And then I'll rise and fight again.
Fight on, my men," says Sir Andrew Barton,
These English dogs they bite so low;
Fight on for Scotland and St. Andrew,
Till you hear my whistle blow."
But when they could not hear his whistle blow,
Says Harry Hunt, "I'll lay my head
You may board yonder noble ship, my lord,
For I know Sir Andrew he is dead."
With that they boarded this noble ship,
So did they it with might and main;
They found eighteen score Scots alive,
Besides the rest were maimed and slain.
My Lord Howard took a sword in his hand,
And smote off Sir Andrew's head;
The Scots stood by did weep and mourn,
But never a word durst speak or say.
He caused his body to be taken down
And over the hatchboard cast into the sea,
And about his middle three hundred crowns:
"Wheresoever thou lands, it will bury thee."
With his head they sailed into England again,
With right good will, and force and main;
And the day before new year's even
Into Thames mouth they came again.
My Lord Howard wrote to King Henry's grace,
With all the news he could him bring;
"Such a new years gift I have brought to your grace
As never did subject to any king.
"For merchandise and manhood,
The like is not to be found;
The sight of these would do you good,
For you have not the like in your English ground."
But when he heard tell that they were come
Full royally he welcomed them home:
Sir Andrew's ship was the King's new year'sgift;
A braver ship you never saw none.
Now hath our king Saint Andrew's ship,
Beset with pearls and precious stones;
Now hath England two ships of war,
Two ships of war, before but one.
"Who holp to this?" says King Henry,
"That I may reward him for his pain."
"Harry Hunt, and Peter Simon,
William Horsley, and I the same.
"Harry Hunt shall have his whistle and chain,
And all his jewels, whatsoever they be,
And other rich gifts that I will not name,
For his good service he hath done me.
Horsley, right thou'st be a knight,
Lands and livings thou shalt have store;
Howard shall be Earl of Nottingham,
And so was never Howard before.
"Now, Peter Simon, thou art old,
I will maintain thee and thy son;
Thou shalt have five hundred pound all in gold,
For the good service that thou hast done,"
Then King Henry shifted his room;
In came the queen and ladies bright,
Other errands had they none
But to see Sir Andrew Barton, knight.
But when they see his deadly face,
And his eyes were hollow in his head,
"I would give a hundred pound,"says King Henry,
"The man were alive as he is dead.
Yet for the manful part that he hath played,
Both here and beyond the sea,
His men shall have half-a-crown a day
To bring them to my brother, King Jamie."
[Illustration: 0097]
[Illustration: 0098]
LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET
|Lord Thomas and fair Annet
Sate a' day on a hill;
Whan night was come, and sun was set,
They had not talked their fill.
Lord Thomas said a word in jest,
Fair Annet took it ill:
"A' I will never wed a wife
Against my ain friends will."
"Gif ye will never wed a wife,
A wife will ne'er wed ye:"
Sae he is hame to tell his mither.
And knelt upon his knee.
"O rede, O rede, mither," he says,
"A gude rede gie to me:
O sail I tak the nut-brown bride,
And let fair Annet be?"
"The nut-brown bride haes gowd and gear,
Fair Annet she has gat nane;
And the little beauty fair Annet haes,
O it wull soon be gane."
(_rede_, advice.)
And he has till his brother gane:
"Now, brother, rede ye me;
A', sail I marry the nut-brown bride,
And let fair Annet be?"
"The nut-brown bride has oxen, brother,
The nut-brown bride has kye:
I wad hae ye marry the nut-brown bride,
And cast fair Annet by."
"Her oxen may die i' the house, billie,
And her kye into the byre,
And I sail hae nothing to mysel',
But a fat fadge by the fire."
And he has till his sister gane:
"Now sister, redè ye me;
O sail I marry the nut-brown bride,
And set fair Annet free?"
"I'se rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas,
And let the brown bride alane;
Lest ye should sigh, and say, Alas,
What is this we brought hame!"
"No, I will tak my mither's counsel,
And marry me out o' hand;
And I will tak the nut-brown bride;
Fair Annet may leave the land."
(_byre_, cow-house. _fadge,_hag.)
Up then rose fair Annet's father,
Twa hours or it were day,
And he is gane into the bower
Wherein fair Annet lay.
"Rise up, rise up, fair Annet," he says,
"Put on your silken sheen;
Let us gae to St. Mary's kirk,
And see that rich weddeen."
"My maids, gae to my dressing-room,
And dress to me my hair;
Where-e er ye laid a plait before,
See ye lay ten times mair.
"My maids, gae to my dressing-room,
And dress to me my smock;
The one half is o' the holland fine,
The other o' needle-work."
The horse fair Annet rade upon,
He amblit like the wind;
Wi' siller he was shod before,
Wi' burning gowd behind.
Four and twanty siller bells
Were a' tied till his mane,
And yae tift o' the norland wind,
They tinkled ane by ane.
(_sheen_, shoes. _tift_, puff.)
Four and twanty gay gude knights
Rade by fair Annet's side,
And four and twenty fair ladies,
As gin she had bin a bride.
[Illustration: 0101]
And whan she cam to Mary's kirk,
She sat on Mary's stean:
The cleading that fair Annet had on
It skinkled in their een.
And whan she cam into the kirk,
She shimmer'd like the sun;
The belt that was about her waist,
Was a' wi' pearls bedone.
(_skinkled_, sparkled.)
She sat her by the nut-brown bride,
And her een they were sae clear,
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,
When fair Annet drew near.
He had a rose into his hand,
He gae it kisses three,
And reaching by the nut-brown bride,
Laid it on fair Annet's knee.
[Illustration: 0102]
Up than spak the nut-brown bride,
She spak wi' mickle spite;
"And where gat ye that rose-water,
That does mak ye sae white?"
"O I did get the rose-water
Where ye wull ne'er get nane,
For I did get that very rose-water
Into my mithers wame."
The bride she drew a long bodkin
Frae out her gay head-gear,
And strake fair Annet unto the heart,
That word spak never mair.
Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wax pale,
And marvelit what mote be:
(_Wame_, womb.)
But whan he saw her dear heart's blude,
A' wood-wroth wexed he.
He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp,
That was sae sharp and meet,
And drave it into the nut-brown bride,
That fell dead at his feet.
[Illustration: 0103]
"Now stay for me, dear Annet," he said,
"Now stay, my dear," he cried;
Then strake the dagger until his heart,
And fell dead by her side.
Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa',
Fair Annet within the choir;
And o' the tane there grew a birk,
The other a bonny briar.
And ay they grew, and ay they threw,
As they wad fain be near;
And by this ye may ken right well,
They were twa lovers dear.
(_birk_, birch. _threw_, throve.)
LEOFFRICUS
|Leoffricus the noble earl,
Of Chester, as I read,
Did for the city of Coventry
Many a noble deed;
Great privileges for the town
This nobleman did get,
Of all things did make it so,
That they toll free did sit,
Save only that for horses still
They did some custom pay,
Which was great charges to the town
Full long and many a day.
Wherefore his wife, Godiva fair,
Did of the earl request,
That therefore he would make it free
As well as all the rest.
And when the lady long had sued,
Her purpose to obtain,
At last her noble Lord she took
Within a pleasant vein,
And unto him with smiling cheer
She did forthwith proceed,
Intreating greatly that he would
Perform that godly deed.
"You move me much, fair dame," quoth he;
"Your suit I fain would shun;
But what would you perform and do,
To have the matter done?"
"Why, anything, my lord," quoth she,
"You will with reason crave,
I will perform it with goodwill
If I my wish may have."
"If thou wilt grant one thing," he said,
"Which I shall now require,
So soon as it is finished,
Thou shalt have thy desire."
"Command what you think good, my lord;
I will thereto agree
On that condition, that this town
In all things may be free."
"If thou wilt strip thy clothes off,
And here wilt lay them down,
And at noonday on horseback ride,
Stark naked through the town,
They shall be free for evermore.
If thou wilt not do so,
More liberty than now they have
I never will bestow."
The lady at this strange demand
Was much abashed in mind;
And yet for to fulfil this thing
She ne'er a whit repined.
Wherefore to all the officers
Of all the town she sent,
That they perceiving her good will
Which for their weal was bent,
That on the day that she should ride,
All persons through the town
Should keep their houses and shut their door,
And clap their windows down,
So that no creature, young nor old,
Should in the street be seen
Till she had ridden (all about)
Through all the city clean.
And when the day of riding came,
No person did her see,
Saving her Lord, after which time
The town was ever free.
William and Marjorie
Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie,
Sat sewing her silken seam,
And by her came a pale, pale ghost,
Wi' mony a sigh and mane.
"Are ye my father, the king?" she says,
"Or are ye my brither John?
Or are ye my true love, sweet William,
From England newly come?"
"I'm not your father, the king," he says,
"No, no, nor your brither John;
But I'm your true love, sweet William,
From England that's newly come."
"Have ye brought me any scarlets sae red,
Or any silks sae fine;
Or have ye brought me any precious things,
That merchants have for sale?"
"I have not brought you any scarlets sae red,
No, no, nor the silks sae fine;
But I have brought you my winding-sheet
O'er many's the rock and hill.
[Illustration: 0108]
"O Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie,
For faith and charitie,
Will ye give to me my faith and troth,
That I gave once to thee?"
"O your faith and troth I'll not give thee,
No, no, that will not I,
Until I get ae kiss of your ruby lips,
And in my arms you come lie."
"My lips they are sae bitter," he says,
"My breath it is sae strang,
If you get ae kiss of my ruby lips,
Your days will not be lang.
"The cocks they are crawing, Marjorie," he says,--
"The cocks they are crawing again;
It's time the dead should part the quick,--
Marjorie, I must be gane."
She followed him high, she followed him low,
Till she came to yon churchyard green;
O there the grave did open up,
And young William he lay down.
"What three things are these, sweet William," she says,
"That stands here at your head?"
"It's three maidens, Marjorie," he says,
"That I promised once to wed."
"What three things are these, sweet William,"she says,
"That stands here at your side?"
"It is three babes, Marjorie," he says,
"That these three maidens had."
"What three things are these, sweet William," she says,
"That stands here at your feet?"
"It is three hell-hounds, Marjorie," he says,
"That's waiting my soul to keep."
She took up her white, white hand,
And she struck him in the breast,
Saying,--"Have there again your faith and troth
And I wish your soul gude rest."
The Gipsy Laddie
The gipsies came to our good lord's gate,
And wow but they sang sweetly;
They sang sae sweet and sae very complete,
That down came the fair lady.
And she came tripping doun the stair,
And a' her maids before her;
As soon as they saw her weel-far'd face,
They coost the glamour o'er her.
"Gae tak frae me this gay mantle,
And bring to me a plaidie;
For if kith and kin and a' had sworn,
I'll follow the gipsy laddie.
[Illustration: 0111]
"Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed,
And my good lord beside me;
This night I'll lie in a tennant's barn,
Whatever shall betide me."
"Come to your bed," says Johnie Faa,
"O come to your bed, my deary;
For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword,
That your lord shall nae mair come near ye."
"I'll go to bed to my Johnie Faa,
I'll go to bed to my deary;
For I vow and I swear, by what passed yestreen,
That my lord shall nae mair come near me.
"I'll mak a hap to my Johnie Faa,
And I'll mak a hap to my deary;
And he's get a' the coat gaes round,
And my lord shall nae mair come near me."
And when our lord came hame at e'en,
And speir'd for his fair lady,
The tane she cried, and the other replied,
"She's away wi' the gipsy laddie."
"Gae saddle to me the black black steed,
Gae saddle and make him ready;
Before that I either eat or sleep,
I'll gae seek my fair lady."
And we were fifteen weel-made men,
Altho' we were nae bonny;
And we were a' put down for ane,
A fair young wanton lady.
[Illustration: 0113]
Waly, Waly, but Love be Bonny
O waly, waly up the bank,
And waly, waly down the brae,
And waly, waly yon burn side,
Where I and my love wont to gae.
I lean'd my back unto an aik,
I thought it was a trusty tree;
But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,
Sae my true love did lightly me!
(_aik_. oak.)
O waly, waly, but love be bonny,
A little time, while it is new -,
But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld,
And fades away like morning dew.
O wherefore should I busk my head?
Or wherefore should I kame my hair?
For my true love has me forsook,
And says he'll never love me mair.
Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed,
The sheets shall ne'er be filed by me:
Saint Anton's well shall be my drink,
Since my true love has forsaken me.
Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,
And shake the green leaves off the tree?
O gentle death, when wilt thou come?
For of my life I am weary.
'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,
Nor blawing snaw's inclemency;
'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,
But my love's heart grown cauld to me.
When we came in by Glasgow town,
We were a comely sight to see;
My love was clad in the black velvet,
And I mysel' in cramasie.
(_filed_, soiled.)
But had I wist, before I kiss'd,
That love had been sae ill to win,
I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold,
And pinn'd it with a silver pin.
Oh, oh, if my young babe were born,
And set upon the nurse's knee,
And I mysel' were dead and gane!
For a maid again I'll never be.
The Bonny Earl of Murray
Ye Highlands, and ye Lawlands,
O where have you been?
They have slain the Earl of Murray,
And they laid him on the green.
"Now wae be to thee, Huntly!
And wherefore did you sae?
I bade you bring him wi' you,
But forbade you him to slay."
He was a braw gallant,
And he rid at the ring;
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
O he might hae been a king.
He was a braw gallant,
And he play'd at the ba;
And the bonny Earl of Murray
Was the flower amang them a.
He was a braw gallant,
And he play'd at the glove;
And the bonny Earl of Murray,
O he was the Queen's love.
O lang will his lady
Look o'er the castle Down,
Ere she see the Earl of Murray
Come sounding thro' the town.
[Illustration: 0116]
GLASGERION
|Glasgerion was a king's own son,
And a harper he was good;
He harped in the king's chamber,
Where cup and candle stood,
And so did he in the queens chamber,
Till ladies waxed wood,
And then bespake the king's daughter,
And these words thus said she.
Said "strike on, strike on, Glasgerion,
Of thy striking do not blin;
There's never a stroke comes over thine harp,
But it glads my heart within."
"Fair might you fall, lady," quoth he,
"Who taught you now to speak?
I have loved you, lady, seven year;
My heart I durst ne'er break."
"But come to my bower, my Glasgerion,
When all men are at rest;
As I am a lady true of my promise,
Thou shalt be a welcome guest."
But home then came Glasgerion,
A glad man, Lord, was he:
And, "come thou hither, Jack, my boy,
Come hither unto me.
"For the king's daughter of Normandy
Her love is granted me;
And before the cock have crowen
At her chamber must I be."
(_blin_, stop.)
"But come you hither, master," quoth he,
"Lay your head down on this stone;
For I will waken you, master dear,
Afore it be time to gone."
But up then rose that lither lad,
And did on hose and shoon;
A collar he cast upon his neck,
He seemed a gentleman.
And when he came to that lady's chamber,
He tirled upon a pin:
The lady was true of her promise,
Rose up and let him in.
He did not take the lady gay,
To bolster nor to bed:
But down upon her chamber floor,
Full soon he hath her laid.
He did not kiss that lady gay
When he came nor when he youd:
And sore mistrusted that lady gay,
He was of some churlès blood.
But home then came that lither lad,
And did off his hose and shoon;
And cast that collar from about his neck:
He was but a churlès son.
"Awaken," quoth he, "my master dear,
I hold it time to be gone.
(_lither_, naughty. _youd_, went (?))
"For I have saddled your horse, master,
Well bridled I have your steed,
Have I not served a good breakfast,
When time comes I have need."
But up then rose good Glasgerion,
And did on hose and shoon,
And cast a collar about his neck:
He was a kingés son.
And when he came to that ladys chamber,
He tirled upon a pin -,
The lady was more than true of promise,
Rose up and let him in.
Says "whether have you left with me
Your bracelet or your glove?
Or are you returned back again
To know more of my love?"
Glasgerion swore a full great oath,
By oak, and ash, and thorn;
"Lady, I was never in your chamber,
Sith the time that I was born."
"O then it was your little foot-page,
Falsely hath beguiled me:"
And then she pulled forth a little pen-knife,
That hanged by her knee.
Says, "there shall never no churlès blood
Spring within my body."
But home then went Glasgerion,
A woe man, good [lord] was he.
Says, "come hither thou, Jack my boy,
Come thou hither to me.
"For if I had killed a man to-night,
Jack, I would tell it thee:
But if I have not killed a man to-night,
Jack, thou hast killed three."
And he pulled out his bright brown sword,
And dried it on his sleeve,
And he smote off that lither lads head,
And asked no man no leave.
He set the sword's point til his breast,
The pummel till a stone:
Through that falseness of that lither lad,
These three lives were all gone.
[Illustration: 0120]
[Illustration: 0121]
FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM.
|As it fell out on a long summer's day,
Two lovers they sat on a hill;
They sat together that long summer's day,
And could not talk their fill.
"I see no harm by you, Margaret,
Nor you see none by me;
Before to-morrow at eight o'clock
A rich wedding you shall see."
Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window,
Combing her yellow hair;
There she spied sweet William and his bride,
As they were a tiding near.
Then down she laid her ivory comb,
And braided her hair in twain:
She went alive out of her bower,
But ne'er came alive in't again.
When day was gone, and night was come,
And all men fast asleep,
Then came the spirit of fair Margaret,
And stood at William's feet.
"Are you awake, sweet William?" she said,
"Or, sweet William, are you asleep?
God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,
And me of my winding-sheet."
When day was come, and night was gone,
And all men wak'd from sleep,
Sweet William to his lady said,
"My dear, I have cause to weep.
"I dreamt a dream, my dear lady,
Such dreams are never good:
I dreamt my bower was full of red swine,
And my bride-bed full of blood."
"Such dreams, such dreams, my honoured lord,
They never do prove good -,
To dream thy bower was full of swine,
And thy bride-bed full of blood."
He called up his merry men all,
By one, by two, and by three;
Saying, "I'll away to fair Margaret's bower,
By the leave of my lady."
And when he came to fair Margaret's bower,
He knocked at the ring;
And who so ready as her seven brethren,
To let sweet William in.
Then he turned up the covering-sheet;
"Pray let me see the dead;
Methinks she does look pale and wan,
She has lost her cherry red.
"I'll do more for thee, Margaret,
Than any of thy kin:
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
Though a smile I cannot win."
With that bespake the seven brethren,
Making most piteous mone,
"You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,
And let our sister alone."
"If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,
I do but what is right;
I ne'er made a vow to yonder poor corpse,
By day, or yet by night.
"Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,
Deal on your cake and your wine:
For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,
Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine."
Fair Margaret died to-day, to-day,
Sweet William died the morrow:
Fair Margaret died for pure true love,
Sweet William he died for sorrow.
Margaret was buried in the lower chancel,
And William in the higher:
Out of her breast there sprang a rose,
And out of his a briar.
They grew till they grew unto the church top,
And then they could grow no higher;
And then they tied in a true lover's knot,
Which made all the people admire.
Then came the clerk of the parish,
As you this truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there.
[Illustration: 0125]
EDWARD, EDWARD
|Why does your brand sae drap wi' blood
Edward, Edward?
Why does your brand sae drap wi' blood
And why sae sad gang ye oh?
"Oh I hae killed my hawk sae good,
Mither, mither:
Oh I hae killed my hawk so good,
And I had no mair but he oh."
Your hawk's blood was never sae red,
Edward, Edward;
Your hawk's blood was never sae red,
My dear son I tell thee oh.
"Oh I hae killed my red-roan steed,
Mither, mither:
Oh I hae killed my red roan steed
That erst was sae fair and free oh."
Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair,
Edward, Edward;
Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair,
Some other dule ye dree oh.
"Oh I hae killed my father dear,
Mither, mither:
Oh I hae killed my father dear,
Alas! and wae is me oh!"
And whatten penance will ye dree for that,
Edward, Edward?
And whatten penance will ye dree for that?
My dear son, now tell me oh.
"I'll set my feet in yonder boat,
Mither, mither:
I'll set my feet in yonder boat,
And I'll fare over the sea oh."
And what will ye do wi' your towers and your ha',
Edward, Edward?
And what will ye do wi' your towers and your ha',
That were sae fair to see oh?
(_dule ye dree_, woe ye die weeping.)
"I'll let them stand till they down fa',
Mither, mither:
I'll let them stand till they down fa',
For here never mair maun I be oh."
And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
Edward, Edward?
And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,
When ye gang over the sea oh?
"The world's room, let them beg through life,
Mither, mither:
The world's room, let them beg through life,
For them never mair will I see oh."
And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
Edward, Edward?
And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,
My dear son, now tell me oh.
"The curse of hell frae me shall ye bear,
Mither, mither:
The curse of hell frae me shall ye bear,
Sic counsels ye gave to me oh."
YOUNG WATERS
|About Yule? when the wind blew cool;
And the round tables began,
A' there is come to our king's court
Mony a well-favoured man.
The queen looked o'er the castle wa,
Beheld baith dale and down,
And then she saw young Waters
Come riding to the town.
His footmen they did rin before,
His horsemen rade behind;
Ane mantle of the burning gowd
Did keep him frae the wind.
Gowden graith'd his horse before,
And siller shod behind -,
The horse young Waters rade upon
Was fleeter than the wind.
Out then spake a wily lord,
Unto the queen said he:
"O tell me wh' s the fairest face
Rides in the company?"
(_graith'd_, girthed.)
"I've seen lord, and I've seen laird,
And knights of high degree,
But a fairer face than young Waters
Mine eyen did never see."
Out then spake the jealous king
And an angry man was he:
"O if he had been twice as fair,
You might have excepted me."
"You're neither laird nor lord," she says,
"But the king that wears the crown;
There is not a knight in fair Scotland,
But to thee maun bow down."
For a' that she could do or say,
Appeased he wad nae be;
But for the words which she had said,
Young Waters he maun dee.
They hae ta'en young Waters,
And put fetters to his feet;
They hae ta'en young Waters,
And thrown him in dungeon deep.
"Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town,
In the wind but and the weet;
But I ne'er rade thro' Stirling town
Wi' fetters at my feet.
"Aft have I ridden thro' Stirling town,
In the wind but and the rain;
But I ne'er rade thro' Stirling town
Ne'er to return again."
They hae ta'en to the heading-hill
His young son in his cradle;
And they hae ta'en to the heading-hill
His horse but and his saddle.
They hae taen to the heading-hill
His lady fair to see;
And for the words the queen had spoke
Young Waters he did dee.
[Illustration: 0130]
CHILDREN IN THE WOOD
|Now ponder well, you parents dear,
These words which I shall write;
A doleful story you shall hear,
In time brought forth to light.
(_heading_, beheading.)
A gentleman of good account
In Norfolk dwelt of late,
Who did in honour far surmount
Most men of his estate.
Sore sick he was, and like to die,
No help his life could save;
His wife by him as sick did lie,
And both possessed one grave.
No love between these two was lost,
Each was to other kind;
In love they liv'd, in love they died,
And left two babes behind:
The one a fine and pretty boy,
Not passing three years old;
The other a girl more young than he,
And fram'd in beauty's mould.
The father left his little son,
As plainly doth appear,
When he to perfect age should come,