Chapter IX: Appendix: YOUNG HUNTING. See p. 3 (1)

From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 118.

Lady Maisry forth from her bower came,
And stood on her tower head;
She thought she heard a bridle ring,
The sound did her heart guid.

She thought it was her first true love, 5
Whom she loved ance in time;
But it was her new love, Hunting,
Come frae the hunting o' the hyn'.

"Gude morrow, gude morrow, Lady Maisry,
God make you safe and free! 10
I'm come to take my last farewell,
And pay my last visit to thee."

"O stay, O stay then, young Hunting,
O stay with me this night;
Ye shall ha'e cheer, an' charcoal clear, 15
And candles burning bright."

"Have no more cheer, you lady fair,
An hour langer for me;
I have a lady in Garmouth town
I love better than thee." 20

"O if your love be changed, my love,
Since better canno' be,
Nevertheless, for auld lang syne,
Ye'll stay this night wi' me.

"Silver, silver shall be your wage, 25
And gowd shall be your fee;
And nine times nine into the year,
Your weed shall changed be.

"Will ye gae to the cards or dice,
Or to a tavern fine? 30
Or will ye gae to a table forebye,
And birl baith beer and wine?"

"I winna gang to the cards nor dice,
Nor to a tavern fine;
But I will gang to a table forebye, 35
And birl baith beer and wine."

Then she has drawn for young Hunting
The beer but and the wine,
Till she got him as deadly drunk
As ony unhallowed swine. 40

Then she's ta'en out a trusty brand,
That hang below her gare;
Then she's wounded him, young Hunting,
A deep wound and a sair.

Then out it speaks her comrade, 45
Being in the companie:
"Alas! this deed that ye ha'e done,
Will ruin baith you and me."

"Heal well, heal well, you Lady Katharine,
Heal well this deed on me; 50
The robes that were shapen for my bodie,
They shall be sewed for thee."

"Tho' I wou'd heal it never sae well,
And never sae well," said she,
"There is a God above us baith, 55
That can baith hear and see."

They booted him and spurred him,
As he'd been gaun to ride;
A hunting-horn about his neck,
A sharp sword by his side. 60

And they rode on, and farther on,
All the lang summer's tide,
Until they came to wan water,
Where a' man ca's it Clyde.

The deepest pot in Clyde's water,[L65] 65
There they flang him in,[L66]
And put a turf on his breast bane,
To had young Hunting down.

O out it speaks a little wee bird,
As she sat on the brier: 70
"Gae hame, gae hame, ye Lady Maisry,
And pay your maiden's hire."

"O I will pay my maiden's hire,
And hire I'll gi'e to thee;
If ye'll conceal this fatal deed, 75
Ye's ha'e gowd for your fee."

Then out it speaks a bonny bird,
That flew aboon their head;
"Keep well, keep well your green claithing
Frae ae drap o' his bluid." 80

"O I'll keep well my green claithing
Frae ae drap o' his bluid,
Better than I'll do your flattering tongue,
That flutters in your head.

"Come down, come down, my bonny bird, 85
Light down upon my hand;
For ae gowd feather that's in your wing,
I wou'd gi'e a' my land."

"How shall I come down, how can I come down,
How shall I come down to thee? 90
The things ye said to young Hunting,
The same ye're saying to me."

But it fell out on that same day,
The king was going to ride,
And he call'd for him, young Hunting, 95
For to ride by his side.

Then out it speaks the little young son,
Sat on the nurse's knee,
"It fears me sair," said that young babe,
"He's in bower wi' yon ladie." 100

Then they ha'e call'd her, Lady Katharine,
And she sware by the thorn,
That she saw not him, young Hunting,
Sin' yesterday at morn.

Then they ha'e call'd her, Lady Maisry, 105
And she sware by the moon,
That she saw not him, young Hunting,
Sin' yesterday at noon.

"He was playing him at the Clyde's water,
Perhaps he has fa'en in:" 110
The king he call'd his divers all,
To dive for his young son.

They div'd in thro' the wan burn-bank,
Sae did they out thro' the other:
"We'll dive nae mair," said these young men, 115
"Suppose he were our brother."

Then out it spake a little bird,
That flew aboon their head:
"Dive on, dive on, ye divers all,
For there he lies indeed. 120

"But ye'll leave aff your day diving,
And ye'll dive in the night;
The pot where young Hunting lies in,
The candles they'll burn bright.

"There are twa ladies in yon bower, 125
And even in yon ha',
And they ha'e kill'd him, young Hunting,
And casten him awa'.

"They booted him and spurred him,
As he'd been gaun to ride; 130
A hunting horn tied round his neck,
A sharp sword by his side.

"The deepest pot o' Clyde's water,
There they flang him in,
Laid a turf on his breast bane, 135
To had young Hunting down."

Now they left aff their day diving,
And they dived on the night;
The pot that young Hunting lay in,
The candles were burning bright. 140

The king he call'd his hewers all,
To hew down wood and thorn,
For to put up a strong bale-fire,
These ladies for to burn.

And they ha'e ta'en her, Lady Katharine, 145
And they ha'e pitten her in;
But it wadna light upon her cheek,
Nor wou'd it on her chin,
But sang the points o' her yellow hair,
For healing the deadly sin. 150

Then they ha'e ta'en her, Lady Maisry,
And they ha'e put her in:
First it lighted on her cheek,
And syne upon her chin,
And sang the points o' her yellow hair, 155
And she burnt like keckle-pin.

65, And the.

66, And there. See 133, 134.

YOUNG WATERS.--See p. 88.

From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. p. 15.

It fell about the gude Yule time,
When caps and stoups gaed roun',
Down it came him young Waters,
To welcome James, our king.

The great, the great, rade a' together, 5
The sma' came a' behin';
But wi' young Waters, that brave knight,
There came a gay gatherin'.

The horse young Waters rade upon,
It cost him hunders nine; 10
For he was siller shod before,
And gowd graith had behin'.

At ilka tippit o' his horse mane
There hang a siller bell;
The wind was loud, the steed was proud, 15
And they gae a sindry knell.

The king he lay ower's castle wa',
Beheld baith dale and down;
And he beheld him, young Waters,
Come riding to the town. 20

He turn'd him right and round about,
And to the queen said he,--
"Who is the bravest man, my dame,
That ever your een did see?"

"I've seen lairds, and I've seen lords, 25
And knights o' high degree;
But a braver man than young Waters
My e'en did never see."

He turn'd him right and roun' about,
And ane angry man was he; 30
"O wae to you, my dame, the queen;
Ye might ha'e excepted me!"

"Ye are nae laird, ye are nae lord,
Ye are the king that wears the crown;
There's nae a lord in fair Scotland, 35
But unto you maun a' bow down."

"O lady, for your love choicing,
Ye shall win to your will;
The morn, or I eat or drink,
Young Waters I'll gar kill." 40

And nevertheless, the king cou'd say,
"Ye might ha'e excepted me;
Yea for yea," the king cou'd say,
"Young Waters he shall die.

"Likewise for your ill-wyled words 45
Ye sall ha'e cause to mourn;
Gin ye hadna been sae big wi' child,
Ye on a hill su'd burn."

Young Waters came before the King,
Fell low down on his knee; 50
"Win up, win up, young Waters,
What's this I hear o' thee?"

"What ails the king at me," he said,
"What ails the king at me?"
"It is tauld me the day, sir knight, 55
Ye've done me treasonie."

"Liars will lie on sell gude men,
Sae will they do on me;
I wudna wish to be the man
That liars on wudna lie." 60

Nevertheless, the king cou'd say,
"In prison strang gang ye;
O yea for yea," the king cou'd say,
"Young Waters, ye shall die."

Syne they ha'e ta'en him, young Waters, 65
Laid him in prison strang,
And left him there wi' fetters boun',
Making a heavy mane.

"Aft ha'e I ridden thro' Striveling town
Thro' heavy wind and weet; 70
But ne'er rade I thro' Striveling town
Wi' fetters on my feet.

"Aft ha'e I ridden thro' Striveling town,
Thro' heavy wind and rain;
But ne'er rade I thro' Striveling town 75
But thought to ridden't again."

They brought him to the heading-hill,
His horse, bot and his saddle;
And they brought to the heading-hill
His young son in his cradle. 80

And they brought to the heading-hill,
His hounds intill a leish;
And they brought till the heading-hill,
His gos-hawk in a jess.

King James he then rade up the hill, 85
And mony a man him wi',
And called on his trusty page,
To come right speedilie.

"Ye'll do' ye to the Earl o' Mar,
For he sits on yon hill; 90
Bid him loose the brand frae his bodie,
Young Waters for to kill."

"O gude forbid," the Earl he said,
"The like su'd e'er fa' me,
My bodie e'er su'd wear the brand 95
That gars young Waters die."

Then he has loos'd his trusty brand,
And casten't in the sea;
Says, "Never lat them get a brand,
Till it come back to me." 100

The scaffold it prepared was,
And he did mount it hie;
And a' spectators that were there,
The saut tears blint their e'e.

"O had your tongues, my brethren dear, 105
And mourn nae mair for me;
Ye're seeking grace frae a graceless face,
For there is nane to gie.

"Ye'll tak' a bit o' canvas claith,
And pit it ower my ee; 110
And Jack, my man, ye'll be at hand,
The hour that I su'd die.

"Syne aff ye'll tak' my bluidy sark,
Gie it fair Margaret Grahame;
For she may curse the dowie dell 115
That brought King James him hame.

"Ye'll bid her mak' her bed narrow,
And mak' it naeways wide;
For a brawer man than young Waters
Will ne'er streek by her side. 120

"Bid her do weel to my young son,
And gie him nurses three;
For gin he live to be a man,
King James will gar him die."

He call'd upon the headsman then, 125
A purse o' gowd him gae;
Says, "Do your office, headsman, boy,
And mak' nae mair delay."

"O head me soon, O head me clean,
And pit me out o' pine; 130
For it is by the king's command;
Gang head me till his min'.

"Tho' by him I'm condemn'd to die,
I'm lieve to his ain kin;
And for the truth, I'll plainly tell, 135
I am his sister's son."

"Gin ye're my sister's son," he said,
"It is unkent to me."
"O mindna ye on your sister Bess,
That lives in the French countrie?" 140

"Gin Bess then be your mither dear,
As I trust well she be,
Gae hame, gae hame, young Waters,
Ye'se ne'er be slain by me."

But he lay by his napkin fine, 145
Was saft as ony silk,
And on the block he laid his neck,
Was whiter than the milk.

Says, "Strike the blow, ye headsman, boy,
And that right speedilie; 150
It's never be said here gaes a knight,
Was ance condemn'd to die."

The head was ta'en frae young Waters,
And mony tears for him shed;
But mair did mourn for fair Margaret, 155
As raving she lyes mad.

LAMMIKIN. See p. 94.

Finlay's _Scottish Ballads_, ii. 47.

Lammikin was as gude a mason
As ever hewed a stane;
He biggit Lord Weire's castle,
But payment gat he nane.

"Sen ye winna gie me my guerdon, lord, 5
Sen ye winna gie me my hire,
This gude castle, sae stately built,
I sall gar rock wi' fire.

"Sen ye winna gie me my wages, lord,
Ye sall hae cause to rue:" 10
And syne he brewed a black revenge,
And syne he vowed a vow.

The Lammikin sair wroth, sair wroth,
Returned again to Downe;
But or he gaed, he vow'd and vow'd, 15
The castle should sweep the ground.

"O byde at hame, my gude Lord Weire,
I weird ye byde at hame;
Gang na to this day's hunting,
To leave me a' alane. 20

"Yae night, yae night, I dreamt this bower
O red, red blude was fu';
Gin ye gang to this black hunting,
I sall hae cause to rue."

"Wha looks to dreams, my winsome dame? 25
Nae cause hae ye to fear:"
And syne he kindly kissed her cheek,
And syne the starting tear.

Now to the gude green-wood he's gane,
She to her painted bower; 30
But first she closed the windows and doors
Of the castle, ha', and tower.

They steeked doors, they steeked yetts,
Close to the cheek and chin;
They steeked them a' but a wee wicket, 35
And Lammikin crap in.

"Where are the lads o' this castle?"
Says the Lammikin;
"They are a' wi Lord Weire, hunting,"
The false nourice did sing. 40

"Where are the lasses o' this castle?"
Says the Lammikin;
"They are a' out at the washing,"
The false nourice did sing.

"But where's the lady o' this castle?" 45
Says the Lammikin;
"She is in her bower sewing,"
The false nourice did sing.

"Is this the bairn o' this house?"
Says the Lammikin; 50
"The only bairn Lord Weire aughts,"
The false nourice did sing.

Lammikin nipped the bonnie babe,
While loud false nourice sings;
Lammikin nipped the bonnie babe, 55
Till high the red blude springs.

"Still my bairn, nourice,
O still him if ye can:"
"He will not still, madam,
For a' his father's lan'." 60

"O gentle nourice, still my bairn,
O still him wi' the keys:"
"He will not still, fair lady,
Let me do what I please."

"O still my bairn, kind nourice, 65
O still him wi' the ring:"
"He will not still, my lady,
Let me do any thing."

"O still my bairn, gude nourice,
O still him wi' the knife:" 70
"He will not still, dear mistress mine,
Gin I'd lay down my life."

"Sweet nourice, loud, loud cries my bairn,
O still him wi' the bell:"
"He will not still, dear lady, 75
Till ye cum down yoursell."

The first step she stepped,
She stepped on a stane,
The next step she stepped,
She met the Lammikin. 80

And when she saw the red, red blude,
A loud skriech skrieched she:
"O monster, monster, spare my child,
Who never skaithed thee!

"O spare, if in your bluidy breast 85
Abides not heart of stane!
O spare, an' ye sall hae o' gold
That ye can carry hame!"

"I carena for your gold," he said,
"I carena for your fee: 90
I hae been wranged by your lord,
Black vengeance ye sall drie.

"Here are nae serfs to guard your haa's,
Nae trusty spearmen here;
In yon green wood they sound the horn, 95
And chace the doe and deer.

"Tho merry sounds the gude green wood
Wi' huntsmen, hounds, and horn,
Your lord sall rue ere sets yon sun
He has done me skaith and scorn." 100

"O nourice, wanted ye your meat,
Or wanted ye your fee,
Or wanted ye for any thing,
A fair lady could gie?"

"I wanted for nae meat, ladie, 105
I wanted for nae fee;
But I wanted for a hantle
A fair lady could gie."

Then Lammikin drew his red, red sword,
And sharped it on a stane, 110
And through and through this fair ladie,
The cauld, cauld steel is gane.

Nor lang was't after this foul deed,
Till Lord Weire cumin' hame,
Thocht he saw his sweet bairn's bluid 115
Sprinkled on a stane.

"I wish a' may be weel," he says,
"Wi' my ladie at hame;
For the rings upon my fingers
Are bursting in twain." 120

But mair he look'd, and dule saw he,
On the door at the trance,
Spots o' his dear ladys bluid
Shining like a lance.

"There's bluid in my nursery, 125
There's bluid in my ha',
There's bluid in my fair lady's bower,
An' that's warst of a'."

O sweet, sweet sang the birdie,
Upon the bough sae hie, 130
But little cared false nourice for that,
For it was her gallows tree.

Then out he set, and his braw men
Rode a' the country roun';
Ere lang they faud the Lammikin 135
Had sheltered near to Downe.

They carried him a' airts o' wind,
And mickle pain had he,
At last before Lord Weire's gate
They hanged him on the tree. 140

LONG LONKIN. See p. 94.

From Richardson's _Borderer's Table-Book_, viii. 410.

The lord said to his ladie,
As he mounted his horse,
"Beware of Long Lonkin
That lies in the moss."

The lord said to his ladie, 5
As he rode away,
"Beware of Long Lonkin
That lies in the clay."

"What care I for Lonkin,
Or any of his gang? 10
My doors are all shut
And my windows penned in."

There are six little windows,
And they were all shut,
But one little window, 15
And that was forgot.

* * * * * *
* * * * * *
And at that little window
Long Lonkin crept in.

"Where's the lord of the hall?"
Says the Lonkin; 20
"He's gone up to London,"
Says Orange to him.

"Where's the men of the hall?"
Says the Lonkin;
"They're at the field ploughing," 25
Says Orange to him.

"Where's the maids of the hall?"
Says the Lonkin;
"They're at the well washing,"
Says Orange to him. 30

"Where's the ladies of the hall?"
Says the Lonkin;
"They're up in their chambers,"
Says Orange to him.

"How shall we get them down?" 35
Says the Lonkin;
"Prick the babe in the cradle,"
Says Orange to him.

"Rock well my cradle,
And bee-ba my son; 40
Ye shall have a new gown
When the lord he comes home."

Still she did prick it,
And bee-ba she cried;
"Come down, dearest mistress, 45
And still your own child."

"O still my child, Orange,
Still him with a bell;"
"I can't still him, ladie,
Till you come down yoursell." 50

* * * * * *

"Hold the gold basin,
For your heart's blood to run in,"

* * * * * *
* * * * * *
"To hold the gold basin,
It grieves me full sore;
Oh kill me, dear Lonkin, 55
And let my mother go."

* * * * * *

THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN. See p. 107.

"John Kincaid, Laird of Waristoun, (an estate situated between the city of Edinburgh and the sea, towards Leith,) was murdered, on the 2d of July, 1600, by a man named Robert Weir, who was employed to do so by his wife, Jean Livingstone, daughter of the Laird of Dunipace. The unfortunate woman, who thus became implicated in a crime so revolting to humanity, was only twenty-one years of age at the time. It is probable from some circumstances, that her husband was considerably older than herself, and also that their marriage was any thing but one of love. It is only alleged, however, that she was instigated to seek his death by resentment for some bad treatment on his part, and, in particular, for a bite which he had inflicted on her arm. There was something extraordinary in the deliberation with which this wretched woman approached the awful gulf of crime. Having resolved on the means to be employed in the murder, she sent for a quondam servant of her father, Robert Weir, who lived in the neighbouring city. He came to the place of Waristoun, to see her; but, for some unexplained reason was not admitted. She again sent for him, and he again went. Again he was not admitted. At length, on his being called a third time, he was introduced to her presence. Before this time she had found an accomplice in the nurse of her child. It was then arranged, that Weir should be concealed in a cellar till the dead of night, when he should come forth and proceed to destroy the laird as he lay in his chamber. The bloody tragedy was acted precisely in accordance with this plan. Weir was brought up, at midnight, from the cellar to the hall by the lady herself, and afterwards went forward alone to the laird's bedroom. As he proceeded to his bloody work, she retired to her bed, to wait the intelligence of her husband's murder. When Weir entered the chamber, Waristoun awoke with the noise, and leant inquiringly over the side of the bed. The murderer then leapt upon him; the unhappy man uttered a great cry; Weir gave him several dreadful blows on vital parts, particularly one on the flank vein. But as the laird was still able to cry out, he at length saw fit to take more effective measures: he seized him by the throat with both hands, and compressing that part with all his force, succeeded, after a few minutes, in depriving him of life. When the lady heard her husband's first death-shout, she leapt out of bed, in an agony of mingled horror and repentance, and descended to the hall: but she made no effort to countermand her mission of destruction. She waited patiently till Weir came down to inform her that all was over.

"Weir made an immediate escape from justice; but Lady Waristoun and the nurse were apprehended before the deed was half a day old. Being caught, as the Scottish law terms it, _red-hand_,--that is, while still bearing unequivocal marks of guilt, they were immediately tried by the magistrates of Edinburgh, and sentenced to be strangled and burnt at a stake. The lady's father, the Laird of Dunipace, was a favourite of King James VI., and he made all the interest he could with his majesty to procure a pardon; but all that could be obtained from the king, was an order that the unhappy lady should be executed by decapitation, and that at such an early hour in the morning as to make the affair as little of a spectacle as possible.

"The space intervening between her sentence and her execution was only thirty-seven hours; yet, in that little time, Lady Waristoun contrived to become converted from a blood-stained and unrelenting murderess into a perfect saint on earth. One of the then ministers of Edinburgh has left an account of her conversion, which was lately published, and would be extremely amusing, were it not for the disgust which seizes the mind on beholding such an instance of perverted religion. She went to the scaffold with a demeanour which would have graced a martyr. Her lips were incessant in the utterance of pious exclamations. She professed herself confident of everlasting happiness. She even grudged every moment which she spent in this world, as so much taken from that sum of eternal felicity which she was to enjoy in the next. The people who came to witness the last scene, instead of having their minds inspired with salutary horror for her crime, were engrossed in admiration of her saintly behaviour, and greedily gathered up every devout word which fell from her tongue. It would almost appear from the narrative of the clergyman, that her fate was rather a matter of envy than of any other feeling. Her execution took place at four in the morning of the 5th of July, at the Watergate, near Holyroodhouse; and at the same hour her nurse was burnt on the castle-hill. It is some gratification to know, that the actual murderer, Weir, was eventually seized and executed, though not till four years after."

CHAMBERS'S _Scottish Ballads_, p. 129.

From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 56.

My mother was an ill woman,
In fifteen years she married me;
I hadna wit to guide a man,
Alas! ill counsel guided me.

O Warriston, O Warriston, 5
I wish that ye may sink for sin;
I was but bare fifteen years auld,
Whan first I enter'd your yates within.

I hadna been a month married,
Till my gude lord went to the sea; 10
I bare a bairn ere he came hame,
And set it on the nourice knee.

But it fell ance upon a day,
That my gude lord return'd from sea;
Then I did dress in the best array, 15
As blythe as ony bird on tree.

I took my young son in my arms,
Likewise my nourice me forebye,
And I went down to yon shore side,
My gude lord's vessel I might spy. 20

My lord he stood upon the deck,
I wyte he hail'd me courteouslie;
"Ye are thrice welcome, my lady gay,
Whase aught that bairn on your knee?"

She turn'd her right and round about, 25
Says, "Why take ye sic dreads o' me?
Alas! I was too young married,
To love another man but thee."

"Now hold your tongue, my lady gay,
Nae mair falsehoods ye'll tell to me; 30
This bonny bairn is not mine,
You've loved another while I was on sea."

In discontent then hame she went,
And aye the tear did blin' her e'e;
Says, "Of this wretch I'll be revenged, 35
For these harsh words he's said to me."

She's counsell'd wi' her father's steward,
What way she cou'd revenged be;
Bad was the counsel then he gave,--
It was to gar her gude lord dee. 40

The nourice took the deed in hand,
I wat she was well paid her fee;
She kiest the knot, and the loop she ran,
Which soon did gar this young lord dee.

His brother lay in a room hard by, 45
Alas! that night he slept too soun';
But then he waken'd wi a cry,
"I fear my brother's putten down.

"O get me coal and candle light,
And get me some gude companie;" 50
But before the light was brought,
Warriston he was gart dee.

They've ta'en the lady and fause nourice,
In prison strong they ha'e them boun';
The nourice she was hard o' heart, 55
But the bonny lady fell in swoon.

In it came her brother dear,
And aye a sorry man was he;
"I wou'd gie a' the lands I heir,
O bonny Jean, to borrow thee." 60

"O borrow me brother, borrow me,--
O borrow'd shall I never be;
For I gart kill my ain gude lord,
And life is nae pleasure to me."

In it came her mother dear, 65
I wyte a sorry woman was she;
"I wou'd gie my white monie and gowd,
O bonny Jean, to borrow thee."

"Borrow me mother, borrow me,--
O borrow'd shall I never be; 70
For I gart kill my ain gude lord,
And life's now nae pleasure to me."

Then in it came her father dear,
I wyte a sorry man was he;
Says, "Ohon, alas! my bonny Jean, 75
If I had you at hame wi' me.

"Seven daughters I ha'e left at hame,
As fair women as fair can be;
But I wou'd gi'e them ane by ane,
O bonny Jean, to borrow thee." 80

"O borrow me father, borrow me,--
O borrow'd shall I never be;
I that is worthy o' the death,
It is but right that I shou'd dee."

Then out it speaks the king himsell, 85
And aye as he steps in the fleer;
Says, "I grant you your life, lady,
Because you are of tender year."

"A boon, a boon, my liege the king,
The boon I ask, ye'll grant to me:" 90
"Ask on, ask on, my bonny Jean,
Whate'er ye ask it's granted be."

"Cause take me out at night, at night,
Lat not the sun upon me shine;
And take me to yon heading hill, 95
Strike aff this dowie head o' mine.

"Ye'll take me out at night, at night,
When there are nane to gaze and see;
And ha'e me to yon heading hill,
And ye'll gar head me speedilie." 100

They've ta'en her out at nine at night,
Loot not the sun upon her shine;
And had her to yon heading hill,
And headed her baith neat and fine.

Then out it speaks the king himsell, 105
I wyte a sorry man was he;
"I've travell'd east, I've travell'd west,
And sailed far beyond the sea,
But I never saw a woman's face
I was sae sorry to see dee. 110

"But Warriston was sair to blame,
For slighting o' his lady so;
He had the wyte o' his ain death,
And bonny lady's overthrow."

MARY HAMILTON. See p. 113.

A "North Country" version from Kinloch's _Ancient Scottish Ballads_, p. 252. The Editor furnishes the two following stanzas of another copy:--

My father is the Duke of Argyle,
My mother's a lady gay,
And I mysel am a daintie dame,
And the king desired me.

He shaw'd me up, he shaw'd me doun,
He shaw'd me to the ha',
He shaw'd me to the low cellars,
And that was warst of a'.

In one of Motherwell's copies, and in Buchan's, the heroine calls herself daughter of the Duke of York.

"Whan I was a babe, and a very little babe,
And stood at my mither's knee,
Nae witch nor warlock did unfauld
The death I was to dree.

"But my mither was a proud woman, 5
A proud woman and a bauld;
And she hired me to Queen Mary's bouer
When scarce eleven years auld.

"O happy, happy, is the maid,
That's born of beauty free! 10
It was my dimpling rosy cheeks
That's been the dule o' me;
And wae be to that weirdless wicht,
And a' his witcherie."

Word's gane up and word's gane doun, 15
And word's gane to the ha',
That Mary Hamilton was wi' bairn,
And na body ken'd to wha.

But in and cam the Queen hersel,
Wi' gowd plait on her hair;-- 20
Says, "Mary Hamilton, whare is the babe
That I heard greet sae sair?"

"There is na babe within my bouer,
And I hope there ne'er will be;
But it's me wi' a sair and sick colic, 25
And I'm just like to dee."

But they looked up, they looked down,
Atween the bowsters and the wa',
It's there they got a bonnie lad-bairn,
But it's life it was awa'. 30

"Rise up, rise up, Mary Hamilton,
Rise up, and dress ye fine,
For you maun gang to Edinbruch,
And stand afore the nine.[L34]

"Ye'll no put on the dowie black, 35
Nor yet the dowie brown;
But ye'll put on the robes o' red,
To sheen thro' Edinbruch town."

"I'll no put on the dowie black,
Nor yet the dowie brown; 40
But I'll put on the robes o' red,
To sheen thro' Edinbruch town."

As they gaed thro' Edinbruch town,
And down by the Nether-bow,
There war monie a lady fair 45
Siching and crying, "Och how!"

"O weep na mair for me, ladies,
Weep na mair for me;
Yestreen I killed my ain bairn,
The day I deserve to dee. 50

"What need ye hech! and how! ladies,
What need ye how! for me;
Ye never saw grace at a graceless face,--
Queen Mary has nane to gie."

"Gae forward, gae forward," the Queen she said,
"Gae forward, that ye may see; 55
For the very same words that ye hae said,
Sall hang ye on the gallows tree."

As she gaed up the Tolbooth stairs,
She gied loud lauchters three; 60
But or ever she cam down again,
She was condemn'd to dee.

"O tak example frae me, Maries,
O tak example frae me,
Nor gie your luve to courtly lords, 65
Nor heed their witchin' ee.

"But wae be to the Queen hersel,
She micht hae pardon'd me;
But sair she's striven for me to hang
Upon the gallows tree. 70

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

"Aft hae I set pearls in her hair, 75
Aft hae I lac'd her gown,
And this is the reward I now get,
To be hang'd in Edinbruch town!

"O a' ye mariners, far and near,
That sail ayont the faem, 80
O dinna let my father and mither ken,
But what I am coming hame.

"O a' ye mariners, far and near,
That sail ayont the sea,
Let na my father and mither ken, 85
The death I am to dee.

"Sae, weep na mair for me, ladies,
Weep na mair for me,
The mither that kills her ain bairn,
Deserves weel for to dee." 90

* * * * * * * *

34. Anciently the supreme criminal court of Scotland was composed of nine members, viz. the Justiciar, or Justice General, and his eight Deputes. KINLOCH.

MARY HAMILTON. See p 113.

Maidment's _North Countrie Garland_, p. 19.

Then down cam Queen Marie
Wi' gold links in her hair,
Saying, "Marie mild, where is the child,
That I heard greet sair sair?"

"There was nae child wi' me, madam, 5
There was nae child wi' me;
It was but me in a sair cholic,
When I was like to die."

"I'm not deceived," Queen Marie said,
"No, no, indeed, not I! 10
So Marie mild, where is the child?
For sure I heard it cry."

She turned down the blankets fine,
Likewise the Holland sheet,
And underneath, there strangled lay 15
A lovely baby sweet.

"O cruel mother," said the Queen,
"Some fiend possessed thee;
But I will hang thee for this deed,
My Marie tho' thou be!" 20

* * * * * *

When she cam to the Nether-Bow Port,
She laugh't loud laughters three;
But when she cam to the gallows foot,
The saut tear blinded her ee.

"Yestreen the Queen had four Maries, 25
The night she'll hae but three;
There was Marie Seton, and Marie Beaton,
And Marie Carmichael and me.

"Ye mariners, ye mariners,
That sail upon the sea, 30
Let not my father or mother wit
The death that I maun die.

"I was my parents' only hope,
They ne'er had ane but me;
They little thought when I left hame, 35
They should nae mair me see!"

SIR HUGH, OR THE JEW'S DAUGHTER.

See p. 136.

From Motherwell's _Minstrelsy_, p. 51; taken down from recitation.

Yesterday was brave Hallowday,
And, above all days of the year,
The schoolboys all got leave to play,
And little Sir Hugh was there.

He kicked the ball with his foot, 5
And kepped it with his knee,
And even in at the Jew's window
He gart the bonnie ba' flee.

Out then came the Jew's daughter,--
"Will ye come in and dine?" 10
"I winna come in and I canna come in
Till I get that ball of mine.

"Throw down that ball to me, maiden,
Throw down the ball to me."
"I winna throw down your ball, Sir Hugh, 15
Till ye come up to me."

She pu'd the apple frae the tree,
It was baith red and green,
She gave it unto little Sir Hugh,
With that his heart did win. 20

She wiled him into ae chamber,
She wiled him into twa,
She wiled him into the third chamber,
And that was warst o't a'.

She took out a little penknife, 25
Hung low down by her spare,
She twined this young thing o' his life,
And a word he ne'er spak mair.

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

She laid him on a dressing table,
She dress'd him like a swine,
Says, "Lie ye there, my bonnie Sir Hugh, 35
Wi' ye're apples red and green!"

She put him in a case of lead,
Says, "Lie ye there and sleep!"
She threw him into the deep draw-well
Was fifty fathom deep. 40

A schoolboy walking in the garden
Did grievously hear him moan,
He ran away to the deep draw-well
And fell down on his knee.

Says, "Bonnie Sir Hugh, and pretty Sir Hugh, 45
I pray you speak to me;
If you speak to any body in this world,
I pray you speak to me."

When bells were rung and mass was sung,
And every body went hame, 50
Then every lady had her son,
But Lady Helen had nane.

She rolled her mantle her about,
And sore, sore did she weep;
She ran away to the Jew's castle, 55
When all were fast asleep.

She cries, "Bonnie Sir Hugh, O pretty Sir Hugh,
I pray you speak to me;
If you speak to any body in this world,
I pray you speak to me." 60

"Lady Helen, if ye want your son,
I'll tell ye where to seek;
Lady Helen, if ye want your son,
He's in the well sae deep."

She ran away to the deep draw-well, 65
And she fell down on her knee;
Saying, "Bonnie Sir Hugh, O pretty Sir Hugh,
I pray ye speak to me;
If ye speak to any body in the world,
I pray ye speak to me." 70

"Oh! the lead it is wondrous heavy, mother,
The well it is wondrous deep;
The little penknife sticks in my throat,
And I downa to ye speak.

But lift me out o' this deep draw-well, 75
And bury me in yon churchyard;
"Put a Bible at my head," he says,
"And a testament at my feet,
And pen and ink at every side,
And I'll lie still and sleep. 80

"And go to the back of Maitland town,
Bring me my winding sheet;
For it's at the back of Maitland town
That you and I shall meet."

O the broom, the bonny, bonny broom, 85
The broom that makes full sore,
A woman's mercy is very little,
But a man's mercy is more.

SIR HUGH. See p. 136.

From Hume's _Sir Hugh of Lincoln_, p. 35; obtained from recitation, in Ireland.

'Twas on a summer's morning,
Some scholars were playing at ball;
When out came the Jew's daughter
And lean'd her back against the wall.

She said unto the fairest boy, 5
"Come here to me, Sir Hugh."
"No! I will not," said he,
"Without my playfellows too."

She took an apple out of her pocket,
And trundled it along the plain; 10
And who was readiest to lift it,
Was little Sir Hugh, again.

She took him by the milk-white han',
An' led him through many a hall,
Until they came to one stone chamber, 15
Where no man might hear his call.

She sat him in a goolden chair,
And jagg'd him with a pin;
And called for a goolden cup
To houl' his heart's blood in. 20

She tuk him by the yellow hair,
An' also by the feet;
An' she threw him in the deep draw well,
It was fifty fadom deep.

Day bein' over, the night came on, 25
And the scholars all went home;
Then every mother had her son,
But little Sir Hugh's had none.

She put her mantle about her head,
Tuk a little rod in her han', 30
An' she says, "Sir Hugh, if I fin' you here,
I will bate you for stayin' so long."

First she went to the Jew's door,
But they were fast asleep;
An' then she went to the deep draw-well, 35
That was fifty fadom deep.

She says, "Sir Hugh, if you be here,
As I suppose you be,
If ever the dead or quick arose,
Arise and spake to me." 40

Yes, mother dear, I am here,
I know I have staid very long;
But a little penknife was stuck in my heart,
Till the stream ran down full strong.

And mother dear, when you go home, 45
Tell my playfellows all,
That I lost my life by leaving them
When playing that game of ball.

And ere another day is gone,
My winding-sheet prepare, 50
And bury me in the green churchyard
Where the flowers are bloomin' fair.

Lay my Bible at my head,
My testament at my feet;
The earth and worms shall be my bed, 55
Till Christ and I shall meet.

SIR PATRICK SPENS. See p. 147.

From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 1.

The King sits in Dunfermline town,
A-drinking at the wine;
Says, "Where will I get a good skipper
Will sail the saut seas fine?"

Out it speaks an eldren knight 5
Amang the companie,--
"Young Patrick Spens is the best skipper
That ever sail'd the sea."

The king he wrote a braid letter,
And seal'd it wi' his ring; 10
Says, "Ye'll gi'e that to Patrick Spens:
See if ye can him find."

He sent this, not wi' an auld man,
Nor yet a simple boy,
But the best o' nobles in his train 15
This letter did convoy.

When Patrick look'd the letter upon
A light laugh then ga'e he;
But ere he read it till an end,
The tear blinded his e'e. 20

"Ye'll eat and drink, my merry men a',
An' see ye be weell thorn;
For blaw it weet, or blaw it wind,
My guid ship sails the morn."

Then out it speaks a guid auld man, 25
A guid death mat he dee,--
"Whatever ye do, my guid master,
Tak' God your guide to bee.

"For late yestreen I saw the new moon,
The auld moon in her arm." 30
"Ohon, alas!" says Patrick Spens,
"That bodes a deadly storm.

"But I maun sail the seas the morn,
And likewise sae maun you;
To Noroway, wi' our king's daughter,-- 35
A chosen queen she's now.

"But I wonder who has been sae base,
As tauld the king o' mee:
Even tho' hee ware my ae brither,
An ill death mat he dee." 40

Now Patrick he rigg'd out his ship,
And sailed ower the faem;
But mony a dreary thought had hee,
While hee was on the main.

They hadna sail'd upon the sea 45
A day but barely three,
Till they came in sight o' Noroway,
It's there where they must bee.

They hadna stayed into that place
A month but and a day, 50
Till he caus'd the flip in mugs gae roun',
And wine in cans sae gay.

The pipe and harp sae sweetly play'd,
The trumpets loudly soun';
In every hall where in they stay'd, 55
Wi' their mirth did reboun'.

Then out it speaks an auld skipper,
An inbearing dog was hee,--
"Ye've stay'd ower lang in Noroway,
Spending your king's monie." 60

Then out it speaks Sir Patrick Spens,--
"O how can a' this bee?
I ha'e a bow o' guid red gowd
Into my ship wi' mee.

"But betide me well, betide me wae, 65
This day I'se leave the shore;
And never spend my king's monie
'Mong Noroway dogs no more."

Young Patrick hee is on the sea,
And even on the faem, 70
Wi' five-an-fifty Scots lords' sons,
That lang'd to bee at hame.

They hadna sail'd upon the sea
A day but barely three,
Till loud and boistrous grew the wind, 75
And stormy grew the sea.

"O where will I get a little wee boy
Will tak' my helm in hand,
Till I gae up to my tapmast,
And see for some dry land?" 80

He hadna gane to his tapmast
A step but barely three;
Ere thro' and thro' the bonny ship's side,
He saw the green haw sea.

"There are five-an-fifty feather beds 85
Well packed in ae room;
And ye'll get as muckle guid canvas
As wrap the ship a' roun';

"Ye'll pict her well, and spare her not,
And mak' her hale and soun'." 90
But ere he had the word well spoke
The bonny ship was down.

O laith, laith were our guid lords' sons
To weet their milk-white hands;
But lang ere a' the play was ower 95
They wat their gowden bands.

O laith, laith were our Scots lords' sons
To weet their coal-black shoon;
But lang ere a' the play was ower
They wat their hats aboon. 100

It's even ower by Aberdour
It's fifty fathoms deep,
And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spens,
And a's men at his feet.

It's even ower by Aberdour, 105
There's mony a craig and fin,
And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spens,
Wi' mony a guid lord's son.

Lang, lang will the ladyes look
Into their morning weed, 110
Before they see young Patrick Spens
Come sailing ower the fleed.

Lang, lang will the ladyes look
Wi' their fans in their hand,
Before they see him, Patrick Spens, 115
Come sailing to dry land.

LORD LIVINGSTON.

From Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, ii. 39.

It fell about the Lammas time,
When wightsmen won their hay;
A' the squires in merry Linkum,
Went a' forth till a play.

They play'd until the evening tide, 5
The sun was gaeing down;
A lady thro' plain fields was bound,
A lily leesome thing.

Two squires that for this lady pledged,
In hopes for a renown; 10
The one was call'd the proud Seaton,
The other Livingston.

"When will ye, Michaell o' Livingston,
Wad for this lady gay?"
"To-morrow, to-morrow," said Livingston, 15
"To-morrow, if you may."

Then they hae wadded their wagers,
And laid their pledges down;
To the high castle o' Edinbro'
They made them ready boun'. 20

The chamber that they did gang in,
There it was daily dight;
The kipples were like the gude red gowd,
As they stood up in hight;
And the roof-tree like the siller white, 25
And shin'd like candles bright.

The lady fair into that ha'
Was comely to be seen;
Her kirtle was made o' the pa',
Her gowns seem'd o' the green. 30

Her gowns seem'd like green, like green,
Her kirtle o' the pa';
A siller wand intill her hand,
She marshall'd ower them a'.

She gae every knight a lady bright, 35
And every squire a may;
Her own sell chose him, Livingston,
They were a comely tway.

Then Seaton started till his foot,
The fierce flame in his e'e: 40
"On the next day, wi' sword in hand,
On plain fields, meet ye me."

When bells were rung, and mass was sung,
And a' man bound for bed;
Lord Livingston and his fair dame 45
In bed were sweetly laid.

The bed, the bed, where they lay in,
Was cover'd wi' the pa';
A covering o' the gude red gowd,
Lay nightly ower the twa. 50

So they lay there, till on the morn
The sun shone on their feet;
Then up it raise him, Livingston,
To draw to him a weed.

The first an' weed that he drew on, 55
Was o' the linen clear;
The next an' weed that he drew on,
It was a weed o' weir.

The niest an' weed that he drew on,
Was gude iron and steel; 60
Twa gloves o' plate, a gowden helmet,
Became that hind chiel weel.

Then out it speaks that lady gay,
A little forbye stood she;
"I'll dress mysell in men's array, 65
Gae to the fields for thee."

"O God forbid," said Livingston,
"That e'er I dree the shame;
My lady slain in plain fields,
And I coward knight at hame!" 70

He scarcely travelled frae the town
A mile but barely twa,
Till he met wi' a witch woman,
I pray to send her wae.

"This is too gude a day, my lord, 75
To gang sae far frae town;
This is too gude a day, my lord,
On field to make you boun'.

"I dream'd a dream concerning thee,
O read ill dreams to guid! 80
Your bower was full o' milk-white swans,
Your bride's bed full o' bluid."

"O bluid is gude," said Livingston,
"To bide it whoso may;
If I be frae yon plain fields, 85
Nane knew the plight I lay."

Then he rade on to plain fields,
As swift's his horse cou'd hie;
And there he met the proud Seaton,
Come boldly ower the lee. 90

"Come on to me now, Livingston,
Or then take foot and flee;
This is the day that we must try
Who gains the victorie."

Then they fought with sword in hand, 95
Till they were bluidy men;
But on the point o' Seaton's sword
Brave Livingston was slain.

His lady lay ower castle wa',
Beholding dale and down, 100
When Blenchant brave, his gallant steed,
Came prancing to the town.

"O where is now my ain gude lord,
He stays sae far frae me?"
"O dinna ye see your ain gude lord, 105
Stand bleeding by your knee?"

"O live, O live, Lord Livingston,
The space o' ae half hour;
There's nae a leech in Edinbro' town
But I'll bring to your door." 110

"Awa' wi' your leeches, lady," he said,
"Of them I'll be the waur;
There's nae a leech in Edinbro' town,
That can strong death debar.

"Ye'll take the lands o' Livingston, 115
And deal them liberallie;
To the auld that may not, the young that cannot,
And blind that does na see;
And help young maidens' marriages,
That has nae gear to gie." 120

"My mother got it in a book,
The first night I was born,
I wou'd be wedded till a knight,
And him slain on the morn.

"But I will do for my love's sake 125
What ladies woudna thole;
Ere seven years shall hae an end,
Nae shoe's gang on my sole.

"There's never lint gang on my head,
Nor kame gang in my hair, 130
Nor ever coal nor candle light,
Shine in my bower mair."

When seven years were near an end,
The lady she thought lang;
And wi' a crack her heart did brake, 135
And sae this ends my sang.

CLERK TAMAS.

Buchan's _Ballads of the North of Scotland_, i. 43.

Clerk Tamas lov'd her, fair Annie,
As well as Mary lov'd her son;
But now he hates her, fair Annie,
And hates the lands that she lives in.

"Ohon, alas!" said fair Annie, 5
"Alas! this day I fear I'll die;
But I will on to sweet Tamas,
And see gin he will pity me."

As Tamas lay ower his shott-window,
Just as the sun was gaen down, 10
There he beheld her, fair Annie,
As she came walking to the town.

"O where are a' my well-wight men,
I wat that I pay meat and fee,
For to lat a' my hounds gang loose, 15
To hunt this vile whore to the sea!"

The hounds they knew the lady well,
And nane o' them they wou'd her bite;
Save ane that is ca'd Gaudy-where,
I wat he did the lady smite. 20

"O wae mat worth ye, Gaudy-where,
An ill reward this is to me;
For ae bit that I gae the lave,
I'm very sure I've gi'en you three.

"For me, alas! there's nae remeid, 25
Here comes the day that I maun die;
I ken ye lov'd your master well,
And sae, alas for me, did I!"

A captain lay ower his ship window,
Just as the sun was gaen down; 30
There he beheld her, fair Annie,
As she was hunted frae the town.

"Gin ye'll forsake father and mither,
And sae will ye your friends and kin,
Gin ye'll forsake your lands sae broad, 35
Then come and I will take you in."

"Yes, I'll forsake baith father and mither,
And sae will I my friends and kin,
Yes, I'll forsake my lands sae broad,
And come, gin ye will take me in." 40

Then a' thing gaed frae fause Tamas,
And there was naething byde him wi';
Then he thought lang for Arrandella,
It was fair Annie for to see.

"How do ye now, ye sweet Tamas? 45
And how gaes a' in your countrie?"
"I'll do better to you than ever I've done,
Fair Annie, gin ye'll come an' see."

"O Guid forbid," said fair Annie,
"That e'er the like fa' in my hand; 50
Wou'd I forsake my ain gude lord,
And follow you, a gae-through-land?

"Yet nevertheless now, sweet Tamas,
Ye'll drink a cup o' wine wi' me;
And nine times in the live lang day, 55
Your fair claithing shall changed be."

Fair Annie pat it till her cheek,
Sae did she till her milk-white chin,
Sae did she till her flattering lips,
But never a drap o' wine gaed in. 60

Tamas pat it till his cheek,
Sae did he till his dimpled chin;
He pat it till his rosy lips,
And then the well o' wine gaed in.

"These pains," said he, "are ill to bide; 65
Here is the day that I maun die;
O take this cup frae me, Annie,
For o' the same I am weary."