Chapter XVIII: Appendix (13)

21
'I hae twa swords in ae scabbert,
They are baith sharp and clear;
Tak ye the best, and I the warst,
And we'll end the matter here.

22
'But up, and arm thee, Young Musgrave,
We'll try it han to han;
It's neer be said o Lord Barnaby,
He strack at a naked man.'

23
The first straik that Young Musgrave got,
It was baith deep and sair,
And down he fell at Barnaby's feet,
And word spak never mair.

* * * * * * *

24
'A grave, a grave,' Lord Barnaby cried,
'A grave to lay them in;
My lady shall lie on the sunny side,
Because of her noble kin.'

25
But oh, how sorry was that good lord,
For a' his angry mood,
Whan he beheld his ain young son
All weltring in his blood!

G

Motherwell's MS., p. 643, from the recitation of Mrs
McConechie, Kilmarnock.

1
Lord Barnard's awa to the green wood,
To hunt the fallow deer;
His vassals a' are gane wi him,
His companie to bear.

2
His lady wrate a braid letter,
And seald it wi her hand,
And sent it aff to Wee Messgrove,
To come at her command.

3
When Messgrove lookt the letter on,
A waefu man was he;
Sayin, Gin I'm gript wi Lord Barnard's wife,
Sure hanged I will be.

4
When he came to Lord Barnard's castel
He tinklit at the ring,
And nane was so ready as the lady hersell
To let Wee Messgrove in.

5
'Welcome, welcome, Messgrove,' she said,
'You're welcome here to me;
Lang hae I loed your bonnie face,
And lang hae ye loed me.

6
'Lord Barnard is a hunting gane,
I hope he'll neer return,
And ye sall sleep into his bed,
And keep his lady warm.'

7
'It cannot be,' Messgrove he said,
'I ween it cannot be;
Gin Lord Barnard suld come hame this nicht,
What wuld he do to me?'

8
'Ye naething hae to fear, Messgrove,
Ye naething hae to fear;
I'll set my page without the gate,
To watch till morning clear.'

9
But wae be to the wee fut-page,
And an ill death mat he die!
For he's awa to the green wood,
As hard as he can flee.

10
And whan he to the green wood cam,
'Twas dark as dark could bee,
And he fand his maister and his men
Asleep aneth a tree.

11
'Rise up, rise up, maister,' he said,
'Rise up, and speak to me;
Your wife's in bed wi Wee Messgrove,
Rise up richt speedilie.'

12
'Gin that be true ye tell to me,
A lord I will mak thee;
But gin it chance to be a lie,
Sure hanged ye sall be.'

13
'It is as true, my lord,' he said,
'As ever ye were born;
Messgrove's asleep in your lady's bed,
All for to keep her warm.'

14
He mounted on his milk-white steed,
He was ane angry man;
And he reachd his stately castell gate
Just as the day did dawn.

15
He put his horn unto his mouth,
And he blew strong blasts three;
Sayin, He that's in bed with anither man's wife,
He suld be gaun awa.

16
Syne out and spak the Wee Messgrove,
A frichtit man was he;
'I hear Lord Barnard's horn,' he said,
'It blaws baith loud and hie.'

17
'Lye still, lye still, my Wee Messgrove,
And keep me frae the cauld;
'Tis but my father's shepherd's horn,
A sounding in the fauld.'

18
He put his horn unto his mouth,
And he blew loud blasts three;
Saying, He that's in bed wi anither man's wife,
'Tis time he was awa.

19
Syne out and spak the Wee Messgrove,
A frichtit man was he:
'Yon surely is Lord Barnard's horn,
And I maun een gae flee.'

20
Lye still, lye still, Messgrove,' she said,
'And keep me frae the cauld;
'Tis but my father's shepherd's horn,
A sounding in the fauld.'

21
And ay Lord Barnard blew and blew,
Till he was quite wearie;
Syne he threw down his bugle horn,
And up the stair ran he.

22
'How do you like my blankets, Sir?
How do you like my sheets?
How do ye like my gay ladie,
That lies in your arms asleep?'

23
'Oh weel I like your blankets, Sir,
And weel I like your sheet;
But wae be to your gay ladie,
That lyes in my arms asleep!'

24
'I'll gie you ae sword, Messgrove,
And I will take anither;
What fairer can I do, Messgrove,
Altho ye war my brither?'

25
The firsten wound that Messgrove gat,
It woundit him richt sair;
And the second wound that Messgrove gat,
A word he neer spak mair.

26
'Oh how do ye like his cheeks, ladie?
Or how do ye like his chin?
Or how do ye like his fair bodie,
That there's nae life within?'

27
'Oh weel I like his cheeks,' she said,
'And weel I like his chin;
And weel I like his fair bodie,
That there's nae life within.'

28
'Repeat these words, my fair ladie,
Repeat them ower agane,
And into a basin of pure silver
I'll gar your heart's bluid rin.'

29
'Oh weel I like his cheeks,' she said,
'And weel I like his chin;
And better I like his fair bodie
Than a' your kith and kin.'

30
Syne he took up his gude braid sword,
That was baith sharp and fine,
And into a basin of pure silver
Her heart's bluid he gart rin.

31
'O wae be to my merrie men,
And wae be to my page,
That they didna hald my cursed hands
When I was in a rage!'

32
He leand the halbert on the ground,
The point o 't to his breast,
Saying, Here are three sauls gaun to heaven,
I hope they'll a' get rest.

H

Motherwell's MS., p. 120.

1
Little Musgrove is to the church gone,
Some ladies for to sply;
Doun came one drest in black,
And one came drest in brown,
And down and came Lord Barlibas' lady,
The fairest in a' the town.

* * * * * * *

2
'I know by the ring that's on your finger
That you'r my Lord Barlibas' lady:'
'Indeed I am the Lord Barlibas' lady,
And what altho I bee?'

* * * * * * *

3
'Money shall be your hire, foot-page,
And gold shall be your fee;
You must not tell the secrets
That's between Musgrove and me.'

4
'Money shall not be hire,' he said,
'Nor gold shall be my fee;
But I'll awa to my own liege lord,
With the tidings you've told to me.'

5
When he cam to the broken brig,
He coost aff his clothes and he swimd,
And when he cam to Lord Barlibas' yett,
He tirled at the pin.

6
'What news, what news, my little foot-page?
What news have ye brocht to me?
Is my castle burnt?' he said,
'Or is my tower tane?
Or is my lady lighter yet,
Of a daughter or son?'

7
'Your castle is not burnt,' he says,
'Nor yet is your tower tane,
Nor yet is your lady brocht to bed,
Of a daughter or a son;
But Little Musgrove is lying wi her,
Till he thinks it is time to be gane.'

8
'O if the news be a lie,' he says,
'That you do tell unto me,
I'll ca up a gallows to my yard-yett,
And hangd on it thou shallt be.

9
'But if the news be true,' he says,
'That you do tell unto me,
I have a young fair dochter at hame,
Weel wedded on her you shall be.'

10
He called upon his merry men,
By thirties and by three:
'Put aff the warst, put on the best,
And come along with me.'

11
He put a horn to his mouth,
And this he gard it say:
'The man that's in bed wi Lord Barlibas' lady,
It's time he were up and away.'

12
'What does yon trumpet mean?' he sayd,
'Or what does yon trumpet say?
I think it says, the man that's in bed wi Lord Barlibas' lady,
It's time he were up and away.'

13
'O lie you still, my Little Musgrove,
And cover me from the cold,
For it is but my father's sheepherd,
That's driving his sheep to the fold.'

14
. . . . . . .
In a little while after that,
Up started good Lord Barlibas,
At Little Musgrove his feet.

15
'How do you like my blankets?' he says,
'Or how do you like my sheets?
Or how do you like mine own fair lady,
That lies in your arms and sleeps?'

16
'I like your blankets very well,
And far better your sheets;
But woe be to this wicked woman,
That lies in my arms and sleeps!'

17
'Rise up, rise up, my Little Musgrove,
Rise up, and put your clothes on;
It's neer be said on no other day
That I killed a naked man.

18
'There is two swords in my chamber,
I wot they cost me dear;
Take you the best, give me the warst,
We'll red the question here.'

19
The first stroke that Lord Barlibas struck,
He dang Little Musgrove to the ground;
The second stroke that Lord Barlibas gave
Dang his lady in a deadly swound.

20
'Gar mak, gar mak a coffin,' he says,
'Gar mak it wide and long,
And lay my lady at the right hand,
For she's come of the noblest kin.'

I

Motherwell's MS., p. 305, from the recitation of Rebecca
Dunse, 4th May, 1825: one of her mother's songs, an old
woman.

* * * * * * *

1
'It's gold shall be your hire,' she says,
'And silver shall be your fee,
If you will keep the secrets
Between Little Sir Grove and me.'

2
'Tho gold should be my hire,' he says,
'And silver should be my fee,
It's I'll not keep the secret
Betwixt Little Sir Grove and thee.'

3
Up he rose, and away he goes,
And along the plain he ran,
And when he came to Lord Bengwill's castle,
He tinkled at the pin;
And who was sae ready as Lord Bengwill himsell
To let this little page in.

4
'Is any of my towers burnt?' he said,
'Or any of my castles taen?
Or is Lady Bengwill brought to bed,
Of a daughter or a son?'

5
'It's nane of your towers are burnt,' he said,
'Nor nane of your castles taen;
But Lady Bengwill and Little Sir Grove
To merry bed they are gane.'

6
'If this be true that you tell me,
Rewarded you shall be;
And if it's a lie that you tell me,
You shall be hanged before your ladie's ee.

7
'Get saddled to me the black,' he says,
'Get saddled to me the brown;
Get saddled to me the swiftest steed
That ever man rode on.'

8
The firsten town that he came to,
He blew baith loud and schill,
And aye the owre-word o the tune
Was, 'Sir Grove, I wish you well.'

9
The nexten town that he came to,
He blew baith loud and long,
And aye the owre-word of the tune
Was 'Sir Grove, it is time to be gone.'

10
'Is yon the sound of the hounds?' he says,
'Or is yon the sound of the deer?
But I think it's the sound of my brother's horn,
That sounds sae schill in my ear.'

11
'Lye still, lye still, Sir Grove,' she says,
'And keep a fair lady from cold;
It's but the sound of my father's herd-boys,
As they're driving the sheep to the fold.'

12
They lay down in each other's arms,
And they fell fast asleep,
And neer a one of them did wake
Till Lord Bengwill stood at their feet.

13
'How do you love my soft pillow?
Or how do you love my sheets?
Or how do you love my fair lady,
That lies in your arms and sleeps?'

14
'Full well I love your soft pillow,
Far better I love your sheets;
But woe be to your fair lady,
That lies in my arms and sleeps!'

15
'Rise up, rise up, Sir Grove,' he says,
'Some clothes there put you upon;
Let it never be said in fair England
I fought with a naked man.'

16
'Oh where shall I go, or where shall I fly,
Or where shall I run for my life?
For you've got two broadswords into your hand,
And I have never a knife.'

17
'You shall take the one sword,' he says,
'And I shall take the other,
And that is as fair I'm sure to day
As that you are my born brother.'

18
'Hold your hand, hold your hand, my brother dear,
You've wounded me full sore;
You may get a mistress in every town,
But a brother you'll never get more.'

19
The very first stroke that Lord Bengwill gave him,
He wounded him full sore;
The very next stroke that Lord Bengwill gave him,
A word he never spoke more.

20
He's lifted up Lady Bengwill,
And set her on his knee,
Saying, Whether do you love Little Sir Grove
Better than you do me?

21
'Full well I love your cherry cheeks,
Full well I love your chin,
But better I love Little Sir Grove, where he lies,
Than you and all your kin.'

* * * * * * *

22
'A grave, a grave,' Lord Bengwill cried,
'To put these lovers in,
And put Lady Bengwill uppermost,
For she's come of the noblest kin.'

J

Motherwell's MS., p. 371, from the recitation of Agnes
Lyle, Kilbarchan.

1
Four and twenty ladies fair
Was playing at the ba,
And out cam the lady, Barnabas' lady,
The flower amang them a'.

2
She coost an ee on Little Mossgrey,
As brisk as any sun,
And he coost anither on her again,
And they thocht the play was won.

3
'What would you think, Little Mossgrey,
To lye wi me this nicht?
Good beds I hae in Barnabey,
If they were ordered richt.'

4
'Hold thy tongue, fair lady,' he says,
'For that would cause much strife;
For I see by the rings on your fingers
That you're Lord Barnabas' wife.'

5
'Lord Barnabas' lady indeed I am,
And that I'll let you ken,
But he's awa to the king's court,
And I hope he'll neer come hame.'

6
Wi wrapped arms in bed they lay
Till they fell both asleep,
When up and starts Barnabas' boy,
And stood at their bed-feet.

7
'How likes thou the bed, Mossgrey?
Or how likes thou the sheets?
Or how likes thou my master's lady,
Lyes in thy arms and sleeps?'

8
'Weel I love the bed,' he said,
'And far better the sheets;
But foul may fa your master's lady,
Lies in my arms and sleeps!'

9
She pulled out a rusty sword,
Was sticking by the stroe;
Says, Tell no tidings of me, my boy,
Or thou'll neer tell no moe.

10
He's awa to the king's court,
As fast as he can dree;
He's awa to the king's court,
For to tell Barnaby.

11
'Are there any of my biggins brunt?
Or any of my young men slain?
Or is my lady brocht to bed,
Of a dochter or a son?'

12
'There is none of your biggings brunt,
There's none of your young men slain;
But Little Mossgrey and your lady
They are both in a bed within.'

13
'If that be true, my bonnie boy,
Thou tellest unto me,
I have not a dochter but only one,
And married ye shall be.

14
'But if it be a lie, my bonnie boy,
You're telling unto me,
On the highest tree of Bailsberry,
Thereon I'll gar hang thee.'

15
There was a man in the king's court
Had a love to Little Mossgrey;
He took a horn out of his pocket,
And blew both loud and hie:
'He that's in bed wi Barnabas' lady,
It's time he were away!'

16
'Oh am I not the maddest man
Ere lay in a woman's bed!
I think I hear his bridle ring,
But and his horse feet tread.'

17
'Lye still, lye still, Little Mossgrey,
And keep me from the cold;
It's but my father's small sheep-herd,
Calling his sheep to the fold.'

18
With wrapped arms in bed they lay
Till they fell both asleep,
Till up and darts Barnabas himsell,
And stood at their bed-fit.

19
'How likest thou the bed, Mossgrey?
And how loves thou the sheets?
And how loves thou my lady fair,
Lyes in your arms and sleeps?'

20
'Well I love your bed,' he says,
'And far better your sheets;
But foul may fa your lady fair,
Lyes in my arms and sleeps!'

21
'Rise, O rise, Little Mossgrey,
Put on your hose and shoon;
I'll neer hae't said in a far countrie
I killed a naked man.'

22
Slowly, slowly rose he up,
And slowly put he on,
And slowly down the stairs he goes,
And thinking to be slain.

23
'Here's two swords,' Barnabas said,
'I wad they cost me dear;
Tak thou the best, I'll tak the warst,
We'll try the battle here.'

24
The first stroke that Mossgrey got,
It was baith sharp and sore;
And the next stroke his lady got,
One word she neer spak more.

25
'Ye'll mak a coffin large and wide,
And lay this couple in;
And lay her head on his right hand,
She's come o the highest kin.'

K

Dr Joseph Robertson's Journal of Excursions, No 5, taken
down from a man in the parish of Leochel, Aberdeenshire,
February 12, 1829.

1
It's four and twenty bonny boys
Were playin at the ba,
And out it cums Lord Barnet's ladie,
And playit out ower them a'.

2
And aye she shot it's Little Mousgray,
As clear as any sun:
'O what wad ye gie, it's Little Mousgray,
It's in o my arms to won?'

3
'For no, for no, my gay ladie,
For no, that maunna be;
For well ken I by the rings on your fingers,
Lord Barnet's ladie are ye.'

4
When supper was over, and mass was sung,
And a' man boun for bed,
It's Little Mousgray and that lady
In ae chamber was laid.

5
It's up and starts her little foot-page,
Just up at her bed-feet:
'Hail weel, hail weel, my little foot-page,
Hail well this deed on me,
An ever I lee my life to brook,
I 'se pay you well your fee.'

6
Out it spaks it's Little Mousgray:
'I think I hear a horn blaw;
She blaws baith loud and shill at ilka turning of the tune,
Mousgray, gae ye your wa!'

7
'Lie still, lie still, it's Little Mousgray,
Had the caul win frae my back;
It's bat my father's proud shepherds,
The're huntin their hogs to the fauld.'

8
O up it starts the bold Barnet:
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

9
'Win up, win up, it's Little Mousgray,
Draw ti your stockins and sheen;
I winna have it for to be said
I killed a naked man.

10
'There is two swords in my scabbart,
They cost me many a pun;
Tak ye the best, and I the warst,
And we sall to the green.'

11
The firsten strok Lord Barnet strak,
He wound Mousgray very sore;
The nexten stroke Lord Barnet strak,
Mousgray spak never more.

12
O he's taen out a lang, lang brand,
And stripped it athwart the straw,
And throch and throu his ain ladie
And he's gart it cum and ga.

13
There was nae main made for that ladie,
In bower whar she lay dead!
But a' was for her bonny young son,
Lay blobberin amang the bluid.

L

Buchan's MSS, I, 27; Scottish Traditional Versions of
Ancient Ballads, Percy Society, XVII, 21.

1
Four an twenty handsome youths
Were a' playing at the ba,
When forth it came him Little Munsgrove,
The flower out ower them a'.

2
At times he lost, at times he wan,
Till the noon-tide o the day,
And four an twenty gay ladies
Went out to view the play.

3
Some came down in white velvet,
And other some in green;
Lord Burnett's lady in red scarlet,
And shin'd like ony queen.

4
Some came down in white velvet,
And other some in pale;
Lord Burnett's lady in red scarlet,
Whose beauty did excell.

5
She gae a glance out ower them a',
As beams dart frae the sun;
She fixed her eyes on Little Munsgrove,
For him her love lay on.

6
'Gude day, gude day, ye handsome youth,
God make ye safe and free;
What woud ye gie this day, Munsgrove,
For ae night in bower wi me?'

7
'I darena for my lands, lady,
I darena for my life;
I ken by the rings on your fingers
Ye are Lord Burnett's wife.'

8
'It woud na touch my heart, Munsgrove,
Nae mair than 't woud my tae,
To see as much o his heart's blood
As twa brands coud let gae.

9
'I hae a bower in fair Strathdon,
And pictures round it sett,
And I hae ordered thee, Munsgrove,
In fair Strathdon to sleep.'

10
Her flattering words and fair speeches,
They were for him too strong,
And she's prevailed on Little Munsgrove
With her to gang along.

11
When mass was sung, and bells were rung,
And a' man bound for bed,
Little Munsgrove and that lady
In ae chamber were laid.

12
'O what hire will ye gie your page,
If he the watch will keep,
In case that your gude lord come hame
When we're fair fast asleep?'

13
'Siller, siller's be his wage,
And gowd shall be his hire;
But if he speak ae word o this,
He'll die in a burning fire.'

14
'The promise that I make, Madam,
I will stand to the same;
I winna heal it an hour langer
Than my master comes hame.'

15
She's taen a sharp brand in her hand,
Being in the tidive hour;
He ran between her and the door,
She never saw him more.

16
Where he found the grass grow green,
He slacked his shoes an ran,
And where he found the brigs broken,
He bent his bow an swam.

17
Lord Burnett ower a window lay,
Beheld baith dale and down;
And he beheld his ain foot-page
Come hastening to the town.

18
'What news, what news, my little wee boy,
Ye bring sae hastilie?'
'Bad news, bad news, my master,' he says,
'As ye will plainly see.'

19
'Are any of my biggins brunt, my boy?
Or are my woods hewed down?
Or is my dear lady lighter yet,
O dear daughter or son?'

20
'There are nane o your biggins brunt, master,
Nor are your woods hewn down;
Nor is your lady lighter yet,
O dear daughter nor son.

21
'But ye've a bower in fair Strathdon,
And pictures round it sett,
Where your lady and Little Munsgrove
In fair Strathdon do sleep.'

22
'O had your tongue! why talk you so
About my gay ladye?
She is a gude and chaste woman
As in the North Countrie.'

23
'A word I dinna lie, my lord,
A word I dinna lie;
And if ye winna believe my word,
Your ain twa een shall see.'

24
'Gin this be a true tale ye tell,
That ye have tauld to me,
I'll wed you to my eldest daughter,
And married you shall be.

25
'But if it be a fause story
That ye hae tauld to me,
A high gallows I'll gar be built,
And hanged shall ye be.'

26
He's called upon his landlady,
The reckoning for to pay,
And pulled out twa hands fou o gowd;
Says, We'll reckon anither day.

27
He called upon his stable-groom,
To saddle for him his steed,
And trampled ower yon rocky hills
Till his horse hoofs did bleed.

28
There was a man in Lord Burnett's train
Was ane o Munsgrove's kin,
And aye as fast as the horsemen rade,
Sae nimbly 's he did rin.

29
He set a horn to his mouth,
And he blew loud and sma,
And aye at every sounding's end,
'Awa, Munsgrove, awa!'

30
Then up it raise him Little Munsgrove,
And drew to him his sheen;
'Lye still, lye still,' the lady she cried,
'Why get ye up sae seen?'

31
'I think I hear a horn blaw,
And it blaws loud and sma;
And aye at every sounding's end,
Awa, Munsgrove, awa!'

32
'Lye still, lye still, ye Little Munsgrove,
Had my back frae the wind;
It's but my father's proud shepherd,
Caing his hogs to town.'

33
'I think I hear a horn blaw,
And it blaws loud and shrill,
And aye at every sounding's end
Bids Munsgrove take the hill.'

34
'Lye still, my boy, lye still, my sweet,
Had my back frae the cauld;
It's but the sugh o the westlin wind,
Blawing ower the birks sae bauld.'

35
He turned him right and round about,
And he fell fast asleep;
When up it started Lord Burnett,
And stood at their bed-feet.

36
'Is't for love o my blankets, Munsgrove?
Or is't for love o my sheets?
Or is't for love o my gay lady?
Sae soun in your arms she sleeps!'

37
'It's nae for love o your blankets, my lord,
Nor yet for love o your sheets;
But wae be to your gay ladye,
Sae soun in my arms she sleeps!'

38
'Win up, win up, ye Little Munsgrove,
Put all your armour an;
It's never be said anither day
I killed a naked man.

39
'I hae twa brands in ae scabbard,
Cost me merks twenty-nine;
Take ye the best, gie me the warst,
For ye're the weakest man.'

40
The first an stroke that Munsgrove drew
Wounded Lord Burnett sair;
The next an stroke Lord Burnett drew,
Munsgrove he spake nae mair.

41
He turned him to his ladye then,
And thus to her said he:
'All the time we've led our life
I neer thought this o thee.

42
'How like ye now this well-faird face,
That stands straight by your side?
Or will ye hate this ill-faird face,
Lyes weltering in his blude?'

43
'O better love I this well-faird face,
Lyes weltering in his blude,
Then eer I'll do this ill-faird face,
That stands straight by my side.'

44
Then he's taen out a sharp dagger,
It was baith keen and smart,
And he has wounded that gay ladye
A deep wound to the heart.

45
'A grave, a grave,' cried Lord Burnett,
'To bury these two in,
And lay my ladye in the highest flat,
She's chiefest o the kin.

46
'A grave, a grave,' said Lord Burnett,
'To bury these two in;
Lay Munsgrove in the lowest flat,
He's deepest in the sin.

47
'Ye'll darken my windows up secure,
Wi staunchions round about,
And there is not a living man
Shall eer see me walk out.

48
'Nae mair fine clothes my body deck,
Nor kame gang in my hair,
Nor burning coal nor candle light
Shine in my bower mair.'

M

Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix, p. xx, XXI.

It fell upon a Martinmas time,
When the nobles were a' drinking wine,
That Little Mushiegrove to the kirk he did go,
For to see the ladies come in.

N

Communicated by Miss Margaret Reburn, as heard in County
Meath, Ireland, about 1860.

1
'How do you like my rug?' he said,
'And how do you like my sheets?
And how do you like my false ladie,
That lies in your arms asleep?'

2
'Well I like your rug my lord,
And well I like your sheets;
But better than all your fair ladie,
That lies in my arms asleep.'

* * * * *

#A. a.#

3^2. in pale.

6^2. geight.

6^3. wilt wed.

9^2. or sinn.

17^3. thou fair.

29^3. on upper.

#b.#

1^4. Their masses and mattins.

2^2. _omits_ private.

3^2. pale.

3^4. among.

4^4. I have.

5^4. Yet word I never durst.

6^2. daintily bedight.

7^1. lady fair.

7^2. you shew.

7^4. will I.

8^1. All this was heard by.

8^3. Quo he, though I am my ladies page.

8^4. my lord.

9^2. Although I lose a limb.

9^3. whereas.

10^4. thy none.

11^4. _omits_ will.

14^3. when as the.

14^4. Away, thou little Musgrave.

15^3. Bernards horn.

16^4. to fold.

17^1. the perch.

17^3. thy fair.

18^2. lighted upon a stone.

19^4. Doest find my lady so sweet.

20^3. hunder'd pound.

21^4. That I killed.

25^3. not do.

25^4. Though I.

26^1. _omits_ That: heart.

27^2. ne're were.

28^2. on a.

#B.#

5^4. Musgerue.

_6 is written in the MS. after 8, but a marginal note by
the scribe directs this stanza to be put two higher than
it is written._ Furnivall.

8^4. awaw.

9^3. out 3.

11^2. _Between here and 12^3 half a page is gone._

13^4. all 3.

#C.#

#a.# The lamentable Ditty of Little Mousgrove and the
Lady Barnet... London, printed for H. Gosson. _Stanzas of
eight lines._

#b.# London: printed for J. Clark, W. Thackeray, and T.
Passenger.

#c.# A Lamentable Ballad of the Little Musgrove and the
Lady Barnet... London, printed for F. Coles, T. Vere, J.
Wright, and J. Clarke.

#e.# London: printed by and for W. O., and are to be sold
by the Booksellers.

#a.#

15^3. might lay.

_After_ 16: The second part.

#b., c.#

Musgrove _throughout_.

1^1. light _wanting_.

1^2. more be.

2^4. which did to the.

3^2. some came. #c.# pale.

3^3. The next: the lady.

3^4. #c.# among.

4^1. upon.

4^3. well thou perceived.

5^1. The: most _wanting_.

5^3. #b.# reply.

6^3. that you please.

7^2. my love.

8^1. #b.# my life: my death.

8^2. will lye.

8^4. #c.# my love to thee.

9^3. come.

9^4. While: doe _wanting_.

10^3. So he: doe _wanting_.

11^1. he said.

13^1. ran this.

13^3. #b.# He then.

13^3. his own.

14^2. #c.# he did.

14^4. bent his.

15^2. to the.

15^3. #b.# my say. #c.# may say.

16^2. there _wanting_. #c.# did make.

16^3. upon.

16^4. doth.

17^2. that thou. #b.# telst.

17^2. to _wanting_.

18^2. as _wanting_. #b.# to _wanting_.

18^3. shall be set up.

18^4. thou shalt.

19^2. thou hearest of. #c.# And a.

19^3. Never stay a pair of gallows to make. #b.# to
_wanting_.

19^4. me on.

20^1. Lord Barnet calld his merry men all.

20^3. was so.

21^1. he said.

21^4. #b.# his deed.

22^1. to make no noise.

22^2. all... on _wanting_.

22^3. horn.

23^1. #c.# of them that.

23^3. him notice: was come.

23^4. wind the.

24^1. did sound.

24^3. if he.

26^4. into the.

27^3. awake: did espy. #b.# then he.

27^4. the beds.

28^2. cloathing.

28^3. #c.# never shall.

28^3. England fair.

28^4. That I.

29^1. #b.# Here is two swords.

29^2. #c.# The choice: Musgrove shall.

29^3. shall.

30^1. good _wanting_.

30^{1, 3}. that _wanting_.

31^2. did _wanting_.

31^3. And with: furious wise.

32^4. she's the better skin: #c.# she is.

33^2. #b.# grieved. #c.# grievd.

33^3. #c.# death of these worthy.

34^1. #c.# mischief.

34^3. #b.# shun the.

34^4. And fly from sin.

#d.#

1^1. a high.

9^1. with this.

11^3. counsel, Madam.

21^2. my milk-white.

23^4. wind his bugle horn clear.

33^3. these three lovely.

#e.#

1^1. a high.

1^3. Little _wanting_.

3^3. Then next.

8^1. my life: my death.

13^3. He then.

15^3. might tell to.

19^2. that _wanting_.

26^4. unto the.

28^2. an _for_ on.

29^1. Here is two.

29^2. Musgrove thy choice now make.

31^3. most _wanting_.

34^3. shun the.

#E.#

10^1. this tidings.

12^3. Banburry.

15^3. It neer.

18^2. struck her.

19^4. wud: (with it) _in margin_.

#G.#

10^1. (cam) to the green wood cam.

#H.#

13^1. Oh.

#I.#

9^3. old word.

#K.#

2^1. _Corrupt_: cf. #A#4, #C#4, #D#2, _etc._

13^2. lay slain.

#L.#

9^4 On.

48^1. decks.

[136] #C a# was most obligingly copied, and #C b# collated, for me by Professor Skeat with his own hand.

[137] #L#, one of two copies in Buchan's MSS, would certainly have been but the slightest loss if omitted, as another, MSS II, 152, being a broadside made over for the stalls, has been.

[138] Pagani appellati interdum infantes quorum certis ex causis differebatur baptismus; Ducange, s. v. Pagani, who cites, Infans infirmus et paganus commendatus presbytero, etc. Ethnicus was used in the same way.

82

THE BONNY BIRDY

Jamieson-Brown MS., fol. 42; Jamieson's Popular Ballads,
I, 162.

Jamieson, in printing this ballad, gave the husband the name Lord Randal, made many changes, and introduced several stanzas, "to fill up chasms." But the chasms, such as they are, are easily leapt by the imagination, and Jamieson's interpolations are mere bridges of carpenter's work. The admirably effective burden is taken into the story at stanza 11. As Jamieson remoulds the ballad, it is no burden, but a part of the dialogue throughout.

The main part of the action is the same as in 'Little Musgrave.' The superior lyrical quality of the Scottish ballad makes up for its inferiority as a story, so that on the whole it cannot be prized much lower than the noble English ballad.

* * * * *

Cunningham has rewritten the ballad in his own style, pretending, as often, to have known another recited copy: 'Sir Hugh,' Songs of Scotland, II, 130.

1
There was a knight, in a summer's night,
Was riding oer the lee, diddle
An there he saw a bonny birdy,
Was singing upon a tree. diddle
O wow for day! diddle
An dear gin it were day! diddle
Gin it were day, an gin I were away!
For I ha na lang time to stay. diddle

2
'Make hast, make hast, ye gentle knight,
What keeps you here so late?
Gin ye kent what was doing at hame,
I fear you woud look blate.'

3
'O what needs I toil day an night,
My fair body to kill,
Whan I hae knights at my comman,
An ladys at my will?'

4
'Ye lee, ye lee, ye gentle knight,
Sa loud's I hear you lee;
Your lady's a knight in her arms twa
That she lees far better nor the.'

5
'Ye lee, you lee, you bonny birdy,
How you lee upo my sweet!
I will tak out my bonny bow,
An in troth I will you sheet.'

6
'But afore ye hae your bow well bent,
An a' your arrows yare,
I will flee till another tree,
Whare I can better fare.'

7
'O whare was you gotten, and whare was ye clecked?
My bonny birdy, tell me:'
'O I was clecked in good green wood,
Intill a holly tree;
A gentleman my nest herryed,
An ga me to his lady.

8
'Wi good white bread an farrow-cow milk
He bade her feed me aft,
An ga her a little wee simmer-dale wanny,
To ding me sindle and saft.

9
'Wi good white bread an farrow-cow milk
I wot she fed me nought,
But wi a little wee simmer-dale wanny
She dang me sair an aft:
Gin she had deen as ye her bade,
I woudna tell how she has wrought.'

10
The knight he rade, and the birdy flew,
The live-lang simmer's night,
Till he came till his lady's bowr-door,
Then even down he did light:
The birdy sat on the crap of a tree,
An I wot it sang fu dight.

11
'O wow for day! diddle
An dear gin it were day! diddle
Gin it were day, an gin I were away!
For I ha na lang time to stay.' diddle

12
'What needs ye lang for day, diddle.
An wish that you were away? diddle
Is no your hounds i my cellar,
Eating white meal an gray?' diddle
O wow, etc.

13
'Is nae your steed in my stable,
Eating good corn an hay?
An is nae your hawk i my perch-tree,
Just perching for his prey?
An is nae yoursel i my arms twa?
Then how can ye lang for day?'

14
'O wow for day! diddle
An dear gin it were day! diddle
For he that's in bed wi anither man's wife
Has never lang time to stay.' diddle

15
Then out the knight has drawn his sword,
An straiked it oer a strae,
An thro and thro the fa'se knight's waste
He gard cauld iron gae:
An I hope ilk ane sal sae be servd
That treats ane honest man sae.

* * * * *

_The burden stands thus in the manuscript after the first stanza_:

O wow for day, diddle
An dear gin it were day, diddle
Gin it were day, diddle
I were away,
For I ha na lang time to stay. diddle

13^1. nae you. (?)

83

CHILD MAURICE

#A.# 'Childe Maurice,' Percy MS., p. 346; Hales and
Furnivall, II, 502.

#B.# 'Child Noryce,' Motherwell's MS., p. 255;
Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 282.

#C.# 'Bob Norice,' Motherwell's MS., p. 510.

#D.# 'Gill Morice,' Motherwell's MS., p. 480.

#E.# 'Chield Morice,' Motherwell's MS., p. 165;
Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 269.

#F. a.# 'Gil Morrice,' Percy's Reliques, III, 93, 1765.
#b.# Letter of T. Gray, June, 1757 (?).

#G.# Jamieson's Popular Ballads, I, 18, three stanzas;
Jamieson, in The Scots Magazine, 1803, LXV, 698, two
stanzas.

#A# was printed from the Percy manuscript by Jamieson, in his Popular Ballads, I, 8. Of #B# Motherwell says, 1827: "By testimony of a most unexceptionable description, but which it would be tedious here to detail, the editor can distinctly trace this ballad as existing in its present shape at least a century ago."

In his preface to the copy of the ballad in the Reliques of Ancient Poetry (#F#), Percy remarks: "The following piece has lately run through two editions in Scotland, the second printed at Glasgow in 1755, 8vo. Prefixed to them both is an advertisement, setting forth that the preservation of this poem was owing 'to a lady, who favored the printers with a copy as it was carefully collected from the mouths of old women and nurses;' and 'any reader that can render it more correct or complete' is desired to oblige the public with such improvements. In consequence of this advertisement sixteen additional verses have been produced and handed about in manuscript, which are here inserted in their proper places." The copy printed in 1755[139] and earlier had already "received very considerable modern improvements," as Percy goes on to say, the most noticeable of which is a conclusion of eight stanzas, in the taste of the middle of the last century. These, as also the four stanzas which had been handed about in manuscript, are omitted from this reprint.

Home's tragedy of Douglas, produced in Edinburgh in 1756, was founded upon the story of Gil Morice, and the popularity of the play seems to have given vogue to the ballad.[140] The sophisticated copy passed into recitation, and may very likely have more or less infected those which were repeated from earlier tradition. An old woman (Mrs Thomson, the reciter of #E#), who was born about the time when the ballad was printed, told Motherwell that she had learned 'Chield Morice' in her infancy from her grandmother, but at a later period of her life committed to memory 'Gil Morice,' "which began, with young lasses like her, to be a greater favorite and more fashionable than the set which her grandmother and old folks used to sing."[141]

Gray writes to Mason, June, 1757 (?): "I have got the old Scotch ballad on which Douglas was founded; it is divine, and as long as from hence [Cambridge] to Aston."[142] He cites the first fifteen lines.

The copy in Smith's Scottish Minstrel, III, 106, is Herd's (Percy's), with omissions and changes. 'Child Nourice,' a fragment, in Buchan's MSS, I, 143, is of recent make.

The name of Barnard, a name, says Aytoun, quite foreign to Scotland, may have been adopted from 'Little Musgrave.' There is a marked similarity in the conclusion of the two ballads.

Aytoun, in his compilation, I, 147, 149, rejects the two stanzas, #F# 13, 14, beginning, "And when he came to broken brigue," as taken from 'Lady Maisry.' These stanzas are the most favorite of all commonplaces, and belong as much to one ballad as another. They occur in one version or another of 'Lord Ingram,' 'Little Musgrave,' 'The Clerk's Twa Sons,' etc., and wearisomely often in the ballads in Buchan's collection.

The popularity of 'Gil Morice' since the middle of the last century has caused the story to be localized. The green wood, says Motherwell, was believed to be "the ancient forest of Dundaff, in Stirlingshire, and Lord Barnard's castle to have occupied a precipitous cliff overhanging the Water of Carron, on the lands of Halbertshire." Gil Morice, "according to the unvarying traditions of the country, was remarkable for the extreme length and loveliness of his yellow hair." Motherwell considers that the embellishments of the ballad may have been suggested by these traditions. But why should not these traditions have been derived from the embellished ballad? There had already been nearly fourscore years for them to grow up at the date of the publication of his Minstrelsy.

* * * * *

#B# is translated by Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 11, Hausschatz, p. 222; #F# by Loève-Veimars, p. 316, with some retrenchment; Allingham's copy by Knortz, Lieder u. Romanzen Alt-Englands, No 31.

A

Percy MS., p. 346; Hales and Furnivall, II, 502.

1
Childe Maurice hunted ithe siluer wood,
He hunted itt round about,
And noebodye _tha_t he ffound therin,
Nor none there was w_i_th-out.

2
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
And he tooke his siluer combe in his hand,
To kembe his yellow lockes.

3
He sayes, Come hither, thou litle ffoot-page,
_Tha_t runneth lowlye by my knee,
Ffor thou shalt goe to Iohn Stewards wiffe
And pray her speake w_i_th mee.

4
' . . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
I, and greete thou doe _tha_t ladye well,
Euer soe well ffroe mee.

5
'And, as itt ffalls, as many times
As knotts beene knitt on a kell,
Or marchant men gone to leeue London,
Either to buy ware or sell.

6
'And, as itt ffalles, as many times
As any hart can thinke,
Or schoole-masters are in any schoole-house,
Writting w_i_th pen and inke:
Ffor if I might, as well as shee may,
This night I wold w_i_th her speake.

7
'And heere I send her a mantle of greene,
As greene as any grasse,
And bidd her come to the siluer wood,
To hunt w_i_th Child Maurice.

8
'And there I send her a ring of gold,
A ring of p_re_cyous stone,
And bidd her come to the siluer wood,
Let ffor no kind of man.'

9
One while this litle boy he yode,
Another while he ran,
Vntill he came to Iohn Stewards hall,
I-wis he neuer blan.

10
And of nurture the child had good,
Hee ran vp hall and bower ffree,
And when he came to this lady ffaire,
Sayes, God you saue and see!

11
'I am come ffrom Ch[i]ld Maurice,
A message vnto thee;
And Child Maurice, he greetes you well,
And euer soe well ffrom mee.

12
'And, as itt ffalls, as oftentimes
As knotts beene knitt on a kell,
Or marchant-men gone to leeue London,
Either ffor to buy ware or sell.

13
'And as oftentimes he greetes you well
As any hart can thinke,
Or schoolem_aster_s [are] in any schoole,
Wryting w_i_th pen and inke.

14
'And heere he sends a mantle of greene,
As greene as any grasse,
And he bidds you come to the siluer wood,
To hunt w_i_th Child Maurice.

15
'And heere he sends you a ring of gold,
A ring of the p_re_cyous stone;
He prayes you to come to the siluer wood,
Let ffor no kind of man.'

16
'Now peace, now peace, thou litle ffoot-page,
Ffor Christes sake, I pray thee!
Ffor if my lo_rd_ heare one of these words,
Thou must be hanged hye!'

17
Iohn Steward stood vnder the castle-wall,
And he wrote the words euerye one,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

18
And he called vnto his hors-keep_er_,
'Make readye you my steede!'
I, and soe hee did to his chamberlaine,
'Make readye thou my weede!'

19
And he cast a lease vpon his backe,
And he rode to the siluer wood,
And there he sought all about,
About the siluer wood.

20
And there he ffound him Child Maurice
Sitting vpon a blocke,
W_i_th a siluer combe in his hand,
Kembing his yellow locke[s.]

* * * * * * *

21
But then stood vp him Child Maurice,
And sayd these words trulye:
'I doe not know yo_u_r ladye,' he said,
'If _tha_t I doe her see.'

22
He sayes, How now, how now, Child Maurice?
Alacke, how may this bee?
Ffor thou hast sent her loue-tokens,
More now then two or three.

23
'Ffor thou hast sent her a mantle of greene,
As greene as any grasse,
And bade her come to the siluer woode,
To hunt w_i_th Child Maurice.

24
'And thou [hast] sent her a ring of gold,
A ring of p_re_cyous stone,
And bade her come to the siluer wood,
Let ffor noe kind of man.

25
'And by my ffaith, now, Child Maurice,
The tone of vs shall dye!'
'Now be my troth,' sayd Child Maurice,
'And _tha_t shall not be I.'

26
But hee pulled forth a bright browne sword,
And dryed itt on the grasse,
And soe ffast he smote att Iohn Steward,
I-wisse he neuer [did] rest.

27
Then hee pulled fforth his bright browne sword,
And dryed itt on his sleeue,
And the ffirst good stroke Iohn Stewart stroke,
Child Maurice head he did cleeue.

28
And he pricked itt on his swords poynt,
Went singing there beside,
And he rode till he came to _tha_t ladye ffaire,
Wheras this ladye lyed.

29
And sayes, Dost thou know Child Maurice head,
If _tha_t thou dost itt see?
And lapp itt soft, and kisse itt offt,
Ffor thou louedst him better than mee.'

30
But when shee looked on Child Maurice head,
Shee neuer spake words but three:
'I neuer beare no child but one,
And you haue slaine him trulye.'

31
Sayes, Wicked be my merrymen all,
I gaue meate, drinke, and clothe!
But cold they not haue holden me
When I was in all _tha_t wrath!

32
'Ffor I haue slaine one of the curteousest k_nigh_ts
_Tha_t euer bestrode a steed,
Soe haue I done one [of] the fairest ladyes
_Tha_t euer ware womans weede!'

B

Motherwell's MS., p. 255; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p.
282. From the singing of Widow McCormick, Paisley,
January 19, 1825. Learned by her of an old woman in
Dumbarton: Motherwell's Note Book, fol. 4.

1
Child Noryce is a clever young man,
He wavers wi the wind;
His horse was silver-shod before,
With the beaten gold behind.

2
He called to his little man John,
Saying, You don't see what I see;
For O yonder I see the very first woman
That ever loved me.

3
'Here is a glove, a glove,' he said,
'Lined with the silver grey;
You may tell her to come to the merry green-wood,
To speak to Child Nory.

4
'Here is a ring, a ring,' he says,
'It's all gold but the stane;
You may tell her to come to the merry green-wood,
And ask the leave o nane.'

5
'So well do I love your errand, my master,
But far better do I love my life;
O would ye have me go to Lord Barnard's castle,
To betray away his wife?'

6
'O don't I give you meat,' he says,
'And don't I pay you fee?
How dare you stop my errand?' he says;
'My orders you must obey.'

7
O when he came to Lord Bernard's castle,
He tinkled at the ring;
Who was as ready as Lord Barnard himself
To let this little boy in?

8
'Here is a glove, a glove,' he says,
'Lined with the silver grey;
You are bidden to come to the merry green-wood,
To speak to Child Nory.

9
'Here is a ring, a ring,' he says,
'It's all gold but the stane;
You are bidden to come to the merry green-wood,
And ask the leave o nane.'

10
Lord Barnard he was standing by,
And an angry man was he:
'O little did I think there was a lord in the world
My lady loved but me!'

11
O he dressed himself in the holland smock,
And garments that was gay,
And he is away to the merry green-wood,
To speak to Child Nory.

12
Child Noryce sits on yonder tree,
He whistles and he sings:
'O wae be to me,' says Child Noryce,
'Yonder my mother comes!'

13
Child Noryce he came off the tree,
His mother to take off the horse:
'Och alace, alace,' says Child Noryce,
'My mother was neer so gross!'

14
Lord Barnard he had a little small sword,
That hung low down by his knee;
He cut the head off Child Noryce,
And put the body on a tree.

15
And when he came home to his castell,
And to his ladie's hall,
He threw the head into her lap,
Saying, Lady, there's a ball!

16
She turned up the bloody head,
She kissed it frae cheek to chin:
'Far better do I love this bloody head
Than all my royal kin.

17
'When I was in my father's castel,
In my virginity,
There came a lord into the North,
Gat Child Noryce with me.'

18
'O wae be to thee, Lady Margaret,' he sayd,
'And an ill death may you die;
For if you had told me he was your son,
He had neer been slain by me.'

C

Motherwell's MS., p. 510, from the singing of Mrs Storie,
wife of William Storie, laborer, Lochwinnoch. A song of
Mrs Storie's grandmother.

1
Bob Norice is to the grein-wud gane,
He is awa wi the wind;
His horse is siller-shod afore,
In the shynand gowd ahind.

2
He said unto his wee boy John,
I sie what ye dinna sie;
I see the [first] woman that I eer luvit,
Or ever luvit me.

3
'Gae tak to hir this pair o gluvis,
They're o the siller-gray,
And tell her to cum to the merrie grein-wud
An speik to Bob Norice.

4
'Gae tak to her this gay gowd ring,
And it's aw gowd but the stane,
And tell her to cum to the merrie grein-wud,
And ask the leive o nane.

5
'Gae tak to her this braw manteil,
It's a' silk but the sleive,
And tell her to cum to the merrie green-wud,
And ax nae bauld Barnet's leive.'

6
'I daurna gang to Lord Barnet's castel,
I daurna gang for my lyfe;
I daurna gang to Lord Barnet's castell,
To twyne him o his wife.'

7
'Do I nae pay you gowd?' he said,
'Do I nae pay you fee?
How daur you stand my bidding, Sir,
Whan I bid you to flee?'

8
'Gif I maun gang to Lord Barnet's castel,
Sae sair agane my will,
I vow a vow, and I do protest,
It sall be dune for ill.'

9
But whan he came to Lord Barnet's castel
He tinklet at the ring;
Tha war nane sae ready as Lord Barnet himsell
To let the wee calland in.

10
'What news, what news, my bonnie wee boy?
What news hae ye to me?'
'Nae news, nae news, Lord Barnet,' he said,
'But your ladie I fain would see.

11
'Here is a pair o gluves to her,
Thay'r o the silver gray;
And tell her to cum to the merrie green-wud,
And speik to Bob Norice.

12
'Here is a gay gowd ring to her,
It's aw gowd but the stane;
And she maun cum to the merrie green-wud,
And speir the leive o nane.

13
'Here is a gay manteil to her,
It's aw silk but the sleive;
And she maun cum to the merrie grein-wud,
And ask not bauld Barnet's leive.'

14
Then out bespack the yellow nurse,
Wi the babie on her knee,
Sayand, Gif thay be cum frae Bob Norice,
They are welcum to me.

15
'O haud your tung, ye yellow nurse,
Aloud an I heir ye lie;
For they're to Lord Barnet's lady,
I trew that this be she.'

16
Lord Barnet's to a dressing-room,
And buskt him in woman's array,
And he's awa to the merrie green-wud,
To speik to Bob Norrice.

17
Bob Norrice he sits on a tree,
He is whissland and singand;
Says, Merrie, merrie may my hert be,
I see my mither cumand.

18
Bob Norice he cam doun frae the trie,
To help his mother to licht fra her horss;
'Och alace, alace,' says Bob Norice,
'My mither was neer sae gross!'

19
Lord Barnet had a not-brown sword,
That hung down by his knee,
And he has cut Bob Norice heid
Aff frae his fair bodie.