KING ESTMERE.
From _Reliques of English Poetry_, i. 65.
"This romantic legend," says Percy, "is given from two copies, one of
them in the Editor's folio MS., but which contained very great
variations." This second copy has been conjectured to be of Percy's own
making, the ballad never having been heard of by any one else, out of
his manuscript. Judging from the internal evidence, the alterations made
in the printed text were not very serious.
King Easter and King Wester have appeared in the ballad of _Fause
Foodrage_, (vol. iii. p. 40.) In another version of the same, they are
called the Eastmure king and the Westmure king, (Motherwell's
_Minstrelsy_, p. lix.) There is also a tale cited in the _Complaynt of
Scotland_, (i. 98,) of a king of Estmureland that married the daughter
of the king of Westmureland. This is plausibly supposed by Ritson to
have been a romance of Horn, in which case the two countries should mean
England and Ireland. King Esmer is one of King Diderik's champions (in
the Danish ballad, _Kong Diderik og hans K[ae]mper_), and the father of
Svend Vonved (in _Svend Vonved_). In the Flemish and German romances of
_The Knight of the Swan_, Essmer, or Esmer['e]s, is one of the seven
sons of Oriant, and in _Le Dit de Flourence de Romme_ (Jubinal, _Nouveau
Recueil de Contes_, etc., i. 88), Esm[e']re is a Roman prince.
(Grundtvig, i. 78, 236.) For the nonce, we are told that King Estmere
was an English prince, and we may, perhaps, infer from the eighth stanza
that King Adland's dominions were on the same island. But no subject of
inquiry can be more idle than the geography of the romances.
Hearken to me, gentlemen,
Come and you shall heare;
Ile tell you of two of the boldest brethren,
That ever born y-were.
The tone of them was Adler yonge, 5
The tother was kyng Estmere;
They were as bolde men in their deedes
As any were, farr and neare.
As they were drinking ale and wine
Within kyng Estmeres halle, 10
"When will ye marry a wyfe, brother,
A wyfe to gladd us all?"
Then bespake him kyng Estmere,
And answered him hartilye:
"I knowe not that ladye in any lande, 15
That is able to marry with mee."
"Kyng Adland hath a daughter, brother,
Men call her bright and sheene;
If I were kyng here in your stead,
That ladye shold be queene." 20
Sayes, "Reade me, reade me, deare brother,
Throughout merry England,
Where we might find a messenger
Betweene us two to sende."
Sayes, "You shall ryde yourselfe, brother, 25
Ile beare you companee;
Many throughe fals messengers are deceived,[L27]
And I feare lest soe shold wee."
Thus they renisht them to ryde
On twoe good renisht steedes, 30
And when they came to kyng Adlands halle,
Of red golde shone their weedes.
And when they came to kyng Adlands halle,
Before the goodlye yate,
Ther they found good kyng Adland, 35
Rearing himselfe theratt.
"Nowe Christ thee save, good kyng Adland,
Nowe Christ thee save and see:"
Sayd, "You be welcome, kyng Estmere,
Right hartilye to mee." 40
"You have a daughter," sayd Adler yonge,
"Men call her bright and sheene;
My brother wold marrye her to his wiffe,
Of Englande to be queene."
"Yesterdaye was att my dere daughter 45
The king his sonne of Spayn;
And then she nicked him of naye;
I feare sheele do youe the same."
"The kyng of Spayne is a foule paynim,
And 'leeveth on Mahound, 50
And pitye it were that fayre ladye
Shold marrye a heathen hound."
"But grant to me," sayes kyng Estmere,
"For my love I you praye,
That I may see your daughter dere 55
Before I goe hence awaye."
"Althoughe itt is seven yeare and more
Syth my daughter was in halle,
She shall come downe once for your sake,
To glad my guest[e']s alle." 60
Downe then came that mayden fayre,
With ladyes lacede in pall,
And halfe a hondred of bolde knightes,
To bring her from bowre to hall,
And eke as manye gentle squieres, 65
To waite upon them all.
The talents of golde were on her head sette,
Hunge lowe downe to her knee;
And everye rynge on her small finger
Shone of the chrystall free. 70
Sayes, "Christ you save, my deare madame,"
Sayes, "Christ you save and see:"
Sayes, "You be welcome, kyng Estmere,
Right welcome unto mee.
"And iff you love me, as you saye, 75
So well and hartilee,
All that ever you are comen about
Soone sped now itt may bee."
Then bespake her father deare,
"My daughter, I saye naye; 80
Remember well the kyng of Spayne,
What he sayd yesterdaye.
"He wold pull downe my halles and castles,
And reave me of my lyfe:
And ever I feare that paynim kyng, 85
Iff I reave him of his wyfe."
"Your castles and your towres, father,
Are stronglye built aboute;
And therefore of that foule paynim
Wee neede not stande in doubte. 90
"Plyght me your troth nowe, kyng Estmere,
By heaven and your righte hande,
That you will marrye me to your wyfe,
And make me queene of your land."
Then kyng Estmere he plight his troth 95
By heaven and his righte hand,
That he wolde marrye her to his wyfe,
And make her queene of his land.
And he tooke leave of that ladye fayre,
To goe to his owne countree, 100
To fetche him dukes and lordes and knightes,
That marryed they might bee.
They had not ridden scant a myle,
A myle forthe of the towne,
But in did come the kynge of Spayne, 105
With kemp[e']s many a one:
But in did come the kyng of Spayne,
With manye a grimme barone,
Tone day to marrye kyng Adlands daughter,
Tother daye to carrye her home. 110
Then shee sent after kyng Estmere,
In all the spede might bee,
That he must either returne and fighte,
Or goe home and lose his ladye.
One whyle then the page he went, 115
Another whyle he ranne;
Till he had oretaken king Estmere,
Iwis he never blanne.
"Tydinges, tydinges, kyng Estmere!"
"What tydinges nowe, my boye?" 120
"O tydinges I can tell to you,
That will you sore annoye.
"You had not ridden scant a myle,
A myle out of the towne,
But in did come the kyng of Spayne 125
With kemp[e']s many a one:
"But in did come the kyng of Spayne
With manye a grimme barone,
Tone day to marrye kyng Adlands daughter,
Tother daye to carrye her home. 130
"That ladye fayre she greetes you well,
And ever-more well by mee:
You must either turne againe and fighte,
Or goe home and lose your ladye."
Sayes, "Reade me, reade me, deare brother, 135
My reade shall ryse at thee,[L136]
Whiche way we best may turne and fighte,
To save this fayre ladye."
"Now hearken to me," sayes Adler yonge,
"And your reade must rise at me; 140
I quicklye will devise a waye
To sette thy ladye free.
"My mother was a westerne woman,
And learned in gramarye,
And when I learned at the schole, 145
Something shee taught itt me.
"There groweth an hearbe within this fielde,
And iff it were but knowne,
His color which is whyte and redd,
It will make blacke and browne. 150
"His color which is browne and blacke,
Itt will make redd and whyte;
That sword is not in all Englande,
Upon his coate will byte.
"And you shal be a harper, brother, 155
Out of the north countree;
And Ile be your boye, so faine of fighte,
To beare your harpe by your knee.
"And you shall be the best harper
That ever tooke harpe in hand; 160
And I will be the best singer
That ever sung in this land.
"Itt shal be written in our forheads,
All and in grammarye,
That we towe are the boldest men 165
That are in all Christentye."
And thus they renisht them to ryde,
On towe good renish steedes;
And whan they came to king Adlands hall,
Of redd gold shone their weedes. 170
And whan they came to kyng Adlands hall,
Untill the fayre hall yate,
There they found a proud porter,
Rearing himselfe theratt.
Sayes, "Christ thee save, thou proud porter," 175
Sayes, "Christ thee save and see:"
"Nowe you be welcome," sayd the porter,
"Of what land soever ye bee."
"We been harpers," sayd Adler yonge,
"Come out of the northe countree; 180
We beene come hither untill this place,
This proud weddinge for to see."
Sayd, "And your color were white and redd,
As it is blacke and browne,
Ild saye king Estmere and his brother 185
Were comen untill this towne."
Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,[L187]
Layd itt on the porters arme:
"And ever we will thee, proud porter,
Thow wilt saye us no harme." 190
Sore he looked on kyng Estmere,
And sore he handled the ryng,
Then opened to them the fayre hall yates,
He lett for no kind of thyng.
Kyng Estmere he light off his steede, 195
Up att the fayre hall board;
The frothe that came from his brydle bitte
Light on kyng Bremors beard.
Sayes, "Stable thy steede, thou proud harper,
Go stable him in the stalle; 200
Itt doth not beseeme a proud harper
To stable him in a kyngs halle."
"My ladd he is so lither," he sayd,
"He will do nought that's meete;
And aye that I cold but find the man, 205
Were able him to beate."
"Thou speakst proud words," sayd the paynim king,
"Thou harper, here to mee;
There is a man within this halle,
That will beate thy lad and thee." 210
"O lett that man come downe," he sayd,
"A sight of him wold I see;
And whan hee hath beaten well my ladd,
Then he shall beate of mee."
Downe then came the kemperye man, 215
And looked him in the eare;
For all the gold that was under heaven,
He durst not neigh him neare.
"And how nowe, kempe," sayd the kyng of Spayne,
"And how what aileth thee?" 220
He sayes, "Itt is written in his forhead,
All and in gramarye,
That for all the gold that is under heaven,
I dare not neigh him nye."
Kyng Estmere then pulled forth his harpe, 225
And played thereon so sweete:
Upstarte the ladye from the kynge,
As hee sate at the meate.
"Now stay thy harpe, thou proud harper,
Now stay thy harpe, I say; 230
For an thou playest as thou beginnest,
Thou'lt till my bride awaye."
He strucke upon his harpe agayne,
And playd both fayre and free;
The ladye was so pleasde theratt, 235
She laught loud laughters three.
"Nowe sell me thy harpe," sayd the kyng of Spayne,
"Thy harpe and stryngs eche one,
And as many gold nobles thou shalt have,
As there be stryngs thereon." 240
"And what wold ye doe with my harpe," he sayd,
Iff I did sell it yee?"
"To playe my wiffe and me a fitt,
When abed together we bee."
"Now sell me," quoth hee, "thy bryde soe gay, 245
As shee sitts laced in pall,
And as many gold nobles I will give,
As there be rings in the hall."
"And what wold ye doe with my bryde soe gay,
Iff I did sell her yee? 250
More seemelye it is for her fayre bodye
To lye by mee than thee."
Hee played agayne both loud and shrille,
And Adler he did syng,
"O ladye, this is thy owne true love; 255
Noe harper, but a kyng.
"O ladye, this is thy owne true love,
As playnlye thou mayest see;
And Ile rid thee of that foule paynim,
Who partes thy love and thee." 260
The ladye looked, the ladye blushte,
And blushte and lookt agayne,
While Adler he hath drawne his brande,
And hath the Sowdan slayne.
Up then rose the kemperye men, 265
And loud they gan to crye:
"Ah! traytors, yee have slayne our kyng,
And therefore yee shall dye."
Kyng Estmere threwe the harpe asyde,
And swith he drew his brand; 270
And Estmere he, and Adler yonge,
Right stiffe in stour can stand.
And aye their swordes soe sore can byte,
Through helpe of gramarye,
That soone they have slayne the kempery men, 275
Or forst them forth to flee.
Kyng Estmere tooke that fayre ladye,
And marryed her to his wiffe,
And brought her home to merrye England,
With her to leade his life. 280
27. MS. Many a man ... is.
136. MS. ryde, but see v. 140.
v. 187.
Then they pulled out a ryng of gold,
Layd itt on the porters arme.
The rings so often used in ballads to conciliate the porter would seem
to be not personal ornaments, but coins. For an account of Ring Money,
see the paper of Sir William Betham, in the seventeenth volume of the
_Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy_.
SIR CAULINE.
From _Reliques of English Poetry_, i. 44.
"This old romantic tale," says Percy, "was preserved in the Editor's
folio MS., but in so very defective and mutilated a condition, (not from
any chasm in the MS., but from great omission in the transcript,
probably copied from the faulty recitation of some illiterate minstrel,)
that it was necessary to supply several stanzas in the first part, and
still more in the second, to connect and complete the story."
Many of the interpolations acknowledged in such general terms might with
some confidence be pointed out. Among them are certainly most, if not
all, of the last twelve stanzas of the Second Part, which include the
catastrophe to the story. It is difficult to believe that this charming
romance had so tragic and so sentimental a conclusion.
The first part of this ballad is preserved in Scotland, under the title
of _King Malcolm and Sir Colvin_, and is printed in our Appendix from
Buchan's collection. In this, Sir Colvin weds the princess after his
victory over the Elrick knight.
THE FIRST PART.
In Ireland, ferr over the sea,
There dwelleth a bonnye kinge;
And with him a yong and comlye knighte,
Men call him Syr Cauline.
The kinge had a ladye to his daughter, 5
In fashyon she hath no peere;
And princely wightes that ladye wooed
To be theyr wedded feere.
Syr Cauline loveth her best of all,
But nothing durst he saye, 10
Ne descreeve his counsayl to no man,
But deerlye he lovde this may.
Till on a daye it so beffell
Great dill to him was dight;
The maydens love removde his mynd, 15
To care-bed went the knighte.
One while he spred his armes him fro,
One while he spred them nye:
"And aye! but I winne that ladyes love,
For dole now I mun dye." 20
And whan our parish-masse was done,
Our kinge was bowne to dyne:
He sayes, "Where is Syr Cauline,
That is wont to serve the wyne?"
Then aunswerde him a courteous knighte, 25
And fast his handes gan wringe:
"Syr Cauline is sicke, and like to dye,
Without a good leechinge."
"Fetche me downe my daughter deere,
She is a leeche fulle fine; 30
Goe take him doughe and the baken bread,
And serve him with the wyne soe red:
Lothe I were him to tine."
Fair Christabelle to his chaumber goes,
Her maydens followyng nye: 35
"O well," she sayth, "how doth my lord?"
"O sicke, thou fayr ladye."
"Nowe ryse up wightlye, man, for shame,
Never lye soe cowardlee;
For it is told in my fathers halle 40
You dye for love of mee."
"Fayre ladye, it is for your love
That all this dill I drye:
For if you wold comfort me with a kisse,
Then were I brought from bale to blisse, 45
No lenger wold I lye."
"Sir knighte, my father is a kinge,
I am his onlye heire;
Alas! and well you knowe, syr knighte,
I never can be youre fere." 50
"O ladye, thou art a kinges daughter,
And I am not thy peere;
But let me doe some deedes of armes,
To be your bacheleere."
"Some deedes of armes if thou wilt doe, 55
My bacheleere to bee,
(But ever and aye my heart wold rue,
Giff harm shold happe to thee,)
"Upon Eldridge hill there groweth a thorne,
Upon the mores brodinge; 60
And dare ye, syr knighte, wake there all nighte,
Untile the fayre morninge?
"For the Eldridge knighte, so mickle of mighte,
Will examine you beforne;
And never man bare life awaye, 65
But he did him scath and scorne.
"That knighte he is a foul paynim,
And large of limb and bone;
And but if heaven may be thy speede,
Thy life it is but gone." 70
"Nowe on the Eldridge hilles Ile walke,
For thy sake, fair ladie;
And Ile either bring you a ready token,
Or Ile never more you see."
The lady has gone to her own chaumbere, 75
Her maydens following bright;
Syr Cauline lope from care-bed soone,
And to the Eldridge hills is gone,
For to wake there all night.
Unto midnight, that the moone did rise, 80
He walked up and downe;
Then a lightsome bugle heard he blowe
Over the bents soe browne;
Quoth hee, "If cryance come till my heart,
I am ffar from any good towne." 85
And soone he spyde on the mores so broad
A furyous wight and fell;
A ladye bright his brydle led,
Clad in a fayre kyrtell:
And soe fast he called on Syr Cauline, 90
"O man, I rede thee flye,
For but if cryance come till thy heart,[L92]
I weene but thou mun dye."
He sayth, "No cryance comes till my heart,[L94]
Nor, in faith, I wyll not flee; 95
For, cause thou minged not Christ before,
The less me dreadeth thee."
The Eldridge knighte, he pricked his steed;
Syr Cauline bold abode:
Then either shooke his trustye speare, 100
And the timber these two children bare
Soe soone in sunder slode.
Then tooke they out theyr two good swordes,
And layden on full faste,
Till helme and hawberke, mail and sheelde, 105
They all were well-nye brast.
The Eldridge knight was mickle of might,
And stiffe in stower did stande;
But Syr Cauline with an aukeward stroke
He smote off his right-hand; 110
That soone he, with paine and lacke of bloud,
Fell downe on that lay-land.
Then up Syr Cauline lift his brande
All over his head so hye:
"And here I sweare by the holy roode, 115
Nowe, caytiffe, thou shalt dye."
Then up and came that ladye brighte,
Faste ringing of her hande:
"For the maydens love, that most you love,
Withhold that deadlye brande: 120
"For the maydens love that most you love,
Now smyte no more I praye;
And aye whatever thou wilt, my lord,
He shall thy hests obaye."
"Now sweare to mee, thou Eldridge knighte, 125
And here on this lay-land,
That thou wilt believe on Christ his laye,
And therto plight thy hand:
"And that thou never on Eldridge [hill] come
To sporte, gamon, or playe; 130
And that thou here give up thy armes
Until thy dying daye."
The Eldridge knighte gave up his armes,
With many a sorrowfulle sighe;
And sware to obey Syr Caulines hest, 135
Till the tyme that he shold dye.
And he then up, and the Eldridge knighte
Sett him in his saddle anone;
And the Eldridge knighte and his ladye,
To theyr castle are they gone. 140
Then he tooke up the bloudy hand,
That was so large of bone,
And on it he founde five ringes of gold,
Of knightes that had be slone.
Then he tooke up the Eldridge sworde, 145
As hard as any flint;
And he tooke off those ringes five,
As bright as fyre and brent.
Home then pricked Syr Cauline,
As light as leafe on tree; 150
I-wys he neither stint ne blanne,
Till he his ladye see.
Then downe he knelt upon his knee,
Before that lady gay:
"O ladye, I have bin on the Eldridge hills; 155
These tokens I bring away."
"Now welcome, welcome, Syr Cauline,
Thrice welcome unto mee,
For now I perceive thou art a true knighte,
Of valour bolde and free." 160
"O ladye, I am thy own true knighte,
Thy hests for to obaye;
And mought I hope to winne thy love!"--
No more his tonge colde say.
The ladye blushed scarlette redde, 165
And fette a gentill sighe:
"Alas! syr knight, how may this bee,
For my degree's soe highe?
"But sith thou hast hight, thou comely youth,
To be my batchilere, 170
Ile promise, if thee I may not wedde,
I will have none other fere."
Then shee held forthe her liley-white hand
Towards that knighte so free;
He gave to it one gentill kisse, 175
His heart was brought from bale to blisse,
The teares sterte from his ee.
"But keep my counsayl, Syr Cauline,
Ne let no man it knowe;
For, and ever my father sholde it ken, 180
I wot he wolde us sloe."
From that daye forthe, that ladye fayre
Lovde Syr Cauline the knighte;
From that daye forthe, he only joyde
Whan shee was in his sight. 185
Yea, and oftentimes they mette
Within a fayre arboure,
Where they, in love and sweet daliaunce,
Past manye a pleasaunt houre.
92, MS. For if.
94, No inserted.
THE SECOND PART.
Everye white will have its blacke,
And everye sweete its sowre:
This founde the Ladye Christabelle
In an untimely howre.
For so it befelle, as Syr Cauline 5
Was with that ladye faire,
The kinge, her father, walked forthe
To take the evenyng aire:
And into the arboure as he went
To rest his wearye feet, 10
He found his daughter and Syr Cauline
There sette in daliaunce sweet.
The kinge hee sterted forthe, i-wys,
And an angrye man was hee:
"Nowe, traytoure, thou shalt hange or drawe 15
And rewe shall thy ladie."
Then forthe Syr Cauline he was ledde,
And throwne in dungeon deepe:
And the ladye into a towre so hye,
There left to wayle and weepe. 20
The queene she was Syr Caulines friend,
And to the kinge sayd shee:
"I praye you save Syr Caulines life,
And let him banisht bee."
"Now, dame, that traitor shall be sent 25
Across the salt sea fome:
But here I will make thee a band,
If ever he come within this land,
A foule deathe is his doome."
All woe-begone was that gentil knight 30
To parte from his ladye;
And many a time he sighed sore,
And cast a wistfulle eye:
"Faire Christabelle, from thee to parte,
Farre lever had I dye." 35
Fair Christabelle, that ladye bright,
Was had forthe of the towre;
But ever shee droopeth in her minde,
As, nipt by an ungentle winde,
Doth some faire lillye flowre. 40
And ever shee doth lament and weepe,
To tint her lover soe:
"Syr Cauline, thou little think'st on mee,
But I will still be true."
Manye a kinge, and manye a duke, 45
And lorde of high degree,
Did sue to that fayre ladye of love;
But never shee wolde them nee.
When manye a daye was past and gone,
Ne comforte she colde finde, 50
The kynge proclaimed a tourneament,
To cheere his daughters mind.
And there came lords, and there came knights,
Fro manye a farre countrye,
To break a spere for theyr ladyes love, 55
Before that faire ladye.
And many a ladye there was sette,
In purple and in palle;
But faire Christabelle, soe woe-begone,
Was the fayrest of them all. 60
Then manye a knighte was mickle of might,
Before his ladye gaye;
But a stranger wight, whom no man knewe,
He wan the prize eche daye.
His acton it was all of blacke, 65
His hewberke and his sheelde;
Ne noe man wist whence he did come,
Ne noe man knewe where he did gone,
When they came out the feelde.[L69]
And now three days were prestlye past 70
In feates of chivalrye,
When lo, upon the fourth morninge,
A sorrowfulle sight they see:
A hugye giaunt stiffe and starke,
All foule of limbe and lere, 75
Two goggling eyen like fire farden,
A mouthe from eare to eare.
Before him came a dwarffe full lowe,
That waited on his knee;
And at his backe five heads he bare, 80
All wan and pale of blee.
"Sir," quoth the dwarffe, and louted lowe,
"Behold that hend Soldain!
Behold these heads I beare with me!
They are kings which he hath slain. 85
"The Eldridge knight is his own cousine,
Whom a knight of thine hath shent;
And hee is come to avenge his wrong:
And to thee, all thy knightes among,
Defiance here hath sent. 90
"But yette he will appease his wrath,
Thy daughters love to winne;
And, but thou yeelde him that fayre mayd,
Thy halls and towers must brenne.
"Thy head, syr king, must goe with mee, 95
Or else thy daughter deere:
Or else within these lists soe broad,
Thou must finde him a peere."
The king he turned him round aboute,
And in his heart was woe: 100
"Is there never a knighte of my round table
This matter will undergoe?
"Is there never a knighte amongst yee all
Will fight for my daughter and mee?
Whoever will fight yon grimme Soldan, 105
Right fair his meede shall bee.
"For hee shall have my broad lay-lands,
And of my crowne be heyre;
And he shall winne fayre Christabelle
To be his wedded fere." 110
But every knighte of his round table
Did stand both still and pale;
For, whenever they lookt on the grim Soldan,
It made their hearts to quail.
All woe-begone was that fayre ladye, 115
When she sawe no helpe was nye:
She cast her thought on her owne true-love,
And the teares gusht from her eye.
Up then sterte the stranger knighte,
Sayd, "Ladye, be not affrayd; 120
Ile fight for thee with this grimme Soldan,
Thoughe he be unmacklye made.
"And if thou wilt lend me the Eldridge sworde,
That lyeth within thy bowre,
I truste in Christe for to slay this fiende, 125
Thoughe he be stiff in stowre."
"Goe fetch him downe the Eldridge sworde,"
The kinge he cryde, "with speede:
Nowe, heaven assist thee, courteous knighte;
My daughter is thy meede." 130
The gyaunt he stepped into the lists,
And sayd, "Awaye, awaye!
I sweare, as I am the hend Soldan,
Thou lettest me here all daye."
Then forthe the stranger knight he came, 135
In his blacke armoure dight:
The ladye sighed a gentle sighe,
"That this were my true knighte!"
And nowe the gyaunt and knight be mett
Within the lists soe broad; 140
And now, with swordes soe sharpe of steele,
They gan to lay on load.
The Soldan strucke the knighte a stroke
That made him reele asyde:
Then woe-begone was that fayre ladye, 145
And thrice she deeply sighde.
The Soldan strucke a second stroke,
And made the bloude to flowe:
All pale and wan was that ladye fayre,
And thrice she wept for woe. 150
The Soldan strucke a third fell stroke,
Which brought the knighte on his knee:
Sad sorrow pierced that ladyes heart,
And she shriekt loud shriekings three.
The knighte he leapt upon his feete, 155
All recklesse of the pain:
Quoth hee, "But heaven be now my speede,
Or else I shall be slaine."
He grasped his sworde with mayne and mighte,
And spying a secrette part, 160
He drave it into the Soldans syde,
And pierced him to the heart.
Then all the people gave a shoute,
Whan they sawe the Soldan falle:
The ladye wept, and thanked Christ 165
That had reskewed her from thrall.
And nowe the kinge, with all his barons,
Rose uppe from offe his seate,
And downe he stepped into the listes
That curteous knighte to greete. 170
But he, for payne and lacke of bloude,
Was fallen into a swounde,
And there, all walteringe in his gore,
Lay lifelesse on the grounde.
"Come downe, come downe, my daughter deare, 175
Thou art a leeche of skille;
Farre lever had I lose halfe my landes
Than this good knighte sholde spille."
Downe then steppeth that fayre ladye,
To helpe him if she maye: 180
But when she did his beavere raise,
"It is my life, my lord!" she sayes,
And shriekte and swound awaye.
Sir Cauline juste lifte up his eyes,
When he heard his ladye crye: 185
"O ladye, I am thine owne true love;
For thee I wisht to dye."
Then giving her one partinge looke,
He closed his eyes in death,
Ere Christabelle, that ladye milde, 190
Begane to drawe her breathe.
But when she found her comelye knighte
Indeed was dead and gone,
She layde her pale, cold cheeke to his,
And thus she made her moane: 195
"O staye, my deare and onlye lord,
For mee, thy faithfulle feere;
'Tis meet that I shold followe thee,
Who hast bought my love so deare."
Then fayntinge in a deadlye swoune, 200
And with a deep-fette sighe
That burst her gentle heart in twayne,
Fayre Christabelle did dye.
69. "Syr Cauline here acts up to the genuine spirit of perfect chivalry.
In old romances no incident is of more frequent occurrence than this, of
knights already distinguished for feats of arms laying aside their
wonted cognizances, and, under the semblance of stranger knights,
manfully performing right worshipful and valiant deeds. How often is the
renowned Arthur, in such exhibitions, obliged to exclaim, "O Jhesu, what
knight is that arrayed all in grene (or as the case may be)? he justeth
myghtily!" The Emperor of Almaine, in like manner, after the timely
succor afforded him by Syr Gowghter, is anxious to learn the name of his
modest but unknown deliverer." [So in the romance of _Roswall and
Lillian_, &c.]--MOTHERWELL.
FAIR ANNIE.
_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, iii. 252.
The story of _Fair Annie_ is widely disseminated. The substance of it is
found in the beautiful romance of Marie de France, the _Lai le Frein_,
of which an ancient English translation is printed in Weber's _Metrical
Romances_, i. 357. The Swedish and Danish ballads go under the same name
of _Fair Anna_, and may be seen in Arwidsson's _Svenska Forns[oa]nger_,
i. 291; Geijer's _Svenska Folk-Visor_, i. 24; and Nyerup's _Danske
Viser_, iv. 59. Jamieson has rendered the Danish ballad very skilfully,
in the Scottish dialect, from Syv's edition of the _K[ae]mpe Viser_. In
Dutch, the characters are Maid Adelhaid and King Alewijn (Hoffmann's
_Holl[:a]ndische Volkslieder_, 164.) The story as we have found it in
German is considerably changed. See _Die wiedergefundene
K[:o]nigstochter_, in _Des Knaben Wunderhorn_, ii. 274, and _S[:u]deli_,
Uhland's _Volkslieder_, i. 273.
The Scottish versions of _Fair Annie_ are quite numerous. A fragment of
eight stanzas was published in Herd's collection, (_Wha will bake my
bridal bread_, ed. 1776, i. 167.) Sir Walter Scott gave a complete
copy, from recitation in the _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_. Two
other copies, also from oral tradition, were inserted by Jamieson in the
Appendix to his _Popular Ballads_, (_Lady Jane_, ii. 371, _Burd Helen_,
ii. 376,) and from these he constructed the edition of _Lady Jane_,
printed at p. 73 of the same volume. Motherwell (_Minstrelsy_) affords
still another variety, and Chambers has compiled a ballad from all these
sources and a manuscript furnished by Mr. Kinloch, (_Scottish Ballads_,
p. 186.)
In this collection we have adopted the versions of Scott and Motherwell,
giving Jamieson's translation of _Skj[oe]n Anna_ in our Appendix.
"It's narrow, narrow, make your bed,
And learn to lie your lane;
For I'm gaun o'er the sea, Fair Annie,
A braw bride to bring hame.
Wi' her I will get gowd and gear; 5
Wi' you I ne'er got nane.
"But wha will bake my bridal bread,
Or brew my bridal ale?
And wha will welcome my brisk bride,
That I bring o'er the dale?"-- 10
"It's I will bake your bridal bread,
And brew your bridal ale;
And I will welcome your brisk bride,
That you bring o'er the dale."--
"But she that welcomes my brisk bride 15
Maun gang like maiden fair;
She maun lace on her robe sae jimp,
And braid her yellow hair."--
"But how can I gang maiden-like,
When maiden I am nane? 20
Have I not born seven sons to thee,
And am with child again?"--
She's ta'en her young son in her arms,
Another in her hand;
And she's up to the highest tower, 25
To see him come to land.
"Come up, come up, my eldest son,
And look o'er yon sea-strand,
And see your father's new-come bride,
Before she come to land."-- 30
"Come down, come down, my mother dear,
Come frae the castle wa'!
I fear, if langer ye stand there,
Ye'll let yoursell down fa'."--
And she gaed down, and farther down, 35
Her love's ship for to see;
And the topmast and the mainmast
Shone like the silver free.
And she's gane down, and farther down,
The bride's ship to behold; 40
And the topmast and the mainmast
They shone just like the gold.
She's ta'en her seven sons in her hand;
I wot she didna fail!
She met Lord Thomas and his bride, 45
As they came o'er the dale.
"You're welcome to your house, Lord Thomas;
You're welcome to your land;
You're welcome, with your fair ladye,
That you lead by the hand. 50
"You're welcome to your ha's, ladye,
Your welcome to your bowers;
You're welcome to your hame, ladye,
For a' that's here is yours."--
"I thank thee, Annie; I thank thee, Annie; 55
Sae dearly as I thank thee;
You're the likest to my sister Annie,
That ever I did see.
"There came a knight out o'er the sea,
And steal'd my sister away; 60
The shame scoup in his company,
And land where'er he gae!"--
She hang ae napkin at the door,
Another in the ha';
And a' to wipe the trickling tears, 65
Sae fast as they did fa'.
And aye she served the lang tables
With white bread and with wine;
And aye she drank the wan water,
To had her colour fine. 70
And aye she served the lang tables,
With white bread and with brown;
And ay she turn'd her round about,
Sae fast the tears fell down.
And he's ta'en down the silk napkin, 75
Hung on a silver pin;
And aye he wipes the tear trickling
Adown her cheek and chin.
And aye he turn'd him round about,
And smiled amang his men, 80
Says--"Like ye best the old ladye,
Or her that's new come hame?"--
When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' men bound to bed,
Lord Thomas and his new-come bride, 85
To their chamber they were gaed.
Annie made her bed a little forbye,
To hear what they might say;
"And ever alas!" fair Annie cried,
"That I should see this day! 90
"Gin my seven sons were seven young rats,
Running on the castle wa',
And I were a grey cat mysell,
I soon would worry them a'.
"Gin my seven sons were seven young hares, 95
Running o'er yon lilly lee,
And I were a grew hound mysell,
Soon worried they a' should be."--
And wae and sad fair Annie sat,
And drearie was her sang; 100
And ever, as she sobb'd and grat,
"Wae to the man that did the wrang!"--
"My gown is on," said the new-come bride,
"My shoes are on my feet,
And I will to fair Annie's chamber, 105
And see what gars her greet.--
"What ails ye, what ails ye, Fair Annie,
That ye make sic a moan?
Has your wine barrels cast the girds,
Or is your white bread gone? 110
"O wha was't was your father, Annie,
Or wha was't was your mother?
And had you ony sister, Annie,
Or had you ony brother?"--
"The Earl of Wemyss was my father, 115
The Countess of Wemyss my mother;
And a' the folk about the house,
To me were sister and brother."--
"If the Earl of Wemyss was your father,
I wot sae was he mine; 120
And it shall not be for lack o' gowd,
That ye your love sall tyne.
"For I have seven ships o' mine ain,
A' loaded to the brim;
And I will gie them a' to thee, 125
Wi' four to thine eldest son.
But thanks to a' the powers in heaven
That I gae maiden hame!"
FAIR ANNIE.
Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 327. Obtained from recitation.
"Learn to mak your bed, Annie,
And learn to lie your lane;
For I maun owre the salt seas gang,
A brisk bride to bring hame.
"Bind up, bind up your yellow hair, 5
And tye it in your neck;
And see you look as maiden-like
As the day that we first met."
"O how can I look maiden-like,
When maiden I'll ne'er be; 10
When seven brave sons I've born to thee,
And the eighth is in my bodie?
"The eldest of your sons, my lord,
Wi' red gold shines his weed;
The second of your sons, my lord, 15
Rides on a milk-white steed.
"And the third of your sons, my lord,
He draws your beer and wine;
And the fourth of your sons, my lord,
Can serve you when you dine. 20
"And the fift of your sons, my lord,
He can both read and write;
And the sixth of your sons, my lord,
Can do it most perfyte.
"And the sevent of your sons, my lord, 25
Sits on the nurse's knee:
And how can I look maiden-like,
When a maid I'll never be?
"But wha will bake your wedding bread,
And brew your bridal ale? 30
Or wha will welcome your brisk bride
That you bring owre the dale?"
"I'll put cooks in my kitchen,
And stewards in my hall,
And I'll have bakers for my bread, 35
And brewers for my ale;
But you're to welcome my brisk bride
That I bring owre the dale."
He set his feet into his ship,
And his cock-boat on the main; 40
He swore it would be year and day
Or he returned again.
When year and day was past and gane,
Fair Annie she thocht lang;
And she is up to her bower head, 45
To behold both sea and land.
"Come up, come up, my eldest son,
And see now what you see;
O yonder comes your father dear,
And your stepmother to be." 50
"Cast off your gown of black, mother,
Put on your gown of brown,
And I'll put off my mourning weeds,
And we'll welcome him home."
She's taken wine into her hand, 55
And she has taken bread,
And she is down to the water side
To welcome them indeed.
"You're welcome, my lord, you're welcome, my lord,
You're welcome home to me; 60
So is every lord and gentleman
That is in your companie.
"You're welcome, my lady, you're welcome, my lady,
You're welcome home to me;
So is every lady and gentleman 65
That's in your companie."
"I thank you, my girl, I thank you, my girl,
I thank you heartily;
If I live seven years about this house,
Rewarded you shall be." 70
She serv'd them up, she serv'd them down,
With the wheat bread and the wine;
But aye she drank the cauld water,
To keep her colour fine.
She serv'd them up, she serv'd them down,
With the wheat bread and the beer; 75
But aye she drank the cauld water,
To keep her colour clear.
When bells were rung and mass was sung,
And all were boune for rest, 80
Fair Annie laid her sons in bed,
And a sorrowfu' woman she was.
"Will I go to the salt, salt seas,
And see the fishes swim?
Or will I go to the gay green wood, 85
And hear the small birds sing?"
Out and spoke an aged man,
That stood behind the door,--
"Ye will not go to the salt, salt seas,
To see the fishes swim; 90
Nor will ye go to the gay green wood,
To hear the small birds sing:
"But ye'll take a harp into your hand,
Go to their chamber door,
And aye ye'll harp and aye ye'll murn, 95
With the salt tears falling o'er."
She's ta'en a harp into her hand,
Went to their chamber door,
And aye she harped and aye she murn'd,
With the salt tears falling o'er. 100
Out and spak the brisk young bride,
In bride-bed where she lay,--
"I think I hear my sister Annie,
And I wish weel it may;
For a Scotish lord staw her awa, 105
And an ill death may he die."
"Wha was your father, my girl," she says,
"Or wha was your mother?
Or had you ever a sister dear,
Or had you ever a brother?" 110
"King Henry was my father dear,
Queen Esther was my mother,
Prince Henry was my brother dear,
And Fanny Flower my sister."
"If King Henry was your father dear, 115
And Queen Esther was your mother,
If Prince Henry was your brother dear,
Then surely I'm your sister.
"Come to your bed, my sister dear,
It ne'er was wrang'd for me, 120
Bot an ae kiss of his merry mouth,
As we cam owre the sea."
"Awa, awa, ye forenoon bride,
Awa, awa frae me;
I wudna hear my Annie greet, 125
For a' the gold I got wi' thee."
"There were five ships of gay red gold
Cam owre the seas with me;
It's twa o' them will tak me hame,
And three I'll leave wi' thee. 130
"Seven ships o' white monie
Came owre the seas wi' me;
Five o' them I'll leave wi' thee,
And twa will take me hame;
And my mother will make my portion up, 135
When I return again."
CHILD WATERS.
First published by Percy from his folio MS., _Reliques_, iii. 94.
Several traditionary versions have since been printed, of which we give
_Burd Ellen_ from Jamieson's, and in the Appendix, _Lady Margaret_ from
Kinloch's collection. Jamieson also furnishes a fragment, and Buchan,
(_Ballads of the North of Scotland_, ii. 30,) a complete copy of another
version of _Burd Ellen_, and Chambers (_Scottish Ballads_, 193,) makes
up an edition from all the copies, which we mention here because he has
taken some lines from a manuscript supplied by Mr. Kinloch.
Childe Waters in his stable stoode
And stroakt his milke-white steede;
To him a fayre yonge ladye came
As ever ware womans weede.
Sayes, "Christ you save, good Childe Waters," 5
Sayes, "Christ you save and see;
My girdle of gold that was too longe,
Is now too short for mee.
"And all is with one childe of yours
I feele sturre at my side; 10
My gowne of greene it is too straighte;
Before, it was too wide."
"If the child be mine, faire Ellen," he sayd,[L13]
"Be mine, as you tell mee,
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both, 15
Take them your owne to bee.
"If the childe be mine, faire Ellen," he sayd,
"Be mine, as you doe sweare,
Then take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
And make that child your heyre." 20
Shee sayes, "I had rather have one kisse,
Childe Waters, of thy mouth,
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
That lye by north and southe.
"And I had rather have one twinkling, 25
Childe Waters, of thine ee,
Than I wolde have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
To take them mine owne to bee."
"To morrowe, Ellen, I must forth ryde
Farr into the north countree; 30
The fayrest lady that I can finde,
Ellen, must goe with mee."
"Thoughe I am not that ladye fayre,[L33]
Yet let me go with thee:
And ever I pray you, Childe Waters, 35
Your foot-page let me bee."
"If you will my foot-page bee, Ellen,
As you doe tell to mee,
Then you must cut your gowne of greene
An inch above your knee: 40
"Soe must you doe your yellowe lockes,
An inch above your ee;
You must tell no man what is my name;
My foot-page then you shall bee."
Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode, 45
Ran barefoote by his syde,
Yet was he never soe courteous a knighte,
To say, "Ellen, will you ryde?"
Shee, all the long daye Childe Waters rode,
Ran barefoote thorow the broome, 50
Yett was hee never soe courteous a knighte,
To say, "put on your shoone."
"Ride softlye," shee sayd, "O Childe Waters:
Why doe you ryde so fast?
The childe, which is no mans but thine, 55
My bodye itt will brast."
Hee sayth, "seest thou yond water, Ellen,
That flows from banke to brimme?"
"I trust to God, O Childe Waters,
You never will see me swimme." 60
But when shee came to the water side,
She sayled to the chinne:
"Now the Lord of heaven be my speede,
For I must learne to swimme."
The salt waters bare up her clothes, 65
Our Ladye bare up her chinne;
Childe Waters was a woe man, good Lord,
To see faire Ellen swimme!
And when shee over the water was,
Shee then came to his knee: 70
Hee sayd, "Come hither, thou fayre Ellen,
Loe yonder what I see.
"Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen?
Of redd gold shines the yate:
Of twenty foure faire ladyes there, 75
The fairest is my mate.
"Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen?
Of redd golde shines the towre:
There are twenty four fayre ladyes there,
The fayrest is my paramoure." 80
"I see the hall now, Childe Waters,
Of redd golde shines the yate:
God give you good now of yourselfe,
And of your worldlye mate.
"I see the hall now, Childe Waters, 85
Of redd golde shines the towre:
God give you good now of yourselfe,
And of your paramoure."
There twenty four fayre ladyes were
A playing at the ball, 90
And Ellen, the fayrest ladye there,
Must bring his steed to the stall.
There twenty four fayre ladyes were
A playinge at the chesse,
And Ellen, the fayrest ladye there, 95
Must bring his horse to gresse.
And then bespake Childe Waters sister,
These were the wordes sayd shee:
"You have the prettyest page, brother,
That ever I did see; 100
"But that his bellye it is soe bigge,
His girdle stands soe hye;
And ever, I pray you, Childe Waters,
Let him in my chamber lye."
"It is not fit for a little foot-page, 105
That has run throughe mosse and myre,
To lye in the chamber of any ladye,
That weares soe riche attyre.
"It is more meete for a little foot-page,
That has run throughe mosse and myre, 110
To take his supper upon his knee,
And lye by the kitchen fyre."
Now when they had supped every one,
To bedd they tooke theyr waye:
He sayd, "Come hither, my little foot-page, 115
And hearken what I saye.
"Goe thee downe into yonder towne,
And lowe into the streete;
The fayrest ladye that thou canst finde,
Hyre in mine armes to sleepe; 120
And take her up in thine armes twaine,
For filing of her feete."
Ellen is gone into the towne,
And lowe into the streete;
The fayrest ladye that shee colde finde, 125
She hyred in his armes to sleepe;
And tooke her up in her armes twayne,
For filing of her feete.
"I praye you nowe, good Childe Waters,
Let mee lye at your feete;
For there is noe place about this house, 130
Where I may saye a sleepe."
He gave her leave, and faire Ellen[L133]
Down at his beds feet laye;
This done the nighte drove on apace, 135
And when it was neare the daye,
Hee sayd, "Rise up, my little foot-page,
Give my steede corne and haye;
And give him nowe the good black oats,
To carry mee better awaye." 140
Up then rose the faire Ellen,
And gave his steede corne and hay;
And soe shee did the good black oates,
To carry him the better awaye.
She leaned her back to the manger side, 145
And grievouslye did groane;
She leaned her back to the manger side,
And there shee made her moane.
And that beheard his mother deare,
Shee heard her woefull woe:[L150] 150
Shee sayd, "Rise up, thou Childe Waters,
And into thy stable goe.
"For in thy stable is a ghost,
That grievouslye doth grone;
Or else some woman laboures with childe, 155
Shee is so woe-begone."
Up then rose Childe Waters soone,
And did on his shirte of silke;
And then he put on his other clothes,
On his bodye as white as milke. 160
And when he came to the stable dore,
Full still there hee did stand,
That hee mighte heare his fayre Ellen,
Howe shee made her monand.
She sayd, "Lullabye, mine own dear childe, 165
Lullabye, deare childe, deare;
I wolde thy father were a kinge,
Thy mothere layd on a biere."
"Peace nowe," hee sayd, "good, faire Ellen,
Bee of good cheere, I praye; 170
And the bridale and the churchinge bothe
Shall bee upon one daye.
13, MS. be inne.
33, 34, supplied by Percy.
133, 134, supplied by Percy.
150, her woefull woe, Percy!
BURD ELLEN.
Printed from Mrs. Brown's recitation, in Jamieson's _Popular Ballads_,
i. 117. We have restored the text by omitting some interpolations of the
editor, and three concluding stanzas by the same, which, contrary to all
authority, gave a tragic turn to the story.
Lord John stood in his stable door,
Said he was boun to ride;
Burd Ellen stood in her bower door,
Said she'd rin by his side.
He's pitten on his cork-heel'd shoon, 5
And fast awa rade he;
She's clad hersel in page array,
And after him ran she:
Till they came till a wan water,
And folks do call it Clyde; 10
Then he's lookit o'er his left shoulder,
Says, "Lady, will ye ride?"
"O I learnt it wi' my bower woman,
And I learnt it for my weal,
Whanever I cam to wan water, 15
To swim like ony eel."
But the firsten stap the lady stappit,
The water came till her knee;
"Ochon, alas!" said the lady,
"This water's o'er deep for me." 20
The nexten stap the lady stappit,
The water came till her middle;
And sighin says that gay lady,
"I've wat my gouden girdle."
The thirden stap the lady stappit, 25
The water came till her pap;
And the bairn that was in her twa sides
For cauld began to quake.
"Lie still, lie still, my ain dear babe;
Ye work your mother wae: 30
Your father rides on high horse back,
Cares little for us twae."
O about the midst o' Clyde's water
There was a yeard-fast stane;
He lightly turn'd his horse about, 35
And took her on him behin.
"O tell me this now, good lord John,
And a word ye dinna lie,
How far it is to your lodgin,
Whare we this night maun be?" 40
"O see na ye yon castell, Ellen,
That shines sae fair to see?
There is a lady in it, Ellen,
Will sinder you and me.
"There is a lady in that castell 45
Will sinder you and I"--
"Betide me weal, betide me wae,
I sall gang there and try."
"My dogs shall eat the good white bread,
And ye shall eat the bran; 50
Then will ye sigh, and say, alas!
That ever I was a man!"
"O I shall eat the good white bread,
And your dogs shall eat the bran;
And I hope to live to bless the day, 55
That ever ye was a man."
"O my horse shall eat the good white meal,
And ye sall eat the corn;
Then will ye curse the heavy hour
That ever your love was born." 60
["O I shall eat the good white meal,
And your horse shall eat the corn;][L62]
I ay sall bless the happy hour
That ever my love was born."
O four and twenty gay ladies 65
Welcom'd lord John to the ha',
But a fairer lady than them a'
Led his horse to the stable sta.'
O four and twenty gay ladies
Welcom'd lord John to the green; 70
But a fairer lady than them a'
At the manger stood alane.
When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' men boun to meat,
Burd Ellen was at the bye-table 75
Amang the pages set.
"O eat and drink, my bonny boy,
The white bread and the beer."--
"The never a bit can I eat or drink,
My heart's sae fu' o' fear." 80
"O eat and drink, my bonny boy,
The white bread and the wine."--
"O how sall I eat or drink, master,
Wi' heart sae fu' o' pine?"
But out and spak lord John's mother, 85
And a wise woman was she:
"Whare met ye wi' that bonny boy,
That looks sae sad on thee?
Sometimes his cheek is rosy red,
And sometimes deadly wan; 90
He's liker a woman big wi' bairn,
Than a young lord's serving man."
"O it makes me laugh, my mother dear,
Sic words to hear frae thee;
He is a squire's ae dearest son, 95
That for love has followed me.
"Rise up, rise up, my bonny boy,
Gi'e my horse corn and hay."--
"O that I will, my master dear,
As quickly as I may." 100
She's ta'en the hay under her arm,
The corn intill her hand,
And she's gane to the great stable,
As fast as e'er she can.
"O room ye round, my bonny brown steeds, 105
O room ye near the wa';
For the pain that strikes me through my sides
Full soon will gar me fa'."
She lean'd her back against the wa';
Strong travel came her on; 110
And e'en amang the great horse feet
Burd Ellen brought forth her son.
Lord Johnis mither intill her bower
Was sitting all alane,
When, in the silence o' the nicht, 115
She heard Burd Ellen's mane.
"Won up, won up, my son," she says,
"Gae see how a' does fare;
For I think I hear a woman's groans,
And a bairnie greetin' sair." 120
O hastily he gat him up,
Staid neither for hose nor shoon,
And he's doen him to the stable door
Wi' the clear light o' the moon.
He strack the door hard wi' his foot, 125
Sae has he wi' his knee,
And iron locks and iron bars
Into the floor flung he:
"Be not afraid, Burd Ellen," he says,
"There's nane come in but me. 130
"Tak up, tak up my bonny young son;
Gar wash him wi' the milk;
Tak up, tak up my fair lady,
Gar row her in the silk.
"And cheer thee up, Burd Ellen," he says, 135
"Look nae mair sad nor wae;
For your marriage and your kirkin too
Sall baith be in ae day."
62,63, according to Jamieson, the same as vv. 54, 55, but here formed on
their model, from 57, 58.
ERLINTON.
First published in the _Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, ii.
351,--"from the collation of two copies obtained from recitation."
_Erlinton_ and _The Child of Elle_ are corrupt varieties of _The Douglas
Tragedy_. The passage referred to in vol. ii. p. 114, is remarked on in
a note at the end of the ballad.
Erlinton had a fair daughter;
I wat he weird her in a great sin,
For he has built a bigly bower,
An' a' to put that lady in.
An' he has warn'd her sisters six, 5
An' sae has he her brethren se'en,
Outher to watch her a' the night,
Or else to seek her morn an e'en.
She hadna been i' that bigly bower,
Na not a night, but barely ane, 10
Till there was Willie, her ain true love,
Chapp'd at the door, cryin', "Peace within!"
"O whae is this at my bower door,
That chaps sae late, or kens the gin?"
"O it is Willie, your ain true love, 15
I pray you rise an' let me in!"
"But in my bower there is a wake,
An' at the wake there is a wane;
But I'll come to the green-wood the morn,
Whar blooms the brier, by mornin' dawn." 20
Then she's gane to her bed again,
Where she has layen till the cock crew thrice,
Then she said to her sisters a',
"Maidens, 'tis time for us to rise."
She pat on her back her silken gown, 25
An' on her breast a siller pin,
An' she's ta'en a sister in ilka hand,
An' to the green-wood she is gane.
She hadna walk'd in the green-wood,
Na not a mile but barely ane, 30
Till there was Willie, her ain true love,
Wha frae her sisters has her ta'en.
He took her sisters by the hand,
He kiss'd them baith, an' sent them hame,
An' he's ta'en his true love him behind, 35
And through the green-wood they are gane.
They hadna ridden in the bonnie green-wood,
Na not a mile but barely ane,
When there came fifteen o' the boldest knights,
That ever bare flesh, blood, or bane. 40
The foremost was an aged knight,
He wore the grey hair on his chin:
Says, "Yield to me thy lady bright,
An' thou shalt walk the woods within."
"For me to yield my lady bright 45
To such an aged knight as thee,
People wad think I war gane mad,
Or a' the courage flown frae me."
But up then spake the second knight,
I wat he spake right boustouslie: 50
"Yield me thy life, or thy lady bright,
Or here the tane of us shall die."
"My lady is my warld's meed;[L53]
My life I winna yield to nane;
But if ye be men of your manhead, 55
Ye'll only fight me ane by ane."
He lighted aff his milk-white steed,
An' gae his lady him by the head,
Say'n, "See ye dinna change your cheer,
Untill ye see my body bleed." 60
He set his back unto an aik,
He set his feet against a stane,
An' he has fought these fifteen men,
An' kill'd them a' but barely ane;
For he has left that aged knight, 65
An' a' to carry the tidings hame.
When he gaed to his lady fair,
I wat he kiss'd her tenderlie:
"Thou art mine ain love, I have thee bought;
Now we shall walk the green-wood free." 70
53, Should we not read _warld's mate_?
NOTE to v. 59, 60.
"Say'n, 'See ye dinna change your cheer,
Untill ye see my body bleed.'"
As has been remarked (vol. ii. p. 114), _Erlinton_ retains an important,
and even fundamental trait of the older forms of the story, which is not
found in any other of the English versions of the _Douglas Tragedy_. It
was a northern superstition that to call a man by name while he was
engaged in fight was a fatal omen, and hence a phrase, "to
name-to-death." To avert this danger, Ribolt, in nearly all the
Scandinavian ballads, entreats Guldborg not to _pronounce his name_,
even if she sees him bleeding or struck down. In her agony at seeing the
last of her brothers about to be slain, Guldborg forgets her lover's
injunction, calls on him by name to stop, and thus brings about the
catastrophe. Ignorant reciters have either dropped the corresponding
passage in the English ballad, or (as in this case) have so corrupted
it, that its significance is only to be made out by comparison with the
ancient copies.
THE CHILD OF ELLE.
"From a fragment in the Editor's folio MS., which, though extremely
defective and mutilated, appeared to have so much merit, that it excited
a strong desire to attempt the completion of the story. The reader will
easily discover the supplemental stanzas by their inferiority, and at
the same time be inclined to pardon it, when he considers how difficult
it must be to imitate the affecting simplicity and artless beauties of
the original." PERCY, _Reliques_, i. 113. (See vol. ii. p. 114.)
It must be acknowledged that this truly modest apology was not
altogether uncalled for. So extensive are Percy's alterations and
additions, that the reader will have no slight difficulty in detecting
the few traces that are left of the genuine composition. Nevertheless,
Sir Walter Scott avers that the corrections are "in the true style of
Gothic embellishment!"
On yonder hill a castle standes,
With walles and towres bedight,
And yonder lives the Child of Elle,
A younge and comely knighte.
The Child of Elle to his garden wente, 5
And stood at his garden pale,
Whan, lo! he beheld fair Emmelines page
Come trippinge downe the dale.
The Child of Elle he hyed him thence,
Ywis he stoode not stille, 10
And soone he mette faire Emmelines page
Come climbing up the hille.
"Nowe Christe thee save, thou little foot-page,
Now Christe thee save and see!
Oh telle me how does thy ladye gaye, 15
And what may thy tydinges bee?"
"My lady shee is all woe-begone,
And the teares they falle from her eyne;
And aye she laments the deadlye feude
Betweene her house and thine." 20
"And here shee sends thee a silken scarfe,
Bedewde with many a teare,
And biddes thee sometimes thinke on her,
Who loved thee so deare.
"And here shee sends thee a ring of golde, 25
The last boone thou mayst have,
And biddes thee weare it for her sake,
Whan she is layde in grave.
"For, ah! her gentle heart is broke,
And in grave soone must shee bee, 30
Sith her father hath chose her a new, new love,
And forbidde her to think of thee.
"Her father hath brought her a carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countraye,
And within three dayes shee must him wedde, 35
Or he vowes he will her slaye."
"Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And greet thy ladye from mee,
And telle her that I, her owne true love,
Will dye, or sette her free. 40
"Nowe hye thee backe, thou little foot-page,
And let thy fair ladye know,
This night will I bee at her bowre-windowe,
Betide me weale or woe."
The boye he tripped, the boye he ranne, 45
He neither stint ne stayd,
Untill he came to fair Emmelines bowre,
Whan kneeling downe he sayd:
"O ladye, Ive been with thy own true love,
And he greets thee well by mee; 50
This night will he bee at thy bowre-windowe,
And dye or sette thee free."
Nowe daye was gone, and night was come,
And all were fast asleepe,
All save the ladye Emmeline, 55
Who sate in her bowre to weepe:
And soone shee heard her true loves voice
Lowe whispering at the walle:
"Awake, awake, my deare ladye,
Tis I, thy true love, call. 60
"Awake, awake, my ladye deare,
Come, mount this faire palfraye:
This ladder of ropes will lette thee downe,
Ile carrye thee hence awaye."
"Nowe nay, nowe nay, thou gentle knight, 65
Nowe nay, this may not bee;
For aye sould I tint my maiden fame,
If alone I should wend with thee."
"O ladye, thou with a knight so true
Mayst safelye wend alone; 70
To my ladye mother I will thee bringe,
Where marriage shall make us one."
"My father he is a baron bolde,
Of lynage proude and hye;
And what would he saye if his daughter 75
Awaye with a knight should fly?
"Ah! well I wot, he never would rest,
Nor his meate should doe him no goode,
Till he had slayne thee, Child of Elle,
And seene thy deare hearts bloode." 80
"O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette,
And a little space him fro,
I would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worst that he could doe.
"O ladye, wert thou in thy saddle sette, 85
And once without this walle,
I would not care for thy cruel father,
Nor the worst that might befalle."
Faire Emmeline sighed, faire Emmeline wept,
And aye her heart was woe: 90
At length he seizde her lilly-white hand,
And downe the ladder he drewe.
And thrice he claspde her to his breste,
And kist her tenderlie:
The teares that fell from her fair eyes, 95
Ranne like the fountayne free.
Hee mounted himselfe on his steede so talle,
And her on a faire palfraye,
And slung his bugle about his necke,
And roundlye they rode awaye. 100
All this beheard her owne damselle,
In her bed whereas shee ley;
Quoth shee, "My lord shall knowe of this,
Soe I shall have golde and fee.
"Awake, awake, thou baron bolde! 105
Awake, my noble dame!
Your daughter is fledde with the Childe of Elle,
To doe the deede of shame."
The baron he woke, the baron he rose,
And called his merrye men all: 110
"And come thou forth, Sir John the knighte;
The ladye is carried to thrall."
Fair Emmeline scant had ridden a mile,
A mile forth of the towne,
When she was aware of her fathers men 115
Come galloping over the downe.
And foremost came the carlish knight,
Sir John of the north countraye:
"Nowe stop, nowe stop, thou false traitoure,
Nor carry that ladye awaye. 120
"For she is come of hye lynage,
And was of a ladye borne,
And ill it beseems thee, a false churles sonne,
To carrye her hence to scorne."
"Nowe loud thou lyest, Sir John the knight, 125
Nowe thou doest lye of mee;
A knight mee gott, and a ladye me bore,
Soe never did none by thee.
"But light nowe downe, my ladye faire,
Light downe, and hold my steed, 130
While I and this discourteous knighte
Doe trye this arduous deede.
"But light now downe, my deare ladye,
Light downe, and hold my horse;
While I and this discourteous knight 135
Doe trye our valours force."
Fair Emmeline sighde, fair Emmeline wept,
And aye her heart was woe,
While twixt her love and the carlish knight
Past many a baleful blowe. 140
The Child of Elle hee fought soe well,
As his weapon he wavde amaine,
That soone he had slaine the carlish knight,
And layde him upon the plaine.
And nowe the baron, and all his men 145
Full fast approached nye:
Ah! what may ladye Emmeline doe?
Twere now no boote to flye.
Her lover he put his horne to his mouth,
And blew both loud and shrill, 150
And soone he saw his owne merry men
Come ryding over the hill.
"Nowe hold thy hand, thou bold baron,
I pray thee, hold thy hand,
Nor ruthless rend two gentle hearts, 155
Fast knit in true loves band.
"Thy daughter I have dearly lovde
Full long and many a day;
But with such love as holy kirke
Hath freelye sayd wee may. 160
"O give consent shee may be mine,
And blesse a faithfull paire;
My lands and livings are not small,
My house and lynage faire.
"My mother she was an earles daughter, 165
And a noble knyght my sire----"
The baron he frownde, and turnde away
With mickle dole and ire.
Fair Emmeline sighde, faire Emmeline wept,
And did all tremblinge stand; 170
At lengthe she sprange upon her knee,
And held his lifted hand.
"Pardon, my lorde and father deare,
This faire yong knyght and mee:
Trust me, but for the carlish knyght, 175
I never had fled from thee.
"Oft have you callde your Emmeline
Your darling and your joye;
O let not then your harsh resolves
Your Emmeline destroye." 180
The baron he stroakt his dark-brown cheeke,
And turnde his heade asyde,
To wipe awaye the starting teare,
He proudly strave to hyde.
In deepe revolving thought he stoode, 185
And musde a little space;
Then raisde faire Emmeline from the grounde,
With many a fond embrace.
"Here take her, Child of Elle," he sayd,
And gave her lillye hand; 190
"Here take my deare and only child,
And with her half my land.
"Thy father once mine honour wrongde,
In dayes of youthful pride;
Do thou the injurye repayre 195
In fondnesse for thy bride.
"And as thou love her and hold her deare,
Heaven prosper thee and thine;
And nowe my blessing wend wi' thee,
My lovelye Emmeline." 200
SIR ALDINGAR.
Of this very remarkable ballad two copies have been printed in English,
_Sir Aldingar_, from the Percy MS. (_Reliques_, ii. 53), "with
conjectural emendations and the insertion of some additional stanzas,"
and _Sir Hugh Le Blond_, by Scott, from recitation. The corresponding
Danish ballad, _Ravengaard og Memering_, first published by Grundtvig,
is extant in not less than five copies, the oldest derived from a MS. of
the middle of the 16th century, the others from recent recitations. With
these Grundtvig has given an Icelandic version, from a MS. of the 17th
century, another in the dialect of the Faroe Islands, and a third half
Danish, half Faroish, both as still sung by the people. The ballad was
also preserved, not long ago, in Norway.--_Danmarks Gamle Folkeviser_,
i. 177-213, ii. 640-645.
All these ballads contain a story one and the same in the essential
features--a story which occurs repeatedly in connection with historical
personages, in Germany, France, Italy, and Spain, as well as
England,--and which has also furnished the theme for various modern
romances, poems, and tragedies. The connection of the different forms
of the legend has been investigated by the Danish editor at considerable
length and with signal ability; and we shall endeavor to present the
principal results of his wide research in the few pages which our narrow
limits allow us to give to such questions.
The names of the characters in the Danish ballads are Henry (called Duke
of Brunswick and of Schleswig in the oldest), Gunild (of Spires, called
also Gunder), Ravengaard, and Memering. To these correspond, in the
English story, King Henry, Queen Eleanor, Sir Aldingar (the resemblance
of this name to Ravengaard will be noted), and a boy, to whom no name is
assigned. Eleanor, it hardly need be remarked, is a queen's name
somewhat freely used in ballads (see vol. vi. 209, and vol. vii. 291),
and it is possible that the consort of Henry II. is here intended,
though her reputation both in history and in song hardly favors that
supposition.
The occurrence of Spires in the old Danish ballad would naturally induce
us to look for the origin of the story in the annals of the German
emperors of the Franconian line, who held their court at Spires, and are
most of them buried in the cathedral at that place. A very promising
clue is immediately found in the history of King (afterwards Emperor)
Henry III., son of the Emperor Conrad II. Salicus. This Henry was
married, in the year 1036, to Gunhild, daughter of Canute the Great. An
English chronicler, William of Malmesbury, writing in the first half of
the 12th century, tells us that after this princess had lived many years
in honorable wedlock, she was accused of adultery. Being forced to clear
herself by wager of battle, she found in all her retinue no one who was
willing to risk a combat with her accuser, a man of gigantic stature,
save a little boy whom she had brought with her from England. The issue
of the duel established her innocence,--her diminutive champion
succeeding by some miracle in ham-stringing his huge adversary; but it
is alleged that the queen refused to return to her husband, and passed
the rest of a long life in a monastery.[3]
[3] "Although there are seven centuries between William and our times,"
says Grundtvig, "and the North Sea between Jutland and the land of his
birth, it almost seems as if he had taken his account from the very
ballad which is at this day sung on the little island of Fuur in the Lym
Fiord."
A Norman-French _Life of Edward the Confessor_, written about 1250,
repeats this story, and adds the champion's name.[4]
[4] We have substituted this paragraph instead of a later chronicle
cited by Grundtvig. The translation is that of the English editor:
_Lives of Edward the Confessor_ (p. 39, 193), recently published by
authority of the British government.
"A daughter had the king,
Who was not so beautiful as clever.
Gunnild her name; and he gave her
To him who with love had asked for her,--
The noble Emperor Henry.
She remained not long with him,
Because by felons, who had no reason
To blame her calumniously,
She was charged with shame:
To the Emperor was she accused.
According to the custom of the empire,
It behoved her to clear herself from shame
By battle; and she takes much trouble
To find one to be her champion:
But finds no one, for very huge was
The accuser,--as a giant.
But a dwarf, whom she had brought up,
Undertook the fight with him.
At the first blow he hamstrung him;
At the second he cut off his feet.
Mimecan was the dwarf's name,
Who was so good a champion,
As the history, which is written,
Says of him. The lady was freed from blame,
But the lady the emperor
No more will have as her lord."
Finally, John Brompton, writing two hundred years after William of
Malmesbury, repeats his account, and gives the names of _both_ the
combatants,--"a youth called Mimicon, and a man of gigantic size, by
name Roddyngar" (Raadengard = the Danish Ravengaard).
The story of William of Malmesbury and the rest, though it is
sufficiently in accordance with the Danish and English ballads, is in
direct opposition to the testimony of contemporary German chroniclers,
who represent Queen Gunhild as living on the best terms with her
husband, and instead of growing old in God's service in a nunnery, as
dying of the plague in Italy two years after her marriage, and hardly
twenty years of age. It is manifest, therefore, that the English
chroniclers derived their accounts from ballads current at their day,[5]
which, as they were not founded on any real passages in the life of
Gunhild, require us to look a little further for their origin.
[5] William of Malmesbury refers to ballads which were made on the
splendid nuptial procession, by which Gunhild was conducted to the ship
that was to bear her to her husband, as still sung about the streets in
his time.
The empress Gunhild was called by the German chroniclers of her day by
various names--as Cunihild, Chunihild, Chunelind, and _Cunigund_, which
last name she is said to have assumed at her coronation. This change of
Gunhild's name accounts for the unfounded scandals which were in
circulation about her in her native land, scarcely a hundred years after
her death. Cunigund, wife of Henry III., was in fact confounded with a
contemporary German queen and empress, _St. Cunigund_, widow of the
Emperor Henry II. This mistake, which has been made more than once, will
be acknowledged to be a very natural one (especially for foreigners),
when it is considered that both queens not only bore the same name, but
were married each to an emperor of the same name (Henry), both of whom
again were sons of Conrads.[6]
[6] An argument in confirmation of what is here said is afforded by a
German annalist of the 14th century, who states, under the date 1038,
that the empress Cunigund died the 3d of March, and was buried at
Spires. Now St. Cunigund actually did die the 3d of March, and that day
is dedicated to her in the Roman calendar, but the year was 1040, and
she was buried at Bamberg, while Gunhild died in 1038 (July 18), and was
buried in the monastery of Limburg, near Spires.
Referring now to the history of St. Cunigund, we read in the papal bull
of Innocent III., by which she was canonized in the year 1200, that "she
consecrated her virginity to the Lord, and preserved it intact,--so
that when at one time by the instigation of the enemy of mankind a
suspicion had been raised against her, she, to prove her innocence,
walked with bare feet over burning ploughshares, and came off
unscathed." Again, we read in a slightly more recent German chronicle,
as follows: "The Devil, who hates all the righteous, and is ever seeking
to bring them to shame, stirred up the Emperor against his wife,
persuading him, through a certain duke, that in contempt of her husband
she had committed adultery with another man. The empress offered to
undergo an ordeal, and a great many bishops came to see it carried out.
Whereupon seven glowing ploughshares were laid on the ground, over which
the empress was forced to walk in bare feet, to attest her innocence,
... which, when the king saw, he prostrated himself before her with all
his nobles." Adalbert's Life of St. Henry (which is, at the latest, of
the 12th century), agreeing in all essentials with these accounts, adds
an important particular, explaining how it was that the Devil brought
the queen's honor into question, namely, that he was seen by many to go
in and out of her private chamber, in the likeness of a handsome young
man.--St. Cunigund is said to have undergone the ordeal at Bamberg, in
the year 1017. The story, however, is without foundation, not being
mentioned by any contemporary writers, but first appearing in various
legends, towards the year 1200.
But St. Cunigund is by no means the first German empress of whom the
story under consideration is told. A writer contemporary with her, who
has nothing to say about the miracle just recounted, relates something
very similar of _another_ empress, one hundred and thirty years earlier,
namely, of Richardis, wife of Charles III. The tale runs that this
Charles, in the year 887, accused his queen of unlawful connection with
a Bishop. Her Majesty offered to subject herself to the Judgment of God,
either by duel or by the ordeal of burning ploughshares. It is not said
that either test was applied, but only that the queen retired into a
cloister which she had herself founded. This is the contemporary
account. A century and a half later we are told that an ordeal by
_water_ was actually undergone, which again is changed by later writers
into an ordeal by _fire_,--the empress passing through the flames in a
waxed garment, without receiving the least harm; in memory of which, a
day was kept, five centuries after, in honor of St. Richardis, in the
monastery to which she withdrew.
Several other similar cases might be mentioned, but it will suffice to
refer to only one more, more ancient than any of those already cited.
Paulus Diaconus (who wrote about the year 800) relates that a Lombard
queen, Gundiberg (of the 7th century), having been charged with
infidelity, one of her servants asked permission of the king to fight in
the lists for his mistress's honor, and conquered his antagonist in the
presence of all the people. The same story is told, more in detail, by
Aimoin, a somewhat more recent writer, of another Gundeberg, likewise of
the 7th century. A Lombard nobleman makes insolent proposals to his
queen, and meets with a most emphatic repulse. Upon this he goes to the
king with a story that the queen has been three days conspiring to
poison her husband, and put her accomplice in his place. The tale is
believed, and the queen shut up in prison. The Frankish king, a relation
of the injured woman, remonstrates on the injustice of condemnation
without trial, and the king consents to submit the question to a duel.
The champion of innocence is victorious, and the real criminal is
condignly punished. This form of the legend, the oldest of all that have
been cited, approaches very near to the Danish and English ballads.
Our conclusion would therefore be, with Grundtvig, that the ballads of
_Sir Aldingar_, _Ravengaard and Memering_, and the rest, are of common
derivation with the legends of St. Cunigund, Gundeberg, &c., and that
all these are offshoots of a story which, "beginning far back in the
infancy of the Gothic race and their poetry, is continually turning up,
now here and now there, without having a proper home in any definite
time or assignable place." Many circumstances corroborative of this view
might be added, but we must content ourselves with obviating a possible
objection. An invariable feature in the story is the _judicium Dei_ by
which the innocence of the accused wife is established, but there is
much difference in the various forms of the legend as to the _kind_ of
ordeal employed, and some minds may here find difficulty. A close
observation, however, will show such a connection between the different
accounts as to prove an original unity. Even the earlier legends of St.
Cunigund do not agree on this point; one makes her to have walked over
burning ploughshares, another to have carried red-hot iron in her hands.
The Icelandic copy of the ballad has both of these: the queen "carries
iron and walks on steel"; and there is also a "judgment by iron bands."
All these three tests are found in the Faroe ballad, which brings in
Memering besides, and thus furnishes a transition to the Danish, which
says nothing about the trial by fire, and has only the duel. Finally the
English ballad completes the circle with the pile at which the queen was
to be burned, in case she should not be able to prove her innocence by
the duel.
At a time uncertain, but earlier than the 14th century, this legend was
transplanted into the literature of Southern Europe. It is found in
various Spanish chronicles, the earliest the _Historia de Catalu[~n]a_
of Bernardo Desclot, written about 1300; also in a Proven[c,]al and a
French chronicle of the 17th century. In most of these the part of the
queen's champion is assigned to the well-known Raimund Berengar, Count
of Barcelona, who, in the year 1113, took Majorca from the Moors. The
popularity of the story is further proved by the Spanish romance, _El
Conde de Barcelona y la Emperatriz de Alemania_; the French romance
_L'Histoire de Palanus, Comte de Lyon_; and a novel of Bandello, the
44th of the Second Part. This last was re-written and published in 1713,
with slight changes, as an original tale, by M^{me} de Fontaines
(_Histoire de la Comtesse de Savoie_), whence Voltaire borrowed
materials for two of his tragedies, _Tancr[e']de_ and _Art['e]mire_.
By the circuitous route of Spain the story returns to England in a
romance of the 15th century, _The Erle of Tolous_ (Ritson, _Metr. Rom._
iii. p. 93). Nearly related with this romance is the German story-book
(derived from the French) on which Hans Sachs founded his tragedy, _Der
Ritter Golmi mit der Herzogin auss Britanien_. Another German popular
story-book, _Hirlanda_, exhibits a close resemblance to our ballad of
_Sir Aldingar_.[7]
[7] In [S] v. of his Introduction to _Ravengaard og Memering_, Grundtvig
seeks to show that this ballad, though independent in its origin, was at
one time, like many others, woven into the great South-Gothic epic of
Diderik of Bern, and then, having divided the legend into two
portions,--the Accusation and its Cause, the Vindication and its
Mode,--he, in [S] vi. vii. traces out with wonderful learning and
penetration the extensive ramifications of the first part, taken by
itself, through the romance of the Middle Ages. The whole essay is
beyond praise.
"This old fabulous legend is given from the editor's folio MS., with
conjectural emendations, and the insertion of some additional stanzas to
supply and complete the story. It has been suggested to the editor that
the author of the poem seems to have had in his eye the story of
Gunhilda, who is sometimes called Eleanor (?), and was married to the
emperor (here called king) Henry."--PERCY.
Our king he kept a false stewarde,
Sir Aldingar they him call;
A falser steward than he was one,
Servde not in bower nor hall.
He wolde have layne by our comelye queene, 5
Her deere worshippe to betraye;
Our queene she was a good woman,
And evermore said him naye.
Sir Aldingar was wrothe in his mind,
With her hee was never content, 10
Till traiterous meanes he colde devyse,
In a fyer to have her brent.
There came a lazar to the kings gate,
A lazar both blinde and lame;
He tooke the lazar upon his backe, 15
Him on the queenes bed has layne.
"Lye still, lazar, wheras thou lyest,
Looke thou goe not hence away;
Ile make thee a whole man and a sound
In two howers of the day." 20
Then went him forth Sir Aldingar,
And hyed him to our king:
"If I might have grace, as I have space,
Sad tydings I could bring."
"Say on, say on, Sir Aldingar, 25
Saye on the soothe to mee."
"Our queene hath chosen a new, new love,
And shee will have none of thee.
"If shee had chosen a right good knight,
The lesse had beene her shame; 30
But she hath chose her a lazar man,
A lazar both blinde and lame."
"If this be true, thou Aldingar,
The tyding thou tellest to me,
Then will I make thee a rich, rich knight, 35
Rich both of golde and fee.
"But if it be false, Sir Aldingar,
As God nowe grant it bee!
Thy body, I sweare by the holye rood,
Shall hang on the gallows tree." 40
He brought our king to the queenes chamber,
And opend to him the dore:
"A lodlye love," King Harry says,
"For our queene," dame Elinore!
"If thou were a man, as thou art none, 45
Here on my sword thoust dye;
But a payre of new gallowes shall be built,
And there shalt thou hang on hye."
Forth then hyed our king, iwysse,
And an angry man was hee, 50
And soone he found queene Elinore,
That bride so bright of blee.
"Now God you save, our queene, madame,
And Christ you save and see!
Here you have chosen a newe, newe love, 55
And you will have none of mee.
"If you had chosen a right good knight,
The lesse had been your shame;
But you have chose you a lazar man,
A lazar both blinde and lame. 60
"Therfore a fyer there shall be built,
And brent all shalt thou bee."--
"Now out, alacke!" said our comly queene,
"Sir Aldingar's false to mee.
"Now out, alacke!" sayd our comlye queene, 65
"My heart with griefe will brast:
I had thought swevens had never been true,
I have proved them true at last.
"I dreamt in my sweven on Thursday eve,
In my bed wheras I laye, 70
I dreamt a grype and a grimlie beast
Had carryed my crowne awaye;
"My gorgett and my kirtle of golde,
And all my faire head-geere;
And he wold worrye me with his tush, 75
And to his nest y-beare:
"Saving there came a little gray hawke,
A merlin him they call,
Which untill the grounde did strike the grype,
That dead he downe did fall. 80
"Giffe I were a man, as now I am none,
A battell wold I prove,
To fight with that traitor Aldingar:
Att him I cast my glove.
"But seeing Ime able noe battell to make, 85
My liege, grant me a knight
To fight with that traitor, Sir Aldingar,
To maintaine me in my right."
"Now forty dayes I will give thee
To seeke thee a knight therin: 90
If thou find not a knight in forty dayes,
Thy bodye it must brenn."
Then shee sent east, and shee sent west,
By north and south bedeene;
But never a champion colde she find, 95
Wolde fight with that knight soe keene.
Now twenty dayes were spent and gone,
Noe helpe there might be had;
Many a teare shed our comelye queene,
And aye her hart was sad. 100
Then came one of the queenes damselles,
And knelt upon her knee:
Cheare up, cheare up, my gracious dame,
I trust yet helpe may be.
"And here I will make mine avowe, 105
And with the same me binde,
That never will I return to thee,
Till I some helpe may finde."
Then forth she rode on a faire palfraye,
Oer hill and dale about; 110
But never a champion colde she finde,
Wolde fighte with that knight so stout.
And nowe the daye drewe on apace,
When our good queene must dye;
All woe-begone was that fair damselle, 115
When she found no helpe was nye.
All woe-begone was that faire damselle,
And the salt teares fell from her eye;
When lo! as she rode by a rivers side,
She met with a tinye boye. 120
A tinye boy she mette, God wot,
All clad in mantle of golde;
He seemed noe more in mans likenesse,
Then a childe of four yeere olde.
"Why grieve you, damselle faire?" he sayd, 125
"And what doth cause you moane?"
The damsell scant wolde deigne a looke,
But fast she pricked on.
"Yet turne againe, thou faire damselle,
And greete thy queene from mee; 130
When bale is at hyest, boote is nyest;
Nowe helpe enoughe may bee.
"Bid her remember what she dreamt,
In her bedd wheras shee laye;
How when the grype and the grimly beast 135
Wolde have carried her crowne awaye,
"Even then there came the little gray hawke,
And saved her from his clawes:
Then bidd the queene be merry at hart,
For heaven will fende her cause." 140
Back then rode that fair damselle,
And her hart it lept for glee:
And when she told her gracious dame,
A gladd woman then was shee.
But when the appointed day was come, 145
No helpe appeared nye;
Then woeful woeful was her hart,
And the teares stood in her eye.
And nowe a fyer was built of wood,
And a stake was made of tree; 150
And now queene Elinor forth was led,
A sorrowful sight to see.
Three times the herault he waved his hand,
And three times spake on hye;
"Giff any good knight will fende this dame, 155
Come forth, or shee must dye."
No knight stood forth, no knight there came,
No helpe appeared nye;
And now the fyer was lighted up,
Queene Elinor she must dye. 160
And now the fyer was lighted up,
As hot as hot might bee;
When riding upon a little white steed,
The tinye boye they see.
"Away with that stake, away with those brands, 165
And loose our comelye queene:
I am come to fight with Sir Aldingar,
And prove him a traitor keene."
Forth then stood Sir Aldingar;
But when he saw the chylde, 170
He laughed, and scoffed, and turned his backe,
And weened he had been beguylde.
"Now turne, now turne thee, Aldingar,
And eyther fighte or flee;
I trust that I shall avenge the wronge, 175
Thoughe I am so small to see."
The boye pulld forth a well good sworde,
So gilt it dazzled the ee;
The first stroke stricken at Aldingar
Smote off his leggs by the knee. 180
"Stand up, stand up, thou false traitor,
And fighte upon thy feete,
For, and thou thrive as thou beginst,
Of height wee shall be meete."
"A priest, a priest," sayes Aldingar, 185
"While I am a man alive;
"A priest, a priest," sayes Aldingar,
"Me for to houzle and shrive.
"I wolde have laine by our comlie queene,
But shee wolde never consent; 190
Then I thought to betraye her unto our kinge,
In a fyer to have her brent.
"There came a lazar to the kings gates,
A lazar both blind and lame;
I tooke the lazar upon my backe, 195
And on her bedd had him layne.
"Then ranne I to our comlye king,
These tidings sore to tell:
But ever alacke!" sayes Aldingar,
"Falsing never doth well. 200
"Forgive, forgive me, queene, madame,
The short time I must live:"
"Nowe Christ forgive thee, Aldingar,
As freely I forgive."
"Here take thy queene, our King Harrye, 205
And love her as thy life,
For never had a king in Christentye
A truer and fairer wife."
King Harrye ran to claspe his queene,
And loosed her full sone; 210
Then turnd to look for the tinye boye:--
The boye was vanisht and gone.
But first he had touchd the lazar man,
And stroakt him with his hand;
The lazar under the gallowes tree 215
All whole and sounde did stand.
The lazar under the gallowes tree
Was comelye, straight, and tall;
King Henrye made him his head stewarde,
To wayte withinn his hall. 220
SIR HUGH LE BLOND.
_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, iii. 51.
"The tradition, upon which the ballad is founded, is universally current
in the Mearns; and the Editor is informed, that, till very lately, the
sword, with which Sir Hugh le Blond was believed to have defended the
life and honour of the Queen, was carefully preserved by his
descendants, the Viscounts of Arbuthnot. That Sir Hugh of Arbuthnot
lived in the thirteenth century, is proved by his having, 1282, bestowed
the patronage of the church of Garvoch upon the Monks of Aberbrothwick,
for the safety of his soul.--_Register of Aberbrothwick, quoted by
Crawford in Peerage._
"I was favoured with the following copy of _Sir Hugh le Blond_, by K.
Williamson Burnet, Esq. of Monboddo, who wrote it down from the
recitation of an old woman, long in the service of the Arbuthnot
family. Of course, the diction is very much humbled, and it has, in all
probability, undergone many corruptions; but its antiquity is
indubitable, and the story, though indifferently told, is in itself
interesting. It is believed that there have been many more verses."
SCOTT.
The birds sang sweet as ony bell,
The world had not their make,
The Queen she's gone to her chamber,
With Rodingham to talk.
"I love you well, my Queen, my dame, 5
'Bove land and rents so clear,
And for the love of you, my Queen,
Would thole pain most severe."--
"If well you love me, Rodingham,
I'm sure so do I thee: 10
I love you well as any man,
Save the King's fair bodye."--
"I love you well, my Queen, my dame;
'Tis truth that I do tell:
And for to lye a night with you, 15
The salt seas I would sail."--
"Away, away, O Rodingham!
You are both stark and stoor;
Would you defile the King's own bed,
And make his Queen a whore? 20
"To-morrow you'd be taken sure,
And like a traitor slain;
And I'd be burned at a stake,
Although I be the Queen."--
He then stepp'd out at her room door, 25
All in an angry mood:
Until he met a leper-man,
Just by the hard way-side.
He intoxicate the leper-man,
With liquors very sweet: 30
And gave him more and more to drink,
Until he fell asleep.
He took him in his armis twa,
And carried him along,
Till he came to the Queen's own bed, 35
And there he laid him down.
He then stepp'd out of the Queen's bower,
As swift as any roe,
'Till he came to the very place
Where the King himself did go. 40
The King said unto Rodingham,
"What news have you to me?"--
He said, "Your Queen's a false woman,
As I did plainly see."--
He hasten'd to the Queen's chamber, 45
So costly and so fine,
Until he came to the Queen's own bed,
Where the leper-man was lain.
He looked on the leper-man,
Who lay on his Queen's bed; 50
He lifted up the snaw-white sheets,
And thus he to him said:--
"Plooky, plooky, are your cheeks,
And plooky is your chin,
And plooky are your armis twa, 55
My bonny Queen's layne in.
"Since she has lain into your arms,
She shall not lye in mine;
Since she has kiss'd your ugsome mouth,
She never shall kiss mine."-- 60
In anger he went to the Queen,
Who fell upon her knee;
He said, "You false, unchaste woman,
What's this you've done to me?"
The Queen then turn'd herself about, 65
The tear blinded her ee--
"There's not a knight in a' your court
Dare give that name to me."
He said, "'Tis true that I do say;
For I a proof did make: 70
You shall be taken from my bower,
And burned at a stake.
"Perhaps I'll take my word again,
And may repent the same,
If that you'll get a Christian man 75
To fight that Rodingham."--
"Alas! alas!" then cried our Queen,
"Alas, and woe to me!
There's not a man in all Scotland
Will fight with him for me."-- 80
She breathed unto her messengers,
Sent them south, east, and west;
They could find none to fight with him,
Nor enter the contest.
She breathed on her messengers, 85
She sent them to the north;
And there they found Sir Hugh le Blond,
To fight him he came forth.
When unto him they did unfold
The circumstance all right, 90
He bade them go and tell the Queen,
That for her he would fight.
The day came on that was to do
That dreadful tragedy;
Sir Hugh le Blond was not come up 95
To fight for our ladye.
"Put on the fire," the monster said:
"It is twelve on the bell."
"'Tis scarcely ten, now," said the King;
"I heard the clock mysell."-- 100
Before the hour the Queen is brought,
The burning to proceed;
In a black velvet chair she's set,
A token for the dead.
She saw the flames ascending high, 105
The tears blinded her ee:
"Where is the worthy knight," she said,
"Who is to fight for me?"--
Then up and spak the King himsell,
"My dearest, have no doubt, 110
For yonder comes the man himsell,
As bold as e'er set out."--
They then advanced to fight the duel
With swords of temper'd steel,
Till down the blood of Rodingham 115
Came running to his heel.
Sir Hugh took out a lusty sword,
'Twas of the metal clear,
And he has pierced Rodingham
Till's heart-blood did appear. 120
"Confess your treachery, now," he said,
"This day before you die!"--
"I do confess my treachery,
I shall no longer lye:
"I like to wicked Haman am, 125
This day I shall be slain."--
The Queen was brought to her chamber,
A good woman again.
The Queen then said unto the King,
"Arbattle's near the sea; 130
Give it unto the northern knight,
That this day fought for me."
Then said the King, "Come here, Sir Knight,
And drink a glass of wine;
And, if Arbattle's not enough,[L135] 135
To it we'll Fordoun join."
135. Arbattle is the ancient name of the barony of Arbuthnot. Fordun has
long been the patrimony of the same family. S.
THE KNIGHT, AND SHEPHERD'S DAUGHTER.
"This ballad (given from an old black-letter copy, with some
corrections) was popular in the time of Queen Elizabeth, being usually
printed with her picture before it, as Hearne informs us in his preface
to Gul. Neubrig, _Hist. Oxon_, 1719, 8vo. vol. i. p. lxx. It is quoted
in Fletcher's comedy of the _Pilgrim_, act 4, sc. 2." PERCY'S
_Reliques_, iii. 114.
The Scottish ballad corresponding to Percy's has been printed by
Kinloch, p. 25. Besides this, however, there are three other Scottish
versions, superior to the English in every respect, and much longer.
They are _Earl Richard_, Motherwell, p. 377; (also in Buchan's _Ballads
of the North of Scotland_, ii. 81;) a ballad with the same title in
Kinloch's collection, p. 15; and _Earl Lithgow_, Buchan, ii. 91. In all
these, the futile attempts of the knight to escape marrying the lady,
and the devices by which she aggravates his reluctance to enter into the
match, are managed with no little humour. We give Motherwell's edition a
place next to Percy's, and refer the reader for Kinloch's to the
Appendix.
There was a shepherds daughter
Came tripping on the waye,
And there by chance a knighte shee mett,
Which caused her to staye.
"Good morrowe to you, beauteous maide," 5
These words pronounced hee;
"O I shall dye this daye," he sayd,
"If Ive not my wille of thee."
"The Lord forbid," the maide replyd,
"That you shold waxe so wode!" 10
But for all that shee could do or saye,[L11]
He wold not be withstood.
"Sith you have had your wille of mee,
And put me to open shame,
Now, if you are a courteous knighte, 15
Tell me what is your name?"
"Some do call mee Jacke, sweet heart,
And some do call mee Jille;
But when I come to the kings faire courte,
They calle me Wilfulle Wille." 20
He sett his foot into the stirrup,
And awaye then he did ride;
She tuckt her girdle about her middle,
And ranne close by his side.
But when she came to the brode water, 25
She sett her brest and swamme;
And when she was got out againe,
She tooke to her heels and ranne.
He never was the courteous knighte,
To saye, "Faire maide, will ye ride?" 30
And she was ever too loving a maide
To saye, "Sir knighte, abide."
When she came to the kings faire courte,
She knocked at the ring;
So readye was the king himself 35
To let this faire maide in.
"Now Christ you save, my gracious liege,
Now Christ you save and see;
You have a knighte within your courte
This daye hath robbed mee." 40
"What hath he robbed thee of, sweet heart?
Of purple or of pall?
Or hath he took thy gaye gold ring
From off thy finger small?"
"He hath not robbed mee, my liege, 45
Of purple nor of pall;
But he hath gotten my maidenhead,
Which grieves mee worst of all."
"Now if he be a batchelor,
His bodye Ile give to thee; 50
But if he be a married man,
High hanged he shall bee."
He called downe his merrye men all,
By one, by two, by three;
Sir William used to bee the first, 55
But nowe the last came hee.
He brought her downe full fortye pounde,
Tyed up withinne a glove:
"Faire maid, Ile give the same to thee;
Go, seeke thee another love." 60
"O Ile have none of your gold," she sayde,
"Nor Ile have none of your fee;
But your faire bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee."
Sir William ranne and fetchd her then 65
Five hundred pound in golde,
Saying, "Faire maide, take this to thee,
Thy fault will never be tolde."
"Tis not the gold that shall mee tempt,"
These words then answered shee, 70
"But your own bodye I must have,
The king hath granted mee."
"Would I had drunke the water cleare,
When I did drinke the wine,
Rather than any shepherds brat 75
Shold bee a ladye of mine!
"Would I had drank the puddle foule,
When I did drink the ale,
Rather than ever a shepherds brat
Shold tell me such a tale!" 80
"A shepherds brat even as I was,
You mote have let mee bee;
I never had come to the kings faire courte,
To crave any love of thee."
He sett her on a milk-white steede, 85
And himself upon a graye;
He hung a bugle about his necke,
And soe they rode awaye.
But when they came unto the place,
Where marriage-rites were done, 90
She proved herself a dukes daughter,
And he but a squires sonne.
"Now marrye me, or not, sir knight,
Your pleasure shall be free:
If you make me ladye of one good towne, 95
Ile make you lord of three."
"Ah! cursed bee the gold," he sayd;
"If thou hadst not been trewe,
I shold have forsaken my sweet love,
And have changed her for a newe." 100
And now their hearts being linked fast,
They joyned hand in hande:
Thus he had both purse, and person too,
And all at his commande.
11, 12, Percy's.
EARL RICHARD (B).
Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 377. From recitation.
Earl Richard once on a day,
And all his valiant men so wight,
He did him down to Barnisdale,
Where all the land is fair and light.
He was aware of a damosel, 5
I wot fast on she did her bound,
With towers of gold upon her head,
As fair a woman as could be found.
He said, "Busk on you, fair ladye,
The white flowers and the red; 10
For I would give my bonnie ship,
To get your maidenhead."
"I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive,
And drown you in the sea;
For all this would not mend the miss 15
That ye would do to me."
"The miss is not so great, ladye,
Soon mended it might be.
"I have four-and-twenty mills in Scotland,
Stands on the water Tay; 20
You'll have them, and as much flour
As they'll grind in a day."
"I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive,
And drown you in the sea;
For all that would not mend the miss 25
That ye would do for me."
"The miss is not so great, lady,
Soon mended it will be.
"I have four-and-twenty milk-white cows,
All calved in a day; 30
You'll have them, and as much hained grass
As they all on can gae."
"I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive,
And drown ye in the sea;
For all that would not mend the miss 35
That ye would do to me."
"The miss is not so great, ladye,
Soon mended it might be.
"I have four-and-twenty milk-white steeds,
All foaled in one year; 40
You'll have them, and as much red gold
As all their backs can bear."
She turned her right and round about,
And she swore by the mold,
"I would not be your love," said she, 45
"For that church full of gold."
He turned him right and round about,
And he swore by the mass,
Says,--"Lady, ye my love shall be,
And gold ye shall have less." 50
She turned her right and round about,
And she swore by the moon,
"I would not be your love," says she,
"For all the gold in Rome."
He turned him right and round about, 55
And he swore by the moon,
Says,--"Lady, ye my love shall be,
And gold ye shall have none."
He caught her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve; 60
And there has taken his will of her,
Wholly without her leave.
The lady frowned and sadly blushed,
And oh! but she thought shame:
Says,--"If you are a knight at all, 65
You surely will tell me your name."
"In some places they call me Jack,
In other some they call me John;
But when into the Queen's Court,
Oh then Lithcock it is my name." 70
"Lithcock! Lithcock!" the lady said,
And oft she spelt it over again;
"Lithcock! it's Latin," the lady said,
"Richard's the English of that name."
The Knight he rode, the lady ran,[L75] 75
A live long summer's day;
Till they came to the wan water
That all men do call Tay.
He set his horse head to the water,
Just thro' it for to ride; 80
And the lady was as ready as him
The waters for to wade.
For he had never been as kind-hearted
As to bid the lady ride;
And she had never been so low-hearted 85
As for to bid him bide.
But deep into the wan water
There stands a great big stone;
He turned his wight horse head about,
Said, "Lady fair, will ye loup on?" 90