20

"Is he a lord, or is he a laird,

Or is he but a caddie?

Or is it the young Earl o' Aboyne,

That ye ca' your rantin' laddie?"

"He is a young and noble lord, 25

He never was a caddie;

It is the noble Earl o' Aboyne

That I ca' my rantin' laddie."

"Ye shall hae a horse at your command,

As ye had often many, 30

To go to the Castle o' Aboyne,

Wi' a letter to your rantin' laddie."

"Where will I get a little page,

Where will I get a caddie,

That will run quick to bonny Aboyne, 35

Wi' this letter to my rantin' laddie?"

Then out spoke the young scullion boy,

Said, "Here am I, a caddie;

I will run on to bonny Aboyne

Wi' the letter to your rantin' laddie." 40

"Now when ye come to bonny Deeside,

Where woods are green and bonny,

Then will ye see the Earl o' Aboyne,

Among the bushes mony.

"And when ye come to the lands o' Aboyne, 45

Where all around is bonny,

Ye'll take your hat into your hand,

Gie this letter to my rantin' laddie."

When he came near the banks of Dee,

The birks were blooming bonny, 50

And there he saw the Earl o' Aboyne

Among the bushes mony.

"Where are ye going, my bonny boy,

Where are ye going, my caddie?"

"I am going to the Castle o' Aboyne 55

Wi' a letter to the rantin' laddie."

"See yonder is the castle there,

My young and handsome caddie,

And I myself am the Earl o' Aboyne,

Tho they ca' me the rantin' laddie." 60

"O pardon, my lord, if I've done wrong;

Forgive a simple caddie;

O pardon, pardon, Earl o' Aboyne,

I said but what she bade me."

"Ye've done no wrong, my bonny boy, 65

Ye've done no wrong, my caddie;"

Wi' hat in hand he bowed low,

Gave the letter to the rantin' laddie.

When young Aboyne looked the letter on,

O but he blinkit bonny; 70

But ere he read four lines on end,

The tears came trickling mony.

"My father will no pity shew,

My mother still does slight me,

And a' my friends have turned from me, 75

And servants disrespect me."

"Who are they dare be so bold

To cruelly use my lassie?

But I'll take her to bonny Aboyne,

Where oft she did caress me. 80

"Go raise to me five hundred men,

Be quick and make them ready;

Each on a steed, to haste their speed,

To carry home my lady."

As they rode on thro' Buchanshire, 85

The company were many,

Wi' a good claymore in every hand,

That glanced wondrous bonny.

When he came to her father's gate

He called for his lady; 90

"Come down, come down, my bonny maid,

And speak wi' your rantin' laddie."

When she was set on high horseback,

Row'd in the highland plaidie,

The bird i' the bush sung not so sweet, 95

As sung this bonny lady.

As they rode on thro' Buchanshire,

He cried, "Each lowland lassie,

Lay your love on some lowland lown,

And soon will he prove fause t' ye. 100

"But take my advice, and make your choice

Of some young highland laddie,

Wi' bonnet and plaid, whose heart is staid,

And he will not beguile ye."

As they rode on thro' Garioch land, 105

He rode up in a fury,

And cried, "Fall back each saucy dame,

Let the Countess of Aboyne before ye."

THE DUKE OF GORDON'S DAUGHTER.

Ritson's _Scottish Songs_, ii. 169.

"Alexander, third Earl of Huntly, was succeeded, in 1523, by his

grandson Alexander, Lord Gordon, who actually had three daughters. I.

Lady Elizabeth, the eldest, married to John, Earl of Athol. II. Lady

Margaret, married to John, Lord Forbes. III. Lady Jean, the youngest,

married _first_, to James, Earl of Bothwell, from whom she was

divorced in 1568; she married, _secondly_, Alexander, Earl of

Southerland, who died in 1594; and surviving him, she married,

_thirdly_, Captain Alexander Ogilvie, son and successor of Sir Walter

Ogilvie of Boym, who died in 1606 without issue." STENHOUSE, _Musical

Museum_, iv. 378.

The dukedom of Gordon was not created until 1684, and therefore the

first line should probably run as quoted by Burns,--

"The _Lord_ of Gordon had three daughters."

The duke of Gordon has three daughters,

Elizabeth, Margaret, and Jean;

They would not stay in bonny Castle-Gordon,

But they would go to bonny Aberdeen.

They had not been in Aberdeen 5

A twelvemonth and a day,

Till Lady Jean fell in love with Captain Ogilvie,

And away with him she would gae.

Word came to the duke of Gordon,

In the chamber where he lay, 10

Lady Jean has fell in love with Captain Ogilvie,

And away with him she would gae.

"Go saddle me the black horse,

And you'll ride on the grey;

And I will ride to bonny Aberdeen, 15

Where I have been many a day."

They were not a mile from Aberdeen,

A mile but only three,

Till he met with his two daughters walking,

But away was Lady Jean. 20

"Where is your sister, maidens?

Where is your sister, now?

Where is your sister, maidens,

That she is not walking with you?"

"O pardon us, honoured father, 25

O pardon us," they did say;

"Lady Jean is with Captain Ogilvie,

And away with him she will gae."

When he came to Aberdeen,

And down upon the green, 30

There did he see Captain Ogilvie,

Training up his men.

"O wo to you, Captain Ogilvie,

And an ill death thou shalt die;

For taking to my daughter, 35

Hanged thou shalt be."

Duke Gordon has wrote a broad letter,

And sent it to the king,

To cause hang Captain Ogilvie,

If ever he hanged a man. 40

"I will not hang Captain Ogilvie,

For no lord that I see;

But I'll cause him to put off the lace and scarlet,

And put on the single livery."

Word came to Captain Ogilvie, 45

In the chamber where he lay,

To cast off the gold lace and scarlet,

And put on the single livery.

"If this be for bonny Jeany Gordon,

This pennance I'll take wi'; 50

If this be bonny Jeany Gordon,

All this I will dree."

Lady Jean had not been married,

Not a year but three,

Till she had a babe in every arm, 55

Another upon her knee.

"O but I'm weary of wandering!

O but my fortune is bad!

It sets not the duke of Gordon's daughter

To follow a soldier lad. 60

"O but I'm weary of wandering!

O but I think lang!

It sets not the duke of Gordon's daughter,

To follow a single man."

When they came to the Highland hills, 65

Cold was the frost and snow;

Lady Jean's shoes they were all torn,

No farther could she go.

"O wo to the hills and the mountains!

Wo to the wind and the rain! 70

My feet is sore with going barefoot,

No further am I able to gang.

"Wo to the hills and the mountains!

Wo to the frost and the snow!

My feet is sore with going barefoot, 75

No farther am I able for to go.

"O! if I were at the glens of Foudlen,

Where hunting I have been,

I would find the way to bonny Castle-Gordon,

Without either stockings or shoon." 80

When she came to Castle-Gordon,

And down upon the green,

The porter gave out a loud shout,

"O yonder comes Lady Jean."

"O you are welcome, bonny Jeany Gordon, 85

You are dear welcome to me;

You are welcome, dear Jeany Gordon,

But away with your Captain Ogilvie."

Now over seas went the captain,

As a soldier under command; 90

A message soon followed after,

To come and heir his brother's land.

"Come home, you pretty Captain Ogilvie,

And heir your brother's land;

Come home, ye pretty Captain Ogilvie, 95

Be earl of Northumberland."

"O what does this mean?" says the captain;

"Where's my brother's children three?"

"They are dead and buried,

And the lands they are ready for thee." 100

"Then hoist up your sails, brave captain,

Let's be jovial and free;

I'll to Northumberland, and heir my estate,

Then my dear Jeany I'll see."

He soon came to Castle-Gordon, 105

And down upon the green;

The porter gave out with a loud shout,

"Here comes Captain Ogilvie."

"You're welcome, pretty Captain Ogilvie,

Your fortune's advanced I hear; 110

No stranger can come unto my gates,

That I do love so dear."

"Sir, the last time I was at your gates,

You would not let me in;

I'm come for my wife and children, 115

No friendship else I claim."

"Come in, pretty Captain Ogilvie,

And drink of the beer and the wine;

And thou shalt have gold and silver,

To count till the clock strike nine." 120

"I'll have none of your gold and silver,

Nor none of your white money;

But I'll have bonny Jeany Gordon;

And she shall go now with me."

Then she came tripping down the stair, 125

With the tear into her eye;

One babe was at her foot,

Another upon her knee.

"You're welcome, bonny Jeany Gordon,

With my young family; 130

Mount and go to Northumberland,

There a countess thou shalt be."

THE LAIRD O'LOGIE.

_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, iii. 131.

An edition of this ballad was published in Herd's _Scottish Songs_,

(i. 54,) and there is styled _The Young Laird of Ochiltrie_. Scott

recovered the following copy from recitation, which is to be preferred

to the other, as agreeing more closely with the real fact, both in the

name and the circumstances.

The incident here celebrated occurred in the year 1592. Francis, Earl

Bothwell, being then engaged in a wild conspiracy against James VI.,

succeeded in obtaining some followers even among the king's personal

attendants. Among these was a gentleman named Weymis of Logie. Accused

of treasonable converse with Bothwell, he confessed to the charge, and

was, of course, in danger of expiating his crime by death. But he was

rescued through the address and courage of Margaret Twynstoun, a lady

of the court, to whom he was attached. It being her duty to wait on

the queen the night of Logie's accusation, she left the royal chamber

while the king and queen were asleep, passed to the room where he was

kept in custody, and ordered the guard to bring the prisoner into the

presence of their majesties. She received her lover at the chamber

door, commanding the guard to wait there, and conveyed him to a

window, from which he escaped by a long cord. This is the story as

related in _The Historie of King James the Sext_, quoted by Scott.

I will sing, if ye will hearken,

If ye will hearken unto me;

The king has ta'en a poor prisoner,

The wanton laird o' young Logie.

Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel, 5

Carmichael's the keeper o' the key;

And May Margaret's lamenting sair,

A' for the love of young Logie.

May Margaret sits in the queen's bouir,[L9]

Knicking her fingers ane by ane, 10

Cursing the day that she e'er was born,

Or that she e'er heard o' Logie's name.

"Lament, lament na, May Margaret,

And of your weeping let me be;

For ye maun to the king himsell, 15

To seek the life o' young Logie."

May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding,

And she has curl'd back her yellow hair,--

"If I canna get young Logie's life,

Farewell to Scotland for evermair." 20

When she came before the king,

She knelit lowly on her knee.

"O what's the matter, May Margaret?

And what need's a' this courtesie?"

"A boon, a boon, my noble liege, 25

A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!

And the first boon that I come to crave

Is to grant me the life o' young Logie."

"O na, O na, May Margaret,

Forsooth, and so it mauna be; 30

For a' the gowd o' fair Scotland

Shall not save the life o' young Logie."

But she has stown the king's redding kaim,

Likewise the queen her wedding knife;

And sent the tokens to Carmichael, 35

To cause young Logie get his life.

She sent him a purse o' the red gowd,

Another o' the white monie;

She sent him a pistol for each hand,

And bade him shoot when he gat free. 40

When he came to the Tolbooth stair,

There he let his volley flee;

It made the king in his chamber start,

E'en in the bed where he might be.

"Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a', 45

And bid Carmichael come speak to me;

For I'll lay my life the pledge o' that,

That yon's the shot o' young Logie."

When Carmichael came before the king,

He fell low down upon his knee; 50

The very first word that the king spake

Was,--"Where's the laird of young Logie?"

Carmichael turn'd him round about,

(I wot the tear blinded his e'e,)--

"There came a token frae your grace 55

Has ta'en away the laird frae me."

"Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichael?

And hast thou play'd me that?" quoth he;

"The morn the Justice Court's to stand,

And Logie's place ye maun supplie." 60

Carmichael's awa to Margaret's bower,

Even as fast as he may drie,--

"O if young Logie be within,

Tell him to come and speak with me!"

May Margaret turn'd her round about, 65

(I wot a loud laugh laughed she,)--

"The egg is chipp'd, the bird is flown,

Ye'll see nae mair of young Logie."

The tane is shipped at the pier of Leith,

The tother at the Queen's Ferrie; 70

And she's gotten a father to her bairn,

The wanton laird of young Logie.

v. 9-12. This stanza was obtained by Motherwell from recitation.

THE GYPSIE LADDIE.

This ballad first appeared in print in the _Tea-Table Miscellany_,

(ii. 282,) from which it was adopted into Herd's and Pinkerton's

collections, Johnson's _Museum_, and Ritson's _Scottish Songs_. The

version here selected, that of Finlay, (_Scottish Ballads_, ii. 39,)

is nearly the same, but has two more stanzas, the third and the

fourth. Different copies are given in Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p.

360, Smith's _Scottish Minstrel_, iii. 90, _The Songs of England and

Scotland_, (by Peter Cunningham,) ii. 346, and Sheldon's _Minstrelsy

of the English Border_, p. 329, (see our Appendix;) others, which we

have not seen, in Mactaggart's _Gallovidian Dictionary_, Chambers's

_Scottish Gypsies_, and _The Scot's Magazine_ for November, 1817.

There is a popular tradition, possessing, we believe, no foundation in

fact, that the incidents of this ballad belong to the history of the

noble family of Cassilis. The Lady Jean Hamilton, daughter of the Earl

of Waddington, is said to have been constrained to marry a grim

Covenanter, John, Earl of Cassilis, though her affections were already

engaged to Sir John Faa of Dunbar. In 1643, several years after their

union, when the Countess had given birth to two or three children, her

husband being absent from home on a mission to the Assembly of Divines

at Westminster, Sir John presented himself at Cassilis Castle,

attended by a small band of gypsies, and himself disguised as one. The

recollection of her early passion proved stronger than the marriage

vow, and the lady eloped with her former lover. But before she had got

far from home, the Earl happened to return. Learning what had

occurred, he set out in pursuit with a considerable body of followers,

and, arresting the fugitives, brought them back to his castle, where

he hanged Sir John and his companions on a great tree before the gate.

The Countess was obliged to witness the execution from a chamber

window, and after a short confinement in the castle, was shut up for

the rest of her life in a house at Maybole, four miles distant, which

had been fitted up for her, with a staircase on which were carved a

set of heads representing her lover and his troop.

Unfortunately for the truth of the story, letters are in existence,

written by the Earl of Cassilis to the Lady Jean after the date of

these events, which prove the subsistence of a high degree of mutual

affection and confidence; and Finlay assures us that after a diligent

search, he had been able to discern nothing that in the slightest

confirmed the popular tale. The whole story is perhaps the malicious

invention of an enemy of the house of Cassilis, and as such would not

be unparalleled in the history of ballad poetry. See Dauney's _Ancient

Scottish Melodies_, p. 269, and Chambers's _Scottish Ballads_, p.

143.

The gypsies came to our good lord's gate,

And wow but they sang sweetly;

They sang sae sweet and sae very complete,

That down came the fair lady.

And she came tripping doun the stair, 5

And a' her maids before her;

As soon as they saw her weel-far'd face,

They coost the glamer o'er her.

"O come with me," says Johnie Faw,

"O come with me, my dearie; 10

For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword,

That your lord shall nae mair come near ye."

Then she gied them the beer and the wine,

And they gied her the ginger;

But she gied them a far better thing, 15

The goud ring aff her finger.

"Gae tak frae me this gay mantle,

And bring to me a plaidie;

For if kith and kin and a' had sworn,

I'll follow the gypsie laddie. 20

"Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed,

Wi' my good lord beside me;

But this night I'll lye in a tennant's barn,

Whatever shall betide me."

"Come to your bed," says Johnie Faw, 25

"O come to your bed, my dearie;

For I vow and swear by the hilt of my sword,

That your lord shall nae mair come near ye."

"I'll go to bed to my Johnie Faw,

I'll go to bed to my dearie; 30

For I vow and I swear by the fan in my hand,

That my lord shall nae mair come near me.

"I'll mak a hap to my Johnie Faw,

I'll mak a hap to my dearie;

And he's get a' the coat gaes round, 35

And my lord shall nae mair come near me."

And when our lord came hame at e'en,

And spier'd for his fair lady,

The tane she cry'd, and the other replied,

"She's away wi' the gypsie laddie." 40

"Gae saddle to me the black black steed,

Gae saddle and make him ready;

Before that I either eat or sleep,

I'll gae seek my fair lady."

And we were fifteen weel-made men, 45

Altho' we were na bonny;

And we were a' put down but ane,

For a fair young wanton lady.

LAIRD OF DRUM.

From Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_, p. 200, obtained from

recitation. Another copy is furnished by Buchan, _Ballads of the North

of Scotland_, ii. 194, which, with some variations, is printed again

in _Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads_, Percy Society,

vol. xvii. p. 53.

"This ballad," says Kinloch, was composed on the marriage of Alexander

Irvine of Drum to his second wife, Margaret Coutts, a woman of

inferior birth and manners, which step gave great offence to his

relations. He had previously, in 1643, married Mary, fourth daughter

of George, second Marquis of Huntly.

The Laird o' Drum is a wooing gane,

It was on a morning early,

And he has fawn in wi' a bonnie may

A-shearing at her barley.

"My bonnie may, my weel-faur'd may, 5

O will ye fancy me, O;

And gae and be the lady o' Drum,

And lat your shearing abee, O?"

"It's I canna fancy thee, kind sir,

I winna fancy thee, O, 10

I winna gae and be Lady o' Drum,

And lat my shearing abee, O.

"But set your love on anither, kind sir,

Set it not on me, O,

For I am not fit to be your bride, 15

And your hure I'll never be, O.

"My father he is a shepherd mean,

Keeps sheep on yonder hill, O,

And ye may gae and speir at him,

For I am at his will, O." 20

Drum is to her father gane,

Keeping his sheep on yon hill, O;

And he has gotten his consent

That the may was at his will, O.

"But my dochter can neither read nor write, 25

She was ne'er brought up at scheel, O;

But weel can she milk cow and ewe,

And mak a kebbuck weel, O.

"She'll win in your barn at bear-seed time,

Cast out your muck at Yule, O, 30

She'll saddle your steed in time o' need,

And draw aff your boots hersell, O."

"Have not I no clergymen?

Pay I no clergy fee, O?

I'll scheel her as I think fit, 35

And as I think weel to be, O.

"I'll learn your lassie to read and write,

And I'll put her to the scheel, O;

She'll neither need to saddle my steed,

Nor draw aff my boots hersell, O. 40

"But wha will bake my bridal bread,

Or brew my bridal ale, O;

And wha will welcome my bonnie bride,

Is mair than I can tell, O."

Drum is to the hielands gane, 45

For to mak a' ready,

And a' the gentry round about,

Cried, "Yonder's Drum and his lady!

"Peggy Coutts is a very bonnie bride,

And Drum is a wealthy laddie, 50

But he micht hae chosen a hier match,

Than onie shepherd's lassie."

Then up bespak his brither John,

Says, "Ye've deen us meikle wrang, O;

Ye've married een below our degree, 55

A lake to a' our kin, O."

"Hold your tongue, my brither John,

I have deen you na wrang, O;

For I've married een to wirk and win,

And ye've married een to spend, O. 60

"The first time that I had a wife,

She was far abeen my degree, O;

I durst na come in her presence,

But wi' my hat upo' my knee, O.

"The first wife that I did wed, 65

She was far abeen my degree, O;

She wadna hae walk'd to the yetts o' Drum,

But the pearls abeen her bree, O.

"But an she was ador'd for as much gold,

As Peggy's for beautie, O, 70

She micht walk to the yetts o' Drum,

Amang gueed companie, O."

There war four and twenty gentlemen

Stood at the yetts o' Drum, O;

There was na ane amang them a' 75

That welcom'd his lady in, O.

He has tane her by the milk-white hand,

And led her in himsel, O,

And in thro' ha's, and in thro' bouers,--

"And ye're welcome, Lady o' Drum, O." 80

Thrice he kissed her cherry cheek,

And thrice her cherry chin, O;

And twenty times her comely mou',--

"And ye're welcome, Lady o' Drum, O.

"Ye sall be cook in my kitchen, 85

Butler in my ha', O;

Ye sall be lady in my command,

Whan I ride far awa, O."--

"But I told ye afore we war wed,

I was owre low for thee, O; 90

But now we are wed, and in ae bed laid,

And ye maun be content wi' me, O.

"For an I war dead, and ye war dead,

And baith in ae grave laid, O,

And ye and I war tane up again, 95

Wha could distan your mouls frae mine, O?"

LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.

The unhappy lady into whose mouth some unknown poet has put this

lament, is now ascertained to have been Anne, daughter to Bothwell,

Bishop of Orkney. Her faithless lover was her cousin, Alexander

Erskine, son to the Earl of Mar. Lady Anne is said to have possessed

great beauty, and Sir Alexander was reputed the handsomest man of his

age. He was first a colonel in the French army, but afterwards engaged

in the service of the Covenanters, and came to his death by being

blown up, with many other persons of rank, in Douglass Castle, on the

30th of August, 1640. The events which occasioned the ballad seem to

have taken place early in the seventeenth century. Of the fate of the

lady subsequent to this period nothing is known. See Chambers,

_Scottish Ballads_, p. 150, and _The Scots Musical Museum_, (1853,)

iv. 203*.

In Brome's comedy of _The Northern Lass, or the Nest of Fools_,

acted in 1632, occur the two following stanzas. They are, perhaps, a

part of the original Lament, which certainly has undergone great

alterations in its progress down to our times.

"Peace, wayward barne! Oh cease thy moan!

Thy farre more wayward daddy's gone,

And never will recalled be,

By cryes of either thee or me:

For should wee cry

Until we dye,

Wee could not scant his cruelty.

_Ballow, ballow, &c._

"He needs might in himselfe foresee

What thou successively might'st be;

And could hee then (though me foregoe)

His infant leave, ere hee did know

How like the dad

Would be the lad,

In time to make fond maydens glad?

_Ballow, ballow, &c._"

The first professed edition of this piece is in the Third Part of

Watson's _Collection of Comic and Serious Scots Poems_, p. 79; the

next in the _Tea-Table Miscellany_, i. 161. Both of these copies have

been modernized, but Ramsay's is the better of the two, and equally

authentic. We therefore select Ramsay's, and add to it Percy's, which

contains three stanzas not found in the others, and preserves somewhat

more of the air of antiquity. There is a version extending to fifteen

stanzas, arranged in a very different order, in Evans's _Old Ballads_,

i. 259. Herd, Ritson, &c., have followed Ramsay.

Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep,

It grieves me sore to hear thee weep:

If thou'lt be silent, I'll be glad,

Thy mourning makes my heart full sad.

Balow, my boy, thy mother's joy, 5

Thy father bred me great annoy.

_Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep_,

_It grieves me sore to hear thee weep_.

Balow, my darling, sleep a while,

And when thou wak'st, then sweetly smile; 10

But smile not as thy father did,

To cozen maids, nay, God forbid;

For in thine eye his look I see,

The tempting look that ruin'd me,

_Balow, my boy, &c._ 15

When he began to court my love,

And with his sugar'd words to move,

His tempting face, and flatt'ring chear

In time to me did not appear;

But now I see that cruel he 20

Cares neither for his babe nor me.

_Balow, my boy, &c._

Fareweel, fareweel, thou falsest youth

That ever kist a woman's mouth;

Let never any after me 25

Submit unto thy courtesy!

For, if they do, O! cruel thou

Wilt her abuse, and care not how.

_Balow, my boy, &c._

I was too cred'lous at the first, 30

To yield thee all a maiden durst;

Thou swore for ever true to prove,

Thy faith unchang'd, unchang'd thy love;

But quick as thought the change is wrought,

Thy love's no mair, thy promise nought. 35

_Balow, my boy, &c._

I wish I were a maid again!

From young men's flatt'ry I'd refrain;

For now unto my grief I find

They all are perjur'd and unkind; 40

Bewitching charms bred all my harms;--

Witness my babe lies in my arms.

_Balow, my boy, &c._

I take my fate from bad to worse,

That I must needs be now a nurse, 45

And lull my young son on my lap:

From me, sweet orphan, take the pap.

Balow, my child, thy mother mild

Shall wail as from all bliss exil'd.

_Balow, my boy, &c._ 50

Balow, my boy, weep not for me,

Whose greatest grief's for wronging thee;

Nor pity her deserved smart,

Who can blame none but her fond heart;

For, too soon trusting latest finds 55

With fairest tongues are falsest minds.

_Balow, my boy, &c._

Balow, my boy, thy father's fled,

When he the thriftless son has played;

Of vows and oaths forgetful, he 60

Preferr'd the wars to thee and me.

But now, perhaps, thy curse and mine

Make him eat acorns with the swine.

_Balow, my boy, &c._

But curse not him; perhaps now he, 65

Stung with remorse, is blessing thee:

Perhaps at death; for who can tell,

Whether the judge of heaven or hell,

By some proud foe has struck the blow,

And laid the dear deceiver low? 70

_Balow, my boy, &c._

I wish I were into the bounds

Where he lies smother'd in his wounds,

Repeating, as he pants for air,

My name, whom once he call'd his fair; 75

No woman's yet so fiercely set,

But she'll forgive, though not forget.

_Balow, my boy, &c._

If linen lacks, for my love's sake,

Then quickly to him would I make 80

My smock, once for his body meet,

And wrap him in that winding-sheet

Ah me! how happy had I been,

If he had ne'er been wrapt therein.

_Balow, my boy, &c._

Balow, my boy, I'll weep for thee: 85

Too soon, alake, thou'lt weep for me:

Thy griefs are growing to a sum,

God grant thee patience when they come;

Born to sustain thy mother's shame,

A hapless fate, a bastard's name. 90

_Balow, my boy, ly still and sleep_,

_It grieves me sore to hear thee weep_.

LADY ANNE BOTHWELL'S LAMENT.

From Percy's _Reliques_, ii. 207.

"From a copy in the Editor's folio MS., corrected by another in Allan

Ramsay's _Miscellany_."

Balow, my babe, lye still and sleipe!

It grieves me sair to see thee weipe:

If thoust be silent, Ise be glad,

Thy maining maks my heart ful sad.

Balow, my boy, thy mothers joy, 5

Thy father breides me great annoy.

_Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe_,

_It grieves me sair to see thee weepe_.

Whan he began to court my luve,

And with his sugred wordes to muve, 10

His faynings fals and flattering cheire

To me that time did not appeire:

But now I see, most cruell hee

Cares neither for my babe nor mee.

_Balow, &c._ 15

Lye still, my darling, sleipe a while,

And when thou wakest, sweitly smile:

But smile not, as thy father did,

To cozen maids; nay, God forbid!

But yett I feire, thou wilt gae neire 20

Thy fatheris hart and face to beire.

_Balow, &c._

I cannae chuse, but ever will

Be luving to thy father still:

Whaireir he gae, whaireir he ryde, 25

My luve with him doth still abyde:

In weil or wae, whaireir he gae,

Mine hart can neire depart him frae.

_Balow, &c._

But doe not, doe not, pretty mine, 30

To faynings fals thine hart incline;

Be loyal to thy luver trew,

And nevir change her for a new:

If gude or faire, of hir have care,

For womens banning 's wonderous sair. 35

_Balow, &c._

Bairne, sin thy cruel father is gane,

Thy winsome smiles maun eise my paine;

My babe and I'll together live,

He'll comfort me when cares doe grieve:

My babe and I right saft will ly, 40

And quite forgeit man's cruelty.

_Balow, &c._

Fareweil, fareweil, thou falsest youth,

That evir kist a womans mouth! 45

I wish all maides be warned by mee

Nevir to trust mans curtesy;

For if we doe bot chance to bow,

They'll use us then they care not how.

_Balow, my babe, ly stil and sleipe_,

_It grieves me sair to see thee weipe_. 50

WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY.

These beautiful verses are thought to be only a part of _Lord Jamie

Douglas_, (see the next piece,) in one copy or another of which,

according to Motherwell, nearly all of them are to be found. They were

first published in the _Tea-Table Miscellany_, (i. 231,) and are here

given as they there appear, separate from an explicit story. Although

in this condition they must be looked upon as a fragment, still, they

are too awkwardly introduced in the ballad above mentioned, and too

superior to the rest of the composition, to allow of our believing

that they have as yet found their proper connection.

In Johnson's _Museum_, (i. 166,) besides several trifling variations

from Ramsay's copy, the fourth is replaced by the following:

When cockle shells turn siller bells,

And mussels grow on every tree,

When frost and snaw shall warm us a',

Then shall my love prove true to me.

The third stanza stands thus in a Christmas medley, quoted by Leyden

from a "MS. Cantus of the latter part of the 17th century:"

Hey troly loly, love is joly,

A whyle whill it is new;

When it is old, it grows full cold,--

Woe worth the love untrue!

_Complaynt of Scotland_, i. 278.

O waly, waly up the bank,

And waly, waly down the brae,

And waly, waly yon burn side,

Where I and my love wont to gae.

I lean'd my back unto an aik, 5

I thought it was a trusty tree;

But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,

Sae my true love did lightly me!

O waly, waly, but love be bonny,

A little time while it is new; 10

But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld,

And fades away like the morning dew.

O wherefore should I busk my head?

Or wherfore should I kame my hair?

For my true love has me forsook, 15

And says he'll never love me mair.

Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed,

The sheets shall ne'er be fyl'd by me:

Saint Anton's well shall be my drink,

Since my true love has forsaken me. 20

Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,

And shake the green leaves off the tree?

O gentle death, when wilt thou come?

For of my life I'm weary.

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, 25

Nor blawing snaw's inclemency;

'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,

But my love's heart grown cauld to me.

When we came in by Glasgow town,

We were a comely sight to see; 30

My love was clad in the black velvet,

And I my sell in cramasie.

But had I wist, before I kiss'd,

That love had been sae ill to win,

I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold, 35

And pin'd it with a silver pin.

Oh, oh, if my young babe were born,

And set upon the nurse's knee,

And I my sell were dead and gane!

For a maid again I'll never be. 40

LORD JAMIE DOUGLAS.

From the appendix to Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. v. An imperfect

copy of this ballad was printed in Finlay's collection, vol. ii. p. 4;

another, called the _Laird of Blackwood_, in Kinloch's, p. 60. Both of

them may be seen at the end of this volume. Chambers has compiled a

ballad in four parts from these three versions, another in manuscript,

furnished by Kinloch, and the verses just given from Ramsay's

_Miscellany_; and Aytoun, more recently, has made up a ballad from two

copies obtained from recitation by Kinloch, and called it _The

Marchioness of Douglas. Ballads of Scotland_, 2d ed. i. 135.

The circumstances which gave rise to the ballad are thus stated by

Chambers: "James, second Marquis of Douglas, when aged twenty-four,

married at Edinburgh, on the 7th of September, 1670, Lady Barbara

Erskine, eldest daughter of John, ninth Earl of Mar. This lady is said

to have been previously wooed, without success, by a gentleman of the

name of Lowrie, who on account of his afterwards marrying Mariotte

Weir, heiress of Blackwood, in Lanarkshire, was commonly called,

according to the custom of Scotland, the Tutor, and sometimes the

Laird, of Blackwood. Lowrie, who seems to have been considerably

advanced in life at the time, was chamberlain or factor to the Marquis

of Douglas; a circumstance which gave him peculiar facilities for

executing an atrocious scheme of vengeance he had projected against

the lady. By a train of proceedings somewhat similar to those of

Iago, and in particular, by pretending to have discovered a pair of

men's shoes underneath the Marchioness's bed, he completely succeeded

in breaking up the affection of the unfortunate couple. Lord Douglas,

who, though a man of profligate conduct, had hitherto treated his wife

with some degree of politeness, now rendered her life so miserable,

that she was obliged to seek refuge with her father. The earl came

with a large retinue to carry her off, when, according to the ballad,

as well as the tradition of the country, a most affecting scene took

place. The Marquis himself was so much overcome by the parting of his

wife and child--for she had now borne a son--that he expressed, even

in that last hour, a desire of being reconciled to her. But the

traitorous Lowrie succeeded in preventing him from doing so, by a

well-aimed sarcasm at his weakness.... Regarding the ultimate fate of

the Marchioness I am altogether ignorant. It is, however, very

improbable that any reconciliation ever took place between her and her

husband, such as is related in the ballad." _Scottish Ballads_, p.

150.

O waly, waly up the bank,

And waly, waly down the brae,

And waly, waly by yon burn side,

Where me and my lord was wont to gae.

Hey nonny nonnie, but love is bonnie, 5

A little while when it is new;

But when love grows auld it grows mair cauld,

And fades away like the morning dew.

I lean'd my back against an aik,

I thocht it was a trustie tree; 10

But first it bowed, and syne it break,

And sae did my fause luve to me.

My mother tauld me when I was young,

That young man's love was ill to trow;

But untill her I would give nae ear, 15

And alace my ain wand dings me now!

O wherefore need I busk my head?

O wherefore should I kaim my hair?

For my good lord has me forsook,

And says he'll never love me mair. 20

Gin I had wist or I had kisst

That young man's love was sae ill to win,

I would hae lockt my hert wi' a key o' gowd,

And pinn'd it wi' a siller pin.

An I had kent what I ken now, 25

I'd never crosst the water Tay,

But stayed still at Athole's gates;--

He would have made me his lady gay.

When lords and lairds cam to this toun,

And gentlemen o' a high degree, 30

I took my auld son in my arms,

And went to my chamber pleasantlie.

But when lords and lairds come through this toun,[L33]

And gentlemen o' a high degree,

I must sit alane intill the dark, 35

And the babie on the nurse's knee.

I had a nurse, and she was fair;

She was a dearly nurse to me;

She took my gay lord frae my side,

And used him in her companie. 40

Awa, awa, thou fause Blackwood,

Aye, and an ill death may thou die!

Thou wert the first and occasion last

Of parting my gay lord and me.

When I lay sick, and very sick, 45

Sick I was and like to die,

A gentleman, a friend of mine,

He came on purpose to visit me;

But Blackwood whisper'd in my lord's ear

He was ower lang in chamber with me. 50

When I was sick, and very sick,

Sick I was and like to die,

I drew me near to my stairhead,

And I heard my ain lord lichtly me.

"Come down, come down, O Jamie Douglas, 55

And drink the orange wine with me;

I'll set thee on a chair of gold,

And daut thee kindly on my knee."

"When sea and sand turn far inland,

And mussels grow on ilka tree, 60

When cockle shells turn siller bells,

I'll drink the orange wine wi' thee."

"What ails you at our youngest son,

That sits upon the nurse's knee?

I'm sure he's never done any harm, 65

An it's not to his ain nurse and me."

If I had kent what I ken now,

That love it was sae ill to win,

I should ne'er hae wet my cherry cheek

For onie man or woman's son. 70

When my father came to hear

That my gay lord had forsaken me,

He sent five score of his soldiers bright

To take me safe to my ain countrie.

Up in the mornin' when I arose, 75

My bonnie palace for to lea',

I whispered in at my lord's window,

But the never a word he would answer me.

"Fare ye weel, then, Jamie Douglas,

I need care as little as ye care for me; 80

The Earl of Mar is my father dear,

And I soon will see my ain countrie.

"Ye thought that I was like yoursell,

And loving ilk ane I did see;

But here I swear by the heavens clear, 85

I never loved a man but thee."

Slowly, slowly rose I up,

And slowly, slowly I cam down;

And when he saw me sit in my coach,

He made his drums and trumpets sound. 90

When I into my coach was set,

My tenants all were with me tane;

They set them down upon their knees,

And they begg'd me to come back again.

It's "fare ye weel, my bonnie palace; 95

And fare ye weel, my children three:

God grant your father may get mair grace,

And love thee better than he has done me."

It's "fare ye weel, my servants all;

And you, my bonnie children three: 100

God grant your father grace to be kind

Till I see you safe in my ain countrie.

"But wae be to you, fause Blackwood,

Aye, and ill death may you die!

Ye are the first, and I hope the last, 105

That put strife between my good lord and me."

When I came in through Edinburgh town,

My loving father came to meet me,

With trumpets sounding on every side;

But it was no comfort at all to me: 110

For no mirth nor music sounds in my ear,

Since the Earl of March has forsaken me.

"Hold your tongue, my daughter dear,

And of your weeping pray let abee;

For I'll send to him a bill of divorce, 115

And I'll get as good a lord to thee."

"Hold your tongue, my father dear,

And of your scoffing pray let abee;

I would rather hae a kiss of my ain lord's mouth

As all the lords in the north countrie." 120

When she came to her father's land,

The tenants a' cam her to see;

Never a word she could speak to them,

But the buttons aff her clothes did flee.[L124]

"The linnet is a bonnie bird, 125

And aften flees far frae its nest;

So all the world may plainly see

They 're far awa that I love best!"

She looked out at her father's window,

To take a view of the countrie; 130

Who did she see but Jamie Douglas,

And along with him her children three.

There came a soldier to the gate,

And he did knock right hastilie:

"If Lady Douglas be within, 135

Bid her come down and speak to me."

"O come away, my lady fair,

Come away, now, alang with me:

For I have hanged fause Blackwood

At the very place where he told the lie." 140

33, cam.

124. See _Andrew Lammie_, vol. ii. 191.

THE NUTBROWNE MAIDE.

We owe the preservation of this beautiful old ballad to _Arnold's

Chronicle_, of which the earliest edition is thought to have been

printed in 1502. In Laneham's account of Elizabeth's visit to

Kenilworth, the _Nut-brown Maid_ is mentioned as a book by itself, and

there is said to be at Oxford a list of books offered for sale at that

place in 1520, among which is the _Not-Broon Mayd_, price one penny;

still, the ballad is not known to exist at present in any other

ancient form than that of the Chronicle. We have no means of

determining the date of the composition, but Percy has justly remarked

that it is not probable that an antiquary would have inserted a piece

in his historical collections which he knew to be modern. The language

is that of the time at which it was printed.

The ballad seems to have been long forgotten, when it was revived in

_The Muse's Mercury_ for June, 1707, (Percy.) There Prior met with it,

and, charmed with its merit, he took the story for the foundation of

his _Henry and Emma_. Capel, in 1760, published a collated text from

two different editions of the Chronicle,--we suppose that of 1502, and

the second, which was printed in 1521, and exhibits some differences.

Percy adopted Capel's text with a few alterations, (_Reliques_, ii.

30.) The text of the edition of 1502 has been twice reprinted since

Percy's time: in the _Censura Literaria_, vol. i. p. 15, and by Mr.

Wright, in a little black-letter volume, London, 1836. We have adopted

Mr. Wright's text, not neglecting to compare it with that of Sir

Egerton Brydges.

It will be interesting to compare with this matchless poem a ballad in

other languages, which has the same drift;--_Die Lind im Thale_, or

_Liebesprobe_, Erk, _Deutscher Liederhort_, p. 1, 3; Uhland, No. 116;

Hoffmann, _Schlesische_ V. L., No. 22, _Niederl[:a]ndische V. L._, No.

26; Haupt and Schmaler, _V. L. der Wenden_, i. 72 (Hoffmann).

In the sixteenth century a ridiculous attempt was made to supplant the

popular ballads in the mouths and affections of the people by turning

them into pious parodies. _The Nut-Brown Maid_ was treated in this

way, and the result may be seen in _The New Not-borune Mayd_, printed

by the Roxburghe Club, and by the Percy Society, vol. vi.

"Be it right or wrong, these men among

On women do complaine,

Affermyng this, how that it is

A labour spent in vaine

To love them wele, for never a dele 5

They love a man agayne:

For lete a man do what he can

Ther favour to attayne,

Yet yf a newe do them pursue,[L9]

Ther furst trew lover than 10

Laboureth for nought, and from her thought

He is a bannished man."

"I say not nay, but that all day

It is bothe writ and sayde,

That womans fayth is, as who sayth, 15

All utterly decayed:

But nevertheles, right good witnes

In this case might be layde,

That they love trewe, and contynew,--

Recorde THE NUTBROWNE MAIDE; 20

Whiche from her love, whan her to prove

He cam to make his mone,

Wolde not departe, for in her herte

She lovyd but hym allone."

"Than betwene us lete us discusse 25

What was all the man['e]r

Betwene them too; we wyl also

Telle all the peyne and fere[L28]

That she was in; nowe I begynne,

See that ye me answ['e]re:[L30] 30

Wherfore [all] ye that present be,

I pray you geve an eare.

I am the knyght, I cum be nyght,

As secret as I can,

Sayng 'Alas! thus stondyth the case,[L35] 35

I am a bannisshed man!'"

"And I your wylle for to fulfylle

In this wyl not refuse,

Trusting to shewe, in wordis fewe,

That men have an ille use, 40

To ther owne shame, wymen to blame,

And causeles them accuse:

Therfore to you I answere now,

Alle wymen to excuse,

'Myn owne hert dere, with you what chiere? 45

I prey you telle anoon:

For in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you allon.'"

"It stondith so: a deed is do

Wherof moche harme shal growe.[L50] 50

My desteny is for to dey

A shamful dethe, I trowe,

Or ellis to flee,--the ton must be:

None other wey I knowe,

But to withdrawe as an outlaw, 55

And take me to my bowe.

Wherfore, adew, my owne hert trewe,

None other red I can;

For I muste to the grene wode goo,

Alone, a bannysshed man." 60

"O Lorde, what is this worldis blisse

That chaungeth as the mone!

My somers day in lusty May

Is derked before the none.

I here you saye Farwel: nay, nay, 65

We departe not soo sone.

Why say ye so? Wheder wyl ye goo?

Alas, what have ye done?

Alle my welfare to sorow and care

Shulde chaunge, yf ye were gon: 70

For in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone."

"I can beleve it shal you greve,

And somewhat you distrayne;

But aftyrwarde your paynes harde, 75

Within a day or tweyne,

Shal sone aslake, and ye shal take

Confort to you agayne.

Why shuld ye nought? for, to make thought

Your labur were in vayne: 80

And thus I do, and pray you, too,

As hertely as I can:

For I muste too the grene wode goo,

Alone, a banysshed man."

"Now syth that ye have shewed to me 85

The secret of your mynde,

I shal be playne to you agayne,

Lyke as ye shal me fynde:

Syth it is so that ye wyll goo,

I wol not leve behynde; 90

Shal never be sayd the Nutbrowne Mayd

Was to her love unkind.

Make you redy, for soo am I,

All though it were anoon;

For in my mynde, of all mankynde 95

I love but you alone."

"Yet I you rede to take good hede

What men wyl thinke and sey;[L98]

Of yonge and olde it shal be told,

That ye be gone away 100

Your wanton wylle for to fulfylle,

In grene wood you to play;

And that ye myght from your delyte

Noo lenger make delay.

Rather than ye shuld thus for me 105

Be called an ylle woman,

Yet wolde I to the grene wodde goo

Alone, a banysshed man."

"Though it be songe of olde and yonge

That I shuld be to blame, 110

Theirs be the charge that speke so large

In hurting of my name.

For I wyl prove that feythful love

It is devoyd of shame,

In your distresse and hevynesse, 115

To parte wyth you the same;

And sure all thoo that doo not so,

Trewe lovers ar they noon;

But in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone." 120

"I counsel yow remembre how

It is noo maydens lawe,

Nothing to dought, but to renne out

To wod with an outlawe.

For ye must there in your hande bere 125

A bowe to bere and drawe,

And as a theef thus must ye lyeve,

Ever in drede and awe;

By whiche to yow gret harme myght grow;--

Yet had I lever than 130

That I had too the grenewod goo

Alone, a banysshyd man."

"I thinke not nay; but, as ye saye,

It is noo maydens lore;

But love may make me for your sake, 135

As ye have said before,

To com on fote, to hunte and shote

To gete us mete and store;

For soo that I your company

May have, I aske noo more; 140

From whiche to parte, it makith myn herte

As colde as ony ston:

For in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone."

"For an outlawe this is the lawe, 145

That men hym take and binde,

Without pytee hanged to bee,

And waver with the wynde.

Yf I had neede, as God forbede,

What rescous coude ye finde? 150

For sothe, I trowe, you and your bowe

Shuld drawe for fere behynde:[L152]

And noo merveyle; for lytel avayle

Were in your councel than;

Wherfore I too the woode wyl goo 155

Alone, a banysshed man."

"Ful wel knowe ye that wymen bee

Ful febyl for to fyght;

Noo womanhed is it indeede,

To bee bolde as a knight. 160

Yet in suche fere yf that ye were,

Amonge enemys day and nyght,

I wolde wythstonde, with bowe in hande,

To greeve them as I myght,

And you to save, as wymen have, 165

From deth many one:

For in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone."

"Yet take good hede; for ever I drede

That ye coude not sustein 170

The thorney wayes, the depe valeis,

The snowe, the frost, the reyn,

The colde, the hete; for, drye or wete,

We must lodge on the playn;

And us aboove noon other rove 175

But a brake bussh or twayne;

Whiche sone shulde greve you, I beleve,

And ye wolde gladly than

That I had too the grenewode goo

Alone, a banysshyd man." 180

"Syth I have here been partynere

With you of joy and blysse,

I must also parte of your woo

Endure, as reason is;

Yet am I sure of oo plesure, 185

And shortly, it is this;

That where ye bee, mesemeth, perd['e],

I coude not fare amysse.

Wythout more speche, I you beseche

That we were soon agone; 190

For in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone."

"Yf ye goo thedyr, ye must consider,

Whan ye have lust to dyne,

Ther shel no mete be fore to gete, 195

Nor drinke, bere, ale, ne wine;

Ne shetis clene to lye betwene,

Made of thred and twyne:

Noon other house but levys and bowes

To kever your hed[200] and myn.[L200] 200

Loo, myn herte swete, this ylle dyet

Shuld make you pale and wan:

Wherfore I to the wood wyl goo

Alone, a banysshid man."

"Amonge the wylde dere suche an archier 205

As men say that ye bee

Ne may not fayle of good vitayle,

Where is so grete plente;

And watir cleere of the ryvere

Shal be ful swete to me, 210

Wyth whiche in hele I shal right wele

Endure, as ye shall see:

And er we go, a bed or too

I can provide anoon;

For in my mynde, of all mankynde 215

I love but you alone."

"Loo, yet before, ye must doo more,

Yf ye wyl goo with me,

As cutte your here up by your ere,

Your kirtel by the knee; 220

Wyth bowe in hande, for to withstonde

Your enmys, yf nede bee;

And this same nyght, before daylight,

To woodward wyl I flee;

And [if] ye wyl all this fulfylle, 225

Doo it shortely as ye can:

Ellis wil I to the grene wode goo

Alone, a banysshyd man."

"I shal as now do more for you

Than longeth to womanhede,[L230] 230

To short my here, a bowe to bere,

To shote in tyme of nede:

O my swete moder, before all other,

For you have I most drede!

But now, adiew! I must ensue 235

Wher fortune duth me leede.

All this make ye; now lete us flee;

The day cums fast upon;[L238]

For in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone." 240

"Nay, nay, not soo; ye shal not goo;

And I shal telle you why;

Your appetyte is to be lyght

Of love, I wele aspie:

For right as ye have sayd to me, 245

In lyke wyse, hardely,

Ye wolde answere, who so ever it were,

In way of company.

It is sayd of olde, sone hote, sone colde,

And so is a woman; 250

Wherfore I too the woode wyl goo

Alone, a banysshid man."

"Yef ye take hede, yt is noo nede[L253]

Suche wordis to say bee me;

For ofte ye preyd, and longe assayed, 255

Or I you lovid, perd['e].

And though that I of auncestry

A barons doughter bee,

Yet have you proved how I you loved,

A squyer of lowe degree; 260

And ever shal, what so befalle,

To dey therfore anoon;

For in my mynde, of al mankynde

I love but you alone."

"A barons childe to be begyled, 265

It were a curssed dede!

To be felow with an outlawe,

Almyghty God forbede!

Yet bettyr were the power squyer

Alone to forest yede, 270

Than ye shal saye another day,

That be [my] wyked dede

Ye were betrayed; wherfore, good maide,

The best red that I can

Is that I too the greene wode goo 275

Alone, a banysshed man."

"Whatsoever befalle, I never shal

Of this thing you upbraid;

But yf ye goo, and leve me soo,

Than have ye me betraied. 280

Remembre you wele, how that ye dele,

For yf ye, as ye sayde,

Be so unkynde to leve behynd

Your love, the Notbrowne Maide,

Trust me truly, that I shal dey, 285

Sone after ye be gone;

For in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone."

"Yef that ye went, ye shulde repent,

For in the forest now 290

I have purveid me of a maide,

Whom I love more than you:

Another fayrer than ever ye were,

I dare it wel avowe;

And of you bothe eche shulde be wrothe 295

With other, as I trowe.

It were myn ease to lyve in pease;

So wyl I, yf I can;

Wherfore I to the wode wyl goo

Alone, a banysshid man." 300

"Though in the wood I undirstode

Ye had a paramour,

All this may nought remeve my thought,

But that I wil be your;

And she shal fynde me softe and kynde, 305

And curteis every our,

Glad to fulfylle all that she wylle

Commaunde me, to my power;

For had ye, loo, an hundred moo,

Yet wolde I be that one.[L310] 310

For in my mynde, of all mankynde

I love but you alone."

"Myn oune dere love, I see the prove

That ye be kynde and trewe;

Of mayde and wyf, in all my lyf, 315

The best that ever I knewe.

Be mery and glad, be no more sad,

The case is chaunged newe;

For it were ruthe that for your trouth

You shuld have cause to rewe. 320

Be not dismayed: whatsoever I sayd

To you whan I began,

I wyl not too the grene wod goo;

I am noo banysshyd man."

"Theis tidingis be more glad to me 325

Than to be made a quene,

Yf I were sure they shuld endure;

But it is often seen,

When men wyl breke promyse, they speke

The wordis on the splene. 330

Ye shape some wyle me to begyle,

And stele fro me, I wene;

Then were the case wurs than it was,

And I more woo-begone;

For in my mynde, of all mankynde 335

I love but you alone."

"Ye shal not nede further to drede:

I wyl not disparage

You, God defende! sith you descende

Of so grete a lynage. 340

Nou understonde, to Westmerlande,

Which is my herytage,

I wyl you bringe, and wyth a rynge,

Be wey of maryage,

I wyl you take, and lady make, 345

As shortly as I can:

Thus have ye wone an erles son,

And not a banysshyd man."

Here may ye see, that wymen be

In love meke, kinde, and stable: 350

Late never man repreve them than,

Or calle them variable;

But rather prey God that we may

To them be comfortable,

Whiche somtyme provyth suche as loveth, 355

Yf they be charitable.

For sith men wolde that wymen sholde

Be meke to them echeon,

Moche more ought they to God obey,

And serve but hym alone. 360

9, to.

28, they.

30, Soe.

35, cause.

50. Wherfore.

v. 98, Whan.

v. 152, Shul.

200, bed, Wright.

v. 230, That, womanhod.

238, cum.

v. 253, yet is.

v. 310, Of them I wolde be one. Percy MS.

THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON.

From _Reliques of Ancient English Poetry_, iii. 177. Another copy is

in Ritson's _Ancient Songs_, ii. 134.

"From an ancient black-letter copy in the Pepys collection, with some

improvements communicated by a lady as she had heard the same recited

in her youth. The full title is, _True love requited: Or, the

Bailiff's daughter of Islington_."--PERCY.

There was a youthe, and a well-beloved youthe,

And he was a squires son:

He loved the bayliffes daughter deare,

That lived in Islington.

Yet she was coye, and would not believe 5

That he did love her soe,

Noe nor at any time would she

Any countenance to him showe.

But when his friendes did understand

His fond and foolish minde, 10

They sent him up to faire London,

An apprentice for to binde.

And when he had been seven long yeares,

And never his love could see,--

"Many a teare have I shed for her sake, 15

When she little thought of mee."

Then all the maids of Islington

Went forth to sport and playe,

All but the bayliffes daughter deare;

She secretly stole awaye. 20

She pulled off her gowne of greene,

And put on ragged attire,

And to faire London she would go,

Her true love to enquire.

And as she went along the high road, 25

The weather being hot and drye,

She sat her downe upon a green bank,

And her true love came riding bye.

She started up, with a colour soe redd,

Catching hold of his bridle-reine; 30

"One penny, one penny, kind sir," she sayd,

"Will ease me of much paine."

"Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart,

Praye tell me where you were borne."

"At Islington, kind sir," sayd shee, 35

"Where I have had many a scorne."

"I prythee, sweet-heart, then tell to mee,

O tell me, whether you knowe

The bayliffes daughter of Islington."

"She is dead, sir, long agoe." 40

"If she be dead, then take my horse,

My saddle and bridle also;

For I will into some farr countrye,

Where noe man shall me knowe."

"O staye, O staye, thou goodlye youthe, 45

She standeth by thy side;

She is here alive, she is not dead,

And readye to be thy bride."

"O farewell griefe, and welcome joye,

Ten thousand times therefore; 50

For nowe I have founde mine owne true love,

Whom I thought I should never see more."

THE BLIND BEGGAR'S DAUGHTER OF BEDNALL GREEN.

The copy here given of this favorite popular ballad is derived from

_Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England_, Percy

Society, xvii. 60. It is there printed from a modern broadside,

"carefully collated" with a copy in the Bagford collection. In Percy's

edition, (_Reliques_, ii. 171,) besides many trivial emendations,

eight modern stanzas (said to be the work of Robert Dodsley) are

substituted for the first five of the Beggar's second song, "to remove

absurdities and inconsistencies," and to reconcile the story to

probability and true history! The copy in _A Collection of Old

Ballads_, ii. 202, is not very different from the present, and the few

changes that have been made in the text selected, unless otherwise

accounted for, are adopted from that.

"Pepys, in his diary, 25th June, 1663, speaks of going with Sir

William and Lady Batten, and Sir J. Minnes, to Sir W. Rider's at

Bednall Green, to dinner, 'a fine place;' and adds, 'This very house

was built by the Blind Beggar of Bednall Green, so much talked of and

sung in ballads; but they say it was only some outhouses of it.'"

CHAPPELL, _Popular Musk of the Olden Time_, p. 159.

This song's of a beggar who long lost his sight,

And had a fair daughter, most pleasant and bright;

And many a gallant brave suitor had she,

And none was so comely as pretty Bessee.

And though she was of complexion most fair, 5

Yet seeing she was but a beggar his heir,[L6]

Of ancient housekeepers despised was she,

Whose sons came as suitors to pretty Bessee.

Wherefore in great sorrow fair Bessee did say,

"Good father and mother, let me now go away, 10

To seek out my fortune, whatever it be;"

This suit then was granted to pretty Bessee.

This Bessee, that was of a beauty most bright,

They clad in gray russet, and late in the night

From father and mother alone parted she, 15

Who sighed and sobbed for pretty Bessee.

She went till she came to Stratford-at-Bow,

Then she knew not whither or which way to go;

With tears she lamented her sad destiny,

So sad and so heavy was pretty Bessee. 20

She kept on her journey until it was day,

And went unto Rumford along the highway;

And at the King's Arms entertained was she,

So fair and well-favoured was pretty Bessee.

She had not been there one month at an end, 25

But master and mistress and all was her friend;

And every brave gallant that once did her see

Was straightway in love with pretty Bessee.

Great gifts they did send her of silver and gold,

And in their songs daily her love they extoll'd; 30

Her beauty was blazed in every degree,

So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee.

The young men of Rumford in her had their joy;

She shewed herself courteous, but never too coy,

And at their commandment still she would be, 35

So fair and so comely was pretty Bessee.

Four suitors at once unto her did go,

They craved her favour, but still she said no;

"I would not have gentlemen marry with me,"--

Yet ever they honoured pretty Bessee. 40

Now one of them was a gallant young knight,

And he came unto her disguised in the night;

The second, a gentleman of high degree,

Who wooed and sued for pretty Bessee.

A merchant of London, whose wealth was not small, 45

Was then the third suitor, and proper withal;

Her master's own son the fourth man must be,

Who swore he would die for pretty Bessee.

"If that thou wilt marry with me," quoth the knight,

"I'll make thee a lady with joy and delight; 50

My heart is enthralled in thy fair beauty,

Then grant me thy favour, my pretty Bessee."

The gentleman said, "Come marry with me,

In silks and in velvets my Bessee shall be;

My heart lies distracted, oh hear me!" quoth he, 55

"And grant me thy love, my dear pretty Bessee."

"Let me be thy husband," the merchant did say,

"Thou shalt live in London most gallant and gay;

My ships shall bring home rich jewels for thee,

And I will for ever love pretty Bessee." 60

Then Bessee she sighed, and thus she did say;

"My father and mother I mean to obey;

First get their goodwill, and be faithful to me,

And you shall enjoy your dear pretty Bessee."

To every one of them that answer she made; 65

Therefore unto her they joyfully said,

"This thing to fulfill we all now agree;

But where dwells thy father, my pretty Bessee?"

"My father," quoth she, "is soon to be seen;

The silly blind beggar of Bednall Green, 70

That daily sits begging for charity,

He is the kind father of pretty Bessee.

"His marks and his token are knowen full well;

He always is led by a dog and a bell;

A poor silly old man, God knoweth, is he, 75

Yet he is the true father of pretty Bessee."

"Nay, nay," quoth the merchant, "thou art not for me;"

"She," quoth the innholder, "my wife shall not be;"

"I loathe," said the gentleman, "a beggars degree,

Therefore, now farewell, my pretty Bessee." 80

"Why then," quoth the knight, "happ better or worse,

I weigh not true love by the weight of the purse,

And beauty is beauty in every degree;

Then welcome to me, my dear pretty Bessee.

"With thee to thy father forthwith I will go." 85

"Nay, forbear," quoth his kinsman, "it must not be so:

A poor beggars daughter a lady sha'nt be;

Then take thy adieu of thy pretty Bessee."

As soon then as it was break of the day,

The knight had from Rumford stole Bessee away; 90

The young men of Rumford, so sick as may be,[L91]

Rode after to fetch again pretty Bessee.

As swift as the wind to ride they were seen,

Until they came near unto Bednall Green,

And as the knight lighted most courteously, 95

They fought against him for pretty Bessee.

But rescue came presently over the plain,

Or else the knight there for his love had been slain;

The fray being ended, they straightway did see

His kinsman come railing at pretty Bessee. 100

Then bespoke the Blind Beggar, "Altho' I be poor,

Rail not against my child at my own door;

Though she be not decked in velvet and pearl,

Yet I will drop angels with thee for my girl;

"And then if my gold should better her birth, 105

And equal the gold you lay on the earth,

Then neither rail you, nor grudge you to see

The Blind Beggars daughter a lady to be.

"But first, I will hear, and have it well known,

The gold that you drop it shall be all you own;" 110

"With that," they replied, "contented we be;"

"Then heres," quoth the beggar, "for pretty Bessee."

With that an angel he dropped on the ground,

And dropped, in angels, full three thousand pound;

And oftentimes it proved most plain, 115

For the gentlemans one, the beggar dropped twain.

So that the whole place wherein they did sit

With gold was covered every whit;

The gentleman having dropt all his store,

Said, "Beggar, your hand hold, for I have no more. 120

"Thou hast fulfilled thy promise aright;"

"Then marry my girl," quoth he to the knight;

"And then," quoth he, "I will throw you down,

An hundred pound more to buy her a gown."

The gentlemen all, who his treasure had seen, 125

Admired the Beggar of Bednall Green.

And those that had been her suitors before,

Their tender flesh for anger they tore.

Thus was the fair Bessee matched to a knight,

And made a lady in others despite: 130

A fairer lady there never was seen

Than the Blind Beggars daughter of Bednall Green.

But of her sumptuous marriage and feast,

And what fine lords and ladies there prest,

The second part shall set forth to your sight, 135

With marvellous pleasure, and wished for delight.

6. And seeing.

91. Percy has _thicke_.