3_The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 2 (of 5)

She has taen aff her bony brown gown,

She has laid it on the stane;

Her waist was big, her side was round,

Her fair colour was gane.

'Now is it to a man of micht,

Or to a man of mean?

Or is it to the ranke robber

That robs upon the main?'

'O it's nor to a man of micht,

Nor to a man of mean;

But it's to Willie Winchberrie,

That came frae France and Spain.'

The king he's turnd him round about,

An angry man was he:

'Gar bring to me your fals leman,

Wha sall high hanged be.'

Then Dysmill turnd her round about,

The tear blinded her ee:

'Gin ye begin to hang, father,

Ye maun begin wi mee.'

When Willie he cam to the king,

His coat was o the silk;

His hair was like the thread o gowd,

His skin white as the milk.

'Ne wonder, ne wonder,' quoth the king,

'My dochter shoud like ye;

Gin ye were a woman, as ye're a man,

My bedfellow ye sould be.

'Now will ye marry my dochter Dysmill,

By the truth o your right hand?

Now will ye marry my dochter Dysmill,

And be a lord o the land?'

Kinloch MSS, I, 315.

The king has been long seven years away,

Long seven years away frae hame;

Our king has been long seven years away,

A hunting oer in Spain.

* * * * * * *

'What aileth thee, my ae daughter,

Thou lookst so pale and wan?

Hast thou had any sore sickness,

Or hast thou loved man?'

'I have not had any sore sickness,

To make me look sae wan;

But it is for your own majestie,

You staid sae lang in Spain.'

'Cast aff, cast aff thy silken gown,

And lay it on yon stane,

And I'll tell to thee if with child you be,

Or if ye be with nane.'

She's casten aff her costly gown,

That's made o the silk sae fine;

Her stays were sae strait she could na loot,

And her fair colour was wan.

'Oh is it to any mighty man?

Or any lord of fame?

Or is it to the rank robbers

That I sent out o Spain?'

'It is no to the rank robbers

That you sent out o Spain;

But it is to Thomas of Winsbury,

For I dought na lie my lane.'

'If it be to Lord Thomas,' he says,

'It's hanged shall he be:'

'If you hang Thomas of Winsbury,

You'll get na mair gude o me.'

The king's called up his merry men all,

By one, by two, and three;

Lord Thomas should hae been the foremost man,

But the hindmost man was he.

'No wonder, no wonder,' the king he said,

'My daughter loved thee;

For wert thou a woman, as thou art a man,

My bedfellow thou shouldst be.

'O will you marry my daughter dear,

By the faith of thy right hand?

And thou shalt reign, when I am dead,

The king over my whole land.'

'I will marry your daughter dear,

With my heart, yea and my hand;

But it never shall be that Lord Winsbury

Shall rule oer fair Scotland.'

He's mounted her on a milk-white steed,

Himself on a dapple-grey,

And made her a lady of as much land

She could ride in a whole summer day.

Communicated to Percy by the Rev. P. Parsons, of Wey,

apparently in 1775. "This I had from the spinning-wheel."

There was a lady fine and gay,

She was so neat and trim;

She went unto her own garden-wall,

To see her own ships come in.

And there she spied her daughter Jane,

Who lookd so pale and wan:

'What, have you had some long sickness,

Or lain with some young man?'

'No, I have had no long sickness,

Nor lain with no young man:'

Her petticoats they were so short,

She was full nine months gone.

'Oh is it by some nobleman?

Or by some man of fame?

Or is it by Johnny Barbary,

That's lately come from Spain?'

'No, it is by no nobleman,

Nor by no man of fame;

But it is by Johnny Barbary,

That's lately come from Spain.'

Then she calld down her merry men,

By one, by two, by three;

Johnny Barbary used to be the first,

But now the last came he.

'Oh will you take my daughter Jane,

And wed her out of hand?

And you shall dine and sup with me,

And be heir of my land.'

'Yes, I will take your daughter Jane,

And wed her out of hand;

And I will dine and sup with you,

But I do not want your land.'

Then she calld down her merry men,

With a shrill and a pleasant voice:

'Come, let us all now mery be,

Since she has made such a happy choice.'

Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 387, 1877:

communicated by B. Montgomerie Ranking, as "heard sung

years ago by a West Country fisherman."

* * * * * * *

'Oh daughter, oh daughter,' her father he said,

'What makes you look so pale?

. . . . . . .

Or are you in love with any man?'

. . . . . . .

'But if it be one of my own sailor lads,

High hanged he shall be.'

Johnnie Barbour he cam doun the stair,

His shirt was of the silk;

His two bonnie black een were rolling in his head,

And his skin was as white as milk.

'Oh are you ready to marry my daughter,

And take her by the hand,

And to eat and drink with me at the table,

And be heir of all my land?'

'Oh it's I am ready to marry your daughter,

And take her by the hand,

And to eat and drink with her at the table,

And to fight for all your land.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 404; from the recitation of Agnes

Laird, of Kilbarchan, August 24, 1825.

Our king hath been a poor prisoner,

And a poor prisoner in Spain; O

When seven long years was past and gone,

Our Scotish king came hame. O

As he was riding along the way,

He met with his dear dochter:

'What ails thee, what ails thee, my dochter dear,

Thou looks so pale and wan?

'Have ye had any sore sickness,

Or have ye lovd a man?

Or is it for me, my dochter dear,

I have been so long in Spain?'

'I have had no sore sickness,

Nor yet have I loved a man;

But it is for you, my father dear,

Thou've been so long in Spain.'

'Cast aff, cast aff thy brown silk gown,

And spread it on yonder stone,

And I will tell you by and by

Whether thou art a maid or none.'

She's coosten off her brown silk gown,

And spread it on yonder stone,

And her belly was big, and her face pale and wan,

And she was about half gone.

'Is it to a man o micht?

Or to a man of fame?

Or is it to one of the rank rebels

That I sent out of Spain?'

'It is not to a man of micht,

Nor to a man of fame,

Nor yet to one of the rank rebels

That ye sent out o Spain;

But it is to Willie o Winsberry,

Thy very own serving-man.'

'If it be to Willie o Winsberry,

As I trew well it be,

Gin the morn at ten o the clock

It's hanged shall he be.'

As the king was riding up the gate

He met Willie clothed in scarlet red,

And his hair was as yellow as the beam, beam gold,

And his breast as white as milk.

'No wonder, no wonder,' quo the king,

'My dochter luvit thee;

For if thou was a woman, as thou'rt a man,

My bedfellow thou should be.'

The king called down his merry men all,

By one, by two, and by three;

Sweet Willie should ha been the foremost man,

But the hindmost man drew he.

'Will you take my dochter Jean,

By the faith of her richt hand?

And you shall sup and dine with me,

And heir the third part of my land.'

'I will take your dochter Jean,

By the faith of her richt hand,

And I will sup and dine with you,

But a fig for all your land;

For I've as much land in Winsberry

As we'll ride in a long summer's day.'

Buchan's MSS, II, 174; Buchan's Ballads of the North of

Scotland, II, 212.

Seven years the king he staid

Into the land of Spain,

And seven years True Thomas was

His daughter's chamberlain.

But it fell ance upon a day

The king he did come home;

She baked and she benjed ben,

And did him there welcome.

'What aileth you, my daughter Janet,

You look sae pale and wan?

There is a dreder in your heart,

Or else you love a man.'

'There is no dreder in my heart,

Nor do I love a man;

But it is for your lang byding

Into the land of Spain.'

'Ye'll cast aff your bonny brown gown,

And lay it on a stone,

And I'll tell you, my jelly Janet,

If ever ye lovd a man.'

She's cast aff her bonny brown gown,

And laid it on a stone;

Her belly was big, her twa sides high,

Her colour it was quite gane.

'Is it to a man o the might, Janet,

Or is it till a man o the main?

Or is it to one o my poor soldiers,

That I brought hame frae Spain?'

'It's not till a man o the might,' she says,

'Nor yet to a man o the main;

But it's to Thomas o Winsbury,

That cannot longer len.'

'O where are all my wall-wight men,

That I pay meat and fee,

That will go for him True Thomas,

And bring him in to me?

For the morn, ere I eat or drink,

High hanged shall he be.'

She's turnd her right and round about,

The tear blinded her ee:

'If ye do any ill to True Thomas,

Ye's never get gude o me.'

When Thomas came before the king

He glanced like the fire;

His hair was like the threads o gold,

His eyes like crystal clear.

'It was nae wonder, my daughter Janet,

Altho ye loved this man;

If he were a woman, as he is a man,

My bed-fellow he would been.

'O will ye marry my daughter Janet?

The truth's in your right hand;

Ye's hae some o my gold, and some o my gear,

And the twalt part o my land.'

'It's I will marry your daughter Janet;

The truth's in my right hand;

I'll hae nane o your gold, nor nane o your gear,

I've enough in my own land.

'But I will marry your daughter Janet

With thirty ploughs and three,

And four and twenty bonny breast-mills,

And a' on the water o Dee.'

Kinloch's Scottish Ballads, p. 92.

It fell upon a time, when the proud king of France

Went a hunting for five months and more,

That his dochter fell in love with Thomas of Winesberrie,

From Scotland newly come oer.

Whan her father cam hame frae hunting the deer,

And his dochter before him cam,

Her belly it was big, and her twa sides round,

And her fair colour was wan.

'What ails thee, what ails thee, my dochter Janet?

What maks thee to look sae wan?

Ye've either been sick, and very, very sick,

Or else ye hae lain wi a man.'

'Ye're welcome, ye're welcome, dear father,' she says,

'Ye're welcome hame to your ain,

For I hae been sick, and very, very sick,

Thinking lang for your coming hame.

'O pardon, O pardon, dear father,' she says,

'A pardon ye'll grant me:'

'Na pardon, na pardon, my dochter,' he says,

'Na pardon I'll grant thee.

'O is it to a man of micht,

Or to a man of mean?

Or is it to onie of thae rank robbers

That I sent hame frae Spain?'

'It is not to a man of micht,

Nor to a man of mean;

But it is to Thomas o Winesberrie,

And for him I suffer pain.'

'If it be to Thomas o' Winesberrie,

As I trust well it be,

Before I either eat or drink,

Hie hangit sall he be.'

When this bonnie boy was brought afore the king,

His claithing was o the silk,

His fine yellow hair hang dangling doun,

And his skin was like the milk.

'Na wonder, na wonder, Lord Thomas,' he says,

'My dochter fell in love wi thee,

For if I war a woman, as I am a man,

My bed-fellow ye shoud be.

'Then will ye marry my dochter Janet,

To be heir to a' my land?

O will ye marry my dochter Janet,

Wi the truth o your richt hand?'

'I will marry your dochter Janet,

Wi the truth o my richt hand;

I'll hae nane o your gowd, nor yet o your gear,

I've eneuch in fair Scotland.

'But I will marry your dochter Janet,

I care na for your land,

For she's be a queen, and I a king,

Whan we come to fair Scotland.'

#a.# A stall copy printed by M. Randall, Stirling, #b.#

A stall copy by C. Randall, Stirling. #c.# Buchan's

Gleanings, p. 127.

It fell upon a time that the proud king of France

Went a hunting for five months and more;

His daughter fell in love with Lord Winsberry,

Who from Scotland was newly come oer.

'You're welcome, welcome, dear father,' she said,

'You're welcome again to your own;

For I have been sick, and very, very sick,

Thinking long for your coming home.'

'Put off, put off your gown of green,' he says,

'And spread it on yonder green,

And tell them from me that in mourning you are,

Or that ye have lain with a man.'

She's put off her gown of green,

And spread it on the strand;

Her haunches were round, and her belly was big,

From her face the colour is gone.

'O is it to a man of might,' he says,

'Or is it to a man that's mean?

Or is it to one of those rank rebels,

That lately from Scotland came?'

'O it is to a man of might,' she says,

'It is not to one that is mean;

It is to Lord Thomas of Winsberry,

And for him I must suffer pain.'

The king called up his merry men all,

By one, by two, and by three:

'Go fetch me Lord Thomas of Winsberry,

For tomorrow he shall die.'

They sought him up, they sought him down,

As fast as fast could be;

There they found Lord Thomas of Winsberry,

Sitting under an orange tree.

'Get up, get up, Lord Thomas,' they said,

'Get up, and bound your way;

For the king has sworn by his honoured crown

That tomorrow is thy dying-day.'

'O what have I robbd, or what have I stolen,

Or what have I killed or slain,

That I should be afraid to speak to your king?

For I have done him no wrong.'

Lord Thomas came tripping up the stair,

His cloathing was of the silk;

His fine yellow hair hung dangling down,

His skin was white as the milk.

And when he came before the king

He kneeled down on his knee;

Says, What is your will with me, my liege,

What is your will with me?

'I think no wonder, Lord Thomas,' he says,

'That my daughter fell in love with thee;

If thou wert a woman, as thou art a man,

My bed-fellow thou wouldst be.

'Will ye marry my daughter Jean,

By the faith of thy right hand?

Thou'se have part of my gold, part of my gear,

And a third part of my land.'

'Yes, I will marry thy daughter Jean,

By the faith of my right hand;

I'll have none of your gold, none of your gear;

I have enough in fair Scotland.'

He has mounted her on a milk-white steed,

Himself on a dapple-grey;

He's got as much land in fair Scotland

As they can ride in a summer's day.

* * * * *

#A.#

O _is added, in singing, to every second and fourth

verse_.

1^2. oh.

9^3. the reeds of, _in my copy_.

11^2. of my.

#B.#

Quhat, ze, _etc., are printed_ what, ye.

#C.#

9. _Given thus in Kinloch's annotated copy of his Ancient

Scottish Ballads; derived, from Motherwell:_

The king called doun his merry men,

By thirties and by three;

Lord Thomas, that used to be the first.

The hindmost man was he.

#D.#

3^2. _altered, wrongly, to_ But lain with a.

9^2. shrrill.

#F.#

O _is added, in singing, to every second and fourth

verse_.

1^{3, 4}. _Thus in Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 27:_

Seven long years was past and gone

When our Scotish king came home. O

16. _Given thus in Kinloch's annotated copy of his

Ancient Scottish Ballads, as the concluding verse of Mr

Motherwell's copies and that of Buchan:_

He mounted her on a milk-white steed,

Himself on a dapple-grey,

And they've as muckle land in braid Scotland

As can be rode in a lang simmer's day.

#G.# _Some trifling changes are made by Buchan in printing._

8^4. ben, _printed by Buchan_ len.

#I. a.#

14^2. of my: _so_ #b.#

16^1. her _wanting_.

#b.#

2^3. and very sick.

4^{1, 2}. _wanting._

5^2. that is.

5^3. these.

8^2. As fast as they.

9^3. his _wanting_.

11^3. hang.

13^4. should be.

#c.#

2^2. You are.

3^1. Put off your.

5^2. that is.

5^3. these.

7^4. Sitting under an orange tree.

8. _wanting._

14^2. of my.

14^3. Thou'llt.

[166] "A William Wynnesbury, who was yeoman of the Guard at the

time of Henry VIII, used generally to act as Lord of Misrule in the

years 1508-19, and he was Friar Tuck at Greenwich in May, 1515 (see

Collier's Annals of the Stage, and J. S. Brewer's Letters and Papers

of Henry VIII), and this, no doubt, made the name popular with the

ballad-makers." Ward, Catalogue of Romances, etc., I, 532. Undeniably

the Lord Winsbury of our ballad might be said to have acted as a lord

of misrule, but it was hardly an English (or Scots) ballad-maker of the

sixteenth century that made this ballad; and Mr. Ward, probably, did

not intend so to be understood.

101

WILLIE O DOUGLAS DALE

#A.# 'Willy o Douglass-dale,' Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 8.

#B. a.# 'Dame Oliphant, or, Willie o Douglass Dale,'

Buchan MSS, II, 117. #b.# 'The Earl of Douglas and Dame

Oliphant,' Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II,

181; 'Lord Willie Douglas,' Motherwell's MS., p. 619.

#C.# 'Douglass Dale,' Kinloch MSS, V, 327.

#A# was among the fifteen ballads furnished by Mrs Brown to William

Tytler in 1783, No 8. The first stanza is cited by Dr Anderson in

Nichols's Illustrations, VII, 177. There is a copy in the Abbotsford

MS. "Scottish Songs," fol. 16, in which the text is considerably

altered; stanzas 7, 12, 19, 22-24 are omitted, and 25 is inserted

between 30 and 31. #B b# inserts two stanzas after #B a# 15, and adds

one at the end. The copy in Christie's Traditional Ballad Airs, II,

32, is an abridgment of #B b# as made over in The Ballad Minstrelsy of

Scotland, Glasgow, 1871, p. 63. #C# has an appendage of two stanzas

which belong to another ballad, and are transferred accordingly.

The first part of the story of this ballad, or down to the birth of

the boy, is repeated in 'Willie and Earl Richard's Daughter' (hitherto

called 'The Birth of Robin Hood'), which immediately follows. This

portion of the ballad has resemblances to 'Leesome Brand,' No 15.[167]

#A# 9, #B# 15, is a popular passage the like of which is found in

many ballads: as 'Child Waters,' #A# 2, 3; 'Lady Maisry,' #H# 7, 8;

'Willie o Winsbury,' #A# 5, #C# 5, #D# 3; 'Willie and Earl Richard's

Daughter, '#A# 4; 'Der Ritter und die Magd,' Düntzer u. Herder, Briefe

Goethe's, I, 157, st. 6; Nicolai, I, 40, No 2, st. 6; Wunderhorn, 1806,

I, 50, st. 11, Erk, IV, 304, st. 5; Erk's Liederhort, p. 81, st. 10;

Hoffmann u. Richter, No. 4, st. 4; Meier, Schwäbische Volkslieder, No

177, st. 9; Ditfurth, II, Nos 6, 7, 8, st. 5; Uhland, No 97 #A#, st.

5; Mittler, No 91, st. 6; 'Schön Elselein,' 'Das Schwabentöchterlein,'

Böhme, No 51^a, st. 11, No 51^b, st. 8 (==Mittler, No 218; Uhland,

No 257); 'Þiðriks kvæði konúngs,' Íslenzk fornkvæði, II, 218, No 57,

st. 6; Haupt u. Schmaler, V. l. der Wenden, I, 160, No 136, st. 7;

Sakellarios, Τà Κυπριακá, III, 52, No 20, vv 5-9; Guillon, Ch. p. de

l'Ain, 'La Fille d'un Boulanger,' p. 201, sts 1, 2; Milá, Romancerillo,

'La infanta seducida,' p. 249, No 258, l. 4; 'De la infanta y el hijo

del rey de Francia,' Wolf y Hofmann, Primavera, II, 91, No 158, verses

5, 6; Aigner, Ungarische Volksdichtungen, p. 86, st. 1, p. 215, st. 2.

The very ill-timed question in #B# 20 occurs in 'Young Hunting,' No 68,

#K# 8, 'Clerk Saunders,' No 69, #F# 5, Buchan, Ballads of the North of

Scotland, 'Auld Matrons,' II, 238, st. 4, and 'Willie's Fatal Visit,'

II, 260, st. 7. For others in this passage see 'Rose the Red and White

Lily.' The bribe of gowns in #B# 29 is found in 'Young Hunting,' #B# 9,

#C# 7, #K# 13.

The historical foundation for this ballad suggested in The Ballad

Minstrelsy of Scotland, Glasgow, 1871, p. 63, cannot be seriously

entertained.

Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 8.

O Willy was as brave a lord

As ever saild the sea,

And he has gane to the English court,

To serve for meat and fee.

He had nae been at the kingis court

A twelvemonth and a day,

Till he longd for a sight o the king's daughter,

But ane he coud never see.

O it fell ance upon a day

To the green wood she has gane,

An Willy he has followd her,

With the clear light o the moon.

He looted him low, by her did go,

Wi his hat intill his hand:

'O what's your will wi me, Sir Knight?

I pray keep your hat on.'

'O I am not a knight, Madam,

Nor never thinks to be;

For I am Willy o Douglassdale,

An I serve for meat and fee.'

'O I'll gang to my bowr,' she says,

'An sigh baith even an morn

That ever I saw your face, Willy,

Or that ever ye was born.

'O I'll gang to my bowr,' she says,

'An I'll pray baith night an day,

To keep me frae your tempting looks,

An frae your great beauty.'

O in a little after that

He keepit Dame Oliphant's bowr,

An the love that passd between this twa,

It was like paramour.

'O narrow, narrow's my gown, Willy,

That wont to be sae wide;

An short, short is my coats, Willy,

That wont to be sae side;

An gane is a' my fair colour,

An low laid is my pride.

'But an my father get word of this,

He'll never drink again;

An gin my mother get word of this,

In her ain bowr she'll go brain;

An gin my bold brothers get word this,

I fear, Willy, you'll be slain.'

'O will you leave your father's court,

An go along wi me?

I'll carry you unto fair Scotland,

And mak you a lady free.'

She pat her han in her pocket

An gae him five hunder poun:

'An take you that now, Squire Willy,

Till awa that we do won.'

Whan day was gane, and night was come,

She lap the castle-wa;

But Willy kepit his gay lady,

He was laith to let her fa.

Whan night was gane, an day come in,

An lions gaed to their dens,

An ay the lady followd him,

An the tears came hailing down.

'O want ye ribbons to your hair?

Or roses to your shoone?

Or want ye as meickle dear bought love

As your ain heart can contain?'

'I want nae ribbons to my hair,

Nor roses till my shoone;

An Ohone, alas, for dear bought love!

I have mair nor I can contain.'

O he's pu'd the oak in good green wood,

An he's made to her a fire;

He coverd it oer wi withred leaves,

An gard it burn thro ire.

He made a bed i the good green wood,

An he's laid his lady down,

An he's coverd her oer wi fig-tree leaves,

But an his ain night-gown.

'O had I a bunch o yon red roddins,

That grows in yonder wood,

But an a drink o water clear,

I think it woud do me good.'

He's pu'd her a bunch o yon red roddins,

That grew beside yon thorn,

But an a drink o water clear,

Intill his hunting-horn.

He's bent his bow, and shot the deer,

An thro the green wood gane,

An ere that he came back again

His lady took travailing.

'O up ye tak that horn,' she says,

'An ye blaw a blast for me;

Gin my father be in good green wood,

Sae seen's he'll come me ti.'

'O gin there be a man on earth

That ye loo better nor me,

Ye blaw the horn yoursel,' he says,

'For it's never be blawn by me.'

O he's bent his bow, an shot the deer,

An thro the green wood has he gane,

An lang or he came back again

His lady bare him a son.

O up has he tane his bonny young son,

An washn him wi the milk,

An up has he tane his gay lady,

An rowd her i the silk.

He's bent his bow, and shot the deer,

An thro the green wood has he gane,

Till he met wi a well-fard may,

Her father's flock feeding.

'Ye leave your father's flock feeding,

An go along wi me;

I'll carry you to a lady fair,

Will gi you both meat and fee.'

O whan she came the lady before,

She's fa'n down on her knee:

'O what's your will wi me, my dame?

An a dame you seem to be.'

'O I'm Dame Oliphant, the king's daughter,

Nae doubt but ye've heard o me;

Will you leave your father's flock feeding,

An go to Scotlan wi me?

'An ye sal get a nouriship

Intill an earldome,

An I will gar provide for the

To marry some brave Scotsman.'

The may she keepit the bonny boy,

An Willy led his lady,

Untill they took their fair shippin,

Then quikly hame came they.

The win was fair, an the sea was clear,

An they a' wan safe to lan;

He's haild her lady of Douglassdale,

Himsel the lord within.

#a.# Buchan MSS, II, 117. #b.# Buchan's Ballads of the

North of Scotland, II, 181; Motherwell's MS., p. 619.

Willie was an earl's ae son,

And an earl's ae son was he,

But he thought his father lack to sair,

And his mother of low degree.

But he is on to fair England,

To sair for meat an fee,

And all was for Dame Oliphant,

A woman of great beauty.

He hadna been in fair England

A month but barely ane,

Ere he dreamd that fair Dame Oliphant

Gied him a gay gold ring.

He hadna been in fair England

A month but barely four,

Ere he dreamd that fair Dame Oliphant

Gied him a red rose flower,

Well set about with white lilies,

Like to the paramour.

It fell ance upon a day

Dame Oliphant thought lang,

And she gaed on to good green wood,

As fast as she could gang.

As Willie stood in his chamber-door,

And as he thought it good,

There he beheld Dame Oliphant,

As she came thro the wood.

He's taen his bow his arm oer,

His sword into his hand,

And he is on to good green wood,

As fast as he could gang.

And there he found Dame Oliphant,

Was lying sound asleep,

And aye the sounder she did sleep

The nearer he did creep.

But when she wakend from her sleep

An angry maid was she,

Crying, Had far away frae me, young man,

Had far away frae me!

For I fear ye are the Scottish knight

That beguiles young ladies free.

'I am not the Scottish knight,

Nor ever thinks to be;

I am but Willie o Douglass Dale,

That serves for meat an fee.'

'If ye be Willie o Douglass Dale,

Ye're dearly welcome to me;

For oft in my sleep have I thought on

You and your merry winking ee.'

But the cocks they crew, and the horns blew,

And the lions took the hill,

And Willie he gaed hame again,

To his hard task and till;

And likewise did Dame Oliphant,

To her book and her seam.

Till it fell ance upon a day

Dame Oliphant thought lang,

And she went on to Willie's bower-yates,

As fast as she could gang.

'O are ye asleep now, Squire Willie?

O are you asleep?' said she;

O waken, waken, Squire Willie,

O waken, and speak to me.

'For the gowns that were oer wide, Willie,

They winna meet on me,

And the coats that were oer side, Willie,

They winna come to my knee;

And if the knights of my father's court get word,

I'm sure they'll gar you die.'

* * * * * * *

But she's taen a web of the scarlet,

And she tare it fine an sma,

And even into Willie's arms

She leapt the castle-wa;

And Willie was wight and well able,

And he keept her frae a fa.

But the cocks they crew, and the horns blew,

And the lions took the hill,

And Willie's ladie followed him,

And the tears did twinkle still.

'O want ye ribbons to your hair?

Or roses to your sheen?

Or want ye chains about your neck?

Ye'se get mair ere that be deen.'

'I want not ribbons to my hair,

Nor roses to my sheen,

And there's mair chains about my neck

Nor ever I'll see deen;

But I have as much dear bought love

As my heart can contain.'

'Will ye go to the cards or dice?

Or to the table ee?

Or to a bed, so well down spread,

And sleep till it be day?'

'I've mair need of the roddins, Willie,

That grow on yonder thorn;

Likewise a drink o Marywell water,

Out of your grass-green horn.

'I've mair need of a fire, Willie,

To had me frae the cauld;

Likewise a glass of your red wine,

Ere I bring my son to the fauld.'

He's got a bush o roddins till her,

That grows on yonder thorn;

Likewise a drink o Marywell water,

Out of his grass-green horn.

He carried the match in his pocket

That kindled to her the fire,

Well set about wi oaken spells,

That learnd oer Lincolnshire.

And he has bought to his lady

The white bread and the wine;

And the milk he milked from the goats,

He fed his young son on.

Till it fell ance upon a day

Dame Oliphant thought lang:

'O gin ye hae a being, Willie,

I pray ye hae me hame.'

He's taen his young son in his arms,

His lady by the hand,

And they're down thro good green wood,

As fast as they could gang.

Till they came to a shepherd-may,

Was feeding her flocks alone;

Said, Will ye gae alang wi me,

And carry my bonny young son?

The gowns that were shapen for my back,

They shall be sewd for thine;

And likewise I'll gar Squire Willie

Gie you a braw Scotsman.

When they came on to Willie's bower-yates,

And far beyont the sea,

She was haild the lady o Douglass Dale,

And Willie an earl to be:

Likewise the maid they brought awa,

She got a braw Scotsman.

Kinloch MSS, V, 327, in the handwriting of Dr John Hill

Burton.

Sweet Sir William of Douglas Dale,

A knight's ae son was he;

He dreamed of dear Dame Oliphant,

Lang ere he did her see.

He dreamed a woman of great beauty

Gave him a red rose flower,

Well busket about wi the lillies white,

Just like the paramour.

O sweet Sir William of Douglas Dale,

A knight's ae son was he,

And he is on to the king's high court,

To serve for meat and fee.

* * * * * * *

Five hundred pounds of Spanish gold,

Tied in a towal so white,

And that she has given her Lord William,

Out oer the castle-dyke.

Five hundred pounds of Spanish gold,

Tied in a towel sae sma,

And that she has given her own true-love,

Out ore the castle-wa.

She rowed hersell in a robe o silk,

To loup the castle-wa;

He ceppet her in his armes twa,

And he let not her get a fa.

* * * * * * *

The cocks do craw, and the day does daw,

And the wild fowl bodes on hill;

The lassie she followed her Sweet William,

And let the tears down fall.

* * * * * * *

'O want you ribbons to your hair?

Or roses to your sheen?

Or want ye as much of feel daft love

As your heart can contain?'

'I want nor ribbons to my hair,

Nor roses to my sheen;

I've got as much o dear bought love

As my heart can contain.'

* * * * * * *

He carried a flint in his pocket,

And he strack to her a fire,

And he buskit it roun wi the leaves o oak,

And gart it burn wi ire.

He's taen his big coat him about,

And his gun into his hand,

And he has gone to good green wood,

To kill some venison.

He's taen his big coat him about,

And his gun into his han,

But lang ere he came back again

She bare his dear young son.

He rowed her in his muckle coat,

But in his good night-gown,

And he fed her wi the good goat-milk,

Till she was well able to gang.

He's taen his young son in his arm,

His lady in his hand,

And they are down thro good green wood,

As fast as they can gang.

And they came to a shepherd's daughter,

Was feeding at her sheep;

Says, Will ye go to Douglass Dale,

Wi my yong son to keep?

O I will gee you gold, maiden,

And I will gee you fee,

Gin ye will go to Douglas Dale,

Wi my yong son and me.

She's taen his young son in her arm,

And kissed baith cheek and chin;

Says, I will go to Douglas Dale,

As fast as I can win.

He's taen his big coat him about,

And his lady in his hand,

And they are off to Douglas Dale,

As fast as they can gang.

And when they came to Douglas Dale

A happy man was he,

For his lady, and his young son,

And his nurse, a' three.

* * * * *

#A.#

_The stanzas are written in the MS. in two long lines.

The first stanza, as given by Anderson, is:_

Willie was as brave a lord

As ever saild the sea,

And he's gone to the English court,

To serve for meat and fee.

1^3. Enlish.

6^2, 7^2, 14^1, 24^1. & _for_ an.

22^4. tie(?).

24^1. the bow.

#B. a.#

27^3. And there.

#b.#

15^1. _Omits_ For.

_After 15, inserts:_

'Dame Oliphant, Dame Oliphant,

A king's daughter are ye;

But woud ye leave your father and mother,

And gang awa wi me?'

'O I woud leave my father and mother,

And the nearest that eer betide,

And I woud nae be feard to gang,

Gin ye war by my side.

17^4. trinkle.

19^3. there are.

19^4. Then ever.

20^2. table play.

23^2. grow.

26^4. pray you.

_After 30, inserts:_

And lang and happy did they live,

But now their days are deen,

And in the kirk o sweet Saint Bride

Their graves are growing green.

_Motherwell makes some alterations in his copy: as 1^3,

~laigh to sair~; 12^4, ~and toil~; ~whateer~, in the

second line of the second inserted stanza, above; besides

others which are purely arbitrary. He has ~table eye~ in

20^2, where Buchan prints ~table play~, and ~living~,

with ~being~ written over, in 26^3._

#C.#

3^1, 8^1, 16^1. Oh.

6^3. ceppit?

16^{1, 2}. gie?

_There are appended to this version two stanzas of which

Burton says_: The reciter of this ballad is obstinate in

persisting that the last two stanzas belong to it. They

are evidently taken from 'The Birth of Robin Hood,' and

have no connection with this ballad. _See the following

ballad._

[167] For the five hundred pounds in #A# 12, #C# 4, 5, cf. 'Leesome

Brand,' #A# 12, 18, and the corresponding Scandinavian ballads.

102

WILLIE AND EARL RICHARD'S DAUGHTER

#A.# 'The Birth of Robin Hood,' Jamieson's Popular

Ballads, II, 44.

#B.# 'The Birth of Robin Hood,' Buchan's Ballads of the

North of Scotland, II, 1.

#C.# Kinloch's MSS, V, 330 f, two stanzas.

#A# was taken down from Mrs Brown's recitation by Jamieson in 1800,

and published in his collection in 1806, "without the alteration of a

single word." #C# wrongly forms the conclusion of 'Willie o Douglas

Dale,' the preceding ballad. The copy in Christie's Traditional Ballad

Airs, #I#, 128, is an abridgment of #B#, with a very few trivial

changes.

The first half of the story in #A#, 1-9, is that of 'Willie of Douglas

Dale,' #A#, 1-24, and there is a partial verbal correspondence.[168]

In the latter a shepherd's daughter is engaged as nurse to the boy

born in the wood, and Dame Oliphant is taken home by her lover and

made lady of Douglas Dale. In the present ballad the lady's father

tracks his daughter to the wood, finds the new-born child, adopts him

as his grandson, and gives him the name Robin Hood, Willie [Archibald]

disappearing from the scene.

The first part of #B# 4-18 is a variety of the wide-spread tragic

ballad of 'Leesome Brand,' No 15. So, also, is the larger part of

'Willie o Douglas Dale,' with the tragic features dropped.

This ballad certainly does not belong to the cycle of Robin Hood, and

for this reason the title hitherto borne by it could not be retained.

The connection with Robin Hood was in all probability mediated by the

name Brown Robin. Brown Robin plays the part of Willie [Archibald]

in 'Rose the Red and White Lily,' #A# 25-29. Brown Robin's son, in

'Jellon Grame,' is called Robin after Robin Hood, #B# 14, #C# 7, 17.

Brown Robin carries off his love to the wood in the ballad of the same

name. The Earl of Huntingdon, #B# 3, 21, has no place in the ancient

traditional ballads of Robin Hood, but is of later literary invention.

#A# 17, #B# 1, #C# 1, may, however, very well have belonged to some

Robin Hood ballad.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 22,

No 3.

#A#

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, II, 44, from Mrs Brown's

recitation.

O Willie's large o limb and lith,

And come o high degree,

And he is gane to Earl Richard,

To serve for meat and fee.

Earl Richard had but ae daughter,

Fair as a lily-flower,

And they made up their love-contract

Like proper paramour.

It fell upon a simmer's nicht,

Whan the leaves were fair and green,

That Willie met his gay ladie

Intil the wood alane.

'O narrow is my gown, Willie,

That wont to be sae wide;

And gane is a' my fair colour,

That wont to be my pride.

'But gin my father should get word

What's past between us twa,

Before that he should eat or drink,

He'd hang you oer that wa.

'But ye'll come to my bower, Willie,

Just as the sun gaes down,

And kep me in your arms twa,

And latna me fa down.'

O whan the sun was now gane down,

He's doen him till her bower,

And there, by the lee licht o the moon,

Her window she lookit oer.

Intill a robe o red scarlet

She lap, fearless o harm;

And Willie was large o lith and limb,

And keppit her in his arm.

And they've gane to the gude green wood,

And, ere the night was deen,

She's born to him a bonny young son,

Amang the leaves sae green.

Whan night was gane, and day was come,

And the sun began to peep,

Up and raise the Earl Richard

Out o his drowsy sleep.

He's ca'd upon his merry young men,

By ane, by twa, and by three:

'O what's come o my daughter dear,

That she's nae come to me?

'I dreamt a dreary dream last night,

God grant it come to gude!

I dreamt I saw my daughter dear

Drown in the saut sea flood.

'But gin my daughter be dead or sick,

Or yet be stown awa,

I mak a vow, and I'll keep it true,

I'll hang ye ane and a'!'

They sought her back, they sought her fore,

They sought her up and down;

They got her in the gude green wood,

Nursing her bonny young son.

He took the bonny boy in his arms,

And kist him tenderlie;

Says, Though I would your father hang,

Your mother's dear to me.

He kist him oer and oer again:

'My grandson I thee claim,

And Robin Hood in gude green wood,

And that shall be your name.'

And mony ane sings o grass, o grass,

And mony ane sings o corn,

And mony ane sings o Robin Hood

Kens little whare he was born.

It wasna in the ha, the ha,

Nor in the painted bower,

But it was in the gude green wood,

Amang the lily-flower.

#B#

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 1.

Mony ane talks o the grass, the grass,

And mony ane o the corn,

And mony ane talks o gude Robin Hood

Kens little whar he was born.

He was gotten in a earl's ha,

And in a lady's bower,

And born into gude greenwood,

Thro mony cauld winter's shower.

His father was the earl's own steward,

Sprung frae sma pedigree;

His mother, Earl Huntingdon's ae daughter,

For he had nane else but she.

When nine months were near an end,

And eight months they were gone,

The lady's cheeks wi tears were wet,

And thus she made her moan:

'What shall I say, my love Archibald,

This day for you and me?

I will be laid in cauld irons,

And ye'll be hanged on tree.'

'What aileth my love Clementina?

What gars you mourn sae sair?'

'You know,' said she, 'I'm with child to thee,

These eight lang months and mair.'

'Will ye gae to my mother's bower,

Stands on yon stately green?

Or will ye gae to the gude greenwood,

Where ye will not be seen?'

'I winna gang to your mother's bower,

Stands on yon stately green;

But I will on to gude greenwood,

For I will not be seen.'

He's girt his sword down by his side,

Took his lady by the hand,

And they are on thro gude greenwood,

As fast as they could gang.

With slowly steps these couple walkd,

About miles scarcely three.

When this lady, being sair wearied out,

Lay down beneath a tree.

'O for a few of yon junipers,

To cheer my heart again,

And likewise for a gude midwife,

To ease me of my pain!'

'I'll bring to you yon junipers,

To cheer your heart again,

And I'll be to you a gude midwife,

To ease you of your pain.'

'Had far awa frae me, Archibald,

For this will never dee;

That's nae the fashion o our land,

And it's nae be used by me.

'Ye'll take your small-sword by your side,

Your buckler and your bow,

And ye'll gae down thro gude greenwood,

And hunt the deer and roe.

'You will stay in gude greenwood,

And with the chase go on,

Until yon white hind pass you by,

Then straight to me ye'll come.'

He's girt his sword then by his side,

His buckler and his bow,

And he is on thro gude greenwood,

To hunt the deer and roe.

And in the greenwood he did stay,

And with the chase gaed on,

Until the white hind passd him by,

Then to his love he came.

He girt his sword then by his side,

Fast thro greenwood went he,

And there he found his love lie dead,

Beneath the green oak tree.

The sweet young babe that she had born

Right lively seemed to be;

'Ohon, alas!' said young Archibald,

'A mournful scene to me!

'Altho my sweet babe is alive,

This does increase my woe;

How to nourish a motherless babe

Is mair than I do know.'

He looked east, he looked west,

To see what he could see,

Then spied the Earl o Huntingdon,

And mony a man him wi.

Then Archibald fled from the earl's face,

Among the leaves sae green,

That he might hear what might be said,

And see, and nae be seen.

The earl straight thro the greenwood came,

Unto the green oak tree,

And there he saw his daughter dead,

Her living child her wi.

Then he's taen up the little boy,

Rowed him in his gown-sleeve;

Said, Tho your father's to my loss,

Your mother's to me leave.

And if ye live until I die,

My bowers and lands ye'se heir;

You are my only daughter's child;

But her I never had mair.

Ye'se hae all kinds of nourishment,

And likewise nurses three;

If I knew where the fause knave were,

High hanged should he be.

His daughter he buried in gude church-yard,

All in a mournful mood,

And brought the boy to church that day,

And christend him Robin Hood.

This boy was bred in the earl's ha

Till he became a man,

But loved to hunt in gude greenwood,

To raise his noble fame.

Kinloch MSS, V, 330 f, the last two stanzas of 'Douglass

Dale.'

Mony ane speaks o grass, o grass,

And mony mare o corn,

And mony ane sings o Robin Heed

Kens little whare he was born.

He was born in good green wood,

At the fut o yon olive tree;

His father was a knight's ae son,

And his mother a lady free.

* * * * *

#B.#

_Christie says of his copy that the words sung by his

maternal grandfather_ "were somewhat, as far as the

Editor can remember, like those given by Buchan, _and

that_ some slight alterations _were made by him_ from the

way the Editor heard the ballad sung."

_The alterations in Christie's eighteen stanzas are:_

1^3. mony talk.

1^4. That kenna.

8^4. Whare I will.

15^1. in the.

15^3. a white.

18^2. gaed he.

25^4. I neer.

28^1. The.

[168] Compare No 102, #A# 1^{3, 4}, and No 101, #A# 1^{3, 4}; 2^{3, 4}

and 8^{3, 4}; 3 and 3; 4 and 9^{1, 2, 5, 6}; 5 and 10^{1, 2, 5, 6};

7^1, 8^{2-4} and 13; 9^3 and 24^4. Also No 102, #A# 3, and No 101, #B#

13; 4^{1, 2}, 5^{1, 4} and 15^{1, 2, 5, 6}; 8 and 16. Also, No 102, #A#

1, and No 101, #C# 3; 8 and 6.

103

ROSE THE RED AND WHITE LILY

#A.# 'Rose the Red and White Lilly,' Jamieson-Brown MS.,

fol. 1.

#B.# 'Rose the Red and White Lillie,' Buchan's Ballads of

the North of Scotland, I, 67.

#C.# 'The Wedding of Robin Hood and Little John,'

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 69.

#A# was No 6 of the fifteen ballads written down by Mrs Brown for

William Tytler in 1783: Anderson, in Nichols's Illustrations, VII,

176. This copy was printed by Scott in his Minstrelsy, II, 60, 1802,

"chiefly from Mrs Brown's MS.," but with numerous alterations.

Kinloch's annotated copy of his Ancient Scottish Ballads supplies an

additional stanza of #C#; the 17th.

The story in #A# is that Rose the Red and White Lily have a bad

step-mother, who, however, has two good sons that love these maids:

Brown Robin, Lily, and Arthur, Rose. The maids build a bower, in which

the young people make very merry, and the step-mother, to spoil sport,

tells her sons that they must sail the sea. Brown Robin goes to the

wood, and Arthur to the king's court. The maids disguise themselves

as men, and take service with their lovers: White Lily under the name

of Roge the Round, and Rose the Red under that of Sweet Willy. Before

they part they make a mutual vow that at three blasts of a horn the one

shall come to the other's help. Once upon a time, when Robin and his

men are putting the stone, Roge sets it seven foot beyond all the rest,

but, having exerted herself too much in so doing, is fain to lean her

back against an oak and utters a moan, by which Brown Robin perceives

that Roge is a woman. Forty weeks after this Roge has occasion for the

aid of a bower-wife. Brown Robin proffers his help, but it is declined;

nevertheless, with an apparent but not a real inconsistency, the lady

asks him to blow her horn, for she has a brother at the court who will

come to her upon the sound. Robin replies that if she has a brother

whom she loves better than him she may blow the horn herself. This she

does, and Sweet Willy comes at once. Brown Robin will let no man enter

the bower without a fight. Rose the Red is wounded, and avows herself

to be a woman. Brown Robin is distressed: he wished never to see a

woman's blood, for the sake of a maid named White Lily. Roge the Round

reveals herself as that same. Word comes to the king's court that Brown

Robin's man has borne a son, and the king declares that he will go to

the wood to inquire into this marvel. Arthur will go with him, to find

a foot-page who had left him. Arrived at the wood, Arthur blows his

horn, and Sweet Willy comes running to him. Arthur asks the page why he

had run away, and is told that it was to see a brother that lives in

the wood. The king enters the bower, and finds White Lily nursing her

son. This leads to an explanation on the part of Rose the Red. Brown

Robin, coming in from hunting, starts to see the king. The king bids

him have no fear, but quit the wood and come to court. Brown Robin and

White Lily, Arthur and Rose the Red, go to church and are married.

In #B# the two maids, ill-treated by their step-mother, betake

themselves to the wood, where they meet, not Brown Robin, but Robin

Hood, and take service with him. Rose and Lily change parts; Rose,

under the name of Nicholas, consorting with Robin Hood, and Lily,

_alias_ Roger Brown, with Little John. It is not, however, Robin

Hood and Little John who turn out to be their lovers, but "a lad in

the company," and "another youth among the company," stanzas 30, 51.

Nothing is said of the king.

In the fragmentary #C# the maids are daughters of a king. Their proper

names are not given, and we do not learn that the stepmother has a pair

of sons. In consequence of the harshness of their step-mother, these

king's daughters go to the wood as Nicholas and Rogee Roun, to seek

Robin Hood, and they are discovered to be maids by a song which Rogee

sings. Rogee is wedded to Robin Hood, and Nicholas to Little John.

It is easy to see that the Robin Hood of #B#, #C#, was suggested by the

Brown Robin of #A#. The name Barnsdale in #A# 12, 51 has certainly been

adopted from the Robin Hood cycle, but in the present ballad is the

residence of the father of Rose and Lily, not that of Robin Hood.

The only part of the ballad which has the stamp of indubitably

ancient tradition is the child-birth in the wood, and this scene is

the rightful, and perhaps exclusive, property of 'Leesome Brand,' No

15: see I, 182. #A# 24-29, #B# 40-47, are found again in 'Willie o

Douglas Dale,' #A# 15-17, 22, 23, #B# 18, 19, 22, 24, #C# 8-10, and the

first part of 'Willie o Douglas Dale,' as well as of the ballad which

immediately precedes the present, commonly called 'The Birth of Robin

Hood,' is a variation of 'Leesome Brand.'

Robin Hood has no love-story in any ancient ballad, though his name

has been foisted into modern love-ballads, as in 'Robin Hood and the

Tanner's Daughter,' No 8 #C#. Maid Marian is a late accretion. There

is a piteously vulgar broadside, in which Maid Marian, being parted

from Robin Hood, dresses herself "like a page" (but armed fully),

meets Robin Hood, also under disguise, and has an hour's fight with

him. There is so far a resemblance in this to #A# 30 ff, #B# 49, that

a woman disguised as a page fights with Robin Hood. I suppose the

resemblance to be accidental, but whether it be or not, the question of

'Rose the Red and White Lily' being originally a Robin Hood ballad is

not affected.

#A# 3, #B# 5, is like #C# 6 of 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' No

72.

* * * * *

Scott's copy is translated by Doenniges, p. 40.

Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 1.

O Rose the Red and White Lilly,

Their mother dear was dead,

And their father married an ill woman,

Wishd them twa little guede.

Yet she had twa as fu fair sons

As eer brake manis bread,

And the tane of them loed her White Lilly,

An the tither lood Rose the Red.

O biggit ha they a bigly bowr,

And strawn it oer wi san,

And there was mair mirth i the ladies' bowr

Than in a' their father's lan.

But out it spake their step-mother,

Wha stood a little foreby:

I hope to live and play the prank

Sal gar your loud sang ly.

She's calld upon her eldest son:

Come here, my son, to me;

It fears me sair, my eldest son,

That ye maun sail the sea.

'Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,

Your bidding I maun dee;

But be never war to Rose the Red

Than ye ha been to me.'

'O had your tongue, my eldest son,

For sma sal be her part;

You'll nae get a kiss o her comely mouth

Gin your very fair heart should break.'

She's calld upon her youngest son:

Come here, my son, to me;

It fears me sair, my youngest son,

That ye maun sail the sea.

'Gin it fear you sair, my mither dear,

Your bidding I maun dee;

But be never war to White Lilly

Than ye ha been to me.'

'O haud your tongue, my youngest son,

For sma sall be her part;

You'll neer get a kiss o her comely mouth

Tho your very fair heart should break.'

When Rose the Red and White Lilly

Saw their twa loves were gane,

Then stopped ha they their loud, loud sang,

And tane up the still mournin;

And their step-mother stood listnin by,

To hear the ladies' mean.

Then out it spake her White Lilly:

My sister, we'll be gane;

Why should we stay in Barnsdale,

To waste our youth in pain?

Then cutted ha they their green cloathing

A little below their knee,

An sae ha they there yallow hair,

A little aboon there bree;

An they've doen them to haely chapel,

Was christened by Our Lady.

There ha they chang'd their ain twa names,

Sae far frae ony town,

An the tane o them hight Sweet Willy,

An the tither o them Roge the Roun.

Between this twa a vow was made,

An they sware it to fulfil;

That at three blasts o a bugle-horn,

She'd come her sister till.

Now Sweet Willy's gane to the kingis court,

Her true-love for to see,

An Roge the Roun to good green wood,

Brown Robin's man to be.

As it fell out upon a day

They a' did put the stane,

Full seven foot ayont them a'

She gard the puttin-stane gang.

She leand her back against an oak,

And gae a loud Ohone!

Then out it spake him Brown Robin,

But that's a woman's moan!

'O ken ye by my red rose lip?

Or by my yallow hair?

Or ken ye by my milk-white breast?

For ye never saw it bare?'

'I ken no by your red rose lip,

Nor by your yallow hair;

Nor ken I by your milk-white breast,

For I never saw it bare;

But come to your bowr whaever sae likes,

Will find a lady there.'

'O gin ye come to my bowr within,

Thro fraud, deceit, or guile,

Wi this same bran that's in my han,

I swear I will the kill.'

'But I will come thy bowr within,

An spear nae leave,' quoth he;

'An this same bran that's i my han

I sall ware back on the.'

About the tenth hour of the night

The ladie's bower-door was broken,

An eer the first hour of the day

The bonny knave-bairn was gotten.

When days were gane, and months were run,

The lady took travailing,

And sair she cry'd for a bowr-woman,

For to wait her upon.

Then out it spake him Brown Robin:

Now what needs a' this din?

For what coud any woman do

But I coud do the same?

''Twas never my mither's fashion,' she says,

'Nor sall it ever be mine,

That belted knights shoud eer remain

Where ladies dreed their pine.

'But ye take up that bugle-horn,

An blaw a blast for me;

I ha a brother i the kingis court

Will come me quickly ti.'

'O gin ye ha a brither on earth

That ye love better nor me,

Te blaw the horn yoursel,' he says,

'For ae blast I winna gie.'

She's set the horn till her mouth,

And she's blawn three blasts sae shrill;

Sweet Willy heard i the kingis court,

And came her quickly till.

Then up it started Brown Robin,

An an angry man was he:

'There comes nae man this bowr within

But first must fight wi me.'

O they hae fought that bowr within

Till the sun was gaing down,

Till drops o blude frae Rose the Red

Came hailing to the groun.

She leand her back against the wa,

Says, Robin, let a' be;

For it is a lady born and bred

That's foughten sae well wi thee.

O seven foot he lap a back;

Says, Alas, and wae is me!

I never wisht in a' my life,

A woman's blude to see;

An a' for the sake of ae fair maid

Whose name was White Lilly.

Then out it spake her White Lilly,

An a hearty laugh laugh she:

She's lived wi you this year an mair,

Tho ye kentna it was she.

Now word has gane thro a' the lan,

Before a month was done,

That Brown Robin's man, in good green wood,

Had born a bonny young son.

The word has gane to the kingis court,

An to the king himsel;

'Now, by my fay,' the king could say,

'The like was never heard tell!'

Then out it spake him Bold Arthur,

An a hearty laugh laugh he:

I trow some may has playd the loun,

And fled her ain country.

'Bring me my steed,' then cry'd the king,

'My bow and arrows keen;

I'l ride mysel to good green wood,

An see what's to be seen.'

'An't please your grace,' said Bold Arthur,

'My liege, I'll gang you wi,

An try to fin a little foot-page,

That's strayd awa frae me.'

O they've hunted i the good green wood

The buck but an the rae,

An they drew near Brown Robin's bowr,

About the close of day.

Then out it spake the king in hast,

Says, Arthur, look an see

Gin that be no your little foot-page

That leans against yon tree.

Then Arthur took his bugle-horn,

An blew a blast sae shrill;

Sweet Willy started at the sound,

An ran him quickly till.

'O wanted ye your meat, Willy?

Or wanted ye your fee?

Or gat ye ever an angry word,

That ye ran awa frae me?'

'I wanted nought, my master dear;

To me ye ay was good;

I came but to see my ae brother,

That wons in this green wood.'

Then out it spake the king again,

Says, Bonny boy, tell to me

Wha lives into yon bigly bowr,

Stands by yon green oak tree?

'O pardon me,' says Sweet Willy,

'My liege, I dare no tell;

An I pray you go no near that bowr,

For fear they do you fell.'

'O baud your tongue, my bonny boy,

For I winna be said nay;

But I will gang that bowr within,

Betide me weel or wae.'

They've lighted off their milk-white steeds,

An saftly enterd in,

An there they saw her White Lilly,

Nursing her bonny yong son.

'Now, by the rood,' the king coud say,

This is a comely sight;

I trow, instead of a forrester's man,

This is a lady bright!'

Then out it spake her Rose the Red,

An fell low down on her knee:

O pardon us, my gracious liege,

An our story I'll tell thee.

Our father was a wealthy lord,

That wond in Barnsdale;

But we had a wicked step-mother,

That wrought us meickle bale.

Yet she had twa as fu fair sons

As ever the sun did see,

An the tane o them lood my sister dear,

An the tither sayd he lood me.

Then out it spake him Bold Arthur,

As by the king he stood:

Now, by the faith o my body,

This shoud be Rose the Red!

Then in it came him Brown Robin,

Frae hunting o the deer,

But whan he saw the king was there,

He started back for fear.

The king has taen him by the hand,

An bade him naithing dread;

Says, Ye maun leave the good green wood,

Come to the court wi speed.

Then up he took White Lilly's son,

An set him on his knee;

Says, Gin ye live to wiald a bran,

My bowman ye sall bee.

The king he sent for robes of green,

An girdles o shinning gold;

He gart the ladies be arrayd

Most comely to behold.

They've done them unto Mary Kirk,

An there gat fair wedding,

An fan the news spread oer the lan,

For joy the bells did ring.

Then out it spake her Rose the Red,

An a hearty laugh laugh she:

I wonder what would our step-dame say,

Gin she this sight did see!

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 67.

Now word is gane thro a' the land,

Gude seal that it sae spread!

To Rose the Red and White Lillie,

Their mither dear was dead.

Their father's married a bauld woman,

And brought her ower the sea,

Twa sprightly youths, her ain young sons,

Intill her companie.

They fixd their eyes on those ladies,

On shipboard as they stood,

And sware, if ever they wan to land,

These ladies they woud wed.

But there was nae a quarter past,

A quarter past but three,

Till these young luvers a' were fond

O other's companie.

The knights they harped i their bower,

The ladies sewd and sang;

There was mair mirth in that chamer

Than a' their father's lan.

Then out it spak their step-mither,

At the stair-foot stood she:

I'm plagued wi your troublesome noise!

What makes your melodie?

O Rose the Red, ye sing too loud,

White Lillie, your voice is strang;

But gin I live and brook my life,

I'se gar you change your sang.

'We maunna change our loud, loud song

For nae duke's son ye'll bear;

We winna change our loud, loud song,

But aye we'll sing the mair.

'We never sung the sang, mither,

But we'll sing ower again;

We'll take our harps into our hands,

And we'll harp, and we'll sing.'

She's calld upon her twa young sons,

Says, Boun ye for the sea;

Let Rose the Red and White Lillie

Stay in their bower wi me.

'O God forbid,' said her eldest son,

'Nor lat it ever be,

Unless ye were as kind to our luves

As gin we were them wi.'

'Yet never the less, my pretty sons,

Ye'll boun you for the faem;

Let Rose the Red and White Lillie

Stay in their bowers at hame.'

'O when wi you we came alang,

We felt the stormy sea,

And where we go, ye neer shall know,

Nor shall be known by thee.'

Then wi her harsh and boisterous word

She forc'd these lads away,

While Rose the Red and White Lillie

Still in their bowers did stay.

But there was not a quarter past,

A quarter past but ane,

Till Rose the Red in rags she gaed,

White Lillie's claithing grew thin.

Wi bitter usage every day,

The ladies they thought lang;

'Ohon, alas!' said Rose the Red,

'She's gard us change our sang.

'But we will change our own fu names,

And we'll gang frae the town,

Frae Rose the Red and White Lillie

To Nicholas and Roger Brown.

'And we will cut our green claithing

A little aboon our knee,

And we will on to gude greenwood,

Twa bauld bowmen to be.'

'Ohon, alas!' said White Lillie,

'My fingers are but sma,

And tho my hands woud wield the bow,

They winna yield at a'.'

'O had your tongue now, White Lillie,

And lat these fears a' be;

There's naething that ye're awkward in

But I will learn thee.'

Then they are on to gude greenwood,

As fast as gang coud they;

O then they spied him Robin Hood,

Below a green aik tree.

'Gude day, gude day, kind sir,' they said,

'God make you safe and free:'

'Gude day, gude day,' said Robin Hood,

'What is your wills wi me?'

'Lo here we are, twa banishd knights,

Come frae our native hame;

We're come to crave o thee service,

Our king will gie us nane.'

'If ye be twa young banishd knights,

Tell me frae what countrie:'

'Frae Anster town into Fifeshire;

Ye know it as well as we.'

'If a' be true that ye hae said,

And tauld just now to me,

Ye're welcome, welcome, every one;

Your master I will be.

'Now ye shall eat as I do eat,

And lye as I do lye;

Ye salna wear nae waur claithing

Nor my young men and I.'

Then they went to a ruinous house,

And there they enterd in,

And Nicholas fed wi Robin Hood,

And Roger wi Little John.

But it fell ance upon a day

They were at the putting-stane,

Whan Rose the Red she viewd them a',

As they stood on the green.

She hit the stane then wi her foot,

And kepd it wi her knee,

And spaces three aboon them a'

I wyte she gard it flee.

She sat her back then to a tree,

And gae a loud Ohon!

A lad spak in the companie,

I hear a woman's moan.

'How know you that, young man?' she said,

'How know you that o me?

Did eer ye see me in that place

Ae foot my ground to flee?

'Or know ye by my cherry cheeks?

Or by my yellow hair?

Or by the paps on my breast-bane?

Ye never saw them bare.'

'I know not by your cherry cheeks,

Nor by your yellow hair;

But I know by your milk-white chin,

On it there grows nae hair.

'I never saw you in that cause

Ae foot your ground to flee;

I've seen you stan wi sword in han

Mang men's blood to the knee.

'But if I come your bower within,

By night, or yet by day,

I shall know before I go

If ye be man or may.'

'O if you come my bower within,

By night, or yet by day,

As soon's I draw my trusty brand,

Nae lang ye'll wi me stay.'

But he is haunted to her bower,

Her bigly bower o stane,

Till he has got her big wi bairn,

And near sax months she's gane.

Whan three mair months were come and gane,

They gaed to hunt the hynde;

She wont to be the foremost ane,

But now stayd far behynd.

Her luver looks her in the face,

And thus to her said he;

I think your cheeks are pale and wan;

Pray, what gaes warst wi thee?

O want ye roses to your breast?

Or ribbons to your sheen?

Or want ye as muckle o dear bought luve

As your heart can conteen?

'I want nae roses to my breast,

Nae ribbons to my sheen;

Nor want I as muckle dear bought luve

As my heart can conteen.

'I'd rather hae a fire behynd,

Anither me before,

A gude midwife at my right side,

Till my young babe be bore.'

'I'll kindle a fire wi a flint-stane,

Bring wine in a green horn;

I'll be midwife at your right side,

Till your young babe be born.'

'That was neer my mither's custom,

Forbid that it be mine!

A knight stan by a lady bright

Whan she drees a' her pine.

'There is a knight in gude greenwood,

If that he kent o me,

Thro stock and stane and the hawthorn

Sae soon's he woud come me tee.'

'If there be a knight in gude greenwood

Ye like better than me,

If ance he come your bower within,

Ane o us twa shall dee.'

She set a horn to her mouth,

And she blew loud and shrill;

Thro stock and stane and the hawthorn

Brave Roger came her till.

'Wha's here sae bauld,' the youth replied,

'Thus to encroach on me?'

'O here I am,' the knight replied,

'Hae as much right as thee.'

Then they fought up the gude greenwood,

Sae did they down the plain;

They niddart ither wi lang braid-swords,

Till they were bleedy men.

Then out it spak the sick woman,

Sat under the greenwood tree;

O had your han, young man, she said,

She's a woman as well as me.

Then out it speaks anither youth,

Amang the companie;

Gin I had kent what I ken now,

'T is for her I woud dee.

'O wae mat worth you, Rose the Red,

An ill death mat ye dee!

Altho ye tauld upo yoursell,

Ye might hae heald on me.'

'O for her sake I was content

For to gae ower the sea;

For her I left my mither's ha,

Tho she proves fause to me.'

But whan these luvers were made known,

They sung right joyfullie,

Nae blyther was the nightingale,

Nor bird that sat on tree.

Now they hae married these ladies,

Brought them to bower and ha;

And now a happy life they lead;

I wish sae may we a'.

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, annotated by the

editor, p. 69.

The king has wedded an ill woman,

Into some foreign land;

His daughters twa, that stood in awe,

They bravely sat and sang.

Then in became their step-mother,

Sae stately steppin ben:

'O gin I live and bruik my life,

I'll gar ye change your tune.'

'O we sang neer that sang, ladie,

But we will sing again;

And ye neer boor that son, ladie,

We wad lay our love on.

'But we will cow our yellow locks

A little abune our bree,

And we will on to gude greenwud,

And serve for meat and fee.

'And we will kilt our gay claithing

A little below the knee,

And we will on to gude greenwud,

Gif Robin Hood we see.

'And we will change our ain twa names,

When we gae frae the toun;

The tane we will call Nicholas,

The tither Rogee Roun.'

Then they hae cowd their yellow locks

A little abune their bree,

And they are on to gude greenwud,

To serve for meat and fee.

And they hae kilt their gay claithing

A little below their knee,

And they are on to gud greenwud,

Gif Robin Hood they see.

And they hae chang'd thair ain twa names,

Whan they gaed frae the toun;

The tane they've called Nicholas,

The tither Rogee Roun.

And they hae staid in gude greenwud,

And never a day thoucht lang,

Till it fell ance upon a day

That Rogee sang a sang.

'Whan we were in our father's bouer,

We sewd the silken seam;

But now we walk the gude greenwud,

And bear anither name.

'When we were in our father's ha,

We wore the beaten gold;

But now we wear the shield sae sharp;

Alas, we'll die with cold!'

Then up bespak him Robin Hood,

As he to them drew near:

'Instead of boys to carry the bow,

Two ladies we've got here'

So they had not been in gud greenwud

A twalmonth and a day,

Till Rogee Roun was as big wi bairn

As onie lady could gae.

'O wae be to my stepmother,

That garrd me leave my hame!

For I'm wi bairn to Robin Hood,

And near nine month is gane.

'O wha will be my bouer-woman?

Na bouer-woman is here;

O wha will be my bouer-woman,

Whan that sad time draws near?'

Then up bespak him Robin Hood,

At the foot o yon greenwud tree:

O hold your tongue, fair Rogee Roun,

For married ye sall be.

The tane was wedded to Robin Hood,

And the tither to Little John;

And it was a' owing to their stepmother,

That garrd them leave their hame.

* * * * *

#A.#

_Written, like all the ballads in the MS., in stanzas of

two long lines._

1. _Anderson cites this stanza, giving the last line_,

Wist them twa little quee'd.

8^1. younges.

8^3. youngst.

13^1. greed.

21^4. sear.

26^3. beltest kights.

47^4. well?

49^1. the the king.

_Scott's variations, the contrary not being alleged, must

be supposed to be his own. Scott inserts after 10:_

Sae Bauld Arthur's gane to our king's court,

His hie chamberlain to be;

But Brown Robin he has slain a knight,

And to grene wood he did flee.

_11^{5, 6} are 12^{1, 2} in the MS., making a stanza with

12^{1, 2}; 12^{3, 4} make an eight-line stanza with 13.

11^{5, 6} are omitted by Scott._

_13^{5, 6} make the last half of a stanza in Scott, which

begins:_

And left hae they that bonny bour,

To cross the raging sea.

_20^{3, 4} are omitted by Scott._

_33^{5, 6} make the last half of a stanza in Scott, which

runs:_

And that all for the knightly vow

I swore to Our Ladye,

But mair, _etc._

_57 follows 53 in Scott, and 59 is omitted._

#B.#

7^2. While Lillie.

43^2. horn green.

104

PRINCE HEATHEN

#A.# 'The Disconsolate Lady,' The Jovial Rake's Garland,

n. d., p. 6, No 4.

#B.# 'Prince Heathen,' Buchan's MSS, I, 97; Motherwell's

MS., p. 665.

The fragment #A# (pointed out to me by Svend Grundtvig) is partly

explained by #B#, which is no doubt some stall-copy, reshaped from

tradition. Motherwell's copy was derived from Buchan.

The story, which reads like an old one extremely corrupted, is none too

intelligible even in the longer form. Lady Margery is sitting in her

bower-door. Prince Heathen comes by and gives her a ring. She refuses

him her love. He swears that he will make her greet; she swears that he

shall not. He takes her maidenhead: still she will not greet. He tells

her that he has killed her father, mother, and seven brothers: still

she will not greet. He puts her in a vault of stone, fastened with five

and thirty locks: she will not greet [go, #A#], but rues. He comes back

from the mountains, and asks her how she is faring. Dying, she says. He

takes her out upon the green, allowing her no female service, and she

brings forth a son. How is it with her now? Dying. She asks for a drink

of water: he will not give her a drop until she wraps up her young son.

She has nothing to wrap the babe in; he gives her his horse-sheet; her

tears fall fast. "Bonny may, now you greet!" he exclaims ["will you

go now?" #A#]. But she greets not for him; it is for her young son,

wrapped so roughly. Prince Heathen, satisfied, as far as we can see,

now that he has subdued her proud will, orders his son to be rolled in

silk and washed in milk, according to the usage of Scottish nursery:

see No 5, #B# 61, #C# 82, 83, #E# 32, #F# 57, #G# 33; No 20, #C# 8; No

63, #B# 35, #C# 35, #F# 22, #J# 47; No 101, #A# 25. Having broken her

spirit, he loves her well.

The Jovial Rake's Garland, n. d., p. 6, No 4, Bodleian

Library, Douce PP, 164.

Lady Margery May sits in her bower,

Sewing at her seem;

By there comes a heathen knight,

From her her maidenhead has tane.

He has put her in a tower strong,

With double locks on fifty doors:

'Lady Margery May, will you ga now?'

'O ye heathen knight, not yet for you.

'I am asking, you heathen knight;

What I am asking will you grant to me?

Will ye let one of your waitmen

A drink of your well bring to me?'

'Meat nor drink you shall never get,

Nor out of that shall you never come,

Meat nor drink shall you never get,

Until you bear to me daughter or son.'

Thus time drew on, and further on,

For travail came this young lady to;

She travailed up, so did she down,

But lighter could she never be.

'An asking, an asking, you heathen knight;

An asking will you grant to me?

Will you give me a scread of silk,

For to row your young son wi?'

He took the horse-sheet in his hand,

The tears came twinkling down:

'Lady Margaret May, will ye ga now?'

'O ye heathen knight, not yet for you.'

'I'll wash my young son with the milk,

I will dry my young son with the silk;

For hearts will break, and bands will bow;

So dear will I love my lady now!'

Buchan's MSS, I, 97; Motherwell's MS., p. 665.

Lady Margaret sat in her bower-door,

Sewing at her silken seem,

When by it came Prince Heathen then,

An gae to her a gay gold ring.

He turnd about, an gied a bow;

She said, Begone, I love na you;

When he sware by his yellow hair

That he woud gar her greet fu sair.

But she sware by her milk-white skin

Prince Heathen shoud gar her greet nane:

'O bonny may, winna ye greet now?'

'Ye heathenish dog, nae yet for you.'

He's taen her in his arms twa,

Laid her between him an the wa,

An ere he let her free again,

Her maidenhead frae her he's taen.

'O bonny may, winna ye greet now?'

'Ye heathenish dog, nae yet for you.'

'I killd your father in his bed,

And your gay mother by his side,

And your seven brothers, ane by ane,

And they were seven pretty men.

O bonny may, winna ye greet now?'

'Ye heathenish dog, nae yet for you.'

'I'll put you in a vault o stone,

Where five an thirty locks hing on;

Naebody there then shall you see,

For I will keep the keys wi me.

O bonny may, winna ye greet now?'

'Ye heathenish dog, nae yet for you.'

He's put her in a vault o stone,

Where five an thirty locks hing on;

Naebody there coud eer her see,

Prince Heathen kept the keys him wi.

But ae she cried, What shall I do!

The heathenish dog has gart me rue.

Prince Heathen from the mountains came,

Attended by his armed men,

And he's gane to the bonny may,

And to the prison where she lay:

'O bonny may, what do you now?'

'Ye heathenish dog, dying for you.'

'I'll take you out upon the green,

Where women ye shall neer see ane,

But only me and my young men,

Till ye bring daughter hame or son.

O bonny may, what do you now?'

'Ye heathenish dog, dying for you.'

He's taen her out upon the green,

Where she saw women never ane,

But only him and 's merry young men,

Till she brought hame a bonny young son.

'O bonny may, what do you now?'

'Ye heathenish dog, dying for you.

'A drink, a drink, frae Prince Heathen's hand,

Though it were frae yon cauld well strong!'

'O neer a drap, Prince Heathen,' said one,

'Till ye row up your bonny young son.'

'How can I row up my bonny young son,

When I hae naething to row him in?'

'I will lend you my horse's sheet,

That will row him baith head and feet.'

As soon's she took it in her han,

Tears oer her cheeks down rapping ran.

'O bonny may, ye do greet now:'

'Ye heathenish dog, but nae for you.

'But a' is for my bonny young son;

Your sheets are rough to row him in;

Ohon, alas, sair may I rue

That eer I saw such rogues as you!'

'Ye'll row my young son in the silk,

An ye will wash him wi the milk,

An lay my lady very saft,

That I may see her very aft.'

When hearts are broken, bands will bow;

Sae well's he loved his lady now!

* * * * *

#A.#

3^3. writmen.

5^2. too.

#B.#

11^2. wells. _Motherwell MS._ well.

_There are some trifling deviations in Motherwell's copy._

105

THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON

#a.# Printed for P. Brooksby, Boxburghe Ballads, II, 457.

#b.# Printed for J. Walter, Douce Ballads, II, fol. 229.

#c.# Printed for P. Brooksby, Pepys Ballads, III, 258, No

256. #d.# Printed for P. Brooksby, Roxburghe Ballads, IV,

56. #e.# Printed for P. Brooksby, Douce Ballads, II, fol.

230. #f.# An Aldermary Churchyard copy.

Reprinted in Percy's Reliques, III, 133, 1765, from the Pepys copy,

#c#, but "with some improvements, communicated by a lady as she heard

the same repeated in her youth;" that is, in fact, a few casual verbal

variations, attributable to imperfect recollection of a broadside.

There are much better in a copy which I have received from an Irish

lady, partly made over by secondary tradition. Reprinted also by

Ritson, A Select Collection of English Songs, II, 234, 1783, apparently

from #a#, with an arbitrary change in st. 8^2, and one or two other

variations. Mr F. H. Stoddard informs me that 'The Bailiff's Daughter'

is still very much sung, and may be heard any day at a country

cricket-match.

A fond youth and a coy maid, a bailiff's daughter, having been parted

seven years, the maid disguises herself to go in quest of her lover,

and meets him on her way. He asks her whether she knows the bailiff's

daughter. The bailiff's daughter is dead long ago, she replies. Then

he will go into a far country. The maid, assured of his faith, reveals

herself, and is ready to be his bride.

This is the counterpart of a ballad found in other languages (and

represented in English by Percy's cento 'The Friar of Orders Gray,'

Reliques, I, 225, 1765), in which a man tells a woman that the object

of her affection, lover, or more commonly husband, is dead. So runs the

story in the following:

#Italian.# Marcoaldi, Canti popolari umbri, etc., p. 151, 'La prova

d'amore,' Piedmontese; Gianandrea, C. p. marchigiani, p. 270, No 7,

'La prova d'amore;' Ferraro, C. p. monferrini, p. 60, No 41, 'Il

ritorno,' and C. p. di Ferrara, Cento e Pontelagoscuro, p. 16, No 4,

p. 105, No 18; Bernoni, C. p. veneziani, Punt. IX, No 1, 'Il ritorno

dalla guerra;' Wolf, Volkslieder aus Venetien, No 91, 'La ragazza ed

i soldati;' Bolza, Canzoni p. comasche, No 53, 'Il riconoscimento;'

Finamore, Storie p. abruzzesi, Archivio, I, 91, No 6, 'Rusine e

Ddiamóre;' Kestner, in Reifferscheid, Westfälische V. 1., p. 156,

Roman.

#Spanish.# 'Caballero de lejas tierras,' Juan de Ribera, Nueve

Romances, 1605, in Duran, I, 175, No 318, Wolf y Hofmann, Primavera,

II, 88, No 156, and a traditional version in a note of Duran, as above,

repeated in Primavera. #Catalan.# 'La vuelta del peregrino,' Milá,

Observaciones, p. 111, No 12, 'El peregrino,' Romancerillo, p. 154, No

203; 'La tornada del pelegrí,' Briz, V, 65.

#Portuguese.# 'Bella Infanta,' Almeida-Garrett, II, 7; Bellermann,

p. 100, No 12; Braga, C. p. do Archipelago açoriano, p. 298, No 41,

Romanceiro Geral, p. 1, 'Dona Infanta,' p. 4, 'Dona Catherina;' Coelho,

in Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie, III, 63, 1879 (imperfect).

#Romaic.# 'Ἡ αναγνωρισις,' Zambelios, p. 718, No 5, Kind, Anthologie,

1861, p. 126, No 5, Passow, No 442: 'Ἡ πιστη συζυγος,' Evlambios, p.

58, Marcellus, I, 332, Passow, No 444; Tommaseo, III, 148, Passow, No

445, and III, 150, Passow, No 446; Schmidt, Griechische M., S., u. V.

1., p. 192, No 57 (see note, p. 272); Marcellus, I, 328, Passow, No

441; 'Αναγνωρισμος,' Chasiotis, p. 89, No 28; Aravandinos, Nos 347-349,

pp. 209-211; 'Το γυρισμα,' Oikonomides, p. 132; Jeannaraki, p. 237,

No 300, with perverted conclusion; Fauriel, II, 396, Passow, No 447

(fragment). Aravandinos, No 348, is translated by Miss Garnett, Greek

Folk Songs, p. 163.

* * * * *

Translated by Bodmer, I, 82; Döring, p. 85; Arndt, p. 193; Von Marées,

p. 45; Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 64.

There was a youth, and a well belovd youth,

And he was a esquire's son,

He loved the bayliff's daughter dear,

That lived in Islington.

She was coy, and she would not believe

That he did love her so,

No, nor at any time she would

Any countenance to him show.

But when his friends did understand

His fond and foolish mind,

They sent him up to fair London,

An apprentice for to bind.

And when he had been seven long years,

And his love he had not seen,

'Many a tear have I shed for her sake

When she little thought of me.'

All the maids of Islington

Went forth to sport and play;

All but the bayliff's daughter dear;

She secretly stole away.

She put off her gown of gray,

And put on her puggish attire;

She's up to fair London gone,

Her true-love to require.

As she went along the road,

The weather being hot and dry,

There was she aware of her true-love,

At length came riding by.

She stept to him, as red as any rose,

And took him by the bridle-ring:

'I pray you, kind sir, give me one penny,

To ease my weary limb.'

'I prithee, sweetheart, canst thou tell me

Where that thou wast born?'

'At Islington, kind sir,' said she,

'Where I have had many a scorn.'

'I prithee, sweetheart, canst thou tell me

Whether thou dost know

The bailiff's daughter of Islington?'

'She's dead, sir, long ago.'

'Then will I sell my goodly steed,

My saddle and my bow;

I will into some far countrey,

Where no man doth me know.'

'O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth!

She's alive, she is not dead;

Here she standeth by thy side,

And is ready to be thy bride.'

'O farewel grief, and welcome joy,

Ten thousand times and more!

For now I have seen my own true-love,

That I thought I should have seen no more.'

* * * * *

#a-f.#

True Love Requited, or, The Bayliff's Daughter of

Islington.

The young man's friends the maid did scorn,

Cause she was poor, and left forlorn;

They sent the esquire to London fair,

To be an apprentice seven year.

And when he out on 's time was come,

He met his love, a going home,

And then, to end all further strife,

He took the maid to be his wife.

To a North Countrey Tune, or, I have a good old mother at

home.

#e#, #f# _have_ of's, of his, _in verse 5_.

#a.#

8^2. bridal ring, _and so all but_ #f#.

_At the end:_ Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden Ball

in Pye-Corner. _Brooksby printed 1672-95: Chappell._

#b.#

1^2, a squire's.

Printed for J. Walter, at the Golden Bal[l] in

Pye-Corner. _J. Walter's time is 1690-1720: Chappell._

#c.#

1^2, a _wanting_.

6^2. her _wanting_.

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden Ball in Py-Corner.

#d.#

3^4. a apprentice.

6^2. her _wanting_.

9^2. was.

12^1. thou well belovd.

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden Ball in West

Smithfield.

#e.#

3^1. a apprentice.

6^2. her _wanting_.

6^4. inquire.

8^2. a penny.

9^2. was.

11^1. I sell _wanting_.

12^1. thou well belovd.

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golde[n] Ball, near the

Bear Tavern, in Pye Corner.

#f.#

1^1. was was youth.

1^2. a squire's.

2^1. He was.

2^3. would she.

5^1. When all... of fair.

6^2. her ragged.

6^3. And she is.

6^4. After her... enquire.

7^1. And as.

8^1. a rose.

8^2. bridle.

8^4. For to.

9^2. Whereat.

10^2. Whether that.

11^1. I will.

11^3. And travel into.

13^3. I see.

13^4. should neer see more.

Printed and sold in Aldermary Churchyard, Bow Lane,

London. "_1700, or a little later_."

106

THE FAMOUS FLOWER OF SERVING-MEN

#a.# Wood, E. 25, fol. 75, Bodleian Library. #b.# Pepys,

III, 142, No 140, Magdalen College Library, Cambridge.

#c.# A Collection of Old Ballads, I, 216, 1723.

This ballad was given in Percy's Reliques, III, 87, 1765, "from a

written copy, containing some improvements (perhaps modern ones)."

These improvements are execrable in style and in matter, so far as

there is new matter, but not in so glaring contrast with the groundwork

as literary emendations of traditional ballads. Ritson reprinted in A

Select Collection of English Songs, II, 244, 1783, some broadside like

that which was followed by #c#.[169]

'Sweet Willie' in Kinloch MSS, V, 407 and VII, 197 (the latter printed

in Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 96), and also a fragment

with the same title in the Harris MS., fol. 20 f, No 15, are derived

from the broadside through recitation. A copy in Buchan's MSS, I, 150,

is taken directly from print.

In other cases portions of the broadside appear to have entered into

combination with traditional verses belonging to some other story, or

possibly to some older form of this.

The Dean of Derry communicated to Percy in 1776 the following stanzas,

which he wrote down from the recitation of his mother, Mrs Barnard,

wife of the Bishop of Derry.[170]

My mother showd me a deadly spight;

She sent three thieves at darksome night;

They put my servants all to flight,

They robd my bower, and they slew my knight.

They could not do me much more harm,

But they slew my baby on my arm;

They left me nothing to wrap it in

But the bloody, bloody sheet that it lay in.

They left me nothing to make a grave

But the bloody sword that slew my babe;

All alone the grave I made,

And all alone salt tears I shed.

All alone the bell I rung,

And all alone sweet psalms I sung;

I leant my head against a block,

And there I cut my lovely locks.

I cut my locks, and chang'd my name

From Fair Eleanore to Sweet William.

Scott inserted in his Border Minstrelsy, III, 83, 1803, seven stanzas

under the title of 'The Lament of the Border Widow,' which show broader

traces of the sheet-ballad (1-3), and also, as Aytoun has remarked,

agreements with 'The Three Ravens' and with 'Fair Helen of Kirconnell'

(5-7). 'The Lament of the Border Widow,' "obtained from recitation in

the Forest of Ettrick," has been thought to relate to the execution of

Cokburne, a border-freebooter, by James V. Those who are interested in

such random inventions (as, under pardon, they must be called) will

find particulars in Scott's introduction, and a repetition of the same

in Maidment's Scotish Ballads and Songs, Historical and Traditionary,

II, 170.[171]

My love he built me a bonny bower,

And clad it a' wi lilye-flour;

A brawer bower ye neer did see

Than my true-love he built for me.

There came a man, by middle day,

He spied his sport and went away,

And brought the king that very night,

Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.

He slew my knight, to me sae dear;

He slew my knight, and poind his gear;

My servants all for life did flee,

And left me in extremitie.

I sewd his sheet, making my mane;

I watched the corpse, myself alane;

I watched his body, night and day;

No living creature came that way.

I took his body on my back,

And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sate;

I diggd a grave, and laid him in,

And happd him with the sod sae green.

But think na ye my heart was sair,

When I laid the moul on his yellow hair?

O think na ye my heart was wae,

When I turnd about, away to gae?

Nae living man I'll love again,

Since that my lovely knight is slain;

Wi ae lock of his yellow hair

I'll chain my heart for evermair.

Again, there are six couplets in Johnson's Museum, p. 90, No 89,

called, from the burden, 'Oh ono chrio,' which have a little of The

Border Widow, and incidentally of The Flower of Serving-Men, winding up

with sentiments of transcendent elegance.

Oh was I not a weary wight,

Maid, wife and widow in one night!

When in my soft and yielding arms,

When most I thought him free from harms,

Even at the dead time of the night,

They broke my bower, and slew my knight.

With ae lock of his jet-black hair

I'll tye my heart for ever mair.

Nae sly-tongued youth, or flattering swain,

Shall eer untye this knott again.

Thine still, dear youth, that heart shall be,

Nor pant for aught save heaven and thee.

"Dr Blacklock informed Burns that this song... was composed on the

horrid massacre at Glencoe": Stenhouse's note, IV, 92.

* * * * *

The English broadside, which may reasonably be believed to be formed

upon a predecessor in the popular style, has been held to have a common

origin with the Scandinavian ballad 'Maid and Stable Boy,' already

spoken of under 'Child Waters' at p. 84f of this volume. The points

of resemblance are that a maid cuts her hair, dons man's clothes, and

seeks service with a king. In the end she is married to the king's son,

or to a nobleman of his court. The differences, in other respects, are

considerable.

Percy's ballad is translated by Bodmer, I, 160; by Merk, Ursinus, p.

79, and Bothe, p. 307; by Döring, p. 329.

You beautious ladies, great and small,

I write unto you one and all,

Whereby that you may understand

What I have suffered in this land.

I was by birth a lady fair,

My father's chief and onely heir,

But when my good old father dy'd,

Then was I made a young knight's bride.

And then my love built me a bower,

Bedeckt with many a fragrant flower;

A braver bower you never did see

Then my true-love did build for me.

But there came thieves late in the night,

They rob'd my bower, and slew my knight,

And after that my knight was slain,

I could no longer there remain.

My servants all from me did flye,

In the midst of my extremity,

And left me by my self alone,

With a heart more cold then any stone.

Yet, though my heart was full of care,

Heaven would not suffer me to despair;

Wherefore in hast I chang'd my name

From Fair Elise to Sweet William.

And therewithal I cut my hair,

And drest my self in man's attire,

My doublet, hose, and bever-hat,

And a golden band about my neck.

With a silver rapier by my side,

So like a gallant I did ride;

The thing that I delighted on,

Was for to be a serving-man.

Thus in my sumptuous man's array,

I bravely rode along the way;

And at the last it chanced so

That I unto the king's court did go.

Then to the king I bowed full low,

My love and duty for to show,

And so much favour I did crave

That I a serving-man's place might have.

'Stand up, brave youth, the king replyd,

'Thy service shall not be denyd;

But tell me first what thou canst do;

Thou shalt be fitted thereunto.

'Wilt thou be usher of my hall,

To wait upon my nobles all?

Or wilt thou be taster of my wine,

To wait on me when I shall dine?

'Or wilt thou be my chamberlain,

To make my bed both soft and fine?

Or wilt thou be one of my guard?

And I will give thee thy reward.'

Sweet William, with a smiling face,

Said to the king, If't please your grace

To show such favour unto me,

Your chamberlain I fain would be.

The king then did the nobles call,

To ask the counsel of them all,

Who gave consent Sweet William he

The king's own chamberlain should be.

Now mark what strange things came to pass;

As the king one day a hunting was,

With all his lords and noble train,

Sweet William did at home remain.

Sweet William had no company then

With him at home but an old man;

And when he saw the coast was clear,

He took a lute which he had there.

Upon the lute Sweet William plaid,

And to the same he sung and said,

With a pleasant and most noble voice,

Which made the old man to rejoyce:

'My father was as brave a lord

As ever Europe did afford;

My mother was a lady bright,

My husband was a valiant knight.

'And I my self a lady gay,

Bedeckt with gorgeous rich array;

The bravest lady in the land

Had not more pleasures to command.

'I had my musick every day,

Harmonious lessons for to play;

I had my virgins fair and free,

Continually to wait on me.

'But now, alas! my husband's dead,

And all my friends are from me fled;

My former joys are past and gone,

For now I am a serving-man.'

At last the king from hunting came,

And presently upon the same

He called for the good old man,

And thus to speak the king began.

'What news, what news, old man?' quod he;

'What news hast thou to tell to me?'

'Brave news,' the old man he did say;

'Sweet William is a lady gay.'

'If this be true thou tellest me

I'le make thee a lord of high degree;

But if thy words do prove a lye,

Thou shalt be hanged up presently.'

But when the king the truth had found,

His joys did more and more abound;

According as the old man did say,

Sweet William was a lady gay.

Therefore the king without delay

Put on her glorious rich array,

And upon her head a crown of gold,

Which was most famous to behold.

And then, for fear of further strife,

He took Sweet William for his wife;

The like before was never seen,

A serving-man to be a queen.

* * * * *

#a.#

Printed for J. Hose, next door but one to the Rose

Inn, near Holbourn-bridge. John Hose, over against

Staples-Inn, near Gray's Inn Lane, _printed, according to

Chappell_, 1660-1675.

#b.#

Printed for W. Thackeray and T. Passinger. W. Thackeray's

_date, Chappell, is_ 1660-1689; T. Passinger's, 1670-1682.

#a#, #b# _have for title and preface_:

The Famous Flower of Serving-men, or, The Lady turnd

Serving-man.

Her lover being slain, her father dead,

Her bower robd, her servants fled,

She drest her self in mans attire,

She trim'd her locks, she cut her hair,

And therupon she changde her name

From Fair Elise to Sweet William.

To a dainty tune, or Flora Farewel, Summer-Time, or

Love's Tide.

_Before 19_: Sweet William's Song.

_After 22_: The end of Sweet William's Song.

#a.#

_After 8_: The Second Part, to the same tune.

#b.#

8^4. It was to.

12^4. I do.

20^4. pleasure.

#c.#

2^4. I was.

8^4. It was to.

9^4. I to.

12^4. I do.

16^1. thing.

17^3. the house.

18^3. a sweet and noble voice.

20^4. pleasure.

23^3. this good.

25^1. tellst to.

[169] Heber had a copy printed by J. Andrews, who flourished 1655-60.

[170] Mrs Barnard makes this note: I remember to have seen a printed

ballad, at least seventy years since, in which this was containd, as

sung by a youth, overheard by a king he servd, and exalted to become

his queen. I fancy these scenes were in Germany, by the names.--Percy

regards the verses as a "fragment of an older copy than that printed of

'The Lady turnd Serving-Man.'"

[171] The Border Widow's Lament has received extraordinary favor.

It has been translated by Schubart, p. 209; Talvj, Charakteristik,

p. 570; Fiedler, Geschichte der schottischen Liederdichtung, p. 29;

Freiligrath, Zwischen den Garben, II, 229, Stuttgart, 1877; Doenniges,

p. 77; Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, p. 195, No 58. Cunningham

furbished up the verses a little in The Songs of Scotland, II, 97. The

copy in Chambers's Scottish Songs, I, 174, is Cunningham's, all but the

sixth stanza, which is from Scott.--A great deal of nonsense passes in

ballads, but I am impelled to ask just here how a lover would go about

to clothe a bower with lily-flower. Is the ballad lily a climbing plant?

107

WILL STEWART AND JOHN

#A.# 'Will Stewart and John,' Percy Manuscript, p. 428;

Hales and Furnivall, III, 216.

#B.# 'Tring Dilly,' Campbell's MSS, II, 30.

The fragment #B# is disordered as well as mutilated. #B# 1 corresponds

to #A# 18, 13; 2 to 14; 3 to 19, 40; 4 to 41, 42; 5 to 43; 6 to 35,

36; 7 to 17. It is simply a confused recollection of some parts of the

ballad.

The first stanza furnishes a sort of general lyrical introduction, and

does not belong to the story, to which, as I conceive, the circumstance

that Adlatts Park is wide and broad is of no more special pertinence

than the other which follows, that grass grows green in our countrye.

See I, 7, note.

Will Stewart, of Argyle Castle, languishes with love for the Earl

of Mar's daughter, and lies in care-bed. His younger brother, John,

a wiser man, offers to go a-wooing for his brother, and to forward

his object takes service with the Earl of Mar as chamberlain to his

daughter. One Sunday, as John is conveying the lady home from church,

he makes known to her that he is a messenger. The lady at first, like

Shakspere's Olivia, would rather he should speak for himself, but upon

hearing what John has to say for his brother is ready to love Will

heartily. She bids her lover come with a hundred men to a foot-ball

match on Sunday after St Andrew's day. He must play sixteen games, and

if he win the greater part she shall love him the more. This tidings

makes Will Stewart leap from care-bed. He chooses a hundred men from

eleven score and three, dresses them in green, himself in scarlet

(about which the lady had been particular), meets his mistress at

the rendezvous, gives her a kiss of courtesy, and wins twelve of the

sixteen games. The Earl of Mar invites Will to his house, where the

Stewart avows his love for his daughter; he knows not whether the lady

loves him. "God forbid!" exclaims the earl. "I would rather thou wert

hanged or burned. To thy chamber, lady, or I will beat thee before the

Stewart's eye." Will, with John, who renounces Mar's service, returns

to Argyle Castle, and Will leaps into care-bed again. A parliament is

held at Edinburgh, to which both brothers are summoned. Mar discovers

that Will is an earl's son, and even the king's cousin, but this

discovery has no effect to change the mind of the peremptory nobleman.

Will and John go back to Argyle Castle when the parliament is done,

and Will once more leaps into care-bed. John, in great concern for his

brother, offers to go a-wooing for him again. He disguises himself

as a beggar, comes to Mar's house on a dole-day, makes his way to the

lady and sticks by her till all the beggars are gone, and then tells

her that he is no beggar, but a messenger. The lady, reproached for

her cruelty, says the blame is not hers, and appoints Will to meet

her within three days at Martinsdale with a hundred men, they and he

dressed as before. Will leaps out of care-bed, chooses a hundred of

the best out of eleven score men and three, rides to Martinsdale, and

finds the true lady waiting for him. They send for priest and clerk and

are married, and she goes home with Will. A twelvemonth after, John is

despatched to bid the Earl of Mar to a christening. John frightens the

earl with an intimation that his daughter will now be returned on his

hands. This brings the wilful father round. The marriage ceremony is

performed over again, and Will made Earl of Mar.

As Mr Hales has remarked, Bishop Percy's Folio Manuscript, III, 215,

the allusions to manners and customs are highly interesting: as, to

foot-ball matches, 27; to the kiss of courtesy, 35^3; to the beating of

daughters, 42^4, 43^3; to the dole-day, 66^2; to the beggar's dress and

equipment, 61, 78^3.

The superfluous _that_ in 3^4, 16^3, 18^4, 38^1, 68^1, 89^2, is common

in the ballads of the Percy manuscript.

Percy MS., p. 428; Hales and Furnivall, III, 216.

Adlatts parke is wyde and broad,

And grasse growes greene in our countrye;

Eche man can gett the loue of his ladye,

But alas, I can gett none of mine!

Itt's by two men I sing my song,

Their names is "W_i_ll_iam_ Stewart and Iohn;

Will_iam_ he is the elder brother,

But Iohn hee is the wiser man.

But Will_iam_ he is in care-bed layd,

And for the loue of a ffaire ladye;

If he haue not the loue of the Erle of Mar's daughter,

In ffaith ffor loue _tha_t he must dye.

Then Iohn was sorry ffor his brother,

To see him lye and languish soe:

'What doe you mourne for, brother?' he saies,

'I pray you tell to me yo_u_r woe.

'Doe [you] mourne for gold, brother?' he saies,

'Or doe you mourne ffor ffee?

Or doe you mourne for a likesome ladye,

You neuer saw her w_i_th yo_u_r eye?'

'I doe not mourne for gold,' he saies,

'Nor I doe not mourne for any ffee;

But I doe mourne for a likesome ladye,

I neere blinke on her w_i_th mine eye.'

'But when haruest is gotten, my deere brother--

All this is true _tha_t I tell thee--

Gentlemen, they loue hunting well,

And giue wight-men their cloth and ffee.

'Then I'le goe a wooing ffor thy sake,

In all the speed _tha_t I can gone,

And for to see this likesome ladye,

And hope to send thee good tydings home.'

Iohn Stewart is gone a wooing for his brother,

Soe ffarr into ffaire Scottland,

And left his brother in mikle ffeare,

Vntill he heard the good tydand.

And when he came to the Erle of Mar's his house,

Soe well he could his curtesye,

And when he came before the erle,

He kneeled low downe vpon his knee.

'O rise vp, rise vp, Iohn Steward,

Rise vp, now, I doe bidd thee;

How doth thy ffather, Iohn Stewart,

And all the lords in his countrye?'

'And itt please you, my lo_rd_, my ffather is dead;

My brother and I cannott agree;

My brother and I am ffallen att discord,

And I am come to craue a service of thee.'

'O welcome, welcome, Iohn Stewart,

A welcome man thou art to me;

I'le make thee chamberlaine to my daughter,

And ffor to tend of _tha_t ladye soe ffree.

'And if thou wilt haue a better office,

Aske, and thou shall haue itt of mee;

And where I giue other men a penny of wage,

Inffaith, Iohn, thou shalt haue three.'

And then bespake him Iohn Stewart,

And these were the words said hee:

There is no office in your court

This day _tha_t better pleaseth mee.

The Ffryday is gone, the Sunday is come--

All this is true _tha_t I doe say--

And to the church that they be gone,

Iohn Stewart and the lady gay.

And as they did come home againe--

I-wis itt was a meeten mile--

Iohn Stewart and the lady gay,

They thought itt but a [little] while.

'I am a messenger, ladye,' he saies,

'I am a messenger to thee:'

'O speake ffor thy selfe, Iohn Stewart,' shee saies,

'A welcome man _tha_t thou shalt bee.'

'Nay, by my ffaith,' saies Iohn Stewart,

'W_hi_ch euer, alas, _tha_t may not bee!

He hath a higher degree in honour,

Allas, ladye, then euer I!

'He is a lo_rd_ now borne by birth,

And an erle affter his ffather doth dye;

His haire is yellow, his eyes beene gray;

All this is true _tha_t I tell yee.

'He is ffine in the middle, and small in the wast,

And pleasant in a woman's eye;

And more nor this, he dyes for yo_u_r loue,

Therefore, lady, show some pittye.'

'If this be soe,' then saies the lady,

'If this be true _tha_t thou tells mee,

By my ffaith then, Iohn Stewart,

I can loue him hartilye.

'Bidd him meete me att S^t Patr[i]cke's Church

On Sunday after S^t Andrew's day;

The fflower of Scottland will be there,

And then begins our summer's play.

'And bidd him bring with him a hundred gunners,

And rawnke ryders lett them bee,

And lett them bee of the rankest ryders

_Tha_t be to be ffound in _tha_t countrye.

'They best and worst, and all in like,

Bidd him cloth them in one liuerye;

And ffor his men, greene is the best,

And greene now lett their liueryes bee.

'And clothe himselfe in scarlett redd,

_Tha_t is soe seemlye ffor to see;

Ffor scarlett is a ffaire coulour,

And pleasant allwayes in a woman's eye.

'He must play sixteene games att ball,

Against the men of this countrye,

And if he winn the greater p_ar_t,

Then I shall love him more tenderlye.'

What the lady said, Iohn Stewart writt,

And to Argyle Castle sent it hee;

And [when] Willie Steward saw the letter,

Fforth of care-bed then lope hee.

Hee mustered together his merry men all,

Hee mustered them soe louelilye;

Hee thought hee had had scarson halfe a hundred,

Then had hee eleuen score and three.

He chose fforth a hundred of the best

_Tha_t were to be ffound in _tha_t countrye,

He cladd them all in one coulour,

And greene i-wis their liueryes bee.

He cladd himselfe in scarlett redd,

_Tha_t is soe seemelye ffor to see;

Ffor scarlett is a ffaire coulor,

And seemlye in a woman's eye.

And then towards Patricke Church he went,

With all his men in braue array,

To gett a sight, if he might,

And speake with his lady gay.

When they came to Patricke's churche,

Shee kneeled downe by her mother trulye:

'O mother, if itt please you to glue me leaue,

The Stewart's horsse ffaine wold I see.'

'I'le giue you leaue, my deere daughter,

And I and my maide will goe with yee:'

The lady had rather haue gone her selfe

Then haue had her mother's companye.

When they came before Willie Steward,

Soe well hee cold his curtesye:

'I wold kisse yo_u_r daughter, ladye,' he said,

'And if yo_u_r will _tha_t soe itt bee.'

The ladye's mother was content

To doe a straunger _tha_t curtesye;

And when Willie had gotten a kisse,

I-wis shee might haue teemed him three.

Sixteen games were plaid _tha_t day there there--

This is the truth as I doe say--

Willie Stewart and his merry men,

Thé carryed twelue of them away.

And when they games _tha_t they were done,

And all they ffolkes away were gone

But the Erle of Marr and Will_iam_ Stewart,

The erle wold needs haue Will_iam_ home.

And when they came vnto the erle's howse,

They walked to a garden greene;

Ffor to confferr of their bussines,

Into the garden they be gone.

'I loue your daughter,' saies Will_iam_ Stewart,

'But I cannott tell whether she loueth mee:'

'Marry, God defend,' saies the Erle of Mar,

'_That_ euer soe _tha_t itt shold bee!

'I had rather a gallowes there was made,

And hange thee ffor my daughter's sake;

I had rather a ffyer were made att a stake,

And burne thee ffor my daughter's sake!

'To chamber, to chamber, gay ladye,' he saies,

'In the deuill's name now I bidd thee!

And thou gett thee not to the chamber soone,

I'le beate thee before the Stewart's eye.'

And then bespake Will_iam_ Stewart,

These were the words said hee:

'If thou beate thy daughter for my sake,

Thou'st beate a hundred men and mee.'

Then bespake Iohn Stewart--

L_ord!_ an angry man was hee--

'O churle, if thou wouldest not haue macht with my brother,

Thou might haue answerd him curteouslye.'

'O hold thy peace, Iohn Stewart,

And chamber thy words now, I bidd thee;

If thou chamber not thy words soone,

Thou'st loose a good service; soe shalt thou doe me.'

'Marry! hang them _tha_t cares,' saies Iohn Stewart,

'Either ffor thy service or ffor thee;

Services can I haue enoughe,

But brethren wee must euer bee.'

Will_iam_ Stewart and his brother Iohn,

To Argyle Castle gon they bee;

And when Willye came to Argyle Castle,

Into care-bedd then lope hee.

A parlaiment att Edenborrow was made,

The k_ing_ and his nobles all mett there;

Thé sent ffor Will_iam_ Stewart and Iohn,

To come amongst the other peeres.

Their clothing was of Scarlett redd,

_Tha_t was soe seemelye ffor to see;

Blacke hatts, white ffeathers plewed with gold,

And sett all on their heads trulye.

Their stockings were of twisted silke,

W_i_th garters ffringed about with gold;

Their shoes were of the cordevine,

And all was comelye to behold.

And when they came to Edenborrowe,

They called ffor Iohn Stew_art_ and Willie:

'I answer in a _lord_'s roome,' saies Will Stewart,

'But an erle I hope to bee.'

'Come downe, come downe,' saies the Lo_rd_ of Marr,

'I knew not what was thy degree:'

'O churle, if I might not haue macht w_i_th thy daughter,

Itt had not beene long of my degree.

'My ffather, hee is the k_ing_ his brother,

And then the k_ing_ is vnckle to me;

O churle, if I might not haue macht with thy daughter,

Itt had not beene long of my degree.'

'O hold yo_u_r peace,' then sayd the k_ing_,

'Cozen William, I doe bidd thee;

Infaith, cozen Will_iam_, he loues you the worsse

Because you are a-kinn to mee.

'I'le make thee an erle with a siluer wande,

And adde more honors still to thee;

Thy brother Iohn shall be a lord,

Of the best att home in his countrye.

'Thy brother Kester shalbe a k_nigh_t,

Lands and liuings I will him giue,

And still hee shall liue in court w_i_th mee,

And I'le maintaine him whilest he doth liue.'

And when the p_ar_laiment was done,

And all the ffolkes away were gone,

Willye Stewart and Iohn his brother,

To Argyle Castle they be gone.

But when they came to Argyle Castle,

That was soe ffarr in _tha_t countrye,

He thought soe much then of his loue

_Tha_t into care-bedd then lope hee.

Iohn Stewart did see his brother soe ill,

Lo_rd_, in his heart _tha_t hee was woe!

'I will goe wooing for thy sake

Againe yonder gay ladye to.

'I'le cloth my selfe in strange array,

In a beggar's habbitt I will goe,

_Tha_t when I come before the Erle of Marr

My clothing strange he shall not knowe.'

Iohn hee gott on a clouted cloake,

Soe meete and low then by his knee,

W_i_th four garters vpon one legg,

Two aboue, and towe below trulye.

'But if thou be a beggar, brother,

Thou art a beggar _tha_t is vnknowne;

Ffor thou art one of the stoutest beggars

_Tha_t euer I saw since I was borne.

'Heere, geeue the lady this gay gold ringe,

A token to her _tha_t well is knowne;

And if shee but aduise itt well,

Shee'le know some time itt was her owne.'

'Stay, by my ffaith, I goe not yett,'

Iohn Stew_art_ he can replye;

'I'le haue my bottle ffull of beere,

The best _tha_t is in thy butterye.

'I'le haue my sachell ffilld full of meate,

I am sure, brother, [it] will doe noe harme;

Ffor, before I come to the Erle of Marr's his house,

My lipps, I am sure, they wilbe warme.'

And when he came to the Erle of Marr's house,

By chance itt was of the dole-day;

But Iohn cold ffind no place to stand,

Vntill he came to the ladye gaye.

But many a beggar he threw downe,

And made them all with weeping say,

He is the devill, hee is no beggar,

_Tha_t is come fforth of some strange countrye.

And now the dole _tha_t itt is delte,

And all the beggars be gon away,

Sauing Iohn Stewart, _tha_t seemed a beggar,

And the ladye _tha_t was soe gay.

'Lady,' sais Iohn, 'I am no beggar,

As by my clothes you may thinke _tha_t I bee;

I am yo_u_r servant, Iohn Stewart,

And I am sent a messenger to thee.'

'But if thou be Iohn Stewart,

As I doe thinke _tha_t thou bee,

Avayle thy capp, avayle thy hoode,

And I will stand and speake to thee.

'How doth thy brother, Iohn Stewart,

And all the lo_rd_s in his countrye?'

'O ffye vpon thee, wicked woman!

My brother he doth the worsse ffor thee.'

W_i_th _tha_t the teares stood in her eyes;

O lord, shee wept soe tenderlye!

Sais, Ligg the blame vnto my ffather;

I pray you, Iohn Stew_art_, lay itt not to mee.

Comend me to my owne true-loue,

_Tha_t liues soe farr in the North countrye,

And bidd him meete me att Martingsdale,

Ffullye w[i]thin these dayes three.

Hang them, sais the lady gay,

_Tha_t letts their ffather witting bee!

I'le proue a ladye ffull of loue,

And be there by the sunn be a quarter highe.

And bidd him bring with him a hundred gunners,

And ranke riders lett them bee;

Lett them be of the rankest ryders

_Tha_t be to be ffound in _tha_t countrye.

The best and worse, and all in like,

Bidd him clothe them in one liuerye;

And for his men, greene is the best,

And greene now lett their lyueryes bee.

And cloth himselfe in scarlett redd,

_Tha_t is soe seemelye for to see;

For scarlett is a ffaire coulor,

And pleasant in a woman's eye.

What they lady sayd, Iohn Stewart writt,

To Argyle Castle sent itt hee;

His bagg and his dish and showing horne,

Unto three beggars he gaue them all three.

And when Willie Stewart saw the letter,

Fforth of care-bed then lope hee;

He thought himselfe as lustye and sound

As any man in _tha_t countrye.

He mustered together his merrymen all,

He mustered them soe louinglye;

He thought he had had scarce halfe a hundred,

Then had hee eleuen score and three.

He chose fforth a hundred of the best

_Tha_t were to be found in _tha_t companye,

And p_re_sentlye they tooke their horsse,

And to Martingsdale posted hee.

And when he came to Martingsdale,

He found his loue staying there trulye,

For shee was a lady true of loue,

And was there by [the] sunn was a qwarter highe.

Shee kisst Will_iam_ Stewart and his brother Iohn,

Soe did shee p_ar_t of his merry men:

'If the churle, thy ffather, hee were here,

He shold not haue thee backe againe.'

They sent ffor preist, they sent ffor clarke,

And they were marryed there w_i_th speede;

Will_iam_ tooke the lady home with him,

And they liued together long time indeed.

And in twelue monthe soe they wrought,

The lady shee was great w_i_th childe;

The sent Iohn Stewart to the Erle off Marre,

To come and christen the barne soe milde.

'And if this be soe,' sayes the Erle of Marre,

'Iohn Stewart, as thou tells mee,

I hope in God you haue marryed my daughter,

And put her bodye to honestye.'

'Nay, by my ffaith,' then saies Iohn Stewart,

'Ffor euer alas _tha_t shall not bee;

Ffor now wee haue put her body to shame,

Thou 'st haue her againe hame to thee.'

'I had rather make thee Erle of Marre,

And marry my daughter vnto thee;

For by my ffaith,' sais the Erle of Marr,

'Her marryage is marrd in our countrye.'

'If this be soe,' then sais Iohn Stewart,

'A marryage soone _tha_t thou shalt see;

Ffor my brother William, my ffather's heyre,

Shall marry thy daughter before thine eye.'

They sent ffor preist, the sent ffor clarke,

And marryed there they were with speed;

And William Stewart is Erle of Marr,

And his ffather-in-law dwells w_i_th him indeed.

Campbell MSS, II, 30.

'Speak for yoursell, John Stewart,' he did say,

'And soon an answer I will gie to thee;

The highest service I can give thee

Is to wait on my daughter Ailly.

' . . . . . . .

. . . . . . .

If ever I gie a man a penny wage,

I'm sure, John Stewart, ye shall hae three.'

'I speak not for mysell,' John Stewart he did say,

'I speak for a lord of a higher degree;

The message is from my brother William,

Your loving daughter's husband to be.'

' . . . . . . .

. . . . . . .

I'll rather beat fair Ailly in my leather bang,

As lang as she can either stand or gang.'

. . . . . . .

'Ye hadna beat her before my face

Or ye'll beat three hundred men and me.'

When William came to Mulbery Hall,

He kissd the ladies one and all;

But when he cam to fair Ailly,

She thought he might hae gaen her twa or three.

Between the kitchen and the garden

It is calld a measured mile;

That lady and that lord fell into discourse,

And they thought they rode it in a short while.

Chorus:

Tring dilly, tring dilly, tring ding dido,

Tring dilly, tring dilly, dolo dee.

* * * * *

#A.#

2^1. by 2.

14^4. haue 3.

24^1. a 100.

27^4. love _is written in the MS. by a later hand

between_ then _and_ I. _Furnivall._

29^3. a 100^d.

29^4. 11 score.

30^1. a 100.

36^4. him 3.

37^1. 16 games.

37^4. 12 of.

38^3. Marrs.

38^4. & the Erle.

40^3. March.

43^4. a 100^d: men and nee.

44^4. might _has two strokes for the_ i _in the MS.

Furnivall_.

48^4. amongst _has four strokes for the_ m _in the MS.

Furnivall._

51^3. in L, _MS._ _Furnivall._

52^1. Mars.

60^3. March.

61^3. 4 garters.

61^4. 2 aboue.

73^4. dayes 3.

75^1. a 100^d. Gunners _has_ m _in place of_ nn.

_Furnivall._

75^3. _Two or three letters appear one over the other for

the_ s _in_ ryders. _Furnivall._

78^4. vnto 3, all 3.

80^3. a 100 d.

80^4. 11 score.

81^1. a 100d.

84^3. n _instead of_ m _in_ home. _Furnivall._

85^1. in 12.

85^4. chrsten.

And _throughout for_ &.

108

CHRISTOPHER WHITE

'Christopher White,' Percy MS., p. 513; Hales and Furnivall, III, 494.

A rich merchant, burgess of Edinburgh, overhears a lady making moan

for Christopher White, who is banished from England. He makes her

great offers to abandon Christopher and lay her love on him. She

resists these offers at first, and tells him that if she is false to

Christopher she cannot be true to him. But silver and gold makes her

heart turn and makes her leave good company. After she has been married

two or three months tidings come to Edinburgh that all the merchants

must to sea; it is for service against Spain, 17^4. The lady takes

advantage of her husband's absence to write to Christopher; she sends

him a hundred pound and bids him come to Edinburgh. Christopher first

goes to London and obtains pardon of the king of England, then makes

for Edinburgh. The lady tells him that she is a merchant's wife, and he

shall have enough of the merchant's gold. Christopher, who seems not

till then to have known of her marriage, begins an indignant answer,

but the lady cuts him short with an offer to go to England with him.

They pack up silver and gold and make off to Little England, whatever

that may be (perhaps a Percy MS. phrase: see 'Hugh Spencer,' st. 34).

The merchant comes back, and is told that his wife has fled with

Christopher. He does not care for the loss of silver and gold, but

mourns for the lady, who, he frankly owns, had given him due warning of

what he might look for.

* * * * *

As I walked fforth one morninge,

By one place _tha_t pleased mee,

Wherin I heard a wandering wight,

Sais, Christopher White is good companye.

I drew me neere, and very neere,

Till I was as neere as neere cold bee;

Loth I was her councell to discreene,

Because I wanted companye.

'Say on, say on, thou well faire mayd,

Why makest thou moane soe heauilye?'

Sais, All is ffor one wandering wight,

Is banished fforth of his owne countrye.

'I am the burgesse of Edenburrow,

Soe am I more of townes three;

I haue money and gold great store,

Come, sweet wench, and ligg thy loue on mee.'

The merchant pulled forth a bagg of gold

_Wh_ich had hundreds two or three;

Sais, Euery day throughout the weeke

I'le comt as much downe on thy knee.

'O merchant, take thy gold againe,

A good liuing 't will purchase thee;

If I be ffalse to Chr_istopher_ White,

Merchant, I cannott be true to thee.'

Sais, I haue halls, soe haue I bowers,

Sais, I haue shipps sayling on the sea;

I ame the burgess of Edenburrowe;

Come, sweete wench, ligge thy loue on mee.

Come on, come, thou well faire mayde,

Of our matters lett vs goe throughe,

For to-morrowe I 'le marry thee,

And thy dwelling shalbe in Edenburrough.

The lady shee tooke this gold in her hand,

The teares thé ffell ffast ffrom her eye;

Sais, Siluer and gold makes my hart to turne,

And makes me leaue good companye.

They had not beene marryed

Not ouer monthes two or three,

But tydings came to Edenburrowe

_That_ all the merchants must to the sea.

Then as this lady sate in a deske,

Shee made a loue-letter ffull round;

She mad a l_ett_re to Chr_istopher_ White,

And in itt shee put a hundred pound.

She lin'd the letter w_i_th gold soe red,

And mony good store in itt was found;

Shee sent itt to Chr_istopher_ White,

_Tha_t was soe ffar in the Scotts ground.

Shee bade him then ffrankely spend,

And looke _tha_t hee shold merry bee,

And bid him come to Edenburrowe,

Now all the merchants be to the sea.

But Chr_istopher_ came to leeue London,

And there he kneeled lowly downe,

And there hee begd his p_ar_don then,

Of our noble k_ing tha_t ware the crowne.

But when he came to his true-loue's house,

W_hi_ch was made both of lime and stone,

Shee tooke him by the lily-white hand,

Sais, True-loue, you are welcome home!

Welcome, my honey, welcome, my ioy,

Welcome, my true-loue; home to mee!

Ffor thou art hee _tha_t will lengthen my dayes,

And I know thou art good companye.

Chr_istopher_, I am a merchant's wiffe;

Christ_opher_, the more shall be yo_u_r gaine;

Siluer and gold you shall haue enough,

Of the merchant's gold _tha_t is in Spaine.

'But if you be a merchant's wiffe,

Something tó much you are to blame;

I will thee reade a loue-lett_er_

Shall sture thy stumpes, thou noble dame.

'Althoug I be a marchant's wiffe,

... shall ... mine

... and g ...

Into England I'le goe w_i_th the.'

They packet vp both siluer and plate,

Siluer and gold soe great plentye,

And they be gon into Litle England,

And the marchant must them neu_er_ see.

And when the merchants they came home,

Their wiues to eche other can say,

Heere hath beene good Chr_istopher_ White,

And he hath tane thy wiffe away.

They haue packett vp spoone and plate,

Siluer and gold great plenty,

And they be gon into Litle England,

And them againe thow must neu_er_ see.

'I care nott ffor my siluer and gold,

Nor for my plate soe great plentye,

But I mourne for _tha_t like-some ladye

_Tha_t Chr_istopher_ White hath tane ffrom mee.

'But one thing I must needs confesse,

This lady shee did say to me,

If shee were ffalse to Chr_istopher_ White,

Shee cold neu_er_ be true to mee.

'All young men a warning take,

A warning, looke, you take by mee;

Looke _tha_t you loue yo_u_r old loues best,

For infaith they are best companye.'

* * * * *

1^1. mornige.

2^3. discreeme.

3^2. thom.