Chapter II: Part 2

An' he would to the green-wood gang,

To hunt some venison.

He has ta'en his bow his arm o'er,

His bran' intill his han',

And he is to the gude green-wood

As fast as he could gang.

O he's shot up, and he's shot down,

The bird upon the briar;

And he sent it hame to his lady,

Bade her be of gude cheer.

O he's shot up, and he's shot down,

The bird upon the thorn;

And sent it hame to his lady,

Said he'd be hame the morn.

When he came to his lady's bower door

He stood a little forbye,

And there he heard a fu' fause knight

Tempting his gay lady.

For he's ta'en out a gay goud ring,

Had cost him many a poun',

"O grant me love for love, lady,

And this sal be thy own."--

"I lo'e Brown Adam weel," she says;

"I wot sae does he me;

An I wadna gie Brown Adam's love

For nae fause knight I see."--

Out has he ta'en a purse o' goud,

Was a' fu' to the string,

"O grant me but love for love, lady,

And a' this sail be thine."--

"I lo'e Brown Adam weel," she says;

"I wot sae does he me:

I wadna be your light leman,

For mair nor ye could gie."

Then out has he drawn his lang, lang bran',

And he's flash'd it in her een;

"Now grant me love for love, lady,

Or thro' ye this shall gang!"--

Oh, sighing, said that gay lady,

"Brown Adam tarries lang!"--

Then up it starts Brown Adam,

Says--"I'm just at your hand."--

He's gar'd him leave his bow, his bow,

He's gar'd him leave his brand,

He's gar'd him leave a better pledge--

Four fingers o' his right hand.

THE LAIRD O' LOGIE

|I will sing, if ye will hearken,

If ye will hearken unto me;

The king has ta'en a poor prisoner,

The wanton laird o' young Logie.

Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel,

Carmichael's the keeper o' the key;

And May Margaret's lamenting sair,

A' for the love o' young Logie.

"Lament, lament na, May Margaret,

And of your weeping let me be;

For ye maun to the king himsel',

To seek the life o' young Logie."

May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding,

And she has curl'd back her yellow hair,--

"If I canna get young Logie's life,

Farewell to Scotland for evermair."

When she came before the king,

She kneelit lowly on her knee.

"O what's the matter, May Margaret?

And what needs a' this courtesy?"

"A boon, a boon, my noble liege,

A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!

And the first boon that I come to crave

Is to grant me the life o' young Logie."

"Ona, O na, May Margaret,

Forsooth, and so it mauna be;

For a' the gowd o' fair Scotland

Shall not save the life o' young Logie."

But she has stown the king's redding kaim,

Likewise the queen her wedding knife;

And sent the tokens to Carmichael,

To cause young Logie get his life.

She sent him a purse o' the red gowd,

Another o' the white money;

' She sent him a pistol for each hand,

And bade him shoot when he gat free.

(_stown,_ stolen. _redding kaim_, hair comb.)

When he came to the Tolbooth stair,

Then he let his volley flee;

It made the king in his chamber start,

Een in the bed where he might be.

"Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a,

And bid Carmichael come speak to me;

For I'll lay my life the pledge o' that,

That yon's the shot o' young Logie."

When Carmichael came before the king,

He fell low down upon his knee;

The very first word that the king spake

Was,--"Where's the laird of young Logie?"

Carmichael turn'd him round about,

(I wot the tear blinded his e'e,)--

"There came a token frae your grace

Has ta'en away the laird frae me."

"Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichael?

And hast thou play'd me that?" quoth he;

"The morn the Justice Court's to stand,

And Logie's place ye maun supply."

Carmichael's awa to Margaret's bower,

Even as fast as he may dri'e,--

"O if young Logie be within,

Tell him to come and speak with me!"

(_drte_, drive).

May Margaret turn'd her round about,

(I wot a loud laugh laughed she,)--

"The egg is chipp'd, the bird is flown,

Ye'll see nae mair of young Logie."

The tane is shipped at the pier of Leith,

The t'other at the Queen's Ferry;

And she's gotten a father to her bairn,

The wanton laird of young Logie.

JOHNNIE OF BREADISLEE

|Johnnie rose up in a May morning,

Call'd for water to wash his hands--

"Gar loose to me the gude gray dogs,

That are bound wi' iron bands."

When Johnnie's mother gat word o' that,

Her hands for dule she wrang--

"O Johnnie! for my benison,

To the greenwood dinna gang!

"Enough ye hae o' gude wheat bread,

And enough o' the blood-red wine;

And therefore, for nae venison, Johnnie,

I pray ye, stir frae hame."

But Johnnie's busk'd up his gude bent bow,

His arrows, ane by ane,

And he has gane to Durrisdeer,

To hunt the dun deer down.

As he came down by Merriemass,

And in by the benty line,

There has he espied a deer lying

Aneath a bush of ling.

Johnnie he shot, and the dun deer lap,

And he wounded her on the side;

But atween the water and the brae,

His hounds they laid her pride.

And Johnnie has bryttled the deer sae weel,

That he's had out her liver and lungs;

And wi' these he has feasted his bluidy hounds,

As if they had been earl's sons.

They eat sae much o' the venison,

And drank sae much o' the blude,

That Johnnie and a' his bluidy hounds

Fell asleep as they had been dead.

And by there came a silly auld carle,

An ill death mote he die!

For he's awa' to Hislinton,

Where the seven Foresters did lie.

(_benty line,_ path covered with bent (?). _bryttled_, cut up. _carle_, churl.)

"What news, what news, ye gray-headed carle,

What news bring ye to me?"

"I bring nae news," said the gray-headed carle,

"Save what these eyes did see.

"As I came down by Merriemass,

And down among the scroggs,

The bonniest child that ever I saw

Lay sleeping amang his dogs.

"The shirt that was upon his back

Was o' the Holland fine;

The doublet which was over that

Was o' the Lincoln twine.

"The buttons that were on his sleeve

Were o' the goud sae gude;

The gude gray hounds he lay amang,

Their mouths were dyed wi' blude"

Then out and spak the First Forester

The head man ower them a'--

"If this be Johnnie o' Breadislee,

Nae nearer will we draw."

But up and spak the Sixth Forester,

(His sister's son was he,)

"If this be Johnnie o' Breadislee,

We soon shall gar him die."

(_scroggs,_ stunted trees.)

The first flight of arrows the Foresters shot,

They wounded him on the knee;

And out and spak the Seventh Forester,

"The next will gar him die."

Johnnies set his back against an aik,

His foot against a stane;

And he has slain the Seven Foresters,

He has slain them a' but ane.

He has broke three ribs in that ane's side,

But and his collar bane;

He's laid him twa-fald ower his steed,

Bade him carry the tidings hame.

"O is there nae a bonny bird

Can sing as I can say,

Could flee away to my mother's bower,

And tell to fetch Johnnie away?"

The starling flew to his mother's window stane,

It whistled and it sang;

And aye the ower word o' the tune

Was--"Johnnie tarries lang!"

They made a rod o' the hazel bush,

Another o' the sloe-thorn tree,

And mony mony were the men

At fetching o'er Johnnie.

(_aik,_ oak. _the ower word,_ the refrain.)

Then out and spake his auld mother,

And fast her tears did fa'--

"Ye wad nae be warn'd, my son Johnnie,

Frae the hunting to bide awa'.

'' Aft hae I brought to Breadislee

The less gear and the mair,

But I ne'er brought to Breadislee

What grieved my heart sae sair.

"But wae betide that silly auld carle!

An ill death shall he die!

For the highest tree in Merriemas

Shall be his morning's fee."

Now Johnnie's gude bend bow is broke,

And his gude gray dogs are slain;

And his body lies dead in Durrisdeer,

And his hunting it is done.

KINMONT WILLY

|O have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde?

O have ye na heard of the keen Lord Scroope?

How they hae taen bould Kinmont Willy,

On Haribee to hang him up?

Had Willy had but twenty men,

But twenty men as stout as he,

Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta'en,

Wi' eight score in his company.

They band his legs beneath the steed,

They tied his hands behind his' back;

They guarded him, five some on each side,

And they brought him ower the Liddel-rack.

They led him thro' the Liddel-rack,

And also thro' the Carlisle sands;

They brought him to Carlisle castle,

To be at my Lord Scroope's commands.

(_band,_ bound.)

"My hands are tied, but my tongue is free,

And wha will dare this deed avow?

Or answer by the Border law?

Or answer to the bauld Buccleuch?"

"Now haud thy tongue, thou rank reiver!

There's never a Scot shall set thee free:

Before ye cross my castle yate,

I trow ye shall take farewell o' me."

"Fear na ye that, my lord," quo' Willy:

"By the faith o' my body, Lord Scroope," he said,

"I never yet lodged in a hostelry,

But I paid my lawing before I gaed."

Now word is gane to the bauld Keeper,

In Branksome Ha' where that he lay,

That Lord Scroope has ta'en the Kinmont Willy,

Between the hours of night and day.

He has ta'en the table wi' his hand,

He gar'd the red wine spring on high--

"Now Christ's curse on my head," he said,

"But avenged of Lord Scroope I'll be!

"O is my basnet a widow's curch?

Or my lance a wand of the willow-tree?

Or my arm a lady's lily hand,

That an English lord should lightly me!

(_reiver_, robber. _yate_, gate. _lawing,_ reckoning. _basnet_, helmet. _curch_, kerchief.)

"And have they ta en him, Kinmont Willy,

Against the truce of Border tide,

And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch

Is keeper there on the Scottish side?

"And have they e en ta en him, Kinmont Willy,

Withouten either dread or fear,

And forgotten that the bauld Buccleuch

Can back a steed, or shake a spear?

"O were there war between the lands,

As well I wot that there is none,

I would slight Carlisle castle high,

Though it were builded of marble stone.

"I would set that castle in a low,

And sloken it with English blood!

There's never a man in Cumberland,

Should ken where Carlisle castle stood.

"But since nae war's between the lands,

And there is peace, and peace should be;

I'll neither harm English lad or lass,

And yet the Kinmont freed shall be!"

He has call'd him forty Marchmen bauld,

I trow they were of his ain name,

Except Sir Gilbert Elliot, call'd

The Laird of Stobs, I mean the same.

(_slight_, i.e., make little of. _sloken_, slake.)

He has call'd him forty Marchmen bauld,

Were kinsmen to the bauld Buccleuch;

With spur on heel, and splent on spauld,

And gloves of green, and feathers blue.

There were five and five before them a',

Wi' hunting-horns and bugles bright:

And five and five came wi' Buccleuch,

Like warden's men, array'd for fight.

And five and five, like a mason-gang,

That carried the ladders lang and high;

And five and five, like broken men;

And so they reach'd the Woodhouselee.

And as we cross'd the Bateable Land,

When to the English side we held,

The first o' men that we met wi',

Wha should it be but fause Sakelde?

"Where be ye gaun, ye hunters keen?"

Quo' fause Sakelde; "come tell to me!"

"We go to hunt an English stag,

Has trespass'd on the Scots country."

"Where be ye gaun, ye marshal-men?"

Quo' fause Sakelde; "come tell me true!

"We go to catch a rank reiver,

Has broken faith wi' the bauld Buccleuch.'

(_splent_, armour. _spauld_, shoulder.)

"Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads,

Wi' a' your ladders lang and high?"

"We gang to herry a corbie's nest,

That wons not far frae Woodhouselee."

"Where be ye gaun, ye broken men?"

Quo' fause Sakelde; "Come tell to me!"

Now Dicky of Dry hope led that band,

And the never a word of lear had he.

"Why trespass ye on the English side?

Row-footed outlaws, stand!" quo' he;

Then never a word had Dicky to say,

Sae he thrust the lance through his fause body.

Then on we held for Carlisle toun,

And at Staneshaw-bank the Eden we cross'd;

The water was great and mickle of spate,

But the never a horse nor man we lost.

And when we reach'd the Staneshaw-bank,

The wind was rising loud and high;

And there the Laird gar'd leave our steeds,

For fear that they should stamp and neigh.

And when we left the Staneshaw-bank,

The wind began full loud to blaw;

But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet,

When we came beneath the castle wa'.

(_herry_, harry. _wons_, dwells. _ lear,_ lying. _row-footed_, rough-footed.)

We crept on knees, and held our breath,

Till we placed the ladders against the wa';

And sae ready was Buccleuch himsel'

To mount the first before us a'.

He has taen the watchman by the throat,

He flung him down upon the lead--

"Had there not been peace between our lands,

Upon the other side thou hadst gaed!

"Now sound out, trumpets!" quo' Buccleuch;

"Let's waken Lord Scroope right merrily!"

Then loud the wardens trumpet blew--

_O wha dare meddle wi' me?_

Then speedily to wark we gaed,

And raised the slogan ane and a',

And cut a hole through a sheet of lead,

And so we wan to the castle ha'.

They thought King James and a' his men

Had won the house wi' bow and spear;

It was but twenty Scots and ten,

That put a thousand in sic a stear!

Wi' coulters, and wi' forehammers,

We gar'd the bars bang merrily,

Until we came to the inner prison,

Where Willy o' Kinmont he did lie.

(_forehammers_, sledge-hammers. _stear_, stir. _slogan,_ war-cry.)

And when we came to the lower prison,

Where Willy o' Kinmont he did lie--

"O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willy,

Upon the morn that thou's to die?"

"O I sleep saft, and I wake aft,

It's lang since sleeping was fley'd frae me;

Gie my service back to my wife and bairns,

And a' gude fellows that speer for me."

Then Red Rowan has hente him up,

The starkest man in Teviotdale--

"Abide, abide now, Red Rowan,

Till of my Lord Scroope I take farewell.

"Farewell, farewell, my gude Lord Scroope!

My gude Lord Scroope, farewell!" he cried--

"I'll pay you for my lodging mail,

When first we meet on the Border side."

Then shoulder high, with shout and cry,

We bore him down the ladder lang:

At every stride Red Rowan made,

I wot the Kinmont's airns play'd clang.

"O mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willy,

"I have ridden horse baith wild and wood;

But a rougher beast than Red Rowan

I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode.

(_hente_, caught. _fley'd,_ frightened. _starkest,_ strongest. _airns_, irons.)

"And mony a time," quo' Kinmont Willy,

"I've prick'd a horse out ower the furs;

But since the day I back'd a steed,

I never wore sic cumbrous spurs."

We scarce had won the Staneshaw-bank,

When a' the Carlisle bells were rung,

And a thousand men on horse and foot

Came wi' the keen Lord Scroope along.

Buccleuch has turn'd to Eden Water,

Even where it flow'd frae bank to brim,

And he has plunged in wi' a' his band,

And safely swam them through the stream.

He turn'd him on the other side,

And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he--

"If ye like na my visit in merry England,

In fair Scotland come visit me!"

All sore astonish'd stood Lord Scroope,

He stood as still as rock of stane;

He scarcely dared to trew his eyes,

When through the water they had gane.

He is either himsel' a devil frae hell,

Or else his mother a witch maun be;

"I wadna hae ridden that wan water

For a' the gowd in Christianty."

(_furs_, furrows. _trew_, trust.)

THE DROWNED LOVERS

|Ye gie corn unto my horse,

An' meat unto my man;

For I will gae to my true love's gates

This night, that I can win."

"O stay at hame this ae night, Willy,

This ae bare night wi' me;

The best bed in a' my house

Shall be well made to thee."

"I carena for your beds, mither,

I carena a pin;

For I'll gae to my love's gates

This night, gin I can win."

4 Oh stay, my son Willy, this night,

This ae night wi' me;

The best hen in a' my roost

Shall be well made ready for thee."

"I carena for your hens, mither,

I carena a pin;

I shall gae to my love's gates

This night, gin I can win."

"Gin ye winna stay, my son Willy,

This ae bare night wi' me,

Gin Clyde's water's be deep and fu' o' flood,

My malison drown thee!"

He rade up yon high hill,

And down yon dowie den,

The roaring of Clyde's water

Wad hae fleyed ten thousand men.

"O spare me, Clyde's water,

O spare me as I gae!

Mak' me your wrack as I come back,

But spare me as I gae!"

He rade in, and farther in,

Till he came to the chin;

And he rade in, and farther in,

Till he came to dry land.

And when he came to his love's gates,

He tirled at the pin.

"Open your gates, Meggie,

Open your gates to me;

For my boots are fu' o' Clyde's water

And the rain rains ower my chin."

"I hae nae lovers thereout," she says,

"I hae nae love within;

My true-love is in my arms twa,

An' nane will I let in."

(_den_, hollow.)

"Open your gates, Meggie, this ae night,

Open your gates to me;

For Clydes water is fu' o' flood,

And my mother's malison 'll drown me."

"Ane o' my chambers is fu' o' corn,

An ane is fu' o' hay;

Another is fu' o' gentlemen;--

An' they winna move till day."

Out waked her may Meggie,

Out of her drowsy dream.

"I dreamed a dream sin the yestreen,

God read a' dreams to guid,

That my true love Willy

Was staring at my bed-feet."

"Lay still, lay still, my ae dochter,

An keep my back frae the call,

For it's na the space o' half an hour,

Sen he gaed frae your hall.''

An' hey Willy, and hoa, Willy,

Winna ye turn agen;

But aye the louder that she cried,

He rade against the win'.

He rade up yon high hill,

And doun yon dowie den;

The roaring that was in Clyde's water,

Wad ha fleyed ten thousand men.

(_read_ explain. _call_, cold.)

He rade in, an' farther in,

Till he came to the chin;

An' he rade in, an' further in,

But never mair was seen.

*****

There was na mair seen o' that guid lord,

But his hat frae his head;

There was na more seen of that lady,

But her comb and her snood.

There waders went up and doun,

Eddying Clyde's water;

Have done us wrang.

THE TWA BROTHERS

|There were twa brethren in the north,

They went to the school together;

The one unto the other said

Will ye try a warsle afore?

They warsled up, they warsled down,

Till Sir John fell to the ground;

And there was a knife in Sir William's pouch,

Gi ed him a deadly wound.

(_warsle_, wrestle.)

"O brither dear, take me upon your back,

Carry me to yon burn clear,

And wash the blood from off my wound,

And it will bleed nae mair."

He's took him up upon his back,

Carried him to yon burn clear,

And wash'd the blood from off his wound,

But aye it bled the mair.

"Oh brither dear, take me on your back,

Carry me to yon kirk-yard,

And dig a grave baith wide and deep,

And lay my body there."

He's ta'en him up upon his back,

Carried him to yon kirkyard,

And dug a grave baith deep and wide,

And laid his body there.

"But what will I say to your father dear,

Gin he chance to say, Willy, where's John?"

"O say that he's to England gone,

To buy him a cask of wine."

"And what will I say to my mother dear,

Gin she chance to say, Willy, where's John?"

"Oh say that he's to England gone,

To buy her a new silk gown."

"And what will I say to my sister dear,

Gin she chance to say, Willy, where's John?"

"Oh say that he's to England gone,

To buy her a wedding ring."

"But what shall I say to her you love dear,

Gin she cry, why tarries my John?"

"Oh tell her I lie in Kirkland fair,

And home again will never come."

THE LAIRD OF WARISTOUN

|Down by yon garden green

Sae merrily as she gaes;

She has twa weel-made feet,

And she trips upon her taes.

She has twa weel-made feet;

Far better is her hand;

She's as jimp in the middle

As ony willow-wand.

"Gif ye will do my bidding,

At my bidding for to be,

It's I will make you lady

Of a the lands you see."

He spak a word in jest;

Her answer wasna good;

He threw a plate at her face,

Made it a' gush out o' blood.

She wasna frae her chamber

A step but barely three,

When up and at her right hand

There stood Man's Enemy.

"Gif ye will do my bidding,

At my bidding for to be;

I'll learn you a wile

Avenged for to be."

The Foul Thief knotted the tether;

She lifted his head on high;

The nourice drew the knot

That gar'd lord Waristoun die.

Then word is gane to Leith,

Also to Edinburgh town,

That the lady had kill'd the laird,

The laird o' Waristoun.

"Tak aff, tak aff my hood,

But lat my petticoat be;

Put my mantle o'er my head;

For the fire I daurna see.

"Now, a ye gentle maids,

Tak warning now by me,

And never marry ane

But wha pleases your e'e.

"For he married me for love,

But I married him for fee;

And sae brak out the feud

That gar'd my deary die."

YOUNG BEICHAN AND SUSIE

|In London city was Beichan born,

He longed strange countries for to see;

But he was ta en by a savage Moor,

Who handled him right cruelly;

For through his shoulder he put a bore;

And through the bore has putten a tree;

And he's gar'd him draw the carts of wine

Where horse and oxen had wont to be.

He's casten [him] in a dungeon deep,

Where he could neither hear nor see;

He's shut him up in a prison strong,

And he's handled him right cruelly.

O this Moor he had but ae daughter,

I wot her name was Susie Pye;

She doen her to the prison house,

And she's called young Beichan one word by.

"O have ye any lands, or rents,

Or cities in your own country,

Could free you out of prison strong,

And could maintain a lady free?"

"O London city is my own,

And other cities twa or three,

Could loose me out of prison strong,

And could maintain a lady free"

O she has brib'd her father's men

Wi' mickle gold and white money;

She's gotten the keys of the prison door

And she has set young Beichan free.

(_bore_, hole. _tree_, pole. _free_, noble.)

She's gi en him a loaf of good white bread,

But an' a flask of Spanish wine;

And she bad him mind on the lady's love

That sae kindly freed him out of pine.

"Go set your foot on good ship-board,

And haste ye back to your own country;

And before that seven years have an end,

Come back again, love, and marry me."

It was long ere seven years had an end,

She long'd full sore her love to see;

She's set her foot on good shipboard,

And turn'd her back on her own country.

She's sailed up, so has she doun,

Till she came to the other side;

She's landed at young Beichan's

gates,

An I hope this day she shall be his bride.

"Is this young Beichan's gates," says she,

"Or is that noble prince within?"

"He's up the stairs wi' his bonny bride,

An mony a lord and lady wi him."

(_pinge_, woe.0

"And has he ta'en a bonny bride?

An' has he clean forgotten me?"

An', sighin', said that gay lady,

"I wish I were in my own country."

But she's putten her han' in her pocket,

An' gien the porter guineas three;

Says, "take ye that, ye proud porter,

An' bid the bridegroom speak to me."

O when the porter came up the stair,

He's fa'n low down upon his knee--

"Win up, win up, ye proud porter,

And what makes a' this courtesy?"

"O I've been porter at your gates,

This mair nor seven years and three;

But there is a lady at them now,

The like of whom I never did see;

"For on every finger she has a ring,

And on the mid finger she has three;

And as mickle gold aboon her brow

As would buy an earldom o' Lan' to me."

Then up it started Young Beichan,

An' swear so loud by our Lady,

"It can be nane but Susie Pye,

That has come o'er the sea to me.

(_win up_, get up.)

And quickly ran he down the stair;

Of fifteen steps he has made but three;

He's ta'en his bonny love in his arms,

And I wot he kissed her tenderly.

"O hae ye taen a bonny bride?

And hae ye quite forsaken me?

And hae ye quite forgotten her,

That gave you life and liberty?"

She looked o'er her left shoulder,

To hide the tears stood in her e'e:

"Now fare thee well, young Beichan," she says,

"I'll try to think no more on thee,"

"Take back your daughter, madam," he says,

"An' a double dowry I'll gie her wi';

For I maun marry my first true love,

That's done and suffered so much for me."

He's ta'en his bonny love by the hand,

And led her to yon fountain stane;

He's changed her name from Susie Pye,

And he's call'd her his bonny love, Lady Jane.

LIZZIE LINDSAY

|Out it spake Lizzie Lindsay,

The tear blinket in her ee;

How can I leave father and mother,

Along with young Donald to gae.

Out spak Lizzie's young handmaid,

A bonny young lassie was she;

Said,--"were I heiress to a kingdom,

Along wi' young Donald I'd gae."

"O say you so to me, Nelly?

O say ye so to me?

Must I leave Edinburgh city,

To the high Highland to gae?"

Out spak Lizzie's own mother,

A good old lady was she,

"If ye speak sic a word to my daughter,

I'll gar hang ye high."

"Keep weel your daughter frae me, madam;

Keep weel your daughter frae me;

I care as little for your daughter,

As ye can care for me."

The road grew wetty and dubby;

And Lizzie began to think lang;

Said, "I wish I had stayed with my mother,

And na wi' young Donald had gone."

"Yere welcome hame, Sir Donald;

Yere welcome hame to me;

Yere welcome hame, Sir Donald,

And your bonny young lady wi' ye."

"Ye call na me Sir Donald,

But ca me Donald your son."

"Rise up, Lizzie Lindsay,

You have lain too long in the day;

You might have helped my mother

To milk her goats and her kye."

Out it spake Lizzie Lindsay,

The tear blinket her eye;

"The ladies o' Edinburgh city

They neither milk goats nor kye."

(_dubby_, full of puddles.)

THE BIRTH OF ROBIN HOOD

|O Willys large o' limb and lith,

And come o' high degree,

And he is gone to Earl Richard

To serve for meat and fee.

Earl Richard had but ae daughter,

Fair as a lily flower;

And they made up their love-contract

Like proper paramour.

It fell upon a simmer's night,

When the leaves were fair and green,

That Willy met his gay lady,

Intill the wood alane.

"O narrow is my gown, Willy,

That wont to be sae wide;

And gane is a' my fair colour,

That wont to be my pride.

"But gin my father should get word

What's past between us twa,

Before that he should eat or drink,

He'd hang you o'er that wa'.

(_lith_, joint.)

"But ye'll come to my bower, Willy,

Just as the sun goes down;

And keep me in your arms twa,

And latna me fa' down."

O when the sun was now gane down,

He's doen him till her bower;

And there, by the lee light o' the moon,

Her window she lookit o'er.

Intill a robe o' red scarlet

She lap, fearless o' harm;

And Willy was large o' lith and limb,

And keepit her in his arm.

And they've gane to the gude green-wood,

And ere the night was deen,

She's borne to him a bonny young son,

Amang the leaves sae green.

Whan night was gane, and day was come,

And the sun began to peep,

Up and raise the Earl Richard

Out o' his drowsy sleep.

He's ca'd upon his merry young men,

By ane, by twa, and by three,

"O what's come o' my daughter dear,

That she's na come to me?

(_lee_, sad. _deen_, done.)

"I dreamt a dreary dream last night,

God grant it come to gude!

I dreamt I saw my daughter dear,

Drown in the saut sea flood.

"But gin my daughter be dead or sick,

Or yet be stown awa,

I mak a vow, and I'll keep it true,

I'll hang ye ane and a!"

They sought her back, they sought her fore,

They sought her up and down;

They got her in the gude green wood,

Nursing her bonny young son.

He took the bonny boy in his arms,

And kissed him tenderly;

Says, "Though I would your father hang,

Your mother's dear to me."

He kissed him oer and o'er again;

"My grandson I thee claim;

And Robin Hood in gude green wood,

And that shall be your name."

And mony ane sings o' grass, o' grass,

And mony ane sings o' corn;

And mony ane sings o' Robin Hood,

Kens little where he was born.

It was na in the ha', the ha',

Nor in the painted bower;

But it was in the gude green wood,

Amang the lily flower.

THE BARON OF BRACKLEY

|Down Dee side came Inverey whistling and playing;

He's lighted at Brackley yates at the day dawing.

Says, "Baron o' Brackley, O are ye within?

There's sharp swords at the y ate will gar your blood spin."

The lady raise up, to the window she went;

She heard her kye lowing o'er hill and o'er bent.

"O rise up, ye baron, and turn back your kye;

For the lads o' Drumwharran are driving them

by."

"How can I rise, lady, or turn them again!

Where'er I have ae man, I wot they hae ten."

"Then rise up, my lasses, take rocks in your hand,

And turn back the kye;--I hae you at command.

(_bent_, plain. _rocks_, distaffs.)

"Gin I had a husband, as I hae nane,

He wadna lie in his bower, see his kye ta en."

-

Then up got the baron, and cried for his graith;

Says, "Lady, I'll gang, tho' to leave you I'm laith.

"Come, kiss me,then,Peggy,and gieme my spear;

I ay was for peace, though I never fear'd weir.

"Come, kiss me, then, Peggy, nor think I'm to

blame;

I weel may gae out, but I'll never win in!"

When Brackley was busked, and rade o'er the closs,

A gallanter baron ne'er lap to a horse.

When Brackley was mounted, and rade o'er the green,

He was as bold a baron as ever was seen.

Tho' there cam' wi' Inverey thirty and three,

There was nane wi' bonny Brackley but his brother and he.

Twa gallanter Gordons did never sword draw;

But against four and thirty, wae's me, what is twa?

Wi' swords and wi' daggers they did him surround;

And they've pierced bonny Brackley wi' mony a wound.

(_graith,_ armour. _weir-_, war. _busked_, dressed. _closs_, close.)

Frae the head o' the Dee to the banks o' the Spey

The Gordons may mourn him, and bann Inverey.

"O came ye by Brackley yates, was ye in there?

Or saw ye his Peggy dear riving her hair?"

"O I came by Brackley yates, I was in there,

And I saw his Peggy a-making good cheer."

That lady she feasted them, carried them ben;

She laugh'd wi' the men that her baron had slain.

"O fie on you, lady! how could you do sae?

You open'd your gates to the fause Inverey."

She ate wi' him, drank wi' him, welcom'd him in;

She welcom'd the villain that slew her baron!

She kept him till morning, syne bade him be gane,

And shaw'd him the road that he shou'dna be ta'en.

"Thro' Birss and Aboyne," she says, "lyin in a tour,

O'er the hills o' Glentanar you'll skip in an hour."

--There's grief in the kitchen, and mirth in the ha';

But the Baron o' Brackley is dead and awa.

CHILD VYET

|Lord Ingram and Child Vyet,

Were both born in ane bower,

Had both their loves on one Lady,

The less was their honour.

Child Vyet and Lord Ingram,

Were both born in one hall,

Had both their loves on one Lady,

The worse did them befall.

Lord Ingram woo'd the Lady Maisry,

From father and from mother;

Lord Ingram woo'd the Lady Maisry,

From sister and from brother.

Lord Ingram wooed the Lady Maisry,

With leave of all her kin;

And every one gave full consent,

But she said no, to him.

Lord Ingram wooed the Lady Maisry,

Into her father's ha';

Child Vyet wooed the Lady Maisry,

Amang the sheets so sma'.

Now it fell out upon a day,

She was dressing her head,

That ben did come her father dear,

Wearing the gold so red.

"Get up now, Lady Maisry,

Put on your wedding gown,

For Lord Ingram will be here,

Your wedding must be done!"

"I'd rather be Child Vyet's wife,

The white fish to sell,

Before I were Lord Ingram's wife,

To wear the silk so well!

"I'd rather be Child Vyet's wife,

With him to beg my bread,

Before I'd be Lord Ingram's wife,

To wear the gold so red.

"Where will I get a bonny boy,

Will win gold to his fee,

Will run unto Child Vyet's,

With this letter from me?"

"O here, I am the boy," says one,

"Will win gold to my fee,

And carry away any letter,

To Child Vyet from thee."

(_ben_, in.)

And when he found the bridges broke,

He bent his bow and swam;

And when he found the grass growing,

He hasten'd and he ran.

And when he came to Vyet's castle,

He did not knock nor call,

But set his bent bow to his breast,

And lightly leaped the wall;

And ere the porter open'd the gate,

The boy was in the hall.

The first line that Child Vyet read,

A grieved man was he;

The next line that he looked on,

A tear blinded his e'e.

"What ails my own brother," he says,

"He'll not let my love be;

But I'll send to my brother's bridal;

The woman shall be free.

"Take four and twenty bucks and ewes,

And ten tun of the wine,

And bid my love be blithe and glad,

And I will follow syne."

There was not a groom about that castle,

But got a gown of green;

Child Vyet s'

109

And a' was blithe, and a was glad,

But Lady Maisry was wi' wean.

There was no cook about the kitchen,

But got a gown of gray;

And a' was blythe, and a was glad,

But Lady Maisry was wae.

'Tween Mary Kirk and that castle,

Was all spread o'er with [garl].

To keep the lady and her maidens,

From tramping on the [marl].

From Mary Kirk to that castle,

Was spread a cloth of gold,

To keep the lady and her maidens,

From treading on the mould.

When mass was sung, and bells were rung,

And all men bound for bed,

Then Lord Ingram and Lady Maisry,

In one bed they were laid.

When they were laid upon their bed,

It was baith soft and warm,

He laid his hand over her side,

Says he, "you are with bairn."

(_wean_, child. _garl_, gravel, _marl_, mould.)

"I told you once, so did I twice,

When ye came as my wooer,

That Child Vyet, your one brother,

One night lay in my bower!"

"I told you twice, so did I thrice,

Ere ye came me to wed,

That Child Vyet, your one brother,

One night lay in my bed!"

"O will you father your bairn on me,

And on no other man?

And I'll gie him to his dowry,

Full fifty ploughs of land."

"I will not father my bairn on you,

Nor on no wrongous man,

Tho' you would give him to his dowry,

Five thousand ploughs of land."

Then up did start him Child Vyet,

Shed by his yellow hair,

And gave Lord Ingram to the heart,

A deep wound and a sair.

Then up did start him Lord Ingram,

Shed by his yellow hair,

And gave Child Vyet to the heart,

A deep wound and a sair.

(_shed by,_ put back.)

There was no pity for the two lords,

Where they were lying slain,

All was for Lady Maisry:

In that bower she gaed brain!

There was no pity for the two lords,

When they were lying dead,

All was for Lady Maisry:

In that bower she went mad!

"O get to me a cloak of cloth,

A staff of good hard tree;

If I have been an evil woman,

I shall beg till I die.

"For ae bit I'll beg for Child Vyet,

For Lord Ingram I'll beg three,

All for the honourable marriage, that

At Mary Kirk he gave me!"

(_brain_, mad. _tree_, wood.)

ROBIN HOOD AND THE MONK

|In summer when the shaws be sheen,

And leaves be large and long,

It is full merry in fair forest

To hear the fowlés song.

To see the deer draw to the dale,

And leave the hillés high,

And shadow them in the leaves green,

Under the green-wood tree.

It befell on Whitsuntide,

Early in a May morning,

The sun up fair can shine,

And the birdés merry can sing.

(_shaws_, wood. _sheen_, bright.)

"This is a merry morning," said Little John,

"By Him that died on tree;

A more merry man then I am one

Lives not in Christianté."

"Pluck up thy heart, my dear master,"

Little John can say,

"And think it is a full fair time

In a morning of May."

"The one thing grieves me," said Robin,

"And does my heart much woe,

That I may not so solemn day

To mass nor matins go.

"It is a fortnight and more," said he,

"Since I my Saviour see;

To-day will I to Nottingham," said Robin,

"With the might of mild Mary."

Then spake Much the miller son,

Ever more well him betide,

"Take twelve of thy wight yeomen

Well weaponed by thy side.

Such one would thyself slon

That twelve dare not abide."

(_slon_, slay.)

"Of all my merry men," said Robin,

"By my faith I will none have;

But Little John shall bear my bow

Till that me list to draw."

"Thou shall bear thine own," said Little John,

"Master, and I will bear mine;

And we will shoot a penny," said Little John,

"Under the green wood line."

"I will not shoot a penny," said Robin Hood,

"In faith, Little John, with thee,

But ever for one as thou shoots," said Robin,

"In faith I hold thee three."

Thus shot they forth, these yeomen two,

Both at busk and broom,

Till Little John won of his master

Five shillings to hose and shoon.

A ferly strife fell them between.

As they went by the way;

Little John said he had won five shillings,

And Robin Hood said shortly nay.

(_line_, tree. _busk_, bush. _ferly_, wonderful.)

With that Robin Hood lied little John,

And smote him with his hand;

Little John waxed wroth therewith,

And pulled out his bright brand.

"Were thou not my master," said little John,

"Thou shouldest be hit full sore;

Get thee a man where thou wilt, Robin,

For thou gets me no more."

Then Robin goes to Nottingham,

Himself morning alone,

And Little John to merry Sherwood,

The paths he knew ilkone.

When Robin came to Nottingham,

Certainly withouten lain,

He prayed to God and mild Mary

To bring him out safe again.

He goes into saint Mary church,

And kneeled down before the rood;

All that ever were the church within

Beheld well Robin Hood.

Beside him stood a great-headed monk,

I pray to God woe he be;

Full soon he knew good Robin

As soon as he him see.

(_ilkone_, each one. _lain_, hindrance (?))

Out at the door he ran

Full soon and anon;

All the gates of Nottingham

He made to be sparred everyone.

"Rise up,' he said, "thou proud sheriff,

Busk thee and make thee boun;

I have spied the king's felon,

Forsooth he is in this town.

"I have spied the false felon,

As he stands at his mass;

It is long of thee," said the monk,

"An ever he fro us pass.

"This traitor's name is Robin Hood;

Under the green wood lind,

He robbed me once of a hundred pound,

It shall never out of my mind."

Up then rose this proud sheriff,

And radly made him yare;

Many was the mother son

To the kirk with him can fare.

In at the door they throly thrast

With staves full God wone.

"Alas, alas," said Robin Hood,

"Now miss I Little John."

(_sparred_, shut. _boun_, ready. _lind_, tree. _radly_, quickly. _yaref_ ready. _throly_, boldly. _thrast_, pressed. _ivone_, knows.)

But Robin took out a two-hand sword

That hanged down by his knee;

There as the sheriff and his men stood thickest,

Thitherward would he.

Thrice throughout them he ran,

Forsooth as I you say,

And wounded many a mother's son,

And twelve he slew that day.

His sword upon the sheriff's head

Certainly he brake in two;

"The smith that thee made," said Robin,

"I pray to God work him woe.

"For now am I weaponless," said Robin,

"Alas, against my will;

But if I may flee these traitors fro,

I wot they will me kill."

Robin in to the church ran,

Throughout them everyone;

*****

Some fell in swooning as they were dead,

And lay still as any stone.

None of them were in their mind

But only Little John.

"Let be your [dule],'' said Little John,

"For His love that died on tree;

Ye that should be doughty men,

It is great shame to see.

"Our master has been hard bestood,

And yet scaped away;

Pluck up your hearts and leave this moan,

And hearken what I shall say.

"He has served Our Lady many a day,

And yet will securely;

Therefore I trust in her specially

No wicked death shall he die.

"Therefore be glad," said Little John,

"And let this mourning be,

And I shall be the monk's guide,

With the might of mild Mary.

"We will go but we two

And I meet him," said Little John,

*****

"Look that ye keep well our tristil tree

Under the leaves small,

And spare none of this venison

That goes in this vale."

(_dule_, weeping. _tristil_, trysting.

Forth then went these yeomen two,

Little John and Much infere,

And looked on Much emy's house

The highway lay full near.

Little John stood at a window in the morning,

And looked forth at a stage;

He was ware where the monk came riding,

And with him a little page.

"By my faith," said Little John to Much,

"I can thee tell tidings good,

I see where the monk comes riding,

I know him by his wide hood."

They went into the way these yeomen both,

As courteous men and hende,

They speered tidings at the monk,

As they had been his friend.

"Fro whence come ye," said Little John;

"Tell us tidings, I you pray,

Of a false outlaw [called Robin Rood],

Was taken yesterday.

"He robbed me and my fellows both

Of twenty mark in certain.

If that false outlaw be taken,

Forsooth we would be fain."

(_infere_, together. _emys_, uncle's. _hende_, gentle.)

"So did he me," said the monk,

"Of a hundred pound and more;

I laid first hand him upon,

Ye may thank me therefore."

"I pray God thank you," said Little John,

"And we will when we may;

We will go with you, with your leave,

And bring you on your way.

"For Robin Hood has many a wild fellow,

I tell you in certain;

If they wist ye rode this way,

In faith ye should be slain."

As they went talking by the way,

The monk and Little John,

John took the monk's horse by the head

Full soon and anon.

John took the monk's horse by the head,

Forsooth as I you say,

So did Much the little page,

For he should not stir away.

By the gullet of the hood

John pulled the monk down;

John was nothing of him aghast,

He let him fall on his crown.

Little John was sore aggrieved,

And drew out his sword in high;

The monk saw he should be dead,

Lord mercy can he cry.

"He was my master," said Little John,

"That thou has brought in bale;

Shall thou never come at our king

For to tell him tale."

John smote off the monk's head,

No longer would he dwell;

So did Much the little page,

For fear lest he would tell.

There they buried them both

In neither moss nor ling,

And Little John and Much infere

Bare the letters to our king.

*****

He kneeled down upon his knee,

"God you save, my liege lord,

"Jesus you save and see.

"God you save, my liege king,"

To speak John was full bold;

He gave him the letters in his hand,

The king did it unfold.

(_bale_, trouble.)

The king read the letters anon,

And said, "so mot I thee,

There was never yeoman in merry England

I longed so sore to see.

"Where is the monk that these should have brought?"

Our king gan say;

"By my troth," said Little John,

"He died after the way."

The king gave Much and Little John

Twenty pound in certain,

And made them yeomen of the crown,

And bade them go again.

He gave John the seal in hand,

The sheriff for to bear,

To bring Robin him to,

And no man do him dere.

John took his leave at our king,

The sooth as I you say;

The next way to Nottingham

To take he yede the way.

When John came to Nottingham

The gates were sparred each one;

John called up the porter,

He answered soon anon.

(_dere,_ harm. _yede_, went.)

"What is the cause," said Little John,

"Thou sparrest the gates so fast?"

"Because of Robin Hood," said [the] porter,

In deep prison is cast.

"John, and Much, and Will Scathlock,

Forsooth as I you say,

There slew our men upon our walls,

And sawten us every day."

Little John speered after the sheriff,

And soon he him found;

He opened the king's privy seal,

And gave him in his hand.

When the sheriff saw the king's seal,

He did off his hood anon;

"Where is the monk that bare the letters?"

He said to Little John.

"He is so fain of him," said Little John,

"Forsooth as I you say,

He has made him abbot of Westminster,

A lord of that abbey."

The sheriff made John good cheer,

And gave him wine of the best;

At night they went to their bed,

And every man to his rest.

(_sawten,_ sought.)

When the sheriff was on sleep

Drunken of wine and ale,

Little John and Much forsooth

Took the way into the jail.

Little John called up the jailor,

And bade him rise anon;

He said Robin Hood had broken prison,

And out of it was gone.

The porter rose anon certain,

As soon as he heard John call;

Little John was ready with a sword,

And bare him to the wall.

"Now will I be porter," said Little John,

"And take the keys in hand;"

He took the way to Robin Hood,

And soon he him unbound.

He gave him a good sword in his hand,

His head therewith for to keep,

And there as the wall was lowest

Anon down can they leap.

By that the cock began to crow,

The day began to spring,

The sheriff found the jailor dead,

The coming bell made he ring.

He made a cry throughout all the tow[n],

Whether he be yeoman or knave,

That could bring him Robin Hood,

His warison he should have.

"For I dare never," said the sheriff,

"Come before our king,

For if I do, I wot certain,

Forsooth he will me hang."

The sheriff made to seek Nottingham,

Both by street and stye,

And Robin was in merry Sherwood

As list as leaf on lind.

Then bespake good Little John,

To Robin Hood can he say,

"I have done thee a good turn for an evil,

Quit thee when thou may.

"I have done thee a good turn,"said Littlejohn,

"Forsooth as I you say;

I have brought thee under green wood lind;

Farewell, and have good day."

"Nay, by my troth," said Robin Hood,

"So shall it never be;

I make thee master," said Robin Hood,

"Of all my men and me."

(_warison,_ reward. _stye_, lane. _list_, pleased.)

"Nay, by my troth," said Little John,

"So shall it never be,

But let me be a fellow," said Little John,

"None other kepe I'll be."

Thus John got Robin Hood out of prison,

Certain withouten lain;

When his men saw him whole and sound,

Forsooth they were full fain.

They filled in wine, and made them glad,

Under the leaves small,

And eat pasties of venison,

That good was with ale.

Then word came to our king,

How Robin Hood was gone,

And how the sheriff of Nottingham

Durst never look him upon.

Then bespake our comely king,

In an anger high,

"Little John has beguiled the sheriff,

In faith so has he me,

"Little John has beguiled us both,

And that full well I see,

Or else the sheriff of Nottingham

High hanged should he be.

(_kepe I'll be_, relations I'll have. _lain_, deception.)

"I made them yeomen of the crown,

And gave them fee with my hand,

I gave them grith," said our king,

Throughout all merry England.

"I gave them grith," then said our king,

"I say, so might I thee,

Forsooth such a yeoman as he is one

In all England are not three.

"He is true to his master," said our king,

"I say, by sweet Saint John;

He loves better Robin Hood,

Then he does us each one.

"Robin Hood is ever bound to him,

Both in street and stall;

Speak no more of this matter," said our king,

"But John has beguiled us all."

Thus ends the talking of the monk

And Robin Hood i-wis;

God, that is ever a crowned king,

Bring us all to his bliss.

(_grith_, protection.)

THE BONNY HOUSE O' AIRLY

|It fell on a day, and a bonny summer day,

When the corn grew green and yellow,

That there fell out a great dispute,

Between Argyle and Airly.

The Duke o' Montrose has written to Argyle

To come in the morning early,

An' lead in his men, by the back o' Dunkeld,

To plunder the bonny house o' Airly.

The lady look'd o er her window sae high,

And O but she looked weary!

And there she espied the great Argyle

Come to plunder the bonny house o' Airly.

"Come down, come down, Lady Margaret," he says,

"Come down, and kiss me fairly,

Or before the morning clear daylight,

I'll no leave a standing stane in Airly.

"I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,

I wadna kiss thee fairly,

I wadna kiss thee, great Argyle,

Gin you shouldna leave a standing stane in

Airly.

He has ta en her by the middle sae sma',

Says, "Lady, where is your drury?"

"It's up and down by the bonny burn side,

Amang the planting o' Airly."

They sought it up, they sought it down,

They sought it late and early,

And found it in the bonny balm-tree,

That shines on the bowling-green o' Airly.