8_The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 2 (of 5)

'Bring to me the red, red lead,

And rub it on her toe;

It's Oh and alace for my daughter Janet!

To Scotland she must go.'

'Rise up, rise up, ye seven sisters,

And make her winding sheet,

With the one side of the beaten gold,

And the other o the needle-wark.

'Rise up, rise up, ye seven brethren,

And make her carriage-bier,

With the one side of the beaten gold,

And the other o the silver clear.'

They've carried east, they 've carried west,

They've carried her high and low,

Until that they came to the king of Scotland,

Was sitting in his bower-window.

'Here is a token of your trew-love,

And here is a token come down,

For she is dead, and she's ready to be buried,

And she wants to be laid in your ground.'

He's taen out his mickle knife,

And tore her winding sheet,

And there she lay like the crimson red,

And she smiled in his face so sweet.

'Go home, go home, you seven brethren,

Go home and saw your corn,

For she is fit for the queen of Scotland now,

And she's gien you the scorn.

'Go home, go home, you seven sisters,

Go home and sew your seam,

For she is fit for the queen of Scotland now,

And she's ready to be my queen.'

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 7, 1802; III, 151,

1833.

'O waly, waly, my gay goss-hawk,

Gin your feathering be sheen!'

'And waly, waly, my master dear,

Gin ye look pale and lean!

'O have ye tint at tournament

Your sword, or yet your spear?

Or mourn ye for the southern lass,

Whom you may not win near?'

'I have not tint at tournament

My sword, nor yet my spear,

But sair I mourn for my true-love,

Wi mony a bitter tear.

'But weel's me on ye, my gay goss-hawk,

Ye can baith speak and flee;

Ye sall carry a letter to my love,

Bring an answer back to me.'

'But how sall I your true-love find,

Or how suld I her know?

I bear a tongue neer wi her spake,

An eye that neer her saw.'

'O weel sall ye my true-love ken,

Sae sune as ye her see,

For of a' the flowers of fair England,

The fairest flower is she.

'The red that's on my true-love's cheik

Is like blood-drops on the snaw;

The white that is on her breast bare

Like the down o the white sea-maw.

'And even at my love's bouer-door

There grows a flowering birk,

And ye maun sit and sing thereon,

As she gangs to the kirk.

'And four-and-twenty fair ladyes

Will to the mass repair,

But weel may ye my ladye ken,

The fairest ladye there.'

Lord William has written a love-letter,

Put it under his pinion gray,

And he is awa to southern land,

As fast as wings can gae.

And even at that ladye's bour

There grew a flowering birk,

And he sat down and sang thereon,

As she gaed to the kirk.

And weel he kent that ladye feir

Amang her maidens free,

For the flower that springs in May morning

Was not sae sweet as she.

[He lighted at the ladye's yate,

And sat him on a pin,

And sang fu sweet the notes o love,

Till a' was cosh within.]

And first he sang a low, low note,

And syne he sang a clear,

And aye the oerword of the sang

Was, Your love can no win here.

'Feast on, feast on, my maidens a',

The wine flows you amang,

While I gang to my shot-window,

And hear yon bonny bird's sang.

'Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,

The sang ye sung yestreen;

For weel I ken by your sweet singing

Ye are frae my true-love sen.'

O first he sang a merry sang,

And syne he sang a grave,

And syne he peckd his feathers gray,

To her the letter gave.

'Have there a letter from Lord William;

He says he's sent ye three;

He canna wait your love langer,

But for your sake he 'll die.'

'Gae bid him bake his bridal bread,

And brew his bridal ale,

And I sall meet him at Mary's kirk,

Lang, lang-ere it be stale.'

The lady's gane to her chamber,

And a moanfu woman was she,

As gin she had taen a sudden brash,

And were about to die.

'A boon, a boon, my father deir,

A boon I beg of thee!'

'Ask not that paughty Scotish lord,

For him you neer shall see.

'But, for your honest asking else,

Weel granted it shall be:'

'Then, gin I die in southern land,

In Scotland gar bury me.

'And the first kirk that ye come to,

Ye's gar the mass be sung,

And the next kirk that ye come to,

Ye's gar the bells be rung.

'And when ye come to St Mary's kirk,

Ye's tarry there till night:'

And so her father pledged his word,

And so his promise plight.

She has taen her to her bigly bour,

As fast as she could fare,

And she has drank a sleepy draught,

That she had mixed wi care.

And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek,

That was sae bright of blee,

And she seemed to be as surely dead

As any one could be.

They drapt a drap o the burning red gowd,

They drapt it on her chin;

'And ever alas,' her mother cried,

'There is nae life within!'

They drapt a drap o the burning red gowd,

They drapt it on her breast-bane;

'Alas,' her seven bauld brothers said,

'Our sister's dead and gane!'

Then up arose her seven brethren,

And hewd to her a bier;

They hewd it frae the solid aik,

Laid it oer wi silver clear.

Then up and gat her seven sisters,

And sewed to her a kell,

And every steek that they pat in

Sewd to a siller bell.

The first Scots kirk that they cam to,

They gard the bells be rung;

The next Scots kirk that they cam to,

They gard the mass be sung.

But when they cam to St Mary's kirk,

There stude spearmen all on raw,

And up and started Lord William,

The chieftane amang them a'.

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

'Let me looke her upon:'

But as soon as Lord William touched her hand,

Her colour began to come.

She brightened like the lily-flower,

Till her pale colour was gone;

With rosy cheek, and ruby lip,

She smiled her love upon.

'A morsel of your bread, my lord,

And one glass of your wine,

For I hae fasted these three lang days,

All for your sake and mine.

'Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers,

Gae hame and blaw your horn;

I trow you wad hae gien me the skaith,

But I've gien you the scorn.

'Ah woe to you, you light woman,

An ill death may you die!

For we left father and mother at hame

Breaking their hearts for thee.'

From Miss Margaret Reburn, as sung in County Meath,

Ireland, about 1860.

* * * * * * *

She got three drops of boiling lead,

And dropped them on her hand:

'Oh and alas, my daughter dear,

I'd rather all my land!'

She got three drops of boiling lead,

And dropped them on her chin:

'Oh and alas, my daughter dear,

There is no life within!'

She got three drops of boiling lead,

And dropped them on her toe:

'Oh and alas, my daughter dear,

To fair Scotland you must go!'

* * * * * * *

'Give me a cake of the new made bread,

And a cup of the new made wine,

For for your sake, Lord Thomas,' she said,

'I fasted those days nine.'

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 245, "from

recitation."

When grass grew green on Lanark plains,

And fruit and flowers did spring,

A Scottish squire in cheerfu strains,

Sae merrily thus did sing:

'O well fails me o my parrot

That he can speak and flee;

For he will carry love-letters

Between my love and me.

'And well fails me o my parrot

He can baith speak and gang;

And he will carry love-letters

To the maid in South England.'

'O how shall I your love find out?

Or how shall I her know?

When my tongue with her never spake,

Nor my eyes her ever saw.'

'O what is red of her is red

As blude drappd on the snaw;

And what is white o her is white

As milk, or the sea-maw.

'Even before that lady's yetts

You'll find a bowing birk;

And there ye'll sit, and sing thereon,

Till she gaes to the kirk.

'Then even before that lady's yetts

You'll find a bowing ash;

And ye may sit and sing thereon,

Till she comes frae the mass.

'And even before that lady's window

You'll find a bed o tyme;

And ye may sit and sing thereon,

Till she sits down to dine.

'Even abeen that lady's window

There's fixd a siller pin;

And a' these words that I tell you,

Ye'll sit and sing therein.

'Ye'll bid her send her love a letter,

For he has sent her five;

And he'll never send anither ane,

To nae woman alive.

'Ye'll bid her send her love a letter,

For he has sent her seven;

And he'll never send anither send,

To nae maid under heaven.'

This little bird then took his flight,

Beyond the raging sea,

And lighted at that lady's yetts,

On tower o gowd sae hie.

Even before that lady's yetts

He found a bowing birk;

And there he sat, and sang thereon,

Till she went to the kirk.

Even before that lady's yetts

He found a bowing ash;

And then he sat and sang thereon,

Till she came frae the mass.

Even before that lady's window

He found a bed o tyme;

And then he sat and sang thereon,

Till she sat down to dine.

Even abeen that lady's window

Was fixd a siller pin;

And a' the words that were tauld him,

He sat and sang them in.

'You're bidden send your love a letter,

For he has sent you five;

Or he'll never send anither send,

To nae woman alive.

'You're bidden send your love a letter,

For he has sent you seven;

And he'll never send anither send,

To nae maid under heaven.'

'Sit in the hall, good ladies all,

And drink the wine sae red,

And I will to yon small window,

And hear yon birdie's leed.

'Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,

The sang ye sung just now;'

'I'll sing nae mair, ye lady fair,

My errand is to you.'

'If ye be my true-lovie's bird,

Sae well's I will you ken;

You will gae in at my gown-sleeve,

Come out at my gown-hem.'

'That I am come frae your true-love,

You soon shall see right plain;

And read these lines below my wing,

That I hae brought frae him.'

When she looked these lines upon,

She read them, and she leuch:

'O well fails me, my true-love, now,

O this I hae eneuch.

'Here is the broach on my breast-bane,

The garlings frae my hair,

Likewise the heart that is within;

What woud my love hae mair?

'The nearest kirk in fair Scotland,

Ye'll bid him meet me there:'

She has gane to her dear father,

Wi heart perplexd and sair.

When she came to her auld father,

Fell low down on her knee:

'An asking, asking, father dear,

I pray you grant it me.'

'Ask what you will, my dear daughter,

And I will grant it thee;

Unless to marry yon Scottish squire;

That's what shall never be.'

'O that's the asking, father,' she said,

'That I'll neer ask of thee;

But if I die in South England,

In Scotland ye'll bury me.'

'The asking's nae sae great, daughter,

But granted it shall be;

And tho ye die in South England,

In Scotland we'll bury thee.'

She has gane to her step-mother,

Fell low down on her knee:

'An asking, asking, mother dear,

I pray you grant it me.'

'Ask what ye please, my lily-white dove,

And granted it shall be:'

'If I do die in South England,

In Scotland bury me.'

'Had these words spoke been in again,

I woud not granted thee;

You hae a love in fair Scotland,

Sae fain's you woud be tee.'

She scarce was to her chamber gane

Nor yet was well set down,

Till on the sofa where she sat

Fell in a deadly swoon.

Her father and her seven brithers,

They made for her a bier;

The one half o't was gude red gowd,

The other siller clear.

Her seven sisters were employed

In making her a sark;

The one half o't was cambric fine,

The other needle-wark.

Then out it speaks her auld step-dame,

Sat on the sofa's end:

Ye'll drap the het lead on her cheek,

Sae do you on her chin;

For women will use mony a wile

Their true-loves for to win.

Then up it raise her eldest brither,

Into her bower he's gane;

Then in it came her youngest brither,

The het leed to drap on.

He drapt it by her cheek, her cheek,

Sae did he by her chin;

Sae did he by her comely hause;

He knew life was therein.

The bier was made wi red gowd laid,

Sae curious round about;

A private entrance there contriv'd,

That her breath might win out.

The first an kirk in fair Scotland,

They gard the bells be rung;

The niest an kirk in fair Scotland,

They causd the mass be sung.

The third an kirk in fair Scotland,

They passd it quietly by;

The fourth an kirk in fair Scotland,

Clerk Sandy did them spy.

'O down ye'll set this corpse o clay,

Lat me look on the dead;

For I may sigh, and say, alas!

For death has nae remeid.'

Then he has cut her winding sheet

A little below her chin,

And wi her sweet and ruby lips

She sweetly smil'd on him.

'Gie me a sheave o your white bread,

A bottle o your wine;

For I hae fasted for your sake

Fully these lang days nine.

'Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brithers,

Gae hame and blaw your trumpet;

And ye may tell to your step-dame

This day she is affronted.

'I camna here to fair Scotland

To lye amo the dead;

But came to be Clerk Sandy's wife,

And lay gowd on my head.

'Gae hame, gae hame, my seven brithers,

Gae hame and blaw your horn;

And ye may tell in fair England

In Scotland ye got the scorn.

'I came not here to fair Scotland

To mix amang the clay;

But came to be Clerk Sandy's wife,

And wear gowd to my tae.'

'Sin ye hae gien us this ae scorn,

We shall gie you anither;

Ye shall hae naething to live upon

But the bier that brought you hither.'

* * * * *

#A.#

_Written in stanzas of two long lines._

1. _In the Tytler-Brown MS._

O well's me o my gay goss hawke

That he can speake and flee,

Will carry a letter to my love,

Bring another back to me.

#B.#

20^1. Oh.

24^1. by brothers.

#C.#

2^1. Oh.

12^2. shee.

_After 16_: etc., repeated as above.

_After 18^2_: etc., as above.

_After 20_: etc., as to father, mother, etc. _The verses

not written out (and not printed in the Minstrelsy) have

been supplied accordingly._

30^2. bells _altered in the MS. from_ mass.

26^3. clothe.

29^3. _In the Minstrelsy Motherwell has substituted

~England~ for ~Scotland~._

34^6. _Motherwell prints_ dead ere syne.

#D.#

_In his Note-Book, p. 27, Motherwell says that he got

this copy of the ballad from ~Agnes Laird~; in the MS.,

p. 415, from ~Agnes Lyle~. Page 26 of the Note-Book shows

that ~Laird~ is right._

#E.#

_The edition of 1833 inserts stanza 13, and substitutes

for 27, 28 the following:_

Then spake her cruel step-minnie:

'Tak ye the burning lead,

And drap a drap on her bosome,

To try if she be dead.'

They took a drap o boiling lead,

They drappd it on her breast;

'Alas, alas,' her father cried,

'She's dead without the priest!'

She neither chatterd with her teeth,

Nor shiverd with her chin;

'Alas, alas,' her father cried,

'There is nae breath within!'

_After 36 is inserted:_

'Commend me to my grey father,

That wished my saul gude rest,

But wae be to my cruel step-dame,

Garrd burn me on the breast.'

_And ~mother~, 37^3, is changed to ~sisters~. The

step-mother clearly does not belong to this ballad._

[160] Or her soul, in a copy which terminates with a miracle, Victor

Smith, Chansons du Velay, etc., Romania, IV, 114: where see note 2.

[161] See Uhland, III, 109 f, 171.

[162] The contrast presented by darker ages, when cheap literature was

unknown, may be seen from these verses:

Ma mie reçoit de mes lettres

Par l'alouette des champs;

Elle m'envoie les siennes

Par le rossignol chantant.

Sans savoir lire ni écrire

Nous lisons ce qui est dedans;

Il y a dedans ces lettres,

'Aime moi, je t'aime tant.'

(Le Moniteur, May 27, 1853.)

[163] The "red, red lead" of #D# 7, 8 I had at first supposed to show a

carelessness about epithets, like the "roses blue" of a Danish ballad.

But considering that the red lead is to be _rubbed on_, one may ask

whether some occult property of minium may have been known to the

mother.

BROWN ROBIN

#A.# 'Brown Robin.' #a.# Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 37.

#b.# Abbotsford MS., "Scottish Songs."

#B.# 'Love Robbie,' Christie's Traditional Ballad Airs,

I, 136.

#C.# 'Brown Robyn and Mally,' Buchan's Ballads of the

North of Scotland, II, 299.

'Brown Robin' was No 7 in William Tytler's Brown MS. The first stanza

is cited by Anderson, Nichols's Literary Illustrations, VII, 177,

and there were twenty-one stanzas, as in #A a#. #A b# may have been

a copy of the Tytler-Brown version. It does not seem to have been

tampered with so much as other ballads in the same manuscript. The

story undoubtedly stops at the right point in #A#, with the escape of

the two lovers to the wood. The sequel in #C# is not at all beyond

the inventive ability of Buchan's blind beggar, and some other blind

beggar may have contrived the cane and the whale, the shooting and the

hanging, in #B#.

Brown Robin is lover or husband of May Margerie, or May a Roe==Lillie

Flower, in 'Jellon Grame,' No 90, #B# 14, #C# 7, and again of White

Lilly in 'Rose the Red and White Lilly,' No 103, #A# 7 ff.

We have money given over the wall by an eloping lady, as in #B# 4, 5,

#C# 5, also in 'Willie o Douglas Dale,' No 101, #C# 4, 5.

#A# 1, nearly, is stanza 5 in Jamieson's 'Glenkindie;' see p. 141 of

this volume, note to #B#.

#C# is translated by Gerhard, p. 175.

#a.# Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 37. #b.# Abbotsford MS.,

"Scottish Songs."

The king but an his nobles a'} _bis_

Sat birling at the wine;}

He would ha nane but his ae daughter

To wait on them at dine.

She's servd them butt, she's servd them ben,

Intill a gown of green,

But her ee was ay on Brown Robin,

That stood low under the rain.

She's doen her to her bigly bowr,

As fast as she coud gang,

An there she's drawn her shot-window,

An she's harped an she sang.

'There sits a bird i my father's garden,

An O but she sings sweet!

I hope to live an see the day

Whan wi my love I'll meet.'

'O gin that ye like me as well

As your tongue tells to me,

What hour o the night, my lady bright,

At your bowr sal I be?'

'Whan my father an gay Gilbert

Are baith set at the wine,

O ready, ready I will be

To lat my true-love in.'

O she has birld her father's porter

Wi strong beer an wi wine,

Untill he was as beastly drunk

As ony wild-wood swine:

She's stown the keys o her father's yates

An latten her true-love in.

Whan night was gane, an day was come,

An the sun shone on their feet,

Then out it spake him Brown Robin,

I'll be discoverd yet.

Then out it spake that gay lady:

My love, ye need na doubt;

For wi ae wile I've got you in,

Wi anither I'll bring you out.

She's taen her to her father's cellar,

As fast as she can fare;

She's drawn a cup o the gude red wine,

Hung't low down by her gare;

An she met wi her father dear

Just coming down the stair.

'I woud na gi that cup, daughter,

That ye hold i your han

For a' the wines in my cellar,

An gantrees whare the stan.'

'O wae be to your wine, father,

That ever't came oer the sea;

'T'is pitten my head in sick a steer

I my bowr I canna be.'

'Gang out, gang out, my daughter dear,

Gang out an tack the air;

Gang out an walk i the good green wood,

An a' your marys fair.'

Then out it spake the proud porter--

Our lady wishd him shame--

We'll send the marys to the wood,

But we'll keep our lady at hame.'

'There's thirty marys i my bowr,

There's thirty o them an three;

But there's nae ane amo them a'

Kens what flowr gains for me.'

She's doen her to her bigly bowr,

As fast as she could gang,

An she has dresst him Brown Robin

Like ony bowr-woman.

The gown she pat upon her love

Was o the dainty green,

His hose was o the saft, saft silk,

His shoon o the cordwain fine.

She's pitten his bow in her bosom,

His arrow in her sleeve,

His sturdy bran her body next,

Because he was her love.

Then she is unto her bowr-door,

As fast as she coud gang;

But out it spake the proud porter--

Our lady wishd him shame--

We'll count our marys to the wood,

An we'll count them back again.'

The firsten mary she sent out

Was Brown Robin by name;

Then out it spake the king himsel,

'This is a sturdy dame.'

O she went out in a May morning,

In a May morning so gay,

But she came never back again,

Her auld father to see.

Christie's Traditional Ballad Airs, I, 136, from the

recitation of an old woman in Buckie, Enzie, Banffshire.

'A feathered fowl's in your orchard, father,

O dear, but it sings sweet!

What would I give, my father dear,

That bonnie bird to meet!'

What would I give, etc.

'O hold your tongue, my daughter Mary,

Let a' your folly be;

There's six Scots lords tomorrow, child,

That will a' dine wi me,

And ye maun serve them a', Mary,

As't were for meat and fee.'

She served them up, sae has she down,

The footmen a' the same,

But her mind was aye on Love Robbie,

Stood out below the rain.

A hundred pun o pennies roun,

Tied in a towel so sma,

She has gien to him Love Robbie,

Out oer the castle-wa;

Says, Tak ye that, my love Robbie.

And mysel ye may hae.

A hundred pun o pennies roun,

Tied in a napkin white,

She has gien to him Love Robbie,

Out oer the garden-dyke;

Says, Tak ye that, my Love Robbie,

And mysel gin ye like.

'If this be true ye tell to me,

As your tongue woudna lee,

I shall be in your bigly bower

Before the clock strike three;

I shall be in your bigly bower,

Dressd like a gay ladye.'

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,

And all men bound for bed,

Love Robbie came to Mary's bower,

Dressd like a comely maid.

They had not kissd nor love clappëd,

As lovers when they meet,

Till sighing said he Love Robbie,

My life, my life I doubt.

'Your life, your life, you Love Robbie,

Your life you needna doubt;

For it was wiles brought in Robbie,

And wiles will lat him out.'

Then in it came her father dear,

And stood upon the floor,

And she filld the cup of good red wine,

Said, Father, will ye drink more?

'O better I love the cup, Mary,

The cup that's in your hand,

Than all my barrels full of wine,

On the gantrees where they stand.'

'O woe be to your wine, father,

It eer came oer the sea!

If I getna the air o good greenwood

O I will surely dee.'

'There's seven maries in your bower,

There's seven o them and three,

And I'll send them to good greenwood,

For flowers to shortsome thee.'

'There's seven maries in my bower,

There's seven o them and three,

But there's nae a mary mang them a'

Can pu flowers to shortsome me:'

'Then by my sooth,' said her father dear,

'Let yoursel gang them wi.'

She dressd hersel in the royal red,

Love Robbie was in dainty green;

Love Robbie's brand was about his middle,

And he shone like ony queen.

The firsten ane that took the floor,

Love Robbie was that ane:

'Now by my sooth,' said the proud porter,

'She is a sonsie dame;

I would not care now very much

To turn her in again.'

'I'd fain see any woman or man,

Of high or low degree,

Would turn a mary in again

That once came out with me.'

They had not been in good greenwood,

Pu'd a flower but only three,

Till the porter stood behind a bush,

And shot him Love Robbie.

Now word has come to her father dear,

In the chamber where he lay,

Lady Mary's sick in good greenwood,

And cannot come away.

He's taen his mantle him about,

His cane into his han,

And he is on to good greenwood,

As fast as he could gang.

'O want you fish out o the fleed,

Or whale out o the sea?

Or is there any one alive

This day has angerd thee?'

'I want not fish out o the fleed,

Nor whale out o the sea;

But woe be to your proud porter,

Sae sair's he's angerd me!

He's shot the fairest flower this day,

That would hae comfort me.'

'O hold your tongue, my daughter Mary,

Let a' your folly be;

Tomorrow ere I eat or drink

High hangëd shall he be.'

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 299.

'There is a bird in my father's orchard,

And dear, but it sings sweet!

I hope to live to see the day

This bird and I will meet.'

'O hold your tongue, my daughter Mally,

Let a' your folly be;

What bird is that in my orchard

Sae shortsome is to thee?

'There are four-an-twenty noble lords

The morn shoud dine wi me;

And ye maun serve them a', Mally,

Like one for meat and fee.'

She servd the nobles all as one,

The horsemen much the same;

But her mind was aye to Brown Robyn,

Beneath the heavy rain.

Then she's rowd up a thousand pounds

Intil a servit white,

And she gae that to Brown Robyn,

Out ower the garden-dyke:

Says, Take ye that, my love Robyn,

And mysell gin ye like.

'If this be true, my dame,' he said,

'That ye hae tauld to me,

About the hour o twall at night,

At your bower-door I'll be.'

But ere the hour o twall did chap,

And lang ere it was ten,

She had hersell there right and ready

To lat Brown Robyn in.

They hadna kissd nor love clapped

Till the birds sang on the ha;

'O,' sighing says him Brown Robyn,

'I wish I were awa!'

They hadna sitten muckle langer

Till the guards shot ower the way;

Then sighing says him Brown Robyn,

'I fear my life this day.'

'O had your tongue, my love Robyn,

Of this take ye nae doubt;

It was by wiles I brought you in,

By wiles I'll bring you out.'

Then she's taen up a cup o wine,

To her father went she;

'O drink the wine, father,' she said,

'O drink the wine wi me.'

'O well love I the cup, daughter,

But better love I the wine;

And better love I your fair body

Than a' the gowd in Spain.'

'Wae be to the wine, father,

That last came ower the sea;

Without the air o gude greenwood,

There's nae remeid for me.'

'Ye've thirty maries in your bower,

Ye've thirty and hae three;

Send ane o them to pu a flower,

Stay ye at hame wi me.'

'I've thirty maries in my bower,

I've thirty o them and nine;

But there's nae a marie amo them a'

That kens my grief and mind.

'For they may pu the nut, the nut,

And sae may they the slae,

But there's nane amo them a' that kens

The herb that I woud hae.'

'Well, gin ye gang to gude greenwood,

Come shortly back again;

Ye are sae fair and are sae rare,

Your body may get harm.'

She dressd hersell into the red,

Brown Robyn all in green,

And put his brand across his middle,

He was a stately dame.

The first ane stepped ower the yett,

It was him Brown Robyn;

'By my sooth,' said the proud porter,

'This is a stately dame.

'O wi your leave, lady,' he said,

'And leave o a' your kin,

I woudna think it a great sin

To turn that marie in.'

'O had your tongue, ye proud porter,

Let a' your folly be;

Ye darena turn a marie in

That ance came forth wi me.'

'Well shall I call your maries out,

And as well shall I in;

For I am safe to gie my oath

That marie is a man.'

Soon she went to gude greenwood,

And soon came back again;

'Gude sooth,' replied the proud porter,

'We've lost our stately dame.'

'My maid's faen sick in gude greenwood,

And sick and liken to die;

The morn before the cocks do craw,

That marie I maun see.'

Out it spake her father then,

Says, Porter, let me know

If I will cause her stay at hame,

Or shall I let her go?

'She says her maid's sick in the wood,

And sick and like to die;

I really think she is too gude

Nor ever woud make a lie.'

Then he whispered in her ear,

As she was passing by,

'What will ye say if I reveal

What I saw wi my eye?'

'If ought ye ken about the same,

O heal that well on me,

And if I live or brook my life,

Rewarded ye shall be.'

Then she got leave o her father

To gude greenwood again,

And she is gane wi Brown Robyn,

But't was lang ere she came hame.

O then her father began to mourn,

And thus lamented he:

'O I woud gie ten thousand pounds

My daughter for to see.'

'If ye will promise,' the porter said,

'To do nae injury,

I will find out your daughter dear,

And them that's gane her wi.'

Then he did swear a solemn oath,

By a' his gowd and land,

Nae injury to them's be dune,

Whether it be maid or man.

The porter then a letter wrote,

And seald it wi his hand,

And sent it to that lady fair,

For to return hame.

When she came to her father's ha,

He received her joyfullie,

And married her to Brown Robyn;

Now a happy man was he.

She hadna been in her father's ha

A day but barely three,

Till she settled the porter well for life,

Wi gowd and white monie.

* * * * *

#A. a.#

_Written in stanzas of two long lines. The first stanza,

as given by Anderson, is:_

The king Val(?) and his nobles a'

Sat drinking at the wine;

He woud ha nane but his ae daughter

To wait on them at dine.

18^1. boson: _the king's daughter must have been_ "a

sturdy dame" too.

21^2. so gray. _The sun was up_: _see stanza 8_.

#b.#

1^2. Were drinking.

2^1. She served them butt.

2^2. Baith knights and gallants sheen.

2^3. was still.

3^2. might gang.

3^3. And she has.

4^1. in yonder tree.

4^2. vow but he.

4^4. my love and I shall.

5^1. Gin ye luve me as weel, fair maid.

6^1. my auld father.

6^2. Sit drinking.

6^3. will I.

7^1. has hired the proud porter.

7^2. Wi the ale but and the.

7^{5, 6}.

She's slipped aff hir silken sheen,

And saftly trippd she down;

She's stown the key o hir father's yate,

And let hir true love in.

8^2. shined.

8^3. out and spake.

9^1. O out and spake.

9^3. As wi ae wile I hae brought.

10^{1, 2}. _wanting._

10^5. she has met her auld.

10^6. Came creeping up.

11. _wanting._

12^2. ever it crossd.

12^3. It has put.

12^4. canna stay.

13^4. Wi a'

14^1. and spake.

14^2. send him.

14^4. But keep the princess.

15^4. flowr's gude.

16^1. hied her.

16^2. Sae fast as she might.

16^{3, 4}.

She's putten a goun upon hir love

Was of the dainty green.

17^{1, 2}.

The girdle round his stately waist

Wi gowd and silver shone.

17^3. His stockings o.

17^4. And his shune o the cordovan.

18^1. She put.

18^2. up her.

18^3. her fair side next.

19. _wanting._

20^3. By the faith o my body, then said the king.

20^4. a lusty.

21^1. gaed out.

21^2. sae gay.

BROWN ADAM

#A.# 'Brown Adam,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 17.

#B.# 'Broun Edom,' Harris MS., fol. 27 b, No 26.

#C.# 'Brown Adam the Smith,' Buchan MSS, I, 46.

'Brown Adam' was No 14 of the fifteen ballads furnished William Tytler

by Mrs Brown in 1783: Anderson, in Nichols's Illustrations, VII, 178.

The ballad was first printed in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border,

II, 16, 1802, with the omission of Mrs Brown's second stanza, and some

changes. Scott remarks that he had seen a copy printed on a single

sheet.

#C# 1, 3, 6, 7 are very close to #A# 1, 2, 3, 4. #A# 2 was not printed

by Scott, and if these stanzas were borrowed, #A# 2 must have been

taken from the Jamieson MS., to which other cases of correspondence

warrant a suspicion that one of Buchan's contributors had access. #C#

has the usual marks of Buchan's copies, great length, vulgarity, and

such extravagance and absurdity as are found in stanzas 23, 26, 29.

A Danish ballad, from manuscripts of the sixteenth century and later,

has a remote likeness to 'Brown Adam:' 'Den afhugne Haand,' Grundtvig,

No 199, IV, 153. Lawi Pedersøn, who has shown bad faith to women, makes

love to Lutzelil, who knows his ways, and rejects him summarily. Lawi

rides off in wrath, saying that she shall be sorry for it. The maid

is afraid to go to church for nine months, but ventures at Easter.

Lawi stops her in a wood. She begs him to do her no harm, feigns to be

amenable, and gives him an assignation at an off-lying apartment in

which she sleeps with her maids; then rides away, laughing over her

successful evasion. She tells her father how she has met Lawi, and begs

him to be on the watch. Lawi comes at night, knocks, and is answered,

according to the formula of Danish ballads, that she has made no

appointment and he cannot come in. Lawi threatens to take off the door,

and does so. Lutzelil's father is standing ready with his sword, and

cuts off Lawi's hand.

* * * * *

The copy in Scott's Minstrelsy is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske

og skotske Folkeviser, No 45, p. 291; by Schubart, p. 65; Arndt,

Blütenlese, p. 231; Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 29, p.

130; Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 2, p. 5.

Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 17.

O wha woud wish the win to blaw,

Or the green leaves fa therewith?

Or wha wad wish a leeler love

Than Brown Adam the Smith?

His hammer's o the beaten gold,

His study's o the steel,

His fingers white are my delite,

He blows his bellows well.

But they ha banishd him Brown Adam

Frae father and frae mither,

An they ha banishd him Brown Adam

Frae sister and frae brither.

And they ha banishd Brown Adam

Frae the flowr o a' his kin;

An he's biggit a bowr i the good green wood

Betwen his lady an him.

O it fell once upon a day

Brown Adam he thought lang,

An he woud to the green wood gang,

To hunt some venison.

He's ta'en his bow his arm oer,

His bran intill his han,

And he is to the good green wood,

As fast as he coud gang.

O he's shot up, an he's shot down,

The bird upo the briar,

An he's sent it hame to his lady,

Bade her be of good cheer.

O he's shot up, an he's shot down,

The bird upo the thorn,

And sent it hame to his lady,

And hee'd be hame the morn.

Whan he came till his lady's bowr-door

He stood a little foreby,

And there he heard a fu fa'se knight

Temptin his gay lady.

O he's taen out a gay gold ring,

Had cost him mony a poun:

'O grant me love for love, lady,

An this sal be your own.'

'I loo Brown Adam well,' she says,

'I wot sae does he me;

An I woud na gi Brown Adam's love

For nae fa'se knight I see.'

Out has he ta'en a purse of gold,

Was a' fu to the string:

'Grant me but love for love, lady,

An a' this sal be thine.'

'I loo Brown Adam well,' she says,

'An I ken sae does he me;

An I woudna be your light leman

For mair nor ye coud gie.'

Then out has he drawn his lang, lang bran,

And he's flashd it in her een:

'Now grant me love for love, lady,

Or thro you this sal gang!'

'O,' sighing said that gay lady,

'Brown Adam tarrys lang!'

Then up it starts Brown Adam,

Says, I'm just at your han.

He's gard him leave his bow, his bow,

He's gard him leave his bran;

He's gard him leave a better pledge,

Four fingers o his right han.

Harris MS., fol. 27 b, No 26.

. . . . . . .

For wha ere had a lealer luve

Than Broun Edom the smith?

His studie was o the beaten gowd,

His hammer o the pith;

His cords waur o the gude green silk,

That blew his bellows with.

It fell out ance upon a time

Broun Edom he thoucht lang,

That he wald gae to see his luve,

By the le licht o the mune.

Buchan MSS, I, 46.

O wha woud wish the win to blaw,

The green leaves fa therewith?

O wha would wish a leeler luve

Than Brown Adam the Smith?

O he forsook the royal court,

And knights and lords sae gude,

And he is to the black smithy,

To learn to shoe a steed.

His hammer-shaft o gude red gowd,

His studdy o the steel,

His fingers whyte, and maids' delight,

And blaws his bellows weel.

He being a favourite with the king

Caused him get mony a fae,

And sae their plots they did contrive

To work him grief and wae.

Of treason then he was accused

By his fause enemie,

Which caused the king to make a vow

That banishd he shoud be.

Then banishd hae they Brown Adam

Frae father and frae mither,

And banishd hae they him Brown Adam

Frae sister and frae brither.

And they hae banishd him Brown Adam,

The flower o a' his kin;

He built a bower in gude green wood,

For his true love and him.

But it fell ance upon a day

The king's young son thought lang,

And minded him on Brown Adam,

Oft rade on his right han.

Then he sent for him Brown Adam,

To shoe his milk-white steed,

That he might see him ance in court,

Mang knights o noble bleed.

When Brown Adam he read these lines,

A light laugh then gae hee:

'What's this that's made their hearts to fa,

They lang sae sair for mee?'

Then out it speaks his gay ladye:

Brown Adam, bide wi mee;

For if ye gang to court, I fear

Your face I'll never see.

'Cheer up your heart, my ain true-love,

Let naething cause your grief;

Though I be absent for some days,

Ye seen will get relief.'

Then he has kissd his gay ladye,

And rade alang the lay,

And hunted a' the wild birds there,

As he rade on the way.

He shot the bunting o the bush,

The linnet o the brier,

And sent them on to gude green wood,

His ladye's heart to cheer.

He shot the bunting o the bush,

The linnet o the wand,

And sent them on to his ladye,

Forbade her to think lang.

He shot the bunting o the bush,

The linnet o the thorn,

And sent them on to his ladye,

Said he'd be hame the morn.

A thought then came into his mind,

As he rade on the way,

Some evil in his absence might

Befa his ladye gay.

Now when he had the prince' steed shod,

And bound again to ryde,

He turned his horse to Ringlewood;

Some days he meant to byde.

But when he turned to Ringlewood,

Ae foot's horse woudna ryde;

Whan he turned to his luver's bower,

He flew like ony glyde.

When he drew near to his luve's bower,

There he alighted down,

For the hearing o his great horse tramp

Ere he wan to the town.

Whan he came to his luver's bower,

He heard a dolefu din;

He wasna aware o a fu fause knight,

His true-love's bower within.

He bound his steed to his ain stall,

And gae him corn and hay,

And listened at a shott-window,

To hear what he would say.

The first and thing the knight drew out,

It was a coffer fine;

It was as fu o gude black silk,

Make ladyes for to shine.

'Ye are too lack o luve, ladye,

And that's a hatefu thing;

Luve me, and lat Brown Adam be,

And a' this shall be thine.'

'O well I like Brown Adam,' she said,

'I wyte hee hates nae mee;

I winna forsake him Brown Adam

For a' your gifts an thee.'

The next and thing the knight drew out,

It was a coffer small;

It was as fou o shambo gluves,

Woud had her hands frae caul.

'Ye are too lack o luve, ladye,

An that's a hatefu thing;

Luve me, an lat Brown Adam be,

An a' this shall be thine.'

'O well like I Brown Adam,' she said,

'I'm sure he hates nae me;

I winna forsake him Brown Adam

For a' your gifts an thee.'

The next and thing the knight drew out

It was a coffer fine;

It was as fu of gude red gowd

As a guinea coud get in.

'You are too lack o luve, ladye,

And that's a hatefu thing;

Luve me, and lat Brown Adam be,

And a' this shall be thine.'

'O well I like Brown Adam,' she said,

'I'm sure hee hates nae mee;

I winna forsake him Brown Adam

For a' the gowd ye 'll gie.'

Then his mild mood did quickly change,

And grew mair fierce and cruel,

And then drew out a trusty brand,

Which made her heart to pruel.

'Since I by you am slighted sae,

Since I frae you maun part,

I swear a vow before I gae,

That this shall pierce your heart.'

'But still I like Brown Adam,' she said,

'I wat hee hates nae mee;

And if he knew my troubles now

At my call woud hee be.

'Although he were sax miles awa,

He'd seen be at my han;

But wae is me, sae may I say,

Brown Adam tarries lang!'

He hit the door then wi his foot,

Made a' the bands to flee:

'Cheer up your heart, my luve Janet,

Your love's nae far frae thee.'

Then he drew out a trusty brand,

And chassd him thro the ha;

The knight jumpd to a shott-window,

And woud hae been awa.

'Stay still, stay still,' Brown Adam said,

'Make nae sic haste frae mee;

You or I maun rue the race

That I came ower the lee.'

Then frae the knight he's taen a wad,

His mantle and his brand;

Likewise he's taen anither wad,

His sword and his sword-hand.

He threw him ower the shott-window,

Bade him lie there wi care,

And never come back to gude green wood

To marr fair ladies mair.

'O I am brown,' said Brown Adam,

'And I was never whyte;

But my love has robes o different hues,

To wear at her delyght.

'Her kirchies be o cambricks fine,

Wi gowd pinnd to the chin;

Her robes shall be o the scarlet hue

She shall gang daily in.'

* * * * *

#A.#

_Anderson cites the first stanza, in exact agreement with

the Jamieson MS., except that the third line begins with

~O~._

3^2. mother (?).

7^4. Beede (?).

15^2. long.

JOHNIE SCOT

#A.# 'Jack, the Little Scot,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 5.

#B.# 'McNaughtan,' Glenriddell MSS, XI, 78.

#C.# 'Johnie Scot,' Motherwell's MS., p. 213.

#D.# 'Johnnie Scot,' Motherwell's MS., p. 205.

#E.# 'McNachton,' Motherwell's MS., p. 113.

#F.# 'Bonnie Johnie Scot,' Motherwell's MS., p. 211.

#G.# 'Johnie Scott,' Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 35;

Motherwell's MS., p. 394.

#H.# 'Love Johny,' Kinloch MSS, VI, 53.

#I.# 'Johnie Buneftan,' Kinloch MSS, VII, 39, 41, 43, 45,

47, 49.

#J.# Kinloch MSS, VII, 40, 42, 46, 49.

#K.# 'Johnie, the Little Scot,' Kinloch MSS, I, 311.

#L.# 'Johnnie Scott,' Campbell MSS, I, 57.

#M.# 'Lord Johnnie Scott,' Campbell MSS, II, 335.

#N.# 'Lord John,' Buchan's Gleanings, p. 122.

#O.# 'Johnie Scot,' communicated by Mr Macmath.

#P.# Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 11.

#A# was No 2 of the fifteen ballads in William Tytler's lost Brown

MS.: Nichols's Illustrations, VII, 176. There is a copy of #A# in the

Abbotsford MS., "Scottish Songs," fol. 24, with many wilful alterations

and a few readings from tradition. The ballad printed in Motherwell's

Minstrelsy, p. 204, is a compound of #C#, #D#, #E#, and the one in

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 77, is made up from #I#, #J#,

"recited versions obtained in the north and west" of Scotland, with

some slight changes.

The story of 'Willie o Winsbury,' No 100, has considerable resemblance

to that of 'Johnie Scot,' but Willie's extreme beauty moves the king,

the lady's father, to offer his daughter to him in marriage, without a

combat. Mrs Brown's version of 'Willie o Douglas Dale,' No 101, #A#,

begins with the first stanza of her version of 'Johnie Scot,' #A#. So

does 'Young Betrice,' another ballad of hers, No 5 of William Tytler's

MS.:

Young Betrice was as brave a knight

As ever saild the sea,

And he's taen him to the court of France,

To serve for meat and fee.

Anderson, who cites this stanza, Nichols's Illustrations, as above,

remarks: "The conduct of the story is different from that of No 2

['Jack, the Little Scot'], which it resembles. Some of the lines are

in 'Gil Morrice.'" 'Young Betrice' may possibly be a variety of 'Hugh

Spencer:' see 'Hugh Spencer,' #C#.

There is resemblance to 'Child Maurice,' No 83, besides the commonplace

of the messenger-boy, in the sending of a token to the lady, #A# 12,

13, #D# 6, #E# 2, #H# 4, 5, #J# 4, #M# 8, #N# 11, 12; 'Child Maurice,'

#A# 7, 8, #B# 3, 4, #C# 3, 4, 5, #D#, #E# 6, 7, #F# 17, 18. In the

present ballad the token is a sark of silk (#M# 8, simply shirt); so in

'Child Maurice,' #D# 7, #F# 18. The blessing on the errand-boy, #A# 8,

is found in 'Fair Mary of Wallington,' No 91, #B# 9.

While John, the Scot, is in service at the English court, the king's

daughter becomes with child to him. She is thrown into prison. Johnie,

who has fled to Scotland, sends a messenger to her with a token which

she will recognize, urging her to come to him. An answer is returned

that she is in chains. Johnie resolves to go to the rescue. He is

warned of the danger, but a body of Scots attends him, five hundred

men, #A-D#, #O#, twenty-four, #E#, #G#, #I#; all unmarried, #B#, #D#,

#E#, #G#, #H#, #I#, #O#. When he arrives at the English court, the king

asks his name. His name is Pitnachton, #A# 26; McNaughtan, #B# 17, #E#

14, cf. #C# 16; Auchney, #H# 21; Buneftan, #I# 14; Johnie Scot, Love

John, #C# 17, #K# 12, #L# 13, #N# 26; Earl Hector, #D# 18. The king

will hang the Scot on his daughter's account. Resistance is threatened

by Johnie's friends. The king has a champion who will fight them three

by three, #A# 29, #B# 20, #E# 18, #F# 17, #N# 30. This champion is an

Italian, #A# 29, #I# 17, #L# 16, #N# 31, #O# 8; an Itilian, #H# 27;

Talliant, Tailliant, #C# 22, #D# 23, #F# 17, #G# 16. The Scot kills the

Italian in a duel. In #C# 24, #D# 25, #F# 19, #G# 18, the Italian jumps

over Johnie's head, skims over it like a swallow, and is apparently run

through while so doing. Johnie calls for a priest to marry his love and

him, the king for a clerk to write the tocher. But tocher is refused by

the Scot, who wants only his dearly won lady.

The champion is described in #A# 31 as a gurious (grugous, gruous?)

ghost; in #H# 27 as a greecy (frightful) ghost; in #L# 18 he is a

fearsome sight, with three women's-spans between his brows and three

yards between his shoulders; in the Abbotsford copy of #A#, 29, 30,

a grisly sight, with a span between his eyes, between his shoulders

three and three, and Johnie scarcely reaching his knee. These points

are probably taken from another and a later ballad, which is perhaps an

imitation, and might almost be called a parody, of Johnie Scot, 'Lang

Johnny Moir:' see Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 248.

The process of striping a sword oer a stane or to the stran, #N# 28,

#H# 28, striking it across the plain, #A# 32, #K# 14, is that of

whetting or wiping, already noted under No 81, II, 243 f. To the places

cited there may be added 'Child Maurice,' #F# 30, 'Jellon Grame,'

No 90, #B# 8, 21, #C# 14, 'The Baffled Knight,' No 112, #A# 10. #G#

20^2 is a manifest corruption, a repetition of 17^2; #K# 14 has been

corrected, in conformity with #A# 32.

The Rev. Andrew Hall, in his Interesting Roman Antiquities recently

discovered in Fife, 1823, p. 216, relates the following story, on

traditional authority.[164] James Macgill, of Lindores, had killed

Sir Robert Balfour, of Denmiln, in a duel which he had wished to

avoid, about the year 1679. Macgill "immediately went up to London

in order to procure his pardon, which it seems the king, Charles the

Second, offered to grant him upon condition of his fighting an Italian

gladiator or bravo, or, as he was then called, a bully; which, it is

said, none could be found to do.... Accordingly a large stage was

erected for the exhibition before the king and court.... Sir James,

it is said, stood on the defensive till the bully had spent himself a

little, being a taller man than Sir James. In his mighty gasconading

and bravadoing he actually leaped over the knight as if he would

swallow him alive, but in attempting to do this a second time Sir James

run his sword up through him, and then called out, 'I have spitted him;

let them roast him who will.' This not only procured his pardon, but he

was also knighted on the spot."

The exploit of Johnie Scot, and, if you please, of Sir James Macgill,

has been achieved as well on the south side of the English Channel. The

Breton seigneur Les Aubrays, or Lizandré, of St Brieux, is ordered by

the French king to undertake a combat with his wild Moor. Les Aubrays

asks a page, who brings the king's command, about the Moor's fashion of

fighting. The Moor is master of devilish magic, and has herbs about him

by virtue of which any wounds he may get are soon healed. The Breton

is told, among other things, that he must throw holy water at the Moor

the moment the savage draws, and when the Moor makes a leap in the air

he must receive him on the point of his sword. These instructions are

followed with perfect success. When the Moor is "swimming" in the air,

Lizandré so disposes his sword as to take him on it. Luzel, 'Lezobre,'

etc., 'Les Aubrays et le More du Roi,' second and third versions,

I, 300-03, 294, 295; 'Le Géant Lizandré II, 568-71, 'Le Géant Les

Aubrays,' 576-79; Poésies populaires de la France, MS., vol. i, near

the beginning. Though the brave Breton is called giant in the title

of Luzel's last two versions, nothing is said in the ballads of his

being of unusual proportions. He is victorious in nineteen fights, but

it is because of his profuse liberality to St Anne; it borders on the

irreligious, therefore, to call him a giant.[165]

* * * * *

The copy in Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 204, is translated by Wolff,

Halle der Völker, I, 15, Hausschatz, p. 210.

Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 5.

O Johney was as brave a knight

As ever saild the sea,

An he's done him to the English court,

To serve for meat and fee.

He had nae been in fair England

But yet a little while,

Untill the kingis ae daughter

To Johney proves wi chil.

O word's come to the king himsel,

In his chair where he sat,

That his ae daughter was wi bairn

To Jack, the Little Scott.

'Gin this be true that I do hear,

As I trust well it be,

Ye pit her into prison strong,

An starve her till she die.'

O Johney's on to fair Scotland,

A wot he went wi speed,

An he has left the kingis court,

A wot good was his need.

O it fell once upon a day

That Johney he thought lang,

An he's gane to the good green wood,

As fast as he coud gang.

'O whare will I get a bonny boy,

To rin my errand soon,

That will rin into fair England,

An haste him back again?'

O up it starts a bonny boy,

Gold yallow was his hair,

I wish his mither meickle joy,

His bonny love mieckle mair.

'O here am I, a bonny boy,

Will rin your errand soon;

I will gang into fair England,

An come right soon again.'

O whan he came to broken briggs,

He bent his bow and swam;

An whan he came to the green grass growan,

He slaikid his shoone an ran.

Whan he came to yon high castèl,

He ran it roun about,

An there he saw the king's daughter,

At the window looking out.

'O here's a sark o silk, lady,

Your ain han sewd the sleeve;

You'r bidden come to fair Scotlan,

Speer nane o your parents leave.

'Ha, take this sark o silk, lady,

Your ain han sewd the gare;

You're bidden come to good green wood,

Love Johney waits you there.'

She's turnd her right and roun about,

The tear was in her ee:

'How can I come to my true-love,

Except I had wings to flee?

'Here am I kept wi bars and bolts,

Most grievous to behold;

My breast-plate's o the sturdy steel,

Instead of the beaten gold.

'But tak this purse, my bonny boy,

Ye well deserve a fee,

An bear this letter to my love,

An tell him what you see.'

Then quickly ran the bonny boy

Again to Scotlan fair,

An soon he reachd Pitnachton's towrs,

An soon found Johney there.

He pat the letter in his han

An taul him what he sa,

But eer he half the letter read,

He loote the tears doun fa.

'O I will gae back to fair Englan,

Tho death shoud me betide,

An I will relieve the damesel

That lay last by my side.'

Then out it spake his father dear,

My son, you are to blame;

An gin you'r catchd on English groun,

I fear you'll neer win hame.

Then out it spake a valiant knight,

Johny's best friend was he;

I can commaun five hunder men,

An I'll his surety be.

The firstin town that they came till,

They gard the bells be rung;

An the nextin town that they came till,

They gard the mess be sung.

The thirdin town that they came till,

They gard the drums beat roun;

The king but an his nobles a'

Was startld at the soun.

Whan they came to the king's palace

They rade it roun about,

An there they saw the king himsel,

At the window looking out.

'Is this the Duke o Albany,

Or James, the Scottish king?

Or are ye some great foreign lord,

That's come a visiting?'

'I'm nae the Duke of Albany,

Nor James, the Scottish king;

But I'm a valiant Scottish knight,

Pitnachton is my name.'

'O if Pitnachton be your name,

As I trust well it be,

The morn, or I tast meat or drink,

You shall be hanged hi.'

Then out it spake the valiant knight

That came brave Johney wi;

Behold five hunder bowmen bold,

Will die to set him free.

Then out it spake the king again,

An a scornfu laugh laugh he;

I have an Italian i my house

Will fight you three by three.

'O grant me a boon,' brave Johney cried;

'Bring your Italian here;

Then if he fall beneath my sword,

I've won your daughter dear.'

Then out it came that Italian,

An a gurious ghost was he;

Upo the point o Johney's sword

This Italian did die.

Out has he drawn his lang, lang bran,

Struck it across the plain:

'Is there any more o your English dogs

That you want to be slain?'

'A clark, a clark,' the king then cried,

'To write her tocher free;'

'A priest, a priest,' says Love Johney,

'To marry my love and me.

'I'm seeking nane o your gold,' he says,

'Nor of your silver clear;

I only seek your daughter fair,

Whose love has cost her dear.'

Glenriddell MSS, XI, 78: 1791.

Johnny's into England gane,

Three quarters of a year;

Johnny's into England gane,

The king's banner to bear.

He had na been in England lang,

But and a little while,

Untill the king's daughter

To Johnny gaes wi child.

Word is to the kitchin gane,

And word is to the ha,

And word is to the king's palace,

Amang the nobles a'.

Word's gane to the king's palace,

The palace where she sat,

That his ae daughter gaes wi child

To Jock, the Little Scot.

'If she be wi child,' he says,

'As I trow well she be,

I'll put her into strang prison,

And hang her till she die.'

But up and spak young Johnny,

And O he spake in time:

Is there never a bony boy here

Will rin my errand soon?

That will gae to yon castle,

And look it round about?

And there he'll see a fair lady,

The window looking out.

Up then spak a bony boy,

And a bony boy was he:

I'll run thy errand, Johnny, he said,

Untill the day I die.

'Put on your gown o silk, madam,

And on your hand a glove,

And gang into the good green-wood,

To Johnny, your true-love.'

'The fetters they are on my feet,

And O but they are cauld!

My bracelets they are sturdy steel,

Instead of beaten gold.

'But I will write a lang letter,

And seal it tenderlie,

And I will send to my true-love,

Before that I do die.'

The first look that Johnny lookd,

A loud laughter gae he;

But the next look that Johnny gae,

The tear blinded his ee.

He says, I'll into England gae,

Whatever may betide,

And a' to seek a fair woman

That sud hae been my bride.

But up and speaks his father,

And O he spak in time:

If that ye into England gae,

I'm feerd ye neer come hame.

But up then speaks our gude Scotch king,

And a brisk young man was he:

He's hae five hunder o my life-guard,

To bear him companie.

When Johnny was on saddle set,

And seemly for to see,

There was not a married man

Into his companie.

When Johnny sat on saddle-seat,

And seemly to behold,

The hair that hang on Johnny's head

Was like the threads o gold.

When he cam to ...

He gard the bells a' ring,

Untill the king and a' his court

Did marvel at the thing.

'Is this the brave Argyle,' he said,

'That's landed and come hame?

Is this the brave Argyle,' he said,

'Or James, our Scottish king?'

'It's no the brave Argyle,' they said,

'That's landed and come hame;

But it is a brave young Scottish knight,

M^cNaughtan is his name.'

'If M^cNaughtan be his name,' he says,

'As I trow weel it be,

The fairest lady in a' my court

Gangs wi child to thee.'

'If that she be wi child,' he says,

'As I wat weel she be,

I'll mak it lord o a' my land,

And her my gay lady.'

'I have a champion in my court

Will fight you a' by three;'

But up then speaks a brisk young man,

And a brisk young man was he:

I will fight to my life's end,

Before poor Johnny die.

The king but and his nobles a'

Went out into the plain,

The queen but and her maidens a',

To see young Johnny slain.

The first wound that Johnny gae the champion

Was a deep wound and sair;

The next wound that he gae the champion,

He never spak mair.

'A priest, a priest,' young Johnny cries,

'To wed me and my love;'

'A clerk, a clerk,' the king he cries,

'To sign her tocher gude.'

'I'll hae nane o your goud,' he says,

'I'll hae nane o your gear,

But a' I want is my true-love,

For I hae bought her dear.'

He took out a little goat-horn,

And blew baith loud and shill;

The victry's into Scotland gane,

Tho sair against their will.

Motherwell's MS., p. 213: from the recitation of Mrs

Thomson, Kilbarchan.

O Johnie's to the hunting gone,

Unto the woods sae wild,

And Earl Percy's old daughter

To Johnie goes with child.

O word is to the kitchen gone,

And word is to the ha,

And word is to the highest towers,

Amang the nobles a'.

'If she be with child,' her father said,

'As woe forbid it be,

I'll put her into a prison strong,

And try the veritie.'

'But if she be with child,' her mother said,

'As woe forbid it be,

I'll put her intil a dungeon dark,

And hunger her till she die.'

Then she has wrote a braid letter,

And sealed it wi her hand,

And sent it to the merry green wood,

Wi her own boy at command.

The first line of the letter he read,

His heart was full of joy;

But he had not read a line past two

Till the salt tears blind his eye.

'O I must up to England go,

What ever me betide,

For to relieve that fair ladie

That lay last by my side.'

Out and spak his father then,

And he spak all in time:

Johnie, if ye to England go,

I fear ye'll neer return.

But out and spak his uncle then,

And he spak bitterlie:

Five hundred of my good life-guards

Shall go along with thee.

When they were mounted on their steeds,

They were comely to behold;

The hair that hung owre Johnie's shoulders

Was like the yellow gold.

The first town that they came to,

They made the bells to ring;

And when they rode the town all owre,

They made the trumpets sound.

When they came to Earl Percy's gates,

They rode them round about,

And who saw he but his own true-love,

At a window looking out!

'The doors they are bolted with iron and steel,

The windows round about;

My feet they are in fetters strong;

And how can I get out?

'My garters they are of the lead,

And oh but they be cold!

My breast-plate's of the beaten steel,

Instead of beaten gold.'

But when they came to Earl Percy's yett,

They tirled at the pin;

None was so ready as Earl Percy

To open and let them in.

'Art thou the King of Aulsberry,

Or art thou the King of Spain?

Or art thou one of our gay Scots lords,

M^cNachtan by thy name?'

'I'm not the King of Aulsberry,

Nor yet the King of Spain;

But I am one of our gay Scots lords,

Johnie Scot I am called by name.'

'If Johnie Scot be thy name,' he said,

'As I trow weel it be,

The fairest lady in a' our court

Gaes big with child to thee.'

'If she be with child,' fair Johnie said,

'As I trow weel she be,

I'll make it heir owre a' my land,

And her my gay ladie.'

'But if she be with child,' her father said,

'As I trow weel she be,

Tomorrow morn again eight o clock

High hanged thou shalt be.'

But out and spak his uncle then,

And he spak bitterlie:

Before that we see Johnie Scot slain,

We'll a' fight till we die.

'But is there ever a Tailliant about your court,

That will fight duels three?

Before that I be hanged or slain,

On the Tailliant's sword I'll die.'

But some is to the good green wood,

And some is to the plain,

Either to see fair Johnie hanged,

Or else to see him slain.

And they began at eight o clock of the morning,

And they fought on till three,

Till the Tailliant, like a swallow swift,

Owre Johnie's head did flee.

But Johnie being a clever young boy,

He wheeled him round about,

And on the point of Johnie's broad sword

The Tailliant he slew out.

'A priest, a priest,' fair Johnie cried,

'To wed my love and me;'

'A clerk, a clerk,' her father cried,

'To sum the tocher free.'

'I'll have none of your gold,' fair Johnie said,

'Nor none of your white monie;

But I will have my own fair bride,

For I vow that I've bought her dear.'

He's taen his true-love by the hand,

He led her up the plain:

'Have you any more of your English dogs

You want for to have slain?'

He took a little horn out of his pocket,

He blew it baith loud and shill,

And honour's into Scotland gone,

In spite of England's skill.

Motherwell MS., p. 205: #a#, "words and tune from Mrs

McNiccol," of Paisley, native of the parish of Houston;

#b#, variations from "John Lindsay, cowfeeder, Wallace

Street, Paisley."

O Johnnie Scot walks up and down

Among the woods sae wild;

Who but the Earl of Percy's ae daughter

To him goes big with child!

O word is to the kitchen gone,

And word's gone to the hall,

And word is to King Henry gane,

And amongst his nobles all.

O Johnnie's called his waiting-man,

His name was Germanie:

'O thou must to fair England go,

Bring me that fair ladie.'

He rode till he came to Earl Percy's gate,

He tirled at the pin;

'O who is there?' said the proud porter,

'But I daurna let thee in.'

So he rade up, and he rode down,

Till he rode it round about;

Then he saw her at a wee window,

Where she was looking out.

'O thou must go to Johnnie Scot,

Unto the woods so green,

In token of thy silken shirt,

Thine own hand sewed the seam.'

'How can I go to Johnnie Scot?

Or how can I get out?

My breast plate's o the hard, hard iron,

With fetters round about.

'But I will write a lang letter,

And give it unto thee,

And thou must take that to Johnnie Scot,

See what answer he sends to me.'

When Johnnie looked the letter upon

A sorry man was he;

He had not read one line but two

Till the saut tear did blind his ee.

'O I must to fair England go,

Whatever me betide,

All for to fight for that gay ladie

That last lay by my side.'

O out and spoke his father then,

And he spoke well in time:

O if you to fair England go,

I doubt your coming home.

'O no, O no,' said good King James,

'Before such a thing shall be,

I'll send five hundred of my life-guards,

To bear Johnnie company.'

When they were all on saddle set,

Most pleasant to behold,

The hair that hung over Johnnie's neck

Was like the links of gold.

When they were all marching away,

Most beautiful to see,

There was not so much as a married man

In Johnnie's company.

O Johnnie was the foremost man

In the company that did ride;

King James he was the second man,

Wi his rapier by his side.

They rode till they came to Earl Percy's yate,

They tirled at the pin:

'O who is there?' said the proud porter;

'But I daurnot let thee in.

'Is it the Duke of York,' he said,

'Or James, our Scotish king?

Or is it one of the Scotish lords,

From hunting new come home?'

'It's not the Duke of York,' he said,

'Nor James, our Scotish king;

But it is one of the Scotish lords,

Earl Hector is my name.'

When Johnnie came before the king,

He fell low down on his knee:

'O the brawest lady in a' my court

With child goes big to thee.'

'O if she be with child,' Johnnie said,

'As I trew well she be,

I will make it heir of all my land,

And her my gay ladie.'

'But if she be with child,' said the king,

'As I trew well she be,

Before the morn at ten o clock

High hanged thou shalt be.'

'O no, O no,' said good King James,

'Before such a thing shall be,

Before that Johnnie Scot be hanged,

We'll a' fight till we die.'

'But there is a Talliant in my court,

Of men he will fight five;

Go bring them out to the green wood,

See wha will gain the prize.'

Lords and ladies flocked all,

They flocked all amain,

They flocked all to the green wood,

To see poor Johnnie slain.

This Talliant he could find no way

To be poor Johnnie's dead,

But, like unto a swallow swift,

He jumped oer Johnnie's head.

But Johnnie was a clever man,

Cunning and crafty withal,

And up on the top of his braid sword

He made this Talliant fall.

'A priest, a priest,' then Johnnie cried,

'To marry my love and me;'

'A clerk, a clerk,' her father cried,

'To sum the tocher free.'

'I'll take none of your gold,' Johnnie said,

'Nor none of your other gear,

But I'll just have my own true-love,

This day I've won her dear.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 113; from the recitation of T. Risk.

M^cNaughton's unto England gane,

The king's banner to bear:

'O do you see yon castle, boy?

It's walled round about;

There you will spy a fair ladye,

In the window looking out.'

'Here is a silken sark, fair lady,

Thine own hand sewed the sleeve,

And thou must go to yon green wood,

To Johnnie thy true-love.'

'The castle it is high, my boy,

And walled round about;

My feet are in the fetters strong,

And how can I get out?

'My garters o the gude black iron,

And they are very cold;

My breast plate's of the sturdy steel,

Instead of beaten gold.

'But had I paper, pen and ink,

And candle at my command,

It's I would write a lang letter

To John in fair Scotland.'

The first line that Johnnie looked on,

A loud, loud lauch leuch he;

The second line that Johnnie looked on,

The tear did blind his ee.

Says, I must unto England go,

Whatever me betide,

For to relieve my own fair lady,

That lay last by my side.

Then up and spoke Johnnie's auld mither,

A well spoke woman was she:

If you do go to England, Johnnie,

I may take farewell o thee.

Then up and spoke Johnnie's old father,

A well spoke man was he:

It's twenty-four of my gay troop

Shall go along with thee.

When Johnie was on saddle set,

Right comely to be seen,

There was not so much as a married man

In Johnie's companie;

There was not so much as a married man,

Not a one only but ane.

The first gude toun that Johnie came to,

He made the bells be rung;

The next gude toun that Johnie came to,

He made the psalms be sung.

The next gude toun that Johnie came to,

He made the drums beat round,

Till the king and all his merry men

A-marvelled at the sound.

'Are you the Duke of Mulberry,

Or James, our Scotish king?

Are you the Duke of Mulberry,

From Scotland new come home?'

'I'm not the Duke of Mulberry,

Nor James, our Scotish king;

But I am a true Scotishman,

M^cNaughtoun is my name.'

'If M^cNaughtoun be your name,' he said,

'As I trew well it be,

The fairest lady in a' my court

She goes with child to thee.

'If M^cNauchton be your name,' he said,

'As I trew well it be,

Tomorrow morn by eight o clock

O hanged you shall be.'

O Johnie had a bonnie little boy,

His name was Germany:

'Before that we be all hanged, my sovereign,

We'll fight you till we die.'

'Say on, say on, my bonnie little boy,

It is well spoken of thee,

For there is a campioun in my court

Shall fight you three by three.'

Next morning about eight o'clock

The king and his merry men,

The queen and all her maidens fair,

Came whistling down the green,

To see the cruel fight begin,

And see poor Johnnie slain.

They fought on, and Johnie fought on,

Wi swords of tempered steel,

Until the drops of red, red blood

Ran prinkling down the field.

They fought on, and Johnie fought on,

They fought so manfullie

They left not a man alive in all the king's court,

Not a man only but three.

'A priest, a priest,' poor Johnie cries,

'To wed my love and me;'

'A clerk, a clerk,' the king did cry,

'To write her portion free.'

'I'll have none of your gold,' he says,

'Nor none of your white money,

But I will have mine own fair lady,

Who has been dear to me.'

Johnie put a horn unto his mouth,

He blew it wondrous schill;

The sound is unto Scotland gane,

Sair against all their will.

He put his horn to his mouth,

He blew it ower again,

And aye the sound the horn cried,

'M^cNaughtoun's cure to them!'

Motherwell's MS., p. 211; from the recitation of Agnes

Laird, Kilbarchan, 21 June, 1825.

Word has to the kitchen gane,

And word has to the ha,

And word has to the king himsell,

In the chamber where he sat,

That his ae daughter gaes wi bairn

To bonnie Johnie Scot.

Word has to the kitchen gane,

And word has to the ha,

And word has to the queen hersell,

In the chamber where she sat,

That her ae dochter gaes wi bairn

To bonnie Johnie Scot.

'O if she be wi bairn,' he says,

'As I trew well she be,

We'll put her in a prison strang,

And try her verity.'

'O if she be wi bairn,' she says,

'As I trew weel she be,

We'll put her in a dungeon dark,

And hunger her till she die.'

Now she has written a letter,

And sealed it with her hand,

And sent it unto Johnie Scot,

To come at her command.

The first lang line that he looked to,

He laughed at the same;

The neist lang line that he did read,

The tears did blin his een.

'Once more to England I must go,

May God be my sure guide!

And all to see that lady fair

That last lay by my side.'

Then out bespoke our Scotish king,

And he spoke manfullie:

I and three thousand of my guards

Will bear you companye.

They all were mounted on horseback,

So gallantly they rode;

The hair that hung owre Johnie's shoulders

Was like the links of goud.

When they came to the king of England's gate,

They knocked at the pin;

So ready was the king himsell

To open and let them in.

'Are you the Duke [of York],' he says,

'Or are ye the King of Spain?

Or are ye some of the gay Scots boys,

From hunting now come hame?'

'I am not the Duke of York,' he says,

'Nor yet the King of Spain;

But I am one of the gay Scots boys,

From hunting just come hame.'

'If you are one of the Scots boys,

As I trew weel you be,

The fairest lady in my hall

Gaes big wi child to thee.'

'Then if she be wi bairn,' he says,

'As I trew weel she be,

I'll make him heir of a' my gear,

And her my fair ladye.'

'If she be wi bairn,' her father says,

'As I trew weel she be,

Before the morn at ten o'clock

High hanged thou shall be.'

Then out bespake our Scotish king,

And he spoke manfullie:

Before that Johnie Scott be slain,

We'll all fight till we die.

'I have a Talliant in my house

We'll fight your men by three;'

'Bring out your trooper,' Johnie says,

'For fain I would him see.'

Some gade unto the high mountain,

Some gade unto the plain,

Some at high windows looked out,

To see poor Johnie slain.

The Talliant he fought on a while,

Thinking Johnie would retire,

And then he, like a swallow swifte,

Owre Johnie's head did flee.

But Johnie was a clever man,

And turned about with speed,

And on the edge of his broadsword

He slew the Talliant dead.

Then he has brought the lady out,

And sat her on a dapple-gray,

And being mounted on before,

They briskly rode away.

Now the honour unto Scotland came,

In spite of England's skill;

The honour unto Scotland came

In spite of England's will.

Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 35, Motherwell MS., p. 394;

from the singing of Agnes Lyle, of Kilbarchan, 24 August,

1825.

Johnie Scott's a hunting gone,

To England woods so wild,

Until the king's old dochter dear

She goes to him with child.

'If she be with bairn,' her mother says,

'As I trew weel she be,

We'll put her in a dark dungeon,

And hunger her till she die.'

'If she be with bairn,' her father says,

'As oh forbid she be!

We'll put her in a prison strong,

And try the veritie.'

The king did write a long letter,

Sealed it with his own hand,

And he sent it to Johnie Scot,

To speak at his command.

When Johnie read this letter long,

The tear blindit his ee:

'I must away to Old England;

King Edward writes for me.'

Out and spak his mother dear,

She spoke aye in time:

Son, if thou go to Old England,

I fear thou'll neer come hame.

Out and spoke a Scotish prince,

And a weel spoke man was he:

Here's four and twenty o my braw troops,

To bear thee companie.

Away they gade, awa they rade,

Away they rade so slie;

There was not a maried man that day

In Johnie's companie.

The first good town that they passed thro,

They made their bells to ring;

The next good town that they passed thro,

They made their music sing.

The next gude town that they passed thro,

They made their drums beat round,

The king and a' his gay armies

Admiring at the sound.

When they came to the king's court,

They travelled round about,

And there he spied his own true-love,

At a window looking out.

'O fain wald I come down,' she says,

'Of that ye needna dout;

But my garters they're of cauld, cauld iron,

And I can no win out.

'My garters they're of cauld, cauld iron,

And it is very cold;

My breast-plate is of sturdy steel,

Instead o beaten gold.'

Out and spoke the king himsell,

And an angry man was he:

The fairest lady in a' my court,

She goes with child to thee.

'If your old doughter be with child,

As I trew weel she be,

I'le make it heir of a' my land,

And her my gay lady.'

'There is a Talliant in my court,

This day he's killed three;

And gin the morn by ten o'clock

He'll kill thy men and thee.'

Johnie took sword into his hand,

And walked cross the plain;

There was many a weeping lady there,

To see young Johnie slain.

The Talliant never knowing this,

Now he'll be Johnie's dead,

But, like unto a swallow swift,

He flew out owre his head.

Johnie was a valliant man,

Weel taught in war was he,

And on the point of his broad sword

The Talliant stickit he.

Johnie took sword into his hand,

And walked cross the plain:

'Are there here any more of your English dogs

That's wanting to be slain?

'A priest, a priest,' young Johnie cries,

'To wed my bride and me;'

'A clerk, a clerk,' her father cries,

'To tell her tocher wi.'

'I'm wanting none of your gold,' he says,

'As little of your gear;

But give me just mine own true-love,

I think I've won her dear.'

Johnie sets horn into his mouth,

And he blew loud and schrill;

The honour it's to Scotland come,

Sore against England's will.

Kinloch MSS, VI, 53, in an unknown hand.

'Where will I gett a bony boy,

That would fain win hose and shoon,

That will go on to yon palace,

Aud haste him back again?'

'Here am I, a bony boy,

That would fain win hose and shoon,

That will go on to yon palace,

And haste me back again.'

'When you come to yon palace,

You'l run it round about;

There you'l see a gay lady,

At the window looking out.

'Give hir this shirt of silk,

Hir own hand sewed the slive,

And bid her come to good green woods,

Spear no hir parents' leave.

'Give hir this shirt of silk, boy,

Hir own hand sewed the gare;

You'l bid her come to good green woods,

Love Johny, I'll meet hir there.'

When he came to yon palace,

He ran it round about,

And there he saw a gay lady,

At the window looking out.

'Take here this shirt of silk, lady,

Your own hand sewed the slive;

You're biden come to good green woods,

Spire no your parents' leave.

'Take here this shirt of silk, lady,

Your own hand sewed the gare;

You're biden come to good green woods,

Love Johny'll meet you there.'

'The staunchens they are strong, boy,

Dear, vow but they are stout!

My feet they are in strong fetters,

And how shall I win out?

'My garters is of the cold iron,

Dear, vow but they are cold!

And three splits of the sturdy steel,

Instead of beaten goold.

'But I will write a braud leter,

And sign it with my hand,

And I will send it to Love Johny,

Weel may he understand.'

And she has wrote [a] braud leter,

And signd it with hir hand,

And sent it on to Love Jony,

Weel did he understand.

When he got this letter,

A light laugh did he gie;

But or he read it half down through,

The salt tears blinded 's ee.

Says, I'll awa to fair England,

What ever may betide,

And all is for the fair lady

That lay close by my side.

Out it spoke Jony's mother,

And she spoke ay through pride;

Says, If ye go to fair England,

Sir, better to you bide.

When Jony was on his sadle set,

And seemly to behold,

Every tet o Love Jony's hair

Was like the threads of goold.

When Jony was on his sadle set,

And seemly for to see,

There was not a maried man

In a' Jony's company.

The first town that they came till,

They gard the bells be rung;

The next town that they came till,

They gard the mess bee sung.

When they came to the king's palace,

The drums they did beat round,

And the quien and her marys all

Amased at the sound.

'Is this the Duke of Mulberry,

Or James, our Scottish king?

Or is it any noble lord

That's going a visiting?'

'It's not the Duke of Mulberry,

Nor James, our Scottish king;

But it is Jack, the Little Scot,

And Auchney is his name.'

'If Auchney bee your name,' he said,

'As I trust weel it be,

The fairest lady in all my court

She goes with bairn to the.'

'If she be with bairn,' he said,

'As I doubt not nor she be,

I will make it heir oer all my land,

And hir my gay lady.'

The king he swore a solemn oath,

And a solemn oath swore he,

'The morn, before I eat or drink,

High hanged he shall be!'

* * * * * * *

The king and his nobles all

Went out into the plain,

And the quen and hir marys all,

To see Love Johny slain.

They fought up, and they fought down,

With swords of temperd steel,

But not a drop of Johny's blood

In that day he did spill.

Out they brought the Itilian,

And a greecy ghost was he,

But by the edge o Love Johny's sword

That Itilian did die.

Johny's taen his neat drawn sword,

And stript it to the stran:

'Is there any more of your English dogs

That wants for to be slain?'

'A clerck, a clerck,' now says the king,

'To sign her tocher free;'

'A priest, a priest,' said Love Johny,

'To mary my dear and me.

'I fought not for your goold, your goold,

I fought not for your gear,

But I fought for my rose Mary,

And vow! I've bought hir dear.'

Kinloch MSS, VII, 39, 41, 43, 45, 47, 49.

Johnie is up to London gane,

Three quarters o the year,

And he is up to London gane,

The king's banner for to bear.

He had na been in fair London

A twalmonth and a day,

Till the king's ae daughter

To Johnie gangs wi child.

O word is to the kitchen gane,

And word is to the ha,

And word is to the king himsel

Amang his nobles a'.

* * * * * * *

She has wrote a braid letter,

She has wrote it tenderly,

And she's wrote a braid letter,

To lat her Johnie see

That her bower is very high,

It's aw weel walled about;

Her feet are in the fetters strang,

Her body looking out.

Her garters are of cauld iron,

And they are very cold;

Her breist-plate is o the sturdy steel,

Instead o the beaten gold.

Whan he lookit the letter on,

A licht lauch gaed he;

But eer he read it til an end,

The tear blindit his ee.

'I maun up to London gang,

Whatever me betide,

And louse that lady out o prison strang;

She lay last by my side.'

Up spak Johnie's ae best man,

That stood by Johnie's knie:

Ye'll get twenty four o my best men,

To bear ye companie.

When Johnie was in his saddle set,

A pleasant sicht to see,

There was na ae married man

In Johnie's companie.

The first toun that he cam till,

He made the mass be sung;

The niest toun that he cam till,

He made the bells be rung.

When he cam to fair London,

He made the drums gae round;

The king and his nobles aw

They marvelld at the sound.

'Is this the Duke of Winesberry,

Or James, the Scotish king?

Or is it a young gentleman,

That wants for to be in?'

'It's na the Duke of Winesberry,

Nor James, the Scotish king;

But it is a young gentleman,

Buneftan is his name.'

Up spak the king himsel,

An angry man was he:

The morn eer I eat or drink

Hie hangit sall he be.

Up spak Johnie's ae best man,

That stood by Johnie's knie:

Afore our master he be slain

We'll aw fecht till we die.

Up spak the king himsel,

And up spak he:

I have an Italian in my court

That will fecht ye manifullie.

'If ye hae an Italian in your court,

Fu fain wad I him see;

If ye hae an Italian in your court,

Ye may bring him here to me.'

The king and his nobles aw

Went tripping doun the plain,

Wi the queen and her maries aw,

To see fair Johnie slain.

Even anent the prison-door

The battle did begin;

. . . . . . .

They foucht up, and they foucht doun,

Wi swerds o tempered steel,

Til Johnie wi his gude braidswerd

Made the Italian for to yield.

He has kickd him with his foot,

And he has kickd him oure the plain;

'Onie mair Italians in your court

Ye want for to be slain?'

'A clerk, a clerk,' the king cried,

'To sign her tocher-fee;'

'A priest, a priest,' young Johnie said,

'To marry her and me.

For I want nane o your gowd,

Nor nane o your weel won fee;

I only want your fair dochter,

I have won her mannfullie.'

Kinloch MSS, VII, 40, 42, 46, 49.

O word is to the queen hersel,

In parlour whare she sat,

That the king's dochter goes wi child

To Jock, that little Scot.

O word is to the king himsel,

And an angry man was he;

Says, I will put her in cold prison,

And hunger her till she dee.

The ladie was laid in cold prison,

By the king, a grievous man;

And up and starts a little boy,

Upon her window-stane.

Says, Here's a silken shift, ladye,

Your ane hand sewed the sleeve,

And ye maun gang to yon greenwud,

And of your freends speir na leave.

'My bouer is very hie,' said the lady,

'And it's wondrous hie round about;

My feet are lockit in the iron fetters,

And how can I get out?

'But I will write a braid letter,

And seal it tenderlie,

And send it to yon greenwud,

And let young Johnie see.'

O Johnie's to his father gane,

And til him did say,

O I maun up to London, father,

And fecht for that lady gay.

His father spak but ae word,

Says, I speak it in time;

For an ye gang to London, Johnie,

I fear your coming hame.

And out and spak anither youth,

And a pretty youth was he:

Afore I see young Johnie dung

I'll fecht for him till I dee.

* * * * * * *

He has wallowd it, he has wallowd it,

He's wallowd it again;

Cries, Onie mae o your English dogs

That wants for to be slain?

He set the horn until his mouth,

And he has blawn baith loud and shill;

The victor's doun to Scotland gane,

Richt sair against their will.

Kinloch MSS, I, 311.

Johnie's up to England gane,

Three quarters o a year;

Johnie's up to England gane,

The king's banner to bear.

He had not in fair England been

A month 'twas barely ane,

When the fairest lady o the court

To Johnie wi child is gane.

Word is to the kitchen gane,

And word's gane to the ha;

Word's gane to the high, high rooms,

Among the nobles a'.

And word o't to the king is gane,

In the chamber where he sat,

His only daughter goes wi child

To Johnie, the Little Scot.

'O if she be wi child,' he says,

'As I trow weel she be,

I'll lock her up in strong prison,

And punish her till she dee.'

Then she has wrote a long letter,

And seald it without a blot,

And she has sent it to fair Scotland,

To Johnie, the Little Scot.

The first line that he did read,

In laughter loud was he;

But or he gat the hindmost read

The tear blindit his ee.

'Get ready for me the black, black steed,

Get ready for me the brown,

And saddle to me the swiftest horse

Eer carried man to town.'

Whan he cam to Edinburgh town,

He made the bells to ring,

And when he cam to merry Carlisle,

He made the monks to sing.

When he cam to the king's gates,

He made his drums beat round;

The king bot and his nobles a'

They wonderd at the sound.

'Is this [the] King of France,' he cried,

'Or is't the King of Spain?

Or is it Johnie, the Little Scot,

That's wanting to be slain?'

'It's neither the King of France,' he said,

'Nor is't the King of Spain;

But it is Johnie, the Little Scot,

That's come to claim his ain.'

* * * * * * *

They foucht it ance, they foucht it twice,

They foucht it oure again,

Till draps o blood, like draps o rain,

War rinning to the plain.

Then Johnie drew a nut-brown brand,

And strook it oure the plain,

Saying, Are there onie mae o your Englishmen

That's wanting to be slain?

'A clerk, a clerk,' the king he cried,

'To sign her tocher-fee;'

'A priest, a priest,' then Johnie cried,

'To marry my love and me.

'I'll hae nane o your gowd,' he says,

'As little o your gear;

But I'll hae her, my ain true-love,

For I'm sure I've coft her dear.'

Campbell MSS, I, 57.

Johnnie Scott's a hunting gane,

To England's woods sae wild;

The fairest flower of all England

To Johnnie provd big with child.

It's word's going up, and word's going down,

Going to the king's bower,

That his dear daughter was with child,

That was his daily flower.

'If she be with child,

As I suppose she be,

I'll put her into prison strong,

And hunger her till she die.'

The king he wrote a letter broad,

And sealed it with his hands,

And sent it down to Johnnie Scott,

In Scotland where he stands.

The first line that Johnnie lookd on,

A merry man was he;

The next line that he lookd on,

The salt tears blinded his eye.

Out then spoke his old father,

Who neer spoke out of time:

And if you go to England, son,

I doubt your coming home.

Out then spoke our Scottish James,

Sitting low by Johnnie's knee:

Fifteen score of my life-guards

Shall ride in your company.

When Johnnie came to the king's court

He rode it round about,

And there he spied his own true-love,

From the jail-window looking out.

'Come down, true-love,' said Johnnie Scott,

'And now you'll ride behind me;

Before I leave fair England

Some life shall die for thee.'

'My feet are in the fetters strong,

I'm belted round about;

My breastplate is of the stubborn steel,

Instead of beaten gold.'

When Johnnie came to the king's bower

He tinkled at the ring;

Who was so ready as the king himself

To let proud Johnnie in!

'Are ye the Duke of Marlborough,' he said,

'Or James, our Scottish king?

Or are you my bastard son,

From Scotland new come home?'

'I'm not the Duke of Marlborough,' he said,

'Nor James, our Scottish king;

But I am just a good Scotch lad,

And Johnnie Scott's my name.'

'If you be Johnnie Scott,' says he,

'As I suppose you be,

The fairest flower in all England

Is big with child by thee.'

'If she be big with child,' said he,

'As I hope her to be,

I'll make it heir of all my lands,

And she my gay lady.'

'O no,' then the king he crys,

'There's no such thing will be;

There is an Italian in my court,

And by his hands ye'll die.'

'I'll stand my ground,' says Johnnie Scott,

'I'll stand it till I die;

I'll stand my ground,' says Johnnie Scott,

'One foot I'd scorn to fly.'

When the Italian was brought out,

A fearsome sight was he;

Between his brows three women's spang,

His shoulders was yards three.

As Johnnie, being a crafty lad,

Well tried at the sword was he,

Upon the point of his broad sword

He made the Italian die.

Campbell MSS, II, 335.

Lord Johnnie's up to England gane,

Three quarters of an year;

Lord Johnnie's up to England gone,

The king's banner to bear.

He had not been in fair England,

Three quarters he was not,

Till the king's eldest daughter

Goes with child to Lord Johnnie Scott.

Word has to the kitchen gone,

And word's gone to the hall,

And word's gone to the high, high room,

Among the nobles all.

And word has gaen to the king himsel,

In his chamber where he sat,

That his eldest daughter goes wi child

To good Lord Johnnie Scott.

'Gin that be true,' the king replied,

'As I suppose it be,

I'll put her in a prison strong,

And starve her till she die.'

* * * * * * *

'O where will I get a little page,

That will win baith hose and shoon,

And run into fair Scotland,

And tell my love to come?'

* * * * * * *

'What news, what news, my little page?

What news hae ye brought to me?'

'Bad news, bad news, my master dear,

The king's daughter maun die.

'Here is a shirt, O master dear,

Her ain hand sewd the sleeve;

She bad me run and tell ye this,

And ask nae person's leave.

'They have her in a prison strong,

And in a dungeon deep;

Her feet are in the fetters strong,

And they've left her to weep.

'Her feet are in the cold, cold iron,

Instead of beaten gold;

Her garters are of the cauld, cauld iron,

And O but they are cold!'

* * * * * * *

'A clerk, a clerk,' the king did cry,

'To cry the toucher-fee;'

'A priest, a priest,' Lord Johnnie cry'd,

'To join my love and me.

'I want none of your gold,' he said,

'Nor as little want I a fee;

But I do want your daughter dear,

My wedded wife to be.'

Buchan's Gleanings, p. 122.

Lord John he's on to England gone,

To England gone is he;

Love John he's on to England gone,

The king's banneret to be.

He hadna been in fair England

O but a little while,

Till faen in love wi the king's daughter,

And to him she's with chile.

Now word is to the kitchen gane,

And word is to the ha,

And word is to the king's high court,

And that was warst of a'.

Out then spake the king himsell,

An angry man was he:

I'll put her into prison strong,

And starve her till she die.

Love John he's on to Scotland gone,

I wat he's on wi speed;

Love John he's on to Scotland gone,

And as good was his need.

He hadna been in fair Scotland

But a very short tide,

Till he minded on the damsel

That lay last by his side.

'Whare will I get a bonny boy,

Will win baith meat and fee,

That will run on to fair England,

And haste him back to me?'

'O here am I, a bonny boy,

Will win baith meat and fee,

That will run on to fair England,

And haste him back to thee.'

'Where ye find the grass grow green,

Ye'll slack your shoes and rin;

And when ye find the brigs broken,

Ye'll bend your bow and swim.

'And when ye come to the king's high court,

Ye'll rin it round about,

And there ye'll see a lady gay,

At a window looking out.

'Bid her take this shirt of silk,

Her ain hand sewed the sleeve;

Bid her come to good green-wood,

At her parents spier nae leave.

'Bid her take this shirt of silk,

Her ain hand sewed the gair;

Bid her come to good green-wood,

Love John he waits her there.'

Where he found the grass grow green,

He slackd his shoes and ran;

Where he fan the brigs broken,

He bent his bow and swam.

When he came to the king's high court,

He ran it round about;

And there he saw the lady gay,

At the window looking out.

'Ye're bidden take this shirt of silk,

Yere ain hand sewed the sleeve;

Ye're bidden come to good green-wood,

At your parents spier nae leave.

'Ye're bidden take this shirt of silk,

Yere ain hand sewed the gair;

Ye're bidden come to good green-wood,

Love John he waits you there.'

'My feet are in the fetters strong,

Instead of silken sheen;

My breast-plate's of the cold iron,

Instead of gold so fine.

'But I will write a broad letter,

And seal it with my hand,

And send it off to my Love Johnny,

And let him understand.'

The first line that he looked on,

A loud laughter laught he;

But ere he read it to the end,

The tear blinded his ee.

'O I will on to fair England,

Whatever me betide,

For to relieve the damsel

That lay last by my side.'

Out it spake his father dear,

A noble lord was he:

If ye gang to England, Johnny,

Ye'll neer come back to me.

Out it spake a noble lord,

A noble lord, I wat, was he:

Fifteen of our Scottish lords

Will bear his honour companie.

The first town that they eer came till,

They gart the bells be rung;

The next town that they came till,

They gart the mass be sung.

And when they came to the king's court,

They gart the trumpet soun,

Till the king and all his merry young men

Did marvel at the tune.

'Is this the Duke of Marlborough,

Or James, the Scottish king?

Or is it else some Scottish lord,

Come here a visiting?'

'It's not the Duke of Marlborough,

Nor James, the Scottish king:

It is Love John of fair Scotland,

Come here a visiting.'

'If this be John of fair Scotland,

He's dearly welcome to me;

The morn ere he eat or drink,

High hanged he shall be.'

He's taen his broadsword in his hand,

And stripd it oer a stane;

Then thro and thro the king's high court

With broadsword now is gane.

They fought it up, they fought it down,

Till they were weary men,

When the blood, like drops of rain,

Came trickling down the plain.

Out it spake the king himsel,

Ane angry man was he:

I have ane Italian within my court

Will fight ye three and three.

Out it came that ae Italian,

As pale as death was he,

And on the point of Johnny's sword

That ae Italian did die.

'A clerk, a clerk,' the king he cried,

'And seal her tocher wi;'

'A priest, a priest,' Lord John he cried,

'That we may married be.

'For I want neither gold,' he said,

'Nor do I want your gear;

But I do want my ain true-love,

For I have bought her dear.'

Communicated by Mr William Macmath, of Edinburgh, from

his aunt, Miss Jane Webster, formerly of Airds of Kells,

now (December, 1882) of Dalry, Kirkcudbrightshire, who

learned it from the late Miss Jane Hannay, Newton Stewart.

* * * * * * *

Out then spak his auld faither,

And a blythe auld man was he,

Saying, I'll send five hunner o my brisk young men,

To bear Johnie companie.

And when they were on saddle set,

They were a pleasant sight for to see,

For there was na ae married man

In a' Johnie's companie.

And when they were on saddle set,

They were a pleasant sight to behold,

For the hair that hung down Johnie's back

Was like the links of gold.

And when they came to Newcastle,

They reined their horses about;

Wha did he see but his ain Jeanie,

At a window looking out!

'Come doun, come doun, Jeanie,' he says,

'Come doun, come doun to me;'

'I canna come doun, Johnie,' she says,

'For King Edward has bolted me.

'My stockings are o the heavy iron,

I feel them very cold;

And my breast-plate's o the sturdy steel,

Instead of beaten gold.'

* * * * * * *

. . . . . . .

'I'll make it heir o a' my lands,

And her my gay lady.'

'There is an Italian in this court;

This day he has slain knights three;

And before tomorrow at eight o'clock

The Italian will slay thee.'

Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 11.

Johnie's up to England gone,

Three quarters of a year;

Johnie's up to England gone,

The king's banner to bear.

He hadna been in fair England

A month but only three,

The king he had but one dochter,

And she fell in love with he.

And word is up, and word is down,

And word is to the ha,

And word is to the king's court gane,

Amang the nobles a'.

Now word is to the king himsell,

On throne where he did sit,

That his ae dochter goes wi child

To John that little Scot.

* * * * *

#A.#

_Written in stanzas of two long lines in the Jamieson MS._

4^2, 27^2. MS. will?

8^3. I wist.

15^3. plates.

_The first stanza is given thus by Anderson in Nichols's

Illustrations:_

Johnie was as brave a knight

As ever sailed the sea,

And he is to the English court,

To serve for meat and fee.

_The Abbotsford copy omits stanzas 4, 9, 34. Most of

the many changes are, beyond doubt, arbitrary, but

the following are more or less countenanced by other

versions._

1^{3, 4}.

And he is up to fair England,

The king's braid banner to bear.

_Cf._ #B#, #E#, #I#, #K#, #M#, #N#, #P#.

19^4. That should have been my bride. _Cf._ #B# 10.

30.

Out then cam that Italian knight,

A grisly sight to see;

Between his een there was a span,

Between his shoulders three and three.

And forth then came brave John the Scot,

He scarcely reachd his knee;

Yet on the point of Johny's brand

The Italian knight did die.

_Cf._ #L# 18.

#B.#

_Written in stanzas of two lines._

16^3. And there.

#C.#

3^2. forgid.

14^3. plates.

16^4. be thy.

23^3. Johnie slain.

24^4. Johnie's dread.

26^4. free _changed in MS. to_ fee. _Cf._ #A# 33^2, #D#

27^4, #E# 22^4, #H# 29^2; fee, #I# 23^2, #K# 15^2, #M#

11^2.

#D. a.#

_The last two lines of each stanza are repeated in

singing._

8^4. _Originally_ to thee.

25^2. dead _changed to_ deid.

#b.#

_Title_, Lord Johnnie Scot.

_The variations are generally written above the readings

of #a#, or otherwise distinctly indicated._

1^1. It's Johnnie.

1^3. And who.

3^3. It's thou.

3^4. gay ladie.

4^1. rode till her father's gate.

5^1. It's he.

6^1. to the green woods.

6^2. To Johnnie Scot thy luve.

6^4. the sleeve.

7^1. to the green woods.

10^3. ladie gay.

11^1. out then... father dear.

11^2. spoke out.

11^3. If thou unto.

11^4. doubt thy.

12^1. Out then spoke our.

12^2. And he spoke manfullie.

13, 14. _These stanzas are often transposed._

13^4. the yellow gold.

14^2. Most pleasant for to.

18^1. I'm not.

18^2. James your.

18^3. But I'm.

20^1. he said.

21^1. he said.

22^1. Out then spoke our.

23^4. the day.

24^1. all did flock.

24^2. In coaches all amain.

24^3. all did flock.

25^4. oer his head.

26^3. on the point.

_The reciter_ had heard another ballad which detailed the

same events, and but little differing in any respect,

which went under the name of 'M^cNaughton's Valour,' or,

'Naughton's Valour.'

#E.#

13^4. _Originally_ now come, _altered to_ new come.

17^2. _Var._ And a well spoke boy was he.

18^3. _Var._ champion.

19^3. _Originally written_ Likewise the queen and her

maidens fair.

20^4. trinkling down? _Motherwell._

25^4. _Var._ M^cNaughton and his men! "M^cNaughtoun's

cure to ye!" is Devil relieve ye! _Motherwell._

#F.#

3^1, 4^1. Oh.

#G.#

8^2. the rade.

8^3. Theyre.

_The second copy has these few differences, attributable

to Motherwell:_

1^2. England's.

2^1, 3^1. said.

7^4. bear him.

23^1. set unto.

23^2. schill.

23^3. Scotland gone.

#H.#

8^4. Johny I'll

19^2. They drums.

20^1. muberry.

26^3. Johny.

27^3. But but.

26, 27 _should, perhaps, be transposed; but compare_ #N#

29-31.

#I.#

2^2. _Kinloch corrects_ day _to_ while.

_After 3._ A verse a-wanting. It is about the king

putting his daughter in prison.

#K.#

14^2. shook: _cf._ #A# 32^2.

#L.#

3^4. dies (?).

17^3. say.

#P.#

2^4. _Var._ goes with child to: _perhaps a change of

Motherwell's_.

[164] Pointed out to Motherwell by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe.

[165] "Les Aubrays est le nom d'une seigneurie du pays de Retz,

apportée en mariage, en 1455, à Rolland de Lannion, par Guyonne de

Grezy, dame des Aubrays. La ballade ne peut pas, par conséquent, être

antérieure à cette époque, et nous la croyons bien plus moderne." M.

Pol de Courcy, Luzel, I, 306. The ballad can be no older, unless the

Seigneur Les Aubrays has displaced an earlier hero; but what means have

we of deciding that question?

100

WILLIE O WINSBURY

#A.# 'Willie o Winsbury,' Campbell MSS, II, 38.

#B.# Herd's MSS, I, 29; II, 98.

#C.# 'Lord Thomas of Winsbury,' Kinloch MSS, I, 315.

#D.# Percy Papers, communicated by the Rev. P. Parsons,

about 1775.

#E.# 'Johnnie Barbour,' Notes and Queries, Fifth Series,

VII, 387.

#F.# 'Willie of Winsberye,' Motherwell's MS., p. 404.

#G.# 'Lord Thomas o Winsbury,' Buchan's MSS, II, 174;

'Lord Thomas of Winesberry and the King's Daughter,'

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 212.

#H.# 'Lord Thomas of Winesberrie,' Kinloch's Ancient

Scottish Ballads, p. 92.

#I.# 'Lord Thomas of Winsberry,' #a#, #b#, stall copies;

#c#, Buchan's Gleanings, p. 127.

The main points of the story of this ballad are the same in all the

copies. The king of Scotland, #C#, #F#, of France, #H#, #I#, has been

away from home a considerable time, in Spain, #A#, #C#, #F#, #G#, a

prisoner, #A#, #F#, a-hunting, #C#, #H#, #I#, and during his absence

his daughter has become with child by William or Thomas of Winsbury.

The father threatens to hang the young man, but on seeing him is so

struck with his beauty that he exonerates his daughter, and offers her

in marriage to her lover, with a large dowry. Winsbury accepts the

lady, but declines gold and land, having enough of his own. In #H#

he says he shall be king when he goes back to Scotland; in the other

copies he appears to be only a man of very good estate.

From the hero turning out to be a royal person from Scotland, in #H#,

Kinloch, Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 89, is led to imagine that

the ballad may relate to James V of Scotland, who married a daughter

of Francis I. His reasons are, first, that James _disguised himself_

when he went to inspect the Duke of Vendôme's daughter (to whom he was

in a way betrothed), so as not to be known to her or to her parents.

Secondly, that when James, not fancying this lady, passed on, it was

at a _hunting_-party that he met the French princess, who became so

enamored of him that she would have no other husband. That the poor

princess had long been sick, and "was not able to travel out of the

realm to no other countrie" (on a milk-white steed, #C# 13), and that

she died about six months after her marriage, does not come into

the ballad.[166] Buchan thinks Winsbury's rank to be fixed by his

version, #G#, as that of a chamberlain, and therefore cannot admit the

plausibility of a disguised James V.

The two English copies, #D#, #E#, both imperfect, change the hero's

name to Johnnie Barbary ('lately come from Spain,' cf. #B# 5) or

Johnnie Barbour. Motherwell, in a manuscript annotation to Kinloch's

Ancient Scottish Ballads, mentions that he had obtained from recitation

a copy in which the name was Sweet Willie of Salisbury. The change from

a king to a lady neat and trim in #D# 1 is a corruption that one would

have hardly looked for "from the spinning-wheel."

The stanza which notes the reluctance of the young man to come at

call, #C# 9, #D# 6, #F# 12, occurs in all copies of 'The Knight and

Shepherd's Daughter.'

Campbell MSS, II, 38.

The king he hath been a prisoner,

A prisoner lang in Spain, O

And Willie o the Winsbury

Has lain lang wi his daughter at hame. O

'What aileth thee, my daughter Janet,

Ye look so pale and wan?

Have ye had any sore sickness,

Or have ye been lying wi a man?

Or is it for me, your father dear,

And biding sae lang in Spain?'

'I have not had any sore sickness,

Nor yet been lying wi a man;

But it is for you, my father dear,

In biding sae lang in Spain.'

'Cast ye off your berry-brown gown,

Stand straight upon the stone,

That I may ken ye by yere shape,

Whether ye be a maiden or none.'

She's coosten off her berry-brown gown,

Stooden straight upo yon stone;

Her apron was short, and her haunches were round,

Her face it was pale and wan.

'Is it to a man o might, Janet?

Or is it to a man of fame?

Or is it to any of the rank robbers

That's lately come out o Spain?'

'It is not to a man of might,' she said,

'Nor is it to a man of fame;

But it is to William of Winsburry;

I could lye nae langer my lane.'

The king's called on his merry men all,

By thirty and by three:

'Go fetch me William of Winsburry,

For hanged he shall be.'

But when he cam the king before,

He was clad o the red silk;

His hair was like to threeds o gold,

And his skin was as white as milk.

'It is nae wonder,' said the king,

'That my daughter's love ye did win;

Had I been a woman, as I am a man,

My bedfellow ye should hae been.

'Will ye marry my daughter Janet,

By the truth of thy right hand?

I'll gie ye gold, I'll gie ye money,

And I'll gie ye an earldom o land.'

'Yes, I'll marry yere daughter Janet,

By the truth of my right hand;

But I'll hae nane o yer gold, I'll hae nane o yer money,

Nor I winna hae an earldom o land.

'For I hae eighteen corn-mills,

Runs all in water clear,

And there's as much corn in each o them

As they can grind in a year.'

Herd's MSS, I, 29; II, 98.

* * * * * * *

'What aileth ye, my dochter Dysmill,

Ye look sae pale and wan?

Hae ye had ony sair sickness,

Or ill luve wi a man?

'Cast aff, cast aff your bony brown goun,

And lay't down on the stane,

And I sall tell ye ay or no

Ye hae layn wi a man.'