Chapter II: Part 2

Yet from the tree he would not start,

But he dinged to it with might and main,

Under the collar then of his jack

He stroke Sir Andrew thorough the brain.

"Fight on, my men," says Si^ Andrew Barton,

"I am hurt, but I am not slain;

I'll lay me down and bleed awhile,

And then I'll rise and fight again.

Fight on, my men," says Sir Andrew Barton,

These English dogs they bite so low;

Fight on for Scotland and St. Andrew,

Till you hear my whistle blow."

But when they could not hear his whistle blow,

Says Harry Hunt, "I'll lay my head

You may board yonder noble ship, my lord,

For I know Sir Andrew he is dead."

With that they boarded this noble ship,

So did they it with might and main;

They found eighteen score Scots alive,

Besides the rest were maimed and slain.

My Lord Howard took a sword in his hand,

And smote off Sir Andrew's head;

The Scots stood by did weep and mourn,

But never a word durst speak or say.

He caused his body to be taken down

And over the hatchboard cast into the sea,

And about his middle three hundred crowns:

"Wheresoever thou lands, it will bury thee."

With his head they sailed into England again,

With right good will, and force and main;

And the day before new year's even

Into Thames mouth they came again.

My Lord Howard wrote to King Henry's grace,

With all the news he could him bring;

"Such a new years gift I have brought to your grace

As never did subject to any king.

"For merchandise and manhood,

The like is not to be found;

The sight of these would do you good,

For you have not the like in your English ground."

But when he heard tell that they were come

Full royally he welcomed them home:

Sir Andrew's ship was the King's new year'sgift;

A braver ship you never saw none.

Now hath our king Saint Andrew's ship,

Beset with pearls and precious stones;

Now hath England two ships of war,

Two ships of war, before but one.

"Who holp to this?" says King Henry,

"That I may reward him for his pain."

"Harry Hunt, and Peter Simon,

William Horsley, and I the same.

"Harry Hunt shall have his whistle and chain,

And all his jewels, whatsoever they be,

And other rich gifts that I will not name,

For his good service he hath done me.

Horsley, right thou'st be a knight,

Lands and livings thou shalt have store;

Howard shall be Earl of Nottingham,

And so was never Howard before.

"Now, Peter Simon, thou art old,

I will maintain thee and thy son;

Thou shalt have five hundred pound all in gold,

For the good service that thou hast done,"

Then King Henry shifted his room;

In came the queen and ladies bright,

Other errands had they none

But to see Sir Andrew Barton, knight.

But when they see his deadly face,

And his eyes were hollow in his head,

"I would give a hundred pound,"says King Henry,

"The man were alive as he is dead.

Yet for the manful part that he hath played,

Both here and beyond the sea,

His men shall have half-a-crown a day

To bring them to my brother, King Jamie."

LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET

|Lord Thomas and fair Annet

Sate a' day on a hill;

Whan night was come, and sun was set,

They had not talked their fill.

Lord Thomas said a word in jest,

Fair Annet took it ill:

"A' I will never wed a wife

Against my ain friends will."

"Gif ye will never wed a wife,

A wife will ne'er wed ye:"

Sae he is hame to tell his mither.

And knelt upon his knee.

"O rede, O rede, mither," he says,

"A gude rede gie to me:

O sail I tak the nut-brown bride,

And let fair Annet be?"

"The nut-brown bride haes gowd and gear,

Fair Annet she has gat nane;

And the little beauty fair Annet haes,

O it wull soon be gane."

(_rede_, advice.)

And he has till his brother gane:

"Now, brother, rede ye me;

A', sail I marry the nut-brown bride,

And let fair Annet be?"

"The nut-brown bride has oxen, brother,

The nut-brown bride has kye:

I wad hae ye marry the nut-brown bride,

And cast fair Annet by."

"Her oxen may die i' the house, billie,

And her kye into the byre,

And I sail hae nothing to mysel',

But a fat fadge by the fire."

And he has till his sister gane:

"Now sister, redè ye me;

O sail I marry the nut-brown bride,

And set fair Annet free?"

"I'se rede ye tak fair Annet, Thomas,

And let the brown bride alane;

Lest ye should sigh, and say, Alas,

What is this we brought hame!"

"No, I will tak my mither's counsel,

And marry me out o' hand;

And I will tak the nut-brown bride;

Fair Annet may leave the land."

(_byre_, cow-house. _fadge,_hag.)

Up then rose fair Annet's father,

Twa hours or it were day,

And he is gane into the bower

Wherein fair Annet lay.

"Rise up, rise up, fair Annet," he says,

"Put on your silken sheen;

Let us gae to St. Mary's kirk,

And see that rich weddeen."

"My maids, gae to my dressing-room,

And dress to me my hair;

Where-e er ye laid a plait before,

See ye lay ten times mair.

"My maids, gae to my dressing-room,

And dress to me my smock;

The one half is o' the holland fine,

The other o' needle-work."

The horse fair Annet rade upon,

He amblit like the wind;

Wi' siller he was shod before,

Wi' burning gowd behind.

Four and twanty siller bells

Were a' tied till his mane,

And yae tift o' the norland wind,

They tinkled ane by ane.

(_sheen_, shoes. _tift_, puff.)

Four and twanty gay gude knights

Rade by fair Annet's side,

And four and twenty fair ladies,

As gin she had bin a bride.

And whan she cam to Mary's kirk,

She sat on Mary's stean:

The cleading that fair Annet had on

It skinkled in their een.

And whan she cam into the kirk,

She shimmer'd like the sun;

The belt that was about her waist,

Was a' wi' pearls bedone.

(_skinkled_, sparkled.)

She sat her by the nut-brown bride,

And her een they were sae clear,

Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,

When fair Annet drew near.

He had a rose into his hand,

He gae it kisses three,

And reaching by the nut-brown bride,

Laid it on fair Annet's knee.

Up than spak the nut-brown bride,

She spak wi' mickle spite;

"And where gat ye that rose-water,

That does mak ye sae white?"

"O I did get the rose-water

Where ye wull ne'er get nane,

For I did get that very rose-water

Into my mithers wame."

The bride she drew a long bodkin

Frae out her gay head-gear,

And strake fair Annet unto the heart,

That word spak never mair.

Lord Thomas he saw fair Annet wax pale,

And marvelit what mote be:

(_Wame_, womb.)

But whan he saw her dear heart's blude,

A' wood-wroth wexed he.

He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp,

That was sae sharp and meet,

And drave it into the nut-brown bride,

That fell dead at his feet.

"Now stay for me, dear Annet," he said,

"Now stay, my dear," he cried;

Then strake the dagger until his heart,

And fell dead by her side.

Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa',

Fair Annet within the choir;

And o' the tane there grew a birk,

The other a bonny briar.

And ay they grew, and ay they threw,

As they wad fain be near;

And by this ye may ken right well,

They were twa lovers dear.

(_birk_, birch. _threw_, throve.)

LEOFFRICUS

|Leoffricus the noble earl,

Of Chester, as I read,

Did for the city of Coventry

Many a noble deed;

Great privileges for the town

This nobleman did get,

Of all things did make it so,

That they toll free did sit,

Save only that for horses still

They did some custom pay,

Which was great charges to the town

Full long and many a day.

Wherefore his wife, Godiva fair,

Did of the earl request,

That therefore he would make it free

As well as all the rest.

And when the lady long had sued,

Her purpose to obtain,

At last her noble Lord she took

Within a pleasant vein,

And unto him with smiling cheer

She did forthwith proceed,

Intreating greatly that he would

Perform that godly deed.

"You move me much, fair dame," quoth he;

"Your suit I fain would shun;

But what would you perform and do,

To have the matter done?"

"Why, anything, my lord," quoth she,

"You will with reason crave,

I will perform it with goodwill

If I my wish may have."

"If thou wilt grant one thing," he said,

"Which I shall now require,

So soon as it is finished,

Thou shalt have thy desire."

"Command what you think good, my lord;

I will thereto agree

On that condition, that this town

In all things may be free."

"If thou wilt strip thy clothes off,

And here wilt lay them down,

And at noonday on horseback ride,

Stark naked through the town,

They shall be free for evermore.

If thou wilt not do so,

More liberty than now they have

I never will bestow."

The lady at this strange demand

Was much abashed in mind;

And yet for to fulfil this thing

She ne'er a whit repined.

Wherefore to all the officers

Of all the town she sent,

That they perceiving her good will

Which for their weal was bent,

That on the day that she should ride,

All persons through the town

Should keep their houses and shut their door,

And clap their windows down,

So that no creature, young nor old,

Should in the street be seen

Till she had ridden (all about)

Through all the city clean.

And when the day of riding came,

No person did her see,

Saving her Lord, after which time

The town was ever free.

William and Marjorie

Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie,

Sat sewing her silken seam,

And by her came a pale, pale ghost,

Wi' mony a sigh and mane.

"Are ye my father, the king?" she says,

"Or are ye my brither John?

Or are ye my true love, sweet William,

From England newly come?"

"I'm not your father, the king," he says,

"No, no, nor your brither John;

But I'm your true love, sweet William,

From England that's newly come."

"Have ye brought me any scarlets sae red,

Or any silks sae fine;

Or have ye brought me any precious things,

That merchants have for sale?"

"I have not brought you any scarlets sae red,

No, no, nor the silks sae fine;

But I have brought you my winding-sheet

O'er many's the rock and hill.

"O Lady Marjorie, Lady Marjorie,

For faith and charitie,

Will ye give to me my faith and troth,

That I gave once to thee?"

"O your faith and troth I'll not give thee,

No, no, that will not I,

Until I get ae kiss of your ruby lips,

And in my arms you come lie."

"My lips they are sae bitter," he says,

"My breath it is sae strang,

If you get ae kiss of my ruby lips,

Your days will not be lang.

"The cocks they are crawing, Marjorie," he says,--

"The cocks they are crawing again;

It's time the dead should part the quick,--

Marjorie, I must be gane."

She followed him high, she followed him low,

Till she came to yon churchyard green;

O there the grave did open up,

And young William he lay down.

"What three things are these, sweet William," she says,

"That stands here at your head?"

"It's three maidens, Marjorie," he says,

"That I promised once to wed."

"What three things are these, sweet William,"she says,

"That stands here at your side?"

"It is three babes, Marjorie," he says,

"That these three maidens had."

"What three things are these, sweet William," she says,

"That stands here at your feet?"

"It is three hell-hounds, Marjorie," he says,

"That's waiting my soul to keep."

She took up her white, white hand,

And she struck him in the breast,

Saying,--"Have there again your faith and troth

And I wish your soul gude rest."

The Gipsy Laddie

The gipsies came to our good lord's gate,

And wow but they sang sweetly;

They sang sae sweet and sae very complete,

That down came the fair lady.

And she came tripping doun the stair,

And a' her maids before her;

As soon as they saw her weel-far'd face,

They coost the glamour o'er her.

"Gae tak frae me this gay mantle,

And bring to me a plaidie;

For if kith and kin and a' had sworn,

I'll follow the gipsy laddie.

"Yestreen I lay in a weel-made bed,

And my good lord beside me;

This night I'll lie in a tennant's barn,

Whatever shall betide me."

"Come to your bed," says Johnie Faa,

"O come to your bed, my deary;

For I vow and I swear by the hilt of my sword,

That your lord shall nae mair come near ye."

"I'll go to bed to my Johnie Faa,

I'll go to bed to my deary;

For I vow and I swear, by what passed yestreen,

That my lord shall nae mair come near me.

"I'll mak a hap to my Johnie Faa,

And I'll mak a hap to my deary;

And he's get a' the coat gaes round,

And my lord shall nae mair come near me."

And when our lord came hame at e'en,

And speir'd for his fair lady,

The tane she cried, and the other replied,

"She's away wi' the gipsy laddie."

"Gae saddle to me the black black steed,

Gae saddle and make him ready;

Before that I either eat or sleep,

I'll gae seek my fair lady."

And we were fifteen weel-made men,

Altho' we were nae bonny;

And we were a' put down for ane,

A fair young wanton lady.

Waly, Waly, but Love be Bonny

O waly, waly up the bank,

And waly, waly down the brae,

And waly, waly yon burn side,

Where I and my love wont to gae.

I lean'd my back unto an aik,

I thought it was a trusty tree;

But first it bow'd, and syne it brak,

Sae my true love did lightly me!

(_aik_. oak.)

O waly, waly, but love be bonny,

A little time, while it is new -,

But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld,

And fades away like morning dew.

O wherefore should I busk my head?

Or wherefore should I kame my hair?

For my true love has me forsook,

And says he'll never love me mair.

Now Arthur-Seat shall be my bed,

The sheets shall ne'er be filed by me:

Saint Anton's well shall be my drink,

Since my true love has forsaken me.

Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw,

And shake the green leaves off the tree?

O gentle death, when wilt thou come?

For of my life I am weary.

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell,

Nor blawing snaw's inclemency;

'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry,

But my love's heart grown cauld to me.

When we came in by Glasgow town,

We were a comely sight to see;

My love was clad in the black velvet,

And I mysel' in cramasie.

(_filed_, soiled.)

But had I wist, before I kiss'd,

That love had been sae ill to win,

I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold,

And pinn'd it with a silver pin.

Oh, oh, if my young babe were born,

And set upon the nurse's knee,

And I mysel' were dead and gane!

For a maid again I'll never be.

The Bonny Earl of Murray

Ye Highlands, and ye Lawlands,

O where have you been?

They have slain the Earl of Murray,

And they laid him on the green.

"Now wae be to thee, Huntly!

And wherefore did you sae?

I bade you bring him wi' you,

But forbade you him to slay."

He was a braw gallant,

And he rid at the ring;

And the bonny Earl of Murray,

O he might hae been a king.

He was a braw gallant,

And he play'd at the ba;

And the bonny Earl of Murray

Was the flower amang them a.

He was a braw gallant,

And he play'd at the glove;

And the bonny Earl of Murray,

O he was the Queen's love.

O lang will his lady

Look o'er the castle Down,

Ere she see the Earl of Murray

Come sounding thro' the town.

GLASGERION

|Glasgerion was a king's own son,

And a harper he was good;

He harped in the king's chamber,

Where cup and candle stood,

And so did he in the queens chamber,

Till ladies waxed wood,

And then bespake the king's daughter,

And these words thus said she.

Said "strike on, strike on, Glasgerion,

Of thy striking do not blin;

There's never a stroke comes over thine harp,

But it glads my heart within."

"Fair might you fall, lady," quoth he,

"Who taught you now to speak?

I have loved you, lady, seven year;

My heart I durst ne'er break."

"But come to my bower, my Glasgerion,

When all men are at rest;

As I am a lady true of my promise,

Thou shalt be a welcome guest."

But home then came Glasgerion,

A glad man, Lord, was he:

And, "come thou hither, Jack, my boy,

Come hither unto me.

"For the king's daughter of Normandy

Her love is granted me;

And before the cock have crowen

At her chamber must I be."

(_blin_, stop.)

"But come you hither, master," quoth he,

"Lay your head down on this stone;

For I will waken you, master dear,

Afore it be time to gone."

But up then rose that lither lad,

And did on hose and shoon;

A collar he cast upon his neck,

He seemed a gentleman.

And when he came to that lady's chamber,

He tirled upon a pin:

The lady was true of her promise,

Rose up and let him in.

He did not take the lady gay,

To bolster nor to bed:

But down upon her chamber floor,

Full soon he hath her laid.

He did not kiss that lady gay

When he came nor when he youd:

And sore mistrusted that lady gay,

He was of some churlès blood.

But home then came that lither lad,

And did off his hose and shoon;

And cast that collar from about his neck:

He was but a churlès son.

"Awaken," quoth he, "my master dear,

I hold it time to be gone.

(_lither_, naughty. _youd_, went (?))

"For I have saddled your horse, master,

Well bridled I have your steed,

Have I not served a good breakfast,

When time comes I have need."

But up then rose good Glasgerion,

And did on hose and shoon,

And cast a collar about his neck:

He was a kingés son.

And when he came to that ladys chamber,

He tirled upon a pin -,

The lady was more than true of promise,

Rose up and let him in.

Says "whether have you left with me

Your bracelet or your glove?

Or are you returned back again

To know more of my love?"

Glasgerion swore a full great oath,

By oak, and ash, and thorn;

"Lady, I was never in your chamber,

Sith the time that I was born."

"O then it was your little foot-page,

Falsely hath beguiled me:"

And then she pulled forth a little pen-knife,

That hanged by her knee.

Says, "there shall never no churlès blood

Spring within my body."

But home then went Glasgerion,

A woe man, good [lord] was he.

Says, "come hither thou, Jack my boy,

Come thou hither to me.

"For if I had killed a man to-night,

Jack, I would tell it thee:

But if I have not killed a man to-night,

Jack, thou hast killed three."

And he pulled out his bright brown sword,

And dried it on his sleeve,

And he smote off that lither lads head,

And asked no man no leave.

He set the sword's point til his breast,

The pummel till a stone:

Through that falseness of that lither lad,

These three lives were all gone.

FAIR MARGARET AND SWEET WILLIAM.

|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.

"I see no harm by you, Margaret,

Nor you see none by me;

Before to-morrow at eight o'clock

A rich wedding you shall see."

Fair Margaret sat in her bower-window,

Combing her yellow hair;

There she spied sweet William and his bride,

As they were a tiding near.

Then down she laid her ivory comb,

And braided her hair in twain:

She went alive out of her bower,

But ne'er came alive in't again.

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.

"Are you awake, sweet William?" she said,

"Or, sweet William, are you asleep?

God give you joy of your gay bride-bed,

And me of my winding-sheet."

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.

"I dreamt a dream, my dear lady,

Such dreams are never good:

I dreamt my bower was full of red swine,

And my bride-bed full of blood."

"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."

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."

And when he came to fair Margaret's bower,

He knocked at the ring;

And who so ready as her seven brethren,

To let sweet William in.

Then 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.

"I'll do more for thee, Margaret,

Than any of thy kin:

For I will kiss thy pale wan lips,

Though a smile I cannot win."

With that bespake the seven brethren,

Making most piteous mone,

"You may go kiss your jolly brown bride,

And let our sister alone."

"If I do kiss my jolly brown bride,

I do but what is right;

I ne'er made a vow to yonder poor corpse,

By day, or yet by night.

"Deal on, deal on, my merry men all,

Deal on your cake and your wine:

For whatever is dealt at her funeral to-day,

Shall be dealt to-morrow at mine."

Fair Margaret died to-day, to-day,

Sweet William died the morrow:

Fair Margaret died for pure true love,

Sweet William he died for sorrow.

Margaret was buried in the lower chancel,

And William in the higher:

Out of her breast there sprang a rose,

And out of his a briar.

They grew till they grew unto the church top,

And then they could grow no higher;

And then they tied in a true lover's knot,

Which made all the people admire.

Then came the clerk of the parish,

As you this truth shall hear,

And by misfortune cut them down,

Or they had now been there.

EDWARD, EDWARD

|Why does your brand sae drap wi' blood

Edward, Edward?

Why does your brand sae drap wi' blood

And why sae sad gang ye oh?

"Oh I hae killed my hawk sae good,

Mither, mither:

Oh I hae killed my hawk so good,

And I had no mair but he oh."

Your hawk's blood was never sae red,

Edward, Edward;

Your hawk's blood was never sae red,

My dear son I tell thee oh.

"Oh I hae killed my red-roan steed,

Mither, mither:

Oh I hae killed my red roan steed

That erst was sae fair and free oh."

Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair,

Edward, Edward;

Your steed was auld, and ye hae got mair,

Some other dule ye dree oh.

"Oh I hae killed my father dear,

Mither, mither:

Oh I hae killed my father dear,

Alas! and wae is me oh!"

And whatten penance will ye dree for that,

Edward, Edward?

And whatten penance will ye dree for that?

My dear son, now tell me oh.

"I'll set my feet in yonder boat,

Mither, mither:

I'll set my feet in yonder boat,

And I'll fare over the sea oh."

And what will ye do wi' your towers and your ha',

Edward, Edward?

And what will ye do wi' your towers and your ha',

That were sae fair to see oh?

(_dule ye dree_, woe ye die weeping.)

"I'll let them stand till they down fa',

Mither, mither:

I'll let them stand till they down fa',

For here never mair maun I be oh."

And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,

Edward, Edward?

And what will ye leave to your bairns and your wife,

When ye gang over the sea oh?

"The world's room, let them beg through life,

Mither, mither:

The world's room, let them beg through life,

For them never mair will I see oh."

And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,

Edward, Edward?

And what will ye leave to your ain mither dear,

My dear son, now tell me oh.

"The curse of hell frae me shall ye bear,

Mither, mither:

The curse of hell frae me shall ye bear,

Sic counsels ye gave to me oh."

YOUNG WATERS

|About Yule? when the wind blew cool;

And the round tables began,

A' there is come to our king's court

Mony a well-favoured man.

The queen looked o'er the castle wa,

Beheld baith dale and down,

And then she saw young Waters

Come riding to the town.

His footmen they did rin before,

His horsemen rade behind;

Ane mantle of the burning gowd

Did keep him frae the wind.

Gowden graith'd his horse before,

And siller shod behind -,

The horse young Waters rade upon

Was fleeter than the wind.

Out then spake a wily lord,

Unto the queen said he:

"O tell me wh' s the fairest face

Rides in the company?"

(_graith'd_, girthed.)

"I've seen lord, and I've seen laird,

And knights of high degree,

But a fairer face than young Waters

Mine eyen did never see."

Out then spake the jealous king

And an angry man was he:

"O if he had been twice as fair,

You might have excepted me."

"You're neither laird nor lord," she says,

"But the king that wears the crown;

There is not a knight in fair Scotland,

But to thee maun bow down."

For a' that she could do or say,

Appeased he wad nae be;

But for the words which she had said,

Young Waters he maun dee.

They hae ta'en young Waters,

And put fetters to his feet;

They hae ta'en young Waters,

And thrown him in dungeon deep.

"Aft I have ridden thro' Stirling town,

In the wind but and the weet;

But I ne'er rade thro' Stirling town

Wi' fetters at my feet.

"Aft have I ridden thro' Stirling town,

In the wind but and the rain;

But I ne'er rade thro' Stirling town

Ne'er to return again."

They hae ta'en to the heading-hill

His young son in his cradle;

And they hae ta'en to the heading-hill

His horse but and his saddle.

They hae taen to the heading-hill

His lady fair to see;

And for the words the queen had spoke

Young Waters he did dee.

CHILDREN IN THE WOOD

|Now ponder well, you parents dear,

These words which I shall write;

A doleful story you shall hear,

In time brought forth to light.

(_heading_, beheading.)

A gentleman of good account

In Norfolk dwelt of late,

Who did in honour far surmount

Most men of his estate.

Sore sick he was, and like to die,

No help his life could save;

His wife by him as sick did lie,

And both possessed one grave.

No love between these two was lost,

Each was to other kind;

In love they liv'd, in love they died,

And left two babes behind:

The one a fine and pretty boy,

Not passing three years old;

The other a girl more young than he,

And fram'd in beauty's mould.

The father left his little son,

As plainly doth appear,

When he to perfect age should come,

Three hundred pounds a year.

And to his little daughter Jane

Five hundred pounds in gold,

To be paid down on marriage-day,

Which might not be controll'd:

But if the children chance to die,

Ere they to age should come,

Their uncle should possess their wealth

For so the will did run.

"Now, brother," said the dying man,

"Look to my children dear;

Be good unto my boy and girl,

No friends else have they here:

To God and you I recommend

My children dear this day;

But little while be sure we have

Within this world to stay.

"You must be father and mother both,

And uncle all in one;

God knows what will become of them,

When I am dead and gone."

With that bespake their mother dear,

O brother kind," quoth she,

"You are the man must bring our babes

To wealth or misery:

"And if you keep them carefully,

Then God will you reward;

But if you otherwise should deal,

God will your deeds regard."

With lips as cold as any stone,

They kissed their children small:

"God bless you both, my children dear;"

With that the tears did fall.

These speeches then their brother spake

To this sick couple there:

"The keeping of your little ones,

Sweet sister, do not fear.

God never prosper me nor mine,

Nor aught else that I have,

If I do wrong your children dear,

When you are laid in grave."

The parents being dead and gone,

The children home he takes,

And brings them straight unto his house,

Where much of them he makes.

He had not kept these pretty babes

A twelvemonth and a day,

But, for their wealth, he did devise

To make them both away.

He bargain'd with two ruffians strong,

Which were of furious mood,

That they should take these children young,

And slay them in a wood.

He told his wife an artful tale.

He would the children send

To be brought up in fair London,

With one that was his friend.

Away then went those pretty babes,

Rejoicing at that tide,

Rejoicing with a merry mind,

They should on cock-horse ride.

They prate and prattle pleasantly,

As they rode on the way,

To those that should their butchers be,

And work their lives decay:

So that the pretty speech they had,

Made Murder's heart relent:

And they that undertook the deed,

Full sore did now repent.

Yet one of them more hard of heart,

Did vow to do his charge,

Because the wretch, that hired him,

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 children's life:

And he that was of mildest mood,

Did slay the other there,

Within an unfrequented wood;

The babes did quake for fear!

He took the children by the hand,

Tears standing in their eye,

And bad them straightway follow him,

And look they did not cry:

And two long miles he led them on,

While they for food complain:

"Stay here," quoth he, "I'll bring you bread,

When I come back again."

These pretty babes, with hand in hand,

Went wandering up and down;

But never more could see the man

Approaching from the town:

Their pretty lips with blackberries,

Were all besmear'd and dyed,

And when they saw the darksome night,

They sat them down and cried.

Thus wandered these poor innocents,

Till death did end their grief,

In one another's arms they died,

As wanting due relief:

No burial this pretty pair

Of any man receives,

Till Robin-red-breast piously

Did cover them with leaves.

And now the heavy wrath of God,

Upon their uncle fell;

Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house,

His conscience felt an hell;

His barns were fir'd, his goods consum'd,

His lands were barren made,

His cattle died within the field,

And nothing with him stayed.

And in the voyage of Portugal *

Two of his sons did die;

And to conclude, himself was brought

To want and misery:

He pawn'd and mortgaged all his land

Ere seven years came about,

And now at length this wicked act

Did by this means come out:

* Percy has 'to ' but Ritson points out that it should be 'of.'

The fellow, that did take in hand

These children for to kill,

Was for a robbery judg'd to die,

Such was God's blessed will:

Who did confess the very truth,

As here hath been display'd:

Their uncle having died in gaol,

Where he for debt was laid.

You that executors be made,

And overseers eke

Of children that be fatherless,

And infants mild and meek;

Take you example by this thing,

And yield to each his right,

Lest God with such like misery

Your wicked minds requite.

HUGH OF LINCOLN

|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,

And catch'd it wi' his knee;

And through-and-through the Jew's window,

He gar'd the bonny ba' flee.

He's done him to the Jew's castle,

And walk'd it round about;

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,

"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."

(_gar'd_, made.)

She's gane till her father's garden,

And pu'd an apple, red and green;

'Twas a' to wile him, sweet Sir Hugh,

And to entice him in.

She's led him in through ae dark door,

And sae has she through 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;

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,

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.

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.

(_row'd_, rolled.)

She's done her to the Jew's castle,

Where a' were fast asleep;

"Gin ye be there, my sweet Sir Hugh,

I pray you to me speak."

She's done her to the Jew's garden,

Thought he had been gathering fruit;

"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;

"Where'er ye be, my sweet Sir Hugh,

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."

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,

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.

SIR PATRICK SPENCE

|The king sits in Dumferling toun,

Drinking the blude-red wine:

"O where will I get guid sailor,

To sail this ship of mine?"

Up and spak an eldern knight,

Sat at the kings right knee:

"Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor,

That sails upon the sea."

The king has written a braid letter,

And signed it wi' his hand,

And sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,

Was walking on the sand.

The first line that Sir Patrick read,

A loud laugh laughed he:

The next line that Sir Patrick read,

The tear blinded his ee.

"O wha is this has done this deed,

This ill deed done to me;

To send me out this time o' the year,

To sail upon the sea?

"Mak haste, mak haste, my merry men all,

Our guid ship sails the morn."

"O say na sae, my master dear,

For I fear a deadly storm.

"Late late yestreen I saw the new moon

Wi' the auld moon in her arm;

And I fear, I fear, my dear master,

That we will come to harm."

O our Scots nobles were right loath

To wet their cork-heeled shoon;

But lang erè a the play were playd,

Their hats they swam aboon.

O lang, lang, may their ladies sit

Wi' their fans into their hand,

Or e'er they see Sir Patrick Spence

Come sailing to the land.

O lang, lang, may the ladies stand

Wi' their gold kems in their hair,

Waiting for their ain dear lords,

For they'll see them na mair.

(_shoon_, shoes.)

Half oer, half oer to Aberdour,

It's fifty fathom deep:

And there lies guid Sir Patrick Spence,

Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.

CHILD WATERS

|Child Waters in his stable stood

And stroked his milk-white steed;

To him came a fair yong lady

As ever did wear womans weed.

Says, "Christ you save, good Child Waters,"

Says, "Christ you save and see;

My girdle of gold which was too long,

Is now too short for me.

"And all is with one child of yours

I feel stir at my side;

(_weed_, dress.)

My gown of green it is too straight;

Before, it was too wide."

"If the child be mine, fair Ellen," he said,

"Be mine, as you tell me,

Take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,

Take them your own to be.

"If the child be mine, fair Ellen," he said,

"Be mine, as you do swear,

Take you Cheshire and Lancashire both,

And make that child your heir."

She says, "I had rather have one kiss,

Child Waters, of thy mouth,

Than I would have Cheshire and Lancashire both,

That lies by north and south.

"And I had rather have a twinkling,

Child Waters, of your ee,

Than I would have Cheshire and Lancashire both,

To take them mine own to be."

"To morrow, Ellen, I must forth ride

Far into the north countree;

The fairest lady that I can find,

Ellen, must go with me."

"And ever I pray you, Child Waters,

Your foot-page let me be."

"If you will my foot-page be, Ellen,

As you do tell it me,

Then you must cut your gown of green

An inch above your knee:

"So must you do your yellow locks,

Another inch above your ee;

You must tell no man what is my name;

My foot-page then you shall be."

All this long day Child Waters rode,

She ran barefoot by his side,

Yet he was never so courteous a knight,

To say, "Ellen, will you ride?"

But all this day Child Waters rode,

She ran barefoot through the broom,

Yet he was never so courteous a knight,

As to say, "put on your shoon."

"Ride softly," she said, "Child Waters

Why do you ride so fast?

The child, which is no man's but yours,

My body it will burst."

He says, "sees thou yonder water, Ellen,

That flows from bank to brim?"

"I trust to God, Child Waters," she said,

"You will never see me swim."

But when she came to the water's side,

She sailed to the chin:

"Except the Lord of heaven be my speed,

Now must I learn to swim."

The salt waters bare up Ellen's clothes,

Our Lady bare up her chin;

Child Waters was a woe man, good Lord,

To see fair Ellen swim!

And when she over the water was,

She then came to his knee:

He said, "Come hither, fair Ellen,

Lo yonder what I see.

"Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen?

Of red gold shine the gates:

There's four and twenty fair ladies,

The fairest is my worldly make.

"Seest thou not yonder hall, Ellen?

Of red gold shineth the tower:

There is four and twenty fair ladies,

The fairest is my paramour."

"I do see the hall now, Child Waters,

That of red gold shineth the gates:

God give good then of yourself,

And of your worldly make.

(_make_, mate.)

"I do see the hall now, Child Waters,

That of red gold shineth the tower:

God give good then of yourself,

And of your paramour."

There were four and twenty ladies

Were playing at the ball,

And Ellen, was the fairest lady,

Must bring his steed to the stall.

There were four and twenty fair ladies

Was a playing at the chess,

And Ellen, she was the fairest lady,

Must bring his horse to grass.

And then bespake Child Waters sister,

And these were the words said she:

"You have the prettiest foot-page, brother,

That ever I saw with mine eye.

"But that his belly it is so big,

His girdle goes wondrous high;

And ever, I pray you, Child Waters,

Let him go into the chamber with me."

"It is more meet for a little foot-page,

That has run through moss and mire,

To take his supper upon his knee,

And sit down by the kitchen fire,

Then to go into the chamber with any lady,

That wears so [rich] attire."

But when they had supped every one,

To bed they took the way:

He said, "Come hither, my little foot-page.

Hearken what I do say.

"And go thee down into yonder town,

And low into the street;

The fairest lady that thou canst find,

Hire her in mine arms to sleep;

And take her up in thine arms two,

For filing of her feet."

Ellen is gone into the town,

And low into the street;

The fairest lady that she could find,

She hired in his arms to sleep;

And took her up in her arms two,

For filing of her feet.

"I pray you now, good Child Waters,

That I may creep in at your bed's feet;

For there is no place about this house,

Where I may say a sleep."

This [night] and it drove on afterward,

Till it was near the day,

He said, "Rise up, my little foot-page,

And give my steed corn and hay;

And so do thou the good black oats,

That he may carry me the better away."

(_for filing_, to keep clean.)

And up then rose fair Ellen,

And gave his steed corn and hay;

And so she did and the good black oats,

That he might carry him the better away.

She leaned her back to the manger side,

And grievously did groan;

And that beheard his mother dear,

And heard her make her moan.

She said, "Rise up, thou Child Waters,

I think thou art a cursed man;

For yonder is a ghost in thy stable,

That grievously doth groan;

Or else some woman labours of child,

She is so woe-begone."

But up then rose Child Waters,

And did on his shirt of silk;

Then he put on his other clothes,

On his body as white as milk.

And when he came to the stable door,

Full still that he did stand,

That he might hear now fair Ellen,

How she made her monand.

She said, "Lullaby, my own dear child,

Lullaby, dear child, dear;

I would thy father were a king,

Thy mother laid on a bier."

(_monand_, moaning.)

"Peace now," he said, "good, fair Ellen,

And be of good cheer, I thee pray;

And the bridal and the churching both

They shall be upon one day,"

Earl Richard

Earl Richard once upon a day,

And all his valiant men so wight,

He did him down to Barnisdale,

Where all the land is fair and light.

He was aware of a damosel,

I wot fast on she did her bound,

With towers of gold upon her head,

As fair a woman as could be found.

He said, "Busk on you, fair lady,

The white flowers and the red;

For I would give my bonnie ship,

To get your maidenhead."

"I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive,

And drown you in the sea;

For all this would not mend the miss

That ye would do to me."

"The miss is not so great, lady,

Soon mended it might be.

"I have four-and-twenty mills in Scotland,

Stands on the water of Tay;

You'll have them, and as much flour

As they'll grind in a day."

"I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive,

And drown you in the sea;

For all that would not mend the miss

That ye would do to me."

"The miss is not so great, lady,

Soon mended it will be.

"I have four-and-twenty milk-white cows,

All calved in a day;

You'll have them, and as much hained grass

As they all on can gae."

"I wish your bonnie ship rent and rive,

And drown you in the sea;

For all that would not mend the miss

That ye would do to me."

"The miss is not so great, lady,

Soon mended it might be.

(_hained,_ enclosed.)

"I have four-and-twenty milk-white steeds,

All foaled in one year;

You'll have them, and as much red gold

As all their backs can bear.''

She turned her right and round about,

And she swore by the mould,

"I would not be your love," said she,

"For that church full of gold."

He turned him right and round about,

And he swore by the mass,

Says,--"Lady, ye my love shall be,

And gold ye shall have less."

She turned her right and round about,

And she swore by the moon,

"I would not be your love," says she,

"For all the gold in Rome."

He turned him right and round about,

And he swore by the moon,

Says,--"Lady, ye my love shall be,

And gold ye shall have none."

He caught her by the milk-white hand,

And by the grass-green sleeve;

And there has taken his will of her,

Wholly without her leave.

The lady frowned and sadly blushed,

And oh! but she thought shame:

Says,--"If you are a knight at all,

You surely will tell me your name."

"In some places they call me Jack,

In other some they call me John;

But when into the Queens Court,

Oh then Lithcock it is my name."

"Lithcock! Lithcock!" the lady said,

And oft she spelt it over again;

"Lithcock! its Latin," the lady said,

"Richard's the English of that name."

The knight he rode, the lady ran,

A live long summer's day;

Till they came to the wan water

That all men do call Tay.

He set his horse head to the water,

Just thro' it for to ride;

And the lady was as ready as him

The waters for to wade.

For he had never been as kind-hearted

As to bid the lady ride;

And she had never been so low-hearted

As for to bid him bide.

But deep into the wan water

There stands a great big stone;

He turned his wight horse head about,

Said, "Lady fair, will ye loup on?"

She's taken the wand was in her hand,

And struck it on the foam,

And before he got the middle stream,

The lady was on dry land.

"By help of God and our Lady,

My help lies not in your hand.

"I learned it from my mother dear,--

Few are there that have learned better-

When I come to deep water,

I can swim thro' like any otter.

"I learned it from my mother dear,--

I find I learned it for my weel;

When I come to a deep water,

I can swim thro' like any eel."

"Turn back, turn back, you lady fair,

You know not what I see;

There is a lady in that castle,

That will burn you and me."

"Betide me weal, betide me wae,

That lady I will see."

(_wight,_ active.)

She took a ring from her finger,

And gave't the porter for his fee:

Says, "Take you that, my good porter,

And bid the Queen speak to me."

And when she came before the Queen,

There she fell low down on her knee:

Says, "There is a knight into your court,

This day has robbed me."

"O has he robbed you of your gold,

Or has he robbed you of your fee?"

"He has not robbed me of my gold,

He has not robbed me of my fee;

He has robbed me of my maidenhead,

The fairest flower of my body."

"There is.no knight in all my court,

That thus has robbed thee,

But you'll have the truth of his right hand,

Or else for your sake he'll die,

Tho' it were Earl Richard, my own brother;

And oh forbid that it be!"

Then, sighing, said the lady fair,

"I wot the same man is he."

The Queen called on her merry men,

Even fifty men and three;

Earl Richard used to be the first man,

But now the hindmost man was he.

He's taken out one hundred pounds,

And told it in his glove:

Says, "Take you that, my lady fair,

And seek another love."

"Oh no, oh no," the lady cried,

"That's what shall never be;

I'll have the truth of your right hand,

The Queen it gave to me."

"I wish I had drunk of your water, sister,

When I did drink your wine;

That for a carl's fair daughter,

It does gar me dree all this pine."

"May be I am a carl's daughter,

And may be never nane;

When ye met me in the green wood,

Why did you not let me alane?"

"Will you wear the short clothes,

Or will you wear the side;

Or will you walk to your wedding,

Or will you till it ride?"

"I will not wear the short clothes,

But I will wear the side;

I will not walk to my wedding,

But I to it will ride."

(_carl,_ churl, _gar_, make. _dree_, mourn, _pine_, woe. _side_, long.)

When he was set upon the horse,

The lady him bellin',

Then cauld and eerie were the words

The twa had them between.

She said, "Good e'en, ye nettles tall,

Just there where ye grow at the dike;

If the auld carline my mother was here,

Sae weel's she would your pates pike.

"How she would stap you in her poke,

I wot at that she wadna fail;

And boil ye in her auld brass pan,

And of ye make right good kail.

"And she would meal you with millering

That she gathers at the mill,

And make you thick as any dough -,

And when the pan was brimful,

"Would mess you up in scuttle dishes,

Syne bid us sup till we were fou -,

Lay down her head upon a poke.

Then sleep and snore like any sow."

"Away! away! you bad woman,

For all your vile words grieveth me;

When ye hide so little for yourself,

I;m sure ye'll hide far less for me.

(_pike_, pick. _stap_, stuff. _poke_, bag. _kail_, broth.

_scuttle-dish_, wooden platter.)

"I wish I had drunk your water, sister,

When that I did drink of your wine -,

Since for a carls fair daughter,

It aye gars me dree all this pine."

"May be I am a carl's daughter,

And may be never nane;

When ye met me in the good green wood,

Why did you not let me alane?

"Gude e'en, gude e'en, ye heather berries,

As ye're growing on yon hill;

If the auld carline and her bags were here,

I wot she would get meat her fill.

"Late, late at night I knit our pokes,

With even four-and-twenty knots;

And in the morn at breakfast time,

I'll carry the keys of an earl's locks.

"Late, late at night I knit our pokes,

With even four-and-twenty strings;

And if you look to my white fingers,

They have as many gay gold rings."

"Away! away! ye ill woman,

So sore your vile words grieveth me;

When you hide so little for yourself,

I'm sure ye'll hide far less for me.

"But if you are a carls daughter,

As I take you to be,

How did you get the gay clothing,

In green wood ye had on thee?"

"My mother she's a poor woman,

She nursed earls children three;

And I got them from a foster sister,

For to beguile such sparks as thee."

"But if you be a carl's daughter,

As I believe you be,

How did you learn the good Latin,

In green wood ye spoke to me?"

"My mother she's a mean woman,

She nursed earl's children three;

I learned it from their chaplain,

To beguile such sparks as ye."

When mass was sung, and bells were rung,

And all men bound for bed,

Then Earl Richard and this lady

In ae bed they were laid.