28_The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 2 (of 5)

'O open the door, Lady Margaret,

O open and let me in;

I want to see if my steed be fed,

Or my grey-hounds fit to rin.'

'I'll na open the door, Lord John,' she said,

'I'll na open it to thee,

Till ye grant to me my ae request,

And a puir ane it's to me.

'Ye'll gie to me a bed in an outhouse,

For my young son and me,

And the meanest servant in a' the place,

To wait on him and me.'

[He's tane the door wi his fit,

And he keppd it wi his knee,

He made the door o double deals

In splinders soon to flee.]

['An askin, an askin, grant me, Lord John,

An askin ye'll grant me;

The meanest maid about the place

To bring a glass o water to me.']

'I grant, I grant, Lady Margret,' he said,

'A' that, and mair frae me,

The very best bed in a' the place

To your young son and thee,

And my mither, and my sister dear,

To wait on him and thee.

'And a' thae lands, and a' thae rents,

They sall be his and thine;

Our wedding and our kirking day,

They sall be all in ane.'

And he has tane Lady Margaret,

And rowd her in the silk,

And he has tane his ain young son,

And washd him in the milk.

Kinloch MSS, VII, 325.

* * * * * * *

Lord John rose, put on his clothes,

Sought neither stockens nor shoon,

An between the ha and the stable

He made not a step but one.

'O open, open, to me, Burd Ellen,

O open an let me in:'

'O yes, O yes, will I, Lord John,

But not till I can win;

O yes, will I, Lord John,' she says,

'But I'm lyin wi your young son.'

He's taen the door wi his foot,

An he kepped it wi his knee;

He made the door of double deals

In splinders soon to flee.

'An askin ye'll grant me, Lord John,

An askin ye'll grant me;

May the meanest maid about the place

Bring a glass o water to me?'

'O hold your tongue, Burd Ellen,' he said,

'Lat a' your askins be;

For the best maid about the house

Shall bring a glass o wine to thee.

'An the best bed about it a',

For my young son an thee;

My mother and my ae sister

Sal bear you company.

'Your marriage an your kirkin day

They sal be both in ane,

An a' these ha's an bowers, Burd Ellen,

They sal be yours an mine.'

Harris MS., No 8, fol. 12 b: originally from Jannie

Scott, an old nurse in Perthshire, about 1790.

'I beg you bide at hame, Margaret,

An sew your silken seam;

If ye waur in the wide Hielands,

Ye wald be owre far frae hame.'

'I winna bide at hame,' she said,

'Nor sew my silken seam;

For if I waur in the wide Hielands,

I wald no be owre far frae hame.'

'My steed sall drink the blude-red wine,

An you the water wan;

I'll mak you sigh, an say, alace,

That ever I loed a man!'

'Though your steed does drink the blude-red wine,

An me the water wan,

Yet will I sing, an merry be,

That ever I loed a man.'

'My hounds shall eat the bread o wheat,

An you the bread o bran;

I'll mak you sigh, an say, alace,

That ever you loed Lord John!'

'Though your hounds do eat the bread o wheat,

An me the bread o bran,

Yet will I sing, an merrie be,

That ever I loed Lord John.'

He turned aboot his high horse head,

An awa he was boun to ride;

She kilted up her green clieden,

An after him she gaed.

Whan they cam to that water

Whilk a' man ca the Clyde,

He turned aboot his high horse head,

Said, Ladie, will you ride?

'I learnt it in my mother's bour,

I wish I had learnt it weel,

That I could swim this wan water

As weel as fish or eel.'

Whan at the middle o that water,

She sat doon on a stone;

He turned aboot his high horse head,

Says, Ladie, will ye loup on?

'I learnt in my mother's bour,

I wish I had learnt it better,

That I culd swim this wan water

As weel as eel or otter.'

He has taen the narrow ford,

An she has taen the wide;

Lang, lang ere he was at the middle,

She was sittin at the ither side.

. . . . . . .

Wi sighen said that Fair Margaret,

Alace, I'm far frae hame!

'Hoo mony miles is't to your castle?

Noo Lord John, tell to me;'

'Hoo mony miles is't to my castle?

It's thirty miles an three:'

Wi sighen said that Fair Margaret,

It'll never be gane by me!

But up it spak the wily bird,

As it sat on the tree,

'Rin on, rin on noo, Fair Margaret,

It scarcely miles is three.'

Whan they cam to the wide Hielands,

An lichted on the green,

Every an spak Erse to anither,

But Margaret she spak nane.

Whan they waur at table set,

An birlin at the best,

Margaret set at a bye-table,

An fain she wald hain rest.

'Oh mither, mither, mak my bed

Wi clean blankets an sheets,

An lay my futeboy at my feet,

The sounder I may sleep.'

She has made Lord John his bed,

Wi clean blankets an sheets,

An laid his futeboy at his feet,

But neer a wink culd he sleep.

'Win up, win up noo, Fair Margaret,

An see that my steed has meat;

See that his corn is in his travisse,

Nor lyin amang his feet.'

Slowly, slowly rase she up,

An slowly put she on,

An slowly gaed she doon the stair,

Aye makin a heavy moan.

* * * * * * *

'An asken, an asken, gude Lord John,

I pray you grant it me;

For the warst bed in a' your hoose,

To your young son an me.'

'Your asken is but sma, Margaret,

Sune grantet it shall be;

For the best bed in a' my hoose

Is owre little for thee.'

'An asken, an asken, gude Lord John,

I pray you grant it me;

For the warst ale in a' your hoose,

That ye wald gie to me.'

'Your asken is but sma, Margaret,

Sune grantet it sall be;

For the best wine in a' my hoose

Is owre little for thee.

'But cheer up your heart noo, Fair Margaret,

For, be it as it may,

Your kirken an your fair weddin

Sall baith be on one day.'

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 114, from Mrs Arrot of

Arberbrothick.

Lord Thomas stands in his stable-door,

Seeing his steeds kaimd down;

Lady Ellen sits at her bower-door,

Sewing her silver seam.

'O will ye stay at hame, Ellen,

And sew your silver seam?

Or will ye to the rank highlands?

For my lands lay far frae hame.'

'I winna stay at hame, Lord Thomas,

And sew my silver seam;

But I'll gae to the rank highlands,

Tho your lands lay far frae hame.'

* * * * * * *

'An asking, an asking, Lord Thomas,

I pray thee grant it me;

How many miles into your fair tower,

And house where you would be?'

'Your asking fair, Lady Ellen,' he says,

'Shall now be granted thee;

For to my castle where it stands

Is thirty miles and three:'

'O wae is me,' says Lady Ellen,

'It will never be run by me.'

But up and spak the wily pyot,

That sat upon the tree:

'Sae loud, sae loud, ye fause, fause knight,

Sae loud as I hear you lie!

'For to your dwelling-house,' it says,

'Of miles it's scantly three:'

'O weel is me,' says Lady Ellen;

'It shall be run by me.'

* * * * * * *

'O mither, mither, mak my bed,

And mak it braid and wide,

And lay my little page at my feet,

Whatever may betide.'

* * * * * * *

'An asking, an asking, Lord Thomas,

I pray thee grant it me;

O grant me a cup of cold water,

Between my young son and me.'

'What you do ask, Lady Ellen,

Shall soon be granted thee;

The best bread and the best wine,

Between my young son and thee.'

'I ask again, my good Lord Thomas,

I ask again of thee;

The poorest cot-house in your land,

Between my young son and me.'

'Your asking now, dear Lady Ellen,

I quickly grant to thee;

The best bower about my tower,

Between my young son and thee.'

Buchan's MSS, II, 129.

The knight he stands in stable-door,

Says he, I will go ride;

The lady's kilted her gay cloathing,

And ran low by his side.

He has ridden, and she has run,

Till they came to yon water wan;

He has ridden, and she has run,

Like to his waiting man.

He has ridden, and she has run,

Till they came on to Clyde;

The knight he rode on high horseback,

But the lady she bot wide.

The first step that the lady stepped,

She stept into the knee;

The bairn that was between her sides

There he gied spartles three.

'Lie still, lie still, my bonny boy,

Ye work your mother woe;

Your father rides on high horseback,

Cares little for us two.'

The nextand step that lady stepped.

She stept into the pap;

The bairn that was between her sides

There spartled and he lap.

'Ly still, ly still, my bonny boy,

You work your mother's woe;

Your father rides on high horseback,

Cares little for us two.'

In the middle of that water

There stands a yird-fast stone;

He turnd his horse head back again,

Said, Lady, loup ye on.

She hadna ridden a mile, a mile,

O never a mile but ane,

Till she grew sick, and so weary

She couldna ride nor gang.

'Ride on, ride on, my gay lady,

You see not what I see;

For yonder is my father's castle,

A little beyond the lee,

And ye'll get ane of my father's men.

But, lady, neer lippen on me.'

There were four and twenty bonny ladies

Led Willie frae bower to ha,

But the bonniest lady among them a'

Led his steed to the sta.

When they were at the table set,

And sitting at their dine,

Out it spake his mother dear.

And she spake aye in time.

'Sometimes your boy's red, Willie,

And other times he's wan;

He looks like a woman wi bairn,

But no ways like a man.'

'Win up, win up, my bonny boy,

Go look your master's steed;

See that his meat be at his head,

And not among his feet.'

O healy, healy raise she up,

And healy gaed she down,

And healy opend the stable-door,

And as healy gaed she in,

And even among that big horse feet

She bear her dear young son.

As Willie's mother was walking alone,

Between the bower and ha,

She thought she heard a bairn's greet

And lady's moan in the sta.

'Gude make ye safe, my ae son Willie,

Gude keep ye safe frae harm;

Ye might hae chosen a lighter foot-boy

Than a women in travilling.'

He hit the table wi his foot,

He kept it wi his knee,

Till silver cups and silver spoons

Into the floor did flee.

There were fifteen steps into that stair,

I wat he made them a' but three;

He's to the stable gane in haste,

And a' to see his gay lady.

'I am not come o sic low kin,

Nor yet sic low degree,

That you needed to banish me frae your sight,

That ye left nae woman wi me.'

'I wish I'd drunken the wan water

When I did drink the wine,

Or when I left my lady gay,

And her at sic a time.

'But up ye'll take my dear young son,

And wash him wi the milk,

And up ye'll take my lady gay

And row her in the silk;

For her kirking and her fair wedding

Shall baith stand in ae day.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 277, from Marjory Johnston, servant

to W. Parker, manufacturer, Paisley.

* * * * * * *

'Turn back, turn back, O Burd Alone,

For the water's both broad and long:'

First she went into the shoulders,

And sine unto the chin.

'How far is it to your hall, Lord John?

How far is it? I pray of thee:'

'The nearest way unto my hall

Is thirty miles and three.

'Turn back, turn back, O Burd Alone,

Ye'll sink before ye win owre:'

'I am too big with bairn,' she says,

'To sink or I win owre.'

'Turn back, turn back, O Burd Alone,

Turn back, I pray of thee;

For I've got a wife and seven bairns,

I like far better than thee.'

And then spak a wild parrot,

Sat high upon the tree:

'Gang on, gang on, O Burd Alone,

[He likes nane better nor thee.]

'For Lord John has neither wife nor bairns,

He likes better than thee,

And the nearest way to Lord John's hall

Is only short miles three.'

When she was come to Lord John's hall,

Lords, knights and ladies braw

Was there to welcome them hame;

But the bravest in the ha,

She waited at Lord John's back,

Serving the tables a'.

When she was laid into her bed,

Amang the servants a' ilk ane,

The mother heard a babie greet,

And a lady make a heavy maen.

'Rise up, rise up, Lord John,' she said,

'Bind on thy hose and shoon;

Thow might hae got some other lady

Than a lady big wi bairn.'

Lord John awa to the hay-loft,

Where his lady lay;

'O rise, O rise, my love,' he says,

'O rise and let me in;

It's I have got no loves without,

But I've got one within.'

'I ask three favours of you, Lord John,

I ask three favours of thee;

I ask a bottle of your sma, sma beer,

For your old son and me.'

'O rise, O rise, my love,' he says,

'O rise and let me in;

My wine and gin is at your command,

And that of my old son.'

'The next favour I ask of you, Lord John,

The next favour I ask of thee,

Is the meanest room in all your house,

For your young son and me.

'The next favour I ask of you, Lord John,

The next favour I ask of thee,

Is the meanest maid in a' your house,

To wait on your yong son and me.'

'O rise, O rise, my love,' he says,

'O rise and let me in;

For thy bridal and thy banquet day

Shall both be held in ane.'

Communicated by Dr Thomas Davidson, as learned from his

aunt at Old Deer, about 185

Lord John stands in his stable-door,

Just on his way to ride;

Lady Ellen stands in her bower-door,

Says, Bide, Lord John, abide!

* * * * * * *

He did ride, and she did run,

A lief-lang simmer's day,

Until they came till a wan water,

That a' man did ca Tay.

The first step that she steppit in,

She steppit tae the cweet;

An sichan said that gay lady,

I fear this water's deep!

The next step that she steppit in,

She steppit tae the knee;

An sichan said that gay lady,

This water's deep for me!

Lord John hield down his high horse head,

Said, Lady, will ye ride?

'O no! O no! kind sir,' she said,

'I'll rather choose tae wide.'

The next step that she steppit in,

She steppit tae the chin;

An sichan said that gay lady,

I'll wide nae farrer in.

The firsten town that they cam till,

She got a leash o huns tae lead,

. . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,

An a' was ready tae dine,

. . . . . . .

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,

An a' were bound for bed,

. . . . . . .

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 30.

The knight stands in his stable-door,

Says he, I will gae ride;

A lady stands in her bower-door,

Says, I'll ride by your side.

'Ye shall not follow me, Burd Helen,

Except ye do this deed;

That is, to saddle to me my horse,

And bridle to me my steed,

And every town that ye come to,

A liesh o hounds to lead.'

'I will saddle to you your horse,

Sae will I bridle your steed;

And every town that we come to,

A liesh o hounds I'll lead.'

Take warning a', ye maidens fair,

That wear scarlet and brown;

In virtue leave your lammas beds,

To follow knights frae town.

'My dogs shall eat the white bread, Helen,

And you the dust and bran;

And you will sigh, and say, alas!

That eer our loves began.'

'Your dogs may eat the gude white bread,

And I the dust and bran;

Yet will I sing, and say, well's me,

That eer our loves began.'

'My horse shall drink the gude red wine,

And you the water wan;

And then you'll sigh, and say, alas!

That eer our loves began.'

'Your horse may drink the gude red wine,

And I the water wan;

But yet I'll sing, and say, well's me,

That eer our loves began.'

Then Willie lap on his white steed,

And straight awa did ride;

Burd Helen, drest in men's array,

She walked by his side.

But he was neer sae lack a knight

As ance woud bid her ride,

And she was neer sae mean a may

As ance woud bid him bide.

Sweet Willie rade, Burd Helen ran,

A livelang summer's tide,

Until she came to wan water,

For a' men ca's it Clyde.

The first an step that she wade in,

She wadit to the knee;

'Ohon, alas!' said that fair maid,

'This water's nae for me!'

The next an step that she wade in,

She wadit to the pap;

The babe within her sides twa,

Cauld water gart it quack.

'Lie still, lie still, my bonny bairn,

For a' this winna dee;

Your father rides on high horseback,

Minds neither you nor me.'

In the midst of Clyde's water,

There stands a yird-fast stone;

There he leant him ower his saddle-bow,

And set that lady on,

And brought her to the other side,

Then set her down again.

'O see ye not yon goodly towers,

And gowd towers stand sae hie?

There is a lady in yonder bower

Will sinder you and me.'

'I wish nae ill to your lady,

She neer wishd nane to me;

But I wish the maid maist o your love

That drees far mair for thee.

'I wish nae ill to your lady,

She neer comes in my thought;

But I wish the maid maist o your love

That dearest hae you bought.'

Four an twenty gay ladies

Led Willie thro bower and ha;

But the fairest lady amo them a'

Led his horse to the sta.

Four an twenty gay ladies

Were a' at dinner set;

Burd Helen sat at a by-table,

A bit she coudna eat.

Out it spake her Dow Isbel,

A skilly dame was she:

'O whare got ye this fine foot-page

Ye've brought alang wi thee?

'Sometimes his colour waxes red,

Sometimes it waxes wan;

He is liker a woman big wi bairn

Nor be a waiting man.'

'Win up, win up, my boy,' he says,

'At my bidding to be,

And gang and supper my gude steed,

See he be litterd tee.'

Then she is into stable gane,

Shut tee the door wi a pin,

And even amang Willie's horse feet

Brought hame her bonny young son.

When day was gane, and night was come,

And a' man bound for bed,

Sweet Willie and Dow Isbel

In ae chamber were laid.

They hadna been well lien down,

Nor yet well faen asleep,

Till up it wakens Sweet Willie,

And stood at Dow Isbel's feet.

'I dreamd a dreary dream this night,

I wish it may be for guid;

Some rogue hae broke my stable-door,

And stown awa my steed.

'Win up, win up now, Dow Isbel,

At my bidding to be,

And ye'll gae to my stable-door,

See that be true or lie.'

When she gaed to the stable-door,

She heard a grievous groan;

She thought she heard a bairn greet,

But and a woman's moan.

'When I was in my bigly bower,

I wore but what I would;

This night I'm lighter 'mang Willie's horse feet,

I fear I'll die for cold.

'When I was in my bigly bower,

I wore gold to my tae;

This night I'm lighter mang Willie's horse feet,

And fear I'll die or day.

'When I was in my bigly bower,

I wore scarlet and green;

This night I'm lighter mang Willie's horse feet,

And fear I'll die my lane.'

Dow Isbel now came tripping hame,

As fast as gang coud she;

'I thought your page was not a man,

Ye brought alang wi thee.

'As I gaed to your stable, Willie,

I heard a grievous groan;

I thought I heard a bairn greet,

But and a woman's moan.

'She said, when in her bigly bower,

She wore but what she would;

But this night is lighter mang your horse feet,

And fears she'll die for cold.

'She said, when in her bigly bower,

She wore gold to her tae;

But this night is lighter mang your horse feet,

And fears she'll die or day.

'Win up, win up, now Sweet Willie,

At my bidding to be,

And speak some comfort to the maid,

That's dreed sae much for thee.'

He is to the stable door gane,

As fast as gang coud he;

'O open, O open, Burd Helen,' he says,

'Ye'll open the door to me.'

'That was never my mother's custom,

And hope it's never be mine,

A knight into her companie,

When she drees a' her pine.'

'O open the door, Burd Helen,' he says,

'O open the door to me;

For as my sword hangs by my gair,

I'll gar it gang in three.'

'How can I open, how shall I open,

How can I open to thee,

When lying amang your great steed's feet,

Your young son on my knee?'

He hit the door then wi his foot,

Sae did he wi his knee,

Till doors o deal, and locks o steel,

In splinders gart he flee.

'An asking, asking, Sweet Willie,

An asking ye'll grant me;

The warst in bower in a' your towers,

For thy young son and me.'

'Your asking's nae sae great, Burd Helen,

But granted it shall be;

The best in bower in a' my towers,

For my young son and thee.'

'An asking, asking, sweet Willie,

An asking ye'll grant me;

The warst an woman about your bowers,

To wait on him and me.'

'The best an woman about my bowers,

To wait on him and thee,

And that's my sister Dow Isbel,

And a gude woman is she.

'Ye will take up my little young son,

And wash him wi the milk;

And ye'll take up my gay lady,

And row her in the silk.

'Be favourable to my lady,

Be favourable, if ye may;

Her kirking and her fair wedding

Shall baith stand on ae day.

'There is not here a woman living

But her shall be my bride,

And all is for the fair speeches

I got frae her at Clyde.'

* * * * *

#A.#

And _throughout for_ &.

18^3, 19^3, 22^1, 23^1. four and twenty, _MS. has 24._

26^6. [rich]. _Percy._

27^2. they way.

28^1. goe thy.

28^3. ffarest.

28^5, 29^5. armes 2.

31^1. this and itt droue now. _The emendation, made

without confidence, assumes, as does that to 32^3, ~and~

to be used as in '~Sir Cawline~.'_

32^3. did on.

#B. a.#

21^2. An a' man.

#b.#

1^1. I forbid you.

1^3. To leave your father's families.

1^4. And follow... frae the.

2^1. I am a gay ladie.

2^2. wear.

2^3. father's castle.

3^{1, 3} stands.

3^2. Says I am boon to ride.

3^4. Says I'll run by your side.

4^1. He has mounted on his berry brown steed.

4^3. She's clad her in a page's weed.

4^4. And ay as fast.

5^2. An folks.

5^3. He's lookd oer.

5^4. Says Ellen will you ride.

6^1. O I learnd it when I was a bairn.

7^1, 8^1, 9^1. that ladie.

7^2. It was aboon her knee.

7^3. Says Bird Ellen.

8^2. It was up till.

8^3. Ohon alas says Bird Ellen.

9^1. The thirden step.

9^2. touched her pap.

9^3. The bairn between her sides twa.

9^4. begood to.

10^2. You gie your mother pain.

10^4. And cares little for us twain.

11^1. O _wanting_. Clyde's.

11^2. There stands.

11^3. He has turnd about his berry brown steed.

11^4. And taen her up him behind.

12^4. Where this night you mean to be.

13^1. Do not ye see.

13^2. so far and hie.

13^3. ladie there, he says.

14.

Altho there be a ladie there,

Should sunder you and me,

Betide my life, betide my death,

I will go thither and see.

15^2, 16^2. brown.

15^3. Then you will.

15^4. That ever you lovd a man.

16^1. O 'tis I shall.

16^{3, 4}.

But I neer shall live to cry alas,

That ever I lovd a man.

17^{1, 2}.

My horse shall eat the baken meat,

And you shall eat the corn.

17^3. You then will.

18^1. O I shall eat the baken meat.

18^3. And I still shall bless.

20^4. her lane.

21^2. a' were.

22==#a# 23. ^3. O I can neither eat nor drink.

23==#a# 22. ^3. O I can neither eat nor drink.

24^{3, 4}.

My son, where gat ye that foot-page

You have brought hame to me?

25^1. cheeks look.

25^2. pale and wan.

25^3. He looks mair like a ladie wi bairn.

26.

He has looked oer his left shoulder,

And a loud laugh laughed he;

Says, He's a squire's ae dear son,

I got in the north countrie.

27^1. Win up, win up.

27^3. And so.

27^4. As fast as ever I may.

28^{2-4}.

And the corn in her right hand,

And she's hied her to the stable-door,

As fast as she could gang.

29^2. Stand nearer to.

29^3. between my sides.

30^{1, 2}.

She has leand to the manger side

And gien a grieveous groan.

30^4. brought home a son.

31==#a# 31, 32.

Then out it spake Lord John's mother,

As she stood on the stair,

'I think I hear a woman groan,

And a bairn greeting sair.'

32==#a# 33.

^1. O quickly, quickly raise he up.

^3. But hied him to the stable-door.

_33, wanting in_ #a#.

'Now open the door, Bird Ellen,' he says,

'O open and let me in,

Or baith the door and the door cheeks

Into the floor I'll fling.'

34.

He is struck the door wi his right foot

And pushed it wi his knee,

Till iron bolts and iron bars

In flinders he has gard flee:

'Be not afraid, Bird Ellen,' he says,

'For there's nane win in but me.'

_35, wanting in_ #a#.

The never a word spake that ladie,

As on the floor she lay,

But hushd her young son in her arms

And turnd his face away.

36==#a# 35.

'Now up ye take my bonny young son

And wash him wi the milk,

And up ye take my fair ladie,

And row her i the silk.'

_#a# 36 is wanting in #b#._

37.

'And smile on me now, Bird Ellen,

And cast awa your care,

For I'll make you ladie of a' my lands,

And your son shall be my heir.'

38.

'Blessd be the day,' sayd Bird Ellen,

'That I followd you frae the town,

For I'd rather far be your foot-page

Than the queen that wears the crown.'

#C.#

_The stanzas bracketed are those which Kinloch

interpolated in his later copy._

_27, 31, 32, were derived from #D#._

22^1. _In his later copy Kinloch has made the change_,

Win up, win up, my bonnie boy.

#E.#

20^4. Or lyin: _see_ #G# 14.

#G.#

22^6. Aye.

#H.#

5^4. _This line is included in () in the MS., and was

probably supplied by Motherwell._

#I.#

3^3, 4^3, 6^3. sichan: _MS._ "sich an, perhaps sichin."

#J.#

_4^3 seems to be a corruption of ~I forbid you leave your

families~, or something of the kind: cf. #B a# 1^{1, 3}._

10^1. _The knight seems to be ~lack~ (wanting) rather

in ~not~ bidding, or letting, her ride; his lack is

nothing but his leave; but as the idea may conceivably

be that it would be unknightly to ride with a lady

behind--all ballads to the contrary--no emendation has

been attempted._

21^3. five foot page.

[82] Caution is imperative where so much ground is covered, and no

man should be confident that he can do absolute justice to poetry in

a tongue that he was not born to; but foreign poetry is as likely

to be rated too high as to be undervalued. I will give Grundtvig's

impression, at least as competent a judge of popular ballads as ever

spoke: "Den Rigdom paa stemningsfuld Lyrik, som i det hele taget

hjemler den engelsk-skotske Folkevise den højeste poetiske Rang mellem

alle sine Søskende, kommer ogsaa her til Syne, fordelt paa alle

Opskrifter." Danmarks gamle Folkeviser, V, 187.

[83] Except in Swedish #A#, where, apparently by a mixture of two

stories, the issue is tragic.

FAIR JANET

#A.# 'Fair Janet,' Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 1.

#B.# 'Fair Janet and Sweet William,' Motherwell's MS., p.

357.

#C.# 'Willie and Annet,' Herd's Scots Songs, 1769, p. 303.

#D.# 'Lord William,' Motherwell's MS., p. 271.

#E.# 'Willie and Janet,' Kinloch MSS, V, 283, II, 41.

#F.# 'Sweet Willie and Fair Maisry,' Buchan's Ballads of

the North of Scotland, I, 97; Motherwell's MS., p. 606.

#G.# 'Sweet Willie,' Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 61.

#G#, as printed by Finlay, was made up from various fragments. Of

his twenty-seven stanzas fourteen were taken from #C#, and these are

now omitted. #A# 13, #D# 5, #G# 4, 5, #C# 19, are found also in some

copies of 'Fair Annie of Lochroyan;' #C# 19 also in 'Sweet Willie and

Fair Annie.' The very inappropriate question in #F# 4, "O will ye gang

to the cards, Meggie," occurs in Jamieson's 'Clerk Saunders,' I, 84,

st. 5. The inquiry in #G# 1, "Will you _burn_ for Sweet Willie?" may

probably have been suggested by the ballad of 'Lady Maisry.' We have

the oath by the thorn, #G# 13, in 'Glasgerion.' For the conclusion of

#A#, #E#, see No 7, I, 96 ff.

Fair Janet, #A#, #B#, #E# [Annet, Maisry], loving Sweet Willie, and on

the point of becoming a mother by him, is destined by her father to

marry a French lord, #A#; a Southland lord, #B#, #E#, #G#. She implores

Willie to fly with her over sea, #B#, #C#; to good green wood, #F#.

They set sail, but her condition obliges her to return, #B#; her time

comes before they can get away, #C#. She bears a child.[84] To avoid

discovery, the babe is taken to Willie's mother, who very readily

assumes charge of it. Scarcely has the child been born, when Janet's

father comes with orders to busk the bride, #A#, #B#, #C# (?), #E#,

#F#. She begs to be tenderly handled, as not being in good plight. They

attire her gayly, and she selects Willie to lead her horse, or ride

before her on her horse, to church, #A#, #B#, #E#. Her cheek is pale,

her color goes and comes; it is suspected, and even suggested, that she

has borne a bairn, or is near to doing so, #A# 22, #C# 14, #D# 10, #E#

11, #F# 25. She seeks to clear herself by an ambiguous oath, #E# 12,

#G# 26, 27; Willie does this for her, #G# 11. After dinner, or supper,

#A#, #B#, dancing is in order. Janet makes excuses to her brothers,

her father, the bridegroom's man, and declines very decidedly the

bridegroom's own invitation, with marked asperity in #A#, #B#. But with

Willie she will dance though her heart should break in three. She takes

three turns, and falls down dead. Willie gives the key of his coffer

to his man, and bids him tell his mother that his horse has slain him.

He would not survive Janet in any pure and full form of the story, and

does not in #A#, #C#, #E#.

'Sweet William,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 307, borrows some stanzas

at the beginning from 'Fair Janet.'

There are points of resemblance between 'Fair Janet' and a ballad very

popular in Scandinavia and in Germany, which demand notice, though they

may not warrant the assumption of community of origin.

The Scandinavian ballad is: #Danish#, 'Kong Valdemar og hans

Søster,' Grundtvig, No 126, III, 63 ff, 911 f, #A-I#; #G# from

a sixteenth-century manuscript, #A-F# from seventeenth-century

manuscripts or print, the two last from recent tradition. #Icelandic#,

'Soffíu kvæði,' Íslenzk Fornkvæði, No 52, II, 152, #A-F#, all of which,

according to Grundtvig, must be put, at latest, in the seventeenth

century, though some are first met with in the eighteenth. #Färoë#,

a single copy, almost Danish, from the beginning of this century,

printed by Grundtvig, III, 67 f. #Norwegian#, three copies from recent

tradition, Grundtvig, III, 69, 913 f. #Swedish#, all from this century,

'Liten Kerstin och Fru Sofia,' Arwidsson, No 53, I, 335-51, #A-E#; #F#,

#G#, in Cavallius and Stephens' collection, Grundtvig, III, 70; #H#,

'Liten Kerstin och drottning Sofia,' Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 79.[85]

The #German# ballad is: #A.# 'Graf Hans von Holstein und seine

Schwester Annchristine,' Müllenhoff, p. 492, No 48. #B.# 'Der grobe

Bruder,' Wunderhorn, II, 272, 1808, Birlinger und Crecelius, II, 24.

#C.# 'Der grausame Bruder,' Parisius, p. 38, No 12, A. #D.# 'Das Lied

vom Pfalzgrafen,' Düntzer und Herder, Briefe Goethe's an Herder, I,

154. #E.# 'Der grausame Bruder,' Erk, Liederhort, p. 153, No 45. #F.#

'Christinchen,' Pröhle, p. 4, No 2. #G.# Wunderhorn, Birlinger und

Crecelius, II, 247, No 4. #H.# Parisius, No 12, C. #I.# Reifferscheid,

p. 107. #J.# 'Der böse Bruder,' Zuccalmaglio, p. 185, No 89. #K.#

'Der Pfalzgraf vom Rhein,' Wunderhorn, I, 259, 1806, Birlinger und

Crecelius, II, 24. #L.# 'Der grausame Bruder,' Hoffmann und Richter,

Schlesische Volkslieder, p. 49, No 27. #M.# Parisius, No 12, B. A

version in broadside style, Erlach, II, 585, Doenniges, p. 217;

compounded copies, Simrock, No 16, Scherer, Jungbrunnen, No 35, A.

According to the Scandinavian story, a king is informed by his queen,

her inexorable enemy, that Kirstin, his sister, has just borne a child.

The king sends for Kirstin, who is at some distance, to come to him

immediately. She is obliged to make the journey on horseback. Upon her

arrival the king puts her to a variety of tests, among these a long

dance. Kirstin comes off so well that her brother says the queen has

belied her. The queen then bares Kirstin's breast and makes milk flow

from it. The king hereupon sends for heavy whips, and flogs his sister

to the point of death. In the Icelandic and Färöe versions Kirstin

dies of the dance, in her brother's arms. In the Swedish versions

and in Danish #I# the king is Kirstin's father, not her brother. The

Norwegian versions and Swedish #F#, #H# have a false conclusion:

Kirstin survives, and is united to her lover. In Danish #A# the king

had, before he learned the state of things, promised his sister to the

son of the King of England, and in Danish #F#, #H#, #I#, Swedish #F#,

and the Färöe ballad, Kirstin's lover is an English prince, who, in

Danish #H#, comes to claim his mistress, and, finding her dead, kills

the king. In Swedish #A# Kirstin dances with four, dances with five,

dances with all the men of the court, and in Swedish #C#, #H# she tires

out successively all the courtiers, the king, and the queen.

#A#, far the best preserved of the German versions, makes a hunter

ask a count for his sister Annchristine. Being refused, as an unequal

match, he tells the count that his sister, for all her nobility, has

borne a child. The count maintains Annchristine to be a maid. The

hunter says, Send for her, and see. The young lady is required to come

on horseback. When her brother sees her approaching, with her long

hair flowing, his confidence is strengthened. The hunter says, Make

her dance. She dances seven hours, and her brother finds reason to

continue of the same mind as before. The hunter says, Let us tighten

her lacing, and, when that is done, milk springs from her breasts.

Her brother gives her the choice between whipping and the sword. She

chooses the former. He beats her till liver and lungs spring from her

body. She then calls on him to stop; Prince Frederick of England is his

brother-in-law. The count is much troubled, and promises everything if

she will live. But Annchristine dies, and presently Prince Frederick

appears. He has heard of what the count has done, cuts him to bits, and

gives him to the crows.

In the other German versions the informant is generally of low rank,

and sometimes professes to be father of the child. In #B#, #C#, #G#,

#H#, #K# he is a kitchey-boy, a personage who plays no insignificant

part in romantic story. The coming on horseback is wanting. The long

dance is found in #B-F#. The father of the child is always the English

King, who runs the brother through with his sword, #B#, #D#, #E#, #G#,

#K#, #L#, or otherwise gives him his due.

The slight resemblance and the great difference of the Scottish story

are apparent. Fair Janet has to go a certain distance on horseback, at

a time when she is peculiarly ill fitted to do so, like the hapless

Kirstin of the Scandinavian ballads and the German #A#, and she dies

from dancing in her weak condition, as the lady does in the Icelandic

and Färöe ballad. But both the ride and the dance are incidental to

her forced marriage, and neither the ride nor the dance is employed as

a test, as the dance always is in the other ballad, and as the ride

is expressly devised to be in German #A# 6. The Scottish Janet is not

constrained to dance, nor does she dance down all the men in the room.

She declines every invitation except Willie's, and this, in some cases,

she (very naturally and touchingly) encourages or incites; and her

vital powers give way after three turns. All the unspeakably ferocious

features of the Norse and German ballads are wanting, and the bound

which divides the pathetic from the horrible is never passed.

A Breton ballad, 'Ar C'homt Gwillou,' 'Prinses ar Gwillou,' 'Le

Comte Guillou,' 'La Princesse Le Guillou,' Luzel, II, 6-15, in three

versions, has the probation by dancing. A count or prince, returning

to his mistress after a considerable absence, happens to hear a

shepherdess singing a song, of which he himself is unfortunately the

subject. The lady has had a child. Fearing to encounter her injured

lover, she tries to pass off a younger sister for herself, but, as may

be imagined, this desperate artifice does not succeed. She is told what

is said of her, and hopes she may melt like butter if ever she had

daughter or son. The count calls out, Play up, musicians, that we may

see how this damsel will step out. The young woman pleads that she is

suffering from fever, and cannot dance just now, but the count strikes

her on the breast so that milk spurts on her gown, #A#. He kills

her.[86]

There is also a Magyar ballad, in which a jealous or offended lover

makes his mistress dance till her boots are full of blood, as Kjersti's

are in Norwegian #A#, #B#: 'Darvas Kis Clement,' Aigner, p. 110.

One or two correspondences with the Scandinavian-German ballad will

require to be noted under 'Lady Maisry,' which immediately follows.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 7; #F# by

Gerhard, p. 97; a combination of #A#, #C# and others by Grundtvig, No

39.

Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 1, as sung by an old woman in

Perthshire.

'Ye maun gang to your father, Janet,

Ye maun gang to him soon;

Ye maun gang to your father, Janet,

In case that his days are dune.'

Janet's awa to her father,

As fast as she could hie:

'O what's your will wi me, father?

O what's your will wi me?'

'My will wi you, Fair Janet,' he said,

'It is both bed and board;

Some say that ye loe Sweet Willie,

But ye maun wed a French lord.'

'A French lord maun I wed, father?

A French lord maun I wed?

Then, by my sooth,' quo Fair Janet,

'He's neer enter my bed.'

Janet's awa to her chamber,

As fast as she could go;

Wha's the first ane that tapped there,

But Sweet Willie her jo?

'O we maun part this love, Willie,

That has been lang between;

There's a French lord coming oer the sea,

To wed me wi a ring;

There's a French lord coming oer the sea,

To wed and tak me hame.'

'If we maun part this love, Janet,

It causeth mickle woe;

If we maun part this love, Janet,

It makes me into mourning go.'

'But ye maun gang to your three sisters.

Meg, Marion, and Jean;

Tell them to come to Fair Janet,

In case that her days are dune.'

Willie's awa to his three sisters,

Meg, Marion, and Jean:

'O haste, and gang to Fair Janet,

I fear that her days are dune.'

Some drew to them their silken hose,

Some drew to them their shoon,

Some drew to them their silk manteils,

Their coverings to put on,

And they're awa to Fair Janet,

By the hie light o the moon.

* * * * * * *

'O I have born this babe, Willie,

Wi mickle toil and pain;

Take hame, take hame, your babe, Willie,

For nurse I dare be nane.'

He's tane his young son in his arms,

And kisst him cheek and chin,

And he's awa to his mother's bower,

By the hie light o the moon.

'O open, open, mother,' he says,

'O open, and let me in;

The rain rains on my yellow hair,

And the dew drops oer my chin,

And I hae my young son in my arms,

I fear that his days are dune.'

With her fingers lang and sma

She lifted up the pin,

And with her arms lang and sma

Received the baby in.

'Gae back, gae back now, Sweet Willie,

And comfort your fair lady;

For where ye had but ae nourice,

Your young son shall hae three.'

Willie he was scarce awa,

And the lady put to bed,

Whan in and came her father dear:

'Make haste, and busk the bride.'

'There's a sair pain in my head, father,

There's a sair pain in my side;

And ill, O ill, am I, father,

This day for to be a bride.'

'O ye maun busk this bonny bride,

And put a gay mantle on;

For she shall wed this auld French lord,

Gin she should die the morn.'

Some put on the gay green robes,

And some put on the brown;

But Janet put on the scarlet robes,

To shine foremost throw the town.

And some they mounted the black steed,

And some mounted the brown;

But Janet mounted the milk-white steed,

To ride foremost throw the town.

'O wha will guide your horse, Janet?

O wha will guide him best?'

'O wha but Willie, my true-love?

He kens I loe him best.'

And when they cam to Marie's kirk,

To tye the haly ban,

Fair Janet's cheek looked pale and wan,

And her colour gaed an cam.

When dinner it was past and done,

And dancing to begin,

'O we'll go take the bride's maidens.

And we'll go fill the ring.'

O ben than cam the auld French lord.

Saying, Bride, will ye dance with me?

'Awa, awa, ye auld French lord,

Your face I downa see.'

O ben than cam now Sweet Willie,

He cam with ane advance:

'O I'll go tak the bride's maidens,

And we'll go tak a dance.'

'I've seen ither days wi you, Willie,

And so has mony mae,

Ye would hae danced wi me mysel,

Let a' my maidens gae.'

O ben than cam now Sweet Willie,

Saying, Bride, will ye dance wi me?

'Aye, by my sooth, and that I will,

Gin my back should break in three.'

She had nae turned her throw the dance,

Throw the dance but thrice,

Whan she fell doun at Willie's feet,

And up did never rise.

Willie's taen the key of his coffer,

And gien it to his man:

'Gae hame, and tell my mother dear

My horse he has me slain;

Bid her be kind to my young son,

For father he has nane.'

The tane was buried in Marie's kirk,

And the tither in Marie's quire;

Out of the tane there grew a birk,

And the tither a bonny brier.

Motherwell's MS., p. 357, from the recitation of Agnes

Lyle, Kilbarchan.

'If you do love me weel, Willie,

Ye'll shew to me truelie;

Ye'll build to me a bonnie ship,

And set her on the sea.'

He did love her very weel,

He shewed to her trulie;

He builded her a bonnie ship,

And set her on the sea.

They had not sailed one league, one league,

One league but only three,

Till sharp, sharp showers fair Janet took,

She grew sick and like to die.

'If you do love me weel, Willie,

Ye'll shew to me trulye;

Ye'll tak me to my mother's bower,

Whare I was wont to be.'

He did love her very weel,

He shewed to her trulye;

He took her to her mother's bower,

Whare she was wont to be.

'It's ye'll stand up at my richt side,

You will on tiptaes stand,

Until you hear your auld son weep,

But an your Janet mourn.

'Come take your auld son in your arms,

He is both large and lang;

Come take your auld son in your arms,

And for a nourice gang.'

He is to his mother's bowers,

An hour or it struck nine:

'I have a babe into my arms,

He'll die for nouricing.'

'Goe home, go home, my son,' she says,

'And mak thy Jenny blythe;

If ae nurse winna sere her son,

It's I'll provide him five.'

Fair Janet was nae weel lichter,

Nor weel doun on her side,

Till ben and cam her father dear,

Saying, Wha will busk our bride?

Ben and cam her brethren dear,

Saying, Wha will busk our bride?

And wha will saddle our bride's horse?

Whom ahint will she ride?

'Hold your tongue, my brethren dear,

And let your folly be,

For I'm sae fair and full of hair

Sma busking will serve me.

'Hold your tongue, my brethren dear,

And let your folly be,

For I will ride behint William,

He will best wait on me.

'Willie, lay the saddle saft,

And lead the bridle soun,

And when we come to Mary's Kirk,

Ye'll set me hooly down.'

Supper scarslie was owre,

Nor musick weel fa'n to,

Till ben and cam the bride's brethren,

Saying, Bride, ye'll dance wi me:

'Awa, awa, my brethren dear,

For dancing's no for me.'

Ben and came her ain bridegroom,

Saying, Bride, ye'll dance wi me;

She says, Awa, awa, ye southland dog,

Your face I downa see.

Ben and cam then Sweet Willie,

Saying, Bride, ye'll dance wi me:

'Oh I will dance the floor once owre,

Tho my heart should break in three.'

'Oh no, oh no,' said Sweet William,

'Let no such things eer be;

But I will cut my glove in two,

And I'll dance for thee and me.'

She hadna danced the floor once owre,

I'm sure she hadna thrice,

Till she fell in a deadly swound,

And from it neer did rise.

Out and spak her ain bridegroom,

And an angry man was he:

'This day she has gien me the geeks,

Yet she must bear the scorn;

There's not a bell in merry Linkum

Shall ring for her the morn.'

Out and spoke then Sweet William,

And a sorry man was he:

'Altho she has gien you the gecks,

She will not bear the scorn;

There's not a bell in merry Linkum

But shall ring for her the morn.'

There was not a bell in merry Linkum

But they tinkled and they rang,

And a' the birds that flew above,

They changed their notes and sang.

Herd's Scots Songs, 1769, p. 303: I, 162, ed. 1776.

Livd ance twa luvers in yon dale,

And they luvd ither weel;

Frae evning late to morning aire

Of luving luvd their fill.

'Now, Willie, gif you luve me weel,

As sae it seems to me,

Gar build, gar build a bonny schip,

Gar build it speedilie.

'And we will sail the sea sae green,

Unto some far countrie,

Or we'll sail to some bonie isle,

Stands lanely midst the sea.'

But lang or ere the schip was built,

Or deckd, or rigged out,

Came sick a pain in Annet's back

That down she coud na lout.

'Now, Willie, gif ye luve me weel,

As sae it seems to me,

O haste, haste, bring me to my bowr,

And my bowr-maidens three.'

He's taen her in his arms twa,

And kissd her, cheik and chin;

He's brocht her to her ain sweet bowr,

But nae bowr-maid was in.

'Now leave my bower, Willie,' she said,

'Now leave me to my lane;

Was nevir man in a lady's bower

When she was travelling.'

He's stepped three steps down the stair,

Upon the marble stane;

Sae loud's he heard his young son's greet,

But and his lady's mane!

'Now come, now come, Willie,' she said,

'Tak your young son frae me,

And hie him to your mother's bower,

With speed and privacie.'

He's taen his young son in his arms,

He's kissd him, cheik and chin;

He's hied him to his mother's bower,

By th' ae light of the moon.

And with him came the bold barone,

And he spake up wi pride:

'Gar seek, gar seek the bower-maidens,

Gar busk, gar busk the bryde.'

'My maidens, easy with my back,

And easy with my side;

O set my saddle saft, Willie,

I am a tender bryde.'

When she came to the burrow-town,

They gied her a broch and ring,

And when she came to...,

They had a fair wedding.

O up then spake the norland lord,

And blinkit wi his ee:

'I trow this lady's born a bairn,'

Then laucht loud lauchters three.

And up then spake the brisk bridegroom,

And he spake up wi pryde:

'Gin I should pawn my wedding-gloves,

I will dance wi the bryde.'

'Now had your tongue, my lord,' she said,

'Wi dancing let me be;

I am sae thin in flesh and blude,

Sma dancing will serve me.'

But she's taen Willie be the hand,

The tear blinded her ee:

'But I wad dance wi my true-luve,

But bursts my heart in three.'

She's taen her bracelet frae her arm,

Her garter frae her knee:

'Gie that, gie that to my young son,

He'll neer his mother see.'

* * * * * * *

'Gar deal, gar deal the bread, mother,

Gar deal, gar deal the wyne;

This day hath seen my true-love's death,

This nicht shall witness myne.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 271, "from Margery Johnston, who had

it of her grand-aunt, a very old woman."

* * * * * * *

'It never was my mother's fashion,

As little will 't be mine,

For to hae gay lords within my room

When ladies are travailing.'

Lord William was scarsely down the stair,

A step but only ane,

Till he heard his auld son gie a cry,

And his lady a heavy maen.

'Turn back, turn back, Lord William,' she says,

'Take thy auld son in thy coat-neuk,

And see and reach thy mother's bowers

Twa hours before day comes.'

He's awa wi his auld son in his coat-neuk,

As fast as he can run,

And there he's reached his mother's bowers,

Twa hours before day came.

'O rise, O rise, my mother dear,

O rise and let me in,

For I've my auld son in my coat-neuk,

And he shivers at the chin.'

'Ye're welcome hame to me, Lord William,

And so is thy auld son;

It's where ye had but ae nourice,

Thy auld son he'll hae four.'

His lady was scarsely in her bed,

Nor well faln owre asleep,

When four and twenty knights and lords

Came for the bride at last.

They dressed her up, they dressed her down,

They dressed her wondrous fine,

And just before her ain bedside

She lost her colour clean.

'Be hooly wi my head, maidens,

Be hooly wi my hair,

For it was washen late last night,

And now it's very sair.'

Out then spoke a southern lord,

And oh but he spak bauld:

'She is the likest that bore a child

That eer my eyes did see.'

Up then spak her auld, auld father,

And oh he spoke in time:

'She neer bore a child since her birth

Except it was yestreen.'

Out then spoke a northern lord:

'It's bride, will ye dance wi me?'

'Oh no, oh no, you northland lord,

It's dancing's no for me.'

Out then spoke a southland lord:

'It's bride, will ye dance wi me?'

'Oh no, oh no, you southland lord,

I would as lief chuse to die.'

Out then spoke her ain bridegroom:

'O bride, will ye dance wi me?'

'Oh no, oh no, my ain bridegroom,

It's dancing's no for me.'

Out then spoke her ain Willy,

And oh he spoke fu fine:

'O bride, O bride, will ye dance wi me,'

. . . . . . .

'Oh yes, oh yes, Willie,' she said,

'It's I will dance with thee;

Oh yes, I'll dance, dear Willie,' she said,

'Tho my back it gaes in three.'

She leaned her head on Willie's breast,

And her back unto the wa:

'O there's the key of my coffer,

And pay weel the nouriss fee,

And aye when ye look on your auld son,

Ye may aye think on me.'

Kinloch MSS, V, 283, II, 41, from Mary Barr, Clydesdale.

Willie and Fair Janet

Sat a' day on yon hill;

And Janet she took sair pains,

And O but she grew ill.

'Fetch a woman to me, Willie,

O fetch a woman to me,

For without the help of woman, Willie,

Surely I will dee.'

'O tie a napkin on my face,

That naething I may see,

And what can a woman do, Janet,

But I will do for thee?'

* * * * * * *

She was na scarcely brought to bed,

Nor yet laid on her side,

Till in and cam her father there,

Crying, Fy, gae busk the bride.

'A wearyed bride am I, father,

A wearyed bride am I;

Must I gae wed that southlan lord,

And let Sweet Willie abe?'

* * * * * * *

'Now chuse, now chuse now, Fair Janet,

What shall your cleeding be;

Now chuse, now chuse now, Fair Janet,

And I will gie it to thee.

'Whether will you hae it of the berry brown,

Or of the holland green;

Or will you hae it of the crimson red,

Most lovely to be seen?'

'I will not hae't of the berry brown,

Nor yet o the holly green;

But I will hae't of the crimson red,

Most lovely to be seen.'

'Now chuse, now chuse now, Fair Janet,

What man you'll ride behind:'

'O wha sae fitting as Sweet Willie?

He'll fit my saddle fine.'

O they rode on, and they rode on,

Till they cam to Merrytown green;

But Sweet Willie and Fair Janet

Cam aye hoolie ahin.

O whan they cam to Merrytown,

And lighted on the green,

Monie a bluidy aith was sworn

That our bride was wi bairn.

Out and spake the bonny bride,

And she swore by her fingers ten:

'If eer I was wi bairn in my life,

I was lighter sin yestreen.'

Up and raise he the bridegroom,

Says, Bride, will ye dance wi me?

'Dance on, dance on, bridegroom,' she says,

'For I'll dance nane wi thee.'

Up and raise her father then,

Says, Bride, will ye dance wi me?

'Dance on, my father,' she replied,

'I pray thee let me be.'

Then up and raise he Sweet Willie,

And he had meikle pride:

'I'll lay my gloves in the bride's han,

And I'll dance for the bride.'

'O no, O no, O Sweet Willie,

O no, that shall na be;

For I will dance wi thee, Willie,

Tho my back should fa in three.'

She had na run a reel, a reel,

A reel but barely three,

Till pale and wan grew Fair Janet,

And her head took Willie's knee.

Out and spake then the bridegroom,

And he spake wi great scorn:

'There's not a bell in Merrytown kirk

Shall ring for her the morn.'

Out and spak he Sweet Willie,

And his heart was almost gane:

''Tis a the bells in Merrytown kirk

Shall ring for her the morn.'

Willie was buried in Mary's kirk,

etc., etc., etc.

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 97;

Motherwell's MS., p. 606.

Hey, love Willie, and how, love Willie,

And Willie my love shall be;

They're thinking to sinder our lang love, Willie;

It's mair than man can dee.

'Ye'll mount me quickly on a steed,

A milk-white steed or gray,

And carry me on to gude greenwood,

Before that it be day.'

He mounted her upon a steed,

He chose a steed o gray;

He had her on to gude greenwood,

Before that it was day.

'O will ye gang to the cards, Meggie?

Or will ye gang wi me?

Or will ye hae a bower-woman,

To stay ere it be day?'

'I winna gang to the cards,' she said,

'Nor will I gae wi thee,

Nor will I hae a bower-woman,

To spoil my modestie.

'Ye'll gie me a lady at my back,

An a lady me beforn,

An a midwife at my twa sides,

Till your young son be born.

'Ye'll do me up, and further up,

To the top o yon greenwood tree;

For every pain myself shall hae,

The same pain ye maun drie.'

The first pain that did strike Sweet Willie,

It was into the side;

Then sighing sair said Sweet Willie,

These pains are ill to bide!

The nextan pain that strake Sweet Willie,

It was into the back;

Then sighing sair said Sweet Willie,

These pains are women's wreck!

The nextan pain that strake Sweet Willie,

It was into the head;

Then sighing sair said Sweet Willie,

I fear my lady's dead!

Then he's gane on, and further on,

At the foot o yon greenwood tree;

There he got his lady lighter,

Wi his young son on her knee.

Then he's taen up his little young son,

And kissd him, cheek and chin,

And he is on to his mother,

As fast as he could gang.

'Ye will take in my son, mother,

Gie him to nurses nine;

Three to wauk, and three to sleep,

And three to gang between.'

Then he has left his mother's house,

And frae her he has gane,

And he is back to his lady,

And safely brought her hame.

Then in it came her father dear,

Was belted in a brand:

'It's nae time for brides to lye in bed,

When the bridegroom 's send 's in town.

'There are four-and-twenty noble lords

A' lighted on the green;

The fairest knight amang them a',

He must be your bridegroom.'

'O wha will shoe my foot, my foot?

And wha will glove my hand?

And wha will prin my sma middle,

Wi the short prin and the lang?'

Now out it speaks him Sweet Willie,

Who knew her troubles best:

'It is my duty for to serve,

As I'm come here as guest.

'Now I will shoe your foot, Maisry,

And I will glove your hand,

And I will prin your sma middle,

Wi the sma prin and the lang.'

'Wha will saddle my steed,' she says,

'And gar my bridle ring?

And wha will hae me to gude church-door,

This day I'm ill abound?'

'I will saddle your steed, Maisry,

And gar your bridle ring,

And I'll hae you to gude church-door,

And safely set you down.'

'O healy, healy take me up,

And healy set me down,

And set my back until a wa,

My foot to yird-fast stane.'

He healy took her frae her horse,

And healy set her down,

And set her back until a wa,

Her foot to yird-fast stane.

When they had eaten and well drunken,

And a' had thornd fine,

The bride's father he took the cup,

For to serve out the wine.

Out it speaks the bridegroom's brother,

An ill death mat he die!

'I fear our bride she's born a bairn,

Or else has it a dee.'

She's taen out a Bible braid,

And deeply has she sworn;

'If I hae born a bairn,' she says,

'Sin yesterday at morn,

'Or if I've born a bairn,' she says,

'Sin yesterday at noon,

There's nae a lady amang you a'

That woud been here sae soon.'

Then out it spake the bridegroom's man,

Mischance come ower his heel!

'Win up, win up, now bride,' he says,

'And dance a shamefu reel.'

Then out it speaks the bride hersell,

And a sorry heart had she:

'Is there nae ane amang you a'

Will dance this dance for me?'

Then out it speaks him Sweet Willie,

And he spake aye thro pride:

'O draw my boots for me, bridegroom,

Or I dance for your bride.'

Then out it spake the bride hersell:

O na, this maunna be;

For I will dance this dance mysell,

Tho my back shoud gang in three.

She hadna well gane thro the reel,

Nor yet well on the green,

Till she fell down at Willie's feet

As cauld as ony stane.

He's taen her in his arms twa,

And haed her up the stair;

Then up it came her jolly bridegroom,

Says, What's your business there?

Then Willie lifted up his foot,

And dang him down the stair,

And brake three ribs o the bridegroom's side,

And a word he spake nae mair.

Nae meen was made for that lady,

When she was lying dead;

But a' was for him Sweet Willie,

On the fields for he ran mad.

Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 61.

'Will you marry the southland lord,

A queen of fair England to be?

Or will you burn for Sweet Willie,

The morn upon yon lea?'

'I will marry the southland lord,

Father, sen it is your will;

But I'd rather it were my burial-day,

For my grave I'm going till.

'O go, O go now, my bower-wife,

O go now hastilie,

O go now to Sweet Willie's bower,

And bid him cum speak to me.'

* * * * * * *

And he is to his mother's bower,

As fast as he could rin:

'Open, open, my mother dear,

Open, and let me in.

'For the rain rains on my yellow hair,

The dew stands on my chin,

And I have something in my lap,

And I wad fain be in.'

'O go, O go now, Sweet Willie,

And make your lady blithe,

For wherever you had ae nourice,

Your young son shall hae five.'

Out spak Annet's mother dear,

An she spak a word o' pride;

Says, Whare is a' our bride's maidens,

They're no busking the bride?

'O haud your tongue, my mother dear,

Your speaking let it be,

For I'm sae fair and full o flesh

Little busking will serve me.'

Out an spak the bride's maidens,

They spak a word o pride;

Says, Whare is a' the fine cleiding?

It's we maun busk the bride.

'Deal hooly wi my head, maidens,

Deal hooly wi my hair;

For it was washen late yestreen,

And it is wonder sair.'

* * * * * * *

And Willie swore a great, great oath,

And he swore by the thorn,

That she was as free o a child that night

As the night that she was born.

'Ye hae gien me the gowk, Annet,

But I'll gie you the scorn;

For there's no a bell in a' the town

Shall ring for you the morn.'

Out and spak then Sweet Willie:

Sae loud's I hear you lie!

There's no a bell in a' the town

But shall ring for Annet and me.

* * * * * * *

* * * * *

#E.#

_The copy in Kinloch MSS, II, 41, has been revised by Mr

Kinloch. His more important changes are as follows_:

1^1. Sweet Willie.

1^3. took in labor-pains.

2^1. Gae fetch.

2^3. For but.

2^4. It's surely.

3^3. And what a woman can do, Janet.

3^4. That I.

4^4. Says, Fy.

6^{1, 3}. now chuse thee, Fair Janet.

7^2, 8^2. hollin.

10^2, 11^1, 18^3, 19^3. Marytoun.

10^4. Cam riding.

12^1. Then out.

14^4. ye let me abee.

18^1. the bridegroom then.

19^1. But out.

19^2. His heart.

20.

Fair Janet was buried in Mary's kirk,

Sweet Willie in Mary's quier,

And out o the tane there sprang a rose,

Out o the tither a brier.

21.

And aye they grew, and aye they threw,

Till thae twa they did meet,

That ilka ane might plainly see

They war twa lovers sweet.

#G.#

1^3. _Var._ mourn for. _11, in Finlay, follows 13.

Fourteen stanzas, taken from #C#, have been omitted._

[84] She bids Willie leave her bower while she is in travail, #C# 7;

in default of bower-woman, Willie offers to bandage his eyes and do a

woman's part, #E# 3, after which a stanza is doubtless lost, in which

man's aid would be rejected: cf. No 15, I, 182. #F# has a strange

passage, 6-10 (belonging, perhaps, to 'Leesome Brand'), in which the

lady, after asking that she may have the attendance of three women,

selects the top of a tree for her labor, and informs Willie that he

will have to drie every pain that she herself has, which experience

duly follows.

[85] Danish #E# is translated by Prior, II, 99.

[86] La Fidanzata Infedele, Nigra, Rivista Contemporanea, XXXI, 21, and

'L'adultera,' Ferraro, Canti p. monferrini, p. 5, are the same ballad

as the Breton, but the dance is not proposed in these.

LADY MAISRY

#A.# 'Lady Maisry,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 24;

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 73.

#B.# Motherwell's MS., p. 422, communicated by Charles

Kirkpatrick Sharpe.

#C.# 'Janet,' Motherwell's MS., p. 472.

#D.# 'Lady Margery,' Campbell MSS, II, 70.

#E.# 'Lady Marjory,' Motherwell's MS., p. 1; Motherwell's

Minstrelsy, p. 234.

#F.# The Scots [Edinburgh] Magazine, 1822, LXXXIX 734.

#G.# Notes and Queries, Second Series, IX, 193.

#H.# 'Young Prince James,' Buchan's Ballads of the North

of Scotland, I, 103.

#I. a.# 'Bonnie Susie Cleland,' Motherwell's MS., p.

235, Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 221. #b.# 'Susie

Cleland,' Motherwell's MS., p. 179. #c.# 'Susie Cleland,'

Motherwell's MS., p. 181.

#A# was No 12 in William Tytler's Brown manuscript, and stanzas 1,

21, 22, of that copy are cited by Anderson in his letter to Percy,

Nichols's Illustrations, VII, 177. Jamieson, who made a few changes in

printing from his manuscript, attributes, by an oversight, the ballad

to Mrs Arrot: compare Popular Ballads, I, pp 66 and 59. His copy is

repeated by Motherwell, p. 71. #C#, of which no account is given by

Motherwell, is hardly more than a variety of #B#. There is a copy in

the Abbotsford manuscript, "Scottish Songs," which is more considerably

tampered with, in the way of change, omission, and insertion.[87]

All the versions are in accord as to the material points of the story.

Lady Maisry rejects the suit of all the lords in the north country,

#A#; she has given her love to an English lord. Her lover's seat is

Strawberry Castle, #D#, #E#, #F#; Adam's Tower, #H#; he lives at

London, #G#. Maisry has been at Strawberry Castle for a time, and has

there learned some unco lair, #D#, #E#.[88] It is discovered that

Maisry goes with bairn. Her brother, #A#, #H#, father, #I#, informed

to this effect, requires her to renounce her English lord, but she

refuses; her father offers her the choice of marrying an auld man or

burning, #D#. In the other versions the family set about preparations

for burning her without attempting any arrangement. Maisry, warned of

her approaching fate, calls for a boy to carry word to England, and a

light-footed and heartily devoted young messenger takes her errand.

The English lord asks if his biggins are broken, his towers won, or

is his lady lighter, and is told that his lady is to be burnt for him

that very day. Horses are instantly saddled: a black, a brown, are

foundered, a milk-white [a dapple-gray], fair fall the mare that foaled

that foal! holds out, #B#, #C#, #E#, #F#. In #D# fifteen stout steeds

are burst, yet the little foot-page runs aye before, crying, Mend your

pace an you may! Maisry, in the flames, hears her lover's horn, hears

his bridle ring, #A#, #E#, #F#, #H#. "Beet on!" she cries; "I value

you not one straw. Mend up the fire, brother; I see him coming that

will soon mend it up to thee."[89] In #A#, #H# she cries out, when her

lover appears, that if her hands had been free she would have cast out

his young son. He leaps into the fire for a last kiss; her body falls

apart, #B-G#. He threatens an awful retaliation: he will burn father

and mother, and the chief of all her kin (who, no doubt, had been

concerned in this auto da fé). Vengeance glutted, he will throw himself

into the flames, #A#, #F#; he will take the pilgrim's cloak and staff,

#C#. The foot-page shall be heir of his land, #C#; he will remember the

bonny boy that ran the errand, #E#.[90]

Maisry, Margery, is the heroine's name in #A#, #D-H#, #J#; Janet in

#B#, #C#; Susie Cleland in #I#. The hero has a name only in #A#, Lord

William, and in #H#, Prince James.

'Lady Maisry' has a limited, and perhaps quite accidental, resemblance

to the Scandinavian-German ballad spoken of in the preface to 'Fair

Janet.' The lapse of the heroine is visited with a fearful death at

the hand of brother or father, and the lover who was partner to her

trespass appears on the scene immediately after, and takes his revenge.

A kitchey-boy is informant in #A#, as in some versions of the German

story.

The regular penalty for incontinence in an unmarried woman, if we are

to trust the authority of romances, is burning. This, according to the

well-known passage in Ariosto, Orlando Furioso, IV, 58, 59, was l'aspra

legge di Scozia, empia e severa, though it might be as difficult to

point out a law to that effect in any European code as a corresponding

patria potestas.[91] Some ballad cases are: Scandinavian (Danish,

Swedish, Norwegian, Icelandic), 'Ildpröven' and 'Møen paa Baalet,'

Grundtvig, Nos 108, 109, II, 577-590, III, 904 f, Eva Wigström,

Folkdiktning, I, 30, No 13; Spanish and Portuguese, 'De la infanta y

don Galvan,' Wolf and Hofmann, Primavera, No 159, II, 92; 'Conde Claros

de Montalvan,' Primavera, No 191, II, 374; 'La infanta seducida,'

Milá, Romancerillo Catalan, No 258, #A-M#, pp 249-54; 'L'infanta,'

Briz, IV, 39; 'Dom Carlos de Montealbar,' etc., Braga, Romanceiro, p.

79 ff, Nos 31, 32, 33, Cantos pop. do Archipelago Açoriano, p. 246,

No 25, Almeida-Garrett, II, 203; 'Dona Ausenda,' Almeida-Garrett, II,

177, 'Dona Aldonça,' Estacio da Veiga, p. 75; Hardung, Romanceiro

Portuguez, I, 180-204. To these add the prose Merlin, ed. Wheatley, I,

16; L'Histoire plaisante du noble Siperis de Vinevaulx, etc., cited by

Liebrecht, Dunlop, p. 467, note 117.[92]

* * * * *

#A# is translated, after Jamieson, I, 73, by Grundtvig, Engelske og

skotske Folkeviser, p. 38; #I, a#, the same, p. 322.

Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 24.

The young lords o the north country

Have all a wooing gone,

To win the love of Lady Maisry,

But o them she woud hae none.

O they hae courted Lady Maisry

Wi a' kin kind of things;

An they hae sought her Lady Maisry

Wi brotches an wi' rings.

An they ha sought her Lady Maisry

Frae father and frae mother;

An they ha sought her Lady Maisry

Frae sister an frae brother.

An they ha followd her Lady Maisry

Thro chamber an thro ha;

But a' that they coud say to her,

Her answer still was Na.

'O had your tongues, young men,' she says,

'An think nae mair o me;

For I've gien my love to an English lord,

An think nae mair o me.'

Her father's kitchy-boy heard that,

An ill death may he dee!

An he is on to her brother,

As fast as gang coud he.

'O is my father an my mother well,

But an my brothers three?

Gin my sister Lady Maisry be well,

There's naething can ail me.'

'Your father and your mother is well,

But an your brothers three;

Your sister Lady Maisry's well,

So big wi bairn gangs she.'

'Gin this be true you tell to me,

My mailison light on thee!

But gin it be a lie you tell,

You sal be hangit hie.'

He's done him to his sister's bowr,

Wi meikle doole an care;

An there he saw her Lady Maisry,

Kembing her yallow hair.

'O wha is aught that bairn,' he says,

'That ye sae big are wi?

And gin ye winna own the truth,

This moment ye sall dee.'

She turnd her right an roun about,

An the kem fell frae her han;

A trembling seizd her fair body,

An her rosy cheek grew wan.

'O pardon me, my brother dear,

An the truth I'll tell to thee;

My bairn it is to Lord William,

An he is betrothd to me.'

'O coud na ye gotten dukes, or lords,

Intill your ain country,

That ye draw up wi an English dog,

To bring this shame on me?

'But ye maun gi up the English lord,

Whan youre young babe is born;

For, gin you keep by him an hour langer,

Your life sall be forlorn.'

'I will gi up this English blood,

Till my young babe be born;

But the never a day nor hour langer,

Tho my life should be forlorn.'

'O whare is a' my merry young men,

Whom I gi meat and fee,

To pu the thistle and the thorn,

To burn this wile whore wi?'

'O whare will I get a bonny boy,

To help me in my need,

To rin wi hast to Lord William,

And bid him come wi speed?'

O out it spake a bonny boy,

Stood by her brother's side:

'O I would rin your errand, lady,

Oer a' the world wide.

'Aft have I run your errands, lady,

Whan blawn baith win and weet;

But now I'll rin your errand, lady,

Wi sat tears on my cheek.'

O whan he came to broken briggs,

He bent his bow and swam,

An whan he came to the green grass growin,

He slackd his shoone and ran.

O whan he came to Lord William's gates,

He baed na to chap or ca,

But set his bent bow till his breast,

An lightly lap the wa;

An, or the porter was at the gate,

The boy was i the ha.

'O is my biggins broken, boy?

Or is my towers won?

Or is my lady lighter yet,

Of a dear daughter or son?'

'Your biggin is na broken, sir,

Nor is your towers won;

But the fairest lady in a' the lan

For you this day maun burn.'

'O saddle me the black, the black,

Or saddle me the brown;

O saddle me the swiftest steed

That ever rade frae a town.'

Or he was near a mile awa,

She heard his wild horse sneeze:

'Mend up the fire, my false brother,

It's na come to my knees.'

O whan he lighted at the gate,

She heard his bridle ring:

'Mend up the fire, my false brother,

It's far yet frae my chin.

'Mend up the fire to me, brother,

Mend up the fire to me;

For I see him comin hard an fast

Will soon men 't up to thee.

'O gin my hands had been loose, Willy,

Sae hard as they are boun,

I would have turnd me frae the gleed,

And castin out your young son.'

'O I'll gar burn for you, Maisry,

Your father an your mother;

An I'll gar burn for you, Maisry,

Your sister an your brother.

'An I'll gar burn for you, Maisry,

The chief of a' your kin;

An the last bonfire that I come to,

Mysel I will cast in.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 422, communicated by Charles

Kirkpatrick Sharpe.

In came her sister,

Stepping on the floor;

Says, It's telling me, my sister Janet,

That you're become a whore.

'A whore, sister, a whore, sister?

That's what I'll never be;

I'm no so great a whore, sister,

As liars does on me lee.'

In came her brother,

Stepping on the floor;

Says, It's telling me, my sister Janet,

That you're become a whore.'

'A whore, brother, a whore, brother?

A whore I'll never be;

I'm no so bad a woman, brother,

As liars does on me lee.'

In came her mother,

Stepping on the floor:

'They are telling me, my daughter,

That you're so soon become a whore.'

'A whore, mother, a whore, mother?

A whore I'll never be;

I'm only with child to an English lord,

Who promised to marry me.'

In came her father,

Stepping on the floor;

Says, They tell me, my daughter Janet,

That you are become a whore.'

'A whore, father, a whore, father?

A whore I'll never be;

I'm but with child to an English lord,

Who promisd to marry me.'

Then in it came an old woman,

The lady's nurse was she,

And ere she could get out a word

The tear blinded her ee.

'Your father's to the fire, Janet,

Your brother's to the whin;

All for to kindle a bold bonfire,

To burn your body in.'

'Where will I get a boy,' she said,

'Will gain gold for his fee,

That would run unto fair England

For my good lord to me?'

'O I have here a boy,' she said,

'Will gain gold to his fee,

For he will run to fair England

For thy good lord to thee.'

Now when he found a bridge broken,

He bent his bow and swam,

And when he got where grass did grow,

He slacked it and ran.

And when he came to that lord's gate,

Stopt not to knock or call,

But set his bent bow to his breast

And lightly leapt the wall;

And ere the porter could open the gate,

The boy was in the hall,

In presence of that noble lord,

And fell down on his knee:

'What is it, my boy,' he cried,

'Have you brought unto me?

'Is my building broke into?

Or is my towers won?

Or is my true-love delivered

Of daughter or of son?'

'Your building is not broke,' he cried,

'Nor is your towers won,

Nor is your true-love delivered

Of daughter nor of son;

But if you do not come in haste,

Be sure she will be gone.

'Her father is gone to the fire,

Her brother to the whin,

To kindle up a bold bonfire,

To burn her body in.'

'Go saddle to me the black,' he cried,

'And do it very soon;

Get unto me the swiftest horse

That ever rade from the town.'

The first horse that he rade upon,

For he was raven black,

He bore him far, and very far,

But failed in a slack.

The next horse that he rode upon,

He was a bonny brown;

He bore him far, and very far,

But did at last fall down.

The next horse that he rode upon,

He as the milk was white;

Fair fall the mare that foaled that foal

Took him to Janet's sight!

And boots and spurs, all as he was,

Into the fire he lap,

Got one kiss of her comely mouth,

While her body gave a crack.

'O who has been so bold,' he says,

'This bonfire to set on?

Or who has been so bold,' he says,

'Her body for to burn?'

'O here are we,' her brother said,

'This bonfire who set on;

And we have been so bold,' he said,

'Her body for to burn.'

'O I'll cause burn for you, Janet,

Your father and your mother;

And I'll cause die for you, Janet,

Your sister and your brother.

'And I'll cause mony back be bare,

And mony shed be thin,

And mony wife be made a widow,

And mony ane want their son.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 472.

Ben came to her father dear,

Stepping upon the floor;

Says, It's told me, my daughter Janet,

That you're now become a whore.

'A whore, father, a whore, father?

That's what I'll never be,

Tho I am with bairn to an English lord,

That first did marry me.'

Soon after spoke her bower-woman,

And sorely did she cry:

'Oh woe is me, my lady fair,

That ever I saw this day!

'For your father's to the fire, Janet,

Your brother's to the whin,

Even to kindle a bold bonefire,

To burn your body in.'

'Where will I get a bonnie boy,

Will win gold to his fee,

That will run on to fair England

For my good lord to me?'

'Oh here am I, your waiting-boy,

Would win gold to my fee,

And will carry any message for you,

By land or yet by sea.'

And when he fand the bridges broke,

He bent his bow and swam,

But when he fand the grass growing,

He slacked it and ran.

And when he came to that lord's gate,

Stopt not to knock nor call,

But set his bent bow to his breast,

And lightly lap the wall.

And ere the porter was at the gate

The boy was in the hall,

And in that noble lord's presence

He on his knee did fall.

'O is my biggins broken?' he said,

'Or is my towers won?

Or is my lady lighter yet,

Of daughter or of son?'

'Your biggins are not broken,' he said,

'Nor is your towers won,

Nor is your lady lighter yet,

Of daughter or of son;

But if you stay a little time

Her life it will be gone.

'For her father's gone to the fire,

Her brother to the whin,

Even to kindle a bold bonfire,

To burn her body in.'

'Go saddle for me in haste,' he cried,

'A brace of horses soon;

Go saddle for me the swiftest steeds

That ever rode to a town.'

The first steed that he rade on,

For he was as jet black,

He rode him far, and very far,

But he fell down in a slack.

The next steed that he rode on,

He was a berry brown;

He bore him far, and very far,

But at the last fell down.

The next steed that he rode on,

He was as milk so white;

Fair fall the mare that foaled the foal

Took him to Janet's lyke!

But boots and spurs, all as he was,

Into the fire he lap,

Took ae kiss of her comely mouth,

While her body gave a crack.

'O who has been so bold,' he said,

'This bonfire to set on?

Or who has been so bold,' he cried,

'My true-love for to burn?'

Her father cried, I've been so bold

This bonefire to put on;

Her brother cried, We've been so bold

Her body for to burn.

'Oh I shall hang for you, Janet,

Your father and your brother;

And I shall burn for you, Janet,

Your sister and your mother.

'Oh I shall make many bed empty,

And many shed be thin,

And many a wife to be a widow,

And many one want their son.

'Then I shall take a cloak of cloth,

A staff made of the wand,

And the boy who did your errand run

Shall be heir of my land.'

Campbell MSS, II, 70.

Lady Margery was her mother's ain daughter,

And her father's only heir,

And she's away to Strawberry Castle,

To learn some unco lair.

She hadna been in Strawberry Castle

A year but only three,

Till she has proved as big with child,

As big as woman could be.

Word has to her father gone,

As he pat on his shoon,

That Lady Margery goes wi child,

Unto some English loon.

Word has to her mother gane,

As she pat on her gown,

That Lady Margery goes wi child,

Unto some English loon.

The father he likes her ill,

The mother she likes her waur,

But her father he wished her in a fire strang,

To burn for ever mair.

* * * * * * *

'Will ye hae this auld man, Lady Margery,

To be yeer warldly make?

Or will ye burn in fire strang,

For your true lover's sake?'

'I wunna hae that old, old man

To be my worldly make,

But I will burn in fire strang,

For my true lover's sake.'

'O who will put of the pot?

O who will put of the pan?

And who will build a bale-fire,

To burn her body in.'

The brother took of the pot,

The sister took of the pan,

And her mother builded a bold bale-fire,

To burn her body in.

'O where will I get a bony boy

That will run my errand soon?

That will run to Strawberry Castle,

And tell my love to come soon?'

But then started up a little boy,

Near to that lady's kin:

'Often have I gane your errands, madam,

But now it is time to rin.'

O when he came to Strawberry Castle,

He tirled at the pin;

There was nane sae ready as that lord himsell

To let the young body in.

'O is my towers broken?

Or is my castle wone?

Or is my lady Margery lighter

Of a daughter or a son?'

'Your towers are not broken,

Nor is your castle wone;

But the fairest lady of a' the land

For thee this day does burn.'

'Go saddle for me the black, black horse,

Go saddle to me the brown;

Go saddle to me as swift a steed

As ever man rade on.'

They saddled to him the black horse,

They saddled to him the brown;

They've saddled to him as swift a steed

As ever man rade on.

He put his foot into the stirrup,

He bounded for to ride;

The silver buttons lap of his breast,

And his nose began to bleed.

He bursted fifteen gude stout steeds,

And four o them were dappled gray,

And the little foot-page ran aye before,

Crying, Mend it, an ye may!

When he came to the bale-fire,

He lighted wi a glent,

Wi black boots and clean spurs,

And through the fire he went.

He laid ae arm about her neck,

And the other beneath her chin;

He thought to get a kiss o her,

But her middle it gade in twain.

'But who has been so false,' he said,

'And who has been sae cruel,

To carry the timber from my ain wood

To burn my dearest jewel?

'But I'll burn for ye, Lady Margery,

Yeer father and yeer mother;

And I'll burn for ye, Lady Margery,

Yeer sister and yeer brother.

'I'll do for ye, Lady Margery,

What never was done for nane;

I'll make many lady lemanless,

And many a clothing thin.

'And I'll burn for yeer sake, Lady Margery,

The town that yeer burnt in,

And [make] many a baby fatherless,

That's naething o the blame.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 1, from the recitation of Mrs

Thomson, Kilbarchan, February 25, 1825; Motherwell's

Minstrelsy, p. 234.

Lady Marjory was her mother's only daughter.

Her father's only heir, O

And she is awa to Strawberry Castle,

To get some unco lair. O

She had na been in Strawberry Castle

A twelve month and a day,

Till Lady Marjory she gaes wi child,

As big as she can gae.

Word is to her father gone,

Before he got on his shoon,

That Lady Marjory she gaes wi child,

And it is to an Irish groom.

But word is to her mother gane,

Before that she gat on her gown,

That Lady Marjorie she goes wi child,

To a lord of high renown.

'O wha will put on the pot?' they said,

'Or wha will put on the pan?

Or wha will put on a bauld, bauld fire,

To burn Lady Marjorie in?'

Her father he put on the pot,

Her sister put on the pan,

And her brother he put on a bauld, bauld fire,

To burn Lady Marjorie in;

And her mother she sat in a golden chair,

To see her daughter burn.

'But where will I get a pretty little boy,

That will win hose and shoon,

That will go quickly to Strawberry Castle

And bid my lord come doun?'

'O here am I a pretty boy,

That'll win hose and shoon,

That will rin quickly to Strawberry Castle,

And bid thy lord come doun.'

O when he came to broken brigs,

He bent his bow and swam,

And when he came to good dry land,

He let down his foot and ran.

When he came to Strawberry Castle,

He tirled at the pin;

None was so ready as the gay lord himsell

To open and let him in.

'O is there any of my towers burnt?

Or any of my castles broken?

Or is Lady Marjorie brought to bed,

Of a daughter or a son?'

'O there is nane of thy towers burnt,

Nor nane of thy castles broken,

But Lady Marjorie is condemned to die,

To be burnt in a fire of oaken.'

'O gar saddle to me the black,' he said,

'Gar saddle to me the brown;

Gar saddle to me the swiftest steed

That eer carried a man from town.'

He left the black into the slap,

The brown into the brae,

But fair fa that bonny apple-gray

That carried this gay lord away!

He took a little horn out of his pocket,

And he blew't both loud and shrill,

And the little life that was in her,

She hearkend to it full weel.

'Beet on, beet on, my brother dear,

I value you not one straw,

For yonder comes my own true-love,

I hear his horn blaw.

'Beet on, beet on, my father dear,

I value you not a pin,

For yonder comes my own true-love,

I hear his bridle ring.'

But when he came into the place,

He lap unto the wa;

He thought to get a kiss o her bonny lips,

But her body fell in twa.

'Oh vow, oh vow, oh vow,' he said,

'Oh vow but ye've been cruel!

Ye've taken the timber out of my own wood

And burnt my ain dear jewel.

'Now for thy sake, Lady Marjorie,

I'll burn both father and mother;

And for thy sake, Lady Marjorie,

I'll burn both sister and brother.

'And for thy sake, Lady Marjorie,

I'll burn both kith and kin;

But I will remember the pretty little boy

That did thy errand rin.'

The Scots [Edinburgh] Magazine, 1822, LXXXIX, 734,

communicated by W. W.

Fair Marjory's gaen into the school,

Between six and seven,

An she's come back richt big wi bairn,

Between twalve and eleven.

It's out then sprung her mither dear,

Stood stately on the flure:

'Ye're welcum back, young Marjory,

But ye're sune becum a hure.'

'I'm not a hure, mither,' she said,

'Nor ever intend to be;

But I'm wi child to a gentleman,

An he swears he'll marry me.'

[It's out then sprung her father dear,

Stood stately on the flure:

'Ye're welcum back, young Marjory,

But ye're sune becum a hure.'

'I'm not a hure, father,' she said,

'Nor ever intend to be;

But I'm wi child to a gentleman,

An he swears he will marry me.'

It's out then sprung her brother dear,

Stood stately on the flure:

'Ye're welcum back, young Marjory,

But ye're sune becum a hure.'

'I'm not a hure, brother,' she said,

'Nor ever intend to be;

But I'm wi child to a gentleman,

An he swears he will marry me.'

It's out then sprung her sister dear,

Stood stately on the flure:

'Ye're welcum back, young Marjory,

But ye're sune becum a hure.'

'I'm not a hure, sister,' she said,

'Nor ever intend to be;]

Ye're but a young woman, sister,

An ye shuld speak sparinlie.'

Her father's to the grene-wude gaen,

Her brither's to the brume;

An her mither sits in her gowden chair,

To see her dochter burn.

* * * * * * *

. . . . . . .

The sister she culd do naething,

And she sat down to greet.

'Oh whare will I get a bonny boy,

That wull win hose an shoon,

That wull rin to Strawberry Castle for me,

And bid my true-love come?'

It's out than spak a bonny boy,

That stude richt at her knee:

'It's I wull rin your errand, ladie,

Wi the saut tear i my ee.'

It's whan he cam to broken brigg,

He bent his bow an swam,

An whan he cam whare green grass grew,

Set doon his feet an ran.

An whan he cam to Strawberry Castle,

He thirled at the pin,

An aye sae ready as the porter was

To rise and let him in.

* * * * * * *

'Gae saddle to me the black,' he says,

'Gae saddle to me the broun;

Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed

That eer set fute on grun.'

It's first he burst the bonny black,

An syne the bonny broun,

But the dapple-gray rade still away,

Till he cam to the toun.

An aye he rade, an aye he rade,

An aye away he flew,

Till the siller buttons flew off his coat;

He took out his horn an blew.

An aye he blew, an aye he blew,

He blew baith loud an shrill,

An the little life that Marjory had,

She heard his horn blaw weel.

'Beik on, beik on, cruel mither,' she said,

'For I value you not a straw;

For if ever I heard my love in my life,

He's comin here awa.'

* * * * * * *

When he cam unto the flames

He jamp in, butes and a';

He thocht to hae kissd her red rosy lips,

But her body broke in twa.

* * * * * * *

I'll burn for thy sake, Marjory,

The toun that thou lies in;

An I'll mak the baby fatherless,

For I'll throw mysel therein.

Notes and Queries, Second Series, IX, 193; communicated

by A. J., Edinburgh, as learned by himself and an elder

sister from an old washerwoman of East Dereham, Norfolk,

in the early part of this century.

* * * * * * *

'My father was the first good man

Who tied me to a stake;

My mother was the first good woman

Who did the fire make.

'My brother was the next good man

Who did the fire fetch;

My sister was the next good woman

Who lighted it with a match.

'They blew the fire, they kindled the fire,

Till it did reach my knee:

"O mother, mother, quench the fire!

The smoke will smother me."

'O had I but my little foot-page,

My errand he would run;

He would run unto gay London,

And bid my lord come home.'

Then there stood by her sister's child,

Her own dear sister's son:

'O many an errand I've run for thee,

And but this one I'll run.'

He ran, where the bridge was broken down

He bent his bow and swam;

He swam till he came to the good green turf,

He up on his feet and ran.

He ran till he came at his uncle's hall;

His uncle sat at his meat:

'Good mete, good mete, good uncle, I pray,

O if you knew what I'd got to say,

How little would you eat!'

'O is my castle broken down,

Or is my tower won?

Or is my gay lady brought o bed,

Of a daughter or a son?'

'Your castle is not broken down,

Your tower it is not won;

Your gay lady is not brought to bed,

Of a daughter or a son.

'But she has sent you a gay gold ring,

With a posy round the rim,

To know, if you have any love for her,

You'll come to her burning.'

He called down his merry men all,

By one, by two, by three;

He mounted on his milk-white steed,

To go to Margery.

They blew the fire, they kindled the fire,

Till it did reach her head:

'O mother, mother, quench the fire!

For I am nearly dead.'

She turned her head on her left shoulder,

Saw her girdle hang on the tree:

'O God bless them that gave me that!

They'll never give more to me.'

She turned her head on her right shoulder,

Saw her lord come riding home:

'O quench the fire, my dear mother!

For I am nearly gone.'

He mounted off his milk-white steed,

And into the fire he ran,

Thinking to save his gay ladye,

But he had staid too long.

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 103.

There stands a stane in wan water,

It's lang ere it grew green;

Lady Maisry sits in her bower door,

Sewing at her silken seam.

Word's gane to her mother's kitchen,

And to her father's ha,

That Lady Maisry is big wi bairn--

And her true-love's far awa.

When her brother got word of this,

Then fiercely looked he:

'Betide me life, betide me death,

At Maisry's bower I'se be.

'Gae saddle to me the black, the black,

Gae saddle to me the brown;

Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed,

To hae me to the town.'

When he came to Maisry's bower,

He turnd him round about,

And at a little shott-window,

He saw her peeping out.

'Gude morrow, gude morrow, Lady Maisry,

God make you safe and free!'

'Gude morrow, gude morrow, my brother dear,

What are your wills wi me?'

'What's come o a' your green claithing,

Was ance for you too side?

And what's become o your lang stays,

Was ance for you too wide?'

'O he that made my claithing short,

I hope he'll make them side;

And he that made my stays narrow,

I hope he'll make them wide.'

'O is it to a lord o might,

Or baron o high degree?

Or is it to any o your father's boys,

Rides in the chase him wi?'

'It's no to any Scottish lord,

Nor baron o high degree;

But English James, that little prince,

That has beguiled me.'

'O was there not a Scots baron

That could hae fitted thee,

That thus you've lovd an Englishman,

And has affronted me?'

She turnd her right and round about,

The tear blinded her ee:

'What is the wrang I've done, brother,

Ye look sae fierce at me?'

'Will ye forsake that English blude,

When your young babe is born?'

'I'll nae do that, my brother dear,

Tho I shoud be forlorn.'

'I'se cause a man put up the fire,

Anither ca in the stake,

And on the head o yon high hill

I'll burn you for his sake.

'O where are all my wall-wight men,

That I pay meat and fee,

For to hew down baith thistle and thorn,

To burn that lady wi?'

Then he has taen her, Lady Maisry,

And fast he has her bound;

And he causd the fiercest o his men

Drag her frae town to town.

Then he has causd ane of his men

Hew down baith thistle and thorn;

She carried the peats in her petticoat-lap,

Her ainsell for to burn.

Then ane pat up this big bauld fire,

Anither ca'd in the stake;

It was to burn her Lady Maisry,

All for her true-love's sake.

But it fell ance upon a day,

Prince James he thought full lang;

He minded on the lady gay

He left in fair Scotland.

'O where will I get a little wee boy,

Will win gowd to his fee,

That will rin on to Adam's high tower,

Bring tidings back to me?'

'O here am I, a little wee boy,

Will win gowd to my fee,

That will rin on to Adam's high tower,

Bring tidings back to thee.'

Then he is on to Adam's high tower,

As fast as gang coud he,

And he but only wan in time

The fatal sight to see.

He sat his bent bow to his breast,

And ran right speedilie,

And he is back to his master,

As fast as gang coud he.

'What news, what news, my little wee boy?

What news hae ye to me?'

'Bad news, bad news, my master dear,

Bad news, as ye will see.'

'Are ony o my biggins brunt, my boy?

Or ony o my towers won?

Or is my lady lighter yet,

O dear daughter or son?'

'There's nane o your biggins brunt, master,

Nor nane o your towers won,

Nor is your lady lighter yet,

O dear daughter nor son.

'There's an has been [put up] a big bauld fire,

Anither ca'd in the stake,

And on the head o yon high hill,

They're to burn her for your sake.'

'Gae saddle to me the black, the black,

Gae saddle to me the brown;

Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed,

To hae me to the town.'

Ere he was three miles near the town,

She heard his horse-foot patt:

'Mend up the fire, my fause brother,

It scarce comes to my pap.'

Ere he was twa miles near the town,

She heard his bridle ring:

'Mend up the fire, my fause brother,

It scarce comes to my chin.

'But look about, my fause brother,

Ye see not what I see;

I see them coming here, or lang

Will mend the fire for thee.'

Then up it comes him little Prince James,

And fiercely looked he:

'I'se make my love's words very true

She said concerning me.

'O wha has been sae bauld,' he said,

'As put this bonfire on?

And wha has been sae bauld,' he said,

'As put that lady in?'

Then out it spake her brother then,

He spoke right furiouslie;

Says, I'm the man that put her in:

Wha dare hinder me?

'If my hands had been loose,' she said,

'As they are fastly bound,

I woud hae looted me to the ground,

Gien you up your bonny young son.'

'I will burn, for my love's sake,

Her father and her mother;

And I will burn, for my love's sake,

Her sister and her brother.

'And I will burn, for my love's sake,

The whole o a' her kin;

And I will burn, for my love's sake,

Thro Linkum and thro Lin.

'And mony a bed will I make toom,

And bower will I make thin;

And mony a babe shall thole the fire,

For I may enter in.'

Great meen was made for Lady Maisry,

On that hill whare she was slain;

But mair was for her ain true-love,

On the fields for he ran brain.

#a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 235; Motherwell's Minstrelsy,

p. 221. #b.# Motherwell's MS., p. 179, from Mrs Thomson,

of Kilbarchan. #c.# Motherwell's MS., p. 181, from Mrs

McLean, of Glasgow.

There lived a lady in Scotland,

Hey my love and ho my joy

There lived a lady in Scotland,

Who dearly loved me

There lived a lady in Scotland,

An she's fa'n in love wi an Englishman.

And bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt in Dundee

The father unto the daughter came,

Who dearly loved me

Saying, Will you forsake that Englishman?

'If you will not that Englishman forsake,

Who dearly loved me

O I will burn you at a stake.'

'I will not that Englishman forsake,

Who dearly loved me

Tho you should burn me at a stake.

'O where will I get a pretty little boy,

Who dearly loves me

Who will carry tidings to my joy?'

'Here am I, a pretty little boy,

Who dearly loves thee

Who will carry tidings to thy joy.'

'Give to him this right-hand glove,

Who dearly loves me

Tell him to get another love.

For, etc.

'Give to him this little penknife,

Who dearly loves me

Tell him to get another wife.

For, etc.

'Give to him this gay gold ring;

Who dearly loves me

Tell him I'm going to my burning.'

An, etc.

The brother did the stake make,

Who dearly loved me

The father did the fire set.

An bonnie Susie Cleland was burnt in Dundee.

* * * * *

#A.#

11^1. she says.

16^1. _~blood~ I was disposed to change to ~lord~: but

see #H# 13^1._

21^{3, 4}. _As cited by Anderson from William Tytler's

MS.,_

... to green grass growing

He took off his sheen.

#B.#

22^4. Janet's exite: _in_ #C# 16^4 Janet's lyke.

#D.#

_Stanzas 8, 9, 21, are the three last of the MS._

8^{1, 2}. _I should read ~put on~, were it not for 9^{1,

2}._

23^3. lady lamentless.

#E.#

3^3. _~If~ for ~that~ in the margin, without explanation._

15-17. _The order in the MS. is 16, 17, 15._

_Motherwell, as often elsewhere, makes slight changes in

printing, as: 11^2, ~broken~ to ~won~, though not changed

in 12^2; 15^3 [17^3], ~And~ to ~And wi~, unnecessarily,

see #F# 19^3._

#F.#

2-9. "Her father, brother, and sister successively

address her in the same polite style, and receive the

same answer; except that to the latter, instead of

the information contained in the last two lines, she

addresses a piece of advice." _The phrase ~stood stately~

in 2^2, most appropriate for the mother, was probably

varied for father, brother, and sister._

15-16. "He delivers his message in the approved ballad

style, and the lover speaks."

20. "The few verses following contain her testamentary

bequests to her relatives above mentioned; but the person

from whom I got the ballad could not repeat them."

#G.#

6^2. He bend.

#I. a.#

1. _Given in the Appendix to Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p.

xix, XIV, with this slight difference in the burden_: And

she dearly loved me.

3-9. at Dundee _in the burden_.

8^2. _~Penknife~ for ~wife~, in my copy of the MS._

10. _In the Minstrelsy, from #b#:_

Her father he ca'd up the stake,

Her brother he the fire did make.

#b.#

There lived a lady in Scotland

O my love and O my joy

Who dearly loved an Englishman.

And bonnie Susie Cleland is to be burnt at Dundee

The father to the daughter came:

'Will you forsake your Englishman?'

For, etc.

_3 is wanting._

'My Englishman I'll neer forsake,

Altho you burn me at your stake.

For, etc.

'O where will I get a pretty little boy,

That will bring tidings to my joy?'

For, etc.

'O here am I, a pretty little boy,

And I'll carry tidings to thy joy.'

For, etc.

'O take to him this right-hand glove,

Tell him to seek another love.'

For, etc.

_8 is wanting._

'O bring to him this gay gold ring,

And bid him come to my burning.'

For, etc.

10.

Her father he ca'd up the stake,

Her brother he the fire did make.

And bonnie Susie Cleland is burnt at Dundee

#c.#

_1-4 are wanting._

'Where will I get a bonny boy,

Oh my love and oh my joy

Where will I get a bonny boy,

That dearly loves me

Where will I get a bonny boy,

Will carry tidings to my joy?'

Bonnie Susie Cleland was burned at Dundee

'Here am I, a little boy,

That dearly loves thee

Will carry tidings to thy joy.'

'Carry my love this glove,

Who dearly loves me

Bid him seek another love.

'Carry my love this knife,

That dearly loves me

Bid him seek another wife.

'Carry my love this ring,

That dearly loves me

Bid him come to my burning.

_10 is wanting._

[87] The genuineness of #H#, Buchan's version, may be doubted both on

general and on particular grounds, and both because of its departures

from the common story and because of its repeating some peculiarities

of the Jamieson-Brown copy, #A#. If #H# was compiled, as I think it

was, largely from #A#, the person that did the work may have seen the

manuscript, which is not at all improbable; for the _English blude_

of #H# 13 is found in the MS., #A# 16, and not in the copy printed

by Jamieson, and so with the _thistle_ of #H# 15, #A# 17. Buchan, or

Buchan's foreman, is entitled to copyright for the invention, in #H#

17, of Maisry's carrying peats in her petticoat, "her ainsell for to

burn;" also for English James, that little prince, 10^3, Adam's high

tower, 20^3, thro Linkum and thro Lin, 37^4.

[88] Like the Clerk of Oxenford's two sons, and Sweet William,

Motherwell, Minstrelsy, p. 307.

[89] There is no word of quailing except in #G#, and in #G# she blesses

her lover most touchingly, with almost her last words.

She turned her head on her left shoulder,

Saw her girdle hang on the tree:

'O God bless them that gave me that!

They'll never give more to me.'

[90] According to Buchan, #H# 39, Maisry's true-love ran brain; so

again in Buchan's version of Fair Janet, see #F# 35. This is Maisry's

end in several versions of 'Auld Ingram,' and in all, I suppose, a

modern substitute for the immediate death of older ballads.

[91] A champion may be offered even in Ariosto's Scotland.

[92] In 'The Infanta and Don Galvan,' the lady, like Fair Janet, calls

to Don Galvan to come and take her new-born child and carry it to his

mother to nurse. The father superintends in person the preparation

of the pile in 'Dona Ausenda.' In the romances of Conde Claros, the

infanta, when she learns that she is to be burnt, asks for some one

"que haya comido mi pan," to carry a letter to Don Claros, and a

page does the errand, just as in the Scottish ballad: Primavera, II,

374, etc. Often a bird, hawk, dove, takes the message, as in 'Sweet

William,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 307. Don Claros asks the infanta

of her father in marriage, and is refused (because she is promised).

He then informs the emperor that the infanta is with child. It is a

_hunter_ who informs the father of the love of his daughter and the

count in one of the romances, Primavera, II, 362. Compare the German

ballad, in 'Fair Janet,' p. 102. When the lover gets his letter, in

Briz, IV, 43, he reminds us of Sir Patrick Spens:

Quan D. Cárlos reb la carta, molt content y alegre estava:

Al desclohent de la carta, llágrimas de sanch llansava.

LORD INGRAM AND CHIEL WYET

#A. a.# 'Lord Ingram and Chiel Wyet,' Motherwell's

Minstrelsy, p. 173. #b.# 'Child Vyet,' Maidment's North

Countrie Garland, p. 24.

#B.# 'Lord Ingram and Gil Viett,' Skene MS., p. 16.

#C.# 'Auld Ingram,' Herd's MSS, I, 169, II, 84; 'Lord

Wa'yates and Auld Ingram,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads,

II, 265.

#D.# 'Lord Ingram and Childe Viat,' Kinloch MSS, V, 323.

#E.# 'Lord Ingram and Childe Vyet,' Buchan's Ballads of

the North of Scotland, I, 234.

#C# was furnished Jamieson from Herd's MSS by Scott, and underwent a

few slight changes in publication. Jamieson inquired through the Scots

Magazine, October, 1803, p. 699, for the conclusion, which is wanting,

but unsuccessfully.

The only variation of much moment in the five versions of this tragedy

is that, in #C#, the bridegroom and the lover are not brothers, but

uncle and nephew. Some inconsistencies have been created in the course

of tradition. The bride's insisting on having twenty men before her

and twenty on each side, ere she will go to kirk, not to mention the

extravagance of twenty milk-white doves above her head, #C# 22,[93]

is incompatible with her aversion to the "weary wedding," and with

her language about the bridegroom's gifts in #C# 4, 5, #D# 4-6, #E#

8-10. There is much confusion at the end. After the death of the two

rivals the lady, in #E#, imposes on herself the penance of begging her

bread as a pilgrim for the rest of her days. This penance we find also

in the two last stanzas of #A#, and a trace of it in #B# 20, #D# 10.

Another, and probably later, representation is that she went mad, #A#

30, #B# 19, #D# 9. The two are blended in #A#, #B#, #D#; unless we are

to suppose that Maisry's adopting a beggar's life was a consequence of

her madness, which is not according to the simplicity of old ballads.

That something was due the unfortunate Lord Ingram, especially if he

was disposed to relinquish his wife to his brother, #B# 17, the modern

sense of justice will admit; but that Maisry's remorse on account of

the handsome wedding Ingram had given her should exceed her grief for

Chiel Wyet, #A# 32, #B# 20, #D# 10, #E# 43, 44, is as little natural as

romantic, and is only to be explained as an exhibition of imbecility,

whether on her part or on the part of some reciter who gave that turn

to the story. #B# confounds confusion by killing Maisry on the top of

all.

The sword laid in bed between man and woman, #B# 14, #E# 30, as a sign

or pledge of continence, does not occur often in popular ballads.

We have it in 'Südeli,' Uhland, I, 275, No 121, st. 11, and in two

of the Swedish forms of Grundtvig's 'Brud i Vaande,' Danmarks gamle

Folkeviser, V, 345, No. 277, #D#, sts 26, 27, and Arwidsson, II, 248,

No 132, sts 21, 22, 'Fru Margaretha.' In popular tales: Grimms, K.

u. H. märchen, No 60; Asbjørnsen og Moe, Norske Folkeeventyr, No 3;

Il Pentamerone, I, 9; Hahn's Griechische Märchen, I, 171, No 122. In

Norse poetry and saga: Völsunga saga, 27, Rafn, Fornaldar Sögur, I,

187; Sæmund's Edda, Sigurðarkviða, III, 65, Lüning, p. 401, Bugge

(68), p. 259; Snorri's Edda, Hafniæ, 1848, I, 362, Skáldskaparmál, 41;

Saxo Grammaticus, Book 9, p. 162 of the Frankfort edition of 1576;

Gaungu-Hrólfs saga, 24, Fornaldar Sögur, III, 303. Further, in Orendel

und Bríde, ed. Ettmüller, p. 46, XII, 49, 50; Wolfdietrich, von der

Hagen's Heldenbuch, I, 236, st. 592; Tristan, ed. Michel, I, 88, v.

1768 ff, Scott's Sir Tristrem, III, 20; Amis and Amiloun, Weber's

Metrical Romances, II, 417, v. 1163 ff; Aladdin in the Arabian Nights,

J. Scott, IV 345.[94]