Chapter V: Book III: Continued (3)

"There were three ladies, they lived in a bower,
And O but they were fair;
The youngest o' them is to the King's court,
To learn some unco lair."

"There is another version in which the heroine is named Mary Myles, or Myle; but Myle is probably a corruption of the epithet 'mild,' which occurs in the fragment given in the _North Countrie Garland_." MOTHERWELL.

There lived a knight into the North,
And he had daughters three:
The ane of them was a barber's wife,
The other a gay ladie;

And the youngest o' them to Scotland is gane 5
The Queen's Mary to be;
And for a' that they could say or do,
Forbidden she wouldna be.

The prince's bed it was sae saft,
The spices they were sae fine, 10
That out of it she could not lye
While she was scarce fifteen.

She's gane to the garden gay
To pu' of the savin tree;
But for a' that she could say or do, 15
The babie it would not die.

She's rowed it in her handkerchief,
She threw it in the sea:
Says,--"Sink ye, swim ye, my bonnie babe,
For ye'll get nae mair of me." 20

Queen Mary came tripping down the stair,
Wi' the gold strings in her hair:
"O whare's the little babie," she says,
"That I heard greet sae sair?"

"O hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame, 25
Let all those words go free;
It was mysell wi' a fit o' the sair colic,
I was sick just like to die."

"O hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton,
Let all those words go free; 30
O where is the little babie
That I heard weep by thee?"

"I rowed it in my handkerchief,
And threw it in the sea;
I bade it sink, I bade it swim, 35
It would get nae mair o' me."

"O wae be to thee, Mary Hamilton,
And an ill deid may you die;
For if you had saved the babie's life,
It might hae been an honour to thee. 40

"Busk ye, busk ye, Mary Hamilton,
O busk ye to be a bride;
For I am going to Edinburgh town
Your gay wedding to bide.

"You must not put on your robes of black, 45
Nor yet your robes of brown;
But you must put on your yellow gold stuffs,
To shine thro' Edinburgh town."

"I will not put on my robes of black,
Nor yet my robes of brown; 50
But I will put on my yellow gold stuffs,
To shine thro' Edinburgh town."

As she went up the Parliament Close,
A riding on her horse,
There she saw many a burgess' lady 55
Sit greeting at the cross.

"O what means a' this greeting?
I'm sure it's nae for me;
For I'm come this day to Edinburgh town,
Weel wedded for to be." 60

When she gade up the Parliament stair,
She gied loud lauchters three;
But ere that she had come down again,
She was condemned to die.

"O little did my mother think, 65
The day she prinned my gown,
That I was to come sae far frae hame
To be hanged in Edinburgh town.

"O what'll my poor father think,
As he comes through the town, 70
To see the face of his Molly fair
Hanging on the gallows pin?

"Here's a health to the mariners
That plough the raging main;
Let neither my mother nor father ken 75
But I'm coming hame again.

"Here's a health to the sailors
That sail upon the sea;
Let neither my mother nor father ken
That I came here to die. 80

"Yestreen the Queen had four Maries,
This night she'll hae but three;
There was Mary Beaton, and Mary Seaton,
And Mary Carmichael and me."

"O hald your tongue, Mary Hamilton, 85
Let all those words go free;
This night ere ye be hanged
Ye shall gang hame wi' me."

"O hald your tongue, Queen Mary, my dame,
Let all those words go free; 90
Since I have come to Edinburgh town,
It's hanged I shall be;
For it shall ne'er be said that in your court
I was condemned to die."

BESSIE BELL AND MARY GRAY.

From Lyle's _Ancient Ballads and Songs_, p. 160, where it was printed as collated "from the singing of two aged persons, one of them a native of Perthshire." There are two versions slightly differing from the present;--one in Cunningham's _Songs of Scotland_, iii. 60, obtained from Sir Walter Scott, and another in Mr. Kirkpatrick Sharpe's _Ballad Book_, p. 62.

Allan Ramsay wrote a song with the same title, beginning with the first stanza of the ballad, (_Tea Table Miscellany_, i. 70.)

The story of the unfortunate heroines is thus given by Chambers: "Bessie Bell and Mary Gray were the daughters of two country gentlemen in the neighborhood of Perth; and an intimate friendship subsisted between them. Bessie Bell, daughter of the Laird of Kinnaird, happening to be on a visit to Mary Gray, at her father's house of Lynedoch, when the plague of 1666 broke out, to avoid the infection, the two young ladies built themselves a bower in a very retired and romantic spot, called the Burn-braes, about three quarters of a mile westward from Lynedoch House; where they resided for some time, supplied with food, it is said, by a young gentleman of Perth, who was in love with them both. The disease was unfortunately communicated to them by their lover, and proved fatal; when, according to custom in cases of the plague, they were not buried in the ordinary parochial place of sepulture, but in a sequestered spot, called the Dronach Haugh, at the foot of a brae of the same name, upon the banks of the River Almond."

O Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray,
They were twa bonnie lassies;
They biggit a house on yon burn-brae,
An' theekit it o'er wi' rashes.

They theekit it o'er wi' birk and brume, 5
They theekit it o'er wi' heather,
Till the pest cam frae the neib'rin town
An' streekit them baith thegither.

They were na' buried in Meffen kirk-yard,
Amang the rest o' their kin; 10
But they were buried by Dornoch haugh,
On the bent before the sun.

Sing, Bessy Bell an' Mary Gray,
They were twa bonnie lasses,
Wha' biggit a bower on yon burn-brae, 15
An' theekit it o'er wi' thrashes.

THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD.

_The Children in the Wood_ is perhaps the most popular of all English ballads. Its merit is attested by the favor it has enjoyed with so many generations, and was vindicated to a cold and artificial age by the kindly pen of Addison. The editor of the _Reliques_ thought that the subject was taken from an old play, published in 1601, "of a young child murthered in a wood by two ruffins, with the consent of his unkle," but Ritson discovered that the ballad was entered in the Stationers' Registers in 1595. The plot of the play was undoubtedly derived from the Italian, and the author of the ballad may have taken a hint from the same source.

Percy's edition, (_Reliques_, iii. 218,) which we have adopted, was printed from two old copies, one of them in black-letter, in the Pepys collection. The full title is, _The Children in the Wood, or, The Norfolk Gentleman's Last Will and Testament_. _To the Tune of Rogero_, &c. Copies slightly varying from Percy's may be seen in _A Collection of Old Ballads_, (1723,) i. 221; Ritson's _Ancient Songs_, ii. 150; _The Book of British Ballads_, p. 13; and Moore's _Pictorial Book of Ancient Ballad Poetry_, p. 263.

Now ponder well, you parents deare,
These wordes which I shall write;
A doleful story you shall heare,
In time brought forth to light.
A gentleman of good account 5
In Norfolke dwelt of late,
Who did in honour far surmount
Most men of his estate.

Sore sicke he was, and like to dye,
No helpe his life could save; 10
His wife by him as sicke did lye,
And both possest one grave.
No love between these two was lost,
Each was to other kinde;
In love they liv'd, in love they dyed, 15
And left two babes behinde:

The one a fine and pretty boy,
Not passing three yeares olde;
The other a girl more young than he,
And fram'd in beautyes molde. 20
The father left his little son,
As plainlye doth appeare,
When he to perfect age should come,
Three hundred poundes a yeare.

And to his little daughter Jane 25
Five hundred poundes in gold,
To be paid downe on marriage-day,
Which might not be controll'd:
But if the children chance to dye,
Ere they to age should come, 30
Their uncle should possesse their wealth;
For so the wille did run.

"Now, brother," said the dying man,
"Look to my children deare;
Be good unto my boy and girl, 35
No friendes else have they here:
To God and you I recommend
My children deare this daye;
But little while be sure we have
Within this world to staye. 40

"You must be father and mother both,
And uncle all in one;
God knowes what will become of them,
When I am dead and gone."
With that bespake their mother deare, 45
"O brother kinde," quoth shee,
"You are the man must bring our babes
To wealth or miserie:

"And if you keep them carefully,
Then God will you reward; 50
But if you otherwise should deal,
God will your deedes regard."
With lippes as cold as any stone,
They kist their children small:
"God bless you both, my children deare;" 55
With that the teares did fall.

These speeches then their brother spake
To this sicke couple there:
"The keeping of your little ones,
Sweet sister, do not feare. 60
God never prosper me nor mine,
Nor aught else that I have,
If I do wrong your children deare,
When you are layd in grave."

The parents being dead and gone, 65
The children home he takes,
And bringes them straite unto his house,
Where much of them he makes.
He had not kept these pretty babes
A twelvemonth and a daye, 70
But, for their wealth, he did devise
To make them both awaye.

He bargain'd with two ruffians strong,
Which were of furious mood,
That they should take these children young, 75
And slaye them in a wood.
He told his wife an artful tale.
He would the children send
To be brought up in faire London,
With one that was his friend. 80

Away then went those pretty babes,
Rejoycing at that tide,
Rejoycing with a merry minde,
They should on cock-horse ride.
They prate and prattle pleasantly, 85
As they rode on the waye,
To those that should their butchers be,
And work their lives decaye:

So that the pretty speeche they had,
Made Murder's heart relent: 90
And they that undertooke the deed,
Full sore did now repent.
Yet one of them more hard of heart,
Did vowe to do his charge,
Because the wretch, that hired him, 95
Had paid him very large.

The other won't agree thereto,
So here they fall to strife;
With one another they did fight,
About the childrens life: 100
And he that was of mildest mood,
Did slaye the other there,
Within an unfrequented wood;
The babes did quake for feare!

He took the children by the hand, 105
Teares standing in their eye,
And bad them straitwaye follow him,
And look they did not crye:
And two long miles he ledd them on,
While they for food complaine: 110
"Staye here," quoth he, "I'll bring you bread,
When I come back againe."

These pretty babes, with hand in hand,
Went wandering up and downe;
But never more could see the man 115
Approaching from the towne:
Their prettye lippes with blackberries,
Were all besmear'd and dyed,
And when they sawe the darksome night,
They sat them downe and cryed. 120

Thus wandered these poor innocents,
Till deathe did end their grief,
In one anothers armes they died,
As wanting due relief:
No burial this pretty pair[L125] 125
Of any man receives,
Till Robin-red-breast piously
Did cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrathe of God
Upon their uncle fell; 130
Yea, fearfull fiends did haunt his house,
His conscience felt an hell;
His barnes were fir'd, his goodes consum'd,
His landes were barren made,
His cattle dyed within the field, 135
And nothing with him stayd.

And in the voyage of Portugal[L137]
Two of his sonnes did dye;
And to conclude, himselfe was brought
To want and miserye: 140
He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land
Ere seven years came about,
And now at length this wicked act
Did by this meanes come out:

The fellowe, that did take in hand 145
These children for to kill,
Was for a robbery judg'd to dye,
Such was God's blessed will:
Who did confess the very truth,
As here hath been display'd: 150
Their uncle having dyed in gaol,
Where he for debt was layd.

You that executors be made,
And overseers eke
Of children that be fatherless, 155
And infants mild and meek;
Take you example by this thing,
And yield to each his right,
Lest God with such like miserye
Your wicked minds requite.

125, these ... babes, PP.

137. "A. D. 1588. Dr. Percy, not knowing that the text alludes to a particular event, has altered it to _a_ voyage _to_ Portugal." RITSON.

HUGH OF LINCOLN.

In the year 1255, we are told by Matthew Paris, in his account of the reign of Henry III., the Jews of Lincoln stole a boy, named Hugh, of the age of eight years, whom, after torturing for ten days, they crucified before a large council of their people, in contempt of the death of the founder of Christianity. The boy was sought by his mother in the house of a Jew, which he had been seen to enter, and his body was found in a pit. The occupant of the house being seized, acknowledged the crime, and avowed, besides, that the like was committed nearly every year by his nation. Notwithstanding the promise of impunity by which this confession had been obtained, the wretch who made it was tied to the tail of a horse and dragged to the gallows, and after a judicial investigation, eighteen of the richest and most distinguished Jews in Lincoln were hanged for participation in the murder, while many more were detained as prisoners in the Tower of London. On the other hand, the body of the child was buried with the honors of a martyr in Lincoln Cathedral, where a construction, assumed without reason to be his tomb, is still shown. The remains of a young person, found near this spot in 1791, were at once taken for granted to be those of the sainted infant, and drawings were made of the relics, which may be seen among the works of the artist Grimm in the British Museum.

Several stories of the same tenor are reported by the English chroniclers. It may be doubted whether there is a grain of truth in any of them, although it would be no wonder if the atrocious injuries inflicted on the Jews should, in an instance or two, have provoked a bloody retaliation, even from that tribe whose badge has always been sufferance. The annual sacrifice of a Christian child, in mockery of the crucifixion of Jesus, is on a par for credibility with the miracles which are said to have followed the death of those innocents.

The exquisite tale which Chaucer has put into the mouth of the Prioress exhibits nearly the same incidents as the following ballad. The legend of Hugh of Lincoln was widely famous. Michel has published an Anglo-Norman ballad, (_Hugo de Lincolnia_,) on the subject, which appears to be almost contemporary with the event recorded by Matthew Paris, and is certainly of the times of Henry III. The versions of the English ballad are quite numerous. We give here those of Percy, Herd, and Jamieson, and two others in the Appendix. Besides these, fragments have been printed in Sir Egerton Brydges's _Restituta_, i. 381, Halliwell's _Ballads and Poems respecting Hugh of Lincoln_, (1849,) and in _Notes and Queries_, vol. viii. 614, ix. 320, xii. 496. The most complete of all the versions is to be found in the new edition of the _Musical Museum_, vol. iv. p. 500; but that copy is evidently made up from others previously published. See, for a collection of most of the poetry, and of much curious information on the imputed cruelties of the Jews, Michel's _Hugues de Lincoln_, and Hume's _Sir Hugh of Lincoln_. The whole subject is critically examined in the _London Athen[ae]um_ for Dec. 15, 1849.

"The text of the following edition has been given _verbatim_, as the editor took it down from Mrs. Brown's recitation; and in it two circumstances are preserved, which are neither to be found in any of the former editions, nor in any of the chronicles in which the transaction is recorded; but which are perfectly in the character of those times, and tend to enhance the miracles to which the discovery is attributed. The first of these is, that, in order that the whole of this infamous sacrifice might be of a piece, and every possible outrage shown to Christianity, the Jews threw the child's body into a well dedicated to the Virgin Mary; and tradition says, that it was 'through the might of Our Ladie,' that the dead body was permitted to speak, and to reveal the horrid story to the disconsolate mother. The other is, the voluntary ringing of the bells, &c., at his funeral. The sound of consecrated bells was supposed to have a powerful effect in driving away evil spirits, appeasing storms, &c., and they were believed to be inspired with sentiments and perceptions which were often manifested in a very miraculous manner." JAMIESON'S _Popular Ballads_, i. 139-156.

Four and twenty bonny boys
Were playing at the ba';
And by it came him, sweet Sir Hugh,
And he play'd o'er them a'.

He kick'd the ba' with his right foot, 5
And catch'd it wi' his knee;
And throuch-and-thro' the Jew's window,
He gar'd the bonny ba' flee.

He's doen him to the Jew's castell,
And walk'd it round about; 10
And there he saw the Jew's daughter
At the window looking out.

"Throw down the ba', ye Jew's daughter,
Throw down the ba' to me!"
"Never a bit," says the Jew's daughter, 15
"Till up to me come ye."

"How will I come up? How can I come up?
How can I come to thee?
For as ye did to my auld father,
The same ye'll do to me." 20

She's gane till her father's garden,
And pu'd an apple, red and green;
'Twas a' to wyle him, sweet Sir Hugh,
And to entice him in.

She's led him in through ae dark door, 25
And sae has she thro' nine;
She's laid him on a dressing table,
And stickit him like a swine.

And first came out the thick, thick blood,
And syne came out the thin; 30
And syne came out the bonny heart's blood;
There was nae mair within.

She's row'd him in a cake o' lead,
Bade him lie still and sleep;
She's thrown him in Our Lady's draw well, 35
Was fifty fathom deep.

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' the bairns came hame,
When every lady gat hame her son,
The Lady Maisry gat nane. 40

She's ta'en her mantle her about,
Her coffer by the hand;
And she's gane out to seek her son,
And wander'd o'er the land.

She's doen her to the Jew's castell, 45
Where a' were fast asleep;
"Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak."

She's doen her to the Jew's garden,
Thought he had been gathering fruit; 50
"Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,
I pray you to me speak."

She near'd Our Lady's deep draw-well,
Was fifty fathom deep;
"Whare'er ye be, my sweet Sir Hugh, 55
I pray you to me speak."

"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither dear;
Prepare my winding sheet;
And, at the back o' merry Lincoln,
The morn I will you meet." 60

Now Lady Maisry is gane hame;
Made him a winding sheet;
And, at the back o' merry Lincoln,
The dead corpse did her meet.

And a' the bells o' merry Lincoln, 65
Without men's hands were rung;
And a' the books o' merry Lincoln,
Were read without man's tongue;
And ne'er was such a burial
Sin Adam's days begun. 70

SIR HUGH.

From Herd's _Scottish Songs_, i. 157.

A' the boys of merry Linkim
War playing at the ba',
An up it stands him sweet Sir Hugh,
The flower among them a'.

He keppit the ba' than wi' his foot, 5
And catcht it wi' his knee,
And even in at the Jew's window,
He gart the bonny ba' flee.

"Cast out the ba' to me, fair maid,
Cast out the ba' to me." 10
"Ah never a bit of it," she says,
"Till ye come up to me.

"Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh,
Come up and get the ba';"
"I winna come, I mayna come, 15
Without my bonny boys a'."

"Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh,
Come up and speak to me;"
"I mayna come, I winna come,
Without my bonny boys three." 20

She's taen her to the Jew's garden,
Whar the grass grew lang and green,
She's pu'd an apple red and white,
To wyle the bonny boy in.

She's wyled him in through ae chamber, 25
She's wyled him in through twa,
She's wyled him in till her ain chamber,
The flower out owr them a'.

She's laid him on a dressin board,
Whar she did often dine; 30
She stack a penknife to his heart,
And dress'd him like a swine.

She row'd him in a cake of lead,
Bade him ly still and sleep,
She threw him i' the Jew's draw-well, 35
It was fifty fathom deep.

Whan bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' man bound to bed,
Every lady got home her son,
But sweet Sir Hugh was dead.

THE JEW'S DAUGHTER.

From Percy's _Reliques_, i. 40; printed from a manuscript copy sent from Scotland.

Mirryland toune is a corruption of Merry Lincoln, and not, as Percy conjectured, of Mailand (Milan) town. In Motherwell's copy we have Maitland town.

The rain rins doun through Mirry-land toune,
Sae dois it doune the Pa:
Sae dois the lads of Mirry-land toune,
Quhan they play at the ba'.

Than out and cam the Jewis dochter, 5
Said, "Will ye cum in and dine?"
"I winnae cum in, I cannae cum in,
Without my play-feres nine."

Scho powd an apple reid and white,
To intice the zong thing in: 10
Scho powd an apple white and reid,
And that the sweit bairne did win.

And scho has taine out a little pen-knife,
And low down by her gair;
Scho has twin'd the zong thing and his life; 15
A word he nevir spak mair.

And out and cam the thick thick bluid,
And out and cam the thin;
And out and cam the bonny herts bluid:
Thair was nae life left in. 20

Scho laid him on a dressing borde,
And drest him like a swine,
And laughing said, "Gae nou and pley
With zour sweit play-feres nine."

Scho rowd him in a cake of lead, 25
Bade him lie stil and sleip;
Scho cast him in a deip draw-well,
Was fifty fadom deip.

Quhan bells wer rung, and mass was sung,
And every lady went hame, 30
Then ilka lady had her zong sonne,
Bot Lady Helen had nane.

Scho rowd hir mantil hir about,
And sair sair gan she weip,
And she ran into the Jewis cast[e']l, 35
Quhan they wer all asleip.

"My bonny Sir Hew, my pretty Sir Hew,
I pray thee to me speik:"
"O lady, rinn to the deip draw-well,
Gin ze zour sonne wad seik." 40

Lady Helen ran to the deip draw-well,
And knelt upon her kne:
"My bonny Sir Hew, and ze be here,
I pray thee speik to me."

"The lead is wondrous heavy, mither, 45
The well is wondrous deip;
A keen pen-knife sticks in my hert,
A word I dounae speik.

"Gae hame, gae hame, my mither deir,
Fetch me my windling sheet, 50
And at the back o' Mirry-land toun,
Its thair we twa sall meet."

SIR PATRICK SPENCE.

From Percy's _Reliques_, i. 81.

The event upon which this ballad is founded, if it has been rightly ascertained, belongs to a remote period in Scottish history. Margaret, the daughter of Alexander III., was, in the year 1281, betrothed to Eric, prince of Norway. The bride was conducted to her husband by a splendid convoy of knights and nobles, and in the month of August was crowned queen. In returning from the celebration of the nuptials, many of the Scottish escort were lost at sea, and among those who perished was Sir Patrick Spence, we are to suppose.

It is in conformity with this view of the origin of the ballad, (the suggestion of Motherwell,) that in Buchan's version the object of the voyage is said to be to take the king's daughter, now "a chosen queen," _to_ Norway. In Scott's edition, on the other hand, Sir Patrick is deputed _to bring home_ the king of Norway's daughter. To explain this circumstance in the story, Sir Walter is forced to suppose that an unsuccessful and unrecorded embassy was sent, when the death of Alexander III. had left the Scottish throne vacant, to bring the only daughter of Eric and Margaret, styled by historians the Maid of Norway, to the kingdom of which, after her grandfather's demise, she became the heir. That such an embassy, attended with so disastrous consequences to the distinguished persons who would compose it, should be entirely unnoticed by the chroniclers is, to say the least, exceedingly improbable.

The question concerning the historical basis of the ballad would naturally lose much of its interest, were any importance attached to the arguments by which its genuineness has been lately assailed. These are so trivial as hardly to admit of a statement. The claims of the composition to a high antiquity are first disputed, (_Musical Museum_, new ed., iv. 457*,) on the ground that such a piece was never heard of till it was sent to Percy by some of his correspondents in Scotland, with other ballads of (assumed) questionable authority. But even the ballad of _Sir Hugh_ is liable to any impeachment that can be extracted from these circumstances, since it was first made known by Percy, and was transmitted to him from Scotland, (for aught we know, in suspicious company,) while its story dates also from the 13th century. Then, "an ingenious friend" having remarked to Percy that some of the phrases of _Hardyknute_ seemed to have been borrowed from _Sir Patrick Spence_ and _other_ old Scottish songs, this observation, combined with the fact that the localities of Dunfermline and Aberdour are in the neighborhood of Sir Henry Wardlaw's estate, leads to a conjecture that Lady Wardlaw may have been the author of _Sir Patrick Spence_, as she is known to have been of _Hardyknute_. It could never be deemed fair to argue from those resemblances which give plausibility to a counterfeit to the spuriousness of the original, but in fact there is _no_ resemblance in the two pieces. _Hardyknute_ is recognized at once by an ordinary critic to be a modern production, and is, notwithstanding the praise it has received, a tame and tiresome one besides. _Sir Patrick Spence_, on the other hand, if not ancient, has been always accepted as such by the most skilful judges, and is a solitary instance of a successful imitation, in manner and spirit, of the best specimens of authentic minstrelsy.[1]

It is not denied that this ballad has suffered, like others, by corruption and interpolations, and it is not, therefore, maintained that hats and cork-heeld shoon are of the 13th century.

We have assigned to Percy's copy the first place, because its brevity and directness give it a peculiar vigor. Scott's edition follows, made up from two MS. copies, (one of which has been printed in Jamieson's _Popular Ballads_, i. 157,) collated with several verses recited by a friend. Buchan's version, obtained from recitation, is in the Appendix. The variations in recited copies are numerous: some specimens are given by Motherwell, p. xlv.

[1] This controversy has been recently re-opened by R. Chambers, _The Romantic Scottish Ballads, their Epoch and Authorship_, Edin. 1859; and in reply, _The Romantic Scottish Ballads and the Lady Wardlaw Heresy_, by Norval Clyne, Aberdeen, 1859.

The king sits in Dumferling[2] toune,
Drinking the blude-reid wine:
"O quhar will I get guid sailor,
To sail this schip of mine?"

Up and spak an eldern knicht, 5
Sat at the kings richt kne:
"Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor,
That sails upon the se."

The king has written a braid letter,
And signd it wi' his hand, 10
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,
Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick red,
A loud lauch lauched he:
The next line that Sir Patrick red, 15
The teir blinded his ee.

"O quha is this has don this deid,
This ill deid don to me;
To send me out this time o' the zeir,
To sail upon the se? 20

"Mak hast, mak haste, my mirry men all,
Our guid schip sails the morne."
"O say na sae, my master deir,
For I feir a deadlie storme.

"Late late yestreen I saw the new moone 25
Wi' the auld moone in hir arme;
And I feir, I feir, my deir master,
That we will com to harme."

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith
To weet their cork-heild schoone; 30
Bot lang owre a' the play wer playd,
Thair hats they swam aboone.

O lang, lang, may their ladies sit
Wi' thair fans into their hand,
Or eir they se Sir Patrick Spence 35
Cum sailing to the land.

O lang, lang, may the ladies stand
Wi' thair gold kems in their hair,
Waiting for thair ain deir lords,
For they'll se thame na mair. 40

Have owre, have owre to Aberdour,[L41]
It's fiftie fadom deip:
And thair lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,
Wi' the Scots lords at his feit.

[2] The palace of Dunfermline was the favorite residence of King Alexander III.

41-44. "It is true that the name of Sir Patrick Spens is not mentioned in history; but I am able to state that tradition has preserved it. In the little island of Papa Stronsay, one of the Orcadian group, lying over against Norway, there is a large grave or tumulus, which has been known to the inhabitants, from time immemorial, as 'The grave of Sir Patrick Spens.' The Scottish ballads were not early current in Orkney, a Scandinavian country; so it is very unlikely that the poem could have originated the name. The people know nothing beyond the traditional appellation of the spot, and they have no legend to tell." Aytoun, _Ballads of Scotland_, i. 2.--This passage is cited simply as a piece of _external_ evidence to the antiquity of the legend of Sir Patrick Spens,--supposing the matter of fact to be well established, and the alleged tradition to be of long standing.

SIR PATRICK SPENS.

_Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border_, i. 299.

In singing, the interjection O is added to the second and fourth lines.

The king sits in Dunfermline town,
Drinking the blude-red wine:
"O whare will I get a skeely skipper
To sail this new ship of mine?"

O up and spake an eldern knight, 5
Sat at the king's right knee:
"Sir Patrick Spens is the best sailor
That ever sailed the sea."

Our king has written a braid letter,
And sealed it with his hand, 10
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
Was walking on the strand.

"To Noroway, to Noroway,
To Noroway o'er the faem;
The king's daughter of Noroway, 15
'Tis thou maun bring her hame!"

The first word that Sir Patrick read,
Sae loud loud laughed he;
The neist word that Sir Patrick read,
The tear blindit his e'e. 20

"O wha is this has done this deed,
And tauld the king o' me,
To send us out at this time of the year,
To sail upon the sea?

"Be it wind, be it weet, be it hail, be it sleet, 25
Our ship must sail the faem;
The king's daughter of Noroway,
'Tis we must fetch her hame."

They hoysed their sails on Monenday morn
Wi' a' the speed they may; 30
They hae landed in Noroway
Upon a Wodensday.

They hadna been a week, a week,
In Noroway, but twae,
When that the lords o' Noroway 35
Began aloud to say:

"Ye Scottishmen spend a' our king's goud,
And a' our queenis fee."
"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liars loud!
Fu' loud I hear ye lie! 40

"For I brought as much white monie
As gane my men and me,--
And I brought a half-fou o' gude red goud
Out o'er the sea wi' me.

"Make ready, make ready, my merrymen a'! 45
Our gude ship sails the morn."
"Now, ever alake! my master dear,
I fear a deadly storm!

"I saw the new moon, late yestreen,
Wi' the auld moon in her arm; 50
And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harm."

They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league, but barely three,
When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud, 55
And gurly grew the sea.

The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap,
It was sic a deadly storm;
And the waves came o'er the broken ship,
Till a' her sides were torn. 60

"O where will I get a gude sailor,
To take my helm in hand,
Till I get up to the tall topmast,
To see if I can spy land?"

"O here am I, a sailor gude, 65
To take the helm in hand,
Till you go up to the tall topmast,--
But I fear you'll ne'er spy land."

He hadna gane a step, a step,
A step, but barely ane, 70
When a bout flew out of our goodly ship,
And the salt sea it came in.

"Gae fetch a web o' the silken claith,
Another o' the twine,
And wap them into our ship's side, 75
And letna the sea come in."

They fetched a web o' the silken claith,
Another o' the twine,
And they wapped them roun' that gude ship's side,
But still the sea came in. 80

"O laith laith were our gude Scots lords
To weet their cork-heeled shoon!
But lang or a' the play was played,
They wat their hats aboon.

And mony was the feather-bed 85
That flatter'd on the faem;
And mony was the gude lord's son
That never mair cam hame.

The ladyes wrang their fingers white,
The maidens tore their hair; 90
A' for the sake of their true loves,
For them they'll see nae mair.

O lang lang may the ladyes sit,
Wi' their fans into their hand,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens 95
Come sailing to the strand!

And lang lang may the maidens sit,
Wi' their goud kaims in their hair,
A' waiting for their ain dear loves,
For them they'll see nae mair. 100

O forty miles off Aberdeen
'Tis fifty fathoms deep,
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens
Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.