There is all but universal consent that the poisoning was do_The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 1 (of 5)

serving up snakes for fish. The Magyar says a toad, English #M# a

four-footed fish,[148] German #D# a well-peppered broth and a glass of

red wine. English #L# adds a drink of hemlock stocks to the speckled

trout; #F#, #H# have simply poison. The fish are distinctively eels in

the Italian versions, and in English #A#, #D#, #E#, #G#, #I#, Swedish

#B#. English #A#, #J#, #K#, #M#, #N#, #O#, German #A-D#, the Italian,

Swedish, Dutch, Wendish versions, and by implication English #C#, #D#,

#E# also, concur in saying that a part of the fish was given to a dog

[dogs, cat, cats], and that death was the consequence. Bursting or

swelling is characteristic of this kind of poisoning: German #A#, #B#,

#C#, #F#, English #D#, #E#, and the Dutch and Wendish versions.

The dying youth or child in many cases makes a nuncupative will, or

declares his last wishes, upon a suggestion proceeding from the person

who is by him, commonly from the mother: English #A#, #B#, #C#, #H#,

#I#: German #A#, #D#, #E#, #F#: the Italian, Dutch, Swedish, Danish,

Magyar versions. The bequest to the poisoner is the gallows in English

#B#, #C#, #H#, #I#, Italian #A#, #B#, #C#; hell, English #A#, German

#A#, #D#, #F#, Swedish #A#, #B#, Danish; and an equivalent in German

#E#, the Dutch and the Magyar copy. 'The Cruel Brother,' No 11, and

'Edward,' No 13, have a will of this same fashion.

In all the English versions the burden has the entreaty "Make my bed,"

and this is addressed to the mother in all but #L#, #N#. In #H#, an

Irish copy, and #I#, an American one, the mother asks where the bed

shall be made; and the answer is, In the churchyard. This feature is

found again in German #B#, #C# and in the Wendish version.

The resemblance in the form of the stanza in all the versions deserves a

word of remark. For the most part, the narrative proceeds in sections of

two short lines, or rather half lines, which are a question and an

answer, the rest of the stanza being regularly repeated. English #L#,

#N#, as written (#L# not always), separate the question and answer; this

is done, too, in Italian #B#, #C#. German #E#, on the contrary, has two

questions and the answers in each stanza, and is altogether peculiar.

Swedish #B# varies the burden in part, imagining father, brother,

sister, etc., to ask what the little girl will give to each, and

adapting the reply accordingly, "Faderen min," "Broderen min."

A Bohemian and a Catalan ballad which have two of the three principal

traits of the foregoing, the poisoning and the testament, do not

exhibit, perhaps have lost, the third, the employment of snakes.

The story of the first is that a mother who dislikes the wife her son

has chosen attempts to poison her at the wedding feast. She sets a glass

of honey before the son, a glass of poison before the bride. They

exchange cups. The poison is swift. The young man leaves four horses to

his brother, eight cows to his sister, his fine house to his wife. "And

what to me, my son?" asks the mother. A broad mill-stone and the deep

Moldau is the bequest to her. Waldau, Böhmische Granaten, II, 109, cited

by Reifferscheid, p. 137 f.

The Catalan ballad seems to have been softened at the end. Here again a

mother hates her daughter-in-law. She comes to the sick woman, "com qui

no 'n sabès res," and asks What is the matter? The daughter says, You

have poisoned me. The mother exhorts her to confess and receive the

sacrament, and then make her will. She gives her castles in France to

the poor and the pilgrims [and the friars], and to her brother Don

Carlos [who, in one version is her husband]. Two of the versions

remember the Virgin. "And to me?" "To you, my husband [my cloak,

rosary], that when you go to mass you may remember me." In one version

the mother asks the dying woman where she will be buried. She says At

Saint Mary's. Milà, Observaciones, p. 103 f, No 5, two versions: Briz y

Saltó, II, 197 f, two also, the first nearly the same as Milà's first.

Poisoning by giving a snake as food, or by infusing the venom in drink,

is an incident in several other popular ballads.

Donna Lombarda attempts, at the instigation of a lover, to rid herself

of her husband by pounding a serpent, or its head, in a mortar, and

mixing the juice with his wine [in one version simply killing the snake

and putting it in a cask]: Nigra, Canzoni del Piemonti, in Rivista

Contemporanea, XII, 32 ff, four versions; Marcoaldi, p. 177, No 20;

Wolf, Volkslieder aus Venetien, p. 46, No 72; Righi, Canti popolari

veronesi, p. 37, No 100*; Ferraro, C. p. monferrini, p. 1, No 1;

Bernoni, C. p. veneziani, Puntata V, No 1. In three of Nigra's versions

and in Ferraro's the drink is offered when the husband returns from

hunting. The husband, rendered suspicious by the look of the wine, or

warned of his danger, forces his wife to drink first. So in a northern

ballad, a mother who attempts to destroy her sons [step-sons] with a

brewage of this description is obliged to drink first, and bursts with

the poison: 'Eiturbyrlunar kvæði,' Íslenzk Fornkv., II, 79, No 43 A;

'Fru Gundela,' Arwidsson, II, 92, No 89; 'Signelill aa hennes synir,'

Bugge, p. 95, No XX, the last half.

In one of the commonest Slavic ballads, a girl, who finds her brother an

obstacle to her desires, poisons him, at the instigation and under the

instruction of the man she fancies, or of her own motion, by giving him

a snake to eat, or the virus in drink. The object of her passion, on

being informed of what she has done, casts her off, for fear of her

doing the like to him. Bohemian: 'Sestra travička,' Erben, P. n. w

Čechách, 1842, I, 9, No 2, Prostonárodni české P., 1864, p. 477,

No 13; Swoboda, Sbírka č. n. P., p. 19; German translations by

Swoboda, by Wenzig, W. s. Märchenschatz, p. 263, I. v. Düringsfeld,

Böhmische Rosen, p. 176, etc. Moravian: Sušil, p. 167, No 168.

Slovak, Čelakowsky, Slowanské n. P., III, 76. Polish: Kolberg, P. L.

p., I, 115, No 8, some twenty versions; Wojcicki, P. L.

białochrobatow, etc., I, 71, 73, 232, 289; Pauli, P. L. polskiego, p.

81, 82: Konopka, P. L. krakowskiego, p. 125. Servian: Vuk, I, 215, No

302, translated by Talvj, II, 192, and by Kapper, Gesänge der Serben,

II, 177. Russian: Čelakowsky, as above, III, 108. Etc. The attempt is

made, but unsuccessfully, in Sacharof, P. russkago N., IV, 7.

A version given by De Rada, Rapsodie d'un poema albanese, p. 78, canto

x, resembles the Slavic, with a touch of the Italian. A man incites a

girl to poison her brother by pounding the poison out of a serpent's

head and tail and mixing it with wine.

In a widely spread Romaic ballad, a mother poisons the bride whom her

son has just brought home,--an orphan girl in some versions, but in one

a king's daughter wedding a king's son. The cooks who are preparing the

feast are made to cook for the bride the heads of three snakes [nine

snakes' heads, a three-headed snake, winged snakes and two-headed

adders]. In two Epirote versions the poisoned girl bursts with the

effects. "Τα κακα πεθερικα," Passow, p. 335, No 456,

nearly==Zambelios, p. 753, No 41; Passow, p. 337, No 457; Tommaseo,

Canti popolari, III, 135; Jeannaraki, p. 127, No 130[149]; Chasiotis

(Epirote), p. 51, No 40, "Ἡ βουργαροπουλα και ἡ κακη πεθερα·"

p. 103, No 22, "Ὁ Διονυς και ἡ κακη πεθερα." (Liebrecht,

Volkskunde, p. 214.)

An Italian mother-in-law undertakes to poison her son's wife with a

snake-potion. The wife, on her husband's return from the chase,

innocently proposes to share the drink with him. Her husband no sooner

has tasted than he falls dead. (Kaden, Italien's Wunderhorn, p. 85).

Scott cites in his preface to 'Lord Randal' a passage from a MS.

chronicle of England, in which the death of King John is described as

being brought about by administering to him the venom of a toad (cf. the

Magyar ballad). The symptoms--swelling and rupture--are found in the

Scandinavian and Epirote ballads referred to above, besides those

previously noticed (p. 155). King John had asked a monk at the abbey of

Swinshed how much a loaf on the table was worth. The monk answered a

half-penny. The king said that if he could bring it about, such a loaf

should be worth twenty pence ere half a year. The monk thought he would

rather die than that this should come to pass. "And anon the monk went

unto his abbot and was shrived of him, and told the abbot all that the

king said, and prayed his abbot to assoil him, for he would give the

king such a wassail that all England should be glad and joyful thereof.

Then went the monk into a garden, and found a toad therein, and took her

up, and put her in a cup, and filled it with good ale, and pricked her

in every place, in the cup, till the venom came out in every place, and

brought it before the king, and kneeled, and said: 'Sir, wassail: for

never in your life drank ye of such a cup.' 'Begin, monk,' said the

king: and the monk drank a great draught, and took the king the cup, and

the king also drank a great draught, and set down the cup. The monk anon

went to the firmary, and there died anon, on whose soul God have mercy,

amen. And five monks sing for his soul especially, and shall while the

abbey standeth. The king was anon full evil at ease, and commanded to

remove the table, and asked after the monk; and men told him that he was

dead, for his womb was broke in sunder. When the king heard this tiding,

he commanded for to truss: but all it was for nought, for his belly

began to swell from the drink that he drank, that he died within two

days, the morrow after Saint Luke's day." Minstrelsy, III, 287 f. The

same story in Eulogium Historiarum, ed. Haydon, III, 109 f.

* * * * *

#B# and #K c# are translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske

Folkeviser, p. 284, 286. #D#, by W. Grimm, 3 Altschottische Lieder, p.

3; by Schubart, p. 177; Arndt, p. 229; Doenniges, p. 79; Gerhardt, p.

83; Knortz, L. u. R. Alt-Englands, p. 174. #K a# by Fiedler, Geschichte

der volksthümlichen schottischen Liederdichtung, II, 268. German #C# is

translated by Jamieson, Illustrations, p. 320: Swedish #A# by W. and M.

Howitt, Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, I, 265.

From a small manuscript volume lent me by Mr William

Macmath, of Edinburgh, containing four pieces written in

or about 1710, and this ballad in a later hand. Charles

Mackie, August, 1808, is scratched upon the binding.

'O where ha you been, Lord Randal, my son?

And where ha you been, my handsome young man?'

'I ha been at the greenwood; mother, mak my bed soon,

For I'm wearied wi hunting, and fain wad lie down.'

'An wha met ye there, Lord Randal, my son?

An wha met you there, my handsome young man?'

'O I met wi my true-love; mother, mak my bed soon,

For I'm wearied wi huntin, an fain wad lie down.'

'And what did she give you, Lord Randal, my son?

And what did she give you, my handsome young man?'

'Eels fried in a pan; mother, mak my bed soon,

For I'm wearied wi huntin, and fain wad lie down.'

'And wha gat your leavins, Lord Randal, my son?

And wha gat your leavins, my handsom young man?'

'My hawks and my hounds; mother, mak my bed soon,

For I'm wearied wi hunting, and fain wad lie down.'

'And what becam of them, Lord Randal, my son?

And what becam of them, my handsome young man?'

'They stretched their legs out an died; mother, mak my bed soon,

For I'm wearied wi huntin, and fain wad lie down.'

'O I fear you are poisoned, Lord Randal, my son!

I fear you are poisoned, my handsome young man!'

'O yes, I am poisoned; mother, mak my bed soon,

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.'

'What d' ye leave to your mother, Lord Randal, my son?

What d' ye leave to your mother, my handsome young man?'

'Four and twenty milk kye; mother, mak my bed soon,

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.'

'What d' ye leave to your sister, Lord Randal, my son?

What d' ye leave to your sister, my handsome young man?'

'My gold and my silver; mother, mak my bed soon,

For I'm sick at the heart, an I fain wad lie down.'

'What d' ye leave to your brother, Lord Randal, my son?

What d' ye leave to your brother, my handsome young man?'

'My houses and my lands; mother, mak my bed soon,

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.'

'What d' ye leave to your true-love, Lord Randal, my son?

What d' ye leave to your true-love, my handsome young man?'

'I leave her hell and fire; mother, mak my bed soon,

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.'

Kinloch's Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 110. From Mrs

Comie, Aberdeen.

'O whare hae ye been a' day, Lord Donald, my son?

O whare hae ye been a' day, my jollie young man?'

'I've been awa courtin; mither, mak my bed sune,

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

'What wad ye hae for your supper, Lord Donald, my son?

What wad ye hae for your supper, my jollie young man?'

'I've gotten my supper; mither, mak my bed sune,

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

'What did ye get for your supper, Lord Donald, my son?

What did ye get for your supper, my jollie young man?'

'A dish of sma fishes; mither mak my bed sune,

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

'Whare gat ye the fishes, Lord Donald, my son?

Whare gat ye the fishes, my jollie young man?'

'In my father's black ditches; mither, mak my bed sune,

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

'What like were your fishes, Lord Donald, my son?

What like were your fishes, my jollie young man?'

'Black backs and spreckld bellies; mither, mak my bed sune,

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

'O I fear ye are poisond, Lord Donald, my son!

O I fear ye are poisond, my jollie young man!'

'O yes! I am poisond; mither mak my bed sune,

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

'What will ye leave to your father, Lord Donald my son?

What will ye leave to your father, my jollie young man?'

'Baith my houses and land; mither, mak my bed sune,

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

'What will ye leave to your brither, Lord Donald, my son?

What will ye leave to your brither, my jollie young man?'

'My horse and the saddle; mither, mak my bed sune,

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

'What will ye leave to your sister, Lord Donald, my son?

What will ye leave to your sister, my jollie young man?'

'Baith my gold box and rings; mither, mak my bed sune,

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

'What will ye leave to your true-love, Lord Donald, my son?

What will ye leave to your true-love, my jollie young man?'

'The tow and the halter, for to hang on yon tree,

And lat her hang there for the poysoning o me.'

Motherwell's MS., p. 69. From the recitation of Margaret

Bain, in the parish of Blackford, Perthshire.

'What's become of your hounds, King Henrie, my son?

What's become of your hounds, my pretty little one?'

'They all died on the way; mother, make my bed soon,

For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

'What gat ye to your supper, King Henry, my son?

What gat ye to your supper, my pretty little one?'

'I gat fish boiled in broo; mother, mak my bed soon,

For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

'What like were the fish, King Henry, my son?

What like were the fish, my pretty little one?'

'They were spreckled on the back and white on the belly; mother, make

my bed soon,

For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

'What leave ye to your father, King Henry, my son?

What leave ye to your father, my pretty little one?'

'The keys of Old Ireland, and all that's therein; mother, make my bed

soon,

For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

'What leave ye to your brother, King Henry, my son?

What leave ye to your brother, my pretty little one?'

'The keys of my coffers and all that's therein; mother, mak my bed

soon,

For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

'What leave ye to your sister, King Henry, my son?

What leave ye to your sister, my pretty little one?'

'The world's wide, she may go beg; mother, mak my bed soon,

For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

'What leave ye to your trew-love, King Henry, my son?

What leave ye to your trew-love, my pretty little one?'

'The highest hill to hang her on, for she's poisoned me and my hounds

all; mother, make my bed soon,

Oh I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1803, III, 292.

'O where hae ye been, Lord Randal, my son?

O where hae ye been, my handsome young man?'

'I hae been to the wild wood; mother, make my bed soon,

For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.'

'Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son?

Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?'

'I din'd wi my true-love; mother, make my bed soon,

For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.'

'What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Randal, my son?

What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man?'

'I gat eels boild in broo; mother, make my bed soon,

For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.'

'What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Randal, my son?

What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?'

'O they swelld and they died; mother, make my bed soon,

For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.'

'O I fear ye are poisond, Lord Randal, my son!

O I fear ye are poisond, my handsome young man!'

'O yes! I am poisond; mother, make my bed soon,

For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

Halliwell's Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales, p. 261. "A

version still popular in Scotland," 1849.

'Ah where have you been, Lairde Rowlande, my son?

Ah where have you been, Lairde Rowlande, my son?'

'I've been in the wild woods; mither, mak my bed soon,

For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'

'Oh you've been at your true love's, Lairde Rowlande, my son!

Oh you've been at your true-love's, Lairde Rowlande, my son!'

'I've been at my true-love's; mither, mak my bed soon,

For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'

'What got you to dinner, Lairde Rowlande, my son?

What got you to dinner, Lairde Rowlande, my son?'

'I got eels boild in brue; mither, mak my bed soon,

For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'

'What's become of your warden, Lairde Rowlande, my son?

What's become of your warden, Lairde Rowlande, my son?'

'He died in the muirlands; mither, mak my bed soon,

For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'

'What's become of your stag-hounds, Lairde Rowlande, my son?

What's become of your stag-hounds, Lairde Rowlande, my son?'

'They swelled and they died; mither, mak my bed soon,

For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'

Johnson's Museum, No 327, p. 337. Communicated by Burns.

'O where hae ye been, Lord Ronald, my son?

O where hae ye been, Lord Ronald, my son?'

'I hae been wi my sweetheart; mother, make my bed soon,

For I'm weary wi the hunting, and fain wad lie down.'

'What got ye frae your sweetheart, Lord Ronald, my son?

What got ye frae your sweetheart, Lord Ronald, my son?'

'I hae got deadly poison; mother, make my bed soon,

For life is a burden that soon I'll lay down.'

* * * * * * *

Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, p. 319. Originally

from a clergyman's daughter, in Suffolk.

'Where have you been today, Billy, my son?

Where have you been today, my only man?'

'I've been a wooing; mother, make my bed soon,

For I'm sick at heart, and fain would lay down.'

'What have you ate today, Billy, my son?

What have you ate today, my only man?'

'I've ate eel-pie; mother, make my bed soon,

For I'm sick at heart, and shall die before noon.'

Taken down by me, February, 1881, from the recitation of

Ellen Healy, as repeated to her by a young girl at

"Lackabairn," Kerry, Ireland, about 1868.

'Where was you all day, my own pretty boy?

Where was you all day, my comfort and joy?'

'I was fishing and fowling; mother, make my bed soon,