Chapter XIV: Part 14

2
'What wad ye hae for your supper, Lord Donald, my son?
What wad ye hae for your supper, my jollie young man?'
'I've gotten my supper; mither, mak my bed sune,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

3
'What did ye get for your supper, Lord Donald, my son?
What did ye get for your supper, my jollie young man?'
'A dish of sma fishes; mither mak my bed sune,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

4
'Whare gat ye the fishes, Lord Donald, my son?
Whare gat ye the fishes, my jollie young man?'
'In my father's black ditches; mither, mak my bed sune,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

5
'What like were your fishes, Lord Donald, my son?
What like were your fishes, my jollie young man?'
'Black backs and spreckld bellies; mither, mak my bed sune,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

6
'O I fear ye are poisond, Lord Donald, my son!
O I fear ye are poisond, my jollie young man!'
'O yes! I am poisond; mither mak my bed sune,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

7
'What will ye leave to your father, Lord Donald my son?
What will ye leave to your father, my jollie young man?'
'Baith my houses and land; mither, mak my bed sune,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

8
'What will ye leave to your brither, Lord Donald, my son?
What will ye leave to your brither, my jollie young man?'
'My horse and the saddle; mither, mak my bed sune,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

9
'What will ye leave to your sister, Lord Donald, my son?
What will ye leave to your sister, my jollie young man?'
'Baith my gold box and rings; mither, mak my bed sune,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie doun.'

10
'What will ye leave to your true-love, Lord Donald, my son?
What will ye leave to your true-love, my jollie young man?'
'The tow and the halter, for to hang on yon tree,
And lat her hang there for the poysoning o me.'

C

Motherwell's MS., p. 69. From the recitation of Margaret
Bain, in the parish of Blackford, Perthshire.

1
'What's become of your hounds, King Henrie, my son?
What's become of your hounds, my pretty little one?'
'They all died on the way; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

2
'What gat ye to your supper, King Henry, my son?
What gat ye to your supper, my pretty little one?'
'I gat fish boiled in broo; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

3
'What like were the fish, King Henry, my son?
What like were the fish, my pretty little one?'
'They were spreckled on the back and white on the belly; mother, make
my bed soon,
For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

4
'What leave ye to your father, King Henry, my son?
What leave ye to your father, my pretty little one?'
'The keys of Old Ireland, and all that's therein; mother, make my bed
soon,
For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

5
'What leave ye to your brother, King Henry, my son?
What leave ye to your brother, my pretty little one?'
'The keys of my coffers and all that's therein; mother, mak my bed
soon,
For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

6
'What leave ye to your sister, King Henry, my son?
What leave ye to your sister, my pretty little one?'
'The world's wide, she may go beg; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

7
'What leave ye to your trew-love, King Henry, my son?
What leave ye to your trew-love, my pretty little one?'
'The highest hill to hang her on, for she's poisoned me and my hounds
all; mother, make my bed soon,
Oh I'm sick to the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

D

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1803, III, 292.

1
'O where hae ye been, Lord Randal, my son?
O where hae ye been, my handsome young man?'
'I hae been to the wild wood; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.'

2
'Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son?
Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?'
'I din'd wi my true-love; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.'

3
'What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Randal, my son?
What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man?'
'I gat eels boild in broo; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.'

4
'What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Randal, my son?
What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?'
'O they swelld and they died; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.'

5
'O I fear ye are poisond, Lord Randal, my son!
O I fear ye are poisond, my handsome young man!'
'O yes! I am poisond; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down.'

E

Halliwell's Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales, p. 261. "A
version still popular in Scotland," 1849.

1
'Ah where have you been, Lairde Rowlande, my son?
Ah where have you been, Lairde Rowlande, my son?'
'I've been in the wild woods; mither, mak my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'

2
'Oh you've been at your true love's, Lairde Rowlande, my son!
Oh you've been at your true-love's, Lairde Rowlande, my son!'
'I've been at my true-love's; mither, mak my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'

3
'What got you to dinner, Lairde Rowlande, my son?
What got you to dinner, Lairde Rowlande, my son?'
'I got eels boild in brue; mither, mak my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'

4
'What's become of your warden, Lairde Rowlande, my son?
What's become of your warden, Lairde Rowlande, my son?'
'He died in the muirlands; mither, mak my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'

5
'What's become of your stag-hounds, Lairde Rowlande, my son?
What's become of your stag-hounds, Lairde Rowlande, my son?'
'They swelled and they died; mither, mak my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi hunting, and faine would lie down.'

F

Johnson's Museum, No 327, p. 337. Communicated by Burns.

1
'O where hae ye been, Lord Ronald, my son?
O where hae ye been, Lord Ronald, my son?'
'I hae been wi my sweetheart; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm weary wi the hunting, and fain wad lie down.'

2
'What got ye frae your sweetheart, Lord Ronald, my son?
What got ye frae your sweetheart, Lord Ronald, my son?'
'I hae got deadly poison; mother, make my bed soon,
For life is a burden that soon I'll lay down.'

* * * * * * *

G

Illustrations of Northern Antiquities, p. 319. Originally
from a clergyman's daughter, in Suffolk.

1
'Where have you been today, Billy, my son?
Where have you been today, my only man?'
'I've been a wooing; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick at heart, and fain would lay down.'

2
'What have you ate today, Billy, my son?
What have you ate today, my only man?'
'I've ate eel-pie; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick at heart, and shall die before noon.'

H

Taken down by me, February, 1881, from the recitation of
Ellen Healy, as repeated to her by a young girl at
"Lackabairn," Kerry, Ireland, about 1868.

1
'Where was you all day, my own pretty boy?
Where was you all day, my comfort and joy?'
'I was fishing and fowling; mother, make my bed soon,
There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

2
'What did you have for your breakfast, my own pretty boy?
What did you have for your breakfast, my comfort and joy?'
'A cup of strong poison; mother, make my bed soon,
There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

3
'I fear you are poisoned, my own pretty boy,
I fear you are poisoned, my comfort and joy!'
'O yes, I am poisoned; mother, make my bed soon,
There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

4
'What will you leave to your father, my own pretty boy?
What will you leave to your father, my comfort and joy?'
'I'll leave him my house and my property; mother, make my bed soon,
There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

5
'What will you leave to your mother, my own pretty boy?
What will you leave to your mother, my comfort and joy?'
'I'll leave her my coach and four horses; mother, make my bed soon,
There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

6
'What will you leave to your brother, my own pretty boy?
What will you leave to your brother, my comfort and joy?'
'I'll leave him my bow and my fiddle; mother, make my bed soon,
There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

7
'What will you leave to your sister, my own pretty boy?
What will you leave to your sister, my comfort and joy?'
'I'll leave her my gold and my silver; mother, make my bed soon,
There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

8
'What will you leave to your servant, my own pretty boy?
What will you leave to your servant, my comfort and joy?'
'I'll leave him the key of my small silver box; mother, make my bed
soon,
There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

9
'What will you leave to your children, my own pretty boy?
What will you leave to your children, my comfort and joy?'
'The world is wide all round for to beg; mother, make my bed soon,
There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

10
'What will you leave to your wife, my own pretty boy?
What will you leave to your wife, my comfort and joy?'
'I'll leave her the gallows, and plenty to hang her; mother, make my
bed soon,
There 's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

11
'Where shall I make it, my own pretty boy?
Where shall I make it, my comfort and joy?'
'Above in the churchyard, and dig it down deep,
Put a stone to my head and a flag to my feet,
And leave me down easy until I'll take a long sleep.'

I

#a.# Communicated by Mrs L. F. Wesselhoeft, of Boston, as
sung to her when a child by her grandmother, Elizabeth
Foster, born in Maine, who appears to have learned the
ballad of her mother about 1800. #b.# By a daughter of
Elizabeth Foster, as learned about 1820. #c.# By Miss
Ellen Marston, of New Bedford, as learned from her mother,
born 1778. #d.# By Mrs Cushing, of Cambridge, Mass., as
learned in 1838 from a schoolmate, who is thought to have
derived it from an old nurse. #e.# By Mrs Augustus Lowell,
of Boston. #f.# By Mrs Edward Atkinson, of Boston, learned
of Mrs A. Lowell, in girlhood. #g.# By Mrs A. Lowell, as
derived from a friend.

1
'O where have you been, Tiranti, my son?
O where have you been, my sweet little one?'
'I have been to my grandmother's; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

2
'What did you have for your supper, Tiranti, my son?
What did you have for your supper, my sweet little one?'
'I had eels fried in butter; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

3
'Where did the eels come from, Tiranti, my son?
Where did the eels come from, my sweet little one?'
'From the corner of the haystack; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

4
'What color were the eels, Tiranti, my son?
What color were the eels, my sweet little one?'
'They were streakëd and stripëd; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

5
'What'll you give to your father, Tiranti, my son?
What'll you give to your father, my sweet little one?'
'All my gold and my silver; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

6
'What'll you give to your mother, Tiranti, my son?
What'll you give to your mother, my sweet little one?'
'A coach and six horses; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

7
'What'll you give to your grandmother, Tiranti, my son?
What'll you give to your grandmother, my sweet little one?'
'A halter to hang her; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

8
'Where'll you have your bed made, Tiranti, my son?
Where'll you have your bed made, my sweet little one?'
'In the corner of the churchyard; mother, make my bed soon,
For I'm sick to my heart, and I'm faint to lie down.'

J

Motherwell's MS., p. 238. From the recitation of Miss
Maxwell, of Brediland.

1
'O whare hae ye been a' day, my bonnie wee croodlin dow?
O whare hae ye been a' day, my bonnie wee croodlin dow?'
'I 've been at my step-mother's; oh mak my bed, mammie, now!
I 've been at my step-mother's; oh mak my bed, mammie, now!'

2
'O what did ye get at your step-mother's, my bonnie wee croodlin dow?'
[_Twice._]
'I gat a wee wee fishie; oh mak my bed, mammie, now!' [_Twice._]

3
'O whare gat she the wee fishie, my bonnie wee croodlin dow?'
'In a dub before the door; oh mak my bed, mammie, now!'

4
'What did ye wi the wee fishie, my bonnie wee croodlin dow?'
'I boild it in a wee pannie; oh mak my bed, mammy, now!'

5
'Wha gied ye the banes o the fishie till, my bonnie wee croodlin dow?'
'I gied them till a wee doggie; oh mak my bed, mammie, now!'

6
'O whare is the little wee doggie, my bonnie wee croodlin dow?
O whare is the little wee doggie, my bonnie wee croodlin doo?'
'It shot out its fit and died, and sae maun I do too;
Oh mak my bed, mammy, now, now, oh mak my bed, mammy, now!'

K

#a.# Chambers' Scottish Ballads, p. 324. #b.# Chambers'
Popular Rhymes of Scotland, 1842, p. 53. #c.# The
Stenhouse-Laing ed. of Johnson's Museum, IV, 364*,
communicated by Charles Kirkpatrick Sharpe.

1
'O whaur hae ye been a' the day, my little wee croodlin doo?'
'O I 've been at my grandmother's; mak my bed, mammie, now!'

2
'O what gat ye at your grandmother's, my little wee croodlin doo?'
'I got a bonnie wee fishie; mak my bed, mammie, now!'

3
'O whaur did she catch the fishie, my bonnie wee croodlin doo?'
'She catchd it in the gutter hole: mak my bed, mammie, now!'

4
'And what did she do wi the fish, my little wee croodlin doo?'
'She boiled it in a brass pan; O mak my bed, mammie, now!'

5
'And what did ye do wi the banes o't, my bonnie wee croodlin doo?'
'I gied them to my little dog; mak my bed, mammie, now!'

6
'And what did your little doggie do, my bonnie wee croodlin doo?'
'He stretched out his head, his feet, and deed; and so will I, mammie,
now!'

L

Buchan's MSS, II, 322; Ballads of the North of Scotland,
II, 179.

1
'Whar hae ye been a' the day, Willie doo, Willie doo?
Whar hae ye been a' the day, Willie, my doo?'

2
'I've been to see my step-mother; make my bed, lay me down;
Make my bed, lay me down, die shall I now!'

3
'What got ye frae your step-mother, Willie doo, Willie doo?
What got ye frae your step-mother, Willie, my doo?'

4
'She gae me a speckled trout; make my bed, lay me down;
She gae me a speckled trout, die shall I now!'

5
'Whar got she the speckled trout, Willie doo, Willie doo?'
'She got it amang the heather hills; die shall I now.'

6
'What did she boil it in, Willie doo, Willie doo?'
'She boild it in the billy-pot; die shall I now!'

7
'What gaed she you for to drink, Willie doo, Willie doo?
What gaed she you for to drink, Willie, my doo?'

8
'She gaed me hemlock stocks; make my bed, lay me down;
Made in the brewing pot; die shall I now!'

9
They made his bed, laid him down, poor Willie doo, Willie doo;
He turnd his face to the wa; he 's dead now!

M

Popular Rhymes of Scotland, 1870, p. 51. "Mrs Lockhart's
copy."

1
'Where hae ye been a' the day, my bonny wee croodin doo?'
'O I hae been at my stepmother's house; make my bed, mammie, now, now,
now,
Make my bed, mammie, now!'

2
'Where did ye get your dinner?' my, etc.
'I got it at my stepmother's;' make, etc.

3
'What did she gie ye to your dinner?'
'She gae me a little four-footed fish.'

4
'Where got she the four-footed fish?'
'She got it down in yon well strand;' O make, etc.

5
'What did she do with the banes o't?'
'She gae them to the little dog.'

6
'O what became o the little dog?'
'O it shot out its feet and died;' O make, etc.

N

Kinloch's MSS, V, 347. In Dr John Hill Burton's hand.

1
'Fare hae ye been a' day, a' day, a' day,
Fare hae ye been a' day, my little wee croudlin doo?'

2
'I 've been at my step-mammie's, my step-mammie's, my step-mammie's,
I 've been at my step-mammie's; come mack my beddy now!'

3
'What got ye at yer step-mammie's,
My little wee croudlin doo?'

4
'She gied me a spreckled fishie;
Come mack my beddy now!'

5
'What did ye wi the baenies oet,
My little wee croudlin doo?'

6
'I gaed them till her little dogie;
Come mack my beddy now!'

7
'What did her little dogie syne,
My little wee croudlin doo?'

8
'He laid down his heed and feet;
And sae shall I dee now!'

O

From a manuscript collection, copied out in 1840 or 1850,
by a granddaughter of Alexander Fraser-Tytler, p. 67.

1
'O where hae ye been a' the day, my wee wee croodlin doo doo?
O where hae ye been a' the day, my bonnie wee croodlin doo?'
'O I hae been to my step-mammie's; mak my bed, mammy, noo, noo,
Mak my bed, mammy, noo!'

2
'O what did yere step-mammie gie to you?' etc.
'She gied to me a wee wee fish,' etc.

3
'[O] what did she boil the wee fishie in?'
'O she boiled it in a wee wee pan; it turned baith black an blue, blue,
It turned baith black an blue.'

4
'An what did she gie the banes o't to?'
'O she gied them to a wee wee dog;' mak, etc.

5
'An what did the wee wee doggie do then?'
'O it put out its tongue and its feet, an it deed; an sae maun I do
noo, noo,
An sae maun I do noo!'

* * * * *

#C.#

4^2. your father, King Henry, my son.

#I. a.#

1^4. _~faint to~, an obvious corruption of ~fain to~, is
found also in #b#, #c#; #d# has fain wad; #e#, ~faint~ or
~fain~; #f#, ~fain~; #g#, ~I faint to~. N. B. 8 stands 5
in the MS. copy, but is the last stanza in all others
which have it._

#b.#

2^1. for your dinner.

_After 2 follows_:

Who cooked you the eels, Tiranti, my son? etc.
O 't was my grandmother; mother, make my bed soon, etc.

#b# 5==#a# 3:

^1. Where did she get the, eels? etc.

^3. By the side of the haystack, etc.

#b# 6==#a# 7 : 7==#a# 8 : 8==#a# 5.

8^4. and die to lie down.

#a# is wanting in_ #b#.

#c.#

1^4. at my heart (_and always_).

2^1. O what did she give you? _etc._

2^3. Striped eels fried, etc.

3==#a# 4.

3^1. O how did they look? etc.

3^3. Ringed, streaked, and speckled, etc.

4==#a# 3.

4^1. O where did they come from?

5^1. O what will you give your father, my son?

5^2. O what will you give him?

5^3. A coach and six horses.

6^1. O what will you give your mother, my son? _as in 5._

6^3. All my gold and my silver.

7^1. O what will you give your granny? _as in 5._

8^1. O where'll, etc.

#c# _adds, as 9_:

So this is the end of Tiranti my son,
So this is the end of my sweet little one:
His grandmother poisoned him with an old dead snake,
And he left her a halter to hang by the neck.

#d.#

1^1, _etc._ Tyrante.

1^3. O I've been to my uncle's, _etc._

1^4. and fain wad lie doun.

2^3. eels and fresh butter.

3==#a# 4.

3^3. black stripëd with yellow.

4==#a# 7.

4^1. What'll ye will to your mither?

4^3. My gold and my silver.

5==#a# 6.

5^1 What'll ye will to your father?

5^3. My coach and my horses.

6==#a# 8.

6^1. What'll you will to your uncle?

_3, 5 of #a# are wanting._

#e.#

1^4. For I'm sick at heart, and faint [fain] to lie down.

3==#a# 7.

3^1. What will you leave your mother?

3^3. A box full of jewels.

4^1. What will you leave your sister?

4^3. A box of fine clothing.

5==#a# 8.

5^3. A rope to hang her with.

6==#a# 5.

6^1 Where shall I make it?

_3, 4 of #a# are wanting._

#f.#

_This copy was derived from the singing of the lady who
communicated #e#, and they naturally agree closely._

1^4, fain to lie down. #f# 3==e 4 : #f# 4==e 3.

#g.#

1^4. For I'm sick at the heart, and I faint to lie down.

2^1. What did you get at your grandmother's?

2^3. I got eels stewed in butter.

3==#a# 8.

3^1. What will you leave ...

4^1. What will you leave to your brother?

4^3. A full suit of mourning.

5==#a# 7.

5^1. leave to your mother.

5^3. A carriage and fine horses.

6==#a# 5.

_3, 4 of #a# are wanting._

#K.#

#a#, #b#, #c# are printed, in the publications in which
they occur, in four-line stanzas._

#b.#

_Omits 4._

6^1. the little doggie.

6^2. as I do, mammie, noo.

#c.#

1^1, my bonnie wee crooden doo: _and always_.

1^2. at my step-mither's.

2.
And what did scho gie you to eat ...
Scho gied to me a wee fishie....

3^1. An what did she catch the fishie in ...

_4 is wanting_.

#L.#

_Written in the MS., and printed by Buchan, in stanzas of
4 lines._

#M.#

_Printed by Chambers in stanzas of 4 lines, the last
repeated._

#N.#

_The second line of each stanza is written as two in the
MS._

#O.#

_The stanza, being written with short lines in the
manuscript, is of seven lines, including the repetitions._

[144] Opera nuova, nella quale si contiene una incatenatura di più villanelle ed altre cose ridiculose.... Data in luce per me Camillo, detto il Bianchino, cieco Florentino. Fliegendes Blatt von Verona, 1629. Egeria, p. 53; p. 260, note 31.--With the above (Egeria, p. 59) compare especially the beginning of Italian #B#, further on.

[145] It begins:

"Dôve sî stâ jersira,
_Figliuol mio caro, fiorito e gentil?
Dôve sî stâ jersira_?"
"Sôn stâ dalla mia dama;
_Signóra Mama, mio core sta mal!
Son stâ dalla mia dama;
Ohimè! ch'io moro, ohimè_!"

[146] E.g. (#B#):

1
"E dove xestu stà gieri sera,
Figlio mio rico, sapio e gentil?
E dove xestu stà gieri sera,
Gentil mio cavalier?"

2
"E mi so' stato da la mia bela;
Signora madre, el mio cuor stà mal!
E mi so' stato da la mia bela;
Oh Dio, che moro, ohimè!"

3
"E cossa t'àla dato da çena,
Figlio mio?" etc.

4
"E la m'à dato 'n'anguila rostita;
Signora madre," etc.

[147] Grundtvig notices this absurdity, Eng. og skotske F. v, p. 286, note **.

[148] "The nurse or nursery maid who sung these verses (to a very plaintive air) always informed the juvenile audience that the step-mother was a rank witch, and that the fish was an ask (newt), which was in Scotland formerly deemed a most poisonous reptile." C. K. Sharpe, in the Musical Museum, Laing-Stenhouse, IV, 364*.

[149] A golden bird, sitting on the bride's hand, sings, "You had better not go there; you will have a bad mother-in-law and a bad father-in-law." There are ill omens also in Passow, No 437.

13

EDWARD

#A. a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 139. #b.# Motherwell's
Minstrelsy, p. 339. From recitation.

#B.# Percy's Reliques, 1765, I, 53. Communicated by Sir
David Dalrymple.

#C.# MS. of A. Laing, one stanza.

#A b#, "given from the recitation of an old woman," is evidently #A a# slightly regulated by Motherwell. #B#, we are informed in the 4th edition of the Reliques, p. 61, was sent Percy by Sir David Dalrymple, Lord Hailes. Motherwell thought there was reason to believe "that his lordship made a few slight verbal improvements on the copy he transmitted, and altered the hero's name to Edward,--a name which, by the bye, never occurs in a Scottish ballad, except where allusion is made to an English king."[150] Dalrymple, at least, would not be likely to change a Scotch for an English name. The Bishop might doubtless prefer Edward to Wat, or Jock, or even Davie. But as there is no evidence that any change of name was made, the point need not be discussed. As for other changes, the word "brand," in the first stanza, is possibly more literary than popular; further than this the language is entirely fit. The affectedly antique spelling[151] in Percy's copy has given rise to vague suspicions concerning the authenticity of the ballad, or of the language: but as spelling will not make an old ballad, so it will not unmake one. We have, but do not need, the later traditional copy to prove the other genuine. 'Edward' is not only unimpeachable, but has ever been regarded as one of the noblest and most sterling specimens of the popular ballad.

Motherwell seems to incline to regard 'Edward' rather as a detached portion of a ballad than as complete in itself. "The verses of which it consists," he says, "generally conclude the ballad of 'The Twa Brothers,' and also some versions of 'Lizie Wan:'" Minstrelsy, LXVII, 12. The Finnish parallel which Motherwell refers to, might have convinced him that the ballad is complete as it is; and he knew as well as anybody that one ballad is often appended to another by reciters, to lengthen the story or improve the conclusion.[152] More or less of 'Edward' will be found in four versions of 'The Twa Brothers' and two of 'Lizie Wan,' further on in this volume.

This ballad has been familiarly known to have an exact counterpart in #Swedish#. There are four versions, differing only as to length: 'Sven i Rosengård,' #A#, Afzelius, No 67, III, 4, eleven two-line stanzas, with three more lines of burden; #B#, III, 3, six stanzas (Bergström's ed., No 54, 1, 2); #C#, Arwidsson, No 87 #A#, II, 83, eighteen stanzas; #D#, No 87 B, II, 86, sixteen stanzas. The same in #Danish#: #A#, Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, p. 175, nine stanzas; #B#, Boisen, Nye og gamle Viser, 10th ed., No 95, p. 185, 'Brodermordet.' And in #Finnish#, probably derived from the Swedish, but with traits of its own: #A#, Schröter's Finnische Runen, p. 124, 'Werinen Pojka,' The Bloodstained Son, fifteen two-line stanzas, with two lines of refrain; #B#, 'Velisurmaaja,' Brother-Murderer, Kanteletar, p. x, twenty stanzas.

All these are a dialogue between mother and son, with a question and answer in each stanza. The mother asks, Where have you been? The son replies that he has been in the stable [Danish, grove, fields; Finnish #A#, on the sea-strand]. "How is it that your foot is bloody?"[153] [clothes, shirt; Finnish, "How came your jerkin muddy?" etc.] A horse has kicked or trod on him. "How came your sword so bloody?" He then confesses that he has killed his brother. [Swedish #D# and the Danish copies have no question about the foot, etc.] Then follows a series of questions as to what the son will do with himself, and what shall become of his wife, children, etc., which are answered much as in the English ballad. Finally, in all, the mother asks when he will come back, and he replies (with some variations), When crows are white. And that will be? When swans are black. And that? When stones float. And that? When feathers sink, etc. This last feature, stupidly exaggerated in some copies, and even approaching burlesque, is one of the commonplaces of ballad poetry, and may or may not have been, from the beginning, a part of the ballads in which it occurs. Such a conclusion could not be made to adhere to 'Edward,' the last stanza of which is peculiar in implicating the mother in the guilt of the murder. Several versions of 'The Twa Brothers' preserve this trait, and 'Lizie Wan' also.

The stanza of this ballad was originally, in all probability, one of two lines--a question and an answer--with refrains, as we find it in #A# 10, 11, 12, and the corresponding Swedish and Finnish ballad; and in 'Lord Randal,' #J#, #K#, etc., and also the corresponding Swedish and German ballad. #A# 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9 are now essentially stanzas of one line, with refrains; that is, the story advances in these at that rate. #A# 4, 7 (==#C#) are entirely irregular, substituting narrative or descriptive circumstances for the last line of the refrain, and so far forth departing from primitive simplicity.[154] The stanza in #B# embraces always a question and a reply, but for what is refrain in other forms of the ballad we have epical matter in many cases. #A# 1, 2, substantially,==#B# 1; #A# 3, 4==#B# 2; #A# 5, 6==#B# 3; #A# 8, 9==#B# 4; #A# 11==6; #A# 12==7.

Testaments such as this ballad ends with have been spoken of under No 11.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 26, p. 172; by Rosa Warrens, Schottische V. L., No 21, p. 96; by Wolff, Halle des Völker, I, 22, and Hausschatz, p. 223. #B#, in Afzelius, III, 10; "often in Danish," Grundtvig; by Herder, Volkslieder, II, 207; by Döring, p. 217; Gerhard, p. 88; Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 27. Swedish #A#, by W. and M. Howitt, Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, I, 263.[155]

A

#a.# Motherwell's MS., p. 139. From Mrs King, Kilbarchan.
#b.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 339.

1
'What bluid's that on thy coat lap,
Son Davie, son Davie?
What bluid's that on thy coat lap?
And the truth come tell to me.'

2
'It is the bluid of my great hawk,
Mother lady, mother lady:
It is the bluid of my great hawk,
And the truth I have told to thee.'

3
'Hawk's bluid was neer sae red,
Son Davie, son Davie:
Hawk's bluid was neer sae red,
And the truth come tell to me.'

4
'It is the bluid of my greyhound,
Mother lady, mother lady:
It is the bluid of my greyhound,
And it wadna rin for me.'

5
'Hound's bluid was neer sae red,
Son Davie, son Davie:
Hound's bluid was neer sae red,
And the truth come tell to me.'

6
'It is the bluid o my brither John,
Mother lady, mother lady:
It is the bluid o my brither John,
And the truth I have told to thee.'

7
'What about did the plea begin,
Son Davie, son Davie?'
'It began about the cutting of a willow wand
That would never been a tree.'

8
'What death dost thou desire to die,
Son Davie, son Davie?
What death dost thou desire to die?
And the truth come tell to me.'

9
'I'll set my foot in a bottomless ship,
Mother lady, mother lady:
I'll set my foot in a bottomless ship,
And ye'll never see mair o me.'

10
'What wilt thou leave to thy poor wife,
Son Davie, son Davie?'
'Grief and sorrow all her life,
And she'll never see mair o me.'

11
'What wilt thou leave to thy old son,
Son Davie, son Davie?'
'I'll leave him the weary world to wander up and down,
And he'll never get mair o me.'

12
'What wilt thou leave to thy mother dear,
Son Davie, son Davie?'
'A fire o coals to burn her, wi hearty cheer,
And she'll never get mair o me.'

B

Percy's Reliques, 1765, I, 53. Communicated by Sir David
Dalrymple.

1
'Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,
Edward, Edward,
Why dois your brand sae drap wi bluid,
And why sae sad gang yee O?'
'O I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
Mither, mither,
O I hae killed my hauke sae guid,
And I had nae mair bot hee O.'

2
'Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
Edward, Edward,
Your haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,
My deir son I tell thee O.'
'O I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
Mither, mither,
O I hae killed my reid-roan steid,
That erst was sae fair and frie O.'

3
'Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
Edward, Edward,
Your steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair,
Sum other dule ye drie O.'
'O I hae killed my fadir deir,
Mither, mither,
O I hae killed my fadir deir,
Alas, and wae is mee O!'

4
'And whatten penance wul ye drie, for that,
Edward, Edward?
And whatten penance will ye drie for that?
My deir son, now tell me O.'
'Ile set my feit in yonder boat,
Mither, mither,
Ile set my feit in yonder boat,
And Ile fare ovir the sea O.'

5
'And what wul ye doe wi your towirs and your ha,
Edward, Edward?
And what wul ye doe wi your towirs and your ha,
That were sae fair to see O?'
'Ile let thame stand tul they doun fa,
Mither, mither,
Ile let thame stand tul they doun fa,
For here nevir mair maun I bee O.'

6
'And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,
Edward, Edward?
And what wul ye leive to your bairns and your wife,
Whan ye gang ovir the sea O?'
'The warldis room, late them beg thrae life,
Mither, mither,
The warldis room, late them beg thrae life,
For thame nevir mair wul I see O.'

7
'And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir,
Edward, Edward?
And what wul ye leive to your ain mither deir?
My deir son, now tell me O.'
'The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
Mither, mither,
The curse of hell frae me sall ye beir,
Sic counseils ye gave to me O.'

C

MS. of Alexander Laing, 1829, p. 25.

'O what did the fray begin about?
My son, come tell to me:'
'It began about the breaking o the bonny hazel wand,
And a penny wad hae bought the tree.'

* * * * *

#A. b.#

1^4. tell to me O. _And so every fourth line._

7^4. That would never hae been a tree O.

10^4. And she'll never get mair frae me O.

11^3. The weary warld to wander up and down.

#B.#

_Initial ~qu~ for ~w~ and ~z~ for ~y~ have been changed
throughout to ~w~ and ~y~._

6^7. let.

[150] An eager "Englishman" might turn Motherwell's objection to the name into an argument for 'Edward' being an "English" ballad.

[151] That is to say, initial _quh_ and _z_ for modern _wh_ and _y_, for nothing else would have excited attention. Perhaps a transcriber thought he ought to give the language a look at least as old as Gavin Douglas, who spells _quhy_, _dois_, _ȝour_. The _quh_ would serve a purpose, if understood as indicating that the aspirate was not to be dropped, as it often is in English _why_. The _z_ is the successor of ȝ, and was meant to be pronounced _y_, as _z_ is, or was, pronounced in _gaberlunzie_ and other Scottish words. See Dr J. A. H. Murray's Dialect of the Southern Counties of Scotland, pp. 118, 129. Since _quh_ and _z_ serve rather as rocks of offence than landmarks, I have thought it best to use _wh_ and _y_.

[152] Motherwell also speaks of a ballad of the same nature as quoted in Werner's 'Twenty-Fourth of February.' The stanza cited (in Act I, Scene 1) seems to be Herder's translation of 'Edward' given from memory.

[153] We have a similar passage in most of the copies of the third class of the German ballads corresponding to No 4. A brother asks the man who has killed his sister why his shoes [sword, hands] are bloody. See p. 36, p. 38. So in 'Herr Axel,' Arwidsson, No 46, I, 308.

[154] These have perhaps been adapted to the stanza of 'The Twa Brothers,' with some versions of which, as already remarked, the present ballad is blended.

[155] With regard to translations, I may say now, what I might well have said earlier, that I do not aim at making a complete list, but give such as have fallen under my notice.

14

BABYLON; OR, THE BONNIE BANKS O FORDIE

#A. a, b.# 'Babylon; or, The Bonnie Banks o Fordie,'
Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 88. #c.# The same, Appendix,
p. xxii, No XXVI.

#B. a.# Herd's MSS, I, 38, II, 76. #b.# 'The Banishd Man,'
The Scots Magazine, October, 1803, p. 699, evidently
derived from Herd.

#C.# Motherwell's MS., p. 172.

#D.# Motherwell's MS., p. 174.

#E.# 'Duke of Perth's Three Daughters,' Kinloch's Ancient
Scottish Ballads, p. 212.

#B a# is from tradition of the latter half of the eighteenth century; the other copies from the earlier part of this.

Three sisters go out (together, #A#, #B#, #C#, successively, #D#, #E#) to gather flowers (#A#, #B#, #E#). A banished man (outlyer bold, #D#, Loudon lord, #E#) starts up from a hiding-place, and offers them one after the other the choice of being his wife or dying by his hand.

(#A.#)
'It's whether will ye be a rank robber's wife,
Or will ye die by my wee penknife?'

(#D.#)
'Wiltow twinn with thy maidenhead, or thy sweet life?'

The first and the second express a simple preference for death, and are killed and laid by, "to bear the red rose company" (#A#). The youngest, in #A#, says she has a brother in the wood, who will kill him if he kills her. The outlaw asks the brother's name, finds that he himself is the man, and takes his own life with the same weapon that had shed the blood of his sisters. #B#, #C#, #D# have three brothers, the youngest of whom is the banished lord (#C#), the outlyer bold (#D#). The story is defective in #B#, #C#. In #D# the outlaw, on finding what he has done, takes a long race, and falls on his knife. The conclusion of #E# is not so finely tragic. A brother John comes riding by just as the robber is about to kill the third sister, apprehends him by the agency of his three pages, and reserves him to be hanged on a tree,

Or thrown into the poisond lake,
To feed the toads and rattle-snake.

According to the account given by Herd, and repeated by Jamieson, the story of the lost conclusion of #B# made the banished man discover that he had killed his two brothers as well as his two sisters.

This ballad, with additional circumstances, is familiar to all branches of the Scandinavian race.

#Danish.# There are many versions from oral tradition, as yet unprinted, besides these two: #A#, 'Hr. Truels's Døttre,' Danske Viser, III, 392, No 164, there reprinted from Sandvig, Beskrivelse over Øen Møen, 1776: #B#, 'Herr Thors Børn,' from recent tradition of North Sleswig, Berggreen, Danske Folke-Sange, 3d ed., p. 88, No 42.

#A.# Herr Truels' three daughters oversleep their matins one morning, and are roused by their mother. If we have overslept our matins, they say, we will make up at high mass. They set out for church, and in a wood fall in with three robbers, who say:

'Whether will ye be three robbers' wives,
Or will ye rather lose your lives?'

Much rather death, say they. The two elder sisters submitted to their fate without a word; the third made a hard resistance. With her last breath she adjured the robbers to seek a lodging at Herr Truels' that night. This they did. They drank so long that they drank Herr Truels to bed. Then they asked his wife to promise herself to all three. First, she said, she must look into their bags. In their bags she saw her daughters' trinkets. She excused herself for a moment, barred the door strongly, roused her husband, and made it known to him that these guests had killed his three daughters. Herr Truels called on all his men to arm. He asked the robbers who was their father. They said that they had been stolen by robbers, on their way to school, one day; had had a hard life for fourteen years; and the first crime they had committed was killing three maids yesterday. Herr Truels revealed to them that they had murdered their sisters, and offered them new clothes, in which they might go away. "Nay," they said, "not so; life for life is meet." They were taken out of the town, and their heads struck off. #B# differs from #A# in only a few points. The robbers ask lodging at Herr Thor's, as being pilgrims. When he discovers their true character, he threatens them with the wheel. They say, Shall we come to the wheel? Our father drinks Yule with the king. They tell him their story, and their father offers them saddle and horse to make their best way off. They reply, "We will give blood for blood," spread their cloaks on the floor, and let their blood run.

#Swedish.# 'Pehr Tyrsons Döttrar i Wänge.' #A#, Arwidsson, II, 413, No 166. #B#, Afzelius, III, 193, No 98: ed. Bergström, I, 380, No 84, 1. #C#, Afzelius, III, 197: ed. Bergström, I, 382, No 84, 2, as old as the last half of the seventeenth century. #D#, Afzelius, III, 202: ed. Bergström, I, 384, No 84, 3. #E#, "C. J. Wessén, De paroecia Kärna (an academical dissertation), Upsala, 1836," Arwidsson, as above, who mentions another unprinted copy in the Royal Library.

#A.# Herr Töres' daughters overslept matins, dressed themselves handsomely, and set off for mass. All on the heath they were met by three wood-robbers, who demanded, Will ye be our wives, or lose your lives? The first answered: God save us from trying either! the second, Rather let us range the world! the third, Better death with honor! But

First were they the three wood-robbers' wives,
And after that they lost their young lives.

The robbers strip them; then go and ask to be taken in by Herr Töres. He serves them with mead and wine, but presently begins to wish his daughters were at home. His wife sees him to bed; then returns to her guests, who offer her a silken sark to pass the night with them. "Give me a sight of the silken sark," she cries, with prophetic soul: "God have mercy on my daughters!" She rouses her husband, and tells him that the robbers have slain his bairns. He puts on his armor and kills two of them: the third begs to be spared till he can say who were his kin; his father's name is Töres! Father and mother resolve to build a church for penance, and it shall be called Kerna. #B#, #C#, #D#. The girls meet three "vallare," strolling men, and none of them good (#C#). The robbers cut off the girls' heads on the trunk of a birch (cf. English #C# 5: "It's lean your head upon my staff," and with his pen-knife he has cutted it aff): three springs burst forth immediately. They go to the house, and ask the mother if she will buy silken sarks that nine maids have stitched (#B#). She says:

'Open your sacks, and let me see:
Mayhap I shall know them all three.'

The father, in #B#, when he discovers that he has slain his own sons, goes to the smith, and has an iron band fastened round his middle. The parents vow to build a church as an expiation, and it shall be called Kerna (#B#, #C#).

#Färöe.# 'Torkilds Riim, eller St. Catharinæ Vise, 'Lyngbye, Færøiske Qvæder, p. 534/p. 535. In this form of the story, as in the Icelandic versions which follow, the robbers are not the brothers of the maids. Torkild's two daughters sleep till the sun shines on their beds. Their father wakens them, and tells Katrine she is waited for at church. Katrine dresses herself splendidly, but does not disdain to saddle her own horse.

And since no knave was ready to help,
Katrine bridled the horse herself.

And since no knave was standing about,
Herself put the bit in her horse's mouth.

First she came upon three strollers (vadlarar[156]), then two, then one, and the last asked her whether she would pass the night with him (vera qvöldar vujv) or die. He cut off her head, and wherever her blood ran a light kindled; where her head fell a spring welled forth: where her body lay a church was [afterwards] built. The rover came to Torkild's house, and the father asked if he had seen Katrine. He said she had been at Mary kirk the day before, and asked for a lodging, feigning to be sick. This was readily granted. He went to bed, and Aasa, the other sister, waited upon him. He offered her a silken sark to sleep with him. Aasa asked to see the sark first, and found on it her sister's mark. The fellow went on to offer her a blue cloak and gold crown successively, and on both of these she saw her sister's mark. Aasa bade him good-night, went to her father, and told him that the man they had housed had killed his daughter. Torkild ordered his swains to light a pile in the wood: early the next morning they burned the murderer on it.

#Icelandic.# Five Icelandic versions, and the first stanza of two more, are given in Íslenzk Fornkvæði, I, 108 ff, No 15, 'Vallara kvæði.'

The story is nearly the same as in the Färöe ballad. Two of Thorkell's daughters sleep till after the sun is up (#B#, #C#). They wash and dress; they set out for church (#C#). On the heath they encounter a strolling man, #A#; a tall, large man, #C#, #E#; a horseman or knight, #D#. He greets them: "Why will ye not speak? Are ye come of elves, or of kings themselves?" #A# [Are ye come of earls, or of beggar-churls? #B#]. They answer, We are not come of elves, nor of kings themselves; we are Thorkell's daughters, and serve Mary kirk. He asks, Will ye choose to lose your life, or shall I rather take you to wife? The choice, they say, is hard: they would rather die. He kills them and buries them. At night he goes to Thorkell's house, where Asa is alone. He knocks to be let in; Asa refuses; he draws the latch with his deft fingers (#A#, #C#, #D#). He offers Asa a silken sark to sleep with him [and a blue cloak to say nothing, #A#]. She asked to see the sark, and knew her sisters' work, begged him to wait a moment, went to her father, and told him that the murderer of his daughters was there. Thorkell dashed his harp to the floor [and kicked over the table, #D#, #E#]. The murderer in the morning was hanged like a dog, #A#, #B#. [Thorkell tore at his hair and cut him down with an elder-stock, #C#; they fought three days, and on the fourth the villain was hanged in a strap, #E#, the knight was hanging like a dog, #D#]. A miraculous light burned over the place where the maids had been buried, #A# 16, #C# 27, #D# 24, #E# 12. When their bodies were taken into the church, the bells rang of themselves, #D#.

#Norwegian# versions of this ballad have been obtained from tradition, but none as yet have been published.

"The mains and burn of Fordie, the banks of which are very beautiful," says Aytoun (I, 159), "lie about six miles to the east of Dunkeld." Tradition has connected the story with half a dozen localities in Sweden, and, as Professor Grundtvig informs me, with at least eight places in the different provinces of Denmark. The Kerna church of the Swedish ballads, not far from Linköping (Afzelius), has been popularly supposed to derive its name from a Catharina, Karin, or Karna, killed by her own brother, a wood-robber, near its site. See Afzelius, ed. Bergström, II, 329 ff: Danske Viser, III, 444 f.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 34, p. 216, and, with some slight use of Aytoun, I, 160, by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder der Vorzeit, No 18, p. 85. Danish #A#, by Prior, III, 252.

A

#a.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 88. #b.# The same. #c.#
The same, Appendix, p. xxii, No XXVI, apparently from
South Perthshire.

1
There were three ladies lived in a bower,
Eh vow bonnie
And they went out to pull a flower.
On the bonnie banks o Fordie

2
They hadna pu'ed a flower but ane,
When up started to them a banisht man.

3
He's taen the first sister by her hand,
And he's turned her round and made her stand.

4
'It's whether will ye be a rank robber's wife,
Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife?'

5
'It's I'll not be a rank robber's wife,
But I'll rather die by your wee pen-knife.'

6
He's killed this may, and he's laid her by,
For to bear the red rose company.

7
He's taken the second ane by the hand,
And he's turned her round and made her stand.

8
'It's whether will ye be a rank robber's wife,
Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife?'

9
'I'll not be a rank robber's wife,
But I'll rather die by your wee pen-knife.'

10
He's killed this may, and he's laid her by,
For to bear the red rose company.

11
He's taken the youngest ane by the hand,
And he's turned her round and made her stand.

12
Says, 'Will ye be a rank robber's wife,
Or will ye die by my wee pen-knife?'

13
'I'll not be a rank robber's wife,
Nor will I die by your wee pen-knife.

14
'For I hae a brother in this wood.
And gin ye kill me, it's he'll kill thee.'

15
'What's thy brother's name? come tell to me.'
'My brother's name is Baby Lon.'

16
'O sister, sister, what have I done!
O have I done this ill to thee!

17
'O since I've done this evil deed,
Good sall never be seen o me.'

18
He's taken out his wee pen-knife,
And he's twyned himsel o his ain sweet life.

B

#a.# Herd's MSS, I, 38, II, 76. #b.# The Scots Magazine,
Oct., 1803, p. 699, communicated by Jamieson, and
evidently from Herd's copy.

1
There wond three ladies in a bower,
Annet and Margret and Marjorie
And they have gane out to pu a flower.
And the dew it lyes on the wood, gay ladie

2
They had nae pu'd a flower but ane,
When up has started a banished man.

3
He has taen the eldest by the hand,
He has turned her about and bade her stand.

4
'Now whether will ye be a banisht man's wife,
Or will ye be sticked wi my pen-knife?'

5
'I will na be ca'd a banished man's wife,
I'll rather be sticked wi your pen-knife.'

6
And he has taen out his little pen-knife,
And frae this lady he has taen the life.

7
He has taen the second by the hand,
He has turned her about and he bad her stand.