Chapter XIII: Appendix (8)

5
He is on to Annie's bower-door,
And tirled at the pin:
'O sleep ye, wake ye, my love, Annie,
Ye'll rise, lat me come in.'

6
'O who is this at my bower-door,
Sae well that kens my name?'
'It is your true-love, Sweet Willie,
For you I've crossd the faem.'

7
'I am deeply sworn, Willie,
By father and by mother;
At kirk or market where we meet,
We darna own each other.

8
'And I am deeply sworn, Willie,
By my bauld brothers three;
At kirk or market where we meet.
I darna speak to thee.'

9
'Ye take your red fan in your hand,
Your white fan ower your een,
And ye may swear, and save your oath,
Ye sawna me come in.

10
'Ye take me in your arms twa,
And carry me to your bed;
And ye may swear, and save your oath,
Your bower I never tread.'

11
She's taen her red fan in her hand,
The white fan ower her een;
It was to swear, and save her oath,
She sawna him come in.

12
She's taen him in her arms twa,
And carried him to her bed;
It was to swear, and save her oath,
Her bower he never tread.

13
They hadna kissd, nor love clapped,
As lovers do when they meet,
Till up it waukens her mother,
Out o her drowsy sleep.

14
'Win up, win up, my three bauld sons,
Win up and make ye boun;
Your sister's lover's in her bower,
And he 's but new come in.'

15
Then up it raise her three bauld sons,
And girt to them their brand,
And they are to their sister's bower,
As fast as they coud gang.

16
When they came to their sister's bower,
They sought it up and down;
But there was neither man nor boy
In her bower to be foun.

17
Then out it speaks the first o them:
'We'll gang and lat her be;
For there is neither man nor boy
Intill her companie.'

18
Then out it speaks the second son:
'Our travel's a' in vain;
But mother dear, nor father dear,
Shall break our rest again.'

19
Then out it speaks the third o them,
An ill death mat he die!
'We'll lurk amang the bent sae brown,
That Willie we may see.'

20
He stood behind his love's curtains,
His goud rings showd him light;
And by this ye may a' weell guess
He was a renowned knight.

21
He's done him to his love's stable,
Took out his berry-brown steed;
His love stood in her bower-door,
Her heart was like to bleed.

22
'O mourn ye for my coming, love?
Or for my short staying?
Or mourn ye for our safe sindring,
Case we never meet again?'

23
'I mourn nae for your here coming,
Nor for your staying lang;
Nor mourn I for our safe sindring,
I hope we'll meet again.

24
'I wish ye may won safe away,
And safely frae the town;
For ken you not my brothers three
Are mang the bent sae brown?'

25
'If I were on my berry-brown steed,
And three miles frae the town,
I woudna fear your three bauld brothers,
Amang the bent sae brown.'

26
He leint him ower his saddle-bow,
And kissd her lips sae sweet;
The tears that fell between these twa,
They wat his great steed's feet.

27
But he wasna on his berry-brown steed,
Nor twa miles frae the town,
Till up it starts these three fierce men,
Amang the bent sae brown.

28
Then up they came like three fierce men,
Wi mony shout and cry:
'Bide still, bide still, ye cowardly youth,
What makes your haste away?

29
'For I must know before you go,
Tell me, and make nae lie;
If ye 've been in my sister's bower,
My hands shall gar ye die.'

30
'Tho I've been in your sister's bower,
I have nae fear o thee;
I'll stand my ground, and fiercely fight,
Aud shall gain victorie.'

31
'Now I entreat you for to stay,
Unto us gie a wad;
If ye our words do not obey,
I'se gar your body bleed.'

32
'I have nae wad, says Sweet Willie,
Unless it be my brand,
And that shall guard my fair body,
Till I win frae your hand.'

33
Then two o them stept in behind,
All in a furious meed;
The third o them came him before,
And seizd his berry-brown steed.

34
O then he drew his trusty brand,
That hang down by his gare,
And he has slain these three fierce men,
And left them sprawling there.

35
Then word has gane to her mother,
In bed where she slept soun,
That Willie had killd her three bauld sons,
Amang the bent sae brown.

36
Then she has cut the locks that hung
Sae low down by her ee,
Sae has she kiltit her green claithing
A little aboon her knee.

37
And she has on to the king's court,
As fast as gang coud she;
When Fair Annie got word o that,
Was there as soon as she.

38
Her mother, when before the king,
Fell low down on her knee;
'Win up, win up, my dame,' he said,
'What is your will wi me?'

39
'My wills they are not sma, my liege,
The truth I'll tell to thee;
There is ane o your courtly knights
Last night hae robbed me.'

40
'And has he broke your bigly bowers?
Or has he stole your fee?
There is nae knight into my court
Last night has been frae me;

41
'Unless 't was Willie o Lauderdale,
Forbid that it be he!'
'And by my sooth,' says the auld woman,
'That very man is he.

42
'For he has broke my bigly bowers,
And he has stole my fee,
And made my daughter Ann a whore,
And an ill woman is she.

43
'That was not all he did to me,
Ere he went frae the town;
My sons sae true he fiercely slew,
Amang the bent sae brown.'

44
Then out it spake her daughter Ann,
She stood by the king's knee:
'Ye lie, ye lie, my mother dear,
Sae loud 's I hear you lie.

45
'He has not broke your bigly bowers,
Nor has he stole your fee,
Nor made your daughter Ann a whore;
A good woman I'll be.

46
'Altho he slew your three bauld sons,
He weel might be forgien;
They were well clad in armour bright,
Whan my love was him lane.'

47
'Well spoke, well spoke,' the king replied,
'This tauking pleases me;
For ae kiss o your lovely mouth,
I'll set your true-love free.'

48
She 's taen the king in her arms,
And kissd him cheek and chin;
He then set her behind her love,
And they went singing hame.

[108] Several of Buchan's ballads, says Sir Walter Scott, Minstrelsy, I, 87, ed. 1833, "are translated from the Norse, and Mr Buchan is probably unacquainted with the originals." Scott seems to have meant only that the ballads in question had a Norse origin, not that they were deliberately translated within what we may call historical times. In this particular instance the resemblances with the Norse are remarkably close, but the very homeliness of the Scottish ballad precludes any suspicion beyond tampering with tradition. The silliness and fulsome vulgarity of Buchan's versions often enough make one wince or sicken, and many of them came through bad mouths or hands: we have even positive proof in one instance of imposture, though not of Buchan's being a conscious party to the imposture. But such correspondences with foreign ballads as we witness in the present case are evidence of a genuine traditional foundation.

Stanzas 25, 26 are remarkably like #F# 3, 5 of 'Earl Brand,' the Percy copy, and may have served in some Scottish version of the 'Douglas Tragedy.'

Stanzas 36-41 are borrowed from the 'Knight and Shepherd's Daughter.' Folly could not go further than in making the mother clip her locks and kilt her clothes, as in 36: unless it be in making a boat of a coat and a topmast of a cane, as in 3, 4.

[109] Translated by Prior, III, 234.

[110] In Danish #B# the maid has grace enough to weep for her brothers seven: "and almost more for the knight." But this last line is probably taken up from another ballad. In 'Herr Helmer,' a ballad which has some of the traits of 'Ribold,' Afzelius, No 54, II, 178, 226, Arwidsson, No 21, I, 155, Eva Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 25, and the same, Skånska Visor, p. 1, Helmer kills six of his love's seven brothers, and is treacherously slain by the seventh, whom he has spared. The seventh brother cuts off Helmer's head and takes it to his sister. A Danish version of 'Herr Helmer,' Danske Viser, No 209, IV, 251, ends differently: the seventh brother offers his sister to Helmer as ransom for his life.

72

THE CLERK'S TWA SONS O OWSENFORD

#A.# 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' Kinloch MSS, V,
403.

#B.# 'The Clerks o Owsenfoord,' Dr Joseph Robertson's
Note-Book, "Adversaria," p. 67.

#C.# 'The Clerks of Oxenford,' Buchan's Ballads of the
North of Scotland, I, 281.

#D.# 'The Clerks Two Sons of Oxenfoord,' Motherwell's
MS., p. 433.

#A#, as sung, had a sequel of six stanzas, which is found separately and seems to belong with another ballad, 'The Wife of Usher's Well.' Robert Chambers combined #A# with Buchan's version, #C#, and the six concluding stanzas with 'The Wife of Usher's Well,' and divided his ballad into two parts, "on account of the great superiority of what follows over what goes before, and because the latter portion is in a great measure independent of the other:" The Scottish Ballads, pp 345-50. His second reason for a division is better than his first. It is quite according to precedent for a ballad to end with a vow like that in #A# 17, #D# 14: see 'Clerk Saunders.'

#D# has some amusing dashes of prose, evidently of masculine origin: "They thought their father's service mean, their mother's no great affair," 2; "When he was certain of the fact, an angry man was he," 6; "That I may ride to fair Berwick, and see what can be done," 8. We have here a strong contrast with both the blind-beggar and the housemaid style of corruption; something suggesting the attorney's clerk rather than the clerk of Owsenford, but at least not mawkish.

There are ballads both in Northern and in Southern Europe which have a certain amount of likeness with 'The Clerk's Twa Sons,' but if the story of all derives from one original, time has introduced great and even unusual variations.

In the Scottish ballad two youths go to Paris to study, and have an amour with the mayor's daughters, for which they are thrown into prison and condemned to be hanged. The Clerk, their father, comes to the prison, asks them what is their offence, and learns that it is a little dear bought love. He offers the mayor a ransom for their lives, and is sternly refused. The mayor's two daughters beg for their true-love's lives with the same bad success. The students are hanged, and the father goes home to tell his wife that they are put to a higher school. She, #A# [he, #D#], vows to pass the rest of her days in penance and grief.

A very well known German ballad, found also in the Low Countries and in Scandinavia, has the following story.[111] A youth is lying in a dungeon, condemned to be hanged. His father comes to the town, and they exchange words about the severity of his prison. The father then goes to the lord of the place and offers three hundred florins as a ransom. Ransom is refused: the boy has a gold chain on his neck which will be his death. The father says that the chain was not stolen, but the gift of a young lady, who reared the boy as a page, or what not. There is no dear bought love in the case. The father, standing by the gallows, threatens revenge, but his son deprecates that: he cares not so much for his life as for his mother's grief. Within a bare half year, more than three hundred men pay with their lives for the death of the boy.[112]

A Spanish and Italian ballad has resemblances with the Scottish and the German, and may possibly be a common link: 'Los tres estudiantes,' Milá, Romancerillo, p. 165, No 208, #A-L#, previously, in Observaciones, etc., p. 104, No 6, 'Los estudiantes de Tolosa;' 'Los estudians de Tortosa,' Briz y Candi, I, 101; 'Gli scolari di Tolosa,' Nigra, Rivista Contemporanea, XX, 62. Three students meet three girls, and attempt some little jests with them: ask them for a kiss, Milá, #H#; throw small pebbles at them, Milá, #D#; meet one girl on a bridge and kiss her, Nigra. For this the girls have them arrested by an accommodating catchpoll, and they are hanged by a peremptory judge. The youngest student weeps all the time; the eldest tries to console him; their brother serves a king or duke, and if he hears of what has been done will kill judge, constable, and all their scribes. The brother gets word somehow, and comes with all speed, but the three clerks are hanged before he arrives. He gives the town of Tolosa to the flames, the streets run with the blood of the judge, and horses swim in the blood of the girls, Milá, #C#, Briz; the streets are washed with the blood of women, walls built of the heads of men, Milá, #A#; etc.

In a pretty passage in Buchan's not altogether trustworthy version, #C# 35-38, the clerks ask back their faith and troth before they die. For this ceremony see 'Sweet William's Ghost.'

* * * * *

Aytoun's ballad is translated by Knortz Schottische Balladen, p. 72, No 23.

A

Kinloch MSS, V, 403, in the handwriting of James
Chambers, as sung to his maternal grandmother, Janet
Grieve, seventy years before, by an old woman, a Miss Ann
Gray, of Neidpath Castle, Peeblesshire; January 1, 1829.

1
O I will sing to you a sang,
But oh my heart is sair!
The clerk's twa sons in Owsenford
Has to learn some unco lair.

2
They hadna been in fair Parish
A twelvemonth an a day,
Till the clerk's twa sons o Owsenford
Wi the mayor's twa daughters lay.

3
O word's gaen to the mighty mayor,
As he saild on the sea,
That the clerk's twa sons o Owsenford
Wi his twa daughters lay.

4
'If they hae lain wi my twa daughters,
Meg an Marjorie,
The morn, or I taste meat or drink,
They shall be hangit hie.'

5
O word's gaen to the clerk himself,
As he sat drinkin wine,
That his twa sons in fair Parish
Were bound in prison strong.

6
Then up and spak the clerk's ladye,
And she spak powrfully:
'O tak with ye a purse of gold,
Or take with ye three,
And if ye canna get William,
Bring Andrew hame to me.'

* * * * * * *

7
'O lye ye here for owsen, dear sons,
Or lie ye here for kye?
Or what is it that ye lie for,
Sae sair bound as ye lie?'

8
'We lie not here for owsen, dear father,
Nor yet lie here for kye,
But it's for a little o dear bought love
Sae sair bound as we lie.'

9
O he's gane to the mighty mayor,
And he spoke powerfully:
'Will ye grant me my twa sons' lives,
Either for gold or fee?
Or will ye be sae gude a man
As grant them baith to me?'

10
'I'll no grant ye yere twa sons' lives,
Neither for gold or fee,
Nor will I be sae gude a man
As gie them back to thee;
Before the morn at twelve o'clock
Ye'll see them hangit hie.'

11
Up an spak his twa daughters,
An they spak powrfully:
'Will ye grant us our twa loves' lives,
Either for gold or fee?
Or will ye be sae gude a man
As grant them baith to me.'

12
'I'll no grant ye yere twa loves' lives,
Neither for gold or fee,
Nor will I be sae gude a man
As grant their lives to thee;
Before the morn at twelve o'clock
Ye'll see them hangit hie.'

13
O he's taen out these proper youths,
And hangd them on a tree,
And he's bidden the clerk o Owsenford
Gang hame to his ladie.

14
His lady sits on yon castle-wa,
Beholding dale an doun,
An there she saw her ain gude lord
Come walkin to the toun.

15
'Ye're welcome, welcome, my ain gude lord,
Ye're welcome hame to me;
But where away are my twa sons?
Ye should hae brought them wi ye.'

16
'It's I've putten them to a deeper lair,
An to a higher schule;
Yere ain twa sons ill no be here
Till the hallow days o Yule.'

17
'O sorrow, sorrow come mak my bed,
An dool come lay me doon!
For I'll neither eat nor drink,
Nor set a fit on ground.'

B

Noted down from a female servant by Dr Joseph Robertson,
July 15, 1829; "Adversaria," p. 67.

* * * * * * *

1
'De weel, de weel, my twa young sons,
An learn weel at the squeel;
Tak no up wi young women-kin,
An learn to act the feel.'

2
But they had na been in Blomsbury
A twalmon and a day,
Till the twa pretty clerks o Owsenfoord
Wi the mayr's dauchters did lay.

3
Word has gaen till the auld base mayr,
As he sat at his wine,
That the twa pretty clerks o Owsenford
Wi his daughters had lien.

4
Then out bespak the auld base mayr,
An an angry man was he:
'Tomorrow, before I eat meat or drink,
I'll see them hanged hie.'

5
But word has gaen to Owsenfoord
. . . . . . .
Before the letter was read,
She let the tears doun fa.

* * * * * * *

6
'Your sons are weel, an verra weel,
An learnin at the squeel;
But I fear ye winna see your sons
At the holy days o Yeel.'

7
Their father he went to Bloomsbury,
He turnit him roun about,
An there he saw his twa braw sons,
In the prison, leukin out.

8
'O lie ye there for owsen, my sons,
Or lie ye there for kye?
Or lie ye there for dear fond love,
Si closs as ye de lie?'

9
'We lie na here for owsen, father,
We lie na here for kye,
But we lie here for dear fond love,
An we're condemned to die.'

* * * * * * *

10
Then out bespak the clerks' fader,
An a sorry man was he:
'Gae till your bowers, ye lillie-flowers,
For a' this winna dee.'

11
Then out bespak the aul base mayr,
An an angry man was he:
'Gar to your bowers, ye vile base whores,
Ye'll see them hanged hie.'

* * * * * * *

C

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 281.

1
I'll tell you a tale, or I'll sing you a song,
Will grieve your heart full sair;
How the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford
Went aff to learn their lear.

2
Their father lovd them very weel,
Their mother muckle mair,
And sent them on to Billsbury,
To learn deeper lear.

3
Then out it spake their mother dear:
'Do weel, my sons, do weel,
And haunt not wi the young women,
Wi them to play the fiel.'

4
Their father sware them on their souls,
Their mother on their life,
Never to lie wi the auld mayor's daughters,
Nor kiss the young mayor's wife.

5
But they hadna been in Billsbury
A twallmonth and a day,
Till the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford
With the mayor's twa daughters lay.

6
As these twa clerks they sat and wrote,
The ladies sewed and sang;
There was mair mirth in that chamber
Than all fair Ferrol's land.

7
But word's gane to the wicked mayor,
As he sat at the wine,
That the twa bonny clerks o Oxenford
With his twa daughters had lyne.

8
'O have they lain with my daughters dear,
Heirs out ower a' my land,
The morn, ere I eat or drink,
I'll hang them with my hand.'

9
Then he has taen the twa bonny clerks,
Bound them frae tap to tae,
Till the reddest blood in their body
Out ower their nails did gae.

10
'Whare will I get a little wee boy,
Will win gowd to his fee,
That will rin on to Oxenford,
And that right speedilie?'

11
Then up it starts a bonny boy,
Gold yellow was his hair;
I wish his father and mother joy,
His true-love muckle mair.

12
Says, Here am I, a little wee boy,
Will win gowd to my fee,
That will rin on to Oxenford,
And that right speedilie.

13
'Where ye find the grass green growing,
Set down your heel and rin,
And where ye find the brigs broken,
Ye'll bend your bow and swim.

14
'But when ye come to Oxenford,
Bide neither to chap nor ca,
But set your bent bow to your breast,
And lightly loup the wa.'

15
Where he found the grass green growing,
He slackt his shoes and ran,
And where he found the brigs broken,
He bent his bow and swam.

16
And when he came to Oxenford,
Did neither chap nor ca,
But set his bent bow to his breast,
And lightly leapt the wa.

17
'What news, what news, my little wee boy?
What news hae ye to me?
How are my sons in Billsbury,
Since they went far frae me?'

18
'Your sons are well, and learning well,
But at a higher school,
And ye'll never see your sons again,
On the holy days o Yule.'

19
'Wi sorrow now gae make my bed,
Wi care and caution lay me down;
That man on earth shall neer be born
Shall see me mair gang on the groun.

20
'Take twenty pounds in your pocket,
And ten and ten to tell them wi,
And gin ye getna hynde Henry,
Bring ye gay Gilbert hame to me.'

21
Out it speaks old Oxenford,
A sorry, sorry man, was he:
'Your strange wish does me surprise,
They are baith there alike to me.

22
'Wi sorrow now I'll saddle my horse,
And I will gar my bridle ring,
And I shall be at Billsbury
Before the small birds sweetly sing.'

23
Then sweetly sang the nightingale,
As she sat on the wand,
But sair, sair, mournd Oxenford,
As he gaed in the strand.

24
When he came to Billsbury,
He rade it round about,
And at a little shott-window
His sons were looking out.

25
'O lye ye there, my sons,' he said,
'For oxen, or for kye?
Or is it for a little o deep dear love,
Sae sair bound as ye lye?'

26
'We lye not here, father,' they said,
'For oxen, nor for kye;
It's all for a little o deep dear love,
Sae sair bound as we lye.

27
'O borrow's, borrow's, father,' they said,
'For the love we bear to thee!'
'O never fear, my pretty sons,
Well borrowed ye shall be.'

28
Then he's gane to the wicked mayor,
And hailed him courteouslie:
'Good day, good day, O Billsbury,
God make you safe and free!'
'Come sit you down, brave Oxenford,
What are your wills with me?'

29
'Will ye gie me my sons again,
For gold or yet for fee?
Will ye gie me my sons again,
For's sake that died on tree?'

30
'I winna gie you your sons again,
For gold nor yet for fee;
But if ye'll stay a little while,
Ye'se see them hanged hie.'

31
Ben it came the mayor's daughters,
Wi kirtle, coat alone;
Their eyes did sparkle like the gold,
As they tript on the stone.

32
'Will ye gie us our loves, father,
For gold or yet for fee?
Or will ye take our own sweet life,
And let our true-loves be?'

33
He's taen a whip into his hand,
And lashd them wondrous sair:
Gae to your bowers, ye vile rank whores,
Ye'se never see them mair.

34
Then out it speaks old Oxenford,
A sorry man was he:
'Gang to your bowers, ye lily-flowers,
For a' this maunna be.'

35
Out it speaks him hynde Henry:
'Come here, Janet, to me;
Will ye gie me my faith and troth,
And love, as I gae thee?'

36
'Ye shall hae your faith and troth,
Wi God's blessing and mine;'
And twenty times she kissd his mouth,
Her father looking on.

37
Then out it speaks him gay Gilbert:
'Come here, Margaret, to me;
Will ye gie me my faith and troth,
And love, as I gae thee?'

38
'Yes, ye shall get your faith and troth,
Wi God's blessing and mine;'
And twenty times she kissd his mouth,
Her father looking on.

39
'Ye'll take aff your twa black hats,
Lay them down on a stone,
That nane may ken that ye are clerks
Till ye are putten down.'

40
The bonny clerks they died that morn,
Their loves died lang ere noon;
Their father and mother for sorrow died,
They all died very soon.

41
These six souls went up to heaven,
I wish sae may we a'!
The mighty mayor went down to hell,
For wrong justice and law.

D

Motherwell's MS., p. 433, from James Nicol, Strichen.

1
Oh I will tell a tale of woe,
Which makes my heart richt sair;
The Clerk's two sons of Oxenfoord
Are too soon gone to lair.

2
They thought their father's service mean,
Their mother's no great affair;
But they would go to fair Berwick,
To learn [some] unco lair.

3
They had not been in fair Berwick
A twelve month and a day,
Till the clerk's two sons of Oxenfoord
With the mayor's two daughters lay.

4
This word came to the mighty mayor,
As he hunted the rae,
That the clerks two sons of Oxenfoord
With his two daughters lay.

5
'If they have lain with my daughters,
The heirs of all my land,
I make a vow, and will keep it true,
To hang them with my hand.'

6
When he was certain of the fact,
An angry man was he,
And he has taken these two brothers,
And hanged them on the tree.

7
Word it has come to Oxenfoord's clerk,
Ere it was many day,
That his two sons sometime ago
With the mayor's two daughters lay.

8
'O saddle a horse to me,' he cried,
'O do it quick and soon,
That I may ride to fair Berwick,
And see what can be done.'

9
But when he came to fair Berwick
A grieved man was he,
When that he saw his two bonnie sons
Both hanging on the tree.

10
'O woe is me,' the clerk cried out,
'This dismal sight to see,
All the whole comfort of my life
Dead hanging on the tree!'

11
He turned his horse's head about,
Making a piteous moan,
And all the way to Oxenfoord
Did sad and grievously groan.

12
His wife did hastily cry out,
'You only do I see;
What have you done with my two sons,
You should have brought to me?'

13
'I put them to some higher lair,
And to a deeper scule;
You will not see your bonnie sons
Till the haly days of Yule.

14
'And I will spend my days in grief,
Will never laugh nor sing;
There's never a man in Oxenfoord
Shall hear my bridle ring.'

* * * * *

#A.#

3^1, 5^1, 6^3, 7^1, 9^1. Oh.

5^3. in Owsenford.

14^2. day an doom.

#B.#

_In the margin as a note_ (_see_ #A# 1):

I will sing a sang to you,
But o my heart is sair!
The twa pretty clerks o Owsenfoord
As they went to their lair.

7^2. twinit, MS.?

8^4. sic loss.

#C.#

28^3. oh.

[111] 'Das Schloss in Oesterreich,' 'Der unschuldige Tod des jungen Knaben.' One stanza in Forsters Frische Liedlein, 1540, II, No 77 (Böhme); broadside of 1606, Erk's Liederhort, p. 15, No 6^a; broadside of 1647, Eschenburg, in Deutsches Museum, 1776, p. 399, and Denkmäler Altdeutscher Dichtkunst, 1799, p. 446,==Uhland, p. 300, No 125; late broadside, Wunderhorn, 1806, I, 220. From oral tradition: Gräter's Bragur, VI, I, 205; Erk, Neue Sammlung, I, 20, No 16; Erk's Liederhort, p. 12, No 6; Hoffmann u. Richter, p. 17, No 8; Fiedler, p. 172, No 12; Jeitteles, in Archiv für Litteraturgeschichte, IX, 362, No 5; Schlossar, Deutsche Volkslieder aus Steiermark, p. 346, No 314; Wittstock, Sagen u. Lieder aus dem Nösner Gelande, p. 44, No 15; Frommann, Deutsche Mundarten, V, 391; Meinert, p. 53. (The last is an independent version; the rest have all one type.) Low-German, Niederdeutsche Volkslieder, herausgegeben vom Vereine für niederdeutsche Sprachforschung, p. 56, No 84. Dutch, Hoffmann, Niederländische Volkslieder, p. 84, No 25. Norse: Afzelius, II, 62, No 40, from a seventeenth century broadside; Atterbom's Poetisk Kalender, 1816, p. 32; Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 64, No 30; Aminson, Bidrag, etc., IV, 4, No 26, A, B, fragments; Nyerup, Udvalg af Danske Viser, I, 57, No 14; Lindeman, Norske Fjeldmelodier, Tekst Bilag, I, 3 f, No 10. There is a Swedish broadside of 1642, a Danish of 1697.

[112] Meinert's ballad, which, though it sometimes betrays artifice, has a fresher tone than the others, makes the chain the young lady's love-token: but this love is no count in the indictment. Uhland, IV, 145, cites from a manuscript chronicle a story of a highwayman, a widow's son, thrice imprisoned and twice ransomed; to no purpose, as far as I can see.

73

LORD THOMAS AND FAIR ANNET

#A.# 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' Percy's Reliques,
1765, II, 293; III, 240, ed. 1767.

#B.# 'The Nut-Brown Bride,' Kinloch MSS, I, 1.

#C.# 'The Brown Bride and Lord Thomas,' Motherwell's MS.,
p. 157.

#D.# 'Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor.' #a.# Pepys Ballads,
III, 316, No 312. #b, c, d#, other broadside copies. #e,
f, g, h, i#, recited copies.

#E.# 'Sweet Willie and Fair Annie,' Jamieson's Popular
Ballads, I, 22.

#F.# 'Sweet Willie and Fair Annie,' Kinloch MSS, III,
127, V, 339.

#G.# Skene MSS, p. 104.

#H.# 'Fair Annie and Sweet Willie,' Gibb MS., p. 64.

The copy of 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet' in Herd, 1769, p. 246, 1776, I, 24, and in the Musical Museum, p. 553, No 535, is Percy's, #A#.

The English version of this ballad, 'Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor,' given, with alterations, in Percy's Reliques, III, 82, 1765,[113] is a broadside of Charles the Second's time, printed for I. Clarke, W. Thackeray, and T. Passenger, and licensed by L'Estrange, who was censor from 1663 to 1685. This copy has become traditional in Scotland and Ireland. The Scottish traditional copy, 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' given by Percy in the Reliques (unfortunately with some corrections, but these cannot have been many), is far superior, and one of the most beautiful of our ballads, and indeed of all ballads. 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William,' "a more pathetic story of the man who loves one woman and marries another," begins in the same way, with the last long talk before parting. The conclusion is that the forsaken maid dies of grief, not by the hand of her incensed rival, and it is most natural that the two stories should be blended in tradition, as they are here in #E-H#, #E# 31 ff, #F# 27 ff, #G# 24 ff, #H# 37 ff belonging to 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William.'

There is a copy of 'Lord Thomas and Fair Ellinor,' written over for the ballad-mongers, and of course much less in the popular style, in Pepys, IV, 48, No 45, and Roxburghe, II, 553, with the title 'The Unfortunate Forrester, or, Fair Eleanor's Tragedy.' In this Fair Ellinor stabs herself and Lord Thomas then kills himself with the same dagger.[114]

Norse ballads have the story of 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' coming very close in details. Those forms which are nearest to the English resemble more the mixed versions, #E-H#, than the simple, #A-D#. But in none of the Norse ballads is love thwarted because it stands upon the choice of friends. A man abandons a woman who is in all but the name his wife, and who regards herself, and is evidently regarded by others, as standing in no dishonorable relation to him. There is again a bifurcation in the catastrophe. The forsaken mistress submits and hangs herself in the one case, in the other she takes a fierce revenge. The latter conclusion may well, as Grundtvig holds, be the more original, but the ballads which have the other will here be put first, as being nearer to the English.

(1.) #A.# 'Herr Peder och Liten Kerstin,' Afzelius, I, 49, No 9, Grundtvig, IV, 219, Wigström, Folkdiktning, II, 5, broadsides of the eighteenth century and traditional copies derived therefrom. #B.# 'Herr Peders Slegfred,' broadside of the seventeenth century, Grundtvig, IV, 216, No 210; Danske Viser, III, 365, No 157; Kristensen, II, 177, No 52. #C.# A traditional fragment, Grundtvig, IV, 220, Bilag 2, from Cavallius and Stephens's collection. (2.) #D.# 'Liti Kerstis hevn,' Landstad, p. 559, No 67. #E.# Manuscript of the seventeenth century, Grundtvig, IV, 215. #F.# 'Liten Kerstins Hämd,' c. 1700, Arwidsson, I, 305, No 45.

Sir Peter and Liten Kerstin sit at table talking merrily, #A#, #B#, #E#. Peter informs Kerstin that he is to be married. She says she shall not fail to be present; he, that the wedding will be too far away for anybody to come. She shall come, if asked, though it be in Rome, #B#. If you come, says Peter, you must not wear your gold. She will wear it, for it was got by no dishonor, #B#, #E#. Peter rides off, Kerstin wrings her hands: alack for the maid that trusts a loon! He makes the preparations for his bridal, and she orders her clothes, which are of the richest description, all pearls and gold.[115] She has her horse shod, as in English, #B# 21, #C# 12, #E# 22. When she enters the hall, wives and maids stand up, #B#. She pours wine for the guests. The bride asks who she is, and is told that it is Sir Peter's mistress.[116] She has more gold on her kirtle's hem, says the bride, than all that Sir Peter owns. Why, if he had her, did he come seeking me? After the usual long delay the bride is conducted to the bride-house, Kerstin carrying the torch before her. Kerstin even puts the bride to bed. She leaves the room, saying, #A#, I trow I shall come here no more, goes into the orchard, and hangs herself with her hair. Sir Peter is informed of what has happened, rushes to the orchard, takes Kerstin down, has a grave dug deep and broad, sets his sword against a stone, and runs on it. The next day, as so often, there are three dead, Sir Peter, Kerstin, and the bride, #A#, #B#. In #C#, Peter hangs himself on the same tree.

Not so moving, but considerably more powerful and original, is the other termination of the story. In #E#, after Kerstin has lighted the bride to the bride-house, she draws a knife and kills Peter. She tells the bride that this should have been her death too, had she not spoken her so fair. In #D#, #F#, she sets fire to the house and burns the bride on the bridegroom's arm.

Sir Peter awakes, but he wakes not ere
The flame is playing in the young bride's hair.

Sir Peter springs from his bed, oer late;
He saw Little Kersti go out through the gate.

'Ah, dear Little Kersti, now help thou me!
Another time shall I help thee.'

And it was Little Kersti, her laugh he heard:
'I wot how well you keep your word.'[117]

A Southern ballad has something of the outline of the English and Norse, and sounds like a thin echo of them. #A.# Poésies populaires de la France, MS., III, fol. 158, Burgundy. #B.# Buchon, Noëls et Chants p. de la Franche-Comté, p. 90, No 31, 'J'ai fait un rêve.' #C.# Beaurepaire, La Poésie p. en Normandie, p. 50. #D.# Ampère, Instructions, p. 34, Bretagne. #E.# Guillon, Chansons p. de l'Ain, p. 161, 'Chante, rossignolet.' #F.# Arbaud, Chants p. de la Provence, II, 139, 'Lou premier Jour de Mai.' #G.# Ferraro, Canti p. monferrini, p. 8, No 7, 'Il primo amore.'

A youth is obliged by his father to give up his love for a bride who is less beautiful but richer. He has a dream that his love is dead, and carries her a rose, #B#, #D#. He invites her to the wedding: she will not come to the ceremony, but to the dance. She has three gowns made for the occasion, the third embroidered with gold, or of gold stuff. She falls dead while dancing: she falls on the right, he on the left. In #G#, after his love has died, the bridegroom draws his sword and kills himself. #C# and one copy of #D# have the phenomenon of the sympathetic plants, as in English #A#, #B#, #E#, #F#, #G#.

#E# 3 is a sort of commonplace when unequal matches are in question. So in a fragment in Herd's manuscripts, I, 55, II, 187:

'I hae nae houses, I hae nae lands,
I hae nae gowd or fee, Sir;
I am oer low to be your bryde,
Your loon I'll never be, Sir.'

And again Motherwell's MS., p. 37. It is Lady Grey's answer to King Edward in the Third Part of Henry VI, III, 2:

'I know I am too mean to be your queen,
And yet too good to be your concubine.'

So Crescentia, the Koloczaer Codex, Mailáth u. Köffinger, p. 260, v. 565 ff.

With regard to #B# 20, 'I'll na put on the dowie green,' Kinloch remarks that green is considered unfortunate in love matters, the couplet running,

Green is love deen,
Yellow's forsaken;

whereas blue is looked upon as a most fortunate color: "blue is love true." "To be married in a green colored dress is ominous of misfortune, for according to the proverb:

They that marry in green,
Their sorrow is soon seen.

And no young woman in the North would wear that color on her wedding day. An old lady of my acquaintance, whose marriage had proved unfortunate, used seriously to warn young women to beware of being married in green, for she attributed her own misfortunes solely to her having been married in a green gown, which she had put on contrary to the sage advice of her seniors, in whose minds the belief was more firmly rooted, and who had wished her to wear in its stead a blue dress, as being the more lucky color. To dance in green stockings is a proverbial phrase applied to an elder sister when the younger is first married, intimating that she may mourn her hapless fate, as she has now no chance of being married. To dream of green is believed to be the presage of misfortune." Kinloch MSS, I, 15 f.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Bodmer, II, 44, Doenniges, p. 125. #D#, Percy's copy, by Eschenburg, in Ursinus, Balladen und Lieder, 1777, p. 69; by Bodmer, I, 106; by Talvj, Versuch u. s. w., p. 497; Döring, p. 191; Doenniges, p. 121; Arentsschild, Albion u. Erin, p. 535; von Marées, p. 36; Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 175, No 47; Loève-Veimars, p. 123.

Norse #A# is translated by W. and M. Howitt, Literature and Romance of Northern Europe, I, 258; #B# by Prior, III, 363.

A

Percy's Reliques, 1765, II, 293, "given, with some
corrections, from a MS. copy transmitted from Scotland."

1
Lord Thomas and Fair Annet
Sate a' day on a hill;
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,
They had not talkt their fill.

2
Lord Thomas said a word in jest,
Fair Annet took it ill:
'A, I will nevir wed a wife
Against my ain friends' will.'

3
'Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,
A wife wull neir wed yee:'
Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
And knelt upon his knee.

4
'O rede, O rede, mither,' he says,
'A gude rede gie to mee;
O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,
And let Faire Annet bee?'

5
'The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear,
Fair Annet she has gat nane;
And the little beauty Fair Annet haes
O it wull soon be gane.'

6
And he has till his brother gane:
'Now, brother, rede ye mee;
A, sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And let Fair Annet bee?'

7
'The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother,
The nut-browne bride has kye;
I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,
And cast Fair Annet bye.'

8
'Her oxen may dye i the house, billie,
And her kye into the byre,
And I sall hae nothing to mysell
Bot a fat fadge by the fyre.'

9
And he has till his sister gane:
'Now, sister, rede ye mee;
O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And set Fair Annet free?'

10
'I'se rede ye tak Fair Annet, Thomas,
And let the browne bride alane;
Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace,
What is this we brought hame!'

11
'No, I will tak my mither's counsel,
And marrie me owt o hand;
And I will tak the nut-browne bride,
Fair Annet may leive the land.'

12
Up then rose Fair Annet's father,
Twa hours or it wer day,
And he is gane into the bower
Wherein Fair Annet lay.

13
'Rise up, rise up, Fair Annet,' he says,
'Put on your silken sheene;
Let us gae to St. Marie's kirke,
And see that rich weddeen.'

14
'My maides, gae to my dressing-roome,
And dress to me my hair;
Whaireir yee laid a plait before,
See yee lay ten times mair.

15
'My maids, gae to my dressing-room,
And dress to me my smock;
The one half is o the holland fine,
The other o needle-work.'

16
The horse Fair Annet rade upon,
He amblit like the wind;
Wi siller he was shod before,
Wi burning gowd behind.

17
Four and twanty siller bells
Wer a' tyed till his mane,
And yae tift o the norland wind,
They tinkled ane by ane.

18
Four and twanty gay gude knichts
Rade by Fair Annet's side,
And four and twanty fair ladies,
As gin she had bin a bride.

19
And whan she cam to Marie's kirk,
She sat on Marie's stean:
The cleading that Fair Annet had on
It skinkled in their een.

20
And whan she cam into the kirk,
She shimmerd like the sun;
The belt that was about her waist
Was a' wi pearles bedone.

21
She sat her by the nut-browne bride,
And her een they wer sae clear,
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,
Whan Fair Annet drew near.

22
He had a rose into his hand,
He gae it kisses three,
And reaching by the nut-browne bride,
Laid it on Fair Annet's knee.

23
Up than spak the nut-browne bride,
She spak wi meikle spite:
'And whair gat ye that rose-water,
That does mak yee sae white?'

24
'O I did get the rose-water
Whair ye wull neir get nane,
For I did get that very rose-water
Into my mither's wame.'

25
The bride she drew a long bodkin
Frae out her gay head-gear,
And strake Fair Annet unto the heart,
That word spak nevir mair.

26
Lord Thomas he saw Fair Annet wex pale,
And marvelit what mote bee;
But whan he saw her dear heart's blude,
A' wood-wroth wexed hee.

27
He drew his dagger, that was sae sharp,
That was sae sharp and meet,
And drave it into the nut-browne bride,
That fell deid at his feit.

28
'Now stay for me, dear Annet,' he sed,
'Now stay, my dear,' he cry'd;
Then strake the dagger untill his heart,
And fell deid by her side.

29
Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa,
Fair Annet within the quiere,
And o the tane thair grew a birk,
The other a bonny briere.

30
And ay they grew, and ay they threw,
As they wad faine be neare;
And by this ye may ken right weil
They were twa luvers deare.

B

Kinloch MSS, I, 1, from the recitation of Mary Barr,
Lesmahago.

1
Sweet Willie and Fair Annie
Sat a' day on yon hill;
Though they had sat til the leventh o June,
They wad na got their fill.

2
But Willie spak a word amiss,
Fair Annie took it ill:
'I'll neer marry a tocherless lass
Agen my ain friends' will.'

3
Then on she lap, and awa she gat,
As fast as she could hie:
'Fare ye weel now, Sweet Willie,
It's fare ye weel a wee.'

4
Then he is gane to his father's ha,
And tirled at the pin;
Then up and rase his father proud.
And loot Sweet Willie in.

5
'Come riddle us, riddle us, father dear,
Yea both of us into ane;
Whether sall I marry Fair Annie,
Or bring the brown bride hame?'

6
'The brown bride she has houses and land,
And Annie she has nane;
Sae on my blessing, my auld son,
Bring ye Brown Bride hame.'

7
Then he is to his mither's bouer,
And tirled at the pin;
Then up and rose his mother dear
To let Sweet Willie in.

8
'Come riddle us, riddle us, mother dear,
Yea baith o us into ane;
Whether sall I marry Fair Annie,
Or bring the brown bride hame?'

9
'The brown bride she has gowd and gear,
Fair Annie she has nane;
And for my blessing, my auld son,
Bring ye Brown Bride hame.'

10
Then he is to his sister's bouer,
And tirled at the pin;
And wha sae ready as his sister dear
To let her brither in.

11
'Come riddle us, riddle us, sister fair,
Us baith yea into ane;
Whether sall I marry Fair Annie,
Or bring the brown bride hame?'

12
'The brown bride she has horse and kye,
And Annie she has nane;
But for my love, my brither dear,
Bring hame the fair woman.

13
'Your horse may dee into the staw,
The kye into the byre,
And ye'll hae nocht but a howther o dirt,
To feed about your fire.'

14
Then he is to Fair Annie's bouer,
And tirled at the pin;
And wha sae ready as Fair Annie
To let Sweet Willie in.

15
'You're welcome here to me, Willie,
You're welcome here to me:'
'I'm na welcome to thee, Annie,
I'm na welcome to thee,
For I'm come to bid ye to my wedding,
It's gey sad news to thee.'

16
'It's gey sad news to me, Willie,
The saddest ye could tell;
It's gey sad news to me, Willie,
That shoud been bride mysel.'

17
Then she is to her father gane,
And bowed low on her knee:
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

18
'Come riddle us, riddle us, father dear,
Us baith yea into ane;
Whether sall I gang to Willie's wedding,
Or sall I stay at hame?'

19
'Whare ane will be your frien, Annie,
Twenty will be your fae;'
'But prove it gude, or prove it bad,
To Willie's wedding I'll gae.

20
'I'll na put on the grisly black,
Nor yet the dowie green,
But I'll put on a scarlet robe
To sheen like onie queen.'

21
She's orderd the smiths to the smithy,
To shoe her a riding steed;
She has orderd tailors to her bouer,
To dress her a riding weed.

22
She has calld her maries to her bour,
To lay gowd on her hair:
'Whare e'er ye put ae plait before,
See ye lay ten times mair.'

23
The steed Fair Annie rade upon,
He bounded like the wind;
Wi silver he was shod before,
Wi burning gowd behind.

24
And four and twenty siller bells
War tiëd til his mane;
Wi ae blast o the norland wind
They tinkled ane by ane.

25
And whan she cam unto the place,
And lichted on the green,
Ilka ane that did her see
Thought that she was a queen.

26
'Is this your bride, Sweet Willie?' she said,
'I think she's wondrous wan;
Ye micht have had as fair a bride
As eer the sun sheend on.'

27
'O haud your tongue, Fair Annie,' he said,
'Wi your talk let me abee;
For better I loe your little finger
Than the brown bride's haill bodie.'

28
Then out and spak the nut-brown bride,
And she spak out of spite:
'O whare gat ye the water, Annie,
That washd your face sae white?'

29
'O I gat een the water,' quo she,
'Whare ye will neer get nane;
It's I gat een the water,' quo she,
'Aneath yon marble stane.'

30
Then out and spake the nut-brown bride,
And she spak yet again:
'O whare gat ye the claith, Annie,
That dried your face sae clean?'

31
'O I gat een the claith,' quo she,
'Whare ye will neer get nane;
It's I gat een the claith,' quo she,
'Aneath yon bouer o bane.'

32
The brown bride had a little penknife,
Which she kept secret there;
She stabbd Fair Annie to the heart,
A deep wound and a sair.

33
It's out and spak he Sweet Willie,
And he spak yet again:
'O what's the matter wi thee, Annie,
That ye do look sae wan?'

34
'Oh are ye blind, Willie?' she said,
'Or do ye no weel see?
I think ye micht see my heart's blude,
Come rinning by my knee.'

35
Then Willie took a little sword,
Which he kept secret there,
And strak the brown bride to the heart,
A word she neer spak mair.

36
And after that a' this was dune,
He drew it through the strae,
And through his ain fair bodie
He causd the cauld iron gae.

37
The last words that Sweet Willie spak,
His heart was almaist gane;
'May never a young man like me
Have sic a sad wedding.

38
'For gear will come, and gear will gang,
And gear's ae but a lend,
And monie a ane for warld's gear
A silly brown bride brings hame.'

39
Sweet Willie was buried in Mary's kirk,
And Annie in Mary's quire,
And out o the ane there grew a birk,
And out o the ither a brier.

40
And ae they grew, and ae they threw,
Until the twa did meet,
That ilka ane micht plainly see
They were true lovers sweet.

C

Motherwell's MS., p. 157, from the recitation of Agnes
Laird, Kilbarchan, 1825.

1
'Come read my rede, O mother dear,
Come riddle it all in one;
O whether will I take Fair Annie,
Or bring the brown bride home?'

2
'The brown, brown bride has kye and ewes,
Fair Annie she has none;
She has nothing but a bonny, bonny face,
And that'll soon be gone.'

3
'Where will I get a pretty little boy,
That'll rin my errands soon,
That will rin to Fair Annie's bower,
And bid her to my wedding?'

4
'Here am I, a pretty little boy,
That'll rin your errands soon,
That will rin to Fair Annie's bower,
And bid her to your wedding.'

5
'Forbid her to put on her silks so black,
Or yet her silks so brown;
But she must put on her suddled silks,
That she wears up and down.

6
'Forbid her to put on her silks so green,
Or yet her silks so gray;
But she must put on her suddled silks,
That she wears every day.'

7
When he gade to Fair Annie's bower,
He tirled at the pin;
So ready was Fair Annie hersell
To open and let him in.

8
'What news, what news, my little boy?
What news hast thou to me?'
'You must prepare for Lord Thomas' wedding,
And that's bad news for thee.'

9
'Good news, good news,' Fair Annie says,
'Good news is it for me,
For me to be bride and him bridegroom,
And that's good news for me.'

10
'He forbids thee to put on thy silks so black,
Or yet thy silks so brown;
But thou must put on thy suddled silks,
That thou wears up and down.

11
'He forbids you to put on thy silks so green,
Or yet thy silks so gray;
But thou must on thy suddled silks,
That thou wears every day.'

12
'There are smiths into my smiddy-bour
That'll dress to me a steed,
There are tailors in my tailor-house
That'll dress to me a weed.

13
'There are maidens in my maiden-bower
That'll lay gold in my hair,
And where eer there were ane link before,
It shall be nine times mair.'

14
Then Annie got herself attired,
In all things very fine,
With red ribbons, and silks so fair,
That owre her shoulders shine.