Chapter IV: Part 4

"This does surprise me now;

What country hae ye come frae?

What pedigree are you?"

"My mither lives on foreign isles,

She has nae mair but me;

She is a queen o' wealth and state,

And birth and high degree;

"Likewise well skill'd in magic spells,

As ye may plainly see;

And she transform'd me to yon shape,

To charm such maids as thee.

"l ma doo the live lang day,

A sprightly youth at night;

This aye gars me appear mair fair

In a fair maiden's sight.

"And it was but this verra day

That I came ower the sea;

Your lovely face did me enchant,--

I'll live and die wi' thee."

"O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true,

Nae mair frae me ye'se gae."

"That's never my intent, my love,

As ye said, it shall be sae."

"O Cow-me-doo, my love sae true,

It's time to gae to bed."

"Wi' a' my heart, my dear marrow,

It's be as ye hae said."

Then he has staid in bower wi' her

For sax lang years and ane,

Till sax young sons to him she bare,

And the seventh she's brought hame.

But aye as ever a child was born,

He carried them away,

And brought them to his mither's care,

As fast as he could fly.

Thus he has staid in bower wi' her

For twenty years and three;

There came a lord o' high renown

To court this fair lady.

But still his proffer she refused,

And a' his presents too;

Says, "Im content to live alane

Wi' my bird, Cow-me-doo."

Her father sware a solemn oath

Amang the nobles all,

"The morn, or ere I eat or drink,

This bird I will gar kill."

The bird was sitting in his cage,

And heard what they did say;

And when he found they were dismissed,

Says, "Wae's me for this day!

"Before that I do langer stay,

And thus to be forlorn,

I'll gang unto my mither's bower,

Where I was bred and born."

Then Cow-me-doo took flight and flew

Beyond the raging sea;

And lighted near his mither's castle

On a tower o' gowd sae high.

As his mither was walking out,

To see what she could see,

And there she saw her little son

Set on the tower sae high.

"Get dancers here to dance," she said,

"And minstrels for to play;

For here's my young son, Florentine,

Come here wi' me to stay."

"Get nae dancers to dance, mither,

Nor minstrels for to play;

For the mither o' my seven sons,

The morn's her wedding-day."

"O tell me, tell me, Florentine,

Tell me, tell me true,

Tell me this day without a flaw,

What I will do for you."

"Instead of dancers to dance, mither,

Or minstrels for to play,

Turn four-and-twenty well-wight men,

Like storks, in feathers gray;

"My seven sons in seven swans,

Aboon their heads to flee;

And I, mysel', a gay gos-hawk,

A bird o' high degree."

Then sighin' said the queen hersel',

"That thing's too high for me;"

But she applied to an auld woman,

Who had mair skill than she.

Instead o' dancers to dance a dance,

Or minstrels for to play,

Four-and-twenty well-wight men

Turn'd birds o' feathers gray;

Her seven sons in seven swans,

Aboon their heads to flee;

And he, himsel', a gay gos-hawk,

A bird o' high degree.

This flock o' birds took flight and flew

Beyond the raging sea;

And landed near the Earl Mar's castle,

Took shelter in every tree.

(_well-wight_, picked.)

They were a flock o' pretty birds,

Right comely to be seen;

The people view'd them wi' surprise,

As they danc'd on the green.

These birds ascended frae the tree,

And lighted on the ha';

And at the last wi' force did flee

Amang the nobles a'.

The storks, there seized some o' the men,

They could neither fight nor flee;

The swans they bound the bride's best man

Below a green aik tree.

They lighted next on maidens fair,

Then on the bride's own head;

And wi' the twinkling o' an eye,

The bride and them were fled.

There's ancient men at weddings been

For sixty years or more;

But sic a curious wedding-day

They never saw before.

For naething could the company do,

Nor naething could they say;

But they saw a flock o' pretty birds

That took their bride away.

When that Earl Mar he came to know

Where his dochter did stay,

He sign'd a bond o' unity

And visits now they pay.

The Fause Lover

A fair maid sat in her bower door,

Wringing her lily hands;

And by it came a sprightly youth,

Fast tripping oer the strands.

"Where gang ye, young John," she says,

"Sae early in the day?

It gars me think, by your fast trip,

Your journey's far away."

He turn'd about wi' surly look,

And said, "What's that to thee?

I'm ga'en to see a lovely maid,

Mair fairer far than ye."

"Now hae ye play'd me this, fause love,

In simmer, mid the flowers?

I shall repay ye back again,

In winter, 'mid the showers.

"But again, dear love, and again, dear love,

Will ye not turn again?

For as ye look to ither women,

I shall to other men."

"Make your choice o' whom you please,

For I my choice will have;

I've chosen a maid more fair than thee,

I never will deceive."

But she's kilt up her claithing fine,

And after him gaed she;

But aye he said, "Ye'll turn again,

Nae farder gae wi' me."

"But again, dear love, and again, dear love,

Will ye never love me again?

Alas! for loving you sae well,

And you na me again."

The firstan' town that they come till,

He bought her brooch and ring;

But aye he bade her turn again,

And gang nae farder wi' him.

"But again, dear love, and again, dear love,'' &c.

The nextan' town that they came till,

He bought her muff and gloves;

But aye he bade her turn again,

And choose some other loves.

"But again, dear love, and again, dear love," &c.

The nextan' town that they came till,

His heart it grew mair fain;

And he was deep in love wi' her,

As she was ower again.

The nextan' town that they came till,

He bought her wedding gown;

And made her lady o' ha's and bowers,

In sweet Berwick town.

THE UNQUIET GRAVE.

|The wind doth blow to-day, my love,

And a few small drops of rain;

I never had but one true-love,

In cold grave she was lain.

I'll do as much for my true-love

As any young man may;

I'll sit and mourn all at her grave

For a twelvemonth and a day.

The twelvemonth and a day being up,

The dead began to speak:

"Oh, who sits weeping on my grave,

And will not let me sleep?"

"'Tis I, my love, sits on your grave,

And will not let you sleep;

For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips,

And that is all I seek."

"You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips,

But my breath smells earthy strong;

If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,

Your time will not be long.

"'Tis down in yonder garden green,

Love, where we used to walk;

The finest flower that ere was seen

Is withered to a stalk.

"The stalk is withered,dry, my love,

So will our hearts decay;

So make yourself content, my love,

Till God call you away!"

PEASANT BALLADS

THE BROKEN TOKEN

|One summer evening, a maiden fair

Was walking forth in the balmy air,

She met a sailor upon the way;

"Maiden stay," he whispered,

"Maiden stay," he whispered,

"O pretty maiden stay.

"Why art thou walking abroad alone?

The stars are shining, the day is done."

O then her tears they began to flow,

For a dark-eyed sailor,

For a dark-eyed sailor,

Had filled her heart with woe.

"Three years are passed since he left this land,

A ring of gold he took off my hand,

He broke the token, a half to keep;

Half he bade me treasure,

Half he bade me treasure,

Then crossed the briny deep."

"O drive him, damsel, from out your mind,

For men are changeful as is the wind,

And love inconstant will quickly grow

Cold as winter morning,

Cold as winter morning,

When lands are white with snow."

"Above the snow is the holly seen,

In bitter blast it abideth green,

And blood-red drops it as berries bears;

So my aching bosom,

So my aching bosom,

Its truth and sorrow wears."

Then half the ring did the sailor show:

"Away with weeping and sorrow now!

In bands of marriage united we,

Like the Broken Token,

Like the Broken Token,

In one shall welded be."

YOUNG ROGER OF THE VALLEY

|Young Roger of the mill

One morning very soon,

Put on his best apparel,

New hose and clouted shoon;

And he a-wooing came

To bonny, buxom Nell.

"Adzooks!" cried he, "couldst fancy me?

For I like thee wondrous well.

"My horses I have dress'd,

And gi en them corn and hay,

Put on my best apparel;

And having come this way,

Let's sit and chat a while,

With thee, my bonny Nell;

Dear lass," cries he, "couldst fancy me?

I'se like thy person well."

"Young Roger, you re mistaken,"

The damsel then reply'd,

"I'm not in such a haste

To be a ploughman's bride;

Know I then live in hopes

To marry a farmer's son;"

"If it be so," says Hodge, "I'll go,

Sweet mistress, I have done."

"Your horses you have dress'd,

Good Hodge, I heard you say,

Put on your best apparel;

And being come this way,

Come sit and chat awhile."

"O no, indeed, not I,

I'll neither wait, nor sit, nor prate,

I've other fish to fry."

"Go, take your farmer's son,

With all my honest heart;

What tho' my name be Roger,

That goes at plough and cart?

I need not tarry long,

I soon may gain a wife:

There's buxom Joan, it is well known,

She loves me as her life."

"Pray, what of buxom Joan?

Can't I please you as well?

For she has ne'er a penny,

And I am buxom Nell;

And I have fifty shillings"

(The money made him smile):

"O then, my dear, I'll draw a chair,

And chat with thee a while."

Within the space of half-an-hour

This couple a bargain struck,

Hoping that with their money

They both would have good luck;

"To your fifty I've forty,

With which a cow we'll buy;

We'll join our hands in wedlock bands,

Then who but you and I?"

THE GOLDEN GLOVE

|A wealthy young squire of Tam worth, we hear,

He courted a noblemans daughter so fair;

And for to marry her it was his intent,

All friends and relations gave their consent.

The time was appointed for the wedding-day,

A young farmer chosen to give her away;

As soon as the farmer the young lady did spy,

He inflamed her heart; "O, my heart!" she

did cry.

She turned from the squire, but nothing she said,

Instead of being married she took to her bed;

The thought of the farmer soon run in her mind,

A way for to have him she quickly did find.

Coat, waistcoat, and breeches she then did put on,

And a hunting she went with her dog and her

gun;

She hunted all round where the farmer did dwell,

Because in her heart she did love him full well:

She oftentimes fired, but nothing she killed,

At length the young farmer came into the field;

And to discourse with him it was her intent,

With her dog and her gun to meet him she went.

"I thought you had been at the wedding," she cried,

"To wait on the squire, and give him his bride."

"No, sir," said the farmer, "if the truth I may tell,

I'll not give her away, for I love her too well."

"Suppose that the lady should grant you her love,

You know that the squire your rival will prove.''

"Why, then," says the farmer, "I'll take sword

in hand,

By honour I'll gain her when she shall command.''

It pleased the lady to find him so bold;

She gave him a glove that was flowered with gold,

And told him she found it when coming along,

As she was a hunting with her dog and gun.

The lady went home with a heart full of love,

And gave out a notice that she'd lost a glove;

And said, "Who has found it, and brings it to

me,

Whoever he is, he my husband shall be."

The farmer was pleased when he heard of the

news,

With heart full of joy to the lady he goes:

"Dear, honoured lady, I've picked up your glove,

And hope you'll be pleased to grant me your love."

Sir Arthur s'

215

"It's already granted, I will be your bride;

I love the sweet breath of a farmer," she cried.

"I'll be mistress of my dairy, and milking my cow,

While my jolly brisk farmer is whistling at plough."

And when she was married she told of her fun,

How she went a hunting with her dog and gun:

"And "[said]" now I've got him so fast in my snare,

I'll enjoy him for ever, I vow and declare!"

SIR ARTHUR AND CHARMING MOLLEE

|As noble Sir Arthur one morning did ride,

With his hounds at his feet, and his sword by his side,

He saw a fair maid sitting under a tree,

He asked her name, and she said 'twas Mollee.

"Oh, charming Mollee, you my butler shall be,

To draw the red wine for yourself and for me!

Ill make you a lady so high in degree,

If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!

"I'll give you fine ribbons, I'll give you fine rings,

I'll give you fine jewels, and many fine things;

I'll give you a petticoat flounced to the knee,

If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!"

"V have none of your ribbons, and none of your rings,

None of your jewels, and other fine things;

And I've got a petticoat suits my degree,

And I'll ne er love a married man till his wife dee.''

"Oh, charming Mollee, lend me then your pen-knife,

And I will go home, and I'll kill my own wife;

I'll kill my own wife, and my bairnies three,

If you will but love me, my charming Mollee!"

"Oh, noble Sir Arthur, it must not be so,

Go home to your wife, and let nobody know;

For seven long years I will wait upon thee,

But I'll ne'er love a married man till his wife dee.''

Now seven long years are gone and are past,

The old woman went to her long home at last;

The old woman died, and Sir Arthur was free,

And he soon came a-courting to charming Mollee.

Now charming Mollee in her carriage doth ride,

With her hounds at her feet, and her lord by her side:

Now all ye fair maids, take a warning by me,

And ne er love a married man till his wife dee.

UNDAUNTED MARY

|It's of a Farmer's daughter, so beautiful I'm told,

Her parents died and left her five hundred pounds in gold,

She lived with her uncle, the cause of all her woe,

And you shall hear this maiden fair did prove his overthrow.

Her uncle had a ploughboy, young Mary loved full well,

And in her uncle's garden their tales of love would tell;

There was a wealthy squire who oft came her to see,

But still she loved her ploughboy, on the bank of sweet Dundee.

It was on one summer's morning, her uncle went straightway,

He knocked at her chamber door, and unto her did say,

"Come, rise up, pretty maiden, a lady you may be,

The squire is waiting for you on the banks of sweet Dundee."

"A fig for all your squires, your lords and dukes likewise,

For William's hand appears to me like diamonds in my eyes;"

"Begone, unruly maiden, you ne'er shall happy be,

For I mean to banish William from the banks of sweet Dundee."

Her uncle and the squire rode out one summer day,

"Young William he's in favour," her uncle he did say,

"But indeed it's my intention to tie him to a tree,

Or else to bribe the pressgang, on the banks of sweet Dundee."

The pressgang came to William when he was all alone,

He bravely fought for liberty, but they were six to one,

The blood did flow, in torrents: "Pray kill me now," said he,

"I'd rather die for Mary I, on the banks of sweet Dundee."

This maid one day was walking, lamenting for her love,

She met the wealthy squire down in her uncles grove,

He put his arm around her: "Stand off, base man," said she,

"For you've sent the only lad I love, from the banks of sweet Dundee."

He clasped his arms around her, and tried to throw her down,

Two pistols and a sword she spied beneath his morning gown,

The pistol proved so active, the sword she used so free,

That she shot and slew the squire, on the banks of sweet Dundee.

Her uncle overheard the noise, and hastened to the ground,

"Since you have slain the squire, I'll give you your death wound,"

"Stand off, stand off," said Mary, "undaunted I will be,"

She the trigger drew, and her uncle slew, on the banks of sweet Dundee.

The doctor he was sent for, a man of noted skill,

And likewise was a lawyer, all for to sign his will,

He willed his gold to Mary, who fought so manfully,

And closed his eyes no more to rise on the banks of sweet Dundee.

THE WILTSHIRE WEDDING

|All in a misty morning,

Cloudy was the weather,

I meeting with an old man,

Was clothed all in leather,

With ne er a shirt unto his back,

But wool unto his skin;

_With how do you do? and how do you do?_

_And how do you do agen?_

The rustic was a thresher,

And on his way he hied,

And with a leather bottle,

Fast buckl'd by his side;

And with a cap of woollen,

Which cover'd cheek and chin,

_With how do you do? and how do you do?_

_And how do you do agen?_

I went a little further,

And there I met a maid,

Was going then a milking,

A milking, sir, she said:

Then I began to compliment,

And she began to sing;

_With how do you do? and how do you do?_

_And how do you do agen?_

This maid her name was Dolly,

Clothed in a gown of gray,

I being somewhat jolly,

Persuaded her to stay:

Then straight I fell to courting her,

In hopes her love to win,

_With how do you do? and how do you do?_

And how do you do agen?_

Then having time and leisure,

I spent a vacant hour,

Telling of all my treasure,

Whilst sitting in the bower:

With many kind embraces,

I strok'd her double chin:

_With how do you do? and how do you do?_

_And how do you do agen?_

I told her I would married be,

And she should be my bride,

And long we should not tarry,

With twenty things beside:

"Til plough and sow, and reap and mow,

While thou shalt sit and spin;"

_With how do you do? and how do you do?_

And how do you do agen?_

"Did you not know my Father?"

The damsel then reply 'd;

"His jerkin was of leather,

A bottle by his side:"

"Yes, I did meet him trudging,

As fast as he could win,"

_With how do you do? and how do you do?_

_And how do you do agen?_

"Kind sir, I have a mother,

Beside a father, still,

Those friends above all other,

You must ask their good-will:

For if I be undutiful

To them, it is a sin;"

_With how do you do? and how do you do?_

_And how do you do agen?_

Now there we left the milk-pail,

And to her mother went,

And when I was come thither,

I asked her consent,

And doft my hat, and made a leg,.

For why she was within;

_With how do you do? and how do you do?_

_And how do you do agen?_

"My husband is a thresher,

Who is her father dear,

He'll give with her his blessing,

Kind sir, you need not fear:

He is of such good nature,

That he would never lin,"

_With how do you do? and how do you do?_

_And how do you do agen?_

"For by your courteous carriage,

You seem an honest man,

You may have her in marriage,

My husband he anon

Will bid you very welcome,

Tho' he be poor and thin,"

With how do you do? and how do you do?_

And how do you do agen?_

Her dad came home full weary,

Alas! he could not choose;

Her mother being merry,

She told him all the news:

(_lin_, hinder or stop.)

Then he was mighty jovial too,

His son did soon begin,

_With how do you do? and how do you do?_

_And how do you do agen?_

Her parents being willing,

All parties was agreed;

Her portion thirty shilling,

They married were with speed;

Then Will the piper he did play,

While others dance and sing;

_With how do you do? and how do you do?_

_And how do you do agen?_

In pleasant recreation,

They pass'd away the night,

And likewise by relation,

With her he takes delight,

To walk abroad on holy-days,

To visit kiff and kin:

_With how do you do? and how do you do?_

_And how do you do agen?_

Then lusty Ralph and Robin,

With many damsels gay,

Did ride on Roan and Dobbin,

To celebrate the day:

When being met together,

Their caps they off did fling,

_With how do you do? and how do you do?_

_And how do you do agen?_

THE TREES THEY ARE SO HIGH

|All the trees they are so high,

The leaves they are so green,

The day is past and gone, sweet-heart,

That you and I have seen.

It is cold winter's night,

You and I must bide alone:

Whilst my pretty lad is young

And is growing.

O father, father dear,

Great wrong to me is done,

That I should married be this day,

Before the set of sun.

At the huffle of the gale,

Here I toss and cannot sleep:

Whilst my pretty lad is young

And is growing.

O daughter, daughter dear,

No wrong to thee is done,

For I have married thee this day

Unto a rich Lord's son.

O the wind is on the thatch

Here and I alone must weep:

Whilst my pretty lad is young

And is growing.

O father, father dear,

If that you think it fit,

Then send him to the school awhile,

To be a year there yet.

At the huffle of the gale

Here I toss and cannot sleep:

Whilst my pretty lad is young

And is growing.

To let the lovely ladies know

They may not touch and taste,

I'll bind a bunch of ribbons blue

About his little waist,

And I'll wait another year

O he roaring of the sea:

Whilst my pretty lad is young

And is growing.

In a garden as I walked,

I heard them laugh and call;

There were four-and-twenty playing there,

They played with bat and ball;

I must wait awhile, must wait,

And then his bride will be:

O my pretty lad is young

And is growing.

I listened in the garden,

I looked o'er the wall;

Amidst five-and-twenty gallants there,

My love exceeded all.

The Trees they are so High s'

O the snow, the snowflakes fall,

O and I am chill and freeze:

But my pretty lad is young

And is growing.

I'll cut my yellow hair,

I'll cut it close my brow,

I'll go unto the high college

And none shall know me so;

O the clouds are driving by

And they shake the leafy trees:

But my pretty lad is young

And is growing.

To the college I did go,

I cut my yellow hair;

To be with him in sun and shower,

His sports and studies share.

O the taller that he grew

The sweeter still grew he:

O my pretty lad is young

And is growing.

As it fell upon a day,

A bright and summer day,

We went into the green green wood

To frolic and to play,

O and what did there befall

I tell not unto thee:

But my pretty lad so young,

Was still growing.

At thirteen he married was,

A father at fourteen,

At fifteen his face was white as milk,

And then his grave was green;

And the daisies were outspread,

And buttercups of gold

O'er my pretty lad so young,

Now ceased growing.

I'll make my pretty love

A shroud of holland fine,

And all the time Im making it

My tears run down the twine;

And as the bell doth knell

I shiver as one cold,

And weep o'er my pretty lad

Now done growing.

GREEN BROOM

|There was an old man lived out in the wood,

His trade was a-cutting of broom, green broom;

He had but one son, without thrift, without good,

Who lay in his bed till 'twas noon, bright noon.

The old man awoke, one morning, and spoke,

He swore he would fire the room, that room,

If his John would not rise, and opet his eyes,

And away to the wood to cut broom, green broom.

So Johnny arose, and he slipped on his clothes,

And away to the wood to cut broom, green

broom;

He sharpened his knives, for once he contrives

To cut a great bundle of broom, green broom.

When Johnny passed under a lady's fine house,

Passed under a lady's fine room, fine room,

She call'd to her maid, "Go fetch me,'' she said,

"Go fetch me the boy that sells broom, green broom."

When Johnny came into the lady's fine house,

And stood in the lady's fine room, fine room;

"Young Johnny," she said, "will you give up your trade,

And marry a lady in bloom, full bloom?"

Johnny gave his consent, and to church they

both went,

And he wedded the lady is bloom, full bloom;

At market and fair, all folks do declare,

There is none like the boy that sold broom, green broom.

BONNY BARBARA ALLAN

|It was in and about the Martinmas time,

When the green leaves were a falling,

That Sir John Graeme in the west country

Fell in love with Barbara Allan.

He sent his man down through the town,

To the place where she was dwelling;

"O haste and come to my master dear,

Gin ye be Barbara Allan."

O hooly, hooly rose she up,

To the place where he was lying,

And when she drew the curtain by,

"Young man, I think you're dying."

"O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick,

And 'tis a' for Barbara Allan:"

"O the better for me ye's never be,

Tho' your heart's blood were a spilling.

"O dinna ye mind, young man," said she,

"When ye was in the tavern a drinking,

That ye made the healths gae round and round,

And slighted Barbara Allan."

(_hooly_, slowly.)

As Johnny walked out s''

He turn'd his face unto the wall,

And death was with him dealing;

"Adieu, adieu, my dear friends all,

And be kind to Barbara Allan."

And slowly, slowly raise she up,

And slowly, slowly left him;

And sighing said, she could not stay,

Since death of life had reft him.

She had not gane a mile but twa,

When she heard the dead-bell ringing,

And every jow that the dead-bell gi'ed,

It cried "Woe to Barbara Allan!"

"O mother, mother, make my bed,

O make it saft and narrow;

Since my love died for me to-day,

Til die for him to-morrow."

AS JOHNNY WALKED OUT

|As Johnny walked out one day

It was a summer morn,

Himself he laid beneath the shade,

To rest him, of a thorn.

(_jow,_ stroke.)

He had not long been tarrying there

Before his love passed by:

And 'twas down in yonder valley, love,

Where the water glideth by.

"O have you seen a pretty ewe

That hath a tender lamb;

Astrayed from the orchard glade

That little one and dam?"

"O pretty maid," he answered,

"They passed as here I lie!"

And 'twas down in yonder valley, love,

Where the water glideth by.

She traced the country o'er

No lambs nor ewe could find;

And many times upbraided she

Young Johnny in her mind.

Then coming back....

And 'twas down in yonder valley, love,

Where the water glideth by.

She turned heraelf right curiously,

Her cheeks with anger flush,

She bade young Johnny lead the way

Nor loiter in a bush....

And 'twas down in yonder valley, love,

Where the water glideth by:

Then angers flame enkindled love,

And changed its kind of show,

As Johnny laughed out and said,

"I'll lead the way below;

I'll lead you to the meadows green

Where we the lambs may spy/'

And 'twas down in yonder valley, love,

Where the water glideth by.

He held her hand, he whispered love;

He swore his heart was true;

He kissed her lips; the lambs did skip

About them on the dew,

About them in the morning dew,

Beneath a summer sky,

And 'twas down in yonder valley, love,

Where the water glideth by.

So married were the happy pair,

And joined in wedlock's band,

No more they go to seek the lambs

Together hand in hand;

They go no more a searching for

Her sheep with tearful eye,

All adown in yonder valley, love,

Where the water glideth by.

THE BROWN GIRL

|I am as brown, as brown can be,

And my eyes are as black as sloe;

I am as brisk as a nightingale,

And wild as a forest doe.

My love he was so high and proud,

His fortune too so high;

He, for another fair pretty maid,

Did scorn and passed me by.

Me did he send a love letter,

And he sent it from the town,

Saying, no more he loved me,

For that I was so brown.

I sent his letter back again,

For his love I valued not;

Whether that he would fancy me,

Whether that he would not.

When that six months were over passed,

Were over passed and gone,

Then did my lover, once so bold,

Alie on his bed and groan.

When that six months were over passed,

Were over gone and passed,

My lover, then, so bold and proud,

With love was sick at last.

First sent he for the doctor's man,

"You, doctor, must me cure;

The cruel pains that torture me,

I never can long endure."

Next did he send from out the town,

O next did send for me;

He sent for me, the brown, brown girl,

Who once his wife should be.

O never a bit the doctor man

His sufferings could relieve;

O never an one but the brown, brown girl,

Who could his life reprieve.

O now you shall hear what was she had

For this poor love-sick man,

All of the day, and a summers day,

She walked, but never ran.

When that she came to his bedside,

Where he lay sick and weak,

O then for laughing she scarce could stand

Upright upon her feet.

"You flouted me, you scouted me,

And many another one,

And now the reward has come at last

For all that you have done."

She took the rings from off her hand,

The rings, by two and three;

"O take, and O take these golden rings,

By them remember me."

She had a white wand in her hand,

She strake him on the breast;

"My faith and troth I give back to thee,

So may thy soul have rest."

"Prithee," said he, "forgive, forget;

Prithee, forget, forgive;

Grant to me yet a little space,

That I may longer live."

"O never will I forget, forgive,

So long as I have breath,

I'll dance above your green, green grave,

Where you do lie beneath."

THE ROVING JOURNEY-MAN

|Young Jack he was a journey-man

That roved from town to town;

And when he'd done a job of work

He lightly sat him down.

With his kit upon his shoulder, and

A grafting knife in hand,

He roved the country round about,

A merry journey-man.

And when he came to Exeter

The maidens leaped for joy;

Said one and all, both short and tall,

"Here comes a gallant boy."

The lady dropt her needle, and

The maid her frying-pan;

Each plainly told her mother that

She loved the journey-man.

He had not been in Exeter

The days were barely three,

Before the Mayor, his sweet daughter

She loved him desperately;

She bid him to her mother's house,

She took him by the hand,

Said she, "My dearest mother, see,

I love the journey-man!"

"Now out on thee, thou silly maid!

Such folly speak no more:

How can'st thou love a roving man

Thou ne'er hast seen before?"

"O mother sweet, I do entreat,

I love him all I can;

Around the country glad I'll rove

With this young journey-man.

"He need no more to trudge afoot,

He'll travel coach and pair;

My wealth with me--or poverty

With him, content I'll share."

Now fill the horn with barleycorn,

And flowing fill the can,

Here let us toast the Mayor's daughter

And the roving journey-man.

THYME AND RUE

|O once I had plenty of thyme,

I could flourish by night and by day.

Till a saucy lad he

Returned from sea,

And stole my thyme away.

O and I was a damsel so fair,

But fairer I wished to appear;

So I wash'd me in milk,

And I dressed me in silk,

And put the.sweet thyme in my hair.

With June is the red rose in bud,

But that's not the flower for me;

So I plucked the bud,

And it pricked me to blood,

And I gazed on the willow tree.

Othe willow tree it will twist,

And the willow tree, it will turn;

I would I were clasped

In my lover's arms fast,

For 'tis he that has stolen my thyme.

O it's very good drinking of ale,

But it's far better drinking of wine;

I would I were clasped

In my lover's arms fast,

For 'tis he that has stolen my thyme.

THE BAILIFF'S DAUGHTER OF ISLINGTON

|There was a youth, and a well-beloved youth,

And he was a squire's son:

He loved the bailifFs daughter dear,

That lived in Islington.

Yet she was coy, and would not believe

That he did love her so,

No nor at any time would she

Any countenance to him show.

But when his friends did understand

His fond and foolish mind,

They sent him up to fair London,

An apprentice for to bind.

And when he had been seven long years,

And never his love could see,--

"Many a tear have I shed for her sake,

When she little thought of me."

Then all the maids of Islington

Went forth to sport and play,

All but the bailiff's daughter dear;

She secretly stole away.

She pulled off her gown of green,

And put on ragged attire,

And to fair London she would go,

Her true love to enquire.

And as she went along the high road,

The weather being hot and dry,

She sat her down upon a green bank,

And her true love came riding by.

She started up, with a colour so red,

Catching hold of his bridle-rein;

"One penny, one penny, kind sir," she said,

"Will ease me of much pain."

"Before I give you one penny, sweet-heart,

Pray tell me where you were born."

"At Islington, kind sir," said she,

"Where I have had many a scorn."

"I pry thee, sweet-heart, then tell to me,

O tell me, whether you know

The bailiff's daughter of Islington."

"She is dead, sir, long ago."

"If she be dead, then take my horse,

My saddle and bridle also;

For I will into some far country,

Where no man shall me know."

"O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth,

She standeth by thy side;

She is here alive, she is not dead,

And ready to be thy bride."

"O farewell grief, and welcome joy,

Ten thousand times therefore;

For now I have found mine own true love,

Whom I thought I should never see more."

THE SIMPLE PLOUGHBOY

|O the ploughboy was a ploughing

With his horses on the plain,

And was singing of a song as on went he.

"Since that I have fall'n in love,

If the parents disapprove,

'Tis the first thing that will send me to the sea.

When the parents came to know

That their daughter loved him so,

Then they sent a gang, and pressed him for the sea.

And they made of him a tar,

To be slain in cruel war,

Of the simple ploughboy singing on the lea.

The maiden sore did grieve,

And without a word of leave

From her father's house she fled secretly,

In male attire dress'd

With a star upon her breast,

All to seek her simple ploughboy on the sea.

Then she went o'er hill and plain,

And she walked in wind and rain,

Till she came to the brink of the blue sea,

Saying, "I am forced to rove,

For the loss of my true love,

Who is but a simple ploughboy from the lea."

Now the first she did behold,

O it was a sailor bold,

"Have you seen my simple ploughboy?" then said she;

They have press'd him to the fleet,

Sent him tossing on the deep,

Who is but a simple ploughboy from the lea."

Then she went to the captain

And to him she made complain,

O a silly ploughboy's run away from me!

Then the captain smiled and said,

"Why sir! surely you're a maid?

So the ploughboy I will render up to thee."

Then she pulled out a store

Of five hundred crowns and more

And she strewed them on the deck, did she;

Then she took him by the hand,

And she rowed him to the land,

Where she wed the simple ploughboy back

from sea.

ROBBIE TAMSON'S SMIDDIE

|Me mither mend't me auld breeks,

But ay! but they were diddy;

She sent me to get shod the mare

At Robbie Tamson's smiddie.

Now t' smiddie lies ayent the burn

That wamples thro' the claughin',

And ne'er a time I pass that way

But aye I fall a-laughin'.

Singing fol loi de loi de roi,

Ri fol loi de laddy,

Sing fol de duy, duy day,

Sing fol de duy daddy.

Now Robin was a canny lad

Wha had an ainly daughter;

He'd niver let her tak a mon,

Though mony a yan had sought her.

I'll tell you news of my exploits

The time the mare was shoeing,

I steppit in ahint the lass

And quickly fell a-wooing.

It's aye she eyed my auld breeks

The time that they were making;

Says I, "My lass, ne'er mind my breeks,

There's new yans for the making.

Gin yell agree to gang wi' me,

And leave the carle thy father,

Ye'll hae my breeks to keep in trim,

Myself and a together."

The lassie smiled and shook her head,

Says she, "Your offers clever;

I think I'll gang awa' wi' yan,

Well baith gae on the back o't.

For gin I wait my father's time

I'll wait till I bin fifty;

So I think I'll tak ye at your word,

And make a wife sae thrifty."

Now Robbie was an angry man,

For a t' loss of his daughter,

Through all the town baith up and down,

And far and near he sought her.

But when he cam to our gude inn

And found us baith together,

Says I, "My lad, I've tick your bairn,

Tho' ye may tak my mither."

Now Robbie girned and shook his head:

Quo' he, "I think I'll marry;

And so I'll tak ye at your word,

To end the hurry burry."

So Robbie and our ain gudewife

. Agreed to creep together:

So I've ta'en Robbie Tamson's pet,

And Robbie's ta'en my mither.

CUPID'S GARDEN

|As I were in Cupid's garden,

Not more nor half-an-hour,

'Twere there I see'd two maidens,

Sitting under Cupid's bower,

A-gathering of sweet jassamine,

The lily and the rose.

These be the fairest flowers

As in the garden grows.

I fondly stepped to one o' them,

These words to her I says,

"Be you engaged to arra young man,

Come tell to me, I prays."

"I bean't engaged to narra young man, '

I solemnly declare,

I aims to live a maiden,

And still the laurel wear."

Says I, "My stars and garters!

This here's a pretty go,

For a fine young maid as never was,

To serve all mankind so."

But t'other young maiden looked sly at me,

And from her seat she risen,

Says she, "Let thee and I go our own way,

And we'll let she go shis'n."

KING JOHN AND THE ABBOT

|An ancient story I'll tell you anon

Of a notable prince, that was called King John;

And he ruled England with main and with

might,

For he did great wrong, and maintain'd little right.

And I'll tell you a story, a story so merry,

Concerning the Abbot of Canterbury;

How for his house-keeping and high renown,

They rode post for him to fair London town.

An hundred men, the king did hear say,

The abbot kept in his house every day;

And fifty gold chains, without any doubt,

In velvet coats waited the abbot about.

"How now, father abbot, I hear it of thee,

Thou keepest a far better house than me;

And for thy house-keeping and high renown,

I fear thou workst treason against my crown."

"My liege," quo' the abbot, "I would it were known

I never spend nothing, but what is my own;

And I trust your grace will do me no deere,

For spending of my own true-gotten gear."

"Yes, yes, father abbot, thy fault it is high,

And now for the same thou needest must die;

For except thou canst answer me questions three,

Thy head shall be smitten from thy body.

"And first," quo' the king, "when I'm in this

stead,

With my crown of gold so fair on my head,

Among all my liege-men so noble of birth,

Thou must tell me to one penny what I am worth.

"Secondly, tell me, without any doubt,

How soon I may ride the whole world about;

And at the third question thou must not shrink,

But tell me here truly what I do think."

"O these are hard questions for my shallow wit,

Nor I cannot answer your grace as yet:

But if you will give me but three weeks' space,

I'll do my endeavour to answer your grace."

(_deere_, harm. _stead_, place.)

"Now three weeks' space to thee will I give,

And that is the longest time thou hast to live;

For if thou dost not answer my questions three,

Thy lands and thy livings are forfeit to me."

Away rode the abbot all sad at that word,

And he rode to Cambridge, and Oxenford;

But never a doctor there was so wise,

That could with his learning an answer devise.

Then home rode the abbot of comfort so cold,

And he met his shepherd a going to fold:

"How now, my lord abbot, you are welcome home;

What news do you bring us from good King John?"

"Sad news, sad news, shepherd, I must give,

That I have but three days more to live;

For if I do not answer him questions three

My head will be smitten from my body.

"The first is to tell him there in that stead,

With his crown of gold so fair on his head,

Among all his liege-men so noble of birth,

To within one penny of what he is worth.

"The second, to tell him, without any doubt,

How soon he may ride this whole world about;

And at the third question I must not shrink,

But tell him there truly what he does think."

"Now cheer up, sire abbot, did you never hear yet,

That a fool he may learn a wise man wit?

Lend me horse, and serving men, and your apparel,

And I'll ride to London to answer your quarrel.

"Nay frown not, if it hath been told unto me,

I am like your lordship, as ever may be;

And if you will but lend me your gown,

There is none shall know us at fair London

town."+

"Now horses and serving-men thou shalt have,

With sumptuous array most gallant and brave,

With crozier, and mitre, and rochet, and cope,

Fit to appear Yore our father the pope."

"Now, welcome, sire abbot," the king he did say,

"'Tis well thourt come back to keep thy day:

For and if thou canst answer my questions three,

Thy life and thy living both saved shall be.

"And first, when thou seest me here in this stead,

With my crown of gold so fair on my head,

Among all my liege-men so noble of birth,

Tell me to one penny what I am worth."

"For thirty pence our Saviour was sold

Among the false Jews, as I have been told:

And twenty-nine is the worth of thee,

For I think thou art one penny worser than he."

The king he laughed, and swore by St Bittel,

"I did not think I had been worth so little!

--Now secondly tell me, without any doubt,

How soon I may ride this whole world about."

"You must rise with the sun, and ride with the same

Until the next morning he riseth again;

And then your grace need not make any doubt

But in twenty-four hours you'll ride it about."

The king he laughed, and swore by St John,

"I did not think it could be gone so soon!

--Now from the third question thou must not shrink,

But tell me here truly what I do think."

"Yea, that shall I do, and make your grace merry;

You think I'm the abbot of Canterbury;

But I'm his poor shepherd, as plain you may see,

That am come to beg pardon for him and for me."

The king he laughed, and swore by the mass,

"I'll make thee lord abbot this day in his place!"

"Now nay, my liege, be not in such speed,

For alack I can neither write nor read."

"Four nobles a week, then I will give thee,

For this merry jest thou hast shown unto me;

And tell the old abbot when thou comest home,

Thou hast brought him a pardon from good King John."

(_Bittel_, Botolph (?))

THE KING AND THE COUNTRYMAN

There was an old chap in the west country,

A flaw in the lease the lawyers had found,

'Twas all about felling of five oak trees,

And building a house upon his own ground.

Right too looral, looral, looral--right too looral la!

Now, this old chap to Lunnun would go,

To tell the king a part of his woe,

Likewise to tell him a part of his grief,

In hopes the king would give him relief.

Now, when this old chap to Lunnun had come,

He found the king to Windsor had gone;

But if he'd known he'd not been at home,

He danged his buttons if ever he'd come.

Now, when this old chap to Windsor did stump,

The gates were barred, and all secure,

But he knocked and thumped with his oaken clump,

There's room within for I to be sure.

But when he got there, how he did stare,

To see the yeomen strutting about;

He scratched his head, and rubbed down his hair,

In the ear of a noble he gave a great shout:

"Pray, Mr Noble, show I the King;

Is that the King that I see there?

I see'd an old chap at Bartlemy fair

Look more like a king than that chap there.

"Well, Mr King, pray how dye do?

I gotten for you a bit of a job,

Which if you'll be so kind as to do,

I gotten a summat for you in my fob."

The king he took the lease in hand,

To sign it, too, he was likewise willing;

And the old chap to make a little amends,

He lugged out his bag, and gave him a shilling.

The king, to carry on the joke,

Ordered ten pounds to be paid down;

The farmer he stared, but nothing spoke,

And stared again, and he scratched his crown.

The farmer he stared to see so much money,

And to take it up he was likewise willing;

But if he'd a known King had got so much money,

He danged his wig if he'd gi'en him that shilling!

SADDLE TO RAGS

|This story I'm going to sing,

I hope it will give you content,

Concerning a silly old man

That was going to pay his rent.

With a till da dill, till a dill, dill,

Till a dill, dill a dill, dee,

Sing fal de dill, dill de dill, dill.

Fal de dill, dill de dill, dee.

As he was a-riding along,

Along all on the highway,

A gentleman-thief overtook him,

And thus unto him he did say:

"O! well overtaken, old man,

O! well overtaken," said he:

"Thank you kindly, sir," says the old man,

"If you be for my company."

"How far are you going this way?"

It made the old man to smile;

"To tell you the truth, kind sir,

I'm just a-going twa mile.

"I am but a silly old man,

Who farms a piece of ground;

My half-year rent, kind sir,

Just comes to forty pound.

"But my landlord's not been at hame,

I've not seen him twelve month or more;

It makes my rent to be large,

I've just to pay him fourscore."

"You should not have told anybody,

For thieves they are ganging many;

If they were to light upon you

They would rob you of every penny."

"O! never mind," says the old man,

"Thieves I fear on no side;

My money is safe in my bags,

In the saddle on which I ride."

As they were a-riding along,

And riding a-down a ghyll,

The thief pulled out a pistol,

And bade the old man stand still.

(_ghyll_, ravine.)

The old man was crafty and false,

As in this world are many;

He flung his old saddle o'er t' hedge,

And said, "Fetch it, if thou'lt have any."

This thief got off his horse,

With courage stout and bold,

To search this old man's bags,

And gave him his horse to hold.

The old man put foot in stirrup,

And he got on astride;

He set the thief's horse in a gallop,--

You need not bid the old man ride!

"O, stay! O, stay!" says the thief,

"And thou half my share shalt have;"

"Nay, marry, not I," quoth the old man,

"For once I've bitten a knave!"

This thief he was not content,

He thought there must be bags,

So he up with his rusty sword,

And chopped the old saddle to rags.

The old man gallop'd and rode,

Until he was almost spent,

Till he came to his landlord's house,

And he paid him his whole year's rent.

He opened this rogue's portmantle,

It was glorious for to behold;

There was five hundred pound in money,

And other five hundred in gold.

His landlord it made him to stare,

When he did the sight behold;

"Where did thou get the white money,

And where get the yellow gold?"

"I met a fond fool by the way,

I swopped horses, and gave him no boot;

But never mind," says the old man,

"I got a fond fool by the foot."

"But now you're grown cramped and old,

Nor fit for to travel about;"

"O, never mind," says the old man,

"I can give these old bones a route!"

As he was a-riding hame,

And a-down a narrow lane,

He spied his mare tied to a tree,

And said, "Tib, thou'lt now gae hame."

And when that he got hame,

And told his old wife what he'd done:

She rose and she donned her clothes,

And about the house did run.

She sung, and she danced, and sung,

And she sung with a merry devotion,

"If ever our daughter gets wed,

It will help to enlarge her portion!"

THE WEEK'S WORK

|When I was a bachelor brave,

Enjoying all my soul could have,

My silver and guineas I then let fly,

I cock'd up my beaver, and who but I.

Fal, lal, &c.

I rov'd about, and I rov'd a while,

Till all the ladies seem'd to smile,

From the ladies of pleasure to royal Joan,

Both gentle and simple was all my own.

My rapier was made of the Bilbo blade,

My coat and waistcoat were overlaid

With silver spangles so neat and so gay,

As tho' I had been king of some country play.

Besides I had a flattering tongue,

The ladies admired me when I sung,

For I had a voice so charming and fine,

That every lady's heart was mine.

On Monday morning I married a wife,