And to his little daughter Jane
Five hundred pounds in gold,
To be paid down on marriage-day,
Which might not be controll'd:
But if the children chance to die,
Ere they to age should come,
Their uncle should possess their wealth
For so the will did run.
"Now, brother," said the dying man,
"Look to my children dear;
Be good unto my boy and girl,
No friends else have they here:
To God and you I recommend
My children dear this day;
But little while be sure we have
Within this world to stay.
"You must be father and mother both,
And uncle all in one;
God knows what will become of them,
When I am dead and gone."
With that bespake their mother dear,
O brother kind," quoth she,
"You are the man must bring our babes
To wealth or misery:
"And if you keep them carefully,
Then God will you reward;
But if you otherwise should deal,
God will your deeds regard."
With lips as cold as any stone,
They kissed their children small:
"God bless you both, my children dear;"
With that the tears did fall.
These speeches then their brother spake
To this sick couple there:
"The keeping of your little ones,
Sweet sister, do not fear.
God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children dear,
When you are laid in grave."
The parents being dead and gone,
The children home he takes,
And brings them straight unto his house,
Where much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes
A twelvemonth and a day,
But, for their wealth, he did devise
To make them both away.
He bargain'd with two ruffians strong,
Which were of furious mood,
That they should take these children young,
And slay them in a wood.
He told his wife an artful tale.
He would the children send
To be brought up in fair London,
With one that was his friend.
Away then went those pretty babes,
Rejoicing at that tide,
Rejoicing with a merry mind,
They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly,
As they rode on the way,
To those that should their butchers be,
And work their lives decay:
So that the pretty speech they had,
Made Murder's heart relent:
And they that undertook the deed,
Full sore did now repent.
Yet one of them more hard of heart,
Did vow to do his charge,
Because the wretch, that hired him,
Had paid him very large.
The other won't agree thereto,
So here they fall to strife;
With one another they did fight,
About the children's life:
And he that was of mildest mood,
Did slay the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood;
The babes did quake for fear!
He took the children by the hand,
Tears standing in their eye,
And bad them straightway follow him,
And look they did not cry:
And two long miles he led them on,
While they for food complain:
"Stay here," quoth he, "I'll bring you bread,
When I come back again."
These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
Went wandering up and down;
But never more could see the man
Approaching from the town:
Their pretty lips with blackberries,
Were all besmear'd and dyed,
And when they saw the darksome night,
They sat them down and cried.
Thus wandered these poor innocents,
Till death did end their grief,
In one another's arms they died,
As wanting due relief:
No burial this pretty pair
Of any man receives,
Till Robin-red-breast piously
Did cover them with leaves.
And now the heavy wrath of God,
Upon their uncle fell;
Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt an hell;
His barns were fir'd, his goods consum'd,
His lands were barren made,
His cattle died within the field,
And nothing with him stayed.
And in the voyage of Portugal *
Two of his sons did die;
And to conclude, himself was brought
To want and misery:
He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven years came about,
And now at length this wicked act
Did by this means come out:
* Percy has 'to ' but Ritson points out that it should be 'of.'
The fellow, that did take in hand
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judg'd to die,
Such was God's blessed will:
Who did confess the very truth,
As here hath been display'd:
Their uncle having died in gaol,
Where he for debt was laid.
You that executors be made,
And overseers eke
Of children that be fatherless,
And infants mild and meek;
Take you example by this thing,
And yield to each his right,
Lest God with such like misery
Your wicked minds requite.
[Illustration: 0136]
HUGH OF LINCOLN
|Four and twenty bonny boys
Were playing at the ba';
And by it came him, sweet Sir Hugh,
And he play'd o'er them a'.
He kick'd the ba' with his right foot,
And catch'd it wi' his knee;
And through-and-through the Jew's window,
He gar'd the bonny ba' flee.
He's done him to the Jew's castle,
And walk'd it round about;
And there he saw the Jew's daughter
At the window looking out.
"Throw down the ba', ye Jew's daughter,
Throw down the ba' to me!"
"Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter,
"Till up to me come ye."
"How will I come up? How can I come up?
How can I come to thee?
For as ye did to my auld father,
The same ye'll do to me."
(_gar'd_, made.)
She's gane till her father's garden,
And pu'd an apple, red and green;
'Twas a' to wile him, sweet Sir Hugh,
And to entice him in.
She's led him in through ae dark door,
And sae has she through nine;
She's laid him on a dressing table,
And stickit him like a swine.
And first came out the thick, thick blood,
And syne came out the thin;
And syne came out the bonny heart's blood;
There was nae mair within.
She's row'd him in a cake o' lead,
Bade him lie still and sleep;
She's thrown him in Our Lady's draw well,
Was fifty fathom deep.
When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' the bairns came hame,
When every lady gat hame her son,
The Lady Maisry gat nane.
She's ta'en her mantle her about,
Her coffer by the hand;
And she's gane out to seek her son,
And wander'd o'er the land.
(_row'd_, rolled.)
She's done her to the Jew's castle,
Where a' were fast asleep;
"Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak."
She's done her to the Jew's garden,
Thought he had been gathering fruit;
"Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak.''
She near'd Our Lady's deep draw-well,
Was fifty fathom deep;
"Where'er ye be, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak.''
"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear;
Prepare my winding sheet;
And, at the back o' merry Lincoln,
The morn I will you meet."
Now Lady Maisry is gane hame;
Made him a winding sheet;
And, at the back o' merry Lincoln,
The dead corpse did her meet.
And a' the bells o' merry Lincoln,
Without men's hands were rung;
And a' the books o' merry Lincoln,
Were read without man's tongue;
And ne'er was such a burial
Sin Adam's days begun.
[Illustration: 0140]
SIR PATRICK SPENCE
|The king sits in Dumferling toun,
Drinking the blude-red wine:
"O where will I get guid sailor,
To sail this ship of mine?"
Up and spak an eldern knight,
Sat at the kings right knee:
"Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor,
That sails upon the sea."
The king has written a braid letter,
And signed it wi' his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Was walking on the sand.
The first line that Sir Patrick read,
A loud laugh laughed he:
The next line that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blinded his ee.
"O wha is this has done this deed,
This ill deed done to me;
To send me out this time o' the year,
To sail upon the sea?
"Mak haste, mak haste, my merry men all,
Our guid ship sails the morn."
"O say na sae, my master dear,
For I fear a deadly storm.
"Late late yestreen I saw the new moon
Wi' the auld moon in her arm;
And I fear, I fear, my dear master,
That we will come to harm."
O our Scots nobles were right loath
To wet their cork-heeled shoon;
But lang erè a the play were playd,
Their hats they swam aboon.
O lang, lang, may their ladies sit
Wi' their fans into their hand,
Or e'er they see Sir Patrick Spence
Come sailing to the land.
O lang, lang, may the ladies stand
Wi' their gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for their ain dear lords,
For they'll see them na mair.
(_shoon_, shoes.)
Half oer, half oer to Aberdour,
It's fifty fathom deep:
And there lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.
CHILD WATERS
|Child Waters in his stable stood
And stroked his milk-white steed;
To him came a fair yong lady
As ever did wear womans weed.
Says, "Christ you save, good Child Waters,"
Says, "Christ you save and see;
My girdle of gold which was too long,
Is now too short for me.
"And all is with one child of yours
I feel stir at my side;
(_weed_, dress.)
My gown of green it is too straight;
Before, it was too wide."
"If the child be mine, fair Ellen," he said,
"Be mine, as you tell me,
Take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
Take them your own to be.
"If the child be mine, fair Ellen," he said,
"Be mine, as you do swear,
Take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,
And make that child your heir."
She says, "I had rather have one kiss,
Child Waters, of thy mouth,
Than I would have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
That lies by north and south.
"And I had rather have a twinkling,
Child Waters, of your ee,
Than I would have Cheshire and Lancashire both,
To take them mine own to be."
"To morrow, Ellen, I must forth ride
Far into the north countree;
The fairest lady that I can find,
Ellen, must go with me."
"And ever I pray you, Child Waters,
Your foot-page let me be."
"If you will my foot-page be, Ellen,
As you do tell it me,
Then you must cut your gown of green
An inch above your knee:
"So must you do your yellow locks,
Another inch above your ee;
You must tell no man what is my name;
My foot-page then you shall be."
All this long day Child Waters rode,
She ran barefoot by his side,
Yet he was never so courteous a knight,
To say, "Ellen, will you ride?"
But all this day Child Waters rode,
She ran barefoot through the broom,
Yet he was never so courteous a knight,
As to say, "put on your shoon."
"Ride softly," she said, "Child Waters
Why do you ride so fast?
The child, which is no man's but yours,
My body it will burst."
He says, "sees thou yonder water, Ellen,
That flows from bank to brim?"
"I trust to God, Child Waters," she said,
"You will never see me swim."
But when she came to the water's side,
She sailed to the chin:
"Except the Lord of heaven be my speed,
Now must I learn to swim."
The salt waters bare up Ellen's clothes,
Our Lady bare up her chin;
Child Waters was a woe man, good Lord,
To see fair Ellen swim!
And when she over the water was,
She then came to his knee:
He said, "Come hither, fair Ellen,
Lo yonder what I see.
"Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen?
Of red gold shine the gates:
There's four and twenty fair ladies,
The fairest is my worldly make.
"Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen?
Of red gold shineth the tower:
There is four and twenty fair ladies,
The fairest is my paramour."
"I do see the hall now, Child Waters,
That of red gold shineth the gates:
God give good then of yourself,
And of your worldly make.
(_make_, mate.)
"I do see the hall now, Child Waters,
That of red gold shineth the tower:
God give good then of yourself,
And of your paramour."
There were four and twenty ladies
Were playing at the ball,
And Ellen, was the fairest lady,
Must bring his steed to the stall.
There were four and twenty fair ladies
Was a playing at the chess,
And Ellen, she was the fairest lady,
Must bring his horse to grass.
And then bespake Child Waters sister,
And these were the words said she:
"You have the prettiest foot-page, brother,
That ever I saw with mine eye.
"But that his belly it is so big,
His girdle goes wondrous high;
And ever, I pray you, Child Waters,
Let him go into the chamber with me."
"It is more meet for a little foot-page,
That has run through moss and mire,
To take his supper upon his knee,
And sit down by the kitchen fire,
Then to go into the chamber with any lady,
That wears so [rich] attire."
But when they had supped every one,
To bed they took the way:
He said, "Come hither, my little foot-page.
Hearken what I do say.
"And go thee down into yonder town,
And low into the street;
The fairest lady that thou canst find,
Hire her in mine arms to sleep;
And take her up in thine arms two,
For filing of her feet."
Ellen is gone into the town,
And low into the street;
The fairest lady that she could find,
She hired in his arms to sleep;
And took her up in her arms two,
For filing of her feet.
"I pray you now, good Child Waters,
That I may creep in at your bed's feet;
For there is no place about this house,
Where I may say a sleep."
This [night] and it drove on afterward,
Till it was near the day,
He said, "Rise up, my little foot-page,
And give my steed corn and hay;
And so do thou the good black oats,
That he may carry me the better away."
(_for filing_, to keep clean.)
And up then rose fair Ellen,
And gave his steed corn and hay;
And so she did and the good black oats,
That he might carry him the better away.
She leaned her back to the manger side,
And grievously did groan;
And that beheard his mother dear,
And heard her make her moan.
She said, "Rise up, thou Child Waters,
I think thou art a cursed man;
For yonder is a ghost in thy stable,
That grievously doth groan;
Or else some woman labours of child,
She is so woe-begone."
But up then rose Child Waters,
And did on his shirt of silk;
Then he put on his other clothes,
On his body as white as milk.
And when he came to the stable door,
Full still that he did stand,
That he might hear now fair Ellen,
How she made her monand.
She said, "Lullaby, my own dear child,
Lullaby, dear child, dear;
I would thy father were a king,
Thy mother laid on a bier."
(_monand_, moaning.)
"Peace now," he said, "good, fair Ellen,
And be of good cheer, I thee pray;
And the bridal and the churching both
They shall be upon one day,"
Earl Richard
Earl Richard once upon 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,
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 lady,
The white flowers and the red;
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
That ye would do to me."
"The miss is not so great, lady,
Soon mended it might be.
"I have four-and-twenty mills in Scotland,
Stands on the water of Tay;
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
That ye would do to 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;
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 you in the sea;
For all that would not mend the miss
That ye would do to me."
"The miss is not so great, lady,
Soon mended it might be.
(_hained,_ enclosed.)
"I have four-and-twenty milk-white steeds,
All foaled in one year;
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 mould,
"I would not be your love," said she,
"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."
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,
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;
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,
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 Queens Court,
Oh then Lithcock it is my name."
"Lithcock! Lithcock!" the lady said,
And oft she spelt it over again;
"Lithcock! its Latin," the lady said,
"Richard's the English of that name."
The knight he rode, the lady ran,
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;
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
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?"
She's taken the wand was in her hand,
And struck it on the foam,
And before he got the middle stream,
The lady was on dry land.
"By help of God and our Lady,
My help lies not in your hand.
"I learned it from my mother dear,--
Few are there that have learned better-
When I come to deep water,
I can swim thro' like any otter.
"I learned it from my mother dear,--
I find I learned it for my weel;
When I come to a deep water,
I can swim thro' like any eel."
"Turn back, turn back, you lady fair,
You know not what I see;
There is a lady in that castle,
That will burn you and me."
"Betide me weal, betide me wae,
That lady I will see."
(_wight,_ active.)
She took a ring from her finger,
And gave't the porter for his fee:
Says, "Take you that, my good porter,
And bid the Queen speak to me."
And when she came before the Queen,
There she fell low down on her knee:
Says, "There is a knight into your court,
This day has robbed me."
"O has he robbed you of your gold,
Or has he robbed you of your fee?"
"He has not robbed me of my gold,
He has not robbed me of my fee;
He has robbed me of my maidenhead,
The fairest flower of my body."
"There is.no knight in all my court,
That thus has robbed thee,
But you'll have the truth of his right hand,
Or else for your sake he'll die,
Tho' it were Earl Richard, my own brother;
And oh forbid that it be!"
Then, sighing, said the lady fair,
"I wot the same man is he."
The Queen called on her merry men,
Even fifty men and three;
Earl Richard used to be the first man,
But now the hindmost man was he.
He's taken out one hundred pounds,
And told it in his glove:
Says, "Take you that, my lady fair,
And seek another love."
"Oh no, oh no," the lady cried,
"That's what shall never be;
I'll have the truth of your right hand,
The Queen it gave to me."
"I wish I had drunk of your water, sister,
When I did drink your wine;
That for a carl's fair daughter,
It does gar me dree all this pine."
"May be I am a carl's daughter,
And may be never nane;
When ye met me in the green wood,
Why did you not let me alane?"
"Will you wear the short clothes,
Or will you wear the side;
Or will you walk to your wedding,
Or will you till it ride?"
"I will not wear the short clothes,
But I will wear the side;
I will not walk to my wedding,
But I to it will ride."
(_carl,_ churl, _gar_, make. _dree_, mourn, _pine_, woe. _side_, long.)
When he was set upon the horse,
The lady him bellin',
Then cauld and eerie were the words
The twa had them between.
She said, "Good e'en, ye nettles tall,
Just there where ye grow at the dike;
If the auld carline my mother was here,
Sae weel's she would your pates pike.
"How she would stap you in her poke,
I wot at that she wadna fail;
And boil ye in her auld brass pan,
And of ye make right good kail.
"And she would meal you with millering
That she gathers at the mill,
And make you thick as any dough -,
And when the pan was brimful,
"Would mess you up in scuttle dishes,
Syne bid us sup till we were fou -,
Lay down her head upon a poke.
Then sleep and snore like any sow."
"Away! away! you bad woman,
For all your vile words grieveth me;
When ye hide so little for yourself,
I;m sure ye'll hide far less for me.
(_pike_, pick. _stap_, stuff. _poke_, bag. _kail_, broth.
_scuttle-dish_, wooden platter.)
"I wish I had drunk your water, sister,
When that I did drink of your wine -,
Since for a carls fair daughter,
It aye gars me dree all this pine."
"May be I am a carl's daughter,
And may be never nane;
When ye met me in the good green wood,
Why did you not let me alane?
"Gude e'en, gude e'en, ye heather berries,
As ye're growing on yon hill;
If the auld carline and her bags were here,
I wot she would get meat her fill.
"Late, late at night I knit our pokes,
With even four-and-twenty knots;
And in the morn at breakfast time,
I'll carry the keys of an earl's locks.
"Late, late at night I knit our pokes,
With even four-and-twenty strings;
And if you look to my white fingers,
They have as many gay gold rings."
"Away! away! ye ill woman,
So sore your vile words grieveth me;
When you hide so little for yourself,
I'm sure ye'll hide far less for me.
"But if you are a carls daughter,
As I take you to be,
How did you get the gay clothing,
In green wood ye had on thee?"
"My mother she's a poor woman,
She nursed earls children three;
And I got them from a foster sister,
For to beguile such sparks as thee."
"But if you be a carl's daughter,
As I believe you be,
How did you learn the good Latin,
In green wood ye spoke to me?"
"My mother she's a mean woman,
She nursed earl's children three;
I learned it from their chaplain,
To beguile such sparks as ye."
When mass was sung, and bells were rung,
And all men bound for bed,
Then Earl Richard and this lady
In ae bed they were laid.
He turned his face unto the stock,
And she hers to the stane;
And cauld and dreary was the love
That was these twa between.
Great mirth was in the kitchen,
Likewise intill the ha';
But in his bed lay Earl Richard,
Wiping the tears awa'.
He wept till he fell fast asleep,
Then slept till light was come;
Then he did hear the gentlemen
That talked in the room:
Said,--"Saw ye ever a fitter'match,
Betwixt the ane and ither;
The King o' Scotland's fair dochter,
And the Queen of England's brither?"
"And is she the King o' Scotland's fair dochter?
This day, oh, weel is me!
For seven times has my steed been saddled,
To come to court with thee;
And with this witty lady fair,
How happy must I be!"
ADAM BEL, CLYM OF THE CLOUGH,AND WILLIAM OF CLOUDESLE
[Illustration: 0160]
|Merry it was in green forest,
Among the leaves green,
Where that men walk east and west,
With bows and arrows keen.
To raise the deer out of their den,--
Such sights hath oft been seen,--
As by three yeomen of the north country,
By them it is I mean.
The one of them hight Adam Bel,
The other Clym of the Clough,
The third was. William of Cloudesle,
An archer good enough.
They were outlawed for venison,
These yeomen every one;
They swore them brethren upon a day,
To English-wood for to gone.
Now lith and listen, gentlemen,
That of mirths loveth to hear:
Two of them were single men,
The third had a wedded fere.
William was the wedded man,
Much more then was his care:
He said to his brethren upon a day,
To Carlisle he would fare,
For to speak with fair Alice his wife,
And with his children three.
"By my troth," said Adam Bel,
"Not by the counsel of me.
"For if ye go to Carlisle, brother.
And from this wild wood wend,
If the justice may you take,
Your life were at an end."
(_hight_, was called. _lith_, listen. _fere_, mate.)
"If that I come not tomorrow, brother,
By prime to you again,
Trust not else but that I am take,
Or else that I am slain."
He took his leave of his brethren two,
And to Carlisle he is gone;
There he knocked at his own window,
Shortly and anon.
"Where be you, fair Alice, my wife,
And my children three?
Lightly let in thine own husband,
William of Cloudeslè."
"Alas!" then said fair Alice,
And sighed wondrous sore,
"This place hath been beset for you,
This half year and more."
"Now am I here," said Cloudeslè,
"I would that I in were:--
Now fetch us meat and drink enough,
And let us make good cheer."
She fetched him meat and drink plenty,
Like a true wedded wife,
And pleased him with that she had,
Whom she loved as her life.
There lay an old wife in that place,
A little beside the fire,
Which William had found, of charity,
More than seven year.
Up she rose and walked full still,
Evil mote she sped therefore,
For she had not set no foot on ground
In seven year before.
She went unto the justice hall,
As fast as she could hie;
"This night is come unto this town
William of Cloudeslè."
Thereof the justice was full fain,
And so was the sheriff also;
"Thou shalt not travel hither, dame, for nought,
Thy meed thou shalt have or thou go."
They gave to her a right good gown,
Of scarlet it was, as I heard sayen;
She took the gift and home she went,
And couched her down again.
They raised the town of merry Carlisle,
In all the haste that they can,
And came thronging to Williams house,
As fast as they might gone.
(_found--i.e._ found for, provided for. _still_, quietly)
There they beset that good yeoman,
Round about on every side,
William heard great noise of folks,