16_The English and Scottish popular ballads, volume 1 (of 5)

'How many of the small fishes

Do swim the salt seas round?

Or what's the seemliest sight you'll see

Into a May morning?'

* * * * * * *

'Berry-brown ale and a birken speal,

And wine in a horn green;

A milk-white lace in a fair maid's dress

Looks gay in a May morning.'

'Mony's the questions I've askd at thee,

And ye've answerd them a';

Ye are mine, and I am thine,

Amo the sheets sae sma.

'You may be my match, kind sir,

You may be my match and more;

There neer was ane came sic a length

Wi my father's heir before.

'My father's lord o nine castles,

My mother she's lady ower three,

And there is nane to heir them all,

No never a ane but me;

Unless it be Willie, my ae brother,

But he's far ayont the sea.'

'If your father's laird o nine castles,

Your mother lady ower three,

I am Willie your ae brother,

Was far beyond the sea.'

'If ye be Willie, my ae brother,

As I doubt sair ye be,

But if it's true ye tell me now,

This night I'll gang wi thee.'

'Ye've ower ill washen feet, Janet,

And ower ill washen hands,

And ower coarse robes on your body,

Alang wi me to gang.

'The worms they are my bed-fellows,

And the cauld clay my sheet,

And the higher that the wind does blaw,

The sounder I do sleep.

'My body's buried in Dumfermline,

And far beyond the sea,

But day nor night nae rest coud get,

All for the pride o thee.

'Leave aff your pride, jelly Janet,' he says,

'Use it not ony mair;

Or when ye come where I hae been

You will repent it sair.

'Cast aff, cast aff, sister,' he says,

'The gowd lace frae your crown;

For if ye gang where I hae been,

Ye'll wear it laigher down.

'When ye're in the gude church set,

The gowd pins in your hair,

Ye take mair delight in your feckless dress

Than ye do in your morning prayer.

'And when ye walk in the church-yard,

And in your dress are seen,

There is nae lady that sees your face

But wishes your grave were green.

'You're straight and tall, handsome withall,

But your pride owergoes your wit,

But if ye do not your ways refrain,

In Pirie's chair ye'll sit.

'In Pirie's chair you'll sit, I say,

The lowest seat o hell;

If ye do not amend your ways,

It's there that ye must dwell.'

Wi that he vanishd frae her sight,

Wi the twinkling o an eye;

Naething mair the lady saw

But the gloomy clouds and sky.

Buchan's MSS, II, 95.

Once there was a jolly hind squire

Appeard in a lady's ha,

And aye she walked up and down,

Looking oer her castle wa.

'What is your wills wi me, kind sir?

What is your wills wi me?'

'My wills are [not] sma wi thee, lady,

My wills are [not] sma wi thee.

'For here I stand a courtier,

And a courtier come to thee,

And if ye will not grant me your love,

For your sake I will die.'

'If you die for my sake,' she says,

'Few for you will make moan;

Many better's died for my sake,

Their graves are growing green.

'You appear to be some false young man,

You wear your hat so wide;

You appear to be some false young man,

You wear your boots so side.

'An asking, asking, sir,' she said,

'An asking ye'll grant me:'

'Ask on, ask on, lady,' he said,

'What may your asking be?'

'What's the first thing in flower,' she said,

'That springs in mire or dale?

What's the next bird that sings,' she says,

'Unto the nightingale?

Or what is the finest thing,' she says,

'That king or queen can wile?'

'The primrose is the first in flower

That springs in mire or dale;

The thristle-throat is the next that sings

Unto the nightingale;

And yellow gold is the finest thing

That king or queen can wile.

'You have asked many questions, lady,

I've you as many told;'

'But how many pennies round

Make a hundred pounds in gold?

'How many small fishes

Do swim the salt seas round?

Or what's the seemliest sight you'll see

Into a May morning?

* * * * * * *

'There's ale into the birken scale,

Wine in the horn green;

There's gold in the king's banner

When he is fighting keen.'

'You may be my match, kind sir,' she said,

'You may be my match and more;

There neer was one came such a length

With my father's heir before.

'My father's lord of nine castles,

No body heir but me.'

'Your father's lord of nine castles,

Your mother's lady of three;

'Your father's heir of nine castles,

And you are heir to three;

For I am William, thy ae brother,

That died beyond the sea.'

'If ye be William, my ae brother,

This night, O well is me!

If ye be William, my ae brother,

This night I'll go with thee.'

'For no, for no, jelly Janet,' he says,

'For no, that cannot be;

You've oer foul feet and ill washen hands

To be in my company.

'For the wee wee worms are my bedfellows,

And the cold clay is my sheet,

And the higher that the winds do blow,

The sounder I do sleep.

'Leave off your pride, jelly Janet,' he says,

'Use it not any more;

Or when you come where I have been

You will repent it sore.

'When you go in at yon church door,

The red gold on your hair,

More will look at your yellow locks

Than look on the Lord's prayer.

'When you go in at yon church door,

The red gold on your crown;

When you come where I have been,

You'll wear it laigher down.'

The jolly hind squire, he went away

In the twinkling of an eye,

Left the lady sorrowful behind,

With many bitter cry.

Harris's MS., fol. 7, No 3. From Mrs Harris's recitation.

There cam a knicht to Archerdale,

His steed was winder sma,

An there he spied a lady bricht,

Luikin owre her castle wa.

'Ye dinna seem a gentle knicht,

Though on horseback ye do ride;

Ye seem to be some sutor's son,

Your butes they are sae wide.'

'Ye dinna seem a lady gay,

Though ye be bound wi pride;

Else I'd gane bye your father's gate

But either taunt or gibe.'

He turned aboot his hie horse head,

An awa he was boun to ride,

But neatly wi her mouth she spak:

Oh bide, fine squire, oh bide.

'Bide, oh bide, ye hindy squire,

Tell me mair o your tale;

Tell me some o that wondrous lied

Ye've learnt in Archerdale.

'What gaes in a speal?' she said,

'What in a horn green?

An what gaes on a lady's head,

Whan it is washen clean?'

'Ale gaes in a speal,' he said,

'Wine in a horn green;

An silk gaes on a lady's head,

Whan it is washen clean.'

Aboot he turned his hie horse head,

An awa he was boun to ride,

When neatly wi her mouth she spak:

Oh bide, fine squire, oh bide.

'Bide, oh bide, ye hindy squire,

Tell me mair o your tale;

Tell me some o that unco lied

You've learnt in Archerdale.

'Ye are as like my ae brither

As ever I did see;

But he's been buried in yon kirkyaird

It's mair than years is three.'

'I am as like your ae brither

As ever ye did see;

But I canna get peace into my grave,

A' for the pride o thee.

'Leave pride, Janet, leave pride, Janet,

Leave pride an vanitie;

If ye come the roads that I hae come,

Sair warned will ye be.

'Ye come in by yonder kirk

Wi the goud preens in your sleeve;

When you're bracht hame to yon kirkyaird,

You'll gie them a' thier leave.

'Ye come in to yonder kirk

Wi the goud plaits in your hair;

When you're bracht hame to yon kirkyaird,

You will them a' forbear.'

He got her in her mither's bour,

Puttin goud plaits in her hair;

He left her in her father's gairden,

Mournin her sins sae sair.

Alex. Laing, Ancient Ballads and Songs, etc., etc., from

the recitation of old people. Never published. 1829. P. 6.

Fair Margret was a young ladye,

An come of high degree;

Fair Margret was a young ladye,

An proud as proud coud be.

Fair Margret was a rich ladye,

The king's cousin was she;

Fair Margaret was a rich ladye,

An vain as vain coud be.

She war'd her wealth on the gay cleedin

That comes frae yont the sea,

She spent her time frae morning till night

Adorning her fair bodye.

Ae night she sate in her stately ha,

Kaimin her yellow hair,

When in there cum like a gentle knight,

An a white scarf he did wear.

'O what's your will wi me, sir knight,

O what's your will wi me?

You're the likest to my ae brother

That ever I did see.

'You're the likest to my ae brother

That ever I hae seen,

But he's buried in Dunfermline kirk,

A month an mair bygane.'

'I'm the likest to your ae brother

That ever ye did see,

But I canna get rest into my grave,

A' for the pride of thee.

'Leave pride, Margret, leave pride, Margret,

Leave pride an vanity;

Ere ye see the sights that I hae seen,

Sair altered ye maun be.

'O ye come in at the kirk-door

Wi the gowd plaits in your hair;

But wud ye see what I hae seen,

Ye maun them a' forbear.

'O ye come in at the kirk-door

Wi the gowd prins i your sleeve;

But wad ye see what I hae seen,

Ye maun gie them a' their leave.

'Leave pride, Margret, leave pride, Margret,

Leave pride an vanity;

Ere ye see the sights that I hae seen,

Sair altered ye maun be.'

He got her in her stately ha,

Kaimin her yellow hair,

He left her on her sick sick bed,

Sheding the saut saut tear.

* * * * *

#B#

_15^{3,4}, 16^{1,2}, #C# 9^{3,4}, 10^{1,2} are rightly

answers, not questions: cf. #A# 9, 10. #D# 6 furnishes the

question answered in #B# 17._

#B. b.#

_Motherwell begins at st. 25._

27^2. gowd band.

28^1, 29^1. kirk.

30^2. owergangs.

32^2. In the.

32^3. And naething.

#C.#

_~Kind Squire~ in the title, and ~kind~ in 1^1, 21^1; I

suppose by mistake of my copyist._

16^3. You're (?).

17^2. the clay cold.

#E.#

8^3, 11^3. E'er.

YOUNG ANDREW

Percy MS., p. 292. Hales and Furnivall, II, 328.

'Young Andrew' is known only from the Percy manuscript. The story

recalls both 'Lady Isabel and the Elf-Knight,' No 4, and 'The Fair

Flower of Northumberland,' No 9. The lady, Helen, 25^3, is bidden to

take, and does take, gold with her in stanzas 5-7, as in No 4, English

#E# 2, 3, #D# 7, Danish #A# 12, #E# 7, 9, #I# 5, #L# 5, 6, and nearly

all the Polish copies, and again in No 9, #A# 14. She is stripped of her

clothes and head-gear in 8-17, as in No 4, English #C-E#, German #G#,

#H#, and many of the Polish versions. These are destined by Young Andrew

for his lady ("that dwells so far in a strange country") in 10, 12, 14,

as by Ulinger for his sister, and by Adelger for his mother, in German

#G# 18, #H# 15. In 15 the lady entreats Young Andrew to leave her her

smock; so in No 4, Polish #L# 8, "You brought me from home in a green

gown; take me back in a shift of tow," and #R# 13, "You took me away in

red satin; let me go back at least in a smock." 18 has the choice

between dying and going home again which is presented in 'Lady Isabel,'

Polish #AA# 4, #H# 10, #R# 11, and implied in 'The Fair Flower of

Northumberland,' #D# 2-5; in #A# 25 of this last the choice is between

dying and being a paramour. In 20, 21, the lady says, "If my father ever

catches you, you're sure to flower a gallows-tree," etc.; in No 4,

Polish #J# 5, "If God would grant me to reach the other bank, you know,

wretch, what death you would die." The father is unrelenting in this

ballad, v. 26, and receives his daughter with severity in 'The Fair

Flower of Northumberland,' #B# 13, #C# 13. The conclusion of 'Young

Andrew' is mutilated and hard to make out. He seems to have been pursued

and caught, as John is in the Polish ballads, #O#, #P#, #T#, etc., of No

4. Why he was not promptly disposed of, and how the wolf comes into the

story, will probably never be known.

As I was cast in my ffirst sleepe,

A dreadffull draught in my mind I drew,

Ffor I was dreamed of a yong man,

Some men called him yonge Andrew.

The moone shone bright, and itt cast a ffayre light,

Sayes shee, Welcome, my honey, my hart, and my sweete!

For I haue loued thee this seuen long yeere,

And our chance itt was wee cold neuer meete.

Then he tooke her in his armes two,

And kissed her both cheeke and chin,

And twise or thrise he pleased this may

Before they tow did p_ar_t in twinn.

Saies, Now, good s_i_r, you haue had yo_u_r will,

You can demand no more of mee;

Good s_i_r, remember what you said before,

And goe to the church and marry mee.

'Ffaire maid, I cannott doe as I wold;

. . . . . . .

Goe home and fett thy fathers redd gold,

And I'le goe to the church and marry thee.

This ladye is gone to her ffathers hall,

And well she knew where his red gold lay,

And counted fforth five hundred pound,

Besides all other iuells and chaines:

And brought itt all to younge Andrew,

Itt was well counted vpon his knee;

Then he tooke her by the lillye white hand,

And led her vp to an hill soe hye.

Shee had vpon a gowne of blacke veluett,

(A pittyffull sight after yee shall see:)

'Put of thy clothes, bonny wenche,' he sayes,

'For noe ffoote further thoust gang w_i_th mee.'

But then shee put of her gowne of veluett,

W_i_th many a salt teare from her eye,

And in a kirtle of ffine breaden silke

Shee stood beffore young Andrews eye.

Sais, O put off thy kirtle of silke,

Ffor some and all shall goe with mee;

And to my owne lady I must itt beare,

Who I must needs loue better then thee.

Then shee put of her kirtle of silke,

W_i_th many a salt teare still ffrom her eye;

In a peticoate of scarlett redd

Shee stood before young Andrewes eye.

Saies, O put of thy peticoate,

For some and all of itt shall goe w_i_th mee;

And to my owne lady I will itt beare,

W_hi_ch dwells soe ffarr in a strange countrye.

But then shee put of her peticoate,

W_i_th many a salt teare still from her eye,

And in a smocke of braue white silke

Shee stood before young Andrews eye.

Saies, O put of thy smocke of silke,

For some and all shall goe w_i_th mee;

Vnto my owne ladye I will itt beare,

_Tha_t dwells soe ffarr in a strange countrye.

Sayes, O remember, young Andrew,

Once of a woman you were borne;

And ffor _tha_t birth _tha_t Marye bore,

I pray you let my smocke be vpon!

'Yes, ffayre ladye, I know itt well,

Once of a woman I was borne;

Yett ffor noe birth _tha_t Mary bore,

Thy smocke shall not be left here vpon.'

But then shee put of her head-geere ffine;

Shee hadd billaments worth a hundred pound;

The hayre _tha_t was vpon this bony wench head

Couered her bodye downe to the ground.

Then he pulled forth a Scottish brand,

And held itt there in his owne right hand;

Saies, Whether wilt thou dye vpon my swords point, ladye,

Or thow wilt goe naked home againe?

'Liffe is sweet,' then, 's_i_r,' said shee,

'Therfore I pray you leaue mee w_i_th mine;

Before I wold dye on yo_u_r swords point,

I had rather goe naked home againe.

'My ffather,' shee sayes, 'is a right good erle

As any remaines in his countrye;

If euer he doe yo_u_r body take,

Yo_u_'r sure to fflower a gallow tree.

'And I haue seuen brethren,' shee sayes,

'And they are all hardy men and bold;

Giff euer thé doe yo_u_r body take,

You must neuer gang quicke ou_er_ the mold.'

'If yo_u_r ffather be a right good erle

As any remaines in his owne countrye,

Tush! he shall neuer my body take,

I'le gang soe ffast ouer the sea.

'If you haue seuen brethren,' he sayes,

'If they be neu_er_ soe hardy or bold,

Tush! they shall neu_er_ my body take,

I'le gang soe ffast into the Scottish mold.'

Now this ladye is gone to her fathers hall,

When euery body their rest did take;

But the Erle w_hi_ch was her ffather

Lay waken for his deere daughters sake.

'But who is _tha_t,' her ffather can say,

'_Tha_t soe priuilye knowes the pinn?'

'It's Hellen, yo_u_r owne deere daughter, ffather,

I pray you rise and lett me in.'

. . . . . . .

'Noe, by my hood!' q_uo_th her ffather then,

'My [house] thoust neuer come w_i_thin,

W_i_thout I had my red gold againe.'

'Nay, yo_u_r gold is gone, ffather!' said shee,

. . . . . . .

'Then naked thou came into this world,

And naked thou shalt returne againe.'

'Nay! God fforgaue his death, father,' shee sayes,

'And soe I hope you will doe mee;'

'Away, away, thou cursed woman,

I pray God an ill death thou may dye!'

Shee stood soe long quacking on the ground

Till her hart itt burst in three;

And then shee ffell dead downe in a swoond,

And this was the end of this bonny ladye.

Ithe morning, when her ffather gott vpp,

A pittyffull sight there he might see;

His owne deere daughter was dead, w_i_thout clothes,

The teares they trickeled fast ffrom his eye.

. . . . . . .

Sais, Fye of gold, and ffye of ffee!

For I sett soe much by my red gold

_Tha_t now itt hath lost both my daughter and mee!'

. . . . . . .

But after this time he neere dought good day,

But as flowers doth fade in the frost,

Soe he did wast and weare away.

But let vs leaue talking of this ladye,

And talke some more of young Andrew;

Ffor ffalse he was to this bonny ladye,

More pitty _tha_t he had not beene true.

He was not gone a mile into the wild forrest,

Or halfe a mile into the hart of Wales,

But there they cought him by such a braue wyle

_Tha_t hee must come to tell noe more tales.

* * * * * * *

. . . . . . .

Ffull soone a wolfe did of him smell,

And shee came roaring like a beare,

And gaping like a ffeend of hell.

Soe they ffought together like two lyons,

And fire betweene them two glashet out;

Thé raught eche other such a great rappe,

_Tha_t there young Andrew was slaine, well I wott.

But now young Andrew he is dead,

But he was neuer buryed vnder mold,

For ther as the wolfe devoured him,

There lyes all this great erles gold.

* * * * *

1^3. of one.

3^3. 2.^{se}, 3.^{se}.

7^4. to one. 17^2. 100_{:}^li.

19^1. My liffe.

25^2. _tha_t pinn.

30^3. _~any~ follows ~without~, but is crossed out_.

30^4. they teares.

33^4. itt had.

_Arabic numbers are in several cases expressed in

letters._

THE TWA BROTHERS

#A.# Sharpe's Ballad Book, p. 56, No 19.

#B.# 'The Cruel Brother,' Motherwell's MS., p. 259. From

the recitation of Mrs McCormick.

#C.# 'The Twa Brithers,' Motherwell's MS., p. 649. From

the recitation of Mrs Cunningham.

#D.# 'The Twa Brothers, or, The Wood o Warslin,'

Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 59. From the recitation of

Mrs Arrott.

#E.# 'The Twa Brothers,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 60.

#F.# 'The Two Brothers,' Buchan's MSS, I, 57; Motherwell's

MS., p. 662.

#G. a.# 'John and William,' taken down from the singing of

little girls in South Boston. #b.# From a child in New

York. Both communicated by Mr W. W. Newell.

All the Scottish versions were obtained within the first third of this

century, and since then no others have been heard of. It is interesting

to find the ballad still in the mouths of children in American

cities,--in the mouths of the poorest, whose heritage these old things

are.[401] The American versions, though greatly damaged, preserve the

names John and William, which all the other copies have.

#B# and #C# are considerably corrupted. It need hardly be mentioned that

the age of the boys in the first two stanzas of #B# does not suit the

story. According to #C# 8, 15, the mother had cursed John, before he

left home, with a wish that he might never return; and in #C# 9, John

sends word to his true-love that he is in his grave for her dear sake

alone. These points seem to have been taken from some copy of 'Willie

and May Margaret,' or 'The Drowned Lovers.' The conclusion of both #B#

and #C# belongs to 'Sweet William's Ghost.' #C# 18 may be corrected by

#B# 10, though there is an absurd jumble of pipes and harp in the

latter. The harp, in a deft hand, effects like wonders in many a ballad:

e. g., 'Harpens Kraft,' Grundtvig, II, 65, No 40; even a pipe in #C#

14-16 of the same.

#D#, #E#, #F#, #G# supplement the story with more or less of the ballad

of 'Edward:' see p. 168.

Jamieson inquires for this ballad in the Scots Magazine for October,

1803, p. 701, at which time he had only the first stanza and the first

half of the third. He fills out the imperfect stanza nearly as in the

copy which he afterwards printed:

But out an Willie's taen his knife,

And did his brother slay.

Of the five other Scottish versions, all except #B# make the deadly

wound to be the result of accident, and this is, in Motherwell's view, a

point essential. The other reading, he says, is at variance with the

rest of the story, and "sweeps away the deep impression this simple

ballad would otherwise have made upon the feelings: for it is almost

unnecessary to mention that its touching interest is made to centre in

the boundless sorrow and cureless remorse of him who had been the

unintentional cause of his brother's death, and in the solicitude which

that high-minded and generous spirit expresses, even in the last agonies

of nature, for the safety and fortunes of the truly wretched and unhappy

survivor." But the generosity of the dying man is plainly greater if his

brother has killed him in an outburst of passion; and what is gained

this way will fully offset the loss, if any, which comes from the

fratricide having cause for "cureless remorse" as well as boundless

sorrow. Motherwell's criticism, in fact, is not quite intelligible.

(Minstrelsy, p. 61.)

The variation in the story is the same as that between the English

'Cruel Brother' and the German 'Graf Friedrich:' in the former the bride

is killed by her offended brother; in the latter it is the bridegroom's

sword slipping from its sheath that inflicts the mortal hurt.

Motherwell was inclined to believe, and Kirkpatrick Sharpe was

convinced, that this ballad was founded upon an event that happened near

Edinburgh as late as 1589, that of one of the Somervilles having been

killed by his brother's pistol accidentally going off. Sharpe afterward

found a case of a boy of thirteen killing a young brother in anger at

having his hair pulled. This most melancholy story, the particulars of

which are given in the last edition of the Ballad Book, p. 130, note

xix, dates nearly a hundred years later, 1682. Only the briefest mention

need be made of these unusually gratuitous surmises.

Kirkland, in #D#, was probably suggested by the kirkyard of other

versions, assisted, possibly, by a reminiscence of the Kirkley in 'Robin

Hood's Death and Burial;' for it will be observed that stanzas 8, 9 of

#D# come pretty near to those in which Robin Hood gives direction for

his grave; #F# 9, 10, #B# 5, 6 less near.[402]

Cunningham has entitled a romance of his, upon the theme of 'The Two

Brothers' (which, once more, he ventures to print nearly in the state in

which he once had the pleasure of hearing it sung), 'Fair Annie of

Kirkland:' Songs of Scotland, II, 16.

The very pathetic passage in which the dying youth directs that father,

mother, and sister shall be kept in ignorance of his death, and then,

feeling how vain the attempt to conceal the fact from his true-love will

be, bids that she be informed that he is in his grave and will never

come back, is too truly a touch of nature to be found only here.

Something similar occurs in 'Mary Hamilton,' where, however, the

circumstances are very different:

'And here's to the jolly sailor lad

That sails upon the faeme!

And let not my father nor mother get wit

But that I shall come again.

'And here's to the jolly sailor lad

That sails upon the sea!

But let not my father nor mother get wit

O the death that I maun dee.'

In a fine Norse ballad (see 'Brown Robyn's Confession,' further on) a

man who is to be thrown overboard to save a ship takes his leave of the

world with these words:

'If any of you should get back to land,

And my foster-mother ask for me,

Tell her I'm serving in the king's court,

And living right merrily.

'If any of you should get back to land,

And my true-love ask for me,

Bid her to marry another man,

For I am under the sea.'

A baron, who has been mortally wounded in a duel, gives this charge to

his servant:

'Faites mes compliments à ma femme,

Mais ne lui dites pas que j'ai été tué;

Mais dites lui que je serai allé à Paris,

Pour saluer le roi Louis.

'Dites que je serai allé à Paris,

Pour saluer le roi Louis,

Et que j'ai acheté un nouveau cheval,

Le petit cœur de mon cheval était trop gai.'

(Le Seigneur de Rosmadec, Luzel, I, 368/369, 374/375.)

In like manner a dying klepht: "If our comrades ask about me, tell them

not that I have died: say only that I have married in strange lands;

have taken the flat stone for mother-in-law, the black earth for my

wife, the black worms for brothers-in-law." Zambelios, p. 606, No 11,

Fauriel, I, 51, Passow, p. 118, No 152; and again, Zambelios, p. 672, No

94, Passow, p. 113, No 146. In the Danish 'Elveskud,' Grundtvig, II,

115, No 47, B* 18, Ole would simply have the tragic truth kept from his

bride:

'Hearken, Sir Ole, of mickle pride,

How shall I answer thy young bride?'

'You must say I am gone to the wood,

To prove horse and hounds, if they be good.'