Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

10
‘Hold your tongue now, good Lady Moor,
And of your talkitive let it be!
There is never a Grime came to this court
That at thy bidding shall saved be.’

11
Sir Hugh in the Grime lookd out of the door,
With his hand out of the bar;
There he spy’d his father dear,
Tearing of his golden hair.

12
‘Hold your tongue, good father dear,
And of your weeping let it be!
For if they bereave me of my life,
They cannot bereave me of the heavens so high.’

13
Sir Hugh in the Grime lookd out at the door,
Oh, what a sorry heart had he!
There [he] spy’d his mother dear,
Weeping and wailing ‘Oh, woe is me!’

14
‘Hold your tongue now, mother dear,
And of your weeping let it be!
For if they bereave me of my life,
They cannot bereave me of heaven’s fee.

15
‘I’ll leave my sword to Johnny Armstrong
That is made of mettal so fine,
That when he comes to the border-side
He may think of Hugh in the Grime.’

* * * * *

E

Buchan’s MSS, I, 53.

1
Lord Home he is a hunting gane,
Through the woods and valleys clear,
And he has taen Sir Hugh the Græme,
For stealing o the bishop’s mare.

2
They hae taen Sir Hugh the Græme,
Led him down thro Strieveling town;
Fifeteen o them cried a’ at ance,
‘Sir Hugh the Græme he must go down!’

3
They hae causd a court to sit,
Mang a’ their best nobilitie;
Fifeteen o them cried a’ at ance,
‘Sir Hugh the Græme he now must die!’

4
Out it speaks the lady Black,
And o her will she was right free:
‘A thousand pounds, my lord, I’ll gie,
If Hugh the Græme set free to me.’

5
‘Hold your tongue, ye Lady Black,
And ye’ll let a’ your pleadings be!
Though ye woud gie me thousands ten,
It’s for my honour he must die.’

6
Then out it speaks her Lady Bruce,
And o her will she was right free:
‘A hundred steeds, my lord, I’ll gie,
If ye’ll gie Hugh the Græme to me.’

7
‘O hold your tongue, ye Lady Bruce,
And ye’ll let a’ your pleadings be!
Though a’ the Græmes were in this court,
It’s for my honour he must die.’

8
He looked over his shoulder,
It was to see what he coud see,
And there he saw his auld father,
Weeping and wailing bitterlie.

9
‘O hold your tongue, my old father,
And ye’ll let a’ your mourning be!
Though they bereave me o my life,
They canno had the heavens frae me.

10
‘Ye’ll gie my brother John the sword
That’s pointed wi the metal clear,
And bid him come at eight o’clock,
And see me pay the bishop’s mare.

11
‘And, brother James, take here the sword
That’s pointed wi the metal brown;
Come up the morn at eight o’clock,
And see your brother putten down.

12
‘And, brother Allan, take this sword
That’s pointed wi the metal fine;
Come up the morn at eight o’clock,
And see the death o Hugh the Græme.

13
‘Ye’ll tell this news to Maggy my wife,
Niest time ye gang to Strievling town,
She is the cause I lose my life,
She wi the bishop playd the loon.’

14
Again he ower his shoulder lookd,
It was to see what he could see,
And there he saw his little son,
Was screaming by his nourice knee.

15
Then out it spake the little son,
‘Since ’tis the morn that he must die,
If that I live to be a man,
My father’s death revengd shall be.’

16
‘If I must die,’ Sir Hugh replied,
‘My friends o me they will think lack;’
He leapd a wa eighteen feet high,
Wi his hands bound behind his back.

17
Lord Home then raised ten armed men,
And after him they did pursue;
But he has trudged ower the plain
As fast as ony bird that flew.

18
He looked ower his left shoulder,
It was to see what he coud see;
His brother John was at his back,
And a’ the rest o his brothers three.

19
Some they wound, and some they slew,
They fought sae fierce and valiantly;
They made his enemies for to yield,
And sent Sir Hugh out ower the sea.

* * * * *

F

Macmath MS., p. 79. “Received by me 20th August and 7th September,
1887, from my aunt, Miss Jane Webster, who derived it from her
mother, Janet Spark, Kirkcudbrightshire.”

1
‘Ye may tell to my wife Maggie,
When that she comes to the fair,
She was the cause of all my ruin,
It was her that stole the bishop’s mare.

2
‘Ye may tell to my wife Maggie,
When that she comes to the town,
She was the cause of all my ruin,
It was her that stole the bishop’s gown.’

* * * * *

G

Harris MS., fol. 27 b.

Dukes an lords a huntin gane,
Over hills an vallies clear;
There the’ve bound him Hughie Grame,
For stealin o the bishop’s mare.

* * * * *

#A. a.#

Printed for P. Brooksby, at the Golden-Ball, in West-smith-field,
neer the Hospital-gate.

12^2. Garland.

13^1. another.

22^3. the causer of my life.

#b.#

To a pleasant new northern tune.

Printed for P. Brooksby at the Golden-Ball, in Westsmithfield.

3^3. Lords.

9^3. Then cry’d _wanting_.

9^4. never.

10^4. of the.

12^2. Garlard.

13^1. other.

21^3. ware.

22^3. the causer of my life.

22^4. plays.

23^3. borders.

#c.#

Printed for P. Brooksby [_torn off_] West-smith-field.

2^4. he _wanting_.

5^3. of thy.

9^3. Then cry’d _wanting_.

10^4. of the.

11^3. thy fact.

12^2. Garlard.

13^1. other.

21^3. ware.

22^3. the causer of my life.

22^4. plays.

23^3. borders.

#d.#

2^2. the same serime.

8^1. again.

8^2. compast.

9^{2,3}, 12^2. Garland.

9^3. Then cry’d.

10^1. the _wanting_.

11^4. it _wanting_.

13^1. other.

14^3. will I.

17^4. they _wanting_.

22^3. cause of the loss.

#e.#

_No imprint._

2^2. rid _wanting_: the same.

2^3. he could.

5^2. my _for_ thy.

7^1. as _wanting_.

8^2. compast.

9^{2,3}. Garland.

9^3. Then cry’d.

10^1. to town.

10^4. calld to.

11^2. for to.

13^1. other.

14^3. will I.

18^4. With his.

19^4. come.

22^3. of the loss of.

#B.#

8^4. blin’ _in Johnson’s Museum_: blink _in Cromek_.

#D.#

Sir Hugh in the Grime’s Downfall, or, A New Song made on Sir Hugh
in the Grime, who was hangd for stealing the Bishop’s Mare.
London: Printed and sold by L. How. (About 1770?)

5^2. did leet: _cf._ #A# 18^2.

10^4. biding.

14^1. tonge.

192

THE LOCHMABEN HARPER

#A. a.# ‘The Blind Harper of Lochmaben,’ Glenriddell MSS, XI, 42,
1791. #b.# ‘The Blind Harper,’ Johnson’s Museum, No 579, 1803. #c.#
‘The Lochmaben Harper,’ Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, 1802, I,
65; 1833, I, 422.

#B.# ‘Lochmaben Harper,’ Glenriddell MSS, XI, 39.

#C.# ‘The Auld Harper,’ The Edinburgh Topographical, Traditional, and
Antiquarian Magazine, 1849, p. 58.

#D.# Macmath MS, p. 35.

#E.# ‘The Jolly Harper,’ Buchan’s MSS, I, 35; Dixon, Scottish
Traditional Versions of Ancient Ballads, Percy Society, vol. xvii,
p. 37.

The Stationers’ Registers, 22 July, 1564–22 July, 1565, Arber, I, 260, have an entry of a fee from Owyn Rogers for license to print “a ballett intituled The Blende Harper, etc.”; and again, the following year, Arber, I, 294, of a fee from Lucas Haryson for license to print “a ballet intituled The Blynde Harpers, with the Answere.” Nothing further is known of this ballet.

Boyd, the translator of Dante, had a recollection of a ballad of a Scotch minstrel who stole a horse from one of the Henries of England: Ritson, Scotish Song, I, xxxvi, note 25, 1794.

Printed in Scott’s Minstrelsy, 1802 (#A c#), and the next year in the Musical Museum (#A b#), as communicated by Burns. Burns’s copy differs very slightly from #A a#, however he came by it. Scott had access to the Glenriddell collection, and his ballad (of which he gives no account) was made by changing #A a# to his taste, substituting one stanza of his own in place of 18, and the last two of #B#, with alterations, for the last of #A a#. To reduce improbabilities, Scott put the Lord Warden for King Henry.

#C# was pointed out to me, and transcribed from the short-lived periodical in which it was printed, by Mr James Barclay Murdoch, to whom I have been from the beginning indebted for the most essential help.

Of #D# Mr Macmath writes: This version was copied by me in fac-simile from the original manuscript in the handwriting of the late Rev. George Murray, of Troquhain, minister of Balmaclellan, in the Stewartry of Kirkcudbright, and was in possession of his son, the Rev. George Murray, to whose kindness I was indebted for the loan of it. The late Mr Murray took down the ballad from the singing of Sarah Rae, a poor weak-minded woman of his parish. Sarah Rae was the last person known to Mr Murray—and he was a keen observer of such matters—to use the distaff. The present Mr George Murray wrote to me on 12th January, 1883: “I may add that I have heard her sing the ballad myself, to a very simple but particularly plaintive lilt—more like a rapid chant than an ordinary song—which rings in my ear yet, although I only heard it once, when a lad.”[8]

#A-C.# A harper of Lochmaben (blind, #A#, #B#) who means to steal the Wanton Brown, a horse of King Henry’s, consults with his wife before setting about the business, and gets a few valuable hints; among them, to leave his mare’s foal at home. He goes up to England, and has the good luck, so common in ballads, of finding King Henry at his gate. The king wants to hear some of his harping, and, as the harper makes a difficulty about the stabling of his mare, orders the beast to be put into his own stable. The harper harps all his hearers asleep; then makes his way softly to the stable, slips a halter over the Wanton’s nose and ties him to the mare’s tail, and turns the mare out. She goes straight to Lochmaben, to her foal, neighs at the harper’s house, and is let in by the servant-lass, who exclaims at the braw foal that the mare has got. In the morning they find in England that both the Wanton Brown and the mare have been stolen. The harper breaks out into ‘allaces:’ he has lost a foal in Scotland and had his mare stolen in England! The king quiets him with a promise of a better mare and pay for his foal to boot.

In #D#, #E#, the harper steals the horse on a wager, which, however, is passed over lightly in #D#. The wager in #E# is with two knights of Stirling, five ploughs of land with one and five thousand pounds with the other, and “John” has to go all the way to London to win it. The knights pay their loss and then restore the Wanton Brown to Henry!—so great an improvement upon the dealings of the Scots with English horseflesh as to compel one to assign this particular version of the story to the nineteenth, if not the twentieth, century.[9]

The twelve armed men in armor bright that guard the stable night and day in #E# 23 remind us of popular tales; as of the Grimms’ ‘Master Thief.’

#A b# is loosely translated by Knortz, Schottische Balladen, No 16, p. 58.

* * * * *

A

#a.# Glenriddell MS. XI, 42, 1791; “from a MS. collection of Mr
Henderson.” #b.# Johnson’s Museum, No 579, VI, 598, 1803,
communicated by Burns, #c.# Scott’s Minstrelsy, 1802, I, 65.

1
Heard ye eer of the silly blind harper,
That long livd in Lochmaben town,
How he wad gang to fair England,
To steal King Henry’s Wanton Brown?
Sing, Faden dilly and faden dilly
Sing, Faden dilly and deedle dan

2
But first he gaed to his gude wife,
Wi a’ the speed that he coud thole;
‘This wark,’ quo he, ‘will never work
Without a mare that has a foal.’

3
Quo she, Thou has a gude gray mare,
That’al rin oer hills baith law and hie;
Gae tak the gray mare in thy hand,
And leave the foal at hame wi me.

4
‘And tak a halter in thy hose,
And o thy purpose dinna fail;
But wap it oer the Wanton’s nose,
And tie her to the gray mare’s tail.

5
‘Syne ca her out at yon back geate,
Oer moss and muir and ilka dale;
For she’ll neer let the Wanton bite
Till she come hame to her ain foal.’

6
So he is up to England gane,
Even as fast as he can hie,
Till he came to King Henry’s geate;
And wha was there but King Henry?

7
‘Come in,’ quo he, ‘thou silly blind harper,
And of thy harping let me hear;’
‘O, by my sooth,’ quo the silly blind harper,
‘I’d rather hae stabling for my mare.’

8
The king he looks oer his left shoulder,
And says unto his stable-groom,
Gae tak the silly poor harper’s mare,
And tie her side my Wanton Brown.

9
And ay he harpit, and ay he carpit,
Till a’ the lords had fitted the floor;
They thought the music was sae sweet,
And they forgot the stable-door.

10
And ay he harpit, and ay he carpit,
Till a’ the nobles were sound asleep;
Than quietly he took aff his shoon,
And safly down the stair did creep.

11
Syne to the stable-door he hies,
Wi tread as light as light coud be,
And when he opned and gaed in,
There he fand thirty gude steads and three.

12
He took the halter frae his hose,
And of his purpose did na fail;
He slipt it oer the Wanton’s nose,
And tied it to his gray mare’s tail.

13
He ca’d her out at yon back geate,
Oer moss and muir and ilka dale,
And she loot neer the Wanton bite,
But held her still gaun at her tail.

14
The gray mare was right swift o fit,
And did na fail to find the way,
For she was at Lochmaben geate
Fu lang three hours ere ’twas day.

15
When she came to the harper’s door,
There she gave mony a nicher and sneer;
‘Rise,’ quo the wife, ‘thou lazey lass,
Let in thy master and his mare.’

16
Then up she rose, pat on her claes,
And lookit out through the lock-hole;
‘O, by my sooth,’ then quoth the lass,
‘Our mare has gotten a braw big foal!’

17
‘Come had thy peace, thou foolish lass,
The moon’s but glancing in thy eye;
I’ll wad my hail fee against a groat,
It’s bigger than eer our foal will be.’

18
The neighbours too that heard the noise
Cried to the wife to put hir in;
‘By my sooth,’ then quo the wife,
‘She’s better than ever he rade on.’

19
But on the morn, at fair day light,
When they had ended a’ thier chear,
King Henry’s Wanton Brown was stawn,
And eke the poor old harper’s mare.

20
‘Allace! allace!’ says the silly blind harper,
‘Allace, allace, that I came here!
In Scotland I’ve tint a braw cowte-foal,
In England they’ve stawn my gude gray mare.’

21
‘Come had thy tongue, thou silly blind harper,
And of thy allacing let me be;
For thou shalt get a better mare,
And weel paid shall thy cowte-foal be.’

* * * * *

B

Glenriddell MSS, XI, 39, 1791; “from Dr Clapperton, of Lochmaben.”

1
Hard ye tell of the silly blind harper?
Long he lived in Lochmaben town;
He’s away to fair Carlisle,
To steal King Henry’s Wanton Brown.
Sing, Fadle didle dodle didle
Sing, Fadle didle fadle doo

2
He has mounted his auld gray mare,
And ridden oer both hills and mire,
Till he came to fair Carlisle town,
And askd for stabling to his mare.

3
‘Harp on, harp on, thou silly blind harper,
‘Some of thy harping let us hear;’
‘By my sooth,’ says the silly blind harper,
‘I would rather hae stabling to my mare.’

4
The king looked oer his left shoulder
And called to his stable-groom:
‘Gae stable up the harper’s mare,
And just beyond the Wanton Brown.’

5
Ay he carped, and ay he harped,
Till a’ the lords gaed thro the floor;
But and the musick was sae sweet
The groom forgot the key o the stable-door.

6
Ay he harped, and ay he carped,
Till a’ the lords fell fast asleep,
And, like a fause deceiver as he was,
He quickly down the stair did creep.

7
He pulld a colt-halter out o his hoe,
On purpose as I shall to you tell;
He sliped it oer the Wanton’s nose,
And tyed it to his gray mare’s tail.

8
‘My blessing light upon my wife!
I think she be a daily flower;
She told me to ken my ain gray mare
When eer I felt her by the ewer.’

9
‘Harp on, harp on, thou silly blind harper,
Some of thy harping let us hear:’
‘Oh and alas!’ says the silly blind harper,
‘Oh and alas that eer I came here!

10
‘For in Scotland I lost a good brown foal,
And in England a good gray mare,
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .

11
‘Harp on, harp on, thou silly blind harper,
Some of thy harping let us hear,
And thy brown foal shall be well payed,
And thou’s hae a far better gray mare.’

12
Ay he harped, and ay he carped,
And some of his harping he let them hear,
And his brown foal it was well payed,
And he got a better gray mare.

13
His mare’s away to Lochmaben,
Wi mony a nicker and mony a sneer;
His wife cry’d, Rise up, you lazy lass,
Let in your master and his mare.

14
The lazy lass was loth to rise;
She looked through a little hole;
‘By my troth,’ crys the lazy lass,
‘Our mare has brought a bonie foal.’

15
‘Rise up, rise up, thou lazy lass,
And, een as the sun it shines sae clear,
I’ll wager my life against a groat
The foal was better than ever the mare.’

* * * * *

C

The Edinburgh Topographical, Traditional, and Antiquarian Magazine,
1849, p. 58; communicated by W. G. “from the recitation of a friend,
who learned it many years ago from her grandfather,” a farmer in
Wigtonshire, who died in 1813, at the age of ninety-four.

1
It’s hae ye heard tell o the auld harper
That lang lived in Lochmaben town,
How he maun awa to England fair,
To steal King Henry’s Wanton Brown?
Faw aiden diden an diden an diden
Faw aiden diden faw aiden dee

2
Out then bespak his gude auld wife,
I wat she spak out very wiselie;
‘Ye’ll ride the mear to England fair,
But the foal ye’ll leave at hame wi me.

3
‘Ye’ll hide your halter in o your hose,
And o your purpose ye’ll no fail;
Ye’ll cast a hook on the Wanton’s nose,
And tie him to the gray mear’s tail.

4
‘Ye’ll lead them awa by a back yett,
And hound them out at a wee hole;
The mear she’ll neer [let] the Wanton bait
Till hame at Lochmaben town wi her foal.’

5
Awa then rade the auld harper,
I wat he rade right merrilie,
Until he cam to England fair,
Where wonned the gude King Henerie.

6
‘Light down, light down, ye auld harper,
And some o your harping let me hear;
‘O williwa!’ quo the auld harper,
Will I get stabling for my mear?’

* * * * * *

7
And aye he harped and he carped,
Till a’ the lordlings fell asleep;
Syne bundled his fiddles upon his back,
And down the stairs fu fast did creep.

8
He’s taen the halter out o his hose,
And o his purpose he didna fail;
He’s cast a hook on the Wanton’s nose,
And tied him to the gray mear’s tale.

9
He’s led them awa by the back yett,
And hounded them out at a wee hole;
The mear she neer let the Wanton bait
Till hame at Lochmaben town wi her foal.

10
And when they cam to the house-end,
Wi mony a nicker but an a neigh,
They waukend the auld wife out o her sleep;
She was a-dreaming she was fouie.

11
‘Rise up, rise up, my servant-lass,
Let in your master and his mear;’
‘It’s by my sooth,’ the wee lassie goud say,
‘I’m in a sleeping drowsy air.’

12
Wi mony a gaunt she turned her round,
And keekit through at a wee hole;
‘It’s by my sooth!’ the wee lassie goud say,
‘Our mear has gotten a braw brown foal!’

13
‘Lie still, lie still, ye lazy lass,
It’s but the moon shines in your ee;’
‘Na, by my sooth,’ the lassie goud say,
‘And he’s bigger than ony o his degree.’

14
Then lightly rose the gude auld wife,
I wat the first up in a’ the town;
She took the grit oats intil her lap
And fodderd King Henry’s Wanton Brown.

15
King Henry’s groom rase in the morn,
And he was of a sorry cheer:
‘King Henry’s Wanton Brown’s awa,
And sae is the silly auld harper’s mear!’

16
Up then rase the auld harper,
And loudly he did curse and swear:
‘In Scotland they but steald my foal,
In England ye hae steald my mear!’

17
‘It’s haud your tongue,’ King Henry did say,
‘Ye’ll hae nae cause to curse or swear;
Here’s thirty guineas for your foal,
And three times thirty for your mear.’

* * * * *

D

Taken down by the Rev George Murray from the singing of Sarah Rae, a
weak-minded woman of Balmaclellan, Kirkcudbright, 1866. Communicated
by Mr Macmath.

1
There was a poor silly harper-man,
And he lived in Lochmaben toon,
And he has wagered wi lairds and lords,
And mony a guinea ag_ains_t a croon.
Tum tid iddly
Dodaly diddely
Tidaly diddaly
Dodaly dan

2
And he has wagered wi lairds and lords,
And mony a guinea ag_ains_t a croon,
That into England he w_oul_d go,
And steal King Henerie’s Wanton Broun.

3
Out spak the silly poor harper’s wife,
And O but she spak wililie:
‘If into England you do go,
Leave the wee-wee foal wi me.’

4
The harper he got on to ride,
And O but he rode richt highlie!
The very first man that he did meet,
They said it was King Henerie.

5
‘Licht doon, licht doon, ye silly poor harper,
And o _you_r harping let me hear;’
‘And by my sooth,’ quoth the silly poor harper,
‘I’d rather hae stabling for my mear.’

6
O he lookit ower his left shoulder,
And saw ane of the stable-grooms:
‘Go take the sillie poor harper’s mear,
And stable her by my Wanton Brown.’

7
And aye he harpit, and aye he carpit,
Till a’ the nobles fell on the floor,
And aye he harpit, and aye he carpit,
Till they forgot the key of the stable-door.

8
And aye he harpit, and aye he carpit,
Till a’ the nobles fell fast asleep;
He has taen his harp upon his back,
And doon the stair did softly creep.

9
He has taen a halter frae his hose,
And o his purpose did not fail;
He coost a wap on Wanton’s nose,
And tyed her to his ain mear’s tail.

10
He ca’d her through at the bye-yett,
Through mony a syre and mony a hole;
She never loot Wanton licht till she
Was at Lochmaben, at her foal.

11
And she came oer Lochmaben heights,
Wi mony a nicker and mony a sneeze,
And waukend the silly poor harper’s wife,
As she was a sleeping at her ease.

12
‘Rise up, rise up, ye servant-lass,
Let in the maister and the mear;’
‘By my sooth,’ quoth the servant-lass,
‘I think my maister be na here.’

13
Up then rose the servant-lass,
And lookit through a wee, wee hole;
‘By my sooth,’ quoth the servant-lass,
‘Our mear has gotten a waly foal.’

14
‘Ye clatter, ye clatter, ye servant-lass,
It is the moon shines in your ee;’
‘By my sooth,’ quoth the servant-lass,
‘It’s mair than ever her ain will be.’

16
It’s whan the stable-groom awoke,
Put a’ the nobles in a fear;
King Henerie’s Wanton Brown was stown,
And Oh! the silly poor harper’s mear.

16
Out then spak the silly poor harper,
Says, Oh, this loss I douna thole!
In England fair a guid grey mear,
In fair Scotland a guid cout-foal.

17
‘Haud your tongue, ye sillie poor harper,
And wi your carping let me be;
Here’s ten pounds for your auld gray mear,
And a weel paid foal it’s be to thee!’

18
And O the silly poor harper’s wife,
She’s aye first up in Lochmaben toun;
She’s stealing the corn and stealing the hay,
And wappin it oer to Wanton Broun.

* * * * *

E

Buchan’s MSS, I, 35; Dixon, Scottish Traditional Versions of Ancient
Ballads, p. 37, Percy Society, vol. xvii.

1
There was a jolly harper-man,
That harped aye frae toun to toun;
A wager he made, with two knights he laid
To steal King Henry’s Wanton Brown.

2
Sir Roger he wagered five ploughs o land,
Sir Charles wagered five thousand pound,
And John he’s taen the deed in hand,
To steal King Henry’s Wanton Brown.

3
He’s taen his harp into his hand,
And he gaed harping thro the toun,
And as the king in his palace sat,
His ear was touched wi the soun.

4
‘Come in, come in, ye harper-man,
Some o your harping let me hear;’
‘Indeed, my liege, and by your grace,
I’d rather hae stabling to my mare.’

5
‘Ye’ll gang to yon outer court,
That stands a little below the toun;
Ye’ll find a stable snug and neat,
Where stands my stately Wanton Brown.

6
He’s down him to the outer court,
That stood a little below the toun;
There found a stable snug and neat,
For stately stood the Wanton Brown.

7
Then he has fixd a good strong cord
Unto his grey mare’s bridle-rein,
And tied it unto that steed’s tail,
Syne shut the stable-door behin.

8
Then he harped on, an he carped on,
Till all were fast asleep;
Then down thro bower and ha he’s gone,
Even on his hands and feet.

9
He’s to yon stable snug and neat,
That lay a little below the toun;
For there he placed his ain grey mare,
Alang wi Henry’s Wanton Brown.

10
‘Ye’ll do you down thro mire an moss,
Thro mony bog an lairy hole;
But never miss your Wanton slack;
Ye’ll gang to Mayblane, to your foal.’

11
As soon’s the door he had unshut,
The mare gaed prancing frae the town,
An at her bridle-rein was tied
Henry’s stately Wanton Brown.

12
Then she did rin thro mire an moss,
Thro mony bog an miery hole;
But never missed her Wanton slack
Till she reachd Mayblane, to her foal.

13
When the king awaked from sleep
He to the harper-man did say,
O waken ye, waken ye, jolly John,
We’ve fairly slept till it is day.

14
‘Win up, win up, ye harper-man,
Some mair o harping ye’ll gie me:’
He said, My liege, wi a’ my heart,
But first my gude grey mare maun see.

15
Then forth he ran, and in he came,
Dropping mony a feigned tear:
‘Some rogue[s] hae broke the outer court,
An stown awa my gude grey mare.’

16
‘Then by my sooth,’ the king replied,
‘If there’s been rogues into the toun,
I fear, as well as your grey mare,
Awa is my stately Wanton Brown.’

17
‘My loss is great,’ the harper said,
‘My loss is twice as great, I fear;
In Scotland I lost a gude grey steed,
An here I’ve lost a gude grey mare.’

18
‘Come on, come on, ye harper-man,
Some o your music lat me hear;
Well paid ye’se be, John, for the same,
An likewise for your gude grey mare.’

19
When that John his money received,
Then he went harping frae the toun,
But little did King Henry ken
He’d stown awa his Wanton Brown.

20
The knights then lay ower castle-wa,
An they beheld baith dale an down,
An saw the jolly harper-man
Come harping on to Striveling toun.

21
Then, ‘By my sooth,’ Sir Roger said,
‘Are ye returned back to toun?
I doubt my lad ye hae ill sped
Of stealing o the Wanton Brown.’

22
‘I hae been into fair England,
An even into Lunan toun,
An in King Henry’s outer court,
An stown awa the Wanton Brown.’

23
‘Ye lie, ye lie,’ Sir Charles he said,
‘An aye sae loud’s I hear ye lie;
Twall armed men, in armour bright,
They guard the stable night and day.’

24
‘But I did harp them all asleep,
An managed my business cunninglie;
If ye make light o what I say,
Come to my stable an ye’ll see.

25
‘My music pleasd the king sae well
Mair o my harping he wishd to hear;
An for the same he paid me well,
And also for my gude grey mare.’

26
Then he drew out a gude lang purse,
Well stored wi gowd an white monie,
An in a short time after this
The Wanton Brown he lat them see.

27
Sir Roger produced his ploughs o land,
Sir Charles produced his thousand pounds,
Then back to Henry, the English king,
Restored the stately Wanton Brown.

* * * * *

#A. a.#

“I have here given another copy of this Border Ballad, which I
took from a MS. collection of Mr Henderson. It varies a little
from the former [#A#], which I had from Dr Clapperton of
Lochmaben.”

4^4, 13^4, 18^4. _The Wanton Brown is a mare: so #b#, and #D#,
9^4. But the Brown is a stallion in #C#, 3^4, 8^4, 13^4, and is
so made to be in #A c#, 13^4, 17^3: rightly, I should suppose._

8^2. say.

12^4. _to wanting_.

#b.#

_The third and fourth lines are repeated as burden._

1^1. O heard ye of a silly harper.

1^2. Livd long.

1^3. he did.

8^1. he _wanting_.

9^2. lords gaed through.

9^4. That they forgat.

14^4. ere it.

15^2. gae.

16^1. raise.

17^1. then (_misprint_) _for_ those.

17^3. gainst.

21^3. shall.

#c.#

_No burden._

1^1. O heard ye na o.

1^2. How lang he lived.

1^3. And how.

1^4. steal the Lord Warden’s.

2^2. the haste.

2^3. will neer gae weel.

3^1. hast.

3^2. That can baith lance oer laigh.

3^3. Sae set thee on the gray mare’s back.

4, 5, _wanting._

6^2. And even: he may drie.

6^3. And when he cam to Carlisle gate.

6^4. O whae: but the Warden, he.

7^1. into my hall, thou.

7^4. I wad.

8^1. The Warden lookd ower.

8^2. said.

8^3. silly blind. 8^4. beside.

9^1. Then aye.

9^2. the lordlings footed.

9^3. But an the.

9^4. The groom had nae mind o.

10^2. were fast.

11^1 hied.

11^4. gude _wanting_.

12^1. took a cowt halter.

12^2. he did.

13^1. He turned them loose at the castle gate.

13^2. muir and moss.

13^3. neer let: bait.

13^4. But kept him a-galloping hame to her foal.

14^1. The mare she was: foot.

14^2. She didna.

14^4. A lang: before the day.

15^3. Rise up.

16^1. cloathes.

16^2. keekit through at the.

16^3. then cried.

16^4. braw brown.

17^1. haud thy tongue, thou silly wench.

17^2. morn’s: in your ee.

17^3. He’s.

18.
Now all this while, in merry Carlisle,
The harper harped to hie and law,
And the fiend thing dought they do but listen him to,
Untill that the day began to daw.

19^3. Behold the Wanton Brown was gane.

19^4. poor blind.

20^1. quo the cunning auld.

20^2. And ever allace.

20^3. I lost a.

21, 22, _alteration of_ #B# 11, 12:

Come cease thy allacing, thou silly blind harper,
And again of thy harping let us hear;
And weel payd sall thy cowt-foal be,
And thou sall have a far better mare.

Then aye he harped, and aye he carped,
Sae sweet were the harpings he let them hear!
He was paid for the foal he had never lost,
And three times ower for the gude gray mare.

#B.#

1^2. in a Bell town: _see_ 13^1.

5. _The burden is here_: Sing, Fadle fidle, etc.

#C.#

“The following is an oral version of a ballad which appears in the
first volume of the ‘Minstrelsy.’ I have written it down from
the recitation of a friend who learned it many years ago from
her grandfather, a Mr John Macreddie, farmer, Little Laight
parish of Inch, Wigtonshire. He died in 1813, at the age of
ninety-four, and is supposed to have acquired the song from
tradition in his youth. On comparison, it will be found to
differ in several respects from Sir Walter’s version. 11 Hill
Street, Anderston, Glasgow. W. G.”

#D.#

3^2, 4^2, 6^1, 18^1, oh. 10^1, at, 16^1, then, _added by Mr Murray
in pencil above the line, as if on reading over what he had
written down_.

18^4. _Dr Mitchell gives_: An waps. “ The ower-word,” _he adds_,
“was something like the following:”

Hey tum tidly
Doodlem didly
Hey tum tidly
Doodley dan.

#E.#

2^2. _The reading is perhaps_ pounds.

7^{2,3}. _Absurdity could be avoided by exchanging_ grey mare
_and_ steed.

24^2. by _for_ my.

193

THE DEATH OF PARCY REED

#A.# ‘A song of Parcy Reed and the Three False Halls,’ the late Robert
White’s papers.

#B.# ‘The Death of Parcy Reed,’ Richardson’s Borderer’s Table Book,
1846, VII, 361; J. H. Dixon, Ancient Poems, Ballads and Songs of the
Peasantry of England, p. 99, Percy Society, vol. xvii, 1846.

Of #B#, which purports to have been taken down from an old woman’s singing by James Telfer, Mr Robert White, from whom I received #A#, said in a letter to Mr J. H. Dixon: “Parcy Reed, as you suspect, is not genuine, for it bears marks of our friend’s improvements. I have a copy of the original somewhere, but may not be able to find it.” And again, Telfer himself, “in a letter to the late Robert Storey, the Northumbrian poet,” wrote, “I will send Mr Dixon the real verses, but it is but a droll of a ballad.” (J. H. Dixon, in Notes and Queries, Fourth Series, I, 108, V, 520.)

Comparison will show that almost the whole of #A# is preserved in #B#, and in fairly good form. #B# has also some stanzas not found in #A# which may be accepted as traditional. Telfer may have added a dozen of his own, and has retouched others.

Mr White, after remarking that there is no historical evidence to show when the event on which the ballad was founded occurred, informs us that almost every circumstance in the narrative has been transmitted to the present century by local tradition.

“Percival, or Parcy, Reed,” in the words of Mr White, “was proprietor of Troughend, an elevated tract of land lying on the west side and nearly in the centre of Redesdale, Northumberland. The remains of the old tower may still be seen, a little to the west of the present mansion, commanding a beautiful and most extensive view of nearly the whole valley. Here he resided, and being a keen hunter and brave soldier, he possessed much influence, and was appointed warden or keeper of the district. His office was to suppress and order the apprehension of thieves and other breakers of the law; in the execution of which he incurred the displeasure of a family of brothers of the name of Hall, who were owners of Girsonsfield, a farm about two miles east from Troughend. He also drew upon himself the hostility of a band of moss-troopers, Crosier by name, some of whom he had been successful in bringing to justice. The former were, however, artful enough to conceal their resentment, and under the appearance of friendship calmly awaited an opportunity to be avenged. Some time afterwards, they solicited his attendance on a hunting expedition to the head of Redesdale, and unfortunately he agreed to accompany them. His wife had some strange dreams anent his safety on the night before his departure, and at breakfast, on the following morning, the loaf of bread from which he was supplied chanced to be turned with the bottom upwards, an omen which is still accounted most unfavorable all over the north of England. Considering these presages undeserving of notice, Reed set out in company with the Halls, and, after enjoying a good day’s sport, the party withdrew to a solitary hut in Batinghope, a lonely glen stretching westward from the Whitelee, whose little stream forms one of the chief sources of Reedwater. The whole of this arrangement had been previously planned by the Halls and Crosiers, and when the latter came down, late in the evening, to execute their purpose of vengeance, they found Parcy Reed altogether a defenceless man. His companions not only deserted him, but had previously driven his sword so firmly in its scabbard that it could not be drawn, and had also moistened the powder with which the very long gun he carried with him was charged, so as to render both useless when he came to rely upon them for protection. Accordingly the Crosiers instantly put him to death; and so far did they carry out their sanguinary measures, even against his lifeless body, that tradition says the fragments thereof had to be collected together and conveyed in pillow-slips home to Troughend. Public indignation was speedily aroused against the murderers; the very name of Crosier was abhorred throughout Redesdale, and the abettors were both driven from their residence and designated as the fause-hearted Ha’s, an appellation which yet remains in force against them.” (Richardson’s Borderer’s Table Book, VII, 361.)

The farm of Girsonsfield, according to the ballad, #A# 3, 18, belonged to the Halls. But that place has been the property of others, says Mr White, “ever since the reign of Elizabeth;” whence he concludes that the story is not to be dated later than the sixteenth century.

Parcy Reed is famed to have had a favorite dog named Keeldar, and, though a “peerless archer,” to have killed him by an unlucky shot while hunting. Sir Walter Scott has celebrated this mishap and its consequence in ‘The Death of Keeldar’ (Table Book, as above, p. 240); and he alludes to the treacherous murder of Reed (with which he became acquainted through Robert Roxby’s ‘Lay of the Reedwater Minstrel,’ 1809) in Rokeby, written in 1812, Canto I, xx.

* * * * *

A

The late Robert White’s papers; “Woodburn, December 1, 1829, Thomas
Hedley, Bridge End, Corsonside Parish.”

1
The Liddesdale Crosiers hae ridden a race,
And they had far better staid at hame,
For they have lost a gallant gay,
Young Whinton Crosier it was his name.

2
For Parcy Reed he has him taen,
And he’s delivered him to law,
But auld Crosier has made answer
That he’ll gar the house of the Troughend fa.

3
So as it happened on a day
That Parcy Reed is a hunting gane,
And the three false Halls of Girsonsfield
They all along with him are gane.

4
They hunted up and they hunted down,
They hunted all Reedwater round,
Till weariness has on him seized;
At the Batinghope he’s fallen asleep.

5
O some they stole his powder-horn,
And some put water in his lang gun:
‘O waken, waken, Parcy Reed!
For we do doubt thou sleeps too sound.

6
‘O waken, O waken, Parcy Reed!
For we do doubt thou sleeps too long;
For yonder’s the five Crosiers coming,
They’re coming by the Hingin Stane.

7
‘If they be five men, we are four,
If ye will all stand true to me;
Now every one of you may take one,
And two of them ye may leave to me.’

8
‘We will not stay, nor we dare not stay,
O Parcy Reed, for to fight with thee;
For thou wilt find, O Parcy Reed,
That they will slay both us and thee.’

9
‘O stay, O stay, O Tommy Hall,
O stay, O man, and fight with me!
If we see the Troughend again,
My good black mare I will give thee.’

10
‘I will not stay, nor I dare not stay,
O Parcy Reed, to fight for thee;
For thou wilt find, O Parcy Reed,
That they will slay both me and thee.’

11
‘O stay, O stay, O Johnnie Hall,
O stay, O man, and fight for me!
If I see the Troughend again,
Five yoke of oxen I will give thee.’

12
‘I will not stay, nor I dare not stay,
O Parcy Reed, for to fight with thee;
For thou wilt find, O Parcy Reed,
That they will slay both me and thee.’

13
‘O stay, O stay, O Willie Hall,
O stay, O man, and fight for me!
If we see the Troughend again,
The half of my land I will give thee.’

14
‘I will not stay, nor I dare not stay,
O Parcy Reed, for to fight with thee;
For thou wilt find, O Parcy Reed,
That they will slay both me and thee.’

15
‘Now foul fa ye, ye traitors all,
That ever ye should in England won!
You have left me in a fair field standin,
And in my hand an uncharged gun.

16
‘O fare thee well, my wedded wife!
O fare you well, my children five!
And fare thee well, my daughter Jane,
That I love best that’s born alive!

17
‘O fare thee well, my brother Tom!
And fare you well his children five!
If you had been with me this day,
I surely had been man alive.

18
‘Farewell all friends! as for my foes,
To distant lands may they be tane,
And the three false Halls of Girsonsfield,
They’ll never be trusted nor trowed again.’

* * * * *

B

Richardsons’ Borderers’ Table Book, VII, 361, 1846; “taken down by
James Telfer, of Saughtree, Liddesdale, from the chanting of an old
woman named Kitty Hall, a native of Northumberland.”

1
God send the land deliverance
Frae every reaving, riding Scot;
We’ll sune hae neither cow nor ewe,
We’ll sune hae neither staig nor stot.

2
The outlaws come frae Liddesdale,
They herry Redesdale far and near;
The rich man’s gelding it maun gang,
They canna pass the puir man’s mear.

3
Sure it were weel, had ilka thief
Around his neck a halter strang;
And curses heavy may they light
On traitors vile oursels amang.

4
Now Parcy Reed has Crosier taen,
He has delivered him to the law;
But Crosier says he’ll do waur than that,
He’ll make the tower o Troughend fa.

5
And Crosier says he will do waur,
He will do waur if waur can be;
He’ll make the bairns a’ fatherless,
And then, the land it may lie lee.

6
‘To the hunting, ho!’ cried Parcy Reed,
‘The morning sun is on the dew;
The cauler breeze frae off the fells
Will lead the dogs to the quarry true.

7
‘To the hunting, ho!’ cried Parcy Reed,
And to the hunting he has gane;
And the three fause Ha’s o Girsonsfield
Alang wi him he has them taen.

8
They hunted high, they hunted low,
By heathery hill and birken shaw;
They raised a buck on Rooken Edge,
And blew the mort at fair Ealylawe.

9
They hunted high, they hunted low,
They made the echoes ring amain;
With music sweet o horn and hound,
They merry made fair Redesdale glen.

10
They hunted high, they hunted low,
They hunted up, they hunted down,
Until the day was past the prime,
And it grew late in the afternoon.

11
They hunted high in Batinghope,
When as the sun was sinking low;
Says Parcy then, Ca off the dogs,
We’ll bait our steeds and homeward go.

12
They lighted high in Batinghope,
Atween the brown and benty ground;
They had but rested a little while
Till Parcy Reed was sleeping sound.

13
There’s nane may lean on a rotten staff,
But him that risks to get a fa;
There’s nane may in a traitor trust,
And traitors black were every Ha.

14
They’ve stown the bridle off his steed,
And they’ve put water in his lang gun;
They’ve fixed his sword within the sheath
That out again it winna come.

15
‘Awaken ye, waken ye, Parcy Reed,
Or by your enemies be taen;
For yonder are the five Crosiers
A-coming owre the Hingin-stane.’

16
‘If they be five, and we be four,
Sae that ye stand alang wi me,
Then every man ye will take one,
And only leave but two to me:
We will them meet as brave men ought,
And make them either fight or flee.’

17
‘We mayna stand, we canna stand,
We daurna stand alang wi thee;
The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,
And they wad kill baith thee and we.’

18
‘O turn thee, turn thee, Johnie Ha,
O turn thee, man, and fight wi me;
When ye come to Troughend again,
My gude black naig I will gie thee;
He cost full twenty pound o gowd,
Atween my brother John and me.’

19
‘I mayna turn, I canna turn,
I daurna turn and fight wi thee;
The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,
And they wad kill baith thee and me’

20
‘O turn thee, turn thee, Willie Ha,
O turn thee, man, and fight wi me;
When ye come to Troughend again,
A yoke o owsen I’ll gie thee.’

21
‘I mayna turn, I canna turn,
I daurna turn and fight wi thee;
The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,
And they wad kill baith thee and me.’

22
‘O turn thee, turn thee, Tommy Ha,
O turn now, man, and fight wi me;
If ever we come to Troughend again,
My daughter Jean I’ll gie to thee.’

23
‘I mayna turn, I canna turn,
I daurna turn and fight wi thee;
The Crosiers haud thee at a feud,
And they wad kill baith thee and me.’

24
‘O shame upon ye, traitors a’!
I wish your hames ye may never see;
Ye’ve stown the bridle off my naig,
And I can neither fight nor flee.

25
‘Ye’ve stown the bridle off my naig,
And ye’ve put water i my lang gun;
Ye’ve fixed my sword within the sheath
That out again it winna come.’

26
He had but time to cross himsel,
A prayer he hadna time to say,
Till round him came the Crosiers keen,
All riding graithed and in array.

27
‘Weel met, weel met, now, Parcy Reed,
Thou art the very man we sought;
Owre lang hae we been in your debt,
Now will we pay you as we ought.

28
‘We’ll pay thee at the nearest tree,
Where we shall hang thee like a hound;’
Brave Parcy raisd his fankit sword,
And felld the foremost to the ground.

29
Alake, and wae for Parcy Reed,
Alake, he was an unarmed man;
Four weapons pierced him all at once,
As they assailed him there and than.

30
They fell upon him all at once,
They mangled him most cruellie;
The slightest wound might caused his deid,
And they hae gien him thirty-three;
They hacket off his hands and feet,
And left him lying on the lee.

31
‘Now, Parcy Reed, we’ve paid our debt,
Ye canna weel dispute the tale,’
The Crosiers said, and off they rade;
They rade the airt o Liddesdale.

32
It was the hour o gloaming gray,
When herds come in frae fauld and pen;
A herd he saw a huntsman lie,
Says he, Can this be Laird Troughen?

33
‘There’s some will ca me Parcy Reed,
And some will ca me Laird Troughen;
It’s little matter what they ca me,
My faes hae made me ill to ken.

34
‘There’s some will ca me Parcy Reed,
And speak my praise in tower and town;
It’s little matter what they do now,
My life-blood rudds the heather brown.

35
‘There’s some will ca me Parcy Reed,
And a’ my virtues say and sing;
I would much rather have just now
A draught o water frae the spring.’

36
The herd flung aff his clouted shoon
And to the nearest fountain ran;
He made his bonnet serve a cup,
And wan the blessing o the dying man.

37
‘Now, honest herd, ye maun do mair,
Ye maun do mair, as I you tell;
Ye maun bear tidings to Troughend,
And bear likewise my last farewell.

38
‘A farewell to my wedded wife,
A farewell to my brother John,
Wha sits into the Troughend tower
Wi heart as black as any stone.

39
‘A farewell to my daughter Jean,
A farewell to my young sons five;
Had they been at their father’s hand,
I had this night been man alive.

40
‘A farewell to my followers a’,
And a’ my neighbours gude at need;
Bid them think how the treacherous Ha’s
Betrayed the life o Parcy Reed.

41
‘The laird o Clennel bears my bow,
The laird o Brandon bears my brand;
Wheneer they ride i the Border-side,
They’ll mind the fate o the laird Troughend.’

* * * * *

#A.#

10^1, 12^1, 14^1, or _for_ nor; _cf._ 8^1.

12^2. “O Parcy Reed, etc. (same as stanza 8, save at end, thee and
me).” _The same abridgment and remark at 10^2, 14^2, but the
last words are there given as_ me and thee. _Uniformity is to be
expected._

16^1. fare thou: _cf._ 16^3, 17^1.

194

THE LAIRD OF WARISTON

#A.# ‘The Laird of Waristoun,’ Jamieson’s Popular Ballads, I, 109.

#B.# ‘Laird of Wariestoun,’ Kinloch MSS, VII, 217; Kinloch’s Ancient
Scottish Ballads, p. 49.

#C.# ‘Death of Lord Warriston,’ Buchan’s Ballads of the North of
Scotland, I, 56.

Birrell’s Diary, under the date of July 2, 1600, has the following entry: “John Kinland [Kincaid] of Waristone murderit be hes awin wyff and servant-man, and the nurische being also upone the conspiracy. The said gentilwoman being apprehendit, scho was tane to the Girth Crosse upon the 5 day of Julii, and her heid struck fra her bodie at the Can-nagait fit; quha diet verie patiently. Her nurische was brunt at the same tyme, at 4 houres in the morneing, the 5 of Julii.” P. 49.

Both husband and wife belonged to houses of some note. The wife, Jean Livingston, was a daughter of John Livingston of Dunipace, “and related to many of the first families in Scotland.”

Nothing seems to have been done to keep the murder from divulging. Warriston being only about a mile from Edinburgh, information very soon reached the authorities of justice, and those who were found in the house, the mistress, the nurse, and two female servants, were arrested. The crime was committed on Tuesday morning, not long after midnight. On Thursday such trial as there was took place, and it may have occupied three hours, probably less. At three o’clock on Saturday morning sentence was executed. This had been burning (_i. e._ after strangling), both for the principal and her accomplice, the nurse; but for the well-born woman, no doubt through the influence of her kindred, it was commuted to beheading. The servant-man who did the handiwork fled, but the penalty for undue devotion to his former master’s daughter overtook him within four years. He was broken on a cart-wheel with a plough-coulter.