'Long Lonkin,' edited by A. O. Bell, C. _The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 2 (of 5)

Queries, Fourth Series, III, 93), I have not seen, but presume it to be

a compounded copy.

The story is told without material variation in all the numerous

versions. A mason has built a castle for a nobleman, cannot get his

pay, and therefore seeks revenge. The name given the builder is Lamkin,

#A#, #C#, #E#, #L#, #M#, #N#, #S#, #U#; Lammikin, #J#, #O#, #P#, #Q#;

Lankin, Lonkin, #F b#, #G#, #I#; Lantin, #T#; Long Lankyn, or Long

Longkin, #F a#, #G#, #K#; Rankin, #D#, #H#; Balankin, or Lambert

Linkin, #B#; Balcanqual, #R#. That of the nobleman is Lord Wearie,

Weire, #A#, #M#, #P#, #Q#, #U b#; Lord Earie, #N#; Erley, Earley, #J#;

Murray, #I#; Arran, #C#; Montgomery, #E#; Cassilis, #S#; he is lord of

Prime Castle, #B#. The lord, having occasion to leave his family, fears

mischief from the man whom he has wronged, and enjoins his wife to

keep the castle well fastened. Precautions are taken, but nevertheless

his enemy effects an entrance through some aperture that has not been

secured, #B#, #C#, #F#, #G#, #H#, #P#, #R#, #U b#, or by connivance

with a nurse, #A#, #D#, #E#, #I#. Most of the servants are away. To

get at the lady, Lamkin, as we may call him, by advice of the nurse

inflicts some hurt on the babe in the cradle, stabbing it, or "nipping"

it, and its cries bring the mother down. The lady proffers large sums

of gold to save her life, but Lamkin does not care for gold now. He

gloats over his opportunity, and bids the nurse, or a maid-servant,

or even one of the daughters of the house, to scour a silver bason to

hold the lady's noble blood. The lord has a presentiment of calamity at

home, and, returning, finds his house red with the blood of his wife

and child. Lamkin is hanged, #B#, #F#, #I#, or burned, #C#, #H#, or

boiled in a pot full of lead, #D#. The nurse is burned, #A#, #B#, #D#,

#F#, #H#, or hanged, #C#, #Q#, or boiled in a caldron, #I#.[150]

In #K#, the oldest version, except perhaps #P#, which is greatly

inferior, Lady Betty is called down by Longkin to see her mother's

blood running, then Lady Nelly to see her sister's blood running,

Lady Jenny to see Lady Nelly's, etc. In #F#, #T#, the mother, very

unnaturally, offers Lamkin her daughter as wife, in ransom of her own

life. In #C#, #D#, a servant offers her life for her lady; in #D#, #G#,

#K#, a daughter for her mother.

Motherwell remarks, p. lxx of his Minstrelsy, note 27: "There is

a 'Lambirkyns wod' near Dupplin, in Perthshire. Can this have got

its name from the cruel mason who the ballad assures us 'lived in

the wode'? If so, it must be very ancient. It is localized, too, I

believe, at Balwearie, in Fifeshire; but there are few places where

the ballad is remembered but which have also some ancient edifice

in the neighborhood reared by the hands of Lammikin.[151] Indeed,

it seems questionable how some Scottish lairds could well afford to

get themselves seated in the large castles they once occupied unless

they occasionally treated the mason after the fashion adopted in this

ballad." And again, at p. 291: "There can be little doubt that the

epithet Linkin Mr Lambert acquired from the secrecy and address with

which he insinuated him into that notable strength [Prime Castle].

Indeed, all the names of Lammerlinkin, Lammikin, Lamkin, Lankin,

Linkin, Belinkin, can easily be traced out as abbreviations of Lambert

Linkin." It might be inferred, however, from the mason's seemingly

resentful inquiry in #A# 8-11, #J# 3-6, Where's the men, women, bairns,

lady, that call me Lamkin? that the view in these particular versions

was that Lamkin was a sobriquet applied in derision of the meekness

with which the builder had submitted to his injury. Linkin, it will be

observed, occurs only in #B#, and it is far more likely that Lamkin,

or Lammikin, which is found in a full dozen copies, is a simply

ironical designation for the bloody mason, the terror of countless

nurseries.[152]

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Talvj, Versuch, etc., p. 571; Allingham's ballad

by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 162.

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 176, communicated by Mrs

Brown.

It's Lamkin was a mason good

as ever built wi stane;

He built Lord Wearie's castle,

but payment got he nane.

'O pay me, Lord Wearie,

come, pay me my fee:'

'I canna pay you, Lamkin,

for I maun gang oer the sea.'

'O pay me now, Lord Wearie,

come, pay me out o hand:'

'I canna pay you, Lamkin,

unless I sell my land.'

'O gin ye winna pay me,

I here sall mak a vow,

Before that ye come hame again,

ye sall hae cause to rue.'

Lord Wearie got a bonny ship,

to sail the saut sea faem;

Bade his lady weel the castle keep,

ay till he should come hame.

But the nourice was a fause limmer

as eer hung on a tree;

She laid a plot wi Lamkin,

whan her lord was oer the sea.

She laid a plot wi Lamkin,

when the servants were awa,

Loot him in at a little shot-window,

and brought him to the ha.

'O whare's a' the men o this house,

that ca me Lamkin?'

'They're at the barn-well thrashing;

'twill be lang ere they come in.'

And whare's the women o this house,

that ca me Lamkin?'

'They're at the far well washing;

'twill be lang ere they come in.'

'And whare's the bairns o this house,

that ca me Lamkin?'

'They're at the school reading;

'twill be night or they come hame.'

'O whare's the lady o this house,

that ca's me Lamkin?'

'She's up in her bower sewing,

but we soon can bring her down.'

Then Lamkin's tane a sharp knife,

that hang down by his gaire,

And he has gien the bonny babe

a deep wound and a sair.

Then Lamkin he rocked,

and the fause nourice sang,

Till frae ilkae bore o the cradle

the red blood out sprang.

Then out it spak the lady,

as she stood on the stair:

'What ails my bairn, nourice,

that he's greeting sae sair?

'O still my bairn, nourice,

O still him wi the pap!'

'He winna still, lady,

for this nor for that.'

'O still my bairn, nourice,

O still him wi the wand!'

'He winna still, lady,

for a' his father's land.'

'O still my bairn, nourice,

O still him wi the bell!'

'He winna still, lady,

till ye come down yoursel.'

O the firsten step she steppit,

she steppit on a stane;

But the neisten step she steppit,

she met him Lamkin.

'O mercy, mercy, Lamkin,

hae mercy upon me!

Though you've taen my young son's life,

ye may let mysel be.'

'O sall I kill her, nourice,

or sall I lat her be?'

'O kill her, kill her, Lamkin,

for she neer was good to me.'

'O scour the bason, nourice,

and mak it fair and clean,

For to keep this lady's heart's blood,

for she's come o noble kin.'

'There need nae bason, Lamkin,

lat it run through the floor;

What better is the heart's blood

o the rich than o the poor?'

But ere three months were at an end,

Lord Wearie came again;

But dowie, dowie was his heart

when first he came hame.

'O wha's blood is this,' he says,

'that lies in the chamer?'

'It is your lady's heart's blood;

'tis as clear as the lamer.'

'And wha's blood is this,' he says,

'that lies in my ha?'

'It is your young son's heart's blood;

'tis the clearest ava.'

O sweetly sang the black-bird

that sat upon the tree;

But sairer grat Lamkin,

when he was condemnd to die.

And bonny sang the mavis,

out o the thorny brake;

But sairer grat the nourice,

when she was tied to the stake.

Motherwell's MS., p. 15; from the recitation of Mrs

Thomson, Kilbarchan, February 25, 1825.

Balankin was as gude a mason

as eer picked a stane;

He built up Prime Castle,

but payment gat nane.

The lord said to his lady,

when he was going abroad,

O beware of Balankin,

for he lyes in the wood.

The gates they were bolted,

baith outside and in;

At the sma peep of a window

Balankin crap in.

'Good morrow, good morrow,'

said Lambert Linkin:

'Good morrow to yoursell, sir,'

said the false nurse to him.

'O where is your good lord?'

said Lambert Linkin:

'He's awa to New England,

to meet with his king.'

'O where is his auld son?'

said Lambert Linkin:

'He's awa to buy pearlings,

gin our lady lye in.'

'Then she'll never wear them,'

said Lambert Linkin:

'And that is nae pity,'

said the false nurse to him.

'O where is your lady?'

said Lambert Linkin:

'She's in her bower sleeping,'

said the false nurse to him.

'How can we get at her?'

said Lambert Linkin:

'Stab the babe to the heart,

wi a silver bokin.'

'That would be a pity,'

said Lambert Linkin:

'No pity, no pity,'

said the false nurse to him.

Balankin he rocked,

and the false nurse she sang,

Till all the tores of the cradle

wi the red blood down ran.

'O still my babe, nurice,

O still him wi the knife!'

'He'll no be still, lady,

tho I lay doun my life.'

'O still my babe, nurice,

O still him wi the kame!'

'He'll no be still, lady,

till his daddy come hame.'

'O still my babe, nurice,

O still him wi the bell!'

'He'll no be still, lady,

till ye come doun yoursell.'

'It's how can I come down,

this cauld winter nicht,

Without eer a coal,

or a clear candle-licht?'

'There's two smocks in your coffer,

as white as a swan;

Put one of them about you,

it will shew you licht down.'

She took ane o them about her,

and came tripping doun;

But as soon as she viewed,

Balankin was in.

'Good morrow, good morrow,'

said Lambert Linkin:

'Good morrow to yoursell, sir,'

said the lady to him.

'O save my life, Balankin,

till my husband come back,

And I'll gie you as much red gold

as you'll hold in your hat.'

'I'll not save your life, lady,

till your husband come back,

Tho you would give me as much red gold

as I could hold in a sack.

'Will I kill her?' quo Balankin,

'will I kill her, or let her be?'

'You may kill her,' said the false nurse,

'she was neer good to me;

And ye'll be laird of the castle,

and I'll be ladie.'

Then he cut aff her head

fram her lily breast-bane,

And he hung't up in the kitchen,

it made a' the ha shine.

The lord sat in England,

a drinking the wine:

'I wish a' may be weel

with my lady at hame;

For the rings of my fingers

the're now burst in twain!'

He saddled his horse,

and he came riding doun,

But as soon as he viewed,

Balankin was in.

He had na weel stepped

twa steps up the stair,

Till he saw his pretty young son

lying dead on the floor.

He had not weel stepped

other twa up the stair,

Till he saw his pretty lady

lying dead in despair.

He hanged Balankin

out over the gate,

And he burnt the fause nurice,

being under the grate.

Motherwell's MS., p. 9: from Edward King, weaver,

Kilbarchan, taken from the recitation of his mother, an

old woman.

Lamerlinkin, as gude a mason

as eer laid a stane,

Built a house to Lord Arran,

but entrance had nane.

Says the lord to his lady,

when going abroad,

Take care of Lamerlinkin,

wha bides in the wood.

'I care not for Lamkin,

nor none of his kin;

My house is plastered outside,

and bolted within.'

The gates they were locked,

baith outside and in,

But there was a wee hole

that let Lamkin creep in.

'Good woman, good woman,'

said Lamerlinkin:

'Good woman, good woman,'

said the fause nurse to him.

'Where's the lord o this house?

is he not within?'

'He's up in Old England,

he's dining wi the king.'

'Where's the lady of this house?

or is she not within?'

'She's up in her high room,

and cannot come down.'

'Where is the maids o this house?

or are they not within?'

'They are at the well washing,

and cannot get in.'

'Where is the men o this house?

or are they not within?'

'They are at the barn threshing,

and cannot win hame.'

'O what will I do,

to mak her come doun?'

'We'll kill her auld son,

to mak her come doun.'

He took out a pen-knife,

baith pointed and sharp,

And he stabbed the babie

three times in the heart.

Lamerlinkin did rock,

and the fause nurse did sing;

Ower the four-cornered cradle

the red blood did spring.

'O please my babie, nurse,

O please him wi wands!'

'He'll no be pleased, madam,

for a' his father's lands.'

'O please my babie, nurse,

O please him wi keys!'

'He'll no be pleased, madam,

let me do what I please.'

'O please my babie, nurse,

O please him with bells!'

'He'll no be pleased, madam,

till you come down yoursell.

'How can I come doun

this cold frosty night,

Without coal or candle

for to shew me light?'

'The gold rings on your finger

are bright as the sun;

You may see to cum doun the stair

with the light o them.'

O then she came doun the stair,

stepping step by step;

So ready was Lamkin

to grip her in his lap.

'Save my life, Lamkin,

till five minutes break,

And I'll give thee gold,

the fu o a peck.'

'I'll no save your life,

till five minutes break,

Tho thou should give me gold,

the fu of a sack.'

'O Jeany, O Jeany,

O scour the bason clean,

That your lady's noble blood

may be kepped clean.'

'O no, no, no, Lambkin,

my heart will be sare;

O take my life, Lambkin,

let my lady go.'

* * * * * * *

He sent for the false nurse,

to give her her fee;

All the fee that he gave her

was to hang her on a tree.

He sent for Lamerlinkin,

to give him his hire;

All the hire that he gave him

was to burn him in the fire.

Maidment's New Book of Old Ballads, p. 73, No XX;

Whitelaw's Book of Scottish Ballads, p. 246, No V: from

a manuscript copy, in the possession of W. H. Logan,

Edinburgh, derived from oral tradition.

Said the lord to his lady,

Beware of Rankin;

For I am going to England,

to wait on the king.

'No fears, no fears,'

said the lady, said she,

'For the doors shall be bolted,

and the windows pindee.

'Go bar all the windows,

both outside and in;

Don't leave a window open,

to let Bold Rankin in.'

She has barred all the windows,

both outside and in;

But she left one of them open,

to let Bold Rankin in.

'O where is the master of this house?'

said Bold Rankin;

'He's up in Old England,'

said the false nurse to him.

'O where is the mistress of this house?'

said Bold Rankin;

'She's up in the chamber sleeping,'

said the false nurse to him.

'O how shall we get her down?'

said Bold Rankin;

'By piercing the baby,'

said the false nurse to him.

'Go please the baby, nursy,

O go please it with a bell;'

'It will not be pleased, madam,

till you come down yoursel.'

'How can I come down stairs,

so late into the night,

Without coal or candle,

to shew me the light?

'There is a silver bolt

lies on the chest-head;

Give it to the baby,

give it sweet milk and bread.'

She rammed the silver bolt

up the baby's nose,

Till the blood it came trinkling

down the baby's fine clothes.

'Go please the baby, nursie,

go please it with the bell:'

'It will not please, madam,

till you come down yoursel.

'It will neither please with breast-milk,

nor yet with pap;

But I pray, loving lady,

Come and roll it in your lap.'

The first step she stepit,

she steppit on a stone;

And the next step she stepit,

she met Bold Rankin.

'O Rankin, O Rankin,

spare me till twelve o'clock,

And I will give you as many guineas

as you can carry on your back.'

'What care I for as many guineas

as seeds into a sack,

When I cannot keep my hands off

your lily-white neck?'

'O will I kill her, nursie,

or let her abee?'

'O kill her,' said the false nurse,

'she was never good to me.'

'Go scour the bason, lady,

both outside and in,

To hold your mother's heart's blood,

sprung from a noble kin.'

'To hold my mother's heart's blood

would make my heart full woe;

O rather kill me, Rankin,

and let my mother go.'

'Go scour the bason, servants,

both outside and in,

To hold your lady's heart's blood,

sprung from a noble kin.'

'To hold my lady's heart's blood

would make my heart full woe;

O rather kill me, Rankin,

and let my lady go.'

'Go scour the bason, nursy,

both outside and in,

To hold your lady's heart's blood,

sprung from a noble kin.'

'To hold my lady's heart's blood

would make my heart full glad;

Ram in the knife, Bold Rankin,

and gar the blood to shed.

'She's none of my comrades,

she's none of my kin;

Ram in the knife, Bold Rankin,

and gar the blood rin.'

'O will I kill her, nursy,

or let her abee?'

'O kill her,' said the false nurse,

'she was never good to me.'

* * * * * * *

'I wish my wife and family

may be all well at home;

For the silver buttons of my coat

they will not stay on.'

As Betsy was looking

oer her window so high,

She saw her dear father

come riding by.

'O father, dear father,

don't put the blame on me

It was false nurse and Rankin

that killed your lady.'

O was n't that an awful sight,

when he came to the stair,

To see his fairest lady

lie bleeding there!

The false nurse was burnt

on the mountain hill-head,

And Rankin was boiled

in a pot full of lead.

Kinloch MSS, V, 246, from Mary Barr.

Lambkin was as good a mason

as ever laid stone;

He builded Lord Montgomery's castle,

but payment got none.

He builded the castle

without and within;

But he left an open wake

for himself to get in.

Lord Montgomery said to his lady,

when he went abroad,

Take care of Bold Lambkin,

for he is in the wood.

'Gar bolt the gate, nourice,

without and within,

Leave not the wake open,

to let Bold Lambkin in.'

She bolted the gates,

without and within,

But she left the wake open,

to let Bold Lambkin in.

'Gude morrow, gude morrow,'

says Bold Lambkin then;

'Gude morrow, gude morrow,'

says the false nurse to him.

'Where is Lord Montgomery?

or where is he gone?'

'He is gone up to England,

to wait on the king.'

'Where are the servants?

and where are they gone?'

'They are all up to England,

to wait upon him.'

'Where is your lady?

or where is she gone?'

'She is in her bower sitting,

and sewing her seam.'

'O what shall we do

for to make her come down?'

'We'll kill the pretty baby,

that's sleeping so sound.'

Lambkin he rocked,

and the false nurse she sung,

And she stabbed the babe to the heart

with a silver bodkin.

'O still my babe, nourice,

O still him with the pap:'

'He'll no be stilled, madam,

for this nor for that.'

'O still my babe, nourice,

go still him with the keys:'

'He'll no be stilled, madam,

let me do what I please.'

'O still my babe, nourice,

go still him with the bell:'

'He'll no be stilled, madam,

till you come down yoursel.'

'How can I come down,

this cold winter night,

When there's neither coal burning,

nor yet candle-light?'

'The sark on your back

is whiter than the swan;

Come down the stair, lady,

by the light of your hand.'

The lady she cam down

the stair trip for trap;

Who so ready as Bold Lambkin

to meet her in the dark?

'Gude morrow, gude morrow,'

said Bold Lambkin then;

'Gude morrow, gude morrow,'

said the lady to him.

'O where is Lord Montgomery?

or where is he gone?'

'O he is up to England,

to wait on the king.'

'O where are your servants?

or where are they gone?'

'They are all up to England,

to wait upon him.

'I'll give you as much gold, Lambkin,

as you'll put in a peck,

If you'll spare my life

till my lord comes back.'

'Tho you would [give] me as much

as I could put in a sack,

I would not spare thy life

till thy lord comes back.'

Lord Montgomery sate in England,

drinking with the king;

The buttons flew off his coat,

all in a ring.

'God prosper, God prosper

my lady and son!

For before I get home

they will all be undone.'

#a.# Notes and Queries, Second Series, II, 324, as sung

by a nurse nearly a century ago [1856] in Northumberland.

#b.# Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, II, p. 281, from

Northamptonshire, communicated by Mr B. H. Cowper.

Said my lord to his ladye,

as he mounted his horse, (_bis_)

Take care of Long Lankyn,

who lies in the moss. (_bis_)

Said my lord to his ladye,

as he rode away,

Take care of Long Lankyn,

who lies in the clay.

Let the doors be all bolted,

and the windows all pinned,

And leave not a hole

for a mouse to creep in.

Then he kissed his fair ladye,

and he rode away;

He must be in London

before break of day.

The doors were all bolted,

and the windows were pinned,

All but one little window,

where Long Lankyn crept in.

'Where is the lord of this house?'

said Long Lankyn:

'He is gone to fair London,'

said the false nurse to him.

'Where is the ladye of this house?'

said Long Lankyn:

'She's asleep in her chamber,'

said the false nurse to him.

'Where is the heir of this house?'

said Long Lankyn:

'He's asleep in his cradle,'

said the false nurse to him.

* * * * * * *

'We'll prick him, and prick him,

all over with a pin,

And that will make your ladye

to come down to him.'

So he pricked him and pricked,

all over with a pin,

And the nurse held a basin

for the blood to run in.

'Oh nurse, how you sleep!

Oh nurse, how you snore!'

And you leave my little son Johnstone

to cry and to roar.'

'I've tried him with suck,

and I've tried him with pap;

So come down, my fair ladye,

and nurse him in your lap.'

'Oh nurse, how you sleep!

Oh nurse, how you snore!

And you leave my little son Johnstone

to cry and to roar.'

'I've tried him with apples,

I've tried him with pears;

So come down, my fair ladye,

and rock him in your chair.'

'How can I come down,

'tis so late in the night,

When there's no candle burning,

nor fire to give light?'

'You have three silver mantles

as bright as the sun;

So come down, my fair ladye,

by the light of one.'

* * * * * * *

'Oh spare me, Long Lankyn,

oh spare me till twelve o'clock,

You shall have as much gold

as you can carry on your back.'

'If I had as much gold

as would build me a tower,'

. . . . . . .

'Oh spare me, Long Lankyn,

oh spare me one hour,

You shall have my daughter Betsy,

she is a sweet flower.'

'Where is your daughter Betsy?

she may do some good;

She can hold the silver basin,

to catch your heart's blood.'

* * * * * * *

Lady Betsy was sitting

in her window so high,

And she saw her father,

as he was riding by.

'Oh father, oh father,

don't lay the blame on me;

'Twas the false nurse and Long Lankyn

that killed your ladye.'

* * * * * * *

Then Long Lankyn was hanged

on a gallows so high,

And the false nurse was burnt

in a fire just by.

Richardson's Borderer's Table Book, VIII, 410, 1846,

communicated by Mrs Blackett, Newcastle, as taken

down from the recitation of an old woman of Ovington,

Northumberland, "several years ago;" previously in

Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1835, p. 11.

The lord said to his ladie,

as he mounted his horse,

Beware of Long Lonkin,

that lies in the moss.

The lord said to his ladie,

as he rode away,

Beware of Long Lonkin,

that lies in the clay.

'What care I for Lonkin,

or any of his gang?

My doors are all shut,

and my windows penned in.'

There were six little windows,

and they were all shut,

But one little window,

and that was forgot.

. . . . . . .

And at that little window

long Lonkin crept in.

'Where's the lord of the hall?'

says the Lonkin:

'He's gone up to London,'

says Orange to him.

'Where's the men of the hall?'

says the Lonkin:

'They're at the field ploughing,'

says Orange to him.

'Where's the maids of the hall?'

says the Lonkin:

'They're at the well washing,'

says Orange to him.

'Where's the ladies of the hall?'

says the Lonkin:

'They're up in their chambers,'

says Orange to him.

'How shall we get them down?'

says the Lonkin:

'Prick the babe in the cradle,'

says Orange to him.

'Rock well my cradle,

and bee-ba my son;

You shall have a new gown

when the lord he comes home.'

Still she did prick it,

and bee-ba she cried:

'Come down, dearest mistress,

and still your own child.'

'Oh still my child, Orange,

still him with a bell:'

'I can't still him, ladie,

till you come down yoursell.'

* * * * * * *

'Hold the gold basin,

for your heart's blood to run in,'

. . . . . . .

'To hold the gold basin,

it grieves me full sore;

Oh kill me, dear Lonkin,

and let my mother go.'

Kinloch MSS, I, 306.

Bauld Rankin was as gude a mason

as eer biggit wi stane;

He has biggit a bonny castle,

but siller he gat nane.

* * * * * * *

'Gae bar the gates,' the lady said,

'gae bar them out and in;

Leave not a door open,

lest Rankin should come in.'

They've bard them on the outer side,

sae hae they on the in;

But left the cellar-door open,

and Bauld Rankin crap in.

'Where's a' the women o the house?'

says Bauld Rankin:

'They're at the well washing,'

says the fause nurse to him.

'Where's a' the men of this house?'

says the Bauld Rankin:

'They are at the barn thrashing,'

says the fause nurse to him.

'Where's the lady of this house?'

says the Bauld Rankin:

'She's in the chamber, sleeping,'

says the fause nurse to him.

'How will we get her wakent?

how will we get her down?'

'We'll pierce the baby's heart's blood,'

says the fause nurse to him.

* * * * * * *

'Come, please the babe, nurse,

come please it wi the keys:'

'It'll no be pleased, madam,

tho I'll down on my knees.'

'Come, please the babe, nurse,

come, please it wi the knife:'

'It'll no be pleased, madam,

should I lay down my life.'

'Come, please the babe, nurse,

come, please it wi the bell:'

'It'll no be pleased, madam,

till ye come down yoursel.'

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

sae late in the night,

And neither coal nor candle,

for to shew me light?'

The first step she steppit,

she steppit on a stane;

The next step she steppit,

she met the Bauld Rankin.

'O spare my life, Rankin,

O spare it most dear!

I'll gie you as monie guineas

as birds in the air.

'O spare my life, Rankin,

O save it most sweet!

I'll gie you as monie guineas

as there's stanes in the street.'

* * * * * * *

'I wish my wife and bairns

may be all well at hame;

For the buttons on my waistcoat

they winna bide on.

'I wish my wife and family

may be all well at home;

For the rings upon my fingers

they winna bide on.'

* * * * * * *

He has kindled a big bane-fire,

in the middle o the closs,

And he has burned Bauld Rankin,

likewise the fause nurse.

Skene MSS, p. 75, North of Scotland, 1802-03.

Lanckin was as guid a mason

as ever did use stane;

He biggit Lord Murray's house,

an payment neer got nane.

It fell ance on a day

Lord Murray went frae hame,

An Lankin came to the fause nourice,

. . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

'O still my bairn, nourice,

still him wi the knife:'

'He winna still, lady,

Tho I should lay down my life.'

'O still my bairn, nurice,

still him wi the bell:'

'He winna still, lady,

till ye come down yersel.'

The first [step she steppit],

she came on the marble stane;

The next step [she steppit],

she met him Lankin.

'O spare my life, Lankin,

an I'll gie ye a peck o goud;

An that dinna please ye,

I'll heap it wi my hand.'

'O will I kill the lady, nurice,

or will I lat her be?'

'O kill her, Lankin,

she was never guid to me.'

'O wanted ye yer meat, nurice?

or wanted ye yer fee?

Or wanted ye the othir bounties

ladys are wont to gie?'

. . . . . . .

'O kill her, Lankin,

she was never guid to me.'

'Gae wash a bason, nurice,

an ye wash it clean,

To cape this ladie's blood;

she is come o high kine.'

'I winna wash a bason,

nor will I wash it clean,

To cape this ladie's blood,

tho she's come o high kine.'

* * * * * * *

Bonny sang yon bird,

as he sat upon the tree,

But sare grat Lankin,

for he was hangit hie.

Bonny sang the bird,

that sat upon the hill,

But sare grat the nurice,

whan the caudron gan to boil.

. . . . . . .

Lankin was hangit hie,

And the fause nourice burnt

in the caudron was she.

Kinloch MSS, V, 371, in the handwriting of Dr John Hill

Burton.

O Lammikin was as good a mason

as ever bigget stane;

He's bigget Lord Erley's castle,

but money he got nane.

It fell out upon a time

Lord Earley went from home;

He left his lady in his castle,

but and his young son.

* * * * * * *

'Where is the lord o this house,

that calls me Lammikin?'

'He's on the sea sailing,

he will not come home.'

'Where are the men o this house,

that call me Lammikin?'

'They are at the barn threshing,

they will not come in.'

'Where are the maids of this house,

that call me Lammikin?'

'They are at the well washing,

they will not come in.'

'Where is the lady o this house,

that calls me Lammikin?'

'She's in her room shewing,

she will not come down.'

'How shall we contrive

for to make her come down?'

'We'll stick her dear infant,

and make her come down.'

O Lammikin he rocket,

and the fause nurice sung,

While out o the cradle

the infant's blude sprung.

'O still my bairn, nurice,'

the lady did cry:

'He will not still, lady,

for you nor for I.'

'O still my bairn, nurice,

still him wi the wan:'

'He will not still, lady,

for a' his father's lan.'

'Oh still my bairn, nurice,

still him wi the keys:'

'Oh he winna still, lady,

for a' his father's leys.'

'Oh still my bairn, nurice,

still him wi the bell:'

'Oh he winna still, lady,

till ye come down yersell.'

The firsten step that lady stepped,

it was upon a stone;

The nexten step that lady stepped,

she saw him Lammikin.

The nexten step that lady stepped

was in her own child's blood,

. . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

'Oh will I kill her, nurice,

or will I let her be?'

'Kill her, dear Lammikin,

she was never gude to me.'

'Oh wanted you meat, nurice?

or wanted you fee?

Or wanted you anything

that a lady can gie?'

'I wanted no meat, lady,

nor wanted I fee,

But I wanted mony a thing

that a lady could gie.'

* * * * * * *

Communicated to Percy by Rev. P. Parsons, of Wye, near

Ashford, Kent, April 19, 1775.

My lord said to my lady,

when he went from home,

Take care of Long Longkin,

he lies in the lone.

My lady said to my lord,

when he went abroad,

. . . . . . .

'I care not for Longkin,

nor none of his kin,

For my gate 's fast barrd,

and my windows shut in.'

My lord was not gone

many miles from the place,

Untill the false Longkin

came straight to the place.

* * * * * * *

'Pinch the bairn, nourry,

pinch it very sore,

Untill the mother

shall come down below.'

'Still the bairn, nury,

still it with the pap:'

'It wont be stilld, madam,

with neither this nor that.'

'Still the bairn, nury,

still it with a bell:'

'It wont be stilld, madam,

till you cum down yoursell.'

* * * * * * *

'Come down, Lady Betty,

the flower of all your kin,

And see your mother's heart's blood,

so freely running.

Down came Lady Betty,

her heart full of woe:

'Oh take my life, Longkin,

and let my mother go.'

'Come down, Lady Nelly,

the flower of all your kin,

And see your sister's heart's blood,

so freely running.'

Down came Lady Nelly,

her heart full of woe:

'Oh take my life, Longkin,

and let my sister go.'

'Come down, Lady Jenny, etc.

Motherwell's MS., p. 14, from Mr W. Steele, Greenock.

* * * * * * *

'O where's the men of this house?'

quo the Lamkin:

'They're in the barn threshing,'

quo the false nurse within.

'O where's the women of the house?'

quo the Lamkin:

'They're at the well washing,'

quo the false nurse within.

'O where's the lord of this house?'

quo the Lamkin:

'He's in the wood hunting,'

quo the false nurse within.

'O where's the lady of the house?'

quo the Lamkin:

'She's in her bower dressing,'

quo the false nurse within.

* * * * * * *

'O please my babie, nourrice,

O please him with the keys:'

'He'll no be pleased, madam,

let me do what I please.'

'O please my babie, nourrice,

O please him with the bell:'

'He'll no be pleased, madam,

till ye come down yoursell.'

* * * * * * *

There was blood in the chaumer,

and blood in the ha,

And blood in his ladie's room,

which he liked warst of a'.

* * * * * * *

#a.# Dr Joseph Robertson's Note-Book, Adversaria, p.

60, from tradition. #b.# Kinloch MSS, VI, 31, in Dr

Robertson's handwriting.

* * * * * * *

But it fell out upon a day

Lord Wearie was to gae frae hame,

And he has left his lady gay

In his castell to stay her lane.

* * * * * * *

Lamkin rocked,

and fausse nourice sang,

And a' the four tors o the cradle

red blood sprang.

'O still my bairn, nourice,

O still him wi the wan:

'He winna still, lady,

for a' his father's lan.'

'O still my bairn, nourice,

O still him wi the keys:

'He winna still, lady,

for a' his father's leys.'

'O still my bairn, nourice,

O still him wi the pap:'

'He winna still, lady,

for this nor for that.'

'O still my bairn, nourice,

O still him wi the bell:'

'He winna still, lady,

untill ye cum down yersell.'

The firsten step she steppet,

she stepped on a stane,

And the nexten step she stepped,

she keppit him fause Lamkin.

The thirden step she steppit,

she saw her young son's red blood run on,

. . . . . . .

'Ye've killed my bairn, Lamkin,

but lat mysell be;

Ye'se be as weel payit a mason

as was ever payd a fee.'

Dr Joseph Robertson's Journal of Excursions, 1828-29, No

Lamkin was as gude a mason

as ever biggit stone;

He biggit Laird Earie's house,

and payment he got none.

O it fell ance upon a day

Laird Earie went from home,

And Lamkin came cravin

his lady alone.

'O far's the laird o this place?

O neerice, tell me:'

'He's on the sea sailin,

O Lamkin,' said she.

'O far's the lady o this place?

neerice, tell me:'

'She's up the stair dressin,

O Lamkin,' said she.

'O far's the bairns o this place?

neerice, tell me:'

'The're at the scheel...

O Lamkin,' said she.

'O will I get a word o her,

neerice?' said he.

* * * * * * *

The first step that lady steppet

she steppd on a stone;

The next step that lady stept

she met wi Lamkin.

* * * * * * *

Ere the basin was washen,

or haf made clean,

The ladie's heart-bleed

was rinnin in the reem.

Kinloch MSS, V, 375, from Mrs Forbes, Milne's Court,

Edinburgh, in the handwriting of Robert Chambers.

* * * * * * *

'You have two bright diamonds,

as bright as the stars,

Put one on each finger,

they'll show you doun stairs.'

The first step this lady took,

she dreaded no harm;

But the second step this lady took,

she was in Lammikin's arms.

'Will I kill her, nursie,

or will I let her be?'

'Oh yes, kill her, Lammikin,

she was never gude to me.'

'How can [ye] say so, nursie?

how can ye say so?

For your head neer did ache

but my heart it was sore.

'Oh spare my life, nursie,

oh spare my life, spare;

Ye'll have as mony gowd guineas

as there's birds in the air.

'Oh spare my life, nursie,

till my lord comes back;

Ye'll have as mony gowd guineas

as the fou of a sack.'

'Oh yes kill her and...

. . . . . . .

'Go scour the silver basin,

go scour it fine,

For our lady's heart's blude

is gentle to tine.

'Go scour the silver skewer,

oh scour it richt fine,

For our lady's heart's blude

is gentle to tine.'

Herd's MSS, I, 25.

A better mason than Lammikin

nevir builded wi the stane,

Wha builded Lord Weire's castill,

but wages nevir gat nane.

* * * * * * *

They stecked doors, they stecked yates,

close to the cheik and the chin;

They stecked them a' but a little wickit,

and Lammikin crap in.

'Now where's the lady of this castle?

nurse, tell to Lammikin:'

'She's sewing up intill her bowir,'

the fals nourrice she sung.

'What sall we do, what sall we say,

to gar her cum there down?'

'We'll nip the baby in the cradle,'

the fals nourrice she sung.

Lammikin nipped the bonie babe,

while loud fals nourice sings;

Lammikin nipped the bony babe,

while hich the red blude springs.

'O gentil nourice, please my babe,

O please him wi the keys:'

'He'll no be pleased, gay lady,

gin I'd sit on my knees.'

'Gude gentil nourice, please my babe,

O please him wi a knife:'

'He winna be pleased, mistress myne,

gin I wad lay down my lyfe.'

'Sweet nourice, loud, loud cries my babe,

O please him wi the bell:'

'He winna be pleased, gay lady,

till ye cum down yoursell.'

Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 45.

Lammikin was as gude a mason

as ever hewed a stane;

He biggit Lord Weire's castle,

but payment gat he nane.

* * * * * * *

'Where are the lads o this castle?'

says the Lammikin:

'They are a' wi Lord Weire, hunting,'

the false nourice did sing.

'Where are the lasses o this castle?'

says the Lammikin:

'They are a' out at the washing,'

the false nourice did sing.

'But where's the lady o this house?'

says the Lammikin:

'She is in her bower sewing,'

the false nourice did sing.

'Is this the bairn o this house?'

says the Lammikin:

'The only bairn Lord Weire aughts,'

the false nourice did sing.

* * * * * * *

'Still my bairn, nourice,

O still him if ye can:'

'He will not still, madam,

for a' his father's lan.'

'O gentle nourice, still my bairn,

O still him wi the keys:'

'He will not still, fair lady,

let me do what I please.'

'O still my bairn, kind nourice,

O still him wi the ring:'

'He will not still, my lady,

let me do any thing.'

* * * * * * *

The first step she stepped,

she stepped on a stane;

The next step she stepped,

she met the Lammikin.

* * * * * * *

'O nourice, wanted ye your meat?

or wanted ye your fee?

Or wanted ye for any thing

a fair lady could gie?'

'I wanted for nae meat, ladie,

I wanted for nae fee;

But I wanted for a hantle

a fair lady could gie.'

* * * * * * *

'I wish a' may be weel,' he says,

'wi my ladie at hame;

For the rings upon my fingers

are bursting in twain.'

* * * * * * *

'There's bluid in my nursery,

there's bluid in my ha,

There's bluid in my fair lady's bower,

an that's warst of a'.'

O sweet, sweet sang the birdie,

upon the bough sae hie,

But little cared false nourice for that,

for it was her gallows-tree.

* * * * * * *

Finlay's Scottish Ballads, II, 55, "from a manuscript

formerly written by an old lady."

When Sir Guy and his train

gaed to hunt the wild boar,

He gard bar up his castle,

behind and before.

And he bade his fair lady

guard weel her young son,

For wicked Balcanqual

great mischief had done.

So she closed a' the windows,

without and within,

But forgot the wee wicket,

and Balcanqual crap in.

* * * * * * *

Syne Balcanqual he rocked,

and fause nourice sang,

Till through a' the cradle

the baby's blood sprang.

'O please the bairn, nourice,

and please him wi the keys:'

'He'll no be pleased, madam,

for a' that he sees.'

And Balcanqual ay rocked,

while fause nourice sang,

And through a' the cradle

the baby's blood ran.

'Please the bairn, nourice,

and please him wi the knife:'

'He'll no be pleased, madam,

tho I'd gie my life.'

And Balcanqual still rocked,

and fause nourice sang,

While through a' the cradle

the baby's blood ran.

'Now please the bairn, nourice,

and please him wi the bell:'

'He'll no be pleased, madam,

till ye come yoursell.'

Down came this fair lady,

tripping down the stair,

To see her sick bairn,

but returned never mair.

'Now scour the bason, Jenny,

and scour 't very clean,

To haad this lady's blood,

for she's of noble kin.'

* * * * * * *

Motherwell's Note-Book, fol. 13.

Lambkin was as brave a builder

as eer built a stane,

And he built Lord Cassillis house,

an for payment he gat nane.

My lord said to my lady,

when he went abroad,

Tak care o fause Lamkin,

for he sleeps in the wood.

Recited to me by Ellen Healy, January 14, 1881, as sung

by Moll Lochnie, a woman of about seventy, at a place

near Killarney, before 1867.

'Where is the lord?

or is he within?'

'He's gone to New England,

to dine with the king.'

'Where is his horses?

or where is his men?'

'They're gone to New England,

to wait upon him.'

'Where is his lady?

or is she within?'

'She's in her bedchamber,

all in her lying in.'

'Can I get at her,

with thousands of lands?

Can I get at her,

to make her understand?'

'You cannot get at her,

with thousands of lands;

You cannot get at her,

to make her understand.'

'Lady, come down,

and please your child,'

. . . . . . .

'Can't you please my child

with white bread and breast-wine?'

'O lady, come down,

and please him awhile.'

'How can I go down,

this cold winter's night,

Without a fire in the kitchen,

or candle to light?'

'You've got nine bright lamps,

just as bright as the king;

Lady, come down,

and light one of them.'

. . . . . . .

False Lantin he took her

so brave in his arms.

Saying, Where is your friend,

or where is your foe,

That will hold the gold basin,

your heart's blood to flow?

'My nurse is not my friend,

my nurse is my foe;

She'll hold the gold basin,

my heart's blood to flow.

'O spare my life

for one summer's day,

And I'll give you as much money

as there's sand in the sea.'

'I'll not spare your life

for one summer's day,

And I wont have as much money

as there's sand in the sea.'

'O spare me my life

until one o'clock,

And I'll give you Queen Betsie,

the flower of the flock.'

'O mama, dear mama,

then please him awhile;

My dada is coming,

he's dressed in great style.'

False Lantin he heard

the words from the high,

Saying, Your mama is dead,

and away I will fly.

'O dada, dear dada,

do not blame me,

'Tis nurse and false Lantin

betrayed your ladie.'

'I'll bury my mama

against the wall,

And I'll bury my baba,

white all, white all.'

#a.# The Ballad Book, by William Allingham, p. xxxiii,

part of a version sung by a nurse in the family of a

relative in Ireland. #b.# The same, p. 297, No 56, a

compounded version.

As my lord and my lady

were out walking one day,

Says my lord to my lady,

Beware of Lamkin.

'O why should I fear him,

or any such man,

When my doors are well barrd,

and my windows well pinnd?'

* * * * * * *

'O keep your gold and silver,

it will do you some good;

It will buy you a coffin,

when you are dead.'

There's blood in the kitchen,

and blood in the hall,

And the young Mayor of England

lies dead by the wall.

Harris MS., No 28, fol. 27 b, Miss Seymour, Lethnot.

I wald be very sorry

to wash a basin clean,

To haud my mither's heart's blude,

that's comin, an I ken.

* * * * *

#C.#

21^2, 22^2. _Motherwell suggests ~mother~ for ~lady~._

_After_ 22, "a stanza, forgotten by the reciter, which

purported that on the night his lady was murdered, the

ring on Lord Arran's finger broke."

#F. b.#

1^1. he got on.

1^2, 2^2. who lives.

3^1. The doors are... windows are.

3^2. There is not... where a mouse can.

4^2. For he.

5^1. the windows all pinned.

5^2. But one: Lankin.

7^2. she's in her high chamber.

8^1. young heir.

9^1. we'll prick him, we'll.

10^1. They pricked him, they.

10^2. false nurse... drop in.

11^2. my son Johnson.

12^2, 14^2, 16^2. Come down.

13. _wanting._

14^2. and nurse.

15^2. And there 's no fire burning, nor lamp.

16^2. all by.

17^2. much money.

18. _wanting._

19, 20, 21. Nancy.

20^2. golden basin.

22^2, 23^1. Long _wanting_.

23^2. close by.

#G.#

"A friend of the lady who contributed our copy of this

ballad gave a transcript to Miss Landon, who published

it in the Drawing Room Scrap Book for 1835, in which,

without any authority, she lays the scene of the murder

in Cumberland."

_Variations in the Drawing Boom Scrap Book_: 7^1, 8^1,

9^1. Where are.

11, 13 _are given in_ Halliwell's Nursery Rhymes of

England, _ed._ 1874, p. 212, No 403, _with only this

variation_: 11^2, when ye lord.

#I.#

5^1. marble stane, _indistinct in the MS._

7^1. O... her gang.

#K.#

_After_ 4. He was in league with the nurse, who let him

in to one of the low rooms.

_After_ 12. Whilst he and the nurse are plundering the

house, the lord comes home, and avenges himself upon

these wicked villains.

#L.#

2^1. woman.

#M. a.#

_After_ 1. And a' the servants were frae hame; Lamkin

made up wi the fauss norice.

2 _follows_ 8.

#b.#

_Begins with a stanza very near to_ #N# 1:

Lamkin was as gude a mason

As ever laid a stane,

And he has built Lord Wearie a castle.

But payment he got nane.

1^1. once upon: Wearie went frae.

2 _follows_ 6.

2^1. Lamkin he rockit and the.

2^2. Till to the four tors o the cradle the.

3^1. a wand.

8 is _omitted_.

9^2. as eer was paid.

#N.#

6^1. first steppd.

#P.#

_Eleven of the nineteen stanzas of Herd's version are

spurious, and many of the others have been tampered with.

The metre is disturbed or changed._

_Stanza 4 is omitted in Herd's printed copy._

_After_ 1 _follow_:

'Sen ye winnae gie me my guerdon, lord,

Sen ye winnae gie me my hyre,

Yon proud castle, sae stately built,

I sall gar reck wi the fyre.

'Sen ye winna gie me my wages, lord,

Ye sall hae caus to rue:'

And syne he brewed a black revenge,

And syne he vowed a vow.

'Now byde at hame, my luve, my lyfe,

I warde ye byde at hame;

Oh gang nae to this day's hunting,

To leave me a' my lane.

'Yestrene, yestrene, I dreamt my bower

Of red, red blude was fu;

Gin ye gang to this black hunting,

I sall hae caus to rue.'

'Wha looks to dreams, my winsome dame?

Ye hae nae caus to feare:'

And syne he's kist her comely cheik,

And syne the starting teare.

And syne he's gane to the good greene wode,

And she to her painted bowir,

And she's gard steck doors, windows, yates,

Of castle, ha and tower.

_After 8 follow these five stanzas, found also in Herd's

MSS, II, 97_:

And when she saw the red, red blude,

A loud scrich scriched she:

'O monster, monster, spare the child

Wha never skaithed thee.

'O spare, gif in your bluidy briest

Albergs not heart of stane;

O spare, and ye sall hae of gould

What ye can carry hame.'

'Dame, I want not your gowd,' he sayd,

'Dame, I want not your fee;

I hae been wronged by your lord,

Ye sall black vengence drie.

'Here are nae serfs to guard your halls,

Nae trusty spearsmen here;

They sound the horn in good greene wode,

And chase the doe and deer.

'Tho merry sounds the gude greene wode,

Wi huntsmen hounds and horn,

Your lord sall rue eer sets yon sun

He hes done me skaith and scorn.'

* * * * * * *

_For_ quha, ze, _etc._, wha, ye _are printed_.

#Q.#

_Of the thirty-five stanzas printed by Finlay, seventeen,

or 2, 3, 5-9, 12 (?), 14, 16 (?), 18, 19, 21-25, are

derived from Herd's version_, #P#, _all his spurious

verses being retained_. _There are some variations, due

to imperfect recollection. Of the remaining eighteen, 4,

28, 29, 31, 34 are clearly by a modern pen. There are

some twelve genuine stanzas, 1, 10, 11, 13, 15, 17, 20,

26, 27, 30, 32, 33, which are independent of Herd. Two

more, Finlay's 12, 16, have been left with these because

they vary considerably from Herd, and may possibly be

traditional. So may the following be, Finlay's 35 and

last; but I think it is not._

They carried him a' airts o wind,

And mickle pain had he;

At last before Lord Weire's gate

They hanged him on the tree.

#R.#

_This second version of Finlay's has been written

over. His fourth stanza and his last six owe nothing

to tradition. Finlay himself_ "restored" the name of

Balwearie from a recited copy "in preference to that of

Sr. Guy, or Gray, which the MS. bears, as it makes the

ballad _appear_ more decidedly local."

_After 3_:

Then up spak fause nourice:

'haste up to the tower,

Somebody knocks at the gate,

bauldly and dowr.'

_After 11_:

She's lifted her baby,

and kissed cheek and chin,

And his ance rosy lips,

but nae breath was within.

'Fare weel, my sweet baby,

ye've left me alane;

But I see my death coming,

I needna make mane.'

They've taen this fair lady,

and tied her wi bands,

And in her sweet heart's blood

they've dipped their hands.

For Balcanqual and nourice

had vowd her to slae,

Because their ill deeds

made Balwearie their fae.

Balwearie and his train

cam hame weary at een,

Nae voice gied them welcome,

nae light could be seen.

'Open, dear lady,

my castle to me:'

Nae voice gied an answer,

nae voice was to gie.

#S.#

"Lambkin.... 27 stanzas."

#T.#

_After 5_: "The nurse said this, and the false Lantin

stabbed the baby. He bribed the nurse to make the lady

come down and please the child. It told how he stabbed

the baby, what kind of knife he had, and how he put it

through the baby."

#U. b.#

_Allingham's copy is principally composed of 14 stanzas

of #A#, 9 of #G#, 5 of #Q#, 1 of #B#. So much of the

following stanzas as is in larger type may be regarded

as derived, partially or wholly, from the_ "copy taken

down from the mouth of an Irish nurse in the family of a

relative of the editor."

What care I for Lamkin,

or any of his gang?

I'll keep my doors weel guarded,

my windows all pennd in.'

When all the doors were guarded,

and all the windows shut,

There was still one little window,

and that one was forgot.

'And how are we to bring her down?'

says the Lamkin:

'Pinch the babe in the cradle here,'

says the fause nourice to him.

The first step the lady stepped,

she stepped on a stane;

The last step the lady stepped,

there she met Lamkin.

'O mercy, mercy, Lamkin,

have mercy upon me!

O harm ye not my little son,

I pray you let him be.'

Lord Weare he sat in England,

a drinking o the wine;

He felt his heart fu heavy

at this very same time.

He sailed in his bonny ship

upon the saut sea-faem;

He leapd up on his horse

and swiftly he rade hame.

'O whas blude is this,' he says,

'that lies in the bower?'

'It is your lady's heart's blude,

where Lamkin he slew her.'

[150] Of boiling to death see Ducange, Caldariis decoquere, and other

places cited by Robertson, Materials for the History of Thomas Becket,

I, xxxii, note, and 128. This was especially a punishment for coiners,

and was sanctioned as the penalty for poisoners by a statute of 22

Henry VIII, c. 29, repealed 1 Edward VI.

[151] More about the locality in Notes and Queries, First Series, II,

270.

[152] "Balcanquel is an ancient Scottish surname, and is sometimes

corrupted, for the more agreeable sound, into Beluncan. All reciters

agree that Lammikin, or Lambkin, is not the name of the hero, but

merely an epithet." Finlay, Scottish Ballads, II. 56.

YOUNG WATERS

Percy's Reliques, 1765, II, 172.

Percy took this ballad "from a copy printed not long since at Glasgow,

in one sheet 8vo," and he informs us that the world was indebted for

its publication to the Lady Jean Hume, sister to the Earl of Hume.

Maidment, Scotish Ballads and Songs, Historical and Traditionary, II,

62, gives the title of the first edition as follows: Young Waters, an

Ancient Scotish Poem, never before printed. Glasgow: printed and sold

by Robert and Andrew Foulis. MDCCLV. Small 4to, pp. 8. He does not say

whether he prints from the original edition. The ballad was repeated

in Herd's Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 238; in Ritson's

Scotish Song, 1794, II, 181, with the variation of a word or two; and

in Pinkerton's Select Scotish Ballads, 1783, I, 72, with arbitrary

changes.

Motherwell, Minstrelsy, Introduction, p. lxviii, note 16, says he had

never met with any traditionary version of this ballad. There is a copy

in the Skene MSS, p. 23, which in all likelihood was learned by the

writer from print. Buchan, who may generally be relied upon to produce

a longer ballad than anybody else, has 'Young Waters' in thirty-nine

stanzas, "the only complete version which he had ever met." Of this

copy I will only say that everything which is not in the edition of

1755 (itself a little the worse for editing) is a counterfeit of the

lowest description. Nevertheless it is given in an appendix; for much

the same reason that thieves are photographed.

It is possible, and Aytoun, I, 93, thinks highly probable, that this

ballad may have been founded on some real event in Scottish history;

but Aytoun shows a commendable discretion in his conclusion that,

"though various conjectures have been hazarded as to its origin, none

appear sufficiently plausible to warrant their adoption," an opinion

in which Maidment fully concurs. Chambers, who unhesitatingly accepted

Buchan's ballad, did not, in 1829, entertain the least doubt that Young

Waters was one of the Scottish nobles executed by James I after his

return from his captivity in England, and very probably Walter Stuart,

second son of the Duke of Albany: The Scottish Ballads, p. 34. Thirty

years later he had no more doubt that the ballad was composed by Lady

Wardlaw.

A Scandinavian ballad, historical to the extent that one version has

historical names, exhibits the principal incidents of the short story

of 'Young Waters.' #Danish.# 'Folke Lovmandsøn og Dronning Helvig,'

texts of the 16th century, Grundtvig, III, 691, No 178, #A-D#.[153]

#Swedish.# #A#, 'Falkvard Lagermanson,' tradition of this century,

Arwidsson, II, 62, No 80. #B#, manuscript of the last century,

Grundtvig, III, 697. The king and queen, Danish #B#, are Magnus I of

Sweden and his wife Helvig (died 1290, 1325). Folke Lovmandsøn is

in high favor with dames and maids, but especially with the queen,

to whose service he is devoted. A little wee page plays the part of

the wily lord of 'Young Waters' in exciting the king's jealousy. The

innocent young knight is rolled down hill in a tun set with knives.

Translated by Grundtvig, No 7, p. 48; Herder, II, 68; Döring, p. 383;

Allingham's copy by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 8, p.

33; Buchan's by Gerhard, p. 8.

About Yule, when the wind blew cule,

And the round tables began,

A there is cum to our king's court

Mony a well-favourd man.

The queen luikt owre the castle-wa,

Beheld baith dale and down,

And then she saw Young Waters

Cum riding to the town.

His footmen they did rin before,

His horsemen rade behind;

Ane mantel of the burning gowd

Did keip him frae the wind.

Gowden-graithd his horse before,

And siller-shod behind;

The horse Young Waters rade upon

Was fleeter than the wind.

Out then spake a wylie lord,

Unto the queen said he,

'O tell me wha's the fairest face

Rides in the company?'

'I've sene lord, and I've sene laird,

And knights of high degree,

But a fairer face than Young Waters

Mine eyne did never see.'

Out then spack the jealous king,

And an angry man was he:

'O if he had been twice as fair,

You micht have excepted me.'

'You 're neither laird nor lord,' she says,

'Bot the king that wears the crown;

There is not a knight in fair Scotland

But to thee maun bow down.'

For a' that she could do or say,

Appeasd he wad nae bee,

Bot for the words which she had said,

Young Waters he maun dee.

They hae taen Young Waters,

And put fetters to his feet;

They hae taen Young Waters,

And thrown him in dungeon deep.

'Aft I have ridden thro Stirling town

In the wind bot and the weit;

Bot I neir rade thro Stirling town

Wi fetters at my feet.

'Aft have I ridden thro Stirling town

In the wind bot and the rain;

Bot I neir rade thro Stirling town

Neir to return again.'

They hae taen to the heiding-hill

His young son in his craddle,

And they hae taen to the heiding-hill

His horse bot and his saddle.

They hae taen to the heiding-hill

His lady fair to see,

And for the words the queen had spoke

Young Waters he did dee.

* * * * *

Quhen, zoung, _etc._, _are printed_ when, young.

3^3. And _corrected to_ Ane _in the second edition of the

Reliques_.

5^1. But. _Ritson, Maidment_, Out.

10^{1, 3}. Waters and: and _is carried on to the

following line_.

APPENDIX.

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 15.

It fell about the gude Yule time,

When caps and stoups gaed roun,

Down it came him Young Waters,

To welcome James, our king.

The great, the great, rade a' together,

The sma came a' behin,

But wi Young Waters, that brave knight,

There came a gay gatherin.

The horse Young Waters rade upon,

It cost him hunders nine;

For he was siller-shod before,

And gowd-graith had behin.

At ilka tippit o his horse mane

There hang a siller bell;

The wind was loud, the steed was proud,

And they gae a sindry knell.

The king he lay ower's castle-wa,

Beheld baith dale and down,

And he beheld him Young Waters,

Come riding to the town.

He turnd him right and round about,

And to the queen said he,

Who is the bravest man, my dame,

That ever your een did see?

'I've seen lairds, and I've seen lords,

And knights o high degree,

But a braver man than Young Waters

My een did never see.'

He turnd him right and roun about,

And ane angry man was he:

'O wae to you, my dame, the queen,

Ye might hae excepted me!'

'Ye are nae laird, ye are nae lord,

Ye are the king that wears the crown;

There's nae a lord in fair Scotland

But unto you maun a' bow down.'

'O lady, for your love-choicing,

Ye shall win to your will;

The morn, or I eat or drink,

Young Waters I'll gar kill.'

'And nevertheless,' the king coud say,

'Ye might hae excepted me;

Yea for yea,' the king coud say,

'Young Waters he shall die.

'Likewise for your ill-wyled words,

Ye sall hae cause to mourn;

Gin ye hadna been sae big wi child,

Ye on a hill sud burn.'

Young Waters came before the king,

Fell low down on his knee:

'Win up, win up, Young Waters,

What 's this I hear o thee?'

'What ails the king at me,' he said,

'What ails the king at me?'

'It is tauld me the day, sir knight,

Ye 've done me treasonie.'

'Liars will lie on fell gude men,

Sae will they do on me;

I wudna wish to be the man

That liars on wudna lie.'

'Nevertheless,' the king coud say,

'In prison strang gang ye;

O yea for yea,' the king coud say,

'Young Waters, ye shall die.'

Syne they hae taen him Young Waters,

Laid him in prison strang,

And left him there wi fetters boun,

Making a heavy mane.

'Aft hae I ridden thro Striveling town

Thro heavy wind and weet;

But neer rade I thro Striveling town

Wi fetters on my feet.

'Aft hae I ridden thro Striveling town

Thro heavy wind and rain;

But neer rade I thro Striveling town

But thought to ridden't again.'

They brought him to the heading-hill,

His horse bot and his saddle;

And they brought to the heading-hill

His young son in his cradle.

And they brought to the heading-hill

His hounds intill a leish;

And they brought till the heading-hill

His gos-hawk in a jess.

King James he then rade up the hill,

And mony a man him wi,

And called on his trusty page

To come right speedilie.

'Ye'll do ye to the Earl o Mar,

For he sits on yon hill;

Bid him to loose the brand frae his bodie,

Young Waters for to kill.'

'O gude forbid,' the Earl he said,

'The like sud eer fa me,

My bodie eer sud wear the brand

That gars Young Waters die.'

Then he has loosd his trusty brand

And casten't in the sea;

Says, Never lat them get a brand

Till it come back to me.

The scaffold it prepared was,

And he did mount it hie,

And a' spectators that were there,

The saut tears blint their ee.

'O had your tongues, my brethren dear,

And mourn nae mair for me;

Ye're seeking grace frae a graceless face,

For there is nane to gie.

'Ye'll tak a bit o canvas claith

And pit it ower my ee;

And Jack, my man, ye'll be at hand

The hour that I sud die.

'Syne aff ye'll tak my bluidy sark,

Gie it fair Margaret Grahame;

For she may curse the dowie dell

That brought King James him hame.

'Ye'll bid her mak her bed narrow,

And mak it naeways wide;

For a brawer man than Young Waters

Will neer streek by her side.

'Bid her do weel to my young son,

And gie him nurses three;

For gin he live to be a man,

King James will gar him die.'

He calld upon the headsman, then,

A purse o gowd him gae;

Says, Do your office, headsman, boy,

And mak nae mair delay.

O head me soon, O head me clean,

And pit me out o pine;

For it is by the king's command;

Gang head me till his min.

Tho by him I'm condemnd to die,

I'm lieve to his ain kin;

And for the truth, I'll plainly tell,

I am his sister's son.

'Gin ye're my sister's son,' he said,

'It is unkent to me;'

'O mindna ye on your sister Bess,

That lives in the French countrie?'

'Gin Bess then be your mither dear,

As I trust well she be,

Gae hame, gae hame, Young Waters,

Ye'se neer be slain by me.'

But he lay by his napkin fine,

Was saft as ony silk,

And on the block he laid his neck,

Was whiter than the milk.

Says, Strike the blow, ye headsman, boy,

And that right speedilie;

It's never be said, Here gaes a knight

Was ance condemnd to die.

The head was taen frae Young Waters,

And mony tears for him shed;

But mair did mourn for fair Margaret,

As raving she lyes mad.

[153] #D#, which is made up from the three others, is translated by

Prior, II, 160, No 65.

THE MAID FREED FROM THE GALLOWS

#A.# Communicated to Bishop Percy, 1770.

#B.# 'The Broom o the Cathery Knowes,' Motherwell's MS.,

p. 290.

#C.# Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, VII, 275, 1883.

#D.# Skene MSS, p. 61, stanzas 19-24: 1802-03.

#E.# 'Lady Maisry,' Buchan's MSS, II, 186; 'Warenston and

the Duke of York's Daughter,' Buchan's Ballads of the

North of Scotland, II, 190, stanzas 16-22.

#F.# Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, VI, 476, 1882.

#G. a.# 'The Golden Key,' Notes and Queries, Sixth

Series, VI, 415. #b.# The same, p. 269.

#H.# 'The Golden Ball.' #a.# Baring-Gould's Appendix

to Henderson's Notes on the Folk Lore of the Northern

Counties of England and the Borders, 1866, p. 333. #b.#

Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, X, 354, 1884.

#D#, #E# form the conclusion of a ballad which belongs to the series of

'Mary Hamilton,' or 'The Queen's Mary,' and give an entirely wrong turn

to that distressful tragedy.

#F# had become a children's game, the last stage of many old ballads:

see the notes. In #G# and #H# the verses are set in a popular tale,

and a characteristic explanation is furnished of the danger which the

heroine has incurred: she has lost a golden key, or a golden ball,

which had been entrusted to her. See, again, the notes.

All the English versions are defective and distorted, as comparison

will show. In many others, both from northern and southern Europe, a

young woman has fallen into the hands of corsairs; father, mother,

brother, sister, refuse to pay ransom, but her lover, in one case

husband, stickles at no price which may be necessary to retrieve her.

We will begin with the best ballad of the cycle, the #Sicilian#

'Scibilia Nobili,' communicated to Nuove Effemeridi Siciliane, Nuova

Serie, I, 528, 1874, by Salvatore Struppa, as sung by a peasant woman

in the neighborhood of Marsala, 151 verses.[154] Tunisian corsairs,

learning of the marriage of the king's daughter, fit out a strong

force, and when they are near port change caps, to pass for Christians.

They knock at Scibilia's door, and, on her refusing to open, her

husband being a-hunting, burst the door in, and carry her on board

ship. Her husband goes to the shore weeping, and offers her captors

her weight in gold; they will not give her up for a shipful. He begs

to be allowed a word with her: why has she let herself be carried off,

and who will nurse her boy? She refuses to eat, drink, or sleep. The

sailors fall asleep, and Scibilia drops into the sea. They take silk

ladders to recover her; she weeps always. (It would be superfluous to

do more than point to the fact that the story is not well compacted,

or altogether rational, as we have it.) The lady, turning to a sailor,

says, Can you tell me how the wind is? If north or south, I will go to

my father. No opposition is made by the pirates, who had but just now

refused a shipful of gold for her. "My dear father, will you ransom

me?" "For how much, my dear daughter?" "Three lions, three falcons, and

four pillars of gold." "I cannot lose so much money: how much better

lose you!" She is urged by her captors to eat and drink, but will not

eat, drink, or sleep, for her boy is starving. She again makes for

the coast, weeping ever, and the foregoing scene, from the inquiry as

to the wind, is repeated with mother, brother, sister. All say it is

better to lose her than so much money. She finally tries her husband,

who answers, Better lose all this gold; it is enough if you are not

lost. And after three days the father died. "And let him die; I will

dress all in red." And after three days the mother died. "And let her

die; I will dress all in yellow." And after three days the brother

died. "And let him die; I will dress all in green." And after three

days the sister died. "And let her die; I will dress all in white. And

if my dear husband dies, I will dress in black."

#Spanish.# #A. a#, 'La Donzella,' Die Balearen in Wort und Bild

geschildert, II, 263 (privately printed by the Archduke Ludwig

Salvator, Leipzig, 1871, a book which I have not been able to obtain),

Liebrecht, Zur Volkskunde, p. 231; #b#, Briz, Cansons de la Terra, IV,

15, from a Majorcan _revista_. #B.# 'Lo Rescat,' Briz, IV, 13. #C.#

'La Cautiva,' Milá, Romancerillo, p. 257, No 261. In #A# a maid, who

is embroidering a handkerchief by the seashore, lacking silk, hails a

vessel, and asks if they have any. She is invited to come aboard and

see if they have what she requires. She falls asleep, and the sailors

put off. This beginning is like that of another very common ballad.

The maid is wakened by the singing of the sailors, and asks them to

put into the port where her father is. What follows corresponds to

the English ballad. "Father, will you ransom me? The Moors offer me

for sale." "Dear daughter, how much do they ask?" "I am yours for a

hundred crowns." "Daughter, I will not pay a penny for you." The scene

is repeated with mother, brother, and sister, all of whom make the same

answer as the father, and then with the lover; but his reply is, I

would not give you up for all the world.

The first five stanzas of #A# are wanting in #B#, which begins,

accordingly, at the point where the maid asks to have the ship put

about. The sister is omitted in #B#, as also in #A b#. #C# is shortened

still further, beginning with the appeal to the father, and omitting

both sister and brother.

#Färöe.# 'Frísa Vísa,' communicated by Hammershaimb, with other

ballads, to the Antiquarisk Tidsskrift, 1849-51, p. 95. Frisian pirates

are carrying away a maid. She weeps and beats her hands, and cries,

Wait, my father will ransom me; he will ransom me with his castles; he

will not let me perish in Friesland. The father answers, I have only

two castles; neither of them can I give up for thee; indeed thou mayst

perish in Friesland. The Frisians are starting off again. The maid begs

them to stop; her mother will redeem her with her kirtles. But the

mother says, I have but two kirtles, and neither of them can I give up

for thee; indeed thou mayst perish in Friesland. Once more the Frisians

are about to put off. The maid says her lover will redeem her with his

ships. The lover loyally responds, I have only two ships; both will

I gladly part with for thee; thou shalt not perish in Friesland. It

appears from a note of Hammershaimb that the ballad might be extended

indefinitely by the maid's calling upon brother, sister, and friends to

redeem her with their respective valuables.[155]

#Icelandic.# A ballad briefly mentioned at p. 20 f of the volume of

the Antiquarisk Tidsskrift, before cited. The Frisians call out, Bear

the Danish maid to the ships! 'Bide, Frisians, bide; my kinsfolk will

redeem me.' Upon the sixth appeal, to her lover, the maid is ransomed.

#Swedish.# 'Den Bortsålda,' the same ballad as the Färöe and the

Icelandic, with an absurd introductory stanza, in which the maid is

said to have been sold into the heathen land by her parents for a bit

of bread; whence the title. #A. a#, Afzelius, No 15, I, 73;[156] #b#,

Hofberg, Nerikes Gamla Minnen, p. 256, No 5. #B.# Afzelius, I, 134.

#C.# Rancken, Några prof af folksång, p. 6, No 2, with collation of

three other copies. #D.# Eva Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 62, No 29.

#E.# Öberg, in Aminson, Bidrag, I, 23. #F.# Axelson, Vesterdalarne,

p. 174, No 2, three stanzas, the rest said to be "entirely like" the

Afzelius copies, which differ considerably. A maid is in the hands

of sea-rovers, and they are on the point of rowing off with her. She

wrings her hands, and calls to them to wait a while. She sees her

father coming, who will redeem her with his oxen, and so she shall

escape going to the heathen land to pine away. The father says he has

but oxen two: the one he shall be using, the other he shall keep--låta

stå; and she will not scape going to the heathen land. The sailors

lower their oars. The maid wrings her hands, and calls to them again

to wait; she sees her mother coming, who will redeem her with her gold

caskets. The mother says she has of gold caskets but two: the one she

shall be using, the other shall let stay. The maid sees her sister,

who will redeem her with her gold crowns. The sister has but two gold

crowns, one of which she shall be using, the other will let be. The

maid sees her brother, who will redeem her with his foals. The brother

has but two foals: the one he shall be using, the other he will let be,

and she will not scape from going to the heathen land to pine away.

Then the maid sees her true-love coming, and calls to him to redeem her

with his gold rings. "Of gold rings," he says, "I have no more than

twelve: with six I shall redeem thee, six thou shalt have thyself; so

thou scapest going to the heathen land to pine away."

This is the story in #A#, and the chief variations of the other copies

are in the things which the maid proposes to her kindred and her lover

to redeem her with, and the number of these which they profess to have.

The spuriousness of the introductory stanza, in which the girl is said

to have been sold into the heathen land for dire need, is evident. The

family have two oxen, two gold caskets, two gold crowns, two foals; or

even houses, gold caskets, gold chains, mills, more than five, #B#, and

no doubt everything handsome about them. In #D# the father is even a

king. #E#, #F# lack this beginning. #C# concludes with a permissible

imprecation on the part of the lover:

'Cursed be thy father, cursed be thy mother,

Cursed be thy sister, and even so thy brother!'

In #Danish# the ballad occurs in manuscripts, and has been printed as a

broadside: Bergström's Afzelius, II, 63.

#German.# #A.# Gräter's Idunna und Hermode, 1814, p. 76, communicated

by Abrahamson, one of the editors of the Danske Viser, as learned by

him from a maid-servant of his mother, in Sleswig, not long after

1750. #B.# 'Liebesprobe,' Kretzschmer-Zuccalmaglio, II, 54, No 22,

"from North Germany," apparently a little retouched. #C.# 'Des

Liebsten Liebe die grösste Liebe,' Hoffmann und Richter, p. 43, No

23, Silesia. #D.# 'Loskauf,' Erk's Liederhort, p. 136, No 40, Saxony.

#E.# 'Das losgekaufte Mädchen,' Erk und Irmer, II, 52, No 53, Saxony.

#F.# 'Loskauf,' Erk's Liederhort, p. 138, No 40^a, Brandenburg. #G.#

'O Schipmann,' Reiffenberg, p. 138, Westphalia. #H.# 'O Schipmann,'

Reiffenberg, p. 10, No 5, Westphalia. #I.# 'Loskauf,' Uhland, p. 267,

No 117, Westphalia. #J.# Köhler, in Anzeiger für deutsches Alterthum,

VI, 268, from Friedrich Kind in "Abend-Zeitung, 1819, No 164, Kind's

Erzählungen, 1822, p. 77," Auserwählte Unterhaltungen, Wien, 1827, I,

20. 'Die Losgekaufte,' in Kretzschmer, I, 181, is rewritten; 'Loskauf,'

in Simrock, No 39, p. 90, is made up from a variety of copies. Several

of the versions come very near to one another, especially #C-F#, nor

is there any noteworthy difference in the story of the whole series,

save a single point in the last three. A maid whom seamen are carrying

off begs them to stop or put back to land; she has a father who will

not abandon her. She begs her father to part with coat, house, hat,

watch, or bull, to save her from drowning; the father refuses. Then,

as before, she successively and vainly entreats her mother to redeem

her with gold chain, ring, apron, gown, or silver trinkets; her brother

with silver buckles, hat, horse, sword, or coat; her sister with apron,

dress, shoes, green wreath, or pearl wreath. Two of the four relatives

are wanting in #H#, #I#, #J#. All of her blood refusing to ransom

the maid, she calls upon her lover to sacrifice sword, horse, ring,

golden hill, to save her, or, in #H#, #I#, #J#, to sell himself to the

oar, and the lover is ready in every case. The redemption is not from

slavery in a foreign land, but from drowning.

#Esthonian.# The ballad is known all over Esthonia, and a copy composed

of two closely resembling versions is given by Neus, Ehstnische

Volkslieder, p. 109, 'Die Ausgelöste.' A girl, taken captive in war,

asks that the boats may put in, in order that she may find some one

to buy her off. She appeals first to her mother, who might redeem her

with the best of three aprons which she possesses, one of which is of

gold web, another of silver, another of brass. A daughter, answers the

mother, is a thing of to-day and to-morrow; my aprons are for life. Her

father is next asked to ransom her with the best of three bulls which

he owns, which have a horn of gold, silver, and brass respectively.

His daughter is his for two days, his bulls for life. The brother is

entreated to save her by the sacrifice of the best of his three horses,

which have severally manes of gold, silver, and brass. His sister is

his for two days, his horse for life. The sister is asked to part with

the best of her three wreaths, which are of gold, silver, brass, for

an only sister's sake. A sister is hers for a month or two, her wreath

for life. Finally the maid turns to her true-love, who has three hats,

one of brass, one of silver, one of gold, and entreats him to devote

the best to her redemption. How long lasts a hat? he exclaims. A couple

of days; but my betrothed for life! Another copy of the same ballad is

given by Neus in Dorpater Jahrbücher, V, 228.

The ballad is equally popular in Finland: 'Lunastettava neiti,'

Kanteletar, 1864, p. 283, No 26, p. 285, No 27, ed. 1840, III, 131,

137, 273 f; Rancken, Några prof, p. 9.

In various Slavic ballads the man and maid change parts, and the man

is ransomed by the generosity of his mistress when his kinsfolk have

failed him.

Two #Wendish# ballads, Haupt and Schmaler, #A#, No 74, #B#, No 75, I,

107 ff, begin, like the popular German ballad 'Der Schäfer und der

Edelmann,' with a shepherd's being thrown into prison by a nobleman for

wearing a costume beyond his rank, and proud words besides. He sees his

father coming, #A#, and asks him to pawn half a hundred sheep and get

him out. The father prefers his half hundred sheep. He sees his mother

coming, and asks her to pawn two cows and release him. She prefers her

cows. He sees his brother coming, and asks him to pawn his horse. His

brother prefers his horse. He sees his sister coming, and asks her to

pawn a fine gown, but the gown again is much dearer in his sister's

eyes. He sees his love coming, and asks her to pawn her coral necklace

for his ransom, which she does, and he is released. In #B# he writes to

father, mother, and sister to ransom him; they all tell him that if he

were good for anything he would not be in prison. His love flies to him

and ransoms him.[157]

#Russian.# Čelakowský, II, 106,[158] Sakharof, IV, 171, No 13. A

young man in prison writes to father and mother for ransom; the whole

family will have nothing to do with malefactors and robbers. His love,

when written to, calls to her women to get her gold together, all that

shall be needed to free him.

#Little-Russian.# Golovatsky, I, 48, No 8. An imprisoned youth writes

to his father, Wilt thou ransom me, or shall I perish? How much must

he give? Forty saddled horses. Better he should perish. He writes to

his mother; she must give forty oxen with their yokes. She declines. He

writes to his love; she must furnish forty geese with their goslings.

I will spin, she says, spin lustily, buy geese, and ransom thee. No 7,

I, 46, is to the same effect, but lacks the close.

#Slovenian.# 'Rodbina,' 'Kinship,' Vraz, Narodne Pěsni ilirske, p.

141.[159] A hero in prison asks his father to release him; the three

horses he must give are too much. He asks his mother; the three castles

she must give are too much. He asks his brother; the three rifles he

must give are too much. He asks his sister; the three fair tresses she

must sacrifice are too much. He asks his love; she must give her white

hand. Not too much is my white hand, she says; easy to give for thee

hand and life besides.

A Little-Russian ballad in Waclaw z Oleska, p. 226, and a Polish in

Waldbrühl's Balalaika, p. 504, have the same theme, Love stronger than

Blood (woman's love here), but do not belong with the pieces already

cited as to form.

Communicated to Percy, April 7, 1770, by the Rev. P.

Parsons, of Wey, from oral tradition.

* * * * * * *

'O good Lord Judge, and sweet Lord Judge,

Peace for a little while!

Methinks I see my own father,

Come riding by the stile.

'Oh father, oh father, a little of your gold,

And likewise of your fee!

To keep my body from yonder grave,

And my neck from the gallows-tree.'

'None of my gold now you shall have,

Nor likewise of my fee;

For I am come to see you hangd,

And hanged you shall be.'

'Oh good Lord Judge, and sweet Lord Judge,

Peace for a little while!

Methinks I see my own mother,

Come riding by the stile.

'Oh mother, oh mother, a little of your gold,

And likewise of your fee,

To keep my body from yonder grave,

And my neck from the gallows-tree!'

'None of my gold now shall you have,

Nor likewise of my fee;

For I am come to see you hangd,

And hanged you shall be.'

'Oh good Lord Judge, and sweet Lord Judge,

Peace for a little while!

Methinks I see my own brother,

Come riding by the stile.

'Oh brother, oh brother, a little of your gold,

And likewise of your fee,

To keep my body from yonder grave,

And my neck from the gallows-tree!'

'None of my gold now shall you have,

Nor likewise of my fee;

For I am come to see you hangd,

And hanged you shall be.'

'Oh good Lord Judge, and sweet Lord Judge,

Peace for a little while!

Methinks I see my own sister,

Come riding by the stile.

'Oh sister, oh sister, a little of your gold,

And likewise of your fee,

To keep my body from yonder grave,

And my neck from the gallows-tree!'

'None of my gold now shall you have,

Nor likewise of my fee;

For I am come to see you hangd,

And hanged you shall be.'

'Oh good Lord Judge, and sweet Lord Judge,

Peace for a little while!

Methinks I see my own true-love,

Come riding by the stile.

'Oh true-love, oh true-love, a little of your gold,

And likewise of your fee,

To save my body from yonder grave,

And my neck from the gallows-tree.'

'Some of my gold now you shall have,

And likewise of my fee,

For I am come to see you saved,

And saved you shall be.'

Motherwell MS., p. 290, from the recitation of Widow

McCormick; learned in Dumbarton.

* * * * * * *

'It's hold your hand, dear judge,' she says,

'O hold your hand for a while!

For yonder I see my father a coming,

Riding many's the mile.

'Have you any gold, father?' she says,

'Or have you any fee?

Or did you come to see your own daughter a hanging,

Like a dog, upon a tree?'

'I have no gold, daughter,' he says,

'Neither have I any fee;

But I am come to see my ain daughter hanged,

And hanged she shall be.'

'Hey the broom, and the bonny, bonny broom,

The broom o the Cauthery Knowes!

I wish I were at hame again,

Milking my ain daddie's ewes.

'Hold your hand, dear judge,' she says,

'O hold your hand for a while!

For yonder I see my own mother coming,

Riding full many a mile.

'Have you any gold, mother?' she says,

'Or have you any fee?

Or did you come to see your own daughter hanged,

Like a dog, upon a tree?'

'I have no gold, daughter,' she says,

'Neither have I any fee;

But I am come to see my own daughter hanged,

And hanged she shall be.'

'Hey the broom, the bonnie, bonnie broom,

The broom o the Cauthery Knowes!

I wish I were at hame again,

Milking my ain daddie's ewes.

'Hold your hand, dear judge,' she says,

'O hold your hand for a while!

For yonder I see my ae brother a coming,

Riding many's the mile.

'Have you any gold, brother?' she says,

'Or have you any fee?

Or did you come to see your ain sister a hanging,

Like a dog, upon a tree?'

'I have no gold, sister,' he says,

'Nor have I any fee;

But I am come to see my ain sister hanged,

And hanged she shall be.'

'Hey the broom, the bonnie, bonnie broom,

The broom o the Cathery Knowes!

I wish I were at hame again,

Milking my ain daddie's ewes.

'Hold your hand, dear judge,' she says,

'O hold your hand for a while!

For yonder I see my own true-love coming,

Riding full many a mile.

'Have you any gold, my true-love?' she says,

'Or have you any fee?

Or have you come to see your own love hanged,

Like a dog, upon a tree?'

* * * * * * *

Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, VII, 275, 1883:

communicated by the Rev. E. Venables, Precentor of

Lincoln, as sung by a nurse-maid from Woburn, near High

Wycombe, Buckinghamshire, "between fifty and sixty years

ago."

'Hold up thy hand, most righteous judge,

Hold up thy hand a while!

For here I see my own dear father,

Come tumbling over the stile.

'Oh hast thou brought me silver or gold,

Or jewels, to set me free?

Or hast thou come to see me hung?

For hanged I shall be.

'If I could get out of this prickly bush,

That prickles my heart so sore,

If I could get out of this prickly bush,

I'd never get in it no more.'

'Oh I have brought nor silver nor gold,

Nor jewels, to set thee free;

But I have come to see thee hung,

For hanged thou shall be.

* * * * * * *

'It's I have brought thee silver and gold,

And jewels, to set thee free;

I have not come to see thee hung,

For hanged thou shall not be.'

'Now I have got out of this prickly bush,

That prickled my heart so sore,

And I have got out of this prickly bush,

I'll never get in it no more.'

Skene MSS, p. 61, stanzas 19-24: taken down in the north

or northeast of Scotland, 1802-03.

. . . . . . .

'O had your hand a while!

For yonder comes my father,

I'm sure he'l borrow me.

'O some of your goud, father,

An of your well won fee!

To save me [frae the high hill],

[And] frae the gallow-tree.'

'Ye 's get nane of my goud,

Nor of my well won fee,

For I would gie five hundred poun

To see ye hangit hie.'

. . . . . . .

'O had yer hand a while!

Yonder is my love Willie,

Sure he will borrow me.

'O some o your goud, my love Willie,

An some o yer well won fee!

To save me frae the high hill,

And frae the gallow-tree.'

'Ye's get a' my goud,

And a' my well won fee,

To save ye fra the headin-hill,

And frae the gallow-tree.'

Buchan's MSS, II, 186, stanzas 16-22.

'Hold your hands, ye justice o peace,

Hold them a little while!

For yonder comes my father and mother,

That 's travelld mony a mile.

'Gie me some o your gowd, parents,

Some o your white monie,

To save me frae the head o yon hill,

Yon greenwood gallows-tree.'

'Ye 'll get nane o our gowd, daughter,

Nor nane o our white monie,

For we have travelld mony a mile,

This day to see you die.'

'Hold your hands, ye justice o peace,

Hold them a little while!

For yonder comes him Warenston,

The father of my chile.

'Give me some o your gowd, Warenston,

Some o your white monie,

To save me frae the head o yon hill,

Yon greenwood gallows-tree.'

'I bade you nurse my bairn well,

And nurse it carefullie,

And gowd shoud been your hire, Maisry,

And my body your fee.'

He's taen out a purse o gowd,

Another o white monie,

And he's tauld down ten thousand crowns,

Says, True-love, gang wi me.

Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, VI, 476, 1882: "sung in

Forfarshire, forty years ago."

'Stop, stop, ...

. . . . . . .

I think I see my father coming,

. . . . . . .

'O hae ye brocht my silken cloak,

Or my golden key?

Or hae ye come to see me hanged,

On this green gallows-tree?'

'I've neither brocht your silken cloak,

Nor your golden key,

But I have come to see you hanged,

On this green gallows-tree.'

* * * * * * *

'I've neither brocht your silken cloak,

Nor your golden key,

But I am come to set you free

From this green gallows-tree.'

#a.# Notes and Queries, Sixth Series, VI, 415, 1882. #b.#

The same, p. 269.

'Hangman, hangman, stop a minute,

. . . . . . .

I think I see my father coming,

. . . . . . .

'Father, father, have you found the key,

And have you come to set me free?

Or have you come to see me hanged,

Upon this gallows-tree?'

* * * * * * *

'I have not come to see you hanged,

Upon the gallows-tree,

For I have found the golden key,'

. . . . . . .

#a.# Baring-Gould's Appendix to Henderson's Notes on the

Folk Lore of the Northern Counties of England and the

Borders, 1866, p. 333, Yorkshire. #b.# Notes and Queries,

Sixth Series, X, 354, 1884.

'Stop, stop! ...

. . . . . . .

I think I see my mother coming,

. . . . . . .

'Oh mother, hast brought my golden ball,

And come to set me free?

. . . . . . .

'I've neither brought thy golden ball,

Nor come to set thee free,

But I have come to see thee hung,

Upon this gallows-tree.'

'Stop, stop! ...

. . . . . . .

I think I see my father coming,

. . . . . . .

'O father, hast brought my golden ball,

And come to set me free?

. . . . . . .

'I've neither brought thy golden ball,

Nor come to set thee free,

But I have come to see thee hung,

Upon this gallows-tree.'

'Stop, stop! ...

. . . . . . .

I see my sweet-heart coming,

. . . . . . .

'Sweet-heart, hast brought my golden ball,

And come to set me free?

. . . . . . .

'Aye, I have brought thy golden ball,

And come to set thee free;

I have not come to see thee hung,

Upon this gallows-tree.'

* * * * *

#B.#

_The title, '~The Broom o the Cathery Knowes~,' is not

prefixed to the ballad, but is given in the Index._

5^4. _Changed by Motherwell to ~many's the mile~, as in

1._

12. Hey the broom, &c.

#C.#

_This version, which the Rev. E. Venables has also

communicated to me in manuscript, was tagged on to a

fragment of '~Hugh of Lincoln~.'_

_After 4_: "Mother, brother, sister, uncle, aunt, etc.,

succeed. At last comes the own true love, who replies."

#D.#

2^{3, 4}. _Restored from stanza 5._

#F.#

"It was sung in Forfarshire forty years ago by girls

during the progress of some game, which I do not now

distinctly recollect. A lady, at the point of being

executed, cries Stop, stop! I think I see my father

coming. Then, addressing her father, she asks," _as in

stanza 2_; "to which the father replies," _as in stanza

3_. "Mother, brother, sister, are each addressed in turn,

and give the same answer. Last of all the fair sinner

sees her lover coming, and on putting the question to him

is answered thus," _as in stanza 4_; "whereupon the game

ends." _W. F. (2), Saline Manse, Fife._

#G. a.#

_Before stanza 1_: "I think the title of this ballad is

'The Golden Key.' The substance of it is that a woman

has lost a gold key, and is about to be hung, when she

exclaims, _as in stanza 1_. Then follows" _stanza 2_.

_After 2_: "Father, mother, brother, sister, all in turn

come up, and have not found the lost key. At last the

sweet-heart appears, who exclaims triumphantly," _as in

stanza 3_. "I write this from memory. I never saw it in

print." _H. Fishwick._

#b.#

"A lady writes to me, My mother used to hear, in

Lancashire and Cheshire, a ballad of which she only

recollects three lines:

And I'm not come to set you free,

But I am come to see you hanged,

All under the gallows-tree.

The last line was repeated, I believe, in every verse."

_William Andrews._

#H. a.#

_The verses form part of a Yorkshire story called ~The

Golden Ball~. A man gives a golden ball to each of two

lasses, and if either loses the ball she is to be hanged.

The younger, while playing with her ball, tosses it over

a park-paling; the ball runs away over the grass into a

house, and is seen no more._

"Now t' lass was taken to York to be hanged. She was

brought out on t' scaffold, and t' hangman said, Now,

lass, tha must hang by t' neck till tha be'st dead. But

she cried out, Stop, stop," _etc., stanzas 1-3_.

"Then the hangman said. Now, lass, say thy prayers, for

tha must dee." _Stanzas 4-6 follow. The maid thinks she

sees her brother coming, her sister, uncle, aunt, cousin.

The hangman then says_, "I wee-nt stop no longer, tha's

making gam of me. Tha must be hung at once. But now she

saw her sweetheart coming through the crowd, and he had

over head i t' air her own golden ball. So she said," _as

in stanzas 7-9_.

#b.#

_Miss Kate Thompson, of Newcastle-on-Tyne, had when a

child frequently been told the story of ~The Golden Ball~

by a woman who was a native of the Borderland. A rich

lady possessed a golden ball, which she held in high

esteem. A poor girl, her servant, had to clean this ball

every day, and it was death to lose it. One day when she

was cleaning the ball near a stream it disappeared. The

girl was condemned to die, and had mounted the scaffold.

The story was all in prose up to the execution, when the

narrator broke into rhyme:_

'Stop the rope! stop the rope!

For here I see my mother coming.

'Oh mother, have you brought the golden ball,

And come to set me free?

Or are you only here to see me die,

Upon the high, high gallows-tree?'

_The mother answers that she has only come to see her

die. Other relatives follow, and last of all comes

the lover, who produces the ball, and the execution

is stopped. Miss Thompson adds that two Northumbrian

servants in her house remember the story so._

[154] Liebrecht was the first to call attention to this ballad-cycle,

Zur Volkskunde, p. 222, repeating, with enlargement, an article in

Zeitschrift für deutsche Philologie, IX, 53. He gives the Sicilian

text, and a Balearic and a Färöe, presently to be noticed, with

translations, and points out other parallels. Reifferscheid made

additions in his Westfälische Volkslieder, p. 10, p. 138 ff. I have not

at hand the Effemeridi for 1874.

[155] "_Legen_ kan nu fortsættes videre" might imply that the ballad

was used as a game; but it is presumable that the author would have

been explicit, had he meant this.

[156] Translated by George Stephens in the Foreign Quarterly Review,

XXVI, 31.

[157] In the same collection, No 297, I, 297, there is no refusal on

the part of the kindred, but what they offer is insufficient, and the

maid succeeds by outbidding them. So in some of the corresponding

German ballads, as Hoffmann und Richter, Nos 9, 10; Erk's Liederhort,

Nos 51, 51^a, 51^b; Elwert, Ungedruckte Reste alten Gesangs, p.

43,==Liederhort, 51^c; Longard, p. 22, No 11; Fiedler, p. 141. In

Ulmann's Lettische Volkslieder, 1874, p. 168 (cited by Reiffenberg),

'Der losgekaufte Soldat,' a conscript writes to father, mother,

brother, sister, to buy him off, and they devote horses, cows, lands,

dowry, to this object, but do not succeed. His mistress sells her

wreath and frees him.

[158] Goetze, Stimmen des russischen Volks, p. 150; Wenzig, Slawische

Volkslieder, p. 151.

[159] Translated by Anastasius Grün, Volkslieder aus Krain, p. 30.

THE GAY GOSHAWK

#A.# 'The Gay Goss Hawk,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 15, No

#B.# Motherwell's MS., p. 230.

#C.# 'The Jolly Goshawk,' Motherwell's MS., p. 435;

Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 353.

#D.# 'The Gay Goss-hawk,' Motherwell's Note-Book, 27;

Motherwell's MS., p. 415.

#E.# 'The Gay Goss-hawk,' Minstrelsy of the Scottish

Border, II, 7, 1802.

#F.# Communicated by Miss Reburn, as sung in County

Meath, Ireland.

#G.# 'The Scottish Squire,' Buchan's Ballads of the North

of Scotland, II, 245.

The 'Gay Goshawk' first appeared in print in the second volume of

Scott's Minstrelsy, in 1802. Scott's copy was formed partly from Mrs

Brown's version, #A#, "and partly from a MS. of some antiquity _penes

Edit_." This compounded copy is now given, #E#, with those portions

which are contained in the Brown MS. printed in smaller type, in order

that what is peculiar to the other manuscript may be distinguished. A

second copy of #A# was made for William Tytler under the direction of

the reciter in 1783, but has not been recovered. There were 28 stanzas,

as in #A#, and the first stanza has been given by Anderson in Nichols's

Illustrations, VII, 176. #C# was furnished Motherwell by Buchan from

a manuscript sent him, and Buchan says that he himself took down from

recitation the vilely dilated and debased #G#: Ballads of the North of

Scotland, II, 340.

A ballad widely known in France has the central idea of the Gay

Goshawk, a maid's feigning death to escape from a father to a lover

whom she is not permitted to marry, but in the development of the story

there is no likeness. A version of this ballad, 'Belle Isambourg,'

was printed as early as 1607 in a collection with the title Airs de

Cour, p. 40, and was republished by Rathery in the Moniteur of August

26, 1853, p. 946, afterwards in Haupt's Französische Volkslieder, p.

92. The king wishes to give Fair Isambourg a husband, but her heart

is fixed on a handsome knight, whom she loves more than all her kin

together, though he is poor. The king shuts her up in a dark tower,

thinking that this treatment will bring about a change, but it does

not. Isambourg sees her lover riding towards or by the tower at full

speed. She calls to him to stop, and says:

Malade et morte m'y feray,

Porter en terre m'y lairray,

Pourtant morte je ne seray.

Puis apres je vous prie amy,

Qu'à ma chapelle a Sainct-Denis

Ne m'y laissez pas enfouir.

Isambourg is now proclaimed to be dead, and is carried to burial

by three princes and a knight. Her lover, hearing the knelling and

chanting, puts himself in the way and bids the bearers stop. Since she

has died for loving him too well, he wishes to say a De profundis. He

rips open a little of the shroud, and she darts a loving smile at him.

Everybody is astonished.

Other versions, derived from oral tradition, have a more popular stamp:

(1.) Poésies populaires de la France, MS., III, 54, 'La fille du roi

et le Prince de Guise,' learned at Maubeuge, about 1760. (2.) III, 47,

'Le beau Déon,' Auvergne. (3.) III, 49, 'La princesse de la Grand'

Tour,' Berry. (4.) III, 50 (the hero being Léon), Berry. (5.) III, 53,

Caudebec. (6.) III, 56, Pamiers, Languedoc. (7.) III, 57, and II, 52,

Orléans. (8.) 'La fille d'un prince,' Buchon, Noëls et chants p. de

la Franche-Comté, p. 82, No 16. (9.) 'La fille d'un prince,' Rondes

et Chansons p. illustrées, Paris, 1876, p. 286. (10.) 'La princesse,'

Guillon, Chansons p. de l'Ain, p. 87. (11.) 'La maîtresse captive,'

Puymaigre, Chants p. messins, I, 87. (12.) Le Héricher, Littérature p.

de Normandie, p. 153 f. (13.) 'De Dion et de la fille du roi,' Ampère,

Instructions, p. 38, the first fourteen stanzas; Auvergne. (14.) G. de

Nerval, La Bohème Galante, ed. 1866, p. 70, and Les Faux Saulniers,

ed. 1868, p. 346, the story completed in Les Filles du Feu, ed. 1868,

p. 132; or, in the collection lately made from his works, Chansons

et Ballades p. du Valois, p. 16, VIII. The last two have a false

termination, as already remarked under No 4, I, 42.

In these traditional versions, the father pays a visit to the princess

after she has been confined seven years, and asks how she is. One side

is eaten away by worms, her feet are rotting in the irons. She begs a

few sous to give the jailer to loosen her fetters. Millions are at her

disposal if she will give up her lover. Rather rot, is her reply. Rot,

then, says her father. The lover comes by and throws a few words of

writing into the tower, directing her to counterfeit death. The rest is

much the same. In several versions the king yields.

There are many other ballads in which a girl, for one reason or

another, feigns death. In 'Les trois capitaines,' or 'La jolie fille

de la Garde,' etc., Arbaud, I, 143, Decombe, Ch. p. d'Ille-et-Vilaine,

p. 150, No 51, Champfleury, Ch. p. des Provinces, p. 95, Bujeaud, II,

174, 'La Bohème Galante,' ed. 1866, p. 71 f, Chansons du Valois, p.

19, IX, Puymaigre, Vieux Auteurs, II, 478, E. Legrand, Romania, X,

369, No 6, the object is to save her honor;[160] so in Marcoaldi, p.

162, No 10, Ferraro, C. p. monferrini, p. 41, No 31. The well-disposed

hostess of an inn administers a sleeping-draught, in Arbaud's ballad

and in Decombe's. The object is to avoid becoming a king's mistress,

in 'Kvindelist,' Grundtvig, IV, 394, No 235, 'Hertig Hillebrand och

hans Syster,' Arwidsson, I, 380 No 61; in a Bohemian ballad, to avoid

marrying a Turk, 'Oklamaný Turek,' 'The Turk duped,' Čelakovský,

III, 11 (translated in Bowring's Cheskian Anthology, p. 129) Erben,

p. 485, etc., etc.; to move a lover who is on the point of deserting,

Hoffmann, Niederländische Volkslieder, p. 61, No 15, Willems, No 60,

Uhland, No 97 #B#.

In 'Willie's Lyke-Wake,' No 25, I, 247, a man feigns death in order to

capture a coy maid, or a maid refused him by her parents.

Birds are not seldom employed as posts in ballads: see 'Sweet William,'

Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 307, Milá, Romancerillo, No 258; Hartung,

Romanceiro, I, 193 (dove). A falcon carries a letter, in Afzelius,

III, 116, No 87, and Milá, No 258 K, and Marko Kraljevitch sends

a letter by a falcon from his prison, Karadshitch, II, 383. For a

love-message of a general sort, not involving business, the nightingale

is usually and rightly selected. On the other hand, a nightingale first

orders a ring of a goldsmith, and afterwards delivers it to a lady,

in Uhland, No 15.[161] In this ballad the goshawk is endowed with the

nightingale's voice. The substitution of a parrot in #G#, a bird that

we all know can talk, testifies to the advances made by reason among

the humblest in the later generations.[162] A parrot, says Buchan,

"is by far a more likely messenger to carry a love-letter or deliver

a verbal message," II, 341. The parrot goes well with the heroine

swooning on a sofa (stanza 33) and the step-dame sitting on the sofa's

end (stanza 36).

Thieves drop three drops of _wax_ on the breast of a servant-girl who

is feigning sleep, and she shows no sign of feeling, in a Catalan

ballad, Milá, Romancerillo, p. 104, No 114, vv 13-16, Observaciones, p.

147, No 43, Briz, I, 147.[163]

Translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 32,

after #E#, #C#, #G#. After #D# by Talvj, Versuch, u. s. w., p. 560;

Schubart, p. 57; Doenniges, p. 19; Gerhard, p. 37; Loève-Veimars, p.

264. By Knortz, Lieder Alt-Englands, No 2, after #C#; by Rosa Warrens,

Schottische Volkslieder, No 38, after #C# and #E#, sometimes following

Aytoun, I, 178.

Jamieson-Brown MS., No 6, pt 15.

'O well's me o my gay goss-hawk,

That he can speak and flee;

He'll carry a letter to my love,

Bring back another to me.'

'O how can I your true-love ken,

Or how can I her know?

Whan frae her mouth I never heard couth,

Nor wi my eyes her saw.'

'O well sal ye my true-love ken,

As soon as you her see;

For, of a' the flowrs in fair Englan,

The fairest flowr is she.

'At even at my love's bowr-door

There grows a bowing birk,

An sit ye down and sing thereon,

As she gangs to the kirk.

'An four-and-twenty ladies fair

Will wash and go to kirk,

But well shall ye my true-love ken,

For she wears goud on her skirt.

'An four and twenty gay ladies

Will to the mass repair,

But well sal ye my true-love ken,

For she wears goud on her hair.'

O even at that lady's bowr-door

There grows a bowin birk,

An she set down and sang thereon,

As she ged to the kirk.

'O eet and drink, my marys a',

The wine flows you among,

Till I gang to my shot-window,

An hear yon bonny bird's song.

'Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,

The song ye sang the streen,

For I ken by your sweet singin

You 're frae my true-love sen.'

O first he sang a merry song,

An then he sang a grave,

An then he peckd his feathers gray,

To her the letter gave.

'Ha, there's a letter frae your love,

He says he sent you three;

He canna wait your love langer,

But for your sake he'll die.

'He bids you write a letter to him;

He says he's sent you five;

He canna wait your love langer,

Tho you 're the fairest woman alive.'

'Ye bid him bake his bridal-bread,

And brew his bridal-ale,

An I 'll meet him in fair Scotlan

Lang, lang or it be stale.'

She 's doen her to her father dear,

Fa'n low down on her knee:

'A boon, a boon, my father dear,

I pray you, grant it me.'

'Ask on, ask on, my daughter,

An granted it sal be;

Except ae squire in fair Scotlan,

An him you sall never see.'

'The only boon, my father dear,

That I do crave of the,

Is, gin I die in southin lands,

In Scotland to bury me.

'An the firstin kirk that ye come till,

Ye gar the bells be rung,

An the nextin kirk that ye come till,

Ye gar the mess be sung.

'An the thirdin kirk that ye come till,

You deal gold for my sake,

An the fourthin kirk that ye come till,

You tarry there till night.'

She is doen her to her bigly bowr,

As fast as she coud fare,

An she has tane a sleepy draught,

That she had mixed wi care.

She's laid her down upon her bed,

An soon she's fa'n asleep,

And soon oer every tender limb

Cauld death began to creep.

Whan night was flown, an day was come,

Nae ane that did her see

But thought she was as surely dead

As ony lady coud be.

Her father an her brothers dear

Gard make to her a bier;

The tae half was o guide red gold,

The tither o silver clear.

Her mither an her sisters fair

Gard work for her a sark;

The tae half was o cambrick fine,

The tither o needle wark.

The firstin kirk that they came till,

They gard the bells be rung,

An the nextin kirk that they came till,

They gard the mess be sung.

The thirdin kirk that they came till,

They dealt gold for her sake,

An the fourthin kirk that they came till,

Lo, there they met her make!

'Lay down, lay down the bigly bier,

Lat me the dead look on;'

Wi cherry cheeks and ruby lips

She lay an smil'd on him.

'O ae sheave o your bread, true-love,

An ae glass o your wine,

For I hae fasted for your sake

These fully days is nine.

'Gang hame, gang hame, my seven bold brothers,

Gang hame and sound your horn;

An ye may boast in southin lans

Your sister's playd you scorn.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 230: from the recitation of Mrs

Bell, of Paisley, and of Miss Montgomerie, of Edinburgh,

her sister.

Out then spoke the king of Scotland,

And he spak wondrous clear:

Where will I get a boy, and a pretty little boy,

That will my tidings bear?

Out then spak a pretty little bird,

As it sat on a brier:

What will ye gie me, king of Scotland, he said,

If I your tidings will bear?

'One wing of the beaten gowd,

And another of the silver clear;

It's all unto thee, my pretty little bird,

If thou my tidings will bear.'

The bird flew high, the bird flew low,

This bird flew to and fro,

Until that he came to the king of England's dochter,

Who was sitting in her bower-window.

'Here is a gift, a very rare gift,

And the king has sent you three;

He says if your father and mother winna let,

You may come privately.

'Here is a gift, and a very rare gift,

The king has sent you five;

He says he will not wait any longer on you,

If there be another woman alive.'

She's away to her mother dear,

Made a low beck on her knee:

'What is your asking of me, daughter?

Queen of Scotland you never shall be.'

'That's not my asking of thee, mother,

That's not my asking of thee;

But that if I die in merry England,

In Scotland you will bury me.'

She's awa to her father dear,

Made a low beck on her knee:

'What is your asking of me, daughter?

Queen of Scotland you never shall be.'

'That's not my asking of thee, father,

That's not my asking of thee;

But that if I die in merry England,

In Scotland you will bury me.'

She walked to and fro,

She walked up and down,

But ye wud na spoken three words to an end

Till she was in a deep swoon.

Out then spoke an auld witch-wife,

And she spoke random indeed:

Honoured madam, I would have you to try

Three drops of the burning lead.

Her mother went weeping round and round,

She dropped one on her chin;

'Och and alace,' her mother did say,

'There is no breath within!'

Her mother went weeping round and round,

She dropt one on her briest;

'Och and alace,' her mother did cry,

'For she's died without a priest!'

Her mother went weeping round and round,

She dropped one on her toe;

'Och and alace,' her mother did cry,

'To Scotland she must goe!

'Call down, call down her sisters five,

To make to her a smock;

The one side of the bonny beaten gold,

And the other of the needle-work.

'Call down, call down her brothers seven,

To make for her a bier;

The one side of the bonny beaten gold,

And the other of the silver clear.'

Many a mile by land they went,

And many a league by sea,

Until that they came to the king of Scotland,

Who was walking in his own valley.

'Here is a gift, and a very rare gift,

And you to have made her your own;

But now she is dead, and she's new come from her steed,

And she's ready to lay in the ground.'

O he has opened the lid of the coffin,

And likewise the winding sheet,

And thrice he has kissed her cherry, cherry cheek,

And she smiled on him full sweet.

'One hit of your bread,' she says,

'And one glass of your wine;

It's all for you and your sake

I've fasted long days nine.

'One glass of your wine,' she says,

'And one bit of your bread;

For it 's all for you and for your sake

I suffered the burning lead.

'Go home, go home, my brothers seven,

You may go blow your horn;

And you may tell it in merry England

That your sister has given you the scorn.

'Go home, go home, my brothers seven,

Tell my sisters to sew their seam;

And you may tell it in merry England

That your sister she is queen.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 435; communicated by Peter Buchan,

from a MS. which had been sent him.

'O well is me, my jolly goshawk,

That ye can speak and flee,

For ye can carry a love-letter

To my true-love from me.'

'O how can I carry a letter to her,

When her I do not knaw?

I bear the lips to her never spake,

And the eyes that her never saw.'

'The thing of my love's face is white

It's that of dove or maw;

The thing of my love's face that's red

Is like blood shed on snaw.

'And when you come to the castle,

Light on the bush of ash,

And sit you there and sing our loves,

As she comes from the mass.

'And when she goes into the house,

Sit ye upon the whin;

And sit you there and sing our loves,

As she goes out and in.'

And when he flew to that castel,

He lighted on the ash;

And there he sat and sang their loves,

As she came from the mass.

And when she went into the house,

He flew unto the whin;

And there he sat and sang their loves,

As she went out and in.

'Come hither, come hither, my maidens all,

And sip red wine anon,

Till I go to my west window,

And hear a birdie's moan.'

She's gone unto her west window,

And fainly aye it drew,

And soon into her white silk lap

The bird the letter threw.

'Ye're bidden send your love a send,

For he has sent you twa;

And tell him where he can see you,

Or he cannot live ava.'

'I send him the rings from my white fingers,

The garlands off my hair;

I send him the heart that's in my breast:

What would my love have mair?

And at the fourth kirk in fair Scotland,

Ye'll bid him meet me there.'

She hied her to her father dear,

As fast as gang could she:

'An asking, an asking, my father dear,

An asking ye grant me;

That, if I die in fair England,

In Scotland bury me.

'At the first kirk of fair Scotland,

You cause the bells be rung;

At the second kirk of fair Scotland,

You cause the mass be sung.

'At the third kirk of fair Scotland,

You deal gold for my sake;

And the fourth kirk of fair Scotland,

O there you'll bury me at.

'And now, my tender father dear,

This asking grant you me;'

'Your asking is but small,' he said,

'Weel granted it shall be.'

She hied her to her mother dear,

As fast as gang could she:

'An asking, an asking, my mother dear,

An asking ye grant me;

That if I die in fair England

In Scotland bury me.

'And now, my tender mother dear,

This asking grant you me;'

'Your asking is but small,' she said,

'Weel granted it shall be.'

She hied her to her sister dear,

As fast as gang could she:

'An asking, an asking, my sister dear,

An asking ye grant me;

That if I die in fair England,

In Scotland bury me.

'And now, my tender sister dear,

This asking grant you me:'

'Your asking is but small,' she said,

'Weel granted it shall be.'

She hied her to her seven brothers,

As fast as gang could she:

'An asking, an asking, my brothers seven,

An asking ye grant me;

That if I die in fair England,

In Scotland ye bury me.

'And now, my tender brothers dear,

This asking grant you me:'

'Your asking is but small,' they said,

'Weel granted it shall be.'

Then down as dead that lady drapd,

Beside her mother's knee;

Then out it spoke an auld witch-wife,

By the fire-side sat she.

Says, Drap the hot lead on her cheek,

And drop it on her chin,

And drop it on her rose-red lips,

And she will speak again:

For much a lady young will do,

To her true-love to win.

They drapd the het lead on her cheek,

So did they on her chin;

They drapt it on her red-rose lips,

But they breathed none again.

Her brothers they went to a room,

To make to her a bier;

The boards of it was cedar wood,

And the plates ow it gold so clear.

Her sisters they went to a room,

To make to her a sark;

The cloth of it was satin fine,

And the steeking silken wark.

'But well is me, my jolly goshawk,

That ye can speak and flee;

Come shew to me any love-tokens

That you have brought to me.'

'She sends you the rings from her fingers,

The garlands from her hair;

She sends you the heart within her breast;

And what would you have mair?

And at the fourth kirk of fair Scotland,

She bids you meet her there.'

'Come hither, all my merry young men,

And drink the good red wine;

For we must on to fair Scotland,

To free my love frae pine.'

At the first kirk of fair Scotland,

They gart the bells be rung;

At the second kirk of fair Scotland,

They gart the mass be sung.

At the third kirk of fair Scotland,

They dealt gold for her sake;

And the fourth kirk of fair Scotland

Her true-love met them at.

'Set down, set down the corpse,' he said,

'Till I look on the dead;

The last time that I saw her face,

She ruddy was and red;

But now, alas, and woe is me!

She's wallowit like a weed.'

He rent the sheet upon her face,

A little above her chin;

With lily-white cheeks, and lemin een,

She lookt and laughd to him.

'Give me a chive of your bread, my love,

A bottle of your wine;

For I have fasted for your love

These long days nine;

There's not a steed in your stable

But would have been dead ere syne.

'Go home, go home, my seven brothers,

Go home and blow the horn;

For you can say in the south of England

Your sister gave you a scorn.

'I came not here to fair Scotland

To lye amang the meal;

But I came here to fair Scotland

To wear the silks so weel.

'I came not here to fair Scotland

To ly amang the dead;

But I came here to fair Scotland

To wear the gold so red.'

Motherwell's Note-Book, pp 27-30, Motherwell's MS., pp

415-17; from Agnes Laird, Kilbarchan, August 24, 1825.

'O where'll I get a pretty little bird

That'll go my errand soon,

That will fly to the Queen of England's dochter,

And bid my trew-luve come?'

'Here am I, a pretty little bird,

That'll go your errands soon,

That will fly to the Queen of England's daughter,

And bid your trew-luve come.'

This wee birdie's taken its flight,

And it's flown owre the sea,

Until it cam to the Queen of England's daughter;

She's sitting in her bower-windie.

Then out bespoke these nine ladies,

As they sat in a ring:

'O we'll awa to the west window,

To hear this birdie sing.'

This wee birdie's taken its flight,

And it's flown owre them a',

And at the lady's left shoulder

It loot a letter fa.

She has taken the letter up,

And read it speedilie:

'O mother, the queen, O mother, the queen,

Grant this request to me;

Whenever I do chance for to die,

In Scotland gar bury me.'

* * * * * * *

'Bring to me the red, red lead,

And rub it on her chin;

It's Oh and alace for my dochter Janet!

But there is not a breath within.

'Long Lonkin,' edited by A. O. Bell, C. E., York, 1846 (Notes and