Chapter XX: Appendix (15)

9
O he has run to Darlinton,
And tirled at the pin;
And wha was sae ready as Eleanor's sell
To let the bonny boy in?

10
'Your gude-mother has made ye a rare dinour,
She's made it baith gude and fine;
Your gude-mother has made ye a gay dinour,
And ye maun cum till her and dine.'

11
It's twenty lang miles to Sillertoun town,
The langest that ever were gane;
But the steed it was wight, and the ladye was light,
And she cam linkin in.

12
But when she came to Sillertoun town,
And into Sillertoun ha,
The torches were burning, the ladies were mourning,
And they were weeping a'.

13
'O where is now my wedded lord,
And where now can he be?
O where is now my wedded lord?
For him I canna see.'

14
'Your wedded lord is dead,' she says,
'And just gane to be laid in the clay;
Your wedded lord is dead,' she says,
'And just gane to be buried the day.

15
'Ye'se get nane o his gowd, ye 'se get nane o his gear,
Ye'se get nae thing frae me;
Ye'se na get an inch o his gude broad land,
Tho your heart suld burst in three.'

16
'I want nane o his gowd, I want nane o his gear,
I want nae land frae thee;
But I'll hae the ring that's on his finger,
For them he did promise to me.'

17
'Ye'se na get the ring that's on his finger,
Ye'se na get them frae me;
Ye'se na get the ring that's on his finger,
An your heart suld burst in three.'

18
She's turn'd her back unto the wa,
And her face unto a rock,
And there, before the mother's face,
Her very heart it broke.

19
The tane was buried in Marie's kirk,
The tother in Marie's quair,
And out o the tane there sprang a birk,
And out o the tother a brier.

20
And thae twa met, and thae twa plat,
The birk but and the brier,
And by that ye may very weel ken
They were twa lovers dear.

B

Motherwell's MS. p. 149; Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p.
200; from the recitation of Mrs Thomson, Kilbarchan, a
native of Bonhill, Dumbartonshire, aged betwixt sixty and
seventy.

1
It's fifty miles to Sittingen's Rocks,
As eer was ridden or gane;
And Earl Robert has wedded a wife,
But he dare na bring her hame.
And Earl Robert has wedded a wife,
But he dare na bring her hame.

2
His mother, she called to her waiting-maid,
To bring her a pint o wine:
'For I dinna weel ken what hour of the day
That my son Earl Robert shall dine.'

3
She's put it to her fause, fause cheek,
But an her fause, fause chin;
She's put it to her fause, fause lips,
But never a drap went in.

4
But he's put it to his bonny cheek,
Aye and his bonny chin;
He's put it to his red rosy lips,
And the poison went merrily doun.

5
'O where will I get a bonny boy,
That will win hose and shoon,
That will gang quickly to Sittingen's Rocks,
And bid my lady come?'

6
It's out then speaks a bonny boy,
To Earl Robert was something akin:
'Many a time have I ran thy errand,
But this day wi the tears I'll rin.'

7
Bat when he came to Sittingin's Rocks,
To the middle of a' the ha,
There were bells a ringing, and music playing,
And ladies dancing a'.

8
'What news, what news, my bonny boy?
What news have ye to me?
Is Earl Robert in very good health,
And the ladies of your countrie?'

9
'O Earl Robert's in very good health,
And as weel as a man can be;
But his mother this night has a drink to be druken,
And at it you must be.'

10
She called to her waiting-maid,
To bring her a riding-weed,
And she called to her stable-groom,
To saddle her milk-white steed.

11
But when she came to Earl Robert's bouir,
To the middle of a' the ha,
There were bells a ringing, and sheets doun hinging,
And ladies mourning a'.

12
'I've come for none of his gold,' she said,
'Nor none of his white monie,
Excepting a ring of his smallest finger,
If that you will grant me.'

13
'Thou'll not get none of his gold,' she said,
'Nor none of his white monie;
Thou'll not get a ring of his smallest finger,
Tho thy heart should break in three.'

14
She set her foot unto a stane,
Her back unto a tree;
She set her foot unto a stane,
And her heart did break in three.

15
The one was buried in Mary's kirk,
The other in Mary's quire;
Out of the one there grew a birk,
From the other a bonnie brier.

16
And these twa grew, and these twa threw,
Till their twa craps drew near;
So all the warld may plainly see
That they loved each other dear.

C

Motherwell's MS., p. 321, from Agnes Laird, Kilbarchan,
June 21, 1825.

1
Lord Robert and Mary Florence,
They were twa children young;
They were scarse seven years of age
Till love began to spring.

2
Lord Robert loved Mary Florence,
And she lovd him above power;
But he durst not for his cruel mother
Bring her unto his bower.

3
It was nineteen miles to Strawberry Castle,
As good as ever was rode or gane,
But the lord being light, and the steed being swift,
Lord Robert was hame gin noon.

4
'A blessing, a blessing, dear mother,' he cries,
'A blessing I do crave!'
'A blessing, a blessing, my son Lord Robert,
And a blessing thou shalt have.'

5
She called on her chamber-maid
To fill up a glass of wine,
And so clever was her cursed fingers
To put the rank poison in.

6
'O wae be to you, mother dear,' he cries,
'For working such a wae;
For poisoning of your son Lord Robert,
And children you have nae mae.

7
'O where will I get a pretty little boy
That'll rin him my errands sune?
That will rin unto Strawberry Castle,
And tell Mary Florence to cum?'

8
'Here am I, a pretty little boy,
Your eldest sister's son,
That will rin unto Strawberry Castle,
And tell Mary Florence to come.'

9
When he came unto Strawberry Castle
He tirled at the pin,
And so ready was Mary Florence hersell
To open and let him in.

10
'What news, what news, my pretty little boy?
What news hast thou brocht here?'
With sichin and sabbin and wringing his hands,
No message he could refer.

11
'The news that I have gotten,' he says,
'I cannot weel declair;
But my grandmother has prepard a feast,
And fain she would hae thee thair.'

12
She called on her stable-groom
To dress her swiftest steed;
For she knew very weel by this pretty little boy
That Lord Robert was dead.

13
And when she came to Knotingale Castle
She tirled at the pin,
And so ready was Lord Robert's mother
To open and let her in.

14
'What news, what news, Mary Florence?' she says,
'What news has thou to me?'
'I came to see your son Lord Robert,
And fain would I him see.

15
'I came not for his gude red gold,
Nor for his white monie,
But for the ring on his wee finger,
And fain would I it see.'

16
'That ring thou cannot see, Mary Florence,
That ring thou'll never see;
For death was so strong in Lord Robert's breast
That the gold ring burst in three.'

17
She has set her foot unto a stone,
Her back unto a tree;
Before she left Knotingale Castle
Her heart it brak in three.

D

Harris MS., fol. 29, from the recitation of Mrs Molison.

1
Prince Robert he has wedded a wife,
An he daurna bring her hame;
The queen ...
His mither was much to blame.

* * * * * * *

2
'It is the fashion in oor countrie, mither,
I dinna ken what it is here,
To like your wife better than your mither,
That... bought you sae dear.'

3
She called upon her best marie,
An tippet her wi a ring,
To bring to her the rank poison,
To gie Prince Robert a dram.

4
She put it to her cheek, her cheek,
She put it to her chin;
She put it to her fause, fause lips,
But neer a drap gaed in.

5
She put it to his cheek, his cheek,
She put it to his chin;
She put it to his rosy lips,
An the rank poison gaed in.

6
'Whare will I get a bonnie boy,
Wha will win meat an fee,
Wha will rin on to... bower,
Bring my gude ladie to me?'

7
'Here am I, a bonnie boy,
Willin to win meat an fee,
Wha will rin on to... bower,
An bring your gude ladie.'

8
'Whan you come to broken brig,
Tak aff your coat an swim;
An whan you come to grass growin,
Tak aff your shoon an rin.'

9
An whan he cam to broken brig,
He coost his coat an swam,
An whan he cam to grass growin,
Set doon his feet an ran.

10
An whan he cam to the ladie's bower,
He fand her a' her lane,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

* * * * * * *

11
An syne she kissed his wan, wan lips,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

* * * * *

#A.#

13^1, 13^3. Oh.

16^3, 17^1, 17^3. ring, _ed. 1802;_ rings, _ed. 1833._

#B.#

2^2. _Changed in the MS. to_ O bring me.

7^2, 11^2. a' _added later._

9^2. a _added later._

15^3. grew an; _the next word looks like ~buk~, but
is erased, and ~birk~ substituted. Motherwell printed
~bush~._

88

YOUNG JOHNSTONE

#A.# 'The Cruel Knight,' Herd, The Ancient and Modern
Scots Songs, 1769, p. 305; I, 165, ed. 1776.

#B. a.# 'Young Johnstone,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy,
p. 193. #b.# 'The Young Johnstone,' Finlay's Scottish
Historical and Romantic Ballads, II, 71.

#C.# 'Sweet William and the Young Colonel,' Motherwell's
MS., p. 310.

#D.# 'Johnston Hey and Young Caldwell,' Motherwell's MS.,
p. 639.

#E.# 'Lord John's Murder,' Buchan's Ballads of the North
of Scotland, II, 20.

#F.# 'Young Johnston,' Motherwell's Minstrelsy, Appendix,
p. xx, XVIII, one stanza.

Pinkerton inserted Herd's 'Cruel Knight,' #A#, in his Select Scotish Ballads, I, 69, with alterations and omissions. Motherwell enters in his Note-Book, p. 6, that he had received from Mrs Gentles, Paisley, 'The Young Johnstone,' "different in some measure from the copy in Finlay's Ballads." Of the version printed in his Minstrelsy (#B a#), undoubtedly that which was derived from Mrs Gentles, he says, "for a few verbal emendations recourse has been had to Mr Finlay's copy (#B b#)." These versions should therefore not have differed considerably, Finlay suppressed "Young Johnstone's reason for being sae late a coming in," "as well as a concluding stanza of inferior merit;" in this rejection he was not followed by Motherwell. Christie, I, 156, gives #E# "with some alterations from the way it was sung" by an old woman; petty variations, such as one must think could not have impressed themselves upon a memory unapt to retain things of more importance. 'Young Johnstone' in Chambers's Twelve Romantic Scottish Ballads, p. 19, is made up mostly from #B a#, #B b#, #E#, like the copy in the same editor's Scottish Ballads, p. 293, but handles tradition very freely.

#E# seems to be #A# altered, or imperfectly remembered, with the addition of a few stanzas. Motherwell remarks of his version, what is true of all the others but #E#, that the ballad throws no light on Young Johnstone's motive for stabbing his lady. An explanation was afforded by the reciter: "The barbarous act was committed unwittingly, through Young Johnstone's suddenly waking from sleep, and, in that moment of confusion and alarm, unhappily mistaking his mistress for one of his pursuers." And this is the turn which is given to the act in #E# 13:

'Ohon, alas, my lady gay,
To come sae hastilie!
I thought it was my deadly foe,
Ye had trysted into me.'

The apology may go for what it is worth. Awake or waking, Young Johnstone's first instinct is as duly to stab as a bull-dog's is to bite.

#C# 5, 9, 13 are taken from 'The Lass of Roch Royal:' cf. No 76, #B# 17, #C# 2, #E# 9, #H# 3. #D# 6 recalls 'Fair Margaret and Sweet William,' No 74, #A# 8, #B# 11; #A# 13, #B# 25, #C# 26, #D# 30, #E# 15, 'Lord Thomas and Fair Annet,' No 73, #B# 34, #D# 17; #D# 31, 32, 'The Twa Brothers,' No 49, #B# 4, #C# 4, 5, #D# 5, 7, #E# 6, 7, #F# 5, 6, #G# 4, 5.

* * * * *

#A#, with the last two stanzas of #B a#, is translated by Rosa Warrens, Schottische Volkslieder, No 27; #E# by Gerhard, p. 157; Aytoun, II, 110 by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 30, p. 94, with abridgment; Pinkerton's copy by Grundtvig, No 20, p. 136.

A

Herd's Ancient and Modern Scots Songs, 1769, p. 305.

1
The knight stands in the stable-door,
As he was for to ryde,
When out then came his fair lady,
Desiring him to byde.

2
'How can I byde? how dare I byde?
How can I byde with thee?
Have I not killd thy ae brother?
Thou hadst nae mair but he.'

3
'If you have killd my ae brother,
Alas, and woe is me!
But if I save your fair body,
The better you'll like me.'

4
She's tane him to her secret bower,
Pinnd with a siller pin,
And she's up to her highest tower,
To watch that none come in.

5
She had na well gane up the stair,
And entered in her tower,
When four and twenty armed knights
Came riding to the door.

6
'Now God you save, my fair lady,
I pray you tell to me,
Saw you not a wounded knight
Come riding by this way?'

7
'Yes, bloody, bloody was his sword,
And bloody were his hands;
But if the steed he rides be good,
He's past fair Scotland's strands.

8
'Light down, light down then, gentlemen,
And take some bread and wine;
The better you will him pursue
When you shall lightly dine.'

9
'We thank you for your bread, lady,
We thank you for your wine;
I would gie thrice three thousand pounds
Your fair body was mine.'

10
Then she's gane to her secret bower,
Her husband dear to meet;
But he drew out his bloody sword,
And wounded her sae deep.

11
'What aileth thee now, good my lord?
What aileth thee at me?
Have you not got my father's gold,
But and my mother's fee?'

12
'Now live, now live, my fair lady,
O live but half an hour,
There's neer a leech in fair Scotland
But shall be at thy bower.'

13
'How can I live? how shall I live?
How can I live for thee?
See you not where my red heart's blood
Runs trickling down my knee?'

* * * * * * *

B

#a.# Motherwell's Minstrelsy, p. 193, from the recitation
of Mrs Gentles, Paisley, #b.# Finlay's Scottish Ballads,
II, 71, from two recited copies.

1
Young Johnstone and the young Colnel
Sat drinking at the wine:
'O gin ye wad marry my sister,
It's I wad marry thine.'

2
'I wadna marry your sister
For a' your houses and land;
But I'll keep her for my leman,
When I come oer the strand.

3
'I wadna marry your sister
For a' your gowd so gay;
But I'll keep her for my leman,
When I come by the way.'

4
Young Johnstone had a little small sword,
Hung low down by his gair,
And he stabbed it through the young Colnel,
That word he neer spak mair.

5
But he's awa to his sister's bower,
He's tirled at the pin:
'Whare hae ye been, my dear brither,
Sae late a coming in?'
'I hae been at the school, sister,
Learning young clerks to sing.'

6
'I've dreamed a dreary dream this night,
I wish it may be for good;
They were seeking you with hawks and hounds,
And the young Colnel was dead.'

7
'Hawks and hounds they may seek me,
As I trow well they be;
For I have killed the young Colnel,
And thy own true-love was he.'

8
'If ye hae killed the young Colnel,
O dule and wae is me!
But I wish ye may be hanged on a hie gallows,
And hae nae power to flee.'

9
And he's awa to his true-love's bower,
He's tirled at the pin:
'Whar hae ye been, my dear Johnstone,
Sae late a coming in?'
'It's I hae been at the school,' he says,
'Learning young clerks to sing.'

10
'I have dreamed a dreary dream,' she says,
'I wish it may be for good;
They were seeking you with hawks and hounds,
And the young Colnel was dead.'

11
'Hawks and hounds they may seek me,
As I trow well they be;
For I hae killed the young Colnel,
And thy ae brother was he.'

12
'If ye hae killed the young Colnel,
O dule and wae is me!
But I care the less for the young Colnel,
If thy ain body be free.

13
'Come in, come in, my dear Johnstone,
Come in and take a sleep;
And I will go to my casement,
And carefully I will thee keep.'

14
He had not weel been in her bower-door,
No not for half an hour,
When four and twenty belted knights
Came riding to the bower.

15
'Well may you sit and see, lady,
Well may you sit and say;
Did you not see a bloody squire
Come riding by this way?'

16
'What colour were his hawks?' she says,
'What colour were his hounds?
What colour was the gallant steed,
That bore him from the bounds?'

17
'Bloody, bloody were his hawks,
And bloody were his hounds;
But milk-white was the gallant steed,
That bore him from the bounds.'

18
'Yes, bloody, bloody were his hawks,
And bloody were his hounds;
And milk-white was the gallant steed,
That bore him from the bounds.

19
'Light down, light down now, gentlemen,
And take some bread and wine;
And the steed be swift that he rides on,
He's past the brig o Lyne.'

20
'We thank you for your bread, fair lady,
We thank you for your wine;
But I wad gie thrice three thousand pound
That bloody knight was taen.'

21
'Lie still, lie still, my dear Johnstone,
Lie still and take a sleep;
For thy enemies are past and gone,
And carefully I will thee keep.'

22
But Young Johnstone had a little wee sword,
Hung low down by his gair,
And he stabbed it in fair Annet's breast,
A deep wound and a sair.

23
'What aileth thee now, dear Johnstone?
What aileth thee at me?
Hast thou not got my father's gold,
Bot and my mither's fee?'

24
'Now live, now live, my dear ladye,
Now live but half an hour,
And there's no a leech in a' Scotland
But shall be in thy bower.'

25
'How can I live? how shall I live?
Young Johnstone, do not you see
The red, red drops o my bonny heart's blood
Rin trinkling down my knee?

26
'But take thy harp into thy hand,
And harp out owre yon plain,
And neer think mair on thy true-love
Than if she had never been.'

27
He hadna weel been out o the stable,
And on his saddle set,
Till four and twenty broad arrows
Were thrilling in his heart.

C

Motherwell's MS., p. 310, from the recitation of Jeanie
Nicol, May 4, 1825.

1
Sweet William and the young Colnel
One day was drinking wine:
'It's I will marry your sister,
If ye will marry mine.'

2
'I will not marry your sister,
Altho her hair he brown;
But I'll keep her for my liberty-wife,
As I ride thro the town.'

3
William, having his two-edged sword,
He leaned quite low to the ground,
And he has given the young Colnel
A deep and a deadly wound.

4
He rade, he rade, and awa he rade,
Till he came to his mother's bower;
'O open, open, mother,' he says,
'And let your auld son in.

5
'For the rain rains owre my yellow hair,
And the dew draps on my chin,
And trembling stands the gallant steed
That carries me from the ground.'

6
'What aileth thee, Sweet William?' she says,
'What harm now hast thou done?'
'Oh I hae killed the young Colnel,
And his heart's blood sair does run.'

7
'If ye hae killed the young Colnel,
Nae shelter ye'll get frae me;
May the two-edged sword be upon your heart,
That never hath power to flee!'

8
He rade, he rade, and awa he rade,
Till he came to his sister's bower;
'Oh open, open, sister,' he says,
'And let your brother in.

9
'For the rain rains on my yellow hair,
And the dew draps on my chin,
And trembling stands the gallant steed
That carries me from the ground.'

10
'What aileth thee, Sweet William?' she says,
'What harm now hast thou done?'
'Oh I have killed the young Colnel,
And his heart's blood sair doth run.'

11
'If ye hae killed the young Colnel,
Nae shelter ye'll get frae me;
May the two-edged sword be upon your heart,
That never hath power to flee!'

12
He rade, he rade, and awa he rade,
Till he came to his true-love's bower;
'Oh open, oh open, my true-love,' he says,
'And let your sweetheart in.

13
'For the rain rains on my yellow hair,
And the dew draps on my chin,
And trembling stands the gallant steed
That carries me from the ground.'

14
'What aileth thee, Sweet William?' she says,
'What harm now hast thou done?'
'Oh I hae killed thy brother dear,
And his heart's blood sair doth run.'

15
'If ye hae killed my brother dear,
It's oh and alace for me!
But between the blankets and the sheets
It's there I will hide thee!'

16
She's taen him by the milk-white hand,
She's led him thro chambers three,
Until she came to her own chamber:
'It's there I will hide thee.

17
'Lye down, lye down, Sweet William,' she says,
'Lye down and take a sleep;
It's owre the chamber I will watch,
Thy fair bodie to keep.'

18
She had not watched at the chamber-door
An hour but only three,
Till four and twenty belted knichts
Did seek his fair bodie.

19
'O did you see the hunt?' she says,
'Or did you see the hounds?
Or did you see that gallant steed,
That last rade thro the town?'

20
'What colour was the fox?' they said,
'What colour was the hounds?
What colour was the gallant steed,
That's far yont London toun?'

21
'O dark grey was the fox,' she said,
'And light grey was the hounds,
But milk-white was the gallant steed
That's far yont London town.'

22
'Rise up, rise up, Sweet William,' she says,
'Rise up, and go away;
For four and twenty belted knights
Were seeking thy bodye.'

23
Sweet William, having his two-edged sword,
He leaned it quite low to the ground,
And he has given his own true-love
A deep and a deadly wound.

24
'What aileth thee, Sweet William?' she says,
'What harm now have I done?
I never harmed a hair of your head
Since ever this love began.'

25
'Oh live, oh live, my own true-love,
Oh live but half an hour,
And the best doctor in London town
Shall come within thy bower.'

26
'How can I live? how shall I live?
How can I live half an hour?
For don't you see my very heart's blood
All sprinkled on the floor?'

27
William, having his two-edged sword,
He leaned it quite low to the ground,
And he has given his own bodie
A deep and a deadly wound.

D

Motherwell's MS., p. 639, from the recitation of an
Irishwoman, wife of John French, a porter at the quay of
Ayr.

1
Johnston Hey and Young Caldwell
Were drinking o the wine:
'O will ye marry my sister?
And I will marry thine.'

2
'I winna marry your sister,
Altho her locks are broun;
But I'll make her my concubine,
As I ride through the toun.'

3
Syne Johnston drew a gude braid sword,
That hang down by his knee,
And he has run the Young Caldwell
Out through the fair bodie.

4
Up he gat, and awa he rade,
By the clear light o the moon,
Until he came to his mother's door,
And there he lichtit doun.

5
'Whare hae ye been, son Willie,' she said,
'Sae late and far in the night?'
'O I hae been at yon new slate house,
Hearing the clergy speak.'

6
'I dreamd a dream, son Willie,' she said,
'I doubt it bodes nae gude;
That your ain room was fu o red swine,
And your bride's bed daubd wi blude.'

7
'To dream o blude, mither,' he said,
'It bodeth meikle ill;
And I hae slain a Young Caldwell,
And they're seeking me to kill.'

8
'Gin ye hae slain a Young Caldwell,
Alace and wae is me!
But gin your fair body's free frae skaith,
The easier I will be.'

9
Up he gat, and awa he rade,
By the clear licht o the mune,
Until he cam to his sister's bower,
And there he lichtit doun.

10
'Whare hae ye been, brither,' she said,
'Sae late and far in the night?'
'O I hae been in yon new slate house,
Hearing the clergy speak.'

11
'I dreamd a dream, brither,' she said,
'I doubt it bodes nae gude;
I dreamd the ravens eat your flesh,
And the lions drank your blude.'

12
'To dream o blude, sister,' he said,
'It bodeth meikle ill;
And I hae slain a Young Caldwell,
And they're seeking me to kill.'

13
'Gin ye hae slain a Young Caldwell,
Alace and wae is me!
To be torn at the tail o wild horses
Is the death I weet ye'll die.'

14
Up he gat, and awa he rade,
By the clear light o the mune,
Untill he cam to his true-love's bower,
And there he lichtit doun.

15
'Whare hae ye been, Love Willie,' she said,
'Sae late and far in the night?'
'O I hae been in yon new sklate house,
Hearing the clergy speak.'

16
'I dreamd a dream, Willie,' she said,
'I doubt it bodes nae gude;
I dreamd the ravens ate your flesh,
And the lions drank your blude.'

17
'To dream o ravens, love,' he said,
'Is the loss o a near friend;
And I hae killd your brither dear,
And for it I'll be slain.'

18
'Gin ye hae slain my ae brither,
Alace and wae is me!
But gin your fair body's free frae skaith,
The easier I will be.

19
'Lye doun, lye doun, Love Willie,' she said,
'Lye doun and tak a sleep;
And I will walk the castel wa,
Your fair bodie to keep.'

20
He laid him doun within her bowr,
She happit him wi her plaid,
And she's awa to the castle-wa,
To see what would betide.

21
She hadna gane the castle round
A time but only three,
Till four and twenty beltit knichts
Cam riding ower the lea.

22
And whan they came unto the gate,
They stude and thus did say:
'O did ye see yon bludie knicht,
As he rade out this way?'

23
'What colour was his hawk?' she said,
'What colour was his hound?
What colour was the gudely steed
The bludie knicht rade on?'

24
'Nut-brown was his hawk,' they said,
'And yellow-fit was his hound,
And milk-white was the goodly steed
The bluidie knicht rade on.'

25
'Gin nut-brown was his hawk,' she said,
'And yellow-fit was his hound,
And milk-white was the gudely steed,
He's up to London gone.'

26
They spurrd their steeds out ower the lea,
They being void o fear;
Syne up she gat, and awa she gade,
Wi tidings to her dear.

27
'Lye still, lye still, Love Willie,' she said,
'Lye still and tak your sleep;'
Syne he took up his good braid sword,
And wounded her fu deep.

28
'O wae be to you, Love Willie,' she said,
'And an ill death may ye die!
For first ye slew my ae brither,
And now ye hae killd me.'

29
'Oh live, oh live, true-love,' he said,
'Oh live but ae half hour,
And there's not a docter in a' London
But sall be in your bower.'

30
'How can I live, Love Willie,' she said,
'For the space of half an hour?
Dinnae ye see my clear heart's blood
A rinnin down the floor?

31
'Tak aff, tak aff my holland sark,
And rive't frae gare to gair,
And stap it in my bleeding wounds;
They'll may be bleed nae mair.'

32
Syne he took aff her holland sark,
And rave't frae gare to gair,
And stappit it in her bleeding wounds,
But aye they bled the mair.

33
'Gae dress yoursell in black,' she said,
'And gae whistling out the way,
And mourn nae mair for your true-love
When she's laid in the clay.'

34
He leaned his halbert on the ground,
The point o't to his breast,
Saying, Here three sauls ['s] gaun to heaven;
I hope they'll a' get rest.

E

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, II, 20.

1
Lord John stands in his stable door,
Says he, I will gae ride,
His lady, in her bigly bower?
Desired him to bide.

2
'How can I bide? how can I bide?
How shall I bide wi thee?
When I hae killd your ae brother;
You hae nae mair but he.'

3
'If ye hae killd my ae brother,
Alas, and wae is me!
If ye be well yoursell, my love,
The less matter will be.

4
'Ye'll do you to yon bigly bower,
And take a silent sleep,
And I'll watch in my highest tower,
Your fair body to keep.'

5
She has shut her bigly bower,
All wi a silver pin,
And done her to the highest tower,
To watch that nane come in.

6
But as she looked round about,
To see what she could see,
There she saw nine armed knights
Come riding oer the lea.

7
'God make you safe and free, lady,
God make you safe and free!
Did you see a bludy knight
Come riding oer the lea?'

8
'O what like was his hawk, his hawk?
And what like was his hound?
If his steed has ridden well,
He's passd fair Scotland's strand.

9
'Come in, come in, gude gentlemen,
And take white bread and wine;
And aye the better ye'll pursue,
The lighter that ye dine.'

10
'We thank you for your bread, lady,
We thank you for the wine,
And I woud gie my lands sae broad
Your fair body were mine.'

11
She has gane to her bigly bower,
Her ain gude lord to meet;
A trusty brand he quickly drew,
Gae her a wound sae deep.

12
'What harm, my lord, provokes thine ire
To wreak itself on me,
When thus I strove to save thy life,
Yet served for sic a fee?'

13
'Ohon, alas, my lady gay,
To come sae hastilie!
I thought it was my deadly foe,
Ye had trysted into me.

14
'O live, O live, my gay lady,
The space o ae half hour,
And nae a leech in a' the land
But I'se bring to your bower.'

15
'How can I live? how shall I live?
How can I live for thee?
Ye see my blude rin on the ground,
My heart's blude by your knee.

16
'O take to flight, and flee, my love,
O take to flight, and flee!
I woudna wish your fair body
For to get harm for me.'

17
'Ae foot I winna flee, lady,
Ae foot I winna flee;
I've dune the crime worthy o death,
It's right that I shoud die.

8
'O deal ye well at my love's lyke
The beer but an the wine;
For ere the morn, at this same time,
Ye'll deal the same at mine.'

F

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

As Willie and the young Colnel
Were drinking at the wine,
'O will ye marry my sister?' says Will,
'And I will marry thine.'

* * * * *

#A.#

10^4. very deep, _in the edition of 1776._

#B. a.#

4^1. _Motherwell informs us, ~p. 200~, that the original
reading was ~little small sword~; also ~he stabbed~ in
4^3._

#b.#

_Finlay's version is compounded from two, and
Motherwell's, since it adopts readings from Finlay's, is
compounded from three; but Motherwell's has nevertheless
been preferred, on account of its retaining stanzas
which Finlay omitted. Besides, Motherwell gives us to
understand that his changes are few._

3^2. gowd and fee.

3^4. come oer the sea.

4^1. nut-brown sword.

4^3. he ritted.

5^2. And he's.

5^3. dear Johnstone.

5^{5, 6}. _wanting._

6^1, 10^1. dreamed a dream this night, she says.

6^2, 10^2. be good.

7^1, 11^1. They are seeking me with hawks and hounds.

8^2, 12^2. A dule.

9^1. his lover's.

9^{5, 6}. _wanting._

12^3. But I gie na sae much for.

12^4. is free.

13^4. I'll thee.

14^{1, 2}.
She hadna weel gane up the stair,
And entered in her tower.

14^3. Till.

14^4. the door.

15^{1, 2}.
O did you see a bloody squire,
A bloody squire was he.

15^3. O did you see.

15^4. riding oer the lea.

16^1. she cried.

17^3. And.

19^1. But light ye down now.

19^3. be good he rides upon.

19^4. of Tyne.

20^1. bread, ladie.

20^3. But _wanting_: pounds.

20^4. Your fair bodie was mine.

21^{3, 4}.
For there's four and twenty belted knights
Just gone out at the gate.

22^1. had a wee penknife.

22{3, 4}.
And he ritted it through his dear ladie,
And wounded her sae sair.

25.
How can I live, my dear Johnstone?
How can I live for thee?
O do ye na see my red heart's blood
Run trickling down my knee?

26.
But go thy way, my dear Johnstone,
And ride along the plain,
And think no more of thy true love
Than she had never been.

27. _wanting._

#C.#

19^1. Oh.

25^1. O: _the first_.

#D.#

1^3, 5^3, 15^3. Oh.

15^1. he been.

18^1. ae _corrected from_ ain.

19^3. wa _corrected from_ round.

24^1. she said.

29^1. O: _the first_.

Caldwell _is an obvious corruption of_ Colonel.

#E.#

_The alterations according to the singing of Christie's
old woman are, as usual with him in such cases, utterly
insignificant._

2^1. How can I bide, how shall.

2^2. How can.

3^4. will it.

6^3. she did see.

10^2. for your.

15^3. rins.

89

FAUSE FOODRAGE

#A.# 'Fa'se Footrage,' Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown
MS., No 3.

#B.# 'The Eastmure King and the Westmure King,
Motherwell's MS., p. 341.

#C.# 'Eastmuir King,' Harris MS., No 18, fol. 22.

#A# was printed in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, II, 73, 1802, "chiefly" from Mrs Brown's MS.; in fact, with not quite forty petty alterations. Scott remarks that the ballad has been popular in many parts of Scotland. Christie, I, 172, had heard it sung by an old Banffshire woman, who died in 1866, at the age of nearly eighty, with very little difference from Scott's copy.[144]

The resemblance of the verse in #A# 31, 'The boy stared wild like a gray gose-hawke,' to one in 'Hardyknute,' 'Norse een like gray goss-hawk stared wild,' struck Sir Walter Scott as suspicious, and led him "to make the strictest inquiry into the authenticity of the song. But every doubt was removed by the evidence of a lady of high rank [Lady Douglas of Douglas, sister to Henry, Duke of Buccleuch, as we are informed in the edition of 1833], who not only recollected the ballad as having amused her infancy, but could repeat many of the verses." It is quite possible that Mrs Brown may unconsciously have adopted this verse from the tiresome and affected Hardyknute, so much esteemed in her day. One would be only too glad were this the only corruption which the ballad had undergone. On the contrary, while not calling in question the substantial genuineness of the ballad, we must admit that the form in which we have received it is an enfeebled one, without much flavor or color; and some such feeling no doubt affected Sir Walter's mind, more than the reminiscence of 'Hardyknute,' which, of itself, is of slight account.

A tale 'How the king of Estmure Land married the king's daughter of Westmure Land' is mentioned in "The Complaint of Scotland," and there has been considerable speculation as to what this tale might be, and also as to what localities Estmure Land and Westmure Land might signify. Seeing no clue to a settlement of these questions, I pass them by, with the simple comment that no king of Estmure Land marries the king of Westmure Land's daughter in this ballad or any other.

Three kings (King Easter and King Wester, #A#, the Eastmure king and the Westmure king, #B#, #C#, and King Honor, #A#, the king of Onorie, #B#, King Luve, #C#), court a lady, and the third, who woos for womanhood and beauty, #B#, wins her. The Eastmure king, #B#, the Westmure, #C#, kills his successful rival on his wedding-day. According to the prosaic, not at all ballad-like, and evidently corrupted account in #A#, there is a rebellion of nobles four months after the marriage, and a certain False Foodrage takes it upon himself to kill the king. The murderer spares the queen, and if she gives birth to a girl will spare her child also, but if she bears a boy the boy is to die.

In #A# the queen escapes from custody before her time comes, and gives birth to a boy in the swines' sty. Lots are cast to see who shall go find the queen (the narrative is very vague here), and the lot falls on Wise William, who sends his wife in his stead. The queen induces this woman to exchange children with her, Wise William's wife having a girl. After some years Wise William reveals to the boy that he is rightful lord of the castle (and we may suppose royal dignity) which False Foodrage has usurped. The boy kills False Foodrage and marries Wise William's daughter. Some of these incidents are wanting in #B#. For Wise William's wife we have simply a poor woman in the town.

'Fause Foodrage' is closely related to a Scandinavian ballad, especially popular in Denmark, where it is found in not less than twenty-three manuscripts:

#Danish.# #A#, 'Ung Villum,' Danske Viser, No 126, III, 135, 66 stanzas; #B#, 'Vold og Mord,' Levninger, II, 64, No 12, 64 stanzas; #C#, 'Lille Villum,' Kristensen, I, 305, No 111, 15 stanzas; also, Tragica, No 18, not seen. #Icelandic.# 'Kvæði af Loga í Vallarhlíð,' Íslenzk fornkvæði, I, 235, No 28, 55 stanzas. #Swedish.# 'Helleman Unge,' Arwidsson, I, 132, No 15, 13 stanzas (imperfect). #Färöe#, in unprinted copies. There are more incidents in the Danish ballad, and too many, but something, without doubt, has been lost from the English, which, however, preserves these essential points: A man that has wedded a woman who had another lover is killed by his competitor shortly after his marriage; a boy is born, who is passed off as a girl; this boy, before he has attained manhood, slays his father's murderer.

In the Danish 'Young William,' #A#, Svend of Voldesløv, rich in gold, woos Lisbet, who prefers William for his good qualities. Svend shuts himself up in his room, sick with grief. His mother and sister come and go. The mother will get him a fairer maid, and gives him the good rede not to distress himself about a girl that is plighted to another man. The sister gives a bad rede, to kill William, and so get the bride. The mother remarks that a son is coming into being who would revenge his father's death. The business can be done, says Svend, before that son is born, and immediately after takes occasion to meet William as he is passing through a wood, and kills him. Forty weeks gone, Lisbet gives birth to a son, but Svend is told that she has borne a daughter. Young William attains to the age of eighteen, and is a stalwart youth, given to games of strength. One day when he is putting the stone with a peasant, the two fall out, and the peasant, being roughly treated, calls out, You had better avenge your father's death. Young William hastens to his mother, and asks whether his father's death had been by violence, and, if so, who killed him. The mother thinks him too young to wield a sword: he must summon Svend to a court. This is done. Svend informs his uncle that he is summoned to court by William, and asks what he is to do. The uncle had always been told that Lisbet's child was a girl. I shall never live to see the day, says Svend, when I shall beat a woman at tricks. Svend goes to the court, attended by many of his uncle's men. William charges him with the murder of his father, for which no compensation has been offered. Svend says not a penny will be paid, and William draws his sword and cuts him down. For killing Svend William is summoned to court by Svend's brother, Nilus. Nilus demands amends. William says they are quit, with brother against father, and he will marry Nilus's sister (whom he has already carried off). Never, says Nilus, for which William finds it necessary to kill _him_. He then rides to his mother, who asks what amends have been offered for his father's death, and, on hearing that William has killed both the murderer and his brother, clasps him to her heart, for all her grief is now over.

No other Scandinavian copy besides Danish #A# has the killing of Nilus, which may be regarded as an aftergrowth. In the Icelandic version, the sister, so far from putting her brother up to the murder, bursts into tears when her brother tells what he has done, because she knows that revenge will follow. The murderer offers himself to his former love in place of her husband, at the very moment when she is bowed in anguish over the dead body. She replies significantly, He is not far from me that shall revenge him. All the Scandinavian copies have the three chief points of the story except the Swedish, which lacks the first half.

Another Scandinavian ballad has many of the features of 'Young William:' #Danish#, 'Liden Engel,' #A#, Danske Viser, No 127, III, 147; #B#, Levninger, II, 82, No 13; #C#, Kristensen, I, 254, No 97, a fragment. #Norwegian#, 'Unge Ingelbrett,' Bugge, p. 110, No 23, derived from the Danish. According to Danish #A#, and for the most part #B#, Liden Engel (who, by the way, is of Westerris) carries off a bride by force. Her brother burns him and all his people in a church in which they have taken refuge, the lady being saved by lifting her on shields up to a window, whence she is taken by her natural friends. It is the mother that suggests the setting of the church on fire, and the first act of the daughter, after getting out of the church with singed hair, is to fall on her bare knees and pray that she may have a son who will take vengeance on her brother. A son is born, and called after his father, but his existence is as far as possible kept secret. As he grows up his mother is always saying to him, Thine uncle was the death of thy father. The boy wishes to serve the king; the mother says, Go, but remember thy father's death. The king observes that the youth has always a weight on his mind, and on his asking the cause Little Engel answers that his uncle had slain his father and paid no boot. The king says, If you wish to revenge his death, as it is quite proper you should, I will lend you three hundred men. When the uncle is informed that Little Engel is coming against him he declares that he had never heard of such a person before: so the secret has been well kept. Little Engel burns his uncle and all his people in a stone chamber in which they had shut themselves up.

In the Norwegian-Danish ballad Engel, or Ingelbrett, the second simply kills his uncle with a sword. The offence given in this case is not the carrying off a bride by force, but the omitting to ask the brother's consent to the marriage, though that of all the rest of the family had been obtained: another instance of the danger of such neglect in addition to those already mentioned in the preface to 'The Cruel Brother,' I, 142.

'Fause Foodrage' has some affinity with 'Jellon Grame.'

* * * * *

Scott's copy is translated by Schubart, p. 102; Wolff, Halle der Völker, I, 33, and Hausschatz, p. 211; Doenniges, p. 51; Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 28.

'Ung Villum' is translated by Prior, III, 422, No 170; 'Liden Engel' by the same, III, 379, No 164.

A

Alexander Fraser Tytler's Brown MS., No 3.

1
King Easter has courted her for her gowd,
King Wester for her fee,
King Honor for her lands sae braid,
And for her fair body.

2
They had not been four months married,
As I have heard them tell,
Until the nobles of the land
Against them did rebel.

3
And they cast kaivles them amang,
And kaivles them between,
And they cast kaivles them amang
Wha shoud gae kill the king.

4
O some said yea, and some said nay,
Their words did not agree;
Till up it gat him Fa'se Footrage,
And sware it shoud be he.

5
When bells were rung, and mass was sung.
And a' man boon to bed,
King Honor and his gay ladie
In a hie chamer were laid.

6
Then up it raise him Fa'se Footrage,
While a' were fast asleep,
And slew the porter in his lodge,
That watch and ward did keep.

7
O four and twenty silver keys
Hang hie upon a pin,
And ay as a door he did unlock,
He has fastend it him behind.

8
Then up it raise him King Honor,
Says, What means a' this din!
Now what's the matter, Fa'se Footrage?
O wha was't loot you in?

9
'O ye my errand well shall learn
Before that I depart;'
Then drew a knife baith lang and sharp
And pierced him thro the heart.

10
Then up it got the Queen hersell,
And fell low down on her knee:
'O spare my life now, Fa'se Footrage!
For I never injured thee.

11
'O spare my life now, Fa'se Footrage!
Until I lighter be,
And see gin it be lad or lass
King Honor has left me wi.'

12
'O gin it be a lass,' he says,
'Well nursed she shall be;
But gin it be a lad-bairn,
He shall be hanged hie.

13
'I winna spare his tender age,
Nor yet his hie, hie kin;
But as soon as eer he born is,
He shall mount the gallows-pin.'

14
O four and twenty valiant knights
Were set the Queen to guard,
And four stood ay at her bower-door,
To keep baith watch and ward.

15
But when the time drew till an end
That she should lighter be,
She cast about to find a wile
To set her body free.

16
O she has birled these merry young men
Wi strong beer and wi wine,
Until she made them a' as drunk
As any wallwood swine.

17
'O narrow, narrow is this window,
And big, big am I grown!'
Yet thro the might of Our Ladie
Out at it she has won.

18
She wanderd up, she wanderd down,
She wanderd out and in,
And at last, into the very swines' stye,
The Queen brought forth a son.

19
Then they cast kaivles them amang
Wha should gae seek the Queen,
And the kaivle fell upon Wise William,
And he's sent his wife for him.

20
O when she saw Wise William's wife,
The Queen fell on her knee;
'Win up, win up, madame,' she says,
'What means this courtesie?'

21
'O out of this I winna rise
Till a boon ye grant to me,
To change your lass for this lad-bairn
King Honor left me wi.

22
'And ye maun learn my gay gose-hawke
Well how to breast a steed,
And I shall learn your turtle-dow
As well to write and read.

23
'And ye maun learn my gay gose-hawke
To wield baith bow and brand,
And I shall learn your turtle-dow
To lay gowd wi her hand.

24
'At kirk or market where we meet,
We dare nae mair avow
But, Dame how does my gay gose-hawk?
Madame, how does my dow?'

25
When days were gane, and years came on,
Wise William he thought long;
Out has he taen King Honor's son,
A hunting for to gang.

26
It sae fell out at their hunting,
Upon a summer's day,
That they cam by a fair castle,
Stood on a sunny brae.

27
'O dinna ye see that bonny castle,
Wi wa's and towers sae fair?
Gin ilka man had back his ain,
Of it you shoud be heir.'

28
'How I shoud be heir of that castle
In sooth I canna see,
When it belongs to Fa'se Footrage,
And he's nae kin to me.'

29
'O gin ye shoud kill him Fa'se Footrage,
You woud do what is right;
For I wot he killd your father dear,
Ere ever you saw the light.

30
'Gin ye should kill him Fa'se Footrage,
There is nae man durst you blame;
For he keeps your mother a prisoner,
And she dares no take you hame.'

31
The boy stared wild like a gray gose-hawke,
Says, What may a' this mean!
'My boy, you are King Honor's son,
And your mother's our lawful queen.'

32
'O gin I be King Honor's son,
By Our Ladie I swear,
This day I will that traytour slay,
And relieve my mother dear.'

33
He has set his bent bow till his breast,
And lap the castle-wa,
And soon he's siesed on Fa'se Footrage,
Wha loud for help gan ca.

34
'O hold your tongue now, Fa'se Footrage,
Frae me you shanno flee;'
Syne pierced him through the foul fa'se heart,
And set his mother free.

35
And he has rewarded Wise William
Wi the best half of his land,
And sae has he the turtle-dow
Wi the truth of his right hand.

B

Motherwell's MS., p. 341.

1
The Eastmure king, and the Westmure king,
And the king of Onorie,
They have all courted a pretty maid,
And guess wha she micht be.

2
The Eastmure king courted her for gold,
And the Westmure king for fee,
The king of Onore for womanheid,
And for her fair beautie.

3
The Eastmure king swore a solemn oath,
He would keep it till May,
That he would murder the king of Onore,
Upon his wedding day.

4
When bells was rung, and psalms was sung.
And all men boune for sleep,
Up and started the Eastmure king
At the king of Onore's head.

5
He has drawn the curtains by--
Their sheets was made of dorn--
And he has murdered the king of Onore,
As innocent as he was born.

6
This maid she awak'd in the middle of the night,
Was in a drowsy dream;
She found her bride's-bed swim with blood,
Bot and her good lord slain.

7
'What will the court and council say?
What will they say to me?
What will the court and council say
But this night I've murderd thee?'

8
Out and speaks the Eastmure king:
'Hold your tongue, my pretty may,
And come along with me, my dear,
And that court ye'll never see.'

9
He mounted her on a milk-white steed,
Himself upon a gray;
She turnd her back against the court,
And weeping rode away.

10
'Now if you be with child,' he says,
'As I trew well you be,
If it be of a lassie-bairn,
I'll give her nurses three.

11
'If it be a lassie-bairn,
If you please she'll get five;
But if it be a bonnie boy,
I will not let him live.'

12
Word is to the city gone,
And word is to the town,
And word is to the city gone,
She's delivered of a son.

13
But a poor woman in the town
In the same case does lye,
Wha gived to her her woman-child,
Took awa her bonnie boy.