English ballad only in a few places: #C# 2==#A# 4, #B# 4; #C# 6==#B# 10;
#C# 7==#A# g, #B# 11; #C# 22^{3,4}==#A# 11^{3,4}, #B# 13^{3,4}. The
Eliots go with the Armstrongs according to #C# 3, and it is the
intention to bring the king to dine at Gilnockie. In #C# 9–17 Johnie
offers twenty-four steeds, four of them laden with as much gold as they
can carry, twenty-four mills, and as much wheat as their hoppers can
hold, twenty-four sisters-sons, who will fight to the utterance, tribute
from all the land between ‘here’ and Newcastle,—all this for his life.
The king replies to each successive offer that he never has granted a
traitor’s life, and will not begin with him. Johnie gives the king the
lie as to his being a traitor; he could make England find him in meal
and malt for a hundred years, and no Scot’s wife could say that he had
ever hurt her the value of a fly. Had he known how the king would treat
him, he would have kept the border in spite of all his army. England’s
king would be a blithe man to hear of his capture. At this point the
king is attracted by Johnie’s splendid girdle and hat, and exclaims,
What wants that knave that a king should have! Johnie bids farewell to
his brother, Laird of Mangerton (Thomas, here called Kirsty), and to his
son Kirsty, and to Gilnock-Hall, and is murdered at Carlenrig with all
his band.
It will be observed that the substance, or at least the hint, of #C#
21^{3,4}, 17^{3,4}, 26, 15, 22^{3,4}, 23, 24^{1,2}, is to be found in
Lindsay’s narrative.
In the last stanza of #A# and of #B#, Johnie Armstrong’s son (afterwards
known as Johnie’s Christy) sitting on his nurse’s knee, #B# (cf. #C#
30), or standing by his nurse’s knee, #A#, vows, if he lives to be a
man, to have revenge for his father’s death.[239] Not infrequently, in
popular ballads, a very young (even unborn) child speaks, by miracle, to
save a life, vindicate innocence, or for some other kindly
occasion;[240] sometimes again to threaten revenge, as here. So a child
in the cradle in ‘Frændehævn,’ Grundtvig, I, 28, No 4, #B# 34 (==#C#
63), and in ‘Hævnersværdet,’ I, 351, No 25, sts 29, 30; and Kullervo in
his third month, Kalevala, Rune 31, Schiefner, p. 194, vv. 109–112.[241]
Johnie’s plain speech to the king in #C# 19, ‘Ye lied, ye lied, now,
king!’ is such as we have often heard before in these ballads: see I,
427, No 47, #A# 14; I, 446, No 50, #A# 8, 9; I, 452 f, No 52, #C# 10,
#D# 7; II, 25 f, No 58, #G# 7, #H# 10; II, 269 ff, No 83, #D# 13, #E#
16, #F# 22; II, 282, No 86, #A# 6; III, 62, 67, No 117, sts 114, 222. It
is not unexampled elsewhere. So Sthenelus to Agamemnon, II. iv, 204;
Ἀτρεΐδη, μὴ ψεύδε’, ἐπιστάμενος σάφα εἰπεῖν; and Bernardo del Carpio, on
much the same occasion as here,
Mentides, buen rey, mentides,
que no decides verdad,
que nunca yo fuí traidor,
Wolf & Hofmann, Primavera, I, 38 and 41; see also I, 186, II, 100, 376.
This ballad was an early favorite of Goldsmith’s: “The music of the
finest singer is dissonance to what I felt when our old dairymaid sung
me into tears with Johnny Armstrong’s Last Good Night, or the Cruelty of
Barbara Allen.” Essays, 1765, p. 14.
#C# is translated by Talvi, Versuch, u. s. w., p. 543; by Schubart, p.
179; by Loève-Veimars, p. 270.
A
#a.# Wit Restord in severall Select Poems not formerly publisht,
London, 1658, p. 30, in Facetiæ, London, 1871, I, 132.
#b.# Wit and Drollery, London, 1682, p. 57.
1
There dwelt a man in faire Westmerland,
Ionnë Armestrong men did him call,
He had nither lands nor rents coming in,
Yet he kept eight score men in his hall.
2
He had horse and harness for them all,
Goodly steeds were all milke-white;
O the golden bands an about their necks,
And their weapons, they were all alike.
3
Newes then was brought unto the king
That there was sicke a won as hee,
That livëd lyke a bold out-law,
And robbëd all the north country.
4
The king he writt an a letter then,
A letter which was large and long;
He signëd it with his owne hand,
And he promised to doe him no wrong.
5
When this letter came Ionnë untill,
His heart it was as blythe as birds on the tree:
‘Never was I sent for before any king,
My father, my grandfather, nor none but mee.
6
‘And if wee goe the king before,
I would we went most orderly;
Every man of you shall have his scarlet cloak,
Laced with silver laces three.
7
‘Every won of you shall have his velvett coat,
Laced with sillver lace so white;
O the golden bands an about your necks,
Black hatts, white feathers, all alyke.’
8
By the morrow morninge at ten of the clock,
Towards Edenburough gon was hee,
And with him all his eight score men;
Good lord, it was a goodly sight for to see!
9
When Ionnë came befower the king,
He fell downe on his knee;
‘O pardon, my soveraine leige,’ he said,
‘O pardon my eight score men and mee!’
10
‘Thou shalt have no pardon, thou traytor strong,
For thy eight score men nor thee;
For to-morrow morning by ten of the clock,
Both thou and them shall hang on the gallow-tree.’
11
But Ionnë looke’d over his left shoulder,
Good Lord, what a grevious look looked hee!
Saying, Asking grace of a graceles face—
Why there is none for you nor me.
12
But Ionnë had a bright sword by his side,
And it was made of the mettle so free,
That had not the king stept his foot aside,
He had smitten his head from his faire boddë.
13
Saying, Fight on, my merry men all,
And see that none of you be taine;
For rather then men shall say we were hange’d,
Let them report how we were slaine.
14
Then, God wott, faire Eddenburrough rose,
And so besett poore Ionnë rounde,
That fowerscore and tenn of Ionnës best men
Lay gasping all upon the ground.
15
Then like a mad man Ionnë laide about,
And like a mad man then fought hee,
Untill a falce Scot came Ionnë behinde,
And runn him through the faire boddee.
16
Saying, Fight on, my merry men all,
And see that none of you be taine;
For I will stand by and bleed but awhile,
And then will I come and fight againe.
17
Newes then was brought to young Ionnë Armestrong,
As he stood by his nurses knee,
Who vowed if ere he live’d for to be a man,
O the treacherous Scots revengd hee’d be.
B
#a.# Wood, 401, fol. 93 b, London, printed for Francis Grove
(1620–55?).
#b.# Pepys, II, 133, No 117, London, printed for W. Thackeray and T.
Passenger (1660–82?).
#c.# A Collection of Old Ballads, 1723, I, 170.
1
Is there never a man in all Scotland,
From the highest state to the lowest degree,
That can shew himself now before the king?
Scotland is so full of their traitery.
2
Yes, there is a man in Westmerland,
And John Armstrong some do him call;
He has no lands nor rents coming in,
Yet he keeps eightscore men within his hall.
3
He has horse and harness for them all,
And goodly steeds that be milk-white,
With their goodly belts about their necks,
With hats and feathers all alike.
4
The king he writ a lovely letter,
With his own hand so tenderly,
And has sent it unto John Armstrong,
To come and speak with him speedily.
5
When John he looked the letter upon,
Then, Lord! he was as blithe as a bird in a tree:
‘I was never before no king in my life,
My father, my grandfather, nor none of us three.
6
‘But seeing we must [go] before the king,
Lord! we will go most valiantly;
You shall every one have a velvet coat,
Laid down with golden laces three.
7
‘And you shall every one have a scarlet cloak,
Laid down with silver laces five,
With your golden belts about your necks,
With hats [and] brave feathers all alike.’
8
But when John he went from Guiltknock Hall!
The wind it blew hard, and full sore it did rain:
‘Now fare you well, brave Guiltknock Hall!
I fear I shall never see thee again.’
9
Now John he is to Edenborough gone,
And his eightscore men so gallantly,
And every one of them on a milk-white steed,
With their bucklers and swords hanging down to the knee.
10
But when John he came the king before,
With his eightscore men so gallant to see,
The king he moved his bonnet to him;
He thought he had been a king as well as he.
11
‘O pardon, pardon, my soveraign leige,
Pardon for my eightscore men and me!
For my name it is John Armstrong,
And a subject of yours, my leige,’ said he.
12
‘Away with thee, thou false traitor!
No pardon I will grant to thee,
But, to-morrow before eight of the clock,
I will hang thy eightscore men and thee.’
13
O how John looked over his left shoulder!
And to his merry men thus said he:
I have asked grace of a graceless face,
No pardon here is for you nor me.
14
Then John pulld out a nut-brown sword,
And it was made of mettle so free;
Had not the king moved his foot as he did,
John had taken his head from his body.
15
‘Come, follow me, my merry men all,
We will scorn one foot away to fly;
It never shall be said we were hung like doggs;
No, wee’l fight it out most manfully.’
16
Then they fought on like champions bold—
For their hearts was sturdy, stout, and free—
Till they had killed all the kings good guard;
There was none left alive but onely three.
17
But then rise up all Edenborough,
They rise up by thousands three;
Then a cowardly Scot came John behind,
And run him thorow the fair body.
18
Said John, Fight on, my merry men all,
I am a little hurt, but I am not slain;
I will lay me down for to bleed a while,
Then I’le rise and fight with you again.
19
Then they fought on like mad men all,
Till many a man lay dead on the plain;
For they were resolved, before they would yield,
That every man would there be slain.
20
So there they fought couragiously,
‘Till most of them lay dead there and slain,
But little Musgrave, that was his foot-page,
With his bonny grissell got away untain.
21
But when he came up to Guiltknock Hall,
The lady spyed him presently:
‘What news, what news, thou little foot-page?
What news from thy master and his company?’
22
‘My news is bad, lady,’ he said,
‘Which I do bring, as you may see;
My master, John Armstrong, he is slain,
And all his gallant company.
23
‘Yet thou are welcome home, my bonny grisel!
Full oft thou hast fed at the corn and hay,
But now thou shalt be fed with bread and wine,
And thy sides shall be spurred no more, I say.’
24
O then bespoke his little son,
As he was set on his nurses knee:
‘If ever I live for to be a man,
My fathers blood revenged shall be.’
C
Allan Ramsay, The Ever Green, II, 190, “copied from a gentleman’s
mouth of the name of Armstrang, who is the 6th generation from this
John.”
1
Sum speiks of lords, sum speiks of lairds,
And siclyke men of hie degrie;
Of a gentleman I sing a sang,
Sumtyme calld Laird of Gilnockie.
2
The king he wrytes a luving letter,
With his ain hand sae tenderly:
And he hath sent it to Johny Armstrang,
To cum and speik with him speidily.
3
The Eliots and Armstrongs did convene,
They were a gallant company:
‘We’ill ryde and meit our lawful king,
And bring him safe to Gilnockie.
4
‘Make kinnen and capon ready, then,
And venison in great plenty;
We’ill welcome hame our royal king;
I hope he’ill dyne at Gilnockie!’
5
They ran their horse on the Langum howm,
And brake their speirs with mekle main;
The ladys lukit frae their loft-windows,
‘God bring our men weil back again!’
6
When Johny came before the king,
With all his men sae brave to see,
The king he movit his bonnet to him;
He weind he was a king as well as he.
7
‘May I find grace, my sovereign liege,
Grace for my loyal men and me?
For my name it is Johny Armstrang,
And subject of yours, my liege,’ said he.
8
‘Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I’ll not begin with thee.’
9
‘Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a bony gift I will give to thee;
Full four-and-twenty milk-whyt steids,
Were a’ foald in a yeir to me.
10
‘I’ll gie thee all these milk-whyt steids,
That prance and nicher at a speir,
With as mekle gude Inglis gilt
As four of their braid backs dow beir.’
11
‘Away, away, thou traytor strang!
Out o’ my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I’ll not begin with thee.’
12
‘Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a bony gift I’ll gie to thee;
Gude four-and-twenty ganging mills,
That gang throw a’ the yeir to me.
13
‘These four-and-twenty mills complete
Sall gang for thee throw all the yeir,
And as mekle of gude reid wheit
As all their happers dow to bear.’
14
‘Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I’ll not begin with thee.’
15
‘Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a great gift I’ll gie to thee;
Bauld four-and-twenty sisters sons,
Sall for the fecht, tho all sould flee.’
16
‘Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I’ll not begin with thee.’
17
‘Grant me my lyfe, my liege, my king,
And a brave gift I’ll gie to thee;
All betwene heir and Newcastle town
Sall pay thair yeirly rent to thee.’
18
‘Away, away, thou traytor, strang!
Out of my sicht thou mayst sune be!
I grantit nevir a traytors lyfe,
And now I’ll not begin with thee.’
19
‘Ye lied, ye lied, now, king,’ he says,
‘Althocht a king and prince ye be,
For I luid naithing in all my lyfe,
I dare well say it, but honesty;
20
‘But a fat horse, and a fair woman,
Twa bony dogs to kill a deir:
But Ingland suld haif found me meil and malt,
Gif I had livd this hundred yeir!
21
‘Scho suld half found me meil and malt,
And beif and mutton in all plentie;
But neir a Scots wyfe could haif said
That eir I skaithd her a pure flie.
22
‘To seik het water beneth cauld yce,
Surely it is a great folie;
I haif asked grace at a graceless face,
But there is nane for my men and me.
23
‘But had I kend, or I came frae hame,
How thou unkynd wadst bene to me,
I wad haif kept the border-syde,
In spyte of all thy force and thee.
24
‘Wist Englands king that I was tane,
O gin a blyth man wald he be!
For anes I slew his sisters son,
And on his breist-bane brak a tree.’
25
John wore a girdle about his midle,
Imbroiderd owre with burning gold,
Bespangled with the same mettle,
Maist beautifull was to behold.
26
Ther hang nine targats at Johnys hat,
And ilk an worth three hundred pound:
‘What wants that knave that a king suld haif,
But the sword of honour and the crown!
27
‘O whair gat thou these targats, Johnie,
That blink sae brawly abune thy brie? ’
‘I gat them in the field fechting,
Wher, cruel king, thou durst not be.
28
‘Had I my horse, and my harness gude,
And ryding as I wont to be,
It sould haif bene tald this hundred yeir
The meiting of my king and me.
29
‘God be withee, Kirsty, my brither,
Lang live thou Laird of Mangertoun!
Lang mayst thou live on the border-syde
Or thou se thy brither ryde up and doun.
30
‘And God be withee, Kirsty, my son,
Whair thou sits on thy nurses knee!
But and thou live this hundred yeir,
Thy fathers better thoult never be.
31
‘Farweil, my bonny Gilnock-Hall.
Whair on Esk-syde thou standest stout!
Gif I had lived but seven yeirs mair,
I wald haif gilt thee round about.’
32
John murdred was at Carlinrigg,
And all his galant companie:
But Scotlands heart was never sae wae,
To see sae mony brave men die.
33
Because they savd their country deir
Frae Englishmen; nane were sae bauld,
Whyle Johnie livd on the border-syde,
Nane of them durst cum neir his hald.
* * * * *
#A. a.#
3^3. syke a.
17^4. O th’ the.
#b.#
3^2. sick a man.
5^2. it _wanting_.
6^1. And therefore if.
7^4. and white.
8^4. an it: for _wanting_.
9^1. Johnnee.
10^2. Ne for.
11. There Johnne.
11^3. Said he.
11^4. yee.
12^2. the _wanting_.
13^4. that we.
14^3. Johnnee’s.
15^4. thorough.
#B. a.#
Iohn Arm-strongs last good night. Declaring How John Arm-strong
and his eightscore men fought a bloody bout with a Scottish king
at Edenborough. To a pretty northern tune called, Fare you well,
guilt Knock-hall.
6^1. we must before; _perhaps rightly_.
8^{1,3}, 21^1. guilt Knock-hall.
_Signed_ T. R.
London, Printed for Francis Grove on S[n]owhill.
Entered according to order.
#b.#
_Title_: with the Scottish. To a pretty new northern tune: called,
_&c._, _omitted_.
1^2. estate.
1^4. of treachery.
2^2. Jonny: they do.
4^1. writes a loving.
4^2. And with.
4^3. hath.
5^1. this letter.
5^1. Good Lord.
5^2. he lookt.
5^3. a king.
6^1. must go.
6^2. most gallantly.
7^1. And ye.
7^4. hats and.
8^{1,3}, 21^1. guilt Knock-hall.
8^2. full fast.
8^3. fare thee well thou guilt.
9^1. Johnny.
9^4. to their.
10^1. he _wanting_.
12^3. to morrow morning by eight.
12^4. hang up.
13^1. Johnny.
14^1. out his.
15^3. It shall ne’r.
15^4. We will.
16^2. were.
16^4. but two or.
17^{1,2}. rose.
17^3. Then _wanting_.
18^2. little wounded but am.
19^2. up on.
20^3. Musgrove.
21^1. up _wanting_.
22^3. Johnny Armstrong is.
23^2. been fed with.
24^1. bespake.
24^3. for _wanting_.
24^4. father’s death.
_Signed_ T. R.
London, Printed for W. Thackeray and T. Passenger.
#c.#
Johnny Armstrongs, last Good-night, shewing how John Armstrong,
with his Eightscore Men, fought a bloody Battle with the Scotch
King at Edenborough. To a Northern Tune.
1^1. ever.
1^2. estate.
1^3. our king.
1^4. full of treachery.
2^2. Johnny: they do.
3^1. horses.
4^1. writes a loving.
4^2. And with.
4^3. hath: Johnny.
5^1. this letter.
5^2. He lokd as blith.
5^3. a king.
6^1. must go.
6^2. most gallantly.
6^3. Ye.
7^1. And every one shall.
6^4. hats and feathers.
8^1. Johnny went: Giltnock.
8^2. full fast.
8^3. fare thee well thou Giltnock.
9^1. Johnny.
9^2. With his.
9^4. hanging to their.
10^1. he _wanting_.
11^3. Johnny.
11^4. a _wanting_.
12^2. will I.
12^3. to-morrow morning by eight.
12^4. hang up.
13^1. Then Johnny.
13^4. there is: you and.
14^1. his good broad sword.
14^2. That was made of the.
14^4. his fair.
15^2. foot for to.
15^3. shall never be: hangd.
15^4. We will.
16^2. were.
16^4. were: but one, two or three.
17^{1,2}. rose.
17^3. Then _wanting_.
17^4. through.
18^2. little wounded but am.
18^3. for _wanting_.
21^1. up _wanting_.
21^1. Giltnock.
22^3. Iohnny Armstrong is.
23^2. hast been fed with corn.
24^1. bespake.
24^2. he sat on.
24^3. for _wanting_.
24^4. fathers death.
#C.#
_Printed in stanzas of eight lines._
Zours, zeir, _etc._, _are here printed_ yours, yeir, etc.; quhair,
quheit, _here_, whair, wheit.
5^1. hown.
11, 14, 16, 18, _only_ Away, away thou traytor, etc., _is
printed_.
19^4. sayit.
170
THE DEATH OF QUEEN JANE
#A.# Percy papers, 1776. #B.# ‘Queen Jeanie,’ Kinloch’s Ancient
Scottish Ballads, p. 116. #C. a.# Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I,
182.[242] #b.# Herd’s MSS, I, 103. #D.# ‘The Death of Queen Jane,’
Bell’s Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the Peasantry of England,
p. 113. #E.# ‘Queen Jeanie,’ Macmath MS., p. 68. #F.# Notes and
Queries, Second Series, XI, 131. #G.# A fragment from William
Motherwell’s papers.
This threnody is said to have been current throughout Scotland. There is
another, not in the popular style, in the Crowne Garland of Golden
Roses, 1612, Percy Society, vol. vi, p. 29: The Wofull Death of Queene
Jane, wife to King Henry the Eight, and how King Edward was cut out of
his mother’s belly. This is reprinted in Old Ballads, 1723, II, 115, and
Evans’s Collection, 1777, 1784, II, 54, and is among Pepys’s Penny
Merriments, vol. iii. ‘A ballett called The Lady Jane’ and another piece
entitled The Lamentation of Quene Jane were licensed in 1560;
Stationers’ Registers, Arber, I, 151 f.
Jane Seymour gave birth to Prince Edward October 12, 1537, and by a
natural process, but, in consequence of imprudent management, died
twelve days after. There was a belief that severe surgery had been
required, under which the queen sank. The editor of Old Ballads, II, 116
f, cites Sir John Hayward as saying: “All reports do constantly run that
he [Prince Edward] was not by natural passage delivered into the world,
but that his mother’s belly was opened for his birth, and that she died
of the incision the fourth day following.” And Du Chesne: “Quand ce vint
au terme de l’accouchement, elle eut tant de tourment et de peine qu’il
lui fallut fendre le costé, par lequel on tira son fruit, le douzième
jour d’Octobre. Elle mourut douze jours après.” But Echard again:
“Contrary to the opinion of many writers,” the queen “died twelve days
after the birth of this prince, having been well delivered, and without
any incision, as others have maliciously reported.”
* * * * *
A
Communicated to Percy by the Dean of Derry, as written from memory
by his mother, Mrs. Bernard, February, 1776.
1
Queen Jane was in labour full six weeks and more,
And the women were weary, and fain would give oer:
‘O women, O women, as women ye be,
Rip open my two sides, and save my baby!’
2
‘O royal Queen Jane, that thing may not be;
We’ll send for King Henry to come unto thee.’
King Henry came to her, and sate on her bed:
‘What ails my dear lady, her eyes look so red?’
3
‘O royal King Henry, do one thing for me:
Rip open my two sides, and save my baby!’
‘O royal Queen Jane, that thing will not do;
If I lose your fair body, I’ll lose your baby too.’
4
She wept and she waild, and she wrung her hands sore;
O the flour of England must flurish no more!
She wept and she waild till she fell in a swoond,
They opend her two sides, and the baby was found.
5
The baby was christened with joy and much mirth,
Whilst poor Queen Jane’s body lay cold under earth:
There was ringing and singing and mourning all day,
The princess Eliz[abeth] went weeping away.
6
The trumpets in mourning so sadly did sound,
And the pikes and the muskets did trail on the ground.
. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .
B
Kinloch’s Ancient Scottish Ballads, p. 116.
1
Queen Jeanie, Queen Jeanie, traveld six weeks and more,
Till women and midwives had quite gien her oer:
‘O if ye were women as women should be,
Ye would send for a doctor, a doctor to me.’
2
The doctor was called for and set by her bedside:
‘What aileth thee, my ladie, thine eyes seem so red?’
‘O doctor, O doctor, will ye do this for me,
To rip up my two sides, and save my babie?’
3
‘Queen Jeanie, Queen Jeanie, that’s the thing I’ll neer do,
To rip up your two sides to save your babie:’
Queen Jeanie, Queen Jeanie, traveld six weeks and more,
Till midwives and doctors had quite gien her oer.
4
‘O if ye were doctors as doctors should be,
Ye would send for King Henry, King Henry to me:’
King Henry was called for, and sat by her bedside,
‘What aileth thee, Jeanie? what aileth my bride?’
5
‘King Henry, King Henry, will ye do this for me,
To rip up my two sides, and save my babie?’
‘Queen Jeanie, Queen Jeanie, that’s what I’ll never do,
To rip up your two sides to save your babie.’
6
But with sighing and sobbing she’s fallen in a swoon,
Her side it was ript up, and her babie was found;
At this bonie babie’s christning there was meikle joy and mirth,
But bonnie Queen Jeanie lies cold in the earth.
7
Six and six coaches, and six and six more,
And royal King Henry went mourning before;
O two and two gentlemen carried her away,
But royal King Henry went weeping away.
8
O black were their stockings, and black were their bands,
And black were the weapons they held in their hands;
O black were their mufflers, and black were their shoes,
And black were the cheverons they drew on their luves.
9
They mourned in the kitchen, and they mournd in the ha,
But royal King Henry mournd langest of a’:
Farewell to fair England, farewell for evermore!
For the fair flower of England will never shine more.
C
#a.# Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 182; “from two fragments, one
transmitted from Arbroath and another from Edinburgh.” #b.# Herd’s
MSS, I, 103.
1
Queen Jeany has traveld for three days and more,
Till the ladies were weary, and quite gave her oer:
‘O ladies, O ladies, do this thing for me,
To send for King Henry, to come and see me.’
2
King Henry was sent for, and sat by her bedside:
‘Why weep you, Queen Jeany? your eyes are so red.’
‘O Henry, O Henry, do this one thing for me,
Let my side straight be opend, and save my babie!’
3
‘O Jeany, O Jeany, this never will do,
It will leese thy sweet life, and thy young babie too.’
She wept and she wailed, till she fell in a swoon:
Her side it was opened, the babie was found.
4
Prince Edward was christened with joy and with mirth,
But the flower of fair England lies cold in the earth.
O black was King Henry, and black were his men,
And black was the steed that King Henry rode on.
5
And black were the ladies, and black were their fans,
And black were the gloves that they wore on their hands,
And black were the ribbands they wore on their heads,
And black were the pages, and black were the maids.
* * * * *
6
The trumpets they sounded, the cannons did roar,
But the flower of fair England shall flourish no more.
. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .
D
Robert Bell’s Ancient Poems, Ballads, and Songs of the Peasantry of
England, p. 113; “taken down from the singing of a young gipsy girl,
to whom it had descended orally through two generations.”
1
Queen Jane was in travail for six weeks or more,
Till the women grew tired and fain would give oer:
‘O women, O women, good wives if ye be,
Go send for King Henrie, and bring him to me!’