Chapter III: Part 3

29.
Ellen is gone into the towne,
& low into the streete:
The fairest ladye that shee cold find
She hyred in his armes to sleepe,
& tooke her in her armes two,
For filing of her ffeete.

30.
'I pray you now, good Child Waters,
That I may creepe in att your bedds feete,
For there is noe place about this house
Where I may say a sleepe.'

31.
This [night] & itt droue on affterward
Till itt was neere the day:
He sayd, 'Rise vp, my litle ffoote page,
& giue my steed corne & hay;
& soe doe thou the good blacke oates,
That he may carry me the better away.'

32.
And vp then rose ffaire Ellen,
& gave his steed corne & hay,
& soe shee did and the good blacke oates,
That he might carry him the better away.

33.
Shee layned her backe to the manger side,
& greiuouslye did groane;
& that beheard his mother deere,
And heard her make her moane.

34.
Shee said, 'Rise vp, thou Child Waters!
I thinke thou art a cursed man;
For yonder is a ghost in thy stable,
That greiuously doth groane,
Or else some woman laboures of child,
Shee is soe woe begone!'

35.
But vp then rose Child Waters,
& did on his shirt of silke;
Then he put on his other clothes
On his body as white as milke.

36.
& when he came to the stable dore,
Full still that hee did stand,
That hee might heare now faire Ellen,
How shee made her monand.

37.
Shee said, 'Lullabye, my owne deere child!
Lullabye, deere child, deere!
I wold thy father were a king,
Thy mother layd on a beere!'

38.
'Peace now,' he said, 'good faire Ellen!
& be of good cheere, I thee pray,
& the bridall & the churching both,
They shall bee vpon one day.'

[Annotations:
2.2: 'see,' protect. So constantly in this phrase.
18.2: 'yates,' gates.
18.3: In each case the Folio gives '24' for 'four and twenty.'
18.4: 'wordlye make,' worldly mate.
26.6: 'rich' added by Percy.
28.6: 'For filinge,' to save defiling.
30.4: 'say,' essay, attempt.
31.1: 'night.' Child's emendation. Percy read: 'This done, the nighte
drove on apace.'
32.3: 'and'; Folio _on_.
36.4: 'monand,' moaning.]

EARL BRAND, THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY, and THE CHILD OF ELL

There are here put in juxtaposition three versions in ballad-form of the same story, though fragmentary in the two latter cases, not only because each is good, but to show the possibilities of variation in a popular story. There is yet another ballad, _Erlinton_, printed by Sir Walter Scott in the _Minstrelsy_, embodying an almost identical tale. _Earl Brand_ preserves most of the features of a very ancient story with more exactitude than any other traditional ballad. But in this case, as in too many others, we must turn to a Scandinavian ballad for the complete form of the story. A Danish ballad, _Ribold and Guldborg_, gives the fine tale thus:--

Ribold, a king's son, in love with Guldborg, offers to carry her away 'to a land where death and sorrow come not, where all the birds are cuckoos, where all the grass is leeks, where all the streams run with wine.' Guldborg is willing, but doubts whether she can escape the strict watch kept over her by her family and by her betrothed lover. Ribold disguises her in his armour and a cloak, and they ride away. On the moor they meet an earl, who asks, 'Whither away?' Ribold answers that he is taking his youngest sister from a cloister. This does not deceive the earl, nor does a bribe close his mouth; and Guldborg's father, learning that she is away with Ribold, rides with his sons in pursuit. Ribold bids Guldborg hold his horse, and prepares to fight; he tells her that, whatever may chance, she must not call on him by name. Ribold slays her father and some of her kin and six of her brothers; only her youngest brother is left: Guldborg cries, 'Ribold, spare him,' that he may carry tidings to her mother. Immediately Ribold receives a mortal wound. He ceases fighting, sheathes his sword, and says to her, 'Wilt thou go home to thy mother again, or wilt thou follow so sad a swain?' And she says she will follow him. In silence they ride on. 'Why art not thou merry as before?' asks Guldborg. And Ribold answers, 'Thy brother's sword has been in my heart.' They reach his house: he calls for one to take his horse, another to fetch a priest; for his brother shall have Guldborg. But she refuses. That night dies Ribold, and Guldborg slays herself and dies in his arms.

A second and even more dramatic ballad, _Hildebrand and Hilde_, tells a similar story.

A comparison of the above tale with _Earl Brand_ will show a close agreement in most of the incidents. The chief loss in the English ballad is the request of Ribold, that Guldborg must not speak his name while he fights. The very name 'Brand' is doubtless a direct derivative of 'Hildebrand.' Winchester (13.2), as it implies a nunnery, corresponds to the cloister in the Danish ballad. Earl Brand directs his mother to marry the King's daughter to his youngest brother; but her refusal, if she did as Guldborg did, has been lost.

_The Douglas Tragedy_, a beautiful but fragmentary version, is, says Scott, 'one of the few to which popular tradition has ascribed complete locality.' The ascribed locality, if more complete, is no more probable than any other: to ascribe any definite locality to a ballad is in all cases a waste of time and labour.

_The Child of Ell_, in the Percy Folio, _may_ have contained anything; but immediately we approach a point where comparison would be of interest, we meet an _hiatus valde deflendus_. Percy, in the _Reliques_, expanded the fragment here given to about five times the length.

EARL BRAND

(From +R. Bell's+ _Ancient Poems, Ballads_, etc.)

1.
Oh did ye ever hear o' brave Earl Bran'?
_Ay lally, o lilly lally_
He courted the king's daughter of fair England
_All i' the night sae early_.

2.
She was scarcely fifteen years of age
Till sae boldly she came to his bedside.

3.
'O Earl Bran', fain wad I see
A pack of hounds let loose on the lea.'

4.
'O lady, I have no steeds but one,
And thou shalt ride, and I will run.'

5.
'O Earl Bran', my father has two,
And thou shall have the best o' them a'.'

6.
They have ridden o'er moss and moor,
And they met neither rich nor poor.

7.
Until they met with old Carl Hood;
He comes for ill, but never for good.

8.
'Earl Bran', if ye love me,
Seize this old earl, and gar him die.'

9.
'O lady fair, it wad be sair,
To slay an old man that has grey hair.

10.
'O lady fair, I'll no do sae,
I'll gie him a pound and let him gae.'

11.
'O where hae ye ridden this lee lang day?
O where hae ye stolen this lady away?'

12.
'I have not ridden this lee lang day,
Nor yet have I stolen this lady away.

13.
'She is my only, my sick sister,
Whom I have brought from Winchester.'

14.
'If she be sick, and like to dead,
Why wears she the ribbon sae red?

15.
'If she be sick, and like to die,
Then why wears she the gold on high?'

16.
When he came to this lady's gate,
Sae rudely as he rapped at it.

17.
'O where's the lady o' this ha'?'
'She's out with her maids to play at the ba'.'

18.
'Ha, ha, ha! ye are a' mista'en:
Gae count your maidens o'er again.

19.
'I saw her far beyond the moor
Away to be the Earl o' Bran's whore.'

20.
The father armed fifteen of his best men,
To bring his daughter back again.

21.
O'er her left shoulder the lady looked then:
'O Earl Bran', we both are tane.'

22.
'If they come on me ane by ane,
Ye may stand by and see them slain.

23.
'But if they come on me one and all,
Ye may stand by and see me fall.'

24.
They have come on him ane by ane,
And he has killed them all but ane.

25.
And that ane came behind his back,
And he's gi'en him a deadly whack.

26.
But for a' sae wounded as Earl Bran' was,
He has set his lady on her horse.

27.
They rode till they came to the water o' Doune,
And then he alighted to wash his wounds.

28.
'O Earl Bran', I see your heart's blood!'
''Tis but the gleat o' my scarlet hood.'

29.
They rode till they came to his mother's gate,
And sae rudely as he rapped at it.

30.
'O my son's slain, my son's put down,
And a' for the sake of an English loun.'

31.
'O say not sae, my dear mother,
But marry her to my youngest brother.

32.
'This has not been the death o' ane,
But it's been that o' fair seventeen.'

THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY

(From +Scott's+ _Minstrelsy_)

1.
'Rise up, rise up now, Lord Douglas,' she says,
'And put on your armour so bright;
Let it never be said that a daughter of thine
Was married to a lord under night.

2.
'Rise up, rise up, my seven bold sons,
And put on your armour so bright;
And take better care of your youngest sister,
For your eldest's awa' the last night!'

3.
He's mounted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple grey,
With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
And lightly they rode away.

4.
Lord William lookit o'er his left shoulder,
To see what he could see,
And there he spy'd her seven brethren bold
Come riding over the lee.

5.
'Light down, light down, Lady Margret,' he said,
'And hold my steed in your hand,
Until that against your seven brethren bold,
And your father, I mak' a stand.'

6.
She held his steed in her milk-white hand,
And never shed one tear,
Until that she saw her seven brethren fa',
And her father hard fighting, who lov'd her so dear.

7.
'O hold your hand, Lord William!' she said,
'For your strokes they are wondrous sair;
True lovers I can get many a ane,
But a father I can never get mair.'

8.
O she's ta'en out her handkerchief,
It was o' the holland sae fine,
And aye she dighted her father's bloody wounds,
That were redder than the wine.

9.
'O chuse, O chuse, Lady Margret,' he said,
'O whether will ye gang or bide?'
'I'll gang, I'll gang, Lord William,' she said,
'For ye have left me no other guide.'

10.
He's lifted her on a milk-white steed,
And himself on a dapple grey,
With a bugelet horn hung down by his side,
And slowly they baith rade away.

11.
O they rade on, and on they rade,
And a' by the light of the moon,
Until they came to yon wan water,
And there they lighted down.

12.
They lighted down to tak' a drink
Of the spring that ran sae clear:
And down the stream ran his gude heart's blood,
And sair she gan to fear.

13.
'Hold up, hold up, Lord William,' she says,
'For I fear that you are slain!'
''Tis naething but the shadow of my scarlet cloak,
That shines in the water sae plain.'

14.
O they rade on, and on they rade,
And a' by the light of the moon,
Until they cam' to his mother's ha' door,
And there they lighted down.

15.
'Get up, get up, lady mother,' he says,
'Get up, and let me in!
Get up, get up, lady mother,' he says,
'For this night my fair ladye I've win.

16.
'O mak' my bed, lady mother,' he says,
'O mak' it braid and deep,
And lay Lady Margret close at my back,
And the sounder I will sleep.'

17.
Lord William was dead lang ere midnight,
Lady Margret lang ere day,
And all true lovers that go thegither,
May they have mair luck than they!

18.
Lord William was buried in St. Mary's kirk,
Lady Margret in Mary's quire;
Out o' the lady's grave grew a bonny red rose,
And out o' the knight's a briar.

19.
And they twa met, and they twa plat,
And fain they wad be near;
And a' the warld might ken right weel,
They were twa lovers dear.

20.
But bye and rade the Black Douglas,
And wow but he was rough!
For he pull'd up the bonny brier,
And flang't in St. Mary's Loch.

[Annotations:
8.3: 'dighted,' dressed.]

THE CHILD OF ELL

(_Fragment: from the Percy Folio_)

1.
... ... ...
... ... ...
Sayes, 'Christ thee saue, good child of Ell,
Christ saue thee & thy steede!

2.
'My father sayes he will noe meate,
Nor his drinke shall doe him noe good,
Till he haue slaine the child of Ell,
& haue seene his hart's blood.'

3.
'I wold I were in my sadle sett,
& a mile out of the towne,
I did not care for your father
& all his merrymen.

4.
'I wold I were in my sadle sett
& a litle space him froe,
I did not care for your father
& all that long him to!'

5.
He leaned ore his saddle bow,
To kisse this lady good;
The teares that went them 2 betweene
Were blend water & blood.

6.
He sett himselfe on one good steed,
This lady on one palfray,
& sett his litle horne to his mouth,
& roundlie he rode away.

7.
He had not ridden past a mile,
A mile out of the towne,
Her father was readye with her 7 brether,
He said, 'Sett thou my daughter downe!
For it ill beseemes thee, thou false churles sonne,
To carry her forth of this towne!'

8.
'But lowd thou lyest, Sir Iohn the Knight,
Thou now doest lye of me;
A knight me gott, & a lady me bore;
Soe neuer did none by thee.

9.
'But light now downe, my lady gay,
Light downe & hold my horsse,
Whilest I & your father & your brether
Doe play vs at this crosse.

10.
'But light now downe, my owne trew loue,
& meeklye hold my steede,
Whilest your father [and your brether] bold
... ... ...

[Annotations:
1.3: The maiden is speaking.
5.4: 'blend,' blended, mixed.
6.2: 'on': the MS. gives 'of.'
10.3: The rest (about nine stt.) is missing.]

LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET

+The Text+ is from Percy's _Reliques_ (vol. ii., 1765: vol. iii., 1767). In the latter edition he also gives the English version of the ballad earlier in the same volume.

+The Story.+--This ballad, as it is one of the most beautiful, is also one of the most popular. It should be compared with _Fair Margaret and Sweet William_, in which the forlorn maid dies of grief, not by the hand of her rival.

A series of Norse ballads tell much the same tale, but in none is the 'friends' will' a crucial point. Chansons from Burgundy, Bretagne, Provence, and northern Italy, faintly echo the story.

Lord Thomas his mither says that Fair Annet has no 'gowd and gear'; yet later on we find that Annet's father can provide her with a horse shod with silver and gold, and four-and-twenty silver bells in his mane; she is attended by a large company, her cleading skinkles, and her belt is of pearl.

LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET

1.
Lord Thomas and Fair Annet
Sate a' day on a hill;
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,
They had not talkt their fill.

2.
Lord Thomas said a word in jest,
Fair Annet took it ill:
'A, I will nevir wed a wife
Against my ain friends' will.'

3.
'Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,
A wife wull neir wed yee':
Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
And knelt upon his knee.

4.
'O rede, O rede, mither,' he says,
'A gude rede gie to mee:
O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,
And let Faire Annet bee?'

5.
'The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear,
Fair Annet she has gat nane;
And the little beauty Fair Annet haes,
O it wull soon be gane.'

6.
And he has till his brother gane:
'Now, brother, rede ye mee;
A, sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And let Fair Annet bee?'

7.
'The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother,
The nut-browne bride has kye:
I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,
And cast Fair Annet bye.'

8.
'Her oxen may dye i' the house, billie,
And her kye into the byre,
And I sall hae nothing to mysell
Bot a fat fadge by the fyre.'

9.
And he has till his sister gane:
'Now sister, rede ye mee;
O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And set Fair Annet free?'

10.
'I'se rede ye tak Fair Annet, Thomas,
And let the browne bride alane;
Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace,
What is this we brought hame!'

11.
'No, I will tak my mither's counsel,
And marrie me owt o' hand;
And I will tak the nut-browne bride;
Fair Annet may leive the land.'

12.
Up then rose Fair Annet's father,
Twa hours or it wer day,
And he is gane into the bower
Wherein Fair Annet lay.

13.
'Rise up, rise up, Fair Annet,' he says,
'Put on your silken sheene;
Let us gae to St. Marie's kirke,
And see that rich weddeen.'

14.
'My maides, gae to my dressing-roome,
And dress to me my hair;
Whaireir yee laid a plait before,
See yee lay ten times mair.

15.
'My maides, gae to my dressing-room,
And dress to me my smock;
The one half is o' the holland fine,
The other o' needle-work.'

16.
The horse Fair Annet rade upon,
He amblit like the wind;
Wi' siller he was shod before,
Wi' burning gowd behind.

17.
Four and twanty siller bells
Wer a' tyed till his mane,
And yae tift o' the norland wind,
They tinkled ane by ane.

18.
Four and twanty gay gude knichts
Rade by Fair Annet's side,
And four and twanty fair ladies,
As gin she had bin a bride.

19.
And whan she cam to Marie's kirk,
She sat on Marie's stean:
The cleading that Fair Annet had on
It skinkled in their een.

20.
And whan she cam into the kirk,
She shimmered like the sun;
The belt that was about her waist,
Was a' wi' pearles bedone.

21.
She sat her by the nut-browne bride,
And her een they wer sae clear,
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,
Whan Fair Annet drew near.

22.
He had a rose into his hand,
He gae it kisses three,
And reaching by the nut-browne bride,
Laid it on Fair Annet's knee.

23.
Up than spak the nut-browne bride,
She spak wi' meikle spite:
'And whair gat ye that rose-water,
That does mak yee sae white?'

24.
'O I did get the rose-water
Whair ye wull neir get nane,
For I did get that very rose-water
Into my mither's wame.'

25.
The bride she drew a long bodkin
Frae out her gay head-gear,
And strake Fair Annet unto the heart,
That word spak nevir mair.

26.
Lord Thomas he saw Fair Annet wex pale,
And marvelit what mote bee;
But whan he saw her dear heart's blude,
A' wood-wroth wexed hee.

27.
He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp,
That was sae sharp and meet,
And drave it into the nut-browne bride,
That fell deid at his feit.

28.
'Now stay for me, dear Annet,' he sed,
'Now stay, my dear,' he cry'd;
Then strake the dagger untill his heart,
And fell deid by her side.

29.
Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa',
Fair Annet within the quiere,
And o' the tane thair grew a birk,
The other a bonny briere.

30.
And ay they grew, and ay they threw,
As they wad faine be neare;
And by this ye may ken right weil
They were twa luvers deare.

[Annotations:
4.1: 'rede,' advise.
4.3: 'nut-browne' here = dusky, not fair; cp.:--
'In the old age black was not counted fair.'
--Shakespeare, _Sonnet_ CXXVII.
8.4: 'fadge,' _lit._ a thick cake; here figuratively for the thick-set
'nut-browne bride.'
17.3: 'yae tift,' [at] every puff.
19.2: 'stean,' stone.
19.3: 'cleading,' clothing.
19.4: 'skinkled,' glittered.
24.3,4: _i.e._ I was born fair.
26.4: 'wood-wroth,' raging mad.
29, 30: This conclusion to a tragic tale of true-love is common to
many ballads; see _Fair Margaret and Sweet William_ and especially
_Lord Lovel_.
30.1: 'threw,' intertwined.]

THE BROWN GIRL

+The Text+ of this ballad was taken down before the end of the nineteenth century by the Rev. S. Baring Gould, from a blacksmith at Thrushleton, Devon.

+The Story+ is a simple little tale which recalls _Barbara Allen_, _Clerk Sanders_, _Lord Thomas and Fair Annet_, and others. I have placed it here for contrast, and in illustration of the disdain of 'brown' maids.

THE BROWN GIRL

1.
'I am as brown as brown can be,
And my eyes as black as sloe;
I am as brisk as brisk can be,
And wild as forest doe.

2.
'My love he was so high and proud,
His fortune too so high,
He for another fair pretty maid
Me left and passed me by.

3.
'Me did he send a love-letter,
He sent it from the town,
Saying no more he loved me,
For that I was so brown.

4.
'I sent his letter back again,
Saying his love I valued not,
Whether that he would fancy me,
Whether that he would not.

5.
'When that six months were overpass'd,
Were overpass'd and gone,
Then did my lover, once so bold,
Lie on his bed and groan.

6.
'When that six months were overpass'd,
Were gone and overpass'd,
O then my lover, once so bold,
With love was sick at last.

7.
'First sent he for the doctor-man:
"You, doctor, me must cure;
The pains that now do torture me
I can not long endure."

8.
'Next did he send from out the town,
O next did send for me;
He sent for me, the brown, brown girl
Who once his wife should be.

9.
'O ne'er a bit the doctor-man
His sufferings could relieve;
O never an one but the brown, brown girl
Who could his life reprieve.'

10.
Now you shall hear what love she had
For this poor love-sick man,
How all one day, a summer's day,
She walked and never ran.

11.
When that she came to his bedside,
Where he lay sick and weak,
O then for laughing she could not stand
Upright upon her feet.

12.
'You flouted me, you scouted me,
And many another one,
Now the reward is come at last,
For all that you have done.'

13.
The rings she took from off her hands,
The rings by two and three:
'O take, O take these golden rings,
By them remember me.'

14.
She had a white wand in her hand,
She strake him on the breast:
'My faith and troth I give back to thee,
So may thy soul have rest.'

15.
'Prithee,' said he, 'forget, forget,
Prithee forget, forgive;
O grant me yet a little space,
That I may be well and live.'

16.
'O never will I forget, forgive,
So long as I have breath;
I'll dance above your green, green grave
Where you do lie beneath.'

FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM

+The Text+ is from a broadside in the Douce Ballads, with a few unimportant corrections from other stall-copies, as printed by Percy and Ritson.

+The Story+ is much the same as _Lord Thomas and Fair Annet_, except in the manner of Margaret's death.

None of the known copies of the ballad are as early in date as _The Knight of the Burning Pestle_ (a play by Beaumont and Fletcher, first produced, it is said, in 1611), in which the humorous old Merrythought sings two fragments of this ballad; stanza 5 in Act II. Sc. 8, and the first two lines of stanza 2 in Act III. Sc. 5. As there given, the lines are slightly different.

The last four stanzas of this ballad again present the stock ending, for which see the introduction to _Lord Lovel_. The last stanza condemns itself.

FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM

1.
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.

2.
'I see no harm by you, Margaret,
Nor you see none by me;
Before tomorrow eight a clock
A rich wedding shall you see.'

3.
Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window,
A combing of her hair,
And there she spy'd Sweet William and his bride,
As they were riding near.

4.
Down she lay'd her ivory comb,
And up she bound her hair;
She went her way forth of her bower,
But never more did come there.

5.
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.

6.
'God give you joy, you two true lovers,
In bride-bed fast asleep;
Loe I am going to my green grass grave,
And am in my winding-sheet.'

7.
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.

8.
'I dream'd a dream, my dear lady;
Such dreams are never good;
I dream'd my bower was full of red swine,
And my bride-bed full of blood.'

9.
'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.'

10.
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.'

11.
And when he came to Fair Margaret's bower,
He knocked at the ring;
So ready was her seven brethren
To let Sweet William in.

12.
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.

13.
'I'll do more for thee, Margaret,
Than any of thy kin;
For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,
Tho' a smile I cannot win.'

14.
With that bespeak her seven brethren,
Making most pitious moan:
'You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,
And let our sister alone.'

15.
'If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,
I do but what is right;
For I made no vow to your sister dear,
By day or yet by night.

16.
'Pray tell me then how much you'll deal
Of your white bread and your wine;
So much as is dealt at her funeral today
Tomorrow shall be dealt at mine.'

17.
Fair Margaret dy'd today, today,
Sweet William he dy'd the morrow;
Fair Margaret dy'd for pure true love,
Sweet William he dy'd for sorrow.

18.
Margaret was buried in the lower chancel,
Sweet William in the higher;
Out of her breast there sprung a rose,
And out of his a brier.

19.
They grew as high as the church-top,
Till they could grow no higher,
And then they grew in a true lover's knot,
Which made all people admire.

20.
There came the clerk of the parish,
As you this truth shall hear,
And by misfortune cut them down,
Or they had now been there.

LORD LOVEL

'It is silly sooth,
And dallies with the innocence of love,
Like the old age.'

--_Twelfth Night_, II. 4.

+The Text.+--This ballad, concluding a small class of three--_Lord Thomas and Fair Annet_, and _Fair Margaret and Sweet William_ being the other two--is distinguished by the fact that the lady dies of hope deferred. It is a foolish ballad, at the opposite pole to _Lord Thomas and Fair Annet_, and is pre-eminently one of the class meant only to be sung, with an effective burden. The text given here, therefore, is that of a broadside of the year 1846.

+The Story+ in outline is extremely popular in German and Scandinavian literature. Of the former the commonest is _Der Ritter und die Maid_, also found north of Germany; twenty-six different versions in all, in some of which lilies spring from the grave. In a Swedish ballad a linden-tree grows out of their bodies; in Danish ballads, roses, lilies, or lindens. This conclusion, a commonplace in folk-song, occurs also in a class of Romaic ballads, where a clump of reeds rises from one of the lovers, and a cypress or lemon-tree from the other, which bend to each other and mingle their leaves whenever the wind blows. Classical readers will recall the tale of Philemon and Baucis.

For further information on this subject, consult the special section of the Introduction.

Various other versions of this ballad are named _Lady Ouncebell_, _Lord Lavel_, _Lord Travell_, and _Lord Revel_.

LORD LOVEL

1.
Lord Lovel he stood at his castle-gate,
Combing his milk-white steed,
When up came Lady Nancy Belle,
To wish her lover good speed, speed,
To wish her lover good speed.

2.
'Where are you going, Lord Lovel?' she said,
'Oh where are you going?' said she;
'I'm going, my Lady Nancy Belle,
Strange countries for to see.'

3.
'When will you be back, Lord Lovel?' she said,
'Oh when will you come back?' said she;
'In a year, or two, or three at the most,
I'll return to my fair Nancy.'

4.
But he had not been gone a year and a day,
Strange countries for to see,
When languishing thoughts came into his head,
Lady Nancy Belle he would go see.

5.
So he rode, and he rode, on his milk-white steed,
Till he came to London town,
And there he heard St. Pancras' bells,
And the people all mourning round.

6.
'Oh what is the matter?' Lord Lovel he said,
'Oh what is the matter?' said he;
'A lord's lady is dead,' a woman replied,
'And some call her Lady Nancy.'

7.
So he ordered the grave to be opened wide,
And the shroud he turned down,
And there he kissed her clay-cold lips,
Till the tears came trickling down.

8.
Lady Nancy she died, as it might be, today,
Lord Lovel he died as tomorrow;
Lady Nancy she died out of pure, pure grief,
Lord Lovel he died out of sorrow.

9.
Lady Nancy was laid in St. Pancras' Church,
Lord Lovel was laid in the choir;
And out of her bosom there grew a red rose,
And out of her lover's a briar.

10.
They grew, and they grew, to the church-steeple too,
And then they could grow no higher;
So there they entwined in a true-lovers' knot,
For all lovers true to admire.

1.4,5: A similar repetition of the last line of each verse makes the
refrain throughout.
10.1: Perhaps a misprint for 'church-steeple top.'--+Child+.

LADY MAISRY

+The Text.+--From the Jamieson-Brown MS. All the other variants agree as to the main outline of the ballad.

+The Story.+--Lady Maisry, refusing the young lords of the north country, and saying that her love is given to an English lord, is suspected by her father's kitchy-boy, who goes to tell her brother. He charges her with her fault, reviles her for 'drawing up with an English lord,' and commands her to renounce him. She refuses, and is condemned to be burned. A bonny boy bears news of her plight to Lord William, who leaps to boot and saddle; but he arrives too late to save her, though he vows vengeance on all her kin, and promises to burn himself last of all.

Burning was the penalty usually allotted in the romances to a girl convicted of unchastity.

LADY MAISRY

1.
The young lords o' the north country
Have all a wooing gone,
To win the love of Lady Maisry,
But o' them she woud hae none.

2.
O they hae courted Lady Maisry
Wi' a' kin kind of things;
An' they hae sought her Lady Maisry
Wi' brotches an' wi' rings.

3.
An' they ha' sought her Lady Maisry
Frae father and frae mother;
An' they ha' sought her Lady Maisry
Frae sister an' frae brother.

4.
An' they ha' follow'd her Lady Maisry
Thro' chamber an' thro' ha';
But a' that they coud say to her,
Her answer still was Na.

5.
'O ha'd your tongues, young men,' she says,
'An' think nae mair o' me;
For I've gi'en my love to an English lord,
An' think nae mair o' me.'

6.
Her father's kitchy-boy heard that,
An ill death may he dee!
An' he is on to her brother,
As fast as gang coud he.

7.
'O is my father an' my mother well,
But an' my brothers three?
Gin my sister Lady Maisry be well,
There's naething can ail me.'

8.
'Your father an' your mother is well,
But an' your brothers three;
Your sister Lady Maisry's well,
So big wi' bairn gangs she.'

9.
'Gin this be true you tell to me,
My mailison light on thee!
But gin it be a lie you tell,
You sal be hangit hie.'

10.
He's done him to his sister's bow'r,
Wi' meikle doole an' care;
An' there he saw her Lady Maisry
Kembing her yallow hair.

11.
'O wha is aught that bairn,' he says,
'That ye sae big are wi'?
And gin ye winna own the truth,
This moment ye sall dee.'

12.
She turn'd her right and roun' about,
An' the kem fell frae her han';
A trembling seiz'd her fair body,
An' her rosy cheek grew wan.

13.
'O pardon me, my brother dear,
An' the truth I'll tell to thee;
My bairn it is to Lord William,
An' he is betroth'd to me.'

14.
'O coud na ye gotten dukes, or lords,
Intill your ain country,
That ye draw up wi' an English dog,
To bring this shame on me?

15.
'But ye maun gi' up the English lord,
Whan youre young babe is born;
For, gin you keep by him an hour langer,
Your life sall be forlorn.'

16.
'I will gi' up this English blood,
Till my young babe be born;
But the never a day nor hour langer,
Tho' my life should be forlorn.'

17.
'O whare is a' my merry young men,
Whom I gi' meat and fee,
To pu' the thistle and the thorn,
To burn this wile whore wi'?'

18.
'O whare will I get a bonny boy,
To help me in my need,
To rin wi' hast to Lord William,
And bid him come wi' speed?'

19.
O out it spake a bonny boy,
Stood by her brother's side:
'O I would run your errand, lady,
O'er a' the world wide.

20.
'Aft have I run your errands, lady,
Whan blawn baith win' and weet;
But now I'll rin your errand, lady,
Wi' sa't tears on my cheek.'

21.
O whan he came to broken briggs,
He bent his bow and swam,
An' whan he came to the green grass growin',
He slack'd his shoone and ran.

22.
O whan he came to Lord William's gates,
He baed na to chap or ca',
But set his bent bow till his breast,
An' lightly lap the wa';
An', or the porter was at the gate,
The boy was i' the ha'.

23.
'O is my biggins broken, boy?
Or is my towers won?
Or is my lady lighter yet,
Of a dear daughter or son?'

24.
'Your biggin is na broken, sir,
Nor is your towers won;
But the fairest lady in a' the lan'
For you this day maun burn.'

25.
'O saddle me the black, the black,
Or saddle me the brown;
O saddle me the swiftest steed
That ever rade frae a town.'

26.
Or he was near a mile awa',
She heard his wild horse sneeze:
'Mend up the fire, my false brother,
It's na come to my knees.'

27.
O whan he lighted at the gate,
She heard his bridle ring;
'Mend up the fire, my false brother,
It's far yet frae my chin.

28.
'Mend up the fire to me, brother,
Mend up the fire to me;
For I see him comin' hard an' fast,
Will soon men' 't up to thee.

29.
'O gin my hands had been loose, Willy,
Sae hard as they are boun',
I would have turn'd me frae the gleed,
And castin out your young son.'

30.
'O I'll gar burn for you, Maisry,
Your father an' your mother;
An' I'll gar burn for you, Maisry,
Your sister an' your brother.

31.
'An' I'll gar burn for you, Maisry,
The chief of a' your kin;
An' the last bonfire that I come to,
Mysel' I will cast in.'

[Annotations:
5.1: 'ha'd' = _haud_, hold.
9.2: 'mailison,' curse.
11.1: 'is aught,' owns.
15.4: 'forlorn,' forfeit.
20.2: _i.e._ in driving wind and rain.
21: A stock ballad-stanza.
22.2: 'baed,' stayed; 'chap,' knock.
22.4: 'lap,' leapt.
23.1: 'biggins,' buildings.
29.3: 'gleed,' burning coal, fire.
30.1: 'gar,' make, cause.]

THE CRUEL BROTHER

+The Text+ is that obtained in 1800 by Alexander Fraser Tytler from Mrs. Brown of Falkland, and by him committed to writing. The first ten and the last two stanzas show corruption, but the rest of the ballad is in the best style.

+The Story+ emphasises the necessity of asking the consent of a brother to the marriage of his sister, and therefore the title _The Cruel Brother_ is a misnomer. In ballad-times, the brother would have been well within his rights; it was rather a fatal oversight of the bridegroom that caused the tragedy.

Danish and German ballads echo the story, though in the commonest German ballad, _Graf Friedrich_, the bride receives an _accidental_ wound, and that from the bridegroom's own hand.

The testament of the bride, by which she benefits her friends and leaves curses on her enemies, is very characteristic of the ballad-style, and is found in other ballads, as _Lord Ronald_ and _Edward, Edward_. In the present case, 'sister Grace' obtains what would seem to be a very doubtful benefit.

THE CRUEL BROTHER

1.
There was three ladies play'd at the ba',
_With a hey ho and a lillie gay_
There came a knight and played o'er them a',
_As the primrose spreads so sweetly_.

2.
The eldest was baith tall and fair,
But the youngest was beyond compare.

3.
The midmost had a graceful mien,
But the youngest look'd like beautie's queen.

4.
The knight bow'd low to a' the three,
But to the youngest he bent his knee.

5.
The ladie turned her head aside;
The knight he woo'd her to be his bride.

6.
The ladie blush'd a rosy red,
And say'd, 'Sir knight, I'm too young to wed.'

7.
'O ladie fair, give me your hand,
And I'll make you ladie of a' my land.'

8.
'Sir knight, ere ye my favour win,
You maun get consent frae a' my kin.'

9.
He's got consent frae her parents dear,
And likewise frae her sisters fair.

10.
He's got consent frae her kin each one,
But forgot to spiek to her brother John.

11.
Now, when the wedding day was come,
The knight would take his bonny bride home.

12.
And many a lord and many a knight
Came to behold that ladie bright.

13.
And there was nae man that did her see,
But wish'd himself bridegroom to be.

14.
Her father dear led her down the stair,
And her sisters twain they kiss'd her there.

15.
Her mother dear led her thro' the closs,
And her brother John set her on her horse.

16.
She lean'd her o'er the saddle-bow,
To give him a kiss ere she did go.

17.
He has ta'en a knife, baith lang and sharp,
And stabb'd that bonny bride to the heart.

18.
She hadno ridden half thro' the town,
Until her heart's blude stain'd her gown.

19.
'Ride softly on,' says the best young man,
'For I think our bonny bride looks pale and wan.'

20.
'O lead me gently up yon hill,
And I'll there sit down, and make my will.'

21.
'O what will you leave to your father dear?'
'The silver-shod steed that brought me here.'

22.
'What will you leave to your mother dear?'
'My velvet pall and my silken gear.'

23.
'What will you leave to your sister Anne?'
'My silken scarf and my gowden fan.'

24.
'What will you leave to your sister Grace?'
'My bloody cloaths to wash and dress.'

25.
'What will you leave to your brother John?'
'The gallows-tree to hang him on.'

26.
'What will you leave to your brother John's wife?'
'The wilderness to end her life.'

27.
This ladie fair in her grave was laid,
And many a mass was o'er her said.

28.
But it would have made your heart right sair,
To see the bridegroom rive his hair.

1.2,4: It should be remembered that the refrain is supposed to be
sung with each verse, here and elsewhere.
15.1: 'closs,' close.
28.2: 'rive,' tear.

THE NUTBROWN MAID

+The Text+ is from Arnold's _Chronicle_, of the edition which, from typographical evidence, is said to have been printed at Antwerp in 1502 by John Doesborowe. Each stanza is there printed in six long lines. Considerable variations appear in later editions. There is also a Balliol MS. (354), which contains a contemporary version, and the Percy Folio contains a corrupt version.

This should not be considered as a ballad proper; it is rather a 'dramatic lyric.' Its history, however, is quite as curious as that of many ballads. It occurs, as stated above, in the farrago known as the _Chronicle_ of Richard Arnold, inserted between a list of the 'tolls' due on merchandise entering or leaving the port of Antwerp, and a table giving Flemish weights and moneys in terms of the corresponding English measures. Why such a poem should be printed in such incongruous surroundings, what its date or who its author was, are questions impossible to determine. Its position here is perhaps almost as incongruous as in its original place.

From 3.9 to the end of the last verse but one, it is a dialogue between an earl's son and a baron's daughter, in alternate stanzas; a prologue and an epilogue are added by the author.

Matthew Prior printed the poem in his works, in order to contrast it with his own version, _Henry and Emma_, which appealed to contemporary taste as more elegant than its rude original.

THE NUTBROWN MAID

1.
Be it right, or wrong, these men among
On women do complaine;
Affermyng this, how that it is
A labour spent in vaine,
To loue them wele; for neuer a dele,
They loue a man agayne;
For lete a man do what he can,
Ther fouour to attayne,
Yet, yf a newe to them pursue,
Ther furst trew louer than
Laboureth for nought; and from her though[t]
He is a bannisshed man.

2.
I say not nay, bat that all day
It is bothe writ and sayde
That womans fayth is as who saythe
All utterly decayed;
But neutheles, right good wytnes
In this case might be layde;
That they loue trewe, and contynew,
Recorde the Nutbrowne maide:
Which from her loue, whan, her to proue,
He cam to make his mone,
Wolde not departe, for in her herte,
She louyd but hym allone.

3.
Than betwene us lete us discusse,
What was all the maner
Betwene them too; we wyll also
Tell all they payne in fere,
That she was in; now I begynne,
Soo that ye me answere;
Wherfore, ye, that present be
I pray you geue an eare.
I am the knyght; I cum be nyght,
As secret as I can;
Sayng, alas! thus stondyth the cause,
I am a bannisshed man.

4.
And I your wylle for to fulfylle
In this wyl not refuse;
Trusting to shewe, in wordis fewe,
That men haue an ille use
To ther owne shame wymen to blame,
And causeles them accuse;
Therfore to you I answere nowe,
All wymen to excuse,--
Myn owne hert dere, with you what chiere?
I prey you, tell anoon;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I loue but you allon.

5.
It stondith so; a dede is do,
Wherfore moche harme shal growe;
My desteny is for to dey
A shamful dethe, I trowe;
Or ellis to flee: the ton must bee.
None other wey I knowe,
But to withdrawe as an outlaw,
And take me to my bowe.
Wherefore, adew, my owne hert trewe,
None other red I can:
For I muste to the grene wode goo,
Alone a bannysshed man.

6.
O Lorde, what is this worldis blisse,
That chaungeth as the mone!
My somers day in lusty may
Is derked before the none.
I here you saye farwel: nay, nay,
We depart not soo sone.
Why say ye so? wheder wyll ye goo?
Alas! what haue ye done?
Alle my welfare to sorow and care
Shulde chaunge, yf ye were gon;
For, in [my] mynde, of all mankynde
I loue but you alone.

7.
I can beleue, it shal you greue,
And somwhat you distrayne;
But, aftyrwarde, your paynes harde
Within a day or tweyne
Shall sone aslake; and ye shall take
Comfort to you agayne.
Why shuld ye nought? for, to make thought,
Your labur were in vayne.
And thus I do; and pray you, loo,
As hertely as I can;
For I must too the grene wode goo,
Alone a banysshed man.

8.
Now, syth that ye haue shewed to me
The secret of your mynde,
I shalbe playne to you agayne,
Lyke as ye shal me fynde.
Syth it is so, that ye wyll goo,
I wol not leue behynde;
Shall neuer be sayd, the Nutbrowne mayd,
Was to her loue unkind:
Make you redy, for soo am I,
All though it were anoon;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I loue but you alone.

9.
Yet I you rede take good hede
Whan men wyl thynke, and sey;
Of yonge, and olde, it shalbe tolde,
That ye be gone away,
Your wanton wylle for to fulfylle,
In grene wood you to play;
And that ye myght from your delyte
Noo lenger make delay:
Rather than ye shuld thus for me
Be called an ylle woman,
Yet wolde I to the grene wodde goo,
Alone a banyshed man.

10.
Though it be songe of olde and yonge,
That I shuld be to blame,
Theirs be the charge, that speke so large
In hurting of my name:
For I wyl proue that feythful loue
It is deuoyd of shame;
In your distresse and heuynesse,
To parte wyth you, the same:
And sure all thoo, that doo not so,
Trewe louers ar they noon;
But, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I loue but you alone.

11.
I councel yow, remembre howe
It is noo maydens lawe,
Nothing to dought, but to renne out
To wod with an outlawe;
For ye must there in your hande bere
A bowe to bere and drawe;
And, as a theef, thus must ye lyeue,
Euer in drede and awe,
By whiche to yow gret harme myght grow:
Yet had I leuer than,
That I had too the grenewod goo,
Alone a banysshyd man.

12.
I thinke not nay, but as ye saye,
It is noo maydens lore:
But loue may make me for your sake,
As ye haue said before
To com on fote, to hunte, and shote,
To gete us mete and store;
For soo that I your company
May haue, I aske noo more:
From whiche to parte, it makith myn herte
As colde as ony ston;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I loue but you alone.

13.
For an outlawe, this is the lawe,
That men hym take and binde;
Wythout pytee hanged to bee,
And wauer with the wynde.
Yf I had neede, (as God forbede!)
What rescous coude ye finde?
Forsothe, I trowe, you and your bowe
Shuld drawe for fere behynde:
And noo merueyle; for lytel auayle
Were in your councel than:
Wherfore I too the woode wyl goo
Alone a banysshd man.

14.
Ful wel knowe ye, that wymen bee
Ful febyl for to fyght;
Noo womanhed is it in deede
To bee bolde as a knight:
Yet, in suche fere, yf that ye were
Amonge enemys day and nyght,
I wolde wythstonde, with bowe in hande,
To greue them as I myght,
And you to saue; as wymen haue
From deth many one:
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I loue but you alone.

15.
Yet take good hede, for euer I drede
That ye coude not sustein
The thorney wayes, the depe valeis,
The snowe, the frost, the reyn,
The colde, the hete: for drye, or wete,
We must lodge on the playn;
And, us abowe, noon other roue
But a brake bussh or twayne:
Which sone shulde greue you, I beleue;
And ye wolde gladly than
That I had too the grenewode goo,
Alone a banysshyd man.

16.
Syth I haue here ben partynere
With you of joy and blysse,
I must also parte of your woo
Endure, as reason is:
Yet am I sure of oon plesure;
And, shortly, it is this:
That, where ye bee, me semeth, perde,
I coude not fare amysse,
Wythout more speche, I you beseche
That we were soon agone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde,
I loue but you alone.

17.
Yef ye goo thedyr, ye must consider,
Whan ye haue lust to dyne
Ther shal no mete before to gete,
Nor drinke, beer, ale, ne wine;
Ne shetis clene, to lye betwene,
Made of thred and twyne;
Noon other house but leuys and bowes
To keuer your hed and myn,
Loo, myn herte swete, this ylle dyet
Shuld make you pale and wan;
Wherfore I to the wood wyl goo,
Alone, a banysshid man.

18.
Amonge the wylde dere, suche an archier,
As men say that ye bee,
Ne may not fayle of good vitayle
Where is so grete plente:
And watir cleere of the ryuere
Shalbe ful swete to me;
Wyth whiche in hele I shal right wele
Endure, as ye shal see;
And, or we goo, a bed or twoo
I can prouide anoon;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I loue but you alone.

19.
Loo, yet before ye must doo more,
Yf ye wyl goo with me;
As cutte your here up by your ere,
Your kirtel by the knee;
Wyth bowe in hande, for to withstonde
Your enmys, yf nede bee:
And this same nyght before daylyght,
To woodwarde wyl I flee.
And ye wyl all this fulfylle,
Doo it shortely as ye can:
Ellis wil I to the grenewode goo,
Alone, a banysshyd man.

20.
I shal as now do more for you
That longeth to womanhed;
To short my here, a bowe to bere,
To shote in tyme of nede.
O my swete mod[er], before all other
For you haue I most drede:
But now, adiew! I must ensue
Wher fortune duth me leede.
All this make ye: now lete us flee;
The day cum fast upon;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I loue but you alone.

21.
Nay, nay, not soo; ye shal not goo,
And I shal telle you why,--
Your appetyte is to be lyght
Of loue, I wele aspie:
For, right as ye haue sayd to me,
In lyke wyse hardely
Ye wolde answere who so euer it were,
In way of company.
It is sayd of olde, sone hote, sone colde;
And so is a woman.
Wherfore I too the woode wly goo,
Alone, a banysshid man.

22.
Yef ye take hede, yet is noo nede
Suche wordis to say by me;
For ofte ye preyd, and longe assayed,
Or I you louid, parde:
And though that I of auncestry
A barons doughter bee,
Yet haue you proued how I you loued
A squyer of lowe degree;
And euer shal, whatso befalle--
To dey therfore anoon;
For, in my mynde, of al mankynde
I loue but you alone.

23.
A barons childe to be begyled,
It were a curssed dede;
To be felow with an outlawe,
Almyghty God forbede.
Yet bettyr were the power squyere
Alone to forest yede,
Than ye shal saye another day,
That, be [my] wyked dede,
Ye were betrayed: wherfore, good maide,
The best red that I can,
Is, that I too the grenewode goo,
Alone, a banysshed man.

24.
Whatso euer befalle, I neuer shal
Of this thing you upbrayd:
But yf ye goo, and leue me soo,
Than haue ye me betraied.
Remembre you wele, how that ye dele
For, yf ye as the[y] sayd,
Be so unkynde, to leue behynde
Your loue, the notbrowne maide,
Trust me truly, that I [shall] dey
Sone after ye be gone;
For, in my mynde, of all mankynde
I loue but you alone.