Lord Wayets, in #C# 17, kicks up the tab_The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 2 (of 5)

into the fire. Young Beichan takes the table with his foot and makes

the cups and cans to flee, #B# 18, #D# 23, #F# 28, #J# 5, #N# 42, or

makes the table flee, #H# 42; so the knight in 'Child Waters,' #G#

18, the baron in 'Child Maurice,' #E#, #F#, and the mother in 'Fair

Mary of Wallington,' #A#, #B#. Kinmont Willie, st. 9, takes the table

with his hand and gars the red wine spring on hie. The table, being of

boards laid on trestles, would be easy to ding over or make flee. Being

also narrow, it might be jumped over, and those in whose way it might

be seem to have preferred to clear it in that fashion, at least out

of Britain. So the Danish Lord Lovel on hearing of his love's death,

spilling the mead or wine, Kristensen, II, No 20, #A# 6, #B# 10, #C# 3,

#D# 4; Sir Peter in Afzelius, No 9, I, 50, Grundtvig, No 210, IV, 220,

etc. The king in the Icelandic Ribbalds kvæði, to be sure, kicks the

table away and spills the mead and wine, Íslenzk Fornkvæði, No 16, #B#

8, #C# 2, so that Lord Wayets, Young Beichan, and others may have taken

their cue from that island. But against this we may put Hervarar saga,

c. 3, Fornaldar Sögur, I, 516; Olafs saga hins Helga, c. 50, Keyser and

Unger, p. 36; Grundtvig, Danmarks Folkeviser, No 11, #A# 23, No 13, #B#

18, #G# 15, #I# 16; etc. In 'Magnus Algotsøn,' Grundtvig, No 181, #D#

18, the bride jumps over the table and goes off with her old love; in

Sušil's Bohemian ballads, No 135, p. 131, the bride jumps over four

tables and on to a fifth to get at her first betrothed; in the Novella

della Figlia del Re di Dacia, ed. Wesselofsky, p. 38, the duke jumps

over the table to get to his wife; in a German ballad in Schröer's

Ausflug nach Gottschee, p. 210 f, the bridegroom, who has lost the

bride, jumps over the table to get out of the room as soon as possible;

a French gentleman takes a vault over the table before him, Gautier,

Les Épopées Françaises, I, 508, ed. 1865, and a lady in a ludicrous

anecdote told in the Zimmerische Chronik, ed. Barack, 1881, II, 132 f.

But Torello's wife, on the other hand, Decameron, X, 9, throws down the

table which bars her way to her lord, and so does the steward in 'Sir

Orfeo,' v. 576, ed. Zielke.[95]

Ebbe Skammelsøn, being obliged to absent himself from his plighted maid

for a considerable time, loses her through the artifices of his brother

[and mother], who pretends first that Ebbe is unfaithful, and then that

he is dead. Ebbe is warned by a dream that his brother is about to wed

his mistress, goes home in great haste, and arrives on the wedding-day.

He kills the bride, and then his brother, who, at the last moment,

offers to cede the bride to him, as Lord Ingram, in #B# 17, says he

meant to do. Ebbe after this begs his bread, or goes on a pilgrimage

weighted with iron on his hands and loins; wherein his part resembles

Maisry's. Danske Viser, III, 75, No 120, translated by Prior, II, 380;

Arwidsson, No 33, I, 216, 224, 412; Atterbom's Poetisk Kalender, 1816,

p. 55.

It may be worth noting that Maisry's wedding, according to #B# 20, was

"in good kirk-door," like the five of The Wife of Bath.

* * * * *

Translated by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 166, No 44,

after Allingham, p. 306.

#a.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 173, communicated

by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe. #b.# Maidment's North

Countrie Garland, p. 24, from tradition in Aberdeenshire.

Lord Ingram and Chiel Wyet

Was baith born in one bower;

Laid baith their hearts on one lady,

The less was their honour.

Chiel Wyet and Lord Ingram

Was baith born in one hall;

Laid baith their hearts on one lady,

The worse did them befall.

Lord Ingram wood her Lady Maisery

From father and from mother;

Lord Ingram wood her Lady Maisery

From sister and from brother.

Lord Ingram wood her Lady Maisery

With leave of a' her kin;

And every one gave full consent,

But she said no to him.

Lord Ingram wood her Lady Maisery

Into her father's ha;

Chiel Wyet wood her Lady Maisery

Amang the sheets so sma.

Now it fell out upon a day,

She was dressing her head,

That ben did come her father dear,

Wearing the gold so red.

He said, Get up now, Lady Maisery,

Put on your wedding gown;

For Lord Ingram he will be here,

Your wedding must be done.

'I'd rather be Chiel Wyet's wife,

The white fish for to sell,

Before I were Lord Ingram's wife,

To wear the silk so well.

'I'd rather be Chiel Wyet's wife,

With him to beg my bread,

Before I were Lord Ingram's wife,

To wear the gold so red.

'Where will I get a bonny boy,

Will win gold to his fee,

And will run unto Chiel Wyet's,

With this letter from me?'

'O here I am, the boy,' says one,

'Will win gold to my fee,

And carry away any letter

To Chiel Wyet from thee.'

And when he found the bridges broke,

He bent his bow and swam;

And when he found the grass growing,

He hastened and he ran.

And when he came to Chiel Wyet's castle,

He did not knock nor call,

But set his bent bow to his breast,

And lightly leaped the wall;

And ere the porter opend the gate,

The boy was in the hall.

The first line he looked on,

A grieved man was he;

The next line he looked on,

A tear blinded his ee:

Says, I wonder what ails my one brother

He'll not let my love be!

'But I'll send to my brother's bridal bridal--

The bacon shall be mine--

Full four and twenty buck and roe,

And ten tun of the wine;

And bid my love be blythe and glad,

And I will follow syne.'

There was not a groom about that castle

But got a gown of green,

And all was blythe, and all was glad,

But Lady Maisery she was neen.

There was no cook about that kitchen

But got a gown of gray,

And all was blythe, and all was glad,

But Lady Maisery was wae.

Between Mary Kirk and that castle

Was all spread ower with garl,

To keep Lady Maisery and her maidens

From tramping on the marl.

From Mary Kirk to that castle

Was spread a cloth of gold,

To keep Lady Maisery and her maidens

From treading on the mold.

When mass was sung, and bells was rung,

And all men bound for bed,

Then Lord Ingram and Lady Maisery

In one bed they were laid.

When they were laid into their bed--

It was baith soft and warm--

He laid his hand over her side,

Says, I think you are with bairn.

'I told you once, so did I twice,

When ye came me to woo,

That Chiel Wyet, your only brother,

One night lay in my bower.

'I told you twice, I told you thrice,

Ere ye came me to wed,

That Chiel Wyet, your one brother,

One night lay in my bed.'

'O will you father your bairn on me,

And on no other man?

And I'll give him to his dowry

Full fifty ploughs of land.'

'I will not father my bairn on you,

Nor on no wrongeous man,

Though ye would give him to his dowry

Five thousand ploughs of land.'

Then up did start him Chiel Wyet,

Shed by his yellow hair,

And gave Lord Ingram to the heart

A deep wound and a sair.

Then up did start him Lord Ingram,

Shed by his yellow hair,

And gave Chiel Wyet to the heart

A deep wound and a sair.

There was no pity for that two lords,

Where they were lying slain;

But all was for her Lady Maisery,

In that bower she gaed brain.

There was no pity for that two lords,

When they were lying dead;

But all was for her Lady Maisery,

In that bower she went mad.

Said, Get to me a cloak of cloth,

A staff of good hard tree;

If I have been an evil woman,

I shall beg till I dee.

'For a bit I'll beg for Chiel Wyet,

For Lord Ingram I'll beg three;

All for the good and honorable marriage

At Mary Kirk he gave me.'

Skene MS., p. 16; taken down in the North of Scotland,

1802-1803.

Lord Ingram and Gil Viett

Were baith born in ae ha;

They laid their love on ae lady,

An fate they coud na fa.

Lord Ingram and Gil Viett

Were baith laid in ae wame;

They laid their love on ae lady,

The greater was their shame.

Lord Ingram wood her Lady Masery

Frae father and frae mither;

Gill Viett wood her Lady Masery

Frae sister and frae brither.

Lord Ingram courted her Lady Masery

Among the company a';

Gill Viett he wood her Lady Masery

Among the sheets so sma.

'Get up, my daughter dear,

Put on your bridal gown;

This day's your bridal day

Wi Lord Ingram.'

'How can I get up,

An put on my bridal gown,

Or how marry the ae brither,

An the tither's babe in my womb?'

* * * * * * *

'O laugh you at mysell, brither,

Or at my companie?

Or laugh ye at my bonnie bride,

She wad na laugh at thee?'

'I laugh na at yoursel, brither,

Nor at your companie;

Nor laugh I at your buirlie bride,

She wad na laugh at me.

'But there's a brotch on a breast-bane,

A garlan on ane's hair;

Gin ye kend what war under that,

Ye wad neer love woman mair.

'There is a brotch on a breast-bane,

An roses on ane's sheen;

Gin ye kend what war under that,

Your love wad soon be deen.'

Whan bells were rung, and mass was sung,

And a' man boun to bed,

Lord Ingram and Lady Masery

In ae chamer were laid.

He put his hand out oure his bonnie bride,

The babe between her sides did quake:

. . . . . . .

'O father your babe on me, Lady Masery,

O father your babe on me.'

. . . . . . .

'I may father my babe on a stock,

Sae may I on a stane,

But my babe shall never hae

A father but its ain.'

He took out a brand,

And laid it atween them twa;

. . . . . . .

Gill Viett took out a long brand,

And stroakd it oer a stro,

An thro and thro Lord Ingram's bodie

He made it come and go.

'Wae mat worth ye, Gill Viett,

An ill died mat ye die!

For I had the cup in my hand

To hae drunken her oer to thee.'

'[For] ae mile [I wad gae] for Gil Viett,

For Lord Ingram I wad hae gaen three;

An a' for that in good kirk-door

Fair wedding he gave me.'

Gil Viett took a long brand,

An stroakd it on a stro,

An through and thro his own bodie

He made it come and go.

There was nae mean made for that godd lords,

In bowr whar they lay slain,

But a' was for that lady,

In bowr whar she gaed brain.

There was nae mean made for that lady,

In bowr whar she lay dead,

But a' was for the bonnie babe

That lay blabbering in her bleed.

Herd's MSS, I, 169, II, 84. Jamieson's Popular Ballads,

II, 265.

Lady Maisdry was a lady fair,

She maid her mither's bed;

Auld Ingram was an aged knight,

And hee sought her to wed.

''Tis I forbid ye, Auld Ingram,

For to seek me to spouse;

For Lord Wayets, your sister's son,

Has been into my bowrs.

''T is I forbid ye, Auld Ingram,

For to seek me to wed;

For Lord Wayets, your sister's son,

Has been into my bed.'

'T is he has bought to this lady

The robes of the brown;

'And ever alas,' says this lady,

'The robs will pit mee down!'

And he has bought to this lady

The robs of the red;

'And ever alas,' says this lady,

'The robs will be my dead!'

And he has bought to this lady

The chrystal and the lammer,

Sae has hee bought to her mither

The curches of the cammer.

Every ane o her se'n brethren

They had a hawk in hand,

And every lady i the place

They got a goud garland.

Every cuk in that kitchen

They gat a noble claith;

A' was blyth at Auld Ingram's cuming,

But Lady Maisdrey was wraith.

'Whare will I get a bonny boy,

Wad fain wun hos and shoon,

That wud rin on to my Wayets,

And quickly cume again?'

'Here am I, a bonny boy,

Wad fain wun hoes and shoon,

Wha wull rin on to your Wayets,

And quickly cume again.'

'Ye'l bid him, and ye'l pray him baith,

Gif ony prayer can dee,

To Mary Kirk to cume the morn,

My weary wadding to see.'

Lord Wayets lay our his castle wa,

Beheld baith dale and down,

And he beheld a bonny boy

Cume rinnen to the town.

'What news, what news, ye bonny boy?

What news ye hae to mee?

. . . . . . .

'O is my ladie's fauldis brunt?

Or is her towrs wun?

Or is my Maisdrey lighter yet

A dear dochter or sun?'

'Your ladie's faulds they are not brunt,

Nor yet are her towrs wun,

Neither is Maisdrey lighter yet

A dear dochter or sun.

'But she bids ye and she prays ye baith,

Gif ony prayer can dee,

To Mary Kirk to cume the morn,

Her weary wadding to see.'

He dung the boord up wi his fit,

Sae did he wi his tae;

The silver cup that sat upon't

I the fire he gard it flee:

'O what na a lord in a' Scotland

Dare marry my Maisdrey?'

'O 't is but a feeble thought

To tell the tane and not the tither;

O 't is but a feeble thought

To tell't is your mither's brither.'

''T is I wull send to that wadding,

And I wul follow syne,

The fitches o the fallow deer

An the gammons o the swine,

An the nine hides o the noble cow;

'T was slain in season time.

''T is I wul send to that wadding

Ten ton of the red wyne;

Much more I'll send to that wadding,

An I wul follow syne.'

When he came in unto the ha,

Lady Maisdrey she did ween,

And twenty times he kist her mou

Before Auld Ingram's een.

Nor to the kirk she wud ne gae,

Nor til't she wudn ride,

Till four and twunty men she gat her before,

An twunty on ilka side,

An four and twunty milk-white dows

To flee aboon her head.

A loud laughter gae Lord Wayets

Mang the mids o his men:

'Marry the lady wham they weel,

A maiden she is nane.'

'O laugh ye at my men, Wayets?

Or di ye laugh at me?

Or laugh ye at the beerly bride,

That's gane to marry me?'

'I laugh na at your men, uncle,

Nor yet dive I at thee,

Bit I laugh at my lands sae braid,

Sae weel's I do them see.'

Whan ene was cume, and ene-bells rung,

An a' man gane to bed,

The bride bit and the silly bridegroom

In chambers they were laid.

Was na it a fell thing for to see,

Twa heads lye on a coad,

Lady Maisdrey like the moten goud,

Auld Ingram like a toad?

He turnd his face unto the stock,

And sound he fell asleep;

She turnd her fair face unto the wa,

An sa't tears she did weep.

It fell about the mark midnight,

Auld Ingram began to turn him;

He pat his hands on's lady's sides,

An waly, sair was she murnin.

'What aileth thee, my lady dear?

Ever alas and wae's me,

There is a baube betwixt thy sides!

O sae sair's it grieves me.'

'Didn I tell ye that, Auld Ingram,

Or ye saught me to wed,

That Lord Wayets, your sister's son,

Had been into my bed?'

'O father that bairn on me, Maisdrey,

O father it on me,

An ye sall hae a rigland shire

Your mornin's gift to bee.'

'O sarbit,' says the Lady Maisdrey,

'That ever the like me befa,

To father my bairn on Auld Ingram,

Lord Wayets in my father's ha!

'O sarbit,' says the Lady Maisdrey,

'That ever the like me betide,

To father my bairn on Auld Ingram,

An Lord Wayets beside!'

Kinloch MSS, V, 323, in the handwriting of John Hill

Burton.

Lord Ingram and Childe Viat

Were both bred in one ha;

They laid their luves on one ladye,

And frae her they could na fa.

Lord Ingram courted Ladye Maisery,

He courted her frae ha to bower;

And even sae did Childe Viat,

Amang the summer flowers.

Lord Ingram courted Ladye Maisery,

He courted her frae bower to ha;

And even sae did Childe Viat,

Among the sheets sae sma.

Lord Ingram bought her Ladye Maisery

The steed that paid him well;

She wads he were ayont the sea,

Gin she had her true love.

Lord Ingram bought her Lady Maisery

The knives hafted wi steel;

She wads they were in his heart's bluid,

Gin Childe Viat was weel.

Lord Ingram bought her Lady Maisery

The golden knobbed gloves;

She wads they were ayone the sea,

Gin she had her true love.

* * * * * * *

'There's two swords in one scabbard,

They cost me many a pound;

Take you tho best, leave me the worst,

We's fight till they be done.'

The firsten stroke Lord Ingram gae,

He wounded Childe Viat nigh;

The nexten stroke Childe Viat gae,

Lord Ingram's head did flie;

And fifty feet oer a burken buss

Lord Ingram's head did flee.

There was no mane made for these two lords,

In bower where they lay slain;

But all was for this fair ladie,

In bower where she gaed brain.

* * * * * * *

'For one word I would gie for Childe Viat,

For Lord Ingram I would gie three;

And it's a' for the brave wedding

That he did to me gie.'

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 234.

Lord Ingram and Childe Vyet

Were baith born in ae bower;

They fell in love wi ae lady,

Their honour was but poor.

Lord Ingram and Childe Vyet

Were baith bred in ae ha;

They laid their love on Lady Maisry,

The waur did them befa.

Lord Ingram gained Lady Maisry

Frae father and frae mother;

Lord Ingram gained Lady Maisry

Frae sister and frae brother.

Lord Ingram gained Lady Maisry

Frae a' her kith and kin;

Lord Ingram courted Lady Maisry

But she said nay to him.

Lord Ingram courted Lady Maisry

In the garden amo the flowers;

Childe Vyet courted Lady Maisry

Amo her ha's and bowers.

Lord Ingram sent to Lady Maisry

A steed paced fu well;

She wishes he were ower the sea,

If Childe Vyet were well.

Lord Ingram courted Lady Maisry

Frae her relations a';

Childe Vyet courted Lady Maisry

Amo the sheets sae sma.

Lord Ingram bought to Lady Maisry

The siller knapped gloves;

She wishd his hands might swell in them,

Had she her ain true love.

Lord Ingram bought to Lady Maisry

The brands garnishd wi steel;

She wishd the same might pierce his heart,

Gin Childe Vyet were weell.

Childe Vyet bought to Lady Maisry

The fancy ribbons sma;

She had mair delight in her sma fancy

Than o Lord Ingram, gowd and a'.

Lord Ingram's gane to her father,

And thus he did complain:

'O am I doomd to die for love,

And nae be loved again?

'I hae sent to your daughter

The steed paced fu well;

She wishes I were ower the sea,

Gin Childe Vyet were well.

'I hae bought to your daughter

The siller knapped gloves;

She wishd my hands might swell in them,

Had she her ain true love.

'I hae bought to your daughter

The brands garnishd wi steel;

She wishd the same might pierce my heart,

Gin Childe Vyet were weell.

'Childe Vyet bought to your daughter

The fancy ribbons sma;

She's mair delight in her sma fancy

Nor o me, gowd and a'.'

Her father turnd him round about,

A solemn oath sware he,

Saying, She shall be the bride this night,

And you bridegroom shall be.

'O had your tongue, my father dear,

Let a' your passion be;

The reason that I love this man,

It is unknown to thee.'

Sweetly played the merry organs,

Intill her mother's bower;

But still and dum stood Lady Maisry,

And let the tears down pour.

Sweetly played the harp sae fine,

Intill her fathers ha;

But still and dum stood Lady Maisry,

And let tears down fa.

Tween Marykirk and her mother's bower,

Was a' clad ower wi gowd,

For keeping o her snaw-white feet

Frae treading o the mould.

Lord Ingram gaed in at ae church-door,

Childe Vyet at another,

And lightly leugh him Childe Vyet

At Lord Ingram, his brother.

'O laugh ye at my men, brother?

Or do ye laugh at me?

Or laugh ye at young Lady Maisry,

This night my bride's to be?'

'I laugh na at your men, brother,

Nor do I laugh at thee;

But I laugh at the knightless sport

That I saw wi my ee.

'It is a ring on ae finger,

A broach on ae breast-bane;

And if ye kent what's under that,

Your love woud soon be dane.'

Lord Ingram and his merry young men

Out ower the plains are gane,

And pensively walkd him Childe Vyet,

Him single self alane.

When they had eaten and well drunken,

And a' men bound for bed,

Lord Ingram and Lady Maisry

In ae chamber were laid.

He laid his hand upon her breast,

And thus pronounced he:

'There is a bairn within your sides,

Wha may the father be?

'Wha ever be your bairn's father,

Ye will father it on me;

The fairest castle o Snowdown

Your morning gift shall be.'

'Wha ever be my bairn's father,

I'll neer father it on thee;

For better love I my bairn's father

Nor ever I'll love thee.'

Then he's taen out a trusty brand,

Laid it between them tway;

Says, Lye ye there, ye ill woman,

A maid for me till day.

Next morning her father came,

Well belted wi a brand;

Then up it starts him Lord Ingram,

He was an angry man.

'If your daughter had been a gude woman,

As I thought she had been,

Cauld iron shoud hae never lien

The lang night us between.'

'Ohon, alas! my daughter dear,

What's this I hear o thee?

I thought ye was a gude woman

As in the north countrie.'

'O had your tongue, my father dear,

Let a' your sorrows be;

I never liked Lord Ingram,

Ye ken ye forced me.'

Then in it came him Childe Vyet,

Well belted wi a brand;

Then up it raise him Lord Ingram,

He was an angry man.

'Win up, win up, now Lord Ingram,

Rise up immediately,

That you and I the quarrel try,

Who gains the victory.

'I hae twa brands in ae scabbard,

That cost me mony pound;

Take ye the best, gie me the warst,

And I'll fight where I stand.'

Then up it starts him Childe Vyet,

Shook back his yellow hair;

The first an stroke Childe Vyet drew,

He wounded Ingram sair.

Then up it starts him Lord Ingram,

Shed back his coal-black hair;

The first an stroke Lord Ingram drew,

Childe Vyet needed nae mair.

Nae meen was made for these twa knights,

Whan they were lying dead,

But a' for her Lady Maisry,

That gaes in mournfu weed.

Says, 'If I hae been an ill woman,

Alas and wae is me!

And if I've been an ill woman,

A gude woman I'll be!

'Ye'll take frae me my silk attire,

Bring me a palmer's weed,

And thro the world, for their sakes,

I'll gang and beg my bread.

'If I gang a step for Childe Vyet,

For Lord Ingram I'll gang three;

All for the honour that he paid

At Marykirk to me.

'I'll gang a step for Childe Vyet,

For Lord Ingram I'll gang three;

It was into my mother's bower

Childe Vyet wronged me.'

* * * * *

#A. a.#

1^4, their bonheur.

8^2. to kill.

11^1. boy _wanting_: see #b#.

11^2. And will.

19^1. and that.

26^1. did stand.

#b.#

1^1. Childe Vyet, _and always_.

1^3, 2^3. Had... loves.

1^4, honour.

3^1, 3^3, 4^1, 5^1, 5^3. the Lady.

7^1. He said _wanting_.

7^3. he _wanting_.

8^2. to sell. 9^3. I'd be.

10^3. Will run.

11^1. I am the boy, says one.

11^2. Will win.

13^1. to Vyet's.

14^1. line that Childe Vyet read.

14^3. line that he.

14^{5, 6}, 15^{1, 2}, _as_ 15.

What ails my one brother, he says,

He'll not let my love be?

But I'll send to my brother's bridal,

The woman shall be free.

15^3. Take four and twenty bucks and ewes.

16^4. was wi wean.

17^1. about the.

18^2. with gold.

18^3, 19^3. keep the lady.

18^4. the mould.

20^1. bells were.

21^1. upon their.

21^4. Says he, You are with bairn.

22^2. came as my wooer.

22^3. your one.

23^1. so did I.

26^1. start him.

28^1, 29^1. for the.

28^3, 29^3. All was for Lady.

30^1. O get to me.

31. For ae.

31^3. All for the honourable marriage that.

#B.#

1^3. Their laid.

2^2. womb.

_12, 13 make one stanza in the MS._

_15, 16 are written together in three long lines._

_18 did not belong where it stands, cf. #A# 31, #E# 43,

44, but as the text now runs, cannot well change place._

#C.#

_Herd's copies differ little except in spelling._

6^4. cannell (_cinnamon_). _I have thought it best to

risk ~cammer~, for ~camerik~, ~cambric~, though I have

not found the word in English: Danish ~kammer-dug~._

10^3. _second copy omits_ on.

11^2. due (?).

_13, 14 are written in one stanza._

19^5. _second copy_ hidies.

25^1. men, Wayets: uncle _in second copy_.

_26-28 precede 23-25._

#D.#

4^2. that paid: _cf._ #E# 6^2. _10 follows 6 in MS._

#E.#

31^2, 35^2. belted and a brand.

[93] This stanza, which comes in here with flagrant impropriety, is

a commonplace, or movable passage. It occurs, as a feature in the

ceremony of a brilliant wedding, in 'Fair Mary of Wallington,' #E# 6,

7, and in some copies of 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet:' see that ballad,

note to #A#.

[94] These citations, which might easily be extended, are many of them

repeated from Grimm's Rechtsalterthümer, pp. 168-70 of the second

edition. Sir Walter Scott has pointed out that on the occasion of

the marriage of Maria of Burgundy with the Archduke Maximilian, in

1477, the marriage being by proxy, Ludwig, Pfalzgraf of Vendelz, the

bridegroom's representative, was formally bedded with the bride, a

naked sword being laid between them. Scott also refers to a play called

The Jovial Crew, acted in 1641, in which one of the characters, to

enrage another, proposes to be his proxy, marry his love for him, and

lay a naked cudgel betwixt them: Sir Tristrem, p. 439, ed. 1833. In an

Italian ballad the sword is reduced to a straw: Wolf, Volkslieder aus

Venetien, No 95, Bolza, No 56, Ferraro, C. p. monferrini, No 76. In the

Spanish and Portuguese romances of 'Gerineldo,' the sultan or king,

having found the page asleep with the infanta, lays his sword between

the two and retires: Duran, Nos 320, 321; Hardung, I, 101.

[95] Some of the Norse examples were derived from notes of Grundtvig,

three others from Liebrecht. Grundtvig cites an ordinance of Frederic

II of Denmark, dated 1586, to this effect: Whereas a custom has come

in of having a dance during a wedding-repast, which dance those that

sit behind the tables are asked to as well as others, and therefore

are obliged to step on the tables, on which the victuals are still

standing, and whereas this, indecorous of itself, might even prove

dangerous to women-folk, and others, who should attempt to jump over

the tables, now therefore dancing during meal-time is forbidden

until dishes and tables shall have been cleared away: IV, 754. The

table-jumping above is mostly done under great excitement, and at

weddings, in order that the right parties may come together; but nimble

young men in England seem to have taken this short way to their places

habitually in old times. Liebrecht cites this curious passage from the

Jests of Scogin, Hazlitt's Shakespeare Jest-Books, II, 105: "Scogin

did mark the fashions of the court, and among all other things he did

mark how men did leap over the table in the king's hall to sit down

at dinner and supper, which is not used now." The first edition of

Scogin's Jests is of 1565.

GLASGERION

#A.# 'Glasgerion,' Percy MS., p. 94; Hales and Furnivall,

I, 248.

#B.# 'Glenkindie,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 93.

#C.# Kinloch MSS, III, 139.

'Glasgerion' was first printed in Percy's Reliques, III, 43, 1765, and

was not thought by the editor to require much correction. Certainly the

English ballad is one which it would be hard to mend. Scottish #B# is

mainly of good derivation (a poor old woman in Aberdeenshire), and has

some good stanzas, but Jamieson unfortunately undertook to improve a

copy in which the story was complete, but "the diction much humbled,"

by combining with it a fragment of another version. Dr John Hill Burton

seems, in turn, to have compounded a portion of the ballad as printed

by Jamieson with a fragment from tradition (#C#): Kinloch MSS, III, 147.

Cunningham, Songs of Scotland, II, 32, has fused Percy's and Jamieson's

copies, as Motherwell remarks, "in a flux of his own which has

disfigured and quite changed the features of each."

The grete Glascurion is joined in Chaucer's House of Fame, III, 113-118,

with the harpers Orpheus, Orion (Arion), and Chiron, and with Orpheus

again by Gavin Douglas, copying Chaucer, in his Palice of Honour, I,

21, vv 15, 16, ed. Small.

Y Bardd Glas Keraint, in English Keraint the Blue Bard (Blue Bard being

an appellation of a chief bard, who wore an official robe of blue), is

recorded, as Mr Edward Williams informs us, to have been an eminent

poet of distinguished birth, son of Owain, Prince of Glamorgan. The

English name Glasgerion, Mr Williams further remarks, differs not half

so much from Glasgeraint as most Welsh names, as written by Englishmen,

do from their true orthography. There is, therefore, at least no

absurdity in the suggestion that the Glascurion of Chaucer and the

Glasgerion of the ballad may represent the Welsh Glas Keraint.[96]

A peasant lad, tailor's lad, who had overheard the troth-plight of

a knight and lady, anticipates the lover in 'Den fule Bondedreng,'

Kristensen, II, 25-27; 'Torpardrängen,' Hazelius, Ur de Nordiska

Folkens Lif, p. 138; 'Die Betrogene,' Norrenberg, Des dülkener Fiedlers

Liederbuch, p. 79. The adventure is jocosely treated in the first two,

and does not amount to a tragedy in the other. A groom forestalls

Agilulf, King of the Lombards, in the Decameron, III, 2, again without

a bloody conclusion.

The marvellous power of the harp in #B# 2, #C# 1 is precisely

paralleled in the Scandinavian 'Harpans Kraft,' Arwidsson, No 149, II,

311-17; Afzelius, No 91, III, 144-47; Grundtvig, No 40, II, 65-68;

Landstad, No 51, p. 475; Íslenzk Fornkvæði, No 3, p. 18 f. In these the

fish is harped out of the water, the young from folk and from fee, the

bairn from its mother's womb, the water from the brook, the hind from

the wood, the horns from the hart's head, the bark from the tree, the

dead out of the mould, etc., etc. These effects are of the same nature

as those produced by the harp of Orpheus, and it is to be observed

that in the ballad of 'Harpans Kraft' the harper is a bridegroom

seeking (successfully) to recover his bride, who has been carried down

to the depths of the water by a merman. We have had something like

these effects in the 'Twa Brothers,' No 49, #B# 10, I, 439, where

Lady Margaret harps the small birds off the briers and her true love

out of the grave.[97] There is a fisherman in the Gesta Romanorum who

has a harp so sweet that all the fish in the water come to his hand:

Oesterley, No 85, p. 413, Madden, No 35, p. 116, No 8, p. 293. Equally

potent is pipe, flute, or song in many ballads of various nations; the

fish come up from below, the stars are stopped, the brook rises, the

pines vail their top, the deer stops in its leap, etc., the musician

being sometimes an elf, sometimes an inspired mortal: 'Hr. Tönne af

Alsö,' Grundtvig, No 34, II, 15, 19, Afzelius, No 7, I, 33, 128;

'Elvehöj,' Grundtvig, No 46, II, 107-109, Afzelius, No 95, III, 170,

Arwidsson, No 147, II, 301; Kudrun, ed. Bartsch, sts 379, 381, 388; the

Roumanian 'Salga,' 'Mihu Copilul,' 'Vidra,' Stanley, p. 29, Alecsandri,

pp 58, 66, 98 f, the same, Ballades et Chants populaires, pp 118, 168,

Murray, pp 44, 53 f, 83; 'El Poder del Canto,' Milá, Romancerillo, No

207, p. 165, Nigra, Rivista Contemporanea, XX, 78; 'Conde Arnaldos,'

Wolf and Hofmann, No 153, II, 80. For the soporific effect of such

music, as shown in #B# 5, #C# 2, there are parallels in 'Albred Lykke,'

who sings a ballad which sets everybody asleep but the young bride who

had been stolen from him, Kristensen, I, 281, No 105, sts 11, 12, II,

259 f, No 76, sts 13, 14; 'Den fortryllende Sang,' Grundtvig, No 243,

IV, 470, Danish #A# 12, 473, Swedish #G# 25, 26; 'El Rey marinero,'

Milá, No 201, p. 151, Briz, I, 117, IV, 15, V, 75; Campbell's West

Highland Tales, I, 291 f.

The oath by oak, ash, and thorn, #A# 18, is a relic or trait of high

antiquity. We have an oath by the thorn in 'Fair Janet,' #G# 13,

'Young Hunting,' #K# 26; by corn, grass sae green and corn, in 'Young

Hunting,' #A# 16, #D# 19, #G# 7. It is to be supposed that the tree,

thorn, corn, was touched while swearing, a sod taken up in the hand.

See Grimm's Rechtsalterthümer, 2d ed., p. 896 f, p. 117 f.

For drying the sword on the sleeve, #A# 22, see 'Little Musgrave and

Lady Barnard.'

Translated by Bodmer, I, 73, after Percy; by Knortz, Lieder und

Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 59, after Allingham, p. 358.

#A#

Percy MS., p. 94; Hales and Furnivall, I, 248.

Glasgerion was a kings owne sonne,

And a harp_er_ he was good;

He harped in the kings chamber,

Where cuppe and candle stoode,

And soe did hee in the queens chamber,

Till ladies waxed wood.

And then bespake the k_ing_s daughter,

And these words thus sayd shee:

. . . . . . .

Saide, Strike on, strike on, Glasgerrion,

Of thy striking doe not blinne;

There's neuer a stroke comes ou_er_ thin harpe

But it glads my hart w_i_thin.

'Faire might you fall, lady!' q_uo_th hee;

'Who taught you now to speak?

I haue loued you, lady, seuen yeere;

My hart I durst neere breake.'

'But come to my bower, my Glasgerryon,

When all men are att rest;

As I am a ladie true of my p_ro_mise,

Thou shalt bee a welcome guest.'

But hom then came Glasgerryon,

A glad man, Lord, was hee:

'And come thou hither, Iacke, my boy,

Come hither vnto mee.

'For the k_ing_s daughter of Normandye,

Her loue is granted mee,

And beffore the cocke haue crowen,

Att her chamber must I bee.'

'But come you hither m_aste_r,' q_uo_th hee,

'Lay yo_u_r head downe on this stone;

For I will waken you, m_aste_r deere,

Afore it be time to gone.'

But vpp then rose _tha_t lither ladd,

And did on hose and shoone;

A coller he cast vpon his necke,

Hee seemed a gentleman.

And when he came to _tha_t ladies chamber,

He thrild vpon a pinn;

The lady was true of her p_ro_mise,

Rose vp and lett him in.

He did not take the lady gay

To boulster nor to bedd,

But downe vpon her chamber-flore

Full soone he hath her layd.

He did not kisse _tha_t lady gay

When he came nor when he youd;

And sore mistrusted that lady gay

He was of some churlës blood.

But home then came _tha_t lither ladd,

And did of his hose and shoone,

And cast _tha_t coller from about his necke;

He was but a churlës sonne:

'Awaken,' q_uo_th hee, 'my m_aste_r deere,

I hold it time to be gone.

'For I haue sadled yo_u_r horsse, m_aste_r,

Well bridled I haue yo_u_r steed;

Haue not I serued a good breakfast,

When time comes I haue need.'

But vp then rose good Glasgerryon,

And did on both hose and shoone,

And cast a coller about his necke;

He was a k_ingë_s sonne.

And when he came to _tha_t la_dies_ chamber,

He thrild vpon a pinn;

The la_dy_ was more then true of p_ro_mise,

Rose vp and let him in.

Saies, Whether haue you left w_i_th me

Yo_u_r braclett or yo_u_r gloue?

Or are you returned backe againe

To know more of my loue?'

Glasgerryon swore a full great othe,

By oake and ashe and thorne,

'Lady, I was neuer in yo_u_r chamber

Sith the time that I was borne.'

'O then it was yo_u_r litle foote-page

Falsly hath beguiled me:'

And then shee pulld forth a litle pen-kniffe,

_Tha_t hanged by her knee,

Says, There shall neuer noe churlës blood

Spring w_i_thin my body.

But home then went Glasgerryon,

A woe man, good [Lord], was hee;

Sayes, Come hither, thou Iacke, my boy,

Come thou hither to me.

Ffor if I had killed a man to-night,

Iacke, I wold tell it thee;

But if I haue not killed a man to-night,

Iacke, thou hast killed three!

And he puld out his bright browne sword,

And dryed it on his sleeue,

And he smote off that lither ladds head,

And asked noe man noe leaue.

He sett the swords poynt till his brest,

The pumill till a stone;

Thorrow _tha_t falsenese of _tha_t lither ladd

These three liues werne all gone.

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 93, taken from the

recitation of an old woman by Professor Scott, of

Aberdeen, and "somewhat improved" by a fragment

communicated by the Rev. William Gray, of Lincoln.

Glenkindie was ance a harper gude,

He harped to the king;

And Glenkindie was ance the best harper

That ever harpd on a string.

He'd harpit a fish out o saut water,

Or water out o a stane,

Or milk out o a maiden's breast,

That bairn had never nane.

He's taen his harp intil his hand,

He harpit and he sang,

And ay as he harpit to the king,

To haud him unthought lang.

'I'll gie you a robe, Glenkindie,

A robe o the royal pa,

Gin ye will harp i the winter's night

Afore my nobles a'.'

* * * * * * *

He's taen his harp intill his hand,

He's harpit them a' asleep,

Except it was the young countess,

That love did waukin keep.

And first he has harpit a grave tune,

And syne he has harpit a gay,

And mony a sich atween hands

I wat the lady gae.

Says, Whan day is dawen, and cocks hae crawen,

And wappit their wings sae wide,

It's ye may come to my bower-door,

And streek you by my side.

But look that ye tell na Gib, your man,

For naething that ye dee;

For, an ye tell him Gib, your man,

He'll beguile baith you and me.

He's taen his harp intill his hand,

He harpit and he sang,

And he is hame to Gib, his man,

As fast as he could gang.

'O mith I tell you, Gib, my man,

Gin I a man had slain?'

'O that ye micht, my gude master,

Altho ye had slain ten.'

'Then tak ye tent now, Gib, my man,

My bidden for to dee;

And but an ye wauken me in time,

Ye sall be hangit hie.

'Whan day has dawen, and cocks hae crawen,

And wappit their wings sae wide,

I'm bidden gang till yon lady's bower,

And streek me by her side.'

'Gae hame to your bed, my good master;

Ye've waukit, I fear, oer lang;

For I'll wauken you in as good time

As ony cock i the land.'

He's taen his harp intill his hand,

He harpit and he sang,

Until he harpit his master asleep,

Syne fast awa did gang.

And he is till that lady's bower,

As fast as he could rin;

When he cam till that lady's bower,

He chappit at the chin.

'O wha is this,' says that lady,

'That opens nae and comes in?'

'It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true-love,

O open and lat me in!'

She kent he was nae gentle knicht

That she had latten in,

For neither when he gaed nor cam,

Kist he her cheek or chin.

He neither kist her when he cam,

Nor clappit her when he gaed,

And in and at her bower window,

The moon shone like the gleed.

'O ragged is your hose, Glenkindie,

And riven is your sheen,

And reaveld is your yellow hair,

That I saw late yestreen.'

'The stockings they are Gib, my man's,

They came first to my hand,

And this is Gib, my man's shoon,

At my bed-feet they stand;

I've reavelld a' my yellow hair

Coming against the wind.'

He's taen the harp intill his hand,

He harpit and he sang,

Until he cam to his master,

As fast as he could gang.

'Won up, won up, my good master,

I fear ye sleep oer lang;

There's nae a cock in a' the land

But has wappit his wings and crawn.'

Glenkindie 's tane his harp in hand,

He harpit and he sang,

And he has reachd the lady's bower

Afore that eer he blan.

When he cam to the lady's bower,

He chappit at the chin:

'O wha is that at my bower-door,

That opens na and comes in?'

'It's I, Glenkindie, your ain true-love,

And in I canna win.'

* * * * * * *

'Forbid it, forbid it,' says that lady,

'That ever sic shame betide,

That I should first be a wild loon's lass,

And than a young knight's bride.'

He's taen his harp intill his hand,

He harpit and he sang,

And he is hame to Gib, his man,

As fast as he could gang.

'Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man,

Till I pay you your fee;

Come forth, come forth, now, Gib, my man,

Weel payit sall ye be.'

And he has taen him Gib, his man,

And he has hangd him hie,

And he's hangit him oer his ain yate,

As high as high could be.

There was nae pity for that lady,

For she lay cald and dead,

But a' was for him, Glenkindie,

In bower he must go mad.

Kinloch's MSS, III, 139, in the handwriting of John Hill

Burton.

Glenkinnie was as good a harper

As ever harpet tone;

He harpet fish out o the sea-flood,

And water out of a dry loan,

And milk out o the maiden's breast

That bairn had never neen.

He harpit i the king's palace,

He harpit them a' asleep,

Unless it were Burd Bell alone,

And she stud on her feet.

'Ye will do ye home, Glenkinnie,

And ye will take a sleep,

And ye will come to my bower-door

Before the cock's crowing.'

He's taen out his milk-white steed,

And fast away rode he,

Till he came to his ain castle,

Where gold glanced never so hie.

'Might I tell ye, Jeck, my man,

Gin I had slain a man?'

'Deed might [ye], my good master,

Altho ye had slain ten.'

'I've faun in love wi a gay ladie,

She's daughter to the Queen,

And I maun be at her bower-door

Before the cock's crowing.'

He's taen out his master's steed,

And fast awa rode he,

Until he cam to Burd Bell's door,

Where gold glanced never so hie.

When he came to Burd Bell's door,

He tirled at the pin,

And up she rose, away she goes,

To let Glenkinnie in.

. . . . . . .

That I combed out yestreen.

* * * * * * *

She looked out at a shot-window,

Atween her and the meen:

'There is twa lovers beguiled the night,

And I fear I am ane.

'Ye shall na hae to say, Glenkindie,

When you sit at the wine,

That once you loved a queen's daughter,

And she was your footman's quean.'

* * * * * * *

* * * * *

#A.#

1^4. cappe... yoode.

_1^{5, 6}, 2^{1, 2} make a stanza in the MS._

3^3. this harpe.

4^1. him fall?

4^3. 7 yeere.

6^1. whom then.

7^{3, 4}.

& at her chamber must I bee

beffore the cocke haue crowen.

10^2. pinn: _one stroke of the n is left out, as

frequently, in the MS. Furnivall._

11^2. nor noe.

14^4. times.

16^4. him im.

17^1. you you.

17^3. you are.

21^4. killed 3.

22^3. head: _there is a tag to the ~d~ as if for ~s~.

Furnivall._

23^4. these 3.

#B.#

_1^{3, 4}, 2 are cited by Jamieson in the Scots Magazine,

October, 1803, p. 698, as the beginning of a fragment

[Gray's], with only this variation_:

Glenkindie was ance the best harper.

_He has, therefore, combined the two versions here._

_Stanza 4, as published, is the first of_ "another

copy [_Scott's_], in which the story is complete, but,

it having been written from the recitation of a poor

old woman in Aberdeenshire, the diction has been much

humbled. It begins:

'I'll gie you a robe, Glenkindy,

A robe o the royal pa,

Gin ye will harp i the winter's night

Afore my nobles a'.'

_(~Robe~ is misprinted ~rolu~)._

_After 4 follows this stanza, which, with but a word

or two of difference, is the first of '~Brown Robin~,'

where, no doubt, it belongs, but not here_:

And the king but and his nobles a'

Sat birling at the wine,

And he wad hae but his ae dochter

To wait on them at dine.

_10 may not be in the right place, and should, perhaps,

be put just before Gib gets his deserts. Some such stanza

would come in well between 20 and 21 of #A#._

_After 25 follows 29, manifestly with no right. If this

commonplace is retained, it must come at the end._

_After 29 (27 in Jamieson) follow these three stanzas,

the first a superfluous and very improbable repetition;

the second altered by Jamieson_, "to introduce a little

variety, and prevent the monotonous tiresomeness of

repetition," _the last as little in traditional style as

the second_.

He'd harpit a fish out o saut water,

The water out o a stane,

The milk out o a maiden's breast

That bairn had never nane.

He's taen his harp intill his hand,

Sae sweetly as it rang,

And wae and weary was to hear

Glenkindie's dowie sang.

But cald and dead was that lady,

Nor heeds for a' his maen;

An he wad harpit till domis day,

She'll never speak again.

#C.#

_8 follows 2 in the MS._

_A fragment in Kinloch MSS, III, 147, sixteen stanzas, in

the writing of John Hill Burton, is thus made up: #B# 1,

2, #C# 2, #B# 6, 7, #C# 4, 5, #B# 11, #C# 6, #B# 14, #C#

7, 8, #B# 17, 18, #B# 19^{1-3} and #C# 9^4, #B# 20; with

the following variations, probably arbitrary._

_Variations from_

#B# 1^1. a gude harper.

1^3, he was the.

1^4. on string.

2^1. o the sea-flood.

2^2. o the.

2^3. And milk.

#C# 2^3. Except it was.

#B# 7^4. streek down.

#C# 4^3. Untill.

#C# 5^1. Now might.

#C# 5^2. a man had slain==#B# 10^2.

#C# 5^3. Indeed ye micht.

#B# 11^1. Jock my man.

11^3. And but ye.

#C# 7^1. And he's.

#C# 8^1. bower-door.

#C# 8^3. and away.

[96] See The Cambrian Journal, September, 1858, pp 192-194,

communicated to me by the kind courtesy of Rev. Professor D. Silvan

Evans. As to Glasgerion's being a king's son, ballad titles count for

little.

[97] In #C# 18, p. 440,

She _wept_ the sma brids frae the tree,

She _wept_ the starns adoun frae the lift,

She _wept_ the fish out o the sea.

YOUNG HUNTING

#A.# 'Young Hunting.' #a.# Herd's MSS, I, 182. #b.# The

same, II, 67.

#B.# 'Young Redin,' Kinloch MSS, VII, 7, Kinloch's

Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 1.

#C.# 'Young Riedan,' Harris MS., fol. 8.

#D.# Motherwell's MS., p. 377.

#E.# 'Lord William,' Scott's Minstrelsy, III, 265, 1803.

#F.# 'Earl Richard.' #a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 61,

Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 218. #b.# Motherwell's

Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xvii, one stanza.

#G.# Herd's MSS, I, 34; Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I,

148.

#H.# 'Clyde's Water,' Dr Joseph Robertson's Journal of

Excursions, No 1, 1829.

#I.# 'Lord John,' Motherwell's MS., p. 189.

#J.# 'Earl Richard,' Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 42, 1802,

and III, 184, 1833.

#K.# 'Young Hunting,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of

Scotland, I, 118.

#J#, Scott's version, and naturally the best known, is described by

the editor as made up from the best verses of Herd's copies, #A#, #G#,

with some trivial alterations adopted from tradition. This account is

far from being exact, for there are many lines in the edition of 1802

which are not found in Herd's copies, and in the edition of 1833 four

additional stanzas, 11, 12, 13, 28. Such portions of Scott's version as

are not found in Herd are here distinguished by a larger type. #K# is

perhaps a stall copy, and certainly, where it is not taken from other

versions, is to a considerable degree a modern manufacture by a very

silly pen.[98]

The copy in Pinkerton's Tragic Ballads, p. 84, is only the first five

stanzas of #G#, a little altered.

A Scandinavian ballad begins somewhat like 'Young Hunting,' but ends

like 'Elveskud' or 'Clerk Colvil.' A young man who has made up his

mind to marry is warned by his mother against the wiles of a former

mistress. He rides to his old love's house and is welcomed to beer

and wine. He tells her that he is on the way to his bride. She wants

a word with him, or a kiss, and as he leans over to her on his horse,

stabs him to the heart. He rides home bleeding, pretends that he has

hurt himself by running against a tree, asks that his bed may be made

and a priest sent for, and dies. #Danish#, 'Frillens Hævn,' Grundtvig,

IV, 203 f, No 208, #A-D#, #A# from a manuscript of the 17th century.

#Swedish#, #A#, 'Herr Magnus,' Afzelius, No 13, I, 67, an imperfect

copy; #B#, from Cavallius and Stephens' manuscript collection, #C-H#,

fragments in the same collection, Grundtvig, IV, 203; #I#, 'Herr

Samsing,' Eva Wigström, in Hazelius, Ur de nordiska Folkens Lif, p.

124. #Norwegian#, 'Herre Per og Gjöðalin,' a mixed form, Landstad, p.

564, No 68, and the first stanza in Lindeman, No 132, No 178.

The place where the dead body of the knight lies at the bottom of the

river is discovered by candles burning bright, #A# 22 f, #C# 19 f, #H#

8, #K# 31, 35. Sir Walter Scott supposed these candles to mean "the

corpse-lights... which are sometimes seen to illuminate the spot where

a dead body is concealed." He had been informed that the body of a man

drowned in the Ettrick had been discovered by means of these candles.

Though the language in the ballad is not quite explicit, owing perhaps

to the fact that the method of detection practised was more familiar

formerly than now, the meaning is as likely to be that a candle,

floated on the water, would burn brighter when it came to the spot

where the body lay. A candle (a consecrated one in Catholic countries)

stuck in a loaf of bread, or supported by cork, is still believed to

be efficient for indicating the place of a drowned body; in England,

Henderson, Notes on the Folk Lore of the Northern Counties, ed. 1879,

p. 60; in Bohemia, Wuttke, Deutscher Volksaberglaube der Gegenwart,

ed. 1869, p. 239, No 371; in Brittany, Blätter für literarische

Unterhaltung, 1837, p. 892; in Portugal, Vasconcellos, Tradições

Populares, p. 80, No 178.[99]

That the body of a murdered man will emit blood upon being touched,

or even approached, by the murderer is a belief of ancient standing,

and evidence of this character was formerly admitted in judicial

investigations. See especially Grimm, Rechtsalterthümer, 1854, p. 930

f, Bahrgericht, who cites from literature the Nibelungenlied (1043-45,

Bartsch) Hartmann's Iwein, 1355-64, Shakespeare's Richard III, I, 2,

besides instances of legal or historical description; to which may be

added others furnished by Sir W. Scott, Minstrelsy III, 190-93, ed.

1833, and Kinloch, Ancient Scottish Ballads, pp 10-12. See further

Schmidt, Die Märchen des Straparola, pp 229, 346 ff, Holinshed's

Chronicle of Scotland, p. 235, ed. 1808, Matthew Paris, Chronica

Majora, ed. Luard, II, 344 f, Brand's Antiquities, ed. Ellis, II,

542-44.[100]

There is a sort of _judicium ignis_ in #A# 26-28, #B# 23 f, #C# 24, #K#

37 f: the fire which does not burn the innocent bower-woman consumes

her guilty mistress.

For the oath by corn, #A# 16, #D# 21, grass and corn, #G# 7, thorn,

#K# 26, see 'Glasgerion.'

* * * * *

#E# is translated by Schubart, p. 173; #F# by Wolff, Halle der Völker,

I, 24, Hausschatz, p. 204; #J# by Schubart, p. 86, Gerhard, p. 134;

Aytoun's copy by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, p. 46;

Allingham's copy by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 42.

#a.# Herd's MSS, I, 182; #b.# the same, II, 67.

O lady, rock never your young son young

One hour longer for me,

For I have a sweetheart in Garlick's Wells

I love thrice better than thee.

'The very sols of my love's feet

Is whiter then thy face:'

'But nevertheless na, Young Hunting,

Ye'l stay wi me all night.'

She has birld in him Young Hunting

The good ale and the beer,

Till he was as fou drunken

As any wild-wood steer.

She has birld in him Young Hunting

The good ale and the wine,

Till he was as fou drunken

As any wild-wood swine.

Up she has tain him Young Hunting,

And she has had him to her bed,

. . . . . . .

And she has minded her on a little penknife,

That hangs low down by her gare,

And she has gin him Young Hunting

A deep wound and a sare.

Out an spake the bonny bird,

That flew abon her head:

'Lady, keep well thy green clothing

Fra that good lord's blood.'

'O better I'll keep my green clothing

Fra that good lord's blood

Nor thou can keep thy flattering toung,

That flatters in thy head.

'Light down, light down, my bonny bird,

Light down upon my hand,

. . . . . . .

'O siller, O siller shall be thy hire,

An goud shall be thy fee,

An every month into the year

Thy cage shall changed be.'

'I winna light down, I shanna light down,

I winna light on thy hand;

For soon, soon wad ye do to me

As ye done to Young Hunting.'

She has booted an spird him Young Hunting

As he had been gan to ride,

A hunting-horn about his neck,

An the sharp sourd by his side.

And she has had him to yon wan water,

For a' man calls it Clyde,

. . . . . . .

The deepest pot intill it all

She has puten Young Hunting in;

A green truff upon his breast,

To hold that good lord down.

It fell once upon a day

The king was going to ride,

And he sent for him Young Hunting,

To ride on his right side.

She has turnd her right and round about,

She sware now by the corn,

'I saw na thy son, Young Hunting,

Sen yesterday at morn.'

She has turnd her right and round about,

She swear now by the moon,

'I saw na thy son, Young Hunting,

Sen yesterday at noon.

'It fears me sair in Clyde Water

That he is drownd therein:'

O thay ha sent for the king's duckers,

To duck for Young Hunting.

They ducked in at the tae water-bank,

Thay ducked out at the tither:

'We'll duck no more for Young Hunting,

All tho he wear our brother.'

Out an spake the bonny bird,

That flew abon their heads,

. . . . . . .

'O he's na drownd in Clyde Water,

He is slain and put therein;

The lady that lives in yon castil

Slew him and put him in.

'Leave aff your ducking on the day,

And duck upon the night;

Whear ever that sakeless knight lys slain,

The candels will shine bright.'

Thay left off their ducking o the day,

And ducked upon the night,

And where that sakeless knight lay slain,

The candles shone full bright.

The deepest pot intill it a'

Thay got Young Hunting in;

A green turff upon his brest,

To hold that good lord down.

O thay ha sent aff men to the wood

To hew down baith thorn an fern,

That they might get a great bonefire

To burn that lady in.

'Put na the wyte on me,' she says,

'It was her May Catheren.'

Whan thay had tane her May Catheren,

In the bonefire set her in;

It wad na take upon her cheeks,

Nor take upon her chin,

Nor yet upon her yallow hair,

To healle the deadly sin.

Out they hae tain her May Catheren,

And they hay put that lady in;

O it took upon her cheek, her cheek,

An it took upon her chin,

An it took on her fair body,

She burnt like hoky-gren.

Kinloch MSS, VII, p. 7, Kinloch's Ancient Scottish

Ballads, p. 1; "from the recitation of Miss E. Beattie,

of Edinburgh, a native of Mearns-shire, who sings it to a

plaintive and melancholy, though somewhat monotonous, air

of one measure."

Young Redin's til the huntin gane,

Wi therty lords and three;

And he has til his true-love gane,

As fast as he could hie.

'Ye're welcome here, my Young Redin,

For coal and candle-licht;

And sae are ye, my Young Redin,

To bide wi me the nicht.'

'I thank ye for your licht, ladie,

Sae do I for your coal;

But there's thrice as fair a ladie as thee

Meets me at Brandie's Well.'

Whan they war at their supper set,

And merrily drinking wine,

This ladie has tane a sair sickness,

And til her bed has gane.

Young Redin he has followed her,

And a dowie man was he;

He fund his true-love in her bouer,

And the tear was in her ee.

Whan he was in her arms laid,

And gieing her kisses sweet,

Then out she's tane a little penknife,

And woundid him sae deep.

'O lang, lang is the winter nicht,

And slawly daws the day;

There is a slain knicht in my bouer,

And I wish he war away.'

Then up bespak her bouer-woman,

And she spak ae wi spite:

'An there be a slain knicht in your bouer,

It's yoursell that has the wyte.'

'O heal this deed on me, Meggy,

O heal this deed on me;

The silks that war shapen for me gen Pasche,

They sall be sewed for thee.'

'O I hae heald on my mistress

A twalmonth and a day,

And I hae heald on my mistress

Mair than I can say.'

* * * * * * *

They've booted him, and they've spurred him,

As he was wont to ride,

A huntin-horn round his neck,

And a sharp sword by his side;

In the deepest place o Clyde's Water,

It's there they've made his bed.

Sine up bespak the wylie parrot,

As he sat on the tree:

'And hae ye killd him Young Redin,

Wha neer had love but thee?'

'Come doun, come doun, ye wylie parrot,

Come doun into my hand;

Your cage sall be o the beaten gowd,

Whan now it's but the wand.'

'I winna come doun, I canna come doun,

I winna come doun to thee;

For as ye've dune to Young Redin,

Ye'll do the like to me;

Ye'll thraw my head aff my hause-bane,

And throw me in the sea.'

O there cam seekin Young Redin

Mony a lord and knicht,

And there cam seekin Young Redin

Mony a ladie bricht.

And they've til his true-love gane,

Thinking he was wi her;

. . . . . . .

'I hae na seen him Young Redin

Sin yesterday at noon;

He turnd his stately steed about,

And hied him throw the toun.

'But ye'll seek Clyde's Water up and doun,

Ye'll seek it out and in;

I hae na seen him Young Redin

Sin yesterday at noon.'

Then up bespak Young Redin's mither,

And a dowie woman was scho:

'There's na a place in Clyde's Water

But my son wad gae throw.'

They've sought Clyde's Water up and doun,

They've sought it out and in,

And the deepest place in Clyde's Water

They've fund Young Redin in.

O white, white war his wounds washen,

As white as a linen clout;

But as the traitor she cam near,

His wounds they gushit out.

'It's surely been my bouer-woman,

O ill may her betide!

I neer wad slain him Young Redin,

And thrown him in the Clyde.'

Then they've made a big bane-fire,

The bouer-woman to brin;

It tuke not on her cheek, her cheek,

It tuke not on her chin,

But it tuke on the cruel hands

That pat Young Redin in.

Then they've tane out the bouer-woman,

And pat the ladie in;

It tuke na on her cheek, her cheek,

It tuke na on her chin,

But it tuke on the fause, fause arms

That Young Redin lay in.

Harris MS., fol. 8, from Mrs Harris, Perthshire.

The ladie stude in her bour-door,

In her bour-door as she stude,

She thocht she heard a bridle ring,

That did her bodie gude.

She thocht it had been her father dear,

Come ridin owre the sand;

But it was her true-love Riedan,

Come hiean to her hand.

'You're welcome, you're welcome, Young Riedan,' she said,

'To coal an cannel-licht;

You're welcome, you're welcome, Young Riedan,

To sleep in my bour this nicht.'

'I thank you for your coal, madame,

An for your cannel tae;

There's a fairer maid at Clyde's Water,

I love better than you.'

'A fairer maid than me, Riedan?

A fairer maid than me?

A fairer maid than ten o me

You shurely neer did see.'

He leant him owre his saddle-bow,

To gie her a kiss sae sweet;

She keppit him on a little penknife,

An gae him a wound sae deep.

'Oh hide! oh hide! my bourswoman,

Oh hide this deed on me!

An the silks that waur shappit for me at Yule

At Pasch sall be sewed for thee.'

They saidled Young Riedan, they bridled Young Riedan,

The way he was wont to ride;

Wi a huntin-horn aboot his neck,

An a sharp sword by his side.

An they are on to Clyde's Water,

An they rade it up an doon,

An the deepest linn in a' Clyde's Water

They flang him Young Riedan [in].

'Lie you there, you Young Riedan,

Your bed it is fu wan;

The [maid] you hae at Clyde's Water,

For you she will think lang.'

Up it spak the wily bird,

As it sat on the tree:

'Oh wae betide you, ill woman,

An an ill death may you dee!

For he had neer anither love,

Anither love but thee.'

'Come doon, come doon, my pretty parrot,

An pickle wheat aff my glue;

An your cage sall be o the beaten goud,

Whan it's of the willow tree.'

'I winna come doon, I sanna come doon,

To siccan a traitor as thee;

For as you did to Young Riedan,

Sae wald you do to mee.'

'Come doon, come doon, my pretty parrot,

An pickle wheat aff my hand;

An your cage sall be o the beaten goud,

Whan it's o the willow wand.'

'I winna come doon, I sanna come doon,

To siccan a traitor as thee;

You wald thraw my head aff my hase-bane,

An fling it in the sea.'

It fell upon a Lammas-tide

The king's court cam ridin bye:

'Oh whare is it him Young Riedan?

It's fain I wald him see.'

'Oh I hae no seen Young Riedan

Sin three lang weeks the morn;

It bodes me sair, and drieds me mair,

Clyde's Water's him forlorn.'

Up it spak the wily bird,

As it sat on the tree;

. . . . . . .

'Leave aff, leave aff your day-seekin,

An ye maun seek by nicht;

Aboon the place Young Riedan lies,

The cannels burn bricht.'

They gae up their day-seekin,

An they did seek by nicht;

An owre the place Young Riedan lay,

The cannels burnt bricht.

The firsten grip his mother got

Was o his yellow hair;

An was na that a dowie grip,

To get her ae son there!

The nexten grip his mother got

Was o his milk-white hand;

An wasna that a dowie grip,

To bring sae far to land!

White, white waur his wounds washen,

As white as ony lawn;

But sune's the traitor stude afore,

Then oot the red blude sprang.

* * * * * * *

Fire wadna tak on her bourswoman,

Niether on cheek nor chin;

But it took fast on thae twa hands

That flang young Riedan in.

'Come oot, come oot, my bourswoman,

Come oot, lat me win in;

For as I did the deed mysell,

Sae man I drie the pine.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 377; from Agnes Lyle, Kilbarchan.

Earl Richard has a hunting gone,

As fast as he can ride;

He's a hunting-horn about his neck,

And a broadsword by his side.

'Licht down, licht down, Earl Richard,' she says,

'O licht down and come in,

And thou'll get cheer and charcoal clear,

And torches for to burn.'

'I winna licht, I canna licht,

I winna licht at all;

A fairer lady then ten of thee

Meets me at Richard's Wall.'

He louted owre his saddle-bow,

And for to kiss her sweet,

But little thocht o that penknife

Wherewith she wound him deep.

'Why wounds thou me so deep, lady?

Why stabs thou me so sore?

There's not a lord like Earl Richard

Could love false woman more.'

She called upon her waiting-maid,

Long before it was day:

'I have a dead man in my bower,

I wish he were away.'

'Keep ye your bower, my lily-flower.

Keep it free of all men's blood;'

'Oh I will keep it een as weel

As you or any maid.

'But siller will be thy wage,' she says,

'And gold will be thy fee,

And I mysell will gang alang

And bear thee companye.'

They booted him, and spurred him,

As he was wont to ride,

And they're awa to Lorn's Water,

To Lorn's Water so wide.

They turned down his yellow hair,

Turnd up his milk-white feet:

'Lye thou there, Earl Richard,' she said,

'Till the blood seep from thy bane;

That fairer maid than ten of me

Will look lang or thou come hame.'

As they were coming hame again,

Upon the road so hie,

There they spy'd a small pyet,

Was sitting on a tree.

'Where has thou been, fair lady?' it says,

'Whare has thou been so soon?

Or what did thou wi Earl Richard,

Was late wi thee yestreen?'

'Come down, come down, my wee pyet;

An thou'll come to my knee,

I have a cage of beaten gold,

And I'll bestow't on thee.'

'Keep thou thy cage of beaten gold,

And I will keep my tree;

For as thou did wi Earl Richard,

So wad thou do wi me;

Thou wad thraw the wee head aff my bouk,

And drown me in the sea.'

'Come down, come down, my wee pyet;

An thou'll come to my hand,

I have a cage of beaten gold,

And thou's be put therein.'

'Keep thou thy cage o beaten gold,

And I will keep my tree;

For as thou did wi Earl Richard,

So would thou do wi me.'

'Oh an I had my bow bendit,

And set unto my knee,

I wad shoot this wee pyet

Sits gabbing on the tree.'

'Before thou get thy bow bendit,

And set unto thy knee,

I'll be at Earl Richard's father,

Telling ill tales on thee.'

As they were coming hame again,

Upon the road so bricht,

There they saw Earl Richard's father,

Coming marching in their sicht.

'Whare has thou been, fair lady?' he says,

'Whare has thou been back sae sune?

O what did thou wi my auld son,

Was late wi thee yestreen?'

She did swear by stars o licht,

And grass-green growing corn,

That she had not seen Earl Richard's face

Since Saturday at morn;

'But in Lorn's Water, indeed,' she says,

'I fear his days are done.'

'There was not a ford in Lorn's Water

But he could ride it weel;

And what did thou wi my auld son,

That went with thee afield?'

* * * * * * *

Scott's Minstrelsy, III, 265, 1803, communicated by James

Hogg, from the recitation of his mother (Motherwell).

Lord William was the bravest knight

That dwalt in fair Scotland,

And, though renowned in France and Spain,

Fell by a ladie's hand.

As she was walking maid alone,

Down by yon shady wood,

She heard a smit o bridle reins,

She wishd might be for good.

'Come to my arms, my dear Willie,

You're welcome hame to me;

To best o chear and charcoal red,

And candle burnin free.'

'I winna light, I darena light,

Nor come to your arms at a';

A fairer maid than ten o you

I'll meet at Castle-law.'

'A fairer maid than me, Willie?

A fairer maid than me?

A fairer maid than ten o me

Your eyes did never see.'

He louted owr his saddle-lap

To kiss her ere they part,

And wi a little keen bodkin,

She pierced him to the heart.

'Ride on, ride on, Lord William now,

As fast as ye can dree;

Your bonny lass at Castle-law

Will weary you to see.'

Out up then spake a bonny bird,

Sat high upon a tree:

'How could you kill that noble lord?

He came to marry thee.'

'Come down, come down, my bonny bird,

And eat bread aff my hand;

Your cage shall be of wiry goud,

Whar now it's but the wand.'

'Keep ye your cage o goud, lady,

And I will keep my tree;

As ye hae done to Lord William,

Sae wad ye do to me.'

She set her foot on her door-step,

A bonny marble stane,

And carried him to her chamber,

Oer him to make her mane.

And she has kept that good lord's corpse

Three quarters of a year,

Until that word began to spread;

Then she began to fear.

Then she cryed on her waiting-maid,

Ay ready at her ca:

'There is a knight into my bower,

'Tis time he were awa.'

The ane has taen him by the head,

The ither by the feet,

And thrown him in the wan water,

That ran baith wide and deep.

'Look back, look back, now, lady fair,

On him that loed ye weel;

A better man than that blue corpse

Neer drew a sword of steel.'

#a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 61, from the recitation of Miss

Stevenson of Glasgow, January 22, 1825; Motherwell's

Minstrelsy, p. 218. #b.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy,

Appendix, p. xvii, VIII, one stanza.

Earl Richard is a hunting gone,

As fast as he can ride,

His hunting-horn hung about his neck,

And a small sword by his side.

When he came to my lady's gate

He tirled at the pin,

And wha was sae ready as the lady hersell

To open and let him in.

'O light, O light, Earl Richard,' she says,

'O light and stay a' night;

You shall have cheer wi charcoal clear,

And candles burning bright.'

'I will not light, I cannot light,

I cannot light at all;

A fairer lady than ten of thee

Is waiting at Richard's Wall.'

He stooped from his milk-white steed,

To kiss her rosy cheek;

She had a pen-knife in her hand,

And wounded him so deep.

'O lie ye there, Earl Richard,' she says,

'O lie ye there till morn;

A fairer lady than ten of me

Will think lang of your coming home.'

She called her servants ane by ane,

She called them twa by twa:

'I have got a dead man in my bower,

I wish he were awa.'

The one has taen [him] by the hand,

And the other by the feet,

And they've thrown him in a deep draw-well,

Full fifty fathom deep.

Then up bespake a little bird,

That sat upon a tree:

'Gae hame, gae hame, ye false lady,

And pay your maids their fee.'

'Come down, come down, my pretty bird,

That sits upon the tree;

I have a cage of beaten gold,

I'll gie it unto thee.'

'Gae hame, gae hame, ye fause lady,

And pay your maids their fee;

As ye have done to Earl Richard,

Sae wud ye do to me.'

'If I had an arrow in my hand,

And a bow bent on a string,

I'd shoot a dart at thy proud heart,

Amang the leaves sae green.'

Herd's MSS, I, 34; Herd's Scottish Songs, 1776, I, 148.

She has calld to her her bower-maidens,

She has calld them one by one:

'There is a dead man in my bower,

I wish that he was gone.'

They have booted him, and spurred him,

As he was wont to ride,

A hunting-horn around his waist,

A sharp sword by his side.

Then up and spake a bonie bird,

That sat upon the tree:

'What hae ye done wi Earl Richard?

Ye was his gay lady.'

'Cum down, cum down, my bonie bird,

Cum sit upon my hand;

And ye sall hae a cage o the gowd,

Where ye hae but the wand.'

'Awa, awa, ye ill woman,

Nae ill woman for me;

What ye hae done to Earl Richard,

Sae wad ye do to mee.'

* * * * * * *

'O there's a bird intill your bowir

That sings sae sad and sweet;

O there's a bird intill your bour

Kept me frae my nicht's sleep.'

* * * * * * *

And she sware by the grass sae greene,

Sae did she by the corn,

That she had not seen Earl Richard

Sen yesterday at morn.

* * * * * * *

Dr Joseph Robertson's "Journal of Excursions," No 1, 1829.

* * * * * * *

'Hail well, hail well, my little foot-page,

Hail well this deed on me,

And ever I live my life to brook,

I'se pay thee well thy fee.'

'It's we'l beet him, and we'l spur him,

As gin he had been gain to ride,

Put a huntin-horn about his neck,

And a small sword by his side.

'And we'll carry him to Clyde's Water,

And there we'll fling him in,

That we may have it to be said

In Clyde's Water he drownd.'

O they bet him, and they spurrd him,

As gin he had been gain to ride,

Pat a huntin-horn about his neck,

But the sword on his wrang side.

And they hae carried him to Clyde's Water,

And there they flang him in,

That they might have it to be said

In Clyde's Water he drowned.

* * * * * * *

'It's we'll sen for the king's doukers,

And douk it up and doun;

It's we'll sen for the king's doukers,

And douk it out and in.'

Out it spak a little wee birdie,

As it sat on yon burn-brae:

. . . . . . .

'Ye may lay by your day doukers,

And turn you to the night,

And where the innocent blood lies slain,

The candles will burn fou bricht.'

* * * * * * *

O they hae brunt that gay ladie,

And blawn her in the air,

And nothing o that bower-man would burn

But the hands that buskd him rare.

Motherwell MS., p. 189.

* * * * * * *

'Come down, come down, thou bonnie bird,

Sit low upon my hand,

And thy cage shall be o the beaten gowd,

And not of hazel wand.'

'O woe, O woe be to thee, lady,

And an ill death may thou die!

For the way thou guided good Lord John,

Soon, soon would thou guide me.'

'Go bend to me my bow,' she said,

'And set it to my ee,

And I will gar that bonnie bird

Come quickly down to me.'

'Before thou bend thy bow, lady,

And set it to thy ee,

O I will be at yon far forest,

Telling ill tales on thee.'

* * * * * * *

Scott's Minstrelsy, II, 42, 1802, and III, 184, 1833,

from Herd's copies (#A#, #G#), and from tradition.

'O lady, rock never your young son young

One hour langer for me;

For I have a sweetheart in Garlioch Wells

I love far better than thee.

'The very sole o that ladye's foot

Than thy face is far mair white:'

'But, nevertheless, now, Erl Richard,

Ye will bide in my bower a' night?'

She birled him wi the ale and wine,

As they sat down to sup:

A living man he laid him down,

But I wot he neer rose up.

Then up and spake the popinjay,

That flew aboun her head:

'Lady, keep weel your green cleiding

Frae gude Erl Richard's bleid.'

'O better I'll keep my green cleiding

Frae gude Erl Richard's bleid,

Than thou canst keep thy clattering toung,

That trattles in thy head.'

She has calld upon her bower-maidens,

She has calld them ane by ane:

'There lies a deid man in my bowr,

I wish that he were gane.'

They hae booted him, and spurred him,

As he was wont to ride,

A hunting-horn tied round his waist,

A sharp sword by his side;

And they hae had him to the wan water,

For a' men call it Clyde.

Then up and spake the popinjay,

That sat upon the tree:

'What hae ye done wi Erl Richard?

Ye were his gaye ladye.'

'Come down, come down, my bonny bird,

And sit upon my hand;

And thou sall hae a cage o gowd,

Where thou hast but the wand.'

'Awa, awa, ye ill woman,

Nae cage o gowd for me;

As ye hae dune to Erl Richard,

Sae wad ye do to me.'

She hadna crossd a rigg o land,

A rigg but barely ane,

When she met wi his auld father,

Came riding all alane.

'Where hae ye been, now, ladye fair,

Where hae ye been sae late?

We hae been seeking Erl Richard,

But him we canna get.'

'Erl Richard kens a' the fords in Clyde,

He'll ride them ane by ane;

And though the night was neer sae mirk,

Erl Richard will be hame.'

O it fell anes upon a day

The king was boun to ride,

And he has mist him Erl Richard,

Should hae ridden on his right side.

The ladye turnd her round about,

Wi mickle mournfu din:

'It fears me sair o Clyde water,

That he is drownd therein.'

'Gar douk, gar douk,' the king he cried,

'Gar douk for gold and fee;

O wha will douk for Erl Richard's sake,

Or wha will douk for me?'

They douked in at ae weil-heid,

And out aye at the other:

'We can douk nae mair for Erl Richard,

Altho he were our brother.'

It fell that in that ladye's castle

The king was boun to bed,

And up and spake the popinjay,

That flew abune his head.

'Leave aff your douking on the day,

And douk upon the night;

And wherever that sackless knight lies slain,

The candles will burn bright.'

'O there's a bird within this bower,

That sings baith sad and sweet;

O there's a bird within your bower

Keeps me frae my night's sleep.'

They left the douking on the day,

And douked upon the night,

And where that sackless knight lay slain,

The candles burned bright.

The deepest pot in a' the linn

They fand Erl Richard in;

A green turf tyed across his breast,

To keep that gude lord down.

Then up and spake the king himsell,

When he saw the deadly wound,

'O wha has slain my right-hand man,

That held my hawk and hound?'

Then up and spake the popinjay,

Says, What needs a' this din?

It was his light lemman took his life,

And hided him in the linn.

She swore her by the grass sae grene,

Sae did she by the corn,

She had na seen him Erl Richard

Since Moninday at morn.

'Put na the wyte on me,' she said,

'It was my may, Catherine:'

Then they hae cut baith fern and thorn,

To burn that maiden in.

It wadna take upon her cheik,

Nor yet upon her chin,

Nor yet upon her yellow hair,

To cleanse the deadly sin.

The maiden touchd the clay-cauld corpse,

A drap it never bled;

The ladye laid her hand on him,

And soon the ground was red.

Out they hae ta'en her May Catherine,

And put her mistress in;

The flame tuik fast upon her cheik,

Tuik fast upon her chin,

Tuik fast upon her fair bodye,

She burnd like hollins grene.

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 118.

Lady Maisry forth from her bower came,

And stood on her tower-head;

She thought she heard a bridle ring,

The sound did her heart guid.

She thought it was her first true-love,

Whom she loved ance in time;

But it was her new love, Hunting,

Come frae the hunting o the hyn.

'Gude morrow, gude morrow, Lady Maisry,

God make you safe and free;

I'm come to take my last farewell,

And pay my last visit to thee.'

'O stay, O stay then, Young Hunting,

O stay with me this night;

Ye shall hae cheer, an charcoal clear,

And candles burning bright.'

'Have no more cheer, you lady fair,

An hour langer for me;

I have a lady in Garmouth town

I love better than thee.'

'O if your love be changed, my love,

Since better canno be,

Nevertheless, for auld lang syne,

Ye'll stay this night wi me.

'Silver, silver shall be your wage,

And gowd shall be your fee,

And nine times nine into the year

Your weed shall changed be.

'Will ye gae to the cards or dice,

Or to a tavern fine?

Or will ye gae to a table forebye,

And birl baith beer and wine?'

'I winna gang to the cards nor dice,

Nor to a tavern fine;

But I will gang to a table forebye,

And birl baith beer and wine.'

Then she has drawn for Young Hunting

The beer but and the wine,

Till she got him as deadly drunk

As ony unhallowed swine.

Then she's taen out a trusty brand,

That hang below her gare,

Then she's wounded him Young Hunting,

A deep wound and a sair.

Then out it speaks her comrade,

Being in the companie:

'Alas! this deed that ye hae done

Will ruin baith you and me.'

'Heal well, heal well, you Lady Katharine,

Heal well this deed on me,

The robes that were shapen for my bodie,

They shall be sewed for thee.'

'Tho I woud heal it never sae well,

And never sae well,' said she,

'There is a God above us baith

That can baith hear and see.'

They booted him, and spurred him,

As he'd been gaun to ride,

A hunting-horn about his neck,

A sharp sword by his side.

And they rode on, and farther on,

All the lang summer's tide,

Until they came to wan water,

Where a' man ca's it Clyde.

And the deepest pot in Clyde's water,

And there they flang him in,

And put a turf on his breast-bane,

To had Young Hunting down.

O out it speaks a little wee bird,

As she sat on the brier:

'Gae hame, gae hame, ye Lady Maisry,

And pay your maiden's hire.'

'O I will pay my maiden's hire,

And hire I'll gie to thee;

If ye'll conceal this fatal deed,

Ye's hae gowd for your fee.'

Then out it speaks a bonny bird,

That flew aboon their head:

'Keep well, keep well your green claithing

Frae ae drap o his bluid.'

'O I'll keep well my green claithing

Frae ae drop o his bluid,

Better than I'll do your flattering tongue,

That flutters in your head.

'Come down, come down, my bonny bird,

Light down upon my hand;

For ae gowd feather that's in your wing,

I woud gie a' my land.'

'How shall I come down, how can I come down,

How shall I come down to thee?

The things ye said to Young Hunting,

The same ye're saying to me.'

But it fell out on that same day

The king was going to ride,

And he calld for him Young Hunting,

For to ride by his side.

Then out it speaks the little young son,

Sat on the nurse's knee:

'It fears me sair,' said that young babe,

'He's in bower wi yon ladie.'

Then they hae calld her Lady Katharine,

And she sware by the thorn

That she saw not him Young Hunting

Sin yesterday at morn.

Then they hae calld her Lady Maisry,

And she sware by the moon

That she saw not him Young Hunting

Sin yesterday at noon.

'He was playing him at the Clyde's Water,

Perhaps he has fa'en in:'

The king he calld his divers all,

To dive for his young son.

They div'd in thro the wan burn-bank,

Sae did they outthro the other:

'We'll dive nae mair,' said these young men,

'Suppose he were our brother.'

Then out it spake a little bird,

That flew aboon their head:

'Dive on, dive on, ye divers all,

For there he lies indeed.

'But ye'll leave aff your day diving,

And ye'll dive in the night;

The pot where Young Hunting lies in,

The candles they'll burn bright.

'There are twa ladies in yon bower,

And even in yon ha,

And they hae killd him Young Hunting,

And casten him awa.

'They booted him, and spurred him,

As he'd been gaun to ride,

A hunting-horn tied round his neck,

A sharp sword by his side

'The deepest pot o Clyde's Water,

There they flang him in,

Laid a turf on his breast-bane,

To had Young Hunting down.'

Now they left aff their day diving,

And they dived on the night;

The pot that Young Hunting lay in,

The candles were burning bright.

The king he calld his hewers all,

To hew down wood and thorn,

For to put up a strong bale-fire,

These ladies for to burn.

And they hae taen her Lady Katharine,

And they hae pitten her in;

But it wadna light upon her cheek,

Nor woud it on her chin,

But sang the points o her yellow hair,

For healing the deadly sin.

Then they hae taen her Lady Maisry,

And they hae put her in:

First it lighted on her cheek,

And syne upon her chin,

And sang the points o her yellow hair,

And she burnt like keckle-pin.

* * * * *

#A. a.#

1^1. than he.

2^1. lover's.

3^3. drucken.

7^3. the green.

10^1. higher.

10^3. On every.

12^2. Or he.

20^{1, 2} _and 21 in one stanza._

21^1. Clyd's. (?)

23^3. lackless.

25^{5, 6} _and 26 in one stanza._

#b.#

_is a revised copy, in which most of the above readings

are corrected, with other changes._

1^1. _second ~young~ omitted_.

3^3. love drucken.

4^3. love drunken.

6^1. her of.

13^1. wan _omitted_.

14^1. 24^1. pit.

15^2. gan.

18^1, 21^1. Clyde's.

19^1. tae _omitted_.

27^{1, 2}. hae _omitted_.

27^6. hoky gren _wanting_.

#B.#

6, 7. _These stanzas, with the trivial variation in 6^3

of ~she's taen out~, are given by Chambers, Scottish

Ballads, p. 259, note, from his recollection of a recited

fragment._

#D.#

"The catastrophe wanting, but the lady's treachery was

discovered, and she was burned." _Motherwell's MS._

9^4. so deep.

20^1. hast.

#E.#

"Although much of the language seems somewhat modernized,

this must be attributed to its currency, being much

liked, and very much sung, in this neighborhood. I can

trace it back several generations, but cannot hear of its

ever having been in print. I have never heard it with any

considerable variation, save that one reciter called the

dwelling of the feigned sweetheart Castle-swa." _Hogg._

#G.#

"To a wild melancholy tune." _Herd._

Quhat, ze, _etc._, _are printed_ what, ye, _as usual_.

#H.#

7^{1, 2} _and 8 one stanza._

[98] For utter ineptness 7-9 even go beyond the ordinary Buchan mark.

[99] Other expedients are, a loaf of bread weighted with quicksilver,

or without candle or quicksilver, or a chip of wood; Henderson, as

above, p. 59, Gregor, Notes on the Folk Lore of the North East of

Scotland, p. 208, Choice Notes from Notes and Queries, pp 40-43, and

Liebrecht, Volkskunde, p. 344 f, who cites nearly all these places.

J. S. C. observes in Notes and Queries: As there are in all running

streams deep pools formed by eddies, in which drowned bodies would be

likely to be caught and retained, any light substance thrown into the

current would consequently be drawn to that part of the surface over

the centre of the eddy hole.

[100] Also (not seen by me) Danske Samlingar, II, 274-76, 1867, Norske

Magasin, I, 401, 1860, cited by somebody (probably Grundtvig) whom I

have neglected to note.

CLERK SAUNDERS

#A.# 'Clerk Sanders,' Herd's MSS, I, 177, II, 49.

#B.# 'Clerk Saunders,' Herd's MSS, I, 163, II, 46.

#C.# 'Clerk Saunders,' Kinloch's Scottish Ballads, p. 233.

#D.# 'Lord Saunders,' Motherwell's MS., p. 196.

#E.# 'The Seven Bluidy Brithers,' Motherwell's MS., p.

199.

#F.# 'Clerk Saunders,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 83.

#G.# 'Clerk Sandy,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of

Scotland, I, 160.

'Clerk Saunders' was first given to the world in the Minstrelsy of the

Scottish Border, II, 33, 1802, and was there said to be "taken from Mr

Herd's MS., with several corrections from a shorter and more imperfect

copy in the same volume, and one or two conjectural emendations in

the arrangement of the stanzas." Sir Walter arranged his ballad with

much good taste, but this account of his dealing with Herd's copies is

very far from precisely accurate. #A#, the longer of these, does not

end, as here printed, with Margret's refusal to be comforted, a rather

unsufficing conclusion it must be owned. The story is continued by

annexing the ballad of 'Sweet William's Ghost,' the lack of which in

#B# makes Scott call that version imperfect. This sequel, found also

in #F#, is omitted here, and will be given in the proper place.[101]

Jamieson's, #F#, as well as Scott's, is a made-up copy, "the stanzas

where the seven brothers are introduced" having been "enlarged from

two fragments, which, although very defective in themselves, furnished

lines which, when incorporated with the text, seemed to improve

it." About one half of #G# is taken from Herd's MSS, with trivial

alterations. The ghostly visitation at the end blends 'Proud Lady

Margaret' with 'Sweet William's Ghost,' and this conclusion, not being

worth transferring, has been allowed to stand.[102] The dream in #E# 13

may be derived from 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William.'

The austerities vowed in #D# 13-15, #E# 17-20, found also in #A# 20-22,

#G# 23-25, make a very satisfactory termination to the tragedy, and

supply a want that may be felt in #B#, and in #A# as it stands here.

The like are found in 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' 'Bonny

Bee Ho'm,' 'Lord Livingston,' 'The Weary Coble o Cargill,' and 'The

Lowlands of Holland.' Also in the French ballad of 'La Biche Blanche,'

where a brother, having unwittingly been the death of his sister, who

was maid by day but hind by night, vows himself to a seven years'

penance:

J'en suis au désespoir, j'en ferai pénitence;

Serai pendant sept ans sans mettr' chemise blanche,

Et coucherai sept ans sous une épine blanche.

or,

Et j'aurai sous l'épin', pour toit, rien qu'une branche.

Vaugeois, Histoire des Antiquités de la Ville de l'Aigle, p. 585,

repeated in Bosquet, La Normandie Romanesque, p. 83, Beaurepaire,

Poésie p. en Normandie, p. 78; Haupt, Französische Volkslieder, p.

20, Souvestre, in Revue des Deux Mondes, 1849, Avril, p. 106, and Les

Derniers Paysans, p. 36, ed. 1871.

The king, in 'Kong Valdemar og hans Søster,' Grundtvig, No 126, #A#,

#B#, #C#, will live in a dark house where he shall never see fire nor

light, nor shall the sun ever shine on him, till he has expiated his

monstrous cruelty to his sister.

So the marquis, in the Romance del Marques de Mántua, swears, till he

has avenged the death of Valdovinos,

de nunca peinar mis canas,

ni las mis barbas cortar,

de no vestir otras ropas,

ni renovar mi calzar, etc.

Wolf and Hofmann, Primavera, No 165, II, 192.

#F#, Jamieson's version, connects 'Clerk Saunders' with a Scandinavian

ballad,[103] which seems to be preserved in abbreviated and sometimes

perverted forms, also by other races. Full forms of this Northern

ballad are:

#Icelandic#, 'Ólöfar kvaeði,' eight versions, #A-H#, Íslenzk Fornkvæði,

No 34, I, 332.

#Färöe#, 'Faðir og dottir,' communicated by Hammershaimb to the

Antiquarisk Tidsskrift, 1849-51, p. 88.

#Norwegian#, 'Far aa dótter,' Bugge, Gamle Norske Folkeviser, p. 115,

#A# (with two fragments, #B#, #C#).

A father [king, Icelandic #A-H#] asks his daughter if she is ready to

marry. She has no such thought.[104] [She swore by God, by man, that

she had never had the thought, had no private connection, was as clear

as a nun; but nobody knew what was in her mind: Färöe.] Who, then, he

asks, is the fair knight that rode to your bower? No fair knight, but

one of her knaves. Whose was that horse I saw at your door? It was no

horse, but a hind from the fell. Who was that fair knight you kissed at

the spring? It was no knight, but her maid that she kissed. Does her

maid wear a sword at her side? It was no sword, but a bunch of keys.

Does her maid wear spurs? It was no spurs, but gold on her shoes. Has

her maid short hair? Her plaits were coiled on her head. Does she wear

short clothes, like men? Maids hold up their coats when there is a dew.

What babe was crying in her chamber? It was no babe, but her dog. What

was that cradle standing by her bed? It was no cradle, but her little

silk-loom.

In the Färöe ballad the father then rides to the wood, meets a knight,

cuts him in two, hangs his foot, hand, and head to his saddle, and

returns. Do you know this foot? he asks. It has often found the way to

her chamber. Do you know this hand? Many a night it has lain on her

arm. Do you know this head? Many a kiss have the lips had. In the other

versions these bloody tokens are produced on the spot, with a more

startling effect. The daughter wishes a fire in her father's house, him

in it, and herself looking on. Instantly a blaze bursts forth, the king

is burnt up, and all that belongs to him. The daughter sets the fire

herself in the Färöe and the Norwegian ballad. She dies of grief in

Icelandic #C#, takes to the wood in #E#, #F#,[105] goes into a cloister

in #D#, #G# (cf. English #C#).

A briefer form of this same story is 'Den grymma Brodern,' Afzelius, No

86, III, 107. In this a brother takes the place of the father. After

several questions he asks his sister if she knows the man's hand that

hangs at his saddle. She bursts out into an exclamation of grief.

'Thore och hans Syster,' Arwidsson, No 55, I, 358,[106] has lost its

proper conclusion, for we have not come to the conclusion when the

brother says that his sister's false inventions will never give out

till the sea wants water, a comment which we also find in the Färöe

ballad (where, however, it is misplaced). This is the case, also, with

'Det hurtige Svar,' Danske Viser, No 204, IV, 228[106] and 362, but in

the Danish ballad a perversion towards the comic has begun, the end

being:

'Brother, would you question more,

I have answers still in store.'

'When women lack a quick reply,

The German Ocean shall be dry.'

In a #Spanish# and #Portuguese# romance a woman has received a lover in

the absence of her husband. The husband returns before he is expected,

and puts questions similar to those in the ballads already spoken of:

whose horse, lance, sword, is this? whose spurs, whose arms are these?

and is answered after the same fashion. There is considerable variety

in the conclusion; the husband kills his wife, kills the paramour,

kills both, both he and his rival lose their lives, the wife dies

of fright, or is even pardoned. Spanish: 'De Blanca-Niña,' Wolf and

Hofmann, Primavera, No 136, II, 52; 'Romance del Conde Lombardo,' the

same, No 136 a, II, 53; 'La adúltera castigada,' Milá, Romancerillo,

No 254, #A-M#, pp 241-45; 'Lo retorn soptat,' Briz, IV, 183; Fernan

Caballero, La Gaviota, p. 82, ed. Leipzig, 1868.[107]

In an Illyrian ballad, husband, wife, and a young Clerk are the

parties. Three watches are set to give notice of the husband's return,

one in the field, one in the house-court, one before the chamber.

They give due warning, but the woman, like Lady Barnard, in 'Little

Musgrave,' will not heed. After some questions and evasions the husband

strikes off her head: 'Nevérnost,' Vraz, Narodne Pésni Ilirske, p. 72;

'Bestrafte Untreue,' A. Grün, Volkslieder aus Krain, p. 41.

Nothing could be easier than to give these questions, prevarications,

and comments a humorous turn, and this is done in a large number of

ballads: see 'Our good man came hame at een.'

The two ballads which immediately follow have connections with 'Clerk

Saunders.'

* * * * *

Scott's copy is translated by Schubart, p. 79; Wolff, Halle der Völker,

I, 45, Hausschatz, p. 202; Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, No

13. #F#, in Afzelius, III, 110.

Herd's MSS, #a#, I, 177; #b#, II, 419.

Clark Sanders and May Margret

Walkt ower yon graveld green,

And sad and heavy was the love,

I wat, it fell this twa between.

'A bed, a bed,' Clark Sanders said,

'A bed, a bed for you and I;'

'Fye no, fye no,' the lady said,

'Until the day we married be.

'For in it will come my seven brothers,

And a' their torches burning bright;

They'll say, We hae but ae sister,

And here her lying wi a knight.'

'Ye'l take the sourde fray my scabbord,

And lowly, lowly lift the gin,

And you may say, your oth to save,

You never let Clark Sanders in.

'Yele take a napken in your hand,

And ye'l ty up baith your een,

An ye may say, your oth to save,

That ye saw na Sandy sen late yestreen.

'Yele take me in your armes twa,

Yele carrey me ben into your bed,

And ye may say, your oth to save,

In your bower-floor I never tread.'

She has taen the sourde fray his scabbord,

And lowly, lowly lifted the gin;

She was to swear, her oth to save,

She never let Clerk Sanders in.

She has tain a napkin in her hand,

And she ty'd up baith her eeen;

She was to swear, her oth to save,

She saw na him sene late yestreen.

She has taen him in her armes twa,

And carried him ben into her bed;

She was to swear, her oth to save,

He never in her bower-floor tread.

In and came her seven brothers,

And all their torches burning bright;

Says thay, We hae but ae sister,

And see there her lying wi a knight.

Out and speaks the first of them,

'A wat they hay been lovers dear;'

Out and speaks the next of them,

'They hay been in love this many a year.'

Out an speaks the third of them,

'It wear great sin this twa to twain;'

Out an speaks the fourth of them,

'It wear a sin to kill a sleeping man.'

Out an speaks the fifth of them,

'A wat they'll near be twaind by me;'

Out an speaks the sixt of them,

'We'l tak our leave an gae our way.'

Out an speaks the seventh of them,

'Altho there wear no a man but me,

. . . . . . .

I bear the brand, I'le gar him die.'

Out he has taen a bright long brand,

And he has striped it throw the straw,

And throw and throw Clarke Sanders' body

A wat he has gard cold iron gae.

Sanders he started, an Margret she lapt,

Intill his arms whare she lay,

And well and wellsom was the night,

A wat it was between these twa.

And they lay still, and sleeped sound,

Untill the day began to daw;

And kindly till him she did say

'It's time, trew-love, ye wear awa.'

They lay still, and sleeped sound,

Untill the sun began to shine;

She lookt between her and the wa,

And dull and heavy was his eeen.

She thought it had been a loathsome sweat,

A wat it had fallen this twa between;

But it was the blood of his fair body,

A wat his life days wair na lang.

'O Sanders, I'le do for your sake

What other ladys would na thoule;

When seven years is come and gone,

There's near a shoe go on my sole.

'O Sanders, I'le do for your sake

What other ladies would think mare;

When seven years is come an gone,

Ther's nere a comb go in my hair.

'O Sanders, I'le do for your sake

What other ladies would think lack;

When seven years is come an gone,

I'le wear nought but dowy black.'

The bells gaed clinking throw the towne,

To carry the dead corps to the clay,

An sighing says her May Margret,

'A wat I bide a doulfou day.'

In an come her father dear,

Stout steping on the floor;

. . . . . . .

'Hold your toung, my doughter dear,

Let all your mourning a bee;

I'le carry the dead corps to the clay,

An I'le come back an comfort thee.'

'Comfort well your seven sons,

For comforted will I never bee;

For it was neither lord nor loune

That was in bower last night wi mee.'

Herd's MSS, #a#, I, 163; #b#, II, 46.

Clerk Saunders and a gay lady

Was walking in yonder green,

And heavy, heavy was the love

That fell this twa lovers between.

'A bed, a bed,' Clerk Saunders said,

'And ay a bed for you and me;'

'Never a ane,' said the gay lady,

'Till ance we twa married be.

'There would come a' my seven brethern,

And a' their torches burning bright,

And say, We hae but ae sister,

And behad, she's lying wi you the night.'

'You'll take a napkain in your hand,

And then you will tie up your een;

Then you may swear, and safe your aith,

You sawna Sandy sin yestreen.

'You'll take me up upo your back,

And then you'll carry me to your bed;

Then you may swear, and save your aith,

Your board [-floor] Sandy never tred.'

She's taen him upo her back,

And she's carried him unto her bed,

That she might swear, and safe her aith,

Her board-floor Sandy never tread.

She's taen a napkin in her hand,

And lo she did tie up her een,

That she might swear, and safe her aith,

She sawna Sandy syne yestreen.

They were na weel into the room,

Nor yet laid weel into the bed,

. . . . . . .

When in came a' her seven brethern,

And a' their torches burning bright;

Says they, We hae but ae sister,

And behold, she's lying wi you this night.

'I,' bespake the first o them,

A wat an ill death mat he die!

'I bear a brand into my hand

Shall quickly gar Clerk Saunders die.'

'I,' bespake the second of them,

A wat a good death mat he die!

'We will gae back, let him alane,

His father has nae mair but he.'

'I,' bespake the third o them,

A wat an ill death mat he die!

'I bear the brand into my hand

Shall quickly help to gar him die.'

'I,' bespake the fourth o them,

A wat a good death mat he die!

'I bear the brand into my hand

Shall never help to gar him die.'

'I,' bespake the fifth o them,

A wat an ill death mat he die!

'Altho his father hae nae mair,

I'll quickly help to gar him die.'

'I,' bespake the sixth o them,

A wat a good death mat he die!

'He's a worthy earl's son,

I'll never help to gar him die.'

'I,' bespake the seventh of them,

A wat an ill death mat he die!

'I bear the brand into my hand

Shall quickly gar Clerk Saunders die.'

They baith lay still, and sleeped sound,

Untill the sun began to sheen;

She drew the curtains a wee bit,

And dull and drowsie was his een.

'This night,' said she, 'the sleepiest man

That ever my twa eyes did see

Hay lyen by me, and sweat the sheets;

A wite they're a great shame to see.'

She rowd the claiths a' to the foot,

And then she spied his deadly wounds:

'O wae be to my seven brethern,

A wat an ill death mat they die!

'I'm sure it was neither rogue nor loun

I had into my bed wi me;

'T was Clerk Saunders, that good earl's son,

That pledgd his faith to marry me.'

Kinloch's Scottish Ballads, p. 233, a North Country

version.

It was a sad and a rainy nicht

As ever raind frae toun to toun;

Clerk Saunders and his lady gay

They were in the fields sae broun.

'A bed, a bed,' Clerk Saunders cried,

'A bed, a bed, let me lie doun;

For I am sae weet and sae wearie

That I canna gae nor ride frae toun.'

'A bed, a bed,' his lady cried,

'A bed, a bed, ye'll neer get nane;

. . . . . . .

'For I hae seven bauld brethren,

Bauld are they, and very rude;

And if they find ye in bouer wi me,

They winna care to spill your blude.'

'Ye'll tak a lang claith in your hand,

Ye'll haud it up afore your een,

That ye may swear, and save your aith,

That ye saw na Sandy sin yestreen.

'And ye'll tak me in your arms twa,

Ye'll carry me into your bed,

That ye may swear, and save your aith,

That in your bour-floor I never gaed.'

She's taen a lang claith in her hand,

She's hauden 't up afore her een,

That she might swear, and save her aith,

That she saw na Sandy sin yestreen.

She has taen him in her arms twa,

And carried him into her bed,

That she might swear, and save her aith,

That on her bour-floor he never gaed.

Then in there cam her firsten brother,

Bauldly he cam steppin in:

'Come here, come here, see what I see!

We hae only but ae sister alive,

And a knave is in bour her wi.'

Then in and cam her second brother,

Says, Twa lovers are ill to twin;

And in and cam her thirden brother,

'O brother dear, I say the same.'

Then in and cam her fourthen brother,

'It's a sin to kill a sleepin man;'

And in and cam her fifthen brother,

'O brother dear, I say the same.'

Then in and cam her sixthen brother,

'I wat he's neer be steerd by me;'

But in and cam her seventhen brother,

'I bear the hand that sall gar him dee.'

Then out he drew a nut-brown sword,

I wat he stript it to the stroe,

And thro and thro Clerk Saunders' body

I wat he garrd cauld iron go.

Then they lay there in ither's arms

Until the day began to daw;

Then kindly to him she did say,

'It's time, my dear, ye were awa.

'Ye are the sleepiest young man,' she said,

'That ever my twa een did see;

Ye've lain a' nicht into my arms,

I'm sure it is a shame to be.'

She turnd the blankets to the foot,

And turnd the sheets unto the wa,

And there she saw his bluidy wound,

. . . . . . .

'O wae be to my seventhen brother,

I wat an ill death mot he dee!

He's killd Clerk Saunders, an earl's son,

I wat he's killd him unto me.'

Then in and cam her father dear,

Cannie cam he steppin in;

Says, Haud your tongue, my dochter dear,

What need you mak sic heavy meane?

'We'll carry Clerk Saunders to his grave,

And syne come back and comfort thee:'

'O comfort weel your seven sons, father,

For man sall never comfort me;

Ye'll marrie me wi the Queen o Heaven,

For man sall never enjoy me.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 196, from the recitation of Mrs

Thomson.

* * * * * * *

'O I have seven bold brethren,

And they are all valiant men,

If they knew a man that would tread my bower

His life should not go along wi him.'

'Then take me up into your arms,

And lay me low down on your bed,

That ye may swear, and keep your oath clear,

That your bower-room I did na tread.

'Tie a handkerchief round your face,

And you must tye it wondrous keen,

That you may swear, and keep your oath clear,

Ye saw na me since late yestreen.'

But they were scarsley gone to bed,

Nor scarse fa'n owre asleep,

Till up and started her seven brethren,

Just at Lord Saunders' feet.

Out bespoke the first brither,

'Oh but love be wondrous keen!'

Out bespoke the second brither,

'It's ill done to kill a sleeping man.'

Out bespoke the third brither,

'We had better gae and let him be;'

Out bespoke the fourth brither,

'He'll no be killd this night for me:'

Out bespoke the fifth brother,

'This night Lord Saunders he shall die;

Tho there were not a man in all Scotland,

This night Lord Saunders he shall die.'

He took out a rousty rapier,

And he drew it three times thro the strae;

Between Lord Saunders' short rib and his side

He gard the rusty rapier gae.

'Awake, awake, Lord Saunders,' she said,

'Awake, awake, for sin and shame!

For the day is light, and the sun shines bricht,

And I am afraid we will be taen.

'Awake, awake, Lord Saunders,' she said,

'Awake, awake, for sin and shame!

For the sheets they are asweat,' she said,

'And I am afraid we will be taen.

'I dreamed a dreary dream last night,

I wish it may be for our good,

That I was cutting my yellow hair,

And dipping it in the wells o blood.'

Aye she waukened at this dead man,

Aye she put on him to and fro;

Oh aye she waukend at this dead man,

But of his death she did not know.

* * * * * * *

'It's I will do for my love's sake

What many ladies would think lang;

Seven years shall come and go

Before a glove go on my hand.

'And I will do for my love's sake

What many ladies would not do;

Seven years shall come and go

Before I wear stocking or shoe.

'Ther'll neer a shirt go on my back,

There'll neer a kame go in my hair,

There'll never coal nor candle-light

Shine in my bower nae mair.'

Motherwell MS., p. 199, from Widow Smith, George Street,

Paisley.

An ensign and a lady gay,

As they were walking on a green,

The ensign said to the lady gay,

Will you tak me to your bower at een?

'I have seven bluidy brithers,

Och and to you they have nae good will;

And if they catch you in my bower,

They'll value not your bluid to spill.'

'O you may take me on your back,

And carry me to your chamber-bed,

That I may swear, and avow richt clear,

That your flowery bower I did never tread.

'O take a napkin from your pocket,

And with it blindfold my een,

That I may swear, and avow richt clear,

That your flowery bower I have never seen.'

O she's taen him upon her back,

And carried him to her chamber-bed,

That he might swear, and avow it clear,

That her flowery [bower] he did never tread.

O she's taen a napkin from her pocket,

And with it blinded baith his een,

That he might swear, and avow it clear,

That her flowery bower he had never seen.

They were not well into their bed,

Nor were they scarsely fallen asleep,

Till in there came her seven bluidy brithers,

And placed themselves at the ensign's feet.

Said the first one to the second,

'Och it is long since this love began;'

Said the second unto the third,

'It's a sin to kill a sleeping man.'

Said the third one to the fourth,

'I will go to yon tavern hie;'

Said [the] fourth one to the fifth,

'O if you will go, so will I.'

Said the fifth to the sixth,

'Och it's long since this love began;'

Said the sixth to the seventh,

'It's a sin to kill a sleeping man.'

Out then spoke the seventh bluidy brither,

Aye and an angry man was he:

'Altho there was no more men alive,

The ensign's butcher I will be.'

He's taen out his rusty broad-sword,

And ran it three times along his throat,

And thro and thro the ensign's body

The tempered steel it went thro and thro.

'O I have dreamed a dream,' she said,

'And such an dreams cannot be good;

I dreamed my bower was full of swine,

And the ensign's clothes all dipped in blood.

'I have dreamed another dream,

And such an dreams are never good;

That I was combing down my yellow hair,

And dipping it in the ensign's blood.'

'O hold your tongue, my sister dear,

And of your weeping let a be;

For I will get you a better match

Than eer the ensign, what was he?'

'So woe be to you, my seven bluidy brithers,

Aye and an ill death may you die!

For you durst not fight him in battle-field,

But you killed him sleeping in bed wi me.

'I'll do more for my love's sake

That other lovers would not incline;

Seven years shall come and go

Before I wash this face of mine.

'I will do for my love's sake

What other lovers would not repair;

Seven years shall come and go

Before I comb down my yellow hair.

'I'll do more for my love's sake,

What other lovers will not do;

Seven years shall come and go

Before I cast off stocking and shoe.

'I will do for my love's sake

What other lovers they will be slack;

Seven years shall come and go

Before I cast off my robes of black.

'Go make to me a high, high tower,

Be sure you make it stout and strong,

And on the top put an honour's gate,

That my love's ghost may go out and in.'

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 83, communicated by Mrs

Arrot, of Aberbrothick, but enlarged from two fragments.

Clerk Saunders was an earl's son,

He livd upon sea-sand;

May Margaret was a king's daughter,

She livd in upper land.

Clerk Saunders was an earl's son,

Weel learned at the scheel;

May Margaret was a king's daughter,

They baith loed ither weel.

He's throw the dark, and throw the mark,

And throw the leaves o green,

Till he came to May Margaret's door,

And tirled at the pin.

'O sleep ye, wake ye, May Margaret,

Or are ye the bower within?'

'O wha is that at my bower-door,

Sae weel my name does ken?'

'It's I, Clerk Saunders, your true-love,

You'll open and lat me in.

'O will ye to the cards, Margaret,

Or to the table to dine?

Or to the bed, that's weel down spread,

And sleep when we get time?'

'I'll no go to the cards,' she says,

'Nor to the table to dine;

But I'll go to a bed, that's weel down spread,

And sleep when we get time.'

Lord Wayets, in #C# 17, kicks up the table and sends the silver cup