Chapter VII: Part I: , Nov. 21 (R. Köhler, in Jahrbuch für Rom. u. Eng. Lit., VIII, (2)

=B.= ‘A pretty ballad of the Lord of Lorn and the Fals Steward.’ =a.= Wood, 401, fol. 95 b. =b.= Roxburghe, I, 222; Roxburghe Ballads, ed. Chappell, II, 55. =c.= Pepys, I, 494, No 254.

Also in the Roxburghe collection, III, 534, without printer’s name; Ewing, Nos 264, 265; Crawford, No 716. All the broadsides are of the second half of the seventeenth century.

‘The Lord of Lorne and the false Steward’ was entered, with two other ballads, to Master Walley, 6 October, 1580; ‘Lord of Lorne’ to Master Pavier and others (among 128 pieces), 14 December, 1624. Arber, II, 379; IV, 131.[43]

=A.= The young Lord of Lorn, when put to school, learns more in one day than his mates learn in three. He returns home earlier than was expected, and delights his father with the information that he can read any book in Scotland. His father says he must now go to France to learn the tongues. His mother is anxious that he should have a proper guardian if he goes, and the ‘child’ proposes the steward, who has impressed him as a man of fidelity. The Lady of Lorn makes the steward a handsome present, and conjures him to be true to her son. If I am not, he answers, may Christ not be true to me. The young lord sails for France, very richly appointed. Once beyond the water, the steward will give the child neither penny to spend nor meat and drink. The child is forced to lie down at some piece of water to quench his thirst; the steward pushes him in, meaning to drown him. The child offers everything for his life; the steward pulls him out, makes him put off all his fine clothes and don a suit of leather, and sends him to shift for himself, under the name of Poor Disaware. A shepherd takes him in, and he tends sheep on a lonely lea.

The steward sells the child’s clothes, buys himself a suit fit for a lord, and goes a-wooing to the Duke of France’s daughter, calling himself the Lord of Lorn; the duke favors the suit, and the lady is content. The day after their betrothal, the lady, while riding out, sees the child tending his sheep, and hears him mourning. She sends a maid to bring him to her, and asks him questions, which he answers, not without tears. He was born in Scotland, his name is Poor Disaware; he knows the Lord of Lorn, a worthy lord in his own country. The lady invites him to leave his sheep, and take service with her as chamberlain; the child is willing, but her father objects that the lord who has come a-wooing may not like that arrangement. The steward comes upon the scene, and is angry to find the child in such company. When the child gives his name as Poor Disaware, the steward denounces him as a thief who had robbed his own father; but the duke speaks kindly to the boy, and makes him his stable-groom. One day, when he is watering a gelding, the horse flings up his head and hits the child above the eye. The child breaks out, Woe worth thee, gelding! thou hast stricken the Lord of Lorn. I was born a lord and shall be an earl; my father sent me over the sea, and the false steward has beguiled me. The lady happens to be walking in her garden, and hears something of this; she bids the child go on with his song; this he may not do, for he has been sworn to silence. Then sing to thy gelding, and not to me, she says. The child repeats his story, and adds that the steward has been deceiving both her and him for a twelvemonth. The lady declares that she will marry no man but him that stands before her, sends in haste to her father to have her wedding put off, and writes an account of the steward’s treachery to the old lord in Scotland. The old lord collects five hundred friends of high degree, and goes over to France in search of his son. They find him acting as porter at the duke’s palace. The men of worship bow, the serving-men kneel, the old lord lights from his horse and kisses his son. The steward is just then in a castle-top with the duke, and sees what is going on below. Why are those fools showing such courtesy to the porter? The duke fears that this means death for one of them. The castle is beset; the steward is captured, is tried by a quest of lords and brought in guilty, is hanged, quartered, boiled, and burned. The young Lord of Lorne is married to the duke’s daughter.

=B.= =B= is an abridgment of an older copy. The story is the same as in =A= in all material particulars. The admiration of the schoolmaster and the self-complacency of his pupil in =A= 2, 3, =B= 3, are better justified in =B= by a stanza which has perhaps dropped out of =A=:

There’s nere a doctor in all this realm,
For all he goes in rich array,
[But] I can write him a lesson soon
To learn in seven years day.

The last six stanzas are not represented in =A=, and the last two are glaringly modern; but there is a foundation for 62-64 in a romance from which the story is partly taken, the History of Roswall and Lillian.[44]

‘Roswall and Lillian.’ Roswall was son to the king of Naples. Happening one day to be near a prison, he heard three lords, who had been in durance many years for treason, putting up their prayers for deliverance. He was greatly moved, and resolved to help them out. The prison-keys were always hidden for the night under the king’s pillow. Roswall possessed himself of them while his father was sleeping, set the lords free, and replaced the keys. The escape of the prisoners was reported the next morning, and the king made a vow that whoever had been instrumental to it should be hanged; if he came within the king’s sight, the king would even slay him with his own hands. It soon came to light that the guilty party was none other than the prince. The queen interceded for her son, but the king could not altogether disregard his vow: the prince must be kept out of his sight, and the king promptly decided that Roswall should be sent to reside with the king of Bealm, under charge of the steward, a stalwart knight, to whom the queen promised everything for good service. As the pair rode on their way, they came to a river. The prince was sore athirst, and dismounted to take a drink. The steward seized him by the feet as he bent over the water, and vowed to throw him in unless he would swear an oath to surrender his money and credentials, and become servant where he had been master. To these hard terms Roswall was forced to consign. When they were near the king of Bealm’s palace, the steward dropped Roswall’s company, leaving him without a penny to buy his dinner; then rode to the king, presented letters, and was well received. Roswall went to a little house hard by, and begged for harbor and victuals for a day. The mistress made him welcome. She saw he was from a far country, and asked his name. Dissawar was his name; a poor name, said the old wife, but Dissawar you shall not be, for I will help you. The next day Roswall was sent to school with the dame’s son. He gave his name as Dissawar again to the master; the master said he should want neither meat nor teaching. Roswall had been a remarkable scholar at home. Without doubt he astonished the master, but this is not said, for the story has been abridged here and elsewhere. In about a month, the steward of the king of Bealm, who had observed his beauty, courtesy, and good parts, carried him to the court of Bealm, where Roswall made himself a general favorite. The princess Lillian, only child of the king of Bealm, chose him to be her chamberlain, fell in love with him, and frankly offered him her heart, an offer which Roswall, professing always to be of low degree, gratefully accepted.

At this juncture the king of Bealm sent messengers to Naples proposing marriage between his daughter Lillian and the young prince who had been commended to him. The king of Naples assented to the alliance, and deputed lords and knights to represent him at the solemnity. The king of Bealm proclaimed a joust for the three days immediately preceding the wedding. Lillian’s heart was cold, for she loved none but Dissawar. She told Dissawar that he must joust for his lady; but he said that he had not been bred to such things, and would rather go a-hunting. A-hunting he went, but before he got to work there came a knight in white weed on a white steed, who enjoined him to take horse and armor and go to the jousting, promising that he should find plenty of venison when he came back. Roswall toomed many a saddle, turned the steward’s heels upward, made his way back to the wood, in spite of the king’s order that he should be stopped, resumed his hunting-gear, took the venison, which, according to promise, was waiting for him, and presented himself and it to his lady. The order is much the same on the two succeeding days. A red knight equips Roswall for the joust on the second day, a knight in gold on the third. The steward is, on each occasion, put to shame, and in the last encounter two of his ribs are broken.

When Roswall came back to the wood after the third jousting, the three knights appeared together and informed him that they were the men whom he had delivered from prison, and who had promised to help him if help he ever needed. They bade him have no fear of the steward. Lillian had suspected from the second day that the victor was Roswall, and when he returned to her from his third triumph she intimated that if he would but tell the whole truth to her father their mutual wish would be accomplished. But Roswall kept his counsel--very whimsically, unless it was out of respect to his oath--and Lillian was constrained to speak for herself, for the marriage was to be celebrated on the fourth day. She asked her father in plain terms to give her Dissawar for her husband. The king replied, not unkindly, that she could not marry below her rank, and therefore must take the prince who had been selected for her; and to the steward she was married, however sorely against her will. In the course of the wedding-dinner, the three Neapolitan lords entered the hall, and saluted the king, the queen, and Lillian, but not the bridegroom. The king asked why they did no homage to their prince; they replied that they did not see their prince, went in search of Roswall, and brought him in. The force of the oath, or the consciousness of an obligation, must have been by this time quite extinct, for Roswall divulged the steward’s treacherous behavior, and announced himself as the victor at the jousts. The steward was hanged that same day; then they passed to the kirk and married Roswall and Lillian. There was dancing till supper and after supper, the minstrels played with good will, and the bridal was kept up for twenty days.

Roswall and Lillian belongs with a group of popular tales of which the original seems to have been characterized by all or many of the following marks: (1) the son of a king liberates a man whom his father has imprisoned; (2) the penalty for so doing is death, and to save his life the prince is sent out of the country, attended by a servant; (3) the servant forces the prince to change places and clothes with him; (4) presents himself at a king’s court as prince, and in his assumed quality is in a fair way to secure the hand of the king’s daughter; (5) the true prince, figuring the while as a menial (stable-groom, scullion, gardener’s lad), is successful, by the help of the man whom he has liberated, in a thrice-repeated contention (battle, tourney, race), or task, after which he is in a position to make known his rank and history; (6) the impostor is put to death, and the prince (who has, perhaps, in his humbler capacity, already attracted her notice and regard) marries the princess.[45]

Two Slavic tales, a Bosnian and a Russian, come as near as any to the story of our romance.

A king who has caught a wild man shuts him up, and denounces death to any one that shall let him out. The king’s son’s bedroom is just over the place in which the wild man is confined. The prince cannot bear to hear the continual wailings which come up, and he sets the prisoner free. The prince confesses what he has done; the king is persuaded by his advisers to banish his son rather than to enforce the penalty which he had decreed; the prince is sent off to a distant kingdom, attended by a servant. One day the prince was seized with thirst while travelling, and wished to get a drink from a well; but there was nothing to draw water with, and he ordered his servant to let him down to the surface of the water, holding him the while by the legs. This was done; but when the prince had drunk to his satisfaction, the servant refused to draw him up until he had consented to change places and clothes, and had sworn besides to keep the matter secret. When they arrived at the court of the king designated by the father, the sham prince was received with royal honors, and the true prince had to consort with servants.... After a time, the king, wishing to marry off his daughter, proclaimed a three days’ race, open to all comers, the prize to be a golden apple, and any competitor who should win the apple each of the three days to have the princess. Our prince had fallen in love with the young lady, and was most desirous to contend. The wild man had already helped him in emergencies here passed over, and did not fail him now. He provided his deliverer with fine clothes and a fine horse. The prince carried off the apple at each of the races, but disappeared as soon as he had the prize in hand. All the efforts of the king to find out the victor were to no purpose, but one day the princess met the prince in his serving-man’s dress, and saw the apples shining from his breast. She told her father. The prince did not feel himself bound to further secrecy; he told everything; the king gave him the princess, and the servant was properly disposed of.[46]

Ivan, the tsar’s son, releases from confinement Bulat, a robber, whom the tsar has kept in prison three and thirty years. Bulat tells Ivan to call him by name in case of future need, and he will not fail to appear. Ivan travels in foreign countries with his servant, and feeling thirsty of a warm day tells his servant to get him water from a deep well to which they have come; Ivan will hold him by a rope tied firmly about him, so that he can go down into the well without danger. The servant represents that he is the heavier of the two, too heavy for his master to hold, and that for this reason it would be better for Ivan himself to go for the water. Ivan is let down into the well, and having drunk his fill calls to his servant to draw him up. The servant refuses to draw him up unless Ivan will swear to give him a certificate in writing that he is master, and Ivan servant. The paper is given; they change clothes, and proceed on their journey, and come to Tsar Pantui’s kingdom. Here the servant is received as a tsar’s son, and when he tells Tsar Pantui that the object of his coming is to woo his daughter, the tsar complies with much pleasure. Ivan, at the servant’s suggestion, is put to low work in the kitchen. Before long the kingdom is invaded, and the tsar calls upon his prospective son-in-law to drive off the enemy, for which service he shall receive the princess, but without it, not. The false Ivan begs the true Ivan to take the invaders in hand, and he assents without a word. Ivan calls for Bulat: one attacks the hostile army on the right, the other on the left, and in an hour they lay a hundred thousand low. Ivan returns to his kitchen. A second invasion, and a third, on a larger and larger scale, ensue, and Ivan and Bulat repulse the enemy with greater and greater loss. Ivan each time goes back to his kitchen; his servant has all the glory, and after the third and decisive victory marries the princess. Ivan gets permission from the cook to be a spectator at the wedding-banquet. The tsar’s daughter, it must now be observed, had overheard the conference between the pseudo-prince and Ivan, and even that between Ivan and Bulat, and had hitherto, for inscrutable reasons, let things take their course. But when she saw Ivan looking at the feast from behind other people, she knew him at once, sprang from the table, brought him forward, and said, This is my real bridegroom and the savior of the kingdom; after which she entered into a full explanation, with the result that the servant was shot, and Ivan married to the tsar’s daughter.[47]

Other tales of the same derivation, but deficient in some points, are: (=A.=) Radloff, Proben der Volkslitteratur der türkischen Stämme Süd-Sibiriens, IV, 385, ‘Der Peri.’ (=B.=) Straparola, Piacevoli Notti, v, 1 (‘Guerrino, son of the king of Sicily’). (=C.=) Grimms, K.- und Hausmärchen, No 136, II, 242, ed. 1857, ‘Der Eisenhaus.’ (=D.=) Sommer, Sagen, Märchen und Gebräuche aus Sachsen und Thüringen, p. 86, No 2, ‘Der eiserne Mann.’ (=E.=) Milenowsky, Volksmärchen aus Böhmen, p. 147, ‘Vom wilden Manne.’[48]

(1) The son of a king liberates a prisoner (peri, wild or iron man), =A-E=. (The keys are under his mother’s pillow, =B=, =C=.) (2) The prince goes to another kingdom, =A-D= with attendance, =E= without. (3) His attendant forces the prince to change places and clothes, only =A=. (Advantage is taken of the helplessness of the hero when let down into the well to force exchange of parts, in the Servian Tales of Dj. K. Stefanović, 1871, p. 39, No 7, Jagić, Archiv, I, 271; Meyer, Albanian Tales, No 13, in Archiv für Litteraturgeschichte, XII, 137; Franzisci, Cultur-Studien in Kärnten, p. 99, and, nearly the same, Dozon, Contes Albanais, No 12, p. 83.) (5) The hero, serving as kitchen-boy or gardener’s lad, =C=, =D=, =E=, defeats an invading army, =C=, =D=, =E=, wins a prize three successive days, =C=, =E=, is successful in three tasks, =A=, =B=; and all these feats are performed by the help of the prisoner whom he set free. The variation of the color of armor and horses occurs in =C=, =E=, an extremely frequent trait in tales and romances; see Ward, Catalogue of Romances, etc., 734 f., Lengert, XVII, 361. (Very striking in the matter of the tournaments is the resemblance of the romance of Ipomedon to Roswall and Lillian. Ipomedon, like Roswall, professes not to have been accustomed to such things, and pretends to go a-hunting, is victorious three successive days in a white, red, black suit, on a white, bay, black steed, vanishes after the contest, and presently reappears as huntsman, with venison which a friend had been engaged in securing for him.) (6) The treacherous attendant is put to death, =A=. The hero of course marries the princess in all the tales.

The points in the romance which are repeated in the ballad are principally these: The young hero is sent into a foreign country under the care of his father’s steward. The steward, by threatening to drown him while he is drinking at a water-side, forces him to consent to an exchange of positions, and strips him of his money; then passes himself off as his master’s son with a noble personage, who eventually fixes upon the impostor as a match for his only daughter. The young lord, henceforth known as Dissawar,[49] is in his extremity kindly received into an humble house, from which he soon passes into the service of the lady whose hand the steward aspires to gain. The lady bestows her love upon Dissawar, and he returns her attachment. In the upshot they marry, the false steward having been unmasked and put to death.

What is supplied in the ballad to make up for such passages in the romance as are omitted is, however, no less strictly traditional than that which is retained. Indeed, were it not for the name Dissawar, the romance might have been plausibly treated, not as the source of the ballad, but simply as a kindred story; for the exquisite tale of ‘The Goose Girl’ presents every important feature of ‘The Lord of Lorn,’ the only notable difference being that the young lord in the ballad exchanges parts with the princess in the tale, an occurrence of which instances have been, from time to time, already indicated.

In ‘Die Gänsemagd,’ Grimms, No 89, II, 13, ed. 1857, a princess is sent by her mother to be wedded to a bridegroom in a distant kingdom, with no escort but a maid. Distressed with thirst, the princess orders her maid to get down from her horse and fetch her a cup of water from a stream which they are passing. The maid refuses; she will no longer be servant, and the princess has to lie down and drink from the stream. So a second and a third time: and then the servant forces her mistress, under threat of death, to change horses and clothes, and to swear to keep the matter secret at the court to which they are bound. There the maid is received as princess, while the princess is put to tending geese with a boy. The counterfeit princess, fearing that her mistress’s horse, Falada, may tell what he has observed, induces the young prince to cut off Falada’s head. The princess has the head nailed up on a gate through which she passes when she takes out the geese, and every morning she addresses Falada with a sad greeting, and receives a sad return. The goose-boy tells the old king of this, and the next day the king hides behind the gate and hears what passes between the goose-girl and Falada. The king asks an explanation of the goose-girl when she comes back in the evening, but the only answer he elicits is that she has taken an oath to say nothing. Then the king says, If you will not tell me your troubles, tell them to the stove; and the princess creeps into the oven and pours out all her grief: how she, a king’s daughter, has been made to change places with her servant, and the servant is to marry the bridegroom, and she reduced to tend geese. All this the king hears from outside of the room through the stovepipe, and he loses no time in repeating it to his son. The false maid is dragged through the streets in a barrel stuck full with nails, and the princess married to the prince to whom she had been contracted.

The passage in the ballad in which the Lord of Lorn relates to the gelding, within hearing of the duke’s daughter, the injuries which he had sworn to conceal has, perhaps, suffered some corruption, though quibbling as to oaths is not unknown in ballads. The lady should be believed to be out of earshot, as the king is thought to be by the goose-girl. Unbosoming one’s self to an oven or stove is a decidedly popular trait; “the unhappy and the persecuted betake themselves to the stove, and to it bewail their sufferings, or confide a secret which they may not disclose to the world.”[50] An entirely similar passage (but without an oath to secrecy) occurs in Basile’s Pentamerone, II, 8, where a girl who has been shamefully maltreated by her uncle’s wife tells her very miserable story to a doll, and is accidentally overheard by the uncle. The conclusion of the tale is quite analogous to that of the goose-girl.

* * * * *

A

Percy MS., p. 73, Hales and Furnivall, I, 180.

1
It was the worthy Lord of Learen,
He was a lord of a hie degree;
He had noe more children but one sonne,
He sett him to schoole to learne curtesie.

2
Lear[n]ing did soe p_ro_ceed w_i_th that child,
I tell you all in veretie,
He learned more vpon one day
Then other children did on three,

3
And then bespake the schoole-m_aster_,
Vnto the Lo_rd_ of Learne said hee,
I thinke thou be some stranger borne,
For the holy gost remaines w_i_th thee.

4
He said, I am noe stranger borne,
Forsooth, m_aster_, I tell it to thee;
It is a gift of Almighty God
W_hi_ch he hath giuen vnto mee.

5
The schoole-m_aster_ turnd him round about,
His angry mind he thought to asswage,
For the child cold answer him soe quicklie,
And was of soe tender yeere of age.

6
The child he caused a steed to be brought,
A golden bridle done him vpon;
He tooke his leaue of his schoolfellows,
And home the child that he is gone.

7
And when he came before his father,
He ffell low downe vpon his knee:
‘My blessing, father, I wold aske,
If Christ wold grant you wold gine it me.’

8
‘Now God thee blesse, my sonne and my heire,
His servant in heauen _tha_t thou may bee!
What tydings hast thou brought me, child,
Thou art comen home so soone to mee?’

9
‘Good tydings, father, I haue you brought,
Goo[d tydings] I hope it is to thee;
The booke is not in all S[c]ottlande
But I can reade it before yo_u_r eye.’

10
A ioyed man his father was,
Euen the worthy Lo_rd_ of Learne:
‘Thou shalt goe into Ffrance, my child,
The speeches of all strange lands to learne.’

11
But then bespake the child his mother,
The Lady of Learne and then was shee;
Saies, Who must be his well good guide,
When he goes into that strange country?

12
And then bespake that bonnie child,
Vntill his father tenderlie;
Saies, Father, I’le haue the hend steward,
For he hath beene true to you and mee.

13
The lady to concell the steward did take,
And counted downe a hundred pound there;
Saies, Steward, be true to my sonne and my heire,
And I will giue thee mickle mere.

14
‘If I be not true to my m_aster_,’ he said,
‘Christ himselfe be not trew to mee!
If I be not true to my lord and m_aster_,
An ill death _tha_t I may die!’

15
The Lo_rd_ of Learne did apparell his child
W_i_th bruche, and ringe, and many a thinge;
The apparrell he had his body vppon,
Thé say was worth a squier’s liuinge.

16
The parting of the younge Lo_rd_ of Learne
W_i_th his ffather, his mother, his ffellows deere,
Wold haue made a manis hart for to change,
If a Iew borne that he were.

17
The wind did serue, and thé did sayle
Over the sea into Ffrance land;
He vsed the child soe hardlie,
He wold let him haue neuer a penny to spend.

18
And meate he wold let the child haue none,
Nor mony to buy none, trulie;
The boy was hungry and thirsty both;
Alas! it was the more pitty.

19
He laid him downe to drinke the water
_Tha_t was soe low beneathe the brime;
He [that] was wont to haue drunke both ale and wine
Then was faine of the water soe thinne.

20
And as he was drinking of the water
_Tha_t ran soe low beneath the brime,
Soe ready was the false steward
To drowne the bonny boy therin.

21
‘Haue mercy on me, worthy steward!
My life,’ he said, ‘lend it to mee,
And all _tha_t I am heire vpon,’
Saies, ‘I will giue vnto thee.’

22
Mercy to him the steward did take,
And pulld the child out of the brime;
Euer alacke, the more pittye!
He tooke his clothes euen from him.

23
Saies, Doe thou me of that veluett gowne,
The crimson hose beneath thy knee,
And doe me of thy cordiuant shoone,
Are buckled w_i_th the gold soe free.

24
‘Doe thou me off thy sattin doublett,
Thy shirtband wrought w_i_th glistering gold,
And doe mee off thy golden chaine,
About thy necke soe many a fold.

25
‘Doe thou me off thy veluett hat,
W_i_th fether in _tha_t is soe ffine;
All vnto thy silken shirt,
_Tha_t’s wrought with many a golden seam.’

26
The child before him naked stood,
W_i_th skin as white as lilly flower;
For [t]his worthy lords bewtie
He might haue beene a ladye’s paramoure.

27
He put vpon him a lether cote,
And breeches of the same beneath the knee,
And sent that bony child him froe,
Service for to craue, truly.

28
He pulld then forth a naked sword
_Tha_t hange full low then by his side;
‘Turne thy name, thou villaine,’ he said,
‘Or else this sword shall be thy guide.’

29
‘What must be my name, worthy steward?
I pray thee now tell it me:’
‘Thy name shalbe Pore Disaware,
To tend sheepe on a lonelye lee.’

30
The bonny child he went him froe,
And looked to himselfe, truly;
Saw his apparrell soe simple vppon;
O Lo_rd_! he weeped tenderlye.

31
Vnto a shepard’s house _tha_t childe did goe,
And said, S_i_r, God you saue and see!
Doe you not want a servant-boy,
To tend yo_u_r sheepe on a lonelie lee?

32
‘Where was thou borne?’ the shepard said,
‘Where, my boy, or in what country?’
‘S_i_r,’ he said, ‘I was borne in fayre Scottland,
_Tha_t is soe farr beyond the sea.’

33
‘I haue noe child,’ the shepard sayd;
‘My boy, thoust tarry and dwell w_i_th mee;
My liuinge,’ he sayd, ‘and all my goods,
I’le make thee heire [of] after mee.’

34
And then bespake the shepard’s wife,
To the Lo_rd_ of Learne thus did she say;
‘Goe thy way to our sheepe,’ she said,
‘And tend them well both night and day.’

35
It was a sore office, O Lo_rd_, for him
_Tha_t was a lord borne of a great degree!
As he was tending his sheepe alone,
Neither sport nor play cold hee.

36
Let vs leaue talking of the Lo_rd_ of Learne,
And let all such talking goe;
Let vs talke more of the false steward,
That caused the child all this woe.

37
He sold this Lo_rd_ of Learne’s his clothes
For fiue hundred pound to his pay [there],
And bought himselfe a suite of apparrell
Might well beseeme a lo_rd_ to weare.

38
When he _tha_t gorgeous apparrell bought,
That did soe finelie his body vppon,
He laughed the bony child to scorne
_Tha_t was the bonny Lo_rd_ of Learne.

39
He laughed _tha_t bonny boy to scorne;
Lo_rd_! pitty it was to heare;
I haue herd them say, and soe haue you too,
_Tha_t a man may buy gold to deere.

40
When _tha_t he had all _tha_t gorgeous apparrell,
_Tha_t did soe finelie his body vpon,
He went a woing to the Duke’s daughter of France,
And called himselfe the Lo_rd_ of Learne.

41
The Duke of Ffrance heard tell of this,
To his place _tha_t worthy lo_rd_ was come, truly;
He entertaind him w_i_th a quart of red Renish wi[ne],
Saies, Lo_rd_ of Learne, thou art welcome to me.

42
Then to supp_er_ that they were sett,
Lords and ladyes in their degree;
The steward was sett next the Duke of France;
An vnseemlye sight it was to see.

43
Then bespake the Duke of Ffrance,
Vnto the Lo_rd_ of Leearne said hee there,
Sayes, Lo_rd_ of Learne, if thou’le marry my daught[er],
I’le mend thy liuing fiue hundred pound a yeere.

44
Then bespake _tha_t lady fayre,
Answered her ffather soe alone,
That shee would be his marryed wiffe
If he wold make her lady of Learne.

45
Then hand in hand the steward her he tooke,
And plight _tha_t lady his troth alone,
_Tha_t she shold be his marryed wiffe,
And he wold make her the ladie of Learne.

46
Thus _tha_t night it was gone,
The other day was come, truly;
The lady wold see the robucke run,
Vp hills and dales and forrest free.

47
Then shee was ware of the younge Lo_rd_ of Learne
Tending sheepe vnder a bryar, trulye,
. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .

48
And thus shee called vnto her maids,
And held her hands vp thus an hie;
Sayes, Feitch me yond shepard’s boy,
I’le know why he doth mourne, trulye.

49
When he came before _tha_t lady fayer,
He fell downe vpon his knee;
He had beene so well brought vpp
He needed not to learne curtesie.

50
‘Where wast thou borne, thou bonny boy?
Where or in what countrye?’
‘Madam, I was borne in faire Scottland,
_Tha_t is soe farr beyond the sea.’

51
‘What is thy name, thou bonny boy?
I pray thee tell it vnto mee;’
‘My name,’ he sayes, ‘is Poore Disaware,
That tends sheepe on a lonely lee.’

52
‘One thing thou must tell mee, bonny boy,
W_hi_ch I must needs aske of thee,
Dost not thou know the young Lo_rd_ of Learne?
He is comen a woing into France to me.’

53
‘Yes, _tha_t I doe, madam,’ he said,
And then he wept most tenderlie;
‘The Lo_rd_ of Learne is a worthy lo_rd_,
If he were at home in his oune country.’

54
‘What ayles thee to weepe, my bonny boy?
Tell me or ere I part thee froe:’
‘Nothing but for a friend, madam,
_Tha_t’s dead from me many a yeere agoe.’

55
A loud laughter the ladie lought,
O Lo_rd_! shee smiled wonderous hie:
‘I haue dwelled in France since I was borne;
Such a shepard’s boy I did neuer see.

56
‘Wilt thou not leaue thy sheepe, my child,
And come vnto service vnto mee?
And I will giue thee meate and fee,
And my chamberlaine thou shalt bee.’

57
‘Then I will leaue my sheepe, madam,’ he sayd,
‘And come into service vnto thee,
If you will giue me meate and fee,
Yo_u_r chamberlaine _tha_t I may bee.’

58
When the lady came before her father,
Shee fell low downe vpon her knee;
‘Grant me, father,’ the lady said,
‘This boy my chamberlaine to be.’

59
‘But O nay, nay,’ the duke did say,
‘Soe my daughter it may not bee;
The lo_rd_ _tha_t is come a woing to you
Will be offended w_i_th you and mee.’

60
Then came downe the false steward,
W_hi_ch called himselfe the Lo_rd_ of Learne, trulie;
When he looked that bonny boy vpon,
An angry man i-wis was hee.

61
‘Where was thou borne, thou vagabond?
Where?’ he sayd, ‘and in what country?’
Says, I was borne in fayre Scotland,
_Tha_t is soe far beyond the sea.

62
‘What is thy name, thou vagabond?
Haue done qu[i]cklie, and tell it to me;’
‘My name,’ he sayes, ‘is Poore Disaware,
I tend sheep on the lonelie lee.’

63
‘Thou art a theefe,’ the steward said,
‘And soe in the end I will prooue thee;’
. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .

64
Then be-spake the ladie fayre,
‘Peace, Lord of Learne! I doe pray thee;
Ffor if noe loue you show this child,
Noe favor can you haue of mee.’

65
‘Will you beleeue me, lady faire,
When the truth I doe tell yee?
Att Aberdonie, beyond the sea,
His father he robbed a hundred three.’

66
But then bespake the Duke of France
Vnto the boy soe tenderlie;
Saies, Boy, if thou loue harsses well,
My stable-groome I will make thee.

67
And thus _tha_t _tha_t did passe vppon
Till the twelve monthes did draw to an ende;
The boy applyed his office soe well
Euery man became his freind.

68
He went forth earlye one morning
To water a gelding at the water soe free;
The gelding vp, and with his head
He hitt the child aboue his eye.

69
‘Woe be to thee, thou gelding,’ he sayd,
‘And to the mare _tha_t foled thee!
Thou hast striken the Lo_rd_ of Learne
A litle tinye aboue the eye.

70
‘First night after I was borne, a lo_rd_ I was,
An earle after my father doth die;
My father is the worthy Lo_rd_ of Learne,
And child he hath noe more but mee;
He sent me over the sea with the false steward,
And thus that he hath beguiled mee.’

71
The lady [wa]s in her garden greene,
Walking with her mayds, trulye,
And heard the boy this mourning make,
And went to weeping, trulie.

72
‘Sing on thy song, thou stable groome,
I pray thee doe not let for mee,
And as I am a true ladie
I wilbe trew vnto thee.’

73
‘But nay, now nay, madam!’ he sayd,
‘Soe _tha_t it may not bee;
I am tane sworne vpon a booke,
And forsworne I will not bee.’

74
‘Sing on thy song to thy gelding,
And thou doest not sing to mee;
And as I am a true ladie
I will euer be true vnto thee.’

75
He sayd, Woe be to thee, gelding,
And to the mare _tha_t foled thee!
For thou hast strucken the Lo_rd_ of Learne
A litle aboue mine eye.

76
First night I was borne, a lord I was,
An earle after my father doth dye;
My father is the good Lo_rd_ of Learne,
And child he hath noe other but mee;
My father sent me over [the sea] w_i_th the false steward,
And thus _tha_t he hath beguiled mee.

77
‘Woe be to the steward, lady,’ he sayd,
‘Woe be to him verrily!
He hath beene about this twelve months day
For to deceiue both thee and mee.

78
‘If you doe not my councell keepe,
_Tha_t I haue told you w_i_th good intent,
And if you doe it not well keepe,
Ffarwell! my life is at an ende.’

79
‘I wilbe true to thee, Lo_rd_ of Learne,
Or else Christ be not soe vnto me;
And as I am a trew ladye,
I’le neuer marry none but thee.’

80
Shee sent in for her father, the Duke,
In all the speed _tha_t ere might bee;
‘Put of my wedding, father,’ shee said,
‘For the loue of God, this monthës three.

81
‘Sicke I am,’ the ladye said,
‘O sicke, and verry like to die!
Put of my wedding, father Duke,
Ffor the loue of God, this monthës three.’

82
The Duke of France put of this wedding
Of the steward and the lady monthës three,
For the ladie sicke shee was,
Sicke, sicke, and like to die.

83
Shee wrote a letter w_i_th her owne hand,
In all the speede _tha_t euer might bee;
Shee sent [it] over into Scottland,
_Tha_t is soe ffarr beyond the sea.

84
When the messenger came beffore the old Lo_rd_ of Learne,
He kneeled low downe on his knee,
And he deliuered the letter vnto him,
In all the speed _tha_t euer might bee.

85
[The] first looke he looked the letter vpon,
Lo! he wept full bitterly;
The second looke he looked it vpon,
Said, False steward, woe be to thee!

86
When the Ladye of Learne these tydings heard,
O Lo_rd_! shee wept soe biterlye:
‘I told you of this, now good my lord,
When I sent my child into that wild country.’

87
‘Peace, Lady of Learne,’ the lord did say,
‘For Christ his loue I doe pray thee;
And as I am a christian man,
Wroken vpon him _tha_t I wilbe.’

88
He wrote a letter w_i_th his owne hand,
In all the speede _tha_t ere might bee;
He sent it into the lords in Scottland,
_Tha_t were borne of a great degree.

89
He sent for lords, he sent for k_nigh_ts,
_Th_e best that were in the countrye,
To go w_i_th him into the land of France,
To seeke his sonne in _tha_t strange country.

90
The wind was good, and they did sayle,
Fiue hundred men into France land,
There to seeke _tha_t bonny boy
_Tha_t was the worthy Lo_rd_ of Learne.

91
They sought the country through and through,
Soe farr to the Duke’s place of Ffrance land;
There they were ware of _tha_t bonny boy,
Standing w_i_th a porter’s staffe in his hand.

92
Then the worshippfull, thé did bowe,
The serving-men fell on their knee,
They cast their hatts vp into the ayre
For ioy _tha_t boy _tha_t they had seene.

93
The Lo_rd_ of Learne then he light downe,
And kist his child both cheeke and chinne,
And said, God blesse thee, my sonne and my heire!
The blisse of heauen _tha_t thou may winne!

94
The false steward and the Duke of France
Were in a castle-topp, trulie;
‘What fooles are yond,’ says the false steward,
‘To the porter makes soe lowe curtesie?’

95
Then bespake the Duke of Ffrance,
Calling my Lo_rd_ of Learne, trulie;
He sayd, I doubt the day be come
_Tha_t either you or I must die.

96
Thé sett the castle round about,
A swallow cold not haue flone away;
And there thé tooke the false steward
That the Lo_rd_ of Learne did betray.

97
And when they had taken the false steward,
He fell lowe downe vpon his knee,
And craued mercy of the Lo_rd_ of Learne
For the villanous dedd he had done, trulye.

98
‘Thou shalt haue mercy,’ said the Lo_rd_ of Learne,
‘Thou vile traitor, I tell to thee,
As the lawes of the realme they will thee beare,
Wether it bee for thee to liue or dye.’

99
A quest of lords _tha_t there was chosen,
To goe vppon his death, trulie;
There thé iudged the false steward,
Whether he was guiltie, and for to dye.

100
The forman of the iury he came in,
He spake his words full lowd and hie;
Said, Make thee ready, thou false steward,
For now thy death it drawes full nie.

101
Sayd he, If my death it doth draw nie,
God forgiue me all I haue done amisse!
Where is _tha_t lady I haue loued soe longe?
Before my death to giue me a kisse.

102
‘Away, thou traitor!’ the lady said,
‘Auoyd out of my company!
For thy vild treason thou hast wrought,
Thou had need to cry to God for mercye.’

103
First they tooke him and h[a]ngd him halfe,
And let him downe before he was dead,
And quartered him in quarters many,
And sodde him in a boyling lead.

104
And then they tooke him out againe,
And cutten all his ioynts in sunder,
And burnte him eke vpon a hyll;
I-wis thé did him curstlye cumber.

105
A loud laughter the lady laught,
O Lord! she smiled merrylie;
She sayd, I may praise my heauenly k_ing_
That euer I seene this vile traytor die.

106
Then bespake the Duke of France,
Vnto the right Lo_rd_ of Learne sayd he there;
Says, Lo_rd_ of Learne, if thou wilt marry my daught[er]
I’le mend thy liuing fiue hundred a yeere.

107
But then bespake _tha_t bonie boy,
And answered the Duke quicklie,
I had rather marry yo_u_r daughter w_i_th a ring of go[ld]
Then all the gold _tha_t ere I blinket on w_i_th mine eye.

108
But then bespake the old Lo_rd_ of Learne,
To the Duke of France thus he did say,
Seeing our children doe soe well agree,
They shalbe marryed ere wee goe away.

109
The Lady of Learne shee was sent for
Throughout Scottland soe speedilie,
To see these two children sett vpp
In their seats of gold full royallye.

B

=a.= Wood, 401, fol. 95 b. =b.= Roxburghe, I, 222, III, 534; Roxburghe Ballads, ed. Chappell, II, 55. =c.= Pepys, I, 494, No 254 (from a transcript in Percy’s papers).

1
It was a worthy Lord of Lorn,
He was a lord of high degree,
He sent [his son] unto the schoole,
To learn some civility.

2
He learned more learning in one day
Then other children did in three;
And then bespake the schoolmaster
Unto him tenderly.

3
‘In faith thou art the honestest boy
That ere I blinkt on with mine eye;
I hope thou art some easterling born,
The Holy Ghost is with thee.’

4
He said he was no easterling born,
The child thus answered courteously;
My father is the Lord of Lorn,
And I his son, perdye.

5
The schoolmaster turned round about,
His angry mood he could not swage;
He marvelled the child could speak so wise,
He being of so tender age.

6
He girt the saddle to the steed,
The bridle of the best gold shone;
He took his leave of his fellows all,
And quickly he was gone.

7
And when he came to his father dear
He kneeled down upon his knee;
‘I am come to you, fathe[r],’ he said,
‘God’s blessing give you me.’

8
‘Thou art welcome, son,’ he said,
‘God’s blessing I give thee;
What tidings hast thou brought, my son,
Being come so hastily?’

9
‘I have brought tidings, father,’ he said,
‘And so likëd it may be,
There’s never a book in all Scotland
But I can read it, truly.

10
‘There’s nere a doctor in all this realm,
For all he goes in rich array,
I can write him a lesson soon
To learn in seven years day.’

11
‘That is good tidings,’ said the lord,
‘All in the place where I do stand;
My son, thou shalt into France go,
To learn the speeches of each land.’

12
‘Who shall go with him?’ said the lady;
‘Husband, we have no more but he;’
‘Madam,’ he saith, ‘my head steward,
He hath bin true to me.’

13
She cal’d the steward to an account,
A thousand pound she gave him anon;
Sayes, Good Sir Steward, be as good to my child,
When he is far from home.

14
‘If I be fals unto my young lord,
Then God be [the] like to me indeed!’
And now to France they both are gone,
And God be their good speed.

15
They had not been in France land
Not three weeks unto an end,
But meat and drink the child got none,
Nor mony in purse to spend.

16
The child ran to the river’s side;
He was fain to drink water then;
And after followed the fals steward,
To put the child therein.

17
‘But nay, marry!’ said the child,
He asked mercy pittifully,
‘Good steward, let me have my life,
What ere betide my body.’

18
‘Now put off thy fair cloathing
And give it me anon;
So put thee of thy s’lken shirt,
With many a golden seam.’

19
But when the child was stript naked,
His body white as the lilly-flower,
He might have bin seen for his body
A prince’s paramour.

20
He put him in an old kelter coat
And hose of the same above the knee,
He bid him go to the shepherd’s house,
To keep sheep on a lonely lee.

21
The child did say, What shall be my name?
Good steward, tell to me;
‘Thy name shall be Poor Disawear,
That thy name shall be.’

22
The child came to the shepheard’s house
And asked mercy pittifully;
Sayes, Good sir shepheard, take me in,
To keep sheep on a lonely lee.

23
But when the shepheard saw the child,
He was so pleasant in his eye,
‘I have no child, I’le make thee my heir,
Thou shalt have my goods, perdie.’

24
And then bespake the shepheard’s wife,
Unto the child so tenderly;
‘Thou must take the sheep and go to the field,
And keep them on a lonely lee.’

25
Now let us leave talk of the child,
That is keeping sheep on a lonely lee,
And we’l talk more of the fals steward,
And of his fals treachery.

26
He bought himself three suits of apparrell,
That any lord might a seem[d] to worn,
He went a wooing to the Duke’s daughter,
And cal’d himself the Lord of Lorn.

27
The duke he welcomed the yong lord
With three baked stags anon;
If he had wist him the fals steward,
To the devill he would have gone.

28
But when they were at supper set,
With dainty delicates that was there,
The d[uke] said, If thou wilt wed my daughter,
I’le give thee a thousand pound a year.

29
The lady would see the red buck run,
And also for to hunt the doe,
And with a hundred lusty men
The lady did a hunting go.

30
The lady is a hunting gon,
Over le and fell that is so high;
There was she ware of a shepherd’s boy,
With sheep on a lonely lee.

31
And ever he sighed and made moan,
And cried out pittifully,
‘My father is the Lord of Lorn,
And knows not wha[t]’s become of me.’

32
And then bespake the lady gay,
And to her maid she spake anon,
‘Go fetch me hither the shepherd’s boy;
Why maketh he all this moan?’

33
But when he came before the lady
. . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . .
He was not to learn his courtesie:

34
‘Where was thou born, thou bonny child?
For whose sake makst thou all this mone?’
‘My dearest friend, lady,’ he said,
‘Is dead many years agon.’

35
‘Tell thou to me, thou bonny child,
Tell me the truth and do not lye,
Knost thou not the yong lord of Lorn,
Is come a wooing unto me?’

36
‘Yes, forsooth,’ then said the child,
‘I know the lord then, veryly;
The young lord is a valliant lord
At home in his own country.’

37
‘Wilt leave thy sheep, thou bonny child,
And come in service unto me?’
‘Yes, forsooth,’ then said the child,
‘At your bidding will I be.’

38
When the steward lookt upon the child,
He bewraild him villainously:
‘Where wast thou born, thou vagabone?
Or where is thy country?’

39
‘Ha don! ha don!’ said the lady gay,
She cal’d the steward then presently;
‘Without you bear him more good will,
You get no love of me.’

40
Then bespake the false steward
Unto the lady hastily:
‘At Aberdine, beyond the seas,
His father robbëd thousands three.’

41
But then bespake the lady gay
Unto her father courteously,
Saying, I have found a bonny child
My chamberlain to be.

42
‘Not so, not so,’ then said the duke,
‘For so it may not be,
For that young L[ord] of Lorn that comes a wooing
Will think somthing of thee and me.’

43
When the duke had lookt upon the child,
He seemd so pleasant to the eye,
‘Child, because thou lovst horses well,
My groom of stables thou shalt be.’

44
The child plied the horses well
A twelve month to an end;
He was so courteous and so true
Every man became his fri[e]nd.

45
He led a fair gelding to the water,
Where he might drink, verily;
The great gelding up with his head
And hit the child above the eye.

46
‘Wo worth thee, horse!’ then said the child,
‘That ere mare foalëd thee!
Thou little knowst what thou hast done;
Thou hast stricken a lord of high degree.’

47
The d[uke’s] daughter was in her garden green,
She heard the child make great moan;
She ran to the child all weeping,
And left her maidens all alone.

48
‘Sing on thy song, thou bonny child,
I will release thee of thy pain;’
‘I have made an oath, lady,’ he said,
‘I dare not tell my tale again.’

49
‘Tell the horse thy tale, thou bonny child,
And so thy oath shall savëd be;’
But when he told the horse his tale
The lady wept full tenderly.

50
‘I’le do for thee, my bonny child,
In faith I will do more for thee;
For I will send thy father word,
And he shall come and speak with me.

51
‘I will do more, my bonny child,
In faith I will do more for thee,
And for thy sake, my bonny child,
I’le put my wedding off months three.’

52
The lady she did write a letter,
Full pittifully with her own hand,
She sent it to the Lord of Lorn
Whereas he dwelt in fair Scotland.

53
But when the lord had read the letter
His lady wept most tenderly:
‘I knew what would become of my child
In such a far country.’