Chapter XVII: Appendix (12)

The vow in the second stanza of all the copies is such as we find in 'Bonny Bee-Ho'm,' and elsewhere (see p. 156f of this volume), and #A#, #B#, #D# 4, 5, #C# 3, 4 are nearly a repetition of 'Sweet William's Ghost,' #A# 5, 6, #B# 3, 4, #C# 7, 8, #D# 7, 10. This may suggest a suspicion that this brief little piece is an aggregation of scraps. But these repetitions would not strike so much if the ballad were longer, and we must suppose that we have it only in an imperfect form. Even such as it is, however, this fragment has a character of its own. It exhibits the universal popular belief that excessive grieving for the dead interferes with their repose. We have all but had 'The Unquiet Grave' before, as the conclusion of two versions of 'The Twa Brothers:'

She ran distraught, she wept, she sicht,
She wept the sma brids frae the tree,
She wept the starns adown frae the lift,
She wept the fish out o the sea.

'O cease your weeping, my ain true-love,
Ye but disturb my rest;'
'Is that my ain true lover, John,
The man that I loe best?'

''Tis naething but my ghaist,' he said,
'That's sent to comfort thee;
O cease your weeping, my true-love,
And 'twill gie peace to me.'

(I, 440, #C# 18-20.)

She put the small pipes to her mouth,
And she harped both far and near,
Till she harped the small birds off the briers,
And her true-love out of the grave.

'What's this? what's this, Lady Margaret?' he says,
'What's this you want of me?'
'One sweet kiss of your ruby lips,
That's all I want of thee.'

'My lips they are so bitter,' he says,
'My breath it is so strong,
If you get one kiss of my ruby lips,
Your days will not be long.'

(I, 439, #B# 10-12.)

Sir Walter Scott has remarked that the belief that excessive grieving over lost friends destroyed their peace was general throughout Scotland: Redgauntlet, Note 2 to Letter XI. See also Gregor's Notes on the Folk-Lore of the North-East of Scotland, p. 69. We have recent testimony that this belief survives in England (1868), Folk Lore Record, I, 60. It was held in Ireland that inordinate tears would pierce a hole in the dead: Killinger, Erin, VI, 65, 449 (quoting a writer that I have not identified).

The common notion is that tears wet the shroud or grave-clothes. Scott relates a story of a Highlander who was constrained to come back and say to a kinswoman: My rest is disturbed by your unnecessary lamentation; your tears scald me in my shroud.

Mrs Grant of Laggan tells a similar story. An only sister had lost an only brother. Night after night she sat up, weeping incessantly and calling upon his name. At length her brother appeared to her in his shroud, and seemed wet and shivering. "Why," said he, "am I disturbed with the extravagance of thy sorrow? Till thou art humble and penitent for this rebellion against the decrees of Providence, every tear thou sheddest falls on this dark shroud without drying, and every night thy tears still more chill and encumber me." Essays on the Superstitions of the Highlanders of Scotland, ed. New York, 1813, p. 95 f.

A dead boy appears to his mother, and begs her to cease weeping, for all her tears fall upon his shirt and wet it so that he cannot sleep. The mother gives heed, her child comes again and says, Now my shirt is dry, and I have peace. Grimms, K. u. H. märchen, No 109.

In another form of this tradition a child has to carry all its mother's tears in a large pitcher, and cannot keep up with a happy little band to which it would belong, 'Die Macht der Thränen,' Erk, Neue Sammlung, III, I, No 35==Wunderhorn, IV, 95, Liederhort, p. 8, No 3, Mittler, No 557; Hoffmann u. Richter, p. 341, No 290; Börner, Volkssagen aus dem Orlagau, pp 142, 152; or lags behind because its clothes are heavy with these tears, Geiler von Kaisersberg's Trostspiegel, 1510, cited by Rochholz in Wolf's Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie, II, 252; Thomas Cantipratensis, Bonum Universale, "l. ii, c. 53, § 17," about 1250; or the child collects its mother's tears in its hands, Müllenhoff, No 196.

A wife's tears wet her dead husband's shirt in the German ballad 'Der Vorwirth:' Meinert, p. 13==Erk's Wunderhorn, IV, 96, Erk's Liederhort, p. 160, No 46^a, Mittler, No 555; Hoffmann in Deutsches Museum, 1852, II, 161==Wunderhorn, IV, 98, Liederhort, p. 158, No 46, Mittler, No 556; Peter, I, 200, No 15.

Saint Johannes Eleemosynarius and a couple of his bishops are fain to rise from their graves because their stoles are wet through with a woman's tears, Legenda Aurea, c. 27, § 12, Grässe, p. 132, last half of the thirteenth century (cited by Liebrecht); and Saint Vicelin, because his robes are drenched with the tears of his friend Eppo, Helmold, Chronica Slavorum, l. i, 78, p. 15, ed. Lappenberg, last half of the twelfth century (cited by Müllenhoff).

Sigrún weeps bitter tears for Helgi's death every night ere she sleeps. The hero comes out of his mound to comfort her, but also to tell her how she discommodes him. He is otherwise well off, but every drop pierces, cold and bloody, to his breast: Helgakviða Hundingsbana II, 45. So in some of the ballads which apparently derive from this lay, the tears of Else or Kerstin fill her lover's coffin with blood: Grundtvig, II, 495, 497, No 90, #A# 17, #B# 8; Afzelius, I, 31, No 6, st. 14, Wigström, Folkdiktning, I, 18, st. 9.

Almost the very words of the Highland apparition in Scott's tale are used by an Indian sage to a king who is inconsolable for the loss of his wife; "the incessant tears of kinsfolk burn the dead, so it is said:" Kâlidâsas, Raghuvansa, VIII, 85, ed. Stenzler, p. 61 of his translation. Another representation is that the dead have to swallow the rheum and tears of their mourning relations, and therefore weeping must be abstained from: Yâjnavalkya's Gesetzbuch, Sanskrit u. Deutsch, Stenzler, III, 11, p. 89.

The ancient Persians also held that immoderate grief on the part of survivors was detrimental to the happiness of the dead. Weeping for the departed is forbidden, because the water so shed forms an impediment before the bridge Tchînavar (over which souls pass to heaven). Sad-der, Porta XCVII, Hyde, Veterum Persarum et Parthorum Religionis Historia, p. 486, ed. Oxford, 1700. Again, Ardai Viraf, seeing a deep and fetid river, which is carrying away a multitude of souls in all the agony of drowning, and asking what this is, is told: The river that you see before you is composed of the tears of mankind, tears shed, against the express command of the Almighty, for the departed; therefore, when you return again to the earth inculcate this to mankind, that to grieve immoderately is in the sight of God a most heinous sin; and the river is constantly increased by this folly, every tear making the poor wretches who float on it more distant from ease and relief. The Ardai Viraf Nameh, translated from the Persian, by J. A. Pope, London, 1816, p. 53 f.[133]

The Greeks and Romans also reprehend obstinate condolement as troubling the dead, and perhaps, if we had the popular views on the subject, these might be found to have taken an expression like some of the above. In Lucian De Luctu, c. 16, the ghost of a son who had died in the bloom of youth is made to reproach the disconsolate father in these words: ω κακοδαιμον ανθρωπε, τι κεκραγας; τι δε μοι παρεχεις πραγματα;[134]

See, also, Maurer, Isländische Volkssagen, p. 312 f, No 9; Luzel, I, 65, 'La jeune fille et l'âme de sa mère;' Karadshitch, I, 272, No 368, Talvj, I, 84, ed. 1853; Kapper, Gesänge der Serben, II, 116; Nibelungen, 2302, ed. Bartsch; Blaas, in Germania, XXV, 429, No 34; Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie, III, 447, No 397; Müllenhoff, No 195; Wunderhorn, IV, 94, last stanza; Wolf, Beiträge zur deutschen Mythologie, I, 215, No 149.

A

Communicated to the Folk Lore Record, I, 60, by Miss
Charlotte Latham, as written down from the lips of a girl
in Sussex.

1
'The wind doth blow today, my love,
And a few small drops of rain;
I never had but one true-love,
In cold grave she was lain.

2
'I'll do as much for my true-love
As any young man may;
I'll sit and mourn all at her grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.'

3
The twelvemonth and a day being up,
The dead began to speak:
'Oh who sits weeping on my grave,
And will not let me sleep?'

4
''Tis I, my love, sits on your grave,
And will not let you sleep;
For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips,
And that is all I seek.'

5
'You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips;
But my breath smells earthy strong;
If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,
Your time will not be long.

6
''Tis down in yonder garden green,
Love, where we used to walk,
The finest flower that ere was seen
Is withered to a stalk.

7
'The stalk is withered dry, my love,
So will our hearts decay;
So make yourself content, my love,
Till God calls you away.'

B

Notes and Queries, Fifth Series, VII, 436, cited by W. R.
S. R., from the Ipswich Journal, 1877: from memory, after
more than seventy years.

1
'How cold the wind do blow, dear love,
And see the drops of rain!
I never had but one true-love,
In the green wood he was slain.

2
'I would do as much for my own true-love
As in my power doth lay;
I would sit and mourn all on his grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.'

3
A twelvemonth and a day being past,
His ghost did rise and speak:
'What makes you mourn all on my grave?
For you will not let me sleep.'

4
'It is not your gold I want, dear love,
Nor yet your wealth I crave;
But one kiss from your lily-white lips
Is all I wish to have.

5
'Your lips are cold as clay, dear love,
Your breath doth smell so strong;'
'I am afraid, my pretty, pretty maid,
Your time will not be long.'

C

"From a yeoman in Suffolk, who got it from his nurse;" B.
Montgomerie Ranking, in Notes and Queries, Fifth Series,
VII, 387.

1
'Cold blows the wind oer my true-love,
Cold blow the drops of rain;
I never, never had but one sweetheart,
In the greenwood he was slain.

2
'I did as much for my true-love
As ever did any maid;
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

3
'One kiss from your lily-cold lips, true-love,
One kiss is all I pray,
And I'll sit and weep all over your grave
For a twelvemonth and a day.'

4
'My cheek is as cold as the clay, true-love,
My breath is earthy and strong;
And if I should kiss your lips, true-love,
Your life would not be long.'

D

Buchan's MSS, I, 268.

1
'Proud Boreas makes a hideous noise,
Loud roars the fatal fleed;
I loved never a love but one,
In church-yard she lies dead.

2
'But I will do for my love's sake
What other young men may;
I'll sit and mourn upon her grave,
A twelvemonth and a day.'

3
A twelvemonth and a day being past,
The ghost began to speak:
'Why sit ye here upon my grave,
And will not let me sleep?'

4
'One kiss of your lily-white lips
Is all that I do crave;
And one kiss of your lily-white lips
Is all that I would have.'

5
'Your breath is as the roses sweet,
Mine as the sulphur strong;
If you get one kiss of my lips,
Your days would not be long.

6
'Mind not ye the day, Willie,
Sin you and I did walk?
The firstand flower that we did pu
Was witherd on the stalk.'

7
'Flowers will fade and die, my dear,
Aye as the tears will turn;
And since I've lost my own sweet-heart,
I'll never cease but mourn.'

8
'Lament nae mair for me, my love,
The powers we must obey;
But hoist up one sail to the wind,
Your ship must sail away.'

[133] Rochholz has cited the Raghuvansa in Deutscher Unsterblichkeits Glaube, p. 208; the other oriental citations are made by Kuhn, Wolf's Zeitschrift für deutsche Mythologie, I, 62 f.

[134] Schenkl, in Germania, XI, 451 f; who also cites Tibullus, I, 1, 67, Propertius, IV, 11, 1, and inscriptions, as Gruter, p. 1127, 8.

79

THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL

#A.# 'The Wife of Usher's Well,' Minstrelsy of the
Scottish Border, II, 111, ed. 1802.

#B.# 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' stanzas 18-23,
Kinloch MSS, V, 403.

#B# forms the conclusion, as already said, to a beautiful copy of 'The Clerk's Twa Sons o Owsenford,' recited by the grandmother of Robert Chambers.

A motive for the return of the wife's three sons is not found in the fragments which remain to us. The mother had cursed the sea when she first heard they were lost, and can only go mad when she finds that after all she has not recovered them; nor will a little wee while, #B# 5, make any difference. There is no indication that the sons come back to forbid obstinate grief, as the dead often do. But supplying a motive would add nothing to the impressiveness of these verses. Nothing that we have is more profoundly affecting.

* * * * *

#A# is translated by Grundtvig, Engelske og skotske Folkeviser, No 14; by Freiligrath, Zwischen den Garben, II, 227, ed. Stuttgart, 1877; by Doenniges, p. 61; by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 9, with insertion of #B# 5, 6; and by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, p. 227, after Allingham.

A

Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 111, 1802, from
the recitation of an old woman residing near Kirkhill, in
West Lothian.

1
There lived a wife at Usher's Well,
And a wealthy wife was she;
She had three stout and stalwart sons,
And sent them oer the sea.

2
They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely ane,
Whan word came to the carline wife
That her three sons were gane.

3
They hadna been a week from her,
A week but barely three,
Whan word came to the carlin wife
That her sons she'd never see.

4
'I wish the wind may never cease,
Nor fashes in the flood,
Till my three sons come hame to me,
In earthly flesh and blood.'

5
It fell about the Martinmass,
When nights are lang and mirk,
The carlin wife's three sons came hame,
And their hats were o the birk.

6
It neither grew in syke nor ditch,
Nor yet in ony sheugh;
But at the gates o Paradise,
That birk grew fair eneugh.

* * * * * * *

7
'Blow up the fire, my maidens,
Bring water from the well;
For a' my house shall feast this night,
Since my three sons are well.'

8
And she has made to them a bed,
She's made it large and wide,
And she's taen her mantle her about,
Sat down at the bed-side.

* * * * * * *

9
Up then crew the red, red cock,
And up and crew the gray;
The eldest to the youngest said,
'Tis time we were away.

10
The cock he hadna crawd but once,
And clappd his wings at a',
When the youngest to the eldest said,
Brother, we must awa.

11
'The cock doth craw, the day doth daw,
The channerin worm doth chide;
Gin we be mist out o our place,
A sair pain we maun bide.

12
'Fare ye weel, my mother dear!
Fareweel to barn and byre!
And fare ye weel, the bonny lass
That kindles my mother's fire!'

B

Kinloch MSS, V, 403, stanzas 18-23. 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 the Neidpath Castle, Peeblesshire:
January 1, 1829.

1
The hallow days o Yule are come,
The nights are lang an dark,
An in an cam her ain twa sons,
Wi their hats made o the bark.

2
'O eat an drink, my merry men a',
The better shall ye fare,
For my twa sons the are come hame
To me for evermair.'

3
She has gaen an made their bed,
An she's made it saft an fine,
An she's happit them wi her gay mantel,
Because they were her ain.

4
O the young cock crew i the merry Linkem,
An the wild fowl chirpd for day;
The aulder to the younger did say,
Dear brother, we maun away.

5
'Lie still, lie still a little wee while,
Lie still but if we may;
For gin my mother miss us away
She'll gae mad or it be day.'

6
O it's they've taen up their mother's mantel,
An they've hangd it on the pin:
'O lang may ye hing, my mother's mantel,
Or ye hap us again!'

* * * * *

#A.#

4^2. fishes. _The correction is suggested in ed. 1833 of
the Border Minstrelsy. Aytoun reads ~freshes~._

80

OLD ROBIN OF PORTINGALE

Percy MS., p. 90; Hales and Furnivall, I, 235.

This fine ballad was printed in the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, III, 48, ed. of 1765, "with considerable corrections." The information given by a page, the reward promised and the alternative punishment threatened him, the savage vengeance taken on the lady and the immediate remorse, are repeated in 'Little Musgrave,' No 81. So the "Sleep you, wake you" of 4^1, a frequent formula for such occasions,[135] which we find in 'Earl Brand,' No 7, #D# 1, 'King Arthur and King Cornwall,' No 30, st. 49^3; 'Clerk Saunders,' No 69, #F# 4; 'Willie and Lady Maisry,' No 70, #B# 2, 11; 'The Bent sae Brown,' No 71, st. 5; 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' No 73, #E# 5; 'Sweet William's Ghost,' No 77, #B# 2; 'Jellon Grame,' #A# 4; 'The Drowned Lovers,' Buchan, I, 140, st. 11; 'Jock o the Side,' Caw's Museum, st. 16; 'Kinmont Willie,' Scott, st. 35; 'The Baron of Brackley,' Scarce Ancient Ballads, st. 2; the song or ballad in 'King Lear,' III, 6, 40; Ravenscroft's Pammelia, 1609, No 30; the interlude of 'The Four Elements' (Steevens); Íslenzk Fornkvæði, II, 115, st. 26, 27; 'Der todte Freier,' Erk's Liederhort, p. 75, No 24^a, Deutsches Museum, 1852, II, 167==Mittler No 545, Wunderhorn, IV, 73, etc., and Deutsches Museum, 1862, II, 803, No 10; Ampère, Instructions, p. 36; Coussemaker, No 48, st. 5; Kolberg, Pieśni ludu Polskiego, No 7e, st. 8; etc.

Old Robin, instead of attaching a cross of red cloth to the right shoulder of his coat or cloak, shapes the cross _in_ his shoulder "of white flesh and of red," st. 32; that is, burns the cross in with a hot iron, as was done sometimes by the unusually devout or superstitious, or for a pious fraud: Mabillon, Annales, ad annum 1095, cited by Michaud, Histoire des Croisades, I, 110, note, ed. 1825.

* * * * *

Translated by Bodmer, I, 153; by Knortz, Lieder und Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 66.

* * * * *

1
God let neuer soe old a man
Marry soe yonge a wiffe
As did Old Robin of Portingale;
He may rue all the dayes of his liffe.

2
Ffor the maiors daughter of Lin, God wott,
He chose her to his wife,
And thought to haue liued in quiettnesse
W_i_th her all the dayes of his liffe.

3
They had not in their wed-bed laid,
Scarcly were both on sleepe,
But vpp shee rose, and forth shee goes
To S_i_r Gyles, and fast can weepe.

4
Saies, Sleepe you, wake you, faire S_i_r Gyles?
Or be not you w_i_thin?
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

5
'But I am waking, sweete,' he said,
'Lady, what is yo_u_r will?'
'I haue vnbethought me of a wile,
How my wed lord we shall spill.

6
'Four and twenty knights,' she sayes,
'_Tha_t dwells about this towne,
Eene four and twenty of my next cozens,
Will helpe to dinge him downe.'

7
W_i_th _tha_t beheard his litle foote-page,
As he was watering his m_aste_rs steed;
Soe s ...
His verry heart did bleed.

8
He mourned, sikt, and wept full sore;
I sweare by the holy roode,
The teares he for his master wept
Were blend water and bloude.

9
W_i_th _tha_t beheard his deare m_aster_,
As [he] in his garden sate;
Says, Euer alacke, my litle page,
What causes thee to weepe?

10
'Hath any one done to thee wronge,
Any of thy fellowes here?
Or is any of thy good friends dead,
W_hi_ch makes thee shed such teares?

11
'Or if it be my head-kookes-man,
Greiued againe he shalbe,
Nor noe man w_i_thin my howse
Shall doe wrong vnto thee.'

12
'But it is not yo_u_r head-kookes-man,
Nor none of his degree;
But [f]or to morrow, ere it be noone,
You are deemed to die.

13
'And of that thanke yo_u_r head-steward,
And after, yo_u_r gay ladie:'
'If it be true, my litle foote-page,
Ile make thee heyre of all my land.'

14
'If it be not true, my deare m_aste_r,
God let me neuer thye:'
'If it be not true, thou litle foot-page,
A dead corse shalt thou be.'

15
He called downe his head-kookes-man,
Cooke in kitchen sup_er_ to dresse:
'All and anon, my deare m_aster_,
Anon att yo_u_r request.'

16
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
'And call you downe my faire lady,
This night to supp w_i_th mee.'

17
A_n_d downe then came _tha_t fayre lady,
Was cladd all in purple and palle;
The rings _tha_t were vpon her fingers
Cast light thorrow the hall.

18
'What is yo_u_r will, my owne wed lo_rd_,
What is yo_u_r will w_i_th mee?'
'I am sicke, fayre lady,
Sore sicke, and like to dye.'

19
'But and you be sicke, my owne wed lo_rd_,
Soe sore it greiueth mee;
But my fiue maydens and my selfe
Will goe and make yo_u_r bedd.

20
'_An_d at the wakening of yo_u_r first sleepe
You shall haue a hott drinke made,
And at the wakening of yo_u_r next sleepe
Yo_u_r sorrowes will haue a slake.'

21
He put a silke cote on his backe,
Was thirteen inches folde,
And put a steele cap vpon his head,
Was gilded w_i_th good red gold.

22
An_d_ he layd a bright browne sword by his side,
And another att his ffeete,
And full well knew Old Robin then
Whether he shold wake or sleepe.

23
And about the middle time of the night
Came twenty four good knights in;
S_i_r Gyles he was the formost man,
Soe well he knew _tha_t ginne.

24
Old Robin, w_i_th a bright browne sword,
S_i_r Gyles head he did winne;
Soe did he all those twenty four,
Neu_er_ a one went quicke out [agen].

25
None but one litle foot-page,
Crept forth at a window of stone,
And he had two armes when he came in,
And [when he went out he had none].

26
Vpp then came _tha_t ladie light,
W_i_th torches burning bright;
Shee thought to haue brought S_i_r Gyles a drinke,
But shee found her owne wedd k_nigh_t.

27
And the first thinge _tha_t this ladye stumbled vpon
Was of S_i_r Gyles his ffoote;
Sayes, Euer alacke, and woe is me,
Here lyes my sweete hart-roote!

28
And the _secon_d thing _tha_t this ladie stumbled on
Was of S_i_r Gyles his head;
Sayes, Euer alacke, and woe is me,
Heere lyes my true-loue deade!

29
Hee cutt the papps beside he[r] brest,
And bad her wish her will;
And he cutt the eares beside her heade,
And bade her wish on still.

30
'Mickle is the mans blood I haue spent,
To doe thee and me some good;'
Sayes, Euer alacke, my fayre lady,
I thinke _tha_t I was woode!

31
He calld then vp his litle foote-page,
And made him heyre of all his land,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

32
And he shope the crosse in his right sholder,
Of the white flesh and the redd,
And he went him into the holy land,
Wheras Christ was quicke and dead.

* * * * *

6^{1, 3}, 23^2, 24^3. 24.

8^1. sist.

11^1, 12^1. bookes man: _cf._ 15^1.

14^2. never dye.

15^2. _~Cooke~ seems to be wrongly repeated._

19^3. 5.

20^3. first sleep.

21^2. 13.

25^3. 2.

25^4. _So Hales and Furnivall._

26^1. ladie bright. _Qy_ fayre?

26^2. burning light.

28^1. 2^d.

30^2. thee & and.

32^3. sent him.

And _always for_ &.

[135] As Sir Frederick Madden has observed, who cites some of the instances given.

81

LITTLE MUSGRAVE AND LADY BARNARD

#A.# 'Little Musgrave and the Lady Barnard.' #a.# Wit
Restord, 1658, in the reprint "Facetiæ," London, 1817, I,
293. #b.# Wit and Drollery, 1682, p. 81.

#B.# Percy MS., p. 53; Hales and Furnivall, I, 119.

#C. a.# 'Little Mousgrove and the Lady Barnet,' Pepys
Ballads, I, 364. #b.# Pepys Ballads, III, 314. #c.#
Roxburghe Ballads, III, 146. #d.# Roxburghe Ballads, III,
340. #e.# Bagford Ballads, I, 36.

#D.# 'Lord Barnard,' Kinloch MSS, I, 287.

#E.# 'Young Musgrave,' Campbell MSS, II, 43.

#F.# 'Lord Barnaby,' Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 170.

#G.# 'Wee Messgrove,' Motherwell's MS., p. 643.

#H.# 'Little Musgrave,' Motherwell's MS., p. 120.

#I.# 'Little Sir Grove,' Motherwell's MS., p. 305.

#J.# 'Lord Barnabas' Lady,' Motherwell's MS., p. 371.

#K.# Dr Joseph Robertson's Journal of Excursions, No 5.

#L.# 'Lord Barnett and Little Munsgrove,' Buchan's MSS,
I, 27: Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads,
Percy Society, XVII, 21.

#M.# 'Little Mushiegrove,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy,
Appendix, p. xx, XXI, one stanza.

#N.# 'Little Massgrove,' communicated by Miss Reburn, as
learned in County Meath, Ireland, two stanzas.

A copy of this ballad in Dryden's Miscellany, III, 312, 1716, agrees with the one in Wit and Drollery. That in Ritson's Select Collection of English Songs, II, 215, 1783, agrees with Dryden's save in two or three words. The broadside #C a# was printed for Henry Gosson, who is said by Chappell to have published from 1607 to 1641. If the lower limit be correct, this is the earliest impression known.[136] The other broadsides, #C b-e#, are later, but all of the seventeenth century. Percy inserted the ballad in his Reliques, III, 67, 1765, making a broadside in the British Museum his basis, and correcting as usual.

Percy remarks: This ballad is ancient, and has been popular; we find it quoted in many old plays. Cases cited by him are: Beaumont and Fletcher's Knight of the Burning Pestle, V, 3, Dyce II, 223, of about 1611:

And some they whistled, and some they sung,
Hey down, down
And some did loudly say,
Ever as the lord Barnet's horn blew,
Away, Musgrave, away!

Again, Sir William Davenant's play 'The Wits,' where Sir Thwack boasts, "I sing Musgrove, and for the Chevy Chase no lark comes near me," Act III, p. 194, of ed. 1672; and 'The Varietie,' a comedy, Act IV, 1649. In Beaumont and Fletcher's 'Bonduca,' V, 2, Dyce, V, 88, dating before March, 1619, we find this stanza, which is perhaps #A# 26, loosely remembered:

She set the sword unto her breast,
Great pity it was to see
That three drops of her life-warm blood
Run trickling down her knee.

And two stanzas in Fletcher's 'Monsieur Thomas,' IV, 11, Dyce VII, 375, earlier than 1639, may well be #A# 11, 12 parodied:

If this be true, thou little tiny page,
This tale that thou tellst me,
Then on thy back will I presently hang
A handsome new livery.

But if this be false, thou little tiny page,
As false it well may be,
Then with a cudgel of four foot long
I'll beat thee from head to toe.

Jamieson says, in a prefatory note to #F#, that he had heard 'Little Musgrave' repeated, with very little variation, both in Morayshire and the southern counties of Scotland. All the Scottish versions are late, and to all seeming derived, indirectly or immediately, from print.[137] As a recompense we have a fine ballad upon the same theme, 'The Bonny Birdy,' which is not represented in England.

In the English broadside and most of the northern versions the lovers try a bribe, a threat, or both, to make the page keep counsel. In some of these Musgrave, when detected, ejaculates a craven imprecation of woe to the fair woman that lies in his arms asleep, #G# 23, #H# 16, #I# 14, #J# 20, #L# 37. In #I# the men are brothers; in #E#, #F# Musgrave has a wife of his own; in #C#, #G# Lord Barnard kills himself; in #E# he is hanged! None of these divergences from the story as we have it in #A# are improvements, but it is an improvement that the lady should die by stroke of steel as in #C#, #E#, #H#, #J#, #K#, #L#, in exchange for the barbarity of #A#. The penance in #L# is a natural and common way of ending such a tragedy. The collecting of the lady's heart's blood in a basin of pure silver, #G# 28-30, is probably borrowed from 'Lammikin,' where this trait is very effective.

The heathen child, #B# 13^1, is a child unchristened. An unbaptized child seems still to be called so in Norway, and so is a woman between childbirth and churching. In modern Icelandic usage a boy or girl before confirmation is called heathen, from confusion between baptism and confirmation: Ivar Aasen, at the word heiden; Vigfusson, at the word heiðinn.[138]

#K# 12,

O he's taen out a lang, lang brand,
And stripped it athwart the straw,

explains a corruption in #E# 18^2, where the manuscript reads, He's struck _her_ in the straw, and another in #J# 9. The sword is wiped or whetted on straw in 'Clerk Saunders,' #A# 15, #C# 13, #D# 8, #G# 17; 'Willie and Lady Maisry,' #B# 19; 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' #B# 36; 'Lady Diamond,' Buchan, II, 206, st. 8. Child Maurice dries his sword on the grass, John Steward dries his on his sleeve, #A# 27, 28; Glasgerion dries his sword on his sleeve, #A# 22; Horn wipes his sword on his arm, King Horn, ed. Wissmann, 622 f.

A

#a.# Wit Restord, 1658, in the reprint 'Facetiæ,' London,
1817, I, 293. #b.# Wit and Drollery, 1682, p. 81.

1
As it fell one holy-day,
Hay downe
As many be in the yeare,
When young men and maids together did goe,
Their mattins and masse to heare,

2
Little Musgrave came to the church-dore;
The preist was at private masse;
But he had more minde of the faire women
Then he had of our lady['s] grace.

3
The one of them was clad in green,
Another was clad in pall,
And then came in my lord Bernard's wife,
The fairest amonst them all.

4
She cast an eye on Little Musgrave,
As bright as the summer sun;
And then bethought this Little Musgrave,
This lady's heart have I woonn.

5
Quoth she, I have loved thee, Little Musgrave,
Full long and many a day;
'So have I loved you, fair lady,
Yet never word durst I say.'

6
'I have a bower at Buckelsfordbery,
Full daintyly it is deight;
If thou wilt wend thither, thou Little Musgrave,
Thou 's lig in mine armes all night.'

7
Quoth he, I thank yee, faire lady,
This kindnes thou showest to me;
But whether it be to my weal or woe,
This night I will lig with thee.

8
With that he heard, a little tynë page,
By his ladye's coach as he ran:
'All though I am my ladye's foot-page,
Yet I am Lord Barnard's man.

9
'My lord Barnard shall knowe of this,
Whether I sink or swim;'
And ever where the bridges were broake
He laid him downe to swimme.

10
'A sleepe or wake, thou Lord Barnard,
As thou art a man of life,
For Little Musgrave is at Bucklesfordbery,
A bed with thy own wedded wife.'

11
'If this be true, thou little tinny page,
This thing thou tellest to me,
Then all the land in Bucklesfordbery
I freely will give to thee.

12
'But if it be a ly, thou little tinny page,
This thing thou tellest to me,
On the hyest tree in Bucklesfordbery
Then hanged shalt thou be.'

13
He called up his merry men all:
'Come saddle me my steed;
This night must I to Buckellsfordbery,
For I never had greater need.'

14
And some of them whistld, and some of them sung,
And some these words did say,
And ever when my lord Barnard's horn blew,
'Away, Musgrave, away!'

15
'Methinks I hear the thresel-cock,
Methinks I hear the jaye;
Methinks I hear my lord Barnard,
And I would I were away.'

16
'Lye still, lye still, thou Little Musgrave,
And huggell me from the cold;
'Tis nothing but a shephard's boy,
A driving his sheep to the fold.

17
'Is not thy hawke upon a perch?
Thy steed eats oats and hay;
And thou a fair lady in thine armes,
And wouldst thou bee away?'

18
With that my lord Barnard came to the dore,
And lit a stone upon;
He plucked out three silver keys,
And he opend the dores each one.

19
He lifted up the coverlett,
He lifted up the sheet:
'How now, how now, thou Littell Musgrave,
Doest thou find my lady sweet?'

20
'I find her sweet,' quoth Little Musgrave,
'The more 'tis to my paine;
I would gladly give three hundred pounds
That I were on yonder plaine.'

21
'Arise, arise, thou Littell Musgrave,
And put thy clothës on;
It shall nere be said in my country
I have killed a naked man.

22
'I have two swords in one scabberd,
Full deere they cost my purse;
And thou shalt have the best of them,
And I will have the worse.'

23
The first stroke that Little Musgrave stroke,
He hurt Lord Barnard sore;
The next stroke that Lord Barnard stroke,
Little Musgrave nere struck more.

24
With that bespake this faire lady,
In bed whereas she lay:
'Although thou'rt dead, thou Little Musgrave,
Yet I for thee will pray.

25
'And wish well to thy soule will I,
So long as I have life;
So will I not for thee, Barnard,
Although I am thy wedded wife.'

26
He cut her paps from off her brest;
Great pitty it was to see
That some drops of this ladie's heart's blood
Ran trickling downe her knee.

27
'Woe worth you, woe worth, my mery men all
You were nere borne for my good;
Why did you not offer to stay my hand,
When you see me wax so wood?

28
'For I have slaine the bravest sir knight
That ever rode on steed;
So have I done the fairest lady
That ever did woman's deed.

29
'A grave, a grave,' Lord Barnard cryd,
'To put these lovers in;
But lay my lady on the upper hand,
For she came of the better kin.'

B

Percy MS., p. 53, Hales and Furnivall, I, 119.

* * * * * * *

1
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
'Ffor this same night att [Bucklesfeildberry]
Litle Musgreue is in bed w_i_th thy wife.'

2
'If it be trew, thou litle foote-page,
This tale thou hast told to mee,
Then all my lands in Buckle[s]feildberry
I'le freely giue to thee.

3
'But if this be a lye, thou little foot-page,
This tale thou hast told to mee,
Then on the highest tree in Bucklesfeildberry
All hanged that thou shalt bee.'

4
Saies, Vpp and rise, my merrymen all,
And saddle me my good steede,
For I must ride to Bucklesfeildberry;
God wott I had neuer more need!

5
But some they whistled, and some thé sunge,
And some they thus cold say,
When euer as Lo_rd_ Barnetts horne blowes,
'Away, Musgreue, away!'

6
'Mie thinkes I heare the throstlecocke,
Me thinkes I heare the iay,
Me thinkes I heare Lo_rd_ Barnetts horne,
Away, Musgreue, away!'

7
'But lie still, lie still, Litle Musgreue,
And huddle me from the cold,
For it is but some sheaperds boy,
Is whistling sheepe ore the mold.

8
'Is not thy hauke vpon a pearch,
Thy horsse eating corne and hay?
And thou, a gay lady in thine armes,
And yett thou wold goe away!'

9
By this time Lo_rd_ Barnett was come to the dore,
And light vpon a stone,
And he pulled out three silver kayes,
And opened the dores euery one.

10
And first he puld the couering downe,
And then puld downe the sheete;
Saies, How now? How now, Litle Musgreue?
Dost find my gay lady sweet?

11
'I find her sweete,' saies Litle Musgreue,
'The more is my greefe and paine;'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

12
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
'Soe haue I done the fairest lady
_Tha_t euer wore womans weede.

13
'Soe haue I done a heathen child,
W_hi_ch ffull sore greiueth mee,
For w_hi_ch Ile repent all the dayes of my life,
And god be with them all three!'

C

#a.# Pepys Ballads, I, 364, No 187. #b.# Pepys Ballads,
III, 314, No 310. #c.# Roxburghe Ballads, III, 146. #d.#
Roxburghe Ballads, III, 340. #e.# Bagford Ballads, I, 36.

1
As it fell on a light holyday,
As many more does in the yeere,
Little Mousgrove would to the church and pray,
To see the faire ladyes there.

2
Gallants there were of good degree,
For beauty exceeding faire,
Most wonderous lovely to the eie,
That did to that church repaire.

3
Some came downe in red velvet,
And others came downe in pall,
But next came downe my Lady Barnet,
The fairest amongst them all.

4
She cast a looke upon Little Mousgrove,
As bright as the summer's sunne;
Full well perceived then Little Mousgrove
Lady Barnet's love he had wonne.

5
Then Lady Barnet most meeke and mild
Saluted this Little Mousgrove,
Who did repay her kinde courtesie
With favour and gentle love.

6
'I have a bower in merry Barnet,
Bestrowed with cowslips sweet;
If that it please you, Little Mousgrove,
In love me there to meete,

7
'Within mine armes one night to sleepe,
For you my heart have wonne,
You need not feare my suspicious lord,
For he from home is gone.'

8
'Betide me life, betide me death,
This night I will sleepe with thee,
And for thy sake I'le hazzard my breath,
So deare is thy love to me.'

9
'What shall wee doe with our little foot-page,
Our counsell for to keepe,
And watch for feare Lord Barnet comes,
Whilest wee together doe sleepe?'

10
'Red gold shall be his hier,' quoth he,
'And silver shall be his fee,
If he our counsell safely doe keepe,
That I may sleepe with thee.'

11
'I will have none of your gold,' said he,
'Nor none of your silver fee;
If I should keepe your counsell, sir,
'Twere great disloyaltie.

12
'I will not be false unto my lord,
For house nor yet for land;
But if my lady doe prove untrue,
Lord Barnet shall understand.'

13
Then swiftly runnes the little foot-page,
Unto his lord with speed,
Who then was feasting with his deare friends,
Not dreaming of this ill deede.

14
Most speedily the page did haste,
Most swiftly did he runne,
And when he came to the broken bridge
He lay on his brest and swumme.

15
The page did make no stay at all,
But went to his lord with speed,
That he the truth might say to him
Concerning this wicked deed.

16
He found his lord at supper then,
Great merriment there they did keepe:
'My lord,' quoth he, 'this night, on my word,
Mousgrove with your lady does sleepe.'

17
'If this be true, my little foot-page,
And true as thou tellest to me,
My eldest daughter I'le give to thee,
And wedded thou shalt be.

18
'If this be a lye, my little foot-page,
And a lye as thou tellest to mee,
A new paire of gallowes shall straight be set,
And hanged shalt thou be.'

19
'If this be a lye, my lord,' said he,
'A lye that you heare from me,
Then never stay a gallowes to make,
But hang me up on the next tree.'

20
Lord Barnet then cald up his merry men,
Away with speed he would goe;
His heart was so perplext with griefe,
The truth of this he must know.

21
'Saddle your horses with speed,' quoth he,
'And saddle me my white steed;
If this be true as the page hath said,
Mousgrove shall repent this deed.'

22
He charg'd his men no noise to make,
As they rode all along on the way;
'Nor winde no hornes,' quoth he, 'on your life,
Lest our comming it should betray.'

23
But one of the men, that Mousgrove did love,
And respected his friendship most deare,
To give him knowledge Lord Barnet was neere,
Did winde his bugle most cleere.

24
And evermore as he did blow,
'Away, Mousgrove, and away;
For if I take thee with my lady,
Then slaine thou shalt be this day.'

25
'O harke, fair lady, your lord is neere,
I heare his little horne blow;
And if he finde me in your armes thus,
Then slaine I shall be, I know.'

26
'O lye still, lye still, Little Mousgrove,
And keepe my backe from the cold;
I know it is my father's shepheard,
Driving sheepe to the pinfold.'

27
Mousgrove did turne him round about,
Sweete slumber his eyes did greet;
When he did wake, he then espied
Lord Barnet at his bed's feete.

28
'O rise up, rise up, Little Mousgrove,
And put thy clothës on;
It shall never be said in faire England
I slew a naked man.

29
'Here's two good swords,' Lord Barnet said,
'Thy choice, Mousgrove, thou shalt make;
The best of them thy selfe shalt have,
And I the worst will take.'

30
The first good blow that Mousgrove did strike,
He wounded Lord Barnet sore;
The second blow that Lord Barnet gave,
Mousgrove could strike no more.

31
He tooke his lady by the white hand,
All love to rage did convert,
That with his sword, in most furious sort,
He pierst her tender heart.

32
'A grave, a grave,' Lord Barnet cryde,
'Prepare to lay us in;
My lady shall lie on the upper side,
Cause she's of the better kin.'

33
Then suddenly he slue himselfe,
Which grieves his friends full sore;
The deaths of these thra worthy wights
With teares they did deplore.

34
This sad mischance by lust was wrought;
Then let us call for grace,
That we may shun this wicked vice,
And mend our lives apace.

D

Kinloch MSS, I, 287.

1
There were four and twenty gentlemen
A playing at the ba,
And lusty Lady Livingstone
Cuist her ee out oure them a'.

2
She cuist her ee on Lord Barnard,
He was baith black and broun;
She cuist her ee on Little Musgrave,
As bricht as the morning sun.

3
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
'What'll I gie ye, my Little Musgrave,
Ae nicht wi me to sleep?'

4
'Ae nicht wi you to sleep,' he says,
'O that wad breed meikle strife;
For the ring on your white finger
Shows you Lord Barnard's wife.'

5
'O Lord Barnard he is gane frae hame,
He'll na return the day;
He has tane wi him a purse o goud,
For he's gane hind away.'

6
Up startit then the wylie foot-page,
. . . . . . .
'What will ye gie to me,' he said,
'Your council for to keep?'

7
'O goud sall be my little boy's fee,
And silver sall be his hire;
But an I hear a word mair o this,
He sall burn in charcoal fire.'

8
But the wylie foot-page to the stable went,
Took out a milk-white steed,
And away, away, and away he rade,
Away wi meikle speed.

9
It's whan he cam to the water-side,
He smoothd his breist and swam,
And whan he cam to gerss growing,
He set down his feet and ran.

10
'Whan he cam to Lord Barnard's towr
Lord Barnard was at meat;
He said, 'If ye kend as meikle as me,
It's little wad ye eat.'

11
'Are onie o my castles brunt?' he says,
'Or onie my towrs won?
Or is my gay ladie broucht to bed,
Of a dochter or a son?'

12
'There is nane o your castles brunt,
Nor nane o your towrs won;
Nor is your gay ladie broucht to bed,
Of a dochter or a son.

13
'But Little Musgrave, that gay young man,
Is in bed wi your ladie,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

14
'If this be true ye tell to me,
It's goud sall be your fee;
But if it be fause ye tell to me,
I'se hang ye on a tree.'

* * * * * * *

15
Whan they cam to yon water-side,
They smoothd their breists and swam;
And whan they cam to gerss growing,
They set doun their feet and ran.

* * * * * * *

16
'How do ye like my sheets?' he said,
'How do ye like my bed?
And how do ye like my gay ladie,
Wha's lying at your side?'

17
'O I do like your sheets,' he said,
'Sae do I like your bed;
But mair do I like your gay ladie,
Wha's lying at my side.'

18
'Get up, get up, young man,' he said,
'Get up as swith 's ye can;
Let it never be said that Lord Barnard
Slew in bed a nakit man.'

* * * * * * *

19
'How do ye like his bluidy cheeks?
Or how do ye like me?'
'It's weill do I like his bluidy cheeks,
Mair than your haill bodie.'

20
Then she has kissd his bluidy cheeks,
It's oure and oure again.'
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

E

Campbell MSS, II, 43.

1
Four and twenty gay ladies
Were playing at the ba,
And [out] came Lord Barnaby's lady,
The fairest o them a'.

2
She coost her eyes on Little Musgrave,
And he on her again;
She coost her eyes on Little Musgrave,
As they twa lovers had been.

3
'I have a hall in Mulberry,
It stands baith strong and tight;
If you will go to there with me,
I'll lye with you all night.'

4
'To lye with you, madam,' he says,
'Will breed both sturt and strife;
I see by the rings on your fingers
You are Lord Barnaby's wife.'

5
'Lord Barnaby's to the hunting gone,
And far out oer the hill,
And he will not return again
Till the evening tide untill.'

6
They were not well lain down,
Nor yet well fallen asleep,
Till up started Lord Barnaby's boy,
Just up at their bed-feet.

7
She took out a little penknife,
Which hung down low by her gair:
'If you do not my secret keep,
A word ye's neer speak mair.'

8
The laddie gae a blythe leer look,
A blythe leer look gave he,
And he's away to Lord Barnaby,
As fast as he can hie.

* * * * * * *

9
'If these tidings binna true,
These tidings ye tell to me,
A gallows-tree I'll gar be made
And hanged ye shall be.

10
'But if these tidings are true,
These tidings ye tell me,
The fairest lady in a' my court
I'll gar her marry thee.'

11
He's taen out a little horn,
He blew baith loud and sma,
And aye the turning o the tune
'Away, Musgrave, awa!'

12
They were not well lain down,
Nor yet well fallen asleep,
Till up started Lord Barnaby,
Just up at their bed-feet.

13
'O how like ye my blankets, Musgrave?
And how like ye my sheets?
And how like ye my gay lady,
So sound in your arms that sleeps?'

14
'Weel I like your blankets, Sir,
And far better yere sheets;
And better far yere gay lady,
So sound in my arms that sleeps.'

15
'Get up, get up, now, Little Musgrave,
And draw to hose and sheen;
It's neer be said in my country
I'd fight a naked man.

16
'There is two swords into my house,
And they cost me right dear;
Take you the best, and I the worst,
I'll fight the battle here.'

17
The first stroke that Lord Barnaby gave,
It was baith deep and sore;
The next stroke that Lord Barnaby gave,
A word he never spoke more.

18
He's taen out a rappier then,
He's struck it in the straw,
And thro and thro his lady's sides
He gard the cauld steel gae.

19
'I am not sae wae for Little Musgrave,
As he lys cauld and dead;
But I'm right wae for his lady,
For she'll gae witless wud.

20
'I'm not sae wae for my lady,
For she lies cauld and dead;
But I'm right wae for my young son,
Lies sprawling in her blood.'

21
First crew the black cock,
And next crew the sparrow;
And what the better was Lord Barnaby?
He was hanged on the morrow.

F

Jamieson's Popular Ballads and Songs, I, 170.

1
'I have a tower in Dalisberry,
Which now is dearly dight,
And I will gie it to Young Musgrave,
To lodge wi me a' night.'

2
'To lodge wi thee a' night, fair lady,
Wad breed baith sorrow and strife;
For I see by the rings on your fingers
You're good Lord Barnaby's wife.'

3
'Lord Barnaby's wife although I be,
Yet what is that to thee?
For we'll beguile him for this ae night,
He's on to fair Dundee.

4
'Come here, come here, my little foot-page,
This gold I will give thee,
If ye will keep thir secrets close
'Tween Young Musgrave and me.

5
'But here I hae a little pen-knife,
Hings low down by my gare;
Gin ye winna keep thir secrets close,
Ye'll find it wonder sair.'

6
Then she's taen him to her chamber,
And down in her arms lay he;
The boy coost aff his hose and shoon,
And ran to fair Dundee.

7
When he cam to the wan water,
He slackd his bow and swam,
And when he cam to growin grass,
Set down his feet and ran.

8
And when he cam to fair Dundee,
Wad neither chap nor ca,
But set his braid bow to his breast,
And merrily jumpd the wa.

9
'O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,
Waken, and come away!'
'What ails, what ails my wee foot-page,
He cries sae lang ere day?

10
'O is my bowers brent, my boy?
Or is my castle won?
Or has the lady that I loe best
Brought me a daughter or son?'

11
'Your ha's are safe, your bowers are safe,
And free frae all alarms,
But, oh! the lady that ye loe best
Lies sound in Musgrave's arms.'

12
'Gae saddle to me the black,' he cried,
'Gae saddle to me the gray;
Gae saddle to me the swiftest steed,
To hie me on my way.'

13
'O lady, I heard a wee horn toot,
And it blew wonder clear;
And ay the turning o the note,
Was, Barnaby will be here!

14
'I thought I heard a wee horn blaw,
And it blew loud and high;
And ay at ilka turn it said,
Away, Musgrave, away!'

15
'Lie still, my dear, lie still, my dear,
Ye keep me frae the cold;
For it is but my father's shepherds,
Driving their flocks to the fold.'

16
Up they lookit, and down they lay,
And they're fa'en sound asleep;
Till up stood good Lord Barnaby,
Just close at their bed-feet.

17
'How do you like my bed, Musgrave?
And how like ye my sheets?
And how like ye my fair lady,
Lies in your arms and sleeps?'

18
'Weel like I your bed, my lord,
And weel like I your sheets,
But ill like I your fair lady,
Lies in my arms and sleeps.

19
'You got your wale o se'en sisters,
And I got mine o five;
Sae tak ye mine, and I's tak thine,
And we nae mair sall strive.'

20
'O my woman's the best woman
That ever brak world's bread,
And your woman's the worst woman
That ever drew coat oer head.