O Lord! as he cowd lanss[905];
He playit so schill[906], and sang so sweit
Quhill Towsy tuke a transs[907].
Auld Lychtfute thair he did forleit[908],
And counterfutit Franss;
He vse[909] him-self as man discreit
And vp tuke moreiss danss,
Full lowd,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.
Than Stevin come stoppand in with stendis[910];
No rynk[911] mycht him arreist.
Platfute[912] he bobbit vp with bendis[913];
For Maid he maid requeist.
His lap quhill he lay on his lendis[914];
Bot rysand he wes preist[915]
Quhill that he oistit[916] at bath the endis
For honour of the feist,
That day,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.
Syne Robene Roy begowth[917] to revell,
And Dwny till him druggit[918];
“Lat be,” quo Jok; and cawd him javell[919]
And be the taill him tuggit.
The kensy cleikit to the cavell[920],
Bot Lord! than gif thay luggit[921],
Thay pairtit hir manly with a nevell[922],
God wait gif hair wes ruggit[923]
Betuix thame,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.
Ane bent a bow, sic sturt cowd steir him[924];
Grit skayth wesd to haif skard[925] him;
He chesit a flane[926] as did affeir[927] him,
The toder[928] said “Dirdum Dardum.”
Throwch baith the cheikis he thocht to cheir[929] him,
Or throw the erss haif chard[930] him;
Bot be ane akerbraid[931] it come nocht neir him,
I can nocht tell quhat mard him,
Thair,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.
With that a freynd of his cryd “Fy!”
And vp ane arrow drew;
He forgit[932] so fowriously
The bow in flenders[933] flew;
Sa wes the will of God, trow I,
For had the tre bene trew
Men said that kend[934] his archery
That he had slane anew[935],
That day,
At Chrystis kirk on the grene.
Ane hasty hensure[936] callit Hary,
Quha wes ane archer heynd[937],
Tilt[938] vp a taikle withowttin tary[939],
That torment so him teynd[940].
I wait nocht quhidder his hand cowd wary[941],
Or the man wes his freynd,
For he eschaipit[942] throw michtis of Mary
As man that no ill meynd[943],
Bot gud,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.
Than Lowry as ane lyon lap,
And sone a flane cowd fedder[944];
He hecht[945] to perss him at the pap,
Thair-on to wed a weddir[946].
He hit him on the wame a wap[947],
It buft[948] lyk ony bledder;
Bot swa his fortoun wes and hap
His dowblet wes maid of ledder,
And saift him,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.
A yaip[949] yung man that stude him neist
Lowsd[950] of a schot with yre;
He ettlit the bern[951] in at the breist,
The bolt flew our the byre[952].
Ane cryit Fy! he had slane a preist
A myll beyond ane myre;
Than bow and bag[953] fra him he keist
And fled as ferss as fyre
Of flynt,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.
With forkis and flailis thay lait[954] grit flappis,
And flang[955] togiddir lyk friggis[956];
With bowgaris[957] of barnis thay beft[958] blew kappis
Quhill thay of bernis maid briggis[959].
The reird[960] raiss rudly with the rappis,
Quhen rungis[961] wes layd on riggis[962];
The wyffis come furth with cryis and clappis,
“Lo quhair my lyking liggis[963]!”
Quo thay
At Chryst kirk of the grene.
Thay girnit and lait gird with granis[964]
Ilk gossep vder grevit[965];
Sum straik with stingis[966], sum gadderit stanis,
Sum fled and evill mischevit;
The menstrall wan within twa wanis[967],
That day full weill he previt[968],
For he come hame with vnbirsed banis[969]
Quhair fechtaris wer mischevit[970]
For evir,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.
Heich[971] Hucheoun, with a hissill ryss[972],
To red[973] can throw thame rummill[974];
He mudlet[975] thame doun lyk ony myss[976],
He wes no barty-bummill[977].
Thocht he wes wicht[978] he wes nocht wyss
With sic jangleris to jummill[979],
For fra his thowme thay dang a sklyss[980],
Quhill he cryd “Barla-fummyll[981]!
I am slane,”
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.
Quhen that he saw his blude so reid,
To fle micht no man lat[982] him;
He wend[983] it bene for auld done feid[984],
The far sarar it set[985] him.
He gart his feit defend his heid,
He thocht ane cryd haif at him,
Quhill he wes past out of all pleid[986]
He suld bene swift that gat him
Throw speid,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.
The toun sowtar[987] in greif wes bowdin[988],
His wyfe hang in his waist;
His body wes with blud all browdin[989],
He granit lyk ony gaist.
Hir glitterand hair that wes full goldin
So hard in lufe him lest[990]
That for hir saik he wes nocht yoldin,
Sevin myll quhill he wes chest[991],
And mair,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.
The millar wes of manly mak;
To meit him wes na mowis[992];
Thair durst nocht ten cum him to tak,
So nowit he thair nowis[993].
The buschment haill[994] about him brak
And bikkerit[995] him with bowis[996],
Syne tratourly behind his bak
Thay hewit him on the howiss[997]
Behind,
At Chrystis kirk of the grene.
Twa that wes heidmen of the heird
Ran vpoun vtheris lyk rammis;
Than followit feymen[998] rycht on affeird[999],
Bet on with barrow trammis.
Bot quhair thair gobbis wes vngeird[1000]
Thay gat vpoun the gammis[1001],
Quhill bludy berkit[1002] wes thair beird;
As thay had wirreit[1003] lammis,
Maist lyk,
At Chryst kirk of the grene.
The wyvis kest vp ane hiddouss yell
Quhen all thir yunkeris yokkit[1004];
Als ferss as ony fyr-flaught[1005] fell
Freikis[1006] to the feild thay flokkit:
Tha cairlis[1007] with clubbis cowd vder quell[1008],
Quhill blud at breistis out bokkit[1009].
So rudly rang the commoun bell,
Quhill all the stepill rokkit
For reird,
At Christis kirk of the grene.
Quhen thay had berit[1010] lyk baitit bulis,
And branewod brynt in bailis[1011],
Thay wer als meik as ony mvlis
That mangit wer with mailis[1012].
For fantness tha forfochin fulis[1013]
Fell doun lyk flawchtir-failis[1014],
And freschmen come in and held thair dulis[1015],
And dang[1016] thame doun in dailis[1017]
Be-dene[1018],
At Chryst kirk on the grene.
Quhen all wes done, Dik with ane aix
Come furth to fell a fidder[1019].
Quod he, “Quhair ar yone hangit smaix[1020]
Rycht now wald slane my bruder?”
His wyfe bade him ga hame gub-glaikis[1021],
And sa did Meg his muder.
He turnd and gaif thaim bayth thair paikis[1022],
For he durst ding nane vdir[1023],
For feir,
At Chryst kirk of the grene that day.
[880] The Christ’s Kirk of the poem, in Tytler’s opinion, was that near
Dunideer in Aberdeenshire. About the burial ground of the ancient kirk
was a green where, so late as the end of last century, a yearly fair
was still held on the 1st of May. “In former times,” says Tytler, “this
fair was continued during the night, from which circumstance it was
called by the country people Sleepy Market. On such occasions it was
natural that such disorders as are so humorously described by the royal
author should have taken place.”
[881] merriment, disorder.
[882] wooers.
[883] think.
[884] Kittie, now the common abbreviation of Catherine, was in James’s
time the general name for a playful girl.
[885] prepared.
[886] gay of manners.
[887] doeskin.
[888] coarse woollen.
[889] Lincoln-green.
[890] simple, foolish.
[891] approached.
[892] goats, kids.
[893] slim, dainty.
[894] the ruddy part of the face.
[895] skin.
[896] Full.
[897] frail, _i.e._, she was love-sick.
[898] death.
[899] girded.
[900] mocked him by making mouths.
[901] go hang himself.
[902] counted.
[903] clucks.
[904] distaffs.
[905] how he did launch (the fiddle bow).
[906] shrill.
[907] an ancient dance.
[908] forsake.
[909] behaved.
[910] stepping in with long strides.
[911] course.
[912] Flat-footed.
[913] bounds.
[914] He leaped till he lay on his buttocks.
[915] exerted.
[916] coughed.
[917] began.
[918] dragged.
[919] drove him side-wise (gable-wards).
[920] The angry man clutched the stave.
[921] did not they have by the ears.
[922] blow of the fist.
[923] pulled.
[924] such wrath did move him.
[925] Great hurt was it to have frightened.
[926] chose an arrow.
[927] become.
[928] other.
[929] pierce.
[930] pierced.
[931] acre’s breadth.
[932] let fly.
[933] splinters.
[934] knew.
[935] enough.
[936] giddy fellow.
[937] skilful.
[938] Snatched.
[939] delay.
[940] enraged.
[941] did vary.
[942] escaped.
[943] designed.
[944] arrow did feather.
[945] offered, promised.
[946] to wager a wether.
[947] on the belly a knock.
[948] sounded.
[949] conceited.
[950] Loosed.
[951] aimed at the man.
[952] cowhouse.
[953] quiver.
[954] let (drive).
[955] kicked.
[956] stout fellows.
[957] roof beams.
[958] buffeted.
[959] Till they of men made bridges.
[960] uproar.
[961] spars.
[962] ridges, backs.
[963] my love lies.
[964] snarled and let drive with groans.
[965] vexed the other.
[966] pikes.
[967] dwellings.
[968] proved.
[969] unbruised bones.
[970] Where fighters were hurt.
[971] Tall.
[972] a hazel twig.
[973] separate.
[974] rumble.
[975] mowed.
[976] mice.
[977] inactive fellow.
[978] stout.
[979] With such wranglers to jumble.
[980] struck a slice.
[981] “A truce.”
[982] prevent.
[983] deemed.
[984] feud.
[985] distressed.
[986] debate, broil.
[987] shoemaker.
[988] swollen with rage.
[989] clotted, _lit._ broidered.
[990] delayed.
[991] till he was chased.
[992] jest.
[993] knocked he their crowns.
[994] The whole ambush.
[995] fought, rattled upon.
[996] ox-collars of bent willow.
[997] hams.
[998] crofters, country men.
[999] in warlike array.
[1000] their mouths were unclad, _i.e._ unguarded.
[1001] gums.
[1002] barked, clotted.
[1003] worried.
[1004] youngsters (perhaps Dutch _jonker_) engaged.
[1005] lightning.
[1006] stout fellows.
[1007] carls, men.
[1008] did each other quell.
[1009] belched.
[1010] bellowed.
[1011] firewood burnt in flames.
[1012] overpowered were with burdens.
[1013] these fatigued fools.
[1014] turfs cut for burning.
[1015] goals, stations.
[1016] struck.
[1017] numbers.
[1018] forthwith.
[1019] multitude, _lit._ waggon-load.
[1020] mean fellows, sneaks.
[1021] folly-mouth.
[1022] drubbing.
[1023] strike no other.
THE GABERLUNZIEMAN.[1024]
The pauky[1025] auld carle came ovir the lee,
Wi’ mony good-e’ens and days to mee,
Saying, “Goodwife, for zour courtesie,
Will ze lodge a silly[1026] poor man?”
The night was cauld, the carle was wat,
And down azont[1027] the ingle he sat;
My dochter’s shoulders he gan to clap,
And cadgily[1028] ranted and sang.
“O wow!” quo he, “were I as free
As first when I saw this countrie,
How blyth and merry wad I bee!
And I wad nevir think lang[1029].”
He grew canty[1030] and she grew fain,
But little did her auld minny ken[1031]
What thir slee twa togither were sayn
When wooing they were sa thrang[1032].
“And O!” quo he, “ann[1033] ze were as black
As evir the crown o’ your dadye’s hat
’Tis I wad lay thee by my back,
And awa wi’ me thou sould gang[1034]!”
“And O!” quoth she, “ann I were as whyte
As evir the snaw lay on the dike
Ild clead me braw[1035] and lady-like,
And awa wi’ thee Ild gang!”
Between the twa was made a plot,
They raise a wee[1036] before the cock,
And wyliely they shot the lock,
And fast to the bent[1037] are they gane.
Up the morn the auld wife raise,
And at her leisure put on her claiths,
Syne to the servants’ bed she gaes
To speir[1038] for the silly poor man.
She gaed[1039] to the bed whair the beggar lay;
The strae was cauld, he was away;
Scho clapt her hands, cry’d “Dulefu’ day!
For some of our geir[1040] will be gane.”
Some ran to coffer and some to kist[1041],
But nought was stown[1042] that could be mist.
She danced her lane[1043], cry’d “Praise be blest!
I have lodg’d a leal[1044] poor man.”
“Since naithing’s awa, as we can learn,
The kirn’s to kirn[1045] and milk to earn;
Gae butt[1046] the house, lass, and waken my bairn,
And bid her come quickly ben[1047].”
The servant gaed where the dochter lay--
The sheets was cauld, she was away;
And fast to her goodwife can say[1048],
“She’s aff with the gaberlunzieman.”
“O fy gar ride[1049], and fy gar rin,
And haste ze, find these traiters agen!
For shee’s be burnt, and hee’s be slein,
The wearifou[1050] gaberlunzieman!”
Some rade upo’ horse, some ran a-fit[1051];
The wife was wood[1052], and out o’ her wit;
She could na gang, not yet could she sit
But ay did curse and did ban.
Mean-time far hind, out owre[1053] the lee,
Fu’ snug in a glen where nane could see,
The twa, with kindlie sport and glee,
Cut frae a new cheese a whang[1054].
The prieving[1055] was gude, it pleas’d them baith;
To lo’e her for ay he gae her his aith.
Quo she, “To leave thee I will be laith,
My winsome gaberlunzieman.
“O kend my minny I were wi’ zou,
Ill-fardly[1056] wald she crook her mou’.
Sic a poor man sheld nevir trow[1057]
Aftir the gaberlunzieman.”
“My dear,” quo he, “zee’re zet owre zonge,
And hae na learnt the beggar’s tonge,
To follow me frae toun to toun,
And carrie the gaberlunzie on:
“Wi’ kauk and keel[1058] I’ll win zour bread,
And spindles and whorles[1059] for them wha need--
Whilk is a gentil trade indeed,
The gaberlunzie to carrie O!
I’ll bow[1060] my leg and crook my knee,
And draw a black clout[1061] owre my e’e;
A criple or blind they will cau me,
While we sall sing and be merry O!”
[1024] An ancient Scots name for a hawker, from gaber, a wallet, and
lunyie, the loin. Literally, “The man who carries a wallet on the
loin.” Throughout this poem, it will be observed, the consonant sound
of “y” is represented by the letter “z.” This peculiarity is preserved
to the present day in several Scottish proper names, such as Dalziel,
Zair, Culzean.
[1025] sly, artful.
[1026] frail.
[1027] beyond.
[1028] cheerfully.
[1029] become weary.
[1030] lively.
[1031] her old mother know.
[1032] busy.
[1033] if.
[1034] go.
[1035] I’d clothe me gay.
[1036] a little.
[1037] open field.
[1038] enquire.
[1039] went.
[1040] goods.
[1041] chest.
[1042] stolen.
[1043] alone.
[1044] loyal, true.
[1045] churn.
[1046] Go to the outer apartment.
[1047] to the inner apartment.
[1048] did say.
[1049] O haste, cause to ride.
[1050] troublesome.
[1051] afoot.
[1052] mad, furious.
[1053] far hence, out over.
[1054] slice.
[1055] proving, tasting.
[1056] Ill-favouredly.
[1057] she’d never trust.
[1058] chalk and ruddle (for marking sheep).
[1059] small perforated stones used in spinning.
[1060] bend.
[1061] cloth, rag.
THE JOLLY BEGGAR.
There was a jolly beggar, and a-begging he was boun[1062],
And he took up his quarters in-to a land’art town[1063],
And we’ll gang nae mair a roving
Sae late in-to the night;
And we’ll gang nae mair a roving, boys,
Let the moon shine ne’er so bright.
He wad neither ly in barn, nor yet wad he in byre;
But in ahint[1064] the ha’ door, or else afore the fire.
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.
The beggar’s bed was made at e’en wi’ good clean straw and hay,
And in ahint the ha’ door, and there the beggar lay.
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.
Up raise the goodman’s dochter and for to bar the door,
And there she saw the beggar standin’ i’ the floor.
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.
He took the lassie in his arms, and to the bed he ran,
O hooly[1065], hooly wi’ me, sir, ye’ll waken our goodman.
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.
The beggar was a cunnin’ loon, and ne’er a word he spake
Until he got his turn done, syne he began to crack[1066].
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.
“Is there ony dogs into this toun? maiden, tell me true.”
“And what wad ye do wi’ them, my hinny and my dow[1067]?”
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.
“They’ll rive a’ my meal pocks, and do me meikle wrang.”[1068]
“O dool[1069] for the doing o’t! are ye the poor man?”
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.
Then she took up the meal pocks, and flang them o’er the wa’;
“The deil gae wi’ the meal pocks, my maidenhead, and a’!”
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.
“I took ye for some gentleman, at least the laird of Brodie;
O dool for the doing o’t! are ye the poor bodie?”
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.
He took the lassie in his arms, and gae her kisses three,
And four and twenty hunder merk[1070] to pay the nurice-fee[1071].
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.
He took a horn frae his side, and blew baith loud and shrill,
And four and twenty belted knights came skipping o’er the hill.
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.
And he took out his little knife, loot a’ his duddies[1072] fa’;
And he was the brawest gentleman that was amang them a’.
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.
The beggar was a cliver loon, and he lap shoulder height:
“O, ay for sicken[1073] quarters as I gat yesternight!”
And we’ll gang nae mair, &c.
[1062] set forth.
[1063] country farm-steading.
[1064] behind.
[1065] cautiously.
[1066] talk.
[1067] my honey and my dove.
[1068] “They’ll tear all my meal bags, and do me great harm.” In
rural districts of Scotland as late as a century ago beggars carried
under each arm a wallet in which they collected the doles of the
farmers’ wives. The expected gratuity, which was rarely withheld, was
a “gowpen,” or double handful of oatmeal.
[1069] sorrow.
[1070] a silver coin worth 13-1/3 d. Stg.
[1071] wet-nurse wage.
[1072] rags.
[1073] such.
SIR RICHARD MAITLAND.
Many of the finest flowers of Scottish poetry previous to the middle of
the sixteenth century owe their preservation to the taste and patience
of two curiously contrasted collectors. One of the quaintest stories of
Scottish literature is that narrating how, during time of pestilence
in 1568, George Bannatyne, a young man of twenty-three, occupied the
leisure of his enforced retirement with transcribing, page after page,
the best works of the national makars. Little further is known of
the transcriber except that he became a burgess of some substance in
Edinburgh; but the work of those three months, a neatly written folio
of eight hundred pages, now in the Advocates’ Library in Edinburgh,
has made his name immortal.[1074] The companion picture belongs to a
slightly later date. It is that of Sir Richard Maitland, the blind old
judge of the Court of Session, in the last year of his life, directing
the transcription by his daughter Mary of the collection which was to
hand his name to posterity.
[1074] The Bannatyne MS. furnished the greater part of the contents
of that effective but unreliable publication, Ramsay’s _Evergreen_,
in 1724, and a further selection from its pages, under the title of
_Ancient Scottish Poems_, was printed by Lord Hailes in 1770. In 1829
the Bannatyne Club published the _Memorials of George Bannatyne_,
by Sir Walter Scott, containing all the ascertained facts of the
collector’s life; and this and the complete contents of the famous MS.
were finally printed together by the Hunterian Club, 1878-1886.
No necessity exists for comparing the merits of the two manuscripts
which have been the means of preserving so much of the legacy of
northern genius. To a large extent they deal with different work; in
each case the task of transcription and preservation has been performed
with the utmost patience and care; and in each the good taste and good
faith of the collector has established his transcript as a classic
authority. But while gratitude is due to Bannatyne for his services
as preserver of many priceless poems, as an original poet, upon the
strength of the few compositions of his own which he included in his
manuscript, he remains of but small account. In this respect his
contemporary, on the other hand, has a definite claim to regard. Sir
Richard Maitland was not only a diligent and careful collector of the
works of others; he was himself also a makar of respectable merit, and
several, at least, of the original compositions which he added to his
collection are entitled to a place on the page of Scottish poesy.
The son of William Maitland of Lethington in Haddingtonshire, who fell
at Flodden, and of Martha, daughter of George, second Lord Seton,
the poet was the representative of an ancient family. The well-known
ballad of “Auld Maitland” celebrates a gallant defence of the castle of
Lauder or Thirlstane against the English by an ancestor of Sir Richard
about the year 1250.[1075] Again and again during the succeeding
centuries the family name appears in history;[1076] in due course
Thirlstane was inherited by the poet from his grandfather; and from
that time, till the climax of the family fortunes in the person of the
poet’s great-grandson, the Duke of Lauderdale, in Charles II.’s time,
the house may be said to have been continuously in a foremost place.
Born in 1496, and studying law, it is said, first at St. Andrews,
and afterwards, upon his father’s death, in France, Maitland appears
presently to have entered the service of James V.[1077] Nothing
certain, however, is known of his early life except that, about the
year 1530, he married Mary, a daughter of Sir Thomas Cranston of
Corsby. By this lady he had a family of at least three sons and four
daughters, of whom the former were destined to play some of the most
conspicuous parts in the history of their time.
[1075] An entry in the Chartulary of Dryburgh bears that this ancestor,
also a Sir Richard Maitland, disponed certain of his lands to that
abbey in 1249.
[1076] During the reign of Robert III., in the year 1400, according to
Wyntoun, Sir Robert Maitland took the castle of Dunbar by strategy from
his mother’s brother, the Earl of March.
[1077] The letter of James VI. dated 1st July, 1584, respecting
Maitland’s retirement from the bench, states that the latter had served
the king’s “grandsire, goodsire, goodame, mother, and himself.”
The poet himself appears throughout to have cultivated a life of
retirement and study. All the references of contemporary writers,
except one, mention him with great respect, and his life would appear
to have been mostly that of the quiet country gentleman. The single
exception occurs in John Knox’s _History_, where he is accused of
having taken bribes to allow Cardinal Beaton to escape from Seton
House in 1543. Knox, however, was somewhat ready to attribute such
misdemeanours to persons whom he thought inimical to the reformed
faith, and in the present case there exists no evidence whatever to
support the charge, except that Maitland was a relative of Lord Seton,
and may have been visiting Seton House at the time of the occurrence.
There exists, on the other hand, direct evidence to show that the
Cardinal was set at liberty by order of the Regent Arran.[1078]
[1078] Sadler’s _State Papers_, vol. i., p. 70.
In 1552 Maitland was one of the commissioners appointed to settle
the differences with England on the subject of the Debateable Land
on the Borders, and it is believed that the successful issue of this
undertaking was the occasion of his receiving the honour of knighthood.
At anyrate, two years later, upon his appointment as an Extraordinary
Lord of Session he is called Sir Richard Maitland.
Again, in 1559, he was employed as one of the commissioners to England
in a conference upon the state of the Borders; Sir Ralph Sadler, one
of the delegates on the other side, mentioning him then as “the olde
Larde of Lethington, the wisest man of them.” The sudden termination of
his stay in England at this time, and the substitution of his eldest
son William in his place, has been attributed to the rapid approach
of the affliction which was to darken the remainder of his life. It
is at least certain that he had completely lost his sight before the
arrival of Queen Mary in Scotland in 1561, as in his poem of welcome he
mentions the piteous fact.