It is God's will, so let it be;
But I make a vow, ere I gang frae hame, 65
That I shall be the next man's die."--
Then he's put on's back a gude auld jack,
And on his head a cap of steel,
And sword and buckler by his side;
O gin he did not become them weel! 70
We'll leave off talking of Christie Gr[ae]me,
And talk of him again belive;
And we will talk of bonny Bewick,
Where he was teaching his scholars five.
When he had taught them well to fence, 75
And handle swords without any doubt,
He took his sword under his arm,
And he walk'd his father's close about.
He look'd atween him and the sun,
And a' to see what there might be, 80
Till he spied a man in armour bright,
Was riding that way most hastilie.
"O wha is yon, that came this way,
Sae hastilie that hither came?
I think it be my brother dear, 85
I think it be young Christie Gr[ae]me.
"Ye're welcome here, my billie dear,
And thrice ye're welcome unto me!"--
"But I'm wae to say, I've seen the day,
When I am come to fight wi' thee. 90
"My father's gane to Carlisle town,
Wi' your father Bewick there met he:
He says I'm a lad, and I am but bad,
And a baffled man I trow I be.
"He sent me to schools, and I wadna learn; 95
He gae me books, and I wadna read;
Sae my father's blessing I'll never earn,
Till he see how my arm can guard my head."
"O God forbid, my billie dear,
That ever such a thing suld be! 100
We'll take three men on either side,
And see if we can our fathers agree."
"O hald thy tongue, now, billie Bewick,
And of thy talking let me be!
But if thou'rt a man, as I'm sure thou art, 105
Come o'er the dyke, and fight wi' me."
"But I hae nae harness, billie, on my back,[L107]
As weel I see there is on thine."--
"But as little harness as is on thy back,
As little, billie, shall be on mine."-- 110
Then he's thrown aff his coat o' mail,
His cap of steel away flung he;
He stuck his spear into the ground,
And he tied his horse unto a tree.
Then Bewick has thrown aff his cloak, 115
And's psalter-book frae's hand flung he;
He laid his hand upon the dyke,
And ower he lap most manfullie.
O they hae fought for twae lang hours;
When twae lang hours were come and gane, 120
The sweat drapp'd fast frae aff them baith,
But a drap of blude could not be seen.
Till Gr[ae]me gae Bewick an ackward stroke,
Ane ackward stroke strucken sickerlie;
He has hit him under the left breast, 125
And dead-wounded to the ground fell he.
"Rise up, rise up, now, billie dear,
Arise and speak three words to me!
Whether thou's gotten thy deadly wound,
Or if God and good leeching may succour thee?" 130
"O horse, O horse, now, billie Gr[ae]me,
And get thee far from hence with speed;
And get thee out of this country,
That none may know who has done the deed."--
"O I have slain thee, billie Bewick, 135
If this be true thou tellest to me;
But I made a vow, ere I came frae hame,
That aye the next man I wad be."
He has pitch'd his sword in a moodie-hill,
And he has leap'd twenty lang feet and three, 140
And on his ain sword's point he lap,
And dead upon the ground fell he.
'Twas then came up Sir Robert Bewick,
And his brave son alive saw he;
"Rise up, rise up, my son," he said, 145
"For I think ye hae gotten the victorie."
"O hald your tongue, my father dear,
Of your prideful talking let me be!
Ye might hae drunken your wine in peace,
And let me and my billie be. 150
"Gae dig a grave, baith wide and deep,
And a grave to hald baith him and me;
But lay Christie Gr[ae]me on the sunny side,
For I'm sure he wan the victorie."
"Alack! a wae!" auld Bewick cried, 155
"Alack! was I not much to blame?
I'm sure I've lost the liveliest lad
That e'er was born unto my name."
"Alack! a wae!" quo' gude Lord Gr[ae]me,
"I'm sure I hae lost the deeper lack! 160
I durst hae ridden the Border through,
Had Christie Gr[ae]me been at my back.
"Had I been led through Liddesdale,
And thirty horsemen guarding me,
And Christie Gr[ae]me been at my back, 165
Sae soon as he had set me free!
"I've lost my hopes, I've lost my joy,
I've lost the key but and the lock;
I durst hae ridden the world round,
Had Christie Gr[ae]me been at my back." 170
15, Scott, Ye sent;
16, Ye bought.
22. Newcastle C. B., and hay.
41, 42.
Shall I venture my body in field to fight
With a man that's faith and troth to me?
N. C. B.
107-118. Instead of this passage, the Newcastle copy has the
following stanzas:--
He flang his cloak from off his shoulders,
His psalm-book from his pouch flang he,
He clapped his hand upon the hedge,
And o'er lap he right wantonly.
When Graham did see his bully come,
The salt tears stood long in his ee;
"Now needs must I say thou art a man,
That dare venture thy body to fight with me.
"Nay, I have a harness on my back;
I know that thou hast none on thine;
But as little as thou hast on thy back,
As little shall there be on mine."
He flang his jacket from off his back,
His cap of steel from his head flang he;
He's taken his spear into his hand,
He's ty'd his horse unto a tree.
THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW.
_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, iii. 94.
This fragment was obtained from recitation in Ettrick Forest, where it
is said to refer to the execution of Cockburne, of Henderland, a
freebooter, hanged by James V. over the gate of his own tower. There is
another version in Johnson's _Museum_, (_Oh Ono Chrio_, p. 90,) which,
Dr. Blacklock informed Burns, was composed on the massacre of Glencoe.
But in fact, these verses seem to be, as Motherwell has remarked, only a
portion (expanded, indeed,) of _The Famous Flower of Serving Men_: see
vol. iv. p. 174.
There are some verbal differences between Scott's copy and the one in
Chambers's _Scottish Songs_, i. 174.
My love he built me a bonny bower,
And clad it a' wi' lilye flour,
A brawer bower ye ne'er did see,
Than my true love he built for me.
There came a man, by middle day, 5
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 poin'd his gear; 10
My servants all for life did flee,
And left me in extremitie.
I sew'd his sheet, making my mane;
I watch'd the corpse, myself alane;
I watch'd his body, night and day; 15
No living creature came that way.
I tuk his body on my back,
And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat;
I digg'd a grave, and laid him in,
And happ'd him with the sod sae green. 20
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 turn'd about, away to gae?
Nae living man I'll love again, 25
Since that my lovely knight is slain;
Wi' ae lock of his yellow hair
I'll chain my heart for ever mair.
YOUNG WATERS.
First published on an octavo sheet, by Lady Jean Home, about the middle
of the last century, and from this copy reprinted in Percy's _Reliques_,
(ii. 227.) Buchan has a version (i. 15) twenty-five stanzas longer than
the present, which is given in our Appendix. This ballad has been
supposed to refer to the fate of the Earl of Murray, (see _post_, _The
Bonny Earl of Murray_.) The additional circumstances furnished by
Buchan's copy, however, have led Chambers to suggest that the
unfortunate hero was Walter Stuart, second son of the Duke of Albany. In
support of his conjecture, he adduces "the name, which may be a
corruption of Walter; the mention of the Heading (beheading) Hill of
Stirling, which is known to have been the very scene of Walter Stuart's
execution; the relationship which Young Waters claims with the king; and
the sympathy expressed by the people, in the last verse, for the fate of
the young knight, which exactly tallies with what is told us by the
Scottish historians, regarding the popular feeling expressed in favour
of the numerous nobles and princes of his own blood, whom the king saw
it necessary to sacrifice." We do not consider these coincidences
sufficient to establish the historical character of the piece.
About Zule, quhen the wind blew cule,
And the round tables began,
A'! there is cum to our kings court
Mony a well-favourd man.
The queen luikt owre the castle wa', 5
Beheld baith dale and down,
And then she saw zoung Waters
Cum riding to the town.
His footmen they did rin before,
His horsemen rade behind; 10
Ane mantel of the burning gowd
Did keip him frae the wind.
Gowden graith'd his horse before,
And siller shod behind;
The horse zoung Waters rade upon 15
Was fleeter than the wind.
But then spake a wylie lord,
Unto the queen said he:
"O tell me quha's the fairest face
Rides in the company?" 20
"I've sene lord, and I've sene laird,
And knights of high degree,
Bot a fairer face than zoung Waters
Mine eyne did never see."
Out then spaek the jealous king 25
(And an angry man was he):
"O if he had been twice as fair,
Zou micht have excepted me."
"Zou're neither laird nor lord," she says,
"Bot the king that wears the crown; 30
There is not a knight in fair Scotland,
Bot to thee maun bow down."
For a' that she could do or say,
Appeasd he wade nae bee;
Bot for the words which she had said, 35
Zoung Waters he maun dee.
They hae taen zoung Waters, and
Put fetters to his feet;
They hae taen zoung Waters, and
Thrown him in dungeon deep. 40
"Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town,
In the wind bot and the weit;
Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town
Wi' fetters at my feet.
"Aft have I ridden thro' Stirling town, 45
In the wind bot and the rain;
Bot I neir rade thro' Stirling town
Neir to return again."
They hae taen to the heiding-hill
His zoung son in his craddle; 50
And they hae taen to the heiding-hill
His horse bot and his saddle.
They hae taen to the heiding-hill
His lady fair to see;
And for the words the queen had spoke 55
Zoung Waters he did dee.
BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL.
Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 44.
This, says Motherwell, "is probably a lament for one of the adherents of
the house of Argyle, who fell in the battle of Glenlivat, stricken on
Thursday, the third day of October, 1594 years." It is printed, somewhat
differently, in Smith's _Scottish Minstrel_, v. 42. Finlay gives eight
lines of this ballad in the Preface to his first volume, p. xxxiii.
Hie upon Hielands,
And low upon Tay,
Bonnie George Campbell
Rade out on a day.
Saddled and bridled 5
And gallant rade he;
Hame cam his gude horse,
But never cam he!
Out cam his auld mither
Greeting fu' sair, 10
And out cam his bonnie bride
Rivin' her hair.
Saddled and bridled
And booted rade he;
Toom hame cam the saddle, 15
But never cam he!
"My meadow lies green,
And my corn is unshorn;
My barn is to big,
And my babie's unborn." 20
Saddled and bridled
And booted rade he;
Toom hame cam the saddle,
But never cam he!
LAMKIN.
The following is believed to be a correct account of the various printed
forms of this extremely popular ballad. In the second edition of Herd's
_Scottish Songs_ (1776) appeared a fragment of eighteen stanzas, called
_Lammikin_, embellished in a puerile style by some modern hand. Jamieson
published the story in a complete and authentic shape in his _Popular
Ballads_, in 1806. Finlay's collection (1808) furnishes us with two more
copies, the first of which (ii. 47) is made up in part of Herd's
fragment, and the second (ii. 57) taken from a MS. "written by an old
lady." Another was given, from recitation, in Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_,
(1827,) with the more intelligible title of _Lambert Linkin_. An English
fragment, called _Long Lonkin_, taken down from the recitation of an old
woman, is said to have been inserted by Miss Landon, in the
_Drawing-Room Scrap-Book_, for 1837. This was republished in
Richardson's _Borderer's Table-Book_, 1846, vol. viii. 410, and the
editor of that miscellany, who ought to have learned to be skeptical in
such matters, urges the circumstantial character of local tradition as
strong evidence that the real scene of the cruel history was in
Northumberland. Lastly, we have to note a version resembling
Motherwell's, styled _Bold Rankin_, printed in _A New Book of Old
Ballads_, (p. 73,) and in Whitelaw's _Book of Scottish Ballads_, (p.
246,) and an imperfect ballad (_Long Lankyn_) in _Notes and Queries_,
New Series, ii. 324.
We have printed Jamieson's, Motherwell's, the longer of Finlay's
versions, and the English fragment: the last two in the Appendix. The
following is from Jamieson's _Popular Ballads_, i. 176. "This piece was
transmitted to the Editor by Mrs. Brown."
"O pay me now, Lord Wearie;
Come, pay me out o' hand."
"I canna pay you, Lamkin,
Unless I sell my land."
"O gin ye winna pay me, 5
I here sall mak a vow,
Before that ye come hame again,
Ye sall ha'e cause to rue."
Lord Wearie got a bonny ship,
To sail the saut sea faem; 10
Bade his lady weel the castle keep,
Ay till he should come hame.
But the nourice was a fause limmer
As e'er hung on a tree;
She laid a plot wi' Lamkin, 15
Whan her lord was o'er the sea.
She laid a plot wi' Lamkin,
When the servants were awa';
Loot him in at a little shot window,
And brought him to the ha'. 20
"O whare's a' the men o' this house,
That ca' me Lamkin?"
"They're at the barn well thrashing,
'Twill be lang ere they come in."
"And whare's the women o' this house, 25
That ca' me Lamkin?"
"They're at the far well washing;
'Twill be lang ere they come in."
"And whare's the bairns o' this house,
That ca' me Lamkin?" 30
"They're at the school reading;
'Twill be night or they come hame."
O whare's the lady o' this house,
That ca's me Lamkin?"
"She's up in her bower sewing, 35
But we soon can bring her down."
Then Lamkin's tane a sharp knife,
That hang down by his gaire,
And he has gi'en the bonny babe
A deep wound and a sair. 40
Then Lamkin he rocked,
And the fause nourice sang,
Till frae ilkae bore o' the cradle
The red blood out sprang.
Then out it spak the lady, 45
As she stood on the stair,
"What ails my bairn, nourice,
That he's greeting sae sair?
"O still my bairn, nourice;
O still him wi' the pap!" 50
"He winna still, lady,
For this, nor for that."
"O still my bairn, nourice;
"O still him wi' the wand!"
"He winna still, lady, 55
For a' his father's land."
"O still my bairn, nourice,
O still him wi' the bell!"
"He winna still, lady,
Till ye come down yoursel." 60
O the firsten step she steppit,
She steppit on a stane;
But the neisten step she steppit,
She met him, Lamkin.
"O mercy, mercy, Lamkin! 65
Ha'e mercy upon me!
Though you've ta'en my young son's life,
Ye may let mysel be."
"O sall I kill her, nourice?
Or sall I lat her be?" 70
"O kill her, kill her, Lamkin,
For she ne'er was good to me."
"O scour the bason, nourice,
And mak it fair and clean,
For to keep this lady's heart's blood, 75
For she's come o' noble kin."
"There need nae bason, Lamkin;
Lat it run through the floor;
What better is the heart's blood
O' the rich than o' the poor?" 80
But ere three months were at an end,
Lord Wearie came again;
But dowie dowie was his heart
When first he came hame.
"O wha's blood is this," he says, 85
"That lies in the ch[^a]mer?"
"It is your lady's heart's blood;
'Tis as clear as the lamer."
"And wha's blood is this," he says,
"That lies in my ha'?" 90
"It is your young son's heart's blood;
'Tis the clearest ava."
O sweetly sang the black-bird
That sat upon the tree;
But sairer grat Lamkin, 95
When he was condemn'd to die.
And bonny sang the mavis
Out o' the thorny brake;
But sairer grat the nourice,
When she was tied to the stake. 100
LAMBERT LINKIN.
"The present copy is given from recitation, and though it could have
received additions, and perhaps improvements, from another copy,
obtained from a similar source, and of equal authenticity, in his
possession, the Editor did not like to use a liberty which is liable to
much abuse. To some, the present set of the ballad may be valuable, as
handing down both name and nickname of the revengeful builder of Prime
Castle; for there can be little doubt that the epithet _Linkin_ Mr.
Lambert acquired from the secrecy and address with which he insinuated
himself into that notable strength. Indeed, all the names of
Lammerlinkin, Lammikin, Lamkin, Lankin, Linkin, Belinkin, can easily be
traced out as abbreviations of Lambert Linkin. In the present set of the
ballad, Lambert Linkin and Belinkin are used indifferently, as the
measure of the verse may require; in the other recited copy, to which
reference has been made, it is Lammerlinkin and Lamkin; and the nobleman
for whom he "built a house" is stated to be "Lord Arran." No allusion,
however, is made here to the name of the owner of Prime Castle.
Antiquaries, peradventure, may find it as difficult to settle the
precise locality of this fortalice, as they have found it to fix the
topography of Troy." Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 291.
In Finlay's second copy, the murderer's name is Balcanqual, "which,"
observes the editor, "is an ancient Scottish surname, and is sometimes
corrupted, for the more agreeable sound, into Beluncan." It is more
likely that Belinkin has suggested Balcanqual, than that Balcanqual has
been corrupted into Lamkin.
Belinkin was as gude a mason
As e'er pickt a stane;
He built up Prime Castle,
But payment gat nane.
The lord said to his lady, 5
When he was going abroad,
"O beware of Belinkin,
For he lyes in the wood."
The gates they were bolted,
Baith outside and in; 10
At the sma' peep of a window
Belinkin crap in.
"Gude morrow, gude morrow,"
Said Lambert Linkin.
"Gude morrow to yoursell, sir," 15
Said the fause nurse to him.
"O whare is your gude lord?"
Said Lambert Linkin.
"He's awa to New England,
To meet with his king." 20
"O where is his auld son?"
Said Lambert Linkin.
"He's awa to buy pearlings,
Gin our lady ly in."
"Then she'll never wear them," 25
Said Lambert Linkin.
"And that is nae pity,"
Said the fause nurse to him.
"O where is your lady?"
Said Lambert Linkin. 30
"She's in her bouir sleepin',"
Said the fause nurse to him.
"How can we get at her?"
Said Lambert Linkin.
"Stab the babe to the heart 35
Wi' a silver bo'kin."
"That wud be a pity,"
Said Lambert Linkin.
"Nae pity, nae pity,"
Said the fause nurse to him. 40
Belinkin he rocked,
And the fause nurse she sang,
Till a' the tores o' the cradle[L43]
Wi' the red blude down ran.
"O still my babe, nurice, 45
O still him wi' the knife."
"He'll no be still, lady,
Tho' I lay down my life."
"O still my babe, nurice,
O still him wi' the kame." 50
"He'll no be still, lady,
Till his daddy come hame."
"O still my babe, nurice,
O still him wi' the bell."
"He'll no be still, lady, 55
Till ye come down yoursell."
"It's how can I come doun,
This cauld frosty nicht,
Without e'er a coal
Or a clear candle licht?" 60
"There's twa smocks in your coffer,
As white as a swan;
Put ane o' them about you,
It will shew you licht doun."
She took ane o' them about her, 65
And came tripping doun;
But as soon as she viewed,
Belinkin was in.
"Gude morrow, gude morrow,"
Said Lambert Linkin. 70
"Gude morrow to yoursell, sir,"
Said the lady to him.
"O save my life, Belinkin,
Till my husband come back,
And I'll gie ye as much red gold 75
As ye'll haud in your hat."
"I'll not save your life, lady,
Till your husband come back,
Tho' you wud gie me as much red gold
As I could haud in a sack. 80
"Will I kill her?" quo' Belinkin,
"Will I kill her, or let her be?"
"You may kill her," said the fause nurse,
"She was ne'er gude to me;
And ye'll be laird o' the Castle, 85
And I'll be ladye."
Then he cut aff her head
Fra her lily breast bane,
And he hung 't up in the kitchen,
It made a' the ha' shine. 90
The lord sat in England
A-drinking the wine:
"I wish a' may be weel
Wi' my lady at hame;
For the rings o' my fingers 95
They're now burst in twain!"
He saddled his horse,
And he came riding doun;
But as soon as he viewed,
Belinkin was in. 100
He hadna weel stepped
Twa steps up the stair,
Till he saw his pretty young son
Lying dead on the floor.
He hadna weel stepped 105
Other twa up the stair,
Till he saw his pretty lady
Lying dead in despair.
He hanged Belinkin
Out over the gate; 110
And he burnt the fause nurice,
Being under the grate.
43. _Tores._ The projections or knobs at the corners of
old-fashioned cradles, and the ornamented balls commonly found
surmounting the backs of old chairs. MOTHERWELL.
THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN.
Jamieson and Kinloch have each published a highly dramatic fragment of
this terrible story. Both of these are here given, and in the Appendix
may be seen Buchan's more extensive, but far less poetical version. With
this last, we have printed Mr. Chambers's account of the events on which
these ballads are founded.
Jamieson's copy was taken down by Sir Walter Scott, from the recitation
of his mother. _Popular Ballads_, i. 109.
Down by yon garden green
Sae merrily as she gaes;
She has twa weel-made feet,
And she trips upon her taes.
She has twa weel-made feet; 5
Far better is her hand;
She's as jimp in the middle
As ony willow-wand.
"Gif ye will do my bidding,
At my bidding for to be, 10
It's I will make you lady
Of a' the lands you see."
* * * * *
He spak a word in jest;
Her answer wasna good;
He threw a plate at her face, 15
Made it a' gush out o' blood.
She wasna frae her chamber
A step but barely three,
When up and at her richt hand
There stood Man's Enemy. 20
"Gif ye will do my bidding,
At my bidding for to be;
I'll learn you a wile
Avenged for to be."
The Foul Thief knotted the tether; 25
She lifted his head on hie;
The nourice drew the knot
That gar'd lord Waristoun die.
Then word is gane to Leith,
Also to Edinburgh town, 30
That the lady had kill'd the laird,
The laird o' Waristoun.
* * * * *
"Tak aff, tak aff my hood,
But lat my petticoat be;
Put my mantle o'er my head; 35
For the fire I downa see.
"Now, a' ye gentle maids,
Tak warning now by me,
And never marry ane
But wha pleases your e'e. 40
"For he married me for love,
But I married him for fee;
And sae brak out the feud
That gar'd my dearie die."
LAIRD OF WARIESTOUN.
Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_, p. 53.
It was at dinner as they sat,
And when they drank the wine,
How happy were the laird and lady
Of bonnie Wariestoun.
The lady spak but ae word, 5
The matter to conclude;
The laird strak her on the mouth,
Till she spat out o' blude.
She did not know the way
Her mind to satisfy, 10
Till evil cam into her head
All by the Enemy.
* * * * * * *
"At evening when ye sit
And when ye drink the wine,
See that ye fill the glass well up 15
To the laird o' Wariestoun."
* * * * * *
So at table as they sat,
And when they drank the wine,
She made the glass aft gae round
To the laird o' Wariestoun. 20
The nurice she knet the knot,
And O she knet it sicker;
The ladie did gie it a twig,
Till it began to wicker.
But word has gane doun to Leith, 25
And up to Embro toun,
That the lady she has slain the laird,
The laird o' Wariestoun.
Word's gane to her father, the great Duniepace,
And an angry man was he; 30
Cries, "Fy! gar mak a barrel o' pikes,
And row her doun some brae."
She said, "Wae be to ye, Wariestoun,
I wish ye may sink for ain;
For I hae been your gudwife 35
These nine years, running ten;
And I never loved ye sae weill
As now when you're lying slain."
* * * * *
"But tak aff this gowd brocade,
And let my petticoat be, 40
And tie a handkerchief round my face,
That the people may not see."
THE QUEEN'S MARIE.
Of this affecting ballad different editions have appeared in Scott's
_Minstrelsy_, Sharpe's _Ballad Book_, p. 18, Kinloch's _Scottish
Ballads_, and Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_. There is also a fragment in
Maidment's _North Countrie Garland_, which has been reprinted in
Buchan's _Gleanings_, p. 164, and a very inferior version, with a
different catastrophe, in Buchan's larger collection, (ii. 190,) called
_Warenston and the Duke of York's Daughter_. Kinloch's copy may be found
with Maidment's fragment, in the Appendix to this volume: Motherwell's
immediately after the present.
Sir Walter Scott conceives the ballad to have had its foundation in an
event which took place early in the reign of Mary Stuart, described by
Knox as follows: "In the very time of the General Assembly, there comes
to public knowledge a haynous murther, committed in the court; yea, not
far from the Queen's lap; for a French woman, that served in the Queen's
chamber, had played the whore with the Queen's own apothecary. The woman
conceived and bare a childe, whom, with common consent, the father and
mother murthered; yet were the cries of a new-borne childe hearde,
searche was made, the childe and the mother were both apprehended, and
so were the man and the woman condemned to be hanged in the publicke
street of Edinburgh. The punishment was suitable, because the crime was
haynous. But yet was not the court purged of whores and whoredoms, which
was the fountaine of such enormities: for it was well known that shame
hasted marriage betwixt John Sempill, called the Dancer, and Mary
Levingston, sirnamed the Lusty. What bruit the Maries, and the rest of
the dancers of the court had, _the ballads of that age_ doe witnesse,
which we for modestie's sake omit. KNOX'S _History of the Reformation_,
p. 373.
"Such," Sir Walter goes on to say, "seems to be the subject of the
following ballad, as narrated by the stern apostle of Presbytery. It
will readily strike the reader, that the tale has suffered great
alterations, as handed down by tradition; the French waiting woman being
changed into Mary Hamilton, and the Queen's apothecary into Henry
Darnley. Yet this is less surprising, when we recollect, that one of the
heaviest of the Queen's complaints against her ill-fated husband, was
his infidelity, and that even with her personal attendants."
Satisfactorily as the circumstances of Knox's story may agree with those
of the ballads, a coincidence no less striking, and extending even to
the name, is presented by an incident which occurred at the court of
Peter the Great. "During the reign of the Czar Peter," observes Mr. C.
K. Sharpe, "one of his Empress's attendants, a Miss Hamilton, was
executed for the murder of a natural child,--not her first crime in that
way, as was suspected; and the Emperor, whose admiration of her beauty
did not preserve her life, stood upon the scaffold till her head was
struck off, which he lifted by the ears and kissed on the lips. I cannot
help thinking that the two stories have been confused in the ballad;
for, if Marie Hamilton was executed in Scotland, it is not likely that
her relations resided beyond seas; and we have no proof that Hamilton
was really the name of the woman who made the slip with the Queen's
apothecary."
Scott's edition of _Mary Hamilton_, (the first ever published,) was made
up by him, from various copies. See _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_,
iii. 294.
Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,
Wi' ribbons in her hair;
The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,
Than ony that were there.
Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane, 5
Wi' ribbons on her breast;
The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,
Than he listen'd to the priest.
Marie Hamilton's to the kirk gane,
Wi' gloves upon her hands; 10
The King thought mair o' Marie Hamilton,
Than the Queen and a' her lands.
She hadna been about the King's court
A month, but barely one,
Till she was beloved by a' the King's court, 15
And the King the only man.
She hadna been about the King's court
A month, but barely three,
Till frae the King's court Marie Hamilton,
Marie Hamilton durstna be. 20
The King is to the Abbey gane,
To pu' the Abbey tree,
To scale the babe frae Marie's heart;
But the thing it wadna be.
O she has row'd it in her apron, 25
And set it on the sea,--
"Gae sink ye, or swim ye, bonny babe,
Ye's get nae mair o' me."--
Word is to the kitchen gane,
And word is to the ha', 30
And word is to the noble room,
Amang the ladyes a',
That Marie Hamilton's brought to bed,
And the bonny babe's mist and awa'.
Scarcely had she lain down again, 35
And scarcely fa'en asleep,
When up then started our gude Queen,
Just at her bed-feet;
Saying--"Marie Hamilton, where's your babe?
For I am sure I heard it greet."-- 40
"O no, O no, my noble Queen!
Think no such thing to be;
'Twas but a stitch into my side,
And sair it troubles me."--
"Get up, get up, Marie Hamilton: 45
Get up and follow me;
For I am going to Edinburgh town,
A rich wedding for to see."--
O slowly, slowly raise she up,
And slowly put she on; 50
And slowly rode she out the way,
Wi' mony a weary groan.
The Queen was clad in scarlet,
Her merry maids all in green;
And every town that they cam to, 55
They took Marie for the Queen.
"Ride hooly, hooly, gentlemen,
Ride hooly now wi' me!
For never, I am sure, a wearier burd
Rade in your cumpanie."-- 60
But little wist Marie Hamilton,
When she rade on the brown,
That she was ga'en to Edinburgh town,
And a' to be put down.
"Why weep ye so, ye burgess wives, 65
Why look ye so on me?
O I am going to Edinburgh town,
A rich wedding for to see."--
When she gaed up the tolbooth stairs,
The corks frae her heels did flee; 70
And lang or e'er she cam down again,
She was condemn'd to die.
When she cam to the Netherbow port,[L73]
She laughed loud laughters three;
But when she cam to the gallows foot, 75
The tears blinded her ee.
"Yestreen the Queen had four Maries,
The night she'll hae but three;
There was Marie Seaton, and Marie Beaton,
And Marie Carmichael, and me.[L80] 80
"O often have I dress'd my Queen,
And put gold upon her hair;
But now I've gotten for my reward
The gallows to be my share.
"Often have I dress'd my Queen, 85
And often made her bed;
But now I've gotten for my reward
The gallows tree to tread.
"I charge ye all, ye mariners,
When ye sail ower the faem, 90
Let neither my father nor mother get wit,
But that I'm coming hame.
"I charge ye all, ye mariners,
That sail upon the sea,
Let neither my father nor mother get wit 95
This dog's death I'm to die.
"For if my father and mother got wit,
And my bold brethren three,
O mickle wad be the gude red blude
This day wad be spilt for me! 100
"O little did my mother ken,
That day she cradled me,
The lands I was to travel in,
Or the death I was to die!"
73. The Netherbow port was the gate which divided the city of Edinburgh
from the suburb, called the Canongate. S.
80. The Queen's Maries were four young ladies of the highest families in
Scotland, who were sent to France in her train, and returned with her to
Scotland. Keith gives us their names, p. 55. "The young Queen, Mary,
embarked at Dunbarton for France, ... and with her went ... and four
young virgins, all of the name of Mary, viz. Livingston, Fleming,
Seatoun, and Beatoun." Neither Mary Livingston, nor Mary Fleming, are
mentioned in the ballad; nor are the Mary Hamilton, and Mary Carmichael,
of the ballad, mentioned by Keith. But if this corps continued to
consist of young virgins, as when originally raised, it could hardly
have subsisted without occasional recruits; especially if we trust our
old bard, and John Knox.
The Queen's Maries are mentioned in many ballads, and the name seems to
have passed into a general denomination for female attendants.--SCOTT.
MARY HAMILTON.
From Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 311.
"In this set of the ballad, from its direct allusion to the use of the
Savin-tree, a clue is, perhaps, afforded for tracing how the poor
mediciner mentioned by Knox should be implicated in the crime of Mary
Hamilton. It may also be noted as a feature in this version of the
ballad, which does not occur in any heretofore printed, the unfortunate
heroine's proud and indignant spurning at life after her character had
been tainted by the infamy of a sentence of condemnation. In another
copy of the ballad, also obtained from recitation, this sentiment is,
perhaps, still more forcibly expressed; at any rate, it is more
appropriate as being addressed to the King. The whole concluding verses
of this copy, differing as they somewhat do from the version adopted for
a text, it has been thought worth while to preserve.
"But bring to me a cup," she says,
"A cup bot and a can,
And I will drink to all my friends,
And they'll drink to me again.
Here's to you, all travellers,
Who travel by land or sea;
Let na wit to my father nor mother
The death that I must die.
Here's to you, all travellers,
That travel on dry land;
Let na wit to my father or mother
But I am coming hame.
O little did my mother think,
First time she cradled me,
What land I was to travel on,
Or what death I would die.
O little did my mother think,
First time she tied my head,
What land I was to tread upon,
Or whare I would win my bread.
Yestreen Queen Mary had four Maries;
This night she'll hae but three;
She had Mary Seaton, and Mary Beaton,
And Mary Carmichael, and me.
Yestreen I wush Queen Mary's feet,
And bore her till her bed;
This day she's given me my reward,
The gallows tree to tread.
Cast aff, cast aff my gown," she said,
"But let my petticoat be;
And tye a napkin on my face,
For that gallows I downa see."
By and cam the King himsell,
Look'd up wi' a pitiful ee:
"Come down, come down, Mary Hamilton;
This day thou wilt dine with me."
"Hold your tongue, my sovereign liege,
And let your folly be;
An ye had had a mind to save my life,
Ye should na hae shamed me here!"
"The copy of the ballad from which the above extract is given, begins
with this verse:
"There were three ladies, they lived in a bower,
And O but they were fair;
The youngest o' them is to the King's court,
To learn some unco lair."
"There is another version in which the heroine is named Mary Myles, or
Myle; but Myle is probably a corruption of the epithet 'mild,' which
occurs in the fragment given in the _North Countrie Garland_."
MOTHERWELL.
There lived a knight into the North,
And he had daughters three:
The ane of them was a barber's wife,
The other a gay ladie;
And the youngest o' them to Scotland is gane 5
The Queen's Mary to be;
And for a' that they could say or do,
Forbidden she wouldna be.
The prince's bed it was sae saft,
The spices they were sae fine, 10
That out of it she could not lye
While she was scarce fifteen.
She's gane to the garden gay
To pu' of the savin tree;
But for a' that she could say or do, 15
The babie it would not die.
She's rowed it in her handkerchief,
She threw it in the sea:
Says,--"Sink ye, swim ye, my bonnie babe,
For ye'll get nae mair of me." 20
Queen Mary came tripping down the stair,
Wi' the gold strings in her hair:
"O whare's the little babie," she says,
"That I heard greet sae sair?"
"O hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame, 25
Let all those words go free;
It was mysell wi' a fit o' the sair colic,
I was sick just like to die."
"O hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton,
Let all those words go free; 30
O where is the little babie
That I heard weep by thee?"
"I rowed it in my handkerchief,
And threw it in the sea;
I bade it sink, I bade it swim, 35
It would get nae mair o' me."
"O wae be to thee, Mary Hamilton,
And an ill deid may you die;
For if you had saved the babie's life,
It might hae been an honour to thee. 40
"Busk ye, busk ye, Mary Hamilton,
O busk ye to be a bride;
For I am going to Edinburgh town
Your gay wedding to bide.
"You must not put on your robes of black, 45
Nor yet your robes of brown;
But you must put on your yellow gold stuffs,
To shine thro' Edinburgh town."
"I will not put on my robes of black,
Nor yet my robes of brown; 50
But I will put on my yellow gold stuffs,
To shine thro' Edinburgh town."
As she went up the Parliament Close,
A riding on her horse,
There she saw many a burgess' lady 55
Sit greeting at the cross.
"O what means a' this greeting?
I'm sure it's nae for me;
For I'm come this day to Edinburgh town,
Weel wedded for to be." 60
When she gade up the Parliament stair,
She gied loud lauchters three;
But ere that she had come down again,
She was condemned to die.
"O little did my mother think, 65
The day she prinned my gown,
That I was to come sae far frae hame
To be hanged in Edinburgh town.
"O what'll my poor father think,
As he comes through the town, 70
To see the face of his Molly fair
Hanging on the gallows pin?
"Here's a health to the mariners
That plough the raging main;
Let neither my mother nor father ken 75
But I'm coming hame again.
"Here's a health to the sailors
That sail upon the sea;
Let neither my mother nor father ken
That I came here to die. 80
"Yestreen the Queen had four Maries,
This night she'll hae but three;
There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton,
And Mary Carmichael and me."
"O hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton, 85
Let all those words go free;
This night ere ye be hanged
Ye shall gang hame wi' me."
"O hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame,
Let all those words go free; 90
Since I have come to Edinburgh town,
It's hanged I shall be;
For it shall ne'er be said that in your court
I was condemned to die."
BESSIE BELL AND MARY GRAY.
From Lyle's _Ancient Ballads and Songs_, p. 160, where it was printed as
collated "from the singing of two aged persons, one of them a native of
Perthshire." There are two versions slightly differing from the
present;--one in Cunningham's _Songs of Scotland_, iii. 60, obtained
from Sir Walter Scott, and another in Mr. Kirkpatrick Sharpe's _Ballad
Book_, p. 62.
Allan Ramsay wrote a song with the same title, beginning with the first
stanza of the ballad, (_Tea Table Miscellany_, i. 70.)
The story of the unfortunate heroines is thus given by Chambers: "Bessie
Bell and Mary Gray were the daughters of two country gentlemen in the
neighborhood of Perth; and an intimate friendship subsisted between
them. Bessie Bell, daughter of the Laird of Kinnaird, happening to be on
a visit to Mary Gray, at her father's house of Lynedoch, when the plague
of 1666 broke out, to avoid the infection, the two young ladies built
themselves a bower in a very retired and romantic spot, called the
Burn-braes, about three quarters of a mile westward from Lynedoch House;
where they resided for some time, supplied with food, it is said, by a
young gentleman of Perth, who was in love with them both. The disease
was unfortunately communicated to them by their lover, and proved fatal;
when, according to custom in cases of the plague, they were not buried
in the ordinary parochial place of sepulture, but in a sequestered spot,
called the Dronach Haugh, at the foot of a brae of the same name, upon
the banks of the River Almond."
O Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray,
They were twa bonnie lassies;
They biggit a house on yon burn-brae,
An' theekit it o'er wi' rashes.
They theekit it o'er wi' birk and brume, 5
They theekit it o'er wi' heather,
Till the pest cam frae the neib'rin town
An' streekit them baith thegither.
They were na' buried in Meffen kirk-yard,
Amang the rest o' their kin; 10
But they were buried by Dornoch haugh,
On the bent before the sun.
Sing, Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray,
They were twa bonnie lasses,
Wha' biggit a bower on yon burn-brae, 15
An' theekit it o'er wi' thrashes.
THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.
_The Children in the Wood_ is perhaps the most popular of all English
ballads. Its merit is attested by the favor it has enjoyed with so many
generations, and was vindicated to a cold and artificial age by the
kindly pen of Addison. The editor of the _Reliques_ thought that the
subject was taken from an old play, published in 1601, "of a young child
murthered in a wood by two ruffins, with the consent of his unkle," but
Ritson discovered that the ballad was entered in the Stationers'
Registers in 1595. The plot of the play was undoubtedly derived from the
Italian, and the author of the ballad may have taken a hint from the
same source.
Percy's edition, (_Reliques_, iii. 218,) which we have adopted, was
printed from two old copies, one of them in black-letter, in the Pepys
collection. The full title is, _The Children in the Wood, or, The
Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament_. _To the Tune of Rogero_,
&c. Copies slightly varying from Percy's may be seen in _A Collection of
Old Ballads_, (1723,) i. 221; Ritson's _Ancient Songs_, ii. 150; _The
Book of British Ballads_, p. 13; and Moore's _Pictorial Book of Ancient
Ballad Poetry_, p. 263.
Now ponder well, you parents deare,
These wordes which I shall write;
A doleful story you shall heare,
In time brought forth to light.
A gentleman of good account 5
In Norfolke dwelt of late,
Who did in honour far surmount
Most men of his estate.
Sore sicke he was, and like to dye,
No helpe his life could save; 10
His wife by him as sicke did lye,
And both possest one grave.
No love between these two was lost,
Each was to other kinde;
In love they liv'd, in love they dyed, 15
And left two babes behinde:
The one a fine and pretty boy,
Not passing three yeares olde;
The other a girl more young than he,
And fram'd in beautyes molde. 20
The father left his little son,
As plainlye doth appeare,
When he to perfect age should come,
Three hundred poundes a yeare.
And to his little daughter Jane 25
Five hundred poundes in gold,
To be paid downe on marriage-day,
Which might not be controll'd:
But if the children chance to dye,
Ere they to age should come, 30
Their uncle should possesse their wealth;
For so the wille did run.
"Now, brother," said the dying man,
"Look to my children deare;
Be good unto my boy and girl, 35
No friendes else have they here:
To God and you I recommend
My children deare this daye;
But little while be sure we have
Within this world to staye. 40
"You must be father and mother both,
And uncle all in one;
God knowes what will become of them,
When I am dead and gone."
With that bespake their mother deare, 45
"O brother kinde," quoth shee,
"You are the man must bring our babes
To wealth or miserie:
"And if you keep them carefully,
Then God will you reward; 50
But if you otherwise should deal,
God will your deedes regard."
With lippes as cold as any stone,
They kist their children small:
"God bless you both, my children deare;" 55
With that the teares did fall.
These speeches then their brother spake
To this sicke couple there:
"The keeping of your little ones,
Sweet sister, do not feare. 60
God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children deare,
When you are layd in grave."
The parents being dead and gone, 65
The children home he takes,
And bringes them straite unto his house,
Where much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes
A twelvemonth and a daye, 70
But, for their wealth, he did devise
To make them both awaye.
He bargain'd with two ruffians strong,
Which were of furious mood,
That they should take these children young, 75
And slaye them in a wood.
He told his wife an artful tale.
He would the children send
To be brought up in faire London,
With one that was his friend. 80
Away then went those pretty babes,
Rejoycing at that tide,
Rejoycing with a merry minde,
They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly, 85
As they rode on the waye,
To those that should their butchers be,
And work their lives decaye:
So that the pretty speeche they had,
Made Murder's heart relent: 90
And they that undertooke the deed,
Full sore did now repent.
Yet one of them more hard of heart,
Did vowe to do his charge,
Because the wretch, that hired him, 95
Had paid him very large.
The other won't agree thereto,
So here they fall to strife;
With one another they did fight,
About the childrens life: 100
And he that was of mildest mood,
Did slaye the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood;
The babes did quake for feare!
He took the children by the hand, 105
Teares standing in their eye,
And bad them straitwaye follow him,
And look they did not crye:
And two long miles he ledd them on,
While they for food complaine: 110
"Staye here," quoth he, "I'll bring you bread,
When I come back againe."
These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
Went wandering up and downe;
But never more could see the man 115
Approaching from the towne:
Their prettye lippes with blackberries,
Were all besmear'd and dyed,
And when they sawe the darksome night,
They sat them downe and cryed. 120
Thus wandered these poor innocents,
Till deathe did end their grief,
In one anothers armes they died,
As wanting due relief:
No burial this pretty pair[L125] 125
Of any man receives,
Till Robin-red-breast piously
Did cover them with leaves.
And now the heavy wrathe of God
Upon their uncle fell; 130
Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt an hell;
His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd,
His landes were barren made,
His cattle dyed within the field, 135
And nothing with him stayd.
And in the voyage of Portugal[L137]
Two of his sonnes did dye;
And to conclude, himselfe was brought
To want and miserye: 140
He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven years came about,
And now at length this wicked act
Did by this meanes come out:
The fellowe, that did take in hand 145
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judg'd to dye,
Such was God's blessed will:
Who did confess the very truth,
As here hath been display'd: 150
Their uncle having dyed in gaol,
Where he for debt was layd.
You that executors be made,
And overseers eke
Of children that be fatherless, 155
And infants mild and meek;
Take you example by this thing,
And yield to each his right,
Lest God with such like miserye
Your wicked minds requite.
125, these ... babes, PP.
137. "A. D. 1588. Dr. Percy, not knowing that the text alludes to a
particular event, has altered it to _a_ voyage _to_ Portugal." RITSON.
HUGH OF LINCOLN.
In the year 1255, we are told by Matthew Paris, in his account of the
reign of Henry III., the Jews of Lincoln stole a boy, named Hugh, of the
age of eight years, whom, after torturing for ten days, they crucified
before a large council of their people, in contempt of the death of the
founder of Christianity. The boy was sought by his mother in the house
of a Jew, which he had been seen to enter, and his body was found in a
pit. The occupant of the house being seized, acknowledged the crime, and
avowed, besides, that the like was committed nearly every year by his
nation. Notwithstanding the promise of impunity by which this confession
had been obtained, the wretch who made it was tied to the tail of a
horse and dragged to the gallows, and after a judicial investigation,
eighteen of the richest and most distinguished Jews in Lincoln were
hanged for participation in the murder, while many more were detained as
prisoners in the Tower of London. On the other hand, the body of the
child was buried with the honors of a martyr in Lincoln Cathedral, where
a construction, assumed without reason to be his tomb, is still shown.
The remains of a young person, found near this spot in 1791, were at
once taken for granted to be those of the sainted infant, and drawings
were made of the relics, which may be seen among the works of the artist
Grimm in the British Museum.
Several stories of the same tenor are reported by the English
chroniclers. It may be doubted whether there is a grain of truth in any
of them, although it would be no wonder if the atrocious injuries
inflicted on the Jews should, in an instance or two, have provoked a
bloody retaliation, even from that tribe whose badge has always been
sufferance. The annual sacrifice of a Christian child, in mockery of the
crucifixion of Jesus, is on a par for credibility with the miracles
which are said to have followed the death of those innocents.
The exquisite tale which Chaucer has put into the mouth of the Prioress
exhibits nearly the same incidents as the following ballad. The legend
of Hugh of Lincoln was widely famous. Michel has published an
Anglo-Norman ballad, (_Hugo de Lincolnia_,) on the subject, which
appears to be almost contemporary with the event recorded by Matthew
Paris, and is certainly of the times of Henry III. The versions of the
English ballad are quite numerous. We give here those of Percy, Herd,
and Jamieson, and two others in the Appendix. Besides these, fragments
have been printed in Sir Egerton Brydges's _Restituta_, i. 381,
Halliwell's _Ballads and Poems respecting Hugh of Lincoln_, (1849,) and
in _Notes and Queries_, vol. viii. 614, ix. 320, xii. 496. The most
complete of all the versions is to be found in the new edition of the
_Musical Museum_, vol. iv. p. 500; but that copy is evidently made up
from others previously published. See, for a collection of most of the
poetry, and of much curious information on the imputed cruelties of the
Jews, Michel's _Hugues de Lincoln_, and Hume's _Sir Hugh of Lincoln_.
The whole subject is critically examined in the _London Athen[ae]um_ for
Dec. 15, 1849.
"The text of the following edition has been given _verbatim_, as the
editor took it down from Mrs. Brown's recitation; and in it two
circumstances are preserved, which are neither to be found in any of the
former editions, nor in any of the chronicles in which the transaction
is recorded; but which are perfectly in the character of those times,
and tend to enhance the miracles to which the discovery is attributed.
The first of these is, that, in order that the whole of this infamous
sacrifice might be of a piece, and every possible outrage shown to
Christianity, the Jews threw the child's body into a well dedicated to
the Virgin Mary; and tradition says, that it was 'through the might of
Our Ladie,' that the dead body was permitted to speak, and to reveal the
horrid story to the disconsolate mother. The other is, the voluntary
ringing of the bells, &c., at his funeral. The sound of consecrated
bells was supposed to have a powerful effect in driving away evil
spirits, appeasing storms, &c., and they were believed to be inspired
with sentiments and perceptions which were often manifested in a very
miraculous manner." JAMIESON'S _Popular Ballads_, i. 139-156.
Four and twenty bonny boys
Were playing at the ba';
And by it came him, sweet Sir Hugh,
And he play'd o'er them a'.
He kick'd the ba' with his right foot, 5
And catch'd it wi' his knee;
And throuch-and-thro' the Jew's window,
He gar'd the bonny ba' flee.
He's doen him to the Jew's castell,
And walk'd it round about; 10
And there he saw the Jew's daughter
At the window looking out.
"Throw down the ba', ye Jew's daughter,
Throw down the ba' to me!"
"Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter, 15
"Till up to me come ye."
"How will I come up? How can I come up?
How can I come to thee?
For as ye did to my auld father,
The same ye'll do to me." 20
She's gane till her father's garden,
And pu'd an apple, red and green;
'Twas a' to wyle him, sweet Sir Hugh,
And to entice him in.
She's led him in through ae dark door, 25
And sae has she thro' nine;
She's laid him on a dressing table,
And stickit him like a swine.
And first came out the thick, thick blood,
And syne came out the thin; 30
And syne came out the bonny heart's blood;
There was nae mair within.
She's row'd him in a cake o' lead,
Bade him lie still and sleep;
She's thrown him in Our Lady's draw well, 35
Was fifty fathom deep.
When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' the bairns came hame,
When every lady gat hame her son,
The Lady Maisry gat nane. 40
She's ta'en her mantle her about,
Her coffer by the hand;
And she's gane out to seek her son,
And wander'd o'er the land.
She's doen her to the Jew's castell, 45
Where a' were fast asleep;
"Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak."
She's doen her to the Jew's garden,
Thought he had been gathering fruit; 50
"Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak."
She near'd Our Lady's deep draw-well,
Was fifty fathom deep;
"Whare'er ye be, my sweet Sir Hugh, 55
I pray you to me speak."
"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear;
Prepare my winding sheet;
And, at the back o' merry Lincoln,
The morn I will you meet." 60
Now Lady Maisry is gane hame;
Made him a winding sheet;
And, at the back o' merry Lincoln,
The dead corpse did her meet.
And a' the bells o' merry Lincoln, 65
Without men's hands were rung;
And a' the books o' merry Lincoln,
Were read without man's tongue;
And ne'er was such a burial
Sin Adam's days begun. 70
SIR HUGH.
From Herd's _Scottish Songs_, i. 157.
A' the boys of merry Linkim
War playing at the ba',
An up it stands him sweet Sir Hugh,
The flower among them a'.
He keppit the ba' than wi' his foot, 5
And catcht it wi' his knee,
And even in at the Jew's window,
He gart the bonny ba' flee.
"Cast out the ba' to me, fair maid,
Cast out the ba' to me." 10
"Ah never a bit of it," she says,
"Till ye come up to me.
"Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh,
Come up and get the ba';"
"I winna come, I mayna come, 15
Without my bonny boys a'."
"Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh,
Come up and speak to me;"
"I mayna come, I winna come,
Without my bonny boys three." 20
She's taen her to the Jew's garden,
Whar the grass grew lang and green,
She's pu'd an apple red and white,
To wyle the bonny boy in.
She's wyled him in through ae chamber, 25
She's wyled him in through twa,
She's wyled him in till her ain chamber,
The flower out owr them a'.
She's laid him on a dressin board,
Whar she did often dine; 30
She stack a penknife to his heart,
And dress'd him like a swine.
She row'd him in a cake of lead,
Bade him ly still and sleep,
She threw him i' the Jew's draw-well, 35
It was fifty fathom deep.
Whan bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' man bound to bed,
Every lady got home her son,
But sweet Sir Hugh was dead.
THE JEW'S DAUGHTER.
From Percy's _Reliques_, i. 40; printed from a manuscript copy sent from
Scotland.
Mirryland toune is a corruption of Merry Lincoln, and not, as Percy
conjectured, of Mailand (Milan) town. In Motherwell's copy we have
Maitland town.
The rain rins doun through Mirry-land toune,
Sae dois it doune the Pa:
Sae dois the lads of Mirry-land toune,
Quhan they play at the ba'.
Than out and cam the Jewis dochter, 5
Said, "Will ye cum in and dine?"
"I winnae cum in, I cannae cum in,
Without my play-feres nine."
Scho powd an apple reid and white,
To intice the zong thing in: 10
Scho powd an apple white and reid,
And that the sweit bairne did win.
And scho has taine out a little pen-knife,
And low down by her gair;
Scho has twin'd the zong thing and his life; 15
A word he nevir spak mair.
And out and cam the thick thick bluid,
And out and cam the thin;
And out and cam the bonny herts bluid:
Thair was nae life left in. 20
Scho laid him on a dressing borde,
And drest him like a swine,
And laughing said, "Gae nou and pley
With zour sweit play-feres nine."
Scho rowd him in a cake of lead, 25
Bade him lie stil and sleip;
Scho cast him in a deip draw-well,
Was fifty fadom deip.
Quhan bells wer rung, and mass was sung,
And every lady went hame, 30
Then ilka lady had her zong sonne,
Bot Lady Helen had nane.
Scho rowd hir mantil hir about,
And sair sair gan she weip,
And she ran into the Jewis cast[e']l, 35
Quhan they wer all asleip.
"My bonny Sir Hew, my pretty Sir Hew,
I pray thee to me speik:"
"O lady, rinn to the deip draw-well,
Gin ze zour sonne wad seik." 40
Lady Helen ran to the deip draw-well,
And knelt upon her kne:
"My bonny Sir Hew, and ze be here,
I pray thee speik to me."
"The lead is wondrous heavy, mither, 45
The well is wondrous deip;
A keen pen-knife sticks in my hert,
A word I dounae speik.
"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither deir,
Fetch me my windling sheet, 50
And at the back o' Mirry-land toun,
Its thair we twa sall meet."
SIR PATRICK SPENCE.
From Percy's _Reliques_, i. 81.
The event upon which this ballad is founded, if it has been rightly
ascertained, belongs to a remote period in Scottish history. Margaret,
the daughter of Alexander III., was, in the year 1281, betrothed to
Eric, prince of Norway. The bride was conducted to her husband by a
splendid convoy of knights and nobles, and in the month of August was
crowned queen. In returning from the celebration of the nuptials, many
of the Scottish escort were lost at sea, and among those who perished
was Sir Patrick Spence, we are to suppose.
It is in conformity with this view of the origin of the ballad, (the
suggestion of Motherwell,) that in Buchan's version the object of the
voyage is said to be to take the king's daughter, now "a chosen queen,"
_to_ Norway. In Scott's edition, on the other hand, Sir Patrick is
deputed _to bring home_ the king of Norway's daughter. To explain this
circumstance in the story, Sir Walter is forced to suppose that an
unsuccessful and unrecorded embassy was sent, when the death of
Alexander III. had left the Scottish throne vacant, to bring the only
daughter of Eric and Margaret, styled by historians the Maid of Norway,
to the kingdom of which, after her grandfather's demise, she became the
heir. That such an embassy, attended with so disastrous consequences to
the distinguished persons who would compose it, should be entirely
unnoticed by the chroniclers is, to say the least, exceedingly
improbable.
The question concerning the historical basis of the ballad would
naturally lose much of its interest, were any importance attached to the
arguments by which its genuineness has been lately assailed. These are
so trivial as hardly to admit of a statement. The claims of the
composition to a high antiquity are first disputed, (_Musical Museum_,
new ed., iv. 457*,) on the ground that such a piece was never heard of
till it was sent to Percy by some of his correspondents in Scotland,
with other ballads of (assumed) questionable authority. But even the
ballad of _Sir Hugh_ is liable to any impeachment that can be extracted
from these circumstances, since it was first made known by Percy, and
was transmitted to him from Scotland, (for aught we know, in suspicious
company,) while its story dates also from the 13th century. Then, "an
ingenious friend" having remarked to Percy that some of the phrases of
_Hardyknute_ seemed to have been borrowed from _Sir Patrick Spence_ and
_other_ old Scottish songs, this observation, combined with the fact
that the localities of Dunfermline and Aberdour are in the neighborhood
of Sir Henry Wardlaw's estate, leads to a conjecture that Lady Wardlaw
may have been the author of _Sir Patrick Spence_, as she is known to
have been of _Hardyknute_. It could never be deemed fair to argue from
those resemblances which give plausibility to a counterfeit to the
spuriousness of the original, but in fact there is _no_ resemblance in
the two pieces. _Hardyknute_ is recognized at once by an ordinary
critic to be a modern production, and is, notwithstanding the praise it
has received, a tame and tiresome one besides. _Sir Patrick Spence_, on
the other hand, if not ancient, has been always accepted as such by the
most skilful judges, and is a solitary instance of a successful
imitation, in manner and spirit, of the best specimens of authentic
minstrelsy.[1]
It is not denied that this ballad has suffered, like others, by
corruption and interpolations, and it is not, therefore, maintained that
hats and cork-heeld shoon are of the 13th century.
We have assigned to Percy's copy the first place, because its brevity
and directness give it a peculiar vigor. Scott's edition follows, made
up from two MS. copies, (one of which has been printed in Jamieson's
_Popular Ballads_, i. 157,) collated with several verses recited by a
friend. Buchan's version, obtained from recitation, is in the Appendix.
The variations in recited copies are numerous: some specimens are given
by Motherwell, p. xlv.
[1] This controversy has been recently re-opened by R. Chambers, _The
Romantic Scottish Ballads, their Epoch and Authorship_, Edin. 1859; and
in reply, _The Romantic Scottish Ballads and the Lady Wardlaw Heresy_,
by Norval Clyne, Aberdeen, 1859.
The king sits in Dumferling[2] toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine:
"O quhar will I get guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?"
Up and spak an eldern knicht, 5
Sat at the kings richt kne:
"Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor,
That sails upon the se."
The king has written a braid letter,
And signd it wi' his hand, 10
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Was walking on the sand.
The first line that Sir Patrick red,
A loud lauch lauched he:
The next line that Sir Patrick red, 15
The teir blinded his ee.
"O quha is this has don this deid,
This ill deid don to me;
To send me out this time o' the zeir,
To sail upon the se? 20
"Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne."
"O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.
"Late late yestreen I saw the new moone 25
Wi' the auld moone in hir arme;
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,
That we will com to harme."
O our Scots nobles wer richt laith
To weet their cork-heild schoone; 30
Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd,
Thair hats they swam aboone.
O lang, lang, may their ladies sit
Wi' thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence 35
Cum sailing to the land.
O lang, lang, may the ladies stand
Wi' thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they'll se thame na mair. 40
Have owre, have owre to Aberdour,[L41]
It's fiftie fadom deip:
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.
[2] The palace of Dunfermline was the favorite residence of King
Alexander III.
41-44. "It is true that the name of Sir Patrick Spens is not mentioned
in history; but I am able to state that tradition has preserved it. In
the little island of Papa Stronsay, one of the Orcadian group, lying
over against Norway, there is a large grave or tumulus, which has been
known to the inhabitants, from time immemorial, as 'The grave of Sir
Patrick Spens.' The Scottish ballads were not early current in Orkney, a
Scandinavian country; so it is very unlikely that the poem could have
originated the name. The people know nothing beyond the traditional
appellation of the spot, and they have no legend to tell." Aytoun,
_Ballads of Scotland_, i. 2.--This passage is cited simply as a piece of
_external_ evidence to the antiquity of the legend of Sir Patrick
Spens,--supposing the matter of fact to be well established, and the
alleged tradition to be of long standing.
SIR PATRICK SPENS.
_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, i. 299.
In singing, the interjection O is added to the second and fourth lines.
The king sits in Dunfermline town,
Drinking the blude-red wine:
"O whare will I get a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship of mine?"
O up and spake an eldern knight, 5
Sat at the king's right knee:
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sailed the sea."
Our king has written a braid letter,
And sealed it with his hand, 10
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the strand.
"To Noroway, to Noroway,
To Noroway o'er the faem;
The king's daughter of Noroway, 15
'Tis thou maun bring her hame!"
The first word that Sir Patrick read,
Sae loud loud laughed he;
The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blindit his e'e. 20
"O wha is this has done this deed,
And tauld the king o' me,
To send us out at this time of the year,
To sail upon the sea?
"Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, 25
Our ship must sail the faem;
The king's daughter of Noroway,
'Tis we must fetch her hame."
They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn
Wi' a' the speed they may; 30
They hae landed in Noroway
Upon a Wodensday.
They hadna been a week, a week,
In Noroway, but twae,
When that the lords o' Noroway 35
Began aloud to say:
"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud,
And a' our queenis fee."
"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud!
Fu' loud I hear ye lie! 40
"For I brought as much white monie
As gane my men and me,--
And I brought a half-fou o' gude red goud
Out o'er the sea wi' me.
"Make ready, make ready, my merrymen a'! 45
Our gude ship sails the morn."
"Now, ever alake! my master dear,
I fear a deadly storm!
"I saw the new moon, late yestreen,
Wi' the auld moon in her arm; 50
And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harm."
They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league, but barely three,
When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, 55
And gurly grew the sea.
The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap,
It was sic a deadly storm;
And the waves came o'er the broken ship,
Till a' her sides were torn. 60
"O where will I get a gude sailor,
To take my helm in hand,
Till I get up to the tall topmast,
To see if I can spy land?"
"O here am I, a sailor gude, 65
To take the helm in hand,
Till you go up to the tall topmast,--
But I fear you'll ne'er spy land."
He hadna gane a step, a step,
A step, but barely ane, 70
When a bout flew out of our goodly ship,
And the salt sea it came in.
"Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith,
Another o' the twine,
And wap them into our ship's side, 75
And letna the sea come in."
They fetched a web o' the silken claith,
Another o' the twine,
And they wapped them roun' that gude ship's side,
But still the sea came in. 80
"O laith laith were our gude Scots lords
To weet their cork-heeled shoon!
But lang or a' the play was played,
They wat their hats aboon.
And mony was the feather-bed 85
That flatter'd on the faem;
And mony was the gude lord's son
That never mair cam hame.
The ladyes wrang their fingers white,
The maidens tore their hair; 90
A' for the sake of their true loves,
For them they'll see nae mair.
O lang lang may the ladyes sit,
Wi' their fans into their hand,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens 95
Come sailing to the strand!
And lang lang may the maidens sit,
Wi' their goud kaims in their hair,
A' waiting for their ain dear loves,
For them they'll see nae mair. 100
O forty miles off Aberdeen
'Tis fifty fathoms deep,
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.