Bewest the meadow-mill, man,
There mony slain lay on the plain,
The clans pursuing still, man.
Sick unco' hacks, and deadly whacks,
I never saw the like, man; 110
Lost hands and heads cost them their deads,
That fell near Preston-dyke, man.
That afternoon, when a was done,
I gaed to see the fray, man;
But had I wist what after past, 115
I'd better staid away, man:
On Seaton sands, wi' nimble hands,
They pick'd my pockets bare, man;
But I wish ne'er to drie sick fear,
For a' the sum and mair, man. 120
33. The minister of Longformacus, a volunteer; who, happening to come,
the night before the battle, upon a Highlander easing nature at Preston,
threw him over, and carried his gun as a trophy to Cope's camp.
41. Another volunteer Presbyterian minister, who said he would convince
the rebels of their error by the dint of his pistols; having, for that
purpose, two in his pockets, two in his holsters, and one in his belt.
51. Mr. Myrie was a student of physic, from Jamaica; he entered as a
volunteer in Cope's army, and was miserably mangled by the broad-swords.
69. Lieutenant Smith, who left Major Bowle when lying on the field of
battle, and unable to move with his wound, was of Irish extraction. It
is reported that after the publication of the ballad, he sent Mr.
Skirving a challenge to meet him at Haddington, and answer for his
conduct in treating him with such opprobrium. "Gang awa back," said Mr.
Skirving to the messenger, "and tell Mr. Smith, I have nae leisure to
gae to Haddington, but if he likes to come here, I'll tak a look o' him,
and if I think I can fecht him, I'll fecht him, and if no--I'll just do
as he did at Preston--I'll rin awa'." STENHOUSE.
APPENDIX.
THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN. See p. 5.
In the versions of this ballad given in the body of this work, the
Earl of Douglas is represented as falling by the hand of Harry Percy.
In the ballad which follows, taken from Herd's _Scottish Songs_, i.
211, his death is ascribed to the revenge of an offended servant.
Though there is not the slightest reason to give credence to this
story, it has a certain foundation in tradition. Hume of Godscroft
writes "there are that say, that he [Douglas] was not slain by the
enemy, but by one of his own men, a groom of his chamber, whom he had
struck the day before with a truncheon, in ordering of the battle,
because he saw him make somewhat slowly to. And they name this man
John Bickerton of Luffness, who left a part of his armour behind
unfastened, and when he was in the greatest conflict, this servant of
his came behind his back, and slew him thereat." Wintown says that the
Earl was so intent on marshalling his forces, and so eager to be at
the foe, that he neglected to arm himself carefully.--SCOTT's
_Minstrelsy_, i. 350.
It fell, and about the Lammas time,
When husbandmen do win their hay,
Earl Douglas is to the English woods,
And a' with him to fetch a prey.
He has chosen the Lindsays light, 5
With them the gallant Gordons gay,
And the Earl of Fyfe, withouten strife,
And Sir Hugh Montgomery upon a grey.
They hae taken Northumberland,
And sae hae they the North-shire, 10
And the Otter-dale, they burnt it hale,
And set it a' into the fire.
Out then spack a bonny boy,[L13]
That serv'd ane o' Earl Douglas kin,
"Methinks I see an English host, 15
A-coming branken us upon."
"If this be true, my little boy,
An it be troth that thou tells me,
The brawest bower in Otterburn
This day shall be thy morning fee. 20
"But if it be false, my little boy,
But and a lie that thou tells me,
On the highest tree that's in Otterburn
With my awin hands I'll hing thee hie."
The boy's taen out his little penknife, 25
That hanget low down by his gare,
And he gae Earl Douglas a deadly wound,
Alas, a deep wound and a sare!
Earl Douglas said to Sir Hugh Montgomery,
"Tack thou the vanguard o' the three, 30
And bury me at yon bracken bush,
That stands upon yon lilly lee."
Then Percy and Montgomery met,
And weel I wat they war na fain;
They swapped swords, and they twa swat, 35
And ay the blood ran down between.
"O yield thee, yield thee, Percy," he said,
"Or else I vow I'll lay thee low;
"Whom to shall I yield," said Earl Percy,
"Now that I see it maun be so?" 40
"O yield thee to yon braken bush,
That grows upon yon lilly lee;
For there lies aneth yon braken bush[L43]
What aft has conquer'd mae than thee."
"I winna yield to a braken bush, 45
Nor yet will I unto a brier;
But I wald yield to Earl Douglas,
Or Sir Hugh Montgomery, if he was here."
As soon as he knew it was Montgomery,
He stuck his sword's point in the ground, 50
And Sir Hugh Montgomery was a courteous knight.
And he quickly caught him by the hand.
This deed was done at Otterburn,
About the breaking o' the day;
Earl Douglas was buried at the braken bush, 55
And Percy led captive away.
13. At this place a recited copy, quoted by Finlay (_Scottish Ballads_,
I. p. xviii.), has the following stanzas:--
Then out an spak a little wee boy,
And he was near o' Percy's kin,
"Methinks I see the English host,
A-coming branking us upon;
Wi' nine waggons scaling wide,
And seven banners bearing high;
It wad do any living gude
To see their bonny colours fly.
43, 44. Supplied by Motherwell from a recited copy.
THE BATTLE OF HARLAW.
From Ramsay's _Evergreen_, i. 78.
This battle took place at Harlaw, near Aberdeen, on the 24th of July,
1411. The conflict was occasioned by a dispute concerning the
succession to the earldom of Ross, between Donald, Lord of the Isles,
and the son of the Regent, Robert, Duke of Albany, whose claim was
supported by Alexander Stewart, Earl of Mar. The consequences of this
battle were of the highest importance, inasmuch as the wild Celts of
the Highlands and Islands received such a check that they never again
combined for the conquest of the civilized parts of Scotland.
The _Battle of Harlaw_ is one of the old ballads whose titles occur in
the _Complaynt of Scotland_ (1548). A bag-pipe tune of that name is
mentioned in Drummond of Hawthornden's mock-heroic poem, the _Polemo
Middinia_:
"Interea ante alios dux Piper Laius heros,
Præcedens, magnamque gerens cum burdine pypam
Incipit Harlai cunctis sonare Batellum."
Mr. Laing, in his _Early Metrical Tales_ (p. xlv.) speaks of an
edition printed in the year 1668 as being "in the curious library of
old Robert Myln." No copy is now known to exist of a date anterior to
that which was published in Ramsay's _Evergreen_. Of the age of this
copy the most opposite opinions have been maintained, some regarding
the ballad as contemporary with the event, and others insinuating that
Ramsay, or one of his friends, is chargeable with the authorship. This
last notion has no other ground than the freedom which Ramsay
notoriously took with his texts, and that freedom has very likely been
exercised in the present case. We shall, perhaps, be going quite as
far as is prudent, if we acknowledge that this may be one of "the
Scots poems wrote by the ingenious before 1600." Most readers will
agree with Lord Hailes that the language is as recent as the days of
Queen Mary, or of James the Sixth. Sibbald, in his _Chronicle of
Scottish Poetry_, iii. 288, has stated other objections to receiving
this ballad for ancient, which seem, however, to be satisfactorily
answered by Finlay, _Scottish Ballads_, i. 160.
The copy of this ballad in _The Thistle of Scotland_, p. 75, is only
Ramsay's, imperfectly remembered, or, what is quite as probable, here
and there altered according to the taste of the illiterate editor. At
page 92 of the same book, three stanzas are given of a burlesque song
on this battle. A traditional ballad, recently recovered, is inserted
at the end of this volume.
Frae Dunidier as I cam throuch,
Doun by the hill of Banochie,
Allangst the lands of Garioch,
Grit pitie was to heir and se
The noys and dulesum hermonie, 5
That evir that dreiry day did daw,
Cryand the corynoch on hie,
Alas! alas! for the Harlaw.
I marvlit quhat the matter meint,
All folks war in a fiery-fairy; 10
I wist nocht quha was fae or freind,
Zit quietly I did me carrie.
But sen the days of auld King Hairy,
Sic slauchter was not hard nor sene,
And thair I had nae tyme to tairy, 15
For bissiness in Aberdene.
Thus as I walkit on the way,
To Inverury as I went,
I met a man and bad him stay,
Requeisting him to mak me quaint 20
Of the beginning and the event,
That happenit thair at the Harlaw:
Then he entreited me tak tent,
And he the truth sould to me schaw.
Grit Donald of the Yles did claim 25
Unto the lands of Ross sum richt,
And to the governour he came,
Them for to haif, gif that he micht:
Quha saw his interest was but slicht,
And thairfore answerit with disdain; 30
He hastit hame baith day and nicht,
And sent nae bodward back again.
But Donald richt impatient
Of that answer Duke Robert gaif,
He vowed to God Omnipotent, 35
All the hale lands of Ross to haif,
Or ells be graithed in his graif:
He wald not quat his richt for nocht,
Nor be abusit lyk a slaif;
That bargin sould be deirly bocht. 40
Then haistylie he did command,
That all his weir-men should convene,
Ilk an well harnisit frae hand,
To meit and heir quhat he did mein:
He waxit wrath, and vowit tein, 45
Sweirand he wald surpryse the North,
Subdew the brugh of Aberdene,
Mearns, Angus, and all Fyfe to Forth.
Thus with the weir-men of the Yles,
Quha war ay at his bidding bown, 50
With money maid, with forss and wyls,
Richt far and neir, baith up and doun,
Throw mount and muir, frae town to town,
Allangst the lands of Ross he roars,
And all obey'd at his bandown, 55
Evin frae the North to Suthren shoars.
Then all the countrie men did zield;
For nae resistans durst they mak,
Nor offer battill in the feild,
Be forss of arms to beir him bak. 60
Syne they resolvit all and spak,
That best it was for thair behoif,
They sould him for thair chiftain tak,
Believing weil he did them luve.
Then he a proclamation maid, 65
All men to meet at Inverness,
Throw Murray land to mak a raid,
Frae Arthursyre unto Spey-ness.
And further mair, he sent express,
To schaw his collours and ensenzie, 70
To all and sindry, mair and less,
Throchout the bounds of Byne and Enzie.
And then throw fair Straithbogie land
His purpose was for to pursew,
And quhasoevir durst gainstand, 75
That race they should full sairly rew.
Then he bad all his men be trew,
And him defend by forss and slicht,
And promist them rewardis anew,
And mak them men of mekle micht. 80
Without resistans, as he said,
Throw all these parts he stoutly past,
Quhair sum war wae, and sum war glaid,
But Garioch was all agast.
Throw all these feilds he sped him fast, 85
For sic a sicht was never sene;
And then, forsuith, he langd at last
To se the bruch of Aberdene.
To hinder this prowd enterprise,
The stout and michty Erle of Marr 90
With all his men in arms did ryse,
Even frae Curgarf to Craigyvar:
And down the syde of Don richt far,
Angus and Mearns did all convene
To fecht, or Donald came sae nar 95
The ryall bruch of Aberdene.
And thus the martial Erle of Marr
Marcht with his men in richt array;
Befoir the enemie was aware,
His banner bauldly did display. 100
For weil enewch they kend the way,
And all their semblance weil they saw:
Without all dangir, or delay,
Come haistily to the Harlaw.
With him the braif Lord Ogilvy, 105
Of Angus sheriff principall,
The constabill of gude Dundè,
The vanguard led before them all.
Suppose in number they war small,
Thay first richt bauldlie did pursew, 110
And maid thair faes befor them fall,
Quha then that race did sairly rew.
And then the worthy Lord Salton,
The strong undoubted Laird of Drum,
The stalwart Laird of Lawristone, 115
With ilk thair forces, all and sum.
Panmuir with all his men did cum,
The provost of braif Aberdene,
With trumpets and with tuick of drum,
Came schortly in thair armour schene. 120
These with the Earle of Marr came on,
In the reir-ward richt orderlie,
Thair enemies to sett upon;
In awfull manner hardily,
Togither vowit to live and die, 125
Since they had marchit mony mylis,
For to suppress the tyrannie
Of douted Donald of the Yles.
But he in number ten to ane,
Richt subtilè alang did ryde, 130
With Malcomtosch and fell Maclean,
With all thair power at thair syde;
Presumeand on thair strenth and pryde,
Without all feir or ony aw,
Richt bauldie battill did abyde, 135
Hard by the town of fair Harlaw.
The armies met, the trumpet sounds,
The dandring drums alloud did touk,
Baith armies byding on the bounds,
Till ane of them the feild sould bruik. 140
Nae help was thairfor, nane wald jouk,
Ferss was the fecht on ilka syde,
And on the ground lay mony a bouk
Of them that thair did battill byd.
With doutsum victorie they dealt, 145
The bludy battil lastit lang;
Each man his nibours forss thair felt,
The weakest aft-tymes gat the wrang:
Thair was nae mowis thair them amang,
Naithing was hard but heavy knocks, 150
That eccho mad a dulefull sang,
Thairto resounding frae the rocks.
But Donalds men at last gaif back,
For they war all out of array:
The Earl of Marris men throw them brak, 155
Pursewing shairply in thair way,
Thair enemys to tak or slay,
Be dynt of forss to gar them yield;
Quha war richt blyth to win away,
And sae for feirdness tint the feild. 160
Then Donald fled, and that full fast,
To mountains hich for all his micht;
For he and his war all agast,
And ran till they war out of sicht;
And sae of Ross he lost his richt, 165
Thocht mony men with hem he brocht;
Towards the Yles fled day and nicht,
And all he wan was deirlie bocht.
This is (quod he) the richt report
Of all that I did heir and knaw; 170
Thocht my discourse be sumthing schort,
Tak this to be a richt suthe saw:
Contrairie God and the kings law,
Thair was spilt mekle Christian blude,
Into the battil of Harlaw: 175
This is the sum, sae I conclude.
But zit a bonny quhyle abyde,
And I sall mak thee cleirly ken
Quhat slauchter was on ilkay syde,
Of Lowland and of Highland men: 180
Quha for thair awin haif evir bene;
These lazie lowns micht weil be spaird,
Chessit lyke deirs into their dens,
And gat thair waiges for reward.
Malcomtosh, of the clan heid cheif, 185
Macklean, with his grit hauchty heid,
With all thair succour and relief,
War dulefully dung to the deid:
And now we are freid of thair feid,
They will not lang to cum again; 190
Thousands with them, without remeid,
On Donald's syd that day war slain.
And on the uther syde war lost,
Into the feild that dismal day,
Chief men of worth, of mekle cost, 195
To be lamentit sair for ay.
The Lord Saltoun of Rothemay,
A man of micht and mekle main;
Grit dolour was for his decay,
That sae unhappylie was slain. 200
Of the best men amang them was
The gracious gude Lord Ogilvy,
The sheriff principal of Angus,
Renownit for truth and equitie,
For faith and magnanimitie: 205
He had few fallows in the field,
Zet fell by fatall destinie,
For he nae ways wad grant to zield.
Sir James Scrimgeor of Duddap, knicht,
Grit constabill of fair Dundè, 210
Unto the dulefull deith was dicht:
The kingis cheif banner man was he,
A valziant man of chevalrie,
Quhais predecessors wan that place
At Spey, with gude King William frie, 215
Gainst Murray and Macduncans race.
Gude Sir Allexander Irving,
The much renownit laird of Drum,
Nane in his days was bettir sene,
Quhen they war semblit all and sum. 220
To praise him we sould not be dumm,
For valour, witt, and worthyness;
To end his days he ther did cum,
Quhois ransom is remeidyless.
And thair the knicht of Lawriston 225
Was slain into his armour schene,
And gude Sir Robert Davidson,
Quha provest was of Aberdene:
The knicht of Panmure, as was sene,
A mortall man in armour bricht, 230
Sir Thomas Murray, stout and kene,
Left to the warld thair last gude nicht.
Thair was not sen King Keneths days
Sic strange intestine crewel stryf
In Scotland sene, as ilk man says, 235
Quhair mony liklie lost thair lyfe;
Quhilk maid divorce twene man and wyfe,
And mony childrene fatherless,
Quhilk in this realme has bene full ryfe:
Lord help these lands, our wrangs redress. 240
In July, on Saint James his even,
That four and twenty dismall day,
Twelve hundred, ten score and eleven
Of zeirs sen Chryst, the suthe to say,
Men will remember, as they may, 245
Quhen thus the veritie they knaw,
And mony a ane may murn for ay,
The brim battil of the Harlaw.
KING HENRIE THE FIFTH'S CONQUEST.
_Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of England._ Percy
Society, vol. xvii. p. 52.
"From the singing of the late Francis King, of Skipton in Craven, an
eccentric character, who was well known in the western dales of
Yorkshire as 'the Skipton Minstrel.' King's version does not contain
the third verse, which is obtained, as is also the title, from a
modern broadside, from whence also one or two verbal corrections are
made, of too trifling a nature to particularize. The tune to which
King used to sing it, is the same as that of _The Bold Pedlar and
Robin Hood_."
Another ballad, much inferior in spirit to this, on the Battle of
Agincourt, is to be found in _The Crown Garland of Golden Roses_ (ed.
1659), Percy Soc. vol. xv. p. 65. Percy inserted in the _Reliques_,
ii. 26, a song on this battle. Another, quoted in Heywood's _Edward
Fourth_, and therefore popular before 1600, is printed in Mr.
Collier's preface to Shakespeare's _Henry Fifth_ (new edition).
The story of the tennis-balls is adopted from the chronicles by
Shakespeare. "It is reported by some historians," says Hume, "that the
Dauphin, in derision of Henry's claims and dissolute character, sent
him a box of tennis-balls, intimating that mere implements of play
were better adapted to him than the instruments of war. But this story
is by no means credible; the great offers made by the court of France
show that they had already entertained a just idea of Henry's
character, as well as of their own situation." _History of England_,
ch. xix.
As our king lay musing on his bed,
He bethought himself upon a time
Of a tribute that was due from France,
Had not been paid for so long a time.
_Down, a-down, a-down, a-down_,
_Down, a-down, a-down._
He callèd on his trusty page, 5
His trusty page then callèd he,
"O you must go to the king of France,
O you must go right speedilie.
"And tell him of my tribute due,
Ten ton of gold that's due to me, 10
That he must send me my tribute home,
Or in French land he soon will me see."
O then away went the trusty page,
Away, away, and away went he,
Until he came to the king of France; 15
Lo! he fell down on his bended knee.
"My master greets you, worthy Sire;
Ten ton of gold there is due, says he;
You must send him his tribute home,
Or in French land you will soon him see." 20
"Your master's young, and of tender years,
Not fit to come into my degree;
But I will send him three tennis balls,
That with them learn to play may he."
O then away came the trusty page, 25
Away, and away, and away came he,
Until he came to our gracious king;
Lo! he fell down on his bended knee.
"What news, what news, my trusty page,
What news, what news, hast thou brought to me?" 30
"I've brought such news from the king of France,
That you and he will ne'er agree.
"He says you're young, and of tender years,
Not fit to come into his degree;
But he will send you three tennis balls, 35
That with them you may learn to play."
O then bespoke our noble king,
A solemn vow then vowèd he;
"I'll promise him such tennis balls,
As in French lands he ne'er did see. 40
"Go, call up Cheshire and Lancashire,
And Derby hills, that are so free;
Not a married man, nor a widow's son,
For the widow's cry shall not go with me."
They called up Cheshire and Lancashire, 45
And Derby lads that were so free;
Not a married man, nor a widow's son,
Yet they were a jovial bold companie.
O then he sailed to fair French land,
With drums and trumpets so merrilie; 50
O then bespoke the king of France,
"Yonder comes proud king Henrie."
The first fire that the Frenchmen gave,
They killed our Englishmen so free;
We killed ten thousand of the French, 55
And the rest of them they were forced to flee.
And then we marched to Paris gates,
With drums and trumpets so merrilie;
O then bespoke the king of France,
"Lord have mercy on my poor men and me! 60
"Go! tell him I'll send home his tribute due,
Ten ton of gold that is due from me;
And the fairest flower that is in our French land
To the Rose of England it shall go free."
JANE SHORE.
The story and character of Jane Shore can best be read in a charmingly
written passage of Sir Thomas More's _History of Edward Fifth_, quoted
in Percy's _Reliques_, ii. 268. The ballad adheres to matter of fact
with a fidelity very uncommon. In Drayton's _England's Heroical
Epistles_ is one from Jane Shore to King Edward, and in the notes he
thus gives her portrait: "Her stature was meane, her haire of a dark
yellow, her face round and full, her eye gray, delicate harmony being
betwixt each part's proportion, and each proportion's colour, her body
fat, white, and smooth, her countenance cheerfull and like to her
condition." (Cited by Percy.)
This ballad is taken from the Collection of 1723, vol. i. p. 145. The
full title is: _The Woeful Lamentation of Jane Shore, a Goldsmith's
Wife in London, sometime King Edward the Fourth's Concubine_. The same
version, with trifling variations, is found in Percy's _Reliques_, ii.
274, and Ritson's _Ancient Songs_, ii. 128. In the _Garland of Good
Will_ there is another piece on the same subject, (Percy Society, vol.
xxx. p. 9, _The Lamentation of Shore's Wife_,) and in the Collection
of 1723, a burlesque song, called _King Edward and Jane Shore_ (vol.
i. p. 153).
If Rosamond, that was so fair,
Had cause her sorrow to declare,
Then let Jane Shore with sorrow sing,
That was beloved of a king.
Then, wanton wives, in time amend,
For love and beauty will have end.
In maiden years my beauty bright 5
Was loved dear by lord and knight;
But yet the love that they requir'd,
It was not as my friends desir'd.
My parents they, for thirst of gain,
A husband for me did obtain; 10
And I, their pleasure to fulfil,
Was forc'd to wed against my will.
To Matthew Shore I was a wife,
Till lust brought ruin to my life;
And then my life I lewdly spent, 15
Which makes my soul for to lament.
In Lombard-street I once did dwell,
As London yet can witness well;
Where many gallants did behold
My beauty in a shop of gold. 20
I spread my plumes, as wantons do,
Some sweet and secret friende to wooe,
Because my love I did not find
Agreeing to my wanton mind.
At last my name in court did ring 25
Into the ears of England's king,
Who came and lik'd, and love requir'd,
But I made coy what he desir'd.
Yet Mistress Blague, a neighbour near,
Whose friendship I esteemed dear, 30
Did say, "It is a gallant thing
To be beloved of a king."
By her perswasions I was led
For to defile my marriage-bed,
And wronge my wedded husband Shore, 35
Whom I had lov'd ten years before.
In heart and mind I did rejoyce,
That I had made so sweet a choice;
And therefore did my state resign,
To be King Edward's concubine. 40
From city then to court I went,
To reap the pleasures of content;
There had the joys that love could bring,
And knew the secrets of a king.
When I was thus advanc'd on high, 45
Commanding Edward with mine eye,
For Mistress Blague I in short space
Obtain'd a living from his Grace.
No friend I had, but in short time
I made unto promotion climb; 50
But yet for all this costly pride,
My husbande could not me abide.
His bed, tho' wronged by a king,
His heart with deadly grief did sting;
From England then he goes away 55
To end his life beyond the sea.[L56]
He could not live to see his name
Impaired by my wanton shame;
Altho' a prince of peerless might
Did reap the pleasure of his right. 60
Long time I lived in the court,
With lords and ladies of great sort;
And when I smil'd, all men were glad,
But when I mourn'd, my prince grew sad.
But yet an honest mind I bore 65
To helpless people, that were poor;
I still redress'd the orphan's cry,
And sav'd their lives condemn'd to dye.
I still had ruth on widows tears,
I succour'd babes of tender years; 70
And never look'd for other gain
But love and thanks, for all my pain.
At last my royal king did dye,
And then my days of woe grew nigh;
When crook-back'd Richard got the crown, 75
King Edward's friends were soon put down.
I then was punish'd for my sin,
That I so long had lived in;
Yea, every one that was his friend,
This tyrant brought to shameful end. 80
Then for my lewd and wanton life,[L81]
That made a strumpet of a wife,
I penance did in Lombard-street,
In shameful manner in a sheet:
Where many thousands did me view, 85
Who late in court my credit knew;
Which made the tears run down my face,
To think upon my foul disgrace.