Chapter XXXI: Appendix: Flodden Field (6)

19
Then bespake the yongest sonne,
Th_a_t sat on the nurses knee,
Sayth, Mother gay, geue ouer your house;
It smoldereth me.

20
‘I wold geue my gold,’ she saith,
‘And so I wolde my ffee,
For a blaste of the westryn wind,
To dryue the smoke from thee.

21
‘Fy vpo_n_ the, John Hamleton,
That euer I paid the hyre!
For th_o_u hast broken my castle-wall,
And kyndled in the ffyre.’

22
The lady gate to her close p_ar_ler,
The fire fell aboute her head;
She toke vp her childre_n_ thre,
Seth, Bab_es_, we are all dead.

23
Then bespake the hye steward,
Th_a_t is of hye degree;
Saith, Ladie gay, you are in close,
Wether ye fighte or flee.

24
Lord Hamleto_n_ dremd in his dream,
In Caruall where he laye,
His halle were all of fyre,
His ladie slayne or daye.

25
‘Busk and bowne, my mery me_n_ all,
Eve_n_ and go ye with me;
For I dremd th_a_t my haal was on fyre,
My lady slayne or day.’

26
He buskt him and bownd hym,
And like a worthi knighte;
And when he saw his hall burni_n_g,
His harte was no dele lighte.

27
He sett a tru_m_pett till his mouth,
He blew as it plesd his grace;
Twe_n_ty score of Ha_m_lentons
Was light aboute the place.

28
‘Had I knowne as much yesternighte
As I do to-daye,
Captaine Care and all his me_n_
Should not haue gone so quite.

29
‘Fye vpon the, Captaine Care,
And all thy blody band_e_!
Thou haste slayne my lady gay,
More w_u_rth the_n_ all thy lande.

30
‘If th_o_u had ought eny ill will,’ he saith,
‘Thou shoulde haue taken my lyffe,
And haue saved my children thre,
All and my louesome wyffe.’

B

Percy MS., p. 34; Hales and Furnivall, I, 79.

1
‘Ffa_i_th, m_aster_, whither you will,
Whereas you like the best;
Vnto the castle of Bittons-borrow,
And there to take yo_u_r rest.’

2
‘But yonder stands a castle faire,
Is made of lyme and stone;
Yonder is in it a fayre lady,
Her lord is ridden and gone.’

3
The lady stood on her castle-wall,
She looked vpp and downe;
She was ware of an hoast of men,
Came rydinge towards the towne.

4
‘See you not, my merry men all,
And see you not what I doe see?
Methinks I see a hoast of men;
I muse who they shold be.’

5
She thought it had beene her louly l_ord_,
He had come ryding home;
It was the traitor, Captaine Carre,
The lord of Westerton-towne.

6
They had noe sooner sup_er_ sett,
And after said the grace,
But the traitor, Captaine Carre,
Was light about the place.

7
‘Giue over thy house, thou lady gay,
I will make thee a band;
All night w_i_t_h_-in mine armes thou’st lye,
To-morrow be the heyre of my land.’

8
‘I’le not giue over my house,’ shee said,
‘Neither for ladds nor man,
Nor yet for traitor Captaine Carre,
Vntill my lord come home.

9
‘But reach me my pistoll pe[c]e,
And charge you well my gunne;
I’le shoote at the bloody bucher,
The lord of Westerton.’

10
She stood vppon her castle-wall
And let the bulletts flee,
And where shee mist . .
. . . . . .

11
But then bespake the litle child,
That sate on the nurses knee;
Saies, Mother deere, giue ore this house,
For the smoake it smoothers me.

12
‘I wold giue all my gold, my childe,
Soe wold I doe all my fee,
For one blast of the westerne wind
To blow the smoke from thee.’

13
But when shee saw the fier
Came flaming ore her head,
Shee tooke then vpp her children two,
Sayes, Babes, we all beene dead!

14
But Adam then he fired the house,
A sorrowfull sight to see;
Now hath he burned this lady faire
And eke her children three.

15
Then Captaine Carre he rode away,
He staid noe longer at that tide;
He thought that place it was to warme
Soe neere for to abide.

16
He calld vnto his merry men all,
Bidd them make hast away;
‘For we haue slaine his children three,
All and his lady gay.’

17
Worde came to louly London,
To London wheras her lord lay,
His castle and his hall was burned,
All and his lady gay.

18
‘Soe hath he done his children three,
More dearer vnto him
Then either the siluer or the gold,
That men soe faine wold win.

19
But when he looket this writing on,
Lord, in is hart he was woe!
Saies, I will find thee, Captaine Carre,
Wether thou ryde or goe!

20
Buske yee, bowne yee, my merrymen all,
W_i_th tempered swords of steele,
For till I haue found out Captaine Carre,
My hart it is nothing weele.

21
But when he came to Dractons-borrow,
Soe long ere it was day,
And ther he found him Captaine Carre;
That night he ment to stay.

* * * * *

C

Communicated to Percy by Robert Lambe, Norham, October 4, 1766,
being all that a servant of Lambe’s could remember.

* * * * *

1
‘Luk ye to yon hie castel,
Yon hie castel we see;
A woman’s wit’s sun oercum,
She’ll gie up her house to me.’

2
She ca’d to her merry men a’,
‘Bring me my five pistols and my lang gun;’
The first shot the fair lady shot,
She shot seven of Gordon’s men.

3
He turned round about his back,
And sware he woud ha his desire,
And if that castel was built of gowd,
It should gang a’to fire.

4
Up then spak her doughter deere,
She had nae mair than she:
‘Gie up your house, now, mither deere,
The reek it skomfishes me.’

5
‘I d rather see you birnt,’ said she,
‘And doun to-ashes fa,
Ere I gie up my house to Adam of Gordon,
And to his merry men a’.

6
‘I’ve four and twenty kye
Gaing upo the muir;
I’d gie em for a blast of wind,
The reek it blaws sae sour.’

7
Up then spak her little young son,
Sits on the nourrice knee:
‘Gie up your house, now, mither deere,
The reek it skomfishes me.’

8
‘I’ve twenty four ships
A sailing on the sea;
I’ll gie em for a blast of southern wind,
To blaw the reek frae thee.

9
‘I’d rather see you birnt,’ said she,
‘And grund as sma as flour,
Eer I gie up my noble house,
To be Adam of Gordon’s hure.’

* * * * *

D

Robert and Andrew Foulis, Glasgow, 1755; “as preserved in the memory
of a lady.”

1
It fell about the Martinmas,
When the wind blew schrile and cauld,
Said Edom o Gordon to his men,
We maun draw to a hald.

2
‘And what an a hald sall we draw to,
My merry men and me?
We will gae to the house of the Rhodes,
To see that fair lady.’

3
She had nae sooner busket her sell,
Nor putten on her gown,
Till Edom o Gordon and his men
Were round about the town.

4
They had nae sooner sitten down,
Nor sooner said the grace,
Till Edom o Gordon and his men
Were closed about the place.

5
The lady ran up to her tower-head,
As fast as she could drie,
To see if by her fair speeches
She could with him agree.

6
As soon he saw the lady fair,
And hir yates all locked fast,
He fell into a rage of wrath,
And his heart was aghast.

7
‘Cum down to me, ye lady fair,
Cum down to me; let’s see;
This night ye’s ly by my ain side,
The morn my bride sall be.’

8
‘I winnae cum down, ye fals Gordon,
I winnae cum down to thee;
I winnae forsake my ane dear lord,
That is sae far frae me.’

9
‘Gi up your house, ye fair lady,
Gi up your house to me,
Or I will burn yoursel therein,
Bot and your babies three.’

10
‘I winnae gie up, you fals Gordon,
To nae sik traitor as thee,
Tho you should burn mysel therein,
Bot and my babies three.’

11
‘Set fire to the house,’ quoth fals Gordon,
‘Sin better may nae bee;
And I will burn hersel therein,
Bot and her babies three.’

12
‘And ein wae worth ye, Jock my man!
I paid ye weil your fee;
Why pow ye out my ground-wa-stane,
Lets in the reek to me?

13
‘And ein wae worth ye, Jock my man!
For I paid you weil your hire;
Why pow ye out my ground-wa-stane,
To me lets in the fire?’

14
‘Ye paid me weil my hire, lady,
Ye paid me weil my fee,
But now I’m Edom of Gordon’s man,
Maun either do or die.’

15
O then bespake her youngest son,
Sat on the nurses knee,
‘Dear mother, gie owre your house,’ he says,
‘For the reek it worries me.’

16
‘I winnae gie up my house, my dear,
To nae sik traitor as he;
Cum weil, cum wae, my jewels fair,
Ye maun tak share wi me.’

17
O then bespake her dochter dear,
She was baith jimp and sma;
‘O row me in a pair o shiets,
And tow me owre the wa.’

18
They rowd her in a pair of shiets,
And towd her owre the wa,
But on the point of Edom’s speir
She gat a deadly fa.

19
O bonny, bonny was hir mouth,
And chirry were her cheiks,
And clear, clear was hir yellow hair,
Whereon the reid bluid dreips!

20
Then wi his speir he turnd hir owr;
O gin hir face was wan!
He said, You are the first that eer
I wist alive again.

21
He turned hir owr and owr again;
O gin hir skin was whyte!
He said, I might ha spard thy life
To been some mans delyte.

22
‘Busk and boon, my merry men all,
For ill dooms I do guess;
I cannae luik in that bonny face,
As it lyes on the grass.’

23
‘Them luiks to freits, my master deir,
Then freits will follow them;
Let it neir be said brave Edom o Gordon
Was daunted with a dame.’

24
O then he spied hir ain deir lord,
As he came owr the lee;
He saw his castle in a fire,
As far as he could see.

25
‘Put on, put on, my mighty men,
As fast as ye can drie!
For he that’s hindmost of my men
Sall neir get guid o me.’

26
And some they raid, and some they ran,
Fu fast out-owr the plain,
But lang, lang eer he coud get up
They were a’deid and slain.

27
But mony were the mudie men
Lay gasping on the grien;
For o fifty men that Edom brought out
There were but five ged heme.

28
And mony were the mudie men
Lay gasping on the grien,
And mony were the fair ladys
Lay lemanless at heme.

29
And round and round the waes he went,
Their ashes for to view;
At last into the flames he flew,
And bad the world adieu.

E

Kinloch MSS, V, 384, in the handwriting of John Hill Burton.

1
It fell about the Martinmas time,
When the wind blew shrill and cauld,
Said Captain Gordon to his men,
We’ll a’draw to som hauld.

2
‘And whatena hauld shall we draw to,
To be the nearest hame?’
‘We will draw to the ha o bonny Cargarff;
The laird is na at hame.’

3
The lady sat on her castle-wa,
Beheld both dale and down;
And she beheld the fause Gordon
Come halycon to the town.

4
‘Now, Lady Cargarff, gie ower yer house,
Gie ower yer house to me;
Now, Lady Cargarff, gie ower yer house,
Or in it you shall die.’

5
‘I’ll no gie ower my bonny house,
To lord nor yet to loun;
I’ll no gie ower my bonny house
To the traitors of Auchindown.’

* * * * *

6
Then up and spak her youngest son,
Sat at the nourice’s knee:
‘O mother dear, gie ower yer house,
For the reek o’t smothers me.’

7
‘I would gie a’my goud, my child,
Sae would I a’my fee,
For ae blast o the westlan win,
To blaw the reek frae thee.’

8
Then up and spak her eldest heir,
He spak wi muckle pride:
‘Now mother dear, keep weel yer house,
And I’ll fight by yer side.’

F

The New Statistical Account of Scotland, V, 846, Parish of Loudoun,
by Rev. Norman Macleod: “known among the peasantry from time
immemorial.”

1
It fell about the Martinmas time,
When the wind blew snell and cauld,
That Adam o Gordon said to his men,
Where will we get a hold?

2
See [ye] not where yonder fair castle
Stands on yon lily lee?
The laird and I hae a deadly feud,
The lady fain would I see.

3
As she was up on the househead,
Behold, on looking down,
She saw Adam o Gordon and his men,
Coming riding to the town.

4
The dinner was not well set down,
Nor the grace was scarcely said,
Till Adam o Gordon and his men
About the walls were laid.

5
‘It’s fause now fa thee, Jock my man!
Thou might a let me be;
Yon man has lifted the pavement-stone,
An let in the low unto me.’

6
‘Seven years I served thee, fair ladie,
You gave me meat and fee;
But now I am Adam o Gordon’s man,
An maun either do it or die.’

7
‘Come down, come down, my lady Loudoun,
Come down thou unto me!
I’ll wrap thee on a feather-bed,
Thy warrand I shall be.’

8
‘I’ll no come down, I’ll no come down,
For neither laird no[r] loun;
Nor yet for any bloody butcher
That lives in Altringham town.

9
‘I would give the black,’ she says,
‘And so would I the brown,
If that Thomas, my only son,
Could charge to me a gun.’

10
Out then spake the lady Margaret,
As she stood on the stair;
The fire was at her goud garters,
The lowe was at her hair.

11
‘I would give the black,’ she says,
‘And so would I the brown,
For a drink of yon water,
That runs by Galston Town.’

12
Out then spake fair Annie,
She was baith jimp and sma
‘O row me in a pair o sheets,
And tow me down the wa!’

13
‘O hold thy tongue, thou fair Annie,
And let thy talkin be;
For thou must stay in this fair castle,
And bear thy death with me.’

14
‘O mother,’ spoke the lord Thomas,
As he sat on the nurse’s knee,
‘O mother, give up this fair castle,
Or the reek will worrie me.’

15
‘I would rather be burnt to ashes sma,
And be cast on yon sea-foam,
Before I’d give up this fair castle,
And my lord so far from home.

16
‘My good lord has an army strong,
He’s now gone oer the sea;
He bad me keep this gay castle,
As long as it would keep me.

17
‘I’ve four-and-twenty brave milk kye,
Gangs on yon lily-lee;
I’d give them a’ for a blast of wind,
To blaw the reek from me.’

18
O pittie on yon fair castle,
That’s built with stone and lime!
But far mair pittie on Lady Loudoun,
And all her children nine!

G

Motherwell’s MS., p. 543, from the recitation of May Richmond, at
the Old Kirk of Loudon.

1
It was in and about the Martinmas time,
When the wind blew schill and cauld,
That Adam o Gordon said to his men,
Whare will we get a hauld?

2
‘Do ye not see yon bonnie castell,
That stands on Loudon lee?
The lord and I hae a deadlie feed,
And his lady fain wuld I see.’

3
Lady Campbell was standing in the close,
A preenin o her goun,
Whan Adam o Gordon and his men
Cam riding thro Galston toun.

4
The dinner was na weel set doun,
Nor yet the grace weel said,
Till Adam o Gordon and a’his men
Around the wa’s war laid.

5
‘Come doun, come down, Ladie Campbell,’ he said,
‘Come doun and speak to me;
I’ll kep thee in a feather bed,
And thy warraner I will be.’

6
‘I winna come doun and speak to thee,
Nor to ony lord nor loun;
Nor yet to thee, thou bloody butcher,
The laird o Auchruglen toun.’

7
‘Come doun, come doun, Ladye Campbell,’ he said,
‘Cum doun and speak to me;
I’ll kep thee on the point o my sword,
And thy warraner I will be.’

8
‘I winna come doun and speak to thee,
Nor to ony lord or loun,
Nor yet to thee, thou bludie butcher,
The laird o Auchruglen toun.’

9
‘Syne gin ye winna come doun,’ he said,
‘A’ for to speak to me,
I’ll tye the bands around my waist,
And fire thy death sall be.’

10
‘I’d leifer be burnt in ashes sma,
And cuist in yon sea-faem,
Or I’d gie up this bonnie castell,
And my gude lord frae hame.

11
‘For my gude lord’s in the army strong,
He’s new gane ower the sea;
He bade me keep this bonnie castell,
As lang’s it wuld keep me.’

12
‘Set fire to the house,’ said bauld Gordon,
‘Set fire to the house, my men;
We’ll gar Lady Campbell come for to rew
As she burns in the flame.’

13
‘O wae be to thee, Carmichael,’ she said,
‘And an ill death may ye die!
For ye hae lifted the pavement-stane,
And loot up the lowe to me.

14
‘Seven years ye war about my house,
And received both meat and fee:’
‘And now I’m Adam o Gordon’s man,
I maun either do or dee.’

15
‘Oh I wad gie the black,’ she said,
‘And I wuld gie the brown,
All for ae cup o the cauld water
That rins to Galstoun toun.’

16
Syne out and spak the auld dochter,
She was baith jimp and sma:
‘O row me in a pair o sheets,
And fling me ower the wa!’

17
They row’t her in a pair o sheets,
And flang her ower the wa,
And on the point o Gordon’s sword
She gat a deadlie fa.

18
He turned her ower, and ower again,
And oh but she looked wan!
‘I think I’ve killed as bonnie a face
As ere the sun shined on.’

19
He turned her ower, and ower again,
And oh but she lookt white!
‘I micht hae spared this bonnie face,
To hae been some man’s delight!’

20
Syne out and spak Lady Margaret,
As she stood on the stair:
‘The fire is at my gowd garters,
And the lowe is at my hair.’

21
Syne out and spak fair Ladie Ann,
Frae childbed whare she lay:
‘Gie up this bonnie castell, mother,
And let us win away.’

22
‘Lye still, lye still, my fair Annie,
And let your talking be;
For ye maun stay in this bonnie castell
And dree your death wi me.’

23
‘Whatever death I am to dree,
I winna die my lane:
I’ll tak a bairn in ilka arm
And the third is in my wame.’

24
Syne out and spak her youngest son,
A bonnie wee boy was he:
‘Gae doun, gae doun, mother,’ he said,
‘Or the lowe will worry me.’

25
‘I’d leifer be brent in ashes sma
And cuist in yon sea-faem,
Or I’d gie up this bonnie castell,
And my guid lord frae hame.

26
‘For my gude lord’s in the army strong,
He’s new gane ower the sea;
But gin he eer returns again,
Revenged my death sall be.’

27
Syne out and spak her waitin-maid:
Receive this babe frae me,
And save the saikless babie’s life,
And I’ll neer seek mair fee.

28
‘How can I tak the bairn?’ she said,
‘How can I tak’t?’ said she,
‘For my hair was ance five quarters lang,
And ’tis now brent to my bree.’

29
She rowit it in a feather-bed,
And flang it ower the wa,
But on the point o Gordon’s sword
It gat a deidlie fa.

30
‘I wuld gie Loudon’s bonnie castell,
And Loudon’s bonnie lee,
All gin my youngest son Johnnie
Could charge a gun to me.

31
‘Oh, I wuld gie the black,’ she said,
‘And sae wuld I the bay,
Gin young Sir George could take a steed
And quickly ride away.’

32
Syne out and spak her auldest son,
As he was gaun to die:
‘Send doun your chamber-maid, mother,
She gaes wi bairn to me.’

33
‘Gin ye were not my eldest son,
And heir o a’ my land,
I’d tye a sheet around thy neck,
And hang thee with my hand.

34
‘I would gie my twenty gude milk-kye,
That feed on Shallow lee,
A’for ae blast o the norland wind,
To blaw the lowe frae me.’

35
Oh was na it a pitie o yon bonnie castell,
That was biggit wi stane and lime!
But far mair pity o Lady Ann Campbell,
That was brunt wi her bairns nine.

36
Three o them war married wives,
And three o them were bairns,
And three o them were leal maidens,
That neer lay in men’s arms.

37
And now Lord Loudon he’s come hame,
And a sorry man was he:
‘He micht hae spared my lady’s life,
And wreakit himsell on me!

38
‘But sin we’ve got thee, bauld Gordon,
Wild horses shall thee tear,
For murdering o my ladie bricht,
Besides my children dear.’

* * * * *

#A.#

_Stanzas 1–15 have been revised, or altered, in another hand._

2^1. m_aste_r _in my copy_: m_ary_, Furnivall.

3^1. wher is _is inserted_.

3^2. ed _in_ builded _has been run through with a line_.

3^4. riden & gone _struck out, and_ ryd from hom _written over_.

4^1. she _struck out_.

5^1. Se yow _changed to_ Com yow hether: merimen _in MS._

5^2. _Changed to_ And look what I do see. And (&), _both in the
original text and in the revised, is rendered_ O _in my copy_.

5^3. _Changed to_ Yonder is ther.

5^4. musen, _as a correction: Furnivall_.

6^1. own wed, _as a correction: Furnivall_.

6^2. y^t had _for_ As he.

8^3. thou shall ly in _altered to_ thoust ly w^tin.

10^2. Not _is a correction: Furnivall. My copy has_ no.

11^3. this _substituted for_ yonder.

12^1. _Changed to_ She styfly stod on her castle wall.

12^3. but then _struck out_.

12^4. she _struck out_.

13^1. I will: _MS. torn._

15^3. arme, _Furnivall_: _my copy_, armes.

15^4. wyll _substituted for_ shall.

19^4. _Editors supply_ The smoke _at the beginning of the line_.

20^3. westeyn: _Furnivall_.

21^4. _MS. has_ thee.

23^3. Saith: no close, _Furnivall_. South: in close, _my copy_. to
chose, _Böddeker_.

24^2. _Perhaps_ carnall: _Furnivall_.

25^1. Bush _in my copy_: merymen _in MS._

25^3. dreme, hall _in my copy_: _Furnivall as printed_.

26^1. busht _in my copy_: buskt, _Furnivall_.

26^{2,3}. _My copy renders_ And (&) O: _Furnivall as printed._

28^4. _Editors supply_ awaye _at the end of the line. Böddeker
reads_ so gai.

29^2. bande _looks like_ baides, _one stroke of the_ n _wanting_.

30^1. _Should we not read_ me _for_ eny? she _for_ he _in my
copy_: he, _Furnivall._

And _for_ & _throughout_.

Finis p_er_ me Will_elmu_m Asheton, cleri_cu_m.

_By_ my copy _is meant a collation made for me by Miss Lucy
Toulmin Smith_.

#B.#

13^3. 2.

14^4, 16^3, 18^1. 3.

10^3, 21^4. _Half a page gone._

And _for_ &.

#D.#

27^1, 28^1. Mudiemen, Mudie men.

Quhen, ze, zour, _etc._, _are here spelled_ when, ye, your, _etc._

#F.#

5^4. the loun to: _cf._ #G# 13^4.

#G.#

6^4. _Another recitation gave_ Auchindown.

179

ROOKHOPE RYDE

The Bishopric Garland, or Durham Minstrel [edited by Joseph Ritson],
2d ed., Newcastle, 1792; here, from the reprint by Joseph Haslewood,
1809, p. 54, in Northern Garlands, London, 1810. “Taken down from
the chanting of George Collingood the elder, late of Boltsburn, in
the neighborhood of Ryhope,” who died in 1785.

Printed in Bell’s Rhymes of Northern Bards, 1812, p. 276; Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1833, II, 101; [Sir Cuthbert Sharp’s] Bishoprick Garland, 1834, p. 14.

The date of this ryde, or raid, may be precisely ascertained from the ballad itself; it is shown by 13^4, 11 to be December 6, 1569.

The thieves of Thirlwall (Northumberland) and Williehaver, or Willeva (Cumberland), avail themselves of the confusion incident to the Rising in the North and of the absence of a part of the fencible men (some of whom were with the earls, others with Bowes in Barnard castle) to make a foray into Rookhope, in Weardale, Durham. In four hours they get together six hundred sheep. But the alarm is given by a man whose horses they have taken; the cry spreads through the dale; word comes to the bailiff, who instantly arms, and is joined by his neighbors to the number of forty or fifty. The thieves are a hundred, the stoutest men and best in gear.

When the Weardale men come up with them, the marauders get fighting enough. The fray lasts an hour; four of the robbers are killed, a handsome number wounded, and eleven taken prisoners, with the loss of only one of those who fought for the right.

Rookhope is the name of a valley, about five miles in length, at the termination of which Rookhope burn empties itself into the river Wear. Rookhope-head is the top of the vale. (Ritson.)

The Weardale man who was killed was Rowland Emerson, perhaps a kinsman of the bailiff. The family of Emerson of Eastgate, says Surtees, long exercised the offices of bailiff of Wolsingham (the chief town and borough of Weardale) and of forester, etc., etc., under successive prelates. (Surtees to Scott, Memoir by Taylor and Raine, p. 33.)

34. The thieves bare ‘three banners’ against the Weardale men. They choose three captains in 9.

1
Rookhope stands in a pleasant place,
If the false thieves wad let it be;
But away they steal our goods apace,
And ever an ill death may they die!

2
And so is the men of Thirlwa ‘nd Williehaver,
And all their companies thereabout,
That is minded to do mischief,
And at their stealing stands not out.

3
But yet we will not slander them all,
For there is of them good enough;
It is a sore consumed tree
That on it bears not one fresh bough.

4
Lord God! is not this a pitiful case,
That men dare not drive their goods to t’fell,
But limmer thieves drives them away,
That fears neither heaven nor hell?

5
Lord, send us peace into the realm,
That every man may live on his own!
I trust to God, if it be his will,
That Weardale men may never be overthrown.

6
For great troubles they’ve had in hand,
With borderers pricking hither and thither,
But the greatest fray that eer they had
Was with the ‘men’ of Thirlwa’nd Williehaver.

7
They gatherd together so royally,
The stoutest men and the best in gear,
And he that rade not on a horse,
I wat he rade on a weil-fed mear.

8
So in the morning, before they came out,
So well, I wot, they broke their fast;
In the [forenoon they came] unto a bye fell,
Where some of them did eat their last.

9
When they had eaten aye and done,
They sayd some captains here needs must be:
Then they choosed forth Harry Corbyl,
And ‘Symon Fell,’ and Martin Ridley.

10
Then oer the moss, where as they came,
With many a brank and whew,
One of them could to another say,
‘I think this day we are men enew.

11
‘For Weardale men is a journey taen;
They are so far out-oer yon fell
That some of them’s with the two earls,
And others fast in Barnard castell.

12
‘There we shal get gear enough,
For there is nane but women at hame;
The sorrowful fend that they can make
Is loudly cries as they were slain.’

13
Then in at Rookhope-head they came,
And there they thought tul a had their prey,
But they were spy’d coming over the Dry Rig,
Soon upon Saint Nicholas’ day.

14
Then in at Rookhope-head they came,
They ran the forest but a mile;
They gatherd together in four hours
Six hundred sheep within a while.

15
And horses I trow they gat
But either ane or twa,
And they gat them all but ane
That belanged to great Rowley.

16
That Rowley was the first man that did them spy;
With that he raised a mighty cry;
The cry it came down Rookhope burn,
And spread through Weardale hasteyly.

17
Then word came to the bailif’s house,
At the East Gate, where he did dwell;
He was walkd out to the Smale Burns,
Which stands above the Hanging Well.

18
His wife was wae when she heard tell,
So well she wist her husband wanted gear;
She gard saddle him his horse in haste,
And neither forgot sword, jack, nor spear.

19
The bailif got wit before his gear came
That such news was in the land;
He was sore troubled in his heart,
That on no earth that he could stand.

20
His brother was hurt three days before,
With limmer thieves that did him prick;
Nineteen bloody wounds lay him upon;
What ferly was’t that he lay sick?

21
But yet the bailif shrinked nought,
But fast after them he did hye,
And so did all his neighbours near,
That went to bear him company.

22
But when the bailiff was gathered,
And all his company,
They were numberd to never a man
But forty [or] under fifty.

23
The thieves was numberd a hundred men,
I wat they were not of the worst
That could be choosed out of Thirlwa’nd Williehaver,
. . . . . . . .

24
But all that was in Rookhope-head,
And all that was i Nuketon Cleugh,
Where Weardale men oertook the thieves,
And there they gave them fighting eneugh.

25
So sore they made them fain to flee,
As many was ‘a’’ out of hand,
And, for tul have been at home again,
They would have been in iron bands;

26
And for the space of long seven years,
As sore they mighten a had their lives;
But there was never one of them
That ever thought to have seen their ‘wives.’

27
About the time the fray began,
I trow it lasted but an hour,
Till many a man lay weaponless,
And was sore wounded in that stour.

28
Also before that hour was done,
Four of the thieves were slain,
Besides all those that wounded were,
And eleven prisoners there was taen.

29
George Carrick and his brother Edie,
Them two, I wot, they were both slain;
Harry Corbyl and Lennie Carrick
Bore them company in their pain.

30
One of our Weardale men was slain,
Rowland Emerson his name hight;
I trust to God his soul is well,
Because he ‘fought’ unto the right.

31
But thus they sayd: ‘We’ll not depart
While we have one; speed back again!’
And when they came amongst the dead men,
There they found George Carrick slain.

32
And when they found George Carrick slain,
I wot it went well near their ‘heart;’
Lord, let them never make a better end
That comes to play them sicken a ‘part!’

33
I trust to God, no more they shal,
Except it be one for a great chance;
For God wil punish all those
With a great heavy pestilence.

34
Thir limmer thieves, they have good hearts,
They nevir think to be oerthrown;
Three banners against Weardale men they bare,
As if the world had been all their own.

36
Thir Weardale men, they have good hearts,
They are as stif as any tree;
For, if they’d every one been slain,
Never a foot back man would flee.

36
And such a storm amongst them fell
As I think you never heard the like,
For he that bears his head so high,
He oft-times falls into the dyke.

37
And now I do entreat you all,
As many as are present here,
To pray for [the] singer of this song,
For he sings to make blithe your cheer.

* * * * *

2^3. mischief hither _in Bell_, _who, however, prints from
Ritson_.

2^4. as: at _in Scott, who had his copy, as printed in 1792, from
Ritson’s nephew_. at _also in Bell_.

9^3, 29^3. Corbyl, _it is thought, should be_ Corbyt, _which is a
northern name. Both_ Corbyl _and_ Carrick _were new to Surtees_.

10^3. _Bell reads_ would, _not understanding that could means_
did.

11^1. _Scott, wrongly_, have _for_ is: _Bell, who aims at
grammar_, are.

17^3. He had, _Bell, for improvement again_.

23^4. _The reciter, from his advanced age, could not recollect
this line: Ritson._

25^2. _Bell_, land _for_ hand.

30^3. _Bell_, in _for_ to.

_Ritson’s emendations, indicated by ’ ‘, have necessarily been
allowed to stand._

180

KING JAMES AND BROWN

‘Kinge James and Browne,’ Percy MS., p. 58; Hales and Furnivall, I,
135.

As the minstrel is walking by himself, he hears a young prince lamenting. The prince says to him, Yonder comes a Scot who will do me wrong. Douglas comes with armed men, who beset the king with swords and spears. Are you lords of Scotland, come for council, asks the king, or are you traitors, come for my blood? They say that they are traitors, come for his blood. Fie on you, false Scots! exclaims the king; you have slain my grandfather, caused my mother to flee, and hanged my father. [About nine stanzas are lost here.] Douglas offers Brown his daughter in marriage to betray the king; Brown will never be a traitor. Douglas is making off fast, but Brown takes him prisoner and conducts him to the king. Douglas prays for pardon. The king replies that Douglas has sought to kill him ever since he was born. Douglas swears to be a true subject if pardoned. The king pardons him freely, and all traitors in Scotland, great and small. Douglas mutters to himself (we may suppose), If I live a twelvemonth you shall die, and I will burn Edinburgh to-morrow. This irredeemable traitor hies to Edinburgh with his men, but the people shut the gates against him. Brown is always where he is wanted, and takes Douglas prisoner again; the report that Douglas is secured goes to the king, who demands his taker to be brought into his presence, and promises him a thousand pound a year. So they call Brown; we may imagine that the distance is no greater than Holyrood. How often hast thou fought for me, Brown? asks James. Brown’s first service was in Edinburgh; had he not stood stoutly there, James had never been king. The second was his killing the sheriff of Carlisle’s son, who was on the point of slaying his Grace. The third was when he killed the Bishop of St Andrews, who had undertaken to poison the king. James had already made the faithful Englishman (for such he is) knight; now he makes him an earl, with professions of fidelity to the English queen.

This third service of Brown is the subject of a poem by William Elderton, here given in an appendix. The bishop is about to give the king (then a child) a poisoned posset. The lady nurse calls for aid. Brown, an Englishman, hears, goes to help, meets the bishop hurrying off with the posset in his hand, and forces him to drink it, though the bishop makes him handsome offers not to interfere. The venom works swiftly, the bishop’s belly bursts. The king knights Brown, and gives him lands and livings.

John Hamilton, Archbishop of St Andrews, must be the person whom Brown slays in the ballad for an attempt to poison the young king. He was, however, hanged by his political enemies, April 7, 1571. This prelate was credited with being an accomplice to the murder of Darnley and to that of the Regent Murray. His elder brother was heir to the throne after the progeny of Mary Stuart, and both of these persons were more or less in the way. Mary Stuart’s son was a step on which the Hamiltons must “fall down or else oerleap,” and the archbishop is said to have sneered at the Duke of Chatelheraut for letting an infant live between him and the throne. A report that the archbishop had undertaken to poison this infant would readily be believed. Sir William Drury thought it worth his while to write to Cecil that Queen Mary had done the same before her son was a year old.[287]

Of Browne’s two previous performances, his standing stoutly for the king at Edinburgh, st. 26, and his killing the son of the sheriff of Carlisle, st. 27, we are permitted to know only that, since these preceded the killing of the bishop, they occurred at some time before James was five years old. The epoch of the adventure with Douglas, which is the principal subject of the ballad, could be determined beyond question if we could ascertain when Brown was made an earl. It falls after the murder of the Regent Lennox, 8^1, that is, later than September, 1571, and the king is old enough to know something of the unhappy occurrences in his family, to forget and forgive, and to make knights and earls. There are correspondences between the ballad and the proceedings by which the Earl of Morton, after his resignation of the regency, obtained possession of the young king’s person and virtually reëstablished himself in his former power. This was in April, 1578, when James was not quite twelve years old. Morton was living at Lochleven “for policie, devysing the situation of a fayre gardene with allayis, to remove all suspicion of his consavit treason.” James was in the keeping of Alexander Erskine, his guardian, at Stirling Castle, of which Erskine was governor; and the young Earl of Mar, nephew of the governor, was residing there. This young man became persuaded, perhaps through Morton’s representations, that he himself was entitled to the custody of the castle, and incidentally of the king. Early in the morning of the 26th of April, before the garrison were astir, Mar (who was risen under pretence of a hunting-party), supported by two Abbot Erskines, his uncles, and a retinue of his own, demanded the castle-keys of the governor. An affray followed, in which a son of Alexander Erskine lost his life. The young king, wakened by the noise, rushed in terror from his chamber, tearing his hair. Mar overpowered resistance and seized the keys. Shortly after this, he and his uncle the governor came to terms at the instance of the king, Mar retaining Stirling Castle and the wardenship of the king, and the uncle being made keeper of the castle of Edinburgh. Morton was received into Stirling Castle, and resumed his sway. All this did not pass without opposition. The citizens of Edinburgh rose in arms against Morton (cf. sts 21, 22), and large forces collected from other parts of the country for the liberation of the king. A civil war was imminent, and was avoided, it would seem, chiefly through the influence of the English minister, Bowes, who offered himself as peacemaker, in the name of his queen (cf. sts 31, 32).[288]

The Douglas of this ballad is clearly William Douglas of Lochleven, who joined Mar at Stirling as Morton’s intermediary. He was afterwards engaged in the Raid of Ruthven.

It may be added that Robert Brown, a servant of the king’s, played a very humble part, for the defence of his master, in the Gowrie Conspiracy, but that was nearly twenty years after Andrew Brown was celebrated by Elderton, and when James was no young prince, but in his thirty-fifth year.

1
As I did walke my selfe alone,
And by one garden greene,
I heard a yonge prince make great moane,
W_hi_ch did turne my hart to teene.

2
‘O Lord!’ he then said vntou me,
‘Why haue I liued soe long?
For yonder comes a cruell Scott,’
Q_uo_th hee, ‘_tha_t will doe me some ronge.’

3
And then came traitor Douglas there,
He came for to betray his king;
Some they brought bills, and some they brought bowes,
And some the brought other things.

4
The king was aboue in a gallery,
W_i_th a heauy heart;
Vnto his body was sett about
W_i_th swords and speares soe sharpe.

5
‘Be you the lordes of Scotland,’ he said,
‘_Tha_t hither for councell seeke to me?
Or bee yoe traitors to my crowne,
My blood _tha_t you wold see?’

6
‘Wee are the l_ord_s of Scottland,’ they said,
‘Nothing we come to craue of thee;
But wee be traitors to thy crowne,
Thy blood that wee will see.’

7
‘O fye vpon you, you false Scotts!
For you neuer all trew wilbe;
My grandfather you haue slaine,
And caused my mother to flee.

8
‘My grandfather you haue slaine,
And my owne father you hanged on a tree;
And now,’ q_uot_h he, ‘the like treason
You haue now wrought for me.

9
‘Ffarwell hart, and farwell hand!
Farwell all pleasures alsoe!
Farwell th . . . my head
. . . . . . .

10
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
‘If thou wilt . . . .
And soe goe away w_i_th mee.’

11
‘Goe marry thy daughter to whome thou wilt,’
Q_uot_h Browne; ‘thou marrys none to me;
For I’le not be a traitor,’ q_uot_h Browne,
‘For all the gold that euer I see.’

12
This Douglas, hearing Browne soe say,
Began to flee away full fast;
‘But tarry a while,’ saies lusty Browne,
‘I’le make you to pay before you passe.’

13
He hath taken the Douglas prisoner,
And hath brought him before the k_ing_;
He kneeled low vpon his knee,
For pardon there prainge.

14
‘How shold I pardon thee,’ saith the k_ing_,
‘And thou’le remaine a traitor still?
For euer since that I was borne,’
Q_uot_h he, ‘thou hast sought my blood to spill.’

15
‘For if you will grant me my pardon,’ he said,
‘Out of this place soe free,
I wilbe sworne before yo_u_r Grace
A trew subiect to bee.’

16
‘God for-gaue his death,’ said the k_ing_,
‘When he was nayled vpon a tree;
And as free as euer God forgaue his death,
Douglas,’ q_uot_h he, ‘I’le forgiue thee.

17
‘And all the traitors in Scottland,’
Q_uo_th he, ‘both great and small;
As free as euer God forgaue his death,
Soe free I will forgiue them all.’

18
‘I thanke you for yo_u_r pardon, king,
_Tha_t you haue granted forth soe plaine;
If I liue a twelue month to an end,
You shall not aliue remaine.

19
‘Tomorrow yet, or ere I dine,
I meane to doo thee one good turne;
For Edenborrow, that is thine owne,’
Q_uo_th he, ‘I will both h[arry] and [burne].’

20
Thus Douglas hied towards Edenborrow,
And many of his men were gone beffore;
And after him on euery side,
W_i_th him there went some twenty score.

21
But when that they did see him come,
They cryed lowd w_i_th voices, saying,
‘Yonder comes a false traitor,
That wold haue slaine our k_ing_.’

22
They chaynd vp the gates of Edenborrow,
And there the made them wonderous fast,
And there Browne sett on Douglas againe,
And quicklye did him ouer cast.

23
But worde came backe againe to the k_ing_,
W_i_th all the speed that euer might bee,
_Tha_t traitor Douglas there was taken,
And his body was there to see.

24
‘Bring me his taker,’ q_uo_th the k_ing_,
‘Come, quickly bring him vnto me!
I’le giue a thousand pound a yeere,
What man soeuer he bee.’

25
But then they called lusty Browne;
Sayes, ‘Browne, come thou hither to mee.
How oft hast thou foughten for my sake,
And alwayes woone the victory?’

26
‘The first time that I fought for you,
It was in Edenborrow, k_ing_;
If there I had not stoutly stood,
My leege, you neuer had beene k_ing_.

27
‘The second time I fought for you,
Here I will tell you in this place;
I killd the sheriffs sonne of Carlile,’
Q_uot_h he, ‘that wold haue slaine yo_u_r Grace.

28
‘The third time t_ha_t I fought for you,
Here for to let you vnderstand,
I slew the Bishopp of S^t Andrew[s],’
Q_uo_th he, ‘w_i_th a possat in [his hand].’

29
. . . . . q_uo_th hee,
‘_Tha_t euer my manhood I did trye;
I’le make a vow for Englands sake
_Tha_t I will neuer battell flee.’

30
‘God amercy, Browne,’ then said the k_ing_,
‘And God amercy heartilye!
Before I made thee but a knight,
But now an earle I will make thee.

31
‘God saue the queene of England,’ he said,
‘For her blood is verry neshe;
As neere vnto her I am
As a colloppe shorne from the fleshe.

32
‘If I be false to England,’ he said,
‘Either in earnest or in iest,
I might be likened to a bird,’
Q_uot_h he, ‘that did defile it nest.’

* * * * *

5^3. yoe bee.

5^4. by my: _cf._ 6^4.

6^1. are they.

8^2. mother _for_ father.

9^4. _Half a page torn away._

18^3. a 12.

20^4. 20 score.

24^3. a 1000.

28^1. the 3[d :].

28^4. possat? MS. _rubbed_: _Hales_.